From Ruefrex@aol.com Tue Dec 31 02:34:18 1996
Fireworks 
By Anonymous
Rating: PG-13
Classification: A

Yvonne will accept feedback for this author at yvonne@ihug.co.nz. Please indicate that the 
feedback is for Anonymous.

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and the
X-Files and X-Files characters are the property of 20th Century Fox, 
Fox Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. No infringement is intended.

Evening! This is in (sorta) answer to the challenge, to write a New Years
X-File. It doesn't exactly qualify but it's close enough. It's only an
angst-fest. It was supposed to be more but some stuff happened today and
Mulder paid the price. Ah, but doesn't he always? No romance, and when you
get right down to it, precious little of anything...

Enjoy!

*****

The light slowly returned, almost reluctant to appear to him. Mulder blinked
rapidly and winced as pain shot through his head. He waited impatiently for
his eyes to focus and once they did he wished he'd stayed unconscious. One
wall of the building canted crazily over him and Mulder wondered what was
keeping it from toppling down on him. He tried to shift and then he knew.
That would be the other wall, he told himself, the one that's got you pinned
down. Mulder tried to take a deep breath but the pain in his chest, coupled
with the dust from the explosion, sent him into a coughing fit that he was
sure was going to kill him. He gagged and spat dust out of his mouth, then
tried slowly turning his head from side to side. Left side. A little twinge,
not that bad. He could see what was left of the door. He turned his head to
the right and pain exploded through him, radiating down his arm. Collarbone?
Collarbone. He panted, waiting for the pain to subside. 

Mulder felt the floor shift and tremors ran through him. Shit. The whole
thing was going to cave in. What floor was he on? He tried to remember. Take
it easy Mulder, he told himself, don't get hysterical. He closed his eyes
again and tried to center himself. What floor had he been on? He'd seen
Lavery in the building and he'd known Lavery had set the bomb. That had been
in the lobby. Lavery had run up the stairs and Mulder remembered wondering
why he was running into a building that was shortly going to be rubble. But
that hadn't stopped Mulder from chasing him. Okay. He'd chased the
psycho...and then what? Dammit, why couldn't he remember? Mulder tried to
calm down but the hysteria was rising in his throat like bile, threatening to
overwhelm him and destroy him. He could feel the flush as the panic coursed
through his bloodstream. Black spots appeared before his eyes and a hollow,
tinny sound echoed in his ears. Panic attack. Bad. Mulder tried to
concentrate on his breathing but just then the floor shifted again, then
creaked, then dropped.

*****

Scully wished she'd let her nails grow so that they would cut into her palm
and give her the pain she knew she deserved for letting Mulder go into that
building alone. The building tilted crazily, then the north corner collapsed
a little bit more. Emergency teams swarmed the area and dazed victims were
treated by equally dazed EMTs. Scully kept her gaze fixed on the building.
Her eyes hurt. She'd been watching the building for an hour, ever since
Mulder chased Lavery into the lobby, determined to bring the man out before
anyone got hurt. And then the building had exploded. Four people had already
died and the body count was expected to rise as the crews made their mad dash
inside. 

Scully had hated this case from the outset. An X-File that had become so much
more in the past hour. An X-File that really wasn't, not when Mulder was
coerced to consult with the brilliant but apparently incredibly needy Agent
Hargrove and create a profile that would catch a bomber. A mad bomber. A
serial bomber. An inhuman bomber. At least, that's what Mulder had believed,
which was why only Mulder and Scully followed the Lavery lead, and only
Mulder and Scully cornered him in this office building, and only Mulder went
in to try and capture him. Stay here Scully, he'd said, in case he comes out.
He knows the building so much better than I. Scully's attention was drawn to
the rescue team which emerged from the building, carrying a limp form between
them. Her heart leaped into her throat as she moved forward, then crashed to
the ground as she realized it wasn't Mulder. The man's head turned slightly.
Reynolds. The building manager. His eyes held a look of unspeakable horror
and Scully had to turn away.

*****

The light returned faster this time and forced itself into Mulder's brain. He
coughed, wondered idly if it even mattered what floor he had been on when the
bomb had gone off, what with the building falling down and all, and opened
his eyes. A beam of light shone directly into his eyes and he wondered
fuzzily if the electricity was back on. The light wavered, then dropped, and
Mulder found himself staring into the intense gaze of Henry Lavery. Lavery
looked a little the worse for wear, but at least he wasn't buried under five
gazillion pounds of debris. Lavery crab-walked around and knelt down next to
Mulder, smiling that giddy smile that Mulder desperately wanted to knock off
his face.

"So, Mulder..." he said in his raspy voice, "looks like I've got you at a
disadvantage."

Mulder didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. He wasn't as badly pinned
as he'd been before but his right arm was now completely numb and with every
breath he took, he could feel shooting pains through his chest. He
experimentally wriggled his toes and an astounding pain shot through his
right leg, a pain so intense that he gasped. Lavery smiled, enjoying this.

"I'd say you were my prisoner, but it looks like the building got to you
first."

"Fuck you," Mulder said through gritted teeth.

"No no, fuck you, dear Fox. You've been lucky so far, but I'll bet you go
into shock fairly soon. I noticed a lovely pool of blood decorating the floor
and I'd imagine it comes from you. You must have a nice hole in you
somewhere."

Shit, Mulder thought bleakly. Lavery smiled again, relishing Mulder's
discomfort. No, it was more than discomfort, Mulder told himself. He'd often
wondered how he would die; not in a morbid sense, but in a casual one. He'd
never imagined dying at the hands of a psycho; he couldn't figure out why.
After all, he'd nearly been killed by killers more times than he'd care to
count, but for some reason, that never even occurred to him. It shouldn't
occur to me, he realized. It would make me overly cautious. And if I were
overly cautious, I wouldn't be in this fucking building with Lavery drooling
all over me. Good mindset Mulder, he told himself.

"How would you like to die?" Lavery asked, reading Mulder's thoughts.

"After you," Mulder replied. Lavery laughed.

"You are entertaining, Fox. Very entertaining. If you weren't so resourceful,
I'd keep you."

"If I weren't so resourceful, I wouldn't be this entertaining," Mulder
countered, regretting his words immediately. Lavery's eyes flashed.

"Always joking, aren't you?"

"Not always," Mulder replied. Lavery nodded thoughtfully.

"I need to know how you caught me," he said. Mulder blinked. Goddam.

"Why? So you can evade capture next time?"

"Ah, but I'm evading capture this time, Fox. Really."

I can still save this, Mulder thought, pushing away the hysterical laughter
of his little voice.

"I know what you are, what you can do."

Lavery snorted. Okay. Different tactic.

"You are successful because you do things that can't be traced."

Lavery nodded. Mulder took a breath and winced again at the pain. His vision
was starting to blur and he felt the onset of shock. Terrific. Now is not a
good time.

"The substances you use to make a bomb shouldn't make one. But they do. The
original profile of the bomber didn't fit you."

"Why did yours?" Lavery asked, honestly interested. Mulder's voice sounded
hollow in his ears and he fought to stay awake, suddenly fatigued beyond
belief.

"Because once all possibilities are exhausted, what remains must be the
truth."

Lavery shifted, slightly uncomfortable. He doesn't know, Mulder realized,
he's got no idea I know what he is, how he's surviving the bombings.

"What am I?" Lavery whispered. Mulder considered him for a moment. He
shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be tangling with a psychotic bomber who
was sharp as a tack, not now. Mulder closed his eyes and it felt so good...he
started to drift off, then a terrible pain, added to the other terrible
pains, exploded in his head. He jerked his eyes open. Lavery swung the
flashlight again, hitting Mulder in the head.

"What am I?" he screamed, his voice echoing through the ruined building.
Mulder stared at him in removed fascination as Lavery swung the flashlight
again. And again. And again.

*****

Scully caught the look of concern in Queenan's eyes. She smiled at him and he
ducked his head. He busied himself with the gear and handed Scully the
world's heaviest flashlight.

"Best on the market," he said shortly. Scully nodded, hefted it, and looked
again at the building. The screams had come from what was now the third
floor, but what had once been the seventh. Scully prayed that Mulder had
chased Lavery as many floors as possible. She'd had to pull out her
steel-kitten attitude in order to be allowed to go along on this latest pass
into the building. Well, that and her medical degree. The paramedics and EMTs
were exhausted, needed rest badly, and Scully was a doctor as well as a
trained FBI agent. Just one pass, she told herself, I need to try.

The building smelled like rank death. Scully tried to take small breaths and
thought about puppies and kittens and flowers and Mulder lying broken and
bleeding -- she stopped herself, then gave up entirely on trying to divert
her attention. She followed Queenan and the other man, Harkness, as they
picked their way slowly through the wreckage. Scully remembered seeing
footage of the Northridge earthquake, and the horrific tagging of the
buildings with "DB", indicating dead bodies inside. She shuddered and tried
to concentrate. The stairwell had actually fared quite well but even so, they
hurried as quickly as possible. The building was definitely coming down, of
its own accord, and soon. Not many chances left for the six people still
missing. Queenan held up a hand and Scully shone her flashlight on a dusty
"3". He looked back at her, then nudged the door ever so slightly, leaping
back out of the way as it crashed outward.

"Shit!" Harkness hissed. Queenan took a deep breath and Scully followed suit.
They stepped over the ruined door onto the third floor. The air was hazy with
dust and no doubt asbestos and even the expensive flashlights couldn't cut
all the way through it. Scully tapped Queenan on the arm and motioned to the
back of the floor. He hesitated.

"What?" she asked.

"It's really unstable back there, Agent Scully. Maybe you should let --"

Scully was already picking her way towards the back. Queenan sighed. Scully
was stepping so slowly that her muscles were beginning to cramp. Her grip was
so tight on her flashlight that she was sure she'd never be able to put it
down. She heard Harkness.

"Dead body!" he called. Scully's heart sank. "Accountant, by the looks of
it," Harkness continued. Scully gritted her teeth, absurdly glad but also
worried. Did Mulder ever look like an accountant? Nah. Her boots made hollow,
crunching sounds on the floor and Scully jumped as a wrecked computer
terminal fizzled next to her. She waited until her heart rate returned to
normal, then saw that the ceiling above her was completely caved in. She took
another step forward and craned her neck. A gaping black hole greeted her.
She swallowed. This entire side of the building had collapsed. If anyone was
here...Scully turned slowly to her left and continued, her heart sinking with
each step. This cannot be it, she told herself firmly. She had to go look at
the body Harkness had found. What was left of the carpeting was soaked with
water from the water cooler and the plumbing. Scully's boots squelched as she
made her way through the mess, then she stopped and stared. The carpet was
dark with water. Dark with water? Scully shone her flashlight on the
carpeting. Not water. Blood. She'd gotten used to the eternal water dripping
she'd heard ever since she'd come into this building. That was natural; all
the pipes had burst. But now...Scully backed up and shone her light up. Blood
was dripping through the gaping hole in the ceiling. 

"Found one!" shouted Queenan. Scully turned towards his voice, then turned
back to the blood. Sighing, she moved towards Queenan. Both Queenan and
Harkness were bending over a still form which Scully instantly recognized was
not Mulder. The man had a terrible gash in his upper thigh but appeared to be
stable otherwise. Queenan looked up at Scully.

"We probably heard him," he murmured. Scully nodded uncertainly, then glanced
at Harkness.

"I want to check something out on the next floor up. Can you handle him?"
Harkness nodded, after exchanging a long glance with Queenan, a glance that
pissed Scully off. She nodded curtly and turned towards the stairs.

The fourth floor was even more of a devastated mess than the third. Scully's
flashlight was practically useless. She had to climb over debris and pray she
was going in the right direction. She could hear the faint sounds of Queenan
and Harkness maneuvering the injured man towards the stairs, and then there
was silence. She was all alone. The dripping water echoed eerily and began to
drive her mad. She scrambled over a cockeyed desk and then her world stopped.

Mulder lay at the edge of the gaping hole in the floor, still as death.
Scully swallowed her terror and began to assess him as she climbed towards
him. He was half-buried under a pile of rubbish but nothing appeared to be
pinning him down. His head was turned to the right and she could see that his
hair was matted with blood. He had a huge gash on his forehead and the
thought flitted through Scully's mind that it was not because of the bomb. He
appeared to be breathing, thank God, but his breath was coming in shallow
gasps that made Scully think he'd broken some ribs. As she got closer, she
could see that the serious injury appeared to be his right leg. He'd probably
fallen on something sharp. Even now, she could see blood leaking out of the
jagged gash on his leg, leaking out and dripping down through the floor. As
the blood left him it probably saved his life. Cruel irony, Scully thought as
she reached his side. 


"Mulder," she said softly. Nothing. No movement. Scully reached for a limp
wrist and checked his pulse. His skin was cold and clammy. Definitely in
shock. His pulse was faint yet rapid, matching his breathing. Scully cleared
as much of the debris as she could off of him, then took off her coat and
covered him with it, damning herself for not bringing her cellular. There was
no way she would be able to get him out of here by herself, yet there was no
way she was going to leave him to get help. Maybe Queenan would come back for
her...shit. Good thinking, Dana. She wasn't doing Mulder any favors. She
checked his pupils. Extremely dilated. He still didn't move. She felt around
cautiously, checking for broken bones. She noticed that he was holding his
right arm at an unusual angle but it didn't seem broken. then she felt his
collarbone. Shit. She bit her lip. That was going to hurt. Thankfully, his
leg didn't appear to be broken. Just nearly cleaved in two. The blood-flow
was cause for concern, and Scully carefully applied a tourniquet, wondering
how pissed off Mulder would be when he discovered that he couldn't get blood
stains out of his tie. She looked at the tie. Like anyone would notice the
blood. She waited a few minutes, checked him again. The tourniquet was
working. 

The building shifted again and Scully braced herself, held onto Mulder as he
slid part way towards the hole in the floor. Shit. Good idea removing all of
that debris, Dana. Scully knew the building was coming down. The creaking and
shifting had grown. She had a flashing image of the rescue crews scrambling
out of the way, distraught that they couldn't save everyone. Scully refused
to be distraught. She had to get Mulder on his feet, had to get him out of
the room and down the stairs and out of this fucking building.

"Mulder, come on, wake up," she said, a little louder. She slapped his face
lightly, avoiding the nasty-looking contusions and praying that they didn't
indicate such a serious head injury that she wouldn't be able to rouse him.
His breathing changed and she saw his eyelids shift. She slapped harder.

"Mulder, it's Scully. You've got to wake up, Mulder!" she said sharply. He
groaned and her heart sang. She reached into her pack and brought out a
bottle of water, which she'd thankfully remembered. She unscrewed the lid and
put a hand under Mulder's head, tilting it slightly.

"Water, Mulder," she said. He groaned again but managed to sip some water.
His eyes opened and he stared at her, his gaze unfocused and vacant. She got
down close to him.

"Do you know where you are, Mulder?" she asked slowly. He looked at the water
bottle. She gave him another sip. He sighed, closed his eyes.

"Mulder, no, don't. Wake up, we've got to get out of here," Scully urged. The
floor shifted again and Mulder's eyes flew open. He was terrified, as if he
were remembering, as if he hadn't realized where he was until the building
began once again to collapse. He started to edge away from her and Scully had
to take a firm grip on his sleeve to keep him from falling.

"Mulder, it's okay, it's okay, we can get out," she said, suddenly worried.
He still hadn't acknowledged her. She had to really pull on him to make him
stop moving and when she did he let out a yelp and jerked his head. Shit. His
collarbone. Scully used her advantage, braced herself, and pulled him back
towards her. He was shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering, eyes dark with
fear. What the fuck happened, Scully wondered. Why is he so scared? His hands
were like ice and Scully pulled her jacket around him again, holding him away
from the hole. If anything, his shivering increased.

"Mulder," she said softly, "say something, please. Say something to me."

He tried to pull away again but she held him firmly. His breathing became
harsh, raspy, desperate.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Scully said firmly. "Look at me, Mulder, look at
me. Do you know what happened? Do you know where you are?" He looked at her
then, and his eyes slowly lost their focus and he slumped against her
slightly, then sighed. Shit. He was drifting off again. Scully fought back
the tears. She had no idea what was wrong with him, why he'd freaked out on
her. He hadn't said a word to her, hadn't even seemed to recognize her. A low
rumble began and as Scully turned her head to locate it, the floor dropped
out from beneath her.

They were lucky. That was all there was to it. As soon as the floor dropped
Scully scrambled backwards, towards the stairwell, dragging Mulder with her.
This was it. She was positive that this was it. There was no way she was
going to be able to hang onto Mulder's dead weight but the fact that all
three walls crumpled inwards saved them. The wall near the stairwell was the
only one standing and Scully was able to brace herself against a particularly
large and heavy desk as she edged towards the far wall, clutching Mulder's
left arm. She gritted her teeth and pulled, muscles straining with the
effort, her grip loosening as the floor tilted again. Shit, no, thought
Scully. Then the burden lightened and she saw, in the hazy, dim light, Mulder
pulling himself up with his left arm. Scully grabbed his wrist and he
scrambled towards her. She helped him brace himself against the desk and then
she immediately turned to see that the door to the stairwell had bent.
Dammit. She was going to have to get Mulder up and over that door. She looked
at him. The look of terror in his eyes had magnified. Her heart sank.

"Mulder?"

He turned slowly towards her and in the dim shaft of light coming from the
stairwell, she could fully see the gash on his forehead and she gasped. If he
didn't have a fractured skull, he was going to be incredibly lucky. She had
to get a better look. She'd managed to pull her pack along with her and she
pulled out the bottle of water again, giving Mulder another sip and wetting
the corner of her shirt. Very slowly, she reached up and gently dabbed at the
gash. He winced and tried to pull away but Scully kept at it, clearing some
of the blood away. Her stomach lurched as she saw the glint of bone.

"Oh my God..." she whispered. Mulder definitely shouldn't be conscious. The
way he'd flinched when she'd reached for him...had somebody hit him? Had he
caught up to Lavery and been ambushed? He could have gotten that injury in
the explosion, but something about it seemed calculated. Deliberate. She put
a hand behind his neck and turned his face towards her.

"Mulder, listen to me. We have to get out of here. The building is
collapsing. The stairwell is right behind you. I can help you over the door.
We're only on the fourth floor, not far to the bottom. We've got to go. Do
you understand me?"

His eyes seemed to clear somewhat and he inclined his head a bit.

"Do you know what happened?" Scully asked slowly.

"A bomb?" It was a question, a guess. Scully nodded. Mulder glanced at the
gaping hole, then back at Scully.

"Lavery?"

Scully hesitated, not knowing if he was asking where Lavery was or not.
Mulder's voice was low and flat, unemotional.

"He hasn't been found," she answered neutrally. That fear flashed in Mulder's
eyes again but he seemed to fight it and started to push his way to his feet.
The floor swayed and Mulder slipped. Scully lunged for him, managing to snag
him by the collar. Goddammit, she thought viciously, enough of this. With all
of her strength, Scully heaved and pulled Mulder up. She could feel him
struggling, trying to right himself, and finally, they both managed to get to
the crumpled door. Mulder stared at it in trepidation.

"No problem," Scully said with false cheer. She held onto the door jamb as
she stood, then she peeked over the ruined door. The stairs still seemed
solid. Four floors down. At least they didn't have to go up. She twisted
around to look at Mulder. He was trying to stay conscious but he was quickly
losing the battle, and Scully could hear his ragged, rapid breathing echo
through the building. Still braced, she reached out a hand and grabbed his
left wrist, hauling him towards the door. He swayed as he stood on one foot,
blinking blood out of his eyes.

"You first," he said. The corners of Scully's mouth quirked. At least he
still had his sense of humor.

"I think not," she replied, giving him a gentle shove. Mulder's right side
was practically useless and Scully knew he was going to be in even more pain
once he'd climbed the ruined door. It took him almost forever to get his
right leg over the wreckage and when he dropped over to the other side Scully
heard a long, low pain-filled groan. She clambered over it quickly and
dropped down. Mulder was lying on his back, his face twisted in pain, eyes
closed, left hand clutching at his injured collarbone. I should leave him
here, Scully thought, he'll be safe here. I should go for help. She was
opening her mouth to say just that when the building rumbled and shook.
Scully grabbed Mulder and pulled him out of the vestibule towards the stairs
and watched in horror as the floor they had been on just disappeared.
Suddenly, dust was everywhere and the rumble became a roar. Scully turned,
pulled Mulder to his feet despite his protests, and shoved him down the
stairs, coughing as the dust filled her eyes.

The dust thickened and Scully was never sure if the building was actually
collapsing around their ears or if it just sounded like it. A "2" flashed by
as they made their way down the stairs. Two more floors. Mulder began to
cough and he bent double, arms wrapped around his stomach. Scully pushed
ahead of him and grabbed his arms, trying to pull him down but finally, when
they were half a flight from the bottom, his knees gave out and he just sat
down.

"Mulder!" she screamed. "Get up! Get up!"

But he didn't. He continued coughing, and then he was gagging, and then he
was choking. Scully got down close to him, blinking furiously through the
dust, trying to assess his condition.

"Mulder!" she yelled right in his face. His eyes bulged as he looked at her.
Tears streamed down his face as he tried to draw a breath. Scully grabbed
him.

"Take it easy! You're okay, Mulder! Try to breathe!"

He tried to take her advice but apparently, the simple act of breathing was
agony after all that coughing. Scully watched helplessly as the dust billowed
around them and small bits of debris showered over them. Scully turned, ready
to pull Mulder down by the hair, but he raised a hand and she pulled him to
his feet, half-supporting him as they limped down the final few stairs and
staggered out into the bright sunlight. Mulder tried to sit down again but
Scully kept him moving, getting as far away from the building as they
possibly could.

The rumble was even worse outside and the ground shook as the building
collapsed in on itself. Scully let Mulder fall to the ground a few hundred
yards from the building, right outside the police line. Her tourniquet had
come loose and he was bleeding again, and in the daylight the head wound
looked even worse. Scully could feel the swarm of paramedics as she worked on
Mulder, willing him to lose consciousness. But he didn't. He stared at her
through his dilated pupils, coughing every once in awhile, the pain evident
on his face.

"Good Lord," one of the paramedics muttered. Good Lord indeed, Scully thought
as they took over, with bandages and oxygen and hopefully, somewhere, the
pain-killers Mulder needed. They loaded him onto a gurney and still he
remained conscious. The paramedic said his collarbone was definitely
fractured and he was terribly worried about the mysterious head wound. Scully
shoved her way into the ambulance and sat next to him. His breathing had
slowed somewhat but the pain still made him tremble. He turned his head a
little and looked at her. She tried to smile at him but knew she looked like
a monstrous dust bunny and that couldn't give anyone comfort.

"Lavery..." he said, his voice hollow in the mask.

"They didn't find him, Mulder. The building came down. They didn't find
anyone," she said. She heard him sigh.

"He's alive," he whispered. An electric jolt went through Scully.

"How can he be alive?" she demanded. "Nobody who was rescued bore any
resemblance to Lavery."

"He got out."

Scully shook her head.

"He couldn't have, Mulder. Nobody came out of that building on their own.
He's dead," she said firmly, maybe trying to convince herself as much as she
was trying to convince Mulder. Mulder just closed his eyes, having none of
it. Shit. He still believed this was an X-File. He probably thought Lavery
could live through the flattening of that building. Or maybe he thought
Lavery had vanished into thin air, which was how he determined Lavery could
be at the bomb sites without actually being seen entering or leaving the
buildings.

"I know what he is, but I can never prove it," he said, slightly sad.

"Damn right you can't, and it doesn't matter, Mulder. He did it, he's dead.
Okay?"

Scully knew that being hard on Mulder now was unfair, but she was at the end
of her rope. No matter what happened, Mulder would always believe in extreme
possibilities. She usually admired his tenacity, regardless of what she said
aloud. But at times like this, it infuriated her. His mind was never on his
own well-being, always on The Truth, on proving his point. It made her want
to clock him. Scully turned to say something but found that finally, Mulder
had drifted off.

*****

Mulder seriously looked like a mummy. It seemed like the hospital staff had
put gauze everywhere, just in case. Scully stood at the door, watching him.
Naturally, he was fidgeting. Mulder was always fidgeting. But this
time...Scully took a quiet step into the room, then another big step when she
realized that he was asleep and having some sort of dream. He was muttering
something under his breath and turning his head, which had to be painful.
Scully touched his arm.

"Mulder," she said. He jerked awake, stared at her.

"You okay?" she asked warily.

"Swell," he said. Scully nodded and sat down, watching him.

"You were...dreaming, or something," she said. Mulder didn't say anything,
just looked away.

"Mulder..."

He looked at her again, reached up with his left arm to touch the bandage on
his forehead. He'd needed thirty stitches to put his skin back together. He'd
narrowly escaped a skull fracture, but the doctor said he might have blurred
vision for awhile. Mulder had closed his eyes in acknowledgment and had
seemed defeated somehow. It scared Scully, and she wasn't sure she could get
him to talk about his strange reactions. Why had he been so afraid of her?
She'd chalked it up to the sheer trauma but something had been different,
alien.

"Lavery hit me," he said flatly. Scully jumped, stunned. Mulder looked at
her.

"With his flashlight. He was goading me...I goaded him back. Too well, I
suppose. I knew his secret but I let on too quickly that I knew. He started
hitting me..."

Started? Scully thought. Jesus.

"I thought he was going to kill me but I guess he didn't," Mulder said, his
voice far away.

"Mulder, did you think I was Lavery?" Scully asked.

"I don't know, Scully. I don't remember. I was having these...visions...and
they were so strange, because they were very real on the one hand, and on the
other...they were...they all took place in that damned building but the
people would change."

Scully's stomach lurched.

"What were they doing?" she asked calmly. Mulder frowned, as if he was trying
to remember.

"Nothing. Not all of them. Some of them I didn't even know..." His voice
trailed off as he thought. then he gasped, looked at Scully. He tried to sit
up and rather than argue with him, Scully helped him.

"A party," he said. "It was a party!"

Scully frowned, puzzled.

"What kind of a party?"

"I don't...I think it was a holiday party. Some kind of holiday party. An
office party?"

Scully waited while Mulder sorted out his tangled thoughts. He touched his
forehead again and then he began to shake. Scully leaned forward.

"What is it?" she asked urgently. He kept shaking. He clenched his fists.

"They had a party, Scully," he said, his voice low. "Lavery blew them up at a
party. I chased him...I knew it was him and he was too arrogant to believe
that he could be caught. It was New Years...a New Years party. And he...he
had a hostage, pulled her into the stairwell. I don't know what happened to
her. The fucking bomb blew, there was shit everywhere...I woke up, pinned
down, and he was there, fucking with me. Taunting me. And I pissed him off
and paid the price..."

Scully put a hand on his arm. Mulder's eyes went even further away. His voice
softened and chills ran down Scully's spine.

"I wasn't supposed to be there. I remember sneaking downstairs, I heard the
loud noises...they hadn't had a party in ages...they were trying to pretend
everything was back to normal...but it wasn't. Sam had been gone over a year.
As usual, my father drank too much, my mother quietly disapproved but didn't
do anything about it. The die-hards were the only ones left, good
friends...former good friends...and he caught me, dragged me into the kitchen
then outside because I was making too much noise. He was so angry...so drunk.
And he hit me. With the flashlight. When I talked back. I remember being
shocked, surprised. It hurt but it stunned me more than anything. He was
hissing things at me, hateful things, telling me Sam should be here, not me.
And I knew it was true...Sam should have been there instead of me. I agreed
with him and he hit me. He said if I wanted to be a grownup that much I could
sleep outside. He went inside and locked the door. I almost went to Will's
house but I knew my dad would get in trouble, so I slept in the car that
night. My mom didn't even know. He came to get me in the morning, asked if
I'd learned my lesson, then told me to clean the blood off my face and make
myself presentable. Then he hugged me, said he loved me, that he was only
trying to make sure I understood...and the thing was, I did understand."

Mulder stared into space, a faint smile on his face. Scully struggled with
her emotions, part of her wishing Bill Mulder was still alive so she could
kill him.

"Mulder..." she had no idea what to say. He looked at her, smiled.

"It's okay, Scully. I had just...forgotten it."

"He had no right --"

Mulder sighed.

"Scully, it's over. Really. Maybe he wasn't perfect, but he had his reasons
--"

"How can you defend him like that?" Scully demanded. "Mulder, he brutalized
you! He beat you! You were just a little kid --"

Scully's voice cracked. She couldn't imagine how Mulder could sit there,
calmly, and tell her that he was rather relieved he'd come up with another
half-buried, horrific memory.

"It's my life," he said simply. Scully stared at him for a long moment and he
stared back, gaze unwavering. "And he did have his reasons, Scully. Maybe
they weren't the right reasons and I'd definitely say the solutions weren't
the right solutions, but it was the way he was and nothing can change that."

Scully shook her head.

"You cannot be this pragmatic," she said. Mulder half-shrugged.

"Lavery did a hell of a lot more damage than my father ever did," he said.
But Lavery's violence wasn't as personal, Scully thought, and Lavery didn't
tell Mulder it was for his own good, denigrating him emotionally as well as
physically.

"Come on, Scully, leave it alone. Did you bring that game I asked you for?"

Scully sighed, wishing that for once, Mulder would completely unburden
himself, but knowing that day would only come if he cracked. Part of her
didn't want him to ever feel like telling her how terrible his childhood was,
how his father's emotional distance was only matched by his propensity for
violence. But she knew that it fueled him, in part, and it disgusted her as
much as she admired him. God, what a paradox! And now he looked at her,
waiting for her to file it away and resume. She reached into her bag and
pulled out the game. His eyes lit up.

"Mancalla!" he exclaimed. Scully shook her head, trying to hide the smile but
finding it difficult. She helped Mulder put the colored beads into the little
wooden bowls.

"You say this is easy?" she asked.

"Yeah, piece of cake," he replied.

"Uh huh," Scully said, still not convinced. Mulder looked up at her.

"Egyptian rules or Nigerian rules?" he asked. Scully groaned.

"You choose, Mulder."

"That's awfully big of you."

"Yeah. Happy New Year, Mulder."

"Happy New Year, Scully, and here's a little colored-bead toast to fewer
mutants in the coming year."

"Uh...sure."

"Now here's how you play. This is your mancalla and this is my mancalla. The
object of the game is to get as many beads as possible into your mancalla by
moving your beads in a counter-clockwise direction..."

Q.E.D.