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Rates PG 13 for adult language and
situations.
12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#11: "Resurrection"
By Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com
Fox Mulder's Apartment
February 18, 1998
8:44 p.m.
Mulder stared into Scully's wide eyes, searching for a sign
that would tell him it was okay to believe. She had so long
been his touchstone, he found that now, in this most
important of moments, he couldn't allow himself to believe
until he saw it in her eyes as well.
She gazed back at him, tears making her eyes glitter in the
low light from the lamp by the window. "I asked the
Chandlers to let me borrow Sarah's childhood photo album."
She was presenting him with evidence, he realized. In true
Scully fashion, she was giving him the assurance he needed.
This is real. Scully has proof.
His hands began to shake.
She gently took the folder from his hands and put it on the
coffee table. She returned her hands to his, folding her
fingers over his trembling ones. "I know this is hard to
take in."
He shook his head, remembering another time when he'd let
himself believe. "Are we sure it's her? Are we sure it's
not another--"
"I believe that Sarah Chandler is your sister, Mulder."
Scully's voice was calm, firm and low. "I believe that the
evidence in this case points to that fact. I believe that
once we find her, DNA tests will prove that fact to
everyone's satisfaction."
Her words wrapped themselves around him, holding him steady,
keeping him from flying apart. "How? How did she--how
will--" He shut his mouth, realizing that he couldn't utter
a sensible statement right now.
"Mulder, I don't know why your sister was taken in the first
place. I don't know if it was what Carter Christopher told
you--a way to keep your father in line. But I believe that
the reason she was taken this time was because her memories
of being Samantha Mulder were beginning to return. Do you
remember that journal I told you that Sarah Chandler kept?
The one that her friend Anne Milliken let me read?"
He nodded, his neck feeling stiff and creaky.
"One of the impressions she had was of a boy. She said the
boy was someone she trusted, but also someone at whom she
was angry. He made fun of her."
Mulder closed his eyes, guilt washing over him in a wave.
"The last thing I said to her--"
Scully squeezed his arm. "She said he was someone she
loved, too. But listen to me, Mulder. Something has been
nagging at me ever since I saw that picture of Sarah as a
child. Something she wrote in the margin of the journal."
"What?" Was that his voice? That strangled, scratchy
sound?
"She wrote, 'I do not like them here or there. I do not
like them anywhere.'"
"'I do not like green eggs and ham,'" he murmured. His
stomach ached.
"'Would you eat them with a fox?'" Scully said softly.
Mulder wrapped his arms around his stomach, rocking gently,
his mind in the past. Samantha yelling at the top of her
lungs, screaming the Dr. Seuss rhyme over and over until he
was ready to throttle her. "I'm afraid."
She touched his cheek. "What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid to believe it's her."
"Because you don't know where she is?"
"Because I gave up on her." He closed his eyes. "I gave up
on her, Scully. I'm afraid to believe she's out there,
needing me, and I gave up on her. Just like before."
"Before? Before when you spent years sacrificing everything
in your life to your quest to find your sister?" Scully
cupped his chin in her hand and made him open his eyes and
look at her. "Mulder, in my whole life I have never known
anyone as passionate and dedicated to a single goal as you
have been. The idea of Samantha still being alive would
seem like the height of implausibility to almost anyone
else--"
"Like you?"
She flinched as if he'd struck her. She dropped her hand to
her lap. "Yes. Like me."
He shook his head. "You never let me give up, Scully. Even
this time--you tried to talk me out of it."
"I wanted to believe. For your sake." She looked away from
him. "But I never did. Not really."
He studied her downcast face, surprised by the guilt he saw
in her expression. Did she think she'd failed him? Could
she possibly believe that? "It was enough that you wanted
to believe, Scully. That was all I needed to know--that you
WANTED to believe she was alive."
She met his eyes. "I did want that. I wanted her to be
alive more than I can tell you. And when I saw that
picture--" She gestured toward the folder on the coffee
table. "All I could think is that I'd found her for you.
It felt like the most significant thing I'd ever
accomplished."
He wanted to pull her into his arms and show her how much
her unflagging loyalty meant to him. But he didn't trust
himself--he was afraid that if he touched her now, he'd
never be able to let her go. He was afraid he'd consume
her, swallow her whole with his need.
He clenched his hands in his lap. "I was ready to give her
up." A wry laugh escaped his throat. "My timing was always
shitty."
"Mulder, you can't blame yourself. You just can't."
But he did. He'd lost his faith, and now he was being
punished for his apostasy. He'd been shown a glimpse of the
prize--then had it snatched away from him. "They have her,
don't they, Scully? The ones who took her in the first
place."
"I think so. I think they're doing something to--erase--her
memories." Scully sounded acutely uncomfortable uttering
those words. "Like what happened to you in Idaho at Ellens
Air Force Base. You said you saw something, but they took
the memory from you."
"You didn't believe me then, Scully."
"I believe you now."
He smiled, touching her cheek with the tip of his
forefinger. "No, you believe IN me."
She nodded. "I also believe that whatever it is they're
doing to your sister right now, they intend to keep her
alive. Maybe even return her to her life as Sarah
Chandler."
"But will they let her live now?" Mulder asked, his heart
thudding with anxiety. "They have to know you went to
Charleston. That you may well know her true identity."
She sighed. He could see the truth in her eyes. "Yes."
"Do you think they'll kill her?" Once again he found
himself looking into her eyes for permission to believe.
"Mulder, they let her live this long for a reason. I
imagine that reason still exists." She sounded as if she
were explaining something very obvious. He took comfort in
her certainty. "If they think it's dangerous to return her
to her life as Sarah Chandler, they'll probably create
another 'cover story' for her. But I don't believe they'll
kill her after all this time."
He didn't have that kind of optimism. So he borrowed hers
for a little while. Later he could wonder and agonize and
fear, but right now, he wanted to be happy that his sister
was alive. "We have to go find her, Scully."
Scully's brow creased. "How? We know who she is now,
but we still don't know WHERE she is. I've got Pendrell
working on tracking down that logo I remembered."
He passed his hand over his jaw, stunned for a second
to feel how smooth it was. He was used to having beard
stubble by this time of night. But he'd showered and
shaved only a couple of hours ago, anticipating Scully's
arrival. He'd also picked up Thai take-out that was
growing cold on the stove, not to mention indulged in
an embarrassing display of unoriginality by digging out a
Barry White CD. He'd had plans for a very different sort of
evening.
But now there were more pressing concerns. "There's got to
be something we can do--"
"Is there anyone you could contact?"
He considered the question for a moment. "No. No one
I trust anymore."
"Raven never told me how to contact her. She just had
her people knock me over the head and throw me in the
back of a van." She smiled wryly. "I could go stand on
the street corner and see if history repeats itself--"
"No." He knew she was kidding, but he shuddered
anyway, remembering the agonizing hours he'd spent
waiting to hear from her after her call to him had been
cut off. "You told Pendrell to call as soon as he found
something?"
"Yes. Mulder, I know you want to do something, but right
now there's nothing to do. She could be anywhere--she
might be across the country or across the world. We have
to work with the clues we have."
"Maybe there was something in her e-mails to you?"
"I didn't save them, Mulder." She looked away from him.
"But I don't remember anything that would give us a clue."
He closed his eyes, fighting a keen sense of disappointment.
"I called Anne Milliken from Charleston," Scully added.
"She's overnighting Sar--Samantha's journal to us. I gave
her our account number and asked her to send it for earliest
delivery, so it will be here by 8:30 at the latest."
She really had covered all the bases, he realized. But it
grated on his nerves that he couldn't DO something. He
needed to take action. His sister was alive and she needed
him.
Scully reached out and closed her hands over his. "I know
this is frustrating for you. But we've done everything we can
for now."
She was right. He sighed and tried to relax. "You said the
Chandlers sent photos?"
She crossed to her overnight bag and pulled out a vinyl-
bound photo album. She handed it to him and sat next to him
on the sofa, tucking her legs up under her and sliding her
arm across the back of the sofa behind him. She enfolded
him with her warmth, and he gave himself over to the secure
sensation of it for a moment. He let the guilt and the fear
seep away, replaced by the heady joy of knowing that his
sister was somewhere out there, alive and waiting for him to
come get her.
He took a deep breath and opened the photo album.
* * * * *
46th Street
New York City
9:12 p.m.
"This is a grave situation. Everything we've worked for
could be lost." The thin cadaverous man that Raven knew
only as Mr. Howard paced near the window. Outside, rain was
falling lightly, softening and refracting the lights of the
city until they sparkled like Christmas lights.
For a second, Raven thought about home, a place where she
had not been for more years than she could remember.
Michigan was much farther away than it appeared on the map.
Light years away.
"What is the worst case scenario?" Ray Leone asked. The
heavy-set man looked old and tired. The past few days had
taken a heavy toll--his son, she was told, was inconsolable.
They had not yet discovered Leigh McGraw's treachery,
thankfully. Perhaps, if Raven was lucky, they never would.
She was playing a dangerous game, she knew. She couldn't
boast of some noble higher cause. Her motives were purely
personal. Purely a matter of vengeance.
She didn't have the power to bring them down from the
outside. But from the inside....
"Worst case scenario--Mr. Mulder and his lovely partner find
Miss Mulder before she is ready to be returned." Carter
Christopher glanced across the room at the man in the corner
of the room. Raven had never heard him called by name--he
was generally referred to as "our associate in Washington."
She called him Black Lung.
Black Lung lifted his cigarette to his lips and sucked in a
lungful of smoke. "Obviously she cannot be returned to her
present identity. We are already taking steps to give her a
new identity. She will be relocated."
"Can we take that risk?" Mr. Howard asked.
Mr. Glen pulled off his glasses and put down the file he was
perusing. "We should have terminated her twenty-three years
ago."
Mr. James put down his cup of coffee. "I agree."
"Why not give her back to her brother?" Black Lung took
another draw on his cigarette. He exhaled, obscuring his
face with smoke.
"Give her back?" Mr. Howard gaped at the smoking man.
"Complete the memory wipe and give her back. She will
remember nothing of her experiences after her abduction
twenty-five years ago. She will remember nothing of her
more recent abduction either. And Mr. Mulder will have no
reason to continue his search for the truth."
Carter Christopher stood and crossed the room slowly. He
was a thin man, but he exuded a presence like no other man
Raven had ever known. It was to Black Lung's credit that he
hardly flinched. "Surely you know that Mr. Mulder has a
second obsession that will not end with the return of his
sister."
Black Lung calmly took a last draw on his cigarette. He
crushed the butt in the nearby ashtray and exhaled slowly.
"I am aware of Mr. Mulder's more recent attachments, Mr.
Christopher. I am also aware that a man like Mr. Mulder is
single-minded in his attentions. I suspect that were we to
give him what he's spent his adult life searching for, his
other 'attachments' may well be weakened. And that will
benefit us all."
Carter stepped back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you
really think he would turn his back on his partner? After
the sacrifice he made before?"
Black Lung shrugged. "He never meant to give up either of
them. And knowing young Mulder's propensity for guilt, I
doubt he'd make the same sacrifice twice."
Then you don't know "young Mulder," Raven thought. Then
again, men were obtuse about things like love and fidelity.
They were always the last to know.
But she knew. She had seen.
"No," Carter said finally. "She is too great a risk. Take
steps to terminate her as soon as possible. Leave no
evidence. And the facility must be shut down. Permanently."
He turned his back to Black Lung and poured himself a
snifter of brandy, so he didn't see the glare of pure hatred
Black Lung shot his way.
But Raven did. And she recognized it for what it was. It
wasn't defiance--Black Lung would follow his orders because
he was a good soldier. He understood the notion of
sacrifice for the greater good.
But he would hate Carter for the rest of his life for what
he was being forced to do. Like all good enforcers, Black
Lung had learned how to compartmentalize his feelings. But
that didn't mean he didn't have them.
Samantha Mulder meant something to him. And though he'd
kill her, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Fool, she thought. Stupid fool.
Luckily, she was not as good a soldier as people supposed.
Her loyalties lay somewhere none of them would suspect.
She crossed to Carter. "I'm going home, unless you need me
for anything else?"
He met her open gaze, his face softening. He had real
affection for her, she knew. It gave her a perverted sense
of satisfaction. "Yes, my dear. I have no further need of
you tonight."
She slipped from the room quietly, confident that the other
men would hardly notice her departure. They were of the old
school--they tolerated the presence of a woman in their
midst because Carter was a powerful man, but they thought
her to be of no consequence.
Which is exactly how she preferred it.
She caught a cab at the corner and gave the driver her home
address. But after she was certain she was several blocks
from prying eyes, she changed her destination.
The cab turned at the next corner and headed for J.F.K.
Airport.
* * * * *
Sci-Crime Lab
FBI Headquarters
9:34 p.m.
Alan Pendrell tapped the down cursor, scrolling through the
Trademark database in search of the logo Dana Scully had
faxed to him. He'd gone through the current files with his
customary thoroughness and come up with nothing. He'd now
backdated about five years to see if the logo could be
something that was out of date.
He had the lights low as he worked at the computer. No
reason for the mood lighting; he just felt the occasion
called for it. He was working on an X-File, after all. He
had to admit to a secret thrill at being there in the
mostly-deserted building late in the evening, working hard
to crack a case that was obviously a big deal to Dana Scully
and her partner. He almost felt like a real field agent.
Agent Alan Pendrell, Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Who died and made you Eager Beaver?"
The low drawl almost made him jump out of his skin. He
whirled around and met the amused gaze of Annelle Hollis.
"You scared the life out of me!" he scolded.
Annelle grinned and crossed to the cubicle next to him. She
grabbed a swivel-back chair and sat. "How can that be,
Alan? Obviously you HAVE no life. Do you know what time it
is?"
He frowned at her, torn between annoyance at the
interruption and curiosity at the sight of her out of her
work clothes. She looked very...different. Her hair, loose
from its usual neat chignon, fell thick and dark to her
shoulders. She had lost the business suit with the cut-too-
large jacket, opting for a soft black sweater and faded
Levi's. She wasn't wearing much make-up and looked too
young to be a six-year Bureau veteran.
He tore his eyes away from the confusing sight and looked
back at the computer screen. "Apparently neither do you, or
you wouldn't be here at 9:30 in the evening."
"I was on my way home from dinner with a friend and saw the
light burning in the office. Wondered what glutton for
punishment was racking up the brownie points, that's all."
She scooted closer. "Whatcha working on?"
He minimized the program. "It's classified."
Annelle's eyes narrowed. "Something for Dana?"
"It's an X-Files related case, yes."
Annelle sighed and rolled her chair backwards a few paces.
"I see."
He glanced at her, surprised by the weary tone. "I thought
you were a supporter of the X-Files project."
"Oh, I am. Anything that keeps Fox Mulder hanging around
this building is okay in my book," she said with a wry grin.
"But I know where to draw the line between support and
sycophancy."
He glared at her. "I'm doing my job."
"You're trying to impress Dana Scully."
"I'm trying to help two fellow agents solve a very important
case--"
The computer made a small beeping noise. Pendrell turned to
the screen, immediately focused. He maximized the program
and saw the flashing dialogue box on the screen.
MATCH.
* * * * *
Fox Mulder's Apartment
9:38 p.m.
"Look at that one." Mulder's finger brushed across the
plastic sleeve protecting the photo of his sister at age 14,
grinning at the camera to give the photographer a full view
of her mouthful of braces. "Always knew she was going to
have to have braces."
"They looked much better on her than they did on me," Scully
murmured, only glancing at the picture before she returned
her gaze to Mulder's face. Watching him watch his sister
grow up in photographs was one of the most incredible
experiences of her life. Mulder was a pro at hiding his
emotions behind a stony facade, but she had long since
learned to decipher the smallest twitch of his lips or blink
of his eyes.
She had spent almost six years with this frustrating,
endearing man, watching him struggle with his own demons as
well as the lies and machinations of others. She'd watched
him have his loyalty betrayed, his affections trampled, his
faith undermined, but he'd never given up. Being his
partner had often been more agony than ecstasy, but right
now, right here, she was reaping her rewards.
She was watching this man she adored finding a moment of
sheer joy. It didn't matter that darkness circled them with
hungry eyes. It didn't matter that they would have to face
the fact that Samantha was still missing. For this night,
this moment, Mulder was happy, and it was almost more than
she could bear.
"God, she's beautiful, isn't she?" He looked up at her, his
eyes alight like a child. This is the boy who lost his
sister, she realized. This is what he looked like. This is
how he was before.
She ached for him, knowing that more than just his sister
had been stolen from him twenty-four years ago. "Yes, she's
very beautiful."
"She looks like pictures of Mom when she was young...."
Mulder's eyes widened. "Mom--she doesn't know--"
"Do you think you should tell her? We still don't know
where she is--"
The light went out of his eyes, and she looked away, unable
to bear the sight of sadness encroaching on his brief joy.
"You're right. No need to get her hopes up when we don't
know--"
"I just meant you should present Samantha to her in person."
She, too, felt the growing weight of reality, but she
struggled to keep hope foremost in her mind. They WERE
closer than they'd ever been. They knew where she was just
three weeks ago, and they knew what she looked like. They
knew the consortium was involved--
"Is that your phone?"
Scully looked up at Mulder's soft question. She did hear a
soft trilling sound, she realized. She'd left her phone in
the pocket of her coat, which she'd hung up to dry in
Mulder's bathroom. She went to get it. "Scully."
"Agent Scully, it's Alan Pendrell. I've got something."
Her heart leapt with excitement. "The logo?"
"It's a discontinued trademark--was replaced three years
ago. A company called Pinck Pharmaceutical."
Scully's stomach turned over. Why hadn't she figured that
out herself? She'd seen first hand Pinck Pharmaceutical's
treacherous alliance with the consortium. She'd seen the
evidence destroyed in a Virginia prison incinerator. It
could come as no surprise that Pinck Pharmaceutical was also
aligned with a monster like Ishimaru.
"I'm already running a full profile of the company,
including its corporate structure and the location of its
warehouses," Pendrell said.
"Great, Alan. I'll be there in a few minutes." She shut
off her phone and turned, almost colliding with Mulder.
"What does he have?"
She told him what Pendrell had told her about Pinck
Pharmaceutical.
His eyes darkened with anger and more than a little fear.
"And now the bastards have my sister."
"Pendrell's running a profile. I've got to change clothes
and head to the office."
"Let me grab a coat--"
"No, Mulder, you stay here. You haven't slept in days."
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm staying here,
Scully."
"There's nothing you can do there, Mulder, that I can't do
by myself. It's going to be a lot of paper pushing and
keyboard pounding. Stay here, look at the rest of the
photos and maybe get some sleep--"
"No. I'll bring the album with me and I'll stay out of your
way if you want, but I'm NOT staying here." His chin jutted
stubbornly. "Don't expect me to. You wouldn't do it if it
were your sister."
Pain slashed through her chest, and she dropped her eyes,
not wanting him to see the sudden tears.
"Damn it." He made a hissing sound of frustration. "I
didn't mean it that way, Scully--"
She blinked away her tears and looked up at him. "I know.
And you're right. I wouldn't stay here if it were Melissa.
But I'm driving."
He nodded. "I'll grab an umbrella while you change." He
closed the bathroom door behind him.
She stripped off the borrowed sweatsuit and dressed in the
spare suit she'd packed for her trip to Charleston. It was
a little rumpled, but she wasn't concerned about
appearances. She slung the strap of her overnight bag over
her shoulder and met Mulder in the living room. He was
stuffing the photo album in a gym bag to carry with him. He
hadn't taken the time to change from his black turtleneck
sweater and faded jeans, but he'd donned a heavy overcoat
and found an oversized umbrella for them to share.
He handed over the keys to his car without having to be
asked, holding the umbrella over her head until she was
behind the wheel. He slid into the passenger seat,
chuckling as they both reached down to readjust the seats.
"Not a word about my little feet," she warned, trying to
ease the gut-wrenching anxiety that she knew they were both
feeling.
"Wouldn't dream of it." His voice was soft with unspoken
gratitude. He knew what she was trying to do.
You want spooky, Fox Mulder? Spooky is how we have whole
conversations without words. That's what's spooky. She had
never in her life experienced the kind of communion she
shared with her partner. He had changed her life. He
continued changing it, every day, every hour, every second.
They had things to sort through when this was all over, but
Scully didn't dwell on those questions as she took the
quickest route to the Hoover building. She thought instead
about the incandescent joy she'd seen on her partner's face
for one brief, shimmering moment. He'd seen a glimpse of
his heart's desire, so close he could almost put out his
hand and touch it. She wanted to give it back to him
forever.
She wanted to give him his heart's desire.
Pendrell was waiting for them in the Sci-Crime lab. A
short, dark-haired girl with laughing brown eyes was with
him, Scully noted with surprise. One of the Sci-Crime
fingerprint experts, if her memory served her. Anna or
something. She glanced at the i.d. tag attached to the
waistband of the woman's jeans. Annelle Hollis.
Scully looked up at Mulder. He didn't even seem to notice
the other person's presence. He towered over Pendrell.
"What've you got?"
"Pinck Pharmaceuticals has warehouses across the U.S.,"
Pendrell informed them, motioning for them to join him at
the computer. "Eugene, Denver and San Diego in the West,
Kansas City, Houston, and Detroit in the heartland,
Tallahassee, Birmingham and Memphis in the South, and
Boston, Camden and Rockville, Maryland in the East."
"Rockville?" Mulder latched onto the nearest location.
"That's practically minutes away."
Scully cut her eyes at the other woman in the room,
wondering how much she knew and if she could be trusted.
Mulder merely ignored her and pressed on. "Where is the
Rockville site?"
"North of the city--a little over halfway to Gaithersburg."
"Let's go."
Scully grabbed Mulder's arm. "Mulder--we can't just
trespass on private property."
He turned on her, his eyes dark with anger. "Damn it,
Scully, this no time to be prissy about the rules. This is
SAMANTHA, for God's sake!"
She clenched her jaw and stood her ground. "I know that. I
also know that if you go bursting in there like a maniac,
you could get her killed!"
"You expect me to just sit here?"
"I expect you to put your feelings aside and use your head,
Mulder. If you can't do that, I'm going to call Skinner
right now and have him take you off the case. Now calm down
and let's think this through rationally." She met his
fierce gaze with deliberate calm, although her own nerves
were jangling wildly. She watched as he visibly regained
control, felt him drawing on her strength as surely as if
he'd reached inside her body and pulled out something
tangible.
"Okay, okay." He raked his hand through his hair. He
seemed to notice Annelle Hollis for the first time. "Who
are you?"
"Agent Hollis." The dark-eyed woman didn't flinch beneath
his dark gaze. Tough one, Scully thought, even if she did
look like a kid. "Shall I leave or can I be of help?"
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "What's your specialty?"
"Fingerprints, but that's not the limit of my talents. I
make a mean cup of coffee, and I'm not too proud to fetch
and carry. Shall I?" She glanced at Scully as if expecting
feminist backlash.
Scully merely nodded. "Thanks, Annelle--that would be
great."
The woman left the room, and Scully turned back to Mulder
and Pendrell. "Mulder, I don't think that Pinck
Pharmaceutical would have Samantha at an active warehouse or
distribution site."
He and Pendrell both turned to look at her, their eyes
widening with realization. "Of course, you're right,"
Mulder said, looking a bit sheepish.
"I'm sorry--I should've thought of that." Pendrell looked
even more mortified.
"What about defunct sites?" Scully asked.
"I'm not sure they would be listed," Pendrell admitted. "I
can look."
"Please." Scully crossed to Mulder's side and put her hand
on his arm, drawing him toward the corner while Pendrell
entered the new data query. She lowered her voice.
"Mulder, I'm sorry I pulled a hard-ass act with you--"
He shook his head, cutting off her apology. "Nothing I
didn't need and deserve. Thanks for realizing that."
She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight,
reassure him that it was going to be all right. She settled
for squeezing his hand gently before returning to Pendrell's
side to see if he was having any luck.
* * * * *
Sci-Crime Lab
FBI Headquarters
11:26 p.m.
Mulder stretched his arms over his head to ease the cramping
tension in his neck and shoulders. He felt Scully's gaze on
him at his first movement--she was worried about him. The
concern emanated from her in palpable waves.
His feelings were still all jumbled and fragmented. He
couldn't seem to get a good grip on anything--was he happy?
Sad? Angry? Afraid? He didn't know. Part of him was
begging to just shut down, to close his eyes and let
darkness swallow him. He was so tired. He hadn't slept
well in a week, maybe longer. He'd certainly had no more
than two or three hours of sleep a night for the past five
days. Sheer exhaustion hovered at the edges of his
consciousness like a descending fog. He couldn't keep going
like this--but if he was lucky, maybe he wouldn't have to.
"Anything?" He looked over Pendrell's shoulder at the
screen. They'd gone done a universal search and come up
with nothing, but Annelle Hollis had suggested trying a
commercial pharmacology homepage on the World Wide Web, and
Pendrell had been weaving his way through link after link in
search of any mention of Pinck Pharmaceutical. The techie
glanced over his shoulder at Mulder and shook his head.
"Nothing yet. But tons of sites yet to visit."
"Mulder, why don't you go home and try to get some sleep?"
Scully suggested. "You're not really accomplishing anything
here--"
"No, Scully." He shook his head firmly.
"Well, at least take a break. We could get something to
eat--I'll bet you skipped dinner."
He thought of the Thai food sitting in his refrigerator.
What plans he'd had, he thought with a wry half-smile. "I'm
okay, Scully. I'm not gonna starve."
"I could make a food run," Annelle suggested, pushing back
from her computer where she was continuing the slow search
of databases connected to the FBI network.
"No, you keep working, Annelle." Scully patted the younger
woman's shoulder. "I'll go get something for all of us.
There's an all night deli on New Hampshire--you want your
usual, Mulder?"
He nodded, distracted by Pendrell's soft exclamation of
satisfaction. "What is it, Pendrell?"
"Found an old Pharmacology Associates newsletter that
mentions Pinck Pharmaceutical. Seems that they were working
on a serum to treat Marburg and Ebola."
"Any link to the Reston monkey house?" Annelle asked.
Mulder and Pendrell both turned to look at her.
Her dark brows arched slightly. "I read THE HOT ZONE," she
defended.
Pendrell turned back to the computer screen. "The
newsletter just mentions unidentified test sites along the
East Coast."
"Maybe we can cross-link with Ebola or Marburg?" Mulder
suggested.
"I have a file at home I started compiling on infectious
diseases after the Cumberland Prison outbreak, Mulder."
Scully crossed to his side, putting her hand on his
shoulder. Her touch was warm, reassuring. "All the other
evidence was lost in that case, but I thought maybe if I
pieced together what I knew with some research I did--"
He looked up at her, tenderness mingling with pride
deep inside him. His Scully, the stickler for proof, always
managed to come through for him when he needed it most.
"Anything on Pinck Pharmaceutical?"
"A few things. It's been a while since I looked at the
files. I could go get them, grab some food while I'm at
it."
He nodded. "Want me to come with you?"
She shook her head. "Nah. Stay here and bug Pendrell."
Pendrell grinned up at her over his shoulder. Damned eager
little puppy, Mulder thought.
Scully slid her fingers lightly across his shoulder toward
his neck. Her fingernails rasped lightly against the side
of his neck, shooting prickles through his body. Her eyes
darkened slightly as she met his gaze. He swallowed with
difficulty.
She withdrew her hand and turned toward the door. He
watched her go, his breath trapped in his chest.
"I've just cross referenced Reston, and there's nothing
connecting to Pinck." Annelle Hollis' low Southern drawl
broke the spell. He took a slow, deep breath and looked at
her. Her brown eyes laughed at him, and he felt like he was
standing naked in the middle of traffic. He frowned
slightly, making her eyes dance even more. "I could try
Fort Detrick, but a lot of that's gonna be restricted."
He looked away from her knowing smile and nodded. "Try it
anyway." At this point, he didn't care if he had to hack
into every computer in the Pentagon--
He sat bolt upright. Damn it, why hadn't he thought of
them?
He grabbed the phone on the desk in front of him and punched
in a number. Two rings later, Langly answered. "LONE
GUNMAN."
"Turn off the tape."
* * * * *
Scully retrieved the dossier on Pinck Pharmaceutical from
its hiding place in a lock box at the back of her closet.
Too impatient to wait, she opened the file and looked over
it while she called in a sandwich order at an all night
diner down the street from her apartment. The file was more
clinical than investigatory--she'd put much more effort into
charting the disease she'd beheld at Cumberland Prison than
into proving Pinck Pharmaceutical's complicity in the
outbreak--
and the company's connection to Cancerman and his cronies.
That was Mulder's part of their partnership.
She did find an article she'd pulled off the Internet
regarding
Pinck Pharmaceutical's purchase of the Rockville
distribution site. Pinck had bought the property and the
existing structure, which had been a grocery warehouse, in
March of 1995. In passing, the blurb mentioned a viral
outbreak among lab animals at one of the company's drug
research facilities. The article didn't mention the
location of
the "hot" site, only that the facility had been shut down in
early August, 1994, and never reopened.
August, 1994....
Scully's cell phone burred, and she shut the file.
"Scully."
"Hi, it's me."
She tried to temper a surge of excitement. "Do you have
something?"
"Not yet--I've got the guys at the GUNMAN checking some of
their sources."
"Oh, we should have thought of them right away!"
He didn't speak for a moment, and she wondered if she'd lost
the connection.
"Mulder?"
"Just not used to your talking nicely about the boys."
She smiled at the phone. "Like you said before, Mulder,
this is Samantha. If I thought the Stupendous Yappi might
give us a clue, I'd dial his 1-900 number in a heartbeat."
"Any luck on your end?"
"Just a confirmation that Pinck was doing virology research
at an unnamed facility that was later shut down after a
viral outbreak among the lab animals."
"Any connection?"
She hesitated, wondering if she was as guilty of leaping to
conclusions as she often accused Mulder of being. But the
timing was...strange....
"Scully?"
"The Pinck virology research site was shut down in early
August, 1994."
He didn't say anything for a long moment. But she could
hear the soft, whispery sound of his breathing.
"There's probably no connection--" she began.
"In your hypnosis session, you mentioned being taken
somewhere after you were removed from the train. Could it
have been a research facility?"
The muscles of her shoulders tightened, and she could almost
see a door closing in her mind. "I don't know. I don't
remember any of what I said under hypnosis, Mulder--I told
you that." She felt her stomach twisting and her pulse rate
quickening. "I don't--"
I don't want to remember, she realized.
I don't want to know.
Her mind was fighting memory. Struggling to hold back the
full horror she'd gone through. That was why she was
suddenly so tense, wasn't it? It wasn't anxiety for
Samantha or concern for Mulder. It was fear.
Terror.
"Scully?"
She cleared her throat, tried to calm her suddenly ragged
breathing. "I ordered some sandwiches--I'll pick them up
and be there in a little bit. Maybe Byers will have
something for you by then." She hung up without saying
goodbye, afraid her burgeoning fear would add to his own
anxiety.
Outside, the rain had stopped, and the temperature was
beginning to plunge. A sharp wind was already drying the
streets and driving late-night stragglers behind doors.
Scully stopped briefly to pick up her sandwich order and
rushed back to the car, shivering as the icy wind lifted her
hair and crept beneath the collar of her coat. She cranked
up the heat and headed for New Hampshire Avenue.
She had gone almost five miles before she realized she was
headed away from D.C.
She blinked, surprised that she could have been so
distracted. She pulled off the main strip and was about to
turn around when she saw the sign at the edge of the parking
lot where she'd turned. "Best Buy Food Mart."
It was an insignificant sign, one she'd probably seen a
thousand times over the past few years. It was yellow with
bold blue letters rimmed in red. The sign was illuminated
from within, but one of the bulbs inside was apparently
blown, for the left side of the sign was significantly
dimmer than the right side.
And Scully remembered.
Night. Dark, thick, heavy. Cold, she was so cold. Cold
and hurting. She ached everywhere. She was dying.
Scully put her car in park and slumped back against the
seat, shivering. Oh, God.
She remembered.
She was in the back of a vehicle. Like an ambulance, but no
sirens. No attendants. Maybe it was a hearse. Maybe she
was already dead....
A soft tap on her window startled her, and she jerked
upright, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She stared
up into the face of a night guard.
"Are you okay, lady?" he asked, his voice muffled by the car
window.
She nodded. "Fine," she managed to say.
"Are you lost?"
She shook her head. "No--I'm fine." She put her car into
drive and pulled back onto New Hampshire Avenue.
Still headed out of D.C.
She kept driving east toward the Beltway. She took the
Beltway to Washington-Baltimore Boulevard, following her
memories.
She had been strapped on a gurney, held immobile, but she
had been able to see through the tinted windows of the
vehicle. She had seen the flash of signs, trees, and buildings,
heard the noise of traffic--
Her cell phone rang, making her jump. Her hands jerked on
the steering wheel, making her car swerve slightly toward
the other lane. Fortunately traffic was light, and Scully
regained control without incident. She opened her cell
phone. "Scully."
"Where are you?"
"Washington-Baltimore Boulevard, headed toward Baltimore."
"Baltimore?" Mulder's voice sounded choked. "Why?"
"I remembered something...." A chill was creeping up her
back, outdistancing the heat pouring through the car's
vents.
"Scully--listen...me...Byers...something...." Mulder's voice
faded into static. Scully shut off her phone and tried to
dial him back, but she couldn't get through.
Her phone rang twice in the next twenty minutes, but when
she answered, she heard only static. She was driving
past the National Agricultural Research Facility and
Fort Meade--maybe the government facilities were
causing problems with her cell phone. It wouldn't be the
first time.
As she neared the Baltimore-Washington International
Airport, a jet coming in for landing passed overhead, its
roar like an echo of the past, and she remembered how it had
felt to lie in the back of that vehicle years earlier, drifting
in and out of consciousness only long enough to be afraid.
She had known where she was. They hadn't bothered to hide
it from her. And she'd feared that it meant they had no
intention of returning her alive.
Her heart clenched at the memory of her terror, the horrible
certainty that she was never going to see her family again.
Never going to see Mulder....
Her cell phone rang again, jarring her back to the present.
She realized tears were trickling down her cheeks; she wiped
them away and reached for her phone. "Scully."
"Scully, where are you?" She heard a rumbling sound
through the earpiece and realized that Mulder was in a car.
She glanced at the road sign. "About ten minutes out of
Baltimore."
"I'm headed your way now--I'm probably ten or fifteen minutes
behind you now. Listen, Byers found something."
She barely registered his remark as she changed lanes on
instinct, heading for a turn off.
"Scully, did you hear me?"
She took the right hand turn before she spoke. "Yeah--Byers
found something?"
"He found a CONSPIRACY JOURNAL article about Pinck
Pharmaceutical's shutdown of its virology research
facility."
"It's just outside Baltimore, isn't it?"
Mulder paused a beat before answering. "Yes, on Alvarado
Parkway."
Scully glanced at a street marker as she passed. "I'm on
Alvarado."
"Scully, what the hell--"
"I was there, Mulder. I was at that facility. It wasn't
shut down because of a viral outbreak. It was shutdown to
accommodate my captors. There was testing going on there,
Mulder, and it may well have been viral research. But the
test subjects weren't animals." A shudder wracked her body.
"Scully, pull off and wait for me. Don't go to that
warehouse--"
She crested a small rise and found herself staring at a
sprawling two-story warehouse. "Mulder, I'm there."
The warehouse was at the edge of a manufacturing area,
far enough apart from the warehouses further down the
road to be safe from prying eyes. Not so secluded that
it would excite curiosity, the warehouse was the perfect
place for sins to be hidden in plain sight.
A faded For Sale sign stood at a crooked angle in the
grassy shoulder between the road and the outer edge
of the parking lot. Scully doubted the building had excited
the interest of buyers; who would buy a facility where a
deadly virus had broken out? She pulled her car off the
road onto the shoulder and extinguished the headlights.
Mulder's voice buzzed in her ear. "Scully, get away from
there. Go back down the road and wait for me, do you hear
me?"
She eyed the warehouse, wondering how she could make a
stealthy approach. The front opened on the parking lot--no
way to sneak up there. But the back butted up to a wooded
area--maybe if she parked at one of the warehouses down the
road and back-tracked....
"Damn it, Scully, listen to me!"
Movement outside the Pinck warehouse distracted her
attention. Dark figures emerged from the warehouse with the
speed and precision of a coordinated team. Five or six--
maybe more. They darted across the front lawn of the
warehouse and loaded into a black van parked nearby. The
van jerked into gear before the side door was shut.
"Mulder, several people just left the warehouse in one hell
of a hurry." She watched the red tail lights of the van
disappear over the rise.
"I'm on my way, Scully."
"Mulder, there are no other cars here now. I'm going to
try to take a look around."
"No, Scully--"
She was already out of her car and across the road, led by
an overwhelming sense of urgency. Something was wrong.
Something horrible. She couldn't sit still. "I'm going in,
Mulder--I think Samantha is in there."
"Scully, damn it!"
She hung up the phone and tucked it in her pocket, realizing
she needed both hands free. The night was dark, clouds
obsuring the moon. Down Alvarado, street lamps lit the
night, but here at the warehouse, all the lights were closer
to the building. She squelched the sense of vulnerability
and darted closer, driven by feelings she didn't understand
and couldn't take time to analyze.
Her phone trilled, and she almost shut it off. But she took
pity on Mulder and answered.
"Damn it, Scully, don't you DARE hang up on me. Where are
you?"
"Outside the warehouse. I'm about twenty yards from a side
entrance--"
Suddenly a deafening crash split the air, and seconds later
Scully was slammed backwards, as if hit by an invisible
truck. Her cellular phone flew from her hand and landed with
a clatter on a concrete walkway fifteen feet away. It
skidded to a stop, its glass front display reflecting the
flickering yellow column of flames that shot into the night
sky from the heart of the darkened warehouse.
From the cracked earpiece, Fox Mulder's frantic voice
screamed Scully's name, the cries swallowed by the
hiss and roar of conflagration.
* * * * *
1:11 a.m.
She was awake. Not fully--the edges of her vision were gray
and blurry, but for the first time since she'd been grabbed
and chloroformed in the alley behind Garnem's Pita Bakery,
Sarah Chandler was conscious.
She was conscious of almost everything--who she had been for
the last 22 years of her life as well as who she had been
for the first eight years of her life. There were gaps, but
she knew enough to know that she was in serious danger. She
smelled smoke. She felt the growing heat that drove away
the chill of the darkness.
She had to get out.
She could barely move. Her body felt numb, nerveless. But
she was alone in the room. No one could stop her--but no
one could help her, either.
She thought of her parents--the Chandlers, she corrected
with a crinkle of her forehead. The only parents she'd
known for 22 years. It had been over a year since she'd
seen them, and they'd parted in anger.
Now, she wondered if she'd ever see them again. Or her real
parents--Bill and Caroline Mulder.
Were they even alive?
Did they remember her?
Fox....
She whispered his name into the silence, her voice little
more than breath. He was still alive. She knew where he
was, where to find him. She had a picture of him--she
remembered wondering why she had been so drawn to that
photograph in her scrap book. Now she understood.
Fox...so handsome. She'd never have guessed he'd turn out
so well; he'd always been a geeky boy.
Weak tears trickled down her cheeks. Too many thoughts
paralyzing her brain. She needed to move. Needed to get
out of here.
She gathered her strength and heaved forward, trying to sit
up. She succeeded only in tumbling from her gurney to the
floor, banging her chin in the process. Pain jarred from
her head to her toe, and she crumpled to the floor, weeping.
Hands touched her shoulders, and she instinctively recoiled.
"I'm here to help you." The voice was warm, female. The
hands were strong but gentle as they drew her to her feet.
A steady arm circled her waist, keeping her standing.
"You've got to help me, Sarah."
"Samantha," she murmured. "I'm Samantha Mulder." She tried
to lift her face to look at her rescuer, but all her
strength was focused on keeping her feet.
"Samantha." The voice was in her ear. Strong and soothing.
She arm around her waist propelled her forward.
They went through a door. Smoke surrounded them, gray and
thick. Samantha coughed. Her rescuer tightened her grip
and half-dragged her around a corner.
There was a cracking sound, and fire flashed in front of
Samantha's eyes. Next to her, she heard a scream of pain,
and the grip on her waist loosened. Samantha crumpled to
the floor.
Near the floor, the smoke wasn't as dense. Samantha drew
in deep breaths of the fresher air and tried to move. She
felt a hand close over her wrist.
"Are you okay?" The voice was tight with pain yet strong
with determination.
"I think so--" Samantha peered through the smoke, trying to
see her rescuer. It was a woman. The warehouse was too
dark for her to make out colors or features--and even if she
could, the woman's hand covered the right side of her
face and soot marred the left side. The back of the woman's
hand was also blackened--she'd been burned. Yet she had
strength enough to lift Samantha with her free hand, drawing
her back to her feet.
"We can't rest." The woman half-dragged Samantha forward.
Samantha stumbled along with her, trying to do her part.
Oddly, her exertions were making her feel stronger rather
than weaker.
"I think there's a side exit near here."
Samantha's eyes and lungs burned from the smoke. She was
still a little groggy--the corridors through which they were
making their way seemed to twist and turn like a maze. She
could see little, but what she could make out looked like a
warehouse--but one far more complex and labyrinthine than
any she had ever seen.
Suddenly a shout split the air, and Samantha's rescuer
froze, drawing her back against the wall of the corridor.
* * * * *
1:21 a.m.
Mulder pushed the borrowed Buick to its limits, flooring the
accelerator and weaving his way around the light traffic on
Washington-Baltimore Boulevard. The turn-off was in sight;
Mulder put down the cell phone long enough to take the curve
at way too high a speed, then grabbed the phone again,
listening. He heard only the hiss-crackle sound of static.
Or fire?
By his watch only a minute passed before he saw the column
of smoke rising into the night sky. It felt like more. An
orange glow brightened the darkness and he pressed the
accelerator until the Buick shimmied and bucked. He topped
the rise and saw the warehouse ahead, its heart engulfed in
flames.
No thought of stealth crossed his mind. He swung into the
parking lot and barely jerked the car in park before he was
out the door and running toward the burning building.
Halfway down the walk, his foot hit something and he
skidded, tumbling to the grass and hitting flat on his solar
plexus. His breath exploded from his lungs and he writhed
with pain, trying to suck in air. He managed to crawl to
his hands and knees, managed to find what had impeded his
progress.
Scully's phone.
He looked up at the warehouse, saw how the flames had
tripled just since he first came into view of the inferno.
And he knew without a doubt that Scully was in there,
looking for his sister.
No, God, no, please--
Scully would risk her life to give Samantha back to him. He
had known that years ago, when he had kept from her the
identity of the woman on the bridge. He had known,
instinctively, that she would never choose her own life over
that of his sister. It was the kind of woman she was--the
kind of friend and partner she was.
And now--
He pushed to his feet and weaved an unsteady but purposeful
path toward the burning warehouse. "Scully!"
* * * * *
Scully heard her name. She pulled up short, recognizing
Mulder's voice. So soon?
She felt torn--Samantha was in here somewhere. She knew it
with a certainty she'd not felt for years--the same
certainty that had convinced her that Mulder would return to
her side and rejoin her in their search for the truth.
She just knew.
"Sarah!" Her shout was a hoarse croak--she'd been inhaling
a lot of smoke over the last few minutes. Too much smoke.
She was already wheezing, already feeling lightheaded. The
warehouse was a maze--corridor building on corridor, made
all the more impenetrable by the haze of smoke and the
urgency of passing time. If Samantha had been held in the
central part of the warehouse, she was already lost.
Whatever explosive device had been used to blow up the
warehouse had included an incendiary--she could smell the
fumes of accelerant, reminding her of the Cecil L'ively
case. Thank God Mulder was afraid of fire--that should make
him think twice before coming in here after them.
"Scully!"
God, his voice was closer than before.
Was he coming in?
No. She couldn't let him come in here.
"Mulder, stay out there!" Her voice was weak, scratchy. A
coughing fit seized her, made her grab at the wall to steady
herself.
"Scully!"
She had to go back. If she didn't go back and stop him, he
would come in here, and they would all be lost.
She turned and began to retrace her steps toward the door.
* * * * *
Raven bit her lip and ignored the pain screaming down the
right side of her face and neck. She had shielded Samantha
Mulder from the rain of burning debris at her own risk--the
instinct of the soldier. Protect and defend.
But she wasn't a soldier anymore. And she had more pressing
matters to deal with than the life of one woman. She had
done her duty. Samantha Mulder was within reach of
salvation. And Raven had already sacrificed enough to bring
her to this point.
She could wait no longer to make her own escape. And she
didn't have time to be encumbered by Samantha Mulder.
She stopped and positioned Samantha against a wall. Up
ahead, billowing smoke denoted where the side exit door was
to be found. "There's the exit," she told Samantha,
pointing toward the opening. "I can't help you any more.
It's up to you to follow me."
She didn't wait to make sure Samantha understood. There was
no more time.
She fled through the door into the night.
Cold air hit her wound like fresh fire, and she almost
screamed. But her training had taught her much about self-
preservation. Stealth was her only hope, and there was too
much open ground between the warehouse and the safety of the
woods for her to take risks.
She bit her lip until it bled, focusing all thought on the
sharp metallic taste filling her mouth. She staggered into
the woods and found shelter.
The pain was gut-wrenching. She vomited, and the exertion
increased the pain until she felt as if her body were one
huge, swollen throbbing nerve. She had to find shelter.
Had to find help.
But there was no one to turn to now. One look at the burn
on her face, and Carter would know. They would all know.
She had severed all ties tonight.
All for the sake of a woman she'd never met and would
probably never see again.
She pushed to her feet and weaved through the woods to where
she'd hidden her rental car, counting steps to divert her
mind from the pain and from her growing sense of isolation
and vulnerability.
Nobility, she mused, is severely overrated.
* * * * *
Mulder reached the front door of the warehouse. It was open
a crack; smoke curled around the edges. He touched the
handle and found it hot.
Suddenly the door burst open, slamming him backwards. He
stumbled but managed to keep his feet as the small, soot-
covered figure hit him at a full run.
He curled his arms around her. "Scully!"
Scully's eyes were frantic. "Run, Mulder!" She jerked away
from his embrace, dragging him behind her with surprising
strength. "It's rigged to blow again!" she wheezed,
stumbling as her feet left the concrete walk and hit the
grass.
Mulder took over, wrapping his arm around her waist and
half-carrying her with him as he ran as far from the
warehouse as he could. But when the second explosion hit,
they were close enough to feel the concussion. The
compressed wall of air hit Mulder in the back and knocked
them both sprawling.
When his head cleared, Mulder looked back at the warehouse.
It was nothing but flame.
In the distance, the wail of sirens split the air, barely
audible over the roar of the warehouse fire. Beside him,
Scully was a knot of warmth tucked against his rib cage;
instinctively he gathered her up and held her tightly,
letting the feel of her ease the worst of his raging fear.
She's safe she's safe she's safe oh God she's safe....
But as his fear subsided, his grief swelled, unquenchable.
It filled him, drenched him, surged through him. He thought
it might be the only thing holding him upright. He
whispered the name imprinted on his heart. "Samantha...."
Scully pressed her face against his throat. He felt her hot
tears dripping down his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered,
her voice a faint rasp.
He closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively. His muscles
bunched on instinct, screaming at him to get off his ass and
plunge into the heart of the fire. Samantha was in there.
She needed him.
But if she was in there, she was dead.
There. He'd thought the words.
Samantha was dead. And even though there was a dark
allurement in the thought of sacrificing himself to that
same fire that had finally taken her from him, he resisted,
trapped in the strong grip of his partner's arms. If he
went into the fire, Scully would follow. She would die
rather than give him up to death. She'd proved that more
than once.
And he would not be the cause of her death, too.
"Maybe she's not in there." Scully voiced the hope, but he
could tell that she believed otherwise.
He brushed her hair away from her face, wiping away smudges
of soot. Through a blur of tears, he read the anguish in
her expression, her own sense of guilt and loss. He
couldn't bear the sight of it; he looked away, over her
shoulder toward the warehouse fire.
And saw movement.
Scully looked up at him, betraying her surprise as his arms
tightened around her. "What is it?"
It WAS movement. Slow, unsteady...a dark figure moving away
from the fire, silhouetted against the blaze. He could tell
only that it was human--tall, slender, slight. Female.
Longish hair lifted by the wind.
He pushed to his feet, pulling Scully with him. He heard
Scully's gasp and knew she had seen the figure, too.
He ran forward a few steps, Scully keeping pace at his side.
But as the figure grew more distinct, as she stepped into a
puddle of light from one of the lamps illuminating the
parking lot, as her features were finally revealed to him,
he faltered.
It was too much.
Too much.
Scully paused with him, looking up into his face, searching
his expression. He met her gaze, his wide eyes telling her
what she wanted to know.
She turned and ran toward the woman. Mulder lagged behind,
his body suddenly unresponsive to the urgings of his
whirling mind. He watched Scully gather the woman into the
protection of her arms, watched the two women close the
distance between him and them.
He saw the light of recognition in a pair of hazel eyes so
like his very own.
"Fox?"
A band of tension snapped inside him, and he lurched
forward, arms outstretched. He whispered her name and
gathered her up into his embrace.
After twenty-five years, Fox Mulder had finally found his
sister.
End of 11
Rated PG-13 for adult
situations and language.
12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#12: "Retreat"
By anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com
University Hospital
Baltimore, MD
2:42 a.m.
The room was dark and quiet, lit only by a small lamp on the
bedside cabinet. In the bed, Samantha Mulder slept, her
pale, thin face relaxed in slumber. Her brother kept watch
beside her, his tear-reddened eyes fixed on her face,
searching, studying, memorizing.
Dana Scully watched him from a chair in the corner of the
small private room, searching, studying and memorizing as
well. She had never thought to see this day, and now that
it had come, she wanted to preserve it somehow, capture this
moment for eternity.
It was not often a person achieved his heart's desire.
Her eyes were damp with tears as well, shed in a maelstrom
of relief and joy and sheer nerves. She had managed to hold
herself together through the ride behind the ambulance that
carried Samantha here to University Hospital. She'd been a
rock for Mulder, who had begun to slowly unravel the moment
he'd heard his sister call his name. She'd been the one who
filled out the admittance forms, who provided the insurance
information with a quick phone call to Anne Milliken.
Scully had also called Skinner and her own mother, knowing
that with all the threads of this case that were yet to be
untangled, she'd need all the help she could get. Her
mother had agreed to stop by her apartment and bring a
change of clothes so that Scully could get rid of the
surgical scrubs she'd borrowed from the hospital when she
had showered to rid herself of the smell of smoke. Skinner
had dispatched a hand-chosen team of arson investigators to
the Baltimore warehouse site.
Scully suspected it would be an exercise in futility. The
fire had been set with the express purpose of leaving no
evidence to be found.
The door to the hospital room opened, and Scully's mother
entered, carrying a small athletic bag. Her forehead was
crinkled with a worried frown, but Scully noticed that she
straightened her face immediately when Mulder looked up at
her. Margaret smiled at Mulder, setting the bag on an empty
chair and crossing to his side.
Mulder rose and slipped his arm around Margaret's shoulder,
accepting her affectionate hug. "Pretty amazing, huh?" he
murmured, looking down at his sister.
"How is she?" Margaret glanced at Scully, questions in her
eyes.
Scully smiled her reassurance. "Tired and a bit dehydrated,
but the doctors say she should be okay. They ran a battery
of tests on her when she first came in, so if there's
anything else wrong with her, we should know soon."
Mulder glanced over his shoulder, meeting Scully's gaze.
"If it weren't for your daughter, Mrs. Scully--"
Margaret met her daughter's eyes, her gaze filled with love.
Tears pricked the back of Scully's eyes, and she managed a
trembling smile. "I brought a change of clothes, Dana. But
first--there's an agent outside who needs to speak to you."
Something about the expression in her mother's eyes made
Scully's stomach quiver. She rose and crossed the room,
pausing briefly to run her hand comfortingly down Mulder's
back before she left the room in search of the agent.
A slim, petite young woman with chestnut brown hair turned
away from the nurse's desk. Face on, she looked a bit
younger than Scully had expected--mid-twenties, she guessed,
although a dusting of freckles and a minimum of make-up
subtracted a few years. Intelligent blue-gray eyes met
Scully's from behind a pair of oval framed glasses. Her
neat suit, complete with oversized jacket, screamed FBI.
She smiled at Scully and extended her hand. "Agent
Scully? I'm Agent Jenn Francis. Assistant Director Skinner
dispatched me to your apartment after your mother's phone
call."
Scully's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "After Mom's phone
call?"
"Agent Scully, when your mother entered your apartment this
morning, she found the place ransacked. I'm afraid someone
broke into your apartment and conducted a thorough search of
the premises while you were out. We can't tell that
anything was stolen--"
But Scully knew better. The printouts of Bill Mulder's disk
had been in her apartment. She would bet a year's salary
they were no longer there. "I assume you're dusting the
place for prints?" Also an exercise in futility, Scully
knew, but procedures had to be followed.
"Of course. A.D. Skinner--ah, here he is now." Agent
Francis looked down the corridor behind Scully. Scully
turned to greet the Assistant Director.
"I assume Agent Francis filled you in on the situation at
your apartment." Skinner put his hands on his hips,
towering over Scully and Agent Francis. Scully sometimes
wondered if he realized how intimidating his bulk could be.
She supposed he did--he'd been a Marine, after all.
"Yes, sir."
"I went by Mulder's place on a hunch. It had been trashed,
too."
Scully closed her eyes and sighed. No surprise there, she
supposed. "Let me guess--the place was turned upside down
but nothing seemed to have been taken."
Skinner glanced at Agent Francis, his jaw muscle working
with tension. Agent Francis apparently got the hint; she
reddened slightly and discreetly moved away, heading down
the hall toward the waiting area. Skinner cupped Scully's
elbow and drew her away from the nurse's desk. "What were
they looking for?"
"No doubt what they found--a file that Agent Mulder's father
compiled shortly before his death."
"What kind of file?"
"We're not sure. I had a copy, Agent Mulder had a copy, and
there's a copy at the office in Mulder's safe."
"Not anymore--I had someone check Agent Mulder's office. He
said the place had been tossed as well--and Agent Mulder's
safe is missing."
Scully looked up at him, wondering if he could possibly be
joking. "The whole safe?"
"Apparently so. What was in that file, Agent Scully?"
"A mystery," she murmured. Briefly she told him as much
about what they had found as she could remember. "We hadn't
made much headway into the information contained on the disk
when I discovered that Sarah Chandler was really Samantha
Mulder."
Skinner bent his head toward her, lowering his voice. "Are
you sure it's her?"
"Yes, sir." Scully glanced over her shoulder at the door of
Samantha's hospital room. "At least, as sure as I can be
until the DNA tests come back. Would you like to look in on
her? I'm sure Agent Mulder would be glad--"
Skinner shook his head. "I've got to get back to the office
and light a fire under some folks, find out how in a place
as secure as the FBI building, someone managed to ransack
your office and steal a fifty-pound safe without being
noticed."
She didn't bother reminding him that people often made good
money by NOT noticing things they were supposed to notice.
She assumed he knew that as well as she did. "Well, at
least we should still have a copy of the disk. Mulder made
a copy for Agent Pendrell--"
"Uh--" Skinner's grimace made her stomach flip-flop.
"What is it, sir?"
"Agent Pendrell and Agent Hollis of Sci-Crime were involved
in a carjacking a couple of hours ago."
"My God."
"They were roughed up--they're both being held overnight at
Northeast Georgetown for observation."
"Will they be okay?"
Skinner nodded, his expression grim. "Yeah--looks like it.
I checked on them before I came here. Both of them took a
crack on the head, and Pendrell's got a hell of a shiner.
But he's a lot more upset that whoever jacked them got away
with Agent Mulder's disk."
Scully shook her head, too tired to work herself into the
fine rage she wanted to indulge in. "They always win. Even
when they lose, they win."
Skinner looked over her shoulder toward the door to Samantha
Mulder's room. "Somehow, I don't think Agent Mulder would
agree with you right now."
Scully slumped against the wall. "You're probably right."
Skinner met her weary gaze, his eyes dark with concern.
"How are you holding up, Scully? From what I hear, tonight
wasn't a cake walk for you, either."
She managed a half-smile. "Too tired to know what to feel,
sir."
He patted her arm. "Why don't you let your mother drive you
home? Get some rest--I doubt Agent Mulder will even miss
you."
Scully looked down at the faux granite floor of the hospital
corridor, blinking back tears. She suspected Skinner was
right. "I'll consider it, sir."
"Pass along my congratulations to Agent Mulder, and forget
about coming to the office for the next couple of days.
Call it administrative leave with pay." He squeezed her arm
lightly and turn on his heel, heading down the corridor.
Scully watched him go out of inertia, not moving until he
turned the corner toward the waiting room where Agent
Francis had made her retreat.
Scully pushed away from the wall and went back into
Samantha's room. She found her mother seated next to
Mulder, her hand gently stroking his back the way she'd
always soothed her own children. Scully smiled at the
sight, her heart swelling with gratitude for the loving
childhood she'd enjoyed.
So very different from Mulder's.
Mulder looked up as she approached the bed, his face a riot
of emotion. He was out of control--but it was a good kind
of chaos, a storm of feelings he'd spent the past twenty-four
years sublimating. He had to feel every one of them now,
the good and the bad. And that was okay.
He held out his hand toward her as she approached, and she
almost faltered, surprised by the open gesture of affection.
She took his hand in hers, let him draw her near. He
released her fingers and slipped his arm around her waist in
an easy half-embrace.
And it was all wrong.
Where was the hesitation? The tension? The questions of
propriety and professionalism and prudence? His effortless
touch unnerved her.
Something was missing.
Her mother pushed back her chair and rose. Scully could
tell by the look on her mother's face that she, too,
recognized that something was amiss. Margaret met Scully's
gaze with a small, reassuring smile. "Dana, I'm going to go
get some coffee for Fox and me--would you like a cup, too?"
Scully nodded. "Thanks." She waited until her mother had
left the room before she gently moved away from Mulder's
grasp and sat in the chair her mother had vacated.
Mulder smiled at her briefly, then turned his attention back
to the woman sleeping in the bed in front of them. "I can't
believe this is real--after that other time--that other
woman--" He shook his head, words failing him.
"Mulder, I have to tell you something." Scully put her hand
on his arm. He didn't seem to feel the touch. "Mulder, all
of the evidence is missing. Someone broke into our
apartments and into the office."
He didn't even blink.
"Mulder, did you hear me? Someone tossed our office and
took the safe. The whole safe."
He glanced at her. "Pendrell has a copy of the disk."
She shook her head. "Not anymore." She told him about the
carjacking. "They're okay, but their assailants took the
disk."
Mulder looked at her blankly. Nothing crossed his face--not
anger or frustration or even hurt. He just stared.
"You don't care, do you?" she asked, realization dawning.
His gaze never wavered. "The truth? No, I don't care. Not
right now."
She tried not to gape.
"Maybe in a few days, Scully. Or in a few weeks. But right
now, I don't care. It doesn't matter." He turned his head
away and resumed his vigil over his sister.
She looked away quickly as rage fired through her. You
bastard, she thought, blinking back angry tears. I spend
the last six years of my life putting my neck on the line
for you and your obsessions, and now you turn your back on me
and MY questions the second you get what you want?
But as quickly as her anger rose, it subsided, supplanted by
bone-deep weariness. She slumped in her chair and looked at
him, watching the constant play of emotions across his
normally neutral face. Of course he didn't care. Right
now, he didn't have room left for anything but Samantha.
Eventually, he'd recover his equilibrium and they could get
back to their quest.
Surely he couldn't walk away while there were still so many
questions to answer.
Could he?
* * * * *
University Hospital
Baltimore, MD
8:12 a.m.
Despite the late hour, the hospital room remained dark, the
morning sunlight blocked by heavy curtains over the window.
Beside the bed, Fox Mulder felt himself beginning to nod
off, finally coming down from his adrenaline and caffeine
high. Scully and her mother had left about an hour earlier,
at his insistence--Scully was dead on her feet but too loyal
to abandon him easily. He appreciated her concern for him,
but there was really nothing she could do here beyond
sharing his vigil. There were no more mysteries to solve,
no dragons to slay.
It was over.
He suspected he'd have fallen asleep much earlier if he
could have brought himself to stop staring at his sleeping
sister. He was afraid if he looked away for a moment, when
he looked back she'd be gone again. He wondered how long it
would be before he stopped feeling that way. Probably
never.
Samantha stirred, a slight frown creasing her wide forehead.
She shifted in the bed for a few seconds, then her eyes
fluttered open. Blinking away sleep, she turned her head to
look at him. Her eyes widened slightly, and a smile of
recognition spread over her pale face. "Hi."
He clasped her hand between his own. "Morning."
"What time is it?"
He glanced at his watch. "Quarter after eight. You got a
good night's sleep--how're you feeling?"
She quirked one eyebrow. "Better than you look."
He grinned. "Thanks a lot."
"Did you stay here all night?"
"'Cept when they ran me out to take your blood and vitals."
She glanced at the bruises darkening her inner arm. "Damned
bloodsuckers."
Mulder chuckled. "The doctor is supposed to drop by around
nine to tell us when you can get out of here."
"Soon, I hope." A shadow passed over her face. "I feel
trapped."
He squeezed her hand. "How much do you remember, Sam--
Sarah--" He frowned slightly, not knowing what to call her.
"Samantha is fine," she said with a strange little smile.
"That's my real name, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Looks that way."
She searched his face as if looking for something familiar.
"You didn't turn out like I expected."
He quirked his eyebrows. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know--not so...old." Her smile faded. "Fox, I
don't really remember anything but bits and pieces--nothing
really solid except for an overwhelming sense of threat."
"Do you remember meeting with Carter Christopher?"
"Who?"
Mulder described the older man.
Recognition dawned in her eyes.. "He said his name
was Robert Bowman and that he'd been part of Dr.
Chamberlain's psychology study. I met him for lunch at
Garnem's and I walked with him out to the back where he'd
parked his car--" She frowned. "I don't remember anything
after that."
"The man you know as Bowman and I know as Christopher is a
member of an international consortium that has been
instrumental in covering up evidence of the existence of
extraterrestrial life." Mulder steeled himself, waiting for
her response. He knew how crazy and paranoid he sounded
when he said those kind of things.
She quirked one dark eyebrow, reminding him for all the
world of Scully. Heat crept up his neck at the suspicion
that she was mentally fitting him for a straitjacket. "And
you think I was abducted and held captive in that warehouse
for the purpose of...?"
He shrugged. "I never said I had all the answers."
She gripped his hand. "I don't need all the answers. But I
do need some. How did you find me?"
"Scully was really the one who found you."
Samantha smiled again. "I barely got to talk to her last
night--did she leave?"
He nodded. "She was practically sleepwalking, so I talked
her into going home and getting some rest."
"Tell me everything--why did you start looking for me?"
"I never stopped looking for you." He said. Not for twenty-four
long years, not until just a couple of days ago. "Because I
knew you were out there, waiting for me to come get you."
A strange expression crossed her face, and she looked
away from him, studying the IV needle in the back of her
hand. "I really meant, how did you know about---Sarah
Chandler? From Dana?"
He reddened, realizing his declaration of devotion to her
had only made her feel uncomfortable. Releasing her
hand, he started at the beginning, telling her about
Scully's unofficial investigation and how it had turned official
after Leigh MacGraw's murder. "We knew then that you
weren't just a free spirit who'd taken off on a whim. Scully
was afraid for you, and that was all it took for her to go into
pit bull mode."
Samantha chuckled at his choice of words. "I won't tell her
you said that."
He laughed, glad that a little of the tension between them
had begun to pass. "Please don't."
"So how did you figure out who I really was?"
"Scully saw a picture of you--one taken just after you were
released from the hospital in Charleston. You were a little
older, but the resemblance between 'Sarah Chandler' and my
little sister was too striking to dismiss."
"So Dana saw my parents--saw the Chandlers...." This time
Samantha was the one who faltered. "God, I feel like I'm
two different people."
In a way she was. One woman who had lived two separate
lives. "If you'd feel more comfortable, I don't mind
calling you Sarah."
She shook her head. "No. I've spent the past couple of
years trying to find out who I really am. Sarah Chandler is
a lie, even if it's a happy lie."
Tears surprised him, stinging his eyes. "And were you
happy?"
She met his wary gaze. "Yes, I was happy. Mom and Dad--the
Chandlers--they were great, Fox. They loved me and took
very good care of me. I was so much luckier than I might
have been."
She really had no idea how true that statement was, he
thought, remembering his own bleak, painful youth in that
cold, angry house of cards. He reached out and took her
hand again. "I'm glad, Samantha. I'm so glad."
She met his gaze. "What about our parents, Fox? Have
you told them yet?"
He looked down at their twined fingers. She had adored
their father as much as he'd seemed to love her. He dreaded
having to tell her about his death.
"Fox?"
He met the question in her eyes. "Samantha, Dad died three
years ago. But Mom's still alive. She's living in
Connecticut now. I wanted to wait until you were awake
before I called her."
Tears pooled in Samantha's eyes. "Daddy's dead?"
He squeezed her hand, his own tears spilling. "I'm sorry,
Samantha. I know this must be hard for you."
"It's just--strange. I know it's been years since I saw any
of you, and I've lived another life since then, but--" She
lifted her other hand to her face, brushing away tears.
"It's like I remember everything as if it were yesterday,
Fox. It's like I'm still eight years old and we're still
fighting over what television show to watch. And yet
here you are, a grown man. I know you---but I don't
know you at all."
He nodded, understanding even though her words felt like
a knife in his heart. "It's felt like just yesterday for
twenty-four years, Samantha. But I look at you now..."
Her lower lip trembled. "Poor Fox. Were you expecting
me to be eight years old forever?"
"I guess so." He couldn't help but remember the little
clones he'd seen in Canada, the girls with his sister's big
eyes and dair hair. That had been what he'd expected
to find when he found his sister, hadn't? Certainly not
this grown up woman. "Doesn't matter now."
"Of course it matters." She tugged his hand, making
him look her in the eye. "I'm sorry--I can't imagine how
it must have been for you, Mom and Dad."
He had so much to tell her--and so much of it bad.
It could wait until she was stronger.
Until he was stronger.
* * * * *
N.E. Georgetown Medical Center
8:25 a.m.
Scully stopped by Northeast Georgetown Medical Center as
soon as she got back to D.C. She used her credentials to
get room information on Annelle Hollis and Alan Pendrell.
Pendrell's room was closer so she stopped there first.
He was sitting cross-legged on the bed watching television
when she walked in. His left eye was swollen almost shut,
the skin around it a deep shade of purple. He looked
greatly relieved when Scully entered the room--until he
realized he was clad only in a hospital gown that probably
didn't close all the way in the back.
She stifled a weary smile and pulled up a chair. "Just
can't leave you alone for a minute, huh, Pendrell?"
His coloring was quickly escalating to bright pink. "What
happened to you and Agent Mulder? Did you find the Pinck
Warehouse?"
She nodded. "Better than that. We found Mulder's sister."
Pendrell's one good eye widened. "You're kidding. For real?"
"Yup." She slumped in the chair, the last of her energy
seeping away.
"I always assumed she was dead."
"So did I," Scully admitted. "I wanted to believe she might
still be alive, but deep down I think I was convinced it
simply wasn't possible."
"And now you feel guilty."
She looked up at him, surprised by the understanding she saw
in his eyes. "Yes, I suppose I do. I feel like I failed
Mulder because I couldn't believe."
"Maybe it was enough that you wanted to."
She arched her eyebrows. "That's what Mulder said."
"So listen to him."
Her lips curved in a little smile. "I usually get just the
opposite advice."
"You look beat, Dana. You should be home in bed."
She slouched deeper into the chair. She WAS beat. She felt
like one big bruise. "Trying to get rid of me?"
"No, of course not." His smile was wry, self-deprecating.
"Maybe I could nap right here in this comfy chair." She
didn't think she was kidding. The chair WAS comfortable,
and she was so tired. Would it really hurt to take a quick
nap....
She remembered nothing else until she awoke sometime later.
"Welcome back to the world, Agent Scully." Annelle Hollis'
low drawl greeted her as her eyes fluttered open. Hollis
was sitting on the edge of Pendrell's bed, her bare feet
tucked up under her. Pendrell, Scully noted, had changed
from the hospital gown to his street clothes, just as
Annelle apparently had. Except for the nasty shiner
Pendrell sported, they both looked considerably fresher than
she felt.
She stretched, noting that the light pouring through the
window was no longer morning light. She glanced at her bare
wrist and realized she'd lost her watch somewhere along the
way. "What time is it?"
"About a quarter 'til noon."
Scully rubbed her eyes, trying to push away the lingering
effects of sleep. "You should have awakened me."
"I was going to, but Alan wouldn't let me." Annelle arched
her eyebrows slightly. "The doctor came by while you were
sleeping--we're getting sprung. All we have to do is wait
for the paper work. Don't suppose we could bum a ride with
you, since Agent Mulder has my car and Alan's was stolen
last night?"
Scully stretched her aching muscles. "Of course." She
stood and crossed to the window, glancing through the
curtains at the street below. The day was in full swing,
lunch time traffic thick. The bright midday sunlight hurt
her eyes and she turned back toward Pendrell and Hollis,
reaching into her jacket for her cellular phone.
It was out of service.
She guessed the beating it had taken during the explosion
had finally taken its toll on the poor piece of plastic and
circuitry. She'd been amazed it was still functioning when
Mulder gave it to her at the hospital the night before,
considering. She pocketed the phone and crossed toward
Pendrell's bed. "May I use your phone?"
Pendrell waved toward the phone on the bedside cabinet.
Scully dialled Mulder's cell phone number. After three
rings, she was informed that the customer was unavailable.
Maybe Samantha's room at University Hospital was situated in
a dead pocket.
Using her phone card, she called Samantha's room directly.
After several rings, she was transferred to the front desk.
"I'm trying to reach Sama--um, Sarah Chandler in room 628."
After a pause the operator said, "Ms. Chandler checked out
of the hospital about thirty minutes ago, ma'am."
Scully's eyebrows rose. Checked out? Surprise quickly gave
way to anxiety. Someone had tried to kill Samantha last
night--had someone tried again? Taken her, left Mulder hurt
or...or worse?
She tried to calm herself, but she'd seen too much, lost too
much in the last few years. She couldn't help but
contemplate the worst case scenario, because all too often
these days, the worst thing that could happen DID happen to
her and Mulder.
She hung up and dialled one more number. "Eleanore, it's
Dana Scully. Is he in?"
In a moment, she was greeted with a growl. "Skinner."
"Sir, it's Scully. Have you heard from Agent Mulder?"
"Just an hour ago. He said he'd been trying to reach you
but your cell phone wasn't working. He also tried your home
phone but your answering machine wasn't picking up--probably
got messed up when the place was being tossed."
"What did he say, sir?"
"He's taking his sister up to his mother's place in
Connecticut. He asked for six weeks of personal leave."
"Six weeks?" She sat on the edge of Pendrell's bed,
stunned.
"It was a reasonable request under the circumstance, Agent
Scully."
But six weeks--without saying a word to her, without even
saying goodbye? "Yes, sir," she murmured into the phone.
"Thank you." She replaced the receiver in its cradle, her
whole body going numb.
Six weeks.
"What's wrong, Dana?" Pendrell put his hand on her arm.
She moved away from him, realizing that she couldn't bear
his touch. It was the wrong hand, the wrong man. The right
man was on his way to Connecticut and the rest of his life,
leaving her behind with little thought and no warning. She
took a deep breath and straightened her expression, drawing
on years of experience in hiding her emotions.
"Nothing--just caught by surprise by something. So, how
soon before your release comes through?"
With impeccable timing, two orderlies entered the hospital
room, pushing wheelchairs. Pendrell groaned, and Annelle
rolled her eyes, but they were used to having to follow
rules, being employees of the federal government. Scully
went on ahead of them to fetch the car and pick them up at
the front door of the hospital.
Having Pendrell and Hollis to deal with helped Scully defer
her thoughts of Mulder. But as soon as she deposited them
at their respective apartments, her doubts and fears crept
in on her.
And she found herself heading away from her apartment.
Her mother's eyebrows rose slightly as she opened the door
to Scully's knock. "Dana, what is it?"
"I--" She realized she didn't know what to say. She
entered her mother's house silently, heading instinctively
for the kitchen table. Her safe place.
Margaret took a tea pot from the counter and poured tea for
both of them without a word. She set a cup in front of
Scully and sat across from her. "What's happened, Dana?"
"Samantha was released from the hospital."
"So soon?"
Scully nodded. "Mulder took her to Greenwich to see their
mom."
Margaret smiled. "Mrs. Mulder will be beside herself."
Scully nodded again, tears pricking her eyes. I wanted to
see that, she realized. I wanted to see Samantha reunited
with her mother.
For six years, she'd had a tremendous stake in the fate of
Samantha Mulder. She'd sacrificed so much to Mulder's
quest, sometimes willingly and sometimes not. Sharing in
his happiness and that of his family should have been her
reward.
Instead, she was being left behind. Ditched again.
And damn it, it wasn't right. It wasn't fair.
It hurt.
"What aren't you telling me, Dana?" Her mother put her hand
over Scully's.
"He took six weeks personal leave."
Margaret's eyebrows twitched slightly. "It's a good idea."
Scully nodded. "Yes, I know."
"But?"
"But he didn't say good bye." She looked away from her
mother, embarrassed by the admission. She was a grown
woman, and God knew she'd put up with a lot worse from him
over the years. Logically, she knew that Mulder was right
to take this time and reconnect with his family.
But a part of her also recognized that she was no longer the
most important person in his life.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she met her mother's
gentle gaze. "Everything's changing for Mulder and me, Mom.
And I don't know how to make it stop."
* * * * *
Greenwich, CT
February 19, 1998
8:43 p.m.
Fox Mulder glanced at his watch. Almost nine, and he still
hadn't been able to reach Scully. In the whirlwind of
activity since this morning, he'd not had time to feel
frustrated, but now he'd been trying every number he had for
her since around 6 p.m. with no luck, and he was starting to
worry. Did she even know he was gone? Surely--he couldn't
imagine that she wouldn't have tried to reach him by now.
Probably had talked to Skinner and found out that way. But
he still wanted to talk to her.
He looked out the window at the darkness, realizing that the
last time he'd been here, Scully had been with him. Had it
really been only a few days ago? A lifetime had seemed to
pass in the interim.
"Fox?"
He turned from the window to meet his sister's curious gaze.
"You and Mom catching up?"
"Yeah. She's making hot chocolate--want some?"
Trying to recapture the old times, he thought. "Sure." He
reached out, intending to slip his arm around her shoulders,
but she pulled back. He dropped his arm to his side
quickly. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes. "No, I'm
sorry, Fox. I'm sorry--I just--it's all so strange."
"I know." Nothing was turning out like he thought it would.
God--had he ever really expected to find her? He was so
unprepared for the reality. He didn't know what to say to
her, when or if to touch her. The preliminary DNA tests had
relieved any doubts about her identity--she WAS Samantha
Mulder, not a clone, not an imposter. He saw his mother in
her face, his father in her eyes. He saw flashes of the
smart, irritating eight-year-old he'd lost so many years
ago. But she was a full-grown woman now, a person apart
from him or his mother or their frozen memories.
She was his sister, but she was a stranger.
"Did you get Dana?" Samantha asked as they crossed the
living room toward the kitchen.
"No. Her cell phone got banged up in the explosion, and her
answering machine at home isn't picking up."
"So she doesn't know we're gone?"
"I'm sure she's talked to Skinner by now, so she knows." He
frowned slightly as he followed her into the kitchen.
Surely Scully would understand why he'd needed to do this.
She'd been there for him the other times he'd been close to
finding his sister--she knew his heart. She'd understand.
His cell phone rang as his mother handed him a mug of
steaming chocolate milk. He set the mug on the table in
front of him and grabbed his phone. "Scully?"
"Good guess." Her voice, low and slightly dry, greeted him.
"Listen, I'm sorry for bugging out without getting in touch
with you."
"Not your fault--I'm phone-challenged at the moment," she
said. "I've finally gotten my home phone working now, but
the cell phone is a total loss. I've put in a request for a
new one from Communications. So, you're at your mom's now?"
"Yeah. Having hot chocolate." He tried to chuckle, but
there was something in her voice that made him uneasy. On
the surface, she sounded like herself, but there was a dark
undertone, a hint of unease in her words. "Look, I know I
should have tried harder to get you--"
"Don't worry about it, Mulder. You did what you had to do.
I know that."
There WAS something wrong. He could feel it vibrating
through the phone line. "Scully--"
"I just wanted to call to make sure you got there safely,
that's all. I don't want to keep you--I guess you and
Samantha and your mom have a bit of catching up to do."
"Yeah, we do."
"I'll see you when you get back."
"Scully, wait." He glanced at his mother and sister,
conscious of their interest in the phone call. He felt
trapped between them and Scully, wanting to do the right
thing for everyone but not sure how. There were things he
should have said to Scully before now, things that shouldn't
wait another minute, but somehow he couldn't bring himself
to express the things he wanted to say to her in front of an
audience. And he couldn't turn his back on his mother and
Samantha right now, not even for Scully.
It could wait. It would have to wait. "I'll call you
tomorrow and we'll talk more, okay?"
"I'm taking tomorrow off--Mom and I are going to drive to
Norfolk to visit some old friends this weekend. I'll be
back in the office on Monday. We can catch up then, okay?"
"Okay." He was about to say something--anything--to prolong
the contact, but a soft click signalled that she'd already
hung up the phone. Slowly he pocketed the cellphone and
turned to Samantha and his mother. "Finally got Scully."
Samantha nodded and smiled, but his mother looked concerned.
She knew enough about him and Scully to know that something
was wrong.
But she waited until Samantha pleaded weariness and went to
bed before she said anything to him. "Was Dana upset that
you left without telling her?"
"No--she understood."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know." He dropped onto the sofa, stretching his
legs out in front of him. "I'm not sure--but something
isn't right."
"It's a strange time, Fox. For all of us."
He looked up at her, noted the lines of weariness creasing
her soft face. Even happy occasions took a toll--and he and
his mother had been through too much in the past few years
to trust happiness. It was too damned fleeting.
"I don't know what I was expecting. What I thought she'd be
like. After that other woman--" His mother's eyes darkened
with pain. "I'm still afraid to believe it's her."
"All the evidence indicates that she's Samantha, Mom.
Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure we never
found her."
"Somebody?"
He couldn't say what he was thinking. There was a part of
her past she refused to think about, and in truth, it was
something he didn't want to face, either. So he sat in
silence, and she sat in silence, and time ticked inexorably
away as they both avoided the truth.
But he knew they were thinking of the same person, the same
lies.
* * * * *
Norfolk, VA
February 20, 1996
12:34 p.m.
"So it's set--Saturday, August 28th, 2:00 p.m. in the
Seaman's Chapel in Portsmouth." Lorna Youngs took another
sip of her marguerita.
Scully jotted the date and time in her pocket calendar.
"Got it. You're not going to make me wear pink or anything,
are you?"
Lorna chuckled. "I'd die first, kiddo."
Scully laughed. "Yeah, because I'd shoot you."
"Got it all figured out now?" Benton Crane returned from a
quick trip to the men's room and took his seat between his
fiancee and Margaret Scully.
"Just about." Lorna gave him a long-suffering look before
nudging Scully. "He thinks we should just get married at
the justice of the peace and skip the ceremony. Have you
ever heard anything so unromantic?"
Scully shrugged. "I don't know--I can see wanting to skip
the rigamarole and getting down to the business of being
together for the rest of your lives." A little twinge of
longing curled around her insides. One day's separation,
and she was already missing Mulder like hell. She didn't
want to think about what the next six weeks would be like.
"So," Benton said, leaning toward Scully, "you never
finished telling us what happened after you and Mulder found
his sister."
"That was about it." Scully glanced at her mother, who met
her eyes with tender concern. She sighed softly, wishing
she didn't feel like a fragile flower everyone was tiptoeing
around. Skinner had been so solicitous it was scary--he'd
wanted her to take the next week off instead of just Friday.
And her mother was studiously avoiding the topic of Mulder,
despite the fact that she was obviously thrilled for his
good news.
Scully was thrilled, too. Ecstatic. She'd watched him tear
himself apart for years, risking life, reputation, sanity
all for the fragile hope of finding his sister. This was a
magnificent, unexpected reward for her loyalty--to be part
of finding Samantha, of bringing her back to her family, to
her brother.
If she also had to step back, take a secondary role in
Mulder's life as a result, then she'd have to learn how to
do that. He'd never made promises to her. She'd known from
the beginning where his priorities lay. His tunnel vision
now came as no surprise.
Then again, it didn't have to be a surprise to hurt like
hell.
"So he and his sister are with their mom now?" Benton asked.
Scully nodded. "He's taking six weeks' personal leave."
Lorna's eyebrows rose. "That long?"
"Not so long a time when you consider he hasn't seen her in
almost a quarter of a century," Margaret defended.
"I suppose." Lorna looked pointedly at Scully. "So, what
are you going to do now that Mulder's run off again?"
Scully picked at her salad with her fork, tamping down a
sense of irritation. "Work goes on." She speared a
mushroom. "And he'll be back."
"Even now that he's found what he's looking for?"
"There are still questions we haven't answered."
"But whose questions are they?" Lorna pressed. "Yours or
his?"
Scully put down her fork. She met Lorna's direct gaze.
"Both. Finding Samantha wasn't his only goal, Lorna. But
right now, he needs time to focus on her, and that's fine
with me. When he gets back, we'll regroup and we'll go on
from there."
Lorna nodded as if she'd expected exactly that answer.
"Okay, I'm convinced."
Scully stared at her for a moment, then released the roiling
tension inside and managed a grin. "Smooth, Doone."
"Well, I figured you were too stubborn to listen to my
advice. Maybe you'll listen to your own."
Scully realized that she DID feel better. Mulder's decision
to take time off was no reflection on their relationship.
He wasn't trying to get away from her--he was simply trying
to get to know a sister he hadn't seen since she was an
eight-year-old child.
When he came back, things would be better.
* * * * *
Seaman's Chapel
Portsmouth, Virginia
August 28th, 1998
1:32 p.m.
Six months later, Scully was still having to tell herself
that things would get better. Mulder's six weeks of
personal leave had passed with agonizing slowness. He had
called almost every day, but their conversations were brief
and often cryptic, as if Samantha or his mother were
listening in the background. The few times they'd talked
freely, the conversation was almost always about Samantha
and the difficulties he was having in reconnecting with her.
Samantha had spent over twenty years as another person, and
her internal schism was taking a toll on her.
Mulder was at a loss to deal with her mood swings--some days
she was free and affectionate; other times she was guarded
and stand-offish. He was terrified of saying the wrong
words, doing something to drive her away from him and his
mother. He'd been a basketcase when Samantha had flown to
Charleston alone to see her adoptive parents. He'd called
Scully twice, sometimes three times a day--mostly for
reassurance, she supposed. His mother seemed to be sharing
his angst, and the pressure of being strong for Caroline
while dealing with his own fears and doubts was hard on him.
More than once Scully had considered catching the next
flight to Connecticut to hold his hand.
But she couldn't spend the rest of her life mothering him.
That was a decision she'd come to during their six week
separation. She would listen and sympathize and advise, but
the only person who could fix Mulder was Mulder. He had to
face his demons alone. And she had to have enough faith in
him to believe he could do it. After all, he was almost
back to normal on the work front. He had actually started
making intuitive leaps again, spouting those wild theories
that drove her crazy. And it wasn't like they'd ever spent
all that much of their off time together, anyway.
They'd been hearing rumblings about changes in the Bureau
infrastructure--it was doubtful anyone would try to tinker
with their division, but Skinner was on edge and making life
miserable for everyone, particularly poor Mulder. Under the
circumstances, it was no wonder Mulder was preoccupied and
stressed out emotionally. She couldn't expect to be the
center of his attention right now.
But secretly, she was heartened by the fact that he had
agreed to accompany her to Lorna and Benton's wedding that
weekend, even though Samantha was moving to Cambridge,
Massachusetts, that same weekend. In fine Mulder fashion,
he was doing it the hard way--he'd flown to Boston Friday
night to meet Samantha and some of her friends to get the
moving process started, but he was catching an 11:00 a.m.
flight to Norfolk and should be in Portsmouth in plenty of
time for the wedding. She harbored a quiet hope that they
might finally be getting back to where they'd been just a
few months ago, when the possibilities between them had
seemed endless.
She had resisted the temptation to call him, trusting him to
remember all by himself. With a photographic memory, it
should be a piece of cake.
She kept telling herself that all the way through the
processional. His plane was simply late. He'd had trouble
renting a car at the airport. Traffic between Norfolk and
Portsmouth must be snarled.
But by the time Lorna and Benton were declared man and wife,
she recognized the truth.
Mulder had ditched her again.
* * * * *
Cambridge, MA
August 29, 1998
11:53 a.m.
The apartment was too small for a moving crew of seven
adults, but Samantha had the soul of a drill sergeant and
kept things moving. They were making incredible time by
Mulder's watch--they'd been working for only a couple of
hours and already the moving van was empty and Samantha had
gotten a good start on unpacking boxes.
The change in his sister over the past six months was
astonishing. When he'd seen her outside that Baltimore
warehouse, she'd been thin, pale and exhausted. But this
Samantha sparkled like a jewel, her ready smile and
infectious laughter drawing people to her like flies to
honey. She'd had no trouble finding people to help her
move.
Her Yale roommate, Anne Milliken, had made the trip to
Boston to help Samantha move, bringing along her boyfriend
Larry for extra muscle. Mulder had called Eve Wentworth
once he'd arrived in Boston, and she'd offered herself and
her new husband David as extra sets of hands.
And then there was Preston Powell. A couple of months
earlier, Samantha had hooked up with her old high school pal
Preston, and now they looked to be quite an item. Preston
was a couple of years older than Samantha, a tall, lean
green-eyed Boston tax lawyer who came from a wealthy
Charleston family. Five years in Massachusetts hadn't done
much to temper his coastal Carolina drawl, and he exuded
easy Southern charm. He was the kind of man any mother
would want her daughter to marry.
Mulder hated him.
"Stop glaring, Fox." Eve Wentworth poked him in his ribs
and handed him a glass of water.
"Glaring? Me?"
"Preston seems like a really nice guy. Dishy, too, and rich
as Croesus." She tugged the sleeve of Mulder's t-shirt and
pulled him over to the window, away from prying ears.
"You're trying too hard, you know."
He arched one eyebrow. "Trying too hard to do what?"
"To be a brother. You think there's some kind of criterion
you have to meet or you'll get thrown out of the Big
Brothers' Club. It doesn't work that way. You need to
relax, stop trying so damned hard to be indispensible to
her."
He chuckled, but he wasn't amused. "Indispensible? Hah.
Invisible is more like it."
Eve arched her eyebrows. "What do you expect her to do?
Make you the center of her universe? You're just her
brother. You'll be lucky if she remembers your birthday
every year."
"I just thought--" He frowned, not sure WHAT he had thought
would happen once he found her. He only knew that this
wasn't it. He hadn't thought he would end up barely
peripheral to her life.
"You thought she'd need you more, didn't you?"
He met Eve's astute gaze. "Yeah." He leaned against the
window frame. "I was her champion for years, Eve--everybody
else gave up, but I didn't. I believed. And now, I feel
like--" He shook his head. "I feel superfluous."
"Are you disappointed in her?"
"God no!" He made a small gesture toward the corner, where
Samantha was directing Preston and David as they set up a
bookcase near the hallway. "She's beautiful and smart and a
lot more together than I'll ever be. She's great--she's
perfect. The Chandlers were obviously wonderful to her.
God knows she had a better life than I'd ever hoped."
"So what's the problem?"
"I guess I always expected that when I found her, she'd be
broken and I'd have to fix her."
"And now you find out that you're the one who was broken all
along." Eve nibbled her lower lip, her eyes dark with
sympathy.
Mulder passed his hand over his jaw. He'd forgotten his
razor--he'd have to borrow his sister's before he went to
the airport. "While I was dedicating my life to finding
her, she was out living her own life. And she was just
fine. I wonder why she even wanted to know the truth about
who she really was. Sarah Chandler had a better life than
Samantha Mulder ever would have."
"I think it says something that she's decided to go by
Samantha Mulder after all those years as Sarah." Eve
squeezed his arm. "And even if you can't see it, I can see
that she thinks you're great."
"She remembers a twelve-year-old boy, Eve. Samantha doesn't
even know who I am."
"At least she cares enough to find out who you really are."
"I think I make her nervous."
"You probably scare her, Fox. You had twenty-four years to
make her the focus of your life, and now you seem to expect
her to focus her life on you in exchange."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
"I'm glad that she's happy and whole, Eve. I had terrible
nightmares about what she might be like when I finally found
her." Unbidden, the image of a sullen young drug addict
entered his mind. Poor Lucy Householder, broken beyond
repair by what Carl Wade had done to her--isn't that what
he'd expected to find when he finally found his sister? "It
could have been so much worse."
Eve nodded, sympathetic. "So why can't you be happy?"
"I am happy."
"Wrong. You're miserable. Why?"
He slumped against the window frame. "I can't get it right,
Eve."
"Get what right?"
"Any of it. I can't get anything right. I don't know how
to handle Samantha or Mom or...."
"Or Scully?" Eve held up her left hand. A diamond
solitaire and wedding set sparkled on her ring finger. "I
seem to recall a little pact we made, remember? I kept my
end of the deal, but you, my dear, are conspicuously
unattached."
"Things happened."
"Samantha happened, you mean."
He frowned at her. "Do you think this is easy for me? I'm
trying to do the right thing for everyone. My mother is
having trouble adjusting to everything, Samantha doesn't
seem to know how to deal with me, and Scully--" He sighed,
raking his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.
"Scully's a rock, Eve, but she's different now."
"Different how?"
"There's...space...between us."
"Who put it there?"
"I suppose I did, but when I try to approach her, she steps
back. She's keeping the distance there."
"Maybe because you've let her believe that's what you need."
Eve glanced over her shoulder to where her husband and Anne
were unpacking a box. "When I flew to Boston to accept
David's proposal, he thought I was joking. I had to work
hard to convince him I was serious. And even then, he tells
me, he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think he
really believed that we'd get to Vegas and, as Elvis was
asking me to recite the vows, I'd say, "Oops, sorry--just
kidding.'"
Mulder chuckled at the mental image of his friend, her
husband and an Elvis impersonator in a gaudy Las Vegas
wedding chapel. "And your point is?"
"My point is, no doubt your Scully's been through hell
because of you more than once, and maybe, just maybe, she's
tired of being the one who always bends over backwards to
make things work."
"God, I'm glad you're my FRIEND, Eve," he said with a wry
half-smile.
"I love you, Fox, but I'm not blind to your faults." She
grinned at him.
"The weird thing is, Scully and Samantha are really
close, and they never even see each other. And here I am,
juggling my time between the two of them, and all I seem to
be able to do is alienate them both." He sighed deeply.
"You want to hear something really horrible? I haven't
invited Scully along on a single one of my visits to
Samantha, even though I know she'd probably like to come
along. Know why?"
Eve frowned as if she had a pretty good suspicion. "Why?"
"Because I'm afraid they'd ignore me. They'd go off
together and leave me out in the cold, because I'm a stupid
shit who can't figure out how to please either one of them."
He turned toward the window, squinting at the bright
sunlight. "Isn't that lovely?"
"Yup, just lovely." Eve sighed. "Well, at least you're
making a step in the right direction, going to this wedding
with Scully. What time does your plane leave this
afternoon?"
"It's this morning at eleven-fifteen."
"Oh, Fox, don't even joke about that."
He frowned. "I'm not."
Eve's eyes widened and her mouth formed an "O."
"What?" He glanced at his watch--9:28 a.m. Plenty of
time, though he should probably hop in the shower
in a minute.
Then he realized that the last time he'd looked at his
watch, it had been 9:28. A good twenty minutes ago, at
least.
The second hand wasn't moving.
"Oh, shit."
"Honey, it's almost noon--you've missed your flight."
"Shit, shit, shit!" he growled, stripping off his t-shirt as
he darted for the bathroom. "Eve," he called over his
shoulder, "please see if there's a flight out of Logan in
the next hour?"
He showered in record time, changing into the suit he'd
brought to wear to the wedding. He didn't have a hope of
making it to the wedding now, but maybe he could get there
in time for the reception.
Eve and David drove him to the airport and dropped him off.
The later flight to Norfolk would take just over an hour,
assuming everything went well. He could be in Portsmouth by
three.
He was the last person to board the plane, and he made it by
seconds. He dropped into his seat and buckled in, ignoring
the stares of his fellow passengers, concentrating instead
on what hell he was going to say to Scully when he got
there.
* * * * *
Seaman's Reception Hall
Portsmouth, VA
3:05 p.m.
The new Mrs. Benton Crane kicked off her cream-colored pumps
and sat down next to Scully at one of the round tables
scattered across the reception hall. Her new husband was in
the corner, talking to Scully's mother and a couple of other
women Scully recognized as Navy wives. Lorna glanced toward
Benton, her heart shining in her eyes, then turned back to
Scully. "So, the bastard didn't show."
"Nope." Scully toyed with the swizzle stick in the club
soda and lime she was nursing. "His flight made it to
Norfolk with no problem, but he wasn't on it."
"What I can't figure out is why you're not hopping mad about
it."
"What would be the point?"
"You'd feel better."
"No, I wouldn't. I'd just feel mad, and I don't really have
a right to feel mad at Mulder."
"Bullshit."
"Lorna, I know how he is. I'd known him for only two days
when he first told me that finding out what happened to his
sister was all that mattered to him. I made the choice to
join him in that quest with my eyes wide open. He never
lied to me. He never misled me. If I got hurt, it's
because I set myself up for it. It's not his fault."
"I think you're making excuses for him. He owes you more
than this."
"I don't want to be an obligation to him, Lorna." Scully
took a sip of soda. The carbonation bubbles sparkled in her
throat.
"So what are you going to do now? Ask for a transfer?"
Scully frowned. "No, of course not."
"You can work with him after this?"
"Lorna, haven't you been listening to me?" Scully put down
the drink. "Nothing has changed. Mulder is still my
partner and my friend. I know I can trust him to cover my
back. If I really need him, he'll be there."
"But?"
"But that's it. That's all I can expect from him. It's
been enough up to this point, and it'll be enough from here
on."
"So you're telling me you're not in love with him."
Scully lifted her chin and met Lorna's gaze. "I'm not in
love with him."
"You are such a liar."
Scully pressed her lips together, annoyed. "I'm not saying
I haven't thought about being in love with him. But it was
a risky idea to begin with, and everything that's happened
over the past few months just proves that Mulder and I are
meant to be friends, not lovers."
"They're not mutually exclusive, you know."
Scully sighed, exasperated. "You're the one who thinks he's
a bastard--why are you trying to convince me I'm madly in
love with him?"
"I just want to make sure you're not kidding yourself."
"My eyes are wide open, Lorna. I'm a big girl, and I know
what I'm doing." She took another drink of soda, sucking an
sliver of ice into her mouth. She crunched the ice,
repeating her last statement silently to herself. I know
what I'm doing.
Lorna's gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing. "Good thing,
because here comes trouble."
Scully turned in her chair, following Lorna's gaze toward
the doorway of the reception hall. Her stomach flipped and
sank.
Mulder had finally arrived.
* * * * *
The reception hall bore the tell-tale signs of a party that
was almost over--half-empty cups of punch, champagne flutes
and napkins crumpled on plates adorned half the small round
tables that filled the room, while the crowd dispersed into
conversational clusters along the periphery.
Scully and Lorna were at a table across the reception hall,
both seated and looking his way. Heat flushed his neck and
face as he crossed the room toward them. He steeled himself
with every step, knowing that Scully was going to be angry.
He was in for one of two things, depending on her mood--a
subtle but deadly tongue-lashing or a far more worrisome
deep freeze. He was hoping for the tongue-lashing.
He got neither. She merely arched one eyebrow at him.
Her friend Lorna didn't let the moment pass, however.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Punctuality."
"I suppose this isn't a good time to ask to kiss the bride?"
Lorna chuckled, but her eyes were dark with irritation. She
shifted in her chair, sliding her feet into a pair of satin
pumps, and rose. "I wouldn't depend on catching the garter,
either, big guy." She glanced at Scully as if to make sure
that she didn't mind being left alone with him, then crossed
the room to where Benton was talking to Margaret Scully and
a couple of older women.
Mulder sat in the chair that Lorna vacated. "I'm really
sorry."
"Forgot the time?"
He frowned slightly, not sure if she was angry or not.
Frankly, he'd prefer outright anger; at least he could deal
with that. This seeming indifference, however, made his
stomach hurt. "Not exactly. Watch stopped."
She nodded. "I'm guessing 'Lucky' has never been your
nickname."
"Not in the past few years. I'm really sorry."
She looked him over with the critical eye of a scientist.
"Actually, I'm kinda glad you didn't make it for the
wedding. You look like crap."
He ran his hand over his stubbled jaw. He hadn't had time
to borrow that razor. "I knew I should've worn the nose
ring--it's just not the complete look without it." He
glanced at her, noting the glow of her pale skin against
the glossy sapphire silk of her attendant's gown. Her small
gold cross glimmered, drawing his eyes to the soft swell of
her breasts. He so seldom got to see her like this, her
hair pulled up and framing her face in soft tendrils, her
slender body for once not camouflaged by over-sized jackets
hiding a bulky gun and holster. He kicked himself for not
keeping better track of the time.
"You should've just called when you missed the flight,
Mulder. No need to fly all the way here just to apologize."
She took a sip from her cup, taking a small piece of ice
into her mouth. She pursed her lips slightly, sucking on
the ice. Unexpectedly, heat raced over his body, turning
his skin to fire and his bones to jelly.
He mentally flailed around for a reply. "I figured it was
the least I owed you--"
Wrong answer, he realized immediately, as her blue eyes
narrowed, her look of irritation dousing his earlier heat.
"All you owe me is trust and loyalty, Mulder--not breakneck
flights to Virginia to get in on the end of a wedding
reception."
Her words prodded him in his sore spot. "What are you
trying to suggest, Scully--that my priorities are screwed
up?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
She sighed. "You're trying too hard, Mulder. You have this
pathological need to take responsibility for the happiness
of the people you love, but all you're doing is making
yourself and everyone else crazy."
"I can't just ignore Samantha and Mom."
Scully put her hand on his arm, leaning in. She pinned him
with her gaze. "I've never asked you to."
He stared at her, understanding dawning. She was right--
she'd never asked him to put her first. He felt torn
between Scully and his family because he'd put himself in
that position. He was the one who'd begun to make Scully
the focus of his life in the first place. Primacy was
something she obviously neither needed nor wanted. She
probably never had.
With a rush of pain, he realized it was time to let go.
He leaned back in his chair, overwhelmed by the realization
that he was closing a door in his life that had once held so
much promise. Something inside him writhed in anguish.
Could he really go back to how it was before--friends and
partners but nothing more?
But it never WAS like that before, he recognized with
dawning surprise. Even from the very beginning, there
had always been the tantalizing possibility of something
more between them. The moment he'd turned around in his
office to see her there, not just a photograph in a personnel
file but a living, breathing woman with intelligent eyes and a
quirky half-smile, he'd realized that his plan to hate her and
drive her away wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.
He knew now that hating her was impossible. Driving her
away was unthinkable. If he was destined to forever and
only be her friend, he'd be the best friend she ever had.
And it would be enough. It had to be enough. Because he
couldn't bear to lose her. And if he continued to cling to this
crazy hope for something more between them, he'd drive her
away. Hell, it was already happening.
Scully let go of his arm and sat back. "How's the moving
going?"
He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Much more quickly
than I thought it would."
"Guess you don't need an extra hand?"
"No." He shook his head quickly, before temptation had
time to take root, and pasted on a smart-ass grin. "You're
a bit overdressed."
"You need a ride back to the airport?"
"I'll call a cab."
"I don't mind."
"I've already been enough trouble for one day, Scully. I'll
just go say hi to your mom and go. I'll see you in the
office on Monday?"
"Friday, Mulder--remember? My brother's ship is docking
tomorrow, and Mom and I are staying in Norfolk through
Thursday."
"Yeah, right." Mulder squelched a sigh. God, when had they
gotten so out of sync with each other? He remembered a time
when they could practically finish each other's thoughts,
and now he couldn't even remember something as simple and
rare as Scully's vacation days.
He couldn't understand why he should feel such a sense of
isolation now that he'd made this decision about their
relationship. Scully wasn't going anywhere, after all. She was
still his best friend, his right hand, the one who covered his
ass
and bound his wounds. She didn't have to be his lover to be his
other half. Nothing really had to change. It would all work
out.
Come next Friday, he promised himself, everything would
be back to normal.
* * * * *
FBI Headquarters
Sept. 1, 1998
7:36 a.m.
Scully beat Mulder to the office the next Friday, determined
to get a head start on the rest of her life. During her
week off, she'd had time to grow accustomed to her decision
about Mulder. What was really going to change, after all?
They weren't lovers. He didn't owe her anything but the
loyalty, trust and friendship that went along with being
partners and friends, and she knew she had that without
reservation. It would be okay. It would be like it used to
be, only without the torment of wondering what to do
about each other.
It would probably be even better than before, she assured
herself. She stirred creamer in her coffee and carried the
mug to her desk, beginning to sort through the paper work
Mulder had left on her desk for her signature. He'd been a
busy boy, she realized with a slight smile, noting that he'd
taken better than usual care with the forms. No coffee cup
rings, no grease spots, no sunflower seed shells trapped
between the pages.
She was actually in reasonably good spirits by the time he
came in around eight. "Nice job with the paper work,
Mulder. Have you been dipping into the secretarial pool
again?"
He made a face and sat behind his slightly cluttered desk,
grabbing the letter opener lying on the blotter. He fiddled
with it, leaning back in his chair. "So, did you bring
pictures?"
She arched her eyebrows. "Pictures?"
"Of your brother. And you. At the same time. With a
newspaper showing this week's date."
She sighed, biting back a chuckle. How ridiculous that the
man who believed extraterrestrials were walking the planet
had such trouble believing that she actually had two
brothers. "Sorry--I'll handle that the next time Charlie or
Bill is in port."
"Sure you will." He actually flashed a grin.
This could work, she thought, managing a bit of a smile
herself. Things between her and Mulder were already looser
today than they'd been in weeks. Months, even. "Any new
cases come across your desk while I was gone?"
"Nothing interesting. I helped Fuller in VCS with a couple
of things."
"Bet he loved that."
Mulder chuckled. "You KNOW I'm his favorite pers--"
The phone trilled, interrupting him. He grabbed it. "Mulder."
He listened for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Okay, we'll
be right there."
"What is it?" Scully rose and met him halfway to the door.
"Skinner wants to see us."
"What have we done now?"
"I don't know, but Eleanore said not to dawdle."
Scully glanced at him. "Not to dawdle?"
"She sounded kind of tense."
Eleanore, tense? Skinner's newest assistant was one of the
most friendly, easy-going people Scully had ever known.
Unlike her predecessors, Eleanore killed with kindness,
using her motherly charm to keep even the most determined
agent from storming Skinner's office uninvited. Mulder was
putty in her hands, and Eleanore knew it. She also had a
soft spot for the quirky agent, which had earned her a soft
spot with Scully.
Skinner's office was on the fourth floor. By habit, Scully
sniffed the air as Eleanore ushered them through the door.
No smoke, but what she found inside the office was
disturbing enough. Skinner was not alone at the narrow
table by the wall. FBI Director Thomas Shea sat at the end
of the table, rising as they entered. He held out his hand
to Scully politely, but his expression was cool and distant.
She shook his hand and stepped aside to allow Mulder to do
the same.
"Please have a seat, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." Skinner
waved toward two chairs sitting side by side at the table.
Scully did as he asked, shooting a glance at Mulder. His
hazel eyes met hers, full of questions.
Thomas Shea stood at the end of the table, bending forward
to plant his hands against the smooth wood. He was a tall,
trim man in his mid-fifties, his dark hair thick and turning
silver at the temples. He had the reputation as a hard-
assed G-Man's G-Man; it was well-known that he had no great
love for Mulder's X-Files project, although Scully had no
proof that he was allied with Carter Christopher's
consortium in any way.
Shea cleared his throat briefly before he spoke. "Agent
Scully, Agent Mulder, I asked Assistant Director Skinner to
bring you here this morning in order to inform you of a
change taking place in the organizational structure of the
Bureau that will directly affect the two of you."
Scully's stomach tightened painfully. She glanced at Mulder
again and saw his jaw set like stone. Oh, God, she thought,
surely not--
"You're shutting us down, aren't you?" Mulder spoke through
gritted teeth, directing his question not at Director Shea
but at Walter Skinner.
Skinner's lips pressed into a thin line. Scully read the
answer in his dark eyes.
"May I ask why?" Scully turned to Director Shea.
"The congressional subcommittee who oversees the Bureau has
deemed that unnecessary projects be cut before September
15th. The X-Files, unfortunately for you and Agent Scully,
fell beneath the hatchet. We're reassigning you to new
areas."
"Areas," Mulder repeated, his voice taut. "Separate areas,
you mean?"
"Your respective specialties are not particularly
compatible, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully is considered one of
the Bureau's brightest forensic pathologists, and her
expertise is greatly needed at the FBI Academy in Quantico."
No, Scully thought, her heart sinking. Not back to the
Academy. Not miles away from Mulder again....
"What about me?" Mulder turned to look at Skinner. "More
wiretapping duty, I suppose?"
Skinner shook his head. "No, Agent Mulder, your work in the
field is too valuable to waste. You're being assigned to
the Boston field office."
Mulder's breath escaped in a little whoosh, and Scully bit
her lip. Boston? It was worse than she had thought.
Boston was hours away. A lifetime away.
The Bureau was taking him away from her again.
She felt Mulder's eyes on her. She lifted her gaze, girding
herself against the burgeoning pain. Mulder's hazel eyes
darkened. He dropped his gaze, a tiny muscle working
frantically in his jaw. He parted his lips and spoke one
terse syllable. "When?"
"You're to report to Agent Parmeter, the Boston SAC, Monday
morning."
"This Monday?" Scully asked, incredulous.
"The Bureau will, of course, aid you in any way necessary to
expedite the move." Director Shea's voice was meant to be
soothing, but it was all over Scully's nerves.
She darted him an angry look, secretly pleased to see the
little spark of surprise that crossed his face when he read
her expression. She lifted her chin and addressed him
directly. "I'm to report to Quantico at the same time?"
"Yes. Report to Covington."
Scully nodded, remembering Jeff Covington, the Academy
Director, from her previous stint at Quantico. She schooled
her features, holding back the rage and hurt that was
roiling inside her. Argument now would be pointless--Shea
would never have broken the news himself if there was any
hope of reprieve.
It was over.
"We'd like for you to clear out your offices today. We have
plans for the basement space." Shea took a step back and
folded his arms over his chest, effectively dismissing them.
Scully moved first, pushing herself to her feet. She
glanced down at Mulder. He was unmoving, staring at the
opposite wall, where a closed door marked the entrance to an
anteroom.
Wondering if the Cancerman is behind this, she thought. She
didn't have to wonder. This little maneuver had his
nicotine-stained fingerprints all over it.
* * * * *
46th Street
New York City
8:45 a.m.
Nine men sat around the room, reading newspapers, wire
reports, surveillance reports. Awaiting word from their
associate in Washington.
The phone rang and Anthony, the major-domo, answered. He
murmured assent and handed the phone to Carter Christopher.
"Is it done?"
The low, musical voice on the other end of the line spoke
with cock-sure arrogance. "Of course."
Carter hung up the phone and turned to his associates. "It
is as you wish."
The others looked pleased.
Carter was pleased himself. But his reasoning was a bit
different than that of his colleagues. He had his own
agenda for their separation, with hoped-for results that
would no doubt surprise every other man at this table.
He had learned a valuable lesson a long time earlier. Hate
was a tool for the ignorant. Love was a tool for the wise.
* * * * *
FBI Headquarters
8:57 a.m.
Mulder didn't know what to say to Scully as they slowly
walked toward the elevators at the end of the hall.
Should he hold out hope? After all, they'd been
separated before, and they'd found ways to work together
then.
But he hadn't been 400 miles away that time.
So he remained silent. She remained silent. They walked,
silent but together, into the elevator.
The doors swished shut behind them. He pushed the button
for the basement and turned to face her. He sought for the
right words to say, but words seemed inadequate to bridge
the inexorably widening expanse of time and space
separating them.
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with goodbye. He
realized that there was nothing else to be said. He looked
away, staring at the lighted panel marking their level by
level descent to the basement.
Slowly, in final silent concert, they retreated to opposite
sides of the elevator.
THE END
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