Intuitive Reasoning
by Mish
mish_rose@yahoo.com

Classification: MSR, some angst, third party POV,
post-ep
Rating: PG-13, for language
Spoilers: Orison, slight ones for Hungry and
Irresistible
Summary: You can't fool *all* of the people, *all* of
the time.

Distribution: Yes, go for it, just let me know where,
okay?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and
other characters mentioned here are the property of
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.  I really don't
want them; I would probably not appreciate them if I
owned them, you know?  I'm so insecure.

My undying thanks to Brooke Kahlo, Renee, Audrey
Roget, Alicia K. and haphazard method for doing the
beta thing.  I think you all are going to be surprised
at this version; I couldn't resist the little voice
telling me that something wasn't quite right.  And hap
- you hit the nail on the head, my dear!

Galia - once again, you are the one, the only, O
Mistress!

Author's Note: If you want deep insight into Scully's
motivation in the final minutes of "Orison", you're
not going to find it here.  I wouldn't touch that with
a ten foot pole.  There are many excellent fics out
there dealing with just that - I could never hope to
do as well.
 

Intuitive Reasoning
 
 

The Assistant Director greets me at the door.

"Doctor," he says quietly, "glad you could come."

Taking his hand, I reply, "I don't usually do this
sort of thing, Mr. Skinner."  I can't remember the
last time I was called out to a crime scene.  But the
anxiety in his voice was evident, even through the
fade and screech of the cell phone.

"I know, and I really appreciate it."  He smiles
slightly, and, as always, I am assaulted by the sheer
breadth of the man.  His intelligence and compassion
combine to form a formidable agent.

Craning my neck, I try to see around the width of his
shoulders to the chaos within.  He murmurs a low,
"Sorry," and moves away.

My God.  The apartment is filled with other agents and
U. S. marshals.  Camera flashes light the destruction
in garish relief, and above the low din of voices, I
hear the rip of evidence tape.  My eyes fall to the
floor; I breathe a sigh of relief at the absence of a
body.  Though I've seen death before, both victims and
perpetrators, I'm never really prepared for the gore.

"Is Agent Scully still here?" I ask.

"Yes.  She and Agent Mulder are in the bedroom," he
replies, pointing me in the right direction with a
beefy hand.  Before I can pass him by, though, he
stops my advance with the same hand.  "I know I wasn't
too clear on the telephone, Doctor -"

"You were perfectly clear, Mr. Skinner," I interrupt
him.  He told me  that Agent Scully had been attacked,
during which she'd had to shoot the suspect.  He then
asked for my assistance, stating that it wasn't too
long ago that Agent Mulder had had to do the same,
killing a young man in his apartment in Los Angeles.

His concern is all too understandable; agents know
that they face the prospect of death every day.
Sometimes, in order to prevent further violence, they
must kill.  It's something a good agent learns to deal
with.  If I can help, I do.

I know next to nothing about Mulder's recent shooting
of a suspect.  The name Pfaster, though, speaks
volumes.  If memory serves, Dana approached me for the
first time during their involvement in his case.

"No, doctor, you don't understand.  This is different.
*They're* different," he says, nodding at the
half-open bedroom door.

"Different?  How?"

Pursing his lips, he stuffs his hands into his coat
pockets and glances at the far end of the room before
continuing.  "To tell you the truth, I don't know.
Mulder and Scully have always been... close."

Yes, this I know.  Although I've never had the
opportunity to really speak to Agent Mulder, I've
gleaned a lot about their relationship from Dana.

"And now?" I prompt him to continue.

"Now?  Well, rumor has it -" He pauses, as if unsure
he should be speaking about them this way.  Concern
overrides his hesitation, though, and he plunges
ahead.  "Rumor has it that they're not so close
anymore.  I'm worried that *this* -" he takes in the
chaos with his eyes, "may worsen the situation.
They've been through a lot, Doctor.  I would hate to
see their partnership damaged because of something
like this."

I stand still for a moment, and realization dawns with
the whispers that reach my ears.

"Shot him point blank."

"But he was attacking her -"

"Neighbors said they heard nothing..."

"Mulder backs her up.  Can't see why, though.  Heard
it through the grapevine that they're on the outs..."

Skinner hangs his head with disgust at the last.

"I don't care why Scully shot Pfaster, Doctor Kossef,"
he states matter-of-factly.  "I know Scully, and I'm
not worried that she did the wrong thing.  But I am
worried that she will think she did the wrong thing."
He leans closer, punctuating his next words with a
piercing, narrowed squint.  "I care about them both.
See what you can do."

He walks away, stopping to growl a few words at the
agent who had the misfortune to be overheard by us.
The man blanches, stammers a hasty, "Yes, sir," then
moves back to the other end of the room.  Skinner
gives me a final, confidence-inspiring glance before
leaving.

The quiet murmurs drift to me from around the bedroom
door.  I raise my hand to knock, but hesitate when her
quiet words reach me.

"I mean... what if it wasn't?"

"Hello?" I call out, peeking around the door.

Mulder is leaning over the woman on the bed, close but
not touching.  He straightens quickly, and backs away
a few steps, his eyes darting from me to his partner
several times.

Paranoia.  Of course, that was too easy.  Everybody
who knows Agent Mulder knows this.  Overlapping the
paranoia, though, is a healthy dose of subterfuge.
There's something here I'm not supposed to see.

"May I come in?"

Dana looks up from the Bible in her lap.  She looks
impossibly small sitting on the bed, her feet dangling
about a foot from the floor.

"Karen," she says, surprised at my appearance for just
an instant.  Quickly, the surprise becomes deferential
acceptance.  "Skinner called you, didn't he?"

I move further into the room and Mulder bristles, his
hands settling on his hips.  His jaw tightens, but he
says nothing.  Mistrust.  Wonder if he realizes that
he's quite the open book?

"Yes, he did.  Does that bother you?"  I stop at the
bed and put a hand on the curved railing.  Dana turns
her head away.

"No," she says, quietly, truthfully, it seems.

"I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind," I say,
ignoring the silent anger that's radiating from her
partner.  From what I understand, the man's a
psychologist.  Doesn't he realize how important it is
to talk about things like this?  He can glare at me
all he wants; I'm not going anywhere unless Dana tells
me to.

"Sure," she replies wryly.  "I'd offer you a place to
sit, but..."  She glances up at me with a small smile;
at least she hasn't lost her sense of humor.

"That's okay.  Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

"I'll be right outside," Mulder says, tight-lipped at
my intrusion.  He moves to leave, but Dana stalls him
with a hand on his arm.

It's so fleeting, I almost miss it, the look he gives
her.  Concern, yes.  I expect that.  Trust, affection,
genuine tenderness - of course.  Only a fool could
miss how they look at one another.  It's the
apprehension that gives me pause.  Almost as if he's
telling her not to touch him in front of me.

Why?

"Don't go," she whispers.  At his look, she drops her
hand and gives me a small smile, then looks away.

Yes, Dana, I did catch that, though you probably
choose to believe that I didn't.  That's okay;  I
decide to let it slide for a moment when Mulder
acquiesces and resumes his position by the window.  He
reaches out a hand and rights the lamp shade, then
picks up a pillow from the floor and smooths it
almost... tenderly, before laying it on the bed.

Very familiar with her things.

As if he senses my scrutiny, he looks up and quickly
closes in upon himself.  He shoves his hands into his
pockets, much as his boss did moments ago.  Men can be
so defensive sometimes.

So can Dana, as I've learned in the years we've
talked.  In order to prevent further upset, I again
ask her permission to sit beside her on the bed.  She
gives it to me without hesitation, her fingers moving
over the book, tapping the gold-embossed words once,
twice.  Over and over, simply... touching.

I sit much as she does, my feet barely touching the
floor.  It doesn't bother me, my lack of height.  It
shouldn't bother Dana, either, though I know it
sometimes does.  Lots of things bother Dana - getting
her to talk about them takes a lot of work.

"Dana, are you okay?"  Simple, keep it simple.

"Yes, I'm fi - okay," she answers, looking at me with
a small sigh.  She's not avoiding me;  rather, she
meets my eyes with the familiar determination I've
come to recognize as hers.  Her eyes are cloudy,
though, with something indefinable.  Is she
questioning her motivation?

We still have sessions, though they've become more
infrequent, especially since her remission.  Dana has
always feared failure more than anything else.
Failure in the eyes of her father, in the eyes of the
Bureau, even in the eyes of her God.

"Is there anything you feel like telling me?"  Like
why your boss felt it necessary that we speak?  Or why
you're holding your Bible as if the answers within do
not fit the questions in your mind?

She looks at Mulder; he looks away. Any psych textbook
- and the Bureau - would define this as animosity, but
I can't reconcile myself to that interpretation.  It
doesn't feel right somehow.

"No," she replies adamantly.  "Not right now, anyway."
 She slides her feet to the floor and sets the Bible
down amidst the broken glass on the dresser.  "Do you
mind if I come to your office tomorrow?"  She laughs
shortly, a small, humorless chuckle.  "Seems I'll have
lots of time in the next two weeks."

Ah, yes, administrative leave.  Any agent involved in
a shooting is expected to take some time off.

"Sure, Dana."  We certainly have some issues to
discuss, and not just the tragedy here tonight.
Mulder gives me a wide berth as I make my way to the
door.  "Come by anytime tomorrow.  I'll be in all
day."

With her back to me, I can't see the expression on her
face, but I *can* see Mulder's.  His attention is
totally focused on her, the anguish written in the
lines on his forehead.

"Okay."

At the breathy reply, Mulder's hands, hidden in the
pockets of his jeans, curl into fists.  Why doesn't he
hold her?  I can feel the desire to do just that
radiating from him.

My priority is her motivation for the shooting; and we
will discuss it, in my office tomorrow.  I can see
that it's too soon for her.  I'm not worried.  Dana,
after some gentle prodding, has always been able to
open up to me.

That's not what's setting off my radar.

He clearly wants to touch her, just not in front of
me.  Again, it begs the question.  Why?

I'm stopped at the elevator by Assistant Director
Skinner.  Why is he still here?  At my unspoken
question, he says, "I'm just tying up a few loose
ends."  He nods at the local police in the hallway;
apparently they just arrived on the scene.  A day late
and a dollar short, I think.  He gets into the
elevator with me, and waits until the doors close
before asking, "Is everything okay?"

Truthfully, I give him my opinion.  "About the
shooting... tentatively, I would have to say yes.
Although I think Dana has some unresolved issues, Mr.
Skinner.  She's coming to see me tomorrow.  I promise
you, we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Good, good," he sighs, relieved at the news.  He
pauses for a second, then adds, "You think there's
something else?"  Apparently my 'about the shooting'
just caught up with him.

The elevator arrives on the first floor and he waits
for me to exit, holding the door back.  "Maybe, maybe
not," I hedge.  "You know, I'm not really at liberty
to discuss -"

"Spare me the bullshit, Doctor," he cuts me off
briskly, following me onto the front stoop.  "Just
tell me - do you think the rumors are true?"

"What do you think?"  I know very well what he's
talking about; I hear gossip in the cafeteria, too,
although I tend to scare people away when I sit beside
them.  They always think I'm analyzing every word they
say.  Which I do, frequently.  Mulder is not the only
pariah in the Bureau, you know.

'Wannabe agent' happens to sting as much as 'Spooky'.

"I think you know what I'm talking about.  I think you
see a hell of a lot more than you let on."

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact," I reply, pulling on
my gloves and walking carefully down the icy steps.
When I reach the bottom, I stop and look up at his
exasperated face.  "What do *you* see, Mr. Skinner?"

A slight flush creeps over his face and his jaw works,
formulating his reply.  "It doesn't matter what I see,
Doctor."

"Oh, but it does.  I think it matters very much.  To
them, anyway."

His brow knits in confusion.  "What are you talking
about?"

I'm not about to explain it to him.  The man's a
trained investigator.  If he can't figure it out....
I sigh and turn to walk away.

"Wait," he calls out after me, and I turn to find him
right behind me.  He opens his mouth to speak, then
snaps it shut.  Finally, after much indecision, the
truth emerges.

"They don't... *touch*... anymore, Doctor," he grates
out, shifting from one foot to the other.  He's very
uncomfortable with this discussion.  I'm not
surprised; men, as a rule, don't want to or don't know
how to discuss interpersonal relationships.  Too
messy, too embarrassing, perhaps.

He continues quickly.  "I know that sounds ridiculous,
but if you know anything at all about them -"

"Oh, I know quite a lot about them, Mr. Skinner."
More than anyone else knows at this point, I'd guess.
Including their well-meaning boss.  "I've seen them
together, watched them interact.  And you're right,
they have changed toward one another."

Walking away, I reach for my car keys and head up the
sidewalk.

"But not in the way *you* think," I throw over my
shoulder.

He grimaces at my deliberate misinformation and
strides off in the other direction, mumbling something
about quacks.

What - no 'wannabe agent' this time?

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I find
myself grinning.  I feel like the tortoise that just
crossed the finish line ahead of the hare. Walking to
my car, I ponder the evidence that's slowly bringing
me to a rather iffy, but 'totally within the realm of
possibility' conclusion.

He no longer walks with his hand at the small of her
back.  She no longer stalls his ranting with a hand on
his arm, despite the quick touch of a little while
ago.  If I had to choose a word to describe their
behavior - careful.  Oh, Mulder still invades her
personal space a little too much, and Dana... well,
she's still her cool, logical self.

But things are different; *they're* different.  And
I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one now that
knows... well, *hypothesizes* why.

My conclusion?  They're in love.  And probably
sleeping together.

I can't be sure, of course.  Unless I actually see the
evidence with my own eyes, or - more improbable - hear
it from Dana's lips, I can never be one hundred
percent sure.  They've always been close, yes...
closer than normal partners usually are.  I've never
seen a team so fine-tuned, so used to operating
together that they communicate with sighs and touches.

As I walk into the bracing January air, I try to
remember the last time I actually saw them touch.  It
was before the end of last year, I think, when I just
happened upon them in the break room.  Dana had taken
his hand, heading off a potential disaster at the
whispered "Spooky" from one of the tactless agents
milling about the vending machines.

Since then?  Nothing.  Nada.

God, I would *love* to observe their behavior in the
field.  My guess is they're putting on this show for
the benefit of Headquarters only.

In our past sessions, I've learned a lot about Dana.
Despite her reticence to really discuss her partner,
I've managed to pick up a few things about him.  He
was taught to withhold his feelings as a child; after
the disappearance of his sister and his parents'
divorce, the natural inclination would be for him to
avoid physical contact.

It's quite the opposite, though, at least as far as
Dana is concerned.  Granted, I've never had a joint
session with them, so my observation has been limited
to the occasional encounter in the confines of the
more public places of the Bureau.  But, even with my
minimal resources, I can tell that Mulder is quite the
idealist.  He thrives on the romantic quest; his
search for his sister is proof of that.  Idealists are
also always searching for pure, romantic love.  His
hunger for a deep and meaningful relationship -
obviously with Dana - manifests itself daily in the
small touches here and there.

And Dana?  Rational, to the nth degree.  Logical,
always seeking knowledge, trusting in reason.  If I
had to guess, I'd say this whole 'not touching' thing
is her idea.  Bad idea, if you ask me.  By their
physical avoidance of each other, they've created a
tornado of speculation that feeds the rumor mill like
Miracle Gro.  People notice when you suddenly stop
doing something you've done for years.

Everyone thinks they're feuding; I happen to disagree.

My attention is diverted by the opening of the
building's door; I'm a good twenty yards down the
block, but at the flash of red hair, I turn and
dissolve into the dark side of the corner bus stop.

They exit carefully, Dana stiff and slow, Mulder
sprinting ahead to await her descent down the steps.
She eases down, her hand sliding along the rail.
Mulder watches intently, ready to spring at the first
misstep.

In the light from the street lamp, Mulder's face is
worried, but he makes no move to help her down the
steps and onto the sidewalk.  She actually throws him
a sharp look when his hand moves to her elbow, and he
backs off immediately.  She does okay on her own; I
notice that her footsteps are sure, her determination
evident even at this distance.  Gingerly, she crosses
over to his car, Mulder shadowing her the whole way.

Failure is still not an option, especially in front of
him.

I hold my breath when she stumbles on the drop down
from the sidewalk to his car.  He drops her bag and
rushes to her side, his hands grasping her waist,
their touch light but enough to stop her fall.

Dana looks quickly at the shadows moving about in the
windows of her apartment, then raises her face to look
at Mulder.

Do it, Dana.  Prove me wrong.  Prove me right.  I
don't care which - just do it.

I watch with foolish anticipation as her hand moves,
her eyes never leaving his.  The slender fingers reach
up, up... to straighten the collar of his jacket.

She's touching him.  Well out of sight of anyone else
but this wannabe agent.

Her hand lingers a fraction longer than necessary,
trailing down the lapel before grasping one button in
a small fist.  Mulder is like a statue, the slight
parting of his lips the only reaction.

I'm right, I'm right.  I *know* I am.

Especially when her other hand slides up his chest.  I
can't be sure in the dimness, but it looks like her
lips curve into a ghost of a smile.  Her hand stops
over his breastbone, her eyes watching the curl of her
fingers around his t-shirt.

Re-affirming the bond by physical contact.

It suddenly occurs to me that I'm a voyeur, invading
their privacy this way.  My brother claims I became a
psychologist because I'm inherently nosy.  He may be
on to something, but I can't turn away from these two.

At last, she moves, her chin lifting, her eyes
following the slow upward sneak of her hand...
until... her thumb brushes across his lips.

Mulder's eyes close for a moment and he sways forward
before tensing, his jaw snapping shut.  His chest
heaves with a noticeable sigh and her hands fall away
when he pulls her coat together.  His lips move, the
steam from his breath falling upon her now bent head.

"Scully, not here."  At least I think that's what he
says.  Reading people is easy - reading lips, though?
That's tough.

In answer, she glances around quickly.  I hold my
breath, sure of discovery.  But I remain unnoticed as
she pulls him away from the car into the shadows of a
weeping willow.

Her arms encircle his neck, pulling him down to her.
Their mouths touch, lightly, peacefully, at first.  I
can see nothing but their dim silhouettes slowly
merging into one as the kiss deepens.

All right.  High five to myself.  I've seen enough to
know I've *never* seen them like this.

I slowly turn my back on them and continue to my car,
pleased that their relationship has progressed to this
point.  I really like Dana, which is more than I can
say for some of my patients.  It's nice to know that
her partner feels more for her than mere friendship;
it will be of great help in the weeks ahead, as we
tackle this latest threat to her ongoing battle with
inadequacy.

I'm more pleased, though, that I haven't lost my touch
for seeing beneath the obvious, which is more than I
can say for the rest of the Bureau.  Looks like I'll
have to fire off a memo to the Assistant Director
tomorrow.

'Dear Mr. Skinner: I wholly recommend that you require
the agents under your command to attend a refresher
course on intuitive reasoning.  They missed this one
by a mile.'

Of course, I'm not going to do it.

But the satisfaction feels damn good.  Wannabe agent?

I think not.
 

END
 

This was born when I found myself yelling at Mulder
Sunday night, "Touch her, dammit!  Why don't you touch
her?"  We've been seeing a heck of a lot of touching
lately, albeit when they're alone.

Sleeping together, yes or no?  Let me hear it!

mish_rose@yahoo.com