This story is rated PG for right now. It might change later depending on where exactly I go with this story.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Skinner, Mulder or Scully. They are owned by 1013 Productions and Fox. X-Files and all related characters were created by Chris Carter, and we will continue to not like him for killing off our beloved Krycek, and allowing the show to jump the shark.
Sloan Bishop, Alice and Brian Jackson, and Jeff (I still don't have a last name for him yet ... hey if anyone has a good last name for him, let me know), along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.
Timeline: Sometime during the 5th season.
Wow, I'm updating. I bet none of you thought you would live to see this day. We'll see if I can keep it up.
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!
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The lights reflected as a shiny grey off of the black floor. The walls were a lighter version of that grey, and the benches the same black as the floor. Whoever decorated knew what went on behind those dark mahogany doors, and wasn't wanting to lift spirits.
Special Agent Dana Scully had seen her share of horrible things, but nothing made her as nervous as this hallway. She had been sitting on the hard bench for over an hour, waiting. She new that Mulder's hearing was set to begin a half hour ago, and she was hoping she would be able to speak with him before she went in. But apparently it had started early, because the doors were shut and she was instructed to wait when she arrived.
Or he hadn't even shown.
The second option seemed more likely. She sighed, and the sound seemed so hollow in the empty hallway. She noticed for the first time that the painting of the red square in a canvas of black was no longer hanging on the far wall. Sad, she liked that one.
The silence was cut as the distinct sound of high heels on marble echoed along the bare walls. The young secretary rounded the corner with a stern look on her face, making her look far older than she was.
"They will see you now," she said coming to a stop directly in front of the agent.
"So soon?" she questioned, collecting her briefcase.
"Agent Mulder—"
"Didn't show." Scully finished the girl's sentence.
She shook her head in confirmation. Scully stood, taking a moment to straighten her skirt, and was led down the hall and to the office. It wouldn't be the first time she would face the council without her partner. At least this way she wouldn't have to worry about matching whatever crazy story he came up with.
It was better this way, she lied to herself, and the young girl opened the door and led Scully to the wolves.
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There was a beeping noise, and Mulder couldn't decide if it was in his head or if there was actually something beeping. He was laying a mattress, but not a very comfortable one. There was a pole across the middle of it, which was pressing painfully into his lower back.
But that wasn't the only point of pain on his body. His left wrist ached dully, and there was a sharp pain, like a cut, just above his right eyebrow. He was pretty sure there was a deep bruise around his eye because the pressure he felt at his temple pulsed. His left side hurt every time he took a breath, and his legs were sore, like the sore you get after running a marathon.
Mulder didn't run.
He finally decided he should open his eyes and figure out exactly where here was. The light was bright, and it stung. He groaned and tried to roll over on his side.
"I think perhaps you should lie still for a bit longer." Mulder knew that voice. He looked over to where a man in a suit was sitting next to the bed. It was Byers. Relief washed over him, and he slumped back down on the bed. If the Lone Gunmen were there, he would be okay, at least for a bit.
"Do you know what day it is?" it was Langly who spoke.
"Monday, I think," Mulder responded without opening his eyes. "What time is it?"
"10:23. You're lucky to be alive. Byers found you in the park, by a dumpster."
Mulder frowned, not at the oddity of being found by a dumpster, but because there was a tickle in the back of his brain that there was somewhere he was supposed to be. "10:23 in the morning?"
"Yep," Frohike stated from across the room. "He must have hit his head harder than we thought."
Mulder opened his eyes, but still didn't move. He was supposed to be somewhere. At 8:00. He could feel a headache coming. "Oh shit," he sat straight up. "Scully."
His vision went blurry, then completely black. A wave of nausea hit and he couldn't hold it in. He turned and vomited on Byers.
