Safe Haven - Part 1
Sep. 28th, 2007 12:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
diandrahollman
Safe Haven
By Diandra Hollman
After sitting at a booth in one of the lesser known pubs in Los Angeles for the better part of an hour it became clear that Mulder was not going to break his "fashionably late" streak any time soon. I had finally broken down and ordered a drink when he arrived.
"Sorry," he muttered, sliding into the booth opposite me. "Traffic."
"I was just beginning to think you weren't going to show up."
He smirked. "Come on, you know me better than that. I would never pass up an opportunity for sex."
"Could you not say that so loud," I asked with a wince, glancing around us furtively.
"Why," he asked playfully. "Do you think somebody from the agency might be listening in or are you afraid some stranger will think you're a hustler?"
I squirmed, praying that my embarrassed flush wasn't too noticeable. I distracted myself by observing the other people in the mostly-empty bar. The bartender was talking to a customer at the bar, laughing heartily as he absently wiped a shot glass. A dark-haired man was helping the lone day-shift waitress regain balance of her tray, clearly apologizing for bumping into her and nearly spilling her drink. A lone man sat in a corner booth, his tie askew, likely trying to drown the stresses of the morning with a liquid lunch.
The waitress arrived at our table and set my drink in front of me. "Scotch on the rocks," she declared. "Can I get you anything, sir," she added, turning to Mulder.
Mulder smiled. "Apparently I'm the designated driver, so I guess I'll have to stick to club soda." She nodded and walked away. "You remembered."
"Yeah, I'm too sentimental for my own good," I retorted. Scotch was what Mulder and I had been drinking the night we met. It wasn't my usual drink of choice, but Mulder had turned me on to it. Although it was possible the beer I had been drinking earlier that evening had masked the aftertaste, I thought with a wince as I took a sip. "How's Scully?"
"Good," he said simply. "She smirked at me when I said I would be using my time off to fly to Los Angeles."
I chuckled around a mouthful of scotch and swallowed, clenching my teeth against the burn of alcohol. "Sydney did the same thing and I didn't even say a word about meeting you here. Sometimes I think she can read my mind."
"How's your arm," he asked seriously.
I raised my right arm from the table and rotated it back and forth demonstratively. "Finished physical therapy. Still feels a little stiff sometimes, but it's stronger."
The waitress returned and plopped Mulder's soda in front of him. He thanked her and immediately took a generous swig. He eyed me critically as I took another sip of my scotch. "You might want to go easy, there. I don't want you to pass out on me later."
I grinned. "Pretty optimistic, aren't you?"
He looked at me with mock alarm. "You mean we're not going to have sex?"
I snorted. "What, can't I invite you out for a drink without there being any strings attached?"
"Normally, sure," he teased. "But considering I haven't seen you for a few months, I'd think you'd be worried that I might just throw you down on this table and have my way with you in front of these innocent bystanders."
I rolled my eyes. "Guess you'll just have to learn to control yourself." My smile faded as the world suddenly seemed to tilt. I leaned on the table heavily. "Is the ground moving," I asked quietly, alarmed at the sudden slur to my speech. Alcohol didn't normally work this fast on me...
He laughed. "Okay, clearly you have no alcohol tolerance whatsoever. I'm cutting you off."
Everything was starting to blur and I struggled to figure out what was happening to me. My breathing accelerated as a horrible thought occurred to me. "The man who bumped into the waitress earlier," I slurred. "Is he still here?"
Mulder glanced at the bar, confused. "Uh...dark hair? Leather jacket? Yeah, why?"
"I think he drugged me," I whispered.
"What," Mulder asked, a note of laughter still in his voice, although now it was laced with unease. He glanced at the bar again, and this time he saw something that made his smile falter.
"Don't let him know you suspect anything," I forced out, massaging my forehead clumsily as I fought the effects of the drug. "Just...get me out of here."
"Should I call an ambulance," he asked worriedly, his tone at odds with his obviously forced neutral expression.
"No," I said forcefully. I reeled as the room seemed to spin and grow hazy. "You...help," I managed to choke out before everything went fuzzy.
On to Chapter 2
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