See part 1 for disclaimers
"Where were you last night?" Mulder asked the minute Scully walked into their office.
"What do you mean?" she asked, sounding perplexed.
"I was worried. I didn't want to call and wake you, so I went to your apartment. It was three in the morning, but you weren't there."
"I went for a walk," Scully responded curtly.
"I see," Mulder responded, his tone indicating he didn't see at all. "You're still not sleeping," he said. It wasn't a question.
"No. But John says it's probably just stress," Scully said, keeping her eyes on Mulder's.
"Who is John?" Mulder asked, beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland. Scully was getting curiouser and curiouser.
"Another insomniac I met at a diner last night," Scully intoned, like she was reading from a script rather than speaking her mind. "He says that once I work out the stress, I'll be able to sleep again."
"Well, if John says it, then it must be true," Mulder said sarcastically. "Ready to get to work?" he asked in the same tone. "I want to talk to our fake vampire again."
"Whatever."
As they headed for the door, Mulder stopped her with a hand to the elbow. "I cancelled our reservation for the weekend, by the way."
"Okay," she responded as if he'd told her he was getting a haircut.
This is getting out of hand, he thought. And tonight, he was going to camp outside her door and determine just what the hell was going on. And who the hell John was.
"Let me get this straight, Darryl," Mulder addressed the suspect seated across from him. "You have no memory of abducting Caroline Thomas."
"No," he said quietly.
"Or of abducting and murdering Sharon Markham," Mulder continued.
"No, I don't."
"Or of meeting Agent Scully and me a week ago." Not that Agent Scully was even involved in this anymore, he thought bitterly. She was standing on the other side of the room, staring out of the window.
This guy didn't make any sense at all. Mulder thought as he stared at the kid across from him. Everyone he'd talked to said that the actor was Mr. All-American. Your average white bread, mac and cheese, fresh off the farm kid. It didn't make sense that he'd suddenly started abducting and murdering young women by biting them at the jugular.
"No. My mind's been really fuzzy lately. I haven't been sleeping. I wish I could help you," he added.
Frustrated, Mulder rose again and opened the door to leave. "Scully? Are you coming?"
"Yeah," she said vacantly, her eyes still focused on something outside.
"Great," he shoved the door and walked through it.
Scully followed, a little slower, passing Darryl on her way to the door.
"What do you want, Agent Scully?" Darryl said.
Scully didn't even stop walking. She just muttered "John" and left the room.
x.x.x.
Mulder drained the last of the coffee from his thermos and checked his watch again. One-fifty three. When he'd arrived, the apartment had been silent. But at around eleven, he'd heard her raised voice saying "Dammit, not again" followed by what Mulder assumed was a book being thrown across the room.
Since then, he'd heard Scully moving around the apartment, so he knew she was still awake. With his luck, she'd probably stay put tonight. But he doubted it.
It hadn't hit him until later that night, while pissing off his downstairs neighbors with his basketball. Their had to be a connection between Scully's insomnia and Darryl's. He believed in coincidences, but his instinct told him this wasn't one. He just needed to find that one link to tie it all together. Maybe tonight, if he met John the sleep therapist, he'd get some answers.
As that thought formed, he heard her phone ring. Pressing an ear to the door, he thought he heard her say "John" but couldn't tell for sure. When he heard her footsteps approaching the door, he jumped into the shadowed stairwell. Mulder saw her emerge, close and lock her door, and make her way down the hall.
He followed her to a diner, but was only able to rest for a few seconds. Not long after she went in, she came out again. On the arm of another man. "Dr. John, I presume," Mulder muttered to himself.
Following closely, he watched as they walked without speaking towards a house near the diner. The man held the door for Scully and then closed it behind him. Mulder stared for what felt like hours after two downstairs lights were illuminated.
"There's no way," he said to himself. He reached for his phone and called the guys. He hoped they were ready.
"Lone Gunmen," Langly answered on the third ring.
"I need to know who owns 2412 Jefferson Street."
"And hello to you, too," Langly grumbled, but Mulder could hear him pounding on the keyboard. "No one," he finally answered.
"What do you mean? I just watched Scully and some guy go into it," Mulder said, exasperated.
"Well, he's a squatter then," Langly said, tempering his words due to the thinly veiled pain he'd heard in his friend's voice. "County records indicate the house was abandoned. The county took it over almost a year ago. Forfeit due to tax evasion."
"Thanks," he said, disconnecting the phone and slipping it back into his pocket.
Mulder stared at the house again, his emotions warring between hurt and fear. Hurt that Scully may have found someone else, and fear that she was in danger. Within seconds, fear won.
"Why don't you sit down, Dana," John said, slipping the coat from her shoulders.
"Okay," she responded dully. Once seated, John stood behind her and measured off a length of rope.
"I think this will make you more comfortable." Scully didn't even flinch as he tied her arms behind her back. "It won't be long now."
"Federal agent, hands in the air," Mulder yelled after breaking through the door and finding his partner tied to a chair.
John stood and but kept his hands at his sides. "Hello, again, Agent Mulder."
Mulder shook his head. He knew that voice. But the owner of the voice was dead. Five years dead. If he remembered clearly, though, he'd died twice on that case.
"I see you remember me," John said, as the realization became clear on Mulder's face.
"How is this possible?" Mulder asked, not dropping his gun but beginning to see the futility of holding it on a dead man.
"Just a moment," John said, putting his hands on Scully's shoulders. Mulder cocked his gun anyway. What the hell, it made him feel better.
"Dana," John said in a soft, lyrical voice. "It's time to wake up."
The change in Scully was dramatic and sudden. She sat up straighter, jerked her head from side to side and met Mulder's eyes.
"Mulder," she said, in a near panicked voice. "What's going on?"
"Hush, Dana. This is your time to listen, not speak." And to make sure of that, John affixed duct tape to her mouth. "Now then," John turned to Mulder, "where were we?"
"You were about to tell me why you aren't still dead," Mulder adopted the same nonchalance.
"Oh, but I am, Agent Mulder. I am," John smiled. "I died five years ago, when you let me burn to death in that jail cell. Then Kristen killed me when she set the house on fire."
Mulder saw Scully's eyebrows knit together and he knew she was trying to place the case. He shook his head, indicating that she wouldn't know it.
"And what, Hell gave you a furlough?" Mulder asked, wracking his brain for what little knowledge he could remember on destroying the undead. Problem was, he didn't think he'd have time for trial and error.
"Not at all. It seems I hadn't figured everything out properly," John moved from behind Scully to stand next to her. "I was the only one of the Trinity that had transcended to the next level by the death of my mortal body. The fire killed Kristen, and the Father, and the Unholy Spirit. It just put me out of commission for a while." John smiled then, picking up on Mulder's facial expressions.
"Does it bother you to hear her name, Agent Mulder?" John asked in his silvery, slippery voice. "Do you miss her?"
When Mulder didn't answer, John turned his attention to Scully. "Did Agent Mulder ever tell you of the love of my life, Dana? The woman I followed all over the country to be near, who helped me to see what I could become?"
Scully shook her head, pausing to look Mulder in the eyes. But he couldn't meet hers.
"No?" John laughed softly, "well then, let me be the first. He was trying to stop me and my – associates, for want of a better term. Once he'd locked me away, sealing my fate, he found Kristen."
Kneeling down, John placed himself in front of Scully. Mulder's stomach clenched and his heart thudded. His worst nightmare was about to become reality. He cursed every opportunity he'd let lapse, every time he'd tried to get the words out and failed.
"And then," John continued, his hand on Scully's chin, forcing her to look at him, "he took my place in her bed, with me not even cold in my grave." An evil smile passed his lips, "or should I say on my slab?"
Mulder would have given his right arm if he could have prevented what happened next. The blank look Scully gave him was worse than any he had imagined over the years. But that, he knew, had to be dealt with later. If they lived through this.
"After Kristen torched the house," John said, now standing and once again directing his comments to Mulder, "I woke up. I could hear the firefighters preparing to load our bodies into body bags. I heard one paramedic call to the fire captain and ask how many bags. I projected the number three to him. Imagine my surprise when he repeated that number.
"I then burrowed myself beneath the ashes until the other bodies were taken away. Once night fell, I emerged and made my way to an abandoned warehouse where I stayed, and healed. As my body regained its strength, so did my mind. I began to hone my skills at mind control. You wouldn't believe it, Agent Mulder."
"I'll call Ripley's," Mulder quipped, his mind raging. The one constant in all vampire lore was the stake through the heart. And with the house in a state of disrepair, there were a number of boards lying around good enough to suit his purpose. He had to keep John talking so he could make his move.
He tried to make eye contact with Scully and let her know he was working on a way out of this. No luck. Her head was still tilted down. But her arms were moving, he noticed with interest. She was trying to free herself. A sliver of relief spread through him, his partner was back.
"I discovered that it takes three days for partial control, four for full control. Just a few contacts with the conscious mind and one trigger phrase are all I need. It's amazing what humans are open to when deprived of sleep. During the one hour of sleep I allow them, I can invade their thoughts and control their actions. Until I decide I am through with them and wake them up for good."
"Let me guess," Mulder said, beginning to put it together. "Darryl Bridges? You had him believing he was a vampire to get me involved in his case, right?"
"I thought that if you were involved in a case, especially one with certain memories attached, you'd be less attentive to your partner's sudden change in behavior."
"You thought wrong," Mulder answered, his eyes still darting around the room.
"I realize that now," John smiled, "but the fact that you were lovers made the situation much sweeter. Originally, I had intended to have her kill you under my influence. Now, I'm going to let you watch as I kill her. It's more fitting that way. As I watched Kristen burn, you can watch your precious partner drain of life."
John turned towards Scully opening his mouth wider as he neared her neck. But he snapped it shut and managed a snarl of shock seconds before a ragged board pierced his chest. Scully had finally freed her hands and during John's recitation to Mulder had found an old piece of the banister lying near her chair.
Mulder ran towards them and stood over John's inert form. Out of pure rage, he placed his hands on the stake and shoved with everything he had. He only let up when he heard the floorboards crack.
After a sharp, ripping sound, he turned to Scully to find her massaging the delicate skin around her mouth. "Let's get out of here," was all she said as she stood from the chair and walked to the door.
Mulder glanced at John, or tried to. All he saw was a board stuck into the floor. All traces of John, the Son, were gone.
An hour later, they sat together on Scully's couch, side by side, without touching.
"When was this?" Scully asked softly.
"While you were missing," Mulder answered, searching for words. Not finding any that weren't trite or contrived.
"Five years. That's a long time to harbor hatred."
"And shame," Mulder agreed.
"I don't think he was ashamed, Mulder," Scully responded.
"My shame, Scully," Mulder took a chance and reached for her hand. Bolstered when she laced her fingers with his and held it tight.
"Shame over what? Kristen?" Scully turned to face him and placed a finger under his chin.
"Yes," he said softly, closing his eyes to avoid hers.
"Mulder, look at me," Scully instructed. When he opened his eyes, she continued. "You have nothing to feel ashamed of. At the time, we were partners only. Mom and Skinner both told me your state of mind while I was gone. How lost you seemed, how distant you became. They told me you weren't sleeping," Scully paused to smile at the irony. "You were looking for comfort, and you found it."
"No, I didn't, Scully," Mulder answered truthfully. "All I found was emptiness."
The first fingers of dawn crept through Scully's front window as they sat facing each other, eyes conveying feelings words couldn't begin to express.
x.x.x.
What do you want, Dana?
Scully sat up in bed suddenly. She shook her head and glanced over at Mulder, sound asleep next to her, legs once again tangled in her sheets. She heard the question her mind asked, the same one she now knew John had used to keep her awake. But this time she knew the answer.
She wanted Mulder.
With a smile on her face, Scully lay back down, wrapped herself in Mulder's arms, and closed her eyes.
This time, she didn't wake until morning.
-end-