April 27, 1998
Harrisburg, PA
When the gun went off behind him, Mulder's kneeling body was automatically pushed forward and his mind went blank. For a millisecond, he had expected his life to flash before his eyes, but there was nothing like that; it all looked exactly the same. Except for the gimp's dead body dropping next to him.
You're still alive, his mind reminds him as he reaches the outskirts of Harrisburg driving the car he has borrowed from August Bremer. Bremer – the supposed mastermind behind the New Spartans, the man who Mulder had been sure was going to kill him – had actually killed a member of his own group and saved the federal agent's life.
Someone needs to tell him what the hell is really going on.
Another ten minutes and Mulder makes it past the police block outside the bank he had assisted in robbing just this morning and starts yelling out orders to get everybody out of the building, frantic. No way this is a simple domestic terrorism case, not with everything that has just happened, he knows it. He storms his way through the loading dock, intent on finding whoever is in charge, and, oh – Scully is there before him, walking his way and shouting his name in relief.
Scully is here.
"The money!" he tells her in a loud voice, still panicked. "They sprayed the money!"
If she touches any of the bills…
"We got here an hour ago, before any of the funds were touched or transferred," she tells him, easing his concern as she crosses the threshold and comes to a halt in front of him. "The cash supply is being isolated; it's being locked down in the vault."
She's okay; everyone is okay, he repeats to himself in his head. The adrenaline rushes out of his body all at once and he feels like he's going to pass out; he braces his hands on his knees as he tries to regulate his breathing.
She's okay, and she's standing there right in front of him, looking all proper and professional and in charge of everything.
Well, she's not most of these things, really. She wants to touch him, pull him into her arms, make sure that he's truly alive and healthy and safe, that she hasn't lost him. It's just that she's standing in the middle of a crime scene, rounded by policemen, their boss just inside. She can't do what she wants to. Actually, she wonders if, even if they were alone, she would allow herself to do what she really wants to.
"How did you know it was this bank?" he asks, the thought coming to his mind all of the sudden.
"I recognized you from the surveillance tape," she tells him, and as he looks at her baffled, murmuring questions and mimicking a mask over his face, she merely nods at his hand and adds in explanation, "Ah, your finger."
God, he wishes he could take her face in his hands and kiss the air out of her, he barely laughs to himself, amazed at this woman before him. It's a fleeting idea, because they're in public and – oh look, Skinner is coming over from inside the bank as well.
"August Bremer – or whatever his real name is – he's working with us," Mulder announces immediately to the assistant director, ready to tell his boss everything he think he knows.
"Mulder, before you go any further," Scully commands his attention, sounding uneasy, "you should know that the biotoxin they used may have come from government labs. Our government."
That stops him in his tracks. "You're saying I was set up?"
Skinner, who is looking more and more disconcerted by the sight of his subordinate and the words he's proffering, replies cautiously, "We have no definitive information to justify that position."
Mulder is having none of it. "I was being used?" He asks the bald man, turning to Scully to gather her thoughts on this. She doesn't look any more comfortable about the possibility than he feels. "This whole operation?" He further asks, turning to his boss again. "The people who died in that theatre?" he adds in a loud, disapproving voice.
"Agent Mulder," the CIA agent that has been involved every step of the way on this greets as he rounds the loading dock from behind Skinner. "Our government is not in the business of killing innocent civilians," he says in that formal, this-is-the-government's-official-speech tone.
"The hell they aren't," Mulder challenges, angrily walking up to the man. "Those were tests on us to be used on someone else."
"Those bills have been analyzed; the money in the vault gave no readings," the mysterious operative retorts disdainfully. "There's absolutely no evidence of any biotoxins. So, before you climb on any bandwagon –"
"You knew about this all along," Scully interrupts him immediately, confrontation in her eyes once the pieces of this diabolical puzzle come together in her mind. "You knew about this the whole time!" she raises her voice accusingly. Just the prospect of her partner's life being in the danger for no other reason than a government agenda leaves her livid, in a full protective-mode.
The CIA agent observes her, taking in her posture and the way she looks at him menacingly. This female agent surprised him, and he isn't usually surprised. He would have expected such a reaction from Agent Mulder, not his pristine partner.
"I want that money rechecked," Mulder says like it's an order.
"That money has been cleared," the other man sternly replies. "It's being used as evidence in a federal crime."
"That money's as dirty as you are, isn't it?" the younger male agent pretends to ask, when he's really making an accusation. Upon the silent, fake self-righteous look on the secret agent's face, he repeats calmly. "Isn't it?"
Mulder already has his answer, even before the shady government official haughtily launches into a well-rehearsed speech filled with rhetorical questions about Mulder's intentions as a whistle-blower and the job also being about keeping people from knowing the truth. As the dishonest man walks again, Mulder and Scully just stand there, stunned by the veiled meaning of the words just spoken and aggrieved by the knowledge that their own government would stoop so low as to kill their own citizens in the name of assuring their military dominance over the world. Even Skinner looks jaded, dissatisfied with having been used in this charade alongside two of his most upstanding agents.
"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder," the older agent finally breaks the silence. "Why don't you go back to D.C. and take the rest of the day? We can debrief tomorrow; apparently, this is no longer a high priority case," he all but mumbles the last part. "Actually, take the rest of the week off. You need to take care of that finger and I'm not looking forward to your whining about being stuck behind a desk all day long because of it," Skinner deadpans.
Despite everything, Mulder cracks up. "Why, thank you, Sir. But if it's no bother, I'd like to finish this case up, see what's behind door number two. I have even more questions now than I did before I first started this assignment."
The assistant director shakes his head negatively. "I'll finish up here with Agent Scully and the rest of the team. Go home, Agent Mulder – that's an order. I'll expect your thorough report next Monday morning." He stares at the male agent and then glances briefly at his female counterpart, silently allowing her a few moments alone with her partner before she needs to go back to work. With that, he heads back inside the bank.
"I was worried about you," Scully declares in a tender voice the second their boss is out of earshot.
"Not my favorite rodeo, I'll tell you," Mulder's jokes fall flat, sounding more despondent than he would have expected.
Intent on learning more about what happened to him and wanting to remain professional for the sake of appearances, she starts with what she expects to be the easier questions. "What did you mean by August Bremer being on our side?"
"I think he's working with the CIA, Scully. He had a tape of the conversation about Haley we had that night you came to my apartment, and he played it to the group to expose me and push the Haley out of the way. Bremer pretended to allow him to go free, but I passed by his car – it was stopped off the road, Haley's dead body inside with his head against the steering wheel. He was probably killed with that same biotoxin."
Scully is shocked. "And you?"
"I'm still alive, in case you haven't noticed," he deadpans, and it's the second time in as many minutes that his sense of humor leaves something to be desired. With a deep breath to prepare himself – and maybe his partner too –, he details, "He told them he was going to kill me. Led me aside with one of the lackeys for good measure and then shot the other guy instead of me and told me he had a car available for me to run away."
Surprise lingers on her face for a moment before it shifts into bemusement. "This doesn't make any sense, Mulder. Why use you?"
"I still don't know that," he admits. "Maybe it was Haley who thought it would be a good idea to bring me in and this was the only way Bremer could think of to keep things from going any further…"
For a short while they are silent, and Scully allows herself to be vulnerable, to let him see the distress she had been feeling. "You could have been killed," her words are softly spoken then, meant only for his ears, and she seems to physically reach out to him before catching herself.
He doesn't reply to her observation; the odds of that happening would have been all too real if it wasn't for Bremer. Instead, he briefly touches her arm, no qualms about showing her (or anyone else that could be watching them) this display of fondness, and changes the subject. "You want to come over after you're done here? You said you had something you wanted to discuss."
She does indeed have something important she wants to discuss with him, but maybe asking him to help her conceive a child immediately after everything he's been through is a bit too much. She needs to ease into the subject. "It can wait a few days," she declines. "Right now, you need to focus on resting; you've been through a lot these past weeks; actually, you've been through a lot this year – and it's only April," she remarks with an impish smile.
He's not sure he can hide the disappointment taking over his emotions; he was at least expecting to see her during this short leave of absence, maybe move things along in the personal relationship department but, by the way she phrased it, it seems she's going to keep him at bay a while longer. "You're sure? I think I could manage entertaining you for a couple of hours..." he lets the words hang in the air for a couple of seconds, teasing her with his double entendre. "Maybe dinner and a movie?"
"Oh, don't try to sweet talk me, Mulder," she banters with him, acknowledging his efforts. "I'm with Skinner on this one – I think some time off might be good for you and, no matter what you say, you and I both know you'd be using our time together to discuss your theories about the New Spartans. Or maybe a black-magic cult in a small town in North Dakota, or a Sasquatch sighting somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains…"
"Scully…" he pushes her name out with a dreamily sigh, like she's an oasis and he's been dying of thirst in the middle of the desert; he's 70% mocking her and 30% admitting that she's probably the only person in his life with whom he can be his true self.
She does her best to ignore his baiting. "I'm serious, Mulder. All work and no play makes Mulder a boring, tired man. I don't want to see you in the office until Monday –"
"Scullayy," he interjects, dragging her name out playfully, as if he were a little kid annoyed at being scolded.
"And don't even think about working from home."
"Oh, but you're taking all the fun away! What am I supposed to do stuck at home for almost a whole week if I can even work remotely?" he asks mischievously.
"You don't have to be stuck at home. You could go running, do some chores that don't involve straining your finger… and even at home, you know, you could maybe clean your apartment," she deadpans.
He puts his hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. "Why would you even say that?"
She appreciates that he's taking this back-and-forth in stride. It's not as if she hasn't noticed that he's been trying to at least be more organized when she's around. "I'm sure you'll manage to keep yourself… engaged with something," she teases in a serious tone, her eyes smiling.
He plays dumb for her, knitting his eyebrows together and forming an O with his lips for maximum effect.
With a soft smile that reaches her lips, she lets go of their repartee and says kindly, "Try to rest, Mulder – I'm serious." She then fleetingly runs her fingers against his. "I'll see you on Monday, okay?" she adds as means of goodbye, turning away to leave without waiting for his reply.
He watches her stroll back into the bank with his mouth shut about what's on his mind; he'll give her the time she needs. "See you Monday," he softly calls out.
May 9, 1998
Chicago, IL
"I'm looking for a patient," Scully asks the receptionist at the Calumet Mercy Hospital as she flashes her badge at the young woman. "Fox Mulder. Can you direct me to his room?"
The employee stares at the FBI badge in front of her for a few moments and, apparently satisfied, turns to the computer on the desk she's sitting at. "Fox Mulder…" she repeats out loud, dragging the words as she searches for the information.
Scully checks her watch, frustrated with the wait. Almost five-thirty p.m.; the weather is supposed to drop to 50 degrees this evening and she would prefer to make it back to D.C. tonight rather than stay here without the coat she'd forgotten at home.
"He's in the psych ward," the girl announces at last. "Fifth floor," she adds, handing Scully a visitor's tag.
The federal agent makes her to the elevator, concern and annoyance fighting for dominance inside her.
Almost two weeks ago, they had parted ways in Harrisburg after a strenuous case that prevented her from talking to her partner about her plans of going through IVF and wanting his donation for the cause. She had let the rest of that week pass by, hoping that by the following Monday, when he was to be back at the office, she would be able to take advantage of their improving relationship and casually propose some socializing after work to actually ask him for his help to make a baby. The problem was, when that Monday came earlier this week, Mulder had been first stuck all morning in a meeting with Skinner going over his report on the New Spartans case and then, by the middle of the day, they both had been called back into Skinner's office – not for more national security threats and plausible government conspiracies, but to discuss a possible case in Oak Brooks, Illinois, involving claims of a monster stalking employees at a siding company. He had been so chafed by such a jerk-off assignment – his words, not hers –, at the prospect of having really become the FBI's go-to specialist for anything paranormal (regardless of credibility), that he had simply taken off to go home and pack and come to Chicago without her, in what could have passed for a messed-up attempt of saving her from wasting her time.
Since then, her relationship with her partner – both professional and personally – had been gradually suffering.
At first, he had reconsidered his position about the case and asked her on Tuesday to fly out to Chicago and help him out with the investigation – and even if she had been marginally bothered by his volatile personality, she had also been glad that he had at least seemed to value her assistance and company. Then on Wednesday morning, when she had arrived in Illinois, she was informed that Mulder had been taken hostage by a mentally unstable man at the siding company – and once again she had been put in a position of fighting her fears of losing him while trying to help him and save his life; at least this time he'd been safe by lunch time after a SWAT team had stormed into the building and killed the hostage-taker, Gary Lambert. She had been so preoccupied with getting him back to D.C. away from harm that she hadn't really given any thoughts to how he'd been behaving strangely, how distraught he'd looked even as they'd parted ways at Dulles. By Thursday, Mulder had already been caught up in the delusions of Lambert; he'd tried to convince her that Greg Pincus, Lambert's boss, could turn into an insectile creature and victimize others around him, wanted her to autopsy the body of a man killed during the hostage crisis whom Lambert had said to have been turned into a zombie by Pincus. A zombie. And when she had refused to examine the corpse – rightfully so, if anyone cared for her opinion –, Mulder had become so stung, bordering on spiteful, that he had just walked out on her and left for Illinois again, spending the whole Friday harassing Mr. Pincus to the point where A.D. Skinner had to fly out to Chicago to try and mediate things himself while she had been grounded to Quantico to perform the autopsy that ultimately could not irrefutably disprove her partner's theories.
And now she had to come here on a Saturday, on short notice, because Mulder has been admitted to the psychiatric ward of a local hospital after exhibiting erratic behavior that apparently turned into a full psychotic episode in front of A.D. Skinner and this Greg Pincus character.
I mean; REALLY, Mulder…
Upon entering the psych ward, Scully can see from afar her partner and best friend strapped down to a hospital bed. Annoyance really has no place in her mind anymore; she is so sorry for the man that she loves that she knows all she can do is help him, make him understand that she's always on his side, that she'll never leave him even if she doesn't agree with his theories – and especially when he needs her help. She pushes back the curtain giving him privacy at the open area and takes his hand in hers gently, startling him out of his drugged slumber.
He notices the tenderness and sorrow in her features once their eyes meet. "Five years together, Scully; you must have seen this coming," Mulder tells her with a sheepish laugh, addressing the fact that he's finally being treated as a clinically insane person.
It's so easy and so hard at the same time for her to love this driven, stubborn man that her heart actually aches for him, just lying there and making fun of himself, so pliant.
Mulder wants to discuss the case with her, seemingly oblivious to his partner's internal conflicts, and it doesn't take him even a minute of conversation to start spurting rash conclusions regarding Lambert being right about having killed a zombie, about Pincus being a monster. He's already asking her to check the zombie's back of the neck for evidence of puncture or bite marks that he seems to think would substantiate his theories.
Scully almost pities him. Still, she won't lose her grip on his hand; she needs their connection, needs for him to know that he's not alone.
"Mulder, the case is over. There's no more evidence to be gathered," she tells him in a soft but firm voice. "There's only my hope that you'll be able to see past this delusion." she is sweetly condescending.
He can feel it, he can hear it and he can see it, it's plain there in all of her, the way she is so dismissive of him. He feels exasperated. "You have to be willing to see," he insists calmly.
"I wish it were that simple," she says, resigned. Oddly, she truly does wish she could see things his way.
"Scully, you have to believe me," he is adamant. It's a strange mix of emotions in his eyes; he looks hopeless and hopeful at the same time. "Nobody else on this whole damn planet does or ever will."
She looks down, feeling so miserable for him, for herself, for them. It really breaks her heart to see him like this, and she is lost.
When he speaks again, his voice is so intense that she can't help but look up into his eyes. "You're my one in … five billion."
Rationally, she believes he is in poor mental health; still, how can she not give him the benefit of the doubt when he looks at her like that – like she's his lifeline, like she is the only person in his life that matters to him. How can she not trust him when he's saying so much with such simple words, when he's silently proffering his love and need for her with just his eyes…
She looks back down, stares at their joined hands. Adds her other hand to the mix. Squeezes down in assurance of their bond, of their love. She is the only person for him in all the five billion people on Earth. And he has the same importance in her life.
She does indeed have to believe him. And so she will, she decides. She will help him get out of here.
And the second he's back at home, she will ask him to embark on a new journey with her. The two of them, together, always.
No more waiting.
Author's Notes:
No. More. Waiting. IVF, here we come!