Value & Honor
by Forte
(Forte1354@aol.com)

Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc.


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- Chapter 2 -

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J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Friday, 8:42 a.m.


Mulder finished typing up his report for Kersh and glanced at his
watch, then at Scully's unoccupied desk.



He looked at his watch again and frowned, hit "print" on his PC, and
stood up.  He checked Scully's PC --  -- then headed toward the kitchen area on the other
side of the floor.

As he rounded a corner, about fifteen feet from the kitchenette, he
stopped in his tracks.  What he saw was surprising enough, but it
was the tension in the air that truly made his stomach lurch.

Scully.  And Diana.

The red and the black.

Neither seemed to notice him standing there.  Scully stood with her
back to him, holding a pot of coffee.  Diana's face was twisted in a
slight smirk; she leaned over to Scully and said something he
couldn't make out.  He watched as Scully's free hand clenched and
released as she placed the pot on its burner and then leaned over
towards Diana.  Whatever she told the other agent made no apparent
impression.  Scully straightened, picked up a Styrofoam cup in each
hand, and backed away.

Mulder was about to step backwards himself to get out of her way
when she suddenly whirled around and stopped short, eyes wide at the
sight of him.

"Hi," she sputtered.  She shoved one of the cups into his hand and
continued walking past him, back straight, head high.  In control.

Mulder stared after her, momentarily speechless, then regained his
composure and stalked after her.  He threw a glance over his
shoulder in time to catch Diana's eye.  Seeing his frown, she merely
shrugged, then walked away in the opposite direction.

Mulder's mind reeled as he lengthened his stride to catch up with
his partner without being too obvious.

Whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen wasn't good.

Mulder followed Scully back to their desks.  She *plunked* her cup
down, sending a small tidal wave of coffee over the edge onto her
desk.  Oblivious, she stared at her computer's monitor.

Mulder glanced around to ensure that no one was watching them.

"Scully."  His voice was cautious, uncertain; the question asked in
the tone of his voice.

Without a word or glance at him, she yanked open the drawer of her
desk.  Mulder watched as she pulled out a small bottle of
acetaminophen, swallowed three with a gulp of coffee, threw the
re-capped bottle back in the drawer and slammed it shut with her
hip.

"Scully."  More tentative.



"We have seven minutes to get to Kersh's office, Mulder," Scully
told him, still keeping her eyes from his.  She hunched over her
PC's keyboard, typed a sentence, then hit "print."

Mulder moved to block Scully's path to the printer.  Why did she
suddenly look so small?  What could he say to break through the ice
dam that stood between him and his partner?

"Thanks for the coffee."



He steeled himself for the hated phrase, but instead she accepted
his challenge and met his gaze defiantly.  The image of a much
younger Scully saluting her father flashed through Mulder's mind.

"You're welcome.  And we now have only six minutes to get to Kersh's
office."

In their years together Mulder had learned to read his partner's
eyes in a way that he assumed -- hoped, prayed -- no one else could.
In those usually stoic blue pupils he saw anger, determination, and
something else so rare and horrific he felt physical pain.

Anguish.  Pleading with him for time, and space, and dignity.

So he let her off the hook.  Temporarily.

"Let's talk later -- go out for lunch.  There's too many people
around; someone could be listening."

No one else but Mulder could have picked up the slight tremble in
her voice.  "I know."

 Scully thought.



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A.D. Kersh's Office
9:00 a.m.


Mulder couldn't help noticing Scully's nervous energy as they sat
waiting in Kersh's outer office.  The slender fingers of her left
hand drummed insistently on the folder containing their just-printed
reports.  With a quick glance towards Kersh's secretary to ensure
that she wasn't watching, Mulder brushed the edge of his right hand
against her left.  Startled from her reverie, she looked at her
partner with a face that showed -- embarrassment?  Mulder glanced
down at her now-stilled hand and back up at her.  Scully chewed her
lower lip and looked back down at the folder.

"Agents -- A.D. Kersh will see you now."

Scully led the way into Kersh's office, with Mulder right behind,
hand at the small of her back.  Each took a seat in front of Kersh's
desk, where the A.D. was studying a file.

Scully leaned forward to lay the report in front of Kersh.  He
finished looking at the file in front of him, moved it to the bottom
of a pile of approximately twenty similar files on his desk, then
started to review the contents of the folder on the top of the pile.

After about thirty seconds, Mulder looked over at Scully, who met
his gaze without expression.  Mulder cleared his throat.

"Just a moment, Agents."

Kersh closed the file he was inspecting and returned it to the top
of the pile on his desk, then turned his attention to the folder
Scully had placed before him.  He flipped through it for a few
moments, then spoke.

"This was good work." His voice was a monotone, and he did not look
up from the pages in front of him.

"Thank you, sir," Mulder responded.  

"Your forensics work here was especially good, Agent Scully," Kersh
added.

Scully started, almost imperceptibly, as though she might have been
daydreaming.  Kersh, still skimming over the report, did not notice.
 Mulder did.



"Thank you, sir," Scully replied.  "But you'll see from my report
that my forensics work would have been useless without Agent
Mulder's profile of the killer."

Kersh mumbled something indistinguishable and waved his hand in a
dismissive gesture.  Mulder's eyes narrowed momentarily in
annoyance, and this time it was his partner's turn to glance at him.

"Agent Scully," the A.D. continued, "I have some files here that I
would like you to take a look at."

"Sir?"

"Autopsy reports from unsolved homicides of young children around
the country.  I'd like you to review them and see if you can find
any connection between these cases and the murders allegedly
committed by Jack Morse."  His eyes rose to meet Scully's.

Mulder's back stiffened.    He
glanced one more time at his partner, but she showed no outward
reaction to Kersh's request.

"Certainly, sir."  Her words were crisp and professional as they
always were -- Mulder heard nothing in her tone to suggest that the
assignment caused her the slightest distress.

"I'll expect your conclusions and recommendations on Monday
afternoon.  That will be all, Agents," Kersh said, standing.  Mulder
and Scully rose also, and the A.D. handed her the stack of files
>from his desk.  As the agents moved towards the door, he spoke
again.

"Agent Scully."

Both Mulder and Scully stopped and turned to face the Assistant
Director.

"Agent Scully," Kersh repeated, making it clear that he wanted only
her attention.  "A moment, please?"

Scully looked at Mulder and gave the tiniest fraction of a nod.



Mulder turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Sir?"

Kersh came from behind his desk and approached Scully.  "I want you
to know that I think you're doing excellent work, Agent Scully.  You
have a long and prestigious career ahead of you at the Bureau.  And
I am confident that you will not always be in your present
assignment."

Scully paused, trying to determine Kersh's hidden agenda for this
unexpected speech, but reaching no definitive conclusion.

"Thank you, sir.  I'm sure Agent Mulder and I would be assets to any
department in the Bureau."

"Agent Scully," Kersh took another step forward, and lowered his
voice, "valuable opportunities may present themselves to you in the
future that involve -- " he paused for emphasis, " -- individual
responsibilities.  You would be doing yourself a favor to take
advantage of them regardless of your current loyalties."

 Scully thought as he spoke.  

Her mind flashed back to the recent events in Dallas and the
Antarctic, and at the Bureau after their return from that nightmare.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Agent?" Kersh pressed.

  As difficult and as frustrating as
working with Mulder could be sometimes, her place was with him.  She
had told him so, and Scullys kept their word, did their duty, upheld
their honor.

Squaring her shoulders, Scully shut out of her mind all of her other
reasons for staying with Mulder.  Her stony, impenetrable gaze bore
down on the Assistant Director, and she allowed some of her disdain
to escape in her voice.

"Yes, sir, I understand.  Is that all, sir?"

"Yes, Agent Scully.  That's all."

Scully turned on her heel, back straight, and left the room.  She
closed the door behind her with more force than necessity dictated.

Mulder was waiting for her in the hall outside of Kersh's outer
office.  He gave Scully a concerned look, and motioned with his eyes
towards the door she had just closed.  

Scully shook her head.  "Lunch," she said, almost inaudible.  Mulder
nodded and followed her down the hall, Scully finding unusual
comfort in the feel of his hand at her back.

As they approached their desks, Mulder looked down at the stack of
files in Scully's arms, raised his eyes to catch hers, and looked
down at the files again.  "Are you okay with this, Scully?" 



"I'm okay with it, Mulder," she assured him quietly.  She stopped at
the edge of the bullpen, out of earshot of the other agents.  Mulder
stood facing her, his head bowed toward her to catch her every word.
"I can do this.  I =have= to do this.  Because there are parents out
there who don't have what little I have.  I =know= what happened
to -- "

She stopped short, nearly choking on the words she meant to say
next.



She steeled herself, and started again.

"I know what happened to Emily.  I know who did it to her.  I even
know =why=."  She shrugged, but trembled slightly, betraying her
attempt at appearing detached from the lives she held in her arms,
and the one she left in San Diego.  "If my forensic knowledge of the
Morse case can help bring those parents some answers, then I have to
do it."

Mulder searched her eyes for any signs of misgivings, but found
none.  He nodded again, gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and
accompanied her back to their desks.


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12:20 p.m.


Trying to dodge the raindrops, the man sprinted across the tarmac to
the waiting commuter plane.  Despite his efforts, his raincoat was
dripping wet by the time he ducked inside the tiny aircraft.  His
short hair was wet, too, but it would dry quickly enough.

Fortunately, the briefcase that held his laptop had stayed safe and
dry under the coat.  He laid the case on his seat, then stripped off
the wet coat, folded it inside out to prevent the water from running
off onto other people's belongings, and stuffed it into the overhead
compartment.  With much greater care, he stowed the laptop under the
seat in front of him, then strapped himself into his seat and
sighed.

He hated flying.

He'd read the complimentary magazine and even memorized the plane's
safety instructions on the previous flight.  Impatient and bored, he
crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and drummed on the edge of
his shoe.  For a few minutes he amused himself by running a
thumbnail over a crack in the heel, which had split open enough to
allow dirt and tiny stones to become embedded within.  He made a
mental note to buy a new pair of shoes.  A shoe repairman just might
remember his face.

He glanced at his watch and sighed again.

He =really= hated flying to Washington DC.

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- end Chapter 2 -

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