Value & Honor
by Forte
(Forte1354@aol.com)

Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc.


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- Chapter 3 -

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Washington, DC
12:30 p.m.


The sun was out, and the sky clear, but Mulder would have sworn that
a rain cloud was trailing his partner like paparazzi stalking a
celebrity.  Scully had not uttered a word since they'd agreed on a
restaurant: a small, dark hole in the wall that they hoped would be
relatively unpopular on that beautiful November Friday afternoon.
As they trekked along the Washington sidewalk, she kept her chin
tucked, her eyes downcast.

Had he asked, she probably would have claimed to be watching for
cracks in the pavement so she wouldn't trip, and then she would
utter Those Words.

<"I'm fine, Mulder.">

Damn.

So he didn't bother asking, and worried instead about what was going
on inside of her head.  And whether any of it was his fault.


#-#-#-#-#-#

Scully's mind raced as she sat at her desk.

She was preoccupied with Fowley's comments.

With Kersh's words.

And with the autopsy reports stacked in front of her like shrunken
coffins.

#-#-#-#-#-#


The restaurant wasn't crowded, as they'd anticipated.  Scully
remained silent throughout their brief wait for the table they
requested, one tucked away in a corner that would afford them some
privacy.  After they had been seated and given menus, Mulder's
patience wore out.  He decided to start with his usual dry humor,
and work up from there.

"Nice little meeting this morning, eh, Scully?"

"What?"  His partner seemed startled to hear him speak.

"Scully, have I lost that magic touch?  I don't seem to be holding
your attention today." He smiled at her, but not without concern.

<Come on, Scully, work with me here.  I'll meet you halfway -- hell,
I'll go =more= than halfway -- but you've got to take a couple
steps.>

Scully nodded, but kept her gaze on her menu.  "Sorry.  Headache's
really interfering with my concentration.  I was... just trying to
decide what I want to eat."  She paused.  "Yes, Kersh was unusually
irritating."

<She speaks!> one half of his brain joked in relief, but the other
half, still worried about her, squelched the thought.  <Don't screw
this up.  Just keep it light; get her talking some more.>

"He didn't seem too impressed with me, but you certainly charmed
him," Mulder teased.  "Maybe in our meetings with him you should do
all the talking from now on."

"I don't think you should let yourself fade into the background,
Mul-- "

Scully was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress.  She took
their orders and menus, leaving Scully nothing with which to shield
herself.

Mulder crossed his arms on the table and leaned toward his partner. 
"You were saying, Scully?  Why shouldn't I let myself fade into the
background?"

Scully sucked in a breath as anger tightened its grip on her
stomach.


#-#-#-#-#-#

<"Valuable opportunities may present themselves to you in the future
that involve -- individual responsibilities.  You would be doing
yourself a favor to take advantage of them regardless of your
current loyalties.">

Scully ran her fingers along the pencil that she'd been tapping on
the file in front of her.  Without thinking, she twisted and
squeezed it as hard as she could.

<My "current loyalties" have saved my life more times than I can
count, you son of a bitch.  I wouldn't trust =you= as far as I could
throw you.>

#-#-#-#-#-#


"Scully?" Mulder's voice shook her from her reverie.  He studied her
as she stared down at her clasped hands lying on the table.

<This can't be good.  There's something she doesn't want to tell
me.  What is it, Scully?>

As though she'd sensed his thoughts, she chose that moment to clear
her throat and continue.  "Kersh seems to be of the opinion that I
will not always be making fertilizer calls."

"=You=?"

"Me."

"Oh." Mulder's tone was calm, but his piercing eyes gave away his
intense focus on her words.  He leaned a little closer to her.

"He implied that, at some unspecified time in the future, I would be
made an offer too good to refuse."

"Did he?"  Mulder tried to continue sounding nonchalant while
ignoring his growing panic.  What had happened to his ability to put
together sentences of more than two words?

"Yes, he... hinted rather broadly that my loyalty to you is
misplaced."

<Misplaced?  How could that be?  Staying with me has just given you
cancer, left you sterile, gotten your sister and daughter killed,
and left your career in shambles.  No big deal, huh, Scully?>

Now Mulder cleared his throat.  He needed to know; to be sure.  "Do
=you= think so?"


#-#-#-#-#-#

Scully stared down at the autopsy report, unable to concentrate.

<"It's a good thing you're married to your work, Agent Scully.  Who
would want a woman in your situation?">

<How =dare= she.  How dare she reduce me to nothing but a barren
womb?  How dare she suggest that no one could see me as anything
else?>

Scully closed her eyes and took in a slow breath, willing her jaw to
unclench.  Repeating her actions of earlier that morning, she
massages the muscles over her eyes with her thumbs.  At least her
tension headaches were different from the ones she'd had with her
tumor; she had a course of action to take, even if it didn't always
work.

<Wish that Tylenol would kick in...>

She glanced up.  Mulder's chair was swiveled so that he faced the PC
on the corner of his desk, allowing her to see him in partial
profile.  She studied his features for a moment, then returned her
gaze to the file on her own desk.

<He doesn't see me that way, Agent Fowley.  =He= doesn't.>

#-#-#-#-#-#


Only half a heartbeat had gone by since Mulder had posed his
question.

Did she think her loyalty to him was misplaced?  Could he really not
know the answer to that question?  Yes, he ditched her sometimes. 
Yes, they fought sometimes -- OK, frequently -- over explanations
for the cases they investigated.  But he never -- =NEVER= -- put his
interests ahead of hers.  Even when he ditched her, or withheld
information from her, his intent was to protect her.  Not that she
appreciated when he did it, but at least his heart was in the right
place.

Unlike other people they had to deal with, most of whom seemed to
have no heart at all; never mind whether it was where it was
supposed to be.

During their partnership she and Mulder had been to hell and back
together, over and over.  Her abduction...the deaths of his father
and her sister...his mother's stroke...the cancer...Emily...Dallas. 
They'd held each other up, kept each other sane.  At other times,
he'd snatched her back from Satan's minions: Tooms, Pfaster,
Schnauz.  He'd gone to the =Antarctic= for her, for God's sakes, to
take her back from the Devil himself.  She knew without question
that if something happened to her, he would do =anything= to save
her.  Just as she would for him.

Were there words in the English language expressive enough, potent
enough, to do justice to what they shared?

If he wasn't deserving of her loyalty, then who was?

<Could he really not know?> she asked herself again.  <Have things
between us gotten that strained?>

Another half a heartbeat went by.

<For God's sakes, tell him!>

The corners of her mouth turned up.  She looked her partner in the
eye, holding Mulder's gaze with a fierceness she knew he'd never
seen in her before. Her voice held equal strength.

"I think my loyalty is right where it should be, Mulder.  Nice try,
but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"So, as long as no one mentions Salt Lake City, I'm stuck with you?"

Mulder clamped an imaginary hand over his mouth, and felt his eyes
go wide with horror.  <Oh shit.  Did I really just say that?  What
the fuck is wrong with me?>

Scully gazed at him evenly.  "Mulder, I explained my reasoning to
you about that.  After that meeting with OPR, right after Dallas, I
felt like there was nothing that I could do at the FBI that would
make a difference any more.  Besides," she looked down at the table,
"if I'd gone to Salt Lake City, that would have effectively ended
our partnership."  

She looked back up at Mulder; he felt his heart pound in his chest
as his pulse rate accelerated.

"Mulder, there is still so much that we can do, that we =have= to
do.  With the X-Files, or without them.  This case with Morse," she
gestured to imaginary files in front of her.  "The vaccine."  She
paused.  "Samantha."  She leaned across the table and placed her
slender, pale hand over his larger one.  Mulder's eyes flicked down
to look at their joined hands, then rose to meet hers again.  Her
countenance became grave.  "After all we've been through, I think
we've come to rely on each other so we can keep going, keep getting
up when we get knocked down.  We work better together than we ever
could separately."  She paused again, taking a slow, deep breath. 
"After we got back from the Antarctic, Mulder, you told me to go be
a doctor.  My answer was 'no' then, and it's still 'no' now."

Mulder stared at her, unblinking.  When he spoke, his voice was
quiet.  "Good.  That's good."  He smiled at her.  "I wasn't looking
forward to eating my lunch alone."

Scully gave him a smile in return, but one he could see was tinged
with sadness.

The waitress approached with their food, breaking the spell of
solemnity that had fallen over their table.  Scully dragged her hand
off Mulder's and sat back in her seat.

As they ate, Mulder did his best to not look over at her too often,
concerned about making her uncomfortable or anxious about his
attention.  But her reticence told him that something was still
troubling her.

And he was pretty damn sure he knew what it was.


#-#-#-#-#-#

Scully glanced at her watch.  <Twelve ten -- almost time for lunch.>

She closed the autopsy report for 4-year-old Matthew David
Forrester, shuffled it to the bottom of the pile, and opened the
next folder.

Diana Theresa Robertson, age 3.

Scully stared at the first name, willing herself to not replay the
confrontation with Fowley in her head, but unable to escape the
thoughts.

<What was the point?  What was she trying to accomplish?> she
wondered, not for the first time since she'd returned to her desk. 
The theory she kept returning to was the one that had first occurred
to her in the kitchen -- Diana was trying to cause more friction
between her and Mulder.  Did that mean that Diana had approached him
as well?

Mulder was still at his desk, and had neither moved from it nor used
his phone since they'd come back from Kersh's office.  If Diana had
spoken with him, it had to have been before the "kitchen incident",
probably within the last week.  But they had spent most of the
previous week in Rhode Island, and had been together almost every
waking moment.  Besides, wouldn't Mulder have acted...
differently... if Diana had contacted him, tried to create tension
in their partnership?  She'd been so wrapped up in the Morse case...
but she would have noticed a change in her partner's behavior. 
Wouldn't she?

Her head throbbed again.

<Lunch.> Scully decided.  <I have to ask him about it at lunch.> 
Mind made up, she returned to the autopsy report for the younger
Diana.

#-#-#-#-#-#


After several more minutes had passed, Scully was still eating in
silence, her full attention on her sandwich.  She gave no indication
that she planned to speak again during the meal.

Again, Mulder could wait no longer, and this time he wasn't going to
tap dance around the subject.

"Scully?"

She looked up at Mulder as she put her sandwich, on its way to her
mouth, back down on the plate.  "Hmm?"

He hesitated a moment, struck by how weary she looked.  Why hadn't
he noticed that before?  "What happened this morning with Diana?"

Scully's jaw tightened and she chewed on her bottom lip, but she
maintained her eye contact with him.  Mulder gave her credit for not
even trying to pretend that nothing was on her mind.

"I was just trying to decide how to ask you this."  She paused. 
"Mulder, have you spoken with Agent Fowley recently?  In the last
week or so?"

He wasn't sure where she was going with the question, but decided it
would be best to give her a straightforward answer, then ask her to
elaborate.  "No," he shrugged, "haven't had a reason to.  Why?"

Scully considered his answer.  <So she's starting with me...>  She
pressed her lips together.  <We can talk about this> she assured
herself.  <This woman is not going to hurt us.>

"Something weird happened this morning, Mulder."

She proceeded to detail her conversation with Fowley for him,
describing the events in the most professional, detached, and
objective manner she could.

When she finished, she went back to studying the food on her plate,
waiting for his reaction.  Mulder slumped back in his chair and
stared at her, stunned.

<Diana said =what=?  No... no, she couldn't have....  Maybe it was a
clone.  Maybe it was that shapeshifting Bounty Hunter pretending to
be Diana.  Maybe... maybe....>  Maybe he was full of shit, grasping
at straws.  Scully, Queen of Skeptics, did not exaggerate.  Period. 
Yet he, King of Believers, could not reconcile what his partner had
just told him with what he knew about Diana Fowley.  Diana was
self-confident, determined; she knew what she wanted, and knew how
to get it.  But she wasn't cruel.  Never.  Not even when she'd left
him.

Finally he found his voice, but again he would immediately regret
his choice of words.

"I can't believe she would say those things, Scully."

She felt knots of frustration twist her stomach -- <How is it that
you'll believe almost =anything=, except when it involves Diana
Fowley?> -- and snapped her eyes up to look at him.  "Are you
suggesting that I was hearing things, Mulder?"

"No, no," he hastened to reply.  "I just mean that... that's not
like Diana at all.  I've never known her to be..." he made a gesture
of resignation with his hands, "quite so bitchy."

"Well, maybe she's given up her kinder, gentler ways."  Scully
inhaled sharply, then poked at her sandwich without interest,
thinking.  "There's something I don't understand."

"What?"

"How could she have known about...."  She paused, then took another
quick breath.  "About =that=?  About =me=?"

Alarms went off in Mulder's head, and he blanched.  <No, no, she
couldn't think I'd...> he assured himself.  But again, he had to be
certain.

"Scully... you don't think I told...."

Mulder was relieved by her small gasp.

"No, no, of course not, Mulder.  I know you would never tell anyone
unless it were absolutely necessary.  But doesn't that beg the
question?  Where would she have gotten that information, Mulder?  I
know I wasn't imagining things or overreacting.  She definitely
=knew=."

"I don't know.  I have no idea, Scully."

Silence.

"I'm sorry, Scully."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Mulder.  I'm not going to let
her get to me."

<Please, Scully, don't say you're fine.  We both know you're not.>

"Come on, Scully.  You can't tell me that what she said didn't
bother you."

<Don'tsayitdon'tsayitdon'tsayit>

The Fates tempted, Scully shrugged.  "I'm fine, Mulder."

Mulder's jaw clenched.  "You're =not= fine, Scully."

"Don't patronize me, Mulder!" she returned.

Now both of Mulder's fists clenched as well.  "Jesus, Scully, do I
need to get into a geography lesson here?  Give you a fucking
lecture on rivers in Egypt?"

Scully's eyes widened as her mouth formed an "O" and then closed
again without sound.  "What the hell does =that= mean?" she demanded.

<God, Scully, you can be so fucking exasperating.  It's just
=me=...>

"Do you expect me to believe that comments like that wouldn't hurt
you?  Or have you really convinced yourself that they don't?"

Scully tried to tamp down her hostility -- <This is not going to
help... this is exactly what she's trying to do to us...> -- but at
the same time couldn't let Mulder's presumptuousness go
unchallenged.  "Don't do this, Mulder.  You have no idea what I
think or feel."

<We don't need to fight, Mulder.  Not about this.>

"I think I =do= know how you feel, Scully.  You've been wearing your
heart on your sleeve all day."

Scully gaped for an instant, then closed her mouth.  Mulder rarely
spoke to her in words that cut so close to the bone.  But he had a
point; the events of the prior week and of that morning in
particular had gone a long way toward shredding the stoic facade
that she tried to maintain at all times.  Still, even if he
recognized her lowered defenses, that didn't mean he knew the
sentiments behind them.  Nor did it mean that she could discuss it
with him; her emotions were a blur, racing through her psyche, her
soul, far too quickly for her to place them in any but the broadest
of categories.  If she couldn't make sense of it all, how could he?

She drew in a breath, then spoke slowly, enunciating each word. 
"You do not understand, Mulder.  You don't have any idea."

<Please, Mulder...>

Mulder sat back and crossed his arms across his chest.  "Fine,
Scully.  So help me to understand.  Tell me what I need to know."

She shook her head, astounded by his lack of perceptiveness.  "You
still don't get it, Mulder.  There =are= no words.  No words at all.
Nothing even vaguely adequate."  She paused.  "Can you understand
that?"

Mulder waved a hand in frustration.  "Just try me, Scully.  Throw
out a word at me.  Anything."

Scully sucked in another breath.  <Fine, Mulder.  You started this,
and now I'm going to finish it.>  Words and memories flew around in
her head, causing it to pound even harder.  She closed her eyes,
grasping the fleeting images: hearing Melissa's voice over the phone
saying 'She needs your help.'  Coloring on the floor with Emily. 
Lying next to her feverish body on a cold hospital bed.  A tiny
coffin, filled with sand.

Arms that would never again cradle a child of her own.

"Loss."  Scully paused as she started to feel the anger well up in
her again, willing herself to not lose complete control of that
emotion.

<IcandothisIcandothisIcandothis>

"Indescribable loss."

Maybe a =little= less control would be OK.

"Miserable, aching, gut-wrenching, goddamn =LOSS=."

She opened her eyes and glared at him, unblinking.  <Satisfied,
Mulder?>

Mulder glared back, unfolding his arms and leaning slightly forward.

"And you think I don't understand loss, Scully?  Don't you know I've
=felt= loss every fucking day since Samantha was taken?"

Scully softened, but only for a moment.  "I know that, Mulder, and
I'm sorry."  Then the glare returned.  "But you have something that
I will =never= have."

Scully paused and took in a breath.  Her eyes still reflected anger,
but not bitterness.

"You have =hope=."

Mulder stared, speechless, and Scully continued.

"You have hope, Mulder, and I don't have a damned thing.  I will
=never= have a damned thing, and there is nothing that you or I or
anybody else can do about that."

Mulder felt a physical pain in his chest and stomach as her words
echoed in his head.  He continued to stare at his partner.

<Jesus... Scully...>

At first, she returned his gaze without wavering.  Then she
recognized the swirl of pain, compassion, fear, and concern in his
eyes.  She had seen it before...


#-#-#-#-#-#

"Breathe!" he urged, terror obvious in his voice.  "Scully, can you
breathe?" 

Her naked body shivered uncontrollably.

"Cold," she mumbled.  "I'm cold..."

#-#-#-#-#-#


Her eyes stung at the memory of his face, her pain, the cold.  She
looked down at her food, feeling her jaw unclench and her shoulders
droop.  <Mulder isn't the enemy> she told herself.  <Why are we
fighting?>  She absently pushed at her sandwich again with one
finger.  <Tell him> her voice echoed.  <Tellhimtellhimtellhim.>

"I know you want to help, Mulder, but I need to deal with this... my
own way.  Please don't push so hard.  I don't want to fight about
it."

<Not about Samantha.  Not about Emily.>

Mulder swallowed and took a slow breath.  "Neither do I." He paused.
"I'm sorry, Scully."  He reached across the table, extending the
middle and index fingers of his hand, then wrapped them around the
finger she was using to poke at her lunch, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Scully closed her eyes.  <We don't need to argue.  We're on the same
side... just with different perspectives.  We'll get through this...
find the answers... the answers we both need.  I have to believe
that.  I want to believe it.>

<"I want to believe."  =Tell= him...>

She curled her finger to return the gentle embrace, the corners of
her lips edging up in tandem.  <Just telling him... isn't enough. 
Not with him.  And you know it.>  She squeezed her eyes more
tightly, struck by the revelation, then opened them and withdrew her
hand, suddenly shy.  To cover her embarrassment, she used the same
hand to reach down to her coat pocket to retrieve the bottle of
pills she'd grabbed from her desk.

Mulder watched as she swallowed three more of the caplets, then he
released a layered sigh.  "So what are you going to do about
Diana?"

Scully returned the sigh.  "What =can= I do, Mulder?  Report her? 
For what, being immature and petty?  We're all big boys and girls,
and I know how to deal with a bully."

Although he hid it, Mulder bristled at the word "bully".  And then
he felt ashamed of that reaction.

"What about how she got her... information?" he asked.

Scully set her elbows on the table and once again closed her eyes
and massaged the muscles of her forehead, partially concealing her
face with her hands.  "I don't know, Mulder.  Right now I don't want
to think about it.  My head hurts enough already."

<This headache has lasted too damn long, Scully.  I'm really
starting to worry.>  Mulder reached across the table and gently
pulled back one of her hands.  "You okay?"

She raised her eyes to look at her partner and nodded.  "I will be,
when I have some answers."

"We'll get the answers, Scully," he said, his tone one of
determination.  "=I= can get them," he emphasized.

Scully squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, brow
furrowing.  "Mulder, in all the years we've been together -- have I
ever told you what an incredibly persistent pain in the ass you can
be?"

Mulder froze.  <Is she serious?  Sarcastic?  Kidding?>  Their
conversation had been such a rollercoaster, he wasn't sure.  He
didn't like feeling uncertain, not where Scully was concerned, and
that had already happened too many times for one day.

<Ouch> she thought, seeing his face tighten.  <That came out way too
bitchy.  How do we keep doing this to each other?>  Remorseful, she
willed her face to soften, and his followed suit.

She shook her head slowly.  "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come
out harshly."  He nodded his acknowledgment.  "This is my problem
and I'll deal with it.  But I appreciate your loyalty, Mulder." 
<And you have my loyalty, remember?>  She rubbed her forehead one
more time, then sat back in her chair, determination etched in her
features.  <And I can give you irrefutable proof.>

Mulder watched her, an apprehensive cast to his face, as though he
were trying to decide whether to speak.  But Scully didn't give him
a chance; she pushed her chair back and stood up.

<Calmly, Dana...>  "I have an errand to run," she announced.  "I'll
see you back at the office?"

Mulder nodded, but the fleeting blank look on his face told her it
was only because she'd caught him off-guard.  Scully started to
reach into her pocket.

"That's okay, Scully.  Lunch is on me."

She nodded in return.  "Thanks.  I'll see you later."  She started
to turn away, then hesitated and looked back at her partner's
expectant face.

<Irrefutable proof...>

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"You may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I still wouldn't change
a day."  She gave him a small smile.  "Except for that Flukeman
thing, of course."

Mulder blinked, then beamed, holding the smile until after she'd
left the restaurant.  Then his face drooped back into a neutral
expression as he replayed their conversation, one of the most
stunningly dense and heartfelt discussions he could ever recall
having with her.  Sweet and bitter and painful, like eating dark,
dark chocolate laced with broken glass.  <So much for keeping it
light...> he mused.

<"My loyalty is right where it should be.">

<"You have hope, and I don't have a damned thing.">

<"I don't want to fight about this.">

<"I still wouldn't change a day.>

So many things got in their way.  Their enemies, their demons, their
own stubbornness....

Mulder realized he was staring across the table at where Scully had
been sitting.

<When is it going to get easier for us, Scully?>

The empty chair gave him no answer.

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- end Chapter 3 -

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