From: "Emily Wicks" Date: Fri, 26 Feb 1999 22:03:41 PST Subject: New: Blinded by E. Wicks Title: Blinded Author: E. Wicks Catagory: Mulder/Scully almost romance =0 ), Angst Spoilers: Anything having to do with the Mytharc, especially Two Fathers and One Son. Disclaimer: Anything having to do with The X-Files has nothing to do with me, except that I love the show. Chris Carter and Fox own it and all the characters within. I am not making any money from this, and I probably wouldn't be able to even if it weren't against the law. Summary: After the events of Two Fathers and One Son, Scully tries to console Mulder about Diana Fowley's 'death' in the hanger. Author's comments: If you have feedback please send to ewicks@hotmail.com. This is my first time out, and while I would love feedback, please be gentle =0 ). Enjoy! The J. Edgar Hoover Building February 16, 1999 10:13 am My mind is reeling as we leave A.D. Kersh's office. To the casual observer I am sure that I don't look as shaken as I feel. The only person that might notice is walking silently in front of me. He is heading down the hall toward the stairwell. I know whe re he is taking us without needing any explanations. I simply follow him as I always do. Funny, I now realize that I don't resent him anymore for expecting me to follow. We are going down to the basement office to thank Agent Spender. I know that Mulder isn't really thinking of Agent Spender as we walk down the cement staircase. I know he is thinking of those charred bodies in the airplane hanger. Wondering which one was Diana. I think, on some sub-conscious level, Mulder needs to fe el guilty to feel alive. He blames himself for so much more than he could ever have been responsible for. I know I should say something to express that I understand he is in pain, but nothing comes to mind that doesn't sound false. I choose to remain as silent as he is. When we reach the basement, we walk down the corridor to Agents Spender and Fowley's office. At the door, Mulder raises his hand to knock. He hesitates almost imperceptibly at the sight of her nameplate on the door. This is my opening to finally say some thing. Anything. I reach out and take his hand in mine. "Mulder," I say his name and he turns his head towards me. "I know I was never good at hiding my feelings about Diana." He smiles sadly, an almost invisible smile that is gone practically before it was there. "I may not have liked her, but I never wanted this to happen. I know you cared for her and that her loss will be difficult for you." He squeezes my hand gently, but doesn't say anything. His eyes thank me. I let go of his hand and he reaches up to knock, this time without hesitation. "Agent Spender?" His voice echoes eerily in the empty hall. No answer. Mulder knocks and calls out again. Still no answer. Mulder has no patience, and opens the door which is already open slightly. I am not prepared for what I see. There are papers and files strewn all over the office. The drawers have been removed from the desk and their contents emptied on to the floor. The cramped office looks as though a small tornado has ripped through it. But, that is not the worst site. Agen t Spender is lying in the middle of all the chaos, shot in the chest, barley alive. My compassionate, caring mind is shut down and replaced by my cold, clinical mind. I kneel down beside Spender and start to unbutton his shirt to examine the wound. It is a clean shot from close range. "Mulder," I talk to him without ever taking my eyes off of Spender. "Call security and get an ambulance here, now." Mulder takes out his cell phone and dials security. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder, badge number JT***. We have an Agent down inside the building, in the basement office. He has been shot in the chest, call for an ambulance." I tune Mulder out and concentrate on Spender. "Jeffery, this is Dana Scully, can you hear me?" Spender makes a gurgling sound in his throat and his eyes flicker toward me. "Jeffery, you are going to be all right. Agent Mulder called the paramedics." I am applying pressure to the wound and trying to keep him conscious. From the soft sucking sounds, I gather that the bullet had glanced off his breast bone and entered one of his lungs. He is going to drown in his own blood if the ambulance doesn't get here soon. His mouth is opening and closing, but no sound is coming through his blood stained lips. "Jeffery, stay with me. Stay with me." He flicks his eyes toward me, pleading for something I can't give him. He turns his eyes to stare at the ceiling and I hear the unmistakable sound of the his last breath. "Dammit Spender." Starting the CPR, I lose myself in the actions. I am not aware of anything else, but in the back of my mind I know it is futile. * * * * Mulder is standing next to me as they wheel Agent Spender's body out of the office draped in the shiny black shroud of the body bag. I am emotionally and physically drained. I fold my arms over my chest and hang my head. I need to be home, away from deat h, away from work, away from Mulder. I hate seeing death win. I suppose as a doctor this is what keeps me fighting so hard for life. It is the moment when the spark of intelligence and individuality fade from the eyes that I hate the most. The moment when a human being is no longer a person and their body becomes just a thing. I feel that if I had tried harder, done something more, even when there was nothing more to do, then he would have lived. If I had forced Mulder to take the elevator instead of the stairs, or if I had waited for anoth er moment to console him about Diana, maybe those precious moments would have saved Spender's life. Or maybe not. Mulder's hand in the small of my back breaks me out of my reverie, and I allow myself to be led from the room. I have blood on my clothes, I notice this now that we are in the hallway. I close my eyes and sigh, pursing my lips in frustration. Even though I know it is ridiculous, I feel as responsible for Spender's death as the person who shot him. Mulder senses this and keeps his hand on my back. His touch is speaking volumes of comfort, where words would most assuredly fail. We reach the elevator and are silent on the ride to the parking garage. Mulder finally removes his hand when the doors open. I shiver slightly form the loss of his warmth. We are both lost in thought as he walks me to my car. "Scully, " he breaks the silence. "I . . " He doesn't have any words to continue. I smile a weak smile at him as a reward for his effort. "Mulder, I'm fine. I just need to go home and get some rest." He nods and looks as though he may try again to say something, but thinks better of it. I watch him walk away for a few moments and then I get in my car and go home. * * * * Arlington National Cemetery February 18, 1999 9:28 am The sun is shinning and there is a warm spring-like breeze. It is an uncommonly beautiful day for Washington D.C. in the midst of winter. Not very fitting for a funeral. There isn't a large crowd for Jeffery Spender's funeral. Several Assistant Directors from various departments of the FBI, including A.D. Skinner. And, of course, Mulder and I. Spender's mother and father have both been presumed dead in the fire at the hanger. It will still be a few weeks before the painful process of identification is ov er. Spender worked hard at his job and apparently had little room in his life for anything else. He didn't have any friends to speak of and kept to himself outside of work. He was used by his own father as a pawn in the same deadly game that Mulder and I are still struggling to win. Just before his death, he persuaded A.D. Kersh to lift our suspensions from the FBI. Mulder and I are back at work on background checks, but are under consideration to be transferred to The X-Files department. We have Agent Spend er to thank. The official story of Agent Jeffery Spender's death is that he interrupted a vandal ransacking his office. The vandal removed Spender's service pistol from his drawer and shot him one time in the chest at close range. How a vandal got into Agent Spender' s office, or what they were looking for remains unclear. Throughout the building; however, rumors of the cursed office of The X-Files abound. The scene of an unsolved arson and now a murder. Perfect for "Spooky" Mulder and his partner "Mrs. Spooky". I am sure that Mulder has his own theories of why Spender was killed, but he has yet to share them with me. He doesn't really need to. The services are short and simple. As they end, the group of mourners all go in their own directions. Mulder and I head across the cemetery to his car. We are far from the gravesite, but it is still visible when I notice several cigarette butts in the gr ass. I brush it off with a vague, uneasy feeling. It is forgotten by the time we reach the car. * * * * Mulder's Apartment Feb. 18, 1999 8:58 PM Mulder is sleeping on his couch with his arm draped over his eyes. I suspect that he isn't truly asleep, but I have no desire to confirm my suspicions. I am sitting in the chair at his desk, watching him. I think that I can still smell the decontaminatio n spray the people from the C.D.C. sprayed all over us, but I know that it is only my imagination. It occurs to me that this is a familiar situation. It is much the same way we waited for news when Diana was shot close to a year ago. The memory of that ni ght is not a good one. Our office was burned and Gibson was abducted. Gibson. I wonder where he is. He had made such a valiant effort to save himself by finding Mulder and I, and putting himself in our hands. The last time I saw that poor child I promised to protect him. He disappeared from the hospital I had taken him to. The tests they had done to him made him look like something out of a horror movie. I close my eyes and shake my thoughts away. Thinking of Gibson being tested on is too much to bear. Thinking of any child in pain inevitably brings thoughts of Emily. Just the thought of her name baptizes me in a wave of fiery pain. I shove the memories back into the corner of my mind where the pain becomes only a dull ache. Clearing my mind of everything, I fold my arms over my chest and lean back in Mulder's chair. * * * * "I killed her." The sound of Mulder's tortured voice snaps my eyes open and I realize that I had dozed off. I sit up straight and look over at him. He is now sitting on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. "Mulder," I say softly. "You were trying to save her." He raises his head, doesn't turn to look at me. His voice is raw with emotion and frustration, "I killed her, Scully. She never would have been there if it wasn't for me. She is dead because I sent her there." I don't say anything, partly because I know that Mulder won't allow himself to be talked out of the guilt, and partly because I sense he has more to say. "Now it's only a matter of time before they take you, too." "Mulder," I start, but he cuts me off. He finally turns to look at me. I see such shame and self loathing in his eyes, my heart aches for him. "How many times have you been on the verge of death because of me? How many times has your life been in danger because I put it there?" I have never blamed him for what I have been through. We have each experienced great loss at the hands of those who would stop our search. I will never blame him. "But I'm not dead, Mulder. Because of you." He turns his face away from me and speaks quietly. "I think you should quit. Resign from the FBI." My heart leaps to my throat. I have heard him say this before, but not with the quiet intensity he is using now. He sounds as though he means it. I can't think of anything to say. My head is spinning. Mulder doesn't need me to be with him anymore. The th ought is tearing me apart. I am using all my strength to remain composed, to not let him see me hurting. He is still not looking at me as he starts to speak again. "I think you should quit, but I don't want you to. I think it would save your life, but I would ask you to give it up. Because, I can't do this anymore without you. Because, I need you." He puts his head back in his hands. A rush of warmth flows through me at his words. I feel foolish now for thinking that Mulder didn't need me. I stand up and walk over to him, covering his hands with my own. As he lifts his head to look at me, I fold h is hands into mine. "Mulder, I wake up every morning knowing that there are people missing from my life who will never be returned. Who were taken because of the work we do, not because of you or me. This path we are on is a hard path. It is full of pain and loss, but it is the right path. I won't leave now. I won't let those people's pain have been for nothing. Even if we fight our whole lives and never win, we will have tried." I wait a moment before I continue. "I can't resign." Mulder's hazel eyes are liquid with unshed tears. "Why?" I smile sadly at him. "Because. I need you, too." He continues to look up at me. I can't read the expression in his eyes, or maybe I don't want to. He sighs and leans his head to kiss the back of my hand. He holds it against his cheek for a moment. My heart is overflowing with more emotions than I can n ame. He lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around my waist, resting his face against my stomach. I reach up and wrap my arms around him. For the moment, this is all that matters. * * * * Outside the J. Edgar Hoover Building March 3, 1999 11:58 am Mulder and I are returning from lunch. He has pulled up in front of the building. I am slightly confused that he is not parking the car. I look over and see him looking at me expectantly. I sigh as I realize he is not coming back to work today. "Mulder," I scold. "Now is not the time to start playing hooky from work. They are meeting in two days to decide if we can have the X-files back. We need to be the model agents." I can tell that he isn't going to budge. I sigh again. "What am I supposed to tell Kersh about why you aren't back at work?" He shrugs slightly, "Whatever." I shake my head and get out of the car. I don't look back at him as I walk into the building. Mulder has been distant for the last few days. I can only guess that he is still bothered by the events of a few weeks ago. I am as well. I reach my desk and si t down in front of the computer. I stare at the phone, trying to decide what to tell Kersh. I pick up the phone and dial without really knowing what to say. "Assistant Director Kersh's office." "This is Agent Scully. I'd like to speak with A.D. Kersh." "One moment Agent Scully." I wait and listen to the annoying canned Musac they play when you are on hold. "Yes, Agent Scully?" His deep voice comes through the phone line projecting his annoyance that I am the one to call. "Sir, Agent Mulder will not be returning to work this afternoon." "Why not Agent?" This was the question I had been dreading. I open my mouth and let the first thing I can think of spill out. "He was complaining of a migraine all morning, so I advised him to go home and get some rest. We have both been under a tremendous amount of stress for the last few weeks." I close my eyes and shake my head. There is a long pause on the other side of the phone line. Finally he answers. "Very well Agent. I do hope that you are not affected by the same 'malady' as your partner." He hangs up without ceremony. I never have been very good at lying. I disconnect the call and listen for the dial tone. I then dial up my voice mail to check my messages. There is only one. A familiar voice comes through the line as I listen to the message. "Dana, this Bob Stanley in Forensic Path. Give me a call when you get this." I dial the extension to pathology, apprehensive about what Bob has to tell me. Bob and I went to Quantico together. We are only acquaintances really, but he is one of the few people not put off by the stigma of my working with Mulder. "Federal Bureau of Investigation Department of Forensic Pathology, how may I direct your call?" "I'd like to speak to Agent Stanley, please." "One moment, please." I wait and listen to more annoying Musac. "Agent Stanley." "Bob, it's Dana. I got your message." "Dana! Hey, I've got some good news and some not so good news." I am getting more apprehensive every second. "And?" "Well, the reason this took so long was that I wanted to be absolutely sure before I called you." I nod, even though I know he can't see me. "Of course, I understand." "I checked the dental records against all the victims. Diana Fowley and Cassandra Spender were not among them. They weren't killed in the fire in that hanger. Or, if they were, their bodies weren't there. As for . . ." I hear papers rustling on the othe r end of the line. "C.G.B. Spender, kind of a weird name if you ask me. I couldn't find any dental records for him at all. If he is one of the victims, we might never know." There is a slight pause. "I hope this has been some help Dana." I keep my voice under control. I don't want to betray the conflicting emotions within me. "This was a big help. Thanks Bob." "Anytime Dana." I sit at my desk holding the phone. I don't know what to think or feel. Diana is alive, so is Cassandra. I correct myself. They may not be alive, but they weren't among the victims in the hanger. I know I have to tell Mulder. I dial his cell phone number , when there is no answer I try his home number. Still no answer. I sigh and put the phone down. I guess this will have to wait. I decide to get some work done. * * * * Mulder's Apartment March 3,1999 6:49 PM I hesitate before knocking on Mulder's door. I think to myself for the millionth time that I should have called first, but it is too late now. I reach out and knock. "Mulder? It's me." I am not even sure if his is home. I don't hear anything inside the apartment, but I knock again. "Mulder, open up." I wait for a few moments before I hear him fumbling with the lock. He opens the door, drying his hair with a towel. "Hey, Scully. What's up?" I walk past him into the apartment. "Mulder, I have something to tell you. I think you'd better sit down." He gives me a slightly confused look, but goes to sit on his sofa. I stand looking down at him, which I must confess is an odd feeling. "I had a friend of mine in Forensics Path compare some dental records to the burn victims from the hanger." His expression deadpans. I can't really tell what his is thinking, but I continue with what I came to tell him. "Mulder, Diana Fowley wasn't one of them." He digests this and looks away. "There's more . . ." Mulder looks at me and cuts me off. "I already knew." I am stunned. I blink down at him and it takes me a moment to process what he has said. "You knew . . " I don't really have much more to say, but I am cut off by a familiar voice that isn't Mulder's. "Agent Scully." I turn around. I have to see her with my own eyes to believe that she is really there. Diana Fowley is standing in the hallway leading to Mulder's bathroom. Her hair is wet and she is wearing a man's bathrobe. Mulder's bathrobe. I look from her to Mulder 's wet hair and draw a conclusion I don't want to think about. Embarrassment floods my entire being. I can feel my face getting hot. I shake my head and start for the door. "I'm sorry, I came at a bad time. I'll talk to you later Mulder." As I walk out I pass Diana. "Excuse me." I am out the door and starting down the hallway. "Scully," Mulder's voice follows me down the hallway, but I ignore it. Outside his building I take a few deep breaths and get into my car. The drive home is a blur and all I am thinking is: He didn't try to stop me. * * * * Scully's Apartment March 3, 1999 10: 51 PM I am lying in the dark, so far from sleep I think I have forgotten what it is. Over and over all I can see is Fowley standing there in Mulder's bathrobe. I didn't even know he had one. It doesn't make any sense that he would keep this from me. Of course, this isn't the first time Mulder has kept vital information from me. If Diana Fowley being alive could be considered vital. I know I shouldn't care this much, that I am making this too personal. Mulder and I are only friends, and he is a consenting adult . But, I can't help feeling betrayed in some way. My thoughts are interrupted my a pounding on my door. I know instinctively who it is, but I am not sure I want to face him. "Scully," Mulder's voice is muffled and accompanied by more pounding on my door. I sigh and get out of bed. Knowing that no matter how much I'd like to, I won't leave him out there. I open the door but don't offer to move and let him in. I fold my arms over my chest and purse my lips, giving him my most disapproving look. "Mulder, it's late." "She is afraid for her life, Scully." He is pleading with me. I sigh and let him in, but I don't move too far into the apartment. He accepts that I am still wary of his explanation and continues. "They were all dead when she got there. She thought that we were dead, too. She was afraid and when she found out I was still alive she came to me for help. After Spender's death, how can you doubt that she would need our help?" I shake my head. "But she didn't ask for my help, Mulder. She asked for your help." He is looking at me blankly and I sigh. "How long have you known, Mulder?" "She found me about a week ago." For the second time in one night I am stunned. "Why didn't you tell me?" I am getting angry and I feel my control slipping. Mulder looks exasperated, as though his is talking to a child. "She is afraid for her life, Scully. She asked me not to say anything." I explode. "Not to say anything to me?" "What was I supposed to do, Scully?" "You were supposed to trust me Mulder. You are supposed to be my partner." He looks confused by my statement. "I do and I am, Scully. You are taking this thing to personally." To hear my own thoughts on his lips is too much. I lose what little control I have left on my emotions. "Mulder," I snap. "Have you ever thought about why I don't leave? Have you ever asked yourself why I need this work?" At his silence I continue. "I have lost everything, Mulder. Friends, respect, my sister . . ." I pause before I can go on. "My child an d any hope of ever having more children. All taken away from me. This work and your trust are all I have left. There is nothing for me outside of that. But I go on, because it is enough of a reason." "Scully," Mulder starts softly, but it is my turn to cut him off. "No, Mulder. I need you to listen to what I am saying. Listen, not just hear. I trust you with my life and I respect you. I expect, " I shake my head. " No, I deserve the same from you. And now this . . .woman," I practically spit out the word," comes a nd asks you to keep things from me. And you do. Without any regard or thought to our partnership or to our friendship. How do I know she hasn't asked you to keep something else from me? I don't." Mulder is shaking his head. I take a deep breath and lower my voice. "Mulder, I always listen to your theories and your instincts. Even if I think they are outlandish or impossible, I at least try to give you the benefit of the doubt." I take his hands in mine. "I am asking you to trust me, to listen to my instincts. Ther e is something very wrong about Diana Fowley's involvement . . ." Mulder stops me by gently squeezing my hands. Softly he says, "You are wrong about this, Scully. You are wrong about Diana." I snatch my hands away, and snap at him. "That woman is blinding you Mulder. And you are letting her do it." "Scully, there's more. Diana told me that Cassandra Spender didn't die in the hanger." "I already knew, Mulder. That's part of what I went to tell you." I narrow my eyes at him. "How long did you know that without telling me?" His face is expressionless. Stiffly I walk to the door and open it. "I think you'd better leave now Mulder." He looks pleadingly at me for a moment and then leaves without a word. * * * * The J. Edgar Hoover Building March 5,1999 9:15 am I am sitting alone at the table in the middle of the FBI Office of Professional Review. Mulder is late as usual. We haven't spoken since the other night at my apartment. He didn't come into work yesterday and I made no attempts to contact him. I am looki ng up to the same board that decided to re-open the X-Files after Mulder and I returned from Antarctica. A.D. Cassidy is presiding over the meeting. She looks perfectly tailored and made up. She also looks perfectly annoyed at Mulder's tardiness. I wonder briefly if my career would have taken a similar course as hers, had I not been assigned to the X-Files. I hear the door open behind me and don't need to look to see that it is Mulder. He sits down next to me. "I apologize for being late." "Well, now that Agent Mulder has decided to grace us with his presence, I suppose we can proceed." A.D. Cassidy looks over her glasses, scolding Mulder. "The unfortunate and tragic death of Agent Spender and the disappearance of Agent Fowley has left the X-Files department unmanned. After careful consideration we have decided not to close the X-Files, but to find two agents to co-head the department. Obviously, that brings us to why you are here. Agents Mulder and Scully during your brief reassignment to background checks, you have been insubordinate, you have been in direct violation of policy and procedure, and you ignored your directive to stay away from anything having to do with the X-Files." I process what I am hearing and it doesn't sound as though this will turn out the way Mulder and I had hoped. "However," A.D. Cassidy removes her glasses and looks down at us. "you have shown a remarkable amount of dedication to the work in the X-Files. While normally this would not be enough to reassign you, you do have the support of what would become Agent Sp ender's final wishes. Agent Spender was a fine man and a stellar agent. I have no doubt that had he lived, he would have had a long and honored career with the FBI Therefore, on the basis of your obvious dedication and the support of a fine agent, you wil l be reassigned to the X-Files department for a probationary period. You will report to A.D. Skinner. The reassignment is effective immediately." She stands to leave, but turns back with something else to say. "I do hope that you will honor Agent Spender' s memory and that I will not have to see either of you in this office again." Mulder and I continue to sit at the table as the panel files out of the room. When they are gone, I stand to leave as well. Mulder reaches out and grabs hold of my hand, stopping me. "Scully . . ." He hesitates and I remove my hand from his grasp. "Mulder, we both have a lot of work to do." I start away again. "Scully, I want to say thank you." I turn, bewildered. "For what, Mulder?" "For staying." I sigh. "Mulder. I may not trust her, but I still trust you." He smiles a little and stands up. I wait for him and we walk to our office together.