From: "aka "Jake"" Date: Mon, 22 Oct 2001 19:32:53 -0400 Subject: THE DISTRESSED DAMSEL (1/1) by aka "Jake" Source: xff NEW: THE DISTRESSED DAMSEL (1/1) Title: THE DISTRESSED DAMSEL (1/1) Author: aka "Jake" Rating: R (Language) Classification: V Spoilers: Post-ep for "Lazarus" Summary: "And for those of you who don't know already -- this one's important to me." -- Fox Mulder in "Lazarus" Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no. Author's notes: In "Lazarus" we saw Mulder's first desperate search for Kidnapped!Scully. Remember how his brow creased when he talked to her on the phone while Willis held her hostage? ~sigh~ This ep was a wonderful glimpse at Mulder's growing attachment to Scully, and a great buildup to later eps "Tooms" and "Duane Barry." This story is dedicated to Clarissa, and she knows why. It starts mid-"Lazarus," so we won't miss a moment of Concerned!Mulder. THE DISTRESSED DAMSEL By aka "Jake" DESMOND ARMS RESIDENT HOTEL LULA PHILLIPS' APARTMENT She was here. Multrevich ID'd her. ID'd them both. Agent Bruskin and I head down the stairs to the street. "Now *I'm* worried," he says, "Twelve hours with no word. I don't get it. Why's their car still sitting out front? Why didn't Willis call for backup?" "Because it wasn't Willis who answered the hot line." "What are you talking about, Mulder? You heard the recording. It was Willis' voice." Jesus, I'm talking to a goddamn brick wall. Willis isn't Willis; he's Dupre, you f-- "Forget it, Bruskin." Agent Bruskin isn't willing to concede. "Plus which, the manager just ID'd him *and* Scully." "I said forget it." We're at the front door and I step outside. The sun is too bright. Where the hell is Scully? Bruskin is right on my heels. "This isn't one of your X-File theories, is it?" Fuck you. "It doesn't matter what I think. We're still after the same thing." Either I'm wrong or you're wrong -- it makes no difference; Scully is missing. She might already be-- My cell phone rings. Please, be good news. Please. "Mulder," I identify myself. //FBI Centrex Operator. Please hold.// I hear the operator open the line. "Guess who, Ace?" It's Willis. Or Dupre in Willis' body. I turn my back on Bruskin to hide the fact that this situation scares the shit outta me. "Willis?" "That depends on who you ask, don't it?" "Where's Scully?" If he's touched one hair on-- "You're the FBI. You figure it out." "Let me talk to her!" He considers it, and says, "Yeah. Sure." I hear some rustling and then Scully says my name. "Mulder?" Jesus, she's alive. "Dana, are you okay?" "Don't--" Shit! "Dana?" God damn it! The son-of-a-bitch cut her off. He thinks he's-- "Okaaaay," he says, "That's it. Good- bye." Fuck. - - - - - - FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC //I feel myself getting into their heads and I'm scared by what I'm feeling. The intoxicating freedom that comes from disconnecting action and consequence. Theirs is a world where nothing matters but their own needs, their own impossible appetites and while the pleasure they derive from acts of violence is clearly sexual, it also speaks to what Warden Jackson called their operatic devotion to each other. It's a love affair I almost envy.// I've listened to Willis' tapes a dozen times, gone over his field notes, Dupre's file. There has to be a clue here -- something that'll lead me to Scully. She said she and Willis dated for almost a year. Did he know her better than he knows Lula Phillips and Warren Dupre? Did he love her? I'm hoping he can keep her safe from Dupre. For Scully's sake, I'm hoping some shred of Jack Willis still exists. * * * "This is it," the agent says, looking at me. Finally. A break -- I hope. I take the phone from him. //Listen carefully.// The voice is Lula's. I ask her, "Where's Willis?" //Oh, he's lying around here somewhere.// What the hell does that mean? "Let me talk to Scully." //Not this time.// "We don't deal unless we know Scully is alive." //Oh, she's alive. She's not happy, but she's alive.// "You listen to me -- you lay one hand on Scully, and so help me, God--" I picture myself strangling this woman. //If I were you, I'd stop talking and start passing around the collection hat 'cause if you ever want to see Scully again it's going to cost you a million dollars. Have it by this time tomorrow. I'll tell you when and where.// Shit, she doesn't realize -- Bureau policy prohibits negotiating with kidnappers. - - - - - - LULA'S HIDEOUT We located her. Lula's phone call provided the clue we needed. She's hiding in a rundown, two-story house not far from the airport. God, please let Scully be okay. "FBI! FBI!" Bruskin shouts as we storm Lula's front door. We hear a gunshot just as the door bursts open. "Jack!" Scully yells, her voice full of fear and concern. I rush to her while Bruskin checks Willis. Her lip is bleeding and she's on the floor, handcuffed to the radiator...but she's alive. "Scully, are you okay?" She cranes to see past me, to Willis. "Jack!" "Scully, are you hurt?" I crouch beside her, try to get her attention. I want to wipe the blood from her face. "Is Jack okay?" she asks Bruskin. "Unlock me, Mulder." She rattles the cuffs and rises to her knees. Her wrists are raw and swollen. She's pissed at me for being so slow. "He's dead," Bruskin says. "They're both dead." This news collapses Scully back onto her haunches. Her eyes are fixed on Willis' body. She breathes through her mouth and shakes her head. "Mulder?" I get the cuffs off her, help her stand. When she tries to go to Willis, I hold her back. "There's nothing you can do," I say as gently as I can. I tilt my head, putting us at eye level. "You're bleeding." "I'm fine." She swipes at the blood, smearing it. "Let's get you checked--" "I said I'm fine, Mulder. Let me go. I need to see Jack." "*I* need to know you're okay." I lock eyes with her. I can feel her soft, panting breath on my cheeks. "He's dead, Scully. You can't bring him back. Not again." Sorrow threatens to spill over her lashes, but her anger refuses to let her tears fall. Not in front of these men. Not in front of me. Shrugging off my hands, she shoulders past me to the door. - - - - - - FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC "Hi." I don't know what to expect. Scully is cleaning out Willis' desk. Her face is unreadable. I dig Willis' wristwatch from my pocket and hand it to her. "I got this from the morgue, along with the rest of his personal effects. I thought you might want it." The back is inscribed. A gift from her, I'm guessing. **We dated for almost a year.** She takes it. "'Happy 35th, Love D.' I got it for him three years ago." Right. I point to the box. "Next of kin?" "Uh...no. Jack was an only child. Both his parents died when he was in college. There's a kid over in Parklawn. Jack's been his Big Brother, so I'm going to go and see him tomorrow." No wonder she dated Willis. Tall, dark and selfless. "What am I going to tell him, Mulder?" "The official story." "Which is?" "Fugitive Lula Phillips died yesterday in a shoot-out with federal agents, which also resulted in the death of Special Agent Jack Willis -- killed in the line of duty." I hate lies like these. They ignore the facts in the name of honor. Everybody ends up feeling good, but the truth stays buried. Scully sighs and then sits down at Willis' desk. She looks...confused. "What am I supposed to tell myself?" I'm guessing her question is rhetorical -- she doesn't really want to hear my theory. I decide to go home, let her come to her own conclusions. We can review the case in the morning. I tell her, "Good night." She doesn't hear me. She's looking at the watch. "It's not working," she says. "It stopped. At 6:47." I can't help myself. I want her to see the truth. "The exact time that Jack went into cardiac arrest at the hospital." "What does that mean?" "It means..." Leave it alone, Mulder. She's not ready for it. She just lost someone who meant a lot to her. "It means whatever you want it to mean," I say; my answer is as dishonest as the FBI's official story. She seems relieved. Maybe it is okay to lie sometimes. "Good night," I say again, leaving her to finish packing. - - - - - - MULDER'S APARTMENT LATER THAT NIGHT I'm snoozing on the couch when I think I hear a knock on my door. 11:40. Must be the televi-- Nope, a definite knock. I haul my ass off the couch, shut off the TV. "Coming," I yell. A second later, I open the door to find-- "Scully?" For some reason, she seems startled by the sight of me. Is it my clothes? I'm dressed in sweats and an old tee, but they're clean. Her eyes focus on my bare feet. She asks, "Can I come in?" "Uh...sure." I stand back and she walks beneath my outstretched arm. "Are you...are you okay, Scully?" I shut the door and trail her to my living room. She stands beside my coffee table and faces the window. Her eyes travel across my desk, the couch, the fish tank. "I've never been in your apartment," she says. "Oh. The cleaning lady comes in June." Does the place smell bad? I take a little sniff. Seems fine. "Sit down." I gesture toward the couch. "Can I...can I take your coat?" "I shouldn't stay." "You came all the way over, Scully. You must have something on your mind." She turns to face me. "Could Warren Dupre really...I mean...is it possible...?" Is she ready for the truth? Really ready? Or did she come here to hear me corroborate her version. She looks exhausted. "I dunno, Scully. You heard Professor Varnes. When cells die, genetic material begins to unfold, and a tremendous charge of energy is released. You're the scientist. You tell me." She walks to the couch, sits, shakes her head. "But the human consciousness... To suggest it can transfer and survive in someone else's body...that's a leap I don't think I'm willing to take." I sit down, too, on the opposite end of the couch. "Then why are you here?" "Because...because you believe." She pins me with a haunted stare. "Scully...it's not that I believe so much as...I *want* it to be true. I hope it's true." "Why would you hope someone's soul could invade another person's body?" "I don't. I don't hope for that specifically." "Then what?" How do I explain to her? How do I explain that I need to believe in the plausibility of the fantastic, or else there's no hope of ever finding Samantha. "I don't kid myself, Scully. I know there's a difference between hope and expectation. My job...*our* job...is to find the truth -- no matter what it is." A sigh sifts from her lungs. She tips her head back into the cushions and closes her eyes. A bruise shadows her lower lip where Willis...where Dupre struck her earlier. I fight the urge to move close enough to touch it. I opt for tickling her finger with my thumb. My touch opens her eyes. "I don't think I'm cut out for this, Mulder." I withdraw my caress. "For what?" "This job. The X-Files. Working with you." It's been a rough month for her. She lost her father. Then some alien asshole in Steveston, Massachusetts, tried to jump her bones, do the nasty. Now this thing with Jack Willis. I can hardly blame her for wanting a little normalcy. "Take a break if you need it, Scully, but don't give up. You're good at this." Her eyebrows shoot upward. "You're joking, right?" "Scully, you profiled Tooms. You saved my ass in Icy Cape. You solved the L'Ively case." I reach for her hand and hang onto it this time. "You don't have to believe what I believe. But you have to respect the truth." She considers my words. Nods her head. After a minute she says, "I loved Jack at one time, you know." Tall, dark and selfless. Her brows draw together as she struggles to understand what happened to the Jack Willis she once loved. "He knew all about her." "Lula?" "Mmhm. He knew her birthday and her favorite color. Do you know my favorite color?" "Pink?" I guess. "Pink? No." She's annoyed, but I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the color question. "He knew the private conversations they'd had. How...how would he know those things if..." She draws away from me, hugs her arms to her chest. "Mulder, for a second I thought I saw..." Say it, Scully. Admit it, to me, to yourself. "Saw what?" "Nothing. I was tired. He was Jack, Mulder. He remembered our trip to his parent's cabin in Pine Barrens. He remembered the snowstorm and the woodstove, and wrapping us both in a blanket when the fire burned out." "Jack was still in there, Scully." I want to add "with Dupre," but I don't. Is a half-truth a lie? She lets her arms drop to her sides. "Call a cab for me?" "I'll drive you." She stands while I slide into my sneakers. I leave the laces untied. She's looking at my apartment again. Shit. The place is a mess. Her eyes land on the latest issue of Celebrity Skin beside the VCR. "What's your favorite color, Mulder?" "I'm colorblind." "You are? I didn't know that." My coat is balled up in the chair beside the desk. I grab it and put it on, follow her to the front door. Scully and I have been working together for almost a year. We hardly know each other. Would I be able to tell if someone's soul invaded her body, displacing the real Dana Scully? "What's *your* favorite color, Scully?" I open the door and we step into the hall. "Not pink." We walk to the elevator. "Blue?" "No." At the elevator, I push the down button and the doors slide open. We step inside. "It's green, isn't it? Is it green?" She looks me in the eyes and seems to relax a little. "Yeah, Mulder," she says, "I like green." THE END Author's notes: For those of you who are as nitpicky as I am, "Lazarus" presented us with additional evidence that CC is no math geek (as if we needed more). Check out his arithmetic in this scene [Mulder is briefing several agents during the search for Scully]: "Okay, from our last phone contact we've identified what sounds like light aircraft taking off. Now, Washington County Regional Airport happens to fall within our area, just south of the state line. Since takeoffs are north to south it's a fair bet that our target area lies along this flight path. For those of you who remember ninth-grade math, that gives us an area of just over three square miles to cover -- roughly 1000 households. With 100 law enforcement officials at our disposal at about 30 households per man per hour we should be able to canvass the entire area in about three hours. Agent Bruskin will grid the target area and divide it among the teams." Three hours? According to my calculations, 1000 households divided by 100 law enforcement officials equals 10 households per man. If each man can cover 30 households per hour, (i.e., one household every two minutes, which is pretty fast, I have to admit), the entire search should take only 20 minutes. Hmmm. No wonder Scully was pregnant for 13 months. Obviously, I'm spending waaaay too much time trying to reconcile CC's number crunching. Perhaps I inherited my dad's love of equations -- he's a retired math teacher. Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my stories. Send comments to nejake@tds.net. You can find all my fic at http://aka "Jake".xfilesfanfiction.com/