From: Steph Jackson Date: Sun, 18 Jul 1999 16:50:22 -0400 (EDT) Subject: Heart Rending (1/3) Title: Heart Rending Author: Steph Feedback: Desk156@yahoo.com Distribution: Gossamer yes, others please ask permission Category: SA Rating: PG-13 (brief implied sexual content - not MSR!) Spoilers: Milagro (assumes you've seen everything to that point) Keywords: none Summary: This story picks up about an hour or so after the final scene of "Milagro" (please forgive any errors in time of day - I took a little poetic license there), and deals with the aftermath of the attack on Scully. Disclaimer: The events of the episode "Milagro" (6X18), any others that may be referred to, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and her immediate family, Skinner, Phillip Padgett and "The Stranger" all belong to Chris Carter, FOX, and/or 1013, as does the phrase "the FBI's most unwanted." No copyright infringement is intended, and no profits are being made (if they were, I wouldn't get up at 4:20 a.m. to do landscaping every day!) Christine Scully and her boyfriend Tom are mine - I invented them and they do not exist anywhere else in X-Files lore. All rights reserved. * * * * * Heart Rending GEORGETOWN, MD FRIDAY, 12:47 PM Christine wasn't expecting anybody. Well, nobody but Tom. It had been so long since they'd both had a night off work and school, since they'd both been able to relax and enjoy the evening. The movie was mediocre, but the dinner was good, and she couldn't have asked for better company. Later they'd gone back to her place, a small one-bedroom in Georgetown, and she'd opened a nice Merlot and they'd sat on the old second-hand couch drinking it and talking, and then snuggling and kissing and were finally getting down to business. So she was surprised and none too pleased when the intercom buzzer rang as Tom was unbuttoning her shirt. "Just let it ring," he whispered. "It can't be any more important than this." "Mmm, no, it can't," Christine agreed, reaching for him. The buzzer rang again, longer and more insistently. "Did you order a pizza?" Christine joked, and Tom laughed. "No, you're everything I need tonight." Again, the buzzer asserted itself. Four long, loud, urgent rings, and Christine pushed Tom gently away and sat up. "I'd better get that after all", she sighed, and crossed the room, pulling her shirt closed and holding it together with one hand while she held down the intercom button with the other. "Yes," she said, a little irritably. This better be good, she thought. "Christine Scully?" queried a man's voice. He sounded faintly familiar, and a little irritated himself. "Yes, who's this?" She was careful now to keep her voice even and fairly pleasant. He sounded official. "Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI," he answered, then added, "Dana's partner. We met a few months ago, briefly, when the two of you went to lunch." "Yes, of course," Christine answered. "Is Dana with you?" She could think of no other reason that Agent Mulder would be at her apartment. And yet, if Dana was here, why wasn't she the one talking? And why would she be visiting at this hour? It was almost one in the morning! And she usually called first. Had something happened to her? "Yes, she's here. Can we come up?" Agent Mulder's voice brought her back to reality. "Is something wrong?" Christine asked, trying not to let worry creep into her voice too much. There was a pause, and then a more urgent plea, more of a statement than a question: "Can we come up, please." Agent Mulder's voice was firm. He wasn't going to discuss anything over the intercom. "Of course. Come on up, fourth floor." Christine buzzed them in and turned back to Tom, who by now was standing up beside the couch. He'd put his own clothes back on and was tucking his shirt into his jeans. When he noticed Christine looking at him, he gave her a no-nonsense look and asked, "Who's Dana, and why is the FBI at your apartment at one in the morning?" His voice was firm, but concerned. Christine answered him distractedly, her mind on other things. "My cousin - I'm sure I've mentioned her. Dana's my first cousin, our fathers are brothers. Well, they were, um, Dana's dad died a few years ago." "And the FBI is here because..." he led her. "Huh? Oh, she works for the FBI - she's a field agent." Christine was worrying now, a million thoughts racing through her head. Was Dana sick? Had she been hurt? Neither? Both? Was she in some kind of trouble? Why would she come to Christine? "And explain to me why she's here at one a.m.?" "I don't know why she's here - something must be wrong." Christine paused. "You should probably go, Tom. I'm really sorry." She heard the elevator ding, signalling that it had reached her floor. She glanced down and realized that her shirt was still undone, and hurriedly buttoned it up, pulling it into place and smoothing it out. She ran a hand through her shortish red hair to tidy it. Somehow her evening with Tom seemed inappropriate under the circumstances. "I'll call you tomorrow, I promise, and tell you what's going on. I'm sorry, really I am," Christine apologized again, taking Tom's arm and pulling him to the door. She opened it for him, motioning him out as she spotted Dana and her partner walking slowly down the hall. "Sure you don't want me to stay?" Tom asked, his voice more concerned than ever. Christine was visibly worried, and looked more so as she stared into the hallway. "Huh? Oh, no, thanks Tom but I really think you should go. I'll call you." She responded distractedly to his goodbye kiss and waved him away. Her mind was focussed where her eyes were: on the two figures approaching her doorway. They were walking slowly, side by side, with Dana trailing behind just a little. She was hunched over slightly, her head was down, and she seemed purposely to be maintaining a distance between herself and her partner. Her arms were at her sides and she walked a little stiffly. Mulder, for his part, walked a little ahead, but slowly, trying to keep his pace matched to hers, which must have been hard because he was so much taller and had longer legs. He looked troubled, concerned, as if he wanted to help his partner along but she wouldn't let him. When he was just a few yards from Christine's door he glanced up and gave her a look that was not quite a rueful smile. "Christine?" he asked, although he didn't need to. He would have recognized her even if they had never met - although she was significantly younger, she had Scully's eyes and hair, and was roughly the same height and build. "Yes," she said simply, nodding. Her eyes remained focussed on her cousin, who was now standing a little awkwardly, still slightly behind her partner, staring at the patch of floor in front of her. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company," Mulder apologized. "That's all right. Come in, please." Christine stepped aside and motioned Agent Mulder in. He stepped forward, and reached back toward his partner. As she stepped inside, Mulder put a supportive hand on her back to lead her, and Christine was surprised when Dana gave a short gasp and jerked quickly away. "Don't, please," she mumbled. "Please don't touch me, Mulder." The words came with effort; she sounded confused and reproachful at once. Mulder was taken aback too, but he dropped his hand. "Okay, Scully, sure." He sounded gentle, but a little bewildered. Christine looked questioningly at him, then at Dana. She stepped closer to her cousin. "Dana?" Dana raised her head a little to look at Christine briefly. Her eyes were vacant and red, her face was blotchy; she'd already been crying, and Christine could tell by the way her jaw was set that she was trying hard not to lose control again. "Hi, Chrissy," Dana said hollowly. She stood just inside the door, arms still at her sides, hands working in and out of loose fists. She looked uncomfortable, unstable, on the brink of collapse. Christine reached out to her tentatively. "Can I...?" her voiced trailed off uncertainly, and she laid a hand lightly on her cousin's shoulder. Dana flinched visibly. "Come here," Christine coaxed. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," she assured her quietly, and slowly pulled Dana into a gentle hug. After a moment Dana hugged back, holding tightly to her cousin. Her body stayed rigid; she couldn't relax or she'd lose the remaining shreds of her composure. "What's the matter?" Christine asked softly. She could feel Dana trembling. "Sweetie, what is it?" Dana held tighter but didn't reply. Christine rubbed her back a little, gently, and turned to Mulder, who stood by the door, looking on a little uncomfortably. "Agent Mulder, what's wrong with her?" she asked, her voice rising worriedly. She'd never seen Dana like this, not even when her father died, not even when Melissa was shot. She remembered the late-night phone call, the flat voice: "Missy's dead." And that was all. She'd cried at the funeral, and the reception, and Christine had stayed close and encouraged her to talk if she wanted to. She'd always expressed what was wrong, even when she didn't want to talk about it. This agonized silence was altogether new and disconcerting. Mulder replied flatly, "She was attacked earlier tonight. At my apartment." "Attacked by whom? What the hell happened, what did he do to her?" Christine felt anger gathering in her stomach. What right did anyone have to do this, whatever it was he had done? Dana was still holding onto her, and showed no signs of letting go - she seemed terrified. Christine squeezed her a little tighter. "We don't really know. We've been investigating my next-door neighbour in connection with a series of, uh, bizarre homicides. We had him under surveillance tonight, but we lost him when he left his apartment. I followed him down to the boiler room and while I was gone, well, it looks like he had an accomplice who knew we were watching, and he attacked Scully when she opened the door." "Do you have him in custody? Either of them?" "Well, no. My neighbour, a Mr. Padgett, committed suicide when I caught him. The other man, if you want to call him that, disappeared without a trace." "So, what - you're not looking for him at all?" "We're looking, but I don't think we'll find him - I suspect he's gone for good, too. In any case we don't know his name. I only ever heard him referred to as 'The Stranger'." Christine nodded slightly and stared at Mulder, one eyebrow raised in mild disbelief. He almost had an urge to laugh, the expression was so characteristic of Scully. He didn't know what else to say anyway. How would he explain psychic surgery, and book characters coming to life to a woman who already seemed skeptical of The Stranger? Christine had turned her attention back to her cousin, though, and seemed for the moment not to care about the full story. She would get that later, from Dana. At the moment, she was more worried about what had been done to her cousin, and the reasons she was so upset. Dana had been attacked or hurt on the job before; she was always being pushed down flights of stairs, or hitting her head or being taken hostage. Just a few months ago she'd been shot and it hadn't seemed to upset her this much. What was the difference? What had happened this time to upset her to such an extent? Gently Christine pulled away from her cousin and looked into her eyes. "Did he hurt you?" she asked, and Dana closed her eyes and nodded. "Did he, um, did he touch you? Did he -" "No," Dana said quickly. Then more quietly, "no, I don't think that's what he wanted." Christine looked quickly at Mulder for confirmation. She believed Dana, of course, but it was possible she'd passed out or couldn't admit it to herself, and Chrissy wanted to be sure. "She was fully clothed when I found her," Mulder reassured her. "If that's what he wanted, he didn't get that far." Christine breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," she said. "Thank God. Well," she continued, "you'll stay here for tonight. Let's get your coat off, okay?" Dana just nodded, and let Christine undo the buttons. "Oh my God, Dana!" Chrissy exclaimed, horrified, when the coat was opened and her cousin was sliding it off. "What did he do to you?" The front of Dana's shirt was covered in large splotches of half-dried blood, and Christine could see blood on her suit jacket and chest as well. "Is this all yours?" she asked, incredulous and slightly frightened. "Where are you hurt, where's all this blood coming from? Did he have a knife?" Dana shook her head mutely. She didn't seem at the moment to understand any better than Chrissy did. Or rather, she didn't know how to explain it. How could she explain that she wasn't cut, hadn't been stabbed, had no open wound to account for the blood? It was all hers, she knew that. She'd shot her attacker several times and he hadn't bled at all. But he'd reached inside of her, made a hole in her chest that had gushed blood and hurt like nothing she'd ever felt with just his hand, a hole that had disappeared when he had. She couldn't explain because she didn't know what to say. It sounded ridiculous, like something out of a bad horror film, only it was real. Or was it? She could still feel where the hand had been - her chest still felt like it was on fire. But it couldn't have happened - there was no hole. But it had, she was sure of it. Scully felt tears of frustration begin to sting her eyes and she blinked them back and pressed her lips together and willed herself to stay standing just a little longer. She couldn't lose it again in front of Mulder, she wouldn't let herself. She hated showing such weakness in front of him - she didn't want him to feel like her had to protect her. But Chrissy was safe, she could talk to her, tell her and not be afraid of the repercussions. She wanted to tell her, and she wanted Mulder to leave, and more than anything she wanted to get in a shower and turn up the heat and stay there until she felt clean again, until the feeling of the hand inside her chest, squeezing and pulling and tearing at her heart, went away. Until she didn't feel violated anymore. But she couldn't bring herself to say any of it out loud. Christine accepted the silence, assuming that Dana was in some form of shock, or couldn't remember or couldn't articulate what she did remember. She could see in Dana's face that she was becoming more upset by the minute, and she knew that her own questions weren't helping. Tears were forming in her cousin's eyes, and she looked exhausted and hurt and like she would fall over any second. "You probably want to get cleaned up, don't you?" she asked softly, changing the subject. Dana nodded and shot her a grateful look. "Agent Mulder, would you excuse us for a few minutes? Have a seat somewhere and I'll be back." As gently as she could, Christine put an arm around her cousin, led her across the living room and into the bedroom, shut the door, and sat her down on the end of the bed. Dana looked at her questioningly; she'd expected to go straight to the adjoining bathroom. She wanted to wash the blood off. "I just want to take a quick look at you, see where you're hurt. Then you can go ahead and wash up, okay?" Christine's voice was soft but firm - there was no choice here. Scully nodded - she still couldn't speak for fear of crying - and started to fumble with the buttons on her blouse. She hadn't noticed before that she was shaking, and the buttons were small and troublesome. She couldn't do anything with them. "Damn it!" she muttered. Frustrated, she bit her lip and tugged harder. The shaking was getting worse. "Here, let me help you." Christine bent in front of her and gently took over; Scully reluctantly dropped her hands to her lap and looked away, feeling like a two-year-old. Christine undid the buttons and carefully slid the blouse open and down, exposing Dana's shoulders and half her back. She barely held back a gasp of horror when she saw the bruise on Dana's chest. Suddenly embarrassed to be sitting there half naked, Scully looked at the floor. At least Mulder wasn't in the room. In the centre of Dana's chest, just where her heart would be, was a huge purple bruise. It was the size of Christine's palm, and was swollen out. Dried blood caked around it, though she didn't see an opening of any kind. "Oh, Dana," Chrissy whispered sympathetically. "He must have hit hard." She reached out gingerly to touch the spot, and Dana gave a short cry of pain. "Sorry,"Chrissy said. "We'd better get some ice on that." She checked Dana over quickly, noting any other injuries. She poked and prodded gently, and asked where it hurt. She asked her cousin if she'd hit her head, whether she'd fallen on anything, where she'd been hit or grabbed. There were lesser, but still painful bruises on her shoulders and back, from being pushed down and pinned to the floor. One wrist was a little sore, probably from fighting back, there were finger marks around the right side of her neck, and she had some other sore spots, but there were no serious injuries. Christine decided that Dana was more shaken than anything else. "Okay," she said when she'd finished. "That's enough for now. If anything shows up we'll call a doctor. Do you want me to run you a bath?" "No, I think I'd like to take a shower," Dana replied. "I'll leave my clothes out here - I'm sure Mulder will want them for evidence." Christine nodded. "Sure," she said. "You go ahead and borrow whatever you want, okay? I'll be out in the living room. I want to talk to Agent Mulder for a minute." She left the bedroom and closed the door behind herself, giving Dana some privacy. "How's she doing?" Mulder asked as Chrissy crossed the room to sit down. "Well, she's still not saying much, but I wouldn't expect her to. She's upset, she's shaky, she's trying to hold herself together. I'll try to get her talking later. Right now I think she just wants to freshen up. And not to kick you out, but I think you should be gone when she gets out of the shower. I think she's embarrassed to have you see her like this." Mulder nodded understandingly. Christine paused for a moment, then said, "Can you tell me anything more about what happened? I've never seen her this upset. I'm wondering what on earth caused it." "I think you'd better let Scully tell you," he replied. "I wasn't really there. I should have been - I shouldn't have left her alone. It's my fault, really." "I'm sure it's not. You must see a lot of nuts in your line of work. This isn't the first time one of them's attacked her... Did you take her to a doctor?" "No," he sighed. "I tried, but she wouldn't go, and I didn't want to force her. She kept trying to tell me she didn't need one. How badly is she hurt?" "That's typical." Christine sighed. "There doesn't seem to be anything serious. She'll be all right, I think. I'm glad you thought to bring her here, though. She's in no shape to take care of herself tonight." "She thought of you. She wouldn't stay with me and her mother isn't home - Scully said something about her visiting Charles. She said you were close, that you'd probably be home. I'm sorry if we ruined your evening." "That's all right. Tom will understand. I've been seeing him for a couple of years, and he understands about family being important. I'll call him tomorrow and explain. Dana's well-being is worth a truncated date." Christine smiled ruefully. It wasn't the first time she'd had to end an evening early. And usually it was because Tom was running off to help his brother with something. Agent Mulder stood up to leave. "Take care of her," he said, giving her a meaningful look. He headed for the door. "Just a second." Christine went to the bedroom and retrieved Dana's bloodstained clothing, put it in a plastic bag and carried it to Mulder. "Dana said you might want this, for evidence. It's all ruined anyway - the blood stains will never come out of that shirt." Mulder nodded and left, closing the apartment door behind him. Christine sighed and looked around her. She picked up Dana's coat from the chair where she'd left it and hung it in the closet, then picked up the wine glasses and the bottle - still half full- and headed to the kitchen to make some tea. * * * * * In the bathroom, Scully stood trembling, staring at herself in the full length mirror, a little shocked by what she saw. God, I look horrible, she thought, not really caring much, because she felt worse. She wasn't sure she'd ever had this much blood on her before...well, maybe when she was shot, but apart from that, no. Her previously white bra was soaked through, and her chest and stomach were covered. It was on her pants, too, she realized. No wonder she felt so weak, she thought, rubbing her eyes - she'd lost a lot of blood. And that bruise - she'd seen Christine's look of horror and now she understood it. It hurt so much, and it looked awful, frightening. Huge and bright purple, and so badly swollen. It was right where he'd had his hand; he'd certainly left his mark, hadn't he? She brushed her fingertips over it lightly and winced at the pain. A sense of revulsion swept over her suddenly and she turned away and clutched the towel rack to steady herself. He'd been inside there, he'd been in her, and the thought both scared and disgusted her. It wasn't natural, it was a violation. Of her privacy, of her life, of her body. She could still feel him. Get out! she thought. Just get out, get off of me, leave me alone! She waited a moment, then took a deep breath, turned back to the mirror and studied her own image some more. At least he hadn't hit her in the face. She had that to be grateful for, not that gratitude towards Padgett was something to strive for. She turned around slowly and looked over her shoulder to see her back. The bruising there wasn't as bad, but it still hurt. There was blood there, too. It was everywhere. Feeling as if she were on automatic pilot, Scully walked unsteadily to the tub and turned on the shower. She made the water as hot as she thought she could stand, then removed the rest of her clothing, tossed it into the bedroom, and stepped in. She stood under the water, closed her eyes and hugged herself. She was still shaking, or shivering was more like it. She was so cold all of a sudden, despite the hot water running over her, and the steam rising around her. I want my mom, she thought suddenly, and the idea struck her as both completely accurate and completely pathetic - thirty-five years old and she wanted her mother! But she did, she couldn't help it. She was cold and tired and hurting and humiliated. She wanted someone to hold her, and listen, and tell her it would be okay. And at the same time she was grateful to have a few minutes to herself, away from everyone. But she couldn't handle this one alone - she needed to tell somebody. Mom was with Charlie...Melissa...would Christine understand? She was confused, upset, she felt like crying. But she wasn't going to let herself. I'm okay, I'm fine, she told herself, knowing it was a lie. Just hold on, you'll get through this. She bit her lip and leaned her head against the shower wall, letting the water run over her, cleaning the blood off. She wished Mulder would go - why didn't Chrissy send him home? She was afraid she couldn't hold it together much longer, and she didn't want him to see her fall apart again. Through the wall she heard muffled voices, Chrissy's and Mulder's, talking about her. They both sounded so serious, so concerned. They were worried about her. She hated that, she felt guilty - she didn't mean to worry them. Mulder's voice came again: "Sorry if we ruined your evening." "That's all right ...understand...Dana's wellbeing is worth..." At those words Scully felt a twinge of - what? Relief. Christine didn't mind the intrusion, she would take care of her. Scully stopped listening and reached for the soap. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to scrub herself, to get completely clean. If she washed long enough, maybe it would all go away. * * * * * Part 2/3 CHRISTINE SCULLY RESIDENCE GEORGETOWN, MD. 1:55 AM The water had been running for half an hour now - so long that Christine was considering knocking on the bathroom door to see if Dana was all right. On the other hand, she didn't want to disturb her if she was just trying to have a little privacy, which was probably the case. Dana had already had quite a night; it was going on 2:00 am and it wasn't over yet. Chrissy knew there was no way Dana would be able to sleep before she'd talked through at least some of what had happened, if she slept at all. She was far too tense at the moment. While she waited for Dana to finish in the bathroom, Christine brewed some herbal tea - no caffeine, a nice natural sedative to calm Dana's nerves - and searched through her freezer for the ice pack she knew was in there somewhere. She finally found it behind some vegetarian chili she'd made and frozen about six months before (she really should eat that, someday), and she rinsed the frost off it, careful not to thaw it too much. Then she found a thin towel to wrap it in, and put it the fridge to stay cold until Dana was ready for it. Just as the water for the tea was boiling for the third time - she didn't want the tea to be cold before it was served, so she'd been holding off putting half the water in - she heard the shower stop. A few minutes later Dana emerged from the bedroom, clad in a pair of Christine's blue cotton pyjamas, her hair damp and wavy and pushed back behind her ears. She stood uncertainly in the living room, still shaking a little, and looking disoriented, as if she'd forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. Christine poured the tea and crossed to Dana. She set the mugs of tea down on the coffee table, then took her cousin's arm and led her to the couch. "Come sit down with me," she said warmly, and Dana sank into the couch, curling up in a corner and pulling her feet up under her. Chrissy handed her one of the cups of tea and Dana took it. "Chamomile peppermint," Chrissy told her. "It'll make you feel better." Dana nodded. "Thank you" she said, so softly it was almost inaudible. "Are you cold?" Christine asked her. Dana nodded again. She was cold, despite half an hour in a hot shower. She couldn't get warm. And it hadn't helped anyway - she felt as awful as before. Chrissy stood, crossed to the closet, found an extra blanket and spread it across Dana's shoulders, wrapping her in it. "Better?" Dana nodded again, although she really didn't feel any warmer yet. Maybe the tea would help. She could warm up from the inside out. Scully closed her eyes for a moment, and leaned her head against the couch cushion. She was so tired, and it was nice to sit down. She felt taken care of - for once she would let someone else handle things. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax. It didn't work, and she opened her eyes again and sipped some tea. Christine appeared beside her, holding something wrapped in a towel. "I found an ice pack for you," she said. "Though I guess it won't make you any warmer." Dana smiled slightly, and allowed Chrissy to undo the top two buttons of her pyjamas and place the ice on her bruised chest. After the initial pain of having weight put on something so sore, it felt good. She breathed in and out again, renewing her attempt to relax. Christine sat down beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. She didn't want to push, but she didn't want Dana to feel she had to hold it in, either. It was better to let strong feelings out. "I hardly know where to start. It's all...it doesn't even make sense to me." "Don't worry about making sense. Just take your time, start at the beginning. We'll figure it out." She met Dana's gaze, touched her hand lightly. "Tell me." Dana hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then began with the case she and Mulder were working on, the people who's hearts were ripped out without any kind of incision. She told about the victims, her visits to Mulder's apartment with x-rays and autopsy results, the elevator ride with his new neighbour, Phillip Padgett. She spoke quietly in a flat, detached tone, not wanting to lose her composure. But soon she had to get more personal: the milagro pendant, the meeting in the church, the way Padgett seemed to know everything about her, from her address to her license-plate number, and how he seemed to know what she felt better than she herself did. She admitted her curiosity, her visit to Padgett when she should have been seeing Mulder, Mulder's suspicions that Padgett was the killer they were looking for. She went on for a long time, speaking with more and more difficulty, trying to hold back the emotions she could feel mounting inside. The walls were crumbling slowly, it was all falling in. She wanted to stop - she didn't want to cry. Chrissy sat beside her, listening attentively. Some of the story didn't make sense - how could hearts be removed with no incision? And even if it were possible, why would anyone do it? Dana told her about the theory of "psychic surgery", but didn't seem to believe it herself. Still, she didn't interrupt. This wasn't the time. Dana told her about Padgett's career as a failed novelist, and the book he was writing about her and how that had both frightened and intrigued her, because some of what happened in the book came true. Mulder even viewed it as a partial confession. She tried to push away her feelings about everything, and to describe the events without the emotions behind them. But when she came to the surveillance, the meeting that night, and the attack, and the feeling of the hand inside her chest, squeezing and pulling and how much it hurt, and how she screamed but nobody came, she started to break down. Her voice broke, her hands and then her whole body began to shake more and more, and she couldn't hold back anymore. Her mouth turned downward and hot tears stung her eyes. Beside her, Chrissy reached out and put a hand on Dana's arm, gentled the mug of tea away from her and put it down on the table, rubbed her shoulder lightly. Dana stopped talking - her words had become unintelligible anyway - and closed her eyes, set her jaw, pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the flood of tears that threatened to spill out. Christine could see the pain in her cousin's face, and she could see that there was even more going on than Dana could tell her right now, maybe more than she herself knew. And she could tell that her cousin needed to get some of it out. "Dana," Christine began, "sweetie, it's all right. Give in, let yourself." Dana shook her head, drew in a short, ragged breath, and before she could stop herself, let out a soft moan that turned into a sob, and then she was crying and shaking and she couldn't stop, she was losing her grip, falling, down where she had no control, where everything she'd pushed down and stored away, every hurt she hadn't let herself feel could come to the surface and swallow her. Streams of tears ran down her cheeks and her sobs shook her whole body. She tried in vain stop herself - she hated this loss of control, she didn't want to be crying, she wanted to stop and push it all back down where it belonged, but she couldn't. It wouldn't go away. Chrissy hadn't quite expected such a torrent, but she was glad, in a way, to see Dana let go, however unwillingly. She moved closer and put her arms around her cousin, pulling her close. Dana buried her face in Chrissy's shoulder, holding on tightly, and continued to cry. A little taken aback, Christine held Dana firmly but gently, rocking her back and forth. At least she was releasing her feelings - tears were easier to deal with than silent pain. She rubbed her back gently, in circles, careful to avoid the bruises, and the motion seemed to soothe Dana a little, and she relaxed a bit. "There," Christine encouraged her softly, "that's right. Let it out, don't be afraid to feel it. It's okay, I'm here. Go ahead and cry, it's all right." "It hurt, Chrissy," Dana whispered, still crying. "He was inside me, his hands were, and he - he was digging, and ripping...I thought he would kill me - he - " She broke off, her words dissolving into sobs again, and tightened her grip on Christine. Don't let go, she thought. Please, Chrissy, just don't let go. "He's gone now," Chris told her softly, and gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "You'll be all right. It's over." After a while, Dana's sobs slowed and she began to catch her breath. She clung to Christine, tears still running down as she tried to regain some sense of composure. When she had all but stopped, she loosened her grip and wiped her eyes, leaning limply, exhausted, against her younger cousin. Her eyes were sore and her head ached from crying. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it, I'm sorry," she apologized. She was embarrassed to have lost control so completely in front of a woman whose diapers she had once changed as a teenager. Still, Chrissy was 23 now, and an adult in her own right, going to grad school and working part time as a receptionist. She was older than Dana wanted to admit. And her presence was certainly comforting right now. "Don't apologize. You needed that." Chrissy told her gently. She smoothed Dana's hair back from her face, squeezed her gently, readjusted the ice pack. "It's okay, there's nothing wrong with letting your feelings out. How do you feel now?" "So tired," murmured Dana, and let out a ragged sigh. "But better, I think. Mmm, my head hurts, though." "You need some rest. Do you know it's almost 3 am?" Dana shook her head. "No, I had no idea what time it was. I kind of lost track at Mulder's, I guess. I don't really even remember coming here. It's all kind of...I don't know, blurry, fuzzy." Christine smiled slightly. "Come on, let's get you to bed. You'll feel better after you've had some sleep." "I'll just sleep here. I don't want to put you out anymore than I already have." Dana sounded half asleep already. "No way. I want you to take the bed. You're going to be sore in the morning and sleeping on my excuse for a couch isn't going to help any. Come on." She helped Dana up, supported her with an arm around her shoulders, and led her to the bedroom. "I'll get you some aspirin," she said, as Dana climbed gratefully into bed and closed her eyes. She was already sore. When Christine returned a moment later with the bottle of aspirin and a glass of water, Dana had already fallen asleep, and she didn't want to wake her up. She left the water and pills on the bedside table, then pulled up the covers and tucked Dana in as if she were a sick child, which was what she looked like at the moment. Lying in the double bed Dana looked tiny - smaller than usual. Her flushed, tear-stained face and puffy eyes added to the effect, making her look somehow young and forlorn. Christine sat on the side of the bed, closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, listening to the deep, even breathing that was the only sound in the room. Dana must have been truly exhausted to fall asleep so soon. But at least she was sleeping. She must have been so frightened, earlier, it was a wonder she'd managed it, really. At least he - whoever he was - hadn't hurt her too badly. It could have been a lot worse. After a minute or two, Christine stood, smoothed back her cousin's hair, which had fallen across her eyes, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "'Night, sweetie," she whispered, and left the room, shutting the door silently behind her. * * * * * A few minutes later, Christine sat on the couch, feeling drained. She was used to Dana being the one in charge, the one taking care of her. She'd been accident-prone as a child; when she was little and visiting her cousins, and Dana was in high-school, already planning to be a doctor, it was Dana - Doctor Dana, she'd called her jokingly - not Auntie Maggie, who tweezed out the splinters, cleaned the cuts, bandaged the scraped knees. She had a way of taking Chrissy's mind off the pain, of reassuring her. When she was older, in junior high and highschool, and Dana was in med school and even teaching at Quantico, Christine had gone to her for advice or to talk over problems. And in the last few years, since she'd been in college and now grad school, they'd started the monthly lunches, the weekly phone calls, and they'd shared almost everything. Still, it was usually Dana who patched Chrissy up (though Christine couldn't count the number of times she'd visited Dana in the hospital, or sent a get-well card when she was out of state). Now the roles were reversed, however temporarily. She wasn't used to being the care-taker - how did Dana do it? Not that she minded - she didn't. But it must feel strange to Dana too, going to someone so much younger for comfort. But with Melissa gone and Maggie out of town, who was really left? She'd lost touch with most of her friends. There was always Mulder, she supposed, but for some reason Dana didn't want to talk to him this time. Christine sighed. It didn't matter anyway - there was no reason to over-analyse. The fact was that Dana had come to her, and she'd taken care of her and that was that. Christine let out a long yawn - she was awfully tired - and tried to shut off her brain. Then she curled up on the couch with a blanket and tried to sleep. * * * * * CHRISTINE SCULLY RESIDENCE GEORGETOWN, MD. 6:17 AM The sharp cries woke Christine with a start. For a moment she was disoriented, unsure of her surroundings. What am I doing on the couch? she wondered briefly, and who's yelling? She shook her head to clear it, then suddenly remembered Dana and headed for the bedroom. As she eased the door open the cries were louder, and she could see her cousin tossing and flailing in the bed. Quickly Christine crossed the room, flipped on the bedside lamp, and touched her cousin's arm. "Dana, wake up!" she said softly. "It's all right, wake up!" She shook her a little, and Dana's eyes flew open. She gasped, pushed Christine away, cried out "NO!" She looked frightened. "Dana, it's me, it's Christine. It's okay, you're just having a nightmare. It's okay." The words seemed to register with Dana, and she looked at Christine with recognition. She closed her eyes briefly, and let out a long, relieved breath. "There, it's over now. It's all over," Christine reassured her, patting her arm. "I had a bad dream," Dana mumbled. She sounded far away. She opened her eyes and stared up at Christine. "Bad dream," she repeated softly, then swallowed hard. He'd been back, inside her chest, digging in, ripping at her heart. She'd felt him, as real as before. She felt sick. "I know," Christine said. "But it's all right, you're safe now. It was just a nightmare." She found Dana's hand in the blanket and squeezed it gently. "What did you dream?" Dana shook her head. She didn't want to relive it by telling. "What time is it?" she asked instead, and swallowed again, pushing back the wave of nausea. "Twenty after six," Christine replied, glancing at her watch. She wanted to hear about her cousin's dream, but she wasn't going to push. "You should go back to sleep, you could use the rest." She studied Dana's face for a moment. "Do you feel all right?" Dana nodded, then shook her head no. "I think I need to go to the bathroom," she said, and eased out of the bed, one hand holding her stomach. She hurried to the bathroom and shut the door. Christine looked after her, but said nothing. She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. Despite the water Dana had left running, Chrissy could hear her coughing and retching. She wanted to knock, ask if there was anything she could do. But Dana clearly wanted to be alone, so she waited patiently. After several minutes, the toilet flushed, the water ran a little harder and then stopped altogether, and Dana emerged from the bathroom, looking pale and weak. She crossed the floor and climbed wordlessly back into bed, closing her eyes and turning away. She felt ashamed. She wasn't used to such strong reactions, and she certainly wasn't used to displaying them in front of other people. Christine didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. She could tell Dana was embarrassed, and she didn't want to make her feel worse. Poor thing, she thought. Lightly, she touched Dana's forehead and cheek to see if she was warm. No fever. Probably just nerves. She readjusted the covers and was about to turn off the lamp and leave the room when Dana opened her eyes, and spoke hesitantly. "Chris, could I have the ice pack again? My...the bruise, it - it hurts, a little." In reality it hurt a lot, but she didn't want to admit it. She'd been holding off asking, wanting to go back to sleep and forget, and not wanting to worry Chrissy. But the pain in her chest was getting stronger, throbbing, and she couldn't ignore it anymore. "Sure," Christine said, and left for a moment. She headed to the kitchen and retrieved the ice pack, started back to the bedroom, and then stopped, considering. She turned and went back to the fridge, found a can of ginger ale, poured some into a glass and cut it with water to flatten it, and went back to Dana. She sat down again on the edge of the bed. "Sit up for a sec?" she said, and Dana raised herself slowly to a sitting position and leaned back against the pillows. Christine handed her the ginger ale. "Here you go," she said softly. "Drink this." Dana accepted the glass and sipped the liquid slowly, not looking up. She hated feeling this way - nausea reminded her of chemotherapy, and other things she would rather forget. It was nice of Chrissy not to mention the reason for the drink, though - anyone else would have called attention to it, said it would settle her stomach. But Christine just brought ginger ale, no questions asked. "Thank you," she said quietly, handing back the empty glass. "You're welcome." Christine answered lightly - no need to make a big deal of it - as she carefully unfastened the first two buttons of her cousin's pyjamas and examined the bruise. The swelling seemed to have come down a little, but it still looked painful. "Okay, take a deep breath for me - this might hurt a bit." Gently, Christine laid the ice on Dana's chest, then helped her lie down again. "How's that? Better?" she asked, and Dana closed her eyes and nodded gratefully. "Is there anything else I can get you? Anything I can do?" "No. Thank you, I'll be fine." Dana shook her head, eyes still shut. "I'm sorry if I woke you up. I'm sorry," she trailed off, and Chrissy saw tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She looked so small, lying there with her face pale, her eyes closed and filling, legs curled up and holding the ice pack to her chest with one hand. She looked fragile, and vulnerable, and Christine suddenly wanted to put her arms around her and protect her forever. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay, I don't mind." She pulled up the blankets and rubbed Dana's arm reassuringly. "How about if I just sit with you for a while? Just until you go back to sleep," she said, and there was no real question in her offer. Dana didn't answer, but her expression changed; she looked comforted, more relaxed. Christine turned the lamp off again, shifted a little on the bed and took Dana's hand. She listened while Dana's breathing slowed and deepened, felt her grip relax, and waited until she was absolutely sure she was sleeping. Then she rose slowly, carefully let go of Dana's hand, and gently removed the ice pack, which had been on for a while. She left the room quietly, shutting the door only halfway this time, and returned to the couch to try and get some more sleep. * * * * * CHRISTINE SCULLY RESIDENCE GEORGETOWN, MD. 10:14 AM It was late morning when Chrissy woke again, and this time she knew where she was. Sunlight streamed through her living room curtains - it looked like a lovely Saturday morning. She threw the blanket off and sat up, and when she looked down at herself, realized she was still wearing last night's clothes. Shaking her head, she started for the kitchen. As quietly as she could, she measured coffee and water, and turned on the automatic coffee maker. Then she headed for the shower. To get to the bathroom, Christine had to go through the bedroom. She walked quickly, on tiptoe, so as not to wake Dana, who was still sleeping peacefully. On her way she grabbed her jeans and a t-shirt from the dresser drawer, plus some underwear and deodorant. She checked on Dana again, then hopped in the shower. The water felt good - Christine always felt grubby after sleeping in her clothes. She soaped up and rinsed off, washed and conditioned her hair, then turned off the water and stepped out. She towelled off and dressed quickly and quietly, hung up the towel, threw the previous night's clothes in the laundry hamper, and went back out to the living room to tidy up. She washed the tea mugs and pot, folded the blankets and plumped the couch cushions. She was just finishing, and the coffee maker was just about full when she remembered that she was expected at work in a couple of hours. She glanced at the open bedroom door, considering, then picked up the phone and dialled. Linda, the morning receptionist, picked up on the second ring. Christine took a deep breath - she hated missing work. Linda would be irate - she'd have to pull a 12 hour shift today - and her boss would be downright pissed. "Hi, Linda, it's Christine," she began, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Dana. "Listen, I'm calling because I'm afraid I can't make it in today. I'm sorry for the short notice - I'm having a kind of family emergency....no, it's nothing too serious (well if it's not serious, you can get here, can't you? she could just hear Linda thinking) but there's really no one else to take care of it...I know, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, just name the day...okay. I'm sorry, Linda. Yeah, I'll see you Monday afternoon." She hung up the phone and turned to see Dana emerge from the bedroom, sleepy and a little rumpled, but looking much better than she had a few hours before. "Good morning," Chrissy greeted her with a cheerful smile. "How're you feeling?" "I'm okay," Dana replied. She walked slowly, eased herself into a chair at the kitchen table, and Christine handed her a cup of coffee with cream, no sugar, which she accepted with a quiet "thanks". She took a long sip, then put the cup down and toyed with the handle. "I can't believe you remember how I take my coffee," she remarked, sounding faintly amused. "Well, there's a little trick to it," Christine admitted. "I take mine the same way." Dana looked at her and smiled faintly. "So did Dad. Guess it runs in the family." She paused. "Who was that on the phone?" "Oh, nobody really. Just a friend from work. Nothing important," Christine lied. "Are you hungry?" she asked, changing the subject slightly. "Feel like you could eat something?" "I'd rather not, thanks. I'm not hungry, really." Dana continued to play with her coffee cup, turning it around a little by the handle. "Are you sure? You really should try to get something down." Christine was concerned. Dana looked better, but she seemed a little spacey. "Maybe just some toast, then," Dana answered vaguely. She didn't want it, but she knew her cousin was right. It wasn't good not to eat anything. And when she thought about it, she hadn't had anything that remotely qualified as solid food since 7:00 the morning before, and that was just cereal. Christine nodded, smiled, and got the bread out of the fridge. Toast was a start, anyway, provided Dana actually did eat it. When she turned around after loading the toaster, Chris noticed Dana looking at her intently. She looked back at her and raised her eyebrows slightly. "What?" she asked. "Were you supposed to work today?" "No, why?" she asked, a little too quickly. "Chrissy," Dana began in a warning tone. Christine sighed, and caved in. "Well... yeah. But it's okay, I called and cancelled. It's just the afternoon shift, and Saturdays aren't very busy. Linda can handle it." "Oh, tell me you didn't cancel on my account," Dana said. "You didn't have to do that. I'm fine - you should go to work. I don't want you to miss work and lose money to stay with me. I'm fine, really. I'm fine." "Dana, you're not fine." Christine said bluntly, handing her a plate of toast. "People who are fine don't walk around claiming to be fine three times in one breath. I can see from the way you're sitting that you're sore. I'm staying home today, and that's final." She caught herself and softened her voice. "Besides, you've had a rough night. You shouldn't be alone." Dana didn't reply, but instead stared down at her plate, toying with one of the pieces of toast. After a few moments she stood up, crossed the kitchen, put her arms around Christine and squeezed. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice catching. She held on a little longer, then released her cousin. "I love you." Christine was a little taken aback, and she felt tears well up in her own eyes for a moment. She blinked them back, put a hand on Dana's arm and said, "I love you, too. And you're welcome. Always, any time." "God, when did you get so grown up?" Dana wondered aloud, but it was a rhetorical question. "Oh, sometime this decade," Chris joked. "Now humour me - eat your breakfast," she ordered, and Dana smiled. * * * * * The day passed slowly and peacefully. At Christine's insistence, Dana, still exhausted and sore, remained in her pyjamas and rested on the couch. Christine brought her juice and aspirin, checked her bruises (the biggest one, on her chest, was less swollen but turning an angry shade of bluish black), and applied ice to tender spots as needed. They played gin until Chris got tired of losing, watched a movie on cable, and read aloud the chase scenes from Moby Dick for a while. Dana seemed to enjoy the afternoon, and Christine was glad to see her smiling, and even gloating a little when she won at cards. She tired easily though, and late in the afternoon Dana took a long nap; while she was sleeping, Christine looked through her cousin's coat pockets, located her cell phone, and found Mulder's number on speed dial. He picked up on the first ring. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, it's Christine Scully calling." "Hey! How's Scully doing?" "She's much better today. She had a pretty rough night, though. She's sleeping right now - she's not really up to talking to anybody yet. But I thought I'd call and let you know she's okay." "Yeah, thanks. That's, that's great." Christine could hear the relief in his voice. "She tell you what happened?" he asked. "Most of it. She kind of got to a point where she didn't want to talk anymore...it was quite a story, actually. I don't quite know what to make of some of it. But she was very upset last night." "Well, whatever she told you is probably accurate. I had the blood on her clothes tested - it's all hers." "That's impossible! I checked her over myself - she's not cut." Mulder held back a chuckle - she sounded just like Scully! "You're sure about that?" Mulder asked her. "Absolutely. She's got some pretty awful bruises, but that's all." "Is she in much pain?" Mulder asked, turning serious again. "She's a little sore," Christine said diplomatically, knowing Dana wouldn't want her to say much more. Quickly she added, "but we're keeping a lid on it with aspirin and ice. She'll be fine - right now she just needs a rest. She's going to stay here another night, and I'll probably take her home sometime tomorrow. I expect she'll be at work Monday or Tuesday. You know Dana." "Yeah, I do." He paused. "Tell her hi for me, okay? Tell her I hope she's feeling better. And thank you, for calling." "I will. And you're welcome, Agent Mulder." They said goodbye and Chris hung up. * * * * * Part 3/3 CHRISTINE SCULLY RESIDENCE GEORGETOWN, MD. 8:06 PM It was dusk when Scully woke from her afternoon nap. For a few moments she lay with her eyes closed, enjoying the oh-so-rare chance to rest during the day. Or during the night, for that matter. For the last 6 years, she'd never really been able to count on a full night's sleep. Not since that day in March when she'd met the FBI's most unwanted. Never would she have thought she would come to apply that title to herself. Scully continued to lie still, eyes closed, and began to take stock of how she felt. Physically she was stiff, sore. Her shoulders still hurt where he'd grabbed her, her chest ached where he'd reached inside her, and she was generally sore from the tussle on the floor - a feeling to which she was becoming accustomed, unfortunately. Padgett, or The Stranger, or whoever, hadn't been the first, although he had perhaps been the most invasive. But she remembered others: Pfaster, Willis, Jerse, Kritschgau, Duane Barry - the list seemed endless. And the cancer, of course. She could deal with pain. It came with the territory. But overall, she felt better, she decided. But what about how she felt? Scully considered for a minute, searching inside herself. Overall she felt calmer and more like herself. But underneath...shame. Yes, she was definitely mildly embarrassed, though not nearly as much as before. Sobbing like that in front of Christine, and earlier in front of Mulder, was not something Special Agent Dana Scully, who had a medical degree and a good FBI record, who had it together, did on anything resembling a regular basis. She didn't show emotion if she could help it, because it made her vulnerable. Feeling intensely was too risky. What else? Gratitude. She felt cared for, cared about. Christine had blown off a date and a shift at work to take care of her. And she'd been wonderful, staying close but not hovering, checking to make sure nothing hurt too much, keeping her comfortable. All day she'd allowed her cousin the chance to rest and regroup - she'd taken care of everything. Scully loved her for that, and she was grateful to Mulder, too, for bringing her here, for trying to understand why she didn't want to talk to him. He was a good friend. She was angry too, she decided. Angry at herself for getting into this mess, for listening to Padgett in the first place. Why hadn't she believed Mulder, why couldn't she see that Padgett was the killer they were looking for, however he did it? She'd known, because he'd told her himself, that Padgett was not Mulder's neighbour by accident. He was there because of her. So how could she have been so stupid? But Scully was angry at Padgett, too - she felt betrayed. It was bad enough that he'd practically stalked her - did he have to hurt her too? Why did these things always turn out this way? Ed Jerse...Jack Willis...why did the men who seemed interested always turn out to be deranged? She was angry that Padgett had followed her, used his knowledge to push buttons, play on her vulnerabilities. And most of all she was angry for the attack. He'd sent someone to kill her. Or had he? This was where she lapsed into confusion. How could she make sense of the fact that she'd been attacked by a book character come to life? Had she imagined his face, when it was really Padgett? But how? And why? Padgett was in the boiler room with Mulder, anyway. So what had happened? And what the hell was she going to put in her report? The truth, as she remembered it anyway, was humiliating and would sound ridiculous, especially coming from her. Oh God, Scully thought, How am I going to explain this one to Skinner? Maybe she wouldn't put this in her report. Maybe she'd just leave out the attack, take a sick day or two until the soreness went away and she could move normally. She'd been lucky this time - all the injuries could be hidden by her clothes. She could say she had the flu, or a bad cold. Skinner wouldn't suspect, and if he did Mulder would cover for her. God knows I've done it for him, she thought. And Mulder. She was back to that. What did he think of her? She hated breaking down in front of him like that, showing that kind of weakness. Not that he didn't have his moments too but...somehow that was different. Mulder didn't have to prove himself the way she did, and more than that, he wasn't interested in doing so. He liked being a renegade, or at least he was used to being one. But she'd never quite gotten used to being called Mrs. Spooky. She didn't like being laughed at behind her back, she didn't like people thinking all she did was chase after little green aliens. So she had to be twice as good as everyone else, twice as strong. If Mulder got the idea that she couldn't handle the job... Was that why she'd come here, instead of staying with him? She hadn't wanted to go home - being alone was too hard, too frightening after that. And she'd needed to talk, but not to him, somehow. She couldn't tell Mulder what she was feeling, she couldn't let him take care of her, not right then. But would he understand that, or would he feel cast aside because she hadn't wanted him around? After those first few minutes, after she'd pushed him away and asked him to take her to Chrissy's, what was he thinking? Had she hurt him? And why couldn't she stay with him this time? Because it happened in his apartment? Because he'd been right? Let it go, Dana, she told herself. You can worry about him later. Monday, maybe. Slowly Scully became aware of a presence, someone standing over her. She opened her eyes to see Chris standing beside the couch, looking a little uncertain. When she realized Dana was awake, Christine's face relaxed and she smiled. "Hey," she said pleasantly. "You had a nice long sleep. Feeling better?" "Yeah, I am, thank you. How long was I out?" "Oh, about 4 hours. I made dinner - I was just trying to decide whether to wake you." "Mmm, I've been awake for a few minutes. Just didn't feel like getting up yet." "You don't have to. I can bring you some dinner, or if you're not hungry you can go right back to sleep if you want to," Christine offered. "No, I'll get up. Eat at the table like a normal person." Dana gave a small smile. "I have to get back to normal. I should probably go home." "I'll take you tomorrow. I'd like you to stay one more night here, just so we can be sure you're okay. It hasn't even been 24 hours, you know. And you're welcome to stay as long as you like." "Thanks, but I really think I'm fine. I just need to go home and get it together. I'll go in the morning, I guess." She sat up. "What's for dinner?" "Nothing fancy - you know I've never been much of a cook. Tom's much better at it than I am. I made a salad, heated up some soup. No big deal - don't get too excited or anything." "Well it sounds fine to me. I can't even remember the last time I made an actual dinner...that time Mulder went away to that cockroach-infested little town I made some salad or something, I think." She smiled wryly. "Mulder and I eat out a lot on the road. I wouldn't believe he had a kitchen at all, except that I was in it once." Christine laughed. "Well," she said, "he didn't really strike me as the Galloping Gourmet type. Then again, you're no Julia Child either, you know. Come on." She helped Dana up off the couch and sat her down at the kitchen table. About halfway through dinner Christine put her fork down and looked at her cousin, evaluating. "Can I ask you something?" she asked after a minute. "Sure, I guess so. What is it?" "I was just wondering, why did you decide to come here last night? Not that you shouldn't have or anything, but, why'd you come to me instead of staying with Mulder?" Dana paused, thinking. "I don't know," she said finally. "I was asking myself that a little while ago, and I'm not sure what the answer is. But I guess I didn't want to be alone, and Mom's visiting Charles, and Bill's in California, and Melissa...well, that leaves you -" "Dana," Christine broke in, "you're not really answering the question." Dana sighed. "No, I guess I'm not. I, um, I guess I just couldn't talk to him, right then." she said slowly. "You'd have to understand our relationship, and that's hard for an outsider to do. We've been through a lot together, and we're friends as well as partners, but sometimes I need to pull away. Sometimes he forgets, and I guess I do too, that this isn't the career I had in mind when I joined the Bureau. We're ridiculed by our colleagues, we're the laughing stock of the Academy, and we're the biggest headache the administration's ever had. 'Spooky Mulder and me, Mrs. Spooky'. 'The two clowns in the basement'. 'The FBI's most unwanted.' And to get any respect, I have to be twice as good as the other agents, and the fact that I'm a woman doesn't help me any, because when I am twice as good, the men resent me for trying to show them up, and the women think I'm joining the boys' club. So I can't show any sign of vulnerability in front of anyone, and I can't even show much in front of Mulder. And then something like this happens...I can't fall apart in front of him, not for long. I don't want him to think that he has to protect me or take care of me. And last night, I guess I couldn't just dust myself off and pull myself together, so I had to get away from him so he wouldn't think I couldn't handle it. So I came here. I guess I should call him and let him know I'm all right." "I already did. I called him this afternoon." "What did you tell him?" Dana asked, a little too sharply. "That you're fine. That you'll see him at work." "Oh," Dana let out her breath. "Good. Thanks. Did he say anything?" "Just to tell you hello, and he hopes you're feeling better, and he'll see you at work. That's all." Dana nodded and turned back to her dinner. After a moment she looked up. "Can I ask you something? Something completely unrelated?" "Sure. Shoot." "How're things with Tom? From the look of your apartment last night, Mulder and I interrupted something." She smiled, amused. Christine blushed and laughed. She couldn't believe Dana had noticed what her apartment looked like, considering her condition the night before. The trained eye of an investigator, she supposed. "Yeah, you could say that. He's fine. Things are good - we had a really great dinner and saw a pretty awful movie. His job is going well...things are...really good. Or they were going to be, last night." She gave Dana a mischievous smile. "Guess I should call him and explain, huh?" Dana looked down. "Yeah, I'm sorry about all this. I just didn't know where else to go. I guess I didn't think to call." "Don't worry about it, Dana. Tom has a family too, he'll understand. He's always leaving to help his brother out of some crisis or another. In almost two years, this is the first time I've blown him off. He's probably just wondering what on earth happened. I'll talk to him soon." * * * * * Dana insisted on cleaning up after dinner. Unable to talk her out of if, Christine eventually left the dishes to her cousin and retreated to her bedroom. She sat down on the bed and stared at the phone for a few moments. What was she going to say? I'm sorry I blew you off, but my cousin was attacked by an out-of-control murderous book character with a novel idea of what constitutes an autopsy and I'm sure you understand? Yeah, sure. Whatever. He'd tell her to have her head examined, and Dana's too, for that matter. And really, he'd be right, wouldn't he? Sure, Dana investigated paranormal phenomena, but this? Book characters simply didn't jump off the pages and start killing people. Removing a heart was one thing, but doing so without making an incision, or leaving a gushing chest wound? Impossible. There had to be an explanation. She'd checked Dana over herself, and there were no cuts at all. The test results had to be wrong - the blood must have come from her attacker - she'd fired at him after all. She must have hit him and not noticed. And the bruises...well, he'd attacked her. He must have punched her in the chest. That made sense. And Dana's account of events could be explained away - she was frightened when it happened, exhausted and in shock afterward. It wasn't surprising that she didn't remember how everything really happened. Her mind was playing tricks on her - a defence mechanism, probably. That had to be it. Reasonably satisfied with her own explanation, Chrissy picked up the phone and dialled Tom's number from memory. "Hi, it's me," she said when he picked up the phone. "Chris! What took you so long - I've been so worried about you. I wanted to call but I wasn't sure...Is everything okay? Are you okay?" "I'm fine, hon. Really, everything's okay. Just a little family emergency, but everybody's all right now. I'm sorry it took so long for me to call, but Dana's still here and I wanted to spend the afternoon with her." Tom let out his breath, relieved. "Good, good. So what happened to her? What was the emergency?" "She was attacked by a suspect. She and her partner had a man under surveillance from Mulder's apartment. She was alone for a few minutes while Mulder chased the man, and when she tried to follow, his accomplice came in and apparently tried to kill her." "My God! But she's all right, isn't she? You said she was okay, didn't you?" "Yeah, she'll be fine. He beat her up a little, but she's not badly hurt. She'll be back at work in a couple of days. I'm keeping her here one more night, just in case. But it's not the first time something like this has happened - it comes with the job - so she's able to deal with it. Dana's pretty tough. She just needed to hide from the world for a couple of days. She had a pretty rough night, though - I think this one really affected her." "What happened?" "Oh, it was just - I couldn't get her to sleep until after three, and she was up again a couple of hours later - nightmares, you know? So neither of us got a whole lot of sleep...she's feeling better now, though. That's really all I can ask for." "What about you, Chris?" Tom asked gently. "How are you doing?" Christine thought for a moment. She hadn't really considered it; she'd been focussed on Dana. "I'm okay. I mean, it was hard to watch her go through that, but I'm fine, really. I think I did a decent job of taking care of her, and that's what counts...I'm sorry I kicked you out. You have to understand - Dana and I are closer than most cousins probably are. She's like a big sister - she and her sister and brothers were the siblings I never had, especially her. So when she needs something, I -" "Chris," Tom broke in, "honey, it's fine. I understand. If she needs you, you have to be there. It's okay, you don't have to justify it. I'm just glad you're both okay." "Thanks, I guess I knew you'd say that. And we are. Fine, I mean - we're fine. I'm tired, though. I think it'll be an early night. So," Christine finished, her tone becoming playful, "I was hoping you and I could...reschedule. Pick up where we left off?" "Sure, any time. You free tomorrow night?" There was an undertone of concern in Tom's voice, as if his own playfulness was forced. "Yeah, tomorrow's good. But let's do it at your place this time, okay? And don't worry, I really am fine. I'll see you tomorrow." * * * * * FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C. THURSDAY, 12:05 PM 3 WEEKS LATER. As she rode down in the elevator, Christine was struck by the fact that this was the first time she'd ever been to Dana's office, in the six years that her cousin had been assigned to the X-Files. They had been having lunch once a month, almost without fail, for nearly the entire time, and yet she'd never met Dana at work. They usually met at whatever restaurant they'd chosen. The elevator let out a sharp ding! as it reached the basement, and the doors opened to reveal a dark corridor which the fluorescent lights barely brightened, containing an old coffee cart, some boxes, and a few doors. Not exactly what Chris had expected for an federal employee, although Dana had told her she worked in the basement. Christine walked slowly down the hall, looking around her. Visitors were not usually allowed to roam the halls unescorted, but Dana had called up to the security office and asked that they let her cousin through. Now Chris was wondering if she should have asked for a guide. As she got farther down the hall, she began to hear voices; a few steps more and she recognized them. "Mulder, that's ridiculous. We are not going to New Mexico to check on a sea monster. It - did you fail Geography? They don't even have a sea in New Mexico! How could there be a monster?" "Come on, Scully! It'll be fun. We'll go out there, check on the case, debunk the sea monster and expose it as somebody's kid brother in a costume, get our names in the paper... it'll be a nice little trip." "No. Absolutely not. Wait a minute, I know what this is about. You just want to try to get into Area 51 again, don't you? Nice try, Mulder, but forget it. We've been in enough trouble this year." "Okay, okay, what about this one? Right here in D.C. - no travel expenses -" Christine smiled, listening to their conversation as she approached the door marked "Fox Mulder, Special Agent." She wondered briefly why Dana's name wasn't on the door as well, then knocked, interrupting Mulder's sales pitch. "Sorry to interrupt, Agent Mulder, but I have a lunch date with your partner," she said good-naturedly. "Chrissy!" Dana exclaimed, turning around. "I didn't hear you come in." She got up from her perch on the corner of the desk and crossed the room to hug her cousin. "I'll be ready in a second. Mulder and I were just deciding which case to pick up next." "Actually, we were arguing over it," Mulder said with a grin. "We do that a lot. Scully's still trying to talk some sense into me, and I am resisting admirably. Six years and counting." Scully looked at him with raised eyebrows and picked up her coat. "Come on, let's go." She ushered Christine out of the office and down the hall. When they were about halfway to the elevator Mulder called out, "So Scully, on the plane to New Mexico - do you want business class or coach?" Dana rolled her eyes. "What am I going to do with him?" she muttered, but Christine could tell she was trying not to laugh. "Nice office," she said, changing the subject. "Where's yours?" "That would be it," Dana said. "We share it, sort of." "Then why isn't your name on the door, too?" Christine asked. "I would think you'd both be on the nameplate." "For the same reason I don't have a desk. Nobody can be bothered to get me one. Let's drop it, okay? Where do you want to go for lunch?" * * * * * MARSHALL'S CAFE WASHINGTON, D.C. 12:52 PM They had chosen a small, quiet cafe for lunch, just around the corner from FBI Headquarters. Or rather Dana had chosen it - Christine wasn't as familiar with the restaurants in the area. Most restaurants would have been experiencing a lunch-hour rush at that time of day, but Marshall's, hidden away in the upstairs of one of a row of stores with only a small sign on the door to distinguish it, was nearly empty. Aside from Dana and Chris, only five others had dropped in for lunch. "Is it always this empty here?" Christine asked while they were eating, looking around from her seat in the corner booth. "Yeah, it is, usually. It's a wonder they stay open, really, but I'm glad they do. If they ever go under I'll have to find a new hiding place." Christine smiled. "So how are you, Dana?" "I'm fine," she said, then caught Christine's evaluative look. "Really, I mean it this time." She smiled, then paused, as if deciding whether to continue. Finally, she did. "Mulder and I have talked, a couple of weeks ago, actually, not long after I came back to work, and he understands. He always did, I guess - he knows there are times I can't talk to him, just like there are times he can't talk to me. So we're fine." "Did you ever catch the guy who attacked you? Or do you still believe he didn't really exist?" "No. I mean, no, we haven't caught him. The murders stopped when Padgett died, so I don't really know what to think. Maybe it was him after all. Maybe it was unrelated, and I imagined some of what happened because of the case. I don't know, I - I haven't totally made sense of it yet. I'm not sure I ever will. But it happened - he existed. I have the bruises to prove it." "Still?" "Yeah, just the one on my chest. It's almost healed, though - I feel fine, really." "So what's the official line?" Christine asked. "I mean, what's the FBI telling the public?" "Not much, really. Officially, Padgett was the killer we were looking for, he's dead, case closed. I didn't tell A.D. Skinner about the attack - I left it out of my field report. As far as he's concerned, I missed a couple of days because I had the stomach flu over the weekend, and I wasn't feeling up to par. Which is somewhat true...I didn't want to lie, but I didn't know how else to explain it without sounding, well, like Mulder." She smiled. "Anyway, it's over, finally. How're you? What's going on in the normal world?" "Not a lot - classes, work, Tom. Nothing big," Chris said, a little too nonchalantly. She bit into her sandwich and chewed for a moment, waiting. "I do have one little piece of news though, if you're interested." "Of course I'm interested," Dana said. She was getting curious - Chrissy was clearly enjoying drawing out whatever she had to tell her. "What?" "Tom asked me to marry him," Christine said casually, as if she were telling Dana she'd just bought a new sweater. Dana dropped her fork. "What?! When?" "Two days ago - on our two-year anniversary, actually." Christine couldn't contain her delight any longer - she was beaming. "Well, what did you say?" "Yes, of course, what do you think I said? We're opting for a long engagement, though. I want to wait until I finish school, which should be another year and a half, anyway. For now not much is changing, except that we're going ring shopping this afternoon." "Well, that's wonderful, Chrissy! Congratulations." "Thanks, I knew you'd be happy for me." Christine looked at her watch. "Hmm, I have to get going. I've got a seminar, then I'm meeting Tom at three." The two of them stood, paid their check, and headed for the street. When they reached the sidewalk, Chris turned to her cousin. "So you'll come to the wedding?" "Of course. Give me a day and I'll clear my schedule - tell Mulder not to get his heart set on any roadtrips." Scully grinned. "Good. I'll let you know." Christine reached out and hugged Dana. "Sure you're fine?" "Chrissy, it's been weeks. I'm sure. But thank you." She turned to go. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?" "Sure. Dana, if you ever need anything -" "Thanks, but I'm okay." She smiled. "I'm due back at work." She turned and walked away. Christine stood and watched her go, marvelling a little at how together she seemed - the power suit, the self-assured walk, the way she held her briefcase - she really did look fine - the consummate professional. But then, that was Dana Scully all over, or at least, the way she wanted to appear. Christine smiled, waited until her cousin had rounded the corner, then turned and walked away, heading for her class. * * END * * Author's note: This is my first attempt at any kind of fanfic whatsoever - I don't usually write it, but this idea popped into my head and refused to go away until it was written out. It is also an experiment. I've taken what I hope is an original tack with this piece, in creating my own protagonist and tacking her on to the Scully family as an extra relative. The story is written in the third person, but mainly from the point of view of Christine Scully, Dana Scully's first cousin, which I hope will explain what some people will undoubtedly feel is the "excessive" use of Scully's first name. For anyone wondering, Christine is named in homage to Chris Carter, the great creator of all things X-Files. A quick note on the title: as an English Specialist (and golf course landscaping employee), I am aware that "heart-rending" is usually one word, and means "agonizing". I have called the story "Heart Rending" on purpose, to play up the meaning contained in each word separately. Lastly, any feedback is most welcome, positive OR negative! Send questions or comments to Desk156@yahoo.com Dedication and Thanks: For the Deskers, who encourage my little obsession. . .and for Dana Scully herself - she may be fictional, but I love her anyway - this is my tribute to the best female character in the history of television. Special thanks go to Nicole and the five members of my "focus group" - you know who you are - for support, help, and generally putting up with me.