From: Luvmulder@aol.com Date: Mon, 8 Apr 1996 15:16:20 -0400 Subject: Fwd: Pusher the Missing Scenes My first disclaimer--- almost as much fun as writing my first story. Well, okay, not quite. As we all know, the characters and File universe belong to CC and 10 Thirteen. Thanks to Vince for a script that stirred my soul; to DD and GA for bringing M and S to life. Characters are used without permission, no infringement intended. Janice Brown is all mine--you'll see more of her later. Special appreciation to Mac and Avril for their support as I venture back into fiction for the first time in many moons. Hugs to FreeFall, daughter extraordinaire, for helping me mend the rough spots. Those of you who know what I should be writing instead of fan fiction....sshhhhhhh, I won't tell if you won't. ------------------------->THIRD SEASON SPOILER ALERT<------------------------ No romance, just good buds, angsty and a tiny bit of profanity (PG-13). These are the scenes we might have seen had PUSHER been a tad longer. Written between Feb. 24th and March 5th, 1996. All comments to LuvMulder@aol.com. Hope you enjoy it! PUSHER: The Missing Scenes Sunlight, warm and soothing, uncharacteristic for a February afternoon, streamed through the first floor windows. Dana thought in passing as she refocused attention on her partner's silent form. It could be a scene playing out on any floor in any hospital in the country. A passerby, glancing beyond the open doorway might notice a young man, despair clearly evidenced by his body language, seated at the foot of a family member's hospital bed. Perhaps a father or beloved uncle. Vent dependent..........what a shame. A moment of observation and they'd continue on their way, self absorbed, the occupants of room 105 promptly forgotten. Forty long minutes had passed since the shooting and Mulder still had not moved. Not even shifted position. He'd been oblivious as orderlies hastily transferred Modell's limp form to a gurney for transport to the emergency department. Oblivious to the withdrawal of Brophy and the other agents. One look from Scully, accompanied by a purposeful flick of her eyes had been all it took for the room to clear. They were alone now. Only the sound of the vent hissing nearby disturbed the silence. She exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to go to him. To touch him. To reassure him, and thereby herself, that it would be all right. Scully stood quietly watching Mulder fight to regain control. His breathing was fast, slightly irregular; the only outward signs to hint at the battle she knew raged within. "Mulder," she called softly. Still no movement. His eyes stared straight ahead, his hands, palm up, lay limply in his lap. Scully bent down, reaching out to lightly touch his right hand. It was like ice. "Mulder," she tried again, a bit more firmly. "Mulder come on, we *have* to get out of here before the charge nurse has our hides." Still no hint he was aware of her presence. He was lost, somewhere deep inside himselfE She knew exactly what he was doing. Reliving the events of the last few hours over, and over.........and over. Categorizing what he should have done, weighing it against what he had done and coming up wanting. Damn that eidetic memory. Damn it to hell. Mulder would carry the guilt of the world if you'd let him. It was his way, the legacy of Chilmark and that November night, long ago. Scully tightened the grip on his hand. At least he had not pulled away from her touch. That was a good sign. Encouraged, she took his arm and guided him upward. Mulder stood, without resistance and turned toward Scully, his eyes glazed.....haunted. At that moment, she was not sure he knew where he was or even who he was with. She searched his face, hoping for a hint of what he was feeling. Nothing. "Come on, let's get out of here." she said, leading him out into the hallway. Brophy approached before they had made it as far as the nurse's station. He eyed Mulder for a moment. "Agent Scully, media vultures are unloading equipment in the ER, flagging anyone who moves for a story. You might want to try the employee exit. Jenkins will see you get to your car." Scully smiled wanly and nodded her head. Nothing more needed to be said. Brophy respected what he'd seen of Fox Mulder. Within the brotherhood of law enforcement, brothers took care of their own. Minutes later they were headed toward DC. Scully drove automatically, her mind not on the road but on her partner, seated quietly beside her. She had not seen him like this in a long time. Not since that time in Utah when.........."God!" she shook her head angrily to clear the memory. It would NEVER be that bad again. Not if she had anything to do with it. Scully pursed her lips, considering the next move. Decision made, she directed the car to the Capital beltway, heading for her apartment. An hour, maybe a few minutes more, and they'd be home. "Scully?" Startled to hear his voice, she turned toward the sound, relieved to see Mulder back in the present. He looked drained, exhausted. "Scully," he repeated quietly, without emotion, " I...I need to go to the office. The reports....." Scully scowled, noting his hands shook slightly as he spoke. He remained distant, avoiding her eyes. "Mulder," she responded gently, "the reports can wait. You need some time." Scully drove on, resisting temptation to ignore the speed limit. Traffic was light, thank god. She simply was not in the mood to deal with the DC derby. Not today. Every few moments, she'd purposefully glance to the right. Only a few miles to go. Then home--blessed sanctuary. "Scully, pull over." Dana slowed slightly, casting a quizzical look at Mulder. "NOW DAMMIT!" Mulder blasted, as he jerked the latch and began to shove the door outward. Realizing he had no intention of waiting for a gradual slow down, she slammed the brakes, jolting them to a final stop by the side of the road. Within seconds the reason for Mulder's urgency become apparent. She watched as he took two steps away from the Taurus, and began to spew the liquefied remains of breakfast, ingested hours before, onto the snow covered ground. "Oh Mulder," she thought sympathetically, as retching converted to dry heaves. She watched, wishing she could take his pain, the sound making her *own* gut ache. Finally he was still. Mulder spat twice, trying to clear his mouth of the foul residue and returned to the car, sinking gingerly against the passenger seat. "Sorry I snapped at you, Scully," he said quietly as he relaxed, eyes shut, against the headrest. "It's okay. We're going to my place." "Scully........" "No arguments. I'll make you some tea. It will help settle your stomach." He sighed once, retreating into stony silence. ******************************************************************************** Ah, it was good to be home. Back in her space. Scully enjoyed her apartment. It seemed most of her life the last 2 years had played out in mid- range motels. She and Missy had spent many happy weekends, lost in giggles, "malling" as Missy had called it, hunting for just the right items to reflect Dana's personality. To make the place *hers* in every sense of the word. "Mulder, why don't you get cleaned up. Mouthwash is in the cabinet above the bathroom sink. I think I've got a new toothbrush in there, too. Go ahead and use it. Go *on,*" she insisted, shooing him toward the door with her hands. "I'll make the tea." Mulder nodded, heading for the bathroom. By the time she returned with the tray, he was sitting at the computer desk, beginning to compose the initial paragraphs of his report. "Mulder here, drink this while it's hot." "Thanks," he said, taking the steaming cup. The warmth felt good, soothing in his hands. Setting the cup on the desk, he turned back to the computer screen. Scully waited. Observing. Moments passed. The clatter of the keyboard punctuated by occasional slurps of tea were all that indicated she was not alone in the room. He wasn't going to do it. Was not going to face her and talk about Modell. Damn! "Mulder, we need to talk about what happened today." She'd try to coax him out the easy way, the obvious way. Ignoring her, Mulder continued to type. Perhaps a threat. "You either talk to me or I'll call Janice. A word from me and she'll get you in today. Lord knows how many sessions she'll schedule afterwards." Janice Brown was definitely one of the "good guys." A psychologist who knew her limitations, she'd been instrumental in helping Mulder overcome the scars of the Utah case two summers before. She'd asked Dana then if she realized how truly remarkable a man Fox Mulder was.... Janice had never seen anyone in so much pain able to deftly manage impossible job stress yet remain consistently high functioning. All without relying on daily medication. "Call whenever you need me," she'd told Dana privately after that final session, " this won't be the last time." Scully had the number in her daytimer. In truth, she had it memorized. Dana knew he'd heard her. Mulder had deleted, then begun to retype the paragraph he'd been writing. "Please?" she asked gently. God, sometimes this man was impossible. Just impossible. Okay, hardball it is. Scully headed toward the hall closet. Deliberately, she reached into the front pocket of her trench coat, bending slightly to retrieve the silver object it held. Mulder, intent on his typing, never heard her approach. Scully braced herself, then gave a hefty shove against the padded back of the desk chair. Mulder looked up, startled to find himself facing her. "Here, I've got something that belongs to you," she said simply, returning the 9mm Smith and Wesson he'd entrusted to her care hours before. Mulder stared at the weapon, the metal cool against his hand. Abruptly, he slammed it on the desktop. In a flash, he was up, out of the chair and pacing, breathing fast, control slipping. "Talk to me." "What are you thinking?" Scully demanded. She walked with him, matching his pace. Not touching the man but not allowing retreat either. Time seemed to stand still. They were the only two in the world. "Talk to me," she repeated, carefully enunciating each syllable. Mulder's breath was coming in gasps now. The pacing continued, his hands flexing open, collapsing into fists, again, and again. Tears were beginning to form. "I........I...." "You what?" "Mulder what?" Scully pleaded as they moved in tandem back and forth, back and forth across the carpet. "Say it," Scully demanded, again refusing to back down, "Say it." The pacing stopped and Mulder faced her, really seeing her for the first time since the shooting. "I almost fucking KILLED you today!!" he screamed, slamming his fist against the closet wall. "How can you have me here? How can you be so kind?.....God , Scully.......I could have......you could be.......... If you hadn't pulled that alarm and broken Modell's concentration, I........." The sobs began. Not cries, not the semi-controllable outpouring of regret but sobs, guttural and heartwrenching, inconsolable, the kind that tear an observer's heart. Powerless to soothe his pain and knowing, sadly, this was the release he needed, she let him be. Gradually the outpouring slowed, and when she felt it was time, Scully lead him to the nearby couch and motioned him to sit. Positioning herself beside him, she took his hands in hers. ******************************************************************************** "Mulder, you've got to listen to me," she began slowly, letting him continue to wind down, regain his composure. Now to deal with the guilt, that damnable albatross of self recrimination Mulder hung so willingly about his neck. "Fox William Mulder, look me in the eye............please." His visage, puffy eyed and streaked with tears, returned her gaze. Dana squeezed Mulder's hands tightly twice for emphasis before relaxing her grip, "I'm right here. In one piece, safe and sound. What happened today was not your fault. I repeat, not your fault." "I pointed a gun at your head, Scully. That was MY fucking finger pulling the trigger. Even you said I was stronger that that," he replied, voice fading to a whisper. That's not what she'd meant and he knew it. Or did he? Was it possible he didn't realize she'd been trying to say something, anything that might help him refocus, distance himself from Modell's influence? Scully shifted her position slightly, trying to find comfort she knew a mere couch could never provide. "Mulder, what was it like to have Modell in control?": He grimaced, exhibiting that same look of disdain mixed with regret she'd seen that chilly morning atop the Old Memorial Bridge, when he'd admitted being unable to tell her about Samantha. Turning away now, as he had then, Mulder peered toward the window, his face expressionless, attention inward, remembering, "It was strange..so strange. Like being in your body but having someone else in the driver's seat. His voice was oddly alluring, almost hypnotic. The sound took precedence over everyone and everything" "And how many people did Modell kill?" Mulder flashed Scully an uncertain look, not quite sure where she was going with this. Not sure if he wanted to follow. "You know as well as I do, eighteen counting the two he took down in the hospital."