Disclaimer: Alas, alack, they are not mine. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Title: How She Is Author: Dryad Rating: R, V, MSR, A Spoilers: microscopic for 'Arcadia' Season: up to 'Je Souhaite' Archive: Yes please. A note where would be nice. Summary: First impressions and overheard conversations Note: This is a companion piece to 'Manitou', but is otherwise unrelated. Further commentary at end. Feedback: Be brutal. You know you want to. "Who could part him from her borders When spells are alway renewed on her? God! That mad'st her well regard her How she is so fair and bonny" Ezra Pound/Dieu! Qu'il la Fait/Early Poems Late December Maryland mid-morning Giles: "Come on!" Giles Darling tossed the empty Nestea can at the overflowing garbage bin and got into the front seat of the car. "Alright already, Jesus." Bill put the car into drive and peeled out of the gas station forecourt. "Sorry. I didn't think she'd agree to come. It's just been a long time since I've seen my sister, y'know?" Well, actually, he did. "I thought the point of this trip was to get away from all things female," he groused. He knew Bill didn't want to hear it, but damnit, he wasn't in the mood to deal with some chick who couldn't handle rusticity and screamed everytime a fish nibbled on the line. "Dana's not like other women," Bill answered. Giles glanced back at Rob in the back seat and rolled his eyes. Yeah, right, no sisters were ever like other women. In his experience and humble yet correct opinion, all women were the same, bottomless pits that never shut up and could never be satisfied. Good for one use, and one use alone. "You would say that, Bill, she's family," Rob said. "But that's ok, we understand." Jesus, was there any way Rob wouldn't suck up to Bill? Giles bit the inside of his cheek to keep the words from coming out. This had to be the last trip. He didn't think he could stand listening to their 'banter' in the next year. It wasn't that they weren't good guys, they were, but they lacked sophistication and culture. He wasn't exactly from the Hamptons himself, yet nevertheless he knew his Manet from his Monet, Degas from Chagall. He liked poetry, for godsakes. Would either of them understand that? Hell no. How to break it to them, how to gradually drift away without them recognizing what he was doing was the issue at hand...maybe the sister could be a distraction? "I'm sure we'll all have a great time, won't we, Rob?" After a long pause, Rob said, "Yeah." "Look, guys, if Kevin hadn't reneged at the last minute I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but the cabin's paid for, so I figured what the hell, invite Dana." Bill had once proudly shown Giles a picture of his family, taken years earlier at a picnic. Dad, Mom, two sisters and a younger brother. One of them had died, he couldn't remember which, the older or the younger. With luck it wouldn't be the pretty one. Families, who needed 'em. An hour later they entered DC city limits, and eventually made it to Georgetown, pulled up in front a small apartment building. A woman stood on the steps, hands in pockets, cyane scarf around her neck. "Hey, there she is!" Bill cried happily. Giles gave her the once over. A petite redhead, nothing much to look at really, not much breast on her judging by curve of the purple jacket she wore. Definitely not the pretty one. She looked frigid and bossy. Oh well, maybe there'd be a timid teenaged blonde at the general store looking for a man to show her the way of life. Yeah, and maybe the Pope shit in the woods. "Christ, look at that stupid fucker," Rob said once Bill had closed the door. "You only say that because you're an only child," Giles answered. "If you'd had any siblings you might feel differently." "Yeah? Well, you're an only child too, for all intents and purposes," retorted Rob. Giles folded his arms. So what if he had family? They hadn't exactly been bothered after they'd shoved him in that wretched home, had they? Bill: She was so tiny under the bulkiness of the jacket. So thin. Praise Mary she was still alive. He put her backpack in the trunk, got in the car and made introductions. "Rob Petrie, Giles Darling, this is my sister, Dana Scully." "Rob...Petrie?" She was looking at Rob with raised brows, as if she couldn't really believe that was his name. "Nice to meet you both." At least she'd gained some weight, ten, maybe fifteen pounds. It wasn't enough. He'd be happier with an additional five or ten, although he knew she'd never go for it. Women. Tara still complained about her post baby belly, refused to believe he was perfectly okay with it, that it made her all the more attractive in his eyes, proof of the validity of miracles. When had Dana grown so hard? She resembled an unscalable brick wall even more than the last time he had seen her. He could understand why, the nature of her job was such that a nonjudgemental demeanor was always called for. As an officer, he understood the necessity of maintaining the appearance of order amidst chaos, even if one was shaking in one's boots at the same time. As her big brother he wanted to hear her carefree laughter again, free from stress and worry, free from that asshole, God forgive the word passing his lips. She carried herself well, with authority. He wouldn't mess with her in a dark alley, that was for sure. She would have made a brilliant doctor, he had no doubt of that, although it was a good thing she'd never wanted to be a pediatrician. Of course, if she were a pediatrician, she wouldn't be a Fibbie. No, she'd be safely married with progeny of her own instead of being barren and scarred. God had taken more than His fair share from their family, but such was His will. Bill glanced in the rear view mirror, noticed her eyeing Rob as if he were a suspect. Did she have any idea she was doing it? Probably not. He wondered what other men thought of her, and tried to look at her objectively. First, she was beautiful. Not like Missy, who'd worn her femininity like old, comfortable clothing, but as a woman confident in herself and her abilities. Kissable lips...gah, he couldn't do it. She looked like his sister, dressed in jeans, sweater, jacket. He simply couldn't think of her as a man thinks of a woman, as a sexual creature, it somehow smacked of the taboo far too many crossed in this day and age. Yech. He shuddered while the warble of a cel phone cut through the silence. He frowned. Surely she'd taken the weekend off...? "Scully...Mulder, what's that noise?" Bill pursed his lips, forced himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel. That bastard. He just couldn't leave well enough alone, could he? "Hey Bill, could you p - " "Shut up, Giles," he hissed, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the image in the mirror. Shit, he'd missed what else she'd said. Giles shot him a murderous look, but that was okay, he'd get over it. Didn't the man understand that he needed to hear how she spoke, needed to hear the nuances in her tone? God, she'd turned away from them ever so slightly, staring out the window. That fucker was always interrupting, making her do things...That was what really rankled, the jerk didn't make her do a damned thing, she followed of her own accord, just as she had run after he and Missy when they were little. She didn't have the old look of adoration on her face, all wide-eyed and ready to believe anything the two of them told her, but he could feel its presence whenever she said her partner's name. Bill didn't like it. That kind of loyalty should've been reserved for her husband and family, not her so-called-partner, the one who gave her cancer and got her shot and kidnapped. A sudden thought horrified him - were they having sex? God, no! No, it couldn't be, Mom would have told him, or told Tara at the very least. Women weren't supposed to live in sin, old fashioned though that thinking was. Especially not his only remaining sister. Her voice rose, recapturing his attention. "What? I can't believe Skinner would do that, unless you think it came from higher up?" Bill skillfully passed the truck in front, taking frequent looks at Dana all the while. She wasn't happy. "Do you need me?" The answer made her smile, a very slight smile, nothing more than the corners of her mouth barely turning up. "I can be there in a few hours...you're sure?" He sighed loudly, threw 'get off the damned phone, you're being rude' vibes at her. Missy had sworn it worked for her. Maybe he lacked the appropriate crystal. "Mulder says hello," Dana said, meeting his eyes for the first time since she'd gotten in the car before darting to the left. "Hey, you'll be surprised to know that I'm sitting next to Rob Petrie." Her expression was bemused. What was so damned funny about that? "No, I'm not." Bill hit the brakes as the driver in front abruptly decided they wanted to be in the far right lane. Idiot. "Alright, but call me if you need me for anything," she paused, then hung up and put the phone back in her jacket. Rob broke first. "Should I be worried?" "It's a name we've run across before, but nothing to worry about." "Mulder your boyfriend?" Giles asked, twisting around in the front seat. Maybe he should have told them what she did before now. All he'd said was that she worked for the government, nothing specific. He should have anticipated their curiosity, but damnit, he'd figured he'd scare them off, so he hadn't. Besides, he was very curious as to her answer, not being dumb enough to actually ask her himself. Shit, she was a doctor, she knew how to hurt people. Anyway, he was doing her a big favor, introducing her to good men, men he trusted to do the right thing. "Partner," she said shortly. Silence fell once more, and Bill could have kicked himself for not realizing how they would take her answer. Hell, he didn't know how to take her answer. Daring to glance in the mirror, he met her eyes and saw that she understood exactly what he was trying to do. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, let this weekend get better. Rob: Fuck, now he knew why Bill had never really talked about his sister. She was pretty hot, but had a tongue which could cleave stone. Course he was pretty sure he'd risk it for an hour or two in the sack, she looked the type to let loose once she got started. Man, she'd scared the crap out of those two punks at the general store. He'd see how she handled *his* gun later on... Late December San Francisco, CA 8 PM Toby: The Fed looked like shit. He sat on the ladderback chair next to the coffee and snack station, one hand on his knee, the other rubbing his beard-shadowed face. Toby decided against offering him any coffee. She didn't want her rep as a cast-iron bitch sullied in any way, she'd worked too damn hard for too damn long to throw it away on some whim of compassion to a virtual stranger. During the case he'd treated her with respect, weighed her comments equally with his own, basically had been an all around gentleman. But she still wasn't getting him any coffee. Despite her years on the force, she'd never worked with the Feds directly, person to person. She'd filed casework back in the day when she was a member of the secretarial pool, barely able to stomach the jurassic attitudes of her fellow coworkers - male or female. She'd leapt at the chance to do real police work when the Women On The Force initiatives began. It had been one hell of a rough road, and the personal cost had been high. Was it worth it? Hell yeah. Whenever she caught some miserable excuse for a human being who'd raped a woman or made a hit-and- run she celebrated with a punch in the air and a pint of Bovinity Divinity. Others drank away the loneliness and depression. She wasn't that stupid. She had first hand experience of what long term alcoholism did to a person and knew only too well its hazards and pitfalls. Lacing her fingers behind her head, Toby leaned back in her chair and stretched. Yup, twenty years of policework, from walking the beat to working undercover hadn't prepared her for the murder squad. She'd thought she'd seen it all until her first day, when she discovered she didn't know jack. Thrown in at the deep end an hour after breakfast, led into a back room where a seven year old black boy had been left naked except for his Dodgers cap, spread eagled, face down across a bench, sodomized and strangled. Her fellow detectives had been enraged and sickened, but she'd been the only one to toss her cookies. After that she'd understood why they cracked jokes at crime scenes and horrified those out of the loop, knew why they smoked too much, ate too much, played too hard. She was good at her job, sometimes she even enjoyed it. Even so, the past few days had brought back the feelings of her first day, complete with helplessness and frustration and nausea. She didn't know how the Fed could walk around and get inside the head of the son-of-a-bitch who'd eaten those kids. Gods, look at him. The results on him were plain to see and downright ugly. He'd lost weight, expensive navy suit hanging on him like a leftover ornament on a needleless Christmas tree. Dark circles under his eyes announced the lack of sleep, and her intuition told her he was hanging on by the skin of his teeth. Too much compassion was his problem. He'd spoken to each victim's family, soothed their grief without trying to take away the pain. She wished she had that kind of understanding. She detested breaking the bad news, always had, always would. As much as she felt for the relatives, she didn't want the burden of their sorrow on her psyche. No, she expiated her sins of omission yearly on October 31st, the day of the dead. She thought she might do it again during solstice. "You're gonna catch nothing but flies sitting on your ass all day, Quinnan," Jacob Politano said, grinning and waggling his slender fingers in her face. "Fuck off," Toby muttered, annoyed at being caught with a wandering mind. He didn't take her ever so subtle hint, hitching one hip on the only free corner of her desk. "Christ, Jake, with cologne that strong you don't need a damned gun." He smirked and spread his arms wide in mock hurt. "Hey, Laszlo gave it to me for my birthday. He says it suits my magnanimous nature." "Bullshit, he meant your inflated ego," Toby shook her head and made a useless attempt to straighten the most recent stack of files in front of her. She sighed, took a sip of old cold coffee instead. Jake said, "What've we got on tonight's agenda?" "Paperwork until the next call. " "Hey," he glanced back at the Fed. "How was he?" She didn't even have to think about what to say. "Mulder? Excellent. Got a feel for the case right off the bat. Not at all what I expected from a fibbie. I got to tell you, I do not think we would have caught Vickers without him." "Seriously?" "Seriously." "Well, I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers," He said, staring at the Fed. After a moment he continued. "I don't suppose there's any chance he's gay?" "How the hell should I know?" Jake gave her an appraising look. "Jesus, Toby, did you grow up in a box?" She frowned, looked up at him quizzically. "What?" He looked heavenward for a moment and threw his hands up in the air. "If I were a woman who looked like you do, the soles of my shoes wouldn't touch the ground from the men throwing themselves at my feet." She wasn't beautiful, far from it, and her lack of a love life was all the proof she needed. "I think that cologne's addled your brain," she grimaced and waved a hand at him. "It's definitely addling mine." "Come on, jet black hair, cinnamon skin and a figure to die for? You just don't - " His eyes widened and he pursed his lips for a low whistle. "My, my, who's that?" Toby followed his gaze to the front door. A redheaded woman in a black trench coat and tailored black skirt suit was speaking to Brownlow. She had 'don't mess with me' written all over her. "Damn, that's almost enough to make me switch teams," Jake murmured. Toby snorted. So much for her own vaunted beauty. Aphrodite herself wouldn't be enough to make Jake straight. The redhead spied Mulder and stalked towards him. "Must be another Fed." "Female agents. Hoover's probably rolling in his grave." "Think he's jealous of her suit?" "Ha ha, aren't you the funny one," he said, getting to his feet to watch the show. The female Fed stopped in front of Mulder, said something that made him shake his head. Toby was surprised when the woman abruptly crouched, one hand on Mulder's back for balance, the other grasping his free hand. She wished she were a desk closer, then she could have had a chance at hearing what they were saying. Jake whistled even more softly as the Fed began patting Mulder's shoulder. "Are my eyes deceiving me, Quinnan?" She didn't answer, as amazed as he was. She couldn't imagine supporting any of the male officers like that, not in public. Hell, not in private, either. Mulder looked at the woman, nodded at something she said. The man needed some sleep, he was obviously exhausted. Curiosity got the better of her then. "I think I need some coffee." "Get some for me, too. And a creme horn," Jake said, moving over to the desk he shared with Evans. Gods, she felt like an ass, intruding on their privacy. But hey, she was only doing her job...detecting. And if she told herself that enough, maybe she'd begin to believe it. She smiled sardonically at her rationalizing, searched for an unused cup for Jake. Men. Did they never stop to consider that cups and other utensils needed to be washed every now and again? Glancing over at the dynamic duo, she was startled to find a pair of cool baby blues analyzing her motives and dismissing them as unimportant a heartbeat later. The cup slipped out of her hands, and she winced at the resultant clatter. So she'd been found out, big deal. Did it matter if she felt like she was about four years old? Nah, that was her just reward for being nosy in the first place. Live with it, woman. Their voices were low, but she could still hear what they said if she strained. "You should have called me." "I didn't want to face the wrath of Bill." "Mulder - " "Scully, I didn't want to ruin your break." Interesting. Lovers? Toby sniffed the cream - urk. There had been creamer around a couple of months ago...maybe it was hiding in the cabinet? She kept casting quick looks their way under the pretense of her search. They weren't speaking, but the eye contact was pregnant with silent communication. Gods only knew what hers were saying, but he was apologetic and grateful at the same time. He clutched her hand tightly. "Skinner sent me out on another matter. And I can handle my brother." Aha! Success! An almost full jar of Cremora. Vanilla flavored. What the hell had ever happened to coffee-flavored coffee? She had to agree with Dennis Leary yet again. Shit, she was getting old. She dumped a heaping teaspoon into each cup, plus four sugars for Jake. The man had a sweet tooth the likes of which she'd never seen before. The coffee smelled fresh enough, although only Juan Valdez and the coffee gods knew how long it had been stewing. "'Don't think, just drink'" was Furillo's daily mantra. Yeah. "Where's my donut?" Jake asked when she set his cup on the desk. "Uh, sorry, all out," She ignored his dirty look as she sat down, took a tiny sip and nearly spat it out again from the heat. She swallowed instead, cursing under her breath. Jake sniggered. "Did it again, hunh?" he stirred his coffee with the end of a pen, frowned. "Shit, Hill Street's got to get more donuts tomorrow." "The man does have a name, Jake." "Come on, Quinnan, it's Furillo for godsake! Hill Street's the obvious choice of nick," he joked, turning sober an instant later. "Hey, heads up." The Feds were heading her way. She stood up, gaining a bit of equilibrium in the process. "Detective Quinnan, this is my partner, Dana Scully," Mulder said. He had the same expression as Ouija when she dropped mice on Toby's lap; 'Look at me! Look what I did! Aren't you pleased?' "Nice to meet you, Agent Scully. It's been a pleasure working with your partner." "Wonders never cease," Scully said with a faint smile, giving Mulder a measured, affectionate look. He twitched his eyebrows, lips pursed. Fascinating. She wanted to know more. "You headed back to DC immediately, or is there time enough for me to take you to dinner?" They glanced at one another briefly before turning back to Toby. "As long as it's not pizza," Scully said. Toby flushed with pleasure. She didn't often go out with her fellow officers, being a private person with an unusual home life. Mulder was an intelligent man and she'd bet the farm on Scully being his equal in every way. "Tobe, why don't you take off," Jake piped up, his light tenor voice abnormally deep. "I'll snag Brownlow if something comes up." "You sure?" He grimaced, waved a hand at her. "I owe you one," she muttered, grabbing her suede jacket off the back of her chair and motioning the agents before her. "Fine, you bring the donuts tomorrow," Jake said, voice rising as she walked away. "And none of that low-fat crap, either!" Author's Note: The image of the murdered boy is from a crime scene photo in a how-to book for police and detectives. Although I am a reader of true-crime books, particularly those involving serial murder, it was this picture that made me stop reading the genre for about five years, and is, in fact, an image I could live without having in my head. The book is fascinating, as it goes into detail about how to conduct interviews, how to canvass neighborhoods, why confessions and eye witness accounts are far from being all they're cracked up to be. It also contains probably a couple of hundred crime scene photos. I have great admiration for the men and women who hunt criminals and bring them to justice - it's a job I could not do. Anyway, I'd list the title of the book, but I really don't want to encourage anyone to get it, despite all the knowledge it contains. Quite frankly, I don't want to be responsible for someone else's nightmares. Having said that, if you're interested, mail me and I'll tell you. But you'll be sorry.