Disclaimer: 1013 Productions and Christ Carter created and own the X-files universe. However like a lesser mythological deity , I often like to play around with their creation (no hubris or pride intended). I hope they don't mind ;) Credit to the phrase "Drinks before the war" goes to the tremendously talented author Dennis Lehane. Enjoy!
Summary: Remember that moment at the very end of Season 1 when the X-files were shut down? Mulder called Scully in the middle of the night (at the end of the "Erlenmeyer Flask") and gave her the news. This is a short vignette based off of my thoughts of what happened the following morning.
Spoiled: A tiny bit for "The Erlenmeyer Flask."
Drinks for the Spartans
The table between them had seen better days. Though it may have had a long and illustrious career supporting the thousands of glasses of hundreds of customers over the years, table five at Ireland's Four Courts was showing its age. Pockmarked and knotted, its surface smoothed and angles rounded by years and years of wrists and hands caressing its top, the table proudly wore its dozens of rings of glasses like a veteran wore his scars.
He was in a sullen mood that night. Irritable and melancholy, he had more than once bitten off her head for a careless remark on her part. More often though he simply brooded in the shadows cast by the dirty yellow lampshade suspended over the table. She let it go. While she realized that she should have been angry or at the very least resentful at her partner for his mood, she understood. Deep down she knew how he felt too, and echoed his sentiment.
Although it had been less than twenty-four hours since they had last spoken over the phone, this was the first time they were seeing each other face-to-face in days. He had the looks of one who had not slept much since she had last laid eyes upon him. His face was long and pale, his face unshaven. Deep bags hung about his wolfish eyes and his hair was less than perfect. She tried to remember the last time she had seen him so, and couldn't. In any case, it had been a while.
"Damn it, Scully." His words startled her. After the minutes of silence that had ticked by between them she had been lost in her own train of thought. Her eyes shot back up to meet his. They glowed like embers in the darkness. "They can't do this to us." His voice was quiet, but even in the gentle drone of the ambient conversation it cut through the heavy air like a scalpel.
She licked her lips and tried to think of an answer. Nothing came. What was she supposed to say? That she was sorry? That was a lie. She wasn't sorry. Crushed, defeated, and in mourning perhaps, but not sorry. She wasn't sorry for the things she had said, for the things she had seen, for the things she had done. She wasn't sorry for all the times she had pulled him out of the fire or broken a dozen regulations to get him out of a mess of his own making. And she most certainly was not sorry for all the hard times she had given him, all the skepticism, all the scientific detachment that at times exasperated him to an incomprehensible level. Compared to all that, what was a simple sorry?
After all, she felt angry too. She felt betrayed, violated for lack of a better word. And yet what was she expected to feel? She had been put in his office specifically to do what the brass had just done: discredit her partner's work. Shouldn't she be elated? She had accomplished her mission. And yet...
What was she to make of all the things she had seen? She certainly wasn't about to admit to herself (or anyone else for that matter) that she had actually SEEN a UFO, been touched by a ghost or heard the braying of terrible and incomprehensible forces in the wilderness. However, despite what she refused to admit to herself, she had seen too much. Too much to simply sweep it under the rug, or let it be swept under the rug by others. While the things she had seen were incredible and most likely had a scientific explanation, she most certainly was not about to sit back and let it all be shut away in some dark hole where it would never see the light of day again. In light of all of that, what was there to say? Fortunately, her partner provided the monologue for her.
"It's incredible," he continued, seeming oblivious to the world around him. "It's absolutely incredible that we should spend so much time and effort on this, uncover so much, solve so many cases and just get scrapped like that," he snapped his fingers for effect, "...and fade away to nothing." Scully stifled a sigh and looked back down at the table. In the bottom right corner of it knobbed surface someone had carved a heart with the letters S and M traced onto it. She smiled inwardly and ran her fingers over the carving. Those hands that had carved that symbol had probably never seen a UFO, never been shot at nor had their homes broken into. When those hands went to bed the brain which controlled them did not lay back and spin wild conspiracies or dream of fire. And those hands most certainly had never considered the complete irony of another S and M, not romantically attached but linked by bonds of loyalty and professionalism, sitting at the same table and having such a meaningful conversation.
Her partner had obviously not seen the carving. His eyes were tired but alert. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. Just as quickly as she had made that conclusion, he came back forward again.
"I'll tell you one thing though, Scully," he began again, his voice even and cold. "I'm not going to let this happen. They can shut us down if they want to, but it doesn't end here. Although..." his eyes wandered back to hers "...I imagine it will be nice to have your own job again, free from me and spooky ideas." His eyes softened as he spoke those last three words.
Emotions washed over her. She tried to identify them but found she couldn't. Her mind blanked and, in the briefest instant of recognition, a memory came to her. It was distant, clouded and murky, something buried back in the deepest closet of her subconscious where she stored all her other useless junk for a rainy day. The voice which came to her was a rich, mellow baritone. Professor Haile. Greek History. Classical Studies 105 section A. 11:00 to 11:50 Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in the Campbell Building. Her partner was studying the table top again, seemingly uninterested in the world around him, lost in his own gray thoughts.
"You know, Mulder," she began, her voice uncertain from a prolonged period of silence but rapidly gaining confidence. "Something you said just now reminded me of something a professor of mine told me once way back in the good old days of undergrad."
He looked back up at her. "You mean you actually remember something from the glory days of being a wild 19 year old with a fake ID?" He half smiled, his eyes smiling with him. She tried to feign offense but found she couldn't. Instead she merely continued.
"My professor's name was Haile. And while I don't remember anything else from that class..." she paused to endure he was paying attention before continuing, "I do remember one thing." He said nothing but seemed interested. "When the ancient Greeks went to war, they always tried to make alliances with each other. The most powerful army at the time was the army of king Leonidas of Sparta, the 'lions of Greece.'" His eyebrows arched, evidently intrigued as to where this was going. She continued. "However, when rival cities asked for help from the Spartans, the Spartan king only sent one man. But it was enough."
For a long time neither of them spoke. She though that perhaps he hadn't grasped the meaning of what she had said, or perhaps didn't care. It was difficult to tell which. When he did look up and spoke again, he was a changed man. His eyes shone brightly. His face pulled back into an uncontrolled grin. It was as if deep down, someone had lit a fire inside of Special Agent Mulder. She couldn't help but smiling herself.
A shadow crossed over them and settled on the table between them. The barmaid doing her rounds. "Well then, Leonidas," he began, his voice warm and ringing, "what do you say you and me have ourselves a round and get this show on the road?"
She smiled back at him and turning to the barmaid ordered a pair of scotches. As the barmaid walked away, he looked at her quizzically. She grinned back. "It's always good form to salute an upcoming battle."
His teeth flashed back at her. "I couldn't agree more Scully. The battles start tomorrow. But now, it's time for a drink."
"A drink before the war." And with that, the struggle began.