Disclaimer: Alas, alack, they are not mine. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Title: Country of the Crepescule: Do You Like Our Owl? Author: Dryad Rating: PG13, MS-something, Doggett-friendly Spoilers: Ayuh. 'Three Words' Archive: Yes please. A note where would be nice. Summary: Meet the kinder, gentler Bill Scully Note: Major reference to 'Ravens and Crows' - although this story is not a sequel, and can be read without having read R&C, it may not have the same emotional impact. All of the stories in this series are standalones. Read in any order ya like. Finally, thanks to Janet and Foxsong for your quick betas! Feedback: Be brutal. You know you want to. Country of the Crepescule: Local Boy - available now Mother's Milk - available now Scene from a Road Trip - future release Catch a Falling Star - available soon Do You Like Our Owl? - available now 'And in the evening He writes poetry for people Who deny he's alive and say "I'll mention that name"' Gary Numan/Only a Downstat/Replicas (Beggars Banquet Remasters) "I have to stop at Mulder's," she said, fiddling with her seatbelt. Bill scowled and tapped the brakes, glanced at her. "I thought this was going to be our night, just the two of us." "He's sick, Bill. He took yesterday off," she readjusted the torso strap. "His immune system is severely compromised. I need to make sure he's all right." As much as he would have liked to argue the point, he decided not to. The revelation of her pregnancy had been shocking on the heels of Mulder's disappearance. Bill shivered. The man's death and consequent resurrection was so extraordinary, so unbelieveable, that if he had been a complete stranger, Bill might have thought he was the second Coming. But - it was Mulder. The journey was relatively quick, considering the traffic and weather conditions. Raindrops rattled on the roof of the car like tiny hailstones, coating the windshield almost too quickly for the wipers to cope. Crimson taillights cleared and blurred, cleared and blurred, punctuated by hollow white low-beams and the cold roseate glow of sodium streetlamps. The parking lot was full, but Bill finagled an empty space next to one of the dumpsters near the entrance. He crowded under the umbrella with Dana, hoping that Mulder was fine, reading a book or jerking off or doing whatever he did with his free time so that they could get to the damned restaurant already. Christ, he'd been lucky to get the reservation. Inside, the lobby was clean and undecorated apart from the olive green Greek Key on the linoleum floor. Dana stopped by the mailboxes, dialling in number forty-two's combination. "Isn't that a Federal offense?" he said. She removed several white envelopes and a couple of neon green True Value flyers. "Only if I read it." Which she would have done upon his disappearance. Bill winced. He felt as if there was nothing he could say which wouldn't be a reminder of the dead Fox Mulder. During the last annual gathering of the Scully clan he'd made a disparaging comment about the Knicks to someone, and quite suddenly had found himself on the receiving end of more stats about the damned team than he'd known what to do with from Dana. What made it even worse was that as far as he knew, she didn't even like basketball. Neither did he, for that matter, but that wasn't the point. Hell, she'd never liked sports, for all of her attempts to play football with him and Charlie and Dad when they were kids. She had no right using that tone of voice with him, she wasn't his enemy, not any more. Once, he'd gently suggested she worry more about the miracle inside her than the man who'd obviously run scared from the responsibility. Wrong. He'd offered to be her partner in the delivery room. Wrong. He'd made the apparently grave error of asking what she was going to do with the sizable estate she had inherited. Whoopass wrong. So now he tried to keep his trap shut. But, Jesus, two houses on Martha's Vineyard, another in Connecticut, and a summer home in Rhode Island? A heap of stocks in some very large corporations, everything from pharmaceuticals and energy to futurities and US Bonds? Mom had practically whispered the info into the phone, as if she were afraid Dana would overhear all the way from Georgetown. At least for once Mulder had had the decency to cede everything to Dana, instead of her doing the reverse. The elevator smelled like all elevators, full of stale electricity and machine oil, the almost unnoticeable scent of transience underlying the lingering stench of floral perfume and Chinese food. The door slid open to reveal a stunningly attractive woman holding a large black and white cat. The cat was wearing a red harness and leash. "Dana!" The woman cried, stepping back to let them out. "Hi, Bryan." Bryan? Odd name for a woman. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and huge brown eyes framed by jet eyelashes. Dressed in a loose sweatshirt, cargo pants, and loafers, she looked comfortable yet classy. But women rarely had hands that large or shoulders that wide or hips that narrow. The voice was just ambiguous enough to be taken either way. Jesus. "How is he?" Dana shrugged. "Doing as well as can be expected given the circumstances." "Yeah," Bryan glanced at Bill curiously, then smiled to himself. "Shocked the hell out of me when he knocked on my door. Scrooge just ran right up and curled himself around Fox's ankles, didn't you my widdle puddy? Aren't you a good boy, my smart, smart kiddypins?" Gah, it was enough to make a man ill. Bill sighed and tried not to look too impatient. He was starving, damn it. Bryan rubbed the cat's back and said, "I missed him." Dana put one hand on his arm, which surprised Bill. Never the most demonstrative person, she had grown increasingly less affectionate as time had passed. "How's the little one?" asked Bryan, nodding at Dana. The corners of her mouth turned up. "We're fine." "Good," he said. The cat mrowed and headbutted its owner's chin. "The lord and master has spoken. Time for this big boy's evening constitutional. You tell him to come over anytime he wants, okay?" "I will," Dana said, already heading down the hall. Bill didn't know why she bothered to knock on forty-two's door, she already had the key in her hand and in the lock before the echo of their footsteps had died away. From the few times he'd met Mulder, he'd figured the man was a jerk, a hole surrounded by ass who'd led Dana into terrible situations and almost gotten her killed more than once, and those were only the times he knew about. One of his buddies had taped that stupid episode of COPS - Jesus, he was still trying to live that down - never mind the thirty or forty videos of The Lazarus Bowl that had passed through his possesion. Why people seemed to think giving him a copy so funny was beyond his comprehension. Sometimes he caught his superiors looking at him oddly, usually before they asked how his sister was recovering, which always made him feel stupid, because most of the time he didn't even know where she was much less what she had been doing. He knew there had been something behind all of those long, strange silences. He remembered dropping by Mom's one evening only to find Dana lying on the couch, channel surfing. Despite her protestations to the contrary, her bandaged hands, her hoarse voice, the black patches of dead skin on her forehead and cheeks had all pointed to cold weather action and subsequent hospitilization. The kicker was her refusal to tell him or their mother what had happened. '"It's confidential"' she kept saying, over and over until he'd wanted to slap her silly. Anyway, after COPS he'd reached the conclusion that Mulder was utterly delusional, and judging by Dana's onscreen response, she felt the same way. Which was why he had been stunned a few months later by the depth of her grief at his 'death'. So now he was exceedingly curious to find out what in the man could make his sister so loyal, so hard, so. . .different. Who the hell was Fox Mulder, and how was it he moved everyone so strongly? His mother, both sisters, the damned neighbor. "Mulder?" Dana called, turning on lights as she moved from room to room. The apartment was obviously a bachelor pad. Bill was disgusted with himself for liking it. He loved Tara, he did, but there were days when he could do without chintz-covered furniture and Floral Breeze carpet deoderizer and pinochle night with 'The Girls'. "Mulder - " The plaintive tone grabbed Bill's attention. He followed Dana into the bedroom. Double bed, navy paisley comforter, hardwood floors, dresser with gun, wallet, and watch on top, two matching nightstands, a plant, a couple of lamps. Bill approved. Mulder was awake, peering at them, at Dana, actually, dismissing Bill almost immediately. His eyes were overly bright, cheeks pink and shiny. Dana pursed her lips and felt his forehead. "Fever. Bill, see if there's any cold medication in the bathroom, please." Following orders was ever his strong suit. Whatever else could be said about Mulder, he certainly wasn't a slob. The bathroom was neat and clean, not even a whiff of mildew lingering around the bathtub curtain. The medicine cabinet provided an empty bottle of generic aspirin and a tin of glow-in-the-dark Stars and Comets BandAids. Bill shook his head. The man was a child in a grownup's body. "Sorry, there's nothing in there," he said, returning to the bedroom. "Y'know, if we don't get going we're going to lose our table." He was hungry all right, hungry for Dana's company. The chances of actually making it to the restaurant were getting slimmer with each passing moment. Mulder was a grown man for God's sake, he could take care of himself. Right? If Mulder was a child then Dana appeared happy enough to play mommy. He could tell by the way she sat on the bed, gazing at her partner's flushed face. Ah, and judging by the look she was now giving him, once again he was wrong. Shit. "Just tell me what to get." "No, it'll be quicker if I go. You don't know the neighborhood." Bill watched them watching one another, and abruptly felt like an intruder in some extremely private love scene. People shouldn't behave like that, not in public where everyone could see. Especially not between people who weren't even married. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Dana awkwardly leaned forward, huge belly in the way, hair falling over her cheek. For a moment Bill thought they were going to smooch, but she tilted her head up at the last second and kissed Mulder's forehead instead. The look on her face was tender, as if he were the only person in the world who mattered. Hell, maybe he was. Mulder certainly mirrored her expression back, only at her midsection as she sat up. "We're fine," she said. Mulder quirked an eyebrow and she laughed, if a breathy snort could be called a laugh. "I won't be too long." "I'll call the restaurant and see if we can get a later reservation," Bill said, walking her to the door. She pursed her lips and dropped her eyes to his chest before heading off, which was never a good sign. So now it was just Mulder and him. Bill sighed. He went back into the bedroom and eyed the other man. "Have you eaten today?" Mulder licked his lips, which Bill took to be a negative. He went into the kitchen and started opening cabinets. Plenty of dried goods, too many for a single man. Mulder didn't strike him as being particularly domestic. The fridge was home to several bottles of Snapple Mint Iced Tea and Poland Spring, a bag of oranges, another of carrots and yet a third with orange bell peppers. Maybe he was low on Vitamin A. Bill opened a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle and a box of Saltines, fixed Mulder a bowl of hot soup and a small dish of crackers plus a large tumbler of water, brought them into the bedroom on a tray he had found lurking underneath the sink. Setting the tray to one side, he helped Mulder sit up, shoved the extra pillows behind his back. He was briefly tempted to feed him after watching his trembling hands raise and lower the spoon, but pride and common sense kicked the idea to the back of his mind. He was reminded of Dana's cancer, all those years ago. She'd been thin beyond comparison, looking like a famine victim as the days shortened and eternal night grew closer. "I love my sister," he blurted. Mulder gazed at him, bleary eyes glittering in the soft light. Horrified and obscurely ashamed at his confession, as if expressing love for one's sibling was unmanly, Bill fled to the living room. Mulder of all people. Christ. Shaking his head at his own folly, he called The Continental and was able to get a short extension on their reservation. He then wandered around the living room, checked out the videos and dvd's. Ha, no damned Lazarus Bowl here. He had the Compleat Police Squad! On dvd, though, which was a good sign. A few more titles, mostly movies he'd never heard of - Tremors, Deep Rising, Flesh Gordon, The Jerk, Spinal Tap. It appeared that Mulder's flights of fancy stemmed from sources other than Hollyweird. At least he recognized some of the cd's sitting on top of the stereo. Elvis, couldn't go wrong there. Cream, the Rolling Stones - pfagh, he'd rather listen to Johnny Cash or Patty Loveless. Motown greats - Aretha Franklin, Smokey Robinson, Marvin Gaye. Who was it Missy used to listen to? That song that Bowie and Mick Jagger remade in the 80's, Dancing in the Streets? Martha Reeves and the Vandella's? Yeah, Martha Reeves. That whole summer had been crazy, with Charlie just starting to go off the deep end, Missy smoking pot with her so-called 'friends' in that grimy pool hall with the neon pink sign. He found some Electric Light Orchestra, a lot of Tom Petty. Who the hell were the Masters of Reality or Morphine? Zero 7? Talking Heads? DJ Krush? God, he was getting old. There were classical cd's too, which surprised him. Never mind domestic, Mulder didn't seem like a classical kind of guy either. Handel's Water Music, Beethoven's 6th and 7th symphonies, Holst' Planets, Poulenc's Gloria. Ah, the picture was coming in more clearly now. These were some of Dana's favorites. He frowned. There was meaning here, but damned if he could figure out what it was. The desk was littered with papers, books, the requisite computer, an old fashioned microscope like the kind he'd used in school, and other knickknacks. Along the back edge were three pictures in polished cherry burlwood frames. On the left was a posed photo of a dark-haired boy and girl on a beach in winter. Both had beaming bright smiles despite the girl's two missing front teeth, the boy with one arm slung around the girl's shoulders. Dead center was another black and white snapshot, slightly blurred as if the picture had been taken while the subjects or photographer were moving. Mulder was in profile, looking down at something in his hands and laughing, while Dana faced the camera almost straight on. She was gazing at him with an enormous grin, leaning hard against his shoulder. On the far right, but impossible to overlook, was a pen and ink drawing of Mulder, Dana and - Cher? Whatever. There were more books in the display case, Wharton, Joyce, Bukowski, Clarke-Evans, Meade, Burgess. Probably obscure titles about the paranormal and the scientific. God, there were even a few by that hack, Jose Chung. Tara loved that crap, ate it up with a spoon no matter how much he told her it was all nonsense. Thank God, at least Dana had enough on the ball not to feed into her fantasies. Of course, Dana had had her own problems that Christmas, not that he believed that poor kid was hers for a second. He figured the fish had already been fed, and was just about to sit down when by the wall, a flash of reflected tanklight caught his eye. Reaching behind the couch, he pulled out a soft package and yet another book. Bill snorted in disbelief. A 24 pack of Huggies. A bright yellow, soft bound edition of Parenting for Dummies. Oh, this was surreal. He heard a key in the front door and hastily shoved the items back where they belonged, then threw himself onto the couch. "That was quick." Dana shut the door and nodded, white plastic bag swinging from one hand. "I thought it best." Which wasn't a resounding statement of her trust in him, but then there hadn't been a lot of that between the two of them since the incident in Baltimore. And to be fair, he wasn't exactly Fox Mulder's greatest fan. He went into the kitchen, watched her put three cartons of OJ and two of cranberry into the fridge. She put a bottle of aspirin, another of Tylenol, some multivitamins, Echinacea capsules, and a box of ImmunoTea on the counter. "He'll never be sick again with all of that in his system." "That's the general idea," she murmured, grabbing the aspirin and a bottle of water. Bill followed her back into the bedroom, nearly running into her when she abruptly halted. She looked over her shoulder, both eyebrows sky high. "I, uh, brought him some soup, I hope that's okay," he said, shifting from foot to foot. Her eyes dropped to his chest again, lips curving up ever so slightly. "Yeah. That's okay." Mulder had fallen asleep, and Bill decided to wait in the living room while Dana did her doctor stuff. The only thing worse than having to go see a doctor was having to watch another man undergo the same horror. He heard the low murmur of conversation for a moment, then Dana exited the bedroom, gently closing the door behind her. "Ready to go?" "Sure," she said, mouth tightening briefly. Why couldn't he ever get it right with her? She'd obviously done her best by Mulder, now they could go to dinner and have a normal conversation about family, about the things that really mattered. -- Country of the Crepescule: Do You Like Our Owl? By Dryad 2/3, disclaimed in part the first, PG13 'Time heals nothing It merely rearranges our memories In zero bars Even time no longer seems Willing to try' Gary Numan/Zero Bars (Mr Smith)/Tubeway Army It wasn't quite a disaster. The food was good - lemon sole on a bed of spinach risotto for her, steak Diane with summer vegetables and new potatoes for himself. Personally, he was over the risotto fad. Now that Tara had finally learned how to make it the right way, it seemed like it was the only side dish they ever ate anymore. Halfway through a rare, third glass of wine, lassitude working through his muscles, stomach content with bread and salad and beef, his brain decided to take a little stroll. "So, are you moving back home with Mom?" Dana blinked, fork halfway to her mouth. A grain of rice fell back onto the plate. "I'm sorry?" "Well," he said, shrugging. "I was thinking you'd need help around the house. I mean, nannies are all well and good, but can you really afford to have one around when you go back to work?" "I'm not moving to Baltimore. I don't know why you think I would." Bill frowned. "You've only got what, three months of maternity leave, how are you going to work it? We never went to daycare, and neither should your baby. I wouldn't allow Matthew in one those places for love nor money." "What makes you I can't do this on my own, Bill? There are plenty of single mothers, single parents - " "They're not my only sister," he stabbed a piece of meat, clear juices running into the peppercorn studded gravy. "I don't care about them, I care about you, dammit!" "I appreciate that," she said, motioning for him to keep his voice down. 'But', he mentally supplied. "But we'll be fine." "How?" Her lips quirked. "Well, besides Mom, I've got three babysitters all ready to go. One of them is even willing." He recalled Huggies behind a leather couch and pressed on, knowing exactly how his next question was going to sound. "And Mulder?" She looked at him narrowly. "What about him?" "For Christ's sake, do I have to spell it out for you? Is he the father?" For a long moment she stared at her plate. "You would be happier if he was completely out of my life, wouldn't you." Duh. "Bill, you're my brother. We've not had the easiest of relationships - " "We were fine," he stressed the last word. "before you left med school. You changed." "You make it sound like something I should apologize for." "No," he paused and swallowed the remaining wine in his glass, decided to finish off the bottle. "I mean, things are different between us now." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head a little, obviously not getting his point. "We grew up." "But you weren't like this before you met Mulder. He's done something to you, changed you in a way I don't understand. You're different," he said, shrugging helplessly. "Of course I am. The things I've seen, the things I've done, having a child I didn't even know about - " Bill snorted and rolled his eyes. "Don't start that again. Mom told me about your supposed infertility - " "Cancer, being shot, conspiracy upon conspiracy. . ." she continued as if he hadn't spoken, then trailed off for a few seconds. "That incident with Matty. I would never hurt my own child, if that's what you're really concerned with." "God, Dana, of course not!" he was shocked she would even say such a thing. The things he had thought on that day, the things he had said - in retrospect he had had no idea he could be so cruel. However, the past was set, and the important thing was that they were on the road to being a family again. Although if he were truly honest with himself, he had thought about it, had discussed it with Tara, even broaching the topic with Mom, who had been less than accomodating to the idea. Nonetheless, he had seen the unvoiced worry in her eyes. "Good. Because I will protect this baby at the sacrifice of everything - and everyone - that I know, including you." "What about Mulder?" "He would do the same." They skipped dessert. She drove towards Mulder's without a word while he sat in the passenger seat, pondering their conversation. Surely she didn't think he was a danger to his new niece or nephew? Her tone had been. . .not exactly accusatory. But how could she not expect him to think of it, considering what had happened with Matty? Of course she was right, their relationship was no longer as solid as it had been when they were children, that was a given. Yet how could he explain to her that she was a stranger? Okay, yeah, they saw one another at Christmas, provided he was on leave, yet she never talked to him, and as far as he knew she didn't really talk to Mom or Tara either. When they chatted about shows on tv, or books they'd read or movies they'd seen, Dana was silent, smiling occasionally at funny quips, asking a question or two, but never discussing what she had been doing at work. In a way, Bill could understand the need for silence. She worked for the government, just as he did. Sometimes he was free to be specific about where he was, sometimes he wasn't, that was just the nature of the work, but safeguarding the country wasn't part of her job. Hell, she worked in the goddamned basement of the Hoover Building! And she seemed satisfied to stay there. He looked at her curiously. "Why?" "Why what?" "Why did you join the FBI?" She glanced at him, turned off the radio and the spring training report in mid- '- out of left field, it's - '. "Y'know, that's the first time you've ever asked me that question." "No it isn't." "Yes, Bill, it is." He flipped one hand at her. "Whatever." After a minute she said, "Why did you join the Navy?" "Because I wanted to. I wanted to serve my country like Dad, I wanted him to be proud of me," he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. 'I wanted him to be proud of me'. Christ, he sounded like a candy-assed pansy. "He was proud of you. I think you were the son he always wanted." But Dana had always been the apple of their father's eye. "I can tell by your silence that you disagree," she said drily. "You were always his favorite," Bill said, refusing to acknowledge her irritated glance in his direction. "That's bullshit and you know it." "I do? Come on, who was it he talked about whenever I called home? It was Dana this, Dana that, Dana graduated top of her class, Dana's going to Med school, Dana's engaged - " "Wh-what?" He rested his hot cheek against the cool glass of the window, a little surprised by her shocked tone. "Yeah, to Ethan. It was all Mom could talk about for hours." "Bill, Ethan never asked to marry me." "Yeah, Dana, he did. He said he surprised you when you got back from your first case with Mulder," Ethan had been ecstatic over the phone. He was all right, not the kind of man Bill had ever thought Dana would go for, but whatever, it was her choice. "I think I'd remember if a man wanted to marry me," she mused. "No wonder everyone was so upset when we broke up." Another minute passed. Bill twisted his wedding ring to and fro. "You haven't answered my question." "I don't know what to tell you, Bill. The chance to solve a mystery, to bring justice to those who would otherwise be forgotten," she shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. "There are plenty to speak for the living, few who speak for the dead." "You always did like Quincy," He muttered. "Why the FBI?" "Why not? Where better to use those skills I worked so hard for? Anyway, didn't I just answer that question?" "Was Missy's death worth it?" When she finally spoke her voice was low. "How dare you. How dare you say that to me." "Someone has to," he sniped, shifting back against the seat. "Jesus, Dana! This family has lost so much because of your job! Because of Mulder!" "Oh, now you're being ridiculous," she spat. "You think I don't feel guilty? You think I'm off doing things of no importance simply because I don't report back to you or Mom? Well, let me tell you something, Bill. I would have gotten cancer regardless of my work. Ahab would still have died. And without the X Files I would never have met the wonderful, amazing, brilliant man with whom I've shared some of the most important moments in my life. We've solved the unsolveable, confronted evil itself, saved millions of lives. Yes, it's been dangerous, and yes, both Mulder and I have almost lost our lives more times than I care to recall, but I wouldn't change that for the world. Not one, single, solitary thing." Too late, Bill remembered that out of all of them, Dana had been the one who always stuck by her choices, even when she was wrong. "And what's more, both Dad and Melissa would understand, so why can't you?" The rest of the trip was made in silence. Back inside Mulder's apartment, Bill watched Dana wash the dishes and wipe down the counters, her movements quick and edgy. She refused to look him in the eye, answering any comment he made with monotone yes's and no's. He wouldn't apologize for what he had said in the car, for whether or not she wanted to admit it, deep down inside she had to know he was right. "Right," Dana muttered. "I'm going to stay here tonight, make sure Mulder doesn't get any worse. You can take the car - " "No, no way," Bill shook his head. "You need to rest in your own bed. You're pregnant, for God's sake." "I had noticed." "Listen, why don't I stay here," he held up one placating hand. "This way you can check on Mulder in the morning, then take me directly to Baltimore. I'm still a little buzzed, and I don't want to navigate unfamiliar streets. You need to get some sleep, you look exhausted." "I don't know. . ." Bill glanced heavenward. "Look, I promise I won't beat him up. The couch seems comfy - " "It is." ". . .and. . .I'm sure we'll both be fine." She nodded, slowly twisting the kitchen towel. "Okay. But you'll call me if anything happens, right?" "Of course." Once again, he found himself trailing after her as she checked up on Mulder one last time. She grabbed a spare pillow and another blanket out of the closet, rummaged around in one of the bureau's and handed him a tee shirt and a pair of gray sweats that had seen better days. Pragmatic, that's what she was. She would go through anyone's drawers if she needed to find something for someone. Afterwards, he helped her with her coat, straightening her collar and wrapping a scarf around her neck. She frowned and twitched away. "Bill, enough." As seemed to be his habit, a guilty conscience and sobriety made him speak up as she opened the door. "I just, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about what happened in the car. A little too much wine, y'know?" "No, I don't know. You tell yourself whatever you want, but quite frankly, that's the last I ever want to hear concerning your opinion of myself or Mulder. Good night." Bill locked the door and turned off the kitchen light, slowly walked into the living room. He undressed, hanging his clothes neatly over the desk chair, then got comfy on the couch. It was only later, staring at the Weather Channel, that he realized she had never answered his original question. What about Mulder? Was he the father? And what the hell had she meant when she said they had saved millions of lives? It hadn't sounded like a slip of the tongue, in fact she had said it with such conviction he was almost persuaded she was telling the truth. Making a mental note to do some research through FOIA, and maybe call in a few favors from Giles at ONI, he turned off the tv and snuggled more deeply under the blanket. Before he closed his eyes, he briefly pondered the irony of being in Mulder's apartment, sleeping on Mulder's couch, attending to a sick Mulder. When the hell had he turned into Dana? Somewhere, the proverbial Murphy was laughing his ass off. -- Country of the Crepescule: Do You Like Our Owl? By Dryad 3/3 disclaimed in part the first, PG13 ' You are in my vision - I can't turn my face You are in my vision - I can't move my eyes You are in my vision - I can't move at all You are in my vision - ' Gary Numan/You Are In My Vision/Replicas (Beggars Banquet original release) A damp-haired, boxer-clad Fox Mulder scratching his balls was the last thing Bill never wanted to see, especially at. . . seven forty-five in the morning. Yeah, it was a guy thing, and yeah, Navy life made you immune to it. Kind of. Mostly. Bill pushed the blankets to one side and sat up, rubbed his face with both hands. "You're looking better." "Yeah, Scully worked her magic once again," Mulder said. "Don't let me keep you from anything you need to be doing, I'll be fine." "Thanks, but I don't think Dana would forgive me." Mulder nodded slowly, obviously mulling over something. Don't bring it up, don't bring it up, don't bring it up - "I wasn't sure. It's been awhile." Christ, what the hell had she told him? He was not going to let himself be interrogated about his relationship with his own sister by Fox Mulder. "What the hell would you know about it?" "I was there, Bill. I know she's found it hard to forgive herself." "So?" "I think she's far more lenient where you're concerned than the reverse." Bill shook his head wearily. He should have known better. Mulder didn't have children, didn't understand the fear every parent had of outliving their offspring, never mind the unimaginable, having your own sibling threaten them. "What do you want me to say? That I was too harsh? I'll grant you that, but I ask you to consider what you would have done in the same situation." He stopped for a moment, then tried to explain further, wondering why he was bothering to justify his actions. "Before she joined the FBI, Dana would never have dreamed of doing such a thing, don't you see that? She's irrational at the best of times, her career is ruined, she's put our entire family in danger for reasons she refuses to explain, hell, Melissa was murdered because of her! She used to be soft and caring and kind, with a good career in her future, good men. What does she have now? Nothing." Before Mulder had a chance to rebut, someone kicked the door a couple of times. One hand on his hip, the other covering his mouth, he took a couple of steps towards the door before abrupty swinging around. "I think it's time you stopped looking for the sister you want Dana to be, and see her for the woman she is." What the hell did that mean? If he had ever wondered who Dana had gotten her cryptic manner of speaking from, the answer was now clear. Maybe that was her at the door, and he could get the hell out of Dodge. His luck had never been good. Bill nodded a greeting at the man, another trench-clad suit with craggy features and ice blue eyes, who viewed him with the same suspicion Dana did when she met strangers. 'Cop eyes', she called it. The man carried two paper cups of what smelled like coffee in his hands. "Agent Doggett," Mulder said. "This is Bill Scully." "Hi. You related to Agent Scully?" Doggett put the cups on the table, then held out one hand. Bill shook, got a good feel for the man based on his grip. Not too soft, not too strong, dry, calloused skin, hot from the coffee. "I'm her older brother." "Call me John. I haven't worked with her for that long, but she's one hell of an Agent, Mr. Scully. You should be very proud of her." He didn't quite know what to say to that, so he simply nodded. "What can I do for you, Agent Doggett?" asked Mulder, now scratching his belly. "I was looking for Agent Scully, is she here?" "She will be." The other man motioned towards Mulder. "Hell of a bullet scar." Mulder touched the ridged skin on his shoulder, smirked at Bill. "Little love tap from your sister." "I figured her for a better shot," He answered sourly. "Got between her and a suspect, huh?" asked Doggett. Mulder snorted. "No." Doggett's expression smoothed over. "Right. . ." You and me both, buddy, Bill wanted to say. He wondered if there was any chance of getting the particulars behind that story before Dana arrived. Maybe Mom knew. "I, uh, only brought two coffees." "That's okay," Mulder flipped one hand in the air. "I'm off it at the moment, just doesn't taste right. If you'll excuse me, I need food." Bill didn't hesitate to snag the nearest cup with anticipation. Breakfast of champions. And not the sort from that stupid book of the same title, the one by that author Giles couldn't get enough of. Agent Doggett - John - sat in the desk chair. "You live in DC?" "No, just came up from Baltimore for a quick visit with Dana." "That's good, she could use the support." Bill grimaced. Last night the thought had repeatedly occurred that his presence was only making things worse, not better. It just seemed that no matter what he did, what he said, it pissed her off. She had even rebuffed Tara's suggestions about when was best to have the baby shower. Okay, maybe he was biased, but Tara had been as pleasant as possible over the phone, while Dana had been nothing but a bitch. He'd wanted to call her back. Tara convinced him otherwise, with the added caveat that this was the last time she would try to help Dana in any way. '"Obviously she doesn't think she needs anyone's help," Tara had said. "We can see that, she can't," he'd answered, fearing for the ceramic figurines she was dusting with more than absolutely necessary force. "She's always been stubborn, and I can see that working at the FBI has only strengthened her resolve to let nothing inside. It takes time for her to remember we're not the bad guys." "You're her brother, it'll be up to you to deal with her, because I certainly can't," She stopped and glared at him. "You need to stop making excuses for her, Bill. Against my better judgement, I've given her chance after to chance to be my friend, even after that whole debacle the last time we were in Baltimore. I spent as much time with her during her cancer as I could. Did you forget how quickly she left after Matty was born? I made an effort to go to that little girl's funeral three days after giving birth! I was sore, I was in pain, yet I managed to be there in church, and what do I get in return - nothing! Sure, she sends gifts on Matty's birthday, but who calls who on the holidays? Half the time she cancels when she can be bothered to show up. And don't even get me started on the way she treats Maggie. It's bad enough that I can't even remember my own mother, God rest her soul, and to see Dana be cruel to Maggie," she shook her head. "I am so grateful to have your mother in my life, and Dana's so damned casual about her, as if it's guaranteed she'll be there forever, just waiting for a call from her only remaining daughter." He had stood there dumbly, shocked at her tirade. Although there was truth in her words, she wasn't from a Navy family, didn't understand the significance of the things Dana did do with the family. Then again, sometimes he had trouble convincing himself they were related at all. Christ, he'd had more intimate conversations his CO. He glanced at John. "Are you on the X Files with Dana?" John's gaze flickered towards the kitchen. "Until Mulder's back to full health, yeah." "Is Dana returning once the baby's born?" Okay, so it wasn't the most subtle question in the world, big whoop. If she didn't see fit to tell him what she was going to do, he'd find out any way he could. Even if it was from someone she'd never mentioned before. John blinked. "You'll have to ask her." Bill took a bathroom break, washed his face and finger-combed his hair. He wiped away the dew on the mirror, frowned a little. What was coming out of his nose? Without even a razor blade available to cut the offending hair, he braced himself and pulled it out with his fingertips. Dana was tossing her coat over the arm of the sofa when he stepped back into the living room, eyes still watering from the pain in his nostril. Mulder, now dressed in jeans and a white tee, leaned against the wall munching on a slice of toast, and John had risen to his feet. The atmosphere was subtly charged, although no one looked particularly perturbed. "Good morning," Dana said, slowly and carefully sitting down. "Sleep well?" "Fine, thanks," Bill answered, eyeing her with concern. Makeup couldn't hide the dark circles and pinched mouth, or how thin she was despite her new-found girth. He leaned against the desk, abruptly beguiled by the tableaux. Three men and a woman, all focussed on one little unborn baby. "Are you planning on going to the office today, Agent Doggett?" Dana asked, her voice dangerously mild. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I, uh, just wanted to know if you had the Goddard files with you." "Hang on, I'll get them," Mulder said, walking into the bedroom. He was back momentarily with several red-and-white striped manila folders in one hand, a plastic bottle in the other. "Thanks," John tucked them under his arm and picked up his cup. Bill watched as Mulder sat on the table, reached down and removed Dana's shoes before swinging her feet up onto his lap. Her mouth formed an 'O' of pleasure when he squeezed lotion onto his hands and began to work on her soles. God, he'd done the same for Tara all those years ago. It was another intimacy he wouldn't have witnessed had he not stayed over, but this time he was charmed rather than embarassed. He glanced over at John to share his amusement, and found something he was surprised to see. The look on his face. . .envy was a hard thing for a man to bear. "Well, I'd better get going," John nodded, apparently unaware of Bill's scrutiny. "I'll, uh, see you at work, Agent Scully." Neither Dana nor Mulder even glanced at the other man as he left the apartment, and Bill rather pitied him. Must have been tough, having to work with a beautiful woman who was so obviously completely uninterested in you. Thank God he was married to Tara. And thank God the Navy hadn't yet been totally swarmed with women. Not that he would ever leave Tara for the kind of females who joined the Armed Forces, hell no. He liked softness and femininity, not the ball-breakers he seemed to attract, although few were as hard as his sister. Who wasn't a ball-breaker. At least he didn't think she was. Not that he would know, never having seen her in her professional capacity, apart from that one camping trip. Okay, yeah, no, she wasn't a ball-breaker, she had simply been doing her job, and sometimes the attitude floated over into her personal life. Yeah, that was it. "Shower's free," said Mulder, making Dana squirm with whatever he was doing. "There's a clean towel on the back of the door." "Thanks," Bill studied them another moment, then headed towards the bathroom. Oddly enough, he felt better. Maybe because Dana hadn't ragged him about the bottle of wine he'd had last night, but probably because of the coffee. Good stuff, he wished he'd asked John where he'd gotten it. He stripped, adjused the temperature until it was just right, then stepped underneath the spray. Breakfast with Dana, hopefully in sit-down restaurant instead of McDonald's, and the drive to Baltimore in which to fully enjoy her company. He wouldn't mention Mulder, no, they'd just talk about the baby and what names she was thinking of, what it was like working in the office as opposed to the field, what her friends at the Bureau thought, topics which were all probably safe enough. Rinsing his hair clean of shampoo, it struck him how little they had to talk about. Talk about Mom and her social life, see if she was, God forbid, interested in anyone, and bring up Charlie, see if she'd spoken to him anytime recently. Mom was convinced he was doing better, but Bill had the feeling she was lying through her teeth, trying to persuade herself of the fiction instead of the reality. Muttering under his breath, Bill nudged the bottle of conditioner - what man in his right mind used conditioner anyway, and what the hell was with all the different types of soap? - out of the way with one hand, reaching for the towel, and flipped the shower-to- bath thingie with the other. So the plan was thus: breakfast, baby names, friends at work, Mom, Charlie, and failing all that, bombard her with Tara and her friends and what Matty was doing in school. Forget Mulder, who was the baby's father, if she was going to return the inheritance, if she was going to return to the X Files after her maternity leave. Bill laid the folded towel over the edge of the bathtub and dressed in yesterday's clothes. Wiping the steamy mirror once more, he looked himself firmly in the eye and nodded. He could do this. He could be supportive, no matter how much he disagreed with her choices. He could do this. He would do this. He would. "You watch, but you don't see." Karin Berquist, 'Alpha' Author's notes: This has taken me a ridiculously long time to write - as have most of my stories of the past few months - and I can't believe it's the last one I'm writing while the show is on the air. For those interested in such things, the title comes from Blade Runner, specifically the moment where Rachel meets Dekkard before she undergoes the Voight-Kampff test. I love the subtle testing of boundaries, the immediate attraction, and the consequent denial of said attraction, and the attempt at control. Sound at all familiar? '"A hole, surrounded by ass"' stolen from 'Dharma and Greg'. Flesh Gordon - why yes, it is the porn remake of Flash Gordon. Has to be seen to be believed. DJ Krush/Ki-Oku - The turntable maestro collaborates with veteran jazz trumpeter Toshinori Kondo. Buy it. Krush and Zen highly recommended. Parenting for Dummies - My future children will thank me for having bought this book. ImmunoTea - this is a trademarked tea. FOIA - the Freedom of Information Act ONI - Office of Naval Intelligence Quincy - 70's tv show about a Medical Examiner/Coroner Shower-to-bath thingie - what the heck are those things called, anyway? http://www.puritycontrol.co.uk -- "Understanding is a three-edged sword" Kosh, 'Deathwalker', Babylon 5