~~~~ October 13, 1995 ~~~~ 

Mulder was able to find a seat at the bar because this 
particular stool had a major drawback; it did not provide a 
clear view of any of the four televisions.  He could see the 
ballplayers' legs on one set and their heads on another, but 
he had to lean pretty far backwards to get the total picture, 
and even then he had about two-dozen bodies blocking his 
angle.

It was playoff season, and the hometown team was at bat.  The 
good folks on the edges of Seattle had come out in full force 
to support their boys.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Mulder took another sip of 
beer.  This was his fourth of the night, and he no longer 
thought it wise to lean backwards to see the big-screen TV.

"All right!" hollered the man next to Mulder, pumping his 
fist in the air. "Grab some pine, Manny!"  He turned to 
Mulder. "Talk about coming up small when it counts, eh?  
That's the second time he's punched out tonight.  So much for 
the mighty Manny Ramirez."

"The score still 2 to 1?" Mulder asked.

"Yep.  And the Big Unit is bringing it.  I got a good feeling 
about this one.  The Mariners win and I collect a smooth five 
hundred."  He looked at Mulder.  "What about you?  You got 
money on this game?"

Mulder had beer in his mouth so he just shook his head.  "My 
team's out of it," he replied.

"Oh yeah?  What's your team then?"

"Yankees."

The man made a face like Mulder had just confessed a 
predilection for wearing women's underwear.  "The Yankees?  
God, we beat their asses good.  Your boys were lucky just to 
make it to the show.  The Yanks haven't been a damn bit of 
good since I was kid.  The Yankees," he repeated, shaking his 
head in pity.  "You poor SOB."

"Our turn is coming," Mulder said, and the other guy laughed.

"You got to get rid of that George Steinbrenner first.  He's 
totally fucking over his own team, if you'll pardon my 
French."

Mulder's cell vibrated in his pants pocket.  He was tempted 
to ignore it but decided to at least see who was calling.  It 
was Scully.  

"Yeah," he said.

"Mulder, where are you?  I dropped by your room with a pizza 
but you're not there."

"I can see why they let you into the FBI, Scully.  Nothing 
gets past you."

"What's that noise?" she asked as the crowd hollered again.  

Mulder leaned back to see the screen.  The Unit had just 
struck out Kenny Lofton to retire the side.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah," he said, hauling himself upright again.  "The pizza's 
all yours. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Mul--" 

He snapped the phone shut, hanging up on her.  "So," he said, 
turning to his bar companion once more, "can I buy you a 
round?  Or do you have some sort of code against taking 
drinks from Yankee fans?"

"Tell you what.  I'll buy *you* a round.  It's the least I 
can do since my boys wiped up the floor with your team last 
week."

With one beefy hand, he signaled the girl behind the bar.  
"I'll have another one of these," he said, pointing at his 
drink, "and another beer for my friend here."

"You got it."

"That's mighty kind of you..."

"Al.  Al Holden."

"I'm Mulder."

"Good to meet you, Mulder," Al said, giving Mulder's hand a 
hard shake.  "What's a Yankee guy doing here in Mariner's 
country?"

"I'm here on business.  I live in D.C."

"Hey, from Washington to Washington, huh?  That's pretty 
cool.  I get to travel around some for my job, but never out 
of the state."

"What is it you do?"

Al was half-listening.  He had his eye on the TV as Ken 
Griffey, Jr. came up to bat.  "I drive an armored car," he 
told Mulder.

"No kidding."

"No kidding," Al agreed as Griffey struck out.

The waitress set a fresh beer in front of Mulder and a Jack 
Daniels in front of Al.  "You ever think about just driving 
off with the money?" Mulder asked.

Al slapped the bar. "Hell, yeah.  Who wouldn't think about 
it?  I'll be driving around town with a million dollars in 
the back, and I think to myself, 'if I just go right here 
instead of left, I could keep on driving.'  I'd never get 
away with it, though.  They've got trackers hard-wired in the 
truck.  They'd have a bazillion cops on me before I made the 
city limits."

He eyed Mulder's button-down tie and suit pants.  Mulder was 
aware he was, in PC terms, "differently attired."  Al, like 
most of the joint, sported a Mariners T-shirt and a pair of 
jeans.

"What about you?" Al asked.  "You look like a corporate guy.  
Am I right?"

"Government," Mulder told him.  "I'm FBI."

"Holy shit!  So, like, if I made off with all that money, 
they might send you after me!"

Mulder grinned.  "Something like that, yeah."

"You're working on something local?  Anything I'd know 
about?"

Mulder thought of Lucy Householder dead on the ground, and 
how it had taken Carl Wade seventeen years to finally kill 
her.

"Nothing you'd know about," he told Al.  "I'm heading back 
home tomorrow."

"Case closed, huh?  Good thing."  Al was straining to see the 
TV, where the Indians were up at bat in the 6th inning.

Someone jostled Mulder from behind, pushing him into the bar.  
He turned and saw a large man with two beers trying to pass.  
"Sorry, man," the guy said.  "I didn't get any on you, did 
I?"

"All clear," Mulder replied, and that's when he looked past 
the man and saw Scully near the front of the room.  She too 
wore her work clothes and stood out from the crowd with her 
red hair and dark suit.  She was scanning the faces, 
obviously looking for him, and Mulder turned around quickly.

"Wish the M's could get a little insurance," Al grumbled.

Mulder had come to the bar rooting for the Indians.  After 
the Mariners beat the Yankees, he wanted to see them fall 
flat on their fish-eating faces, but with Al next to him he 
found he couldn't cheer on the Tribe.

"They've got time," he said as he reached his hand into the 
bowl for a bunch of pretzels.  He had his mouth full when 
Scully caught up to him.

"I think half the city of Seattle is in this room," she said 
as she pulled off her leather gloves and poked them into her 
pockets.

He looked over his shoulder at her.  "I see you didn't bring 
the pizza."

She squinted at the menu written on the chalkboard against 
the wall.  "No, but I bet we could order something."

"I've got pretzels," he said, showing her his fistful.  "How 
did you find me?"

"The car was still in the parking lot, so I knew you couldn't 
be far.  I checked the first bar between here and the motel 
and you weren't in it.  I checked this bar, and here you 
were."

"Here I were," Mulder agreed, still not looking at her.

"You going to introduce me or what?" Al said.  He had 
straightened his T-shirt over his considerable belly.

"Al Holden, this is Dana Scully."

"You want my seat?" Al asked her.  "No way you can see the TV 
over all those heads."

"No, thank you," she replied.  "I'm not here for the game."

Mulder swiveled around to look at her.  "Why are you here?"

She looked surprised by his biting tone, and hesitated in her 
answer.  "I came to look for you.  I thought you might want 
some company."

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug.

"You want a drink?" Al asked.  "I'm buying this round."

"A beer would be great," she replied.  "Thanks."

Mulder could feel her eyes on him.

"Are you FBI too?" 

"Yes, Mulder and I work together."

Mulder was not sure this was an accurate description, 
particularly not today.  They worked the same cases.  Hell, 
they usually worked in the same room.  But most times they 
were working *at* one another rather than *with* one another.

"I drive an armored car," Al said, clearly hoping Scully 
would find this impressive.  "What kind of gun do you guys 
carry?"

Scully drew back her coat to show him, and Al let out a low 
whistle.  

"Nice piece.  I've got a Glock forty-five myself, but 
obviously not on me."

Mulder didn't look, but he imagined Scully was eyeing Al's 
tight tee and jeans and determining that indeed he had no 
where to hide a handgun.

The inning ended and Al shoved off his stool.  "Keep it warm 
for me, will you?  I've got to hit the little boy's room."

Scully slid onto the seat as the bartender set the beer in 
front of her.  "I didn't mean to intrude," she said. "As soon 
as he comes back, I'll go."

"Don't leave on my account."

"I'm here on your account, so if you'd prefer to be alone, 
there's no sense in my staying."

Mulder drank his beer and said nothing.

"I got a call from the hospital," Scully said.  "Amy Jacobs 
checked out okay with only very minor injuries.  She's been 
released to her parents."

"Great."

Scully held her beer without drinking it.  "Maybe I should 
just go now," she said, starting to get up from the stool.

She stopped when Mulder turned on her.  "I think Amy's alive 
because Lucy died for her," Mulder said.  "I believe they 
forged a connection so strong that, in the end, only one of 
them could live.  What do you think happened?"

"I believe they had a connection."

"But you don't believe that Lucy died in Amy's place.  You 
think she drowned on dry land as some sort of great big 
coincidence."

"Coincidences do happen, Mulder.  Dry drowning is not that 
uncommon, and--"

She broke off as he turned away from her again and picked up 
his beer.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she said after a 
minute.  "One person can't die in another's place, not like 
this.  It just can't happen."

"Fine."

"Mulder--"

"You're absolutely right, Scully.  It can't ever happen. Just 
like all the other things that can't be but somehow manage to 
show up in our investigations anyway.  I keep waiting for you 
to expand your thinking and maybe give credit to someone 
other than Darwin or Newton or Einstein but now I'm wondering 
if maybe I'm the one who can't learn.  You're not going to 
change, are you?  It's just one of those things that can't 
ever happen."

Her cheeks were flushed, but whether from emotion or the heat 
of the bar, he couldn't tell.  

"We've disagreed on cases before," she said so quietly he 
almost couldn't hear her over the noise of the crowd.  "Why 
is this one any different?"

"I don't know," he said, some of his anger leaving him.  The 
alcohol had started singing in his veins and it made it hard 
to think.  "Maybe because this one was personal."  He risked 
a look at her.  "Maybe this was the first time I felt like 
you didn't just not believe the case; you didn't believe me."

Scully's mouth thinned and she got down from the stool.  "If 
you really can't separate yourself from the case, Mulder, 
then maybe it's you who needs to rethink your perspective."

"Why are you here?"

"I told you," she said, moving away, but he stopped her by 
grabbing her arm.

"No, why are you here on this case.  Why are you still on the 
X-files?  You've done your time.  You could serve in almost 
any other division if you wanted to.  Wouldn't you rather 
spend your time working on cases you believe in?"

"Hey, I'm back," Al said as he returned to his stool.  "What 
did I miss?"

Scully looked at the floor. "I, uh, I was just leaving.  
Thanks for the beer."

"So soon?  The game's not even over!"

"It is for me," she replied with a tight smile.  "Good night, 
Al.  It was good to meet you."

"So long," he said with a wave as Scully began threading her 
way to the door.   "Your friend seems nice."

Mulder turned on his stool to watch her go, and she did not 
look back.  A few seconds later, the chilled air from her 
exit reached his face.  He swiveled around again.

"Jesus Christ!  What the hell was that?" Al gripped what was 
left of his hair as a collective groan went through the 
crowd.  Jay Buhner had just dropped an easy fly ball.

Moments later, Lofton singled and pinch runner Kirby came 
around to score.  Tie game.

"God damn it!" Al said as he pounded the bar.  "Fucking 
Buhner and his God damn lead glove!"

The people behind him jeered and some pushing broke out.  
Mulder slipped a pair of twenties on the bar and drank down 
the last of his beer.  "I think that's my cue to leave," he 
said.

"You and your Yankee-loving karma," Al said, shaking his 
head.  "I should've known there'd be trouble."

The ground was closer than Mulder had estimated.  He grabbed 
the bar to steady himself.  "The Mariners can still win," he 
said.

"At Jacobs Field?  This late in the game?  They're done for, 
and I'm out two hundred bucks.  I've a mind to look up Buhner 
personally and have him pay me the money."

"Good luck with that."  Mulder patted him clumsily on the arm 
and headed for the door.  

Outside, the wet night air hit him in the face.  He walked 
back into the wind toward the motel, where he saw that 
Scully's room light was still on, but he kept walking until 
he reached his door.

He opened the lock and flipped on the light switch.  The maid 
had been in to make up the bed, but there was a piece of 
trash on the floor, a paper of some sort.  He bent down to 
retrieve it and discovered it was a note.

Scully's big loopy handwriting scrawled across the page:

You told me once that you appreciated my respect for the 
journey.  That respect has never wavered.  A teenage girl is 
home safe today because of our intervention, and I still 
believe that outcome is what matters most, regardless of how 
we arrived there.  

-- S

Mulder carefully folded the note over and set it on his 
nightstand.  He stripped and went to stand under the hot 
shower spray, where the steam combined with the alcohol left 
him seriously dehydrated.  Wearing only a towel, he drained 
two tall glasses of water before climbing into bed.  

He slept.

Morning sent laser-beam sunlight through the cracks of his 
drapes, catching him right across the face.  He shielded his 
eyes from the glare and rolled over into the pillow.  His 
head felt like it was full of cotton.

Coffee, he thought.  Must get coffee.

He managed to dress but decided to put off shaving until he 
had more fine motor control.  This was Seattle.  There had to 
be a Starbucks around somewhere.

He stepped out into the bright fall morning, still squinting, 
and nearly tripped over the USA Today paper lying in front of 
his door.  He stooped to pick it up and saw the sports 
headline in the top bar:  BUHNER'S HOMER POWERS THE MARINERS 
TO WIN IN EXTRA INNINGS; MARINERS 5, INDIANS 2.

Mulder smiled, wondering what Al had said when the home run 
came.  Buhner went from goat to hero in a matter of a few 
innings.  How quickly things can change.

He stuck the paper under his arm and climbed into their 
rented Taurus.

Scully's paper lay untouched on the sidewalk and her curtains 
were still closed.  She was probably sleeping.  

Mulder decided to make sure she had coffee by the time she 
woke up.

~~~~~~~

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