A/N: Back tracking in this chapter.
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Circles, Cycles, They Begin Again but Do Not End
He had disappeared again, a long time ago. Mulder had done that too many times, and sent her over the edge, alone, too many times. She always forgave him.
On that particular time, Scully had been desperate, desperate for anyone or anything thing to help her. So desperate, and she had found Skinner.
He had been angry initially, at her or the general situation, she was never sure. Beneath his stifled fury, the kind only his voice could convey, she knew he would help. If he could do something, Skinner would. Scully argued, Scully defended Mulder (as she always had, when the situation warranted), Scully planned, and eventually Skinner agreed. He always did.
An investigation was opened, under a different file, and random agents were assigned to the case. They were young, inexperienced, but as far as Skinner could tell, not watched by anyone deemed important. He took a vacation, jumped several planes to the Midwest, and there, monitored the agents and collaborated with them out of the goodness of his heart. When their reports on finding nothing involved the Assistant Director, hopefully the objective would have been achieved, and perpetrators would be vanishing in a cloud of dust and falsity.
Scully assisted on the side, taking the agents' data and conducting her own research in a community college. Vials of blood, latex gloves, calculations and comparison. She hadn't felt important in a long time. Allowed to get lost in something other than herself; the feeling was exhilarating. Staying focused, not feeling, was exhilarating.
When her anonymous tip led the newbie agents to an empty warehouse, clichéd in Scully's mind at the time, they found blood, tracks from a body dragged and then taken. Evidence of intense heat, light, and the door appeared to have been nearly ripped from its hinges. There was far too much blood. They found tracks, evidence that there had been tables and equipment in the room for a long time. Scully knew they had stayed in the town for too long.
In the daytime, when the scene was less empty, Dana Scully came to survey the damage for herself. There were plenty of crowds; a small town is filled with small people, and here especially, there was nothing better to do than visit a crime scene or someone else's tragedy.
D.N.A. tests had confirmed the blood's identity. Skinner had confirmed the classic abduction scenario. Scully herself did not want to believe the amount of blood on the floor, but the agents confirmed the critical loss. They confirmed everything.
She knew, as she had known since she met Mulder, that things confirmed can be falsified. Unfortunately, over time, she'd discovered the ultimate paradox: ideas at first glance, even in the most obscure or unlikely light, are often right.
In that moment, there were no other avenues to be followed. The sunlight would fade, the road would seem longer in the afternoon shadows, and Scully would be alone with her thoughts again. She would have no one to run with, no one to run to. Where to?
Anger, denial, bargaining. Depression. Testing, acceptance. The problem was—as much as she had acted otherwise in other parts of her life with other people—Scully had never found acceptance easily.
In that moment, someone in a dark window takes a picture. Aspiring film student, the answer and cause, or just a bored, lonely person, they would never know. They never knew anything at all.
Her eyes are shining, staring inward, in a fear stricken expression with a gasping mouth threatening a sob.
(she puts on her mask but a moment later)
The photo that they take of her shows the world is ending.
And someone, somewhere, years and years later, takes the picture out and remembers what they're fighting for.
Sorry for short chapters...my muse gets tired easily. Please review, TBC.
