Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. Prior chapters are available at http://www.thebasementoffice.com/. Author's note: What I had intended to be Chapter 11 was coming out much longer than I'd expected, so I split it into two chapters. Look for Chapter 12 in about a week. This one's for you, Lynne. :) ******************************************************************** - Chapter 11 - ******************************************************************** Georgetown Washington, DC Saturday, 2:55 p.m. Four hours hadn't yet passed since Scully had taken her last dose of Tylenol, but she tapped two caplets from the bottle to her palm anyway. She glanced at the wall clock, although she'd looked at her watch only a minute earlier. She filled a glass at her kitchen faucet, then swallowed the pills with a mouthful of the cool water. She closed her eyes, sipping the remaining water. She willed her tense muscles to relax, but met with little success. Her mind kept racing around the messages from Kurt Crawford, the call from Diana, Mulder's high-strung -- for =him=, she thought, without humor -- behavior, their impending journey to Boston. She lifted the half-empty glass to her forehead, the chilled surface giving her a few moments of relief from the throb between her eyes. Too bad it couldn't make the images in her head sluggish, more manageable. Couldn't all the aggravation just go away? For five minutes, even? Scully drew in a breath, a reverse sigh, then released it in a puff of air. No, Dana, it's not going to go away, at least not on its own. Finish what you're doing and get back to work. She returned the glass to her lips, drinking faster. As she felt the soothing water run down her throat, into her stomach, she realized that she hadn't swallowed anything else besides coffee since early morning. Perhaps she should eat the lunch that Mulder had brought her, she reasoned. It might very well improve her headache, and in turn make current events seem more manageable. <"I brought lunch for both of us. I know you said you weren't hungry, but I thought you might be by now."> Sometimes he gave her what she needed even when she stubbornly resisted. The corners of her mouth turned up for a moment as she opened her eyes. Scully set the empty glass in the sink and then headed toward the kitchen table. She reached past the cash and ID's Mulder had left for her, scooped up her sandwich, chips, and drink, and continued into the living room. Scully placed her lunch on one corner of her desk, then sat in front of the PC. The website she'd pulled up earlier to check flight information was waiting patiently for her. First things first, Dana. The pad of paper on which she'd written Kurt's messages was still propped in front of the monitor, left there by Mulder. Scully laid it to the side of the keyboard, then studied the screen, reaching for the mouse. *Round trip or one way travel?* Scully hesitated a moment, then clicked "One way." Who knew how long they would be with the Kurts? She continued clicking and typing the requisite information, including a request to see all non-stop flights first. In this case speed was a greater priority over cost, their rendezvous with Kurt only seven and a half hours away. *Find flights?* the screen prompted. Point, click, wait. With one eye on the screen, Scully opened her drink and unwrapped her sandwich. When the aroma of the moist turkey reached her, her mouth watered. Suddenly ravenous, she took a large bite. Ahh, yes. Sustenance. She closed her eyes as she continued to chew. It felt good to work her jaw up and down, she decided, to loosen the muscles taut from stress. She opened her eyes just long enough to reach for her drink; she took a long sip of the lemon-lime soda and reveled in the feel of it gliding down her throat. Yes, much better. Scully tipped her head back, stretching out neck muscles, and exhaled a long relaxed sigh. After several seconds she tilted her head back up, rolled her shoulders slowly. Well, she mused, rueful, that was about ten seconds of making everything go away. Time to get back to work again. She opened her eyes; the information she had requested was on her monitor. She sat up straighter, took another bite of her sandwich, and exchanged her drink for the mouse. Point, click, scroll. Scully scanned the listing quickly, clicking onto numerous additional screens. Three airlines, Delta, United, and U.S. Airways, provided non-stop flights to Boston. Some flights departed from National Airport, others from Dulles Airport. Only one flight was scheduled for departure from Baltimore-Washington International, which Scully immediately discounted as an option. Nodding to herself, she noted that the flight time was an hour and a half from DC to Boston. Scully took another bite of her sandwich, another sip of her drink. She ripped open the bag of chips, popped one in her mouth, and reached for the mouse again. She ran several additional searches, specifying each airline in turn at both National and Dulles Airports, printing out the results. Type, click, chew, sip, repeat. Within minutes, Scully had printed off all of the information she wanted. As she set aside the empty wrappings of her lunch, she glanced at her watch. Hmm... already after three o'clock. Mulder would be reaching the Hoover Building soon. Scully felt her jaw tighten again as her mind's eye flashed to Diana Fowley in the basement office; she nipped at her bottom lip and pushed the thought from her mind. That was just inviting her headache back in full force. She wouldn't let the woman do that to her. So. If Mulder spent half an hour there, half an hour to get home with traffic... fifteen minutes to throw some clothes in a bag... she could pick him up at 4:30. With traffic, they'd have to allow an hour to get to the airport. She shuffled the printouts and determined that U.S. Airways would be the airline they'd use. That airline had flights as late as 8 p.m. from Dulles, and 8:30 p.m. from National. Flights with Delta and United stopped at 6 p.m.; they would be virtually impossible to catch if they only reached the airport at 5:30. One detail nagged at her, though: flights on U.S. Airways might be available, but how many seats were open? Could they get to the airport and find them sold out? Maybe they would need to risk making reservations with their phony ID's after all. Only one way to know for sure -- call the airline. Scully shut down her PC, then scooped up the printouts and the pad with Kurt's messages. She crossed the short distance to the phone with brisk steps, but stopped before touching it. When the Gunmen had called she'd chosen to not use her cell phone for reasons of security. Similarly, she decided, she should avoid her cordless living room phone. She moved down the hall toward her bedroom. Scully tossed the papers on the bed, then reached for the phone on the nightstand. As her fingertips brushed the handset she hesitated, looked at it with suspicion. Damn -- she should have checked it before using it earlier. After all, Kurt had been concerned that he had been followed. Although she'd never found a bug in her home before, it wouldn't be the first time she or Mulder had been subject to surveillance. Frowning, she turned the phone over. Nothing looked unusual, but she unplugged the wire that led to the wall jack. Nope, nothing there. She plugged the wire back in and repeated the motions at the phone jack itself, and with the wire between the base and the handset. Nothing. She shook her head; was it possible she was becoming too paranoid? Scully scanned her printouts, but found no phone number for flight information. With a frustrated click of her tongue, she called directory assistance. "U.S. Airways reservations, please." Within a minute, Scully was listening to the airline's bland "on hold" music. As she'd done earlier, she uncoiled the phone's wire from behind the nightstand, then carried the phone's base to the closet. With the handset tucked between shoulder and chin she pulled open the door and studied the bags on the top shelf. Her usual overnight bag had seen a lot of service lately; had in fact just been returned to the closet after their trip for the Morse case. It was illogical to try to exorcise the memories of that trip with different luggage, she knew. Nevertheless, she grasped the soft padded handles of her large duffel bag with her free hand and pulled it down. She tossed the bag on the bed and zipped it open, then the music over the phone cut off. "Thank you for calling U.S. Airways. This is Debbie; may I help you?" Scully sat next to the duffel bag, swapping the phone base for pad and pen. "Yes, I need to confirm the availability of non-stop flights today from Washington, DC, to Boston, Massachusetts, for two adults. I'd like to leave Washington from either National or Dulles airports." Scully heard the sound of typing in the background. "First class, or lowest available fare?" Without thinking, Scully rolled her shoulders again. For a split second she envisioned the sardine can of economy class, then the comfort of first class. But then she thought about the roll of cash -- =their= cash -- that Mulder had left with her. It was a lot of money, but not =that= much. "Lowest available fare, please." A pause, and more typing. "From Dulles, only an eight p.m. flight is available. The four p.m. is full, and the six p.m. has been canceled." "Dulles, eight p.m. only," Scully repeated, jotting it down on the pad. "Is that flight close to being full?" "No, there are plenty of seats left." Another pause, and more typing. "From Reagan National there are flights available every hour on the half hour, from three thirty to eight thirty p.m. None of those are close to being full either." "National, three thirty to eight thirty, every hour," Scully transcribed. She thought of their finances again. They should have an idea of how much money to have handy to pull out at the ticket counter... no sense in flashing more cash than necessary. "How much is the fare?" "The one-way fare is two hundred ninety-eight dollars per person. May I make a reservation for you?" "No, thank you, I'm not ready to make reservations yet. Thank you for your help." "Thank you for calling U.S. Airways." Scully hung up the phone and returned it to the nightstand. She looked down at the flight times she'd written on the pad, then glanced at her watch. If she picked Mulder up at 4:30, they could easily get to National, which was fairly close, by 5:30. Even if it took an hour to buy tickets, they could take either the 6:30 or 7:30 flight. With the flight taking ninety minutes, that left plenty of time to make their 10:30 meeting in Boston with this mysterious "George." The 8:30 flight, or the 8 p.m. out of Dulles, was cutting the time too close. "Good -- National it is." Scully shook her head in amusement at having spoken the words aloud. Well, it felt good to have her direction back again. Better mood now, Dana? Food can do wonderful things for the disposition. Hadn't her mother always said something like that? And apparently it helped Tylenol to do its job, too; her headache was almost gone. And just in time to call Mulder. She lifted the phone receiver again and speed-dialed his cell phone number. ******************************************************************** On the road between Scully's apartment and the J. Edgar Hoover Building Saturday, 3:05 p.m. Mulder drove with his left hand on the steering wheel, his right gripping his half-eaten sandwich. He chewed deliberately, re-playing the events at Scully's apartment in his mind. And coming to one clear conclusion: He never should have answered his cell phone. Because if he hadn't, he wouldn't be on his way back to the office. Because he wouldn't have talked to Diana. Because he and Scully would still be... He smiled, almost able to feel his arms around her again. And hers around him. Neither of them was hurt or traumatized, either -- what a concept. And the poster... he glanced down at it, leaning against the passenger seat. That had to be the biggest shock of all. It was so... =demonstrative= of Scully to get it for him. And maybe -- just maybe -- she would have been even more demonstrative if he'd gotten to say what he'd wanted to say. Which he would have, if his damn cell phone hadn't rung. But it had. And he'd answered it. And now he was on his way back to the Hoover Building. Shit. But then, if it hadn't been Diana's call, it might have been the Gunmen's, with their news about Kurt's messages. Or Kersh, calling with some bullshit fertilizer emergency, just to make his life miserable. Or even a damn wrong number. Maybe he and Scully were destined to always be interrupted. He sighed and took a gulp of his drink. Damn Diana and her lousy timing. Whatever it was she wanted him to see, he was willing to bet there were a dozen other agents capable of handling it. If he and Scully had to be interrupted, couldn't it have been for something important? Some information about this "George" person they would be meeting, maybe? Well, at least he and Scully were going to meet him together. Jesus, he'd practically bitten Scully's head off, arguing against them going to different rendezvous points at 10:30. Every nerve ending in his body had screamed that splitting up was a bad idea. While he usually didn't question his intuition, he couldn't deny that Kurt Crawford's reappearance had dredged up some of his worst anxieties and fears. Scully's cancer. Her abduction. That damn chip. Mulder sucked in a breath, suppressing a shiver. Yeah, lots of anxieties, all right. No wonder his protective instinct was going into overdrive. He exhaled, loud in the still air of the car, his mouth suddenly dry. He took another swallow of his drink, then reached toward the bag of chips on the passenger seat. His hand brushed against the poster, and a smile flashed across his lips. Really, he couldn't believe she'd given it to him. That she had her own version of 'I want to believe'." That she'd bared her devotion to their work -- and to him? -- so explicitly. Damn. He should have held her, touched her, again. He'd wanted to, as he'd stood by her door, unable to find the words to tell her what the poster, and her declarations, had meant to him. Like an idiot, he'd let himself think about it long enough to worry how she would react if he'd embraced her again. His first hug had been in reaction to her giving him the poster. If he'd done it again, how would he explain it -- an encore? So he'd lost his nerve, and the moment was lost. Damn Diana and her lousy timing. A car horn behind him startled him out of his reverie; Mulder realized he was stopped at a green light. He stomped on the gas pedal. Only a few more blocks to the Hoover Building. This had better be good, Diana. =Damn= good. If you dragged me over here for another half-assed attempt at apologizing, like your little visit last night... Her visit last night. <"You could still have the X-Files back, Fox. Agent Spender's heart isn't in it, but he's afraid to say so. I could talk to Skinner, get you transferred back -- "> Christ, what if she pitched =that= idea again? Surely he must have made it clear he wasn't interested, but... What if that was why she wanted him to come to the basement office? What if... what if... Holy shit. What if it wasn't her idea? Diana's suggestion had seemed so outrageous at the time. Why hadn't he examined it more closely? Stunned, Mulder considered the possibilities. What if someone else -- Skinner? -- was trying to give him and Scully a way to get the X-Files back? <"I'm no help to you outside the majority, Agent Mulder."> After OPR had refused to give the X-Files back to him and Scully, Skinner had implied that he would help when he could. It was Skinner who had given him the file on the EBE in Phoenix. After that fiasco, though, Skinner had been ordered to have no contact with his former agents. Since Diana and Agent Spender reported to him, he could have suggested to Diana... Christ. Mulder's mind clicked over the steps, rapid-fire. Diana would replace Spender with him. He'd be back on the X-Files. He would work with Scully unofficially, like they had the first time the X-Files had been shut down. Then he would finagle Scully back on officially. But then, how to get Diana =off= the X-Files? She was a capable investigator, certainly, but once Scully was back on Diana would be a third wheel. Another issue: would Scully even agree to come back with Diana there, even if it were only temporary? Jesus... what the hell was he thinking? Getting the X-Files back meant getting them back for =both= Scully and him. Otherwise, no deal. He'd told his partner as much the previous day. <"It's no contest, Scully. I'd rather work with you on fertilizer duty than be on the X-Files without you."> And it wouldn't be right to jerk Diana around like that. To use her like that. No matter how pissed off he was at her for what she'd done and said to Scully. Mulder pulled into the Hoover Building's garage and parked as close as he could to the doors. As he cleared the empty wrappings from his lunch off his lap, his cell phone rang. "Mulder." "It's me." Mulder smiled at the soft sound of Scully's voice. Amazing -- she didn't sound pissed off at all. In fact, she sounded almost... upbeat. Considering his high strung -- for him! -- behavior at her apartment, he was lucky she wasn't reading him the riot act. "Hey, Scully. What's up?" "Where are you?" "In my car. I just got here." She made a small humming sound. "I found what we need. How soon...?" He nodded into the phone. "I'm gonna go for a new land speed record here, Scully. I'll call you when I'm leaving." He could almost hear her nodding in return. "I'll be here." For a moment Mulder considered apologizing. Sorry for being such an ass before, Scully. But he could see his watch out of the corner of his eye. Apologize and run? No -- he'd tell her later. On the plane, maybe. So instead he said, "I'll be in touch," and thumbed off the phone. Mulder sat for a few seconds, eyes squeezed shut, picturing himself driving off without seeing Diana. But then he saw himself trying to explain his no-show to her later. No, it would be easier to just get it over with. Besides, if this e-mail really was something he could help with... Mulder huffed out a breath, opened his eyes, and realized he was staring down at the poster. He reached over and stroked it with the back of his finger. Once, twice, three times. New land speed record, Mulder. Remember? He sighed, pocketed his phone, and went to meet Diana Fowley. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 11 - ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com.