From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 10 Nov 2007 23:08:52 -0000 Subject: New: "Whiteout" Post-Ep, PG-13 (Book Four) by Paige Caldwell-Hunt Source: direct Reply To: paigec38@yahoo.com TITLE: Whiteout (Book Four) AUTHORS: Paige Caldwell-Hunt RATING: PG-13 CATS/KEYS: MSR, Post-Ep for "One Breath" SUMMARY: "Mulder, I don't remember anything." SPOILERS: Seasons One and Two DISCLAIMER: This is a not-for-profit undertaking FEEDBACK: If you enjoyed it, let me know! paigec38@yahoo.com WEBSITES: http://www.iwtbxf.com/paige NOTES: This is going to be a series of stories. Each book will be posted in its entirety. Book Four How are you feeling? Mulder, I don't remember anything... after Duane Barry... Doesn't... doesn't matter. ********** Had my mother not been present in my hospital room, I would have told Mulder that he was full of crap. Of course, it mattered that I couldn't remember what happened to me. Mulder, the profiler, would have bullied his way into my subconscious whether I liked it or not. Not this Mulder, the one who looked guilty and chagrined under the hard gaze of my sister, Melissa. This Mulder I didn't recognize, at least not until he gave me a get-well gift that I knew came free with his "Sports Illustrated" subscription. I should have taken the "Superstars of the Superbowl" videotape and clocked him on the back of his head. Instead, I called after him, saying something ridiculous about having the strength of his beliefs... choice words from someone who didn't remember anything. If Mulder didn't pick up on that clue, then I'd know that something was terribly wrong. I held my breath as Mulder walked back to my hospital bed. Studying me closely, he took something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was my cross. He'd been carrying it around for weeks. I thanked him politely, smiled benignly at my mother and began to secretly ponder what interest Mulder had in my little Catholic cross. A spiritual reason seemed ludicrous, so I began to contemplate the secular. Perhaps Mulder kept it as a reminder to occasionally look for me, like the proverbial string around your finger. Maybe, he held on to my cross because if you turned it sideways, it resembled an X. After all, I'd become a living, breathing X-file, the patron saint of alien abduction. Not that St. Samantha would be off her pedestal for long. Soon, Mulder would remember that floating out the window was significantly more extraterrestrial than being locked in the trunk of a car. Besides, she was still missing. I'd been dumped at the curb. Such thoughts would have entertained me for hours, however there was the small matter that required my immediate attention. Within a minute of Mulder's departure, I turned to my sister and asked her why Mulder looked so guilty. Melissa signed and gave me a knowing smile. "It's nothing, Dana." "Define nothing," I demanded. "Fox was in a really dark place," Melissa explained. "I went over to his apartment to talk to him and..." "His name is Mulder," I corrected her angrily. "And, you went over to sleep with him, didn't you?" Melissa had a long, rather sordid history of "talking" to men in "dark places". She also danced around Pyramids. "Don't be silly," she chided me. "It doesn't take a psychic to see that he's already preoccupied with you." "You mean preoccupied with finding me." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, here I am. Found. Everyone can go back to the former obsessions. Mulder can continue his search for his sister and you can go shake your tambourine around Stonehenge." "Dana," my mother interceded gently. "Your sister was only trying to help." "I don't need help," I mumbled, fastening my cross around my neck before Melissa could pull a crystal on me. "I need answers." "You need rest," my mother said emphatically. "Why not take a nice nap, honey. We'll come back later this evening." For once, I was glad that Melissa ignored convention. She leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Mulder's guilty look is because of you," she whispered in my ear. "Ask him about it sometime." ********** By the time I was discharged from the hospital, I was desperate for answers. From sneaking glimpses at my hospital chart, I learned that I nearly died from a foreign protein in my blood that decimated my immune system. My doctors were too busy patting themselves on the back to explain how this happened or how I survived. My mother simply wouldn't. When I asked her about my mysterious return, she'd press her lips tightly together as if her response was under lock and key. Melissa was no help, either. After accusing her of trying to seduce Mulder, she astrally projected herself out to Arizona. I had Mulder drive me home from the hospital. Surely, he would understand my search for the truth. After all, he'd dedicated his life to finding out what happened to his sister. A car ride discussion about my disappearance wasn't too much to ask. I couldn't have been more wrong. Other than saying hello, our conversation was limited to stilted observations about how cold it was for November. Only then did I realize that the late autumn chill didn't compare to the sudden cooling off of our relationship. I didn't even wait for Mulder to shift the gear into park before I was out of the car, slamming the door behind me. He followed my trail of muttered obscenities and overtook me on the path. "What's the matter, Scully?" he asked, taking my arm. Annoyed, I jerked away from him and demanded, "How am I supposed to come to terms with my kidnapping if everyone refuses to talk about it?" "Kidnapping?" Mulder gave me a curious look. "Don't you mean abduction?" I pointed over his shoulder. "Do you see the new glass in my living room window, Mulder?" "Yes," he nodded. "Who broke the window?" "Duane Berry." "That's right," I reminded him. "Not little green men. This has to do with a pathological liar who suffered from severe delusions." Mulder dropped his gaze to his feet. For a minute, I watched him scuff the pavement with his sneakers. "Okay," he conceded. "From now on, we'll call it a kidnapping." I nodded and allowed Mulder to guide me inside of the building to my apartment. While he unlocked the door, I took a deep breath and prepared myself. I wasn't sure if I was ready to revisit the scene of the crime where I was the victim. Recognizing my hesitancy, Mulder paused and said, "Other than a few repairs, Scully, nothing has changed." "No, " I responded, my voice tight. "Everything's changed." Mulder reached down and took my hand as he opened the door of my apartment. My eyes scanned the room nervously before settling on the coffee table in my living room. "That's new," I observed. "Your mom replaced it," Mulder told me. "It was a glass table," I recalled, glancing down at my hand. The lacerations had healed, but my memory of them had not. "I was trying to get my gun. Where is it?" "The table?" "No, my gun." He gestured towards my bedroom. "It's where you usually keep it." We did share certain intimacies. My partner knew where I kept my gun. I knew where he kept his. I moved past him into my bedroom where I pulled open the top drawer of my nightstand. "Is it loaded?" I called out. "Just as you left it." His voice was closer than I imagined. I glanced up to find him standing in the doorway, the late afternoon sun casting a shadow on his face. Unable to see his expression, I assumed the worst. "Are you accusing me of not fighting hard enough?" I asked. "Not at all," my partner responded, stepping into the light where I could see that he was speaking the truth. But, there was more, a sharpness to his eyes and to his voice. "Are you accusing yourself?" My gaze fell the open drawer. "I don't know," I admitted. "He overpowered me so quickly that I didn't have much time to consider my options." "You did exactly what you were trained to do," Mulder reassured me. He walked over to my bed and sat down next to me. "Don't second guess if you could have prevented what happened." "Why not?" I countered. "You are..." Mulder looked away and started to rise from the bed, but I leaned over and put a hand on his arm. "Please, Mulder" I pleaded with him. "I'd have to be blind not to notice the guilt on your face." "It's not what you think," he said, sitting back down. I leaned towards him so my shoulder nudged his. "So, tell me what I think," I joked. "It's not like you slept with my sister while I was gone." At least Mulder had the good sense to look shocked. "No," he exclaimed, "Strangle her? Maybe. Sleep with her? No, no... it wasn't her." I exhaled and smiled slightly, my sense of hearing dampened by my sense of relief. "Wait a minute," I paused. "What do you mean, no, it wasn't her?" Mulder dropped his gaze to my neck. "I was in a dark place, Scully," he confessed. "I couldn't find you. I had exhausted all my leads... all my options..." I instinctively reached up and touched my cross. "What are you telling me, Mulder?" "I met a woman who was in a similarly dark place," he replied. "She was a... she thought she was a vampire." I didn't know what to say, so I opted for sarcasm. "Was there a shortage of flight attendants while I was gone? My reference to his usual choice of one-night stands only seemed to distance him further. Once again, he got up to leave. I grabbed the sleeve to his jacket in a desperate attempt to keep him by my side. "I'm sorry," I apologized quickly. I have no right to judge you." "You don't have to, Scully," Mulder said, facing me. "I've been judging, myself." I didn't understand. "Why?" "Because more than your coffee table changed while you were gone." He stood up and rubbed his hands together, abruptly changing the subject. "I'm going to go out and grab my overnight bag from the car and then make us some dinner?" "You're staying the night?" I asked. "I'm staying until you feel safe enough to stay by yourself," he said. "What makes you think that I'm not ready?" "Pick up your gun," he instructed. "Excuse me?" Mulder pointed to my bedside drawer, which was still open. "Your gun, Agent Scully. Pick it up." "Not everything about you has changed," I grumbled, "Your delusion of seniority is still intact." I reached for my gun, however my hand froze in mid- air and began to shake. Recognizing the tremors, I curled my fingers into a tight fist and glanced up at my partner in surprise. "I'm staying," he repeated.