Title:   The Bar Scene:  Race The Wind
Author:  Michelle Kiefer 
Email: msk1024@aol.com  
Category:  Post ep; series
Spoilers: Never Again 
Classification:  V,A  
Archive:  Just let me know.
Disclaimer:  Not mine.   
Summary: Maybe it was as simple as wanting to 
see if her body remembered how to respond. 
COMMENTS: Please visit my other stories at: 
http://artwc.org/MichelleKiefer/
Maintained by the wonderful Jennifer
Author's Notes:  There are certain patterns on the
X-Files: bad things happen in bathrooms, pivotal moments
happen in hallways, difficult conversations happen off
screen.  What if those difficult conversations also had
a pattern--a special place where they took place?  What
if the hard truths were discussed in various bar
scenes? 

Huge thanks to Kel and Sybil for beta and good advice.
Ladies, you're the greatest.



Arlington, Texas   -  January 1997

Chili's Restaurant, Friday, 7 pm.

This bar was nothing like the Hard Eight Lounge.  
The English pub decor of this restaurant chain 
bar was far removed from that Philadelphia dive.  
The suburban clientele perched casually on stools 
were nothing like the sad characters at the Hard 
Eight. 

But all bars smelled the same, that universal scent 
of booze and cigarettes.  The loud voices and music 
were generic.  Any bar in any town USA.  For a moment,
she felt out of control again, back on a snowy night
with a man she barely knew.

It had been two weeks since that night of madness.  
Two weeks of awkward silences, stony glances 
and tension as thick as syrup.  Two weeks since her 
walk on the wild side, since she almost died.  

Mulder had asked her why she'd done it, but clumsily,
in a way that only infuriated her.  

"All this because I've...because I didn't get you a desk?"  

He waited for an answer but she'd shut down on him, ended
the discussion.  But was only a matter of time before Mulder
forced the issue into the light.  She only hoped she could 
make some sense of it first.

That night was still unreal to her.  It was as if
she'd stood outside her body and watched herself 
drink with Ed Jerse, go back to his apartment, 
kiss him.  
 
Dana Scully walked a narrow path, always doing
the right thing, never failing to look both ways 
before crossing the street.  What was it that drew 
her away from that path?

Had she gone too long without a man's touch?  Maybe
it was as simple as wanting to see if her body 
remembered how to respond. 

Or maybe it was the little nagging voice that 
whispered as she tried to sleep, asking why was 
she so tired these days, and when in her life had 
she ever lost twenty pounds in a month without trying.  
Perhaps she just wanted to silence that damn voice.

They'd both been relieved when this case had come 
along, giving them something else to focus on. 
Scully had hardly offered resistance at the concept 
of mysterious images of a missing child.  Probably
confused the hell out of her partner who must see
her resistance with the same constancy as the 
sunrise.

They'd closed the case this afternoon, the resolution
falling somewhere between the paranormal and the 
mundane.  The images had been nothing more than the 
pigment of old advertisements bleeding through in an 
unusual pattern.  Not surprisingly, Mulder saw 
the girl clearly in what Scully perceived as 
a series of blotches caused by layer upon layer
of paint.

Sadly, the child had not been found and Scully 
doubted the girl was still alive.  But the
investigation was now in the hands of local police
where it probably should have been all along.  The
billboard had been an interesting but ultimately
meaningless sideshow to an all too real tragedy.  

She and Mulder would be flying out late the next
morning, for which Scully was grateful.  Working out 
of town on the weekend was not something she liked 
doing under the best of circumstances.  The current 
climate of tension between them was not the best of 
circumstances.

But a nice dinner on the FBI's tab after closing a
case was a long-standing ritual neither seemed 
willing to let go of.  Even if the dinner was in 
the chain restaurant adjacent to their motel, and 
the conversation would be almost nonexistent.  

They'd shared other meals on this trip, as they 
always did out in the field: pizza at the motel,
Chinese food eaten with file notes spread out 
amid the shrimp toast and fried rice.  But 
there had been the case to discuss, the structure 
of work to hide behind.  

These post-case dinners were different; they'd 
always made a point to avoid talking shop.  
Instead, they had used those special meals
to unwind and relax.  Scully wondered if she and 
Mulder would ever feel relaxed in each other's 
presence again.  

She'd been puttering around her motel room, 
earlier, tossing clothes into a suitcase when
she felt a warm tickle on her upper lip.  Scully
dabbed at it, puzzled to see blood on the tissue.
She hadn't had a nosebleed in so long she couldn't 
remember.  

Scully could feel her partner's presence in his room
next door.  The TV blared.  Things bumped and thumped 
as he moved around the room.  He was probably hungry 
but too stubborn to say so in light of the awkwardness 
between them.
 
Calling out that he should go ahead and get them
a table, she'd felt as if a cold mist settled over 
her.  She washed her face and straightened her
hair and tried to calm the flutter in her 
stomach.  As she walked across the parking lot
to the restaurant, Scully realized she could no
longer put off calling her doctor.

She stood at the doorway between the restaurant and
bar, scanning the room for her partner.  It was 
standing room only in the crowded restaurant, as 
couples on dates and families out for a Friday night 
meal waited for a table to free up.  Mulder had said 
he'd wait for her in the bar where seating was 
usually available.

Scully spotted him easily, by the window on a stool 
at one of those ridiculous storklike tables.  He 
waved, his eyes following her as she moved toward him.  

She squashed down her annoyance as she approached
Mulder, trying as she had for the past two weeks to
keep her demeanor neutral.  That hadn't been easy
in the face of Mulder's sarcasm and simmering anger.

"Hope you don't mind," Mulder said, his voice betraying
only the merest hint of that anger.  "This was 
the only table available."

She eyed the stool and raised table, hoping her
irritation wasn't detectable.  With a foothold
on the rung of the stool, she hopped up, settling
herself on the seat.  Her legs dangled 
undignified inches away from the metal rung on 
the chair.  Damn Mulder.  His long legs were 
comfortably arranged, heels securely hooked onto 
the rung of his chair.  He seemed to hide a smile
at her dilemma as he took a sip of his beer. 

"It's fine."  Scully straightened her suit, tugging
the skirt down over her knees.  She reached for one
of the small menus tucked between the ketchup and 
salt and pepper.  "Did you order?"

"No," he answered, raising his beer bottle.  "At
least not dinner."

Mulder twisted his body as he searched for the 
waitress.  He caught the young woman's eye, eliciting
a blinding smile and a quick approach.  

"Hi guys.  My name is Kelli and I'll be your server.  
How are y'all doing tonight?" she asked, perky as hell.  
Mulder assured her that they were just fine.  God, they 
were so far from fine, they couldn't find it with a map.

"I'll have a grilled chicken salad," Scully said,
interrupting Kelli.  "And a club soda."

The young woman's blonde ponytail bobbed as she nodded
and wrote down the order.  Eyes bright, she turned to
Mulder.

"I'd like to hear the specials."  Mulder's voice had
that smooth seductive tone he rarely used.  He flashed 
a glorious smile at the young woman. 

Kelli enthusiastically listed the selections as Mulder
gave her his full attention.  "...and our margarita
grilled chicken served with rice, black beans and pico 
de gallo."

"They all sound great," Mulder said.  He scanned the
menu a moment longer. "But...I think I'll have a
cheeseburger and fries, after all."

"I'll put that in for you right away." Kelli beamed
at him, and Scully hoped the young woman wouldn't
forget the grilled chicken salad in the face of all 
that Mulder worship.  Her partner made quite a show 
of watching Kelli's jean clad bottom as she walked 
away.

"Was that for my benefit, Mulder?" she asked, hating
the hurt in her voice.  He regarded her question with 
feigned surprise and amusement.

"Not everything is about you, Scully," he answered,
his voice chilling in its mockery.  Her face burned
as he smirked.  He'd achieved a direct hit and he knew 
it.  Angry tears blurred her vision.

"I don't need this, Mulder."  She dropped the menu
on the table and prepared to climb down from her stool.

"No, wait," he said, placing a hand over hers as she
braced herself for descent.  "I'm sorry.  Stay and
have dinner."

She kept her eyes trained on the table's Mexican tile, 
blinking back the tears under the veil of her hair.  
Damn emotions.  Feelings normally wrapped up tight and
secure were now achingly close to the surface.

When she raised her eyes, Mulder's smug look had
been replaced with concern and perhaps a little guilt.
Scully relaxed against the back of her stool as Kelli
bustled back to the table carrying Scully's club soda.

"Your dinners'll be out in a minute." Kelli chirped, 
placing the drink on the table.  Mulder's eyes did not
follow her as she left the table this time.

"When are we going to stop this, Scully?" he asked, his
voice soft.

"I'm not the one spoiling for a fight," she answered,
tearing the paper wrapper from the straw.  She took a 
sip from her drink, wishing it was something stronger, 
but knowing she needed her wits about her tonight.

"I don't want to fight, Scully, but we have to stop
dancing around what happened."

"There's nothing to dance around.  The case is closed.
I'm fine.  There's nothing to talk about."

"You almost died.  That's something to talk about.  I...
I need to know why you did something so dangerous."

"Dangerous?" she asked, laughing harshly.  "You want to 
know why I did something dangerous?  Do you realize how 
ridiculous that is coming from a man who jumped onto a 
fucking moving train?"

"I'm not denying the risks I take, it's what I do, who
I am.  But this was you, Scully.  You don't do things 
like that.  At least, I've never known you to."

"Maybe that's it.  Perhaps you don't know me as well as
you thought you did."

"Obviously not.  I'll tell you the truth, Scully--it
terrifies me."

Scully snorted with laughter.  If Mulder hadn't been
wearing such a serious, worried expression, this might
actually be funny.  "Well, now you know how I feel most 
of the time."

"I know I was a shit the other day, but I've been a
shit before and you didn't get a tattoo and sleep
with a crazy person." His voice was sharp, ragged
with pain.  "I don't understand what was different this 
time."

"I meant what I said Mulder.  It wasn't you, at least
not directly.  There are times..."

She shook her head as her words trailed off.  There
was no use trying to explain.  There was no way to
adequately describe that restless, itchy feeling.  She 
glanced out the window at a couple walking toward 
the restaurant, swinging a laughing little girl between 
them.

"Tell me," he said, covering her icy cold hand with 
his large warm one.  "Explain it to me.  I need to
understand."

"I wish I could," she said wistfully.  The father
swung the little girl up into his arms, the child's
shrieks of laughter penetrating the window.  "Sometimes
the walls just feel like they're closing in on me.
Do you ever feel that way?"

Mulder nodded, but she was pretty sure he was 
thinking about those times when he'd had cabin
fever after being sidelined with an injury.  Close,
but no cigar on that one.  

"When I was a little girl, we usually lived in
base housing.  When I was eleven or twelve, though,
my parents rented a small house a few miles away
from the base.  Even though it wasn't as cramped as
the base, sometimes everything was just too much,
too close."  

Scully picked up the straw wrapper, folding it over
and over.  

"Sometimes, it would get hard to breathe, as if there
just wasn't enough air. That's when I'd get on my bike 
and ride as fast and as far as I could.  I'd start up 
this big hill, pumping and pumping until it felt like
my heart was going to burst in my chest and then..."
she paused, spreading her hands wide.  

"Then I'd just fly down as if I could just take off 
into the air.  Looking back, it's a wonder I never 
broke my neck.  I'd be utterly terrified, sure I was 
going to sail over the handlebars. But the wind would 
tear at my hair and sting my eyes and the trees would 
blur as they flew past."

She smiled to herself as she remembered the way it felt
to fly.  Mulder's eyes were locked on her, as if he
was seeing her for the first time.

"One day, Melissa was out driving with her friends and she
saw me.  I must have looked wild, shooting down the hill,
leaning forward over the handlebars. I had no control,
bouncing off the road with every bump and crack.  I was
sure she'd tell on me."

Scully shook her head, smiling at the memory.  

"That night, she asked me whether I was racing somewhere 
or running away."

"What was it?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She glanced out the window at the parking lot, bright
as day under the sodium lights.  The little family had 
moved on.  

"I wish I knew," she whispered, suddenly chilled.  "I 
wish I knew."

End