The Crying Room
By Christine Leigh

Summary: Post-episode vignette for Requiem.
Third person POV. Scully returns to Bellefleur.
Rating: PG
Category: V, A, MSR
Spoilers: Requiem.

Bellefleur, Oregon
June 2000

Friday night

She isn't very friendly. Guarded, maybe. Most folks would probably say that 'hostile' would best describe her demeanor. I don't know. I try not to be too quick to judge people, and I'd only seen this woman, Dana Scully, to be exact, the one time before. It was about a month ago, when she and the other agent had been here. Agent Gorgeous with the to-die-for eyes. And his name, get this, was Fox. I'll be blunt. If I hadn't gotten an immediate vibe off him that indicated he wasn't interested in anyone besides her, I'd have broken a few rules. No, make that all the rules. He'd done most of the talking on that occasion since he'd done the registering, and it hadn't been much, but with a man like that, you don't really need much. Two rooms. Yeah, sure. My spies say that she spent at least one night in his. Have to love Housekeeping. They're very good at their job. My internship here ends soon and I'll be gone come September when the fall quarter starts, so until then whatever entertainment, or in this case intrigue, can be found is welcome.

I've never been much into soaps, but the real life stuff sucks me in every time. And this is one hell of a situation if the stories are to be believed. I know it sounds crazy, but apparently this abduction-by-alien thing is a big, if mostly unspoken of, part of the local folklore or whatever it might be considered. The stories of the kids who disappeared several years ago are right out of the headlines in the tabloid garbage a person can't help but scan while standing in line at the checkout stand at the grocery store. But it's very difficult to completely discount the notion after having spent a few months in this neck of the woods. All right, tell me I didn't really choose those words. How about, after having spent a few months in lovely Bellefleur and its environs. I remember the first time I read the list of available internships last winter and saw the name Bellefleur. So pretty, I thought, it sounds musical. Well, it is a pretty town, but there's nothing pretty or musical about the purported goings-on in those woods.

The latest development, which pertains to the matter that originally brought Agent Gorgeous and his partner to town, is that the one who came back seven years ago, Billy Miles, is gone again. He was cute, and friendly; not at all like his dad. I'd encountered both of them a few times during the events of last month. It's all very strange and sad. And even sadder if it's true, Agent Gorgeous is gone now, too. I wasn't here when he returned a few days after he and his partner had gone back to D.C., and from what I've been able to glean, he didn't check out the usual way. And now she's here again, and he's not with her. I want to believe that he's down with the flu, or perhaps assigned elsewhere. Or maybe that night in his room was a rule- breaker and they got busted; he could be working with someone else now. Yeah, sure. One thing I know, though, is that they always work in pairs. But tonight she's alone. She didn't register as a federal agent this time, but somehow I don't see this as a vacation. And to add a little more fuel to the fire, she asked for his room, the one where they'd spent the night together, according to my sources. I had to look it up to confirm this after she'd left the desk, and sure enough, it was the same room. For a flash there, when I'd said that it was available, she looked so grateful. Then she asked that no calls be put through unless from a Walter Skinner. There was a note of desperation, or maybe exasperation in her voice when she requested this. Who, I wondered, didn't she want to hear from? Well, I looked Walter Skinner up and hit the jackpot again. He'd accompanied Agent Gorgeous on the return trip. Must be one of the good guys.

On second thought, maybe it's not hostility I'm sensing in her. There's something about her that I can't quite fathom. Maybe she's just very tired. This is a long way to come for a couple nights of sleep, but given the details of this particular story, that's not exactly the strangest possibility. I'm glad the room wasn't already taken.


Sunday morning

Well, this time there isn't anything juicy, but then there would have had to have been an 'occurrence' I suppose for that to be, and nothing was reported over the last two nights. The woods have been quiet. In other words, Agent Gorgeous is still not here.

I've wondered lately if I'll miss all this stuff in any way after I leave. I was never anything more than a casual sci-fi fan, "E.T." and all, but now I don't know if I could watch even that movie without it being colored by what's happened here. At any rate, I don't imagine I'll ever stop wondering what happened to him. Fox. No, I think I'll stick with Agent Gorgeous.

Housekeeping is on their game though. Myra told me this morning that there was nothing to report from 'the room' aside from the sound of crying last night, and that Friday had been silent. She had delivered an extra pillow and then hung around outside for a while afterward. The lights were soon out, and then she'd heard it. It was low and muffled, but it was definitely crying. She hadn't stayed long after that, it was too hard she'd said. The woman had looked so sad when she'd taken the pillow from her.

Myra asked me about him then. She hadn't been on shift during the time the two of them were here. I told her I'd never seen a man like that before, and that Agent Gorgeous wasn't at all an exaggeration. Tall and slim, dark, handsome, with hair you wanted to embed your fingers in--all the usual things a girl doesn't mind in a man, but rarely finds converged in the same one. And his eyes. God, those eyes. The most beautiful brown eyes I'd ever seen and hoped to have look at me, ever.

We were starting to giggle like a couple of twelve-year-olds when it happened. There she was, standing there ready to check out. We were so busted. Our backs had been to the door, and I hadn't heard it open. I've no doubt she's very good at her profession. I tend to blush easily, and hoped I wasn't too close to crimson as I handed her the bill. If she was offended, however, her voice didn't betray her. And then I could see that her eyes were wet. She wasn't crying now, not exactly, but I felt like she would with the right provocation. I don't have any sisters, but I felt for a moment like I wanted to hug her as though she were mine. What would she do without him, I wondered? She was clearly in agony. She signed the bill, and gave me her key. The only words she had spoken were to say "thank you" when I'd handed her the piece of paper. Perfunctory nothingness. She turned and walked away. I know I'll never see her again, and now I'm feeling sad.

She was almost through the door, and then she turned back to look at me. It was just a short distance between us, as it's a very small reception area, and then something else occurred. I could swear that I saw brightness there for a moment surrounding her. Kind of like a cartoon version of a star on top of a Christmas tree with little lines in all directions indicating points of light. She seemed a different person than the one I'd just checked out. Weird doesn't begin to describe the scene before me. Other worldly? Possibly. Then her voice brought us back to earth.

"Hazel. His eyes are hazel." She left.

~ End ~

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This story is (c) Copyright 2003 by Christine Leigh. "The X-Files" and its characters are the property of the Fox Network and Ten-Thirteen Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit.