TITLE: To Find and to Keep
AUTHOR: Gracie Kay
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner (who has all of, what, two lines?) all belong to the oh-so-mighty--mighty frustrating, anyway--Chris Carter, and 1013. Natalie Henderson, her mother, and Jon Bigsby are my own creations.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a first person adaptation of a TV script I wrote, which was my very first venture into fanfiction. So, this is my first fanfic plotline ever, which is why it needs so much help with "loose ends"--I'm not sure how to fix them all! It is also the only first person fanfic I've written. No real spoilers, but if you've never heard of Emily, you will be lost for a scene or two.
"Hey, Scully, it's me, and you're not here . . . got an interesting case in the works and I'd like to get your opinion on it, although I can guess what it's going to be. Hope to see you ASAP."
Beep.
Hm, I thought passively as I walked down the hall toward the office door. He could guess what my opinion was going to be? That could only mean . . . paranormal behavior or UFO sightings or something equally unverifiable. I sighed as I entered the basement office. Life as Fox Mulder's FBI partner was never boring, but it could certainly be exasperating.
"Oh, good, you got my message," Mulder's voice broke into my thoughts. He sounded keyed up, like when he's convinced of an alien autopsy's authenticity. That meant he was already firm in his position that this was a viable case, and there was going to be no talking him out of it.
"Yeah," I answered him as I closed the door. "You wanted me down here ASAP; what's up?"
He looked up, about to launch into an explanation, but paused. "Scully, haven't you ever heard the phrase 'rise and shine'? Smile!"
He proceeded to give me an exaggerated demonstration of how the word was performed, and I felt my lips curving upward in a grin of their own. It wasn't the joke or his goofy grin that made me smile, though. It was the laughter behind his eyes that almost no one else ever gets to see.
Then he sobered and went back to his "case."
"Now, what we've got here are two cases in the same state, Kansas--" he handed me a file folder "--that I'm thinking may tie together. First of all, a Jon Bigsby, sentenced to life in prison . . . murdered three people over a two-year period."
As he spoke, he pointed to the various police reports, photos, and other collected data in Jon Bigsby's file. I read along with him, not really needing his briefing but not vexed by it enough to tell him to shut up.
Then I noticed something unusual. Paranormal? "It says here that each of his victims was found . . . with the brain removed." I glanced up at Mulder and he nodded with a lack of reaction that I was used to by now. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Do we know why?"
Mulder shrugged. "Bigsby is psychologically unstable. He considers himself a scientist who is simply in search of a great scientific discovery. . . . And he's willing to murder in order to make that discovery. Notice his victims--here, here, and here. A young man who claimed to have telekinetic abilities. A woman who claimed to possess X-ray vision. And a girl who said her best friend was a little gray man. She said she could see him, hear his voice--"
I hated to burst his bubble, but it's my job to keep Mulder's head out of the clouds and his feet on the ground--on Earth, not some distant planet inhabited by gray-skinned aliens. "Mulder, I think the key word here is 'claimed.' Were any of these stories proven valid?"
"No," he answered. Of course not, I thought, because they can't be. "But apparently, Bigsby believed. Or maybe he was trying to determine if they were true."
"And he murdered all these people to do it?" I shook my head. I would have had a hard time believing that any human being could be so demented, had it not been for my prior experience with the X-files. I had seen quite a bit that I would never have believed without . . . well, seeing it. "Sounds like a regular mad scientist."
Mulder nodded, his eyes twinkling just a bit. "It is alive!" His exclamation was complete with appropriate hand gestures and accent, but I ignored his antics.
"I assume there is a point to your telling me all this?"
"Yeah, our Dr. Frankenstein has escaped."
Oh, come on. "Escaped? What did he do, get up and walk away?"
"Something like that," Mulder shrugged, and I shot him a glance that asked if he was crazy. Or if the prison guards were.
"No, no," he put up his hands, suddenly defensive, "I really have no idea. But given the fact that only one of these crimes was committed in Kansas, and the, ah, 'unstable' nature of this particular criminal . . . they've called us in."
"Us?" Okay, that wasn't what I wanted to hear, although I had been expecting it. "This isn't exactly an X-file, Mulder."
"No," he conceded. "But I made sure we got it anyway."
Not appreciating his "string pulling," I turned back to the file still in my hand. "It says here that before Bigsby killed each of his victims, he left them notes--notes that he 'wanted them.'"
Mulder nodded again, and I turned from the file to look down at him, where he still had not risen from his desk. "You said there were two cases. What's your second one?"
It was all Mulder needed to hear. He pulled another file and handed it to me, taking back Bigsby's. "Little town called Fleck, Kansas," he began. "A girl has mysteriously disappeared. Her mother says she'd never run away, but the police aren't ruling it out."
He was silent long enough to make me raise my eyes from the file to look at him, then spoke again. "The first thing we have to do is find this little girl."
I turned back to the file. This case was more pedestrian than that of a serial killer removing brains from his victims, but this one also tugged a little something in my heart. I read aloud. "Henderson, Natalie Rose. Nine years old."
I pulled out a small photo of a fair little blonde with big hazel eyes. Her smile was dainty, not quite showing her teeth. I sighed. "Okay, I still don't see the connection between Jon Bigsby and Natalie Henderson."
I didn't expect Mulder's next move; he handed me a newspaper. Not his usual source of information, I thought wryly, but accepted the paper and handed him back the file folder. Of course, this new revelation would not be without Mulder's exegesis. If he ever hands me a file without commenting on it, I'll know something is horribly, seriously wrong.
"Over here, on page 11A, there's an article entitled 'Local Girl May Possess Special Abilities.'" He showed it to me, then was silent and let me scan it for myself.
It was a human-interest type of article, just the type of thing to be printed by a small-town paper with no news bigger than the high-point winner of the county horse show. Its contents surprised me, though. "An empath?"
"Of course, Natalie Henderson doesn't use that term to describe herself; I doubt she even knows what it means. But essentially . . . that is her claim."
It always comes back to that word. "'Her claim,'" I reminded him. In vain.
"Scully, whether it's true or not, her life could be in danger. We have to find her."
Well, I couldn't argue with that point. If this Jon Bigsby believed in Natalie Henderson's alleged empathic abilities, then the fact that they were only alleged didn't matter. Somehow, in this twisted world, sometimes belief is stronger than truth. My eyes went to the photo lying on Mulder's desk, of an innocent child who could be at risk. And I sighed. "When do we leave?"
Mulder's little smile was a knowing one. "Right away."
The drive to the Henderson residence in Fleck, Kansas gave me some time to think over this latest case. By the time Mulder pulled the car into the long, gravel driveway of a cute little ranch house, I was convinced that the disappearance of Natalie Henderson was no concern of the FBI's. I didn't bother to share my conviction with Mulder, though.
We got out of the car and approached the front door, then stood together and waited after Mulder had pressed the doorbell. I heard the sound echo through the house and frowned at the subsequent silence. No dog.
After a few seconds, the door opened. Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman with close-cropped blonde hair. She didn't say anything at first, just stared at us, and Mulder spoke up as we methodically produced our ID badges.
"Mrs. Henderson?"
She hesitated. Probably sick to death of all the media hype--living in a modern-day Walnut Grove must make privacy next to impossible. "Y-yes . . ."
"Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI," Mulder introduced us. She eyed his badge with unrestrained respect and maybe a little awe.
"Oh, come in, come in. You're here to find Natalie, aren't you?"
"That's right," Mulder confirmed as the lady led us to the living room with the words, "Here, come sit down." She motioned for us to sit on the sofa, then walked around the low cherry table and sat on the love seat.
For the moment, I allowed Mulder to have his say. After all, it was his case.
But Mrs. Henderson spoke up before Mulder could begin his usual questioning. "No matter what the police try to tell you, Agent Mulder, my daughter did not run away. She's not that kind of girl."
Had she sensed my lack of enthusiasm? Why was she already directing her comments to Mulder? And I knew full well that Mulder wasn't going to question the statement. I found myself speaking up before I had intended to.
"Mrs. Henderson, according to the police, you tucked your daughter into bed two nights ago, June 12. When you woke up the next morning, she was nowhere to be found."
"Yes, that's, that's what happened." This woman was truly shaken up, almost seemed fearful for her own safety. Things like this don't happen in Mayberry, I reminded myself. Now Mulder was entering the conversation, not realizing where I meant to take this.
"And you believe your daughter was abducted?" he questioned.
There was no hesitation in the woman's voice this time. "Yes, I do."
"There was no sign of a struggle in Natalie's bedroom," I pointed out, trying not to accuse the woman of telling less than the truth, "no evidence that an intruder had been in the house."
"No, but . . . but you don't know Natalie. She wouldn't run away!"
Just the facts, ma'am, that's what they all say. It was turning into a cliched afternoon. "On the night of the disappearance, when you told Natalie goodnight, did she say anything... anything that, looking back now, might have alerted you to the fact that she could have been planning to run away?"
The woman was looking at me now, not Mulder, and the tears standing in her eyes were almost frustrating. It was textbook: now for the confession. "She said... she said, 'Mom, no matter what, I love you.' I... I thought at the time that it was just her affectionate side showing, but now . . ." A few tears spilled down her cheeks, and she swiped at them nervously. "But I know my daughter. She wouldn't do something like this!"
I almost believed her.
And Mulder did, apparently. From his suit coat he pulled the article on Natalie, which he had clipped from the Fleck Daily, and handed it to Mrs. Henderson. I glanced over at him, displeased that he would bring the article into this discussion so soon, but he didn't notice me--or maybe he was just ignoring my look.
"Mrs. Henderson," he said, "your local newspaper ran a human-interest type article on your daughter just a few weeks ago. It says here that Natalie 'may possess special abilities.' Can you describe those abilities for us?"
What? Again, he pretended not to see me. He was watching the woman's face, and I turned my attention to her as well. There would be time later to ask Mulder what he had been thinking.
"Didn't--didn't you read the article?"
Mulder was unconcerned. "Of course, but I'd like to hear it from you in person. The press isn't always known for their accuracy."
Smooth, Mulder, real smooth. In the back of my mind, I was trying not to admit that if I was even halfway convinced of the case's legitimacy, I would have asked the same thing.
"Well . . . she, she has a gift. She's always had it, since she was very small, probably four years old. At first I thought she was, I don't know, just an unusually perceptive child, but I think it's more than that. I really believe she can read the feelings of other people."
In the pause that followed, I waited for Mulder to question the vague description. But he wasn't going to, and I finally did it for him. "Mrs. Henderson, you say you . . . 'believe' that your daughter has this, this 'gift,' but . . . when have you seen it? What makes this talent of Natalie's more than just an--an acute intuition of other people's feelings?"
Now she was ready to talk. "Oh, I've seen her use her gift countless times. One that I remember most vividly . . . Natalie was about seven. Her two neighborhood friends were arguing; I've never seen two children so angry, and so mean in the things they said to one another. I was half expecting them to start throwing punches, and I was ready to break it up when all of a sudden, there was Natalie between them. They started shouting at her to get out of the way or they'd punch her, like they were gonna do to each other, but Natalie just said, 'You're not gonna hit me or each other, 'cause you're both sorry for arguing but you don't know how to say it.' Those little girls just stared at Natalie, and then they stared at each other, and then . . . well, they apologized right then and there, and then they started playing together again."
I sensed rather than saw that Mulder was nodding beside me. Not sure I wanted to respond just yet, I glanced down at my hands in my lap, then looked back up as Mrs. Henderson's tears began to flow again.
"Agents, I have to tell you . . . after my husband left me and took our son, I was devastated. Natalie's all I have left, and I'm not about to lose her, too. Please find my daughter. Whatever it takes, keep her safe."
Mulder leaned forward slightly and spoke gently to the distraught mother. "We will."
"Are there any places," I asked, knowing she would not appreciate the inquiry, "that Natalie liked to go? Places not too far from here?"
"Well," Mrs. Henderson thought a moment. "The only place I can think of is the park down the block. She and I go there sometimes--she loves the swings and the nature paths."
I nodded. Now this was a legitimate lead.
After we had finished speaking with Mrs. Henderson, we walked back to the car in silence. I knew Mulder was only investigating the park as a way of covering all bases; he didn't really believe Natalie had run away. We had almost reached the end of the dirt road by the time Mulder spoke up.
"Something wrong, or did you just wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"
I sighed. "Mulder, this is a classic missing person case. It's not FBI business. If anything, we should be searching for Bigsby, and instead we're looking for a runaway girl."
"Didn't you hear a word she said? Natalie wouldn't run away."
"Yeah, I heard her. She made her daughter sound like an angel from heaven." Come on, Mulder, don't be naive.
"What about the story she told us, about Natalie's empathic abilities?"
Yeah, he'd swallowed it all. "'Empathic abilities'? It sounds to me like a spoiled child manipulating her friends."
How many times had we been around this circle? He was convinced, I was not. He was eager to find the truth, I wasn't sure the truth was even here. He was ready to jump in with both feet . . . I was debating the usefulness of getting my toes wet.
As we pulled into the park, Mulder shook his head in frustration. "You are determined to discredit everything about this case."
He still didn't really understand. "No; no, that's not it at all, Mulder." I frowned, disliking the sound of my voice on the defensive. "I'm just trying to look at this from all the angles, and so far it just doesn't seem like any of it is verifiable. And . . ." I jogged to keep up with him as he started purposefully down one of the nature paths, looking in both directions as he went. "And we both know that missing persons, especially kids old enough to run away, usually come home on their own."
He didn't answer me, and I was content to let us be enveloped in the sounds of undisturbed nature. No wonder so many people found these walks therapeutic. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the trees were stirring slightly in a mild breeze. Out here, it was easy to forget the cares of the world.
It would have been easy to forget, for just a minute, why we were out here.
"Mulder . . . should we be calling her?"
He considered it, but only for a moment. "Mrs. Henderson said she's already been here looking . . . and calling. If Natalie doesn't want to be found, she might go hide somewhere."
We reached the first fork in the nature trail, and Mulder hesitated, glancing around the trees. "Let's . . . let's split up and look for signs she's been here. It's been more than twenty-four hours; if she ran away, she may have made herself some kind of shelter, if she planned to remain in hiding for very long."
"I'll go that way," I offered with a gesture to the left.
"Okay. Meet back here if you find her, and if you don't... well, meet here in an hour."
I nodded and started down the path, thinking that if I could just find this rebellious little girl, we could start on the real case: finding Jon Bigsby.
Then I heard his voice behind me. "Scully?"
I turned back with arched eyebrows. "Yes?"
"I think you may be right. This doesn't feel much like FBI business."
Ah-ha. Well, you're the one who pulled strings to get the case . . . But I smiled anyway and resumed my walk down the path. I looked all around and ventured into the trees whenever I thought I heard or saw something move. I couldn't help the feeling that someone was watching me--
Snap.
I froze. My eyes roamed through the trees, my ears strained to hear any sound.
"Hello?"
That qualified. But the trees made it difficult to determine exactly where the voice was coming from. I slowly turned a circle, searching, but now the woods were quiet. It must have been habit that made my right hand slowly steal toward my gun, because I knew from the voice that this was our missing person.
"Please don't shoot me!"
Her girlish voice was taut with fear, and my lips turned down with uncertainty. Where was she? "Come out where I can see you," I called.
The image that greeted my eyes surprised me. A blonde girl stepped out from behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree, hands behind her head as though she was under arrest. She must have seen that pose on TV, I thought with mild amusement.
"I'm right here," she called out tremulously.
"Oh, hey," I hastened, "I'm not--I'm not going to shoot you." Didn't she know better than to think that?
Maybe not before, but she knew now. Her hands fell to her sides and she practically skipped over to me, smiling brightly. "I didn't think you were. You were just being cautious. Oh, and you probably know I'm Natalie."
Then she was a runaway, knew people were looking for her. So much for Mulder's abduction theory; this was nothing more than a defiant kid in definite need of some discipline. I paused, wondering how I should introduce myself to her, then made my decision.
"I'm Agent Scully."
Natalie nodded enthusiastically. "I thought you might be FBI! My brother told me about you--I even know what FBI stands for: Federal Bureau of In-vesti-gation. Is that guy with you an agent, too? 'Cause you're both dressed like my mom when she goes to work."
Well, if she had been afraid of me before, she was completely relaxed now. I started walking back toward the fork in the trail where I had left Mulder, and Natalie followed me without hesitation.
I answered her, surprised at her sudden chattiness. "Yeah, his name's Agent Mulder. Were you watching us?"
She sobered. "Uh-huh, but I didn't eavesdrop on you, honest. My mom says it's not polite to eavesdrop on people, so I don't. I didn't even hear your first name." She looked up at me, right into my eyes. "What is your first name?"
I smiled at her, although she needed no help feeling at ease. "Dana."
"Dana," Natalie repeated slowly, seeming to consider my name carefully, trying to decide what she thought of it. "That's pretty. But it's what my mom would call 'short and sensible.' Kinda like you; you're pretty short, and I think you're sensible, too, because even though you've found me, you're still kinda tense. In fact, you've hardly relaxed at all. Which is a sensible thing, I guess. So your name fits you. I didn't think your name would be Veronica or Cordelia or Katarina or . . ."
Her voice trailed off, then she shrugged cheerfully. "Well, you know."
"You're still kinda tense." The remark reminded me of her mother's story, when she informed her two friends of their own feelings. Wondering if she was already trying to manipulate me, I looked down at her. "What do you mean, I'm still 'tense'?"
"Well, you are. I would almost call you 'worried,' but it's not that strong." She turned her face up to mine and again looked into my eyes. "Didn't my mom tell you? She likes to tell people about how I can read people's feelings. She says it's a gift, but sometimes I wish I didn't have it. Like when people are really angry, or when I had to go to a funeral once with my mom. All those awful sad people made me hurt inside."
I knew what Mulder would say if he could hear this little girl's testimony, but she hadn't convinced me yet. Up in the trees, I saw him look up as though he heard us coming. I raised my voice.
"Mulder, I found her."
He came trotting toward us and met us halfway. He looked at me with question on his face, and I mouthed "I told you so" over Natalie's head as she smiled up at him.
"Hi, Agent Mulder," she said buoyantly, her voice reflecting her admiration. "It's really awesome to meet you."
"Well, hey, Natalie. It's really awesome to meet you, too."
He was straight-faced. Sometimes Mulder still surprises me. Natalie just giggled.
It was time to get to business. "Natalie," I said, "your mom said she's already been here, looking for you. Why did you run away?"
She looked down at the dirt path under our feet. Her voice was ashamed. "I . . . I had to. I can't tell you why."
This wasn't making sense. "Then why did you come to me?"
"I knew I could trust you. And I wanted to meet you."
Knew she could trust us? Were we supposed to buy that? This kid was a first-rate manipulator and she was only nine years old. I sighed and looked at my partner, who was already looking at me. "Mulder, we need to get her back home."
Just like that, she was bordering hysterical. "No! You can't!"
"Why not?" Well, at last he had asked a question.
"Because!" Natalie's voice had risen in both pitch and volume. "I--I ran away so he wouldn't get me!"
"So who wouldn't get you?" I asked.
"I don't know who he is, but he's trying to get me. He left a note on my bedroom window."
That startled me. A note. My eyes met Mulder's over the girl's head, and he looked as shocked as I felt. If she was fabricating this whole thing, she had just gotten darn lucky.
Mulder gave me a look that said he was right, after all. I didn't say anything. "What did the note say, Natalie?"
"It said . . ." she tried to remember the exact wording but failed. "It said I would never be safe because he wanted me."
"Do you still have it?" I questioned, and she looked up at me with big blue eyes.
"The note? Uh-uh. I tore it up in little tiny pieces and threw it away at the very bottom of the trashcan in my room, one night while Mom was in the bathtub. It scared me. It's worrying you, too--both of you."
"Natalie . . ." I heard myself say as I thought about what to do. "Your mother's very concerned about you. You--you scared her when you ran away. Do you want your mom to be scared?"
Her resolution wavered. "N-no, but she'll feel worse if I go home and that man gets me. I can't go home; I'll just run away again and then I'll hide so you won't ever find me, and I won't come out this time!"
I looked at Mulder. He looked at me. We needed to discuss this, but I wondered if Natalie was willing to give us any privacy. "Natalie, Agent Mulder and I need to have a talk. Would you wait right here?"
"About secret FBI stuff?"
"That's right."
For a moment, Natalie hesitated, then looked back up at me and seemed to see something in my eyes. "Oh, okay. But I'm not going back home, Agent Scully."
I didn't bother to answer; instead, I motioned to Mulder, and he followed me a distance away. We could still see Natalie, but there was no way she could overhear us. I made sure of it by lowering my voice as I sighed and looked up at my partner. "Now what?"
"I don't know," Mulder said, his voice soft as well. "Her mother doesn't know about the note; I think if she did, she'd be even more afraid for Natalie being home than in a park somewhere."
I understood. "Because Bigsby's victims were all taken from their homes."
He nodded, growing more urgent with every sentence as he explained his logic. "And Natalie's home alone every day from 3:00 when she gets home from school, till 7:00 when her mother gets home from work. Scully, she wears a house key around her neck! This guy could just . . ."
I looked toward Natalie, who was watching us studiously. "Waltz on in," I finished his sentence. "So what do you suggest?"
He shook his head, frustrated. "I really don't know. But what she's saying all makes sense. The note ties Bigsby to the case without a doubt; and this little girl is clearly an empath, or at least she has rudimentary empathic abilities. Something has to be done to protect her."
"And do you want to know what I think?"
He smiled at me in that small, mischievous way, but the word he spoke was sincere. "Always."
I pretended that the word didn't mean as much to me as it did. "Mulder, there's no question that the girl is endearing, but--but how do we know she's telling the truth? I mean, so far I--I've seen no evidence of empathic abilities; of course the note on her window would 'worry' us, and ... and isn't it convenient that she tore it up? The one piece of evidence that would tie Jon Bigsby to this case?"
"I doubt she saw a 'scary' note as evidence. Scully, she's just a nine-year-old girl."
"A nine-year-old girl who could be orchestrating this entire thing for attention, for--I don't know, for a chance to meet some 'agent people.'" Couldn't he see it?
Well, maybe he could after all. His grin was exaggerated, silly, but his tone of voice wasn't really mocking as he quoted, "'It's really awesome to meet you.'"
I almost smiled. "It is possible."
"It's also possible that she's telling the truth."
But is it *plausible*? And are we not supposed to act on the most *likely* option? My eyes turned to Natalie, and even at this distance it felt as though she was looking right at me. It doesn't matter if she's lying about her abilities. Even if it's all an act, she's in danger, Dana. And no child deserves to be in danger. How hard is this, anyway?
"Mulder, I think it's time to talk to Mrs. Henderson."
His lips curved upward just slightly, and his eyes approved my words. Together, we returned to the tree where Natalie was still standing obediently. I spoke first.
"Natalie, you know we have to take you home."
She looked about to cry. "I don't wanna go home! I'm scared to stay home alone!"
"You won't be alone anymore."
I looked at Mulder, surprised at his statement. Could we promise her that? Natalie looked down, then back up at him, right in his eyes. Then she turned and looked at me, and I held her gaze. Finally, she turned back to Mulder, but she said nothing.
Mulder spoke to her quietly, almost gently. "I promise."
She still didn't answer him right away. At last, she nodded her agreement. "Okay." Mulder started walking toward the car, and Natalie followed him. I walked behind her, marveling at my partner's ability to identify with this child. Natalie spoke up again, seeming to open up to us now.
"Are you gonna tell my mom about the note?"
Again, Mulder answered before I got the chance. "Don't you want us to?"
"Well, sort of, but . . . I just don't want her to worry." She quickened her step to walk beside Mulder. "You worrying about me is different, because it's part of your job."
Oh, now where did that come from? I stepped up my pace so that we were walking, the three of us, in a row. I had to clarify this one. "Worrying about people?"
"Uh-huh," Natalie said, blue eyes roaming about the forest, "and about justice and stuff. My brother's twelve, and he wants to be an FBI man someday" --this directed toward Mulder-- "and he told me all about what you do."
Mulder's eyes were twinkling as Natalie turned her attention to the path again. "What do we do?" He winked at me over Natalie's head.
Natalie answered, unaware of Mulder's amusement. "You're like cops--I mean, policemen--except you can tell co--policemen what to do. You storm buildings to get crooks and break down doors to save kidnapped people and stuff. And not even the county sheriff can tell you what to do; you get to boss him around. I think that's cool."
Cool. Um . . .
Mulder was holding back a chuckle as we reached the car, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. The girl was so serious. Suddenly, she turned to look at Mulder.
"What's so funny?"
Obviously, he hadn't kept his amusement in check very well. He looked at me with surprise on his face, and I raised my eyebrows in silent question. What, you think this proves that she's an empath? Come on, Mulder!
He stammered, "Oh, nothing," but she didn't let him off the hook.
"You guys were both trying not to laugh. How come?"
"Well . . ."
"Was it 'cause I think you're cool?"
Mulder finally gave in. "I guess it was because when you are an FBI agent, you don't think of it the same way as other people do. Does that make sense?"
Natalie eyed him a second or two, then nodded. "I guess so."
Mulder opened the car door for her with a flourish, like a man-in-waiting, and she giggled as she climbed into the back. As he got into the driver's side, I raised my eyebrows questioningly with a message impossible to miss: You didn't open my door. He smiled that little grin again and let me open the passenger door myself.
I glanced at Mulder curiously when he didn't start up the car right away. Unnoticed, he was watching Natalie in the rear-view mirror as she fastened her seatbelt. Oh. Our eyes met in wordless communication, and we simultaneously reached for our seatbelts. I almost smiled.
"So," I said as Mulder finally started the car and drove toward the Henderson residence, "where is your brother, Natalie? We didn't see him when we went to your house."
"Oh, he went with Daddy when Mom and Daddy got a divorce. I only see him every once in awhile." Her voice saddened as she added, "I miss him a lot."
I nodded, knowing the answer to my question before I had asked it. I had hoped to make small talk with the little girl, but apparently she didn't need my help.
As we neared her house, Natalie said suddenly, "You know, you FBI people must be awful brave."
What to say? She certainly knew how to surprise me. Mulder answered her before I had to. "Yeah, I guess we are . . . brave."
Soon she was telling us about her missing tooth, her A+ on a test in school, and everything she could remember about the note on her bedroom window, and she seemed to be especially drawn to me. It was something I couldn't understand. Mulder had made much more of an effort to make her feel at ease; he was the one who had made her laugh. I had been more distant, more somber, certainly less friendly. And yet, she directed many of her comments to me.
It was a fact not lost on Mulder. As we walked with Natalie up the walk to her front door, our eyes met again. His gaze said more than words, but I could almost hear his voice saying them. "Not bad, FBI woman." I shrugged.
Natalie went upstairs to watch her favorite movie while we spoke to her mother. Mrs. Henderson strictly charged her daughter not to eavesdrop, and Natalie promised.
"I already told Agent Scully it's not polite to eavesdrop, Mom," she said with childish exasperation. Once she was gone, Mulder and I began our unpleasant task of informing Natalie's mother of the reason her daughter had run away.
By the end of our discussion, Mrs. Henderson was quite disturbed. "She never told me about a note," her quiet voice came across the cherry wood table, to where Mulder and I were sitting on her sofa.
"She said it frightened her, and she didn't want you to worry," I answered, and tears sprang to the woman's eyes.
"Oh, that girl!"
"To be honest," Mulder began, "we're not sure how we should proceed with this investigation. Natalie is home alone for four hours every day, and if Bigsby has located her by now, he could be watching the house."
"It won't take him long to figure out the approximate times that both you and she get home every day," I added.
"Oh my . . ." Her voice broke, and she swallowed before continuing. "I don't know what to tell you. I--I can't get off any earlier than I do now; we have to eat. She's spending tonight with her friend, but she can't be spending nights away from home all the time, and it's really that time between three and seven that's the problem. I . . . I just feel so inadequate, so unable to protect her. What can I do, Agents? Isn't there something you can do to keep her safe? Place her in some sort of home until I know it's safe for her to come back?" She fought back more tears. "It sounds so awful, sending my daughter away like this, but if it's best for her, then I'm willing to do it."
I looked at Mulder and he just gazed back. If anybody knew how much we say without ever speaking a word, they might put us both in an institution. Or maybe they'd accuse us of some kind of empathy or telepathy. At any rate, I knew what he was thinking. This required a phone call to the boss.
We stood in Mrs. Henderson's kitchen as I made the call on my cell phone. Mulder wasn't paying much attention to my conversation until I said two shocking words.
"Protective custody?"
"Not a bad idea," Mulder piped in, and I shot him a glare.
I had missed half of what Skinner was saying in the meantime, but I caught enough to respond to it. "Ah . . . yes, sir, I guess so. Well . . ."
"I'll be in touch with your final orders, Agent Scully. It's possible that we'll be assigning the girl to your care," he broke in, as usual eager to get off the phone.
"I guess it's a possibility," I said, daring with the tone of my voice to let the Assistant Director know I was not overly pleased with this development. "I'll, um, be waiting for your call."
I ended the conversation with the press of a button. Skinner didn't need to hear "goodbye."
"Mulder, they're talking about assigning Natalie to a pair of agents until Bigsby is found." As if he didn't already know that from hearing one half of the conversation, but I said it anyway. Maybe I was subconsciously getting back at him for all those times he's expounded on files I'm perfectly capable of reading myself. But more than likely, I was so surprised by the turn of events that I really didn't consider Mulder's knowledge of it.
Anyway, Mulder didn't say that he already knew, just: "You seem surprised."
I huffed. "'Surprised' is putting it mildly."
"Why, Scully? It's not without precedent, you know."
"Maybe not, but it is definitely unusual." And if you start quoting the particulars of previous protective custody cases, I'm going to throw something at you, even if this is the Henderson family kitchen and not the X-Files office.
He didn't. "You realize they may assign her to us."
Oh, I realize it all right. "Us."
"Yeah, we already have a background on the case. We've already met Natalie and her mother. What, would that be so awful, to have to keep an eye on a nine-year-old kid for a few days?"
Well, "awful" wasn't the word I would have used, but maybe one of its milder synonyms . . . "I don't think you realize how much trouble nine-year-old kids can be, Mulder. Plus it would mean the end of our search for Bigsby; they would have to bring in someone else to do that job, if we're appointed to the position of Chief Babysitters." He didn't flinch, and it surprised me that he wasn't more upset about losing the real case at hand. "The idea doesn't bother you just a little?"
"Not if it means keeping Natalie Henderson safe."
That bit pretty hard. I wasn't used to acknowledging that Mulder's priorities on a case were more commendable than mine. As I turned to look out the window, though, I decided not to deny it. "Well, when you put it like that . . . I guess you're right."
Thus, that evening, I found myself carrying my luggage up a very winding set of hotel stairs, following my partner. While this isn't unusual, the ruffly pink-and-purple-polka-dotted pillow under Agent Mulder's arm was an added item he doesn't usually have to carry. And behind me a nine-year-old girl was following, wild blonde curls braided into submission and blue eyes sparkling because she'd "only stayed once in a hotel, and never before with FBI people."
I turned slightly on the stairs to find Natalie down at the bottom, talking to the man at the office desk. I saw her point up at us and decided to intervene--after all, this suitcase was getting heavy.
"Natalie, come on!"
"Okay!" she called gleefully, and with a final last word to the man she grabbed up her sleeping bag and backpack and scampered up the stairs. Hiding my smile, I turned back to follow Mulder to our rooms.
Mulder decided to run to the nearest fast-food restaurant and pick up some dinner for the three of us. He took Natalie's order with all the seriousness of a real waiter, and again I admired the effort he put into making her feel like she belonged with us. After tossing one burger nonchalantly in my general direction, forcing me to make a grab for it or let it drop on the floor, he took his own out of the bag and then offered the rest of it to Natalie. She shook her head.
"Throw it at me, the way you threw Agent Scully's."
Mulder chuckled and took the last burger in his hand, then stepped back halfway across the room and pitched it neatly into her outstretched hand. Natalie giggled.
"Cool--an FBI man threw my burger at me!"
After dinner, she again directed her comments at me. "That was awful good--I got awful hungry hiding in the park, and I think I still am."
I gestured to her luggage. "What's in the backpack, Natalie?"
"Oh, my clothes and my teddy bear. Mom brought them with my sleeping bag because she didn't know how long I'd be gone. She said she's glad that you're taking care of me, even though she misses me. You told her about the note, didn't you?"
Mulder, still trying to convince me that the girl was an empath, jumped on it. "Why do you say that?"
"Because she was awful worried, I could sense it. But she didn't want me to know." She shook her head, suddenly looking older. "By now she should know I can tell how she feels."
I felt Mulder's gaze, but I ignored it. "Yes, we did tell her about the note, Natalie. She wanted to know why you ran away."
She nodded, back to her young self, focusing on me again and not Mulder. "Well, I guess I'm glad you did."
I glanced at my watch; nine o'clock. Probably close to Natalie's usual bedtime, although she wasn't going to volunteer the information. I exchanged a meaningful glance with Mulder, and he got the message, turning a cheerful smile to Natalie that only I recognized as factitious. "Well, I guess it's time to say goodnight, Natalie."
"Goodnight, Agent Mulder," she grinned back.
"Goodnight," he said, and started to leave the room.
This was the only chance I would get to talk to him; I knew he'd been in contact with Skinner, but since we had taken custody of Natalie we hadn't had a private conversation. I followed him to the door, then turned back.
"I'll be right back," I whispered to Natalie.
"Oh, don't hurry for me, Agent Scully," she said, carefree. "You can talk about secret FBI stuff all you want."
I smiled and followed Mulder into his room, then closed the door almost completely but left it opened a crack. As I allowed my "nothing's wrong" facade to crumble, I realized how tired I was. I turned to Mulder. "Anything on Bigsby lately?"
"Yeah . . ." Mulder's countenance had completely changed the minute we left my room. "Not much, but possibly a reported sighting about ten miles from here--at least, the unidentified man matched Bigsby's description, right down to a missing fingernail on his right ring finger. It seems that he's hanging around the area."
"And you think he's looking for Natalie."
Mulder nodded. "I'm sure of it. And given his mental state, he's not going to be cautious about this, Scully. It's hard to believe he was able to commit three murders before being caught the first time."
It wasn't a pleasant thought, and I sighed. For a moment, my eyes gazed unfocused at the wall; then I realized that Mulder was studying me carefully.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said automatically, then reconsidered the statement. "I just . . . I don't want anything to happen to her."
Mulder put a hand on my shoulder, surprising me. "I know."
"You've been awfully nice to her, Mulder--not impatient or busy at all. I--well, I appreciate it. I know babysitting's not your favorite pastime."
"I don't mind, Scully," he said quickly.
I looked into his eyes. "I know. I'm trying to figure out why not."
He looked away, then back. "Maybe because . . . well, in some ways, Natalie reminds me of Samantha."
I was silent for a moment. "Well, um--if that's all we've got on Bigsby, then--I'd better get back to my charge."
Mulder smiled faintly. "Okay--oh, Scully."
"Yeah?" I turned back.
"When I got back with the food, the guy at the desk down there stopped me. He said my 'little girl' told him quite a story, and he almost believed her."
"A story?" I frowned.
"Yeah, that my wife and I--" and here he gave me that predictable wink-- "are FBI agents, and it's a secret, but we're here to keep her safe."
"And you went along with it, right?"
"Ah, no, actually." Mulder actually looked halfway guilty.
"You told him we're FBI?"
"Yeah, and at first he didn't believe me. Had to show him my badge to convince him."
"Pretty skeptical of him, for a resident of modern Mayberry."
"Scully . . ."
"Yeah, I know. Goodnight, Mulder."
He smiled at me. "Goodnight, Scully."
When I returned to my room, Natalie was already getting into her sleeping bag on the floor beside my bed. "I'm kinda tired, Agent Scully, so I'm gonna go to sleep early tonight."
I nodded, suspicious of how "early" a bedtime this really was for her. "Goodnight, Natalie." I decided to get a decent amount of sleep for once, since my only assignment at the moment was keeping an eye on her. My report to Skinner could definitely wait until morning.
I woke from the dream with a pounding heart, but for the first few seconds of wakefulness, I couldn't remember it. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, and within moments the dream washed back over me.
Emily. I had reached out to touch her, but found her just too far away. At first, she was happy to see me, calling, "Mommy!" and giggling that girlish giggle. But then she began to cry.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the image remained, vivid and impossible to ignore. I hadn't dreamed of Emily in so long . . . and now, I still heard her tearful sniffing in my ears. Wait a minute. The sound wasn't in my mind--it was in this room. Natalie.
I pulled the covers back and swung my legs over the side of the bed, careful not to step on the little girl. I knelt on the hotel floor next to her.
"Natalie?" I whispered, and the sniffles suddenly stopped. A tousled blonde head appeared over the top of the sleeping bag.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Agent Scully," she said, trying to swallow back her tears. "I was trying to cry quietly--guess I wasn't quiet enough."
She was homesick. I asked the question anyway, though. "Why are you crying?"
"Because I miss my mom. And I was thinking about how she brought me my sleeping bag and my pillow and my teddy bear, and how she loves me and worries about me."
It was remarkable, the child's intuition for her mother's feelings. How many nine-year-olds would recognize a mother's anxiety the way this one did? Now she was swiping at the tears on her cheeks, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I assured her, and she sat up. Her teddy bear was held close to her chest, both her arms wrapped around it. Her blue eyes widened with surprise.
"You're not mad at me." I knew I didn't come across as particularly easy natured, especially to a child, but I hoped she didn't see me as an ogre, either.
"How could I be mad at you for missing your mother?" I asked simply.
"No, I mean for waking you up."
"Oh, well, I'm not mad about that, either."
She giggled. "I know. Did you forget I can read your feelings?"
Did you forget I don't buy into the paranormal? I played along, though. "Yeah, I guess I did for a minute."
"Agent Scully, I'm scared. What if that man who left the note on my window finds out I'm here?"
"Even if he does, you're safe here. It's my job to protect you. And I will, Natalie."
"Promise?" In the dim light, her eyes studied me closely.
My chest tightened slightly. I don't like making promises. Life is too uncertain, too impossible to predict, too . . . well, crazy sometimes. But she was only nine years old; she didn't know everything I did about life's insanities. "I promise."
I pulled the sleeping bag open a little further. "Now, you go back to sleep, and don't be afraid."
"Okay," she said, scooting back down into the bag. I climbed back into bed and laid my head back onto the pillow, relaxing and closing my eyes. In the silence, I thought Natalie had settled down to sleep.
"Do you have any kids, Agent Scully?"
My breath caught in my throat. The sudden emotion blocked my air, burned my eyes, and stole my voice all at once. I swallowed. Emily, my heart cried. Emily. I almost told her.
"No," I managed, sounding almost normal. "No, I don't. Why do you ask?"
"Because . . ." I could hear her drowsiness in her voice. "I think you'd be a good mother."
I can't describe what I felt then; I won't even try. But I couldn't keep the single tear from falling, sliding rather sideways down my face to drip onto the pillow. I didn't sleep for a long time.
The next morning we were both dressed by 8:30 and were soon packing up our things before going downstairs to enjoy a continental breakfast. While I wasn't physically tired, my emotions from the night before had left me quiet and reserved. Images of Emily had once more receded to the back of my mind, but I simply couldn't act as though the dream and Natalie's last words of the night before had not effected me. Natalie allowed me my silence at first, but soon she started chattering again, making the usual childish small talk and not noticing when I didn't respond.
At least, I had thought she didn't notice.
"Agent Scully, are you okay?"
I looked up at her. "Of course; why?"
"Because you're not talking to me. I asked you the same question three times and you didn't answer me."
"I'm sorry, Natalie. I guess I'm just . . . thinking."
"Who died, Agent Scully?"
My eyes widened; I didn't try to hide my shock. "Wh-what did you say?"
"Somebody you know died, and it's making you sad. I don't know who it was, but I can feel you missing them really bad."
There was no way she could have known. I re-played our conversation last night in my mind, and I had said nothing to give her an inkling about . . .
Natalie's eyes were moist. "I'm sorry they died, Agent Scully. What happened to them? Who were they?"
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't swallow. I certainly couldn't say a word. Natalie looked into my eyes again and seemed to see something new.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I was prying. That's what Mom calls it when I ask questions that aren't my business. You don't have to tell me, but you can if you want to, because I know exactly what you're feeling. You're hurt inside."
I just shook my head dumbly, keeping my emotions back only with the greatest effort. She appeared honestly contrite, and her voice was quieter when she next spoke.
"Let's talk about something else, could we? Would you talk to me again, like you did last night and yesterday, before I made you upset?"
I nodded, took a breath, and then sighed deeply. "All right. Ah . . . why don't you roll up your sleeping bag, Natalie."
"Could you help me?" Her voice was so young; and her face was imploring, as though she thought I would say no. I knelt down on the ground without speaking and helped her tie the strings on the bag.
She spoke hesitantly, as though she could tell I still wasn't feeling talkative. "You know, when I first met you, I thought . . . I thought you were afraid of me. I could feel that you were kinda . . . I don't know, I thought it was fear. But I don't think you've ever been scared of me."
I looked at her curiously, surprised. "No, I haven't. Why would you think that?"
"Well, I figured out what I thought I was sensing as being fear of me, was actually fear for me. And now . . . Well, I did something bad, Agent Scully, and I hafta tell you about it."
I didn't know what to think. Her confession was so abrupt, so unexpected, but she wasn't going to continue without an acknowledgement from me. "What did you do?"
"Um, I, um . . . I know why you're scared for me, because . . . I sorta listened to you and Agent Mulder last night."
I frowned. "Sorta" listened meant she had heard every word. I thought back to the conversation, trying to remember what we had said . . .
Natalie's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't think it would be anything important. I just wondered what FBI people talk about. I'm sorry." The tears overflowed onto her cheeks and she started to cry. Her sobs quickly intensified, until she was gulping breaths between her tears. "There's a man who wants to get me, isn't there? And his name's Bigsby, isn't it? He's the one who left the note on my window."
She was shaking with fear, and I sat down on the bed and motioned her to sit next to me. "Natalie--" I began, but she didn't let me finish.
"I'm really sorry. But now I know why you were scared for me. You know I'm telling the truth about the note on my window, don't you?"
"Yes," I whispered. "I know you're telling the truth."
"And you won't let anything happen to me?"
"No, I won't."
"Why does he want me?"
"Because--" It wasn't easy for me to say something I didn't really believe. "You can read feelings. Most people can't."
"But what would he do to me?"
Pictures of Bigsby's victims rose before my eyes, and I closed my eyes against them. "Nothing," and I meant it with my whole being. "He's not going to do anything to you."
I wondered where Mulder was. He was supposed to come get us, so we could all have breakfast together. Was it taking him longer to pack than it took the two of us? I felt suddenly uneasy.
"Natalie, I'm going across the hall to see what's keeping Agent Mulder."
"Please don't leave me by myself."
I hesitated. "Okay, we'll go together. Come on."
Natalie looked at me with real trust in her eyes as she dried her tears and smiled, and I smiled back reassuringly. We were both startled by the smashing open of the door.
No . . . I drew my gun faster than he could have seen it, but it didn't matter. The intruder's gun wasn't pointed at me. It was pointed at her. The innocent little girl whose life was given to me to protect. I had let my guard down, let myself relax, and now . . . would she have to pay the price?
"Put down the gun, FBI woman." My worst fears congealed into that one awful moment, as his voice met my ears like tires grinding on gravel, abrasive. "Now!"
I wondered what would happen if I just shot him right then and there.
As if reading my thoughts, John Bigsby shook his head. "You're here to protect her, right? So, even if you kill me, you've failed, because before I die I'll kill her. Put down the gun."
I shot a glance toward the little girl still sitting on the bed. She was staring fixedly at the gun in Bigsby's hand. Hating myself, I slowly set my gun on the bed. My mind was spinning with a way to save my charge and I could not think of a thing. Mulder. Where was he? But he had no idea what was going on. I was on my own this time. But what could I do? My mind was cycling through and discarding options too fast for me to think straight.
"Good, good," Bigsby said with crazed satisfaction as he saw me set down my gun. "Now, little Miss Natalie, you come stand by me."
My breath caught in my throat as Natalie looked up at me, big blue eyes still trusting me. For a crazy moment I wondered if she could really read my feelings, if she felt my fear for her.
Bigsby didn't like Natalie's moment of hesitation. "Now! Do it now!"
Without a choice, I nodded to the girl and tried to smile that it would be okay, that justice would win, that the bad guys never get away with their crimes. But I didn't smile. I watched her climb down off the bed and walk rigidly across the room to stand next to Bigsby. He grinned.
"Good, good. That's what I like to see, a little girl who obeys her elders."
Now they both had their eyes on me, and even though Natalie's face was filled with terror, I felt suddenly . . . outnumbered.
Where was Mulder?
Bigsby's laughter, raucous and gravelly like his voice, cut into my frantic thoughts. "If this had been a bigger city, Agent, you might have been able to hide. But not in Fleck. There's only one hotel; didn't take long to find you, and the girl. Now I'm gonna take her with me."
Natalie spoke up for the first time, her voice girlishly shrill with fright. "I don't wanna go with you!"
Bigsby ignored her. His attention was suddenly fixed solely on his own gun, as he pulled the hammer back with insane delight. His words were directed at me. "Say goodbye."
I couldn't close my eyes, could only stare at that gun, thought fleetingly that I had failed in keeping her safe but at least I had died trying, and thought of Mulder as I waited only a moment for the shot that would end my life but it felt like an eternity--
"No!!!!!!!!"
It was Natalie. No!!! my mind echoed her scream as she jumped between me and Bigsby's gun, as Bigsby pulled the trigger, as the bullet meant to extinguish my life--
Extinguished hers instead. Her eyes were staring into mine as vitality bled from them like spilled ink. I could only stare back into the two voids of emptiness, and she pitched forward, almost close enough to fall against me.
Bigsby stared at her fallen form, then turned and ran from the room. In vain I tried to snap out of my horrible paralysis, but my brain refused to reconcile the images entering through my eyes. Finally my mind began functioning again, and I fell to my knees beside Natalie's small body. I knew she was dead, but I had to do something.
Then I heard it--another gunshot, not far away. I knew instinctively that Mulder was coming, that he had stopped the animal that had stolen this little girl's life. I heard his footsteps but I couldn't look up as he entered the room.
"Scully?"
I found my voice, holding onto a small flicker of hope . . . "Mulder, call 911--hurry!"
Without another word, Mulder left the room. Somewhere behind the haziness in my mind, I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall. My fingers searched her neck for a pulse, but there was nothing, and I knew it was over. I took my bottom lip between my teeth to keep back my tears as I continued staring at the body on the floor. I didn't move until Mulder returned.
"They're on their way," he informed me, his voice tight with apprehension. "Scully, is she--"
Dead? Yes. No, she couldn't be. I knew vaguely that I was in an irrational state of denial as I whispered, "I don't know. I just don't know. She jumped between me and Bigsby. She saved my life."
"When I heard the gun, I thought . . ." Mulder had to say what he was thinking, but I hardly heard him. "I thought he'd killed you, Scully."
At last, I snapped completely out of my confusion. The part of me that was a doctor, the part of me that was an agent and had seen death before--although never quite like this--and the part of me that was a reasoning human being all began operating again. Now I could answer him intelligently.
"He meant to," I said, hearing my own voice hollowly and from a distance but satisfied that I was now forming coherent thoughts and words. "He was crazy, Mulder. He thought he could take Natalie with him, after he'd shot me. He thought . . ." Was I rambling? The tears threatened to return, but I swallowed them back. "Did you kill him?"
Mulder didn't like the question. "I--I don't know. He won't be escaping, anyway. I just... I thought he'd shot you."
I didn't matter. She mattered, and now she was dead. I ventured a question that sounded more like an accusation. "Where . . . where were you?"
"He called me. I don't know how he did it without getting caught, but he called my room masquerading as that guy downstairs, told me that there was a guy down there waving a gun and acting crazy. I got down to the lobby and it was deserted, and by the time I found the real hotel guy . . ."
I sighed. This wasn't his responsibility, anyway; it was mine. "I was supposed to protect her. She was in my custody, and I . . . I failed, Mulder." The bitterness in my heart entered my mouth and my voice as I realized fully what I had done. What I had failed to do.
Mulder knelt down next to me, trying to comfort me as always. "Hey, hey . . . You couldn't have foreseen something like this happening . . . something this . . . crazy."
"I should have. I should have stopped him. I should have protected her."
"Stop it, Scully. You can't blame yourself for this. Natalie . . . she knew what she was doing when she jumped in front of that bullet. She wanted to save you."
I thought back as the hallway outside began humming with activity. The medics were here, too late, but here just the same. To pick up the pieces. In front of me flashed Natalie's face, eyes focused on me for just a moment before she took her last breath. I realized that Mulder was right. There was no shock etched across her fair features, a shock that I had seen in the lifeless eyes of so many gunshot victims. Somehow, she had known.
As I sit at the desk with the nameplate reading, "Fox Mulder," I sense my partner's presence. But I don't acknowledge him. He'll speak up sooner or later.
"I'm sorry, Scully." Okay, sooner. "You gonna be okay?"
I can't answer that. I hate admitting that death has effected me so profoundly, but somehow this is different from any other case I have dealt with. A child so young, yet so wise . . . put in my custody, then dying for me. "She wasn't supposed to die."
Mulder doesn't answer me right away, giving me a chance to realize that I have voiced my latest thought. "No. No, when you think about it . . ."
You were. He doesn't have to say it.
But he does. "You were."
"Mulder . . ." I can tell him anything, I know, and even when my thoughts don't make sense to me, he understands. I take a breath and forge ahead. "Once you told me that the way things happen, it has to be more than chance. You said it must be . . . it must be fate."
He nods; I sense it without seeing the motion of his head. "I remember."
"Well, when something like this happens to me . . ." I feel a warm trail of liquid down my cheek but don't swipe it away. After all, this is Mulder. "I think it must be something more than even fate, Mulder. It must be something . . . greater."
His hand rests reassuringly on my shoulder, and I allow a few more tears to trace paths down my cheeks. He understands.