Grief.

Glasgow, Kentucky.

May 22, 2010.

Scully woke to a soft mumbling sound. She twisted around, expecting to find Mulder lying beside her, but she found him crouched down beside the bed instead. It was dark in the room, but a nearby street lamp shed some light on what he was doing. He had a pen in his hand, tapping it to the ground, his other hand braced on a chair to help him stay upright.

"It was on the desk," he was saying, tapping the ground between words. He reached up, setting it on the desk. "When we came in last night, it was on the desk."

She slid across the bed, to the edge of the mattress, and stared at him. She had no idea what he was doing, or why he was doing it right now. He looked like a crazy person. "Mulder, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"

He looked up, startled, as if he hadn't heard her moving at all. He held out the pen, his eyes a little wild. "The pen was on the desk, Scully."

"Come back to bed."

"No, listen to me. The pen was on the desk, and I… I imagined Byers sitting there. He dropped it. When I woke up, it was still on the floor. Smell it. Burning plastic."

She could not help the skepticism in her voice. "It was probably on the floor when we came in."

"I don't think it was, Scully. I think…"

"You think your imagination came to life and moved it?"

"Something like that…"

She got up, yawning, and urged him to his feet, wrapping her arms around him. His bare chest was cold despite the warmth of the room. It was over ninety degrees outside and viciously humid, but he was chilled to the bone. She ran her hands up and down his back, trying to warm him up. "God, Mulder, did you stand in front of the freezer?"

He was still staring at the pen. "Something like that."

"Mulder?"

He cleared his throat, setting the pen carefully on the desk. He turned toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he just stared past her at the bookshelf. She tried to follow his eyes. He was looking at the middle where a book laid sideways against the others.

She put her hand on his face, forcing his eyes back down to her. "Hey," she whispered. "Hey, look at me. It was just a dream. You probably saw the pen on the floor when we came in."

He nodded, but she doubted she was getting anywhere with him. He was unbelievably stubborn.

"Come back to bed for a little while," she said.

He swallowed, and then flopped down on his side of the bed. He gave her a goofy smile that put her heart at ease. "I have the strangest dreams," he said, holding his arms out to her. She settled into them, pulling the covers up to his chest to try and warm him up. He pressed a sloppy kiss to her forehead. "Sorry about that."

She looked up, gauging his mental state. He was doing his best to pretend to be fine, but she sensed an underlying anxiety. He was freaking out a little. She kissed his cheek, pretending she had no idea what was going on in his head. "I'll feel much better when this whole thing is over."

"You and me both."

She decided to push a little, now that he seemed more or less rested. "Do you see them often?"

His jaw tightened and his eyes flickered away. "Not… often. Just occasionally. I saw them in the cave, after the ghost let me go. It's just my imagination running wild."

He was reluctant to say that. Even as it left his mouth, Scully saw his doubt. She was curious, but unwilling to question him any further tonight. What did he really think was happening?

"I don't think I can get back to sleep," Scully admitted.

"Me neither. Do you want to raid the fridge?"

"I'm starving."

He went to the window, bending over his suitcase, and for the first time she noticed how banged up his torso was. He looked like he had gone a few rounds with a professional boxer. She left the bed and circled him, making sure none of his wounds were indicative of internal bleeding. She would drag him to the hospital if she had to.

"Would you stop doing that? I feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust." Mulder grabbed her shoulders and scooted her back a few feet, tugging his shirt on.

She took another look at his nose. "Just be glad that's not a bad break."

"I think I came through it pretty good, considering I'm still alive."

"You seem determined to change that," Scully grumbled.

It looked like he would say something mean in return, but his face softened at the last second. He gave her one of those sad looks that played across his eyes like a classic painting, venturing closer to her. His voice was low and serious. "I'm not trying to get myself killed here. You know that."

She wanted to comfort him, to take back what she had said, but she did the opposite. She needed to get this out. "Do I? You're acting like your life doesn't matter, Mulder."

"I'm trying to help these spirits," he objected, his voice taking on an aggressive edge. "I have an obligation to them."

"But you don't! You can just walk away from this!" She wished she could express everything she felt for this case, but only the worst of her thoughts came out. "You are not the next messiah! The only duty you have is the one you assign yourself!"

"I'm giving myself this one," he responded, taking on that irritating, matter-of-fact tone he had. "I have the right to put my life on the line for anything I choose."

"What about me?" Her response came out much sadder than she expected, and it tugged at her insides, producing a sudden, bleak look into their future. How many times would they have this argument? How many times would he put his life in danger pursuing some mystical force?

He just stared at her, the force of their argument dying in his eyes.

She backed away from him. "What about us?" she went on.

"This is us," he said quietly.

"No, Mulder, this is just you. You go off on your own with no regard for your life, and I'm left chasing after you, never knowing if you'll live, or if you'll end up on life support. I come second to you – it's always this first. It's always the chase."

"That's not true," he objected, reaching out for her. He shrunk back when she dodged his hand. His eyes were pained. "Do you really believe that?"

"Prove me wrong. Come home with me."

She knew what he would say before he said it, so she gave him no time to respond. She started packing her bag, glancing up occasionally to see the indecisive look on his face. It hurt to know that he wouldn't give this up, that getting himself killed in pursuit of some nonexistent truth would always take precedence over her. It hurt to know that the person she had chosen to spend her life with was incapable of choosing her in the same way.

She was suddenly filled with grief.

It spoke to the future, and when she imagined herself in ten years, in fifteen or twenty years, she didn't want to be sitting by a phone, waiting for a call from him. She didn't want to be trekking through a cave, watching him walk blindly to his death.

He followed her down the stairs, holding his hands out like he wanted to say something but never quite getting it out. Gene was waiting for them at the bottom.

"I have a theory about who the second ghost is," Gene announced.

Scully stopped, looking between the two men. Mulder was still giving her a sad puppy dog face, and Gene was meandering between excitement and uncertainty. She saw the same excitement flash in the eyes of her lover, and she knew what he was going to do.

"Stay here. Help the ghosts. Do what you want," she said.

She headed for the door, but Mulder appeared, slamming it shut just as she was pulling it open. He leaned into her, whispering. "Don't do this right now. You know I can't abandon them. Why are you acting like this?"

It was a good question. It struck a chord deep inside, but the fury of her emotions overwhelmed it. Everything in her heart told her to leave, to go home and to forget about Mulder and his stupid quest, but she also sympathized with him. She loved him. When she looked at him, she wanted to stand by his side, to be his partner again, to keep him from making stupid decisions and believing everything he was told. She wanted that, but she couldn't act on it. She felt like she was being blocked. Her words were locked up. She could only say the worst possible thing.

"Loving you is killing me," she said simply.

His hand fell from the door and that sad look became devastation. It hurt to see him stare at her like that, like she had just stabbed him, like his world was crumbling around him. She should have apologized. She should have wrapped her arms around him and begged for him to forget this had ever happened, but she opened the door instead.

She walked down the front path, tears forming in her eyes. Out of nowhere, the world started to shift, and the dark residential neighborhood became a forest. She could hear the leaves rustling, feel the wind touching her hair, smell the sweet honeysuckles growing within the underbrush. It was a peaceful place, but seeing it startled her so much that she almost fell. It snapped her out of the emotional trance she had been in. She twisted around, seeing the house and the forest flashing before her eyes.

In one image, Mulder was staring at her, incredulous, and in another, she was viewing an old wooden cabin in broad daylight, and a young man was watching her from within.

"Mulder… something is happening!" she shouted.

Finally she locked onto reality. She saw Mulder rushing toward her. He was looking around, panicked. "What is it? Did you see something?"

"No I… I did… I saw…" She was out of breath. Her lungs felt cold. Suddenly the night of sleep she had gotten was gone, and she was exhausted again. It was like she had been running for ages. "Mulder I think… I think I… I need a hospital."

His eyes were full of the kind of fear that had plagued their lives for years. "Talk to me, Scully. Tell me what's happening. Tell me what you saw."

She felt it suddenly, and so forcefully that it jerked her forward. She saw a meadow flashing before her eyes. She saw the young man again, standing slightly behind her, his hands bathed in blood. She felt a blade entering her back, brushing her spine, impacting her so harshly that her knees buckled. Ghostly arms caught her as she sunk to the ground.

The meadow vanished again, and she was back on the sidewalk with Mulder. She was in his arms, struggling to keep her eyes open while he twisted her body around. He was running both hands over her back and chest, searching desperately for something. It was all unreal to her.

"Easy," he said, his voice coming in and out of focus. "Tell me what's wrong. Just talk to me. Scully, tell me where it hurts."

She stared up at him, experiencing clarity for the first time since their argument had begun. Her raging emotions had faded, and she was left with all the awful things she had said to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know… why I said that."

"Apologize later," he snapped, still searching her. "What hurts?"

"My back," she moaned, arching away when his hands ran over the wound. He paused there, looking confused. "Mulder, put pressure on the wound."

"There is no wound, Scully."

"It's right there, right where your hand is!"

"There's nothing here," he insisted, though she felt his fingers digging into the fresh gash. She tried to move his hand, but he was stronger than her. He held his ground. "Scully, relax. Hey, trust me right now. I'm telling you that you're fine."

"I'm not fine! I'm dying!"

"Listen to me," Mulder said, wrapping his arms tightly around her to stop her from escaping. She gave up her squirming. "I felt the same thing in the caves. It felt like I was stabbed in the back, but there was nothing there. It was how the young woman died. She was stabbed in the back."

She struggled for breath, "I saw the second ghost. He stabbed me."

Mulder shook his head. "No, he was trying to save her."

"Mulder… I think he was the murderer."

For a moment she saw confusion and confliction in his eyes, and then she fell unconscious. She woke to him shaking her violently, his voice shaking like a child's. He smiled desperately when she was looking at him again, mouthing words, but making no sounds.

"I think he… I think he killed me," Scully went on. "That bastard."