Candlelight

By

AllyinthekeyofX

SUMMERY –

Playing with fire is sometimes the only way. Mulder POV/first person narrative.

NOTES –

This is set somewhere in season 7. Post 'All Things' and it should be noted that I am a true believer in the 'All Things' Mulder/Scully sex phenomena. In my universe at least, by this point they are engaging in the naked pretzel on a semi-regular basis. Spoilers for 'Irresistible' and 'Orison' which are easily two of my all-time favourite episodes. Donnie Pfaster continues to creep me out and will prevent me always from ever having groceries delivered! This is completed bar the usual read through, corrections and edits. And comprises of 4 parts. Reviews make me type faster ;) I realise I have a couple or three unfinished stories on the go at the moment. But I always have a few on the go. It's just how my brain works.

DISCLAIMER –

None of these characters belong to me. They remain the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen productions and FOX. They have lots of money as a result. I on the other hand have none.

Part One – Realisation

It's funny, so funny how we can see a person every day and not truly know what's going on with them. We can walk side by side for month upon endless month. We share space and time. We laugh together, cry together, and eat lunch together. We can go for the occasional beer together to help wipe away the rigours of another day. And sometimes, if we are extraordinarily lucky, we are able look in to the face of that same person both last thing at night and first thing in the morning.

And despite all this, we don't always see the bigger picture. Especially when the person is so damn adept at hiding things.

Especially when that person is Scully.

She's always hidden things from me. I accepted that as being a part of her complex personality a very long time ago – especially since I suspect that she learned much of the evasion technique from me.

Oh yes. Team Spooky are very adept at hiding our true feelings. We hide behind walls of our own making.

It's just how things are.

But occasionally, the walls crumble just a little. And I catch a glimpse of Scully's dreams, hopes and fears.

Just like I did today.

I lay on my back, staring at the patterns that the trees outside throw on the ceiling above, carefully not moving too much lest I disturb the woman who is sleeping beside me, pressed against me, her hold on me hasn't relaxed even as she finally closed her eyes.

She hasn't been asleep for very long. Sleep was a hard fought battle for her tonight. But I knew enough not to question her. Instead I emotionally backed right off and swallowed down my concerns, feigning sleep so she was able to finally relax against me. It was the only thing I could think to do. Because, as the shadows lengthened on the ceiling, I kept turning my head to check she was ok. And despite her best efforts, I caught a glimpse each time of those china blue eyes staring at me before she slammed them shut.

I didn't push the issue though. If she needed to retreat from me it was fine. She needs to rest. I don't much care how she achieves that.

I had tried to act as though I hadn't noticed that anything was wrong. We had arrived back at my apartment and gone through the motions. It was still relatively early and since we'd both pretended to eat on the plane I suggested a movie complete with beer and popcorn.

We drank the beer as we both watched a movie that neither of us really saw. The bowl of popcorn remained untouched.

I studied her surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye, carefully not turning my head in her direction. And in return, she remained staring stubbornly at the screen, refusing to look my way even though she knew I was watching her. Afraid of what her face would reveal. Of what it would affirm. We've been here too many times. But we don't really know how to get past it.

So instead of speaking, I rested my arm across the back of the couch, just allowing it to brush her shoulders and feeling her lean back to make contact before pulling her towards me and tucking her body against mine as I tried, with gentle caresses to soothe the tension from her.

To a certain extent it worked. As she responded to my touch in a way I hadn't really expected, her sense of urgency building as she sought to lose herself for a while.

We made love of course. The sensation of being with Scully is still new enough for me lose myself right along with her. But later, as we lay sated, the tension was back. And so were the walls. And I so much wanted to question her on what exactly had happened earlier today. But I didn't. I know better than to insist. To insist would be to not only slam the door, but to double lock it and post a heavily armed guard outside.

I was relieved when she finally slipped in to a troubled sleep because it allowed me to rest also.

I can feel her heartbeat. And I take comfort from each and every breath she takes. Because it wasn't so very long ago that I thought I'd lost her for good. That terrifying time when I could literally see the life force draining from her. That no matter how hard she fought, how hard she denied what was happening to her, that the cancer invading her very essence was insidiously and relentlessly taking her away.

Until suddenly it was just gone.

Maybe it was the chip. Maybe it was a miracle.

I'm not sure I really believe in either.

And for a long time I have been waiting for the second shoe to drop.

Some days I seem to be suspended in a state of perpetual fear. Trying hard not to overreact if she seems tired, has a headache, is tense or irritable. All normal, everyday things that others just take for granted.

A part of life.

But I don't think life for me will ever be normal for me again. I don't ever let her see how scared I am. Scully is a capable, independant woman. She doesn't need me to turn in to a gibbering wreck everytime she is a little under par. She needs us to go back to how we were before. So I try very hard to do that.

But when she is asleep, I am able to let my mask slip just a little. I can allow myself to think.

To process.

But tonight I'm not thinking of what I almost lost. I'm thinking instead about what I saw in her earlier today.

We'd both come to the end of a long and difficult case. Physically and emotionally draining for the both of us as we tracked a serial killer who got his ya yas from slicing up young women and writing proclamations of faith on the walls of their apartments using the congealing blood he had carefully harvested from their broken bodies as they died.

The murders were grisly.

Horrific.

Senseless.

They took their toll on the both of us as we sought to unravel the horror that made up his head. But ultimately, the profiling had been the easy part. What was harder to reconcile was the sight of those women – the youngest being just 17 years old – bloodied and defiled and yet so innocent. It will stay with me for a very long time.

With the help of our profile, we eventually tracked him down to a rundown two room apartment just north of the city. The bright lights and opulence of New York seemed a million miles away from this hovel we eventually found ourselves in.

But despite meticulous planning, we initially thought we had failed – although in a sense we had I think.

The apartment appeared, on first glance, to be empty. No furniture, no apparent personal effects of any kind. But as the cry of surprise reached us from the bathroom, we knew. We both knew that it was over.

The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was dingy. In dire need of redecoration and renovation. But just for a moment, I was struck by how beautiful the golden glow hitting the tiled walls was. How it illuminated the sight of The Reverend Terrance Mosely.

Countless flickering candles somehow softening the grisly scene before us.

The sight of a monster who had used his position to gain trust, to hide in plain sight. A kindly priest who unbeknown to those around him, burned with an ungodly desire, an appetite that had to be sated.

To kill, to maim, to defile.

A man who would probably plague the famililies of his fifteen victims' dreams for decades to come.

For them there would never be justice. He had taken that away from them too.

For once, I didn't need my partner's medical degree to ascertain a cause of death. The deep, open cuts evident on both arms, stretching from just above the palm to the crook of the elbow, following the arterial paths made for an easy assumption.

And a final message. Written on the tiles above the bath. God only knows how he managed to remain conscious for long enough to write it. But if I've learned anything over the years, it's that real evil lends a strength to an individual's actions that the rest of us find hard to believe.

For my sins I die like the lamb

And that was that.

Case closed.

Nothing more to learn here.

Until I glanced up and saw the look on Scully's face.

Because she wasn't seeing any of this.

Not the body, not the blood on the walls, the floor, the fucking ceiling.

None of it.

All she saw were those flickering flames.

And I swear that, as the colour drained from her face, that she was about to collapse against the wall and wind up in an ungainly heap on the floor.

My beautiful, strong, capable partner, jostling for space on the cracked linoleum with the body of a serial killer.

With a monster.

Until I realised that she was somewhere else. In another time. Another place. With a different monster. One that was no less evil.

Candles. So many candles.

Lighted by Donnie Pfaster as a backdrop to his perverted need to capture Scully. The one that got away.

"Scully"

My voice was sharp. Urgent. I needed to get her back. Right then. Before anyone else noticed.

It was enough. Just.

And her voice was surprisingly steady as she backed out of the room.

"I need some air."

And then she was gone. I was left crouching on the floor as I stared at her retreating form. Heard the door slam as she exited the apartment and strained my ears to the sound of her footsteps. Walking at first, then running. Running away from the memories of him. Memories I thought she had laid to rest.

Memories she has never shared them with me.

And I remained there for a while. Even though I wasn't needed. The case was closed. The killer was dead. The good citizens of New York could tonight, sleep easily in their beds. But I stayed because I knew if I didn't, I would have to run after her. And I knew she wouldn't want that. So I stayed. For maybe thirty minutes until the CSI boys arrived and started taking their happy snaps of the body.

I had no excuse to stay after that. So I left. Safe in the knowledge that we had once again fought the good fight and won the day. Only this time any sense of achievement had been blown right out of my head by that look of horror on Scully's face. A reaction that had been totally beyond her control.

I had thought she was over it.

I had thought she was over him.

How could I have been so fucking blind?

And now, as she sleeps beside me, her beautiful face suffused in that peculiar blue light of night time I am wracked with guilt that I hadn't noticed. But at the same time I know that like me, Scully allows me only scant access to her innermost thoughts and feelings.

That she will allow me access only on her terms.

But this time, I know that there can be no arguments. No excuses.

She can't live with the inhuman monster that was Donnie Pfaster residing inside her head. I won't let her. I can't.

Continued in part 2