TITLE: A Certain Level of Distance AUTHOR: Elanor G RATING: PG CATEGORY/SPOILERS: RetroX post-Conduit fic DISCLAIMER: Don't own these characters. Doing this for fun, not money. Late at night and one too many at Houlihans and Mulder walked slowly home through Old Town Alexandria, trying very hard not to trip on the uneven brick sidewalk. They had gone straight back to the Hoover Building after flying back from Iowa. An afternoon of paperwork and assorted crap and he had finally left. Mulder couldn't stay in the office any more. He couldn't endure the pity he saw leaking out around the edges of Scully's fastidious exterior. When he had pulled up in front of his apartment, he realized he didn't really want to go home, either. The wind picked up, bringing a smell like rain. He pulled his coat a little closer against the chill. "My problem," Mulder had solemnly told the bored bartender, "is that I just care too much." Ruby back home, apparently safe and sound. (Except for those pesky symptoms of weightlessness, you know, that happens when you spend months on the back of a Harley.) A long life ahead of her, years of secrets and lies and hidden pain to look forward to. Ah yes. She was going to have the Normal Life her mother so craved. Whatever had happened to Ruby would stay buried. That's exactly it, thought Mulder as he crossed the street at the light, weaving ever so slightly. I Care Too Much. XxXxXxXxX Scully arranged the tapes on her desk and looked at them one more time before putting them back in their manila envelope. Regression hypnosis therapy. Jesus Christ. How could someone with a background in psychology be susceptible to such pseudoscientific quackery? The tapes had actually been logged into the Samantha Mulder file as evidence. *Evidence.* Blevins had given Scully the file. Now she felt guilty and angry, a voyeur exploiting Mulder's pain. "I *want* to believe," said Mulder's voice, plaintive and tinny on the borrowed tape player. It reminded her too much of Billy Miles's sincere, matter-of-fact tone, and the faraway look on his face as he went under ... Maybe it's not quackery, Scully amended to herself. But she still didn't trust it. She pushed back from the desk and stared at her computer screen. What the hell was she going to put in her report? Good thing I have all weekend to work on it, she thought darkly. "I don't know, Dana," Ethan had said. "It's just not working out any more. I don't know where you see yourself in five years. But I get the feeling you don't see me in that picture. I get the feeling there's not room for me." "If it's because of my new assignment - " she had begun frostily. "Oh, Dana, give me some credit. This started long before you got this assignment. I'm not some kind of Neanderthal threatened by your career. It's not your job, it's *you.*" It's me, she thought, watching the mocking cursor blink on the empty screen. That's why I can't get angry at him. Because I know he's right. XxXxXxXxX You get a moment of perfect clarity when you're drinking, thought Mulder. The smell of rain was growing stronger and still he plodded along. For just a moment everything seems very clear. Your problems are still there but the pain is lessened and the solutions straightforward. Then the moment ends and it all goes downhill from there. Oh, you can try to drink more to recapture the feeling but it never works. You just get confused and fuzzy-headed and angry. And maudlin, let's not forget maudlin. The threatened rain began at last to fall, steady and soft at first, then with growing strength. Without thinking Mulder ran down some steps and ducked into a sheltered basement doorway. He stood in the small shelter and watched the water streaming over the gutters. The secret, he thought, is to reach that perfect level and then just drink enough to stay there perpetually. Like my father. He's mastered the skill. A nice, steady, constant intake of whiskey. The rain fell harder. XxXxXxXxX Did she think Agent Mulder's personal history impaired his judgment in this case? Well, no. Was Agent Mulder maintaining the proper objective distance from the case? Well, no. But did it make him a less effective investigator? Well... Scully watched the raindrops beading on her window. She hated being put in this position, basically asked to judge Mulder's professional competence. As far as she was concerned, that was not an issue. Mulder had been right, after all. Something *had* happened to Ruby, and no one seemed terribly curious to find out what had happened. No one except Mulder - not even, in the end, the girl's own mother. Like Mulder, Scully had found the attitude of local law enforcement - Ruby had it coming - appalling. Unlike Mulder, Scully had tried to keep this opinion to herself in order to reduce friction. And Kevin....there was something there too. Something more mundane than Mulder imagined, but still strange. With hot shame Scully remembered how the family's home had been ransacked and the little boy pulled crying from his mother. Jesus. No wonder Ruby's mother had just wanted to put the whole thing behind them. Scully began to type. "There are some surface similarities between the disappearance of Agent Mulder's sister and the current case under discussion. However, in my opinion, neither Agent Mulder's professional integrity nor his investigative abilities were compromised by his personal history. I believe that his empathy with the victim and the victim's family spurred Agent Mulder into action, yet did not cloud his judgment in any way." XxXxXxXxX This is why I hate drinking, thought Mulder as he shifted uncomfortably the pew, putting the photo back in his wallet and wiping his eyes. Let's review: I'm fuzzy-headed, confused, maudlin, dizzy, and sick to my stomach. I'm going to have a raging headache in a few hours. My feet are wet. And I'm sitting in a *church.* I'm not drinking like this again. Mulder looked up at the ceiling, then back down to the stained glass windows. The rain seemed to have stopped. There was a smell of mildew and stale coffee floating up from the church basement. There was some kind of meeting going on down there tonight and so the back door had been unlocked. I'll go soon, before they notice I'm here, he thought. I'll leave after things stop spinning. I'm a rank amateur compared to my father. Now *he* knows how to drink like an expert. I shouldn't be so hard on him. We all have our own rituals. I close my eyes until I come to the top of the stairs, hoping that she'll be there when I open my eyes. Mom pretends she's in a world where nothing's wrong, hoping she'll be there if she pretends hard enough. My father drinks, hoping she'll be there when the hangover clears. Mulder thought of Ruby again. Scully, of course, was right - his sister was there, somewhere, at the bottom of it. But what does it mean? he asked himself. Do I think I can learn what happened to Samantha if I learn what happened to Ruby? Or am I just projecting, trying to save this girl so I can reenact the drama in my head - with me being the rescuing hero this time, playing the starring role? Maybe if I open my eyes, Samantha will be there in Ruby's place. A sudden picture came to him - Samantha, lying in a remote forest like Ruby, pale and unconscious. Waking up with eyes full of nightmarish terror. Is that what I want? he asked himself as he stared up at the stained glass. Would *I* really want to find out what happened to her? XxXxXxXxX Scully reread what she had written. Okay, but it could use a little editing. She felt tired, and briefly entertained the idea of a bath. But ever since Tooms, her green-tiled bathroom had been making her feel uneasy. Irrational, she knew. One incident, no matter how terrifying, shouldn't keep her from feeling safe in her own home. Besides, she loved that bathroom. It was the reason she got the place to begin with. Scully read the paragraph once more. But instead of feeling satisfaction, she felt troubled. How much empathy is too much? How personally invested can you be in a case? Justice, real justice, requires a certain level of distance. Doesn't it? Mulder's got to be more careful, Scully thought. But she didn't know how to tell him that. Enough for tonight. Time for that bath, and bed. On her way to the bathroom she passed by the hallway phone and the blinking answering machine. Dammit. She had forgotten to return Melissa's call. God, but she just wasn't up to it tonight. No doubt it would turn into a rambling, teary bitch session about their parents. I'll call her tomorrow, Scully thought. Plenty of time later. End ElanorG@yahoo.com http://www.yahoo.com/ElanorG