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I'm a bar tender. That's what I do. I tend bar. In this age of yuppies, high flyers, hustlers & multi -conglomerate businessmen I'm probably a rarity. I work behind a bar and I like it. The fact that I own the bar is immaterial . Few of the customers here realise that, they think it's owned by some city businessman in search of a tax write-off. I like it that way, to them I'm just the manager - the face behind the beer, the voice that calls them a cab, the ear that listens to their woes.

Legend has it that some form of public house (as the Brits would say) has been on this spot since before the Revolution. I looked it up - took me three weeks of research; there is some truth to the legend ...but that's another story.

I don't know how to describe this place. Jake Mahoney -the guy I bought this place from - called it somewhere between dive and familiar. I like that....maybe it explains the clientele. You've seen Cheers - this is not it - it's not all fancy brass and nicknacks, there is no Norm, no Cliff, no Clara; but it is clean & comfortable; the jukebox always plays what you want hear; the beer is always cold and if not me, someone is always willing to listen.

It doesn't really have a name. The sign over the door simply reads BAR. When I bought the place the regulars referred to it as Jake's, after a few years I noticed they started to call it Terry's - gave me a real kick the first time I heard that.

The customers come from everywhere & anywhere - the local neighbourhood, lost tourists, visiting rock stars, foreign diplomats and being DC, a fair number of civil servants and politicians - even had Bill Clinton in here once, before he became President of course....but that's another story.

Whoever they are and wherever they come from, they almost always have a story to tell.

Take last week for instance. The redhead. As soon as she walked in I knew she needed someone to talk to - even if she didn't realise it herself. She stood by the door looking around like she didn't know how or why she was here. A lot of first timers do that - as I said before the bar doesn't exactly advertise it's presence, most people stumble onto it by chance.

Back to the redhead.

For a moment I thought she was going to turn around and leave but she appeared to take a deep breath and walked towards the bar. I took the opportunity to check her out. About 5" 2, neat figure, the kind of shiny flame coloured hair most redheads (& a lot of blonde & brunettes) would kill for and the porcelain fair skin to match it. More than a few of the customers gave her a second look as she walked by. The smart blue pantsuit said serious professional - I guessed government employee. Settling herself onto a barstool in the far corner she requested a dry white wine - as I knew she would.

I served her and then dealt with a few other orders. When I turned back to her 15 minutes later she hadn't even touched the glass. She just sat staring at the Picasso sketch hanging behind the bar (most people think it's a print - but it is real. Remind me one day to tell you how it came to be here).

Time to strike up a conversation I thought.

"The wine OK, miss?"

She didn't seem to hear me the first time so I repeated the question. With a blink she tore her attention from the Picasso (which I doubt she was really seeing) and blushed. She picked up the glass and took a sip. A little smile lighted her face as she savoured the taste.

"This is nice."

"It's Australian - Hunter Valley." I showed her the bottle. I don't believe in generic house wines - if my customers want wine, they get the good stuff. Same goes for everything else.

She took another sip and for the first time took a good look around. As far as I'm concerned this is a place for people to enjoy quietly....oh, we have our wild nights, but for the most part it's a place of conversation and reflection, that was the way it was when I bought it and that is how I like to keep it. It's not a theme bar. The walls are adorned with a few prints that probably date back to before Methuselah, but here and there are mementos and gifts from some past customers - like I said, some pretty famous & infamous people have sat at this bar over the years (and no, that doesn't explain the Picasso). Her gaze settled on the framed drink coaster that sits beside the cash register. Reading 'I.O.U $7.80' it's signed by Richard Nixon. She chuckled.

"Did you ever collect?" she asked.

"Don't really know - that was before my time. I'm Terry." I held out my hand and she shook it.

"Dana."

"I like that - it's a good crisp name."

She smiled faintly, "Yeah, I do too......."

I didn't ask the question but she must have realised I was curious. Smiling again she continued, "When I was 13 I found out my mother had named me for one of her favourite movies."

It took a moment for it to connect, then I smiled back, "Laura? Dana Andrews?"

"Yeah. I asked her why she hadn't named me Laura. She said there were already 3 in the neighbourhood at the time."

"Have you seen the movie?"

"Oh yes, I love it."

We talked about the movie - relived the highlights and speculated on the possible outcome of a romance between Laura Hunt & McPherson Dana surprisingly took the view that they would make it work - I'd pegged her for a much more practical type.

"You know, I've always thought it interesting that Dana Andrews & Gene Tierney had such uni-sex names, particularly Gene - the spelling is more common as a abbreviation of Eugene."

"I never thought of that....but then your own name is used both sexes....."

Dana paused and that little half smile came into play again and she was lost in thought. I waited. She realised I was watching and laughed, "Sorry, I was just thinking about my partner. He has a first name he hates."

"What is it?" I asked expecting something like Aloysius.

With a mischievous grin and checking both ways - to make sure no one could overhear - she leaned forward and whispered, "Fox"

"Fox!" I guess my response was a little loud, a few heads turned our way.

Laughing I asked, And is he?"

"A fox? Yes - but I'm not going to tell him that. Mulder already has enough admirers among the female staff at the Bureau."

"Bureau?"

"FBI"

"You're an Agent?" She nodded yes. "..And this Mulder is your partner?"

All of a sudden the sunshine went out of her face.

"He was......they split us up....reassigned us."

<Uh oh> I thought. I've been in DC long enough, and served enough FBI agents to know the major reason male/female partners are separated is because they become personally involved.

Dana must be psychic or a damn good reader of faces because she suddenly shook her head, "No...it wasn't because of any...personal...romantic involvement.....Mulder's' just a friend...a good friend.....my best friend...."

There was more. At last we were finally getting to the heart.

Unfortunately I could no longer ignore the wants of my other customers.

With apologies I left Dana to her private thoughts and plied my trade. It was with relief I greeted Jeff, my assistant (as usual he was late - this time his youngest needed a lift home from ballet class - in anyone else I would viewed this excuse with scepticism but I've seen Carrie dance - it's a small price to pay to advance the career of a prima donna).

When I got back to Dana she was sipping on her glass of white.

I got straight to the point, "If it wasn't an affair - why?"

She sipped her wine in silence, deciding what to tell me. I decided to help her out.

"Dana - tending bar is a little like the priesthood, anything told to me across this bar is treated like it was heard in the confessional. I've heard secrets, confessions, & classified material that could break up marriages, bring down governments and spark wars in small third world nations. If I can be trusted not reveal the real budget deficit I think I can be trusted with whatever you want to tell me. If you don't want to tell why they split you up, don't - tell me about yourself instead."

She murmured something low and indistinct.

"Pardon?"

"Trust No One. Mulder's personal motto." She looked at me, long & hard. I guess I passed the test because she sighed quietly and spoke.

"I'm a pathologist."

"and an FBI agent? Way to go, Dana!"

She smiled at that, "I joined the Bureau right out of med school." For a few minutes she talked about why she chose the FBI; teaching at the Bureau's academy; family history. I got the impression it had been a while since anyone had been interested in Dana for herself.

"...and then I was assigned to the X-Files....with Mulder."

"The X-Files..?"

"Unsolved cases involving the "paranormal".....the "unexplained"..... "the weird."

You could see the quote marks in her words . I didn't laugh. This is Washington DC & I run a bar - weird I know.

Dana sipped her drink,

"Mulder is a genius - he has a degree in psychology from Oxford. He was...still is... the best behavioural analyst in the Bureau. He's frightening....the way he makes connections.....his reasoning , his logic is so...."

"Out there?"

She laughed and took another sip of her wine.

"Even before I was assigned to him...back in the academy... I'd heard about him, - 'Spooky' Mulder - three parts crazy, two parts brilliant."

"That's not exactly an equation."

"No, but it sums up Mulder pretty well. Apart from his personal reputation for weirdness, his professional profile was awesome - if it was unsolvable they gave it to Mulder - and he'd do it." She shook her head lightly, "I wonder sometimes how he ever made into the Bureau. Mulder doesn't play by the rules..... I think the only time he ever uses the rule book is as toilet paper."

I laughed.

"You like him a lot don't you?"

Dana didn't answer at first, then slowly...quietly she replied, "Yes....I didn't know what to expect. He was so distant the first time we met...he said I'd been send to spy on him."

"And were you?"

"I think that was the intention, but as far as I was concerned I was there to do a job." Dana stopped for a moment, "I don't think either of us - or our bosses realised - what would happen."

I glanced around the bar. The place was beginning to fill up, Jenny - one of my casuals - had arrived for her shift. She and Jeff could handle things. I pulled up one the stools I keep behind the bar (why should the customers be the only ones who get to sit down), topped up Dana's glass and poured myself one, "Tell me."

"Oregon...that was the first case...it involved alien abduction." She looked at me, daring me to make a comment. When I didn't give her the satisfaction, she proceeded with the story. It was told simply - factual & practical - very much in keeping with my initial perception of her.

"You lost time?"

"'That's what Mulder believes....."

Dana continued with the tale. If anyone else had told me this story I would have accused them of watching too much Unsolved Mysteries, but I doubt Dana had even seen the show.

"Do you believe those kids were abducted?"

" Mulder believes it."

"But not you...?"

She answered honestly, "No....I don't know.....I've seen so many strange things in the past months I sometimes doubt my own existence."

"More alien abductions?"

"Among others."

She began to tell me of more of their cases. Each story was simply told, without embellishment - being the good little agent I suspect she was, she didn't reveal all the facts, but there was enough to detail to make me glad I had a nice safe job behind the bar.

"Liver and onions...??"

"Mulder's little joke. His sense of humour is a little warped."

"....and then Mulder hit the start button on the escalator."

"Uggh....sounds bloody."

"It was - you wouldn't believe the hassles we had explaining it to the management. I don't think either of us will ever be welcome in that mall again."

"A nice trip to the forest - that's what he said. One time I wish he had gone off and left me behind."

"Did he do that often?"

"With increasing regularity."

"I take it you didn't exactly warm to Inspector Green."

"Bitch doesn't begin to describe her. It's so just like Mulder to have fallen for someone like her."

"Attracts trouble, eh?."

"Mulder is Trouble."

"A werewolf....???"

"A werewolf."

"It sounds to me like you two worked well together....so what did happened to split you up?"

The shutters came down again. I didn't say anything, if she want to tell me more she would. I waited. Slowly it came.

"We got too close."

"Too close to what?"

"The Truth."

" The Truth?"

"A number of our cases have proven.....have produced evidence of the alien visitation. Mulder believes that aliens have visited our planet many times in the past....continue to do so, and the government knows about it and sanctions it."

Once again, she fixed me with that appraising stare. Must have passed the test again because she went on, " In our last case together, Mulder received some information.....from a confidential source.....that seemed to indicate that someone was conducting experiments using what may or may not have been bacteria of extraterrestrial origin." That was all she said. I didn't ask for details - something told me FBI Agent Dana Whatever wouldn't tell me."

"Did you prove it."

"Maybe. All I know for sure is 3 men died and Mulder nearly joined them."

"And this is the truth you got to close to..?"

"It was enough to force the closure of the X-Files."

"So what do you do now?"

"I'm back teaching at the Academy."

"And your partner?"

That produced a reaction. I never realised blue eyes could burn that angrily. "They have him doing wiretaps. One of the finest minds in the Bureau and they have him on electronic surveillance....it's not an assignment, it's a punishment."

"Because of the Truth?"

"Because he's Mulder."

There was quiet for a moment or two then I asked, "Do you still see him?"

Dana sighed wearily, "No...not really, it's best we don't." Something in her tone softened, and I knew they did keep in touch, somehow. Dana looked up at me, that little sad half smile appearing again and she knew I understood.

"What happens now...to the search for the Truth."

"It goes on...Mulder refuses to give up."

"Because he believes?"

"Because he wants to believe...he has to believe - he has his reasons." She didn't elaborate and I didn't ask - that was someone else's story.

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. We sat sipping our drinks, each in our thoughts. Dana finished her glass and looked up at the clock. I followed her gaze. It was late - we'd sat there talking longer than I realised. I looked around the bar. Jenny was seeing to the customers, Jeff was cleaning up behind the bar. I looked back at Dana - she was making motions to leave.

"Want me to call you a taxi?"

She hesitated - no doubt weighting up how much she'd had to drink and nodded. I picked up the phone and made the call. It would be here within minutes. The greater DC public might not know about my place, but every cabbie in town does (probably has something to do with the discount I give them in return for prompt service for my customers....I consider my contribution to reducing the road toll).

I walked with her to the door. As we waited outside I asked the one question I felt she needed to answer,

"And you Dana? Will you continue to search?"

"If Mulder needs my help....yes."

"But not for yourself?"

She didn't answer . The cab pulled up. She walked towards it and opened the door. She stopped, looking back at me. Some small but definite weight lifted from her shoulders and she replied,

"And for myself."

She got in and they drove away.

THE END.

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