George Hale (10/17) by invisiblefriends Feedback: bettyteddyandray@gmail.com Rating: PG-13 Summary: After IWTB, life goes on. Chapter 10 *Dogs have no sense of time except for the immediate. Now is their everything. They don't know yesterday, last week or last year. They don't have the kind of recall that humans do. dogs don't possess memories of actual events but of the emotions, senses which these events can evoke. If a dog is mistreated by a short, round man with a mustache this dog may always be fearful of people fitting this description. They may not remember the day, month or year of the event, but often the feelings which the trauma caused will remain. - You & Your Rescue Dog* Mulder leans back in his chair as far as the springs will go and flings the cardboard calendar that sits on the corner of the desk against the wall. It's the cheap kind of calendar, the kind that turns into a triangle if you put edge A into slot B. Mulder would like to hide the all the calendars the way he hid a note from a teacher about Fox's bad behaviour after a mock debate between him and another fourteen-year-old. Mulder kept that note to himself for a week before he found the nerve to rip it into tiny pieces and get on with his life. He flips open the laptop lid. *'Two years might as well be twenty and it might as well come in the disguise of yesterday. The son I didn't know, except for a few days of fatherhood, and when the memories approach, feelings turn into pain and I never know what to do except be there for Scully. I seem to be able to hold on until I know her pain has ebbed as much as it can. At least at the hospital, for all its challenges, she is at work in a busy job, where nobody really knows who she is, where she has been, what at she has seen, what she has given up. t is easy to contain that hurt there. But this year is worse because I haven't seen any signs from her yet. She hasn't made a gesture or used a tone of voice that lets me know how she is doing. Her work has been busy. Twice in the last month she has had to stay over at the hospital instead of making the trip home and then back. I have wondered if this might be a clue but I don't think so. - FWM* George Hale circles under Mulder's desk until he has found a comfortable spot on the old sleeping bag that Mulder put down for him. He is good company, this dog, even when he is out cold and chasing bunnies in his sleep. "That baby had changed everything," Mulder sighs. The truth, the lies - they all fell away from the front of the door and were replaced, even if just for a moment, by this miracle who belonged not just to her, but to both of them. The tiny fingers, the slight jerky movements, the wide eyes trying to see it all at once; and the trust. This was the only thing that mattered and even though he only knew this little baby for a matter of days, Mulder had fallen in love with him, and even deeper with this baby's mother. "Christ!" He whacks a mug of cold coffee with his hand and watches it fly across the room and slam into the wall. There is a split second where he could swear he sees the broken glass, mixed with the drops of coffee hang in the air as if they are looking for a place to settle. The mug misses the rug and crashes to the floor. There is a noise under the desk. "Sorry," Mulder apologizes absently. He knows what is coming on, that ache and he is not going to sit in this room and take it. He shoves the chair back and heads for the door. George Hale gets there before he does. "No, George Hale, you just went and I need to get the hell out of...shit. Fine." He yanks the leash from the hook and snaps it on to the collar in record time. He and the dog are out the door before he can change his mind. Mulder didn't bring a coat, his gloves or a hat and it is getting damned cold. He has been walking for two hours and he is freezing, angry at life and willing to walk another two hours if that's what it takes to feel nothing. These rural roads go on forever. Some of them cross with others and to Mulder's memory he has taken at least four of them. But now it is dark, George Hale is tiring and they are both hungry and very lost. In the distance - and it is hard to be a judge of distance out here - he hears sirens. It reminds him of DC. Sirens are all you could hear some days. Police, Fire, Ambulance, Car alarms; he doesn't miss any of them until right now. Wherever they are coming from, Mulder would pay a million dollars to be there pretending he was back in the big city, living his old life, before William, before Scully even, when he was the only one he had to worry about. "Fox?" He hasn't noticed a familiar sports car slow to a crawl a few feet away. The driver's window rolls down. Curt's head appears. Mulder spares him a look and tries to keep walking, tugging the dog along. It feels as though the leash has frozen itself onto his hand. Curt inches alongside him. "Get in." "We can walk." "Not likely. You're about ten miles from your place." Mulder keeps going. Curt gently swerves the car in front of them. "Out of my way," Mulder growls. "Would you like to try and make me?" When George Hale sees who is driving, he bolts from Mulder and bounces over to his friend. Curt leans out the window. "GeorgieBaby, how's it hanging! Oh, whosagoodboy. *whosagoodboy*" George Hale is on his back feet, at eye level with Curt and it isn't clear if he is happier to see another friend or the fact that he may not have to keep walking with the Silent One. "What the hell are you doing out here?" Curt asks, keeping a hand on the dog's bouncing head. He nods towards the passenger seat. "Get in, Fox. I'm serious." "Take George Hale. I need to walk." "No, you need to shut up and get in the car." *Fuck.* Wordlessly, Mulder shuffles around to the passenger door and lets himself in. George Hale has bounced through the window, onto Curt's lap and lands on Mulder's. He tries to get the dog to sit by his feet but this sports car is no pick-up and there is no room by Mulder's feet. "Aw, he's good there," Curt says. "Just hold on to him tight - he's *m'*boy." For some reason, this is what tips Mulder over the edge. "No," he spits out. "George Hale is a dog, not a boy and he is my dog, not yours. He is a dog-boy at best. But he is *not* a boy." He expects a dead silence to follow this outburst. Instead, Curt whistles as if he's just seen a home run from a blind elk. "Okay, message received." Curt carefully eases back onto the road. "So what the hell are you two doing this far from home?" "Nothing," Mulder replies, trying not to shake from the cold. "Christ, you are having a good day, aren't you? No coat, no nothing. And Georgie-Boy needs something on him. Your body temperature is higher than his. Dana's going to love this." Mulder's head turns sharply. "Don't tell her." He must sound as desperate as he is because Curt takes a sideways look at him and nods. "Is everything okay, Fox? I could call you, 'Mulder' if that would make this easier." "Everything is fine." "Listen, I'm going to the hospital - why don't you come in, say hi to Dana. She can use a break and you can use some heat." "She's still there?" "Yep. A bus went over on some ice. They're calling everybody in." The sirens. "Can you drive us home?" "Sure, that's not a problem." By the time Curt stops in front of Mulder and Scully's house, his moral code is doing gymnastics over whether or not he should tell Dana about this. Her boyfriend is not behaving normally, not even for a man who made his parents call him by his last name. He should see that Mulder gets himself - and this beloved dog - into the house safely but Mulder would most likely tell him to go to hell. In which case, Curt could tell Dana about the meeting under the pretense that her boyfriend was mean to him. "Thanks." Mulder's hand is on the door handle. "No problem. Stay warm." Mulder turns halfway. It takes everything he has to ask "How ... how does Scully - Dana seem these days?" "Same. Nothing different." Mulder nods and opens the door. He is about to say something else but changes his mind. He climbs out and waits for George Hale to follow. Curt's voice cuts in. "I don't suppose I could use your little boys room for a second." Mulder nods. It's the best he can do right now. Curt darts past him into the house, wondering if he can suddenly have to pee when he doesn't actually have to. And Mulder, not caring that there is a near-total stranger in his house, finds a blanket and throws it on top of his cold dog with a slight apology. Then he sits at the table and leans forward, head in hands, and wishes everything would stop. During the next half hour or so, Mulder is dimly aware of someone in the kitchen trying to find the filter for the coffee machine; cleaning a mug he found in the sink; feeding the dog, then taking the dog out for a pee while the coffee maker goes full throttle. Mulder can smell coffee brewing and hear the comfort of someone talking in an even, sane voice about absolutely nothing. When Mulder lifts his head from his hands and opens his eyes, he is alone. A mug of hot coffee is beside his elbow. A sweater is folded and on the table next to it. Finally, and this is what catches his attention, he sees a business card, with the hospital logo lying on top of the sweater. On the card, there is a note in blue, tiny almost legible handwriting that says, *'Call if u need n-e thing - C.* followed by a phone number. It will be hard to dislike this guy from now on and Mulder isn't sure he should try. Anyone who looks after George Hale while George Hale's owner is zoned out in grief is acceptable in Mulder's books. The answering machine is flashing four times. Two messages are from Scully, an hour apart. Shit. She will know he was out. The first message tells him that she is going to be staying at the hospital that night. The second message is a repeat of the first, but this time, she asks him not to forget George Hale's early morning walk, the shift she usually takes. Neither message left any sign that she was upset about anything more than dealing with the casualties at the hospital and worrying about George Hale's pee schedule. The third message is from Skinner. Mulder's insides tighten because he knows Skinner wants an update on Mulder's decision about returning to the bureau. The anxiety disappears when he hears Skinner confirm the details of their surprise for Scully. Twice, he pauses to ask Mulder if he is there and if so, to please pick up. The fourth message is from the publisher. They would like to know when they can expect a draft of a chapter from the book. Mulder would like to know the same thing. Part of his walk was taken up with a nervous rant to George Hale about why he made this book deal and what was he thinking and what the hell were they expecting; and that every chapter he wrote sounded like another dry, ordinary paranormal detail. When he first wrote them, centuries ago, the reports were detailed and complete. Now they lack any kind of life and he was stupid enough to think he might be able to refer to the ones he was able to keep. But in the sobering warmth of his home, Mulder is realizing this isn't going to get better and these people are not going to get what they have pre-paid him for. And if they do, it will be a piece of shit. He hasn't written anything for the book for a while. Instead, he has been pouring his problems out to an anonymous computer who will neither judge him or ask when the first draft will be ready. He has been writing for his own peace of mind because he knows his own mind; he doesn't, it appears, know anything about anything else. Today is the deadline. It is also the anniversary of the day Scully said goodbye to William. In the kitchen, Mulder feeds George Hale. "She's not going to be home tonight," he says and sits down on the chair and leans forward. He is still cold and probably won't stop shivering until next June. Meanwhile, his equally shaking dog is wolfing down a cup of wet and dry mix like there is no tomorrow. Mulder reaches for the phone on the table. He presses #1 on the pad and waits. He gets her voice mail and drags his hand tiredly through his hair as he leaves what he hopes is a coherent message. "Hi it's me - got your message - messages - I'll get him out early. Let me know if you need me to do anything - I'll be ... um .... here" He rolls his eyes. Where the fuck else will he be. "Have a ... I don't know what I'm saying . Tired. Just ... call me, okay?" With that slurred message, he reaches over and puts the receiver back. He's too tired to hit redial and try again. "I'm going to sleep," he mumbles, while George Hale continues to inhale the meal he's been given and doesn't notice when the Other One wanders out of the kitchen. Mulder turns off the lights and drops onto the couch. If sleep is going to find him tonight, it will have to look for him here. He lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling, which he can barely see but knows is there. He thinks about the anniversary, the book, the dog, the partner; how the fear of the dog is as vivid and real as the human's fear of the past or the future, and why dogs are the lucky quantity because all they know is the present. They don't remember children disappearing, years of searching, finding the one who was in front of you all along and watching them slip away; saving people who can't be saved or taking one baby step at a time to get out of where you are. Watching people you love miss people they have had to lose. Keeping secrets from yourself so well that even you don't remember they are there anymore. Thinking you have lost everything when you had nothing to lose in the first place. And what will William know of his first parents, his mother and father if he is even told about them? He will never know who they were, what they went through together and apart and how much they love him - not unless a fifteen-year-old William wanders around a bookstore one day, randomly picks up a book from the discount bin - where there are 200 other copies of the same book - opens the book, reads bits and pieces and he knows. He just knows. Suddenly, the words are there, so are the memories, even some of the harder ones, and Mulder knows what he has to do. He will write this book for his son and he will tell him everything. The phone wakes him from a dream about paper clips. Mulder has fallen asleep at his desk, his arms folded on top of his laptop. It is daylight as he pops out of his sleep and grabs the phone before he knows he is actually doing it. "Yeah- hello..." He clears his throat so even he can understand what he's saying. There is a pause. "...Mulder?" "Scully?" "Yes - I'm sorry, did I - I woke you, didn't I?" She sounds like she has a cold. "No-yes -" He sits up and tries to pull himself together. "No - I nodded off at the computer - never mind - where are you?" "At the hospital. In my office." He can hear strange catches of breath from her. "You okay, Scully?" She isn't. She tries to talk coherently but she is crying and trying to stop is only making it worse. "Scully -" "I was - scrubbing from - a couple of people were arguing about what the date is ...." Mulder can barely make out most of what she is saying, except for three words. "...it was *yesterday.*" William. His heart wants to break in a million pieces so that hers doesn't have to. "I c-can't believe I could forget -" "Scully - listen to me ... are you there?" He waits until he hears what he hopes is a yes. "I'm coming to pick you up." "No - don't - I'm fine, I just ...can't stop crying." She says this as if it is the sort of thing that should be happening to *other* people. He does the mental math of how long it would take him to get the truck to the hospital with new snow just daring cars to go any faster but he doesn't want her staying in that place for any longer than she has to. The business card on the table is all but yelling at him, duh, duh. And the reason it's here takes shape. "Listen," he says, stretching the phone cord as far as it will go so that he can pick up the card between two fingers from the table. "Can you stay where you are, I've got an idea." "Oh, Christ, Mulder." she sobs again. She cannot take any more surprises; she has just landed on one of the worst possible ones. "Trust me, Scully." He thinks he can hear a soft laugh in her pain and this makes him feel better. He hangs up and dials the first of two contact numbers on the card. "It's Mulder ...fine - *Fox* - I need you to do me another favour." The car doesn't make a sound until it is halfway down the drive. Mulder is on the porch, dressed this time and only wearing socks to cover his feet. By the time the car pulls up in front of the house, his hand is already on the passenger door handle. Curt steps out of the driver's side and calls over the hood of the car. "Hey, how's my buddy?" For a horrible second, Mulder thinks Curt is talking about him. "He's inside. I don't want him ..." Disturbing the grieving mother, he would like to say. The passenger door opens and Scully emerges looking like a person who has worked for forty eight hours and then remembered she had forgotten about her only son and the last time she held him. "I'm fine, Mulder," she says tightly, almost daring him to say anything. "Thanks for the ride, Curt." "No problem. Hope you're feeling better, kiddo." With one arm protectively around Scully, Mulder turns and mouths the words, "Thank you," to him. Inside, Mulder closes the door behind them and removes her coat. While he drops it on the nearest chair, she blankly sits down on the couch, leans forward and begins sobbing so hard she doesn't think she will ever stop. There isn't much she will remember about these hours but there are little moments that will never disappear. Mulder flying off the front porch to open her car door; sinking into the cushion as Mulder lands next to her, and how his long arms, both of them, folded tightly around her shoulders. Mulder helping her to her feet from the couch and walking her into their bedroom; how he pulled back the sheets and helped her slip under the covers, still wearing her hospital scrubs; how his hand only left her shoulder long enough for him to climb over her - not walk around the bed as he usually does - and lie next to her until she has cried herself to sleep. Eleven-thirty. Sun is cracking through the clouds. It bounces off the snow and sends shards of light into the bedroom. The morning drifts back to her as if she is a patient coming out of anesthesia. Life has continued with her but she doesn't know how she managed to stay on except that the man she shares her life with broke one of his own rules about asking for help so that he could bring her home. Before she opens her eyes, she thinks she is waking up in her own bed in Georgetown. One of her pillows is lying behind her. An extra blanket is lying across her back and hangs off her shoulder. There is a strong sense that she is in a safe place and that she is home again. But it isn't an old blanket over Scully's back and she isn't in her old apartment in Georgetown. The pillow behind her is Mulder, and the bed is in a small farmhouse in the country. The extra blanket turns out to be Mulder's arm draped across her back. Scully opens her eyes and sees his hand dangling from her shoulder. George Hale is curled into a near perfect ball directly below her, half under the bed where he is safe, the other half where she will step and let him know she is awake She watches the sun light splattering the far wall with white and yellow light. As broken as she feels from this horror, she knows she is safe. She is careful to slip out from Mulder's arm and quietly sit up. George Hale scrambles to his feet out of his sleep, his loud nails clicking code for YOU'RE HERE on the wood floor. Scully nuzzles her head into his and tells him she loves him. She has never said this to him, this dog. She knows how much she loves him; that is a no brainer. But this new step in her relationship with this dog takes even her by surprise. With George Hale on her heels, she goes to the bathroom wearing the same scrubs she has worn for the past forty-eight hours. These scrubs will end up in the garbage bin; she will pay for them if she has to but she never wants to see them again. The thought of washing them, ironing and folding, leaving by her purse to return to the hospital makes the memories of this morning - of William - come flooding back in her heart. The tears will hold off a few moments longer until she is safely in the shower where nobody can hear her cry. Not even the dog who has positioned himself to be the next bathmat if he doesn't move quickly enough when the water shuts off. Another thing Scully will remember of this time is that, for the next few days that follow, George Hale will never leave her side. "Scully?" Mulder's scratchy voice barely makes it from the bed where he is slowly coming to life. He rolls onto his side and sees two sets of feet coming back into the bedroom. "I'm here," she tells him, like a student hearing roll call and finally realizing it's her name being called. "How are you?" "I'm okay." Scully pushes the sheets over and lies down beside him, face to face. "You look beat, though," He is exhausted and doesn't remember why right away. But she is here, and wearing an old white dressing gown he hasn't seen in years. And she is home. "Slept on the couch last night. Made me feel like I was back in DC, wishing I had a bed. Or, at the very least, someone to share a couch with." "As if either of us could have obliged." Why didn't we? Asks with the poor memory of only someone who was so long from that time. Why *were* we so careful? Because we had too much to lose. Ah, the world of Moose & Squirrel slips into view unspoken Rule#8 - you protect your relationship with your partner as well as you protect your partner. Rule #9 fed directly off #8: Propriety . You protect the relationship by never crossing the line, should that possibility occur. Behind their iron shields, only occasionally got to close to the line. She reaches over and puts her hand around his neck. "You're cold." No more so than any man who spent two hours in freezing weather, then stayed up most of the night, worrying about his partner *and typing like a mad man at his computer before he lost any of his nerve, memory or momentum.* He closes his eyes and, with a sleepy smile, tries to edge his way closer to her. "Getting warmer." "Mulder ...." She waits until he opens his eyes again, until she has his attention. "Mulder - Thank you ... for.. thank you for bringing me home." "I know it wasn't easy, letting him do that for you." She shrugs, her eyes beginning to sting because she is close to crying again. "Not really." Scully tilts her forehead against his so he doesn't see her eyes fill. "What did you tell him when you called?" "That you weren't feeling well. Flu-like symptoms. I knew by the time he got to your office, you would look like I described." Mulder puts a finger to her chin. "Promise you'll take some time off, Scully. I know being busy this week was a way to cope but ... you can't do this to yourself again. We're better off going through this together. It hurts too much to be alone where he is concerned." He's never said anything like this before. They think it, they act on it - but to ask her to face some corner of her darkness with him - he's never been able to put that into words before. She wishes she knows where he gets the courage. *some point, have him say, why didn't you say something? in his usual accusatory voice* "Yes," she says, nodding before this word is even out. "I think so too." They lie facing each other for a few simple moments. She can't tell by the dreamy look on his face if he is frisky or about to slip into sleep again. There will always be time for both, she thinks to herself, and eases herself off the bed. "Where're you going?" he asks without lifting his head There is a serene smile on his face, with closed eyes and a contentment about him she doesn't see very often. "I'm going to take George Hale for a walk." "Hold on, I'll come too." She drags a blanket from the floor and spreads it over his long body. "No. You stay. I just want ... I need to get some air." Get some air. Code for *I need to be alone* without hurting anyone's feelings. Mulder can hear her change, the sounds he knows so well. He knows she is ready to head outside when her footsteps turn into boot steps. The ruffle of her winter coat. And the skittering sounds of happy feet about to be reunited with the great outdoors. "Good boy," he hears her coo from outside. He must have brought back one of his toys, Mulder thinks, as her voice fade into the distance, still talking to George Hale. They both natter away at the dog when they take him out now. He is a skinny bundle of energy who is happy to hear anything they have to say. And Mulder is almost certain George Hale can understand the words when he hears Scully hesitate and then ask the dog, "Did you know we had a son...."