"Losing Battles" by Dianora
Finished 7/26/98

Classification: S
Keywords: MSR; possibly a Scully/other in appearance,
but not at heart.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: "Pusher"
Archive: Yes, please, as long as my name is attached.
Disclaimer: They're only mine in my twisted little fantasy world.
Summary: In the aftermath of the Modell case, Mulder
struggles with his feelings while Scully deals with
another man's attentions.

I started this story a long, long time ago, and came
across it recently and decided I might as well finish it.
This story came about from my love of the greatest
one-shot character in XF history: Agent Brophy!  (If
you don't know who he is, shame on you.  He's the
SWAT agent from "Pusher.") It was nice to see him pop
up again in "Folie a Deux," but I wish he had reprised the
role of Brophy rather than playing a different character.
C'est la vie.

There's been talk on the newsgroup recently about fanfic
"rules" and cliches. I think I broke a couple.  You know what?
I don't give a rat's ass.  <g>

This is dedicated to NojoRojo, co-founder of the Bring
Back Brophy Crew, and to Lancer4120, who, one night
during an IM session, manually fast forwarded through
"EBE" for me because I had just heard a rumor that Brophy
was in it.  Now that's dedication!  :-)

Comments to Dianora2@aol.com.



Scully took another sip of tepid coffee and despaired of ever
being able to wrangle some sort of coherent report on the
Modell case from her jumbled thoughts.  Both she and Mulder
had decided it would be better if she wrote the bulk of the report,
considering how the case had played out, but Scully was finding
that her perspective on the matter wasn't much more enlightening.
Plus, putting all of the suspiciously paranormal pieces together into
something worth submitting to her superiors was proving to be
more than a bit sticky.  In short: paperwork sucked.

And on top of everything else, Mulder was being a problem.
Oh, he wasn't consciously trying to be a problem, but ever
since they'd left Modell's hospital room a few days earlier
he had been withdrawn and uncommunicative.  She knew that
he was most certainly still beating himself up about the events
surrounding the Russian roulette standoff they had been forced
to endure, and it annoyed her to no end that he wasn't letting
her help him through it.  Especially since he had no reason
to feel guilty, as far as she was concerned.  Her heart still cracked
every time she remembered the look in his eye as he leveled
his gun at her, straining with every shred of his soul to keep her
from harm.

With that gruesome thought in mind, she looked over at her partner,
who was apparently busying himself by reading some random
X-File from the past, no doubt laboring under the delusion that he
was actually doing something productive that way.  His brow
was furrowed in his standard MulderThinking look and his
wire-rimmed glasses added to the scholarly effect, but she
didn't think that whatever was running through his mind had
anything to do with the file in his hands.

She cleared her throat to get his attention.  "We need to get
Agent Brophy's report to add to ours on the Modell case," she
said, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the overwhelming silence
of the basement.  "I was thinking of running up to his office to
bug him about it."  She rotated her neck, gritting her teeth at the
sound of joints popping as she worked out the kinks; she was
still feeling the physical effects of the stressful past couple of
weeks.

"Huh?  Oh, fine."  Mulder didn't even glance at her.

She bit the inside of her cheek against a tart reply, knowing there
was a deeper reason for his reticence.  "So, how are you doing?
How did your psych interview go this morning?"  Hell, it was
worth a try.

He put down the file and began nibbling on his pen, his eyes darting
to her only briefly before settling back on the morass of his desk.
"Fine.  A waste of time.  I'm fine."

"Mulder,  I hope that if you're having problems, you'll talk to me about
it.  What happened was an emotional situation, for both of us, and --"

"I told you, I'm =fine=.  Can we just drop it, please?"  The nibbling
intensified.  God, the man was orally fixated.

"Fine."  She scooped up her jacket and headed for the door.  "I'm
going to go track down Agent Brophy."




Her emotions built steadily from a simmer to a slow boil as she
navigated the hallways of the J. Edgar Hoover Building in the
direction of the SWAT offices.  She hated herself for getting
so upset by her partner's emotional distress, but maybe she
wouldn't be so aggravated with him if his problems weren't so
=obvious=.  He had been deeply affected by the showdown with
Modell, and his refusal to discuss his lingering feelings of guilt
and shame with her was both frustrating and, truth be told, hurtful.
What had happened to the two of them?	She had a vague,
perhaps inaccurate recollection that they used to at least
occasionally talk things through with each other.  God, he'd been
more open with her on their very first case than he was now.  And
she just wasn't sure how to handle it.  Or if she even wanted to
make the effort anymore.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she nearly bumped into Agent
Brophy as he rounded the corner directly in front of her.  "Agent Scully!
I was just on my way downstairs.  I have my portion of the report
on the Modell situation for you."

"What a coincidence.  I was on my way to see you to bug you about
it," she said, smiling up at him.

"Well, I'm glad I saved you a trip of about --"  He leaned back and
looked in the direction from which he just came.  "About ten feet.  My
office is right around the corner, here."

"Window office?" she asked dryly.  Windows were an unspoken but
definite sign of status at the Bureau.  Precisely why Mulder was in the
basement.

He grinned.  "Just one.  A small one.  But it's all mine."

She grinned back, finding his good humor infectious, especially
considering the dark cloud she had left downstairs.  "I do appreciate
your getting this report to me so quickly.  I usually have to bang some
heads together to get these things from SWAT on time."  She looked
up at the agent, and was surprised to see that his expression had
turned thoughtful.  "Agent Brophy?  Is something wrong?"

"Agent Scully, I hope I'm not out of line here, but..."  He stopped,
ran a hand over his mustache and averted his eyes for a moment.

It was the first time she had ever seen the self-assured SWAT agent
look less than confident.  "What is it?" she asked gently.

This time he met her eyes steadily, some internal conflict apparently
resolved.  "I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime," he said
in a rush.  "Maybe have some dinner, see a movie.  You know,
something low-key."

Her jaw dropped in shock and she looked away from him to hide her
embarrassment.  What to say?  He was attractive, and friendly, and
excellent at his job.  They probably couldn't have closed the Modell
case without his help.  But a date?  Did she even know what to do on
a date anymore?  Had the rules changed since that long-ago time?
"Agent Brophy, I -"

"James, please.  Look, Agent Scully -- Dana -- if this has something
to do with Agent Mulder, I understand.  I noticed that the two of you
seem very close, and if I'd be stepping on his toes, I don't want to cause
any problems for either of you."

"No, of course not, that's not an issue.  I..."  She tried to think of an
excuse, and couldn't.  Why shouldn't she let a man take her out, show
her a good time?  It wasn't like anything else was happening in her life.
As for Mulder...damn, Mulder. To hell with it.  "I'd love to."

His dark eyes lit up and he broke into a wide smile.  "Excellent.  How
about Friday, at eight?  I'll pick you up."

"I look forward to it."  God, that sounded so formal.  She really was
out of practice.  She smiled at him in an attempt to make up for sounding
so awkward, then made a hasty retreat, praying, as her heels clicked loudly
on the linoleum, that he wasn't watching her leave.




When she returned to the basement office Mulder was right where she'd left
him, staring off into space and tapping his pen against the desktop.  "I got
the report from Agent Brophy.  I'll compile all the information and then
run the whole thing up to Skinner," she said briskly as she sat down at her
computer.

"Good."  He began to doodle on the desk blotter.

She suppressed a sigh of frustration with great effort.  Turning her back on
him, she called up her report on the computer and began to insert what
Brophy -- James, she reminded herself, you =are= having dinner with the
man -- had written.  His report was factual, sensible, and based on empirical
evidence.  What a concept.

When she finished printing out the entire report about an hour later, she
glanced surreptitiously at Mulder.  Still doodling.  Wonderful.  Well, it was
time to just take the report up to Skinner, then go home, take a bath, and
decide what to wear for her date Friday night.  Oh god, a =date=.  She
looked at Mulder again, fighting back the urge to tell him.  It wasn't any of
his business, after all, it was her life, her sex life...oh, god.  Sex.  She'd
forgotten what it was like to have sex.  Sex with Brophy?  With JAMES?
"Mulder, were you going to need me for anything important on Friday night?"
she asked, hoping she sounded a least a little bit nonchalant.

He glanced up, startled at the interruption of his reverie.  "Huh?  Oh.
No."  He went back to his artwork.

Well.  Fine.  She gathered all of her manila folders, stood up, and shuffled
the files around for a while.  "Well, it's good you weren't planning on seeing
me, because I wouldn't be able to anyway.  I have a date."

That got his attention.  She fought back a smirk as his head jerked up.  "A
date?"  The word sounded unfamiliar coming from him, as if he was trying
the word out after not having said it in so long.

"Yes.  I have a date on Friday night."  Geez, Dana, why don't you just stick
your tongue out at him and pick your nose while you're acting so very mature.

"With whom?"  He attempted an air of carelessness, but didn't quite pull it off.

"Agent Brophy."

"I see."

She waited for him to comment further, but that was apparently all he had
to say on the subject.  "We're having dinner," she added.  Why was she
doing this?

"He's a good guy," Mulder said neutrally.

"I think so."

He looked down at the desk.  "Have a good time."

Damn him to hell.  "Thanks.  I'm sure I will."  She fled the basement, 
cursing him silently throughout the walk to Skinner's office.




As she waited for James Brophy to pick her up on Friday night, Scully
paced the living room and visualized her stomach tying itself in knots;
she couldn't quite remember the last time she had been so nervous in
anything other than a combat situation.  Although she supposed dating in
the 90s could qualify as some sort of war, after all.  Well, if nothing else,
she was pretty sure she looked okay.  After ransacking her closet and
deciding that she had little to no clothing that fell in between stuffy work
suits and casual flannel shirts, she'd made a trip to the mall and selected
an outfit that she assumed was stylish and flattering.  She glanced down
at herself again to confirm that she'd made the right decision: an ice-blue
satin button-down shirt, paired with a short tapered black skirt with a small
silver chain-link belt that hung low on her hips, complemented by sheer
black stockings and black suede pumps.

"I suppose it will have to do," she muttered under her breath.  The doorbell
rang.  She raised her eyes to heaven in an imploring gesture and opened the
door.

She blinked at the bouquet of red roses that greeted her.  "Agent Bro-
James, I don't know what to say.  They're beautiful."

He grinned at her, and her stomach did a tiny flip.  He looked great.  He was
wearing black slacks and a crisp white shirt with a mandarin collar, and
that smile...wow.  "My mom drilled it into me that you always bring a beautiful
woman flowers," he said playfully as he handed her the bouquet.

She blushed.  Actually blushed, and cursed the red heat as it inflamed her
cheeks.  "I'll just put these in water," she murmured, gesturing him inside.




He took her to a trendy Thai restaurant in Georgetown, where they feasted on
pad thai and chicken satay and plum wine.  A little too much plum wine, perhaps.
Scully's insides felt like they were cooking, and her cheeks were a bit too flushed.
She wondered just how much of that could be blamed on the company.  James had
a way of looking at her that reminded her that not all sexual pleasure was
battery-operated.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" he asked.

"It was excellent.  How did you find out about this place?"

He smiled.  "Research.  One of the things I miss most about New York is all the
great eating.  I've tried to find all the best Asian restaurants here in DC to
compensate."

"You're from New York?" she said in surprise.  "You certainly don't sound like
a New Yorker."

"Well, we don't all sound like Rosie O'Donnell," he said with the air of someone
who'd heard it too many times.

"Sorry," she said apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," he assured her.  He leaned back in his chair and looked
at her appraisingly; she couldn't help but wonder if she was passing inspection.
"So what's it like working for the X-Files?"

She gulped down some more wine to forestall a response.  "What do you mean,
exactly?"  She prayed she wasn't about to hear yet another "little green men"
lecture; the next person to ask her that would find her well-heeled shoe planted
in a very uncomfortable place.

"Well, if the Modell case is typical for you guys..."  He trailed off, grinned
nervously before continuing.  "I wouldn't want to go up against unknown
quantities like that on a daily basis."

You don't know the half of it, she thought.  Aloud, she said,  "Mulder and I
have seen some pretty amazing things...some horrific ones, too.  It's all
part of the job."

"And Agent Mulder?"

She narrowed her eyes.  "What about him?"  Agent Mulder was off
having a very lonely evening, as far as she was concerned.

"What's it like working with him?  There're stories...well, you know, the way
gossip travels....damn.  I'm sorry, it's none of my business -"

"No, it's okay.  I'm aware of the general opinion of Mulder at the Bureau.
Some of it is based on truth, and the rest of it..."  She studied her wine glass.
"Well, people can be cruel when they don't know all the facts," she finished
quietly.

"He seems like a good man," Brophy said with a hint of contrition.

Her head jerked up, realizing he'd echoed Mulder's sentiments about =him=
earlier in the week.  Her mouth curved into a smile.  "He is.  So are you."

He ducked his head, embarrassed.  "Stop.  You sound like my mother."

"Well, I wouldn't want =that=," she said dryly.  His eyes met hers and she
hoped she wasn't going to blush again.

"No, we definitely wouldn't," he said, and she knew she was not imagining the
come-on in his voice.  Dana, you are now entering treacherous waters, she
told herself.  She covered her uncertainty by draining the rest of the wine glass.

The check arrived at that moment, stalling any further banter, much to Scully's relief.
She offered to pay her half, but James insisted on treating her, gallant to the end.

When they exited the restaurant it was to discover that it had rained while they'd
been inside.  The ground was wet and the air was moist and fragrant.  Sultry, even.
Scully breathed in deeply, trying to counterattack some of the effect of the plum
wine.  James grinned at her.

"Have a little too much in there?" he asked teasingly.

She smiled and shook her head.  "No.  I'm fine," she said.  And meant it for
a change.

He stepped closer to her.  "Dana..."

"Yes?"  God, he was tall.  Almost as tall as...

"I'd really like to kiss you right now," Brophy said.

Oh.  "Okay," she said, unable to come up with a better response.

He leaned down and brought his lips to hers, softly, with all the tenderness
you'd expect from a first kiss.

It was...nice.  She closed her eyes and felt his mouth move against hers, an
almost alien sensation, one she hadn't experienced in a very long time.  She
was surprised she even remembered how to kiss back.  But some things simply
aren't worth forgetting.

When their lips parted, she smiled up at him shyly.  "It's getting late."

He let out a deep breath.  "Yeah.  I'll take you home."




Mulder didn't call her on Saturday.  Not that this was unusual in and of itself,
but she had assumed -- okay, to be frank, she had =hoped= -- that he would call
to subtly pump her about her date the night before.  But the phone didn't ring
once.

She wasn't sure what she'd tell him, in any case.  Or at least, wasn't sure what
she would tell him if she were going to tell the truth.  She'd had a good time, and
James was charming and attractive, and the kiss was nice, but...he didn't make
her want to rip his clothes off, either.  Was that a bad sign?

She glared at the phone as she ate lunch, as she got some work done, as she ate
dinner, and before she went to bed that night.  Nothing.

He didn't call on Sunday either.  Damn him to hell.




He was already in the office when she arrived at work Monday morning, and
her annoyance at his not calling her was by this point generously tempered
with worry.  She was becoming more and more afraid that he would pull so
far away from her that she'd never be able to bring him back.  That particular
terror took up constant residence in the back of her mind, but lately it had
been pounding on the doors of her consciousness in a way that made her
singularly anxious and more than a little on edge.  "Morning, Mulder."

He looked up from the computer and gave her a wide smile.  "Hey, Scully!
How was your big date?"

Uh oh.  Something was wrong.  "It was nice," she said cautiously.  "I had a
good time."

He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his tie.  "Good, that's great, I'm glad
to hear it."

"Thanks."  He was full of shit and she knew it, but she figured two could play
his game.  "How about you, what did you do this weekend?"

"Oh, you know, did some work, went out with some friends, the usual."

Right.  Screw it.  She approached his desk, put her palms down on the
desktop, and leaned in.  "Mulder, I really wish you'd talk about what's
bothering you.  I'm worried about you."

"Scully, there's nothing wrong," he said, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Dammit, Mulder, stop lying to me!  You've been eating yourself to shreds
ever since the Modell incident, and you're not fooling anyone, least of all
=me.="  She exhaled a harsh sigh, taken aback by her own vehemence.
"Look," she said more quietly.  "I want to help.  I want to be here for you...
if you'll let me."

Something flickered in his eyes and he bit down on his bottom lip.
"Scully, I --"

"Anybody home?"

They both jumped and looked at the door.  James Brophy stood in the doorway,
looking completely out of his element.  "Uh, sorry, didn't mean to intrude."

"No, James, it's fine, come in," Scully said hurriedly.  She glanced at Mulder as
if to say We're not finished, then walked over to James and ushered him inside.
"What can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's what I can do for you, Dana.  Hi, Agent Mulder, good to see you
again," he said with impeccable politeness.

Mulder chomped on his pen.  "Hey."

Brophy turned his attention back to Scully.  "I was wondering if you'd maybe
like to grab lunch today.  That is, if you're not busy..."

"I --"  She tried to catch Mulder's eye, thinking that she'd rather spend her
lunch hour making Mulder eat something and trying to get him to talk to her,
but he doggedly refused to meet her gaze.  She suppressed another sigh.
"Sure.  Around noon?"

"Excuse me," Mulder said abruptly.  He grabbed his coat and headed for the
door.

"Mulder, wait --" she called after him, but he was gone.  Damn.

James looked at her, confused by Mulder's drama.  "Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah.  Just another exciting day in the X-Files division," she said sourly.




Lunch was pleasant and ended with another kiss, this one slightly more
intense than the first, a little bit longer, and, she had to admit, just as
nice.  It only added to Scully's inability to figure out just what the hell
was going on with her and the increasing number of men in her life.

When she got back to the office, it was to discover that Mulder had finally
returned.  After his hasty exit earlier, he hadn't come back before lunch.
"Where were you?" she asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

"I had things to do," he said noncommittally.  Not looking at her.
"How was lunch with =James?="

Hoo boy.  "Very nice," she said.  He scowled.  "Did you eat today?"

He blinked at her, surprised by the question.  "Yes.  No.  Um, I had
a donut this morning."

She sighed in exasperation.  "Mulder..."  She picked up the file she'd
been looking at earlier and began leafing through it, but he was making
her so crazy that she wound up dropping it, scattering the papers over
the floor of the office.

"Dammit!" she cursed, and crouched down to clean up the mess.  He
was there instantly, helping her put the papers back in a neat pile.
When they both stood up, he handed the last sheet to her and their
hands touched.

Good god.  She suddenly realized he was standing close, extremely close.
She could smell his soap, and just the slightest hint of aftershave.  His
breathing seemed to have inexplicably quickened.  What...what was
going on?

"You look pretty today, Scully."

What the-- "What?" she asked stupidly.

"Your ah...your hair looks nice today.  You look pretty."

"Huh?  Um, I mean, thanks, Mulder.  Thank you."  She reached up to
self-consciously smooth her hair, which looked, as far as she could tell,
the same way it did every day.

He stared at her with a million emotions roiling through his eyes, and
she held her breath, hoping that he would at last be able to open up to
her.  If a great hair day was what it took, so be it...

She should have known better.  "Sorry," he muttered, and went
back to his desk.

"Sorry for what?  God dammit, Mulder, I've had enough of this.
Mulder!" she said more sharply as he continued to ignore her.
She realized she was beginning to sound like a fishwife, but
couldn't bring herself to care.

At her harsh tone of voice he did look up at her, and to her horror she
saw tears forming in his eyes.  "I'm sorry, Scully," he croaked.
"I'm sorry..."

She closed her eyes as she realized to what he was referring.
Finally.  "Mulder, don't...please..."  She went to where he was
sitting and embraced him, burying her fingers in his soft brown
hair.  His arms went around her waist and he rested his head against
her chest.  She held him as he cried quietly, finally giving in to
some kind of release, wetting her suit jacket with his tears.  "It's
okay," she murmured into his hair.  "It's okay."

After what seemed like forever he lifted his head from her chest
and looked up at her.  She gazed back at him, trying to communicate
to him that he had nothing to be sorry about, nothing for which
to be ashamed.  The affection she felt for him in that moment was
nearly overwhelming.  She touched his wet cheek with the back of her
hand, fighting to keep her breathing even.  "Feel better?" she asked
softly.

He nodded, but didn't move his arms from around her waist.
Instead, he did the last thing she expected: he half-rose from
his chair and pressed his lips against hers.

Instantly her insides turned molten.  So this is what it's like, she
thought.  Her knees weakened and her breath quickened and her
toes curled and her heart pounded a symphony within her breast.

His mouth was soft, and hot, and gentle, and when his tongue
slipped inside to tangle with hers it made her lightheaded.  Deep and
wet and consuming and she found herself leaning into him as he stood
up from his chair without breaking the kiss, bringing his hands
up to play with her hair, to caress the back of her neck.

Comparing her kiss with Brophy to this kiss with Mulder was like
comparing a match to a bonfire.  His touch seared her skin, and the
heat that coursed through her with every flicker of his tongue shocked
and excited her to the point that she didn't trust herself to stop kissing
him, ever.

When their lips finally, finally parted neither of them could speak at first;
they just looked at each other in confusion and desire.

"I shouldn't have -" Mulder began, but Scully surprised herself by
cutting him off with another kiss.  He kissed her back, hard and
passionate this time, with the fervor of a man possessed.  When
they broke apart again, he was watching her with surprise and
awe.

"=Now= are you convinced that Modell didn't win?" she asked
softly, keeping her mouth near his.

He shook his head.  "I should have been stronger, Scully.  I can't
believe I almost...almost..."

"Almost is the operative word, Mulder.  You didn't.  Do you need me
to say that I forgive you?  I will, even though there's nothing to forgive.
Nothing happened to me.  I'm here.  I'm okay.  I'm...about to kiss you
again, I think."

He let out a choked laugh.  "Thanks for letting me know."

She stood on tiptoe and did kiss him again, easing back down as he
lowered his head to hers.  The kiss was more playful this time,
exploratory, leisurely.  His hands slid from her waist, up her back
and then down again, and she reciprocated by running her hands
over his chest, down his abdomen.  She was aware of nothing but
his mouth on hers, his breath against her cheek, the strong, warm
feel of his body against hers --

They both jumped when the phone on Mulder's desk rang shrilly.
"Don't answer it," he murmured against her mouth.

She pulled away reluctantly.  "It could be Skinner, something
important."  She picked up the phone.  "Scully.  Yes sir, we'll
be right there."  She replaced the receiver in its cradle and looked
up at him.  "It =was= Skinner.  He has some questions on the
Modell report, wants us to go up there."  The sound of her boss'
voice had also made her realize that the entire time they'd been in
a clinch, the office door had been open.  Anyone could have walked
in on them.  Not too bright, Dana, she chastised herself.  If this
was going to continue -- and she sure as hell hoped that it was --
they would have to be more careful in the future.

He cursed under his breath.  "Fine.  Is =James= going to be
there, too?"

James.  Poor James.  What the hell was she going to tell him?
Uh, you were right about me and my partner after all, isn't that
just =hysterical?=  Oh well, she'd think of something.  She
hoped.  He really was a nice guy.  He just wasn't...he wasn't
Mulder.  "I doubt it.  Besides, I don't think you have to worry
about running into Agent Brophy down here any more," she
said, heading for the door.

"Good.  I mean, well...you know what I mean," he finished lamely.

She opened her mouth to tease him, then changed her mind.
"Yeah.  I know," she said instead.

They paused in the doorway of their office.  "What do you think
Skinner wants?" Mulder asked nervously.

She reached out and smoothed the lapels of his jacket.  He
had been looking unusually rumpled the past few days.  "I don't
know.  But whatever it is, we face it together.  Understood?"

"I...yeah, I do.  Thanks, Scully."

Their eyes met.  God, the way he looked at her sometimes.
She didn't think anyone else in the world had ever looked at
her that way.  It made her long to drown in him and never resurface.
The thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.  "You can
pay me back by having dinner with me tonight," she said, hoping
she didn't sound desperate.  "I want to make sure you eat
something."

"Now you sound like my mother," he cracked, leading the way out
of the office.

For crying out -- Scully let out a resigned sigh.  Did all men see all
women as their mothers, or was it just her?  And why did they always
have to find the fact so damn amusing?  She didn't want to know the
answer.  She grabbed Mulder's arm, halting his progress, and stood up
on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  "Next time you kiss your mother like
you just kissed me," she said huskily, "let me know."

She had already reached the elevator by the time he recovered
enough to catch up with her.


End.