Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (8/?) Author: Xenith Journal of Dana Scully March 13, 1999 Mulder is finally asleep, thank God. I am writing this, sitting by Mulder's bedside in his apartment. He wouldn't even let me go into the living room, needs me here--close. I've begun bringing this book with me wherever I go, to release the thoughts inside when they become overwhelming. Today I am overwhelmed. He called me this morning, early, about 4:00 a.m. I picked up the phone, with the groggy feeling that this must be Mulder and something was terribly wrong. Only he calls me at this time of day. "Yeah...hello," I mumbled into the receiver. At first there was only silence, and I was ready to hang it up. Then I heard a low sobbing sound. "Mulder? Is that you? Mulder--say something! Mulder!!" The sobbing sound continued, then he began to speak. "S..s..scully....please...come over. I need you...I can't...oh god...no, don't come over. It isn't safe. Bring your gun....I promised to call...and this is it...but if you don't get here fast, I don't know if I can wait for you....." His voice was edge d with hysteria and clogged with tears. I was already up and moving, dressing as I talked. "Mulder, I'm on my way. Hold on, just hold on. Wait for me--don't do ANYTHING until I get there...okay? I'm on my cell phone and we'll keep talking as I go, so you won't be alone. Just keep talking to me..." I pulled clothing on, grabbed my weapon and car keys, then shot out the door my cell phone glued to my ear. Before long the conversation consisted of my talking to him, a stream of soothing noises, and the sound of wrenching sobs on his end. God, what could have happened? Halfway there, his line cut out. I couldn't tell if he'd hung up on me or been cut off. Oh, God, don't think about it, just drive FASTER. I floored the gas, praying frantically...don't let him give up, don't let him kill himself. Oh, Mulder, wait for me, wait for me. Hold on...I'm coming...I'll be there soon...soon... I don't think I've ever made the drive to Mulder's apartment in better time. I got to Mulder's apartment to find the door locked. He didn't answer my knock. I opened the door with my key to find his living room dark and quiet. I drew my weapon and made my way into the bedroom. Mulder was huddled on the bed, dressed in t-shirt and shorts, curled into a fetal position rocking back and forth. He held his gun in one hand; his eyes were shut and streaming with tears and he was muttering under his breath, "No...no...no, please no... " The phone had dropped to the floor. No obvious signs of violence. I approached him slowly, keeping my gun drawn. "Mulder...Mulder it's me. What's happened? What's wrong?" Gingerly, I sat on the bed next to him and reached out my hand to touch his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he recoiled violently, bringing the gun up to point it at me, the other hand up in front of him defensively. I drew back sharply, and he looked down at the gun. Then he met my eyes in horror and dropped the weapon, covering his face with both his hands. "Mulder, it's me, Scully...I won't hurt you....You called me, remember? I'm here," I kept up a soft litany of soothing noises while I fished the gun off the bedspread and stuck it into my belt. Then I holstered my own weapon. He put his hands down and hugged his knees to his chest and began rocking again. But this time his eyes were open and lucid. "Scully..." He choked on a sob and turned his face away. "Don't look at me; I can't stand you to look at me...." "Mulder...I'm going to call the paramedics. I think we should get you to a hospital...." He gave me a panicky look. "No..no hospital...no people...please Scully..please..." "Then tell me what's wrong. Can you talk about it?" I moved a little closer to him, wanting to hold him, protect him from whatever it was that was preying on his soul. His eyes closed and he leaned back, rolling his head from side to side. When he opened them again, he was staring at the ceiling and not at me. "I've been having nightmares, every night, since...since the rape. But you know that." I nodded. "Yes, I know. I have them too." Mulder turned his gaze to the blanket between us. "Since we started this case, since I've been profiling...my...dreams have changed. I dream HIS dreams...feel his feelings in my sleep...." As he spoke, he held his arms tighter across his knees, hunching smaller and smaller. "I feel his needs...his power...his need for control...Every night it's stronger...And I want his control, I want his power....I want not to be a victim any more...." I was silent. I understood the need for control; who better? Mulder's voice roughened and he rocked a little as he went on. "I've dreamed of my rape, these last nights....I've been my own rapist, reveling in the power...disgusted with the victim's weakness...his puling attempts to fight me off...." He wouldn't look at me, his voice was a soft monotone. Oh, Mulder... "But I could...could...handle that. I know what a sorry showing I made in that warehouse....I could live with it..." He looked up, finally and found my eyes. His face was pale and stricken, agony written across it. "I could....live....with the dreams until last night. Last night...I wasn't my own rapist. I was *him*, the one I'm profiling. I...kidnapped Erica Scott from her living room and took her..someplace. I started raping her...and she screamed...and pleade d..and I loved the powerful feeling it gave me. And...and...I looked down at her face....she was crying....her voice changed, and her face did....and it was YOU, Scully. You were underneath me, screaming at me to stop...and I didn't...I didn't...." Mul der covered his face with his hands, taking gulping breaths, then continued, with his face still covered. "I...came inside you....then I pulled you to your feet and...and...slammed you against the wall...and you were crying...You looked at me like I'd betrayed you...and I had...I...You...were bleeding....from what I'd done....And there was a knife in my hand ....I stabbed you and stabbed you and watched the life leave your face..... And...and...I felt ...that rush...Oh God....I want to die. I can't ....live....with this....I can't let this happen..." Mulder broke down then, and crouched forward onto the be d, burying his face in the mattress, sobbing deep, wrenching sounds Oh.......this was bad. So very bad. "Then you woke up? And called me?" I spoke very softly and gently. Mulder nodded, his face still buried. "Mulder, do you think that you've become the monster?" He nodded, still hiding his face from me. "Would it help if I told you that I don't think you are a monster at all? You're vulnerable right now to these sorts of images, and you're profiling a very violent man. And I do look like the victims on this case. Mulder, in my eyes you're a hero, and your telling me this hasn't changed my opinion." He slowly looked up, meeting my eyes. "Scully, if this...personality...gains control over me I could kill you and get off on it. I...I...can't live with that; can't allow it to happen. I...know...that I'm vulnerable to this...I've known it since I took the case. Since the warehouse...I...know I'm...tainted. I'm your rapist Scully, despite the comfort you've tried to give me...I still raped you. How much farther is there to go from that warehouse, to killing you and enjoying it?" I'd sworn to myself that I would never watch that damned tape ever again, nor would I ever encourage Mulder to do so. But this...he truly believed that he had raped me, and none of my reassurances would convince him otherwise. He'd merged the UNSUB's mo tivations and needs with his own guilt and trauma, and his memory of what happened to us was colored by that. "Mulder, I am going to make a phone call in the living room. I'm not leaving you and I'm not calling the paramedics, okay? Just stay here.." He nodded dumbly as I carefully backed away and went into the other room. I dialed Skinner's home number. He answered groggily. "Sir? It's me, Scully." "Scully, why the hell are you calling at this hour? Is it Mulder? What's wrong?" I could hear him becoming more awake by the second. "Yes, it's Mulder. He's in a bad way...I'm at his apartment. I need you to do something for me; could you come here and bring the tape with you? The one of the warehouse." I could hear him suck in his breath. "Scully, if Mulder is suicidal, are you sure that he should see that thing? Why show it to him? How is it going to help him?" "He's reliving the rapes, through our current UNSUB's eyes. He's convinced that he's capable of killing me and enjoying it. I have to show him who he really is, and what he actually did for me." I heard silence at the other end, then Skinner said softly, "Are you sure he can take it? Can you?" "I can stand it. Mulder has to *know*. And sir, I'm calling in a prescription for a sedative and a hypodermic syringe at an all-night pharmacy. Would you pick that up on your way in? I'm afraid to leave him." "I'll get them, and I'll be there as fast as I can. And Scully, keep your weapon handy just in case." I went back into the bedroom to find Mulder huddled where I'd left him. I found an afghan and draped it over him, then put a kettle on for tea. Soon I had him sitting up, wrapped in the blanket, cupping a mug of Lipton's in his hands. "I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up, Scully," Mulder rasped. "You keep having to bail me out when I go off the deep end. You shouldn't have to do that." "You'd do the same for me. You have." I sipped my own tea and watched him carefully. "Are you feeling any better?" "No." Mulder wouldn't meet my eyes. Damn. He was planning what he'd do when I finally did leave. I couldn't leave him, or he'd die. I heard a knock at the door and mentally blessed Skinner for being so fast. Mulder started when he heard the knock. "That's just Skinner, he's bringing some things I asked for." Mulder nodded. I ran to the door and let Skinner in. He peered around the apartment anxiously. "Where is he?" He handed me a small paper sack and a videotape. "Mulder's in the bedroom." Skinner was eyeing the walls of the apartment uncomfortably. Damn. I'd forgotten that Skinner has never seen Mulder's apartment when he's profiling. Mulder has taped up photos of the victims, diagrams of the crime scenes, news clippings, bits of evidenc e, covering his walls with the facts of the seven abductions. Even graphic photos of the bodies, as they were found, were scattered among them. I didn't have to ask Skinner what he thought about it; it showed in his eyes. "Can you handle this alone? Do you need me here? Do you think you're in any danger?" "No, no danger. We'll be okay. I'll call you if I need help. And sir...thanks." Skinner nodded and left. I set the sack and the videotape down on the coffee-table and went into the bedroom to check on Mulder. Inside the bedroom, I sat down next to him. He was still withdrawn, and pale. "Is Skinner here?" he asked. "He's just left." I studied Mulder searchingly. I hoped that he could endure what I was about to do, but he had to know the truth. All of it. "Mulder, I've known you for 7 years and in that time you've never flinched from the truth, no matter how unpleasant. You taught me that an ugly truth is always preferable to an attractive lie, or to ignorance. Since the warehouse, I have asked you to be lieve a truth that you find hard to accept." "I know where you're going with this, Scully, and it doesn't wash. I know what happened there, and I know how I felt...and how I feel. I'm dirty, tainted by something evil. Profiling this case has made it worse, and it's changing me into something I ca n't ...can't live with." "Mulder, the truth that I have been trying to tell you is that you are not an evil man, you are not sadistic. You are heroic in my eyes, and nothing will change that belief. The core that is *you*, Fox Mulder, is a gentle man and violence is as alien to you as it is to any humane person. But I think that you need to see proof. I have some evidence that I want you to see." I got up and held out my hand to him. He took it hesitantly and followed me into the living room. I sat Mulder down on the couch and put the tape into the VCR, then sat down next to him. Mulder shied away when he saw the tape. "No, I can't watch that. Scully, I can't live through that again...I can't. With this...personality...inside me, do you know what might happen? Do you?" Mulder's voice was trembling and I could see tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. "No, Scully ...I can't. I'll....I'll hurt you...or...I don't want to watch you being hurt....not by me." I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. "Then we'll face it together. Do you think I want to lose you, day by day, minute by minute, behind a wall of silence? I'm tired of being "fine", I'm not "fine" and neither are you! The truth is...!" I was shouting, I lowered my voice. "The truth is that neither of us is "fine" and we need each other to heal from this. I *need* you. You *need* me. I can't do this alone..and neither can you. I don't want to try any more. Please?" Mulder looked deep into my eyes, the first real look he'd given me in a week. "Okay. But do I get popcorn?" I smiled, a little trembly, but a smile. "Maybe later." I turned on the VCR. As the snow cleared, I saw the interior of the warehouse and felt Mulder's hand slip into mine. I saw myself dragged into the cameras' range, knocked out and stripped of clothing. I could see Mulder, next to me, begin to tremble. He held my hand tighter. When I woke and Benny started to abuse me, Mulder sat very close and put his right arm around me protectively. I could feel myself beginning to shake and the tears begin to fall down my cheeks. Then Kurt began to speak, terrible things, awful things, promises of what he would do to me, what they would do. I saw the despair on my own face; the certainty that there was no way out. I couldn't watch and buried my head into Mulder's shoulder. He h eld me close and cried with me, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Scully...oh Scully, I didn't know...why didn't you tell me?" he whispered. "I tried, but I just didn't have the words. And you were in so much pain, I couldn't add to your burden. I couldn't tell you... And I was so afraid. All I could think of was what was going to happen. I knew what the injuries would be--what they'd do t o me--what my body would look like in the morgue." I could hear my voice breaking as I began sobbing. "I had no hope." Mulder just held me while I sobbed aloud. Then we saw Mulder stumble in and try to go to me. I hadn't seen it, only heard it. Oh, Mulder...how you tried. And then he came to me and tried to stand between me and the killers. By the time the tape got to Mulder's choice, we sat almost on top of one another, arms wrapped about each other protectively. On the tape, he saw my panic and his own fear, anguish, decision. And I think he saw my acceptance. I hope he did. While Mulder made love to me, my face showed what I hoped he would see: love and faith and trust. And in his own face, I think he finally saw the determination and love I saw. When we got to my escape, I saw something new. Mulder's desperation to get me out of there, and my own hesitation at leaving him. Maybe, just maybe I didn't betray him? I still felt like I did, but... After I the scene of my escape, I grabbed the remote, to stop the tape. Mulder put his hand on mine. "No," he said softly. "The whole truth, Scully. All of it. We can do this." And so we watched to the bitter end. I was crying, and so was he. But, while I ache for him, for what was done to him, I no longer feel personal responsibility for what happened to him. I didn't cause the rape. Kurt Willard did, and he's dead. Long after the tape faded to snow, Mulder and I sat on the couch holding each other close. "Now do you believe me? Mulder, you didn't enjoy my rape, did you? It wasn't entertaining for you. It was..." "Scully, it was Hell." He cupped my chin with this hand and looked at me. "You're right, I didn't enjoy it. I could never enjoy something like that. And...I didn't enjoy my own rape...I chose NOTHING of what happened to me. It was forced on me, as it was on you." "Mulder, you saved me from what Kurt Willard promised he'd do to me. That was the act of a good and gentle man. Do you remember who you are now?" Mulder smiled and nodded. "I'm the man who loves Dana Scully." I felt an immediate thrill inside. He loves me. He said it. He loves me. I could feel a slow smile growing on my face. Mulder noticed and he gave me a shy smile back. Then his face darkened a bit. "But the case isn't over yet. I still have to work on the profile." I was quiet, watching his expression. More than anything I want this case to be gone from our lives. The damage it has compounded has been incalculable. Mulder yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was still in shock from all this turmoil. Reluctantly, I got up and went over to the table and opened the paper sack. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously. "I had Skinner pick up a sedative for you. Don't worry, it's mild. I think you ought to sleep." At his jerk, I added hastily "I don't think you'll have any more nightmares. And if you do, I'll be here." "Will you stay in the bedroom with me?" he asked fearfully. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere." I swabbed his arm with alcohol (Mulder has a well-stocked medicine cabinet thanks to me) and gave him the injection. Then I helped him to bed, covered him up and sat with him until he fell asleep. Now I am left alone with my thoughts. The wall is down, the silence broken. Or so I hope. And my own silence had become so hard to bear. I am still afraid; the case isn't over and Mulder is still the principal profiler. I hope that he is stronger, and more sure of who he is. I pray that he can withstand whatever this case will throw at us n ext. Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (9/?) Author: Xenith Journal of Fox Mulder March 14, 1999 It's late, no...early, very early Sunday, about 4 :00 a.m. I just got home from Scully's apartment. I have her to thank that I survived. Early Saturday morning, my first thought was to find my gun and just end the pain, all of it: Samantha, years of being mocked and disbelieved, the rape. But the most horrible violation of all was the sense that I no longer had control of my own psyche, that I could kill someone I love and derive pleasure from it. The darkness was terrible and the possibility, unendurable. I'm glad I remembered my promise to Scully, to call her before I did anything. After the call, I just waited and held the gun and endured. Scully's right, whatever else I may be I am not a murderer or a rapist. I still feel shaky, but better. Oh, Scully, what happened to you...I wish I had known. I wish I could give you one quarter of the comfort you've given me. After I slept, I woke up from Scully's little barbiturate cocktail at about 1:00, with the afternoon sun streaming in the window. At first I didn't remember the events of the morning, but I could feel a sort of emotional cloud inside...oh yeah, the night mare...my gun...calling Scully for help. I rolled over and found Scully asleep on the other side of the bed, curled up--yes, like a baby cat. Her journal lay open next to her hand and I saw my name on the page. It's a very bad habit, for which Scully will kill me, but I read her journal. Ah Scully, I didn't know you felt this deeply about me. I wish I deserved it. I'm glad you see me as a place of safety. I wish I really could protect you, that you'd let me. And with all the hell you've been through since the warehouse; you never said anything. But I expected that. Our problem is pretty basic, I guess. We don't talk. We look at each other, we glance, we touch, we give little innuendoes filled with hidden meaning, but we don't talk. And even when we do talk, we cloud it in excessive verbiage which intentionally ob fuscates the point. She isn't seeing a therapist; she lied. Well, if she won't talk to a therapist, maybe she'll talk to a friend. She's right, we need each other. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the hair out of her face. She opened sleepy eyes and smiled at me. "Mulder," she yawned. "What time is it?" Then she saw her journal, open in my hands. "Mulder," she started reproachfully, then sighed. "Okay, I guess fair is fair. I read your journal first." She looked down at the blankets and picked at the lint absently. "Scully." She looked up when I said her name. "Scully, I had no idea how deeply you felt about me. Not like this. You've never said anything, not right out. I always had to guess, and I was afraid I'd guess wrong." "It's all true," Scully said softly. "Now do you understand what I've been trying to tell you? Do you know how much I love you? The thought of losing you tears me apart inside. And the possibility that you would, of your own will, take yourself out of this life...is unbearable to me." I was shaken. I'd never thought of Scully's feelings for me as being akin to mine for her. She's strong, a survivor. If I died, she'd go on, marry, have a life. Wouldn't she? She took my left hand in the palm of her left and stroked my fingers with her right hand. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you. Please, don't wait to call me if this happens again." I gave her a hesitant smile. "Scully, believe me, if it happens again, you'll be the first I call. Besides, you bring good drugs with you." I cleared my throat and went on. "Sometimes it's hard for me to be serious, but I am now. Scully, I want to be your protection, your safe place. I know you don't want me hovering over you protectively, and I respect that. Just as I respect your abili ties. But, when you need a quiet place, I want you to know that I'll be there for you. Always." I found myself with an armful of Scully (very nice) and I think that we were then able to communicate many things non-verbally. We broke up the clinch when my stomach growled. I grinned, shamefacedly. "Well, I guess it's lunch time on a Saturday. What'll it be? Pizza or Chinese?" She wrinkled her nose and sat up. "How are you feeling? You must be better if you can eat." She studied me carefully and I could feel her counting my ribs through my t-shirt. Yeah, I've lost weight lately. I wasn't eating much before this case, and I eat even less when I'm profiling. "I'm better. I feel more centered. The sleep helped. I think that was the first sleep I've had without nightmares in weeks." Scully's hand came out and stroked my forehead, ostensibly checking for fever but I know a caress when I feel one. "How are you, really?" she asked simply. Tough question. "Am I suicidal? No, not actively. I'm satisfied that I won't hurt you. Will I ever get suicidal again? I don't know, Scully." I saw her dissatisfied look and added, "I'm sorry I can't be more definite, but I owe you the truth." She nodded. "Well, you're better than you were. We need to call Skinner and get you off this case somehow. You can't stay, it'll kill you." "No, I disagree," I protested. "I'm still Erica Scott's best chance and she deserves that. I've passed the crisis, I'll be okay. Really." Scully just pierced me with that skeptical look she's patented. She knows a line of bullshit when she hears it. "So, would you like to go out? It is Saturday, you know." She looked puzzled, so I added, "Our DATE, remember? It's my turn to treat you." "You are changing the subject." Scully looked at me, then leaned back, resting against my chest. "Yes. I am. And I'm still hungry. So, what will it be?" She gave me a speculative look. "Are you sure you're up for it?" I leered and answered her. "Agent Scully, for you I am always *up* for it. And I'm hungry, too. So, what's for lunch?" "Thai food. And make it spicy." Scully and spicy food, now there's a combination. Most of the fair-haired people I've ever known have had no tolerance for hot foods. And then there's Scully. She likes to say that she teethed on jalapenos, and having grown up in San Diego, she appreciates Mexican food. "Agent Scully, I know just the place, in Georgetown..." I gently dislodged her head from my chest (reluctantly) and went to shower and shave. We had a peaceful lunch and a leisurely stroll through Georgetown, window shopping and sight-seeing. When the sun went down, Scully insisted on making dinner for me at her place. "And besides, I want to show you something." "Oh, and what would that be?" I asked archly. Mentally, I was torn between the hope that it was some great new lingerie and the fear that it was some great new lingerie. I'm serious about not wanting to go too far until I test clean. And the idea of s ex with Scully....wondrous, intoxicating...also conjures up demons still all too vivid. I want her, but I'm just not ready yet. I don't know if I can...even with her. "You'll see," was all she would say. I discovered, when we got to her apartment, not great new lingerie, but something even more tantalizing: a wide screen television and premium cable. "Scully, I didn't think you even watched television." I picked up the remote longingly. I must have been fondling it, because Scully started laughing. "Yes, Mulder, I do watch television, and videos. I just thought it was time to get a decent television set and cable to go with it. The man from City Cable was here on Friday to hook up the cable service." She snuggled next to me on the couch and wrapped her arm around my waist. "Besides, I have this new boyfriend who really likes television. I thought he might enjoy watching public television with me." I turned to Scully, my eyes widening. "Very cultured, your boyfriend, huh?" She smirked. "Oh, very. He especially likes nature shows, you know, birds...bees..." As she leaned in for my kiss I whispered "Let's keep bees out of this relationship, huh?...." Dinner was late. We spent some time necking on the couch like teenagers. Boyfriend. She called me her boyfriend. I like that sound...boyfriend. Does that make her my "girlfriend"? Are we going "steady"? Can you go "steady" while in your late 30's a nd no longer a virgin? Hell, I'm just glad I'm her 'boyfriend'. After dinner, and some more necking, we tried out the television set. The cable worked beautifully and we spent the rest of the evening watching a Star Trek marathon...and necking some more. All in all the day ended much better than I expected it to. I'm not on a morgue slab--which was all I could see when I woke up. I have strict orders from my doctor to spend Sunday quietly at home, but to call her at least once to check in. I always follow my doctor's orders. March 15, 1999 Monday I got to the office early, about 7:30 a.m. Just as I put my coat down, the phone rang and I moved to answer it. "Mulder? How are you feeling?" It was Skinner's voice and he didn't sound happy. He sounded on edge. I could hear noises in the background. "Much better, sir. Is there something wrong?" "Yes. Erica Scott's body just turned up. I'm at the scene...." My gut clenched. Damn, damn, damn, damn...too late. We were too damned late. And I could hear the question he wanted to ask. Was I up to working on this case, or would he be forced to e xplain the suicide of the lead profiler? "We're ready to help, sir. Where are you?" I scribbled down the address he gave me. "Is Agent Scully there with you?" he asked. "No, she's still at home, but I'll call her. We'll meet you there." I telephoned Scully. She was almost ready to leave for work. "No, you'll have to meet me at a crime scene. They found Erica's body. Skinner's there now. He want's us." I gave her the address and she agreed to meet me there. The body had been found in a vacant lot about ten miles from the Hoover Building, hidden in some bushes. The city police had already arrived and the area was taped off. I pulled on latex gloves and wandered over to where Skinner was standing, surveying the area dismally. He turned as we approached and gave me a visual once-over. "Agent. The body was found by a jogger about an hour ago. We are canvassing the area for any witnesses who may have seen who dumped her here." I walked over to the body and squatted down to examine it, then felt a hand on my forearm. "Mulder, you don't have to be here. She's gone, her father can hardly object if you leave the case at this time." Skinner was looking at me with something like compassion. "No, I have to be here. I have to find this guy, or all my work, all my...experiences...on this case will have been wasted. And her family needs the closure." I could still see doubt in his eyes. "Sir, trust me. I can handle this." He took his hand off my sleeve and let me examine the body. The body lay face down and was half covered by dirt and vegetation, but it didn't hide the stab wounds. Not much blood, though. She was killed somewhere else. Then coroner turned the body over and I gasped. The resemblance was even more pronounced in person. God, she could have been Scully's twin. I couldn't stop staring at her face, her blue eyes open in amazement. Blue eyes so like Scully's. Scully....sh e sure was taking a long time getting here....Oh well, sometimes she does that. I wandered over the crime scene, one among many forensics people looking for the same thing: evidence that would lead us to this SOB. I spotted a small scrap of paper in the leaves near where the body had been and carefully picked it up. It was printed on one side, part of a bill? It was pink and said "City C.." The rest was torn off. No other writing. I put it into a plastic evidence bag and began studying it. I considered--It could be nothing. 'City Cafe?' or 'City Cat-care?'...then a terrible thought hit me. Oh my God, and Scully fits the profile. I pulled out my cell phone and frantically called her home number. No answer. I tried her cell phone. No answer. Shit! shit! shit! I started running for my car. "Skinner! City Cable---the UNSUB works for City Cable! We have to get to Scully's apartment, FAST!" His eyes widened and he began to run after me, shouting into his cell phone. I got to my car first, peeling out, leaving him behind as the agents scattered. From: Xenith Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (10/?) Author: Xenith Fox Mulder's Journal, continued... March 15, 1999 When I arrived at Scully's apartment house, squealing to a stop in front of the building, I could see that I was already too late. The area was taped off and police were interviewing witnesses. I didn't see Scully anywhere. I flashed my badge at the cop and ran inside. Scully's apartment door was open and I could see forensics workers combing the place. I hurried over to the detective in charge and flashed my badge again. "Hello," he said. "Agent....Mulder? Is the Bureau taking over?" I looked around, hoping against hope that Scully would be there somewhere. She wasn't. "Probably. I'm Agent Scully's partner. Where is she? Can you tell me what happened?" "I'm Detective Jenkins, Alexandria P.D. A neighbor called and said she heard the sounds of a fight, then saw Ms...er...Agent Scully being carried out the door, apparently unconscious. A man described as," he looked at his notepad. "Short, stocky, with dark hair and mustache had her in a fireman's carry and loaded her into a gray or white van. The witness didn't get a license number." I could feel myself slump. I pulled the plastic baggie from my pocket and handed it to Jenkins. "The suspect you want is an employee of City Cable, probably a cable service man. This was found at the scene where the body of Erica Scott was found this m orning. He's a serial rapist-murderer operating in the Alexandria area, and my partner and I have been assisting in the investigation. You've got to call City Cable and find out who this guy is." "I'm familiar with the case. She would fit the profile at that." Jenkins glanced at a photo of Scully and her mother on the side table, and pulled out his cell phone. I wandered around the apartment, looking, looking for clues, something. I heard a step behind me and found Skinner there, a look of sympathy on his face. "Agent, there's nothing you can do here. You're only getting in the way of the forensics team. Why don't you go back to the office and wait for developments?" "What about the suspect? Are they going to pick him up? When can we go?" Skinner nodded toward Jenkins. "I've just spoken to him. The police are already out there and he isn't home. They're searching the house and there's no evidence that he took any of the victims there." "I need to see it; see where he lives. It could give me some leads." Skinner had a familiar set to his jaw that told me he didn't support the idea. "Agent Mulder, competent investigators from the police and the Bureau are on scene. I don't think you're up to more profiling just now." "But I know this guy, I'm the one most qualified..." I started, but Skinner began to shake his head. "No. You shouldn't be on this case any more. And with Erica Scott dead, there's no reason for me to keep you on it." "Scully's my...PARTNER..." I forced the words out through gritted teeth. "She'd give her life for me; I owe her..." Skinner just gave me a compassionate look and shook his head. I decided to change tactics. "Has Maggie Scully been told?" I asked. Skinner nodded. "I called her on the way over. She's on telephone standby. There's no reason for her to come out here and watch the police work." "I'll call her," I started to get my cell phone, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Don't do it here. From the office, Mulder." So here I am, in the basement office at the Hoover Building. The repair man who installed Scully's cable, Everett Berger, is 5' 6", dark-haired, stocky with a mustache. Today's his day off; he hasn't been to work and wasn't at home. I called Maggie Scully. She was collected and calm, very like her daughter in a crisis. "Mrs. Scully, I just want you to know that we'll find her. I won't leave any stone unturned; I'll find her." I was trying to convince myself as much as her. "I know you'll do your best, Fox. I'll pray for you both." Now why does that make me feel a little better? Using a few little tricks the boys taught me, I've discovered the address for Berger and I'm going out there to see what I can find. Scully's life is worth more than my career. Shit! My sorry-ass life isn't worth more than hers. I'll do whatever it tak es to bring her home. ---Later---- I'm at home with the bits and pieces I was able to gather from Berger's house. It looks like he inherited it from his parents. Old but serviceable furniture, no sign of hobbies. He lives alone, no pets. But I found some interesting stuff. A photograph album, a calendar, some paperback books. I spent a good two hours there, absorbing the atmosphere, learning him. What I'm about to do probably isn't my smartest action, but I don't see any choice. Berger knows by now that the police are after him; he won't go back home. He has Scully some place that feels safe to him. He's a planner, stalked Scully and examined h er habits and took her to a place he prepared for her. He won't be found easily. He won't rape her right away. His hatred is so great that he has to gloat over his victims, try to humiliate them first. Scully..... I have the file here, all the photographs, evidence, everything I need. I'll find her. NOTE, LEFT FOLDED ON MULDER'S DESK ON TOP OF FLOPPY DISK. Scully, I'm leaving you my journal on this disk; I want you to know my thoughts while I'm lucid. And I want to leave you this letter, while I can. As I write this, you're being held by that bastard Everett Berger, our serial killer. I can only see one way to f ind you, and Skinner has forbidden me to try. Well, you know how I feel about authority. You know how I react to profiling. I may actually join Patterson this time; I don't know if I can find my way back to you. I'll try. I just want you to know that. But if I don't make it back, I want you to know how I feel about you. Scully, you're the center of my life, my heart and my soul. You always will be, whether I am able to comprehend that or not. I've never found it easy to say "I love you", but I've been learning how important it is in recent days. I do love you, with al l my heart. And I always will. But if I end up sharing a padded cell with Bill Patterson, don't waste your time around me. Find yourself a life and go live it. Working with you has been the best time of my life and I'll always have that. God, that sounds maudlin, doesn't it? But I mean it, Scully. I love you always, Mulder UNDATED NOTES ON FOX MULDER'S DESK, WEIGHED DOWN BY SERVICE WEAPON. FOUND BY WALTER S. SKINNER (A.D., FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION) ---Damned little women...china dolls, that's what they are...shrill voices...think they're better than me. So I work hard, they despise me because I work with my hands...I'll show them how I work with my hands. No...they want clean men, well-dressed men...big men. That little red-head, cute, bossy. Buys that big-ass television set that I could never afford. No. I just get to install it, that's all. And connect the cable. She wouldn't know one end of a cable box from another, but she has money. And I saw that g uy that she's with--designer suits, tall. I hate jerks like that. Well he can't have her. She belongs to me. She'll always belong to me. I'll be the last man she ever has, and I'll be the last thing she ever sees. ---------------- Extreme rage against women....was he sexually abused by one as a child? Or maybe hurt by one as an adolescent? Obsessed with height. Obsessed with work--his work, his work is manual labor of some kind--of course, cable and electronics. Not 'clean' enough for him... Where did he take her? Kills them in a frenzy---multiple stab wounds, over 49 in victim number 6. Restrains them with cords--abrasions on wrists and ankles. Control and dominance uppermost...not much control in his life.... Dumps the bodies in vacant lots, dumpsters. Sees the victims as 'used up', as 'garbage'. He wants their essence, their 'stature', takes it by destroying them and tries to infuse it into himself.... Safe place...my safe place....where? where is it? Come on, Everett, tell me... Home, gotta take them home...not the house, a happy place. Look at the pictures in the scrapbook---a young man standing with elderly people in front of a farm house. Outbuildings in the back. Another picture of a younger man standing over a dead deer, with older man--grandfather. Safe place. Grandparents house. Shed out back, or outbuilding. Too much blood to sully happy place...use shed. Thank God for friends who are hackers. Address for grandparents' house: 32404 Moorhen Road Gordonton Maryland Grandparents died 4 years ago, house inherited by an aunt. She's lives in Florida, so it's vacant. Skinner's number: 202/555-3425 Leave message....Won't wait for backup. Sorry Skinner... MESSAGE ON VOICEMAIL (202) 555-3425 Datestamped: 5/15/99 4:02 p.m. Sir, this is Agent Mulder (slurry voice), I..uh..looked over the files on the Berger case...I think he's at his grandparents' house. It's vacant now..has been for years. Address is...address is....uh... 32404 Moorhen Road Gordonton Maryland...He won't kill her yet, but we need to get there. I'm on my way... (long pause--heavy breathing sounds) I..he's inside me...I can feel his emotions, his hate. I think..I have some..empathy for Patterson...I..don't know what's going to happen, but I have to get to Scully. If it looks like I'm a danger to her, shoot me. Please. WASHINGTON POST MARCH 16, 1999 MORNING EDITION --Late Monday evening FBI agents and police arrested a man suspected of raping and murdering 7 women, including Erica Scott, daughter of Senator Gareth Scott, whose body was found yesterday. A woman, not yet identified, who was held captive by him was treated briefly for minor injuries and released. A Federal Agent involved in the arrest has been hospitalized with undisclosed injuries. From: Xenith Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (11/?) Author: Xenith Journal of Dana Scully March 16, 1999 They won't let me see him. Damn! Skinner told them it was too dangerous and they won't let me see him. I've argued and explained and threatened but Skinner just looks at me and says nothing. I might as well describe everything that happened. I'm so upset it might calm me. As I write this I am sitting on a couch in the hospital waiting room for the special section. I am NOT going home until they let me see him. On Monday morning, after Mulder's call, I was finishing my makeup, but still needed shoes and my gun when the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole and saw the guy who installed my television set and cable there. Suspecting nothing, I opened the door. "Hello Ms. Scully," he smiled. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I realized that I installed the wrong splitter for your type of television set. Your reception my be okay now, but it won't last long. I'd like to exchange it for the proper one, if you don't mind. It'll only take a minute." He held up a small gadget and looked at me appealingly. "Well, I'm in kind of a hurry, but okay, if it's fast." I opened the door and let him in, then turned my back to lead him to the t.v. set. Big mistake. I felt a blow to my head and the reality of the situation hit me just as the unconsciousness did. This was HIM, the one who killed all those women. I must have been out for some hours, because when I woke up the late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows of the shed where I lay. I was still fully dressed and was tied, wrists and ankles. I could see daylight through the holes in the corruga ted iron that formed the walls of this place. Wooden floor, and old farm implements made up the rest of the decor. Damn! I recalled all too well waking up in that warehouse and what happened after. Only this time, there was no Mulder to share it with me. I struggled with the cords but there was little give. But the killer wasn't here, and I was grateful for the ti me to plan. I got mad. No, I got enraged. I would NOT be made a victim a second time. I'd die first and take him with me. Somehow. And knowing Mulder, he'd be moving heaven and earth to find me. He'll get here. I know he will. What would Mulder do in this sit uation? He'd psych the guy out. What had Mulder said about him? Small of soul and of stature. Small ego. Play on that. Whatever the other women had tried didn't work. They died. Well, I'm a Federal Agent, I have training. That has to count for something. And dammit, I'm *tired* of this. About half an hour later he came into the shed. I tried to look non-threatening and asked hesitantly "What's going on? Why did you take me?" That's right Starbuck, play innocent. He doesn't know you're FBI, so we won't tell him. "You wouldn't understand. All you women, you little ones especially." He studied me closely. "You're friendlier than the other ones." Good. Keep him thinking that way. "When you came out on Friday, you seemed so nice, like such a pleasant guy. I just don't understand why you're doing this. What do you want?..." I gave him what I hoped was a non-threatening, pleading look. "You're lying. Women always are. They don't want a guy like me; I'm short and I'm a working man." "So the only way to get a woman is to kidnap one?" Uh oh, wrong tack Dana. He tensed up and looked like he wanted to hit me, so I followed up. "That doesn't seem like you. I think you're very good looking. I...uh...was kind of hoping on Friday that y ou'd ask me out." He calmed down and looked surprised. "Really? You really think so?" Then his face hardened. "You *are* lying to me. You bitches are all the same." So much for the soft soap. Time for plan number 2. He approached me and I couldn't control my flinch away from him. He looked at me intently then bent over and began kissing me. I held still and endured it until he pulled away, then began unbuttoning my blouse. Good, get closer..closer..my hands were tied in front of me this time, and I knew exactly where I was going to drive my knees, just as soon as he was in position. I was about to knee him in the groin, when I heard the sounds of a car on a gravel driveway. He heard it too and abruptly pulled away from me, grabbing a handgun on his way out. I heard voices outside...Mulder! Then Mulder walked into the shed, followed immediately by my kidnapper, the gun trained on Mulder's back. "I told you, I'm not armed," Mulder said as he walked in, hands up. "You can see that my holster is empty. Everett, I had to talk to you, get you to see reason." Mulder glanced around the room, his eyes glancing impersonally over me. "And what reason would that be?" The man, Everett, held the gun firmly on Mulder's chest. "You have to get out of here. The FBI knows where you are, they're on their way. You're doing a good thing, teaching all those bitches a lesson. Damned women...look down on honest working men...." Mulder was rambling and didn't sound like himself. "And why do you care so damned much about my welfare, huh?" "I understand your frustration. Working guys never have a chance with women like this...And this...this piece of garbage," Mulder shot me a look filled with venom. "She deserves everything she gets. But the Feds are coming and you've gotta get out." Mulder walked over to me and knelt next to me, then grabbed my hair in with his hand and forced his tongue into my mouth, kissing me as brutally as Everett had planned to. He sat up and grinned at Everett, who by now had lowered the gun, somewhat. "She isn't worth your time, slutty piece of trash just like the rest..." I could see Mulder's hand reaching down to his ankle, where he wore a hidden gun. Everett had aimed the gun toward the floor by now. He was believing Mulder. Mulder eased himself to his feet and brought out the gun, pointing it at Everett. "Freeze. Hands where I can see them, I'm a Federal agent, " he said calmly enough. He'd had me frightened there for a moment. His demeanor had been a haunting twin to my kidnapper. Everett, shocked, dropped the gun and stood with his hands up. Mulder kicked the gun away and cuffed the man to a support post, then came over to me. "Mulder...My God, you had me worried for a minute there..." I feasted my eyes on his face and body as he untied me. He gave me a worried grin. "Don't be relieved yet, that bastard is still in my head. I figured out enough about him to lead me here. Skinner should be here in a few minutes." I rubbed my wrists and nodded. Mulder helped me to my feet, then quickly drew his hand away as though afraid to touch me. He holstered his gun and began looking around the shed. "He's got trophies here, I know it..." While I watched, Mulder rummaged in some metal cabinets, then came up with various articles of women's clothing, a necklace, a watch. He fondled them absently, his eyes going vacant. I reached for the items in Mulder's hands. "Mulder? Mulder you shouldn't handle those without gloves....Mulder!" Mulder had grabbed my wrist and with a strange look in his eyes he said "Nobody touches these but me. They're mine." He gave me a sideways look that chilled me. I wasn't talking to Mulder any more. It was him, Everett. "I won't touch them, it's okay." I backed away from him slowly, hoping that Skinner would get here soon. "Mulder? I'm glad you found me. When did you call Skinner? Will he be here soon?" The distant look faded from Mulder's eyes and he met my glance finally. "Scully? What...what happened?" He looked down at the handful of silk in his hands, then up at me, a frightened expression on his face. "It's happening again, isn't it? I was him." I couldn't answer him and still tell the truth. It didn't matter, he saw the truth in my eyes, and nodded. He slowly reached for his gun and pulled it from the holster, then put it on the floor between us. "Take it, Scully. I shouldn't have it. It's too dangerous; I might hurt you." "Mulder, you're still you! This will pass, it has to. I can't take your weapon..." I crouched down so that I was even with him. He smiled at me forlornly and shook his head. "Be logical, Agent Scully. I'm not competent to handle a weapon, and I'm a danger to both myself and you. You keep it for me." "For now. Temporarily." I picked up the gun hesitantly and tucked it into my belt. Mulder slowly got up, as though a weight had fallen off his shoulders. I heard a scraping sound and turned to see our prisoner trying to dislodge the pole and escape. Mulder saw him too, and launched himself at him, then began to punch at Everett's head and body frantically. "Mulder! Stop! Mulder!" I ran forward and tried to pull Mulder away. I could hear Mulder's voice muttering "I'm not a victim...you're the victim..I'm in control, not you....I have the power, not you! And she's MINE, not yours!" I pulled at Mulder and he lost his balance, falling away from a now cowering Everett. Mulder got up from the floor, looking at me with burning eyes. The man looking at me was Mulder...but it wasn't him. It was happening again. "I'm in control. You damned women, you're all alike...trying to take over....But you're mine.." He approached me, he hands reaching out for me. I pulled the gun and backed away. "Mulder, it's me, Scully..." I tried to keep my voice soothing, remind him of who he was. "We're partners, remember? You and I work together, we're friends...remember roller-skating? You like pizza with anchovies and I hate them..." I kept up a monologue, easing backward for the wall, until I could feel my shoulders against corrugated iron. I couldn't shoot him point blank. But I had to. I could feel my finger beginning to squeeze the trigger. Mulder blinked, then staggered back a few steps, his eyes widening. "Oh my God, Scully..." He looked down at his hands, then retreated from me sharply, falling over backwards, holding his arms close to himself, his eyes squeezed shut. Then he began rock ing. I could hear cars pulling up on the gravel driveway. Skinner, at last. "Mulder, there here. It's okay...." I holstered the gun and knelt next to him, but he just crouched there, rocking. Skinner ran into the shed, gun drawn and saw me. He looked around. "Agent Scully, where's...?" He saw Everett, battered but restrained. And then he noticed Mulder. "Damn." Skinner came over and squatted next to Mulder. I put my hand on Mulder's shoulder and began to make soothing noises. "Mulder, it's okay; I'm all right, nobody's hurt. You got Everett. It's okay. Can you hear me?" Mulder just rocked. I exchanged a worried look with Skinner. "How are you?" he asked. "Minor bruises, no real damage. But I think we need the paramedics, just the same." Skinner nodded and went over to the doorway to make the call. Meanwhile, agents were pouring into the shed, beginning the forensics work necessary to closing the case d own. I stayed with Mulder throughout the ride to the hospital, but he never said a word. ----Later--- Skinner got word that I was refusing to leave the hospital unless I saw Mulder. I think Sandy ratted on me. Skinner came over to my couch and sat down next to me. "Agent Scully, " he began kindly enough "You've had a hard day. Why don't you go home and rest?" "Not until I see Mulder. Nobody will tell me anything. What's wrong with him? Is he conscious yet?" "He's not really himself," Skinner said uncomfortably. "I've spoken with him. He drifts away, then comes back. But the reason you're excluded from seeing him, well, it wasn't my decision. It was his." "What do you mean, his decision?" I asked incredulously. "Why wouldn't he want to see me?" "Dana, Mulder was having trouble maintaining his own personality while doing this profile even before this incident, you know that. He left you a note and his journal." Skinner handed me the note and his own laptop to read the disk with. "You've read this?" I asked. "Yes. I needed the insight into his state of mind. Under the circumstances, I have to agree with his decision. It is too dangerous for him to see you right now." I picked up the laptop and read his journal entries, then read over Mulder's notes. I could see the beginnings of disintegration on the page. And lastly I read his note to me. His goodbye. He expected this to happen before he came after me, damn him. And he won't let me near, so that I can at least share his pain. From: Xenith Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (12/?) Author: Xenith Dana Scully's Journal March 16---later I got in to see him, finally. I snuck a white lab coat, grabbed Mulder's chart and bluffed my way in to see him when the shift changed. The new nurse doesn't know me and unlocked his room for me. He was sleeping when I went in, restrained at his ankles and wrists. He looks so pale and thin, especially in that hospital gown. I sat down in the chair and began to read over his chart. Not much of a physical nature. Brain scans were normal, no chem icals in his blood stream, no new physical injuries. And he'd been put into restraints at his own request. He didn't want to chance hurting anybody. I rubbed my eyes and closed them for a second. He hadn't been evaluated by a psychiatrist yet, but he'd be seeing somebody tomorrow. And then the anti-psychotic meds would begin, maybe a long stay in a mental hospital. Damn those faceless gray men who value politics over a man's life. I looked up to find him watching me, such a sad look on his face. "Hey, Scully. I might have known that locked doors wouldn't keep you out," he said quietly. "Mulder." I paused, uncertain what to say. "Mulder, why?" He gave me a deep look filled with longing, then stared at the floor. "You know why. I can't trust myself, not like this. Scully, for a moment, I was *him*. I was looking at you through *his* eyes." He shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. I can't risk hurting you. He's still in my head." "Mulder, *he* is a set of ideas and concepts you picked up while profiling. You're an empathetic and imaginative man, that's why you're a good profiler. And that's why this happens to you." I surveyed him calmly, suddenly angry, at him, at the situatio n. "And besides, Mulder, since you elected to have yourself restrained, you can't stop me from staying here and visiting with you. I'm in no danger." I leaned back in my chair. "So, what do you have to say to that?" "I..guess I have no choice." Mulder favored me with a surprised little grin. "Besides, I always did think you had a thing for bondage." I couldn't stop my own grin at that. I spent the rest of the evening with him. He faded out several of times, but came back when I spoke to him loudly. But he was frightened when he realized what had happened. He was very clear that he wanted the rest raints to stay on. I reluctantly said good night when a nurse came in to give him a sedative so that he'd sleep. I plan to return early tomorrow morning. I want to talk to his psychiatrist. March 17, 1999 7:00 a.m. I was very surprised to find Dr. Heitz Werber deep in conversation with Skinner this morning. And pleased, I think. Dr. Werber is unconventional, but at least he knows Mulder. I joined Skinner, who was conferring with Werber in the hallway. "Do you have a prognosis yet, Dr. Werber?" I asked anxiously. "I'm hopeful. A.D. Skinner and I want to discuss that with you." "You know each other?" I was incredulous. Skinner nodded. "We've met before. I spoke with Dr. Werber before Mulder was assigned to the X Files." Skinner looked uncomfortable. "I suppose you should know, since you're listed as his next of kin. This isn't the first time this has happened to him." "I know, when he was profiling Roche he had problems." Skinner shook his head. "No, Dana, those were minor. No, the reason he left the ISU, and did it so abruptly was because he was beginning to...well, evidence the mannerisms of a subject he was profiling: Monty Props. He realized it himself and sought Dr . Werber's help." My eyes went wide. Monty Props, the famous serial killer that Mulder had known so thoroughly his profile had been the key to apprehending him. "How bad was it?" I didn't want the answer to this, but I had to know. "He assaulted Patterson himself and broke the man's nose before he was restrained. He was put on involuntary medical leave." Skinner pulled off his glasses and began wiping them. "We were barely able to save his career by calling it a stress-related le ave. With rest, he was able to pull himself together again, and lose the voices. The X Files were proposed as an interim assignment for him until he recovered fully, and could return to the ISU, and I agreed to supervise the division." "But I wouldn't agree to his return," Dr. Werber said quietly. "It would destroy him. He is far too suggestible and imaginative for that type of work. Fox approached me and indicated that he enjoyed the X Files and wanted to stay. It seemed he had a p artner he liked working with there, as well, so I recommended that he retain that assignment if at all possible." "And I met with Dr. Werber at that time to make sure that Mulder was fit for duty. With this new...incident...I called him last night, assuming that Mulder would want him on the case." Skinner straightened up. "We are now presented with a similar problem. If Agent Mulder begins standard psychiatric treatment, including anti-psychotic medication, he can kiss his career good-bye. He's already bordering on suicide, if he loses his career on top of that..." Skinn er's voice trailed off as he looked down at his hands. "He'll die," I whispered. "What can I do to help?" Werber and Skinner exchanged looks. "I have an idea, sort of a rest-cure, if you're willing." Werber began. "With some difficulty I've succeeded in persuading the Assistant Director that this is the best thing to do. I don't believe that Fox is a true danger to you or to anyone but himself ." "I have a vacation house in North Carolina. I don't use it much. I had already approached the Director." Skinner's face took on a grim look. "Given the content of my earlier letter to him, he has agreed to extended, fully paid medical leaves for you bo th. Why don't you go stay there for a while, both of you, and heal up from all this? It's in a beautiful area, it's peaceful and it will give Mulder a chance to recover." Skinner fished into his pocket and handed me a key. "Sharon and I...spent our ho neymoon there. It's a nice place. You'll like it." I took the key. "Thank you sir. But are you sure Mulder will agree to it? I know that he would never hurt me, but he's afraid that he's a danger to me. He'll hardly want to be locked in a cottage with me for weeks." Skinner grinned. "He doesn't have a choice. Either he does this or he is given a medical retirement. He'll agree. But it'll be up to you to convince him that he isn't the killer he thinks he is." Mulder's Journal undated They let Skinner loan me his laptop. It's not pointy, like a pen or pencil; not a potential weapon. And the restraints are off. I guess that's good. It's nice to be able to write my thoughts again; not that they've been very private lately. It seems that Skinner as well as Scully read the contents of the CD and my note to her. I'd be angry if I wasn't just so damned tired of it all. They've come up with a jack-ass scheme to save my career. Scully and I are going to a cottage in North Carolina that Skinner owns. The very thought terrifies me. I could hurt her and never even realize it until it was too late. Scully looks remarkably calm at the prospect and just reminds me that she'll have a gun, not me. And yeah, I know she'll shoot. Well, at least the 'stang is going with me. I called Frohike and he's arranging for it to be shipped to Skinner's place. I'll keep working on it, hopefully it'll keep me sane. Or maybe get me sane. All alone with Scully for two months. Once that was my fantasy, now...? Now I'm just scared. And unsettled. Who am I really? Who am I now? Dana Scully's Journal March 31, 1999 Calabash, N.C. Well, we've been here almost two weeks now. It's been peaceful so far. The cottage has two bedrooms, so Mulder sleeps in one and I have the other. To my disappointment, but not my surprise, Mulder has stopped touching me, kissing me like we were begin ning to do before. If he's lapsed into the other personality, he hasn't let me see it. Mostly he's just silent, thinking. I'm trying to give him space, let him heal, but the silence is beginning to wear on me. There is so much left to be said between us The cottage is pretty, a white-painted clapboard house with a deck and two matching adirondack chairs facing the sea. This week I've been working in the garden and my nose is cherry red. It's been clear with the temp in the 60's and 70's. The roses hav e run wild; I don't think Skinner has come here much recently, so I've made it my task to prune and care for the garden. Mulder has been working steadily on the Mustang. He won't let me help, says it's a guy-type of job, even though I'm the one who assembled most of that carburetor. Nevertheless, I understand his need to do 'masculine' things. And the car is something un iquely his, that neither the X Files nor what's happened to him can take away. And I....? This is the first real breather I've had since Kurt Willard, and I'm starting to deal with the vestiges of the emotions that experience left behind. No, not vestiges, great seething cauldrons of rage, and shame and pain. I could never spend time to work these through before; Mulder needed me. He still needs me, but I sense that he just needs quiet. And he's still keeping a distance from me. I think he's afraid that the voices will come back and he'll hurt me. At his insistence, I wear my gun and have promised him solemnly that I'll shoot him if I need to. I've begun seeing a local therapist twice a week. It does help, talking to somebody who doesn't know me as Dana Scully, FBI agent, although I sometimes wonder if this gentle woman really believes half of what I tell her. Mulder seems to be sleeping thro ugh the night. Now I'm the one with nightmares: the warehouse, the shed...what would have happened if Mulder hadn't found me when he did. The most difficult part of this living arrangement is the sheer physical closeness to Mulder. I don't mean to say that we don't talk, we just don't behave in an intimate way. We've gone back to the "we're-platonic-partners-that's-all" facade. When I make overtures, Mulder shies away. My Mulder-dream is back. I should feel repulsed at the idea of sex, but I'm not. Not at all. And facing him across that kitchen table three times a day is hard. I want him so much, and we're alone here. Nobody watching. Does he want me? Or have I l ost him? So our daily routine is fairly simple. Mulder gets up first and makes coffee for both of us. If the morning is clear, I usually pour myself a cup and join him on the deck, sipping and watching the sea. I grab an afghan and wrap it around myself and si t in the second adirondack and quietly drink my coffee. Then, when the coffee is finished, I make breakfast. (Soup is the only thing he can cook.) On foggy days we do the same thing, in front of the fire. After breakfast he works on the car and I read, or garden or just think. This is the first extended time I've had for myself in a long time when I wasn't either in a hospital or rehab. And of course, Mulder watches television. I've never known a man so addicted to the tube. But I don't complain. And funny, even though we have cable here, nary a porn movie has he seen while I've been here with him. The rape turning affecting his desi re for sex? Probably. God, how I wish... I wish a lot of things...and I can't do a damned thing about them. Fox Mulder's Journal April 1, 1999 I hate to say it, but I'm getting bored. Is that sick or what? The guys shipped me a stack of Playpen Magazines, but I just don't feel like looking at them. All the women are just...not Scully. Ditto the porno movies; you see one blonde bimbo, you've seen them all. Boring. Not..intelligent, feisty, witty, with red hair and peaches and cream skin...Whoah. Cold shower time.... --Later--- I'm working on the car. The engine rebuild is going well, and I've ordered new brake pads. I'll finish her off with a full detailing. But Scully doesn't ride in her until I'm clean. Won't know for sure until August. A long, long time. I'm using my own laptop, now, and have internet access (naturally). I've been corresponding with Bill Draeger by e-mail. He isn't taking patients any more. Too sick. I haven't mentioned what's happening to him to Scully. Somehow, this is one sorrow I want to keep to myself. And the fear. I don't want to burden her any more than she is. The voices have died down. I catch myself thinking Everett Berger's thoughts less and less often. Thank God. Maybe Dr. Werber was right; it was stress...all the terror and pain and need for control just bunching all together inside. I'm also checking in with Dr. Werber regularly, by phone and e-mail. The rape nightmares are dying back some, although I still don't sleep well. I think Scully's starting to have problems, though. I heard her crying in her sleep last night, and just di dn't know what to do for her. Should I get up and hold her as I'd like to? Would she be scared of me? She doesn't say anything, so I guess she wants her privacy. Scully. It's so hard being cooped up in this house alone with her. There are times when I just want to throw her across the kitchen table and fuck her silly....And then I remember her rape, and mine and know I could never never do that. Her permission has to be clear before we go anywhere. And nothing until I'm okay, and I know I'm okay. I can't sentence her to what Bill is going through. I watched her gardening yesterday. She wore some skimpy little white shorts and a navy tee shirt. No hat, little Keds sneaks, no socks. I wanted to sneak up on her and just kiss my way down her neck...no, don't go there. Don't make this any harder tha n it has to be. Hell, don't make *yourself* any harder than you have to be. I need to talk to her about this...this romance. I want it. I want her. I haven't brought it up because I was never sure that I would ever be *me* again. Frankly, I couldn't be sure what would happen in the heat of passion. Would it be me or *him*, B erger? I know what he does when he feels passionate; and it's like a time bomb inside. I still want that kiss in the back seat. April 10, 1999 Scully woke up crying early this morning, like she has the past week. I couldn't just stand by any more. I got up and went into her room to her bed. "Scully? Are you okay?" I asked, my voice low. "M..mulder? Is that you?" Her voice was trembling, so I sat on the bed next to her. She was wearing her cotton flannel pajamas, her hair sticking up in all directions. Cute as a button. I smoothed down her hair. "Are you all right? It sounds like you were having a bad dream." I reached an arm around her and gathered her in close. She snuggled against my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah. It was a nightmare." Her voice was muffled. "Anything you'd care to talk about?" I kept stroking her hair gently, pushing it away from the part of her face that I could see. "Just the usual. Abduction. Experimentation. Kurt Willard. Rape." At the last word I tightened both arms around her and just held her until she'd cried herself out. When she seemed calmer, I moved to go back to my room but she stopped me. "Mulder, will you stay with me tonight? I don't mean for sex, just would you stay?" "Of course." I climbed into the bed next to her and we spooned for the rest of the night, her hands holding onto mine where they were clasped around her waist. Dana Scully's Journal April 16, 1999 The nightmares have gotten worse. Thank goodness for Mulder. He's started sharing the bed with me because of them. I think I woke him up the other night; he came in to check on me. Since then, we've shared the bed but not our bodies. It's so comforting to have him there. And, he makes a wonderful electric blanket. He normally sort of drapes himself around me anyway, and I've found myself sleeping more warmly and definitely more securely since then. I still crave him, and, judging by what I often feel pressed against me, the feeling is mutual. We have to talk about our relationship. He hasn't brought the subject up, so I know it scares him silly. It scares me too. But it's like the elephant in the living room that everyone ignores. It's there and it isn't going anywhere, so it is pointless to pretend that it doesn't exist. I've stopped caring whether he hears me call his name in my sleep. I think his ego could use a little boosting, and, well, he already knows I dream about him. He read my diary, so he has to know how I feel. April 20, 1999 Uneventful. We're still spooning at night, but nothing more. I'm getting frustrated. Mulder finished the engine and is starting the brakes. I'm beginning to be jealous of that car. April 30, 1999 A funny thing happened today. I was searching for some cleanser in one of the closets and found a set of Skinner's wedding photos. Mulder found me looking at them and stopped to see what I was doing. "What's that?" he asked, wiping the grease off his hands and sat down next to me on the couch. "Skinner's wedding photos. He did say that he and Sharon spent their honeymoon here." I handed a formal photo to Mulder. He grinned. "Hey, Skinner has hair! He looks so young." Mulder studied the photo. "And happy." "I think they were very much in love," I said, looking at other snapshots of the Skinners on a picnic, at the beach, clowning at a party. "Yet they divorced," Mulder said thoughtfully. "Sharon told me once that Skinner was too good at keeping secrets, that he never opened up much. I think that killed the marriage. She loved him, but she just couldn't live with the silence." I was quiet a moment, thinking about the parallels. I think Mulder was too. "Scully, I haven't said much these past weeks, and I know how you must feel..." he began, but I interrupted. "Mulder, you have no idea how I feel. Why don't you try asking me?" He looked at me, a little frightened. "Okay, how do you feel? What do you feel?" "I feel angry that we seem to have lost the...the intimacy we were building. I'm tired of being shut out of your life, even though I think you're trying to protect me. It never works, anyway. And I feel...I feel..." I could see the fingers of my left hand gripping my knee. Mulder's right came to rest on top of it, and he clasped my hand. "You feel like one wrong move and we're history, right? And if that happened, the sky would tear apart and the world would end because being together is all that matters." Mulder held my hand in a suddenly tight grip. "I don't know if you feel like that , but I do. I don't want to lose you, Scully. But it's hard to say things. It's just easier to *do* things than to say them." "I know. I'm not exactly forthcoming myself. Okay Mulder, here it is. I'm hot for you. Living in this house with you is wonderful and excruciating. Sleeping with you is the most comfortable, cozy experience I've ever had, and the surest test of self- control I've ever met. How's that for openness?" I looked up to meet his deep hazel eyes. He was grinning. "Why are you smiling, damn it?" "I'm happy," he said. "It's good to know that I'm not the only one going crazy here." He paused and gently put the wedding picture on the coffee table. "I've been quiet, because I wanted to be sure that Berger was out of my head. I think...he's faded away. Finally. Agent Scully, would it bother you if I kissed you very passionately on this couch?" "Agent Mulder, it would bother me not at all." To my delight we found ourselves making out on the couch, pretty passionately. I took great pleasure in removing Mulder's shirt and running my hands over his chest. His skin is so soft...who'd have thought he was ticklish? This time was my turn. I kis sed my way across his chest and down his abdomen heading steadily south. Okay, no bodily fluids must be exchanged, but that doesn't mean I can't look, does it? Or touch? I'd wash my hands later... Mulder had lost his shirt and jeans and I was missing my shirt, shorts and bra and we were both going for the last bits of underwear when Mulder stopped suddenly and pulled away. "No, Scully--we can't. We can't..." He was panting and his eyes were closed. "Mulder, what's wrong?" Damn! Voices in the head? What? I was panting pretty hard myself, and flushed from Mulder's kisses. "I can't...It just feels...wrong. Every time I get close to you, I'm back there. In the warehouse. And I want to touch you, love you so much...When is this damned thing ever going to end?" Mulder looked at me with anguish. I gave him a careful hug. "Mulder, you're still better than you were. And you're getting better all the time. We'll get our chance." "Scully, would it bother you if we kept this dating thing at the, well, the courtship level? Dates, kisses, holding hands, that kind of thing? I think I can handle that. And I think...I think I need to talk to somebody about this." Mulder looked abashe d. "I never thought I'd have to see a therapist for something like this." He grabbed his shirt and slowly began to pull it on. I picked up my own shirt from the floor and began dressing too. "Mulder, it's okay. And I think the therapist is a good idea. Like I said, we have time." "Okay, but Ms. Scully, may I escort you to dinner and a movie next Saturday night?" "It would be my pleasure." I gave him another hug and he hugged back, hard. May 5, 1999 I was taking Mulder some coffee while he was reading his e-mail this afternoon when he stiffened in his chair, as if he'd been hit with a body blow. "Mulder, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" I put the coffee down and crouched down to his eye level. Mulder gulped and faced me. He said in a low, flat voice, "Bill Draeger's dead. His secretary is answering all his e-mails. He died yesterday. Of AIDS. The funeral is tomorrow." Mulder paused, then went on. "He was only 40 years old." From: Xenith Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (13/13) Author: Xenith Dana Scully's Journal--continued Mulder looked up, his face filled with pain. "I have to go back. I have to get to the funeral, and see the others from the group. God..." He fell silent, then began to speak slowly. "Bill never wanted to talk about it, being HIV positive. He just w anted to focus on life and get as much living in as he possibly could. And help as many people who were...hurt...like he was, as he could." Mulder scrubbed at his eyes and got up, wandering toward his bedroom. I followed him in and watched him pack a bag. "When are you coming back? Are you?" I couldn't keep the longing out of my voice. Mulder looked back, over his shoulder at me. "I'll be back. I think I'll stay a night or two in D.C., then come back on Saturday. For our date." Mulder smiled a little and I smiled back. His face changed, and an anxious look crossed his face. "Will you be all right, all alone here?" "I'll be..." I started to say 'fine', but something stopped me. I gathered my breath to finish the sentence, but I couldn't. He was going. My support, my warm, safe place. Just me, alone in this house, with my nightmares. I hadn't been alone since m y kidnapping by Berger; I'd stayed with Mom until Mulder was ready to travel. And before that, I'd been too preoccupied with Mulder and keeping him safe to go into my own feelings of exposure, shame, terror. I had ruthlessly pushed them down, dimly aware that they existed, but determined not to succumb. Here, in solitude I'd had a chance to open the coffin-lid just a bit, and now, while I stood there in front of Mulder, the lid was flying out of my hands and releasing, God only knew what. I could feel myself beginning to shake. "I'll be...I'll...I..." I couldn't get the words out. I wasn't fine. I hadn't *been* fine for a long time, and I couldn't side-step it any more. But I'm the strong one, the independent one. *I* nurture Mulder, he doesn't nurture me. That isn't the way it works.. "Scully?" Mulder moved forward to hold me, but I stepped backward. I could do this. I had to. I'm strong and I can't be a dependent, wilting female, or I'm no good to myself or anybody else. "No...Mulder...I'm fine. Really, I'll be fine." Mulder's face changed from caring sympathy to anger. "So you're fine, huh? Who is it has nightmares every night? You may not wake up, but I hear you crying in your sleep. You don't eat enough to keep a mouse alive. Don't you think I've noticed how your clothes are starting to bag on you?" He plucked at my wool sweater and pinched a good two inches of fabric. "I haven't said anything, because you'd only deny it. Damn it, Scully! When are you ever going to learn to accept help? Sure, you're ready to be open and share a few of your feelings, but only when *I'm* the official patient, and you can be the comfort ing earth-mother. Every time I need you to let me in, you pull this "I'm fine, Mulder" crap!" He walked back to the suitcase and began throwing clothes into it. "Well, I am fine! I can handle this. I'm seeing a therapist." At Mulder's frown and disbelieving look I added, "Well, I am. Really! And as for being more open, just because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve and run around telling the universe my life story, begging to be laughed at doesn't mean I...Oh my God, Mulder...I'm so sorry...." One look at his face told me everything I needed to know. "Well, you obviously don't need anything from me. I don't think you ever did. You can take care of yourself. I'll see you on Saturday, DR. Scully." With an angry look, Mulder grabbed the suitcase and the car keys and slammed out the door. I ran after him and watched him pull the car from the driveway, tires squealing, and zoom down the street. Damn him! He had to know I didn't mean it. I was only angry, he's used to my temper, or he should be by now. He's been gone for three hours and 36 minutes now. I sit in this quiet house and listen to the tick of the clock. Today is Wednesday, and so he'll be back in two days. I can take care of myself just fine. I'm an adult woman who has been living alone f or years. I don't need him to protect me or watch over me. Really. May 6 3:15 a.m. I woke up. I'm cold, the bed is so big and empty. I had a nightmare; I dreamed that a man had broken in to this house and I could feel his shadow cast across me. I jolted bolt upright in bed and grabbed for my gun with one hand, the light switch with t he other. Nobody was there. I've searched the entire place. I'm alone. My therapist has been nagging me to write more in my journal; to express my emotions more. I have written something of what I'm feeling but..well, not much. I can feel it trying to push its way out. I'm afraid. The house is quiet, and remote and so empty. And I feel anguished at what I said to Mulder and alone and empty. That's what I am, an empty thing. To Dwayne Barry, I was a bargaining chip. To those faceless gray men who took me and surgica lly removed any chance at motherhood, I am just a thing, a repository for a valued commodity. To Kurt Willard, I was an animated sex toy, to be played with, terrorized, destroyed then discarded. To Everett Berger...I was an enemy, an opponent to be humi liated. A thing. To all these men I have been a thing. My universe has told me for some time that who I am, as a living breathing woman doesn't matter. I am a pawn, a thing, to be used then dropped. I feel....too much. Too much. I don't want to write. I don't want to feel. I don't want to be alone. Oh, I want Mulder....but he's miles away. And I sent him away, pushed him away. Why? I've always been a private person. In a big family, you don't go spilling your secrets where your brothers can make hay with them. And when you're short, you have to be self-sufficient, so they respect you. And I need Mulder to respect me. What he thinks matters to me. But if that's the case, why don't I let him in? He's right. I don't tell him things unless I'm pushed. I want him to talk about his feelings and I listen without judgment. Mostly. But w hen he wants to support me, I turn him away. He doesn't think I've seen the hurt look on his face when I do that. I do, but I can't stop myself. And now...I feel alone. So alone in this empty place which creaks and echoes with the night. I'll try to get some more sleep. 8:00 a.m. The house is still silent. I had a nightmare about the warehouse. I was alone, on that floor and Kurt Willard had his fingers inside me and was whispering obscenities into my ear....and I was alone and trapped. And I knew it was a dream, but I couldn't wake up. Then Kurt turned into Berger. And this time Mulder didn't arrive, and Berger raped me, and raped me and .... I'm awake now. I don't want breakfast. The nightmares weren't this bad when Mulder was here. I think I'll call Millie's office and see if she can see me today. I need to talk. 3:00 p.m. I just got back from my therapist's office. I told her about my fight with Mulder. She just sat back and nodded. "You feel a strong need to be self-sufficient, don't you Dana?" I nodded and she went on. "Has it occurred to you that receiving the supp ort of others graciously is as important as giving that support? Giving Mulder your help and love makes you feel good, doesn't it?" I nodded again, suspiciously. I knew what she was going to say next, but didn't have to like it. "So you think I should let Mulder have the pleasure of helping and supporting me once in a while." Millie smiled. "From your description, he's a generous man. He's shared himself with you for some time, as much as you'd allow. Now it's time for you to return the favor. That is, if you intend to continue having a relationship with him." Intend? Of course I intend to have a relationship with him. "Of course I do!" I responded angrily, then a sudden flash of Sharon Skinner 's face took me by surprise. She had said that Skinner was good at keeping secrets, that he'd built a wall to keep everybody out, especially his wife. She loved him, I could tell. Mulder. And me. Could I lose him Skinner lost Sharon? Am I shutting him out as surely as Skinner walled Sharon from his soul? The full enormity of the last four months finally struck me. God. I could lose him. I could drive him away from me, even Mulder couldn't wait forever. Or worse, we still didn't know his HIV status for sure. He could get sick just like his friend Bill. He could die. I've always known that Mulder has a talent for hurting himself and coming back from cases half dead. I think that maybe my unwillingness to let him in has something to do with that. Losing him would hurt so much, so very much. And I'd die to save him, just so that I wasn't the one left behind. Alone. And what do I have to offer him, really? A scarred body, empty of the future, a chip in my neck that keeps the cancer from devouring me alive; a used up shell, abused by three criminal men: Benny, Kurt, then Everett. And a temper. And an unwillingness to fully trust myself to the only man I've ever really loved. Millie was waiting patiently for me to continue. I just looked at her wordlessly for a minute, then everything crumbled. I found myself crying bitterly as she handed me kleenexes. I stumbled through an explanation of these thoughts, crying and snuffling through the words. Millie, a gentle and kind woman, let me talk until I was left weary and silent. "Dana, I think that you should write about your feelings more. Let them out on paper. And don't be so hard on yourself. You have proof that Mulder loves you, and you have no evidence that you've been abandoned. But examine your own feelings about inti macy with him..." As I started to interrupt, she held up a hand. "And I'm not talking about sexual relations. I'm talking about sharing yourself, warts and all. Do you really think he's unaware of your faults? Or your fears?" She sent me home with a lot to think about. I am sitting now, a cup of tea at my elbow, examining the Skinners' wedding picture. Such a happy couple, young and hopeful. But Skinner couldn't bend, couldn't give enough of himself to keep the marriage ali ve. Even though he loved her. I think he still does." May 7, 1999 2:00 a.m. Another nightmare. Worse, much worse. Back in the warehouse and I couldn't stop them. I was powerless and they were using me. God... So now, here I am, with cup of tea generously laced with Jack Daniels, sitting in bed, shaking. I'm afraid, so afraid that somehow one of them will reappear. I know Kurt and Benny are dead, I saw them die. But I'm still scared. Berger isn't dead; I'll have to see him eventually. At his trial. Even though I'll be in a room packed with people, including the various FBI agents there to testify, and even though I'll have my gun, and even though Mulder will be there, right beside me, I'm scared. 4:30 a.m. I just got off the phone with Mulder. This is the first time I've been the one calling in the middle of the night. "Yeah.." He sounded groggy, I must have waked him. "Hi Mulder, it's me." I was quiet, struggling to find the words. "Hi Scully. What's up? You don't usually call this late. Are you okay?" I could hear the alarm in his voice. "I'm fine....no, wait..." No, I can't go on being 'fine'. That isn't why I called. "Mulder, I'm sorry for the things I said. I lost my temper and took it out on you. Please forgive me." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, yeah, you were pretty harsh. But you've forgiven me some things. It's okay, Scully." "How was the funeral?" "Sad. His family was there, and most of the people from the Crisis Center. A lot of his patients. He helped a lot of people." Mulder was quiet for a bit. "He made a difference, you know? His end was terrible, but he really made a difference. The wo rld is an emptier place now that's he's gone." "I know." Mulder, I know just what you mean. I can think of somebody this world would miss if he were absent. "Mulder, there's another reason I called. Um...I had a nightmare and I woke up shaking. I....just wanted to hear a friendly voice. I miss yo u." "You do?" He sounded eager, like a child who's been given a gift. "Yeah. I've kind of gotten used to having you around. I dreamed about the warehouse again. Mulder, you were right. I do close myself off; I do shut you out, and I don't want to do that any more. Would you...please come back?" I heard him draw in his breath. "Do you mean that, Scully?" "I need you, Mulder. I'm...afraid of all the emotions I'm feeling and I don't want to do this alone." I could feel myself tearing up. I know my voice got shaky. "I'm on my way, Scully. Just hang on, I'll be there soon." He hung up and I just sat, staring at the cell phone in my hand. Mulder was coming back, a day before planned. Just for me. 10:00 p.m. When Mulder arrived I could hear all the angels of heaven singing. And his kiss....well, it was wonderful. After he kissed me, he just held me for a while, then we moved to the couch and did some more serious holding, while the fire flickered in the fi replace. After a while he spoke, and I could hear his voice rumble from where my head was resting against his chest. "Do you want to talk about it?" I could feel his hand stroking my hair, gently. "When you went away I had time to think. Really think. Mulder, I pushed you away because....because the thought of you leaving me alone was intolerable. And the thought of letting you see me vulnerable was just as bad. I've been fighting off the night mare and my fears, trying to do it by myself; telling myself that I needed to be strong. I'm strong, but I'm not that strong. Sometimes, I need somebody to lean on." I could feel his lips against my hair. "Go on." "It's all become...overwhelming..." I began to tell him things, the details I haven't told my therapist, feelings I haven't even written down. I told him about the nightmares, in detail, feeling helpless, feeling like an inanimate object of no value, exc ept to be used and cast aside. I told him about my first abduction, what I can remember about it, and the terror I still feel when I think about it. About the despair of childlessness, feeling time slipping away from me without a husband, children, a ho me. I told him about sitting by his bedside in Dead Horse Alaska, knowing that his life was hanging by a thread and that the only thing left for me to do was to pray. And I told him about the warehouse. I told him how anguished and terrified I was, and how protected he made me feel even in the middle of Hell. And I told him about seeing the warehouse tape for the first time, and going home to cry privately in the shower so that nobody would hear me wail out loud. And how Mom sat with me while I cried some more. I told him about how frantic I had been, searching for him in the warehouse, sure that he was there somewhere, and how I began to claw away the false wall that imprisoned him with my fingernail s because I *knew* he was somewhere behind it, and then he wasn't breathing when I did manage to get him out. And about how devastated I had felt when he had turned away from me; as though my heart had been ripped out. And I told him about the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear that I didn't want to show anybody I felt. How afraid I was that I would be thought weak and discarded as useless, and how scarred and battleworn and tired I feel. And empty. And at last, I told him about Sharon and Walter Skinner. She and her husband once had a glowing love that withered because one partner withdrew, tried to be a tower of strength. I told him that I never want to be so strong and so independent that I drov e him away from me. I never wanted for us what happened to Skinner, and I'd do everything in my power to prevent it. And I told him that he'd never shown me anything but respect. He has my trust and faith that he will continue to do so; I can trust him with my heart and my soul. And I do. Mulder was silent while I spoke. We lay together on the couch, side by side, his right arm around me. But I found it hard to meet his glance while I was showing him my soul. I felt his hand caress my cheek and looked up into his glowing eyes. "Scully, that's the most generous gift I've ever been given. I'm honored." He leaned down and gave me a feathery kiss on the lips. I snuggled in against his chest and gave a relieved sigh when his other arm wrapped around me. I felt, feel lighter some how. It's as though my burden has been lessened, be being shared. Mulder nuzzled my hair with his lips and gave a rueful laugh. "Well, as long as we're sharing truth, I owe you some. I didn't just go to the funeral, I saw a therapist today, my first session with her. You're involved, so you have the right to know. S he specializes in sexual disfunction, and I'm going to her because of the problems caused by the rape. She said she might want to talk to my 'significant other', was the way she put it. I'd like you to meet with her, if you're willing to go." I looked up at Mulder. He looked uncomfortable and scared. "Of course I'll go. This issue concerns me, too, since I plan to become your lover the instant it becomes possible." "Yes ma'am." Mulder grinned back. He went on. "I told her about our partnership, and our long relationship and, well, how I feel about you. She seems to think it's a good sign. I have some homework, in fact." "And what would that be, pray tell?" I asked archly (and a bit hopefully). "Um..fantasizing and, uh..." Mulder looked really uncomfortable now. "Masturbating, huh?" I said forthrightly in my best clinical tone. "It's okay, Mulder, I'd expect that. It's safe, you can trust your partner and you don't have to worry about birth control." I grinned at his blushing face. "And I've been known to do it a time or two." "Oh, have you, Agent Scully?" Mulder looked interested and less embarrassed. "Well, that's my homework..." I must have looked hopeful because he shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm solo for now. I don't want to lose control, and with you Scully, I would. Please understand, I want you. I want you bad. But I want you so much, and I've just gone to Bill's funeral . He died. Of AIDS. That a rapist gave him. And...and since the warehouse, every time I've tried to...to jack myself off, I replay the what I did with Kurt Willard." He turned his eyes away in disgust. "The way it felt, when I came, and how dirty an d helpless and I felt. Ashamed." "Mulder, *you* didn't do anything with Kurt Willard. It was done *to* you. It will take time to heal from this, but I'm not going anywhere. And besides, Ann Landers says that statistically, women prefer being cuddled to intercourse anyway." I lay back and waited for Mulder's reaction. It came in the form of tickling me until I cried for mercy. While we both laughed on the floor where we'd landed, Mulder started talking again. "Two more things I need to discuss with you. The first is...Scully I'll have to ask you to forgive me for hiding something important from you. I did it, thinking I was protecting you from pain, but now I know that it was unjustified. You are strong and you can handle this." His face was solemn. "Scully, you *can* have children some day, if you use in vitro fertilization. When I was looking for a cancer cure for you I was able to steal back a vial of your eggs. They were in a cryogenic storage facility. The guys have them safely stored, available whenever you need them." "Wait a minute. The three stooges know about my eggs but you never told ME? Mulder, how could you?" I was furious. I sat up and faced this man, who I knew had betrayed me with this secret. Then I saw his face. He was ashamed, afraid of losing me. " What else, Mulder? What else haven't you told me?" I held myself on edge, waiting for the next blow to fall. "I was married before, briefly, to Diana Fowley. It didn't work out and we were divorced within a year. She went off to Europe and I, well, I stayed with the X Files." Mulder waited for the explosion from me, but I surprised him by being calm. "I knew that, Mulder. The Gunmen aren't the only good hackers around. When Diana showed up, I ran the best background check on her I could. Why do you think I hate her so much? She's your ex. You committed your life to her once; you loved her. Maybe you could again....and I'd be left alone." Mulder caressed my chin and pulled my face up to meet his eyes. "I never would love her again, Scully, because I love somebody else now. And that won't change. She was part of another life, another me. You've made me whole. I know I keep saying that, but you do." He pulled me close and kissed me, deep and tender. I sighed and leaned my forehead against his. "Are those all your secrets, Mulder?" I asked tenderly. "Yeah. Do you forgive me?" "Yeah. I don't know whether I'm happy or mad about the eggs, but it's nice to know that I have choices. That's more than I'd have had without you. Now I can have little green-eyed babies if I want them." Mulder pulled up short. "Do you? Want them, I mean?" He examined my face, trying to read my expression. "If you could have little green-eyed babies with, say, a guy with a big nose who talks too much, would you?" "I dunno, Mulder. Does he have a job? Can I take him home to mother?" I grinned at him. "Yes, and you already have. Although I don't think your big brother likes him much. But I do know that even though he has a big nose, he loves you and hopes you can look beyond it." "Oh, I think I could ignore the nose." I ran my fingertip down Mulder's 'distinguished profile'. "I have a little nose and I think we'd balance out in our kids. They'd have average noses." "That's a thought. I hope at least one has red hair." Mulder leaned back against the couch and took me with him. "Y'know, as a honeymoon spot this place is pretty nice, don't you think?" "Yeah. I think Skinner would loan it to us again." I mused. So. It is understood where we are going. Nothing so formal as a ring and a declaration, but then we've never needed those things. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mulder frown and his face cloud over a bit. "Mulder, what's wrong?" "Scully, if I don't test out clean....If I get sick like Bill did...." "Then I marry you anyway." I said firmly. "I finally managed to snag you, I'm not letting you get away." I turned to face him fully, sitting indian style on the floor. "Mulder, I believe in the 'in sickness and in health' part. You stuck with me when I was dying of cancer. Could I do less for you? If you get sick, I'm there for it. We'd both be out there looking for treatments, a cure if possible. And if not, I'm still there, making damned sure that my face is the last one you see. But I won't l ose a single minute of my time with you." Mulder looked shaken and, for once, was speechless. That was okay, because I kissed him and we didn't talk for a while. As I write this now, Mulder is asleep on the couch (no t.v. necessary for once) and the house is quiet. But it isn't the empty, rattling, unnerving quiet anymore. It feels like a home. And I feel at rest. May 15, 1999 We are packing up the house, preparing to go back to work on June 2. Mulder will be driving the now fully restored Mustang back to D.C. while I take the rental car. We both decided to go back early so that Mulder can start therapy in earnest now. And I want to see my old therapist at the Bureau. Both Mulder and I now have a reason to heal, as fast and as thoroughly as we can. July 15, 1999 I haven't had much time to write. The backlog of cases is horrendous. Mulder is still in therapy, as am I. We still date; Saturday nights are sacred and we've adopted a little diner as 'our place'. It serves burgers and fries, as greasy as Mulder like them but also has a veggie burger to die for. Every other Saturday I cook for Mulder. I'm enjoying cracking open my old cook books and, believe it or not he's starting to get a little pot on his tummy. I think I'll cut back on the lasagna with him. Or put him on a diet. Of course, there's always exercise. But the kind I really want isn't forthcoming. August makes it six months since the rape. Mulder is tense about it and so am I. We're both trying to be open about this and I know he's as scared as I am. I worry about him, but as I said to him, if the worst happens we go through it, together. He'll have to pry me off with a crowbar. I know he's gone in for a full battery of tests. Physically, he's healed well from Willard's abuse. Emotionally, he's still in therapy and working hard to overcome the mental scars it's left. Me--I'm still talking to the therapist, but I feel better. Oddly enough, opening up to Mulder and accepting his support has helped more than anything. I'm not alone any more. All that's left is the HIV question. And so we wait for the results. And I pray. I've lit candles for Mulder and said novenas. He laughs, but says he'll accept any help he can get and if I'm on good terms with any saint or supernatural deity, it's oka y with him. I've got Mom praying too. And so I wait. And I worry. Oh how I worry about him. And how precious he's become, even more so than he was six months ago. How did that happen? I loved him then, but now... August 1, 1999 Mulder just called. He says he'll stop by in half an hour to pick me up for dinner and an evening out. He sounds...happy, light, joyous. I think I'll wear that new silk slip-dress he hasn't seen yet. Later------ My gallant knight arrived on his white horse to rescue me today..... <<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Author's note: To read the rest of the story, go to TBishop's lovely smutty sequel "1964 1/2 Mustang" at http://members.xoom.com/arcticfox42/Tbishop.htm If you want to read any of my other stuff, the URL for my homepage is in the intro to the story. Writing this story has been hard work but great and fulfilling fun. I've enjoyed the feedback, especially the ones who said that they were sure they couldn't read any more because it was so violent, but they just couldn't stop. I felt that way too while I was writing some of the more realistic bits. Many thanks to all those who encouraged me and beta read different parts of this saga: Katvictory for her good humor and encouragement early on, TBishop for her smutty good humor and wonderful good sense, Spygirl for some of the real-life stories, and Wy lfcynne for insisting I write MORE, FASTER, MORE! Now I will retire from writing until mid-November to crank out some research papers. Those of you with a deity, pray for me. I'm gonna need it.