Subject: Scene 19 repost (updated)
Date: Wed, 17 Dec 1997 18:07:43 -0800 (PST)
From: lisby@earthlink.net

XIX
1:40 P.M., J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.
Dana didn't have a desk. She had a table.

Tina jiggled her foot. Chewed a mouthful of Big Mac.

Bastard.

No name plate on the door either.

Double bastard.

Dana's chair was pretty comfy, though. Better than her own butt killer.
Good padding, nice arm rests. Pretty burgundy upholstery....Watched Dana
sort through Mulder's papers lying in crazy-quilt piles on his desk and the
floor, on rows of long metal shelves.

Hill had always wanted to get inside the X-Files 'Division' office.
Smallest frickin' division in the history of government. And from what
she'd heard, one of the most effective. Kimberly Cooke had told Katie
Stonecypher that Skinner said it was all because of Dana's
thoroughness....Okay. Okay. Maybe Mr. IQ had something to do with it, too.
She could admit that--kinda had to: he was a fucking legend at Quantico.
But that didn't make Fox Mulder any more likable, or good for Dana or her
career. She was gonna get lost down here in the dark, under his shadow.

Hill bit into her burger and juice and ketchup squeezed out onto her
fingers. Made an 'ewww' face and smeared the mess on Dana's blotter. Called
out, "Hey, does Mulder outrank you?"

Dana was lifting another pile off the floor to the desktop. "Yeah," she
grunted. "By one grade. Technically, he's the division head and I report to
him." Dana plopped the pile atop the pile. "Of course, when I was assigned
to the x-files, I thought it was as his partner. I didn't figure out the
division head thing until later."

Indignation tainted Hill's laugh. "What a crock."

"Well, he's got seniority on me by a few years. Even so....I mean, I don't
hold it against Mulder--" Dana wiped her hands on her thighs, leaving dust
marks on black trousers. Shrugged.

"Right," Hill pushed a cold french fry into her mouth. "Not against him,
but Good Old Boys in general."

"Mnnn." Unstable foundation. Dana caught the stack as it tipped, but the
papers in the top folder spilled out onto the floor. Hill smiled as Dana's
lips turned down into a petulant frown. Adorable. Goddamn adorable.

She watched the redhead stabilize the tower of files and lean over to
gather up the fanned-out pages, urged Dana to "Lift with your knees" before
her gaze drifted away, lured again by the visual 'wow' of Spookster
Central. It was a big, chilly cavern, but so crowded there were no echoes
that, by rights, should have bounced off the walls. Books and slide trays
and file cabinets. Clippings and weird pictures pinned or taped up
everywhere. 'I Want to Believe,' proclaimed the poster behind Dana's copper
hair. Read: 'I Want to Believe that Aliens Kidnapped my Sister.' Uh-huh.
And she wanted to believe that the Ghostdance could bring back Sitting
Bull.

Tina sighed and plucked another fry out of the greasy paper holder. "C'mon,
can't I help, Mutt? I feel guilty chowing down while you excavate the
stratigraphy."

"Well, I can't let you touch his papers." Dana dropped into Mulder's chair
and flipflipflipped pages. "Believe it or not, there is an order to all
this," she spoke from beneath the hair fallen across her face. "But I've
experienced only the most fleeting glimpse into The Mystery."

"A partial paper epiphany?"

"Illumination enough to know I'd better put it back the way he left it."
Dana turned another page, added more softly, "Mulder's not pretty when you
mess with his stuff."

Tina wadded up her napkin and pitched it into the government-issue trash
can. "Is Mulder as much of a shit to you as everyone thinks?"

Hill saw Dana stop moving--just stop. "I don't understand the question,"
she replied without lifting her head.

Hill uncrossed her legs and stretched them out. Slung her long ponytail
around to her back. The prey was meaner, but now it was stunned. Well,
might as well try for the kill. "I hear Mulder's a real dick. That he
treats you bad. People see you two argue. People see him fight with Skinner
or hear about it--Kim makes herself Miss Way Popular at the coffee machine,
tattling. Everyone over at VC just rolls their eyes when you mention his--"

"The hell with VC," Dana snapped as she looked up, eyes hard and clear.
"You don't know what those cases did to him."

"You're right, Mutt." She leaned forward. Sighed. Spread her hands. "I-I
don't get it. No one does. You two act like you exist in a vacuum--like
we're not going to notice when Mulder marches down the hall with you in
tow, looking like the world's exploding. Or when he blows into Captain
Skinner's ready room screeching about some assignment that's beneath him,
while you stand in the doorway wishing you were dead--hey, I was there once
when it happened, so don't shake your head like I'm full of shit."

Dana tapped a finger on the paper beneath her hand. "Don't push me too far
too fast, Jeff."

Hill didn't blink. "You know me. You knew I'd start asking."

"Yeah." Her friend's eyes slipped to the folder on her lap. "I knew."

"So 'fess up," Tina prodded, sat back. Her patent-leather Mary Janes
squeaked as they rubbed together.

She jumped when Dana slapped the file shut.

"No, Big Nose, Mulder is not a shit. He can frustrate the hell out of me,
but he's never purposefully cruel unless I'm cruel, too."

"Oh--okay, then," she stuttered. "What's he really like?"

Her friend smirked. "He fascinates you, doesn't he?"

"No way, Jose. You aren't turning this conversation to make it look like
it's my problem. Mulder fascinates me because of his connection to you. YOU
fascinate me. So, talk to me, Bunny-bunny. You want me back in your life,
then you talk to me."

Terra cotta twitched one corner and a little light danced in blue. "I
forgot you used to call me that. In front of everyone--on the obstacle
course--"

"You deserved it for bringing a stuffed rabbit to Quantico. And Jesus,
Mutt, that was an ugly rabbit."

"Snuggles was twenty years old and majorly loved on."

"Snuggles looked like a Peruvian mummy." Tina smiled as Dana chuckled.
"You're beautiful when you laugh."

"Tina...." Orange eyebrows pulled together. Just a hint of color along the
cheekbones.

"Okay. Okay. I'll stop telling you the truth." She shrugged. "You talk to
me about Mulder."

First a tight mouth, then the knot dissolved. "Shit, Tina, what do you want
to know?"

"I want to know what gives with him."

Dana stared at something--at nothing--off to Hill's left. "First of all,"
she finally began, "he's not the wacko everyone around here thinks he is. I
hate it when people make fun of him. He doesn't deserve it." The soft alto
had hardened. "He's a damned good agent. Nobody sees him out there like I
do, putting his ass on the line. Nobody else sees him in private, either,
when he's kind and gentle and funny...and sad and troubled. I'm not going
to lie, Jeff, and say he isn't. He's got reason to be."

"What--his sister?"

"There are other things, too." Dana's extra-long blink carried the
evolution of her anger into something that seemed duller, heavier. Her
small shoulders drooped. "Mulder's father was murdered a few months ago.
Shot in the head just a week or so before....before Melissa."

Hill felt a stab in the chest. A cold, rude little twist. Melissa had been
her friend, too--had known more than Dana about her feelings. Winked when
she said her sister needed to do something truly iconoclastic. Yeah.
Melissa was so with it, she had to die young.

"I wish someone had told me about the funeral." She tried not to accuse.

"I know. I'm sorry," Dana couldn't meet her eye. Pulled back her tousled
hair from her forehead, sighed, and squirmed. "Look, I don't want to talk
about any of this right now. Okay? But there are a number of things that
have left Mulder with emotional problems. Mulder's had a harsh life."

"Like...?" Tina's open hands again gestured the void.

"Look, I can't spill his secrets. Don't ask me to, please. He's a very
private person and I know you can't keep your mouth shut. When he comes
back--" Dana paused. Breathed a little raggedly. "When he comes back, he'll
find out that you know and then--well, I'll be history. To be able to trust
is the most important thing in the world to him."

So damned close but yet so far. Tina crossed her arms on her breasts, hands
gripping the bulk of her biceps through tweed and cotton shirting. "He
trusts you with his secrets?"

"Yes. And I trust him. I'd put my life in his hands. I've done it, Jeff."
Dana cocked a brow as if daring her to raise a challenge.

Hill nodded. "Okay. I believe you. So what gives with the two of you?"

The pause wasn't long, but long enough.

"We're friends, Jeff. We help each other--we--" Dana shook her head. "Tina,
I knew you would start asking and I knew I'd have to answer--but let's just
stop now. I've gone as far as I can. Try again later."

"All right." Now was not the time. There'd be another day to breach Fort
Scully. "But you understand why I'm asking, don't you, Bunny? You've
changed so much since you got posted to work with Mulder. I'm just trying
to get a grip on who you are now."

Eyes on the file again and fingers rifled pages. "I know I'm different.
Everything is different since Quantico, since we used to pal around....Just
stretch the interrogation out over a few days. You'll get better results."

"Hmmm." Hill felt the weight of her arms as her chest rose and fell. Rose
and fell. Then she stood and licked her lips. "So....What can I do to
help?"

Dana glanced up at her, glanced around, fixed on a row of file cabinets
illuminated by harsh overhead fluorescence. "You can go through those. Just
don't take anything out of anywhere without leaving yourself a marker."

"Fine." Hill brushed the crumbs off her jacket and clunked on thick soles
across the room. She grasped the cool metal handle to open a drawer. Files
and files. Thick, brown jackets, Bureau code numbers--some held only a few
sheets of paper, others were fat or lumpy. Hill picked up the first, opened
it. Read:

'X25975467000DBS34. Opened: July 6, 1959. Agent of record: SA. Rbt.
Argenbright. Status: unsolved. Current agent of record: SA F.W. Mulder.
Mrs. Grace MacAllister (nee Simms), wife of Assistant Secretary of the
Treasury John M. MacAllister, age 43, found dead at residence (302 Main
Street, Middletown, Maryland) by son returning home from school. Cause of
death appears to be a localized fire which consumed her corpus, leaving
only 3 lbs. of ashes, teeth, and bone fragments, as well as her left
leg--completely unburned below the knee. ME suggests Mrs. MacAllister fell
asleep while smoking, however, the victim was not a smoker....'

Saw the edge of a B&W picture further back in the file. Pulled it out and
bit her lip. Oh dear. Varicose veins and a fluffy slipper on the foot. "I'm
not in Kansas anymore, am I?"

"Don't read them, Tina." Dana sounded impatient. "Just flip through the
drawers and look for anything weird."

"Weird? You want to define that for me?" She turned to stare at the
redhead, one hand on her hip.

"Just look for anything to do with sex slaves or Samantha Mulder." Dana was
standing now, holding a gray metal waste basket, pawing inside. "See if
he's got anything flagged with pink stickies--he does that when he's up to
something--or look for big holes in the number sequence....You know, just
something strange."

"Ah--sure." Skimmed the drawer's contents--no pink stickies--where the hell
did he get pink anyway? Wasn't government issue.... Didn't look like
anything missing. Paused at an expandable hanging folder...evidence bag
inside with a--a-- "Christ, Dana, what the fuck is this?" Hill held up the
bag by its corner.

Dana looked over, squinted at the wizened lump inside PVC plastic. "It's a
monkey's paw."

"Errr...." Hill dropped it back into the drawer, fought the urge to wipe
her fingers on her blazer. Shivered with the oogies as she heard a metallic
thud, then Dana's weary voice.

"Damn it. There's nothing here, Jeff."

Hill slid the bin shut, opened the one beneath it. "If you hadn't been so
meticulous, you wouldn't have gotten what you have now. There may be
something here that points the way."

"Mnnnnn."

Hill looked down into half-emptiness. "Hey--there's a lot of files missing
here....Let's see--numbers....I think in the fifty-six hundred sequence--"

"It's nothing," Dana sounded blase. "Those got impounded by the military
awhile back."

"What?" Hill turned her head. Glared.

"It's not something I can talk abou--"

"Fine. Forget it," Tina growled her interjection. "I don't want to know."

When the cell phone chirped, Hill turned to watch Dana grab her Nokia off
the table, unfold the mouthpiece, and yank up the antenna. "Scully.
What?...Langley? I can hardly hear you....Yes....You got in?" Dana smiled
at Hill, then her forehead knitted and her gaze roamed the tabletop--eyes
narrowing for a moment at the ketchup smears. "Wait--hang on. Tina--pen?"
Hill pulled her Bic from her pocket, strode over to place it in Dana's
outstretched hand. "Okay." Saw Dana write '111 Dockside Road, Norfolk' on
the blotter. "Right. Great....Okay, Langley....Sure. Thanks."

"Well? What?" she demanded as Dana thumbed off the connection. "Did The
Hickey crack CompuServe?"

"Yeah. He did." Dana tore out the address. "That account number is for a
mail order business in Norfolk called DT Enterprises."

"That's where Mulder's e-mail address was sent? Someone down there was the
date Hellfire arranged?"

"Presumably." Dana nodded.

"So?" Hill tipped her head toward the door. "To the Batmobile?"

"Yeah." Dana took a deep breath, grabbed her coat, and poked arms into
sleeves. "Let's get on the road."

--lisby@earthlink.net
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My frying pan has been violated.
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