Assistance
by Amal Nahurriyeh

Email: amalnahurriyeh@gmail.com 
Summary: She really wants to get out of the temp pool.
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13 (some cursing)
Warnings: None.
Angst Level: Low.
Timeline/Spoilers: Pre- and post-MOF.

Disclaimer: Intellectual property is a capitalist fiction designed to
oppress the working fic-writer. That said, I don't own them either. 

Author's Note: Written for wendelah1. I guess this is her
Caseyverse fic for help_pakistan, unless she doesn't want it to be,
in which case it's just plain-old cheering-up fic. 

Thanks to cityesm for the insta-beta.


Wendy straightened her suit.  OK, girl, she told herself.  This is the
big time.  Don't blow it.  She knocked on the doorframe.  "I'm not
here," said an abrupt voice from within.

"Doctor Scully?" she said, trying to suppress her faint nervous
tremor.  

"Yes, come in," said the voice.

Wendy swung the door the rest of the way open.  The office was
pleasant enough, if full of papers, stacked in what were intended to
be neat piles but had, somewhere along the way, become
overwhelming.  This woman clearly needed someone to handle the
paperwork.  "My name is Wendy Forthryte?  Administration sent
me to you.  I'm your new assistant."

"My what?"  Dr Scully was not, as she'd assumed, some sort of
senior hot-shot; she looked youngish, maybe not even forty yet,
and was pretty.  She was wearing little round reading glasses, and
peering suspiciously from across a desk full of x-rays and MRIs.  

"Assistant?"  This was getting a little strange, and it had only been a
minute and a half. She really didn't want to go back to the temp
pool. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

Dr. Scully drummed her fingers on the x-rays.  "Have a seat."  She
picked up the phone as Dr. Scully dialed an extension on the
phone.  "Paul, it's Dana.  There's a young woman in my office
claiming she's my assistant." She tapped a pen on the table and got
an unpleasant look on her face as the person on the other end
spoke.  "I don't need an assistant.  I've been doing fine running
things through Angela--"  She raised her eyebrows at whatever this
Paul person said.  "I did not yell at her.  I just said that--"  She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the squawking over the
line continued.  "Okay. Fine.  Thank you."  She hung up and
glanced over at Wendy.  "Well.  I was unaware the punishment for
being disliked by the neurology department administrator included
an assistant, but apparently it does."  She took off her glasses and
dropped them on the table.  "How long have you been with the
hospital?"

She sat up straighter. "Seven months.  I've been doing temp work
with different departments--billing, scheduling, things like that.  I
just spent twelve weeks in pediatrics, helping out while a junior
administrator was out on maternity leave."

"And what's your background?"  

She tried not to be embarrassed.  This was a bad economy, she
wanted to say; it wasn't her fault she was a temp.  "I have a BS in
biological sciences from the University of Richmond.  I just
graduated in the spring."

"You were premed?"

"For a while."  She pretended she wasn't blushing. "I decided
medical school wasn't where I wanted to go right now."  Also that
she fainted when she tried to cut into dead animals, so how could
she ever manage it on a person?  "I'm very interested in working
outside of the lab sciences, but in a way that would use my degree."

At this, Dr. Scully smiled.  "Your parents are mad at you."

That was spooky.  "A little."

"Have you considered the FBI?"  At Wendy's confused look, she
waved her hand.  "Never mind.  It's a joke.  Do you know how to
use PubMed?"

"Absolutely."  

"Perfect.  I need recent articles on treatment protocols for
successive concussive injuries in preteens."  Wendy pulled out a
small spiral notebook out of her pocket and started taking notes. 
Dr. Scully nodded appreciatively.  "Timetables of bone regrowth
using autotransplants, and current best practices are for the use of
sonic technology in the process.  I need you to pull James
Conquest's file, call his insurance company, and find out how much
more his parents have to pay on his deductable before they'll start
covering the medical treatments that are saving his life and
preserving his brain function.  Stress that the correct answer is zero. 
I am available to play bad cop if necessary.  And I'll need a copy of
your personnel file."

Wendy blinked at the last, and wrote it down.  "Absolutely."  She
stood and walked to the door, then turned around.  "Oh.  Do I
have a desk?"

Dr. Scully picked up the films in front of her.  "That's an question I
can't answer.  Ask Angela.  No, wait.  Don't ask Angela.  Ask
Tamara.  She doesn't hate me yet."

"Yes, Dr. Scully," she said, vaguely confused, and went to look for
her desk.

***

"How many patients do I have tomorrow?" Dr. Scully said,
unclipping her hair and scratching at the back of her head.

Wendy was continually amused at how absent-minded Dr. Scully
had become after her maternity leave.  It wasn't that she was any
less intelligent, or that her personality had changed in the slightest; it
was more that she just couldn't hold on to details, like which file she
needed to pick up next or which tests she'd ordered for which
patient or where she'd put her car keys.  Wendy had bought her a
beeper for those, which she had promptly lost.  "Six," she said. 
"Four of them are follow-ups, one is a second opinion for someone
coming from Duke, and one is a new patient.  Sounds like
migraines from the parent's self-report."

"What's the second opinion?"

"Brain tumor.  They're deciding chemo first versus surgery first."  

Dr. Scully winced.  "How old?"

"Ten months."  

She shook her head.  "Leave the file out for me to get first thing,
okay?  Purple."

They had an elaborate post-it tagging system.  Purple was priority. 
She made a note in her notebook.  

"Mama," said a high-pitched voice behind them.

She saw Dr. Scully smile before she turned around to look, so she
had some idea what to expect, but Sadie's little head held around
the doorframe was an intrinsically funny sight.  She was wearing a
hat that looked like a zebra's head, velcroed under her chin, and
was chewing on her hand and regarding them with that vaguely
confused look all six month olds have.  Her father's hand was
holding her head up, and the rest of her torso in a bright pink
sweater was half-visible around the door.  "Mama," Mulder said
again in his Sadie voice.  "We're going to be late to Grammy's
house.  I sure don't want to miss my visit with my uncle.  That
would be a shame."

Wendy glanced back at Dr. Scully.  She was covering her mouth
and trying not to look like she was smiling.  It was not a successful
attempt.

"Mama, your job is boring.  Come play with me and Daddy." 
While Mulder voiced her, Sadie noticed the doorframe, and
reached out with her wet hand to pull closer to it and bite the metal.

"No, honey, don't eat the door, it has MRSA," Dr. Scully said,
moving to get up.  

Mulder pulled her away from the frame, stepping into the open, and
eyeing the metal suspiciously.  "How do you know it has MRSA?"

"It's a hospital.  Everything has MRSA."  She stood behind the
desk.  "Mulder, you look terrible."

"It has not been our finest day," he said, juggling Sadie, who was
trying to escape from his arms.  Where she thought she was going
was unclear, but damn if she wasn't going to try to get there.  

"You need to change your shirt," Dr. Scully said.  She gestured to
the large spit-up stain on his side.

He followed her gesture.  "Goddamn it.  That's the third time
today."  He walked into the room and held out the baby, not in any
particular direction.  Wendy grabbed her, and passed her across
the desk to Dr. Scully.  Mulder dropped the diaper bag onto the
couch in the corner and started rooting through it.  "Tell me this
stops soon."

"I'm sorry to break it to you, Mulder, but she's going to stay a baby
for a while," Dr. Scully said, kissing Sadie's cheek and holding her
close.  Sadie reached up to pull at her earrings.  

"Baby I can handle.  Puke machine I cannot," he said, pulling a
spare shirt out of the bottom of the bag.  He gave it a shake. 
Cracker crumbs cascaded down onto the floor, but it was
otherwise clean.  He pulled his stained shirt off without a moment's
consideration.

Damn, Wendy thought.  Everyone should look that good when
pushing fifty and spending all day with a baby.  Lucky Doctor
Scully.  She quickly glanced back to her notebook, hoping nobody
had noticed.  

"So the rest of the files don't need post-its," Dr. Scully said as if the
intervening conversation had never happened and she weren't trying
to stop Sadie from removing her earrings.  "Make sure the new
patients do the new form consenting to research documentation. 
And we're out of muffins."

"I'll get another dozen on the way in tomorrow."  Wendy stood and
picked up the files off Dr. Scully's desk.  "Have a nice evening."

"That's hopeful," Mulder said, restuffing everything into the diaper
bag.  

"You too, Wendy," Dr. Scully said politely.

Sadie spit up on Dr. Scully's lab coat.

***

She couldn't help feeling something was wrong.

Dr. Scully's voicemail had been odd, at best.  She'd been calling to
check in at strange times, and her voice over the phone had
sounded altered, as if she were calling from far underground.  The
background noises didn't sound like winter vacation, but a sharp
blur of other voices and technology.  Dr. Scully had asked her to
run by their PO Box and check their personal mail.  She hadn't
heard Sadie's voice over the phone once.  

Something was going on, she was pretty sure. But she'd been
working at Our Lady of Sorrows long enough to know that
sometimes strange things happened, and if you didn't have to deal
with them just to keep going. Mostly, she was taking the time Dr.
Scully was out of the office to reorganize all of her filing.  It had
gotten a little backed up in there lately.

But now, it was the evening, and she was preparing to curl up on
the couch with Netflix and the dinner she'd picked up from Chipotle
on the way home.  Nearly Christmas, and she had to figure out how
to get out of the holidays with her parents, because that was going
to be a clusterfuck.  "Why are you still a secretary, Wendy?  Aren't
you ever going to get a real job, Wendy?  You could have been a
doctor, Wendy."  No, thank you.

She was surprised by the knock on the door, and decided to ignore
it. Someone looking for another apartment.  But then it came again,
and again.  How did they get into her building?  She walked over
and opened the door, keeping the chain on.  An attractive black
man was standing outside of the door in a trench coat, hands in his
pockets.  "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Wendy Forthryte?  My name is Special Agent Mosely Drummy,
and I'm with the FBI.  May I come in?"

She examined him nervously.  He looked like a fed, she guessed,
not that she really knew what feds looked like except from
watching *Bones,* but she couldn't imagine a good reason why
he'd be here.  "I'm sorry, but may I see some ID?"

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and produced a small billfold. 
She examined the ID; it looked legit.  And tucked inside was a
small piece of paper. *I'm a friend of Scully's.  Don't ask too many
questions.*  

She blinked at it for a moment, and took the chain off the door.

As soon as it was closed behind them, he spoke again.  "Ma'am,
I'm here to take you into protective custody.  We need to move as
quickly as possibly."

"Protective custody?"  That didn't make any sense.  "What's going
on?"

"You're a material witness in an ongoing criminal investigation," he
said calmly, "and we need to put you in a program that will protect
you until you can give your testimony.  Please go pack a bag."

"What?  No, I can't, I have work."

"Ma'am."  He pinned her to the spot with a look.  "Go pack for
cold weather.  Bring personal effects.  Your life depends on it."

Hands shaking, she went to pack.

He drove her to a small airport she'd never seen before, out in the
middle of nowhere. She figured panicking was a sensible response,
and so was not appearing to panic, so she tried to balance them.  A
woman waved him down outside.  "OK, her flight's booked. I'll
erase it once we get home.  Are things arranged on the other end?"

"I gave them a call.  I'm assuming they've got their shit together. 
Thanks, Chelle."

"That's my job," she said, buckling her seatbelt.  

"Excuse me?  Where am I going?" Wendy asked from the
backseat.  Her fingers were cramped where she'd been clinging to
the handle of her suitcase.  He hadn't let her bring her cell phone. 
Something was really, really wrong.

"We can't tell you that," Agent Drummy said.  "But you're in safe
hands from here on out."

"What's the investigation?  I mean, what am I a material witness
to?"

Drummy smiled.  "Nothing yet.  Don't worry.  This will all start
making sense in about six hours."

"Oh, more than that," the woman said.  "It'll take a few hours to
sink in once she starts getting info.  Remember that dinner?"

"My head hurt for a week," he said, as if it were a pleasant
memory. 

They drove onto the tarmac, and he escorted her to a small charter
airplane with a few other passengers aboard already.  The woman
handed her a ticket, which read Leigh Connor.  "You're checked
in.  Don't speak to any of the other passengers unless absolutely
necessary.  Someone will be waiting for you at your destination. 
They'll have a sign that says Connor."

"Why am I using a fake name?" she asked, hands shaking on the
tickets.

"I swear, Scully will explain everything," the woman said, patting
her hands.  "You'll be fine."

Wendy didn't believe a word of it.  She got on the plane and
watched, sleepless, as Virginia disappeared beneath her.  

The sun dawned as the plane started its descent somewhere over
the Rockies.  Wendy had never been this far across the country; a
trip to Chicago once in college, but this was new territory as far as
she was concerned.  At the airport, she was tempted to run, get to
a phone, call the cops and say she'd been abducted, but there was
someone waiting on the tarmac with a sign saying Connor.  He was
just a cabbie, and drove her six miles over small back roads
without making conversation. Eventually, he stopped at an empty
field, where a black helicopter waited, with a man leaning against
the side.  Her palms are sweaty as the helicopter man hands the
cabbie a wad of bills and helps her into her seat while speaking
almost not at all.  Silently, from memory, she begins praying the
rosary. There is no way this ends well.

Half an hour later, the pilot does some elaborate code-giving
conversation over the radio.  "Cargo intact.  Can I get someone up
to receive it?"

"Affirmative," said the squawky voice over the radio, which had
much of the same sound quality as Dr. Scully's calls.  "We've got
the primary available.  She'll handle it."

Handle it.  This sounded terrible.  She tried to keep the panic
below the surface as the helicopter began to descend.

As they landed, she noticed a small figure emerge from what
appeared to be a solid rock face. She unbuckled her seatbelt,
picked up her suitcase, and let the pilot help her out of the
helicopter.  The air was frigid, and the snow got into her sneakers. 
She shivered.

"Didn't you bring a coat?" the figure said, trudging across the snow. 
Her head snapped up.  It was Dr. Scully, her hair pulled up and
dark circles under her eyes, wearing a winter parka and
snowboots.  "Here."  She pulled off her coat.  "You must be
freezing."

Wendy stood there, shocked for a moment.  "They really were
bringing me to you," she blurted, realizing it was an intensely dumb
thing to say, but very, very necessary.

"I've got a job for you, if you're up for it," Dr. Scully said, draping
the parka over her shoulders.

Wendy fought the pressing need to burst into tears.  "Okay," she
said, more quietly than she anticipated.  

"Come inside, Wendy," Dr. Scully said softly, and put her hand on
her arm in the most motherly gesture she could remember from her.

Wendy followed her into the mountain.

***

She checked off her to-do list.  The sales meeting with Pasteur was
set up, and finance had all their paperwork ready.  The Geneva
office had signed a lease, which meant she no longer had to chase
them down via Skype every time she needed something from them. 
Nairobi had done the waves of hiring they'd wanted, and they were
going to be able to start production soon; she had arranged for the
funds to be transferred for the first few month's payroll.  Board
meeting next week, and her presentation was drafted.  She'd get
one of her staff to finish the Powerpoint from her notes; she had too
much to do with getting the China trip fully arranged.  She left her
office and headed down to travel; they were really useless, you
needed to go deal with them in person if you want to get anything
done.

"Wendy?"  Dana walked out of her office, carrying a giant stack of
papers.  "I've got all the China pitches done.  Do you know who
needs to see them?"

"I'll pass it off," she said, grabbing the paper.  "Does legal need to
look at any of it?"

"Probably?  I can never remember what we're allowed to say about
the launches."

She dropped it in the pile for legal.  Ingrid would come pick it up
later.  "When are you in the office next?  There are some press
requests that I'd like to schedule you for."

Dana rolled her eyes.  She hated the press requests, but she was
the most requested interviewee for all of Stark Industries, even
more than Isabel Yarborough, President and CEO.  "Sometime
next week.  Isabel wants me to do a conference call with Shanghai
while she's there, and it's easier to do it here without distractions." 
She wandered back into her office, with its neat little label: DANA
SCULLY, CHIEF SCIENTIFIC OFFICER.  "Shit," she said from
inside the office.  "Where the hell are my keys?"

Wendy went and leaned on the doorframe.  Scully was rummaging
around her desk.  There was a framed picture of Will and Sadie on
the edge which was in danger of falling off, and another of her
shaking the hand of the King of Sweden, Mulder standing behind
her in a tux, arms folded, looking infinitely pleased.  "I think you
need an assistant."

"I'm spoiled," she said, leaning down to look under the desk.  "I
don't think I could handle someone incompetent."

The VP for Administration and Finance of Stark Industries smiled,
picked up the keys from where they sat on top of the filing cabinet,
and threw them onto the desk, where they landed with a clunk. 
Dana looked up at them.  "Have a good weekend, Dana," she said. 
 "Say hi to the family."

Dana smiled.  "You too, Wendy."

Wendy pulled her Blackberry out of her pocket, and headed down
the hall to her next meeting.