Title: Tonight I've Watched
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: 4/? (Takes place around 5th or 6th season) A
bullet taken one chilly November evening leads to the
merging of two separate paths, two separate people
already walking side by side.
After fumbling in my pockets for the keys, I reached for the knob of the office door, only to realize that it had already been opened. Puzzled, I stepped into the office. A welcome surge of familiarity flooded my thoughts as I smiled at the woman rearranging the papers and files scattered across my desk.
"I thought you wouldn't be back until Monday, Scully," I said as I stripped my coat and turned to hang it on the back of the door. Facing her again, I was answered with a simple smile and lifting of her eyebrows, an unspoken statement of, What did you expect?
"Jesus, Mulder. I'm gone for a month and you succeed in reconstructing Hiroshima in the basement," she muttered, standing slowly to replace some files in the cabinets behind the desk.
"You mean you weren't invited to the Bureau Basement Beer Bash last week, Scully?"
I crossed my arms and smirked, leaning against the desk as she turned, glaring, and sat back down. I watched her finish reorganizing the desk, trying not to flinch as I noticed her strained efforts to reach for the pencil cup. She didn't grimace or tremble as her side pressed against the desk, the pain searing through her chest.
But I did.
I reached across the desk and grabbed the cup for her, placing it in her hand. She coolly accepted it, her eyes focused forward, away from my gaze. Her jaw was clenched; she swallowed and raised her chin.
I let go of the cup and pushed away from desk.
"Coffee, Scully?" I asked, heading for the door.
"No, thanks," she murmured.
Entering the darkened hallway, I absently began to unbutton and roll my sleeves as I approached the steaming coffee machine. After pouring myself a steaming Styrofoam cup, I replaced the coffee pot and leaned against the wall.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam for a moment. That definitely hadn't gone well, I thought.
She had awoken from her coma only three weeks earlier and had left the hospital a week after that. Two weeks at home hadn't seemed to me enough time for a full recovery, but Scully had insisted on returning to work as soon as her body would allow her, if not before.
Her mother had stayed with her during the first week of her release, despite her insistence that she was competent to care for herself. Her inability to walk, though, precluded any chance of living alone until she was no longer bound to a wheelchair.
I brought her dinner every other night after her mother left. Her restlessness was obvious, and her boredom even more so. Oddly enough, she had taken to watching Oprah...
Forced to work alone in the office for the first time in years, I had found myself uninterested and accomplished virtually zero. More than once, I needed a second opinion on a prospective case but hesitated to call Scully on any matter related to work, wishing to keep her from any unnecessary anxiety. She had been shot the last time she tried to help me.
The days had been monotonous, the hours long, and the silence unbearable. Silence brought thought, thought brought memories, memories brought guilt. Little things would trigger my mind-the extra pair of hose in the bottom desk drawer that Scully didn't think I knew was there, an old receipt from a take-out lunch months before, my key to Scully's apartment...
She wasn't there because she had taken that bullet for me.
The phone rang down the hall and silenced as Scully picked up the receiver. I began to walk back into the office, rolling my other sleeve in the process. Turning into the doorway, I stood listening to Scully talk.
"Okay, we'll be right there," she said, staring at me. "Yeah, okay, thanks."
She hung up the receiver and stood, straightening her jacket.
"That was Skinner's secretary."
I nodded.
She walked around the desk, and I grabbed my coat from the door, tossing the remainder of my coffee in the trashcan. I followed her out of the office and down the hall, realizing how much I had missed the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles beneath my feet.
We didn't speak on the elevator or in the crowded hallway leading to Skinner's office. Scully kept her cool composure, meeting the stare of other agents with an aloof gaze mastered by years of isolation in a bottom-level office of the Bureau. People knew what had happened; yet not one said a word.
I unconsciously guided her into the anteroom, surprised at her flinch in response. Glancing downward, I watched as she kept her eyes focused ahead and continued into the room. I sighed quietly and followed. Maybe four weeks had been too long...
"He's waiting for you, agents," the blonde secretary said without looking up from the computer screen. I noted Scully's slow intake of breath as she paused to rest her hand on the door. Her eyes floated downward to focus on the handle, and she lowered her head slightly.
Concerned, I touched her arm cautiously. "You okay, Scully?"
She rubbed her hand across her forehead for a moment before answering, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
I looked away and clenched my jaw as I pushed the door open before us.
Skinner stood as we entered the office, leaning across his desk to shake Scully's hand. She smiled forcibly and took her seat beside me. As if on cue, we crossed our legs simultaneously in opposite directions. She didn't seem to notice, and I never had before. Four weeks had been too long...
"Agent Scully, it's great to see you on your feet again, although you're not technically supposed to be here until Monday."
Skinner raised his eyebrows at her and glanced at me.
He isn't actually accusing me of talking her into this, is he? I thought, glaring back but brushing it off. He rested his arms on the desk, folding his hands. Scanning the counter, I noted an unusual profusion of paper and files beneath him, too many for a typical case.
"Anyway, I'm sure you're both aware of the Bureau's recent loss in Violent Crimes," he began, awaiting my customary interjection.
"Hudson Barrows, sixty-eight. Lung cancer." I glanced at Scully and Skinner, respectively, and continued. "He was known as the division's most experienced and valuable profiler since Robert Ressler and facilitated the capture of over two hundred serial murderers and rapists. I worked under him for a year after I left the Academy."
Skinner nodded. "Needless to say, there's been much debate as to his successor."
I froze, and sensed Scully's apprehension as she recrossed her legs.
"The head of the VC has been considering the leaders of each unit Barrows controlled, but it may be weeks before a final decision is made. Valuable weeks," he said, though I knew that he meant "expensive weeks", and I was fully aware of the direction in which he was headed. My suspicions were confirmed as he met my eyes and continued.
"Considering your background, Agent Mulder, and Agent Scully's temporary incapacity to enter the field, you've been elected the temporary candidate for replacement. For the next four weeks, you'll be filling Barrows' position in the Violent Crimes Unit."
Without pausing in reaction to my fuming, "Sir-," he turned to Scully.
"Scully, you'll be temporarily reassigned to the Pathology Lab for the duration of these four weeks. You'll be working under a Dr..."
He flipped through a small stack of papers on the desk before locating a packet. Glancing at the top sheet, he stood and handed it to Scully.
"Randall Miller. He'll be contacting you shortly."
Coolly, Scully pursed her lips and accepted the papers without glancing at them. I interpreted this reaction as a signal that she shared my fury at this outrageous reassignment, and I turning my head to confirm this with our notorious unspoken communication.
I'm positive that she saw me turn, that she felt my eyes watching her, waiting for her to glance back as usual, her silent expression of They can't do this, in response to my Can I fight back now?
But she didn't turn.
Her eyes remained focused on Skinner, ignoring my silent screams.
I bit my cheek and focused my own glare on the Assistant Director, his hands now neatly crossed once again atop his desk. I didn't need her permission.
"Sir, I find it difficult to believe that you've found someone qualified to continue our work on the X-Files during our absence," I snapped.
Skinner glanced at his hands. "The X-Files will be temporarily shut down until a permanent replacement for Barrows is found."
Instinctively, my furious eyes shot to meet my partners' beside me. She inhaled deeply for a moment while focusing ahead, and I almost thought she wouldn't turn.
Slowly, though, she rolled her eyes over at me, tilting her head in my direction. *Go ahead.* she told me, without saying a word. I almost smiled.
"Temporarily shut down? What kind of bullshit is that, Sir?" I said, my voice a tad beyond the social norm.
"Mulder, you don't actually think I'm the one doing this, do you?" he retorted, his face beginning to turn slightly pink.
"I think you're the one not doing anything to stop it!" I yelled, rising to my feet. "How many times are they gonna taunt us with this, Sir? Dammit, tell me why they haven't just shut us down for good!"
Shooting out of his chair and pulling his glasses off of his face, Skinner clenched his fist and roared, "Who the hell do you think fought to make this temporary, Agent Mulder?"
We stared silently at one another for a moment, Skinner's face returning to normal hue and my quickened breaths subsiding. They had thrown this at us before, and they'd do it again. But I had yet to concede to their seemingly invincible methods of manipulation.
If this went higher than the office in which I stood, then higher I intended to fight.
I opened my mouth to inform the assistant director of my intentions, to let him know that we meant to pull whatever strings necessary to effect the reinstatement of the office I had struggled so long to establish, but I was stopped by a gentle tug on the sleeve of my jacket.
Turning my head downward to face Scully, I stared angrily at her imploring eyes. She was telling me to sit down.
"Not here," she mouthed silently, begging me to comply.
I wouldn't be fighting this alone.
I lowered myself slowly into the cushioned chair. Skinner remained standing, but searched his desk for another packet of papers.
"You'll report to VC tomorrow morning," he said, handing me the papers. "You're dismissed."
Muttering the requisite "Thank you, Sir," we rose and walked slowly toward the door. As Scully reached for the handle, Skinner spoke.
"Don't stop swimming, Agent Mulder."
I turned to meet his eyes, pausing for a moment to watch him sit back down, before following Scully out the door.
We didn't speak on the walk to the elevator, my rush of adrenaline thudding in my ears. Scully walked a step ahead and to the side, per usual, and weaved us a path between the oncoming rush of agents. The elevator emptied as it arrived, a blur of black suits and briefcases, cell-phones and ties.
We boarded alone, and Scully pressed the lowest button mechanically before stepping back to cross her arms. I waited until the doors had closed with a chime before I spoke.
"I could've used your support back there."
She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "It wasn't the place, Mulder. Skinner said it himself-it goes much higher than this."
I faced the doors, bowing my head. She was right. It did go much higher than this. The chances were great that at the end of these four weeks, the office I had frequented more often than my apartment for the last five years might once again take up its function as the home of the copy machine.
"I hope the man upstairs has a moment between tee times four weeks from tomorrow," I said, glancing down at her. She looked up.
"Mulder, what makes you so certain that they're really shutting us down?"
The elevator chimed as it came to rest on the basement floor. The doors opened before us.
"What makes you so certain they aren't?" I asked.
She stepped out and began to walk slowly down the hall, the echo of her heels reverberating off the walls. I remained in the elevator, holding the door for a moment.
"Scully," I began.
She paused and turned, the dim light off the hallway casting a shadow across her face.
"You will back me up on this, won't you?"
Her expression remained static apart from a tiny smile, almost sympathetic. Her eyes were troubled-more than usual, anyway. Perhaps it was the pain medication, perhaps simple exhaustion.
Scully wasn't the same woman that had taken that bullet for me four weeks before.
She quietly swung her heel, hesitating, and continued into the office. I left the elevator and followed.
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: 4/? (Takes place around 5th or 6th season) A
bullet taken one chilly November evening leads to the
merging of two separate paths, two separate people
already walking side by side.
After fumbling in my pockets for the keys, I reached for the knob of the office door, only to realize that it had already been opened. Puzzled, I stepped into the office. A welcome surge of familiarity flooded my thoughts as I smiled at the woman rearranging the papers and files scattered across my desk.
"I thought you wouldn't be back until Monday, Scully," I said as I stripped my coat and turned to hang it on the back of the door. Facing her again, I was answered with a simple smile and lifting of her eyebrows, an unspoken statement of, What did you expect?
"Jesus, Mulder. I'm gone for a month and you succeed in reconstructing Hiroshima in the basement," she muttered, standing slowly to replace some files in the cabinets behind the desk.
"You mean you weren't invited to the Bureau Basement Beer Bash last week, Scully?"
I crossed my arms and smirked, leaning against the desk as she turned, glaring, and sat back down. I watched her finish reorganizing the desk, trying not to flinch as I noticed her strained efforts to reach for the pencil cup. She didn't grimace or tremble as her side pressed against the desk, the pain searing through her chest.
But I did.
I reached across the desk and grabbed the cup for her, placing it in her hand. She coolly accepted it, her eyes focused forward, away from my gaze. Her jaw was clenched; she swallowed and raised her chin.
I let go of the cup and pushed away from desk.
"Coffee, Scully?" I asked, heading for the door.
"No, thanks," she murmured.
Entering the darkened hallway, I absently began to unbutton and roll my sleeves as I approached the steaming coffee machine. After pouring myself a steaming Styrofoam cup, I replaced the coffee pot and leaned against the wall.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam for a moment. That definitely hadn't gone well, I thought.
She had awoken from her coma only three weeks earlier and had left the hospital a week after that. Two weeks at home hadn't seemed to me enough time for a full recovery, but Scully had insisted on returning to work as soon as her body would allow her, if not before.
Her mother had stayed with her during the first week of her release, despite her insistence that she was competent to care for herself. Her inability to walk, though, precluded any chance of living alone until she was no longer bound to a wheelchair.
I brought her dinner every other night after her mother left. Her restlessness was obvious, and her boredom even more so. Oddly enough, she had taken to watching Oprah...
Forced to work alone in the office for the first time in years, I had found myself uninterested and accomplished virtually zero. More than once, I needed a second opinion on a prospective case but hesitated to call Scully on any matter related to work, wishing to keep her from any unnecessary anxiety. She had been shot the last time she tried to help me.
The days had been monotonous, the hours long, and the silence unbearable. Silence brought thought, thought brought memories, memories brought guilt. Little things would trigger my mind-the extra pair of hose in the bottom desk drawer that Scully didn't think I knew was there, an old receipt from a take-out lunch months before, my key to Scully's apartment...
She wasn't there because she had taken that bullet for me.
The phone rang down the hall and silenced as Scully picked up the receiver. I began to walk back into the office, rolling my other sleeve in the process. Turning into the doorway, I stood listening to Scully talk.
"Okay, we'll be right there," she said, staring at me. "Yeah, okay, thanks."
She hung up the receiver and stood, straightening her jacket.
"That was Skinner's secretary."
I nodded.
She walked around the desk, and I grabbed my coat from the door, tossing the remainder of my coffee in the trashcan. I followed her out of the office and down the hall, realizing how much I had missed the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles beneath my feet.
We didn't speak on the elevator or in the crowded hallway leading to Skinner's office. Scully kept her cool composure, meeting the stare of other agents with an aloof gaze mastered by years of isolation in a bottom-level office of the Bureau. People knew what had happened; yet not one said a word.
I unconsciously guided her into the anteroom, surprised at her flinch in response. Glancing downward, I watched as she kept her eyes focused ahead and continued into the room. I sighed quietly and followed. Maybe four weeks had been too long...
"He's waiting for you, agents," the blonde secretary said without looking up from the computer screen. I noted Scully's slow intake of breath as she paused to rest her hand on the door. Her eyes floated downward to focus on the handle, and she lowered her head slightly.
Concerned, I touched her arm cautiously. "You okay, Scully?"
She rubbed her hand across her forehead for a moment before answering, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
I looked away and clenched my jaw as I pushed the door open before us.
Skinner stood as we entered the office, leaning across his desk to shake Scully's hand. She smiled forcibly and took her seat beside me. As if on cue, we crossed our legs simultaneously in opposite directions. She didn't seem to notice, and I never had before. Four weeks had been too long...
"Agent Scully, it's great to see you on your feet again, although you're not technically supposed to be here until Monday."
Skinner raised his eyebrows at her and glanced at me.
He isn't actually accusing me of talking her into this, is he? I thought, glaring back but brushing it off. He rested his arms on the desk, folding his hands. Scanning the counter, I noted an unusual profusion of paper and files beneath him, too many for a typical case.
"Anyway, I'm sure you're both aware of the Bureau's recent loss in Violent Crimes," he began, awaiting my customary interjection.
"Hudson Barrows, sixty-eight. Lung cancer." I glanced at Scully and Skinner, respectively, and continued. "He was known as the division's most experienced and valuable profiler since Robert Ressler and facilitated the capture of over two hundred serial murderers and rapists. I worked under him for a year after I left the Academy."
Skinner nodded. "Needless to say, there's been much debate as to his successor."
I froze, and sensed Scully's apprehension as she recrossed her legs.
"The head of the VC has been considering the leaders of each unit Barrows controlled, but it may be weeks before a final decision is made. Valuable weeks," he said, though I knew that he meant "expensive weeks", and I was fully aware of the direction in which he was headed. My suspicions were confirmed as he met my eyes and continued.
"Considering your background, Agent Mulder, and Agent Scully's temporary incapacity to enter the field, you've been elected the temporary candidate for replacement. For the next four weeks, you'll be filling Barrows' position in the Violent Crimes Unit."
Without pausing in reaction to my fuming, "Sir-," he turned to Scully.
"Scully, you'll be temporarily reassigned to the Pathology Lab for the duration of these four weeks. You'll be working under a Dr..."
He flipped through a small stack of papers on the desk before locating a packet. Glancing at the top sheet, he stood and handed it to Scully.
"Randall Miller. He'll be contacting you shortly."
Coolly, Scully pursed her lips and accepted the papers without glancing at them. I interpreted this reaction as a signal that she shared my fury at this outrageous reassignment, and I turning my head to confirm this with our notorious unspoken communication.
I'm positive that she saw me turn, that she felt my eyes watching her, waiting for her to glance back as usual, her silent expression of They can't do this, in response to my Can I fight back now?
But she didn't turn.
Her eyes remained focused on Skinner, ignoring my silent screams.
I bit my cheek and focused my own glare on the Assistant Director, his hands now neatly crossed once again atop his desk. I didn't need her permission.
"Sir, I find it difficult to believe that you've found someone qualified to continue our work on the X-Files during our absence," I snapped.
Skinner glanced at his hands. "The X-Files will be temporarily shut down until a permanent replacement for Barrows is found."
Instinctively, my furious eyes shot to meet my partners' beside me. She inhaled deeply for a moment while focusing ahead, and I almost thought she wouldn't turn.
Slowly, though, she rolled her eyes over at me, tilting her head in my direction. *Go ahead.* she told me, without saying a word. I almost smiled.
"Temporarily shut down? What kind of bullshit is that, Sir?" I said, my voice a tad beyond the social norm.
"Mulder, you don't actually think I'm the one doing this, do you?" he retorted, his face beginning to turn slightly pink.
"I think you're the one not doing anything to stop it!" I yelled, rising to my feet. "How many times are they gonna taunt us with this, Sir? Dammit, tell me why they haven't just shut us down for good!"
Shooting out of his chair and pulling his glasses off of his face, Skinner clenched his fist and roared, "Who the hell do you think fought to make this temporary, Agent Mulder?"
We stared silently at one another for a moment, Skinner's face returning to normal hue and my quickened breaths subsiding. They had thrown this at us before, and they'd do it again. But I had yet to concede to their seemingly invincible methods of manipulation.
If this went higher than the office in which I stood, then higher I intended to fight.
I opened my mouth to inform the assistant director of my intentions, to let him know that we meant to pull whatever strings necessary to effect the reinstatement of the office I had struggled so long to establish, but I was stopped by a gentle tug on the sleeve of my jacket.
Turning my head downward to face Scully, I stared angrily at her imploring eyes. She was telling me to sit down.
"Not here," she mouthed silently, begging me to comply.
I wouldn't be fighting this alone.
I lowered myself slowly into the cushioned chair. Skinner remained standing, but searched his desk for another packet of papers.
"You'll report to VC tomorrow morning," he said, handing me the papers. "You're dismissed."
Muttering the requisite "Thank you, Sir," we rose and walked slowly toward the door. As Scully reached for the handle, Skinner spoke.
"Don't stop swimming, Agent Mulder."
I turned to meet his eyes, pausing for a moment to watch him sit back down, before following Scully out the door.
We didn't speak on the walk to the elevator, my rush of adrenaline thudding in my ears. Scully walked a step ahead and to the side, per usual, and weaved us a path between the oncoming rush of agents. The elevator emptied as it arrived, a blur of black suits and briefcases, cell-phones and ties.
We boarded alone, and Scully pressed the lowest button mechanically before stepping back to cross her arms. I waited until the doors had closed with a chime before I spoke.
"I could've used your support back there."
She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "It wasn't the place, Mulder. Skinner said it himself-it goes much higher than this."
I faced the doors, bowing my head. She was right. It did go much higher than this. The chances were great that at the end of these four weeks, the office I had frequented more often than my apartment for the last five years might once again take up its function as the home of the copy machine.
"I hope the man upstairs has a moment between tee times four weeks from tomorrow," I said, glancing down at her. She looked up.
"Mulder, what makes you so certain that they're really shutting us down?"
The elevator chimed as it came to rest on the basement floor. The doors opened before us.
"What makes you so certain they aren't?" I asked.
She stepped out and began to walk slowly down the hall, the echo of her heels reverberating off the walls. I remained in the elevator, holding the door for a moment.
"Scully," I began.
She paused and turned, the dim light off the hallway casting a shadow across her face.
"You will back me up on this, won't you?"
Her expression remained static apart from a tiny smile, almost sympathetic. Her eyes were troubled-more than usual, anyway. Perhaps it was the pain medication, perhaps simple exhaustion.
Scully wasn't the same woman that had taken that bullet for me four weeks before.
She quietly swung her heel, hesitating, and continued into the office. I left the elevator and followed.
