SERIES: Flight

TITLE: Some Turbulence is Expected

AUTHOR: Tesla 

RATING: NC-17 

CLASSIFICATION: Mulder/Other

KEYWORDS: None 

ARCHIVE: Sure, everyone, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone I knew. 

SPOILERS: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field Trip". Of course, in a real alternate universe, the Yankees would not have won the Series. Or the pennant.

DISCLAIMERS: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, HI! I know a copyright lawyer who said he'll defend us!

SUMMARY: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar", and "Gaining Altitude"

TTHANKS to Emerex for excellent beta work, and general encouragement. 

Fox Mulder sat on his basketball, waiting for his pickup game to start. He was wearing his Yankees cap backwards, a stylistic note that had caused his girlfriend to curl her lip in scorn when she met him downstairs. He didn't know whether she was mocking his homeboy look, or the Yankees. Probably the first-deep down, he suspected she really didn't give a damn that the Yanks had beaten the Braves. She alternated between phases of being more of a baseball fanatic than even he was and ignoring crucial games to listen to Garrison Keillor. 

His girlfriend. 

It felt weird-even thinking of a woman as his girlfriend. Much less the greater weirdness of having a girlfriend at all. Having a woman in his life other than Scully. He glanced at the picnic tables under the trees. There she sat, on her stadium cushion, with her Discman securely plugged in (probably listening to Keillor), reading the Times. She couldn't look more like an English lit major if she tried. Well, she managed to hold her own on the street, but how would she do against a liver-eating mutant? He stood up, scooping up the ball, as more cars pulled into the parking lot. Mulder was actually planning to play nice with co-workers-agents in Violent Crimes. And that's why he had asked Janet to come along; although the guys were cordial enough, he still wanted to underline the fact that he wasn't Spooky Mulder in private life. See, there's Mulder's girlfriend: she's normal. It helped that Janet thought he was normal. He had told her about seeing the UFO in Antarctica, and she had taken it very well. (Of course, he noticed that the sci-fi channel suddenly got a lot more play.) He had waited a bit and told her about Tooms, and she scarcely blinked. He couldn't bring himself to go into the Conspiracy, or about the shape-shifting alien. He didn't think Frohike would tell her either, although Melvin had started e-mailing her lawyer jokes. 

There were a couple of women, with their chairs, and Janet was taking off her headphones and walking up to him. He put his arm around her and she leaned into him. He didn't realize he was smiling.

Afterwards, eating at California Pizza:

"So have you seen the bowling bag cases, Mulder?" Henderson asked, his mouth full. They had all talked shop relentlessly as soon as the first beers were on the table. They were still in their sweats, caps, and basketball shoes. The three guys without dates or wives had attached themselves to Janet after the game. Janet, of course, invited them to go eat with her and Mulder. The three single men accepted with alacrity, so here they all were. He felt very macho and territorial, in a way he had not felt in years. Unlike Scully, Janet only smiled when he draped a possessive arm over her shoulder, and leaned into her space.

"Bowling bags?" she asked now, leaning forward. "Yeah, some guy's putting heads in bowling bags and leaving them in alleys all over the metro area. But here's the weird shit-" "That's not weird enough?" Mulder interjected. "-He didn't kill 'em. They're embalmed. And some of them aren't real-heads off old mannequins." "How old are the mannequins?" Mulder asked, interested. "New ones, or from a certain era?" "Pretty good, Mulder-they're a mix. Like someone has a whole lot of dummies in a warehouse. We think he's digging up stiffs and when he can't find a stiff, he puts a dummy head in the bag." "Bags are old and new," Davis said, his mouth full. "Typical Wal-Mart, K-Mart, some new, some could have come from the Goodwill." "But that's not the weirdest thing, "Janet said unexpectedly, pouring herself another beer. She looked around as they all stared at her, and she leaned forward confidentially. (Mulder thinking, is this a client of hers? Cops told her?) "What?" asked Henderson, impatiently. "Some of the bowling bags have---" They all leaned forward with her. "Bowling balls!" At the sight of their puzzled looks, Mulder practically snorted his mouthful of beer. He coughed and sputtered, Janet pounding him on the back solicitously. "Oh, very funny," said Henderson, in mock anger. "Good one, you two," chimed in Davis. "We tell you this stuff, hoping for that superior Mulder expertise, and you laugh at us." "Shit, " Mulder said. "Trace the bags. Trace the dummies. See if any cemeteries have reported disturbed graves. Check the dental records of the heads. Why is it ours, anyway?" Jacobs spoke for the first time. "'Cause a Congressman's kid found one of the heads on a class bowling trip. Teenaged kid. Thought he was a Goth until then. Now he's turned his life over to Jesus." "I would too, if I reached into my bag and got the dummy head, never mind the real one." "You want it, Mulder? For your department?" Mulder tried to envision Scully receiving a cartload of bulging bowling bags for dissection, and shuddered. "No, thanks. But if you really want me to review it---" he looked up, and saw the other three agents all had odd expressions. "What?" "Hey, isn't that your partner?" Henderson asked innocently. Mulder looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was Scully and Mrs. Scully following the waitress through the tables. He felt Janet's hand clench on his knee. He put his hand on hers, but he didn't know if he was seeking or giving reassurance. Mrs. Scully, naturally, stopped short and smiled. "Fox! How nice to see you." All four men, still mindful of Bureau training in manners, had risen. Janet remained seated in queenly calm. "Mrs. Scully, this is my-this is Janet Durrell." Mrs. Scully, the veteran of Navy Officer's Wives Clubs, ignored Mulder's stutter, and extended her hand; Janet (as she told Mulder later, a Girl Raised In The South) shook it. "How do you do?" they said simultaneously. "Janet, this is Dana Scully," Mulder said, standing beside Janet's chair. He felt light-headed, and placed a hand on Janet's shoulder. Neither woman extended her hand; of course, Scully was standing just far enough away not to reach. "It's nice to meet you," Janet said, and her tone was perfectly modulated and perfectly warm. Only Mulder knew her hand was brushing the back of his leg, just under the hem of his shorts, making the hairs stand up. "Hello," Scully said. Her tone wasn't quite so perfect, and the other agents were grinning. They all said hello, and nice to see you, Dana, and then the waitress came back to retrieve the two Scullys and take them to their table. The men all sat down. "Bet you didn't know Mulder's partner was so good-looking?" Henderson asked slyly. "Oh, yeah," Janet said, "I saw her picture-the one when you two got that award? And one of our friends thinks 'Agent Scully' is a goddess." She reached for her beer. "Wonderful hair," she added. Mulder slumped back in relief. How could such a simple transaction wear him out? He surreptitiously rubbed his heart. Well, maybe Mrs. Scully would realize he wasn't some weirdo living in a basement, only coming out to put her daughter in mortal peril. Maybe he should join a softball league. Carry his glove around. See, ordinary humans interact with me in restaurants. I have a girlfriend. Disappointed in Janet's lack of interest, the agents went back to talking about dead bodies.

At the Scully table, Margaret Scully commented, "Well! I'm glad to see Fox's got a girlfriend. It's about time. You know Bill was certain Fox had a thing for you." "Bill never had any female friends," Scully said. "He doesn't get it. What makes you think she's his girlfriend? "Oh, Dana! He's probably living with her. You heard that he didn't know what to call her. That's a sure sign. She seems very attractive. What does she do?" "I don't know, Mom. Going by Mulder's type, she's probably a Hooter's waitress."

For various psychotic reasons, the Violent Crimes basketball guys decided to go bowling. The e-mail they sent Mulder even spoke wildly of joining a league. He burst out laughing at that, and he felt rather than saw Scully's glare. He was quickly sobered by Henderson's P.S. "We think Janet is a goddess." But he recovered just as quickly, and before deleting it, forwarded it to Janet. Like a good little boyfriend, he told himself nastily. That was the problem: he could just barely wrap his mind around having a girlfriend, but being a boyfriend-being accountable-having to call and say he wouldn't be home.felt.wussy.

So, that evening, he went to his pickup game without calling, and lurched in, using his key, just when Leno was beginning his monologue. It was all rather anti-climactic; Janet was in bed reading some murder mystery involving cats, and looked up owlishly when he came in, flinging his basketball shoes and gym bag in opposite corners of the room. "Whassup?" she asked, one finger holding her place.

"I didn't call because we decided to play at the last minute," Mulder said pugnaciously. He could at least get an argument going, roil the domestic waters a bit. He held the basketball at his hip.

"You never call," Janet said, letting her forehead crease. "I thought you went to your place. Or you were chasing mutants or something. Or subverting governmental order with Frohike." She opened her book again. "There's some pizza in the refrigerator," she added. "I didn't leave work until late, myself."

A little deflated, Mulder bounced the basketball a time or two. "No, I was at the gym-picked up a game-" he dribbled over to the bed, and sat down. "I bet I can make the clothes basket," he said, and shot the ball across the bed and Janet to the round Pier One basket in the corner. He yanked his shoes off.

"Oh, am I supposed to be mad that I didn't know where you were?" Janet asked. "Sorry, big guy. I had a few things to do." She sat up. "Are we really going bowling?" she asked, sitting up. The covers slipped, revealing her bare breasts.

Mulder stopped in mid-sock pull. To hell with the delights of solitude; here were two very good reasons to-gag-be a boyfriend. He rolled his socks up and shot them into the basket, too, followed by his sweats. "I really had a good game tonight, " he said, getting under the covers and mashing the pillows more comfortably. "Can we watch Letterman?"

"But William Shatner's coming on Leno," Janet said, holding the remote out of his reach.

"Can I at least see who's on Letterman?" he said, rolling over on one elbow and trapping the hand with the remote. They wrestled for a moment, until Janet suddenly relaxed and he pulled her on top of him. Her breasts bounced on his chest. "You're fighting dirty," he murmured, putting his hands on her hips as she pulled the sheet back.

"I'm a goddess," she whispered. "Just don't stop to watch Shatner," he said. "Ooh-don't stop."

Later, he heard her murmuring, "But Shatner is the God Who Walks Among Us As Man," and wondered if they should go to a Star Trek convention with Langley. He rolled over and fit his knees into the curve of her legs, and cupped her stomach with his hand. She slept on, and he blew her hair out of his mouth as she curled back against him in her sleep. His. She was his.

Title: Some Turbulence Expected (3/4) Author: Tesla

Scully felt as though she was the X-Files Division, the Keeper of the Flame, the only one interested in the paranormal. Mulder had turned into his own X-File; he was getting atta-boys from the superiors, he was playing basketball with the guys from Violent Crimes, he was apparently bowling. What was next, a vacation in the Poconos with Miss Large Breasts?

For Jacobs and Henderson had decided to rent a bowling alley for FBI night. They justified the idea by the specious reasoning that they needed to check out the Bowling Bag UNSUB. Although Jacobs e-mailed half the District Division, very few were aware of the on-going investigation. He listed Fox Mulder as one team captain, to Scully's considerable surprise, and Mulder wasn't even annoyed. "Do you have money down on this event?" Scully asked him. If he brought up that bowling alley case while I was sick, she thought, I'll walk right now.

But Scully had forgotten, if she ever knew, how much Mulder did not want to think about the months of her cancer. He brightened.

"Actually, I do," he said. "I'm getting Kumar from Accounting on my team. He 's in a league."

"And how is it you actually speak to anyone in Accounting?"

"Oh, he's a big UFO buff-haven't you noticed that our expense reports weren' t getting sent back this year? Kumar."

"And does Janet bowl?" she asked.

He looked thoughtful. "I think she does-she has a bowling bag in her closet. Hey! Maybe she's the Bowling UNSUB!" He picked up his coat from the desk. "I better go check that out." And left. At 5:01 p.m., Mr. Workaholic left her in the basement, with a stack of files going back to other divisions with his-no doubt-sacred Spooky comments.

The FBI Bowl-a-rama was a rousing success, judging by the inter-departmental memos; apparently the organizers had forgotten the existing Bureau bowling leagues, when they sent out their invitations. A rousing division-wide mudslinging began, involving charges of elitism by the agents towards the support staff and counter-charges of anal-retentive behavior and over-regulation of private time by the desk-bound.

Mulder promptly began using the bullpen computers to send inflammatory e-mails to everyone. "Thank God no one found a head in a bag while we were there," Mulder cheerily told Scully, a comment she found baffling. Mulder had neglected to mention the exact MO of the Bowling UNSUB.

Scully received a misdirected e-mail from Henderson, referring to the Goddess of Bowlers. She didn't think she wanted to know what that was about.

The only reference Skinner made to the whole affair was to ask Scully if she bowled. She rather fancied the idea of A.D. Skinner in an aqua-blue rayon bowling shirt.

Shortly afterwards, Mulder was sitting in the office with yet another set of photographs of an ape-man, when his cell phone rang. He answered somewhat absently, "Hey, Frohike," and Scully didn't bother to listen. She heard the photographs slide on to the floor, and looked up. Mulder was standing, his face blank, the phone to his ear.

"Where?" He barked. "Okay. I'm on my way." Still gripping the phone, he turned to her. "I gotta go. Janet's been in a car wreck." He was out the door, and Scully heard the ping of the elevator before she could even react. What was worse, she was relieved he didn't wait for her to react.

Frohike had heard the accident called in. Someone charged with DUI had driven, drunk, to the municipal court for his trial, and, in full view of six police officers, t-boned the passenger side of Janet's car as she was arriving to try a case. The airbag had deployed, but Janet was unconscious at the scene and was taken by EMTs to the closest ER. She still wasn't awake by the time Mulder arrived from downtown D.C., and she was in a bed in one of the exam rooms, monitors hooked up to her, and Frohike in attendance. Mulder forbore to ask why Frohike was wearing a lab coat, complete with fake hospital ID.

"They already checked and can't find a fracture, or bleeding, or anything," Frohike said. "She's just out. She's breathing on her own, and the nurse just told me they can monitor her from here." Mulder was slumped at the foot of the bed, his face ashen, one hand rubbing his sternum. He had forgotten his coat. "They don't think it's a severe concussion-they think the airbag did it. She hit her head on the window. They keep coming in and checking. Jesus, Mulder, sit down, would you?"

Mulder sat down on the chair Frohike vacated, and stared at Janet. She didn' t look hurt. He has watched her sleeping, wearing the same expression. He felt like the nerves in his face were twitching. "Thanks, Frohike," he said heavily.

"No problemo, buddy. You wanna cup of coffee?"

"Sure," Mulder said. He watched Frohike walk away, then moved his chair closer to the bed, and took her hand. Her hand had an inkstain from whatever she had been writing that morning. His chest hurt. "Wake up, Janet," he whispered. "Wake up." I can't do this, he thought incoherently, I can't go through this again.

But no cigarette smoking spawn from hell called him, no shape-shifting aliens or double agents invaded this hospital-and no saintly mothers or bastard brothers, either. No priests, no doctors shaking their heads and closing their minds. Janet's eyes fluttered, and she seemed to be in a normal sleep. He staggered up feet that had gone to sleep and went to find a snack machine.

After a long morning of waiting, Janet opened her eyes and saw Mulder. He got up from the chair, and sat down carefully on the bed, smiling at her. "Hey," he said, rubbing her hand. "Guess what?"

"I got hit by a truck?" she winced.

"Close-a drunk."

"I got a case in court!" She shot up suddenly in the bed, and Mulder grabbed her and held her.

"Fuck court," he said unsteadily. "The judge saw what happened. I think you got a continuance."

In movies, the heroine is next seen at home in a negligee, and the hero brings her roses. In Mulder's life, of course, Janet was moved to a semi- private room for overnight observation, and she was sulky about wearing a hospital gown. Mulder felt too tired to go home and find her any clothes. The driver's insurance adjuster called with an offer. Every attorney in the metro area called to ask if she wanted them to handle her case, and three cops arrived to tell her how high the driver had blown on the Intoxilizer 5000. Mulder glared at them-the two men seemed unnecessarily interested in how Janet looked without a bra. The woman cop smiled winningly at Mulder (who still wore his office ID). He was watching basketball with the sound off, and ignored her. The telephone rang so much that Mulder, without asking, called down to the operator and asked that no calls come through. The caring hospital, his ass. He was pleased that he could vent his exasperation for once.

Janet accepted his high-handedness fairly well, for someone not allowed medication for her headache. Mulder, shifting on the hard chair, supposed aloud that she was anticipating the huge offer the insurance company would make. "Jump in the lake, Fox, " she said. "I'll get hospital costs, money for a used car, my rental fees, and lost income. I don't want to spend the next year going to depositions."

He ignored the use of his first name. (She had been incensed that Margaret Scully called him Fox. "Oh, you're only on first-name terms with women you don't sleep with?" she had challenged. "No, that would be every other woman on the planet," he had yelled from the kitchen.) "So all those guys were joking?"

"Yeah, everyone thinks it's funny. We're weird." She thumbed the sound up on the television. The Knicks were losing. "Why don't you get something to eat?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry," he said. He knew he sounded pissy, but couldn't help it. He ached all over. "You didn't eat, either."

He got up and pulled the old recliner from the other half of the room. There wasn't another patient yet. He felt like he had been in the wreck. He pulled his tie off and threw it on the empty bed, followed by his suit coat. He was thankful he had never told Janet how much he hated hospitals and how often he seemed to be visiting them.

"I don't have anything to read," she said, with obvious misery. "Can't you get me a magazine or something?"

"Gideon Bible right there," Mulder replied, his eyes closed. Goddamn hospital was noisier than a gas station. Frohike had vanished hours ago.

After the eleven p.m. check of vitals, Mulder took off his shoes, dress shirt, and belt, and stretched out on the other bed. He had a lingering suspicion that, if he removed his dress pants, someone would mistake him for a patient and do painful and embarrassing things to him. He turned off the television setting, and found the local NPR station, and draped the speaker over the pillow so Janet could hear it, too.

In the morning, Janet was released, and had to leave wearing her crumpled suit and raincoat. Her underwear had disappeared. Mulder was shivering in the cold. He called and left a message on Scully's voice mail that he would be late.

When they got home, Mulder stripped, put on his flannel pajama pants, and washed his face while Janet threw her suit on the closet floor, stepped in and out of the shower, and got into bed, still damp. He shut the blinds, and fell back on the bed shivering. He searched for something clever to say, and came up blank. He slowly pulled up the comforter, and rolled over.

"Thanks for staying with me last night," Janet said, her eyes heavy with sleep. "I'm glad to have you around."

"The feeling is mutual, blondie," Mulder replied, wrapping his arms and legs around her.

Title: Some Turbulence Expected (4/4) Author: Tesla

Mulder was sitting at a desk outside the Quantico morgue. It was late Wednesday afternoon, and he was waiting for the results of an autopsy. He didn't have to-he could have called her. It was just something he had always tried to do-go up, wait for Scully to finish, bring her coffee or a Diet Coke, ask her for her impressions. Now, he wondered why he was there. She didn't want his coffee, she didn't want his conversation, and the main impression she would give to him was that he had wasted her valuable time.

He had left Scully in mid-cut, but not because he was unnerved by the procedure after all this time. He left because he realized he was staring at his partner, and working himself into a fight. At what point in this long, strange trip had she started rolling her eyes at almost every thing he said? Earlier, he had asked a question as to the cause of death, and she had not even bothered to reply, just hunching a shoulder and grimacing under her mask. Like he was some mental defective she was burdened with. He took a deep breath, and unclenched his fists. He didn't want to fight, and especially didn't want to have a screaming fight at Quantico.

He absently rolled a pencil back and forth on the curling desk blotter, and stopped. Scully acted like every single idle gesture he made proved his immaturity and idiocy. Every nervous twitch, every twiddle of keys or jingling of change in his pocket, every toss of a crumpled soft drink can in the trash basket was expressly designed to piss her off. God knows he wasn't the most sensitive man in the world, but it was starting to grate on him.

"What are you doing?" seemed to be her constant question. At any moment, he expected her to morph into Sister Dana Katherine, complete with steel-edged ruler. "Don't mumble. Straighten your tie. Comb your hair. Give me those reports." Shit, he rather longed for the fertilizer checks. At least he wasn't the sole focus of her annoyance back then. He pulled out the case file and pretended to be studying it. Count to one hundred, backwards. Breathe slowly. Why get upset now? Why feel like an anxiety attack was coming on, that this wasn't just another autopsy, just another case, but the end of the world?

Because once in a while, she would smile, and act like they were still partners. Just long enough for him to remember all the hope and trust he had put in their partnership. He would start to hope. And then he'd crack a joke, and Sister Grim would reappear. Obviously the collapse of the conspiracy had had meant two different things to them. She still wanted to find Cancerman, and Krycek. Someone still protected Diana Fowley, but Scully wanted to tie her to the Consortium. Scully wanted to move on, find all the leaks, find all the divided loyalties in the Bureau, and find out Skinner's motives.

Mulder wanted to find his sister, and bring her to his mother. And then? Walk away. Try to remember where he was going before he had hypnotic regression, back when his name was Fox. Before he was allowed to remember Samantha screaming his name and vanishing. Profiling seemed like an easier job than fruitlessly investigating the unexplained. But ironically, Scully seemed determined to explain the unexplained.

He hated being alone with her. He hated bearing the weight of her grief and disappointment in her life. If she had ever loved him, and he could have sworn she had, it was gone. And gone a long time before he knew or could prevent it. True, he now had a lover, but he didn't know if being with Janet, for all of her decency and passion, could keep him from repeating how things had gone so wrong with Scully. He had a new Magic Hospital Memory, too, of running down the hall to Janet, thinking, Not her, not her, not her, please no.

And now, all the good memories, of how he and Scully had managed to arrest the perp, or just get out alive, how they worked together, how she had bailed him out and backed him up, and the day he found out that she was in remission; all that was swamped by the bitterness. Just like the hallucinations from the Giant Mushroom from Hell-the good stuff he remembered was breaking down into yellow goo and melting away.

He hated his life.

When Scully came out with her briefcase, ready to leave, he was staring unblinkingly at the file. He closed it and stood up, heavily, still feeling nothing but a load of darkness hovering over him. "Anything?"

"I don't see anything that ties this victim to the UNSUB they have in mind," she said, "But this is an expert. Nothing here shows that he did anything that wasn't necessary. Gangster execution, I think."

"Should we advise them that Tony Soprano is behind it?" Mulder asked automatically. Gotta give her what she expects. (And what, he asked himself, trying to swerve into the trivial, is this black push-up bra under the tight white blouse? Is that Scully's Look for this season?) Ooh, good, there was the token eye-roll. And, wait for it..

"Good night, Mulder," she said tonelessly, and walked past him.

Janet was riding Mulder like some pornographic movie star. She came, and came, and came: he found lubricant, and put her in positions she had only seen in the Kama Sutra, and still he didn't come. She was crying from the sensations and the over-stimulation. And because she knew he was going to leave her. And still, he fucked her. She knew it wasn't "making love." Mulder was fucking her, and her mind was going, and she was screaming, and sore, but she couldn't tell him to stop. He seemed so desperate, so angry at something. She couldn't stop crying, because he wasn't making love to her. He didn't even know who he was with. He was fucking her, and fucking her, and fucking her.

Mulder hated himself. He hated having the closed doors in his head, in his emotions flying open. All the monsters, all the fears, all the demons were trying to get out. Sex had always been the relief, the mindlessness, the answer that shut those doors. He couldn't come, no matter what position he put her into, no matter how loud she screamed, no matter what videos he thought about-he wasn't coming. He was grinding into Janet, and he couldn't stop. He couldn't come. He was in Hell. But he still coated his dick and fingers with lube, and still moved her into another position--You are so fucked up, he thought. Stop. Stop hurting your baby. She doesn't deserve this. Janet is your baby. Janet loves you.

But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop what he was doing, and he couldn't find release. After a long time, he realized that Janet was crying, even as he pumped in and out of her. She was crying in such a desperate, hopeless fashion, that he felt like a rapist. She must have been weeping for a long time.

"Baby," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Janet couldn't reply,

He got up, and found a bottle of bourbon he had bought, and returned to the bedroom with the bottle and two shot glasses. Janet lay where he had left her, her hands over her face. He felt suddenly jolted into focus; now he felt even worse than he had sitting outside the morgue. "Janet. Sweetheart. Please. I'm a shit. Please, sweetie." He had set the liquor and glasses on the bedside table, and was holding her, trying to kiss her. Finally, Janet put her arms around his neck, still gulping with sobs. Mulder kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, her neck. He released her long enough to pour a shot of liquor into each of the glasses. She gulped hers back, and leaned back against the headboard, looking at him through red eyes. She looked desperate; she looked almost dangerous; she looked drunk. "My baby," was all he could say. He picked up her hand and kissed it. He couldn't even think about whatever the hell had taken him over. Maybe, he could tell Janet-later. Much later. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked.

"No," she said. Despite her best efforts, it still came out in a sob. Mulder 's heart melted. He put her hand in her lap.

"Oh, God, Janet. I'm such a shit." He couldn't say the words. "I'm all yours, Janet. Please don't throw me out." He pressed his face into her neck.

"I'm not going to throw you out," Janet choked. She wrapped both her arms around him. But maybe I better throw myself out, he thought coldly, even while he held her. I can't take it if Janet hates me. I can't take one more thing. Why did I think I could do this? I have to get out of here.

"Look," he said, getting up. "I'm gonna go for a run. Sleep at my place. Give you some peace." He pulled out his gym clothes, and dressed, and started to leave. He hesitated at the door, and came back, and stood in the bathroom door. "Janet," he said.

Janet turned off the shower, and came out, wrapping herself in her terry robe. "I thought you were gone?" she said, and picked up the Tylenol from the sink. "Forget your gun?"

"It's me, it's my problem." he said.

"Yes, it is. But let me remind you that the earth is round."

"Is that a koan?"

Janet's voice cut like a scalpel. "I mean that the world is round, and when you finish running, you come back to the place you started, and I'll still be here, across the street. I don't change. I won't go out and find a new life in the suburbs. I won't hate you, and I won't fight with you, and I won 't let you off the hook."

"So, you'll just wait for me forever?" he sneered . "No matter how much of an asshole I am?"

"No, but I'll certainly wait a minimum of six months," she said. "But not forever. I'm not stupid." She turned off the light and brushed past him to the bedroom, where she straightened the bed linens. "But I don't change," she repeated, and dropping the robe, got back into bed.

"I really need to run," he said. "I do."

"I know, but you're thinking about not coming back," she said, in a softer tone. "And I've got to go to sleep. Look, I want you to do what you want, and I want you to have what you want."

"I need to run," he repeated, and finally left.

Janet turned off the light, and wondered if she had done the right thing, before falling into an exhausted sleep.