From: Patricia Nunez Date: Sat, 30 Jan 1999 22:29:53 -0800 Subject: Story Submission. . . Title: Just Another Night Author: Heather Riggall AKA Eve Eleven E-mail: Pnunez@ix.netcom.com Classification: S Rating: PG Summary: It's just another frustrating night. . . Disclaimer: I know I'm suppose to put something here, but hold on I have a phone call. . .What??? Oh my gawd! They're not? You've gotta be kidding me! . . .Well, everyone I guess Mulder and Scully really don't belong to me *sniff sniff* They belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 1013. . .but I don't understand, I mean I've always taken good care of them, I'd never hurt them, well not too much anyway :) Archive: Gossamer please. . .all others ask, although I don't see why any one would want this piece of. . oh never mind. Notes: This is only my second attempt at posting anything, so go easy. Oh yeah, you just have to send feedback. . .It's what I live on, you want me to keep living and making these little masterworks, right? *Hey, Shuttup* Praise will be wrapped in little ball of soft fuzzy fluff and put under my pillow, flames will be sprinkled with silver fairy dust and sent to never never land. This is for my X-philes and shipper friend, Sara, and my lil sis' Cyndi Okay now, bite your tongue, and take a deep breath. . . Just Another Night The night was cool, the sky a blue serenity. The cool air crashed into Fox Mulder as he stood alone on the empty street corner. He pulled his charcoal trenchcoat tighter around himself. He didn't know what to do with himself. Didn't know where to go, didn't know what to say to anybody if he happened to somehow fall into a conversation. So, he stood there, silently letting the night sink into him, watching the many cars roll down the cement in front of him, listening to his deep rhythmic breathing. . . The people who passed didn't know him, didn't understand anything about him. They glanced in his direction, probably noticing his disheveled appearance, maybe his blank expression, but they never spoke to him, they glanced and went back to their own lives. And Mulder was grateful for that. He'd been standing for over an hour, and he didn't know why. He could go to his apartment, try to get some sleep, he could go to the pub, waste some money and put away a few drinks, could go to the office, flip through various cases, and throw pencils at the ceiling, but he just stood there watching the world pass him by. But wait, he did know why: he didn't want to go back into his own life. He wanted a new one, or at least be able to drift around in other's lives for a while. He wanted to fade into the background for once, he wanted to sink into the gray haze of the real world. But no matter what he did, he always stood out, he was always out of place, and always felt the critical eyes of the world transfixed on him. . . *Bring* He started, and was jolted back into the night, and could suddenly hear the city again, and realized where he was. *Bring* The cellular in his coat pocket vibrated with the ringing, and he fought with himself about answering it. If he did, he'd be Fox Mulder again, not just a dot in the city life, but it might be important. Important? He didn't know what was important to him anymore. He didn't have to decide, the phone stopped ringing, and Mulder began to slip into his daydream state, the colors of the stop lights blurred into one again. *Bring* Dammit. He angrily pulled the cell phone out of his coat, flipped it open, and pushed power. "Hello?" He spat. "Mulder?" "Yeah, what is it Scully?" "Where've you been Mulder. I've been calling for over an hour." " I wasn't picking it up." "Obviously." He stepped from the corner and down off the curb, beginning to pace along the tar. "So, what do you want?" Scully stumbled along her sentence. "I was just going over the Morgado papers, but I. . .um. . . where are you Mulder?" "Not sure. Some street. Some where." "Have you been drinking?" "Thinking about it." There was a long pause. "Well, you should get to work on those papers." Click. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, and decided to get a drink. He flung up his arm, hailing a cab, and slowly stepped into the car that pulled up in front of him. * * * Where the hell was he? He wasn't picking up his phone anymore. She considered herself lucky to get through to him once. Not much of a conversation, though. 'God, I'm such an idiot,' she thought, recalling that afternoon, how insensitive she had been. She'd done nothing but stare at him when they found the girl's body, watch him curse himself for not getting there sooner. List all the things they could have done to prevent it, but there really was no way they could have. She had known how much this case had meant to him. It meant his sister. If he could have saved this little girl, in his mind, he could save a little piece of Samantha. But he couldn't. That was the truth, and she hadn't told him that. She had stared, turned, and walked away, without a word, without a reassuring squeeze of his hand. Nothing. She got in the car. She drove away. She went home. The end. While he, she knew, tortured himself, she sat at her computer typing up her field report. She tilted her head back, now torturing herself for what she'd done to him. She couldn't take it back, she couldn't make it up, she just added it to her roster of screw-ups, and buried it in the back of her mind, but her list was growing, and it took up her memory, until she wanted to do nothing but find him, and give him her hand. But she couldn't see him. He was out there somewhere, and he wasn't picking up his phone. * * * Somewhere in a local bar, a man swallowed the last sip of a screwdriver and signaled to the bartender to bring him another. "Hey buddy, don't you think you've had enough for one night?" asked the dark man behind the counter. He pointed to the several other empty glasses sitting in front of Mulder. ""hen I start chasing little green men, and running after shadowy figures affiliated with the government conspiracy to cover up all evidence that proves that there is life beyond this world, and ranting about Samantha who was abducted and cloned, and my partner who was experimented on. . and, and the little girl I could've saved if I'd told them all to back off," he paused, "Then you can ask me if I've had enough to drink." Mulder reached out to get his drink, but the bartender pulled back. "Fine," Mulder mumbled, and pulled out his wallet, slamming several bills onto the table in front of him. He got up from the stool and- *Bring* His phone rang. He ignored it, and started to wobble toward the front door. "Hey buddy, what about," *Bring* "my tip?" Mulder turned sharply on his heel, and pulled his cellular from his pocket. He looked at it once, and tossed it to the bartender without a word. Then he strode once again to the front door and pushed it open. The muscular man inside the pub watched him walk outside, and then looked at the phone that lay in his hand. *Bring* It rang again. He looked at it quizzically, and decided to answer. "Hello?" "Mulder?" Scully asked on the other end of the line. "Who?" "Where's Mulder?" she asked worriedly. "I don't know no Mulder." "Then who'd you get this phone from?!" "Look lady, a guy just gave it to me a minute ago." "Where'd he go? Did you see him leave?" "Yeah, he just left. Hailed a cab I think." "Ok. Where are you?" "My bar. Leonard avenue." Click "Hello? Hello? Lady, you there?" The man shrugged, and pushed the power off. He pushed it into his front pocket, and went back to his job. * * * 'Leonard Avenue. He just left Leonard Avenue.' That was all going through Scully's mind. She didn't consider the fact that he had gotten into a cab, and by now he could be on the other side of the city, or in another city for that matter. She knew where he'd been, and she needed to get there. He was drunk, he didn't know where he was, he was probably depressed, and he was driving around the city with a gun under his coat. But it wasn't just because of this. It was because if she didn't, her conscience would never leave her alone. She was already outside, trying vainly to shield herself from the harsh winds that rushed by her. She grabbed her keys from her jean's pocket, and struggled to find the right one. Jamming the key into the lock, she turned it, and jumped into her car. Not bothering to put on her seatbelt, she started the engine, and rolled away from the curb. 'Leonard Avenue. Mulder, where are you now?' * * * After starting the yellow taxi and driving a couple of blocks the bearded man in the front seat asked, "Where to?" Mulder thought for a minute about where he wanted to go, and decided he really didn't know or care as long as he could just sit there. "Just drive for a while." "Look, I got better things to do than drive drunks nowhere." Mulder sighed, he hated resorting to this. "Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI," he said pulling out his badge and casually flipping it open, "Now there's a man somewhere in this city ready to take hostage anyone who crosses him. It's my job to find him, somewhere out here, and bring him in. You can cooperate or I can do this myself." The driver stuttered, "FBI? Hey look, I'm sorry Mr. uuuh, but I'll drive you wherever." Mulder nodded a thank-you toward him, and leaned back against the hard upholstery of the battered cab. "So there's really some psycho out here?" "Probably more than you could comprehend." "But this guy you're looking for, he's out here, right? What'd he do?" "I really can't discuss that with you," he looked at the disappointed man up front, "Confidential. Ya' know, its the FBI." "Yeah sure," the driver straightened himself out, and stared at the road, "FBI." Mulder looked out the window, at the few people wandering the street, and wondered how many of them actually were psychos. How many of them he'd never catch, how many would never get their justice. Then he thought of the little girl again. He saw her twisted body in the scattered leaves and twigs, saw the blood streaming from the sides of her mouth, saw the small wound at her right temple. He saw the man who did it, running, running hard away from the crime scene, but he'd never get away. Mulder saw his own hand, his own gun, his own finger pulling the trigger, only once, and he saw the man running fall with a single yelp. And he heard the deafening silence again, saw the little girl again, saw the flashing colors of the sirens. But that soon faded, and he only saw the city, heard the cars. Mulder closed his eyes. He was doing it again. He was relaying all the things he thought he could have done to make it all different. He felt like he was responsible, but in the back of his mind he knew that he couldn't have done anything. He knew he had been unable to stop it, just like he'd been unable to help Samantha the night the bright white light took her away. The difference was that then he had been paralyzed, and today he was completely able, mentally and physically, and still could do nothing to save Sara. He didn't like feeling like this. He didn't relish in making himself feel awful, like some people thought, like Scully thought. 'Scully, she didn't even say anything. She didn't criticize me. She walked away.' Mulder thought it had been a miracle that she didn't try to babble on to him, that she just left him there, alone. She had ditched him this time, but he didn't mind in the least, he was thankful for the solitary. Then, he thought that he'd been rude to her after she'd given him the comfort of being alone. She'd been trying to reach him all night, and he'd hung up on her, and given his phone to some stranger in a bar. 'I'm such a jerk,' he thought, and he believed it. After she'd left him alone to think on his own, he ignored her calls, and went to get drunk. He leaned forward. "Actually, I do know where I'd like to go. Take a left right up there." "Did ya' spot him?" "Spot who?" Mulder asked, forgetting his previous story. "The psycho. The one your after. The FBI business stuff." "Oh, I-uh, no. I just thought of somewhere he might of gone." "Sure, man, whatever you say. Take a left here?" The driver sat up, hoping for a chase or some kind of the action he'd seen in all those cop dramas. "Uh-huh." * * * A car screeched to a halt outside the front of Graylan's City Bar. A woman flung open her car door, and stepped onto the pavement, her red hair flying in the nighttime breeze. The shoes she wore went click click on the cement, and she entered the small building. "Who's the man with my partner's cell phone?" She called walking toward the counter. "Right here," a tall man came forward, wiping his hands on a rag, "What you mean your partner?" Scully whipped out her ID, "Dana Scully, FBI. My partner's Fox Mulder, that phone you're holding belongs to him." The bartender's eyes widened, "The FBI?" "Yeah. My partner came in here, what'd he do?" "Like I said on the phone, he came in, he didn't look too good to begin with, and ordered a screwdriver. Drank six of 'em, I think, before he left." "Did he say anything to you when he was here," asked Scully, sounding far too much like she was interrogating a murder witness. "Nah, nothing much, just drank. But he did say something before he went, about aliens and the government, and uh, he said a name, uhhh-" "Sara?" "Nah nah, somethin' like that though. S, sidney, sigourney, samantha. Yeah, that's it, he said something about someone named Samantha." "Samantha? Thank-you," Scully paced toward the exit. "Hey, ma'am? You want this phone back?" She turned, and held out her hand, signaling for him to throw it to her. He did, and she nodded, turning again, walking outside. She still didn't know where she was going to find him, but she got in her car anyway, and started it up. * * * "Thanks, what's the charge?" Mulder asked exiting the cab from the right door, stepping on to the sidewalk. "Oh no, no charge. Not for the FBI. I'm glad I got to help. So, uhm, do you think you'll catch him" The bearded driver asked nervously. "I'm sure I will. You shouldn't worry." Mulder tapped the hood of the car, and started to walk up the cement as the taxi pulled away. He turned right, and entered an apartment building, heading up the stairs. He reached the door he was looking for and knocked lightly on it. There was no answer. He knocked again, a little harder. "Scully? Are you there?" There was still no answer, so he shoved his left hand into his pant's pocket and brought out a set of keys. Flipping through them, he found a small silver one, and used it to open the door. He peeked around the door as it opened, seeing Scully's couch but not her. "Scully?" he called again. He crept into her bedroom, not wanting to wake her if she happened to be there sleeping, but he doubted it, and he was right. The room was empty. The apartment was empty. Mulder let out an exasperated breath, and went over to her computer. She had only typed about three sentences of her report, her glasses laid on top of a neat folder which hadn't been opened. He looked out over the rest of the room, and noticed her white cordless phone, which had apparently been thrown or dropped onto the striped couch. She was gone. He'd missed her, and now was even more angry with himself. 'A note,' he thought when he saw a single pen lying on her desk, 'I'll just leave her a note.' It was a simple idea, an idea any average Joe could have thought up, but he was glad he thought of it, glad that he wouldn't have to walk out feeling as helpless as he'd felt walking in. He snatched up the pen, and searched around the apartment for a spare piece of paper. He found a small notebook on her coffee table, and hurriedly ripped out a sheet, scribbling a barely legible note: 'Scully, I came by but you weren't here. Please call me' . . .he paused, trying to figure out what to write, whether to explain on paper or to wait to talk to her. . . 'I think we need to talk about today.' He paused again, couldn't figure out how to sign it, he knew how he wanted to sign, but didn't think it was appropriate, but 'Screw it,' he thought, 'what've I got to lose?' He signed it 'Love Mulder,' once, but he scratched it out, and did it over, 'Always Mulder.' No, still too sentimental, still so unlike himself. He decided on simply writing '~Fox,' and did so. Flinging down the pen, he turned and walked out. * * * Her eyes focused on a single window in the apartment complex, halfway expecting to see X taped to it. But it was empty and dark. No sign of him. Now, Scully was just getting pissed off. She'd been all around the city already, and was completely sick of chasing after her partner. Well, maybe, not completely sick of it. Besides, he WAS her partner, she had to make sure he was safe, didn't want him to go out and get killed, and leave her alone again. No, that wasn't it. He was her friend, the best friend she'd ever had as a matter of fact. A friend that would risk his job, his life for her. He was always concerned about her, when she'd been missing for those months, he'd been beside himself, and when she was in the hospital with cancer, he'd gone out and fought for her life. He'd done all that for her, the least she could do was go out and find him after a bad day and a few drinks. She glanced over at the empty passenger seat, and at the cell phone that laid on it. She reached over and picked it up, flipped it open, and dialed a number. Her eyes rolled back to his window as it rang, as the answering machine picked it up. "This is Fox Mulder, leave a message *BeeeP*" "Mulder, its me. Are you there, Mulder? Pick up the phone. Hello? I-" The machine cut her off. She hit redial. "This is Fox Mulder, leave a message *BeeeP*" "Damn it, Mulder, if you're there, pick the phone up. Mulder I really need to talk to you. Uhh, the Morgado case, I, it was-" She was cut off again. Redial. "This is Fox Mulder, leave a message *BeeeP*" Scully inhaled deeply. "Mulder, I just need to know if you're ok. Today, it was bad for you I know. Sara. . .your sister," she stopped herself, she always got herself in trouble when she talked about Samantha, "I'm sorry. . .just call me. Bye." Maybe he was asleep. 'No. He's the lightest sleeper I know. He would have picked up the phone. Unless he just doesn't want to talk to me.' It was a horrible thought, but it could very well be true. He'd ignored her many times before, he could do it again without a doubt. She didn't like thinking like that, and comforted herself by thinking 'He's drunk. He came home, and crashed. He's drunk and he's halfway unconscious right now. I'll talk to him tomorrow.' Repeating that to herself, she turned the key, lightly pressed her foot on the gas pedal, and rolled away from the curb. * * * Mulder stepped outside. The air seemed to have gotten colder, and his long coat seemed to do nothing to protect him from it. He stopped and looked over at the street again, all the cars had disappeared. 'Oh, great. How am I gonna get home?' He started walking to the corner, his eyes searching for a cab, but no luck. He could walk, he supposed, but he really didn't feel like walking. His drunken state had all but vanished to be taken place by a pounding headache, and he wondered if he felt like this now, how bad he'd be in the morning. He glanced to his right, down the cross street, and saw a bus pulling up to the curb. He said a little thank-you and began to jog down to it. He hopped up the stairs and put some money in the counter, then took a seat in the back. He wasn't thinking that maybe this bus wasn't going to Alexandria, or about the few people who stared at his dark suit and his mussed hair. He was thinking about Scully. Where she could be, and hoping that she'd call him as soon as she saw his little message. Other than that, he was only thinking that he was tired, and that his little leather couch was sure looking good to him. * * * As Scully parked slowly outside of her building, she checked the clock on her dashboard. It was 11:03, and she suddenly realized how tired she was. She yawned in recognition of this, pulled her key out of the ignition, and stepped out of it, forgetting about Mulder's phone, which lay on her floorboard. She paced around the front of the car, and almost tripped as she went to step up over the curb in front of her. It woke her from her oblivious state, and she hastily looked around to see if anyone had noticed. The street was empty, and Scully proceeded into her apartment complex. She shivered noticing that some one had forgotten to turn off the air conditioning in the room. Hand on the railing, she wearily climbed the stairs to her own apartment. When she reached it, she didn't even notice that it was unlocked. She stepped into the living room, started to strip off her jacket, and threw her keys onto the table by her couch. They hit it, but slid off in one motion, taking scrap of paper with them. Scully disregarded the keys and the piece of note paper that fell to her carpet, and glanced at her computer screen, realizing that she hadn't finished her report. "Screw it," she said under her breath, walking into her bedroom. Without even changing into her pajamas or a robe, she crawled underneath her covers, cuddled against her pillow, enjoying it's warmth, and closed her eyes. * * * The bus had been traveling around for a while now. Stopping at various bus stops along its route, never picking anybody up. Mulder was alone on the bus, except for the driver and an elderly man who had fallen asleep. The driver looked in his rear-view mirror. "Doesn't look like I'm gonna find any new passengers tonight. So, where you headed?" Mulder looked up to make sure the driver was talking to him. "Alexandria." The driver shook his head. "I ain't got any stops in Alexandria." 'Great,' Mulder thought, 'I've been driving around on this ghost bus forever, and I'm not even gonna get to my apartment.' He sighed, and got ready to pull out his ID, and flub himself another ride, but the driver stopped him. "Nope. No Alexandria, but my last stop ain't but a mile aways from there," he looked slyly at Mulder, "For ten I could swing ya' by there." Mulder almost chuckled at the man. "Sure," he called. He didn't feel like faking the 'FBI business' again, and he hadn't paid for the cab earlier anyway. He scooted back into his seat, and turned his head to look out the window. The next thing he knew, the bus had screeched to a stop, and the driver had called to him. ''Hey buddy, your stop." Mulder stood up silently, walked to the front of the bus, stopped, took out a ten dollar bill, handed it to the driver, and nodded a thank-you. He struggled down the steep, rubber steps, and onto the cold, gray cement. The doors of the bus slammed shut loudly behind him, and it sped away while he took a moment to stretch his arms. He turned his head once to the right, and looked at the empty street, then entered his building, and walked up the stairs to his apartment. He paused in front of his door, fumbling with his keys, and stumbled tiredly into his front room. 'Where's the tylenol?' he thought, entering his bathroom. He opened his medicine cabinet, and settled on the last bit of aspirin he had left. He aimed to throw the bottle into the wastebasket by the toilet, but it hit the rim, slammed into the wall, and rolled toward the shower. Mulder groaned, turned around, and exited the room. He went over to his couch, slumped onto it, and realized he wasn't going to be able to shut his eyes. He rolled to his side, almost falling to the floor, and pulled a tape from behind the table in front of him. Slowly, he sat up, and pushed the video into his VCR. He pushed the power button on his TV, and began to lay back down. He glanced to his right as he descended, but didn't notice his answering machine, much less the red flashing number indicating he had 3 messages. Mulder rested his head on the material of the cushion, eyes on the television screen, trying to forget his day as the cheesy porno music began to pour from the speakers. ~Fin~ Okay, so what'd you think? I'm not sure if I should just leave it like it is or continue it. Like write about what happens the day after all this. If I get enough feedback on it, I just might. What do you guys have to say? And do you have any ideas for what could happen in a second part?