Snapshot: The Roof

A series that is in no way connected.  A slice of life examining 
members of the x-files universe.  Any season, any universe, anything 
is possible.

Summary: Mulder and Scully working well together.  Who knew?
or Danielle writes UST.  Stand back folks.

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Scully climbed the last set of stairs slowly, the muscles in her neck 
and back painfully tight.  The door to the roof was dirty and rusted, 
and she imagined it was the kind that would shut and lock on the 
unsuspecting pioneers who would explore this world.  The door creaked 
slightly, alerting Mulder to her presence.

His body stiffened slightly, but he didn't turn around.  Instead, he 
continued to stare up at the stars, shining as brightly as dying suns 
in the sky.  She stood behind him watching the night breeze ruffle his 
hair.

"Everything has been taken care of.  Fielding confessed, the other 
bomb was found in the parking lot of the Watergate.  It was defused 
six minutes before detonation.  Same device."

Mulder sighed slightly, taking a step back so that she could see his 
face.  The shadows darkened his eyes, the stubble on his face evidence 
of the long day.  She was blinded by a flash of silver and it took her 
a long moment to place the square, oblong object in his hand.  It was 
a flask.

"Long day," he explained and offered it to her.

She hesitated for a second and took a harsh swallow. 

His lips upturned slightly at her expression, even the touch of his 
hands were amused as he retrieved the flask and took a swig.

"Agent Johnson thought it would be a good idea."

Johnson had been following Mulder and Scully around like a lost puppy, 
panting when patted on the head, desperately sniffing at whatever 
metaphorical crotch he could find.  

Scully nodded, although she hadn't asked.  They both knew you don't 
drink on a roof where a bomb-scare had just occurred and where the 
psychotic who had put it there had been pined to the ground by seven 
agents--Mulder included.  You go home and drink yourself unconscious. 
*That* was acceptable.

She wondered if it wasn't the stress, as much as it was success.  So 
many lives saved, it kind of boggled the mind.  It had been a long 
time since Mulder--and *herself*--had been given such reverence on a 
case.  The rather adoring glances of the younger agents rankled.  They 
had no concept of the acts of disobedience, OPR trials, deaths, 
physical and emotional scars, and failures that littered the path of 
the two agents.  Suddenly the X-files were sexy, suddenly skirting the 
mainstream was glorifying.  
    
She hated those stupid, idealistic children.  They had no idea of the 
deep level cynicism it took to question everything.  And everyone.  If 
she found their adoration uncomfortable she knew that Mulder would 
find it intolerable.  

These kids hadn't lost a sister to aliens or to an assassin.  They 
didn't know what it was like to find a metal chip in their neck, find 
cancer in their brain, or discover a miracle child made from their 
ovum.  They just thought distrusting the government was cool.  They 
had gained instant suspicion, based on nothing but the confusion and 
high drama of the late twentieth century.  They had no concept of the 
impact of the discovery of this betrayal.  It was instant for 
them...like breathing.  Did knowledge count if it was a given?

Had she and Mulder risked their lives countless times for the *gift* 
of this knowledge just to inspire a bunch sheep?  She shuddered at the 
thought.

"Don't worry, Scully."

She turned to him suddenly, startled from her thoughts.

Mulder smiled at her.  "In a week or two, things'll be back to 
normal...they won't want to be me or you in a million years.  Believe 
me, who would?"

Scully wondered what he had planned.  She decided that it couldn't 
possibly be as unendurable as this.  And if she could possibly wait a 
week to get their privacy back.  Why had she ever wanted to be one of 
them?  One of those pliant sheep, the kind she had almost become.  She 
couldn't honestly remember. 

"Mulder," she said taking the flask from his hand.  "I don't think I 
can make it through a week."

"You might miss it when it's gone," he warned.

She took a another swallow.  "I miss not having it, Mulder.  That's 
what I miss."

I miss just you and me.

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