George Hale (11/17)
by invisiblefriends

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


Chapter 11

*Things are not back to normal yet, peace is still elusive but
the chaos has left. Scully arranged for time away from work
with an understanding supervisor who had watched the stress
nearly overtake her. When demons catch up and explode
inside, it takes time to put them into perspective. We don't talk
much but we've spent most of the week together. We sit
together, sleep together, eat together, take the dog for walks
together and share a healthy silence together. It reminds me of
our days at the bureau during car rides, stakeouts, and the
unusual easy silence we could afford ourselves and each other.
Even in those early days, I remember realizing that regardless
of what I went through, or what would be my future, that this
woman next to me would be the most important relationship in
my life.* 

*So I will wait for her cues during the week and try not to let
her know I am watching her for any sign of trouble. She won't
tell me if she isn't all right but she slipped out of my eye line a
few days ago and I am not going to let that happen again. As
for me, I am trying to write my words and thoughts down in
this still-hatching plan and keep my optimism level up for her.
We have both taken steps closer to the empty space that he left
behind and it is not esay to -*


*"easy".* Mulder backspaces enough times to retype the word.
He isn't content enough these days to let the spellcheck find and fix
the errors. He wants to get to them first, and leave spell check with
nothing to do except say, *the spelling and grammar check is
complete, you brilliant speller, you.*

He is at another impasse, a blank. But this is okay. These don't
scare him anymore, he knows the words will come; there is still so
much to get out. And the more he writes and pours his heart out,
the more clearly he sees those years for the mountains they were. If
Scully had not entered his life, what would he have become? If
William had never entered - then left - their lives, would they be
whole? 

Questions like these have been developing themselves into clear,
full sentences on the screen of Mulder's laptop. He isn't there yet
but he is on to something. He can leap from between blankly
pouring things out that he does and doesn't want to say for his son.
He occasionally checking notes for accuracy and, when he can't
find a specific date or location, he reminds himself that this isn't
being written for publishers and their lawyers, but for a boy
somewhere in the world who will read this someday. The publisher
can take it or leave it.

"Scully, do you remember that day when we went back to the
bureau for the missing agent case?"

They are lying on the couch. Mulder's feet are next to her head and
hers are by his shoulder. He is poking away at the laptop, lying on
his stomach; his shoulders are buried into two very soft pillows.
This way, he can edit a chapter, sink into a nap and not skip a beat.
Scully is pouring through a journal on the human genome. The
couch is barely wide enough for two bodies to fit snugly but they
make it work. If their feet don't start to offend, they can read this
way for hours. On the long road they have traveled together,
they've learned - metaphorically and literally - when and how to
give the other enough space.

She finishes the sentence she is reading and looks up at him. He has
a strange look on his face. "Mmm?"

"That first day we went back - I saw the office," he says quietly, as
if it is a magic secret and he doesn't know yet if the spell has
worked for or against him.

Her book drops onto her stomach. "When?"

"You were off with Skinner somewhere. I asked Holly for the key.
She didn't want to give it to me at first."

*You don't want to see it, Agent Mulder. It's just another room
now. Nobody uses it.*

Which, of course intrigued him all the more.

Scully sits up a little, her back against the arm of the couch. "So...
what was it like?"

He absently takes one her feet in his hands and begins kneading it.
Usually, this is a gesture that turns her into jelly. All it does now is
raise her curiosity. "There... there was ... old office equipment. Fax
machines piled high. The back area - that was a graveyard for the
chairs. It was ..." He tries to choose the right word without giving
too much of himself away. "Strange. Not what I expected."

He was so quiet on the way back from DC. Scully thought it was
because of the general strangeness of returning to that building;
being asked for his expertise instead of his badge. Now, his silence
makes sense.

"I'm not sure what was funnier; the fact that the powers wanted to
erase the memory of us or that we'd been replaced by broken fax
machines."

"Holly said that since we had entered the building she had heard
three different rumours concerning our apprehension, our surrender
and if we had had sex yet." Scully knew he would like the last one.
Bets for that question had been going on for years. They never did
hear whowon the pool. 

"People are always going to remember us that way, Scully. Social
pariahs, chasing extraterrestrial beings, whether they existed or not.
That's our legacy there after nine years of giving ourselves, our lives - 
Mr. and Mrs. Spooky."

"I can live with that." she shrugs.

He will always wish she will never have to again.

"Whatcha reading?" he asks.

"New research on -"

"Stop reading about work, Scully." He leans forward and grabs the
book from her and lets it drop to the floor. "This is your time, not
theirs. Whatever happened to those Harlequin romances all you
girls like so much. Or maybe a good mystery."

"Like the mystery of what you're working on? I've been hearing a
lot more clicking of keyboard in there. Anything good?" She
misreads the strange expression on his face. "How can writing a
five-thousand page article have you looking like that?"

He hasn't told her that there is no article. He didn't want to before
because he didn't even know what he was doing. Now, it's because
he doesn't want to jinx the streak of words he seems to be having.
"I'm working on a new project." He has been full of optimistic
doubt but he has stuck with it.

"You have me intrigued, Mulder. When do I get to see this new
project?"

"When it's done. In the meantime..." He tilts his head past Scully to
see where if their chaperone is in sight. He is sleeping by the front
door. "Let Uncle Mulder tell you a story about this crazy doctor-
agent-pathologist who fell in love with this utterly sane mysterious,
paranoid Agent Dog Trainer."

She likes where this is going. Mulder in a playful mood is a
marvelous thing. "Go on."

He flips the laptop cover closed and puts it on the floor. "Well,
seems they liked to do certain things in any room they wanted until
this dog came into their lives; then, they could only do it when the
dog was out of the room or sound asleep because he gets insanely
curious until he gets insultingly bored and leaves."

"Any room in the house, huh?

"Oh, yes." Mulder gets up and hoists Scully over his shoulder and
carries her to the bedroom. The phone rings just as they get to the
door.

"Let the machine get it," Scully laughs from upside down.

But he is feeling confident right now, with the love of his life slung
over his shoulder. Confident enough to consider answering the
telephone.

Until the machine's tape snaps to life.

They are the only people left on the planet who have these old
things again, tape and all. They are probably also the only two tech-
savvy people to regress in terms of technology. Now they are
down to a few Bic pens and a thick pad of paper by the phone.
Both their mothers would be proud.

The voice of Walter Skinner asks if they are there and to please
pick up. Every voice mail he leaves now begins with this automatic
request.

"... this is short notice but someone from real estate has found some
locations - houses - you might want to investigate. The problem is
that these are properties that will be snapped up. I know neither of
you have made any decisions on possible career moves but I think
it would be a good idea to come to DC for a day or two and just
see what's available, whether one of you returns to the bureau or
not. It's twelve thirty-three. Please call me by six o'clock tonight
and let me know if you can come to town for a couple of days. The
bureau will cover all of your costs."

The message finishes. The tape hisses for a moment and then stops.

Mulder all but drops Scully on the bed and then lands next to her.
At the same time, they both whisper the only frightened word they
know. *"Shit."*

As both of them think about what this phone message means, the
silence grows louder.

"Well?" Scully asks, looking at him for some kind of sign. She has
been hoping for - and now fearing - this day for a very long time.
Where Mulder fits in these two extremes is still a mystery.

He looks up. "I guess ... we could look. Have they spoken to you
any more about the Washington General job?"

She sighs tightly. "Nothing has changed. It's mine if I want it."

"And do you want it?"

"Yes," she admits quietly. It is the job she wants. Just as quickly,
she asks, "What do we do with George Hale if we go overnight?"

"That's your worry? What to do with the dog?"

"Mulder, don't start. I'm just as confused by this as you are! But, I
think we should go. It's just for a day or so. It might be good for us
to see what DC feels like after all of this time."

But Mulder knows what it will feel like. It will feel creepy. They will
be towed around the town by Skinner and some pushy real estate
agent named Barb and everywhere they go people will recognize
them and point and stare and say, *'There go the Spookys; I
thought they'd be floating around in outer space by now'.*

That's what it will feel like.

"I'll call Curt, to see if he can take George Hale overnight."

Mulder's face drops again. "Leave him with someone else?"

"We can't take him with us. And it's good that he get some
exposure to other people and places if we're going to move him to
a city."

Mulder hates this thought. He suddenly doesn't want to move or
leave their dog with anybody. "Fine. Call Curt." He looks up from
his hands. "What are you going to tell him?"

"That we're former FBI agents who have been on the run but all is
forgiven so we're being lured back to the big city with promises of
sugar plum fairies dancing over our heads." When Mulder doesn't
bite, she gives up. "Mulder, the FBI wants to pay for us to come to
town. Even if we don't make any decisions, we can still make a
mini-vacation out of it. I'll book us a very expensive hotel suite; we
can have an expensive dinner; a Jacuzzi."

His eyes lift from where they staring hopelessly at the floor. "We
like Jacuzzis."

"Big canopy bed."

His eyebrows slowly rise. "Maybe."

"And no George Hale. We can leave the bedroom door open *all*
night."

He nods. Reluctant agreement made. "Fine. But just remember, this
doesn't make me easy."

"Of course not," Scully says kindly as she leans forward and swings
the bedroom door closed with her foot. "Just cheap."

"Buddy!"

"Sweet Jesus," Mulder groans under his breath.

They have just arrived at Curt's doorstep. It's a big, wide house on
a tree-lined street with lights and cars and many other signs of
human occupation.

Inside the doorway, Curt has George Hale in his arms before he
can get the second syllable of bud-*dy* out of his mouth.

"I guess he's glad to see you," Scully politely understates.

"Ehyabigluggggggg. Okayletsseewhatchagot." Curt gently places
the dog back onto solid ground. George Hale bounces within the
confines of the leash Scully holds, even though she could let go and
the dog wouldn't run away. But she will hold it for as long as she
can. He's still my dog, she thinks unkindly.

And the dog is so deliriously happy to be in the centre of his three
person world that he doesn't know which way to land.

Curt waves them into the house. "Come on in, have some coffee.
Charlene should be back in fifteen or so. She's going to love
Georgie boy. I've told her all about him."

Mulder stands there with George Hale's bed and dog food in his
arms. Clearly, he is just the delivery man here.

He and Scully don't dare look at each other; they know what the
other one is thinking. They are thinking, 'What the hell are they
doing? Leaving their dog so that they can go and resume their lives
in a city that owes them everything and wants to give them nothing.

"No, thanks," Scully says, still clutching that leash. "We've got to
get going. Thanks for taking care of him. We'll be back tomorrow
evening, seven at the latest."

Mulder leans over and looks into the house. The living room and
dining room is smattered with children of various ages. A few of
them look up, mildly interested at the dog. Two teenage boys stop
their homework when they see Scully. A toddler in a time-out
thinks twice about size when he sees Mulder.

"Kids - this is George Hale. Remember the rules, no chasing, no
teasing, no feeding..." Curt looks at one little girl who has a
dangerously pensive look on her face. "*No* dressing him up in
Aunt Vera's underwear." Curt turns back to his guests. "Oh, we've
got a nineteen-year-old cat but he should be okay."

"Oh, George Hale won't bother the cat, he's af-" Scully doesn't
finish the phrase, 'afraid of cats' because Mulder shoots her a fast,
pleading look. Please don't mention the pit bull is afraid of cats. Our
pitbull. Our *boy* pitbull.

Curt laughs. "No, I mean, Georgie Boy will be okay. Poindexter
will mind his *Ps* and *Qs.*"

*Poindexter?* Mulder repeats to himself. Maybe Fox wasn't such
a bad moniker after all. Poindexter Mulder. Shit, he wouldn't have
made it out of kindergarten alive.

"Here, let me get that." Curt leans forward and takes the dog bed
and food from Mulder's arms and drops them onto the foyer tile.
"You guys don't worry, he'll be great here."

The three of them stand in a moment of silence. For Curt, unusually
awkward silence. These two have him puzzled. Then he remembers
this is their first dog. He wonders what they'd be like leaving a real
human kid with them. Nah, he thinks, he'd rather have their dog.

"Well," Scully says slowly. "I guess that's that." She hands him a
piece of paper. "Here's the hotel we're at tonight and the other
number you can use tomorrow if you need anything."

"What vet is he with, just in case there is an emergency?"

They look at each other. They haven't taken him to a vet yet. The
only issue more awkward than this comes next.

"Whose name is he under?" Typical Curt. He misses nothing. But is
another reasonable question - George Hale is their first shared
property. Scully's name is the obvious choice. The house is under
Mulder's name, all bills come to him. The new house will be under
both their names.

"Mine," Scully answers quickly. Mulder can have the next dog.

Mulder extends his hand before this gets any harder. "Thanks Curt,
we appreciate it."

"Yes," Scully nods and smiles. "Thanks."

More silence until she hears Mulder say her name. She looks up at
him. He nods towards her hand. "The leash?"

She still has it wrapped tightly around her wrist. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"You guys have fun," Curt says, taking the leash reverently. He
glances over his shoulder. George Hale's tail is only slightly between
his legs. Scully sees this too and for a moment, her heart swells with
pride. This was the same frightened dog she met, she thinks - and
look how he has changed. And she did that. She and Mulder.

Mulder's elbow digs into her shoulder. "Let's go, Scully. He won't
even notice we're gone."

As the door closes behind them, and they stand there on the front
porch, Mudler and Scully realize they are well and truly alone. It is
cold out and, with hands jammed deep into their coat pockets, they
break out in a sprint towards the curb and their car.

"Poindexter," Mulder mumbles, the cold air pouring out of his
mouth. "Who the hell names their cat Poindexter?"

"Don't throw stones, Fox. We have a dog named George Spooky
Hale."

"And you were going to tell him our dog is afraid of cats," he hisses
into her ear as they step over a pile of snow someone dumped by
the curb.

Scully pulls open the passenger door and climbs inside. "So
*what?*" She closes door behind her and hooks up seat belt. The
car is suddenly, terribly empty in a not-so-devastating way. Only
the blanket on the back seat reminds them there was a dog in here.

Mulder jams himself into the driver's seat and slams his door shut.
"Christ, I can't believe we're doing this."

"We can change our minds if you want," she says

"What part?"

"All of it?" She tries for a smile but it isn't easy. Scully stares at the
fingers of her gloves resting on her lap. She knows that he is waiting
for some kind of sign of life from her. She wishes she had said
something sooner. "There's something I didn't tell you - when I
spoke to Skinner to make the arrangements yesterday..."

Mulder loosens his grip on the key in the ignition.

"He asked - he wanted an idea of what neighborhoods' we wanted
to see - I told him anywhere but Georgetown."

She should have told Mulder this yesterday when it wasn't
Important. You keep something small to yourself and by the next
day, it has become Important. She knows Mulder doesn't have any
sentimental feelings towards Georgetown but she damn well doesn't
want a puzzled look if the agent suggests it and Scully shoots him
down with a bang.

"I know, Scully," he tells her quietly. "I don't either."

"Okay," she says, business closed. "Let's go."

Mulder starts the car and wonders how much this took to say. She
will never tell him. He can see already she has begun to put on the
armor, piece by piece.

"Why is he doing this?" Mulder hisses into Scully's ear. They are
standing in line to be admitted through the security turnstiles at the
FBI main entrance. "We could have just as well met him at a coffee
shop."

"Apparently not," she sighs tensely.

Scully, leading the way, takes her turn through the security. On
autopilot, she empties her pockets of metal objects into the
appropriate tray. One guard waves a wand up and down while the
other checks her name on The List against her ID. There is a
sudden look he gives her as if her name means something. His eyes
drift past her shoulder to Mulder. The his name means something
too.

Scully looks at the younger guards and wonders how long they
have worked here. Did they ever hear stories about Mulder? About
her? The one checking the ID must have. Did they know this lobby
before somebody took a new interior designer to it?

"Ma'am..."          

One of the guards is looking at her, waiting. She is holding up the
line. She can hear Mulder breath in and out.

"Sorry," she says, coming out of her dreamland. She moves ahead
and waits for Mulder and watches the rest of the people in this
world move through their day. Everyone else seems younger,
slicker. Most of them are dressed above and beyond, they walk
quickly; their heads bowed as they type madly into the palms of
their hands. Time has moved way ahead of them, she realizes. They
don't stand a chance of catching up.

Coming through the main corridor to the elevators is strange. Two
people from their early days turned their heads in surprise at the
sight of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully following AD Skinner into the
elevator.

"...thought they were dead," quietly follows them just before the
doors close.

The elevator slides upwards to the usual floor with its usual speed.
Mulder puts his hand over hers and squeezes tightly. They will get
through this, he wants to tell her, even though he doesn't have a clue
how.

Skinner, leading the charge, doesn't hear the comment or see the
reaction it leaves on his former agents.

Five minutes later, they are in Skinner's office. It is the same office
he had all of those years ago. The secretary is different. Mulder
wonders what happened to Kimberly and will ask Skinner when
there is an awkward moment of silence to kill.

He and Scully are sitting at the conference table in the far corner of
the office. He is glad they are not in their former usual seats of
choice, in front of his desk, waiting for the usual load of tirades,
explanations, excuses   all of them his. But this feels right now,
sitting across from Skinner at table, with Scully to his right. There is
an empty chair next to Skinner's elbow. The real estate agent he
guesses.

The secretary comes in with coffee. Mulder catches Scully's eye.
He could get used to this.

"Where'd you stay last night?" Skinner asks, pouring some sugar
into his cup.

"St. Regis," Mulder answers, almost proudly. He can see the
numbers adding up in Skinner's brain and wonders what creative
writing course he is going to have to take to write-off this one.
"Nice room service. Great champagne."

"Mulder," Scully warns in a tense, tired voice.

Skinner isn't biting. "Told you, Mulder, charge up whatever you
want. The Bureau is paying for anything that might entice you to
return."

"Maybe you could tell us a little more about the job while we're
waiting," Scully suggests, before Mulder's bravado takes over.

"I was hoping we could meet with ..."

*Don't say it,* both former agents are thinking.

"....Kersh later today."

Mulder sits back as if he's been slapped. "I thought the job didn't
report to him."

"It doesn't. I wanted you to simply - - -"

The secretary appears at the door with a man behind her. By the
look of joy at the fresh meat at the table, it is clear he is the real
estate agent.

Ambrose Johnston introduces himself and drops into a chair across
from Skinner. He immediately dives into his pitch while Skinner sits
back and tries to relax. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction
from Mulder at the mention of Kersh's name. He doesn't realize
how much resentment is still waiting to fade.

"... estate, former safe houses, properties no longer under criminal
investigation. Plus some up and coming places. I know them all."
Ambrose finishes and looks back and forth at his new clients. "So...
what are your ideas. Where would you like to start?"

"Start?" Scully repeats.

"Start. You know - as in the first place we see. What's your
neighbourhood of choice? Walt says you didn't want to check out
Georgetown, but there's some nice real estate just waiting to be -"

Mulder feels Scully twitch, and he wants to hop across the table to
drill his fist down Ambrose's throat for reminding his terrified friend
that there is a bogyman out there she needs to avoid during this trip.

"Mulder," Skinner warns.

Ambrose looks back and forth between them. Mulder's angry eyes
are fixed on him; Skinners's eyes are warning Mulder's. And
Scully's eyes have dropped down to the table.

Skinner's telephone goes off like a bomb. He hops across the room
and answers the phone on the second ring. "I told you I wasn't
taking any call -" Puzzled, he slowly holds the receiver towards
Scully. "Someone wants to know if you want to hear George Hale
snore."

"The astronomer?" Ambrose asks curiously.

"No," Skinner snaps, "The dog."

Mulder's eyes widen. "You gave him Skinner's number?"

"Only for an emergency." Scully says firmly as she shoves her chair
back. "Stop looking at me like that Mulder. It was the only contact
number I had."

Scully grabs the phone from Skinner and turns her back to the
others. "Hi Curt - No, now's not a very good - Hi, George Hale..."
Her voice lowers to whisper. "Okay. All right. Thanks, Curt. See
you tonight."

She quietly places the receiver back onto the cradle and turns
around. Skinner is looking at her as if she is crazy. Ambrose, his
arms folded pensively, is trying to piece together the nature of this
phone call.

And Mulder is trying to hide a smirk. He may have done a lot of
embarrassing things in his life, but he has never taken a call from a
dog over the phone during an FBI meeting before.

And suddenly, Scully smiles back at him. Curt and George Hale's
snoring have just turned her and Mulder from freakish and ancient
relics into two people who own a dog that snores, who is staying
with a grown man who wants to share this discovery with them.
Curt, bless his timing they will owe him forever for this one.

"Let's start with Virginia," Mulder decides and hops to his feet.


*We bought a house today. Our first house. It wasn't planned.
Neither of us have even spoken to the bank about
arrangements we would need to make. The point of today was
to make it out alive. Which we did. And then we bought a
house. Ambrose Johnston didn't turn out to be such a dick after
all. And Skinner, he knew what he was doing by insisting that
Scully and I meet him at the bureau. He knew we'd be better
off getting the worst over with first. And it was the worst part.
And we were better off. We saw about fifteen places in three
hours. By the time we hit the last one in Arlington, my old
stomping ground no less, Scully and I had both declared loudly
that 'we'd learned a lot about Real Estate in DC, we had a lot
more to learn and that we both needed to take some time to
make some decisions about our future careers.' So when we got
out of the car at the last place, we were ready to nod politely
and go home. Until Scully stopped suddenly at the end of the
front walk and just stared ahead at the house in front of her. I
nearly bumped into her and Skinner and Ambrose almost took
one off me.*

*The house was nice enough. Old style. Front porch. Wooden
steps   important to Scully   but nothing special until I saw the
look on Scully's face. This was her house. Ambrose unlocked
the front door and meandered around the mail floor with
Skinner while we wandered around the empty house. He must
have seen the quiet, cautious excitement on Scully's face
because, for the first time, he let us loose without his usual
door- to- floor commentary. I think it had been a safe house at
one point; Ambrose was a little fuzzy about this detail. I will
double check with Skinner. Every time we would walk into a
new room, I could hear Scully sigh - as if she didn't dare risk a
shred of hope. I knew this was a done deal. She was home.* 

*The back yard, she said, was perfect for George Hale. The
kitchen was open, painted white and held more sunshine than
any room I'd seen. Upstairs knocked her socks off - we both
walked into the Master Bedroom and our eyes met and I didn't
even need to make a crack about the King size bed we'd need
to fill the space. There are two other bedrooms and one more
bathroom on the second floor and these bedrooms are blank
canvasses with potential to become anything we want them to
be.* 

"Well?" Ambrose asks as they saunter down the stairs, hand-in-
hand like the twenty-year-old newlyweds they feel like.

Mulder looks Mr. Real Estate dead in the eye and says only, "We
want it."

"Really? Just like that?" Turns out they are Fresh Meat after all.

"Just like that."

"After a home inspection," Skinner jumps in.

You can see poor Ambrose ache to tell him to shut up so the Fresh
Meat can sign the papers but he gives into his conscience and says,
yes, a home inspection would be a wise idea.

"Oh, we'll have that done," Mulder assures him. "And since the
house belongs to the government, I'm sure whatever needs to be
fixed, re-hauled, re placed, painted will be done to accommodate
our move."

Scully's head turns sharply at this as they both realize what he has
done.

"Mulder," she begins to whisper.

He knows what she wanted to say; that she would forgo this house
to stop him from making a decision he may or may not regret for
the rest of his life. And he would simply tell her that if the decision
to return to the FBI makes this house possible, then the decision
was made the moment she laid eyes on this place.