Title: Disciple
Author: CeilidhO
Summary: What if Scully had accepted the transfer to Salt Lake City? Five years later, a horrifying murder case reunites her with Mulder, even as it threatens to rip apart her life.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one that was not on the show… Yada, yada, yada. See previous chapters.
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Scully lay prone in Mulder's arms until the sobs wracking her body finally slowed to a shuddering halt. She could feel his hand making slow circles on her back, could feel his breath warm against her damp forehead. She relaxed into him, letting her neck loosen and her limbs relax. She breathed deeply, his familiar smell comforting her like nothing else had in years.
"Thank you." She mumbled softly. She could feel his voice rumble in his chest as he answered.
"I couldn't let you be alone." His body shook slightly, and she pulled back, twisting around to look at him. His eyes caught her breath in her throat. They couldn't look away. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes soft. Scully swallowed quietly.
"Wait. No. Mulder…" Quick now, like pulling off a bandage. "I'm with someone." He breathed in sharply through his nose. His eyes flicked away.
"I know. Your partner, Morris, he made sure I knew." He started to get up. Scully put out a hand to stop him.
"Mulder…" He looked at her questioningly, and she realised she had nothing to say to that. "Thank you, again." She finished lamely. He nodded slowly, and then smiled wryly, fleetingly.
"Sure. What are friends for?"
Scully raised an eyebrow slightly. "You definitely haven't been acting like much of a friend until now." He slowly sank to the floor again, sliding his back down the wall of the cubicle to sit beside her on the cold, hard floor.
"Yeah, well. What to say to that? I haven't been." Mulder pulled his hand across his mouth and chin, pulling his lips out and letting them go. His eyes were far away. He ran a hand through his hair. Scully could hear the muted voices of people passing in corridor outside. She couldn't stop watching his hands. Mulder finally opened his mouth and continued.
"When you left… I don't know. It was horrible, and I was angry. When I thought of seeing you again, I didn't know what to do, how to act. When I did… It was like nothing I'd ever felt before." He turned to look at her, eyes dark. "Scully, my anger is the only thing that has kept me alive for the last five years. I didn't know how to let it go." Scully put a hand to her mouth, and managed to squeeze out:
"Oh, Mulder." She leaned her head back against his shoulder, and when the stinging cleared in her eyes, she spoke again, softly. "We've both been so stupid."
They sat like that for a long time.
Hours later, Scully pulled her gloves off wearily. The autopsy of the boy had been unbearably long, and her eyes and heart were sore. She pulled the heavy plastic sheet back over the body, pushed the slab back into refrigeration, and turned out the lights, heading through the swinging metal doors to the scrub room. She tossed the bloodstained garments into the hamper with a sigh.
The results of the autopsy had been the same as that of Jamie Holtz, and all the other boys. The mutilation was more severe, and the starvation had been less prolonged, but that was the only difference. There was the same cause of death, same ligature marks, same staring red eyes, and the same sickeningly beautiful angel wings carved in loops and swirls on his smooth back.
Scully examined her reflection in the mirror. The harsh fluorescent lights did her no favours, and they highlighted the black pouches under her eyes. She had been robbed of her sleep the night before, and regretted it desperately now. Running her fingers through her hair, Scully flipped the steel switch down and stepped out into the hallway. Mulder was waiting outside.
They walked quietly down the hallway, falling into step together as if they had never been apart. The elevator was waiting at the end of the hallway, and they stepped into it, the soft golden glow spilling out into the dim hall. Their shoes clicked on the marble as they crossed to the parking elevators, still without a word. When the parking elevator lurched downward, Scully softly offered Mulder a ride to his hotel. He just as softly declined, and as she drove away in Rob's car, she could see him standing alone in the garage, receding into the darkness.
The next morning, there was a message on Scully's answering machine from Dan asking her to pick up Agent Paring and Mulder. She stood in front of the small brown box, watching the tape whirl around hypnotically. She didn't need to wonder where they were going, or why. They were going to Cranden, Montana, and the family of Jamie Holtz.
Scully got ready quickly, making sure she wasn't dressed too brightly. She put on mascara and brushed her teeth at the same time, staring absently at her reflection, the silence in her apartment pressing down on her eardrums like being underwater. As she spat into the sink and raised her head, her reflected eyes glared back at her, frighteningly close. Scully wiped the toothpaste from the corner of her mouth. The clock ticked heavily in the hall.
The sun was blazing in the street outside, heating the concrete of the stairs as Scully slipped out of her door and locked it smoothly behind her. The golden metal of the doorknob burned beneath her hand, and she let go quickly, striding down the steps to her car, parked a few yards away. As she pulled out onto the street, she plugged her cell phone into the cigarette lighter, absently wanting a smoke for the first time in years.
She hit four on the keypad, the speed dial for Rob. He answered on the fifth ring.
"Hello."
"Hi, Rob. It's Dana."
"I know it's you. So?"
"So, what?"
"How did yesterday go."
She shuddered. "It was horrible. This one was really bad, really horrible." He was silent for a moment on the other end.
"God, Dana… I'm so sorry…" His voice was rough, but she tried to sound breezy.
"Well, don't stop yet. I'm headed to Montana."
"Montana? Damn, I remember now. Jamie's family." His familiar use of the boy's name made her pause, almost territorially, but just for moment. She took a deep breath, feeling it shake in her chest on the way out.
"Yeah."
"Shit…"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"When can I see you?"
"I don't know when I'll be back. Maybe late tonight, maybe tomorrow. As soon as I can."
"I want to see you really badly. You shouldn't have to be alone with this." She could hear the strain in his voice as he replied, but her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"I'm not alone." The faint buzzing of the phone connection was thick with cold.
"You're with Mulder." It wasn't a question, and she didn't answer. "I see. Well, I…" She could hear him struggling to be reasonable, could feel him fight his anger through the invisible radio signals connecting them. "I'm glad you have someone to help you. Someone a bit more experienced with that sort of stuff than I am. I'm glad." He was forcing his own heart to believe it.
"Rob, I want to talk about it with you, I do-"
"I believe you, hon. See you soon." She desperately didn't want to leave it at that.
"Rob…"
"I love you, too." The connection was dead.
Scully deliberately cut off the driver beside her.
The hotel where Mulder and Paring were staying was a good one, decent and close to downtown. The revolving doors spun as she pulled up in front, and the two agents walked out into the sunlight. Scully's heart gave a small lurch she couldn't suppress when she saw Mulder.
They piled into the car, shutting their doors with quiet thumps, Mulder in the front next to her, Paring in the back. The car slid out onto the busy street, and Mulder checked the road map. They turned north onto the I-15 after leaving downtown, and crossed the State Line into Idaho in about an hour and a half.
The car flew along the deserted highway, and the atmosphere inside was calm. It wasn't until almost lunchtime when Scully began to feel the first flutters of guilt and anxiety. They stopped at a roadside deli for a cheap lunch of wrapped sandwiches and warm, bottled soda. Paring excused himself to stretch his legs, and Scully was left alone with Mulder. They smiled tentatively, and then Mulder took a bite of his sandwich, forcing Scully to begin.
"Mulder, I want to thank you for yesterday. It meant a lot to me that you cared enough to get past your anger-" He cut her off, swallowing noisily.
"Does he know about me?"
"Who?"
"You know who, Scully. Your boyfriend."
"Yes, Rob does know about you." She felt a touch of annoyance creep into her voice.
"Oh, so that's his name. Rob."
"Oh, for god's sake, Mulder. Don't go completely passive-aggressive jerk again." His eyes softened.
"Sorry." He smiled lopsidedly. "It's just that you're a touchy subject for me…" He reached out slowly and put his hand on hers, just a brief touch. Scully's skin tightened, the soft hairs on her hand rising slightly.
Paring walked around the corner, and Scully jumped, pulling her hand away, feeling the slight warmth of his skin still lingering.
It was then that the guilt began to burn her.
Scully spent the rest of the long drive in near silence, alternately stretched out in the backseat scanning for hawks or driving, watching the long highway spiral out before her gaze, listening absently to the intense conversation between the two men as they debated various aspects of the profile they were developing. The Montana State Line passed in a flash of blue, red and yellow, and at about three o'clock the seemingly endless I-15 brought them to the small village of Cranden.
The main street was broad and quiet, the still, hot air barely ruffling the flags and pennants drooping off the streetlamps. A few people glanced toward them as they drove through, at the sleek car and unfamiliar Utah plates. Scully could see the flag still at half-mast above the dusty municipal building.
Paring, who was driving, turned up a shady side street, Oakmount Drive. Scully couldn't see the oaks or the mountains, but could appreciate the apology buried in the name. Her family had once lived on Sugarloaf Lane, at a naval base in Washington State. She remembered her own keen disappointment when it turned out to be just another row of routine housing, homes where you couldn't put anything on the walls, and where you could walk into a neighbor's house by accident, thrown off by its complete uniformity with your own.
The Holtz's home was like a million others in small town America: wide wraparound porch, screen door, toys in the yard, and a flag protruding off the porch. The windows, however, were shut tight against the warm summer air, and the door was a dark presence lurking behind the welcoming screen.
They pulled into the driveway, slamming their car doors in unison, climbing up the steps in their dark suits, a perfect imitation of the dreaded G-men in years past. She felt almost ashamed of their solemn demeanour. How much better would it be if they had coming bearing flowers and hugs, real condolences and real tears, rather than cold professionalism?
Scully rang the doorbell.
It was answered after a few moments by a rather bedraggled looking woman, eyes red and puffy, hair tousled and slightly greasy. She looked them up and down, resignation in her tired gaze.
"You're from the FBI?"
Scully stepped forward. "Mrs. Holtz?"
"Yes."
"Hello, I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and these are my associates; Agent Fox Mulder and Agent Alexander Paring." The woman blinked slowly, absorbing this information with difficulty. She turned her bleary gaze to Mulder.
"Your name is Fox?" Against her squinting regard, he slid the sunglasses off his nose.
"Yes, ma'am." He said quickly. Mrs. Holtz frowned, then blinked slowly again, shifting her eyes back to Scully.
"I suppose you'd better come in then. Wipe your feet, please." She disappeared into the dim light of the house, calling softly for her husband as she went. Scully wiped her feet on the bristly mat at the door, and stepped through, her vision momentarily overcome by the glowing green light of the transition from the summer sun to the dark house. She shook her head slightly, clearing her eyes, and took stock of the house.
They were standing in a hardwood-floored hallway. She could see the kitchen at the end of it, curtains pulled against the afternoon light poking its way through the glass sliding doors. More toys littered the stairs and hall, and Scully continued on into the living room, walking over to the mantle that loomed over the gas fireplace. A familiar photo stared back at her there, one of a blond haired boy of about nine, grinning at the camera, his hair slicked back, his best tie cinched tightly around his neck, tucked into the collar of a crisp white suit shirt.
She tried not to remember that that was how he had died, from something cinched around his neck just too tightly; she tried not to see his little lips blue and gasping for air, blood running down his back from the wings already carved there. She didn't want to, but the images came unbidden. Someone spoke sharply behind her.
"What are you doing?" Scully jerked her hand back from the glass of the photo.
"I… I'm sorry." She stammered. Mr. Holtz grabbed it off the mantel, clutching the heavy frame in his hand, his knuckles white. Mulder looked over from where he was speaking into his Dictaphone. Mr. Holtz struggled to control his breathing.
"Please," he managed. "Have a seat."
An hour or so later, Mrs. Holtz was struggling to regain her composure.
"I just don't know why anyone would want to hurt Jamie. He is… Oh, gosh, I have to say he 'was'… He was such a sweet boy. Never hurt anyone in his life, unless you count Barry Manowitz in third grade, but that one had it coming. Did you know he stole my little Teddy's lunch money a week running, so one day Jamie just stands up and says… He says: 'Barry, you big meanie, you just give back my little brother's lunch, and I mean now!', so then Barry starts at him, and Jamie just stands there-"
Mr. Holtz put his hand on her shoulder. She burst into fresh tears. None of them knew what to say. Mulder waited a moment, and then leaned forward slightly.
"Mr. Holtz, are you and your family religious?"
He looked up sharply. "Of course. Lutheran, like everyone else in Cranden."
"So you attend church."
"Like a clockwork." The man's gaze sharpened, and Paring took up the questioning, his eyes bright with an idea.
"Did your children attend Sunday School, or Bible Study, something like that?"
"Bible Study. The older ones did, I mean. John and Mary and Jamie. Teddy is in a sing-song type class."
"Would everyone in the church have known Jamie's name?"
"Almost everyone. His teacher certainly would. What are you suggesting?"
"Mr. Holtz, I'm not suggesting anything. It is our belief that the killer knew Jamie's name before he abducted him. We're just looking at options." Holtz's eyes flashed with anger.
"Well don't 'look at your options' inside our church. Do you realise how insulting that is? Shouldn't you be out there actually looking for this monster?" Mrs. Holtz looked up at Scully, her eyes shifting with tears.
"It won't help to look at the church. Jamie played Little League and hockey as well, and they have new teachers through all the time. You might as well just go home." Scully sighed, feeling hopelessness settle around her. Mrs. Holtz sniffed. "You might as well go home. It could be anyone who got my Jamie. Anyone in the whole wide world."
The new canvas wriggled and screamed, its pathetic cries ricocheting off the walls, disappearing into the black of the air above them. The candlelight swayed and shifted, throwing grotesque shadows over the man's naked body as he walked toward the boy. The silver blade glittered in his hand as he moved, pleasing him with the tiny constellations of light it reflected onto his thigh. The man loved Art in any form.
The light changed as he moved behind the boy, running his fingers over the smooth, blank Canvas of his back. The blade made tiny red canyons in his flesh as it moved, Art soaring out of the glitteringly dark tip. The man felt excitement course through him, and he resisted the urge to press harder. Doing so would only ruin the Canvas, and, as he had learned, you cannot erase those mistakes.
The man bent his head to the boy's back, and, on an inescapable urge, ran his tongue along the fledgling wings.
Good.
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A/N: Sorry, again, about the delay in uploading. I hope you can forgive me. High School is evil and takes away valuable, precious, life moments. YAY to those who reviewed: you guys are awesome. (It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy!)
Thanks also for all the best wishes about my cold; I'm over it now and I hope you all are too. Keep on reviewing, and please do if you haven't yet. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Love, Ceilidh