SPOILERS: That'd be telling...Let's say anything up to S7's fair game.
FEEDBACK: It's a simple request: PLEASE SEND IT :-)
DISCLAIMER: Nope...sadly, they're still not mine, so I guess that means they remain property of Chris Carter, Fox, 1013 and all their affiliates. Bah humbug!
TIMELINE: Set present day, but nothing after Je Souhaite happened, so no Doggett, Reyes or William.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for and second place in the October 'Welcome To My Nightmare' fic challenge at Mulder's Refuge with much love and hugs.
"MULDER!"
He looks up, looks round, but she's not there. The setting's familiar, and he feels a strong case of deja vu pressing upon his tired mind, yet he doesn't know how to move from where he's standing let alone pinpoint where her cry is coming from.
"MULDER!"
Distant. Desperate. A plea for help, a question of his whereabouts and a painful cry all wrapped inside that one simple call of his name from that one small voice. If only he knew where--
Left.
The knowledge hits him at full force and he sharply turns his head in that direction - his legs propelling him forward as the spell that had kept him frozen on the spot breaks. The poorly lit tunnel filled with the thick putrid air would deter even the strongest of stomachs from continuing any further without knowledge of how long it goes on for. But he must save her; protect her; comfort her. He's going by the rules of his heart, not his stomach, and so - with heart racing and pounding in his ears, onwards he goes, until finally he is in a large candle-lit cavern.
Scully.
"Mul-der..."
His eyes focus on her tear-stained face (bloodied by the gash on her left temple) and feels the anger rise within him as he studies the predicament his partner's in. She's been sat on a wooden chair and her hands have been tightly bound by cable.
And there's a hunting knife resting against her throat.
Without hesitation or thought of any kind he draws his gun at lightning speed and aims it at the shadow looming over Scully and wielding the threatening implement.
"Sruoy eb reven lliw tahw evah tnac uoy!"
The exclamation makes no sense, but - blood running cold - Mulder somehow understands and tightens the grip on his pistol.
"Leave her alone! Drop the weapon and step away, now!"
"Enod si ereh krow ym. Tuo yaw on sereht."
Light against metal. Wet against skin. Hatred against fear. Everything slows, and through the deep pulsing pounding in his ears, Mulder can just make out his call of her name as his finger presses against the trigger. Nothing. Again. Again. Still trapped in slow motion he tries to run forward, but the cave's muddy floor prohibits his moving anywhere, and all he can do is watch as one by one teardrops of blood weep from his beloved partner's neck and the knife takes the final intimate bite.
xXx
"Scuuullyyyyyy!"
"Mulder, it's okay - it was just a dream...Can you hear me? Mulder?"
With one hand buried in his dark hair, Dana Scully used the other to stroke his sweaty arm. She'd already awoken to his uneasy movements and murmurings ten minutes ago, but had refrained from waking him out of the dream in favour of just trying to comfort him by resting his head in her lap and whispering gentle reassurances. His sobs and - finally - sharp, mournful cry of her name had been the last things she'd expected.
"Mulder, it's me. Wake up."
His eyes opened a fraction, then tightly screwed shut again for a few moments as he tried to grab a hold on his bearings, and then finally they lifted to stare at her.
"Scu-...Scully?" The relief that washed over his features almost broke her heart as she tried to guess what he could possibly have been dreaming. One of his shaky hands reached up to touch her cheek and she leant into the warmth of his palm - reassuring him that she was real. "You're okay?"
More reassurances delivered in the form of a smile and nod of her head. But then an agitated frown creased her brow. "Although you kicked my leg hard enough to leave a nasty bruise, my ears are still ringing from your screaming out my name, and I don't exactly look upon being woken up at three in morning when we have to be up in a few hours for work as fun..."
As his body tensed, Mulder stared up at his partner with wide eyes (panic face definitely in action, though unmistakably lacking any sort of colour). He hated the predictable, programmed response of 'I'm fine' that had come to grate his senses over the years, but more than that he feared these words that gave him an unmasked glimpse at the damage the pain he knew too well he caused her (both physically and mentally) left. Always the need to protect her, and yet never able to succeed - not even in his dreams...
"You can stop that right now!" Scully's annoyed voice cut through his thoughts, and his vision cleared as he focused on her once again. "God, how many times do I have to give you this speech of how I'm here by choice?! I was only teasing." Her features softened and her head cocked slightly to the side. "What, you would have preferred me to reply with 'I'm fine'?"
He weakly smiled at her insight into his psyche, and then - with her help - sat up in the bed. A silence fell between them, and it was obvious she expected an explanation, but he was far from ready to tell her about the recurring nightmare that had been tearing through his sleep for most of the past month - each time more vivid and more difficult to escape; changing each time he learnt what action to take from the night before. No matter how quickly he found her, though, he could never change the outcome. He just wondered how many more times he would have to go through it before the shadowed assailant was finally clear and light enough to identify...
"You've had this one before...Why won't you tell me about it?"
Once upon a time he'd never been a sleeper - insomnia a gift, not a hindrance, in the face of all the work he had to do. But then Scully had come along, and since their relationship had developed to transcend the boundaries of mere 'work partners', she had not only helped him to get some rest, but been his dream-keeper - saving him from any bad nightmares that haunted his tortured mind and exchanging them for pleasant ones. She'd taught him how to share his fears and thoughts in much the same way they'd learnt not to hide away their feelings for each other. ...But not this. He couldn't put this upon her.
His legs swung out to hang over the side of the mattress and he sat up - pulling away from her touch a little more sharply than intended. "It's...It's nothing," he lied, dragging a hand down the front of his face and then raising to his feet. "I just--...It was a bad dream, that's all, an--"
"Mulder?"
"And..." A pause as he reached for his t-shirt and shorts on the chair in the corner of her room with his head lowered in shame. "I'm going for a run to clear my head. I won't be long." Without another word, he rushed to her side of the bed, gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and then left the room.
Two minutes later (not even enough time for him to have tied his laces) the sound of the front door clicking shut was heard.
Dana remained, dumbfounded, on the bed staring at the bedroom doorway. She hadn't moved since her weak attempt to get his attention, and the anger was beginning to boil inside her. She couldn't believe she'd just let him go! She hadn't wanted to press him too hard over the subject of his nightmare (if it was that painful, it would be better to let him take his time and tell her whenever he felt ready), but to have not said a word and then watch him leave was not what she had planned. Now, all she can do is wait for him to get back as soon as possible so that they can talk it through before leaving for work.
Sighing, she layed down, staring at the ceiling - mulling it all over in her mind. It wasn't long, though, before she slipped back into slumber.
xXx
Jogging didn't help. If anything, it had made things worse - small things that he passed bringing back flashes of the nightmare (the butchers' a block from Scully's apartment filling his nostrils with the imaginary decaying smell of the dark tunnel; a baby's shrill cry through the open window of it's bedroom contorting to make the sound of Scully calling his name reverberate in his ears). So here he was in the park, standing on the bridge over the small stream with his eyes tightly shut and trying to focus on gaining the identity of the shadowy figure. He suspected maybe Krycek or the Smoking Man - somebody that he would have reason to dream about in that capacity...but there was something about that voice even more terrifyingly familiar than either of them...
"A troubled soul can' find no refuge in a troubled mind, young man."
Mulder slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to curiously stare at the elderly woman leaning against the railing only a few feet away. Lucky if she stood anywhere near as tall as Scully's lacking height, the blue-eyed woman with dyed-black, long hair looked so old and frail, Mulder had to wonder how she was still able to stand without the aid of a stick or the like.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" he queried with a slight frown.
"I said that ye got worries."
"Sorry to disappoint, but there's no worries here." An awkward smile accompanied his attempt to make her leave him alone, but none of it seemed to work. In fact, she seemed even more determined to interrogate him.
"Telling me ya one of them folk what always go for long walks at four in the morning and look as if they jus' wanna drop down dead here and now? Reg'lar breed for sure, but I didn' know they also worked at the FBI!"
His eyes opened wide before the curious frown returned. "How did you-?"
"I'm good with faces. I seen you eating lunch with that red-haired partner of yours here, an'...aroun'. Not many dress as smartly as you two. Least, not no-one with a normal job." The old woman flashed him a wry, toothless grin before continuing. "So, why ye here alone at this time of the morning with the weight of the world on ya shoulders?"
He didn't know this woman, and yet he felt the urge to speak to her (which, ultimately, made him feel as if he was betraying Scully, but he couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth). "Have you ever had these moments...visions...that show your worst ever fear coming true, and no matter how much you tell yourself it's not real, or how hard you try to change the outcome, it just refuses to let you go?" A brief glance in her direction before he turned his head to look back at the stream flowing beneath the bridge.
"Ya talkin' about dreams?"
"A nightmare, but it's not like any I've had before. I mean, the consequence is something I've always feared, but it's different in that I can learn bits from it and change small bits each time - one night I'll take the wrong turn and go right, but the next time I go the other way because I know right took me to a dead end, for example...I mean, when I first started having it, I could only hear her scream as he killed her, but now I see him do it, and nothing I do stops him...Does any of this make sense?" God, he felt stupid! And was it his imagination, or was he rambling?
"Why wouldn' that make sense?" the elderly stranger smiled, reaching out to rest a skeleton-esque hand on his sweaty arm. "My people think I'm crazy, but I knows the impor'ance of them there dreams. They're there to teach ye...Mebbe show you a glimpse into the future."
That successfully made the blood quickly drain from his face. It couldn't really happen...could it? Fearing for Scully's safety was one thing, but...Not that...No...
"Involve someone special to ye, does it?"
Still petrified by the implications of the woman's words, it took Mulder a few seconds before snapping back to reality and distantly replying, "Very much so."
"Why ain't ye tellin' her 'bout this then?"
His eyelids slipped shut, and suddenly he was back in that dim, damp chamber, helplessly watching as the figure cloaked in black shadow loomed over the most important person he would ever know in this sorry-excuse-for-a-life. One of the candles falls and starts a fire which quickly spreads across the back wall, and with the two figures now silhouetted, the only thing he can see with sharp clarity is the knife against his partner's pale, bare throat
"Mebbe ye need to take another approach, then, if ye can' change the end. Ya bein' blinded by ya irrational fear o' failing her; o' not being able to protect her, let alone save her."
She'd been there when he'd awoken - been there to love and comfort him as she always had - but he'd walked away. She'd waited, not pushed, for him to let her in and share the pain, but he'd cut her out...
"Holdin' it back won' help ye. We all have fears."
The woman's voice echoed in his head and against the walls of the tunnel he found himself trapped in all the time his eyes remained shut. In his mind he saw light flash against the blood-stained knife, and the shadow-man took a step closer.
"You just got to stop the dream seeping into reality."
Their relationship was built on trust - the give-and-take they'd always shared. He feared for her life, and yet he'd turned away...
'Reh tsurt t'nod uoy.'
Mulder frantically shook his head, but still his eyes stayed closed as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead and his heart rate sped up. One second he was remembering her just silently sitting up in the bed as he dismissively kissed her, and then he was seeing her lifeless body slumped in the chair she was bound to...
The shadow took another step closer - features coming into focus.
"The only way to stop that fear is to face it, I say. And that's exactly what you'll do...if ye really want it to end as God - not the devil - means it to."
One more step, more light reflecting off the blade, and then Mulder found himself standing face-to-face with
himself.
xXx
He shot upright to the sound of the buzzing alarm clock.
What the f--?
Hesitantly combing a hand through his unruly hair, he turned his head to look at the empty space in the bed beside him. A million thoughts rushed and crashed through his brain. Surely...? Had he just been dreaming about waking up in her arms? If not, how the hell had he gotten back here after his jog? And that elderly woman...
It was only then that he noticed the folded sheet of paper on the pillow next to his. So, after reaching out to turn off the alarm clock, he anxiously opened the note and read the thankfully familiar cursive script:
Sleepyhead-
See you at the office, and maybe we can talk it out a little then.
S
P.S: REMEMBER TO BRING BREAKFAST AND COFFEE!
With a broad relieved/happy smile splitting his face in half, Mulder sighed and then let his head drop back down against the feather pillow. She was okay. That was all that mattered right now. None of the rest of it made an ounce of sense, but as long as she was okay...
But--
Oh, shit...He was the killer in his dream! Suddenly, that became the only other thing that mattered to juxtapose her good health. The psychologist in him said it was just his belief that all her sacrifices were his fault in visual format - solid fear that her death would be because of him. After all, he would never purposefully hurt her, let alone... No, he'd never do that! But part of him was haunted by the old woman's words,
'They're there to teach ye...Mebbe show you a glimpse into the future...The only way to stop that fear is to face it.'
What if it was a premonition of sorts? He would do whatever it took to make sure Scully was okay, but would he be able to objectively face such a scenario, even with his FBI training? Could he really stop the nightmare just like that?
Or did the woman simply mean that he could stop it by sharing it with his partner?
'Why ain't ye tellin' her 'bout this then?'
He shook his head and - still holding onto Scully's note - slipped out of bed. Nothing added up or made sense, but it was 7:30 in the morning, his brain hadn't quite switched on yet...
And he had breakfast to buy.
xXx
X-FILES OFFICE
FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, D.C.
8:42am
"You took your time," the smiling face framed by auburn hair chided from behind his desk. "And come on, where is it? I'm starving!"
Mulder stood in the doorway to the office for a moment, simply soaking the image of her in and adding it to the large collection in his memory. Twelve years together, and yet every day is like seeing her anew.
"I hate to tell you this, Scully, but They took it," he pouted, hiding their bagels and lattes in a bag behind his back. "Of all the people to hijack, they chose ol' Spooky!"
"'They'?" No surprise to see the arched eyebrow make an appearance.
"The aliens! They abducted our breakfasts not a block from here and then wiped the memories of everyone so that there were no witnesses!"
Scully smiled, crossing both arms over her chest and leaning back in his chair. Buying breakfast had become something they took turns in doing if they weren't together. Despite his eidetic memory, though, Mulder had occasionally come to work empty-handed, and his excuses were almost as legendary as the ones he would give for ditching her. This one was so far 'out there', she knew he had to be teasing, but was happy to play along nevertheless. "Aliens? Really? I was under the impression they had more pressing events on their schedule to tend to?"
"Everybody gets hungry, Scully, even aliens." He shrugged, briefly glancing down at his feet as he fought the urge to laugh - all memories from the dream forgotten for now.
"Hm-mm. And They didn't wipe your memory? I mean, as well as everybody else's, of course?"
"Ah...uh...Well, They know nobody ever listens to me, so They didn't think it was worth wasting Their time." Looking up again, Mulder flashed her a smile before finally taking a step into the office. "I'll tell you what They did do, though, to repay me: They took me direct to your favourite little cafe and" - presenting the paper bag, to her delight - "bought us the best lattes in the neighbourhood!"
Dana sharply stood and reached over to snatch the bag from his grasp, but he was quicker and lifted it out of the way. "Mulder!"
"Nah-ah-huh. What do we say to the nice aliens that are about to invade our planet for buying breakfast?"
Hands planted on hips, frown in place and jaw set, she stared at him - hoping he would back down. Her stomach was doing flips, and she needed something soon, or she'd be forced to kill him. "Bite me!"
His eyebrows raised, his free hand pressed against his chest as if he were having a heart attack, and he playfully acted as if his knees had just given way. "Agent Scully! You need to control yourself and those urges - such language shouldn't be heard at work!" he grinned, closing the small distance that separated them and leaning over to whisper in her ear, "Thanks for the offer, though. I might have to take you up on it later."
Finally, Scully gained possession of the bag as he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips, and then pulled away to produce her half of the goods.
"Have you used that one on Skinner yet?" she queried, sitting back in his chair as he perched on the edge of the desk.
"Huh?"
"Have you tried that excuse with Skinner yet? I can just see you trying to explain to him that you failed to deliver the week's expense report because aliens took it."
"It's a thought," he shrugged, biting into his bagel. "You never know, They might use it for research purposes!"
A small chuckle from both of them, but then an awkward moment of silence filled the room.
"Not-...Not everybody ignores you, Mulder," Dana said quietly, staring down at her drink. "I listen."
She looked up, their eyes locked, and he gave a small nod of his head.
"I know."
An even longer period of silence went by as they finished their breakfasts. Scully occasionally glanced up to see if her partner was ready to talk, but he seemed too engrossed in the contents of his cup, a file on the desk...a fleck of dust on his suit - anything but her. And so the tension continued to coil.
"I'm sorry I was cold this morning - didn't tell you about the dream." The spring sprung, and Dana's head shook a little as it snapped upright at the gentle sound of his voice. "I was so scared that talking about it would make it real, but I should know by now that sharing with you only helps," he continued with a self-deprecating smile.
"I'm not here to 'help'. I'm here to be with you. We 'share' things because we care enough to just see it as second nature, not because we feel it's our job," Dana rebuked, resting a hand on his forearm. "Are you ready now?"
Another nod and smile from him - hesitant but determined nevertheless. "I've been dr--"
RIIIIINNGGG RIIIIINNNGGGGG
The ringing phone on the desk cut Mulder's words off and made Scully throw her head back (hands lifting to cover her face) in despair. Sometimes it made them wonder what they'd have to do to get an easy break for once.
RIIIIINNGGG RIIIIINNNGGGGG
They shared a look - silently asking each other as to if they should or shouldn't answer the phone - before, with a sigh, Scully picked up the receiver to end the incessant noise.
"Scully...Yes, Sir...Ye--..."
Mulder listened to her one-sided conversation - getting a rough picture in his mind from the tone of her voice and the brief glances she shot in his direction of what was being asked of them now - unsure as to if he should let out a sigh of frustration or relief at not having to tell her about the dream now.
"...Well, I'm not sur--...No, no we haven't anything right now...But, Sir--...Why us?" She rolled her eyes and head as Mulder frowned. "Yes--...Yes, Sir. We'll be right up."
"Let me guess: wrong number?" Mulder teased as he watched Dana hang up.
"Skinner wants us in his office now so that he can brief us on a homicide case," the disgruntled red-head sighed.
Puzzled, Mulder pursed his lips - ready to say something - but then had to think it all through again. An arrangement had been made and agreed upon by their boss that he take no more profiling assignments. Even their caseload had drastically cut back to not involve anything that could have been done by the hand of man (there certainly hadn't been any more tracking down of fetshists after Donnie Pfaster - as much for his own sanity, as well as Scully's). So why the hell the assistant director had even considered asking for their help on this was baffling to say the least.
xXx
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER'S OFFICE
9:04am
There were six other agents as well as the A.D. in attendance when Mulder and Scully made it to the fourth-floor office.
"Agents, please come in," one of the elder agents seated at the large board-room table invited, gesturing to two free chairs.
They glanced at each other and then at Skinner (who quickly turned his face away) before hesitantly sitting down. This couldn't be good...
"Thank you for coming," the grey-haired man opposite them smiled. "For the past five months the FBI has been trying to catch a serial killer who's left the bodies of twelve dead women in his wake over six states. Even after working up a solid profile, and doing our damndest to investigate with the little evidence we were able to gather, though, we found ourselves no closer to getting the guy's identity, let alone actually catching him..."
"Agent Mulder doesn't do profiling now!" Dana suddenly blurted before being able to stop the words or tamper the anger in them. All eyes turned in her direction and she felt Mulder's warm palm gently touch her knee underneath the table. She glanced at him and gave a grateful nod and smile before looking back at the man opposite her.
"Assistant Director Skinner made us aware of that when we first approached him to ask for your help. But, as we told him, we're not here for that."
This piqued Mulder's interest and he shifted slightly in his seat. "Why have we been called here then?" he asked, staring directly at his boss.
Skinner nervously twitched as he tightly grasped a brown case folder in his large, sweating hands. He didn't want them on this - it was wrong and unfair after all they'd been through. There were reasons they'd made rules for what cases they did and didn't take. This did not fit into that criteria. He shot Scully an uncertain glance and then quickly looked away again.
"Sir?" she immediately queried in response.
"There's reason to believe that the murderer is now here in D.C," the balding man sighed, still not making eye-contact.
"I still fail to see what that has to do with us," Mulder pressed.
The A.D finally looked up and handed over the casefile. "Yesterday a letter was received at this building from the suspect saying that he's ready to give himself up...only if you two are the arresting officers..." His voice trailed off as he watched Mulder read through the first page and then suddenly freeze - shock and recognition spreading across his face.
"You've got to be kidding?" the younger man coughed, staring back at Skinner after shooting a nervous look in his partner's direction. "But this isn't very funny..."
"Mulder, what is it?" Scully asked, confused and reaching for the file that he tightened his hold on.
"Sir, can I speak to you in private, please?" Mulder ground out through grit teeth, ignoring her.
Skinner gave a small nod (knowing exactly what would be said) and was just raising to his feet when the woman seated next to Dana piped up, "The suspect is believed to be the relative of somebody--"
"Scully, it's obvious we're not needed here," Mulder tried to break in, resting a hand on her arm. "Let's get out of here and leave them to do their job."
She glanced at him, but pulled away from his touch - determined to stay and find out what this was about.
"--that Agent Mulder and yourself investigated once--"
"Scu--"
"--A Michael Duncan Pfaster."
Skinner's head lowered. Mulder (unsure if he was now entering Scully's nightmare or his own) prepared to pull his gun and shoot the bitch that had just off-handedly imparted this on his partner. And all Scully could do was silently sit there as her blood ran cold and the surname reverberated in her head.
Pfaster. Donnie Pfaster - the primary reason Mulder had insisted on their change in priorities. Donnie Pfaster, the 'man' (using the term very loosely) that had tried to kill her twice and she'd eventually gunned down on that second attempt four years ago...had family? She didn't remember hearing that. The concept of another homicidal freak in that gene pool didn't surprise her, though, so she remained silent - desperately seeking to hide behind her wall of professionalism.
"Why us? Why now? That was a long time ago," Dana started, managing to hide the tremble in her voice (at least from everybody but Mulder). "And how long have you known who the suspect was?" The fact that they'd heard about none of this whatsoever until now was doing little to tamper frustration.
"Pfaster left evidence that identified himself - enough, in fact, to incriminate and damn him - at the last murder site three weeks ago. We were able to keep the information from the media, and that was when we first contacted your superior as we knew of the connection to you," the grey-haired man explained, pointing to the file laying in front of Mulder. "However, he saw no reason at the time to dig up the past...Until the letter arrived."
"It's a game," Mulder grumbled. "He had it all planned out - particularly his clumsiness with leaving the evidence at the last murder...He wanted it to be known who he was so that we would be brought on board. When we weren't, he had to move to Plan B."
Still numb, Dana could only stare at each face in turn - looking for a suitable answer to this craziness. If she was asleep, she really wanted to wake up now. This had robbed her of peaceful rest for the past four years of her life, whether she pretended to the contrary or not (that face always forming and transforming in her dreams...the bath, the candles, that voice...)
"A time and place were specified in the delivered note," the woman Mulder still wanted to shoot continued. "All you would be required to do is show your faces at the scene and let our assembled SWAT team do the rest."
Skinner remained silent.
There seemed to be no options offered in the matter.
xXx
"MULDER!"
To no great surprise, it hadn't gone as easily as those with probably very little experience in the field had anticipated, and now Mulder could only hate himself for ever listening to them in the first place. Of course, he'd insisted that his partner stay behind and let him go alone, but - stubborn as ever - she'd argued back.
'This can't be about me or whatever - we can't get emotional about this when there's the possibilty of more lives being put in danger,' she'd sighed as they stood in the hallway outside Skinner's office (having excused themselves briefly from the meeting). 'I just...I want to be able to put that in the past and move on...'
'Then just let me go,' had been his weak plea. 'I don't see the need for even one of us t--'
'Come on, Mulder! You know full well it's me he wants - I killed his cousin! Look, all we have to do is be there...The big guns will do the rest. Let's get this out of the way, and maybe things'll return to as 'normal' as they can be with us." Her weak smile and the touch of her hand on his had done very little to soothe his objections and concern, but he'd always put his faith in her above everything else, so the agreement was made: they would go, but neither would let the other out of their sight.
"MULDER!"
And here they were now, half-way across town from the address they'd been sent to in some kind of disused tunnel system running underneath a just-as-desolate and run-down factory.
Seperated.
They'd been standing side-by-side, watching as the heavily armed officers swarmed the one-storey home, when he'd suddenly felt the sharp, backward motion of his partner's body, and she'd frantically stretched for his arm. He'd quickly turned, only to see somebody disguised in SWAT garb dragging her along with a knife pressed against her neck.
'Sc-'
'Attract the others, and I'll kill her now!' the suspect had barked, nodding his head in the direction of the house.
He'd obeyed, only able to watch in terror as she was pulled into a nearby car. It took a while, but eventually his mind had caught on to what was happening and he'd run to their rental to begin the chase and rescue mission.
The chase had ended with the find of the abandoned car outside the factory. His fall through the floor down into the underground tunnels had been unexpected (as well as painful - breaking his right arm and badly twisting his ankle), but he just prayed the rescue mission ended successfully.
"Heeeeeelp!"
That small voice so loud in his heart as she cried out for him made all hope for that outcome begin to fade, but he shook his head and looked at each of the three seperate tunnel entrances in turn thoughtfully.
'They're there to teach ye...Mebbe show you a glimpse into the future.'
Left.
The source of the knowledge scares the hell out of him, but with the prospect of walking through Hell now at his feet, he knows he must follow this with every piece of knowledge he's gained in the nightmare. He must get to her before the inevitable happens.
So, limping as quickly as possible, he took off down the dark, dank confined tunnel - struggling to hold his breath and fight against the putrid smells of rotting flesh, filthy water, rat faeces and God-only-knew what else that enveloped him.
"Mul...der...?"
He opened his watering eyes and the breath whooshed out of him as he spotted her...in the middle of his nightmare-come-true - complete with authentic throat-slasher too! Just his luck.
"Why are you here? Why do you bother? She's not yours - she never has been and never will be," Michael Pfaster calmly remarked, pleasurably glancing at the blade pressed against his prey's pale throat. "She's Donnie's. That's why he broke out...But she's his unfinished business. So there's no room for you or anybody else - you can't have what will never be yours!"
"Donnie was psychotic and should have died a long time ago," Mulder ground out - gritting his teeth against the waves of pain that, mixed with the inescapable stench and fear for Scully's safety, was beginning to make him very sick. "You don't have to be like that. ...I mean, after killing twelve women you are, but...trying to follow your cousin's path will only result in you being dead also because the second I sense you're gonna hurt her, I'll kill you." Shakily, he raised his weapon with his left hand and aimed it at Pfaster. "That I can guarantee."
"As long as I finish what Donnie didn't, it won't matter. There's no way out," Michael beamed as the thumb of his right hand lightly caressed the knife's handle. "Thirteen is my lucky number, and she'll be it. I'll go to heaven for what I've done, and after this sacrifice, so will Don."
"Newsflash!" Mulder barked, "There's a place they put people like your 'wonderful' cousin where even burning in Hell for all eternity would be too good for them! You think they even let them out for day breaks?"
With her head raised a fraction so that her chin pointed away from the edge of the knife, Dana shot a nervous glance at her captor and then out through the corner of her eye at Mulder. He would save her...she knew it - failure was not an option for him, and she knew he'd do whatever it took... But he was injured, unable to keep a steady aim with his gun...
...And then, to kill almost all hope, she noticed something he clearly hadn't realised due to the cloud of fear, pain and adrenaline attacking his senses: the clip had fallen out of his gun - likely when he'd hurt himself.
'Please give him strength, God,' she silently prayed as her eyes slipped shut. 'Please, Mulder...'
"My work here is done," Pfaster simply stated, moving to end this now.
As candlelight reflected off the metal, Mulder's finger squeezed the trigger of the Sig Sauer, only to feel his heart stop when nothing happened. Pfaster's arm pulled back slightly, and several more frantic pulls of the trigger in quick succession were made, to no avail.
His reality seemed to slow down as - heartbeat thrumming in his ears and sweat dripping from his body - Mulder lunged for the man about to kill his partner.
'The only way to stop that fear is to face it, I say,' the old woman had told him, and he prayed with all his being that he could solve it all that easily by doing this - that he could save Scully.
The arm holding the knife sharply jerked, reflecting light made coloured spots distort his vision, and blood spattered against skin.
"Mulder!"
He diverted his eyes away from the leering face of the murderer to glance at Scully. There was blood on her, but she wasn't cut. A relieved sigh quickly escaped past his lips, but then a frown creased his features as he looked down at his chest and the blood that seeped through his sliced shirt there.
"You fell for it," Michael Pfaster remarked smugly, gaining power over the slightly-swaying Mulder.
"I...I wa-was the o-...y'after..." Mulder coughed - the pain in his ankle, arm and now chest forcing the dizziness to claim him.
"She has to pay for what she did - suitable justice the law has looked over needs to be delivered - and suffering and watching you die; of having to live without you seems good enough."
"Let him go, please," Dana pleaded. "He's badly injured...Just leave him..."
Pfaster shook his head and - the smile never leaving his face - he raised the knife to make the final blow.
That was when the gunshot echoed against the walls of the chamber and both Mulder and Pfaster collapsed to the floor.
A second later there was the sound of several pairs of feet running forward, and Dana opened her eyes to see the five SWAT team members moving to check the two bodies. A turn of her head revealed Assistant Director Skinner quickly untying the ropes that bound her to the chair.
"Scully, are you okay?" he asked gently, wiping away the spots of blood from her face.
"He's dead!" one of the uniformed men announced.
The words rang in her ears and she sharply pulled away from the balding man to drop down beside her partner.
"Mul-?"
"...Never...happ'n' li'...in dream," Mulder choked, staring at her through narrowed eyes. "Ho-pe ol' woman righ'...Y-you OK?"
Old woman? Never like this in his dream? What was he talking about? Was he delirious - going into shock? She wanted to ask so many questions, but as she thankfully heard somebody phone for immediate medical assistance, all she could do was be grateful that he was still hanging on.
"I'm fine," she whispered against his cheek as she kissed him and soothingly combed her fingers through his hair. "It's just you we have to watch over again. You've really gotta stop doing this to me, Mulder - my senses can't stand this anymore!"
He coughed up a little more blood and quickly raised his good arm to wipe it away. Scully did it for him instead though.
"Don't move," she assured. "The ambulance will be here soon, and then you'll be fixed up faster than you can say 'conspiracy'."
"Ha-...Had to face so...so you safe...Fear face...No...Fa-face f-f-fear...Nigh'mare...scare...stop..."
Dana struggled to hold back the sobs, and was about to tell him to preserve his energy when Skinner quietly asked from behind, "The ambulance is on its way. How's he doing?"
Still stroking her partner's hair, she glanced over her shoulder and then sadly back down at the large slash mark across his chest. "I...He feared for my life in exactly the same way I fear for his...Pfaster knew exactly how to tap into that..."
"Dana?" Walter pressed.
"He's...He's going to be-...He's gonna be okay. He has to be." Again she lowered her head to kiss Mulder's face.
"H-hurts..." came the whispered - barely audible - voice from below her. "Scu...leeee..."
"I know," she wept in reply, burying her face against his neck. "But you're gonna hold on, partner. We've still got work to do and more aliens to buy lunch for, so don't go ditching me now!"
Mulder managed to croak out a small laugh before the seriousness returned to his face. He stared at her, and as he felt himself slipping away, he knew that at least he was staring into the eyes of an angel. Anything beyond this couldn't be all bad. "Love y-..."
That was when the blackness finally, mercifully took him.
xXx
"MULDER!"
Dana sat bolt upright and frantically looked around her, trying to gain some bearing of where she was. The too-familiar stench of disinfectant should have given it away, but she was too busy being confused as to if everything up to now had been a dream or not. The drying blood on her hands and clothes pointed to the latter.
Suddenly the sound of steadily beeping monitors registered in her brain and she turned her head once more to stare at the bandaged, stitched and unconscious body in the bed next to where she sat.
"Oh, Mulder..."
As if reacting to the sound of her voice, his eyes fluttered and then his head moved to face her. Half a minute later, his eyelids slowly opened to half-mast. "Scu-lly...I had this nightmare that somebody slit your throat, and I couldn't stop it," he wheezed, never breaking eye-contact. "But then everything got repeated over and over until finally I...I got hurt instead and..."
"You saved me," she smiled, tightly clasping his left hand in one of hers and using the other one to rest against his cold cheek. "I had a nightmare almost exactly like that. Must be contagious."
"Almost as fun as flesh-devouring fungae," Mulder joked. His voice fell flat though and he winced as he flicked a glance first at his plastered arm and then at the bandaging around his chest. "A little more painful, though."
"How do you feel?"
"Like...I took on Captain Hook and forgot to fly away..."
She tried, but the chuckle refused to pass her lips. He was okay, but when she thought what could have happened...
More silence followed as she struggled to keep her composure and he mulled over what to say. He'd come close again to leaving her for good, and he knew it was tearing her apart. He just wished he could make it better for her.
"But at least I'm alive. What happened to Pfaster?"
"He's dead," Dana responded without hesitation. "Apparently Skinner was just arriving at the house when I was taken hostage. He called for back-up and followed your car at a safe distance. He got lost in the tunnels though. Luckily the first one he went down was short and ended with a brick wall. He shot Pfaster before...before he finished you."
"So, really, Skinner's the hero? Damn...I was looking forward to claiming my reward as well!"
She frowned, tightening her hold on him. "You don't have to put your life on the line for that," she chided. "If anything, that only lessens your chance of getting it!"
"Well, it was worth a try," he sighed, nodding his head. "So, how long for this holiday in hospital?"
"No more than overnight as long as your vital signs remain stable." Easily shifting into 'Doctor Scully' mode, she squared her shoulders, but never let go of his hand. "You lost a lot of blood, and there was the fear that the knife had punctured your lung, but - thankfully - the blade didn't cut as deep as that and the wound is almost superficial. Nevertheless, there is some bad pectoral muscle damage. After blood transfusions and a couple hours in surgery to stitch you up, the only best medication left is lots of rest - as little movement as possible for a few weeks. The same for your sprained ankle and broken arm... Nothing that can't be done at home."
"As well as a little TLC?"
"Oh, definitely." A pause and then, "I was so scared, Mulder...It was like I was trapped in my worst nightmare come true! Everything just..."
"Same here...That nightmare that kept waking me up? It was exactly the same - that was how I knew which tunnel to take. I don't know how to explain it, or why any of this happened. I just know I once met an elderly woman somewhere between sleep and reality who taught me the only way to beat my fear was to face it. If what we just went through isn't classed as 'facing it', I don't know what is. If not, anybody's welcome to my nightmare - very welcome." He gave a sad smile, but it brightened as he realised she'd fallen asleep again in the hospital chair - exhaustion tampered by relief helping her along. Resting his cheek into the warmth of the palm now lying on the pillow, he allowed his own eyes to close and deliver him to a nightmare-less sleep.
THE END
There's a light in the old mill
Where the witch weaves her charms,
But dark is the chamber
Where you sleep in my arms.
Now come you by magic, by trick, or by spell
I have you and hold you,
And love you right well!
Marjorie Bowen ('Kecksies')