Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1998 19:38:19 +0200 Subject: NEW: Experiencing Pain by Cassandra Lange Title: Experiencing Pain (3/3) Author: Cassandra Lange E-mail: casie_lange@yahoo.com Category: M/S married, vignette, some angst Rating: PG-13 Spoiler: Samantha eps Keywords: the return of Ratboy Disclaimer: I don't own anything here except the character of Caroline Scully Mulder. I love Ratboy, Scully, and Mulder, but not enough that I would say they were mine and get my butt sued to kingdom come. Feedback: Greatly appreciated. I have a theory that the sterile smell that hospitals possess is one of the reasons why all the nurses have sour looks on their faces at three in the morning. That or the fact that it's three in the morning. I clutch the bag of butter croissants I picked up on the way here close to my chest, the smell tickling my nose and hurrying me along the corridor to the room where my daughter and wife wait. Or at least, my wife. My daughter does not even know she is here. She has been in a coma since she was admitted - how long ago? Time has lost most of its meaning to me. I prefer more to know the hour of the day, rather than the day itself. A doctor passes me, young, weary, dark hair pulled back into a bun, slanted eyes half closed with sleep. Every time I see someone of Asian descent, my mind clicks to overdrive. Does this person bear any resemblance to my daughter? Could they be related to the child I adopted at age six? If they are, would they reclaim her, especially now that they can see the horrible job we've done of raising her, allowing her to wander off while we bickered within the house, just a stone's throw away from where she disappeared? I approach the hospital room, pausing just long enough to take in the scene before me. Scully, my wife, lies asleep on the one arm, a bowl of chocolate pudding sporting a half-submerged spoon next to her. Her other arm is spread across the top of the blanket covering Caroline. It seems almost like an innocent scene at home. Except for the fact there are machines hooked up to my daughter and nurses stationed outside her room. Who did this to her? I wonder for what seems the millionith time. Who wants me to experience this gut-wrenching pain once again? Once before I felt this pain. Except I was twelve then, and much more helpless than I am now. But not much. I watched as my sister was taken from me, returned to me, and taken away again, and again, and again. I start to enter the room, but I sense a movement behind me. I turn quickly and glimpse a figure running off down the corridor. The figure seems familiar. Tossing the paper bag of croissants beside Scully's unfinished pudding, I pursue the figure. By now, I'm pretty sure who it is. "Stop!" I yell. "Krycek! Stop!" I shove the slimeball against the wall. There is sickening thud and I hope his skull is cracked, or better yet, his spinal cord. I get a sort of sick pleasure watching him grimace. Then I realize something. "Why are you here, Krycek?" When he declines to answer, I smash his head against the wall. "Answer me, you scum-sucking flea!" There's a look in his eyes I can't even begin to describe. Somehow, I know his appearance here is connected to Caroline. The pieces fall into place one by one. I hit him across the jaw just for good measure, before beginning my interrogation. "What did you do to my daughter?" "Nothing." His voice is low and even. This guy is smooth. His face reveals nothing. His tongue comes out from his mouth to explore his jaw, the most nonchalant of actions, but quickly retracts. He's tasted the blood. "The hell you didn't, you son of a bitch! Either you tell me what you did to Caroline or I'll kill you right here!" My voice quivers a little, and he notices it. He smiles at me, the most evil expression imaginable. "I took her for an ice cream cone." "What the fuck are you trying to pull?" I push him roughly against the wall. I feel like ripping that smile off his face. With a switchblade. A sharp one. A very sharp one. He doesn't notice the murder in my eyes. He goes on with his narrative. "She was sitting all by herself that night, on the porch, in the cold. By *herself*, for God's sake. I thought for sure that no daughter of yours would ever be left alone." His smile becomes wider, more taunting, more evil. I manage to stay my hand, only because another blow might knock him out and I'll never get the story out of him. "So I took care of her. Took her for some ice cream." he says. Then he adds quietly, "Handed her over to the Syndicate." "What?" I can't stand it any longer. I kick him once, twice, three times, venting all the anger and frustation the last God-knows-how-many days on this poor excuse of man. Then I stop. I see him stooped before me, a pool of blood collecting beneath him. Something inside of me says, "Let him go. That's enough. What's done is done and now all you can do is hope whatever they did won't haunt the rest of yours, Scully's and Caroline's lives. Let him go." So I do. I point towards the large EXIT sign. "Get out, Krycek. And stay away from my daughter." And I leave it at that, not even looking to see if he left or not. I wonder briefly if anyone saw our tussle, but suddenly, I don't care. Caroline is not Samantha. This is an entirely new pain I'm experiencing. I have to remember that. I walk towards my daughter's room, limping slightly from where Krycek bit me. I walk into the room and smile at the sight I see. My baby has opened her eyes and the first word she says is, "Daddy." She is definitely not Samantha.