The Wabash, Far Away 2 (1/1)
Posted: 12. September 2002
by Punk Maneuverability

Distribution: Good for Gossamer and the 2002 Spookys. Anyone
else want it? Just let me know.

Disclaimer: I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.

Rating: PG
Classification: S, A, R
Keywords: UST or "Everybody Loves Mulder"

Summary: The really long awaited sequel to "The Wabash, Far
Away." After the party, Mulder sulks and Scully tries to pack.

Punk Notes: Well, four years later, this story is finally finished, all
thanks to Dawn, who told me the first four drafts weren't what I
needed and made me work until I got it right. I finally got it right.
Smooches. Also to Sab. But none for Bill Gates.

The first Wabash is here for those of you just joining us:
http://home.teleport.com/~punkm/wabash.txt

If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try again. If
you need assistance, dial your operator. If you want to send me
feedback, please stay on the line: punkm@teleport.com


**************************
The Wabash, Far Away 2
 by Punk Maneuverability
**************************

In the bathroom, Scully pulled off her scrub top and let it drop to
the floor. The constant pale of her skin reflected in the mirror like
an unfamiliar ghost and she wondered when she'd gotten so thin.
Her bra was loose and the bones in her shoulders stuck out like
wings.

Too tired to put her shirt on just yet, she sat on the edge of the tub,
still surprised by the ribs that shouldn't have been so visible. This
life was starving her and she stared at the speckled linoleum until
her vision blurred, unable to remember eating dinner or lunch or
having anything more than a cup of coffee and a muffin for
breakfast.

It felt like they'd been in Indiana forever. She'd lost weight, Mulder
had lost sleep, Skinner had probably lost even more hair. The case
had taken its pound of flesh from each of them.

They were leaving tomorrow and she still hadn't packed. The
thought of gathering up her things overwhelmed her. She'd been in
this hotel room too long and her clothes were no longer within
arm's reach of her suitcase. She looked up from the faded linoleum
and glanced at the back of the half-open bathroom door. Her navy
pinstripe suit was still where she'd hung it after the press conference
the day before. 

"To the best of our knowledge the suspect is a weak man, incapable
of action without the crutch of a rigid script. He does not pose a
direct threat except in the situation we have outlined...."

It had been a strip-tease of Mulder's profile, and they'd given Scully
the seven veils and tossed her up on stage. Later in the day, she'd
caught a glimpse of the broadcast as she passed through the field
office. At the time of the briefing, she'd known Mulder was behind
her, but until she saw the footage she hadn't realized exactly how
close he'd been. 

From the camera's perspective it looked like he was standing beside
her instead of behind her. His arms were crossed over his chest, his
body slightly angled toward hers. They both looked very bored.

Seeing the TV, she'd stopped and watched, thinking, This is how
other people see us, this is what we look like together. It made her
self-conscious and a little jealous, as if anyone who looked at her
and Mulder would be able to see things she could not. 

Mulder had come up behind her then and put a hand at her waist.
She hadn't jumped or even questioned what he was doing. It was
him, and she knew that. Anyone else would have gotten an elbow to
the stomach and a seat on the floor. 

"Now *there* are two damned attractive individuals," he'd said into
her ear.

That had been yesterday. Today they'd arrested one David Allen
Hyde in conjunction with the bombing deaths of five Indiana
women, and Scully had assisted the M.E. with one final autopsy.
Certain she wouldn't be able to tolerate much more of Mulder's
silent hovering, she'd tried to convince him to make an appearance
at the party at Chen's and leave her to the dead body on the table. 

Still, he'd lingered at the morgue, looking uncertain and fiddling
with the cuffs of his sweater. He'd lasted until the M.E. got out the
Stryker saw. The whine of the blade made his face go pale and he
started backing toward the doors. Scully had caught up with him in
the hall.

"I...I think I'll go to that party."

He'd surprised her. She hadn't expected him to go; she'd only
suggested it as a subtle hint that he should leave. 

"You can take the car," she'd offered. "Do you have the keys?"

"No, that's okay. I'll just get a ride. You can come pick me up when
you're done," he'd said, reaching out to give the arm of her scrub
top a light tug. Then he'd walked away, leaving her to stare after
him in confusion.

She was glad they were leaving. Mulder started to get needy during
these longer cases, and she started to forget why she wasn't
supposed to let him need her. 

She kicked the scrub top out the bathroom door. There probably
wouldn't be enough time to return it to the morgue before their
flight tomorrow. She resigned herself to the thought of another
sea-green shirt to take home, this one stamped Wabash County. She
didn't want any souvenirs.

Cold, she finally pulled her t-shirt on. It barely warmed her and she
stood, trying to gather the energy to pack.

Her makeup was spread crazily across the counter from the night
Mulder had pounded on her door and told her to get ready in five
minutes. Angry that she couldn't find her lipstick, she had dumped
her cosmetics bag upside-down. 

Scully left the bathroom, deciding to leave the mess where it was
for one more night. It would keep.

Her room had two dressers and a large closet with sliding mirrored
doors. Her few pairs of socks and other pair of jeans were rattling
around in the drawers, and her suits were making the huge closet
look even more empty. Taking out the suits, she forced them into
her garment bag, then tossed the piece of luggage near the
bathroom as a reminder to pack the navy pinstripe.

She put a few pairs of trouser socks in the suitcase that sat on the
extra bed, its lid cracked open like a steamed clam. Back at the
dresser, she opened another drawer and took out a pair of silk
pajamas. She tried to fold them, but the peach material stubbornly
refused to hold a crease. She gave up and dumped the slippery mess
into her suitcase.

"How come you never wear those for me?" Mulder asked. 

Scully tensed and looked over to where he was reclined on her bed,
long legs crossed at the ankle. He'd been so quiet that she'd
forgotten he was there. 

He'd only said a few words to her since she'd collected him from
Agent Chen's house half an hour ago. She'd thought he was
probably tired and wanted to be alone, but when they got off the
elevator he'd followed her into her room and flopped down on her
bed. 

Now he was staring at her like he'd never seen anything so
fascinating. They'd been there for two weeks, were leaving
tomorrow, and Mulder had to choose tonight to go spooky on her. 

"I'm too old for slumber parties, Mulder," she said, stifling the sigh
that wanted to escape. She would have asked him to leave if she
thought he actually would.

He was studying her, his eyes moving across her face as if looking
for something. He paused at her ears. She was wearing the pearl
earrings he had given her after returning from Hong Kong. He'd
said they were a birthday present. It had been October.

"Not too old, Scully."

His gaze slid lower to her waist where her shirt was coming
untucked, across the flare of her hips, down her legs. He glanced at
her bare feet and smiled, briefly the Mulder she knew again.

He'd been acting out of character at Chen's house earlier, but she
had assumed his increased affection was due to the beer in his hand.
He'd been there two hours before she showed up, and though she
didn't know him to drink, two hours was long enough to get
decently drunk. Masterson was lucid, if tipsy, and Scully had
noticed Skinner leaning against the wall as if his personal section of
the planet had too much spin on it.

She'd found Mulder alone on the patio, looking up at the stars.
Without turning around, he'd asked, "Interested in fogging up the
windows of the rental?" It was then that she'd noticed the bottle he
held. He'd turned, a suspicious grin on his face. "Oh, sorry, thought
you were someone else." He'd laughed, and after some hesitation,
she'd smiled in response, unused to Mulder being in such a good
mood.

They'd gone back inside. Mulder put down his beer bottle,
mock-whispered, "Just a second," and headed for Masterson.
Before he got to her, he'd looked over his shoulder at Scully like he
wanted her to stop him, so she'd stepped forward and tugged him
back by the belt loops of his jeans. The pleased look on his face had
made her laugh, and he'd put his arm around her shoulders and
stolen a drink from her lemonade. They'd squeezed through the
doorway together and up the stairs. 

Upstairs, the family room had been filled with a more sober crowd.
Chen's partner, Connie, had called out a good-bye, which was
followed by murmured agreement from the others, and Mulder had
given them a smile and said it was nice working with them.

Scully had watched this all from under Mulder's arm, wondering
how a few beers could have changed Mulder so dramatically.
Earlier in the morgue he had seemed depressed, two hours later and
he was campaigning for Mr. Congeniality.

Once they'd gotten outside, Mulder had slowed, walking in the
almost blind way he did when he was thinking. His arm was still
around her shoulders, holding her to him absently.

He'd let go of her when they got to the rental. She opened the
driver's side door and stood behind it, watching him as he leaned
back against the car, staring up at the sky. It was how she'd found
him on the patio, studying the heavens like a man trying to discern
the meaning of the universe. 

Closing her suitcase, Scully looked back at her partner. Stretched
out on her bed in blue jeans and a tight black sweater, he looked
sober enough, not like Masterson, who'd seemed about 40 proof
and had whispered such fascinating things about Mulder in her ear.

Scully sat down next to her partner, tucking one leg under her. Her
knee pressed into Mulder's thigh, and some of the warmth returned
to his eyes. Maybe he was just lonely.

"Is something wrong, Mulder?"

It took him a while to answer. "No."

She wasn't sure she believed him. She changed the subject. "So
how'd you get to Chen's house?"

Mulder rolled his head on the pillow and gave her a
what-does-it-matter look but said, "I caught a ride with Connie. She
was talking to Skinner in the hallway." 

Scully nodded. "He stopped by after you left and asked how things
were coming." Mulder shook his head a little. "I told him it wouldn't
be much longer, but I guess you know how that turned out. You
should have taken the car, Mulder. You were stuck there for two
hours."

He shrugged, like a teenager in a sulk. "I helped Connie in the
kitchen, watched Masterson play pool."

"Masterson?" Scully said, remembering how Masterson's sloppy
whispers had made her blush.

"What?" Mulder asked. He sounded annoyed, as if she were
bothering him in some way.

She frowned at him and stood up, tired of whatever was going on
with him and wishing that he would just leave and be troubled in his
own room. 

"Why don't you go pack?" she suggested, turning back to her own
suitcase.

Mulder grabbed her hand and made a face. "Sorry, Scully. I'm--" He
sighed.

"I noticed," she said, "but I don't have the energy to figure you out
tonight, Mulder. So either tell me what's bothering you or leave me
alone."

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing himself up a
little so that his shoulders rested against the headboard. "I'm fine,
Scully. Just fine." His grin wobbled and she wondered again how
much he'd had to drink.

"Sure," she said, giving his hand a squeeze, then turning away to
pick up her book from the nightstand and stash it in her carry-on.

She made a few more halfhearted circuits of the room, rounding up
some stray shoes and one of Mulder's ties. She snapped it at him
like a whip. "This yours?"

He put his hand out and she whipped the tie at him again, letting
him catch the other end and reel her closer. 

He looked tired and lost. She was worried about him. "Did you
have anything to eat today?"

"No, Masterson gave me half her sandwich at lunch," he answered,
experimenting with his tie, apparently unaware he'd contradicted
himself.

"Why don't we go down to the restaurant and get something to
eat?" She tilted her head at him. "I need a break from packing."

"Me too," Mulder joked, throwing his tie into the air like it was a
streamer. It landed on the lamp shade. "Come on, Scully, I'm
buying."

***

She'd wanted tomato soup because it was late and chilly and she felt
like indulging herself with comfort food. Mulder insisted she get a
grilled-cheese sandwich to go with it, calling her un-American when
she declined. 

He'd ordered one for her anyway, smiling up at the waitress while
he asked for pickles on his club sandwich, two straws for the vanilla
milkshake, and a grilled-cheese sandwich "for my friend here." She
didn't stop him, knowing that Mulder was the part of her that did
what it wanted instead of doing what it should.

Now, with her chubby soup spoon in one hand and a triangle of
grilled-cheese in the other, Scully felt like a kid, warm and relaxed.
She was just stealing a sip of Mulder's milkshake when he looked
up at her and said casually, "Hey, Scully."

Unwilling to make the commitment of having her own straw, she'd
been using his, but now froze, convinced he was about to call her
on it. 

"Yes?"

Mulder leaned back against his side of the round booth. "I think if
Skinner had drunk one more beer tonight he would have tried to
grab my ass."

She blinked and bit down on the straw still in her mouth. "What?
Mulder--"

He nodded. "It's official, I'm irresistible."

She wanted to think he was joking, that this was some stunt he and
Skinner had come up with while at Chen's, but she remembered
Skinner leaning against the wall, his face red, something confused in
his eyes. It explained Mulder's mood as well, his silences and odd
stares. 

She pushed the milkshake back to him. "What did he do?"

Mulder shrugged. "Nothing, really. My virtue, such as it is, is still
intact."

"Are you sure?"

"About my virtue?" Mulder asked, putting his arms along the back
of the booth and looking pleased with himself.

Scully sighed. He might be comfortable enough to joke about this,
but that didn't mean she had to. 

"About Skinner. You're all right?"

Mulder waved the question away like it was an annoying bug. "It
was just unexpected. I had no idea he liked me that much."

Scully gave him half a smile. "Then what makes you so sure now?"

Mulder groaned and dropped his head back into the fake ferns
behind him. "Come on, Scully, you know when someone's making a
pass at you, don't you?"

"Usually," she said, allowing for Mulder, who she was never
entirely sure of.

He spread his hands out as if to say "and there you go," then leaned
forward again, returning to his fries.

"Mulder, he'd had too much to drink. He said or did something he's
probably already regretting, but you're both adults, you'll survive."

"Sure," Mulder said, looking distant.

She smiled in apology and stuck her spoon in his milkshake.
"Would it help if I told you what Masterson said about you?"

Mulder perked up. "Ooh, is it naughty?"

"It's pretty racy," she agreed, licking her spoon and watching him
grin. He tugged on her fingers. 

"You could whisper it to me."

"I could," she said, knowing she wouldn't. 

He knew this too, and shook his head, staring down at the table and
playing with her fingers. He looked lost again, like he'd been
interrupted while speaking and now had no idea who he was. 

She tried to forget she had the power to disappoint him. He always
acted so independent, insisting that he didn't need anyone, and she
allowed herself to believe that about him, that he needed no one and
lived in a world where the ghosts in the basement were his closest
friends. But it wasn't true, and had not been for a while. 

"Pie?" she asked, trying to make it up to him. She played tag with
his fingers, hoping to coax another smile from him. When he smiled
it was easier to believe he was sane. 

He obliged her with a tired grin. "If that's what Masterson
whispered in your ear, I don't want any part of it."

The waitress came and cleared their plates. Scully ordered pie and
Mulder played with his straw wrapper.

"You okay, Mulder?" She had to ask one more time, just to make
sure, because he was off-balance, and she hated how unsteady that
made her feel.

"Yeah, Scully." He knew what she was doing. "Just tired of
Indiana."

It sounded like a euphemism, or an excuse, but it was Mulder, and
probably all she'd get from him tonight, or ever.

"Me too," she said, squeezing his fingers and looking forward to
going home.

*****

Thanks - Lock the door on your way out
Punk Maneuverability
**************************************
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