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Rated: PG
Category: Post-Ep.
Spoilers: E.B.E.
Feedback: patfiler2016@outlook.com
Archive: Gossamer. None others without asking,
please. Common courtesy.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, Fox
Studios, yada yada yada... No money; no desire to step
on toes.
Mulder sat at the bar, his sleeves rolled up and five o'clock
shadow about five hours old. Three shots down and another
ordered. He seldom did this, but he felt lost. When he felt lost,
he went out to be away from himself.
He thought maybe whiskey could tame his self-loathing mood.
"Another," he said quietly to the bartender.
"Enough," he was told. "In this town, I'm liable."
"Please?" Mulder pleaded. He wanted to be totaly lost to the
drink. As if that have staved off the self-flagulation in his head
--the voice that told him he hadn't done enough to get something
he could use to prove a conspiracy, find his sister, and get a life.
The thunderous hoots and hollers as the patrons applauded their
chosen hockey teams echoed between his ears. He rolled his
eyes at the thought that these people might some day be
cheering, or booing if the team was losing, as aliens were
roaming the earth and it disgusted him.
"Need a drive back?"
That female voice from behind him. How long had 'she'
been standing there? "Siddown, Scully... havva... want a
drink?"
"No, thanks. You heard the man. Pay your bill and let's get
going. Plane leaves in the morning." Scully grabbed her
partner's jacket from the coat rack.
Mulder planted a few bills on the bar and nodded for the
man to keep the change.
"Where'd you park the car?" She noticed he was quite
unsteady once they were outside of Scraggley's Bar.
"I walked from the motel," Scully advised him.
"One block that way," he motioned to his right.
"Keys?"
"Hotwired. I'm posing as 'not me' tonight."
She could tell he was lying. "Just... give me the keys and
we'll get you ready to go home tomorrow." Once they were
inside Mulder's motel room, Scully handed him a Starbuck's
coffee and sat beside him on the bed.
"Drink up. You're dehydrated and emotionally cold."
"Yeah, Scully. We got nothing this time. We came, we saw,
we travelled all over the damn countryside, and came away
with a whole lotta nothing."
Scully nodded. "I know, Mulder. At least we're on the same
page."
"No we're not. You're there to watch my work." The sneer
on Mulder's mug could have melted the creaky old bedframe.
"Look, I'm in the same boat you are. I report what we see and
do, I collate my evidence, and I have just as much lack of
evidence as you. So, I figure I'm stuck as much as you are --
as if anybody believes what I have to say, either."
"Yeah. Page one. Blank sheet of paper. That's where it all
leads. They can shoot 'em down and pretend it's for the war
effort whenever there is a war, and whenever there's not,
they call it invading so-and-so's air space. It sucks."
Scully stood to leave. "You get some sleep. And as for me,
I'll be staring at good old page one with you for as long as
they allow. And who knows, maybe we will get to page two,
three, however far our investigation goes along the way."
Mulder crawled under the covers, "Even if it means we find
extrater... dammit... aliens."
"Even if we find extraterrestrial biological entities, Mulder.
Get some sleep." She turned out the lights, and slowly left
the room. "I'm stuck with you either way, but it's not
something I object to."
"Yup, back to good old page one," Mulder told himself. "At
least Scully IS on my side."
END
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