A/N: As a thank you to patient readers and in celebration of the new year, I wanted to release a new chapter!
I'll warn you, though, it's a pretty serious chapter. I was in a very reflective mood when I wrote it and wanted to tackle some of the issues I had with The X-Files. Primarily story elements that had been glossed over that I thought should have been given more significance. Anyway, I always have fun writing verbal sparring matches between Mulder and Scully!
If you're looking for more romance though, I promise it will return!
"You know what we need, Scully?" Mulder asked, looking up from his empty dessert bowl and half finished cup of coffee. Scully regarded him over her own dishware, her chin resting in the palm of her hand while she leaned against the dining room table. Her brows raised in silent curiosity. "Some tunes," he concluded with a knowing nod.
"You want music, Mulder?" she asked sleepily, her eyes somewhat glassy and lidded after the long day.
"Of course," he replied, as if it were the obvious answer. "The key is to keep moving forward, Scully. Otherwise nothing would ever be accomplished. The pyramids wouldn't have been built; the process for the pasteurization of milk would never have been discovered; the moon landing would never have happened. If great men and women are out there attempting such feats, I can't be expected to sit here pensively musing over vanilla ice cream and lukewarm coffee." Scully stood to clear the table of dishes, an amused smile on her face.
"And music is your current calling?"
"When life gives you lemons, Scully," he replied wisely. "I do what I can with what I'm given, and in this case, that's a stereo." He stood from the table, stealing a glance at his partner. Rolling her eyes, she turned to the sink and tossed a dish towel over her shoulder. He grinned.
"Far be it from me to stop you," she responded, turning on the water to quickly wash the few dishes in front of her. Thankfully, tacos weren't such a messy meal requiring pots and pans galore. "You know where the stereo is," she added, pointing in the direction of an armoire near her front door. He began to cross into the living room.
"Oh," he called, startling Scully minutely from her menial task. Soap suds jumped from her hands to coat her face. She looked over to see him turn around to face her once more, though he continued to walk backwards to his nearby destination. "Forgot to thank the chef for the lovely meal."
"Yeah, yeah," she smirked, flicking a small glob of suds from her nose. "And there are some leftovers, too. I'll be sending that home with you so that you have something eatable in your fridge for a few days."
"You'll spoil me, Scully," he replied, turning back to the armoire and opening it wide. "Don't force me to make it a habit of coming here for weekly home-cooked meals." Scully laughed.
"You'd eat me out of house and home, Mulder."
"See what I mean?" he prodded, meeting her gaze across the expansive room. "Don't tempt me."
Scully slipped the last of the dishes in the drying rack, dried her hands on a dish towel, and meandered into her living room. Crossing her arms, she perched her hip against the edge of her couch. Mulder was rifling through the armoire, looking at her somewhat antiquated music collection primarily consisting of cassettes and a few CDs here and there.
"Oh... records," he noted with a wicked grin, pulling out a worn, dog-eared album cover from the depths of the cabinet. "Let's see what we have here," he said curiously, turning it so he could look at the artwork. "Hotel California. The Eagles." He glanced over his shoulder at his partner, holding up the record so she could see it. "You had good taste, Scully," he complimented with a smile. Scully covered her face with her hand, mildly embarrassed that Mulder had stumbled upon a favorite Christmas gift from her teenage years. She still got a kick out of listening to The Eagles—as one does when listening to a band from their youth—but if Mulder were able to find that sliver of her past, what else could he find buried in those depths? Meanwhile, he returned to the armoire and peered into it, searching for something. "Got a turn-table we can play this on?"
"It's on my 'to buy' list," she replied. Mulder clicked his tongue disappointedly and slipped the vinyl record back where he had found it.
"You got to step up, Scully," he critiqued facetiously. "Every audiophile needs a record player. How else are you going to listen to The King in style?" His words slurred into an Elvis Presley speech pattern as he mentioned his musical idol. Scully rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.
"Noted, Mulder. Thank you." Mulder suddenly snapped his fingers, starting as an idea struck him.
"That reminds me..." he began vaguely. "Now let's see if you have it." He dug into the armoire, his fingers dancing against cassette cases. Scully's eyebrows shot up and she tried in vain to look over her partner's slouched shoulders. Being as petite as she did not come with an advantage in this case. She sighed and opted to stare blankly at Mulder's back, waiting to hear his final music choice. A few seconds later, his back straightened as he held a single cassette case in his hand. "What do you know?" he mused aloud. "Color me surprised, Scully," he added, shooting a smile over his shoulder. She frowned. What on earth had he found in there? To give him that look of all things?
"What did you find, Mulder?" she asked in what she hoped sounded like an innocent tone.
"In a minute," he relayed, holding up a finger as he popped the cassette into the player. "Gotta find the right track." He flipped the plastic case around to view the song list and punched the "next track" button a few times. Once satisfied, he set the case back down. A quiet piano melody began, and Scully arched her brow in confusion, trying to pick out the song. Mulder spun the volume knob to turn it up as the vocalizations started. A rich, soulful female voice. Scully was dumbstruck and she showed it.
"Cher?" she blurted out in surprise. Mulder spread his arms wide with a grin.
"What's wrong with Cher, Scully?" She blinked wildly for a moment.
"It's just the last thing I expected from you, Mulder. And why this song?" she added, realizing it was Cher's wildly popular cover of Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis." Mulder pulled an exaggerated frown and shook his head.
"I can't tell you, Scully. It's just the song that struck me." He began tapping his foot to the percussion beat and bopping to the music. "Though I'll say I didn't expect you to own this album in a million years."
"It was a gift from a friend," she admitted with a frown of her own. She'd never expected to actually listen to the tape. The song had been on the radio constantly over the last few years. Mulder waved off the explanation.
"Well, gift or not—come on, Scully." He held out his hand and beckoned her with his customary lopsided smile. Scully's eyes widened and she hastily shook her head.
"You didn't say anything about dancing, Mulder."
"What do you expect us to do with music playing?" he replied with an incredulous chuckle. "Stare demurely at the wall? Now, come on." He beckoned again. With a sigh and conceding smile, she offered her hand. Mulder took it and fluidly spun her into his arms, immediately resituating his hands: one on her waist and the other clasping her hand to his. Scully wrapped her free arm around his back as they swayed to the beat.
"I must say, Mulder, you surprise me," Scully remarked up to her partner.
"What?" he chuckled, meeting her blue eyes.
"This doesn't seem like the sort of thing you would do," she stated plainly.
"Are you saying a man can't listen to Cher without fear of ridicule?"
"I hardly listen to Cher without fear of ridicule," Scully returned mockingly. "At least not since that case in Indiana..." She struggled to remember the particulars of the case. "You know, the one with the culprit who absolutely loved Cher..."
"The Great Mutato," Mulder offered.
"Yeah," Scully nodded. "It's a wonder I couldn't remember his name..."
"And I wonder what happened to him," Mulder mused as the tape switched to the next track. He and Scully continued to sway to the beat.
"Well," Scully began, shutting her eyes in concentration as she thought back, "the closing report stated he was tried and convicted of multiple counts of breaking and entering, assault, and rape. His brother, the mad doctor, was convicted for first-degree murder and illegal human experimentation in the field of genetics."
"Mutato wasn't such a bad guy," Mulder said with a frown. Scully's brows shot up incredulously.
"Mulder," she pressed, "he drugged and raped at least two women. Not to mention drugging us."
"His father drugged us, Scully," Mulder corrected.
"The point still stands. He raped two women in the attempt to find a mate."
"He was attempting to fulfill a natural imperative found in all species, Scully. The necessity to procreate—without which every species on this earth would quickly become extinct."
"But to resort to rape?" Scully questioned, not buying into Mulder's argument.
"He was the low man on the totem pole," he answered. "An abnormal—potentially hideous—creature who would undoubtedly have been eliminated from the genetic tree of every species through the Darwinian process of natural selection, or what Herbert Spencer called survival of the fittest. That is, except by the human race. We're a species that supports the propagation of all characteristics—whether they would prove beneficial or detrimental in the human evolutionary chain."
"If you're insinuating we should recommence research into the practice of eugenic policies, Mulder—"
"That's not what I'm saying at all, Scully." He shook his head with a light smile, quickly becoming invested in the battle of words with Scully. "I'm saying that the Great Mutato had no choice but to look to alternative means to produce offspring. Being of lesser genetic muster than the common, everyday man would put him at a significant disadvantage in finding a mate. And while we live in a society which calls for equality and supports a stance of 'all lives matter,' those with defective or absent key characteristics are often overlooked in favor of those with more favorable qualities."
"But that's not true in every case," Scully countered. "There are plenty out there suffering from debilitating illnesses or disabilities who have families. They aren't all abandoned as lost causes or burdens on society."
"Ah," Mulder said with a sly smile, "but very few—if any—are quite as afflicted as the Great Mutato."
"Explain," Scully requested, eyeing her partner doubtfully.
"The Great Mutato was not born in any sense of the word. He was the result of his brother's genetic experimentations. That makes him distinctly inhuman, and therefore he is the sole creature of his specific species."
"Yes," Scully agreed, drawing out the affirmative. "And that's why his father—or rather, his adoptive father—was attempting to find a mate for him."
"So don't you see, Scully?" Mulder grinned as they continued to dance. She shook her head. "As the only of his species, we—as members of the human race—have no right to confine him to our societal rules. By all accounts, he was doing right by trying to procreate and prevent impending extinction. And the hypocrisy of it all is that while there is frequently public outcry for the poaching of endangered species, we willingly allow the only Great Mutato of the world to die out without a hint of reproach."
"But can he even be considered a 'species,' Mulder?" Scully pointed out suddenly. "You said yourself that he was the creation of genetic manipulation and experimentation—a manmade product."
"As are numerous dog breeds or plant hybrids," he countered.
"But the Great Mutato was sentient. A creature capable of thinking and operating on a human level. Despite his origins, wouldn't that make him practically human?"
"You'd have to do a DNA analysis, Scully," Mulder shrugged. "How closely is he related to you or me on a genetic level?"
"While a valid point," she assented, "that wasn't what I was trying to stress. I meant to say that if he can operate to the level of cognitive thinking and reasoning as your everyday human being, that he should be capable of understanding the unspoken rules of human society. Rules such as you don't drug and rape women in attempt to procreate."
"Not necessarily," Mulder asserted. "His hermitic upbringing at the hands of his father coupled with his fanatical devotion to specific articles—among them peanut butter sandwiches and Cher—suggest him to be a sort of fetishist with a very limited understanding of social norms."
"He was educated, though, Mulder!" Scully retorted in frustration. "A modern day Frankenstein if there ever was one!" Despite her increasing aggravation with her partner's argument, she still found herself dancing with him. She clenched and unclenched the fingers around his hand, realizing her grip had been tightening as he exacerbated her annoyance.
"Frankenstein's monster," Mulder corrected smoothly. "A common misconception because of the 1931 movie starring Boris Karloff—"
"I'm familiar with the movie," Scully swiftly cut him off. "And you very well know I was referencing the Mary Shelley novel." Mulder smiled at her teasingly, then suddenly swung her to his other arm, spinning her outward before pulling her back to him. Scully felt a little flushed after the unexpected action, but found herself smiling. Nonetheless, she wasn't about to let their conversation drop when she might have him pinned down. "Well?" she demanded with a laugh. "How do you explain the Great Mutato being as educated as he was and yet unfamiliar with society's rules?" Mulder shrugged.
"He got his book learnin' real good," he offered in a stereotypical southern twang. She swatted him lightly on the arm, and he chuckled in return.
"I'm serious, Mulder." He shrugged again.
"I'm not sure, Scully," he said honestly. "Perhaps his father was a strict teacher in his youth. Perhaps he frequently read science journals since those were the only things he could get his hands on. His long-term isolation from society would make him sociologically and conversationally stunted, though."
"Gee, I wonder who that reminds me of," Scully smirked up to her partner. His mouth popped open and he scoffed.
"You forget that my isolation is self-inflicted, and I have the capacity to go out and interact with the masses. I just lack the motivation to."
"Ah," Scully nodded in mock seriousness, "so I should consider myself lucky to be one of the privileged few you agreeably see on a daily basis."
"Scully, you should be downright honored," he stressed. "I don't pull out these moves for just anyone." Scully quirked an eyebrow just in time to be unexpectedly dipped. The floor came rushing up toward her and she hastily grabbed at Mulder's shoulder. Feeling as if she were inches from the ground, she stopped.
"Jesus!" she breathed, staring up at her partner's bemused smile. "Warn me next time, Mulder." He carefully righted her, holding her steady as she got her feet under her. Once safe on the ground, she blew at a strand of hair in her face. Mulder chuckled and tucked it behind her ear while still holding her firmly by her waist. "Thank you," she said after taking in a breath. Mulder resumed his previous position, raising a hand to take her own.
"Should we finish our dance?"
"That wasn't a climactic enough ending?" she returned.
"At least until the end of the song?" He gestured to the stereo where Cher's crooning was still commencing.
"Fine," she responded, taking his hand once more. "Just watch it next time," she added as a mild threat, glowering up at the man before her despite the fact she was about a head shorter than him.
"Well then," Mulder began, trying to stray away from Scully's not-so-idle threat. She might be significantly smaller than him, but she had that fiery Irish temper, and he knew her to be good with a gun. "Back to the Great Mutato. Since our discussion was based on an amalgamation of philosophical, moral, and psychological arguments and theories dating back over the centuries, I don't think we'll ever know the truth about him."
"But you still think he shouldn't be found guilty of rape?" she asked, picking up the bait. The last few bars of the latest Cher song played and the tracks switched once again. Mulder punched the "stop" button on the stereo and released Scully, considering her statement for a moment before reworking it to his purposes.
"I question whether society can justify their condemnation of him as a guilty man given the peculiarities of his case—namely his status as an outsider as determined by his physical appearance and irregular upbringing." Scully stared at her partner, unconsciously crossing her arms.
"If that's the standard you set to second guess court-appointed judgments, what makes the Great Mutato so different from Eddie Van Blundht? I mean, difficult livelihoods and personal struggles—despite the hardships and unfortunate 'outsider' status associated with it—don't merit breaking the law."
"I didn't say it was a standard," Mulder replied. "I was speaking specifically on the case and circumstances surrounding the Great Mutato. Van Blundht deserved exactly what he got." Mulder's eyes darkened some as he recalled the baby-faced culprit.
"But he was alike to Mutato. Physically disfigured, though to a lesser extent. Ostracized from society due to issues with self-esteem and fear of rejection."
"But Eddie Van Blundht was a product of society. He grew up alongside other children and peers; he likely went to school and developed within the modern sociological structure. While his upbringing might have been a bit abnormal given his father's involvement in the circus, it is still a perfectly credible way to grow up and count among the general populace of society."
"And so you're differentiating between the two of them based on that assertion?"
"Yes, because Van Blundht had no natural prerogative to do what he did outside his own selfish reasons. He was born with a miraculous gift: the ability to shapeshift at will. If he had kept the details to himself, he might have been able to lead a cozy, commodious lifestyle, though likely through illegal means. If he went to the government, he would have been poked, prodded, and no doubt subjected to intense testing to determine the genetic origins behind his ability. But he chose neither of those options; he opted to take advantage of women instead, blaming his transgressions on an overly-critical father and a supposed closed-minded, cruel society that frequently ridiculed him while simultaneously excusing his actions as acts of benevolence. Namely giving couples who were struggling to conceive what they desired most—a child."
"Not to mention giving that single mother—"
"Amanda Nelligan," Mulder offered.
"Yes," Scully said with a nod. "Not to mention giving her the Jedi of her dreams."
"The Force was certainly with her," Mulder teased. Scully nodded thoughtfully as her gaze strayed to the couch next to them. She rested a hand against the top of it.
"And then he tried to do the same with me."
"I didn't know you had a thing for Luke Skywalker, Scully," Mulder smiled, trying to make light of the serious turn in the conversation. She quickly shot him a look and it brought him back down to earth. He tried to catch her eye, and she stared blankly at the couch. "The important thing is that he didn't succeed."
"Only because you showed up in the nick of time. If you hadn't, Mulder, I don't know what would have happened."
"He was that convincing?" Mulder asked, his eyes naturally widening in curiosity. He and Scully had talked about the Van Blundht incident briefly following its occurrence, but the both of them were still in mutual states of shock and embarrassment. The talking amounted to very little and both their final case reports were fairly brief on the matter. With a number of years having passed, hopefully the old wound had healed some and Scully would be more open to conversation.
"He made mistakes," Scully admitted, rubbing her eyes. "Looking back, I realize he did a lot of things that should have sent up red flags, but I ignored them for whatever reason or another. Ultimately, he came at me with a version of you I hadn't really seen before." She gestured to her partner's tall form.
"And that was?" he pressed, looking for clarification.
"A man not wholly obsessed with his work. Who came for social calls and was willing to set aside the stresses of life in favor of good company and conversation. To just talk."
"And what do you call this, Scully?" Mulder gestured around her apartment. The TV with the movie still snuggly wedged into the VCR; recently washed dishes; an idly sitting stereo.
"It was three years ago, Mulder," Scully reminded him, leaning back against the couch. Mulder remained in place, standing a few feet away by the armoire. "And we weren't where we are now. And I still had cancer at the time."
Mulder winced at the memory of Scully's periodic bloody noses followed by her strained insistences that everything was alright. Her eyes were wild in those moments, terrified yet trying so hard to be resilient and strong in the face of adversity. She didn't want to be seen as weak and helpless, and Mulder refrained from looking at her with pity, but he wished to God that she would slow down and take time for herself. It was as if she thought that one falter in her step would spell her doom, and she had to keep straining forward in their cases and in her everyday life to maintain the illusion that all was well.
And it would be during such a time that she would look for someone to share her burden and draw close to. Just someone to reminisce with on times past, and for better or worse, Eddie Van Blundht found himself fitting perfectly into that role.
Mulder should really have found the time to make such cheery house calls. Even just to add some levity to the dismal happenings.
"I should have been there, Scully," Mulder said suddenly. She looked at her partner quizzically. "During your cancer," he explained. She shook her head.
"You were fine, Mulder," she replied with ease. "You helped me when it mattered. It's just Eddie's attempts left me completely uncertain of myself. For me to look into his eyes—your eyes, I guess—and not see the lie. And then to let him kiss me."
"Would you have welcomed it?" Mulder deadpanned, meeting her eyes. There was no jealousy or upset in his tone; just curiosity—eagerness to understand her position and what she had gone through. The psychologist in him was at work.
"Thinking it was you?" she returned, watching his green orbs. "I would have accepted it. I probably would have continued it." She paused for a second to stare blankly at nothing in particular before returning Mulder's gaze again. "But even while thinking it was you, I didn't encourage it. He tried to kiss me; I didn't reciprocate the movement."
"Because you weren't interested?" Mulder questioned.
"Because I didn't know what to do, I guess," Scully sighed. "I'd certainly considered the notion back then…." She smiled in mild embarrassment. "But I sort of froze." Mulder nodded, musing on the ramifications of that answer.
"Nerves will do that to you," he replied lightly, but the gears in his head were spinning at a furious pace.
Fear, he thought to himself. Fear of getting close, becoming intimate, especially with the foreknowledge that death was near. Now that sounds familiar. Mulder had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He hastily worked to steer his mind back to the topic at hand; he would have more time to worry about his own oncoming death knell later when he was alone in his apartment with his thoughts. As for Scully, Van Blundht had forced her to come face-to-face with a very real fear for her, that of becoming too attached.
After years of working with her, Mulder had learned how to read his partner, and he could easily perceive both her character strengths and weaknesses. Personal attachment was something she frequently and inherently struggled with. He knew that struggle had been even more intrusive when she was sick with cancer, and yet when Eddie Van Blundht came knocking on her door, she opened up. She met that fear head-on and was prepared to act in defiance of it. Talking to Van Blundht about times' past and going so far as to willingly, albeit hesitantly, accept a kiss. But the revelation that he was not, in fact, Mulder had worsened everything for her.
"Nerves don't excuse my ignorance to the truth," Scully suddenly said, sharply looking up at Mulder. "From the moment I opened my door, I should have seen he wasn't you." Even after a few years, she was still kicking herself over the incident.
"You were meant to mistake him for me," Mulder readily replied, hoping to assuage her guilt. "That was the purpose of the deception, Scully. He targeted women who were looking for something out of life-whether it was a child or a listening ear, and he became an embodiment of those hopes and dreams while in a familiar physical form. Someone those women would trust implicitly-loved ones or beloved fictional heroes. And he would offer them what they wanted so long as he was able to distort those desires for his personal gain, in this case to appease his very active libido." He paused and worked his jaw for a moment. "Ultimately, he told those women exactly what they wanted to hear, and so they would fail to perceive his obfuscation." Scully's bright eyes stared into his own.
"So being a woman leaves me inherently open to manipulation," Scully remarked sourly. "Stereotypical female characteristics include reacting positively to an attentive partner, usually due to simple flattery or prolonged conversation about pointless subjects, and constructing strong emotional ties with close friends and family. I fulfilled both stereotypes that day, and that made me the perfect candidate for exploitation."
Mulder didn't want Scully to think any less of herself for failing to see through Van Blundht's deception. He had trained himself at the art, learning how to mimic someone while simultaneously presenting a side to them that was meant to win anyone over, and since he could shape-shift, there was no reason for anyone to logically suspect him.
"He knew those wives wouldn't reject their husbands," Mulder reminded her. "And that you wouldn't reject me." He studied Scully carefully, hoping he hadn't added salt to an already smarting wound. She gave no reaction. "It was all reward without the risk," he concluded. "A perfect opportunity for a man like him." Scully sighed and dipped her head to stare at the wooden floor.
"I don't want to believe people like him exist. Opportunists who only seek to take advantage of others in moments of weakness."
"You've seen it first-hand, Scully," Mulder returned, not seeing the point in avoiding the truth or trying to sugarcoat it. "Every time we investigate a crime, we're looking at the work of an opportunist." He shrugged helplessly.
"Yes, and that's what scares me," she admitted quietly. She rolled her head sideways to get a better look at her partner.
"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, taking a small step closer to her. Though he had a distinct feeling he already knew: because of people like Eddie Van Blundht, her fear had become compounded. She slowly learned to fear not only attachment, but perhaps even other people altogether. Other people could be two-faced, and trusting strangers meant you were giving them the opportunity to openly harm you.
"I'm well aware that predators of varied sadistic interests and fascinations exist. I know that as an agent of the Bureau it's my job to stop such predators, but do you have any idea of how hard that is to do when I am repeatedly the object of their intent? When I'm the victim more often than not?" She paused, giving Mulder time to interject as he often would, but he said nothing. He sensed there was more she wanted to say, and wanted her to finish her thought. She sighed. "How am I expected to protect when I'm the one frequently victimized and otherwise incapable of defending myself?"
"'Incapable'?" Mulder echoed back. "I would say you're far from incapable, Scully. I mean, you've survived it all. You even stopped Donnie Pfaster a few months back."
"You already know my opinion on that, Mulder," she said in a strained tone. "I shouldn't have reacted as I did. If the Bureau knew what happened, they'd have my badge and gun."
"You didn't do what was 'right' according to the letter of the law, but you and I both know life isn't that black and white," Mulder pressed. "If Pfaster had escaped again, there'd be no end to his killings. You prevented the chance that he could cause more pain."
"Even so, it was poor judgment on my part," she resisted. "An involuntary action that shouldn't have happened in the first place. And it all ultimately felt like I wasn't in control of myself." Mulder nodded.
"I wonder if we aren't sometimes," he pondered aloud. "In control, that is." She glanced up at him in confusion. "There's a darkness in all of us, and sometimes people like Pfaster bring that darkness to the forefront. Remember what happened to Bill Patterson?" he added in attempt to add some credence to his point. "To understand the monster, you have to become the monster."
"And he certainly became one," Scully admitted softly. "I wonder if I did, too, if only for a moment."
"Patterson let John Mostow get to him," Mulder argued. "Three years of chasing that man, living in his infernal world of blood and art, and Patterson lost his grip on reality." Mulder stared at his petite partner, a woman avidly afraid of what killing Pfaster had meant for her. He firmly put a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to relinquish her place against the couch and turn to face him. "Losing control for a moment doesn't mean you've become the monster," he said slowly. "You've seen me go through much worse-when we were looking into Mostow or John Lee Roche, for example. And neither of us are consumed by darkness. We're just questioning what constitutes right and wrong."
"But I know I was wrong, Mulder," she automatically responded. "I should not have killed Donald Pfaster under those circumstances." Mulder saw that he was not getting through to her in the way he wanted to. He dropped his hands to his sides.
"You were only wrong when you view it from the lens of our modern-day established society," Mulder retaliated. "Remember John Barnett? More commonly remembered as the man with the salamander hand." Mulder wriggled his fingers at Scully for effect. She nodded. "In 1989, during a sting operation, I had a clear shot on Barnett, and I didn't take it because of FBI protocol. My inaction resulted in the deaths of two men."
"I remember," Scully acceded.
"When we later caught up with Barnett in '94, he pulled the same trick on me, thinking he'd stopped me in my tracks again," Mulder continued. "Only that time, I didn't hesitate. I shot the bastard in the stomach." He paused for dramatic effect and ensured he had her eyes trained on him. "And Scully, I don't regret that for one instant. Barnett, Pfaster... They're the same kind of sick animal, and they don't deserve anything more than a second chance because once that chance for redemption is up, they become an immediate risk to everything and everyone. As far as I'm concerned, you had every right to kill him." Scully smiled doubtfully up at her partner.
"You explain it away like it's all so easy," she about whined. Mulder wondered if her weariness was catching up with her. She seemed more in the mood to vent frustrations than argue the fine points of complex philosophical quandaries. "That everyone should be able to accept such a mode of thinking after having killed, if only to justify their actions."
"Taking a life isn't easy, Scully," he conceded with a sigh. "You know that as well as I. Doing so without 'just cause'—a term strictly defined by our benevolent government—makes it all the harder. More often than not, you're shunned as a renegade, one who cannot keep to decorum because you had the presence of mind to think for yourself, and more importantly, to think outside the carefully considered box of proper procedure as determined by a rigidly limited view of the world and the capabilities of man."
"You sound like an anarchist, Mulder," Scully remarked, cautiously meeting her partner's eyes. Mulder considered retracting his comments, but decided on clarifying them instead.
"It's not that I believe in the dissolution of government. As much as it's a pain in the ass, it's necessary to keep day-to-day life from falling into mass chaos. I do protest the inane concept that every iota of life must be clearly defined, categorized, and filed away. That brand of thinking only sustains a lesser quality of life based on the ignorance of the individual, and thus preserves mankind's inability to consider a manner of living outside one's personal life experiences. The everyday populace could not even conceive of the things you and I have seen because it does not correlate with the the government sanctioned definition of 'reality.' I mean, how often have you and I stumbled on a case only to have the local law enforcement laugh it all off as science fiction?"
"Frequently," she responded with a knowing nod.
"And how often have our cases proven to be just as bizarre and surreal as they seem?"
"Almost always," Scully nodded again. "Most of the X-Files we've investigated can be attributed to paranormal or unexplainable phenomena."
'Exactly!" Mulder asserted. "And it's that sort of mental obstinacy that unfairly prosecutes people like you and me for taking the lives of men like Barnett and Pfaster. If our actions do not fit into the parameters of the ideal FBI agent, our efforts are seen as a waste of government resources."
"You and I have seen plenty of that, Mulder," Scully noted, "considering our frequent OPR hearings regarding the manner of our investigations and their consequential findings."
"And all that those meetings accomplish is to prevent us from completing our jobs."
"We're field agents, Mulder. We're not meant to be judge, jury, and execution," Scully intoned.
"Except in those circumstances when we have been fired upon and are in immediate danger ourselves," Mulder returned. "Then we're allowed to take lethal action. At the time I apprehended Donald Pfaster, you could have been in immediate danger." Mulder's eyes flashed. He was intentionally stretching the truth. Scully blamed herself for enough; she shouldn't have to question the permissibility of her actions in killing a known serial killer. And one that had just sought harm upon her, no less. One that had intended to kill her in the past.
"But I wasn't in danger," Scully discounted while shaking her head. "I was free from my bindings, and you had him in hand." Mulder wasn't going to change her mind on the matter. Her moral compass was shaken, and she was unwilling to accept the notion that her actions were justified. But even if that were the case, there had to be a reason behind those actions.
"So why do you think you did it?" Mulder asked softly.
"I told you. I don't know." Scully shook her head again.
"You told me you didn't feel in control of your actions," he corrected. "You didn't say why you acted as you did."
Of course, he knew it all went back to Pfaster's previous assaults on Scully. The first incident had about broken her. Mulder recalled a young, auburn-haired Scully shaking and sobbing in his arms after her rescue. He had just silently held her to him, protectively wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to the top of her head. It took minutes of them standing like that before she was able to compose herself somewhat. After she released him, she fought at the gag wrapped around her neck, trying to remove it with shaking hands. Mulder carefully helped her, handing off the fabric to a nearby agent who hastily bagged it. He did the same with her wrist restraints. Once free, she tightly gripped Mulder's jacket, casting her eyes about for something. Mulder asked if she wanted to sit down again. Scully said she wanted to get out of the house. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he led her from the location and out into the yard. Paramedics rushed forward to attend to her. She repeatedly croaked, "I'm fine," but Mulder knew that was far from the truth.
Pfaster's second attack had goaded her into action. She refused to be broken by the man again. Rather than breaking down and requiring Mulder's help in being released from makeshift bindings, she freed herself. And rather than repeatedly claiming she was fine, she showed Pfaster that she was fine by punching a bullet through his chest.
Mulder wanted to hear as much from her, though. Maybe if she voiced such thoughts aloud, she'd rid herself of the accompanying guilt.
"I wanted to destroy all he stood for," Scully said impassively after a moment's silence and contemplation. "All the Eugene Tooms and Duane Barrys and Phillip Padgetts. All those men who kidnapped or sought to kill me."
Scully's answer struck a depth that Mulder hadn't anticipated, but it helped him get a fuller picture of his partner. It was true that Eddie Van Blundht's merciless doppleganger trick had made her more wary of people-but it was of men specifically. Men who had terrorized and victimized her all throughout her career as a field agent. Mulder had wrongly written off her earlier voiced fears of being incapable. The moments when she had competently succeeded in stopping an enemy or solving a case didn't matter. All she saw were the times when she was overpowered and summarily overcome. When she was disarmed, bound or drugged, oftentimes a combination of the three, and helplessly at another's mercy.
Mulder hadn't realized that the occurrence happened so frequently. His mind ran back over their various cases together and he tried to recount all the times Scully had been subdued. Names came to mind: Enoch O'Connor, Leonard Betts, and Gerry Schnauz among them. Not to mention men like Van Blundht, Pfaster, and the others Scully had named. Most of them were dead, but that didn't relieve Scully of the trauma of having suffered through such events at their hands.
"I hadn't realized, Scully," he said seriously, carefully observing her. She knew exactly what he was doing.
"I don't want your pity, Mulder," she warned. Her stance stiffened and she eyed him warily.
"No," Mulder complied. "And I wasn't going to give it to you." He knew better than to pity Scully. That was the last sort of reaction she'd want from anyone. It would only serve as a further example of her weakness. He had to find a way to bolster her confidence in her abilities. "I only mean to say I hadn't realized the degree to which you suffered." Scully crossed her arms and let out a sigh.
"I'm not ignorant, Mulder," she suddenly remarked, as if he needed further explanation. "I know the risks that come with being in law enforcement, especially in being a field agent for the Bureau. And I don't mind the majority of the cases we investigate-the deadly pathogens and parasitic lifeforms we have come in contact with. I don't mind putting myself at risk in that way, but I do care that the subjects of our cases so frequently follow me to my doorstep." She took a breath and pointed to her front door.
"I mean, do you realize that that's where Melissa was killed?" Mulder turned to stare at the apartment's doorway; he had, of course, known of Melissa's death and that she had been assassinated in Scully's apartment, but he'd never considered the precise location or the how Scully's proximity to it might affect her. "And then there's the other times I was attacked," Scully continued. "Duane Barry grabbed me here." She gestured to the bay windows standing a few feet from them. Mulder remembered the morning after her abduction in vivid detail; the splintered and shattered coffee table, the smashed phone, the blood and hair dotting the area here and there. It about made his blood run cold to consider it again. "And Tooms nearly killed me over there." She waved a hand off toward the direction of her bathroom. Mulder clearly remembered that incident as well. "Hell, Mulder, it's hard to feel safe in one's own home when the maniacs you chase down for a living come find you." She stared up at her partner as if daring him to defy her statement. He did no such thing, insteading returning her gaze. Suddenly, she laughed, a darkly ironic sort of laugh. "Then there are the men out in the field that try to do me in. And I mean in a way more than just aiming a gun at me or coming at me with a knife," she added sharply, as if afraid he was going to shrug off her concerns as being just part of the job.
"I never took it that way," Mulder quickly reassured her. Scully was suddenly opening up a lot to him in a short time. First with all the questions of her future and the subsequent romp in his bed; now with all the insecurities from her past. Despite her ever-constant insistence that she was "fine" and that she could manage things on her own, Mulder saw a Scully that had some inner demons she needed to face. And despite her reluctance to accept his help, he wanted to do just that. It was the least he could do to help her prepare for the future.
"Scully," he said slowly, making sure she was maintaining eye contact before he continued. "I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me." She smiled appreciatively, but it looked to Mulder to be an obligatory smile rather than an authentic one. As always, she didn't want to appear powerless.
"I know, Mulder," she responded. "But this is something I have to face on my own." Mulder stepped forward, trying to ascertain whether Scully would consent to his touch. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he circled his around her torso, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.