Never Again and the Hidden Agenda

Never Again and the Hidden Agenda

"But it's my.."

I know this stuff. I might look dumb but I know this isn't about offices or any of the things she's willing to talk about. So I keep quiet. Try and joke my way through it. She won't let me do that either. What am I supposed to say. Yeah, Scully, looks like your whole life is turning into an X-File but hey, I've been there, seen it, done that. Do you want a T Shirt to go with that new desk?

So, your boyfriend put his arm in the fire. Least he stopped there. One time, when you were still missing, I was out in California. Met this woman and you know what, she was a suspect in a vampire case. Anyway following morning she decided to kill herself. Dowsed herself in gasoline. Pretty good going. Her, her house and three vampires. Not just one measly little arm.

Somehow, I don't think sharing any of this will make it any easier for you. It sure as hell, wouldn't help me.

She was staring at me. Prowling the office now. Why doesn't she sit down. Where? On her chair at her desk? I was in the danger zone. Come on boy, talk your way out of that sentence without sounded like a smug, self satisfied ego maniac who thinks that she's just some satellite that's orbiting you.

Focus, try to say something that won't make it any worse. "This work is the only thing that I am any good at and I know I can't do it as well without you." Did that work? Oh, if looks could kill.

"You don't know if you could do it as well without me? Well isn't that just great. Now, I get to be first lady backing up the President."

Unfair. Deliberately unfair. I'm dead in the water, she's got PMT and I can't talk my way out of this. And that was sexist, so steer well clear of that kind of crack. Try again. "You're a gifted Agent and a good friend. You could be working anywhere. I'm just grateful you're working with me." Pretty good, even said 'with me', instead of 'for me'. Why doesn't she turn around so I can see her face?

Be careful what you wish for.

Her face is lightning, here comes the thunder. "You're absolutely right. You're grateful. But, I could be working anywhere. Not the most subtle way of suggesting I check out the possibilities of a transfer."

What? How did that little twist get in there? Safest to keep my mouth shut. Stop digging a deeper hole to fall in.

She's looking at me, absolutely direct, lasers on. She's going to say something. Concentrate on listening to her. "Nothing to say. So you don't have a problem with me looking for a transfer."

Of course I have a problem. I have a recurring, screaming, waking nightmare of a problem with that.

The first thunder clap was over and even the echoes were dying away, dark clouds blowing over her eyes now. I try not to move, not to talk. Anything I say will sound defensive, or offensive. If I try to back off she'll move in for the kill. If I stand my ground she'll interpret it as arrogance or indifference. And I'm not indifferent. I'm just terrified. I've faced down serial killers. I've stood defenceless in front of disciplinary tribunals waiting to be nailed to the floor. I've been thrown half blinded with virus onto the ice to die. I've had a near miss with being been burnt alive in a boxcar full of bodies.

The sensation never changes. There aren't even different degrees of it. A mass of adrenaline that may or may not have some use to me. A pounding in the brain. A blinding pain in the eyes. And something else, something that says whatever happens next, I'll fight. I won't just roll over and die. I watch her.

My body shifts into a posture I recognise as the stance I take when I'm unarmed and on the wrong side of a drawn gun. Calm, careful, utterly alert. I'm an optimist. No one would believe that of me. But I am. Even now I think this can turn out ok. Not this argument, I know we can get past this. Concentration hurts. But I'm good at it. I can't remember a time when I wasn't.

She's going to speak, her mouth moves then I hear the words. "Nothing to say? You don't care if I walk out on you."

Softly. She's twisted it again. Can I use that twist as a lever. "You said this was your life, that it's not about me. Is this work part of your life? Do you want it to be." I wait, hold my breath waiting for a reaction. Don't let her slip away.

"How dare you ask me that. After everything I've done for you."

Unexpected. That was a slip, Doctor Scully. "For me? Not with me?" Unfair tactics, but she isn't playing fair and I'm terrified and fairness was never high on my list when I had to fight my way out of a corner.

She's prowling. I need to be careful. I can't afford to pin her in a corner. She'd come out like a tiger. She can't play dead as well as I can, so she lacks the element of surprise. But she's ferocious, I've seen her claws. She's swiped at me a few times but always with the claws safely retracted. Keep the heat turned down.

"Both." A grim tone in her voice. "I've given up too much."

True enough. A sister. A life of love. Health, peace of mind, safety. A career. Too much to ask of anyone. What does she want. My blessing? My best wishes in her new life. My thanks. Let's try. "And I'm grateful and so are all the people whose lives have been saved by your work."

"And who'll save me?"

What is she telling me? I can't handle that fatalism in her voice. "What's wrong, Scully. I know there's something wrong. Please."

Bad timing. I thought the flames were dying back, now they are up and swirling and leaping.

"Why would there be anything wrong. Why should I care that after four years of work I still don't have my name on the door or a proper desk."

What? We're back to that? She's being evasive. There's something wrong. Something horribly wrong. Something she wants to talk about? Something she isn't ready to talk about? Come on, do something useful with that Psychology training.

Don't back her into a corner. Don't rush her. You can draw her out later. When she's not so angry. When every word you say isn't an intrusion.

Play her game, let her stay on her own territory. Act like she hasn't admitted anything, don't force her to build higher walls. Let the heat die down. She wants to fight about something safe. Ok, let's fight. "I'm glad you finally got around to caring. After four years of hearing that you were responsible for offering an independent scientific review of the X-Files. And how important it was that the work didn't get sidelined. And that a way of demonstrating that we are not outsiders was to maintain work space in VCS and at Quantico, you finally decide you belong here."

Oh, she doesn't look pleased. Good. She isn't supposed to. Funny how tall she looks when she holds her head like that. She's growling now. "No. This is your office. Look at the door."

"Look at the requisition pad. Don't tell me you've forgotten how to fill it in."

Nasty. Deliberately so. Now she looks very annoyed, but there are no claws on display. She's annoyed but not dangerous. Good. I wonder if she knows how relieved I am. I wonder if she knows how scared I am about what I have to do next.

She's got her eyes closed. Like she is considering her next move. She's so distracted by my 'attack', she doesn't know how to respond. She'd like to hit me, but she's not violent like that. She's trying not to laugh. She hates that I've outflanked her. But she's relieved that I didn't go after the real problem. She'll give me a little victory on this because she knew it could have been worse. She thinks I don't know that this was just a distraction, a bone she threw to keep the dog away from the roast turkey.

She's frowning, considering her reply, just a touch of arrogance in that look. "You're right. I could have done. I was anticipating an invitation. I can see now that I should have worked on my own initiative. Thank you for that lesson in assertiveness."

Oh my. I mustn't laugh. Scully and lessons in assertiveness. From me. There's a concept to ponder. I push her down the hill. "So next time you fill in one of those reports on the operation of the division you can include a comment on the lack of a structured management approach, particularly in the area of the professional development of personnel." She'll get me for that. Which is good. Because if she thinks I've gone back to my role of office clown, she'll forget that she's set me a problem.

"Maybe I can Skinner to give you lessons."

Too easy. "Come on. I'm the star pupil of Skinner's charm school. The most carefully managed Agent in the history of the Bureau. And look what it did for me."

She can't believe it. Cringing sincerity to clown in less than five minutes. But then she can't tell that the adrenaline's still kicking in so hard that unless I get out of here and run I'm going to explode.

I'll give her time. Breathing space. Then I'll be back. I'm naive. I'm insensitive. But I'm not stupid and I am very tenacious. I'll watch her. Wait for the guard to drop. Wait until she's not expecting it.

I'll be there when she's ready to talk.

I just hope that she'll be ready to talk soon. I'm scared for her. I'm scared for me.

I made a promise, a couple of years ago, sitting in my apartment after a night spent holding Dana Scully's hand in a hospital ICU. I promised I wouldn't make assumptions, not always assume the worst. But I'm finding it a hard promise to keep. I think I know what's wrong. I don't think I want to know if I'm right. But I have to know, before it's too late.