From: "Jenny Schinke" Date: Thu, 25 Mar 1999 18:15:36 -0500 Subject: Knowing I Title:"Knowing" Authors: J. Astoria and The Lone Gunpersons E-mail address: USS TrustNo1@hotmail.com Rating: R for graphic violence and angst. Beware non-Shippers! Generic scary stuff ahead. Spoilers: Pretty much everything. Might as well make it all-inclusive. Category: S, MSR, Song Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Song, Character Death Archive: Gossamer-notify me if placed ANYWHERE else Disclaimer: Uber-agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris ("All Hail!") Carter and 1013 productions. The words to "And So It Goes" come from boy-wonder Billy Joel. Alexis and the Dynasty folks come from...wherever "Dynasty" came from. Hell, perhaps? (Kidding!) But everything else is ours. WE MEAN IT!!! We have foils, and we're willing to take off the safety tips! Property of Gun-person Productions, in association with Chicken Feathers Productions and She Who Controls the Winds and the Tides, J. Astoria (Chief Psychotherapist and Intelligence Officer of the USSTrustNo1), who wrote this wonderful (if you really think so) piece of literature in cahoots with Dr. C. Mu (Chief Medical Officer of the USSTrustNo1) and Cpt. L. "Physics Guru" Conspiratoria (Commanding Officer of the USSTrustNo1). Summary: Scully re-evaluates her life after a horrific event. "And So It Goes" In every heart there is a room A sanctuary safe and strong. To heal the wounds of lovers past Until a new one comes along. I spoke to you in cautious tones You answered me with no pretense. And still I feel I said too much My silence is my self-defense. And every time I've held a rose It seems I've only felt the thorns And so it goes, and so it goes, And soon will you soon, I suppose. But if my silence made you leave Then that would be my worst mistake So I will share this room with you And you can have this heart to break. And this is why my eyes are closed It's just as well for all I've seen And so it goes, and so it goes And you're the only one who knows. So I would choose to be with you That's if the choice were mine to make But you can make decisions too And you can have this heart to break And so it goes, and so it goes And you're the only one who knows. The clock on the VCR blinked 10:13 every six seconds, but Mulder knew from looking at his watch that it was somewhere after 3 am. He knew because the late news had already been on, the late-late news was off, and all that remained on his fuzzy TV set was infomercials and reruns of "Dynasty" in Spanish. He had already seen this one, in both its English and Spanish versions, so he flipped the television off. Silence. Mulder turned the TV back on. Even bad TV was preferable to that. This past week had been particularly rough. He and Scully had been investigating X-Files which had turned out to be ritualistic and (as if it could get worse) racially motivated killings. Mulder sighed and put his hands behind his head. Even though he was an Oxford-educated psychologist, sometimes people's capacity for hate astounded him. But he and Scully had gotten through the investigation, together. She even understood why he was so disgusted at the whole thing. It wasn't because the case had been mislabeled as an X-File. It was because of the horrible nature of these crimes. Mulder flipped over onto his side to face the couch. He ignored Alexis and her over-dressed dinner companion. Not unusually, his thoughts were on Scully. He had once spoken to her about walls--about how people have a psychological need to protect themselves, their psyches. He told this to Scully as he held her late one night... He didn't know if she had heard him--vomiting from the chemotherapy had driven her to the point of near exhaustion. But it seemed important that he say those words to her...to acknowledge the fact that she had let these walls come down. Letting him see her at her absolute lowest. Mulder almost felt guilty saying those words at the time, knowing that he could never let Scully into his private sanctuary. **His private sanctuary.** He almost turned from the thought. Then a voice inside him (which sounded a lot like his red-haired partner) yelled, "Get a grip, psych boy! Do some mental cleaning! It won't kill you." He laughed aloud. Okay. His private sanctuary. One where, psychologists said, people felt safe. Where they surrounded themselves with happy memories. Mulder rarely went to his private room any more. In fact, he doubted that it existed. So many angry memories kept him awake at night--memories of Samantha's abduction, his father, disrespect from other agents, being dis-informed, misinformed and deceived, Scully's abduction, Scully's cancer... Again his thoughts turned toward her. He began to search for happy memories. Basketball games. The Knicks. Good times with Samantha. Pizza with Scully. Teasing Scully. Stakeouts with Scully. Scully's short little legs struggling to keep up with him. He smiled. *Obsess much, Mulder?* he asked himself. He remembered the first time he met Scully. Oh, he had seen her before--passed her in the hallway, although he doubted that she remembered. He had spoken to her so cautiously her first day, calling her Scully. Waiting for her to extend her first name like an engraved invitation to some exclusive party. But she did not see his meaning behind the words. Mulder recalled how foolish he had felt--expecting a beautiful, intelligent woman like Dana Scully to be interested in him. And yet, that night in Bellefleur, he told her about Samantha. He couldn't see that until later, the potentially damaging nature of it all. He had just felt the need to tell her. Others at the Bureau might consider her cold or impersonal, but to Mulder... He wondered if he'd loved her even then. It could've turned out so horribly. He still didn't know why she continued to stay with him. *Maybe she's a masochist,* he thought to himself. But how many other times had his happiness turned to sorrow just as it was within his grasp? There had been Samantha, and Phoebe Green, and...would Scully be added to that list? Just as he was realizing how important she was in his life, she had been taken from him...now that he had realized he loved her, would something worse happen? Perhaps she would finally come to her senses--finally realize how weird he really was. Perhaps she would resign from the X-Files, leaving him alone and join all the others, calling him "Spooky," just like they did. He wondered if declaring his feelings for her would just make it worse. He flipped over again. Scully had let her walls crumble slowly, and he had watched as it happened. He watched so closely, in fact, that he didn't see her slip into his private sanctuary and hold his heart in her hands. God, but it felt so right there. Being with Scully went beyond the sex that the office gossip tossed around. It was much more than just *wanting* her. Scully was the first one who actually made him feel like a real person. He was whole for the first time. No, he couldn't identify exactly when Scully had slipped past his final wall, but he knew she was everywhere now--in his heart, in his soul, into every pore of his body until he was fairly ready to leap off the couch, jump in the car and speed down to her apartment to tell her. Instead, he opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to come out of that place where he felt so safe--where she was. But, like all things, this too would end. She would slip out of his dream and remain in her bed, across town. But she would always be inside his heart. Facing the back of the couch, Mulder saw a shadow play across the wall. His heart started to beat faster. **Was it possible? Was she here?** He flipped over. "Scully?" he asked. Suddenly it dawned on him that the apartment was quiet. Had he turned the TV off? Perhaps he had. Just then, the light from the kitchen blinked out. Maybe they'd lost power. Mulder's stomach instinctively flipped and he reached for his gun quickly. But as he stuck his hand out, something grabbed his arm and twisted until he heard a sickening snap. "I'm guessing this isn't Scully," he said through clenched teeth. He was being jerked off the couch while his attacker held his arms behind his back. "You could've just told me that you like it rough," he quipped. He tried not to lose consciousness and wished that his attacker would speak. Instead, the deafening pain roared in his ears and he heard only the hiss of breath behind him. "Aren't you the talkative one?" he tried again. The attacker's knee was shoved into Mulder's back, dangerously close to his right kidney. *At least I have two.* he thought. His right shoulder was wrenched from the socket, making the entire right side of his body nearly useless. His right arm was broken, his shoulder dislocated. *What issues does this guy have with the right?* Suddenly, the attacker threw Mulder to the ground and proceeded to kick him. Instinctively, he curled up into a tight ball, covering his face with his only good arm. He was kicked again and again, and with each blow, his mind grew cloudier. But when he saw his chance, he took it. Kicking out blindly and wildly, Mulder managed to knock his attacker off his feet. With a loud grunt, the man hit the ground. But after all the damage he had already inflicted on Mulder, the attacker was able to recover much more quickly. His recovery was accompanied by more kicks to Mulder, this time more pointed and viscous. Still, all Mulder could see was *her* face. "Scully!" he called out between the blows. The attacker stopped. Mulder felt himself being jerked up again, accompanied by a new, more frightening sensation. He was being stripped of his clothes. *Holy shit.* Once he was finally stripped of all his clothes (save an incredibly ugly pair of boxers), Mulder was beaten again until he lost consciousness. Then the attacker brought out a large knife. He began at Mulder's shoulder, carving large satanic symbols and swastikas on Mulder's muscled flesh. He then flipped Mulder over and carved the Star of David onto his back. Underneath the star, he carved "Jew Boy" in large block letters. Satisfied with his work, he flipped Mulder back over. Suddenly, Mulder's eyes drifted open and tried to focus. The attacker paused for a moment, then slowly slid the knife across Mulder's throat. A whisper of air escaped and Mulder's eyes filled with panic. Blood bubbled and pooled as the attacker admired his handiwork. As Mulder's life ebbed out onto the floor beneath him, the attacker wielded the knife again. Into Mulder's chest he carved a large, blocky "X." Finally, he moved down to Mulder's legs. Onto his right leg, the attacker carved, "You're next, Dana." To Be Continued?