Aux frontières du réel

Fic: Across The Desert (2/2)

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 22:34:35 GMT

Title: Across The Desert

Summary, disclaimer, etc. same as in part 1.

~
Chapter 2

Mary heard Jinx and Brandi in the hallway before they actually arrived at the door of her room. She took as deep of a breath as she could and exhaled slowly, willing herself to remain calm. She thought she might be able to succeed for once. It helped that she was on some really good painkillers.

Her mother pushed open the door, her worried expression becoming even more emotional at the sight of her daughter in her hospital bed, attached to an IV line, bandaged, and with a cast covering most of her left arm. “Oh, sweetie,” she said tearfully, “how are you feeling? You look awful!”

Mary raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

Brandi snorted, looking a little teary-eyed herself. “You look fine, Mary. Well, I mean, you're in the hospital, so, um... you've looked better, but--” She stopped, took a breath, and gave a weak laugh. “Really, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, right now,” Mary answered honestly. “They've got me on some good stuff for the pain, and I'm all patched up.” She pointed to the IV line. “And this is also helping with the whole having gone almost a day without water thing.”

“Oh!” Jinx came and carefully took Mary's hand. “You poor thing.”

“I'll be all right, Mom. Don't worry about it.” Mary leaned back and closed her eyes for a second. Then they snapped open. “Where's Raph?”

Brandi answered first. “We tried calling him a bunch of times, but we haven't been able to reach him. Peter's looking for him right now.”

“Okay.” Mary wanted to be annoyed, but decided it was too much effort. “Well, you know where to find me when you find him.” She yawned.

Her mother smiled, still obviously worried but beginning to relax. “You go to sleep, honey - okay? We'll find him.”

Aware that she was already drifting off, Mary closed her eyes again and muttered, “You better find him. 'S fiancée is in the hospital and he can't even bother to turn his cell phone on... Typical...” She spared a brief thought to be glad that she'd left her ring at home the morning before she and Marshall were kidnapped. It would have been a pain to replace.

Mary was finally allowed to return to work – to limited duty - four days later. Marshall had already been allowed to go back two days before, since his injuries were less severe and were healing faster. Mary had grumbled about this, of course, but Marshall had visited her as much as possible, and the time had passed reasonably quickly. And of course, her arm was in a cast, and even the strongest desire to heal to get back on the job could not speed the bone-healing process along much.

Mary walked into the office bright and early – and stopped at the sight of a bunch of brilliantly-colored balloons and a bouquet of carnations on her desk. Oh, God, she thought with a sigh. This is all I needed.

Eleanor came into view, smiling. “Welcome back, Mary!” She gave her an appraising look. “How are you feeling? You look better.”

“Thanks, Eleanor.” Mary continued toward her desk, and then stopped, staring back at Eleanor. “Wait, what do you mean, 'better'? You didn't see me when I was in the hospital.”

The woman moved toward her own desk quickly, avoiding Mary's gaze. “Well, the Chief filled me in on how you both looked when they found you, and I can tell you're getting better. That's all.”

Mary took off her jacket and threw it across her chair, still staring at Eleanor. “You know, you didn't have to wait until I was asleep to come visit me, Eleanor,” she said casually. “I wouldn't have kicked you out. It's not like I had a long line of other people to talk to.”

Eleanor smiled again, amused. “Good point. I'll be sure to remember that the next time you wind up in the hospital - which, by the way, should not be any time soon.”

Before Mary could reply, Stan and Marshall came into the office, Marshall with something held behind his back and Stan carrying a file folder with a triumphant expression on his face. “Hey, Mary, you're back just in time!”

Mary stood up hastily, regretting it as it made her ribs twinge a little. “Please tell me that's the file on the guys who dumped Marshall and me out in the desert. That would really make my day.”

Stan grinned. “We've got 'em. The locals are heading out to pick them up right now. Still haven't nailed down exactly how they connected you two to the witness, but that shouldn't take long. Especially since we do have a firm connection between them and Howard Rollins, Angela's ex.” He shook his head. “As far as the marshal service in Boise can figure it, the guy seems to be a total nutcase who was trying to get rid of everyone who might keep his former wife safe, so that he could try to find her himself.”

Returning the grin, Mary turned to Marshall. “You're not out hunting them down with APD?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I knew you'd kill me if I got to have all the fun without you.”

Mary blinked, and smiled again. “Aw, Marshall. You stayed for me? I'm touched!”

“Actually,” Stan cut in, amused, “he's still not cleared for active duty.”

Her smile turned into a glare. Marshall shrugged. “Well, that, too.”

“Anyone want some cookies?” Eleanor said hastily, stepping in with a plate of peanut butter cookies in her hand.

Mary's eyes widened. “Are these homemade?” At Eleanor's nod, she scooped up four or five with her good hand. “You shouldn't have.”

As she turned back to her desk, Mary thought she heard Eleanor mutter something that might have been, “I guess I really shouldn't have.”

When Mary and Marshall returned from their lunch break, Mary was startled to see yet another gift on her desk. This one appeared to be a potted plant, with large white blossoms and long grayish-green leaves. It was pretty but unusual-looking, and Mary had a shrewd idea who had given it to her... although she wasn't sure when he'd managed it, since he had been with her the whole time at lunch.

Turning to Marshall at his desk, she noted the way he was carefully not looking at her. “What's the story with the potted plant, Marshall?”

He looked up and seemed to notice it for the first time. “Huh! I have no idea where that came from.”

“No, seriously, Marshall,” she insisted. “What kind of flower is this? It's not exactly a bouquet of carnations or roses.”

Marshall smiled widely, and Mary heaved a sigh, realizing what she'd just opened herself up to just as he launched into his explanation. “You're right, Mary. It's not like a bouquet of carnations or roses. This is a specimen of the genus Datura, a flowering desert perennial native to all four deserts of the American Southwest, among other areas.”

He paused for breath, and Mary broke in. “Fascinating. And is there a particular reason you gave me this particular kind of flowering desert perennial?”

“Who says I gave it to you?” Marshall asked with an innocent expression. “Just because I happen to know something about it doesn't mean--”

“Oh, shut up,” Mary said as she leaned on his desk. “I'm pretty sure I don't know anyone else who'd get me flowers, but get some crazy-looking desert flowers instead of any of the normal ones.”

He grinned again, looking very satisfied. “All right, you've got a point. As for the reason I chose a Datura plant...” He trailed off, as Eleanor walked by and stared at the plant on Mary's desk. “What, Eleanor?”

“Nothing. It's just, um, that's a very interesting plant you have there, Mary.”

Mary kept her gaze on Marshall. “Yeah, I know. Marshall here was just about to tell me why he gave it to me.”

“Marshall gave it to you?” Eleanor smiled. “Well, that's very sweet, Marshall.”

“As I was saying,” Marshall continued, unruffled by Mary's eyeroll at Eleanor's assessment, “I chose that particular kind of desert flower because it happens to be very adaptable, hardy, striking, and highly dangerous.”

Mary gave the plant another look, and stood up to return to her desk. This would require more close examination. “Dangerous? I don't see any thorns.” Eleanor was also regarding the innocuous-looking flowers with curiosity.

“No, don't touch it!” he said, a note of warning in his voice. “I'm serious, Mary. Every single part of the Datura plant is poisonous – especially the seeds and flowers. You have to be careful when you handle it. Native Americans use it in initiation rites to induce hallucinations.”

Eleanor's mouth dropped open after a moment. “You... you gave Mary a poisonous flower?”

For the first time, Marshall looked a slight bit uncomfortable. “Well, yeah. Like she said... it's a lot more interesting than the normal options. And it--” He broke off, almost wincing as he met Mary's eyes.

“It what?” she demanded, crossing to his desk again. “You were going to say it fits me, weren't you?”

He swallowed. “Yes?”

Mary glared at him, but she couldn't keep a straight face for long. The laughter finally escaped, and she laughed even harder at the look of relief on Marshall's face.

“Ow,” she said as she eventually brought herself back under control, her ribs complaining at the effort. “Only you would give me a poisonous desert plant to welcome me back to work. It's perfect. I'll try to keep it alive for as long as I can.”

Marshall chuckled. “Good. At least it doesn't need a lot of water. Just put it somewhere sunny – it's not like one of those delicate damsels who faint easily.”

Eleanor just shook her head as Mary sat down at her desk with a smile on her lips.

“You know, I didn't get you anything, Marshall. You still in the market for a replacement pocket knife, or are you still hoping you'll be able to convince the bad guys to tell you where they put our stuff?”

“Hope, as they say, springs eternal.” He paused, looked at his computer screen for a moment, and then looked back. “You know, Datura is also the name of a California ghost town.”

“What are you trying to say about me now? 'Cause I can't think of a way that a ghost town is a flattering comparison, jerkwad.”

“It was not a comparison, I assure you,” Marshall replied, ignoring her narrowed eyes. “Just musing aloud. Maybe the former inhabitants of Datura all consumed pieces of a Datura plant and met an untimely end.”

“Or maybe they got so high that they wandered off and were never seen again.”

“Pretty much the same thing, but maybe.”

“You two are probably the strangest people I have ever met,” Eleanor declared, heading back toward her desk.

Mary exchanged a glance with her partner. “It took you that long to figure this out?”

“We must be losing our edge,” Marshall said, pulling a tragic face.

“Or Eleanor is. If she ever had one.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Work,” she muttered. “I have work to do.”

Mary smiled and leaned back in her chair. It was good to be back.

~

Author's Note 2: More details on the type of flower Marshall chose can be found, should you wish, at this site: http://www.desertusa.com/aug97/du_datura.html and at Wikipedia under 'Datura.'
Also, transpiration stills really do work, according to the experts: http://away.com/features/desert_camping/desert-camping-4.html

Fic: Across the Desert (In Plain Sight, 1/2)

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 22:32:48 GMT

Title: Across The Desert
Spoilers: Set sometime in season 2, before “Let's Get It Ahn”.
Rating: PG
Summary: “Slow and steady... gets us out of the desert before we die?”
Disclaimer: I do not own this show or its associated characters.
Author's Note: Many thanks to kaffyr for her astute beta reading and comments!

Chapter 1

Mary shivered suddenly, which brought her to awareness. She opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, in the cold shadow of a huge rock face – and she was in severe pain. When she tried to sit up, she had to bite back a gasp at the agony this produced in her left arm and side, not to mention the nausea and throbbing headache.

Pulling herself painfully into a sitting position and reaching her right hand up to her head, Mary felt with some relief that she didn't seem to be bleeding. The next question was where the hell she was.

She blinked to clear her slightly fuzzy vision and looked around. The late afternoon sun revealed a New Mexico ravine, nothing too distinctive. Except... yes, that was a body lying on the rocks further down in the ravine – a very familiar tall, stick-thin, floppy-haired figure sprawled motionless, his face turned away from her.

“Marshall!” Ignoring the shooting pain in her side and the nearly blinding increase in her headache's magnitude caused by standing up, Mary made her way as quickly as she could down to where her partner was lying. “Marshall, can you hear me?”

He didn't respond. Heart in her throat, Mary bent over and felt for his pulse below his jaw. She exhaled in relief – her left side complaining again as she did so – as she felt a strong heartbeat. Then as she started to take her hand away, he grimaced and opened his eyes. “God, your fingers are freezing.”

Mary resisted the urge to hit him, since she didn't know the extent of his injuries yet. “Yeah, well, forgive me for not warming them up before I checked to see if you were alive.”

At that, Marshall's expression sharpened, and he tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mary said, catching his head as his face went pale. “Don't try anything too strenuous just yet, cowboy.”

Marshall took a few deep breaths, and then accepted her help to reach a sitting position.

“Killer headache?” she asked. At his faint nod, she sighed and said, “Yeah, me too. Although I didn't almost pass out when I sat up, so maybe not as bad as yours.”

His gaze traveled over her. “Maybe. Something wrong with your arm?”

She had been holding her left arm close to herself this whole time. “I think it might be broken.”

Marshall winced in sympathy. “Any other damage?”

“Bruised ribs on the same side,” Mary told him. “Minor bruising elsewhere. That's it, I think. How about you?”

He pondered for a moment. “It feels like I might have about the same, except in my case it's on the right side – and my wrist just feels like it might be sprained.”

“Lucky you.” She sat back on her heels, thinking. “Marshall, what's the last thing you remember from today?”

“Uh...” Marshall blinked. “Eating lunch and talking to you about our newest case, at the diner.”

“Same here. So what happened to us since then – and where the hell are we?”

“Those are both very good questions,” he said slowly. “Also a good question: do we have our weapons, ID, or cell phones?”

They both checked, and came up empty on all counts. “Damn,” Mary muttered. “So, what - someone drugged us, got rid of our stuff, and dumped us out of their car?”

“Could be. I do kind of feel dizzy,” Marshall said. He squinted at the rocks around them and then back at her. “Call me crazy, but this happened on our way to meet Angela for the first time. That seems like a little too much of a coincidence to ignore. Perhaps we're being treated to a very special, 'You got my ex-wife to turn traitor on me, so now you get Death By Desert' delivery from Howard.”

Mary frowned. They hadn't even met Angela officially yet. “You think Angela's lowlife jackass of an ex could've tracked her from Boise to Albuquerque this fast?”

“I said 'perhaps.' He may be a lowlife jackass, but he's well-connected.”

She sighed again. “The worst ones usually are.” Of course, that didn't explain how whoever it was had known enough to target the two of them. “Well, at least Stan will know something is wrong when we don't show up for the initial meeting.”

“Yep.” Oddly enough, Marshall looked about as reassured by this fact as Mary felt.

Silence fell for a moment, and then her partner said, “I don't know about you, but I'm a little tired of this scenery. I think I'm about ready to try standing up.”

Smiling wryly, she got to her feet and held out her uninjured hand for him. “All right. Just take it slow.”

He managed the task without too much trouble, for which Mary was grateful. She had no idea how she would've been able to drag all six-feet-plus of him even a few yards without injuring him – and herself – further in the process. Still, there was a sheen of sweat on his face by the time he was upright.

“Any thoughts on which way we should go?” Mary asked, watching him carefully for signs he was about to collapse.

Marshall took another look around. “Well, first of all I don't see any tracks from whoever left us out here. Normally I'd say we should stay in the ravine to avoid too much direct sun exposure, but since the sun's about to set, let's take advantage of what little light we have to see if we can pick out any landmarks.”

“Sounds good,” Mary said. “Up it is.”

They made their way with care over the rocky terrain and toward higher ground. Despite being in pretty good shape if she did say so herself (which she did), Mary was breathing hard by the time they were halfway out of the ravine. It might have more to do with her splitting headache and the stabbing pain in her ribs than any lack of conditioning, she thought. Come to think of it, Marshall was no slouch about fitness either, and he sounded just as bad as she did.

By unspoken consent, the two of them stopped for a break next to a convenient boulder, where they each leaned as best as they could against it. “I sure hope... we aren't too far... out in the middle of nowhere,” Mary gasped out between breaths.

Marshall raised an eyebrow. “Yes... I'm sure our kidnappers... made sure to aim for... the least possible amount of inconvenience... in their choice of dump site.” He was holding his arm to his ribs at an awkward angle.

“I don't know,” Mary said thoughtfully. “They could've killed us... but they didn't.”

“Maybe they just figured exposure... would do the job for them,” Marshall replied.

Mary took a shallow breath and shot him a glare. “Thanks for that, buzzkill.”

After another minute, they started their trek again. It seemed to take even longer to make it the rest of the way out, but finally they reached the higher ground, leaning on each other as best they could without aggravating each other's injuries. By this time, the sun was much nearer to the horizon, and the air was already getting colder.

“See anything recognizable?” Mary asked, scanning the horizon after she had caught her breath.

Next to her, Marshall wiped his brow with his left hand. “Not really,” he said. His breathing sounded slightly less labored now. Then he paused. “Wait – do you hear something?”

She listened. “Yeah, I do. That sounds like-- is that the dragway?”

“I think it is.”

For the first time since she'd awakened, Mary felt like grinning. At least they had a possible signpost pointing toward civilization. If you could really call drag racing civilized.

She was about to start heading in the general direction of the noise of the racetrack, but Marshall stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “Wait.”

Turning toward him, she asked in irritation, “What? We don't have a lot of time to chat before the sun goes down, you know.”

“I know, that's exactly it,” he said, meeting her eyes calmly. “So, especially since neither of us are at our best physically right now, we should find a good place to spend the night instead of ending up in the middle of the desert without any shelter.”

Mary considered for a moment, frowning. As usual, he was right. She knew it could get cold out here at night, and if she was honest with herself, she also knew they couldn't make it out of the desert before the sun set. “All right, fine. Back into the ravine, Boy Scout?”

“In a manner of speaking. I saw a sort of cave near the top.” Marshall glanced at the sky for a second. “We shouldn't be in too much danger of flash flooding at this time of the year.”

The two began the descent. Even taking care not to lose her footing, any time she was jolted at all it made her ribs and arm hurt like hell. Mary was sure Marshall couldn't have missed her winces every time this occurred, since they were still supporting each other. He said nothing, though she felt his arm around her back tighten a little.

When she stumbled and nearly fell a yard later, Mary had to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the shooting pain from instinctively throwing her broken arm out to protect herself. Marshall had caught her immediately and somewhat clumsily with his left arm.

“Jesus,” she muttered, as the pain subsided back to bearable levels.

“You okay?” He relaxed his grip fractionally.

Mary took a breath and glanced at him. “I could really go for a bottle of water and some painkillers, but other than that, yeah. You?”

“Water sounds really good right now,” he said. He cleared his throat. “But I'll be fine.”

“Good.”

He let go of her and pointed to their left. “There's the cave.”

It wasn't much of a cave – more like an indentation between two huge rock formations. But it was far better than nothing, and so the two of them sank down to the ground with their backs against the rock.

“I don't suppose our abductors forgot to take your pocket knife, or any of your more useful trinkets?” Mary asked, after sighing in relief at the chance to rest.

Marshall was quiet for a few seconds as he checked again inside his coat and pants pockets. “No such luck,” he reported grimly. “Damn, I liked that knife – it was a gift. We'd better be able to find where they dumped our stuff.”

“Yeah, and I'd miss my Glock, too,” Mary said, wistfulness creeping into her tone.

“Oh, hey – they did leave something useful!” Marshall announced, interrupting her musing as he pulled out a sandwich bag with a few crumbs in it from his jacket pocket.

Mary stared at him. “Those crumbs are going to keep us from starving? God, Marshall, I didn't think heatstroke took effect this soon – and with the sun mostly set, too.”

“You're a riot,” Marshall said, pulling himself to his feet with a groan. “Not the crumbs, the bag. If there's a large enough plant nearby – which there is, I saw some sagebrush on the way up here – we can make a transpiration still to get us some water.”

“A what?” She stood as well, following him both to see what he was doing and to keep him from accidentally sliding off into the ravine.

“A transpiration still,” he repeated. “You put the bag over a branch or leaf, fasten it shut, and over a few hours, about a cup of pure water will accumulate due to water loss from the plant's stoma, or-”

“All right, all right, I get it,” Mary interrupted, “we'll have some water in the morning. I don't really need the plant biology lesson.”

“Botany is the more correct term,” Marshall said mildly, ducking away from her as she threatened to hit him in response. He had found the sagebrush plant and now put the bag over one branch. “Do you happen to have a hair tie?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.” She took it off her wrist and handed it to him, watching as he used it to secure the bag in place.

Marshall stood back and looked at the still in the rapidly fading light. “I think that should do it.”

“Okay then, let's try to get some sleep,” Mary said, fighting off a yawn as she walked the short distance back to their 'cave.' The wind caught her for a moment before she got into the shelter of the rock, and she shivered before sitting down stiffly.

Marshall sat down next to her and put his uninjured arm around her. “C'mere. We need to conserve body heat.”

She leaned into him readily enough. It was in fact getting chilly, and her partner often seemed warmer than she was. At the same time, she mused, if Marshall thought she was going to let that remark slip by without a reaction...

“Now you sound like you're trying to be Mulder in that episode of X-Files you made me watch with you last Thursday,” she grumbled, “when he was trying to get cozy with Scully out in the woods.”

She could hear his smile as he said, “'Detour'? I didn't make you watch that, you were the one who turned it on. And more importantly, I thought you liked The X-Files! It's a classic show, one of the--”

“I never said I didn't like the show,” Mary told him, cutting off his diatribe. Of all the things Marshall had ever made her watch, it certainly was one of the best – not that she was going to praise it in front of him, of course.

Marshall sighed and settled back further against the rock. “Well, good. And you're right, our current situation is somewhat similar to our heroes in 'Detour' – except for our location in the New Mexico desert rather than the wilds of the Florida forest. And we're both injured, instead of just the male member of the partnership.”

“Good thing, too,” Mary put in, “because I'm not cuddling you on my lap, or singing Three Dog Night.”

“Aww, even if I ask nicely? Or it rains sleeping bags?”

She chuckled, wincing a little at the resulting pain. “You'll have to check with me again if that happens.”

The sun had set completely while they talked, and only the stars now illumined their surroundings. Mary looked up at the constellations, thinking briefly of Ed and his telescope. She yawned again.

“Comfortable?” Marshall asked, as she shifted against his shoulder and side.

“Sort of. You're a little too skinny to be a great pillow, but--”

He scoffed. “That's never stopped you before, on the plane or my couch.”

“Yeah, but even airplane seats or your couch are a little more comfortable for my back than this slab of rock,” she pointed out.

“So it's not me that's making you uncomfortable, then,” he said, sounding satisfied.

“Sure, whatever.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Don't get all huffy.”

Marshall dutifully began to reply in a tone of mock-outrage, but Mary didn't catch the details, which wasn't too surprising considering she had fallen asleep.

Thirst woke Mary early the next morning – and an intense crick in her neck from hours leaning against Marshall's shoulder. Holding back a groan out of courtesy to her partner (who seemed to still be asleep), she swallowed and tried to sit up. This caused a renewed jolt of pain in her ribs and she swore under her breath. Maybe this was more than just bruising.

Marshall's arm – which was still draped across her shoulders – moved, and then he rubbed her arm for a second. “Sore?”

“Yeah.” She didn't waste her breath on any sarcastic comments, nor did she bother trying to conceal the problem from him. “I think at least one of my ribs is cracked.”

He was still. “But you're able to draw a breath into both lungs, right?”

She experimented. “Yeah. Hurts like hell to take a deep breath, but I can do it just fine.”

“Good, that means your rib probably hasn't punctured your lung.”

Mary grimaced, remembering a makeshift chest tube and watching in terror as her best and only friend struggled to hold on. “I'm tired of chest wounds already,” she muttered.

“They do suck,” Marshall agreed wryly.

Mary turned to look at him. “Really? Puns? When I'm already in pain?”

“Sorry.”

Another few seconds passed. “Well, I'm as ready as I'm likely to be. Shall we?”

“I don't know, standing up sounds pretty risky to me,” he said with a half-smile.

She patted him on the shoulder. “Don't worry, Marshall, I'm here for you,” she told him in a syrupy sweet voice.

“Uh... please don't ever do that again,” he said, staring at her.

“All right,” she agreed with a satisfied grin, “but I'm thirsty, so let's get off the ground already.”

It was as painful as Mary had thought it would be, but they did manage to get to their feet without either of them falling over. Great, she thought as she took in a few agonizing breaths, this bodes well for a walk across the desert. I sure hope Stan has Search And Rescue mobilized already.

Taking it slow, they made it to the sagebrush plant where Marshall's still was waiting. The plastic bag did, in fact, appear to have at least two cups of water in it.

“Oh, thank God,” Mary murmured. It wasn't going to be enough water to quench even one person's thirst, but it might at least stave off serious dehydration for a few more hours.

“Did you doubt its effectiveness?” Marshall sounded faintly offended. “I told you how it works, but you didn't seem interested in hearing the details of the process.”

Mary reached for the bag with her good arm. “Just shut up and help me with this thing.”

“Fine.”

Between the two of them, they drained the still of water in no time. Mary sighed as she swallowed down her last mouthful. “I don't suppose we can afford to wait around for a second bagful?”

“Not unless you want to start the trek back to civilization at high noon,” Marshall said, with a glance at the clear morning sky.

Awkwardly, Mary did her best to pull her hair back into a ponytail with one hand. Her ribs were killing her. “I don't know how we're going to make it even if we start now.”

“Hey.” Marshall touched her arm. “Don't give up on me now, Mary. We'll make it. Besides,” he added, “don't you want to stick it to the bastards who dumped us out here? You can't do that very well if you're dead.”

She had to smile at that. “Good point. I knew I kept you around for something.”

“That's me, your personal cheerleader.”

“Ow!” Mary winced again as her laughter made the pain in her ribs increase. “Stop making me laugh, you jerk.”

“Right.” Marshall looked contrite. “Sorry.”

By the time the sun was nearing its highest point – its zenith, Mary thought she recalled Marshall terming it at some point – neither Mary nor Marshall felt like making any jokes. They were hot, thirsty, covered in dust, and most importantly, in ever-increasing pain. Mary was half-afraid to look behind them to see the distance they had managed to cover since they started; she had this feeling it would be so pathetic that it would make her want to give up.

Just keep walking, Mary told herself. Besides, if she stopped, she would take Marshall down with her, since they were leaning on each other again – and then neither of them would be any use in the hunt for the sadistic creeps who had left them to die in the desert.

After an unfathomable length of time, Marshall cleared his throat beside her. “You mind... if we take a break?”

Over the sound of her own rasping breaths, Mary could tell his were just about as labored. “Guess not,” she replied. “I just wish there was... some shade.”

“Uh huh.”

They stopped. “So, how do you wanna do this? Sit... back to back?” Mary asked.

“Good idea,” Marshall said. “Otherwise, might just... collapse, which would hurt even more.”

Slowly, Mary lowered herself to the ground, Marshall doing his best to support her as he followed. She couldn't keep from groaning a little as she leaned against his back. Now that she wasn't walking, she was no longer able to ignore the ache in her feet and spine, in addition to her other earlier aches and pains.

The sun continued to beat down on them. Mary reached up to shade her eyes, wondering how sunburnt she was already. “What time do you think it is?”

“Judging by the sun, I'd say it's getting close to noon.” Marshall sounded calm. “And judging by what I can see from the direction we came, we're making reasonably good progress.”

“Really?” Mary debated twisting around to look, but thought better of it when her ribs complained at the very thought. “'Cause it seems like we're going about as fast as-- well, I guess as fast as two half-crippled, dehydrated marshals can move.”

Marshall chuckled. “Yes, exactly. Between the two of us, we've been managing to keep a fairly steady pace. And you know what they say about slow and steady, right?”

“'Gets out of the desert before dying'?”

“Not quite the answer I was looking for, but it'll work.”

After a moment, Mary's gaze traveled over the ground ahead of them. She sat up straighter and squinted. “Hey, Marshall, I think I see something – unless it's just some kind of mirage.”

“What is it?” She felt him start to turn, carefully.

“The ground looks like it gets a little less rocky a few yards ahead, and I could swear I see tire tracks.”

“Really?” Marshall finished turning around, now looking in the direction she pointed. “By George, Miss Shannon, I think you're right!”

“Of course I'm right,” Mary replied. She cocked her head and stared at him. “Let me guess: you've been reading Sherlock Holmes again.”

He grinned. “Elementary, my dear woman.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I should've known that was coming.” Taking as deep a breath as she could manage comfortably, Mary started to push herself to her feet. Marshall joined her as quickly as he could.

Upon walking a few more steps toward the marks, it became obvious that they were, in fact, tire tracks – from a large vehicle, maybe a truck or an SUV. Mary wiped the sweat off her face. It was a little hard to feel too triumphant at her find at this point.

“Well, I guess we follow the trail,” she said.

Marshall nodded. “Onward.”

She guessed it had to be at least noon when Mary finally realized the distant flashes of light she was seeing on the horizon might mean something – around the same time as the tire tracks were getting harder and harder to distinguish. She had been doggedly putting one foot in front of the other for so long that she had almost stopped thinking beyond scanning for tracks. But this, this could mean...

“Marshall.”

“What?” The man's voice sounded as exhausted and parched as she felt.

“Do you see those flashes of light out there, in the distance?”

He raised his eyes and shaded his face. “No. Wait... yes, I think so.”

“A car, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Marshall glanced at her, his face grim. “If it is, whoever it is has us at a bit of a disadvantage.”

Mary nodded. They had no weapons, and no defensible location. “It could be Stan, though. And Search and Rescue, or whoever he's recruited.”

“Let's hope so.”

As one, they oriented their steps toward the vehicle in the distance and restarted the journey. She strongly doubted she and Marshall were visible to whoever it was yet. Unless whoever it was was looking for them, with binoculars maybe – or the scope of a high-powered rifle.

Some time later, it was beginning to be very difficult to keep walking in a straight line, even with the goal of the car to shoot for. Dizziness and a massive headache probably didn't help matters, Mary thought.

As if to prove her point, Mary found herself stumbling into Marshall, nearly knocking him over. “Jesus. Sorry, Marshall – I'm having a little trouble staying on course here.”

He managed to right himself, though she had clearly caused him significant pain. “Apology accepted,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just... try not to do that again, okay?”

Mary almost nodded, but realized in time that it would be a bad idea. “Shouldn't be too much of a problem,” she mumbled, “since I don't think I'll be upright for much longer.” She blinked. Everything was starting to swim around her, including Marshall. At least the pain of her injuries felt sort of distant.

“Mary? Mary, please don't pass out on me. I can't carry you with only one good arm and a few bad ribs.”

She felt his arm steadying her around her back. The blackness receded most of the way, and she discovered that she was staring up into his worried face as he almost completely supported her weight with one arm, in a way that had to be hurting him. “Did you just say something about ribs?” she asked him, blinking again and trying to regain her footing.

He smiled, easing his grip on her. “I would've thought you'd be craving water more than ribs at the moment.”

“Maybe both.” Then the full reality of what had almost happened hit her. “Oh, damn it, Marshall – you cannot tell Eleanor that I almost fainted, like some damsel in distress.”

“I might be persuaded to forget it happened,” Marshall replied, “if you promise to stay standing.” There was concern in his eyes behind the amusement.

Mary narrowed her eyes. “How about if I promise that, and promise to shoot you if you tell Eleanor?”

“Fair enough.” Marshall's hand lingered on her back for a moment. Then he froze. “Do you hear that?”

She listened. “Yeah.” A small glimmer of hope began to grow, and she squinted at the sky. “I'm guessing whoever kidnapped us wouldn't have hired a helicopter to look for us. But it's too bad we don't have a mirror or anything to signal with.”

“Not even a marshal's badge,” he agreed ruefully.

She sighed. “Well, we'd better keep going then.” After all, the chopper wasn't even visible yet.

“Yes. And no fainting, you delicate flower, or I will be forced to describe your swoon in great detail to everyone who knows you.”

Shooting him a glare, Mary muttered, “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Within minutes, the helicopter came into view in the distance. Mary and Marshall kept walking, although they did wave their uninjured arms to try to catch its attention. Mary was glad now to be wearing the dark-colored shirt that she had been regretting earlier for its heat-absorbing qualities; she would stand out against the desert rock in this color.

“I think they saw us,” Marshall called, over the increasingly loud sound of the helicopter. He shaded his eyes as he looked at it.

Mary was focused on it as well. “I think you're right.”

They stopped moving and stood to wait. As the chopper got closer, Mary saw the words “Search And Rescue” on the side, and a figure who looked very much like Stan looking out the window at them. She couldn't keep a grin of pure relief from spreading across her face – and she wasn't surprised to turn and see a similar expression on her partner's face.

It began to lower toward the desert floor several yards from them. As it touched down, Marshall gave her a look, wordlessly asking if she wanted to go first. She gestured with her good arm for him to precede her.

Wincing as she ducked to avoid the helicopter blades, Mary followed Marshall inside, accepting Stan's offered hand to pull herself up into it. Stan looked simultaneously worried, relieved, and like he was fairly bursting to speak to his marshals, but he just smiled. Over the noise he yelled, “You two just relax – we're taking you directly to the hospital.”

Mary returned the smile and sat down heavily in the seat next to Marshall. The Search and Rescue volunteer handed them each a water bottle and bent down next to them to instruct that they drink the entire bottle, but slowly.

She opened the bottle and took a gulp, allowing the water to linger in her parched mouth for a second. Now that she had stopped moving, she had the feeling it was going to be difficult to start again. Glancing over at her partner, Mary saw that he was slumped as far as he could be in the seat, taking slow sips of his water. She wondered if the hospital would have stretchers or wheelchairs waiting for them – and if she would let herself use one. But even through the continuing pain from her injuries, she was just completely exhausted.

Mary came awake reluctantly when the chopper set down on the roof of the hospital. As soon as she returned to awareness, the pain that seemed to permeate her entire body came rushing back, as well.

Her mood was not improved by the fact that they only brought one wheelchair out for some reason. Marshall, of course, insisted that she take it, though it was obvious that his pain levels were high. She glared at him and called him a few less than polite names – not that anyone could hear her over the thunder of the helicopter. It was obvious that he wasn't going to budge until she got into it, however, so she did so.

Stan followed them inside, and as soon as the door closed behind them and muffled the noise from outside, he walked up between Mary's wheelchair and Marshall. He opened his mouth, but Mary interrupted him.

“Hey, can we get another damn chair over here?” she yelled, and then started to cough, each spasm jolting her ribs with fresh agony.

Giving her a dirty look, Stan turned to the nearest passing hospital worker. “Excuse me.”

“Yeah, I heard her,” the man replied, a harried expression on his face.

Within seconds, an annoyed Marshall was ensconced in his own wheelchair. Before Stan could do more than try again to speak to his inspectors, though, nurses and doctors started to swarm around them. Mary and her partner took turns relating the extent of their injuries. She decided to wait until she was in a more private environment to tell them that she had nearly passed out, and Marshall wisely held his tongue on that subject.

As she was being wheeled down the hallway, Stan came up beside Mary again. “I'll talk to you both after you're all bandaged up,” he said. “But meanwhile, do you want me to contact your family?”

Mary sighed. “Yeah, I've been gone long enough that they're probably starting to worry.” She gave Stan another tired smile. “Thanks, Chief. And I'm sorry – we don't have anything but theories about who did this to us, nothing concrete.”

“Don't you worry about that, Inspector,” Stan said, looking serious. “That's not your job right now. You and Marshall just need to concentrate on getting better. We're gonna find them and bring them down, sooner or later.”

“I hope it's sooner,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Fic: Found (Life, 1/1)

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:18:27 GMT

Because I haven't posted any fic in all of two days - heh.

Title: Found
Characters: Reese, Crews, Ted, Tidwell, Bobby Stark
Rating: PG-13 for somewhat disturbing imagery
Spoilers: Post-season 2
Summary: It's Reese's turn to do the rescuing.
Disclaimer: I do not own this show or these characters.
Author's Note: Yet more thanks to astrothsknot for her excellent beta skills!

~

Monday, 8:23 am

Dani picks up the phone, ready to ask her partner why he didn't call her cell and why he seems to have forgotten about work today, but instead a shaky-sounding voice says, “Hello, is this Detective Reese?”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“It's Ted Earley, Charlie's roommate. I-- I need to talk to you.”

“About Charlie?” she asks, her heart sinking.

“Yeah. He went out for a walk earlier this morning, and... and then I got a call.” Ted takes a deep breath. “They want his settlement money. All of it.”

Hastily, she picks up a pencil and a notepad, struggling to stay focused on the job at hand. There is procedure to follow now. “What else did they say?”

“It was a man who did the talking,” Ted replies, and Reese gets the feeling he's doing his best to stay calm, as well. “I didn't recognize the voice, but he said I have until 8:30 tonight to get everything together, or...”

He trails off, but she can fill in the blank. “All right. Um, does Crews have his cell phone with him?”

“He took it with him when he left,” Ted tells her. “But I've already tried calling it several times. I'm sure the kidnappers have gotten rid of it by now.”

“Probably, but I'll get it traced just in case,” she says, scribbling a note to that effect. “Where are you supposed to deliver the money?”

Ted relays the kidnappers' instructions to deliver it to a local street corner next to the newspaper stand – with the usual warnings of no police contact, come alone, etc. When Dani asks if the kidnapper allowed Ted to speak to Crews, he hesitates.

“He did let Charlie say a few words to make sure I believed they had him,” Ted confirms. “But, uh... he sounded bad. Like he'd been drugged, or beaten, or maybe both.”

Reese blows out her breath, dropping the pen and rubbing a hand across her forehead. This is sounding uglier by the minute. “Ted, we're going to find him,” she says, assuring herself as much as Crews' roommate. “I'll get someone on tracing his cell phone immediately, and we'll start looking. And we will find him and whoever took him.” She is about to remind him to keep in contact, but he anticipates her.

“Yeah. The guy didn't say they were going to call again, but I'll let you know if I hear anything else.” He hangs up.

Dani practically runs to Tidwell's office, ignoring the closed door and bursting right in. He's on the phone, but he hangs up a second after her entrance.

“Crews has been kidnapped. They called his roommate, gave him twelve hours to deliver all his settlement money, and threatened to kill him if their instructions aren't followed.”

Tidwell's face registers shock and dismay, and then resolve. Within minutes, there is a team mobilized: her partner's cell phone is being traced, and Reese herself is leading a task force of sorts to locate Crews. She is not surprised that Bobby Stark is the first to volunteer to be on the team.

Monday – Ten Hours Later

Dani is at her desk, staring off into space, trying once again to fit the pieces they've been able to gather into some kind of useful next step. There are only two hours left before the delivery is supposed to be made. Ted hasn't been contacted again. The only measurable progress they've made is locating Crews' cell phone – in a gutter about two miles from his house. Searching the surrounding area has not revealed any signs of a struggle.

“Hey.”

Tidwell's quiet voice behind her makes her jump, and she turns to glare at him. “What?”

“When was the last time you ate anything, Dani?” He doesn't look the slightest bit bothered by her attitude.

“I had breakfast.” Then she points to the coffee cup on her desk. “I have coffee.”

Tidwell just keeps looking at her, genuine concern clear in his eyes, and she finally looks down at the papers on her desk. “Look, I'm not hungry, all right?”

“Fine.” He hasn't moved. “I'll get someone to bring dinner, and you can decide whether or not you want some when it gets here.”

Reese nods. Whatever will get him off her back and let her get back to the investigation soonest.

She realizes after a few seconds that the captain is still there. Sighing, she turns to face him. “Is there something else? Sir?”

He acknowledges her attempt at civility with a half-smile before becoming serious again. “Look, Detective, I know you're worried, upset even – especially since this is all happening so soon after your own kidnapping, but--”

She is about to interrupt with a heated retort when her phone rings. It's Ted.

“Did they call again?”

“Yeah.” Sounding just as anxious as he had the last time they spoke, he continues, “I did what you said - I told them I needed more time.”

“And?” She holds her breath almost without realizing she's doing so.

He clears his throat. “They gave me until tomorrow morning, 8:30.”

“Good.” She exhales. At least they're consistent so far with the time, she thinks. “That's good news, Ted.”

“They told me this was the last time that would happen, though,” he adds. “And the officer here wasn't able to trace the call.”

“Well, that's not unexpected,” she tells him truthfully. Although of course it would have been an extremely big break.

“Sure would've been nice, though,” he mutters, echoing her thought.

When Ted hangs up, Tidwell has disappeared – but Dani does stop working long enough to eat a slice of pizza when an officer brings some in. She tries not to think about what disappointed comment Crews would make if he was here having a slice of Hawaiian pizza with her; the pineapple on top is canned, not fresh.

At exactly 8:32 the next morning, after Ted has dropped off the duffel bag containing $50 million in very realistic looking counterfeit hundred-dollar bills at the specified location, Reese is watching through binoculars when a kid in a black coat appears from an alley and begins sauntering casually over to the bag. He reaches to pick it up, and Reese springs into action immediately.

“That's our guy. Follow him, nice and slow.”

In the driver's seat, Stark nods while she radios in the location of the suspect to the other cars in the area. Their car starts forward.

After five minutes of tailing the kid (he can't be more than 25, Reese figures), he suddenly sprints across a crosswalk and ducks into an alley on the other side of the street.

Swearing, Dani contacts the other cops, and breathes a sigh of relief when Officer Reynolds tells her that the suspect is still in sight. “He's entering the side door of – I think it's a bar. I can't see if there's someone else inside the door or not.”

Of course it would be a bar. She takes one moment to gather her thoughts, and then tells Reynolds and his partner to wait for Stark and her to arrive before moving in. Even though she wants to get this kid right now, she won't risk two officers going in without backup... and she isn't stupid enough to think she could do this without backup, either. The other two officers are too far away at the moment for her to wait.

“So what do we have?” Stark asks, as he pulls up to the curb in front of the bar.

“Suspect is inside, that's all we know for sure,” she tells him. “I don't know about you, but I get the feeling that kid wasn't the brains of this operation.”

Stark laughs grimly at that. “Yeah, I kinda thought that myself.”

They walk up to the front door of the place. It's closed – just past 8:30 is a little early for most people – but Reese sees movement inside. Very rapid movement, in fact. Moving towards the front door. She's about to warn Stark, but when she looks over at him, he's already leveling his weapon.

The front door bursts open, and the kid with the duffel bag stops short at the sight of two gun barrels pointing directly at him. His eyes are wide as he raises his hands and tries to catch his breath.

“Going somewhere with that bag?” Reese asks him.

The kid takes a step back, shaking his head. Just then, Reynolds and his partner push him aside as they exit the building, a surly-looking guy in cuffs between them. “Look, I don't know this dude,” the man is protesting, casting a dark look at the kid.

Reese sees fear and anger cross the kid's face before anger wins out, and he drops the duffel bag. “Hey, I'm not sticking to any plan now, Jerry,” he says, turning to face the older man. “I don't want to go to prison for kidnapping!”

“You shut up,” Jerry spits, his lunge toward him halted immediately by the two officers at his sides.

“Whoa, there. You might want to take it easy, Jerry.” Reynolds leads him none too gently down the front steps of the bar.

The kid seems to remember that there are guns pointed at him. He raises his hands again, and Reese nods for Stark to cuff him. “All I was supposed to do was go pick up the money,” Jerry's friend says mournfully.

“Yeah, well, looks like it's gonna end up as more than that,” Stark tells him, and reads him his rights.

Dani holsters her gun. Finally, it looks like they at least have a chance of finding Crews – assuming he isn't just locked up in this building somewhere. She only hopes he's more or less in one piece when they do find him.

Tuesday, 1:42 pm

Reese stands up from the seat across from Jerry again, glaring at him. Her patience, already in short supply, is just about gone. The fact that this lowlife has Crews' location but refuses to tell her almost pushes her over the edge – but to her surprise, she finds that some of her partner's Zen ability to be still and hold back his emotions must have rubbed off. Instead of yelling or threatening violence (her size has not prevented her from being effective with this last course of action in the past), she simply begins to lay out exactly what will happen to Jerry if he keeps silent and an LAPD detective ends up dead as a result.

“We've already got you on kidnapping, Jerry,” she tells him, watching his eyes as he shifts in his seat. “But if Detective Crews ends up dead – which is what your buddy said would happen without the ransom – then we add accessory to murder.” She pauses, as Jerry meets her gaze and then looks away. “And Jerry, murdering a cop? Really not something you want on your résumé.”

Jerry is silent, but clearly hovering on the edge of terror. When Reese sighs and begins to leave the room, he quickly calls her back. With desperation in his voice, he says, “Look, I-- I'm not sure where he is. I only saw him once, and Fang told me he was gonna be moved, but he didn't say where.”

“All right.” Dani sits back down. “Then give me your best guesses where Fang might be holding him... and I'll tell the judge how helpful you were.”

After she's gotten all the information on possible locations from him, Reese gets up to pass this along to Tidwell and the other members of the task force. She is halted once again at the door by a plea for her to wait.

“Something to add, Jerry?” she asks in some irritation, turning around to look at him.

He hesitates. “Uh, I just wanted to say... I never wanted anyone dead. I just wanted my share of the money. But, um, Fang – it's like he had something against Crews. I heard him say something about how if he couldn't get at some guy named Rayborn, he'd get at Charlie Crews.”

She takes a deep breath. Of course, there would be some tie to Rayborn in this. The man seems to have a finger in every mess in LA. “That could be important, Jerry,” she tells him. “Thanks.”

Tuesday, 8:16 pm

It takes an infuriatingly long time to narrow down and search the possible locations Jerry gave her. By the time her teams have it narrowed down to one ancient, dingy two-level apartment complex, Reese feels the ticking of the clock like some kind of specter hovering over her.

She can barely wait until the car is parked before she throws open the door. It is only with her strongest effort of will that she is able to wait outside until the SWAT team has cleared the complex.

The SWAT leader approaches her upon exiting the apartment. “We've cleared everything except one locked door at the end of a hall. There's no sign of the suspect, unless he's staying very quiet behind that door.”

Reese nods. “Let's check it out, then.”

“All right.”

She pushes past the other cops into the hallway. Halted by the heavy locked door, she waits in undisguised irritation for SWAT and the rest of her backup to catch up with her and break it down.

The splintered door leads to a dark, narrow staircase. Reese feels sick, imagining what her partner must have been going through in the time it took for her to find him. Almost thirty-six hours... She moves down the stairs as quickly as she can without stumbling.

At the bottom of the stairs, in the beam of her flashlight, she spies a pull-chain for a light and pulls it. The single bulb illuminates the dirty, cluttered room – and to her right, under the stairs, another door. A closet door, by the looks of it.

Oh, my God, she thinks, the sick feeling in her gut increasing. They put him in there?! “Crews?” she calls out, walking toward the closet.

There is no response. Dani meets Stark's eyes and sees her own anger and fear reflected there. “Should we break down this door, too?”

“No. There's not even enough space in there for him to get out of the way.”

Looking chagrined, Stark nods. Dani walks to the door and sees in the faint light that the key is in the lock – a small mercy. There is also a bolt at the top, which she unlocks. “Crews, are you in here?”

Over the mutters of conversation from the other officers, Reese thinks she hears a faint sound. Hastily, she unlocks the deadbolt and pulls open the door.

The closet is slightly bigger than she had imagined, but Crews' curled form still takes up almost all of the floor space. Heart pounding, she shines her flashlight beam toward but not directly at her partner's face. His eyes are open but empty.

She kneels down and sets the flashlight on the cold floor. “Crews,” she says softly, “can you hear me?”

He makes no reply other than to turn towards her voice fractionally.

“Oh, God,” Stark says from behind her. He swallows. “I'll call for an ambulance. Hang in there, Charlie, okay?” He departs.

Dani reaches out slowly and puts her hand on his bare forearm. Crews flinches but doesn't draw away. “Crews, it's me. It's Reese.” She sees with a pang that his hands are bruised and spotted with dried blood.

She keeps her hand on his arm, watching him as he draws a slow, deep breath. Awareness seems to seep back into his staring eyes. He blinks and turns to face her completely. “Hey, Reese,” he says, his voice a raspy imitation of its usual cheer. “You found me.”

With a smile, she clears her throat. “Yeah, Crews. I did.”
~

Fic: The Quiet Limit of the World (4/4)

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 21:37:36 GMT

Final section!

Title: The Quiet Limit of the World (4/4)
Summary, disclaimer, etc. same as in Part 1.

~

Part 4

Scully is extremely glad the next morning that she had the foresight to take this day off from work. Though the night's sleep has helped a great deal, she still feels too emotionally taxed to function at the office. She notices Mulder's absence before she opens her eyes, and is briefly unsettled until she hears him talking on the phone outside her room. He is calling in sick, no doubt.

Squinting at the clock by her bed, Scully reads that it is 7:13. She rolls over and closes her eyes; it's far too early for her to even contemplate facing the world.

She is just beginning to fall back into slumber when she hears her bedroom door open quietly. The bed dips under Mulder's weight, and he pulls away the covers for a moment to slide back under them. She smiles as he settles her against him, his arm around her waist. “Sorry to wake you.”

“'Sokay,” she murmurs. “Just glad you're here.”

“I wouldn't be anywhere else.”

Scully drifts in and out of sleep for the next two and a half hours, soothed each time she wakes by Mulder's solid presence and even breathing. Then, finally feeling rested, she turns over carefully – to find that Mulder's eyes are open and that he is watching her with a half-smile.

“What are you looking at, Mulder?” Scully asks, conscious of her tousled hair and lack of makeup.

“You,” he tells her simply.

She returns his smile and raises an eyebrow. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not too long,” he says. “I wasn't bored, if that's what you're worried about.”

Scully laughs. She starts to turn away, to get out of bed, but Mulder reaches a hand to her chin and gently turns her face back toward him. He searches her eyes for a moment. Before she can second-guess herself, Scully leans in and kisses him.

Only surprised for an instant, Mulder closes his eyes and deepens the kiss. She is becoming utterly lost in the sensations of his mouth on hers when Mulder pulls back, breathing hard.

“Mulder...” She isn't sure what she's planning to say, other than to communicate her disappointment at the end of the kiss. Her breathing is a little ragged, too.

“Scully,” he says, brushing his hand across her cheek, “I just-- I just want to make sure you're okay with this happening right now.”

She smiles again as she looks into his eyes, seeing a mixture of worry, love, and desire. “I'm okay with it, Mulder. More than okay, actually.”

“You aren't going to--”

“Regret it later?” Scully thinks about it, and then shakes her head. “No, Mulder, I'm not.” She looks away for a second. “This isn't about trying to forget something painful,” she says quietly. “I think... I think it's about moving forward.”

He gazes at her. “I can agree with that,” he says, and then with a wicked glint in his eyes, he closes the distance between them. “We could make some new memories if you want, Scully,” he murmurs, lips almost touching her neck.

She shivers and laughs. “That sounds good.”

Four Days Later

When Mulder strides into the office holding a file folder, his eyes alight with excitement, Scully braces herself for a new case. It's been long enough. She's ready. “What have you got, Mulder?” she smiles, leaning back in her chair.

“Maryland PD has reported several disappearances out in Garrett County,” he says, sitting on the edge of the desk and handing her the folder. “Four people, of varying age and ethnicity, all vanished at night over the course of the past two weeks.”

“And we're interested why?” Scully opens the folder.

“A witness gave enough of a description of the suspect that the sketch artists were able to produce a good working sketch.” He leans forward. “Take a look – there's a copy of it in there.”

Scully flips through the report... and stops dead at the unmistakable image of the man they have come up against so many times over the years. She looks up up at Mulder, eyes wide.

“I thought you might recognize our bounty hunting friend,” he says, nodding. “I figure if we leave now, we can get out there by tonight.”

She sets down the file without bothering to look at the rest of it for the moment. “Mulder, I feel like I should remind you, every time we've confronted this... man, or whatever he is, we haven't exactly come out on top.”

“That's true,” Mulder admits, with a wry twist of his mouth. “But that doesn't mean we shouldn't at least try to see what he's up to, right?”

“I suppose not,” she says. “Are we heading out now?”

Mulder stands. “You have an overnight bag ready?”

Scully rises to her feet and stares at him, hands on her hips. He laughs and puts up his hands in a placating gesture. “I thought I'd ask anyway, just to be sure.”

The drive out to the westernmost county in Maryland is long and uneventful. They arrive travel-worn and hungry just before nine, and Scully is glad that Mulder seems quite willing to wait until the next morning to start the investigation. Mulder leaves a message for the local police station while Scully checks them in and orders dinner.

They are quiet through most of their Chinese takeout (the only readily-available takeout in the area). As she's finishing up the last few bites, Scully wipes her mouth on a napkin and asks, “So, what's the plan for tomorrow, Mulder?”

He sets down his chopsticks, having already finished. “Well, I figure we'll go talk to the local PD, find out where this eyewitness saw our friend, and go from there.” He shrugs. “Should be simple enough.”

Scully gives him a look. “And if our 'friend' doesn't take kindly to us trying to track him down?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Mulder picks up their empty cartons and throws them away.

“Right.” As long as we're adequately prepared, Scully thinks, but keeps her sarcasm to herself.

Mulder hides a yawn as he walks over to the connecting door between their rooms. Perhaps it is because of how tired they were when they arrived, but he hadn't even made a joke about being disappointed when she had gotten them two rooms.

The next morning, the two meet with the sheriff after breakfast. Sheriff Glass strikes Scully as similar to most of the small-town sheriffs they've encountered: competent, dedicated, and baffled by the rash of serious crime in his normally peaceful home. “I appreciate you giving us a hand, Agents,” he tells them, after introductions have been made. “We've been looking pretty hard, but other than that description Andy Conrad gave us, we don't have much to go on.”

“One of the reasons we came out is that we believe your suspect might be a person of interest in quite a few of our cases,” Mulder tells him.

“Really? What kind of cases?” Sheriff Glass asks, looking anxious.

Mulder shoots Scully a glance before she replies, “Mostly in connection with kidnapping cases.”

“Just like what's going on here then, I guess.” The sheriff heaves a sigh. “Well, let me get you the addresses of the victims.”

The five Garrett County inhabitants who have disappeared do not have anything obvious in common, other than their location. Two are a young couple who just moved to the area in the past year, one is a retired schoolteacher who lived alone with his dog, another is the mother of three children (one of whom is the Andy who gave the description to the sketch artist), and the most recent is a seventeen-year-old girl who vanished from a sleepover at her friend's birthday party.

Mulder elects to visit the husband of the missing woman first. Mr. Conrad has little to add, though he repeats several times how grateful he is that the FBI has sent some agents to help look for his wife. “Andy's at school right now,” he tells them, “but I don't know what else he could tell you, other than what he told the police.”

“That's fine, Mr. Conrad,” Scully says. “We might stop by again once your son is home from school, if that's okay with you. Meanwhile, can you describe for us again what happened the night your wife went missing?”

After all the interviews are complete, Mulder follows her out to their car, so lost in thought that he almost runs into her when she stops at the passenger side door. “Oops. Sorry, Scully.”

“Whoa there, Mulder,” she says, raising an eyebrow and giving him an amused look. “You okay to drive, or should I take the wheel this time and save us both from wrapping around a tree?”

He grins, looking slightly embarrassed. “No, I can manage all right – ah, if you don't mind, that is.”

Scully stays where she is, gesturing toward the passenger side. It only rarely bothers her when he just assumes he'll be driving, and now is not one of those times. “What were you thinking so deeply about?”

“I was just thinking, most everyone mentioned that the kidnapper seemed to take off in a general westerly direction,” Mulder answers as he makes his way around to the other side of the car. “That's the direction of the Savage River, and I have a hunch that we might find something around there.”

“Certainly a promising name for a river,” Scully mutters, getting into the car. “So are we just going to drive up and down the length of the river, or what?”

Mulder glances at her with a smile. “Just the easily accessible parts.”

“Fine,” Scully says, indulging him with a smile of her own, “but I have to insist that we have lunch first. Otherwise it could be sometime tomorrow before we have another chance.”

“Agreed,” Mulder replies.

As it turns out, when they arrive at the river later that afternoon, they find a good place to park and only have to walk a short distance before something of interest turns up. There is a riverboat moored near an old, decaying dock – and although the boat is silent and still, there is a faint light in one window.

Hastily, the two agents move to the cover of some nearby trees. “The sheriff told me earlier that there wasn't really a whole lot to see out here,” Mulder whispers. “I guess he didn't know about this boat. Must not have been here long.”

Scully feels uneasiness begin to stir. “Still, it seems awfully exposed for the bounty hunter to choose it as a base of operations, don't you think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Without waiting to see if she's with him, Mulder draws his gun and begins to move toward the dock.

Sighing, Scully readies her weapon and follows. Though she starts after him only seconds later, Mulder is already on the deck of the boat by the time she makes it to the dock. He glances over his shoulder at her for a moment, but then strides forward again.

Scully moves as quickly and as quietly as she can to catch up. She is only a few steps behind when Mulder arrives at the other end of the boat, where the lighted room had been visible. The gloomy room is visible through the porthole-like window in the door, but there is no one in sight. Mulder pauses, briefly exchanging a glance with Scully. Then he pushes the door open as soundlessly as possible and stands aside as Scully enters the room, gun at the ready.

It takes several seconds for Scully to adjust to the dimness of the boat's interior as she cases the room for immediate threats. In those seconds, Mulder has already moved on from this room – which is empty except for some wooden crates against the wall - into the next room. He stops abruptly, a few feet inside it, raising his gun to aim at something beyond Scully's sight.

Scully hurries to follow, and quickly raises her own weapon at the sight of the bounty hunter. The imposing figure is standing at the other end of the room, in front of two long metal tables. He regards the two of them with no change of expression.

“Where are the five people you kidnapped from town?” Mulder demands.

The bounty hunter takes one step closer to them. “They are not here. And you should leave this place now.”

“Not until you tell us where you took them,” Scully says. Her eyes dart from their opponent to the metal tables, and she suppresses a shudder.

He continues to walk toward them, slowly. “You're far too late to find them.”

“Don't come any closer,” Mulder warns, moving to stand partially in front of Scully without blocking her aim.

Scully shifts out from behind Mulder, aiming for the bounty hunter's neck as best as she can. She knows that he will not just let them investigate the area for evidence of his victims. This is not going to end well.

Almost before she has completed that thought, the bounty hunter rushes forward brutally and swiftly. Scully is not sure whether she or Mulder fires first – but it does not matter, since both of their shots go wide. Before she has time to react, Scully feels an iron grip on her throat and she is slammed into the wall. There is an answering burst of pain and her vision darkens. Through this, she is vaguely conscious of the fact that Mulder is also being held against the wall by his throat. She chokes and hears her pulse pounding in her ears.

“You will find nothing here,” the bounty hunter tells them dispassionately. With that, he allows Scully to slide to the floor before punching Mulder squarely in the face with his freed hand. Mulder is limp in his grip as the man hefts him toward the window.

Recovering her breath, Scully gasps as she realizes an instant before it happens what their assailant is planning. She reaches desperately and half-blindly for her gun – but does not find it until after Mulder is sent crashing through the window. Then she scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can and raises the weapon.

At the sound of the weapon being cocked, the bounty hunter turns impossibly fast and knocks it from her hands. In an instant, she follows Mulder out of the shattered window.

The shock of hitting the frigid water is almost overwhelming, but Scully quickly breaks the surface, coughing and gasping as she scans the dark river frantically for her partner. She finds him unconscious and facedown in the water a few yards from her. The current is swift, and he is already being carried farther away.

Taking in a gulp of air, Scully swims to him as fast as she can. The water is chillingly cold, and her layers of clothing hamper her movement. Still, she reaches him in seconds and immediately lifts his head out of the water. It's hard to tell if he is breathing.

Only the fact that the water is helping to carry his weight allows Scully to guide Mulder's progress toward the shore with any kind of speed. He is completely out, and she does her best to keep his head level with his back and above the water.

Scully heaves a sigh of relief as she finally manages to pull Mulder out of the river and sees his chest rise and fall. Her relief is short-lived as she also notes the bloody wound on his forehead. He is still unconscious, and in clear need of medical attention. She, of course, is fine – soaking wet and shivering, but the cuts she'd received during her forced exit through the window of the riverboat are already almost closed over. For once, she is glad of her unnaturally quick healing; if she had fared as poorly as Mulder as a result of their altercation with the bounty hunter, they would both be unconscious in the water and would have almost certainly drowned.

She looks up toward the boat. It is still close by; they have only drifted downstream about a dozen yards. She hopes the bounty hunter does not pursue them – she doesn't think she can defend both Mulder and herself from his unrelenting attacks.

Mulder coughs and moans, turning his head slightly. He looks as though he's trying to open his eyes. “Scully...”

“Don't try to move, Mulder,” Scully tells him. She pushes his bangs out of the still-bleeding head wound. “You're hurt, and you need to stay still.”

He is shivering, and Scully's heart sinks as she considers the deadly combination of shock, hypothermia, and concussion – not to mention the water that must be in his lungs. There has to be a way for her to get him out of here. Her cell phone, of course, has been rendered useless by its submersion in the river, and she already knows that the boat is a significant distance from the nearest town. Their car is on the opposite bank.

If Mulder had been trying to aim for a return to consciousness, her words have evidently made him decide not to bother. He is quiet and still, other than his regular breaths and constant shivering.

Scully bites her lip and comes to a decision. Though it is dangerous to move him before she knows the extent of his injuries, it is more dangerous to leave him here. She will have to try to drag him to dry ground, at least, while jostling him as little as possible. She peels off her dripping jacket and lays it on the riverbank, and then moves to stand between Mulder and the river, judging the route she will have to take.

Scully is so focused on her task that she doesn't see the bounty hunter exit the boat and move purposefully along the dock to the opposite shore. Thus, she has barely a second to react when the whole boat explodes, sending debris flying with incredible force. Before the shock wave reaches her, she has time to throw her arms up in front of her face. Then she is propelled forward and the world goes dark.

Searing pain brings her out of unconsciousness in brief snatches. At one point, she feels herself being moved, tries and fails to open her eyes, and cries out in agony when something comes in contact with one specific area on her back.

“Sorry, ma'am,” someone says.

Another voice speaks up, urgently. “Agent Scully, can you hear me? We need to get you and your partner--”

The voice fades out, though Scully struggles to hold onto it. She needs to hear what's being done for Mulder. At least it sounds like he is alive and they have not left him behind. With that thought, she is enveloped by darkness once more.

Garrett County Memorial Hospital

Scully experiences a moment of sheer panic when she begins to wake up and finds that she cannot move. She is lying on her right side, and she's tied down. She starts to try to pull free, but her attempts cause fresh pain in several spots on her back, including one area in particular near the base of her spine.

“Agent Scully,” a man's voice says in a calming tone, “don't fight against the restraints. You're in the hospital, you're doing fine, but you have a serious wound on your back that needs to heal.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. The speaker is standing in front of her, observing her with a kind but serious expression on his face. He introduces himself as Dr. Tyler.

“How...” Scully swallows, her throat aching. “How long have I been here?”

“Today is your third day,” Dr. Tyler tells her. “You and your partner were brought in in serious condition on Tuesday night. The sheriff was concerned when he tried to call you and wasn't able to reach either of you.”

Blinking, Scully tries to process this information. There is something important about the length of time she has already been here and the continuing extent of her injuries, but she discards the thought for the moment. “Mulder. How is he?”

“Agent Mulder had a concussion, bruised ribs, hypothermia, and water in his lungs, as well as quite a few scrapes and bruises – including contusions around his neck, which you also have. But he's doing well, and will most likely not sustain any permanent damage. He was asleep last time I checked.”

The lingering pain in her back brings Scully to her next question. “I... What happened to us? I remember an explosion...”

He nods. “Yes, Sheriff Glass tells me you were found near a riverboat that was apparently rigged with explosives. A piece of the metal railing was embedded in your lower back, not too far from your spine,” he says, gesturing to the part of her that hurts the most at the moment, “not to mention several smaller injuries caused by other debris. It took a long time in surgery to get it all out. You also sustained a minor concussion when you hit the ground – but when you fell, you managed to shield your partner from most of the blast.” At that, he smiles. “And you certainly saved his life by pulling him out of the river.”

Scully lets out her breath. “Will you thank the sheriff for me?”

“He said he might be in to check up on you both later today,” Dr. Taylor says, “but I'll be sure to tell him if you don't. Your boss has also been in to see you.” He smiles at her again, reassuringly. “Now that you're awake, we can take off the restraints. Be careful not to roll onto your back.”

Once she is alone with her thoughts, it only takes Scully a moment to recognize the possible significance of this hospital stay. If it has been three days, and she still needs to have her bandages changed and to be careful to stay on her side... then she is not healing at an abnormally fast pace. It can't be a coincidence that her most serious injury is in almost exactly the same location on her back as the exit wound from Ritter's bullet almost a year ago.

She feels hope begin to stir. Maybe her life has returned to normal now – or at least, she amends wryly, back to the usual brand of insanity.

A nurse knocks on the door and enters, crossing to stand where Scully can see her. “Good morning, Agent Scully. How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Scully tells her honestly, “and hungry.”

The nurse smiles and nods. “We'll bring you some food after your bandages are changed.”

Scully lies still as the older woman checks each wound. She reports that everything looks fine, that most of the minor cuts will most likely heal without any lasting scars, and then replaces the covering on the major wound. Scully cannot hold back a wince as the nurse tapes down the bandage.

“I'm sorry, dear,” the nurse says, smoothing it down gently. “I know it's still tender. But there's no sign of infection, and the stitches are looking good.”

“Good,” Scully says. She closes her eyes for an instant and breathes a prayer of gratitude that the nurse has said nothing about a miraculous disappearance of any of her wounds. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” the woman says, giving her another smile. “I'll bring your breakfast – and your medication - in for you right away.”

Two Days Later

Dana Scully's Apartment

8:32 AM

She is just beginning the process of getting herself some breakfast when Mulder shuffles into the kitchen. He has almost completely recovered from his injuries, but he is still more stiff than usual.

“Morning, Mulder,” she greets him with a smile. “Feeling okay?”

He nods and clears his throat. “Yeah. How about you – did my snoring keep you awake?”

Chuckling, she shakes her head. “No, I slept just fine.”

There is a brief pause, during which they look at each other somewhat shyly. Last night was their first night out of the hospital, and they had spent it together. Mulder told her he wanted to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't overextend herself during their time off for recovery – and Scully accepted his reasoning as the partial truth that it was. They are still both easily taxed, and so their night together had contained nothing but sleeping. Still, Scully is fairly certain she slept better last night than she has in quite a while.

“You want some breakfast?” Scully asks, breaking the silence.

“Sure.”

Scully is lost in thought, absently eating her bagel when Mulder clears his throat again. Though the bruises around his neck have all but faded, he still speaks with a hint of a rasp. “So, Scully, are you still healing all right?”

She knows what he isn't asking, and nods slowly. “Everything seems to be proceeding at a normal pace.”

“How do you think it happened?” he asks, watching her intently. “What caused your change back to mortality?”

She takes a breath. This is the first time they have had to really discuss the topic since regaining consciousness in the hospital. “I-- don't know, Mulder. I really don't. All I know is that I was totally focused on getting you out of that river and trying to get you to safety.” They share a look. “And with all these close calls and attacks we've had this past year, maybe... maybe what you told me in the hospital in New York is true, about seeking the opposite of death,” she continues. “I was looking for any way to make sure you stayed alive--”

“And so death decided to start looking for you again?” Mulder looks thoughtful. Then he frowns, pinning her with his gaze. “On that subject, I don't appreciate the human shield act Dr. Taylor told me you pulled, putting yourself between me and the explosion.”

“Well, it's not like I had a lot of time to think about it,” she says, looking down at her plate. “And I had every reason to think I was much less at risk than you, anyway.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Even so, I thought we agreed you weren't going to test that theory.”

“You would have done the same thing,” Scully points out, only the slightest bit defensive.

“And you wouldn't have appreciated it, either,” Mulder returns without a pause.

She looks up at him then. “You're right. I wouldn't have,” she says softly.

They fall silent again, and Mulder is the first to break their gaze this time. Then he grins and looks at her again, almost challenging. “You know, Scully, not too long ago you would have come up with a way of writing this whole thing off as a series of bizarre coincidences, now that it seems to be over.”

She concedes his point with a faint smile. “Maybe. But I don't think I would want to deny this experience, Mulder, even if I could. It's... it's brought a lot of good into my life along with the bad.”

“Not just more scars?” His tone is light, but Scully can hear the perennial undercurrent of guilt.

“No, not just scars.” Scully reaches across the table and takes his hand. She thinks it fitting somehow that her two newest scars will mark the beginning and the end of the experience. Mulder, on the other hand, is clearly practicing his usual self-recrimination for her suffering. “Mulder,” she says, bringing his eyes back to hers, “do you remember what I told you a while ago, about moving forward?”

She sees a flash of some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes before he nods.

“Well, I want us to keep moving forward,” she continues, still holding his hand. “And I think that means not being held back by guilt or regret. Maybe that's part of what it means to seek life.”

Mulder is silent for a few moments. He rubs his thumb across the back of her hand and then leans in to kiss her with the same intensity of faith that left her gasping in an Oregon thunderstorm nearly a decade ago.

“I believe you.”

Author's Note 2: Thanks for sticking with this story all the way to the end!
The title of this fic comes from Tennyson's haunting poem “Tithonus,” which I read upon recommendation from the very astute glisters. I recommend it to you as well if you haven't already given it a read. It can be found easily on the Internets.

Fic: The Quiet Limit of the World (3/4)

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 21:34:58 GMT

Title: The Quiet Limit of the World (3/4)
Summary, disclaimer, etc. same as in Part 1.

~

Part 3

Mother's Day

1:14 PM

Scully has been quiet for a while before her mother speaks up. “Dana, is everything okay?”

Scully smiles at her across the restaurant table. “I'm fine. Sorry. Just got a little lost in thought.”

Maggie Scully returns the smile, and resumes telling her about Bill's phone call this morning: how Matthew seemed to know it was a special day, but obviously thought it was about him, not about Tara – and how he wanted to eat the chocolates that Bill bought her. Scully laughs at the tale, but she is still only partially paying attention.

Selfishly, she is glad that Bill and Tara could not make a trip out to visit. The holiday itself is already a painful enough reminder of her brief motherhood and loss of all future opportunities for the same, without having to maintain her equilibrium in front of her young nephew and his mother. However, what has kept her thoughts occupied during the majority of lunch is an idea that occurred to her early this morning.

She has not been to the doctor since New York – there has been no reason for her to do so – but she thinks she has a reason to make an appointment now. There is still no way of knowing exactly how her 'gift' from Fellig has affected her physically, but perhaps something has changed enough that she may no longer be infertile. It is a distant, perhaps foolish hope, she knows, but the idea will not leave her alone.

“Well,” her mother says, smiling and reaching for her purse, “this was lovely, honey – thank you again.”

“You're welcome, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.”

It is only when they are outside the restaurant walking to the car that Mrs. Scully addresses one issue that has been on her daughter's mind. “Dana, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you celebrating today with me – especially in light of what you told me about your own health, and-- and your experience with Emily. I know it must be hard for you.”

Scully meets her eyes and then looks away. She nods, not trusting herself to speak. Thankfully, this statement made and acknowledged, her mother changes the subject.

At work the next day, Scully knows her preoccupation has not gone unnoticed by Mulder. They don't have a case to otherwise occupy them; Mulder is still recovering from his impromptu brain surgery, so they are office-bound. Though she is fully aware he has nothing else to focus on but his partner, she can't get her impending doctor's appointment (for which she is getting out of work a half hour early) out of her mind. She is trying her hardest not to get her hopes up. After all, even if the appointment goes well, she won't know anything concrete for another few weeks, after the exam is repeated.

When she stands up to leave, Mulder looks up in mild surprise. “You off early today, Scully?”

“Yeah.” She goes to pick up her jacket, trying not to let her nervousness show. “I've, uh, I've got an appointment. It's nothing serious.”

As soon as she says the last three words, she wishes she could take them back. Now she's sure to have gotten her partner's attention. Turning to gauge his reaction, she sees that he is staring at her with the question clear in his eyes. She sighs. “I'll tell you about it tomorrow, okay?”

Mulder nods. “Okay.”

Giving him a small, placating smile, Scully leaves the office.

Scully walks out of the clinic guardedly hopeful. After hearing about her past diagnosis, the doctor has given her a medical regimen to follow for the next three weeks. She warned Scully that there are no guarantees – something that Scully already knows, of course, but she finds herself optimistic nonetheless.

At work the next day, Scully waits until lunch to tell Mulder what she has determined to say. “The appointment was at a fertility clinic,” she says, rubbing at the condensation on the side of her glass of ice water. “I'm-- I'm still pursuing my options. I have another appointment in three weeks.”

Mulder blinks. He opens his mouth, and then just nods. “I... that's great, Scully. I hope it works out.”

Scully is sure he was about to say something else entirely, but she does not press the issue. They eat in silence for several minutes before Mulder brings up a detail from one of the reports they've been working on, and the matter drops for the moment.

Three Weeks Later

The news is not good. Scully leaves the clinic fighting back tears, angry at herself for even thinking that her body could have been so dramatically changed that good news would be possible. None of this was based on any scientific evidence, she thinks, stalking out to her car. So why am I surprised?

Her doctor had looked at her with a mixture of pity and compassion when she informed her of the results. The exam's findings were the same as before. Of course. If what Mulder told her last year about the cause of her infertility is true, it only makes sense. No simple medical regimen could make up for the violation and loss she experienced during her abduction.

The next day at work, when she is quiet and withdrawn, Mulder's worry becomes obvious again. He doesn't press her on it until they leave for lunch. He glances around the elevator, which is empty, and then asks, “Was your appointment yesterday? How did it go?”

Scully sighs shakily. “Not well.”

Mulder just looks at her.

She decides to get it over with. Drawing it out will only make it more painful for them both. “It's just that I thought maybe the... discovery we made recently about my health was enough of a change that it could have counteracted my inability to have children. But, um, it hasn't. Nothing changed.”

He is stricken. “Oh, Scully... I'm sorry.”

The elevator doors ding, and they exit. Scully nods, accepting his attempt to offer sympathy. She is still lost in her thoughts enough that she doesn't notice his similarly pensive expression until they have left the Hoover building. She maneuvers them out of the way of pedestrian traffic, and looks up at him silently.

It's his turn to sigh as he stops next to her. “There's, um, there's something else I haven't told you about when I discovered what had been done to you during your abduction. I hope you can forgive me, and try to understand why I kept it from you.”

“What?” She stares at him, remembering how he had reacted when she told him about her first appointment. This does not sound good.

He continues, “During my investigation into your illness, I found out that your ova were taken and stored in a government lab.”

She can hardly believe her ears. He shuffles his feet, and it dawns on her what he hasn't yet said. “And you found them?”

“I-- I took them directly to a specialist who would tell me if they were okay.” His voice is quiet, and he stares intently down at the sidewalk.

“I don't believe this.” Scully crosses her arms and waits for the rest to come out.

“Scully,” he pleads, raising his eyes to hers, “you were deathly ill, and I... I couldn't bear to give you another piece of bad news.”

“Is that what it was?” she demands, keeping her voice low with difficulty. “It was bad news?”

Mulder nods once. “The doctor said the ova weren't viable.”

Scully stands as straight as she can. “Well, I want a second opinion.” She glares at him. “Where are they?” She can't believe she has to ask this question, much less ask it of her partner.

Hanging his head, Mulder mutters, “I'll get them to you.”

Her appetite has vanished. She turns to go back into the building, leaving Mulder staring after her forlornly.

One Week Later

A good chance. Scully hears those words repeated over and over in her head as she leaves Dr. Parenti's clinic. Her mood could not be more different than when she left the other clinic last week. Dr. Parenti has told her that there is a good chance that she could become pregnant, if they don't delay. Now all she needs to do is try to ask Mulder. Finding an anonymous donor is an unthinkable option for her - but she doesn't know how to even broach the subject with him. Something of this magnitude... It will be the most important, personal thing she has ever asked Mulder to do for her, and she knows it cannot help but change things between them. But maybe that's a good thing. Their relationship has already been changing for a while now, after all.

She has in the past week forgiven Mulder for keeping this information from her. He truly had thought he was protecting her from more heartbreak, and as misguided as that attempt was, she believes he has learned from his mistake.

Somehow, she makes it home through the haze of her happiness and bewilderment. After a leisurely dinner, she pours herself a glass of red wine and tries to relax in front of the TV. But she is too keyed up, too occupied with the thought of how she will ask Mulder – her best friend, her partner, the person she knows best in the world and who knows her just as well – to take this step with her. She grimaces. They haven't even gone on what any normal person would consider a date. And yet, part of her knows that he would never refuse her this. Maybe that in itself helps explain why the idea of asking him makes her so nervous.

Her thoughts chase themselves around in circles in her head for a few more minutes before Scully decides she's had enough. With a loud sigh, she turns off the TV, sets down her wineglass, and stands up. Better to just get it over with. No time like the present, she tells herself.

Doing her best to ignore the adrenaline that has begun to surge through her, Scully picks up the phone and dials Mulder's number. She only thinks to glance at her watch after the line is already ringing, but thankfully it is still relatively early in the evening.

Mulder picks up after two rings. “Mulder.”

“It's me.”

“Hey, Scully,” he greets her, sounding cheerful. “What's up?”

She takes a breath. “Um, can I come over?”

“Sure,” Mulder says. A hint of worry has crept into his voice when he continues, “I ordered a pizza a little while ago – do you want me to save you some?”

“No, thanks, I already had dinner,” Scully replies. “Besides,” she adds, trying to keep things light, “if I ate the rest of it, what would you have for breakfast tomorrow, Mulder?”

He laughs. “You have a point.”

There is a brief pause. “So... I'll be right over, then.”

“Okay. See you in a few minutes.”

Scully puts on a light jacket and is out the door. She does her best to think about anything else on the drive over, just so she will not appear as nervous as she is when she arrives. She thinks she has mostly succeeded – until Mulder opens his apartment door, and her anxiety-fueled adrenaline returns.

“Come on in, Scully.” He stands aside, and Scully walks into the middle of the room.

Mulder closes the door. He asks her something, but Scully doesn't quite catch it. She's too busy trying to organize her thoughts. “Sorry, what was that, Mulder?”

He is regarding her carefully. “Do you want to have a seat?” he repeats, gesturing to the couch.

Scully nods. When she doesn't move immediately, Mulder puts a hand on her back and guides her over. “What did you want to talk about?”

Taking a deep breath, Scully smooths a wrinkle in her jeans, and then looks up at him. “I went to another fertility clinic today, to get the second opinion I told you I wanted. And I got some good news.” She looks away for a moment, then turns to him again, a pleased smile on her face. “The doctor told me he thinks there's a good chance that through IVF – in vitro fertilization – I could become pregnant.”

Mulder takes a moment to process this news, and then smiles broadly. “That's wonderful, Scully! I'm so glad to hear it.”

She smiles again, nodding. “The thing is, I need to get started right away. The chances of success decrease the longer I wait. And...” She swallows. “And even though I don't know how – or if – my... condition may affect this, I don't want to risk it. I want to get started as soon as possible.”

Mulder nods. “That makes sense.” He clears his throat and begins, “If you need to take some time off from work for this, you don't need to worry about--”

“No, that's-- that's not why I wanted to talk to you, Mulder,” she interrupts. Here goes. “I wanted to ask if you would do something for me.”

“Okay.” He sounds faintly confused.

She directs her gaze at his hand, which rests lightly on her knee. “I wanted to ask you if you would be the father. Of my child.”

Dead silence falls, and Scully nearly panics – even the sound of Mulder's breathing has ceased. When she looks up, she sees that his jaw has dropped and that he is staring at her with an almost comical look of shock on his face. After a moment, he takes a breath and closes his mouth partway, but still seems unable to speak.

“I don't need an answer right away,” Scully hastens to add. “And I know this is a huge thing to ask. But... there's really no one else I would choose.” Her voice has dropped almost to a whisper, and she looks down at her own hands in her lap.

“Scully...” His voice is choked, and she hears him swallow.

“Just-- just think about it for a while, okay?” She forces herself to breathe evenly. The hardest part is past, and it's up to him now. “I don't want to pressure you. But I do want you to know that I would be honored if you decided you wanted to be involved in this child's life, if we were successful.”

Mulder sits forward, exhaling slowly. She watches as he rubs a hand across his face.

“I'll give you some time,” she says, standing and beginning to walk toward the door. She can't help but feel some distress at his lack of response, even though she has told herself it wouldn't make sense for him to say much right away.

Before she reaches the door, his voice stops her. “Scully.”

Heart pounding again, she turns to him. He is still seated on the couch, but he is looking directly at her. In the dim light from his window and one table lamp, she can see that his eyes are shining. “I am going to give this the amount of thought it deserves,” he says, “but... I want to tell you right now that the fact that you asked me this - asked me...well, it means everything.”

She grins, a slow, shy smile that he returns.

Saturday – One Day Later

Scully wakes up absurdly early the next morning, and is irrevocably awake the instant she opens her eyes. She cannot get her mind off the subject of Mulder's decision. After an endless fifteen minutes of trying to get back to sleep, she sighs and gets out of bed. Perhaps she can distract herself with some other activity.

Two hours later, she has cleaned every room in her apartment, done her laundry, and is now trying to focus on reading a novel. But after realizing she has read the same paragraph at least four times without comprehending it, Scully gives up and puts it down. It's a beautiful early summer morning, and the air outside is most likely still cool enough to be comfortable. A walk, she decides, would pass the time more pleasantly.

She takes her cell phone – just in case, although Mulder is in all likelihood still in bed – and succeeds in relaxing and enjoying the quiet city streets. As she walks she allows herself the indulgence of imagining a little bit of what it would be like if the IVF is successful, even of trying to envision what her child might look like. But her hopes have been crushed so many times that the indulgence is very brief. This is all still theoretical, she reminds herself.

When she arrives back at her apartment, she slips off her shoes and curls up on the couch, intending to give the novel another try. She is asleep in minutes, the paperback lying forgotten on the edge of the couch.

Hunger pangs wake her, several hours later. Scully looks at her watch and is surprised to see that it is almost time for lunch. She opts for a quick shower before breaking her fast.

The knock on her door that comes as she is finishing her scrambled eggs startles her. She almost drops her fork before recovering and calling out, “I'll be there in a second!”

She has a good idea of who it is and why he's here. Her hands shake a little as she puts her dishes in the dishwasher, and she takes some steadying breaths.

Opening the door, she greets Mulder with an uncertain smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

As she closes the door behind him, Scully notices that he hasn't made a move to take off his jacket. “Can I take your coat?” she asks, keeping her tone neutral.

Mulder fidgets, and answers, “No, I can't stay long. I, uh... Actually, the guys have something they've been after me to come check out.”

Scully nods. She wonders if it's true, but doesn't blame Mulder for having the excuse either way. There is a short pause. “Obviously, you've had some time to think about my request,” she says at last.

“Um, it's-- it's not something that I get asked to do every day,” he says, with a small smile. “But yes, I've thought about it.”

Scully drops her eyes from his as he continues.

“What's weird is – and this sounds really weird, I know, but – I just,” he hesitates, “I just wouldn't want this to come between us.”

Scully's heart plummets. He's saying no, but trying to let her down gently. “Yeah. I know. I-- I understand. I do.”

She is staring at the floor in front of him, fighting back her tears as hard as she can. Then she looks up, as he moves toward her. “Scully... the answer is yes.”

Shock, joy, and other fleeting and unidentifiable emotions rush through her. She bites her lip, and then breaks into a wide smile as she reaches to embrace Mulder. There are no words exchanged, but she knows he understands her gratitude.

Scully clears her throat and says, “Well, um... I'll call Dr. Parenti. I assume he'll want to meet you, and-- and go through the donor procedure.”

Mulder nods. “At that part, I'm a pro.”

Scully has to laugh a little at that. They gaze at each other for another few seconds, and then Mulder heads for the door. He pauses, giving her another shy smile before he leaves.

As the door closes behind him, Scully exhales and sinks onto her couch. She will call Dr. Parenti, but first she needs to try to settle her thoughts. This is actually going to move forward. She rubs a hand over her neck. She knows there is merit to the worry Mulder mentioned, but she also believes they can still be... whatever they are, partners, friends, through this process. He seems to believe this, as well. With that thought in mind, she reaches for the phone.

~
The process is arduous, and emotionally exhausting for both Scully and Mulder. When the first try fails, Dr. Parenti is realistic but continues to remain positive. “I told you at the start that we might not succeed with the first cycle,” he says. “But if you're up for trying again, Dana, I still think the chances are good.”

Scully nods. “I'm not ready to give up yet,” she tells him, trying to sound as certain as she should be. Mulder is in the waiting room, and she is glad when Dr. Parenti accompanies her out to pass on the news. She isn't sure she could have told him without crying; whether that feeling is a result of hormones or only discouragement she can't tell.

They are both quiet in the car, as Mulder drives her home. When they arrive outside her apartment building, Mulder turns to look at her. “Do you-- do you want me to stay?” he asks, touching her shoulder lightly.

Scully shakes her head, smiling and reaching to hold his hand. “No, thanks.” She opens the car door and gets out. “But, um,” she continues, turning to him, “thank you for being willing to stick this out with me, Mulder. It means a lot.”

He meets her eyes and answers with absolute sincerity, “Whatever you need, Scully. Just let me know.”

The second time the IVF fails, Scully cannot keep a few tears from escaping in the doctor's office. She listens numbly as Dr. Parenti encourages her to try one more time, noting that even he has reduced his optimism noticeably. Still, the idea of giving up her chance to have a child is even more painful to her than the possibility of another failure, so she agrees to try again next month.

This time, Mulder is tied up at work and cannot drive her home. He had been regretful and apologetic, while simultaneously making her promise to let him know the results as soon as she could. Scully calls him as soon as she leaves the clinic. “Mulder, it's me.”

“Scully.” He sounds like he might have stood up and walked a few feet, perhaps seeking a safer location to talk. “How did it go?”

She sighs. “Uh... not well. But I-- I've decided to try one more time.”

“Oh, Scully. I'm sorry.” He takes a slow breath, and Scully considers, not for the first time, that these ups and downs must be difficult for him, too. “But if you want to try again, I want to try again.”

Swallowing, Scully almost whispers, “Thank you. I'll see you at work.”

The third and last time, Scully tells Mulder she wants to go to the clinic alone. Mulder agrees, but says he'll be waiting for her at her apartment. He is firm but gentle as he explains, “I don't think you should be alone after you find out, whichever way it goes.” Then he pauses, and looks down. “And whatever happens, it's important to me, too.”

“I know, Mulder,” Scully tells him softly, crossing the room and putting a hand on his arm. “Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be back soon.”

She is glad Mulder agreed not to come. She struggles to contain her grief, as Dr. Parenti tells her in a quiet voice that she could still try again if she feels strongly about it, but there is every indication, unfortunately, that further attempts will not be effective. Scully tunes out the rest of his well-meaning platitudes. She is already berating herself for wasting so much time and effort and resources, so much emotional energy (on both her and Mulder's part) on a foolish dream.

Somehow, she makes it home without losing control. She opens the door to her darkened apartment, and Mulder stands up from her couch, blinking blearily in the gloom.

“Scully?” he says. “I guess I must have dozed off.”

Scully just looks at him without speaking. Mulder's eyes darken, his face grave. “It didn't take, did it?”

She has to look away before she answers. “I guess... it was just too much to hope for.”

Mulder opens his arms, and Scully all but collapses against him, finally starting to sob. He holds her tightly, and she puts her arms around him. She is utterly exhausted, in every sense. “It was my last chance,” she chokes out.

He continues to hold her to himself. Then he pulls back, his hands on her shoulders, and kisses her forehead. Moving to rest his forehead against hers, he murmurs, “Never give up on a miracle.”

Scully takes a few ragged breaths. She wants so badly to believe that there is still reason to hope. For now, though, she will borrow the strength that her partner is freely offering. Touching one hand to the back of his neck, she presses a kiss to his cheek, to the corner of his lips, to his jaw. Then she buries her face against him as he embraces her fiercely.

It is impossible for her to tell how long they stay in each other's arms. Eventually, after her breathing has calmed, she pulls away a little – just enough to look into his eyes. “Mulder--” she tries to say, but her voice catches.

Mulder rubs her back in slow, soothing motions. “Shh, Scully,” he whispers. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Wondering how he knew, Scully sighs and leans back against him. Crying has exhausted the rest of her energy, and she wants nothing more than to sleep, and forget about the day for a while.

“Let's get you to bed,” Mulder murmurs. She tries to smile up at him and, Mulder half-carrying her, they make their way to her bedroom. Scully sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, taking off her shoes as Mulder does likewise. Pulling down the sheets, she just about falls onto the pillow, weariness overtaking her. Her eyes slide shut as Mulder wraps himself and the blankets around her.

In the early hours of the morning, Scully comes halfway awake to the sound of quiet sobs beside her. It takes her a while to comprehend that it is Mulder, allowing himself to grieve. She covers his hand with hers, where it rests on her stomach.

“I'm sorry, Scully,” he whispers. “I-- I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's okay, Mulder.” She turns over so that she is facing him. His face is not visible in the blackness of her room, but she reaches for him and lays her hand on his tear-streaked cheek. “I'm sorry I made you go through this.”

Mulder is silent for a few minutes as his breathing steadies. He sighs deeply, and tightens his grip on her. “Don't be sorry,” he murmurs. “Even though it didn't turn out like we'd hoped, I'm thankful you asked me, and... and I can't regret that we tried.”

Scully swallows past the lump in her throat. “Oh, Mulder,” she whispers, drawing herself closer to him, “I don't regret it, either. But it hurts.”

“I know.” He smooths her hair away from her face. “I didn't ever really tell you in so many words, but I wanted it – I wanted our child, too.”

Tears begin to stream down her face again. “I wanted to be able to give that to you,” she tells him, her words barely intelligible.

“This was not your fault, Scully,” Mulder tells her fiercely, kissing the top of her head. “This choice was taken from you. You can't blame yourself.”

Scully nods once, knowing he's right but needing to have heard it nonetheless. They hold each other until sleep claims them both.

Fic: The Quiet Limit of the World (2/4)

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 21:30:50 GMT

Title: The Quiet Limit of the World (2/4)
Summary, disclaimer, etc. same as in Part 1

Part 2

~
She is walking down a long, dimly-lit hallway. She has no idea where she is, but that isn't particularly important. What is important is that she can't find Mulder. He has to be here somewhere, she thinks, trying not to panic as she stops at each room along the hall and finds each one empty.

She turns a corner. The lighting is even worse here, she notes, and the walls and carpet look dirty and ancient. Something about these surroundings is alarmingly familiar, but Scully pushes the thought away. Mulder. She has to find him.

Finally coming to the end of the hallway, Scully sees one partially-open door spilling somewhat brighter light into the gloomy passage. She sighs in relief: Mulder has to be in there.

“Mulder?” She pushes open the door. The smile on her face dies away into a gasp of horror at what she sees.

Mulder is there, all right. He is in a bed near the curtained window, eyes closed, each breath rasping in his throat. His thinning hair is stark white, his skin wrinkled and the fragile texture of paper. He cannot be younger than ninety.

Heart pounding, Scully looks down at herself, at her hands. Her skin is as smooth and flawless as it ever has been. She crosses the room quickly for the mirror next to Mulder's bed and picks it up. There she is, unchanged from the last time she looked into a mirror – unchanged except for the emotionless, dull quality of her eyes. An expression that she recognizes and remembers...

No. Scully steps back and drops the mirror, hearing it hit the floor and shatter.

Beside her, Mulder startles awake. His eyes are clouded and watery, but his searching gaze finds Scully without difficulty. “Scully,” he says weakly, smiling.

He reaches for her, but Scully is frozen in dismay. How can he still want to see her in this state?

“Scully?” Mulder looks distressed now, at her lack of response. “What's wrong?”

What's wrong?! Scully wants to say. You can't see it? She takes another step back, her hand over her mouth.

Mulder opens his mouth to say something, but only manages half a syllable before he is silenced abruptly. The monitors next to his bed begin their rapid alarms. He gasps, his hand dropping back onto the bed and his eyes fluttering closed. The beeping increases until it becomes one steady piercing tone.

He is dying right in front of her, she realizes with a cold deluge of shock. The realization galvanizes her to action, and she rushes forward to his side, but his bed seems much farther away than it was just a few seconds ago... and there is someone holding her wrists, keeping her from him. She struggles and cries out, trying desperately to dislodge the hands restraining her, but it is no use. The wailing of the heart monitor continues, and in the distance there are people surrounding Mulder's bed. She knows they are taking him away, and where he's going, she can't follow. She will be alone now, forever.

With a gasp, Scully jerks awake, finding herself tangled in her sheets and drenched in sweat. She endeavors to take several deep breaths, but her heart is still pounding too hard for her to be able to calm down. She manages to disentangle herself. Throwing off her sheets, she staggers out to the kitchen for a glass of water.

It takes a few minutes, but she does finally calm herself – physically, at least. Although she has already forgotten some of her dream, much of its imagery has remained. She resists the urge to run into the bathroom to check her reflection for any signs of the dull, haunted look in her eyes that had reminded her so vividly of Fellig. It was just a dream, she tells herself. A nightmare. Not some kind of portent of her future.

Shivering, Scully sets down the glass and walks out to the couch. Despite the promise she'd made to Mulder weeks ago that she would live her life as normally as possible with the full expectation that it would come to a natural end, her fear is obviously lingering. She will find something to read or to watch on TV, and hope it distracts her enough to fall back asleep.

At least, she reflects gloomily, tomorrow is Saturday. She will not have to go to work and face Mulder's concern about the obvious hallmarks of sleep deprivation on her face.

As it happens, her exhaustion must have been enough to let her sleep through the rest of the night – and late into the next morning, as well. She only wakes when her phone stops ringing and Mulder's voice comes over the answering machine.

Scully sits up with a yawn, catching the end of his message.

“-- you must still be sleeping,” he is saying. “That's fine, that's good. Uh, anyway. Don't feel like you need to come out here with me. There's probably nothing else to see. Talk to you later.”

This brings her to alertness. Where is he running off to now? She stands up quickly and moves to replay the entire message. Her burgeoning frustration and worry is almost extinguished by what she hears: thankfully he is just going back out to the allegedly haunted house just outside of town. They had gone there together to investigate yesterday and the night before, and had turned up nothing. But Mulder is nothing if not thorough when looking into an X-File, she thinks with a smile.

She looks at the clock – it is close to ten. Taking a deep breath, Scully walks to the window and pulls back the curtains. The day is bright, and the sight chases away the vestiges of her dark dream. She shakes her head and decides she will spend some time outside today. Her mother has invited her to go shopping, and she knows her acceptance of the invitation will make her mother happy.

When she returns home several hours later, Scully is surprised to find that her answering machine has not recorded another message from Mulder. Surely he can't still be out investigating?

Frowning, Scully sets her shopping bags down on the couch and dials his home number. There is no answer. What would be keeping him at that creaky decrepit old house for this long? She calls his cell phone. Not only does he not answer, but the call is cut off after only two and a half rings. Her phone then informs her that the number is no longer available.

Scully's heart sinks. This is a very bad sign. Hastily, she grabs her gun and her keys, glad that this time at least she has a good idea of where to start looking.

Arriving at the old wooden house, her mouth sets in a grim line at the sight of Mulder's car parked at the end of the gravel driveway, and a second vehicle parked further back from the house. Someone else has to be here. The question is what they are doing to Mulder - or what they have already done.

The front door of the house is closed but unlocked, although it is so ancient that Scully doubts she would have had any trouble opening it regardless. She goes inside as quietly as possible, wincing at the creak of the old floorboards under her heels. Scully stops moving for an instant, listening.

From upstairs, she thinks she hears an answering movement and decides to risk it. “Mulder?”

There is no response, and Scully moves toward the staircase. She does her best to stay quiet, hoping that any potential assailant will at least not be able to tell where she is yet, and pauses every time her feet encounter more loose boards.

She reaches the second floor and is about to try the nearest bedroom when a muffled thump sounds from the end of the hall. The stairs to the attic are at that end, Scully recalls from her last trip out here with Mulder. She waits again, but the sound is not repeated.

Readying her weapon, Scully creeps up the last few stairs to the attic door, stopping just behind it. The attic is not all that large, she knows. She puts her ear to the thick wooden door, but hears nothing. Well, she thinks, here goes.

She kicks in the door, her gun drawn, and takes in the situation at a glance. Mulder sits, bound and gagged in a chair across the room, a young man standing behind the chair holding Mulder's gun. Mulder stares at her, eyes wide, as the man presses the weapon to her partner's neck.

“FBI!” Scully yells, resolutely fixing her gaze on the suspect. “Drop the gun!”

The man appears indecisive but no less dangerous for that fact, as he alternates between aiming the gun at Scully and at his captive. “Don't come any closer,” he calls out, “or I'll shoot!”

Scully takes a few steps forward, ignoring the unstable floorboards under her feet. “Drop the gun, right now!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Mulder widening his eyes and shaking his head urgently. She glances at him for a second – but the suspect has apparently made a decision about who he should aim at. The gun is now pointing directly at Mulder's already-bruised temple. Scully cocks her gun and takes one step forward.

Over the increasingly loud cracks of the floor beneath her, Scully hears the distinctive sound of the other gun being cocked. Mulder's eyes are still panicked as he tries to speak through the gag, but Scully has to keep her attention on the young man who is clearly losing control.

“I'll do it!” he warns again. “Stay back!”

Suddenly, the entire attic shudders, and Scully and the armed man fight to maintain their balance. As the suspect steadies himself, he casts a desperate look around him, aims the gun at Mulder again, and tightens his grip on the trigger.

Scully doesn't hesitate, firing off one round directly into the man's chest. An instant later, the attic floor gives way entirely. Mulder! She has no time to think of anything beyond that before something strikes her and the world goes black.

A hand touching hers, and then moving to the pulse point on her wrist, brings Scully slowly to consciousness. She hears Mulder speaking, anxiety plain in his voice. It takes a few more seconds before she can begin to distinguish individual words.

“Come on, Scully, we've gotta get out of here. Scully, can you hear me?”

She groans, suddenly aware of the pain in her right hand, her ribs, and in her head. Still, she forces her eyes open and reaches for Mulder who is kneeling next to her. There is a thin trickle of blood on the side of his face, but he is focused on her. “Scully.” He looks relieved that she is awake.

“Mmm.” She blinks a few times. “What happened?”

Mulder smiles. “The floor collapsed after you busted in to save me.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Mulder,” she says in a dangerous tone, “are you insinuating that I need to lose weight?”

“Never,” Mulder answers, with a laugh that becomes a painful-sounding cough.

Scully quickly turns serious. “Are you all right, Mulder?”

“Not really,” he answers her, returning her concerned gaze. “But neither are you. Your hand's bleeding, and you probably hit your head pretty hard in the fall.”

Frowning, Scully takes his offered hand in her uninjured one and slowly pulls herself into a sitting position. As she waits for the rush of dizziness to pass, she takes stock of their situation for a moment.

Mulder's arm has a large gash on it; blood has soaked through his shirtsleeve. His face looks pale in the fading light from outside. They are completely surrounded by fallen debris, and small pieces of wood from the ceiling continue to fall at odd intervals.

Taking a deep breath, Scully gently touches her partner's arm. “That doesn't look good.”

“Like I said, both of us are a little worse for wear,” he acknowledges. “But I don't know how long this floor is going to hold, so if you're ready, we need to get out of here.”

“Okay.” She grips his hand again, and they both stand up. They are both quite unsteady, but they somehow manage to stay upright through leaning on each other. Mulder smiles self-deprecatingly at this. She returns the smile.

A second later, Scully looks over Mulder's shoulder. She barely has time to register the danger and cry, “Mulder, look out!” before the heavy piece of wood falls directly towards him – and her.

He sees it, but not in time to dodge. They are still holding one another in support, and so both fall to the ground when it strikes him in the back.

Scully has the wind knocked out of her, and takes several moments to compose herself again. Turning to Mulder beside her she sees with dismay that he seems to be unconscious. She quickly bends down to his face. “Mulder?”

To her relief, his eyes open immediately. “That... hurt,” he gasps.

“I could tell,” Scully tells him softly. “And it looks like you already had a head injury, so in other circumstances, I'd say you shouldn't move – but like you said, this house is clearly falling down around us.”

“So I should move,” Mulder finishes. He sighs, and takes her uninjured hand to stand up. This time, he comes even closer to falling over than he had last time, but she manages to keep him upright.

“Did you happen to see a good path to the stairs, Mulder?” she asks.

“No,” Mulder says, sounding gloomy. “It all seems pretty blocked off by debris.”

She glances around the large room they have fallen into. It is shadowed and cluttered, but it is easy to tell that the way to the hall and then to the stairs will be hard to find. “You're right.” At that point, she catches sight of the man lying in a pool of his own blood. “My God. Is he still alive?”

“I don't know,” Mulder answers, after a pause. He looks embarrassed and guilty. “I – I didn't even check. I just...” He trails off.

Scully gives him a brief look, squeezing his hand gently. “Come on, let's find out.”

With Mulder still leaning on her heavily, they make their way over to the fallen man. Mulder supports himself against a heap of broken wood and boxes as Scully bends down to feel for a pulse. There isn't one. “He's gone,” Scully reports. “Probably has been for a while – he's cool to the touch.” Her hand throbs, and her headache continues unabated.

Mulder nods. “That was you who fired your gun right before the floor fell in, then?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “He was about to shoot.”

“You or me?”

“You, actually.” She clearly remembers the look of rage on the man's face as she had come into the room. She shudders, getting to her feet. “Mulder, what did he want with you?”

“Let's walk and talk,” he replies, putting his arm around her for support and comfort. They start slowly towards the door, picking their way around piles of debris. “Apparently, the guy liked to come here every day in the early afternoon to look for one particular ghost – a woman.” Mulder pauses, shaking his head and wincing as a result. “I interrupted his ghost-watching, which he didn't take kindly to. He managed to knock me out and tie me up, like you saw. When I woke up, he was ranting about how he needed to see 'her'. He left me there for some time, then came back and waited for his ghost lover to show up.”

He pauses as they maneuver past a shattered portrait lying on top of some wooden shards. “Scully, I know I was dehydrated and not exactly at my most lucid, but just before you got here, I saw a woman's ghost in the middle of the attic. Ryan – that was his name – saw her, too. He called her Anna. She was who he'd been waiting for.”

Scully looks at him, unsure of what to say. She is loath to bring up the last time he experienced the same delusions as a clearly unstable hostage-taker. At least this time it isn't likely that she will end up truly fearing for his sanity as a result. His self-diagnosed dehydration and stress is a much more acceptable explanation to her. On the other hand, there was that whole weird thing at Christmas, that she still can't explain fully...

“Well, in case you were worried, Mulder,” she says wryly, “I'm pretty sure there aren't any more ghosts around, scheming to have us to shoot each other.”

He chuckles at that. “I wasn't worried, but thanks for the reassurance.”

“Anyway, the ghost – or whatever it was – disappeared when you came into the room. I don't know if Ryan would have just released me if he'd had enough time with her before you chased her away-” he looks at her to make sure she knows he's not serious - “but I do know that despite his obvious instability, he seemed to regret injuring me. At least, he did before things started to go downhill for him.”

She sighs again. “It sure didn't look like that regret would have stopped him from shooting you, Mulder.”

Mulder turns to allow her to squeeze past him out of the room. By the faint light of the doorway, Scully notices with dismay how pale his skin is. He is also shaky on his feet as soon as he stops leaning on her. “Well, then I'm glad you stopped him.”

She begins to reply when her vision swims. Her headache increases sharply in intensity, and she closes her eyes, stumbling into the door frame.

“Scully?” Instantly, she feels his stabilizing hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

Opening her eyes, she puts one hand to her aching head. “I guess I must have a concussion, too.”

“I'm sorry, Scully.” Mulder's voice is quiet as he drops his hand back to his side. “I shouldn't have come out here in the first place.”

“It's not your fault that the floor collapsed, Mulder,” Scully reminds him. “I'm amazed neither of us noticed how unstable this place was when we first came out here.”

“Some investigators we turned out to be, huh?”

She smiles ruefully. “Yeah.”

At that moment, there is a loud cracking noise, and a new piece of the ceiling breaks away, crashing to the ground inside the room they have just exited. They both jump.

“We should keep moving,” Mulder mutters.

Their progress is still slow, as both are definitely the worse for wear. Scully has a strong feeling that if they stop moving for too long, they will simply collapse. Her headache is making it difficult to concentrate on anything, and Mulder's arm continues to bleed.

Scully still has enough problem-solving ability to suddenly remember her cell phone. She is still wearing her jacket, so as they take a short breather on the landing, she reaches into her pocket - and pulls out the phone, its battery, and the broken front panel.

Seeing the remnants, Mulder sighs. “Guess we'll both need to get new phones after this little adventure. Ryan destroyed mine when you called.”

She puts the pieces back in her pocket. “I think I even have a cell phone-shaped bruise from landing on mine,” she remarks. Mulder winces in sympathy.

At last, they arrive at the door of the house. Scully reaches out to tug on the doorknob. It refuses to budge. “Oh, great. It's stuck!”

“You tried that one on me before, Scully,” Mulder says with a quiet laugh. “I'm not falling for it again.”

Scully can't keep a small grin off her face at the memory, but she sobers quickly. “It's no joke this time, Mulder. The floor collapsing must have damaged this outer wall enough that the door frame is bent.”

“Let me try.” Before she can do more than utter a syllable of protest, he moves her aside and yanks on the door knob, briefly closing his eyes at the resulting pain. The door opens, with reluctance. “After you.”

She hurries out of the house into the evening, and Mulder practically staggers out behind her. “I think the house is about to collapse completely,” he says between deep breaths.

Scully turns to look at him. His face is ashen, and he is swaying on his feet. “Speaking of collapsing, Mulder, sit down before you fall down,” she says sharply. “I'll try to put my phone back together, since I don't think either of us should be driving.”

With a low groan, Mulder sits down on the ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few more deep breaths, resting his head in his hands. This is likely why he doesn't notice immediately when Scully looks down at the pieces of her cell phone in her hand... and freezes.

She must have stood staring at her hand for several seconds – long enough for Mulder to stand up carefully and touch her shoulder. “Scully, what's wrong?”

Scully inhales slowly and looks up at him. “Look, Mulder,” she whispers. “My hand.”

Her right hand is completely free of any injury. There is only a tiny remnant of dried blood right where her cut had been – the cut that both she and Mulder saw clearly.

“My head doesn't hurt anymore, either,” Scully says dully. It's true, although now there is a ringing in her ears that has nothing to do with any concussion. She realizes as if through a haze that her hand has begun to tremble. No, no, please, this can't be happening...

“Scully. Scully!”

She refocuses on Mulder's face. He is watching her in alarm. She wonders how many times he called her name before she came back to herself.

“Scully,” he says again. She stares at him, still shaking, and he swallows. “Scully, we're going to figure out a way to deal with this.” He reaches out to take her hand, and Scully is transfixed by the sight of the bloodstain on his sleeve. He is probably still bleeding; he's still in pain.

“I need to try to call for an ambulance,” she starts to say, but then closes her mouth abruptly after the first two words. They do not need an ambulance. She is uninjured - she can drive her partner to the hospital herself.

“What?” Mulder asks quietly. “What do you need, Scully?” The worry in his eyes perversely makes her want to slap him. He shouldn't be worried about her right now. He should worry about himself. He's the one who is still vulnerable.

She turns away. “Come on, Mulder,” she says. “I'll drive you to the hospital.”

He doesn't protest, although she can practically feel the worry radiating off him as she helps him to her car. Behind them, the old house gives an audible groan as it settles and shifts. Mulder is probably right, she thinks, seizing on this topic readily as a distraction: the structure will collapse before too much longer.

On the way to the hospital, Scully forestalls any attempts on Mulder's part to speak by telling him they can talk after he is treated for his injuries. He agrees to this reluctantly. During the familiar duties of admittance and filling out paperwork, it is easy for her to lie and say that she managed to avoid the part of the attic floor that collapsed. Mulder hears her tell the admitting nurse this, and only looks at her without speaking. She knows he will work with this story – in public.

Mulder's concussion is not too severe, thankfully. His ribs are bruised, the cut on his arm requires six stitches, and he is in fact slightly dehydrated, but his doctors inform Scully that he will in all likelihood be released tomorrow morning. Scully thanks them, and then stands outside his room. She takes a deep breath before entering, hoping selfishly that he is either already asleep or too tired to want to talk at the moment.

As it turns out, Mulder is not quite asleep. At his drowsy smile upon her entering, Scully realizes guiltily that he was waiting for her. She sits down beside his bed and takes his hand. “Go to sleep, Mulder.”

“'Kay.” He closes his eyes, squeezing her hand once. Then he opens his eyes briefly, suddenly serious. “Try not to worry about it, Scully. We'll talk later.”

Scully nods. She watches his eyes slip shut, and tries hard not to liken this scene to the one from her nightmare. Mulder is not dying.

Despite not wanting to discuss the events of the previous day with Mulder, Scully does not find it a hard choice between going to Mass and taking Mulder home from the hospital. Her thoughts about God and her faith have once again been thrown into chaos by this development.

Mulder is irritable on the way home from his forced lack of sleep. Although he has been concussed often enough to know the routine, he complains, it doesn't make it any less annoying to be woken up every few hours and asked the same set of questions. Scully can't help but smile a little at his grumpiness. She suspects it is mostly put on to distract her, but she appreciates it nonetheless.

When they arrive at his apartment, she helps him make it to the fourth floor. He is much better than he was yesterday, but he still sighs in relief upon reaching his couch. Scully waits for him to get settled and then asks, “Do you need anything else, Mulder?”

“No, thanks,” he says, looking at her steadily. “But if you're up for it, I'd like it if you stayed for a while, Scully.”

She exhales heavily, and moves to sit down next to him.

Silence falls for a moment. Then Mulder reaches across the short distance between them to take her hand again. Scully tries to hold back an answering wave of emotion that she does not wish to interpret. She takes a shuddering breath. “Mulder, I-- I'm glad I didn't die in that darkroom, but I didn't ask for this. I don't want it.” She grips his hand tightly, once again unable to look at him. It is frightening enough to be speaking about this out loud. “I never told you, and I'd almost forgotten about it until recently... but Clyde Bruckman predicted this. He told me I wasn't going to die.”

“He did, huh?” Mulder sounds thoughtful. “So he was right about that, too.”

She wants a way to block out the truth of this last statement. But she has nothing. Biting her lip, she brings her other hand up to her face. She thinks back to the conversation she had with Fellig, about living forever. She had told him there was too much to learn and experience to ever have too much life, but she is now positive he was right: eventually, with no one to share it with, any amount of knowledge or experiences would become meaningless.

“I told you that we'll figure out a way to deal with this, Scully,” Mulder says, “and I meant it.”

“But how?” Scully interjects with bitterness. “I don't know of any cure we've discovered for immortality. And I refuse to end up like Fellig, alone, stalking the dying in the vain hope that I can someday catch Death's eye.”

He is quiet for so long following her outburst that Scully eventually does raise her eyes to look at him. He returns her gaze, though his eyes retain the familiar faraway look that tells her he is deep in thought.

“I still don't think your situation is the same as Fellig's, Scully,” he says at last, focusing back on her. “I think it was some kind of accident that he gave you this, uh, gift-” Mulder pauses to emphasize the irony in his tone - “and that like we said earlier, it has to mean something that you weren't trying to avoid Death when it happened.”

She sighs. “You may be right, Mulder, but I can't see what difference that's going to make.”

Mulder gently disentangles his hand from hers, only to put his arm around her and pull her close. “It will make a difference. And I know you want to fix this right away, but it might take a while to find out how to do that.”

“I'll try to be patient,” she tells him. She attempts a smile. “After all, I suppose I'm not short on time.”

He laughs once. They sit silently for so long then, each lost in their own thoughts, that Scully begins to relax into sleep. She thinks perhaps she should rouse herself – Mulder needs his rest, after all, to recover from his injuries – but Mulder's steady breathing beside her convinces her that getting up would wake him unnecessarily. She shifts a little, resting her head more comfortably against his shoulder. When Mulder stretches and opens his eyes later in the night, Scully is sleeping so deeply that she barely stirs when he stretches himself painfully out along the length of his couch and pulls her down next to him.

Fic: The Quiet Limit of the World (1/4)

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 21:27:04 GMT

Originally written for xf_bigbang.

Title: The Quiet Limit of the World
Spoilers: Tithonus to Per Manum
Keywords: MSR, AU.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Scully deals with the aftermath and implications of the Fellig case.
Disclaimer: I do not own The X-Files or its associated characters.
Feedback: Would be welcomed, here or at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Archive: Sure, but please ask me first.
Author's Note: Major thanks go out to

glisters, my wonderful beta!

Part 2:namarie24.livejournal.com/66939.html Part 3: namarie24.livejournal.com/67243.html

Part 4: namarie24.livejournal.com/67341.html
~~~~

“I just think that death only looks for you once you seek its opposite.” - Fox Mulder, “Tithonus”

Part 1

NYU Medical Center

She comes to gradually; the quiet rhythms of hospital machinery, the familiar sterile scent of her surroundings, and the warmth of a hand holding hers combine to draw her from drug-induced sleep – those, and a dull ache in her belly, which she can tell will only get worse when consciousness fully returns. This does not deter her. She knows who is holding her hand, and she needs to see him. She guesses he needs to see her just as much.

As her eyes open, she hears Mulder shift in his seat next to her, and feels his hold on her hand tighten.

“Scully?” There he is, his gaze focused on her, a slight smile spreading across his face as she continues to look at him. “How are you feeling?” His voice is quiet, tender – a tone that she knows from other unguarded moments like this.

She clears her throat and tries to swallow. In seconds, Mulder has lifted a cup of water with a straw to her lips. He cautions her to only drink a sip, doctor's orders. It only takes a few more seconds for her to understand why: even that small amount of water causes a very noticeable increase in pain when it reaches her stomach, and she frowns and closes her eyes briefly against it.

“Been better,” she answers. Her voice is weak.

“Let me get the nurse,” he says, putting down the cup and standing. Turning back, he presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “Hang in there, okay, Scully?”

She nods, as memory starts to return like consciousness before it. She remembers a blinding light filling the dark room, a searing agony in her gut, Agent Ritter's frantic shouts, and...she shivers. Fellig's words to her. She doesn't think she actually saw a figure standing over them – he said it was Death – but she did as Fellig told her, anyway. And she is alive.

She blinks slowly. Now is not the time to go into the possible implications of that fact, not when the pain in her gut is steadily getting worse. Thankfully, it is only a few seconds before Mulder returns with a nurse who introduces herself, and adjusts her pain meds. She starts to tell Scully something about how she can control the release of the medicine herself, but Scully is already slipping back under.

The next time she wakes, Mulder is gone from his seat. There is a doctor talking to her mother, who now occupies the chair.

“Mom?” Scully says, and her mother instantly breaks off her conversation, moving to take her daughter's hand.

“Dana,” she greets her, smiling anxiously, “how are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Scully considers. The pain is not so bad this time. “I'm okay,” she tells her. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday morning,” her mom answers. Then, perhaps realizing that doesn't mean too much to Scully at this point, she adds, “You were brought here two days ago, and you've been recovering from surgery since.”

“Mm. Thanks.” She is glad to see her mom, of course, but she is still so groggy. Nevertheless, she wants to know some more about her condition before she drifts back into drugged slumber, so she turns to the doctor. “Surgery?”

“Yes, you came through it very well,” he says. “Fortunately, the bullet passed through without too much damage to your intestines. You have quite a few stitches, and I'm afraid you're in for a long recovery period, but I'm very pleased with your progress so far.”

Scully thanks him, resolving to read her chart later when she's feeling more alert.

“You're welcome, Miss Scully. I'll leave you two alone for now.” The doctor departs after flashing them both a smile.

“Where's Mulder, Mom?” Scully asks.

“He went to get some lunch.” She smiles again, affection coloring her voice. “He wanted to stay here, but he was obviously exhausted, so I told him I'd take this shift.”

She smiles fondly, too. Her thoughts of her partner are interrupted by a yawn, and her mother pats her hand. “Get some more sleep, Dana. We'll be here when you wake up.”

“'Kay. Thanks, Mom.” Once again, it is very few seconds before sleep overtakes her.

This time it is an unwise attempt on her part to try to shift her position that brings her out of sleep suddenly, with a gasp at the resulting sharp pain. She puts her hand over the wound site reflexively and tries to breathe.

“Lie still, Scully.” Mulder is already standing over her, taking both of her hands in his. “You don't want to pull out your stitches.”

Her mother enters the room as the pain is slowly receding to a more bearable level. She is carrying a large bouquet of flowers, and stops for a moment at the sight of Mulder holding her daughter's hands. Mulder steps back slightly, but, Scully is pleased to note, does not let go.

“Dana, honey, you're awake!” She sets the vase down on the table next to the bed, and then stands next to Mulder. “Feeling any better?”

“She just almost pulled out her stitches,” Mulder says, “so I'm guessing not, at the moment.”

Mrs. Scully frowns in concern. “What?”

“I just tried to change my position a little in my sleep,” Scully explains, trying not to sound defensive. “I'll try not to do that again.” Before her mom can say anything else, she changes the subject. “Those are beautiful flowers – thank you, Mom.”

“They're actually from Fox, honey.” Mrs. Scully looks at him with a small smile. “I just went to get a vase for them.”

Mulder ducks his head, but Scully just squeezes his hands. “Mulder, they're beautiful. Thank you.”

“Just you wait, Scully,” he replies, grinning, “I have it on good authority that Frohike's planning to go all-out with his bouquet.”

“Oh, great.” Scully returns the smile. If she were a little more energetic, she thinks, she would have thrown in an eye-roll for good measure... but she hopes it goes without saying.

The nurse comes it at that moment and, with some reluctance, Scully lets go of Mulder's hand to allow the nurse to have access to everything she needs to check, and so that her bandage can be changed. The nurse, too, comments that Scully seems to be healing very well. Scully nods in reply, trying not to wonder if she should be worried by this, in light of Fellig's last words to her. She catches Mulder watching her closely during this exchange, and knows he has not missed her lackluster response.

Feeling somewhat like a coward, Scully asks the nurse to show her the mechanism for controlling her own pain medicine flow again, and the woman does so. She apologizes to her mother and Mulder. “I'm gonna fall asleep again as soon as the dosage is increased, most likely.”

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart,” her mom says, smoothing her blankets carefully. “We just want you to feel better.”

Mulder nods. “Go to sleep, Scully.” It is the last thing she hears for a while.

Several days pass in a similar manner. Mulder and her mother mostly take turns spending time with her, though more often than not, he hovers in the background during her mom's bedside vigils as well.

She still sleeps a lot. When she is awake and it is just Mulder and her, they talk a little. With some gentle urging from Mulder, she has told him exactly what happened in Fellig's darkroom, even Fellig's words to her before she lost consciousness. However, she still refuses to dwell on the implications of it – if there even are any implications, her rational mind points out. It isn't possible that the man really was immortal, after all, so it definitely isn't possible for such a thing to be passed on. But even so, she can't help but be reminded of Clyde Bruckman's odd comment to her years ago. And the man had been right about so many things...

The doctor continues to be pleased and baffled by her progress: barely a week after the shooting, Scully is able to eat solid food, though only in small, bland quantities. It still hurts to move, so she doesn't move much - but if she stays still, there is little need for more than a baseline level of painkiller.

Between her mother, Mulder, Frohike (just as extravagant as promised), and even Skinner, not a day goes by without a fresh bouquet of flowers sent to her room. The only one that is less than welcome is the arrangement sent by Agent Ritter. When the nurse brings it in from the reception desk, Scully watches Mulder's jaw tighten and wonders idly if he's planning to commit violence on the innocent vegetation. He leaves it alone, although he makes sure that it is pushed to the back of her bedside table. She isn't too surprised that Ritter hasn't actually shown his face in her room. Whenever he is mentioned or alluded to – which admittedly is not often – Mulder doesn't bother to disguise his anger.

However, Ritter's conspicuous absence does not last. During a rare moment when neither her mother nor Mulder are in the room, there is a quiet knock on her door and Agent Peyton Ritter steps inside.

Scully looks at him, saying nothing. He meets her eyes for a few seconds, but then looks down and clears his throat, shuffling over to stand in front of her. He clears his throat again. Finally, he speaks.

“Agent Scully, I... I know I can't possibly apologize enough.”

She feels a twinge of pity for the young agent and waits without comment.

“There is no excuse for-- for my behavior, but I just wanted you to know...” He swallows, raising his eyes to hers briefly. “I just wanted you to know that I'm terribly sorry, and that I'm accepting full responsibility for my actions. And uh, I... I wish you all the best, in your recovery and... everything.”

Scully nods and says a few almost-meaningless words. She has forgiven him; he is not worth the effort of a grudge, and Mulder doesn't need the added encouragement of her anger to induce him do something foolish. He is already waiting outside her room.

Agent Ritter looks at her one last time and turns to leave, shoulders slumped. She watches as Mulder speaks to him and sees that whatever he says causes Ritter's posture to become even more dejected. Thankfully, though, Mulder leaves it at those few words and then returns to her room.

It still hurts too much for Scully to raise her arms past a certain distance. Mulder stands very close to take her hand, so she only has to lift it a few inches. He smiles at her warmly.

The silence is broken after a moment as Mulder informs her of the coroner's report on Alfred Fellig. “Says he died of a single gunshot wound,” he relates, sitting down with care on the edge of her bed. “That's all it said.”

Scully looks at him, furrowing her eyebrows. That was it?

He changes the subject. “I talked to your doctor, and he says you're doing great.” He smiles again. “You're making the fastest recovery he's ever seen.”

She feels her heart sink further at his words. “Yeah.” She decides it's time to get it out in the open, at least somewhat. “Mulder, I don't even know how I entertained the thought. People don't live forever.”

“No, I-- I think he would have,” Mulder says quietly. “I just think that death only looks for you once you seek its opposite.”

She meets his eyes silently, then looks at their joined hands. “Do you think that... if he was immortal, could he have passed it to me somehow, by telling me not to look?” She has tried to keep her voice level, but it wavers slightly.

Mulder tightens his grip on her hand, then touches her cheek with his other hand. “I don't think he passed it on to you, Scully. I think Fellig realized it wasn't your time yet, but that it was finally his. And I'm thankful to him for that.”

Scully closes her eyes, leaning into his touch. “He was so lonely, Mulder... so completely alone in the world.” She sighs.

“But you weren't afraid of death like he first was,” Mulder points out, “were you? You weren't trying to hide.”

“No, I wasn't,” she agrees, thoughtful. She had thought she was dying when Fellig told her to close her eyes - not seeking death, but almost expecting it. If she is going to allow herself to believe that immortality is possible, she reasons, that fact would still seem to make it unlikely that it had passed to her. It isn't too far-fetched, after all, that she could be recovering quickly, even from a serious injury such as this.

There is another short period of silence. Finally, Scully smiles, finding herself reassured at least for now. “Thanks, Mulder.”

He smiles in return. “Hey, any time you want to talk about immortality, I'm your guy.”

Washington, DC.

Friday

Scully tries to hold onto this reassurance a week or so later, when her physical therapist back in DC tells her with surprise and pleasure that she has exceeded all expectations, and won't need to come back unless something changes drastically.

Her mother drives her back to her apartment, glancing at her worriedly when she gives little to no response to attempts at conversation. When they arrive, Maggie Scully parks the car and turns to her daughter. “Dana, is everything all right? Did something happen during your session today?”

“No. Everything's great, Mom,” Scully tells her, keeping the irony out of her tone with effort. “In fact, I don't have to go back unless I start feeling worse.”

Her mom looks at her in confusion. “Well, isn't that cause for celebration?”

Scully looks at her mother and thinks about life dragging on so long that you forget your family, and anyone who ever loved you. She tries to smile. “You're right. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

According to recently-established tradition, Mulder calls late the next morning to let her know he's on his way over. He has been coming over on the weekends and most evenings to help his shut-in partner keep herself from going crazy with nothing to do. This time, however, Scully almost wishes he were too busy. She knows he'll almost certainly notice her depression and doesn't want to deal with his questions.

“So, I was thinking we should celebrate you being done with your PT,” he says, sounding lighthearted and casual on the phone. “I know for a fact you're getting bored of being cooped up in your apartment.”

“That's definitely true,” she says wryly. “Did you have anything in particular in mind?” This could be good. It's highly likely that being stuck inside for this long has added to her bleak mood, after all. Perhaps going out will help her shake off her foolishness.

Now he sounds somewhat unsure. “Well, um, it's pretty nice outside for January, so I was thinking maybe lunch in the park?”

She walks over to her window to look out. The sun is shining, albeit in a wintry kind of way. “Sounds like a plan, Mulder. I'll put on a sweater.”

“Be there in a few minutes.”

When he knocks on the door, Scully takes the cane that she no longer has to use with her to the door, just so she can toss it away theatrically upon ushering Mulder inside. He chuckles as he closes the door. “Ready for your return to the outside world, I see.”

She looks expectantly at the bag Mulder is carrying. “Yep. Just let me grab my coat.”

The meal is exactly what she needed. They find a quiet area of Constitution Gardens – not that there are many people around at this time of year to compete with – and sit on a low rock wall to eat. They are mostly silent, though as usual Mulder regales her the latest highlights from work, such as they are. Most importantly, Scully manages to forget almost completely about her earlier melancholy.

It is only when she has thanked Mulder for the outing and closed her door after him that she feels her depression return. There is no way that she should have been able to walk around as much as she did today without even the faintest twinge from her injury. Mulder was careful to make sure she wasn't exerting herself too much, Scully knows, but he had followed her lead when she hadn't show any sign of tiring.

Scully sits down heavily on the couch. If it is true - if she is doomed to the same longevity as Alfred Fellig - there will come a time when she will forget moments like today, and even who she shared them with.

She takes a deep breath and rubs a hand across her face. This is absurd, she tells herself. She is drawing too many conclusions from several coincidences and events that are actually perfectly logical in themselves. So she healed quickly. Why is she letting herself worry about this so much?

It's the trauma from the gunshot wound, she decides, from yet another near-death experience. And sure, she had been disturbed by Fellig's tale. It wasn't a pleasant thought, to imagine being as alone as he described, but the man had chased death for years; he was bound to be morbid.

Feeling slightly better, Scully heads toward the kitchen to put away the leftovers from lunch. The last thought she spares on the whole issue is to take it as another lesson that life is to be cherished. To start, she knows she wants to continue doing more with Mulder, outside of work.

She does not allow herself to dwell on the thought that it is the idea of someday losing her memories of Mulder that has been upsetting her the most.

It is weeks later – after the disaster at El Rico, and after their first case back on the X-Files – that Scully is forced to question the possibility of her immortality again.

Nothing extraordinary brings it up again, especially in comparison to all the other things they have experienced together over the years. They are stuck in stop-and-go traffic on the way to lunch with Mulder at the wheel. His eyes are on the road, though he and Scully are discussing some mundane details left over from a past case. Mulder rounds a corner, not knowing that traffic is at a dead stop in front of them. Thankfully, he reacts in time and slams on the breaks before they crash into the car ahead of them - but the car following them is not as quick. Scully hears brakes squealing frantically, locks eyes with Mulder for a second, and tries to brace herself.

The impact isn't too severe. She is jerked against the seatbelt roughly, and her right arm slips from where she has braced it, striking against the catch of the glovebox.

Scully recovers from the shock quickly and turns to her partner. “Mulder, are you okay?”

He looks dazed but unharmed as he pulls the car over as best he can. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

There is something wet on her arm, right where it hit the catch. “I--” she starts to say, but is interrupted by the approach of the driver who just rear-ended them.

“Are you guys all right? Oh my God, I'm so, so sorry!” the young woman says, wringing her hands. “I should have been watching – it's totally my fault... Don't worry, though, I have insurance!”

Between the ensuing conversation and making all the proper arrangements (including calls to arrange alternate transport back to work), not only is lunch forgotten, but Scully doesn't get a chance to look at her arm until a good half hour later. She goes into the restroom at work and rolls up her sleeve. There is not a single mark on her. Her arm no longer aches, either. The only proof she has that she did not imagine the injury in the first place is the dried blood on the inside of her sleeve.

Mulder looks at her in concern when she reenters the office. “Scully, are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale.”

She shakes her head. “I'm fine, Mulder. Just still a little shaken, I guess.”

He doesn't look completely convinced. “All right. Let me know if you feel like you need to go home early or anything, though. I'm sure Skinner would understand.” After another moment watching her, he drops the subject.

Scully feels guilty for how relieved she is that he isn't pushing the issue. But it makes it much easier to hold onto her last few shreds of hope that this is all just a string of bizarre coincidences, still explainable in some non-supernatural way.

Not since she saw an image of a murdered college student has Scully wanted so strongly to find a rational explanation. Ironically, then she had been terrified of her mortality; now she is terrified of its opposite.

Later that day, as she is musing on this similarity, she remembers the pain and anger in Mulder's eyes when she finally told him what she had seen. She wonders how long it will take before she reveals this to him.

As it turns out, the catalyst for this revelation comes only two weeks later, when Scully is made to experience more agony than she could have ever imagined at the hands of a man who should not even have existed. The pain is worse than when she was shot, even. She struggles and screams, but there is no way to fight him off. Finally, just as the pain is becoming more than her body can handle, as she feels his hands closing around her heart, he just... disappears. She cannot begin to comprehend this before passing out.

She comes awake when someone looms over her. In her stark terror it takes a second to recognize Mulder, but when she does, she grabs for him fiercely. He holds her, and she sobs harder than she has in years. It's Mulder. He's here, she's safe now. She tries to tell herself this over and over, but the fear is slow to leave her.

She has no idea how long she cries into his shoulder, but as she gradually calms, she finds herself leaning against him as he supports her. They have moved to the couch. She takes as deep a breath as she can manage, though she is still shaking.

“Scully?” His voice is almost a whisper. “You okay?”

For a moment, she doesn't respond. She knows that he knows she is not okay. Taking another shuddering breath, she whispers, “Mulder, take me home.”

“Are-- are you sure, Scully? There's a lot of blood, don't you need--”

She shakes her head, still pressed against his chest. “No. Just take me home, please.” Her throat hurts, along with every other part of her. She swallows with difficulty.

Mulder helps her stand up, arm around her waist as she sways a little on her feet. She can't help but look at the blood staining his floor. It is, as he observed, a lot of blood. Her shirt is sticky with it. Mulder's sweater is, as well. Scully closes her eyes and leans against him as another wave of dizziness hits. She touches a hand to her sternum. As she expects from examinations of the previous victims in this case, she encounters no wound. It isn't – it isn't – because of Fellig's parting gift, she tells herself.

One arm still wrapped around her, Mulder leads her over to the coat rack next to his door. He pulls his leather jacket off and quickly drapes it over her. “Let's go, Scully.”

Before she can reply, the door is thrown wide open, and policemen begin to pour in around them. Scully shuts her eyes tightly. She can't deal with this right now.

Everything is a blur for a few minutes. She hears Mulder talking to the police in a low voice, explaining the gunshots which no doubt brought them here in the first place.

Only once does she have to speak, when an officer asks her in concern, “Ma'am, are you sure you're all right? We can get an ambulance here right away--”

“No.” She shakes her head in dismissal. “I'll be fine, thank you.” Her voice is stronger, and she meets the man's eyes steadily.

Mulder hasn't taken his eyes off her this whole time, she notes in a detached way. He says a few more words to the man who spoke to her, and then he ushers her out of the room once more.

Hours later, she has showered and changed into pajamas. Mulder has taken off his bloodstained sweater and is preparing to spend the night on her couch; his apartment is a crime scene. He stands when she emerges from her bedroom.

“Hey, Scully, can I get you anything?”

“No thanks, Mulder.” She tries for a smile. “I think I just want to go to bed.”

“Okay. You're sure you're all right?” He takes one step towards her.

Without conscious thought, she reaches to touch where the wound would be. Should be. She falters. “I'm fine. There's-- there's no injury... It's healed, just like with the other victims...” She bites her lip and turns away quickly.

“That's good,” he says, in that same gentle tone. He comes closer, but doesn't crowd her. “But that's not really what I meant.”

Her heart aches, despite the lack of visible wound. It's hard for her to tell if the pain is psychosomatic, or if it's emotional. She turns to Mulder, her eyes still on the ground.

“Scully, if you don't want to say anything right now,” Mulder continues, “I understand. I know you're tired, but I also know you need to talk about what happened today.”

Sighing, she looks up at him. He thinks it is the attack today that is causing her distress – and it is, but not only in the way he assumes. She doesn't know if she can explain it so he'll understand. Then again, she thinks, this is Mulder. He often understands more than she would have thought.

With another sigh, Scully walks over to the couch, sitting down next to the stack of blankets Mulder will be using later. Mulder sits down next to her.

“Do you remember the car accident a few weeks ago?” She meets his eyes again, and sees his puzzlement. This obviously was not what he was expecting.

“Of course.” He opens his mouth to say more, but evidently decides against it.

Scully shifts her attention to her hands in her lap. “I didn't get a chance to mention to you that I'd cut myself when the car hit us. Nothing serious, and there were more important things to do at the time.” She cannot make herself look at him now. “But when we got back to work, I went to check on the cut in the bathroom, and - it was gone. I mean completely gone, not just scabbed over. The only thing left was some dried blood on my sleeve.”

She hears him take a deep, slow breath. Although she has managed to relay the incident without faltering, her composure is now perilously close to collapse. She knows if Mulder is angry at her for hiding this – which wouldn't surprise her at all - she won't be able to keep it together.

“And you're worried about this because of what Alfred Fellig said to you.”

She nods.

He shifts slightly closer to her. “You're still worried that by preventing you from looking at Death, he made you immortal.”

When he puts it into words, it sounds absurd, of course. She gives a weak almost-laugh. “It's stupid, I know. And then, when... I was attacked today, it was completely unrelated, but it brought it all back... He didn't leave a mark on me, Mulder.” She sniffs. The ache in her chest has faded somewhat, but it's still noticeable.

“When were you going to tell me?” Once again, his voice is surprisingly mild and when she finally looks up, anger is not one of the emotions clear in his eyes.

Scully gives a light shrug. “I don't know. I guess I just hoped it wouldn't come up.”

He smiles, reaching for her hand. “You didn't think immortality or rapid healing would ever come up in our line of work?”

She only partially succeeds in returning his smile. “Well, Mulder, it's-- it's not like I wanted to go out and test my theory.”

“No.” He turns serious at that. “No need to follow the scientific method in this instance.” He sighs before continuing, “So, what happens next, Scully? What do you want to do?”

Before she can formulate a reply, she yawns suddenly and hugely. God, she's exhausted. She had already been falling asleep on Mulder's couch during their surveillance of Padgett earlier today, and her energy is just about nonexistent by now. “Can I get back to you on that in the morning, Mulder?”

Mulder squeezes her hand. “I'll be here.”

Almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, Scully begins to drift off to sleep. Despite the events of the day, she has a strong feeling she will sleep well. Perhaps it is because of unburdening herself to Mulder.

In the morning, when Scully wakes, it is to the sound of her shower running. Lazily, she turns over to look at the clock by her bed. It is past nine.

Blinking, Scully sits up and runs a hand through her sleep-mussed hair. Even as tired as she was, she hadn't expected to be able to sleep this late. She vaguely remembers Mulder telling the police last night that she would give them her statement today. The thought causes her a twinge of something that might be either guilt or panic, and she quickly gets out of bed.

The shower stops as she goes into the kitchen to start making coffee. A few minutes later, Mulder emerges, wearing a different t-shirt than he had on yesterday and towel-drying his hair. “Morning, Scully. You sleep okay?”

She can't help but smile as she returns the greeting. “Very well, thanks. Was the couch all right?”

He nods. “Good enough to get my beauty sleep.”

Hiding her grin, Scully turns back to the coffee machine. “Right. Well, I'll shower while the coffee brews.” She walks out of the kitchen, then turns back to her partner. “Mulder, did you give the police a specific time for my statement on the attack?”

Mulder looks faintly surprised – perhaps he hadn't thought she had heard that detail. “No. I just told them it would be today.”

“Okay.” She leaves him standing there. She knows he will be wanting to hear the answer to the question he asked last night, and she hopes that when he asks again, she'll know what to say.

Fic: The Landscape of Spring (Life, 1/1)

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 22:33:52 GMT

Title: The Landscape of Spring
Characters: Constance Griffiths, Charlie Crews
Timeline: Pre-season 1
Rating: PG
Summary: Five times Constance Griffiths goes to meet with Charlie Crews at Pelican Bay.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the characters.
Feedback: Makes me happy. Leave a comment, or write me at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Many thanks to astrothsknot, for her expert beta comments and suggestions!

Life is the only thing worth living for. - Zen proverb

The first time Constance Griffiths went inside Pelican Bay to meet with the infamous Charlie Crews, she admitted to herself that she didn't have a clear idea of what to expect. She had never had a cop for a client or potential client, not to mention one who had been convicted in such a high-profile trial. In her darkest moments of doubt – most of which occurred as she pulled up in her car and stared at the bleak, barbed-wire-encircled fortress – she contemplated turning around and leaving.

But something kept her there. The evidence she had uncovered was enough to point strongly to former Officer Crews' innocence. The man had been in here seven years already for a crime she believed he had not committed; she wasn't going to make him wait any longer.

The guards brought her to the visiting room before Crews arrived. When he came into the room and looked at her for the first time, Connie's heart and professional detachment nearly broke at what she saw. The man sat down opposite her and stared at her silently, mistrust warring with the otherwise general lack of expression in his eyes.

“Mr. Crews, my name is Constance Griffiths,” she began, after taking a deep breath. “I'm a defense attorney, and I want to take your case, if you'll let me.”

Crews said nothing, but he watched her carefully.

Connie kept going. “I've read up on your case and done some investigating, and I strongly believe I can help prove your innocence and get you out of here. It would be a long process, but we could get started right away.”

He remained silent, but Connie noted the way he swallowed.

“Well, I'll leave my contact information and you can let me know when you've decided,” she said, after a brief pause. “And by the way, Mr. Crews, I would be doing this pro bono – you wouldn't have to pay me a thing.” Not only did she genuinely want to see this man set free, but Connie also knew that this case would add some real security to her career if she were successful. It would definitely be worth her while.

Crews still didn't say anything. With a small sigh, Connie watched as he stood up and headed for the door. I guess this visit is over, she thought wryly. At least he had listened to her.

The second time she met with Crews, Connie came in with a clearer plan. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me again, Mr. Crews. Have you made any decisions about my offer to represent you?”

The man stayed silent. Maybe she was only imagining it, but she thought he might look at least slightly less hostile than he had the first time.

“If you're still thinking about it, that's fine,” she said after a moment. “I just want to be sure you know that I am still committed to your case, and to proving your innocence.”

When Crews still made no reply, Connie leaned forward, making sure she was meeting his eyes. “And just so you know, Mr. Crews, I don't give up easily - not on my clients, and not on getting people to see that they should become my clients. But it does involve some cooperation. I have to know you're willing to join me in the process.”

She let that sink in for a moment. This time, it was she who stood up to leave. She was fairly certain Crews' gaze followed her out.

The third time, Connie decided to go with a slightly different angle. She strode into the visiting room with a slight smile. “Mr. Crews. It's good of you to agree to see me again. I don't suppose you've decided to let me take your case?”

She couldn't quite mask her surprise when Crews actually spoke. “Maybe I'm just taking advantage of the chance to have a visitor.”

Connie raised her eyebrows. “Well, all right. But this visitor isn't here to just visit, Mr. Crews. I'm still hoping I'll be able to convince you to let me be your lawyer.”

His expression turned distant again as he said, “Hoping? Hope can be a dangerous thing.” His voice sounded almost rusty with disuse.

Once again, Connie had to cling to her professional detachment as she considered what this man must have gone through - and must still be going through. “Yes, it can be dangerous,” she replied quietly, “but it doesn't have to be. I wouldn't ask you to take this risk if I didn't believe there was a very strong probability of your being exonerated.”

Crews just looked at her for several seconds. Then he stood. “I hope to see you again, Ms. Griffiths,” he told her.

“Good.” Connie nodded as she got to her feet. They were moving forward, she could tell. “You will.”

The fourth time Connie came to the visiting room, Crews was being escorted in at the same moment. Connie immediately noticed his limp, as well as the impressive black eye he sported. He sank into the chair with evident relief.

“Mr. Crews, are you all right?”

Crews gave her a wry smile. “It depends on your definition of 'all right.'”

“Fair enough.” She sat down across from him once more. “Have you thought any more about letting me represent you?”

“Down to business right away, I see.”

She smiled briefly, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I don't believe in wasting time, Mr. Crews – especially not with so much at stake.”

He looked serious for a second, and then smiled a serene smile that seemed incongruous with his bruised face. “Is it really possible to waste time? At any given moment, we open our eyes and exist, Ms. Griffiths. And before that, during all eternity, what was there? Nothing.”

Connie blinked. “All right, I have to ask: where did that come from?”

“Zen,” Crews replied, still smiling. “I'm giving it a try.”

She thought about it. The proverb actually seemed quite appropriate for him, in here. Who would want to focus on anything but the present while serving a life sentence in a supermax prison? “Interesting.”

“I thought so.”

There was a period of silence, and then Crews spoke again. “I think I'll have an answer to your question next time you come.”

“I'm going to hold you to that, Mr. Crews.”

When Connie entered the visiting area of Pelican Bay State Prison for the fifth time, Charlie Crews was seated in his usual spot. This time his eyes were closed.

“Ready to give me your answer, Mr. Crews?” Connie said as she sat down. Once again, she wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

After what seemed like at least a full minute of silence, he opened his eyes. “Charlie.”

Connie met the man's eyes in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“If you're going to be my lawyer,” he said, “you should call me Charlie.” There was something like a light in his eyes as he continued, “Mr. Crews is my father. I'm Charlie.”

Connie smiled. “It's nice to finally meet you, Charlie.”

“And you too, Constance.” His voice was still rough, but it sounded like it might warm up in time.

“Please,” she told him, still smiling, “call me Connie.”

Author's Note 2: The title is a reference to a Zen proverb that seemed to fit well with the beginning of this relationship: “In the landscape of spring, there is neither better nor worse. The flowering branches grow naturally, some long, some short.” This and the other proverbs included in the story are taken from the following excellent website: http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Zen_proverbs

Fic: Truth And Life (4/?)

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 06:31:37 GMT

Title: Truth And Life
Spoilers: IWTB, all of Life
Disclaimers, summary, etc. same as in part 1
Once again, I will offer my heartfelt thanks to missmonkeh and comice for their input.

Chapter 4

We shape clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want. - Lao Tzu

When his sister answered the phone, she sounded distracted. “Scully.”

“Hey, Scully,” Charlie said, emphasizing the name with some amusement.

She chuckled. “Oh, Charlie, hi. Sorry about that.”

“That's okay,” Charlie told her, “as long as you still answer to Dana, too.”

Laughing again, she said, “I will, don't worry.” Then she grew serious. “How's the investigation going?”

“That's actually what I was calling about,” Charlie said. “We have some leads, but we'd like to take you up on your offer of help, if it still stands.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, “just tell us where to meet you.”

Charlie looked around – there wasn't a whole lot of parking nearby. He gave her the address of the restaurant, anyway. If she and Mulder got a parking ticket, he could always offer to pay for it for them. “And Dana?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you and Mulder have guns?”

She paused. “Yes. Are you expecting us to need them?”

“Let's just say we're not going to the most scenic part of LA,” Charlie answered, “and I want you to be prepared, in case something happens.”

Dana sighed. “Charlie, I know-- I know this is your partner's business, but can you give me at least an idea of what you're investigating? That would help us be prepared.”

He glanced back toward Reese. She probably wouldn't mind a very brief description, he decided. “We're looking for a murder victim.”

There was another pause. “Is the murderer still at large?”

“Technically, yes,” Charlie said, “but he's not likely to be dangerous to us at this point.”

He could tell she wanted to ask more questions, but she held back. “All right, we'll be there as soon as we can.”

Before she hung up, Charlie thought of something. “Oh, did you guys have lunch?”

“We did,” Dana said. “Ted told us the name of a good local restaurant, and Mulder and I had a very nice time.”

“Good.” Charlie smiled. “See you in a few minutes.”

He walked back inside the café, chewing on a bite of the blueberry muffin. Reese, he saw, had already finished her half. “They're on their way,” he reported, sitting down.

She nodded. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “So, uh, what's the story with your sister?”

“Hmm? My sister?” Charlie took another bite while he decided what to say. “She's my half-sister, actually. But we grew up together.”

“Oh?” Reese raised her eyebrows. When he didn't follow up immediately, she prompted, “And she's ex-FBI...”

Charlie swallowed. “Yep. She and her partner used to live in DC and work on something called the X-Files, but now she's a doctor. Well, she already was one, but now she practices. They live in Virginia.”

“'They'?”

“Dana and her partner,” Charlie explained. “Mulder.”

“Her FBI partner – they're still together,” Reese confirmed. Upon Charlie's nod and continued gaze, she glared at him. “Don't even think it, Crews.”

He looked at her innocently. “Don't even think what?”

“Just--” She stopped and shook her head. “Never mind, I don't want to give you any ideas.”

Charlie cocked his head, but continued, “Anyway, they're staying at my house right now. It's been nice to catch up.”

“Mm.” Reese was silent for another moment. “What did you tell them about... this?”

“That we're looking for a body,” Charlie replied. “And that they should probably bring their weapons, just in case.”

She hesitated, and then said, “Sound advice, as long as they know how to use them and they know not to get in the way.”

“They're former FBI, Reese,” Charlie reminded her, watching the windows for a sign of their rental car. “From the stories they've told me, both Dana and Mulder know how to handle themselves in this kind of situation.”

After another period of silence, in which Charlie finished up the last bite of the muffin and paid for lunch, Reese stood up from their table. “Crews, I think I see your sister's car outside,” she announced.

Charlie quickly finished up the transaction and jogged over to where his partner was waiting by the door. He slipped on his sunglasses as they left the restaurant. The rental car was in fact pulling up across the street.

Dana and Mulder got out and joined them on the sidewalk in front of the café. Charlie noticed that her sister was dressed much more professionally than she had been, with her hair up in a bun – although still not as formally as she had been the time that she had visited him at Pelican Bay. Mulder, too, looked ready to get down to business.

“Hi,” Dana greeted Charlie. “Hope you weren't waiting too long.” Her gaze shifted to Reese and back again.

“Not too long,” Charlie said with a small smile. “It's only the moment that matters, anyway.”

Mulder hid a smile, and Dana raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

Charlie turned to Reese. “Reese, this is my sister and her partner.”

“Dana Scully,” Dana said, smiling and shaking Reese's hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Dani Reese,” she said. “Likewise.”

Mulder shook her hand next. “I'm Fox Mulder, but please call me Mulder.”

Reese raised her eyebrows for just a second, looking amused. “Mulder it is.”

Charlie could tell that the two women were discreetly looking each other over. “How long have you two been working together?” Dana asked.

“About two years now,” Reese answered, and then seemed to search for words. “It's been quite an experience,” she said at last, not looking at Charlie but almost smiling.

“I can definitely believe that,” Dana said. “Charlie's told us a little about some of the cases you've worked on.”

There was a somewhat awkward pause, and then his sister cleared her throat. “So, speaking of cases, how can we help right now?”

“Right.” Reese looked at Charlie, but he just shrugged slightly.

You're in charge, Reese. You decide how much you want them to know, he thought.

Apparently she got the message, because she took a deep breath. “We're going to be looking for a body, a murder victim, like my partner told you,” she began. “We're concentrating on the parts of town where a body could go unreported for almost a week, since the victim has not turned up in any of the local morgues... but we also have reason to believe that if there were witnesses in the area, they might remember the occasion of the murder, at least.”

Dana nodded, and then Mulder spoke up. “Do you have any theories on the murderer's identity?”

“Not theories,” Charlie said. “It was Roman Nevikov, a local mob boss. He said as much.”

“Nevikov – is that Russian?”

At Reese's nod, Charlie could almost see Mulder start to put some pieces together. “I'm guessing this Nevikov isn't in custody.”

Charlie tried to keep his voice level. “He's dead.” Even if Reese wasn't angry at him for that missed opportunity, he was still angry at himself.

Shooting him a look, Reese said, “Roman had the victim shot. He would have brought a lot of bodyguards with him to the location...”

“...Which could have made it a memorable event for anyone in the area,” Dana finished. “If they're willing to talk.”

Charlie could tell that Reese was starting to relax into the rhythm of the investigation, at which he breathed a sigh of relief. This looked like it could work. Of course, he still had to wonder what would happen when the victim's identity was made known to his sister and Mulder - if they hadn't already guessed.

They accepted Dana and Mulder's offer to drive them to Reese's car and then follow them from there. As he and Reese got into the back of the car, Dana said, “So, Detective Reese--”

“Please, call me Dani,” Reese interrupted, somewhat to Charlie's surprise.

Dana smiled. “Dani, then. You don't drive around with Charlie in his fancy new car on the job?”

“No,” she said, leaning back against the seat. “Actually, your brother rides along with me when we're working a case.”

“Oh, really?” Dana said. Charlie nodded confirmation. She raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Mulder in the driver's seat. “Did you hear that, Mulder?”

Mulder kept his eyes on the road. “Yes, I did, Scully. I can't imagine what you're implying, though.”

Crossing her arms, Dana turned back toward the back seat. “Charlie, you don't mind being in the passenger seat?”

“Nope,” Charlie said. “Not usually. And besides, she's my immediate superior officer. I have to do what she says.”

At that, Reese snorted. “Right. And you always do that so well.”

Mulder chuckled quietly as Dana looked at her brother with amused affection. “I'll bet he does,” she said.

“All right, we'll follow you from here,” Mulder said as they arrived and Reese and Charlie unbuckled their seatbelts.

Reese nodded, and Charlie turned to Dana. “I know you know this, but... be careful, okay, Dana?”

“I will,” she said, touching his shoulder for a moment.

Charlie met Mulder's eye then, before he put his sunglasses back on. He was pretty sure a look of understanding passed between them; Mulder would do his best to keep Dana out of danger, too.

He and Reese were silent as they got into her car. As she turned the key in the ignition, she finally broke the silence. “So how long have they known each other?”

“Since the early '90s,” Charlie answered, after a moment of thought. “Since before I was arrested, at least.”

She looked thoughtful. Then she remarked, “You and your sister look a lot alike.”

“I guess so,” he said somewhat doubtfully. “Except she's a lot shorter than me. More like your height actually, Reese.”

Reese glared at him.

“What?” Charlie said. “Neither of you are tall, that's all I'm saying.”

“Yeah, I'm sure that's all you're saying,” she muttered. Pointing out the windshield for a second, she changed the subject. “How about we start here?”

Charlie looked where she was pointing. Ahead of them was a row of dilapidated buildings, including an old warehouse whose identifying markings were almost completely worn away. “Looks like a good place to start,” he said. It was so dark in all of the photos Ilya's father had given Reese; he wondered if the warehouse or its neighbors had any below-ground rooms.

His partner pulled up next to the sidewalk. Before she opened her door, Charlie stopped her by quietly saying her name.

“What, Crews?” she asked, turning to face him, her irritation plain.

“I was just wondering,” he said.

She sighed in exasperation. “Wondering what?”

“What you're going to do when we find him.”

His words hung in the air of the car for a moment. She looked out the front window and then back at him. “I'm gonna bring him home.”

“Okay,” Charlie said. He decided to leave it at that for now.

The four of them met up on the sidewalk. Reese cleared her throat and looked at Mulder and Dana. “There's no particular reason to expect anyone inside, but since you two aren't on the force – or in the Bureau anymore – you should probably wait until we've cleared the building before going inside.”

“A little less paperwork to deal with in case someone gets shot at,” Mulder acknowledged with a grim smile.

Charlie and Reese went inside the warehouse, weapons at the ready. They quickly checked for anyone inside, and then his sister and her partner joined them for the search. The main room of the warehouse was echoingly huge, and empty except for some beer bottles and a dirty sleeping bag in one corner. The door in the back led to what looked like it had once been an office.

“It doesn't seem like there are many places someone could hide a body,” Dana said as they looked around the two rooms.

“So we move on to the surrounding buildings,” Reese said. She looked at Charlie, somewhat unsure. “We could split up.”

“Cover more ground,” Charlie agreed. “You and Dana could go together – if that's okay, Dana?”

The two women exchanged glances. “Fine with me,” Dana said after a moment, and Reese nodded.

“Call me if you find anything,” Reese said.

Charlie watched them leave for a moment. Then with a glance at Mulder, he headed toward the garage next to the warehouse. Once again, Mulder waited outside while Charlie made sure it was unoccupied. The space to search through this time was slightly more compact and so took less time.

“It's all clear,” Charlie called.

Mulder came inside, and immediately wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Not clear of trash, that's for sure.”

The stench inside the building was definitely revolting: a mixture of rotting garbage, mold, filth, and the vermin that probably called this place home - if vermin had enough intelligence to give things names. It didn't look any better. Charlie took care where he put his feet as he walked through the unoccupied garage.

As the men continued toward the back of the garage, Charlie spotted a large supply locker against the wall, and his heart started to pound. The smell of decay was getting stronger - and the locker looked to be large enough for a body to fit inside. Mulder met his look grimly.

The locker door was shut, but the padlock was not locked. As he picked up a discarded wrench from the ground, Charlie wondered why Roman had decided not to draw this discovery out any further. That question was answered when he pushed the door open – to reveal the corpse of what looked like it once had been a dog. The studded collar was still visible.

Charlie dropped the wrench with a clang and turned away, sighing. It was probably one of Roman's dogs, no doubt killed at its master's hand and convenience. The man was still an expert at orchestrating his games, even after his death.

“Does this mean something to you?” Mulder asked, breaking the silence.

Charlie nodded. “Roman kept dogs – lots of dogs. He also kept people like dogs, in cages.”

“I guess we're on the right track, then.”

Turning to face Mulder, Charlie regarded him for a moment. It was a good point. He pulled out his cell phone.

“You find something?” Reese answered without a greeting.

“A dead dog in a metal box,” Charlie told her. “I'm betting it was Roman's.”

Her sigh spoke volumes. “We'll be right there.”

He put away his phone and turned around to stare at the locker again. There had to be a clue here for where to look next, he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware that Mulder was focused on the locker as well.

An exclamation of disgust behind them caused both Charlie and Mulder to turn around. Reese and Dana both had their hands over their noses as they made their way over.

No one spoke for a moment. Charlie guessed that his partner must have filled Dana in. Finally, Reese said, “So he's trying to lead us on a scavenger hunt. There should be a clue here to the next location.”

Dana nodded. “I don't happen to have gloves with me at the moment, but the box and its contents probably need to be examined.”

Almost in unison, Charlie and Reese pulled out their gloves. “I've got an extra pair if either of you want to join in,” he invited, holding them out in front of himself.

Mulder grinned. “Too many cooks, as they say. Besides, I'm not the one who used to do all the autopsies.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows and looked at his sister. “You did autopsies?”

“It was a way I could put my medical skills and training to use at the FBI.” She shrugged, ignoring his surprise.

Mirroring her shrug, Charlie put on his gloves. As he and Reese bent to examine the locker and its contents, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Dana and Mulder were taking a closer look at its immediate surroundings.

After a moment, Reese carefully extracted a damp piece of paper from behind the dog's corpse and unfolded it with care. Charlie looked over her shoulder to see the strange sketch that was on the paper.

“Is that a lobster?” he asked, moving closer and squinting.

Reese stood up, giving him an irritated glance. “No, I'm pretty sure it's not a lobster, Crews.”

Dana took a look. “It looks more like an angel to me.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Reese said. She turned the picture around and showed it to Charlie. “You were looking at it upside down.”

“Ah.” Charlie could see the shape now. An angel. He met his partner's eyes. This second clue was received loud and clear, he saw.

Dana bent over to look more closely at the sketch. “This paper looks to have been affected significantly by being in close proximity to the decomposing flesh,” she said. “I'd say we can assume that it was placed in the locker at the same time as the dog.”

“Does the decomp fit the time frame of a murder occurring six days ago?” Reese asked, keeping her voice calm.

Frowning in concentration, Dana moved closer to the corpse and looked at it for a moment. “From what I can see, I think so.”

“And the angel?” Mulder said. “Another message from Roman?”

Reese gave a brief summary of the first case in which they had encountered Roman. “But the only thing is, that hotel is not the kind of place a body could go undiscovered for almost a week.”

“Maybe there's someplace nearby, then,” Mulder suggested.

“Maybe.”

Charlie turned to Reese, and she met his gaze almost defiantly. “So let's go.”

During the drive to the hotel, Charlie kept silent. He considered telling Reese about some of his own problems with his father – perhaps in the hope that it would encourage her to do the same – but it wasn't the right moment. It was easy to see that his partner was completely focused on the problem at hand, and would not welcome any attempts at distraction. Besides, Charles Crews Sr. was at least still alive. Their situations were not the same.

As soon as they were parked at the hotel, Reese got out and started to scan the area. Charlie hurried to catch up to her.

“I don't think looking around in alleys makes sense,” she said. “Someone would have found something before now if-- if he was...” Trailing off, she looked away.

Before Charlie could say anything, Mulder and Dana joined them on the sidewalk. They both stopped for a moment, clearly able to see the tension in Charlie's partner, but Reese took a deep breath and said, “I'm thinking we split up again to search the area.”

Charlie spoke up then, giving her an apologetic look. “Actually, Reese, I was just thinking about one of the cases I worked with Detective Seever, while you were gone.”

Reese nodded expectantly. When he didn't continue right away, she sighed. “And what were you thinking about that case, Crews?”

“A guy was killed inside a walk-in freezer,” he explained. “It ended up that it wasn't murder, even though it looked like it – it was an accidental death. The guy stabbed himself in the head with an icicle. That's why it ended up that the weapon couldn't be found. It melted.”

The three of them – Reese, Dana, and Mulder – stared at him. His sister and Mulder looked faintly impressed, but Reese was just annoyed. “So what does that have to do with this situation, then?”

“The freezer,” Charlie replied. “We should see if there's a freezer in the hotel that doesn't get used very often.”

After a moment, she agreed, and the four of them went inside the hotel. A quick conversation with the hotel manager (while members of the group without badges stood discreetly in the background) secured them permission to investigate the freezers the hotel used for storage.

Charlie took a deep breath as they headed down the stairs to the basement. He still didn't enjoy going underground, even all these months after his release. The familiar institutional white walls and flickering fluorescent lights of places like this didn't help. But this was part of life, he reminded himself. And besides, it was for Reese.

I will not permit the events of my daily life to bind me, he recited, closing his eyes briefly after reaching the bottom of the stairs. But I will not withdraw from them, either.

Upon opening his eyes, Charlie found that the rest of them – including the hotel front desk attendant - had moved forward. Dana cast a concerned look over her shoulder at him. He smiled reassuringly and ran a few steps to catch up.

“Um, so, the storage freezers are right through here,” the young woman was saying as she pointed at a heavy-looking door. “Actually, most of the room is refrigerated, but each compartment has a freezer as well.”

Reese waited impatiently for her to take out her card key. “How many people have access to the freezers?” she asked.

The woman (her name tag pin identified her as Mary) blinked. “Let's see, uh... all the managers, and all the kitchen staff. Oh, and people who make deliveries. So I guess that's a fairly big group.”

As Mary swiped her card, Charlie inquired, “How many times a day do people come down here? It's for storage – so the kitchen has supplies that are easier to get to, right?”

“That's right.” Mary pushed open the door and stood aside to let them pass. “Deliveries aren't more than once a week, and our kitchen staff move what they'll need for that week up to the main freezers right after everything gets delivered.”

“And when is the next scheduled delivery?”

“Tomorrow,” Mary told him.

He exchanged a dark glance with Reese. “That would fit.”

Mary looked worried. “Um, if you don't mind my asking... what are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know if we find it,” Reese answered, moving with purpose toward the nearest of the large walk-in freezers.

The search took only a few minutes. When Reese moved on from the first door to the last (Charlie was looking in the second and Mulder and Dana in the third), she stilled instantly.

Charlie saw her sudden lack of movement out of the corner of her eye. He had been, appropriately enough, searching through the refrigerated room where the hotel kept its fruit – but he abandoned it immediately and crossed to stand behind his partner. She was staring at her father's body, which was sprawled carelessly on the floor behind a crate of Pepsi bottles.

“Reese,” Charlie said, his voice quiet. He said nothing else. Part of him was aware that Dana and Mulder were now standing behind them, but he was focused on the woman next to him – whose control was finally starting to slip. He could see that she was shaking, and her eyes looked haunted.

Abruptly, the silence was broken by a gasp from Mary. “Oh my God! Oh my God, oh my God, we need to call the police!”

His annoyance barely disguised, Charlie turned to look at her. “How about you let my partner and me take care of it, Mary,” he suggested, stepping away from Reese for a moment and lifting his jacket to reveal his badge and gun.

The woman nodded, hands over her mouth, and backed out of the room as fast as she could.

Charlie turned back to Reese, gently touching her arm. “Reese, do you want me to call the Captain now?”

She took several seconds to respond. Then, finally, she raised her eyes to the vicinity of his collar and said, “No. No, I-- I'll call him myself.” She met his eyes for a fraction of a second before turning and leaving the room, almost as quickly as Mary had exited.

Silence fell in the room, and then Dana spoke in a low, concerned voice. “She looks like she's going into shock.”

Charlie nodded. He remembered the searing pain he had felt when the news of his mother's death reached him from outside – and there had even been that pain, though slightly less of it, when the man he'd known as his father throughout childhood had died not long before Charlie's arrest. No matter how strained their relationship had been, Reese had just lost her father. There was no way she couldn't be in shock.

“Let's get out of this room,” Mulder suggested, breaking the renewed silence. “I doubt the refrigeration is helping anyone's state of mind.”

With another nod, Charlie took a few steps to hold the door open for his sister and Mulder. He followed them out. He did not look behind himself again to see Jack Reese's body one more time.

The door shut behind them. Charlie's searching gaze found Reese, standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was facing away from the three of them, talking on her cell phone in a subdued tone to (Charlie assumed) Tidwell; Charlie was just beginning to come up with what he would tell Tidwell about Dana and Mulder when his own phone rang.

“This is Crews,” he said.

A very unwelcome voice answered. “Hey, kiddo. I hear you just found my old friend Jack Reese.”

Fic writing meme

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 04:45:43 GMT

Stolen from hazel_eyes_86.

01. Do you read or write fanfiction?
Both - if I didn't, why would I be filling this out?

02. When did you first start reading/writing fanfiction?
Reading - 2007, I think, since that's when I began becoming obsessed enough with XF to do so. And oddly, I'm pretty sure I started writing a few months before I started reading, since I got an idea for a specific story.

03. What was your first fandom?
Fic-related? The X-Files. In general? Probably Alias.

04. First ship?
MSR, bien sur, if we're going with the fic thing. Otherwise, probably Sydney/Vaughn.

05. What website do you use most?
For reading and posting, LJ.

06. What do you think of Fanfiction.net?
It's even harder to find the good stuff there than it is at Gossamer. Seriously - one "story" I saw posted at FF.net for In Plain Sight a few weeks ago was so horrible it made Erin Blair look like Charles Dickens.

07. What fandoms have you written in?
X-Files, Doctor Who, In Plain Sight, Life, and a little bit of crossover action with BtVS and Alias.

08. Pairings?
Mulder/Scully, Mary/Marshall, Crews/Reese, Sydney/Vaughn.

09. Any fandoms you would like to write in?
I'd love to do more Whedonverse stuff, though it intimidates me slightly. I actually do have a Firefly story in the works.

10. Do reviews affect how you write in any way?
Sometimes a reviewer will make a really good point that I remember in the future. Also, they might ask for a sequel, which does affect my writing in that I might then consider writing one!

11. Do you use a beta?
Always.

12. What ratings do you read/write?
I mostly don't read past R, but that's not a hard-and-fast rule. I haven't ever written anything past PG-13, I don't think.

13. What warnings have you used on your fiction/read?
AU, crack!fic for my fiction - for what I read, I'll read almost anything except what I mention in #21 below.

14. Have you ever stolen something from another person's work?
NO! I try my best to not even let good ideas from other fic creep into mine by accident. (Please let me know if you ever read my fic and notice this.)

15. Favorite fandom to write/read?
Still probably XF, although I do dearly love IPS and Life.

16. Favorite pairing?
There can be only one: MSR.

17. Favorite writer/writers?
Anjou, Aloysia Virgata, Amal Nahurriyeh, Innisfree, jesse, and many others!

18. How long should a chapter be?
Longer than a page in a word-processing program, but other than that, I don't care too much.

19. Do you write/read drabbles?
I think my shortest fics would be considered vignettes. I generally prefer longer fic, but I will read anything that looks good.

20. Pairings you avoid?
Heh. Quite honestly, anything aside from my OTPs, or other canon pairings on a show. I'm picky like that.

21. Warnings you avoid?
Character death, pre-series (for the most part), kidfic (for the most part), slash, PWP, and rape (unless there are VERY strong recommendations for the story)

22. Do the number of reviews tell how good a story is?
Not necessarily, but as a writer I appreciate it when I get more than a few! :)

Your Own Fic Fanfiction Meme

01. Which is your favorite of all your fics?
Hmm... right now, I think it might be my xf_bigbang fic. But I also am fond of "Intermission."

02. Which is your best-received fic?
Ummm, upon quick review, I think it's "Diers Anonymous."

03. Which is your worst-received fic?
Probably one of my earliest, like "To Sleep, Perchance to Dream." And deservedly so - it wasn't that great.

04. Which is your angsty-est fic?
Published? Probably "On Dark Roads."

05. Which is your funniest fic?
Probably "Diers Anonymous" or "A Wolf at the Door."

06. Smuttiest?
I don't really write smut. But I guess my xf_bigbang fic is the most "explicit" (note the quote marks) I've ever written.

07. Fluffiest?
Either "All Is Bright" or "Twenty-One to Forever."

08. Have you ever made someone cry with a fic?
I'm not sure. Maybe? Anyone? Bueller?

09. Which fic frustrates you the most?
Currently? "The Confusion and the Aftermath," which is a very long WIP that I haven't shown anyone on my F-list. So you'll have to take my word on it. ;)

10. Which fic was the most fun to write?
"A Wolf at the Door," I'm pretty sure. It was a blast, although so was "The Way You Are."

11. Who is your favorite OC you've ever created?
Maybe the Moderator from "Diers Anonymous." I don't have a lot of deeply-characterized OCs.

12. Are you better at oneshot or multipart?
Really don't know! I like 'em both.

13. What character do you think you're the best at portraying?
Eeek, I don't know... I love writing both Mulder and Scully, and I think I do decently at them both.

14. What character is the most difficult to portray?
I don't think anyone has given me a lot more trouble than anyone else - which isn't to say it all comes really easily, but I can't think of one character who was extra difficult.

Fic: Truth And Life (3/?)

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 20:58:49 GMT

FYI in case anyone is wondering, I'm fairly certain that after this part, there will only be two more chapters to this fic.

Title: Truth And Life
Spoilers: IWTB, all of Life
Disclaimers, summary, etc. same as in part 1.
Continued thanks to comice and missmonkeh. You're both awesome.

~

Chapter 3

Sunday

Charlie was awakened the next morning by the smell of frying bacon and the sounds of conversation from downstairs. He rolled over to look at the clock and saw with mild surprise that it was after 9:30 – he rarely slept this late.

Yawning, Charlie pushed back the covers and got to his feet. He almost left the room in nothing but his pajama pants, but in deference to his house guests, he stopped and threw on a T-shirt. At the top of the stairs, he paused and listened. It sounded like Ted's voice, and Dana's. Now that's interesting, he thought, moving quietly down the stairs to see this.

Charlie stopped just outside the kitchen.

Mulder was speaking at that moment. “--but never coyotes, no.”

“Well, that's good to hear,” Ted said with a sigh. “But I still don't like them.”

“I guess I won't complain too much about the deer that we get in our yard sometimes,” Dana said, sounding amused.

Stepping into the kitchen, Charlie saw that his sister was taking the bacon out of the skillet and putting a piece onto each of four plates. Her back was to him, and she jumped when he spoke.

“Hey, how long have you guys been up?”

She turned around. “Almost half an hour.” She grinned and added, “I hope you don't sleep this late when you're on duty, Charlie.”

“Nope,” Charlie replied with an easy smile. He looked at Ted, who appeared both surprised and amused by his sister's comment. “Morning, Ted. Coyotes bothering you again?”

“There was one in the yard again, just a few minutes ago,” Ted told him, frowning. He glanced at Dana and Mulder before continuing, “I could've sworn it was laughing at me.”

Charlie hid a yawn and a smile. “I'm pretty sure it's hyenas that laugh, Ted, not coyotes.”

“Yeah, well,” Ted grumbled, “maybe this one had some hyena blood in it somewhere.”

Mulder leaned back against the counter. “It did seem very bold.”

“I can believe that,” Charlie answered.

He walked over to the counter next to Dana, where she had put the plates. He guessed the one that had pancakes with fresh berries on it in addition to the bacon was his; the other plates' pancakes were undecorated. “Thanks for making breakfast,” he said, wrapping one arm around her shoulders in a quick hug.

“You're welcome,” she said, looking up at him with affection. “Ted told me where everything was... and advised that you might want some fruit with your pancakes.”

“Thanks, Ted.” Charlie glanced at him as he grabbed his plate. Ted nodded and smiled slightly. It seemed like he'd gotten over his anxiety about having two ex-FBI agents as guests, Charlie thought.

The four of them ate quietly for a few minutes. Dana and Mulder made small talk with Ted, chatting about the class he had taught this past year. Charlie chewed a bite of pancake with raspberries on top. He was thinking about how strange and yet how right it felt to be eating breakfast with this varied group of people in this moment, when the ring of his cell phone interrupted the quiet of the kitchen. He had forgotten to take it up to his room last night, so it was lying on the counter behind Mulder.

Mulder moved aside, and Charlie picked up the phone and set down his plate. “Crews.”

He heard nothing for a moment, and then Reese's voice. “Crews. Um, hi.”

“Hey, Reese,” Charlie said, smiling and walking a few steps out of the kitchen. “Still enjoying your vacation?”

“I was, until about an hour ago,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Do you-- do you remember what I told you Roman said about my dad?”

Charlie's feeling of contentment vanished immediately. Still holding the phone to his ear, he glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, headed toward the back door, and lowered his voice. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, I went for a run this morning,” Reese explained, “and some big Russian guy stopped me on the way back to my hotel. He didn't speak English very well, but he seemed to know who I was. He gave me--” She paused. “He gave me some photos.”

“What were the photos of?” Charlie asked softly, although he was sure she knew he had more than a sneaking suspicion. His heart was pounding as she answered.

“My father.” Her voice was carefully steady. “He's dead.”

Charlie took several slow, deep breaths. There was no point in hating Roman now, he knew that – and yet he still did. “Did this guy tell you anything else?”

“No. I mean I think he said-- he was sorry. He couldn't or wouldn't tell me where to look. And I didn't have my badge or gun with me to try to persuade him to be more cooperative.”

The word had gotten out about Roman's death, Charlie thought... but maybe this man, this person who might have been the one who actually killed Jack Reese, was still too afraid to let the whole truth be known.

His partner was saying his name. “Crews, are you still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Charlie ran a hand across his face. More details, more lines to add to his wall. “Are you still coming back to LA tonight?”

She sighed. “No, I'm packing up now.”

“Good,” he said. He wondered briefly if Dani had told any of this to Tidwell – if the captain had in fact been with her at this point during her vacation. “Call me when you get back. I'll be here.”

“Okay.”

Charlie closed the phone with more violence than necessary, nearly dropping it in the process. He closed his eyes and took another series of deep breaths. He would deal with this, and Reese would deal with this, and maybe they would find some answers – though not the kind that she really needed.

“Charlie? Is everything okay?”

He turned to see Ted watching him, concerned. Dana and Mulder were not far behind him, still holding their breakfast plates and also looking worried.

“I think my vacation just ended,” he replied.

“What's wrong with Reese?” Ted asked, continuing to watch him.

Charlie shook his head. He needed to organize his thoughts. “She just got some bad news about her dad.”

The light dawned in Ted's eyes. They had discussed this possibility briefly. “Oh.”

“What kind of bad news?” Dana asked.

“I'm sorry,” he said to her, and then looked at Mulder for a moment as well. “I'm not going to be around much after my partner gets here. But you're welcome to stick around if you want.”

“You don't need to apologize for helping your partner when she needs it,” Dana said quietly. “But Charlie, if there's anything we can do to help...”

Charlie was about to answer, and then stopped. “Maybe.” They both did, after all, have valuable investigative experience to contribute. “It's up to Reese, though. I'll call and see what she says.”

Mulder nodded. “Fair enough. Do you know when she's getting here?”

“I'll ask her that, too,” Charlie said. “I'm not actually sure where she was vacationing.” It wasn't as if Reese had been hiding her location from him – he simply hadn't asked, and she hadn't volunteered the information.

“Okay.” Dana ushered Mulder back into the kitchen, and Ted followed them.

Taking out his cell phone again, Charlie dialed Reese's number and waited. She answered after a few rings. “Reese.”

“Hi again, Reese,” Charlie said.

She sounded more tired than annoyed as she spoke. “What is it, Crews?”

“I just wanted to know when you thought you'd make it back to LA.”

“Oh, that's right, you have your sister there,” Reese said. “Um, not too long. Less than an hour.” Then she paused, and said, “Look, I don't want to interrupt your time with family, Crews. I could just--”

Charlie broke in. “That was my other question, actually. I told you my sister and her partner are former FBI. They wanted me to ask you if they could help at all.”

“You just went ahead and told them about my father?” Her voice was hard and incredulous.

“No,” Charlie answered, letting himself feel hurt at the accusation for a moment and then moving on. “They just heard enough of our phone conversation that I told them you'd gotten some bad news.”

“Oh.” She sighed, and was quiet. “I don't know what kind of help they could be, unless they know LA well enough to know the best places to look for-- a body.”

He clenched his jaw at the careful calm of those last two words. “I don't think so, exactly,” he said, “but they're good investigators, Reese. And they aren't interested in drawing a lot of attention to anyone. It's up to you.”

There was another brief period of silence. “Can I get back to you on that after I get home?”

“Sure,” Charlie said. “Talk to you then.”

He walked back into the kitchen, where the others were finishing up their meals and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. They looked up when he came in. “She said she'll get back to LA in less than an hour,” he said, “and that she'll get back to me about you two possibly helping.”

Mulder straightened up from the dishwasher. “All right. We'll go get dressed.”

The two of them were about to head out when Charlie remembered something. “Oh – is the room all right?”

“It's fine – it's great, actually,” Dana answered. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Very comfortable bed,” Mulder added with a straight face – at which Dana hit him on the arm.

Charlie smiled. “Good. See you two later.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ted cleared his throat. “So, um... Jack Reese is dead?”

“Yeah,” Charlie confirmed, instantly serious again. “Some Russian guy gave Reese photos. And apologized.”

“Wow.” Ted sighed and leaned against the counter. “So what are you gonna do?”

“We're gonna try to find his body,” Charlie said. “At least, Dani and I are going to – I'm not sure if she's going to want anyone else to help.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ted said. “Do you have any ideas of where to start?”

Charlie frowned. “Not yet. We can call around to the morgues, but I don't think we'll find him there.”

“Okay.” Ted waited for a moment, and then sighed again. “Well, let me know if there's something I can do to help.”

“I'll do that,” Charlie said, staring at the fruit bowl. “Thanks, Ted.”

When his partner called about forty-five minutes later, Charlie had showered, shaved, and gotten dressed, all while going over everything he knew about Jack Reese and Roman Nevikov in his head. He wasn't sure if this had produced any new results, but no period of thought was a waste. He took a deep breath before answering the phone. “Crews.”

“It's me,” Reese said. She sounded like her usual self, for the most part.

“Reese. Where do you want to start?”

“I was thinking we could start at Roman's club and work from there,” she answered. “And, uh, Crews?”

“Yeah, Reese?” Charlie said, and waited.

“Do your sister and her partner have a car?”

“They rented one.” He almost commented about the model they had chosen, but decided that was probably irrelevant.

“Okay.” Reese paused a second. “So maybe they can meet up with us later if we haven't found any clues. Bring a different perspective.”

Charlie smiled a little. “I'll let them know. And I'll call the morgues and ask about any unidentified remains.”

“All right. Good.” She cleared her throat and said, “I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“All right.”

Before leaving his room, Charlie made sure to pick up both his service weapon and his knife. It never hurt to be prepared, he reasoned. His calls to the morgues had had the lack of results he expected – but at least that was narrowing down the options, somewhat.

He was about to knock on Dana and Mulder's door to give them the latest update, but he stopped at the sound of Dana's voice, raised in anger.

“No. No, Bill, I don't--”

Even through the door, Charlie could distinguish the sound of his half-brother's voice over the cell phone. He let his hand fall back to his side and listened.

“Bill.” Dana cut into his tirade with an icy tone that, Charlie recalled, was usually accompanied with a glare so deadly that it had been quite effective in stopping her siblings from doing whatever she didn't want them to be doing. “He's our brother-- no, let me finish. He's our brother, and he was never guilty in the first place. And most importantly, how long has it been since you've spoken to him?”

Charlie closed his eyes. He had tried to let go of the past, to stay in this moment, but he obviously hadn't succeeded with regard to his brother. He could still remember the last time he had spoken to Bill – if you could call shouted insults speaking.

“Uh huh,” Dana said. She scoffed. “And the rejection of family only came from him, did it?”

Charlie thought he could hear Mulder say something in a low voice, and then Dana replied to Bill, but more quietly. “Even after Mom, you're still going to hold onto this bitterness, Bill? You know she'd want us to put our family back together as much as we can.”

Whatever Bill said in response caused silence to fall for a good ten seconds. “That is entirely different,” she almost spat. “I can't believe you're bringing up my decision, again. I've told you more times than I ever should have to - it's permanent. Nothing you or I say or feel can change it.” Her voice shook, and again Charlie heard Mulder's voice but not the words he said.

There was another pause, as Bill spoke. Dana sighed. “I know. Yes. All right. Thank you.” A pause. “Give Tara and Matt our love. Bye.”

Charlie waited for another ten seconds before knocking on their door. Dana opened it. Her hair was still damp, and she looked upset. “Hi.”

“I gather that Bill sends his greetings,” Charlie said brightly.

Dana stared at him. “You heard that?”

“A lot of it,” he admitted. “It was kind of hard not to, once I got to your door.”

She looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

“That's okay. I was just coming to tell you and Mulder that I'm going to be out with Reese starting the investigation,” Charlie said, “but that as soon as we've narrowed down where to start, we'll call you to help out if we need more input.”

“All right, that sounds reasonable,” Dana said. Then she frowned. “Charlie... you don't want to talk about what Bill said?”

“No, I don't want to talk about it,” Charlie answered through gritted teeth. “I think I have a pretty good idea of what he said, and I don't see the need for you to tell me.”

“That's not what I meant,” Dana said, annoyed. “And besides, you didn't hear all of it.”

“Oh, really?” Charlie crossed his arms. “Fine. I would love to hear what Bill had to say, Dana.”

She looked at him with a hint of reproof. “I got him to admit Mom would be happy to have us all try to move past this, and that he'd make an effort.”

He blinked. “Well, I guess that's something.”

With a sigh and a lift of her eyebrow, Dana nodded. “I think it's a start.”

Charlie was about to reply when something occurred to him. He glanced over her head into the room's interior. “Where's Mulder?”

“He's shaving,” Dana said. She smiled wryly and added, “I think he wanted to be sure not to get in the way in case there was another Scully family argument.”

Charlie winced, and she caught her mistake almost instantly.

“I-- I'm sorry, Charlie, I didn't--”

“I know.” Charlie turned away before she could finish. “Reese is going to be here in a few minutes. I'll call you when we're ready for your help.”

He heard her sigh again behind him. “All right.”

Downstairs, Charlie only waited a minute before the doorbell rang. He crossed quickly and opened it to reveal his partner. She looked more tan than usual, but otherwise dressed as she would normally for work. “Hi. You ready?”

“Yep.”

When they had both buckled their seatbelts, Charlie turned to look at her. “Can I look at the photos while you drive?”

“Yeah.” She reached into the back seat and handed him a folder. “Tell me if you see any distinguishing features of the location in them, because I haven't noticed any.”

He nodded, and opened the folder as she started the car. The first shot was Jack Reese slumped over in a chair, arms tied to the chair behind him, and blood visible from a bullet wound in his chest and the right side of his head. Charlie took it in, and then examined what could be seen of the surroundings. It wasn't much: the metal chair, a grimy-looking concrete floor, and shadows all around the edges of the camera's flash.

The next photo – a head-on shot which showed the gruesome exit wound on the other side of the man's skull – did not have much more outside of this to reveal. The flash did illuminate a crack in the wall behind the chair, which was distinctive enough that Charlie thought he would be able to recognize it if he saw it again.

The last photo was of Jack Reese's body, now lying on the floor with blood pooling beneath him. Charlie nearly damaged the photo when he realized that the position of the body made it clear that he had just been dumped out of the chair and left there. He doubted that was a detail that his partner would have missed, either.

“See anything useful?” she asked.

Charlie scanned through all three images again. “Not anything that could help lead us directly to this location, but there's a crack in the wall in one of them that I think I'd recognize if we saw it.”

Reese glanced at him. “Show me.”

Charlie held up the second photo and pointed to the detail in the background. Reese took a look and then nodded before turning her eyes back to the road. “Yeah, that's pretty distinctive... if we can just find the actual building.”

“If we can just find the actual building,” Charlie agreed quietly.

With a half-hearted roll of her eyes, Reese said, “Don't even start,” and pulled up in front of the boarded-up club.

They both stopped and stared at the building. “You know, Reese,” Charlie said, “if we told the Captain about this, he'd make sure you had the department's resources behind the search.”

She kept staring straight ahead. “I know.”

“Okay,” Charlie said. “Just checking.”

The two of them walked forward and began the search.

An hour later, Reese and Charlie had moved on from the Ritual to the warehouse where Roman had kept his dogs – and those he caged like dogs. There was no trace of anybody, much less Jack Reese, and both of them were beginning to feel frustrated. In fact, as they exited the warehouse, Charlie was just about to suggest they call in Dana and Mulder when they spotted a young man peering around the corner of the building at them.

Charlie looked at Reese, and she raised her eyebrows. “I think he just noticed that we noticed him.”

He turned back in time to see the guy take off down an alley. Taking a breath, he started running, with Reese not far behind.

After several yards, Charlie turned the corner and caught up with him at the end of the alley. The man had stopped and turned around to face his pursuers, looking somehow both resigned and terrified. He had his hands up.

“Please,” the man said, between breaths, “don't shoot. I'm not going to try to run again.”

Charlie had taken out his gun, but he began to lower it at the man's words. Reese came up behind him then, also breathing hard, and gave him a questioning look.

“Says he's not going to run anymore,” Charlie told her, keeping his eyes on him.

“Is that right?” Reese asked.

He nodded.

“Why did you run in the first place, then?”

“I was scared,” the man said. His Russian accent was noticeable but not strong. He looked at Charlie then. “I know Roman is dead – I know you killed him – but I also know he had your father killed.” At that, he looked at Reese. “And I thought, maybe you are looking for revenge.”

Reese still hadn't lowered her weapon. “But you just said Roman's dead,” she pointed out. “Who would I be taking revenge on?”

He swallowed and looked down. “Anyone who knew what was going to happen... and didn't do anything to stop it.”

Charlie looked at his partner. She met his eyes for a second before bringing her arms down to her sides and holstering her gun. “I'm not looking for revenge,” she said. “But I do want to hear what you know about my father's death. Everything you know.”

The kid nodded, still looking at the ground. “I will tell you.”

“What's your name?” Charlie asked, after a moment.

He raised his eyes then. “Ilya.”

“All right then, Ilya,” Charlie said, after glancing at Reese again, “let's find someplace to talk that's more comfortable than this alley.”

Ilya nodded again. “There is a café nearby that's never too crowded. We could go there.”

“Lead the way,” Reese said.

The café was in walking distance. When they arrived, Charlie realized it was time for lunch. He offered to buy both Ilya and Reese a meal; Ilya accepted gratefully, but Reese said she wasn't hungry. Charlie ordered her a blueberry muffin anyway and cheerfully ignored her irritated glare.

As soon as their orders were taken, Reese focused on Ilya. “What do you know about what happened to my father?”

The young man took a deep breath. “You were given some photos earlier today, by a man who couldn't speak English well.”

“Yes.” Reese looked at him expectantly.

“The man who gave you those pictures is the man who killed Jack Reese,” Ilya continued. His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “He is also my father.”

“Your father,” Reese repeated. She sat back in her chair.

Charlie stepped in. “Roman ordered your father to kill him, didn't he?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, leaning forward urgently. “He-- Roman came to our house, and said that if he refused, Roman would make him watch while he killed our entire family.”

“Did he go with your dad when the time came?” She was still outwardly calm, but Charlie could guess what kind of thoughts were going through her head.

“To make sure he carried out his orders, yes,” Ilya said. “He left some of his men at our house that day, too.”

“And how long ago was that day?”

Ilya blinked. He was still having trouble meeting Reese's eye for more than a few seconds at a time, Charlie noticed. “Six days ago.”

Reese gripped the armrests of her chair and looked at Charlie. Six days ago was one day before she had been kidnapped. “I'm going to the restroom,” she muttered, and left the table.

Swallowing again, Ilya watched her go. “You-- neither of you are going to kill me, are you?”

“No, Ilya,” Charlie said. He watched her until she was out of sight, as well. “We're not going to kill you. But we're not done asking questions yet, either.”

Before the kid could respond, their waiter came by with their orders. Charlie thanked him, and turned back to Ilya. “Well, go ahead and eat,” he said with a smile. He dug into his sandwich (with a side of fruit salad) as they waited for Reese.

They had both nearly finished by the time she came back. Her expression was still closed off, although she gave Charlie another look when she saw the blueberry muffin at her place. Sitting down, she pushed aside the plate with the muffin and rested her arms on the table. “So, Ilya, where did Roman and your father take my father six days ago?”

He shrugged. “I don't know,” he murmured.

“You don't.” Now Reese's voice was hard and dangerous.

There was a pause. Eyes widening, Ilya looked from Charlie to Reese. “No, I swear, I don't know! When I saw you outside the warehouse, I-- I thought you were looking for my father to take revenge on him – I didn't know you were looking for a body!”

Charlie smiled again, but much less warmly. “Now you know, Ilya. Are you absolutely positive you don't know where Jack Reese was killed, or where his body is now?”

“And if you don't know,” Reese added, “can you take us to your father so we can ask him?”

“I'm sorry,” Ilya said. His voice cracked as he told her, “I don't know where my father is. He hasn't come back since he went to find you. And... he had his gun with him. I thought...” He trailed off and rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard.

Reese let out her breath. “He doesn't have a cell phone, or another way to contact him?”

“No,” Ilya said. “I don't know where he's gone. I'm sorry.” Once again, his voice dropped. His repeated apology was all but impossible to hear.

Holding back the urge to break something, Charlie said, “Ilya, if my partner and I go outside to talk for a minute, will you wait?”

The kid nodded. Reese had one eyebrow raised at him in question, but Charlie just said, “Okay, good. We'll be right back.”

As soon as they were outside the restaurant, Charlie put his hands against the wall and leaned on them, taking several deep breaths.

“Crews, are you all right?”

He stared at the sidewalk. “Roman knew where your dad was killed,” he said. “But Roman is dead – I killed him – so we can't ask him anything.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she leaned against the wall, facing him. Charlie raised his head as she spoke.

“If you hadn't killed him, one or both of us would be dead.” Her arms were folded, but she was looking at him steadily. “And even if not, there's no reason he would tell us anything.”

Charlie returned her gaze. “You're not angry?”

“Not at you,” Reese said.

“Good. 'Cuz you know, Reese, anger--”

“Poisons the mind, I know,” she interrupted, standing up as he did likewise. “You ready to see what else Ilya knows?”

Charlie smiled. “Okay. You want me to call my sister afterward?”

Reese was looking toward the door of the café. “Yeah, maybe.” She sighed. “I don't think Ilya is lying to us.”

“No,” Charlie agreed. “But maybe he can give us more ideas of what parts of town to look in, at least.”

“Crews,” she started, and then stopped.

Charlie waited, and then said, “What, Reese?”

“There are only certain areas of town where a body could be left for almost a week without anyone noticing or reporting it,” Reese said.

He blinked. “You're right.” Why hadn't that occurred to either of them before? Maybe because it's not a very pleasant thought, he answered himself almost immediately.

He had another thought. “Those parts of town weren't Roman's usual scene, either – he would have taken plenty of bodyguards.”

“And made enough of an impression on the regular inhabitants of that scene to be remembered,” Reese finished, nodding. They walked back to the entrance. “I don't think we have anything else to ask Ilya.”

Charlie agreed.

Ilya looked pleased when he was told that he could go. As he was getting up from the table, Reese stopped him with a hand on his arm. “When you see your dad again,” she said quietly, “tell him I'm not looking for revenge.”

“I'll tell him,” Ilya said, smiling for the first time. Then he turned the smile on Charlie. “And thank you for lunch, Detective.”

Charlie shook his hand. “You're welcome.”

After their new acquaintance left, Charlie sat forward and pointed at the muffin in front of his partner. “That's made with real blueberries, you know.”

“Do you want it, Crews?” Reese asked. She pushed it a few inches closer to him. “Because you're paying for it anyway, and I'm pretty sure I remember telling you I'm not hungry.”

“How about this?” Charlie suggested. “I'll take half of it with me outside while I call my sister, and you can eat the rest.”

She shrugged, smiling slightly. “Fine.”

Charlie took a knife from a nearby table and cut the muffin in half. It wasn't warm anymore, but it was definitely still fresh. “Be right back.”

“

I'll be here,” Reese said.

Fic: Truth And Life (2/?)

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 06:35:28 GMT

Title: Truth And Life
Spoilers: IWTB, all of Life
Disclaimers, summary, etc. same as in part 1.

Once again, many thanks to comice for her invaluable input on the plot, and helping me move the story forward. And thanks to missmonkeh for her keen eye and very helpful comments.

~

Chapter 2
Saturday

Charlie hung up the phone and stared at it a moment before starting to dial the next number. It was still a bit hard to process, the idea that his sister was on her way to his house at this very moment. Exciting, too. He hadn't yet had what anyone could call a family gathering at this house. The closest thing he could think of were dinners with Ted and Rachel – which hadn't been happening very recently.

Speaking of which, Charlie thought, I should probably tell Ted.

Almost as soon as he had finished the thought, Ted came into the kitchen. He stopped upon seeing Charlie. “Hey, Charlie.”

“Hi, Ted,” Charlie smiled, picking up a pear from the fruit bowl.

“I-- I didn't know you were back already,” Ted said. “Aren't you supposed to still be on vacation?”

Swallowing a bite of the pear, Charlie nodded. “I am still on vacation. I just chose to take some of my vacation here. Maybe,” he reflected, “it's just the state of being on vacation that's important, not where I am.”

Ted blinked, then shrugged. “Sure.” He had turned to leave before Charlie remembered what he was going to tell him.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. He took another bite while Ted turned around. “My sister and her partner are coming over today. I don't know how long they're staying. She said they don't have a definite departure date for their trip.” He shook his head wonderingly.

“Your sister?” Now Ted's expression changed from somewhat anxious to completely shocked. “You... have a sister?”

Charlie felt a brief stab of pain, which he concealed by turning to throw away the seeds and stem from the pear. “Uh huh. She lives out in Virginia, but she and her partner happen to be on vacation right now, too. Isn't that a coincidence?”

Ted's expression hadn't changed. “And she's coming here with her, uh, partner? Are they...?”

“What-- oh, no.” He almost laughed as he tried to picture Dana coming to a family member's house with a female partner, of the kind Ted had thought. “He used to be her partner at the FBI, and he's still her partner.”

“FBI?” Ted now looked downright alarmed.

Charlie leaned against the counter. “Former FBI, Ted. Don't worry. They're just visiting.”

“If you say so,” muttered Ted, obviously not convinced.

“I do,” Charlie said. “Anyway, I'm gonna call Reese now.”

“Why, is she coming over, too?”

Charlie blinked, wondering at the additional note of panic in Ted's voice during this question. He couldn't be scared of Reese, could he? “I don't think so,” he said. “I'm pretty sure she's still on vacation, too.”

Ted nodded slowly. “And she's not going to spend some of her vacation time here, then?”

He smiled. “I'm not sure. But I don't think so, Ted.”

“Okay.” Ted waited a moment, and when Charlie said nothing further, he exhaled, shook his head, and departed.

Charlie picked up his phone from the counter where he'd set it, dialing Reese's cell number. After two rings, she answered.

“Reese.”

He thought he could hear a man's voice in the background, but he wasn't sure. “Hey, Reese. How's your vacation going?”

She gave a little sigh. “It's fine, Crews. But I'm guessing yours isn't going so well, since you apparently have nothing better to do than to call me.”

He shrugged, although he knew she couldn't see it over the phone. “I guess I just wanted to check up. I got used to calling you while you were away.”

“Right.” But her tone had softened slightly. “Well, like I told you, I'm doing fine. Relaxing, having a good time and everything.” She paused. “And uh, how are you?”

“Me? I'm doing fine, too,” Charlie answered. “Actually my sister is coming over for a visit today.”

There was another pause. This time Charlie was already expecting her next question, so it didn't hurt as much. He knew that he could have spared himself and his friends some confusion if he just went ahead and said 'half-sister' instead of 'sister', but he just did not think of Dana as 'half'-anything.

“You have a sister?”

“Yep. She's former FBI. I think you'd like her.”

Reese took a breath. “Wow. Um, well, how long is she going to be in the area?”

“Don't know,” Charlie said. “She said she and her partner don't know for sure when they're leaving.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I'm coming back to work on Monday. I was planning on coming back to LA tomorrow night.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Charlie imagined Reese looking confused, and he smiled. “Anyway. Talk to you later, Reese.”

“Yeah. Have a good time with your sister.” She hung up.

Charlie closed his phone and walked over to the back door to look out. There were still a few hours before he could expect Dana and Mulder to arrive. Meanwhile, he should probably make some preparations – like check to see if there was a guest room ready for them. Even though Rachel wasn't going to be back for another week, he guessed Dana would rather not stay in his sort-of niece's room.

He walked upstairs to the room he had in mind. There was only one bed, but it was king size, and he wasn't worried that sharing would be a problem for Dana and her partner. No sheets on it currently, but he could fix that.

After everything was set up, Charlie went downstairs to find Ted. He wasn't sure whether Ted would want to eat dinner with them, but he would at least ask.

Charlie watched from the front porch as Dana and Mulder pulled up in a nice-looking rental car. They both looked amazed as they got out, staring up at the house.

“Charlie, this place is... it's incredible!” Dana called, walking toward her brother with Mulder right behind her.

Charlie smiled. “You like it?”

She nodded, still staring. Then she managed to tear her gaze away to focus on him, in time to give him another hug. “Thanks for inviting us over,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming,” Charlie replied, closing his eyes for a second to savor the feeling. They broke apart and he shook Mulder's hand. “Need any help with your luggage?”

“Thanks, but I don't think so,” Mulder said. He glanced at Dana. “We could bring it in later...”

Dana hesitated. “You really wouldn't mind if we spent the night here, Charlie?”

“Not at all,” he said. He gestured toward the front door. “Or more than one night. I have plenty of space.”

She smiled. “All right, then let's bring in our bags.”

Charlie got them settled into the guest room. His guests made a few more admiring comments and glances as they walked through the house, and Charlie realized halfway to the staircase that they might like a grand tour. “I can show you around the place after you drop off your stuff,” he offered.

“Sure.” Dana seemed pleased.

He thought the tour went well. Of course, there was one area of the house that he did not show to his guests – although from what he knew about Mulder, he thought the man might be an asset in helping untangle the conspiracy. But he wasn't planning on showing that room to anyone else, for the moment at least.

It took until they came back downstairs for Dana to comment on the lack of furniture. “A lot of these rooms don't have much in them, Charlie. Don't you want more couches, or chairs, or something?”

Charlie shrugged. “Not really. I like open space.” It was the first thing his big sister had said that could be considered advice, but it didn't bother him.

She looked at him, and then said, “Well, you certainly have plenty of it. It's a beautiful house.”

Mulder, who was looking out the back door at the pool, murmured his agreement.

“Do you--” Dana started, and then stopped.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

“Do you live here alone?”

Charlie shook his head. “Nope. Ted lives here, too. And Rachel, but she's gone for another week.”

The inquisitive expression on his sister's face told Charlie he'd better explain a little more. “Ted's my friend, and my financial advisor. We met in prison.”

“Ah.” Dana nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Charlie realized that was the first time he had said the word 'prison'. He didn't like making Dana feel uncomfortable, but on the other hand, they were never going to be able to regain any kind of sibling relationship if they tried to ignore the issue. If you cannot find the truth right where you are, he recited to himself, where else do you expect to find it?

“And Rachel is Rachel Seybolt,” he continued. It took a moment, but he saw understanding dawn in Dana's eyes... and in Mulder's. The man had come up behind Dana during the conversation, and was now listening silently.

There was a short pause. “How is she doing?” Dana's voice was quiet, and she was looking at him with the same honestly caring expression as she had in the restaurant yesterday.

Charlie smiled. “She's doing much better.” Then he turned to walk toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “You two want to eat?”

“That depends,” Dana answered, following him with a small teasing grin. “Did you cook?”

He bit back a laugh. “I'll have you know that I can cook just fine, thank you.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her gently toward the cupboard against the opposite wall. “You can set the table, just for that.”

Mulder was standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway during this exchange. Catching his eye, Dana gestured to him. “Come on, Mulder, give me a hand with these plates. If that's all right with my brother, that is.” She glanced at Charlie, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Go right ahead, Mulder,” Charlie said, standing aside to let him cross the room.

Dinner was, once again, a good time. Ted didn't make an appearance, although Charlie thought he heard him rustling around in the kitchen at one point. He probably still wasn't sure that these former FBI agents would be comfortable dinner companions, Charlie guessed.

Over the meal, the three of them shared a few stories of some of their more unusual cases. Charlie wasn't too surprised that the strangeness of the X-Files that Mulder and his sister brought up more than topped even the strangest of his and Reese's cases. But he decided he was just fine with the LAPD's more limited range of bizarreness. Mutants and vampires were not something he felt compelled to have more experience with - or any experience, for that matter.

After the meal, Charlie offered them their choice of wine, coffee, and fruit sorbet. He had managed to track down a few local vendors who sold real fruit sorbet, and had been buying one carton of each flavor that sounded good to him per week. This week it was kiwi. Charlie was pleased that both Dana and Mulder tried some, and called it delicious.

Silence fell for a moment, as they each finished off their dessert. Then Charlie spoke up. “If you two brought your swimsuits, we could swim. Unless,” he turned to Dana, “it's too soon after eating for us to be swimming.”

“That's actually a common misconception,” Dana told him. “There has never been a drowning proved to be caused by going into the water too soon after eating.” She looked at Mulder. “And yes, we do have our suits. I wouldn't mind a swim.”

Mulder opened his mouth, then paused for a second before he said, “Sounds good to me, too.”

“Great,” Charlie said, wondering what the man had been about to say. “I'll meet you out there.”

He found his towel and changed into his swim trunks quickly enough to beat his guests out to the pool. The summer heat still lingered in the air, and Charlie savored the coolness of the water as he dangled his legs over the side.

The sliding glass door opened behind him. “Mulder can't find his suit, but he'll be-- oh my God, Charlie, when did you get shot?”

“Earlier this year,” Charlie answered, looking up at her as she stared at him with her eyes wide and her hand over her mouth. “It's all healed, Dana. Don't worry about it.”

She swallowed. Her eyes were roving over the other scars on his torso, and she was clearly getting even more upset. “Charlie...”

He reached up a hand and took hers. He was reminded somehow of the time he had come home from school with a bloody nose after tangling with Ty, the third grade king of the playground bullies, and Dana had been the first one to see him.

“Dana. Stop worrying about it. I'm fine.” Smiling, he squeezed her fingers lightly in his. “Besides, they're very impressive – or so I hear. They go well with the tattoos.”

“I'm sure.” But she managed a smile in return, before walking over to set down her towel on one of the deck chairs. She was wearing a fairly modest two-piece; Charlie debated commenting on the exit wound scar he could see on her lower back.

As he stood up, he said, “Yours isn't nearly as impressive,” and stepped off the edge into the water before she could react. He let the water envelop him completely for a few seconds before coming to the surface. Dana had turned to face him, one hand on her hip.

The sound of the door opening and closing again announced Mulder's arrival. Charlie watched, treading water in the deep end, as Mulder set down his towel next to Dana's and handed her an elastic band.

“Oh, thanks, Mulder.” She took it and then frowned. “But it'll still get in my face if I put it in a ponytail.”

Mulder rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, Scully, I'll braid it. But you know I'm an amateur at best at this girly stuff. Don't expect it to look like a picture in a magazine.”

Dana sat down at the edge of the pool, bending her head forward. “I'm fairly sure I don't want to look anything like the pictures in your magazines, Mulder.”

Charlie smiled, then turned to float on his back and look up at the sky.

That night, Charlie was brought out of a deep sleep by the sound of someone walking down the hall to the stairs. He was instantly alert, and he reached for his weapon before realizing that it was probably either his sister or Mulder having trouble sleeping. Probably. He would make absolutely sure who it was before shooting this time; one family member shot was more than enough to last the rest of his life.

Charlie crept downstairs as silently as he could, gun at his side. He recognized Mulder's silhouette against the back door before he got too close, and coughed quietly to alert him to his presence.

Mulder tensed and turned quickly, relaxing when he saw who it was. Then his gaze traveled to the gun in Charlie's hand. “Whoa.” He raised his hands. “I swear, I'm unarmed.”

“Sorry,” Charlie said. He walked over to the one piece of furniture in the room – a table with a lamp on it – and set down the weapon. “Couldn't sleep?”

Mulder nodded. “Oh – I'm sorry, I guess I woke you when I came downstairs.”

“I'm a light sleeper,” Charlie told him. “Not your fault.”

There was a pause. Charlie got the feeling once again that Mulder was sizing him up, trying to judge how he would react if he asked the questions he wanted to ask. Unlike other people that Charlie met now, though, he could tell that Mulder would not be put off by any kind of offhand answer. Maybe Charlie could get in a few questions of his own. But he'd try to be polite.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” he offered, keeping his voice low in deference to his sister. “I have lots of fresh fruit... and beer. And we could sit down.”

“I'll take a beer,” Mulder said. He followed Charlie through the kitchen, where Charlie stopped and handed him a beer and got one for himself. Then they continued into the living room, which actually did have two couches in it.

Silence fell for a few more seconds. Charlie swallowed a mouthful and asked casually, “So how long has Dana worn her hair that long? She never used to let it get past her shoulders.”

Mulder stretched his arms behind his head as he said, “Yeah, it's sort of a new thing, I guess. She's been letting it stay long for about two years.” Then he smiled. “Fortunately, I've only been pressed into service to braid it a few times. You saw how well that turns out.”

Charlie returned the smile. He was beginning to think Dana could definitely have done worse in choosing a partner. Not that she needed his approval, of course, especially after all this time.

Mulder took another swallow from his bottle and ran a hand across his face. “You know, I've never known any member of Scully's family all that well.”

“No?” Charlie was a little surprised. Dana had been this man's partner for more than a decade and he had seen her through numerous crises, and yet he still felt like an outsider? Well, Charlie could identify with that... for very different reasons.

“I guess there was a period of time that her mom and I talked frequently,” Mulder conceded, “but that was about it.”

Charlie kept his face impassive with some difficulty. The ache of that particular loss had not yet faded. “And I'm guessing my sister hasn't told you much about me,” he said.

Mulder hesitated, but met Charlie's eyes squarely. “No. Not much. I didn't have anything but her reaction to the news, and family resemblance, to go on when the story of your arrest broke.”

This didn't surprise Charlie. Dana had always been a very private person, and it had been early in her partnership with Mulder. She probably hadn't known him well enough at that point, and then later it was just easier to keep quiet about the whole thing. Ignoring the pain Mulder's comment about family resemblance caused, he decided to make sure it didn't take too long for him to come to the point. “You're probably wondering why my last name isn't Scully.”

“Well... yeah, actually, I am.” He seemed embarrassed. “But, um, we just met yesterday, and this isn't an interrogation. You don't have to--”

“No, that's all right,” Charlie interrupted. “Besides, this way, you can hear my side of the story first, and then ask my sister later to confirm it.” His smile took the edge out of his words.

Mulder raised his eyebrows, then nodded slowly. “All right.”

Charlie took a deep breath. It had been so many years – and many of those years before he was inside, which added to the feeling of it being almost another lifetime – but he could still remember it all. The only trouble was figuring out what to say, now that he had decided to say it. Maybe the fact that Mulder was still almost a stranger to him would make it easier... or not.

“Dana is actually my half-sister,” Charlie began. He waited a moment, and saw the surprise and shock dawn on Mulder's face before he continued. “I'm the only child of Margaret Scully and... a family friend. None of us kids knew until I started looking into the family's history toward the end of high school and accidentally found some old letters. I ended up moving to California, changing my name to my biological father's last name, and getting married right out of high school.” He took another long drink, once again feeling the irony of his decision about his name.

“Well...” Mulder said, letting out a breath. “That does explain a lot. And I think-- I think I'm even more glad Scully and I ran into you the other day.”

“Me, too.” Charlie rotated the empty beer bottle with his fingertips. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Do you have family, Mulder?”

He swallowed, and shook his head. “Scully's it for me.”

And your son, Charlie thought, but didn't say it out loud. He still was at a loss to understand how these two could have given up their son, but he had the strong feeling that bringing it up with either of them would only tear open old wounds.

After a few more moments, Mulder stood up. “Thanks for the beer.”

“You're welcome.” Charlie took the other empty bottle. Ted appreciated it when he remembered to put glass bottles in the separate bin for recycling.

Just before Mulder left the room, Charlie thought of another question to ask him. “Mulder.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“Does Dana-- do you two go to church?”

Mulder looked surprised. “Uh, well, I think Scully spends time in the chapel in her hospital fairly often, and she doesn't miss the big Catholic holidays at the local church.” His smile was wry as he added, “But I don't usually go with her. I've never been much of a churchgoer.”

Charlie returned the smile. “I'm trying Zen.”

“Zen?” Mulder repeated. “How's that working out for you?”

“I'm getting there, I think,” Charlie said. He paused, and cocked his head. “If there is a 'there' to get to... which I'm not so sure about.”

He laughed quietly. “Sounds to me like you're getting it.”

Another moment passed, and Mulder headed back upstairs. Lost in thought and memory, Charlie stayed where he was for almost twenty more minutes before finally following suit.

Author's Note for Chapter 2: In regard to the old wives' tale about waiting an hour to go swimming after you eat, see the following link: http://www.snopes.com/oldwives/hourwait.asp . Scully would totally know this, even though I just found out about it earlier this year.

Fic: Truth And Life (1/?)

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 00:51:55 GMT

I thought it was time to share part 1 of this WIP.

Title: Truth And Life
Spoilers: IWTB, all of Life
Keywords: MSR, XF/Life.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Slightly AU. What if there was a very good reason we never saw Charlie Scully on the show? What would happen if he met up with his sister again, much later on in both of their lives?
Disclaimer: I don't own Life or XF, or their associated characters.
Feedback: Would be most welcome. Send it to pomme_noire AT hotmail dot com, or leave a comment here.

Author's Note: This is an idea that occurred to me as my sister and I were catching up on the first season of Life. I bounced many plot ideas off her as I wrote, and owe her thanks for several good suggestions.
Many thanks also go to Anjou for her incredibly helpful plot and background ideas, which have allowed me to fit these universes together and keep moving the story along!
Thanks also to missmonkeh for taking a detailed look at the story, and making sure it makes sense and flows - even for someone who hasn't watched Life (yet!).
~~~~~

Life is like stepping onto a boat that is about to sail out to sea and sink. - Shunryu Suzuki

Chapter 1

Detective Charlie Crews held a hand up to shade his face from the setting sun. He smiled, recalling a comment his partner had made to him a while back. She had asked him why he hadn't taken his money and gone to lie on a beach somewhere. Here he was now, on a beach. Of course, this probably wasn't the kind of beach Reese had been thinking of when she'd asked him that, and he wasn't lying on it – he was standing. But still. He might lie on it later. He'd have to tell her that he had taken her advice.

It was peaceful here. Despite the beautiful weather, the beach was not too crowded. Charlie guessed that this particular part of the California coast was not the most popular tourist destination in the state. Which was fine by him. He had driven quite a distance out of LA to get here, and it had been worth the trip.

He stood at the edge of the surf, barefoot, and smiled again as he listened to the rhythm of the waves hitting the sand. Yeah, he could definitely see himself coming back here.

Quiet laughter behind him brought Charlie out of his reverie. He didn't turn right away, but the smile on his face began to fade. There was something about that laugh – something strangely familiar, though he had not heard it in a very long time.

Slowly, Charlie turned around. A tall, dark-haired man was walking next to a short woman with long red hair. He was bending to whisper directly into her ear, and whatever he said made her laugh again. That, plus the fact that they moved out of the shadow of the rock face into the sunlight, confirmed it for Charlie. It was her. It had to be.

It took him several seconds to do anything more than stare. Finally, he took one step toward the couple, cleared his throat, and said, “Dana?”

The two immediately stopped moving. They turned to look at him, and Charlie watched as his sister's expression changed from one he recognized as hiding faint fear, to utter shock, to what he hoped was pleasure. “Charlie? Charlie? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

She stared, then ran forward, and Charlie opened his arms just in time for her to embrace him. Apparently it wasn't an entirely unwelcome surprise, he thought, closing his eyes as he returned the hug.

They separated, and Dana looked up into Charlie's face. “It-- it's good to see you, Charlie,” she said after a pause. She looked unsure of his reaction.

“It's a surprise, though, isn't it?” he asked, aware that she would see through his smile.

She nodded. Her hair was much longer than it had been when he had last seen her. “Well, yes. It's been a while since we've kept up with the news from out here regularly, but...” She hesitated, looked down, and then met his eyes again. “How long has it been since you were exonerated?”

“About two years,” Charlie answered.

She swallowed, and looked down again. At that moment, her companion, who had been watching this exchange silently but with interest, cleared his throat. “Oh, I'm sorry,” Dana said quickly. “Um, Charlie, this is Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is... my brother Charlie.”

Charlie shook the man's hand, sure he was being sized up just as he was sizing Mulder up. He remembered hearing that his sister had been partnered with a man named Mulder at the Bureau, but they sure didn't look like they were on a case right now. “Nice to meet you, Agent Mulder.”

The man nodded. “Nice to meet you, too. It's actually just Mulder now.”

“Oh,” Charlie said. He looked from Mulder to his sister. “You two aren't with the Bureau anymore?”

Dana sighed, then laughed a little sadly. “I guess we've got a lot to catch up on, don't we?”

“I guess we do,” Charlie agreed. He walked over to where he had left his shoes and picked them up. “Do you know any good restaurants around here? We could have dinner, if you two have time.”

His sister looked at Mulder, and then turned her gaze – so familiar and yet so disconcertingly changed by the years – back to Charlie. “We'd love to,” she said quietly. “There's a great seafood restaurant not far from here.”

“Okay.” The sound of the waves crashing against the shore faded behind them as they started up the path to where Charlie – and, he assumed, his sister and Mulder – had parked. “Do you want to carpool, or give me directions so I can meet you guys there?”

Dana hesitated for a moment, and then spoke to her – boyfriend? Husband? Neither of those words seemed to Charlie to fit. “Mulder, would you mind if I rode with Charlie on the way to the restaurant? It's just... there's a lot we need to...”

Mulder nodded as she trailed off. “No problem. I'll meet you both there.” He gave Charlie a long, searching look, then squeezed Dana's hand before heading toward their car.

The two reunited siblings walked slowly to Charlie's car. Charlie knew his sister wanted to say something, maybe an apology of some kind. He wasn't about to jump in with a reassurance that would not be genuine. This needed to proceed as truthfully as it could for both of them.

She stopped walking suddenly, staring at his car. “Charlie... wow.”

“What?” He followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah, that.” He guessed the car was a little more luxurious than she was expecting. “It's new. My last car crashed into an FBI agent's garage.”

Dana looked at him and raised an eyebrow in an expression that was startlingly similar to one that Reese used on him frequently. But she shook her head and said nothing.

As soon as they were in the car, Dana gave him some directions to the restaurant, and then fell silent. He waited. “Charlie, I-- I don't know if you can forgive me, but I want to apologize,” she began. “I can't imagine what you've gone through, and you should have had your family there to support you through all of it.”

Charlie looked at her briefly, nodded, and turned his eyes back to the road.

She took a deep breath. “Anyway, um, I'd be happy to tell you whatever you want to know about... about what you missed, or listen to whatever you want to say to me.”

He thought for a moment. “I wouldn't mind hearing what you've been up to.”

“Since the last time I saw you?” Dana gave another unhappy laugh. “Let me try to figure out where I should start.”

“You'd just gone into remission,” Charlie prompted her. He flashed back to how thin and fragile she had looked during that brief solo visit. She had been the only family member who came to see him, despite the fact that he had family who lived in the same state. “And you didn't want to tell me what else happened while you were in California.”

His sister's face grew shadowed. “Yeah. I was... I was right in the middle of a very personal investigation. It involved a little girl who turned out to be my daughter.”

Charlie turned to her again. “Turned out to be? You didn't know she was?”

Haltingly, Dana explained the all too brief days during which she had known the little girl, and what she knew of her origins. It was all unbelievable-sounding, but this was Dana telling him the details, and Charlie had never known his sister to make things up.

From there, Dana's story only got more unbelievable. Charlie got the feeling he was getting a sanitized summary of events, but this version was still plenty to absorb. His sister and her partner had had a child together, which they had been forced to give up for adoption due to threats to their family, and then they had both been fugitives from the FBI for a year. And then her partner – this Mulder that she was still with, despite it all – had finally had the charges against him dropped last year. They were currently on vacation together – Dana's first vacation since getting her new job at a small local hospital in Virginia.

After Dana finished her tale, Charlie took a deep breath. “Wow. I sure don't have as much to tell you as all that.” They had arrived at the restaurant by this point. Charlie noted that Mulder had been waiting in his vehicle for them to pull up. “How much does Mulder know about me?”

Dana sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I'm not totally sure. I told him that you and the rest of the family weren't on the best of terms. And I think he must have done some more research himself when...” She looked down and bit her lip. “When you went to prison. Because he was unusually quiet and sympathetic after the news broke.”

Charlie nodded, and they both got out of the car. There was a brief awkward pause as the three of them met up outside the restaurant.

“Well, shall we go in?” Charlie said finally, with a bright smile. He motioned for the others to proceed him inside.

The restaurant was busy, but not so crowded that they had to wait long to be seated – which was a relief. Charlie knew he hadn't quite regained the skill of making small talk yet, and he had the feeling it might be considered impolite to come right out and ask the questions he wanted to ask this Mulder character. Although, he thought, eying the man discreetly as the waitress led them to a table, he got the feeling Mulder might not mind as much as Dana would.

They sat down, and there was another short silence as they looked at their menus. “Nice place,” Charlie commented, sincerely admiring. The décor was tasteful, and the walls were almost entirely windows, which was something he could appreciate.

“Yeah,” Dana said, looking up for a second from her perusal of the menu. “They have really good food, too.”

“A lot of selection.” Charlie was a little dismayed at this, actually. He usually had Ted around to give him recommendations when the food was this fancy.

“We could order one appetizer to share,” Mulder suggested. He glanced at Dana before continuing, “Scully-- Dana and I tried the jumbo white Mexican shrimp last time. They were very good, and there was enough for three people.”

Dana nodded, looking faintly amused. “Although you didn't have any trouble finishing it off as I recall, Mulder.”

Charlie looked at the description of the shrimp dish. The vegetables included with the shrimp sounded good – but... “What does it mean by a 'napoleon of yellow squash, eggplant, zucchini, tomato, and mozzarella'?”

His sister stared at him for a moment. “I don't know. I think we had--” She looked at Mulder again, and then at the menu. “We had the Mexican shrimp cocktail, not the one with the vegetables.”

“But I'd be willing to try that one,” Mulder added, and Dana agreed.

“Okay then.” Charlie put down his menu. “How about we try it?”

Their waitress, a pretty young woman who had introduced herself as Janet, came by. “Are you all ready to order some appetizers?”

Dana gave her their order, and Janet nodded as she wrote it down. “A very good choice.”

“Can you tell me what it means by a 'napoleon' of all the vegetables that go with the shrimp?” Charlie asked, just before Janet turned to walk away. “Is it supposed to remind you of Napoleon in some way?”

Janet blinked. “You know, I'm not sure why it's called that. I know that it's squash, eggplant, and the other vegetables layered with the mozzarella, but I'll ask the chef about the name and get back to you.”

“Thank you, Janet.” Charlie smiled, and Janet gave him a lingering look and a smile as she left. He turned back to his companions, and saw Dana raising her eyebrow as she stared at him. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It's just... I don't remember you taking such a keen interest in the details of food preparation terms.”

Leaning back in his seat, Charlie replied, “I'm just curious. So I asked someone who might know the answer. 'Only the crystal-clear question yields a transparent answer,' after all.”

“Uh huh.” Dana was smiling, but still looking at him skeptically. Charlie looked over at her partner, and saw that he had apparently watched the entire exchange with more than a trace of amusement.

“Well, on that note,” Mulder said, “what brings you to this part of California? You're with the LAPD, right?”

“Yep.” Charlie watched Mulder's face carefully. This question could be transparent, but he wasn't going to bet on it. “I'm a homicide detective. Just down here for a few days' vacation. My partner's on leave and the captain thought I could use a few days off, too.”

“Is your partner all right?” It was Dana who asked this question, but Charlie could see genuine concern in Mulder's expression, too.

“Reese? Yeah, she's fine,” Charlie answered. He wondered what she was doing at the moment... and then smiled faintly, guessing it might be something with Tidwell. “There was a little bit of... excitement with a Russian mob boss, but she's fine.”

Both of them looked suitably impressed by that offhand comment. Charlie took the moment to pick up his menu again. There was still way too much to choose from. Maybe he could narrow it down right away and choose something from the “Fresh Fish” list. It was a seafood restaurant, so it seemed like he ought to order seafood.

After a minute, Janet returned, with a platter of Mexican shrimp and a smile directed at Charlie. “Here you are.” She set it down. “I talked to the chef.”

Charlie nodded, expectant.

“He says,” Janet reported, “it's meant to be like the French dessert that's called a napoleon, which is layered pastry and cream.”

“Oh,” he said, returning her smile, “well, that makes a lot more sense. Thanks for finding that out for us, Janet.”

Janet put a lock of hair behind her ear, still smiling. “Not a problem.”She took out her notepad. “Is everyone ready to order?”

Dana cleared her throat, shooting Charlie a look he couldn't interpret before giving her order. Mulder gave his next, and Charlie finished up.

“I think I'll try the...” Charlie glanced down again. He had no idea how to pronounce the middle two words, but he guessed Janet would get the picture. She seemed like an intelligent young woman. “The grilled... Scottish salmon?”

“The grilled Loch Duart Scottish salmon?” Janet asked, pronouncing it perfectly – as far as Charlie could tell, anyway. “Excellent choice.” She gave the whole table another friendly smile. “Do you all want to start off with any drinks to go with your Mexican shrimp?”

Charlie was more than happy to defer to his companions' preferences of a wine to share. They ordered, and then Janet departed.

Charlie realized that his sister and Mulder were staring at him again. “Something wrong?”

Mulder just smirked as Dana said, “Our waitress seemed a lot more... enthusiastic about your choice of entrée than mine or Mulder's, Charlie.”

“I don't think it was your brother's order that she was enthusiastic about,” Mulder remarked, taking a forkful of the shrimp appetizer.

He shrugged and smiled, and changed the subject. “So, Mulder, if you're not with the FBI, what are you up to these days? I know Dana's a doctor.”

The man leaned back, rubbing his right arm absently. “That's a good question.” He gave a sort of half smile. “Until recently, my full-time occupation has been keeping a low enough profile that I don't get snatched by the Feds. I spent a lot of time inside.”

“It's nice to be able to get out more, isn't it?” Charlie said blandly, reaching for a bite of the vegetable napoleon.

Dana winced, glanced at her brother, and turned to look at Mulder. To his credit, Mulder didn't take long to realize his mistake and recovered well. “Uh, yeah, it has been nice. But anyway, I think I'll mostly be doing consulting work with the Bureau for a while at least. There are still some cases I can help with.”

“That's good.” He met his sister's eyes. “And how's hospital life treating you?”

“It's good, for the most part,” she answered after a moment. “It's-- it's a very small Catholic hospital, so they aren't always open to the most cutting-edge treatments, but I do feel like I'm making a difference.” She touched her necklace, and then fiddled with her napkin. “Long shifts, though.”

He had noticed the gold cross necklace back at the beach, and he nodded now at the additional confirmation that she still had some kind of ties to their Catholic upbringing. He hoped her faith had given her more comfort over the years than it had given him. Thinking about this topic almost made him ask about the rest of the family, but he thought it probably wasn't kind to bring that up here, when they were trying to have a nice dinner.

“How have you been, Charlie?” Dana asked then, her eyes soft.

Unexpectedly, Charlie found that he had to look away for a moment to regain his composure. It had been so long since he had seen her – and even though there had been damage to their relationship from both sides, he had missed her. A lot.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie opened his eyes and looked up. His smile this time both acknowledged his pain and masked it. “I've been good. I've got a good life.” He hoped Dana could tell that he wasn't giving her a pat answer. He didn't want to give her a list of things in his life that made it good, because it wasn't the things that made it good.

She nodded. “I'm glad to hear it.” She seemed to have understood, he thought.

Their meals arrived shortly thereafter, and the next several minutes were occupied by all three of them enjoying their choices. When Janet came by to check on them, there was a chorus of very positive responses about the food.

“Great,” Janet said. She waited for a moment, and then, with another long look at Charlie, said, “I'll be around if any of you need anything. Oh, and make sure to save room for dessert.”

Charlie watched her leave, ignoring his companions' continued quiet amusement. He thought he might just do that.

“So how long are you two going to be in town?”

He held open the restaurant door for them as he waited for an answer. The night had been good, he reflected: good food, a chance to spend time with his sister and her... well, partner seemed like the right word, and also a business card with a phone number on it, slipped into his hand by Janet as he handed her the check.

Dana turned to Mulder briefly. “For a week or so. We don't have any definite departure date yet,” she said, and Mulder nodded.

“Really?” That was somewhat of a surprise. The Dana Charlie knew was not the spontaneous type. She liked to have everything, even her time off, well-planned.

“Yeah, really.” She raised a challenging eyebrow. “I know. Very uncharacteristic. Mulder's a bad influence on me.”

Mulder put up his hands, looking at Charlie earnestly. “Hey, before you both gang up on me, I'll just tell you right now that I've warned her about my influence. Quite a few times.”

She nudged him. “And I stuck with you anyway.”

Charlie was sure he caught a glimpse of something like amazement in Mulder's expression as the man looked down at Dana – that, and a kind of love that he hadn't seen much in his life. He looked away for a second and then said, “You should come over to my place, then, if you're sticking around California for a while. There's plenty of room.”

The couple exchanged another glance, and then Dana smiled again. “We'd love to.”

“If you'd rather not drive to LA tonight,” Charlie suggested, “you could drive up tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mulder put in. “We're still a little jet-lagged from our flight, so it might be better if we waited until morning.”

“Okay. I'll give you directions before you go.” Charlie smiled as he shook Mulder's hand again, and gave his sister another hug. Yes, it had been a very good night. Maybe tomorrow he could convince Reese to come over. He had a feeling that she and Dana might hit it off.
~

A/N Part 2: Any geographical or timeline errors contained herein are all mine, and if you are kind, you can consider them (at least the timeline ones) part of the AU aspect of the story.

Fic: A Wolf at the Door

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 22:43:09 GMT

So, that In Plain Sight fic I mentioned I was writing? Here it is.

Title: A Wolf at the Door
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nothing in particular
Summary: While guarding a witness, Mary and Marshall encounter a situation neither of them would have ever expected. Crackfic.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or this show.
Feedback: Would be welcomed! Tell me what you think here, or at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Author's Note: I make no apologies for the wackiness of this idea. I didn't even have a crazy dream to base it off this time. Thanks to vitawash24 for reading through it for me, and for inspiring me to post this with the existence of her awesome House crackfics. Many thanks also to kaffyr for her helpful suggestions!

<Mary. Wake up. Our witness has flown the coop.>

“Mm.” Mary rolled over toward Marshall's voice, eyes still closed. “What'd you say?”

<I said, our witness is gone. Vamoosed. Hit the road.> He paused for a second, and she began to notice that there was something weird about the way he was talking. <And, uh... something else happened, too.>

“He's gone, and something else happened?” Mary sat up. “Don't tell me it's worse than--” She stopped, having finally looked toward Marshall. There was no one there – except a large, brownish-gray... that had to be a wolf. She bit back an exclamation, staying perfectly still.

<You see?> came Marshall's voice. <I'd like to think this qualifies as pretty bad.>

Breathing as quietly as she could, Mary leaned toward the nightstand where her weapon was lying. If she could just reach it without startling this animal... How the hell did a wolf get into my motel room?

The wolf seemed to be watching her closely. When her hand began to reach toward the nightstand, it backed up. <Whoa, Mary, I'm unarmed – well, technically speaking, anyway. Don't shoot!>

Abruptly, Mary realized that although she could still hear her partner's voice without seeing him, it sounded like it was coming from-- no. That was impossible. She squinted, and pushed her hair out of her face. The wolf was still watching her, meeting her eyes in a way that was oddly familiar.

“Marshall?!”

The wolf nodded. <Yep. Believe it or not... but I'd really prefer if you believed it, since otherwise you'll probably shoot at me, and I'll end up running into my room to hide under the bed.>

Her mouth dropped open. “You... you're a wolf.”

<I noticed,> he said dryly. <And meanwhile, our witness is still missing, and I'm kinda out of commission, so if you wanted to call Stan and check Roger's room for clues...>

“I--” She shook her head and tried again. “I-- You weren't a wolf yesterday.”

There was what sounded like a sigh in her head. <Excellent observation skills, as always.> The wolf – Marshall – sat down. <It happened this morning after I heard a noise from Roger's room and got up to check on him.>

Mary took a deep breath. This was just too impossible to even begin to deal with. “Okay,” she said, mostly to herself. “I'm-- I'm gonna go check on Roger.” She stood up and picked up her weapon, looking at the wolf uneasily the whole time. “You just... stay.”

<Very funny.> But he just watched her as she left the room.

The door to Roger's room was closed. Mary knocked. “Hey, good morning, Roger. You okay in there?”

There was no response. She knocked again, louder. “Roger, it's Mary. I need to talk to you.”

<He's not there, I already told you.>

Mary jumped and then sighed, looking over her shoulder at Marshall (was it actually him?). “I thought I told you to stay.”

He watched her out of eyes that were too intelligent and familiar to be anyone else. <Yeah, well, I'm not a dog – but I do have a rather keen sense of smell at the moment, and I can tell you he's not in there.>

“Uh huh.” Mary turned back toward the door. “This is too weird,” she muttered.

<Oh, I'm sure it's terribly weird for you,> Marshall said, heavy sarcasm in his voice. Or whatever it was.

Shaking her head again, she tried the door. It was unlocked. “Roger, I'm opening the door, so you better be decent!”

Pushing it open, Mary saw that the room was dark, and the closet door revealed an empty interior. The covers on the bed were thrown back, and there was no sign of Roger anywhere. “Damn,” she breathed, opening her cell phone.

<Told you so,> Marshall put in as she dialed Stan. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary thought his tail might be wagging slightly, but she was not going to look to be sure.

As soon as she finished reporting the situation (leaving out the apparent transformation of her partner), and accepting their boss' pointed remarks about letting a witness leave without either of them noticing until he was already gone, Mary put her phone away and sighed again. “So what, was it the full moon last night or something?” she said, turning back to the wolf in the hallway.

<No, the full moon was last week,> he said.

“Why am I not surprised that you know that?”

<And I'm almost positive I'm not a werewolf,> Marshall continued, ignoring this, <not that I was planning to bite you anyway.>

“Good.” Mary stared at him for a moment, and then turned back toward the deserted room in front of her. “I'm carrying on a conversation with a wolf. Hey, how are we even talking?” She looked at him again, waiting to see what he would come up with.

<That, I don't really know.> He blinked, and his ears twitched forward. <But I would guess it's some kind of telepathy that I'm sending and you're receiving.>

She laughed once, incredulous. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

As she was about to step forward into the room, Marshall stood and said sharply, <Wait – I don't think it's a good idea for you to go in there.>

“What do you mean? There's no one in there, you said so yourself.” She put her hand to her holster. “Unless your keen nose has picked up something else?”

<Not exactly,> he said, moving closer and peering into the room. <I just have a really bad feeling about you going in there.>

Mary looked down at her partner, trying not to focus on the fact that he was currently half her height and covered in fur. “Well, if Stan gets here and we haven't even processed Roger's room yet, he's going to be a little confused. And he's going to be even more confused when he sees you, since I'm still really confused – so I'm gonna see what I can find in here, unless you have something more definite to tell me.”

<Okay,> Marshall said, sounding uneasy. He looked up at her. <Just... be careful, all right?>

She shrugged. “When am I not?”

Marshall made no reply, and Mary took a step forward through the doorway. Before she made it another step, she felt a strange tingling sensation begin to spread all over her body. Oh... That cannot be good, was her last thought before she fell to the ground.

“Mary! Oh, great!”

Through a momentary daze, Mary heard her partner's exclamation. She struggled to get up, and found to her surprise that her clothes no longer seemed to fit and in fact were making it harder to stand. When she finally extricated herself, she realized in horror exactly why: she was now standing on four legs, in the body of a wolf. Her clothes and gun were in a pile under her.

<Oh my God. Marshall! Look what happened!> She ran over to the doorway and into the hall.

Marshall, clearly now human, stuck his head out of his room and stared at her. “Oh... see, I told you I had a bad feeling about you going in there.”

Mary almost growled, but stopped herself in time. <Are you just going to stand there and say 'I told you so' or help me get my clothes out of Roger's room?>

“Um, hold on a minute.” He looked embarrassed. “I have to finish getting dressed first.” He disappeared inside his room.

She had no trouble hearing his response through the closed door. “Well, yeah. When I first changed this morning, I had to take my clothes back in here.”

Briefly imagining these scenarios, Mary felt some amusement, which dissipated when she turned around to look at her clothes in the room. <So, if someone who's human goes in there, they turn into a wolf,> she mused, <but then if someone else goes in, the first person changes back.> She sighed. <This sucks.>

“That about sums it up,” Marshall said, opening his door and coming to stand next to her. Looking up at him, Mary found that her vision was now very different: she could no longer see colors, and she tended to focus more on movement than objects that weren't moving. And Marshall had definitely been right to point out the increase in sense of smell. She could tell immediately that the clothes he was wearing had been washed before he put them on, and also that he hadn't showered yet.

He continued to look at her intently, so she stared right back. <What? I mean, besides the obvious.>

“It's just... you look totally different, of course,” he told her, “but still somehow like yourself.”

Mary sighed again, and turned to look toward Roger's room. <Yeah, you looked that way, too.> She walked inside – experiencing no tingling sensation this time – and started to push her clothes and gun out into the hall. <It's a good thing it's so damn early,> she muttered, <or the other guests in this fine establishment would be having one hell of a show.>

“Speaking of which,” Marshall said, “when is Stan getting here?”

<He said he'd coordinate with the locals to try to stop Roger before he gets too far, and then it'd be about fifteen minutes,> she replied. <That was about three minutes ago, I'd say.> By this point, she'd managed to get all of her belongings out of the room, so she stopped and glared at her partner. <You gonna help me now or what?>

He blinked. “Sure. I just assumed you wouldn't want me touching your clothes, especially the--”

<Okay, I'll take most of the clothes,> Mary cut in, seeing his point. <You can take what I don't.> She grabbed as much as she could in her mouth – doing her best to ignore the unpleasant fabric tastes – and carried them to her room. Marshall followed, carrying her holster and shirt and putting them on her bed.

<Thanks.> Mary sat down. It was amazing, and not exactly pleasant, what she could smell in this motel room. It had seemed clean to her yesterday.

“So I guess we need to see what answers, if any, can be found in our witness' room,” Marshall said. He stood up from the chair by her bed.

Mary stood as well. <And where do you think you're going?>

“To his room,” he answered, confused.

“Yes, we've established this.”

<Well, then, don't be a moron,> Mary said briskly, pushing past him into the hall. <I'll go in and see what I can find, and then we don't have to deal with more transformations for the time being.>

“Hey, you just got hair on my jeans!” Marshall's voice followed her across the hall.

<Yeah, get over it,> she called back, already distracted by what she was finding in the room. Even without being able to see as well as she would have preferred, she was able to tell that Roger had left in a hurry (that much had already been evident), and that he had been terrified. Guess that whole smelling fear thing really does happen, she thought. There was also some very strange scent near the doorway that she could not identify.

“Find anything interesting?” Marshall asked, coming to lean against the doorway. His posture was relaxed, but she could tell he was keyed up.

<He was afraid when he left,> she reported. <And there's something weird here, on the wall – at about the point where I fell when I first came in here.> She sniffed around it again, but could only discern that whatever it was made her want to sneeze.

Marshall shook his head and gave what might have been a laugh.

<What?>

“Nothing. Just, you were right,” he said. “It is really, really weird watching one's partner when one's parter is a wolf.”

She nodded. <My turn to say I told you so,> she said, but not with much enthusiasm.

“Hey,” Marshall said suddenly, breaking the gloomy silence. “I've got an idea.”

“What if you come out into the hall, and then we both go inside at the same time?”

Mary stood up. She tried to fight the impulse to wag her tail as she considered. <It could work. What the hell, let's give it a shot.>

They stood next to each other in the hallway, and Mary was about to step forward when he said, “Wait.”

<Now what?> She looked up at him, exasperated.

“You might want to have your clothes ready.”

<Oh.> She sighed. <But I just went to all that effort moving them back to my room!>

“Aw, quit your whining,” Marshall said, not bothering to hide a smile. “I could get it for you, if you ask nicely.”

<Hey, you know what you said earlier, about not biting? I never said anything like that.>

He raised his hands and took a step back. “Fine. It was just a thought, She-wolf.”

<Okay, whatever, please go get my shirt. It'll do by itself. And don't touch anything else in there!>

Marshall shot her an offended look as he went to do her bidding. “Like I would.”

He returned in seconds with the shirt she slept in last night, and tossed it into their absent witness' room. “Shall we?”

On three, they stepped forward together into the room. They made it slightly farther than Mary thought she'd gone the first time before she felt something blocking her, and then suddenly she was being thrown backwards, out of the room. She landed in a heap against the far wall. “Ow.”

“Here.” She felt fabric dropped onto her back, and looked up to see Marshall standing over her and studiously looking away.

Quickly, she stood up, grimacing a little at the bruises she could already feel forming, and pulled on the shirt. Then she headed back into her room and closed the door. “It's all clear!”

She heard a door opening further down the hallway, and Marshall saying something reassuring to whoever it was. As soon as she was mostly clothed, she rejoined him in the hall. “Guess it worked.”

“Yeah, guess it did,” he replied.

“Did you get... thrown out of there, too?”

“I did.”

She winced in sympathy. “And then you went back into the room to get my shirt.”

“Yep.”

She hit him on the shoulder. “That was stupid – you could've turned right back into a wolf again!”

“Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder and glared. “But I didn't, did I?”

Just then, her cell phone rang from on top of her bed. “That's gotta be Stan. Be right back.”

Mary listened to Stan's progress report, sighing with relief when he said they'd found Roger and then not so relieved when she was informed that he was en route to the hospital. Apparently, he had crashed into a ditch not two miles from the motel. “Is he all right?”

“He's going to be fine,” Stan said. “A few cuts and bruises and what looks like a broken wrist, but that's it.”

“Well, that's good.” Mary ran a hand through her hair, and said, “We'll be there as soon as we can.”

Stan stopped her before she disconnected. “Oh, uh, Mary?”

“Yeah?”

“Roger was saying some kind of crazy stuff when he was found, apparently.”

She smiled wryly, as Marshall came into her room. “Oh yeah? What kind of crazy stuff?” Crazier than he usually sounded?

“The officers who found him said he was all worried that the trap he had set in his room would hit his friends instead of this guy who's after him, and then they'd never be human again, with the spell he cast.” Stan's voice betrayed his complete bewilderment. “But uh, you and Marshall are okay, right? You didn't spring any magical traps?”

Biting back a laugh, she said. “Oh, yeah. We're totally fine. As human as we ever were.” Repeating that they'd see him at the hospital, she shut the phone.

Marshall raised an eyebrow. “Did he say 'spell'?”

“That's what I heard, yeah.”

He opened his mouth, and then just sighed. “Well, I guess this means Roger wasn't completely making it up when he kept going on about the mysterious guy who's trying to find him.”

“You're right,” Mary said. She glanced at Marshall. “Doesn't mean we're going to tell him about this whole thing, though, does it?”

“Definitely not.” He frowned. “Besides, we broke his spell.”

“Good thing, too,” Mary said, patting him on the arm. “I don't think pet stores sell wolf food, and I wasn't going to start raising rabbits for you.”

“For your information, I'm sure I would've been fine hunting for myself,” Marshall replied in a dignified tone. “And I'm fairly certain you would have as well.”

“Maybe so. But meanwhile, I'd like to hunt myself a shower and then some coffee before we head over to the hospital. I'm really looking forward to hearing what kind of explanation Roger has for us.”

At her tone, Mary saw an answering expression, half-amused, half-angry, in her partner's eyes. She was reminded briefly of the wolf he'd been. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Author's Note 2: If you've read my XF fic “The Way You Are” and see any suspicious similarities here, to that I say, uh... look over there! *runs away*

Writer's Block: Investigations of a Female Nature

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 18:54:52 GMT

Who is your favorite lady detective from movies, books, or TV?

View 506 Answers

Oh, come on. I'm pretty sure anyone who knows me even remotely can guess the answer to this one. :)

Songfic meme

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 21:33:50 GMT

So dashakay just posted a very interesting fic writing meme, and I told her I'd give my detailed response to it here.

Have you ever had a story that was inspired by a particular song?

1. Pick one of your favorite stories. A link would be awesome, but at the very least, tell us the title and the fandom.

2. Choose a song or songs associated with your story.

3. Why do you associate this song with the story? Tell us the tale of the song and your story. If it's relevant, feel free to quote lyrics or your own story.

Yes, I have written a story inspired by a particular song.

1. The story is On Dark Roads, an X-Files fic that I first posted for xf_santa this past year but that I had started to write several months before I even signed up.

2. The song is "Headlights on Dark Roads", by Snow Patrol. I love Snow Patrol and often listen to them while I'm writing, but this was the first time a song of theirs directly inspired me to start a story.

3. Why do I associate this song with the story? Well, it started out - as I mention in the author's notes of the story - with these intriguing lyrics from the song:
My tongue is lost, so I can't tell you
Please just see it in my eyes.

It made me think about how much has been made in the fic world of how well Mulder and Scully communicate even without words. And it even comes up in the show, though not as explicitly as some fic writers might address it. ;) Heh.
Anyway, I was originally going to try to come up with a situation in which our heroes were in some situation in which they could not talk, but still had to communicate with each other in order to survive in whatever dangerous situation they had found themselves. With that idea in mind, I wrote the first three or four paragraphs of what became "On Dark Roads."

Then, I read a fic on Gossamer in which Mulder was injured on a case and ended up not being able to speak ("Speechless" by Anjou), and decided I didn't need to try to reinvent the wheel. My story languished for a while until I got my xf_santa prompt. I ended up changing it around to the pre-colonization fic that it now is.

I guess those are the only lyrics that really specifically inspired any of the story. Although the mood of the song does seem to fit the mood of the story, I think.

Thanks, NBC. You're the best.

Mon, 04 May 2009 23:25:54 GMT

So, according to Entertainment Weekly, NBC has canceled Life. (Still no news on Chuck, which I will someday catch up on.)

*sigh* No more Charlie and Reese? No more Ted? No more Sheriff Tidwell? :(

Well, at least we got two really good seasons. That's more than Dollhouse will probably get. But still, NBC? I hope every single one of your new shows fails. Horribly.

ETA: And speaking of disappointing TV news, the DW/XF casting rumor I mentioned in my previous entry has pretty much been debunked, too. Alas.

Fic: Splitting at the Seams

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 23:10:59 GMT

Taking a break during my Greek studying to post this, since it's finally done!

Title: Splitting at the Seams
Spoilers: Biogenesis, The Sixth Extinction, and Amor Fati.
Keywords: MSR, missing scene.
Category: SRA
Summary: Opening his eyes finally, Mulder tried to swallow, and Scully gasped, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes. “You... help... me,” he managed to say, past a raw throat.
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Is welcomed! Contact me at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Archive: Sure, but please ask me first.
Disclaimer: I don't own these episodes or these characters.
Author's Note: Though there are a few elements changed from canon here, I tried to keep it so that it would mostly fit with what was shown onscreen. I guess you could say it's AU, but only slightly.
Thanks to amalnahurriyeh for her patient and very helpful beta comments!

~~~~~~~~

Mulder knew as soon as he started up the stairs that he wasn't going to make it to the top. The agony in his head was increasing too sharply. As he sank to the ground on the landing, he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. Scully... Scully would come get him. No - she was in New Mexico, looking for the artifacts. He pulled out the phone anyway and pushed the speed dial.

Scully's voice sounded distracted as she answered. “Scully.”

The cacophony in his head grew louder, and Mulder thought he could pick out a familiar, odious voice among the many – getting closer. He didn't have much time. He had to concentrate.

“Hello?” Scully was annoyed now.

“Scully...” Mulder managed to gasp out. He wasn't sure if he had even been loud enough for her to hear, so he tried again. “Scully.”

“Mulder?” Her voice was sharp with concern. “Mulder, is that you?”

“Scully, I... can't... my head...” It was becoming impossible to speak. The phone fell out of Mulder's hand, and he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the noise and confusion.

Dimly, he heard Scully's worried response cut off suddenly, and he wrenched open his eyes to see Krycek smiling down at him in cruel satisfaction as he dropped Mulder's cell phone next to him. He continued to smile as he opened his own phone, dialed a number, and waited.

“Yeah, he's here,” Mulder thought he heard. There was more, but the rest of the spoken words were just another layer of noise for him. He couldn't bring himself to consider the meanings, and his eyes drifted shut again after a few moments. It brought no relief from the constant noise and pain.

He had no idea how long it was before another familiar mind began to approach. At first, he wondered in surprise how she had known to find him here, but then the general agony – greater than he had felt yet - that came from being near two people's thoughts caused him to abandon all attempts to think rationally. He thought he might have moaned.

“Shh, Fox, I'm here.” A woman's voice – her voice. Her hands on his face. He tried to open his eyes, but could only manage it for a second. It was long enough to see genuine concern in her face, mixed with the excitement and fear that he could also distinguish faintly in her mind.

“Let's get him outside.”

Mulder felt himself being lifted up. This wasn't good. Scully wouldn't know where they had taken him. He struggled weakly.

“Cut it out, Mulder,” came Krycek's voice, right next to him. His next thought was just as clear as if he had spoken it. Or I'll drop you down these stairs.

Mulder opened his eyes again, just as he and his companions made it down the flight of stairs. The noise was receding, but Mulder could tell that it would be returning in seconds. His phone rang, from behind him.

Through his still-battered mind, Mulder only managed to comprehend bits and pieces of the spoken conversation around him. He could distinguish some words, but they were so closely overlaid with the thoughts behind them.

“He... Scully before--” Shit. She better not--

Diana's voice was frigid. “Why didn't you--” --Allowed her to get involved? That--

“All he di--” --up, just because you're all--

“...The timeline. We can't take the risk--” This is too important, he's just what we've--

I'll let her deal with-- “--tter call him as soon as Mulder is in the car.”

By this point, Mulder thought they had made it down one more flight of stairs and to an exit. He had not been able to follow the conversation that had taken place around him, but he could at least help himself walk to some extent. Sometime during the course of the past few yards, Krycek had vanished. Mulder wondered vaguely if he might have just imagined him being there in the first place.

“How are you feeling, Fox?” Diana asked him softly.

At the moment, his mind felt slightly clearer. Mulder turned his head to the right, where she was supporting his arm, and tried to formulate an answer. “Where are you taking me?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before smoothly replying, “To the hospital, of course.”

“They can't... can't help me,” Mulder told her. If this was caused by what he thought it was, there was no hospital that could help him.

“Don't worry about it, Fox,” she answered soothingly. “I know how to help you.”

When they arrived at Diana's car, she opened the back door for him. She started to say something else about how it would be best for him to lie down on the back seat when the noise in Mulder's head returned with a vengeance. He gasped and leaned against the car, putting a hand to his head.

“Fox?”

Mulder barely heard Diana's spoken inquiry. Instead, his mind was filled with a whirl of thoughts and feelings, Diana's foremost. Impatience. Resolve. He needs to know about the most recent developments, so we can adjust the timeline. There was a flash, a clear image of Cancer Man's face.

“You... you're working for him,” Mulder gasped.

She looked at him coolly. “What are you talking about?”

“Spender. Scully was right. How long have you been working for him?” Mulder realized that he was yelling. He pushed himself to his feet. “How long, Diana?”

“You're confused,” she said, her face revealing nothing. Her thoughts, however, revealed shock and some fear. “You need to calm down.”

He stepped toward her slowly, fighting against the pain. “I'm not confused, and I'm not going to calm down. Tell me!”

She sighed. “I'm sorry.” Before he had time to react, Mulder was thrown backwards against the car by the force of the stun gun in Diana's hand. His only thought as he slid to the ground and blackness claimed him was relief – the cacophony was fading along with consciousness.

~~~~~~

Pain. The pain was constant now, as were the voices and the noise. Mulder didn't know how he had arrived at the hospital, but here he was, in a padded cell, pacing back and forth and screaming in a futile attempt to block out the agony in his head.

He was fairly sure that the doctors had given him some kind of tranquilizer a while ago, but it might as well have been a shot of caffeine for all the good it had done him. His declaration to Diana had been right: they had no idea how to treat him.

Diana. He could still hear her thoughts hovering around the edges of his mind. She was still watching him. There was no hint of remorse in her for what she had done, only regret that she had to cause him pain to further the cause. He wanted the answer to his question. How long had she been betraying him, betraying the X-Files?

“Scully!” Mulder guessed that his cries were largely composed of her name. If anyone could figure out how to get this to stop, it was Scully. He hoped desperately that she would get here as soon as she could – not that he had any concept of the passage of time. He might have been in here an hour, or a week.

After an unfathomable length of time, exhaustion overtook him suddenly, and Mulder collapsed in the corner of the room. Under the continual agony in his mind, he was faintly aware that he had screamed his throat raw, and both of his hands hurt. How had he managed to injure his hands in a padded cell? The thought was almost amusing.

The door to his cell opened, and two orderlies came in with the doctor. Mulder thought he might have attacked a doctor or a nurse earlier, in an instinctive attempt to get the noise of their thoughts away from him... but for the moment, he was too exhausted to do anything but stare at the intruders.

The pain reached nearly unbearable levels as the thoughts of the three men all entered his head at once in a bewildering disorder. It was going to completely overwhelm his own mind, he knew. Frantically, Mulder pulled himself as far away from them as he could. “No,” he moaned, and barely recognized his own voice in the din.

The doctor said something in a calming tone, but Mulder heard none of it. He was too busy gasping at the sheer agony of being so close to three separate minds, all of whom were focused on him.

Hold him.... more sorry for...

... the guy if he hadn't... the next scans will... already...

Not that... feel... show us anything new... steady...

He felt strong hands on his arms, and he automatically struggled against their grip for a few seconds before giving up. It was too much effort, on top of attempting to keep his own mind distinct from the flood of other thoughts. Besides, if he was being given another sedative, maybe he would finally be able to sleep, to have the constant onslaught against his sanity held at bay for a few hours.

A needle stung into the skin above his hip. Mulder flinched, but otherwise remained motionless. They would leave sooner if he stayed still.

Sure enough, it was only a few more endless seconds before he was again alone in the cell. The hoped-for sleep did not arrive, however. Had Diana given him something after she stunned him, or was his brain simply too overstimulated to allow him to relax?

Eventually, the unending pounding against his mind forced Mulder to his feet again. He resumed his pacing and his yells. He knew he was under nonstop surveillance from the camera in the upper corner of his cell, and wished again, desperately, that Scully would come. Surely Krycek hadn't somehow intercepted her. No, he would know if something had happened to her.

There she was. He could feel her getting closer. She was at the hospital. If only he could push aside the rest of the thoughts in his head, get her to know he knew she was here. “Scully!”

Scully was looking at him in the observation room now. Her shock, horror, and compassion at what she saw would have brought him to his knees – if he could have held onto her feelings for more than moments at a time. “Scully!” Please, don't listen to whatever Diana is telling you. She's a liar. I know you know that. You've known it for longer than I have.

Mulder paced until he was in front of the video camera and called her name again. Her fear for him was now mixed with anger - at those who had put him here. If he focused as much as he could, he could also sense that her trip to New Mexico had yielded something that surprised and shook her. But that was all pushed to the back of her mind now.

Suddenly, Mulder realized that she would want to come to him, to see him in person. The thought was more disturbing to him than he would have imagined: of course he wanted to see her, craved face-to-face contact with her... but there was no possible way it wouldn't be agonizing for them both when he inevitably could not speak more than a word in response to whatever she said to him. And then there was Diana, who was still ever-present and watching him – reporting back to her black-lunged boss at regular intervals, no doubt.

He rubbed his hands across his face roughly, barely noticing the resulting pain in his hands. As he began to pace once more, Mulder decided that he could not turn Scully away if she determined to visit her ranting, crazed partner in his cell – not that he had a great deal of choice in the matter. Just as he painstakingly completed that thought, it was lost in the further realization that perhaps Scully would be prevented from coming to him by those watching him: the doctor, or Diana, or even Skinner, whose guilty thoughts had hovered at the edge of Mulder's mind on and off for a while now.

Mulder felt Scully's frustration increase then – they were telling her that he was dangerous, violent, not a good idea to get close. No, Scully, never to you! You know that. Don't you?

His progress back and forth in the cell grew faster, more agitated. Every bit of his reasoning that pointed out why Scully should not try to see him in here had faded. It was just additional torment now to be so close to her, to feel her, but to be prevented from having any real contact. As his agitation grew, his fragile hold on remnants of rational thought began to slip again. No. That was just going to prove their point for them. He had to try to stay calm - as best as he could, while the agony in his head continued unabated.

Trembling with exhaustion and effort, Mulder moved to lean against the wall facing the camera. “Scully,” he said, looking directly at the camera. She was still very nearby, he knew it.

Long moments later, Mulder felt the approach of another mind, outside his cell. Scully's thoughts were just as overwhelming in this close proximity, but Mulder stayed silent and still as the door opened.

As she entered the room, he quickly met her gaze. Even without the wave of emotions and thoughts that came along with her first direct sight of him, Mulder could see how much she was shaken and pained by what she saw just by her expression.

“Mulder...” Scully breathed. “Oh, my God, Mulder. What's happened to you?” She took a few steps toward him. Why haven't they done anything for his pain? Are they that afraid to get near him? The anger in this last thought, though not directed at him, caused a fresh stab of pain in Mulder's mind, and he let out a moan and wavered on his feet.

Instantly, Scully was beside him, helping him lower himself to the floor. Her hand on his arm seemed to strengthen the intensity of the flow of her thoughts. Oh my God. He's gotten so much worse. I shouldn't have left-- I let Fowley find him first-- God, how aware can he be in this state? The doctors don't know how to cure this-- there's got to be a way. Mulder closed his eyes and tried to block it out, knowing that she would not want him to be able to have such direct access to her mind... but he had not figured out a way to create an effective mental barrier. Maybe if he could concentrate on her voice instead; she was speaking to him quietly and urgently.

“Mulder, can you hear me? Can you speak?” Please.

He opened his eyes. “I... it hurts... Scully...” Well, that was a little better than he had feared. There was almost a complete sentence in there somewhere.

Relief at his ability to respond was foremost in her thoughts, followed swiftly by care and guilt. “I know, Mulder. I'm so sorry.” She reached out her hand and touched his forehead. I should have come back sooner. Maybe I could have stopped this.

“No, it's... not your fault,” Mulder told her. He took her other hand in his, ignoring the increased pain as best as he could. “The artifact.”

Scully nodded. She bit her lip and looked away for a moment. “Mulder, do you know how you got here? What they've been trying to do for you?”

Mulder scooted so that he was no longer facing the video camera. This was going to be more difficult to answer. “Diana... found me,” he whispered haltingly. “University. She had... stun gun. Don't remember anything then... until I was here.”

Scully's expression darkened. “A stun gun?” she repeated, keeping her voice low with difficulty. She was clearly attempting to keep control of her emotions. The tumult of her thoughts in response to these revelations, however, was dramatic.

Closing his eyes again, Mulder nodded. “They keep... giving me shots. Nothing... helps.” The effort of speaking was beginning to fray his control. The thoughts of their observers in the room with the camera started to stream into his mind at a greater rate, and Scully's reply was lost in the noise.

“Mulder? Mulder!” Oh, God, he's going catatonic. Please, Mulder, stay with me! “Mulder, can you hear me?”

Mulder's eyes opened, but he couldn't seem to see her. His field of vision was curiously narrow. But I can still hear you, Scully. He tightened his grip on her hand as best as he could. It seemed like maybe the drugs were taking effect – or his overworked brain was finally starting to give up.

“I need some help in here!”

~~~~~~

The all-too-familiar cacophony of voices and thoughts brought Mulder out of unconsciousness. He could tell by his level of exhaustion that he had not been unconscious for long. He was lying in a hospital bed now – restrained, by the feel of it, but he wasn't sure if he could move much even without the straps.

By sheer necessity, Mulder was beginning to learn how to more quickly distinguish between specific voices in the confused babble in his head. It took him only seconds, therefore, to recognize the thoughts of Dr. Harriman, Skinner, Diana, and Scully. They were arguing about him, about what should be done for him.

Mulder didn't have to hear the defeated thoughts of the doctor to know that this thing was going to kill him, sooner or later. He had guessed that back when he first figured out what was causing it. It only made sense: most of the people Scully and he had ever come into contact with who had been infected by the black oil had died. It had just taken longer for him.

Scully had not made the connection yet, and Mulder had not related his theory to her when he had the chance. Not that he was certain that the information would have been a great deal of help; they had no access to the vaccine that was the only cure, as far as Mulder knew. And of course, his symptoms were something separate from the original infection by now.

Scully's idea was to track down the artifacts at their source. Mulder had gotten glimpses of the idea when she had first been approaching his padded cell, and her resolve to test this theory was growing stronger. As much as he wanted Scully to stay near, her need to seek the answers made sense to Mulder.

There was nothing he could do. He let himself be submerged in the tumult around him for a length of time that he had no means of determining. Being awake was utterly draining and exhausting even though he could now barely move.

Then Scully's mind began to grow closer, more distinct from the babel. She was coming to talk to him. Mulder tried to rally his strength, to make it so that he could greet her with something more than his outwardly unresponsive, all but comatose self. He wasn't sure how well he would succeed.

The door to his room opened. Mulder concentrated, and managed to turn his head fractionally toward Scully as she approached his bed.

“Mulder, it's me.” Her voice was quiet and controlled, but underneath her thoughts and emotions were still as troubled as they had been when she was in the cell with him. “I know you can hear me.” She took his hand, careful to avoid hurting his injured fingers. At this point, Mulder barely registered the increased intensity of her thoughts that the physical contact caused. He was too tired to resist, at any rate. But there was something significant about her last statement... she believed that he could hear thoughts? Or she believed that, despite his lack of visible response, he was still here?

“I want you to know what I'm planning,” she continued. She sniffed, and took a breath to try to steady herself. “I'm leaving in a little while, to go to the Ivory Coast. I think the source of the artifact that did this to you is there.” Her voice shook. “Mulder, I think this will lead me to some answers, so we can figure this out – but I need you to hold on. Please.”

It hurt, even distracted as he was by the constant pain from the noise in his head, to see and feel her grief. Struggling mightily, Mulder thought he had succeeded in moving the hand that Scully was still holding. He felt her surprise and hope, and heard her take a sharp breath. But he was unable to repeat the action, and her hope dimmed. She reached her other hand up to stroke his face. “Please hold on, Mulder,” she whispered. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Mulder felt like crying himself in frustration. He desperately wanted to reassure her that he had heard, and that he would be here when she got back – but he was unable to force his body to move. Helplessly, he continued to stare straight ahead as Scully sniffed again, and gently lifted his hand to her lips. She left the room.

As Scully gradually left the limits of Mulder's ability to touch her thoughts, he wondered that the loss of one of the voices in his head should pain him so keenly.

~~~~~~

Time passed. Mulder still couldn't quite track its passage well, but since he could distinguish individual minds out of the chaos now, he had some idea of when a new shift would start at the hospital by which minds he could discern.

His mother visited at one point. She was highly distressed by Dr. Harriman's recitation of his prognosis, but more so by her son's continued inability to move or respond to anything around him. Mulder wished she would stay and comfort him – her visit seemed all too short. But he was helpless to reach her.

Diana also came to him. Mulder wished he had been truly unconscious for this visit; now that he finally had realized the extent of her treachery, hearing her profess that she loved him despite her loyalty to Spender was further proof of how very little he had ever actually known her. It saddened him somewhat when her thoughts showed that she truly believed what she was saying.

Looking back on it later, Mulder realized that was one of the last things he remembered before things got very strange.

~~~~~

The dreams (that was what they had to be, he reasoned afterwards) were bizarre, a mixture of things he desired and things he had never spent much time thinking about. But even the wonderful parts – his sister's happiness, the chance to live a peaceful life – were tainted and somehow unsatisfying.

There was one recurring part to the dream, though, a scene in which Mulder always felt like he hadn't gotten to spend enough time when he left it. So this last time, when he closed his eyes at Spender's suggestion and found himself on the beach, he determined to find out what the boy he always saw wanted to show him.

He was young again, and watching the boy jump down from a huge, intricately-crafted sand sculpture of a UFO. Smiling, Mulder said, “Wow, what did you make?”

“An unidentified flying object,” replied the boy promptly. Then, without another word, he began to kick at the sculpture, scattering it.

“Hey!” Mulder stepped forward, shocked. “What are you doing? Why are you destroying your spaceship?”

The boy looked at him accusingly. “It's your spaceship! You're destroying it.” He picked up a handful of sand and threw it at Mulder. “You were supposed to help me!”

Mulder could only stand and watch as the boy continued to break apart his sculpture. Something about his words had hit him, hard.

The beach faded from view. His life continued to pass, and those he loved died. Now Mulder was alone with the man who claimed he was his father. Scully was dead, he told Mulder. How could she have died without him knowing, without him being with her?

No, here she was! Mulder smiled and reached for her weakly – but she was cold and furious, accusing. “You're not supposed to die, Mulder. Not here.”

He tried to explain how he was too tired; there was no way he could be expected to do any more with his life. But she refused to accept his excuses for his failure, demanding that he get up to fight. Then she left, as suddenly as she came.

“Scully!” Mulder cried out her name, despairing. She was gone. But now... now he could hear something else. A voice.

It was Scully again – but she was scared, and begging him to get up now instead of demanding it. He struggled to get back to her, to move from this dream-turned-nightmare to where she was-- and he arrived just as a single tear landed on his cheek. Scully's face was right next to his.

“Mulder, help me. Please.” Her voice was quiet and desperate near him.

Opening his eyes finally, Mulder tried to swallow, and Scully gasped, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes. “You... help... me,” he managed to say, past a raw throat.

He lifted his head a few inches – which was much harder than he expected - and they embraced. He vaguely noticed that he had had to pull his hands out of some kind of loose restraint before he could put his arms around her. But even as he luxuriated in the feeling of Scully holding him close, he realized with a wave of relief that there was silence in his head. The pandemonium was gone.

Scully started to pull away, then noticed with alarm how he sagged back toward the table immediately. She quickly put her arms behind his head and neck again. “Mulder, can you sit up?”

Mulder found that his eyes had drifted closed again. He opened them slowly, and then became aware that Scully was waiting for him to do something. Again, it took more effort than he thought it should, but he was able to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Good. I'm going to try to find you something to wear.”

As she hurried toward a supply cabinet on the far wall of the room, Mulder looked down at himself and saw that he was only partially covered by a thin sheet. He shivered. What had been done to him while he was dreaming? There was a spot on the back of his head that hurt. He reached up to investigate, and his hand encountered a bandage. Even touching near the spot caused the pain to increase, so Mulder dropped his hand back down.

“Here, put these on.” Scully was in front of him, holding out a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. “We need to get out of here before someone comes looking for you.”

Mulder wanted to ask her where they were, and if she knew what had been done to him. But it was too much effort. He took the clothes she offered him, staring at them blankly.

“Mulder?”

He looked up at her.

She was worried, but trying not to show it fully. She opened her mouth. Then she seemed to change her mind. “Get dressed, Mulder?” she repeated, gently removing the leads that were still attached to him.

With Scully's help, Mulder succeeded in getting into the clothes she had found. He was unsure how well he could actually stand and walk – and was therefore grateful when Scully set his arm over her shoulders and her arm around his back unhesitatingly. “Let's go.”

It seemed like the journey out of whatever building they were in took forever. More than once, Mulder stumbled or otherwise came perilously close to collapsing. Every time, Scully managed to keep him upright, though he knew he had to be too heavy for this to be at all easy for her.

At one point, she stiffened next to him, whispered, “Someone's coming,” and practically dragged him out of the hallway and into a small, darkened room. He leaned heavily against the wall. His exhaustion was so great that he barely heard the footsteps as they passed by. The area at the back of his head was starting to throb in time with his heartbeat. When Scully turned to him after the footsteps had passed, she looked worried again.

“We're almost there, Mulder,” she told him quietly, her eyes searching his. “I'm sorry we have to do it this way, but you'll be able to rest soon.”

“Good.” He tried to smile, and pulled it off well enough that it brought an answering anxious smile to Scully's face.

Finally, they made it out of the building. Mulder squinted against the sunlight, wincing as the throbbing in his head increased. He hoped Scully's car was parked nearby.

Thankfully, it was only a few steps until they arrived. Scully paused for a moment as they approached the car, looking up at him speculatively. She seemed to decide something, and led him to the passenger's side door. “You're going to need to lean against the car for a second – sorry, Mulder.”

Mulder obligingly took his weight off her shoulder and leaned as best as he could against the vehicle while Scully opened the door, adjusted the seat, and then stood up. “All right.” She stayed still while Mulder transferred his weight back to her shoulders, and then carefully helped him lower himself into the seat. Mulder sighed in relief as soon as he was no longer on his feet, though he was careful to lay his head against the seat in such a way that it didn't increase his pain. He closed his eyes. The sound of the car starting barely registered.

A gentle hand on his arm caused him to open his eyes again a short time later. In the driver's seat, Scully was looking at him with concern. “How are you feeling, Mulder?”

He took a deep breath. “I'm okay, Scully. I think.” She raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and he elaborated, past a still-sore throat, “It's just... there's a bandage on my head, and it aches – but not like before - and I don't know why, or what happened to me.” This was the most he had spoken at once in... he had no idea how long it had been, even. The thought only added to the fear he had been trying to ignore since he had regained consciousness.

Scully's expression was unreadable for a second as she faced the road. Then she turned back to him. “I'm sorry, Mulder,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I know you must be feeling disoriented and scared.” The compassion in her eyes was almost as clear as it had been to him when he could read her thoughts. “We're going to find out what they did to you, and you're going to be all right.”

Mulder nodded faintly. He wasn't going to bet they would be able to find out much about it – it had been Spender who had taken him from the hospital, hadn't it? - but at least the voices were gone. Whatever they had done to him, he couldn't complain about that.

Scully remained silent for the remainder of the trip. Mulder's exhaustion prevented him from staying awake, despite some motivation to do so, so he did not know how much time had passed when Scully gently shook him awake.

“Where are we?” he mumbled, after opening his eyes. He didn't recognize the building he could see through the windshield.

“A small private hospital,” Scully told him. “I-- I didn't want to take you back to Georgetown Memorial.” Biting her lip, she turned away and unbuckled her seatbelt.

Mulder sighed. “Yeah. I wouldn't mind a long break from that place.”

Scully looked up at him, nodded, and got out of the car. He managed to unbuckle his seatbelt, but opening his door was still beyond him. Scully didn't leave him to wait long.

“Mulder, they're bringing you a wheelchair, okay?”

“Okay.” He hoped that whatever tests Scully felt like they should do wouldn't take long. Even with his need to know what had been done to him, all he really wanted at the moment was to sleep, secure in the knowledge that he was at least safe for now.

~~~~~

Mulder woke up slowly. Before his eyes opened, he remembered with a rush of relief where he was – and was once again inexpressibly relieved to hear no cacophony in his mind. The hospital room was wonderfully silent, except for the quiet familiar noises of hospital machinery. There was also the even quieter sound of Scully's regular breathing next to him.

Opening his eyes and turning his head, Mulder saw that she was in fact asleep, slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position in the chair beside him. She looked about as exhausted as Mulder had felt before he had finally been able to sleep without interruption. No wonder – she was probably dealing with jet lag on top of all the other stresses in her life the past few days. Or weeks. Hopefully, she had been sleeping now for more than a few minutes.

At that moment, Scully stirred and woke. Upon seeing him, she smiled and sat up, taking his hand. “How are you feeling, Mulder?”

“Still tired, but much better than I did last time I was awake,” he answered with a smile of his own. “How long have I been asleep?”

She glanced at her watch before replying, “Almost a day. It's close to 4:30 in the afternoon now.”

Mulder blinked. That information meant very little to him since, he realized, he had no idea what day it was. It had been a while since he had been able to track the passage of time. “I-- I don't know how many days I've been... away, Scully,” he confessed.

Scully looked down, then squeezed his hand. “You were in the hospital for over a week, all told. And then-” She swallowed. “Then you were missing for a day and a half before I could find you.”

“But you did find me,” Mulder pointed out gently. She nodded slightly, refusing to meet his eyes. Mulder wondered just what she had gone through while he was out of commission. Something big, he would bet. He reminded himself to ask her about it when he felt more recovered.

Silence fell for a few moments. He yawned. Maybe that hadn't been quite enough sleep yet – but he wanted to get in a couple of minutes of real conversation with Scully before he dropped off again. “So how am I doing? Any test results back yet?”

She nodded. “Everything looks good. There's no infection at the surgery site, no evidence of abnormal brain function, and no visible damage to your brain from whatever procedure was performed on you.” Scully paused. “And you still haven't been...”

“Hearing voices?” he supplied. She met his eyes, and Mulder shook his head carefully. “Nope. It's just me in my head now.” He allowed his continuing relief to color his tone.

Scooting the chair a little closer to his bed, Scully gave him another smile before continuing. “The doctors here want to keep you for observation overnight, and then do a few tests to make sure you won't have any lasting effects from your illness or the surgery.”

“Okay,” Mulder said, yawning again. “If everything still looks good, do I have to stay here?”

“I think they'll probably let you go,” Scully answered. She smoothed his blankets with the hand that was not still holding his. “Why don't you get some more sleep now, Mulder. You still need it.”

He frowned, but it was already becoming difficult to keep his eyes open. There was one thing he needed to say before he sank back into slumber, though. What was it? Oh, yes. “You should get some sleep, too, Scully,” he said, hearing his words begin to slur together. “Real sleep. You've gotta be exhausted.”

His eyes slipped shut as Scully tightened her grip on his hand. “I will, Mulder. Don't worry about me. Just rest.”

Mulder took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax. He was certain that if he found himself at the beach again, he finally knew what to do.

Fic: Twenty-one to Forever

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 23:53:17 GMT

Title: Twenty-One To Forever (Doctor Who)
Spoilers: up to Army of Ghosts
Category: Fluff
Summary: The Doctor realizes it's almost Rose's birthday, and quickly comes up with a plan for an appropriately memorable celebration.
Characters: The 10^th Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Author's Notes: This was written as a (very belated) 21st birthday present for a friend. The story continues in Part 2, written by mack_the_spoon. You can find her part at mack-the-spoon.livejournal.com/53411.html
Thanks go out to kaffyr for her insightful beta comments!

~~~

Rose closed her mobile as soon as she heard him coming, but the Doctor had still overheard enough of the conversation to start feeling guilty. She had been talking to her mother, and just before ending the conversation, he had heard her say, “I don't *know* if I'll be home, Mum. You know we don't usually plan that far ahead. Yeah, I know two days isn't that far ahead, but we can just celebrate the next time I'm home, all right?”

The Doctor stood at the entrance to the console room, thinking quickly. Two days. Two days until something Jackie wanted to celebrate with Rose. What month was it by her time? March, wasn't it? No, it was... April! In two days, it would be the 27^th of April. That definitely rang a bell. Rose's twenty-first birthday -- of course!

He frowned, feeling more guilt wash over him. He had completely forgotten – and probably if he hadn't accidentally overheard this exchange between Rose and her mum, he would not have remembered until many days too late. And Rose, forgiving as she was, would perhaps have gently hinted, but never tried to make him feel bad about it.

“Doctor?”

He blinked. She was looking at him, a faint expression of concern on her face. “What?”

“I asked if you had any ideas about what to do today.”

The Doctor dashed up to the console and grinned. “Of course I do, Rose. Silly question.” He searched for and found the particular buttons and levers he was looking for, and they started the trip.

Rose looked at him, returning the smile. “Are you gonna make me wait to find out where we're going, then? Or when?”

“Well,” he said, running a hand across the back of his neck, “it's-- it's somewhere I think you'll like. In fact, I was thinking... it could be an early birthday present. If you wanted to do some celebrating.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and then her smile grew as well. “A birthday present? Doctor, were you listening in on my phone conversation?” She sounded suspicious, but pleased.

“What if I just happened to remember the date, Rose?” he replied, trying for a wounded tone. She just kept looking at him, and he finally had to come clean. “All right, all right, so I eavesdropped a bit. But you still haven't answered my question!” He turned to face her completely. “Birthday celebration? You and me, out here, a couple days early – and then back to your mum's house in time for a proper family ceremony?”

Rose reached out and took his hand, her smile turning softer. “Sounds perfect.” Then she stepped closer to him as the TARDIS sped up. “But you know, the celebration with my mum isn't really gonna be a ceremony. That makes it sound like... I dunno, there has to be a priest involved somewhere.”

The Doctor looked at her mock-seriously. “Why, Rose Tyler, are you saying that cake, ice cream, presents, and that Happy Birthday song aren't ceremonious enough for you?” He paused. “You know, the twenty-first birthday is a milestone in some cultures. If you were American, you'd... you'd be reaching legal adulthood at this age. But then of course, it's very different on Kefla, where you'd probably have great-grandchildren by that age. ”

As the TARDIS came to a stop, Rose shook her head and laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel old, Doctor?”

“No!” he replied quickly. “Not at all! Just... you know... putting it in perspective...”

“Right, of course.” She nodded wisely. “So, you're not going to tell me where we're headed?”

The Doctor turned away slightly, to check their progress on the monitor as well as to avoid that pleading look. "It's a surprise, Rose. *Surprise.* You know, where you don't know the answer ahead of time?"

"Fine," she said, laughing. "But we'd better not end up saving the day in a hospital run by cat-nuns this time."

"Rose!" he protested, slightly offended even as he privately acknowledged her reasoning. "This is your birthday celebration! No ulterior motives at all – I promise."

She smiled again. "Well, if you promise."

"I will give you a hint, though," the Doctor conceded. "We're stopping to pick up supplies for a picnic first."

He felt ridiculously pleased at her obvious pleasure in response to this plan. Even after traveling together for what amounted to almost two years for her, the Doctor's plans for making Rose happy didn't always turn out well. Of course, this plan hadn't actually gone beyond the beginning stages yet – but the Doctor shook off the thought. There would be no interruptions or diversions this time.

The TARDIS came to a stop then, and the two of them moved to the door. "After you, Miss Tyler," the Doctor said, ushering her forward with an elegant half-bow.

She raised her eyebrows, but opened the door willingly enough. As soon as she was outside, he heard her gasp of amazement.

"Doctor, what is this place?"

He ran outside to join her, closing the TARDIS door behind him. "It's a garden – well, a garden planet, to be more accurate."

They stood together, at the top of the hill on which the TARDIS had landed, and looked down at the lush landscape below. On one side of the valley, there were tall, brilliant green trees in neat rows, each row laden with a different shape and color of fruit. On the other side, there were numerous patches of flowers in riotous hues. Somehow they managed to look both wild and methodically laid out. Birds and large butterfly-like insects flew and fluttered around the scene. As of yet, none of the caretakers of the planet were visible – but then, they were generally a shy bunch, the Doctor thought.

“And... we're just stopping here to pick up supplies?” Rose asked, her eyes wide.

The Doctor grinned and took her hand, tugging her gently to follow him. “The next stop is even better. And besides, the Caretakers don't like people hanging around too long – we scare away the pollinators.” He pointed at the birds, who had indeed flown away with musical cries of alarm upon seeing them.

Rose followed the birds' progress out of sight, then turned to him again. “Caretakers? Are we gonna meet them, then?”

“Maybe,” he answered. They were almost at the edge of the grove of trees. “Maybe not. They're a little shy. But they do know me – though not looking like this yet, I suppose.”

The air was cool and fresh under the trees. The Doctor moved aside a large leaf to let Rose pass first. “They've been cultivating these gardens all across the planet for centuries and centuries,” he explained. “The whole planet is either water or gardens. They live in them while they take care of them.”

Rose nodded, still looking around in fascination. “No snakes or anything in here, is there?”

“Not poisonous ones, no,” the Doctor assured her. “See right there?” He lowered his voice and nodded toward the branches of a nearby tree with mottled red and purple fruit. “There's one.”

“A snake?” Rose frowned in distaste but looked where he was indicating.

“No, one of the Caretakers.” It was indeed one of the small, nearly translucent-skinned species, looking back at them as curiously as Rose was looking at him.

The Doctor waved. “Hello. I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose. We're just taking a walk, enjoying your beautiful gardens – we won't stay long.” Rose smiled and waved in greeting.

The Caretaker said nothing in response, but climbed around the back of the trunk out of sight.

“Guess they are shy,” Rose remarked quietly. She started to go forward after a moment, but the Doctor halted her with a hand on her arm.

“Wait. Let's just see...”

He leaned down next to Rose, peering up into the branches. Sure enough, a single reddish-purple blossom floated down from the tree to them. The Doctor carefully caught it. “Aha! Brilliant.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, glancing up at the tree again and then looking at the fragile blossom in his hand.

“It means,” he replied, holding it out to her, “we've been given permission to take some of the fruit of their gardens with us when we go. Here, it matches your jacket.”

Rose laughed. “Doctor, the jacket's black. Anything goes with black.” But she took the blossom all the same, carefully putting it behind one ear. Then she turned toward the tree again. “Thank you!”

They walked along under the trees for a few more seconds, hand in hand, and then the Doctor stopped under one with oddly-shaped blue fruit. “This one is particularly good, if I remember it right.”

“So it's just going to be fruit at the picnic?” Rose reached up and pulled down two of them. “We don't have a basket, you know, Doctor.”

“You'll be surprised, Rose – it's not like just eating bananas and strawberries,” the Doctor told her. “It's a full meal.” He picked another fruit and then frowned ruefully. “But you're right, I guess I forgot about a basket.”

No sooner had he spoken than the branches above them rustled, and two Caretakers appeared, holding what was unmistakably a basket. It looked to be woven out of grass and leaves.

“Oh! Thank you very much,” he said, accepting it. The Caretakers nodded, and then vanished again.

Rose put the fruit into the basket. “If it's a full meal, then we'd better not take too many of these ones. There's a lot to try.”

“Right you are.”

By the time the air was beginning to grow cooler and the reddish sun was beginning to set, the two of them had a basketful of almost every fruit from the valley's trees, as well as some edible blossoms and leaves the Doctor had pointed out from the flowers. The one exception was the tree with beautiful pale pink apple-looking fruits: Rose had wanted to pick one, but he had refused. He remembered distinctly from his last visit that they tasted like pears.

As they left the shelter of the trees, the Doctor heard a faint rustling behind them and turned. “Thank you again! Your garden is absolutely beautiful.”

Rose hadn't heard it, but she turned as well. “Yeah, it's the most beautiful garden I've ever seen,” she said, gazing around to try to catch a glimpse of their timid hosts. She reached up and touched the blossom behind her ear, making sure it was still in place.

“Come on, the fruit's not going to keep very long,” the Doctor urged. They made it back to the TARDIS with haste, each one holding one handle of the basket. He was quite hungry by this point, but he limited himself to nibbling one corner of an orange leaf from the basket once it was set down on a chair next to the console. It was for Rose, after all.

“Doctor,” Rose said, coming over after she hung up her jacket.

“Hmm?” He licked his fingers and turned around.

She looked down, and then looked at him with that particular smile that often seemed to do strange things to his pulse. “I know we haven't even had the picnic yet, but... thank you. It's been a wonderful birthday so far.”

“Good.” He grinned back, and then turned to the console quickly. “Onward to the next stop then.” With a few manipulations of levers and buttons, they were underway. It seemed like this was going well, so far.

XF fic meme

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 06:30:53 GMT

aloysiavirgata posted these very interesting questions about (XF, but could be applied to other fandoms) fic writing, and I thought I'd take a shot at answering them.

1) What is/are your least-favorite fic(s) that you've ever written? If you're comfortable, share why and what you would have done differently.
Hmm. I think I would pick a couple of my earlier fics. They were attempts at paying homage to some of my favorite episodes, but in some respects they just ended up being slightly fleshed-out transcript-y scenes. Perhaps if I had expanded them a bit more, I would like them better now looking back at them.

2) What is/are your favorite piece(s) that you've written? If you're comfortable, please share what you like about your work.
For short fics, I think I'll say "Breathe." Even though it was one of my first (or at least one of the first ones I posted to Ephemeral and Gossamer), I think it really manages to capture what I was after when I wrote it.
For longer ones, I think I might go with "The Way You Are." I still sometimes can't believe I ended up writing it, but I like the way it turned out. It's very odd, but I think I kept M&S in character, and I had fun!

3) Is there anything you'd never want to write? Would love to write but can't figure out how to approach?
I'm 99% sure I will never want to write anything but MSR (or UST, I suppose), for XF fic. I have no idea if I will ever write anything that could honestly be given an NC-17-type rating. At this point, it looks very unlikely. I just don't think I could make it work, since I generally don't even seek it out to read.

4) Do you find that being a writer limits your ability to enjoy characterizations that don't mesh with your own?
Hmm. To some extent, I suppose. If a writer's characterization of M&S (and to a lesser extent, secondary characters established in canon) really just does not mesh with how I see them, I might well have trouble getting through their fic. If it's just a little different from how I see them, I don't think I usually have that problem. In fact, it often can help me take another look at the characters.

5) Do you write things other than X-Files fanfic? Any differences in how you tackle those pieces when compared to fanfiction?
Yes. I have written Doctor Who, and crossovers between XF and DW. I've also got an idea for a Dollhouse fic - but I probably shouldn't start another project at the moment. I also write original fiction, though it's been a while.

For other fandoms, the process is mostly the same. For general fiction, the main difference is that I have a huge problem actually finishing it. I'll get up to a pivotal scene in the plot and just have NO idea how to continue. I have eight or so stories on my hard drive that I wouldn't consider 'dead' but that I just have no idea how to finish. Other than that, I think my writing style is about the same.

6) What appeals to you about writing fanfiction?
For XF, since it was the show that first spurred me to write fic, it was how very hard I fell in love with it - especially Mulder and Scully and the complexities of their relationship. From there, I guess it just grew into a way to fill in empty spots I saw, or try putting the characters (in XF and DW) in situations we didn't get to see them in on screen.

Fic: On Dark Roads

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 18:12:25 GMT

This was originally written for xf_santa.

Title: On Dark Roads
Spoilers: season 6, with specific references to Patient X/TRATB
Category: XRA
Keywords: M/S UST, AU.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I wondered what he would do if I told him that I wanted to remove the chip. I wasn't even sure if that was the truth, if that was what I wanted.
Disclaimer: I do not own Mulder or Scully, nor do I intend to make money off them.
Archive: Sure, but please ask first.
Feedback: Would be welcomed at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Author's Note: This is my first fic that has more than a passing reference to the mytharc. I hope it worked out decently well!
Also, thanks are owed to both amalnahurriyeh and belsum for their helpful comments and suggestions.

~~~~~~~~
I woke up slowly to a pounding headache. Whatever I was lying on was hard and uncomfortable, but there was something soft over me, keeping most of me warm. My entire body ached, not just my head. I tried to sit up to find out what had happened.

Immediately, a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder stopped me - Mulder. I opened my mouth. “Mul-”

Before the name completely left my lips, Mulder's hand had moved to them from my shoulder. He shook his head. Then he slowly took his hand away, and helped me to sit up.

I was still wanting to know what was going on, but I did look around before trying to speak again. We seemed to be inside a cave. There was a blanket over me, and a somewhat inexpertly-fashioned bandage covering my left forearm. Mulder was crouched next to me (the ceiling of the cave looked to be not quite tall enough for him to stand) with an anxious expression and a large bruise on his face. Based on the light coming in from the mouth of the cave, it was either early morning or relatively late evening.

I opened my mouth to ask where we were, and Mulder quickly held up a hand and shook his head again. Frustrated, I raised my eyebrow and looked at him, communicating my need for information, and fast.

Mulder held up one finger – Wait – and disappeared further into the cave for a few seconds. He came back holding a bottle of water and a notepad with a pen. I drank the water gratefully as Mulder quickly wrote a few lines. Then I waited. After a moment, he handed me the notepad.

We're in Virginia, in the middle of nowhere. I followed you last night. Your chip again. Those words seemed to stand out more than the rest. The ship crashed, maybe shot down. Faceless aliens still looking for survivors and witnesses.

I stared at the page, then slowly reached my hand up to the back of my neck. I winced as I encountered a bruise slightly below it. Then I swallowed. Had it really happened again? I cast my mind back to my last memory before writing a response to Mulder.

I don't remember coming here, I told him. Even writing this down shook me. Last thing I remember is the hotel in Richmond, and our case. I hesitated, then continued, What happened to me? Then I crossed out the last word and wrote “us”.

Mulder took the paper and read it. He looked at me and then looked down hastily, clearly ashamed. The pen scratched over the paper for a few more seconds before I got my answer.

You didn't want to come with me. I had to almost drag you away. It was dark – I couldn't see where we were going very well.

I put down the notepad and took his hand. As much as I was disquieted by this revelation, I knew we both needed comfort right now. He held my hand, but still refused to meet my eyes. Then a thought struck me, and I reached up with my other hand to the bruise on Mulder's face. At my light touch, Mulder winced, but looked at me with a tiny rueful smile and nod.

My mouth dropped open. I had done this to him? I had absolutely no memory of any of this, and it was almost impossible for me to get my mind around the idea that I had been so determined to stay at the site of the ship that I had injured Mulder when he was trying to keep me safe.

Mulder's smile widened, and he took my hand away from his face, enfolding it in his own. It was his turn to reassure his partner, and I saw in his eyes no hint of blame, only infinite relief and tenderness – the same expression, in fact, that I remembered seeing on his face when I had woken in the hospital after Ruskin Dam.

After meeting his gaze for a few more moments, I returned his smile. Then I gently disengaged my hands from his and picked up the notepad again. Supplies?

Mulder nodded, comprehension clear on his face, and he stood up (as far as was possible for him) to move to the back of the cave again. He returned carrying two small bags – both his overnight bag and mine – and a first aid kit that I recognized as the one from my trunk. He set them down next to me, then shrugged. This was it, apparently.

I was about to reach for my bag when I froze. The sound of running footsteps outside the cave was clearly audible, and it sounded like they were getting closer.

Silently, I met Mulder's alarmed expression, then stood up as quietly and carefully as I could. Bringing the blanket with me, I hurried farther back into the cave with him, trying to ignore the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me as I did so. I knew that if this incident had affected me anything like the last time, I really needed to be lying down until my blood pressure was back to normal. But I wasn't about to lie there helplessly and wait for Mulder to move me out of harm's way - especially since that would put both of us at more risk of being discovered by whoever was coming.

The footsteps kept getting closer, and I bit back a groan as I saw that I had left the pen and notepad behind in my attempt to hide. Next to me, Mulder suddenly gripped my shoulder – he had seen the objects as well. They would not be visible from a cursory glance inside the cave... but there was no guarantee that whoever was approaching would not look more closely, especially if it was one of the faceless creatures.

Whoever it was stopped right outside the entrance to the cave. I held my breath. Though I still had no clear memories of that night at Ruskin Dam, I did vividly remember hearing the horror in my own voice as I had recounted under hypnosis the actions of the men without faces.

The sound of ragged breathing became audible just as a figure ducked partially into the cave. It was a man, youngish-looking, with a panicked expression visible on his profile even though he was facing out of the cave. I relaxed fractionally. At least he clearly had a face.

The young man had not noticed the other occupants of the cave yet. I looked at Mulder. Should we make him aware of our presence?

Before we could decide, the man let out something that sounded like a gasp and a scream, and dashed out of the cave as fast as he could. In seconds, the screams started up again, much louder and more agonized, and I closed my eyes. I could smell charred flesh, and then the screams ceased.

Just as quickly, I opened my eyes again. There was nothing stopping the... alien, if that's really what it was, from checking if there was anyone else in its victim's hiding spot. Mulder reached for his gun, as he had when the man had been approaching. I wished futilely that I had been in any kind of mental state to bring my own.

We waited in silence for what seemed like an eternity. No further sounds came from outside, after the victim's screams had faded. Finally, Mulder met my eyes, then crept forward cautiously, still with his weapon at the ready. He peered around the edge of the opening. After a few seconds, he moved so that he could see more. I held my breath again – but then Mulder holstered his gun and turned around. His posture was relaxed.

Apparently, my relief at our narrow escape was enough to make my vertigo increase, with the result that I nearly fell down instead of sitting. In an instant, Mulder was at my side, carefully lowering me to the cave floor and trying to position me as comfortably as possible as I lay down. His hand brushed across my left arm in this process, and the pain caused me to flinch and hold back a cry.

Mulder stopped moving and bit his lip, then resumed covering me with the blanket. His eyes were apologetic as he looked at me.

I shook my head slightly, and winced at the discomfort that motion produced. The dizziness had started to fade until that ill-thought moment. I closed my eyes again, willing the world to stop spinning.

After a few moments, I felt something soft beside my face, and I reluctantly opened my eyes to see that Mulder had folded up what looked to be a sweatshirt and was easing it under my head. Somehow, it made lying on the cold, uneven, rocky ground vastly more comfortable. I wanted to thank him, and at the same time I wanted to tell him to let me take care of myself. Instead, I just smiled at him briefly before closing my eyes yet again. Despite the fact that we were still in real and imminent danger, I was beginning to realize that I was in no shape to do anything but sleep right now. I could only hope that Mulder would take as good care of himself while I was resting as he was taking of me.

~~~

When I next woke, it took me a while to realize where I was. This was not helped by the fact that it was now darker outside, so there was even less visibility in the cave. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw Mulder sitting watch near the entrance. I sat up carefully, and Mulder, noticing, made his way over to me.

“How are you feeling, Scully?” he whispered. He handed me the water bottle again.

I took stock. The dizziness was almost gone, and although I was still sore and stiff, it wasn't too bad. “Much better,” I whispered back. “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded, and I took a drink from the water bottle. “How are you, Mulder?” I asked, handing it back and continuing to whisper.

“A little chilly,” he answered, “and in need of a hot shower and a meal, but other than that, I'm okay.” He sat down next to me. “It's been quiet since you went to sleep.”

I nodded (cautiously, this time). “I don't suppose cell phones get service out here?”

Mulder shook his head. “I did manage to call the Gunmen from the car on the way here, though. So they have a general idea of what I was doing.”

At that, I looked down. I still found it hard to think about the events that must have led us here. It hadn't even been very long since the first time the chip in my neck had taken away my will. How many more times was this going to happen before I was abducted again, or killed by the faceless men? How could I live with this constant specter of being 'called' at any time? And yet, the consequences of going without the chip were even more assuredly bleak.

Next to me, Mulder sighed, perhaps guessing at the turn of my thoughts. “I'm sorry, Scully.”

I could tell he wasn't just apologizing for the injuries I had incurred on the way here. No matter how many times I told him that I didn't blame him for the hardships in my life since I had joined the X-Files, I still don't think I have ever gotten him to believe that it isn't all his fault.

I decided to change the subject. “Any chance of something to eat?”

“Not a whole lot, unfortunately,” Mulder answered. He pulled over my overnight bag, and handed me a granola bar. “There are three more of those, and a Snickers and some sunflower seeds in my bag.”

“Have you eaten anything?” I asked as I unwrapped the bar.

He shook his head. “I'm not hungry.”

I frowned and gave him a look that he probably couldn't really see, as dark as it was in the cave. “Mulder, you're the one who has a gun and is physically well enough to defend both of us. You need to keep up your strength.”

Holding up his hands in surrender, Mulder scooted closer. “All right, if you insist, Dr. Scully.” He took one of the remaining granola bars, and we ate in silence.

As I finished the last bite of the meager meal, I suddenly began to feel uneasy. I dropped the wrapper on my blanket, shivering.

“What is it, Scully?”

I turned to him and opened my mouth, but found that I couldn't speak. The feeling of unease had grown into full-blown fear. A cloud of confusion and terror had descended over me, leaving me unable to do anything but raise a trembling hand to the back of my neck.

Dimly, I heard Mulder whisper urgently, “Scully, what's wrong? Talk to me, please!”

I met his eyes again. They're coming again, I wanted to tell him, but instead I grabbed onto his arms and pulled him close. This time, I would not be totally at the mercy of the chip.

Before Mulder could do more than wrap his arms around me in an attempt to reassure me, the cave shook as something passed by low to the ground. There was a rumbling, roaring sound that I was pretty sure wasn't only in my ears. Rocks and dirt rained down around us, but I barely noticed if any hit me. I was too busy gasping for breath and fighting in desperation against the terrifyingly strong urge to leave the cave. I'm sure I left bruises on Mulder as I clung to him.

The sound of the ship faded somewhat, but I knew it was still very close by – close enough that its pull was still strong. I was concentrating so hard on fighting it that it took me quite a while to notice that Mulder had lifted me entirely into his arms, onto his lap, and that he was whispering “Stay with me, Scully,” over and over.

After a length of time that was impossible to calculate, I loosened my grip on my partner fractionally. It seemed like the immediate danger might be passing. Maybe the ship was leaving. As rational thought began to return to me, I wondered why another ship had come to this same area. Wasn't it obvious to them that all their would-be abductees had just been killed by the... the other aliens, the rebels? Were they now trying to draw out the survivors? Or the rebels?

Mulder waited a few more minutes – or hours, it was still hard to tell – before relaxing his own grip somewhat. “Is it gone?” he asked, in such a faint whisper that I would not have heard him had we not been so close to each other. I could hear and feel his heart pounding.

I realized that I was still trembling, and I took a deep, slow breath to attempt to steady myself. “I – I think it's leaving,” I whispered back. At any rate, it was no longer calling me.

Slowly, we both allowed ourselves to calm down. I pulled away from him a little, and he took the opportunity to wrap the blanket around me again. It wasn't surprising that I was cold and shivering, I thought. I was probably going into shock. Perhaps realizing this as well, Mulder again pulled me to himself as soon as the blanket was around me.

Sighing, I curled up against him. I was exhausted by the effort of resisting the call, but I knew I wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. It had only been chance that I was awake this time when the ship had come, and although that meant that I hadn't lost my will entirely, it also meant I remained fully conscious of what would happen to me if I didn't fight it hard enough.

Despair started to set in as I pondered what would happen if the ship came again tonight. I was too tired to fight it anymore. Would I end up striking out at Mulder again while in the grip of the call? Would he have to knock me unconscious for my own safety? I swallowed, and closed my eyes.

“Scully, are you all right?” came Mulder's hesitant, soft query.

I almost laughed bitterly. Instead, I said the first thing that came to mind. “I don't think I can deal with this anymore, Mulder.”

He didn't answer right away. “What-- what do you mean?”

“I won't be awake or able to fight every time they call, and you can't be around to follow me every time, either,” I said. “One of these days...”

“No,” Mulder said, his tone hard and dangerously loud in volume. He tightened his grip on me for a second, and then continued in a quieter voice, “No, Scully, that's never going to happen. We'll figure something out.”

I sighed again. I knew he was already thinking of ways I could be guarded constantly – with help from the Gunmen, probably. But either way, I would no longer have even the illusion of independence or control over my own life. “Mulder, I don't want to be kept under constant guard, like... like some kind of rare artifact in a museum. I need to be able to live my life.”

It was his turn to sigh at that. “I know.”

He didn't offer any empty reassurances. I wondered what he would do if I told him that I wanted to remove the chip. I wasn't even sure if that was the truth, if that was what I really wanted. But part of me did. At least that way I would be in more control of when and how I died.

Trying to shake off those dark thoughts, I muttered, “I'm just so tired.”

“Sleep, Scully,” Mulder said. He smoothed the blanket across my back, and the message was clear: he would make sure I was still here in the morning.

~~~

My dreams that night were full of brief snatches of a bridge full of people, and being surrounded by screams as faceless men approached to destroy us all. Then another ship appeared above us, and I slowly raised my hands toward it with my companions. I felt a strong desire in my fogged mind that it would be me chosen to be taken this time, instead of Cassandra.

I awoke with a gasp. There was faint light coming in through the entrance of the cave, and I was still lying on Mulder's lap... or more accurately lying across his chest, since at some point in the night he had stretched out as much as he could on the cave floor. It sounded from his breathing like he must be asleep, but his arm was still comfortably tight across my shoulders.

For the first time in who knows how many hours, I smiled. I hoped he had decided to allow himself to sleep more than a few minutes ago. He certainly needed it, since this whole unplanned excursion had been robbing him of rest for several nights now.

As I looked at him in the gray light of early morning, Mulder stirred and opened his eyes. He smiled upon meeting mine, and dropped his arm away from my back. “Good morning, Scully.”

“It is,” I said quietly. “I'm still here.”

He nodded, looking at me seriously.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

We both sat up. I was still stiff and more than slightly sore, and glancing down at my bandaged arm reminded me that it was probably time to change the dressing. There was no dizziness, however.

“Feeling any better?” he inquired, still keeping his voice low.

I nodded. “I think so. I want to change this bandage, though.”

Mulder reached over for the first aid kit and pulled it toward us, groaning as he stretched his own sore muscles. “I could really go for that hot shower right about now,” he remarked.

“That does sound good.” I found the bandages, took them out, and turned my attention to removing the old bandage on my arm. I could feel Mulder's eyes on me as I slowly took it off, biting my lip against the pain. The gash underneath was large but shallow. It didn't look like it would need stitches, but it was not entirely clotted. I used a small bit of our precious water to clean it as best as I could.

“Need any help?”

I was about to refuse, but then I thought better of it. “If you could hold this edge down, that would make it easier.”

With his help, I had a respectable bandage in a matter of seconds. Then we looked at each other for a moment, silent. It was time to think about the next step.

“I could do some reconnaissance,” Mulder offered. “See if there's anything moving out there.” He frowned. “Except you don't have your weapon with you.”

I shook my head and took a deep breath. “I'll be fine, Mulder. No one... nothing discovered this cave last night, and I'll move further inside.” I gathered up our meager supplies in preparation. “Otherwise, we'll just end up stuck in here for who knows how long, and we don't have enough food and water to last.”

Mulder sighed. He didn't like it, but he knew I was right. Finally, he stood up as far as he was able and walked over to the cave entrance. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” I whispered. I don't think I managed to hide my worry when I raised my eyes to meet his. Even as I wanted him to leave to see if it was safe, it was impossible not to fear that the ship would return while he was gone. If that happened, we would both be in terrible danger.

He nodded once, and slipped out of the cave.

~~~

As soon as he was gone, I kept my word and pulled myself and all of our belongings as far back into the cave as I could. It wasn't a terribly big cavern, so this did not amount to much movement. Still, at least I was less immediately visible upon entering it, I figured. After this was accomplished, all that was left for me to do was wait.

I settled down with my back against the cave wall. It would be good if I could sleep, I told myself, but I knew that my anxiety for my partner and for myself would most likely prevent this.

The day passed. It was hard to determine the length of time since I did not have a watch with me, but as the shadows began to lengthen, my worry increased. Whatever was causing Mulder to take so long, there was almost no way it could be good. This line of thinking made me feel queasy, but I made myself eat another granola bar and drink some water. I also did a few stretches and tried to walk around a little bit. Just in case Mulder comes back and we need to move quickly, I thought. My head ached again when I first stood up, but the pain didn't last long.

Having nothing else to occupy my mind, my thoughts returned continually to the last night's events. I could not stop myself from trying to figure out the reason that a ship would come to the same place again after the first one had been shot down – if it had been shot down. Was this simply a continuation of the conflict between the two factions, that we had heard about ? Was it a sign of some kind of escalation?

I realized then that I had been thinking about these things solely as they affected the larger picture, and carefully avoiding thoughts of how they would affect me. And Mulder. It was a defense mechanism of some kind, most likely. If I allowed myself to dwell on the personal implications... I shook my head. I did not want to go back to the dark thoughts I was having immediately after the last ship had come and gone.

The last of the light from outside faded slowly but surely. All had been quiet outside my hiding place since Mulder left, and cabin fever was beginning to set in, on top of my steadily-mounting fear. I had just decided to at least take a quick look when the sound of footsteps once again became audible nearby.

Heart pounding, I ducked as far back against the wall of the cave as I could. There was a boulder between me and the entrance, but it was an incomplete screen at best. My right hand gripped a large rock that I had found earlier; it wasn't much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

From my vantage point, I saw a face, instantly familiar despite the fading light, peer into the cave. “Scully?” he whispered. “I'm back. Are you here?”

My relief at seeing him was so great that I almost answered immediately – but then with a jolt I remembered a confrontation years ago, when a man that had looked exactly like Mulder had changed before my eyes into the figure of the bounty hunter. Mulder and I had settled on a safe word to use between us in case of another such situation... but I could not ask this man to use the word, as I would still be at his mercy if he were not Mulder. A rock was not the precision weapon I would need to fend off the bounty hunter's kind.

“Scully, where are you?” the man repeated. He crept a bit further inside.

Please, if it's you, say the safe word, Mulder, I thought, my heart starting to pound again. We hadn't reminded each other about it before he left, but if it were really him, he would know why I was staying hidden.

At that moment, a tiny fragment of rock under the one I was still holding was dislodged. The noise it made as it fell a few feet seemed magnified, and I looked up from behind the boulder – straight into the eyes of the man who looked like my partner. He was smiling, but it was a cold, satisfied smile. “There you are.”

Gasping, I inched backward until my back was flat against the cave wall. “Don't come any closer,” I warned, though I knew he had no reason to listen to me.

He started forward, remaining eerily silent. Frantically, I heaved the rock at him. It struck him square in the chest. It only halted him for a moment, and then he continued toward me. Even as I looked around for something else, anything that would even slow his progress, part of my mind wondered if it gave the bounty hunter some sadistic pleasure to retain Mulder's guise.

There was nothing around me to use as a weapon, and he was within a few steps of reaching me. I took a deep breath and stood up, willing myself to meet my fate without showing fear.

Suddenly, the crack of a gunshot broke the unnatural stillness, and I had just enough time to duck as the figure in front of me clutched at his throat. Green liquid began to hiss and bubble from the wound, and I hastily moved away and covered my face as he fell, shifted into his true form for a moment, and then began to dissolve.

I backed away from the caustic substance and almost ran into Mulder, who was still standing where he had fired the shot. “Scully, are you all right?” he asked, holstering his gun and looking at me in concern. “I would have warned you before I shot, but then he would have moved and I wouldn't have been able to hit the back of the neck.”

I could only stare at him. It didn't seem likely that this wasn't the real Mulder, but there was always the possibility...

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said after a moment, remorseful. He quickly recited the safe word, and then added, “You know, I was thinking we should change that to 'Roswell.'”

That was definitely Mulder. I began to relax, as he once again asked if I was all right.

“Yeah,” I said, taking deep breaths to try to slow my racing heart. “I'm fine.” I looked at him, noting in the faint light from outside that there was a small cut above his right eye. “What about you?”

He exhaled slowly, turning his gaze back to the pool of green liquid that was now all that remained of the bounty hunter. “I've got a few more cuts and bruises. Nothing serious.”

“Do you think it's safe to leave?”

At this, he smiled wryly. “Well, it's obviously not safe to stay now, is it?”

I shook my head, and crossed my arms against the sudden cool wind. “Guess not.”

Mulder went to gather our supplies together, drawing back with a small cry of disgust when he found that the blood of the bounty hunter had gotten onto one of the duffel bags and ruined it. “I'm sorry I took so long. I didn't run into anyone or anything out there for most of the day,” he told me as he picked up the remaining supplies. “But then our friend here”- he gestured to the green liquid - “caught me by surprise near what I think was the crash site and knocked me out. I guess he must have tracked me back here while I was unconscious.”

I could hear the guilt creep into his tone as he related the last part. Sighing, I walked over to join him, and took the blanket he was holding out. “Mulder, he could have killed you when he found you earlier. I'm just glad you got here in time – and mostly in one piece.”

He didn't seem convinced, but he nodded finally. “Let's get out of here.”

We exited the cave. I contemplated wrapping the blanket around myself, but decided it might hinder my ability to move quickly and just held it under one arm, instead. The late evening air was not dangerously cold.

“Which direction are our cars?” I asked, as we made our way down the small hill outside the cave.

Mulder was heading to our right. “I'm not sure how far, but they're this way.”

I grimaced. The sky was now completely dark. Though I wanted to get out of here, I was not looking forward to trekking through unknown terrain at night to do so. Then I shook my head, and hurried to catch up to Mulder, who had pushed ahead. He had already had to do this, while somehow bringing his uncooperative partner along - and then he had managed to find a place where we could recover in relative safety. At least this time, I was following him willingly.

We made it through what seemed to be a ravine without too much stumbling or being hit in the face by branches. By unspoken agreement, we kept as quiet as possible, for fear of further pursuit.

At last, after what seemed like quite a long trek, I could see the rental car, in the middle of a field where I had apparently left it. It was only then that it occurred to me: as was usual on the type of case we'd been on, we had only rented one car. Where had Mulder gotten the car that was parked right behind our rental?

“Mulder,” I said quietly, as we approached the vehicles, “this is our rental car that I must have taken out here. So whose car is that?”

He turned to look at me for a moment, but I couldn't see his expression in the dark. “We can come back for the rental later,” he said. “I should get this car back to its owner as soon as possible.”

My mouth dropped open. “You stole it?”

“Borrowed it, Scully,” Mulder corrected, opening the back door and throwing in what he had been carrying. “Are you coming?” In the illumination of the car's domelight, he looked somewhat uncertain. “Or I guess-- if you're feeling well enough, you could follow me back in the rental.”

In other circumstances, I thought grimly, neither of us should be driving at all: he probably had a concussion from his earlier confrontation with the bounty hunter, and I was definitely not at my best health-wise, either. “I think the best idea would be for us to be in the same car,” I told him. “Just in case either of us are not as alert as we think.”

Mulder nodded. “Good idea.”

Within minutes, we were on our way back to civilization. I breathed a small sigh of relief as the field passed into the distance behind us – a relief that faded rapidly as I thought of the ship calling me out here all the way from our motel.

“Mulder,” I inquired, trying to keep my voice level, “do you know how many miles away from our motel we are?”

He squinted at the dashboard and calculated for a moment. “I'm not sure, but I think that field where you stopped is about twenty miles outside of Richmond. I guess we should both get checked out at a hospital when we get back to town, right?”

I nodded distractedly. Twenty miles. It had been a greater distance last time, I thought. It would be nice to have some idea of the range from which a 'call' could affect me... but then, since there was no way to predict where a ship would appear next, that still wouldn't help me avoid it. And this time, I hadn't even been having trouble sleeping for the nights leading up to the call – at least, not that I remembered. But on the other hand...

“Scully?”

I looked up quickly. By the sharper, alarmed tone of his voice, I guessed that he had already said my name at least once without getting a response. “What?”

He took a deep breath, his worry replaced by calmer concern. “How are you doing?”

Staring at my hands in my lap, I shrugged. He wasn't going to be put off by a pat answer, but I wasn't in the mood for giving him more right now. To delay it a bit longer, I said, “Where's your cell phone? If we have reception, I'll call Skinner – he's probably about to organize search parties by now.”

Mulder took his eyes off the road and gave me a look. After a few seconds, during which I met his gaze without flinching, he finally sighed, relented, and handed me his phone from in his jacket pocket.

As expected, Skinner sounded even more tense than usual. “Agent Scully, I've been trying to reach you and Agent Mulder for more than a day. Where are you?”

“We're driving back toward Richmond right now, sir,” I told him. “I'm sorry, our cell phones have been out of service range until now.”

“And just what have you been doing?”

I cleared my throat, giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “Do you remember Ruskin Dam, sir?”

There was a significant pause, and then Skinner replied, “Of course I do.”

“Well, uh, two nights ago-” I looked at Mulder for confirmation, and he nodded, “I... apparently experienced a similar phenomenon. But this time, since I left from our motel, Agent Mulder was able to follow me and... prevent me from coming to any major harm. Unfortunately, we were then both forced to remain where we were, due to continued activity from-- from the same forces that drew me out there.” There. Once again, I had successfully managed to avoid saying the word 'alien.' The thought brought a faint wry smile to my lips.

I heard Skinner sigh over the line. “All right, where are you headed right now?”

“The nearest hospital,” I reported. “Just as a precaution, and for some minor injuries we both sustained.”

“I'll meet you there.” With that, he hung up.

I relayed his reply to Mulder, who nodded again. Then he smiled slightly. “Maybe we can leave the fact that I borrowed this car out of our initial report, at least. What do you say, Scully?”

I couldn't help but smile in response. “If Skinner doesn't ask, I won't bring it up.” A sudden thought at that moment made my amusement disappear rapidly. “Mulder, last time this happened... a lot of people were killed. And we heard at least one person die this time. Did-- did you see how many other people were drawn to that field?”

Mulder swallowed, keeping his eyes on the road. “I... I didn't get a good look at them all, but there were probably at least as many as at Ruskin Dam. There were certainly a lot of other cars abandoned in that field.”

There was nothing I could say to that. Though I knew rationally that we had been lucky to survive this whole thing ourselves, and that there was nothing to say that any other survivors would have been anywhere near the cave where we had been holed up, I knew we would both feel the guilt of not looking for and trying to rescue others before we left.

~~~

Upon our arrival at the hospital, Mulder and I were shuttled off to separate examination rooms. He had first informed my doctor as best as he could of what had happened to me during the period that I still could not remember. The usual tests were run, and the cut on my arm was deemed to be healing well enough that I would not need stitches. The dehydration was mild enough that my doctor did not see the need to admit me, as long as I took it easy and drank plenty of water in the next day or so.

While I was on my way to where they had told me Mulder would be, a voice called my name. I turned, expecting to see Skinner, but it was Byers.

“Agent Scully,” he greeted me, looking concerned. “How are you?”

“I'm all right,” I told him. “I was just on my way to see Mulder.”

He nodded. “I'm sure he'll want to hear our news, too – but I can't stay long. I have to get back. Can you pass it along to him, and tell him we'll be in touch?”

“What's wrong, Byers?” There was something about his expression and what he wasn't saying that sent a chill down my spine.

Byers sighed. “Agent Scully, we have reason to believe that-- that this incident that drew you and Mulder out to that field is only the first of many.”

I stared at him. “The first of many?”

“I'm afraid so.” He looked like he deeply regretted having no better news to give me. “There have been quite a few reports in other areas of the country, and some of the ships were even caught on satellite. We're working on trying to predict where the next ship will be, but we don't have anything concrete yet.”

So is this it, I wondered bleakly – is this the beginning of the end? I hadn't ever allowed myself to think too much about the possibility of colonization whenever Mulder had brought it up, but I didn't know what else this could herald.

“Agent Scully?” Byers's concern had increased. “Are you sure you're all right?”

I nodded, and managed a small smile. “Yes. Thank you. It's... it's just not news I was expecting. I'll be sure to tell Mulder.”

He nodded. “We'll be in touch.”

As he left, I took a deep breath before continuing toward where Mulder was probably finishing up his examination by now. I arrived there just in time to see him exit the room, and for Skinner to come around the corner.

“Agents,” he said, looking at both of us, “how are you doing?”

I could tell that Mulder wanted to hear the results of my examination, so I answered first. “Uh, nothing serious, sir. The doctor recommended taking it easy for a while, that's all.”

“That's good to hear,” Skinner replied. He turned to Mulder.

“Oh, just the usual for me,” Mulder said dismissively. “A mild concussion, couple of bruises. They wanted to admit me so they could wake me up every few hours, but I told them I wasn't going to sleep anyway.”

“All right,” Skinner said, attempting to ignore his agent's flippancy. “I'm not expecting a report tonight – I want you two to take it easy and get some rest – but if this was anything like Ruskin Dam, I need to know where you were so we can get people out there to search for any other survivors.”

At this, Mulder was all business. He gave Skinner quick directions and as much of a description of the site of the crashed ship as he could. Skinner nodded and would have left, but I stopped him.

“Wait, sir, I think you'll want to hear this, too.” Both he and Mulder looked at me inquiringly. “Just a few moments ago one of our... main sources told me that he has reason to believe that there will be many more of these incidents in the immediate future.” I told them what Byers had told me about the other reported incidents across the country.

Mulder's dismay at this news was written clearly on his face, and even Skinner looked as upset as he ever did. “How immediate? Are you in danger tonight?”

I shook my head, suppressing a sigh as I imagined how I was going to live in these next few months. “I don't think so, sir.”

He frowned. “But you're not sure.” It wasn't a question.

“I-- I can't be entirely sure,” I admitted, “but I am fairly certain that I recognize the signs now, and I don't feel the same as I did before the other incidents.” It was true: after this latest round, I was almost positive that I wasn't going to be caught completely unaware again. There were enough warning signs. In fact, that was one main thing that was keeping me from despairing at the Gunmen's latest findings.

After a moment, Skinner nodded, though he looked unconvinced. “I need to know if and when that changes, Agent Scully.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner continued, and then he hesitated, glancing at me. “I know I don't need to tell you this, but... stay alert.”

Mulder nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I expect you both back in DC tomorrow,” he said. “Get some rest tonight.”

As soon as our boss had left, Mulder turned to me with a grim expression on his face. “Scully, who was it who told you about there being more ships coming?”

“It was Byers,” I said. “He said they would be in touch as soon as they knew more.”

He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. He seemed suddenly exhausted.

I put a hand on his arm. “Come on. Let's get back to the motel, Mulder.”

Mulder said nothing, but walked with me out to the car. He didn't protest when I took the driver's seat, and remained silent the entire way back to the motel. Finally, when I turned off the motor in the parking lot, he heaved another sigh and leaned back in his seat, eyes closed.

“Mulder...” I started, but trailed off. I wasn't sure what I had been planning to say.

He clenched his fists. In the dim light from the front of the motel, I could just barely see his eyes as he turned to look at me. “Scully, was that true – what you said to Skinner about recognizing the signs of when a ship is about to arrive?”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath, remembering the general feeling of anxiety and edginess that I had ignored on the way out here to Virginia... and the much more pronounced fear I had felt until the second ship had left the crash site. “They-- they aren't always exactly the same, but I know what they are now.”

Silence fell again. I gathered up my courage and asked, “Do you think this is colonization?”

“I don't know, Scully.” His voice was almost inaudible. “I have no idea how we're going to face it, if it is. I thought we had... more time.”

My heart sank. Mulder didn't often sound this discouraged, and I wasn't sure I had enough fight left in me to get us both ready to do what we could. I wasn't even sure if I had fully accepted the idea that alien colonization was going to happen. “Well, maybe it's not really colonization. And maybe the Gunmen are wrong, and nothing else is going to happen right now.” And maybe Santa Claus is real.

Mulder smiled faintly. “Maybe.” He reached across and took my hand briefly. “I guess we should try to get some sleep. We'll deal with it in the morning.”

We headed inside. As we prepared to enter our separate rooms, Mulder spoke again. “Hey, Scully – we are going to figure this out.” He sounded tired, but resolute.

I nodded, holding back a yawn as my own exhaustion caught up with me.

“And... we'll figure something out that doesn't involve you being under constant guard, I promise,” he continued, in a quieter tone.

“I hope so,” I muttered. The only other solution not involving the removal of my chip that presented itself to my mind at the moment involved handcuffs – and while I was sure that would provide no end of innuendo from Mulder, it was hardly more appealing than guards. But even with the limited options I could see before me, I had already resolved that getting rid of the chip was a last resort. How could I give up, and leave Mulder to face this new catastrophe by himself?

“Good night, Scully.” He opened his door, and then paused. “Um, I know I just said you wouldn't be under guard, but... would you mind if we kept the door between our rooms open tonight? I'll be able to sleep better knowing I could hear you sooner if...”

“Sure, Mulder,” I said. I gave him a small smile as I opened my door. “Good night.”

~~~~~~

Author's Note 2: The intriguing lyric quoted below helped inspire this fic, although the story quickly changed into something entirely different than how I thought it would go.

My tongue is lost, so I can't tell you
Please just see it in my eyes.
- Snow Patrol, “Headlights on Dark Roads”

Fic: All Is Bright (1/1)

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 06:42:19 GMT

This is actually completely unrelated to my project for xf_santa - it's just something I felt like I wanted to write.

Title: All Is Bright
Spoilers: Pre-IWTB
Category: VR
Keywords: MSR, post-series.
Rating: PG
Summary: Preparations for Christmas at a certain unremarkable house.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Feedback: Would be as lovely as a hot cup of apple cider on a cold winter's night!
Archive: Sure, but please ask me first.
Author's Note: I decided I wanted some pure holiday fluff, post-series style. Hope it brings some cheer to you as well!
Thanks go out to Dasha, for her comments and thoughts.

~~~~~~

December 3, 2004

Scully took a deep breath of the crisp late evening air before closing the car door behind her. She exhaled slowly as she walked toward the front door. It had been a long day at work (when weren't they long?), and she was looking forward to a chance to simply relax, to not have to think for a while. She noticed that the porch light was on, and mentally thanked Mulder for remembering this time.

Mulder came out of his office as she pushed open the door. As usual, he looked like he might just as easily have gotten out of bed an hour ago as some time that morning, Scully saw with a mixture of affection and faint annoyance. But the annoyance faded as she dropped her bag and coat on a chair and was enfolded in his embrace.

"Miss me?" she asked after a few seconds, muffled against him.

"Always," he replied.

"Missed you, too."

"How was work?" He loosened his grip slightly, but she made no move to break their embrace.

"It was all right, I guess. Just tiring."

"Well, come sit down then, Scully. I'll bring you dinner." They broke apart, and Scully followed him toward the table.

After they ate, they retired to the living room to sit in front of the fireplace. Scully leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped one arm around her. They sat in comfortable silence.

Mulder spoke suddenly, startling Scully out of near-slumber. "Scully, do you want to get a Christmas tree?"

She looked up at his face, blinking. He was staring at the fire, but he glanced down at her expectantly.

"A Christmas tree?" Scully repeated. She took a look around the living room, imagining a tall, tastefully-decorated fir tree near the window. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "I just thought... now that we've been here for a year, it might be nice to have a tree. You know, decorate. Get in the holiday spirit."

Scully laid her head back down against him. Last Christmas, they had exchanged gifts and worked together to prepare a holiday feast for two, and that had been the extent of their celebration. She had still been so busy re-qualifying and establishing herself at Our Lady of Sorrows. "I think I like that idea, Mulder." She reached for his hand. "Do you want a fake tree or a real one?"

"I don't know," he answered. "What did you usually have, growing up?"

"A real one," Scully told him. "It always smelled so good – even though my dad always made us take it down right after Christmas. He didn't want pine needles all over the house."

Mulder squeezed her hand. "We'll get a real one, then. When do you want to go get it?"

"How about this weekend?" she suggested. She was already thinking about the best tree lot to go to, one far enough away from work that no one from there would see them together.

"Sounds good," Mulder said. "You know my calendar's open."

Scully nodded. "We'll need ornaments, too, Mulder."

"And plenty of mistletoe," he added, kissing the top of her head.

She chuckled, and then yawned. "Mulder, you know you don't need mistletoe to get me to kiss you."

"I know," he said, gently disentangling his hand from hers and using it to tilt her face up. "But it's all part of the holiday tradition, Scully."

She closed her eyes as their lips met. Perhaps she wasn't as tired as she had thought.

~~~

December 5

"How about this one?"

Scully walked over to where he was standing with some trepidation. Her sense of foreboding turned out to be well-founded: he was looking speculatively at a gigantic, bushy Douglas fir that probably wouldn't even fit through their back door, let alone the front. At least this one was symmetrical, unlike the last one he had shown an interest in.

"You don't think that would be a little hard to fit on the roof of our car, Mulder?" Scully asked wryly, raising her eyebrow.

He looked at it again, then looked rueful. "I guess you're right."

"It's a nice tree," Scully conceded, "but I prefer Noble firs, anyway. Come on."

"Those are more expensive, you know, Scully," he remarked, walking with her toward the other end of the lot.

"Yes," Scully said. She smiled up at him, then reached to make sure his scarf was secure around his neck. "But we're worth it."

He returned the smile. "Can't disagree with that."

~~~

December 6

Scully hurried out to her car, shivering against the icy-cold wind. The skies were gray and heavy; it looked like it might start snowing at any moment. She hoped there was enough firewood to keep the fireplace lit for a while tonight.

By the time she made it home, it had been snowing for a good half hour. In the time it took to open the gate, she was covered in snow, and the drive up the rest of the driveway only served to melt it all over her.

Feeling miserably wet and cold, Scully parked the car and dashed inside. Her self-pity increased when Mulder did not come out to greet her. The door to his office was open slightly, and the light was on. He was probably absorbed in working on whatever the latest idea he'd had to fight against the future, she thought. As usual, that whole issue only sunk her further into gloom.

She began to move toward the coat rack, and finally noticed the tree. Not only had Mulder set it up in the tree stand, but he had even managed the task of putting on the lights – something that Scully knew from personal experience to be an especially frustrating job. They were not plugged in at the moment, and they looked to be a little less than perfectly symmetrical in their positioning, but they were not tangled, and they covered the whole tree. With a small smile, Scully found the plug and put it in the nearest outlet.

She heard the sound of his office door opening. "Hey, Scully, I'm sorry, I was just reading – oh, you saw already." He came to stand next to her, appearing slightly anxious. "Does it look all right?"

In answer, Scully dropped her bag and very wet gloves on the floor, turned to face him, and kissed him, with feeling. His surprise only lasted a second before he responded in kind.

Finally, she pulled away enough to whisper, "Thank you."

He cleared his throat. "You're welcome, Scully." Then he grinned. "What would you have done if I'd put the ornaments on, too?"

Laughing, Scully took off her coat and hung it up. "Too bad you won't be finding that out this year."

Mulder looked comically disappointed, but then smiled again. "I'll just keep it in mind for next year, then."

"Might be a smart idea." She rejoined him in front of the tree, putting her arm around him. The soft glow of the lights made the whole room already seem warm.

~~~

December 24

Scully woke up abruptly, and turned to look at the clock. It was earlier than she would have preferred on her day off, but it was still more sleep than she normally got on a work day. Mulder, of course, was still solidly asleep, one arm draped across her body. But her mind was completely awake now, so there was no use staying in bed.

Carefully, she pulled herself out of the bed, making sure she didn't disturb Mulder. He stirred briefly, but remained asleep.

Scully wrapped her robe around herself, pulled on some socks, and went downstairs. Now was as good a time as any to start the preparations for the day. And maybe this way, she thought with an indulgent smile, most of the cookie dough would make it to the oven, as opposed to being eaten before it got the chance to be baked.

About twenty minutes later, when she was just putting the first batch into the fridge for later, Mulder shuffled into the doorway. His hair was standing up in all directions, and he looked more than half-asleep. "Do you want any help?" he asked in a raspy voice, after a moment of just staring at her.

Smiling, Scully shook her head. "No, thank you, Mulder. You can go back to bed if you want."

He yawned. "Maybe I'll go lie down on the couch. In case you change your mind."

"Okay."

He shuffled out of the room.

Scully finished the cookies in peace, and the roast was prepared and put in the oven. There had not been a peep from Mulder, so she went out to check on him. He was fast asleep on the couch, mouth slightly open.

"Mulder," she said.

He jerked awake. "Oh... hey, Scully. Did you need some help in there?"

"No, everything's just about ready." She smiled. "You slept through it all."

"Oh." He blinked. "Well, it's the thought that counts, right?"

She sat down on the edge of the couch, next to him. "Sure, Mulder."

Through the small chinks in the closed blinds on the front window, Scully could see the brightness that heralded sunrise on freshly-fallen snow. It was still dark enough inside, though, that their tree's lights provided the main source of illumination. The light reflected off the wrapping paper on the four gifts under the tree – two for each of them.

Scully looked down at Mulder, who still looked sleepy but also thoughtful. She thought about where they had been in Christmases past, and where they were now. All things considered, and even with all they had lost over the years, she was fairly certain this would be their best one yet. At least, she reflected with a wry grin, there would not be any sadistic ghosts attempting to make them shoot each other. Probably.

"What are you thinking about, Scully?" Mulder asked her, shifting onto his side so that he was facing her more.

She chuckled lightly, reaching out a hand to run her fingers through his hair and down the side of his face. "I was just thinking of a Christmas Eve some years ago when a couple of ghosts tried to get us to kill each other."

Mulder grinned. "Now that's the Christmas spirit, right there." He caught her hand and kissed it.

"It's some kind of spirit, all right," Scully said. She leaned back and settled herself against him. They really had nothing else to do for a while today. She wondered if she might not be able to get a little more sleep.

Behind her, Mulder took a deep breath, and then sighed contentedly. "I know it's a little early, but Merry Christmas, Scully."

"Merry Christmas, Mulder."

~~~

Fic: Intermission (1/1)

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 06:37:59 GMT

Title: Intermission
Spoilers: IWTB
Keywords: MSR, post-IWTB
Category: CRA
Summary: Doctor Who/XF crossover. Another chance meeting, this time on a tropical island. This is a sequel of sorts to my other crossover, “Time Flies.” Spoilers for DW season 4 up to Journey's End.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or X-Files, or their associated characters.
Archive: Sure, but please ask permission first.
Feedback: Would be fantastic! Write me at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Since some of you asked for a sequel, and I couldn't stop mulling over what could happen if the Doctor met up with Mulder and Scully again, here it is. Thanks for wanting more!
And many thanks are also owed to both

dashakay and belsum for beta-ing.

~~~~~~~

Scully came awake slowly. It was still early, judging by the faintness of the light coming from the window. She attempted to start getting up, but smiled as Mulder's arm tightened around her reflexively, keeping her in place even as he remained asleep. She tugged on his arm gently. “Mulder,” she said.

He groaned and muttered something unintelligible, but loosened his grip enough for her to pull away. She shivered slightly as she came in contact with the cooler morning air, and found her light robe. Then she crossed the short distance to the window seat and looked out. The view, as always, was breathtaking.

The sun was just beginning to rise, making the clear tropical waters sparkle with its rays. The beach was empty of all signs of human life. Scully thought she could see a few shore birds at the edge of the surf. They were out on a small peninsula that contained the only other beach house on this tiny island. That house was unoccupied at the moment – a fact that she and Mulder had been sure to verify before they had chosen this specific destination for their tropical getaway.

Scully smiled again, reveling in the luxury of this time they had to simply relax and be with each other. So far, their vacation had been as close to perfect as she had ever imagined. She glanced back at the bed, and saw that Mulder's eyes were now open, looking at her. “Morning,” he greeted her sleepily. “Enjoying the view?”

“Mmhmm,” Scully replied, leaning on the window seat.

Mulder yawned, and then grinned. “Me, too.”

Chuckling lightly, Scully turned back to the window as he began to stir from the bed. He moved to stand behind her at the window, resettling his arms around her. “What do you want to do today, Scully?” he asked softly, bending to her ear and causing her to shiver again.

“I don't know yet,” Scully answered. She leaned back and returned his leisurely kisses, again thinking with pleasure that there was no need to rush, that they could decide the day's itinerary (or lack of one) at whatever speed they chose.

Mulder barely moved his lips away from her skin as he continued, “I can think of one activity in particular that sounds good to me right now.”

“Mulder,” Scully scolded, without much force, “you don't want to leave the house at all? We have this whole island to ourselves, and we've barely done more than take a few walks.”

He made a noncommittal sound, continuing to focus on his task.

After a moment, Scully turned her face away slightly to look outside again, and gasped. It couldn't be... “Mulder, look at that!”

“What is it?” He pulled his focus away from her to look where she was pointing.

In the near-silence of the morning, an oddly familiar, very distinctive sound could be heard in the distance. As the two of them stared in shock, a small blue box gradually appeared on the shore of the peninsula, directly under one of the palm trees next to the empty beach house. After a second, a tall, skinny figure emerged, shoulders slumped and hands in the pockets of a long coat.

“Mulder, that can't be... it isn't...” Scully looked away from the incredible sight to meet Mulder's eyes.

He was just as shocked, but he merely said, “There's only one way to find out, Scully.”

In minutes, the two of them had thrown on slightly more presentable clothes and exited the beach house. They hurried as fast as they could safely go down the stairs to the beach – and Scully was sure she wasn't the only one remembering dashing down the stairs of the Washington Monument, years ago when they had first met this man... if it really could be him.

Mulder had made it onto the sand first of course, but then he stopped. He turned to Scully, an expression of concern on his face. “Scully, he doesn't look... well, I mean, I don't think we should just run up to him.”

Scully took another look. The man was walking slowly along the edge of the tide, shoulders still slumped, seeming blind to the beauty around him. And he was alone. No one else had emerged from the wooden box. She remembered he had called it his TARDIS.

“You're right, Mulder,” she said, wondering with a flash of worry where Martha was. “But maybe seeing some old friends would be good for him.”

Mulder nodded, and the two continued toward him at a less hurried pace. When they were within earshot, Scully called out, “Well, you're a long way from D.C., Doctor!”

The man looked up. By now the sun had risen and they were close enough that there could be no doubt: it was definitely the Doctor. But Scully was shocked at his appearance. Physically, he didn't seem to have aged a day since they had last met, which was striking enough. His expression, however, was completely different than any she had ever seen him wear – his eyes were dull, and there was no trace of the usual energy that accompanied him.

For a second, he just stared at them. Then his eyes brightened with recognition. “Agents Mulder and Scully! Fancy running into you here!” He strode forward, with enough real enthusiasm that Scully was sure that her instinct to not leave him alone with his thoughts had been a good one.

Mulder put out a hand for a handshake, but the Doctor seemed not to notice it, instead giving them each a quick hug and then stepping back to look them over more carefully. “Well, you two look great! I take it you're not here on official business? No mysterious teleportations or bizarre creature sightings to investigate?”

Mulder shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “No, uh... actually, we haven't been with the FBI for quite some time.”

“Really?” The Doctor paused, surprised. Scully could see his gaze flicker to the healing scars on Mulder's arm. “So you're just taking a holiday, then, eh?”

“That's right,” Scully answered. She didn't realize she had leaned into Mulder during the course of the conversation until he casually put an arm around her shoulders. Clearing her throat, she met the Doctor's eyes again. He had not missed the gesture. Scully was faintly surprised that she didn't feel embarrassed by the Doctor observing it.

“Ah,” the Doctor remarked. He looked away for a moment, then smiled. “Well, it's certainly a beautiful spot for a holiday.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mulder agreed. He gestured with his other arm toward the TARDIS behind them. “Is that why you're here, too, Doctor - vacation? Because that TARDIS thing still seems pretty small. The beach house there is vacant; you could relax and spread out if you wanted. We wouldn't tell on you to the travel agency.”

Scully could tell that he was disguising the reluctance he felt at sharing this secluded haven with anyone else, even a friend. But he needn't have worried. The Doctor smiled again, though it didn't reach his eyes, and shook his head. “No, thank you, Agent Mulder – or I guess Mr. Mulder now?” He looked at the other man for clarification.

“Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mulder.” The Doctor took a deep breath, and then sighed heavily, staring at the waves lapping against the shore next to them. “I just came here to... to think, for a little while. Someplace sunny. I won't bother you two for long.”

“It's not a bother,” Scully told him. Mulder and she could spare a few hours out of their time to catch up with a friend... especially when he so obviously needed someone to talk to. “There's a little picnic table over this way – why don't we sit down?”

The three of them started to walk in the direction Scully indicated. “So... is Martha still traveling with you?” she asked, hoping she wouldn't increase the Doctor's melancholy by the query.

The Doctor blinked. “Oh, no, not recently. She's working as a doctor now, and she's engaged.” This time his smile was genuine. “She's doing well, I think.”

“That's great,” Scully said, returning the smile. She had no doubt that the young woman was a very capable, compassionate physician. “If you see her, tell her we said hello.”

“I will,” the Doctor replied. He was silent as they approached the table and sat down. Then, as if determined to be something other than gloomy, he took another deep breath and asked, “So, what have you two been up to lately? Investigating X-Files on your own time?”

Scully would have laughed at the keenness of his guess if her fears for Mulder's safety hadn't still been so fresh in her memory. Instead she just looked at Mulder, one eyebrow raised. He caught her eye briefly before turning back to the Doctor. “Well, uh, you could say that.”

“Oh?” He sounded intrigued.

“Despite the fact that the FBI didn't part with either of us on the best of terms,” Scully explained, allowing irony to color her tone, “they wanted Mulder's help with a case a few weeks ago.”

“Just your help?” the Doctor said to Mulder, seeming a bit confused. “Not your partner's as well?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Yeah, I don't know.” He turned to Scully, honestly as confused as the Doctor. “Maybe they assumed you would be too busy with your work.”

This time, Scully did laugh a little bit. “I doubt they thought that far about it. Mulder, it was always you that people thought of when they thought of the X-Files,” she said without rancor. “I guess that hasn't changed even now.”

Mulder blinked, and then nodded, taking her point silently. Together they gave the Doctor a brief summary of the case and how it had gone. Scully refrained from commenting on the validity of Father Joe's claims of psychic connections, and Mulder did not bring up Scully's plea for him to stop trying to find the missing agent.

“Was the missing agent rescued?” the Doctor asked after they had finished.

Mulder swallowed and looked down. “No.”

“I'm sorry.” The Doctor looked like he wished he hadn't asked the question.

“But Mulder did locate the other kidnapping victim,” Scully put in. “We saved her life. The kidnappers were...” She paused, vividly remembering the disturbing sight that had greeted her when she had entered their facility. “They were modern-day Dr. Frankensteins. They were trying to perform full-body transplants.”

The Doctor shuddered. “Ooh. I've come across the type before.” He frowned. “They always seem to be after my head.”

It was Scully's turn to shudder at that. She reached out for Mulder's hand under the table, and he took it and held it tightly as he wryly remarked, “Mine, too.”

“Ah,” the Doctor said with a sympathetic grimace. “I was wondering where you'd gotten those scars. It doesn't look like this island is dangerous enough for that kind of injury.”

“If it were,” Scully said in a dry tone, “Mulder would have discovered that fact by now.”

With a mock wounded expression but a wicked gleam in his eyes, Mulder objected, “Scully, that's hardly fair! You know as well as I do that I've been spending most of my time indoors.”

Scully glared at him warningly, but the Doctor seemed to have missed the implication of Mulder's statement. “It's quite a small island,” he remarked blandly, “so I doubt there are any undiscovered mysteries lurking.”

There was a short pause. “But enough about us,” Mulder said finally and much more seriously. “How have you been, Doctor?”

“Me?” the Doctor said, not meeting Mulder or Scully's eyes and shrugging in a would-be casual manner. “Oh, I've been... I've been traveling around, as usual. Always something new to see.”

“Alone?” asked Scully gently.

At that, the Doctor's face took on the same closed-off, spiritless expression that he had been wearing when they had first met him on the beach. “Not... not until recently.”

The two of them remained quiet after this, waiting. Though he would not meet their eyes, the Doctor could clearly tell that they expected more of an answer. He sighed. “Last time we met, I was traveling with Martha. She... she decided she wanted to stay with her family, after I managed to put them all through a lot of pain. Then I ran into a friend I'd met before, who was actually looking for me and wanted to travel with me. Donna.” He looked up briefly. “Donna Noble. And she was just brilliant.” Pride, love, and fond memories crept into his voice. “We saw so much, and went to so many places, and... and then it was all taken away from her.”

“What?”

The Doctor glanced at Mulder, who had spoken. “She doesn't remember any of what we did. She can't.”

“What happened?” This time it was Scully who spoke. She couldn't imagine that a man of the Doctor's talents could not find a way to cure his friend's amnesia.

As if he knew what she was thinking, the Doctor gave a humorless smile and shook his head. “No, it isn't amnesia, Dr. Scully. I mean she literally must not remember any of it. If she does... she'll die.”

Scully frowned. “You mean... she's being prevented from remembering, for her own safety.” Her voice was flat. Mulder tightened his grip on her hand. She continued on in the same tone. “Are you preventing her?”

Shaken out of his despondency somewhat by this change, the Doctor stared at her. “Yes. I... I had to wipe her memory, of everything that had happened since she met me. There had been a transference of information, of knowledge. It was too much for her mind... it was killing her.” He swallowed.

At this, Scully shot a look at Mulder. His eyes widened before he carefully resumed a neutral expression. There was still a faint scar on the back of his skull from the time that his own mind had been too active for his body to withstand.

The Doctor still seemed too absorbed in his own private grief to notice their exchange. He merely continued, in a hollow voice. “She doesn't remember me now.” Then he straightened slightly, looking resolute. “But I won't forget her. And she's with her family – she's safe.”

Both of them had questions, Scully knew, but she also knew they would hold off on prying into the Doctor's story for now. “I'm sorry, Doctor.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Well... it's done now. And I don't want to interrupt your holiday mood by being gloomy.” After a moment's pause, he turned his gaze on Scully. “Agent Scully, how have you been? Any further problems caused by your chip?”

Scully blinked. It had been years since she had even thought about the chip for more than a second... which was a very good thing. “No, no problems,” she told him, and smiled. “Thank you again for what you did.”

He returned the smile. “I'm so glad it worked.”

“So are we.”

Scully suddenly found it hard to swallow around the lump in her throat that Mulder's quiet, heartfelt words had produced. She took a moment to compose herself before looking up again.

The Doctor's smile had broadened, and then he looked almost embarrassed. “It was the least I could do.”

There was a pause. Then Scully spoke up. “Well, I think it's about time for breakfast. Do you want anything to eat or drink, Doctor?”

“Oh, well,” the Doctor answered, looking hopeful, “if it's not too much trouble...”

“None at all.” Scully stood, and Mulder looked up, inquiring wordlessly if she wanted him to come along. She shook her head faintly. “What would you like: fruit, toast, coffee, juice?”

“Toast and coffee would be wonderful, thanks,” the man replied.

“I'll be right back.”

~~~~~~

The Doctor and Mulder watched in silence as Scully walked to the beach house. After a moment, the Doctor turned to Mulder. “So what's next for you two, after this? Not working with the FBI again, I'm guessing?”

Mulder exhaled slowly. “No... certainly not regularly.” He frowned. “We haven't-- neither of us have really been allowing ourselves to think about the future much.”

“Why not?” The Doctor observed his companion's tension increase, and added hastily, “If you don't mind my asking.”

“No, it's a good question,” Mulder said. He glanced behind them at the beach house, and when he turned back, he seemed to collect his thoughts for a moment before starting again. “Several years ago, I found out about something that's coming – something big, that almost got me killed in the process of finding it. I don't know how many people other than Scully and me know about it...” He sighed again. “And after all this time, I still don't know if we can stop it.”

The Doctor nodded seriously. He thought he might have an idea of what Mulder was alluding to, and the thought of just these two attempting to fight something of this scope by themselves made something inside him ache – even as he was struck by their bravery. Especially since what they were facing could only seem insurmountable, from their limited human perspective. “Mulder,” he began, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the beach house stairs.

Scully came out, one hand holding an open carton of milk and the other hand on her hip. “Mulder, how long has this been out of the fridge?”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “Uh... I'm not exactly sure, but I think I took it out last night.”

The Doctor smiled as he watched Scully remind her partner in detail of the risks involved in not paying the proper amount of attention to food safety, especially in the tropics. Mulder merely sat and took it, his eyes betraying his own amusement even as he nodded and kept his expression grave.

She reminded him so much of... He swallowed. With her red hair, strong will, and her unhesitating drive to correct faults she saw, Scully was more than a bit like Donna. Hugely different in many ways, too, of course, even in just life experiences... but there were enough similarities that he had to look away from her for a few seconds.

These two would've liked to meet Donna, the Doctor thought, staring at a spot of peeling paint on the picnic table. She would have liked them, too... especially Mulder. At that, he couldn't suppress a grin, though it faded quickly enough.

After Scully finished her admonitions, and Mulder had dutifully declared that he would remember not to leave food out overnight, he volunteered to go back inside the house and get more suitable provisions.

“No, you stay here,” Scully told him. She kept a straight face. “It's clear that I can't trust you in the kitchen, after all.”

Mulder's protests went unheeded as the woman headed back inside. Finally, he gave up and fell silent, watching her until she was out of sight.

“She's still the brains of the operation?” the Doctor asked, grinning.

“Definitely,” Mulder replied.

There was another brief period of silence, and then the Doctor resumed from where he had left off. “Mulder, I know that-- that it feels like it's you and Scully against the world, but you do have allies... and it's not as hopeless as it may seem.”

Looking at him steadily, Mulder replied, “How can you know that?”

The Doctor smiled faintly. He wondered if the complete truth would stretch even Mulder's ability to believe. “I've seen a lot of things in my travels, and I'm older than I look,” he said at last. “What you're talking about, well, it isn't going to be the end of Earth, even if it seems like it might be.”

Mulder was clearly not satisfied with this answer, but the Doctor was saved from having to elaborate by the arrival of Scully and breakfast. The three of them ate in companionable near-silence for several minutes, broken only by the Doctor's appreciative comments to Scully about the meal. She answered, but somewhat distractedly - he could tell she hadn't missed the seriousness of the conversation her return had interrupted.

Finally, she spoke up. “So what were you two talking about before I came back?”

“The Doctor asked what our future plans were,” Mulder told her. He glanced at the Doctor, swallowed a mouthful of coffee, and continued, “I told him a little bit about why we haven't done much thinking that far ahead.”

“Oh.” Scully's reply was quiet. She looked down at her own mug, then met the Doctor's eyes. “And what did you have to say?”

“I told Mulder that even if it feels like you two are facing this alone, you don't have to be, and you're not.” He noted the surprise in her expression then – she had probably not expected him to either know or believe about the coming battle. “And I also said that there's still hope.”

“In other words, don't give up,” Scully said, even quieter than before. She shot a glance at Mulder, who nodded after a beat.

“Yeah,” the Doctor answered, wondering at the significance those words seemed to have for his friends. He decided to let that question pass.

“Are you offering your help?” asked Mulder.

The Doctor flicked a crumb off his coat before he replied. “I can't promise that you'll see much of me,” he said finally, “but I will be working to stop it. That I can promise.”

“With your psychic paper and your... what was it? Sonic screwdriver, no doubt,” Mulder put in with a smile, but the Doctor could read the gratitude and relief in the man's eyes.

Grinning back, the Doctor nodded. “I'm sure they'll come in handy.”

“And until then, are you going to be traveling by yourself?”

The concern in Scully's voice caught the Doctor by surprise. He cleared his throat. “I dunno, really. Maybe.” He tried to sound dismissive, but the question was one that had been on his mind. It would certainly be safer for everyone involved if he remained alone, he thought with a bitter surge of grief.

Scully hesitated before continuing. “It... well, it seems like something even you might want some help with, Doctor.”

The Doctor sighed, and nodded once. Then he stood up. “Well, it's been brilliant catching up with you two, but I should be off. You need your holiday, and I've got places to go – and times, I suppose.”

Mulder and Scully stood as well. “We wouldn't want to keep you from that,” Mulder remarked, with an expression that said clearly that he would love nothing more than to find out exactly what the Doctor meant by his offhand statement.

The three of them walked back toward where the TARDIS was waiting. By now the sun had risen fully, and the light reflecting off the sand and the water was dazzling. The Doctor paused and raised a hand to shade his face from the glare.

“I'm glad we ran into each other again, Doctor,” Scully said, turning to him with another smile. Mulder voiced his agreement.

“Oh, yes, me too!” the Doctor replied, beaming.

This time, both Mulder and Scully knew to expect a hug rather than a handshake. When they drew apart, the Doctor looked at each of them in turn. “Don't cut yourselves off from people who can help you fight what's coming. The future's not set in stone.”

“Only if you don't try to face it without someone to help, either,” Scully said. She looked over at Mulder, who nodded and took her hand again.

“In my experience, it doesn't work very well if you try to go it alone.”

The Doctor swallowed, remembering what Donna had said to him when they had parted for the first time – after her disastrous would-be wedding day. Promise me one thing, though, Doctor... that you'll find somebody.

To dismiss his friends' advice now would be ignoring what Donna had said – and it was still true. He could function by himself for a while, but he couldn't fool himself into thinking he was better off without anyone else in the TARDIS: to challenge him, and remind him why he kept traveling and exploring.

“You know, I think you're right,” he told them. “I can't very well save the planet by myself, can I? Doesn't really work. The past few times, especially, I've needed plenty of help.”

“The past few times?” Mulder repeated incredulously.

Grinning, the Doctor didn't answer. Instead, he turned and began to almost run the remaining distance between him and the TARDIS. “Come on,” he called back over his shoulder, “before I go, I think you'll both want to have a chance to see this.”

He could hear Mulder grumbling something about how there couldn't be that much to see inside such a small box, which just made his grin all the wider. He opened the TARDIS door, entered, and stood to one side. “Come on in, then!”

The two slowed their pace as they approached the doorway. Almost as one, their jaws dropped and their eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” Scully exclaimed. She put her hand on the edge of the door, looked in, and then looked at the outside again. “But this is... impossible!”

Mulder had said nothing. He was simply staring in wonder. With a glance at the Doctor for permission, he stepped inside. Scully was not far behind him. Finally, as he continued to stare around him, Mulder said faintly, “I hate to state the obvious, but... it's a lot bigger than it looks.”

The Doctor nodded, putting his hand on the wall of his ship fondly. “She's full of surprises.” Then he reached for the door, stopping before he closed it. In his excitement, he had almost forgotten to ask his friends before he just took off with them inside. It wouldn't have been the first time – but he'd been trying to get out of that habit.“I could take you on a quick trip, if you wanted,” he offered. “There's something else I think you should see.”

Mulder looked at Scully. His eyes were alight with excitement, and the Doctor could tell that it was largely this that led the woman to nod her acceptance. She smiled at her partner before asking, “Can I ask where you're planning to take us, Doctor?”

The Doctor shut the door and ran up to the console. He began busily pushing buttons and setting in the coordinates. “Somewhere where you can get a good look at the big picture.”

Scully raised her eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“Hold on.” The Doctor pushed down a lever, and the TARDIS started to fly.

His two guests quickly grabbed onto the railing as the ship entered the vortex. Mulder caught his breath and said, “Well, this is already different than my last experience with space travel.”

Disappointed, the Doctor frowned. “You mean this isn't the first time you've traveled in space?”

Mulder looked over at Scully, who suddenly did not look at all happy. “No,” he explained, “but this is the first time that I've been able to enjoy the experience at all.” He was still looking at Scully. “There's a big difference between a sightseeing trip and an abduction.”

“Oh.” The Doctor was now even gladder that he had asked them before taking off on this trip. By the high level of lingering pain that this topic had brought up in Scully, he could guess that whatever had happened to Mulder during his abduction had scarred both of them deeply. “I -- I'm sorry.”

Mulder shook his head. “Don't worry about it. How long until we get-- wherever we're going?”

Almost as the words had left his mouth, the TARDIS came to a stop with another jolt. “We're here,” the Doctor announced.

As Scully and Mulder pulled themselves upright and started to follow him, the Doctor opened the door with a flourish. He heard two gasps behind him, and quickly moved aside to let them have the best view.

Stretched out below them was Earth, in all its beauty. They were in a high enough orbit that the whole of the planet was visible, though it would soon be partially in shadow. As many times as the Doctor had seen it, he still was uplifted to think about this planet's unique features, distinct in all the universe. And to be able to share a wider view with these two of its inhabitants, who were both so occupied with worry for its future – well, this was one of the reasons he kept on in his journeys.

Mulder and Scully stood just inside the doorway, gazing out. Wordlessly, Mulder put his arm around her shoulders, and she reached hers around his back. The Doctor had withdrawn to the console, giving them some moments of relative privacy. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched them stand like that, together, for some time.

Finally, they turned away from the stunning vista of their home. Both of them had eyes that were suspiciously bright.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Scully said softly. She sniffed once.

Mulder cleared his throat. “It's more beautiful than I imagined.”

“You're welcome,” the Doctor replied. He stepped away from the console. “It is. Do you want to look some more, or shall I take you back?”

The two of them hastily turned to look again, and the Doctor smiled in pleased understanding.

“Is there some sort of field that's keeping the air from escaping?” Mulder asked, after a moment.

The Doctor replied in the affirmative. “We're safe to stay out here for as long as you want.”

It was probably another five minutes before they reluctantly decided to start the return trip. All three of them were quiet on the way back.

As the sounds of the TARDIS in flight faded, the Doctor opened the door for his friends. They stepped out onto the sand, squinting in the bright light of day.

“Well, I'll let you get back to your holiday now,” the Doctor said, leaning on the doorframe.

“Thank you, again,” Mulder said. “For everything.”

The Doctor nodded. “I think we'll meet again,” he told them, “but until then, goodbye and good luck.”

The two of them waved, and the Doctor waved back, before closing the TARDIS door. He walked slowly over to the console and looked at the viewscreen. Mulder and Scully were standing in the sand, waiting. Go on, do what you have to do, he thought, smiling as he remembered the last time he had said these words. Save the world.

He set the coordinates and started the trip. He had no specific time or destination in mind, only someplace and time that he hadn't yet been to. The TARDIS would no doubt land him in an interesting enough situation.

~~~~~~

They watched as the strange and wonderful blue box dematerialized in front of them. It was hard to believe, Scully thought to herself, what they had seen inside that unlikely-looking ship, under the guidance of their mysterious friend.

“Mulder,” she said then, as she looked around, “how long do you think we were aboard that ship?”

“I don't know – maybe half an hour,” Mulder answered. “Why do you ask?”

Scully frowned in confusion. “It's just-- I could swear it's... earlier than when we left. The sun's not as high as it was, is it?”

Mulder laughed. “Scully, you know time travel isn't possible. Besides, if it were earlier than when we left, we'd see ourselves coming out here. I doubt the Doctor would risk that kind of paradox.”

“I guess so,” Scully muttered. It had been a silly thought. She shook her head briefly, then laced her fingers through his. “I believe we had been discussing our plans for the day. Where were we?”

“As I recall,” Mulder answered, looking at her sidelong, “there was not much actual discussion going on.”

“You're right, Mulder,” Scully told him. She smiled slowly. “So what do you think about picking up where we left off?”

He quickened his pace. He was still holding her hand, and so she was forced to almost run to keep up with him. “I think that's a fantastic idea, Scully.”

Fic: Just to Dance (1/1)

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 07:30:42 GMT

A short little vignette that I was inspired to write after a rewatch of The Doctor Dances.

Title: Just to Dance
Characters: Nine/Rose, Jack
Spoilers: The Doctor Dances
Summary: Nine remembers he can dance.
Rating: G
Feedback: Would be lovely!
Author's Note: Thanks to belsum for her beta-ing skills! They are much appreciated.</lj>

~~~~~

The Doctor tried to hold back a frown as Rose moved toward Captain Jack, a smile on her face. The Captain returned the smile enthusiastically. The Doctor didn't allow himself to think about the reasons behind this feeling, but it was suddenly of the utmost importance that he stop Rose from dancing with the Captain. It was bad enough that his first attempts to dance with her himself had either been interrupted or had not gone as planned. Hastily, he changed the music choice and stepped away from the console.

“Rose! I've just remembered!” he called out, as the bright opening notes of “In the Mood” began to fill the engine room. He was gratified when she turned away to look at him - even if she did look slightly annoyed at his interruption.

“What?”

“I do know how to dance!” The Doctor suited actions to words with a flourish, moving closer to where Rose was still holding Jack's hand. He reached out to pull her away.

Rose looked at him, and then back at the Captain – whose smile had begun to fade. “Actually, Doctor,” she said, as he took her hand, “I think Jack might like this dance.”

Not to be deterred, the Doctor grinned at her. “I'm sure he would, Rose, I'm absolutely certain.” Then he flashed his grin at the uniformed man still standing near the door of the TARDIS. He really wasn't a bad bloke, the Doctor thought... probably. “But who with?”

At that, Rose laughed and finally walked forward without further hesitation. It had been a while... but the Doctor found to his pleasure that he could match Rose's rhythms easily. Perhaps he'd just needed the right motivation. With that thought, he looked over at Jack again, making sure that his arms were positioned around Rose in a way that set the boundaries with no room for confusion. The man met his gaze and nodded, a small understanding smile on his face. He'd received the Doctor's message loud and clear. Intelligent man.

The Doctor focused back on his dancing partner. Now she was as unreservedly happy as he had wanted her to be. He had been so utterly joyous right after the nanogenes had completed their restorative work and they had said their farewells to an ecstatic Nancy and her son. It had been so long since he had experienced anything like that kind of joy – and he had wanted so much to share it with Rose. And she did look like she was truly enjoying herself. The Doctor made a mental note not to wait so long before he danced again... with her.

Fic: Diers Anonymous

Wed, 29 Oct 2008 23:10:37 GMT

Title: Diers Anonymous
Spoilers: Vague mentions of IWTB
Keywords: Post-IWTB, XF/Multiple universe crossover.
Category: CHA
Summary: What would happen if a bunch of TV characters who have a tendency to die and come back to life all went to the same therapy group for their condition?
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their associated universes.
Archive: Sure, but please ask me first.
Feedback: Would be fantastic! You can reach me at pomme_noire@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Thanks are owed to mack_the_spoon for helping me develop this idea's starting point. Thank you to belsum as well for her insightful comments and suggestions!
Also, I admit freely that I am using TV and movies as guidelines for how support groups work, and therefore I might be entirely wrong about it.

</lj>

[Scene: a large, sparsely-decorated room with a circle of chairs in the center. A sign on the wall reads “DA” in large letters, with a tombstone crossed out. The MODERATOR – a young, blonde, intelligent-looking woman – is seated, looking up at the clock occasionally. It is five minutes to the hour.]

MODERATOR: [mutters, pulls out clipboard with roll sheet] Where is everyone?

[A sound makes the MODERATOR look up – the door has opened, and people begin to file in. First to arrive and be seated is a relatively cheerful-looking CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS, who is just ending a cell phone conversation. Close behind him come CLAIRE BENNET and BUFFY SUMMERS, both looking unenthusiastic but glancing at JACK with interest.]

MODERATOR: Ah, Jack, Claire, Buffy! Welcome. Have a seat.

JACK: (brightly) Yes, ma'am.

[The three of them take their seats. BUFFY is quite preoccupied as she sits next to CLAIRE, who is fidgeting.]

[The door opens again, and DR. DANIEL JACKSON, SYDNEY BRISTOW, and HARRY POTTER all enter. DANIEL and SYDNEY are having a literary discussion, which they break off upon entering the room. HARRY looks up at the poster on the wall, smiles slightly, and sits down near BUFFY.]

MODERATOR: Welcome! Everyone's almost here, so – [She is interrupted by the arrival of THE MASTER and PETER PETRELLI. CLAIRE looks up at PETER, but looks away quickly. THE MASTER is smirking, and when he sees JACK, his smirk gets wider. JACK is now glowering.]

JACK: Do we have to have him here?

THE MASTER: (bitingly) Oh, like I enjoy having you here, Captain?

MODERATOR: (with reproach) I've told you two this before – this meeting is a safe place for everyone. We leave aside our rivalries and enmities at the door so that we all have the best chance to work through our problems. All right?

JACK: (grudgingly) All right.

THE MASTER: Fine.

[They sit down, just as MULDER and THE DOCTOR walk in, deep in conversation. MULDER immediately notices THE MASTER staring at THE DOCTOR, but THE DOCTOR only notices after he realizes MULDER has stopped paying attention to their conversation. THE DOCTOR trails off and returns THE MASTER's glare, but says nothing. The two sit down... purposefully as far away from THE MASTER as possible.]

[The MODERATOR looks at the clock – it is now a few minutes past the hour. The group has fallen silent. DANIEL looks to be trying to solve a problem in his head as he sits.]

MODERATOR: [looks down at clipboard] All right, let's get started. I don't see Dean, Duncan, John, Methos, Westley, Adam, or Sylar, but they can join us later if they choose.

[At the mention of SYLAR, CLAIRE and PETER look up and around, obviously pleased when they don't see him in the room. The MODERATOR notices, but decides to refrain from commenting.]

MODERATOR: So... it's been a week since our last meeting. How has everyone been? Who would like to share first about their week?

[THE DOCTOR raises his hand excitedly.]

MODERATOR: Yes, Doctor?

THE DOCTOR: I met J.K. Rowling two days ago. She's brilliant! She wouldn't tell me if she's really going to write more Ha-- [he glances at HARRY, who looks faintly confused] – more books in the same series, but she did seem pleased that I liked the seventh book so much. Really wonderful woman.

BUFFY: (mutters) Lucky.

MODERATOR: Wonderful. Thank you, Doctor. [THE MASTER sighs loudly, looking disgusted.] Did you have something to say, Harold?

THE MASTER: (scoffs) Oh, come on! If you're going to call him “Doctor”, you can call me “Master.” It's hardly fair, otherwise!

MODERATOR: (soothingly) All right, I'm sorry, Harold. I'll call him John. (looking slightly annoyed) If you both would just tell us your real names like you're supposed to, this kind of problem wouldn't come up.

[Both Time Lords close their mouths, glaring at each other briefly before shaking their heads.]

MODERATOR: (sighs) Fine. I wish I could convince you that this is a safe environment, that you can let your guard down, but we'll move on.

[Several group members, including BUFFY, HARRY, and MULDER, have either been rolling their eyes or mouthing along with the MODERATOR as she finishes her last sentence. The MODERATOR turns her attention to HARRY.]

MODERATOR: Harry. How about your week?

HARRY: Er, it was fine, I guess. (fidgets) Just... helped the Weasleys get things back together, at their house.

MODERATOR: That's good. I'm glad you're helping your friends, Harry. We've been talking about how we need to get out and be with our friends. Even if they don't quite understand what we're going through, they need us, and we need them. (turns to SYDNEY) Sydney, how was your week?

SYDNEY: (smiling) It was great. Um, Vaughn and I just stayed at home with the kids for the most part. Marshall came to visit for dinner on Friday, and we had a great time.

[MULDER stares at her wistfully, looking especially sad at the word “kids.” Many other group members also seem a bit jealous.]

MODERATOR: Wonderful. It sounds like you're making real progress. Well, let's move on. Does anyone want to share a low point of their week, a struggle they've been having? [There is silence.] We're all here for each other, you know. [Still silent.] Fine, we'll split off into smaller groups for this part.

[Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone stands up. The MODERATOR directs the group to break up, making sure to keep THE MASTER out of THE DOCTOR and JACK's group. MULDER, BUFFY, and THE MASTER end up in one group, CLAIRE, SYDNEY, JACK, and DANIEL in another, and PETER, THE DOCTOR, and HARRY in the last.]

MODERATOR: Okay. I'll come around to each of the groups in just a minute and see how you're doing. [She sits back in her chair and waits. As each group begins to converse in low voices, she smiles in satisfaction.]

[Suddenly, a commotion arises in the first group.]

BUFFY: (in a loud enough voice to carry) Yeah, well, it's a little different when you weren't expecting or even really hoping to come back to life, Harold. Not all of us are just-about-immortal, time-traveling aliens.

THE MASTER: I told you to call me “Master”! And just because I wanted to come back to life doesn't mean--

BUFFY: (interrupts, leaning back in her chair) I am not calling yet another psychopath villain “Master.” (lowers her voice slightly} Can't anyone come up with a creative name when they decide to try to rule the universe?

THE MASTER: Oh, you're obviously right - your name could certainly be called “creative.”

MULDER: (jumps in quickly) It's not like she chose the name, pal.

BUFFY: And I'm not exactly trying to rule the universe, either.

[The MODERATOR practically runs to this group. The other groups are looking on interestedly, their own conversations forgotten.]

MODERATOR: (hastily) It sounds like you three have really stirred up some issues here, and that's wonderful. But remember, this isn't a place to attack people. We need to listen to each other. Now, Harold, what were you saying that Buffy reacted so strongly to?

THE MASTER: (sulking) Never mind.

MODERATOR: Come on. I think it would be good for you to get it out – don't you?

THE MASTER: (after a pause) Fine. [He glances up at the MODERATOR, and the other group members, who are watching.] It's... it's just that-- after all the lives I've lived, I've still never had one that I was really able to enjoy fully.

THE DOCTOR: (standing up, coldly furious) Maybe that's because of what you chose to make of your lives, Master. You had as much potential as any of us.

MODERATOR: John, let's not gang up on Harold. Let him finish, and then you can talk if you want.

[THE DOCTOR sits down silently.]

THE MASTER: (sarcastic) Thank you. As I was saying, I... guess I just think I could have done so much more with my lives, if I'd only had more people who took the effort to understand what I was going through. [He sniffs, and appears very sad. THE DOCTOR is unimpressed.]

MODERATOR: Thank you for sharing that, Harold. I appreciate you being vulnerable enough to do that. [She turns to face THE DOCTOR, and behind her back, THE MASTER smirks again, then rolls his eyes.] John, did you have something you wanted to say in response?

[THE DOCTOR opens his mouth, then thinks better of it and shakes his head.]

MODERATOR: And Buffy? You seemed to react... rather strongly to Harold. Would you like to share with the group?

BUFFY: (smiling sweetly) No, that's all right. I wouldn't want to gang up on him.

MODERATOR: (raises eyebrows, but moves on) All right. Does anyone else feel like they can be vulnerable and share something that they've been struggling with?

[DANIEL raises his hand.]

MODERATOR: Yes, Daniel?

DANIEL: Um, well, I just... I know this isn't quite what you were asking for, but I guess you could say that I'm struggling with what he just said.

MODERATOR: How so?

DANIEL: I don't mean to be antagonistic... but I thought part of the point of these sessions was for us to all take responsibility for the things and the people we've hurt in the course of our, um, lives. And it sounded like he was trying to blame his failings on other people.

[THE MASTER looks faintly annoyed that his act has had holes poked in it.]

JACK: Hear, hear.

[There are murmurs of agreement from other group members, as well.]

MODERATOR: That is a good point, Daniel. But we all have to start somewhere, and this might be the best place for Harold to begin. I'm glad you remembered that about the purpose of this group, though. It's something we should all keep in mind. [Pause] Anyone else have a struggle they would like to share? Claire? Peter? You've both been very quiet tonight.

CLAIRE: No, things have been going fine.

MODERATOR: You and your family are adjusting to everything?

CLAIRE: Oh, yeah. [She manages to hide the sarcasm almost perfectly.] It wasn't easy, but I think we're starting to adjust.

MODERATOR: Good. (turning to Peter) How about you, Peter?

PETER: (looks rather uncomfortable) Things are kind of complicated right now with my family. I... I don't really want to talk about it.

MODERATOR: That's fine. Sometimes the best thing to do is just wait and see if things settle down.

[PETER looks like he doesn't think that's very likely, but he just nods.]

MODERATOR: And Fox, how are things going for you and Dana?

MULDER: (winces almost imperceptibly at her use of first names) Uh, things are going fine. We just got back from our vacation. I think... I think it was good for us.

MODERATOR: That's wonderful! I'm so glad to hear it. [She looks around at all the group.] Well, I think we're just about out of time for the week. I want you to break into your small groups again, and just talk to each other about what your expectations and hopes are for the week. Then we'll close up shop for the day.

[The groups turn back to face each other.]

THE MASTER: [to MULDER] You know, Fox, I wonder why your Dana doesn't come to this group with you. Too busy? In denial?

MULDER: (bristles) Not that it's any of your business, but she hasn't gotten herself killed a bunch of times like I have. She's been close to death more times than I care to think about, but she's always made it through.

THE MASTER: Hmm. That's interesting. [He sits back in his chair.]

MULDER: What? [His fists are clenched.]

THE MASTER: Nothing. Just... you don't think that says something about her, the way she's avoided death so nearly, so many times? Maybe she's even more death-resistant than you.

MULDER: (speaking calmly with great effort) What are you talking about?

BUFFY: Hey.

[MULDER breaks eye contact with THE MASTER and turns to look at BUFFY.]

BUFFY: He's just baiting you. He doesn't know what he's talking about.

[MULDER takes a deep breath and nods once, then turns back to glare at THE MASTER.]

THE MASTER: Go ahead and believe what Miss Vampire Slayer says, if I'm making you nervous.

[MULDER still looks tense, but says nothing. Seeing the MODERATOR approaching their group, BUFFY jumps in.]

BUFFY: And then hopefully I'll get to spend some time just with Dawn, this weekend.

[The MODERATOR smiles, just catching this last part. She meets each group member's eyes, then moves on to the next group, which is SYDNEY, JACK, CLAIRE, and DANIEL.]

SYDNEY: I'm going to take Isabelle to the doctor on Monday. (a bit nervous) I don't think she's sick, but... I'm a little worried about her. It's probably nothing.

CLAIRE: What's wrong?

SYDNEY: I just want to be sure she's growing and developing normally.

JACK: Is Vaughn going with you?

SYDNEY: [looks at the floor] Um... no. He'll be out of town that day. I didn't tell him about the appointment.

MODERATOR: Sydney, I know you've had good reasons to keep secrets for most of your life, but don't you think this kind of worry is something you should share with your husband?

SYDNEY: I do, it's just... I don't want him to worry, too.

MODERATOR: Well, let me encourage you to tell him about it before you go. [She looks up at the clock. It is on the hour.]

MODERATOR: (more loudly, to the entire group) Okay, everyone, time's up for the evening. Please put your chairs back in a circle before you go, and see you all next week!

[As everyone begins to move their chairs, HARRY absently Banishes his back into position, without saying a spell out loud. PETER smiles slightly, and shifts his the rest of the way telekinetically.]

CLAIRE: (rolls her eyes) Showoffs.

THE DOCTOR: Jack, d'you need a lift back to Cardiff?

JACK: (grins) Well, I sure won't say no to a chance to take a TARDIS trip.

[THE MASTER sweeps past them out the door, with a disdainful glare as he does so.]

PETER: (hesitantly) I could take you home if you want, Claire.

CLAIRE: Um... sure. Okay. It isn't raining, is it? [They exit.]

SYDNEY: (to the remaining group members) I brought the jet this time – the one that used to get me from Nepal to LA in less than twelve hours – and there are plenty of seats available.

DANIEL: Yeah. How – how does that work, exactly?

SYDNEY: It probably has something to do with Rambaldi, but I'm not actually sure.

BUFFY: Rambo who?

SYDNEY: (smiles wryly) Long story.

[MULDER is obviously intrigued, but says nothing as they all head out the door. The MODERATOR watches them leave with a small smile of her own.]

MODERATOR: [to herself] Well, that was interesting... as usual. [She opens her cell phone.] Hey, it's me. Session's over. Come pick me up? (pauses, listens) Great. [She goes to the coat rack in the corner, picks up her coat, and also a pair of sai. Then she leaves the room.]

~~~~

Author's Note 2: I felt as though I couldn't in good conscience include characters in the group meeting for shows I haven't watched, or of which I've only watched a bit. I apologize therefore if your favorite character who dies and comes back to life frequently is only barely mentioned in this story. Also, I know there isn't a lot of Peter and Claire, and no Sylar. That's because I have stopped watching Heroes for a variety of reasons.
In addition, I know the version of the Master played by John Simm has died and didn't regenerate, but we all know he'll be back, and this is the incarnation of the Master with whom I'm most familiar.