George Hale (4/17)
by invisiblefriends

Feedback: bettyteddyandray@gmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After IWTB, life goes on.


Chapter 4

They all survive George Hale's first night in his new home.

George Hale paces the circumference of the house for most of the
night and finally settles behind the fridge. He sleeps for an hour.

Scully camps out on the couch and reads while she tries to keep an
eye on George Hale and her mind off Mulder and wondering how
to make his and George Hale's lives ... not terrible. She sleeps for
two hours, maximum.

Mulder reads until three before going to sleep. The dream returns
but tonight it was different. Scully was in the kitchen, only it was her
kitchen in her Georgetown apartment. She was holding a book and
saying, 'No, I think I'm right, Mulder. He's got potential he just
needs a bit of work.'

Mulder had blurted out, 'Kind of like I did?' and knocked back a
bottle of beer.

She didn't answer; she kept flipping through the pages, looking for
new ways to train the dog, telling him how dogs were like children
and we couldn't let any more of them slip away. He could hear the
garbage truck in the background, making the usual sounds when it
is picking up garbage and hauling it away.

*The way theirs did. Children who have slipped out of their
arms. People who all but tumbled out of his care; partners who
he had known for only a year leaving voice mails calling for
help when they were being attacked.* 

In the dream, Mulder had kept trying to tell Scully that the dog
would end up doing his business all over the house and who was
going to clean it up. She wasn't bothered by any of this and this
made him tenser. He couldn't convince her that if that if they kept
this dog, it would disappear one day when Mulder was supposed
to be in charge. He kept trying to tell her that the real reason she
got a dog was to replace William but she only smiled patiently and
kept going through reasons why a dog was such a good idea.

And Mulder wakes up in a sad fury. It is the middle of the night,
pitch black outside; the other side of the bed is empty. He loses
another one. Even in a dream, even with a dog he doesn't care
about, he knows they couldn't go through that again.

At seven thirty the next morning, Scully rinses her coffee mug in the
sink and drops it onto the overfilled strainer. She can see George
Hale trying to gage her next move from his place behind the living
room curtain. She has forgotten what it is like to be followed by a
dog's very watchful eye. Queequeg kept her under guard for the
first night of their new living arrangement. This *was* Queequeg,
however, and he had lived comfortable confident existence without
any threats to his wellbeing. God only knew what this dog, with the
fighting scars that suggested he wasn't very good, has for a past.

She probably shouldn't have snapped at Mulder when he referred
to poor Queequeg's end. It was a long time ago, and there are a lot
of memories more off-limits than that.

He is still asleep - his light, still on,. He probably read himself to
sleep again when he knew it wasn't going to come naturally. Now,
he is on his stomach, his head deep under one of his pillows, an
elbow sticking out from the sheets.

Scully gently shakes her partner's shoulder. "Mulder - I'm leaving."

He slowly unburies his head from under the pillow. "Mmmmm?"

"Sit up for a moment, I want to talk to you." Scully nudges his legs
out of the way and sits down." How did you sleep?"

"All I heard all night was click-click-click." Slowly, he emerges
from beneath the blankets. His hand makes its way through his hair,
which is now in many different directions. He tosses a pillow behind
his shoulders and tries to look awake. "You heading out?"

"In a few minutes."

"Hold on, I'll make you breakfast." Eyes barely open, he flings back
the top sheet.

"I've had mine." Scully pushes him back down. He seems back to
normal this morning. Most likely, he hasn't remembered their
argument yet.

She traces her finger along his arm. "Your tan's fading."

"Mmm. Wish we were back on that beach." Mulder slowly pushes
himself up on his elbow. "Where's -" He pauses to clear his
cracking throat. "What's-his-name?"

"In the living room. I've fed him and taken him out for a short walk
so he should be fine for a while."

He nods, still trying to wake up. It feels like only seconds ago he
woke from the dream. "Did he have any accidents?"

"No - he was fine - Listen, I know I sprung this on you - I didn't
mean to - but we can give him a home, a place in this world. I think
he's a good dog, Mulder. He just needs a chance."

"Like me," he quotes from the script of his dream. He tries to sound
confident. These days, it is getting harder and harder.

"And I know you think you're stuck - but you'll find your way. You
will."

"How do you know that?"

She looks at him as if he's dense. "Because I know *you.*"

There is a familiar sound of timid nails on a wooden floor. Scully
leans to the left and sees George Hale looking at them from the
safety of the front door.

"If he's our first dog," she wonders. "I wonder if we're his first
humans."

"God help him," Mulder chokes sympathetically. "Go to work,
Scully. He'll be fine"

She stands up and heads towards the door. "Keep his water dish
filled."

"I will." Mulder gets out of bed and sleepily follows her.

"And when you take him for a walk, keep him on the leash at all
times. The shelter said he is a runner."

"I will," he repeats, digging his knuckle into his tired eyes

"Apparently, he's very nervous around other dogs, so if you should
see one..."

"I know, I know."

"And Mulder, if you see a cat ... well, the shelter says he's afraid of
cats."

"He's a pitbull. They are not afraid of cats."

"This one is.'

Mulder shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"You used to investigate the paranormal and you were afraid of
*insects.*"

"That was a long time ago and... Scully, why is he looking at me
like that?"

George Hale is sitting in the corner of the front entrance, his ears
are up. His eyes don't leave Mulder's midriff.

Scully shrugs. "He's probably never seen a naked man before. You
might want to put some pants on so you don't frighten him. Besides..." 
She picks up her coat and briefcase from the table and gives
him an appreciative leer. "I want everything to be here when I get
back."

Scully crouches in front of George Hale and scratches his chest.
"You be a good dog. Mulder will take care of you. I'll be back later
with some toys so you'll have a -"

"Scully," Mulder interrupts. "He's a dog."

She can read the pretend irritation in his voice and she is amazed at
moments like this when domesticity is so simple, so organic.
Anyone watching would think this is a normal couple who have
boring, sweet moments that make up a life.

"See you, Mulder."

Mulder closes the door after her and turns to the dog. George Hale
is still staring at him.

"Cats?" Mulder asks him in male-to-male disgust. "Really?" He
turns to give the dog a look. The dog has slinked away to the
kitchen where he will remain for the rest of the morning.


She doesn't know when she morphed into a Mulder'esque Shit-
Disturber but somehow it has happened. During another morning-
update in the boardroom, Scully slips into the chair next to Dr. Bull
and tries to catch the last part of a remark about changing
standards .

"Excuse me, she interrupts, "Standards for what?"

She could easily lean to the left and ask Dr. Bull but something tells
her to go public with the question.

Father Thomas sighs and shuffles some papers to show his
irritation. It's not that she has arrived late that bothers him, it
Scully's ability as a subtle shit-disturber that gets under his skin. He
is like a first grade teacher, wielding power he shouldn't. Scully is
the only one in the room who stands up to him.

"Futility policy," he sighs.

"I have asked a few of my colleagues at another hospital what their
opinions are. They have tried to establish their own policies for
Futility Cases and-"

"Other hospitals are not this one."

"I didn't mean to imply they were."

"Then tell me specifically -" He waves his arm around the room.
"Tell *us* specifically what your moral objections are."

Scully takes a deep breath. Her voice is even. She reminds herself
of someone at this second but she can't think of whom. "I just feel
that it is ironic that the 'right to die' movement was founded on the
premise that patients are the best judges of when it is time to die.
Now, it seems as though this hospital, with all its honourable
intentions, is telling us that only doctors are the best judges of when
we should die."

"Thank you, Doctor Scully. That will be-"

"Over time, the ethical question 'What is Right?' has become 'Who
Decides?' "

Father Thomas draws his fingers tightly into fists. "Doctor Scully -"

"Which now has devolved into 'What is Legally Allowed'."

Everyone is looking at her. Some people want her to continue.
Others want this discussion stopped. A few want her removed from
this room. But nobody says a word.

Mulder. That's who she reminds herself of - Mulder when he used
to get this way in the bureau. Self-righteous. Right. He doesn't
doubt himself for a moment. Neither does Scully. She can't if she
doesn't want other children like Christian to fall through the gaping,
invisible holes of hospital bureaucracy.

"That's all I have to say," she concludes quietly and remembers the
old days when dealing with dead people was a hell of a lot easier
than the live ones.


*When first introducing your dog to such common items as
camera, use caution. Some dogs fear objects such as cameras.
Whether it is a flash, the sound of the click or the object that
looks as if it could be thrown at them - use caution. With
patience and time, your dog might trust that your camera is
not going to hurt him. He may never trust this object or he
might. This is something you will only know with time. (You &
Your Rescue Dog)*

"Are you in one piece?"

Scully looks up from her desk. Curt Fraser, the only co-worker
here she considers a friend, is standing in the doorway of her office,
his arms folded, and a strange look of commiseration on his face.

"Barely. You heard about the meeting?"

"Oh, I'd say so. Quite a few of us on this side of the county heard
about the meeting. Sorry I wasn't there for it. I enjoy a good floor
show."

"I could have used the back up."

"No, actually, from what I hear, you did pretty well on your - hey,
what the hell is *that?*" He is staring at a frame on Scully's desk.

"They call it a photograph, Curt. You must have seen one before -
images created by light falling on light-sensitive surfaces that reflect
images based on objects."

"Haha." He strolls into her office, the first office she has called her
own in twenty years. It was one of the hospitals best perks. "You
have an actual personal item in your office. This picture came with
the frame, didn't it, Dana?" Curt's office is shamelessly littered with
photographs of his wife and children.

She takes it out of his hands and carefully places it back onto the
desk. "That's our dog."

"*You* have a dog?"

"We got him a month ago."

Scully is quietly pleased by this photograph of George Hale. There
is another frame on her desk, this one carefully blocked by a box of
Kleenex, of her and Mulder from their bureau days. it is her secret
smile during the chaos of her days here. They are standing side by
side outside the FBI. Her arms are folded, she is supposed to be in
serious mode but really, she is trying not to smile at a crack Mulder
just made about a jackass from accounting. Mulder has a slight
smirk on his face because he knows he got her.

A photographer was hired for a day to take pictures of various
bureau employees for a recruiting brochure; he didn't know he had
just photographed the two employees least wanted for publicity. By
the time an e-copy of the photo had made its way through the
email-tunnels of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, some wise ass had
added a pair of moose antlers on Mulder's head, and a pair of
aviation goggles around Scully's. The reference wasn't lost on either
of them, nor the accuracy.

"Tall, dark and horny," Mulder had remarked thoughtfully when he
saw it. He pointed to Scully. "You - short, quick; always ready for
action."

"Great," Scully had groaned. "I'm Squirrel to your Moose."

"Or, I'm Moose to your Squirrel. They see us for who we are,
Scully. Two non-conformists who bear no resemblance to the rest
of their world. We live and excel in our own world of Moose and
Squirrel. I can live with that."

And so they did. And without ever having to say so, they lived in
the world of Mouse and Squirrel and by the codes the world kept
recreating. *The Rules According to Moose and Squirrel;*sacred
laws that neither of them ever came out and declared but which fell
into when they started to work together, mostly to protect this
strange, close relationship that seemed to work despite itself. Even
Mulder, the eternal rule breaker, rarely broke *these* rules. There
had always been way too much to lose by being careless.

"We've been thinking about getting a dog," Curt is saying. "The kids
want one. I'm not sure I could handle the hassle. I've been telling
them 'yeah, we'll get one someday' for years. Any luck, I can keep
saying it. We'd have look for breeds, then breeders, all of that. Go
through the right channels so we know what we're getting into."

"I didn't have a clue what we were getting into. Maybe it's good I
didn't do any research. No, that's reason dogs like him end up in
shelters; because owners didn't know what they were in for."

Curt sniffs in approval. "Good looking dog. What'd you say his
name was?"

"George Hale."

"The solar astronomer?"

"No, that's George *E.* Hale. This is George *S.* Hale."

"And 'S' is for..."

Neither grown-up in the room should believe that the next words
are coming from an adult. She can't meet his eye. "Spooky."

"Christ, you two are weird," Curt puts down the photo. "You
training the dog yourselves?"

"Trying. I do exercises with him in the evenings. He's got a few
commands but the real trick is trying to get him to trust us. He is still
too afraid of Mulder but he's coming around with me more."

"You ought to have a kid. Much easier than a dog."

Curt doesn't know about William - nobody does - so he doesn't
know he has triggered the automatic response of her trying not to
blink out of sequence. These reactions have been getting stronger
lately; the panic that she will be asked about possible kids; that she
will have to explain why she is suddenly uncomfortable, ashamed,
and all the other emotions this subject dredges up. Look normal,
she tells herself now.

Curt doesn't have anything to do for a few minutes so he sits on the
corner of Scully's desk and picks up a stray pencil. He glances
around the office and his eyes stop on a thread on his shirt. "So,
what does your boyfriend say about the job offer?"

A hint of guilt dances over Scully's face "He doesn't know yet," she
admits. "About either of them."

"Ooooo. Secrets." Curt picks up a paperweight from the desk and
twirls it in his hand. "Hear the news about Stillens?"

"No. What is the news about Stillins?"

"He's taking over the research department in Boston."

Scully pretends to care less. "Good for him."

"Wasn't that one of the jobs you were being head hunted for?"

"Apparently that issue has just been solved."

He gives the paperweight a short toss. "So why didn't you go for an
interview?"

"The timing isn't right for relocating."

Curt is staring her down, rolling the frame on his hand. "So you've
said."

She sighs and sits back in the chair and waits for that which she
does not want hear to because she knows it will be true. She
knows he is referring to the Washington General offer - it's the
position she would really like to have but in the city she wants to go
near the least; so it is now and forever off the table. "I really don't
want to discuss it now, Curt. I've just pissed off a room full of
medical doctors who claim to have access to a higher authority than
God."

"Would your boyfriend have wanted you to take the job?"

Scully has to hold her tongue. *No, My Mulder would not want
me to take the job because he is not able to relocate, in fact he
is not able to leave the property and by the way, I am not
supposed to share this with anyone, and by the way if I don't
get out of here soon I may leave him anyway.* 

She knows this is mostly not the truth. Mulder is a lot of things
these days, difficult being at the top of her list, but she knows that
what he wants above most, above his own needs even, is for her to
be happy. And if he finds out what she hasn't told him he will be as
miffed as Curt and just as hurt.

"It is not a good time to relocate," is all she tells him.

"You deserve better than this place, Dana. Do you not see that?"

Her heart stops a beat in shock. He sounds just like Bill, without
the anger.

"No. Right now, I deserve what I have and that is a steady job in a
good hospital and a roof over my head. Are we done here, Curt?"

"No. Are you happy?"

The question jars her out of her thoughts. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Are you happy here?"

Oh, such a loaded question. She isn't sure whether to laugh or just
change the subject as she watches shadows of Mulder and Bill
snickering behind Curt's back. "We're done with this conversation,
Curt."

"Fine. We are done. Besides, your boyfriend's sabbatical is going
to end and if he doesn't get a teaching job, then at least one of you
will have a good income so you don't have to live in a tent that you
knit by yourself in some distant suburb of..."

*Mulder's sabbatical.* He and Scully had to work to form this
cover story. When Scully first joined the hospital, he didn't think he
needed to exist in her story.

*"You exist, Fox."* She had told him flatly. *"I simply state that
you are taking a year from your university teaching position to
write."*

"Don't you have some place to be?"

"Not until I'm done giving you career counseling. Okay, I'm done.
Let's talk about your Mulder. He's never been for a visit. I'm
beginning to think he might not exist. A few of us are, as a matter of
fact." It is true. Among a small hospital staff with little or no lives of
their own, there are still bets running about whether or not this
mystery partner with the strange name of *Mulder* even exists.

"Maybe he has been here when you weren't."

"No, I'd know. I sense these things."

Curt likes to bring up the subject of the invisible Mulder because
there is something about this person - who may or may not exist -
which interests him. He hasn't bought this writing scenario since the
day he first heard it. He will get it out of her one day. Until then, he
will continue to jump to his own conclusions and have fun with
those.

He glances at the clock and hops off the desk. "Shit. Duty calls."

And he is gone. Curt is not known for his lingering conversation. He
bounces from one topic to the next, depending on what interests
him at that moment. The perfect guest, Scully has often thought.
With the exception of a few invasive questions - *what does your
partner do for a living,* being the worst of them - he is good
company. And as much as he likes to know things, he also knows
when to let them go.

He would make a good friend for Mulder; another guy to talk to
about the weather or sports or whatever it is men talk about these
days. Skinner is the closest male to Mulder but there is still that line
between boss and friend. Curt can be a pain in the ass but he is
smart and quick and would be an intellectual match for someone
like Mulder. Instead, Mulder talks to the endless line of UPS men
about the weather.

The remainder of her day is meetings and rounds. There is only one
voice mail phone message. It is from Mulder and he is panicked.

The dog has run away.