Every Rose Has Its Thorn
By Kate Mulder
Enigma806@aol.com mailto:Enigma806@aol.com
RATING: PG-13 (No drugs, no sex, rather mild gore...mainly for the one
Russian Roulette scene.) I prefer to err on the side of caution...you don't
get your butt sued that way! (I might throw in a little rock-'n'-roll... :-P)
SUMMARY: On the most romantic day of the year, Mulder and Scully face the
toughest moments of their lives.
FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! YES!!!!! It really does mean a lot to me. And I *do*
respond. You have to understand, we authors...our egos require a lot of
stroking...I accept constructive criticism, too. Flames will be saved for the
purpose of burning my Euclidean geometry texts. If you want to use any or
all of this story for something, contact me.
ORGANIZATION: I'm a drifter... (I'd have said "FBI", but I don't need any
legal trouble!)
KEYWORDS (CATEGORY): Valentine's Day, MSR, major angst, torture (both M&S),
Ratboy returns...whatever else you might want to read into it...(plus minor
UST).
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter is god of anything and everything XF. I bow in
humble subjection before him, 1013, and FOX. I'm not worthy. I'm taking
their characters (not mine, I said, NOT MINE!--oh, that hurt...) out to play
for a little while...I'm not making any money off this! I'll return them
when I'm done. I promise. Except maybe Mulder. Just kidding, you can have
him back too. And, much as I hate it, I'll even clean up. Deal? Okay!
Good, then! Thanks! No infringement intended. Any songs mentioned here are
also not mine, unless otherwise noted.
DISCLAIMER 2: The poems quoted in here are by a friend of mine, Ryan Scott.
I don't intend to take credit for 'em, although I wish I could. They're
really good!
ARCHIVE: Yes, please, definitely, but please tell me first, so I don't
accidentally repost later. And feel free to pass this along, as long as my
name stays attached.
SPOILERS: Not really...unless you count one of Scully's speculations as a
reference to "Closure". But you probably won't think anything of it unless
you've seen the episode. Oh, wait, there's one for "Pusher" and "Anasazi".
And a tiny one for "The End","Paper Hearts", and "731". The others are just
"obscure references".
SEASON NOTE: Really, this is supposed to be 7th season--it presumes that
Valentine's Day was *before* "Sein Und Zeit", however. Otherwise, a lot of
stuff would contrast continuity.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hope you enjoy this...even if I'm still a little ticked over
the fact that fictional characters are seeing more romance than I am! :-P It
might get a little depressing, but things *do* work out, eventually...I
promise. I don't write *too* many Valentine's Day stories of
destruction...really! I swear it! Okay, fine, then, don't believe me. One
other thing...in certain spots, I'm going for a sort of parallelism...
*please* don't think of me as simply repetitive! Okay, 'nuff said, now on to
the story!
************************************************************************
February 14
Annapolis, Maryland
With a heavy sigh, Special Agent Fox Mulder got out of his car. He looked
down at his attire. Black suit. Hmm. He could've sworn he'd put the *navy*
one on this morning, but then again, it *had* been dark. He'd gotten up
late, and had to hurry to work. Let's see...black suit, white shirt, black
tie...he had his sunglasses on against the sun's glare...had he happened to
have a black fedora on hand, he could've been one of the men in black (or one
of the Blues Brothers, but that was another story altogether). He looked to
his left, expecting his partner to be tagging along. It wasn't her. It was
Skinner's secretary, Grace McDaniel. She was wearing a dark dress as
well...it was a little dark to be grey, a little light to be black. He
chuckled softly. So she was protesting Valentine's Day as well, as she'd
threatened to earlier in the month.
He didn't like Valentine's Day. Not because he had something personal against
it, but rather because he had no one to share it with. The friendly "dates"
that had become an annual tradition between himself and Scully didn't really
count. If he only had the nerve to ask her out!
Grace drew up beside him. "How're you holding up, Mulder?"
"I'm fine," he replied. Okay, he didn't like the day, but it wasn't as
though he were *depressed*....
Grace smiled at him--sympathetically, it seemed. "I wish I could lie half as
well as you do."
"Really, Grace," he insisted, "I'm fine. I'll just go home tonight, curl up
with my video collection, and pretend like this whole day never happened."
She took off her sunglasses as they approached the building, and he could see
the very real hurt in her eyes--one that *didn't* come from the brightness of
the sun. Maybe this was affecting her more than she was letting on. Maybe
she...who knew? He hadn't spent excessive amounts of time with Grace, so he
couldn't say for sure...hey, Skinner had just been complaining about not
having anyone! Maybe Mulder could set his boss up with Grace...nah. It'd
never work out.
Come on, he thought, be realistic for once in your life!
And where was Scully, anyway? She'd said she'd meet him there.
With a sigh, he took off his own sunglasses, tucked them safely inside his
suit jacket, and stepped inside the...cathedral? Huh? He could've sworn
Scully had given him directions to the research facility she'd wanted to
check out, but then again...she was...*Scully*. He couldn't even guess at
the way her mind worked sometimes, but rather suspected the feeling was
mutual. And she *was* Catholic...
He and Grace exchanged a glance.
"Here goes nothing," he sighed.
"Or everything," she added.
That too. I wish I could cheer her up. I've never seen Grace so
pessimistic!
And why was Grace even there in the first place? Oh, well...some questions
might be best left unanswered...but he wanted some answers soon--forget
conventional wisdom!
XXXXXXXX
Boston, Massachusetts
Blowing a pesky strand of auburn hair out of her face, Dana Scully once again
vowed her revenge on the smart aleck who had decided that the death of a
martyr named St. Valentine was reason to make the day a romantic celebration.
She'd purposely dressed in black, as Skinner's secretary had vowed to
do...red may have been the color of the day, but she wasn't going to give
anyone the pleasure.
It surprised her that she was in such a mood over the day, though. Sure,
being alone on Valentine's Day was no real treat, but she *did* have Mulder.
And having a friend--scratch that, best friend--was certainly better than
nothing. She had to admit it, those alien-shaped chocolates he had given her
last year *were* kind of cute...if not exactly something she'd have bought
herself.
At Mulder's request, she'd accompanied him to Massachusetts a week
ago--Chilmark, to be exact. He'd thought he'd found some more information on
his sister Samantha's disappearance. He'd been called back to D.C.
yesterday, but wanted her to follow up on one more lead for him. And she'd
done it. Not out of duty or obligation...not because she felt she owed it to
him...but because she'd *wanted* to. She was his friend. She wanted to find
Samantha just as much as he did...although she was a bit more realistic about
it than he was. But that was probably because he was so close to the case.
Had it been one of her own siblings, she'd probably have been just as blind
to the facts as he was.
She'd intended to return to D.C. today and meet him at an Annapolis research
facility, but she'd missed her plane. Just her luck, today of all days! At
least it wasn't Friday the 13th or anything. That would have sent Mulder on
a speech about the day that she'd have been hard-pressed to stop. Of course,
Monday wasn't exactly her favorite day of the week, either. But that was
only natural...right?
She had decided to spend the time before she had to catch the next flight out
(5 hours!) hanging around Boston. She'd never gotten much of a chance to see
the city...and most of the time she and her partner had spent in the state
had been in the Martha's Vineyard area--Chilmark, West Tisbury, the
surrounding towns.
But where was she now? Inside, that was for sure...but *where*? She
couldn't believe she'd let her mind drift off *that* much. Fortunately, a
man approached her. He seemed to know what was going on.
"Miss Scully. You'll want to come this way, please."
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble," he replied. "Are you all right?"
"Sure," Scully answered. "I was just a little...distracted for a moment."
He patted her hand in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting
manner. "Completely understandable. You've been through a lot."
Yeah, in my life, perhaps. What's he talking about? Or is he just trying
to pick me up?
Not that the last part of that would have been such a bad thing. He *was*
sort of cute...
XXXXXXXX
Mulder and Grace were soon approached by the man they both worked for--each
in their own way. And, of course, Grace was a little more likely not to tick
the man off. But Mulder ticked a lot of people off, so that was something he
was used to. The FBI's "most unwanted", the agency maverick...Fox Mulder
would never be completely controlled. Not even by the certain female agent
assigned to keep him in line and out of his superiors' hair.
The man approaching was none other than Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner.
He looked...well, Mulder wasn't entirely sure *how* he looked. Like his dog
had run away or something. Okay, so maybe that wasn't a very apt comparison.
But, then, Mulder didn't exactly specialize in apt comparisons (unless they
somehow pertained to the extraterrestrial or otherwise strange).
"Mulder," Skinner said simply. "How are you?"
"I'm okay," Mulder answered. "Fortunately, this only has to be done once a
year."
Skinner nodded ruefully. "Unfortunately, in our line of work, that seems to
be the case. God, I just wish it were someone else. I know that sounds
awful, but I do."
Mulder couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Believe me, sir...I know exactly
how you feel."
Skinner regarded him for a long moment. "You know, Fox, I honestly believe
you do. You're probably one of the few that would."
Now what on earth is *that* supposed to mean? Mulder wondered, slightly
indignant. And 'Fox'?! Since when does he call me *Fox*? God, the only
person who really calls me that is my mother...oh, yeah, and Margaret
Scully.
Funny he should think of Scully's mother just then, because she was there
too. She looked as though a terrible tragedy had recently occurred in her
life. Mulder crossed over to her, wondering what the problem was and hoping
he could help. The last time he'd seen Margaret this upset was right after
Melissa died. Hey, maybe this was why Scully had wanted him there. Where
*was* she?!
Mulder walked over to Margaret. "Mrs. Scully?"
She pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Oh, Fox..." she sighed. "I don't know what to do..."
"Hey," he soothed, pulling away, "it's going to be all right. We'll make it
out of this just fine." Out of what, he hadn't a clue. But it seemed like a
good thing to say. He looked into her eyes...eyes that held a world of pain
and too much hurt. She was crying, and he brushed the tears away. Mulder
had always had a soft spot for Margaret...she was like another mother to him.
The personification, almost, of the ideal mother--loving, patient, strong,
and so much more. It tore at his heart to see her like this.
Another man stood nearby, maybe a few years older than Mulder. The agent had
never met him before, but felt as though he should've. The man regarded
Mulder with a mixture of sympathy and respect.
"You don't have to be so strong about this, you realize. I know how close
you two were. Dana told me."
With a quick glance around, all the pieces fell into place for Mulder. He
mentally kicked himself.
Oh, *that* was smart. Why didn't you realize it before, Sherlock? You're
at a funeral.
But whose? Scully had given him directions...he assumed it had to be someone
she knew as well. That was made all the more likely by Margaret's
presence-and the fact that Skinner and Grace were there too. And he was
apparently close to this person.
A sense of dread filled him. Who? Who could it be? Who else had he lost to
this foolish game? They'd already taken his sister, abducted Scully,
murdered his father. Who else? Who now? Or *had* this death been due to
his allegiance? Had it been natural? Had it been an accident? What was
going on here? And why couldn't he remember?
Too many questions. Way too many questions. And not enough answers to go
around.
XXXXXXXX
Teena Mulder sat alone in the lobby, looking as lost (and depressed) as
Scully felt. Scully was surprised to see her, but not precisely
thunderstruck. After all, Boston wasn't that far from the Vineyard. And
Teena still went up to the Vineyard fairly often, despite everything.
"Mrs. Mulder?"
Teena turned, and almost smiled--almost. "Miss Scully. I'm glad you could
make it. I heard your flight left this morning."
"I'm catching another one later," Scully replied, shrugging. "This hasn't
really best the best of days for me."
"I know how you feel, dear," Teena said, putting a hand on Scully's shoulder.
"Truthfully, I do. I've seen this too many times in my life. But I'm still
glad you're here. I know the two of you were very close."
"Things *have* been a little strained lately," Scully admitted, correct in
assuming that the older woman was alluding to the relationship between
herself and Mulder, "but I never thought it was anything we couldn't work
through. We *do* have our fights every now and then."
"You're only human." Teena began to walk away, motioning for Scully to join
her. "And with two such different personality types, the occasional
argument...well, it was inevitable. Take my advice, Miss Scully. Don't beat
yourself up over it. Don't torture yourself over all the things you might
have done differently. I've spent too many years doing just that, and all it
got me was a lot of sleepless nights. You were very special to him. You
always have been."
"He told you that?" Scully asked, her blue eyes widening. For as sweet and
sensitive as he could be, verbally expressing his feelings was not one of
Mulder's strengths.
"Not in so many words," Teena answered, "but I could tell. A mother knows
these things."
They stepped into a room together, and Scully stopped short. There were a
lot of people there...all dressed the same as they were. In black. A
funeral? It certainly appeared that way, but whose? A fleeting look back at
Teena confirmed that this was indeed the correct place. A tear slipped down
Teena's cheek. Oh, God. Had they finally found Samantha--only to discover
that she was dead? Was that why Mulder had left her here...because the truth
was too painful for him to face? She fervently hoped not. Samantha couldn't
be dead...she just couldn't. But if not Samantha, then who?
Scully took another step inside, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
XXXXXXXX
Mulder approached the casket, Margaret by his side. His need to know
prevailed over his apprehension about finding out. Margaret squeezed his
hand.
Mulder looked. Suddenly, all the breath rushed out of him, and he stumbled
backward in a combination of shock and horror. Margaret helped him to sit,
suddenly having become the comforter instead of the comforted.
It was his worst nightmare come to life. The one thing he had hoped never in
his life to have to face.
It was Scully.
XXXXXXXX
Scully's surprise over finding herself at a funeral was only superseded by
her surprise at also finding Walter Skinner there.
"Sir?" she asked, hopelessly trying to make sense of it all.
He hugged her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know how tough this has to be
for you."
Teena had already wandered off by this time, so she wasn't going to be much
help.
While Scully was puzzling over this, Skinner continued talking. She forced
herself to concentrate on what it was he was saying.
"I've worked with a lot of people over the years, Dana..."
Dana? she wondered, amused. What's going on with that? He's only
called me Dana maybe once or twice before. Amusement gave way to
apprehension once she remembered that it had only happened when something was
wrong. Very wrong.
"...and many of them have been very good..."
Scully nodded, hoping it looked as though she'd been paying attention the
entire time. Skinner went on.
"But believe me when I tell you this...out of all the people I've had working
under me...Fox Mulder was definitely one of the best."
It took a few seconds for the implications of his words to hit home. But
then, Scully realized it. Realized what, exactly, was happening there.
And she fainted.
XXXXXXXX
Walter Skinner observed the situation passively, debating his own feelings on
the whole matter. Scully's death had shaken him...maybe not so much as it
had her mother--or Mulder--but it had definitely affected him. He'd seen
entirely too much death in his life--first in Vietnam, then in the FBI.
Unfortunately, with the work he'd found himself tied to...the "shadow
government" Mulder so actively pursued...the killers were rarely caught.
And, even if they were, they were rarely brought to justice.
If you've got enough power, I suppose you really *can* get away with murder
sometimes, Skinner mused. Or at least get away with hiring somebody to
do it for you.
He turned just in time to see Scully's mother helping Mulder to sit down.
The agent looked shocked, horrified...the same way he'd looked just after his
partner had been killed. Had it finally hit him? That wasn't an unlikely
scenario.
If there was one thing Skinner had learned on this subject throughout the
years, it was that the mind seldom accepted things it didn't want to
believe...at least not right off the bat.
XXXXXXXX
Walter Skinner quickly found himself with an armful of Dana Scully. He
caught her fast, before she could hit the floor, and momentarily wondered
just what he was going to do next. Once he regained his senses, Skinner
picked her up. He lifted her slight form into his arms as easily as he would
a child. She was so tiny, now that he actually considered it...
It made him wonder how this woman had ever decided that the FBI was the right
place to her to make the difference she so desperately wanted to make.
Scully loved her work...but with her partner's cruel fate, would that now
change? With all she'd survived, all she'd been through...had it been Mulder
convincing her to stay all along? Just by his very presence? In one moment,
could all of that have changed?
If there was one thing Skinner had learned through his association with the
X-Files, it was that nothing was impossible.
XXXXXXXX
Margaret Scully eased Fox Mulder down into a seat. Her heart went out to
him. She'd lost her daughter...and he'd lost his best friend. Not that
there was really any form of comparison between the two, but Fox had been
extraordinarily close to Dana. A bond such as the one that existed between
them couldn't be broken except by death. That had happened, but some shards
of the broken dreams still remained...they always would. And, most
importantly, Dana's memory would live on. What was it someone had said about
death once? "Death is a state in which we exist only in the memories of
others, so it's not really an end. No goodbyes, just good memories." Gone
but not forgotten indeed.
There was only one thing Margaret couldn't figure out, though--why Fox had
seemed so shocked to see Dana. Maybe part of it was denial...not wanting to
accept the fact that she was truly gone...but even that explanation was
somewhat lacking. How could he not remember? After all, he'd been right in
the middle of it.
XXXXXXXX
Margaret Scully rushed over as she saw her daughter collapse. She followed
Skinner out into the hallway, and kneeled beside him as he gently laid Dana
on the floor.
Poor thing. She'd taken Fox's death awfully hard...not that Margaret had
honestly expected any less. The two of them were so close...they had an
incredible bond. And now that bond had been broken--snapped suddenly,
without any prior warning.
Dana would survive, of course--she'd always been a survivor. And she'd have
her memories. That helped. Having lost too many people in her lifetime
already, Margaret knew that sometimes, the memories were all that sustained
you.
Only one thing puzzled her. Why had Dana been so surprised? She'd been
right there when it had happened.
XXXXXXXX
Breathe, Mulder told himself slowly, still recovering from the jolt he'd
just received. For God's sake, just *breathe*.
He didn't want to attempt anything more difficult just yet.
"Are you okay?" Margaret asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah, I, uh--I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
"Of course, Fox."
He didn't really mind her use of his first name. Actually, it made her seem
even more like his mother...
The man who'd been with Margaret earlier came over and sat beside Mulder.
The agent looked over at him.
"Excuse me, but I don't believe we've met."
"We haven't. And to tell you the truth, I sure wish we weren't meeting here."
Amen to *that*, Mulder thought.
The guy continued. "I know that you and my sister were really close. And,
actually, I wanted to thank you for always being there for her when I
couldn't be. You meant a lot to her, you know, Mulder. She'd have given her
life for you."
"Yeah," Mulder muttered bitterly. "Well, she certainly gave her life for
*something*." He'd pretty much figured out by now that this was Scully's
other brother, the younger one... he couldn't remember the name.
Scully's brother seemed to pick up on this. "My name's Charles."
Charles. Okay. Charles. Mulder had heard Scully mention Charles
before...and now, when they finally met, Scully was gone. Forever gone. It
wasn't fair. "Nice to meet you," Mulder said. His tone was sincere, his
expression an absent one. He meant what he'd said...but there was so much
weighing on his mind just then--so much he had to process so suddenly.
And one question remained in his mind above all others. He had to know.
"How did she die?"
XXXXXXXX
When Scully gradually blinked her eyes open again, she found herself staring
at the ceiling. Voices talked nearby, moderately hushed. She couldn't quite
make out the words...
She tried to sit up, cautiously, and felt a hand on her shoulder. She was
also able to see the sources of the voices. Her mother knelt on one side of
her, Skinner on the other. Both looked concerned.
"Dana, sweetheart," her mother began, "are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Scully managed, "I'm fine. I'll be okay. How long was I out?"
"A minute or two," Skinner answered. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," Scully repeated, getting to her feet. Skinner helped her.
Men's voices drifted to them from down the hall. Scully would've recognized
the voices anywhere. And, frankly, she was grateful for their presence.
Normally, they drove her to the brink of insanity, but right now, they could
provide some answers. And, perhaps, a small amount of solace.
Langly was, as always, wearing a T-shirt. This one, however, had the print
of a tuxedo on it. Byers was wearing a suit, true to form...while Frohike
had traded the usual grey shirt under his black leather jacket for a black
one.
Scully's mother and Skinner moved off, sensing that she wanted to be alone
with the Lone Gunmen.
Scully half-smiled, which was the best she could manage right about then.
She tried to lighten the mood somewhat--anything to alleviate the despair she
was feeling. "Don't you boys have anything else in your closets?"
Frohike merely raised an eyebrow, and continued to look at her. "Don't
*you*?"
Scully looked down at her own attire. "I guess you've got a point there."
Byers put a hand on her shoulder. "How are you?"
"I'll live," she sighed. "Story of my life, you know."
Langly's hair, predictably, looked as though he'd washed it in a blender. It
was comforting to know that some things *didn't* change. "Yeah. I still
half expect to find out that this was all someone's idea of a really sick
joke."
"Me too," Scully admitted, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly. Any other
time, she'd have pulled away when Frohike put a hand on her arm, but now she
found herself needing the support of a human touch.
"Is there anything we can do?" Byers asked.
She nodded languidly. "Just one thing. There's just one thing I have to
know."
"What's that?" Frohike asked.
Scully looked at them, her blue eyes glistening with tears yet to be shed.
"What happened? How did he die?"
XXXXXXXX
"You really don't remember?" Charles asked.
Mulder shook his head. "No--I don't. I can't remember a thing about it.
I--I have to know, Charles."
"Understandable," Charles allowed. "Are you sure you're all right, though?
I can't believe you don't remember."
"I'm okay," Mulder insisted. "Please, just tell me what happened."
XXXXXXXX
Langly put his hand on Scully's shoulder, as Byers moved closer. Both looked
concerned. Scully couldn't quite see Frohike's face, but the way his grip on
her arm changed...she could tell he was worried too.
"You don't remember?" Langly asked, a lock of his long blond hair falling
diagonally across his face. He blew it away impatiently.
"No," Scully replied. "Really, I don't. I need to know, you guys. If he's
dead, I at least want to know how he died. I haven't got a clue--do you
realize how *frustrating* that is?" She realized a second later she was on
the verge of going into a tirade, and quit there.
Frohike spoke next. "Dana, honey--you were smack dab in the center of
things. You don't remember anything about it?"
"I just said that!" She decided to ignore the "honey" and his use of her
first name for the time being.
"Okay, calm down," Byers said, his voice soothing. It mildly irritated her.
She didn't *want* to feel better! Her partner was *dead*, for God's sake!
"We'll fill you in. Just come over here...sit down."
Scully followed him, allowing herself to be led over to a seat. The Lone
Gunmen began to tell her the tragic story.
XXXXXXXX
"Now I wasn't there, of course," Charles began, "so I'm just telling you what
was told to me."
"I'll take it," Mulder said, a hint of desperation edging its way into his
voice. "Please, just tell me."
"Okay...now where do I begin?" Charles wondered aloud.
"How about the beginning?" Mulder suggested. It seemed as good a place as
any.
"Sounds logical enough," Charles agreed.
As Mulder listened to Charles tell the story, something happened. He began
to remember.
XXXXXXXX
As the Lone Gunmen filled Scully in on the events surrounding Mulder's death,
a funny thing occurred.
It all started coming back to her.
XXXXXXXX
Cautiously, Mulder crept down the darkened alleyway, Scully close behind him.
He didn't like it here. He didn't like the ominous silence that seemed to
hang overhead. He didn't like the implications. But he'd come searching for
the truth, and he wanted to find it. No danger could turn him back from
*that* mission. And, as much as he hated to willingly drag Scully into a
situation he knew to be perilous, he needed her. As she'd informed him any
number of times before, his taking on these cases alone usually ended up with
his getting hurt. That didn't mean he hadn't warned her beforehand--he'd
learned the hazards of not doing that long ago.
Alex Krycek was back. And he had an associate this time. A man of German
descent named Rutger Lawson. Mulder couldn't say for sure, but he was
positively convinced that Lawson was the neo-Nazi type. He just acted that
way. Krycek had promised some information he'd gleaned from the stolen
digital tape, the MJ files--information pertaining to Samantha's
disappearance. And Krycek had lied, as usual. Nothing surprising about
that. Mulder had still gotten *some* information from another source,
however--that same day, by sheer coincidence. He and Scully were leaving for
Chilmark, Massachusetts the next morning to follow the lead. But first, this
little matter had to be taken care of.
Mulder felt Scully stiffen in back of him. When she spoke, her voice was
hushed. "I don't think we're alone here, Mulder. I just heard footsteps."
"Lawson?" Mulder questioned.
"Maybe," Scully answered, so softly that only Mulder could hear her. "I
don't know. I didn't see him."
"It had better not be Krycek," Mulder hissed. "If it is, I'll kill him."
Scully gave him *that* look--the one she always gave him when she thought he
was getting a little too carried away with himself. "For God's sake,
Mulder--we're the FBI, not the *Mafia*! We both know he was probably
involved when Duane Barry kidnapped me. I know you're still trying to get
even with him for killing your father, and Lord knows *I'd* have more than a
few things to say about his being an accomplice to Missy's murder...but the
law doesn't exactly see revenge as justifiable homicide!"
"Okay, okay, I won't kill him," Mulder promised. "I'll just hurt him a
little."
"Mulder..."
"In a nice way, of course," Mulder covered.
Scully couldn't quite hide a grin. "You are absolutely impossible, Mulder."
"It's part of my charm."
She didn't reply to that, instead focusing her attention on an area at the
end of the alley. "I'm going to check out that crawlspace over there."
Mulder didn't like the looks of it. "That's okay, Scully, I'll do it."
"Don't be so stubborn, Mulder," Scully argued. "It's going to be a tight fit
for *me*. I'll be careful."
She hated it when she felt he was being overprotective of her, but Mulder
felt he couldn't help it sometimes. They were so much a part of each other.
He'd die for her, if necessary--no second thoughts. Of course, he sincerely
hoped it would never come to *that*. Her abduction several years ago had
forced him to realize just how much she meant to him--as a partner and a
friend. If anything were ever to happen to her...
Before he could protest again, she was gone. She wouldn't have taken no for
an answer anyhow. He kept an eye out...wary, watchful. He had the strangest
feeling that something was going to happen--and it wasn't going to be good.
And, in these cases, his instincts were rarely mistaken. They didn't call
him "Spooky" for nothing.
Seconds later, Mulder heard running footsteps--Scully, and someone else.
Krycek or Lawson? Maybe neither. He heard Scully call his name, sounding
worried. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? He rushed off in the
direction of her voice, but the next sound he heard momentarily paralyzed
him. A scream. Scully's. Not a scream of fear, but an awful, pain-filled
scream. Then more running--but only one person.
The agent turned the corner just in time to see Rutger Lawson sprinting away,
but--by far--that was the least of his concerns.
Scully was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, an ever-increasing pool of
blood beneath her.
Mulder immediately dropped to one knee beside her, and turned her over as
delicately as he could. Scully moaned softly, in pain. She was still
conscious, but just barely. She was just barely alive.
Mulder tried to access the damage. She had been stabbed several times--four
or five, at least. Lawson worked fast, apparently. There was blood
everywhere. He didn't even have time to take off his jacket to try to stop
the bleeding; he had to use his bare hands.
As Mulder put pressure on the worst of the lacerations, Scully winced. He
knew she was probably in agony, but she couldn't stand to lose any more
blood. She didn't need to lose what she'd already lost. He pulled out his
cell phone with one hand and called an ambulance. "Emergency"... "agent
down"...the words were all too familiar--and frightening as ever.
Scully tried to lift her head. Her lips moved, but Mulder couldn't make out
what she was saying. He bent his head down, straining desperately to hear.
"Mulder..." she murmured.
"What?" he asked, using his free hand to brush a blood-soaked lock of hair
from her face. It was nearly crimson now, the gorgeous auburn color made
that much more red by the fluid that was so vital to life. She was losing
blood faster than Mulder could control it. Blood...so much blood. Lawson
must've hit an artery...the celiac, perhaps? No--it was too close to the
extension of the aorta...she'd be losing even more blood than she was now, if
such a thing were possible. The inferior...(oh, what was it?)
inferior--messentera!-- (or was it mesenteric?) seemed a little more
likely...it had been much too long since biology class. He was amazed he'd
even recalled this much--adrenaline did funny things to people.
"Remember..." Scully managed. "Always, I..." she trailed off, trying to find
the strength to go on. She was fading fast--where were the paramedics?!
"What is it?" Mulder asked her, gently. He knew she needed to save her
strength, but he also had to know what it was she was trying to tell him.
"We've always been...so much more..."
More than what? More than partners? More than friends? Mulder wondered,
but he never found out. As slowly and softly as a child falling asleep,
Scully closed her eyes. Her head fell to one side.
And then she was gone.
XXXXXXXX
Everything was going well enough, right then at least.
Scully sighed softly, climbed into the passenger's seat of the rented Ford
Taurus, and shut the door. Was it just her, or did it seem like they
*always* ended up renting a Taurus? Who knew? She looked over at her
partner, who--characteristically--was lost in thought. "Hey, Mulder! Want
me to drive?"
"Oh, no, it's fine," he insisted, quickly snapping out of his self-induced
trance. "Besides, Scully, I know my way around Boston better than you do."
"That's true," Scully allowed. "As long as you don't give me that crap about
my 'little feet' not being big enough to reach the pedals!"
"Now would *I* do that to you...again?" Mulder's expression was pure
innocence. He turned the car on, and started driving.
They'd been in Massachusetts for about a day and a half. After kibitzing
around Chilmark for some leads, Mulder had declared his intention to show
Scully the more interesting side of his youth...or at least some of Boston's
more appealing diversions. She wasn't quite sure what she was in for--and,
furthermore, wasn't sure she wanted to know. Sometimes, Mulder could be
so...well, 'spooky' was a good word for it, though she doubted he'd have
appreciated her saying so. That man was understood by only a chosen
few--herself not included.
They turned a corner. One of the street lights was out, making the road look
that much more dark and foreboding.
"Um...Mulder?" Scully asked warily. "Are you sure this place is safe after
dark?"
"Sure it is," he assured her. "I know it *looks* rough--it's the lighting.
This is really one of the better sides of town. Trust me on this one."
"Always," she responded, her voice a little *too* candy-coated. He gave her
a look, but said nothing as she proceeded to lock the vehicle's doors.
"Just in case."
"Of *course*, Scully. What are so you worried about, anyway? I know for a
fact that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself in just about
any situation. We work in *Washington, D.C.*, for goodness' sake! You live
in Georgetown; you're a trained FBI agent--and, besides which, you've
survived so much that I'm starting to wonder if you're even able to die!"
"I just have a bad feeling about this, is all," Scully contended.
"Leave those to me, all right? I've got a reputation to uphold."
Scully couldn't help but smile at the devil-may-care gleam in his eye.
"Mulder, you're hopeless."
"So I've been told."
She paused a moment. "And what do you mean, 'not able to die'?"
Mulder was about to answer when he slowed down the car, and eyed the next
bend carefully. "You know, back when I was a teenager, a couple of my
friends used to call this 'Dead Man's Curve'."
"*What?!*"
"Calm down. There was really no understanding Aaron and Debra. In any case,
they were also addicted to a certain song by the same name."
"Then why'd you mention it?"
"Oh...reminiscence. Memories. You know."
No, I don't, Scully thought, but that's okay. With you, my friend, I
*never* know.
He turned the corner, and Scully was barely beginning to relax when a black
Dodge Neon swerved at them from out of nowhere. Mulder muttered a few choice
words under his breath, and jerked the car into a hard turn, trying to
compensate.
Almost, but not quite. The words flashed through Scully's mind inexplicably
as she realized that Mulder's driving skills, good as they were, weren't
enough to counterbalance the actions of the other (apparently psychotic)
driver. She wasted a valuable second trying to figure out where she'd heard
that before, but then reason came back to her, and she all but yelled at
Mulder, imploring him to move the car.
"I'm *trying*!" he acknowledged.
Newton's laws of physics kicked in as an outside force definitely had an
effect on the forward motion of the Taurus. As the windshield broke, Scully
turned her face away from the shattering glass, and closed her eyes. She
could hear the tires squealing; she caught the sound of twisting metal. She
felt pieces of glass rake across her unprotected lower arm, felt her body
slamming up against the car door. But what concerned her most was the last
thing she perceived as the world around her came--quite literally--crashing
down. Mulder's soft moan beside her. Weak, but intensely painful. A small
amount of his blood trickled onto her hand. Her mind decided then and there
that between this and the blow to the head she'd just received, there was
simply too much information to be processed at one time, thank you very much.
So she blacked out, allowing the blessed darkness to take her for a short
time.
XXXXXXXX
He cradled her limp body in his arms, holding her as though sheer force of
human will could breathe life back into her body, bring back a sparkle to the
blue eyes that had once blazed so brightly.
The paramedics *did* arrive--very soon after that, in fact. They worked on
her for what seemed like hours, trying to bring her back...but it was all to
no avail.
Mulder watched, almost dumbfounded, as one of the paramedics scribbled his
notes on the case.
Resuscitation attempts failed... he thought, trying to muster up as much
clinical detachment as possible--and failing miserably. "D.O.A." I
must've seen those words a thousand times before. Never bothered me before.
After all, I work in law enforcement. It's all part of the job description.
I never gave it a second thought. But now I can't keep my mind off it. Now
it's personal. But why Scully? Why *her*?
Some questions would never be answered. His partner--the woman he entrusted
his life to every day, the woman who had become the best friend he'd ever
had--was dead. Killed by an "unknown assassin"...at least that's what the
official reports would say. But Mulder knew it had been Rutger Lawson.
Lawson would never leave enough clues to convict himself--but Mulder knew
beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lawson had been the one to deal Dana Scully
her final blow. And Mulder was going to make him pay.
Even if it were the last thing he ever did.
XXXXXXXX
*Oh*...something tells me this is just *not* my day... The words echoed
through Scully's mind as she came to consciousness. She tried to lift her
head and groaned quietly when she was rewarded for her efforts by a throbbing
headache. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. There was
something warm and thick running in her eyes. Pressing a hand to her face,
Scully realized that it was blood--from a cut on her forehead.
"Mulder?" she asked inquiringly, using her jacket to wipe away the blood.
She hadn't yet looked in his direction. "You okay?"
He didn't answer. Dabbing away the final traces of blood still oozing from
the wound, Scully turned to her partner. She gasped and dropped the edge of
her jacket, unconsciously switching into her "medical" mode. Hastily, she
unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and got out. She crossed
around the Taurus to better enable her to help Mulder. Her ankle protested
the movement--she must've twisted it in the wreck.
Scully opened the driver's-side door, and leaned in. "Mulder...can you hear
me? Oh, God...just hang on, okay? You're going to be all right."
A young woman, seeing the accident, rushed over to offer assistance. "Oh, my
God...is there anything I can do?"
Scully pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and handed it to the woman.
"Yeah, here. Call an ambulance."
Nodding, the lady took the phone and placed the call.
Scully, meanwhile, overlooked the situation in order to see what she needed
to tend to first. Mulder seemed to be breathing okay for now...a cut on his
arm was bleeding heavily. That had to be controlled. She pulled off her
jacket and applied pressure. His other arm was at such an odd angle...it had
to be broken. A sharp piece of metal had ripped diagonally across his face,
leaving a jagged cut.
The blood soaked through her jacket...the bleeding wasn't letting up. Med
school had taught her to only use a tourniquet as a last resort...but the
situation was getting desperate. And desperate times called for equally
desperate measures. With one hand, she ripped a strip of cloth off the
bottom of her blouse, and used that. The bleeding slowed to a small trickle.
But she couldn't leave it on too long. Of course, she also couldn't take it
off until they got to a hospital. She hoped the EMT's would get there soon.
Mulder blinked his eyes open for just a second, and they looked soulfully at
one another for a moment before he lost consciousness again.
The woman who'd been helping them out came up behind Scully, and put the cell
phone in her purse for her, seeing that the agent's hands were otherwise
occupied. "Can I help you at all? I'm a nurse. My name's Vicki. Vicki
Bennett."
Scully spared a fraction of a second to look back at Vicki before returning
her attention to her wounded partner. "That works out well enough--I'm a
doctor. Could you help me find something to splint his arm with?"
"Sure." Vicki scrounged around the area and quickly located a small board.
Not ideal, but it would work for then. "Now we just need something to secure
it with...wait a minute. I've got an idea. Her eyes widened with
inspiration, and she proceeded to pull two ribbons out of her purse.
After they'd applied the makeshift splint, Scully took a step back to survey
the situation. Vicki watched her carefully for a reaction, which she got
once they heard a siren in the distance.
"Good," Scully sighed, wanting to believe it was the help they'd summoned,
"they're almost here. We've got to get him to the hospital." She reached
out and rested two fingers on Mulder's neck, checking his pulse again.
Swearing softly, she tried checking it in his wrist, then back at the
carotid. "God, *no*. Mulder..."
Thinking quickly, Scully unbuckled the seat belt, and enlisted Vicki's help
in getting him out of the car. She hadn't wanted to move him yet, but she no
longer had a choice. Not if she wanted him to live.
As she started CPR, Scully could hear the ambulance pulling up. The
paramedics allowed her to continue while they got their equipment ready and
charged. Completing a cycle, Scully paused to check Mulder's pulse again.
No change.
"It's not working," she hissed, sounding as defeated as she felt, and moving
back to let the medics work on him. They tried to revive him, tried all the
measures available to them. Nothing worked.
"He's gone," one of the EMT's announced flatly, regret evident in his voice.
"I'm sorry."
"No," Scully whispered, her voice sounding choked with dirt from the grave.
"No, we can't give up!" She moved closer, intending to start CPR again, but
Vicki gently eased her back.
"It's too late," Vicki told her, sympathy filling the words. "I'm so sorry."
In the short time the nurse had met these two, she had been able to sense
their emotional closeness, the depth of their bond.
But Scully didn't hear the latter words. "No," she whispered again, the word
almost having become something of a mantra to her. "No, no, it can't be,
this isn't happening. Not now. Not like this. Not after all we've been
through." She began to cry, and no one could do anything to console her.
XXXXXXXX
Charles looked at Mulder, deep blue eyes meeting green. "You remember now,
don't you?"
The agent nodded. "Yeah, it came back to me--in all-too-vivid detail,
unfortunately. How could you tell?"
Charles shrugged. "Wasn't too hard. You're not exactly transparent, but you
kind of faded out a few minutes ago--it was obvious you were remembering
*something*. It didn't take much to guess what that something was."
Margaret rejoined them then, making a clear effort to keep herself together.
"I still don't believe it. I want to believe this is all some kind of
horrible dream, but..."
"Don't worry, Mrs. Scully," Mulder assured Margaret, putting an arm around
her shoulders, "I'll find him. I'm going to find him and I'm going to make
him pay."
"Find who?" Margaret asked.
"The man who did this to her."
She looked up at him, teary-eyed, daring to hope. "But they said they don't
*know* who it was. That they probably won't be able to find him."
"*I* know who it was," Mulder told her. "His name's Rutger Lawson. I'm not
sure how to find him--but I will. I promise you that. I owe it to Dana. I
owe it to myself."
"Just don't get yourself into anything you can't handle, Fox," Margaret
advised. "I want to see justice served just a much as you do. But I don't
want you getting hurt."
"I'll be careful," Mulder promised, standing up. He walked back to the side
of his fallen companion. She was still beautiful, even in death. Fiery
auburn hair framed a perfect porcelain cheek, and she looked so...well,
peaceful. It was a side of her he had rarely been able to see. He wished he
weren't seeing it now, like this. He sensed, rather than saw, Margaret join
him.
"Maybe it's just maternal prejudice," she began, "but I swear, even now...she
still looks like an angel."
"Yeah," Mulder agreed, thinking the description perfectly appropriate, "she
*does* look like an angel." He sighed softly--a sigh filled with
grief-tinged angst. "A sleeping angel." He brushed his hand across her
cheek, then bent down, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry; I tried."
"I know you did," Margaret replied, thinking his words had been intended for
her. "It wasn't your fault. You did what you could; don't blame yourself
for that."
"'What I could'," Mulder echoed, his voice turning bitter. "I couldn't
really *do* much of anything."
"You called an ambulance," Margaret offered. "You tried to stop the
bleeding."
"Anybody with half a brain could've done that." Mulder pushed a boyish lock
of hair away from his brow. "I didn't really do much for her except be
holding her when she died."
"You never know, Fox," Margaret encouraged him, walking away. "Maybe that
was all she really wanted."
XXXXXXXX
By Kate Mulder
Enigma806@aol.com mailto:Enigma806@aol.com
RATING: PG-13 (No drugs, no sex, rather mild gore...mainly for the one
Russian Roulette scene.) I prefer to err on the side of caution...you don't
get your butt sued that way! (I might throw in a little rock-'n'-roll... :-P)
SUMMARY: On the most romantic day of the year, Mulder and Scully face the
toughest moments of their lives.
FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! YES!!!!! It really does mean a lot to me. And I *do*
respond. You have to understand, we authors...our egos require a lot of
stroking...I accept constructive criticism, too. Flames will be saved for the
purpose of burning my Euclidean geometry texts. If you want to use any or
all of this story for something, contact me.
ORGANIZATION: I'm a drifter... (I'd have said "FBI", but I don't need any
legal trouble!)
KEYWORDS (CATEGORY): Valentine's Day, MSR, major angst, torture (both M&S),
Ratboy returns...whatever else you might want to read into it...(plus minor
UST).
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter is god of anything and everything XF. I bow in
humble subjection before him, 1013, and FOX. I'm not worthy. I'm taking
their characters (not mine, I said, NOT MINE!--oh, that hurt...) out to play
for a little while...I'm not making any money off this! I'll return them
when I'm done. I promise. Except maybe Mulder. Just kidding, you can have
him back too. And, much as I hate it, I'll even clean up. Deal? Okay!
Good, then! Thanks! No infringement intended. Any songs mentioned here are
also not mine, unless otherwise noted.
DISCLAIMER 2: The poems quoted in here are by a friend of mine, Ryan Scott.
I don't intend to take credit for 'em, although I wish I could. They're
really good!
ARCHIVE: Yes, please, definitely, but please tell me first, so I don't
accidentally repost later. And feel free to pass this along, as long as my
name stays attached.
SPOILERS: Not really...unless you count one of Scully's speculations as a
reference to "Closure". But you probably won't think anything of it unless
you've seen the episode. Oh, wait, there's one for "Pusher" and "Anasazi".
And a tiny one for "The End","Paper Hearts", and "731". The others are just
"obscure references".
SEASON NOTE: Really, this is supposed to be 7th season--it presumes that
Valentine's Day was *before* "Sein Und Zeit", however. Otherwise, a lot of
stuff would contrast continuity.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hope you enjoy this...even if I'm still a little ticked over
the fact that fictional characters are seeing more romance than I am! :-P It
might get a little depressing, but things *do* work out, eventually...I
promise. I don't write *too* many Valentine's Day stories of
destruction...really! I swear it! Okay, fine, then, don't believe me. One
other thing...in certain spots, I'm going for a sort of parallelism...
*please* don't think of me as simply repetitive! Okay, 'nuff said, now on to
the story!
************************************************************************
February 14
Annapolis, Maryland
With a heavy sigh, Special Agent Fox Mulder got out of his car. He looked
down at his attire. Black suit. Hmm. He could've sworn he'd put the *navy*
one on this morning, but then again, it *had* been dark. He'd gotten up
late, and had to hurry to work. Let's see...black suit, white shirt, black
tie...he had his sunglasses on against the sun's glare...had he happened to
have a black fedora on hand, he could've been one of the men in black (or one
of the Blues Brothers, but that was another story altogether). He looked to
his left, expecting his partner to be tagging along. It wasn't her. It was
Skinner's secretary, Grace McDaniel. She was wearing a dark dress as
well...it was a little dark to be grey, a little light to be black. He
chuckled softly. So she was protesting Valentine's Day as well, as she'd
threatened to earlier in the month.
He didn't like Valentine's Day. Not because he had something personal against
it, but rather because he had no one to share it with. The friendly "dates"
that had become an annual tradition between himself and Scully didn't really
count. If he only had the nerve to ask her out!
Grace drew up beside him. "How're you holding up, Mulder?"
"I'm fine," he replied. Okay, he didn't like the day, but it wasn't as
though he were *depressed*....
Grace smiled at him--sympathetically, it seemed. "I wish I could lie half as
well as you do."
"Really, Grace," he insisted, "I'm fine. I'll just go home tonight, curl up
with my video collection, and pretend like this whole day never happened."
She took off her sunglasses as they approached the building, and he could see
the very real hurt in her eyes--one that *didn't* come from the brightness of
the sun. Maybe this was affecting her more than she was letting on. Maybe
she...who knew? He hadn't spent excessive amounts of time with Grace, so he
couldn't say for sure...hey, Skinner had just been complaining about not
having anyone! Maybe Mulder could set his boss up with Grace...nah. It'd
never work out.
Come on, he thought, be realistic for once in your life!
And where was Scully, anyway? She'd said she'd meet him there.
With a sigh, he took off his own sunglasses, tucked them safely inside his
suit jacket, and stepped inside the...cathedral? Huh? He could've sworn
Scully had given him directions to the research facility she'd wanted to
check out, but then again...she was...*Scully*. He couldn't even guess at
the way her mind worked sometimes, but rather suspected the feeling was
mutual. And she *was* Catholic...
He and Grace exchanged a glance.
"Here goes nothing," he sighed.
"Or everything," she added.
That too. I wish I could cheer her up. I've never seen Grace so
pessimistic!
And why was Grace even there in the first place? Oh, well...some questions
might be best left unanswered...but he wanted some answers soon--forget
conventional wisdom!
XXXXXXXX
Boston, Massachusetts
Blowing a pesky strand of auburn hair out of her face, Dana Scully once again
vowed her revenge on the smart aleck who had decided that the death of a
martyr named St. Valentine was reason to make the day a romantic celebration.
She'd purposely dressed in black, as Skinner's secretary had vowed to
do...red may have been the color of the day, but she wasn't going to give
anyone the pleasure.
It surprised her that she was in such a mood over the day, though. Sure,
being alone on Valentine's Day was no real treat, but she *did* have Mulder.
And having a friend--scratch that, best friend--was certainly better than
nothing. She had to admit it, those alien-shaped chocolates he had given her
last year *were* kind of cute...if not exactly something she'd have bought
herself.
At Mulder's request, she'd accompanied him to Massachusetts a week
ago--Chilmark, to be exact. He'd thought he'd found some more information on
his sister Samantha's disappearance. He'd been called back to D.C.
yesterday, but wanted her to follow up on one more lead for him. And she'd
done it. Not out of duty or obligation...not because she felt she owed it to
him...but because she'd *wanted* to. She was his friend. She wanted to find
Samantha just as much as he did...although she was a bit more realistic about
it than he was. But that was probably because he was so close to the case.
Had it been one of her own siblings, she'd probably have been just as blind
to the facts as he was.
She'd intended to return to D.C. today and meet him at an Annapolis research
facility, but she'd missed her plane. Just her luck, today of all days! At
least it wasn't Friday the 13th or anything. That would have sent Mulder on
a speech about the day that she'd have been hard-pressed to stop. Of course,
Monday wasn't exactly her favorite day of the week, either. But that was
only natural...right?
She had decided to spend the time before she had to catch the next flight out
(5 hours!) hanging around Boston. She'd never gotten much of a chance to see
the city...and most of the time she and her partner had spent in the state
had been in the Martha's Vineyard area--Chilmark, West Tisbury, the
surrounding towns.
But where was she now? Inside, that was for sure...but *where*? She
couldn't believe she'd let her mind drift off *that* much. Fortunately, a
man approached her. He seemed to know what was going on.
"Miss Scully. You'll want to come this way, please."
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble," he replied. "Are you all right?"
"Sure," Scully answered. "I was just a little...distracted for a moment."
He patted her hand in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting
manner. "Completely understandable. You've been through a lot."
Yeah, in my life, perhaps. What's he talking about? Or is he just trying
to pick me up?
Not that the last part of that would have been such a bad thing. He *was*
sort of cute...
XXXXXXXX
Mulder and Grace were soon approached by the man they both worked for--each
in their own way. And, of course, Grace was a little more likely not to tick
the man off. But Mulder ticked a lot of people off, so that was something he
was used to. The FBI's "most unwanted", the agency maverick...Fox Mulder
would never be completely controlled. Not even by the certain female agent
assigned to keep him in line and out of his superiors' hair.
The man approaching was none other than Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner.
He looked...well, Mulder wasn't entirely sure *how* he looked. Like his dog
had run away or something. Okay, so maybe that wasn't a very apt comparison.
But, then, Mulder didn't exactly specialize in apt comparisons (unless they
somehow pertained to the extraterrestrial or otherwise strange).
"Mulder," Skinner said simply. "How are you?"
"I'm okay," Mulder answered. "Fortunately, this only has to be done once a
year."
Skinner nodded ruefully. "Unfortunately, in our line of work, that seems to
be the case. God, I just wish it were someone else. I know that sounds
awful, but I do."
Mulder couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Believe me, sir...I know exactly
how you feel."
Skinner regarded him for a long moment. "You know, Fox, I honestly believe
you do. You're probably one of the few that would."
Now what on earth is *that* supposed to mean? Mulder wondered, slightly
indignant. And 'Fox'?! Since when does he call me *Fox*? God, the only
person who really calls me that is my mother...oh, yeah, and Margaret
Scully.
Funny he should think of Scully's mother just then, because she was there
too. She looked as though a terrible tragedy had recently occurred in her
life. Mulder crossed over to her, wondering what the problem was and hoping
he could help. The last time he'd seen Margaret this upset was right after
Melissa died. Hey, maybe this was why Scully had wanted him there. Where
*was* she?!
Mulder walked over to Margaret. "Mrs. Scully?"
She pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Oh, Fox..." she sighed. "I don't know what to do..."
"Hey," he soothed, pulling away, "it's going to be all right. We'll make it
out of this just fine." Out of what, he hadn't a clue. But it seemed like a
good thing to say. He looked into her eyes...eyes that held a world of pain
and too much hurt. She was crying, and he brushed the tears away. Mulder
had always had a soft spot for Margaret...she was like another mother to him.
The personification, almost, of the ideal mother--loving, patient, strong,
and so much more. It tore at his heart to see her like this.
Another man stood nearby, maybe a few years older than Mulder. The agent had
never met him before, but felt as though he should've. The man regarded
Mulder with a mixture of sympathy and respect.
"You don't have to be so strong about this, you realize. I know how close
you two were. Dana told me."
With a quick glance around, all the pieces fell into place for Mulder. He
mentally kicked himself.
Oh, *that* was smart. Why didn't you realize it before, Sherlock? You're
at a funeral.
But whose? Scully had given him directions...he assumed it had to be someone
she knew as well. That was made all the more likely by Margaret's
presence-and the fact that Skinner and Grace were there too. And he was
apparently close to this person.
A sense of dread filled him. Who? Who could it be? Who else had he lost to
this foolish game? They'd already taken his sister, abducted Scully,
murdered his father. Who else? Who now? Or *had* this death been due to
his allegiance? Had it been natural? Had it been an accident? What was
going on here? And why couldn't he remember?
Too many questions. Way too many questions. And not enough answers to go
around.
XXXXXXXX
Teena Mulder sat alone in the lobby, looking as lost (and depressed) as
Scully felt. Scully was surprised to see her, but not precisely
thunderstruck. After all, Boston wasn't that far from the Vineyard. And
Teena still went up to the Vineyard fairly often, despite everything.
"Mrs. Mulder?"
Teena turned, and almost smiled--almost. "Miss Scully. I'm glad you could
make it. I heard your flight left this morning."
"I'm catching another one later," Scully replied, shrugging. "This hasn't
really best the best of days for me."
"I know how you feel, dear," Teena said, putting a hand on Scully's shoulder.
"Truthfully, I do. I've seen this too many times in my life. But I'm still
glad you're here. I know the two of you were very close."
"Things *have* been a little strained lately," Scully admitted, correct in
assuming that the older woman was alluding to the relationship between
herself and Mulder, "but I never thought it was anything we couldn't work
through. We *do* have our fights every now and then."
"You're only human." Teena began to walk away, motioning for Scully to join
her. "And with two such different personality types, the occasional
argument...well, it was inevitable. Take my advice, Miss Scully. Don't beat
yourself up over it. Don't torture yourself over all the things you might
have done differently. I've spent too many years doing just that, and all it
got me was a lot of sleepless nights. You were very special to him. You
always have been."
"He told you that?" Scully asked, her blue eyes widening. For as sweet and
sensitive as he could be, verbally expressing his feelings was not one of
Mulder's strengths.
"Not in so many words," Teena answered, "but I could tell. A mother knows
these things."
They stepped into a room together, and Scully stopped short. There were a
lot of people there...all dressed the same as they were. In black. A
funeral? It certainly appeared that way, but whose? A fleeting look back at
Teena confirmed that this was indeed the correct place. A tear slipped down
Teena's cheek. Oh, God. Had they finally found Samantha--only to discover
that she was dead? Was that why Mulder had left her here...because the truth
was too painful for him to face? She fervently hoped not. Samantha couldn't
be dead...she just couldn't. But if not Samantha, then who?
Scully took another step inside, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
XXXXXXXX
Mulder approached the casket, Margaret by his side. His need to know
prevailed over his apprehension about finding out. Margaret squeezed his
hand.
Mulder looked. Suddenly, all the breath rushed out of him, and he stumbled
backward in a combination of shock and horror. Margaret helped him to sit,
suddenly having become the comforter instead of the comforted.
It was his worst nightmare come to life. The one thing he had hoped never in
his life to have to face.
It was Scully.
XXXXXXXX
Scully's surprise over finding herself at a funeral was only superseded by
her surprise at also finding Walter Skinner there.
"Sir?" she asked, hopelessly trying to make sense of it all.
He hugged her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know how tough this has to be
for you."
Teena had already wandered off by this time, so she wasn't going to be much
help.
While Scully was puzzling over this, Skinner continued talking. She forced
herself to concentrate on what it was he was saying.
"I've worked with a lot of people over the years, Dana..."
Dana? she wondered, amused. What's going on with that? He's only
called me Dana maybe once or twice before. Amusement gave way to
apprehension once she remembered that it had only happened when something was
wrong. Very wrong.
"...and many of them have been very good..."
Scully nodded, hoping it looked as though she'd been paying attention the
entire time. Skinner went on.
"But believe me when I tell you this...out of all the people I've had working
under me...Fox Mulder was definitely one of the best."
It took a few seconds for the implications of his words to hit home. But
then, Scully realized it. Realized what, exactly, was happening there.
And she fainted.
XXXXXXXX
Walter Skinner observed the situation passively, debating his own feelings on
the whole matter. Scully's death had shaken him...maybe not so much as it
had her mother--or Mulder--but it had definitely affected him. He'd seen
entirely too much death in his life--first in Vietnam, then in the FBI.
Unfortunately, with the work he'd found himself tied to...the "shadow
government" Mulder so actively pursued...the killers were rarely caught.
And, even if they were, they were rarely brought to justice.
If you've got enough power, I suppose you really *can* get away with murder
sometimes, Skinner mused. Or at least get away with hiring somebody to
do it for you.
He turned just in time to see Scully's mother helping Mulder to sit down.
The agent looked shocked, horrified...the same way he'd looked just after his
partner had been killed. Had it finally hit him? That wasn't an unlikely
scenario.
If there was one thing Skinner had learned on this subject throughout the
years, it was that the mind seldom accepted things it didn't want to
believe...at least not right off the bat.
XXXXXXXX
Walter Skinner quickly found himself with an armful of Dana Scully. He
caught her fast, before she could hit the floor, and momentarily wondered
just what he was going to do next. Once he regained his senses, Skinner
picked her up. He lifted her slight form into his arms as easily as he would
a child. She was so tiny, now that he actually considered it...
It made him wonder how this woman had ever decided that the FBI was the right
place to her to make the difference she so desperately wanted to make.
Scully loved her work...but with her partner's cruel fate, would that now
change? With all she'd survived, all she'd been through...had it been Mulder
convincing her to stay all along? Just by his very presence? In one moment,
could all of that have changed?
If there was one thing Skinner had learned through his association with the
X-Files, it was that nothing was impossible.
XXXXXXXX
Margaret Scully eased Fox Mulder down into a seat. Her heart went out to
him. She'd lost her daughter...and he'd lost his best friend. Not that
there was really any form of comparison between the two, but Fox had been
extraordinarily close to Dana. A bond such as the one that existed between
them couldn't be broken except by death. That had happened, but some shards
of the broken dreams still remained...they always would. And, most
importantly, Dana's memory would live on. What was it someone had said about
death once? "Death is a state in which we exist only in the memories of
others, so it's not really an end. No goodbyes, just good memories." Gone
but not forgotten indeed.
There was only one thing Margaret couldn't figure out, though--why Fox had
seemed so shocked to see Dana. Maybe part of it was denial...not wanting to
accept the fact that she was truly gone...but even that explanation was
somewhat lacking. How could he not remember? After all, he'd been right in
the middle of it.
XXXXXXXX
Margaret Scully rushed over as she saw her daughter collapse. She followed
Skinner out into the hallway, and kneeled beside him as he gently laid Dana
on the floor.
Poor thing. She'd taken Fox's death awfully hard...not that Margaret had
honestly expected any less. The two of them were so close...they had an
incredible bond. And now that bond had been broken--snapped suddenly,
without any prior warning.
Dana would survive, of course--she'd always been a survivor. And she'd have
her memories. That helped. Having lost too many people in her lifetime
already, Margaret knew that sometimes, the memories were all that sustained
you.
Only one thing puzzled her. Why had Dana been so surprised? She'd been
right there when it had happened.
XXXXXXXX
Breathe, Mulder told himself slowly, still recovering from the jolt he'd
just received. For God's sake, just *breathe*.
He didn't want to attempt anything more difficult just yet.
"Are you okay?" Margaret asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah, I, uh--I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
"Of course, Fox."
He didn't really mind her use of his first name. Actually, it made her seem
even more like his mother...
The man who'd been with Margaret earlier came over and sat beside Mulder.
The agent looked over at him.
"Excuse me, but I don't believe we've met."
"We haven't. And to tell you the truth, I sure wish we weren't meeting here."
Amen to *that*, Mulder thought.
The guy continued. "I know that you and my sister were really close. And,
actually, I wanted to thank you for always being there for her when I
couldn't be. You meant a lot to her, you know, Mulder. She'd have given her
life for you."
"Yeah," Mulder muttered bitterly. "Well, she certainly gave her life for
*something*." He'd pretty much figured out by now that this was Scully's
other brother, the younger one... he couldn't remember the name.
Scully's brother seemed to pick up on this. "My name's Charles."
Charles. Okay. Charles. Mulder had heard Scully mention Charles
before...and now, when they finally met, Scully was gone. Forever gone. It
wasn't fair. "Nice to meet you," Mulder said. His tone was sincere, his
expression an absent one. He meant what he'd said...but there was so much
weighing on his mind just then--so much he had to process so suddenly.
And one question remained in his mind above all others. He had to know.
"How did she die?"
XXXXXXXX
When Scully gradually blinked her eyes open again, she found herself staring
at the ceiling. Voices talked nearby, moderately hushed. She couldn't quite
make out the words...
She tried to sit up, cautiously, and felt a hand on her shoulder. She was
also able to see the sources of the voices. Her mother knelt on one side of
her, Skinner on the other. Both looked concerned.
"Dana, sweetheart," her mother began, "are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Scully managed, "I'm fine. I'll be okay. How long was I out?"
"A minute or two," Skinner answered. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," Scully repeated, getting to her feet. Skinner helped her.
Men's voices drifted to them from down the hall. Scully would've recognized
the voices anywhere. And, frankly, she was grateful for their presence.
Normally, they drove her to the brink of insanity, but right now, they could
provide some answers. And, perhaps, a small amount of solace.
Langly was, as always, wearing a T-shirt. This one, however, had the print
of a tuxedo on it. Byers was wearing a suit, true to form...while Frohike
had traded the usual grey shirt under his black leather jacket for a black
one.
Scully's mother and Skinner moved off, sensing that she wanted to be alone
with the Lone Gunmen.
Scully half-smiled, which was the best she could manage right about then.
She tried to lighten the mood somewhat--anything to alleviate the despair she
was feeling. "Don't you boys have anything else in your closets?"
Frohike merely raised an eyebrow, and continued to look at her. "Don't
*you*?"
Scully looked down at her own attire. "I guess you've got a point there."
Byers put a hand on her shoulder. "How are you?"
"I'll live," she sighed. "Story of my life, you know."
Langly's hair, predictably, looked as though he'd washed it in a blender. It
was comforting to know that some things *didn't* change. "Yeah. I still
half expect to find out that this was all someone's idea of a really sick
joke."
"Me too," Scully admitted, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly. Any other
time, she'd have pulled away when Frohike put a hand on her arm, but now she
found herself needing the support of a human touch.
"Is there anything we can do?" Byers asked.
She nodded languidly. "Just one thing. There's just one thing I have to
know."
"What's that?" Frohike asked.
Scully looked at them, her blue eyes glistening with tears yet to be shed.
"What happened? How did he die?"
XXXXXXXX
"You really don't remember?" Charles asked.
Mulder shook his head. "No--I don't. I can't remember a thing about it.
I--I have to know, Charles."
"Understandable," Charles allowed. "Are you sure you're all right, though?
I can't believe you don't remember."
"I'm okay," Mulder insisted. "Please, just tell me what happened."
XXXXXXXX
Langly put his hand on Scully's shoulder, as Byers moved closer. Both looked
concerned. Scully couldn't quite see Frohike's face, but the way his grip on
her arm changed...she could tell he was worried too.
"You don't remember?" Langly asked, a lock of his long blond hair falling
diagonally across his face. He blew it away impatiently.
"No," Scully replied. "Really, I don't. I need to know, you guys. If he's
dead, I at least want to know how he died. I haven't got a clue--do you
realize how *frustrating* that is?" She realized a second later she was on
the verge of going into a tirade, and quit there.
Frohike spoke next. "Dana, honey--you were smack dab in the center of
things. You don't remember anything about it?"
"I just said that!" She decided to ignore the "honey" and his use of her
first name for the time being.
"Okay, calm down," Byers said, his voice soothing. It mildly irritated her.
She didn't *want* to feel better! Her partner was *dead*, for God's sake!
"We'll fill you in. Just come over here...sit down."
Scully followed him, allowing herself to be led over to a seat. The Lone
Gunmen began to tell her the tragic story.
XXXXXXXX
"Now I wasn't there, of course," Charles began, "so I'm just telling you what
was told to me."
"I'll take it," Mulder said, a hint of desperation edging its way into his
voice. "Please, just tell me."
"Okay...now where do I begin?" Charles wondered aloud.
"How about the beginning?" Mulder suggested. It seemed as good a place as
any.
"Sounds logical enough," Charles agreed.
As Mulder listened to Charles tell the story, something happened. He began
to remember.
XXXXXXXX
As the Lone Gunmen filled Scully in on the events surrounding Mulder's death,
a funny thing occurred.
It all started coming back to her.
XXXXXXXX
Cautiously, Mulder crept down the darkened alleyway, Scully close behind him.
He didn't like it here. He didn't like the ominous silence that seemed to
hang overhead. He didn't like the implications. But he'd come searching for
the truth, and he wanted to find it. No danger could turn him back from
*that* mission. And, as much as he hated to willingly drag Scully into a
situation he knew to be perilous, he needed her. As she'd informed him any
number of times before, his taking on these cases alone usually ended up with
his getting hurt. That didn't mean he hadn't warned her beforehand--he'd
learned the hazards of not doing that long ago.
Alex Krycek was back. And he had an associate this time. A man of German
descent named Rutger Lawson. Mulder couldn't say for sure, but he was
positively convinced that Lawson was the neo-Nazi type. He just acted that
way. Krycek had promised some information he'd gleaned from the stolen
digital tape, the MJ files--information pertaining to Samantha's
disappearance. And Krycek had lied, as usual. Nothing surprising about
that. Mulder had still gotten *some* information from another source,
however--that same day, by sheer coincidence. He and Scully were leaving for
Chilmark, Massachusetts the next morning to follow the lead. But first, this
little matter had to be taken care of.
Mulder felt Scully stiffen in back of him. When she spoke, her voice was
hushed. "I don't think we're alone here, Mulder. I just heard footsteps."
"Lawson?" Mulder questioned.
"Maybe," Scully answered, so softly that only Mulder could hear her. "I
don't know. I didn't see him."
"It had better not be Krycek," Mulder hissed. "If it is, I'll kill him."
Scully gave him *that* look--the one she always gave him when she thought he
was getting a little too carried away with himself. "For God's sake,
Mulder--we're the FBI, not the *Mafia*! We both know he was probably
involved when Duane Barry kidnapped me. I know you're still trying to get
even with him for killing your father, and Lord knows *I'd* have more than a
few things to say about his being an accomplice to Missy's murder...but the
law doesn't exactly see revenge as justifiable homicide!"
"Okay, okay, I won't kill him," Mulder promised. "I'll just hurt him a
little."
"Mulder..."
"In a nice way, of course," Mulder covered.
Scully couldn't quite hide a grin. "You are absolutely impossible, Mulder."
"It's part of my charm."
She didn't reply to that, instead focusing her attention on an area at the
end of the alley. "I'm going to check out that crawlspace over there."
Mulder didn't like the looks of it. "That's okay, Scully, I'll do it."
"Don't be so stubborn, Mulder," Scully argued. "It's going to be a tight fit
for *me*. I'll be careful."
She hated it when she felt he was being overprotective of her, but Mulder
felt he couldn't help it sometimes. They were so much a part of each other.
He'd die for her, if necessary--no second thoughts. Of course, he sincerely
hoped it would never come to *that*. Her abduction several years ago had
forced him to realize just how much she meant to him--as a partner and a
friend. If anything were ever to happen to her...
Before he could protest again, she was gone. She wouldn't have taken no for
an answer anyhow. He kept an eye out...wary, watchful. He had the strangest
feeling that something was going to happen--and it wasn't going to be good.
And, in these cases, his instincts were rarely mistaken. They didn't call
him "Spooky" for nothing.
Seconds later, Mulder heard running footsteps--Scully, and someone else.
Krycek or Lawson? Maybe neither. He heard Scully call his name, sounding
worried. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? He rushed off in the
direction of her voice, but the next sound he heard momentarily paralyzed
him. A scream. Scully's. Not a scream of fear, but an awful, pain-filled
scream. Then more running--but only one person.
The agent turned the corner just in time to see Rutger Lawson sprinting away,
but--by far--that was the least of his concerns.
Scully was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, an ever-increasing pool of
blood beneath her.
Mulder immediately dropped to one knee beside her, and turned her over as
delicately as he could. Scully moaned softly, in pain. She was still
conscious, but just barely. She was just barely alive.
Mulder tried to access the damage. She had been stabbed several times--four
or five, at least. Lawson worked fast, apparently. There was blood
everywhere. He didn't even have time to take off his jacket to try to stop
the bleeding; he had to use his bare hands.
As Mulder put pressure on the worst of the lacerations, Scully winced. He
knew she was probably in agony, but she couldn't stand to lose any more
blood. She didn't need to lose what she'd already lost. He pulled out his
cell phone with one hand and called an ambulance. "Emergency"... "agent
down"...the words were all too familiar--and frightening as ever.
Scully tried to lift her head. Her lips moved, but Mulder couldn't make out
what she was saying. He bent his head down, straining desperately to hear.
"Mulder..." she murmured.
"What?" he asked, using his free hand to brush a blood-soaked lock of hair
from her face. It was nearly crimson now, the gorgeous auburn color made
that much more red by the fluid that was so vital to life. She was losing
blood faster than Mulder could control it. Blood...so much blood. Lawson
must've hit an artery...the celiac, perhaps? No--it was too close to the
extension of the aorta...she'd be losing even more blood than she was now, if
such a thing were possible. The inferior...(oh, what was it?)
inferior--messentera!-- (or was it mesenteric?) seemed a little more
likely...it had been much too long since biology class. He was amazed he'd
even recalled this much--adrenaline did funny things to people.
"Remember..." Scully managed. "Always, I..." she trailed off, trying to find
the strength to go on. She was fading fast--where were the paramedics?!
"What is it?" Mulder asked her, gently. He knew she needed to save her
strength, but he also had to know what it was she was trying to tell him.
"We've always been...so much more..."
More than what? More than partners? More than friends? Mulder wondered,
but he never found out. As slowly and softly as a child falling asleep,
Scully closed her eyes. Her head fell to one side.
And then she was gone.
XXXXXXXX
Everything was going well enough, right then at least.
Scully sighed softly, climbed into the passenger's seat of the rented Ford
Taurus, and shut the door. Was it just her, or did it seem like they
*always* ended up renting a Taurus? Who knew? She looked over at her
partner, who--characteristically--was lost in thought. "Hey, Mulder! Want
me to drive?"
"Oh, no, it's fine," he insisted, quickly snapping out of his self-induced
trance. "Besides, Scully, I know my way around Boston better than you do."
"That's true," Scully allowed. "As long as you don't give me that crap about
my 'little feet' not being big enough to reach the pedals!"
"Now would *I* do that to you...again?" Mulder's expression was pure
innocence. He turned the car on, and started driving.
They'd been in Massachusetts for about a day and a half. After kibitzing
around Chilmark for some leads, Mulder had declared his intention to show
Scully the more interesting side of his youth...or at least some of Boston's
more appealing diversions. She wasn't quite sure what she was in for--and,
furthermore, wasn't sure she wanted to know. Sometimes, Mulder could be
so...well, 'spooky' was a good word for it, though she doubted he'd have
appreciated her saying so. That man was understood by only a chosen
few--herself not included.
They turned a corner. One of the street lights was out, making the road look
that much more dark and foreboding.
"Um...Mulder?" Scully asked warily. "Are you sure this place is safe after
dark?"
"Sure it is," he assured her. "I know it *looks* rough--it's the lighting.
This is really one of the better sides of town. Trust me on this one."
"Always," she responded, her voice a little *too* candy-coated. He gave her
a look, but said nothing as she proceeded to lock the vehicle's doors.
"Just in case."
"Of *course*, Scully. What are so you worried about, anyway? I know for a
fact that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself in just about
any situation. We work in *Washington, D.C.*, for goodness' sake! You live
in Georgetown; you're a trained FBI agent--and, besides which, you've
survived so much that I'm starting to wonder if you're even able to die!"
"I just have a bad feeling about this, is all," Scully contended.
"Leave those to me, all right? I've got a reputation to uphold."
Scully couldn't help but smile at the devil-may-care gleam in his eye.
"Mulder, you're hopeless."
"So I've been told."
She paused a moment. "And what do you mean, 'not able to die'?"
Mulder was about to answer when he slowed down the car, and eyed the next
bend carefully. "You know, back when I was a teenager, a couple of my
friends used to call this 'Dead Man's Curve'."
"*What?!*"
"Calm down. There was really no understanding Aaron and Debra. In any case,
they were also addicted to a certain song by the same name."
"Then why'd you mention it?"
"Oh...reminiscence. Memories. You know."
No, I don't, Scully thought, but that's okay. With you, my friend, I
*never* know.
He turned the corner, and Scully was barely beginning to relax when a black
Dodge Neon swerved at them from out of nowhere. Mulder muttered a few choice
words under his breath, and jerked the car into a hard turn, trying to
compensate.
Almost, but not quite. The words flashed through Scully's mind inexplicably
as she realized that Mulder's driving skills, good as they were, weren't
enough to counterbalance the actions of the other (apparently psychotic)
driver. She wasted a valuable second trying to figure out where she'd heard
that before, but then reason came back to her, and she all but yelled at
Mulder, imploring him to move the car.
"I'm *trying*!" he acknowledged.
Newton's laws of physics kicked in as an outside force definitely had an
effect on the forward motion of the Taurus. As the windshield broke, Scully
turned her face away from the shattering glass, and closed her eyes. She
could hear the tires squealing; she caught the sound of twisting metal. She
felt pieces of glass rake across her unprotected lower arm, felt her body
slamming up against the car door. But what concerned her most was the last
thing she perceived as the world around her came--quite literally--crashing
down. Mulder's soft moan beside her. Weak, but intensely painful. A small
amount of his blood trickled onto her hand. Her mind decided then and there
that between this and the blow to the head she'd just received, there was
simply too much information to be processed at one time, thank you very much.
So she blacked out, allowing the blessed darkness to take her for a short
time.
XXXXXXXX
He cradled her limp body in his arms, holding her as though sheer force of
human will could breathe life back into her body, bring back a sparkle to the
blue eyes that had once blazed so brightly.
The paramedics *did* arrive--very soon after that, in fact. They worked on
her for what seemed like hours, trying to bring her back...but it was all to
no avail.
Mulder watched, almost dumbfounded, as one of the paramedics scribbled his
notes on the case.
Resuscitation attempts failed... he thought, trying to muster up as much
clinical detachment as possible--and failing miserably. "D.O.A." I
must've seen those words a thousand times before. Never bothered me before.
After all, I work in law enforcement. It's all part of the job description.
I never gave it a second thought. But now I can't keep my mind off it. Now
it's personal. But why Scully? Why *her*?
Some questions would never be answered. His partner--the woman he entrusted
his life to every day, the woman who had become the best friend he'd ever
had--was dead. Killed by an "unknown assassin"...at least that's what the
official reports would say. But Mulder knew it had been Rutger Lawson.
Lawson would never leave enough clues to convict himself--but Mulder knew
beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lawson had been the one to deal Dana Scully
her final blow. And Mulder was going to make him pay.
Even if it were the last thing he ever did.
XXXXXXXX
*Oh*...something tells me this is just *not* my day... The words echoed
through Scully's mind as she came to consciousness. She tried to lift her
head and groaned quietly when she was rewarded for her efforts by a throbbing
headache. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. There was
something warm and thick running in her eyes. Pressing a hand to her face,
Scully realized that it was blood--from a cut on her forehead.
"Mulder?" she asked inquiringly, using her jacket to wipe away the blood.
She hadn't yet looked in his direction. "You okay?"
He didn't answer. Dabbing away the final traces of blood still oozing from
the wound, Scully turned to her partner. She gasped and dropped the edge of
her jacket, unconsciously switching into her "medical" mode. Hastily, she
unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and got out. She crossed
around the Taurus to better enable her to help Mulder. Her ankle protested
the movement--she must've twisted it in the wreck.
Scully opened the driver's-side door, and leaned in. "Mulder...can you hear
me? Oh, God...just hang on, okay? You're going to be all right."
A young woman, seeing the accident, rushed over to offer assistance. "Oh, my
God...is there anything I can do?"
Scully pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and handed it to the woman.
"Yeah, here. Call an ambulance."
Nodding, the lady took the phone and placed the call.
Scully, meanwhile, overlooked the situation in order to see what she needed
to tend to first. Mulder seemed to be breathing okay for now...a cut on his
arm was bleeding heavily. That had to be controlled. She pulled off her
jacket and applied pressure. His other arm was at such an odd angle...it had
to be broken. A sharp piece of metal had ripped diagonally across his face,
leaving a jagged cut.
The blood soaked through her jacket...the bleeding wasn't letting up. Med
school had taught her to only use a tourniquet as a last resort...but the
situation was getting desperate. And desperate times called for equally
desperate measures. With one hand, she ripped a strip of cloth off the
bottom of her blouse, and used that. The bleeding slowed to a small trickle.
But she couldn't leave it on too long. Of course, she also couldn't take it
off until they got to a hospital. She hoped the EMT's would get there soon.
Mulder blinked his eyes open for just a second, and they looked soulfully at
one another for a moment before he lost consciousness again.
The woman who'd been helping them out came up behind Scully, and put the cell
phone in her purse for her, seeing that the agent's hands were otherwise
occupied. "Can I help you at all? I'm a nurse. My name's Vicki. Vicki
Bennett."
Scully spared a fraction of a second to look back at Vicki before returning
her attention to her wounded partner. "That works out well enough--I'm a
doctor. Could you help me find something to splint his arm with?"
"Sure." Vicki scrounged around the area and quickly located a small board.
Not ideal, but it would work for then. "Now we just need something to secure
it with...wait a minute. I've got an idea. Her eyes widened with
inspiration, and she proceeded to pull two ribbons out of her purse.
After they'd applied the makeshift splint, Scully took a step back to survey
the situation. Vicki watched her carefully for a reaction, which she got
once they heard a siren in the distance.
"Good," Scully sighed, wanting to believe it was the help they'd summoned,
"they're almost here. We've got to get him to the hospital." She reached
out and rested two fingers on Mulder's neck, checking his pulse again.
Swearing softly, she tried checking it in his wrist, then back at the
carotid. "God, *no*. Mulder..."
Thinking quickly, Scully unbuckled the seat belt, and enlisted Vicki's help
in getting him out of the car. She hadn't wanted to move him yet, but she no
longer had a choice. Not if she wanted him to live.
As she started CPR, Scully could hear the ambulance pulling up. The
paramedics allowed her to continue while they got their equipment ready and
charged. Completing a cycle, Scully paused to check Mulder's pulse again.
No change.
"It's not working," she hissed, sounding as defeated as she felt, and moving
back to let the medics work on him. They tried to revive him, tried all the
measures available to them. Nothing worked.
"He's gone," one of the EMT's announced flatly, regret evident in his voice.
"I'm sorry."
"No," Scully whispered, her voice sounding choked with dirt from the grave.
"No, we can't give up!" She moved closer, intending to start CPR again, but
Vicki gently eased her back.
"It's too late," Vicki told her, sympathy filling the words. "I'm so sorry."
In the short time the nurse had met these two, she had been able to sense
their emotional closeness, the depth of their bond.
But Scully didn't hear the latter words. "No," she whispered again, the word
almost having become something of a mantra to her. "No, no, it can't be,
this isn't happening. Not now. Not like this. Not after all we've been
through." She began to cry, and no one could do anything to console her.
XXXXXXXX
Charles looked at Mulder, deep blue eyes meeting green. "You remember now,
don't you?"
The agent nodded. "Yeah, it came back to me--in all-too-vivid detail,
unfortunately. How could you tell?"
Charles shrugged. "Wasn't too hard. You're not exactly transparent, but you
kind of faded out a few minutes ago--it was obvious you were remembering
*something*. It didn't take much to guess what that something was."
Margaret rejoined them then, making a clear effort to keep herself together.
"I still don't believe it. I want to believe this is all some kind of
horrible dream, but..."
"Don't worry, Mrs. Scully," Mulder assured Margaret, putting an arm around
her shoulders, "I'll find him. I'm going to find him and I'm going to make
him pay."
"Find who?" Margaret asked.
"The man who did this to her."
She looked up at him, teary-eyed, daring to hope. "But they said they don't
*know* who it was. That they probably won't be able to find him."
"*I* know who it was," Mulder told her. "His name's Rutger Lawson. I'm not
sure how to find him--but I will. I promise you that. I owe it to Dana. I
owe it to myself."
"Just don't get yourself into anything you can't handle, Fox," Margaret
advised. "I want to see justice served just a much as you do. But I don't
want you getting hurt."
"I'll be careful," Mulder promised, standing up. He walked back to the side
of his fallen companion. She was still beautiful, even in death. Fiery
auburn hair framed a perfect porcelain cheek, and she looked so...well,
peaceful. It was a side of her he had rarely been able to see. He wished he
weren't seeing it now, like this. He sensed, rather than saw, Margaret join
him.
"Maybe it's just maternal prejudice," she began, "but I swear, even now...she
still looks like an angel."
"Yeah," Mulder agreed, thinking the description perfectly appropriate, "she
*does* look like an angel." He sighed softly--a sigh filled with
grief-tinged angst. "A sleeping angel." He brushed his hand across her
cheek, then bent down, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry; I tried."
"I know you did," Margaret replied, thinking his words had been intended for
her. "It wasn't your fault. You did what you could; don't blame yourself
for that."
"'What I could'," Mulder echoed, his voice turning bitter. "I couldn't
really *do* much of anything."
"You called an ambulance," Margaret offered. "You tried to stop the
bleeding."
"Anybody with half a brain could've done that." Mulder pushed a boyish lock
of hair away from his brow. "I didn't really do much for her except be
holding her when she died."
"You never know, Fox," Margaret encouraged him, walking away. "Maybe that
was all she really wanted."
XXXXXXXX