Twins-an x-files novel Chapter one, a x-files fanfic

An X-files Novel

Summary: Scully's cancer returns and she is given days when her body disappears from the hospital. Treatments under the supervision of a certain smoking man lead Agent Scully to a mysterious little girl who looks familiar. Too familiar.

Rating:PG I know I know you all wanted more swearing and violence. But there are ways around that.

Category:hmmm that's a good question lets see….Definitely angsty…you want angst you got angst. Did I mention angst. I'm feeling slight romance not enough for me to devote it to romance but you know. Picture season six and that is the degree of romance I am going for. (translation: you will not find any "Oh Mulder I love you more then life itself." Or "Scully will you marry me? I've loved you from the moment I saw you." You will find 1) Scully doubting herself 2) Mulder doubting himself 3) both of them denying any feelings other then friendship 4) other people joking about their relationship etc.) Defiantly an x-file. Hmmmmmm maybe I can get you some humor too.

Spoilers: You betcha! Anything up and through season six is fair game. You've been warned.

Archive: If you think it's worth it sure, just let me know first, keep all this attached, and tell me where so I can visit. Fanfiction.net is the only place that I have put it so………….

Contact: phoebs_fan2001@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: NO I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS FROM THE X-FILES. IF I DID THINGS WOULD BE DIFFERENT. (FOR EXAMPLE KRYCEK WOULD BE ALIVE) I DO HOWEVER OWN ANY OTHER LITTLE CHARACTERS LIKE SCULLY'S DOCTORS AND EXTRA PEOPLE. I ALSO OWN MY SWEET LITTLE ANNE AND MY MEAN MAN IN THE DARK SUIT. IF FOR SOME REASON YOU FEEL THE NEED TO SUE ME GO AHEAD. YOU CAN'T GET ANYTHING FROM ME SINCE I HAVE NO MONEY OR INCOME. BUT HEY YOU MIGHT ENJOY THE LAWYER'S FEES RIGHT. IF YOU WANT TO BORROW MY CHARACTERS I CAN'T SUE YOU, IF YOU PROMISE TO RETURN THEM SAFELY YOU MAY BORROW THEM. LIKE YOU WOULD WANT TO….

Notes: I started this a while ago and never got around to finishing it. It takes place after the movie and during season six if I have included other parts later I must say that I am sorry and somebody please tell me so I can fix it. THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. Written in Mulder and Scully's points of view with a narration for parts where the two main characters are absent. I figured I would experiment with it and see what everyone thinks. Also please take the time to tell me what you think and be brutally honest I really want to know if you think it sucks and if you enjoyed it I will try and post more sooner. Well that's all for now hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

Scully's Apartment

Georgetown, MD

12:32 AM

"Help me Mommy!" the child screamed in my head. Her voice chilling me like no other sound on earth, taunting and haunted at the same time. "Mommy where are you?…Mommy?…Mommy!"

"Emily!" I cried out in vain, fighting against the invisible restraints that held me in place. She was slipping further and further away from me and I was growing weaker and weaker from fighting against my unseen assailants.

Then she was gone, I was free, and only her disembodied voice remained to pounce on my weakness.

"Mommy…Why didn't you save me?" her voice left me cold.

I bolted awake in a cold sweat, the sheets beneath me damp and clammy. Wiping at my eyes I vowed not to let it get to me as I glanced at the clock. Great, 12:30 in the morning. I tried not to get frustrated by the fact that I had finally drifted off about a half hour ago after three hours of trying. In fact when I flopped back on my back and threw an extra pillow across the room I was almost completely calm, that is until it knocked over a picture on my dresser, sending it crashing to the floor where the glass broke.

Turning on my bedside lap I struggled to free my tangled limbs from the sheets that bound me in place, no wonder I couldn't reach Emily. By the time I had gotten over to the mess I'd managed to bump my shin on my night stand and stub my toe on the corner of the bed, I was doing good so far with only one or two explicatives escaping my lips.

When I cut my finger on a piece of glass I decided that it was going to be one of those nights. The kind where I found a late night movie or curled up with a good book because sleep was something I obviously was not going to be granted.

Sweeping up the final pieces of glass I tossed the pillow back onto the bed hoping that sometime later tonight I could get back there but knowing that that was not very likely.

After I had taken care of my injuries and pulled my robe on I made my way to the kitchen for some coffee. I'd given up on even the notion of sleep when I had knocked over not one but two bottles of medication in the bathroom and hit my head on the sink in retrieving them. By now I figured it would be safer to drink some coffee in front of the television and not move.

On the table were some notes I'd taken on the last case Mulder and I had been working on. I brushed by them hoping that they would fall to the ground so I could leave them there where they wouldn't bother me. Of course with the luck I was having that wasn't possible and they stayed on the table to taunt me the whole time I was making my coffee.

Finally I gave in and sat at the table looking them over, knowing I would have to write a report on them but not having the faintest idea of where to start. My eyes scanned the papers again and reviewed the facts.

Anthony Wills of Denver Colorado Predicts the death of five state officials, knowing when and how the victims would be killed down to the very last detail. Of course we'd never gotten to ask him about it since when we tried to talk with him he wasn't living in the same place and no records of his existence could be found. It read like a tabloid heading, Psychic Boy Tells All: End of the World is Coming… But that wasn't the only thing that had attracted Mulder to this particular case…When questioned how he knew these details he said he'd heard them from the killer. Oh that wouldn't have been so bad if he had left it at that but no. "I heard it in my head." In his own words.

One name had stood out in Mulder's head, Gibson Praise. He'd been on a real Gibson streak lately. Gibson was the key, we had to find Gibson. I was starting to hate that name.

I'd drawn my own conclusions of course. Possibly overheard killer talking about the crime, watched too much TV, or he just had an over active imagination. Here Mulder had taken the liberty of adding his own notes in his chicken scrawl. Yeah and my fish jump through flaming hoops on the weekends for fun right after they go to the local arcade to catch up on all the news from the local serial killer. Anthony and Gibson clearly have…

I wanted to tell him to shove his fish where the sun didn't shine but I resisted the urge to call him up. And instead finished reading.

No leads could be found.

Of course was I expecting anything else from this?

I slammed my coffee cup on the table angrily sending coffee flying everywhere. Taking the notes in my hand I tore them furiously taking my rage at my partner out on the notes. Realizing how much I hated him at the moment lessened the frustration I was feeling so I slowed my crazed fingers into tearing the remaining parts slowly, deliberately, into small equal pieces. The methodical movements seemed to satisfy my sick and twisted need to somehow hurt him while dulling my mind to a point of numbness that made it all too easy to forget. Easy to forget the coffee dripping on my leg, the overwhelming sense of exhaustion that left every pore of my being aching, the constant headaches I'd been experiencing, the nauseating dizziness, the fact that I was sick of Mulder and his paranormal goose hunts, that I was sick of losing everything for one little piece of truth only to find that we could never prove it or to have it taken from us later.

I watched the little pieces of paper float to the floor and pondered the metaphoric nature of it. Some pieces landed on the table while others landed on the floor. Some in the coffee while others landed and rested dryly without any interference. I could pick out the pieces that were Melissa, Emily, my abduction, my past friends, my health, and my sanity. All of it was there, some of the pieces I could pick up again and keep while others like Emily were lost in the spilt coffee. Looking down I saw that more pieces were ruined then saved.

I tried to tell myself that I was being silly. Looking at torn pieces of paper to define this next big decision in my life was no better then looking at tea leaves or chasing after ghosts. True I had lost a lot but that didn't mean there was nothing good in my life anymore. I had my friends…ok so I didn't have quite as many as I used to. I had my family…yes it was a lot smaller then I liked now. I had my…my…I couldn't say it because honestly I didn't know if I still did…I didn't find it likely, I was after all a doctor and I couldn't deny all the symptoms forever. So I'd lost a lot. So. I kept trying to find a bright spot in all this mess.

Mulder's chicken scrawl glared up at me from the piece that so clearly represented him. It had landed on my lap of all places, safe from any contaminating elements. It was bigger then the rest of the pieces and was the only piece to have landed on my lap. I tried to ignore the symbolism. And I think I was doing exceptionally well so far. I didn't think about his words the previous summer, you kept me honest. You made me a whole person. I didn't think about his drugged words this past fall or how they had infuriated me, I love you. I didn't think about how he had saved my life so many times or how I had saved his. I didn't think about the night in the hospital when I was dying from cancer, how he had come to me and cried by the side of my bed, thinking I was asleep. I didn't think about the fluke men and goat-suckers, the train cars and alien bounty hunters. I didn't think about his hand on the small of my back, his innuendos, his hand in mine, his arms around me comforting me, and I certainly didn't think about the almost kiss we'd shared. In fact I didn't think about him so much it felt like he was standing behind me watching me make this decision.

Sometimes when I am alone and I have some serious thinking to do it feels like he is there with me. It hadn't bugged me so much before because I could always ignore it but now with his writing staring me in the face I can't ignore the feeling.

Sometimes I couldn't separate my professional life and my private life. More and more lately the two have become tangled together so that I can't find which way is up.

And sometimes, not very often and only under certain conditions and even then not often enough for me to worry about it too much, I can't tell where I stop and he begins but that doesn't happen frequently or anything. Seldom at best.

I'm afraid he's invading more and more everyday. Before I only saw him at work but then more and more work followed me home so he came home with me too. Before I knew it he had a key to my apartment and my mother's number on his speed dial at home in case of emergencies. Then my mother was asking me if I wanted to invite Fox- she was on a first name basis with him something I wasn't even allowed-to thanksgiving dinner and asking if I was going to spend New Years with Fox. I wanted to know when I started keeping a spare set of clothes at his apartment and when he started keeping one at mine. Or when we had started spending Friday nights at his place watching movies. When had I stopped dating because I couldn't find time to fit it into my schedule? When had I stopped wanting to date anyone. When had I started missing his face over the weekends and when had I started wanting him to call me at home in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.

But I didn't want to think about that now. I couldn't afford to analyze our relationship because in all honesty it wouldn't be fair. I had to get out before more of my life ended up in those little puddles of spilt coffee. I had to get out before the Mulder piece couldn't be torn apart from the rest of me. I had to get out now.

Mulder glared up at me and I nodded in agreement. Yes I was being foolish. I don't know how I even entertained the thought of leaving. I had told him so many times that I wouldn't. He trusted me to keep that word and I felt obligated to. But was that the only reason I was staying? Because I felt obligated to?

No, part of me assured. No, he means too much to you to leave.

But that was reason enough to run wasn't it? Well that and the impending test results.

This time the Mulder piece looked at me in pity and I brushed it angrily off my lap hoping it would land in a puddle of coffee and give me my answer. Strangely enough though I couldn't bring myself to look where it landed. I was afraid. Afraid of what I'd find, afraid to believe it.

I felt overwhelmingly guilty at my thoughts. And even though the incriminating piece of paper was no longer on my lap I felt as though it's eyes were boring into my head, seeing the treachery I was trying so valiantly to hide. Seeing the unavoidable truths that I was coming to discover.

I wasn't sure I could keep doing this.

I wanted a normal life.

I was tired of chasing this elusive thing we called the truth only to have it thrown in our face at too high a cost.

Part of me wanted out.

Part of me needed out.

My health was fading.

My life passing each day with nothing to validate the existence of my soul.

The cost was so high and the benefits almost non-existent. I could list them on one hand, Mulder, the "truth" (whatever that consisted I wasn't sure anymore.), Mulder… I couldn't even fill one hand. The expense on the other hand seemed endless, Melissa, my health, my sanity, my life… and the list continued on and on.

To say that this was the first time I had thought about resigning would be a lie. As much as I'd like to say that I'd been totally forthcoming with Mulder in saying I would never leave, I knew that I had never addressed how close I had come in the past to doing just that. Yet I had never taken that step that placed me past that line, the one from which I couldn't return.

Right now I seriously considered the possibilities, feeling guilty, cheap, cruel, unloyal.

This moment would have been ten times easier had it come five years earlier. But I knew it wouldn't have come five years earlier. Five years ago I was still young and naïve. Five years ago I was still learning my partners odd behavior. I still smiled and laughed at the simple things. Five years ago the hardest thing I had to face was my father's death. I still had a future five years ago. My job wasn't the only thing in my life. Mulder and I were just getting to know each other; we hadn't been through the darkest depths of hell trying to save each other's lives.

The monsters we fought still lived in a separate world, they didn't sleep in our beds at night, they didn't live in our heads, they couldn't consume us.

Yeah, five years ago I could have said goodbye lets keep in touch, knowing that if he didn't I would be ok.

I had to stop analyzing this or it would drive me insane.

The dripping coffee brought me back on task as I slid back from the table and stood a little to quickly I judged as I fought back a wave of dizziness clinging to the edge of the table. Gathering the bits of paper on the table and on the floor I started to clean up the mess that I had made, soaking up the coffee with the paper. The notes were beyond repair anyway and didn't say anything I didn't already know.

As I knelt to pick up the last scrap of paper which had blown farther from the rest, a warm drop of liquid slipped from my nose to the floor and I closed my eyes hoping I was wrong. Squeezing my eyes even tighter I waited for what seemed to be an eternity as even more warm liquid flowed from my nose. I didn't need to see those test results.

Opening my eyes I took in the red drop on the floor distantly. Methodically I wiped at the spot with the sleeve of my robe and stood up starting toward the bathroom. I wet a washcloth and wiped at my nose smearing blood across my face. Some slipped in my mouth as if the vision of it hadn't been enough. Its thick coppery taste choked me, suffocating my dreams and my future with its saltiness.

I watched in a daze as the red water dripped from the washcloth and slipped down the drain innocently enough. Yet it still stained my hands.

I caught the reflection of my eyes in the mirror and almost jumped.

They were cold, distant, hardened. They left an unforgettable impression on my mind. They were not the Dana Scully I wanted to be. They were not the person I once was. They were filled with post-Fowley jealousy and hurt. They were the "I'm fine's. They were what people called me behind my back at work. And they hurt I thought with a string of explicatives.

I watched in awe as those same icy blue eyes opened up and let a tear slip through. I watched as it streamed down my face mixing with the smeared blood. Then more and more followed, not afraid now of being the first wanting to catch up to their brave friend who had charted the unknown territory for them. Only a few made it, the rest I wiped away stubbornly as those same blue eyes threw up their walls again.

It was then I decided that the cost was too high.

It was then I decided to get out while I had the chance, to disappear so that those I loved could keep believing I'd eventually come back, to slip away one night while no one was watching.

It was then I decided to break the vow I'd given Mulder.

It was then I decided to resign.

Mulder's Apartment

Alexandria, VA

12:46 PM

Something was wrong with Scully.

Something had been wrong with her for a couple of weeks now. Every once in a while I'd look over and she would be rubbing the bridge of her nose or pausing as a wave of dizziness hit her. Her explanation: "I'm fine."

Of course she was fine she always was fine.

I wanted so badly to take those words out of the air and feed them to her on a platter. Sure she was fine. So fine that I couldn't sleep from worry over just how fine she was.

I wanted to call her. Lie to her about some dream I didn't have so that I'd have an excuse to talk to her. Maybe if I played my cards right she'd let me come over. It hadn't happened yet but it could happen.

Anything was possible. Right?

Somehow I didn't find it likely that she would invite me over in the middle of the night. I didn't find it possible either.

I had traced her behavior back to Colorado. At first I thought it was just her way of getting back at me for not believing that Diana was going to or in the process of betraying me. I still don't believe that Diana could ever do that to me but I can't explain that to Scully. She doesn't understand our relationship. I don't really understand it either. I just know that Diana can be trusted. Honestly I was kind of glad that Scully had gotten bent out of shape over it. At least I know she cares in someway for me.

So when she first started snubbing me in Colorado I thought it was the normal Scully defensive position. But then she started getting physical symptoms and forgetting things, being just careless. I realized then that half of the snubs hadn't been because of Diana but because of her exhaustion.

She fought it though. Pretending everything was fine and carrying on was the game of the day. When she hardly fought my explanations; when she stood leaning against a wall, a car, even me; when I found her asleep in her room at quarter to six and let her sleep till noon the next day, knowing she didn't wake before then because I stayed in the room with her; it tipped me off that she wasn't fine. No one could sleep eighteen hours and still wake up exhausted and be fine.

One terrifying thought kept running through my head.

What if it wasn't working anymore?

That of course led me to researching others who had their cancer treated in the same manner. Which led me to five obituaries and six survivors.

I wanted Scully to be number seven.

I needed Scully to be number seven.

But it looked like Scully was going to be the sixth obituary instead; at least that was what I was afraid it looked like.

If I wasn't such a coward I would go over there and sit with her. If I wasn't such a coward I would make her make an appointment.

If I wasn't scared beyond belief I would tell her about the five obituaries instead of keeping it from her.

But I was scared, petrified, trembling even, at the wide gaping pit of possibilities. I didn't want to address the issue because I knew then it would become a reality I didn't want to face. I didn't want to have yet another issue between the two of us either.

Mentioning her health would make her defensive. It would place us on that unequal ground Scully hated. She'd think I was being a chauvinistic prig for butting in where I so obviously didn't belong.

I was having a hard time knowing if she would be right or not.

We'd worked together for six years and I was starting to think that maybe I did have a right to "butt in." I was starting to think that maybe it was time I picked up the phone and invited myself over.

Then I remembered the many reasons that I hadn't in the past. Each reason had a name or title that I wasn't all too fond on remembering. Melissa, Emily, the abduction. Each stemmed from my quest and try as I might I could never bring myself to overcoming that guilt. Scully hated it when I thought this way, she'd told me time and time again that she had made her own decisions. But her decisions were biased. We both knew that. Even if she didn't want to admit it she stayed mostly because of me. I hated myself for that more with each new contribution to the ever-increasing Ruin Scully's Life Fund.

I left my spot on the couch and started pacing. TV to fish tank, TV to fish tank. The motion numbed me to my overworking mind. I found it easier to forget the reason I was pacing but not by much. Twice now I had picked up the phone, finger hovering over speed dial. Twice now I'd hung up feeling like an idiot.

Finally after deciding I had been an idiot long enough I picked up the phone and let my finger crash into the speed dial button before I could have second, third, and even fourth thoughts about it.

Scully's phone rang…and rang…and rang… the machine picked up after ring six and I silently cursed myself hoping that I didn't wake her.

"Hey Scully, it's me. I was just calling you to see if you were up to a late night discussion on the age old question: Paper or Plastic? But I guess it will have to wait for another night along with: Do you want fries with that? Or how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop™?" I hung up, hoping I didn't sound to desperate and paced until the man below me threw something at his ceiling with a string of explicatives suggesting I stop or find myself in a very uncomfortable position involving my feet down and up various orifices. I contemplated the possibility of a human body being able to bend as my generous neighbor so kindly suggested and decided to stop pacing.

Instead I tried staring at my ceiling for a few hours. I wondered if the pacing would be worth it again and decided that it wouldn't when I realized how exhausted I was. I must have dozed once or twice because I woke up to the sun rising. I decided then it was late enough for me to get ready for work.

Scully's Apartment

1:13 am

I don't know how long I sat in the bathroom. I just know that when the phone started to ring I found myself sitting there, blood drying on my face, my foot asleep and the cold hard tiles biting into the exposed skin on my ankle.

I let the phone ring. I didn't want to talk to Mulder right now. I knew it was him because no one else would call me that late at night. Part of me wanted to talk to him but I suppress that urge, shoving the impulse to the box I'd labeled as my past life and instead finished cleaning the blood off my face and then looked for something to do that would mark the beginning of this, my new life.

I came up with nothing fairly quickly. There really isn't anything on television at one in the morning I quickly learned and nothing on my bookshelves that I hadn't read. It was then I remembered the gift my mother had given me for Christmas, which had been sitting on the top shelf in my closet collecting dust.

I found the gift buried under some old sweaters and blankets and I pulled it from it's hiding place blowing the thin layer of dust that somehow managed to make it through the surrounding barricades.

It was a puzzle, the kind with about a million pieces. I sat in front of my coffee table just looking at it, occasionally caressing the picture on the box with my fingertip. It reminded me of simpler days and happier times. I found a tear slipping down my cheek again as the memories came flooding back before I could stop them.

My father and I used to do these kind of puzzles. When he was home that is. They would take forever but he never complained. He enjoyed our time together as much as I did. I remember once Bill got mad that Dad was spending so much time on my puzzle with me that when I was helping clean up after dinner one night he took it all apart and threw the pieces all over the room. I remembered crying and my father telling me it was all right because we could put it back together. And then he spent the night trying to put it back together with me. I fell asleep soon after we started but I remember waking up the next day and finding that he had put almost every piece back where it had been before Bill had destroyed it. In my younger years there was hardly a day when you could walk around the house and not find a partially put together puzzle.

I should have listened to my father; I never should have joined the FBI.

I spent the rest of the night sorting through puzzle pieces trying to put the picture and my broken life back together. All in all I think I was productive. When I placed the last piece of the puzzle in and stared down at the picture of the Mona Lisa I almost felt as if my life was complete again.

I voted on a quick shower, writing my papers of resignation, and a cup of coffee, when a quick glance at the clock told me that was all that I would have time for if I wanted to get to the office and hand in my papers before Mulder arrived.

I never allowed myself to listen to his message. It would be too hard.