Title: Mileage

Author: mimic117

Email: mimic1172@gmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Setting: Season 6 or 7, sequel to Things Intangible. You really 
do need to read that one first.

Summary: You learn something new every day, sometimes about 
yourself.

Dedicated: To Nancybratt in hopes of making her smile.

Blame: Assigned equally to Lisa for the idea and David S-H for 
the title, which somehow made it impossible *not* to write this.

Author's notes: The original idea for this story comes from the 
challenge bellefleur and I posted for our joint birthday. I just 
couldn't shake the desire to explore another aspect of it.

Beta thanks: To my Twinsy for high-test beta and figuring out 
what this story is supposed to be about. I didn't have a clue 
until she told me. Also to bellefleur for pointing out all the 
things I forgot again and moving my Legos until they fit right. 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forensic Science Research and Training Center
Quantico, VA
Lecture Room 4


I have to admit, Agent Scully isn't quite what I expected. 

I've only been at Quantico for two months, but that's plenty long 
enough to have heard the stories. No matter where you go, 
there are always a few people who can't wait to spread the dirt. 
You'd think they were farmers, the way they love to shovel shit. 
At first, I tried to dispute some of the rumors, but I might as 
well have been pissing into a downpour. No one took any notice. 
Didn't matter that not a single one of the shit-spreaders had 
ever worked with Agent Mulder and I have. They don't want 
their urban legends shot down. What else would these brain 
donors have to talk about without their "Spooky" stories? It's 
their loss. I happen to know the truth.

Still, after all the times I've talked to Mulder by phone and 
email since he left Morrow Falls, the diminutive redhead at the 
front of the lecture hall isn't quite what I was visualizing. I 
now realize that he's said a lot about her without ever telling 
me anything important. Such as how she looks. I can't believe I 
once thought she might be East Indian, back when I'd only 
heard her last name. She's obviously as Irish as a leprechaun, 
and almost as tall, although somehow she's held her ground 
against the blue-and-khaki-uniform-clad, largely-male 
audience. 

Considering the amount of disrespect I've seen aimed at the 
female trainees in the hallways, cafeteria and on the obstacle 
course, I'm amazed there are any women agents at all. The 
four knuckle-draggers in front of me have snickered at 
everything Agent Scully has said for the past hour. I don't 
know how she would take it if I just flat-out yelled at them to 
shut up, and I'm not sure I should try. I guess that's why no 
one else has jumped in to help, either, but it makes me angry to 
see a woman subjected to chauvinistic shit. I feel like we're 
letting her down by not putting her hecklers in their place. 

Normally, I'm not hesitant about stepping in when I think 
someone is being pestered. I can't stand unfairness, especially 
when it's a man bullying a woman. Kids on a playground are 
one thing, but there's no excuse for that kind of behavior after 
you're an adult. I suppose, to some extent, that's why I went 
into law enforcement. But a situation at the grocery store the 
week before I left for the Academy left me wondering whether 
it's always a good idea to butt in. 

The female cashier in the express lane was having problems 
with a male customer making suggestive comments. She tried 
to ignore him until he attempted to plant a kiss on her cheek. 
She kept pushing him away and yelling "Stop it, Ray!" The two 
guys in front of me just laughed and let that asshole slobber all 
over her! Sure, she apparently knew him, but I couldn't stand 
there and do nothing. I stepped out of line and tapped Romeo 
on the back. When he turned around, I stuck my finger in his 
face and told him to "Knock it off." Maybe wearing my police 
uniform had something to do with it, but he backed down 
immediately. He told me to "lighten up, man." The other two 
guys glared at me until I went back to the end of the line. 

When I got to the cash register, the woman thanked me but 
explained that kicking up a stink would just result in worse 
treatment from those guys in the future, not to mention possible 
retaliation from her employer for being impolite to a customer. 
Besides, she was sure she could handle guys like Ray herself. 
I've never felt quite so mortified. I thought I was doing the 
right thing, but as only a wife can, Jenny pointed out that 
sometimes people want to fight their own battles, that I don't 
need to be everyone's savior. We actually had a pretty big 
argument about it. We were barely speaking when I left. 

Lately, whenever I get time to think about that incident, I try 
to look at it again from a woman's point of view. I've spent 
some free time on the Academy computers, too, learning about the 
consequences of harassment complaints. Jenny could be right 
about my tendency to play the hero. I'm not convinced, but I'm 
trying. Maybe it's the desire to understand which has kept me 
from jumping to Agent Scully's rescue, as I surely would have 
three months ago. Mulder's encouragement aside, I have to 
wonder if I'm cut out to be a profiler, seeing how I can't seem to 
grasp the way half the population thinks.

Renewed guffaws draw my attention back to the front of the 
room, where Scully is pulling a covered gurney out of the cold 
storage lockers. The disruption is finally too much for her to 
ignore. She turns to the group with haughty eyebrows raised.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

She waits with every indication of patience until one of them 
stops chortling enough to say, "That's an awfully big gurney. 
We were just wondering how you're going to see the corpse 
without standing on a box." 

She remains silent until the laughter dies down. "How nice of 
you to offer your help. Why don't you join me, Mr. Arbogast?" 
She smiles, but it's not what I would call a friendly smile. More 
like how a spider would look as it invites a fly into its web. 

Arbogast looks surprised that she knows who he is, apparently 
forgetting that we've got big freakin' name signs on our desks 
for that very reason. After a few seconds of witless 
bewilderment, he jumps to his feet and scurries to the front of 
the room, a "who da man?" smirk directed at his buddies. Call 
it a gut feeling, but I don't think he's going to enjoy this 
experience as much as he expects to. 

As soon as the grinning Arbogast is standing next to the 
gurney, Agent Scully turns back to the rest of the class. 
"First-strike investigation, people. You won't often be the 
initial responder at a crime scene; that privilege is usually 
reserved for local law enforcement. But it will still be of 
benefit for you to know what to look for, how to avoid 
contaminating or losing evidence, how best to direct people so 
they don't destroy what you have. We've already talked about it 
in the abstract. Now let's get hands-on."

Two things happen almost simultaneously. One, Scully whips 
off the sheet covering the gurney. Two, Arbogast faints. It's a 
classic Victorian romance fluttering-eyelids-rolling-eyeballs-
graceful-slide-to-the-floor, worthy of Scarlet O'Hara herself. 
All that's missing is the back of one hand held to his forehead. 
I want to applaud but decide against it. 

As much as he deserved it, I almost feel sorry for the poor guy. 
Floaters make some of the worst corpses. Bloated, unnaturally 
white, what's left of the skin covered in rips, gouges, missing 
chunks. This person had been in the water for quite a while. 
You can't even tell anymore if it's male or a small-chested 
female. There aren't any visible sexual indicators left, but 
from the size, I'd have to say it's male. I see several 
classmates turn their heads or swallow really fast. Most of us 
are a couple shades paler than we were at the start of class. 
Even with the experience I'd gotten in Morrow Falls, I can feel 
the blood draining from my face. 

Pushing herself up on tiptoe, Scully holds onto the side of the 
gurney as she peers over at the fallen man. "Huh." She 
straightens up again and walks around to the other side of the 
table. Squatting on her heels, she puts a couple fingers to 
Arbogast's neck, then rolls his head back and forth while she 
pulls up his eyelids and checks his scalp. Apparently satisfied 
with what she finds, she stands. "It would appear that Mr. 
Arbogast isn't feeling well. Perhaps a couple of you could help 
him to the infirmary."   

Gilbert, one of Arbogast's friends, snatches up their notes while 
Hanford and Robbins hurry down to the floor and snatch up 
Arbogast. He's a tall guy, taller than his buddies. His head 
hangs dangerously close to the floor as they drag him by the 
armpits, promising a concussion if they stumble in the slightest. 
Scully watches for a moment before she says, "Maybe you 
should try a fireman's carry. I can demonstrate how it's done if 
you'd like."

Robbins grunts out, "No thanks, ma'am. We've got him."

She shrugs and turns back to the rest of us. "Who can tell me 
what evidence you *might* still be able to find on this type of 
victim?"

It's hard not to be distracted by the men struggling to haul 
Arbogast's limp body from the room like an enormous dead 
fish. Or a floater. However, Scully completely ignores them as 
she spends the next several minutes showing us where to look 
for hidden evidence on someone who's been in the water for a 
while. She pulls back flaps of skin, picks aquatic animals out of 
cuts, single-handedly rolls the body over and demonstrates 
how to check the anus for evidence. It's the grossest thing I've 
ever seen in my life. If Arbogast passed out just from looking at 
the corpse, he never would have made it through the rest of the 
lecture without puking. 

I know an FBI wanna-be who's going to end up working for a 
podunk police force, IF he's lucky. What a waste of DNA. 

The minute Scully announces "Class dismissed," the room 
clears in under fifteen seconds. I'm afraid there may be 
casualties as people scramble over each other to leave. 

Agent Scully collects her teaching materials as I stay in my 
seat, unnoticed, and gather my notes together. I'm trying to 
decide if I should introduce myself and apologize for not 
coming to her aid when I hear a rhythmic, rubbery, squeaking 
sound in the hall and look up just in time to see Agent Mulder 
hobble through the doorway on a pair of crutches. He's 
dressed in cut-off khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt the same 
color as the Academy uniform. A tie dangles down his chest, 
knotted incongruously around his neck. His right foot is in a 
walking cast, his left knee in a brace. There are long scrapes 
down one arm and the side of his head, from temple to jaw, 
looks like five miles of bad road, gravel and all. You can't see 
the skin for the scabs. If I had to guess, I'd say he's been 
bodysurfing on asphalt using his face as the board.

He doesn't notice me as he limps toward his partner. "Scully, 
has anyone ever told you that you have a vicious streak?"

She picks up the sheet and shakes it out over the corpse. "You 
heard that, huh?"

"I was leaning against the wall outside, waiting for class to 
finish. By the time I realized what was going on, I was too late 
to catch the show. I was nearly knocked down by your fleeing 
audience, though. You just love making them pass out, don't 
you?"

He was listening to those goons harassing a woman and he 
didn't --? Okay, maybe that's not fair. They probably wouldn't 
have listened to him anyway, seeing how he's "Spooky" 
Mulder, not to mention the way he's dressed. Still, for her own 
partner to leave her hanging in the breeze... The least he could 
do is commiserate with her about their treatment, maybe 
apologize for not being able to help, but instead he makes a 
crack about the way she defended herself. Why?

Back in Morrow Falls, when I heard Mulder talking to Scully on 
the phone, I could have sworn he was in love with her, judging 
by the tone of his voice. Now, I'm not so sure. Could any man 
stand by while the woman he loves is ridiculed by another 
man? I wouldn't be able to if it was Jenny, but then she means 
the world to me. Maybe I'm totally wrong about the relationship 
Mulder and Scully have. They're obviously friends, if nothing 
else. Still, friends would stick up for each other. Unless 
Mulder simply isn't the man I thought he was. 

Scully pushes the re-covered gurney back toward the cold 
storage locker. "There's no point in subtlety when you're 
dealing with Neanderthals, Mulder. What are you doing here? 
You're not supposed to be driving." 

"I was bored without you poking and prodding me every five 
minutes." He shuffles farther into the room without responding 
to her last comment. "Besides, I wanted to watch as you gently 
mold and nurture our future generation of agents. It reminds 
me why I'm thankful you're on my side."

"Stop trying to suck up. I wouldn't be here in the first place if 
you'd checked for traffic." 

"I'm just glad that car got me before the Doberman caught up."

She closes the locker door and turns, hands on hips. Her eyes 
go wide. "Mulder, what's with the drunken-frat-boy outfit?"

He flips his tie at her. "Just trying to fit in with the 
trainees. I couldn't get my suit pants over the cast, and 
wearing a skirt would have meant shaving my legs. I figured 
with all the casualties since you started teaching two days ago, 
even the crutches wouldn't stand out."

She shakes her head at him. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Spasmodically. I kept yelping myself awake every time I 
turned over."

"You'll get no sympathy from me. You should thank Skinner for 
sending me here. He kept me from inflicting further damage 
the car missed." She frowns. "Have you ever considered that 
you might be getting too old to leap tall buildings at a single 
bound?"

He eases himself into a front-row seat, groaning as he leans on 
the crutches to aid his balance. "It's not the years, Scully, 
it's the mileage."

"You're plagiarizing Indiana Jones, Mulder."

"It's still true," he replies.

"Indy was funnier." 

I really shouldn't be eavesdropping like this but there's only one 
way to get out of it now. I finally stand to leave, which draws 
their attention.

Agent Scully turns her frown on me. "Can I help you with 
something?"

Mulder twists gingerly in his seat to look over his shoulder. 
"Well, as I painfully live and breathe. It's Detective Carr."

I shake my head as I make my way toward them. "It's former-
Detective Carr, now, soon-to-be Agent Carr, with any luck."

Her frown is replaced by a sheepish grin. "I never connected 
the name tag with the stories Mulder's been sharing, even 
though he told me you were here."

"Well you were a tad busy with the caveman contingent," I say. 
"I won't take it personally." She clasps my extended hand in a 
firm, not-the-least-bit-girly grip. "I'm glad to finally meet 
you, Agent Scully. I've heard a lot about you, too."

She directs a glare at her partner. "Mulder..."

"Hey!" He holds both hands up in self-defense. "I only shared 
the expurgated versions." He sticks a hand out to me, and we 
shake enthusiastically. "Welcome to the madhouse, former-
Detective. How do you like the asylum?"

I consider saying something about his lack of back-up earlier, 
but seeing how I didn't take a stand, either, it would be rather 
hypocritical of me to complain. I'm suddenly uncomfortable 
and decide to stick to the question instead. "Well, as Agent 
Scully found out, some of the inmates need their meds 
increased, but other than that, it's okay." I gesture at his 
face. "Not to be blunt or anything, but why aren't you in a 
hospital? You look like street pizza."

He lounges back in his seat, long arms stretched across the 
chairs on either side. "The HMO kicked me out. If I can 
breathe without a ventilator, they figure I can take care of 
myself at home. I think I've given their accounting department 
a chronic migraine."

"Sounds like they've had some experience with you."

They both respond at the same time. "You could say that."

I can't help but laugh. I catch sight of the clock and realize I 
need to get going. "Sorry to run off, but it's lunchtime and 
I've only got an hour. The grub here is damned good for asylum 
food, plus it's free. I'd hate to miss it."

"Your tax dollars at work," Mulder quips as he levers himself to 
his feet. Scully and I each take an elbow until he's solidly 
upright again. She tucks his crutches firmly under his arms. 
Mulder nudges her with his shoulder. "How about we join 
soon-to-be Agent Carr for lunch? We can pretend we're 
trainees again and relive our glory days."

Oh no. No no no. I still don't know if I should say anything 
about his lack of gallantry. I won't be able to eat if I have to 
bite my tongue. Unfortunately, I can't find a good objection fast 
enough. Scully's nodding.

"Yeah," she says, "I like that idea. You certainly don't need to 
be driving anywhere else, and I still have more classes this 
afternoon. As for being a trainee, all I remember are sore 
muscles, lack of sleep, endless studying, grueling exercise, 
sweat and insults. If those are the 'glory days,' you can have 
them. I'm just going for the food."

Fantastic. Now there's no way for me to refuse to eat with 
them. 

Seeing that corpse didn't make a dent in my appetite, yet 
suddenly the thought of food isn't very appealing. 
Unfortunately, I need to eat or I'll never make it through the 
obstacle course later. We start for the door, Mulder setting a 
shambling pace with Scully several steps in front of us. "So 
what have you got a taste for, Scully?" 

She looks at him over her shoulder. "Oh, fish, sushi, maybe 
some crab or squid. Any kind of seafood will do."

He screws up his face in disgust. "You've got a truly sick sense 
of humor, too. Pathologists." He shudders dramatically.

She walks through the doorway and into the hall but not before 
I get a look at the smile she sends Mulder's way. There's that 
spider grin again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have to say, the food here has been great. While there isn't 
any sushi on the menu today, they do have broiled fish and 
shrimp cocktail. Agent Scully takes a helping of both with a 
salad on the side. Mulder goes straight for the mac-and-
cheese, only picking up a baked chicken breast and side salad 
after his partner clears her throat. 

I take Mulder's tray since there's no way he'll be able to carry 
it and they're too heavy for Scully to carry both hers and his, 
although she reaches out like she expects to. When I shake 
my head, she gives in and steers me toward a table near the 
back wall. It's slow going for Mulder, maneuvering his way 
through the already-full tables. He finally takes a seat between 
the table and the wall. Scully sits next to him. It's like 
they're trying to keep an eye on the room and protect their backs, 
even when they're eating. With the level of whispering and 
snickering going on, maybe they've got the right idea.

We barely have a chance to sit down before Arbogast is 
casting a shadow on the table. He looms over Scully, scowling, 
hands fisted in his pockets. She ignores him for a few seconds 
as she arranges her meal to her liking. When she finally looks 
up, that one eyebrow is cocked again. 

"Can I help you, Mr. Arbogast?" she asks.

He rocks on the balls of his feet for a second before he says, 
"Yeah, Mrs. Spooky. I don't appreciate what you did to me 
back there."

Christ on a pogo-stick! Not again! Scully may have done fine 
in the classroom without my help, but someone needs to kick 
this jackass down a peg before every class taught by a woman 
ends up like an initiation hazing. I start to stand. Mulder taps 
my arm and waves me back into my chair. What the hell? We 
can't *both* sit on our asses and let Arbogast harass Scully for 
a second time. But that seems to be exactly what Mulder 
intends to do. He's just sitting, silent and intently focused. A 
crowd of rubberneckers gather, leaning their ears close. 
Neither Scully nor my fellow trainee pay the least bit of 
attention to anyone.

Scully's second eyebrow goes up. "Oh? And exactly what did I 
do to you?"

Arbogast sneers. "Don't play dumb with me. I don't like being 
made to look stupid in front of the whole class."

The unspoken words "by a woman" are clearly implied in the 
tone of his voice.

"Really?" She looks genuinely surprised. "I was under the 
impression that you merely fainted. There's nothing stupid 
about being affected by the sight of an especially unpleasant-
looking cadaver. It happens all the time in forensic classes."

"You did it on purpose," he growls. 

Scully's expression hardens. "Mr. Arbogast, you were in a 
class about forensic evidence gathering. When I wheeled out 
the gurney, you should have assumed it would be uncovered at 
some point and prepared yourself. However, you and your 
friends were too busy making fun of me to pay attention. What 
happened was your fault, not mine."

"You had no right--!"

"And you did? You were *supposed* to be paying attention to 
my lecture, not mocking me in front of my students."

Arbogast crosses his arms. "Well if you can't handle the job, 
maybe you should have stayed in the kitchen."

Scully leans back in her chair, the better to aim an incredulous 
stare at him. "I beg your pardon."

"Women are always trying to butt into jobs where they don't 
belong, then crying because they got roughed up by the big 
boys. You split-tails think you can get special treatment just 
because that affirmative action crap forced the government to 
give men's jobs to women. Maybe you should stay where you 
belong."

That smug pissant! Who the hell does he think he's talking to?

Mulder's hand comes down on my arm again, even as the urge 
to jump up is forming. How did he know and why isn't he doing 
anything?

Scully glances at the table long enough to straighten her 
silverware a fraction of an inch, but I sense she's really using 
the time to reign in her anger. When she looks up again, she 
can't hide the irritation in her gaze. "Let me ask you something, 
Mr. Arbogast. How many cases have you solved?"

He scowls. "I wasn't a cop, I was an Army MP. We didn't 
handle cases."

"Really? I've probably helped solve hundreds of cases. But 
never mind that. I'm sure, as an MP, you were familiar with 
patrolling the base and apprehending perpetrators."

He shifts from one foot to the other. "I worked the security 
checkpoint at the gate, mostly."

"I see." Scully taps her nails on the table. "So how are you 
doing on the firing range? Have you scored a hundred percent 
at all distances yet?" She waits for him to answer. Arbogast 
shifts feet again without speaking. "I have to re-qualify every 
six weeks," she continues, "just like any other agent, and I've 
never failed to pass."

Arbogast flings his hands up. "So? The course is only half 
over! I'm not an agent yet!"

She leans forward. "Well, I AM an agent. I've taken the same 
training you're taking. I've run the same obstacle courses 
you're running. I've studied the same subjects you're studying." 
She points at him. "And I passed. Whatever you may think of 
women in general, I've been through the training and I've 
fulfilled the standards required to become a Special Agent with 
the FBI. At this academy, you don't simply learn how to whip 
out your badge to impress people or wave your gun around in a 
macho fashion. You also learn how to interact with other 
people *without* alienating them. That includes women. 
Engaging in any kind of harassment shows that you're not 
absorbing those lessons. I'll have to file a report on each 
person involved in today's incident."

"WHAT? But we didn't do anything!"

"Discourtesy to an instructor isn't taken lightly, Mr. Arbogast. 
Especially when that discourtesy was carried out because of 
gender bias."

"We were just teasing! No one else has complained." 

"Maybe they will once they hear I'm not going to ignore this. 
Women were not put on this earth for your sole amusement, 
Mr. Arbogast. After I file my report, each of you will be 
summoned to the director's office to give your side of the story. 
Classmates may be called as witnesses. If an undesirable 
pattern is detected in your behavior, not only will you NOT 
graduate from the Academy, you may have a hard time getting 
hired as a security guard."

"You can't do that!" Arbogast finally looks horrified, but I 
doubt it's because of how he's behaved.

"Oh yes, I can," she replies. "In fact, it's mandatory. As an 
instructor, if I don't report inappropriate conduct and someone 
else does, I'll be the one facing an inquiry. So, yes, I can and 
I will."

Arbogast stands with his mouth moving, fishlike, not making a 
sound.

Scully picks up a bite of food with her fork and waves it at him. 
"Lunch is really good. You should try the cod."

Arbogast turns the color of oyster shells. If I hadn't seen 
Scully take her food directly from the cafeteria servers, I would 
have thought it was a nice forkful of corpse, too. It's pale and 
flaky, just like a chunk of that guy on the gurney, with bits of 
discolored flesh adhering to the underside. As Scully pops the 
morsel into her mouth, Arbogast turns and stumbles toward the 
exit, gawking trainees skittering out of his path.

First the floater, now this. When Agent Scully wants to put 
someone in their place, she doesn't hold back. 

Scully tilts her head, her eyes twinkling. "Guess he's not 
hungry." The spider grin makes a third appearance as she 
forks another piece of fish into her mouth. 

Mulder grins back for a moment. The grins fade as their eyes 
lock for several seconds. I get the feeling they're doing more 
than simply looking at each other. Scully's gaze slides away 
first, back to the food she's picking at on her plate. Mulder's 
voice is softly teasing as he says, "That was an awful lot of 
bureaucratic bullshit you just spewed. You might want to 
gargle before you eat anything else."

Scully pats her lips with a napkin. "A bottle of water would help 
to wash away the taste. Either of you want something to 
drink?" I decline but Mulder asks for a Coke. She stands to 
leave, flicking a glance at her partner but not holding his gaze 
this time. "I know how many shrimp are left, Mulder. I expect 
them all to still be there when I get back." He doesn't make a 
move to stop her, or offer comfort. He simply watches as she 
walks away. 

Ever since Mulder showed up in Morrow Falls and helped us 
catch a serial killer, I've admired him, wanted to be like him in 
some ways. He seemed to embody all the traits I'd been 
taught were desirable in a law enforcement officer. Honesty, 
integrity, empathy, toughness tempered with humor. I thought 
he had all that, and much more. I may be forced to rethink my 
opinion. 

He's still watching Scully when he speaks. "Spit it out, Carr." 

What, is he reading my mind now? I don't know what to say, 
so I don't say anything. 

He picks up his fork and gestures at me with it. "You're upset 
about something, and I get the feeling it has to do with me. 
Let's hear it."

I open my lips enough to say, "I don't know what you mean."

He snorts. "I'm a profiler, Carr. I don't just shut that off 
when I'm not using it. We've talked enough for me to have a good 
sense of you. In the past, you've been fairly open and easy 
with me. But today you're uncomfortable, hesitant, weighing 
every word out of your mouth. You weren't like this in Morrow 
Falls. So what gives?" 

What gives, he asks. I managed to convince myself earlier that 
he really couldn't have interceded in the classroom but I guess 
twice in one day is too much to rationalize. "I can't believe you 
let Arbogast talk to her like that!"

Mulder's chewing a mouthful of his salad and nearly spits it on 
me. After he gets his coughing under control, he asks, "Exactly 
what was I supposed to do, former-Detective Carr?"

I wave my hands in exasperation. "Hell, I don't know. But 
shouldn't you be doing *something*? How could you just sit 
there and let him be rude to her? Not once, but twice! You 
were outside the lecture room, too, and you didn't do a damned 
thing. You let him and his buddies insult a woman and you did 
*nothing*!"

"Ah." Mulder watches me, lips pursed. "It appears I've 
disappointed you. But if you feel so strongly about this, why 
didn't you do something yourself, during class?" 

"I thought about it, but I didn't want to embarrass Agent Scully 
in front of her students," I reply. "I was definitely planning 
to track down Arbogast and knock some sense into him later. As 
it happens, she took care of it before I could say anything."

He points a finger at me. "And there lies the answer to your 
question. Scully took care of him *herself*. She wasn't as 
upset by Arbogast as you seem to think, Carr. Did she look 
anything other than supremely pissed off to you, either here or 
in the classroom?" 

I have to think for a moment, but from what I remember, Scully 
*didn't* seem upset, not in the way I would have expected. 
She was certainly angry, maybe exasperated, definitely 
disgusted. I got those vibes loud and clear. But not once, now 
I actually consider it, did she exhibit any signs of being 
downright, blubbering-on-a-strong-shoulder traumatized. In 
fact, just now especially, she looked more like she wanted to 
wrench off Arbogast's balls and sign him up for the Vienna 
Boys' Choir.

I open my mouth, although I'm not quite sure what's going to 
come out. I probably look as confused as I feel. Mulder's 
raised hand beckons my attention. "Why are you here, Mr. 
Carr?"

What the hell? He knows-- "You know why I'm here."

"Humor the spooky man." He shovels another forkful of food 
into his mouth.

Okay. Fine. "I'm here to, hopefully, become an FBI Special 
Agent so I can apply for profiler training in the near future."

Mulder swallows. "And what have you been doing for the past 
two months while you wait for that glorious day?"

Why is he asking me this when he knows damned well what 
I've been doing? I have to make a conscious effort to hide my 
irritation. "Well, I've been running the obstacle course and 
trails, becoming proficient with my weapon, participating in 
Hogan's Alley exercises, not to mention a full load of classes 
every day."

"Is it just you in these classes, running the obstacles, playing 
super-hero-with-a-gun?" 

"Of course not! Anyone who wants to be a Federal agent has 
to go through the training."

He lifts another forkful to his mouth, says, "Even women?" then 
closes his lips around the fork. 

Of course, women! If they're here, they have to go through the 
training. I've had it with his questions. I'm about ready to 
blast his ears back when a blaze of red comes into my line of 
sight. Scully is on her way back to our table until one of my 
fellow trainees stops her. A *female* trainee. Same blue shirt 
and khaki pants as every other trainee, but most definitely 
non-male. That's when Mulder's meaning sinks in.

Women. Female agents. Split-tails, as Arbogast so crudely 
called Agent Scully. "Agent" being the operative word. She's 
been through the training, just like me, like Arbogast. Like 
Mulder. Hell, I sat here and listened to her telling Arbogast 
the same thing and I STILL didn't get it! 

I was always taught that women are capable of doing anything 
a man can do, but that they're also supposed to be protected 
and cherished. My parents are farmers. Mom can overhaul a 
tractor as fast (and often faster) than Dad. He cooks, she 
plows, then they switch. But Dad has always insisted that we 
not swear in front of Mom, no one is allowed to talk rudely to 
her, we should make sure she's happy and safe if at all 
possible. Did I misinterpret that caring to mean we should fight 
her battles, too, and then expand it to include ALL women? 
Does that make me better than the FBI "good old boys club" 
which still tries to exclude women? Or worse? I've 
disrespected Agent Scully just as surely as Arbogast and his 
cronies ever did. That I was doing it under the guise of 
protecting her makes me want to toss my cookies. I've made 
an assumption about her which I had no business making and 
then was prepared to act on it without permission. Maybe my 
ego isn't any smaller than the ones toted around by my old 
colleagues back in Morrow Falls.

This may be even more humiliating than the grocery store 
incident.

Mulder's voice, thick around a mouthful of macaroni-and-
cheese, breaks into my thoughts. "You know, Scully shot me 
once." 

An involuntary gasp escapes me, but he waves it off with his 
fork. 

"Purely for my own good, of course, and as a result, she 
ultimately saved my life. After something like that, I'd be 
stupid to underestimate her nerve. Believe me, Scully would 
NOT have appreciated my big nose, or yours for that matter, in 
her business today. You probably saved yourself from a scathing 
put-down by NOT speaking up."

Nerve she has, that's for sure. I watch her on the other side of 
the cafeteria as Gilbert and Robbins stop her. I'll bet they 
heard what she said to Arbogast, about filing reports on them, 
and they're trying to plead their case. She speaks to them, 
politely it would seem, answering their questions or comments, 
without giving off an air of impatience or dislike, despite their 
shenanigans in the classroom. I can't hear what any of them 
are saying, but she handles the situation in a very no-nonsense 
manner. Professional. Efficient.

She reminds me of Jenny. 

That's weird. I'm not even sure why the thought popped into 
my head, but I follow it for a moment. I was noticing how 
professional Agent Scully is. How efficient. How she doesn't 
take shit from anyone, including her partner. Yeah. That's it. 
I'd almost forgotten.

Mulder's voice breaks into my thoughts again. "Am I gonna 
have to take you outside and ask your intentions, man to 
cripple?"

"WHAT?" I whip my head around in surprise, wondering where 
the hell he got THAT idea. 

He's watching me in amusement. "You were gazing at Scully, 
rather wistfully I might add." 

"Oh." I grin sheepishly. Right. I keep losing sight of the fact 
that he's a profiler. "I'm afraid I wasn't even seeing Scully. I 
was thinking about my wife, which reminded me of something 
that happened almost a year ago, out by my parents' farm. We 
were driving home when Jenny screamed for me to stop the 
car. I braked automatically, but I had no idea what was going 
on. She was out of the car before it stopped moving. It took 
me a few seconds to pull over and get out. The first thing I 
noticed was all the blood."

"Jesus!" Mulder exclaims. "What happened?"

"Some kid was working in the fields and got his arm caught in 
the combine. The header came down on it and he managed to 
get his arm back out, but not in one piece."

Mulder winces. "Ouch."

"Big ouch. By the time I got to them, Jenny had already 
yanked the belt out of her jeans and was cinching it around the 
kid's bicep. I'm used to crime scenes, but this was too fresh. 
Her hands were drenched in blood, her shirt and the kid were 
covered in it. I was ready to yak my guts up on the spot."

"What did Jenny do?"

I start to laugh. Remembering that day, and then remembering 
what Scully did today, I can't help myself. "You should have 
seen her. She was issuing orders to total strangers who'd 
stopped to help, shouting for someone to call 911, go find the 
kid's arm, help her put pressure on the belt, and I don't know 
what-all. She didn't care who did what as long as her orders 
were followed. A drill sergeant couldn't have been obeyed any 
faster. By the time the ambulance showed up, the bleeding 
had just about stopped and Jenny was yelling for ice to pack 
the severed arm for transport. The paramedics had a hell of a 
time getting her to step back and let them take over."

Mulder smiles. "Been there myself. You know what happened 
with this?" He gestures to his plaster-encased foot and 
crutches.

"I gathered you got hit by a car." 

He nods. "So guess who caught the suspect we were 
chasing."

I should have seen it coming but until this moment, it never 
occurred to me to wonder. "Scully?"

"Yep." He leans back in his chair, pride very evident in his 
voice. "Guy was twice her size and she still ran him down, in 
chunky heels, no less. Then she hauled his handcuffed ass 
back to where I was sprawled in the road like a 'possum and 
took care of me, barking orders for ice, clean rags, someone to 
direct traffic. Everybody did what she told them to without 
question until the paramedics arrived."

I'm nodding like I'll never stop. I get it now. I can't believe 
I never saw it before--that inner core of strength. It's in Agent 
Scully, and all the women like her who scratch and claw their 
way into a job which, despite supposed gender equality in 
these days of the sensitive, aware 90's male, is still seen as a 
man's domain. It's in my mother, and my wife, too. They don't 
need me to protect them, they need me to treat them like true 
equals. To watch their backs, not stand in front of them 
repelling all boarders. 

"So what happened to the kid?" Mulder asks.

"We heard later that his arm was reattached and they were 
hopeful he'd regain limited use of it in time. They said if Jenny 
hadn't stopped the bleeding, not only would they have been 
unable to save his arm, but the kid most likely would have 
died." 

"You must be very proud of her."

I've never admitted this to anyone before, and I don't know why 
I say it now, but... "I should have been, and I was, in a way. 
But I was also secretly appalled that she'd tried. Ever since, 
she's been hinting that she wants to become a paramedic. I've 
made appropriate noises without committing to anything but I 
couldn't understand WHY. I mean, she couldn't *really* want to 
do that kind of work every day. Could she? All the blood and 
gore and human misery. Why would she want to wallow in that 
when she's already got a perfectly good job in the elementary 
school office?" 

"And you're seeing things a little differently now?" 

I look over to where Scully is still talking, bottle of water and 
cup of Coke in hand, to Gilbert and Robbins. I wondered what 
was taking her so long. Hanford joined them at some point and 
seems to be prolonging their discussion.

"I always thought Jenny has a great job. Nothing but kids to 
look after and parents to confer with. A nice job with regular 
hours. Appropriate. I never realized I was mentally adding 'for 
a woman' every time I thought about it." I turn to Mulder, 
seized by a desire to make him understand. "Have I really 
been that two-faced? In favor of women's emancipation but 
secretly as chauvinistic as Arbogast and his cronies, 'separate 
but equal'? Somebody needed to knock some sense into ME, 
not the other way around. What a hypocrite I've been!"

Mulder smiles, the kind of smile that says he knows what I'm 
going through, and pats me on the shoulder. "Congratulations, 
soon-to-be-Agent Carr. You've successfully demonstrated 
what a profiler does."

Hold the horses! "I did?"

"Sure you did. You got into the unsub's head, looked at his 
past experience, thought processes, motivating factors, and 
arrived at a logical hypothesis. The fact that you were the 
unsub doesn't change anything."

Holy Hannah. I did, and I didn't even know it! Is this what it's 
like to be a profiler? I could get used to this.

Picking up on my sudden elation, Mulder shakes his head and 
points his fork at me. "Just don't get cocky. You've still got 
some serious thinking to do." 

Way to burst the bubble, but he's right. I guess I do.

Scully finally makes her way back to the table and slides into 
her seat. She hands her partner a cup, then makes a show of 
alternately counting the shrimp on her plate and staring 
pointedly at Mulder. He throws his hands up as though 
surrendering.

"Easy, copper! I didn't steal any. I only licked a few."

She rolls her eyes at him before going back to her food. If she 
was upset before, she isn't anymore. She's worked through 
whatever anger she had toward Arbogast and moved on, but 
for the first time, I'm seeing her for who she really is instead 
of who I thought she should be. She's a Special Agent with the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation, as qualified as Mulder to do 
whatever an agent does, and he knows it. That's why he 
wasn't jumping to her rescue and slaying the chauvinist pig--he 
trusts her. Not only to fight her own battles, but he trusts her 
to win.

The three of us make polite chit-chat for the remainder of the 
meal, although if there were to be a quiz on the content, I'd 
flunk. I know Mulder asks about how Jenny's handling our 
separation, how I'm doing in my classes, what I think about 
some of the teachers. I answer, but hell if I know what I say. 
Scully doesn't contribute much, that I remember. Hopefully I 
haven't said anything totally off topic or incoherent. 

It seems like hardly any time at all has passed before they're 
getting ready to leave. Scully gathers all their trash onto one 
tray, then stacks all the trays together. When we both reach 
out to pick them up, I only hesitate for a second before I lean 
back again. Every journey of a thousand miles starts with a 
first step. That was mine, although there's still a lot of 
mileage ahead of me.

I help Mulder wiggle out of his chair and onto his feet, watching 
him gingerly straighten legs gone stiff from sitting. I wedge 
the crutches under his arms and steady him until he's balanced. 

I stick out a hand. "It was good to see you again, Agent 
Mulder."

We shake. "It was good to see you, too, Carr. Don't worry 
about my tumble off that pedestal you had me on. Getting hit 
by the car hurt worse."

I can feel myself turning red. "Actually, I should apologize to 
YOU. I had no business--"

"Sure you did," he interjects. "We all start out here with our 
own preconceived notions, prejudices, biases and 
assumptions. The most important thing you can learn is to put 
those aside and think beyond them. I suspect you're going to 
do just fine."

"Maybe," I reply. "As soon as I have a chance to process 
everything you've said. Thanks, Mulder."

I don't realize Scully is back until she says, "Come on, gimpy. 
Let's see if you can get back home in one piece."

As they walk away, I hear Scully ask, "What was Carr thanking 
you for?"

Mulder replies, "It's a guy thing, Scully. You wouldn't 
understand."

She punches him in the arm. 

Mulder yelps. "That was on a bruise!"

Scully turns her face enough for me to see her smirk. "If there 
wasn't a bruise before, there is now."

I can't help it; I start to laugh. I'm amazed I didn't see it 
before, how much alike the two women are. That's exactly the kind 
of thing Jenny would do to me for being an ass monkey. 

I look down at my watch and realize I've got exactly five 
minutes before lunch break is over. That should be just 
enough time to call Jenny and ask her to come down for the 
weekend. We've got a lot to talk about. I only hope I can start 
the coming conversation without sounding like a patronizing 
dickhead. All these years, I've been the one driving and 
ignoring the fact that Jenny might like to take the wheel 
sometimes. Just because I *can* drive, that doesn't mean I 
have to all the time. 

As I leave the cafeteria, headed to my room to change for the 
obstacle course, I can see Mulder and Scully making their slow 
way across the campus. She unobtrusively breaks trail for him 
through the herd of trainees crisscrossing their path. The step-
swing rhythm of his crutches never falters. He doesn't seem to 
notice what's in his way. He trusts her to watch out for him. 

I wonder how long she'll be at Quantico until they can return to 
field investigations. When I get back to my room, I'm going to 
check my course schedule. If I'm lucky, I'll have at least one 
more class with her. My instincts tell me there's a lot I can 
learn from Agent Scully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END

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