Post-ep to Orison, starting with both agent's thoughts during the final bit with Donnie. Started as a one-shot but got completely out of hand. Going to release in chapters in case it's too long or ridiculous. If nobody reviews I'll just keep adding installments, but hearing whether or not I got too carried away would be nice.

Of course these two aren't mine. Neither is Donnie. Spoilers for Irresistable and Orison only, I think.

Tired from being on the road for the past several days and glad to be back in his own apartment, Fox Mulder slipped his shoes off at the door, tossing his suit jacket over the arm of his couch and making straight for the bathroom.

For once, he had little difficulty taking his mind off the case he'd been on; local PD had taken over and would soon have their fugitive back behind bars. Evidence that there was nothing unnatural about the disappearances of the prisoners had meant that the agents had been able to return home, for once, without incident or injury.

He knew that his partner was still struggling emotionally with this case, even though she denied it at every chance. Scully's discomfort was as obvious to him as the color shirt she was wearing, but he knew that she hated the idea of seeming vulnerable or weak to him, so Mulder didn't press the issue. He was just glad that they had left Donnie Pfaster and his victims behind before they could haunt her any more. She was safe at home in her bed by now, and he had every intention of following suit.

Mulder stripped down to his undershirt and swapped his slacks for sweatpants, tossing them in the corner before rummaging in the bathroom cupboard for his toothbrush.

While he brushed, he wandered into the bedroom, making sure to set his alarm for the next work day. As he moved through the numbers, the bedside radio clock glitched and a snatch of song played. Mulder froze, certain of what he had heard, but switching back to it anyway. "Don't look any further'' drifted from the radio, and he recalled Scully telling him that it was a sign.

Though a staunch believer in many things, Fox Mulder wasn't one to see signs from God; nevertheless he thought the coincidence was a little spooky. He went back to the bathroom to rinse before calling Scully- just to make sure everything was okay.

Terror and adrenaline coursed through her as the closet door clicked shut, leaving her in darkness. She knew all too well, from the bodies of his other victims and from her own experience years ago, what would happen to her if she didn't find a way to escape, and quickly.

The phone began to ring from the other room, and Scully knew instantly who was trying to reach her. Mulder was the only person who called at this time of night; maybe he suspected something was wrong. Surely when she didn't answer, he'd be on his way over to check on her.

From the living room, "Don't look any further" began to play on her stereo. Scully wanted to scream. She didn't dare hope that Mulder would get here in time; she had to get to her gun.

No answer. Mulder felt a growing sense of panic rise in his chest. She couldn't have fallen asleep that quickly. After a moment, the need to know she was alright won out over the thought that maybe he was being a bit paranoid and possessive. As he reached for the phone again to try her cell, Mulder saw the blinking light on his answering machine. Quickly he played back the message from the young detective. Before it even finished he was headed for the door. He slipped his shoes back on, grabbed his gun and checked the clip, then ran for the elevator.

Scully. He got in his car and peeled out, headed for her apartment. He ran a red light. Red, the message had said. Pfaster had hired a call girl specifically with red hair. Red like Scully's.

He's been fixated on her this whole time, Mulder thought, feeling sick. He almost hadn't made it in time the first time Scully had been Pfaster's captive; another minute and she'd have been dead. He prayed he'd have the same luck now. Hang on Scully, I'm almost there. Fight him.

Scully rolled under the bed just as Donnie Pfaster walked through the bedroom. He gave a cursory glance to the closet door; she had shut it behind her, so he kept walking. Heart pounding in her chest, she squirmed under the bed, hindered by her bound wrists and ankles. The gun was just on the other side. Emerging, she struggled to twist onto her side, having to hold still again as Pfaster walked past once more. When he was gone, she strained her arms down to pull her legs through, bringing her tied wrists out in front of her; even without full mobility, now she could at least fire her gun.

She heard him turn the water off in the bathroom and knew she was out of time.

Barely feeling the pain, she army-crawled across the shattered glass from her dresser mirror. Her hands closed around the familiar pistol, and keeping it trained on the door, she struggled to untie herself.

Mulder crept quickly but silently down the hall to Scully's apartment. Careful to not rattle the handle, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it slowly open, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he became immediately aware of a shadowy figure just feet in front of him.

Mulder drew his gun on Pfaster, shouting for him to put his hands up. There was no sign of Scully.

Where is she? He thought desperately, even as he held his gun on the man in front of him, cold and commanding on the outside. Inside, his pulse was racing and his stomach felt like a hollow pit.

He'd been here once before, only to snatch Scully from beneath the twisted man just as he trained his gun on her. He'd seen his normally unbreakable partner implode even after her ordeal was over. He was terrified now at how he'd find her; alive, and painfully scarred? Or, unthinkably...still and silent, mutilated; floating in the bathtub filled with her own blood.

He grabbed Pfaster by the shoulder, pushing his gun closer, trying to keep hold of himself. He just had to get this guy in cuffs so he could find Scully.

Before he had had a chance to do anything further, he saw her emerge slowly from the bedroom. Intense, overwhelming relief washed over him at the sight of her. She was ruffled and bloody, but she was on her own two feet; she was alive.

Mulder hardly had time to process these emotions before something struck him as wrong. She hadn't met his eyes; they were trained on Donnie Pfaster with a look he had only seen a couple of times. Scully looked dangerous; her rational thinking and calm reason gone. He saw the gun in her hand and knew that he couldn't stop her. He wouldn't.

The gunshot tore through the quiet building like thunder, and Donnie Pfaster was no more.

Mulder lowered his gun slowly, staring in a daze at Scully. She stood unmoving, unreadable.

"Scully," He said finally, stepping around the body between them to take her by the arms. She seemed to be in a dull state of shock. He gently pried the gun from her hand and guided her slowly into the other room.

Sensing that she wasn't ready to talk, Mulder left her on the couch, pulling out his cell phone to alert the police. He also left a message on Skinner's answering machine. He briefly thought about calling Maggie Scully, but decided it could wait till morning. Instead, he went to the kitchen, coming back with a warm, damp washcloth. He knelt on the floor in front of Scully and silently, gently, he went about cleaning the blood from her wounds. He dabbed the wet cloth over her bloody nose and cut lip, then took her hands in his, carefully working the bonds from her wrists. Mulder's jaw clenched as he saw that Pfaster had tied Scully's hands with a pair of her own nylon pantyhose. He untied the gag that she had slipped down around her neck.

As he worked, she stared straight ahead at a point just over his shoulder. Mulder bit his tongue, trying to give her space. But as he glanced from her bloodied lip to her dull and distant eyes, Mulder felt himself begin to crack. He couldn't bear to think of what she had been through this night. He knew that even if she could deal with it, he could not.

"Scully." He brought one hand to her face, drawing it down her cheek and behind her neck. The other he tipped under her chin, tracing his thumb gently over her swollen lower lip. She continued to stare ahead, although tears had started to pool in her eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers, taking a deep breath, trying to lend her what strength he had.

Scully finally moved, taking a shaky breath with him and gripping his arm tightly. "I'm okay, Mulder."

Mulder took a trembling breath, holding her as tightly as he dared without fear of causing further harm. She pressed against him with a similar desperation, relaying the thoughts she wasn't ready to speak aloud.

He couldn't speak either. He held her tightly, hoping that she would understand.

After a moment, she gave way into his arms and he held her firmly to his chest. He expected her to break down into sobs first but somehow he felt his own chest tighten with emotion as she held still against him.

"Scully," He choked, trying desperately to pull his fingers from her hair. She didn't need the extra burden of his fear and hurt right now. But he couldn't help himself, and only clutched her tighter. How could he have been so careless? How could he have let this happen again? He forced back a sob as he held her against him.

After a long, heavy moment, a knock came at the door. Mulder took a breath, composing himself. Scully squeezed his hand hard, terrified to face what had happened. Needing no further sign, he kissed her cheek and stood to answer the door for her.

From there the night passed in a blur. Both agents answered questions almost in a trance, still not sure what had pushed Scully over the edge to pull the trigger. Fiercely protective of his partner, Mulder did his best to paint a portrait of Pfaster that gave Scully no choice but terminal force self-defense, though even he still did not know entirely what had happened here. At one point, mid-interrogation by a local police officer, Scully tugged on his sleeve. He lowered his ear to the level of her lips, where she whispered simply, "bathroom". Mulder bristled momentarily as he realized what her request was, but kept his cool and forced a tiny smile before slipping away.

One of the local department guys was rooting around in the bathroom until Mulder gave him a look that suggested he get out. Once the room was empty, Mulder tried to keep himself distanced as he went about putting out all the candles and hiding them from sight. It was difficult; he kept seeing crime scene photos of Pfaster's victims, but with Scully's face. Gingerly, he reached in to pull the stopper from the tub to let the bubbly water drain. When he was satisfied that the bathroom was the way it normally was, Mulder stepped back to the living room, gently touching Scully's back to let her know he was finished. She gave him a look of sincere appreciation and stepped away from her conversation with the officer.

Mulder took over answering questions for her as she snuck away to the bathroom. About twenty minutes later she emerged with a heavy blanket around her shoulders and slipped quietly back to the bedroom. Mulder quickly excused himself and followed her, shutting the door behind them.

"If you pack some things we can get out of here," He said, hoping she wanted, as he did, to be far away from here for a while. She didn't answer, and he saw that she held her bedside bible in her hands. She looked at it, contemplative. Troubled.

"You can't judge yourself," He said quietly, coming to stand next to her.

She sat down on the bed heavily. It was just about only thing in the bedroom to have survived the violent struggle earlier that night. "Maybe I won't have to." She set the bible down, sighing.

Mulder looked down at her, the ghost of a smile on his lips. She was so good, so truly human, and yet always wanted to think otherwise. He loved her so much for it. But he knew she was hurting.

"The bible allows for vengeance," He offered, lacking in any further advice in the realm of faith.

"But the law doesn't," she dodged.

Mulder resisted the urge to grab her hand. "The way I see it, he didn't give you a choice," He said firmly. "And my report will reflect that, in case you're worried." As if he would say anything else. "Donnie Pfaster would have surely killed again if given the chance."

Scully looked at her lap. "He was evil, Mulder, I'm sure of that without a doubt. There's just one thing I'm not sure of."

He looked at her. "What's that?"

"Who was at work in me? Or what? What made me...what made me pull the trigger?"

Mulder tried to put his mind where hers must be. "You mean if it was god?" He asked, uncertain.

"I mean...what if it wasn't?"

Mulder looked at her for a long moment. "Scully, I refuse to believe that any malignant force could ever work through you," He said softly. "And at any rate, the world is a safer place with Donnie Pfaster dead. He'll never hurt you, or any other women again."

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb gently across her knuckles. "I'm glad you did it," He said, solemnly meeting her eyes. "We barely got you out that first time. And knowing that he'd been fixated on you for five years...I wouldn't want to test him a third time. I wouldn't want to take any chances that he could get to you again."

Scully held his gaze for a moment, giving him a tiny smile of thanks. Then she stood, going to the closet to pack some clothes.

Mulder stood quietly back, surveying the damage to the once-pristine bedroom. When Scully was finished he picked up the suitcase and followed her out, one hand hovering lightly at the small of her back.

They drove in exhausted silence to Mulder's apartment.