"I can't do it, isn't there anybody else?" the petite redhead asked her superior, with a clearly troubled expression on her face.
"No, Agent Scully… You are the only agent with the right qualification." That was all she got as a reply, as the bald man in front of her shook his head and looked down at reports, playing nervously with a pen.
"Then take the body to a hospital. At Our Lady of Sorrows they have the best pathologist in Washington," the woman insisted, about to break down in tears. "I can't do it…" repeated Scully.
Federal Bureau of Investigation's Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked at her, almost like he understood what was going on inside her head and sighed softly.
"I know it's going to be hard, Agent Scully, especially for you. We know how close to home this is going to be. Just know that if it was up to me, you wouldn't have to do it. Orders came from my superiors."
"Then let me talk to them and explain the situation, they /have/ to understand."
"It's not how it works, and you know it, Agent Scully."
With a disappointed nod, the woman left the office.
Silently she walked down the J. Edgar Hoover's FBI building, her movements automatic and her mind elsewhere. How could she? After all those years of searching for the truth, together, how could she do this? To him, nonetheless. So desperately he wanted to save his sister, know the truth behind her abduction, find those that were guilty. And now, here she was. About to give him the closure he had been longing for.
Walking into the basement office, she took a glance around. Everything in that place reminded her of him. Scully would always tease him over the fact she never had a desk and now, even with Mulder gone, she would not dare sit on his side, or let anyone sit there. His chair, his desk, his office. It was his place and she wasn't going to take it.
It had been almost two years since the last time she saw him, standing right in front of her as he held a very asleep baby on his arms. Their baby, their little miracle and her reason to keep pushing forward. If only Mulder could see how big his little guy was, how much he looked like him, how he had his nose even if Mulder would hate that, how desperately he called for papa whenever he saw a picture of him, how he held onto the ring Scully treasured with her life: a silver ring Mulder gave to her the last time they saw each other, which was engraved with a little 'M' and the inscription 'Always'. If only Mulder would walk into her house one day, smile at her and crack a 'Sorry I'm late, but I brought dinner.'
In the two years since he went away, Scully continued to work on The X-Files. She had been offered to change divisions but she was having none of it. She could never leave the files unattended, she could never let anybody else run them. How could she?
Still with tears in her eyes, Dana Scully picked up a file from the desk. It was the report of the remains found in a burnt mansion. Preliminary tests had concluded that they belonged to a female in her early thirties.
Absentmindedly, she walked to the morgue, where the body had been taken at least three hours before. Once there, she grabbed the file folder and sighed, rubbing her temple as she opened it. This was going to be the hardest thing she would ever do. At least, so far.
She read the paper over and over again, making sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. The lab team had ran DNA tests on what was left of the young woman and they had identified her. Again, she read the name and let a few tears freely run down her cheek.
"Mulder, Samantha Ann," read Scully, this time out loud, as if trying to convince herself.
It couldn't be, it wasn't possible. The body had been found inside a mansion that caught fire the previous day and the case had been taken to the Federal Bureau of Investigation because the house was a crime scene. No one knew what had started the fire and the firemen dismissed any kind of gas leak. The only other choice was that the fire was intentional. Someone had wanted to destroy the crime scene and whoever was inside. And inside was Samantha, Mulder's long lost sister, the reason behind his passionate search for the truth, the face in the pictures he used to stare at every night before going to bed. Gone. All gone.
How could she tell Mulder? Would she have the chance to do so? How could she tell him that his little sister, his beautiful little sister was dead? Did he know already? Did he know where she was? Had he uncovered anything during the two years of absence?
These questions roamed her mind as she wiped her tears and prepared herself to analyze the body. It took everything in her to pull the little white sheet that covered what laid in front of her. But she had to. She had to do it for Mulder, to give him the answers he had been looking for, as hard as it would be for both of them.
"For you," she muttered as the white piece of cloth was pulled away, reveling the burnt corpse. It was completely destroyed and the only way to get to the identity was through dental records and DNA tests. Visual identification didn't stand a chance. However, she did notice something strange.
As soon as she realized, Dana Scully gasped in horror, covered her mouth with her gloved hand and took a step back, again not believing her eyes.
To her surprise, she noticed that what laid in front of her was indeed the body of a female, a young adult but there was something else. The woman's remains were being embraced by another corpse. With her eyes, Scully scanned the newly found victim in pure horror. Male in his late thirties. The individual had died, probably burnt alive, hugging Samantha. In her mind, Scully played the scene, the tragic death of these two, and tried to imagine the last words they would have said to each other.
Finally, she dropped to her knees and covered her face with her hands, breaking down in a desperate cry.
On her autopsy table laid the remains of Samantha Ann Mulder, missing for over twenty-five years, burnt alive when the mansion on Sycamore Street set on fire while being closely held by a yet unidentified male in his late thirties, whose only visible belonging was a silver ring with an engraved 'D' and the inscription 'Always.'