From: "Angie Patrick" <apatrick@bookstore.usf.edu>
Date: Thu, 07 May 1998 16:55:21 -0400
Subject: New: Night Place, by Angie Patrick

New: "Night Place" by Angie Patrick
Rating:  PG
Classification:  V,A
Spoilers:  The Red and the Black, Emily
Summary:  A deeper look into the thoughts of both Scully and Mulder
during Scully's session with Dr. Werber.

Disclaimer:  I don't own 'em.  Wish I did, but, alas, I don't.  Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions, the Fox Network, and, in my opinion, Gillian
Anderson and David Duchovny, own 'em.

Archivists:  Please post where you see fit.  Anyone in possession of the
first version of "Night Place" please substitute this version in your
archive.  Additions to the story, I hope, make this version a little ...
better, I hope.  Please keep my name and email addy attached to the
story.

Onward ...


*************************************
Night Place
By: Angie Patrick
Apatrick@bookstore.usf.edu
*************************************

"Long deep breaths.  Back to the night place."

I listen to Dr. Werber's voice, trying to relax, trying to shut down the
processes that keep me from remembering.  I breathe slowly, deeply,
trying to focus only on his voice and my breathing.  I feel myself
relaxing marginally.  I wonder why I bother.  This didn't work the first
time.  I've already told him that.  What am I doing here?

Mulder.  I glance at him and remember why, then close my eyes and settle
in.

"I don't think this is working ..."

***********

"Oh my God!  Oh my God ... oh *my* God!"

"Where are you, Dana?"  Dr. Werber asked.

<Lost.  I'm lost.  Mulder?>

"I'm with the others," Scully replied.

<I am with them, yet I am not.  Mulder, where are you?>

"Are you in the night place?"

"Yes."

<I am here among them.  We are waiting.  I hear a noise, feel a slight
breeze and suddenly it is there.  My God, Mulder, you should see it.>

<I am standing on the bridge and the lights above are so bright they
nearly hurt my eyes.  I find it impossible not to look up, though.  The
ship seems to pulse overhead, it's triangular shape highlighted by the
floodlights on its underside.>

<I feel weak and dizzy, as if I might pass out.  My knees feel as if
they might buckle, and I twist just slightly looking at it. What is
this?  Has it come for us?  Mulder, why aren't you here now?  I focus on
Mulder and I feel the strength return to my body.  The weakness
disappears for a moment.>

<Mulder, you should be here.  You have always believed.  You should be
here to witness ... this ... it's incredible.  Where are you?>

"Oh!"

Mulder watched helplessly as his partner relived the events on the
bridge.  The room felt so small as he sat at the other end of the
couch.  He wanted to jump up and tell the doctor to stop the whole
thing.  Bring her out of it.  It was all bullshit anyway, wasn't it?

This wasn't what he wanted.  It was just more lies, implanted in her,
just like the chip in her neck.  What had he been thinking?  This was
insane.

Or was it insane?

When he saw her reaching across the couch for him, he nearly winced.  He
wanted to believe.  He did.  But he didn't know anymore.  He didn't feel
like any of it was real, but the tension was becoming difficult.  The
silences had become uneasy.  And that was becoming unbearable.

The one thing he knew for certain was that he couldn't ... didn't want
to lose Scully.  Without her he would be lost.  And he was lost.  Ever
since Kritschgau had led him to the area where he had found the chip
that had saved Scully, he had been lost.  He had changed, but had hoped,
at first, that the feeling would pass.  It hadn't.

And he knew it hadn't.  Yesterday, in the hospital room, he had actually
turned away from her, trying to gather his thoughts as he stared at
nothing through the blinds in the drab little room.  Hunting for the
right words.  Searching deep inside himself for what he thought might
restore what felt like a loosening of the ties that bound them together.

He had told her that he wanted to give her back the memories so that she
could know and so that he could prove that he was wrong before.  That
all of it had been lies and that now the Truth was really before them.
And the Truth was ...

What was it?  He had said that the Truth was in her.

He eyed her hands for a moment, then decided.  Hesitantly he reached
over -- reached for her.  He felt their hands connect and grips tighten,
and then he thought he could feel her relax -- just a bit, but still,
relax, under his touch.  She seemed less ... in pain.

"What is it, Dana?"

"It's uh ... They're back."

"Who?" the doctor asked.

"They're on fire!  Oh God, they're setting them on fire!  I can't ..."

<I see them walking toward the crowd.  They are faceless.  Eyes, mouth
-- obliterated.  What are they?  Who are they?  Mulder!  Mulder, where
are you?  I feel like I can't move.  I want to move, but I cannot.  Who
are these faceless men?  Will they take me?  Will they take me and leave
you here alone to wonder why, Mulder?  Please ... not again.>

<I know what it did to you the first time.  I used to see it everytime I
looked into your eyes.  Now I look into your eyes and I don't know what
I see. That scares me.  If they take me again, what will become of you?
What will happen this time?  When I was dying I knew you were in pain.
And I worried every day that you wouldn't make it through after I was
gone.  I wanted so badly to do something or say something that would
have made it easier, that would have given you reason to go on without
me.  But I never really found the right words.  I can't find them now,
either.  I don't know what to say to you to make this better.  Where are
you, Mulder?>

Mulder could hear the pain rising in her voice.  But was any of it
real?  *Wasn't* this just another implanted memory, like his memory of
Samantha being taken?  Yet there was so much weight in Scully's voice.
So much pain.  And terror.  God, how terrified she sounded.

He cringed inwardly and wished she had never gotten involved with him.
Her life had become some nightmarish journey of investigations into
bizarre situations that often proved nearly deadly to either or both of
them, and he was responsible.  Yes, she had the same training he had.
Yes, she was a capable agent.  Yes, she was probably a better shot than
he was.

She had been abducted, set up, nearly shot, nearly fired, jailed, given
some form of cancer and then miraculously cured, not to mention being
rendered barren.  And these were just the highlights.  There were other
moments of danger he had led her into.  The list seemed to be endless.

Then of course, there was Emily.  The child that never should have been,
who only existed to serve as someone's human lab rat.  Had he been
ultimately responsible for her death, too?  After all, he had held the
vial in his pocket.  He could have given it to Scully.  He could have
argued when she said that he was right, that the child wasn't meant to
be.  He could have told her he was wrong and here was something -- it
might have worked.

And now?  She had been led, summoned, called -- whatever -- to some
bridge in the middle of the night where some sick fucking bastards
decided that torching people would be good for national security.  Or
whatever the hell their excuse was this week.

How had he allowed all of this to happen?  It was going to stop.  He was
going to make it all stop.

Mulder snapped back into the present as he heard Dr. Werber ask the next
question.

"Who's doing this?"

"Their faces ... they have no faces.  They have no eyes.  Oh God!
They're coming at us.  They're surrounding us.  They won't stop.  They
won't stop it ..."

Mulder couldn't take his eyes off Scully.  So much anguish.  What had he
done?  Somehow he felt he had created this.  He had believed for so long
and Scully had followed him every step of the way.  She had believed in
him.  And now it seemed she had become a victim of all the lies, too.

He watched and listened, helpless to do anything else.

"Oh my God!  I can't ...," Scully's voice faded out.

<My God.  The faceless men are burning the people alive.  Now there's
another ship. The second ship is attacking the faceless men.  They're
all burning alive.  I can't ... I can't watch this.  I can't stand by
and ... Mulder?  Mulder, where are you?  These people, they thought ...
they thought they were being called.  To something worthwhile?  To
something better?  Cassandra.  Why am I here?  Mulder?>

"Do you want to stop, Dana?"

Mulder hoped for a yes.  He didn't know how much more he could stand to
hear.  How had they gotten so far into Scully?  How had they done this
to her?  It was his fault.  He'd make them pay for this, too.  For
Melissa, for Samantha, for his father, for everything.

"No," came the seemingly determined reply.  Mulder tried not to show his
mounting agitation.

"Now it's coming at us.  Oh my God ... No!  Cassandra!"

"Where's Cassandra?" Werber asked.

"They're taking her.  They're ... oh my God ..."

<Mulder, I wish you could see this.  Here's your proof.  Here it is.
It's beautiful but it's terrifying, and I can't move -- I can only watch
as she floats away.  As she ascends to the triangular ship with the
blinding lights.  It looks like snowfall all around us.  Except it's
travelling up, defying the laws of physics.  Just like Cassandra.>

<Oh, God, Mulder, why aren't you here?  If you could just see this, you
would know.  Wouldn't you know?  Would you ask me if I believed, now?
What would I say to you?  No?  I have played your foil.  I told you
yesterday that I didn't believe you when you first told me about
Samantha, about how she disappeared.  But I followed you because you
believed, and somehow I knew that something would come to light.
Something important and necessary.  Something that we needed to uncover
because I thought we could.  I thought you could.>

<The times they shut us down, separated us, even when I was gone -- when
they took me from you ... Mulder, I always knew that if I could count on
nothing else, I could count on your faith.  Your belief.  I told you
when I woke in the hospital so long ago, that I had the strength of your
beliefs.  But where are you now, Mulder?  And why can't I reach you this
time?  I can't ...>

"I can't ..."

Mulder winced again at the pain in his partner's voice.  It wasn't
working the way he thought it would.  He had hoped for something else.
He had hoped for something that would have given him what he needed,
what they needed to come through it together again.  Why wasn't this
working.

This was it.  He didn't want this to go on any longer.  He'd heard
enough.  He'd seen enough.  The anguish on Scully's face, in her words,
was enough.  He didn't know what was true anymore, but one thing he knew
for certain -- this was not anything he wanted to witness again, and he
didn't want to allow it to continue right now.

Mulder glanced at the doctor, throwing him a look that told him this was
it.  Stop it now.

"Dana?  Dana, I'm going to stop now," Dr. Werber said, trying to bring
Scully out of the hypnotic trance.  "Dana, I want you to open your eyes
and come back, now.  I want you to open your eyes and come back to us."

"Okay," Scully mumbled.

**********

I feel my hand slip from his as I come back to the present.  I didn't
think, at first, that this would work.  I'm still uncertain as to what
we have accomplished, what I have proven or disproved by allowing the
hypnosis.  I look up after taking a moment to collect myself to see
Mulder looking at me -- something between pain and pity registering on
his face.

"Have you been here the whole time?"

Mulder nods yes in reply, then gets up from the couch.

As I look away from him and down, I despair that perhaps I cannot find a
way to bridge the distance that has developed between us.

To know that Mulder listened to the entire relation of the events as I
remembered them in the context of the hypnosis, is both painful and
relieving.  Painful in that I know that he believes these memories are
false.  Relieving in that he has had the opportunity to hear them as
they unfolded during the session.  I am hoping that his presence here
helps him to draw conclusions that I knew he so desperately wants to
draw -- without doubts.

Whether my recollection is valid, I still do not know.  I would like to
think that no one designed this memory for me.  The implications are too
... far-reaching in their scope.  But I cannot completely accept the
veracity of these "memories" without some questioning.  It is not that I
cannot believe what I see.  It is that I do not truly recall seeing it
in the first place.

Now as I sit here, I am left with only one certainty.  The wedge that
separates Mulder and myself has been driven deeper into the space
between us.  And that ... that is something that I don't think I can
live with.

I told him in the hospital room that I couldn't follow him again.  Not
without some knowledge or proof.  The path we've been on for the last
five years has been long and tiresome.  We have fought together -- I
working on nothing but my faith, my belief in him.  And I am weary, but
there is more work to do.  I want to do it.  I need to.  It's all that I
have.  He is all that I have.

-- end --

*************

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