TITLE:  Safe House 
SPOILER WARNING:  Avatar; Drive 
RATING:  PG, I think.  Suggestion of sexual situations; nothing overt 
CONTENT WARNING:  None 
CLASSIFICATION:  SRA, MSR, Skinner/other 
SUMMARY:  A friend in need is a friend indeed. 
  
  
Safe House 
by Brandon D. Ray 
  
As always, it started with a phone call, right at the end of the day.  I had 
already filed away the papers I'd been studying, and put a few items in my 
briefcase to work on over the weekend.  As I stood and stretched, the intercom 
buzzed, and Kimberly informed me that Agent Scully was on the line. 
As soon as I heard her voice, I knew what it was about.  Nevertheless, we went 
through the ritual, as we always do. 
"I'm glad I caught you before you left for the evening, sir," she said.  "I was 
wondering if you were planning to be home tonight." 
Actually, I had a date, but she didn't need to know that.  "I have no plans, 
Agent Scully.  Is there something I can do for you?" 
"Mulder and I have run up against a brick wall on the fuel-oil-and-fertilizer 
circuit," she replied.  "I was hoping to drop by your place this evening and try 
to kick it around a bit.  Maybe get a fresh perspective." 
"That would be fine, Agent Scully," I replied.  "Will eight o'clock be okay?" 
"Eight o'clock," she said, and hung up. 
I made a quick call to Mary Alice, and told her I had to work late.  She was 
disappointed, but she understood.  She knew what she was getting herself into 
when she started going out with me; she knows that an FBI Assistant Director's 
time is not his own.  We made plans to see each other on Saturday, lingered for 
a few moments over private matters, and then I told her I had to go. 
The drive home was uneventful.  I popped a frozen dinner into the microwave, 
then went to change into casual clothes.  Office gossip to the contrary 
notwithstanding, I do own some, and I felt more relaxed when I came back to the 
kitchen wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. 
Dinner over, I then proceeded to sweep my home thoroughly, from basement to 
attic, using the equipment given me by Agent Mulder's three odd friends.  I 
lived in an apartment for awhile, after Sharon died, but I found it to be too 
stifling, and eventually I found a nice house in Silver Spring, just off the 
Beltway.  On the whole it's been an improvement, but whenever I have to go 
through this process I can't help but wish for a smaller place. 
Of course, as an Assistant Director I would be entitled to have the Bureau's own 
specialists do this for me, but then I would have to explain who I thought was 
monitoring my actions, and why.  And of course, I would never be able to be 
absolutely sure that the technicians doing the work were actually working for 
the Bureau, rather than for those whose scrutiny I was trying to evade. 
Besides, if you want a job to be done right, you do it yourself. 
After nearly two hours of work, I was convinced that my house was clean.  It 
wasn't the first time I'd gone through this routine and come up empty, but if I 
had found hidden microphones it wouldn't have been the first time for that, 
either.  Once I even found a fiber optic, in my own bedroom.  Mary Alice had 
been over the night before, and I hope they got an eyeful.  I yanked that one 
out with a smile. 
Agent Scully was the first to arrive, as always.  She announced herself with a 
light knock on the door, and I invited her inside.  She was still dressed in her 
work clothes, and carried a briefcase.  I had no doubt whatsoever that the 
briefcase actually contained casefiles, and that she was prepared to spend the 
evening discussing them with me, if for some reason that became necessary.  Dana 
Scully is nothing if not a perfectionist. 
We sat on the sofa chatting for a few moments, waiting for Mulder to arrive, and 
we actually did chat.  Again, this is part of the ritual.  She talked about her 
lunch with her mother, and about a movie it turned out we had both seen 
recently, and I told her about the plans Mary Alice and I had made for Saturday. 
 It could have been awkward and uncomfortable, but for some reason these 
moments, when we sit waiting for Mulder, never are.  She seemed totally relaxed 
and happy. 
Finally, Mulder arrived.  He was also dressed for work and carried a briefcase, 
and for a few moments he and Scully and I stood in the living room and continued 
to chat.  But now the atmosphere had changed, and all three of us were uneasy, 
not quite able to make eye contact.  I don't know what the reason is, but Mulder 
and I have always made each other nervous, and tonight was no exception. 
After a few moments, looking like a guilty teenager, Scully took Mulder's hand, 
and they turned away from me and went upstairs to my guest room. 
I went back to my sofa, turned on the television and started surfing the 
channels, looking for something interesting to watch.  I finally found a rerun 
of North by Northwest on American Movie Classics, and settled down to an evening 
of mind candy with Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint.  If only real life had such 
happy endings, with all the loose ends tied up in one neat little package. 
Sometime after midnight, she came downstairs, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. 
 I can't remember when they both started keeping a change of clothes here, and 
we all know it is a terrible breech of security, but it seems to make them feel 
a little more comfortable.  She sat on the sofa next to me, and together we 
watched the end of The Birds -- it had turned out to be a Hitchcock marathon 
night on AMC.  Once the movie was over, I turned off the television, and again 
we sat and talked for awhile. 
This is another part of the ritual.  I think it makes her feel a little less 
like she's checking into a hotsheet motel, and I have to admit that it makes me 
more comfortable with the situation, as well.  It's also nice just to have a 
little downtime with one of my more favorite people; god knows there are few 
enough moments like that in my life, anymore. 
About twenty minutes later Mulder came downstairs, also dressed in casual 
clothes.  He came over to the sofa and stood in front of us for a moment, not 
speaking.  He looked at me, and for an instant I had the ridiculous feeling that 
he was some teenage kid and I was his girlfriend's father.  Then the moment 
passed, and he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips, and murmured, 
"See ya."  And then he grabbed his briefcase, went to the front door and was 
gone. 
Agent Scully and I chatted for a few more minutes, and she briefly gave me an 
outline of the cases she was supposed to have discussed with me.  Just in case.  
Of course, if anyone is sufficiently interested in what went on here tonight to 
ask me about that, it won't matter anyway; the jig will be up, and we both know 
it.  But this, too, is part of the ritual, and it makes us both more comfortable 
to stay with the routine we have built up over the last few months. 
Finally, it was time for her to go.  I walked her out onto my front porch, and 
stood there watching as she got into her car, backed out of my driveway and 
pulled away. 
And after awhile, I went back inside and went to bed. 
  
  
Fini