Timeline: 7x10 Sein und Zeit.

Category: Missing Scenes

She was beginning to think that Mulder was leveling out a bit. He'd been spending more time with her outside of the Bureau and the time they had spent together was blessedly angst-free. Magicians, snake cults, and the like might take up their professional time, but Mulder seemed more emotionally grounded. Nevertheless, she knew the one thing that could shake him to his core: his sister, Samantha. And this case of the missing Amber Lynn girl was just the sort of thing that set Mulder off.

It worried her really, him demanding to be a part of a case that she knew couldn't be good for him. She feared that each time he indulged in this particular obsession he would become that much harder to reel back in. Maybe one day he wouldn't be salvageable. She could only hope that day didn't come.

And perhaps she wasn't the only one that felt this way about this particular obsession of Mulder's. Skinner had pulled her aside, eager to put a stop to Mulder's unwanted interference. "Try to talk to him."

"I have. He's not listening to me."

"Make him understand, Agent Scully."

She wasn't sure she could save Mulder from himself. She wasn't sure she could rescue him from drowning. And there was a distinct possibility that when he went down, he would pull her under as well. Not that Mulder would willfully sacrifice her to his quest: he'd once been given that choice, and on that bridge he'd chosen his partner over what he had thought to be his sister. No, she would be a victim of the silent emotional stake she held in her partner--it would be she who would begin to pull apart at the seams should Mulder martyr himself. Mulder may have been dependent on her at first, but now she was firmly convinced that they were both fully and mutually dependent. For better or for worse.

"Skinner is royally pissed. At you."

"I'm sure he is."

"He expected a report at noon. He waited. Now he sent me to find you, to get it."

"I don't have a report."

"They had to move on the case. The media got wind of the police findings and they're going to broadcast them. The parents are being held for further question."

"They're not guilty, Scully."

Scully knew Mulder would say this, and she was fairly sure her logic wouldn't convince him otherwise. "The facts would say otherwise. There's no sign of a break-in. Both the parents were at home at the time that the girl disappeared."

"They lied about where they found the note."

"Why?"

"That's what I've been thinking about."

"Is it the media or just your own morbid fascination with the killing of an innocent?"

"She's not dead, Scully."

She tried to warn him. She tried to speak to his rational self. She tried in vain. "You're personalizing this case. You're identifying with your sister." She knew beyond a doubt that Mulder couldn't put aside his sister—he was too close to the case. Mulder might be the psychologist, but he was hopelessly blind when it came to his own weaknesses.

"My sister was taken by aliens. Did I say anything about aliens, Scully?" His tone was mocking, distant…nothing more than static.

Yes, it was becoming painfully clear that she couldn't save him from himself. "You're doing exactly what I said. You're personalizing this case."

He was so adamant, so obsessively insistent: "No, I'm going to solve this case. I am going to solve it…I'm going to find those kids."

What if he did; what if he found them and what he found dragged him under. "What if they're dead, Mulder? Don't go looking for something you don't want to find."

...

It was the sort of thing that she didn't want to have to tell Mulder. Let someone else bring him bad tidings for once. But who else could tell him something like this? If she was his anchor, it had to be her, no matter how unpleasant a message. She would have to tell him and then she would have to try to catch him when he fell. She walked through the Bureau, her heels echoing in her ears. How do you say it? What kind of words do you use? "Mulder, your mom's dead."

She had been watching him carefully for days now: first due to the missing child case and now over his mother's death. She watched him as he paced around his mother's house. She had insisted on coming with him, and he had barely acknowledged the request one way or the other. Her stomach began to knot as Mulder looked into the empty picture frames.

"She saw me on the news. She wanted to talk about the missing girl, Amber Lynn. She wanted to tell me something about her, or maybe she couldn't tell me over the phone because she was afraid that they would do something like this to her."

Scully didn't need to be the psychologist in this partnership to surmise that Mulder was demonstrating signs of paranoia. She wanted to reel him in, but she wasn't sure how best to do it. "Who?"

"Whoever took my sister. Look at this place. I mean, it's like… it's all staged—the pills, the oven, the tape. It's like a bad movie script. They would…they would have come here and they would have threatened her. She would be upset; they would have to sedate her. I would look for a, uh…a needle puncture mark or something else in her system besides these pills."

The knot in her stomach twisted. "No, Mulder. Please don't ask me to do this." She couldn't do it—she couldn't slice into Mulder's mother.

His eyes were desperate: "Scully, who else can I ask?"

"An autopsy, Mulder? I mean, it's one thing on a stranger but you're my friend, and she's your mother…"

"I know, but if you don't do it, I might never know the truth."

Mulder and his Truth. Scully was sure that he was wrong, sure that the truth he was looking for would not be confirmed in an autopsy. Having Mulder's complete trust could bring with it numerous un-pleasantries. Performing this autopsy, in order to shake Mulder of whatever his fevered brain was concocting would just have to be yet another drawback to being his touchstone.

"I'll do it, but you're coming back to D.C. with me right now. No more Amber Lynn for now." Mulder rocked back on his heels, considering. She wasn't going to leave him alone: in his moment of hesitancy she decided not to let him voice any objections. "Come on, Mulder," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

...

Mulder's grip around her waist was almost painfully tight. Scully rhythmically ran her hands through his hair, trying to soothe him with soft the 'shhh's that her mother used to make when she'd hurt herself as a child. Scully was unaware of how much time had passed before Mulder's grip slackened some and she stood from the crouching position she had been in. Mulder remained hunched over in his desk chair, resting his head in his hands.

Scully moved a few steps to his couch, sitting down on the edge and leaning forward to squeeze Mulder's leg. "Come here," she urged. She wanted him to get away from his desk—get far enough away from his message machine that he wouldn't press 'play' again. His head swung to look at her. He looked so broken—so damaged. "Come here," she repeated with another squeeze. He continued to stare at her fixedly. "Sit by me, Mulder," she pleaded. His face finally registered some understanding and he stood slowly coming to sit beside her, so that their legs were touching.

They sat there for some time with only the sound of Mulder's fish tank providing any distraction in the deadening silence. Scully sat looking down at her lap, knowing that Mulder was staring blankly ahead. She had been anxious earlier in the week, now she was nearly completely drained: she knew it had fallen to her lot to save Mulder, if she could. When she'd been assigned to debunk Mulder's work, she had no idea that she would have to play savior. Finally, Mulder's hand snaked out and grasped Scully's from her thigh, pulling it into his own lap. She chanced a look up at him, and his gaze caught hers.

"This is worse," he said, tears still welling up in his eyes.

Scully shook her head. She didn't know what he meant.

"This is worse," he repeated.

She swallowed, wishing she could understand.

"It's easier to hate Them. To blame Them. It's harder to know this is all my fault." Mulder's voice caught on his last word.

Scully's brows knit together. "No, Mulder," she said softly.

He squeezed her hand tightly. "Haven't you noticed, Scully, that everything I touch turns to shit?" he asked.

"Mulder, no. Mulder, your mother's death has nothing to do with you."

His face displayed his disbelief. "Scully, you're clever. Put the evidence together. Since you've known me how many good things have happened to you? To your family? To mine?"

Scully pulled her hand from Mulder's grip, taking his face in her hands. "Listen to me, Mulder. What happened to your mother had nothing to do with you. Don't do this. Don't put everything on yourself." Her tone was firm—she wanted to make him believe. After he remained silent for a few moments, Scully thought she might have won her point and she released his face. "And the other things…those other things…they have nothing to do with you either. Those things were their fault."

Mulder shook his head weakly. "Why didn't she tell me? Why would she keep that from me"

"I don't know, Mulder. Maybe she was trying to spare you. Parents do that."

He gripped the sides of his head. "Maybe there was something I could have done."

"There wasn't. No one could." Mulder continued to press on the sides of his head, until Scully pulled one of his hands away from his face. He seemed as if he was about to explode again. "Mulder," she said firmly. He looked down at her. "Mulder, do you trust me?" He looked away, but she pulled his gaze back with slight pressure from her fingertips on his chest. "Mulder, answer me."

"Scully," he pleaded, shaking his head.

"Do you?"

He sighed running his hand through his hair. "You know I do!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Then listen to me. You do this—you blame yourself for everything. But, you have to trust me." He paused, and Scully thought she could see his jaw muscles loosen. "You can't blame yourself for this. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to do this to yourself." He looked away from her briefly. "She didn't blame you…and I don't blame you for anything either. Nothing."

Another sob caught in Mulder's throat, and he wrapped his arm around Scully's shoulder, pulling her head into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her silky red hair, shutting his eyes tightly.

'I don't deserve this kind of dedication,' he thought. "Why are you here?" he asked raggedly.

"I wanted to check on you," she said into his shirt.

"But, why?"

Scully pulled back from his clasp, shaking her head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Yes. Why are you here?" Mulder desperately wanted to know. Was she motivated by duty, pity, clinical concern?

"Because, Mulder. That's what we do."

Her words were simple; they felt like a balm to his soul.

After a long and mostly sleepless night, Scully had awakened to the sound of rapping on Mulder's apartment door. Mulder sat up quickly, seemingly already awake, but she reached out to stop him.

"I'll get it," she said slipping off of the bed and walking from his bedroom. She felt stiff from the awkward position she had been in and her feet hurt from never having taken off her shoes. She had been so grateful that Mulder had finally agreed to lie down that she had forgotten to slip her shoes off.

She opened the door. Skinner stood before her. She couldn't have been less pleased.

"Hi."

"Hi," she responded flatly. 'Yes, I'm here. Where else would I be?' she thought inwardly. Of course, she could tell that Skinner was perhaps regrettably unsurprised by her appearance at Mulder's door.

"How's he doing?"

"It's been a hard night for him." 'And I wish you would just leave him alone,' she added silently. Maybe she could will Skinner away.

"Billie LaPierre is asking for him. She's got something to say and she'll only talk to Mulder."

She wanted to slam the door in his face. Mulder's mother is dead. Mulder's mother is dead, and he blames himself. He blames himself for everything. Billie LaPierre can go to hell.

"It's not a good…" Scully was interrupted by Mulder's appearance next to her at the door. She swallowed, wishing he'd stayed in the bedroom.

"What is it?" Mulder asked.

"This case has heated up. I've booked two flights for us."

Mulder nodded and walked back into the apartment.

Scully blinked. Her best efforts were still failing. "Well, then you better book three."