From: Humbuggie Date: 27 Feb 2003 23:27:22 -0800 Subject: xfc: NEW : Colorblind 1/3 Source: atxc Colorblind By Humbuggie san@sv-tales.com www.sv-tales.com 2003 Edited by Truthwebothknow1. Thanks, Lisa! I am colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready. I am ready. I am ready I am ... Taffy stuck, tongue tied Stuttered shook and uptight Pull me out from inside I am ready. I am ready. I am ready I am... Fine I am covered in skin No one gets to come in Pull me out from inside -- The Counting Crows Story: Scully is badly hurt during a stakeout turned disaster. Mulder retreats within himself, trying to cope with the drama as he frantically looks for her attacker. Type: MSR, MT, Lots of Angst, ST, and Skinner-friendship Note: In previous stories like "The Game" I have introduced Terence Davis, Mulder's former AD at the VCU. To learn more about this man, read The Game at www.sv-tales.com. There are also mentions of Tom Fielding, one of Mulder's former VCU-colleagues, but he does not play a part in this story. Spoilers: minor spoilers for Beyond The Sea, One Breath and the Scully has cancer-storyline. There are several major spoilers for Pusher and a few for Kitsenugari. Color blind Part one One second ago, she was running next to me with the gun in her hand. She is a good shot, like me, but I know she will not pull the trigger without having been given ample reason. And since our suspect is not exactly killer material, she would not shoot without being provoked. She would never think that he would actually have a .32 on him. Her little feet were moving fast before: I could hear the clicks whenever her high heels hit the pavement. How can she run in those things? I have wondered about it many times before, and am thinking about it as we rush towards Thomas Delaney, the subject of our investigation. He leads us deeper into the compound, into the shadows that soon hold us, and trap us. A second later, we are on the ground. I don't know how it happened. I could feel something push me hard, throwing me off my feet. It's Scully who leaps into me, dropping me to the concrete and then falling on top of me. She saves my life, but I only realize that much later. All I know at that exact moment, is that we drop like logs. All I remember about it later, is that the shadows somehow did not feel right. They were strange, like beacons of danger warning us to get the hell out of there. But I ignored the signals. The moment Tommy Delaney started running, I ran too. It is in my instinct to do so. The side of my head strikes the ground hard, in full force and her weight is on top of me, smothering me. I can feel the skin on the side of my face burst as it touches the concrete hard and I am completely dazed by the sudden flashes of pain that surge through me, numbing me. And she no longer lies on top of me; she rolled off me somehow. It becomes silent for a few moments; I don't know how long. Then I look up, confused, not knowing anything but the pain in my head. It's bad. An excruciating pain forces its way into my skull and sends pinpoints of hard, aggressive pain through me. Every move makes me nauseated. I can hardly do anything but roll on my side, fighting against the rising of bile in my throat. I close both my eyes as the surface sways, and order it to stop. I know that I have a concussion. I am as certain of it as I am of my life's quest. Something is wrong. I can feel it. There is no Scully leaning over me, asking me if I am okay. There is nothing but complete silence that surrounds us. And there's the strange sound of something tapping against concrete; like drops of water trickling from a broken pipe. The shadows have changed. I realize we're completely alone inside this abandoned compound. No one is coming to help us. In fact, nothing much happens while we are both on the ground. I know that I will have to be the one seeking help. I finally open my eyes, try to get a grip and look up. There could not have been more than a few moments passing us by, yet it feels like an eternity. The sound of the dripping water annoys me. I roll on my side and groan her name. 'Scully?' At first I can hardly see her, as flashes of pain cut through my eyes like razor blades. I am stung by the pain's harshness. But when I open my eyes for the second time, I see what I always fear seeing. My partner is lying on the ground, partially on her side, and is staring at me. My heart stops. I think she's dead. There is blood underneath her, dripping from one single small bullet hole that ruins her clothing. She is wearing a soft grey today and I almost wished it were black, so that the blood would not stand out that much. But the jacket and trousers are a light tan of grey, and ruined just like the black turtleneck shirt that makes her look so classy. She always has style, even lying on the ground; even when her hair is no longer swinging perfectly on her shoulders. I am colorblind. I cannot see the color red, but I know what it is like. I know its scent, its feel and its destruction. In my dreams, when I can actually see the colors the way the Earth has meant them for us to see, I can distinguish red on green perfectly. I know the true coloring of Scully's hair, and the color of her blood. Blood is a thick fluid that covers one's hands when trying to save a life. Hospitals are filled with them. Blood represents death. It can also represent life. Right now, it represents Scully's death. It despairs me. I forget that the shadows might still be endangering us, and that I should be on the lookout for the boy that shot her. Nothing matters anymore, but the woman lying on the ground. I am up, swaying on my knees and kneeling by her side. I am leaning partially over her, trying not to throw up all over her. It feels like I could just faint any second, but I realize that I cannot afford that right now. My partner's life depends on my consciousness and ability to stay focused. But I can't ... I can't breath. I can't move. I'm just sitting there and I can't... Do ...anything. Our lives as we have known them, are over. She's dead. She left me. And I just cannot do anything. I want to die too. Until Scully suddenly moves. Her eyes are open, and then they close. I realize she's alive! My god, she has a bullet in her chest and she's awake and partially alert. She coughs up blood. She doesn't seem to be in any pain. But she's extremely cold. All color has drained from her skin. Her face is pale with dark eyelashes covering those blue eyes when she blinks. Her lips are blueish too. And her breathing is short and shallow. 'Scully.' I speak her name and know she hears me. 'Hang on,' I groan. 'Hang on.' I turn away my head and fight against the bile within me. But I fail to succeed. I move away from her, crawling on hands and feet until I find a spot behind some cardboard boxes where I lose what is left of lunch. My body heaves and I just cannot stop the vomiting. It's horrible. I can't even rinse my mouth. I grab a handkerchief from my pocket, wipe my mouth and stretch my back. She needs you, pounds through my head. She needs you. I grasp my mobile phone and dial 911, using every effort I can summon up from within me. My voice is as hoarse as it is, every time I need to call for help. How many times before she will never wake up again? 'This is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I have an agent down with a gunshot wound to the chest. She's dying. Get someone here, now!' 'Where are you sir?' I give the street name and explain where they can find us. The woman on the other line asks me if I'm hurt too. 'No,' I say, but I can tell she does not believe me. Even on the phone I sound sick and hurt. 'Stay on the line,' she urges me, but I hang up. I don't recall how many times I have called for help in the past, but it has never seemed as serious as now. I have never seen Scully get shot in the upper chest before. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to act. 'Pressure,' I say out loud as I throw down the phone. 'Put pressure on the wound.' I panic. I pull open her jacket and try to locate the wound. There's blood all over her. I know I have to lift her sweater to trace the bullet and don't want to. What if I hurt her? Or push that bullet further into her somehow? What if my actions will kill her? But I do it anyway. Carefully I push her on her back, and her eyes stare unseeingly back at me: I hate the look in them. She's completely out of it. I remember how I felt when I was shot. One of the times I was shot, that is. You escape your body, hoping that it's all just a bad dream. The situation is unreal and you wish for some sort of strange resolution: something to tell you the pain exists in your imagination, and at the same time, you can't move your body, and you start to feel horrified that no one might come to save you. You start watching your life flash before your eyes. You recall the good and bad times and regret all the things you have not done. I rip apart the sweater and her chest rises up and down as the cold air touches her skin. I don't look at her beautiful silk bra. The bullet has entered her chest, above her left breast, beneath her shoulder. If it is embedded in her heart, there is nothing I can do. I touch her flesh with my fingertips. One thing I know for certain is that it hasn't entered her heart or is endangering it. But that does not mean she's not in immediate danger. I look around for something to cover her with and have nothing but my coat on me. She is not wearing hers; she left it in the car. My head spins horribly as I pull off the warm fabric. I'm still sitting on my knees and try to keep the moving to a minimal. Fat chance. I take off my leather jacket too and cautiously remove my sweater, ripping it in thick strips of cloth that can be used as bandages. I put one on the wound and start applying pressure, while my coat functions as blanket to cover her up as well as possible. She is starting to hurt. I can tell by the way her lips twitch and her eyelashes flicker. She wants to stay alert, fearful like I am, that she might die the second she closes her eyes. I know her chest must hurt, for there the bullet has entered her body. She coughs but it can barely be heard. And her lips still don't return to their regular color. What the hell is keeping them so long!? I'm a lousy help. I've done a course of First Aid a long time ago, as required by FBI-standards. I know how to apply pressure, how to treat burn injuries and what to do in case of heart failure, and that's about it. I vow to take another course. I never want to feel this helpless again. Scully coughs and then she stares at me. She looks me straight in the eyes. There is pain in those eyes. The shock is wearing down and she recognizes me. God, what's keeping them? I need her to live. I need her so badly to pull through this. I can't go on alone. I can't watch her die in my arms while I sit back helplessly. She grasps my hand and she coughs again, and I keep on putting pressure on the wound because it is all I can do right now. She takes short, shallow breaths. I can tell she's hurting. The second she closes her eyes, they are finally there, while I call out her name and shout to her that she needs to hold on. At the same time the warning rings through my mind: why didn't we see that gun? Why were we running towards danger? And why did I ignore the shadows' warning? Part two I see men and women approach us, as the garage doors to the compound slide open. There are police vehicles and one or two ambulances and FBI-vehicles. We are in the middle of DC, sitting in an abandoned warehouse and law enforcement is all around us. But they were not here when that innocently looking teenager pulled a gun on us. 'Police! Let us see your hands!' A voice rose from the darkness and I can hear several voices soon after. I raise my hands automatically, knowing they are just doing their job. I wait until a police officer reaches me. He pulls out my badge and takes away my gun. When they are sure I am, who I said I am, I am asked how I'm doing. Gentle hands offer to help me get up. I hardly see them and shrug them off. 'Help her,' I urge them. 'She's dying.' 'Let us get to her, sir,' a paramedic says and I look up. I see several people standing around us, and I realize they can't move because I am still grasping Scully's hand, and holding onto the improvised bandages covering her chest. I try to move up, only to realize my legs refuse to move. My entire body seems to collapse. I have lost my will to respond. Two men help me up, holding me with their gathered strengths. Everything just sways. But I refuse to give in, and tell the man closest to me that, I am fine. I want them to let go of me. I cannot stand their care. More cars arrive. I see Skinner suddenly. He runs towards the scene where dozens of people seem to be gathered. Scully is in the centre of their attention. She is being helped onto a gurney and my coat is thrown on the ground, as well as the remains of the torn-up sweater. I stare at the crumpled heap with the bloodstains on them. I am still being held by one arm. A man prevents me from toppling over. I have to fight the urge to sink into darkness myself. I cannot do that. Scully lives and breathes on my strength now. 'Mulder, what the hell happened?' Skinner asks as he grasps my upper arm, and I look at my boss without being able to form an answer. I don't know what to say. I feel despair sink in. If only this could have been a nightmare. If only I could wake up and realize it's not true. Skinner grasps my arm and shakes me out of my stupor. 'Mulder?' I just shake my head. He moves from me, to Scully on the gurney and looks at her, asking the paramedics how she's doing. They say it's serious and move her to the ambulance that has driven inside the warehouse, using the old docking station that no longer has use now. This old place could have become Scully's grave. The serenity of silence that so overwhelmed me when I entered this place running after the teenager has gone. The shadows have vanished, being replaced by sharp and aching lights that burn behind my eyelids. 'We are taking Agent Mulder to hospital,' one of the paramedics says. 'It looks like he might have a concussion.' I look up and say, 'No. I'm going with her.' 'You can't, sir,' the paramedic argues. 'You're hurt too. You're bleeding.' 'I'm fine. I'm going with her,' I repeat stubbornly. Skinner interferes. 'He's going with her,' he barks. 'Make sure he's as comfortable as possible. Watch him. Daniel, go with him and keep an eye on him. Get him to have treatment in hospital.' The man holding onto me, releases me and I turn to follow the gurney that holds Scully. My helper comes after me and now I recognize him. He's an FBI-agent working at the VCU, a friend of Tom Fielding's. I've never worked with him before, even though he's been on some of my former cases. He's a couple of years younger than I am. In between the mess, I wonder why he's here. How he got here. But then I see a lot of other agents too and I know that they probably responded to the general alarm call saying there are agents in trouble. 'Come on, Mulder,' he says, and I try to remember his name. 'I'll go with you.' Skinner looks gratefully at the agent and I nod quietly. What's he called again? I don't know. It takes all of me to keep on my two feet and pretend that I don't have that concussion, that's eating away at my stamina. We walk to the ambulance and I slip inside, next to the doctor who is taking care of my partner. The agent is the third man, coming to sit next to me in the back of the ambulance. I remember his name now: Daniel Verlaine. Nice guy. The doors close and I focus on Scully. She looks so bad. I grasp her hand and rub my thumb over her wrist. She's unconscious now, and looks as if she has already died. But she is still with us. Let her stay, I pray silently and my head throbs horribly. The doctor places a thick bandage against my head, applying pressure. I am startled by the surging pain that moves through my skull, and groan. Daniel looks at me, worried and I close my eyes for a second, fighting off that horrible dizziness that rushes through me. I can't give up now. I want to be with her, hold her and protect her. I have this feeling that she might die if I let go of reality, and slip into the darkness. I just sit and stare. Wait and sit. We arrive at the hospital. Scully is taken out of the vehicle and into the ER, into a large room where I cannot enter. I am not allowed to do so. The room is painted in blue a color I do know and very clinical. The doors clap shut and I stare behind the glass. Rage overwhelms me. I am so angry with that kid for shooting my partner. I want to go on the streets, do a manhunt and kill him bare handedly. He shouldn't have been carrying a gun! We should have seen it. He was not the type to start shooting. He was just a boy: a troubled teenager, with psychic abilities that we tried to talk to; a child with more problems than anyone his age should have had. He did not seem like a killer. How could we have misjudged him like that? He became a killer as soon as he was the hunted. He shot her and she pushed me out of the way. But why did he shoot? Why wouldn't he talk to us like he did before? Was it a panic shot? Or a deliberate one? 'Come with me,' the paramedic/doctor says; after they are taking care of Scully. 'We'll take care of you.' 'No.' I shrug him off. 'You're hurt, Agent Mulder. You're about to drop by the looks of it,' he protests. 'Leave me alone,' I snap. The aid stares frantically at me, not understanding my refusal. 'I'll stay with him,' Daniel Verlaine says, placing his hand on my shoulder protectively. 'If he's not well, I'll get you.' Somehow, that touch makes me feel better. Instantly I shrug the feeling off too; nobody is going to get close to me now. As long as Scully is in danger, I will not allow a single human being to help me. The wait starts. I see them work on her and I stand outside those glass doors waiting. Watching. Hurting. Her clothes are gone. Her body is covered with sheets and blankets. She has an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. I can't see her eyes. I can see that she's breathing, because of the machines that show her vitals. The heart-monitor that telltales her situation, picks up the pace. I ball my hands and wait for someone to tell me the news: good or bad. It takes too long. I've lost track of time. A doctor comes out after a while and walks over to me. 'Are you related to Miss Scully?' he asks. 'Yes,' I lie. 'Her husband?' I nod and Daniel does not correct me. 'Your wife needs emergency surgery, sir. She has what is called a pulmonary contusion. A bullet fragment is embedded in her chest and we need to remove it.' 'In English please?' 'In English: we need to get that bullet out of there quickly. The chest pains, the shortness of breath show that it has caused severe damage. She's hypoxic too.' 'Is she going to die?' I interrupt him. 'Let's hope not. We'll do all we can for her. She has lost a lot of blood and is in shock, but we'll see the full damage once we're in there.' I nod somberly and let him go. Daniel Verlaine leaves to fetch me a cup of coffee, and I am only alone for only a few seconds. I keep on having the same thoughts: something is bugging me at the edge of my memories. I saw something in that compound: something that hurt us both. I need to go after the kid that did this to us. As soon as Scully is all right, I am going to go after him and bring him down. How dare he pull a gun on us? How dare he shoot us? The doors behind me clap open and shut, I just know Skinner's there. I can feel his presence as strongly as I can feel Scully's. He is a part of my life as much as Scully is. I am angry as I recall, the last meeting we had together. Suddenly fury rushes through me, giving me a huge adrenaline boost. 'Where was our backup?' I snap. 'You promised us backup and we were out there on our own. You caused this!' 'Mulder, calm down,' Skinner says, shocked by my outburst. He's nervous. 'This is not doing anybody any good. Where's Scully?' 'They're prepping her for surgery. She's dying.' 'You don't know that.' 'I do know it. I can feel life drip from her body. I saw the blood pour between my hands. I still have it on me. Do you know what that's like, sir? To watch someone you love die for nothing?' 'Yeah, I do know,' Skinner speaks calmly, not in the least shocked by my anger. In fact, his calm makes me angrier. I want to do some damage. Grab someone and have a fight to the death. The only other time I felt this way, was when Scully was taken from me and returned, left in a coma. And that goddamn throbbing in my head just won't stop. It hurts like a bitch. But I don't care. If she dies, I go too. We are connected; she and I. Nothing would ever be the same without her. If she's gone, what's the use for me to hang around? The doors to the examination room clap open, just as Daniel returns with the coffee. I watch them move Scully to the elevators. She's even paler than before. A white sheet covers her body; a thick, bloody bandage on her chest reveals the damage done. She's out of it and I'm grateful for that: it's better than feeling the pain. 'Scully.' I walk two steps towards the gurney, but the medical staff won't stop. The doctors are swift and experienced. I need to let them be. So they move her into the elevator and all I can do is watch. Skinner places his hand on my shoulder. 'She's going to be alright,' he promises me firmly. 'I swear.' I look into his eyes. He becomes a blur. I shake my head, feeling the rush pass. The adrenaline that kept me on my feet is gone. And I realize I'm going to pass out. I can feel it as certain as I have sensed Scully's physical pain. I can't hold on anymore. My legs are faltering, betraying me. I feel strong hands grasp me before I hit the ground, and I see Skinner hovering over me as I collapse. 'We need help!' someone says and I'm being lifted off the ground as people rush towards us. 'We're here, Mulder,' Skinner says. 'You'll be fine. Listen to my voice. Don't let yourself go. Try to stay awake.' That is the last thing I remember of that day. To be continued ... Part three I wake up several hours later in a semi-private room. There's a strange silence one can only find in hospital rooms, accompanied by the constant sound of beeping monitors. I feel the standard equipment all over me: an IV running fluids in my veins; a heart monitor attached to my chest betraying I that I'm waking up. My head is wrapped in bandages. The side of my skull hurts like a bitch. The room is dark. The slightest bit of light would hurt my eyes. Someone moves inside the room. I look up to find Skinner there. He seems alert and I realize it is morning, despite the closed curtains. He looks serious and concerned. I am grateful he's there, even though I had wanted it to be Scully, but he takes over her part as caretaker and he does a good job. He has been there before, and I know that he'll always be there in future. 'Good to have you back,' he says, moving into my line of sight, so that I don't have to stir too much to see him. 'You had us worried for a while.' I groan slighty, touching my head as the nauseating feeling returns. 'What happened?' 'You have a serious concussion. The pavement cracked on that thick skull of yours. Why didn't you say anything?' I shrug. 'I'm stubborn.' 'So I've gathered. You were very lucky, do you know that? Do you remember spending almost the entire night in the ICU, on oxygen?' 'No.' 'I thought so. You don't remember anything, do you?' 'I remember,.. Scully.' I say, as I lean deeper into the thick pillows that rest at my back. Skinner does not move backwards. He doesn't avoid my glance either. I feel relief surge through me as I realize she's still alive. Otherwise he would have turned away from me and told me calmly, serenely that she's gone. But he is still very serious when he speaks. 'She's still in the ICU. She is doing as well as can be expected. She's had surgery last night. They removed the bullet from her chest. She's not out of the woods yet.' 'Is she awake?' 'No. They are keeping her sedated. Her body needs to recover from trauma. It's been touch and go for a while. The bullet cracked a rib that protruded into her lung, so there were complications. They still fear for her.' 'I want to see her.' 'You can't, or not right now at least. Mulder, you should stay calm. You have a severe concussion. You were unconscious for twelve hours. They are as worried about you as much as they are about her. You could cause yourself serious damage if you ignore doctor's orders. Focus on yourself now. She's in good hands.' 'I can't just relax,' I groan, realizing that I'm still as angry as before. 'You have to. You're not out of the woods yet either, do you know that? The fact that you let your injury linger on for so long, did not help matters. You should have been resting for hours. You passed out, Mulder. Not exactly a sign of good health, is it? I'm ordering you to rest. I have every available law enforcement agent looking for Delaney, with Terry Davis's team backing me up. It's not your concern anymore.' I stir angrily. 'Yes, it is,' I say flushed. 'It will always be my concern. I want that kid, sir. What he's done to Scully is unforgivable.' 'Mulder, yesterday you told me that this boy, Thomas, needs understanding. That he had no psychic abilities at all, but that he needs care and love from a family he no longer has. You said this in your own words, and I offered you my advice on how to proceed. No one could have foreseen what would happen. The fact that Thomas freaked out proves, he's not as innocent as you would have liked to believe. The fact that he shot your partner, is proof enough that he might also have killed his sister; that he was capable of murdering her.' 'Which is exactly why I want him in custody, before he hurts anybody else,' I say coldly. 'It is my responsibility; my case. I screwed up. I didn't make the correct profile. If he flips and kills more people, I'm to blame.' 'That's not true and you know it.' 'Isn't it? The file has my name under it, doesn't it? I signed the reports. I said he was harmless.' 'Stop doing this to yourself. We'll find him. Scully needs you to be here and healthy. She'll need your support. What if she wakes up and finds you gone? Or worse. What if you fall and hit your head again? Have you ever heard of second-impact syndrome, Mulder? If something happens to you right now, and you hit your head again, you might die from brain swelling. Is that what you want to risk?' 'She would understand why I need to do this,' I say stubbornly, ignoring Skinner's advice. Yes, I have heard of second-impact syndrome. It happens to young sportsmen who return to the field too soon after suffering from a severe concussion. But that's not going to happen to me. All I want, is to find that kid and set straight what I've done wrong. 'Would she?' Skinner asks. 'Scully would stay by your side whatever else happens.' 'No, she wouldn't. She'd go after the one who did this too,' I speak firmly. 'When Henry Lee Lucas shot me, she went after him. She took him down before he could take anyone else down. She did'nt stay by my side and grieve.' 'That was different. Lucas had hostages. We were on a deadline.' 'And Thomas Delaney has a gun.' Skinner sighs and I know I cannot persuade him to see things my way, but we both feel that something needs to be done. That at least binds us. And I know that ultimately, he will respect my decision. He knows that he has no other choice. I relax a little bit and try to see things his way. I know he understands why I don't want to let this one go so easily. The boy shot Scully. If she dies, he becomes a killer. 'How long do I have to stay?' I ask somberly, aware of the blasting headache that strikes me every time I move. 'At least another forty-eight hours. And you will have stay monitored too. They want to make sure you don't pass out again.' 'I'm willing to stay another few hours a day, maximum,' I say strongly. 'If you haven't found him by them, I'm gone.' 'If you do that, I will go after you,' Skinner speaks harshly. Do you want to die, Mulder?' I look up at him and suddenly the glare in his eyes changes. He recognizes the strange vow that I've made deep within me. If Scully dies, I die too. And now he realizes that I'm thinking in that direction. 'Mulder.' He moves even closer and I can see the concern within him intensify. 'Don't think that way. She's not going to die. You've both been through so much in the past. I cannot imagine that she would go like this. It would not be right.' I don't answer. How can I tell him how I felt, when I saw life trickle away from her? I should have been able to save her; to help her. But I did nothing. I watched her sink deeper into the abyss. All I did was push my torn-up sweater on her chest in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. I felt so damned useless. 'Stay here and rest, Mulder. Please.' Skinner speaks gently and I know he's right, but I can't admit to it. I cannot tell him that I want his friendship and his awkward comfort. He's the only one who can get through me. But I cannot allow that. I have to find Thomas and set the record straight. I turn my head away, sinking deeper into the pillows as I close my eyes. Skinner stands there for a few moments and then he walks out. Despite myself, I fall asleep. Part four The door opens and closes and wakes me. I'm confused at first as to where I am, and keep my eyes closed. I'm disoriented. After a few seconds, I remember where I am and why I am here. I believe that my visitor is Skinner again and I am not willing to argue with him again. I don't know what time it is, but it feels like almost an entire day has passed again, and that I've already lost too much time to track down the boy. I want to look into those shadows. I want to know the truth. It is Skinner. I can imagine how he's looking at me. I can almost envisage his worried look. If it were up to him, he would probably tie me down with ropes and force me to stay here. He knows that he can't command me. I've made my decision to go after Thomas Delaney and I will. After a while, Skinner leaves again. He's been sitting in a chair for some minutes. Perhaps I've fallen asleep again, for I don't remember him going. I just hear the door click as it closes. I watch until the ceiling stops moving and look outside. It's bright out. Strange. I reach forward and grasp my watch that lies on the tablet next to me. It's the 24th. I've lost another day! My god, I slept throughout an entire day and night. Or perhaps they forced me to. Maybe that's why my head feels so heavy now: they sedated me. Furious, I move up and away from the pillows. Within a second I regret having done just that. A splitting headache rushes through me. I'm dizzy. I feel nauseated. An instant urge to puke out my guts engulfs me. Oh god, I think. How am I going to find the kid, when I can't even sit up straight? I need everything in me to stay on my feet. I can't imagine going out on the streets just like that and tracking the kid down. But I have to. Too much time has already gone by. And Scully? She has not woken up. Otherwise Skinner would have told me something. To hell with Skinner. My anger helps me up. Finally, after a few attempts, I'm sitting up straight without feeling so sick. I move, making a mental way through the pain. I know that I can make it: all I have to do is urge my legs to start moving. I shove the blankets off me and place both feet on the ground. The wires are still stuck to my chest; I pull them off with a hasty gesture. The IV follows, leaving trickles of blood on the sheets. They remind me so much of Scully. The first thing I have to do now is to find her, and tell her, I will get our revenge. I stumble slowly towards the closet and pull out my clothes. I have to kneel to get to my socks and shoes on, that gesture alone almost sends me back into oblivion. I grasp the closet door and wait for a few seconds, taking deep breaths. Damn, this is bad. If Scully were here, she'd have me for disobeying doctor's orders. But she's not here. She's dying. I feel tears spring into my eyes. I am horrified that my body would not listen to my mind in a time like this. But should it, when I am forcing it to do something against its own better judgement? Shouldn't I be sitting at Scully's side, begging for her to open her eyes, instead of going after her murderer? Shouldn't I be grieving for her? No. The second I allow myself to grieve, I will go against my own nature. I have done it once: when Scully was returned. I let go of the opportunity to find her killers to be with her, but not now. I have never felt such rage and anger against anyone, not even the Cancerman. This should not have happened. It was so unnecessary. I leave the room slowly. I'm terribly tired. It's difficult to cross the corridors when the lights are so harsh in your eyes. In comparison to the darkened room, everything seems too bright and too clear. A nurse passes me by and looks at me strangely. I keep on moving and find my way towards the ICU easily. As I walk in, another nurse looks at me. My temple is still wrapped with bandages, I realize, I must look like shit. 'Are you alright, sir?' she asks. 'Dana Scully?' I whisper hoarsely, and my throat aches from speaking. 'Are you related to her?' 'Yes.' 'Follow me.' She walks me to a small cubicle in the back of the ICU, where my partner lies next to two other occupied beds. Instantly, I recognize all the equipment that is keeping her alive, but under complete sedation. I remember Skinner telling me that they want to allow her to rest peacefully, so that her body could recover from trauma. But if this happened two days ago, shouldn't she be alert by now? Every time I see her in this sort of condition, I'm shocked by the paleness of her skin. Her body is not equipped to undergo this trauma. Her heart needs to recuperate; the rest of her has to recover. I hope that she sleeps well, that she rests up. But my greatest fear is that she will not open her eyes ever again, and that she will give into the strength, the ultimate darkness has upon us. I know that it's tempting. I too have felt it when I was near-death. It is easier to give in than to stay amongst the living. 'Sir?' The nurse watches me carefully as I lean on Scully's bed. I look at my partner intently. I urge her to fight the respiratory equipment and wake up for me. In my thoughts, I'm talking with her, and I hope that she understands what I want her to do. Of course it does not work that way: she would never hear me, or enter my mind to read my thoughts. 'Sir, I'll get you a chair.' Finally I look up, but I cannot speak. I'm so tired. 'No,' I just say. 'I'm fine.' And then I'm on the ground besides Scully's bed. I can't control my body's movements. I don't know what to do. I just slide. That's all I can do. Part five 'You pissed off the medical staff,' Skinner says calmly as he hands me a glass of water. I'm back in my room, and back in the bed with the equipment beeping around me. I've been here for a couple of hours. I don't remember much of being returned here. I probably gave them quite a scare, and some extra work. I had expected to be in the ICU, sharing Scully's cubicle when I regained consciousness, but I'm not. I do feel that I'm in bad shape though. I would be fooling myself if I said it wasn't so. 'I don't care,' I groan tired. 'I'm getting out of here soon.' 'You can't,' Skinner sighs tiredly. 'You risk your life the moment you get out of here in this condition.' 'Is that why you had them drug me?' He looks at me intently. 'I'm sorry Mulder, but your actions worried me. I spoke with your doctor, and he agreed that keeping you under for a while, would be best for your state of mind and health.' 'I thought it was unhealthy to sedate concussion-patients?' 'I'd rather have you unhealthy than dead.' 'Don't exaggerate, sir.' Skinner pales and readjusts his glasses. 'You really don't get it, do you Mulder?' he says coldly. 'The moment you walk out of this room, you could be endangering your life. Do you know what would have happened if you had bumped that skull of yours again? You fell at Scully's bedside. You almost hit the ground. You could have died right there. Are you really going to kill yourself trying to find her attacker?' 'Yes,' I groan, forcing myself up into the pillows. 'It's obvious that you can't. Otherwise you would have found him by now.' 'We have everyone on it, Mulder. You know how it works: time and patience. Why can't you leave it up to us?' I stare at him. 'No.' 'Fine then,' Skinner responds angrily. 'Go ahead. Go kill yourself. If that's what it takes to make you feel happy, go do it! I can't stop you. No one can. Only she can and you barely care for her.' I stare at him shocked. 'How can you say that?' I respond, hurt. 'It's true, isn't it? You're not there, by her side. You only care about your quest: finding that kid. You've hardly shown any emotion about her since you first woke up. What is happening to you, Mulder? I don't know you like this. You haven't been yourself.' I close my eyes tired. 'I don't want ' '- to talk about it? Sure you don't. Why would you? It's only Scully.' 'Shut up,' I hear myself whisper. 'No, I won't. I'm your friend, Mulder, at least I hoped to be. I think I have proven myself for quite some time, haven't I? I know you're hurting. But this is not the answer. Scully will pull through. She has always done so before. The both of you are stronger than this.' I open my eyes again and stare at him. 'No, she's not.' 'Yes, she is. But she needs you,' my boss says friendly. 'More than anything in this world, she needs you. You can't just walk out on her and go after her killer, when she is depending on you. Don't you see that?' 'Why would she need me?' I ask numbly, as bitter tears enter my eyes. 'I wasn't of much good to her before, was I? If her life depended on me, she would have died.' Skinner stares at me in shock. 'Why do you say that, Mulder? How can you be blamed for this?' 'I took her there, didn't I?' I burst out. 'I didn't profile that kid well enough. I trusted him. And when she was shot, I did nothing to save her. I couldn't because I panicked.' ' You saved her!' Skinner objected. 'Without you, she would have bled to death.' 'Without me, she would not have been shot.' Skinner, the only man in the world who probably had something to say that I would listen to, looks at me strongly. 'Mulder, you are not to blame. It's not your fault. Please stop this. Stop doing this to yourself.' 'I will put a stop to it,' I say as I push the blankets off my legs slowly, dizzy by every movement I make. 'I'm going to find Tommy and I'll find the truth.' Skinner walks forward and grabs me by the arm. 'No.' 'Yes,' I say, tiredly. 'I can do this with, or without you, sir. I'd rather do it with you, but if you're going to stop me now, I swear I'll quit the Bureau. I'll do it on my own strength.' Skinner stares at me for a moment, angry at my persistence. Then he grabs the clothes that are on the chair underneath the window, throws them on the bed and groans, 'I suspect that you don't need help getting dressed?' For the first time I smile. 'Nope.' It takes forever to get dressed, but I don't ask for Skinner's help. He's outside the room arguing with my doctor. Neither man is obviously pleased with my decision to discharge myself. As the door opens again, the ER-doctor I recognize and Skinner, return. A nurse is with them too. 'This is against my better judgment,' he says. 'But your boss has made it clear that you won't be persuaded otherwise. If you get hurt again, it might cost you your life.' 'I won't get hurt,' I say. 'Yeah, right.' The doctor sniffs loudly and leaves again. Skinner hands me my coat and looks as displeased as the doctor; but I feel a rush to the head as I realize that I have gotten my way. 'Are you ready to go?' he asks. 'Yeah.' 'You're under my care now,' Skinner speaks angrily. 'Don't you dare get me into trouble. I swear I'll kill you myself.' 'I promise,' I say weakly, grateful for Skinner's help. Even though I would not admit to it, I need him as much as I need Scully. He's the only beacon of strength I can rely on right now. I am not stupid, you know. I know that I am getting myself into serious trouble. I know that every step I take, might be a dangerous one. But I need to do this. The shadows trouble me: I want to know what they meant. I want to know why we were ignorant to the danger. And above all, I want to know if our theory that the teenager was harmless was wrong. Only then, will I get the peace of mind I so badly need. We go back to the ICU, where Scully is still lying in the same position. It's been two days and she's not well. Her paleness has become even worse. She could have been dead for as far as I know. The doctor enters the unit and watches me intently, as I grasp her hand. 'Is she going to be alright?' I ask hoarsely. 'We believe so. She's responding well to treatment. I've decided to allow her to wake up naturally now.' 'Will she ' '- recover fully? Yes.' I lean forward and look at her closed eyes. She doesn't know I'm here and I'm pretty certain that she would not respond to my voice. She needs to wake up on her own strength now. I know that she will be in a lot of pain. She is the only one to whom I whisper, 'Hey, it's me. I have to go now for a while, but I'll be back before you know it. Hang on.' I wish she would open her eyes and stop me. But nothing happens. I caress her hair and kiss her gently. When I look up, Skinner's there. He understands and nods. I rub my eyes and follow him outside. We stride through the corridors of the hospital in silence, walking towards the elevators. Skinner is not exactly in the mood to talk to me. He paces angrily besides me, allowing this against better judgment. The sympathy he feels for me has changed into certain anger at the situation. I keep on seeing Scully lying on that concrete floor. What have I missed? I feel nausea creep up. Something is wrong with me. I can tell as we walk further. I am using up too much of my strength already. I have to think of Scully. For her, I would do anything. A restroom-sign. Without warning Skinner, I push the door and rush in. I open a cubicle, pull up the lid and throw up inside the bowl, after pushing the door shut behind me. Its just bile leaving my system. I haven't eaten for two days. Something Skinner forgot, I think. 'Mulder?' Skinner walks in the restrooms. I don't answer him, leaning forward until everything is out of me and the vomiting stops. After that, I'm too tired to move. 'Mulder, come out of there,' Skinner says, knocking on the cubicle door. I finally stir, move and slowly get up. My back aches, but that's nothing in comparison to what my head is doing to me. I have difficulty keeping my thoughts together. Finally, I flush the toilet and walk out. Skinner stares at me worriedly. 'You look even worse than before.' 'I gathered as much,' I groan as I throw icy cold water in my face, and hope for something to take away that flustering feeling, that reminds me of the fever that's creeping up. 'Mulder ' 'Don't say it, sir.' I wipe my face. 'Let's go.' I stagger but I'm up. Skinner can do nothing but follow me. As we drive to the FBI's Headquarters, I sleep. Something in me fears that I might not wake up the moment I close my eyes, but I cannot help it. My body needs the rest. Skinner wakes me as we arrive. I follow him inside; into Terence Davis' office whose team has ran the investigation so far. Daniel Verlaine is there too, standing in Davis' office. My former boss, Terence Davis, is serious and very sympathetic. He looks at me, shakes my hand and asks me if I am all right. I am pretty certain that both Daniel, and Skinner have informed him on every detail. 'Good to see you,' Davis says. 'It surprises me that you're still on your feet, to be honest, but of course we're not used to anything different from you, are we?' I smile wearily. 'I already have Skinner on my back nagging about my health. Don't you start too, Terry.' Terence smiles and the tension in the room disappears. Years ago he was my Assistant-Director. That was before I left for the X-Files. Afterwards he had come back and asked me if I'd be willing to help him out on occasion. I had agreed. Since then the friendship between us had grown again. There was a mutual respect that I cared for deeply. But even if he had not helped me, I would not be stopped. 'Of course you have my support,' he says. 'I'm sure you don't mind that Daniel is running the show on this one.' I turn to Verlaine. 'Thank you for helping me before.' 'You're welcome,' he says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. 'I'm glad to see you're on your feet.' 'That's just an illusion,' Skinner speaks grimly behind me. 'The sooner he returns to hospital, the better. So let's get to work and get this over with.' 'So tell me,' I say as I rub my eyelids. 'What has your luck been like, so far?' 'It seems that your boy has vanished off the face of the earth,' Terence explains. 'After the shootout, he didn't show up at his home. His stepfather doesn't know where he is and refuses to cooperate.' 'And the mother?' 'Still in the psychiatric ward; she's of no use.' 'The gun?' 'His father says he bought a gun about a month ago and hid it in his bedroom closet. He claims his son must have taken it without his permission.' 'His daughter committed suicide, yet he kept another gun in the house?' I ask in disbelief. 'That's pushing it a bit, isn't it? Besides, didn't he say in the first place that Thomas killed his stepsister?' 'Yes, he did,' Skinner confirms. 'Odd behavior for a concerned stepfather.' 'So, where do you think your killer is?' Daniel asks me. 'You must have theories.' I look up surprised. 'So now we have labeled him a murderer, then?' 'After what happened to the two of you?' Terence replies, 'Yes, of course.' I shook my head slightly. 'I still don't believe it.' I return to the shadows, seeing them. They were moving, as if something was hiding from us. But the boy was in front of us, running away. So how could he have shot Scully? 'Mulder, you did see him shoot Scully, didn't you?' Terence leans forward and looks at me questioningly. 'I don't know,' I say slowly, realizing that I truly didn't see him pull that trigger. 'Then what did you see?' Skinner asks surprised. I close my eyes and try to remember, but it's all so blurry. I still cannot recall it completely. One minute we were running, and the next I was on the ground, hitting my head hard. And Scully was on top of me. She had shoved me out of the bullet's trajectory. She was swifter than I was. She had seen it sooner, but how could she, when we were running beside each other? Remember, I urge myself. Just remember what you saw. Remember it. But suddenly it all fades away. All the images become one vague visage that I cannot control. They get mixed together in twilight of twirling flashes, including the colors red and green that I can only see in my dreams. I don't know what happens. Everything that's reality, escapes my control, and all I have left is a sense of loss. To be concluded ... Part six 'Mulder? Mulder! Come on, buddy.' I feel strong hands shaking me and I look up. 'Yeah, what?' The second I open my eyes, I regret having done that. Sharp light rushes into view and blinds me. Automatically, I raise my hand before my eyes to protect them from the intruder. But where does the light come from? 'God damnit, Mulder.' Hey, I know that voice. I look to the side and find Skinner hovering over me. Hovering? I must be on the ground if he's lingering over me, staring at me with that strange look of discomfort that he only has when I'm in trouble. I look at him and at Terence next to him, then at Daniel on the other side, and there are people staring from behind the windows. They're all staring at me. What is going on? I am on the ground. But how can that be? A few moments ago I was sitting on a chair in Terence's office. Now I'm on the tiles and they're cold. 'What -?' 'You passed out,' Terence says and his voice sounds distressed. 'You're going back to hospital, Mulder. This has gone far enough. We can do this without you.' 'No.' I push him away and roll on my side, slowing moving up. Everything is sore; bile comes up in my throat. I move away from all helping hands, and shake my head stubbornly as I reach up alone. 'No, I'm fine.' 'Yeah, right,' Skinner groans. 'Have you looked into a mirror lately?' I look wearily at him. 'Stop it.' ' You stop it,' Skinner snapped. 'Stop being such a stubborn fool. You are going to kill yourself for nothing.' 'There's always a reason,' I say, finally getting up with the help of Skinner and Daniel, who help me on my two feet. I can barely stand. I hate this loss of self-control. 'Scully will kick your ass when she finds out about this,' Skinner warns me. 'She won't,' I say calmly, 'unless you tell her.' 'You can bet your ass, I'll tell her. I want to see her damage you.' 'Are you threatening me, sir?' 'Of course I am,' he says, softening up a bit. 'Thanks,' I smile wryly. He looks at me as if I have lost my mind. I smile, despite everything and soften up too. 'As long as you're threatening me, you care enough to help.' 'Did you ever doubt that?' he asks estranged. 'No,' I say calmly. 'Not really.' 'Good.' Part seven While I chew on a sandwich and devour a cup of soup, we make a list of Tommy's possible whereabouts. Skinner had gotten my file from the basement office earlier and spreads it out on Davis's desk. I explain the case to them as briefly and thoroughly as I can, taking deep breaths in between as nausea creeps up from hidden corners in my mind. 'Thomas Tommy Delaney's sister Tina died about a month ago. Apparently, she committed suicide. A gun was found at the scene and all evidence pointed towards the girl having inflicted this upon herself. But her father, Donald Delaney, did not believe that she would kill herself, and asked the FBI to take a look at the case.' 'According to Mr. Delaney, his stepson Thomas, had special abilities that he used to enforce his will upon people. He believed that his stepson had forced his daughter to commit suicide by using mental powers of control,' Skinner continues. 'We had a case like this before,' I take over again, 'a long time ago we had to deal with a man whose psychic abilities allowed him to force people to kill themselves. His sister was also able to do this.' 'Robert Modell,' Davis says. 'I know about that case. He put the whammy on you.' I grin painfully at the memory of holding a gun to Scully's face. 'You can imagine then our concern when we first spoke with Mr. Delaney,' I continue. 'I believe strongly in mind-control and wanted to make sure that this teenager did not have them.' 'But you found no evidence?', Davis says. 'That's right,' I confirm. 'We first talked to Tommy about four days ago. He seemed like a normal, vulnerable kid suffering under his stepsister's suicide. He showed nothing out of the ordinary. Even now, I don't believe that he has any abilities, and that his father simply needed a scapegoat for his daughter's death. Mr. Delaney knew quite a bit about the Modell-case. As you know, the story was spread out in the press because Modell had taken hostages in a hospital. I think that's where Mr. Delaney got the mustard. I believe that he just wanted to make himself feel better about his daughter's death.' 'My agents came to me with their conclusions,' Skinner continues. 'I agreed with Mulder's vision that it was a bogus case. He did however, believe that the kid was hiding something and wanted to check it out. He often disappeared at night and my agents wanted to know where he went. So I agreed on a surveillance to close the case. But to us, the girl's death was labeled a suicide.' 'We followed the boy to the abandoned warehouse on Elk Street,' Mulder explains. 'I believe he was there every night, hiding from something his life maybe. As soon as we walked in to find him, the boy started running. We wanted to talk to him, but he just kept on running. And then he took the shot. It came out of nowhere.' 'Mulder, you were thinking earlier about what you saw in that warehouse before you were attacked,' Daniel asks me. 'You said you weren't so sure that Thomas shot you. Can you explain that?' 'Did I say that?' I ask surprised, wondering about that. Yes, I do remember saying something in that line. 'Strange. I didn't mean to say that. Why would I have said that?' 'Mulder, what exactly did you see?' Terence's asked, in friendly tone. 'Did Thomas Delaney shoot Scully, or was there someone else in that warehouse?' 'I don't know,' I say truthfully. 'One minute we were running, the next I was on the ground.' 'You hit your head when you fell. Could it have confused you?' 'No. The shot came at the exact same time. If there was a gun, I would have seen it.' 'But Scully saw it. She pushed you away.' 'There was something,' I say quietly. 'Something with the shadows.' They look at me and wait. 'I can't explain it exactly. They felt out of place. They were moving, as if they hid something in them. It's like they had a mind of their own.' 'You're not making any sense,' Skinner speaks. 'I know.' I laugh, estranged, trying to go back to that place, but the memory doesn't return. 'There must have been someone else,' I say, looking at my three colleagues. 'The boy wasn't alone, that's why the shadows moved. He lurked in them, waiting for us.' I get up, swaying instantly as dizziness strikes hard. 'Mulder, easy.' Skinner grabs me before I fall forward. I grasp onto his arms and wait until the nausea passes. 'Thanks,' I groan and let go after a while. 'Sure?' 'Yeah.' He lets go of me and watches me as my brain starts to work. There was someone else, I'm fairly certain about that now. Something felt out of place. I'd had that feeling before, with Robert Modell. When he put the whammy on us, I had the same sense of losing my grip on reality. Perhaps there was some truth about Tommy's abilities after all. Perhaps he wanted to avoid us seeing what was there. 'Who can lead us to Thomas?' Daniel asks calmly as they watch me struggle with my memories. 'The father?' 'He's our only lead,' Skinner agrees. 'What about the mother?' Terence asks. 'Do you think she would be able to talk by now? She has been in that institution for a month now.' 'Forget about her,' I say. 'Not a sane word came out of her, when we visited her.' 'The father it is then,' Skinner says and watches me. 'Mulder, we need you to talk to him. You have seen him before. You'll know better than anyone if he's hiding something now. Are you game? And feeling okay?' 'Always,' I say. Part 8 I take another nap in the car, which does me the world of good. The moment I close my eyes and the back of my head hits the soft passenger seat cushions, I'm out of there. It's like the lights of the world all shut down and allow me to rest. I've rarely felt like that. And I know, yes, that I should be in a hospital somewhere resting. I know that I'm weak and too vulnerable. I dream of Scully: of blood red skies and her blood coloring them. She stands before me, pale as a sheet and deathly ill. 'You're abandoning me,' she says accusingly. 'Why aren't you by my side?' 'You have to understand,' I beg of her. 'I want the one who did this!' 'You want him more than you want to help me,' she accuses. I wake up with a cry, just as Skinner pulled up to the Delaney's driveway. 'Are you okay?' he asks, worried. 'Yeah. Just a dream.' By the time we arrive at the Delaney residence, I feel a bit better and less nauseated. But the light of day still hurts my eyes, and every wrong move sends flashes of extreme pain through my head. Skinner turns off the engine and looks at me. 'Mulder, you don't have to go with me.' 'No.' I shake my head and touch my cheek. I'm flushed with fever. 'If he knows anything, I'll know too.' 'Okay.' Skinner follows me up the small staircase and rings the bell. A few moments later, a very annoyed Donald Delaney stands before us. 'What do you want now?' he asks, upset. 'I told you that I don't know anything. When are you folks going to find Tommy, and get this over with?' 'We're doing our best, sir,' Skinner says calmly. 'Weren't you in hospital or something?' he asks me with raised eyebrows, as he gives me the once over. 'Not anymore.' 'You look like you belong there.' 'I'm okay. Sir, where do you think your stepson might be?' 'Everywhere and nowhere. I haven't seen him since he left the house that night. I didn't know about it, until the Feds came to tell me he shot your partner. If I'd known, I would have called you. I don't want him in my house ever again.' 'Do you still care where he is, sir?' I ask quietly. 'I never cared. He destroyed this family. As far as I am concerned, he might as well be dead.' 'When your son excuse me, stepson supposedly killed your daughter, you allowed him back into your house, sir. Wasn't that a dangerous thing to do?' I ask quietly. 'You've asked me this before,' Delaney speaks harshly, 'but what other choice did I have? My wife became sick and Thomas is only sixteen years old. I couldn't throw him out, could I? Back then, I still believed that I was mistaken. But I wasn't, was I? That boy killed my daughter, and then he killed your partner.' 'She is not dead, sir.' Delaney does not respond to that and shrugs angrily. 'You never feared for your life?' Skinner asks. 'You must have felt that he might harm you too?' 'Never. I am stranger more than my daughter. He wouldn't be able to influence me.' 'So you still believe that he has psychic abilities, sir?' 'How else do you explain my daughter's death?' 'Suicide, sir.' 'There must have been a reason then. She was very happy. Look, I've told all of this to you before. All I can add now, is that I no longer support him. I don't care what happens to him now. He can go to hell. Is that all?' I nod. 'Just one last question, sir. If you know where he is, tell us.' 'He's probably back in that warehouse. He always had the hots for that place. I don't know why. Go look for him there.' 'We have, sir,' Skinner says. 'Then I don't know where he is. I don't care. Goodbye.' Delaney smacks the door in our faces. Skinner and I share a glance. 'Nice guy,' my boss remarks. 'Too nice, I would say.' 'Do you think he had anything to do with all of this?' 'Perhaps it's time to look for an alternative motive.' 'I'll have Terry take a closer look at him.' I nod and stumble towards the car. Skinner unlocks the door and walks over to me, as I struggle with dizziness and returning nausea. I close my eyes for just one second and have difficulty remembering where I am, or even who I am, as the sun shines brightly on to me. Evening is falling too slow for my liking. I ache for darkness that doesn't hurt my eyes so badly. One moment I have the car door in my hand, the next I'm holding on, fighting to stay on my feet. 'Get in, Mulder.' Skinner opens the door for me, and helps me gently inside. I don't object when he closes the door and walks to the other side of the car. He gets in and buckles my seatbelt. I look at him, seeing him through a fog. His image appears and vanishes before my eyes. 'I'll take you back,' he says. I nod quietly. It's nearly six as we return to the Bureau. Skinner wakes me up. I see that same fear in his eyes again. I think he's afraid that he might not be able to wake me at some point. But I always return to the land of the living, and the place where I am still colorblind. Skinner's phone rings as we enter the building. He speaks quietly, hangs up and turns towards me. 'What is it?' I ask. 'We have to go to hospital.' 'She's dying.' 'Mulder ' 'Is she dying, sir?' 'She's not well.' 'Let's go.' I almost trip over my own feet as we rush back to the car. I feel my heart sink. I should have been with her, holding her hand and urging her to wake up. What if she dies before we get there? What if she is not responding to treatment because I wasn't there to help her? She cannot do this to us, I beg. She can't! Skinner takes me to the ICU. I'm barely aware of the fact his arm is supporting me at all times. He's like a beacon of light, that man, but I can't thank him for it yet. I need to be with Scully now, and with the adrenaline rush within me ordering me to get even with Tommy Delaney. As the doors open, I see instantly that Scully's cubicle has even more machines in it. And her body is in a worse state than it was before. She really is in bad, bad shape. 'What happened?' Skinner asks. 'You said before that she was doing well.' The doctor starts a whole complex explanation on how Scully is not responding well. I don't understand any of it. I just get the picture: she is really, really bad. 'It will be touch and go in the next few hours,' the doctor says. 'You'd better stay with her. She needs your moral support.' 'No,' I say stubbornly. 'First we need to find the kid.' 'Mulder, please.' Skinner says, grasping my arm. 'There are other things to think about now.' 'No.' I shake my head, sending flashes of pain through my own body. 'I can't stay here.' 'Why not?' I hardly dare to look at Scully's unconscious form. I'm the reason she is lying there. If someone put the whammy on me, once again, I am to blame. I should be the one dying. The one suffering. Not her. She had nothing to do with it. She was there, as my partner. Tears spring in my eyes as I rush out of the room, followed by Skinner. He stops me in the hallway. 'My God Mulder, you think you're to blame, don't you? You think that kid put the whammy on you, like Modell did.' I look into his eyes. 'It's the only explanation I have, sir. We ran straight into a trap. We should have seen that gun. It wasn't that dark in that building. I'm a sucker for whammies, remember? An easy target.' 'You are not to blame, Mulder. You were never to blame with Modell either.' 'I put a gun to her face, sir. Not once, but twice. And you say I'm not to blame? I am a liability. When I'm near her, she gets hurt.' 'Stop this nonsense. You're very sick and not thinking straight.' 'We need to find the boy. He's the only one who can tell us the truth.' 'When you talked to him, did he tell you about special places, he had? Places he might have gone to?' 'No.' 'Did you find out why he went to that warehouse?' 'No. You said they combed the place.' 'Inside and out, they found nothing.' 'Can you take me there, sir?' 'What are you hoping to find?' 'Something. The reason he went there. If his father is right and he has returned there, we will find him.' 'Mulder, I am not happy with this. But I will do this for your peace of mind. It is obvious that you won't listen to anybody reasoning with you. I just want you to swear to me that you will allow people to help you when this is over.' 'Yes, sir.' We drive to the warehouse on Elk Street where Thomas Delaney had taken us that fateful night. It's nearly seven and the image of Scully is embedded in my mind. I feel shivers run down my spine the moment we enter the compound. Skinner parks the car in front of the large wooden doors that reminds the place of a better time. The lights no longer work. We have flashlights that we use to get a better view of the building. But the moment I enter the building, I can feel that something is wrong. It's the same feeling I had that night; the one I ignored the moment we stepped inside. I feel as if someone is watching us. Toying with us. The shadows are not right. And I just know that Thomas is here. 'Sir,' I say quietly, and reach for my gun. Skinner watches me and then automatically does the same thing, even though he can't feel that same sensation I have. He goes with my lead. I blink my eyelids, struggling with the disorientation that creeps up from within me. I have difficulty keeping the flashlight straight ahead, pointing it at dark corners and places that I don't care for. Skinner is ahead of me, protective of me, and caring for me. I know that he will interfere the moment something goes wrong, but are we being played here? Is someone going to put the whammy on me, or on him, and force us up against each other? Are we going to kill each other? I'm afraid. My god, I have to admit it: I'm horrified. I want to run away as fast as my legs can carry me. Instead, we walk forward. A sudden noise startles us. 'There,' Skinner cries out in triumph, pointing at a darker corner leading to the back. We can see running feet clad in Nike's, that lead up to a boy dressed in jeans. He tries to get away from us. It's dj-vu all over again. 'Tommy, stop!' Skinner cries out and I want to say that he has to get out of there. Instead, I follow him as fast as I can, and with every step I take, a hammer pounds into my head. I have not felt this bad since the Antarctic. In that instant, I lose Skinner out of my sight. I hear a muffled sound and then a cry, then another sound. 'Skinner!' I call out his name and try to catch him in my flashlight but he's gone. He has rushed around the corner, into the shadows. I follow to that place, keep my gun in the air and point at the corner. Behind a couple of boxes lies Skinner, face down, flat forward and with blood on the back of his head. 'Jesus,' I say, holding my gun onto Tommy who is standing there, shivering. He stares at Skinner. 'Hands in the air!' I cry out, and hold my weapon up level with his heart. The teenager looks at me as if I've gone mad. 'Hands up!' I repeat. He slowly does what I say. I look around for anything that he might have to harm me with and find nothing. I see his eyes staring straight into mine, they have a strange sort of innocence in them that I absolutely hate. I want to throttle him, kill him and get it over with. I want to punish him for killing Scully, and then perhaps Skinner. I look at my boss. If he's dead, I'll kill the boy and then myself. 'Stay where you are,' I groan, and with one hand holding up the gun, I kneel. I place down the flashlight so that it shines onto Skinner's body, and feel his throat. He's still alive. Thank god. I let out a sigh of relief and turn towards the boy. And he stands there with those strange eyes, just looking at me. "What did you do to us?' I ask coldly. 'How?' 'How did I do what?' he replies and I just lose it. I move forward and grasp him by the collar as I force him onto the ground, on his back. I point my gun into his face and he stares into the barrel of it. He's absolutely horrified. 'Why?' I hear myself shout. 'In God's name: why did you shoot her?' The teenager lies underneath me, staring at me with the fear of a slain puppy in his eyes. 'I don't know what you're talking about!' he shouts. 'I don't know. Please, let me go! I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't -' '- Shoot her? I saw you! You had a gun in your hands. How dare you lie to me now?' 'I don't know I swear to you that I didn't shoot her. I saw it happen, but I didn't do it! I didn't have a gun.' 'Then who did?' I ask coldly. 'Who did it?' He doesn't reply. I look at him, and those eyes that remind me so much of Modell's, soften. He doesn't put the whammy on me. He doesn't have it in him. Tommy's insistence makes me loosen my grip. I stare at him, surprised, and as our eyes find each other, I suddenly remember what I saw in the shadows: the figure of a man lurking. The only man who could have known his stepson came there every night to find peace and solitude, was also the father who had killed his own daughter. Part 9 The world sways before my eyes. I struggle with my intent to stay awake and my hunger for release. I let go of the kid and move off of him. 'Your father,' I whisper. 'It was your father.' Tommy starts to cry, moving his hands before his eyes. 'Yes,' he whispers. 'It was my father.' I move off of him and sit on the ground, holding my hands before my eyes as the memories return. Thomas was running away from us. He'd been surprised to find us there. He would have seen his father too, in the shadows. His father had the gun. And he somehow made us believe that Tommy had it and used it shoot at us. 'Why?' I ask. 'Why did he do it?' 'The money,' Thomas whispers. 'He gets all the money. The insurance policies.' 'Insurance policies?' 'He has them on all of his family. On Tina, on me and my stepmother. He gets everything.' 'But to shoot his own daughter?' 'She wasn't his daughter, just like I wasn't his son.' I stare at him, amazed. 'Didn't you know?' he asks. 'She was adopted the day she was born. He didn't kill his own flesh and blood. He wouldn't know how to love anyone, anyhow. He used us since we were kids. He never cared much for us anyhow. We were good for the money. The older we died, the more he would get.' 'So, if you die too, he will collect more insurance money?' 'And what better way to have your son die, than to be killed by the FBI after being labeled a murderer,' Thomas speaks bitterly. 'I know what bullshit story he's told you.' But it wasn't a bullshit story. Donald Delaney had the ability to play with our minds. He must have. 'Have you ever seen anything extraordinary about him?' I ask, tiredly, lowering my gun as I try to get Skinner to wake up. He won't respond. I'm worried about him. 'No.' I feel anger surge in me. We had Donald Delaney and then we let him go. 'Get up,' I whisper, crawling onto my side, then slowly upwards as dizziness overwhelms me. 'We have to get out of here. You need to get protective custody.' 'So you believe me, then?' he asks. 'I've been hiding in the darkness, in the hidden rooms in the back of this building for a day now. Nobody knows about them. I'm afraid.' 'I'll protect you.' He seems relieved that I believe him, and I do. I see things clearer now less foggy. 'You're hurt,' he says. 'Yeah.' I look at him and take out my cell phone to call Davis. I stay knelt down by Skinner's side: he's beginning to move. I'm so relieved. 'Stay with me Tommy,' I say, with my back partially directed towards the boy, but he doesn't respond. The second Davis is on the phone, I see something go down on the ground beside me. I stare at Tommy who collapses without so much as a cry. He ends up on the floor next to Skinner. I turn my back hastily and stare into the madness of Donald Delaney, standing inside the darkness. He holds a bat in his hands. I look at the back of the boy's head. He received quite a blow, just like Skinner did. Jesus, I think he's dead. Donald raises the bat and comes towards me. 'No,' I say, holding up my hands to protect my head as I crawl backwards. I reach for the gun, but before my fingers find it, the bat goes up and swings into my direction. I stumble backwards to protect myself until I hit the wall. As he hefts the bat, I fall aside. I can feel the wood impact my head, but it doesn't hit me hard. It's like a rough graze. Yet it feels like a blast so hard, that it forces me to see stars. Its more than enough to send me straight back into oblivion. And before I reach that place, I realize that I am in quite a big mess, A horrible, deadly mess. Part 10 I hear something dripping beside me, like the constant tickling of water onto the ground, released from a broken pipe. I know that sound. I've heard it before. I have difficulty forcing my body to respond to my senses. In fact, nothing seems to work for me. I'm lying useless on the concrete. I hear sounds but they're distant. They don't seem to intrude into my brain. I listen to them, and wonder what they are. I taste blood. I open my eyes to find myself suddenly staring into the beady eyes of a rat. My God! Immediately, I slump backwards, only to find myself hit a wall with my back. I'm lying against a concrete pole holding up parts of this building. I must be dead. This must be hell. My head bursts with extreme, hot pain. "Skinner! Tommy!" I strain myself to see them, but all I can do is stare into nothingness. I'm in bad shape. I know it. And I don't know where they are. I don't know why I'm still alive. Footsteps come out of the shadows and approach me. I look up to find Delaney looking at me. He smiles strangely. "Nobody will find you here,' he says. 'It will soon be over. The rats will take care of business. They like the scent of blood, you know. They'll devour you. Or, if you get lucky, you might die of your injuries after all. You really do look like shit, you know.' Frantically, I try to push myself up as the rats leave their hideouts, and watch me. He stays calm. 'Where are they?' He sighs. 'Seems like I'm going to collect my insurance money after all. I'm pretty sure my wife will die soon. Thanks for helping me out, by the way. I knew you would help me convince the world, my stepson was a liability.' I stare at him wearily and say nothing. He leaves calmly and shuts the door behind him. I look around. We must be in one of those hidden rooms, I think. If what Tommy says is true, no one will ever finds us here. I hear the rats crawl over the floor. They find something. They're snapping at it, tearing at flesh. Oh god, please let that be Tommy's body and not Skinner. Skinner must still be alive. Suddenly I hear a very loud groan behind me, one that can only come from him. Thank god, he's still alive. I open my mouth, but not a single sound comes out. I have to struggle find my tongue again. 'S Sir? Skinner. Are you there?' Another groan follows and then his heavy voice comes back to me. 'Yeah. What the hell happened?' 'Delaney,' I just say. 'It was Delaney.' Nothing comes as a reply, and I realize I'm probably not the only one with a concussion now. I sigh deeply, and rest my ahead against the pole, trying to find a good position to sit. But the rats are gathering around me. They sense the blood that comes from the side of my head, where Delaney's bat hit me, damaging me even further. If they crawl on me, they will eat me. Oh God. Part 11 Silence follows noises, and follows silence. I don't know how long has passed since we ended up in here. I've lost all track of time. Skinner hasn't responded anymore and his silence worries me. I think of Scully all the time. Why in God's name did I have to find out the truth? We will die in here and nobody would ever find out. Suddenly hard, strange noises coming from outside these walls, shake me up. I open my eyes and look at the door, willing it to open. But nothing happens. I heard sounds like people running and rushing through the compound. I hear a cell phone. They're here! 'H Hey,' I say, trying to get my voice to sound harder. 'We're here ...!' Nothing works. Another cell phone. I hear familiar voices right outside these walls. They must be close. It's Davis. If only we could get him to hear us. The cuffs! I strain my arms and feel the cuffs graze against the iron pole that holds me. I start rattling the cuffs as hard as I can, scratching my wrists and hands in the process. 'Hey!' I suddenly hear Skinner moan behind me. 'We're here!' He calls out for them as loudly as he can, and I just want to kiss him there and then. He's awake, he's alert and he's loud. More noises that seem to go on forever and then as if the man upstairs himself were involved, and the door opens. Flashlights enter the dark room and find us. In the light, I see that rats have been lingering about at my feet. They're now scattering all over the place. I sigh with relief. Terry is the first one to reach me. 'My god, Mulder,' he says, checking me out. Someone else un-cuffs me. I want to get up but can't. Skinner is moving behind me. 'I need help!' Davis says. I look at him in gratitude and want to ask him how he got here, but nothing much happens. I'm lifted up and placed on a stretcher; from then on everything just becomes one big blur. Oxygen helps me to breath and I hear their worried voices. 'Second-impact,' I hear Skinner say. 'It's bad.' After that, there's nothing else. Part 12 A hospital, an ER, doctors, nurses and a whole lot of tests. I just let them happen and don't respond to anything else. It aches too much to say anything. Blurry images and Skinner keeps on entering the picture. He has a big bandage around his head. More darkness, then finally, a beeping that enters that complete, serene silence. I look up and think that I'm dreaming. I'm staring into Scully's eyes, and she smiles. Okay, so this must be a dream. But she won't go away. I can feel her fingers in my hand. She's so close to me, I can actually smell the soap she uses. I stare at her for a long time. She laughs. 'No, Mulder, it's not a dream.' She moves away a bit and I get used to the relative darkness inside the room, I'm in. I can see now she's wearing a hospital gown and peignoir. She's walking around in slippers. 'How?' 'You've been unconscious for nearly three days,' a voice says and I find Skinner. 'You missed Scully's wakeup call.' I keep on staring at my partner who takes a seat by my bed. She does look very pale and tired, but at least she's already up and about. 'What happened?' I ask. 'When you were asleep, while we drove to the compound, I called Terry and asked for backup. He found the blood and figured out there must have been a hideout in the building. The noise we made led him to us. Unfortunately you were in very bad shape. When Delaney hit you, he nearly killed you.' 'And you, sir.' 'Seems my skull is harder than yours,' Skinner groans. 'The boy?' 'He's dead.' I remember the sound of the rats and shiver. 'It's over, Mulder,' Skinner says. 'That's the most important thing. All you have to do now is rest. Delaney is in custody.' 'Scully?' She comes closer. Skinner moves her chair so that she can sit by my side comfortably. 'Yeah.' 'You're okay,' I say, and touch her face. 'Yeah. Did you ever doubt that?' She groans painfully as her hand touches her chest. 'But don't you ever do that again, Mulder. You're so stubborn. Skinner told me that I should kick your ass. He said it's a promise he made.' 'Yeah,' I smile at the memory and grasp her hand. She feels so great. "I can't wait.' She leans forward and kisses me, not caring that Skinner is in the room. And she comforts me, as she always does. Her blood was on my hands, but it did not kill her. That's the only thing that matters. Epilogue Skinner picks us both up and drives us home. I've been silent for a few days, having to relish the fact that Scully is truly all right, and that everything is as it was. But the fear that I have within me, that some day she might get hurt because of me, is still there. Scully knows that and is trying to deal with it too, convincing me that I have done nothing wrong. But haven't I? Skinner drops us off at her apartment where I am going to stay for a few days while we both continue to recuperate. I feel comfortable in this apartment, perhaps even more, than in mine. It's warm, beautiful and inviting. And as Scully sits next to me and holds my hand while we watch a DVD, I am engulfed by happiness. This is true happiness to me. 'Are you okay?' she asks me, worried. And I look at her, take her face in my hands and remember every line, every freckle and every form of it. 'Yeah,' I say. 'I'm just fine.' She smiles. 'Of course you are. End Sandra Vets Freelance Copywriter and author www.tales4rent.com