From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:09 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 1a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part One (1/2) * * * * * Sighing, Agent Fox Mulder looked up from the files he was examining to the outer door of the office. Then, he glanced in the other direction, at the adjoining office which belonged to his wife, Agent Dana Scully. Both the outer office and Scully's office were empty. Mulder sighed again. Scully had told him that she had errands to run that afternoon, but that she would be back before long. It was not like his wife to be tardy. His wife. The thought brought a smile to Mulder's face. Even after nearly eleven months of marriage, he got a tingle of pleasure when he considered it. Pride of possession? Nah. He was just probably still in shock that a woman as incredible as Dana Katherine Scully would have him. He looked at her empty office again. It was separated from his by a single wall, which had a door at one end and a large glass window in the middle. By mutual agreement, the window between their offices always remained open. They had even gone so far as to move their desks to either side of the window. This was fobbed off by the excuse that it was efficient. After all, working in tandem as they did, they were often required to pass files back and forth. Only those who knew them well knew the truth. It had been a sentimental gesture. It had been a *newlyweds* gesture. Not that they weren't consummate professionals in the office. They would have it no other way. They strove to maintain their professionalism at the same level it had been when they had been partners and friends and nothing more. They almost never touched in the office, and none of the clerks, try as they may, had ever entered the inner office to find them in an embrace, even after hours. But the need to be within close physical proximity was still there. It was as though being within constant eyesight of each other at work and going home together in the evening wasn't enough. It was as though they needed to breathe the same air. Mulder grinned. However appropriate, it was a sappy thought. Discontentedly, Mulder glanced out at the outer office again, wondering what was keeping Scully. They were supposed to go over some files before leaving the office that evening. As he thought of her, the phone rang. He reached for it, knowing who would be there. "Hey, it's me," he heard her voice, and it brought a smile to his face. He wondered if she realized what the mere thought of her could do for his mood sometimes. She was in her car, he could tell by the background noise, and there was a breathless quality to her voice that gave him pause. It sounded as though she had been running. "I'm running late on my errands, so I'll just meet you at home, okay?" "Sure," he answered, a note of concern in his voice. "Hey, are you all right?" Now why would he ask that? Mulder wondered. Why should anything NOT be all right? "I'm fine," she replied. "I've just been rushing around a lot this afternoon. I'm beat." "How did things go at the lab?" he asked, and then sat quietly while she filled him in on the pathology from a victim in a case they had been working on lately. He listened to her report, and asked a few questions, making mental notes for the files. Speaking of files--"Hey, you want me to bring home those files we were supposed to go over this afternoon?" he asked when she was finished, already knowing the answer. Scully hated leaving work undone. She would want him to bring the files. She took him by surprise with her muted curse. "I forgot about those," she muttered. "Look, why don't you just leave them there tonight? We'll come in early tomorrow and go over them. All I want to do tonight is relax." Mulder began to smile again, wondering what sort of "relaxation" she had in mind. His thoughts took off on wild flights of fancy. Leave the files at work. Yes, ma'am. Right-o. He brought himself back down to earth. "Do you want me to pick up some take-out on the way home?" "I'm a step ahead of you," she replied. "I've already called ahead an order and I'm on my way to pick it up. All you need to do is meet me at home. Soon." He caught the emphasis on the last word and wondered just what it was that was going through her mind. "I'll pack up and leave as soon as I finish what I'm doing here, okay?" He thought he heard her sigh. "Yes, fine. I'll see you at home." "Scully?" he called out, hoping to stop her before she disconnected. "Yes?" He heard the click of keys from the outer office and realized that one of the clerks hadn't gone home yet. He lowered his voice intimately. "I love you." He heard her slight rush of breath and imagined her lips curling into a smile. "I love you too," she replied softly. "Now get home." With that final command, she disconnected. Mulder sat thoughtfully for a moment, then began to scoop the work spread over his desk into piles of indiscernible purpose or method of organization. It was a process Scully had long ago dubbed "Mulder filing." He toyed with the idea of tucking a couple of the files he no longer needed back into the filing cabinet, then decided against it. It would take too long, and he needed to get home. Unlike his wife, he had no qualms about leaving work undone. Smiling again, Mulder shook his head in a self-depreciating way. Nearly eleven months of being married to Dana Katherine Scully, and he still couldn't get enough of her. He stopped in the outer office to speak a few words to the last remaining clerk. She was new, he realized, and was no doubt staying late to prove herself. "I'm going home for the day, and Scully isn't going to be back in again tonight," he told her and noted her raised eyebrows. Yes, she was definitely new, and hadn't yet become accustomed to he and Scully's habitual use of each other's last names. They had been questioned about it more than once, and usually explained it away as being force of habit--they had been Mulder and Scully to each other for years before they had even thought of being husband and wife. It was only those people who knew them well who knew the truth . Long ago, calling each other Mulder and Scully had ceased to be a formality and had become an intimacy. To the rest of the world, they would be Fox and Dana, or Spooky and The Redhead, or Agent Mulder and Agent Scully, or even Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, though Scully had actually opted to keep her own name, claiming that two Agents Mulder in the same office would generate confusion. But only with each other were they simply Mulder and Scully, with all the confidences and intimacies that the standard endearments implied, and many that they didn't. They had been Mulder and Scully to each other for so long that nothing else felt right. Mulder finished giving his final instructions to the clerk and, whistling, left the office. He was struck by a wave of early July heat as he walked out into the parking garage, and he was grateful to get into his car and get the air conditioning running. It was a slow drive home. Usually, he and Scully stayed at the office until evening rush hour traffic had dissipated, but at five- thirty, the highways were still packed. The trip took twice the time that it normally did, and he knew that by now, Scully was at home waiting for him. He amused himself in the middle of the traffic jam by pondering what it was that Scully had planned for the evening. Each day of his ten and a half month marriage to Dana Katherine Scully had been filled with endless surprises as Mulder discovered aspects of his wife that he had never been able to in his capacity as her partner and best friend. He was never quite certain what woman would occupy that special place by his side from day to day, for she seemed to constantly change. He had seen her as fierce and ready to do battle as a she-wolf defending herself and her mate, or he had seen her shy and playful as a child. She could be tender, willful, nurturing, demanding, staidly forthright or delightfully whimsical. She not only fulfilled his every ideal of womanhood, but surpassed them and left them tattered beyond repair in her wake. She was everything to him. That she loved him with equal devotion seemed a stroke of fortune too good to be believed. She'd come to him at a time in his life when he had been lost and struggling to find his way, driven to mere steps from insanity by his single-minded pursuit of answers, particularly those pertaining to what had happened to his sister when she had disappeared the year that he had been twelve. Scully had hauled him back from that seductive precipice, tempering his hard-driven intensity with her calm rationality. She had joined him on his crusade, never shirking when it got ugly, at great personal and professional cost to herself, and she had enabled him to step back and take a broader view. Of all the things he had sought on his quest, the most rewarding thing he discovered, thanks to her, had been Fox Mulder. It hadn't been easy for her, and yet, despite all she had lost, she had stuck by him, staunch at his side no matter what happened to challenge her dearly held rationalizations. It was a test of faith that not everyone could have passed. And in spite of all, or perhaps because of it, she loved him... The thought baffled Mulder...It also thrilled him, amazed him, aroused him... Scully in love, he had discovered, was the most giving, passionate, uninhibited woman he'd ever known. She loved him with an abandon that left him breathless. For a woman who had always made a strict habit of moderation, Scully loved in extremes. She was the essence of his deepest fantasies, his most heartfelt desires. It was a colossal irony that she had been dubbed reticent at best and frigid at worst. She was surprisingly demonstrative outside the confines of the office and their self-imposed rules of comportment. She seemed even to surprise herself sometimes, and Mulder could be no less than utterly delighted. He was still whistling as he pulled into their parking lot. If he could read Scully at all, she had something special planned tonight. He left his car and went inside, jogging to the elevator to catch it before it was called to another floor. The apartment complex was neat and stylish in typical Scully taste. It lacked something of the homey atmosphere of the brownstone that Scully had lived in when Mulder first met her, but after the entire Duane Barry nightmare, she had not felt safe living on the ground floor, and had moved into a third story unit here. Mulder had joined her here when they were married. He reached their floor and entered the apartment. Inside, the curtains were drawn to block out the evening sunlight, and soft music came from the stereo in the corner. Candles had been lit and positioned at random around the living room and bedroom. He could hear sounds from the kitchen, and he entered to find Scully standing at the counter, scooping rice pilaf onto plates. She looked back at him and smiled. "Hi." "Hi, yourself," he replied, stepping closer to her. Seeing her, his heart took on a trip-hammer rhythm that sent his blood coursing through his veins. She was wearing a pale peach satin peignoir set that his sister had given her at a somewhat impromptu bridal shower a week after their decidedly impromptu wedding. It was an outfit that she didn't wear often, for a number or reasons. Ever the realist, she claimed that it was inefficient, and that if she wanted to make love, she would do herself the favor of wearing something easy-access. She also felt it was a shame to take the time to dress in something so lovely only to see it rumpled on the floor mere moments later. Mulder had threatened to take a snapshot of her in it to keep on his desk at work, and she had retaliated by threatening never to wear it again. In the face of such dire consequences, he had quickly abandoned all ideas of hauling out his camera, and Scully had compromised by saying that she would wear it for him on special occasions. It was enough for Mulder, since he usually preferred to see her more relaxed anyway, but there were moments when the thought of that satin against their skins drove him wild. Perhaps it was the sheer frivolity of the gesture that made her wearing the gown such a turn on. As a woman trying to establish herself in a male-dominated environment like the FBI, Scully had developed the habit of being studiously asexual, and it had carried over into her off hours, so that very rarely did she indulge her femininity. In that satin creation, though, it became obvious that Scully had no doubts as to her own femininity. It was the gesture of a woman who saw herself as a woman, and reveled in her ability to affect her chosen man. No, she did not question her femininity--she was just very selective about with whom and in what ways she displayed it. That she had chosen him, of all men possible, to be the one with whom she would share this side of herself sent a shiver of pleasure through Mulder. With her hair loose and flowing around her face, and the gown just a shade darker than her own skin tone, she was the most ethereal sight he had ever seen. He reached out and pulled her to him, giving her a lingering kiss. When they separated, he noticed that her face was flushed, and her eyes were sparkling in that same way that they did at Christmas when she had a present she was just dying to give him. "Hungry?" She held a plate up between them, offering it to Mulder. "Famished," he replied, his eyes darkening. He took the plate from her hands and set it back on the counter. Then he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:05 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 1b (NC-17) NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all question, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. WARNING: This segment contains depiction of loving, consensual sex between adults and has been rated NC-17. Part One (2/2) * * * * * He heard her contented sigh as he buried his face in her neck, kissing her shoulder where the robe gaped away. He wondered if sometimes Scully felt the same way he did, that if he didn't have her in his arms within the next breath, he would die. He felt her shiver as his lips caressed the skin of her neck, and Mulder realized that, for whatever reason, she was tense. In the bedroom, he lowered her to the floor and, taking her by the shoulders, turned her away from him. Gently, he began to kneed her shoulders. Scully moaned, eliciting a smile from Mulder, and her head dropped forward, baring her neck and shoulders enticingly. Mulder began to massage her lower back, and his lips brushed the tempting skin of the back of her neck. He pulled her close to him so that she could feel his reaction to her, letting her know without words just how desirable she was to him, how much power she had over him. She gave a quick shrug of her shoulders and the robe slid of her arms to the floor. Mulder brushed the straps of the gown off her shoulders and that, too, slid off her body, catching only briefly on her hips before joining its companion on the floor. Mulder gently nipped her earlobe, and Scully gasped. "So what's the occasion?" he murmured huskily, and was pleased to note the goose flesh that dotted her arms as his breath caressed her ear. She turned to face him and smiled. "I need an excuse?" Mulder's lips traveled up the side of her neck and she gasped again. Her hands removed his tie and began to work the buttons of his shirt with fingers that trembled slightly. Mulder's eyes closed as she began kissing his chest. "Nope. Forget I asked." Scully chuckled, a low, husky sound that brought an instant and marked physical reaction from Mulder. She brushed her hips past his to investigate, and smiled with pleasure. "Actually, I do have a reason, but it can wait until later to discuss." Mulder's curiosity was piqued, but any ideas he had of pressing for an explanation fell by the wayside as her lips closed around his nipple. "Sounds good to me--" he sighed. There was no more talk as Scully divested him of his clothing and they sank together upon the bed. Her small hands were gentle as they caressed every inch of his flesh, each touch speaking of adoration. Mulder sighed in contentment, awed, as ever, by the peace he found in this woman's arms. They had been through everything together, to and through heaven and hell, and each experience had only served to bind them closer to one another until they thought as one, acted as one, felt as one. She was more necessary to him than the air he breathed, and he worshipped her with his body and soul. She was the only thing that he had ever truly had faith in. Their spiritual synchronization carried over into their lovemaking, allowing them each to intuit what the other needed and give it, whether it was fast and furious or slow and playful. Mulder could tell by the way Scully pressed against him that what she needed most was to be cradled and cuddled and treasured, and all three he did in profusion. He held her close to his heart, his touches slow and infinitely tender as they traversed her body, massaging here to relax, touching there to arouse, sometimes seeking and sometimes demanding. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent and told her repeatedly, in both words and action, how beautiful, how miraculous she was to him, how deeply he adored her. He clutched her close and buried himself inside her, and then lay there without moving, holding her until they could feel each other's pulse intimately. Scully wrapped herself around him, entwining him in her limbs and holding him close, as though she would absorb him into herself. It seemed an eternity later that he sank down beside her, rolling over and pulling her up to rest above him, her head laying on his chest. She made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a purr, and Mulder chuckled. "That good, huh?" She lifted her head to look at him, and he was amazed by what he saw. Happiness, delirious happiness in her smile. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tousled, her face still wet with tears from her release, and she was utterly luminous--she glowed. Mulder felt thankful, once again, that it should be he who could bring that look into her eyes, that smile to her face. When had making this incredible woman happy become his reason for living? She nuzzled her nose beneath his chin, kissing his Adam's apple and burying her face against his neck, her fingers idly stroking his skin. She was an amazing woman, he thought. Without knowing that he intended to speak, he asked, "What's a classy, unbelievably wonderful woman like you doing with a moody, paranoid slob like me, Dana Katherine Scully?" She grinned. "You mean beside the 'for better or worse' bit?" "You were by my side years before that happened." She looked at him intently. "Don't you know? It's not that hard to figure out, Mulder. I might not always believe in the same things you believe in, but I have always believed in you." He sighed contentedly, her words causing a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, and a sweet ache in his chest, and pushed her head back down to his chest. She lay back down without a murmur, pulling the sheet around them to keep out the nip of the artificial air. Mulder was vaguely aware that the post- orgasmic endorphins were lulling him into somnolence. He must have slept for a few minutes, because when he opened his eyes again, the room was darker than it had been before. Scully still lay atop him. Her head was up and she was studying him as though she meant to memorize every detail of his face. She smiled into his eyes and asked, "Hungry?" "Not anymore," he responded, and was rewarded by her smile. It was a running joke between them, the intentional lack of clarification between the need for sustenance or the desire for more carnal pleasures, dating back to their first days as lovers. "For food," she said with a sigh of mock impatience. "I'm starving." "Then we should eat," he replied, making no effort at moving. He was hoping that she might change her mind, but instead, she rolled off of him and swung her feet to the floor. Muttering about cruel women, he began to climb out of bed. He watched Scully pick up her gown and drape it over a chair, then don only the matching robe and belt it around her waist. Mulder hauled on his silk boxers and tied a short flannel robe she'd given him for Christmas on. He followed her silently into the kitchen and sat on the edge of the counter as she put their plates into the microwave. He lifted one of the carry-out containers and studied the scribbling on the side curiously. "Greek?" he asked in mild surprise. When they ordered take out, it was almost always Chinese. Scully shrugged without meeting his eyes. "I had a craving." "So what's your reason?" "Hmm?" she looked up at him, her eyes not quite focused. He grabbed her arm and pulled her so that she stood between his knees. "Hey, you there?" "Of course." "So what's your reason," he repeated, "for all of this?" "Oh, well..." she bit her lip nervously, and then the microwave dinged. Scully sighed in relief. She's hiding something from me, Mulder thought, studying her with wide eyes. Scully NEVER hid anything from him. She was the worst possible liar, and they both knew it. "Food's done," she muttered, stepping away from him and grabbing their plates out of the microwave. "I thought we should eat out on the balcony tonight, maybe. It would be romantic." Mulder sat silently for a moment. He could take the plates from her hands and demand that she talk to him, but he didn't like to corner her like that. She would come to him when she felt she was ready. He sighed and slipped off the counter. "The balcony would be fine," he answered, kissing her gently on the forehead. "So, did you grab any champagne for this romantic little tete a tete?" She blushed and looked away. "No, uh--I think I'll just have some milk. There may be a beer or two left in the fridge from the Fourth if you would like it." "Hmm, milk lacks something in romance," he joked, hoping to elicit a smile from her "But then, so does beer. We got any iced tea?" "Of course," she scoffed. She always kept the fridge stocked with his favorite brand of iced tea, and he knew why. She handed him the plates and poured herself a glass of milk and grabbed him a bottle of iced tea. She then proceeded him out onto the balcony. She was quiet as they ate and watched what looked to be the beginnings of a gorgeous sunset. The quiet was unsettling, because it wasn't their normal companionable silence. She was hesitating on something, Mulder realized, watching her wage some unknown inner battle. She kept looking at him, her mouth half open and prepared to speak, and then she would look away again, down at her barely touched plate of food. The only thing she finished was the glass of milk. Finally, Mulder could stand it no more. "Is there something wrong?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "No. Nothing. Why?" "I've just got the feeling that you've got something on your mind that you're not telling me," he replied softly. She looked away from him for a moment, then back up. What he saw in her eyes was not reassuring. She looked like a trapped animal. She shook her head. "There's nothing wrong, Mulder. I'm fine." Mulder grimaced at the words. They set off alarm bells in his head. He watched her intently as she stood and walked over to him, taking his plate from his hands. Her kiss on his forehead and the motion of her hand as she lightly rubbed his hair still did not ease the feeling that she wasn't being totally honest with him. He followed her into the apartment, taking the plates from her in the kitchen and loading them in the dishwasher as she had a seat at the table. She blew out the candles, and Mulder read more into that gesture than a simple desire to prevent fire hazards. She was signifying that her romantic mood had ended. Mulder walked over to the table and pulled her chair around to face him. He then knelt before her, his fingers on her chin, forcing her to look up from her clenched hands in her lap into his eyes. "What's going on?" he asked gently. "What's on your mind?" Her mouth worked convulsively for a moment, opening and closing over words when the sound of the phone ringing intruded. Mulder tossed a glare at it over his shoulder, and Scully chewed her bottom lip nervously. Mulder looked back and Scully. "Answer it, please. We can't talk with it ringing like that." Mulder sighed and stood. He went to the phone and hit the "talk" button ferociously. "Mulder/Scully residence," he answered, not making a great deal of effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. He listened to the voice on the other end for a moment and nodded. "We'll be right in," he responded, and hung up the phone. He looked a Scully, who was watching him expectantly. "That was Bartel," he supplied, speaking of one of the agents working in the newly re-structured X-Files division. "A woman was just pulled out of a river in West Virginia a few hours ago. She was weighted down and had been stabbed numerous times. They would like us to look into it." "They think it's an X-File?" she asked. He nodded and shot her a worried gaze. "They found a scar on the back of her neck, and she was identified by two friends, both of whom happen to be card-carrying MUFON members." Scully blanched and stood from her chair. "Let's go." He grabbed her hand to stop her. "Wait. We should finish our talk first." She shook her head, pulling on her lower lip again, and to Mulder's complete surprise, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. It wasn't just anything that could make Scully cry. "Hey, what is it?" She pulled away, wiping impatiently at her eyes. "There's no time right now," she murmured. "I promise, we'll talk as soon as we get home, when we don't have the news of this case on our minds, okay?" "Are you sure?" She nodded hesitantly. "Yeah. It can wait." He released her hand and followed her into the bedroom. She handed him his clothes that had been left lying scattered around earlier, and went to the closet to grab one of her own suits. They dressed in silence, and then Scully left the bedroom and went into the bathroom. When Mulder had finished dressing, he found her there, running a brush through her hair. He leaned against the door jam to watch her, and she glanced at him in the mirror. "We should probably take separate cars in," she suggested. "That way, you won't be stuck if I have to do an autopsy." "I can wait for you," he offered. Scully shook her head, and when she smiled, it seemed forced. "No. I think we've lost the atmosphere here, and I want it back by the time I get home. So you leave whenever your part is done, and then have a nice hot bubble bath waiting for me when I get back, okay?" Mulder's mind started to play with that one--Scully, water shining on her skin, bubbles surrounding her, her breasts bobbing on the water...He shook the image off and swallowed hard. When he looked at her, there was nothing he could deny her. He nodded mutely, and followed her out the door. * * * * * End of Part One =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:02 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 2a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Two (1/2) * * * * * "This isn't the first one," was the first thing James Bartel said when Mulder and Scully entered the office. He handed them a file. "There have been others?" Scully asked, taking the file from Mulder. It was much easier for him to read over her shoulder than vice versa. "This is the first positive I.D. that they have had where the victim has been linked with MUFON," Bartel replied. He handed Mulder two more files. "They all had the scars on the necks, though. So far, there has been no discernible M.O., and if the M.E.s hadn't picked up on the incision scars, we'd have never known the murders were linked. As it is, we can only guess how many others there have been where a less observant coroner missed the scars. Two have been found in rivers, one in a quarry, another next to a road, and yet another strangled in her own front yard. This one, and two others, disappeared several days before their bodies were found, and the M.E.s say that they weren't killed immediately. When this one's friends were asked why they didn't speak up when she disappeared, they said it was because they thought she had been 'taken' again." Mulder looked at Scully, who was studying the file intently. She was unconsciously rubbing at the small scar on the back of her neck as though it itched. Only the small lines around her mouth and the tension in her posture betrayed her discomfort. "I want to see the body," she said, drawing a deep breath. "Are they sending it here?" "It's in transit," Bartel replied. "Should be here within the hour." Mulder looked at the files Bartel had handed him. "Two gunshot, one strangled, two stabbed...Not molested in any way, nor were there signs of a violent struggle." "The ones who weren't killed immediately had high concentrations of sedatives in their blood. Prescription varieties," Scully noted, looking at the blood chemistry. "If this is the work of a single culprit, we may be looking for a doctor or pharmacist, or someone with a nervous condition that would necessitate the use of those drugs." "The only other similarity is that they all live in the eastern states. This one was from Pennsylvania, but she was found in West Virginia, where she and her friends were visiting, two were from Maryland, one from New England, and one was from New Jersey. If it is a single culprit, he gets around," Bartel noted. "He knows what to look for," Scully added. "The highest concentration of acknowledged abductees is here on the eastern seaboard. Were the implants found on any of them?" Mulder handed her two Polaroid photos from the files he held. One was of a small plastic baggy with a silver dot inside. The other was an open pillbox with a similar tiny silver chip inside. "Found in the pockets and purses of the victims," he supplied. "Have there been any male victims?" Scully asked. "None that we know of," Bartel replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "The male MUFON contingent isn't that large," Mulder reasoned. "The female abductees have been more forthcoming with their stories, and we don't think that many men are taken in the first place." "What was their physical condition prior to death?" Scully asked. "Three were perfectly healthy. The other's pathology showed signs of abnormal, pre-cancerous growths on several major organs." "Abnormal?" "It didn't look like any form of cancer ever discovered before," Bartel replied. Mulder saw Scully go pale. The same had been said about the growths that had killed several other MUFON abductees she had come to know over the years, starting with Betsy Hagopian. "Thanks, Bartel," Mulder said, noting the green shade that had come over Scully's face. "We'll be in my office when the body gets here. Contrary to all their carefully laid rules of office comportment, Mulder put his arm around Scully and guided her into the inner office. Only the very observant would have noticed that his arm was the only thing holding her upright until the door closed safely behind them and she collapsed into a chair. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, and when she looked up, her eyes were glassy. "God, Mulder, I thought it was over," she whispered. She raked her hand through her hair. "The doctors were all killed, and those test subjects--and then the MUFON members said that no one had been taken since--I thought it was over. What is there left to do to these poor people, Mulder?" "Kill all the witnesses, Scully," Mulder replied, his voice weak. "Dead men tell no tales." Her head snapped up, and for a moment, she could not find her voice. "Mulder," came her ragged whisper. "I'm one of the witnesses." Mulder's eyes were bleak. "I know." * * * * * The corpse of Tina Mueller arrived as promised within the hour, and Mulder escorted Scully to the lab where she would perform the autopsy. He brought with him his files and waited outside while she worked. Scully gave him a look that let him know that, while his concern was touching, not much more would be tolerated. He ignored it. She emerged much later, looking grim. "I've got to wait for some test results," she said, looking thoroughly exhausted. "Why don't you head on home and I'll meet you there?" He shook his head. "I'll wait for you." She grimaced. "Mulder, I'm in the J. Edgar Hoover building. I really doubt that if I'm in any danger, it's going to happen here." He grinned, nonplused. "How long will your tests take?" "Half hour, forty five minutes, tops." "Well, gee, Scully, that is about exactly how long it is going to take me to finish studying these files here. Here's an idea: I'll wait here and finish these files and then I'll follow you home and draw you that bubble bath." Scully's eyes began to narrow. "Mulder, you can't do this..." "Scully, I would classify these circumstances as sufficiently extenuating to render null and void out 'overprotection' pact," he argued. She leaned forward, standing only inches from him. "Mulder," she said softly, "I love you. And I love you even more for wanting to take care of me, but we can't do this. We have jobs to do. I can take care of myself. Now go home and I will meet you there." He sighed, nodding reluctantly. Usually, he did not have any trouble letting go when Scully needed to do her own thing, even when they were working a dangerous case together, but this--this scared him. Scared him to the bone... He reached out and stroked the side of her face gently, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "There is nothing in this world I wouldn't do to take care of you, Scully." Her eyes were understanding. "I know. I'll call you if it is going to take longer than an hour for me to get home, okay?" He squeezed her shoulder briefly and then released, letting his hand fall away from her. He walked backwards, as though afraid to take his eyes off her until he reached the door. Then he was gone. Scully sighed, resisting the urge to call him back. She was afraid, too, but she knew the futility and frustration of his trying to be with her each and every moment. She turned to go back into the morgue, where the body and her assistant M.E. awaited her. There was one thing she hadn't told Mulder. She recognized Tina Mueller. She had been present at the meeting of MUFON members in Allentown, Pennsylvania the day Scully had found out about the other abductees. A chill made its way down Scully's neck and back. Too close, she thought. It was way too close to home. If she had told Mulder that little detail, he would never have left her alone. Clamping an iron grip on her composure, she re-entered the morgue. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:59 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 2b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Two (2/2) * * * * * Mulder glanced at his watch when he got home. A half hour remained yet until the time Scully said that she would be home by. A half hour that would be fraught with worry until he knew that she was safe. Something about this situation scared him as never before. Even thinking of it, he felt a chill run through him. He had never taken the time to consider just how deeply allowing himself to love Scully was going to change the way he looked at their work. For the most part, he succeeded in keeping their professional life the same as it had been before they had become romantically involved. But there were times since he had married her nearly eleven months ago that he had wondered if it had been a well-advised decision--for her sake. By marrying her, he had announced to the entire world just where his Achilles' heel lay. If the right person really wanted to, they could use Scully to bring Mulder to his knees, to render him totally helpless, for he had told the truth--there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. He would betray anyone, anything. He would turn his back on everything in the blink of an eye. He would become their puppet, and Mulder did not fool himself into thinking that any would-be conspirators hadn't noticed. If they wanted a weapon to use against him, she was right there. By marrying Scully, he had placed her in greater danger than they had ever considered. But she had known that. Scully was a woman who would share a man's life 150%, a woman to stand by him and defy all the odds, all the adversities. She was his greatest strength, his staunchest ally. Sometimes it was she who knew better how to take care of them both than he knew how to take care of himself. It was she who knew exactly what order the scattered pieces went back together in when he flew apart. When push came to shove, she was the only one he would want by his side. What if she were taken from his side again? What if she were stripped from him, as she had been stripped before? To take Scully away from him now would be to destroy him. Before loving Dana Scully, Mulder had never realized just how dangerous having an Achilles' heel could be. He needed to relax, to stop pacing, Mulder told himself. He went to the fridge and took out the beer Scully had mentioned earlier, then he thought better of it and put it back. He resumed his pacing. He looked at his watch again. Twenty minutes until she said that she would be home. He looked longingly at the phone and shook his head. She would be furious with him if he even dared. He marched through the kitchen, taking the leftover take-out cartons and throwing them away, wiping the crumbs off the counter, and he thought wryly to himself that he must be pretty bad off if he was cleaning to keep his mind off things. Then he moved into the living room, and after that, the bedroom, gathering up the rest of their strewn about clothing and placing it in the hamper. He looked at the rumpled bed, and for a moment, his frown faded. Then he made his way into the bathroom and looked around, noting with dismay that there was nothing for him to pick up. He looked into the mirror, and thought that for once in his life, he looked older than he actually was. The light reflecting into his eyes off the bathroom mirror also made him painfully aware of the fact that he had a headache. Cursing, he slid the mirror to one side and pulled out the ibuprofen from the medicine chest. He was about to slide the mirror closed again when something caught his eye. He blinked at the round, blue plastic case that he had pulled out of the cabinet from where it had sat next to its companion, a tube on Nonoxynol-9 foam. Scully's diaphragm. But it shouldn't be here, Mulder thought. They had made love only four hours ago, and six hours were required before it could be removed. She hadn't used it that evening. The phone rang, shattering the silence, and Mulder jumped, dropping the bottle of ibuprofen. He walked into the bedroom where a phone sat on the beside table, the case still clutched tightly in his hand. He answered the phone and was relieved to hear her voice. "I'm in the car on my way home," she said without preamble. "There was nothing at all abnormal in the way that Tina Mueller was murdered, unless you count the fact that a scalpel was used, which would support the theory that we are dealing with a murderer in the medical profession. Her blood work came out clean--there were no growths or cancerous cells as far as we could detect. If she hadn't been a member of MUFON, I would say we were called out tonight for no reason." "But since she is?" Mulder's voice was soft and not terribly interested. "Well, there's no denying a pattern in the fact that we have at least five MUFON members murdered over the last two months, possibly more if a few slipped through the cracks. That is entirely possible, considering that for the most part, the abductees don't have much in the way of friends and family who would note their disappearances as being unusual. While I think we are obviously dealing with a serial murderer here, and this case definitely belongs in Violent Crimes, the only thing that qualifies it for X-Files attention at all is the MUFON connection." "And you," Mulder said, finally finding his voice. "And me," she acknowledged quietly. "Did you have any trouble tonight?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. "Nothing more threatening than a funny look from the night watchman in the parking ramp. I'll be home in ten minutes." "Okay. I'll be waiting for you." Again, he thought he could hear her smile. "Good, maybe we can finish our talk." She was about to hang up, when, for the second time that day, he called out, "Scully--" She brought the phone back to her ear. "What?" Mulder paused. What were you going to say to her, Mulder? He asked himself. Were you actually going to try to get into this over the phone? He sighed. "Nothing. Just--just get home soon." Nice recovery, Fox, he thought derisively. "I will." And she disconnected. Mulder looked at the case in his hand. They had decided months ago that they would not actively try to have children. There were too many unknowns involved, ranging from the questions brought up by Scully's three month disappearance years ago to the fact that they had made many enemies over the years. They had settled upon a satisfactory birth control method and had stuck with it. They had decided that, if an accidental pregnancy should arise, they would welcome it. If not, then they would think about adopting in a few years, when things settled down a little more and they were not in constant danger. It was because they could not bear to give up all hope of having a child of their own, though, that the idea of Mulder having a vasectomy had been bypassed. When had Scully changed her mind? Had she felt that she could not come to him after all the time they had spent debating the subject and announce that she'd had a change of heart? But it was so unlike her to resort to subterfuge, to do anything behind his back. The Scully Mulder knew in his heart would never use dishonesty, especially to do something so life-altering as conceive a child. She would have come to him and told him that she was willing to take the risks and ask that he do the same. How long had this been going on? Was this what she had wanted to talk to him about all night? Mulder sat on the bed with a thousand unanswered questions running through his mind. If he had been in the living room, he might have seen Scully's car drive up, and seen her get out of the driver's seat. He would have seen the shadowy figure come up behind her as she reached back inside the car to retrieve her purse As it was, he saw nothing. * * * * * Scully rolled down her window to let the warm night breeze whip her hair as she drive. She was eager and afraid, at the same time, of going home and telling Mulder her news. What if he wasn't happy? She hadn't planned to get pregnant. She and Mulder had discussed their options and come up with a decision that they could both live with, and though that decision had not been without its sacrifices, she had been determined to make the most of it. She had long suffered nightmares about the child that might issue forth from her body, tainted as she sometimes felt by what had been done to her. There was so much uncertainty before her, and sometimes the major task of her day lay in opening her eyes to face it all. Being with Mulder had helped somewhat, but still she sometimes felt overwhelmed. She had seen things that would have sent other women to a psychiatric hospital long ago, and she had not flinched, but nothing on this earth frightened her like the plethora of questions that this innocent life nestled inside her raised. And before she could even deal with them, she first had to let Mulder know. It was a daunting thought. Please, God, let Mulder be happy about the baby... Funny how, together, she and Mulder had the ability to make the impossible downright probable. Only a small percentage of a chance existed for her to conceive a child if she had diligently followed their plan of action, which she had. And yet, when she had awakened yesterday to find that the time for her monthly cycles, which she had always been able to set her watch by, had come and gone three weeks ago without her notice, she had known. Once more, she and Mulder had bucked the odds. Even more of a surprise had come the knowledge that she was actually nine weeks into her pregnancy. She had gotten her first period after conceiving as scheduled. She couldn't help but be elated, despite the dangers. Mulder was another story, though. She knew that he would love to have a child of their own, but his major concern with the issue had been the fact that there existed a chance that the attempt to do so could endanger her life. Scully sometimes found herself awed by the strength of his devotion. There was truly no sacrifice he would not make to keep her safe. The desire to have child was nothing in comparison. No matter how badly he might want a baby, he would go without if it meant insuring Scully's well-being. "There are other ways, Scully," he had murmured in her ear as they held each other and discussed the subject in their bed. "Ways that won't entail risking you. You are more important to me than all the children in the world." Scully dashed away the tears that came to her eyes with the back of her hand, thinking impatiently that her hormones must already be kicking in. Was it slightly selfish of her to want to have this baby so badly even at the risk of potentially depriving the man she loved of the one thing that meant everything to him? But it was too late. Even if it meant giving up her life, she knew she could never bring herself to end this pregnancy. And it wasn't just her Catholic upbringing that refused to allow the idea. In the course of less than twenty four hours, she had come to realize that there was nothing she wouldn't do to have this baby. Strange, she pondered, how a person's outlook can be changed so rapidly. Two days ago, she had been convinced that she could be happy the rest of her life without a child of her own. Now, it was the dearest desire in her heart. The second that she had woke up and realized that she might very well be pregnant, she had found herself doing things for the sake of her baby that she would never have done before. First of all, she had kept a secret from Mulder. It hadn't been easy. She'd had to call her OB/GYN to make an appointment for her pregnancy test, because she had wanted to know for certain before bringing the subject up. Then she, Ms. Frank-To-A-Fault-Dana-Scully, the worst of all possible liars, had concocted this elaborate tale about having errands to run, and had given her husband, the one person who always saw through her no matter what, a pile of files to go over so that he wouldn't suddenly take the inspiration to tag along with her on her errands, which was not an entirely unknown circumstance. She was secretly appalled by the ease with which she had delivered her lies, how simple it became to tell half-truths when she was doing it for the sake of her child. Mulder hadn't even had a clue of anything being wrong until her unease at the moment of truth had given her away. And it was then that she had noticed the second change. She had never had trouble staring someone in the eyes and telling it like it is, plain and simple. Her policy had always been to just lay out the facts as they existed and let the others do the adjusting. And with her husband, this was doubly true, since there was nothing on this earth she believed herself incapable of telling him. But, for whatever reason, she had stammered and delayed and gotten frustrated trying to find the words to tell him about the baby, and her normal forthrightness had been nowhere to be found. And then, just when she had found the way, the phone--that damned phone--had rang and pulled them apart. Well, now there were no more delays, no more excuses. She pulled into the parking lot at 11 p.m. and stopped the engine to her car. Mulder was upstairs waiting for her, concerned about her. He needed to know. They needed to decide how it was that they were going to handle this small, wondrous matter. She opened her door and stepped out of the car, then realized she had left her purse sitting on the passenger seat. She leaned back inside the car, maneuvering between the steering column and the back of the driver's seat to reach over and grab her purse. Scully would not have had a chance if the faint crunch of tiny pebbles on asphalt had not given away the covert approach of someone behind her. The hair on her neck stood on end, and she instantly grabbed for her key-ring with its little canister of pepper gas, realizing that she could not reach her gun in her present position and pull it from its holster at her waist behind her. She started to pull her head from the car, getting ready to turn around, when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She jumped, jerking back and hitting her head on the edge of her car roof. Stars filled her line of vision as she recovered, whipped around, and brandished the can of pepper gas. He was too close! He knocked the can from her hand before she could even get it high enough to be of any assistance. In a split second, Scully found herself body-checked against the car, pinned with one arm held out by the wrist away from her body. Even if she'd had the spray in her hand, she could not use it now. With his body pressing against hers, she could not get at her gun. She opened her mouth to scream and quickly, his free hand covered it and she felt a cloth against her face. She smelled fumes. Instantly, she halted the breath she was taking. She butted her head with all her might against the hand at her mouth, driving him back sufficiently to give her room to move. She slipped her free hand behind her back to wrest her gun from its holster and had almost succeeded when he pressed her back against the car again, trapping her hand behind her and crushing her fingers where they gripped her gun. She felt the need to draw a breath becoming urgent and swung her head wildly from side to side to try to free her mouth from the rag. He had positioned one leg between hers, angling his pelvis so that his hip drove into her, preventing her from using her knees or feet against him. Moving one leg, she was able to hook a foot around one of his ankles, and, slipping the hand he had been holding away from her body out of his grasp, she placed the heel of her hand against his shoulder and gave a mighty shove. Her foot tangling with his threw him sufficiently off balance for her to free the hand that was behind her, but her gun fell from her crushed and bruised fingers. Rather than waste precious seconds trying to recover it, she withdrew the hand completely from behind and shoved her fist into his Adam's apple. He staggered back, gagging, and she drew in her breath to scream again, knowing as she did so that the chloroformed cloth was not far enough from her face to give her totally clean breathing air. She began to feel lightheaded. What escaped her was not more than a short yelp that was not loud enough to draw the attention of anyone inside the building as he slammed into her again, this time driving the breath from her in a rush. He pinioned her arms against her sides as she gasped for air. He wrenched her around so that she faced away from him and pushed her forward, bending her over the trunk of her car. The edge of the trunk drove painfully into her solar plexus, and she felt the breath driven from her again as all his weight pressed down upon her. He hooked one arm through both her elbows behind her, pinning her arms between their bodies. With his other arm, he pressed the cloth against her thrashing head. With no air for breath and no means of struggle left open to her, Dana Scully slid into unconsciousness. * * * * * Sixty seconds after she ceased her struggle, her car door had been neatly closed and locked, the spilled contents of her purse gathered, and her bound and gagged form laid carefully in the trunk of a nondescript sedan waiting in the shadows nearby. Her belonging were set beside her still form, and the trunk was slammed shut. A grim-faced man stepped into the driver's seat and started the engine. Just as he was turning out of the drive, another car turned in. If it had arrived two minutes earlier, the passengers would have seen the struggle taking place and helped, but as it was, they parked in the same spot that the sedan had occupied only moments before, and got out and went inside. * * * * * End of Part Two =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:55 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 3a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Three (1/2) * * * * * Mulder looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes since Scully had called. He frowned. She had said it would be only ten minutes until she got home. He set the plastic case on the bedside table next to the phone and went back out into the living room. He opened the drapes on the window and looked out the window at the parking lot. Her car was there. She was not in the lot, so she had to be on her way up. Mulder sighed and sat down on the sofa, waiting for her to come through the door. What are you going to say to her when she gets here, Mulder? He asked himself. Hey, Scully, you haven't been sneaking around behind my back trying to get pregnant, have you? Yeah, Mulder, real smooth. Or how about: Look, I must be the densest jerk on the planet not to see what this decision about kids was doing to you, Scully. Sure, the risks are acceptable. Let's go for it. The problem was, he wasn't sure he wanted to go for it. Not if it meant putting her at risk. His desire for a child to love had no basis in comparison for the love he bore her. One, he could do without. The other, he would die without. If it had bothered her that much, why hadn't she told him? Why the subterfuge? Did she think he wouldn't be supportive? Did she think he didn't want children? Scully knew him better than that! He looked at the door expectantly. She should be walking in right about-- --Nothing. He looked back out at her car in its parking slot. Yes, that was definitely her car. Was she still sitting down there, maybe delaying in coming upstairs and having this conversation with him that she had been putting off all day? He couldn't tell if she sat inside the car or not, so resolutely, he grabbed his keys and left the apartment. He waited for the elevator to arrive at their floor just in case she was on it, but instead, it was only their neighbors from a few doors down that stepped off. He started to enter the elevator, then changed his mind and took the stairs instead, in case she had chosen to come that way. There was no one in the parking lot when he got outside. The night air was still uncomfortably warm, and rife with the sounds of insects. He walked across the pavement to Scully's car and leaned over to look inside. It was empty. A chilly knot of dread began to form in the pit of Mulder's stomach. Slowly, he walked around the car. The doors had been locked, just as Scully always locked them when she left the car to go inside. Except that she wasn't inside He looked up to the window of their apartment, hoping to see her silhouette moving within, them somehow having passed each other with him on the stairs and her on the elevator. He hoped against hope that his overactive imagination wasn't playing tricks on him, but there was no movement inside the apartment. Mulder's foot hit something that made a tinkling noise. He looked down, and sitting half under the car were Scully's keys, complete with her can of pepper gas attached to the key chain. Cold realization exploded in Mulder's gut with a force that almost caused him to be sick. Then, he was on his cell phone calling for help. * * * * * Mulder stood by the curb watching as local police and FBI alike worked in tandem around Scully's car and the surrounding parking lot. He saw a car pull up and Walter Skinner, director of the FBI, got out and crossed in front of it. He opened the passenger door and helped Scully's mother, Margaret Scully, out of her seat. They ran to Mulder. "Fox, what happened?" Maggie Scully asked, her eyes wide with fear as she surveyed the scene. To their left, they could see the forensics team trying to lift fingerprints from Scully's car and the key chain Mulder had found. Mulder vaguely heard someone else mention that the can of pepper gas had been triggered. Mulder scrubbed a hand down his face. "I--um--Scully has disappeared. She's been kidnapped." There was a small, shrill tone in his voice as he looked down at Mrs. Scully. Her face had gone white. "Dear God, not again!" she groaned, burying her face in her hands. Mulder watched as Skinner placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. He was glad she was looking away, looking anywhere but into his eyes. He knew that soon the moment would come when she would look at him with accusation in her eyes and demand to know how he had lost her daughter again, why he had failed to protect her... Again. Instead, when she looked up, all he saw were tears in her eyes. He wasn't certain that the accusations wouldn't have hurt less. "Tell me what happened, Fox," she whispered tremulously. He began to reach out one trembling hand to her, then stopped, instead dragging the hand through his hair, his fingers clenching and releasing the strands as though they might be able to stop his frantic shaking. He was unaware as he did so that he had been repeating that gesture for the last hour, leaving his hair standing on end and looking like something that belonged in a circus--or a horror film. "Um--" his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Scully and I got called into the office late this evening on a new case. There has been a series of kidnappings and murders, the victims all being members of a UFO watch group called MUFON--the Mutual UFO Network. They all claim to have had abduction experiences like Scully's. They described the same events that she remembers, and even had the same implants in the back of their neck." He stopped as Maggie Scully made an incoherent noise, a cry of horror muffled behind tightly clamped lips. This time, it as she who reached a quivering hand out to him. He took it gratefully. "We took separate cars in case Scully had to stay late, but after we found out what was going on...I was going to stay with her and follow her home, but she insisted that I go on without her. She called me from her car an hour later and told me she was ten minutes from home. Fifteen minutes after that, I looked out the window to see her car out here. When she didn't come inside, I came out looking for her and found her key ring under the car. That's when I called for help." "Oh, my God," Maggie moaned, her finger's crushing Mulder's as her eyes sought Skinner's. "At dinner--all night long--I had this feeling--I KNEW!" It took Mulder a moment to realize what she was saying, and then he remembered the previous times when Maggie had sensed her daughter was in danger. There was a commotion from the team by Scully's car, and Skinner moved off in that direction, indicating with a shake of his head that Mulder was to stay put. Mulder ignored him and also began to moved towards the spot where the team worked, but Maggie refused to release his hand. He looked up to meet her tear-filled eyes. "Fifteen minutes," she whispered in horror. "How can someone just disappear in fifteen minutes, Fox?" "Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry," he murmured, his head bowed. "I should have followed her home--I should have known--" He fell silent. As much as he had come to love Scully's mother, he was too numb to be able to offer her any reassurances. His own words came back to haunt him: "Kill all the witnesses, Scully...Dead men tell no tales." Mulder began blinking, his heart becoming a hard knot in his chest at the thought. For a moment, he felt that he might throw up, the sinking feeling in his stomach was that desperate. Instead, he stiffened. There was no way that he was going to allow himself to be reduced to a puking wretch when Scully needed him. He wouldn't fail her this time... James Bartel was present. Mulder watched from the sidelines as he and the investigative team did their jobs, and did them well. He wanted to charge in there, take control, tell them how to get answers better, faster, what they were doing wrong. Except he couldn't. They weren't doing anything wrong, and he had no suggestions to give them. They were doing everything that he would have been doing if this had been another case, HIS case. He raked his fingers through his hair again. The deja vu was almost overwhelming. How many times would he have to sit helplessly by while the woman he loved was torn from his side? He felt utterly useless. It was an uncomfortable feeling. It was the feeling of being twelve years old and looking to his father's cold eyes and learning for the first time what it was to loathe himself. Scully had taken that loathing away. Her faith in him had given him faith in himself. Now, without her affirming presence, he began to experience those feelings he thought that he had left behind, that nagging sensation in the back of his brain that maybe, just maybe, her faith had been misplaced. Skinner returned to Mulder and Margaret and gave them what details he had gleaned. There was not much to tell, and nothing that Mulder didn't already know. Finally, Mulder cut him off. "I want to begin looking--" Skinner stopped him. "You can't honestly believe that I'm going to allow you to work this investigation, Mulder." Mulder glared at him and even Margaret gasped, "Walter!" "You don't honestly think you can stop me?" Mulder watched Skinner closely for his reaction to the insubordination. To his credit, he did not seem upset. But then, Mulder observed the protective way that Skinner hovered over Maggie Scully and realized that Skinner would have done the same thing himself in Mulder's position. It gave him an unexpected feeling of kinship toward the man. "I have no intention of preventing you from looking for Dana, Mulder. But you are not going to head up, or even be a part of, the official investigation team. I cannot allow you to work on a case so personal. You can assign the best of your people to the case if you would like, and if you have any leads, bring them to me and I'll push them through the proper channels. But there is no way you can work on the team--you know that. Find someone you trust and get them in there in your place." I trust no one, Mulder thought bitterly. No one except Scully. Oh, God, Scully! Resolutely, Mulder tamped down the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. Scully needed him. He had to be strong for her. How can you be, Mulder, when you're only strong because of her, because of her faith in you? His inner voice mocked. (I've always believed in you...) Last time she'd disappeared, he'd gone off the deep end, lost without her...How could he keep from doing so again? Because she has faith in you, Mulder. And you'll be damned before you let her down this time. Hellish visions played through his head of having to repeat a grueling bedside vigil, of Scully pale and lifeless upon a pillow and slipping away before his eyes. She'd bucked the odds once, but this time... How long can she keep bucking the odds, Mulder? The voice in his head taunted. How long before the law of averages starts to work against her, against both of you? But if there was anyone on the planet capable of doing the impossible twice, it was Dana Katherine Scully. And this time, she wouldn't have to do it alone. Suddenly, he knew he could not sit around inactive a moment longer. "I've got to get out of here," he muttered, turning away from Mrs. Scully and Skinner. "Fox!" Margaret Scully cried after him, and he stopped and looked back at her. Her eyes were frightened and tear-filled. She reached out a hand to him. "Where are you going?" He squeezed her fingers, offering her what meager reassurance he could give. "I'm going to see if I can't drum up a few answers. You can stay here until I get back, or if you want to go home, I'll call you." Mulder watched as she drew a deep, steadying breath, and he wondered if she realized how she leaned toward Skinner, who stood supportively behind her, offering her silent strength if she should need it. He wondered if he and Scully did that. "I'll stay," she answered. Mulder nodded and went into the building. He returned a moment later with Scully's dog, Clyde, on his leash. He tucked the dog into the passenger seat of the car and drove away. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:51 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 3b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Three (2/2) * * * * * An hour later, he was walking through a public park on the outskirts of Washington D.C. with the little dog on its leash. To the casual viewer, he looked like nothing more than a man out taking his dog for a midnight stroll, enjoying the cool, late night breeze being stirred up over the Potomac. No one came near enough to see the tension in his pose, the expectation. Fox Mulder had learned long ago that sometimes, when he wanted answers, the best thing to do was to isolate himself and let the information come to him. He was not disappointed. Five minutes after he had driven out of the parking lot, his cell phone had rang and he was given instructions to be here in this park. He was passing a high fence around the public tennis courts when he heard the footfalls behind him. He whirled around, his gun in his hand, and had the man by his throat against the fence. He pressed the barrel of the gun into the man's cheek. "Tell me where she is, you son of a bitch, or I swear I'll kill you right here!" he snarled, his face contorted. Not the way he would have normally handled the situation. In fact, it was not the sort of thing this man would have normally put up with. He had killed men for less. Mulder knew that the man must have taken some sort of pity upon his plight, or else he'd probably be dead by now. He'd been doing business with this man whose name he did not know for a long time, sometimes good, sometimes not so good. Mulder knew the games that he was expected to play. Tonight, though, he was in no mood for games. Tonight, he wanted answers. "I do not know where your wife is, Agent Mulder," the dark man replied calmly, seemingly oblivious to the gun leaving its impression in the skin of his face. Wisely, however, he did not retaliate or resist the physical assault. Mulder, whom he usually had no fear of, was in a dangerous frame of mind. "Like hell you don't!" "The project was shut down, Agent Mulder. The experiments were terminated. You saw that. None of the subjects have been taken since that time." "Do you think I would put it past you bastards to kill innocent women just to cover your own asses?" Mulder scoffed. "'Kill all the witnesses,' right? 'Deny everything.' It's a clean-up operation, isn't it?" "No, Agent Mulder, it is not. Anyone involved in the project that posed a threat of exposure had been attended to, and none of the subjects could give conclusive testimony. There would be no need to tend to them. Agent Scully would not have been disturbed again." "Then who is doing this?" "I do not know, Agent Mulder." "Why should I believe you?" Mulder hissed. God knew it wasn't the first time this dubious informant had lied to him. "Because if you do not, you are going to waste valuable time indulging your paranoia, and your wife will end up like the others." Shaking, Mulder drew away, releasing the man and returning his gun to its holster. "If you're lying to me, and she dies, there won't be any place you can hide when I come after you." Without waiting for a reply, Mulder turned and stalked away. * * * * * It was four a.m. before Mulder returned to the apartment. A glance showed Scully's car in the same spot that it had been in previously, but now the investigators had all left. The parking lot was deserted. Inside the apartment, he found Margaret Scully and Skinner on the sofa. Skinner was looking at the TV with the audio turned down and the closed captioning on, while Mrs. Scully slept on his shoulder, his arm around her. Even in repose, a worried frown creased her brow, and there was a catch to her breathing. Skinner gestured Mulder to silence and slowly, moving with utmost care, he moved Maggie over so that she lay against the arm of the sofa, and rose. He followed Mulder out onto the patio. "I assume you had a meeting with one of your nameless informants?" Skinner asked with a grimace when the door had closed behind him. Mulder nodded, knowing Skinner had had his own dealings with that sort. "What did you find out?" "Nothing that Scully hadn't already told me. There is nothing paranormal or abnormal at all about this case. This is the work of a single person, working alone. It would be treated no differently than any other serial murder case if the victims hadn't all been MUFON members." "Do you have any theories?" "Well, I'm sure that there is no outside, organized involvement. These are not assassinations. The work is too sloppy to be professional, and if this was organized, the bodies would probably never be found, and no one the wiser. After all, most of these victims are lone women to begin with, which is probably why they were abducted in the first place--there would be no one to file a missing persons report on them or to search for them with any degree of concern. If they were to disappear permanently, no one would notice, except their friends in MUFON, who automatically assume that they've been abducted again. "Now the murderer could, if he wanted to, make them disappear. All he would need is access to an incinerator, or he could bury them in a secluded location. But he's leaving clues, which means we're either dealing with someone of limited intellect, or he's wanting to be caught, whether consciously or subconsciously. We are looking for someone very strong, probably quite large since it is obvious that Scully--" Mulder's voice caught, and he drew in a deep breath and continued stoically, "--attempted to defend herself and was overcome. I'm assuming that the other women, not having had her training, never stood a chance. Also, he is, or was, in some way either involved with the original experiments or with MUFON. He knows who to look for, and he seeks them out." "Scully hasn't been actively involved in MUFON," Skinner pointed out. "She knows what really happened during the abductions, and most MUFON members are still convinced it was aliens who were responsible for the abductions." Mulder refrained from pointing out that it had never been conclusively disproved that aliens HADN'T been involved, either as subjects or participants in the experiments. "Which supports the idea that the mur--kidnapper--" Mulder found it easier to think of the suspect as a kidnapper, rather than as a murderer, with its obvious implications for Scully. "--was involved in the project. Possibly one of the nameless, faceless grunts assigned to clean-up duty. Maybe he saw too many horrible things and cracked." Skinner frowned. "If that is the case, we have no idea where to begin looking, since I'm certain we'll never obtain the payroll records from the project. Likewise, how would this man, from doing that work years ago, know where to find these women now? Unless he has copies of the files kept on them, many have moved on, taken new names...How is he getting current information?" "Maybe he has infiltrated MUFON," Mulder hypothesized. "Kept tabs on all of them over the years, so to speak. Also, we don't know that he isn't involved in the project and has access to the files still kept on the subjects. But I think our best shot would be to check up on the male MUFON members, see what leads we can ring up there." "I'll have the team start checking on that tomorrow," Skinner said. "The files you and Scully compiled a few years ago on the MUFON members who were willing to share their stories with you will help there." "I really think that I should--" Skinner cut him off. "The subject is closed, Mulder. If you show up at work tomorrow, I will have you removed by security." "Fine," Mulder said grimly, "but I was about to say that it might be best for me to look up the MUFON members we have on file myself. They know me. They know I believe them. I was there when Scully interviewed them back in '98. They might tell me more than they would the team, especially once they know that Scully is involved. I'm sure that you can see why these people won't open up to just anyone." Skinner nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Just make sure that they are aware that a different agent may be following up on any leads that they provide. I hate to do it to you, Mulder, but your involvement here has to be minimal." Mulder nodded, turning from the director to stare out over the large field behind the apartment building. The light from the room behind his cast his shadow against the ground below. He stared out at the sky, noting the absence of clouds in the nightscape. There would be no cooling summer storm to break the July heat. Mulder jumped as another shadow joined his and Skinner's on the ground below. The door behind them slipped open, and Mrs. Scully emerged onto the patio, rubbing her eyes. "Fox. How long have you been back?" "Only a few minutes now, Mrs. Scully," he answered. "Did you find out anything?" He shook his head. "Nothing solid. We have a lead or two to look into in the morning, though." "Morning. That reminds me, your mother and sister will be arriving on an eight a.m. flight this morning. I took the liberty of calling them and telling them what happened. They'll stay at my place. They said they would get a hotel, or stay here, but I knew you didn't need company in your home right now, and we can all support each other if we're together. I would like you to come stay at my place also, Fox. You shouldn't be here alone." "I appreciate that, Mrs. Scully, but I really feel that I need to be here right now. Near to her, in some way, at least. But thank you for calling Mom and Samantha. I'll pick them up at the airport." "No, Fox, you try to relax. I will take care of that. I'll bring them over when their flight gets in." "Thank you, Mrs. Scully." She moved to him and embraced him, and though he returned the hug, he was unable to relax against her. His shoulders drooped in exhaustion. "Come inside, Fox, and go to bed. I'll wait here until morning." "That's not necessary, Mrs. Scully," he said. "You go home and get what sleep you can, and I'll be fine here for a few hours." He gave a humorless laugh that had a slightly hysterical edge to it. "What are the chances of me sleeping, anyway?" She sighed. "I think that is true for all of us. Are you certain you don't want me to stay here?" He nodded. "Yes. I think I need some time to myself. Why don't you head home and I'll see you tom--later today." "Okay, Fox. You call me if anything--ANYTHING--happens, do you understand?" He nodded again, his eyes downcast. She took him by the hand and pulled him back inside the apartment. Skinner gathered her things off the couch as she pointed Mulder towards the bedroom. "Promise me you will try to get some sleep if you can?" "I promise," he replied, knowing, as she did, that he was lying. "I'll call you from the airport when your mother arrives," she hugged him briefly and drew back. "She'll be okay, Fox," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "She will." Mulder didn't reply as he watched them walk out the door. When they were gone, he locked the door and shut off the lights, going into the bedroom where only a single lamp glowed. A glance in the mirror atop the dresser told him he looked like hell, a thirty eight year old man looking fifty. His clothes were wrinkled, and his face was lined with worry. His hair spiked in three thousand crazy directions. He collapsed on the bed. Clyde jumped up and lay beside him, pressed closely to him. Mulder absently stroked him with one hand while the other was flung across his eyes, shutting out the light. He lay there several minutes, numb, and then he removed his arm from across his eyes. They focused on an object by the bed. The blue plastic case. He closed his eyes against the reminders, the implications, bringing forth memories of her, anything so that he didn't feel so desperately alone. He thought about the moments when they had made their decision regarding children. "We have to look at this rationally," Scully had told him as she lay in his arms. "For most people, the decision to have children in a natural one, an easy one. They can afford to follow their hearts. But with us, there is much more at stake." "We don't know what the odds are," Mulder had replied, "but we can account for most of the possible outcomes: "Number one, just to get off on the right foot here, there is always the chance that you could have a totally normal pregnancy with a totally health, normal child." "There is that," she had answered, "but there is also the possibility that I can't conceive at all. The doctors say that I'm the picture of health, but they don't even know of the existence of all the things that could go wrong to affect me or my pregnancy. There is also the chance that I can conceive, once or more than once, only to have conceived a child that has no hope of surviving until birth." She shuddered. "I don't think I could handle that." "Then," Mulder swallowed hard, "there is the chance that any attempt to carry a pregnancy to term on your part could be fatal for you. That's what frightens me most, Scully. I can live without a baby in my life, but I could never live without you." She embraced him silently for a moment, letting her touch smooth away the unsettling thoughts. "I'm here," she said softly, "and I'm healthy, and that's all that matters right now. We're together, and that's all I need." "I can face anything with you beside me ," Mulder had whispered into her warm, fragrant hair, "but I don't think I could bring myself to risk losing you over this. It's not worth it to me. I don't need anything else in life as long as I have you with me." And so they had decided. And inwardly, Mulder had been relieved. Unspoken, ugly words had remained unsaid, nightmares that they had barely allowed themselves to acknowledge. Like the word MUTANT. They had seen it before, lives twisted in ungodly, unnatural ways by the hands of man. Or something innocent looking but inwardly diabolical, like the Eves... Mulder opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It didn't matter. Her reasons for changing her mind, for not telling him, didn't matter, so long as she was safe. Scully, his mind called out as a sob built inside his chest. Please, Scully--just be all right. Just hold on until I find you. * * * * * End of Part Three =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:47 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 4a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Four (1/2) * * * * * At six thirty a.m., Mulder rose from where he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. His mind felt heavy, drugged, as though he had just awakened, even though he knew he had not closed his eyes. An aching emptiness filled his chest where his heart should have been, and his stomach was wound into a tight knot, like a rock in his gut. Scully...his mind whispered, and he groaned wretchedly. Moving stiffly, he left the bed and went out into the living room. Clyde was waiting by the door to be taken outside, which Mulder did dutifully. Then he changed out of his wrinkled clothes and showered. Come on, Mulder--snap out of it, his mind prodded him. You're not going to do her a bit of good this way. Under the force of the steaming shower, he began to emerge from his stupor. The vital thing here, Mulder, is to disconnect. You're not allowed to be on the investigation because the emotional attachment may impair your judgment. So let it go. She's not Dana, she's not your wife. She's any of the hundreds of victims you've tried to help over the years, and you're investigating her disappearance, that's all. You let your feelings get in the way and you're dead in the water, man... ...And so is she. The thought sent a surge of panic through him, which he resolutely put down. Showered and shaved, he felt more alert. He began to straighten the apartment, knowing Scully would be mortified, no matter what the circumstances, for his mother and sister to see it looking sloppy. While he cleaned, his mind processed the venues of investigation he would take. He thought of which of the MUFON members he would like to interview, deciding to start with those that were most familiar with Scully. His eidetic memory produced the names and faces of the women he wanted to speak with, and he looked up on his computer those phone numbers that he did not know. He picked up his phone and started dialing. He was in luck. The first two on the list he wanted to reach were roommates. They, to some extent, organized the Allentown, Pennsylvania chapter of MUFON, and had both been present at Betsy Hagopian's house on the day that Scully had shown up. Penny Northern was the first person to have recognized Scully from one of her own abduction experiences. It was there that Scully had learned about the existence of all the other abductees. "Hello, may I please speak with Ms. Northern? Oh. Hello, Ms. Northern. I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. You may remember me from the time I came with Agent Dana Scully to interview you for our files...Yes. I'm investigating the murders of several MUFON members recently, Ms. Northern, and I was wondering if I might be able to speak with you and Ms. Holloway for a while this afternoon...No, I just need some information...I will drive up to Allentown...Rose's Cafe? All right, Ms. Northern. At two...Thank you for your time...Good-bye." Mulder hung up the phone and sighed. That was two down. He knew without a doubt that it was Scully's name that had gotten him in the door. She was one of their own. They trusted her. He was about to pick up the phone and call a third woman whom had been present that day when the phone rang. In an instant, all his self-lectures on detachment flew out the window as his panicked mind brought forth a million nightmarish possibilities as to who might be on the other end and what news they might bear. God, Mulder, no! Don't even think it! He punched the "talk" button viciously. "Mulder." "Fox, it's Maggie. I'm at the airport and Caroline and Samantha's plane is about to land. We can be at your place in less than an hour." Mulder was about to agree when he realized that right now, his mother and sister's tender concern and sympathy, though appreciated, would be counter-productive to his cause. He loved them both dearly, but it would be far too easy for him to become bogged down in hopelessness with them offering comforting shoulders to lean upon. He needed to be strong right now. "Mrs. Scully, I have to drive into Allentown, Pennsylvania this morning to follow up on a couple of leads and I won't be able to meet you right now. It's a long drive, and I have to leave right away. Would it be all right if you took them back to your place and I'll meet you all there tonight?" As always, if Maggie Scully objected, she gave no sign of it. Understanding filled her voice. "Of course, Fox. But do please call us if you find anything." "I will," he reassured her, thinking not for the first time what a classy lady Margaret Scully was. "Could I ask one more favor of you?" "Yes, Fox?" "Would you mind coming by the apartment to pick up Clyde and keeping him with you for a while? I'm not going to have the time to take care of him, and Scully will kill me if I let him go neglected." There was a hopeful tremor in Maggie Scully's voice as she agreed, and Mulder realized that his ploy had worked. Speaking of Scully as though her safe return was assured had given her terrified mother some comfort. He said good-bye and disconnected. He refused to let himself ponder the idea that some of that same comfort might appeal to him as well. If he were truly detached, he would require no comfort. God knows, Scully would do the same if our places were reversed, Mulder thought. She would analyze and rationalize everything indifferently and be that much more productive for her efforts. If--WHEN--he got Scully home, then he could fall apart and admit how afraid he was. But only then. And she would take him into her arms, and comfort him, and he would comfort her, and they would once again be awed by their desperate need for one another. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:43 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 4b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Four (2/2) * * * * * The drive to Allentown was every bit as long as he had predicted, and fraught with hours of frustrating traffic. Mulder gave silent thanks once again for air conditioners as the July heat threatened to reach record breaking temperatures. He turned off the radio and considered what he might do with the information that Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway might be able to give him. He had to assume that Scully, if she was at all able, would be working on her end trying to get out. She wasn't helpless as the other victims had been. In fact, there were times when she could be diabolically crafty. Providing that the person or persons holding her didn't have her drugged or in some other way incapacitated, she was already formulating various avenues of escape. But he couldn't count on that. Even if she were conscious, she might be held somewhere that even her clever mind couldn't imagine a way out of. Where, Mulder, where? What was he going to do, walk into the diner and ask these women for the names and addresses of all male MUFON members who may or may not be spies? Yeah, Mulder, real smooth. But then, they knew that Scully was definitely one of their own, had known that even before Scully herself had, and that might earn him more cooperation from them. These people stood up for each other, believing in each other even when the rest of the world didn't. They had a bond, and hopefully, Mulder could count on that. The diner that they met in was a suitable shabby, nondescript greasy spoon and the two women were waiting for him in a back booth where it was likely that they would not be disturbed. He gave the waitress his order for coffee, knowing he would never be able to force food into his tense stomach. The women waited for him to begin. "Are you aware," he asked, "of the series of kidnappings and murders that have been taking place involving MUFON members with abduction experiences similar to your own?" The women looked at each other, their posture tense. "Yes," replied Penny Northern. "The most recent one belonged to our chapter here." Scully hadn't told him that. Has she recognized Tina Mueller from her meeting with these people? "Agent Scully has been kidnapped, as of last night," he told them, his tone lacking any inflection whatsoever. He watched them turn pale, and he knew what they must be thinking. It wasn't surprising that one of themselves could be taken, but Agent Scully was a different matter--as though her being an FBI agent should make some sort of a difference, should make her safer, inviolable. If whoever was doing this could get to Scully, they could get to any one of them. "We don't have many leads," Mulder continued, "but we have a working theory that the perpetrator is getting his current information on the abductees of MUFON by possibly posing as a member himself." "So what do you need from us?" the other woman, Lottie Holloway, asked. "I need information on the male contingent of MUFON," he said. "We think that the suspect is male, and probably quite large. He overpowered Agent Scully and she had mace, a gun, and knowledge of unarmed combat. Anything would help-- names, and hopefully addresses if you have them." The women darted quick glances at each other. "What you're asking for is confidential information," Penny Northern replied. "We don't sell each other out. "With all due respect, Ms. Northern, I really don't think you owe this man any loyalty. He may have infiltrated MUFON with a phony story of abduction to garner sympathy and to get at your members. To not give me the information I am requesting could very well condemn Agent Scully, not to mention countless others, to death." The women looked at each other again. Their deliberations didn't take long. These women were survivors. That's why they had made it long enough to share their stories and get their lives back after their abduction experiences. There were countless others whom had cracked and had been institutionalized, or had taken their own lives after the first sketchy memories of their experiences started. These women were a breed apart, and they hadn't survived this long to find themselves at the mercy of a madman. They took Mulder back to their house and turned on a computer. "We keep a database of everyone who comes to us with their stories, so that we can keep track of them, and possibly their disappearances. We actually haven't used it for a while, since there have been so few disappearances over the last several years, but we opened it up again when these abductions started. In here, you will find the names and all the information we have on the members. Go ahead and print out what you think will help your investigation. But please, this information is confidential, so we would appreciate it if no one besides yourself were to see it." Mulder frowned. "That might not be possible," he said. "You see, Agent Scully is my wife, and what I'm doing here is not part of the official investigation. I'm not allowed to work on that. I need to ask your permission to turn these files over to the actual investigating team for them to follow up on. I can assure you that they will be treated with the utmost discretion. Please, we need these files to save my wife." His admission won him their sympathy and respect. Looking at them, Mulder saw that they also felt slightly envious of Dana Scully for having someone who cared when she disappeared. They agreed and left the room, allowing Mulder to work. What he found wasn't encouraging. Though the MUFON male membership wasn't large compared to the female membership, which was over two thousand, there were over a hundred and fifty men who fell within the geographical boundaries of the investigation, varying in size and physical description. Of these, Mulder was able to eliminate nearly a third on the idea that there was simply no way, by the profile given, that the men could have physically overpowered Scully. The rest he printed out and took back with him to D.C., thanking Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway for their time. Another long drive back to D.C. left Mulder with time to consider what he had found. They had to have a more narrow field of suspects than this list of over a hundred men. Intentionally forgetting for the moment that the kidnapper might not even be on the list, he considered what he had to go on. What was in these files that would either qualify or eliminate another suspect? Area had already been decided. All of them lived east of the Mississippi River, and Mulder imagined he could probably, if he wanted to, narrow it down even further to the coastal states. He had severe doubts that the perpetrator would drive all the way in from the west to grab a victim, murder her, dump her, and leave. No, serial killers stuck somewhat remotely close to home, spreading out only enough to make the killings appear random. If they were going to try to cover their tracks at all, that was. Many never searched farther than their own home town for their victims. Opportunity was next. He would have to find some way of ascertaining alibis from all the men on this list when he-- Mulder stopped himself--when the investigating team questioned them. It was a daunting task, and extremely time consuming. There would be those whom they couldn't get in touch with, and those who would not cooperate with them. Scully didn't have that sort of time. What was unusual about any men on the list that he had just read about? There were several that were quite large, which would automatically make them a questioning priority, as they would have the physical power to overcome Scully even at her best. But then again, massive strength wouldn't have been needed if he had the right fighting know-how. A martial arts student? Yes, there were a few of those. They would also become a questioning priority. Five p.m. rolled around and he became caught in rush hour traffic. It would be another two hours, at least, until he got back to D.C., and by then, he would have to wait until tomorrow to get the ball rolling on this list of possible suspects. He dialed Skinner. "It's Mulder," he said. "I spoke with Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway of the Allentown MUFON chapter, and I have a list of profiles of the MUFON male members who might qualify." Skinner replied, "What have you got?" "Well, if we were to prioritize by those that are capable of overpowering Scully when she's fighting back, we have a list of ten who should be the first for questioning, all of them either large of stature or skilled in fighting, martial arts and the like." He read off the names and addresses and points of interest in the profiles. "If you don't mind, I would like for it to be Bartel who questions them. I figure that list there will give us a good start, and the rest we can analyze tonight. I assume you will be at Mrs. Scully's tonight?" Skinner confirmed. "Did forensics turn up anything from the sight?" "They found saliva at the site which showed traces of digestive fluids. Someone had been gagging in that spot not long before or after Dana was taken. It has already been determined that it is not Dana's." "If she got in a good hit or two in the right places, it could be the perpetrator's," Mulder said. "That's what we believe also," Skinner replied. "We will use it for DNA evidence if we need to link a suspect to being at the scene. It's circumstantial for now, but let's hope we get something to back it up with. If we find the suspect, we may be able also to detect pepper gas traces on his clothing and possessions." They spoke for several moments on where they were going to go with the investigation, and then hung up. The lack of answers contained in the conversation left Mulder depressed. He groaned and looked out over the crowded highway. C'mon, Scully, speak to me...Where are you? Scully's voice teased him back. Even if I did believe in telepathy, Mulder, what are the odds that I'm just going to be able to transmit my coordinates to you? He sighed. No such easy solution for him. No, the answers wouldn't just appear to him in a miracle like that. He was going to have to go digging. He was still scanning his brain for other possibilities to investigate when he arrived at Mrs. Scully's house two hours later. His mother and sister emerged from the front door to greet him. Samantha wrapped her arms around him in a comforting hug and whispered, "Oh, Fox, I'm so sorry." "What news do you have?" Mrs. Scully asked, ushering them all inside. Mulder allowed them to drag him by the arms to the sofa and sat down. "I was able to provide Skinner with a couple of possible leads for the investigation, but we have nothing concrete right now. Even with these we may be barking up the wrong tree, but it is the best we have for now." "Fox, isn't there anything more that can be done?" Caroline Mulder asked. He shook his head. "There's nothing to go on, no beginning point from which to follow leads. These appear to be random acts of violence with a single commonality connecting the victims--their abduction experiences, and that is so shaded in mystery that we have no place to begin to look. So we grab the first hunch that comes our way and pray that it is the right one, before time runs out." Samantha Mulder Powell cringed at that. "Fox--" she reached out to him. He pulled back. "Sam, look, I can't let you pity me right now. I need to have full control of my faculties, and I can't get bogged down by hopelessness. Don't try too sympathize with me, please." He felt guilty when he saw a hurt expression cross Samantha's face, but it was soon replaced by a sad smile. He was trying to tell her how she could best help him. Scully, more often than not, was the first to give him a good swift kick in the ass when he needed it, as opposed to a willing listener to a sob story. He was asking Samantha to do that for a while for him. She nodded solemnly at him, accepting his charge, and he offered her the tiniest curve of his lips in lieu of a smile that would have had no sincerity behind it. Caroline disappeared into Maggie's kitchen and returned with a glass of iced tea in her hands and handed it to him. Mulder looked at it and felt tears prick his eyes, but he drank it willingly enough. It was Maggie who noticed that his hand trembled as he did so. "Fox," she said, her tone stern and giving no hint of her own inner turmoil over her daughter, "how long has it been since you have eaten?" "I'm not hungry, Mrs. Scully." "I didn't ask that." "Dinner last night," he muttered grudgingly. He did not want these wonderful, concerned women hovering over him! "You can't do this, Fox," she said firmly. "I know you love Dana, and I know what's happening is tearing your gut out, but you can't possibly think that you'll be of any help to her if you wear yourself out like this. Did you sleep at all last night?" He shook his head reluctantly. "And you drove all the way to Pennsylvania and back like this?" Her tone was sharp with maternal outrage. "Please, Mrs. Scully, don't mother me right now. I have to be strong for Scully." Samantha grabbed his arm. "That's right, you do. And the first thing you are going to do, Fox Mulder, is come with me into the kitchen and eat a sandwich. Maybe two." "Sam, don't, please--" he pleaded. "Fox Mulder, you are being a self-indulgent S.O.B.! Do you really think that you can be strong for Dana if you starve yourself? Now you come with me this instant or I'll know for a fact that all your fine words about standing on your own were just hot air." Mulder heard his mother's horrified gasp. Samantha's words were harsh, but he embraced them. It was the same thing that Scully would have said to him. Mulder yielded to Samantha pulling on his arm and the four went into the kitchen. Samantha, not being one to stand on pretension, availed herself of Mrs. Scully's refrigerator. She prepared two cold-cut sandwiches for him, and hauled out some potato salad and an apple. While he worked on those, she made him a third sandwich, just in case. He was morosely silent through the meal. He told them what he could, but it wasn't much. He forced the food down his throat, knowing he was hungry even though his stomach wanted to reject the offering. He even ate the third sandwich, just to please Samantha. When he was finished, she began to tug on his arm again. "Now, you are going to bed for a while. By the time you get up, Walter Skinner will be here and you two can do whatever it is you do to figure this out, but there is no way that I'm going to allow you to drive home without a couple hours of sleep under your belt." She dragged him out of the kitchen once more, and this time, Caroline and Maggie did not follow. Samantha led him down the hall to the bedroom that he and Scully used whenever visiting Scully's mother overnight, and at the sight of it, another place where he had memories of Scully, he balked. "Sam--I can't--" he looked at the bed, his eyes panicked. "Don't ask me to try to sleep." She walked behind him and grabbed the shoulders of his blazer, pulling it off his arms. "I am asking, Fox, and you will get some sleep, or at least try." She softened her tone a little. "Would Dana let you do this to yourself? Just a little while, if you can. Take off your shoes and lay down. I'll come back in an hour or so to check on you." She was right, Mulder realized. Scully wouldn't let him do this to himself. She would force him into the bed at gun point, if need be, or she would simply lay down beside him-- He closed his eyes tightly. He didn't know which was worse, the wonderful memories he had of her which tormented him with the thought of all that bliss being lost, or the nightmares that he knew awaited him if he closed his eyes. "God, Sam," he whispered, sitting weakly on the edge of the bed. "I feel like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from. I hoped, I PRAYED, that I would never feel this way again in my lifetime." Samantha sat beside him, not speaking, waiting for him to continue. "I keep trying to tell myself that it isn't like before. We're not up against an insurmountable force, just a single deranged human being. I've profiled those by the dozens. I can get inside their heads so easily, know what makes them tick, why they do what they do--but I have no explanation for this. How can I face Mrs. Scully and say that I can't find her daughter and bring her home. I can deal with extra terrestrials and nefarious government conspiracies and diseases the like of which could wipe out all of mankind... But I can't get inside the head of this single, clumsy psychopath who has my wife, and know why he has taken her, and where." He shuddered. "If I lose her, Sam," he said wretchedly, "I'll never be able to survive it. She's the best part of me." Two tears slipped down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him. "You won't lose her, Fox. You won't let her down. Contrary to what you may believe, it's not Dana who gives you your strength. You were strong long before she came to you, or you would not have survived as long as you did. It's not she who gives you the ability to fight, all she did was give you the desire to fight, to win. And now, what you need to do is draw upon that to fight FOR her." He sighed and nodded. "You're right." "I know. Now lay down and close your eyes. Turn off your mind if you have to for a while, but if you're going to be strong for her, you can't have your body sabotaging you. I'll be in the other room if you need me." She pushed him down on the bed and spread the blanket over him. Then she admonished him to close his eyes once more and left. He stared at the ceiling in the half-light of the room for a while, convinced that sleep would never come to him, but slowly, warm, numb darkness beckoned to him and he succumbed. And when the nightmare demons came, he began to wish that he hadn't. * * * * * Samantha closed the door gently behind her and leaned against the wall, her eyes tightly closed against the image of her brother sitting hunched wretchedly on the bed, looking like a little boy lost. It wasn't hard at all to imagine a twelve year old Fox Mulder sitting in that same way, lost and alone in his suffering. Despite the fact that Fox never spoke of it, Samantha had gleaned a pretty good idea of what her brother had gone through when she had been taken all those years ago. She knew of the guilt he had suffered from himself, the resentment from their parents. She knew what a haunted soul those years had wrought. His life HAD been a nightmare from which he could not awaken. Then Dana had come to him, and he had started to heal. The healing had experienced a major back- slide when Dana had been taken from him the first time. Samantha didn't want to know how Fox had made it through those times alone. Sadly, Samantha realized that her brother wasn't the only one feeling pitifully inadequate in the face of these circumstances. He was not alone in his helplessness. Dana had become one of Samantha's closest friends, and Samantha was dealing with her own fear. But more, she was also frustrated by her inability to bring comfort to her brother, whose fears she could not even begin to compare her own to. "Samantha?" Caroline Mulder entered the hallway and saw her standing against the wall. "Preston is on the phone for you." Samantha opened her eyes to realize that she had not even been aware of the phone ringing. She nodded and began to walk away when Caroline stopped her. "How is he--really?" She sighed. "He's beating himself up over something he could not possibly hope to have any control over. Total Fox Mulder pattern behavior." Samantha turned and left, missing the way her mother flinched at her words. Caroline stood alone in the hall, separated by only a door from her son. If guilt was a pattern of behavior for Fox, than it was she who had fashioned that pattern--she and her husband. When Samantha had been taken from them all those years ago, Caroline had retreated, refusing to deal with it. And now, she found herself totally unprepared to deal with this situation as well. And God help her, she did not want Fox to suffer through this alone. She wouldn't do that to him again. She wanted to go to him, to open the door between them and comfort him, telling him all the things that she should have told him twenty six years ago. But Samantha was right. The pattern of behavior had been set a long time ago, sewn together with strong stitches of painful experience. She could not simply waltz into that room and, deciding she didn't like the pattern, rend it apart. In the end, she realized that the best thing that she could do for her son was to be available should he require her. This time, she would not withdraw, leaving him to flounder alone. She was simply allowing him space to come to her, with every intention of being there when she was needed. That would make all the difference in the world between what had happened when Samantha had been taken from them and now. Now, all she could do was hope that Fox could see that difference as well. * * * * * End of Part Four =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:39 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 5a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Five (1/2) * * * * * Darkness surrounded her. Slowly, Scully began to regain consciousness and as she did so, the first thing she was aware of was the absolute stillness around her. There was no light, no sound, no motion that she could detect. The only sensation whatsoever was the throbbing inside her skull. Each effort to move her head only brought more pain, and so eventually, she lay still. Lay. She felt beneath her. She was on a cot of some kind, with a rough, lumpy mattress. It creaked when she tried to move, and didn't feel the sturdiest. She tucked that note in the back of her head for future reference and proceeded to try to piece together what had happened to bring her here. Slowly, it all came back to her--the call in to work, the new series of murders, the drive home, the man behind her, the struggle-- She had been drugged, she realized, accounting for the headache, the weakness, and the odd taste in her painfully dry mouth. Not the chloroform, something stronger. A tensing of her arms proved this to be true, as she felt the slight pain in her upper left arm. She's been injected with something. How long had she been here? The other victims had been heavily drugged prior to death, and it appeared, unconscious at the time of death. Well, here she was, the drugs wearing off, and she was still alive. Why? Suddenly, she realized that she already knew something about her captor--he didn't want his victims to suffer. She didn't have Mulder's gift for understanding the psychosis at work behind crimes, but it was very obvious that these murders were not, indeed, random acts of violence. The perpetrator was not angry, did not hate his victims. He just wanted them dead. The ones that hadn't been drugged had died instant, painless deaths. One had been shot in the head. Another had been strangled outside her home, quickly and cleanly. There had been no bruises or contusions from a struggle on either of them. The others he had held for a while, but he had kept them sedated, unconscious, and they had never known the moment when they died. The two that had been stabbed had their major surface arteries sliced with a scalpel. It was a bloody process, certainly, but not a terribly painful one. The other gunshot victim had been shot in the upper spine and then in several major organs. Paralyzation, if not death, had occurred almost instantly, so that the subsequent gunshots had not been felt. There was a methodical precision to these killings that did not speak of violence. Then why kill? She continued to ponder her captor. What was his reason, if not a personal vendetta against abduction victims? She had not been able to see his face, she remembered. He had been very tall, so tall that her head had only come halfway up his chest. If not, she could have broken his jaw with that head- butt. He was also quite strong. Her left wrist was bruised from his grip on it as he held it away from her body. It was not the sort of strength that was cultivated in a gymnasium, though. No, this was the strength of construction workers and others who did rigorous physical activity day after day. An image flashed into Scully's mind--the brief glimpse of gray covering his body as he reeled back from her blow to his Adam's apple. Loose fitting gray short-sleeved shirt and pants. She's seen the costume a million times, had worn the costume herself. They were hospital scrubs. He worked in a hospital somewhere, probably as an orderly, though that left some questions as to how he got access to prescription drugs or had learned how to inject them. Your run of the mill orderly did not have that sort of access. How had he known about her? She wasn't a member of MUFON. If he was getting his information from them, he wouldn't have known about her. Was he working for someone? Mulder's words came back to haunt her: "Kill all the witnesses, Scully...Dead men tell no tales." That didn't make any sense. She had seen professional assassinations before, had even seen botched attempts at professional assassinations (a thought which sent an unpleasant pang through her.) This was too clumsy to be a professional job. He had barely managed to take her without her giving off some sort of alarm which would have alerted those in the building nearby, and the fact that she had not been able to get to her gun had merely been bad luck on her part. No, if someone had REALLY wanted her dead, there were certainly more efficient ways of doing it. A professional assassin could have shot her with a silenced weapon in the parking lot, and then simply disposed of her body along with her car so that no trace remained. Or, if abduction had been their purpose, they could have sent more than one man after her, to make sure she was subdued quickly and quietly. No, this was the work of an individual, an amateur. But why? What purpose would this one man have in killing off these women with only one thing in common? There she ran out of answers, her moment of insight into the psychopathic mind lost. The throbbing in her head began to abate, and once again she tried to move. The effort brought with it the realization that her hands were bound, not by rope or handcuffs, but by cloth. The rest of her body was unfettered, though. It was difficult sitting up without her hands to push off with, but she accomplished the task by tightening her abdominal muscles and raising her torso. It hurt. She nearly fell back over. Her baby-- With dread, she recalled being slammed belly first against the trunk of her car, it's edge driving into her gut painfully with all the man's weight pressing in on her from behind. Good God, was her baby all right? The drugs, she thought with horror, remembering the varieties that had been found in the other victims. Any or all of them could affect a pregnancy. She felt rage welling up within her. That her own life was at risk seemed almost inconsequential, but he had endangered her baby-- I won't let anything happen to you, little one, she promised silently, touching her belly with her bound hands. She had to form a plan, to buy herself time--time to find her way free, time for Mulder to find her. She groaned. Mulder. He must be worried frantic by now. He'll find you, Scully, she told herself. He'll come for you. The baby. She hadn't gotten to tell him about the baby. Now, he might never know... But she couldn't--WOULDN'T--think like that. However much despair she might feel, she could not be fatalistic about this. She couldn't give up. Her baby needed her. Mulder needed her. If only it weren't so dark in here, she thought. If only she could see where she was, what was surrounding her. She began to reach around with her hands. The walls were cold and rough. Cinder block. They were also slightly damp. She realized that she was underground, accounting for the stale air and the lack of noise and light. She stood and walked the walls, touching them with her hands and taking small, cautious steps around the perimeter of the room. She stepped carefully, making sure nothing was in her path that might trip her, and testing the firmness of the surface beneath her foot before placing any weight upon it. Her hands brushed cobwebs and other things that sent a shudder through her, and she tried to complete the circle around the room as quickly as she could, returning to the familiar cot with a sigh of relief. There had been nothing, no window or door through which she might effect an escape. But there had to be some way in or out. She just had to wait for her captor to show up before she discovered it. What if he didn't show up? She thought with a surge of panic. What if he had brought her down here only to abandon her to die of thirst and hunger? What if she was never found? Stop it, Dana Katherine Scully! Just stop it right now! She lay back down in the darkness, forcing her fears from her mind. Surely leaving her here to die an agonizing death did not gel with what she had already surmised about her captor. He would come. And she would find her way out. It was so utterly still that she could hear the minute ticking of her tiny watch. Her watch! She twisted her bound hands around until her wrists were before her face and one finger of her right hand could touch the watch on her left wrist. She touched the tiny button on the side. Eight p.m., she read, the glow of the light from the watch, minuscule as it was, dispelling some of her fear of the utter darkness. She looked at the date on the watch. It had been almost twenty four hours since she had been taken. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:34 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 5b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Five (2/2) * * * * * A whole day, gone! Then she made several swift, and unpleasant realizations. She hadn't eaten anything in over a day. Her stomach gnawed on itself painfully, and she was becoming aware of an urgent need to urinate. She was also dreadfully thirsty... She sat there staring at the watch for several moments, then she released the little button. If the battery died, she would have nothing with which to combat the darkness. She lay in the dark, extremely uncomfortable. She had to get to a toilet, had to eat, had to feed her baby... She didn't know how or when she fell back asleep, only that she was suddenly jerked to wakefulness by a sound in the utter stillness. From overhead, there was a scratching sound. A glance at her watch told her it was now three hours later than when she had last looked. The scratching noises persisted, and then a blast of fresh, hot air, and sounds. Moonlight streamed in through the opening, its dim glow blinding her momentarily. The sounds that she heard were the sounds of the outdoors at night, insects and birds of all varieties. She looked up at the opening to realize that she was only eight feet from the freedom of the outdoors. Another glow appeared in the rectangle, this one caused by a gas lantern. She had to hide her eyes from its unaccustomed brightness. A few feet away, she saw a ladder touch down upon the floor. When she felt her eyes had adjusted enough, she looked up at the opening again. A man's silhouette filled it. He began to descend the ladder, and Scully, hating herself for the uncontrollable response, cringed. "You're awake," he said dully. "I was hoping you wouldn't be awake for this." His face seemed an evil, leering demon in the dark glow of the lamplight, but his voice was gentle. Eerily gentle. Wistful, almost. She half expected to hear him croon, "Don't be afraid..." but she stomped on the memory and the fear it evoked. That had been another time, another place. "Please," her voice came as a harsh croak from between her dried and cracked lips. "Can I have some water?" "I'm sorry," he said. "You won't need any now. I really had hoped to get this over last night, but I didn't have the time...Just sit still. It will be over in a moment." He set the lantern down and pulled what Scully could see was a syringe from his pocket. "No!" she gasped. "Please, you can't!" "I really am sorry," his voice, that soft, childlike voice, sounded tormented. "I didn't want you to be awake, to suffer or be frightened. But this has to be done..." "Why?" Stay calm, Scully. Reason with him, some unnamed instinct urged. "I have to undo the evil that was done," he said softly, his words stilted. "I can't let it continue. I know it's not your fault--but you did lose. You let them take you and do what they did, and now it has to end, before anything worse can come of it." The speech made her pause. It sounded rehearsed and stilted. The thought occurred to her that she might be able to confuse him into letting her go. He didn't sound so willing to carry through with this as it was. "There are thousands of us," she argued. "You can't kill us all." "Probably not, but there will be others to continue the work when I am stopped. They can eradicate the abominations that were done." Eradicate the abominations. Uncharacteristically big words from someone who seemed so simple. Something wasn't right. "How do you know about the abominations? Were you one of us?" "Please don't ask me any more questions," he pleaded. "Just relax and let me finish this. There are others I have to attend to yet. If you don't struggle, it will all be over in a moment, painlessly." She looked at his mammoth figure in the lanterns glow, noting that he seemed to be all hands and feet, as though he had reached adult size, but not adult proportions. He was strong enough to defeat her if she tried to struggle, but maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to hold off for a while...Maybe she could talk him out of it. "You can't!" she cried with a desperation that was not all acting. "Please--I'm pregnant. I have a child inside me that is innocent in all of this. If you kill me, you'll kill my baby also. I just want a chance for my baby to live--that's all I'm asking." Sorry, little one, she thought. I'll do anything to buy us more time. Her captor backed off, his face working convulsively. She had to be destroyed. Everything in him cried out to see her dead. He HAD to see her dead. But a baby...There was nothing inside him that gave him instructions for a baby. He didn't want to see a little baby dead, didn't have to see a little baby dead. The baby didn't have to be destroyed. "What can I do?" he wailed, torn, and for a moment, Scully thought that he was going to begin to cry. "I can't allow you to live. You have to die." "Why? Who says I have to die?" She demanded, taking control while he was vulnerable and confused. "I just know you have to die." "Then hold me here. Keep me here if you must, until I have my baby. I'm a doctor. I can tell you what to do for the birth. Then you can do what you want with me. Just be sure that my baby is taken back to my husband, please." It wasn't perfect, but at least she would have some more time to figure out how to escape. "I won't give you any trouble," she promised. "My own life doesn't matter, but I will do anything to save my baby. Please." The inner battle being waged within him was frightening to watch as the emotions crossed his face. His features twisted in turmoil, and for a moment, Scully was sure that she had lost. Then he began to approach her. She started to back away, but he grabbed her wrists and began to pull off the strips of cloth that bound them. "All right," he sighed, putting the syringe back in his pocket. "You can live until your baby comes. But if there isn't a baby, if this is a trick--" "It's no trick," she vowed. "I only learned for certain about the baby yesterday." "You'll have to stay here," he warned her, looking around the cell There was a note of relief in his voice, and she realized that he was happy he didn't have to kill her. "I will." "I'll bring you food and water," he said. "But I might not be able to come more than once a day." "It doesn't matter so long as my baby is safe," she said softly, all of a sudden being reminded of her personal needs. "Um, I'll need a bucket, or something..." she said, and he blushed with embarrassment. "I will get one for you," he answered, his eyes sad. He reached out to touch her face, and it was all she could do to keep from jerking away from him. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. I am just glad that you don't fear me like the others would have..." "I fear you," she said frankly. "I fear anyone who has the power of life or death over me. But I will do anything to see my baby safe." "The others weren't like you," he said softly. "They didn't fight, they didn't care. If they had all been like you, they would never have been taken, or needed to be destroyed...THEY would never have gotten away with what they did." Scully looked at him closely. How did he know so much about it? "There might still be justice yet," she said placatingly. "Please, I'm so thirsty." He seemed to jerk suddenly into motion. "I'll be back," he promised, taking up the lantern, but she stopped him. "Could you leave the light? It's so terribly dark in here." He looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time. "I've never spent any time down here...I didn't know...Of course I'll leave the lamp." He went up the ladder and pulled it out behind him, sealing the door overhead as it closed. Scully collapsed on the cot, trembling and aware that she had barely made it through that encounter alive. It was only because she had been able to reason with him that she had survived. Reason with him...the thought of her captor left her perplexed. His obsession with seeing the abduction victims dead seemed so out of place for someone so simple, someone who seemed so determined to do good in his heart. His faith that he was preventing a larger evil by eliminating the abduction victims was too well reasoned out for someone of such limited faculties. And when he had stated his reasons, they had been delivered in a cold monotone that sounded like a recording. Why was he so convinced that this needed to be done, and how could she unconvince him? Was he merely confused, or did he truly believe that the experiments performed upon herself and the others could be harmful to humanity? She shivered at the thought. It doesn't matter. It wasn't my fault. I'm the victim here. I was taken and used against my will, and I won't pay for it with my life. I don't deserve to die for what they did to me. Her captor arrived again an hour later. She had taken the time to thoroughly inspect the cell in which she was being held. It seemed to be a storm cellar or bomb shelter of some kind, but from what she had heard, the noises from the outside, it seemed as though she was in the middle of nowhere. Why would someone just plant a cellar or shelter in the middle of nowhere? How had her captor come across it? Where was it located? How far would she be from civilization if she managed to escape? She had tried the door in the ceiling already. Even standing on the cot, she could only brush it with the tips of her fingers. No, her escape would have to be made at a time when he lowered the ladder. But that meant that he would be present at the time, thus forcing her into a physical confrontation with him. She didn't want that. Such an encounter posed several risks. She could lose, causing him to take away his trust so that she would not get another chance. Or she could anger him and give him reason to kill her then and there. Or she could harm her baby in the struggle... She heard the door above her begin to scrape open on its rusty hinges, and the ladder was lowered into the cell. She suppressed the urge to try to rush him. He was probably expecting such a thing. He had warned her what would happen if this was a trick, and she believed him. He was a little too obsessed to make idle threats. She would have to wait for now, gain his trust before she made her move. But one day, the instant his guard was down, he would come down that ladder to find a surprise waiting for him. He had brought her food and water as promised, in a cooler with an ice pack. There were cold-cut sandwiches with no mayonnaise or anything that could spoil quickly. And tucked neatly beside the ice pack, where they would stay coolest, longest, were several half-pint paper cartons of milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. He had also brought her fresh fruit and several granola snack bars. She felt slightly overwhelmed at this display of generosity. It must have taken time and consideration to put together this selection. "I thought since you're pregnant, you might need the milk," he said softly. "I brought a bucket, too, like you asked. I can take it out every day for you. I'm sorry I can't do better for you, but there is really no place else I can keep you--at least, no place where you wouldn't try to escape." So he was on the lookout for an escape attempt. It would take every ounce of acting ability she possessed, which wasn't a great deal, to make him think that escape was the farthest thing from her mind. She reminded herself that, despite his considerate behavior, he would kill her if she provoked him. The rest of this was the salving of a tortured conscience. Whatever helps you sleep at night, she thought venomously. Just don't turn your back on me for too long. "It's more than I could have hoped for," she replied sweetly, gulping the water down thirstily. He had brought her a gallon jug and paper cups for her to drink from. She unwrapped one of the sandwiches and began to devour it. "Thank you." The words, like the phony smile, caused the food to form a knot in her throat, and despite her hunger, she had to force herself to swallow. "Whatever you may believe," he said quietly, "I don't like what I have to do. But it has to be done. Please try to understand." She was careful not to make any reply. If she argued with him, it could only delay the process of him trusting her. Best just to let him think that she did sympathize. He shuffled around the cell uncomfortably, and Scully began to wish he would just leave so that she could make use of the bucket he had positioned discreetly in the corner. The sanitation implications of this arrangement were becoming painfully obvious to her, with no running water or sewage. It was a gruesome thought. Anything, Scully, she scolded herself. You said you'd do anything for your baby. "Not a very nice place to be for a pregnant lady," he muttered, and she could not tell whether he spoke to her or himself. She was too busy wolfing down her second sandwich. "When I get the chance, I'll bring some cleaning supplies. That way, you can make it nicer. You're going to be here a while. Is there anything else you need tonight?" She shook her head, her mouth full of food. She just wanted him to go, before she lost all dignity before him in her need to relieve herself. "You may not want to leave the lantern running all the time," he said. "You'll run out of kerosene. I've left matches so that you can re-light it whenever you need to. Do you know how to use one?" She did. Her father had taken her camping as a child. He stammered wordlessly a couple times, then decided not to speak at all and was gone. Scully set her sandwich aside and went to the bucket, noting that he had even brought a roll of toilet paper, and alcohol wipes for her hands. Yes, he was certainly considerate. Not at all the type of behavior one would expect from a psychopath. She returned to her sandwich, eating more slowly now that her initial hunger had faded. The walls of the bare cubicle began to close around her as she studied them. How in God's name was she supposed to remain here indefinitely? Anything, Dana. You said anything. Suddenly, she felt very tired. The drugs, probably, added onto fright, and all the changes happening within her body. She lay down wearily, her thoughts turning to Mulder--at home, alone, worried about her... Mulder, her mind called out. Oh, God, Mulder. Don't lose hope. I'll get back to you. I'll bring our baby back to you safe and sound, I promise. Tomorrow, when her captor came, she would start to get answers, start her invasion of his mind and thoughts. When the time came for her to make her move, he would never see it coming. But right now, she desperately needed sleep. She drifted off to thoughts of Mulder and her baby. And miles away, Mulder was waking to thoughts of her. * * * * * End of Part Five =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:29 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 6a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Six (1/2) * * * * * In his dream, Mulder was walking toward the bench that had become a favored spot for Scully and him over the years. But this time, he was alone. He was looking for her, waiting for her, and still she did not come. He began to call out to her, crying her name, but she did not answer, and then, with wakening dread, he looked into the water nearby. All he saw were pale limbs and red hair floating on the water before he woke with a strangled cry. He was in the bedroom at Mrs. Scully's house, the one that he and Scully shared when they visited, he realized, looking around, trembling. In the time since Samantha had forced him to lie down, the sky had become black outside, and some of the day's heat had abated. He looked at the clock and realized that Samantha hadn't kept her promise to wake him in an hour. It was after midnight. The door swung open, and Samantha queried softly, "Fox?" "I'm up," he said, trying to keep his voice level. His heart was still pounding rapidly in his throat somewhere, and he realized that his clothes were damp with perspiration. "I know. I heard you. Are you all right?" "Bad dreams," he shrugged, minimizing his fear. "If a nightmare or two is the worst that I come out of this with, I'll be doing pretty damned good." Samantha smiled tenderly at him, wrapping an arm around him. "Walter Skinner is here," she said. "He's been waiting for you." "Why didn't you wake me?" "He's staying the night," she said. "He said not to bother you, that he would speak to you in the morning if you slept through. Which, I will add, we were all hoping you would do." "Let me get myself together," he said. "I'll be out in a minute." "Don't rush," she replied. "I don't think they heard you. They are all in the family room around the TV, watching the late news. I only heard you because I was coming down the hall to check on you." He groaned. "God, Sam, I don't know if I can survive another day of this. I don't know how I survived three months before. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't know back then just how much she meant to me that kept me from exploding--not that I did that great a job of keeping it together as it was--" "You'll survive, Fox. You have to. When Dana makes it through this, she's going to need you more than ever. You always said that she's the strong one, but I've seen you together, Fox. You make each other strong. It's why you've always worked so well together." Samantha's intentional use of the word "when" did not go unnoticed by her brother. "Thanks, Sam." "Are you ready now?" "Just a minute," he asked, grabbing her arm when she moved to rise. "Sam--you're one of Scully's closest female friends. Did she ever talk to you about our decision on children?" "Not much. She just said that you had figured that the rewards didn't justify the risks involved." "Was she all right with that?" Samantha frowned. "She seemed to be. She was sad, of course. I can't imagine that the decision to NOT have children is an easy one to make. But yeah, she seemed okay with it. Why do you ask?" He shook his head. "Something was bothering her last night, and we didn't have a chance to talk about it. I was just taking a stab at what it might have been." "You'll find out," she reassured him. "Just as soon as you bring Dana home. Now come on, Walter has been waiting up for you." Skinner, it turned out, had worked late that evening with the investigative team, looking at the leads Mulder had provided them with. The team was set to meet with several of the men listed tomorrow. There were even two on the list who had been in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals since their abduction experiences. All there was to do at this point was get alibis from each of them and see if they held up. Mulder produced the printouts he had obtained from Penny Northern that afternoon and handed them over to Skinner. They sat at the coffee table in the living room reading them over and deciding if any should be added to the first batch of possible suspects up for questioning. Mulder paused, realizing that it was the first time he and Skinner had ever worked closely on a case. It wasn't common for the Director of the FBI to involve himself in an investigation like Skinner was doing, but the man had made an exception for Scully. "I want to thank you for giving this you personal attention," Mulder said when he and Skinner finished their work and he began to put away the papers. "I realize it's not something you would do for just anyone, and I think it would mean a lot to Scully if she knew." "I can't do any less, Mulder," Skinner said, his expression serious. "For a number of reasons. If you'll recall, I owe Dana my life." That brought a sad smile to Mulder's face. "So do I, sir," he replied solemnly. "Many times over." Skinner stood and stretched, and Mulder did the same. Samantha and Caroline had both headed off to bed, and Skinner had forced Maggie to retire despite her protests, and now that his work here was finished, Mulder was going to head home. In a distant part of his brain, Mulder wondered how Scully would react to Skinner staying at her mother's house overnight. For her own peace of mind, Scully had refused to learn any more about her mother's relationship with her boss than was absolutely necessary. Skinner made his excuses and disappeared down the hall, leaving Mulder alone to gather up his stuff. He had gotten it all together and was sitting alone for a moment in the living room when Caroline Mulder walked in. She was in her pajamas and bath robe, but she looked as though she hadn't been sleeping yet. "Fox?" she murmured. Mulder turned around to face her. "I thought you were in bed," he said softly. "I wasn't going to wake you to say good-night, since I'll probably see you in the morning anyway." "That's all right," she answered and stared at him for a long moment. What could she say to make this any easier for him? In truth, she felt as though life was replaying this scene one more time in a last ditch effort to give her a chance to get it right. There had been so many times over the years that Fox had come to her needing comforting, feeling helpless over his inability to find Samantha, and she had denied him that, too absorbed in her own sorrow, her own guilt. Now, she had one final chance to give him what he needed... Get it right, Caroline! For once in your life, get it right! She meant to give him sympathy and understanding. What came out, however, was exactly right. "Whatever you do, Fox, please don't even think of blaming yourself for this." There. She'd said it. She'd made certain that he knew she didn't think it was his fault. "Why am I never there when I'm needed most, Mom?" "Oh, Fox, you are always there when you're needed most. I just never realized it before." "I'm just afraid that I will let her down, again. If I can't save her, Mom--" "You listen to me, Fox Mulder," she said sternly. "If you don't want pity, fine. I'm not going to give it. But don't you let me hear you speak as though this is all upon your shoulders. Wanting to be strong for her is one thing, Fox, but you cannot take the blame for every terrible, twisted, tormented act committed by humanity. If--if, by some horrible chance of fate, Dana does not come back to you, you're going to have to carry on, but under no circumstances would Dana want you to feel like you failed her. She knows you better. You're her life's partner, Fox. No matter what happens, you can never disappoint her. Don't attempt to do so by selling yourself short." She embraced him tenderly, drawing him into her arms with all the maternal warmth she had denied him over the years, and suddenly, she realized that she had succeeded. She had, finally, given him exactly what it was that he needed. She felt tears sting her eyes. "I'm going back to bed," she said quietly. "I just needed to say that to you. Are you sure about going home tonight?" "Yeah. I'll be leaving in a minute. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" "All right. Good night, Fox," she murmured, and left as quietly as she had come. Mulder stared around the empty, silent living room, lit only by one low lamp. From the hallway, he could hear muted conversation, muffled by a door, and guessed that Maggie Scully hadn't been asleep yet. Skinner was in there now, bidding her good-night before retiring to the spare bedroom prepared for him. Mulder thought about his mother's words. It seemed he had been feeling guilty about something or another for so long that he didn't know how to function without his guilt. He felt naked without it. But Scully wouldn't want that. She knew in her heart that he hadn't failed her. Why couldn't he know it in his heart as well? Why this agonizing self-doubt? Why not be comforted in the knowledge that he had done all he could rather than search endlessly for reasons why it was his fault? It was perverse. It was masochistic. God, Scully, I need you, he thought, looking out the bay window into the night sky. He sank down onto the window seat, and thought of the magical Christmas a year and a half ago that she had taken the first step and kissed him under the mistletoe above this seat. If she had left it up to him, he would never have had the courage to approach her. He would have shied away from any possible rejection and left good enough alone. She was the brave one, he realized, no matter what Samantha said. She was the one who had the courage to open her heart and mind despite the risk. Without her taking those first steps, Mulder might never have allowed himself to know what it was to feel again. I would do anything for you, Scully, he thought, leaning his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes. Anything at all if it meant keeping you safe. I'd give my life without a second thought, but you've got to hold on for me. You've got to stay alive until I get there. He opened his eyes. How did he know she was alive? He realized how quickly the thought, the knowledge had entered his mind. At this instant, no matter what rational doubts existed, he knew for a certainty that she was still alive and well, and waiting for her opportunity to come back to him. How can I know that? Because you would know if she were dead, something inside him answered. Because what you and she share transcends the physical and mental, and if she were dead, you would feel your spirit shrivel up and die as well. For the second time that day, he closed his eyes, and his mind whispered, Speak to me, Scully. Tell me where you are and I'll come for you. There was no answer. Yet. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:25 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 6b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Six (2/2) * * * * * The apartment was unearthly quiet when he entered after two that morning. The stillness was unnerving. Despite the hour, he went to the CD player and put in some of his and Scully's favorite music, then lay down on the sofa. If he could sense that she was alive, then perhaps, on some level, he could get a feel for the direction she had been taken in. It took him only a moment of lying there with his eyes closed before he drifted off into sleep, an untormented sleep that, if it contained any dreams at all, they did not wake him. He awoke the next morning with a stiff back, realizing how long it had been since he had slept on a sofa. But his heart did not feel as ravaged as it had the previous morning. The knowledge that Scully was still alive was certain within him. It gave him a measure of peace so that he was able to stand back and look at the situation and put it into perspective. He could think of nothing to do with himself that day but wait and see what the leads he had acquired yesterday turned up, and while the inactivity nearly drive him insane, he forced himself to remain where he was. In the afternoon, Bartel called to report that the first three men off the list had produced bullet-proof alibis. They would be contacting the others off the list to see what they could find. It was then that Mulder realized the source of his despair the previous day. In his heart, he really didn't believe that the suspect would be one that list. He couldn't explain how he knew that, and certainly the list was worth checking out, but he had no faith that anything would come of it. The thought should have sent him spiraling down into a funk again. Instead, he felt calm. He couldn't explain that either. Logically, he knew he had to assume that the perpetrator would follow the same pattern as with the other victims, perhaps even on an accelerated time frame. In that case, Scully had, at most, a couple of days from the time of the kidnapping. Indeed, today, if the previous cases were any indication, she should be dead. But just as he knew that she was alive, he also knew that they still had time to find her. What did you do, Scully? He asked silently. How did you buy yourself more time? At any rate, no matter how much time remained for them, he couldn't sit around each day waiting for things to happen. Even though he knew the investigating team had already done so, he questioned the other residents of their apartment building to see if they could recall anything suspicious. One woman on the ground floor claimed to recall having heard something from the parking lot about the same time that Scully was taken, but that she had thought it was simply a strange noise from the TV and hadn't gone to investigate. Others said that a car which they had never seen before or since had pulled out of the parking lot just as they had pulled in. Mulder had to restrain himself from jumping with excitement at that news, but his elation quickly faded when they described the car as a dark sedan. A dark sedan. That would only fit about seventy percent of the cars in Washington D.C.. Disgusted, he returned home to wait. Skinner had ordered him to stay out of the office for the time being, and had threatened him with dire consequences if he didn't comply. Over the years, Mulder and Skinner had reached a certain understanding in their working relationship. Skinner meant business, and Mulder complied lest he find himself on an enforced leave of absence. After that first night at Mrs. Scully's house, Mulder's optimism was nothing short of astounding to those who knew him and his morose moods. It shocked everyone and yet no one had the courage to suggest to him that he might be entertaining false hopes. As the leads on the investigation dwindled through the first week, Mulder's confident insistence that Scully was okay for the time being was the only thing that kept hope alive. Mulder began to make calls. He started with Byers and Langley and Frohike at THE LONE GUNMAN. He told them about the situation, not that they weren't already well aware of it, and asked them to put out feelers for anyone with suspicious knowledge within or without MUFON. Of course, at THE LONE GUNMAN, everyone had suspicious knowledge, so Mulder wasn't quite sure what he expected them to produce. Sometimes, even to this day, their resources surprised him. He left the task of comforting Frohike, who had worn a black armband to Mulder and Scully's wedding and now claimed to be waiting for the day of Scully's inevitable widowhood to make his move, up to Byers and Langley. From there, he moved on to the MUFON members that he and Scully had records on, all along the east coast. From them, he requested that they keep their ears open for any strange behavior at the gatherings of MUFON members. They thought that they might have had a break in the case when one woman reported a man in her New England chapter that was getting more and more upset by the bad rap that aliens were getting from the supposed "abductees." The man was angered to the point of near-violence several times claiming that the monsters responsible for the abductions were not aliens, that the aliens were kind and benevolent and only on earth to help and observe. A check of the man's alibis quickly disproved any ideas that he might have been responsible for any of the kidnappings or murders. Mulder knew the man had no idea how close he was to the truth about the abductions, but he made a note to some day introduce this guy to a few of the "kind, benevolent" aliens that he had encountered along the way. Well into the second week, Mulder began to have doubts about his own certainty that Scully was okay. How on earth could she have bought herself that much time? What if you're wrong, Mulder? His inner voice taunted him. What if you've tricked yourself into believing a fool's dream? Mulder stubbornly attempted to squash the doubts as the second week faded into the third, despite his rising panic. I would know if she were dead, his heart insisted. It would hit me about two seconds before the knowledge that there is absolutely no way I can live without her. The nightmares returned as his confidence faded, more vivid than the ones that he'd had over at Mrs. Scully's house. Visions of holding his wife's cold, stiff body left him sobbing into his pillow in the night. His efforts at eating and sleeping were less than heroic, and it was only at the stubborn insistence of the other women in his life that he remembered such basic things as to shower and shave. When Byers and company came up empty handed, he grew frantic. Maggie, Caroline, and Samantha visited him at his apartment each day, providing him with meals when he neglected to eat, and gently strong-arming him into the bed when he looked to be on the verge of collapse. They did not point out the growing shadows beneath his eyes or the wrinkled condition of his clothing. Instead, they did what they could to make things easier for him without being overtly maternal. When he remembered to, he told them how deeply he appreciated their efforts. It was Mrs. Scully who was the first to break down. Samantha and Caroline had gone to get groceries for Mulder, knowing he would never take the time or remember to do so for himself when he was so desperately searching for clues to lead him to Scully. Mrs. Scully had asked them to leave her behind with Mulder, and they had complied. He sat at his computer, going over files he had on purported abductees and MUFON for what seemed to be the zillionth time, praying each time that he did so that something would appear that he had missed before. Margaret stood staring out the picture window at Scully's car, sitting innocently enough in its parking spot. The she turned to him with tears in her eyes. "Fox," she whispered, "It's been so long..." It was the first she had spoken of the matter to him besides her daily requests for whatever information had been turned up, Mulder looked at her, surprised. In his own pain, it had been easy to forget hers, and knowing her, she had probably not wanted to burden him. He turned from him computer, truly seeing her for the first time since she had walked though his door that morning. He had been quite stubborn in his insistence that he needed to remain near the apartment in case word of Scully should arrive, and they had indulged him, turning the Mulder/Scully residence into their waiting headquarters. He noticed how pale and gaunt Margaret Scully appeared, and he felt guilty for having ignored what she must be feeling. Sympathy filled his heart, and some of the wild look left his eyes. "I know, Mrs. Scully," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "But we can't give up hope. Scully, wherever she is, is still alive." "How can you be so sure?" she asked tearfully. "I just am. I would know if she died. And I think that you would, too." She nodded, wiping her eyes. "I just seems so futile. How can someone just disappear like this, without a trace?" It wouldn't be the first time, he wanted to reply, but he refrained, not wanting to trudge up painful memories to add onto her suffering. It was bad enough already that he often found himself reaching up to finger Scully's tiny gold cross only to realize that this time, it was not around his neck. He shook his head helplessly. "She was gone longer than this before," he answered instead, "and she still came out all right. Whatever happens, she'll find a way to return home. She'll fight. I know she will." What if she can't fight hard enough? The unspoken question hung in the air between them like something palpable. Mulder winced. Mercifully, the telephone chose that moment to ring, and Mulder answered it gratefully. "Mulder/Scully residence." "Hello, this is Denise from Dr. Belton's office. May I please speak with Dana Scully?" Pain shot through Mulder's heart. "I'm sorry," he answered with composure that he did not feel, "she isn't here right now. This is her husband. May I take a message for her?" "Yes, please. I was just calling to confirm her appointment for her prenatal check-up tomorrow morning, scheduled for nine- thirty. Will Ms. Scully be able to make it?" Mulder felt the room begin to spin and he sat down. Hard. "I'm sorry," he replied, his voice strangled as suddenly his collar began to feel too tight. He began to jerk at it violently. "She is out of town indefinitely, and she won't be able to make it. When she is able to, however, I'm sure she will call and reschedule." "Thank you," the woman named Denise replied. Her cheer seemed to smother Mulder. "Please remind her as soon as you can that she needs to reschedule. Early prenatal care is very important to a healthy pregnancy." "I'll do that," he answered, his voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, sir. You have pleasant day." Numbly, he hit the "off" button of the cordless phone and let it fall from his fingers. He realized that he was shaking. "Fox?" Mrs. Scully's eyes were wide and fearful as they watched him. "What is it? What's the matter?" He buried his face in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. "That was Scully's doctor's office," he said softly, looking up at her. She sat weakly beside him on the sofa. "What did they want?" He hesitated. "Scully is pregnant." She turned pale. "Oh, my God. Since when?" "I don't know," he shook his head. "They were just calling to confirm an appointment she made for a prenatal check-up tomorrow." "You didn't know she was pregnant?" Mrs. Scully asked, her voice sharp with confusion. "I think--I think that she was planning to tell me that night. She had been acting strangely all day, and she had told me that when she got home that night, she had something she wanted to talk to me about. But, no. I didn't know." "Oh, my baby girl..." Mrs. Scully's voice trembled. "She's all alone out there, and pregnant..." Mulder reached out and took her hand. Clenching it tightly. Oh, Scully, he thought desperately. Why didn't you tell me? * * * * * End of Part Six =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:21 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 7a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Seven (1/2) * * * * * It was several days into her captivity before Scully felt confident enough to begin probing her captor for information. The waiting hadn't been easy for her. She felt each second tick by with growing desperation, but she had to bide her time, gaining her captor's trust before she decided upon a course of action. Perhaps at one time, she would have simply gone for broke and charged the guy, maybe even pulling a leg off her rickety cot to use as a club, but this time she simply couldn't risk it. This time, it was not only her own life she was putting on the line. Her time was limited, though, she realized. Even if her living conditions didn't adversely affect her pregnancy, then certainly the anxiety and lack of fresh air and sunlight, and inactivity would begin to wear on her. She could only remain in her normal prime physical condition for so long in these conditions. Then she would begin to weaken, she would lose her edge. And then he truly would have her. The waiting took its own toll. She sat in the cell the first day with nothing to do but stare at the cinder block walls. Her body wanted to sleep, but she knew it was a reaction to the drugs and the darkness around her more than to any physical exhaustion. She wouldn't allow herself to take a nap, because to do so might be to allow him to come upon her unprepared. She wouldn't turn her back on him, in case his compulsion to kill got too strong, and he took advantage of her unconscious state, a time when she could not confuse his goals in his own head, to do what he felt needed to be done. She had to keep him off balance, keep him uncertain of what it was he needed to do. That was her safety. That first night, her uncommonly considerate captor brought her cleaning supplies and reading materials. The cleaning supplies were eagerly greeted, since sitting in the semi-dark for hours on end had left Scully with the distinct impression that that the denizens of the cobwebs around her were crawling over her skin. The magazines, however, she quickly lost interest in. They were simple fashion journals and housekeeping periodicals. She would have been much happier with a medical journal. Her second full, conscious day in captivity was spent trying to right what she could in her surroundings. The cleaning supplies, she had realized, would be of no use to her in such an unventilated space. The last thing she and her baby needed were noxious fumes surrounding them. In her dark little cell, air was let in and out through cracks around the opening in the ceiling. These cracks also allowed slivers of sunlight in during the daylight hours, which brought her a great deal of comfort, being reminded of how close to the surface she actually was. She had begun to discover in herself a case of claustrophobia she had not suspected before. Not to mention arachnophobia. She did what she could to ease her plight by wiping down every surface she could reach with a cloth dampened with her own precious drinking water, but she could not reach many of the corners where the cobwebs hung in the greatest profusion. She found herself having a hard time sleeping, since each time she turned the kerosene lantern off, she began to imagine small, eight-legged creatures all over her. She took care, however, not to air her complaints to her captor. If she wanted his trust, she could not let him see her as a nag. Her captor, for his part, seemed very eager to please. In addition to the cleaning supplies and magazines, he brought her several sets of hospital scrubs so that she might have a change of clothing. When he noticed that she didn't appear to be reading the magazines he brought, he also provided several medical texts. It was this way that Scully learned the general area of where she was being held. Stamped into the covers of the books were the words, "Property of Claremont Memorial Hospital, Claremont, VA." Virginia, Scully thought. Spitting distance from home, and right smack in the middle of the eastern seaboard. There was no place in the coastal states that he couldn't reach in less than a day, and the entire area was rife with MUFON chapters. Strange that the highest concentration of acknowledged abductees should be in the east. Certainly the anonymity of the mid-west would be more of a draw for those wishing to conduct their activities without fear of discovery. But then, maybe the east was the most logical choice for the abductees to congregate. After all, the inhabitants of middle-America could be slightly more closed minded than those of the more populated eastern states. Here, the abductees would be less likely to be shunned or institutionalized for telling their tales. Here, people were so jaded that they rarely gave the extraordinary a second glance. If they wanted freaks, they could drive to New York for the weekend. Why MUFON, anyway? The Mutual UFO Network was not the only UFO watch group that had a contingent of abductees. There was NICAP, among others. The concentration of abductees did seem to be higher in MUFON than in any of the other groups, but certainly it was not exclusive. The unpleasant idea that MUFON had been chosen because it was there that she and Mulder had done their research surfaced in Scully's mind, but she dismissed it. After all, how would this man have access to her and Mulder's research? She wondered what her captor planned to do during the months in which he thought he would be keeping her here. Did he still plan to take more victims? Or would his compulsion be appeased so long as he had her in his custody? If he took more victims, what would he do with them? Surely he couldn't still bring them here. The idea of being closeted with another woman whose fate she could do nothing to offset made Scully shiver. But perhaps, if he brought another captive, they could help each other escape... As the days passed, Scully began to feel ready to climb the walls. It didn't help that several of the books that her captor had provided her with were obstetrics texts, so that she would be able to read up. She was concerned that the longer she remained captive, the longer she would be unable to seek prenatal care. Knowing that her pregnancy, no matter what the appearances, should by all rights be treated as a potential high- risk situation, she was in constant fear of being in no position to seek medical help should it become necessary. Then there was the constant discomfort of the cell. In the night, it grew chilly and damp, a situation that her captor tried to alleviate by bringing her several blankets. What he didn't realized, however, was that during the daylight, the cell became equally, unbearably hot. The heat from the sweltering July afternoons seeped into the ground and surrounded her in her airless tomb. She sat for hours on end on her cot, trying not to think of it, trying to imagine herself anywhere else but in this oven. Years spent in air conditioned work-places and cars and apartments had spoiled her without her realizing it. How else have you gotten soft, Scully? She asked herself. Sweat poured off her body in rivulets, soaking her light scrubs so that she was forced to change at least twice a day, and she had to wash them with her supply of drinking water. She had never felt so filthy in her entire life. She had discovered her purse tucked carelessly under the cot, its contents scattered and conspicuously missing one handgun and a key-chain complete with a personal can of pepper gas. In the clutter, she found several small bottles of shampoo and bars of soap that she had scavenged from the hotels she and Mulder stayed at while out in the field. She used another portion of her water each day, thanking her captor for the continued contributions of milk and orange juice to supplement her diet, to wash with, and every few days, she made an effort to clean her hair. She was unable to rinse properly, so her skin felt itchy all the time, and her scalp felt coated in grime. She began to worry about the effect these conditions might have upon her baby, and was not entirely reassured when the obstetrics texts claimed that unhealthy living conditions alone were not likely to be detrimental to a pregnancy. Her meals were also irregular, as she was forced to eat the majority of the food that her captor brought within the first hours that it arrived. Otherwise, the ice pack would melt and the sandwiches and milk would go bad. The remaining hours, she ate the semi-fresh fruit and granola snack bars. Her stomach constantly rumbled its hunger, and she was painfully aware that she should be eating more for her baby. Then, at the end of her second week of captivity, she began to experience morning sickness. Except it's not morning sickness, Scully thought, lying huddled miserably on her cot at midnight. It's twenty four hours a day, morning, noon, evening, and night sickness. It was a late time to be starting morning sickness. In most pregnancies, it started several weeks earlier. But for Scully, when it hit, it hit with a vengeance. She brought up over half of what she managed to get down, and what moments she didn't spend retching, she was prostrate on the cot, overwhelmed by fatigue. No cover for her bucket or air freshener that her captor provided could rid the dank little cell of the stench of vomit, which only served to worsen her condition. A glance in the mirror of the compact she found in her purse revealed that she looked like hell. Her hair was lank and straggling about her face, her skin was pale and clammy, and to her dismay, breaking out in the acne she thought she had abandoned to her adolescence. Dark smudges stained her eyes, and her cheeks looked gaunt. She was also never without a frown of pain from the headache she had developed due to the poor lighting. She began to realize the effects that the non- activity was having upon her body, leaving her weak and lethargic. She did what she could to compensate for this by performing light calisthenics when she was able, hoping to maintain some muscle tone. She knew that when she made a run for it, she was going to have to be ready. Over the weeks, she began an insidious invasion into her captor's mind, beginning on the day, five days after she was taken, that she asked his name. His eyes widened in surprise. Scully knew she had taken him completely off guard. "Look," she said quietly, "this is pretty awkward. We're going of be here for a while like this, several months even, so don't you think it might be easier if I knew what to call you?" He shifted from one foot to the other. "You want to know my name? Even though--?" Even though you plan to kill me? Sure. Why not? Then I'll know who to hunt down when I get out of this hell hole. And believe me, if this little scheme has hurt my baby, there won't be any place for you to hide. "Whatever the outcome," she answered with a gentle smile that no one but Mulder would have seen through, "you have been kind to me up until now. And I do need something to call you by." "My name is Steven Morris." Scully smiled beatifically at him and filed that little piece of information in the back of her brain. She noticed that he looked relieved. Relieved? Why? Because I don't appear to be the slightest bit offended by the fact that you have every intention of murdering me eventually? Oh, you just wait. Trust no one, pal. She diligently kept her serene smile in place. What a skillful little liar your forthright Scully has become, Mulder, she though bitterly. "What is this place?" she asked with phony interest on another occasion, resting from her latest bout of vomiting. She gestured around the cubicle. "I don't know," he answered with a perplexed frown. "I don't even remember taking a walk into the woods on the night I found it. But when I realized the work I had to do, I knew it would be here." Her eyes widened at that. He never really spoke of "his work." She had the feeling he found any reminder of his purpose for bringing her hear grotesquely unpleasant. But then again, she didn't really like to think of it either. She didn't mean to rush, but the next question slipped out unwittingly. "Where are we?" "In the woods behind my house," he answered, and then snapped his mouth closed as mental warning bells went off. Think you've given away too much? Scully thought her sweet smile would crack on her face. I wasn't even trying. Yet. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:18 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 7b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Seven (2/2) * * * * * He only visited her an hour or so a day, so her chances to question him were limited, and her time alone great. She began to develop an empathy for prisoners in solitary confinement. With so much time on her hands, she decided to attack the confusing ambivalence she was feeling towards her captor. She alternated between near-sympathy for his gentle, child-like ways to utter loathing. It was the intensity of her animosity towards him that surprised her most. She was not a spiteful person, and in other circumstances, she would have found herself feeling sorry for him. But each time she felt in herself a softening towards him, the survivalist part of her reminded her of the danger being posed to her and her baby by being here, and that she would never have found herself in this situation were it not for him. She could forgive him his confusion. She could forgive him his obsession. She could forgive him his psychosis, but she could not forgive him for endangering her baby. She knew that if it came to it, she would kill him to save her baby. And yet, at the same time, she did not want to cause him undue pain, which left her options for escaping extremely narrow. Having already ruled out a physical confrontation, a decision that was reinforced by memories of being slammed belly-first against the trunk of her car, she was left with more brutal, devious options that were too gruesome for her suddenly tender stomach to tolerate for long. She couldn't endanger her baby, she couldn't risk angering him, she couldn't risk being captured again, and she didn't want to hurt him. Where exactly did that leave her? He began to share personal details with her over the weeks as her ploy to gain his trust succeeded. She soon learned that he lived alone. His parents had been killed in an accident shortly after he graduated high school, leaving their house to him, their only son. He got a job as an orderly in a local hospital and never bothered with a college education. His only advantage in life appeared to be his size, which was a definite asset in a job which often required the lifting of large objects, including people. His intelligence was not terribly high, and he seemed to struggle with simple logic. Scully wondered if he might have mild case of arrested development, so simple and childish did he seem at times. But as she thought about it, she was also reminded of other grown men she had encountered in her investigations with Mulder--sharp, intelligent men who were rendered mindless and simple after disappearing for a prolonged length of time. Did Steven Morris fit the profile of an abductee? Most certainly. He lived alone, with no one who would care if he dropped off the face of the earth for a while, no friends or family to miss him or file a missing persons report.. His lapses in memory and logic seemed reminiscent of the test pilots they had seen whom had worked on Ellen's Air Force Base, but his lifestyle matched more to that of the abductees of MUFON. So was he also an abductee? She wondered to herself. Only one way to find out. His eyes widened when she asked him. "Me? No. Why on earth would they take me?" "I don't know," she replied calmly. "Why would they take any of us? Because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or because they hand-picked us, sought us each out for a reason? And if you weren't taken, how is it that you know all that you know?" He looked puzzled. "I don't know." "None of us remembers much about our abduction experiences," she said softly. "Maybe it's possible that you were actually taken and repressed it?" "No!" he said vehemently, looking appalled. "I wasn't taken! That would make me--" "One of us," she finished for him, letting him feel the bite of the trap she had sprung. "And doesn't it follow that if we have to die because of what was done to us, so do you?" He glared at her. "I wasn't taken," he insisted. Scully began to feel herself grow desperate, even as her stomach started to churn angrily. She was aware that in just a few short moments, she would lose all semblance of dignity before him, and it was so very crucial that she keep his respect for now. It would be harder for him to kill her if he respected her. She scrambled for the box of soda crackers that she had asked him to provide. If only she could get through to that childish mind beneath the man's brawn and simply convince him to let her go... She had to. For the sake of her baby. In her spare time, her thoughts were ever on her baby. In moments when she thought that despair might overwhelm her, the idea of the life growing inside her was all that kept her from succumbing. Quickly, this baby had come to mean more than life to her. Strange that only a few short months ago, she had felt so differently. The decision that she and Mulder had made had not been easy, but in her heart, she had known that it was the right thing to do. The frightening possibilities that lay before them had simply been too much to contemplate. "Mulder," she had said, laying beside him in bed, where they seemed to have their most meaningful talks, "I am as happy in my life with you--in OUR LIFE together--as I had ever hoped that I could be. If this is the best it ever gets, I will die a happy woman. I don't need anything, even a baby, to make what I have now complete." He had held her close, stroking her softly. "But don't you want a child of your own?" "Of course I do. But not at any cost. Not if it means squandering the joy we have now agonizing over what we don't have, what we might never have." "Do you ever feel like we're taking the coward's way out with this decision?" he had asked. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, frowning. "Maybe we are. But I've seen the damage that infertility can do to a marriage. I want no part of it. I keep thinking about Mark and Missy, and what losing their baby did to them...I'm afraid, Mulder. I'm afraid that we won't be strong enough to survive such a thing, no matter what we may think to the contrary." Mulder had not replied to that, and Scully had gotten the vague suspicion that he was sublimating his own desires for the sake of what he felt was best for her. He had sworn that there was nothing more important to him than her well-being, and she knew he meant it. And yet-- Scully jerked back to the present, realizing that Morris had fallen silent and was watching her curiously. Her wave of nausea had passed for the moment, and without the distress it generated, she was able to return to the primary source of her anxiety--her need to be free of here, to be with Mulder, someplace where her baby was safe-- Her time was running short. She had to get out of here before her baby began to suffer from the conditions. She felt a surge of panic at the thought that her child might already be suffering. "Let me go," she pleaded in a whisper. He looked tormented. "I can't." "Why?" The anguished cry came from the bottom of her soul. "Why must you do this? We didn't ask to be taken! It's not our fault!" "But it has to stop!" he insisted. "You said that you don't remember what they did to you. How do you know that something horrible wasn't created using you, something that could kill the world if they wanted it to?" "Does that make it my fault?" she demanded. "If they did create some super-weapon or drug or disease using me in their experiments, then when it is unleashed, I'm as dead as the next guy. How is killing me going to prevent that?" "What if you are the weapon, or disease, or drug, and you just don't know it yet?" he asked softly. His words cut into the heart of Scully's fears that had developed when she had learned that in those months she had been missing, she had been used for experimentation. She would never know if some day, her body might turn against her or even the people she loved. She especially worried about Mulder at these times, that she might be used as the instrument of his destruction. Mulder had shushed her, insisting that he would never allow them to use her against him, but sometimes, the fear threatened to overwhelm her. She and Mulder had become so dependent upon each other that it was unlikely that either of them could survive long without the other. In her more paranoid, Mulderesque moments, she wondered if that hadn't been, as Mulder had joked, the intention of those whom had thrown them together all along, that they would become so deeply ingrained in one another that to kill one would be to destroy the other. These were fears that she knew she could never confide in Mulder, because she knew that, if he suspected that his presence in her life was a source of constant threat to her well-being, he would try to push her away, would try to leave for her own good. And that she couldn't allow. She bowed her head, having no rebuttal for Steven Morris' arguments. Somewhere in her mind, there was just the tiniest smidgen of fear that he just might be right. "Look," he said softly, "I promised you that I would try to let you live until your baby came, but I can't do more than that. You have to be destroyed." Her eyes darted sharply to his face. Something in the way he said the word "you" gave her pause. The emphasis on the word had been unmistakable. He hadn't been speaking of her as being part of a group, such as one of the many MUFON abductees. No, he had been speaking of her specifically. Something was telling him that, while all the abductees need to be killed, she especially had to die. Why? Was he being coerced? That would certainly explain his reluctance to do this deed. Was this just some plot to kill her specifically, maybe even to get to Mulder, engineered by outside forces, using this man? In her heart, Scully rebelled against the idea, quailing at the thought that she might be used against the man that she loved. It was a very Mulder-like thought by virtue of its sheer paranoia. And yet-- --And yet, she had seen stranger things, things that left her logical mind screaming in protest. Was it probable? No. But since when did probabilities have anything to do with the events which often befell her and Mulder? Steven Morris left her alone with her doubts then, as she so often found herself these days. Over the four weeks of her captivity, she sometimes felt that she might go mad with the worry, the tedium. She felt the walls closing in on her again, stealing the breath from her. She had never realized just how terrifying claustrophobia could be. Morris had refused her request to be allowed out of the cell if only for a couple of minutes to get a breath of fresh air. Strange, she thought, that for someone who seemed so reluctant to do her harm, he was certainly fastidious about keeping her in a position where his end goal might be met. Her thoughts turned to Mulder again. She knew exactly what he would be doing and thinking at this point in time. His mother and sister would have traveled to D.C., no doubt, to be with him, and he would be putting on a brave front for them all. He might even have returned to work by now if Skinner would allow it. He would be comforting her mother, just like he had before, buoying her spirits in the face of flagging hope. And then, in his moments alone, he would tear his gut out searching for something, anything, he might have overlooked before, any clue as to whom had taken her, and where, and why. He would have taken to sleeping on the sofa again, finding their bed too lonely without her. He would wake often and prowl their apartment restlessly, his helplessness closing in on him as her walls closed in on her. He would lay awake with some object of hers, her nightgown, or her pillow, clutched tightly in his hands, pressed against his face... She knew him so well. The problem with knowing someone better than you know yourself, Scully thought, loving someone better than you love yourself, is that when they're hurt, or frightened, or unhappy, you feel their pain, or fear, or misery as though it were your own, and then some. Even now, she knew that Mulder was alone in the dark, as she was, imagining her in a cold, lifeless place, scared and alone and needing him. His tortured mind would rebel against his inability to find her. He would toss and turn at night, thinking of how he had failed her, failed again. NO! She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, to tell him to release himself from the blame he was inflicting upon himself. But she knew that she couldn't. His mind, conditioned to guilt over the years, would come up with a million reasons why she should never have been taken, would never have been taken, if only... ...If only he had been more insistent upon following her home that night... ...If only he had been more watchful, knowing that it was always a possibility that the abductions weren't truly over... ...If only he hadn't married her, putting her in the line of fire for those who would see him brought low... ...If only he had sent her packing that first day she had come to him, and never gotten her involved in the first place... And he would never realize just how truly wrong he was, that she didn't blame him for any of this, had never thought of it. He could not control what befell her any more now than he could have controlled the event which had started him upon his roller-coaster-trip-from-hell of guilt in the first place, the night his sister was taken. Scully knew that Mulder would not have won their argument about his waiting for her at work the night that Morris had kidnapped her. She had been much too determined to take time to herself to get her fears under control before she came home and told him about the baby. And they had truly believed, correctly, that the abductions were over. They had seen the leftovers of the project which had caused her first abduction, the sterile rail cars, the pit full of bodies... Nothing in the world could have prevented her from marrying Fox Mulder once they had admitted their love for each other, and even if they hadn't married, it still would have been known by those that made it their business to know such things about Mulder that she had become the most important aspect of his life. Indeed, she had found herself feeling guilty that she had fallen into a position where she could be used to bring Mulder to heel. And as for sending her packing...After his cocky performance at their first meeting, she would have liked to have seen him try it. She knew that Mulder thought that she was the strong one of the two of them, emotionally speaking. And it was true that she had obtained more stability in her relatively normal lifetime than he had. He depended on her to keep him grounded, to steady him when he threatened to fly off the handle into one of his wild, insane ventures. She enjoyed his need of her, his admiration. She enjoyed taking care of him, but what he would never realize was that, if she was his anchor, he was her sail, propelling her along into action when she might have just stood by, rescuing her from her tendency to take herself too seriously. Before she had met Mulder, she had only witnessed life, read about it in books. Now, she lived it, holding his hand and striding boldly into adventures that only the certifiably insane would have believed. He never realized that the very stability he admired in her, depended on her for, would have kept her stagnating her entire life without him to pull her from the mire. To be stripped from his side like this was unbearable. She felt as though she'd been cut in half and left raw and bleeding. And she knew in her heart that he was feeling the same agony. They were both lost and adrift, and struggling to find their way back to each other. How can I get back to you? She asked the image of him that she always carried in her heart, How can I get free of here without endangering our baby? Even if I get out of this cell, where do I go? How do I know that I won't wander lost in the woods for days, until I'm too weak to continue? Oh, Mulder, I'm so afraid that I'll never see you again! I try so hard to be brave, to keep hope alive, but it's so hard, and each day, my hope fades a little more. I can't get to you. You have to come to me. Come to me soon, please... * * * * * End of Part Seven =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:14 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 8a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Eight (1/2) * * * * * Monday morning, six weeks after Scully had been taken, Mulder returned to work. Skinner could say nothing. Mulder had to return. He'd been gone too long already. In many ways, he was relieved to return, wondering how many times he could pace his and Scully's apartment empty apartment without going insane, but once he got into his office and looked through the window at Scully's empty desk, he realized what a mistake returning had been. If there was anything that he associated with his wife as much as their home, it was the X-Files. Without her there across from him, he could find no drive, no desire for his work. When she had disappeared before, he had kept with the X-Files in the hopes of finding some clue pertaining to her disappearance. Now, though, he realized that the answers did not lie here. Without her, there was nothing to hold him here. Once, he would have sworn he would do anything, sacrifice anything, to find the truth that he was convinced lay within those files. But with the return of his sister and the miraculous breakthrough in he and Scully's relationship, he had realized that there was more to life than constantly seeking answers. The X-Files had long since become secondary in his life, supplanted by the love of Dana Scully. Gone was the man who had told her on there first case "Nothing else matters to me." He had discovered that sometimes it was okay to find a spot where you felt safe and let the answers to all of life's little secrets find you. Secrets he had never thought to investigate before, such as why returning home alone had always been a labor, but with Scully, it was a joy? Why the sunset always looked more lovely with her in his arms... After the realization that he loved Scully, and she loved him in return, he'd had a different motivation for wanting the X-Files. Now it was her questions that they were investigating, she who had lost so much. They were looking for those explanations she had demanded those years ago when she had said to him, "I've heard the truth. Now what I want are the answers." Answers to what had been done to her after she was taken by Duane Barry, answers to why her sister Melissa had been gunned down in her place, answers to why Mulder's father had also been ruthlessly murdered, just when he and Mulder were repairing the bridges that had collapsed between them on that night so many years ago when Samantha had been taken. Suddenly, Mulder realized that he didn't give a damn about the answers if Scully wasn't beside him to discover them. Mulder spent the day studiously avoiding looking in the direction of her office, even closing the window in the wall between them. He sat at his desk paying absolutely no attention to the files he was pretending to look over. He sent one of the agents working under him out on a field assignment the likes of which he usually pounced on himself to investigate. For the first time in what seemed to be forever, he noticed when five p.m. rolled around. Usually, Scully had to enter from her office and draw him away from his work, coaxing him home with a come-hither smile. He left the office gratefully, relieved to be away from it even though it meant returning home to another long, empty night of waiting. There was no place that he could go that was not intimately associated in his heart with Scully, that didn't mock him for his inability to find answers, to find HER. That night, as usual, Margaret Scully, Caroline Mulder, and Samantha, the latter two having refused to return home despite Mulder's urgings, converged on his apartment bearing food. Again, he had to face the carefully masked look of disappointment in Maggie's eyes when he told her that there had been no news. She already knew that, of course, from Skinner, but she asked him just the same. It was always the first thing that she did as she came through the door. After dinner, he suddenly found the presence of people around him oppressive. What he really wanted was to be alone with his anguish. Maybe that would give him the drive to look harder than he had before, however impossible that might seem. He had already damned near alienated Bartel with his feverish need for answers. It was only Bartel's sympathy for Mulder's plight that had kept the man from lashing back. As soon as the possibility presented itself, Mulder left the concerned women in the living room and sought refuge on the balcony. The late evening August heat was terrible. They were predicting a heat wave the like of which had not hit D.C. in decades before the summer ended. Mulder was painfully aware that, wherever she was, his beautiful wife, pregnant with his child, might be suffering from this heat, too. Scully's pregnancy was constantly in his thoughts since that day he had learned about it. Wherever she was, she was without prenatal care. With all the uncertainties involved in her pregnancy, it should have been treated as high-risk. Instead, she was no doubt someplace miles from where help might be found should complications arise. He had truly thought that they would never have a child of their own. Scully had even gone so far as to mention adoption... "I am not so desperate to have a child of my own gene pool running around the planet that I'm willing to take the risks involved, but there is no reason why we can't look to other children out there who could benefit from our love. There are certainly plenty of them, and I don't need to see my own hair or your eyes to make the child my own." It had been a noble sentiment, but Mulder now wondered how much of what she had said was for his benefit alone. They had discussed the options and had decided to wait a while before looking into the matter. The only thing they had decided was that they did not want an infant if they adopted. They felt that was simply too selfish when there were so many older children in need of homes. Mulder had also wondered about all those people out there who would spend half their lives and their entire personal fortunes in the effort to conceive a child of their own. It seemed so bizarre when there were so many unwanted children. But with the news of Scully's pregnancy, he had begun to understand why it was that people would do anything to fulfill that primal urge to procreate. No matter how many children existed in need of homes that he and Scully could love, there was none he wanted more than the precious life growing within his wife right now. What would Scully be doing if she were here, he wondered. Would she be camped out on the sofa, the air conditioning cranked, demanding iced tea from him (decaffeinated, no doubt, in deference to her condition.) Or would she be determined to remain as active as possible, until her size began to hinder her. Would she get back aches? Nausea? Fatigue? Mood swings? Would she whine over the loss of her shape just to get him to tell her how beautiful he found her? They would have started looking for another place to live by now, he realized. Someplace larger, maybe a house even. They would be reading parenting manuals and wonder how they were going to reconcile this new addition to their lives. They would be deciding whether or not to breast feed, argue over if they would use cloth diapers or disposable, and set a schedule as to whose turn it was to handle the three a.m. feeding on any given morning. How far along was she, anyway? He hadn't been able to call the doctor and inquire, knowing some explanation for her absence would be required if he did so. He stared out at the last vestiges of the sunset, realizing that the last sight he had seen with Scully before she had been taken from him had been a similar panorama. There was nothing beautiful in this sunset, though. Nothing in his life seemed to have purpose, or beauty, or meaning any longer. Food was bland and tasteless, the soft satin of the nightgown she had worn when they were last together had felt course and stiff when he had held it to him, detecting her fragrance upon it. Their bed offered no welcome to him, and instead he sought the couch when he was too weary to continue. The entire world, it seemed, was empty without her presence in his life. "Fox?" Samantha's voice came from behind him, and Mulder realized that he hadn't heard the door slide open nor felt her approach. "Yes?" "How long will they continue to search for Dana?" Mulder's heart clenched in his chest, a familiar ache spreading through him. "I don't know. They stopped investigating Melissa's murder six months after they ran out of leads. But since there is no evidence that she is--" "You don't have to say it," Samantha interrupted him quickly. "She's not, you know," he said softly. "I believe you." "My worst fear is that they will stop searching for her now, while I know that she is still alive, and then time will run out, after they've given up the opportunity to save her." His voice was tortured, choking in his throat. Tears filled Samantha's eyes. "Walter won't allow that," she reassured him. "Oh, Fox, I want so badly to be able to comfort you, but I know there is nothing that I can say or do to help you right now." He continued to stare out at the darkening sky. "Friday will be our first anniversary, you know." The tears slipped down her cheeks. "I know." "One year." He shook his head. "I promised to protect her for the rest of my lie, and I couldn't even last one godda--" he halted with an apologetic glance at his sister--"A single year," he finished softly, sighing. "Fox, don't do this! I know you're angry, I know you're hurting, but Dana wouldn't want you to do this to yourself! She knows it's not your fault! If you're going to blame someone, blame the monster that is doing these things! There's nothing you could have done!" "I know," he cried, his voice carrying over the fields behind the building. "Logically, I know that. I know she doesn't blame me. There's nothing to blame, but God, I feel like I've let her down, like if I had only tried a little harder..." "Oh, Fox," Samantha wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face against his shoulder. He stood there drawing comfort from her. Then, he gently eased her away. "Sam, I think that you should go home. You have a husband, a family, and you need to be with them." "I won't leave you here like this, Fox. Preston understands." He smirked. "Like I understand that none of this is my fault? Sure, his head understands, but in his heart, he wants his wife with him. You've been gone six weeks, Sam, only returning for one weekend for your own anniversary. That's not right, and you know it." "But still..." "Look, I have all the support here that I need. I won't ask Mom to go, since I think she's helping Mrs. Scully more than she's helping even me. And if anything is going to happen, Sam, it'll happen whether you're here for it or not. So get out of here. Go home to your husband and make some babies of your own." He saw Samantha smile. He had told her about Scully's pregnancy, and she knew how much it was in his thoughts that Scully was out there alone, trying to protect not only herself but her unborn child as well. Samantha had confided in him that she and her husband were starting to consider the idea of a family themselves. At thirty four years old, she figured it was about time. She hugged him again. "I'll go. But only because you want me to. And if you need anything--anything at all--" "Then I'll call you," he finished for her. "Or Mom will call you, or Mrs. Scully--" "And if you find anything--" "Same applies. Now go home to your husband, kid," he said in his best big-brother voice. She kissed his cheek gently. "I have faith that she'll return to you," she said softly. "There are some things in this life that are meant to be, and some people who are destined to be together. Remember that." He was silent as he watched her step back into the apartment and close the door behind her, cutting off the brief, merciful puff of cool air that came from inside. Beyond, the sky was getting dark, and stars were beginning to appear, hazy through the waves of heat rising off the ground. He wondered if Scully was seeing this sky, this nightscape before him. Could she see the stars, or was she cut off from their light? God, Scully, I'm so sorry...I want to be with you so badly it hurts. Please forgive me that I can't be there... * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:10 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 8b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Eight (2/2) * * * * * The next morning he went to Skinner's office and handed in the paper work requesting an extended leave of absence. "I think that is a wise idea," Skinner said, a concerned frown on his face. "It's no good being here without her," Mulder confessed tensely. "I'm not doing anyone any good, so I might as well stay out of the way. Bartel's good. He can run things while I'm gone. I don't plan to stop looking, though. And I feel it is only fair to warn you that I might step on a few toes while I do so." "Mulder, at this point, I'm willing to give you leave to do just about anything necessary to get her back." "With all due respect, sir, I wouldn't stop to ask your permission if that became necessary." Skinner sighed. "I know. Same rules apply, okay? If you can, give what you find to us. If you don't have time, though, well, I'll take the heat." Skinner rubbed his forehead. He hadn't gotten any sleep last night. He'd been comforting Maggie, who had finally broken down and released some of the sorrow and worry she was feeling after Caroline Mulder had gone to bed and Samantha Powell had caught her late flight to Boston. It had been a rocky, emotional night, and while he was relieved that Maggie had finally released all of that, it had left him drained, seeing the woman he loved in such pain. Mulder left Skinner's office and went home. At home, Scully's car was still in the same spot in which she had parked it the night she had been taken. Mulder cast a baleful glare to the security cameras that had been installed a few weeks ago, after an emergency meeting of the tenants had agreed upon the measure. Always it seemed a little too little, a little too late. Mulder entered the apartment and sat down at his computer, turning it on Thus began the discouraging litany he had been repeating since the day after he had returned from Allentown. He had started with the information Penny Northern and Lottie Holloway had provided on his initial visit to Allentown. A week later, Penny Northern had e-mailed him the rest of her database for MUFON, giving him permission to look where he saw fit. Then, Mulder had begun to make the calls. It was how he had spent most of his time since Scully had disappeared. His first attempts at selectivity with the list of male MUFON members had produced nothing, so he had decided to go back to the beginning an leave no avenue unexplored. He'd started at the top of the list and began to call the MUFON members, both those claiming to be abductees and those who were simply UFO watchers and devotees. It was a time consuming process, staring out by introducing himself and explaining why he was bothering them, and how he had gotten their number... "...Hello, Ms. Dennis? This is Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I got your number...Ms. Dennis? Hello..." "...Hello, Mr. Gerenger? This is Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI, and I got your number through the MUFON database...I'm investigating the disappearance of my partner, in what appears to be a series of kidnappings and murders with members of MUFON as targets...No, sir, you are not being accused of anything...No, you do not need a lawyer to speak with me...Hello..." "...I'm investigating the disappearance of my partner, Ms. Johannes, in what appears to be a series of kidnappings and murders with members of MUFON as targets...Yes, like the woman just found a few weeks ago in West Virginia...I was wondering if you might be able to provide me with any information as to odd or erratic behavior from the members of your chapter of MUFON...Yes, the suspect is probably male...He said your story of abduction was a hysterical delusion? No, ma'am, I'm sorry, I was looking for a different sort of behavior...Another woman in a different chapter thinks that Elvis was actually an abductee and is a member of her chapter...? No, that's not quite what I was thinking of either...Is there anyone you may be able to point me toward that might have some helpful information? Well, thank you very much, Ms. Johannes. Have a nice day." He imagined from the reactions of the women he spoke with that there was going to be quite a gender gap filled with suspicion within MUFON for a while, with all the females viewing the males as a potential danger. Paranoia was bound to spring up, and Mulder felt guilty for having been the cause of it, but if his warning prevented one previously unsuspecting woman from becoming the next victim, he felt it was worth it. The work entailed long hours each day on his phone. His ear and shoulder grew sore from the constant pressure of holding the phone. It took several tries to get a hold of some of the members, and then there were those who would not speak with him once they heard the word FBI...The only moment of humor in the entire process was when Mulder told Bartel he might actually look into that "Elvis" MUFON sighting when the danger was past them. When he had gone through the list once, he went back to the top and started again. In was in his second pass through that Mulder received a phone call himself. "Agent Mulder?" asked a female voice. "This is Agent Mulder. Can I help you?" "Hello. My name is Jennifer Mossey. I received a message on my machine from you yesterday...?" "Yes. Hello, Ms. Mossey. Thank you for calling me back." "My friends at MUFON say that you are investigating some new abductions?" "Actually, Ms. Mossey, they're kidnappings..." (potayto, potahto...his mind whispered, and he saw Scully's smile.) "Kidnappings belonging in a string of serial murders involving MUFON members." "They say your wife is the latest victim..." Mulder felt a pang in his chest, and wondered briefly how she knew that. It wasn't a detail he had revealed to many people. "Yes, Ms. Mossey. We're still looking for her." "Look," her voice sounded hesitant as she spoke, "I don't know if this will help you at all, but I'm in New Jersey, and I have a friend in a Virginia chapter who says that they've got a disturbing situation down there." "What kind of situation?" Mulder asked. "She says that there is a man who has been attending some meetings who is making a lot of the members nervous. He hasn't actually shared his story, so he wouldn't be in the database, but he keeps talking about the possibility that we were used to create horrible things, diseases and the like, that could be used to destroy humanity. It's nothing that hasn't been said before, but people got a little upset when he started suggesting suicide for all of us would be the only way to prevent that from happening. He said that we're abominations now that they've done what they've done to us. Like I said, that made people nervous. After all, we didn't survive this long to destroy ourselves." "Do you have a name?" Mulder asked, trying to keep the quaver from his voice. Her description of this man's views could not have been more perfectly matched to the profile he had come up with in his head. "A physical description?" "I have never seen him," she answered. "But I've been told that he goes by the name Steven Morris. He's a nurse or something like that. I'm not sure how much that should provide you with, though. A lot of us use pseudonyms until we've been around long enough to begin to trust." "At least it's something," Mulder said. "One other thing--do you know if he has been to meetings of other chapters besides Virginia? Say, somewhere in New England, or New Jersey, or West Virginia?" "No, I'm sorry, I don't. I just know that when my friend told me about this, I thought of what I had heard of you and your wife, about the others that were murdered..." "Thank you, Ms. Mossey. At this point, any little bit could help." "You're welcome, Agent Mulder. I hope that you find your wife--safe." "I hope so, too," he murmured. "Good bye." Mulder sat there for several minutes staring at the phone, trying to calm his racing heart. It was too easy. He couldn't dare hope that after so much long, heartbreaking effort, the answers would simply be dropped into his lap like this. But it fit so well--a person hanging out at MUFON gatherings, sharing the opinion that the abductees needed to be destroyed. It was the same profile he and Skinner had created. He had to check it out. Their hopes of finding Scully were slim to none, and each day, the "slim" part faded a little more. The chances were too rare to let this one slide by, and each day he could feel Scully calling to him to come to her, to save her before it was too late. He dialed Skinner and told him what he knew. Skinner told him to stay put while he and the investigating team looked into the lead. For once in his life, Mulder did what he was asked. He stayed put. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, but he sat and waited for the phone to ring. The day crept on and no call came. Several times, Mulder had to fight down the urge to contact Skinner and ask him what had been found. Maggie Scully called, and Mulder told her that they had a very vague lead, not waiting to get her hopes up pointlessly. She agreed to wait for him to call her back with whatever news was to be had. The afternoon wore on into evening, and then night fell. Mulder forgot to eat, staring at the phone intently for hours, willing it to ring. Darkness descended and no call came. Heart weary, he lay on the couch. Obviously, the lead had turned up nothing, and no one had the heart to call him and disappoint him. He could understand their reasoning, even if it was in actuality more cruel to leave him hanging. They had no way of knowing that. They probably wanted to allow him his moments of hope before he came crashing down to earth again. And crash he did. The moment he realized, truly realized, that he might be facing life without Dana Scully. He hadn't allowed himself to really even consider the idea before. As bereft as he felt without her, he had not stopped thinking of it as a temporary arrangement. He had mouthed all the right words to make others think that he was not in denial, spouted an appropriate quantity of doubtful what-ifs. But in his heart, there had been no doubt. There was no question of IF Scully would be returned to him. It had always been WHEN. And now he simply could not pretend anymore. With hope nearer than ever, he had to admit to himself that his hope might just be the desperate illusions of a grasping, panicked mind. The lead Jennifer Mossey had provided him with had been the thinnest, frailest straw at which to clutch. He couldn't blame anyone but himself when it crumbled to dust in his fingers. There might not be any more Scully to look at him as though he were a god incarnate. No Scully to ease his tension, to make him feel as though he were eleven feet tall and made of steel, invincible while she was beside him. No Scully to hold in his arms, to inhale her fresh, sweet fragrance, no satiny skin to touch, no gentle voice murmuring her love to him in his ear. No Scully to argue with, to annoy and amuse in a thousand little ways, to try to bring a smile to her face despite her most determined efforts at solemnity. No Scully to hold at night beside him, feeling her warmth, the movements of their baby growing inside her. No Scully to wake up to in the morning, no bright smile to haul him out of his doldrums... In a million different, subtle ways, she had woven herself into the fabric of his life until he wasn't sure where she began and he ended. Without her, everything around him unraveled. To be without her forever would be to live a lifetime with absolutely nothing. For the first time in his life, Fox Mulder seriously contemplated suicide. It would be so easy. He saw himself doing it from a distance. To walk into the bedroom and retrieve his gun from where it lay on the dresser from when he had undressed last, to sit on the white bed where he had spent so many hours with his wife, to bring it to his head, the weight of it familiar in his hand, the pressure of the trigger against his finger as he pulled, squeezed... But he would never be able to do it, he realized, finding himself staring in the direction of the bedroom, aware that he had actually stood an began moving in that direction. If Scully was anything to him, she was hope. For him to abandon all the hopes she had worked so diligently to reconstruct within him would be the ultimate betrayal of her love. He loved her enough to die for her. He had to love her enough to live for her. Mulder lay his head back on the sofa and sobbed like a lost child. It was in this way that he fell into a haunted slumber. * * * * * Wednesday morning, Scully awoke with tears pouring down her face. She had dreamed of Mulder in the night, sitting alone in their apartment, crying for her, needing her. She had seen him sobbing brokenly, but though her heart yearned desperately to reach out and comfort him, she could do nothing to ease his sorrow. Something is not right, she realized as she sat up. Around her, the air seemed charged, expectant. I have to get out of here. Something is going to happen. Today. The decision was made before she was conscious of it. Her morning nausea was curiously absent, and her fatigue faded away as though it had never been. She would escape today. She would be free before night fell. The longer she waited, the less her chances were. She grew weaker by the day, and she would begin to show her pregnancy any day now. This was her final chance. It was now or never. She made her plan as she waited, knowing Morris would be by that night to see to her welfare. Her desire not to harm him still existed, but it no longer mattered. She would do what she must to get free. She used her covered bucket, which had been emptied the previous night, to mix half a gallon of her water with an entire bottle of pine cleanser. Then she thought, and just to be certain, she added some of the bleach he had brought her to clean with. She placed the lid on the bucket to keep the fumes out of the air, and so that the scent would not alert him to anything unusual. When he arrived, she would loosen the lid on the bucket and have it ready. It was a vicious plan of attack, but she could not wait for an opportunity to be merciful. At this point in her pregnancy, she was running out of time. After she sealed the bucket, Scully dug a nail file out of her purse and began to loosen one of the legs of her cot from where it was screwed loosely together. That accomplished, she sat down with all but one of her sets of scrubs he had brought her and began to tear them into long strips. As she did so, unpleasant memories of Eugene Victor Tooms surfaced in her mind, only to be staunchly shoved back out of the way. She forced her breathing to still, her heart to cease its erratic beating. She tied the strips of cloth into ropes using strong knots her father had taught her as a child. And then she waited. In the afternoon, her sense of unease grew, accompanied by a tightening in her belly that she couldn't shrug off as being tension. Nervousness and lack of food were more than ample cause for a stomach ache, she realized, and yet her distressing sense of predestination would not be appeased. In the late afternoon, she realized why. She felt the first hint of moisture on her thighs. An inspection revealed that she was only spotting, but the idea sent a spear of panic into her heart. Her texts said that ninety percent of women who experienced spotting during the early months of their pregnancies went on to delivery healthy full-term babies, and with that logic as her shield, she forced her worry to the back of her mind. She would seek medical attention as soon as she was free of this place. Indeed, it was just one more motivation to escape now--no matter how light the bleeding, the texts had warned that it was unwise to let it go unchecked by a doctor. Her weapons ready, her resolve hardened, she continued to wait. * * * * * Mulder awoke Wednesday morning with a headache from crying himself to sleep and his cell phone ringing in his ear. He answered it groggily. "Mulder..." "Mulder, it's Skinner. I need you down here immediately." He was alert in an instant. "What have you got?" "We ran a check on the name Steven Morris and came up with one in the region of Virginia that you stated. He matches the profile we came up with exactly. Six foot seven, two-hundred- seventy pounds, works as an orderly at Claremont Memorial Hospital, Claremont, Virginia, which provides him with access to the drugs we found, if he knows the right way to go about getting them. He lives alone, his parents having died ten years ago and leaving him their house. Then, last year, he stopped coming to work for a period of five months without any warning or request for leave. After five months, he simply returned to his job as though he had never left." "An abduction victim?" "Possibly," Skinner mused. "We got a court order for the results of his latest blood tests, which we are currently screening to see if we can match his DNA up to that in the saliva found near Dana's car. It's a slim chance, but if it works, we can place him at the scene of the crime. I've also got everything prepared to receive the warrant to search his house if the match comes up." Mulder bolted up off the sofa. "I'll shower and change and be right there," he told Skinner, and disconnected. If Skinner noticed the fact that Mulder's clothing hadn't been pressed, or that he had barely taken time to comb his hair after his rushed shower, the man said nothing. "It will be a few hours yet before we have the DNA results," he announced without preamble. "I can wait," Mulder replied. "Have you told Mrs. Scully?" Skinner shook his head with a frown. "I don't want to get her hopes up needlessly. What we have now is too circumstantial. We'll never be able to make it stick if the DNA doesn't match up." Mulder nodded. "You're probably right. She's hurting enough." Mulder sat in the corner of Skinner's office as the Director went on with business as usual. Skinner had his assistant hold all but the most pressing calls, but Mulder found it frustrating to watch the man go about his work coolly, as though he had nothing extraneous on his mind. He jumped each time Skinner's phone rang, hoping it would be the call that they were waiting for. When the news arrived, however, it was in the form of a breathless James Bartel being ushered into Skinner's office. "We've got a match!" he announced triumphantly, his eyes on Mulder's face. "Steven Morris was definitely in that parking lot the night Agent Scully disappeared." "We've got motive, and opportunity," Skinner said, some hint of his own relief breaking through his composed voice. "That's enough to move on.." Mulder closed his eyes while Skinner began calling to obtain the warrant to search Steven Morris's house. It wasn't hard to do. When the Director of the FBI requested such a thing, people moved heaven and earth to get it for him. An hour later, Mulder and Skinner were on a helicopter headed for Claremont, Virginia. * * * * * End of Part Eight =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:05:06 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 9a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Nine (1/2) * * * * * The late afternoon turned the underground cell into what seemed to be an oven as the promised heat wave crashed over them with a vengeance. Scully felt herself growing faint with heat and exhaustion and pain. The cramping in her abdomen had gotten worse as the hours passed, and now she was not at all certain that she would be physically capable of escaping when her opportunity came. She wasn't at all sure of what she might expect in the hours to come. My baby...Dear God, not my baby! The thought was unbidden and filled with fear, and Scully pushed it away determinedly. It could only be counter- productive to worry about that now, when there was nothing that she could do. Best to focus now on the task at hand, and when she was free, she could get the help that she needed. So she kept her bucket close at hand and refused to allow herself to dwell on the brutality of what she had planned. She would do anything to save her baby. Anything at all. Her heart began to pound in her chest when she heard the familiar scraping noises above her head. He was here. But he was early! He didn't usually visit her until much later in the day...Something was wrong... Scully began to pry the lid off her bucket with trembling fingers. The door above her head swung open, and the sunshine, rarely seen and precious to her, filled the far side of her chamber. She had moved the cot away from the opening in the ceiling weeks ago, seeing a strategic advantage to not being blinded each time the door was opened. She longed to go stand in the sunlight, to soak it up, but she knew that she was better off remaining hidden, where she could see him, but he would have to search the shadows for her. He descended the ladder. "I have to get you out of here," he announced, looking for her in the darkness. His eyes were wide and panicked. Scully knew that something had indeed gone wrong. Another cramping pain shot through her belly as she asked, "Why? Are you letting me go?" "No!" the response was vicious. "The FBI was at the hospital today looking for me. I barely made it out without them seeing me. I have to find someplace else for us to hide." The FBI! Mulder! "No, please! You go. Let them find me here!" "I CAN'T!" he cried, a sob in his voice. "Don't you understand? I don't WANT to do this, I HAVE to!" Best not to agitate him, Scully thought, her moment of excitement passing. "Where will you take me?" Her voice was amazingly calm, even to her own ears, despite the fact that her heart had picked up its pace the moment the lid of the bucket came free. She felt the adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream, and a deathly calm took over. Her vision snapped into focus. All the colors became more vibrant, the shapes more defined. Each movement Morris made seemed to be in slow motion. Suddenly, this had ceased to be a effort simply to exist and had become a battle of survival for herself and her baby. She responded with every animal instinct within her. Unconsciously, she knew that if she lived a hundred more years, she would never again feel this alert, this primitive. "Where will you hide? How long will you run away?" "I don't know. I'll find someplace," he answered. "Then you'll have to help me," she murmured. "I need to gather my things." The moment it took him to turn around and face her fully was the longest of her life. She waited until he stepped so that the light from above fell fully on his face. Then, she let fly with the contents of the pail, directly onto his face and shoulders. There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a wail of agony as the mixture made its way into his eyes and began to burn. I might well have blinded him, Scully thought abstractly, grabbing the cot leg she had pried off. She rushed him as he began to flail about. She was struck by a swinging arm across her middle as she pushed him away from the ladder and into the wall. The pain from the blow was nauseating, but she followed through with her charge and with one well-placed blow of her make-shift club, rendered him unconscious. Scully grabbed the cloth ropes she had made and bound his hand behind his back. Then, in a brief display of mercy, she used the last of her drinking water, which she had been planning to take with her, to flush some of the chemicals out of Morris' eyes. She felt herself beginning to grow faint with the fumes and the pain from the blow he had struck her. She scrambled up the ladder, almost falling off. The pain in her abdomen surged, striking her full force as she reached the top and stood, free, in the blinding sunlight. The light tore into her eyes, piercing her, and she closed them tightly. She completed the task of removing the ladder from the cell blind. Below, she could hear Morris beginning to moan beneath his gag. Another pain sent her to her knees, and she echoed that moan, her arms clasped around her belly. She sat in the sunlight panting with heat and pain. She felt dizzy and realized that, despite the heat, she was not perspiring--an indication of heat stroke. She considered her options, going over what Morris had told her in her mind. The FBI had been at the hospital! Mulder had found her! She quickly debated remaining here until he came for her, but then she realized that they might not ever consider looking in the woods beyond Morris' house. He had said his house was nearby...If she could get there, get anywhere, to a phone... Slowly, she lurched to her feet, scanning the tree line surrounding the clearing that she found herself in. The pain of straightening when she wanted to curl into a ball and never move again was terrible. She looked for some clue as to which direction Morris might have come from, cursing her near- blindness and inability to think clearly, so overwhelmed by pain and heat was she. She thought she detected the faint traces of a trail and staggered towards it into the trees. * * * * * Both Mulder and Skinner were grim and painfully aware that precious time had been wasted searching the hospital for Morris. Their intention had been to get him into custody, where he could do no harm, before attempting to retrieve Scully from wherever he was holding her. It hadn't been a plan that Mulder had liked, but he saw the sense in it. Now, it was obvious that Morris had somehow gotten word that they were looking for him, and had slipped away. Had he taken Scully with him? Or was he intent upon doing her harm before he was taken? Mulder met Skinner's eyes in the rear-view mirror from where he sat in the back of the car belonging to the local ASAC, who was driving. Skinner was in the passenger seat. It was by unspoken agreement that neither man commented on the fact that technically, Mulder was on leave, and even more, that he was not supposed to be a part of this investigation, or on the fact that leading operations like this was not exactly the responsibility of the Director of the FBI. As Director, Skinner had the ability to make things happen. No one was going to question his or Mulder's presence. It was a breakneck race to Morris's house on the outside of the city. An old style farm house on a large plot of uncared-for land, it was secluded on three sides by the woods and the mountains beyond them. It was the perfect place to hold a hostage. There was no way to covertly approach, being situated on ten acres of land. The nearest neighbor was half a mile away. Skinner, Mulder and the local agents had donned Kevlar vests against the possibility of an armed stand-off, but though Morris' car sat in the driveway, its engine still warm, there was no sign of life within the house. Skinner and Mulder led the way, creeping cautiously toward the house, trying to remain out of sight of the windows while a warning to Morris was called out over the megaphone. There was no answer. They stood with the guns at the ready at either side of the front door and waited to know if they could see or hear any signs of covert activity within the house. The doorknob was tested, proving the door to be unlocked, and Mulder glanced at Skinner, his heart in his throat. The other agents filed in behind them as Skinner held up three fingers and silently counted down. On zero, they burst through the door, followed by the local agents. The house was deathly still, a thought that almost froze Mulder's heart. He watched the rest of the agents sweep through the rooms on the first and second floors. Remembering his visions of Scully in a cool, damp place, he headed for the basement, followed by an equally grim Skinner. He would not allow himself to consider that he might be making his way down the stairs to Scully's lifeless body. The basement was empty with the exception of an ancient washer/dryer set and shelves that were lined with home- preserved foodstuffs that appeared to be decades old. Mulder had an uncomfortable flashback of finding hair and fingers in such everyday places in another place, another time--a time when Scully had been in danger and afraid also. He pushed the memory aside. They would not find her beautiful fingers severed, or locks of her soft hair lying around. If they found her at all, she would be whole and hale. WHEN they found her, he amended. He searched the walls for doors or exits leading off, but none were to be found. He lowered his gun and faced Skinner. "She's not here.," hesitated, surprised by the ambiguity of his feelings. He was disappointed to not have found her, but he was also relieved to not be standing over her dead body. He was not comforted by Skinner's sympathetic nod. Skinner appeared about to say something when one of the local agents stuck his head through the doorway at the top of the stairs. "We've found something, sirs." Mulder tore up the stairs, taking them three at a time, and entered the old Formica-surfaced kitchen to see a hand-gun lying on the table. The Sig Sauer was unmistakable. He'd seen it a thousand times. It had saved his ass more than once. "It's hers," he said to Skinner. Scully had been here! Skinner turned and began to give orders. "Everybody spread out and search the entire premises, the lands, the outbuildings, and the surrounding woods. Hodgeson, Doyle, question the nearest neighbors and see if they can shed any light on Morris' activities. Remember: we are working under the presumption that if his car is here, he can't be far. Note that he is to be considered armed and dangerous, and that hostage protocol does apply! Now, move!" Mulder sank down into a chair at the table, his head in his hands. For once, he didn't give a royal damn who saw him fall apart. Skinner switched on the hand-held radio he had with him. "I'm sorry, Mulder," he said softly. Mulder acknowledged his words and the sentiment with a nod of his head. To come this close--and nothing... How much longer could this go on, playing a cat and mouse game with this madman who had his wife? They sat silently for several minutes before Skinner's radio crackled, and the announcement was heard: "We've found a footpath leading into the woods, sir! It appears to have recent footprints on it." "We'll be right there!" Skinner barked into the radio, and followed Mulder whom had bolted from the room, knocking his chair over in the process. They raced to the spot where the group of agents had gathered, studying the path into the woods. In his mind, Mulder could feel the need to find Scully growing more desperate, knowing her peril and pain increased with every moment that passed. The thought made him stop. Yes. She was in pain. He knew that as surely as he knew that she was alive. "We'd better get an ambulance out here," he told Skinner, who wisely did not press for an explanation. The trail that led them into the woods was uneven and winding, an obstacle course of low tree branches and roots that threatened to trip them up every step that they took. The group spread out to search through the trees by the side of the trail until the burst through a bunch of bushes into a small clearing in the woods. Mulder stopped breathing as he espied the rectangular opening in the ground and the rusty ladder tossed carelessly beside it. "Scully!" he yelled, running towards the hole. He looked down and could see the vague shape of a human being in the shadows, writhing and groaning in agony. The groans were not female, he realized. "There's a man down here," he said, rising from where he had knelt by the opening. "Scully is gone. I'm willing to bet that's Morris, and she's escaped. She's probably in the woods right now, trying to find her way out." "We'll start forming search parties--" Skinner said. "There isn't time!" Mulder exclaimed. "She needs our help now. I'm going to look for her." Before Skinner could answer, Mulder ran for the other side of the clearing, breaking through the bushes there and disappearing into the woods, yelling Scully's name as he went. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Thu, 25 Apr 1996 18:00:12 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 9b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Nine (2/2) * * * * * Scully staggered against a tree and looked down to see the blood running down her legs in small rivulets. She closed her eyes against the sight and sank to her knees, the rough bark of the tree scraping her skin as she did so. She was losing her baby. "Mulder..." she whispered..."Our baby...help me, please..." Losing her baby. The one thing that had given her the strength to hold on for six weeks in that hell-hole, her baby that had saved her life by sheer virtue of its existence...gone. She couldn't fight anymore, couldn't lift her head or find the will to keep going. She would never have the strength to make it anywhere but a little deeper into the wood, where she would die with no one knowing. She curled into a little ball and lay next to the tree. The pains rocked her, and the blood stuck to the skin on the dry, fevered skin of her legs. In her mind, she thought that she heard voices in the distance, but she realized that was only a fantasy. It was too late now... She closed her eyes and willed it to be over... There was a thrashing in the woods in the distance, and then she heard his voice, "Scully!" it screamed. "Mulder!" she gasped. It hadn't been a fantasy. He was here for her. She wasn't going to die here alone. "I'm here!" she called, and the realized that she had no hope of being heard. It seemed that the thrashing in the foliage was receding, going in the other direction, but then it came nearer. She saw him as though through a haze, running towards her, calling her name. She lay there trembling, too weak to hold her head up, her breathing whistling in her throat, whispering his name. She was aware of him falling to the ground beside her, reaching for her. She extended one hand to him with its blood-stained fingers and whispered, "Mulder, help me, please..." "I'll help you," he sobbed, gathering her up into her arms. She heard him call out to unseen others, felt him running through the woods, branched whipping them both, stumbling over roots and stones. They entered the clearing where she had been held and she heard a familiar voice--Skinner?--barking commands for everyone to clear the way, and then they were back in the trees again. "Mulder," she whispered from where her head rolled weakly against his shoulder. Another cramp threatened to rob her of her breath. "Our baby..." He looked down at her, stunned realization in his eyes. They burst out of the trees again, and she was laid tenderly on a waiting gurney. She heard Mulder gasp, "She's miscarrying, I think..." before a strangers face, framed by a paramedic's uniform appeared above her. Then, the light faded and she slipped into unconsciousness. * * * * * Mulder paced the waiting room outside emergency at Claremont Memorial Hospital. Inside, Scully was being undergoing a D and C to remove all build-up in her uterus that had not been shed during the miscarriage. She was also being treated for dehydration and heat stroke. Skinner found him there and asked for what news he had, and Mulder explained what he knew. "She lost the baby," he said, his eyes hollow. "And she suffered a mild case of heat-stroke. They're stopping her bleeding right now, but it doesn't appear she lost a dangerous amount of blood. Her largest problem was dehydration." Skinner placed a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder." "Have you called Mrs. Scully yet?" "She and your mother are on their way. I arranged for them to be driven in. They should arrive within an hour or so." "What about Morris?" Mulder's voice took on a chilly edge. "He's being treated for chemical burns all over his face and neck. They don't know how much of his eyesight he'll be able to retain. That mixture she threw on him had chlorine bleach in it." Mulder made no comment, but inwardly he cheered grimly that Scully had gotten her digs in. It was an hour before Mulder was called in to see her. He was surprised to find her conscious. There was an IV tube in one arm, feeding her nutrients and fluids to cure her dehydration. The sight of her so pale in the hospital bed brought back memories he would have rather left long buried, memories of a another time when he had faced the bleak, black possibility of life without her. He shook them away. This was not the same. He would not sit by her bedside and watch her slip away. She was back to stay. Tears welled up in Scully's eyes when he walked through the door and sat on the edge of the bed. She struggled to sit up and weakly fell into his arms. "Mulder--our baby..." she moaned, pressing her face against his shoulder. He tucked her head under his chin as he'd done a million times before and stroked her hair, noting how coarse it felt beneath his hand. "Shh, it's okay..." Finally, he drew back and eased her gently down onto her pillows. She reached for him again, and he took her hands. "Relax. I'm not going anywhere." "Hold me..." she whispered. With the greatest care, he eased himself down to lay beside her, taking her into his arms, noting how thin she felt against him. Rage boiled inside him at the thought that anyone could do this to her. She lay in his arms without moving for a long, silent time, and when she finally spoke, she asked, "How did you find me?" He released a trembling sigh. "I was given a tip from a MUFON member who had heard of Morris." "How is he?" Mulder drew back, surprised that she should ask. "He's got second degree chemical burns all over his face and neck, and he's lost about sixty percent of his eyesight. He's being held for observation before being released into custody." "If I'm not able to, I would like you to see that he gets incarcerated at a mental institution, not a prison," she murmured. "What?" Mulder stared at her, not certain he'd heard correctly. "After what he did to you?" "He was kind to me," she said softly. "At least, as kind as he could be under the circumstances. He's not evil. He's just sick.. He kept saying that it wasn't what he wanted to do, it was what he HAD to do." Mulder sighed. "If that's what you want, I'll see what I can do." She lay silent again, and Mulder thought for a moment that she might have fallen asleep. Then, she murmured, "Mulder, about the baby..." "Shh," he cut her off. "We'll talk about that another time. You don't have to explain now." "I wanted you to be happy about the baby," she whispered, her voice slurring as she got drowsier and drowsier. "I wanted the baby so much..." Mulder couldn't speak of it right now when it was so new and painful. "Skinner is here to see you," he told her, and her eyes opened again. "And your mother should be arriving any moment now." "Let them in," she answered. "I'm not going to be able to stay awake much longer." Reluctantly, he left the bed and returned to the waiting room. As he approached from one direction, he saw Maggie Scully and his mother running in from the other. Mrs. Scully approached Skinner, pulling back when he reached out to her. "How could you not have told me where you were going?!" she demanded, tears in her eyes. "All day long I have been waiting for word from you or Mulder, and there was nothing! I couldn't reach either of you. I should have been told!" Mulder watched mutely as Skinner reached to her again, and this time, she allowed herself to be drawn into his arms. She began to cry. "Is she all right? Is she truly all right?" Mulder stepped forward into the waiting room. "She's going to be fine, Mrs. Scully," he said softly. "She lost the baby, but she'll be okay. The doctors say that she'll recover in no time." Maggie left Skinner's arms to embrace Mulder. "Can I see her?" He nodded. "She's expecting you," he replied, and led them down the hall. He eased the door gently open, looking inside. Then he turned to the others with a chagrined smile. "She's asleep," he whispered. "Then don't wake her," Mrs. Scully replied, shushing him. "Just let me look in on her, then we'll go." Mulder nodded and stood aside as she crept silently into the room. Skinner and his mother entered behind him, looking toward Scully's still form on the bed. With the gentle touch of a mother, Mrs. Scully tucked the sheet and blanket around her daughter and kissed her forehead. Scully stirred in her sleep and sighed. Silently, they all stepped out into the corridor. Mrs. Scully pressed a hand against her trembling lips. "She looks so much like she did before--" she whimpered. Skinner drew her to his side, his arm around her shoulders. Mulder shook his head. "It's not like before at all," he said quickly. "She's awake. She spoke to me. We're not going to sit here forever wondering if she'll pull through this. She's going to be all right." Mrs. Scully nodded bravely and allowed Skinner to escort her back to the waiting room. Mulder hung back with his mother. "Did you call Sam?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "First thing when I heard the news. She sends all her love." "Good. When you get back to the hotel, call her and let her know what happened. Tell her Scully is fine. I'm going to be staying here tonight, whether they want to let me or not," he scowled. "Of course," she replied. "Here is where you belong. Why don't you go back inside with her? We'll be here bright and early tomorrow, okay?" "Okay," he sighed, and she kissed his cheek. He made his good-byes to Mrs. Scully and Skinner once again and watched as they left. He was about to go back into the room when he realized that he had one more call to make. He pulled out his cell phone and hauled the number out of his photographic memory. "Mossey residence," the female voice answered on the other end. "Ms. Mossey?" he queried, not recognizing the voice. "This is she." He frowned. "Hello, this is Agent Mulder with the FBI." She paused. "Oh, yes, I remember. Hello." "I just wanted to let you know that we captured the man responsible for the murders, and we found Agent Scully, my wife. She's going to be fine." She sounded perplexed. "I'm please to hear that, Agent Mulder, but--" "Well, I just wanted to thank you for your tip. We wouldn't have found them if you hadn't called me." Another long pause filled with uncomfortable silence. Mulder heard her draw in a sharp breath. "Agent Mulder, I'm afraid that there has been some sort of mistake. I haven't spoken to you ever. I received your message on my machine two days ago and haven't had the chance to call you back yet. I never called you with any tip..." * * * * * End of Part Nine =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:07:05 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 10a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Ten (1/2) * * * * * An hour after Mulder's perplexing call to Jennifer Mossey, Scully's doctor came in to check on her. Mulder was sitting in a chair next to her bedside, his long legs stretched out in front of him, watching her possessively. Just watching. His eyes devoured the sight of her, unable to believe that she had been returned to him, was here before him safe and sound. Tearing his eyes off her to look at the doctor was the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life. "Doctor, could I speak with you a moment outside, please?" he asked softly, so as not to disturb Scully's sleep. The doctor nodded silently and they made their way out into the corridor, shutting the door behind them. Mulder fidgeted nervously. "Um, doctor--I wanted to know if--Well, over the course of her work, my wife has been exposed to some things that we feared might cause complications in any pregnancy she might attempt. Bio-hazards and such that I'm really not a liberty to discuss with you, but suffice it to say that the uncertainties were enough that we decided not to try to have children of our own. What I need to know is if this pregnancy--this baby-- would have been unaffected had the circumstances been different. If it weren't for the physical trauma and the heat- stroke, would the pregnancy, the baby, have been normal-- viable." "What precisely are you looking for, Mr. Mulder?" "I don't know. Any sort of out of the ordinary defects in the fetus, I guess. Any number of things." "It is standard to perform tests on the fetal sack and other material shed to see if we can determine the cause of the miscarriage. In your wife's situation, there could have been any number of very obvious reasons for a spontaneous abortion. But in the course of the tests, I'll make sure that we look for anything--out of the ordinary." "Thank you, doctor." She nodded. "Now, barring any unforeseen difficulties, she should be able to leave tomorrow afternoon. Has anyone gone over what you can expect after you get home?" "No, I'm afraid not." "Well, we always recommend some sort of therapy or support group for women who have suffered a loss like this. Actually, we recommend it for the fathers as well. You have experienced a great loss, also. It is best to wait at least four months before trying to conceive again. Any less than that, and the risk for another miscarriage goes up. As far as your wife's health is concerned, she needs to give her body time to recuperate from both the miscarriage and the heat- stroke. No strenuous activity for a couple a weeks. See that she gets a much rest as she can. She may return to work in a few days if she wishes to, though I would recommend that she wait a week at least. Physically, there is nothing to keep her from resuming normal activity, in moderation. Emotionally, well, that's something that you have no way of predicting. You'll want to watch out for signs of depression. Besides the emotional turmoil she's going to go through, her hormones are going to go a little crazy for a while, so her moods may be erratic. You may see the effects of this as well." Mulder nodded silently. "I understand, doctor. Thank you." "You're welcome. I'll be back about noon tomorrow to check on her and if all goes well, she should be able to leave. Good- night." * * * * * Mulder slept in the chair that night, Scully's hand clasped tightly in his. Every hour or so, he would wake up just to reassure himself that she was actually there. When the first light of dawn cracked the horizon, he was awake for good, a crick-from-hell knotting his neck. He sat by her side, waiting for her eyes to open. A nurse came in to check Scully's vitals, and it was that activity that woke her. She stared around, a confused frown on her face for a while, and then she met his eyes. He saw relief on her face and wondered if she had thought at first that she had imagined being found yesterday. "Good morning," he smiled at her gently, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Good morning," she replied. The nurse released her other arm and was about to leave the room when Scully stopped her. "Excuse me, would it be all right if I took a shower?" "You can't really shower with the IV. I can bring you a tub to wash up with." The nurse offered. Mulder felt Scully shudder. "No--no buckets. Look, I have been six weeks without running water. I need a shower, please." Mulder began to smile. This was the Scully he knew--her meticulous cleanliness demanding satisfaction. The nurse frowned. "Well, it's not something we normally do, but we can cap off the IV and cover it up for you to shower. If you don't mind, though, your husband should stay with you, in case anything happens while you're in there." Mulder met Scully's eyes and gave her a lecherous waggle of his eyebrows. He was rewarded for his efforts by the slight curve of her lips. "That's fine," she told the nurse. "Is there anyplace I can get a hold of some shampoo?" The nurse smiled. "Sure. I'll get you some. I'll be right back." She bustled out the door, leaving Mulder and Scully alone. "How are you?" he asked gently. She thought for a moment. "I'm fine," she smiled gently at him, and he frowned. "The truth, please?" he demanded softly. "Well, physically, I am fine. Just a little uncomfortable. I just want a shower desperately." "Back to the subject, please?" "Other than physically--I don't know yet, Mulder. I feel numb." He was about to reply when the nurse entered again with shampoo and towels for Scully. "The doctor says you should be hydrated enough to not require the IV anymore, so we'll just take it out altogether," she informed Scully, going efficiently about her business. The needle was removed from Scully's arm and the puncture site covered with a sterile bandage. She gave Scully a clean hospital gown and left. When she was gone, Mulder moved to sit on the edge of the bed and took Scully in his arms. "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to love the baby the way that you did, Scully. If you changed your mind about our decision, we can try again." "No. Nothing has changed," she answered. "All the reasons why we decided not to try to have children in the first place are still there. Besides, I don't think I could handle going through this again." Frowning, Mulder considered Scully's words. There was a hopelessness to them he had never heard before. It was as though she had given up all hope of ever having children. He stopped himself from thinking about it. There was time for them to work that out later. For now, they just needed to heal. Scully struggled to sit up. "Help me into the shower?" Mulder gave her a harmless leer. "Not sure I'm that strong, Scully. I have been six weeks without my wife, you know." He was rewarded by another smile, and it made him feel better. So long as she was still able to feel anything, happiness, sadness, it didn't matter what, she would be okay. It was her withdrawing from him that he was frightened of. The truth behind the utter lack of sincerity in his lecherous comment amused Scully, bringing a smile she really didn't want to feel but was helpless to control nonetheless to her lips. If the circumstances had been different, if she had been unharmed by her captivity, he might have greeted her by dragging her down to the floor and making love to her until they couldn't move. It was the sort of thing Mulder might do-- unable to express in words his relief, he would celebrate her being alive and healthy with a powerful physical display. Now that she had been injured, though, she had the feeling that if she ever wanted Mulder to touch her again as though she weren't made of priceless china, she would have to make the first move. "I have faith in you," she replied, smiling into his eyes. She tried to sit up again and groaned. "What's wrong?" Mulder asked, instantly alert. "I'm SO sore..." she moaned, feeling all the demons of hell ripping at her abdominal muscles. All her energy seemed to be exhausted just trying to coax her stiffened muscles to move. It was agony. "Come on--I'll help you." He got off the bed and lifted her into his arms. "Ooh, twice in two days I get to carry you without you complaining. I could get used to this," he whispered in her ear, dragging another reluctant smile across her face. He carried her into the bathroom and set her on her feet. He held her close for a moment to make sure that she had her balance, then released her. She looked at him gratefully. Scully found herself amazed by her ability to smile at all when she was certain her heart was going to shatter in a million pieces at any given moment. How could she find joy or humor in anything when she was so disconsolately sad? But then, Mulder's quirky humor had always been able to do that to her. He seemed to make it his life's work to make her laugh. Mulder gently helped her out of her hospital gown and into the shower. He sat on the closed toilet while she bathed. Inside the shower, Scully scrubbed her skin hard, removing the weeks of grime she felt covered her, and she shampooed her hair three times. When she emerged smelling like strawberries from the shampoo she had been given, Mulder tenderly wrapped a towel around her. She felt much better after the shower, having gained an energy that hours of bed-rest could not have given her. It felt so wonderful just to be CLEAN... Mulder handed her a brush taken from her purse, which Skinner had retrieved from the evidence taken in the underground cell and watched her while she sat on the bed working the tangles out of her hair. She allowed him to help her into a clean gown and then she made her announcement. "I want to go see Morris." "What?" Mulder looked at her as though she had just announced that she would like to spend another six weeks in the underground cell. "I want to go see Morris," she repeated forcefully, bracing herself for an argument. "There are some things I have to know." She met Mulder's eyes evenly. He wasn't going to win this one. He didn't even try. "I'll talk to the doctor, find out where he is and if we can see him." Just then, the door opened and Maggie Scully entered with Skinner, followed by Caroline Mulder and, to Scully's surprise, Samantha and her husband Preston. Samantha greeted Mulder while Scully and her mother embraced, a long tender moment filled with tears. They pulled apart and Scully wiped her eyes, greeting Skinner and then Mrs. Mulder. Then Samantha sat down beside her and gave her a cheerful smile while Mulder asked, "I thought you were in Boston." "We were," Samantha replied while she embraced Scully. "We decided we couldn't back out on this little family reunion though." Scully looked around at all of them. Yes, this felt right, she thought. A family reunion. She was surrounded by family now, from her mother, whom had always been there, to Preston, whom had just become a brother by marriage. Her loved ones were with her, and everything was going to be fine. She gave them all a trembling smile and realized that the pain was beginning to fade, if only a little. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:30 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 10b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Ten (2/2) * * * * * Scully sat in her wheelchair outside the door. Behind it lay Steven Morris. A local police officer stood off to one side, as Morris was technically in police custody. Scully drew in a deep breath and looked back at Mulder, who was pushing her wheelchair. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Maggie Scully had brought them each a clean change of clothing, and Mulder had availed himself of the shower in her room, throwing away the blood-stained shirt he had been wearing. Now they were both looking somewhat respectable, though their eyes looked haunted still, and they appeared to be vastly different from the refugees whom had entered the hospital last night on the ambulance. With the improvement in her appearance, Scully's confidence began to grow. She could do this. Morris' doctor had also accompanied them, saying that he had to check on Morris anyway. Morris was engaging in schizophrenic behavior, again reminiscent of the test pilots at Ellen's Air Force Base they had met. At times, he seemed vague and uncomprehending as a child, at other times he sobbed with regret, and at others, he grew violent and cursed that he had been betrayed, that his work wasn't done yet. It was rapidly becoming the opinion of everyone involved that Morris was certifiable. No one knew that Scully had a different opinion. Morris had been sedated after his last violent episode, and was still unconscious when they entered the room. His face and shoulders had been bandaged, and regret scratched at the back of Scully's mind. She stubbornly denied it. She had done what she had to do, and he had still cost her her baby. She wouldn't regret anything after that. "Doctor," Scully said after staring at Morris for a long moment. "I would like to you please remove the bandages from the back of his neck." She lifted her own hair. "I need to know if he has a mark, a scar--like this." Mulder looked down at her in alarm. "Scully, you don't actually think..." "Yes. Yes I do. It's the only thing that makes sense to me-- how he knew so much, and why he seemed so at odds with what he was doing." Mulder sighed. "Skinner and I thought the same things ourselves, but God I hope you're wrong on this one." She grimaced. "I hope I am, too." The doctor finished inspecting the back of Morris' neck and looked up at Scully with wide eyes. "He does have a scar on the back of his neck." She closed her eyes a moment, then looked up again with a pained frown. "In the incision, in the fleshy part of the neck, you will find a small chip--like this," she held out her own implant. "If you remove it, you may find his behavior will stabilize." "What is it?" the doctor asked in wonder. "We're not at liberty to discuss that. Just please remove the implant and when you have done so, give it to the local police to hold as evidence for his trial, all right?" The doctor nodded and Mulder wheeled Scully out of the room. Instead of returning to her room, they went to the lobby where their families waited for them. They were going home. * * * * * They didn't talk on the trip back about finding the proof that Morris had been an abductee. With their family present, instead, they sought happier venues of conversation. It was a two hour trip home, and Scully had tears of relief in her eyes when Mulder helped her through the door of the apartment. Pizza was ordered for everyone, and for the first time in six weeks, Mulder and Scully were able to laugh and smile freely. Everyone, especially Samantha, seemed determined to keep the mood light. It was hard pretending, and Scully was grateful when Mulder gently maneuvered the loving loved ones out the door at an early hour. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief, leaning her head back against the arm of the sofa, where Mulder had her safely ensconced with a lap throw across her legs despite the fact that the air conditioner was working at full to combat the heat outside. Darkness was beginning to fall beyond the windows. "Hey," Mulder knelt by her side. "You ready for bed?" "Not yet," she murmured. "Right now I'm just enjoying being home." Mulder fell silent, studying the fringe on the blanket across her legs. Finally she sighed and looked at him. "Well?" "Well what, Scully?" The fear in his eyes chilled her when he met her gaze. "What do you want me to say?" "I don't know, Mulder. You're the one always spouting conspiracy theories. What do you say when you find out my apparently random kidnapping was quite possibly deliberately engineered?" Mulder groaned and looked away. "Tell me it's just chance, Mulder. Tell me Morris wasn't truly as receptive to suggestion as he seemed. Tell me the implants can't actually be used for mind control. Tell me I was imagining things when I heard him say, quite specifically, that *I* had to be destroyed. Tell me it's a coincidence, Mulder, and I'll believe you." He didn't answer, didn't look at her, and her heart fell. "They killed our baby, Mulder," she whispered, dashing tears from her eyes with trembling fingers. "The bastards killed our baby to protect their dirty little secrets." "We don't know that, Scully--" "Don't we?" She looked at him with arched brows, the pain on his beloved face torturing her heart. He buried face in his hands and she resolutely pulled them away and held them in her strong grasp. "I thought I was the paranoid one," he muttered in a fragile effort at levity. She gave him back his own response. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you." "You honestly believe that you were the target here?" "I believe that *we* were the targets. They thought to kill me: a; because I know too much, and b; because it would cripple you." She saw tears in Mulder's eyes. "I should never have let you get as involved as I did, Scully," he whispered wretchedly. "You listen to me, Fox Mulder," she said sternly. "There was nothing you could have done or hoped to do to keep me from following you to hell and back. I would have gone anywhere, done anything to be with you, whether you wanted me there or not. So don't you dare try to blame yourself, and don't you even think about trying to push me away in some twisted attempt to protect me. It's gone too far for that anyway. We're safer together than apart." "What are we going to do, Scully?" he asked miserably, raising himself to her level so that he could pull her into his arms and hold her there. Scully drew comfort from his nearness. "I want justice, Mulder. For me, for you, for your dad, for Missy--and for our baby. I don't know if I will ever have peace until we make them face up to every last evil that they have committed, until I know what was done to me in that train car, and what they were trying to hide when they shot Missy in my place. I want the world to know, Mulder, what sort of monsters in positions of power toy with people's lives and get away with it day after day. I want justice, Mulder, for every last person they have hurt." "Do you have any idea what it is that you're asking?" he asked as she looked into his eyes and wiped the tears off his cheeks. "The danger of what you're proposing? But if justice is what you need, we'll find it." She pulled him close again, aware that she too was trembling. She buried her face in his neck, wetting his shirt collar with her tears. She held on to him for dear life. He drew back and looked at her. "Hey, it's going to be all right," he whispered, kissing the wet trails on her cheeks. They were not kisses of passion, but kisses of comfort. She shook her head. "I'm experiencing your old friend guilt, Mulder." "Why?" "Because I should have seen this coming. A long time ago, I should have known that it wasn't over. I let down my guard. I started to trust again. That cost us our baby--" "Hey, don't even think that! There was nothing either of us could have done. Trust me--I've already been over that, again and again." "I know, Mulder. Rationally, I know, but sometimes it hurts so badly--" "Let it go for now. Get better and we'll deal with it later." She nodded, sniffling like a little girl. He drew back and lifted her from the sofa. "I can walk, Mulder," she said in her best I'm-trying-to-remain- dignified voice. "Sure you can," he answered, moving towards the bedroom. "But I've gotten spoiled to carrying you around these past few days. Besides, you can't walk very fast, and I really would like to make it to bed before dawn." She gave him her patented Scully look. "Okay, will you buy the excuse that I can't believe that you're real and I'm afraid that if I let you stray farther than arm's length, I'm going to lose you again?" She nodded. "That I'll believe." He set her gently upon the bed and hauled her favorite nightshirt out of a drawer. She had had it since medical school, and it was worn and threadbare in places, but soft as butter to the touch. She looked at it like it was a long lost lover, then glanced at Mulder gratefully. "You would not believe how I have missed this shirt," she said. "What? You're wardrobe had been lacking lately?" "One thing is certain, I may never be able to look at a set of scrubs the same way again," she muttered, shrugging out of her clothing and letting the nightshirt slide down over her body. She sighed and lay back on the bed. Mulder stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed beside her. He turned off the light and slipped his arms around her from behind, spooning his body against hers. They lay silent for some time, and slowly began to drift off to sleep. "You sure you're not going to miss sleeping on the sofa?" she murmured drowsily. He hummed in response, too sleepy to respond. Then his eyes opened. "Wait a minute--How'd you know I slept on the sofa?" * * * * * End of Part Ten =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:26 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 11a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Eleven (1/2) * * * * * When Scully opened her eyes Friday morning, she found Mulder gone. Lying on the pillow next to her head were two glossy strips of paper. She picked them up and looked at them closely. Tickets to the Redskins versus Cowboys game at RFK Stadium this season. She smiled. Last time, Mulder had welcomed her back with a video. This time, he was going to take her there. It was his way of saying, "Welcome home. I never doubted you would return." She yawned and stretched, gingerly flexing each muscle group as she moved for twinges of pain. She was still sore, she discovered, but she felt better than she had yesterday. Sitting up, however, was still a task involving a good deal of effort, but she accomplished it stoically. The clock revealed that it was past nine, hours after she normally arose. She heard the sound of running water in the bathroom and went to investigate. There she found Mulder, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, sitting on his haunches by the side of the tub, running it full of water. He glanced up at her, startled. "Oh, you're up. I was just coming to wake you." He stood and wiped his hands on his shorts. "Happy anniversary." Suddenly, she understood the tickets on her pillow. "Oh, my God, I can't believe I forgot." He shrugged with a wry smile. "You've had a lot on your mind." She grimaced, angry with herself. "But still--" "It's okay, Scully. At least we're together for it. That's more than I had hoped for on Monday." He took her by the hands and drew her into the bathroom. "I drew that bubble bath I promised you six weeks ago." She looked at the tub with a frown, feeling for the first time in a year uncomfortable at the sight. Once, bubble baths had been the joy of her existence, back when she had worked 12 to 16 hour days with Mulder on the X-Files and then come home to an empty apartment and no one to comfort her. Then, Donnie Pfaster had happened, and she had not been able to look at a bathtub full of bubbles the same way again. She began to exclusively shower, and it wasn't until the second day of their marriage, when Mulder had invited her for a co-nuptual soak, that he had learned about her problem. Then, Mulder the Psychologist took over and decided that she had to be "reconditioned" towards bubble baths. He insisted that they bathe together regularly until she once again began to equate a tub full of froth with pleasure. He had joked that these interludes gave him another excuse to see her naked and wet, but she had understood his reasoning. He did not want her to associate anything that they might share together in love with the nightmares of the past. This was the first time since then that she had viewed a bathtub full of bubbles with trepidation. It was a silly thing, really, she thought, for a grown woman to be unnerved by such a harmless sight. Except that it hadn't always been harmless-- Donnie Pfaster had intended her great harm. Stop it! She commanded herself and by dint of will stopped the trembling in her limbs, praying that Mulder hadn't seen. "Scully?" Her head snapped up. "What?" "You zoned out for a moment. Are you okay?" His voice was tender with concern. He was trying so hard to make this a pleasant day for her. How could she disappoint him by rejecting his offering? "Sure. I'm fine. A bath sounds wonderful." She pulled from him and kissed him gently on the cheek. She began to lift the hem of her long nightshirt, and then she paused, her arms crossed protectively in front of her. Her eyes darted nervously toward Mulder, who had a perplexed frown on his face. Scully gnawed on her bottom lip. His eyes widened with hurt surprise, and Scully felt the pain in that expression like physical blow. She watched him struggle with words for a moment, and then he chucked a thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "I--uh--I'll just go make breakfast while you enjoy your bath." He backed out the door and had disappeared beyond the wall when Scully called out to him. "Mulder, stop. Wait. Come back here." He appeared in the doorway again, a wary expression on his face. "This is silly. This is ridiculous," she muttered, angry with herself. She jerked the nightshirt over her head and dropped it on the floor, stepping out of her underwear. She closed her eyes and lowered one foot, then the other into the tub of water, half expecting it to be freezing against her skin. Instead, it was pleasantly warm, and she opened her eyes and sank down into the froth. She looked at Mulder, who still stood in the doorway, watching her with concern. His eyes were solemn as they studied her, and Scully had the suspicion that she was being discreetly inspected for visible signs of harm. She felt the water sting the scratches on her back from the tree she had slid against. She held a sponge out to Mulder. "Help me with my back?" He nodded and stepped back into the bathroom, kneeling beside the tub and taking the sponge from her. He dipped it in the water and then squeezed the warm water over her shoulders and back. She sighed. "So, do you want to talk about what just happened here?" She groaned. "Are you planning to psychoanalyze me?" "Probably." She nodded. "Okay. I can handle it." "Look, Scully, you've been through a lot of physiological changes recently. It's not at all unexpected or unusual that your self-body-image could become a little skewed." She sighed and looked at him. "It's not that." "What, then?" "It was--asinine. You're my husband. You've seen me naked a million times--" "And loved every minute of it, too," he muttered before bowing to the seriousness of the moment. "--but I started to undress and suddenly--" "Suddenly what?" She took a deep breath. "I felt like my body had betrayed me. However wrong or ridiculous it might be, my body was not able to fulfill the most basic function of womanhood--it was not able to sustain our baby. It betrayed me. It wasn't me, anymore, it was the enemy. And suddenly, I didn't want you seeing it." "Why?" "I didn't want you to see how I failed you. I should have been standing there displaying the first signs of my pregnancy, all the little changes that were taking place. I looked forward to that moment for six weeks. Sometimes the thought of sharing my pregnancy with you was the only thing that kept me sane in that place. Instead, there I was, and had nothing to show you. I was--empty." Her eyes were naked as they scanned his features for the reassurance she hoped for, or the scorn she half-feared. Mulder ran his hands over her back and shoulders, her arms, her sides, all the skin her could reach. Eventually, he reached out and cupped her face in his palms, his fingers caressing her jaw. There was no sensuality in the caresses. It was a way of showing her that he did not find fault with her body in any way, that it was part of her, and he did not fault her for what had happened. That he loved her, and was happy simply to have the opportunity to touch her again. He pulled her towards him, leaning his face against hers, touching their foreheads in silent communion. Their breaths mingled as he spoke, "Not bad for an amateur." She raised her eyes to his, her lips trembling. "Dana Katherine Scully, you did not fail me, ever, in any way. Please, please don't ever think that I would blame you for losing the baby. Please don't blame yourself." "I know you don't blame me," she murmured. "And I know, logically, that there is nothing to blame myself for. But that doesn't make it hurt any less, and I don't exactly have access to the people who really deserve the blame." He did not comment as he lifted the sponge again and began to soap her limbs. She lay back and forced herself to relax under his ministrations. She didn't need to be pampered, the independent part of her screamed. She could do for herself. But she knew this time was therapeutic for both of them. She realized that Mulder, being Mulder, was probably still harboring his own guilty feelings that he had "allowed" her to be taken. That it was patently untrue was irrelevant. He would blame himself nonetheless, and by allowing him to take care of her, she was reaffirming his confidence in her faith in him, her total trust. She was reassuring him that she did not blame him for what had happened. And ultimately, this time together was a way of them each assuring themselves that this was real, that they truly were together again. They made breakfast together after Scully's bath, since no amount of convincing could persuade Scully to leave Mulder unsupervised in the kitchen for an extended period of time. They ate at the table where Mulder had tried to propose to her, where she had almost told him about the baby. The thought sent a pang through her which she ignored. Today was their anniversary. They'd had enough negative emotion for the day. "So when is the hoard going to descend upon us?" she asked as he cleared their plates. "They're not. I convinced them to give us a couple days alone to recover. Samantha and Preston and Mom are flying back to Boston on Sunday night, though, so we've been invited to a cookout at your mother's Sunday afternoon. Think you'll be up to that?" "Yeah. That should be nice. It's good that they're not coming by today. I love them dearly, but I'm really not up to company." "Yeah, well, I thought I deserved a couple days alone with you." She gave him a soft smile and allowed him to usher her into the living room and onto the sofa. "I guess we've got a few things to talk about. Why weren't you surprised to learn about the baby?" "Your doctor's office called the third week you were gone to confirm your prenatal check-up appointment." "I'm sorry you had to learn that way," she murmured, not meeting his eyes. "Was that what you were so nervous about telling me that night?" She nodded. "Why the hesitation?" "I don't know. The moment came, and I just froze. Whenever I thought of telling you, I remembered the look in your eyes and the tone of your voice when you told me that having a baby wasn't as important to you as keeping me safe. I was afraid that you wouldn't be as happy about the baby as I was." "You know me better than that, Scully," he said softly, taking her hand. "I know. But what about you? You said in the hospital that you thought I'd changed my mind. You thought that I got pregnant on purpose." His expression was appropriately sheepish. "I found your diaphragm in the medicine cabinet after we made love that night," he answered her unspoken question, "and I realized that you couldn't have used it. I didn't know what else to think." "But you know I would never, ever deceive you like that." "Logically, I knew that, but I couldn't figure out how else to explain it. I thought that maybe your words about not needing children had just been for my benefit." She grimaced. "Boy, did we ever get our signals crossed." "We know each other better than anyone, Scully. How do we explain such a lapse in communication?" "Bad situation," she shrugged, "and it wasn't aided by the fact that I should have come to you the moment I suspected I was pregnant and didn't. I waited over a day to get confirmation. I wanted to be absolutely certain first." He blinked at her. "So that's what your mysterious errands were about. How far along were you?" he swallowed hard. "Nine weeks the night I was taken. This was my fifteenth week," she answered, forcing herself to speak. "I didn't suspect for a very long time, which is ridiculous in itself, but I guess it just never occurred to me. I got my first period after conceiving, which isn't unheard of, and then you and I were busy on a case, so I was too distracted to notice when I missed my second one. Then one morning I woke up and I just knew--" Her voice began to grow choked again, and Mulder cuddled her to him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I was serious when I said that we could try again, Scully." "Nothing has changed, Mulder," she replied. "Nothing has happened to warrant a change in our decision." "We've changed, Scully," he replied. "We didn't realize how much this meant to us before." "But the situation is still the same. The risks are still there." "It has occurred to me that if we let what happened when you were gone affect us to the extent of making such life-altering decisions based upon it, they they've won. They have control over us," he told her. "Do we want to live our lives running scared like that?" "No, of course not. But what is the alternative? We give it a shot just to have this happen again? Or something worse? Or we start actively trying to conceive and we can't? Do we want to go through that?" she asked. "Mulder, what was done to me in that three months is something I may never get over. If I had been physically tortured, or raped, or victimized in any other way, I could work it out in therapy, or a support group. But this is something I can't take to any therapist, Mulder, and you know it. This betrayal--this perversion--took something from me that I may never get back, and did things to me that I may never recover from. And the not knowing is hell, Mulder. But it is over, and all we can do is move on with our lives and try not to let it control us. But if they destroyed my ability to have children, I don't want to know. Because there is no greater feeling of inadequacy than to not be capable of fulfilling such a basic human function, something so natural. And I will be damned if I will allow myself to feel like a failure for what those bastards did to me." "We don't have to decide anything right now, Scully, but I want you to think about one thing: We'll never be free of what they did so long as we refuse to face the consequences of it." She was silent, having no words to respond with. Mulder smoothed her hair back from her face and held her close until they both drifted off to sleep again. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:23 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 11b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Eleven (2/2) * * * * * Saturday, all hell broke loose, weather-wise. The heat wave shattered with the most powerful summer storm of the last fifty years. Power went out in many parts of the city, including that part which housed the Mulder/Scully residence. That meant that the air conditioner failed to function, and though the rain was cooling the outdoors, inside it was stifling. Alone, Scully and Mulder stripped to their underwear and tried to find any sort of diversion to keep their minds off their discomfort. It was too hot to be in close physical contact, too hot to take a nap, so finally they sat down at the table with a candle and a game of Scrabble. Scully won, mostly by virtue of using large medical terms that used up the rare, high value letters and left Mulder scratching his head. They scavenged the left-over pizza from two nights previously out of the refrigerator before it went bad and ate it cold. The day gave them the opportunity to be alone together with no distractions, time to get comfortable with one another again. "What was it like while you were there?" Mulder asked her after their game, when they both lay sprawled out on the floor where it was coolest. "What was it like?" she asked incredulously. "Mulder, you don't want to know." "Maybe I don't, but I think you need to talk about it." "Okay. Maybe I do. Imagine, if you will, sitting for one thousand and eight hours, give or take a few, in one place, in the dark, with no sunlight and little companionship, staring at four gray walls and a couple of old medical texts. The baby was my only companion, and I began talking to it. I told it about all the dreams I had for it, I bounced ideas for names off it and I tried as hard as I could to imagine I was getting some sort of response. Sometimes, I felt that it must be very near to what hell is like. Then there were the times when I could stare at those walls no more, so I'd close my eyes and try to imagine you there. In my head, we chose a new apartment where we would live with the baby, we chose furniture for the nursery, we shopped for clothing and baby accessories, and all those little things that people do when they're together and having a baby. And that was my hope. Nothing more than to just survive and see those make-believes become reality. There came a point where I wondered if I was sane the way that the fantasies began intruding into reality. I thought I was going out of my mind when I lay by that tree finally and saw you coming towards me. I thought that I was dying and that my last look at you was going to be nothing more than the desperate workings of my imagination." Mulder shuddered despite the heat. "I'm so sorry." "The funny thing is, I was always the worst at playing make- believe as a child. I could never convince myself that my dolls were babies or that I had an imaginary husband, or that twigs were any number of items. It was very nonsensical to me. But I came to believe in what I saw and heard in my head down there." "How were you physically?" he asked the question as gently as he could, unable to stop himself. "With the baby and everything..." She gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, God! You REALLY don't want to know that!" "Yes, I do." "The first ten or eleven days were fine. I thought that I was going to be one of those women who never experiences morning sickness. And then it hit me. Mulder, it was awful. I couldn't move without being sick. I vomited half of everything I ate. And when I wasn't sick, I was so desperately tired. All I could do was lay on my cot and be miserable. It frightened me to think that I wouldn't be able to escape even if the opportunity did arise because I would be too sick. I pray that I never have to go through that again." She paused, uncomfortable suddenly. If she could have a baby again, would she truly refuse to do so to spare herself a little discomfort? "What about you? What did you do while I was gone?" He reached out and twined his fingers with her. "I slept on the sofa," he replied with a wry smile. "You mean to tell me you actually slept? If I were to call my mother, she would substantiate this?" "Okay, well, I tried to sleep. Sometimes. Rarely. I was too busy racking my brain to see where I could try to look for you next." "And you tortured yourself when you came up with no answers," she said softly. "Yeah, pretty much." She reached out and stroked his hair. "My poor Mulder. When am I ever going to convince you to stop abusing yourself over every tiny thing?" "Tiny?" "Or not so tiny," she replied, fanning herself. "I am about three seconds away from carrying these candles into the bathroom and taking a cold shower." Mulder looked at her, his eyebrows arched. "You want a cold shower? Really?" "I'm getting to that point." "Come here," he stood and hauled her to her feet, taking her by the hand and leading her to the balcony. She saw his intent and backed away. "Uh-uh. No way. I'm not going out there with you." "Why not?" "Because, in case you haven't noticed, Mulder, we are in our underwear, and it is daylight, and any one of our neighbors could look and see us." "Scully, the balcony is enclosed on the sides, and there's no one above us. If you want a shower..." She couldn't help but begin to smile. "Mulder, you're crazy!" "So you've said before--in the rain as well, if my memory serves." "Your memory always serves, Mulder," she muttered, allowing him to drag her by the hand onto the balcony. The rain hit them in sheets, soaking their bare skins, stinging where it struck them. It poured off their bodies in rivulets, down their faces, soaking their hair. Mulder stood and watched her as Scully opened her arms to the sensations. For the first time in almost seven weeks, she felt alive. All sensations converged on her at once, pain, pleasure, joy, sorrow, rage. She began to laugh, even as she became aware the rain wasn't the only thing running down her face. Her laughter mixed with sobs as the emotions overloaded her senses. She didn't know how to feel. She hadn't known how to feel since the moment she had awakened in the hospital to realize that she had truly lost her baby. She didn't know how she had intended to go on, or for how long before she couldn't hold it all inside any longer. She sank weakly to her knees on the balcony, her body being racked with her sobs as the sorrow she had been burying began to emerge. Mulder knelt before her, taking her into his arms and sheltering her with his body as she cried. "It hurts," she cried, "It hurts so much and I don't know how I'm ever going to get past it. Mulder, it hurts so much I just want to die sometimes..." He wrapped himself around her, engulfing her with all his limbs as she trembled against him. "Shh," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "Let it out. Just let it go." They sat that way for several minutes until they began to get cold. Mulder guided her inside and into bathroom, wrapping her in a large bath sheet. Then he brought her into the bedroom and lay down with her on the bed. She hiccoughed, shivering in his arms as he tried to dry her without pulling away from her, unmindful that they were getting the bed wet. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely when her tears and sobs were past. "Are you better now?" he asked tenderly. "Yes, much. I didn't realize that I had that inside me. I thought I was okay with this. I was able to laugh, to smile, even to cry...I thought I was doing all right." "It's got to get worse before it gets any better, Scully." "I know that. I'm aware of that, at least. Logically--" "Screw logic, Scully. Do yourself a favor and just feel for a while, okay?" She couldn't help but begin to laugh at that. How many times had he wanted to say that to her since they met, she wondered. He began to laugh with her. "Okay, so maybe that wasn't the most couth way of telling you to quit thinking for a while," he conceded, stroking her wet hair back from her face. She lay limply in his arms, feeling utterly drained. "What about you?" she asked softly. "When do you begin to heal?" "I never had a chance to love the baby the way you did, Scully," he replied. "My loss isn't like yours." "But you did lose something very important to you," she countered. "And don't deny it. I see the look in your eyes when you ask me about the baby, that look that says you would have given anything to have experienced those moments with me. When do you face your own loss, Mulder?" "As soon as I stop worrying about you, I guess," he answered frankly. "That's not good enough, Mulder," she said firmly. "Talk to me. Tell me how you feel about this." "It's killing me, Scully," he looked at her, tears shining in his dark eyes. "Maybe the only chance we'll ever have to have a baby of our own, and we lost it. But I didn't lose you, and that's what I've been focusing on." She sighed. "We're always so much stronger together..." He kissed her forehead. "We can get through anything together," he replied. The electricity chose that moment of come on, blinding them as the lights suddenly came on in the half-dark. Scully looked up at Mulder questioningly. "Does this mean our moment of vulnerability in the rain and dark is over?" He smiled at her, his love glowing in his eyes. "You can come to me in the rain, in your underwear, as vulnerable as you like any time." "And what about you?" "Well, I'll try, but I don't think your underwear will fit--" * * * * * The next afternoon, the sun was back out, but it lacked the ferocity it had beat down upon them with before. The storm of the previous day had left a gentle breeze behind, and suddenly all the scorched yellows and browns of the heat wave turned green again. It was the perfect day for a cookout. Scully sat in the shade under the picnic table umbrella with her mother while Preston and Mulder and Skinner debated the best way to grill steaks. Samantha and Caroline Mulder had run out to get various and sundry cookout necessities such as soda and potato chips. "Are you feeling better?" Maggie asked her daughter, who surveyed the scene from behind her sun glasses. "Yes, I am. Spending a couple days alone with Mulder adjusting to everything helped," she said. Clyde came trotting up to her carrying his ball and she tossed it out into the yard for him, smiling affectionately. "I'm glad," Maggie replied. "It's a hard thing to go through, I know." There was a catch in her mother's voice that made Scully look up. "How?" Maggie smiled sadly. "A few months after you were born, a year before Charlie was born, I had a tubal pregnancy. Of course, I lost the baby and one of my fallopian tubes...I was told my chances of having any more children were slim, so imagine my surprise when I found that I was pregnant with Charlie." "I didn't know..." "No, of course not. We never spoke of it much. It was easier to leave those sad things behind and focus on all the glad times. We were blessed with four healthy, wonderful children, and it would have been foolish to dwell on our loss in the light of all that." Scully thought, not for the first time, that her mother was a very rare breed of woman. "I'm not sure that I could bear to take the chance of going through this again," she said softly. "I think next time, it would kill me." Maggie grabbed both of her hands in a strong grip. "Dana Katherine, if you never take another word of advice from me for a long as you live, remember this: God didn't put you here on this earth for you to live in fear of what you might possibly lose. You grab your life, and you grab your chances, and you run with them. You've been given a wonderful life and an incredible husband--will you really turn your back on half the joys you could have out of fear of the unknown?" Clyde ran back up to his mistress with the ball and dropped it at her feet. She picked it up distractedly and tossed it out into the yard again. "I am so afraid," she said. "It is frightening. But sometimes I think we need the fear to see what it is that we have that makes it all worth while." Just then, Mulder walked up behind Scully and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "What are you two so intent over?" "Nothing," she smiled up at him, knowing he was doing no more than checking up on her. No doubt he had somehow sensed that she was getting emotional again. "Just the mysteries of life." "Ooh, cryptic," he murmured, hugging her briefly. "The *enigmatic* Dr. Scully at her best." He kissed her again and then wandered back to the grill. Scully looked at the loved ones surrounding her, from Clyde, who was bounding back to her with his ball in his mouth, to Mulder over by the grill, who was the other half of her. One time, she had thought this was all she needed to be fulfilled. Had she been wrong? She glanced back at her mother, who was watching her expectantly. She smiled softly. "My momma didn't raise no cowards," she quipped. Maggie Scully began to smile. "No she didn't. You remember that." * * * * * End of Part Eleven =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:19 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 12a NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Twelve (1/2) * * * * * Mulder and Scully decided not to go in to work the following week. They stayed home instead, doing nothing other than enjoying their time together. It was a time to celebrate being with one another, it was a time to heal their sore hearts and bodies. Scully thought she was making some headway into regaining her peace of mind when Bartel called for them Wednesday night. Mulder spoke quietly with him on the phone and then looked up at Scully. She knew from the expression in his eyes that the news was very bad indeed. She waited expectantly for him to hang up the phone. "Bartel just got a call from Virginia. Morris' implant has disappeared from the evidence room, as have all records pertaining to it. The doctor that removed the implant can't be contacted." She sat weakly in a chair. "Without the implant, any chances we had of proving he wasn't responsible for his actions are gone." Mulder nodded. "He's going to prison." "Damn it!" she shouted, striking the table with her hand. She raked her hair back from her face in an agitated gesture. "They're going to get away with it again! Let an innocent man take the fall while they sit in their cozy offices smoking their cigarettes and getting a huge chuckle off it all." "I don't think they're laughing, Scully. Remember, they lost this one. Something in their plan went wrong, and because of that, you're not dead. I think they have just realized that things aren't always going to go their way, and they're scared," Mulder responded softly, crouching beside her. "So what does that mean for us? They're going to try even harder, right? More drugs in the water system? Or will they just go for broke and detonate a bomb in our building, however indelicate that might be, to see us dead?" "I don't know, Scully. But I do know that the stakes are much higher now. Something is going to happen, soon. Something has to give." She looked at him with raw fear in her eyes. "Yeah, but will it be them or us?" * * * * * The following Monday, they returned to work. Relatively speaking, it was a quiet week in the X-Files division of the Violent Crimes Section. Scully found herself inundated with nearly two months of paperwork that needed catching up on. Luckily, one of the M.E.s working under her had kept very clear records of all their activities during her absence, so that the reports were easier to complete. It was Friday of that week that Mulder walked into her office, his face grim, and closed the door tightly behind him. "Steven Morris is dead." Her face slowly drained of color. "How?" He grimaced. "They're ruling it as suicide." "He was on suicide watch!" Mulder looked up at her with anger blazing in his eyes. "Yeah, well somehow, a man with no family and not a friend in the world managed to sneak a lethal dose of cyanide into the prison and ingest it." "He was brought straight from the hospital to the prison...They murdered him," she whispered. "The sons of bitches poisoned him. It wasn't enough that he was going to take the rap for them, they had to kill him as well. God, Mulder, when does it stop? Where does it end?" Her hands clenched and unclenched frantically on the desk in front of her, her fingers trembling. She wanted to grab something, to throw something, to hit something. "I suppose no one at all finds it even the tiniest bit odd that a man brought straight to prison from the hospital with no personal possessions whatsoever managed to secrete cyanide on his person--despite a strip search--for two weeks--under suicide watch?" Her voice grew harder with mounting anger, her words flying faster. She could imagine the sound of her voice raised was drawing the attention of the clerks in the outer office. Mulder smiled a bitter smile. "There will be an inquiry into the matter, of course." "The results of which will conveniently disappear," Scully finished the thought with a snarl on her face. "So we have nothing. The murder of those women, the loss of our baby, my kidnapping--all of it is going to be swept under the rug as though it never happened. Just like Missy's murder." Mulder glanced around uncomfortable, and Scully knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if their office might not be bugged. It wouldn't be the first time. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's get out of here for a while." They were silent as they left the J. Edgar Hoover building and made their way to the Reflecting Pool. Mulder was the first to speak. "Skinner was almost killed trying to keep the investigation into Missy's death open," he said tensely. "What do you think they'll try to do to us if we push this?" "We can't let it go, Mulder." "I don't know, Scully. One time, I wouldn't have cared about the consequences of pushing as far as I could for answers, but that was when I didn't have anyone else but myself that I worried about. Now I have Samantha, my mom, your mom, you--especially you, Scully." He held up a hand to fend off her rising protest. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I'm coward enough where you are concerned to let it go just to keep you safe." "It's too late for that, Mulder. We're in too deep. If we backed out now, we'd be letting them win, and we'd still be at risk of the moment that they decided we know too much anyway. Besides, you're speaking as though you are the one who is single-handedly responsible for our safety, as though I'm not a part of this. Mulder, this ceased to be just your search a long time ago. We're in this together now. All the way to the end." He frowned, not meeting her eyes. "Have you ever thought that if we were to walk away, they might just let us go and leave us alone? Maybe we could settle down, raise our family and live relatively normal lives." "Where is this coming from, Mulder?" Scully demanded, a confused frown on her face. "You--willing to compromise on the truth?" "For you, Scully, I would do anything. So now the question we have to ask ourselves is whether we are truly after justice, or revenge?" Scully tensed. "I am NOT after revenge," she said defensively. "And I resent the implication that my desire to see the wrongs committed by these people brought to light is simply the hysterical raving of a bereaved mother. If we are ever to be at peace, Mulder, we have to end this. Otherwise, there IS no relatively normal life for us." "I'm scared, Scully." Mulder looked at her with eyes that were naked and full of fear. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose you to this. I would pack it all up right now and never look back to avoid that," he said softly, reaching for her hands and holding them tightly. "Mulder," Scully closed her eyes, shutting out the look on his face. She couldn't give in on this. She couldn't. "There was a time when I wasn't always sure that you were right in your pursuits, but I stayed with you. I believed in you. I had faith that you were doing what was right, no matter what my mind said. I'm asking you to have that same faith in me. "What are our alternatives here? Even if they did leave us alone if we backed off, what then? Who would we be if we sold out, moved to suburbia and raised a house full of kids? It sounds wonderfully idyllic, Mulder, but we would hate ourselves for doing it, because we would always know there was something left undone. How could we teach our children what is right and decent and just when we let this go unresolved, when we will have just turned our backs and let them get away with it?" "Damn it, Scully! What kind of parents will we be if we're dead?" Mulder shouted, burying his face in his hands. "I believe in you. You know that. And I know that you're right. But just as I know that you're right, I also know that we're a breath away from stepping over that line that has kept us alive all these years. I won't lose you. Even for the truth." Scully's heart ached as she heard the anguish in his words. Part of her wondered how she could ask this of him, ask him to take this risk when she knew how much he needed her. And part of her protested angrily the idea that he would be willing to back out now. He, whom had always been the one to chase after the truth, no matter what the cost, was about to walk away just when it was most critical. "What do you want to do, Scully? What do we do that we're not already doing every day? We're searching, you know that. How do we do more? Where do we go to find the answers NOW? Give me a plan that won't entail either of us getting killed before sunset and I'll follow you." "I don't know, Mulder! When did I become the one with all the answers?" she shouted, feeling irrationally betrayed. "I just know that I can't let this go. It'll haunt me the rest of my life if I do." "Come home with me, Scully. Come home and we'll figure it out." She glared at him. "You mean come home so you can talk me out of it?" "Scully, you know better than that--" Yes, she did, Scully thought, and yet as the hurtful words fell from her mouth, she couldn't seem to stop them. "I won't be manipulated this time, Mulder. I've waited long enough for this. I'm going to have my answers, and I'm going to have them tonight. Now are you coming with me?" He met her eyes evenly. "I won't risk your life over this, Scully." "It's not yours to risk," she murmured, and turned away. "Scully--" he jumped up from the bench and grabbed her arm. "Unless you plan on forcing a physical confrontation here before the entire world, Mulder, then you let me go right now." Scully heard her own voice as though it were another person speaking. Indeed, she felt that it was another person. How could she speak to Mulder like this--Mulder, who wanted nothing in the world more than to love her and keep her safe? She felt the pain her own words were causing him like a knife wound. And yet she couldn't stop. She pulled out of his grasp, turned her back, and walked away. * * * * * Mulder watched her, knowing she would carry out her threat. If he tried to restrain her, she would make a scene that would draw the attention of everyone for a mile. He would be painted as the villain harassing an innocent woman, and she would still walk away to do whatever it was she was being driven to do. Her eyes had chilled him to the bone. They had been a strangers eyes, looking at him without recognition from his wife's familiar face. For a moment, he could truly believe that she was not the Scully he knew. But she was. She was his Scully in more pain than she had ever known in her entire life, pain that was oozing from her like an infected wound to contaminate those around her. It would take more than a few raw, emotional moments in the rain to rid her of that festering infection. He had told the truth when he had said it would get worse before it got better. But he had never expected her pain to manifest itself like this. Part of him felt angry at her for this foolhardiness, for risking herself when she knew she was everything to him, and part of him was angry at himself for turning on her when she needed him most. Why couldn't he support her in this, carry it out with her until she found what she needed, and his beloved wife returned. Of all he times they had exchanged faith in each other, where was his faith in her now? Jesus, he had just gotten a taste of life without her. He couldn't bear to risk living through that again. But if that was the case, then why hadn't he gone with her? Surely she would be safer with him at her side than on her own. He stopped suddenly, realizing the full import of what he had just done. He'd allowed her to go into a dangerous situation without him, her rightful partner, at her side. Cursing, Mulder ran off in the direction she had left in. * * * * * Scully at first wasn't sure where she was going, but then a peaceful tranquillity took over her, and she knew. She knew where she would find her answers. But first, she had some preparations to make. She returned to the apartment to change her clothes and to gather what she needed. Dressed in dark, loose fitting slacks and a black blouse, her hair pulled severely back from her face, no one could fail to take her seriously. She noticed with detachment as she studied the mirror that her rage seemed to give her stature. Tonight, people would have to look up at her for a change. She restored her gun to its holster at her waist and packed a duffel bag with the items she would need, then stood and walked towards the door. She was reaching for the knob when it twisted and the door opened. She met Mulder's eyes unwaveringly, the question written plainly in hers. Mulder swallowed hard. "You asked me to have faith in you. I do have faith in you. You know that. No matter what, we're in this together. Until the end." Her expression softened, and she closed her eyes with relief. "On a condition, Scully," he said firmly. "We end this tonight. And after it's over, no matter what we find, we go on with our lives. It doesn't last past tonight." She nodded solemnly, sensing his fear for her behalf, his anguish that he had nearly let her go without him. But he was here with her. He was her life's partner, and he was by her side where he belonged. Without speaking, he crushed her to him, and she clung to him. They didn't apologize to each other--there would be time for that later, for the hurts they had inflicted to heal. Tonight was about surviving. He let her go without a word, and they began to make their preparations. * * * * * =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:15 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 12b NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. Part Twelve (2/2) * * * * * It was after six the following morning when Scully and Mulder returned to their apartment. Mulder looked around the apartment in the early morning light for listening devices or possibly something more lethal while Scully sank wearily onto the sofa, a single cassette tape in her hand. Mulder returned to find her there staring at the tape, turning it over and over in her hands. This was their own copy of the tape. A copy had already been given to Byers at THE LONE GUNMAN for safekeeping and, if necessary, replicating. What was on the tape were the answers to every question they had been asking for nearly eight years. It was a bittersweet moment, to say the least, to have possession of that tape. Because the answers had not come without a price. "They'll kill us for certain now that we have this information," Scully said tonelessly. "No. I think that he means to keep his word. So long as that information stays with us, we're safe. And they know that if anything should happen to one or both of us, a copy of that tape will make its way to every news room in the country. With or without substantiation, people are bound to listen. Now, the only way to preserve their secrets is to keep us alive." "But now the public will never know--" "We'll know, Scully. We know what they have done and when and where they've done it, and we know what to look for to keep it all from starting again. What happened to you will never happen to another woman, Scully. Their power base of secrecy is crumbling. "There is also something else I would like for you to consider-- They were all our age when this all started decades ago. The youngest one of them has what? Ten, fifteen years left to live? Then what? They have not recruited a new generation to keep their secrets safe. Then look at us--we're young, we're healthy. We have another fifty--sixty years left, barring any unforeseen circumstances--" "Providing I don't end up like Betsy Hagopian," Scully muttered. "But we both know that's not likely to happen now," Mulder replied. "My point is, Scully, that we wait a little while for these bastards to die, and then there will be no one to care when we blow the lid off this thing. Until then, we have the answers that we needed. We know what we wanted to know. We can be free now, Scully." Mulder knew what she was thinking as she stared at the tape. It was pathetic--all the work, all the attempts on their lives, the lies, the cover ups, Melissa, the baby--all explained in one embarrassed confession on that nondescript tape. There was no satisfaction in it. They had held their guns on the man, as Mulder had done by himself once before, and demanded their answers. And he had given them, not out of fear for his own life--though he and Mulder both knew Scully had meant it when she had threatened to blow his head off if he didn't talk-- but because he had found a way to bargain with Mulder and Scully that no one had thought of before. Give Mulder and Scully their answers, then insure their silence, not with the threat of death, but with the promise of safety. They could have gone higher for their information, all the way to the top of this "consortium" to the immaculate bastard who seemed to run things, but they had known where to find the weak link in the chain. Once, the man had declared that he didn't negotiate, but Skinner had paved that path for them years ago. Now, the man was on shaky ground, those whose dirty work he did were starting to lose faith in him. Best to find the way to rid them of the Mulder/Scully threat once and for all. The offer had been too seductive, Mulder thought, the promise of peace too tempting. So he had accepted it. Scully hadn't wanted to. For once, she had been the zealot and he the doubter, but she hadn't protested when he had agreed to the offer. Any sign of discord between them would have been a weakness revealed, giving the man a vulnerable target at which to strike. They had struck the deal and allowed themselves to be drawn into the unholy conspiracy of silence. They had compromised. The thought left a bad taste in Mulder's mouth. He had traded in their belief in what was right for their safety. He would have promised anything to get Scully back from the precipice she was toeing, that same line he had walked until the day she had entered his life. She had walked away from him that afternoon. She had actually turned her back and walked away, ready to leave him behind if he would not join her. If it meant that much to her, there was nothing he wouldn't do to get her what she needed. Mulder's head snapped up when Scully spoke. "I need to get some caffeine," she muttered, tossing the tape onto the coffee table and rising. Mulder watched her disappear into the kitchen. He didn't want her to be making coffee. She had been awake for over twenty four hours, and even though she claimed to be physically fine, he knew she had crossed that line called "overdoing it." The urge was strong within him to convince her to go to bed and they could talk about it later, but he knew that he couldn't. Something had happened here that needed to be tended to. A distance lay between them that he had not felt in years, since that awful time in Comity and the surrounding weeks when they had simply been unable to see eye to eye on anything. Scully was closing him out. Why? Because he had disappointed her? Because he hadn't demanded her long-awaited answers in a different, more satisfying manner? Maybe it had been cowardly of him to strike that bargain. Who was he these days, anyway? Taking the safe road when the truth lay in the other direction...Since when did Fox Mulder do that? Since when did Fox Mulder compromise? Wasn't it possible that he had let Scully down because he wasn't the man she knew and loved, the one who took chances, the one who wasn't afraid to risk getting slapped down in his search for the truth? No. He'd told her that there was nothing that he wouldn't do to keep her safe and he had meant it. Scully would have done the same for him. She understood. But didn't there come a time when understanding wasn't enough? He'd doubted her when she had needed him to shut up and support her. It was an unconscionable breech of faith. He said he believed in her, but why the hesitation? Why not just trust her in her belief that she was right? And how could he let her know that, no matter how right she might have been, he still couldn't bear to take the risk of losing her? * * * * * Scully placed a filter in the coffee pot and measured out the grounds with slow, stilted movements, her arms and legs feeling heavy, her brain wanting nothing more than to shut down. She filled the carafe with water and poured it into the coffee maker to brew, then placed the pot on the plate. She reached for the coffee mugs. She'd done it. She'd gotten her answers. No matter how unsatisfactory they may have been, she had them. The thought should have filled her with elation, and yet-- --And yet she could find no joy in the matter. She had risked her life, lost nearly everything in this struggle to find the truth, and when the truth was finally found, it was nothing more than a tape full of an aging man's embarrassed confessions. He hadn't felt guilty or remorseful. He hadn't felt that any wrong had been done, to her, to the other abduction victims, to the countless number whom had lost their lives along the way. He had just wanted to get them off his back, so he had talked. And made them a party to his guilt. She wanted to rage at Mulder for accepting that deal, and yet she couldn't. Because he had been right. Knowing the answers would have cost them their lives without the agreement to keep what they knew to themselves. But it defeated half her purpose. Justice would never be served to these men who played God with others' lives and destroyed without care. Justice would never be found for her baby, for Missy... Thinking about Missy hurt, and so she turned the thought away. She didn't want to hurt anymore, had hurt enough already. She had thought that when she found the answers, the hurting would stop. Missy would be at peace, and so the part of her that existed in Scully's soul could rest. But the hurting hadn't stopped. It had gotten worse. "Scully--" came Mulder's voice from behind her, startling her. She lost her grip on the mug in her hand and watched as it tumbled in slow motion to the floor below. It shattered into a thousand pieces, which she studied with an odd sense of detachment. She felt like, if she let herself, she would fly apart like those pieces of stoneware on the floor. She disliked the feeling. She disliked the fact that it wasn't appeased. She had sought the answers because the quest had provided a constructive purpose into which she could channel all her negative emotions. She had taken the tragedy of her sister's death and turned it into a personal crusade. And now, the quest was filled. The negative energies which had fueled it should have been spent, and yet there they were. What on earth could she do with them now? Where could she send them so that they wouldn't tear her apart? A low, keening sound began to build in her throat, growing in intensity and volume until it became a cry of rage. With a lunge, she swept an arm across the counter, sending the tin of coffee grounds and the other mug, the creamer and sugar crocks flying across the room, spilling them on the floor. She began to gasp for air, sobs that she couldn't release building in her throat, choking her. She couldn't get enough air, couldn't breathe...She leaned weakly against the counter and then sank down, huddling next to it and surveying the damage she had wrought through a haze of tears. She saw feet appear before her and looked up at Mulder. "Don't come near me," she gasped. "Don't--" "Scully," he sank down beside her. "Get it out." "NO!" she screamed. "No! I hate this! I hate what I feel, I hate that I can't stop what's happening to me! I don't WANT this, Mulder! I don't want to feel these things! I want them to go away and leave me alone. Why can't I make them go away?" She began to sweep frantically at the shards of broken mug with her hands, looking for some activity to divert her from what was going on inside. She was vaguely aware of the slivers of glass pricking her palms. Then Mulder was grabbing her hands, forcing her to stop. She wanted him to go away. She didn't want to be vulnerable, and when he was near, all her barriers disappeared. "Let me go--!" "Scully, get this out before it kills you, please!" He forced her to look at him, and she could see tears on his cheeks. "I didn't want it to happen like this, Mulder," she cried. "I didn't want a tape that no one will ever hear. I wanted to make them pay for what they did! I wanted justice for Missy--for our baby! I thought when I had all the answers, it would stop hurting, but it hasn't, and I don't have anywhere else to go with it now! I needed that search for the answers. It kept the pain away!" "Then let it go, Scully! If you're going to break something, break it hard. Hit something--hit me, if you have to. I brought you into this in the first place, I denied you the justice you were searching for. Just let it go--" "You don't understand! You CAN'T understand! YOUR SISTER CAME BACK!" The instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. This wasn't Mulder's fault, had never been Mulder's fault. He'd never done anything but love her. She didn't begrudge him Samantha. He would bring Missy back if he could--she knew all that. Would bring the baby back if he could-- "I didn't mean that," she whispered, clutching at him. "I'm sorry--" "You did mean it, Scully. It needed to be said." His face was pale, his expression stricken, but he wasn't going anywhere. He was looking at her intently, all the love he felt for her in that gaze. "You resent the fact that my sister returned and yours never will. And it is my fault that it happened that way." "No! No--I don't blame you--I blame them! They took your sister, which made you who you are and started your search for her, which involved me and ultimately Missy. They're not just responsible for Missy's death--they're responsible for the entire chain of events leading to Missy's death. And I hate them for it--but I hate more the fact that they're going to die without paying for it. I thought that if I made them pay, I would have peace, and I would never have to feel these things again." She began to sob brokenly, painful sobs that had no air behind them, coming instead as wheezes through her closed throat. She covered her face with her cut and bloody hands and cried as she had never cried in her life--and Mulder remained next to her, keeping her from sinking to the glass-covered floor, keeping her from hurting herself more, giving her the safety she needed to rid herself of these emotions poisoning her. He sheltered her in his arms while she cried as though she would never stop, years worth of tears of sadness and rage and helplessness that had remained dammed inside her from that day that she had woken in the hospital to find three months of her life missing without explanation, since that day that she had said good-bye to her sister. Mulder held her next to him, feeling her hot tears on his shirt, his own tears falling into her hair, feeling a million emotions all at once. He felt regret at what this had cost her, regret that he had not been able to give her the justice she felt she needed, regret that innocent lives had been lost because he hadn't known how to back down. He felt anger that he had been cheated of years with his sister, and anger that agony had been inflicted upon this woman he loved so desperately, loved more than life. But most of all, he felt relief. Relief that the poison inside her was being released, relief that she could finally begin to heal. He'd been with her for nearly eight years, knew her better than he knew himself, and he's never even realized that all this was inside her. Now they truly could be free. Now they could move on. He had his own losses, but for whatever reason, he'd seemed to be able to deal with them as they happened. He had mourned his sister's loss, but he'd had the hope that she was still alive, and his father-- --The loss of his father had not filled him so much with grief as with regret. Scully had lost everything, though. She had lost loved ones, months of her life, her faith in the system she had decided to serve. She'd lost a lifetime full of illusions that she had treasured. And she had dealt with it, focusing the rage and grief and fear into something worthwhile, her work. And Mulder had never known until he began to see her fall apart just how much that had cost her. She'd taken the negative emotion and stuffed it away, making it work for her, but never allowing it the release that was needed to purge it from her altogether. She had suppressed it for years, and would have continued to suppress it except that there was no longer a task which she could set before herself and work towards. Without that alternative outlet, it had all come bursting forth. He had never seen it coming, not until that previous afternoon when he had known that something would have to give, and soon. Because Mulder knew in his heart that, though neither he nor she would ever speak of it, that Scully had been headed towards self-destruction, whether passively by pushing too far, or actively, by her own hand. It was hard to make poison work for you without getting a little into your own system. He didn't know how long that sat in the corner in the kitchen like that. His legs started to go numb and yet he did not move. Scully sobbing subsided into the occasional whimper as she remained huddled beside him, holding him for all she was worth. His own head began to hurt from crying, and still he did not move. Finally, she looked up at him, her face pale and tear streaked-- "Let go of me--now--" she said softly. At first, he began to protest, and them he saw her throat working convulsively and he knew what her problem was. He let her out of his arms and she raced towards the bathroom with a hand clenched over her mouth. He heard her in the bathroom, gagging, and knew she would hate for him to see her like that. Tough. He gave her a few seconds to get over the worst of it, and then followed her. * * * * * Scully flushed the toilet and then leaned wearily, weakly, against the wall next to it. She hurt all over--not the emotional hurt of before, but a physical pain from the extremes she had been through. The vomiting had been a physical response to her sobbing, the action of which had eventually caused her stomach to protest. She felt drained and sore-- --And yet, she felt better. She looked up to see Mulder standing before her, a glass of water in his hands, which she accepted gratefully, washing her mouth out. By dint of will, she resisted the urge to bring that back up as well. It was over. It was truly over. For once, she didn't feel angry or impatient with herself for losing control. She had needed to relinquish her control for a while, or she would never be able to heal, would never be able to get past her pain. Mulder was right. It would have killed her eventually. The confrontation with Mulder yesterday, the angry, hurtful things she had said to him, had all been a part of that. She could only hold on for so long, and she had held on too tightly, only to find her stronghold weakening and giving way beneath her fingers. She had lost her grip, and it would only have been a matter of time before she had fallen to her death. Mulder knelt before her. "I'm sorry I didn't follow you yesterday." "I understand why you didn't, Mulder. You were right. I was going too far. I was going to get myself killed." "That doesn't matter. You've stood by me when you thought I might have gone too far. I broke our trust, Scully." "You loved me, Mulder, and you did what you could to try to keep me safe. I can't ask for any more than that. I would have done the same. I said some terrible things to you, and you came with me anyway--if that's broken trust, I'll be perfectly happy to settle for it." "You didn't mean to hurt me when you said those things, Scully. You were angry and hurting--I couldn't believe you meant them, even if you thought you did at the time. I think we just need to forget that yesterday ever happened and move on." "I think that's wise," she replied, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I came so close to letting it happen, Mulder." "Letting what happen?" "Letting what we lost tear us apart--just like Mark and Missy. Just exactly the thing I didn't want." "I wouldn't have let that happen, Scully. I wouldn't have let you walk away." "I almost gave you no choice." "Yeah, but I would have tracked you down no matter where you went. You wouldn't have gotten away from me so easily." "So what do we do now?" She asked. "Now that we have our answers, where do we go from here?" "We have an obligation now, Scully. We have to keep our eyes open and make sure that they don't go back on their word, that it doesn't start again, the experimentation, the murders, the lies...We're the only ones who know, so we have a duty to protect those who don't know. And we're in the perfect position to do it from, especially with the restructured X-Files division. So we get on with our lives and we do what we do." "This search is all I've known for so long, I'm not sure I know how to get on with my life." "Then we'll figure it out together. But you have to let this go first. Can you do that?" She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "I can do it. I have to do it. Otherwise, its going to destroy me. And then they will have really won." "I love you, Dana Katherine Scully. We can do this." "I know. I believe in you." She saw tears in his eyes again and wondered that her simple statement of faith, love and trust could affect him so, even in this emotions-raw moment. But then, she realized that she was the first person Fox Mulder had ever known to have such faith in him. And she had come so close to letting him down... But she wouldn't think of that. He was right--they had to let that go. Let go of the fatal regrets and move on. If Fox Mulder, whom had cornered the market in self-doubt and guilt could do it, then so could she. She placed her hand in his and he began to lead her from the bathroom. Then she stopped and pulled back. "Wait. We have to shower first. We both smell like cigarette smoke." * * * * * End of Part Twelve =========================================================================== From: "Kristel S. Johns" Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:54 +0000 Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape - Epilogue (NC-17) NIGHTSCAPE Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net The characters and situations of the X-Files television program are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without permission. No infringement is intended. I just want to tell a story. WARNING: This segment contains depiction of loving, consensual sex between married adults and had been rated NC-17. Epilogue * * * * * Mulder returned home three weeks later to find Scully out on the balcony, enjoying the cool September breeze. She had left work early that day for a doctor's appointment to ascertain that there were no harmful aftereffects of her miscarriage. She smiled at him as he emerged onto the balcony to join her, welcoming his company. It had been a rocky three weeks, filled with emotions and outbursts that she had never been aware that she had within her. The first several days after their confrontation, he had woke up in the middle of the night to find her crying in her sleep. During the days, her moods ranged from euphoria to depression. It had been difficult to witness his staid, stable Scully going through these things, but he had stood by and let her feel the emotions she had no choice but to feel anymore. She had been impatient with herself, angry at her loss of the vital control she so treasured. And she had been angry with him for speaking when she felt he should stay silent, or for shutting up when she felt he needed to say something. Mulder could not have been happier. Day by day, he'd watched the woman he knew and loved return to him in slow measures. Each day she regained herself. The haunted look that he sometimes saw in her eyes was no longer there. And despite her impatience, she had weathered the storm of her own emotions and emerged stronger for it. Stronger because she now knew that sometimes, it was okay to be weak. He loved her more than life. * * * * * Scully watched Mulder walk up to the sliding glass door, pull it open, and emerge onto the balcony. Beyond the balcony, the weather was warm and clear and bright. Sort of like she herself felt. The doctor had given her a clean bill of health, and perhaps the one rewarding thing that had been found on the taped confession was the fact that, in the battery of tests that Scully had been subjected to during her abduction, none were likely to have any negative aftereffects. The tests performed on Betsy Hagopian and others like her had been specifically dealing with the mutation and combination of various forms of cancer, not all of them human. Scully had not been subjected to that, and therefore, her chances of ending up like Betsy Hagopian were slight. It had been a great relief, a six year burden that had been lifted from her shoulders. She did not live in constant fear of the day that her body would turn on her. She was still aware though, that there might be other problems that could arise--many of the experiments that had been terminated when she and Mulder had stumbled upon the truth had not yet provided results as to what may lie ahead. But that fear was abstract and no longer compounded by the memory of the sight of a dying Betsy Hagopian in the hospital, and Penny Northern and her companions telling her that it was happening to all of them. Gone also was the fear that she and Mulder were in constant danger from those who would kill to see their secrets kept. It was an uneasy arrangement, granted, each party having to believe that the other would keep to their word, but if they were ever to live in any sort of peace, they had to have faith that the promise that was made to them would be kept. And she and Mulder had always had great faith. She smiled as Mulder kissed her cheek gently, his touch infinitely tender as he lightly caressed her shoulder. He still treated her as though she were fragile, and she caught him looking at her at times as though he were afraid that she would disappear before his eyes. He would always worry about her, though. It was a part of life with him that she had come to accept, and even enjoy. "Hi," she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning against him. He smelled good, she though. Warmed by the sun and blown by the breeze as he'd driven home with his windows open. Suddenly, she didn't feel so tranquil anymore. "Hi, yourself," he replied, accepting the offer of her upturned lips. Scully melted against him, sighing. Cautiously, Mulder's fingers wove their way through her hair, caressing the back of her neck as they did so. He didn't display a great deal of passion with her these days. Scully imagined that he was afraid to, afraid that he might injure her somehow. Well, she had had enough of waiting. She intentionally deepened the kiss, her hands sliding down to Mulder's hips and resting there, caressing lightly. Mulder moaned softly and drew back. "Hmm, you'd better stop that," he murmured. "I'm not sure I can resist the temptation." "Who said anything about resisting?" she replied, kissing his neck, nibbling his Adam's apple. "Scully--" "It's okay, Mulder. I'm fine." He looked at her, his desire naked in his eyes. The look took her breath away, and Scully thought that most women on the planet would die happy if a man were to look at them like that just once in their lifetime. "Are you sure?" His voice was a strangled whisper. "Um-hm," she hummed, her lips moving down his neck, to rest at the opening of his collar. Mulder groaned and clutched her to him, his tongue plunging into her mouth, his hand at her waist clenching and unclenching on a small handful of her loose blouse. Scully reached behind him and pulled upon the sliding door, pulling him inside. She walked backwards toward the bedroom, never more than an inch from him, her arms wound tightly around him, her lips greedy on his. She had been nearly three months without making love to him, and she was starved for the feel of him next to her. Any one but Mulder might have approached her long before this, whether she was physically ready or not, but Mulder had kept his distance, his touches always non-sexual when he held her, caressed her. He belayed his frustration with light-hearted, bawdy humor that gave no hint of the needs beneath it. It once again made her realize just how truly lucky she was, that his love for her transcended even his most basic desires. But she had been waiting long enough. Impatiently, she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his pants and began to unbutton it, sliding her hands eagerly beneath it to touch his warm skin. She nuzzled her face against his neck, breathing in his earthy scent. She wanted him more than her next breath. Mulder, too, was starving, she realized. His fingers trembled as they unbuttoned her blouse, their brush upon her skin like an electric shock that caused him to gasp. He pushed her blouse off her shoulders and down her arms and then released the front hook of her bra, letting that fall away also. His fingers brushed her breast in the lightest of touches, causing her to draw in her breath. He leaned over and kissed her again as his hand closed over her, his thumb brushing her nipple. Gradually, all their clothing fell away and they were skin to skin upon the bed, touching, tasting, communing in their own private universe. It was more than making love, she realized, it was an affirmation of life, a celebration of their love for each other. As they progressed, Mulder's touches grew less hesitant, less fearful. He was starting to realize that she had meant it when she had reassured him that she was all right. They lay for the longest time, staring into each others eyes and exchanging caresses, their bodies pressed against each other. Then, with a playful growl, Scully rolled Mulder onto his back and straddled him. "Wait!" Mulder gasped, holding her by the waist above him. "Your diaphragm..." "Taken care of already--" she replied, and he relaxed his grip on her waist and let her lower herself onto him. Mulder groaned and closed his eyes, his head back and the tendons on his neck straining as he bit his bottom lip. When he had gotten himself under control, he looked back up at Scully. She smiled down at him and leaned over, deciding she would nibble on that beautiful bottom lip herself for a while... It was much later, the sky darkening outside when they lay beside each other, their bodies quivering and damp with perspiration. Scully lay with her head tucked beneath his chin, her arms around him, her body half-sprawled above him. "Do you know how much I've missed you?" he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I think I have a pretty good idea," she replied with a soft smile. Her fingers toyed with the light covering of hair on his chest. "I'm still thinking that we may be the only couple on earth that didn't spend their first anniversary reliving the choicer moments of their honeymoon." "Yep. We're pretty pathetic," he replied with a mock frown. "No we're not. We're incredible together," she responded. "We're magic together." "Since when do you believe in magic?" Mulder asked, lifting his head to look at her. "I believe in OUR magic," she replied. "The kind we make when we're together. We'll share dozens more anniversaries. What we have now is every bit as special." He hummed contentedly. "Yeah. I know. Maybe one of these days we'll even go for that house full of kids in the suburbs." There was something in his voice that made her look up. "Do you think of that often?" she asked softly. "Having kids?" "Yes." "Yeah, I do. It didn't bother me so much before because I didn't realize what I was missing, but now--" "We're not out of danger yet, Mulder," she reminded him. "We still don't know that I'm at all capable of having children." "I spoke to the doctor who treated you in Claremont," he said softly. "I spoke to her that night we found you, and then she called me a couple weeks later. There was nothing they could find in their tests that would indicate that, had circumstances been different, you wouldn't have had a totally normal, healthy, full-term pregnancy. There was nothing at all abnormal about the fetus that they could detect, and she said the miscarriage was probably caused by the physical strain of your stress, and your living conditions, and the physical trauma of being hit while you were escaping." "But that doesn't mean that things couldn't go wrong again, Mulder. There are still a lot of unknowns." "Since when do we live in fear of the unknown, Scully?" "You're right," she sighed. "And my mother said much the same thing to me weeks ago. I suppose that my biggest fear is that I'll go through this all again. I don't know if I could handle the expectation, the anticipation, the elation, only to have my heart broken again. I don't know if I want to risk that" Mulder sighed. "We don't have to decide anything now, Scully. We have nearly three months to go yet before we can even think of trying to conceive another baby anyway. Why don't we just take it easy and think on it, all right? Will you promise me that much?" She nodded. "Good. For now, though, I was thinking maybe a change of pace would do us some good." "Like what?" "Like maybe moving to a new place. Maybe even getting that house in the suburbs," he replied, watching her closely for her reaction. "You really think you want to do that?" she asked, her eyes wide. "I don't see what it could hurt," he answered. "We could use the space for ourselves, and if one day we decide to bring children into the picture, by whatever means, we'll need a bigger place." "I think it's a good idea," she said, laying her head back down. "Maybe a change of scenery will of us some good." They lay silent for several moments, watching as the eminent sunset began to color the walls of the apartment in rainbow hues. Strange, Scully thought, that they should enjoy the sunset better from indoors. "We didn't have dinner," she realized, looking up at him again. His eyes were half-closed and dreamy. "That's right, we didn't." "Well, are you hungry?" Mulder smiled. "Not for food," he replied, drawing her back down to him. And Scully laughed. * * * * * The End Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net Join us on the X-Files Relationshippers Mailing List! To join, send mail to majordomo@chaos.taylored.com subscribe xf-romantics end Kristel S Johns list-owner "Welcome to the wonderful world of high technology..." Walter Skinner