Title: Some Turbulence Expected (3/4)

Author: Tesla

Address: gah1093@hiwaay.net

Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations, adult language & lawyers)

Category: Mulder/Other

Spoilers: Assume that this alternate universe careens off track after "Field Trip,"

But spoilers for "Millenium" and "Orison".

Archive: Sure, everyone, I would be in a tizzy of pleasure and tell everyone I knew.

Feedback: See above, only I'll also write charming replies.

Disclaimer: If Ten Thirteen is even reading this, settle with Duchovny!

Summary: Continuation of "Flying Under the Radar", and "Gaining Altitude"

THANKS to Emerex for excellent beta work, and general encouragement, and to the small select band of folks on my reading list--and Fran58's site, at www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58, which has my other stories.

Scully felt as though she was the X-Files Division, the Keeper of the Flame, the only one interested in the paranormal. Mulder had turned into his own X-File; he was getting atta-boys from the superiors, he was playing basketball with the guys from Violent Crimes, he was apparently bowling. What was next, a vacation in the Poconos with Miss Large Breasts?

For Jacobs and Henderson had decided to rent a bowling alley for FBI night. They justified the idea by the specious reasoning that they needed to check out the Bowling Bag UNSUB. Although Jacobs e-mailed half the District Division, very few were aware of the on-going investigation. He listed Fox Mulder as one team captain, to Scully's considerable surprise, and Mulder wasn't even annoyed. "Do you have money down on this event?" Scully asked him. If he brought up that bowling alley case while I was sick, she thought, I'll walk right now.

But Scully had forgotten, if she ever knew, how much Mulder did not want to think about the months of her cancer. He brightened.

"Actually, I do," he said. "I'm getting Kumar from Accounting on my team. He's in a league."

"And how is it you actually speak to anyone in Accounting?"

"Oh, he's a big UFO buff--haven't you noticed that our expense reports weren't getting sent back this year? Kumar."

"And does Janet bowl?" she asked.

He looked thoughtful. "I think she does--she has a bowling bag in her closet. Hey! Maybe she's the Bowling UNSUB!" He picked up his coat from the desk. "I better go check that out." And left. At 5:01 p.m., Mr. Workaholic left her in the basement, with a stack of files going back to other divisions with his--no doubt--sacred Spooky comments.

The FBI Bowl-a-rama was a rousing success, judging by the inter-departmental memos; apparently the organizers had forgotten the existing Bureau bowling leagues, when they sent out their invitations. A rousing division-wide mudslinging began, involving charges of elitism by the agents towards the support staff and counter-charges of anal-retentive behavior and over-regulation of private time by the desk-bound.

Mulder promptly began using the bullpen computers to send inflammatory e-mails to everyone. "Thank God no one found a head in a bag while we were there," Mulder cheerily told Scully, a comment she found baffling. Mulder had neglected to mention the exact MO of the Bowling UNSUB.

Scully received a misdirected e-mail from Henderson, referring to the Goddess of Bowlers. She didn't think she wanted to know what that was about.

The only reference Skinner made to the whole affair was to ask Scully if she bowled. She rather fancied the idea of A.D. Skinner in an aqua-blue rayon bowling shirt.

Shortly afterwards, Mulder was sitting in the office with yet another set of photographs of an ape-man, when his cell phone rang. He answered somewhat absently, "Hey, Frohike," and Scully didn't bother to listen. She heard the photographs slide on to the floor, and looked up. Mulder was standing, his face blank, the phone to his ear.

"Where?" He barked. "Okay. I'm on my way." Still gripping the phone, he turned to her. "I gotta go. Janet's been in a car wreck." He was out the door, and Scully heard the ping of the elevator before she could even react. What was worse, she was relieved he didn't wait for her to react.

Frohike had heard the accident called in. Someone charged with DUI had driven, drunk, to the municipal court for his trial, and, in full view of six police officers, t-boned the passenger side of Janet's car as she was arriving to try a case. The airbag had deployed, but Janet was unconscious at the scene and was taken by EMTs to the closest ER. She still wasn't awake by the time Mulder arrived from downtown D.C., and she was in a bed in one of the exam rooms, monitors hooked up to her, and Frohike in attendance. Mulder forbore to ask why Frohike was wearing a lab coat, complete with fake hospital ID.

"They already checked and can't find a fracture, or bleeding, or anything," Frohike said. "She's just out. She's breathing on her own, and the nurse just told me they can monitor her from here." Mulder was slumped at the foot of the bed, his face ashen, one hand rubbing his sternum. He had forgotten his coat. "They don't think it's a severe concussion--they think the airbag did it. She hit her head on the window. They keep coming in and checking. Jesus, Mulder, sit down, would you?"

Mulder sat down on the chair Frohike vacated, and stared at Janet. She didn't look hurt. He has watched her sleeping, wearing the same expression. He felt like the nerves in his face were twitching. "Thanks, Frohike," he said heavily.

"No problemo, buddy. You wanna cup of coffee?"

"Sure," Mulder said. He watched Frohike walk away, then moved his chair closer to the bed, and took her hand. Her hand had an inkstain from whatever she had been writing that morning. His chest hurt. "Wake up, Janet," he whispered. "Wake up." I can't do this, he thought incoherently, I can't go through this again.

But no cigarette smoking spawn from hell called him, no shape-shifting aliens or double agents invaded this hospital--and no saintly mothers or bastard brothers, either. No priests, no doctors shaking their heads and closing their minds. Janet's eyes fluttered, and she seemed to be in a normal sleep. He staggered up feet that had gone to sleep and went to find a snack machine.

After a long morning of waiting, Janet opened her eyes and saw Mulder. He got up from the chair, and sat down carefully on the bed, smiling at her. "Hey," he said, rubbing her hand. "Guess what?"

"I got hit by a truck?" she winced.

"Close--a drunk."

"I got a case in court!" She shot up suddenly in the bed, and Mulder grabbed her and held her.

"Fuck court," he said unsteadily. "The judge saw what happened. I think you got a continuance."

In movies, the heroine is next seen at home in a negligee, and the hero brings her roses. In Mulder's life, of course, Janet was moved to a semi- private room for overnight observation, and she was sulky about wearing a hospital gown. Mulder felt too tired to go home and find her any clothes. The driver's insurance adjuster called with an offer. Every attorney in the metro area called to ask if she wanted them to handle her case, and three cops arrived to tell her how high the driver had blown on the Intoxilizer 5000. Mulder glared at them--the two men seemed unnecessarily interested in how Janet looked without a bra. The woman cop smiled winningly at Mulder (who still wore his office ID). He was watching basketball with the sound off, and ignored her. The telephone rang so much that Mulder, without asking, called down to the operator and asked that no calls come through. The caring hospital, his ass. He was pleased that he could vent his exasperation for once.

Janet accepted his high-handedness fairly well, for someone not allowed medication for her headache. Mulder, shifting on the hard chair, supposed aloud that she was anticipating the huge offer the insurance company would make. "Jump in the lake, Fox, " she said. "I'll get hospital costs, money for a used car, my rental fees, and lost income. I don't want to spend the next year going to depositions."

He ignored the use of his first name. (She had been incensed that Margaret Scully called him Fox. "Oh, you're only on first-name terms with women you don't sleep with?" she had challenged. "No, that would be every other woman on the planet," he had yelled from the kitchen.) "So all those guys were joking?"

"Yeah, everyone thinks it's funny. We're weird." She thumbed the sound up on the television. The Knicks were losing. "Why don't you get something to eat?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry," he said. He knew he sounded pissy, but couldn't help it. He ached all over. "You didn't eat, either."

He got up and pulled the old recliner from the other half of the room. There wasn't another patient yet. He felt like he had been in the wreck. He pulled his tie off and threw it on the empty bed, followed by his suit coat. He was thankful he had never told Janet how much he hated hospitals and how often he seemed to be visiting them.

"I don't have anything to read," she said, with obvious misery. "Can't you get me a magazine or something?"

"Gideon Bible right there," Mulder replied, his eyes closed. Goddamn hospital was noisier than a gas station. Frohike had vanished hours ago.

After the eleven p.m. check of vitals, Mulder took off his shoes, dress shirt, and belt, and stretched out on the other bed. He had a lingering suspicion that, if he removed his dress pants, someone would mistake him for a patient and do painful and embarrassing things to him. He turned off the television setting, and found the local NPR station, and draped the speaker over the pillow so Janet could hear it, too.

In the morning, Janet was released, and had to leave wearing her crumpled suit and raincoat. Her underwear had disappeared. Mulder was shivering in the cold. He called and left a message on Scully's voice mail that he would be late.

When they got home, Mulder stripped, put on his flannel pajama pants, and washed his face while Janet threw her suit on the closet floor, stepped in and out of the shower, and got into bed, still damp. He shut the blinds, and fell back on the bed shivering. He searched for something clever to say, and came up blank.

He slowly pulled up the comforter, and rolled over.

"Thanks for staying with me last night," Janet said, her eyes heavy with sleep. "I'm glad to have you around."

"The feeling is mutual, blondie," Mulder replied, wrapping his arms and legs around her.