From: Fish Chang Date: Tue, 13 May 2008 15:24:12 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Nightmare Killer by 19 Source: direct Nightmare Killer by 19 E-MAIL: xff19@yahoo.com DISTRIBUTION: Archive freely, just let me know where please and thank you. RATING: PG-13 for language CATEGORIES: XA KEYWORDS: M/S something or another SPOILERS: first season, minor others SUMMARY: The trials and tribulations of a new partnership. Disclaimer: X-Files characters belong to FOX Corporation and 1013. I suspect I will never make any money doing such ridiculous things as writing stories about old tv shows. Author's Notes: Recently re-watched the first season and was inspired to delve into the dynamic duo's early thoughts. The actual case is just to push the plot along and is rather improbable so I'm pulling out my Artistic License to account for any implausibilities. Timeline: Present Day set right after Jersey Devil I took the dates from http://timelineuniverse.net/X-Files/XFilesSeasonOne.htm cause it makes more sense to me that the pilot happened in 1993, not 1992. BE WARNED THAT THERE IS A LOT OF TENSE-JUMPING. The present is written in present tense, the past in regular past tense, and M/S thinking about things that happened in episodes are in past perfect tense. **** PART 1a September 1993 ---- Mulder wakes up screaming, which he realizes is both ridiculously cliche and rather unattractive in a grown man. However, as he slowly regains a semblance of mind/body coherence he realizes that he is hardly in a position to be concerned about appearances. Is having a nightmare about someone else having a nightmare merely ironic or a case of never-ending homunculuses - homunculi? Is he the small man in her head watching her have a nightmare? Who then is the small man in his head watching him watching her nightmare? An interesting philosophical thought for a man whose head is pulsating with the subtlety of a supernova. Spontaneous cranial combustion seems like a definite possibility and, at this point, would most likely be a blessing. More aliveness meant more nightmares and more inside-the-head solar explosions. He looks around as best he can - trying to not aggravate his head - and ascertains the basics. He is lying on the metal table from his dream and, true to form, his ankles and wrists are cuffed so that he is spread-eagled in a rather undignified fashion. He can barely move his upper body enough to examine his restraints but, in between painful intercranial bursts, can feel blood seeping from both swollen wrists and ankles. He thinks maybe he is cold as his body seems to be shaking with more vigour than a semi-clothed guy in Antarctica. It probably doesn't help that he is sporting only translucent boxers and a sweat-drenched t-shirt. The worst part is that it is entirely his own fault. Basically he is fucked. No one knows he's here. And it had all started out so well... **** PART 1b March 1993 Fox Mulder was plotting - scheming if you will - in a manner that brought a wry half-smile to his normally blank expression. They had assigned him a new 'partner', a serious little science-nerd spy. He was gonna try to set a record with this one - one case and out. Maybe even just half a case. He could do it - with his inner asshole firmly in place it was 'plausible' that she would be flying home from Oregon in two days, tops. Little red spy-y mcspy spy wouldn't last long enough to make more than one field report on him. ---- Well, she was stubborn, he had to give her that. Maybe he hadn't done his absolute best but antagonizing the locals, digging up graves, going through cemeteries in pouring rain, spouting off about aliens, and dragging her off into the woods to get a bop in the head was still enough to drive most people to the 'where do I get a transfer application' mental state. And she was so horribly green but quick to learn. So naively trusting that he wanted to slap some sense into her. Running to his room half-naked in a blackout? If it had been any other male agent she would have been done. A dead duck. Skewered and roasted by the rumour mill. He had to admit the temptation was snipping at his synapses - a timely legume-spilling around the proverbial water cooler and she'd forever be skanky spooky's wanna-be seductress. That would learn her to be so damn guileless. How dare she trust him? Seem interested in his theories? Smile coyly at his jokes when she thought he wasn't looking? One well-placed verbal bullet and it would be over. He could picture her storming into his office, irish temper a-flaring, spouting Etna-worthy hot geysers of accusation. He would stare at her in what he knew to be an infuriatingly blank manner and throw in a non-sequiter or two, most likely involving banshees or mermen. She would be on the direct transfer-request-to-Blevins-office flight and he would be, once again, gloriously alone. With no incredulous, one-eyebrow-raised looks. With no scientific this and proof that. With no by-the-book squad of one stomping on his natural investigative flair. She would likely never speak to him again. He could deal with that - couldn't he? It wasn't like he trusted her - hell he didn't even like her. Or did he? As straight-edge as a razor with the intellect to match. If he didn't like her then why was he even debating it? And why did a gastrointestinal rogue wave hit whenever he imagined her being hurt by his scheme? His reverie was broken with a well-aimed newspaper to the chest. He looked up to see his object of contemplation eying his suspiciously and his brain autonomically set his face to grin. Mulder inwardly cursed his limbic system as he was blanketed by that elusive emotion he had heard described as happiness. Apparently he did like her. Damn. That had never been part of the plan. **** PART 2a September 1993 Her return to consciousness is imbued with a general aura of fuzziness - in her mouth, limbs, pancreas, but mostly in her head. She tries to open her eyes but the fuzziness runs rampant and impedes her every thought and action. Slowly, both an insistent and familiar beeping and a particularly unpleasant smell drill their way into her senses so when she finally pries her eyes open she is not surprised to find herself surrounded by the irritatingly pastel hues of a hospital room. Nor is she surprised to find her mother sitting beside her bed, a look of concern on her face. "Dana, honey, you're awake!" Margaret Scully says softly, reaching over to grip her daughter's hand. "How are you feeling?" Scully tries to respond but the fuzziness has other ideas - as in her mouth is making the right movements but only a horrible scratchy sound is being emitted. Finally, after a few croaks her mom figures out the problem and gets her a cup of water. "Thanks mom, " she says, still a bit hoarse but at least emitting decipherable noises. "Where am I? What happened?" "You're at Georgetown. You were admitted with a fractured skull and a broken arm after being found by the side of Route 270 by the highway patrol," her mom answers in an annoying hospital voice. Well, that explains the fuzzy factor and the plaster encasement around her right arm, she thinks dully. "How long have I been out for?" "Just under 24 hours since you were admitted. What happened honey?" That certainly is a stumper - what had happened? Scully grimaces as she tries to think of the last thing she remembers but this time her new pal, the fuzziness, is relentless. Concussion-inspired amnesia, she supposes. Oh well... Mr. Photographic Memory will be able to help her fill in the blanks... Frowning, Scully looks around as best she can. "Mom, where's Mulder?" she croaks. "I don't know honey. I've yet to meet him." Maggie Scully replies with a shrug. She had hoped to meet her daughter's oft-discussed partner and evaluate his fitness to be trusted with Dana's safety but he hadn't shown up yet. He is, therefore, already plunging steadily towards 'unfit to even associate with Dana, much less protect her' status. Scully's frown evolves into an expression Maggie Scully has rarely, if ever, witnessed on her daughter's face in all the 29 years of her existence. It is so rare as to possibly be misconstrued, even by her mother. But there is no mistaking it this time - Dana Scully, Scully the stoic, is quietly panicking. "You mean he hasn't been here yet?" she wheezes, trying to at least keep some semblance of calm. "No, honey. But you haven't been here long - maybe he just hasn't gotten around to visiting yet," Maggie says soothingly, all the time inwardly cursing this so-called partner that hadn't yet managed to visit her daughter. "No mom. Something's wrong. Mulder should be here," Scully insists. The fuzz is almost vanquished and she knows, without a doubt, that her hyperemotional partner should have been there with the glazed-over eyes, overnight stubble, and cramped body of a man who had paced himself to sleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair. No, she had never had the occasion to be visited by him in the hospital before but her Mulder-sense is rarely that far off. If he wasn't there apologizing profusely for some sort of flagrant foul then he is likely in trouble. Most likely in serious trouble. "Mom, I have to go." She starts to get up and finds herself reliving childhood carnival sensations of excess spinny rides, replete with dizziness and nauseousness. "Slow down honey. I'll get a nurse to come help you get to the restroom." Scully shakes her head - which didn't do much to alleviate the dizziness. "No mom - I mean I have to go. Mulder's in trouble." "Dana, don't be silly. You're in no shape to be going anywhere - you can't even stand up on your own! I'm sure Mulder is fine or you can get someone else to help him if he really is in trouble. But I think you're overreacting - I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for him not being here." Maggie says, attempting to gently push her daughter back into a prone position. It is clearly not working. Scully had recovered enough to be performing a passable impression of a three-year-old trying to get undressed. Complete with look of utter confusion at the lack of clothes to change into. "Mom - I need some clothes," she finally says after looking around stupidly for much longer than necessary. Maggie sighs and went in for one last try. "Dana, the doctor's not going to release you. You have a fractured skull! They didn't even think you were going to wake up for days. You are being ridiculous. I won't allow it." The look Maggie gets from her daughter is not unknown to her but still sends a shiver down her spine. It is cold as liquid nitrogen. "Mom, I'm signing myself out AMA if need be and I need clothes. If I have to I'll go get a set of scrubs but I am going now." Scully hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. Her legs seemed to have exchanged muscle and tendons for jelly and more jelly and her broken arm is making its displeasure known in a fairly painful way. More problematically, there was clearly a small man standing inside her head, incessantly whacking her brain with a sledgehammer of sorts. She can't think more than two coherent thoughts in a row so she sticks with repeating "Gotta find Mulder" and "Staying upright is rather difficult" over and over again. It is an odd mantra to be sure, but it is working for her. Finally, after her mother reluctantly produces some clothes for her, Scully dresses in ultra-slow-motion while her mother leaves the room, ostensibly to fetch some reinforcements. If she can manage to get her left hand to cooperate she can maybe get enough of her dastardly shirt buttons done up before... A knock on the door interrupts her epic battle with the buttons and she groans in frustration. Ignoring the army of two outside, she resumes the battle, almost getting through one whole button before the door opens. "Agent Scully, I see you've been busy," the doctor comments, raising his eyebrows in a decidedly unamused fashion. "You know you're not supposed to be out of bed. You have suffered a depressed skull fracture and there is major trauma to the blah blah If you were to be struck in the head again blah blah consequences blah blah possible subdural hematoma blah blah, or a epidural hematoma blah blah..." Well, she supposes he doesn't actually say blah blah blah but that is definitely what it sounds like to her as she puts all her concentration towards doing up her shirt. Either way, lecture finally over and doctor looking sufficiently impressed with himself, Scully looks up with an expression that makes her mother cringe. A mix of extreme stubborness and irritation graces her otherwise ashen face as she valiantly fights the nausea that envelops her. "Thank you doctor. I fully understand that I am leaving against medical advice. I will fill out the form on my way out." "Agent Scully, you can barely stand - much less check yourself out. It is my medical opinion that..." Maggie cringes again as the well-intentioned but clueless doctor is cut off by her daughter. "And it is my medical opinion that I'm leaving." With that she attempts to stride confidently out the door. Neither her mother nor the doctor have the balls to point out the drunken stagger in her gait. ---- Having escaped the sickening antibacterial odor and puke green walls of the hospital, Scully miraculously makes it to the street and hails a cab - impressing herself by only having to pause twice to battle the waves of semi-consciousness that try to take her down. She notes that her mother had not followed her and, therefore, is probably absolutely fuming. "Hoover building" she requests in relief as she slides into the back seat of the cab. "Ok lady, hey, are you alright?" the cabbie eyes her warily, imagining an afternoon of backseat vomit removal. "I'm fine," Scully mumbles, basking in the joy of closing her eyes. An instant later, it seems, a gruff voice is lodged uncomfortably in her ear, seemingly repeating "hey lady, we're here." Scully groans and stumbles out of the cab only to find herself on the face to pavement express in front of a captive audience of agents in front of FBI headquarters. Rumour mill properly fed, she manages to push herself to her feet and staggers into the building, ignoring the many stares and comments she engenders as she makes her way into the building. She doesn't have her ID with her and only vaguely recalls the process of achieving visitor's ID but thankfully the bored government employee at the desk barely looks at her as he walks her through the stips. Finally, head apounding, she gets through security and stumbles down to the basement office. ---- As Scully suspected, the door is locked and it didn't sound like Mulder was there not watching one of his not-so-secret videos. She manages to steady her left hand long enough to retrieve and use a paranoically well-hidden key and sighs at the sight of the deserted office. It would have been so much easier to have been wrong, to have walked in on an embarrassed but definitely alive partner. Then she could have gone home and dealt with the very small man with a very large hammer that seemed intent on pounding her cerebrum to a pulp. That and the dull throbbing that has replaced her right upper appendage. Collapsing into his chair, Scully has never been so relieved to have made it to her partner's cramped and stuff paranormal dungeon. She pulls the garbage can close and proceeds to cover a mix of sunflower seed casings and wadded up paper pseudo-basketballs with a geyser of stomach fluids not meant to exist outside the body. Body fluids successfully ejected, Scully sits back and examines her partner's desk with a critical eye. Everything is strewn about with approximately 67% more abandon than usual. From what she can tell, he had been there reading a file when he had spazzed out and hucked the file at his desk before storming off to who-knows-where. There is something odd about him reading those files in the basement office but she certainly can't put her finger on it in her current befuddled state. She has to find him. If she finds him she can go home, lie down, and sleep for about 2.6 weeks. She supposes it would help if she could remember how she had ended up in the hospital but the little guy with the big hammer is interfering with her memories. She closes her eyes and sits back in the chair. At least she can remember bits and pieces of the case - maybe if she starts at the beginning, her memories will come back to her. **** PART 2b March 1993 Scully walked into the Hoover building with a little rain cloud of embarrassment perched atop her head - one case as a field agent and she'd already blown it. What the hell kind of agent ran into her male partner's motel room half-naked on their first case? She felt a flush of warmth spread up her cheeks just recalling the incident. At least he hadn't said anything about it since - surprisingly considering he certainly had the propensity to poke fun for much milder indiscretions. She prayed it wasn't because he was using it for grapevine fodder - if he was she was sure it had already made it around the Hoover at least twice. Even as green as she was, she knew a rumour started by Spooky himself would be a hot-ticket item. When she wasn't instantly skewered by the blades of the gossip machine she felt a bit safer. People did not appear to be assembling into whispering masses as she walked by and no untoward comments regarding her virtue had been strewn in her way. Maybe Mulder didn't score as high on the jerk scale as she previously imagined - he certainly generally exuded shit-headness but there was something else there, well-hidden underneath his brash persona. She had caught glimpses of that elusive something and was determined to unravel the mystery of Fox Mulder. And apparently he wasn't as anxious to get rid of her as she anticipated - it certainly would have been easy - she had basically set herself up. If she had walked into a building abuzz with details of her undergarments... well, things wouldn't have been pretty between them. But he must have resisted the urge to tell all which was good -because her interest had been piqued by her new pet paranormal partner. ---- Mulder was sitting at his desk, precariously tipped on his chair, wearing a pensive expression, a well-tailored suit and an absolutely appalling tie. She took careful aim and side-armed the newspaper right into his hideous choice of neckwear. Looking up, he flashed her a grin and she automatically quirked a small smile in return. "Hey Scully, what's up?" he asked, still lounging dangerously as he flipped the paper open.. Her minute mischievous side was extraordinarily tempted to reach out and tip him over but, as usual, her practical side bullied her inner imp into submission. So she just sat on the edge of his desk and eyed his ridiculously large cup of designer coffee enviously. She had been so jittery all morning in anticipation of being labeled the Hoover Whore that she hadn't needed her usual caffeine infusion but now, as her system crashed coming off the mild endorphin rush, a very large coffee was a highly desirable item. Unfortunately, she would now have to settle for office coffee, a vile and despicable substance most likely not fit for human consumption. She almost shuddered at the thought before turning her attention back to her lounging partner. "What do you know about these bodies that have been turning up with 'unknown cause of death'? The article says the Bureau is involved but I haven't heard much about it..." Mulder looked at her curiously as she trailed off, unsure how to finish her question. "Ooo Scully, you think it's an X-File? What are you thinking - demonic possession? ghosts? death curses? just plain magic?" Her look of disapproval was marred by a tiny upturned corner of her mouth. "Seriously Mulder, do you know anything about it? Is there really no cause of death or is that just what they're telling the papers?" "No really Scully, there have been dozens of reported cases where people cursed to death display absolutely no discernible cause of death..." "Mulder..." He looked at her and judged her irritation level to be at about a three out of ten. But it was only speculation based on what he knew about her combined with personal informal irritation level studies on other former partners, colleagues, and supervisors. He decided to push his luck. "And there are literally hundreds of documented stories in which the immolation or binding of a wax or clay image of a person has affected them magically..." "Mulder!" He finally stopped spewing paranormal statistics and grinned at his partner. She should have been pushing five on the scale but she didn't actually look irritated - more like mildly exasperated. Like when a kid is misbehaving in a precocious way. "That's my name, don't wear it out." "Mulder, do you know anything about it or not?" Now she looked like she was going to throw something much harder and sharper than a newspaper at him if he kept it up. He considered doing it anyways but recalled that the slightly dowdy little redhead was tougher than she looked. "Okay, okay. It's true, there has been no determinable cause of death in any of the five victims to date. Or so I hear." At that she raised her eyebrow just slightly. "How is that possible?" she asked. "Anything's possible Scully," he answered with what he considered his trademark eyebrow waggle. "Mulder, people don't just die for no reason. Logically there must be a cause of death. The ME must have missed something." "Scully, logically the ME would have gone over these newer victims with the proverbial fine-tooth comb after the first bodies were found. So logically, nothing was missed. And there was no cause of death. Why are you so interested in this anyways?" Okay, this time she was glaring at him and Mulder couldn't quite tell if she meant it or not. And he was starting to worry that she knew something more about the case then she was letting on. Had he given anything away? He didn't think so but she had a way of making him a twitch nervous, with her looks of slight disapproval. But why the hell did he care about her disapproval anyhow? So maybe he knew a bit more than he was telling her. So maybe an old colleague or two from the BSU had 'mentioned' the case to him as a real stumper - no cause of death, no link between victims, nothing at all - a case that maybe Mulder could look into if he had some spare time. So maybe he knew it was only a matter of time before he got fully roped into it. She didn't need to know any of that and would probably be gone by the time he got caught up in the long-reaching and horror-inducing BSU lasso. Or so he hoped. Or so he didn't hope? Goddamn, the shrimpy but kinda-cute-in-a-wearing-a-frumpy-suit-way physicist slash pathologist was getting to him. "Mulder? Is there something you're not telling me?" "Uh, no. Just thinking," he replied, a little too hastily. She eyed him suspiciously and he felt his sweat glands fire up a bit as he quickly scanned the room for any distractions. He focused in on the coffee cup she had been mooning over earlier and figured it was worth a go. "Hey Scully - wanna finish off my coffee? It's no extra-shot half-foam sugar-free vanilla syrup girly coffee but it's better than that crap upstairs." Success! He could tell from the gleam in her eyes and the more-than-usual fragment of a smile that he had hit the jackpot. Scully grabbed the coffee greedily and started chugging it down, washing away her suspicions for the time being. **** PART 3a September 1993 When Mulder wakes again his cranial supernovae have ebbed to mere solar flares and his swollen wrists and ankles are only throbbing at medium intensity. Less fortunately, when he tries to look around the room the walls began to revolve in a nausea-inducing manner. As asphyxiation from his own vomit is not his preferred mode of death he closes his eyes and attempts to settle his stomach. His eyes are still shut when he hears the door open a few minutes later. Feigning sleep, he watches his captor approach him through thinly slitted eyes. So this is the man they had been chasing for so long. He doesn't much look like a serial killer - more like a professor or researcher - except for the obviously maniacal expression on his face. Average height, average hair, lab coat, evil smirking leer, an ominous glint in his eye, and an unique method of murder... 'Lucky me' Mulder thinks to himself. He feels his captor towering over him and slowly inspecting him from head to toe. "I know you're not asleep Agent Mulder, you can stop playing possum," the mad doctor finally says upon finishing his inspection. "Besides, as you probably know, it does you no good to be asleep here." Mulder groans inwardly and takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. He tries to focus on the doctor-turned-psycho but the room still hasn't stopped spinning and his roiling guts are not pleased. He valiantly tries to ignore the desire to violently eject his meager stomach contents as he considers his options. Basically he can play nice or play jerk. He had never been very good at playing nice. "Dr. Perry, I presume. I'm flattered you're so interested in me. Too bad you're not my type," Mulder says mock-casually while eyeing the mad doctor warily. "Ah, I suspected as much, Agent Mulder. My subjects never seem to find me as charming as I find them," Dr. Perry answers cooly, with only the itch in his lip belying his inner glee. "I'm shocked. A great guy like you? What is it that turns them off - your sadistic streak or your penchant for murder?" "Tsk, tsk, Agent Mulder. So antagonistic! I'm going to have quite a bit of fun with you. Especially considering you made me lose your pretty little partner. I must say I'm rather angry about that. Hmmm, I wonder how it will affect your sessions..." Perry says with more obvious excitement. At the mention of Scully Mulder's heart and stomach perform matching loop-the-loops. Even though he'd been pretty sure about it, confirmation certainly didn't make him feel any less shitty. At least she'd gotten away - he'd make that trade any day. Sensing that he has struck a blow, Perry continues on and prods the open wound. "Yeah, I was looking forward to working with her but there's still time. Poor thing, I imagine she'll be laid up for awhile after she made me hit her with that pipe. The way it sounded when it hit her head you know - I'm surprised she was conscious at all. And it's pretty far to the freeway from here, I doubt she was able to make it more than a mile." Mulder tries to keep his panic under wraps but his treacherous brain keeps flashing back to his nightmare of Scully on the table, one he now knew to be based on reality. His heart and stomach re-enter the loop-the-loop track and queasiness surges through his body as he envisions Perry hitting her with the pipe. He can still hear Perry cackling on about the fun he is anticipating but it had become background noise as a nauseating thumping took the forefront. The combination of extreme gastrointestinal distress and severe fogginess in his head is getting all too familiar. But it had been awhile since it'd been this bad. Not since just before all this had started... **** PART 3b early August 1993 It felt good to be back at the office even if he was still wading through a murky pea-soupish fog. Mulder supposed he was lucky to be there at all - they could have easily disappeared him and continued to edit his memories. A little cut here, maybe a paste there... who knows how long his career as a lab rat would have been if she hadn't come to fetch him. Now that was something he did remember although it hadn't really registered at the time. Adrenaline-fueled intense gaze and a slight glisten of perspiration with her focus evenly split between her perturbed reporter-come-military-official-come-hostage and her wayward partner-come-prisoner. It had seemed normal enough at the time, or at least it had to his addled brain, but with over twenty-four hours to reflect on what had happened, he had to admit to a substantial lack of normality in the situation. Over twenty-four hours of puking, groaning, thinking, and more puking. The post-rescue ride had involved more guttural spewage than drunken stomach-flu sufferers on an Octopus ride. She must have pulled over a half-dozen times, each time dutifully rubbing his back gently as he yakked on her shoes. He had wanted to fly out right after being denied by Mrs. Budahas but she had put her vomit-encrusted foot down and, thankfully, had made him lie down at the motel. That night had been a potpourri of nightmares and nausea - and probably screaming and groaning too, but he had successfully repressed that part. Unfortunately, he hadn't quite repressed his moments of asshole-ness - his only defense against her incessant doctori-ness. Little snippets kept jabbing at his brain, resulting each time in a small spasm of guilt. "Go away Scully - go find another patient to play doctor with - I'm not interested." "Leave me alone. Just stay away from me." "Yeah, you wanted to leave so badly before, why don't you just leave now?" "I don't need you Scully." He had wanted to be left alone to wallow in his patheticness. It was what he knew, the only way he knew to be. It was a hell of a lot easier than trying to suck it up and maintain some semblance of manliness in front of the little red dynamo. But goddamn she was stubborn. And apparently fairly thick-skinned to boot. She had stayed and put wet cloths on his forehead. She had stayed and gasped when she spotted the large greenish purple souvenir on his lower back. She had stayed and admonished him for not telling her about the soreness in his kidney area whilst softly rubbing his neck. She had stayed and calmed him with gentle but not condescending whispers when his nightmares ejected him violently into wakefulness. Sure, Scully was a persistent and argumentative pain in the butt. And there was definitely a part of him that resented his new skeptical tag-along. He had perfected the 'me against the world' attitude, effectively building a force field against the constant onslaught of ridicule he was used to facing. He didn't want to need her. He didn't want her to see him weak and helpless. He wasn't exactly the most manly of men but he did have some dignity to preserve. But in his heart of hearts, where he actually sometimes admitted the truth to himself, he had liked it. It had been close to an eon since anyone had given a rat's ass about him - even when he hadn't coated their expensive footwear with regurgitated hamburger. Maybe she just felt responsible for him. Maybe she saw it as a challenge. Maybe she was masochistic. Or maybe, just maybe, she actually cared what happened to him. EIther way, it was a moot point now. She was up in Blevins' office, most likely obtaining a new asshole for her rather unorthodox method of rescuing him from the military. Which meant she was probably going to supply him with a new asshole once she got back. She hadn't mentioned anything on their trip back to DC. No snide remarks about reckless this and unauthorized that. No I told you sos or it's your faults. Not even a single brusque comment regarding his verbal attacks of the previous night. Just a myriad of worried glances, a couple of tender 'feeling for temperature' touches to the forehead, and a possibly imagined quick tousling of his hair as he drifted amidst the first inklings of sleep on the plane. All in all it made him feel like a sad sack of something. Something really crappy. Guilt, his ever faithful companion, grabbed a hold and refused to let go. Mulder really wished she'd just freak out at him so they could fight it out - anger was easy. This... this... this... whatever it was was certainly not easy. Sure, she hadn't exactly seemed overly pleased with him. Even drifting about in fogland he could tell from her stiff-even-for-her body language that she was pissed. But she hadn't said a thing. He supposed it was the equivalent of a parent being mad at a sick child but feeling sorry enough for the miserable whelp to hold off on the inevitable lecture. But now he was stuck in angry-partner-pergatory for who knew how long. She would be back soon - even Blevins didn't take all day to ream out one agent. And then what? Mulder was three-year-old-having-missed-a-nap cranky and didn't have the energy to either fight with Scully or deal with passive aggressive festering. Maybe he should have stayed home as per her suggestion. Then, just as he thought his day surely couldn't get any worse, there was a knock on his door and a vaguely familiar agent nervously entered his office. It was hard to put a name to the face as he seemed to be living in a semi-permanent daze but after a bit of a time delay the ol' photographic memory kicked in. It was one of the BSU guys. Funny name... German or something. Nemhauser - yeah that was it. What the hell did he want? **** PART 4a September 2003 ---- Scully awakes with a scream lodged in her throat and tears streaming freely down her face. Looking around dazedly, she realizes she had fallen asleep at Mulder's desk and fights to calm herself down with deep breaths. 'It is just a nightmare' she thinks to herself. "And it isn't nearly as bad as before..." As bad as before? Suddenly, images begin flooding her sore hippocampus and she remembers that she had been having many variations of that dream for months. Ever since Idaho. But then it'd started getting worse when they started on this Nightmare Killer thing, as Mulder called it. Inch by inch the fog is lifting and large chunks of her RAM are being restored. As the images from her nightmare slowly dissolve from her visual cortex, Scully recalls that it had really all started just after they'd gotten back from Ellens Air Base. **** PART 4b early August 2003 Oh Scully was pissed alright - it had been a long time since she'd been called to the 'principal's office' and she wasn't used to the condescending disapproval she had just received. Blevins hadn't exactly understood the necessity of taking a senior military official hostage but then again he hadn't been there, in the moment, with mister smarmy-fake-reporter invading her room. And so what if he didn't approve of her 'not-damning-enough' field reports - she had written the truth as best she understood it - which meant she hadn't exactly backed Mulder's crazy theories but hadn't conclusively disproved them either. It didn't even faze her that Blevins had sternly 'warned' her about being influenced by her partner's reckless and unacceptable behaviour. Scully was starting to realize she didn't really care. Sure she'd felt a bit of discomfort at being admonished by a superior - it certainly hadn't happened before in her clean-as-a-whistler FBI career to date. But her dominant good girl persona was quickly being usurped by her fledgling inner rebel. It wasn't that she disagreed with rules - she understood that there was a point to procedure - but she wasn't going to just mindlessly do as she was told. She had done what she knew to be right for the situation - her partner had been in trouble and she'd done what was necessary to protect him. And maybe something rotten had been going down in Idaho - not that she really believed that his memories had been erased - but they had definitely done something to him. Sure, it was his sheer idiocy that had put him in danger in the first place but that was something she would deal with later. She was plenty mad enough at Blevins and adding fuel to that fire by thinking about being ditched by her partner wasn't going to be good for her blood pressure. But she definitely was mad at him. Taking off on her, sneaking onto the base, making her accost that guy at gunpoint to get him back. Okay - so he hadn't exactly forced her to set up the prisoner exchange. As if she'd set up a prisoner exchange! It had been both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Especially considering a few months ago she'd been teaching bored wannabe agents how to properly collect hair samples. Mulder was her partner and she was supposed to watch his rather well-toned back. So maybe it wasn't exactly entirely his fault. She could have done it by the book - reported him missing, filled out the forms, waited dutifully until they got bored tinkering with his odd but enchanting mind. Okay, so maybe she wasn't quite as mad at him as she wanted to be. Holding back on unleashing her bottled up typhoon of fury at him had given her ample time to cool down and properly reflect. It wouldn't have been fair to flip out at him when he'd been so miserably ill. He'd even done his best to piss her off - yelling at her, refusing her help, puking on her - well-maybe the puke incident hadn't exactly been planned. But he had obviously needed someone to take care of his idiotic self. And he had stopped trying to get her to leave awfully quickly after she'd informed him that he could yell at her all he wanted to if it made him feel more like a man but she was staying whether he liked it or not. In fact, she suspected he'd actually appreciated her ministrations, considering he had semi-consciously sigh-moaned a few times when she'd instinctively rubbed his temples gently. Scully hypothesized that it'd been a fairly long while since anyone had taken care of him - from what she'd seen and heard he didn't have a girlfriend or really any friends at all. And she wasn't exactly a friend but she was his partner and he obviously needed someone to back him up if he was going to pull ludicrous stunts all the time. He had been so damn vulnerable yelling about memory theft and moaning incoherently about his headache. Damn. Why was it so hard to stay angry with him? He was probably fidgeting away with a new slideshow in his office, feeling like crap but too proud to admit it by staying home. To her chagrin, she felt a quick burst of excitement at the thought of a new X-File to argue with him about. Hanging around with Mulder certainly wasn't dull. It was a lot of things, many of which were almost indescribably annoying, but it definitely wasn't dull. ---- As Scully got close to the office she was greeted by a loud exchange of unpleasantries. Not wanting to interrupt a private verbal free-for-all yet feeling slightly guilty about eavesdropping, she stood to the side and waited it out. "Yeah well you can tell Patterson to stuff it where the sun don't shine. It's not my problem," Mulder said in a tone somewhere between a whinge and a groan. "Look. You know how he is - he wouldn't ask if he didn't need you. All the senior guys are swamped with this goddamn eye-puncturing asshole and none of the babies are coming up with anything no this. Because there's nothing to go on - I bet the old man himself couldn't pull a profile outta what we got. We need your spooky-action Mulder." The second voice was defeatingly wheedling in tone and unfamiliar to Scully but he was obviously from BSU. Curious and curiouser. "Look Nemhauser, it's not going to happen. I left the BSU for a reason and it wasn't cause I was enjoying kissing the old man's ass too much. If he wants me he's going to have to go through Skinner. Otherwise, I'm through with that shit." She had heard that tone before and knew who was going to win this current argument. Stubborn knows stubborn. And Scully knew stubborn. "Alright, fine Mulder. But he's going to kill again and it's probably going to be soon. The only thing we know about him is that he's escalating. So when it happens... just know that you could have done something about it." With that the unknown BSU man - Nemhauser? - slumped out of the office looking very much a defeated man. He barely looked up as Scully walked by him, pretending to have just entered the basement hallway, and she wondered if he always looked like a member of the waking dead or if he saved that for appearances at the X-Files office. ---- Mulder looked like he'd run home from Idaho. Minus the sweat but plus a few bops to the noggin. He barely acknowledged her when she slipped into the room. "What was that about, Mulder?" she asked as she assumed the spot Nemhauser had just fled. "Hmmm? Oh, nothing," he grunted, still gazing intently at the file on his desk. Either he really felt like crap or he was hiding something from her. "Oh? And I suppose that was no one too..." she replied with a misting of sarcasm. He still hadn't looked her in the eye since she'd come in but he could feel her coming closer and could only avoid her for so long. As she closed in on him he could feel the synapses in his sympathetic ganglia start firing like crazy and excess neurotransmitters began to flood his system. He hid his shaky hands under his desk but it was getting hard to keep his breathing in control, especially with Scully eyeing him so suspiciously. Mulder realized he was having a minor panic attack - it had happened before but only in extraordinarily stressful situations and the last one had been years ago. Maybe it was a combination of having his brain de-memoried, getting no real sleep, and being hassled by the BSU but whatever it was, his heart felt like it was gonna erupt any second. And if he didn't get out of the office soon, there was a good chance he'd hyperventilate and embarrass himself again. But Scully was blocking his only escape route and he couldn't figure out how to casually plow past her. He had known the request was coming - the grapevine had wound it's way all the way down to the basement and everyone knew that his ol' not-so-pals at the BSU were hooped. Patterson freaking on the eye-gouger thing and then this. Close to home, no cause of death, absolutely nothing linking the bodies except no cause of death. It had to be the same guy - five in the DC area in the last year as far as they knew but they'd only caught on a couple months ago. There had been some serious 'pulling-out-old-odd-death-files' since they latched onto the connection and eventually they'd compiled ten cases. Considering every other death in the area in the modern era had a discernable cause of death, five in a year was clearly anomalous. And now it'd been leaked to the media somehow so the heat was on. Right now it was only a gentle glow but soon it'd be a raging inferno. And then he'd be fucked. He could only avoid it for so long. His spooky sense was all atingle. They weren't going to find anything, the public would start freaking, Patterson would start calling in favours, and they'd drag him, internally kicking and screaming like a tantrum-throwing toddler, back to Quantico. But he'd done it before and, ostensibly, he could do it again. It would suck balls but that was how it had to be if he wanted to remain in the basement with his precious red and white striped files. So what was his problem? What had sent the epinephrine coursing through his body this time? Why the hell was he having such a hard time sucking air into his lungs? Even through the mini-tsunamis of panic Mulder knew the answer. And if it had been a Daily Double he'd have bet everything. He could even phrase it correctly. "What is 'because of the little redhead' Alex?" ---- Mulder thought of it as another lifetime, another dimension in the quantum multiverse. Where he'd played the quasi-hero - equally lauded and reviled for his peculiar ability to become the scum of the earth. Where he spent day after week after month after year dragging himself out of a neverending abyss of horror. Where he and everyone around him stopped considering him to be part of the human race. He didn't want her to know about this other dimension. Luckily, if she didn't get out of his way soon he would likely have a coronary and it would a moot issue. ---- On anyone else the blank expression would have indicated boredom or blase-ness but there was something amiss with her partner. Underneath the stoniness he was covered with a slight glint of perspiration and was pitifully attempting to avoid hyperventilation. In short, Mulder was having the subtlest panic attack she had ever witnessed. ---- Scully quickly circled over to his side of the desk and grabbed his arm before he managed to make a run for it. "Jesus, Mulder, don't get up, you're likely to pass out," she said, sternly pushing him down with one hand while taking his pulse with the other. "Your heart is racing, Mulder - try to take deep breaths okay? Here - breath with me. In...out...in....out..... Well at least he was still responsive to commands - she could feel his breathing and pulse slow as she counted ins and outs while rubbing calming rhythmic circles on his sweat-soaked back. "It's okay Mulder - everything's fine. Just breathe." ---- Well she had finally gotten out of the way but by that time he couldn't get his legs to operate in proper body-propelling fashion. But then he had felt a small hand-shaped pressure on his back and a soothing voice was helpfully instructing him on how to breath. Surprisingly Mulder found himself able to follow the instructions and, as his breathing decelerated, the dancing spot show he had been watching abruptly came to an end. It was replaced by a close-up of Scully's concerned icy blues peering deepy into his dazed hazels. She was telling him that everything was fine and he wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he was going to have to go back down the hole and get cozy with the inner desires of a sociopathic maniac. That he was going to not sleep, not eat, not be human for however long it took to become the killer. That he had yet again shown his utter patheticness to a partner that he was starting to depend on but didn't yet entirely trust. What the hell was he going to say to her? Two freak outs in forty-eight hours was definitely not the way to impress one's new partner. So when she just gave him one more comforting squeeze on the shoulder before going to get him some water and giving him the chance to compose himself, Mulder silently thanked every deity he didn't believe in. And when she came back a fair while later with the water and reported on her trip to Blevins' office as if nothing had happened he finally felt all the tension in his body dissipate. Who the hell was this woman? And what deity-that-he-didn't-believe-in had sent her to him? **** PART 5a September 2003 ---- Sweat is beading down his forehead as Mulder yelps himself awake. The pain in his wrists suggests he'd obviously been pulling at his restraints and he realizes he is actually soaked head to toe in ice-cold sweat. He can barely hear the soft murmurs of frustration emanating from the crazy man seated beside him. "It doesn't fit. He doesn't fit. The data is wrong. How can it be wrong?" Perry mutters as he focuses intently on Mulder. "Agent Mulder, this is all wrong." "So sorry to have disappointed you. I guess I'm not such a good subject after all. I suppose you'll just have to let me go," Mulder groans through chattering teeth. "This has never happened before - it's always worked. But you weren't reacting as strongly as you should have been. There's something different about you. You aren't reacting like the others," Perry keeps pacing and murmuring to himself in between suspicious glances at his reluctant subject. "Well, I've never really been considered average," Mulder replies, still trying to regain his bearings. "I'll have to try harder. Maybe a different tactic. But it's always worked before - replacement of other with self... What's different about you? There's something strange about you. I have to know what it is. I need more data..." Perry is obviously agitated and is almost incoherent. What the hell is Perry talking about? Replacement of other with self? Like replacing Scully in his Tooms nightmare with himself? It makes sense. He'd had the Tooms nightmare before - more times than his eidetic memory cared to remember - but it had never been him being attacked, it had always been Scully. Either he gets to her place too late or he's frozen in place and can't help her but it always ended up the same - lots of blood and a yellow-eyed mutant munching on Scully's liver. It isn't nearly as bad when it is his liver getting ripped out. Mulder can feel his heart racing just thinking about the pate-loving humanoid that had tried to taste Scully's liver. He had been sure he was too late - that his personal run of horrible luck had continued on, that he'd lost her just as he started to become rather attached to her. **** PART 5b mid August 2003 Mulder couldn't remember the last time he'd been so eager to see someone. He'd replayed the scene in Scully's bathroom on an endless loop all night and, so far, all day too. He really needed to see his short, stubborn, awkwardly-suited partner. But he had been unable to sleep and he'd gone in even earlier than usual. So he had been hucking pencils for awhile but it was still only seven in the morning and she usually didn't make it in until eight. And after last night's action, he certainly couldn't blame her if she was a bit late. But he really needed to see her, he needed proof that she hadn't reconsidered Colton's offer to work with violent crimes. She had accused him of being territorial and he'd been slightly shocked to realize that she'd been dead on. Scully was his. Well, whatever - they'd sicced the little spy on him and he wasn't going to let them have a mulligan. But it didn't mean he didn't feel a twitch of guilt when he thought about her being stuck on the X-Files with him. Scully was a rookie alright but she was damn sharp and she instinctively knew how to play the game properly. She could appease the locals and work with other agents without getting trampled on. Basically, she was already one hell of an agent and she would be going places quick if she managed to parlay her way out of the basement. So he had sucked it up and played the gentleman he knew he wasn't. He'd said he wouldn't hold it against her if she ditched him for the career she deserved. He had lied. How had she managed to smuggle her way past his carefully constructed defense system? Mulder kept oscillating between the resentment of needing her and the comfort of knowing she was there for him. And it was clear that one team in his internal tug-of-war was stacked. The moment was permanently etched in his mind - the one between his faux non-chalant offer and her bemused answer. Perhaps the longest few seconds on Earth to date. He didn't want to consider how he'd felt in that time span - dry throat, heart palpitations, total frontal lobe numbness, complete and utter vulnerability. He'd walked away from her to swallow down a huge breath and compose himself in case she chose to rip his heart out. 'Don't react if she goes, don't react if she goes, don't react if she goes.' It was his new mantra - longer than the traditional 'om' and not nearly as calming. But still more calming than the other thoughts that kept poking at his neurons. Like how people, especially scientists, generally saw sanity as a preferred attribute in colleague. Like how belief in centenarian liver-dependent mutants did not suggest sanity. Like how obnoxious most people found it when he harangued them with bizarre questions and outlandish theories. Like how all his previous partners, including Diana who was a believer, were, more often than not, horrifically embarrassed by him. Like how he would prefer evisceration to her walking away from him now. It had been a lot to think about in ten seconds. Scully hadn't even thought twice about it. Just followed him up the stairs with a sly grin on her face and his rapidly pulsating aorta in her hands. And he'd actually felt good. Like normal-people good. It was almost surreal, the calmness in his soul. Until he saw her necklace in bileboy's lair. ---- Mulder hadn't panicked like that - well, probably since he was twelve. And look how that had turned out. 'Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay' A new mantra for the way-too-long drive. Over and over and over. The sight of a tousled Scully under a hungry mutant made him want to renounce his traitorous perfect memory. But a little tussle with a human monster was apparently no problem for his glorious, panting, rosy-cheeked partner. He had wanted to check her over, inspect every square inch of her to make sure she wasn't lying to him but she'd brushed him off with a stern "I'm fine" and a 'don't argue with me' glare. Then she had called it in and stoically dealt with the endless crime scene this and evidence that while he'd robotically followed procedure, all the time rerunning the bathroom scene as if he weren't yet convinced that it had turned out okay - that she was okay. Mulder had wanted to stay but hadn't been nearly ballsy enough to broach the topic so he'd just hung about aimlessly until all the law enforcement types had finally left and it was just the two of them. He had felt like a nervous preteen - not sure what to say, do, think. She would be annoyed if he asked her, yet again, how she was doing so he just sat with her in exhausted but companionable silence. He wasn't sure how long they sat like that but eventually he had felt the tension slip off of her and she had started drifting off. He'd been sorely tempted to wait and carry her to bed and tuck her in but possessed enough survival instinct to resist the urge. So he had brushed up on her shoulder gently and she had startled awake with a soft sleepy smile gracing her normally serious face. "Mmmm? Go home Mulder." she'd slurred. "I'm fine" Well he hadn't been fine but he hadn't exactly been able to bring that up so he'd took the route of the vanquished and acquiesced after one almost non-existant caress of her cheek and a whispered 'good night'. The tiny sigh that had escaped her had sealed the deal - he was hers now to do with as she pleased. Just thinking about it now still brought a dreamy half-grin to his face. But what if she had reconsidered after a sober second thought? Mutant attack would make even the toughest agent reconsider their career decisions. Add to that the derision of colleagues and a trouble prone partner and he could easily imagine her sitting at home, morning coffee in hand, working out how to let him down gently. He really, really, really did not want that to happen. He really, really, really needed to see her. **** PART 6a September 2003 It is all becoming clearer to her although the last day or so are still not quite coming back. And thinking so hard had made her head start to pulsate as if she were standing next to a speaker at a Slayer concert. And she still has no idea where Mulder might have gone. Scully considers tracking down some of their so-called colleagues at the BSU but realizes that they probably wouldn't be of any help and would also tattletale on her being at work. The abandoned-warehouse-rave-worthy house beat in her head informs her that she is no where close to field ready and that she'd most likely be sent back to the hospital if anyone saw her in her present state. And if she doesn't find him then he's not going to be found. So she has to find him. Nothing else matters at the moment. He's her partner and he's her responsibility and she has to find him. But Scully sure doesn't feel so great and is getting more frustrated by the nanosecond. It's like trying to think in the Oort cloud - no air to her brain, large obstacles in the way, and a certain floaty feelng definitely not conducive to logical thought. Again she runs through the BSU agents they've been working with, desperately grasping at wisps of straws. Someone must be able to help her find him discretely. There must be someone she can trust. But there's no one. She only trusts him. In fact, not only does she not trust any of the so-called agents at BSU, she considers most of them beneath contempt. Either they scored a high on the jerk scale or they were too spineless to be useful. And considering she worked with Mulder and her jerk scale was skewed in an inflated jerk direction, the BSU guys must have been taking lessons from Colton himself. Everyone had been such total assholes ever since they'd started working on the case - at first just towards Mulder but she soon fell into the untouchable caste with him. All of a sudden summer reruns come up on her cerebral videoscreen and Scully is not impressed with the lineup of shows. **** PART 6b mid August 2003 Scully was in a surprisingly chipper mood for someone who had almost lost her life and liver the previous evening. But at least she had been so tired she'd slept soundly through the night without being woken by her recurring Ellens-inspired nightmare. She had even come to work earlier than usual because of an indecipherable buzz she felt through her whole body. Something akin to excitement tempered with nervousness mixed with happiness was the closest she could say. All she really knew was that she had to see Mulder and that he would be at the office early. Mulder had been so, so, so, something-she-couldn't-quite-describe during the whole crazy ancient-liver-eater escapade - like he'd expected her to abandon him for Colton and was both shocked and extraordinarily pleased that she had rejected his begrudgingly congenial offer to let her work with violent crimes. It had been the first time he had even kind of admitted that he wanted her to stay and she had seen through his attempt at a cucumber-like countenance - Mulder had been tenser than a tightrope until she had followed him up the stairs. Mr Super-Aloof was letting her see more of his hidden vulnerability and she was quickly getting addicted to it. Scully wanted, needed to know more about this complex multi-celled organism she called her partner. And then he'd basically saved her life when he had burst into her apartment in an adrenaline-induced frenzy. In fact, it had taken him longer than her to calm down afterwards although he had tried to camouflage his residual terror with his trademark blank look. His nervous not-so-surreptitious glances had given him away but he had, at least, been astute enough not to barrage her with concern. Mulder had respected her need for space but hadn't left, even after a reasonable concerned-for-a-work-associate time. Scully suspected he would have gladly stayed all night but eventually she had managed to shoo him away. As much as it was sweet that he was so concerned about her, she wasn't ready to need him, to expose herself to him fully. Although the way he had softly brushed his hand against her cheek before he left had almost made her change her mind. He had probably been at the office since the crack of pre-dawn. He didn't seem to sleep well in general and she suspected he hadn't slept at all the previous night. In fact, he hadn't seemed as euphoric as she would have expected for a guy that had achieved the formidable goal of capturing a real-life mutant. He'd actually been rather subdued but she had been too tired to interrogate him about it. Although she couldn't quite pick out what was wrong, she knew that something was definitely not right. She really needed to see him. ---- The pencil purporting to be a missile was in midair when she simultaneously knocked and slid through the office door. Mulder was sitting at mission control, closely observing his projectile until she stepped into the room. Instantly, his mission forgotten, he turned downcast eyes towards her knees, her feet, anywhere but her eyes. He was emanating nervousness, shyness, general not Mulder-ness. He was the pocket-protected hall monitor and she was the valedictorian homecoming queen. The conditions were ripe for the blue moons of blue moons, the 17-year-apart appearance of cicadas, the sighting of Halley's comet. Scully smiled for him - not a smirk, not a grin, not a minute upturn of one corner of her mouth. A real smile. His first ever. It was all she needed to say. And then the phone rang. ---- There had been another so-called uncaused death and Patterson had finally cashed in his 'Get a Retired Alien-Hunting Profiler Free' card so they were on their way to Quantico without passing Go and without collecting $200. A only half-imagined hush fell over the multitudes as they power-strolled through the BSU. Then the whispers began. There was excessive use of the word spooky. They were lead to the war room and dutifully shook hands with a mess of ungainly over-tired beleaguered agents that exuded animostic derision. Whispers grew to murmurs to mutterings. "Dunno if you're going to be much help. We suspect a human is the killer." "Sorry, no UFOs yet but we'll let you know if ET shows up." "Spookster! Wow, Patterson must be desperate." "Patterson's pet psycho. Better get the leash out boys." "Guess she's the newest Spooky sacrifice - she won't last long." Mulder's internal spring wound tighter and tighter but his practiced blank exterior wall held fast as he pretended to be extremely hard of hearing or made of stone or just completely emotionless. Scully, on the other hand, locked ocular horns with each and every agent in the room and silently double-dog-dared them to challenge her. There were no takers. Finally, one of the agents, the one she'd seen in Mulder's office broke the 1 on 6 staring contest by suggesting a recap of events for the not-so-welcome newcomer and returnee. ---- "The first victim, Rose MacDonald, was found near Route 495 in Bethesda. There was an autopsy performed on which there was no cause of death indicated other than respiratory failure due to no determinable cause. There was no illness or injury other than non-life-threatening abrasions on her wrists and ankles. The ME noted the peculiar nature of the case but there was no reason to suspect murder except for the likely use of arm and leg restraints. The local police looked into the case but came up with nothing. The second victim Jim Horne, was much the same - no suggestion of foul play except for wrist and ankle burns. But different district, different ME so the similarities weren't noted. It goes on like this until victim number four which was in the same district as victim one. The ME remembered the first case and started the ball rolling. The latest victim is Tim Johnson, white male, age 38. Same MO - the guy is dead but there's absolutely no reason he should be dead other than the fact he stopped breathing. He was found in East Potomac Park last night and had been dead for barely 24 hours. So now we have six victims between the ages of twelve and sixty-two. Two males, four females, all from the DC area but spread from Bethesda to Alexandria. Absolutely no connections of note. Families and friends have been interviewed extensively to no avail. There's been very little to work with..." Nemhauser was rambling now while occasionally glancing nervously at the golden boy who was deeply embedded in the files and evidently foregoing listening. He was not to be disappointed. "You said there weren't any connections. What about the nightmares?" Mulder asked without bothering to look up. "It's true that all the victims were having nightmares around the time of their deaths but we deemed this to be a coincidence. A significant percentage of the population suffers from nightmares and, anyways, the nightmare info didn't lead to any other connections" replied another agent impatiently. "They were even all different nightmares so sorry Spooky, our killer isn't Freddy Krueger. Hate to disappoint you but we think the UNSUB is a real-life human." Mulder's internal spring wound a bit tighter and Scully gave the offending agent her iciest glare. He immediately bit his lip and stopped speaking as his testicles retracted into his scrotum. Mulder shook it off and kept at it with his 'I'll verbally spew every implausible theory at you' style. "But it's a connection. It might be THE connection. What if the victims weren't just having regular nightmares? What if the UNSUB is somehow projecting into their dreams? Like a form of lucid dreaming but not self-controlled?" Mulder was on a paranormal roll, taking out all logical ideas in teh way. The six BSU agents in the room very capably covered all iterations of a good 'you're crazy as a loon' expression but he only had eyes for one perfectly arched eyebrow. "Yeah sure Spook. I just read this one to my kid - the Big Friendly Giant right - but a bad one. They're being nightmared to death by the anti-BFG. Of course! That's what we've been missing,'" another agent contributed ever so helpfully. "Well, if the nightmares are the only connection then it's something to look into further. Have the local sleep centres been contacted? Maybe there's something there," Scully added in a not-to-be-contested tone. At least it shut the others up a bit, though they continued to be asses in a quieter manner. Scully grabbed the casefiles and stood up abruptly. "Thanks for the debrief agents," she said diplomatically through gritted teeth. "Agent Mulder and myself will review the files and look into the nightmare connection." She looked pointedly at Mulder who had been doing his best wax sculpture impression throughout the derision session. He felt her eyes fall upon him and he looked up at her with indecisively-coloured eyes. 'He really does grind at that millstone of humiliation' she thought as she interpreted the mix of frustration, excitement, and truth in his expression. A soft touch on his shoulder and an expectant arch of her eyebrows did not go unnoticed by their audience. Nor did his acquiescence, or his hand gently resting on her back. "Look, Spooky's got a new handler." "It won't last long now that he's here." "Ice queen doesn't know what she's in for - just wait til he has an 'episode'" Scully ignored the not-so-whispered-comments but felt Mulder's arm start to drop from her back so she took a trick out his book and pushed into his personal space in order to better present an united front. But united didn't preclude logic in her book so, once out of earshot of the others, she looked up, wielding her most skeptical expression. "Nightmare killer? Really?" She was rewarded with a slow change from stoniness to contentment in his countenance. She hadn't nearly become a convert but continued to back him in front of the wolves while still challenging him privately. She was ambrosia for his soul. ---- It was a bit later than usual when she finally got to Quantico the next morning. How quickly she'd forgotten about the commute... and about that annoying nightmare that had followed her incessantly. Scully hadn't slept well and was more-than-two-shots-of-espresso-required cranky. As she neared the BSU she wondered what Mulder was going to be like. She had witnessed first hand how he attached himself to cases and had heard the free-flowing office tales of his self-destructive behaviour. But he had looked fine when she'd gone home the previous evening at eight, long after the rest of the agents had fled. He had promised to go home soon and she hadn't exactly believed him but had reminded herself that he was a big boy and had survived the BSU on his own before. She felt all the eyes turn her way as she graced their ape-like colleagues with her stoic presence. There was a certain je-ne-sais-quoi in the atmosphere and she was sure it had something to do with Mulder. What could he have possibly done this early in the morning? There were hints of anticipation and malicious glee. 'Wait til she sees this' glances flew about at will along with 'oh can't wait for the other shoe to drop' ones. Scully wandered back to the space she and Mulder had appropriated the previous day and was greeted with the barely-conscious slumped and disheveled humanesque figure of her partner. She internally sighed and gathered the shreds of patience she had left after a more-sleepless-than-not night and the morning traffic jam slash commute. Mulder, as he was wont to do, had spent the night prodding the mind of his nightmare killer. He wanted, needed to understand how and why the killer wielded nightmares in deadly fashion. Mulder could already sense the UNSUB - he felt his superior intelligence, his desire for power, his penchant for torture. He felt the killer, he knew the killer, he was the killer. His eyes were barely open and he was looking at a file but didn't seem to actually be reading. Instead, he seemed to be drifting somewhere between the lands of sleep and wakefulness. When he didn't look up at the sound of her approach Scully turned on her more critical eye. He had clearly only slept a few hours at most and probably hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. Coffee cups littered his sphere of influence and he was absently massaging his temples as he squinted uncomfortably at nothing. His tie lay long-abandoned in the corner and his shirt bore the stains of a clumsy coffee consumer. He still hadn't acknowledged her presence and she wasn't sure if he was being a jerk or if he was so wrapped up in exhaustion, dehydration, and an unnamable something that he actually hadn't noticed her yet. As per usual, she gave him the benefit of the doubt and approached him as she would a wild animal. Which was appropriate considering when she touched him on the shoulder he startled like a timid puppy and grabbed for his weapon before he realized where he was. "Jesus, Scully. What the hell was that?" he yelped. All the eyes in the room were now tuned into the crazy-Mulder show and the murmurs grew louder. "Now she'll see what she's in for - he's not even that far gone yet." "How long til she throws that coffee in his face?" "How long til he totally spazzes?" "I bet she tries to get him to eat - that's always good for a laugh." Scully put on her professional blinders and frowned at her partner. "What the hell was what Mulder?" "You can't just sneak up on me like that - I could have shot you!" Mulder still looked abnormally shaken and defensive, his adrenoceptors aflare. "Mulder, you were only half-conscious. I'm sure I was safe," Scully replied warily, a bit taken aback by Mulder's odd behaviour. Mulder's expression darkened even further and his eyes swam with uncertainty and fear. He was deadly serious when he finally spoke. "No you're not, Scully. You don't know what I can be like. They know - " he pointed with his murky eyes at the rest of the agents. "That's why they're nice and far away from me. You should be too because this is only the tip of the iceberg. And it's not a very nice iceberg. Like iceberg-that-sunk-the-Titanic-not-nice Scully. If you think this is bad..." he trailed off, knowing she could finish the thought herself. She was still looking at him like he'd sprouted a second head and he felt a familiar dense dread delve deep into the pit of stomach. If she was afraid of him already then there was no hope for him. Best to make it a quick severing, like ripping a stubborn bandaid off his oozing heart. Finally she spoke with exaggerated exasperation. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily Mulder. Maybe I don't know what you can be like but I know enough of who you are that I'm not going to leave you alone here." He shook his head stubbornly. "No Scully, I can't let you do this. I should have warned you yesterday but..." Mulder stopped as he realized he couldn't finish the sentence with 'I was still basking in the glow of your... your... your...you-ness.' She was giving him that look again, the one that indicated, without a doubt, that he was certifiable. "Mulder, you're the senior agent here. If you officially request a transfer there's not much I can do about it. But that's the only way you're going to get me to leave you Mulder," she said matter-of-factly while continuing to stare him down. Goddamn she could be frustrating when she had her mind set to stubborn. She had him pinned - they both knew he wasn't going to request a transfer and he suspected she knew he didn't actually want her to leave. Mulder looked at her with a pained and bewildered expression on his bedraggled face. His mouth was slightly agape as if he couldn't decide what to say, do, feel. Scully was still glaring laser beams at him but when he didn't speak for a peculiarly long time, her expression softened and she stepped towards him. "It's okay Mulder. You've tried to get rid of me so your conscience should be clear. I accept full responsibility for refusing to go. I'm not going anywhere Mulder but I appreciate you trying," Scully said as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You look terrible - why don't you sit down. Here, I brought you a bagel and an orange juice. You'll feel a lot better if you eat something." Mulder was still goggling at her as if she were a giant breakfast-providing super squid. In a matter of seconds she had turned his antagonistically petulant self-loathing into a thoughtful protective gesture. And she had brought him breakfast. He hadn't traditionally done much eating in his time at the BSU but he wasn't about to incur the wrath of Scully on account of a bagel. So he gave in and gave super squid Scully a wry self-deprecating smile and ate the offered carbo-boost. Scully let a small touch of a grin touch her face as Mulder finally dropped his defensive posture and sheepishly ate his bagel. She had won another round in what she imagined would be a long and arduous battle. As Mulder bit into the obviously Scully-ordered multigrain bagel with lite cream cheese he could hear the peanut gallery starting to roll. They had been watching the unfolding drama with glee but seemed rather disappointed with the denouement. "Damn. Ice Queen's got balls." "Spooky's getting soft - he must be getting some from Ms. Frosty herself." "Yeah, that boy's whipped but good." "Holy shit - she actually got him to eat!" **** PART 7a September 2003 ---- Mulder is soaking in sweat when he silently screams himself awake yet again. His shackled wrists and ankles are pulsating in bloody unison but biting pain is the least of his concerns as he realizes he is close to respiratory arrest - only tiny gasps of air are making it into his lungs and he is simultaneously choking and vomiting pure gastric acid. Thankfully he is able to turn his head just enough for some of the acidic puke to flow from his mouth onto the shoes of his torturer. "Hmmm, interesting. Highly peculiar. Agent Mulder, I must say you're an unique case. This new data is completely anomalous - who would ever think that self-preservation could cause less fear than other-preservation in an non-relation? Many delude themselves and think they love another more than they love themselves but, in the end, they always show their true colours. You, you, you are completely at the other end of the spectrum. This is fascinating - I wonder how long you'll last!" Dr. Perry maniacally rants to his unhearing, heaving victim. Mulder gasp-groans through an aching windpipe as he attempts to properly input air while ignoring the crazy man beside him. But it's pretty difficult to not pay attention to a guy who's plotting your painful death. He wonders what Scully is doing right now. He imagines her lying unconscious in a nearby ditch. He sees her lying on a hospital bed, moaning in pain. He envisions her bruised and furrowed brow as she curses him for ditching her yet again. That was how many times in how many cases? Man, she is probably mad enough to chew on something unnutritious. Oh well, he'll get the last word in when she finally finds Perry and finds out he's been right all along. 'See Scully - told you so...' he thinks as Perry jabbers on and on about data and anomalies and torture and death. As Mulder slips out of consciousness yet again, he muses about how many times he has already 'told her so' and how much he regrets never being able to tell her anything ever again. **** PART 7b late August 2003 Goddamn it - another case, another case of no evidence. He really really possessed the childish desire to throw a big 'told you so' in her face. Mulder was pissed. Just another dead end. Okay, well, at least Ruby had been found and was going to be fine. But he was positive she could have told him what had happened, where she'd been taken, who had taken her. It wouldn't have been proof but it would have been something. But there wasn't anything he could do about it now that Darlene was against them. If only those NSA assholes hadn't been such total dicks. If only Scully hadn't told them where the numbers had come from. Mulder knew that it hadn't really been her fault. She was used to a world where the government could be trusted, where aliens didn't exist and where evidence didn't disappear. She was just starting to learn the ropes of his world - where no one could be trusted and all sorts of paranormalness existed. But he still harboured the desire to sulkily jab a 'told you so' in her rule-abiding face. But she had felt bad about giving Kevin up after she'd gotten a look at their friendly neighbourhood NSA agents' smooth tactics. Mulder had felt it pulsing out of her on their drive back to Lake Okobogee and he'd been so annoyed with everything that he'd let her stew in her own guilt. He had known he was being petty but he hadn't been able to stop his inner five-year-old from pouting until she had finally called him on it. "Look Mulder - I know you're angry with me but I'd prefer it if we could bypass the silent treatment. I screwed up. I admit it. And I'm sorry but at the time I thought it was the right thing to do. Now I know differently and it won't happen again. If you really feel you can't trust me then, then, then, I don't know. You do as you see fit. Otherwise, let's try to resolve this now and get back on the same page." Part of him had wanted to yell at her, tell her that it was her fault, that he didn't trust her. He thought he hadn't been sure if he wanted to piss her off or if he wanted her to stay. Luckily, he had still possessed enough of his adult sensibilities to restrain the petulant child inside of him. "I'm sorry too Scully. I'm just frustrated. It wasn't your fault - you followed protocol and it blew up in our faces. But I know I'm right. Kevin is the key to finding Ruby," he had finally said amidst a long sigh. She hadn't really believed him but, amazingly, hadn't argued the point, eyebrowed him, nor brought up his 'sister-abducted-by-alien' bias. Apparently it was Scully's version of conciliatory spoils. 'She must have been feeling pretty bad to offer that big a prize'. Mulder mused to himself as he slowly shook himself back to the present. He was surprised to find himself jonesing to see his oft-irritating partner. Considering he'd been hiding in the BSU office all night in a mopey, piss-poor mood due to the disappointment of the last case and the prospect of re-emersing in the nightmare killings, Mulder had expected to easily be sucked into the event horizon of his depressive side. But at least he'd gotten away with checking out an X-File in the midst of psycho-hunting and Ruby had been found. And now Mulder realized he was more than a wee bit atingle at the prospect of seeing Scully and only a wee bit aghast at having to be back amongst the BSU toads. As he walked up to their new corner at the BSU he puzzled around with what the hell was going on with his moods - he certainly had been somewhat-close-to-content a heck of a lot more often than usual lately. **** PART 8a September 2003 Damn. The little man fervently pulverizing her grey matter is back at it now that she has been thinking about the toads at the BSU. How the hell had Mulder dealt with that bullshit for so long? And from what she has seen and heard, he'd basically been an outcast the whole time - at first due to 'golden-boy' jealousy and later on due to his increasingly odd behaviour. He had tried to appear immune to the pitter patter of vicious gossip but he was transparent to her. But enough musing about the past - she has already wasted enough time thinking and dreaming and remembering and puking. She needs to find out where he was last seen - for some reason she doesn't know this fact and it is gnawing at her guts. And her new little hammer-wielding cranial pal just isn't helping out at all. She figures she had better move while she is still conscious. Her entire body emits a guttural moan as she stands up and she sways wispily for a few moments. She wants to lie down so badly she would agree to almost any terms right now. She would say she believes in aliens. She would admit that she has weaknesses. She would agree with Mulder and say it is possible to kill someone with a nightmare. Unfortunately, however, she won't agree to leave him, to give up even though she feels like shit. So Scully struggles one slow step at a time back out to the street, failing miserably at not garnering attention. Pretty much everyone is intrigued by an ashen-faced and poorly dressed Mrs. Spooky, especially when she is stumbling about with no makeup, street clothes, and a broken arm. Luckily for all of them, she is not in any shape to tell them exactly what she thinks of them. In fact, she is not in any shape to be on her feet at all. She stumbles constantly as her the neural pathways in her cerebellum aren't firing precisely in any way, shape or form. But she is a Scully and Scullys are tough. Unfortunately, Scullys are not exactly rich but no amount of toughness will enable her to drive herself out to Quantico in her present state of existence so she sucks it up and flags down cab. Yet again the cabbie looks at her distastefully, as if her afternoon swagger is due to overindulgence at happy hour but she pulls herself together enough to give him the glare. That and the wad of cash she borrowed from Mulder's emergency desk stash convinces the reluctant cabbie and Scully is finally able to sink into the dingy back seat of the vehicle. She is not looking forward to speaking to the lower life forms at the BSU. At least she can sneak a cat nap slash pass-out on the way. As Scully's world fades to black, she recalls the last time she had so dreaded going to Quantico. **** PART 8b late August 2003 Goddamn it. Another case, another argument. His single-mindedness was so frustrating sometimes. LIttle things like protocol, evidence, common sense, just didn't register in his obscurely bizarre mind. But this time he had been right. Which meant she had been wrong. Scully did not like being wrong. She had felt like the worst kind of lowly rodent-esque creature when she'd seen how the NSA had used the information she'd provided like a good little government employee. Mulder had been right, she shouldn't have told them anything. And she had felt, really felt like a vile odorous rule-abiding moron because she'd let him down. It wasn't something she was used to feeling - Dana Scully was a lot of things but a mistake-maker wasn't generally one of them. But he hadn't needed to rub it in quite so much - she hadn't experienced ye olde silent treatment since she'd been a teenager and she hadn't been willing to just let him revert to infantile tactics. So she'd called him on it. She had apologized too but had made it clear that she wasn't going to stand for pouty partner tactics. And she'd even thrown a little quiz in there, one that had exposed more of her heart than she would ever admit. She'd opened it up again, the big T-word, and she had basically dared him to tell her he didn't trust her. And she had perspired more than a little while she had waited for his response. She had purposely put it out there while he was still obviously fuming, while he wanted to hurt her. And she had noted that he hadn't alluded to the trust issue when he'd responded. But he had apologized for his irascible behaviour and had even seemed to understand her gesture of unusually non-argumentative behaviour afterwards. However, that was then and this was now. She hadn't seen him since he'd stormed out of the hospital and Scully was fairly sure he'd spent the night wallowing in anger. She wondered if she was going to be the target of his ire and hated herself for being so vulnerable to his emotions, his moods, him. She, on the other hand, had spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming and nightmaring. That goddamn nightmare about Ellens was getting worse and worse. Every night she watched him get the crap beaten out of him or worse as she is forever restrained, two steps away, never able to stop it, help him, hold him. How the hell had he done this to her? Scully prided herself on her personal control - she was self-sustaining logical system unaffected by such lowly human problems as emotional needs. Well, at least she had been a logical system before encountering the highly illogical system more commonly known as Fox Mulder. Now she wasn't sure what she was. But she did know he made her feel more alive, more connected, more human. And she didn't want to give that up. What if Mulder had decided he didn't trust her after all? As she finally pulled into the parking lot at Quantico, Scully was most definitely nervous. It was neither a familiar nor desirable feeling. ---- Scully walked past the pseudo-polite grunts of their BSU colleagues towards the corner she and Mulder had appropriated for themselves. It wasn't as private as they would have liked but luckily Mulder projected a sort of personal force field that ejected the attempts of others to intrude on their workspace. Scully just hoped that he hadn't changed the settings to create just a solo-sized force field. She had never approached her partner with so much trepidation before and it didn't help that he was clearly surrounded by a over-fatigued shroud of gloom. Scully espied him from across the room and willed herself to act normally as she approached his little corner of doom. She reminded herself that there was nothing she could do about his mood, his attitude, his feelings. She needed to be her regular, rational self and would not get anywhere by participating in a pout-off with him. But as she neared him she noticed a strange phenomenon start to occur. The low murky fog obscuring him started to lift as he raised his green-flecked irises to meet her downcast blues. And then his serious concentration face broke into a genuine, sparkle-in-eyes-included grin in response to her proffered nervous mouth quirk. "Mornin' Scully." Mulder said, almost cheerily. "Hey - keep your coat on. I'm taking you out for breakfast." The entire population of the office turned at his outrageous statement and regarded him as if he had just publicly announced an antique sewing machine fetish. Scully, for her part, managed to quickly turn her momentary befuddlement into a more subdued curiosity only because she possessed a better-than-trifling understanding of her partner's mercurial nature. Of all the weird things he did, turning breakfast into a symbol of trust was not nearly so strange. And as he walked her out of the office, hand firmly ensconced comfortably on her back, Scully finally relaxed into his touch with visions of non-fat yoghurt, lite cream cheese bagels, and extra shot girly-coffees dancing in her head. ---- Breakfast was a jumble of bee pollen, espresso, squirting doughnut jelly, and lucid dreaming-bickering. In short, everything was back to what passed for normal in Dana Scully's relatively new world order. "Mulder, that's ludicrous! Yes, someone who is lucid dreaming is able to exert conscious control over the aspects of the dream such as characters and environment. Yes, lucid dreams can be purposely initiated by such methods as 'Wake-back-to-bed' and 'Mnemonic induction'. Yes, lucid dreaming is sometimes used as a treatment for people with nightmares. But there is no evidence that someone can 'give' another person a dream, much less control the characters and environment in someone else's dream. You're basically saying that the UNSUB can control his victims' minds!" Scully said in an mildly affectionate yet highly oppositional tone. Mulder nodded in agreement. "Yep, Scully - you got it. He can control their minds but only in their dreams. I can't prove it but I know it's the truth. I just don't know how he's picking them. Can he see their nightmares before he's controlling them? Then he must be picking them up from sleep centres - it's not completely at random. All of the victims were being treated at clinics for their nightmares. I think he only picks people that already are having strong nightmares - that way he has more to work with. I'm thinking he scouts them out at the sleep centres - reads the strength of their nightmares and goes after the ones that are more susceptible to his ability. I bet once the connection is strong enough he can make them start dreaming even when they're awake. He just follows them and kidnaps them while he's got them caught up in their nightmares. Scully sighed and considered the volatile mix of excitement and utter fatigue in her partner's turbid eyes. At least he hadn't yet settled back into the mind of the killer and was being a semblance of her not-nearly-normal Mulder. 'Her' not-nearly-normal Mulder? That was an odd thought. Since when had he become a personal possession? She threw the random wisp of reflection aside and continued in her best incredulous-scientist voice. "Mulder, that's just not possible. No one can control dreams! But I agree that we should hit the sleep clinics again - I think we're missing something and it does have to do with the nightmares. Maybe it's a former employee trying to discredit one of the clinics..." Mulder rolled his eyes at her oh-so-realistic scenario. Sure it made a lot more sense than someone nightmaring people to death. But it wasn't what was happening. He wasn't going to push the point though. Even after consuming a horrifically healthy breakfast and a gargantuan-sized dose of caffeine, Scully looked just the teensiest bit tattered, as if she hadn't slept properly. And if he could spot it on her through her fastidious perfectness it meant she probably hadn't slept much at all. In fact, she had seemed a bit off in the mornings for awhile now. He had been a bit lost in the profiling work but wasn't completely gone yet and had noticed the growing bags under her eyes even through her thorough make-up application. He figured it was due to the whole Tooms case - most people would find it hard to sleep after being attacked by a human-liver enthusiast. But he hadn't been nearly audacious enough to bring it up with her - he had learned early on that partnerly concern on his part was generally met with efficient brush-offs and tightening of the already airtight Scully emotional defense system. Maybe a visit to the sleep centres wasn't such a bad idea... "Okay, Scully, it's a date. Let's hit the sleep clinics - hey, maybe they'll even let us try one of their big comfy beds," he said with his trademark comic leer. Scully may have been overtired but she certainly didn't miss her cue - her eyebrow arched impeccably on her otherwise expressionless face, a silent dare that Mulder implicitly accepted. ---- There were close to 100 sleep centres in the DC area but the victims had been treated at only five of them so they had focused their attention on those clinics. They had been to each of the centres before, right after they'd been officially assigned to the case and had sat through lectures on lucid dreaming, nightmares, disgruntled employees, and patient/doctor privilege. Predictably, none of the five centres had ever had even the slightest problem with an employee and none of them wanted to give out any information about their clients. This time was no different. None of the clinics were particularly inclined to help, especially after Mulder's fervent plea that their clients were in danger from a nightmare-wielding killer. One of the doctors actually requested to take another look at his badge after Mulder had proffered up his not-quite-run-of-the-mill ideas. Though it was only midday it felt as if they'd been at it forever, most likely because neither one of them had slept properly for awhile. The irony was not lost on them as the dragged their achy leather-clad feet away from yet another sleep centre. Mulder, as always, faintly guided Scully with the slightest touch that she, in her over-tired state fell into just a tiny bit more than usual. They had almost made it to the relative comfort of their highly generic American sedan when they were flagged down by a familiar-looking young woman. "Agents - can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked between huffs and puffs. Mulder and Scully exchanged significant looks with each other before turning towards the woman who they now recognized as one of the medical technicians at the clinic they had just left. "Of course, Ms..?" Scully replied, stepping away from Mulder, professional persona instantly in place. "Jensen. Sarah Jensen. I heard you guys asking about people who used to work here..." she continued, a tad apprehensively. Scully smiled encouragingly at the young woman. "And you have something to add? Would you feel more comfortable talking somewhere else?" The woman shook her head. "No, I have to get back soon but there was this guy. He worked here a couple of years ago, when I first started. His name was Jonathan Perry. He was one of the doctors but he was really young and he was ...weird, you know? He was obsessed with nightmares, it was all he talked about. I know - it's a sleep centre and everyone is pretty into their work but it was like he lived and breathed nightmares - especially the bad ones. He would be here like 24 hours a day and he'd always be talking about nightmares. It was really creepy- like he got off on these people being tortured by their dreams." Mulder and Scully traded another information-laden look. It was almost too good to be true- which was, in itself, suspicious. "Why hasn't anyone else mentioned him to us?" Scully asked congenially, keeping the suspicion out of her voice. "They don't want the clients to find out. The official story was that he took a leave and decided not to come back. But really he got caught looking at the other doctors' private client records. They didn't want a big scandal or lawsuits so they pretended it didn't happen." the woman replied in between repeated nervous glances back at the clinic. "So how come you're telling us this?" Mulder asked, not bothering to keep the suspicion out of his tone. "Well - I could say I'm just trying to do the right thing and I am... but also I'm getting tired of the scene here so I don't have much to lose if someone finds out I talked," the woman answered amicably. "Look - I'm not saying Perry is a killer or anything like that but he really was a weirdo. I could easily imagine him going round the bend if you know what I mean." Mulder's eyes sparked a tad at her comment and he sent his partner an irony-laden glance. Scully caught his little self-deprecating joke and granted him a flash of bemused disapproval. "Well, thank you for you help Ms. Jensen. This is my card, please call if you think of anything else that might help," Scully said. As the woman walked back to the sleep centre Mulder and Scully gave each other looks of fervent anticipation. All tiredness had evaporated from their bodies, replaced with the vim and vigour of a new lead. ---- Scully had been digging through files, records, databases since they'd returned to Quantico and felt as if her retinas were about to detach. She had managed to dig up very little information about Doctor Jonathan Perry - some college records and an old picture but nothing recent - it was as if the man had disappeared down a rabbit hole after he'd left the sleep centre. At least they had a picture to work with now... As Scully looked at the picture again she experienced an odd sense of pseudo deja vu, like she subconsciously knew the man in the picture. Drippings of eerieness snaked down her spine and into her intestines as she studied the man's face. She considered telling Mulder about her reaction to the photo but couldn't convince her uber-logical self to admit how much the picture was affecting her. So she gave the uncomfortable feeling a mental shove to the back of her mind and tended to more rational issues. Like her rapidly shrinking stomach which was growling with enthusiasm. Which was appropriate as she noticed it was past seven and she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Breakfast with Mulder. He certainly kept her guessing - she'd fully expected animosity hangover from her actions on the last case but he hadn't said or done a single thing all day to indicate any residual anger. Scully let a small smile touch her face as she admitted to herself how much his breakfast overture had meant to her. Although she didn't exactly feel comfortable being so affected by his actions, she was starting to realize her regular logic-bound self didn't have much choice in the matter. Her usually well-shrouded emotional self was taking over control in regards to her inexplicable partner. She wondered what he was up to - he had been working on his profile, adding the new info they had obtained while she tried to find out more about Jonathan Perry. She hadn't seen him in hours and suddenly felt a pang of unease. Scully quickly gathered up the files she had put together and went in search of him. ---- As Scully entered the main BSU office she noticed there were more agents than usual around after hours. And none of them were working. And one of them was screaming. And the rest were staring. And whispering about spooky something. 'Well, I guess I found him,' she thought to herself wearily as she strode through the office, attracting her own set of stares along the way. As she got closer to 'their corner' she could easily see and hear the main attraction - Mulder, of course - sat slumped back in his chair, firmly ensconced in a nightmare, writhing and screaming incoherently. Scully resisted sprinting towards her partner but increased her pace while readily delivering the evil eye to all she passed. All ocular orifices were on the 'spooky drama of the day' and she wondered what sort of depravity allowed their colleagues to take sick pleasure in watching Mulder suffer. To them he was an exhibit at a freak show - not worthy of human compassion, just there to entertain the masses. She didn't want him to wake up to an spellbound audience so she turned towards the crowd and turned both her tone and her glare to ice before speaking. "Agents. It's late. I imagine all of you need a coffee break. Now." When there wasn't any immediate movement Scully started shooting ice lasers out of her eyes. Suddenly, agents started moving sheepishly out of the room. A minute later the office was empty except for her and the screaming guy. Scully approached him cautiously and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. When Mulder didn't respond to her touch, she shook him gently and spoke to him in a soothing doctor voice. "Mulder, wake up. You're having a nightmare. It's okay, it's okay," she murmured in his ear as she felt him jolt back to wakefulness. He abruptly stopped screaming and opened his fear-roiled eyes for an instant. He was still breathing and sweating as if he'd run a marathon and was already starting to shiver. Scully's hands were aglow on his shoulder, his back, his brow and her soft voice injected him with additional warmth to combat the shakes. Mulder kept his eyes closed and savoured her soothing touch, words. She wasn't really saying anything, just mumbling tender reassurances, exactly what he needed to hear as he slowly came back into his waking self. But when he finally felt ready to open his eyes Mulder realized where he was and knew he must have been performing his nightmare routine in front of a captive audience. At that point he would have given his UFO picture collection to not have to face a roomful of consternated morons. He was torn between wanting to see Scully and having to see everyone else. It was really no contest. Mulder opened his eyes again and caught Scully gazing at him with a depth of concern that reached into his core and glanced against his deepest vulnerabilities. His first instinct, honed by years of rejection, was to clench up, batten down the hatches and throw her out of there. But for once he spurned his initial reaction and, trusting her to be gentle with it, kept his inner being open to her. It felt decadent, luxurious, sumptuous. Finally Mulder screwed together the courage to look out into the staring eyes of the main office only to find the place deserted. He looked up at the clock and determined that there would usually be quite a few agents milling about at that hour. And he was certain they hadn't left his impromptu show on their own accord. He looked up at Scully, the unspoken question in his confused eyes. She lifted her eyebrows in an obviously fake 'who knows' shrug. "They all really needed a coffee break Mulder," she said in her adorable 'I'm a terrible liar' way. "Come on, let's get out of here before they get back." Mulder returned her eyebrow lift with a sardonic yet grateful smile as he let her help him to his feet. Her firm but gentle grasp was highly pleasurable and, with the office empty, he allowed himself the indulgence of not pushing her away. Yes, she could be a stickler for the rules and a general pain in the behind with her love of protocol and tendency to adhere to authority. Yes, he had been severely pissed with her not very long ago. And yes, he wasn't sure he completely trusted his slightly built spy-come-partner.. But maybe he really did need her. Maybe he shouldn't push her away. Breakfast had been an awfully good idea. **** PART 9a September 2003 His return to consciousness is oddly peaceful and doesn't involve screaming, mewling, sweating, or heart palpitations. Mulder looks around and sees that Perry is gone for the moment which explains his nightmare-free awakening. He breathes a sigh of relief and takes the time to mentally catalogue his current set of issues. 1. He is bound by a psycho who is going to torture him to death using nightmares. 2. His wrists and ankles are highly abraided and swollen. 3. He aches all over, especially his abdomen... His abdomen? 'Oh right - the little scratch the Jersey Devil bestowed upon me' Mulder thinks lamentfully. That's the reason he's here in the first place. Damn, for a MENSA-recruit, he is awfully stupid sometimes. He had jumped, leapt, to what now seem like far-fetched conclusions. If only he hadn't been quite so pathetic... **** PART 9b September 2003 Mulder was irate. It had been nearly a week but he could still see her eyes, her pained expression, her vulnerability. She had been paranormally beautiful. And they had killed her. He had spent the better part of the week ruminating about her in between railing at the Atlantic City police department in general and Detective Thompson in particular. He knew he was supposed to be back working the Nightmare Killer case but he couldn't get her out of his mind. A real-life half human half beast in New Jersey! And they'd been so close to getting her alive... And then there was Scully and her new guy... Okay, maybe that was pushing it a bit too far - Scully hadn't said anything about the guy and he didn't think she'd seen him again. And so what if she had? He didn't exactly have the right to hold it against her. But just thinking about it sent small creepy-crawlies jittering through his guts. Of course, at that moment she walked through the door. ---- The ethno-biologist had been informative but hadn't told them anything they didn't already know. Mulder knew he should have been irritated but found that he was dancing a cheery mental jig. Scully had ditched the guy. And had come with him when she probably had plenty of better things to do. He knew it shouldn't have made him quite so happy but there was no denying it did. Which, in itself, sent waves of concern through his nervous system. A little green fellow had been rampaging through his heart the last week or so, ever since she'd boldly attempted to get a life. He had tried to convince himself that it was just partnerly concern - that he didn't want her to be hurt by some asshole who didn't understand exactly how incredible she was under her stolid exterior. Who didn't appreciate her quick intelligence, her covert wit, her innate virtuousness, her deadly accurate shot. He failed miserably. It was pure selfishness. He wanted her for himself. He wanted to be able to call her day and night and from the drunk tank. He hadn't had someone to call in a long time. If she hadn't come and rescued him from the Atlantic City police he would have had to call the Gunmen and wouldn't have gone over well. They didn't like cops and cops didn't generally like them. Scully, on the other hand, was actually civil and courteous to other law enforcement types - another of her myriad of abilities that perfectly yanged his ying. And she'd made the prerequisite quips and smirks when she had come to fish him out but she hadn't laughed at him when he said he'd seen it. So yes, there was a reason he felt as if he was the proverbial canary ingesting feline. She had 'no interest at this time' in the guy. Which, in his skewed quasi-logic, meant she was his. ---- Mulder was still inwardly beaming as he went on a coffee run. Which was remarkable considering they were back amongst the dregs of Quantico. He wasn't surprised to hear his nickname as he approached the coffee station - since he and Scully had been forcibly ensconced in the BSU there hadn't been much gossip that didn't involve one of them. But as he honed in on the topic of discourse, he felt a stab of agony jab into his solar plexus and he lingered out of site to further the self-torture. "Yeah - Spooky and the beast! She even gave him some love scratches - I heard he was all teary-eyed when they shot her." "No way! And I thought he was getting it on with Ice Bitch. Beast girl is much more his style though - I bet he likes it rough." "Yeah, I noticed he looks pretty sore - I guess she was a real animal in the sack!" Mulder unconsciously reached down and touched his abdominal wounds. They were still sore even after a week but it wasn't a physical ache he felt at the moment. No one at the FBI, other than Scully, knew what had happened in New Jersey. Especially the part about his encounter with the Jersey Devil. So if they all knew... He tried to put on his rational hat - 'she mentioned it to someone and didn't think it would get around', ' she was bound to tell someone, it's a good story,' 'she didn't mean to hurt me'... but his emotional hat kept leaping onto his head. 'I trusted her but she's just like the rest of them, taking the piss outta ol' Spooky whenever my back is turned.' For once, he really, really, really didn't want to believe. But she had taught him about evidence, about proof. No one else knew about what had happened. That was proof enough for him. ---- [NEXT DAY] Mulder was particularly tired. Possibly due to the fact that he hadn't slept more than 3.4 winks the previous night. Which in turn was due to the constant stabbing pain in his marrow. He hadn't thought about anything else for what seemed like a millennium, an eon, an eternity. His soul was sore. And Scully would be there soon. "Morning Mulder." Speak of the devil... She too looked as if she hadn't slept all night but he grunted unintelligibly and refused to look up - the visual equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and saying 'lalalalalala' loudly. Mulder could feel her start to frown as she closed in on him. His heart was racing, he was trapped and she was oh-so-concerned. Damn her two-faced ecru-toned jacketed self. He bolted from his chair and shoved past her, muttered something obscurely related to 'going for a walk'. He still hadn't looked up once. ---- Mulder spent most of the day wandering the streets of Quantico, avoiding human contact, pretending he didn't exist. Then he had wallowed for awhile in the X Files office back in DC, hiding away his wretchedness. He tried to work on the case but the words in the files were swimming. He attempted but failed to convince himself it wasn't because of secretions from his nasolacrimal duct. It was after five when he got back to the BSU office and she was blissfully gone, a note explaining her plans for the day left in her place. Like normal. Like everything was just peachy. Like she hadn't viciously shredded his heart to little confetti-sized pieces. Mulder hadn't felt like this since Phoebe, since Diana, since ever. He had thought himself immune, successfully vaccinated with experience and carefully constructed defense mechanisms. He hadn't been so obviously wrong in a long long time. His phone rang. He knew it would be her. He didn't answer. Five minutes later it rang again. Mulder turned it off and sank back into his pit of misery. ---- [NEXT DAY] He didn't want to see her but he still wondered where she was. Maybe she had saved him the trouble and finally asked for a transfer. Sure that was unlikely - it had only been a day since he'd stopped talking to her and considering he'd avoided her like the plague, she, quite probably, didn't even know he wasn't talking to her. Well, ignoring her phone calls might have given her a clue. And running away from her after incoherent mumbling. And not coming back to the office all day. She was, after all, a rather proficient investigator. So maybe she was just pouting too, playing along with his infantile game of emotional warfare. She was the one who had started it anyway... He considered calling her but the juvenile spirit had taken hold and he wasn't ready to allow his more mature inclinations any leeway. Maybe if she hadn't shown up after another cup of coffee he'd give her a call. ---- Well, they weren't talking about him this time as Mulder re-approached the scene of his initial discontent. But, true to form, they were talking about Scully. "Shit man, was she ever pissed! I was scared and I didn't have anything to do with it!" "What was she so mad about? That Spooky was getting some with the beast woman on the side?" "No, that's the thing - she overheard Jamieson telling Myers about Spooky and the beast and basically ripped them new assholes. I mean, Jamieson's an ass but he's a confident ass and she had him apologizing like he actually meant it. And poor Myers was basically a sniveling worm by the time she was through with them." "Shit, yeah. I wouldn't want her pissed at me. Ice bitch is right. Those eyes could freeze any guys' balls." "Yeah, you haven't even heard the best part. Jamieson was so fucking scared he ratted out Colton! I guess he started the whole story after he heard it from a buddy on the Atlantic City PD." "Oh. Shit. So Colton is probably dead." "Hells yeah. I heard she got him in the office in front of his ASAC. Told him he was unprofessional and jealous and a disgrace to the bureau. It's actually probably a good thing the ASAC was in there or she'd have stomped on his balls before ripping them off." Hmmm, that sounded like an interesting proposition. In fact, Mulder suddenly had the urge to stomp on his own balls and rip them off. Rhetorically of course. But for the king of self-hatred, he was upping his own personal flagellation limit. He had always suspected he was an asshole. And now there wasn't a single eye-dropper-sized speck of doubt. Maybe he could pretend it had never happened, that the previous day had been some sort of wormhole time warp thingy that they had experienced together.That he had been experiencing a type of week-after-injury-induced aphasia. That he didn't have to apologize profusely. That he wasn't a complete and utter gutter rat. ---- When Mulder got back and Scully still hadn't arrived for work he recalled he had, rather childishly, turned his phone off the previous night. And that she had called twice before he'd done so. Prickles of concern were now poking into his self-flogging. Unlike him, Scully was a professional. If she was going to be late, she would call. Unless she couldn't for some reason... He was at full former-high-school-track-star sprint speed by the time he got back to his desk and found his phone. It still only indicated two messages on it - not a good sign. Although it was possible she had left a message last night saying she couldn't make it in for some reason. Like her partner was being a complete donkey's behind and she didn't feel like getting dumped on after defending his sorry personage. No such luck. He listened intently as his world started to disintegrate around him. BEEP "Mulder, it's me. I'm just leaving for the day and I think someone is following me. I'm going to check it out - it might be nothing. I'll call you back when I know what's going on." BEEP "Mulder, I doubled back and I'm following him now. I'm pretty sure it's Perry Mulder. He thinks he's lost me and is headed towards the parking lot. I'm going to call for backup Mulder, I don't want to have to...Shit! Mulder help... Mulder! He was now officially the biggest piece of excrement ever to experience massive heart arrhythmia. Pure panic mixed with adrenaline surged through his brain, body, soul. She had needed his help and he'd sat around like, like... He couldn't even put it into words. He needed to find her. He also needed to breathe or else he was going to pass out. Mulder remembered the last time he'd panicked this hard and could hear her voice telling him to slow down, to breathe in...out....in....out.... God. She was still helping his pathetic ass out while he had let a goddamn murderer abscond with her. She had been hurt - he could tell from the way she'd swore. And Mulder was going to goddamn hurt himself but not until he found her. Then he was going to find the coarsest hairshirt plus whip combination he could find on ebay. How the hell was he going to find her? Perry had basically disappeared and hadn't had a credit card, driver's license, bank account, nada for two years. And all previous known addresses had turned out to be duds. Scully had been working on a different tactic - something about journal databases and ISPs but he hadn't been paying attention. He'd either been locked down in Perry's sick head or daydreaming about Scully. His neurons were firing in uber-mach speeds. There was so much action careening through his frontal lobes Mulder was already meandering his way towards an abnormal psychiatric episode when when he noticed a folder on his desk that hadn't been there when he'd left. It was from the computer lab and the note on it was for Scully. When he looked in the file he almost suffered another case of respiratory failure. It was an address in the DC area which had been accessing obscure journal articles about nightmares and lucid dreaming. Again, he thanked every deity known and unknown to this and every civilization that Scully was so, so, so fucking Scully-like in her work. She had basically saved herself with her own investigative savvy. That is if he got his undeserving behind in gear. The dirty looks and mutterings of his fellow agents glossed over him as Mulder repeated his best Olympic sprinter slash tasmanian devil impression, tearing through the office, leaving scads of scattered paper and spilt caffeinated beverages in his wake. ---- He probably should have called for backup but Mulder had already flaunted protocol so many times it would be non-consistent for him to do so now. Besides, he was the one who had been living in Perry's twisted head for the last way too long. And he was the one who had let his partner get taken by him. Now that he thought about it, she had been looking tireder and tireder in the mornings lately. At first he thought it was aftermath of the Tooms case - getting chased down in one's bathroom by a liver-ingesting quasi-human had it's way of delving into your subconscious. But when he really delved into it, Scully had mentioned not sleeping well ever since they'd gotten back from Idaho. Not that she'd actually said anything about horrific nightmares but she probably wouldn't have admitted to it had she been put on the rack. It just wasn't the Scully way. If he whipped himself any harder he was going to leave even more permanent scars on his already fragile psyche. Mulder parked far away from the secluded cabin and approached on foot. The area was eerily still, far enough away from the freeways of suburbia to almost be tranquil. Not that he was feeling very serene. He couldn't see anyone in the cabin on his first go-around so he approached the door quietly, his trigger finger twitching, his mind abuzz with the need to find Scully. Amazingly, the door was unlocked. The cabin was fairly small and he was able to sneak through it quickly, ascertaining the basics - living room, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, pull up door in floor of kitchen. Mulder didn't generally consider himself a lucky man and the various pitfalls of his life to date tended to back this conclusion but there was always hope. Hope that Perry wasn't there. Hope that when he opened the pull up door he would see only Scully, disheveled and angry but alive and well. Hope that he would take her out of this vile place and she would accept his heartfelt apology. However, true to form, the door creaked indignantly as Mulder pulled it open and he immediately heard emphatic cursing and pounding footsteps. He backed up just in time to avoid the door flinging into his face but was still caught in an ungainly position as someone, presumably the mad doctor himself, tackled him with surprising dexterity. Mulder hit the floor hard and his lungs harshly expelled their contents, leaving him unable to inhale properly for more than a few seconds. Unfortunately for him, in those seconds Perry had punched him in the jaw and was reaching for Mulder's gun which had, of course, removed itself from his grasp and skittered across the floor. He sometimes wondered why he bothered carrying his weapon at all. He judged the distance between Perry, the weapon, and himself and his epinephrine-infused body insisted on running for it and hoping that he could double back in the woods outside and catch Perry unawares. His lungs complained mercilessly as he lunged his way outside but he was doing fairly well in keeping a bipedal stance until a stray log sent him sprawling in a graceless fashion. When he was finally able to struggle back to his feet he could feel an armed human presence rapidly approaching him. Then immediately after that he felt solid metal impacting upon his head. Yep, he certainly had a reason to consider himself an unlucky man. **** PART 10a September 2003 ---- Scully wakes with an apprehensively gruff voice nudging her cochlea. Apparently she has frightened the burly tattoo-and-scarification covered cab driver with her vehement dream-induced screaming. However, the cabbie's reaction barely grazes her awareness as everything else is falling into place like expertly-controlled tetris shapes. She remembers the stark cold table, she recalls the mad doctor, she recollects her hurried escape. Her dendrites, axons, synaptic clefts pulsate with memory and the never-ceasing thwacking of headache as she stumbles, disoriented and fatigued, into the BSU. **** PART 10b September 2003 It had taken a week for the autopsy reports on Mulder's so-called Jersey Devils to come through, a week of mopey, distracted Mulder. He had been unusually unexuberant the past few days and she was rather concerned about her wayward partner. Maybe Mulder didn't have much of a life as defined by Ellen but he certainly had passion. He dove headfirst into the shallow end of cases and sometimes he suffered for his fervent disregard for sensibilities, for his apparent inability to create emotional distance. These were some things she had valued in him from the very start - his blazing, unquenchable need to know and his inner wellspring of compassion. His fervid drive for the truth had allured her own, more-secreted zeal for the non-mundane. She had certainly felt that during her date with Rod. He had been a nice enough guy - a good dad with a respectable job. And he wasn't horrifically ugly or rude or obsessed with aliens. And she had been gruesomely bored. When Mulder had called she'd almost salivated at the chance to ditch on poor, ennui-inducing Rod. Since when had chasing beast women through tourist traps with her attractive-yet-paranormally-devoted partner become a weekend activity of choice? There was no doubt about it - her life was highly more interesting since she had happened onto Mulder as a partner. But for the past while he'd been a mere glimmer of his usual irritatingly keen self. She suspected he was still angry with the way the Jersey Devil fiasco had turned out and was using his indignance to avoid re-submerging in the Nightmare Killer's head. Maybe he would be re-energized by the autopsy findings. ---- Well, Mulder had been re-invigorated by something and she suspected it wasn't the ethno-biologist's self-indulging and actual-information-lacking spiel about human throwbacks through the ages. She couldn't, however, quite figure out what had caused his unexpected reanimation. But Scully had quickly learned to not look a gift Mulder in the mouth and filed her question about his motivation for future consideration while she got back to work on locating a certain Jonathan Perry. After hours of drudging through databases and warrants and ISP administrators she felt she had a good start on her new tactic and now she just had to wait until the computer techs sifted through the ISP info and reformatted it into non-geek-lingo for her. It was, thus, clearly an opportunity for a well-deserved caffeine injection and a chance to check on her oft-unruly partner. ---- As Scully approached the coffee bar, she overheard snippets of tittle-tattle containing Mulder's name and subtly stepped closer to better eavesdrop on the latest buzz regarding her partner. She was highly displeased with what she heard. "Yeah it's totally true - Spooky got it on with a real-life she-beast! In Atlantic City!" "I always figured he went in for the exotic stuff, if you know what I mean." "Supposedly he even got some love bites from his beast lady - maybe that's why he's been so goddamn cranky lately." "I dunno - that seems unlikely, even for Mulder." "No way man, it came straight from a guy over at Atlantic City PD. The guy was there. He saw Spooky in an ambulance getting his love scratches bandaged and Spooky was doing his ol' crazy act - freaking out on the PD and trying to defend his beast-girl." Scully liked to think of herself as a fairly reasonable person. She understood the human desire to dish the dirt on colleagues and had, herself, occasionally participated in an office tale-telling session. But she was also starting to realize that she was not particularly rational when it came to Mulder. There was something about him that brought out her usually well-concealed sentimentally vicious spirit. Likely it was his own lack of interest in self-defense against the myriad of assailants constantly barraging his fortifications. Whatever it was, it certainly was. She let her ire build beneath her steel mask of frigid ice eyes and impassive expression before she stepped out and unveiled her presence to the scandalmongers. They, in turn, both instantly became own-feet-obsessed clams. "Agents. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I must say I have now been introduced to a lower level of depravity than I have ever had the displeasure to know. Not only is your behaviour reprehensible for agents representing the federal government, it is of a level of immaturity I have not personally witnessed in supposed adults." "Yeah whatever - it's just Spoo..." "Agent Jamieson. I have half a mind to complain to your supervisor about your derogatory remarks regarding a fellow agent. The other half of my mind believes that wouldn't be enough of a penalty for your appalling behaviour. As for you, Agent Myers, I'm sure that you do not aspire to yet another official reprimand on your record. And if I ever hear either one of you make offensive comments about any other agent again I will not hesitate to files reports on both of you. Oh, and if I ever hear you refer to Agent Mulder by any other name you will find that I will not be nearly as reasonable as I am being now." "Oh come on Agent Scully. You can't do this to us - it's not even us. It's Colton who's spreading the dirt. It was a mistake - it won't happen again!" Scully inspected the two sniveling rodents and deemed it unnecessary to even grace them with a response. She merely froze them in place with a biting glower before turning and striding away, her outrage still percolating throughout her body. She was going to kill Tom Colton. ---- [NEXT DAY] When Scully had previously worked at Quantico she had, once in a long while, come to work worried. Sometimes about a student, sometimes about a difficult lesson, sometimes about something not related to work. Now, she came to work worried more often than not. And it was almost always because of Mulder. He hadn't been there when she got back to their 'corner office' the previous day and she didn't want to consider the ridiculously large number of reasons he might have taken off early. He could have heard the latest from the grapevine, he could have discovered new info on the Jersey Devil case, he could have willingly taken off on an UFO hunt. She had wanted to call him to check up on him but reconsidered after putting some thought into it. He was her colleague, a work partner, a fairly new acquaintance. It had been after 5pm and he had, ostensibly, gone home like a normal person. If he was in trouble, he would have called. He would likely be irritated if she overreacted and babied him. But Mulder never left on time. And he certainly wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of normal. In the end Scully had convinced herself to wait until morning but had still glanced at the phone every other minute, simultaneously willing it to ring and resisting the desire to pick it up and dial. And then there had been the nightmare. It was definitely getting worse - almost to the point where there was no reason to bother sleeping. Every night, in every way, they tortured him in her dreams. Each time, it was more gruesome, more lurid, more heart-wrenchingly painful. Last night... last night.... they had done the worst. Worse than death. They had used a sharp foreign object. They had invaded him in a way she didn't want to fathom. Her heart, her soul, her quintessence had bled for him. She really wished she didn't remember the look on his face, the ghastly screaming and moaning, his forlorn pleas for her help. God, she really needed a decent night's sleep. ---- He looked as weary as she felt. Scully dug up all her inner strength to piece together a decent greeting. "Morning Mulder," she said with a hint of cheer that she certainly didn't feel. When he didn't even deign to make eye contact with her, much less return her greeting, her concern grew tenfold. A frown propagated on her face as she approached him. Scully could feel him stiffen as she neared and he began looking about skittishly, like a trapped feral beast. Suddenly, he vaulted out of his chair and pushed her out of his way, grumbling about a walk as he hastened his way out of the office, still avoiding any eye contact. Scully briefly considered following him and demanding an explanation but decided he obviously needed some alone time. Besides, she was already highly exhausted and had enough to do without having to cajole an irascible partner into talking to her. She would talk to him later when he wasn't quite as cranky. And she could use the time to take Colton down a peg or two. ---- She found Colton at the water cooler with his lips stuck to his ASAC's butt, as per usual. "Tom, can I speak with you in private please?" she asked curtly, giving him fair warning with the angry glint in her eyes. Colton smirked as he turned towards her. "Sure, Dana - is it about Mulder's liver-eater? Then we can have this discussion here, I'd like to see if anyone else here believes in mutants. "No, Tom, it's not. But if you would like to discuss the issue in the open then fine. And if you think it's appropriate behaviour to spread malicious false rumours in the office then I am here to tell you that it's not. You know what I'm talking about and I find it unacceptable that a man who purports himself to be a professional would be so disrespectful to a fellow agent. If you're upset because we solved your case it's no reason to start acting like a child. Your behaviour has been disgraceful and I expect it to stop." It was the ultimate pin-dropping moment. A roomful of gaping mouths and goggling eyes. If looks could kill, Colton would already be decomposing. He tried to speak but he was too dazed by the surprise attack that he could barely get coherent words out. It didn't matter anyways, she was clearly going to shoot down anything he had to say. At least he had the decency to look a little chagrined at being reamed out in public by a pint-sized-but-very-pissed-off agent. Finally he had just waited until she was done glaring at him and watched her walk away, still feeling rather stunned by her fury. That Spooky was a damn lucky guy. ---- Scully was completely spent. No sleep and a rage-fueled morning had her dragging her impractically-clad feet by early afternoon. By five, she felt as if she'd been dipped in concrete - every body part twice as heavy as normal. She checked back at the office after spending the guy with the computer techs, tracing the movement of packets of data. Mulder still wasn't there. The nagging worry had evolved into genuine concern. He hadn't called all day which was rather unusual. But she hadn't known him all that long. And he was rather moody in general. Maybe he was just like this once in awhile. It certainly would explain why he hadn't traditionally done well with partners. Or maybe he was avoiding her. Mulder must have heard the rumours too and he probably thought she was the only other person who knew what happened in Atlantic City. It would certainly explain his recent behaviour towards her. As realization dawned upon her, Scully felt annoyance begin to grow within her. They hadn't worked together for that long but she was disappointed that he would think her capable of such behaviour. In fact, she didn't even want to think about how much his silent accusation stung. She knew Mulder must have been hurt in the past and was just shielding himself from further pain but Scully was still upset. If she called him now they would just end up arguing and she certainly didn't want to bicker with him in her current state of exhaustedness. She would call him later. ---- As she tiredly marched her way across to the parking area, Scully felt the unmistakable creepy sensation of being followed. And when she surreptitiously peeked at her tail, she could tell he was no professional. She spotted him right away and could see somewhere where she could lose him easily. Quickly she left Mulder a message detailing her situation as she doubled back on her tail and started following him from afar. He was looking around in confusion and Scully got close enough to identify him as probably Jonathan Perry. He hadn't changed much in appearance since the old photo they had found was taken and it would have been way too much of a coincidence if it wasn't him. Scully dropped behind a bush to hide from view as he started moving back towards her. She was leaving him a message when she heard rapidly approaching footsteps and saw a metal pipe swiftly descending towards her head. She reacted reflexively, throwing her arm in the way and quickly regretted her rash action as her arm became a searing eruption of pain. And then she wasn't able to regret anything as the pipe swung down again and connected solidly with her skull. ---- ---- The first thing she was aware of was a whole lot of something highly unpleasant going on in her head. The god-awful pain in her arm was second. Third was the metal shackles binding her wrists and ankles. Fourth was the discomfort of lying on a cold metal slab in little more than her underwear. Scully tried to lift her head and look around the room but her body would not obey her neural demands. And at first it was nearly impossible for her to put a coherent thought together but slowly she regained the ability to think. She was thinking about Mulder when she heard a loud creak. It was Perry opening the door. Scully involuntarily shuddered as he descended the stairs, gazing at her intently. "Agent Scully. How nice that you're awake! You must have a very hard head - I certainly hit you rather forcefully. Anyways, you and I will have a fine time together, I'm sure." Scully managed to pull off a decent 'you are completely out of your mind' look, considering the circumstances. "Look. Dr. Perry I presume? This can all end well if you just consider what you are doing. I am a federal agent. The FBI will be looking for me. If you let me go, they will be a lot more lenient." "Oh I don't care about your federal bullshit. They're not going to find me. At least not til I'm done with your dreams," Perry replied. Scully took a deep breath and desperately tried to ignore the ridiculously painful pulsation in her head. Maybe if she could get free for a bit, she could find a weapon. "Dr. Perry, I really need to use the facilities," she declared adamantly. "It's urgent." Perry looked slightly aggrieved but approached her and undid her restraints. As she was gently massaging the feeling back into her legs before she attempted the daunting task of walking, she heard the creak of the door again. Perry swore loudly and ran up the stairs. Damn, maybe God really was on her side. Scully waited a few minutes, listening to the pounding of footsteps above her. They were getting more distant very quickly so she clambered up the stairs with surprising dexterity. Perry had chased the intruder outside and Scully began running in the opposite direction. She tripped on more than a few occasions, landing hard on her broken arm each time. But she kept picking bruised and battered self up for what seemed like eons before she heard the telltale sounds of civilization. The poor frightened suckers that she flagged down could tell the dirty partially-conscious nearly-nude redhead definitely needed some help so they called an ambulance. She had already stepped deep into unconsciousness by the time they were done the call. **** PART 11 September 2003 And that is the last thing she remembers before waking up in the hospital. With a definitely-pounding-but-not-quite-as-disoriented mind, Scully realizes Mulder must have found her location somehow. It is highly improbable that his disappearance and her escape were unrelated. Unfortunately, it is also highly improbable that anyone will believe her tale as she is possibly suffering from a concussion-induced dissociative fugue and should not even be upright, much less staging rescues. So she storms into the office on wobbly baby Bambi legs, making sure that no one attempts to question her actions. She may be in pain but she is stoic, she is determined, and she is a Scully. Scullys are not wusses. And she is, most likely, the least wussiest of the Scullys. She demands to know when last time anyone saw Mulder was. She frowns when it's generally agreed upon that he hadn't been there since the previous morning. She growls ferociously when someone has the temerity to make a 'beamed up by aliens' comment. Scully knows they won't believe her. Why would they? Mulder had a reputation for taking off on impromptu solo missions all the time. He has only been missing for just over a day. And she isn't in the proper mental shape to put together a convincing case. She just has to figure out how Mulder had figured out where she was. When she spots the muddle of papers strewn around his desk she breathes an anxious gasp of hope. It is the data from the computer lab. And it has an address. One that Mr. I Remember Everything After Reading it Once hadn't taken with him. It is like a missive from heaven. Scully takes it and runs. ---- Scully approaches the vaguely familiar cabin with caution. She is amazed she was able to drive in her present state. Ambulation is still rather difficult and she desperately hopes she won't be required to run. She had appropriated a weapon during her brief layover at Quantico but is forced to hold it in her left hand due to the large plaster encasement hindering her right arm. It feels strange but still solid. She hadn't practiced left handed at the range for nothing. Scully figures that Perry won't see this coming - he would be so focused on Mulder he would have forgotten about her. Or he would have thought her incapable of making it to the freeway on foot in her condition. He certainly wouldn't believe it possible for her to have returned with a weapon and a very large headache. And he certainly won't be able to hear her over Mulder's echoing screams which Scully hears from absurdly far away. They get unbelievably louder as she enters the cabin and it is all she can do to keep breathing, keep stumbling along. When she sees the pull up door she remembers it creaks and raises it ultra-slowly while standing out of sight. She sees them. Mulder is strapped to the table preposterously lurching in his sleep, hollering inhumanely. Perry is focusing on Mulder, staring and sweating and smiling in his stupor. He is mumbling. He is saying 'he's close.... he's so close..." Scully is down the stairs and has her weapon firmly ensconced against Perry's skull before he even registers her presence. "Dr. Perry. It's over. Untie him. Now." Perry comes out of his trance and looks at her calmly as he seems to acquiesce. He reaches for Mulder's restraints and unlocks them but Mulder is still seething in the throes of the nightmare and lunges up against Perry, knocking him down to the ground. Scully is momentarily focused on Mulder who is seemingly on the cusp of consciousness when Perry rises from the floor, trusty metal pipe in hand. He just has the time to fling it at her head before she shoots. The bullet hits him dead on in the middle of his chest milliseconds before the metal pipe smashes into her temple. Scully hits the floor hard, head first of course, but she is already out like a light. Perry hit the floor hard too but it didn't matter which part of him hit first - all of him was already dead. Left-handed practice at the range had been an fantastic idea. ---- Mulder stirs back to consciousness with a reverberating ringing in his ears - as if he had been too close to a fired weapon. And that's not the only bewildering event that's occurred while he was nightmaring. He discovers he has regained sensation to his wrists and ankles due to their unaccountable level of freedom. He then surveys the room and his heart bounds into his uncomfortably dry throat. Scully and Perry are both lying completely still on the ground. And there is blood everywhere. Mulder scramble-topples off the table and drags himself over to the unmoving dainty being that has so quickly appropriated a sizable portion of his main arterial pump. His fingers tremble as he presses them against her neck, as he feels the slow, solid thumping of her own pump, as he regains the ability to intake air. He finds her phone easily and calls for an ambulance. As he waits Mulder traces his finger against her delicate features, gasping as he feels the swollen, weeping wound on her skull. He is careful to not move her in case of spinal injury but lies close beside her and strokes her hair as delicately as he can. Exhaustion takes over and, when help comes, they find him asleep, with his long fingers deeply entangled in her copper-red tresses. ---- PART last September 2003 [2 days later] Yet again she returns to consciousness amidst an all-emcompassing fog that permeates her every cell. A persistent beeping and an antiseptic odor barely make it through the mist to help her determine her location. Her little head-hammering friend is back with a vengeance and she cannot piece together more than one thought fragment at a time. At first she resists opening her eyes, knowing the action will be met with the misery of brightness. And probably with the disapproving glare of her mother's discerning eye. But this time she feels an unnameable sensation in the atmosphere. A palpitating intuition of intense energy focused directly on her. Scully only knows one person capable of exuding that sort of electrical phenomenon. She absorbs it into her and is instantly ready to revisit the waking world. He is slouched unnaturally in a chair beside her bed, looking like a handsome and weary vagrant. He is not asleep though and his eyes emit desperation until he becomes aware of her gaze washing over him. Immediately his entire countenance shifts and he breaks into a deep, relief-imbued smile. "Hey, sleepy-head," he says quietly, just barely brushing her inner ears with his soft timbre. "Hey yourself," she chokes out through dry, splitting lips. Mulder reaches to get her some water and she sips it slowly, letting the glorious liquid reach every dehydrated cell membrane. "I'll go get your mom - she's just getting something to eat. She's pretty worried about you," he says, starting to get up. Scully shakes her throbbing head and pleads as best she can. "No, Mulder, she'll come back soon enough and I really don't want to talk to her right now. Please just stay here with me." He doesn't say anything else for a moment - just stares right into her, immersing himself in her. She doesn't understand that he will stay for as long as she wants him there. He will stay forever if she lets him. He desperately wants to touch her, to feel her but can't tell if he would be overstepping proper partnerly concern boundaries. But then again, since when had he adhered to proper behaviour? Mulder tosses aside his apprehension and reaches over to enclose her slim, un-casted hand in his. He rubs tiny circles in her palm and they sit, reveling in the contact for a peaceful moment. "How long have I been here?" she asks, finally breaking the taut yet pleasing silence. "Just under 48 hours. Two skull fractures in two days - that even beats my record Scully. There was a lot of internal bleeding... You almost needed surgery on that little logical brain of yours..." he says with a depth of anguish in his voice that pains her to hear. His hand continues to press against hers, calming the two of them equally. "What happened?" she says, trying to change the topic. "I don't really know. When I woke up you and Perry were on the floor. He was dead and you were unconscious. From what forensics can tell, he hit you on the head with a metal pipe but you somehow managed to shoot him. Left-handed." Mulder says with more than a hint of pride in his voice. "What I want to know is why you were there alone - where was your backup?" Scully flashes him a wry look as she pieces together her memories. "Your reputation preceded you, Mulder. No one would believe you were actually missing. So I did the only thing I could do," she answers with a shrug. "You went after a serial killer with a massive skull fracture and a broken gun hand alone? Whatever happened to proper protocol Scully?" Mulder asks as he raises his eyebrows incredulously. "You know what they say, Mulder - rules are made to be broken," she replies with a hint of tease in her tone. He smiles at her quip and grips her hand tighter. "Can I quote you on that Scully?" he asks impishly. She doesn't respond verbally but imparts a coy grin upon him. It feels so delicious Mulder doesn't ever want the moment to end. But there is still an odorous feeling of shame hanging over him and he needs to tell her before he wusses out. However, it is rather difficult when Scully is peering at him intently, her fazy eyes still able to easily drill deep into his deliberation. He wonders what she is thinking, if she remembers his juvenile behaviour of the past few days, if she is going to call him on it before he sucks up the courage to apologize. He is just proverbially clearing his throat to start when she breaks the silence. "Mulder, it's okay. It was a misunderstanding and it all worked out fine in the end," she says in a quiet yet adamant tone. There is little Mulder doesn't believe but he is finding recently that he often can't quite fathom his slight yet stalwart partner. He had made hurtful assumptions about her, ignored her calls for help, allowed her to be taken by a serial killer, gotten abducted himself, and had basically forced her into a situation where she severely fractured her skull while rescuing his sorry ass. And now she is letting him off the hook, smoothing it over like it isn't his fault that she's in the hospital, that her brain is hemorrhaging, that she's obviously in a substantial amount of pain. Mulder goggles at her in disbelief and the crestfallen spirit that pervades his body saturates the entire room. When he speaks, there is no trace of the usual good-naturedness in his voice. Instead, it is the tone of a condemned man, a man with no spark within. "No Scully, it's not okay. It's not even close to okay. Not only did I completely jump to conclusions, I was being downright infantile. I should have just asked you about it and none of this would have happened. You wouldn't be lying here in a hospital. Your mom wouldn't be worried out of her mind. You wouldn't have to be making excuses for the incredibly inane things that I did. I fucked up Scully. And you're paying for it. And I don't want this to ever happen again..." He looks utterly dejected and she feels an irrational urge to draw him into her arms like a hurt child. Instead, she settles for pulling on his hand and drawing him closer to her. He resists at first but then gives in much too easily, the desire to be near her outdueling his self-revulsion. "Then don't let it happen again. Maybe we haven't worked together very long yet but you know me Mulder. I would never betray a confidence and I would never intentionally hurt you. And I know you would never intentionally hurt me. It was a honest mistake. But I'm okay. So let's put it behind us and call it a learning experience. He still looks unsure but is at least now able to look her in the eyes. What he sees is pure conviction of a kind that is unassailable. He couldn't fight this if he wanted to. And he's not at all surprised to find he doesn't want to. "Besides Mulder, I'm getting the impression that my future is going include making a lot excuses for the incredibly inane things that you do," she says with a wry grin on her face. "And now you've proved that your outlandish theories aren't always right." Scully looks slyly at her partner, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Mulder absorbs the energy she is sending in his direction and allows himself to join in her good humor. He bites down on his lip gently as he gives her a shy, self-effacing smile. "Hey - at least I was right about the nightmares. Perry even 'scientifically' documented his so-called case studies" he replies, mock-defensively. "And I was right about the Jersey Devil, and Tooms, and Ruby, and Billy Miles..." "Don't push your luck Mulder," Scully says, the warning in her voice tempered with the healthy dose of bemusement in her expression. Mulder does not respond verbally but she easily reads the heartfelt relief in his being and feels him relax into his oddly prepossessing nature as they settle back into the natural rhythm of their playful banter. He is still tenderly rubbing asymmetrical shapes on her palm and even though her head and arm are reverberating with fierce spasms, she cannot remember the last time she felt so settled, so satisfied. He is standing beside her and this is her place, where she is meant to be. Her head doesn't even feel quite as horrendous as before. As Scully's eyelids start to droop, Mulder too cannot remember the last time he felt this type of serenity in his soul. She has told him, in every way she can, that she knows him, that she accepts him, that she trusts him, that he is no longer alone. "Hey Scully, you get some rest. They want to keep you here for observation for at least 24 hours - and no signing yourself out this time - I want at least 24 hours of not being argued with. I've got to go back to the BSU to wrap the case up but then I'm coming back and you had better still be in this bed young lady," he whispers in her ear. Her eyes slip open just a bit as she quirks a placid half-smile at him. "Go shower and change first Mulder - you look and smell terrible," she says affectionately. "And remember to play nice." "Don't worry Scully, I'll be good. I won't even punch Colton," he says, flashing her his irresistible lopsided grin. A fake disappointed expression graces her drowsy visage and Mulder plays along willingly. "Okay, maybe I will punch Colton but I'll wait until you're back," he says pseudo-seriously. "Hmm. That's good Mulder, cause I'll probably have to jump in and save your ass again," she mumbles, barely awake. "Yeah well, good, cause no one is going to Scully. So get some sleep cause you're going to need it," he replies fondly. He gives her hand one more gentle squeeze and leans over to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. Scully feels him, savours his touch as she drifts in and out of sleep. She knows she will dream of him and this time it won't be a nightmare. She falls asleep with a small enigmatic smile still firmly etched on her face. "Sweet dreams, Scully," he whispers, softly brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "Sweet dreams." Finis.