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Revenge by Lovesfox
Date: Sun, 22 Apr 2001 14:55:42 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: Revenge – 29 parts
Source: direct
Title: Revenge
Author: Lovesfox
E-mail: [email protected] (Feed me, please)
Web site: http://www.geocities.com/sstormc/index.html
Rating: NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong language)
Category: Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification: XRA
Spoilers: Nothing specific, up to mid-S7
Archive: As long as my name and everything stays attached. Please let me know though.
Summary: An old case of Mulder’s resurfaces seeking revenge
Disclaimer: Alas, not mine. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions
Dedication: To true friendship, through thick and thin. Thanks, T.
Warning: This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape attempt, implied character death, references to incest, and graphic sex.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Revenge: Prologue by Lovesfox
Georgetown, D.C.
Friday
7:30 am
Whir.
Click.
The man lowered the camera with its heavy telephoto lens and let it rest on his lap, still watching his two subjects. A tall, dark-haired man guiding a slender, red-haired woman in very high heels down the front walk of the apartment building, his hand behind her, apparently resting at the small of her back.
Their closeness, their connection, was now so obvious to him, as it hadn’t been in the beginning, and had become more so with each subsequent observation.
He lifted the camera once again when they neared their vehicle, parked across the street and several spaces away from his van, and made a few minute adjustments for a better focus. The man leaned in close to the woman and said something that made her smile, turning her head to look at him with unmistakable affection and amusement.
Whir.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Once they were settled in their car, he placed the camera gently down on the passenger seat and started the van. They did not notice him, watching them through his window as they drove past, and after their car had receded in his rear view mirror, he drove away in the opposite direction. He would be back later, this address and others long committed to memory.
He had been watching the pair for weeks, individually and together, in various locations around Washington, Georgetown and Alexandria, and something had eventually become crystal clear.
The red-haired woman was the one.
Revenge Part 1 by Lovesfox
Two Weeks Later
Scully’s Apartment Building
Georgetown, D.C.
Friday
6:40 pm
Scully pulled her car into the only available parking space near her apartment building, behind a white panel van. She unbuckled and leaned over to grab her briefcase and purse from the passenger seat. She got out of the car with a weary sigh and pressed the lock button down before pushing the door shut with a quick bumping motion of her hip.
She glanced at her watch. She hadn’t decided yet if she wanted to head to her mother’s tonight, or in the morning. Right now all she wanted was a very long, hot soak in the tub.
Her eyes skimmed over the van as she approached it to walk just past it to the sidewalk leading to the front entrance of her building. She had a vague impression of partially obscured red lettering painted on the side of the van, a duct cleaning service.
She thought briefly to herself that one of the tenants must be employed with the company, for she had seen the van quite a bit lately and had not received notice that there was work being done on the building’s ducts.
A car screeching its tires down the street had her turning her head back to look, and then two things happened. The side door of the van opened with a grinding sound, and a figure was jumping out close beside her. Her head whipped around and a hand with a cloth was suddenly over her nose and mouth, hard. She instinctively inhaled as her airway was blocked and smelled the distinct odor of chloroform. She felt her muscles loosen, and her grip on her belongings slacken.
Blackness descended.
The figure, a largish man in a white coverall with a breast pocket that bore the same red lettering as the van, ‘D.C. Duct Cleaning’, glanced quickly up and down the street as he hauled the unconscious woman into the back of the van.
He arranged her body carefully on her side before pulling a canvas tarp over her, leaving clearance for air to get at her face. He jumped out of the van again and scooped up the dropped briefcase and purse, tossing them inside beside the tarp-covered body, before sliding the door shut with a bang. He gave the ground in front of the door the once over and caught the glitter of keys.
With a small curse he bent and grabbed them, thankful to have spotted them. It was necessary to have her keys, for he needed to get inside her apartment. He could have broken in, he supposed, but that option was much riskier.
He returned to the driver’s side door and opening it, reached across to the thick envelope lying in the passenger side floor well. He picked it up, tucking it under his arm, and shut and locked the door. He walked calmly and casually up the walk of the apartment building and in the front door. Moments later he was in her apartment. He did what needed to be done, a small smile on his face. As he left, he shut the door, leaving it unlocked.
He walked back outside, whistling under his breath, nodding casually at the woman he passed on the sidewalk. He tossed the keys in the air once, caught them and stuffed them inside one of his pockets. He pulled his own keys out of the other pocket and opened the driver’s door and climbed inside. He stowed the items he had retrieved from the apartment on the floor, removed the Latex gloves he had been wearing, and started the van. He glanced back at the building once, smiling again, and pulled from the curb, driving away in the twilight of the evening.
Lying beneath the curb where it had been lost in the shadows cast by the van, there remained an item that now shone in the light of the street lamp across the street.
An Apollo 11 key chain.
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Monday
8:45 am
Mulder glanced at his watch again and tapped the fingers on his other hand on one knee. His foot jiggled every few minutes and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was very unusual for Scully to be late, especially for a meeting with their boss, and Mulder hoped she had a very good excuse when she got here. He had not talked to her since they had said good night on Friday.
She had told him she might be spending the weekend at her mother’s and would see him on Monday. He had called her Saturday morning, hoping to talk her into coming into the office to go over some interesting files he had unearthed, and had left a message on her machine. She had not called back nor left a message on his, so he assumed she had gone.
Across the desk, Walter Skinner was busy signing off on what appeared to be expense reports. Their boss flicked a glance at Mulder, one eyebrow rising slightly in silent inquiry. He looked at his own watch very pointedly and then at the empty chair to Mulder’s right.
Mulder shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea what was keeping Scully. He knew if she had been delayed or had a problem she would call, and he had tried both her home number and cellular twice.
Her answering machine had clicked on at home, and he had left a brief message telling her she was late. Her cellular had rung with no answer.
“I can try her cell again, Sir,” he said to Skinner, who nodded his assent.
Mulder reached in his inner jacket pocket to pull out his cell phone when the sound of voices in the outer office came through the partially closed door. He and Skinner both looked up expectantly, Mulder prepared to greet Scully with the raised eyebrow look she used on him when he was late.
Kimberley, Skinner’s secretary, came in, carrying a legal-sized envelope in the familiar colors of a courier service. She smiled apologetically at Skinner. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Sir,” she said, crossing the floor to hand the envelope to Mulder. “This came for Agent Mulder.”
Mulder took the envelope from her, studying it with curiosity. The label was written in black ink and read ‘AGENT FOX MULDER’ in block letters with the FBI Headquarters address beneath it. It was not overly thick, and as he ran his fingers along its stiff cardboard surface he could not tell what the envelope contained.
Finally he slid his fingers along the flap, tearing the glued surface open. There was a manila envelope inside, and he pulled it out, seeing his name printed on it in block letters again.
Skinner’s chair squeaked and Mulder looked up briefly to see that the AD had leaned back with his chin resting on his palm, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair as he watched Mulder opening the package.
He tore the flap of the manila envelope open, thinking that the contents felt like photographs, with that do not bend quality.
He was correct. He pulled out a handful of 8 × 10 glossies.
The first one had his eyebrows rising, a look of puzzlement on his face.
It was a black and white picture of he and Scully, the graininess indicating it had more than likely been taken with a telephoto lens. He studied it for a moment and recognized the surroundings as being just outside a local restaurant he and his partner frequented at least a few times each month. They were both dressed in their ‘FBI’ attire, and he was unable to determine exactly when the photo could have been taken.
Skinner cleared his throat, a subtle hint that he was curious.
Mulder held the photo up so that the AD could see it, and watched the man’s eyebrow rise in puzzlement as well. Mulder leaned forward to slide the glossy across Skinner’s desk and then resumed his earlier position to look at the next photograph. He was peripherally aware of Skinner moving forward himself to pick up the picture.
The next two photos were the two of them as well. One was outside Scully’s building, walking down the path. He knew they must have been taken two weeks ago, for Scully’s car had been in the shop for several days and he had been her taxi until it was ready. The other was of him opening her door, taken moments after the previous picture.
The fourth photo from the stack was of the two of them yet again.
His hand was on Scully’s elbow, his head bent down to hers. It appeared as if he had said something to her that had made her laugh. Because the occurrence of Scully laughing was sadly a rarity, he remembered the moment with perfect clarity. They had been returning from a luncheon held in honor of a retiring agent, walking back to the Hoover building, and he had made a quip about the celebration that would happen within the FBI at the occasion of his retirement and her laughter had broke free. It had surprised him, and the resulting delighted grin that had covered his face had been captured in the fifth photo, as Scully had turned her head to reply. The two of them looked, he thought, like a successful, happy couple sharing a private moment in a very public place.
He passed each photo to Skinner, who had pulled his chair back to his desk and was studying each one. The furrows on the AD’s brow and around his mouth had grown deeper with each subsequent picture, indicating his growing concern. Mulder knew the same lines could probably be seen on his own face.
The last photo had been taken just this past Thursday, for Mulder could clearly make out the basketballs that dotted the tie he had worn that day. Again, the two of them were outside, returning from lunch. They were quite close to each other, having that same appearance of a couple, for the crowds had been heavy and he had been pushed into her several times as they made their way back to work.
After placing that photo onto Skinner’s desk, Mulder peered into the manila envelope, wondering if there was a note or anything that would indicate why he had been sent these photos, or why they had been taken. A small square shaped item had gotten wedged in the bottom corner. He reached inside and plucked it between his fingers, recognizing the feel of it as being that of a Polaroid, pulling it free.
He flipped it over and what he saw had his heart stopping in fear.
It was a picture of Scully.
Her eyes were closed, a strand of her hair falling across her face, and her mouth was open slackly.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, jumping up with such force that the chair fell over backwards. He bolted towards the double doors that led out to the hallway, bypassing the outer office, hearing Skinner call out his name, his voice harsh and questioning. Mulder did not pause.
He ran down the hallway, uncaring as he careened into and off people, heading for the exit to the stairs. Behind him he heard exclamations and cries of anger, as well as Skinner bellowing his name. He hit the door with the palm of one hand, and it crashed open into the wall. Fortunately no one was on the other side.
He took the stairs two at a time, his jacket flaring open with his speed, the Polaroid still clutched in one hand. Two floors down he heard the sound of the door banging into the wall again, and then loud footsteps descending after him.
“Mulder!” Skinner called, the sound echoing in the cement confines of the stairwell. “What the hell is going on?”
“Scully,” he yelled back, not slowing his descent in the least.
“Something’s happened to her.”
He reached the parking garage level at last, slamming through the door, Skinner now at his heels. The AD grabbed his shoulder, his sheer size and strength enough to force Mulder to a halt.
He spun around and thrust the Polaroid in Skinner’s face, the picture trembling in his hand.
The AD gaped at the picture and a muttered four -letter word escaped his mouth.
Mulder spun around again and resumed his race to his car, Skinner right behind him. He skidded to a halt at the driver’s side, digging in his pocket for his keys. Pulling them out, he jabbed the door key into the lock and roughly yanked the door open.
Skinner was rounding the car as he leaned over to pop the passenger door’s lock and he started the car as the AD climbed inside.
He pealed out of the parking spot, the tires squealing, and Skinner slammed his palm against the dashboard to brace himself, as the car almost seemed to go on two wheels.
They roared through the garage, Mulder barely slowing as they turned onto the street, heading to Georgetown.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Monday
9:30 am
Mulder ran down the hallway to Scully’s apartment with Skinner following. The sight of her car parked at the curb had briefly slowed his footsteps before he raced up the walk. He stopped at her door, hands raised and ready to pound on its surface, when some instinct had him reaching out to grasp the doorknob, turning it gently. It was unlocked.
He shot Skinner a glance, and both men reached inside their jackets to draw their weapons. With a nod at Skinner, Mulder opened the door and they burst in, each covering a different direction with their guns. The apartment was silent, and still.
Mulder scanned the room, heart still pumping madly, not only from the mad dash from the car, but also from the thought that had been running through his brain since seeing the Polaroid.
<Scully’s in danger> Over and over.
He knew somehow, just as he had known the door was unlocked, that she was not there. His breath panted in and out of his partially opened mouth, and he lowered his gun arm slowly, feeling the adrenaline rush end. His shoulders slumped and one hand went up to wipe the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.
A few feet away from him, Skinner too seemed to sense there was no immediate threat in the apartment, his own gun lowering to his side, body uncoiling from the tense crouch he had assumed as his gun swept the room. He opened his mouth; the muscles in his jaw working, and then closed it again, saying nothing.
Mulder did not know what to do next, where to begin. Following his instinct yet again, he walked down the hall to Scully’s bedroom, aware of Skinner following him. Her door was wide open and he stepped inside. He froze in place, his eyes immediately fixated on her bed.
Pictures, 8 × 10 glossies, covered its entire surface.
He walked over to the bed, his steps wooden. From what he could see after scanning them quickly, the pictures were all either of he and Scully together, or of Scully alone.
He sensed Skinner next to him and they exchanged glances. Mulder shoved his gun in his holster and reached down almost hesitantly to pick up one of the photos. It was a close-up of Scully’s face, her lips rising in a slight smile as she looked at something off to the side. He had no idea when it had been taken.
“Mulder,” Skinner’s voice was low. “We need to get a forensics team in here.”
Mulder nodded absently, staring intently at the picture of Scully, talking silently to her in his mind. Where are you, Scully?
“I’m going to call the Bureau, arrange for that team,” Skinner said.
Mulder did not reply and as the AD reached into his jacket pocket for his phone, he looked around Scully’s bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place, the room was neat and tidy, the shades partly down over the window, her closet door slightly ajar. His eyes were drawn to something lying on her dresser.
A cellular phone.
He moved over to the dresser and stared down at it.
Skinner had stopped in mid-dial and came over to stand beside Mulder. “Is it Scully’s?” he asked, looking at the phone as well.
Mulder shook his head, unable to take his eyes off of the phone.
“No,” was his quiet response. “It was put here for a reason.”
He turned his head to look at Skinner again. “There could be prints.” He turned and left the room, walking into the bathroom.
Scully had a box of Latex gloves beneath her sink. It would probably seem odd to others, but when he thought about the number of crimes committed in her apartment, it actually made a sick kind of sense.
He pulled the box out and set it on the counter, removing a pair for himself and one for Skinner. Faintly he could hear Skinner’s deep baritone from the other room, probably calling for the forensics team. He went back into the bedroom to see the AD putting his phone back into his inner jacket pocket. He handed the gloves to the AD, who took them with a grimace.
Scully’s apartment had become a crime scene. Again.
A shrill ring had them both jumping.
It was the cell phone on Scully’s dresser. Mulder quickly pulled on the gloves and picked it up gingerly. He took a deep breath and then pressed send, reluctantly, but knowing he had to. Bringing the phone close to his ear, but not touching, he was about to say his name, when he heard a male voice.
“Agent Mulder.” The voice was tinny, and there was static. “Did you like the pictures?”
What came out of his mouth was not what he had intended. “Where the hell is she, you bastard?”
“Careful, Agent Mulder,” the voice warned. “You wouldn’t want me to get angry, would you?”
Cold, numbing fear ran through him. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. He was babbling inside his mind…Where is she?…Did you hurt her?…What do you want?
Mulder became aware of Skinner gesturing frantically at him. He nodded at the AD, taking another deep breath. “No, I wouldn’t want that,” he replied finally. He began to pace, his elbow up in the air as he held the phone awkwardly at his ear. All of his psychologist skills had fled. He could only think of Scully, taken again. “May I talk to her?” he asked, his voice sounding flat in his ears.
There was silence for so long, Mulder thought he had lost the connection. “Hello? Are you there?” he said, a little more forcefully.
A burst of static, and then, “…Mulder?” A voice he would know anywhere. Scully’s voice.
“Scully?” he cried, whipping around to stare wild-eyed at Skinner.
“Scully, are you alright?” She had sounded so weak, so tired, his name almost slurred. His heart jackhammered in his chest.
“SCULLY!”
The male voice again, more clearly. “That’s enough for now, Agent Mulder.”
“Wait!” Mulder exclaimed. “Who are you? What do you want?” He bit the next words back, knowing they would not be answered.
Where is she?
“All in due time, Agent Mulder,” the man said. There was another burst of static and then nothing.
Mulder pulled the phone away from his ear. “Fuck,” he whispered.
He wanted to throw the phone across the room, he wanted to kick and punch and scream. He did nothing, just turned and stared at the photographs on her bed, as if the answers were there, waiting to be found.
Skinner reached out, making contact with him. “Mulder,” he said.
The AD’s voice was low and controlled, but Mulder could feel the tenseness in the fingers that grasped his forearm. “Who was it?
Was it Scully?”
“I don’t…I didn’t recognize the voice,” Mulder answered. “But he has Scully. She said my name.” He turned to look at their boss. “She sounded…she sounded so weak. So scared.”
As he said those last words, he was finally admitting to himself that there had been more in her voice than just tiredness.
He had heard fear, and confusion. He had listened to Scully’s voice for seven years, sometimes it had been all that had kept him sane, and he knew every nuance, every inflection. And that one word, his name, had transmitted everything to him.
11:45 am
Skinner divided his attention between Mulder, seated at Scully’s table sifting through the photographs the agent had painstakingly collected off her bed, over and over, and the fingerprint analyst busy in Scully’s bedroom.
The cell phone, it had been determined as soon as the team had arrived, had been completely clean of fingerprints, and now sat at Mulder’s elbow. It had yet to ring again.
Once Scully’s bedroom, and most importantly the picture-covered bed, had been photographed, Skinner had allowed Mulder to take them. He had been sitting and staring at each one ever since.
He had not spoken since telling Skinner about Scully’s voice on the phone, and Skinner knew Mulder was deep inside his own mind, tormenting himself with thoughts of his partner, and what was happening or had happened to her. Skinner also knew he was helpless to stop Mulder from that torment.
Skinner stood by the living room window, not far from Mulder, and sighed harshly. His body was tense, coiled tightly. He needed action, to do something. Sitting and waiting had never been his game, although in his position at the Bureau, it was a necessary evil. It just seemed that too many times he had had to do so for Mulder and Scully both.
Scully.
Skinner felt his mouth go dry. It was frightening how many times this woman had been kidnapped and held hostage. He supposed in the nature of their work they encountered or were exposed to all types of psychotic individuals, but it seemed so…unfair was not a strong enough word, perhaps tragic, that she was so often a target. A victim. He also could not keep one horrifying thought from his head. Would this be the last time?
He had been trying to keep his feelings distant, separate from the burgeoning investigation. He was failing miserably. The image of Scully in that Polaroid kept creeping into his consciousness, along with Mulder’s words, ‘so weak, so scared’.
One of the tech’s voices pulled him from his thoughts. “Sir?”
Skinner turned from his stance at the window to see the blonde, bespectacled agent, Dryer, he thought, standing at the little table by Scully’s front door. The agent was gesturing at her answering machine, and as Skinner strode over there, he could see that the red message light was flashing. He had a vague recollection of glancing at the machine as he and Mulder had swept into the apartment. He must not have noticed the red light.
He nodded at Dryer, saying, “Thank-you. We’ll take care of that.”
He could see the traces of powder, it had already been dusted for fingerprints. “Mulder,” he called. No reaction. He raised his voice. “Mulder.” Still nothing.
In long strides he was at Mulder’s side. He placed his hand on Mulder’s shoulder, and felt the jolt go through Mulder’s body.
His agent looked at him, life slowly creeping back into his eyes, the blank expression changing to one of surprise. “Mulder, we need to check Scully’s answering machine, the message light is flashing.”
The chair scraped noisily as Mulder pushed it back in his haste to rise from the table. He almost raced to the machine, and then stood there, his fists clenched. Skinner joined him and watched Mulder lift his finger slowly and press ‘Play’.
Beep.
“Dana, honey, have you decided if you’re going to stay here this weekend? It’s eight o’clock now and I’m going out for about an hour, leave me a message and let me know, please, dear.”
Margaret Scully.
Skinner heard Mulder’s indrawn hiss of breath. The agent’s lips were moving, and he barely caught the muttered words. “Gotta call Mrs. Scully.”
Beep.
“Hey, Scully, it’s me. Listen, if you don’t have plans, call me on my cell. I found some interesting files I want to go through.
Talk to you later.”
Mulder.
Beep.
“Dana, it’s mom. I guess you got home too late last night to call.
I’ll be out for a bit this morning. Let me know what you’ve decided. Talk to you later, honey.”
Margaret Scully.
Beep.
“Scully, what’s up? We’ve got a meeting with the Skinner, he’s gonna pop a gasket. Get your little feet in gear.”
Mulder.
Beep. There were no more.
Skinner’s facial muscles had twitched at the last message, his hands going to his hips. Beside him, Mulder was drawn as taut as a wire, his face stony. “Mulder?” Skinner asked.
“I think she was…taken…Friday night,” was Mulder’s whispered response. “She told me she was probably going to her mother’s for the weekend. I called her Saturday morning just after seven, so that first call from her mother must have been Friday night.”
He swallowed noisily. “I don’t think she made it.”
Skinner felt a lump rise in his own throat. Jesus, some psycho’s had her for almost three days. He stared at Mulder, who was still standing and staring down at the answering machine. Skinner sensed Mulder was blaming himself, wondering why he hadn’t known sooner.
How he could have expected himself to know did not matter, he just should have.
He knew he was right at Mulder’s next words. Words Skinner did not think Mulder was aware he was speaking. “Stupid. Why? Should have known. Why didn’t I call again? I should have come by, checked on her. Should have. Stupid.”
“Mulder.” Skinner said the word harshly, to snap Mulder out of his trance, his verbal chastisement of himself. He saw Mulder’s shoulders tremor slightly and then his head was up and turning to meet Skinner’s gaze. “We need to confirm that Scully did not go to her mother’s, try and pinpoint a timeline of sorts.”
“I’ll call Mrs. Scully,” Mulder said firmly, but the look in his eyes showed his reluctance.
“Would you like me to call her?” Skinner offered, understanding that Mulder was dreading having to inform Mrs. Scully that her daughter was missing yet again. Just as he wondered how Scully could survive so much, Skinner also wondered how her mother did as well. They were both extremely strong women, despite their somewhat fragile appearance. Skinner knew Scully would bristle at being thought of as fragile, but in his eyes, she was.
Fragility wrapped around steel.
Mulder shook his head. “I’ll do it.” He took a deep breath and reached for the phone.
Skinner walked away, he did not want to hear this conversation.
He pulled his cellular out of his pocket again, he needed to arrange for agents to come and canvass the neighborhood, as well as conduct interviews with the tenants of the building.
4:30 pm
Mulder rose from his seat at the table, running his hands through his hair for the hundredth time. He had been staring at the photographs from Scully’s bed for so long, he was starting to see double. His eyes burned and stung, and he was vaguely aware of a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Yet he knew he could not eat, the thought of food made him nauseous.
His glance flicked to the cell phone that had not left his sight for a moment. He willed it to ring. He needed to hear her voice, to know that she was still…alive. He shied away from that thought immediately. She was not dead. He would know if she were dead, wouldn’t he?
He sighed heavily, and began to pace. His path took him past the windows, overlooking the street in front of Scully’s building. He stopped at the window and stared down at all the cars. It was easy to spot the bureau sedans, parked sporadically up and down the street.
Scully’s car.
The thought hit him like a lightening bolt. They had forgotten about Scully’s car. He turned back to the room and called over to Agent Dryer who was manning Scully’s phone, in the off chance her abductor called on her home number. “Have you seen AD Skinner?”
The agent replied, “He’s with Agent Taylor, conducting interviews on Agent Scully’s neighbors.”
Mulder remembered now the AD coming over and telling him he would be assisting the agents in interviewing the tenants of the building. He went back to the table and picked up the cell phone, tucking it carefully into his pocket. He scooped up his jacket from the back of the chair where he had draped it hours ago and slipped it on, heading to the door. “I’m just going outside to look at Agent Scully’s car,” he told Dryer.
A few minutes later he was on the sidewalk standing in front of Scully’s car. He bent and peered inside the driver’s side window.
The car was empty. He checked the driver’s door handle and it was locked. He made a circuit of the car, checking all the doors.
The results were the same. There was no sign of disturbance or interference, so it was probably a safe assumption that she had been taken after exiting the car. However, it was undetermined as to whether she had ever made it up to her apartment. The messages on her machine could indicate she had never gone up, but because they did not know exactly what time she had parked her car, the calls could have come after she had been home and taken.
He thought back to Friday evening, remembered talking to her as she put on her jacket and gathered her things. She had told him she had to run a couple of errands on the way home, and made a joke about leaving early, looking at her watch with a smirk. It had been not quite 5:30, he recalled, for he had looked at his own watch, and laughed, knowing she had meant it really wasn’t early for most people, but for the two of them. He often stayed very late or all night, and she had put in many an extra hour as well.
So, if she had left at 5:30, with the evening traffic, and her errands to carry out, the earliest she could have made it home was probably 6:30. If they could pinpoint when Mrs. Scully had phoned, they would be able to narrow down the timeframe in which she could have been taken.
Mulder glanced up at the apartment buildings that lined the street.
So many windows, so many people. Was there a chance one person could have looked out their window at just the right moment, and seen Scully coming home, seen someone confronting her, seen someone grab her? He hoped like hell that someone had.
The space in front of Scully’s car was vacant and his keen eyes spotted something on the ground, close to the curb. He walked over and looked down onto the road. It was a small metal circle, like part of a key chain, maybe. His fingers reached out and picked it up, flipping it over. His eyes fluttered shut, and memories flicked past them… Scully’s apprehension as she held the small box he had given her in the pub, the teasing about implants, and her surprise as she beheld the Apollo Eleven key chain…
A car drove by, and he blinked, startled.
The metal circle had broken off its chain. Mulder looked at the curb, and then stood, judging the distance from approximately Scully’s waist height to the ground. If she had been grabbed here, and dropped her keys, the key chain could have hit the curb with enough force to break.
It was not concrete proof, but it was a start.
Mulder turned and headed back towards Scully’s building, the metal circle clenched tightly in his fist. The phone, his only connection to Scully, rang in his pocket and he stopped dead in his tracks. He reached in and struggled to pull it out, his heart beat rapidly accelerating. “Mulder.”
“Agent Mulder. Learn anything interesting?”
Mulder strained to hear familiarity in the voice, to recognize the speaker. If he could find out who it was, maybe it would give him an edge, put him in a better position to find Scully. Whole and unharmed.
Try and keep him talking, Mulder thought to himself. He wished he were back in the apartment, and had access to a pen and paper. He trusted his memory, but would prefer to have a back up. “What do you mean?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and level.
“From Agent Scully’s car?” the man asked questioningly.
Mulder could hear humor in the voice, an almost taunting, and he tensed. Then the words registered and he whipped around, gaze scanning up and down the street. Was he being watched right now?
Was the bastard somewhere nearby, watching him? Was Scully there, bound and helpless?
“Don’t waste your time looking for me, Agent Mulder. I’m long gone.”
Mulder caught the use of the pronoun ‘I’. Was Scully not with him?
He must have her stashed somewhere, while he moved about, obviously watching him, and Scully’s apartment building. He inhaled sharply, a terrible thought filling his head. Had he already killed her and dumped her body, and was merely stringing him along for his personal pleasure? The words tumbled out in his fear. “Who are you? Where is she?”
“I’m disappointed, Agent Mulder. I thought we had quite a connection, once. I had hoped you would remember me.”
There was a burst of static, and then noises he did not recognize.
He cursed inwardly, wishing there was someway to record these calls, so they could analyze every sound later.
The noises cleared and Mulder realized the man had been speaking.
“…left you a clue, Agent Mulder. Your skills of intuition, have they slowed with time? I’ll leave you to your thoughts, maybe something will come to you.”
“Wait!” Mulder said into the phone. “May I talk to her?” He hoped his voice did not sound as pleading to the man as it did in his own ears.
“Perhaps another time, Agent Mulder.”
Click.
Mulder closed his eyes, the phone still pressed to his ear. His free hand clenched into a fist and then he forced a deep breath into his lungs and out. And again. Opening his eyes, he glanced once more up and down the block before heading back inside. The man had said he left a clue. Mulder was determined to find it.
Revenge Part 2 by Lovesfox
Abandoned Warehouse, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Monday
7:30 pm
Scully blinked her eyes, her vision blurry. Slowly it cleared, but she could see little anyway. Where she lay, and she had yet to determine where that could be, was dimly lit. She struggled awkwardly into a seated position on the lumpy cot, her back slumping wearily into the wall behind her from the effort of rising. Her hands were still bound, rather tightly, with rope.
She swung her legs, also tied with rope, down in front of her to partially dangle off the edge, trying to stretch the kinks out.
She did not know how long she had been out this time. After the man had shoved a cell phone in her face, telling her it was Mulder, and she had said his name, hearing herself slur the word, she had been gone again.
The room she was kept in did not have windows, and always seemed to be in the same stage of light, so it was difficult to judge the time of day. She was not actually sure which day it was either. Her captor, whom she did not recognize, and who made no effort to disguise himself, a fact which disturbed her greatly, brought her water and food, and took her to use the facilities, at odd intervals, so she could not guesstimate the time of day.
He also kept her well sedated.
Her arm was sore from repeated injections. She had lost count of how many there had been, and not knowing what she was injected with, or the dosage, she could not determine a pattern there either.
She was almost sure though, that when she was awake, it was not for very long.
Her mind was clearing further. She decided to take advantage of this and try and learn a bit more about her surroundings. The wall against her back was cool, and a bit damp, and she shivered slightly. At least she was no longer in her suit. Some time earlier, and it could have been hours or days ago, her captor had untied first her hands and then after her feet, and thrown a sweatshirt and a pair of track pants, which she recognized as her own, at her to change into. She had been very groggy, her muscles weak, and had been unable to attempt to overcome him, knowing it was futile at the time. He had not turned away, or allowed her to, and she had been forced to disrobe and dress in front of him.
She had done so quickly, trying not to let her emotions show on her face. She was not sure if the smile on his face had been at her involuntary strip tease, or the fact that she had failed to disguise her discomfort, but whatever the reason, it had made her feel very uncomfortable.
She shook her head slightly. Enough, there was no point in dwelling on that. So far, and she prayed fervently that it would remain that way; he had not touched her except to move her about.
She had a vague memory of him jumping out at her from a white van, so she must have been transported here, wherever here was, by the van, and then carried inside.
The room she was in was rectangular, and no more than ten feet by perhaps twelve feet. The walls, including the one she leaned against, were cement, probably a light gray, although in the poor lighting, it was difficult to determine positively. She finally noticed where the light was coming from. One bare light bulb in the corner opposite where she rested upon the cot, up in the ceiling, for the scantiest of illumination. There was only one door, and it appeared to be of a heavy wood. She hadn’t been able to work up enough energy to try and get to it and see if it was locked yet.
The logical side of her brain insisted it was locked, there was little chance he would be so careless as to leave her a means to escape her prison. The small, hopeful part prayed that he had somehow forgotten.
She had to try. She straightened from the wall and clumsily shimmied herself forward until her feet were planted on the floor.
It took several attempts, but she managed to heave her body into a standing position. She wavered there for a moment, her head spinning nauseously, before she finally felt ready to try to move.
With her feet tied together as they were, she was reduced to hopping ignominiously, each landing jarring her head and body.
She was thankful her hands were bound in front of her; she did not think she could have kept her balance otherwise.
She was panting harshly by the time she got to the door, and had to pause for a moment as she felt her head spin again. Several deep, slow breaths helped a little, and she reached out with her bound hands to grasp the doorknob.
There was a scraping noise from the other side, and she gasped sharply. The doorknob turned and then the heavy wood was swinging inwards, knocking her to the ground. She hit hard, her breath whooshing out of her lungs with the impact. Pain sang along her right side and hip and she groaned in reaction, curling into a ball.
“Going somewhere?” the man said, standing just above her.
Scully heard the anger in the seemingly casual words, and knew she would pay for her escape attempt. Feeling she had nothing more to lose, she tensed all her muscles and with one swift movement, kicked her legs out in a sweeping motion, connecting with his ankles.
Either she was weaker than she had thought, or he was far stronger than he appeared. The movement did not knock him to the ground as she had intended, but merely caused him to lose his balance slightly. She could feel his eyes on her, menacing and cold, and a twinge of fear had her heart racing.
“That was a very bad idea,” he said between gritted teeth. He swooped down suddenly and grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her to her feet. He shook her hard and the motion woke the dizziness in her head. She tried to contain her moan, but it slid past her lips as he continued to shake her. “Did. You. Think. I.
Would. Leave. The. Door. Unlocked? Do. You. Think. I. Am. Stupid?”
Each word was punctuated by another shake.
Her eyes were rolling, the nausea nearly overwhelming. He must have sensed she was close to passing out, for he stopped shaking her and flung her towards the cot. She landed awkwardly, her ribs colliding with the metal frame, her upper body on the cot, her lower half hanging off of it. She had neither the strength nor the leverage to pull her self completely onto the cot, and tumbled to the floor, with nothing to break her fall but her body, which it did with a bone-jarring thud.
Heavy footsteps as he stomped to her side. She cringed, expecting a blow, but he merely grasped her by one of her arms and pulled her upright again. This time when he pushed her, he made sure she landed on the cot, falling onto her rear.
As frightened as she was, she was not going to cower before him.
She lifted her head, her chin jutting out, to meet his eyes. He frowned at her action, and then his eyes dropped, to her neck, she thought. His frown deepened, and he muttered something that sounded like, “She tried to hang herself.” He moved forward, bending over her, and she pressed herself against the wall as his hand came up to touch the flesh at her throat. He ran his fingers over it gently and this time she heard his words clearly. “There’s no scar.”
Scully swallowed suddenly, a nervous reaction that he felt beneath his fingertips, for he blinked and pulled back. He straightened, his eyes returning to hers. “You can’t escape. It’s useless to try,” he said. “If you attempt it again, I will have to restrain you further.” He paused and then continued, “It won’t be pleasant.”
“Why…” her voice was hoarse from misuse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why am I here?”
He turned away from her and started towards the door. She didn’t think he was going to answer, but he stopped at the doorway. He did not turn around, but his voice carried. “Agent Mulder took something from me, so I took something from him. You.”
With that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. The lock engaging from the other side was loud in the silence of her small prison and Scully slumped tiredly against the wall.
Mulder. Oh, God, what was he going through right now? She hadn’t really thought about why the man had made her speak Mulder’s name into the cell phone, but now she realized the man must be using her to torment Mulder. Did Mulder know who the man was?
How was he going to find her? For she knew he would find her, that he would not rest until he did. Tears stung her eyes, and she shut them to stop their flow.
She swung her legs up carefully, and lay down on the cot, her bound hands in front of her. Although her head still throbbed a little from the shaking, she was still feeling alert. Just as she was wondering why he had not drugged her again, the door opened with a bang. He moved to her side quickly, bent down and jabbed a needle in her arm, drawing a hiss of pain from her.
Her eyelids were heavy by the time he left the room.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Monday
8:30 pm
Skinner entered Scully’s apartment wearily, and scanned the living room, not spying Mulder. The pictures were still spread on the table, but the cell phone was gone. He rubbed the back of his neck as he crossed over to Agent Dryer, who was still manning the phone.
“Where is Agent Mulder?” he asked gruffly, fighting the urge to yawn. He was also trying not to think of the gnawing hole in his stomach, the coffee he had scarfed down a couple hours ago had done little to appease his appetite.
“Sir!” the agent said, his back straightening.
Skinner resisted the urge to tell the agent they were not in the Marines and repeated his question, his tone only slightly brisker.
“Where is Agent Mulder?”
“In Agent Scully’s bedroom, Sir,” Agent Dryer replied, his face crinkling in confusion. “He went out a while ago to check her car, and then he came rushing back in here, saying he needed to check Agent Scully’s bedroom and that he didn’t want to be disturbed. He hasn’t come out since, Sir.”
Skinner nodded absent-mindedly at the agent, starting to move away from Dryer. They had forgotten to check her car, but he doubted Mulder had found anything, he would have reported it if he had. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, to conceal the yawn he could no longer contain. He turned back to the agent and said, a little gruffly, “You’re relieved for the evening, Agent Dryer. I’d like you back here at 7 am.”
Agent Dryer stood and nodded, saying, “Thank-you, Sir.” He looked down the hallway that led to Scully’s bedroom and then at Skinner, but said nothing.
Skinner watched as Dryer left the apartment, and then locked the door. He glanced at the pictures on the table once more before heading down the hall to Scully’s bedroom. He wondered what Mulder was doing, why he had closeted himself in there.
He rapped on the door lightly with his knuckles, and hearing nothing in response, slowly opened the door. The sight that greeted his eyes had him pausing in the doorway. Mulder sat on the floor, his back against one side of Scully’s bed, his arms wrapped around his bent legs, staring blankly at the floor.
Focused on Mulder as he had been, he had not noticed the condition of Scully’s bedroom. He stepped further inside, head swiveling as he scanned the room in shock.
Everything was in disarray. Drawers were open, articles of clothing hanging from some, and Skinner almost blushed when he spied a wisp of silk and lace, the bedding in a jumble in the center of the bed, the pillows tossed in one corner. The low dresser that rested under the windows had been shoved out and on an angle, and the items that had graced its surface appeared to have been propelled to one side.
Skinner looked back at Mulder, who had not moved in the time he had been standing by the door. The agent had shed his jacket and tie, both of which lay on the floor where they had apparently been flung, and his sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up on his forearms.
Skinner crossed the floor and crouched beside Mulder. The agent showed no sign of having heard him approach. He reached out and grasped Mulder’s forearm, much as he had earlier. The flesh he touched was chilled and Skinner felt a twinge of alarm. “Mulder?”
he questioned. No response. He tightened his grip and shook Mulder lightly, repeating his name.
Mulder continued to stare at the floor, barely even blinking, and Skinner shook him again, a little harder. “Mulder, snap out of it, man!” he barked, and was finally rewarded by Mulder’s head turning slowly to look at him. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes wide and tortured, not quite meeting Skinner’s own.
“He said he left a clue,” Mulder said, his voice just above a whisper. “I can’t find it.” He turned his head away again, eyes sweeping the room. He pulled from Skinner’s grasp and stood, shakily. “It has to be here. I have to find it.”
Skinner got to his feet slowly. “Did he call again, Mulder?” he asked. “What did he say?” When Mulder did not answer, he called the agent’s name sharply.
Mulder turned to face him. His eyes were filled with confusion, and exhaustion. “What?” he asked.
“Mulder, did the man call again?” Skinner asked again. He moved over to Mulder’s side and pushed him onto the mussed bed. Mulder sank unresisting, his hands coming up to hold his head.
“I went outside. To check Scully’s car. I found…I found the key chain I gave her a long time ago. It was broken.” Mulder’s recital was monotone. “The car was clean, and I was headed back inside, when the phone rang. It was him. He asked if I found anything interesting with Scully’s car.” His hands slid away from his head and he raised it to look at Skinner. “I think he’s watching me, watching Scully’s place.” The look on his face frightened Skinner. “He said we had a connection, and that he was disappointed. I didn’t…I don’t recognize his voice. But he said he left a clue. I have to find…” His voice trailed off and he stood and began to wander around Scully’s bedroom, stopping occasionally to peer at things closely.
Skinner watched Mulder worriedly. He had seen Mulder in distracted, concentrating states before, but this intensity was almost frightening. And at the same time, fascinating to watch.
It made him admire Mulder, and Scully for dealing with it on a regular basis, even more.
Skinner knew that Mulder would not rest unless forced, and that he would have to be the one to force him. “Mulder, you need to take a break. You’ll be no help to Scully if you collapse from hunger or exhaustion,” he said, moving to touch Mulder on the shoulder.
“A clear head will help you focus.”
Mulder looked at him, mumbling, “Scully. Help Scully.”
Skinner was surprised at how docile Mulder was as he led him out of Scully’s bedroom and to her kitchen. He pushed him into a chair and set about making Mulder something to eat. It felt awkward to be using Scully’s kitchen so freely, but he knew she would approve the usage for Mulder’s sake.
He listened to Mulder’s disjointed ramblings as he made sandwiches for both of them, and poured Mulder some ice tea from the pitcher he found inside the refrigerator. The words ‘clue’ and ‘Scully’ were uttered most frequently, and with great sadness. He placed the plate and glass in front of Mulder and watched as Mulder mechanically picked up the glass and drained it completely. He ignored the sandwich, and Skinner said softly, “Mulder, Scully would want you to eat.”
He was not surprised when Mulder began to eat the sandwich. He picked up his own and ate it in quick, economical bites. His next move was to get Mulder to rest. After clearing the dishes from the table and placing them in the sink to clean later, he placed his hand gently on Mulder’s shoulder. He hoped he would not have to undress Mulder, but was prepared to if that was what it took.
“You need to get some sleep, Mulder. Come on.” He paused and then added, “For Scully.”
Once again, Scully’s name was the magic word. Mulder rose from his chair and headed down the hall to Scully’s bedroom, and Skinner followed, slightly bemused. He stood in the doorway and watched as Mulder went to Scully’s closet and retrieved a blanket and a pillow, as if he had done this many times before. Perhaps he had, Skinner mused. He had never questioned the closeness between Mulder and Scully, although he had often wondered how deep it went. A small part of him even envied it.
He followed Mulder back down the hall and saw him put the bedding on the couch. Mulder stripped off his shoes, shirt and pants, pulling the cell phone out of one of the pockets, and settled onto the couch in his undershirt and boxers, pulling the blanket over his body.
The cell phone he held clutched in one hand, resting on his chest.
Skinner stood for a moment, uncertainly. Finally he headed back down the hall to use Scully’s bathroom. He relieved himself and then turned to the cabinets beneath the sink. A quick search turned up a brand new toothbrush still in its wrapper. He availed himself of it and her toothpaste, and then splashed water over his face, drying off on the hand towel folded neatly to the side of the sink. Removing his tie and shirt, having taken off his suit jacket in the kitchen, he hung them on the hook on the back of the door before heading back to the living room. He kicked off his shoes and sank into the wing chair, propping his sock feet on the coffee table, resigning himself to an uncomfortable night.
He could not tell if Mulder was sleeping or not, but remained silent, hoping against all hopes that he was, and that his sleep would be deep and dreamless. He closed his eyes, head falling back to rest on the back of the chair, and let his body relax. His thoughts drifted to the many interviews he had conducted throughout the day, and the lack of any substantial information from Scully’s neighbors. He had also spoken briefly to the agent that he had placed in charge of conducting spot checks in the buildings that lined Scully’s street, Traci Reynolds. There had been nothing to report. He had instructed her and the other agents to return in the morning to begin again.
He took a deep breath, clearing his mind of all thoughts, including those that concerned Scully and her well being, knowing that he badly needed to get some rest in order to continue the investigation into her disappearance. Within moments, he was asleep.
11:30 pm
Mulder lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, his hand clutching the cell phone, his lifeline to Scully. He could hear Skinner’s deep, even breathing as the man slept. He himself could not sleep. His mind was filled with images of Scully, most of them from the pictures he had stared at for so long. It seemed the man had been following them, following her, for quite some time before he had made his move. The thought was disturbing, some of the pictures showed how close he had actually gotten to them at times, and he wondered how it was that they had not noticed. Had they become so complacent in their lives, in their routines, that they no longer saw the unusual around them? He had always prided himself in his keen senses, why had they failed him then? And now?
A clue. It could be so many things, but nothing jumped out at him.
He had stood in Scully’s bedroom after the phone call for what seemed like hours, but in reality had been only minutes, studying it as they had first found it, minus the photos on the bed and the cell phone on the dresser. He hadn’t exactly been a regular visitor to Scully’s bedroom, but he had been there often enough, he thought, to recognize something out of the ordinary.
Her closet door had been slightly ajar, and while that could just have been from Scully not closing it properly, he had gone over to it and looked inside. Shoes neatly arranged on little shoe racks, were any missing? He couldn’t tell. Skirts, pants, suit jackets, blazers, somewhat organized by color. Gaps here and there, clothing at the dry cleaners? Her suitcase and carry on bag stowed tidily in the back.
He had pulled dresser drawers open next, seeing evidence of Scully’s neatness everywhere, rifling through each one. A sweet scent rose from each drawer, and he saw sachets tucked inside. He had hesitated when he discovered her lingerie, feeling like a pervert for invading her privacy that way. At the same time, he had felt no small thrill for touching the silks and satins she wore close to her skin. He also felt shame for that thrill.
He had turned then and her bed had loomed before him, the comforter slightly wrinkled from when he had removed the photographs. Other than the cell phone on the dresser, it had been the only other apparent item that had been touched or tampered with. His legs had jerkingly carried him forward and then he was at one side, staring down at it, at the pillows her head graced each night, at the comforter that kept her warm. His hand lifted from his side so slowly, and then suddenly he was grasping one of the pillows and tossing it aside. The other one followed quickly, but they revealed nothing. Cold fingers plucked at the bedding, flipping them down in one swift moment. Still nothing.
The low dresser beneath the windows was next. He shoved it out of the way, checking behind it, around it, his movements choppy and frantic. Grabbing at the window shades, lifting them, shaking them.
Where was it? Where was the fucking clue?
He had begun to pace, back and forth, from the window to the closet. Over and over again, eyes restlessly searching. Then from the bed to the door, until finally he had sank exhaustedly onto the floor, his back against her bed. He drew his knees up to his chest, hugged them tightly to his body.
As he lay there on the couch, he remembered Skinner coming into Scully’s bedroom, leading him to the kitchen, and making him eat.
The sandwich sat like a leaden lump in his stomach still. His fingers clenched spasmodically on the cell phone, and he wondered if Scully had eaten. If she was thirsty, or tired, or hurt.
Please don’t let her be hurt.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the darkness to overwhelm him.
Abandoned Warehouse, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Tuesday
5:00 am
When Scully woke again, he was there. Sitting on a stool he must have brought in, close to the cot, staring at her. She could not control her startled flinch or the widening of her eyes.
He smiled at her reaction, but it was an odd smile. A smile that sent a shiver through her entire body. She pushed herself up on the cot awkwardly, grimacing as the motion brought pins and needles to her bound hands, and huddled against the wall, hating her display of weakness, but helpless to stop it. She blinked slowly, her mind still fuzzy, and tried to swallow away the dryness in her mouth and throat.
“Thirsty?” he asked, and his concern seemed sincere.
She nodded, watching him carefully as he reached down beside him, beyond her range of sight, and straightened, holding a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle out to her, forcing her to lean forward to grasp it with pained fingers. It was difficult, with her hands tied so tightly, but she managed to bring the bottle to her mouth, tilting her head back to drink deeply.
Scully did not close her eyes as she drank, but kept them focused warily on him, watching for any sudden moves. She saw that he was staring at her throat, seemingly fascinated by the motions of her swallows. It made her uncomfortable and she lowered the bottle, holding it carefully in her lap. He had stared at her throat earlier too, and said something about her not having a scar.
She saw that he was rocking slightly, and that his eyes were a little glazed. His lips were moving soundlessly, and then the words tumbled out. “Her throat. Her beautiful throat. The scar.
Oh, it must have hurt.”
“Whose throat?” she asked softly.
His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and they narrowed in anger.
“Shut up!” he hissed. Suddenly he was off the stool and crouching over her, his body pinning hers to the cot, his hands around her neck, squeezing tightly. The water bottle fell to the floor with a small thud.
Scully tried to suck in air, her vision going spotty. Her bound hands came up to bat ineffectively at his chest. Fortunately her motions must have distracted him, for he let go, pulling away from her, mumbling, “No, no. Not like this. Mulder must see…” His voice trailed off, and he began to pace.
Scully gulped in deep lungfuls, coughing painfully. What must Mulder see?
The man’s pacing had brought him back the cot, his foot kicking the fallen water bottle. He bent and righted it as she continued to cough. “Don’t you try and distract me,” he said, shaking his finger at her. “Mulder has to suffer, just as I did.” He turned away again. “Just as she did.”
His steps took him to the door and she thought he was going to leave again. But he turned around and came back to sit on the stool once more, shaking his head. “You’re making me confused,” he said. “I don’t like that.” He reached inside the jacket he wore and pulled out a syringe.
The low moan rose unbidden in her throat and he looked at her unapologetically. “I don’t trust you not to try anything,” he said. “This is just a little something to make you…manageable.”
One hand grasped her by the elbow, lifting her arm up as the other hand injected the syringe’s contents into the muscle of her upper arm. His next words were lower, and she heard them only vaguely through the fog that was invading her mind. “They kept her sedated all the time.”
Scully blinked, a feeling of lassitude swamping her body, and wondered in a far corner of her brain who ‘she’ was. Her tongue was thick but she managed to mumble, “Who?”
The man looked at her in surprise, seemingly unaware he had spoken again, and Scully wanted to remember something, but the thought flew away, blanketed by the fog.
Hands were at her feet, and then she was being lifted, to stand waveringly on the floor. A gripping at her elbow, prodding her forward, and she floated across the floor and out the door.
She felt the cold, and the dampness, but they were far away feelings, like something she might have been concerned with once upon a time.
They did not walk long before they made a turn into another room, the walls of which were tiled in a uniform white. There were door-less bathroom stalls, and off to the side, partitioned shower stalls that may have once had curtains for privacy. He stopped her and stood in front of her to untie her hands, then gestured at the room. “Make yourself at home.”
Scully stared down at her freed hands, at the redness that circled her wrists and then looked around. The man was sitting on a chair she had not seen a moment ago, blocking the doorway, facing into the room. He did not turn his head or offer her privacy in any way. She walked on weak legs to the farthest stall, the one that was least visible from his perch, still capable of feeling embarrassment and shame through the languor.
After she had relieved herself, she made her way to the sink, her shuffling footsteps loud in the quiet of the room. She stared at herself in the long mirror that ran along the wall, distantly noting the pallor of her skin and the lankness of her hair. There was actually a bank of sinks, and she thought for the briefest of seconds that she might be in a locker room of sorts. His voice reached her then. “You should take a shower. There is a towel and soap on the counter.”
Scully stared at her reflection, wondering if it were possible to get any paler. Despite the drug coursing through her system, that seemed to chase away all her thoughts, she knew she did not want to take a shower in this room.
“Refusal really isn’t an option,” came his voice, and she shivered at the menace. “If you don’t take it yourself, I will help you.”
The tone was enough to have her picking up the aforementioned items and moving, albeit slowly, over to the shower stalls.
Again, she chose the one farthest from him, stiffening at the low chuckle that followed her actions. She kept her back to him and resolutely removed her clothing, trying to move as swiftly as possible. Her hands were all thumbs, and as she leaned over to remove her shoes, she felt light-headed for a moment, reaching out one hand to brace herself on the cold tile. She piled her clothes just outside the raised step that led into the stall, along with the towel, shielding her nude body as best she could, and grasping the soap in one hand, reached out with the other to turn the water on. The flow was not very heavy, nor was it very warm, but it still felt good. She stuck her head directly into the water and let it run over her face for a moment before scrubbing one hand over her eyes, although she left them closed. If she couldn’t see him, then he couldn’t see her. A childish thought, she knew, but one she needed to cling to. She did not want to think of him watching her as she washed herself.
He had not provided her with shampoo, just the soap, and as she lathered it in her hands, its fragrance wafted to her nostrils.
It was a scented soap that smelled faintly of roses. She ran the soap through her hair, scrubbing at her scalp, and then rinsed it out. She made quick work of the rest of her body and had turned to rinse completely when a sound reached her ears. She opened her eyes fearfully, but he was not there.
The sound came again, and she recognized it as the scraping of his chair on the floor. “Turn off the water and get dressed,” came his voice, echoing slightly in the tiled room. She hurried as much as she was able, turning the taps off and drying her body quickly before putting her clothes back on. She then used the towel to blot the water from her hair.
She made her way to where he was now standing and he spoke again.
“Hold out your hands.” She did, and he re-tied them. He tugged at her and she stumbled into him. He made a sniffing sound and then whispered, “You smell like Elizabeth.” He shook his head, blinking rapidly and pulled at her again, leading her back to her prison. He pushed her inside, saying, “I’ll bring you something to eat later. I have to get ready…to torment Mulder.”
The door slammed behind her, the lock clicking into place. She made her way over to the cot and sat down; surprised that he had not tied her feet up again. She yawned deeply then, her body extremely tired from the exertions of walking and showering, so she lay down on the cot.
Her eyes drifted shut, her mind still not quite clear. The words “torment Mulder” rang over and over. What did he mean? And who was Elizabeth?
Sleep overtook her.
6:00 am
Elliot Andercott moved through the silence of the warehouse towards the room where he kept Dana Scully. In his hands he carried his Polaroid camera, ready to proceed with the next stage of his plan of revenge against Fox Mulder. He looked at his watch; saw that he was running a bit behind. The scent that had teased his nostrils when Dana bumped into him, Elizabeth’s scent, had thrown him for a loop. His mind had refused to work, he could not get Elizabeth’s image out. He missed her so. He had barely been able to leave the room where he was keeping Dana, and he had forgotten to inject her again.
He was not overly concerned about not having drugged her further, she had been heavily sedated the night before, and the relaxant he had given her in order for her to shower had probably been enough to knock her out again anyway.
Reaching the door, he took a deep breath, trying to focus on the tasks at hand, and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and saw that he was correct. Dana Scully was out cold on the cot. He also saw that he had forgotten to retie her feet. He would have to rectify that for when he went out.
He crossed the floor to stand over her. She lay partially on her side, knees drawn up to her chest, facing the door, curling strands of hair falling onto her face. He bent over and reached one hand out slowly to brush the hair away, he needed her face clear. The scent of roses wafted to his nose again and he closed his eyes, letting his fingers sift through the softness of her hair. Just like Elizabeth’s.
Elizabeth.
His eyes popped open and he straightened with an angry jerk.
Lifting the camera to his eye, he pointed it at her face, and pressed the button. The camera whirred noisily, but she did not move. He removed the Polaroid and placed it on the stool to dry.
He stepped back and pointed it at her again, this time including her body in the shot. He took two that way, laying each picture aside, and then focused the camera on her bound hands, taking one of them as well.
Putting the camera aside, he looked around him for the rope to tie her feet. There wasn’t any. He must have left it in the shower room. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t have any time to waste. He would just have to inject her again. He reached inside his inner pocket and pulled out another syringe. With quick movements, he pressed it into her arm, holding the spent needle carefully in his fingers. The Polaroids were thankfully dry, so he tucked them into his pocket before picking up the camera. He left the room and locked the door.
He moved quickly and was soon at a small door that led outside.
Out of habit, he glanced around as he made his way to the van, but this area of the docks had been deserted for months. That had been one of the reasons he had decided on this place when he had first began to plot his revenge against Fox Mulder.
Thoughts of Mulder’s reactions to his ‘gift’ kept him so occupied, that the drive to Dana Scully’s apartment building took no time at all. As he cruised past it slowly, he spied the unmarked vehicles that earmarked them as being Bureau issue.
He swore ripely under his breath. His distraction this morning had thrown his timing off.
He wouldn’t be able to deliver his little package for Mulder himself. He had gotten very excited at the thought of going up the sidewalk of her building, walking down her hallway, leaving his gift for Mulder at her door. Knowing without a doubt that Mulder would be inside. Hoping that he would be the one to find it.
Elliot pulled the van up to the curb, about a block away from Dana’s building. His hands clenched on the steering wheel as he began to spit out more curses. He needed this, needed to torment Mulder a little more before the next step.
Movement outside the passenger side window caught his attention, and he turned his head to see a young boy walking past. An idea flared, and he quickly shifted to the other seat, rolling the window down. “Hey, kid,” he called.
The boy stopped and turned around slowly, his head swiveling from side to side as he tried to find where the voice had come from.
Spying Elliot, beckoning from the van, he moved a little closer, hitching the knapsack on his back a little higher. His eyes were wary and curious at the same time. “Yeah?” he asked, trying for a tough sounding voice, and failing miserably as it cracked.
“You want to make twenty bucks?” Elliot asked.
The kid took a step back, his eyes narrowing.
“Nothing like that, kid,” Elliot said quickly, and smiled when the kid did not move away. “I need you to deliver something for me, that’s all. I’m running behind, I’ve got to get moving.” He held up the twenty-dollar bill he had pulled from his wallet. “Only take you five minutes.”
The kid tilted his head, considering, staring at the money in Elliot’s hand. He nodded, a grin flashing on his face, and came over to the van. “Where?”
Elliot told him the building and apartment number, pointing down the block. He lifted the sealed manila envelope from the floor and passed it out the window. The money was next, which the kid shoved deep into his jeans pocket. “Just drop it off in front of the door, okay?”
“Sure,” the kid said. “No problem.” He waggled the envelope at Elliot and headed off down the sidewalk.
Elliot smiled. Plan B would work just as nicely. The kid hadn’t even noticed he was wearing Latex gloves.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
7:30 am
Walter Skinner leaned one hip against the counter in Scully’s kitchen, hands cradling a steaming mug of coffee. The savory aroma wafted up to his nose, stirring his hunger, and helping to clear the last vestiges of sleep from his mind and body.
He had awoken twice through the night before finally rising completely just before six a.m. Once with a very painful crick in his neck, which he had rectified by changing his position on the chair, and the second time by Mulder. The agent had done nothing overt, such as speaking to him or shaking him awake.
An eerie sensation of being watched had invaded his sleeping thoughts and he had jolted awake to find Mulder sitting upright on the couch, the cell phone clutched in one hand, staring with unblinking intensity at him. After confirming Mulder was all right, or as all right as he could be in this situation, he had forced himself to relax back into the chair. The experience had brought to mind memories of terrifying late night patrols in the jungles of Vietnam, and he had slept uneasily for the remainder of the night.
Skinner took a cautious sip of the hot liquid, feeling the burn all the way down to his stomach, which growled in response, still pondering the previous night and his early rising. He was normally up with the dawn by habit, but believed he would have slept a little longer if not for the fact that Mulder had chosen to sit at the table and go through the photographs yet again.
Skinner yawned, rubbing his hand over the tenseness in his neck, wanting a hot shower desperately. He flicked a glance at the clock on Scully’s stove. He had convinced Mulder to take a shower, and the agent had been in there for quite some time.
The image of Mulder, standing hollow-eyed and stubble-cheeked, holding the cell phone he had refused to relinquish even for a moment, before nodding jerkily and shuffling defeatedly down the hall, would remain in Skinner’s head for a very long time.
The desperation and desolation apparent on Mulder’s face was haunting, and Skinner hoped with all he had in him that Scully would be found safely, and soon. For all their sakes.
A rapid knocking at the door startled him from his dark thoughts, and he nearly spilt coffee on himself. He placed the cup on the counter and made his way to the door, expecting to find either Agent Dryer or Agent Taylor.
He opened the door to reveal another agent, whose name escaped him at the moment, standing with one hand on the shoulder of a young boy. In his other hand he held a manila envelope.
Skinner had a very bad feeling about the envelope, and could not control the muscle that began to twitch in his jaw. He resisted the urge to grab it from the agent, and instead asked, “What is it, Agent?”
“Sir,” the clean-cut, young-looking agent said. “Agent Reynolds had stationed me in the lobby, to check the names of everyone entering and exiting, to make sure we have interviewed everyone, and this young man came in, saying he had to deliver this envelope. When I asked him which apartment number, I realized it was Agent Scully’s, so I brought him up. Sir.”
Skinner looked from the agent to the young boy, who wore an expression he could not quite define. Fear, with a touch of belligerence? He nodded to the agent, saying, “Thank-you.
I’ll handle this from here. Back to your post.”
“Yes, sir,” the agent said, and nudged the boy forward with the hand on his shoulder. He passed the envelope to Skinner and turned to go back to the lobby.
The boy walked inside, and Skinner shut the door behind him.
He was torn between wanting to look inside the envelope and questioning the boy. His quick glance showed Mulder’s name printed on it in block letters, and he knew he could not open it without Mulder. Which left the boy. Skinner sighed, and rubbed his free hand over his neck again. He had little, if any, contact with children, and hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin.
He turned to see the boy staring at something off to the side and spied Mulder standing there in a pair of jeans with a towel around his neck. His chest and feet were bare, and for a brief second Skinner wondered where Mulder had gotten the jeans, before he saw that Mulder’s eyes were focused on the manila envelope he held.
“When did that come?” Mulder asked hoarsely. His hands clenched spasmodically on the ends of the towel, and his face was white.
Skinner was sure he had not even noticed the boy standing less than ten feet from him. “Mulder, we just got it. This boy was delivering it.”
Mulder seemed to come alive then, crossing the floor in rapid strides to stand before the boy, bending at the waist to grasp the kid’s shoulders. “Where did you find it?” he asked, nearly spitting the words out.
Skinner moved a few steps closer and said Mulder’s name warningly.
He was relieved when Mulder released the boy’s shoulders and straightened. He watched the agent’s eyes flick from the boy to the envelope and back, and knew that whatever calmness or peace Mulder may have gotten from his long shower was gone. He held the envelope out, saying, “Mulder, let me talk to him.”
Mulder’s hand shook as he grabbed the envelope, and Skinner watched him head back down the hall, no doubt to Scully’s bedroom, before turning back to the boy. He smiled, but it must have looked more like a grimace, for the kid scowled back at him. He gave up on the smile and said, “Sorry about that, son. My name is Walter Skinner, and I’m with the FBI. We’re investigating a possible kidnapping, and I really need to know where you found this envelope.”
“FBI?” the kid repeated. “Cool!” He seemed to relax with the information that Skinner was with the FBI. He shrugged his shoulders, and looked around Scully’s apartment. “I didn’t find the envelope.”
Skinner frowned, and resisted the urge to grab the kid’s shoulders as Mulder had. He sighed, and perched his butt on the arm of the chair, to be more level with the kid. “If you didn’t find it, where did you get it?”
“Some guy gave me twenty bucks to bring it up here,” the kid said.
Jesus Christ. Skinner sprang to his feet, pointing his finger at the kid. “Stay there!” he barked, and raced down the hall, bellowing Mulder’s name. Scully’s door was closed, but Mulder came out seconds later. He had put on a tee shirt and a pair of running shoes, and his face was paler and starker than ever before.
Skinner skidded to a halt, eyes shooting from Mulder’s face to his hand, to what looked like Polaroid pictures clutched in his fingers.
“Mulder?” he asked, feeling his body go cold. Please don’t be pictures of her dead, he repeated over and over in his head.
STOP! He told himself. “Mulder, the kid said some guy paid him to bring the envelope up here.”
Mulder brushed past him to run to stand next to the kid. “What guy?” he asked, bending at the waist to stare into the kid’s eyes.
“What guy paid you to bring the envelope?” he repeated, louder.
The kid shrugged. “Guy in a van. He called me over, asked if I wanted to make some money. Gave me the address and the apartment number.” He shuffled back a step, looking down at his sneaker-clad feet, a look of fear crossing his face. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” he asked.
Skinner had followed on Mulder’s heels, and he put one hand out to pat the kid awkwardly on the shoulder. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell us about the van?”
At those words, Mulder ran over to the door and yanked it open.
Skinner could hear the sounds of his footsteps thudding down the hall. He tightened his grip slightly on the kid’s shoulder and directed him to sit on the couch. “I need you to wait right here.
It’s very important. An agent is coming to come in, and I want you to tell him everything you can remember about the man, and the van he was in, okay?”
The kid nodded, still looking scared half to death.
“It’s okay,” Skinner said. “You did good, okay?” He tried to smile, but his heart was pounding frantically. He needed to move.
“Stay,” he repeated and left the apartment, shutting the door behind him.
4:30 pm
Mulder raked one hand through his hair, uncaring that it was spiked in every direction, and sighed harshly as he stared at the composite sketch of their suspect. His eyes burned, the image blurring, and he blinked several times. The paper shook in his hand, and he finally had to put it down on the table before he dropped it. His chair caught on the Oriental rug as he pushed it back from the table and he kicked at it in frustration, muttering a curse.
The chair fell over with a loud bang, and both Skinner and Agent Dryer reacted with surprised exclamations. Mulder shot them a look but did not apologize. He angrily scooped the chair up and slammed it down in place before stalking over to stare out the window.
As he stared down at the street, his mind wandered back to earlier that morning, after the envelope of Polaroids arrived.
He had raced outside of Scully’s apartment building, flying past the two agents stationed in her lobby, vaguely hearing their cries of startlement, to skid to a stop at the edge of the walk. He remembered whipping his head from side to side to look up and down the street. The number of vans had stupefied him, and as he stood there, his breath panting in and out harshly, he had realized he didn’t even know what type of van. He had run out of the apartment before the kid had told them.
A mini-van had passed slowly, and he had stepped forward, head craning to see inside. A woman had been driving, giving him a narrow-eyed look of suspicion. He had seen a toddler in a car seat in the middle row, and stepped back, shoulders slumping.
Skinner had come out then, to bring him back inside. He had gone, unprotesting.
The boy, twelve-year old Joshua Hamilton, had been sitting quietly on the couch with Agent Reynolds when they got back to Scully’s apartment. Skinner had muttered something about women dealing better with children. Joshua had told them his story while they waited for the sketch artist to arrive. It had been a panel van, and very dirty. He thought it was white, and that it had red lettering on the side. He did not remember reading what it had said.
His details of the suspect had been a little better, resulting in a fairly decent composite sketch.
Mulder cursed again, turning away from the window to start pacing.
The sketch he had been staring at for the better part of the day, in between staring numbly at the new Polaroids of Scully, and at the cell phone, which remained stubbornly silent.
He did not recognize the suspect.
He ran through the details yet again. Dark brown hair, slightly curly, thick eyebrows over deep-set eyes, that Joshua was fairly sure were brown, a largish nose, a thick mustache over thin lips, and a small goatee. An average face. A fairly pleasant face.
Agent Reynolds had astutely asked Joshua about the man’s teeth, and he had said they were big and white, not gross at all, which had made everyone smile.
Everyone but Mulder.
His pacing took him past the table and the Polaroid pictures of Scully caught his eyes. He stopped, the index finger of one hand going out almost involuntarily to trace her features on the top one. He picked it up, bringing it close to his face. He tried to take solace in the fact that she was dressed in different clothing, telling himself that it meant she was still alive, that the pictures were recent.
He cringed as he looked at her bound hands, the slackness of her face, the dinginess of the bedding on which she lay. It appeared that she was on a cot of some sort, and he could make out a section of wall behind her, it looked like concrete. Not that these details helped any. She could be in a room anywhere. Someone’s basement or garage. An abandoned building. Anywhere.
He was not aware that Skinner had been talking to him, until he felt the AD’s hand on his shoulder. He turned his head slowly, watching the man’s lips move. “What?” he mumbled.
Sound rushed in. “Mulder, I want you to take a break. Have something to eat. You’re not going to do Scully any good, nor yourself.” Skinner’s tone was low, but still firm.
He shook his head. Skinner didn’t understand, and he could not explain, that he could not eat, that the thought of food turned his stomach. “I need to go to the Hoover building. Start going through my files.” He swallowed, corrected himself. “Our files.”
He jutted his chin at the composite sketch lying on the table.
“I don’t recognize him at all, and that bothers me, because I don’t forget faces. Maybe I’ll see a picture in one of the files, get a name.”
“Fine,” Skinner said. “I’ll come with you, after we eat something.” Implacably. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared Mulder down.
Mulder nodded his defeat. Eating could be faked, he had done it many a time when Scully got in one of her over-protective, mothering moods, and insisted he needed sustenance to keep up his strength. Scully.
His gut clenched, and then his mind flashed back to one afternoon in their office. She had tried to tempt him with her yogurt and he had accidentally on purpose knocked the container over and then laughed uproariously at the look on her face as she stared down at the mess on the floor. She had been so ticked off, but still unable to keep the smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. She had used his freshly typed report due to Skinner that day to wipe the mess up in retaliation.
He closed his eyes as a wave of weariness and pain washed over him, followed by dizziness, and dimly heard Skinner bark his name.
Then he was being shoved into the chair he had vacated earlier.
He brought his elbows to his knees and propped his head in his hands.
Banging and thumping sounds from the kitchen, and then the press of something cold against his hand. A voice telling him to drink. He lifted his head up, seeing a blurred Skinner holding out a glass of what looked like water. He took it with a trembling hand and swallowed several mouthfuls before shaking his head and shoving the glass towards Skinner, feeling the water hitting his empty stomach.
He bolted from the chair and down the hall to the bathroom, shuddering with dry heaves.
Moments later a cold cloth was rubbing his face and then hands were lifting him and guiding him into Scully’s bedroom. He did not fight as the hands pushed him gently onto the bed and covered him with the comforter. He turned his head into the pillow and inhaled her scent, loneliness and despair clutching at his heart.
Scully, please be okay.
Revenge Part 3 by Lovesfox
Abandoned Warehouse, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Tuesday
6:30 pm
Elliot Andercott slipped silently through the warehouse towards the room where Dana Scully was kept, a packaged sandwich and a carton of milk in his hands, along with the length of rope that had been around her ankles earlier. He felt like he was floating as he made his way to give his captive her meal, the euphoria from the vision of Mulder running out of her building to search the streets after the delivery of the photographs had lingered throughout the day. He had found himself smiling and singing as he went about his business, laying the groundwork for his next step in his revenge against Fox Mulder.
He had surprised himself with his restraint in not calling Mulder right away. He had been so tempted as he sat in his van down the street watching him, but he had also known that there was a slight bit of risk, so he had held back. The cell phone had been in his hand, his finger poised to dial, but he had resisted. Throughout the course of the day, he had found himself picking the phone up, wanting to call Mulder. Then he had thought with a wicked smile that it would be much more fun to let Mulder sit and stew in his own juices all day, waiting for the phone to ring. From what he had been able to research about Mulder, and what he had witnessed during his observations of the man with his lovely partner, he knew that was exactly what Mulder would do. So he had not called, and kept himself amused with his plans for the following night.
He got a delicious little chill as he pictured the events in his mind. He came to a stop with a little giggle, thrilling to the thought of Mulder’s reactions then, and unlocked the door to Dana’s room. He pushed it open slowly and walked inside, taking a deep breath to settle himself down. He brought the stool back over to the cot and sat, placing everything on the floor beside him, and lifted his gaze to his charge.
She was still asleep, her breaths slow and even. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, her breasts barely discernible through the material of the sweatshirt. It had ridden up at her waist, revealing the bare skin of her stomach, and he stared entranced at the whiteness of her flesh. He leaned closer, one hand reaching out to touch, to see if it was as soft as it looked, and the rose fragrance was suddenly sweet in his nostrils.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, his hand hovering in mid-air.
Memories of Elizabeth assaulted his mind. <Her lustrous brown hair running through his fingers…her sweet smile, as she looked at him with love in her eyes…her curvaceous body held tightly against his>
“Elizabeth,” he sighed, and the sound of his own voice had his eyes popping open. He looked at the woman on the cot, and she was Elizabeth. Boundless joy filled his lonely heart and he slid off the stool onto his knees, leaning over to bring his face close to hers. He nuzzled at her neck, breathing deeply of her familiar scent, one hand coming up to stroke through the softness of her hair. “Oh, Elizabeth, I’ve missed you so,” he whispered, placing tiny kisses along her neck and jaw line. A part of his mind questioned the flawlessness of her neck, wondering where the scar was, but he was too happy to be with her again after so long, that he pushed the concern aside. Waves of desire swamped his body, and he moaned, moving so that he could press his lips to hers.
He felt Elizabeth shift against him and lifted his head, watching her lids flutter open to reveal sleepy blue eyes. Blue? But Elizabeth had brown eyes.
Scully came awake slowly through the waves of fog blanketing her mind. She became aware of a smothering presence by her face and then lips were pressing on hers. She twitched and the pressure was gone. She dragged her eyes open with effort, for they felt so heavy, to see…him.
Her first instincts were to bring her hands up to push him away, and to recoil in disgust, but as she started to move she heard him whisper, “Elizabeth?” His voice was low and rough, and full of confusion. She froze in mid-action, watching as his head tilted to the side, his lips in a slight frown. He said it again, a little louder, the confusion still there.
Scully took a chance that in his disoriented state he might answer her, and said very softly, “Who is Elizabeth?” She studied his face as he pulled back from her, blinking rapidly. He did not reply immediately, and she wondered if he had heard her at all.
She lifted herself up slowly and carefully into a sitting position, her back coming to rest against the wall, and although his eyes followed her every movement, he still made no sound.
She opened her mouth to ask again, but stopped when she saw him do the same.
His voice was still low when he finally replied, and his eyes shifted away from hers, as if he could not look at them anymore.
“Elizabeth was my…my sister.”
Her mind might be muddled from drugs, but she could still put two and two together. He had thought she was Elizabeth, and he had been kissing her. Kissing Elizabeth. Oh, God, did they have an incestuous relationship? Sheer force of will was necessary to keep the shock and revulsion from her face, but she looked down at her lap in case she failed. She and Mulder had encountered all walks of life in their years together, and while she might question the choices people made, she tried her best not to judge them. She also knew there could be mitigating circumstances that had led to their relationship, no matter how much the idea disturbed her. It was a struggle not to squirm, her skin felt like it was crawling.
The word ‘was’ finally registered, and she drew a breath in sharply. Was Elizabeth’s death the reason for her kidnapping?
And what did Mulder have to do with it? The man had said Mulder had taken something from him. Did he mean Elizabeth, and if so, how? She could not recall an Elizabeth from any of their cases, numerous as they were, and although Mulder had often talked of some of his cases from his days in the Violent Crimes Unit, she knew there were many he had not. She would have to try and learn more. If she were allowed to talk to Mulder, maybe she could pass on whatever she could glean from the man. She would also have to be careful. She did not know enough about the man, other than the fact that he was very strong, and that he was not entirely stable mentally. And that for some as yet undetermined reason, he wanted revenge against Mulder.
Scully looked up finally. He had raised his head and was watching her. His eyes no longer seemed confused, but the frown was still on his lips. Should she risk asking him more?
Before she could say anything, he said rather abruptly, “You must be hungry. I brought a sandwich and some milk.” He had slid back onto the stool, and bent down to pick up the rope.
Her stomach growled loudly, even as the sight of the rope had it fluttering nervously, and she realized she did not know how long it had been since she had last eaten. She remembered the bottle of water, had that been this morning or yesterday? She nodded, saying, “Yes, please, I am hungry.” No need to anger him by not responding. “Can I ask what day it is?” she queried softly.
“Put your feet out. I have to tie them so I can untie your hands to eat,” he commanded, gesturing at her with the rope in his hands. “And no funny stuff, or I won’t bring you food again.”
When she complied, straightening her legs in front of her, he set to work tying her ankles together. His gaze was focused on his task, and she almost didn’t catch his mumbled reply. “It’s Tuesday.”
Tuesday? My God, she’d been taken Friday night. She had only scattered thoughts and images since being grabbed in front of her apartment. It was a frightening and horrifying thing to lose time like when she had been missing after being taken by Duane Barry, even if it was only for a few days.
She thought of Mulder, remembering when he had told her how he had been while she had been missing then. She could only imagine his anxiety, his anguish. She hoped that he had someone to keep him grounded, to take care of him while he searched for her.
She felt a tugging at her wrists, and looked down to see that he was untying them, and that he had finished restraining her feet.
The rope came loose and she huffed out a pained breath as he rubbed the chafed, reddened skin roughly with his hands. He dropped her hands in her lap and she whispered, “Thank-you.”
If she could stay on his good side…
He bent and came up holding a sandwich in a clear cellophane wrapper and a small carton of milk. She began to salivate and had to resist the urge to snatch the food from his hands. He passed her the sandwich and opened the milk carton, which he placed on the cot beside her leg.
Scully tore the wrapper off and sank her teeth into the sandwich, chewing enthusiastically. The bread was a little stale, and she really didn’t care for cheese with her ham, but it was heaven. She told herself to slow down, she would only make herself sick, but it wasn’t working. She still had a lingering feeling that the food could be taken away at any time, and continued to bolt the food down, stopping every few bites to gulp some of the milk.
The meal did not take her long, and when she had finished, the man took the garbage from her and put it aside. He stared at her for long moments, and she tried not to squirm, but it was difficult.
His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, to strip her bare. She felt a chill and crossed her arms across her chest; relieved he had not re-tied her wrists yet. She tensed as he sat up and reached one hand inside his coverall. His coverall? Her eyes flicked from his face, seeing that his eyes were focused on his hand, to the writing embroidered on the pocket of the white coveralls. D.C. Duct Cleaning. It was like a light bulb going off in her head. That was the name on the van that he had come out of when he grabbed her.
If she could somehow tell Mulder, maybe he could trace it. Maybe.
She would have to think.
The man pulled a cell phone out and her heart leapt in reaction.
He had to be planning to call Mulder; maybe he would let her talk to him. There must be something she could tell him. She could feel her breath coming faster, and inhaled deeply, to try and calm herself down.
“It’s time to call Mulder,” he said, smiling slightly.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
7:00 pm
Skinner stretched with a small groan after rising from the hard wooden chair where he had been sitting for the last hour or so, and walked stiff-legged over to the window. Night was approaching, the lights from the street lamps casting an amber glow on the sidewalk below. He could barely make out the unmarked Bureau car parked about a block down from Scully’s building. On his orders, there were to be two agents watching at all times. Agent Dryer had volunteered for the first shift, along with his partner, Agent Taylor. Dryer was young and eager to prove himself, and Taylor, the senior agent, had over 15 years in the Bureau and was very disturbed at the thought of the kidnapping of an agent he knew and had worked with in the past.
Skinner rubbed his hand over his mouth and turned back to look at the table, the surface of which held the stack of photographs they had found on Scully’s bed and the preliminary reports on the fingerprint analysis. For the most part, the fingerprints found had been Scully’s, a few had belonged to Mulder, and there had been the odd one belonging to Scully’s mother. There had been one very smudged partial print lifted off of one of the dresser drawers, which was currently being run through every available database. As for the photographs, he had decided to look at them himself while Mulder was sleeping. Or at least lying down. He was not sure if Mulder was actually sleeping, but Scully’s bedroom had been very quiet and as yet Mulder had not come out. He could only imagine the agent’s exhaustion, feeling somewhat drained himself.
He was thankful to have been able to grab a shower, even if he had been forced to re-dress in the same clothes.
He had not noticed anything unusual in the photographs. He had not really expected to, but had hoped there might have been something Mulder missed due to his extreme concern over Scully.
It was obvious though that whomever had taken her had been watching the two them very closely, and most likely for quite a while.
There was one other item on the table. The cell phone. The one Mulder had not let out of his sight since discovering it yesterday.
He had stealthily lifted it from Mulder’s pocket when he had brought him into Scully’s bedroom. It had been strangely silent, and he had checked a few times to make sure it was still charged. Plenty of power, just no calls.
He made his way into the kitchen, to the coffee pot. He picked it up, staring with a grimace at the sludge that remained, and put it back down. He had drunk too much coffee anyway. As he was debating his choices from the refrigerator, he heard a faint knock at the door. He shut the fridge and moved quickly to answer it.
Unfortunately he did not move fast enough for the person on the other side, for they decided to knock louder.
Skinner yanked the door open to see another eager young agent, Agent Thompson, with his fist raised to knock yet again. “Sir!”
the agent exclaimed. “Agent Reynolds wanted you to have these.”
In his hand was a sheaf of papers. “Notes on the secondary interviews of the tenants of Agent Scully’s building, with regards to the sketch of suspect and the white van.”
He took the papers from the agent’s outstretched hands, saying briskly, “Thank-you, Agent. That will be all.” He shut the door over the agent’s reply, and walked slowly back to the table, glancing through the interview notes.
“Where is it?”
Skinner looked up at Mulder’s harsh voice, to see him standing just inside the living room, his reddened eyes darting around the room. He knew instantly Mulder was referring to the cell phone. “It’s here, Mulder,” he replied, lifting it up from the table. “Relax, Mulder. It hasn’t rang.”
Mulder stalked over and snatched the cell phone from Skinner’s hands, and stumbled back, clutching it tightly to his chest.
He had awoken with a gasp, disoriented and afraid, blinking furiously in the dark, from a nightmare. He had been in a huge, empty structure, like a warehouse or storage plant, running from room to room in near total blackness, calling Scully’s name, hearing it echo over and over, unable to find her. It had taken long moments to shake the feeling of dread the nightmare had left him with.
Rising from the bed, hand automatically reaching out for the cell phone, finding nothing. Dropping to his knees, looking under the bed, patting the ground all around him. Turning on the little lamp on Scully’s night table, the sudden brightness harsh to his eyes, making him squint and rub at them, before scrambling to his feet to turn in circles, not spying it anywhere.
Then hearing the knocking, and running out to hear an unknown voice talking to Skinner. Something about interviews and the van. Seeing Skinner studying a bunch of papers in his hands as he walked toward the table. Wanting to know if they had found or learned anything, but only able to think of the cell phone.
If he lost it, he would lose his contact with Scully. Biting out the words ‘where is it’ and seeing the phone in Skinner’s hand.
Relief washing through him in waves. Barely hearing as Skinner said it hadn’t rang.
Mulder blinked, seeing Skinner was watching him, concern clearly written on his features, his jaw muscle twitching wildly and eyes narrowed. Mulder took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, knowing Skinner would pull him off the case if the AD thought he could not handle it. Not that he would listen, nothing short of restraints would keep him from trying to…from finding Scully, but being out of the official investigation would be too difficult.
He would not apologize, but he would be civil. “Anything new?” he asked, somewhat surprised at how calm and rational his voice sounded.
Skinner regarded him for a moment longer, and then nodded, as if having decided to ignore Mulder’s behavior and that Mulder was ready to hear the news. The AD cleared his throat and replied, “Preliminary fingerprint analysis. They found a partial on a dresser drawer that did not match Scully’s, her mother’s or yours.
They’re running it through the databases. Priority one.” Skinner then held up the papers in his hand. “These just came. Reports on secondary interviews conducted on the building’s tenants with the composite of the suspect and the van. I haven’t had a chance to read them yet.”
Mulder moved to the table and pulled out a chair, taking a seat, putting the cell phone down beside him. Skinner sat on the chair to Mulder’s left and handed him half of the papers. Silently they began to read.
After about ten minutes, the AD asked, “Anything?”
Mulder looked up to find Skinner removing his glasses, his weariness evident. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a moment before replacing the glasses. “A lot of maybes on both the suspect and the van,” Mulder replied. “But no positive ID’s.” He picked up the paper he had laid aside and read the name from it. “Suzie Clifford in apartment 302 remembers seeing a man matching the suspect’s description leaving the building Friday night, around 6:45 pm. She was certain of the time because her regular workout at the gym ends at 6:00, she changed and came straight home, and the drive usually takes her about half an hour.
She is not positive, but she thinks he was wearing a pair of white coveralls and that there had been a white van parked close to the building. She did not see Agent Scully.” He finished reading and put the paper down. “I’d like to speak to her myself.”
Skinner nodded, saying, “Good idea.” He glanced at his watch. “We can see if she’s home now.” He shuffled the papers he had been reading, picking one up. “More maybes on the van and the suspect.
A Mrs. Edith Dunbarton in apartment 207 thinks she has seen the van here on a few occasions when she was leaving or returning from her nightly walk. She also thinks it was a cleaning service of some sort, and that the lettering on the van was red.” He put the paper aside as well, separate from the others. “We can see if she’s home now too, and check with the superintendent, see if there’s been any scheduled building maintenance or cleaning in the past few weeks.”
Mulder nodded and pushing the chair back, rose with a creak of his knees. He reached for the cell phone and felt his heart immediately begin to thud when it rang. Skinner had risen as well, and was reaching for his suit jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair. He stopped and their eyes met. Mulder let it ring again, and exhaled heavily through his nose before hitting send and bringing it to his ear. “Mulder,” he said, glad when his voice did not shake.
“Agent Mulder, how are you this evening? Any luck with my clue?”
Mulder tilted the phone slightly towards Skinner, who had moved to stand close beside him, so that the AD could hear as well. “I’d like to speak to Agent Scully.” Calm, not too demanding.
“Very well,” the man said, and then there was a shuffling sound, as if the phone were being passed to someone else.
Mulder was surprised at the easy acquiescence to his request.
Then he was relieved when he heard Scully’s voice.
“Mulder?” The sound was not the greatest, in fact there was a hollow feeling to it, and her voice was low and almost hesitant.
“Mulder, it’s me.”
“Jesus, Scully, are you okay?” he gasped. He groped for the back of the chair with his free hand, and used it to support his suddenly weak body. He felt sweat springing out on his forehead, and the hand clutching the phone was damp as well. He was extremely conscious of Skinner beside him.
“I’m…okay, Mulder.” There was a pause, and when she spoke again, the words were rushed and breathy, and had him blinking in stupefaction. Skinner tensed and puffed out a rush of air.
“Fox, please tell Samantha I’m okay. Please, Fox, tell Samantha, okay?”
Mulder’s thoughts whirled. Tell Samantha? The only Samantha he was aware Scully knew, or knew of at least, was his Sam. And why had she called him Fox? Was she delirious? Drugged? He shook his head, his concern increased immeasurably.
Static followed her words and then the man’s voice was in his ear.
“That’s enough for now. So, Fox, as Dana called you, I let you speak to her. But you didn’t answer my question. Did you have any luck with my clue?”
Mulder was silent, unsure of how to respond.
The man made a tsking sound. “That really disappoints me, Fox.
Very much. I think I’ll have to punish Dana for that.”
A gasping sound, followed by a grunt, and then an abrupt click.
“NO!” Mulder shouted into the now silent phone. He stumbled into the chair, the phone dropping into his lap. Behind him, Skinner cursed, and Mulder dropped his head into his hands.
“Scully,” he whispered.
Abandoned Warehouse, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Tuesday
7:40 pm
Scully felt almost giddy from hearing Mulder’s voice, it seemed so long since the last time, and from passing on the only clue she could think of. She could only hope Mulder would understand what she meant by using his given name, one she hadn’t for years after he had half-seriously, half-teasingly told her not to use it, and Samantha’s name. Would he make the connection about a brother and sister? Because she had learned so little from the man, it was all she had to pass on, and she hadn’t had much time to think. She also knew she had to be careful not to arouse his suspicions, while at the same time, hopefully arousing Mulder’s.
It was weak, but his quick mind would make the connection, it had to.
The man was talking to Mulder, but Scully had been so apprehensive about her attempt that she had not really been paying attention.
She blinked, as the man’s words registered “have to punish Dana for that.” She could not help gasping when the man leaned forward, grabbed her hard by the upper arm, and yanked her towards him.
Combined with her lack of balance and the fact that he pulled with such force, she slammed into him, and he grunted loudly in reaction. She heard the beep as the phone was disconnected and then it was falling to the floor with a clatter.
Scully squirmed as he pulled her more securely onto his lap and had to control her shudder of unease at his low chuckle. She could feel his burgeoning arousal pressing against her outer thigh and tried to twist her body to pull away from the contact.
“That ought to keep Mulder on edge for a while,” he said in a voice filled with satisfaction and a touch of excitement. His hands clamped down on her shoulders, keeping her flush against his body.
They both seemed to realize at the same instant that her hands were free. She began to flail in his hold, to try and push at his chest to break free from his grasp. His hands slid down her arms, and grabbed her wrists. He squeezed, yanking on her arms, growling, “Settle down,” in her ear, and she desisted.
“Now, Dana, I want you to tell me about your relationship with Fox,” he cooed.
Scully heard the particular emphasis he placed on the name Fox, and stiffened slightly, wondering if he had picked up on her attempt to pass on information to Mulder. He hadn’t reacted outwardly at the time, and she thought he would have shown anger if he had noticed anything.
“Why so tense, Dana?” he asked, oozing insincerity. “You don’t like to kiss and tell? Or do you think your relationship is a secret?”
He gave her another squeeze, his smile mocking. “It’s not.
I watched the two of you for several weeks, Dana. I saw your tenderness with each other, your closeness. What little social lives you have revolve around each other.” He leaned his face in closer, his breath hot on her neck, and she felt his lips on her earlobe. “Do you love him, Dana?” he whispered.
Scully did not reply and felt her body tense further as his lips began to move along her neck. The thought of him dissecting her relationship with Mulder disturbed her almost as much as the news he had been watching them for weeks. Or the feel of his lips on her flesh. There was no way in hell she was going to share her feelings about Mulder, feelings she had not fully explored, with this man.
Her silence must have angered him, for he let go of one of her wrists to grab her jaw, his fingers pressing into her skin, and turned her face towards him. He kissed her hard, his lips mashing hers into her teeth.
She felt his grip loosen on her other wrist and she used his distractedness to yank her arm free. He pulled back from her when he felt her move, and her elbow smashed into his nose.
Blood spurted, and he yowled in pain. His hand grabbed her wrist, tightening almost unbearably, and with an upward surge, he flung her onto the cot, her head striking the cement wall with a small thud. She groaned weakly.
Her eyes were rolling, the room spinning, and she barely felt his weight settling on top of her at first. Pain throbbed in her head, and a wave of nausea ran through her body. Her wrists were yanked together and squeezed in a fist, the bones grinding together. His thighs clamped around her arms, holding her wrists up, as he sat on her lower body, effectively pinning her to the cot, and then rough rope was being wrapped around them. She felt something warm and wet splatter on her face and she squinted her eyes open to see blood running freely from his nose, dripping onto her.
He tied the rope tightly with one last yank, muttering under his breath. She caught the occasional word, hearing, “…tight… hope…hurts…punish you…” He leaned back slightly, his weight nearly crushing her legs and pelvis, his eyes glaring down at her.
His hand rose to his face slowly, and then dabbed at his nose, fingertips coming away stained crimson. “Bitch!” he exclaimed and then his hand flew lightning fast and slapped her hard, twice, one on each cheek, smiling at the whimper that escaped her mouth.
He said nothing else, merely reached inside his coverall, now sprinkled with blood droplets, and pulled out a syringe. With another mean smile, he jabbed the needle into her upper arm and depressed the plunger.
Scully was already dizzy from the earlier knock to her head and the blows to her face, and felt her head begin to swim almost immediately. She watched, her vision blurring, as he climbed off of her and stomped out of the room. The door slammed with a loud bang, and she flinched, closing her heavy eyes, relieved he was leaving her alone. His anger and his arousal frightened her equally. She had a brief moment of regret that she had been unable to learn anything further, before curling into a ball on her side, her cheeks burning and her head throbbing, and letting the drugs take over.
8:00 pm
Elliot stood outside the closed door of Dana’s cell, his fists clenched, blood still running down his face, although the flow was now much slower than it had been. His heart was pounding from a strange mix of arousal, adrenaline and anger. His initial excitement had stemmed from the thought of the torment Fox Mulder would be going through after his parting statement on the phone about punishing Dana.
It had been accelerated by his conversation with Dana about her relationship with Mulder, and the telltale signs her body and expressions had revealed to him about it. Then leaning in to whisper in her ear, inhaling Elizabeth’s scent, combined with the feel of a woman’s body against his after such a long time, even if it wasn’t his sister’s, had nearly pushed him over the edge. Once he had began thinking up his plan of revenge, he had been very careful. There had only been that one slip-up, back home, but she had been a drifter. No one had noticed her.
Dana’s struggles to escape his embrace had amused him and enflamed his raging desires, but her unintentional yet still effective blow to his nose had then lessened them to a degree. The pain and the sight of his blood had enraged him and it was only the thought of what was still to come that had him holding his rage back, settling with some measly slaps to her face, even though his mind screamed out for more.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at his watch, seeing that he needed to get moving. He still had many things to do to get ready for tomorrow. The drug had probably already taken hold of Dana, and he had a brief thought about her possible head injury. He had heard the smack as she had hit the wall, and he wondered if he perhaps should have halved the dosage. He shrugged; there was nothing to be done about it now. He would just have to keep a close watch on her after he finished his errands. He giggled to himself for referring to them as ‘errands’. He shivered with excitement as his mind began to picture how the events would unfold, and his steps were springy and light as he moved through the darkened warehouse to the old office he had converted for his use while he and his guest were staying here.
As he changed from the bloodstained coveralls into casual attire and cleaned himself up, he hummed under his breath. The song was a nursery rhyme Elizabeth had loved. He pictured his sister the last time he had seen her, several weeks before her death, in one of the short visits she had been allowed. He thought that she would be happy with what he was doing-getting revenge on the man whose actions had led to her death.
And his loneliness.
Mulder’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Wednesday
10:30 am
Mulder leaned back in his chair, hearing the leather creak and groan as he lifted his arms up to first rub his hands through his hair and then scrub over his face. He felt the stubble on his cheeks with surprise and realized he could not remember when he had last shaved.
In fact, the last few days were a blur. A blur of despair and confusion and raw nerves. The delivery of the package to Skinner’s office, with its implied threat to Scully…was it two days ago now?…had sent an adrenaline surge through him that had him moving with unstoppable force.
That had quickly changed. From the moment the cell phone on Scully’s dresser had rung and he had heard her voice, confirming his worst fears, his worst nightmares, he had been operating on autopilot. Barely functioning, capable of only the most basic of thoughts and actions.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, righting his chair, and stared at his desk. It was literally covered in files. Current case files, closed case files, unsolved case files. He had been going through them since arriving at the Bureau at 5:30 am, unable to sleep, unable to do anything but think of Scully.
After he and Skinner had re-interviewed Suzie Clifford and Edith Dunbarton, two of the tenants in Scully’s building, with nothing new learned, the AD had insisted on taking Mulder to a late night deli and watching him eat. Skinner had then ordered him to go home and get some sleep.
Mulder snorted. Sleep. What little he had managed after lying on his couch staring at the lights from his fish tank for who knows how long, had been restless and edgy, and filled with nightmares. Unable to take the tormenting visions of Scully suffering and in pain, he had risen before the dawn, showered, dressed and came into work.
A noise at the open door had him looking up. Skinner stood there, two steaming Styrofoam cups in his hands. He walked over to the desk, holding one of the cups out, and Mulder took it gratefully, nodding his thanks at the AD.
“Any luck?” Skinner asked, eyes running over the hundreds of files that covered Mulder’s desk, and were stacked in piles on the floor.
Mulder took a gulp of the coffee, and shook his head, shoulders rising in a defeated shrug. “Nothing yet,” he replied. “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.” He tossed the file he had picked up back down and shoved away from the desk. With a violent motion, he rose to his feet, the chair sliding back and banging into the file cabinet, and began to pace.
“What did she mean by Fox and Samantha?” he mumbled. “Was she trying to tell me something? She never calls me Fox, so she said it deliberately. And Samantha. My sister.” He paused, staring at Skinner, but more through him then at him. “My sister,” he repeated. “Fox and Samantha. We were brother and sister.”
This time when he looked at Skinner, he actually saw him. Mulder’s eyes widened, and Skinner tensed, seeming to sense Mulder was working on a theory. “It must have something to do with the man’s sister.” He started pacing again. “But what?” He began to mentally run through their cases. Nothing jumped out at him.
Ring.
Mulder looked towards his desk. It wasn’t his cell phone. It was the cell phone. He lunged forward, hands sweeping the files out of the way and picked it up with shaking fingers. He pressed send and gasped, “Mulder,” into it.
“Mulder, it’s me.”
Scully. He flicked a glance at Skinner, who had quickly joined him, his head leaning towards the phone. She was whispering, and he could barely hear her. “Scully…” he started to say, to ask her to speak up.
“Mulder, you have to hurry. He…he left the phone here. I don’t know how much time I have. We’re in a warehouse, Zeus Storage and Warehousing. I don’t know where it is. Please hurry, Mulder.”
His heart was pounding frantically. She sounded funny, almost choked, and very, very frightened. In his mind he repeated the name over and over again. Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Zeus Storage and Warehousing. “Scully, are you alright?”
“Just hurry, Mul-…”
Click.
“FUCK!” Mulder screamed, slamming the phone down. “He left the phone with her, she said they’re at a place called Zeus Storage and Warehousing.” Energy was humming through him, he could not stay still. He began pacing, still speaking. “She got caught off really quick, I think he came back.”
Skinner was already grabbing the phone and dialing. The AD’s knuckles were white as he gripped the receiver, clutching it to his ear. His voice was brusque as he spoke. “This is AD Skinner, I need you to run a name for me. Zeus Storage and Warehousing.
I need the location and address ASAP!” He slammed the phone down and was quickly dialing again. Mulder listened as the AD organized a SWAT team, demanding the team leader to be in his office in fifteen minutes. The phone crashed down with a bang, and then Skinner was running out of the office. Mulder scooped up the cell phone and his jacket, and raced after him.
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday
12:30 pm
Mulder could barely sit still as he and Skinner watched over the shoulder of the agent manning the video feeds in the SWAT team’s command center van. They could see the gear-laden agents maneuvering into position as they moved in staggered formation on the apparently abandoned warehouse.
The headset on their ears allowed them to listen to the various agents, as they got closer to the structure, reporting their locations and status to the team leader.
Mulder shifted again, one hand coming up to pluck at the shoulder of his bulletproof vest. The weight was cutting into his skin, and making him more restless. He alternated between hot and cold, his pulse fluctuating wildly. He wanted nothing more than to be inside the warehouse, looking for his partner, not sitting out here doing nothing.
Skinner shot him a look, covered the mouthpiece of his headset with one hand, and hissed, “Mulder, take it easy. You know this is necessary. We have no idea what kind of situation we could be going into. As Agent Scully was unable to tell us more, we have to proceed with caution.”
Mulder nodded, and took a deep breath, trying to settle himself down. He knew Skinner was right; they couldn’t go rushing in there, no matter how much he wanted to. He just wished they would move faster, he had to know if Scully was there, if she was all right.
Her voice on the phone earlier had scared him, not just because she was whispering to avoid detection, and he worried about that too, had she been caught? But also because she had sounded like she was hurt.
He stiffened as the team leader’s voice came through the headset, reporting that they were advancing into the warehouse, feeling himself leaning forward to watch the video feed, even though it showed very little. The image was in black and white, and very grainy, showing the entrance to the warehouse that some of the SWAT team had used to go in.
Suddenly a male voice over the headset said, “Oh…God.”
“Report! Report!” The team leader’s voice.
The male voice again. “Oh, Jesus, we got a body!”
Mulder ripped off his headset and ripped the sliding door of the van open. He leaped out and began running towards the warehouse.
Body…body…body…ran through his head as his feet pounded on the pavement.
Skinner’s voice came through his ear, screaming, “Hold fire!
Agent coming in! Hold fire!” There followed a muffled curse, and then Mulder could hear pounding feet far behind him.
Mulder ran inside the warehouse door into a small hallway, past agents in SWAT gear, some of them regarding him with looks of surprise and sorrow. One of them pointed and Mulder swung slightly to the left, going through an opened set of double doors, into the warehouse proper. He skidded to a halt, almost falling on the slippery floor, his arms pin-wheeling madly to maintain his balance, screaming, “NOOOOO!!!”
Perfectly illuminated in the darkness of the warehouse by a patch of sunlight streaming in through a window above was a body hanging by rope from metal racking suspended halfway down from the ceiling.
It was swaying softly, the creaking of the rope abnormally loud in the silent warehouse. Mulder moved jerkily, stepping a little closer, unable to take his eyes off the body, which was wearing a beige trench coat, with a black blazer and skirt partially visible beneath it. <Scully’s clothes> Toes in black suede pumps pointed lifelessly at the ground. <Scully’s shoes> The sun glinted off reddish-gold locks which fell forward concealing the body’s face. <Scully’s hair>
Mulder staggered towards the body <Scully> on legs that felt made of wood, and then fell to his knees, a few feet away. Thoughts were running full tilt through his head. “I love you, oh, God, I’m so sorry I never told you, Scully, oh, God, please, I’m so sorry.”
He was unaware he was speaking out loud.
Revenge Part 4 by Lovesfox
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday
12:35 pm
Skinner moved from the doorway where he had stopped in shock at the sight of the body hanging from the ceiling. Mulder’s wail of grief, heard outside the warehouse, had effectively pre-warned him that he would see Agent Scully’s body, but he had not been able to control the shudder that had run through him when he saw her displayed as she was. The bolt of remorse and anger had had him stopping in his tracks.
He avoided looking at her as he moved to crouch beside Mulder, grasping the agent’s shoulders with firm hands. “I’m sorry, Mulder,” he said quietly. “You did everything you could.” He cringed inside at the platitudes he was mouthing, knowing it was necessary. Mulder’s body tensed beneath him, the man’s breathing harsh and panting. Words were still pouring from the agent’s mouth, but they were faint mumbles. He could make out Scully’s name, and pleas to a God he knew Mulder did not believe in.
“Come on, Mulder, let’s get out of here,” he said, trying to lift Mulder from the floor. He could see that some of the SWAT team had moved forward, waiting to take the body down.
One moved to stand beside Scully, and suddenly Mulder was fighting his grasp, his fists swinging, yelling, “Don’t touch her! Keep your hands off of her!” He got to his feet, nearly knocking Skinner on his ass and lunged at the agent near Scully.
Skinner scrambled to his feet, gesturing from behind Mulder for the agent to back off. He moved closer to Mulder, who was hunching slightly on his feet, watching everyone warily. “Mulder, take it easy. They’re just here to help. We need to get her down, Mulder.
Come with me and let them work.”
Mulder shook his head wildly. “I’ll do it!” he rasped, shaking off the hand Skinner had put on his shoulder. “I’ll do it,” he repeated. He turned away from Skinner, and looked at Scully, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Skinner looked at the agent still standing to the left of them and said quietly, “Find me a chair or something.”
The agent was shaking his head, and started to say, “Sir…”
“Just do it!” Skinner barked, and saw Mulder flinch.
Another agent hustled forward, carrying a crate. He held it out to Skinner and said, “This is all I could find, Sir.”
Skinner took it from him with a nod and stepped over to stand beside Mulder, bending to put the crate down. The body, and he did not want to even think the words ‘Scully’s body’, still swayed slightly, and a wave of dread washed over him. He really did not want to do this.
Mulder stepped onto the crate before he could and Skinner forced himself to watch as the agent’s hands lifted shakily upwards.
Skinner had to blink back sudden moisture as Mulder tenderly stroked a strand of her hair, hearing him whisper, “I’m so sorry, Scully.” Skinner turned his head, trying to let Mulder have this personal moment.
Mulder made an unusual noise, almost like a grunt, and Skinner could hear rustling noises. He turned his head back to see Mulder gently lowering her head. The agent’s next words stunned him.
“It’s not her.”
“Mulder?” he asked and moved even closer. “What did you say, Mulder?”
Mulder’s hands were now busy at her chest, and then he was handing Skinner something. He looked down briefly and realized it was a Polaroid. Mulder climbed down from the stool and the agent lifted his head to meet his gaze, and Skinner could see that despite his glistening eyes, there was a tremulous smile on the agent’s face.
“It’s not her,” he repeated. He started to walk away, but his legs betrayed him and folded beneath him.
Skinner leapt forward and caught him in mid-fall, and gently lowered him the rest of the way to the floor. He cradled the agent in his arms, seeing that Mulder’s eyes were closed, his face deathly pale and beaded with sweat. “Mulder?” he said again.
Mulder’s eyes opened slowly and he pulled back from Skinner’s embrace. “It’s not Scully,” he said, and his voice was hoarse.
His shoulders started to shake and he ducked his head down to hide the tears that were running down his cheeks.
Skinner patted Mulder’s shoulder and lifted his head to see Agent Stryder, the SWAT team leader standing a few feet away, watching with somber eyes. “It’s not Agent Scully,” he said. “Get her down. We’ll need to check her for identification.” He saw the agent nod and then turn away to direct his team. Skinner turned back to Mulder, who was wiping at his cheeks as he sat with his legs sprawled in front of him. “How…” Skinner started to say when the ringing of a cell phone interrupted him.
Mulder struggled to get to his feet, hand digging at his pocket, slightly hampered by the vest he wore. He yanked the phone free, pressed send and snarled, “Mulder.”
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Wednesday
12:30 pm
Scully lay curled on her side atop yet another cot. Her abductor, for she had no other name by which to call him, was a few feet away sitting at a desk. He seemed to be staring at a video screen. He was mumbling to himself, and every so often she would hear Mulder’s name. She did not know where they were, she only knew they were no longer at the place they had been before. The room was brighter, for one thing, with two smallish windows, and the walls were smooth and painted. Other than the cot and the desk and chair, however, it was empty.
She had awoken not too long ago, after he had unceremoniously dumped her on the cot, unmindful of her restrained limbs. Her neck ached and burned, and the duct tape over her mouth was irritating the tender skin of her lips. As she shifted awkwardly, trying unsuccessfully to ease the muscles in her legs, the motion stirred anew the pain in her neck. She blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes, which were sore and swollen from her earlier crying.
It made her think of what had happened and she shut her eyes tightly to try and stop her thoughts.
It didn’t matter. The events that had taken place earlier would be forever engraved in her memory — hours of pain and anguish and confusion.
The look in that nameless woman’s eyes…Stop, she told herself.
Don’t think about her. But she could not stop, and her mind replayed it anyway. Sometime earlier she had been torn out of her slumber, feeling smothered and choked, gasping for air, to the realization that there was a rope around her neck, tightly tied.
The rope had been cutting deeply into her skin, and cutting off her rapidly dwindling air supply. The bright flash in her eyes had seemed surreal, and it wasn’t until much later did she understand that the man had taken a picture of her with a Polaroid camera.
Her eyes had been bulging, her heart pounding alarmingly, her vision beginning to go spotty, before he had finally removed the rope from her neck. She could remember with perfect clarity the terror she had experienced thinking that she was going to die, and the unbearable sadness that she would never see Mulder again, and then the almost giddy feeling that overcame her as she was finally able to suck in sweet lungfuls of air, to feed the cells that were screaming for oxygen.
She could also remember him watching her with a strange, transfixed stare, his head cocked to the side.
He had blinked rapidly then and stepped back, putting what she now knew was the camera aside. His eyes had gone to something on the floor, and hers, still blurry from tears of pain and relief, had followed. She had struggled weakly to rise, coughing furiously, to stare at the woman lying at his feet.
As she had run her gaze over the prone woman, taking in the red hair spilling on the floor and the clothes the woman was wearing, she had felt that she could be staring at her double. He had been watching her looking at the woman, and when her eyes had widened, he had knelt and grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair, lifting her head from the floor.
She could still hear his words, and relived the horror that had overcome her as she realized his intent. “Not an exact match,” he had chortled. “But certainly some similarities. And with your clothes on, Mulder will be hard pressed not to think it’s you!”
He had dropped the woman’s head, uncaring as it hit the floor with a loud thud. He had risen to his feet, one hand reaching inside the coverall he wore to pull out a syringe. One quick step had him at her side, and then he had injected her. She had watched with a strange lassitude as he had dragged the woman out of the room with his hands in her armpits, the sound of the woman’s feet scraping across the floor slowly fading.
Scully did not know how much time had passed as she sat slumped on the cot, staring at the empty, open doorway with heavy eyes before he had come back. He had lifted her easily and dragged her out of the room as well, down a long hallway and through double doors to prop her against the wall. She had wondered why he did not seem concerned that she would try and escape, but her body had not obeyed even the simplest of commands. She had not been able to straighten her own legs.
Scully’s eyes popped open as she heard the man chortle, to see him still staring at the monitor. She could not see very much at this angle, and could only tell that it was in black and white. She tried to lift her head to get a better look, but the throbbing in her neck had her quickly laying back again. Her eyes closed and her memory flashed back again.
The woman had lain on the floor, several feet away from her, and Scully had been able to make out the fact that her hands were tied behind her back. She had also been able to make out the rope that was around the woman’s neck and that her eyes were open. They had stared at each other for long moments…
A loud noise brought her back to the present, and she opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly to clear the image of the woman jerking on the end of the rope hanging from the ceiling out of her mind.
She shuddered, hearing again the echo of the scream that had been torn from her lips. The man had pushed his chair back from the desk and came over to stand beside the cot, and she began to breathe a little faster, trying to lift herself up, feeling very vulnerable lying down.
He was smiling and reached down to grab her by the forearms, pulling her up to her feet. “The show’s about to begin, my dear,” he said.
“Won’t you join me?” He giggled then and pulled her with him towards the desk. She was forced to hop again, her cramped muscles protesting. He pushed her to a stop beside his chair and plunked himself down onto it. She wobbled precariously and her upper thigh banged into the desk, and she cried out with pain, the sound muffled behind the duct tape. The man looked at her in surprise and then made a tsking noise. “Guess you don’t need that anymore, do you?”
he said, and reached out with one hand to rip the tape off.
She gasped as fire burned along her upper lip and then began to cough. He shot her an angry glare, saying, “Quiet and watch.”
Scully panted softly through her mouth, and was able to control her coughing. She looked at the monitor and gasped again at what she saw. It was the woman she had earlier watched hang.
12:30 pm
Elliot could not control his excitement as he sat in the lightly padded chair, staring at the video screen in front of him, waiting for the action to begin. The Webcam he had positioned in the warehouse pointed directly at the redheaded woman hanging from the ceiling. He looked down at his watch, wiggling slightly in his seat, wondering what was taking so long. The call he had forced Dana to make to Mulder, supposedly tipping him off to their location, had been made almost two hours ago. He chuckled to himself, as he tried to imagine Mulder’s reaction to that phone call. Dana had performed brilliantly; it was amazing what the threat of the rope around her neck again had done, especially after seeing the woman hang. Her voice had been the perfect mix as well, confused and painfilled, breathless and rushed. She was quite the little actress, he thought. He looked over his shoulder at her.
She lay on her side, her eyes closed, but he could tell she was awake, her body was tense, her face tight. The duct tape seemed to be pulling at her skin; he supposed he should remove it. He shrugged and turned back to the screen, to the woman hanging in the warehouse, waiting for Mulder.
He shivered as he remembered watching her jerk in her death throes, the little gasping, choking sounds she had made as the rope constricted tighter and tighter against her throat, slowly cutting off her air supply. He had thought her neck would snap from the force, and had felt a vague sense of disappointment when it had not. That disappointment had rapidly been replaced by fascination as he watched her eyes slowing go blank.
He could still hear the scream that had been torn from Dana Scully.
That had been divine. It had echoed in the huge, empty warehouse, filled with rage and shock and terror. It had so thrilled him, he had been torn between watching the woman’s body swaying from the rope and his prisoner’s horrified expression, the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. For many moments he had stood there, until Dana had closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, the tears stilled at last, although the occasional shudder racked her small frame.
Finally he had moved, they needed to be going. He had pinned the Polaroid of Dana with the rope around her neck to the woman’s chest, taken the ladder and carried it away, deep into the bowels of the warehouse. The thin rubber gloves on his hand had masked any possible fingerprints. The duct tape on Dana’s mouth had been a precaution while dragging her out to the van, parked as close to the side door he used as possible. He had tossed her in, hearing her muffled exclamation when her body hit the unyielding metal floor, and thrown the tarp over her. A last check of the warehouse for any personal items, and it was done. He had driven away, watching the warehouse get smaller in the rear view mirror, until he had to turn and it was out of sight. He had not been able to keep the grin off his face, wishing he could be there when Mulder arrived.
The camera though, was the next best thing. He chortled, this would be a video worth keeping, he was sure.
Elliot looked at his watch again. What the hell was taking them so long? He thought Mulder would have rushed there immediately, bursting in to find his ‘Scully’ in all her glory. It was a small letdown from the high he had riding on. Then there was a sound from the speakers, picked up from the tiny microphone attached to the Webcam. Footsteps on the floor?
The chair scraped noisily as he pushed it back, and he turned to see Dana’s eyes were open and she was watching him. He smiled and moved to stand over the cot. He bent and grasped her by the forearms, yanking her up easily. He told her the show was about to begin and dragged her over to the desk. She stumbled and banged into it, making a garbled noise through the duct tape. In his seat again, he looked up and realized her mouth was still taped. He reached up and casually tore it off, hearing her gasp of pain. She coughed then, noisily, and he glared at her, telling her, “Quiet and watch.”
Elliot turned back to the screen and reached out to turn up the volume on the speakers. More sounds now, faint voices, although he could not make out the words, and sounds of running footsteps. A figure appeared, and he stiffened, leaning forward, nose almost pressed against the monitor. His eyes made out the riot gear and the SWAT emblem on the figure’s back, and he knew it was not Mulder. His shoulders slumped. Where was he? More footsteps, more voices, louder, but still not clear. He flicked a glance at Dana, saw she was watching the monitor as well, her face pale as snow, swaying where she stood. Her mouth was open slightly, and she was breathing rapidly. He grinned again. This was so exciting.
And then it happened. The moment he had been waiting for since he had placed the call to Mulder about their location. A figure in a vest came into sight, fast, arms flailing madly. The figure screamed, “NOOOO!!!” and Elliot knew it was Mulder.
He heard Dana whisper, “Mulder,” and shot her the barest of glances, not wanting to miss a single thing, to see her leaning forward watching. He focused on the video again, watching as Mulder moved forward, his movements jerky and awkward. Elliot smiled gleefully as Mulder fell to his knees, a mere few feet away from ‘Scully’. Mulder’s words had him gasping in exaltation.
…“I love you, oh God, I’m so sorry I never told you, Scully, oh God, please, I’m so sorry”…
Beside him Dana gasped as well and he looked at her again, to see her shoulders hunched, her bound hands in front of her mouth. She began to shake, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was saying his name over and over again, in between hitching breaths. “Mulder, Mulder, Mulder…”
“Well, isn’t this a fascinating tableau, Dana?” Elliot said, cooing the words, seeing her flinch in reaction. She tried to turn away, but he shot his hand out to grab her arm, the fingers digging into her flesh, holding her in place. “Oh, no, Dana, I want you to watch with me.”
Elliot frowned a little as one figure, the tall, balding man he had seen outside Dana’s apartment building, was allowed to come close, to try and comfort Mulder. But the next minutes were far more pleasurable, as they watched Mulder react with crazed purpose, keeping others away from the body. Elliot listened as the bald man asked for a chair or something, and an agent brought him a crate.
He tensed and leaned forward again as Mulder stepped up on the crate. He wondered if Mulder would look at the Polaroid first, or want to look at Scully’s face. He watched avidly as Mulder stroked her hair, heard with a thrill as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Scully.” Then Mulder tensed, and lifted her head, and the small shake of his head was almost unnoticeable. Elliot stared in awe.
Mulder had known it was not Dana.
He slumped back in his chair. It was almost anti-climatic as Mulder said…“It’s not her”…and unpinned the Polaroid, handing it to the bald man. He got down from the crate, saying it again, and started to walk away. Elliot smiled though when Mulder sagged down to the ground, the bald man coming to support him.
Dana was still crying softly and he turned to her with a grin of relish, rubbing his hands together with glee. “It’s time to call Mulder, Dana!” he said cheerily, and reached for the cell phone on the desk.
He dialed the number quickly, shifting his gaze from Dana who was still hunched in on herself, and the monitor, where Mulder was scrambling to his feet to paw at his back. Elliot loved the sound in Mulder’s voice as he barked into the phone. Raw emotions. Anger and hatred and misery.
Exactly what he had lived with for the last few years.
His voice was oily smooth, thick with pleasure and satisfaction as he spoke. “Ah, Mulder, your reaction was more than I could ever have dreamed of.”
Zeus Storage and Warehousing
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday
12:50 pm
Mulder was speechless for a moment, his mouth gaping open in shock. His legs still felt weak, like they could collapse again at any time. “You sick fuck! Where is she?” he yelled, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the surge of adrenaline the call had wrought.
Then the man’s words sunk in. His reaction was more than he could ever dream of? Was he watching them from somewhere? He whirled around, facing the spot where the body had hung, and then turned around again. His eyes swept the room, scanning all the nooks and crannies, the phone pressed tightly to his ear, hearing only slight static. While parts of the large room were in direct sunlight from the windows up high, the rest was in shadows. It took him several seconds to spot the tiny, glowing red light that had to be from a video camera of sorts.
He spit out a curse and stumbled towards it, his mouth gaping open in shock.
“Ah, I see you’ve spotted me, Mulder. Wave to the camera now,” said the voice in his ear. When Mulder did not, the man continued.
“Mulder, you’re not playing along. I don’t like that.” There was a burst of static and then Mulder heard a gasp of pain. Scully?
“Now wave at the camera, or Dana gets punished.” Horrible laughter followed that pronouncement, along with another choked sound.
Mulder gritted his teeth, his heart pounding rapidly, and raised his hand towards the camera. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Skinner standing stiffly a few feet away, staring at him.
“I waved,” he said, his voice tight. “I want to talk to Scully.”
He heard a chuckle this time. “I don’t think so, Mulder. We have to go now. And I’m sorry to say, someone will have to be punished for your language. I guess that would be Dana. Oh, wait a minute, I’m not sorry at all!” The chuckle again. “Did you like the Polaroid, Mulder?”
The call was disconnected.
Mulder turned to face Skinner. “Do you have gloves?” he asked.
The AD shook his head, puzzlement on his features. Mulder looked around and spying one of the SWAT team members, beckoned him over.
When the agent joined him, he pointed at the red light. “Gloves?”
The agent nodded. “Take that down,” he ordered. “Send it to the lab, I want to know everything there is to know about it. Check it for fingerprints too.”
He watched as the agent retrieved the crate he had stood on earlier to check the body and brought it over. Not until the red light was extinguished and the camera set-up removed, did he turn to Skinner.
“Where’s the Polaroid?” he asked.
Skinner looked surprised for a second, as if he had forgotten about it, and then pulled it out of his pocket. He passed it to Mulder, who grabbed it and moved to stand in a patch of sunlight so he could see it. He had barely glanced at it when he had removed it from the body, and he sucked his breath in noisily when he finally did.
“Jesus!” he croaked out. The rope around Scully’s neck did not look like it was there only for effect. It was cutting deeply into her flesh. Her mouth was open, and it seemed she was gasping for air.
He had no doubt that she was. “Jesus,” he repeated.
The sick bastard. Why was he doing this to Scully? Why was he doing this to Scully to get to him? Days had passed, and they were still no closer to identifying him, or the reasons behind her abduction. He still had no idea who the man was.
The AD came to stand beside him, his low voice full of tension.
“What’s in the picture, Mulder?” he asked. Obviously he had not looked at it in great detail either.
Mulder handed it to him wordlessly and turned away, one hand on his hip, the other coming up to scrub through his hair. He heard Skinner swear, and echoed the word. He kicked the crate, hearing the satisfying sound of wood splinting. He kicked it harder, and broken pieces of crate scattered across the floor. He turned back to face Skinner, who was watching him with concern, the Polaroid still held in his hand. “He’s taunting me. And getting off on it.” He spun away again, wishing he had something else to kick.
“I don’t know who the hell he is, and I don’t know how to find that out.”
Skinner moved to stand next to him. “Mulder, let’s get out of here. The forensics team has been called in and they’ll be here soon. The SWAT team has already searched the whole premises.
There’s nothing else for us to do.”
“Nothing for us to do,” Mulder repeated, his voice low. “Except to wait.” He headed for the door, determination in his strides.
“The only thing I can do is go back to my files, try and find anything that may lead me to him.”
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Wednesday
1 pm
Scully managed not to fall heavily when he dragged her from the desk and thrust her at the cot, his laughter grating in her ears.
She twisted slightly and landed on her rear end. Her upper arm hurt from the vicious pinch he had given her while on the phone with Mulder, which had provoked a gasp at the suddenness of the attack and the sharp pain that had followed. He had done it again as he laughed after making the statement about punishing her, but she had been better prepared, and had kept her lips tightly together, so that only a small sound had escaped.
Her mind was still reeling from the pronouncement Mulder had made as he had knelt before the body he had believed to be hers.
<I love you, oh God, I’m sorry I never told you> Had the words merely been torn from him as a result of his grief? While his pain had struck her with unbelievable sadness, at the same time she had wondered if it was true, why had he never told her before?
<I love you>
But he had, once before. Medicated and still suffering from his ordeal in the Bermuda Triangle, she had brushed the words off as part of his delusion. Could he have meant them then, and only able to tell her when feeling vulnerable? From the little she knew of his family life, she had garnered the knowledge that his parents had not been overly demonstrative after Samantha’s death, and had surmised that Mulder had been very lonely and afraid to love.
<I love you>
Her own reticence, that invisible wall she had erected, that kept her from revealing her emotions and feelings, may have prevented him from wanting to relate his, perhaps afraid of rejection. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling fresh tears spring to her eyes. Oh, Mulder, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never told you either.
<I love you>
For it was true she knew. She loved Mulder. Had for so very long, she could not even remember when those feelings for him had begun.
And kept the secret locked inside her heart, fearing his rejection.
How stupid they both had been. She felt a new sense of determination. To get free from this man and tell Mulder everything that was within her. Her love, her fears, her desires.
Everything.
Scully was pulled from her thoughts by the man’s voice, next to her ear. “Dana.” She popped her eyes open in surprise. She had been so lost in her mind, she had not heard or sensed him approach. He was crouched before the cot, leaning in so that his face was close to hers.
She could see the glee in his eyes, could feel the waves of pleased smugness rolling off of him. He had obviously gotten off on Mulder’s reactions in the warehouse, and she could not help the shudder that ran through her body. She was afraid of what else he had planned. She shifted on the cot, pulling back slightly, very uncomfortable with his closeness.
“What are you thinking about, Dana?” he asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Mulder’s declaration of love? It was beautiful, wasn’t it, and confirmed what I had suspected. This is working out so much better than I had thought.” His hand came out and his index finger traced a line down her cheek, over the tracks of her tears. He finished the gesture by rubbing it over her lips, and she reacted by pursing them together tightly and turning her head to the side. “I think it would drive him mad to see you, to see us, like this now.” He moved suddenly, hands grabbing her shoulders firmly, and his face dove down to hers, his lips claiming hers, hot and hard.
She shook her head from side to side, trying to evade his kiss, but he only pushed harder, and squeezed her shoulders tighter.
Their positioning combined to make it difficult for her to move her legs to try and kick at him, and her bound arms were trapped between their bodies, with no leverage to push. Her mind was screaming NO, NO, NO, but the only sound that escaped was a low, fearfilled moaning. He finally pulled his lips from hers, sliding them down to her neck, where he nuzzled for a moment before sighing, “Elizabeth.”
Scully tensed, trying not to think of the horrible feel of his lips on her skin and gasped out, “I’m not Elizabeth!”
He stopped his kissing beneath her ear, and she felt his breath, hot and heavy against her neck, before his grip loosened on her shoulders and he pulled slowly away. He rocked back onto his heels and stared at her for so long that she squirmed beneath the intensity of the gaze. “No, you’re not Elizabeth,” he said, and his voice and eyes were sad.
She actually almost felt sorry for him, and then was angry with herself for pitying him. He was holding her against her will in a terrible plot of revenge against Mulder, how could she feel sorry for him?
She had a thought, if she could pretend to sympathize, maybe he would reveal more to her. She knew from what had happened with the unknown woman at the warehouse, that he was capable of murder, but what she did not know was how quickly he could escalate in his actions towards her. She had to learn something soon, and get the information to Mulder. Somehow.
She cleared her throat and said softly, “What happened to Elizabeth?” She was preparing herself for his anger, and from the little bits of information he had revealed, to hear that she had died by hanging.
He did not react in anger, merely blinked as he continued to rock back and forth. His face was blank, but his eyes were moving.
Darting from her face, to her injured neck, and back to her face.
His reply when it came was equally soft. “She died. Locked away like an animal.” He said no more, and his eyes were now traveling around the small room.
Not enough. She needed more, so much more. “Did she hang herself?” she prodded, careful to keep her voice gentle.
He rose to his feet and moved to look out one of the small windows, his back to her. She mentally calculated the distance between them, and the time it would take her to struggle up from the cot with her bound hands and feet, as well as the strength she would need to try and knock him out. In her weakened condition, her strength was almost non-existent, and she did not think she could move fast enough or quietly enough to surprise him. She pushed that thought away for now. Perhaps a better chance would come. Or at least she prayed that one would. She stared at his back, wondering if he had heard her question. She wasn’t sure if she should repeat it.
Finally he spoke again. “She tried. But they found her in time.”
She heard his breath huff out in a sigh, saw his shoulders move with the action. “I wasn’t allowed to see her for a long time after that. I missed her so much.” He paused and then whispered, almost too low for her to hear. “I miss her so much.”
“Who were they?” she continued. He was answering her, she didn’t know for how long, and whether the opportunity would come again.
“The doctors and nurses at the…hospital,” he answered quietly.
His shoulders hunched up and he shook his head slightly, as if pushing away a bad memory. He turned then and said in a much stronger voice, “That’s enough talking now.” He started towards the door and then stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll bring you something to eat and drink later, Dana.”
“Wait!” she called out. He halted without turning around, and looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrow up at her interruption.
“Thank-you…?” she deliberately let her voice trail off questioningly, and was rewarded when he filled in the blank.
“Elliot,” he said.
“Thank-you, Elliot,” she said, calmly, her face reflecting only gratitude, she hoped. In her mind she rejoiced. She had his name. At least part of it, anyway. But how many cases could Mulder have worked on involving an Elliot and an Elizabeth?
Now she just had to get the names to him.
The door shut behind Elliot, and Scully faintly heard the lock click. Her mind was busy now with what she had learned. From the pause in his reply when he said hospital, she surmised it was a mental institution. Would that information help Mulder?
Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday
6 pm
Mulder pushed his chair away from the conference table with a tired yawn, and stood to stretch his cramped, aching muscles. Sleep the night before had been elusive, his mind unable to shut down.
As well, every time he had shut his eyes, the picture that had formed behind his closed lids was of the woman hanging in the warehouse. Only in this picture, it really was Scully, her beautiful blue eyes open and vacant. Empty. Dead.
He blinked rapidly to clear it when the picture formed again, and then stared down at the large table. It was completely covered in case files from the Behavioral Sciences Unit, now known as the Violent Crimes Unit. Mulder had had an epiphany of sorts as he lay on his couch staring at the fluorescent lights of his fish tank in tthe very early hours of the morning. Scully’s abductor had not given him much in the way of information, and he had been unable to locate the ‘clue’ the man had said he left, but from what the man had said, Mulder had determined he had not been an X file.
Therefore he had to have been someone Mulder had investigated during his stint as a profiler.
Hence the case files from the BCU archives, and the conference room Skinner had insisted he use when they had returned to the Bureau after the grim discovery at Zeus Storage and Warehousing. The AD had also supplied him with two agents for any grunt work that might arise and to assist with going through the files, as well as someone from the secretarial pool. Mulder had sent everyone home an hour ago, preferring to work alone.
There were very large piles of discarded files that he and the other agents had eliminated for various reasons, which included the now confirmed continued incarceration or death of the individual.
However there were also a growing number of files that would require further follow-up. Mulder remembered what he hoped was the clue from Scully, about brothers and sisters, and was very careful to look for any files that matched that criteria.
With a frustrated curse, Mulder threw the pen he had been holding down onto the table and walked over to the couch that sat along the wall opposite the table. He sank into it with a weary sigh, head falling back to rest on the cushions.
Just as he allowed his eyes to close, there was a knock at the door. He opened them to see Skinner coming into the room, a file folder in his hands. Mulder started to rise, but the AD waved him back onto the couch. He crossed the carpet and sat down beside Mulder, handing the file over.
“Report from the forensics team, ” Skinner explained. He quirked an eyebrow as Mulder frowningly held up the thin folder. “There wasn’t much, Mulder,” he continued ruefully. “Whomever this guy is, he’s very careful. Partial print here and there, but nothing useful.”
He paused and looked away for a moment.
Mulder tensed at the look on the AD’s face. “What is it?” he asked.
Skinner grimaced and turned back to look Mulder in the eye. “They found the place where Scully was probably kept. Small cement block room with a cot. There were…some bloodstains on the bedding of the cot and on the floor. They took the bedding and scraped some samples off the floor, sent them to the lab for testing. Results aren’t back yet.” He patted Mulder awkwardly on the arm after Mulder hissed out a harsh breath. “We don’t know whose blood it is, Mulder. Don’t torture yourself.”
Mulder lunged to his feet, away from the contact and the comfort the AD tried to provide, and began to pace rapidly around the room.
Was it Scully’s blood? His hands went up to scrub through his hair and he could not help the curse that escaped his mouth. She was out there somewhere, maybe hurt, and he was sitting here doing nothing.
He whirled around to stare at the AD, who had risen from the couch and was watching Mulder with concerned eyes. “What about the camera from the warehouse?”
Skinner shook his head. “It was a Webcam. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can get one at Radio Shack. They’re tracing the serial numbers, but if he paid cash, it’s a dead end. There were no fingerprints.
The techs said he attached a microphone to it, probably had some sort of video monitor set-up wherever he’s moved to so he could watch and hear everything that went on.”
“That call from Scully was fixed.” Mulder spoke slowly as he worked things out in his head. “He had the woman in place already, probably had his next location picked out. He was long gone by the time he had her make the call.”
Skinner interrupted his musings. “Anything in the files? Does it match any MO’s?”
Mulder shook his head. “Nothing yet. There’s still a large number to go through.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and moved over to the chair he had vacated earlier. He was stopped by Skinner’s hand gripping his arm.
“Mulder, when’s the last time you’ve eaten? I checked the logs this morning, you were here at 5 am, and I know you haven’t left this room for longer than it takes to use the men’s room,” Skinner said, his voice low and gruff. “You can’t keep up this pace, you’re going to collapse.” He stopped, his jaw muscle working and when he continued, his voice was even lower. “Mulder, if you don’t look after yourself, I will remove you from this case and have you suspended. Don’t make me do it, Mulder.” His next words were softer. “Let’s get something to eat.”
Mulder opened his mouth to retort angrily, but held back. He knew the AD was serious. He would remove him, even though it was Scully.
He could not let that happen. He nodded, his shoulders sagging.
He was so goddamn tired. “You’re right, sir. I’d be no good to Scully if I collapse.” He reached for his jacket on the back of the chair and slipped it on. The cell phone on the table was tucked carefully in his inner pocket and the two of them made their way to the door. Mulder looked back just before the door closed, at the files that he hoped held a clue to the man who held his partner, who held his Scully, and left with a heavy heart.
9:30 pm
Mulder drove aimlessly through the Georgetown streets, too wired to go home and attempt another disturbing, restless sleep. He had finally managed to ditch Skinner, who had seemed determined to take him home and tuck him in. Mulder had explained he was a night owl anyway, and that he really did not think he would be able to sleep yet. Skinner had looked at him with his inscrutable eyes and finally said, “I’ll be checking the log entry tomorrow. I don’t want you near the Hoover building before 6 am.” Mulder had wanted to argue, but knew the alternative could be worse – Skinner as his babysitter.
Mulder sighed heavily and looked around. He realized he had unconsciously, or perhaps subconsciously, driven to Scully’s building. There was a vacant spot almost directly in front and he pulled the car into it, turning the engine off. He sat there listening to the ticking of the engine as it settled, loud in the silence of the car, and turned his head to look at Scully’s apartment. There was a faint light in one window; he had left a table lamp on so that the place would not look empty.
But it was empty. Just like his heart. For he now knew Scully was who filled it, every minute of every day. He had just never realized it until he had thought she was dead. Had never analyzed the reasons why she was in his thoughts all the time, that when he was not with her he was not complete, that the majority of his life revolved around her.
His heart began to thud painfully as he remembered how the whole world had seemed to slow when he ran into the warehouse and saw Scully hanging there. Sound, smell, sight, everything had stopped for the shortest and yet the longest moment of his life. Then everything had come crashing forward. Utter despair had nearly overwhelmed him, and then he had touched her hair, and it wasn’t.
Wasn’t Scully.
Mulder’s fists tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles white with the strain. If he had the man who had done this, who had taken her, in front of him right now, the man would have no chance.
He would kill him with his bare hands.
He forced himself to relax, sinking back into the seat, eyes still focused on the window of Scully’s apartment. Should he go in there? Surround himself with her things, with her scent, take what little comfort it would offer? He had always found peace at Scully’s apartment, although she was usually there with him. Maybe he would even be able to sleep. His hand went up and pulled the keys from the ignition, before opening the door and stepping out onto the quiet, darkened street. He closed the door quietly, leaning on the car as he shut it, feeling a sudden weariness.
He heaved out a deep breath and slowly walked towards the front entrance of Scully’s building.
Faintly from down the street there came the sound of a vehicle just as he stepped onto the stoop, and something made him turn around to look. A white panel van drove by slowly, and Mulder could almost make out the words written in red on the side.
D.C…Cleaning…He blinked, hearing the van’s engine rev as it sped up and then it was racing down the street.
Time slowed again.
White van. Red lettering.
Jesus, it was him. Mulder tore down the sidewalk to his car, shaking hand stabbing the key at the lock. Precious seconds wasted before he finally ripped the door open. He flung himself in the seat, jammed the key in the ignition, pulling away from the curb with squealing tires as soon as the engine turned over.
He sped down the street in the direction the van had driven, but he did not see any receding taillights ahead of him. He came to the first intersection, slamming the brakes on to bring the car to a sudden, screeching halt as a car crossed his path. He was pushed forward with the action, banging his head on the steering wheel with surprising force.
Blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes, he swiveled his head back and forth, grunting with the pain the motion caused, trying to spot the van. It was nowhere in sight. “Fuck!” he screamed, and the sound of his voice sent more waves of pain through his skull.
He gritted his teeth and started forward again, driving cautiously, heading towards the Lone Gunmen’s place. He hoped they would be able to do something with the little facts he was going to present to them. He knew though that they would do all that they could to help find Scully.
Twenty minutes later he was there. He parked the car and made his way slowly and painfully to their door, head throbbing with each step he took. He knocked, and heard Langly’s voice over the little intercom by the door. “Open up, Langly, its Mulder,” he said with a wince.
Surprisingly Langly did not comment, and seconds later the locks were disengaged and he was inside. Frohike looked up from his seat at a computer terminal, saying, “Mulder! Long time no talk, buddy.
Where you been?” His smile died away from his face and he scrambled off his seat, bustling over to stand before Mulder. “What the hell happened to you?” He grabbed Mulder by the arm and led him to the ratty couch along one wall. “Sit,” he said to Mulder, giving him a little push. He turned his head and yelled, “Byers, get the first aid kit!”
Mulder winced again, and brought his hands up to clutch at the daggers in his head. “Not so loud, Frohike,” he whispered. He swallowed back the nausea that threatened and said, “I need you guys to do something for me. It’s important.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut as the overhead light came on and Byers walked into the room. “Scully is missing. Some sicko’s got her.
I need you guys to run every white panel van in the city, hell maybe the state. With red lettering for a cleaning service of some sort.”
He sensed Byers kneeling before him and heard as he opened the kit.
Something dabbed at the knot on his forehead. Mulder’s eyes popped open when it stung and hissed in a breath. Behind him, Langly and Frohike exchanged worried glances. Mulder saw and looked up at them, squinting one eye shut. “What?” he asked.
Frohike cleared his throat and replied, “We’ll do whatever it takes, Mulder, don’t worry. But it’s gonna take some time.”
“I don’t know how much time we have, guys,” Mulder whispered. At Frohike’s stricken look, Mulder told them what had happened since last Friday, ending with what had happened just a half hour ago.
He pulled the cell phone out of his inner pocket. “Frohike, is there any way you can charge this? I checked it a while ago, the lo cell light is on.”
Frohike took it and examined it. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. His short legs took him quickly away and Mulder closed his eyes as Byers finished up by putting a Band-Aid on the small cut.
“Mulder,” Byers said in his soft, cultured voice. “I don’t know how badly you hit, but it looks like a pretty bad knock. I think you should stay here so we can keep an eye on you.”
Mulder nodded cautiously. It felt odd to have someone other than Scully doctoring him. “I’m staying wherever that cell phone is, so I guess that means I’m crashing here.” He lay back slowly, swinging his legs up onto the couch. The pain had receded to a dull ache, but his stomach was a still little queasy. “I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit,” he whispered.
“Sure, Mulder, no problem,” Byers replied.
Mulder heard the sounds of Byers gathering up the first aid kit, the faint clacking of keyboards and the mutterings of Frohike and Langly. The sounds were somewhat soothing, and for the first time since learning Scully had been taken, he didn’t feel quite as alone.
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
7 am
Skinner made his way through the outer area to his office door, shooting a glance at Kimberley’s desk as he passed it. His eyes swept over her workstation, which was tidy, much like the woman herself, except for two file folders that sat on one corner.
They looked like they had been tossed there hastily, and he paused in the action of opening his door. The files had not been there last night when he left, which had been well after 6 pm.
He dropped his briefcase on the floor and walked back to her desk, picking up the folders. He opened the top one and let out a muttered curse. It was a report on the woman from the warehouse.
The one he had phoned repeatedly on throughout the previous day.
He should have been notified immediately.
His eyes scanned the first page. Her fingerprints had been run through AFIS, and had not been found on the database. He flipped the page over, and saw a missing persons report filed with the Washington P.D. The next page was the formal identification of the body, by the victim’s sister. Skinner went back to the missing persons report and read the details on the woman, which included a small picture. Kathy O’Neill, age 32, 5‘4, 120 lbs, red hair, blue eyes. He grimaced as he realized it was very similar to the description posted about Agent Scully. He looked at the picture, seeing the resemblance to the missing agent.
He shook his head angrily. What a tragic way to die, because of some psychotic man’s twisted plot of revenge. For her resemblance to someone she had probably never met in her life. The muscle in his jaw was twitching wildly, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly, feeling his heart, which had sped up with his anger, begin to slow again.
An autopsy had been performed. He had a brief thought, wondering if the pathologist had carried it out with Scully’s intense thoroughness. He scanned the report, seeing that the tox screen had found traces of both chloral hydrate and Thorazine in her system. He was vaguely aware of the two drugs, but would normally look to Scully for an explanation as to their uses and effects.
He put that folder down and looked at the second one. The partial fingerprint from Scully’s apartment had been run through AFIS as well, but there had been no matches. Skinner frowned. That did not make sense. They had assumed the man who had taken Scully was a criminal, more than likely from Mulder’s time in BSU, and if so, his fingerprints would be on file. He would have to have them run the print through again.
Skinner looked at his watch, wondering if Mulder was in yet. He shook his head, whom was he kidding? Mulder had more than likely come right back here after they had parted company last night. He was probably asleep in one of the chairs, his head pillowed by case files. He put the folders back down on Kimberley’s desk, unlocked his office door and pushed his briefcase inside. He headed back out of the office area, grabbing the files as he went, and walked down the hall to the conference room he had designated for their use.
He entered the room, and stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, staring with surprise. It was empty. He turned to leave and saw Mulder shuffling wearily down the hallway. When the agent came to a stop in front of him, his eyes widened as they took in Mulder’s condition. There was a lurid bruise on his forehead, with a Band-Aid in the center of the mark. His eyes were puffy with deep shadows beneath them, his skin pasty white. “Mulder, what the hell happened to you?”
Mulder’s eyes flashed anger. “I went to Scully’s apartment last night. Heard a car, turned around to look and saw a white panel van with red lettering. I tried to chase it, had a small accident.”
His hand went up absently and lightly touched the wound.
Skinner had felt his heart speed up again at Mulder’s words about the van. Like the van Joshua Hamilton had described for them.
“Did you get a plate?” he asked.
Mulder shook his head. “Went by too fast. But I did read some of the lettering. D.C. and Cleaning. I went by some friends, they’re looking into it.”
Skinner frowned, knowing which friends Mulder was referring to, and decided not to comment. The three men were odd, but they had helped Mulder and Scully both in the past. If they could help locate Scully, or at least track the vehicle that had probably been used in her abduction, then he could look the other way.
Mulder had spotted the folders in his hand, and nodded towards them. “What are those?” he asked.
Skinner gestured him into the conference room and shut the door behind them. Mulder remained standing, his body tense, as Skinner took a seat, placing the files on the table in front of him.
“Mulder, sit down.” He stared implacably at the agent until Mulder took the seat beside his superior. He held up one of the folders.
“Report on the print from Scully’s apartment. They came up empty, but I’m going to request they run it again.” He tossed the file down on the table and lifted the other one. “They’ve identified the woman from the warehouse.” He paused, giving the man a moment to gather himself, for Mulder’s flinch had been very noticeable.
“I’m going to call the detective in charge of the case, explain our involvement. I want some agents in on the interviews of family, friends, anyone who may have seen her.” He put the folder down on the table and slid it over in front of Mulder.
Mulder’s sigh was loud as he opened the file and Skinner knew that he was looking at the picture of Kathy O’Neill, an almost look-alike for Scully. The agent pushed the file away almost violently and got up from the chair. “It’s been a week, and we still have nothing,” he gritted out. He waved his hand in the direction of the table, covered in case files. “It’s like… it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.” He sank back down onto his chair, elbows landing on the table, and cradled his head in his hands.
Skinner stared at him with worry. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Finally he cleared his throat and said softly, “We’ll find her, Mulder.”
Mulder did not reply.
Revenge Part 5 by Lovesfox
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Friday
1 pm
Elliot moved down the hallway of the abandoned hospital to Dana’s room, carrying the lunch he had bought for her at the little convenience store in Leesburg. His eyes flicked from side to side, glancing into the other empty rooms he passed. This wing of the hospital was relatively unscathed from the fire that had destroyed the majority of the large main building of the psychiatric hospital complex. He had debated over keeping Dana in one of the smaller outbuildings, like the one the administrator of the hospital had used, but had realized he needed a room that could be locked.
He had come here often, to the place where Elizabeth had died, to walk through the rubble and to stare at the burnt-out shell of the maximum-security wing. On one such trip, he had wandered down the sub-basement, still intact due to its cement foundation, and had found that the back-up generator still worked, and that he was able to supply power to the wing he and Dana now inhabited.
He reached Dana’s room, and had to juggle the bag and the bottled water as he manipulated the door locks open. He pushed at the door cautiously, for although he had drugged her again late last night after he had brought her dinner, it was still possible for her to try something. As it slowly opened, the door revealed the cot, which was empty. He tensed, hesitating in the half-opened doorway.
A shuffling noise reached his ears, coming from over by the window.
He stepped fully into the room, pushing the door open with a forceful gesture of his hand. Dana was standing by the window, her back to it, watching him apprehensively. He scanned her body quickly, seeing that her hands were still tightly tied. In fact, he thought with a grimace, he could see that her wrists were irritated, her fingers puffy and red. He looked down at her feet, clad in white tennis shoes. The rope was still there around her ankles, but she had managed to loosen it, probably enough to allow her to hobble instead of hop.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice high and a little afraid. “I just wanted to look outside. It…I woke up earlier, and I…”
Elliot smiled and said, “It’s alright, Dana, I’m not angry.” And he realized he wasn’t angry. He still had faint feelings of euphoria since the moment Mulder had run into the warehouse two days ago. Seeing Mulder last night outside Dana’s apartment building had been an incredible bonus as well. He didn’t know what had made him decide to drive by her place, he just had. He had slowed the van when he saw a dark-haired man with Mulder’s build walking up to the door, and when the man had turned, and he saw it was indeed Mulder, he had stomped on the pedal and fled the impulse to jump out and confront him. It wasn’t the right time; he had so much more to do first.
Mulder’s weariness, and perhaps even hopelessness, had been evident even at the distance that separated them, and it had sent a delicious chill coursing through his body. He had driven for hours, coasting on that high.
Elliot shook his head slightly and held up the food and water. “I brought you some lunch.” He watched as she moved back to the cot, her movements oddly graceful even with her feet restrained as they were. She lowered herself carefully onto to it, her hands coming to rest on her lap. He put the bag and the water down on the cot beside her, noting the hungry look she gave the items, and grabbed the chair, placing it in front of her. He sat down and reached out to grasp her hands. She flinched slightly, hissing in her breath.
Her fingers were cool too, and he wondered if her circulation was being damaged. Two of her nails had torn, more than likely from working at the thick rope, and were bleeding a little. He looked up to see her staring down at his hands holding hers, and said, “I’m going to loosen these a bit so you can eat. I won’t drug you, but I must warn you, if you try anything I will be very angry.”
Dana looked up at him, earnestness shining in her eyes. Their brilliant blue color was almost as pretty as Elizabeth’s deep, chocolate brown had been. “I won’t try anything, Elliot,” she said. “I’ll be good.”
He worked at the knots in the rope until they were loose, and she was able to move her wrists slightly. She sucked in her breath as the rope rubbed against the wounds on her skin. He made a note to himself to get some salve and some gauze to wrap them in beneath the rope. Perhaps after he let her have a shower.
A part of him wondered why he was concerned about her wrists and her hygiene. She should suffer, just as Elizabeth had suffered. He remembered on a few of the visits they had been allowed seeing the marks on her wrists from the restraints, and other times when her hair had been lank and limp, her nightgown stained with sweat and the remains of her dinner. He tamped the thought down for now, still feeling mellow. There would be time enough for her suffering later, and Mulder’s as well.
He opened the bottled water for her and handed it to her. She took it with a murmured thank-you, and as she drank he reached inside the bag for the sandwich he had bought. He unwrapped it and placed it on her lap. He sat back in the chair and watched as she alternated between the water and the sandwich, a slight smile on his face at the polite, tidy way she partook of her meal. He knew she had to be hungry, for her meal yesterday had been quite some time ago.
His thoughts drifted to Elizabeth, as they so often did.
1:10 pm
Scully stood at the window staring out, weaving slightly on her feet. The effects of the last dosage of whatever Elliot injected with had worn of some time ago, but she was still weak. She had had to contort her body awkwardly to be able to reach her feet, and her back ached from holding the same position for so long. Her fingers, particularly the two with the broken nails, throbbed painfully from working at the rope that bound her ankles. It had also seemed to take forever, and all she had managed to do was loosen it enough to allow her to walk with mincing footsteps instead of hopping. She was not sure yet if it had been worth the effort.
The scenery outside the window, rolling hills with the occasional thicket of small trees, gave her no clue as to her location. She could only see a part of the building they were within, brown brick with small dormer like windows. It reminded her of a school, or perhaps a hospital. No landmarks or identifying sights visible from this angle.
Scully heard a sound at the door and nearly stumbled trying to turn around. Her heart began to beat a little faster. She flicked a glance at the cot and knew that she would never make it back in time. She took a deep breath as the door swung open and then Elliot was inside. She spoke first, her voice deliberately higher and a little afraid. Inside she cringed at the act she was putting on.
But it worked.
The suspicion that had flared in his eyes was gone, and his own voice was calm when he replied. Scully’s stomach rumbled when he mentioned lunch, and she made her way slowly and carefully to the cot, lowering herself onto it. Elliot put the bag he had been holding, along with a bottle of water onto the cot beside her and brought the chair he had sat in earlier and placed it in front of her. He sat and reached for hands, and she sucked in her breath in reaction. From pain, and a tinge of fear. Her hands and wrists were extremely sore, and she was worried that the skin was becoming infected. She almost didn’t catch his next words, hearing only, “…try anything and I’ll be angry.” She realized he was talking about loosening the restraints around her wrists, and looked up at him, putting every acting skill she had into play, trying to project sincerity and obedience. Get under his guard, Dana.
“I won’t try anything, Elliot. I’ll be good,” she said. The best I can be, you bastard. Meek and submissive. Until you give me the right chance.
She managed not to flinch as he worked at the ropes around her wrists, but she could not stop her indrawn breath when the rough fibers dug into the welts and abrasions on her skin. Her pain was pushed aside when he opened the bottle of water and handed it to her.
She raised it to her lips gratefully after thanking him and drank some of the precious liquid as he opened the packaged sandwich he had brought. He placed it on her lap, and she put the water aside to take a small bite. She was hungry, but she wasn’t going to wolf her food down this time. The last time she had done that, she had felt ill for a couple of hours afterwards. The combination of drugs he was using was wreaking havoc on her system, and solid food was probably not the best of choices. She could not tell him that, however, and knew she must make do with what was offered. She actually considered herself lucky that he gave her anything at all.
She was not sure why he was being…well, kind. His moods were almost mercurial. Unpredictable.
She ate and drank slowly, watching Elliot out of the corner of her eye. His face had softened, and had a far away look, his eyes almost sleepy. He had not been angry to find her at the window and had seemed almost concerned about her, so she thought it would be a good time to try and talk to him some more. She kept her voice soft as she spoke. “Elliot, you must miss Elizabeth very much.”
Elliot blinked slowly, reminding her in that instant of a child.
He nodded, and Scully was surprised when his eyes welled with tears. “So very, very much,” he whispered. He looked away from her, his gaze scanning the room. “This wasn’t her room,” he continued. His voice had a singsong quality, and Scully wondered if he was even aware he was talking. She kept quiet, waiting for him to go on, although she wanted to dig deeper. Did he mean they were at the hospital Elizabeth had stayed in? How was that possible? Wouldn’t they be found?
Elliot was still talking. “She was in the maximum-security wing.
I wasn’t allowed to see her very often.” His fingers were tracing patterns on his knees, and he had begun to rock slightly. “So many rules. They made me mad. She wasn’t happy. She was never happy when we weren’t together.” He paused again, and his next sentence was lower than a whisper, and had Scully leaning forward to catch the words. “That’s why she tried to hang herself. She was so lonely. Just like me.”
He went quiet and Scully sat tensely, hoping he would speak further. He did not. She took a deep, quiet breath, and forced herself to relax. “Elliot, why was she in the hospital?” Voice calm, even, non-threatening.
His head snapped up. “Because of Mulder.” He got up from the chair with a violent motion that knocked it over, and began to pace agitatedly in the small space. “He said she murdered those girls!” His voice had risen, and Scully could see his face was red. “But she didn’t. I did!” He stomped towards her, and Scully cringed back against the wall, drawing her knees up to protect her body.
“Put your legs down!” he yelled, spittle flying from his lips.
She obeyed, and he yanked her hands down and tightened the ropes again, eliciting a gasp of pain from her. He pushed at her so that she fell over on the cot, and grabbed the remains of the sandwich up with one hand. He glared at her for a moment and then left, slamming the door loudly behind him. The locks clicked into place.
Scully hitched out the breath she had been holding and sat up carefully. She looked to her left. Miraculously, the bottle of water had not spilled even though it had been knocked over. She picked it up gingerly and inched forward so that she could place it on the floor, tucked just under the cot. Her heart was still racing from Elliot’s explosion, and the news he had imparted, and she sank wearily back down onto the cot. She had been truly frightened of him at that moment, as much as she had been when he had threatened her with the rope around her neck. She was thankful he had not acted on his anger, and had left. She realized her body was still sore, and tried to relax as much as possible into the lumpy cot. She closed her eyes, thinking about what Elliot had said. Had he allowed his sister to be incarcerated for crimes he had committed?
4 pm
Scully came out of an uneasy sleep to a burning sensation in her arm, and opened sleep-blurred eyes to see Elliot backing away from the cot. She blinked to clear her vision and saw the syringe that he was tucking away. In moments lassitude swamped her body, and she knew they were going to go somewhere. Her mouth went dry and her heart rate increased as her frightened mind wondered where he was taking her.
She flashbacked to being dragged down the warehouse hallway to watch that poor woman hang, to her helplessness and fear, and she began to pant harshly as Elliot knelt down and reached for her feet. She tried to kick out at him, but her struggles were ineffectually weak, and uncontrolled.
Elliot yanked roughly at her legs, hands gripped around her ankles, pulling them straight out in front of her. He grunted, “Stop!” and shook her legs for emphasis. “I am going to untie your feet, and we are going to walk down the hall to the shower. If you continue to fight me, I will strip you and wash you myself.”
The words were spoken in a voice that was low and hoarse, and the threat combined with the look of interest in his eyes had her stilling her motions. She watched as his hands untied the rope from her ankles and then he rose, pulling her to her feet. His hand was tight around her arm just above the elbow, and she felt herself swaying.
He tugged at her arm, and then they were walking out of the room and down a low-lit hallway. Scully had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. The ground seemed so very far away. So did her will and determination.
She noted vaguely that the floors were that tile most commonly seen in hospitals, and that the walls were painted a color she had always described as institutional beige, with those long wooden handrails about waist height running along them. Although there was no equipment or hospital paraphernalia littering the hallway, she was convinced they were in a hospital, more than likely a mental hospital, and obviously a defunct one.
There was also an odd odor in the air. She couldn’t quite determine what it was, but for some reason it reminded her of charred wood.
She shook her head, for her thoughts were getting all jumbled.
She blinked, trying to clear the fog in her brain. If she could only see something that would tell her where they were. She had begun to think of all the mental institutions and hospitals she knew of, but had realized she did not even know what city they were in, or even if they were in the same state.
Elliot stopped and pushed open a wooden door, bearing a small plaque that read “Showers”. He pushed her inside, and she stumbled, crashing into the wall. Her slide down towards the ground was boneless, and he muttered a curse as he caught her by the arm just before she hit the floor. He yanked her up and dragged her over to a wooden stool, shoving her onto it.
Scully summoned the energy to look around the tiled room. Opposite the stool she sat on were two shower stalls, with flimsy opaque curtains pushed to the side. In one of the stalls she could see a bar of soap and what looked like little sample bottles of shampoo and cream rinse. There was also a towel hanging on the hook to one side of the stall.
She realized Elliot had moved back in front of her, and then he bent at the waist, picking up her hands. He untied her wrists and then stepped back. “Get undressed,” he said. He had backed up several feet to stand in the doorway of the shower room, in front of the door he had propped open with a wedge of wood, but made no move to leave.
Scully rose awkwardly, feeling a flush crawl over her face and neck. It was a combination of embarrassment and anger that he would be watching her. She moved closer to the stall, and was slightly relieved to note that the two foot long wall by the door now hid him from her view. And her from his.
She stripped as quickly as she was able, the ache in her wrists intensified by her motions. She could not shake the crawling sensation of being watched and looked back once. She could only see the toe of one boot, and she assumed he was leaning against the wall. She stepped into the stall and pulled the thin curtain closed.
She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and washed her entire body twice, smelling the rose fragrance of the soap.
She was careful with the skin around her wrists, the soap stung as it touched the abrasions. Her hair was next, shampooed twice before she used the cream rinse. After rinsing her hair, she just stood under the flow of water, one arm outstretched, and palm flat against the tile, helping her remain upright.
His voice was there then, right outside the curtain, and her eyes popped open in alarm. Her arms instinctively came around herself to hide her body and she hunched her shoulders down. “Turn the water off now, Dana.”
She obeyed, one shaking hand coming out to turn the taps off. She shivered with cold now that the warmth of the water was gone. The whoosh as the curtain was swept aside was loud and she cringed, hating the fact that her bare backside was entirely visible to him.
The alternative however was worse. She heard him inhale deeply and then sigh, “Roses.” She remembered that he associated the scent of roses with Elizabeth, and wanted to turn the water back on and rinse the smell from her skin.
Elliot spoke again, softly. “Turn around.” His voice sounded odd, almost crooning. When she did not move, he said it again, louder, with a hint of anger. “Turn around now.”
She did so, keeping her hands in place to hide her breasts and the triangle between her thighs. She kept her head down, not wanting to look in his eyes. Afraid to see what was in them. The moment seemed to last forever, her nerves stretched impossibly taut, before he finally chuckled and thrust the towel at her. “Get dried off.
There’s some clean clothes on the stool.” She reached out with the hand that had been over her breasts and grabbed the towel, clasping it to her body. She was still staring at the ground, and watched his feet leave her field of vision. His steps were quiet, and she realized he could have stood there watching her when he brought the clothes, and she wouldn’t even have known. The thought sent another shiver through her body.
She lifted her head finally, to see that the space in front of the shower was empty except for the stool with a pile of clothes folded neatly on top. She took the towel and scrubbed it over her body quickly, and then used it to dry her hair. She stepped out of the stall carefully, the tiles slippery from the water, and shot a glance towards the doorway. It was empty. She hurried to the stool, nearly stumbling again in her haste and dressed in the panties and sweat suit he had left. She still felt weak and lowered herself onto the stool to pull on the socks and tennis shoes.
A shuffling at the door had her head shooting up from her task, and a slight wave of dizziness washed over her with the suddenness of her movement. She closed her eyes for a second, and it passed.
When she opened them again, he was kneeling in front of her.
“Hold out your hands,” he commanded softly. When she did, he opened a tube of some sort of cream and dabbed it on the abrasions on her wrists. The cream was cool at first touch, and then stung a little, and she sucked in her breath in reaction. He then wrapped her wrists in soft gauze, sealing each band with a piece of white adhesive tape. He looked up from her hands and said, “I’ll leave the ropes off for now, but don’t make me regret my decision.”
She nodded thankfully. Her fingers were not as swollen as they had been, but they and her wrists were still very sore. He studied her for a moment longer, and then nodded to himself. He stood and reached down with one hand to pull her to her feet by her upper arm, leading her out of the shower room.
They walked slowly down the hall, back in the direction they had come, and Scully used the slowness of their pace to try and look around a little more. The rooms they passed were mostly empty, with just odd pieces of furniture, and she could only catch glimpses of green scenery through the small windows.
She jumped slightly when he spoke, her concentration so intent on staying upright without stumbling, even with his hand on her arm, and trying to spot something that could help her.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked conversationally.
She shook her head, not sure what he meant, and made a negative sound.
“It’s our anniversary, Dana,” he said. “Our one week anniversary.”
Scully’s steps faltered and she felt herself pitching forward. He hauled her into his body and held her tightly as they continued forward. She barely registered the feel of him pressed against her. Her mind was numb. One thought kept repeating itself.
My God, she had been missing one week. Another thought hit her.
Mulder had to be going insane.
Elliot spoke again. “I think we should give Mulder a call. What do you think, Dana?”
Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
4:30 pm
Mulder looked up from his perusal of the files in front of him when he heard a sound at the door. Skinner was walking towards him, holding two steaming Styrofoam cups. He pushed his chair back from the table a little and accepted the cup with a mumbled, “Thanks.”
He had not seen the AD since earlier that morning when they had gone to interview Kathy O’Neill’s sister. Tricia Carpenter, Kathy’s older sister, had been of little help in the way of possibly identifying a suspect. She had not seen her sister in several days, although they normally talked on the phone daily. When her sister had not shown up for lunch on Tuesday, Tricia had not been overly concerned, but when she had not heard from Kathy by Wednesday afternoon, she had filed a missing person’s report with the Washiington PD. Skinner told her about Scully, and the woman had been horrified to learn why her sister had been killed. She had also provided as many details about her sister’s daily routine, and the names and numbers of friends and Kathy’s place of work. Through her tears, she had begged Mulder to catch the man who had done this to her sister.
Mulder had promised her he would. He hoped like hell he would be able to keep that promise.
The AD sat down in the chair beside Mulder and put his own cup down on the table. His eyes scanned the piles that still covered the the wood surface. “Any luck?” he asked, his voice low and tired-sounding.
Mulder shook his head, removing his glasses and throwing them on a stack of files. He rubbed his eyes wearily and replied, “Not really. We’ve eliminated more, but also found more for further investigation.” Mulder’s voice was rough and scratchy, and full of defeat. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms back and over his head. “I told Kristopher and Jenkins to take a break.”
The two agents assigned to help him and done most of the follow-up work on the suspects Mulder found to be likely candidates, and had been hard at work since that morning.
Mulder took a sip of the hot coffee, feeling the warmth steal down his throat and hit his empty stomach. His secretary Allison, and how odd those words sounded to him, had brought him soup at lunchtime, but he had only been able to manage a few spoonfuls.
He had had nothing else except for numerous cups of coffee. Even though he knew Scully would have a fit if she saw him this way, it was not enough to push him into caring better for himself. How could he?
Skinner gulped down some of his own coffee and then said, “They ran the partial from Scully’s apartment again. Still no match.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. If this man has been arrested, his fingerprints would be on file. Could he have an accomplice?”
Mulder sighed harshly, running his hands through his hair. His frustration was evident when he replied. “We have no fucking way of knowing.” He pushed up from his chair and began to pace.
“Nothing he has said indicates an accomplice, but that does not mean he doesn’t.” His foot kicked at the chair as he passed it, and it wobbled briefly before righting itself. “We have nothing.”
He paused and then said, “I have nothing.”
His self-loathing was apparent.
Skinner blinked several times before replying, a deep frown on his face. “What about your friends, those Lone Gunmen? Have they been able to find out anything about the white van?”
Mulder shook his head. “I just checked in with them a little while ago. Frohike and Langly have been working almost non-stop since last night. It’s a lot of work and apparently we should be surprised at the number of white panel vans in D.C. alone. As well, the combination of the words ‘D.C.’ and ‘cleaning’ is not quite enough to narrow the search down.” His faint smile did not meet his eyes, but reflected his gratitude. “They told me they’ll keep looking until they find something, they’re not stopping for anything.”
Skinner rubbed his jaw with one hand and then spoke again.
“Several agents have liaisoned with the Washington PD and are conducting interviews on Kathy O’Neill’s friends and co-workers.
Trying to see if they can pinpoint where she was taken, or if anyone saw anything. I haven’t heard back yet.” The AD paused and then cleared his throat before continuing. “Mulder, I know it’s not much, but the blood found at the warehouse was not Scully’s,” Skinner said, watching Mulder as he paced back and forth. “They haven’t matched it to anyone, but they know it is Type AB negative, which is not a common blood type.”
Mulder stopped his pacing, standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. In a way it was not much, but at the same time, it was a relief to know it was not Scully’s blood. He knew it was impossible to hope that she would be completely unharmed, the Polaroid of her with the rope around her neck, and the hanging of Kathy O’Neill were ample proof the man was fully capable of violence, but that the blood was not hers was still somewhat of a comfort to him. He refused to allow his mind to go in the direction it was. A lot could have happened in the two days since then.
His heart started to thud. He also had not heard Scully’s voice since then.
As if thinking about her had been like a magic summons, the cell phone on the conference table rang.
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Friday
4:45 pm
Scully sagged down onto the cot, the pulse at her throat fluttering erratically. After saying they should give Mulder a call, Elliot had brought her back to her room and led her to the cot, giving her a slight push. He was now sitting down on his chair, smiling at the stupefaction she knew had to be on her face. She was still stunned from having learned she had been missing a week, but excitement was now surging through her veins. This could be an opportunity to get some information to Mulder.
Elliot made a pleased humming sound. “You seem very eager, Dana.
Whatever for?” His giggle crawled down her spine, and she shivered in reaction. “I don’t know if you’ve been a good girl, Dana. I don’t think I should let you talk to Mulder.”
Hope was warring with disappointment. Was he just tormenting her?
She tried to keep her expression blank and open, forcing herself to relax against the wall. She breathed slowly and deeply, her mouth slightly open. Her hands were fisted in her lap, and she uncurled her fingers, flexing them gently. The motion did not hurt as much as before, and she was worried he would re-tie her again soon.
Elliot reached inside his blazer, and Scully looked up, realizing then that was what was different about him today. He was not wearing the coveralls. He pulled out the cell phone, and she looked down at her lap so he would not be able to see her eyes staring at it eagerly. He opened it slowly, turning it on, drawing out the motions deliberately, she knew.
The room was so quiet and even though the phone was pressed to Elliot’s ear, Scully swore she could hear each ring. Or maybe it was just her intense need to hear Mulder’s voice that was making her imagine the sounds. That need was answered. She heard his voice, his dear, sweet voice, saying his name, ‘Mulder.’
Elliot smiled, his eyes on her face, watching, as he spoke into the phone. “Agent Mulder, you sound down. Whatever is the matter?”
There was a burst of sound from the phone, but all Scully could make out was her name. She blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She could hear the anguish in Mulder’s voice. She took a deep breath, calming herself down. She had to be strong. She had to be ready. She focused on the conversation again.
“Now, now, Agent Mulder,” Elliot was saying. “I don’t think you should talk to me like that. I might get angry, and I think you can guess what will happen if I do.” He chuckled and then continued, “That’s better.”
Although Elliot was still looking at her, he didn’t seem to be completely focused. He seemed too intent in his taunting conversation with Mulder. Scully edged forward slowly, feeling her muscles protest at the tenseness of her body. She was still weak from the injection, but she had to try. She somehow knew Elliot was not going to let her talk to Mulder, other than maybe letting her say his name. Just enough to torment Mulder further. She was not going to let Elliot get away with that, no matter the consequences.
Gathering all her will and determination, Scully took a deep breath and lunged forward, tucking her head down and aiming for his vulnerable throat with her shoulder. The move was a combination of a self-defense attack move she had learned in the Bureau training courses, and a football tackle her brothers had shown her long ago.
The move was not quite as successful as she had hoped. She was not sure if he had just sensed she would try something, or if he had noticed her start to move, but he shifted slightly on the stool, and she did not hit her target. Her shoulder caught his, and they both went crashing to the floor, the cell phone slipping from his hand and skittering across the tiles.
Scully groaned when she hit the floor, pain flaring everywhere in her body, but she did not pause. She scrambled on hands and knees towards the phone, crawling over Elliot in her haste to get there first. She was unaware she was chanting, “Mulder, Mulder, Mulder.”
Her hand closed on the cell phone just as his hand closed on her ankle. She jammed it at her ear, screaming, “Mulder, his name’s Elliot, and his sister’s name is Elizabeth, he’s driving a white van that says D.C. Duct Cleaning…”
He dragged her toward him, one hand stretching up to knock the cell phone away from her. He bellowed ,“Bitch!” and grabbing her by the hip, flipped her onto her back. He crawled on top of her, and sat on her pelvis, his hands coming up to grab her shoulders. He shook her roughly, yelling ‘bitch’ over and over.
Scully bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him, but he was too heavy. He slapped her hard across the cheek in retaliation, spinning her head to the side. She began to struggle harder, kicking her legs and bucking her hips, her hands coming up to push at his chest. He slapped her again, on the same cheek, and the entire side of her face went numb. The blow also stunned her a little, and she blinked, trying to clear her vision. His face loomed over hers, contorted in rage, and she screamed up at him, wiggling and squirming for all she was worth.
She managed to make a fist with one hand and put all her effort into plowing it into his face. He moved at the last second, and it landed on his cheek instead of his nose, but it still made him roar with pain and rage. His hand came down, slapping her again and again, on both sides of her face, her head moving from side to side with the force of each blow. She felt her lip split, and then warm blood gushing from her nose. He was cursing, spittle flying from his mouth with each word.
She was screaming and crying, her arms flailing, and he grabbed hold of her sore wrists in each hand, squeezing tightly. He brought her arms up over her head roughly and leaned his upper body down on her chest. Her cries ceased as she struggled to breathe with the heavy weight that was crushing her.
In the ensuing silence, Mulder’s frantic cries could be heard from the cell phone. “SCULLY! OH, JESUS, SCULLY!”
Elliot’s head, which had been descending towards hers, a strange light in his eyes, whipped to the side and stared at the cell phone.
He let go of one of her wrists and reached out his long arm to grab the cell phone. His weight still pinned her down, and she panted, listening helplessly as Elliot spoke into the phone.
“Dana can’t come to the phone right now.”
He pressed disconnect and dropped it on the ground.
Revenge Part 6 by Lovesfox
Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
4:45 pm
Mulder and Skinner both stared at the phone for a moment, before Mulder finally lunged forward and grabbed it up. He took a deep breath, pressed send, and said, “Mulder.” He could hear the defeat and exhaustion in his own voice.
The man’s reply, and the smugness in his tone, had Mulder cursing.
He couldn’t help his reaction, calling the man names, and demanding to speak to Scully. He tensed when the man made veiled threats, implying he would hurt Scully if Mulder didn’t behave, and forced himself to relax. He took another deep breath and spoke more calmly. “Is Scully there? May I speak to her?” he said. His voice was more controlled, the desperation hidden.
He nearly bit his tongue when the man praised him, saying, “That’s better.” Mulder felt Skinner move to stand next to him, just over his shoulder. He flicked a glance at the AD, who was watching him with worried eyes. Skinner mouthed ‘Scully’, and Mulder jerked his head angrily in a negative motion, mouthing back, ‘Not yet’.
There was silence for a moment, and then the sounds of a scuffle.
A burst of static next, and then a noise that reminded him of the time Scully had dropped her cellular during one of their phone conversations. Mulder pressed the phone harder to his ear, straining to hear, wondering if the connection had been broken.
Another of burst of static, loud in his ears, and then his heart stopped. He could hear Scully saying his name over and over again, her voice faint and painfilled. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
A scrabbling sound, and then Scully, screaming frantically, her words running on top of each other. “Mulder, his name’s Elliot, and his sister’s name is Elizabeth, he’s driving a white van that says D.C. Duct Cleaning…”
His heart jumped into action, as if it wanted to burst free from the confines of his chest. Another scrabbling sound, and his mind suddenly pictured Scully struggling with a faceless man, fighting over a cellular phone. Then the man’s voice, loud and angry, “Bitch!”
The curse was uttered again and again, and then Mulder heard the most horrifying sound. Flesh striking flesh, the crack astoundingly loud through the phone. The sound was repeated, and then Scully screamed. Mulder screamed with her, long and loud in his mind.
Oh, Jesus, oh, shit, he’s beating her, JESUS, SCULLY! His silent scream ended abruptly, the thought tumbling in the sudden silence of his brain. He’s hurting her. He’s hurting Scully. His teeth were grinding together, and the phone was gripped so tightly in his hand he thought it would break. Tears ran down his face, but he still could not make a sound. Skinner grabbed his arm, shaking him, trying to get his attention, but Mulder could not move. He was frozen in place, phone shoved against his ear, unable to move, to breathe.
The man made a sound Mulder could only describe as a roar of pain, and then there were several slapping noises, interspersed with the man’s curses. Scully crying and screaming. And then sudden silence. He finally found his voice, crying, “SCULLY! OH, JESUS, SCULLY!”
“Dana can’t come to the phone right now.”
Mulder heard the cold taunting in the voice, the promise of violence in those words and he opened his mouth to scream.
CLICK.
The phone fell from his nerveless fingers, dropping to the floor with a muffled thud. He staggered and Skinner was there, grabbing him by his upper arms and pushing him into a chair. He slumped forward, dropping his head between his knees, feeling sick. Vaguely he could hear Skinner speaking urgently to him. He forced his head up, seeing that Skinner had knelt before him, and was staring at him with panicked eyes.
“Mulder, are you all right?” the AD asked, his voice harsh with his concern.
Mulder shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “He was beating her,” he choked out, and another wave of nausea ran through him. He dropped his head again, trying to take deep breaths. He could still hear Scully calling his name, hear the sounds of the man striking her, hear her screams. He brought his hands up to cover his ears, to try and block the sounds. It didn’t work. Her screams were so loud. “Scully,” he moaned. “I’m sorry, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Skinner’s hands tightened on his upper arms. “Hang on, Mulder, I’ll get some water.” Mulder sensed the AD standing, moving about the room, but he remained hunched down in the chair, hands on his ears, rocking back and forth. Cold wetness touched his neck. He recognized it as a paper towel drenched with water. Its coolness was welcome, and he shuddered out another breath, slowly straightening in his seat.
Skinner was crouched beside him, holding the towel at his neck.
When Mulder sat up, he moved back a little. “Better?”
Mulder nodded slowly, coughing the lump in his throat away.
“Scully…” he started to say, when a cell phone chirped. It was not the cell phone; it was Mulder’s own. He scrambled to pull it out of his suit jacket inner pocket, the jacket hanging on the back of a chair, and brought it up to his ear, hitting send with a gesture that spoke of habit. “Mulder?” he said into it, not sure who was on the other end.
He sat up when he heard Frohike’s excited voice. “Mulder, was that him? We traced the call to a place in Virginia, called Leesburg.”
“Wha…? Frohike…what do you mean?” Mulder babbled, mind trying to focus on what Frohike had said. He was aware of Skinner once again beside him, standing tensely.
Frohike spoke slower, but his tone belied the excitement still there. “Mulder, last night, when I was charging your phone, we had an idea. It’s something we’ve been playing with for a while. We attached a tracker of sorts on the cell phone.” There was a deep inhalation and then he continued, speaking faster. “We were able to track that last call. To somewhere in Leesburg, Virginia. We could have got more, but the call was disconnected.”
Mulder was stunned. They had said nothing to him. They must not have known if it would work or not. “Great work guys,” he said.
What he had heard before still had him reeling, so he could not work up much enthusiasm. He cleared his throat. “Frohike, you can narrow your search a little on the van. It says D.C. Duct Cleaning Service on it.”
Frohike made an odd noise and then said, “How’d you get that? Never mind, we’re on it.” He paused and then said, “We’ll work day and night.”
“I know you will, Frohike. I can’t thank you guys enough.”
Mulder swallowed, and tried to sound encouraging, the attempt sounding flat, his voice cracking in the middle. “Scully will thank you all in person.”
“Hang in there, Mulder,” Frohike said. “You’ll find her.” A sound, suspiciously like a sniffle followed and then Frohike said, “I’ll call you when we’ve got something.” The call was disconnected.
Mulder pressed end, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He wished he had Frohike’s confidence. He glanced up at Skinner. “The Gunmen traced the call to a place called Leesburg, Virginia.” He heard Scully’s screams again in his head, and shook it once before continuing. “Scully…Scully said his name is Elliot, his sister’s name is Elizabeth, and told me the name on the white van.” He swallowed and looked down at his feet. His voice was a whisper when he continued. “He was beating her, for telling me.” He surged to his feet, hand yanking the jacket off the chair. “I need to go there. To find her.”
Skinner’s hand came down on his shoulder, halting his progress.
Mulder looked up angrily to see that the muscle in Skinner’s jaw was twitching wildly again. The AD’s voice was terse as he spoke.
“Mulder, we’ll go to Leesburg when we know more. Not before. We can’t risk you being seen there. For all we know, this ‘Elliot’
has you under surveillance. We stand a better chance of finding Scully if we have some element of surprise on our side.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and then continued, “I’m going to call the nearest Field Office. Find out what’s in Leesburg. We’ll get some computers in here too, start running those names.”
Mulder nodded reluctantly, knowing the AD was right. His tearing into Leesburg could drive Elliot towards further violence. Violence towards Scully. Again her screams rang in his head, and he clenched his teeth to hold back his moan of despair. As much as he wanted to go there right this minute, to search for Scully, he had to stay here until they had more. He hung his jacket back on the chair and sank into it, pulling a stack of files towards him. He would look for Elliot and Elizabeth this way until the computer techs arrived.
If he didn’t do something, he would go mad.
He heard Skinner leave the room as he opened the first file.
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Friday
4:50 pm
“Dana can’t come to the phone right now.”
Scully shivered at the menace in those words, and nearly jumped when he dropped the phone, the clatter loud in the silence of the room. He was motionless for a moment, staring at it lying there on the floor. She tried to keep the fear from her eyes when Elliot turned his head back to her. Her breath was coming fast and hard, her heart pounding erratically, and she was scared to the bone.
Her entire face felt like it was on fire, and she could feel the blood from her nose oozing down her cheek. She was also praying Mulder had heard her, and could use what she had told him to find her.
Mulder.
She could still hear his terrified cries in her mind, hear the horror in his voice as he called her name.
Elliot studied her for long seconds, and then his hand was coming at her fast, slapping her hard across the face. Stars burst in her eyes, and she grunted with the pain. He bent down close to her ear, one hand pressing her shoulder harder into the floor, and she whimpered when the motion put all his weight on her again.
Elliot’s voice was low and angry, his exhalations hot against the flesh of her neck. “You really shouldn’t have done that, Dana.”
His other hand came up to rub at his cheek where she had punched him and he grimaced. “That was very bad, Dana.”
Scully cringed inwardly at his usage of her first name, his words sounded oily and eerie, and he put particular emphasis on both syllables. He straightened a little, and she blinked her eyes to see his fixed on something on her face. She thought it was the blood.
She was proven correct when Elliot lifted his hand to her face, his index finger tracing over the blood lightly. That strange light was back in his eyes and she watched them become hooded, saw his breathing quicken. She felt panic stir anew, but it was a different kind of panic.
Oh, God, he was excited.
The fighting and the blood had turned him on. He ground his lower body against hers then, and she felt him. No, no, no, no…her mind screamed, even as his head descended towards hers.
His hand gripped her jaw before she could turn her head away, and then his lips were on hers, hot and wet. She kept her lips pressed together, denying his tongue entrance to her mouth, and he ground his harder into them, her cut lip stinging. He was making growling noises, and the sound turned her stomach. She was also having trouble breathing, her nose thick with blood. She managed to bring her hands up, and began to push at his chest, shoving with all her might. He let go of her jaw and tried to push her hands down, and she immediately pulled away from his lips, her own parting as she sucked in needed air.
He swore harshly in her ear and smacked her in the face again, stunning her into momentary inactivity. He lifted himself off of her and reached somewhere, she wasn’t sure where, and then triumphantly held the rope that had bound her hands in front of her eyes. She was still stunned, and her reaction was slow. By the time she realized she should be fighting like mad, he had the rope wrapped around her wrists and was yanking the knots tight. He used the free end of the rope to pull her arms up over her head and settled his weight back down onto her, his lower body again pushing into hers.
“You bastard, get the hell off me!” she had found her voice, and screamed the words at him, twisting her body frantically. “Get off me!”
“Wiggle like that some more,” he crooned. “I like when you fight me.” His lips were just under her ear, sucking and biting her skin.
She turned her head from side to side, trying to evade his lips, to keep their sliminess off of her skin. He moved down, to the pulse in her throat, licking there, and she felt his hands pushing at the waistband of her track pants. He lifted his body so he could shove the pants down her hips. His lips left her skin as he rose up completely and pulled them down to her knees. She kicked out at him and he chuckled. She felt his hands on her thighs and squeezed her legs tightly together.
She could feel his eyes running along her legs, stopping at the scrap of material that was all that covered her flesh. Suddenly his words kicked in. ‘I like when you fight me’. Oh, God, her struggles were only inflaming his desire. She ceased all movements, holding her breath, trying to keep her body completely still. She felt his hands, prying her legs apart.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
5 pm
The sheer terror in Mulder’s voice as he screamed the name ‘Scully’
sent a jolt of electricity through Elliot’s body. Disconnecting the phone and dropping it on the floor and hearing Dana’s gasp of reaction, only added to the incredible feeling of power that was rushing through him. He continued to stare at the silent phone, thinking of what had just transpired. He had been so furious when Dana had dared to attack him. Then to hear her actually give Mulder he and Elizabeth’s names. His rage could not be contained, and he had reacted with force.
He remembered the sounds his hands had made as they connected with her face, hearing her screams and cries of pain. Pleasure nearly overwhelmed him. He shifted his gaze from the phone to Dana, her body tense beneath him. Her cries had died down to whimpers, and he wanted to hear her scream again. His hand was up and moving, slapping her hard across the face. She grunted with pain and he reveled in the sound. He leaned down, one hand pressing her firmly into the ground and whispered in her ear, “You really shouldn’t have done that, Dana.” When he talked, the cheek she had hit flared with pain, and he touched it briefly. “That was very bad, Dana.”
She was panting harshly, and he leaned back a little, wanting to see her face, to see the fear he knew would be there. The blood trickling from her nose caught his gaze, and the red was so bright against her white skin, he had to touch it. He traced his finger over it, and suddenly he could smell it, taste it. His excitement grew, his arousal painfully hard, and he ground his lower body into hers.
Her chest was heaving, and her lips were parted with her effort to breath. They looked so tempting, and he swooped down to possess them, his hand grabbing her jaw firmly to hold her face still. She pressed her lips shut, and he ground his into her harder, trying to force them open. He could taste the blood from her split lip, coppery sweet, and he was barely aware of the sounds coming from himself as the flavor inflamed him further.
Beneath him he felt Dana tense again, and then her hands were pushing at his chest. Elliot let go of her jaw to try and grab her hands, and she pulled her mouth from his, turning her head to the side, gasping for air. His anger surged and he grunted, “Bitch!”
in her ear and smacked her across the face, enjoying the vague look that passed through her eyes.
Her struggles were only turning him on more, but he did not want her able to fight back too much. He knew what was missing. He levered himself up a bit and reached up to the desk beside them, feeling along its surface. His searching fingers found the hank of rope that had been tied around her wrists and he pulled it down, holding it up before her eyes. She blinked slowly, still stunned he guessed, and then quickly and efficiently re-tied her wrists.
One end dangled free and he used it to pull her arms above her head, which thrust her upper body forward. He lowered himself back onto her, his hips pushing his pelvis into hers.
She came alive then, screaming at him to get off of her, and began to wriggle frantically. It felt so good. “Wiggle like that some more. I like when you fight me,” he breathed into her neck. And he did like it. Immensely.
Little darts of pleasure were running through his body, and he sucked and bit at her flesh in reaction. The scent of roses, Elizabeth’s scent, added to his pleasure. She was twisting her head from side to side in an effort to evade him, and he smiled into her skin. She wasn’t going anywhere. He moved to the pulse at her throat, pushing his tongue into the little groove, feeling it fluttering wildly, while his hands went to the waistband of her track pants. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his.
He got the track pants down over her hips, but had to lift his body to push them down to her knees. She kicked out at him and he laughed. Her coordination was off, probably from the combination of the drugs in her system and the blows he had administered, and she did not make contact with him. Her feistiness turned him on even more. His hands were on her thighs, feeling the silky softness of her skin, and he stared lustfully at the panties that were all that covered her lower body. His hands moved to pull her legs aapart. She had them squeezed tightly together, and he was rough in his need to expose her further.
He succeeded in pulling them apart and fell between them, pushing his body into hers. He moved his hands to his own waistband, struggling to open his pants. He popped the button and then yanked on the zipper, finally pulling himself free. He began to move against her, and it took him a moment to realize she was completely still. She even seemed to be holding her breath.
It was disappointing, and he panted out a curse, hoping for a response. Nothing. He slid his hand up her body to her breast, which he squeezed painfully. Her entire face was scrunched up, and the quietest of moans escaped her lips, but she did not move.
He needed her to move.
He braced himself on one elbow and slapped her on the cheek.
Although her head turned to the side with the blow, that was her only outward reaction. He felt himself deflate, his desire waning, and he rose up to straddle her hips, desperate to bring it back. He began to rain blows all over her body, screaming at her to move.
Nothing was happening. It was gone. He couldn’t believe it.
He had been so ready, and it had been such a long time. He pulled himself off of her, rising to his feet, staring down at her, shoulders rising up and down as his lungs continued to heave the air in and out. She rolled to her side and curled her body up, little whimpers escaping her mouth.
Elliot staggered out of the room, leaving her lying on the floor.
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
8 pm
Skinner leaned back into his chair with a weary sigh, one hand coming up to pull his wire-rim glasses off to toss them onto the pile of papers on his desk. He had shed his suit jacket some time ago, his tie had been loosened, and his shirt cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up his forearms. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned, turning his chair to look out the window at the dark night. His stomach grumbled faintly, and he looked at the small clock on the credenza to see that it had been several hours since he had last eaten.
He knew the chances were good that Mulder had not eaten either, and considered sending one of the junior agents out on a food run. He just couldn’t summon the energy up to pass the order on.
He had spent the last couple of hours on the phone with the field office in Arlington, Virginia, coordinating with the ASAC there to begin a search and canvass of Leesburg. Kimberley had couriered the composite sketch of Elliot, as the suspect was now thought to be called, the white van with D.C. Duct Cleaning Service in red lettering and a recent photo of Agent Scully with accompanying description details. The team was under strict orders not to apprehend, and to report any possible sightings. If the suspect or the van was spotted, a discreet tail was to be used, with extreme caution in order not to be spotted by the suspect.
Like Mulder, he had wanted to rush to Leesburg the moment they had learned from Mulder’s friend Frohike about the trace they had run on the cell phone, but he knew that going there was a rash move. Other than a first name for the suspect, and for all they knew the man could have given Scully an alias, and the name of the city, they had nothing.
The van was a possible lead, but there were no guarantees, and it could have been dumped by now. The only logical thing to do was to gather as much information as possible before going there to stage a rescue mission.
He blinked suddenly, trying to ignore the ugly thought in his head.
He hoped like hell it was a rescue mission, and not a body retrieval operation. Besides the loss to the Bureau of a fine agent, and to him personally of someone he had lately considered a friend, he did not think Mulder would survive if Scully was not found alive.
Pushing the grim thought aside, he straightened in his chair and spun it back around to face the desk. He reached for his glasses and slid them over his nose, blinking rapidly to clear his momentarily blurred vision. Despite his concern for Scully, he still had paperwork pertaining to his daily routine. Paperwork he had been pushing aside in the week since she had been taken.
His mind would not focus on the work at hand, it kept drifting back to the morning in his office when the courier had delivered the package that had sent them rushing to Scully’s building. He sighed harshly, remembering the pulse-pounding adrenaline rush as he and Mulder had searched Scully’s apartment, finding it empty, except for its chilling addition on her bed. He flashed back to Mulder telling him the man had told him that he had left a clue. They had never found one. He thought furiously. The cell phone and the photographs had been all that the man had left, as far as they could determine. Could the photographs themselves been the clue?
Knowing trying to work on anything other than Scully’s disappearance was a waste of time, he pushed the chair back from the desk and rose, stretching briefly, before striding over to the coat rack and grabbing his suit jacket. He slipped it on and left his office, going through the outer room, where Kimberley was still at her desk. She had volunteered to stay, in case they had needed anything.
She looked up from her computer when he rushed out, her face crinkling with concern. “Sir? Is anything wrong? Did they…”
her voice trailed off as he shook his head.
“No, nothing yet, Kimberley,” he answered, stopping at her desk.
“Why don’t you head home? It’s getting late, and we’ve got a few junior agents staying, as well as Allison from the secretarial pool. I don’t know if anything much will happen tonight.”
Kimberley frowned slightly and then nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.
I’ll come in early in the morning, see if there’s anything I can do.” She reached out and began to shut down her computer, preparing to go home.
Skinner watched her for a few moments and then said, “Thank-you, Kimberley. I appreciate this very much. Drive safely.”
She smiled faintly and said, “I don’t mind at all, sir. Thinking of Agent Scully…” she let her sentence go unfinished, shuddering slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
Skinner nodded and walked out, heading to the conference room to talk to Mulder. He walked into controlled chaos. There were at least four or five computer techs tapping away at keyboards at hastily assembled stations, a couple of the agents who had been involved in the canvass of Scully’s neighborhood talking quietly in one corner, Allison, who was distributing what looked like fresh cups of coffee, and in the midst of it all, Mulder.
Skinner paused in the doorway, studying the agent.
Only Mulder could look so alone in a room full of people. He was at one end of the long table, his shoulders hunched and his elbow resting on the wood surface, his chin propped on that hand. He was surrounded by files and seemed totally unaware of the noise and commotion going on around him.
Allison approached him with a small smile, holding out a tray of still steaming Styrofoam cups. His nostrils flared at the tantalizing smell that confirmed his guess of coffee was correct.
He took one, nodding his thanks. She shot a glance at Mulder, and leaned in, the concern clear in her eyes. Skinner angled his head down, turning his head slightly, sensing she did not want to be overheard. “Sir, he’s hardly eaten, and I can’t even get him to take some coffee.”
Skinner frowned slightly, looking at Mulder for a moment and then told her, “I’ll take care of him, Allison. Thank-you for your concern.” He reached out and took a second cup of coffee, before heading over to Mulder. He sat down beside the agent, after placing the cup within Mulder’s eyesight. Mulder had not even looked up when the coffee appeared, and Skinner called his name softly.
Mulder’s head jerked up, his eyes widening in surprise at Skinner’s presence. “Did you hear anything?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, face tensing.
Skinner shook his head. “No, sorry, nothing yet, Mulder,” he replied. “Any luck here?” He turned his head and scanned the room; just catching Mulder’s defeated head shake in the corner of his eye.
There were both startled when one of the tech’s yelled excitedly, “I’ve got something here!”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he and Mulder’s scramble out of their chairs to get over to the computer would have been amusing. As it was, they actually flicked each other the smallest of smiles when they nearly bumped heads.
Skinner could feel his heart pounding as he stood behind the tech, staring at the screen and trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Beside him, Mulder was drawn as taut as a wire, leaning over the tech’s shoulder, his head almost blocking the monitor.
“What is it?” Skinner finally barked.
The tech flinched a little and lifted a shaking finger to point at the screen. “I was running every file looking for a one that mentioned an ‘Elliot’ and an ‘Elizabeth’. This is the only match.
In 1988, a woman named Elizabeth Andercott…”
Mulder interrupted, saying hoarsely, “Print it out.” He straightened, his teeth gnawing on his lip, a look of intense concentration on his face. “Andercott…” he mumbled, and turned to walk back to the table, even as the printer in the corner began to hum.
8:20 pm
Mulder began sorting through the files on the conference table with purpose. The more he thought of the name ‘Andercott’, the more familiar it sounded. Finally he found the one he wanted, and he sank into his chair, pulling the file over in front of him. He flipped it open and the police photo of Elizabeth Andercott stared up at him. It was a black and white photo, but he could see she had dark hair and dark eyes, like their suspect. He shoved files and papers aside, trying to find the composite sketch of the man seen by Joshua Hamilton.
He scanned the room quickly, spying Allison sitting quietly on the couch across the room from him. “Allison?” he called, and her head swiveled to meet his gaze. She jumped up and came over quickly. “I need a copy of the composite sketch of the suspect.”
She nodded and headed over to another smaller table in one corner of the room. He watched as her fingers danced over the papers there, lifted a sheet from one of the piles, and then she turned and came back. She held it out to him, her expression curious. “Here you go, Agent Mulder,” she said softly. “Could I get you anything else? I know you’ve hardly eaten all day. Can I get you a sandwich or something?”
Mulder really was not hungry, but she looked so earnest, and was trying to be so helpful, that he nodded, telling her, “That would be great, Allison. Thank-you.” She smiled, obviously pleased to be of assistance, and left the room. Mulder turned back to Elizabeth Andercott’s file, holding the composite sketch of ‘Elliot’ beside her picture. The resemblance was there. He wondered how much more of one would be noticed if they had a real picture of Elliot.
The other people in the room had ceased to exist again, the sounds they made were white noise to his ears, so he was startled when Skinner appeared at his side, saying his name questioningly. Mulder looked up at the AD, blinking rapidly.
Skinner jutted his chin at the file Mulder was perusing, and said, “Did you find it?” At Mulder’s nod, he held up the printout from the computer and sank down into the chair beside Mulder. “I’ll read this.” He laid the sheaf of papers in front of him and began to read.
Mulder put the composite aside and started reading the file. He had worked on so many cases for the BSU that he had not really recognized Elizabeth Andercott, despite his growing recognition of her name. He scanned through the various reports contained within, seeing his own signature on several of them. As he read on, more details seeped into his memory.
Elizabeth Andercott had been charged and found guilty of the murder of five women, although she had been questioned on the deaths of an additional three. The victims had all been beaten, some violently, some only moderately, and all had been strangled. A picture of each of the five victims had been found on their beds when they were discovered missing.
Pictures on the bed…
His mind flashed back to the glossies that had covered Scully’s bed. That had been the clue ‘Elliot’ had spoken of. Mulder was not sure if the sheer number of pictures, the overkill, had prevented him from making a connection to Elizabeth’s case, or if it was just his worry about Scully. He sighed harshly, the why didn’t matter. What mattered was finding her, and soon.
He continued to read the file, vaguely aware of Skinner beside him, reading the printout. He found a report, written by him, detailing an interview with the then suspect’s brother, Elliot Andercott.
The suspect’s twin brother, he corrected himself as he read further.
He stopped and stared off into space, running one hand through his hair.
Something was bothering him, sitting at the back of his mind, waiting to be found. There were still many papers to go through in the file, but he pushed it aside for the moment. He had kept a few files from his time in the BSU, his own files, on cases that had disturbed him, or that he had felt were not finished. He was almost positive he would find one on Elizabeth Andercott.
Mulder rose from his chair, drawing a concerned look from Skinner.
“Washroom break,” he mumbled, trying to look sheepish as he grabbed his jacket off the chair. The AD smiled faintly, and went back to his reading. Mulder slid the jacket on, patting over where the cell phone should be, confirming its presence, and headed out to go down to his office.
He took the stairs to the basement, the walk helping to clear his head, and unlocked the door. He stepped in and reached out unerringly to flick the light switch. As he headed to the filing cabinet in the corner, he happened to glance at the chair usually occupied by Scully. He paused, and his eyes moved along his desktop to stop at her coffee mug sitting there. He closed his eyes, and an image formed.
Scully sitting back in her chair, completely relaxed, her eyes closed as she savored the steaming mug of coffee in her hands.
His fists clenched and he forced his eyes open, swearing under his breath. He was not going to do this, not going to wallow in his misery, when he could be doing something to help find her. He moved with determination to the filing cabinet and knelt down to open the bottom drawer. They were at the back, shoved behind miscellaneous junk he hadn’t known what to do with, or wanted to throw out. He flipped through them quickly, and sure enough, there was one on Elizabeth Andercott.
His knees creaked when he rose to his feet and he staggered a little before falling into his chair. He sat up at the desk and opened the file. It was filled with copies of the reports he had read upstairs in the conference room, and notes he had written.
Notes he had known would not be well received by his superior. He frowned slightly to himself as he remembered his frustration and disillusionment during his stint in the BSU.
Pushing that aside, Mulder concentrated on the notes he had made.
After his initial interview with Elliot Andercott, he had written that something about the man just wasn’t right. He had begun a quiet but in-depth investigation into the man, not entirely convinced that Elliot had had nothing to do with the murders.
His digging had turned up very little. However, his unauthorized surveillance had resulted in a photograph. He picked the picture up and stared at the face of the man that held Scully. It was like looking at a masculine version of Elizabeth. He put the picture aside, the techs could age the photo, help them get a better idea of what he looked like now, especially with the composite.
He continued reading. After several intense interviews, Elizabeth had confessed, and the District Attorney and the ASAC had been happy. Mulder had not been. He had kept tabs on Elliot for some time, but the man had been as good as gold, just as he had been for each subsequent interview Mulder had conducted with him.
He dug through the papers to find the reports on the victims. Three of the four women had shown signs of sexual assault, although there had been no semen found in their bodies. He had pointed out the fact that it was highly unlikely for Elizabeth to have done this to the women, but his protests had been silenced. He sat back in the chair, once again becoming convinced that Elliot had at the very least been involved in the murders supposedly committed by his twin sister, if not the actual killer.
He allowed his head to fall back onto the chair, and his eyes closed with weariness. Once again the shrill ringing of the cellular phone sent a jolt of surprise through his body. He sat up straight and yanked the phone out of his inner pocket. “Mulder!” he gasped into it.
“Agent Mulder, how are you?”
Smug bastard. The smoothness of his words had Mulder clenching his teeth. “I’m fine,” he gritted out. “Where’s Scully?”
A low chuckle. “She’s…tied up right now, Agent Mulder.” There was an audible inhalation and then ‘Elliot’ continued. “You know Mulder, those weeks when I followed you and Dana, I wondered what she was hiding underneath her prim and proper business suits. I must say, you’re a lucky man, Mulder. That is one fine looking partner you’ve got. Oh wait, you don’t have her do you? I do.”
He paused and then said, “I did.” Another pause. “Have her, that is.”
Mulder bolted up from his chair as the evil laughter filled his ears. “You bastard! What the hell did you do to her?” His pulse was pounding, his mouth dry as dust. One corner of his mind hoped that Frohike was tracing the call as they spoke.
“Do, Agent Mulder?” Elliot asked. “Why…anything I wanted.”
There was a moment of silence and then he said, “Mulder?” Pause.
“Did you know she’s a screamer?”
Click.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Mulder slammed the phone down on the desk. Rage and fear had his fingers fumbling as he reached for the phone on his desk. He dialed the number for the Lone Gunmen, whispering, “Please, please, please,” as he waited for them to pick up. He heard Langly’s greeting and almost yelled, “Well? Did you trace it?”
Muffled sounds could be heard and then Frohike’s voice was on the line. “Mulder, man, I’m sorry. It wasn’t long enough. We’re ready for the next call though, okay?”
“Thanks,” he mumbled and dropped the phone in the cradle. He sank down onto the floor, his back resting against the desk. He dropped his head in his hands and whispered her name once.
“Scully.”
Revenge Part 7 by Lovesfox
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Friday
8:45 pm
Elliot slammed the door open as he walked into his room, hands fisted tightly and his nerves jangling. The pleasure had completely faded, and only the anger remained. Dana Scully was just like the others. Snobbish, worthless bitch…acting like she was better than he and Elizabeth. That he was beneath her. He couldn’t understand why Elizabeth wanted to be friends with them. She didn’t need them because she had him.
He stumbled over to his chair and fell into it. He rested his elbows on the desk, letting his head fall into his hands. His thoughts were whirling and he was so confused. An image flashed in his mind, of the stone monument that was all he had left of Elizabeth. He moaned softly. Elizabeth was dead. So were all those other girls.
Dana…Dana was different. She was here because of Mulder.
Elliot’s head came up slowly. He hadn’t called Mulder in a while.
Time to torment him some more. He grabbed the cellular phone off the desk and dialed the number for Mulder. It rang twice before he heard Mulder pant his name. The sound of Mulder’s voice had him perking up. His tense muscles relaxed and he sat back comfortably in the chair. “Agent Mulder, how are you?” he said pleasantly. He chuckled at Mulder’s terse reply, asking about Scully.
“She’s…tied up right now,” he answered. Inspiration struck, and he almost wiggled in his seat. All those weeks following Mulder and Dana, and he had never been able to absolutely confirm his suspicions about their relationship, although Mulder’s declaration of love in the warehouse had been a strong indicator for one. He was convinced they did have one though, despite Dana’s unwillingness to admit to it. This would tear Mulder apart. He inhaled deeply and weaved his tale, putting pauses in all the right places. He smiled gleefully, thinking that he wasn’t so bad an actor himself.
Mulder’s reaction was all he had imagined. The hoarseness of his voice, that sharp gasp of breath. Perfect. If only he could have been able to see Mulder’s face, that would have made it so much more rewarding. He laughed and laughed. He answered Mulder’s question.
“Do, Agent Mulder? Why…anything I wanted.” He waited a moment and then added the capper. “Mulder?” He paused for a second.
“Did you know she’s a screamer?”
Elliot laughed some more when he disconnected the call to Mulder, flipping the cell phone once like a cowboy with his sidearm and tucking it into his pocket. What a stroke of genius taunting Mulder that way had been! He could only imagine what the agent looked like after hearing those words, but what he pictured was more than enough to have his pleasure soaring.
He coasted on that wave for a few minutes, until his thoughts turned to Dana and his aborted rape again. Then the anger flared anew and he got up from his chair with a violent motion, kicking it away from him with a shouted curse. He stomped around the small room, one floor beneath Dana’s, and mumbled under his breath.
“Stupid bitch. Can’t even keep me excited.” He kicked the chair again on his next pass, barely feeling the bolt of pain through his foot.
He contemplated going up and killing her right there and then, could almost feel her throat in his hands, see the panic and fear in her blue eyes, was actually heading to the door to go up there and do it.
NO! He told himself. It’s not time yet. He took a deep breath and then another, willing the rage to subside, forcing himself to walk over to the chair and sit down again. He was going to leave her alone, let her lay there and stew. He saw her again as she had looked when he had lurched from the room. Her pants down around her knees, bound hands up over her head, blood and tears covering her face as she lay curled in a ball. Where was her pride now?
The thought of her tied up and helpless had things stirring again.
He stood up, standing there, body trembling, but for a different reason now. He began to walk to the door, ready to try again, but the memory of his failure held him back, causing the desire to wane slightly.
He would not go to her. An idea formed in his head, exciting him again, and he scanned the room, looking for the bundle of Dana’s clothing. He spied it in the corner on the small stand, and made his way stiffly to it, pawing through the pile, looking for something in particular. His hands touched silk, and he pulled her panties free. He ran them through his hands and then held them to his face, inhaling her musky scent.
On quaking legs he made his way to his cot, one hand fumbling at the button and zipper of his pants. He pulled his semi-erect flesh out, and lay down, bringing the panties down to wrap around him.
He closed his eyes, picturing Elizabeth writhing beneath him, and began to move the silk up and down, squeezing rhythmically. Moans and sighs slipped past his lips, and his hips moved with his pleasure. The images behind his lids changed, from Elizabeth’s face contorted with ecstasy, to Dana’s fearfilled eyes and blood stained mouth.
Gratification was quick as he came with a shout. His tremors slowly ceased, his breaths returning to normal. He pulled the panties away from himself and smiled. What an interesting gift to send to Mulder.
9:30 pm
Scully groaned as she came out of whatever state she had fallen into – sleep, unconsciousness, she wasn’t sure. She just knew that she had been unaware for quite some time. A glance at the small window revealed the pitch black of night, and her body was uncomfortably sore, most likely from lying in the same position for so long. She was also extremely cold. She shivered and stretched painfully. Her thighs had cramped, and they burned as she forced them to straighten. She realized then why she was cold. Her track pants were down around her knees.
At some point during her ‘sleep’ she had brought her bound arms down from over her head, and they had curled in the space between neck and shoulder. She bent and unbent her elbows slowly, hissing at the pins and needles that signaled her nerves were alive. Once they eased, she awkwardly maneuvered her body until she could grasp the hem of the track pants and pull them up over her hips.
Her motions awoke other pains in her body. Pains from the blows he had rained over her body. Her whole face hurt, but one cheek throbbed more than the other. Her nose felt stuffed, with blood she knew, but she could tell it was not broken. Her chest hurt too, he had landed a particularly good punch between her breasts, as well as one on her right shoulder.
She managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, and as she swung her legs around, the material of her track pants chafed at the skin on her inner thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling his hands as they scraped and pulled at her legs, trying to pry them open.
She remembered the look in his eyes, his excitement pressing against her lower body. Her fear of her lack of control, that she was helpless to stop him. Her teeth started to chatter and her whole body was shivering. Her breaths were coming faster and she forced herself to draw air in through her mouth and exhale it slowly. Delayed shock reaction.
He did not rape you, he did not rape you, he did not rape you.
She said it like a mantra, quietly in her mind, until she was calm.
Rape.
As a law enforcement officer, she had encountered rapists and their victims on many occasions, had had to interview both parties, and had even had to autopsy victims who had not survived their attacks. She had been angered and saddened by such occurrences. She was aware of the statistics, that one out of six women in the U.S. are rape victims. She remembered some of the lectures she had attended on rape.
It was a crime of violence, not a crime of passion. It was about the need to control and to have power over someone, to dominate the victim. This domination was often achieved by physical force, threats, duress or intimidation. One instructor had compared it to someone breaking into your house and stealing your valuables, except in the case of rape, it was the body and the spirit that was violated.
As a woman, she had always had that fear of being raped somewhere in the corner of her mind. Had been aware that it could happen to anyone, to her, at any time. Her closest encounter in the past had been with Donnie Pfaster not too long ago, although she thought his interest had leaned more towards necrophilia than sexual assault. Her nightmares that had resulted from his attack had yet to fade, and she knew she would be adding new ones from the attack by Elliot.
Although Elliot had not been successful, she still felt the helplessness, the loss of control and the shame. She told herself to stop thinking about it. She would only make herself sick.
With effort, she managed to get herself on her feet, wobbling slightly. She considered the distance to the door. Did she really think he would forget to lock her in? She could not remember much after she had curled up in a ball, could not recall if she had heard the sound of the lock being engaged. Her feet were still unbound, so she made her way over to the door. It was awkward grasping the doorknob, but she did, wiggling it back and forth.
It was locked.
She sighed; it had been a faint hope anyway. She had not thought beyond getting out of the room. She had no idea where she was, or where he was for that matter, and could only imagine trying to find her way to someone who could help.
Scully shuffled slowly to the cot and lowered herself onto it, groaning slightly as she lay down. She curled up on her side again, trying to generate some warmth. She was not really tired, but there was little else to do. She could try and overpower him the next time he came in, seeing as he had not drugged her recently, but she could be standing by the door for hours waiting for him to come back. She also hoped he would not come back for a while, she was a little afraid he would return to try again or to beat her some more.
She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth a little, for comfort and warmth. She imagined Mulder lying down beside her, curling his big body around her, his arm around her waist, holding her tight. Keeping her safe. They had comforted each other before, with hugs and gentle touches, but she knew feeling him all around her would be the best comfort of all. Sometimes just knowing he was near had been enough for her to feel those ways – safe, comforted, even…loved. She began to drift, thinking about him, of his declaration in the warehouse when he had thought she was dead.
Even in her fear and pain at his suffering for believing she was dead, she had been thrilled to hear those words from him. Yet a small part of her wondered if they had only been a product of his grief, not a true representation of his feelings for her. She hoped not, for she knew she loved him. She just hoped she would have a chance to tell him.
Please, God, let me have the chance.
Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
9:30 pm
Skinner instructed Agent Taylor to get back to him as soon as he and his partner learned anything. The agent nodded and they left to go interview the owner of D.C. Duct Cleaning Services. One of the techs had been running the information about the van, much as Skinner imagined Mulder’s three friends were, and had traced it to a Michael Booth, who operated the business out of Georgetown.
Skinner had spoken to the man himself, to learn that Mr. Booth did not have an employee named Elliot Andercott, nor did he recognize the name. Mr. Booth had also told him he was in the process of replacing the fleet vans with new vehicles, and that there was a possibility one could be missing. Skinner had told Booth that two agents would be coming to show him the composite sketch, and to check on the status of his vehicles.
Skinner looked at his watch again. He was starting to grow concerned. Mulder had been gone for quite some time. At first, he had thought Mulder just needed to be by himself for a while.
He knew that the agent often liked to walk about undisturbed as he thought about the case at hand, and was unwilling to interrupt or interfere. Now he was wondering if something had happened.
He pushed his chair away from the table and rose tiredly, feeling the pull of muscles in his legs. It would probably due him some good to walk around anyway. He glanced around the room, seeing Allison sitting on the couch in the corner. She looked exhausted, so he made his way over to her. “Allison, why don’t you call it a night? I don’t think much else is happening.” She nodded slowly and he continued, “Agent Mulder and I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
She stood up, blinking her pretty brown eyes sleepily, and said in her soft voice, “I’m just glad to be of help, Sir. Poor Agent Scully, I hope you find her soon.” She looked down at her feet and almost whispered, “Take care of Agent Mulder for her, Sir.”
Skinner watched her retreating back in surprise. Take care of him for Scully? Obviously their connection, their closeness, had been noticed by others beside himself. He smiled faintly and said in his head, “I will.”
He told one of the agents remaining that he was going to look for Agent Mulder, and headed out of the room. He moved quickly through the empty hallway and looked in the nearest men’s room. It was empty, thankfully, no Mulder lying collapsed on the floor, and he then headed to the cafeteria. Perhaps Mulder had finally decided to try and eat something. But it too was empty, and the attendant on duty had not seen him at all, and she had been there the whole evening.
Skinner frowned, hoping Mulder had not left the building, determined to go to Leesburg and find Scully himself. He would check Mulder’s office in case he had gone down there for the needed privacy, and if he was not there, he would try calling him on his cellular phone. Beyond that, he did not know what else he could do. Eschewing the elevator, he took the stairs, reaching the basement in moments.
As he walked towards Mulder’s office, he could see the light shining from the room. Relief surged through his body and he quickened his steps. The door was open and he entered without knocking, to find Mulder lying curled on the floor by his desk.
He could see that Mulder’s eyes were shut, and he fell to his knees before the agent, calling his name urgently. He felt for the pulse at Mulder’s neck, sighing harshly when he felt the reassuring beat against his fingers. The flesh at his neck was cool though, and Skinner slid his hand up to feel Mulder’s forehead. It was cool too, and damp.
“Mulder,” he said, not quietly, but not too loudly either.
He shook Mulder’s shoulder, and again, rewarded by Mulder’s eyes opening partially, and his questioning groan. “Come on, Mulder, up you go.” Skinner eased both arms around Mulder and pulled hhim up until his back was resting against the desk.
Mulder was becoming more alert, blinking his eyes rapidly and stretching his legs out in front of him, although he still looked unsteady. He looked around him, as if surprised to find himself sitting on the floor.
Skinner leaned back on his haunches, ready to catch Mulder if he toppled over and asked, “What happened Mulder?”
Mulder’s face was blank for a second and then Skinner watched as horror filled his eyes. His head ducked down and he mumbled something very low.
Skinner could not make the words out and said, “Mulder, what did you say?”
Mulder did not lift his head but his voice was a little louder this time, with no infliction whatsoever, toneless.
“He raped her.”
Jesus. Skinner knew immediately Mulder was talking about Scully.
His gut clenched, and he lurched to his feet to walk with jerky steps around the room, trying to control himself before he responded. The thought of Scully being defiled, being hurt that way was too horrible for words. Several slow, deep breaths, and he felt able to talk to Mulder. He turned around to see Mulder still sitting on the hard floor, staring down at his lap. “When did he call, Mulder?”
He thought Mulder had faded out again when he did not answer right away, and was just about to repeat the question when Mulder lifted his head to meet his gaze.
“A little while ago. Call wasn’t long enough to trace,” Mulder said, his voice flat. Keeping the emotions contained.
Skinner still didn’t know what to say. Mulder seemed to sense this, and only shook his head. He tried to get to his feet, and nearly fell back down. Skinner leaped forward and grabbed Mulder by the upper arm, steadying him, only letting go when he was sure Mulder would not fall. Skinner turned away and grabbed the phone on Mulder’s desk. He dialed an extension, and when one of the agents in the conference room answered, said, “Agent Mulder and I are leaving the building.” He rattled off Mulder’s home phone number, and reminded the agent that they both had their cellular phones as well. He hung up the phone and turned back to Mulder. “Come on, Mulder. You need to get out of here.”
Mulder only nodded wearily and scooped up the cell phone from the desk, tucking it in his inner pocket. He followed Skinner out of the office, and they walked silently to the parking garage to Skinner’s Bureau-issued sedan. As an AD, he had one that was permanently assigned to him. He watched as Mulder climbed slowly into the car and did up his seat belt.
Skinner shot a glance at Mulder, sitting stiffly and silently, staring out the passenger window. “Mulder, Elizabeth Andercott is dead.” He sensed more then saw Mulder’s reaction, a little jolt of the agent’s body.
“That’s why he took Scully,” Mulder stated quietly. “During the investigation of the murders she was tried and convicted of, we learned that she and Elliot had an incestuous relationship.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Skinner saw Mulder’s fisted hand pound slowly and rhythmically on his thigh. “He’s getting back at me for her death.” He shifted slightly in his seat, still looking out the window, fist still pounding, as if he were unaware of the movement. “I think I found the clue he referred to.”
“The pictures on the bed?” Skinner asked.
“Yes. Elizabeth supposedly left a picture of the victim on their bed. There bodies were usually found a day or two later.”
“Supposedly?”
“I kept files on cases that had…bothered me, for lack of a better word, during my stint in BSU. I had been reading it when Elliot called. There had been inconsistencies in her statements, and things that just didn’t jibe. I always thought Elliot had been involved, and now I think he may have been the real murderer.”
Skinner’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles showing white. “We’re going to find her, Mulder,” he said.
“We’re getting closer.”
“Not close enough,” Mulder whispered.
Mulder’s Apartment
Alexandria, VA
Saturday
6:00 am
Mulder moved from the bathroom to his bedroom like an automaton.
He had showered and shaved without thought, going through the motions mechanically. His hands found boxers, socks, jeans and sweater in their proper drawers and he pulled them on silently, staring blankly forward.
When he walked into the other room, he blinked in surprise to see Skinner, also dressed casually, poke his head out from the kitchen. Mulder realized he remembered little beyond stumbling into his bed after the AD had driven them to his apartment, and that Skinner must have an overnight bag he kept in his car, much like he and Scully did.
Scully.
His footsteps faltered as a remnant of one of his many dreams sprang up before his eyes. A man, and although his features were twisted and grotesque, he knew it was Elliot Andercott, crouched over a battered and screaming Scully. Screaming his name.
“…Mulder? You okay?” Skinner’s voice faint through the haze of his mind. He felt strong hands guiding him over to the couch, and then pushing him onto the cold leather.
Mulder dragged his hands over his face, banishing the horrifying picture and mumbled, “Fine. I’m fine.” He managed to meet Skinner’s worried eyes. “Just a little tired,” he said, and cleared his throat to rid it of its hoarseness. It was true.
He was exhausted in fact. He had woken several times through the night in a tangle of sweaty sheets, tormented by nightmares of Scully being raped.
Skinner studied him skeptically for a moment and then turned and headed back to the kitchen. “We’ll have breakfast and then go in,” the AD called over his shoulder.
Mulder rose slowly and shuffled into the kitchen. He managed to force down some scrambled eggs and toast and drink half a cup of coffee, although his stomach protested a little at the amount of food, having had so little in the last few days. As Skinner efficiently dealt with the mess, Mulder went and found his boots.
He laced them up quickly and pulled on his jacket, Skinner joining him and doing the same.
In moments they were in Skinner’s car and headed to the Hoover building. The drive was mostly silent, and Mulder kept his gaze trained on the scenery outside the passenger window, his eyes taking in very little. Skinner seemed to be of a similar mood, he made no attempt at small talk.
After about 15 minutes, the AD finally spoke. “Agent Taylor called late last night. The owner of D.C. Duct Cleaning, Michael Booth, confirmed he does not employ, nor has he ever employed an Elliot Andercott, and he did not recognize the composite. However, one of his older fleet vehicles is missing, and he supplied the license plate number to Agent Taylor. It has been faxed to the ASAC in Leesburg, and they are still on the lookout for the van.” He paused for a second as he made a lane change through the early morning traffic, and then continued. “Mr. Booth also reported the theft of several uniforms, white coveralls with the Duct Cleaning logo on one breast pocket, that he thinks happened several weeks ago.
He didn’t bother reporting the incident, thinking it was too petty.”
“Providing himself with a cover,” Mulder said quietly. “People don’t get concerned when they see cable or utility vans around.
They tend to fade into the background.” He caught Skinner’s agreeing nod out of the corner of his eye, and resumed his silent study out the window.
After Skinner parked his car in the underground garage, they headed inside and made their way to the conference room. As they walked down the hallway, a female voice called out both their names. They stopped and turned, to see Kimberley striding quickly towards them, a shoebox-sized package in her hands.
“This just came for you, Agent Mulder,” she said, slightly out of breath. She held out the package, its wrapping easily recognizable as the same courier service as the one that had delivered the photographs from Elliot Andercott.
Utter coldness ran through Mulder’s body at the sight of it.
He knew instantly that it was from Elliot, and his mind was assailed with images of what it could contain. They ran the gauntlet from pictures of Scully’s naked, bruised body, to one of her fingers. He shuddered violently and had to force himself to reach out and accept the package from Kimberley.
She gave him an odd look, obviously having noticed his shaking fingers, and then told Skinner she would be in their office if he needed her.
Mulder barely heard her words or her fading footsteps as she left, and stood there for long seconds, staring uneasily at the box in his hands. The same box lettering that spelled out his name and the FBI address like the last delivery was somewhat of a confirmation that it was indeed from Elliot.
Again he felt Skinner’s firm grip on his arm, and he was led inside the conference room, which was empty. He sank into the first chair, placing the box on the table in front of him. He took several deep breaths and then finally unsealed the package.
Skinner suddenly said, “Gloves, there could be prints!” The AD left the room and Mulder exhaled harshly. He hadn’t even been thinking of fingerprints, just his fear about what he would find. Cold sweat had sprung out on his forehead, and his earlier breakfast sat in his stomach like lead.
Skinner returned moments later, carrying a box of Latex gloves. He handed a pair to Mulder, and put one on himself.
Mulder pulled them on and reached for the box. His heart pounded with trepidation, and his mouth was as dry as cotton.
He lifted the lid of the box to reveal what looked like packing paper. He tore it away with shaking fingers and caught a glimpse of navy blue. He stood up to get a better look inside, Skinner leaning in beside him to do the same.
He was puzzled at first. What the hell was it? Then something clicked, and he felt like he had been hit in the solar plexus.
His breath whooshed out and he had to close his eyes for a second.
It was a pair of woman’s silk panties.
He was not intimately familiar with Scully’s lingerie, but just as he had known the package was from Elliot, he knew these were Scully’s panties.
Skinner made a questioning noise, and Mulder poked one Latex-clad finger at the panties, moving them delicately aside. There was nothing else inside the box. It didn’t make sense. There had to be more than just the panties.
It was obviously a message of some sort. He stood up suddenly, the chair nearly tipping over with the swiftness of the movement, and grabbed the box. “We need to get this to the lab,” he said, and headed out.
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Saturday
8:00 am
The door slamming into the wall woke Scully, and she had to stifle the startled shriek that came to her lips at the very loud and sudden sound. Her eyes had popped open instantly to see Elliot stomping towards her. Her heart started to pound with dread, and she struggled to rise, her weakened body a hindrance.
She only made it up awkwardly on one elbow before he was at the cot, reaching out to grab her upper arm with a cruel grip.
He yanked her up and off the cot, barely letting her get her balance before he was dragging her out of the room and down the hall. She had to step quickly, almost running to keep up with him. He took her back to the shower room and shoved her inside.
She fell with the force of his push, but managed to twist so that she took the impact on her side. With her hands bound in front of her as they were, it was very likely landing on them would cause some serious damage. As it was, the jolt to her body as she hit the ground had her teeth snapping in her mouth, and made her cry out with pain.
Elliot sneered from his position at the door. “Get up and do your business, before I change my mind.” He folded his arms across his chest, making no move to help her up.
It was even harder to get up this time, her hip and shoulder ached, but with effort she rolled to her knees, propping her upper body up by her bound wrists. The pressure was intensely painful, and with a loud grunt she heaved herself to her feet. She limped over to toilet, blocked by a metal half-wall, and after wrestling with her pants, was finally able to relieve her full bladder.
Getting the track pants back up was a little more difficult and she wanted to cry with frustration. She bit her lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, and with a burst of strength, finished the job. She stepped clear of the semi-stall, to see Elliot standing there with a smirk. It was so tempting to rush at him and wipe it off his face, but she knew she would get no more than a few feet before he moved. She also knew he had the greater advantage.
“Clean yourself up,” was his next command, as he pointed with one finger at the opposite wall.
Scully looked over to see a sink with a small mirror above it.
There were also some toiletries lying on the small ledge beneath the mirror, along with a towel. She looked in the mirror and the sight of her own face shocked her. One cheek had a dark bruise, her lip was puffy and red, and there was dried, crusted blood around her nose, with one thin streak across her other cheek, where the blood had flown as she had lain on the floor.
She turned the water on and moistened one end of the towel, dabbing gently to clean the blood off. She washed her face with the bar of soap and then brushed her teeth, mindful of her split lip, which was stinging. She shot a glance in Elliot’s direction, but he did not seem to be paying her much attention. She bent closer and with difficulty, cupped her hands together under the water. She drank several mouthfuls, the coolness easing her parched throat. She felt it hit her empty stomach, and knew she should not overdo it. She turned the water off and dried her face and hands off. She saw that he had even provided a hairbrush, and she ran it through her tangled hair a few times, wincing as she tugged at one knot at the back of her head. Her head throbbed there, and she lifted her hand and touched with careful fingers, finding a small bump.
She closed her eyes, assailed by a flashback, Elliot’s angry face as he crouched above her, his hand connecting with her cheek, his fist inflicting blows all over her body. She remembered her head slamming down on the hard, tiled floor a couple times, and blinked her eyes rapidly to clear the vision.
“You’re done here.” His voice was in his ear at the same instant his hand clamped around her upper arm. She jumped, she hadn’t even heard him coming. The hairbrush fell from her hands, clattering loudly as it fell in the sink. He paid it no mind, and pulled on her arm.
When they got back to her room, he propelled her towards the cot.
She stumbled into it, and looked up to see him looming over her, a piece of rope in his hands. Before she could react, his knee was in her stomach, pinning her to the mattress. He tied her ankles together tightly and then lifted his knee away from her, even as his hand was reaching inside his jacket pocket. He pulled out a syringe, and held it up. “This way I’ll know you can’t get in any trouble.”
He shoved her sleeve up and injected her, giving her a rough nudge to push her more completely onto the cot. A moment later he was gone, the lock clicking into place.
Already her aches and pains were fading as the drug took hold of her system. She felt her eyes grow heavy, and could keep them open no longer.
9:00 am
Elliot walked away from Dana’s room; glad to know she was safely secure with her bindings and her drugged sleep. He had forgotten to take care of that earlier in the morning, being in such a hurry to get out and set-up the arrangements for the delivery of Mulder’s package. He had not realized his error until he was on the way back, and he had rushed to her room as soon as he gotten there, angry with himself, and with her, for making him forget.
Fortunately she had still been sleeping, and he had a small measure of revenge when he scared her awake. The look in her eyes, her pitiful struggles to rise. They had almost been enough to tempt him away from his plans for the morning. He had known however that he could not. Not then, but maybe later.
He had rushed her into the shower room, to let her relieve herself and get cleaned up. He had been tempted to leave her alone all day, but the memories of Elizabeth left in her own waste had always distressed him so, that he just couldn’t do that to Dana, no matter how much the thought of punishing her thrilled him, or how angry he was. He had however, enjoyed watching her scramble to keep up with him, and pushing her around. When she had fallen to the floor in the shower room, crying out with pain, it was all he could do to stifle his laugh of pleasure. And the almost uncontrollable urge to hurt her more.
It was the thought of Mulder that had him stopping. When he hurt her again, he wanted Mulder to know.
Thinking of Mulder, he remembered his early morning chore. He looked at his watch, thinking that Mulder should have received the panties by now. His steps lightened as he tried to imagine Mulder’s reaction. Would he know they were hers? Would he somehow sense what had been done in them? Elliot hoped so. He wondered if he should call now, or wait a little while. His fingers itched to grab the phone, to dial the magic number that would connect him to Mulder. But was it too soon?
As he debated, the incident that had happened while he was coming back to the hospital flicked through his head. A dark sedan had seemed to be following him through town, and he had been able to make out two men in suits in the front seat. They immediately made him think of undercover police officers, and he had to resist the urge to speed up.
Instead he had pulled into a donut shop parking lot and sat for the longest time. The sedan had not turned into the lot after him, and when he finally left, he had not seen it again. To be on the safe side, he had driven around for a while before heading back, watching in his rear view mirror the whole way. Obviously Dana’s message about the van had been received, and Mulder had figured out he was using it to get around. Elliot had hoped it and his supposed cover would have lasted a little longer. More blame to lay at Dana’s feet. Bitch. He was tempted to go back and punish her, but he needed to go out and ditch the van, as well as find a replacement vehicle.
The van was parked at the back of the remaining wing, out of sight of any prying eyes that might drive out this far in the country. Although the hospital had been gone for over four years, there had been nothing done about the land on which it had sat, nor were there any real estate developments nearby.
Which made it a perfect location for hiding out.
Elliot climbed inside the van and drove carefully along the ruins of the drive, avoiding the potholes he knew were there from his many trips along it. He had planned to go back into Leesburg, but if those really had been policemen before, it might be wiser to go somewhere else to dump the van. Small towns were too risky; he would have to go to a big city.
He chose Arlington, and headed off.
Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Saturday
10:00 am
Skinner moved swiftly down the hall and through the fire exit door to the stairs, heading for Mulder’s office. He wanted to check on the agent, who had gone to his own office after taking the delivery package to the lab, and Skinner was a little concerned, as he had not seen Mulder for quite some time.
He hoped that Elliot Andercott had not called again, to torment Mulder further.
Mulder had been very agitated about the discovery of what the package contained, and even more so after Skinner had asked him why he thought the panties were Scully’s.
Mulder had almost stammered, seeming very flustered, until he had recovered, replying that the circumstances almost certainly insured that they were indeed Scully’s.
The agent had burst into the lab, startling the two technicians on duty, demanding they run every possible test on the box and its contents. One of the techs had looked hesitantly from Mulder to him, and once he had ordered them to make it their top priority, they had moved with haste.
Mulder had hovered, alternately pacing back and forth or looking over their shoulders, until Skinner had firmly asked Mulder to leave them to their work. Mulder had acquiesced reluctantly, and then as they walked down the hallway towards the conference room, sworn loudly.
Skinner had looked at him, startled by the sudden outburst, and Mulder had tersely explained he had not finished reading the file on Elizabeth Andercott, or his notes on her brother. The agent had then rushed off to his office, and Skinner had continued on to the conference room to check for any new developments.
Not long after he had arrived there, he had received a call from the ASAC in Leesburg, informing him of a confirmed sighting of the white van. The two agents in the surveillance car had not been able to get too close to the van to identify the driver, but they had seen a male with dark hair. They noted that the suspect had seemed to be aware that they were following him, and had pulled into a parking lot. The agents had broken off the tail, and due to a radio mix-up, had been unable to arrange for another unit to continue it. Skinner had royally chewed the ASAC’s ass over the phone, and after he had hung up, had looked up to see everyone in the room was staring at him. He had growled for them to get back to work, watching as they scurried to do so, and decided he needed to get out of the room for a while. And to check on Mulder.
Allison had been in one corner of the room watching him as well, only she had been looking at him with sympathy, and something else.
Interest? He had let his admiring eyes sweep her figure, up her long legs to her pretty, sun-streaked hair. He had felt a flash of shame for allowing himself to be distracted by a woman, albeit a very attractive woman, during the investigation into Scully’s kidnapping. There was time for that later, when Scully had been found. He had nodded briefly at Allison, who had smiled at him when he looked her over, and had left the room.
Skinner took the stairs two at a time and in moments was rapping at Mulder’s door. He did not wait for a reply, merely walked in, to see Mulder bent over his desk, which was covered in papers.
Mulder looked up at the noise and jutted his chin at Skinner in lieu of a greeting. Skinner’s eyes glanced over the mess of Mulder’s desk, seeing the cell phone sitting within easy reach of Mulder’s hands. “Did he call?” he asked gruffly.
Mulder shook his head. “No, but I’m sure he will. He’ll want to hear my reaction to his…gift,” Mulder replied bitterly.
“Everything he’s done has been aimed at getting a reaction from me.” He slumped back in his chair, one hand going up to drag across his mouth. “And I’m certainly giving him one,” he said with disgust. “I can’t control…” his voice died off, and he squeezed his eyes shut, face contorted in a grimace of pain.
Skinner knew Mulder was thinking of Scully in the clutches of an obvious psychotic individual, his own thoughts had been continually drifting that way. They were starting to go there again, and he forced them out. He needed to do so, in order to function in his capacity not only as AD, but as the agent in charge of the investigation. It was harder to do so with his dreams. Those the night before, as he slept uncomfortably on Mulder’s couch, had been filled of her being attacked, or of he and Mulder arriving too late to rescue her. “Mulder, I know you’ve probably already told yourself this, but you need to concentrate on the investigation, try not to think about Scully. I know it’s difficult, but you have to.”
He watched as Mulder schooled his features, straightening in his chair, and then filled Mulder in on the latest information. “The ASAC in Leesburg called a little while ago. Two of his agents had a confirmed sighting of the van, and a possible sighting of Andercott. They had to break off surveillance, and as a result of a…” He paused, the muscle in his jaw ticking wildly. “…a screw-up, the second team was not able to continue it.”
Anger tightened Mulder’s features and he whispered an expletive, and then took a deep breath. “I think we need to go to Leesburg,” Mulder said. “I want to leave once we get the results back from the lab.”
He shuffled through the papers on his desk, and then held the one he wanted out to Skinner. “The psychiatric hospital Elizabeth Andercott was transferred to from the State Hospital was on the outskirts of Leesburg. It’s closed now, but he has other connections there.”
Mulder sat back slightly in his chair, and his voice took on a slight lecturing tone. “Martin and Sylvia Andercott, the parents of twins Elliot and Elizabeth, were killed in a car accident when the twins were only five. They were sent to live with Sylvia’s sister, Sandra Doyle in Leesburg. Sandra Doyle died five years ago, and I had hoped to find that Elliot was living in the house she had owned. No such luck. The house had been heavily mortgaged, and was sold by the bank that held the mortgage. I called Frohike, and the guys are looking into the DMV records to see if they can find an address for Elliot.”
Skinner frowned at the mention of Mulder’s friends hacking into the DMV, and then shook his head. If it helped find Scully, he could overlook it. “Do you think it’s wise moving there now, before we have anything concrete? What if he sees you, or is tipped off further by the increased FBI presence? It could push him into… something hasty.” He had been about to say ‘killing Scully’, but had stopped the words just in time.
He could see by the look on Mulder’s face that the agent knew what his intended words had been, but Mulder only sighed wearily. “He could string me along for as long as he wants. He’s in control right now, and I think we need to take the initiative.” Mulder’s eyes were dark and tortured. “I would never do anything to put Scully at greater risk.” He looked down, staring at his hands, which had curled into fists on his desk and then said, “I think that he’s building up to something, and that whatever that something is, he’s going to want me there. He won’t kill her yet, not until I’m there.”
Skinner stared at him for long moments and then gave a brisk nod.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” he said, and left Mulder alone in his office.
Mulder’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Saturday
1 pm
The phone rang in the silence, startling Mulder from his study of the papers in front of him. At first he thought it was the phone, but it was only his desk phone. He scooped the receiver up eagerly, hoping it was the lab with the results on the package from Elliot.
“Mulder,” he said briskly.
“Fox? It’s Maggie Scully,” he heard. Her voice was soft and a little hesitant, quavering slightly.
Mulder closed his eyes and brought one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had not called Mrs. Scully in several days, and he knew she had to be frantic. He was surprised she had not tried to call sooner, and then had a vague flash of memory – the red light flashing on his answering machine, which he had not checked. He wondered if she had tried to call him, and had not been able to reach him. He felt like a heel.
“Hey, Mrs. Scully,” he replied softly. “How are you?” Idiot, he thought. How is she? What do you think? Worried as hell about her daughter.
“I’m fine, thank-you for asking, Fox,” she answered, ever the genteel lady. “How are you doing, Fox?”
Mulder could read her tone. She was not asking to be polite.
She was genuinely concerned for him. He was not worthy of her concern, but he knew he had it. Just as he would have Scully’s, immediately and without reservation. He revised his opinion; not only was he not worthy, he did not deserve either of the Scully women. He sighed and then replied, “I’m doing okay, Mrs. Scully.” He hesitated, and then blurted, “I’m sorry I haven’t called you.”
“I understand, Fox, I know you’re doing everything you can to find Dana,” she said. Her words wobbled a little, and he pictured her clutching the phone tightly, fighting back tears. He heard her clear her throat and when she spoke again, her voice was much stronger. “Have you heard from her, Fox?”
What could he say? “Yes, Mrs. Scully, the other day. She’s doing okay,” he said with a wince. LIAR! His mind screamed.
He could not tell her the truth, and hoped she could not hear the lie in his voice.
If she could, she chose not to call him on it. “Thank-you, Fox,”
she said. “Are you sure…” Her voice trailed off, as if she was having difficulty finding words, and then she spoke quickly, “Fox, are you eating and sleeping properly?”
Mulder closed his eyes again at the rush of warmth and caring that flooded him after her question. If he were with Mrs. Scully right now, he would hug her as tightly as he could. His own mother would not have shown this concern.
She spoke again before he could answer. “Fox, you have to take care of yourself. You need to be strong for Dana.”
“I know, Mrs. Scully. I’m trying,” he said. The rest of his words were in his head. If she dies, I will die. And he knew he would.
If not from avenging her death, then from sheer grief. He shook his head to stop his dark thoughts. Scully will be fine. She had to be.
It was as if she had heard his thoughts. “You’ll both be fine,”
she said. “You’ll find her.” She said the words matter-of-factly, affirming her belief in his abilities. “Fox, you know that if you need to talk to someone, you can call me, or come by the house, any time at all.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Scully, I do know that. I appreciate it very much.
I’ll call as soon as we hear anything, okay?” he said.
“Thank-you, Fox. Now take care of yourself, please, for Dana, and for me.”
“I will, Mrs. Scully.”
He hung the phone up gently after her goodbye. As worried as he was about Scully, the call from her mother had cheered him immensely. He knew he should go see her when he got a chance.
Mulder looked at his watch, wondering if he should phone the lab again. He really did not know how long the testing should take, but hopefully Skinner’s order had pushed them into moving as quickly as they could. The phone rang again, and he scooped it up. “Mulder.”
“Mulder, the lab called. They have the preliminary results.”
Skinner’s voice was clipped.
“I’ll be right up,” Mulder replied. He hung up the phone, scooped up the cell phone and shoved it into his jeans pocket and strode quickly from the room. He took the stairs two at a time, and ended up jogging down the hall to the lab offices. The force he used to push the door open was a little stronger then he had intended, and it crashed loudly into the wall. Skinner was already there, standing with the tech from earlier at one of the stations, and they both looked up in surprise at the noise. Mulder grimaced and shrugged his shoulders, muttering, “Sorry,” as he made his way to them.
The tech looked at him nervously, and Mulder frowned. He didn’t care if he scared the shit out of the man, as long as he got the results. “What have you got?” he said brusquely.
“Um, as I was about to tell Assistant Director Skinner, these are just preliminary results. We run them a few times to be sure,”
the tech’s voice had started out low, but grew stronger as he continued to speak. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously though, as he shot glances from Mulder to Skinner, clearly overwhelmed by both their presence. “There were no fingerprints on the box, and as you may or may not know, fingerprints cannot be lifted from fabrics.” He cleared his throat a little. “The um, underpants are one hundred percent silk, size medium, and made by Victoria’s Secret.” He looked down for a minute, and swallowed noisily.
It was obvious to Mulder that the tech was aware of the investigation into Scully’s kidnapping, and that he thought the panties were hers. “We, uh, found…” He paused and then took aa deep breath. “There was semen all over the panties,” he blurted.
Mulder grit his teeth, rage stiffening his body, and just managed to bite back the string of expletives that were on the tip of his tongue. Even though it was what he had suspected in one corner of his mind that they would find, it still angered him. His insides felt like he had chewed glass. He could feel the blood pulsing in the vein in his head, hard and furious, and wondered how it was possible that it didn’t explode from the pressure. Another thought struck him suddenly, one that disturbed him greatly and caused his guts to twist further. How had the semen gotten on the panties?
Had the man used them to clean himself off after he raped Scully, or had he used them to further his own pleasure? Both thoughts thoroughly disgusted him, and sent another wave of rage through his body. The tech was studying the computer screen in front of him, while Skinner stood silently, his own mouth twisted into a grimace as well, the muscle in his jaw twitching again.
“Did you test…the semen for blood type?” Mulder asked. Amazing, his voice sounded normal.
The tech jerked his head in a nod. “Yes, sir. The blood type is AB negative.”
The same as the blood found at the warehouse. Mulder hoped that meant Scully had been able to hurt the bastard somehow. It was also the same blood type as Elizabeth Andercott, which was understandable, as they were twins. “What else?” he asked.
“We also found pubic hairs. Two types. DNA shows that one type is um, consistent with Agent Scully’s DNA. The other is definitely male, although we had no records on file for the DNA type.”
Confirmation that the panties were indeed Scully’s, as he had immediately known. Mulder clenched his fists to hold back the urge to throttle someone, anyone, and nodded at the tech. He managed to say, “Thank-you.”
He turned and walked stiffly away, listening to Skinner speaking to the tech, asking him to send the report to him as soon as it was done. The AD also reminded the tech to enter the box and its contents as evidence in the investigation for when the suspect was brought to trial.
Mulder’s grin was feral. Evidence didn’t matter. There would be no trial. He was going to kill the son-of-a-bitch when he found him.
Revenge Part 8 by Lovesfox
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Saturday
4 pm
Elliot grunted and sweated as he carried his latest purchases inside through the small side door he had jimmied open long ago and kept propped with a brick. It was easier this way when he had a heavy load, instead of stumbling and climbing over all the rubble that still remained from the fire and partial demolition. He had always wondered why they had never completed tearing down the remaining structure and outbuildings, for the place was a safety hazard. Not that it mattered to him, it was quite convenient and when he thought about it, quite fitting that he was staying in the place where Elizabeth died. It would also be poetic justice when Mulder experienced what he had planned next.
He made what was his last trip to his new mode of transportation, a small Ford sedan he had broken into at a long term parking garage in Arlington. The car had been dusty, and looked like it had sat for quite some time, so he was feeling pretty safe about it not being reported stolen. Just in case, he had stopped at a busy shopping mall and removed the plates from another vehicle, switching them with the plates from the stolen car. He had read somewhere that most people never bothered to look at their own license plates. He thought that if the car were reported stolen, the different plates could help him escape detection. Although, he didn’t plan on leaving the hospital much, and would limit his trips to the evening, where the dark of night could help hide him.
The van had been dumped at a strip plaza, miles away from the parking lot where he had stolen the car. He had spent a good half hour cleaning the van out, making sure there was nothing in it that would lead the police or FBI back to him. He had wiped all the surfaces down, and realized too late he should have stopped at one of those car wash places and vacuumed it out. He did the best he could, sweeping it out with a piece of cardboard he had found.
Finally he was finished, lowering the last of the items to the floor with a sigh of relief. He looked at his watch and decided he had better check on Dana. He headed up the flight of steps to the next floor and made his way down the hall to her room. This time he chose to enter quietly, pushing the door open gently after unlocking it.
The sight of her curled up on the cot, eyes closed and bound hands tucked just under her chin made him smile. He crept forward and knelt down beside the cot, one elbow coming to rest on the thin mattress. He leaned forward and with one finger, stroked the wisp of hair that had fallen forward off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. He could smell the rose soap on her skin, bringing back sweet memories, and let his fingertips run gently over her cheek. She smiled slightly, her face moving against his hand, sighed and then murmured, “Mulder.”
Elliot’s hand moved of its own accord until he was squeezing her face tightly in reaction to her soft utterance, his fingers digging into her flesh.
Her eyes shot open and a moan of pain passed her lips. He watched the blue orbs go from sleep-blurred confusion to wide and fearfilled, and it thrilled him. She began squirming to get away from him, her back bumping up against the wall, and he bared his teeth at her in an evil grin, enjoying her struggles.
“How sweet,” he cooed. “Dreaming of Mulder, were we?” He leaned close to her ear and let his lips brush her lobe as he whispered, “Were they good dreams, Dana?”
She shivered, cringing away from his mouth, and he chuckled before releasing her face. Before she could move away from him, he moved to sit on the edge of the cot, crowding close to her body.
“Speaking of Mulder, I think it’s time I gave him a call.” He watched her eyes, and saw the hope and the need that flared in them.
Elliot reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone, holding it up to her teasingly. “Would you like to speak to him, Dana?” He chuckled again when she closed her eyes and turned her head away. “That’s right, you can’t talk to him, and if you try, you’ll regret it, believe me.” He dialed the number and listened to the rings. Surprisingly it rang four times before Mulder finally picked up, and the thought that Mulder was trying to play a game with him had him tensing with anger.
“Mulder, I don’t like to be kept waiting.” He just barely kept the words low and taunting, wanting to yell his displeasure. Dana made a muffled sound, and he looked down at her to see that he had grabbed her upper arm and was squeezing it tightly. He let go, blinking rapidly, and then realized Mulder had spoken and he hadn’t heard a word the man had said. He shook his head to clear it and said, “Did you like your gift, Mulder?”
Dana tensed against him and he saw that she was staring at him with a fearful, questioning look in her eyes. That’s right, she didn’t know about the panties. Maybe he’d tell her after. He forced himself to focus on Mulder’s voice. His words were calmly spoken, but Elliot could sense the anger behind them. Apparently Mulder did not think much of his gift. Elliot snickered to himself.
Mulder was speaking again. “…I remember you now, Elliot,” he said. Elliot frowned; it was about time. “…I’m very sorry about your sister Elizabeth. I know it’s me you want, not Sc…not Dana.
Why don’t you tell me where you are and we’ll talk. You’ll let Dana go, and I’ll stay with you.”
Elliot smiled to himself. Mulder was trying to go all psychologist on him. It wouldn’t work. He was wise to their tricks. “We’ll see each other soon, Mulder. When I say it’s time,” he replied.
“Goodbye, Mulder.”
“Wait! Can I speak to Dana?” Mulder asked.
Elliot had been about to disconnect the call, and re-considered.
He shoved the phone in Dana’s face, squeezing her arm again, and she croaked out, “Mulder? Mulder, he…”
He yanked the phone away and ended the call. He tucked the phone away and leaned over Dana, his arm pressing into her stomach so he could look in her face, which she had turned back towards the wall.
He grabbed her chin again and pulled until she faced him. “Do you want to know what gift I sent to Mulder?” he asked her.
She blinked a few times but said nothing. “You’re no fun, Dana,”
he said. He gave her chin one last squeeze and let go, shifting a little on the cot to sit upright. “I’ll tell you anyway.” He bent once more and whispered in her ear again. “I sent him your panties.” No reaction. “After I jacked off in them,” he said then, and straightened, laughing at the way her eyes had goggled. He patted her cheek, almost like a slap, and rose. “I’ll leave you with that for now,” he said, and left the room.
4:30 pm
Scully was dreaming. She was sitting beside Mulder, on his couch, and she had never felt so relaxed, so comfortable. So happy. His eyes were tender as he smiled at her. She watched as he lifted his hand, and felt a tingle of anticipation, wondering if he was going to touch her. His fingers were warm and gentle as they caressed her cheek. She snuggled into his hand, sighing with pleasure and contentment, and murmured his name. “Mulder.”
Suddenly there was pain, and Mulder was gone.
She awoke with a moan, to see Elliot’s face close to hers, to feel his fingers squeezing her cheek painfully. She tried to back away, and felt the wall hit her behind. His grin was frightening, and with a frisson of fear, she remembered how her struggles had excited him. She stilled as he spoke.
His words were oily, and tainted the memory of her dream. “How sweet. Dreaming of Mulder, were we?” Elliot leaned even closer, and his lips brushed her ear, causing her to shiver with disgust.
“Were they good dreams, Dana?” he whispered.
Scully cringed away from him, and with a chuckle, he released her face. Before she could move, he was sitting on the cot, his upper body leaning over hers, effectively trapping her in place. It was so much like when he had tried to rape her, and her heart began pounding. Her nerves were stretched taut as she wondered what he was going to do. She vowed to herself that despite the pleasure he had attained from her movements, she would fight with tooth and nail until she was no longer able.
She could not help reacting to Elliot’s next words about calling Mulder. She knew he could see it all in her eyes, her hope and fear, and her need to hear Mulder’s voice, or to speak to him. She also knew it was probably adding to whatever twisted pleasure he was deriving from her kidnapping and the tormenting of Mulder.
He took the cell phone out of his inner pocket and waggled it in front of her face, saying, “Would you like to speak to him, Dana?”
It was obvious by the expression on his face that the words were merely rhetorical and that he was amusing himself with her reactions. She would not give him one. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, as if dismissing him. He chuckled, and then his voice came low and ugly, warning her not to speak.
She remained as she was, head turned away, but she could still hear the sounds as he entered the phone number.
Scully could feel Elliot tense beside her, and realized he had yet to speak. Had something happened to Mulder? Why wasn’t he answering? Her heart began to thud. Finally Elliot spoke, telling Mulder he didn’t like to be kept waiting. Although his words sounded taunting, she thought she could hear the anger beneath them. His sudden painful squeezing of her upper arm confirmed that anger, and her eyes popped open to look at him. She could not help the small sound that escaped.
He looked surprised to see his hand on her arm, and let go, blinking and shaking his head. His next words confused her. What did he mean by a gift for Mulder? She stared at his eyes, watching the emotions flickering through them. Gleeful pleasure, followed by anger, and then pleasure again. Against her body he was rocking slightly as he told Mulder they would see each other soon. She wanted to yell out ‘When? When can I see him? but managed to hold her tongue. A wave of sadness washed over her as she realized she would not get a chance to talk to Mulder after all, even if she had already told herself it was unlikely he would allow her to.
The phone was thrust in her face at the exact same time Elliot squeezed her arm again, and she very quickly realized he wanted her to speak. She had already resigned herself to the fact that she would not be able to, and was therefore unprepared. She managed to get out, “Mulder? Mulder, he…” before the phone was taken away.
Oh, God, she should have told him she loved him. She wanted to cry, and turned her face towards the wall again to hide her distress.
What if she never got another chance?
Don’t think like that, she told herself. You will see Mulder again, and you’ll be able to tell him that over and over again.
Elliot’s arm was suddenly pressing into her stomach, and then he was clasping her chin, pulling her face until she was looking at him.
“Do you want to know what gift I sent to Mulder?” he asked, in that ugly, cooing voice.
She did, very much so, but she was not going to let him know that.
She blinked, but remained silent, willing him to leave her alone.
To leave her alone so that she could sink back into her dreams of Mulder.
Surprisingly he did not react with anger. “You’re no fun, Dana,” he said as he straightened, sounding like a child whose sibling would not play with him. His fingers tightened briefly on her chin before letting her go, and she resisted the urge to lift her hands and rub away his touch. “I’ll tell you anyway.” He brought his mouth to her ear, thankfully his lips did not touch her skin, and whispered, “I sent him your panties.”
She kept perfectly still, barely breathing, and almost gagged at his next words. “After I jacked off in them.” She knew her eyes had widened, for he laughed, and then he was patting her cheek hard, and leaving.
Scully waited until the door had closed and the lock had clicked into place before letting the tears fall. Despite the fact that Mulder would not recognize her panties, she knew he had instinctively known they were hers. What receiving them, and then learning what had been on them, must have done to him. Oh, Mulder. As she thought more about what Elliot had said, she began to worry about what he would do next.
Please hurry, Mulder.
Mulder’s Apartment
Alexandria, VA
Saturday
4:30 pm
Mulder moved from the bathroom over to his bed, where his overnight bag lay open and waiting. He placed his shaving kit inside and then moved over to the bureau to get socks and boxers. Those were stuffed inside as well, followed by some clean tee shirts and a spare pair of jeans. He glanced at the clock on his night table; Skinner was obviously running late, he was supposed to have picked Mulder up by now.
They were going to drive to Leesburg to join the agents already in place. Skinner had made the arrangements earlier in the day.
He zipped the bag up, grabbed the files on Elizabeth and Elliot Andercott that he had brought home, and carried them out to place by the door, the files resting atop the bag. He stood there uncertainly, wondering if he should just go downstairs and wait by the curb for Skinner.
There was a faint ringing sound, a cellular phone, and he realized it was Elliot’s phone. He reached inside his jacket and encountered nothing. He patted his other pockets frantically and then spun around, eyes scanning the room. Where the hell was it? He had been expecting Elliot to call ever since the package arrived, had spent the remainder of the afternoon on edge waiting for him, and had not let the phone out of his sight for one minute. Until now.
The ringing continued, it was coming from his bedroom. He ran there and over to his bed, his foot kicking it where it lay on the floor. He scooped it up with a curse, his heart racing. It must have fallen, and he hadn’t even noticed. What if he had left without it?
He jabbed the send button with a shaking finger, afraid that Elliot was going to end the call, and maybe punish Scully for his mistake.
HHe held the phone to his head, gasping his name into the receiver.
Elliot’s voice reached his ears in response to his answer and the man’s words were taunting, but there was something more there as well. Mulder knew it was anger at his delay in answering the phone.
He apologized for making Elliot wait, as much as the thought of apologizing to the bastard was abhorrent to him, the idea that Elliot might hurt Scully because he did not was worse.
Elliot ignored his apology, and asked him how he had liked his gift. Mulder immediately pictured the silk panties in the ugly box, and again heard the lab tech’s voice as he told them they had found semen on the panties.
His resolve to be calm and rational was nearly flung out the window.
He bit back the curse that sprang to his lips and struggled to keep his voice steady as he replied, “The gift was somewhat unexpected, and a bit of a shock.” There was silence on the other end, and Mulder decided to try and really talk to Elliot. “Elliot, you had told me that we had a connection, and I remember you now, Elliot, and how we met. I’m very sorry about your sister Elizabeth. ” He continued by offering himself in place of Scully. He would do anything to get her away from Elliot, regardless of the risk to his own safety.
The offer was not rebuffed, nor was it discussed. Elliot told him they would see each other soon, when he said it was time, and then said goodbye. Mulder panicked, he hadn’t heard a sound that would mean Scully was there, that she was alive. “Wait! Can I speak to Dana?” he cried, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
There was silence, followed by static, and then the sound that sent relief careening through his body. Scully’s voice. It was far too brief; he only got to hear, “Mulder? Mulder, he…” and the call was disconnected, but it gave him something to cling to.
Scully was still alive. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax finally, sinking down to sit on the bed.
A knock at the door came then, and his eyes popped open. He turned the cell phone off and carefully tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket before rising to his feet and heading to answer the door. The knock was replaced by pounding, followed by Skinner’s voice yelling his name. Mulder reached the door in long strides and turned the lock, yanking it open.
Skinner stood there, fist still raised to pound again, mouth open.
“Are you all right, Mulder?” he asked.
Mulder nodded and replied, “Elliot called to ask how I liked my gift. He let Scully speak for a second.” He remembered the trace the guys were running on the phone, and left Skinner standing in the open doorway to go to his desk, picking up the phone. He dialed the Lone Gunmen’s number quickly and spoke the moment the phone was picked up on the other end. “Anything?”
Langly told him the call had not been long enough. He then added that Frohike had some information for him. Mulder waited as the pphone was obviously passed to the little man, from the muffled sounds that emitted from the receiver. A moment later Frohike was on, saying, “Mulder, we ran this Andercott creep through the DMV, and got another address besides the aunt’s that you told us about.
Ya got a pen handy?”
Mulder mumbled, “Just a sec,” as he yanked open one of the desk drawers and awkwardly fished around for a pen, anything to write with. His fingers found the stub of a pencil and he plucked it up, grabbing an old Omni magazine from his desktop. “Shoot,” he said, his voice sounding odd as his neck was craned to hold the phone pressed between his jaw and shoulder to leave his hands free to jot down the information. He scribbled the address in Leesburg down on the back page of the magazine, said a quick thanks to Frohike and dropped the phone in its cradle. He ripped the page off and crammed it into his pocket with the cell phone, crossing the room to rejoin Skinner who had been watching the proceedings with curious eyes.
Mulder bent and grabbed his overnight bag, and Skinner turned to exit the apartment, Mulder behind him.
They moved swiftly down the hall to the elevator and within minutes were buckling themselves into the car for the hour-long drive to Leesburg. As Skinner skillfully maneuvered into the early evening traffic, Mulder told him the full details of his conversation with Elliot, and about the address Frohike had found for the man. He held the files on the two Andercotts on his lap.
“We’ll meet with the ASAC in Leesburg when we get there, get a warrant, and then check out this address,” Skinner said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “We will not go over there like gangbusters, and risk some sort of incident. For all we know, this address is where he’s keeping Scully.”
Mulder nodded reluctantly, and focused his gaze out the window at the passing scenery.
Hold on, Scully, we’re coming.
Revenge Part 9 by Lovesfox
Leesburg Police Department
Leesburg, VA
Saturday
6:30 pm
Skinner and Mulder made their way from the car into the police station, Mulder carrying the files on the two Andercotts.
Skinner looked around for a moment before nodding his chin towards the front desk.
They walked over and showed the Sergeant on duty their ID badges, asking for Agent Powell. The Sergeant nodded and called over to a young, gawky, uniformed officer, who led them up the stairs to the second floor, to a largish conference room towards the back of the building. Due to the fact that the nearest FBI field office was over an hour away, the ASAC had liaisoned with the Leesburg Police and the conference room had become their headquarters.
They again pulled out their badges, and after he and Mulder shook hands with Agent James Powell, the ASAC, Powell made the introductions. All the agents under his command were male, their crew cuts and dark suits screaming ‘FBI’. Skinner snorted to himself, if the agents following Andercott were here, no wonder the man had made them during the surveillance. It was evident the value of a low-key operation had not occurred to anyone.
“Sir?” one of the young agents said hesitantly, making his way to stand beside Powell. He fidgeted a little, possibly at having to interrupt them, or just overwhelmed at the presence of an Assistant Director and a senior agent whose exploits had been heard around the bureau, and looked apologetic. The fax sheet in his hands crinkled noisily. Powell had been explaining the results of their canvass of Leesburg, and lifted one hand toward the agent in a halting gesture, bidding him to wait.
Skinner noticed the agent had shifted his gaze and was staring at Mulder as he waited for Powell to finish speaking with a mixed look of awe and speculation. Obviously Spooky Mulder’s reputation had again preceded him. The muscle in his jaw twitched on Mulder’s behalf, wondering how the man stood it, but the look he flicked at Mulder revealed that he showed no outward reaction.
Finally Powell stopped talking and turned to the young agent.
“You have something for us, Agent Daniels?” he asked.
The agent’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously, and he cleared his throat before replying. “Yes, sir. This just came over the fax machine, sir. It’s from the Arlington P.D. They found the white van at a strip mall about two and a half hours ago. The officer was on patrol, and when he spotted it, he parked his cruiser across the street and watched it for an hour, but no one came. It looks like it was abandoned there.”
The blank look Mulder had been wearing since they had arrived changed to one of interest, and Skinner leaned forward to speak quietly in Mulder’s ear. “We put the van and plates on the wire state wide this morning.” He shifted to face Powell and Daniels directly. “Call the Arlington Police and have the van taken to the crime lab at Quantico.”
“Yes, sir,” Agent Daniels replied, and hurried off to make the call.
Skinner spoke to Powell this time. “We need a warrant for an address we have for the suspect. How quickly can you get one?”
“I’ll have someone get right on it, as soon as you give us the address,” Powell replied. He stepped back a step, chin lifted as he searched the room. “Peterson!” he called out. “I have a job for you. We need a warrant to search the premises of an address here.”
An agent whom Skinner presumed was Peterson loped over and nodded briefly at he and Mulder. Mulder reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the torn magazine page with the address Frohike had obtained. Peterson held a small leather-bound notepad and pen in his hands, and jotted the address down as Mulder read it to him.
He dipped his head in another nod and said, “It shouldn’t take long.”
Mulder held up the files in his hand and wiggled them a little, before making his way over to a small table in one corner of the room.
Skinner watched him worriedly, after Mulder had told him of his phone call with Elliot, and about the address Frohike had gotten, the agent had not spoken at all. He noticed that Powell was also observing Mulder, his look one of curiosity.
Powell seemed to sense he was being watched and turned to Skinner.
“That her partner?” he asked. “The missing agent, I mean?”
Skinner nodded tersely. He had a feeling Powell was going to dig for more details, and he was not up to discussing his two agents, unless it directly affected the case. “Is there someone you can send to get food and coffee? And handle the hotel details?” He pulled out a faxed sheet of paper with the hotel name and room information that he had tucked into his inner pocket, and handed it to Powell.
“I’ll see it’s taken care of,” Powell said. “There’s a coffee pot in the kitchen down the hall. Any preferences on the food?”
Skinner shook his head wearily. “As long as it’s hot and good.”
He turned to head to the door to get some coffee for he and Mulder, and stopped, looking back at Powell, gesturing with his thumb at the hall outside.
“To the right,” Powell said, and then turned to speak to another agent, holding out the paper Skinner had given him.
Skinner exited the conference room, and spied the men’s washroom across the hall. He made use of the facilities, and then removed his glasses and splashed cold water on his face after he washed his hands. He looked up, water dripping from his nose and chin, and met the tired eyes of his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He stared for long moments, seeing the lines of weariness and worry etched on his face. He sighed harshly, his hands clenching the porcelain sides of the sink so tight his knuckles were white. It was at moments like this, alone in silence, that he was unable to keep his thoughts at bay.
Thoughts of Scully held in the clutches of a madman. Thoughts of Mulder drowning in his own despair. Thoughts of his own inability to help either one.
Enough, he told himself. This isn’t helping anyone. Swiftly, he dried off his hands and face, replaced his glasses on his nose and headed out of the men’s room to go to the kitchen. Thankfully the coffee pot was almost full, and appeared freshly made. He poured two cups, adding cream and sugar to both, not sure of how Mulder liked his coffee, and made his way back to the conference room.
Mulder was still sitting at the table he had claimed as his own, leaning forward on his elbows, chin propped on one hand, intent on the files before him. Skinner headed over, nudged Mulder, and when Mulder looked up, handed him one of the steaming cups of coffee.
He sat down in the chair to Mulder’s left and took a sip of his own coffee, feeling the heat ease down his throat to his stomach.
Mulder took a gulp, seeming not to notice the temperature of the liquid and put the cup down. “I can’t find anything in here,” he muttered, gesturing at the files before him. “And I feel like I’m missing something, that it’s right there in front of my eyes but I can’t see it.”
Skinner didn’t know how to respond to that, and knew Mulder would not appreciate him mouthing platitudes, so he said nothing.
Apparently Mulder had not really expected a response, for he continued to mumble to himself. Skinner realized he had taken Scully’s usual place, that he was being used as a sounding board.
“The hanging in the warehouse was symbolic to him, he did it for a reason, besides tormenting me. Yet he didn’t hang Scully, he’s keeping her for something else.” He chewed on his lower lip, eyes staring blankly ahead, looking inward. “He took Scully because he believes I took Elizabeth from him. He’s going to kill Scully because Elizabeth died.” Mulder slumped back in his seat and lifted his arms, dragging the heels of his hands up over his face and through his hair. “I can’t concentrate, and I know it’s here.”
A noise at the door drew Skinner’s attention, and he looked up to see one of the agents walking towards he and Mulder, carrying what looked like takeout bags in his hands. Skinner accepted them with gruff thanks, and pushed the paperwork on the table to one side.
He placed one bag in front of Mulder, who had not reacted to the intrusion by the agent, and said, “Mulder, eat. Your body has been functioning on little sleep or sustenance, no wonder you are having trouble concentrating. Hopefully by the time we’re done, we’ll have that warrant.” When Mulder still did not move, Skinner spoke more sharply, “Eat, Mulder. Or I’ll remove you from this investigation.”
He noted with grim satisfaction that the threat worked. Mulder sat up again and opened the bag in front of him, pulling out a hamburger and fries. Skinner waited until Mulder actually took a bite before removing his own food and digging in.
They made short work of their meal, Mulder eating methodically as he stared at the file he had slid back in front of himself. There was nothing else to do but wait until Peterson returned with the warrant.
Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Saturday
9:30 pm
Elliot’s nerves were humming, and he found it hard to concentrate as he drove along the darkened road back to the hospital. Seeing Mulder at the boarding house where he had been renting a room for the last two years had been a shock.
Fortunately he had seen Mulder and the tall, balding man he knew was another FBI agent getting out of their vehicle, which was parked in front of Mrs. Lipton’s old two-storey brownstone, and he had driven past without being seen. He had only gone back to retrieve some personal belongings, pictures of Elizabeth mostly, that he had forgotten when he had taken most of his clothing and his books and papers earlier in the week after he had gotten Dana settled in at the hospital. The loss of the pictures was painful, but obviously meant to be.
Amazement had warred with anger. He had wanted to be the one to lead Mulder here to Leesburg, to the hospital, for just the right moment, and was disappointed that Mulder had found him on his own.
Yet at the same time, Elliot knew he was no match for Mulder’s keen intelligence and investigative skills, which he had witnessed first hand during the case against Elizabeth.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he thought about that right moment. All his time for so long had gone into planning this last act of revenge against Fox Mulder. Although he himself had not been there when Elizabeth had died, he wanted Mulder to be there, to see it happen. The only drawback was that he would not be able to be there to watch Mulder see Dana die just as Elizabeth had. His eyes flicked to the dashboard clock. Less than twenty-four hours.
Elliot slowed the car as it neared the long driveway leading up to the hospital. Even though there were very little lights out this far from town to illuminate the way, he knew it was there, just after the huge oak tree at the bottom of the hill. He bumped slowly along the drive until he had pulled the car around the back and parked it close to the building. He locked it carefully, pocketing the keys, and made his way inside the dark wing.
He had turned the generator off after taking Dana to use the washroom, and letting her eat the sandwich he had picked up for her. She had been subdued, and rather quiet. Her submissiveness had been a bit of a surprise, but it had also made him feel powerful. Gleefully he had remarked that pining for Mulder would not bring him to her. Her eyes had spit fire at him as she awkwardly fed herself with her bound hands, and he had laughed to see her feisty spirit re-emerge.
He had also felt a brief surge of arousal. Unfortunately he had had things to do, so after checking her bindings were secure, he had injected her with a half dose. He had not been watching his supply, and was down to his last dose. He still needed one for the big event, but half would be sufficient. She had flinched as the needle had poked into her arm and he had smiled before bending and nuzzling at her neck as her eyes slowly closed, inhaling the scent of roses.
Her weak moan of protest had made him laugh.
Thoughts of Dana, lying one floor above him totally at his mercy, had his pulse speeding up. It was time to check on his little captive. Elliot bent and grabbed the large industrial flashlight he kept just inside the door. Flicking it on, he swept it around the room, and the beam caught the red cans he had brought inside earlier in the day. He smiled at the sight of them, and stood there, closing his eyes to let his fantasy image form in his head.
It would be so beautiful. If only he could be there to watch. He sighed harshly, his shoulders slumping, and opened his eyes. He knew he would have to be content with the knowledge of what would happen.
He shook his head, there was no sense dwelling on what could or could not be. It was enough that Mulder would pay. The fact that Dana had had no part of the investigation into Elizabeth was of little concern. Sometimes the innocent were hurt. That was just the way the world worked.
Moments later he was standing at her door, one hand quietly opening the lock. He stepped inside the room, eyes seeing easily in the moonlight that illuminated the figure curled on the cot. He admired how it caressed her cheeks, and lit her hair like flame, and tiptoed until he was standing before her. He knelt beside the cot and stared.
He had always loved to do that when he and Elizabeth were young, to watch her sleep. They had shared a bedroom for the longest time living with their aunt, until she had walked in on them one night, and found him sleeping curled around her on her bed. The very next day he had come home from high school to find all his stuff had been moved to the attic, where she had partitioned off a room for him.
If he squinted his eyes, he could pretend she was Elizabeth. He leaned in close and inhaled deeply, the rose scent stronger with their closeness. “Elizabeth,” he crooned and buried his face in her neck.
Elizabeth made a sound of alarm, and then her hands were hitting him in the chest. “Elizabeth!” he cried. “Stop, it’s me, Elliot!” He grabbed her flailing hands, feeling the coarseness of rope, and looked into the wide, blue eyes of the woman beneath him.
It wasn’t Elizabeth.
He shook his head, blinking his eyes furiously, unaware his grip on her hands had loosened. There was movement and then a starburst of pain in his face. He fell back on his ass with a howl, hands automatically going up to soothe the ache. The cot creaked as she moved again and before he could react, she had driven her knee between his legs.
Throbbing agony. Gut-wrenching, teeth-grinding, breath-stealing pain.
He curled into a ball, hands grabbing his privates, and fought for air.
9:40 pm
The soft clicking sound at the door alerted Scully. She shut her eyes and took slow, even breaths, feigning sleep. Her heartbeat was amazingly loud in her ears, and her body was tight with tension. She prayed silently that Elliot would not notice she was awake, and that the rope at her feet was actually only around one ankle.
She thought she had been awake for about an hour, although it was difficult to judge time. Days blurred into nights, minutes passed by like hours, even when her mind was not fogged with drugs. She was fairly certain it was Saturday, the day after their ‘one-week anniversary’, the day after he had tried to rape her.
She remembered him slamming into her room in the morning and the injection after using the washroom, and that it had still been day when she awoke again. He had drugged her again later, but she got the feeling it hadn’t been a full dose, for she had not fallen asleep immediately.
This time when she woke, she was not as groggy, and had decided that she was going to try and escape. Somehow she had found a part of the cot frame that stuck out a little and worked it between her bound ankles, rubbing the rope back and forth. Back and forth.
Over and over again. Scissoring her legs, twisting and kicking until her legs ached.
She had almost given up, but pushed herself on with thoughts of Mulder. Seeing him again, touching him, telling him she loved him.
It had surprised her when the rope had loosened, and it had strengthened her determination, renewed her energy. She had barely been able to contain her shout of victory when she had been able to pull one foot free. She had lain there, sweaty and exhausted, mind whirling with plans of attack.
Scully knew Elliot was there, watching from the doorway, could feel him, could hear him breathing, and had to struggle not to squirm.
Then the oh-so quiet sounds of his footsteps as he crossed the floor. The rustling of his pants seemed loud as he knelt beside the cot.
<Not yet, not yet>
She could smell him now, the scent of his piney aftershave, and knew he was leaning over her.
He inhaled deeply, and then crooned, “Elizabeth.”
His nose buried itself in her neck, and with a startled gasp, she made her move. She raised her bound hands and hit him as hard as she could in the chest.
She didn’t get quite the reaction she had hoped for. He did not fall back, but merely cried, “Elizabeth! Stop, it’s me Elliot!”
His hands grabbed hers, and she railed in her mind, cursing her lack of strength. He stared at her eyes, seeming stunned, and she felt his grasp loosen around her hands.
She ripped her hands completely free and aimed for his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone. He yelled out, falling backwards with his hands covering his face and his legs splayed wide. She ignored the pain in her knuckles and lunged forward, driving her knee right for his vulnerable groin. She watched as he curled up on the floor, feeling a vicious thrill of pleasure at seeing his hands cupping his privates and hearing his attempts to breathe.
<Again. Hurt him again> her mind screamed, and she scrambled awkwardly to her feet, nearly falling over when she was assailed by a wave of dizziness. She looked around frantically for something to hit him over the head with, and spied a dark shape on the floor by the door. She staggered over to it and bent, feeling hard plastic beneath her fingertips. She recognized it as a flashlight, and lifted it with some difficulty. It was so hard to maneuver with her hands tied together. She moved back to him and slid down to her knees, surprised but glad he had not moved. She raised the flashlight and just as she brought it down towards his head, grunting with the effort, he did move, rolling over onto his back.
She saw his eyes open wide as he caught sight of the flashlight coming at him, and his hands came up to push it away with a roar of anger.
It did not hit as she had intended, merely glancing a blow off his forehead. He cried out again and grabbed at his head. Her momentum caused the flashlight to fall to the floor with a loud clatter, and carried her forward after it, her bound hands not able to halt her fall. Pain sang in her wrists and along her arms, but she did not stop, scrabbling at the floor to get to her feet. She actually made it, swaying slightly, and started forward.
Behind her she could hear Elliot moaning, and rustling sounds that meant he was trying to get to his own feet. She kept going, bouncing off the doorjamb and out into the hallway. She was gulping in air; her heart beating a mile a minute, while in her mind was a frantic jumble of thoughts.
<Where do I go? Couldn’t check for keys. Got to get away. He’s coming. He’s going to get me. Run! >
She could hear him stumbling after her. She ran on, blindly, eyes darting, searching frantically for an exit.
“Oh, Jesus, he’s coming, he’s coming, got to get out of here, oh, Jesus, Mulder, help me!” She said the words softly, like a litany, frightened beyond belief.
There was a loud roar behind her, and then thudding footsteps, getting closer and closer. She sped up, her steps zigzagging without her arms out for balance, almost falling, but she kept going, harsh pants escaping her mouth.
<He’s coming, oh God, he’s coming>
A hand descended, heavy, so heavy, and it hurt, and she was falling, hitting the ground with a painful thud, crying out. His weight landing on top of her, hard and forceful, pressing her further into the floor.
Screaming, “No! Get off, let me go, you bastard!” Squirming and wriggling, trying to get away.
“Bitch!” the word was hissed in her ear, and then his hand was in her hair, yanking her head back, her back arching so terribly her upper body was lifted off the floor. She moaned, but could not move. “I should kill you now,” he continued to speak gutturally, his breath hot on her exposed neck and ear. “But I have so much planned for Mulder, that I can’t let you ruin it!” His voice rose at the end as with one violent motion he pulled her to her feet, one hand in her hair, the other around her upper arm.
Scully’s legs could not keep up with him, and he dragged her along, back to her room. He was making low grunts, so she knew she had hurt him. <Not enough> If only she had been able to knock him out. Tears formed, and she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let them fall. The door loomed in front of them and he thrust her forward, causing her fall to the floor. She cried out again, and then he was stomping towards her. His foot connected with her thigh and she mewled in pain, trying to curl her body away from him.
“Goddamn bitch!” Kick. “You tried to ruin it!” Kick. “Mulder has to pay! He will suffer.” He did not kick her this time, and she risked a glance at him, to see him bent slightly at the waist, gasping for breath.
She could see something dark at his temple, running down the side of his face. Blood. <I wish that was enough to make bleed to death!>
He seemed to sense her eyes on him, and looked up, his eyes narrowed with hate. “He will suffer, knowing you suffered. Just like Elizabeth did.” He took a deep breath and straightened slowly, one hand swiping at the blood on his face. He looked at the darkness staining his fingertips and then clenched his fists. He muttered, “Think of the flames. The beautiful flames.” He wiped his hands on the leg of his pants and stepped forward. She cringed, but he only lifted her off the floor to throw her on the cot. He planted one knee in her stomach and with angry motions, re-tied her ankles.
Only this time, he kept one end of it and tied it to the leg of the cot. One final push into her stomach, and he was off the cot.
She watched as he made his way to the door, scooping the flashlight up off the floor. He paused at the doorway and said, “Sleep well, Dana. Dream of Mulder, for it will be your last.”
The door slammed, the lock clicked into place, and she was alone.
Alone with her new fear of tomorrow.
A lone tear trickled down her face.
Mulder. I love you.
Holiday Inn
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
6:30 am
A knock at the connecting door distracted Mulder from the pile of papers spread all over the bed. He heaved himself up and shuffled over to open it, one hand going up to scrub through his spiked hair.
Skinner stood on the other side, blinking heavy-lidded eyes behind glasses that were not quite straight.
“Mulder? You okay? I saw the light under the door,” the AD said.
He was still in his sleep attire, a rumpled white tee shirt and cotton pajama pants, and there were deep lines of weariness on his face.
“Going through the files again. I can’t sleep.” Mulder answered, his voice low and monotone. “I know the answer is in there, and II’m just not seeing it.”
The words were similar to his statement earlier at the police station. Mulder lifted one hand, which was fisted tightly, and slammed it none too gently on the wall beside the doorjamb. His only outward reaction to what had to have been painful was a slight grimace.
“Mulder, why don’t you get showered and dressed, we’ll go get some breakfast and head to the police station. Powell has the agents assemble every morning at 8 am,” Skinner said. He waited until Mulder nodded his assent, and then the AD turned away from the door.
Mulder shut the door gently and headed to the bathroom. He stripped, letting the clothes fall in a heap on the floor, turned the taps and stepped into the shower, sighing as the hot water hit his skin like needles. Steam rapidly filled the tiny stall, and he stood there, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It helped to clear the fog in his brain.
Yet again he had been unable to sleep, his mind replaying the outcome of their visit to the address Frohike had found for Elliot Andercott. The owner of the brownstone, a Mrs. Mary Lipton, had been flustered at the sight of their FBI badges, and quite upset when they had presented the warrant to search the premises.
After what an impatient Mulder considered wasted moments whereby Skinner explained and soothed the older woman, she took them up to the room Elliot had rented for the past two years. Skinner must have charmed her, for she became quite talkative. She told them Elliot had not been there for almost a week, and that when he had been around, he spent most of his time in his room, rarely joining the other tenants for meals. He was prompt with his rent, very quiet and had never had guests.
Skinner had shown her the printout of the white van, and she had confirmed that it was the vehicle Elliot drove and parked in the rear of the brownstone. He had also shown her a picture of Scully, but she had not seen her. The room had revealed nothing, except for an old shoebox with some pictures of what had to be a younger Elizabeth and Elliot. Empty hangers in the closet, and empty dresser drawers. No papers or maps to hint at his possible location, or photographs of Scully. Mulder had insisted on checking both the attic and the basement, both of which held only some old trunks and furniture belonging to Mrs. Lipton. They had glanced quickly in the four other tenant’s rooms, one of which had been occupied. The man inside had not minded answering questions, but had had little to offer that had not already been learned from Mrs. Lipton.
Mulder shook his head rapidly, and swiped the water from his eyes before opening them. He quickly washed his hair and body and stepped out of the shower. He needed to get reading those files again, there was something in them, and he just had to find it. He toweled off roughly and dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. He had skipped shaving, not caring in the least about his jaw stubble, and made quick work of brushing his teeth and hair. Socks and shoes were next, and he walked over to the connecting door and gave it a brisk knock. Skinner opened it seconds later, already dressed in khaki pants and button-down shirt, and putting on his holster.
The two grabbed their jackets, locked their respective doors and headed downstairs. Mulder made to turn towards the door leading to the parking lot when they exited the elevator, eager to get going, but Skinner shook his head and pointed at the restaurant to the right.
Fortunately they were seated immediately, and the waitress was not the chatty type. They placed their orders, Mulder ordering only dry toast and ignoring Skinner’s concerned frown, and sipped at the coffees she had poured. The food was served quickly and they made short work of it. In moments they were on their way to the police station.
The conference room was empty when they entered, and Skinner glanced at his watch. “Running behind?” he commented. There was an in-basket on a small table by the door, and he went to check to see if anything had come in during the night.
Mulder headed to his spot from yesterday and sat down, opening the file on Elizabeth Andercott. She was the key. She had to be. A thought formed, and he flipped through the printout the tech at the FBI had printed out days ago.
Elliot’s only other connection to Leesburg was the mental hospital where Elizabeth had been committed. It was closed, had been for a few years, but could he be hiding out there? He wasn’t sure where it was located. He looked at his own watch; Powell and his agents should be arriving soon.
As if thinking the man’s name was a summons, Powell walked in, carrying a box of donuts. He seemed surprised to see them here, but recovered quickly, nodding a greeting. He held up the box in silent inquiry, and at their negative shakes, put it down on the large table.
“Agent Powell, has anyone been by the Leesburg Mental Hospital?”
Mulder asked without preliminary.
“Excuse me?” Powell said. “The what?”
Mulder frowned. Was he speaking in tongues? “The mental hospital here in Leesburg,” he explained slowly, fighting the urge to yell.
“Elliot Andercott’s sister was a patient there. It must be why he’s come back here.”
“I wasn’t aware of any mental hospital here in town,” Powell answered. “And I thought the suspect’s sister was dead?”
“She is,” Mulder said, gritting his teeth. He clenched his hands into fists, wanting to go over and shake the stupidity out of the man. “We believe her death is the motive for Agent Scully’s kidnapping.” As he spoke the words, he again had that feeling that he was close to something important. He paused, but nothing jumped out at him.
“I have not sent any of my men out there, no, Agent Mulder,”
Powell replied, his voice tight. He had stressed Mulder’s title, as if questioning it. He had obviously sensed Mulder’s frustration, and was offended. “As I said, we were unaware of the hospital.”
His lip twitched a little as he pursed them and then he said quickly, “I’ll go speak to the sergeant on duty.”
Mulder watched with narrowed eyes as Powell left the room. Skinner had moved to stand beside him and said, “What’s this about the hospital?”
“Other than his aunt’s house, which was sold upon her death, and the room he rented, there is nothing holding Elliot here. Why would he stay?” He stopped, thinking furiously, then said slowly, as he thought it out, “Could Elizabeth have been buried here in town?”
He moved back to his table, flipping through the papers there.
“There’s nothing here about her death, other than the date, or where she’s buried.” That feeling again, something important was there, but what was it?
He shifted uneasily, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. His head had begun to pound, slowly and steadily. “I’m going to call the guys, see if they can dig up more on Elizabeth Andercott.” He moved over to the corner of the room where there were several phones for their use. He dialed the Lone Gunmen’s number and listened to the rings before Frohike’s sleep-filled voice answered.
“Frohike, it’s me,” he said quickly, interrupting the man’s greeting. “I need you to dig like crazy on Elizabeth Andercott.
The file here is pretty slim. And see what you can find out about the Leesburg Mental Hospital, okay? I need this stuff like yesterday. Call my cell.” He barely heard Frohike’s mumbled agreement before hanging the phone up.
Powell had reentered the room, followed by a uniformed officer.
They came over to stand in front of him, and Powell introduced Sergeant Baker. “Baker here says the afternoon and midnight shifts do a patrol by the hospital, which is actually not in Leesburg, but is about 20 miles from here, every day.”
The sergeant cleared his throat and took over. “It’s been closed a couple years, and there really isn’t much left of it. Was supposed to have been torn down, but it just never happened. There were a couple incidents of teenagers partying out there back in the summer, but nothing since then. We swing by on a pretty routine basis. I haven’t heard of them seeing anything, but I’ll get someone working on finding out who’s been doing them this last week, see if they noted anything unusual.”
Mulder nodded his thanks, and turned away, hearing the heavy tread as Sergeant Baker left the room. He was also aware of Powell leaving the room as well. He sank back into his chair, staring down at the papers covering the small surface of the table. He wondered how long it would take Frohike to call back.
It seemed like forever before his cellular phone rang, but was actually only about 30 minutes. He pulled his phone free, experiencing a brief moment of panic when he thought he had forgotten the other phone, but it was there, in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “Mulder,” he said after pressing send.
Frohike’s voice filled his ear. “Mulder, I’m looking at her now.
Whadya want to know?”
“Does it say where she’s buried?” he asked.
Frohike hummed, Mulder guessed as he was scanning the information, and then grunted, “Huh.” He then said, “There’s a stone at the Leesburg Cemetery.” He rattled off the address, which Mulder jotted down on one of the printout sheets. “Looks like the aunt is buried there.” Mulder could hear the keyboard clacking, and then Frohike started to speak, “That’s funny…” His voice drifted off.
“What’s funny?” Mulder demanded. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, the fingers of his free hand tapping a nervous tattoo on the tabletop.
“I don’t think her body’s there, I think it’s just a memorial stone,” Frohike replied. There was more typing, and the busy sounds Frohike always emitted when deep in thought.
“Where the hell is her body?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, man,” Frohike mumbled.
The image of Kathy O’Neill hanging in the warehouse flashed in Mulder’s head. Had Elizabeth hung herself? Was that Elliot’s next step? To lure him somewhere, and this time he would really find Scully’s body hanging from a rope? His body went cold, and a shudder moved through him.
“How did she die, Frohike? Did she hang herself?” His voice had risen in volume as his body had risen from his chair. He saw Skinner start toward him, with that concerned look back in place on his features. Mulder held up a hand in a gesture to imply everything was fine. Skinner quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, “You sure?” and at Mulder’s impatient nod, resumed his conversation with Powell, who had obviously returned to the room.
“Hang on a sec. Got her file from Leesburg coming up right now.”
Frohike whistled then. “How did you guess that?” He did not wait for Mulder’s reply, but continued, “She did try and hang herself not long after she was admitted there, but she didn’t succeed.
An orderly walked in on her and called for help.” He made a noise.
“Picture here. Nasty scar.” Mumbles as he obviously continued to read what was on the screen before him. “Shit hit the fan on that one. No one knew how she got hold of the rope.”
While listening to Frohike, Mulder had been thinking. That explained why Scully had not been the one to hang in the warehouse, because Elizabeth had not died that way. Obviously Kathy O’Neill had been chosen just to torment him.
A tumbler clicked into place in his brain and he barked out, “Frohike, when did she die?”
“Huh?” came Frohike’s voice. “Uh, when…just a sec.” Typing.
He said the date, and everything within Mulder froze. Four years ago today. Jesus. He was going to kill Scully today. “Frohike, I need that shit now!” He covered the phone with his hand and yelled to Skinner, “It’s today! He’s going to kill her today!”
Skinner paled and came over faster than Mulder had ever seen him move. “What? How do you know?” His voice was tight, that jaw muscle twitching uncontrollably.
“Elizabeth died four years ago today,” Mulder said, suddenly hoarse. Waves of cold and heat were alternating through his body, and his heart was trying to leave his chest cavity. “I don’t know how or where yet, but it’s going to be today.” He removed his hand and gritted out, “Talk to me, Frohike!”
His pocket muffled the ringing of the other cellular phone, but Mulder heard it anyway. “Frohike, it’s him.” He disconnected with Frohike, tossing the phone of the table, and plucked the other one out of his pocket. He pressed send, and said, “Mulder,” into it.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Skinner staring at the phone in his hands.
“Hello, Agent Mulder.”
Leesburg Mental Hospital
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
8:45 am
Scully had lain sleepless and extremely uncomfortable since dawn.
Due to the rope tied around her ankles and then to the leg of the cot, as well as her tightly bound hands, changing positions had been very difficult, and somewhat painful. The night had been filled with images of Elliot’s evil, grinning face, telling her that her dreams of Mulder would be her last.
It had seemed to take hours for her heart to stop racing after Elliot had left her alone. Shaking and hurt in the dark, afraid he would come back and kill her. Finally she had calmed down, and began to try and process what had happened. Her escape attempt had probably been doomed to failure from the start, but she had felt she had to try, instead of lying there waiting for him to do more to her. She had been so close, and the urge to weep had been nearly overwhelming.
She felt that urge again now. She bit her lip, and only a small moan escaped. She knew Elliot would be on his guard, watching her every move when he came back. If only her aim had been true with that damn flashlight. Her eyes slipped closed and she saw herself kneeling beside him, raising the flashlight high over her head, bringing it down with all her strength. Hearing the impact.
Feeling the jolt through her arms. Seeing the blood flow from the wound. Rising from the floor, her hands miraculously free, walking out the door. To freedom. To Mulder.
There was a thunk outside the door that had her eyes popping open, and she was unable to stop her body from tensing. It was an effort to school her features into a mask of indifference. He would not see her cower.
The lock clicked and then the door was opening. Elliot stepped in and stood there in the doorway staring at her. His cheek was purplish-red, and swollen, and there was a small, bruised cut high on his forehead. The sight sent a spurt of sadistic pleasure through her. She had hurt him.
“It’s almost time,” he said, and the tone was off. It was high, and almost a singsong.
“Time for what?” the words were out before she could stop them.
“For my revenge,” he answered, advancing slowly towards her.
She saw that he was hunching slightly as he walked, and remembered her knee connecting with his groin.
He came to a stop beside the cot, his body where her head was, and slowly knelt. His hand came out and traced over her cheek. She flinched from the contact, and her nose flared at the strong odor that came from his hand.. It smelled like gasoline. “So soft,” he whispered. “Just like Elizabeth.”
“Do I remind you of Elizabeth, Elliot?” she asked, watching his eyes carefully. He did not seem angry, but his moods had turned in a flash before. At his almost dreamy nod, she continued, keeping her voice soft. “You wouldn’t want Elizabeth hurt, would you, Elliot?”
He said nothing for long seconds, sliding his hand into her hair.
“She’s dead,” he whispered. “And soon, you will be too.” His fingers receded from her hair, caressed her cheek and then moved away.
He slowly rose to his feet, and reached inside his jacket, pulling out a syringe. “She burned to death. Here in this hospital. In a room just like this one. In fact, this room is located in the same place as her room in the other wing. Fitting, isn’t it?”
He smiled at her. “She was restrained just like you, unable to get out.” He readied her arm, and plunged the needle into her flesh, watching as the liquid was emptied into her. After discarding the needle, he turned back to her. “The fire started on the first floor, but it spread quickly. They told me she would have died of smoke inhalation before the flames ever touched her, but there was nothing left of her. Not even her ashes.”
Chills ran through her body at his words. Fire. Oh, God, he was going to set the building on fire. She was going to burn to death.
The needle stung as it pierced her skin, and she felt the familiar numbness starting to spread through her limbs. “Please don’t do this, Elliot,” she begged. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly as her vision blurred. “Please.”
“It’s too late for tears, Dana,” he said. “You will die. And Mulder will watch it happen.”
Mulder?
Her mind was getting fuzzy. Was Mulder here? Oh, no. Mulder was afraid of fire. Her tears flowed freely now. She never got the chance to tell him she loved him. “Mulder,” she whispered.
“That’s right, Dana. Mulder. He’s not very far away. Once I’m ready, I’ll call him, and tell him how you’re going to die. He won’t make it here in time to help you, of course, but when he does get here, he’ll witness the beauty and the glory of the flames.” His hand came down and stroked her cheek in a gesture that spoke of finality.
“Farewell, Dana. You will be anointed in the flames.”
Her last sight of him was his back going through the door. She heard a grunt, and then sloshing sounds, and knew he was pouring gasoline outside in the hallway. Splatters landed inside the room, but she had squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to watch. She was panting harshly, inhaling the odor of the gasoline, close to hyperventilating.
She sucked in a deep breath to try and calm herself down. She filled her mind with an image of Mulder. She wanted her last thoughts to be of him. Her lips began to move in a semblance of prayer.
MulderI’mscaredI’msorryIloveyouMulderohGodI’msorry.
8:45 am
Elliot carefully lugged one of the cans up the stairs and along the hallway to Dana’s room. He knew he had to get moving, for the time was drawing near. The fire that had destroyed the wing in which Elizabeth resided, that had killed her, had happened at 9:30 in the morning. He wanted, he needed, Dana to die then too.
His movements were slow, his manhood still tender from the assault on it, and he had had a headache since being struck with the flashlight. His hand tightened convulsively on the handle of the can as he remembered the incident from the night before. He had not expected her to attempt an escape at all, and had been completely taken by surprise. His anger had almost controlled his reaction when he had caught her in the hallway; he had wanted to choke the life out of her.
He set the can on the floor outside Dana’s room with a small thud, and slowly unlocked and opened the door. He stood in the doorway and saw that her eyes were open, and that she was watching him, her body tensed. “It’s almost time,” he said to her softly.
He liked the panic that flared in her eyes, the tremor in her voice as she asked, “Time for what?”
He walked over to the cot, saying, “For my revenge.” He stopped by her head, and knelt down. He let his fingers trace over her cheek, knowing his touch disturbed her, and got lost in the feel of her soft skin against his rough fingertips. It reminded him of lying with Elizabeth, letting his hands gently trace and map her face and body. “So soft. Just like Elizabeth.”
His mind was filled with memories, and it took him a moment to realize she had spoken. Asking if she reminded him of Elizabeth?
He nodded absent-mindedly. Her next question registered slowly as well. No, he wouldn’t have wanted Elizabeth hurt, but it didn’t matter.
His fingers moved into Dana’s hair. “She’s dead. And soon, you will be too.” He knew that time was slipping away, and that he must move on. With a caress of her cheek, he stood and reached in his pocket for the needle. The last of drugs, and it was only half-strength. But it would be enough to keep her quiet and unable to struggle much. As he gave her the needle, he told her how Elizabeth had died, medicated and restrained in her room while the fire raged through the wing.
She pleaded with him, her eyes filling with tears, and he smiled.
He told her it was too late for tears, and that she would die.
That Mulder was going to see it happen. She whispered Mulder’s name, and he shivered with pleasure at the despair in that one word. He continued to tell her about what would happen, about the glory and the beauty of the flames. He wanted to touch her one last time, and his hand drifted down to briefly stroke her cheek. “Farewell, Dana. You will be anointed in the flames.”
With those last words, he walked out of the room. He picked up the can, unscrewed the cap and splashed it on the floor and walls outside her room. He allowed some of it to splash inside her room and then backed slowly down the hall, letting the gasoline trickle out onto the floor. He swung the can back and forth occasionally, hitting the walls on either side of him. By the time he hit the stairs, it was empty.
He moved down them as quickly as he could, and tossed the can aside at the bottom. There were more cans to empty, and he began immediately, splashing the gasoline all around. He had gathered bits and pieces of wood and lumber that had been used to board the place up after the fire to help feed the flames, and he made sure they were thoroughly soaked.
The smell of the gasoline was very strong, and he tried breathing through his mouth. It worked to a certain extent, but he found himself getting light-headed anyway. He had to step outside for a minute, and breathe deep of the fresh air, before heading back to finish.
Finally, it was ready. He looked at his watch. It was 9:20.
He exited the door, propping it open with a piece of brick, and picked up the rag-stuffed bottle of alcohol that he would use to ignite the fire.
He backed further away from the door, not wanting to be too close, for he knew there was gasoline on his clothes and skin, and reached in his pocket for his lighter. Flicking it on, he held the small flame to the soaked rag and when the flames started to lick down towards the neck of the bottle he threw it in an under-handed toss through the open door.
Even before it had landed, he was on the run with his head ducked down, towards the stolen car that he had moved about thirty feet away from the building earlier in the morning.
Behind him he heard the whoosh as whatever the bottle had hit inside caught fire. Judging himself to be at a safe distance, he stopped and turned to watch his work. He could see the flames through the doorway.
They were beautiful. He pulled his eyes away to travel along the building, up one floor, to the windows of Dana’s room. He wondered if she could smell the smoke yet, or feel the heat. Did she know she was going to die very soon?
Elliot wanted someone to share his excitement with. Who better than the man who would suffer the most from it? Eyes once again trained on the flames visible through the doorway, he found the cell phone and pulled it out. He dialed the number quickly, tense with anticipation, and almost giggled when he heard Mulder’s weary voice.
“Hello, Agent Mulder,” he said. He marveled at how steady, how calm his voice sounded in his own ears. The excitement was crawling through his body; he would have thought Mulder would be able to hear it even through the terrible reception of the cellular phones.
“Elliot,” he heard Mulder say, “We need to talk. I know today is important for you, but don’t do anything rash. We can work something out. Why don’t we meet, and we’ll talk about Elizabeth?”
“Oh, but it’s too late, Mulder. I’ve already done something… rash.” This time he did giggle, at the use of the word ‘rash’.
His actions were not rash. They had been planned out and fantasized over for a very long time.
They were vengeance. They were retribution. They were an eye for an eye.
The smile on his face widened as he watched the flames intensify.
He closed his eyes, and pictured them crawling up the walls, and along the floor, getting closer and closer to Dana. Closer to his revenge.
“What do you mean, Elliot?” Mulder asked, sounding as if he were spitting out the words.
“Dana is being anointed in the flames, Mulder.”
Revenge Part 10 by Lovesfox
Leesburg Police Department
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
9:20 am
Elliot’s voice. It sounded so normal, so rational. Yet Mulder knew Elliot Andercott was not rational, or normal. He was a psychotic bastard who was going to kill the most important person in his life.
Only Scully didn’t know that she was the most important person in his life, because he had never told her. Not after trying once before and being rebuffed by her because she thought he was still affected by his ordeal in the Bermuda Triangle. He vowed to himself that when he saw her again, he was going to tell her.
For he was going to see her again.
Elliot was not going to kill her. Not if he could help it. He took a deep breath, centering himself. He had to stall Elliot somehow, buy some time until they could find out where he had Scully. He chose his words carefully, hoping that talking about the man’s dead sister would not anger him, but instead let him feel they were connected.
“Elliot, we need to talk. I know today is an important day for you, but don’t do anything rash. We can work something out. Why don’t we meet, and we’ll talk about Elizabeth?”
Mulder gripped the phone tightly when Elliot replied that he had already done something rash. Dread swept through his body. What did he mean? Had he already killed Scully? He felt that odd feeling again, where time seemed to slow, and his senses were super heightened. He could hear every one of his heartbeats, could feel each brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks as he blinked.
Throat tight with fear, he managed to choke out, “What do you mean, Elliot?”
And heard, “Dana is being anointed in the flames, Mulder.”
Flames. Fear, thick and hot, piled on top of the dread. Not fire.
Oh, Jesus Christ, was he going to burn her to death? “ELLIOT, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” He couldn’t help it, he screamed the words. The hand holding the phone was slippery with sweat, and his other hand gripped the edge of the table, helping him stay upright, his knees wanting to fold. His eyes were wild, shooting around the conference room, seeing everyone staring at him.
Skinner, who had not left his side since the call came in, seemed to sense he was losing control and reached out to grip him by the upper arm, offering support.
“I think you know what I’ve done, Mulder,” Elliot said, his voice sneering to Mulder’s ear. “You’d better hurry, even though it’s too late.”
CLICK.
“FUCK!!!” he screamed. He slammed the cell phone down on the table, pulling free of Skinner’s grasp, and whirled to face the AD. “Where are the car keys?” he almost spit the words out “He’s set the hospital on fire.” As he spoke the words, he knew he was absolutely and horrifyingly correct. He grabbed Skinner’s arm this time, and began to pull the AD towards the door.
His screaming had obviously alarmed somebody in the police department, for Sergeant Baker had rushed in, just in time to hear Mulder’s last statement. Mulder stopped and stared at the Sergeant, who had a puzzled look on his face.
“The old mental hospital?” the Sergeant repeated. “That’s why it closed down a few years back, because of the fire.”
“How do we get there?” Mulder barked. He listened carefully as Baker gave the directions.
Mulder’s other cell phone rang then, and he grabbed it up, pressing send and barking out, “What is it?” He brushed past Sergeant Baker, sensing Skinner right behind him. “What have you got?”
Dimly he heard Skinner yelling, “Sergeant Baker, put in a 9-1-1 call to the fire department. Tell them there’s a fire at the mental hospital!”
Frohike’s excited voice babbled, confirming what Mulder had already deduced, “Mulder, Elizabeth Andercott died in a fire at the Leesburg Mental Hospital, four years ago today.” He gasped in a breath and then continued, “There wasn’t enough remains left to bury her, that’s why there’s just a memorial stone at the cemetery. The inscription on it reads, Elizabeth Megan Andercott, beloved sister, anointed in the flames.”
Anointed in the flames. Elliot’s words again. They sent a shiver down his spine. He was trying not to think of how very afraid of fire he was. Yet he would brave the hottest of hells to go after Scully.
And if she did not survive, he would let them consume him too.
“Got it!” Mulder panted out as he took the stairs down two at a time. He ended the call and stuffed the phone in his inner pocket, racing through the police station and out the door. He went to Skinner’s car and yanked on the driver’s side door.
Skinner was there suddenly, barking, “I’ll drive.” He pushed Mulder towards the front of the car, and Mulder scrambled around and opening the passenger door and climbed in. He was aware of other agents running out of the station as well, heading to Bureau issued sedans.
Skinner started the car, slammed it into drive and whipped out of the parking lot. The AD’s voice was terse, “Put the bubble on.”
Mulder was stunned for a moment, and had trouble processing the order. He couldn’t stop picturing flames shooting from an unknown building, thick smoke rising to the sky. Scully’s face, in a circle of fire. Finally he clued in, and reached behind him in the floor well, grabbing the plastic red bubble light. He slammed it on the dashboard in front of him, fingers struggling to turn it on.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. The thought kept running in his head.
<You’re too late, you’re too late>
Elliot’s voice, pleasure-filled. Getting off on his revenge. He made another vow. I will kill you for this, Elliot. His thoughts turned back to Scully again. If ever he wanted her to hear them, it was now.
Hang on, Scully, I’m coming. Please, please, hang on.
“Faster!” he hissed at Skinner. The AD shot him one tense look, and jerked his head in a semblance of a nod. The car surged forward, and began to weave in and out of the traffic, which fortunately was fairly light, being a Sunday morning. Behind them, he could hear sirens, and he turned his body slightly to look out the back window. He could make out the Bureau sedans, and Leesburg Police cruisers following them. He did not know where the Fire Department was located, but he hoped and prayed to every God possible that they were on their way as well.
In moments he and Skinner were out of the city proper, and barreling down the two-lane country road towards the closed Leesburg Mental Hospital.
Leesburg Mental Hospital
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
9:30 am
The fumes from the gasoline were nauseating. Scully tried to breathe shallowly through her mouth, to avoid inhaling it too deeply into her lungs. The drug had taken affect as well. Her limbs were heavy, her mind slightly fuzzy, and that, combined with the fumes, was very overwhelming. She could feel a headache building, but knew a headache would soon be the least of her worries. For there was another smell seeping into the room.
One of smoke, and fire.
Oh God, he had started the fire. No, no, no, no, no. Oh God, no.
Her nose twitched and she unintentionally sniffled. That action in turn caused her to suck in a huge whiff of the gasoline and smoke-tinged air. It made her chest feel heavy too, and clogged, and her body was wracked by a painful cough. This left her breathless, and she was forced to take in more of the smoke as she struggled to find air.
It was a vicious cycle, and she tried desperately to regulate her breaths, her head now pounding, and swimming dizzily. Her throat ached, and her eyes were starting to burn.
She was hot, and trickles of sweat were starting to run down her forehead and the sides of her face. She did not know if it was her panicked imaginings of the fire beneath her, or actual flames licking at the floor. She yanked her legs towards her chest, tugging at the rope that bound her to the cot, knowing it was futile. The rope had not given any of the other times she had tried throughout the night, and it would not give now. She was trapped, and she was going to die.
Hot tears filled her eyes, and she squeezed them tightly shut.
She began to picture the faces of the people she loved and respected. The people she would never see again.
Mulder appeared first. He was always first in her life, even if he was not aware of it. Whenever she was hurt or scared, or lonely, or a dozen other things, she thought of Mulder. Knew that just to hear his voice was often enough to keep her nightmares at bay. Or that, with one small touch of his hand, she would be comforted. Soothed. Eased.
She would see something, a picture or funny commercial, and wonder what he would think of it. Or hear a joke, and want to share it with him. Why had she never told him this? Her inborn sense of privacy, of never sharing her inner feelings, of feeling the need to protect herself from rejection, had prevented her from letting her tell him just how she felt.
And now she would never have that chance. I am so sorry, Mulder.
I love you so very, very much.
She was so afraid of what he would do after she died. She knew Mulder’s sense of guilt, which was burdened enormously regarding her already, would be even more so because of Elliot Andercott. She had tried many times in the past to help relieve him of that guilt, but he wore it almost like a badge of dishonor.
One he could not, would not, remove.
Mulder’s image faded slowly, to be replaced by one of her mother.
There was always a sense of peace when in her presence. A memory of home as a child, safe and protected. Her mother’s brown eyes were gentle and loving. Scully knew they would turn sad and haunted when she learned of her remaining daughter’s death. Oh, Mom, I have brought you so much pain. She hoped that Bill and Charles would be there to see her through it.
The faces began to flicker.
Bill, Tara, Matthew. Bill’s gruff protectiveness, often resented, but accepted out of love. Tara, and her sweetness as she cuddled her child. Matthew, his chubby cheeks and his eyes alight with smiles.
To never watch her nephew as he grew, to see a child grow, only as an aunt, and never as a mother. It had always hurt to see Matthew, born as she had lost Emily. Yet she loved him for being the child of her brother, and for just being him.
Flickering faster.
Charles. Seen so rarely, but kept in her thoughts and prayers.
Skinner. A contradiction she had long puzzled over. Stern authority, a strong sense of duty and honor, and a willingness to risk it all for the sake of her and Mulder.
Even the Lone Gunmen. Byers and his shy, sweet smile. Langly and his grungy hair. Frohike and his leer.
It was getting harder to breath. She coughed again, and her eyes sprang open with the force. She blinked rapidly, for the room was filling with heavy, black smoke. What was the first rule of fire? Get down to the ground. With the last of her rapidly dwindling energy, she began to rock her body back and forth on the cot. It began to move a little, tipping slightly. She heaved herself to the edge and rocked harder, coughing with the strain.
One last heave, and the cot tipped over. She fell to the floor with a thud, the air whooshing out of her lungs. The cot landed half on top of her, and she could not find the strength to kick it off. Her cheek was against the floor, which was not as hot as she had thought it would be. The position was painful, pressing all her weight on her bound hands. She managed to roll to her side, and the cot slipped a little ways off of her.
Her lungs were burning now, and it was too much effort to try and clear them. Little coughs puffed out, interspersed with ragged gasps for air. She was losing the will to fight. She was so tired, and her head and body ached unbearably. Her eyes were heavy, and she allowed them to slip shut.
New faces filled her head now. She smiled faintly when she recognized Ahab in his starched white dress uniform. Daddy?
He was smiling at her. And beside him was Missy, in a long, flowery skirt and pretty sweater. Oh, Missy, I miss you so much. Missy was smiling too, and holding the hand of a little girl.
Emily…
Her daughter’s chubby cheeks were dimpled with her smile, wide as it could be. Her free hand was outstretched, reaching towards Scully. Scully weakly lifted her bound hands, trying to grasp Emily’s hand.
Oh, baby, Mommy’s here.
For just a second she thought she heard Mulder’s voice, telling her to please hold on, and her eyes fluttered open, her head lifting slightly, hoping to see him standing there before her.
There was only thick smoke. She closed her eyes again, head falling back to the floor.
I’m sorry, Mulder. I can’t hold on anymore.
Blackness overtook her.
Skinner’s Car
En route to Leesburg Mental Hospital
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
9:35 am
Mulder cursed as Skinner was forced to ease up on the gas pedal due to the road. It was not a major traffic route or highway, and therefore was not smooth or straight. It followed the contours of the countryside, dipping and rising with each hill and valley.
He knew they couldn’t be far away because they had been driving for almost 15 minutes. Sergeant Baker had said twenty minutes, but Mulder knew that was while following the speed limit, which was 30 miles an hour. Skinner had kept the car almost steadily at 50 miles an hour.
Yet he had not spotted any buildings.
He scanned both sides of the road again, and felt his heart stop.
There was black smoke billowing up in the air on the passenger side, a few miles ahead of them. “Jesus, I see smoke!” he cried, pointing with one finger. They were coming out of a small valley, just beginning the upward climb.
At Mulder’s words, Skinner hissed in a breath, and Mulder felt the surge in the car as he pressed the pedal to the floor. The moment they crested the top, Mulder could see the hospital grounds.
Part of the structure was in ruins, but there was a relatively large part at the back that seemed unscathed. It was from there that the smoke was escaping. Mulder could also see flames shooting out of some of the windows in the lower part of the wing.
How in the hell was he going to find Scully? She could be anywhere. He had had a brief hope that the call had just been Elliot tormenting him further, but after seeing the smoke, and now the flames, he knew it was real. Scully was going to burn to death unless he could find her.
Everything Elliot had done seemed to mirror what had happened to Elizabeth. Mulder knew Elliot would try and recreate things as closely as possible. With the wing she had been staying in destroyed, he would try and duplicate it as best he could with the other wing.
Mulder dug for his phone and quickly dialed the Lone Gunmen. He spoke over Frohike’s greeting, “Frohike, I need to know more about how Elizabeth died. Elliot is going to kill Scully the same way.
Do you have the hospital report on it?” He braced his free hand on the dash as the car barreled down another hill, and kept the phone pressed tightly to his ear to be able to hear over the roaring of the engine.
At Frohike’s assent, he continued, “Where was she in when it happened?”
Mumbles as Frohike read through the reports. “She was in the maximum security wing, which was completely destroyed. In her room on the second floor, room 224.”
“Can you call up a floor plan of the hospital?” he asked next.
“Working…” Sounds of keyboard typing, and then, “Ah-ha! Got it, what do you need?”
“In the part that’s left, that wasn’t destroyed by fire, is it similar to the wing she was in?” His words were rushed for he could see the car was approaching the turn for the hospital. He could also see that the smoke trailing from the building was getting thicker. The fire was escalating. He would have to go inside immediately. His stomach knotted, and his body was clammy with fear.
“Yeah, an almost identical layout. There is a room 224 on the second floor, and just like the other wing, it is two rooms down from being over a large supply room, which is where the fire that destroyed the hospital originated.”
“Thanks.” He paused for the merest of seconds. This could very well be the last time he spoke to Frohike. They had never been big on expressing their feelings about their friendship, and he didn’t think he could now. He resorted to a casualness that was as far from the truth as possible. “If I don’t see you again Frohike, it’s been a slice.”
“That it has, Mulder.” Softly and sadly spoken.
Mulder disconnected the call as Skinner swung into the driveway without slowing down. The back tires spun, and the car fishtailed a little before straightening. They flew along the poorly maintained surface, car bouncing and jouncing through potholes.
Skinner brought the car to a screeching halt about forty feet away from the building. Mulder was out of the car almost before it had stopped moving, running full tilt towards the burning edifice.
The crescendo of sirens filled his ears, nearly drowning out the sound of Skinner yelling his name. He continued on, feeling the waves of heat rolling past him.
His eyes were scanning the entire building even as he ran, and he could see the worst of the flames through a propped open door.
He wondered if that was the supply room. He slowed a bit, lifting one hand up to wipe at his eyes, which were watering from the smoke hanging thickly in the air.
He heard his name again, and looked back to see Skinner racing towards him. He also saw that the sedans and cruisers had already arrived, and were parking all around Skinner’s vehicle. Newer sirens joined the sounds, and he could see way beyond the cruisers that the fire trucks and ambulance were coming now. Still too far away.
“Mulder, stop! You can’t go in there!” Skinner was yelling.
But he had to. No matter his fear. Scully was in there. And he had to get her out.
There was no way he could enter through the propped open door; flames were coming out of it now. To the left of it was a bank of windows, which surprisingly had not yet exploded from the heat and pressure inside.
Mulder dashed over, spying a pile of rubble beneath them. He grabbed a large piece of wood and began smashing at the glass.
Skinner was at his side in seconds, yanking on his arm to pull him back. The AD had his free arm up in protective gesture over his head, flinching from the heat.
“Mulder, get the hell away from here!” he screamed in Mulder’s ear. “This place could blow. The fire trucks are almost here.”
He yanked on Mulder’s arm again.
Mulder turned and bared his teeth at Skinner. “Scully’s in there! I have to go in and find her!” He pulled free of Skinner’s grasp and began smashing the glass again. Finally most of it was gone. He grabbed at the smaller pieces still stuck in the frame, heedless of the cuts and burns that were being inflicted on his hands.
Skinner’s hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
“Mulder, it’s too dangerous! Get the hell away from here!” He tried to pull Mulder away.
Mulder yanked free again, and when Skinner made to grab him once more, he balled his hand into a fist and decked Skinner, sending him flying backwards. Mulder didn’t even wait to see if Skinner was all right, he immediately turned back to the window and dove inside.
9:45 am
Stunned, shocked, and in more than a little pain, Skinner took several seconds to gather his wits and struggle to his feet.
His entire face hurt, particularly his jaw, and his head spun sickeningly for a moment. He blinked stinging eyes and then stared in horror at the broken window – the empty, broken window.
The window Mulder had gone through into the burning building.
To look for Scully.
“Mulder!” he yelled, even as he knew it was useless. He staggered closer, one hand holding his head, trying to peer through the intense smoke. A wave of heat forced him back a few steps, and he almost fell from the dizziness that swamped his body.
Hands grabbed his shoulders then, supporting him, and began pulling him further away from the building. Hands belonging to one of the agents that had followed he and Mulder. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach, so intent was he on trying to see Mulder. Other figures, firefighters in full gear, ran past him, yelling instructions and dragging hoses.
“I have two agents in there!” Skinner bellowed at them, pulling free of the restraining hands to turn back and stumble towards the burning building again. “There are two Federal agents inside!” he yelled again, reaching out to snag the arm of a passing firefighter.
The fireman stopped, lifting the visor of his helmet, and yelled back, “What?”
“There are two Federal agents inside the building!” he screamed in the firefighter’s face, jabbing one finger emphatically in the direction of the burning hospital. “And possibly the man wanted on charges of kidnapping a Federal agent.”
“Hang on, sir!” the fireman yelled back. He turned away from Skinner, facing towards a group of men standing by one of the fire trucks, and waved his arm over his head. “Chief!” he yelled.
“Over here! This guy knows something!”
Two of the men broke free from the group and ran towards Skinner and the fireman, ducking their bodies as they made their way through the heat and smoke. The taller of the two, whom Skinner noted as the man came closer, had on a fire coat with ‘CHIEF’
written on one breast, as well as a helmet, the visor pushed upwards. “What is it, Thompson?” he barked, eyes scanning Skinner’s face with intense curiosity and a hint of suspicion.
Skinner spoke before Thompson could answer. “I’m Assistant Director Walter Skinner with the FBI. Two of my agents are inside that building! There is a possibility a wanted man may be inside as well.” He fumbled in his inner pocket for his ID badge, pulling it out with effort, and showed it to the Chief.
The Chief’s face deepened into a frown as he looked from Skinner’s badge to the red mark on the Skinner’s face and then to the building, which was rapidly being overtaken by flames. “Get going, Thompson!” he yelled, and turned back to Skinner. He grabbed Skinner’s arm and pulled him back towards the relative safety of the fire trucks, parked several feet away. Skinner saw other firefighters, working frantically to hook up the hoses and get the water pumping to douse the flames. “Now what the hell is going on?”
he said, once he had Skinner seated on the bumper of one of the trucks. He turned away briefly, and yelled out, “I need a paramedic here!”
Skinner had to blink his eyes rapidly as he looked up at the Chief; the smoke was still thick even this far away from the building.
He gave a brief summation of the events. “A Federal agent was kidnapped and we traced her location to this hospital. The fire was deliberately set, we believe to cause her death, and another agent went inside to try and find her.”
The Chief had turned away to look at the fire again, yet Skinner could still hear the man’s muttered curses. His skin crawled with panic at the tone implicit in those words. Skinner knew instinctively the Chief did not think they would be able to find anyone inside the building. He found himself suddenly praying urgently to God that Mulder would find Scully and bring her out.
Alive.
“Paramedic!” the Chief yelled again. “Where the hell are the paramedics?”
Finally two uniformed men came running over from the direction of the ambulance. One carried what looked like a toolbox, with the caduceus symbol emblazoned on its sides. They came to a stop before Skinner, and the other man began to examine Skinner’s head. As the paramedic flashed a light in his eyes, Skinner could make out the figure of the Chief heading towards the burning wing.
Find her, Mulder. Hurry.
9:45 am
Mulder hit the ground with a thud, groaning loudly, and managed to roll to his feet. The smoke was thicker, blacker, inside the room, and he blinked stinging eyes, straining to see more than a foot in front of his face. It was not easy. He glanced over his sshoulder and just barely made out the window he had dived through behind him. At least he was facing the right direction. He made sure to take slow shallow breaths in order not to inhale the smoke too deeply and fought the nearly overwhelming urge to cough.
He took cautious steps forward, sweeping his hands out in front of him to search for objects that he might bump into. He prodded carefully with each foot before placing it on the ground, knowing if he fell he would lose all sense of bearing.
After what seemed like forever, his hands brushed a smooth surface.
He was fairly certain it was the wall. He shuffled slowly to the right, and a few steps later, his hand encountered only air. The doorway. He stepped out into what he thought was the hallway, and looked to his right. The flames were intense, shooting through the black smoke, crawling towards him, and he knew that was where the fire had been started. His heart began to thud painfully in his chest, and despite the heat, he was chilled from the inside.
Fire, got to get out, fire, it burns, getoutgetoutGETOUT!
Mulder crouched where he stood, his fear nearly numbing his brain.
He shut his eyes tightly, arms coming up to wrap around his own body, to protect himself from the flames. A moan escaped his lips, and it was that sound that brought him to his senses, pulled him from the nightmarish hell of being trapped in a fire. He shivered and exhaled slowly through his mouth, shaking off the fear. He could not let himself think about the fire. He had to keep moving. He had to find Scully.
Scully.
Jesus, she had been in here far longer than he, and he was already having trouble breathing, still feeling the intense need to cough, but choking it back. He knew smoke inhalation could kill her before the flames ever reached her body.
This knowledge steeled his resolve, and he again began moving forward. He wished there had been some way to see a floor plan of the hospital. How the hell was he going to get to the stairs?
Behind him there was a thunderous noise and the sounds of shattering glass, and he instinctively ducked, arms coming up over his head.
Mulder realized the remaining windows had exploded from the heat, as the others a few rooms over already had. He had a brief thought of Skinner, lying on the ground outside, and hoped the AD had gotten clear before the windows had exploded.
Resolutely he pushed the thought away. He had no room for concern about anyone other than Scully. He straightened from his protective stance and continued on. The smoke obscured everything, his vision useless, and he could rely only on his other senses. Hands outstretched before him, he moved slowly and blindly forward.
It was a miracle, really, that he found the stairs at all.
His foot bumped into something first. The bottom step? He swung his arms about until his left hand encountered the hard plastic of the railing. It was hot to the touch, but he forced himself to grip it tightly, to use it to guide himself up the stairs. He felt a fierce grin form on his face. He had found them.
Going upward was awkward, not able to see, and he was also not able to move as fast as he would have liked. He wanted to take the stairs two, three, at a time, to race up them and find Scully, but he knew he had to tread carefully. If he fell, he might not be able to get up again, and she would be lost. Forever.
It was such a surprise when his foot did not find the next step, trudging relentlessly upward as he was, that Mulder tripped and fell to the ground when he reached the top of the staircase. His knees smacked painfully onto the hard, tiled floor moments before his palms caught the rest of his weight and stopped him from falling flat on his face. He grunted with the impact when his hands connected with the floor.
He gave himself a few seconds to recover and then raised his head, peering into the smoke, which was not quite as thick as it was downstairs, although it was close. The smoke was actually much denser higher up, towards the ceiling, and he decided it was better to remain on his hands and knees. It was even a little easier to breathe down this low.
He crawled forward, through a doorway, and came out into what seemed to be a corridor. He could make out what looked like more doorways all along the corridor. Hospital rooms, he thought. He squinted, and could just see a rectangular shape, like a plaque, a few feet off the ground on the wall beside the door nearest to him on the left-hand side. A room number?
Mulder moved over to it and came up on his knees to squint at the plaque. It was a room number. Room 228. His heart sped up.
Frohike had said Elizabeth Andercott had been in room 224. Elliot was recreating her death, so he needed to go two rooms down. His palms made an audible slapping noise when they hit the ground and he sped forward, arms and legs pumping furiously.
He passed one doorway, glancing only cursorily inside. Moved on, reached the second. Smelled gasoline, felt its moisture slick his palms, soak into the knees of his jeans. Bastard, he thought. The bastard had poured gasoline around this room, the one Scully had to be in, to insure it would go up in flames. His rage caused him to gasp in air, thick with the odors of smoke and gasoline. He coughed furiously, his lungs burning, and felt his eyes watering heavily.
“Scully?” he choked out, and crawled in the room. Blinking rapidly, he could barely make out an over-turned cot. There was something under it.
It looked like a body. Scully? Oh, Jesus. His heart stopped as he caught sight of a hint of red, and a pale white face, the eyes closed. “Scully!” he cried.
She did not move.
9:50 am
Mulder surged forward and shoved the cot off of Scully, crying her name again and again. She still did not respond. He managed to turn her onto her back, only then seeing that her feet had been tied to the leg of the cot, and that her hands were bound as well.
BASTARD, his mind screamed.
She remained limp, lifeless.
With one shaking hand he pushed the strands of red hair that covered her face away, fingertips hovering over her nose and lips.
He saw that her lips were slightly blue. He hoped desperately to feel a puff of air against his fingers as a sign that she was still breathing.
He could feel nothing.
“Scully!” he shouted. “Wake up, damn it! Don’t do this to me!”
His hands slid to her shoulders, and he shook her roughly, trying to force a response. “Scully!” Her head lolled from side to side with the motion, but she still did not respond.
Little sounds escaped his mouth as he continued to shake her, grunts and moans, the occasional plea. “Scully, please.” No movement, no sound. Her expressive blue eyes did not open, no protests from her rosebud lips, no gasp of breath. “Please!”
Finally he stopped, shoulders hunching with his grief. He had been too late. A sob escaped him, and another, and he felt the scalding wetness of his tears roll down his cheeks.
Too late, too late, his mind screamed. Why hadn’t he figured it out sooner? He should have come to the hospital the moment he had thought about it. He had known it was important to Elliot; he just hadn’t made the connection fast enough. And now she was dead. He did not want to live without her. Could not imagine a life without her beside him, challenging him, encouraging him.
“I love you, Scully,” he said, his voice hoarse. He stared down at her beautiful, pale face, surrounded by the fiery halo of her hair.
“I love you so much, and I am sorry I never told you.”
He made up his mind. He was going to lay down beside her, curl his body around hers, and let the flames take them both.
Mulder’s hands slid away from her shoulders as he leaned down to press his lips against hers one last time. One palm accidentally brushed her breast, and he swore he felt her chest rise slightly.
“Scully?” he whispered hopefully. He bent closer, staring unblinking at her still form. It happened again, her chest just barely rose. He lifted his hand, which was shaking now from a combination of fear and adrenalin, and felt for the pulse at her neck. He was rewarded with the merest of flutters against his fingertips.
She was still alive. He was not too late.
Yet.
His relief at feeling her pulse beating against his fingertips had him exalting in joy, yelling his thanks out loud. This action caused him to inhale a large lungful of smoke, and he coughed violently, bending over with the force. His eyes were stinging furiously as well, and he looked up to see that the smoke was getting thicker. He even thought he could almost hear the flames approaching.
Mulder burst into action. He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his trusty Swiss Army knife, a gift from Scully a couple of years ago. He thanked her for it again in his mind, and opened it up to the blade. It was difficult, and he nicked himself several times in the process, but he managed to saw through the rope tied to the cot. There was no time to worry about the ropes around her wrists and ankles; he had to get them out of the building.
Bracing himself, he scooped her up in his arms and stood. She felt as frail as a child. He staggered a bit before finding his balance, woozy from the smoke and gasoline fumes, and managed to get her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He glanced once at the small window in the room, seeing its narrowness. He hesitated infinitesimally, would he waste precious time trying to break through the glass? What if it were durable Plexiglas? This had been a mental hospital, security had to have been tight to prevent escape.
That decided, he stumbled forward, through the thickening smoke into the hallway. Going back the way he came was out of the question, he could no longer see down towards the door he had crawled through. There had to be another fire exit at the other end of the hallway.
Either that, or they were doomed.
As he carried Scully towards what he hoped was their escape, his leg and arm muscles trembled with the strain. He had hardly slept in the past week, nor eaten properly, and the lack of both, combined with smoke inhalation and exertion, was taking its toll. He nearly fell several times, bumping into the wall a few times as well, but he never once lost hold of Scully. His hands clutched her tighter.
He was terrified she would stop breathing, had already stopped breathing, but was afraid to stop to check. They had to get out.
Scully did not make a sound, nor did she move in the least. He was eerily reminded of a similar journey he had made carrying Scully through the bowels of a spaceship in Antarctica, and he shivered as the memory ghosted through his brain.
Suddenly his eyes hazily caught the bright red of the EXIT sign just ahead of them, maybe ten feet. His heart began thumping painfully and he whispered, “Scully, we’re almost there.”
The sight renewed his strength, and he moved faster, his breath panting harshly, noisily, in his ears. He wanted desperately to cough, but fought the urge. He staggered on, and then he was hitting the door, shoving it open. They almost fell again, as they burst into the stairwell, and he fought to keep his balance. He blinked, the stairs were blurring in front of him. His head spun and black spots danced before his eyes.
Scully’s weight seemed heavier; nearly dragging him down, and he stiffened his legs, shifting her more securely on his shoulders.
The first step seemed to take forever for his foot to hit, and his knees threatened to crumple again. “Hang on, baby, we’re almost there,” he said, only vaguely aware he was speaking. “Just hang on, baby.”
He realized then that there was no smoke in the stairwell, but forced himself to take small, measured breaths, still wanting to cough desperately. He staggered on, down each cement step, until he hit the landing. He paused for a second; blinking back the spots that threatened again, before continuing on down the rest.
Freedom, and safety, was only steps away.
Finally he cleared the stairs, his feet hitting the cement landing.
A few more steps to the door and then they were outside. His momentum carried them forward, and then they were falling to the ground.
Mulder tried his best to take the brunt of the fall, but they both hit hard. He tightened his arms on Scully, not wanting to ever let go, hearing shouts and a cacophony of sirens somewhere in the haze of his mind.
“We made it, Scully,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.
10:00 am
Skinner irritably pushed the blanket one of the paramedics had draped over his shoulders off, and got up from his perch on the bumper of the fire truck.
They had given him a thorough going over, despite his protestations that he was fine, and finally come to the conclusion that he really was all right. Barring the lurid bruise beginning to stain his left cheek. Regardless of that conclusion, the lead paramedic had recommended he stay seated and out of harm’s way, and left his companion to sit with Skinner.
The other paramedic, a young man named Danny, said nervously, “Sir, I think you should stay here.”
Skinner shot him a look, one that would have had the agents under his command scurrying, and gritted out, “I’m fine.” He stalked a few feet away and stared at the fire that was desperately being fought by the Leesburg Fire Department. The muscle in his jaw ticked wildly as his eyes scanned the building, looking for any sign of Mulder. Or Scully.
He was still in a little shock over Mulder’s actions. Not really because of the punch, he knew Mulder was desperate and would do anything to find Scully, including striking his superior, or anyone who was a hindrance to him. What had stunned him was the agent diving into a burning building to search for her. Such selflessness and risk of life, despite the obvious affection between Mulder and Scully, and the declaration of love he had witnessed in the warehouse.
A hand touched his elbow then, and he turned his head to the side to see Agent Powell standing beside him. The SAC had a troubled frown on his face, and his tie was askew.
Skinner wondered idly to himself if the man was worried about possible disciplinary action regarding the events of the morning.
Typical ladder climber, he sneered in his mind.
“I have my men searching in a five mile radius of the hospital grounds,” the SAC said. “There’s been no sign of anything or anyone, other than some tire tracks near the door. We weren’t able to get plaster cast impressions yet, the fire fighters warned my agents away from the building. We did manage to put up a few markers, hopefully they won’t be destroyed by people trampling on them.”
Skinner nodded absently. Tire impressions would not help them find Elliot Andercott. If the man was not burning to death in the building as they spoke, he was long gone. Having ditched the white van, he had more than likely stolen another vehicle for his use, and his first move after getting away from the area would bbe to ditch that car as well, and steal another one.
Powell’s muttered imprecation startled him from his thoughts.
“Oh, shit, it’s the press.”
Skinner whipped his head around, and sure enough, the media circus was arriving. Vans displaying TV and radio station call signs, followed by several vehicles of different makes and models were barreling down the gravel road towards them. He felt a twinge in his stomach. He had never been able to deal correctly with reporters and the like.
“Can you handle that?” he barked at Powell, jutting his chin towards the encroaching masses.
Powell nodded. “We’re on it,” he replied, and strode away, yelling, “Sergeant Baker! Daniels, get over here!”
Skinner turned back to the fire, pushing all thoughts of the media aside. The hoses were going full force now, battling the blaze, but the air was still thick with smoke. The heat was intense as well, causing rivulets of sweat to roll down his face and neck.
The action was directly in front of him, and he never knew what it was that made him turn his head to the left.
Just in time to see two figures burst out of a fire exit door and collapse on the ground. He had an impression of a body slung over the shoulders of another, and then his eyes caught a flash of red hair.
Scully’s hair.
Jesus Christ. Mulder had found Scully. His heart rate accelerated dramatically, and he was running towards them even as he was yelling, “Over there! It’s them!” Each step of his feet pounding on the grass sent bullets of pain through his skull, and his lungs felt like they were working overtime to help him breath in the smokefilled air.
Despite being the first to actually spot Mulder and Scully, two of the firefighters had reached them when he got there. He was out of breath, and forced to bend over slightly, his hands on his knees to get air into his challenged lungs. He did not take his eyes off of them, however, watching anxiously as one of the firefighters pried Mulder’s arms from around Scully.
Skinner heard Mulder mutter weakly, saying Scully’s name desperately, but she did not make a sound. Her face was like the palest of china, and he winced when he saw that her lips were blue.
It wasn’t until the other firefighter dragged her free of Mulder that Skinner also saw that her hands and feet were tightly bound with rope.
Things moved rather quickly then. The paramedics had joined them, he didn’t know when; they were just there, carting oxygen and other equipment, swarming over Mulder and Scully. Skinner heard Mulder’s voice again, asking if Scully was all right, and he made his way to Mulder’s side, out of the way of the paramedics working on him.
The agent’s face and clothes were streaked with grime from the fire, and his eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with tears.
Mulder struggled to rise, his breath coming in little pants, still asking about Scully.
His hands batted away the oxygen mask one of the paramedics was trying to settle over his face. He was also trying to shift his body so that he could see Scully.
Skinner pressed a hand onto Mulder’s shoulder, helping the paramedics keep him down, and shifted his own body to block Mulder’s view. “Mulder, relax, let them help you. Scully is being taken care of,” Skinner said soothingly. He flicked a glance toward Scully, and saw that she was being looked over by paramedics and firefighters. He watched in horror as they began performing CPR on her, and swallowed the huge lump in his throat.
“She’s okay, Mulder,” he lied, knowing she was not, and felt the tenseness in Mulder’s body ease slightly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Powell’s agents approach. He angled his chin at the man and barked, “What?”
“SAC Powell wants to know if Agent Mulder saw the suspect inside,”
the agent replied, moving to a crouch beside Skinner.
Skinner had not even thought of Elliot Andercott. His concern had been solely on Mulder and Scully. He bent down to Mulder, shaking his shoulder lightly to get his attention. “Mulder, did you see Andercott?” he asked. He watched as Mulder’s eyes rolled towards him, his lips pulling into a frown as he tried to focus on what Skinner had asked. Skinner repeated his question. “Was Andercott in the building, Mulder?”
Skinner watched as comprehension dawned in Mulder’s eyes, and then the agent shook his head, coughing harshly beneath the oxygen mask from the effort the motion had cause him, his face scrunching up in pain.
Skinner patted Mulder’s shoulder and turned back to the other agent. “Apparently not. That doesn’t mean he isn’t in there, but I’m betting he fled the scene after starting the fire. Have Powell put out another statewide APB.”
The agent nodded and took off. Skinner watched for a moment and then turned his attention back to Mulder. The agent had closed his eyes again, and the paramedics were tending his hands. Skinner winced when he saw the condition of them. Red, and raw looking, with a myriad of cuts, and what looked like burns as well.
However, Skinner was confident that Mulder would make a full recovery.
He was far more alarmed about the condition of Scully.
Revenge Part 11 by Lovesfox
Leesburg Mental Hospital
Leesburg, VA
Sunday
10:15 am
Heather Baber, a reporter for the Leesburg News, one of the city’s two daily newspapers, made her way through the crowd to the tall, balding man whom she instinctively had sensed held some position of importance. She had seen him helping load someone, it had looked like a dark-haired man, onto one of the ambulances a few minutes ago, and then make his way over to a group of suited and uniformed men.
She was careful not be too pushy, having seen that tactic fail with other reporters on many occasions. As she got closer, she heard a shorter, well-dressed man call the tall man ‘AD Skinner’. She had never heard that title before, and wondered what it meant. His FBI ID badge caught her attention then, clipped to the jacket he was wearing. The other man wore an ID badge as well, but seemed to defer to the taller man.
FBI. Her instincts had paid off. He was important. He would know what was going on.
She shot a glance over her shoulder, looking for Lenny, the photographer she had arrived with in the newspaper’s van. She spied him about three feet behind her, struggling to get through with his camera equipment.
They had been on their way back from a boring town meeting at City Hall when their scanner had picked up the 9-1-1 call about a fire at the old Leesburg Mental Hospital. She had told Lenny she wanted to check it out, and he had agreed it might be worthwhile. She had not been a reporter when the fire that had shut the hospital down had happened, but remembered it well. The fact that there was now another fire was quite interesting.
With the presence of the FBI, there had to be something big. Her heart sped up a little; this could be her chance to really show her stuff. She hoped she would be able to get to speak to this Skinner.
Heather was finally just steps away, and saw Skinner’s eyes widen at her presence. He scanned her features from head to toe, and then his expression closed off. She wondered what that had been about, it hadn’t seemed like a man checking out a good-looking woman, but almost like he had seen a ghost.
“Excuse me, Sir,” she began, her voice modulated, polite. “I’m Heather Baber, with the Leesburg News, and I was wondering if I could speak to you for a few minutes.”
The other FBI agent opened his mouth to speak, but Skinner beat him to it. “What would you like to know?” he asked. She saw that he seemed surprised to have spoken to her, as did the shorter man.
Skinner stepped closer to her, turning his back on the other men.
“Do you know why this fire was set?” Heather asked. She had her trusty notepad and the pen her boyfriend Seth had given her ready in her hands. She watched the muscle in Skinner’s jaw flex, and couldn’t help admiring his tall, well-muscled form. She was fairly short, only 5‘4 in her heels, and he towered over her, but not in a frightening way. She spied Lenny out of the corner of her eye, taking pictures of the firefighters battling the fire. She knew he would do his best to get as many pictures as he could, and turned her attention back to Skinner.
“Elliot Andercott is a suspect wanted in the kidnapping of a Federal Agent, and we believe he is the one who started this fire. There is a statewide APB out on him now, but I would appreciate you getting his name and picture in the paper. If you speak to Agent Powell,” here he turned and indicated the shorter man from earlier, “he can provide you with a composite sketch of the suspect.”
He watched as she jotted down the information and then added, “I am Assistant Director Walter Skinner with the FBI, if you need that for your report.” He turned away from her slightly and watched as the ambulance carrying the man he had helped load into it drove off.
Seeing her interest, he added, “Another agent was injured rescuing the kidnapped agent.” The muscle in his jaw ticked again, and then his eyes left hers to move over to where a number of firefighters and paramedics were still working on someone.
Heather had not been able to get close to the other injured person for policemen had arranged themselves in a circle, shielding the scene from prying eyes. She had only been able to make out red hair, and was fairly certain the victim was a woman.
“Who is she?” Heather asked softly.
Skinner’s head whipped back to face her, and his features were an impenetrable mask. “We’re not releasing any names as yet. Her family has not been notified yet.”
Her, Heather mused. She had been right again. She nodded, and opened her mouth to thank him for his time. She wondered what she should call him. Was Agent Skinner the correct form of address?
Just then, the sounds of a helicopter filled the air. Heather looked up, as did Skinner and most everyone else on the scene. A flurry of activity resulted. Skinner excused himself, touching her arm briefly, and she watched as he made his way over to the other injured agent.
Lenny joined her, nodding his chin towards the circle of policemen.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“An FBI agent was inside, and another one got injured rescuing her,”
Heather replied. She angled her notepad towards Lenny, showing him what she had jotted down. “They want us to put the suspect’s name and a picture of the composite sketch in the paper.”
“Sounds big,” Lenny remarked. “Got some good shots.” He fiddled with his camera and then raised it to his eye. “That’s a medi-vac chopper. She must be hurt pretty bad. I need to get a few shots of this.” With that, he moved closer to the scene that was now unfolding.
Heather moved closer as well, watching as the police began ordering people back, getting ready for the helicopter to land. After Lenny got his pictures, she wanted to go to the hospital. She had a feeling this could make for a very exciting story.
10:20 am
Skinner looked up at the sound of a helicopter. It was about fucking time. Did they not realize this was an emergency? He had an agent down. A flash of memory, of Scully’s pale face and blue lips, and he amended his words to, seriously down. He touched the reporter’s arm, Heather he thought, and excused himself.
He raced over to where the police were blocking off the area where Scully was frantically being tended to by paramedics and firefighters, and was allowed past. He was still surprised he had spoken to the reporter, as it was not his normal habit to do so.
But when he had looked up and saw her there, reminding him so much of Agent Scully, something had compelled him to move forward. At closer look, there were only some similarities. The reporter had shoulder length strawberry blonde hair, not Scully’s shorter bobbed red tresses, but she was about the same height as Scully, and she had the same look of determination and strength he had so often seen on his agent’s countenance. He had also realized the importance of getting Elliot Andercott’s name and composite in the news, to possibly aid in apprehending the man.
The police had moved everyone back, and the helicopter slowly began to land. Skinner watched from where he stood, a few feet away from Scully. The paramedics had her hooked up to an IV, and had removed the rope that had bound her hands and feet. Her wrists were wrapped in white gauze and she seemed to be breathing on her own, through the oxygen mask over her face. She was still deathly pale, and the expressions on the faces of the paramedics were quite serious. He knew she was not out of the woods yet.
Finally the helicopter landed, and then they were carrying Scully, now loaded on a stretcher, towards it. Skinner trailed helplessly behind.
One of the paramedics climbed on board with her, where a nurse was already checking her vital signs again. Everyone backed up as it rose into the sky, and Skinner felt a hand touch his elbow. It was the other paramedic. Skinner bent his head down to the man, who yelled, “They’re taking her to Walter Reed, in Washington.”
“What about my other agent?” Skinner yelled back, watching, as the helicopter became a tiny speck in the distance. “Can he be taken there as well?”
The paramedic nodded and said, “I think that’s where they were taking him.”
“Find out for sure,” Skinner demanded and strode away to speak with ASAC Powell. He saw the paramedic jog to the other ambulance.
Powell turned from the agent he had been speaking to as he caught sight of Skinner approaching. “There’s been nothing reported yet as to the suspect. I’m arranging a press conference back in Leesburg. Hopefully we’ll make it on the noon news, get this Andercott’s picture out there.”
“You can handle it, I presume?” Skinner asked, not even waiting for Powell’s reply. “I’m heading to Washington.” He walked away, barely catching Powell’s answering nod, heading towards his vehicle.
The paramedic ran over, calling, “Sir! The other agent was taken to Walter Reed.”
Skinner raised a hand in thanks, and climbed into his car. He buckled in and started the car, painstakingly maneuvering through the jumble of cruisers and unmarked sedans still on scene. A number of reporters were still lingering, and he spied the young reporter he had spoken to earlier getting into a van with Leesburg News written on its side.
Once on the gravel road, he was able to speed up a little, but not as fast as he would have liked. He knew he was looking at a drive of at least 45 minutes, and that would be pushing the speed limit as it was.
An image of Margaret Scully rose in his head all of a sudden. His jaw tensed, he would have to call Scully’s mother. She must be frantic by now, he was not sure of the last time Mulder had spoken to her. He wondered if it would be better if he drove to her house and brought her in person to the hospital. It delayed his time getting to see his agents, but he knew it could be important for Scully’s mother to be there. He tried not to think that it could be the last time she saw her daughter.
He reached the two-lane road and sped off, heading to Baltimore to pick up Scully’s mother.
Margaret Scully’s Residence
Baltimore, MD
Sunday
11:50 am
Margaret Scully heard the doorbell ring from her seat at the kitchen table. Her hand shook slightly as she lowered her half-empty teacup back to the table, and again as she smoothed her skirt when she rose from the table. She had been feeling very uneasy since rising that morning, even more so than usual since learning of Dana’s kidnapping, and now her nerves were working overtime. Something told her the person at the door would not have good news. One hand went to the cross at her neck and she clutched it for a moment, gleaning a measure of strength.
Her heels clicked faintly on the hardwood floor as she made her way to the door, and with a deep breath, she opened it, to reveal Dana’s boss, Walter Skinner. At the sight of his tense face and sad eyes, Margaret felt her world crumble.
“Oh, God, Dana…” she moaned, “Please, no.” Her body felt weak, and she felt herself start that long, slow slide to the ground.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders then, offering strength and support.
Faintly she heard Mr. Skinner’s deep bass voice saying, “Mrs.
Scully, they found her. She’s…she’s alive.”
Margaret heard the hesitation in his words, but chose to cling to the one that had her heart thumping painfully. Alive. Dana was alive. She allowed him to help her into the sitting room, onto the couch, dimly hearing the door shutting behind them. She was trembling all over, and it was an effort to raise her head to meet his gaze. “Where is she?” she asked, and was shocked at the faintness of her own voice. She cleared her throat and tried again, this time much stronger. “Where is Dana?”
Mr. Skinner had sat beside her on the sofa, on the edge of the cushion, and he now held her hands. He squeezed them and replied, “She’s at Walter Reed Hospital, in Washington.” His eyes dropped down to his lap for a moment, and Margaret felt another moment of panic. When he lifted them again, his face was carefully neutral.
“Agent Mulder is there as well. He was…he was injured helping Dana.”
“Fox?” she asked, voice quavering again. “Is he all right? Is Dana all right?” She struggled to her feet. “You must tell me.
Is Dana all right?” Her voice rose at the end, almost hysterically.
He had risen with her, his hands now hovering over her shoulders, to catch her if she started to collapse, she knew. “Mrs. Scully, Dana is alive. I do not know the extent of her injuries, but she was seriously hurt,” he said. He grimaced a little and then continued, “She was flown by helicopter to the hospital.”
Margaret flinched inwardly, but kept her spine straight. She had to be strong for her baby girl, and for Fox. “You’re here to take me to the hospital.” It was not a question. “I’ll just get my purse and coat.”
Her steps were steady as she left the room and went upstairs to fetch her purse. She stopped briefly in the bathroom, to check her hair and make-up, trying not to see the deep lines of stress and worry, or the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. In the mirror’s reflection she saw the cross around her neck, and her fingers lifted to touch it again. She said a brief prayer for Dana and Fox, and then squaring her shoulders, headed back downstairs.
Mr. Skinner was waiting by the door, and helped her into her coat.
He stood beside her on the porch as she locked the door behind them, and took her elbow to walk her to his car. Buckling her seatbelt, she watched him as he made his way to the driver’s side after closing her car door, and thought what a gentleman he was, and how glad she was that Dana had such a supportive man as her superior.
In some ways, he reminded her of how Fox was around Dana.
Tears filled her eyes as she thought about Fox, and she blinked them back, not wanting to give into her grief now. To do so would be like admitting there was no hope for Dana, and she would not do that.
She thought then about the desperation and pain she had heard in Fox’s voice each time he called to let her know that he was still searching for Dana. She wondered when the two of them would ever admit their love for each other, for she knew that they did, deeply.
It was so obvious, every time they were together, shining in their eyes, in every move, every gesture that they made. And even when they were apart, when she spoke to Dana, or to Fox, it was in their voices, in their words.
A sound interrupted her then, and she realized Mr. Skinner was speaking to her. Margaret turned her head to him, saying, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
His small smile of understanding almost brought fresh tears to her eyes. “I just asked if you were all right,” he repeated.
His eyes flicked from her face to the road as his hands tightened momentarily on the steering wheel.
Margaret nodded. “I’m fine,” she replied. “I was thinking about Dana and Fox.” She coughed slightly, and then remembering that he had told her Fox had been injured helping Dana, said a little sharply, “You said Fox was hurt helping Dana. How?”
“The man who…who kidnapped Dana had taken her to a place that held memories for him, and he set the building on fire.” Hearing her horrified gasp, he hurriedly added, “I don’t think she was burned. Mulder…Fox went into the building and brought her out.”
One hand left the steering wheel and reached out to pat her hands, which were tightly clenched in her lap. “She’s going to be okay, Mrs. Scully.”
Margaret wondered which one of them he was trying to convince with those words. She managed a nod for him, and then closed her eyes, leaning back against the headrest. They had a bit of a drive ahead of them.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
Washington, D.C.
Sunday
12:45 pm
Skinner held Mrs. Scully’s elbow as they made their way to the Information Desk in the Emergency Department. Once there, he let go of her to reach in his pocket for his ID badge. He held the badge out to the woman manning the desk and said, “I’m Walter Skinner with the FBI. We’re looking for two people who were brought here, Agent Dana Scully and Agent Fox Mulder.”
As the woman began typing on the computer before her, Skinner watched Mrs. Scully. She had been very quiet, not speaking since he had told her how Mulder and Scully had been injured.
He had not felt up to small talk, and assumed she felt the same, so he had not tried to engage her in conversation. The frequent glances he had thrown her way during the almost hour-long drive had revealed her either staring out the passenger side window, or resting with her eyes closed.
Her face now was pale, but composed, as she waited for the woman to answer his request. He felt a surge of admiration for her remarkable strength and poise, and saw in that the resemblance to his downed agent.
He clenched his jaw as his thoughts drifted again to the scene earlier that morning. He saw Scully lying unconscious on the ground as paramedics performed CPR on her. Saw Mulder’s anguished face as he struggled to see his partner. Saw Scully’s pale face covered by an oxygen mask as she was loaded onto the helicopter.
The woman at the desk cleared her throat and he returned his attention to her. “Agent Scully has been taken to the Medical Intensive Care Unit on the third floor, and Agent Mulder is in the Emergency Department, which is just to my left.” She indicated the direction with her right hand, pointing down a short hallway to where a sign labeled Emergency Department hung. She then said, “The elevators are to my left, down that hall and turn left as well.”
Skinner had heard Mrs. Scully’s gasp when the woman told them where Scully was located, and he reached one hand out to touch hers, which were resting on the counter. He then asked, “We need to see both of them. What can you tell me of their conditions?”
“I am not provided with that information, Sir,” she replied. “You would need to speak to the Administrator of the Emergency Department. They were both brought there on arrival.”
Skinner jerked his head in a brief nod, muttering his thanks, and led Mrs. Scully away from the counter. He could feel the fine trembling of her body beneath his hand on her elbow, and was trying to find a place for her to sit. She stiffened beneath him.
“I want to know how Dana is,” she said. “Let’s go to the Emergency Department.” She pulled away from his grasp and headed in the direction the woman had indicated.
Skinner double-stepped to reach her side again, but did not take her elbow this time, merely stayed close to her. In moments they were striding through double doors into the Emergency Department. He snagged the arm of a passing nurse, his badge already out. “I’m with the FBI. Two of my agents were brought here earlier. Mulder and Scully.”
The nurse, whose nametag read Jenn, looked briefly at the hand on her arm and then nodded. “I’ll take you to the doctor,” she said, pulling free from his hand, and bustled down the hallway.
Skinner and Mrs. Scully followed just as quickly, and stopped when the nurse went inside one of the examining rooms. She came out a moment later, a bespectacled man in a white coat on her heels. The man held out his hand to Skinner, saying, “I’m Doctor Cray. I looked after both of the patients you are inquiring about.” He held a few charts in his other hand.
Skinner introduced himself and Mrs. Scully as he shook hands with the doctor, explaining that she was Dana Scully’s mother. He then said, “How are they?”
Dr. Cray shook Mrs. Scully’s hand as well, but maintained his hold on her. His other hand patted the hand he held as he looked at her with a combination of sympathy and concern.
Skinner felt his heart began to pound; sure he was about to hear the news that Scully had died. He saw Mrs. Scully pale even further, and that she swayed slightly. He put a supportive hand on her back.
“Mrs. Scully, your daughter is upstairs in our Intensive Care Unit.
When she arrived, our most pressing concern was that she was in acute respiratory distress. She was intubated endotracheally, and is currently on assisted ventilation.”
At Mrs. Scully’s gasp, the doctor hastened to add, “However, her prognosis is good.” He looked down and opened one of the charts he held. After perusing it for a moment, he continued, “Her vital signs were very weak, and her electrolytes were low. She was also mildly dehydrated, and there were many surface contusions and abrasions. We were also very concerned with the condition of her wrists. It appears she had been restrained for a significant amount of time. There were no broken bones, or deep lacerations, and she did not receive any burns to her face or body.” He looked at Skinner then. “May I ask what happened to her? The paramedics were quite sketchy with details when she arrived.”
Skinner looked at Mrs. Scully briefly, seeing that she seemed to have regained her composure. “Agent Scully was kidnapped and held captive for a week. We received information this morning of her location, and that the suspect had set the building where she was being held on fire. Agent Mulder went into the building and carried her out.”
Mrs. Scully had made an odd sound, and he looked into her face to see a tear running down her cheek. She looked at him, gasping, “Fox carried her out? He saved her life!” She turned to the doctor. “Please, may I, may we see Fox…Agent Mulder?”
Dr. Cray nodded his head. “Certainly. He’s in this room right here,” he said, pointing at the door through which he had come out of moments ago.
Skinner gave her a gentle push forward, saying, “You go ahead, Mrs.
Scully. I’d like to talk to Dr. Cray for a few minutes.” He wanted to find out more about Scully’s condition, and about Mulder’s as well.
It was obvious Mulder wasn’t seriously hurt; the doctor had not hesitated when Mrs. Scully had asked to see him. He watched as Scully’s mother pushed the door and slowly went inside, before turning back to the Doctor. “Doctor, I need to know if there was a rape test performed on Agent Scully.”
1:00 pm
Vaguely in the drugged haze of his mind, Mulder was aware of someone entering the room where he lay. He knew he was in the hospital, had heard and felt the doctors and nurses coming in and out to check on him, and that he had been given something to relax him. He remembered a bouncy ambulance ride that seemed to take forever, and asking over and over again for Scully.
At the name, he struggled to open heavy-lidded eyes. A blurry figure was walking towards him. He rasped out, “Scully?” His eyes saw dark hair, but it took a while to register that it wasn’t Scully after all.
A cool hand was on his brow, and a soft voice was saying, “Fox, its Maggie. Dana is all right. She’s in another hospital room.”
Mulder blinked rapidly, finally clearing his vision, to see Scully’s mom smiling down at him. Her words hit then, and everything came back in a flash. He remembered the burning building, the smokefilled hallways, finding Scully tied to that cot, carrying her out, falling to the ground. He saw and felt again her being pulled from his arms, and then confusion as people swirled around him.
He zeroed in on her words. “She’s all right? Scully’s all right?
I need to see her.” His voice was hoarse, and it hurt to talk.
He swallowed heavily, and couldn’t hold back a hacking cough. He pushed up on his elbows, and leaned to one side, to ease the pain in his chest. More pain flared in his hands, and he allowed Mrs.
Scully to push him back on the starchy pillow.
He lifted his hands up to see that they were wrapped in white gauze. He knew he had cut them when breaking the window, and wondered if he had burned them somehow as well.
He looked into Mrs. Scully’s eyes, and saw a range of emotions.
Relief, fear, and even compassion. “She’s really all right?” he asked her, his own eyes pleading for the truth. Although he knew he wouldn’t really believe anything until he was able to see her with his own eyes.
Her hand stroked his brow again, and he saw that her smile was tremulous. Worry began to gnaw at his guts, and he felt ill.
“She’s in the Intensive Care Unit, Fox, but the doctor said her prognosis was good.” Her voice was steady, though he saw her hand go up to the cross resting in the hollow of her throat to touch it with one finger for a moment. “I have to believe that she will be fine, and you have to as well, Fox.”
The worry was still there, and a light sweat broke out all over his body. Something was wrong. “What aren’t you telling me, Mrs.
Scully?” He had to get up and see Scully. With a grunt of effort, he heaved himself up again. His head swam with the motion, and nausea rose in his throat.
“Fox, relax,” Mrs. Scully said. “Please.” She looked worried now, and he watched her eyes dart from him to the door. “I don’t think you should be up yet. The doctor’s right outside, with Mr.
Skinner. Let me get them.” With that, she hurried over to the door, shooting an anxious glance back over her shoulder at him.
Mulder took several deep breaths, and slowly the nausea and the swimming in his head faded. He had to cough again though, and did so, deeply. It hurt like hell. He heard the door open, and Mrs.
Scully calling the doctor urgently.
In moments, she was back at his side, the Doctor coming around to stand at the other side of the bed. Skinner had come in as well, a very disturbed look on his face, and stood beside Mrs. Scully.
Mulder looked from person to person, stopping at the doctor last.
“I need to get up. I have to see Scully, make sure she’s all right,” he said, hating that his voice sounded so weak.
“Mister…Agent Mulder,” the doctor began as he firmly pushed Mulder back into the bed. “I’m Dr. Cray, and I saw both of you when you were brought to the Emergency Department. I understand you went into a burning building to save your partner’s life. Commendable to be sure, but also very dangerous. You are a very lucky man. Apart from some cuts and some first-degree burns on your hands, and a mild case of smoke inhalation, you escaped relatively unharmed. I do, however, recommend bed rest for 24 hours. Often symptoms of a serious nature due to smoke inhalation can be delayed until 24 to 36 hours after the injury.” The doctor went on in detail to explain how he had been treated upon arrival, what could still happen to him, and why he needed to remain under observation.
“I understand, Doctor,” Mulder said, after the doctor finally stopped speaking. “I just need to see her. I’ll go right back to bed after I do.”
Mrs. Scully pressed a cup of water into his hands, which he took gratefully, albeit awkwardly. He sipped slowly, feeling the coolness ease his sore throat. “I promise,” he added. He handed the cup back to Mrs. Scully, feeling pleased he had managed not to spill it all over himself. It had been difficult holding it with his hands so wrapped in gauze that they looked like he was wearing mittens.
“Fox,” Mrs. Scully broke in before the doctor could reply. “I’m going up to see Dana now, and I promise to come back and tell you how she is.”
“Agent Mulder, your partner is in Intensive Care, and only family members are allowed to visit,” the doctor added.
Mulder frowned at him. As if that ridiculous rule was going to stop him from seeing Scully. “She is MY partner. I will see her.”
It was the doctor’s turn to frown. “I guess we can make an exception, but not until tomorrow.” He paused, looking at Mrs.
Scully for a moment. “At the moment, your partner is heavily sedated. She won’t even know you were there.”
She would know, Mulder thought. But he did not say the words out loud.
Skinner had been silent the entire time, and finally added his two cents. “Mulder, you are not getting out of this bed until the doctor has given the all clear. If I have to, I will stay here to insure that you do not.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “I have other patients to see.
Agent Mulder, I’ll check back on you in a few hours. Please try and get some rest, and ease up on the talking. It’s not really aiding in your recovery.” He nodded politely at them all and left the room.
Mrs. Scully ran her hand over his forehead again and then leaned in and placed a kiss on it as well. Her eyes welled with tears, but she fought them back, and whispered, “Thank-you for saving my baby girl. That was an incredibly brave thing you did, Fox. I don’t think I can thank you enough.” She straightened, smoothing her hand down his cheek and then patting his arm. “I’ll come back after I’ve seen Dana.”
Mulder felt tears rise in his own eyes. How could she be thanking him? It was his fault her daughter had been taken in the first place. He did not tell her this though, merely whispered, “Give Scully a kiss for me, please, Mrs. Scully. Tell her…tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He watched as she nodded, and then walked from the room. He wanted so much to be going with her. He knew he would not rest properly until he saw Scully.
The door swished shut behind her, and then he was alone with Skinner. Mulder said, “Help me get this bed up, would you?” After Skinner had complied, even helping him shove the pillows more comfortably behind his head, Mulder demanded, “What aren’t you telling me?”
Skinner’s jaw flexed and he looked away for a moment. His face was blank, but his eyes betrayed his feelings. “I asked the doctor if they performed a rape kit on Scully when she was brought in.” His gaze flicked away again, he was clearly disturbed about the matter.
“They hadn’t, because it’s not standard procedure every time a patient is brought to the emergency. He said if they had had more information about what had happened, they would have. He ordered one to be completed now.” He paused, and then said, “The initial report when she was brought in said there were abrasions and bruising on her inner thighs, which could be consistent with sexual assault.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t that have triggered an alarm?” Mulder almost yelled. His pulse was jumping madly at his throat. He was remembering the phone call from Elliot, when he had called bragging about his attack on Scully. He heard that oily voice again.
<Did you know she’s a screamer?>
His teeth clenched with rage, and he gasped with pain when he unwittingly tried to clasp his hands into fists.
“I asked him that, and he didn’t really have an answer. He said she had a lot of bruising and abrasions all over her body, and that they were more concerned with getting her stabilized.” Skinner rubbed one hand over his jaw. Weariness was evident in every line of his body. He went over and grabbed a chair from against the far wall, and brought it to beside Mulder’s bed, sinking into it with a sigh.
“Powell had his men searching the hospital property, but there was no sign on Andercott. Do you think he was inside the building?”
Mulder had forced himself to relax. He shrugged his shoulders, wincing slightly at the pain the movement caused in his chest, and replied, “I don’t know. I wasn’t really looking for him. I just concentrated on finding Scully.”
He had to blink rapidly then, to stop the images that were forming in his brain. The flames, the smoke. Scully tied to the cot.
Scully not breathing.
Something must have shown on his face, because Skinner said, “Mulder, why don’t you close your eyes and get some rest. I’m going to go out and make some calls, check on things. I’ll come back in a little while.” He rose, the chair squeaking slightly, and patted Mulder’s arm. “Take it easy, okay?”
Mulder nodded and watched Skinner leave the room. He was tired, and sore, and the sedative they had given him still lingered in his system. He had been fighting it. If he couldn’t go see Scully, he might as well rest up until he could. He took slow, even breaths, and his eyes slowly closed. Within moments he was asleep.
He dreamed of Scully.
Pleasant dreams. Beautiful dreams. Sexy dreams.
>>The sound of her laughter tinkling in his ears. His witty comment had not drawn its usual close-lipped smile or trademark eyebrow, but full-blown laughter. Her eyes twinkled at him, complimenting him on his sense of humor and intelligence. Mulder felt his heart stop, and then begin a slow, steady thumping as he beheld the vision of Scully before him. Her hand came out and laid itself with gentleness on his arm, and she squeezed it lightly, breezily saying his name. He allowed himself to put his arm around her shoulders, waiting for her to tense and pull away, but she did not. Instead she leaned into the embrace, on her lips a now tiny smile. A smile of friendship, and companionship. And maybe of love. It felt so right. So peaceful<<
>>Scully’s bedroom was candlelit, and smelled faintly of peaches, the scent of Scully. The scent that made his nostrils flare and his insides quiver. Mulder’s footsteps were light but sure as he crossed the patterned rug that adorned her hardwood floor. Towards the woman waiting in the bed, where crisp linens and downy comforter had been pushed to the bottom. Scully lay, her head slightly propped by a pillow, her body sheathed in silk. It draped enticingly in all the right places. Places that drew his eyes, and had his pulse soaring. She was smiling, her look so seductive and yet so innocent, that it played with his heartstrings and filled his mind with thoughts of joining her in a ritual as old as time.
He shrugged his shoulders, the robe that had been his only adornment sliding down to pool on the floor, and felt the mattress dip beneath his knee. In one graceful movement he was covering her, feeling the heat of her body pressing against his. Her hands twining in his hair, his lips covering hers<<
>>They staggered through his apartment door; lips fused together, barely managing to shut it behind them. Their stumbling footsteps took them to his leather couch, bumping the backs of his legs, upon which he sank down, pulling Scully with him so that she now straddled his lap. He never once relinquished her lips. His hands dived into her hair, angling her head to better deepen his kiss, before sliding down her back to grasp her bottom. He squeezed once, and then her hands were on his shirt, frantically plucking at the buttons. Gasps and groans as each fought for air. He let his lips travel along her jaw line and down to her neck, pausing to suck at the pulse skittering rapidly there. “Mul-der…” his name was a drawn out sigh, and then her hands were on his bare chest, having successfully opened his shirt. Her lips went to his neck, sucking and nibbling. Her hands rubbed the flesh she had revealed, stroking his pectorals, before flicking a fingernail over one erect nipple.
Mulder groaned and tightened his hold on her ass, pushing her more firmly against the ache in his groin. His hips lifted slightly, thrusting<<
Sounds interrupted his subconscious, and he shifted restlessly in the narrow hospital bed. “…Agent Mulder? Are you in pain? You were moaning. Agent Mulder?”
Mulder opened his eyes with a gasp, his heart racing, to see a nurse leaning over him. He was extremely thankful that several blankets covered him, helping to disguise a certain part of his anatomy that had reacted to his dreams. Scully…
He gasped again when the nurse pulled the blankets away to pull out his arm, worried she would see more of him then he wanted her to.
He could not grasp them with his mittened hands, so he did the next best thing, clamping them down by his sides, effectively keeping the blankets up to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Agent Mulder. Did I startle you?” the nurse asked.
It was Jenn, the nurse who had been assigned to him, and she wore a look of concern. “I came in to check your vitals, and you were moaning and tossing on the bed. Are you in any pain?”
Mulder almost laughed. He was in pain, but not the kind she meant.
He shook his head. “Just dreaming,” he said, not explaining any further.
His thoughts turned to Scully as Jenn went about taking his blood pressure and pulse. He hated knowing she was lying unconscious somewhere in the hospital, not near him.
He realized then that he was in another kind of pain as well. The pain of not being able to see her, to touch her, to know that she really was all right. As much as he worried about her and missed her though, he would not be ashamed of his dreams of her. He knew they were a manifestation of his love and desire for her. Always there, but tamped down. Hidden. But no longer. The first chance he got, he was telling her everything. He just hoped she felt the same way.
Jenn took his temperature next and then said, “I’ll bring your pain pills in a moment, okay?” She gathered up her stethoscope and pushed the monitor cart out with her. She came back moments later with a plastic medicine cup containing two white pills which she placed on the little rolling table. She pushed it closer to the bbed for him, and poured a Styrofoam cup full of iced water. She handed him the water and watched as he shifted upwards and dutifully swallowed the pills, before taking the cup back from him and returning it to the table. With a pat on his arm, she left the room.
Mulder sank back into the pillow and shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable. Thankfully his erection had faded, and he managed to roll partially onto his side. His eyes slowly slid shut.
Maybe he would dream of Scully again.
Revenge Part 12 by Lovesfox
Walter Reed Memorial Hospital
4:00 pm
Margaret Scully sat quietly at her post beside Dana’s bed. She had been there for the last couple of hours, watching and waiting. Dana lay so still and pale, her chest rising rhythmically to the motions of the ventilator, and it hurt to see her so.
The shock of the lurid bruises stark on her face and arms had worn off, and she could look at them now without flinching, although her heart ached to see evidence of the pain her baby must have experienced at the hands of that…Her mind halted there, she had always hated to swear. Yet ‘bastard’ was the word that had immediately come to mind on first sight of her daughter’s bruised and battered face.
When she had first arrived at the Intensive Care Unit, the duty nurse had asked her to wait for a few minutes, telling her that they were just checking Dana’s vitals. Not long after that, another nurse had exited the private room, carrying what looked like a sterile cloth-covered tray. She wondered what had been in the tray; she had always thought that checking vitals meant taking blood pressure and pulse. She had shrugged then, telling herself it was probably blood work, and that they covered it up in order not to distress other patients or family members.
Margaret shook her head slightly, and fought back a yawn. She was tired, and her back was starting to ache. She even thought she might be a little hungry. Dana had not moved once since she had been there, not even when she had kissed her brow and squeezed her hand.
She had whispered to Dana that Fox would be there soon, and that he missed her very much. She had hoped that at the mention of Fox, Dana would react somehow, but she had not. Logically, she knew Dana was deeply sedated, but a small part of her had hoped for some small sign.
Her eyes drifted over Dana again, taking in the paleness that only served to emphasize the bruises on her cheek, the gauze bandages around her neck, which the nurse had told her covered what looked like rope burns, more gauze wrapped around both wrists, also covering wounds from ropes, to the blankets drawn to her daughter’s waist. She wondered what bruises and marks were hidden beneath those blankets.
The doctor had been in not too long again, and had reiterated that Dana had no broken bones or serious lacerations, just some more bruising and abrasions. It had not comforted her any.
A sound at the door had her looking up, to see Mr. Skinner, standing hesitantly in the doorway. She smiled faintly and beckoned him inside. He came in slowly, and stood beside her, staring down at Dana. Margaret could see the shock and anger on his face as he took in her daughter’s condition, and was surprised by the surge of anger that ran through her. Why did Dana have to suffer so?
“Any change?” he asked softly, one hand coming out to lightly stroke Dana’s hand, lying alongside her body. “She’s cold,” he remarked, and let his hand rest fully atop Dana’s, as if to warm it.
“No, nothing,” Margaret replied, staring down at the large hand that completely covered Dana’s much smaller one, seeing again his compassion and tenderness toward her daughter. “The doctor was here earlier and he said that this was normal. That she would be out of it for some time.”
Skinner nodded, seeming unsurprised, and Margaret guessed in his position that he had witnessed similar scenes many times. “Are you hungry, Mrs. Scully?” he asked then.
“Actually, I am,” she replied, smiling faintly at him, slightly ashamed that she could think of food while Dana lay here bruised and hurt.
“I am too,” he said. With a final squeeze of Dana’s still fingers, he held out his hand to her. “Let’s get something to eat, shall we?”
Margaret nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. She moved the chair aside and bent to kiss Dana’s cheek, whispering, “I’ll be back soon, baby.” She lifted her coat, and was not surprised when Mr. Skinner’s hands were there to help her put it on. She lifted her purse and he gestured for her to go first, his long arm reaching out to open the door for her to walk through.
With one last look over her shoulder at Dana she walked through, Mr.
Skinner at her heels.
7:00 pm
Skinner walked down the hallway to Mulder’s room with Mrs. Scully at his side. After eating at a nearby restaurant, he had convinced her to go for a little walk to get some air. He was relieved to see she was no longer as pale, and that she seemed much more refreshed now.
They had decided to check on Mulder once more before Mrs. Scully would go upstairs to see Dana. Knowing Mulder’s intense dislike of hospital food, Skinner had bought him a submarine sandwich, which was currently tucked inside his jacket to be smuggled inside.
Reaching the door, he pushed it open, gesturing for Mrs. Scully to go first. An empty bed greeted them, the sheets and blankets pushed aside. Skinner cursed, and then his cheeks reddening slightly, apologized to Mrs. Scully for his outburst. She told him it was all right.
It hit him then. Mulder had probably snuck out to go see Scully.
Skinner was surprised it had taken him this long. With a last glance around the room he said, “I think I know where he’ll be.”
Mrs. Scully had a tender smile on her face. “So do I. He’s gone to see Dana.”
Skinner took the sandwich out of his jacket and put it inside the drawer of the little night table beside the bed. He didn’t want to carry it throughout the hospital. With one last look around the room, he headed for the door, holding it open once again for Mrs. Scully.
As they walked down the hallway to go to the elevators, passing the nurses station, he mused quietly, “I guess he must have snuck out after the last time he was checked by the nurses. It doesn’t seem like they know he’s missing yet.”
Mrs. Scully nodded her agreement. “Something tells me Fox has had a lot of experience sneaking around. Dana doesn’t tell me much about the cases they work on, but I know they can be dangerous.”
Skinner kept his face blank, and non-committal, and declined to answer.
In moments they were on the elevator, going up to the third floor.
After the doors opened, they turned left and went through a set of double doors into the Intensive Care Unit. They had to pass the nurses station to get to Dana’s room, and the nurse sitting at the desk looked up as they did. Mrs. Scully smiled, and the nurse smiled back. Skinner assumed she remembered Mrs. Scully from earlier. They walked a few more paces and then turned right.
Both halted in their tracks.
Mulder was there, outside Dana’s room. He was dressed in hospital pajamas and slippers, and his head was bent so that his forehead just touched the door. His bandaged hands were up, resting on the wood surface as well. He did not move.
Skinner rushed forward, gasping, “Mulder? Are you all right?”
When he reached the agent’s side, he reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Mulder’s shoulder.
Mulder flinched at the contact, and slowly pulled his head up. His eyes were tortured, his face drawn and sad. His hair was spiked in every direction, and he weaved slightly on his feet. “Scully,” he whispered in a thick voice.
“Mulder, you shouldn’t be up here. The doctor wanted you to wait until tomorrow. You should be resting,” Skinner said, keeping his voice low, not wanting to attract any attention. He was fairly certain that Mulder was under the influence of his medication, and marveled that he had managed to get up here in his condition.
“Had to see Scully,” Mulder mumbled, and weaved again. His knees started to sag, and Skinner moved quickly to support him. Mrs.
Scully had joined them, and she stood at Mulder’s other side, her arms also helping to hold him up.
Skinner glanced quickly both ways down the hallway. No one was visible right now, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before a nurse or doctor saw them. The ICU was a busy department.
He made a decision, and pushed the door to Scully’s room open with his back, pulling Mulder inside. He guided the agent to a chair and helped him sit down.
Mulder’s eyes immediately sought out Scully, and his breath audibly whooshed out of his lungs when he saw her, pale and still on the bed, surrounded by machines, tubes and wires snaking from her body.
“Scully?” he whispered again. He struggled to his feet, and Skinner braced himself to catch him if he fell, but he did not.
Mulder shuffled to the bed, stopping by Scully’s head, and Skinner watched as he looked her over, saw his shoulders tense when he took in her condition.
“Oh, Jesus, Scully, I’m so sorry,” Skinner heard him say. Mulder bent slowly and brushed a kiss on the cheek unmarked by bruises.
“I’m here, Scully. Please get better. I have so much I have to tell you.”
Skinner heard Mrs. Scully sniffle, but kept his gaze on Mulder. He watched as Mulder awkwardly stroked Scully’s hair with one bandaged hand. He felt like an intruder, spying on Mulder’s grief, but knew he should not leave Mulder alone.
“Mulder, we’ve got to get you back downstairs,” Skinner said, loathing himself for interrupting him, but knowing it was necessary.
Mulder nodded, and with one last stroke of Scully’s hair, and a final press of his lips on her cheek, he pulled away. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Scully. I promise.”
Skinner took Mulder’s elbow and looked at Mrs. Scully, whose tearfilled eyes went from her daughter to Mulder. “Mrs. Scully, I’ll take Mulder back downstairs. You stay with Dana. I’ll come back in a little while, take you…” he stopped. She had not packed a bag.
Where could she stay?
Mrs. Scully had picked up on why he had stopped. “I’d like to stay here tonight. In case she wakes up. Maybe you could take me to Dana’s apartment tomorrow, I have a key.” She went to Mulder and kissed him on the cheek. “Fox, you get some rest. I’m staying with Dana, she’ll be just fine.”
Skinner replied, “If you’re sure, Mrs. Scully. I’ll check back on you later.” He stopped again, and the muscle in his jaw flexed.
At last check with Powell, there had still been no sign of Elliot Andercott. Neither Mulder nor Scully was safe. He would have to arrange a 24-hour guard for both. He was angry with himself for not thinking of it sooner. He had let his worry and concern for Mulder and Scully override his common sense.
“Mrs. Scully,” he began, and paused yet again. He did not want to alarm her, but she had to know. “We still haven’t apprehended the man who did this to Dana, so I’m going to post an agent outside her door, and one for Mulder, okay? I’m going to take Mulder back to his room and make the arrangements. I will introduce you to the agent as soon as they get here. In the meantime, I’m going to call hospital security, and have them wait here until the agent arrives.”
Mrs. Scully blanched a little at his words, but nodded. “Thank-you, Mr. Skinner,” she replied and moved to pull the chair Mulder had vacated closer to Dana’s bed. She sat down, and her hand came up to rest on her daughter’s, lying still on the bed.
Skinner helped Mulder out of the room, and guided him down the hallway to the nurse’s station. He stopped there, and saw the nurse’s eyes widen in surprise at seeing a patient with him. Her mouth opened, but he interrupted her. He pulled his ID badge out of his pocket and said, “I need to use your phone to call Security.”
He knew the nursing staff had more than likely been briefed on Scully’s status, and she did not hesitate. She picked the phone up, dialed a number, and handed him the receiver. A male voice answered the rings, saying, “Security.”
He quickly gave his name and title, and a brief explanation, telling the man guards were needed outside Scully’s room in ICU and Mulder’s room in the Emergency Department. He listened as the man promised to get right on it, and hung up the telephone. He thanked the nurse, and asked her for a wheelchair for Mulder, who had begun to sway.
She moved with alacrity, coming around the station to get one from just around the corner, bringing it to them and helping Mulder into it. She even went and got a blanket, tucking it gently around Mulder’s shoulders.
Skinner had decided to wait in the ICU department until the security guard arrived, and then take Mulder back to his room. Once the agent was settled, with security guard in place, he had some phone calls to make.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
Emergency Ward, Mulder’s Room
Monday
7:00 am
Mulder slid his feet to the floor and stretched tired, aching muscles before slowly shuffling to the door. He pulled it open and poked his head out, to see Agent Traci Reynolds still sitting on the leather-backed chair that had been her post for the night.
She looked up at the sound, still alert, although her eyes were red and tired-looking. “Agent Mulder?” she asked. “Is anything wrong?”
He shook his head and went back in his room. He had been hoping to see Skinner around, to ask the AD if there had been any news of Elliot Andercott. He knew it was too early to go up and see Scully, even though he had been lying awake waiting since at least five. As well, there was his promise, grudgingly given, to Skinner that he would not go up to her room without him.
He had gotten little sleep, the sounds of the hospital too difficult to ignore, as well as being plagued by more dreams of Scully. This time they were far from pleasant. Over and over again he saw her bruised face and still body as she lay in the ICU.
These visions were interspersed with images of Elliot hitting her, his body pressing down on hers.
Mulder clenched his jaw, and thrust the images that tried to form again out of his head. Scully was here, and she was safe. And when they got out of the hospital, he was not leaving her side.
He paced back and forth in the small, square-shaped room. There was a sound at the door, and he turned, almost a little too quickly, feeling his head spin a little in reaction, to reveal the night nurse.
She smiled at him, saying cheerily, “Here’s your breakfast, Agent Mulder.” With swift, light steps she carried the covered tray to the rolling table and placed it on top. She gestured for him to get back on the bed, watching with narrowed eyes as he made his way there. “You’re still in some pain,” she commented. “I just need to check your vitals.”
He climbed onto the mattress, letting his feet dangle towards the floor. “It’s not too bad,” he replied. “Just got a little dizzy when I moved too fast.”
He watched as she withdrew a stethoscope from the pocket of her little happy-faced decorated blazer and set about taking his pulse and blood pressure, with the cart he hadn’t seen her wheel in with the tray. She checked his temperature next, and he gathered by her smile that all was normal.
“Eat up, Agent Mulder,” she called over her shoulder as she left his room.
He pulled the table a little closer, and with some apprehension, removed the lid. A piece of dry toast and a bowl of some lumpy, gray substance that he thought might be oatmeal greeted him. There was a cup with steam rising from it as well, and he pulled it closer, hoping it was coffee.
No such luck. Removing the lid revealed hot water, and he looked about on the tray, spying a forlorn-looking tea bag almost shoved under his plate. Not even a juice in sight.
Sighing, he dunked the tea bag in the hot water and made an unenthusiastic cup of tea. His teeth crunched methodically through the dry toast, and he gave up after only two bites. The tea was equally as unappetizing as the toast. He wasn’t even going to attempt the questionable oatmeal. With another sigh, he pushed the table away and swung his legs back onto the bed. He lowered his head to the lumpy pillow and stared at the stain-marked ceiling.
He could only hope that when Skinner arrived, he would be carrying contraband in the form of an Egg McMuffin and hash browns just like the submarine sandwich the AD had sneakily given to him last night.
8:00 am
Skinner strode out of the elevator and down the hall to the Emergency Department. He had checked in briefly with Mrs. Scully first, and she was going to wait in the ICU until he brought Mulder up to see Scully.
He was then going to take her to Scully’s apartment so she could get some rest. He had realized it would be wise to post an agent with Mrs. Scully as well, particularly as she would be staying at a place they knew Andercott had already been in, and had called to arrange for one to meet them there for nine. They had never found Scully’s keys either, and he made a mental note to himself to have the locks changed on her apartment as well.
In one hand was a deli bag, with an egg sandwich and a juice for Mulder, and in the other he held a small duffle bag with a change of clothing for the agent. As he approached, he nodded at the two agents standing outside Mulder’s door. Agent Reynolds was filling in her replacement, Agent Marks, while stifling a yawn behind her hand.
“Anything to report?” Skinner asked, coming to a stop before them.
“No, Sir,” Reynolds replied. “Quiet all night.” She started to turn away and then turned back. “Agent Mulder has been up for some time.”
“Thank-you, Agent Reynolds. I believe Agent Mulder is to be released today, check in with Kimberley this afternoon, you may have a new post,” Skinner ordered.
“Yes, Sir. Goodnight, Sir,” was her reply. She walked slowly down the hall to the exit.
Skinner turned to Agent Marks and said, “I need to speak to Agent Mulder for a few minutes, and then we are going to take him upstairs to see Agent Scully.” He caught the agent’s answering nod as he pushed open the door to Mulder’s room.
Mulder had been lying on the bed, his eyes closed, but he sat up immediately upon hearing someone enter the room. He started to rise, but Skinner waved him back down. “Sit, Mulder. I brought you something to eat, and after that, I’ll take you upstairs to see Scully.”
He saw the flare in Mulder’s eyes, and narrowed his own, warning the agent down. Mulder subsided, and Skinner plopped the deli bag on the little table and slid it over to Mulder’s bed.
As Mulder opened the paper bag, somewhat eagerly though with difficulty, Skinner noted, he held up the duffle bag, saying, “I brought you a change of clothes and some toiletries. I haven’t spoken to the doctor yet to confirm if you’re being released today.
Have you seen him yet?”
Mulder shook his head around a mouthful of sandwich and then swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door being pushed open had him pausing, and both men turned to look.
Coincidentally, it was Dr. Cray. In his hands were two charts.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, nodding at Skinner, who nodded back. He flicked through one of the charts, his lips moving silently. He looked up and said, “Well, Agent Mulder, everything seems to check out, so I’ll be releasing you shortly. The nurse will come in a few minutes to change the dressings on your hands, and I recommend you see your personal physician to have them checked out again in a few days.”
Skinner saw Mulder frown as he chewed, and knew instantly the agent was thinking of Scully. She was Mulder’s personal physician.
He made yet another mental note to himself; this one to take Mulder to get his hands looked at. Skinner watched as the doctor switched to the other chart, wondering if it was Scully’s.
He was correct. “Agent Skinner? Is that the correct title?”
the doctor began. He did not wait for Skinner to reply, merely continued on. “I saw Agent Scully earlier this morning, and she had a very quiet night.”
Skinner knew this already, Mrs. Scully had told him. The doctor continued paused, flipping to another page in the chart, before continuing, “I’m afraid to say that the rape kit we performed on Agent Scully was rather inconclusive. There was no trace of semen, nor tearing or bruising inside. Nor was there any other trace evidence. As I mentioned previously, there were abrasions and bruises on her inner thighs, which could be consistent with sexual assault. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until Agent Scully is awake to ask her.”
It was difficult to hear the doctor speak so clinically of the possibility of Scully’s rape, when the very thought had his fists clenching in rage. Skinner kept his face calm by sheer force of will, with only that telltale ticking of his jaw muscle betraying his emotional turmoil. “Thank-you, Dr. Cray,” he said. He watched the doctor leave the room, and then looked over at Mulder.
The agent had shoved his half-eaten sandwich aside, and was staring straight ahead, blank-faced and unblinking. As Skinner stepped closer, concerned, Mulder’s head swiveled to meet his gaze, his hazel eyes pinning Skinner to the spot.
“I’m fine,” Mulder gritted out in a voice that was still a little hoarse. He then slid off the bed and moved over to where Skinner had placed the duffle bag on one of the chairs. “I’m going to get dressed and after the nurse comes, I’d like to go see Scully,” he said as he walked into the tiny attached bathroom.
Skinner said nothing, shoulders braced for the slam of the door.
It did not come, Mulder had shut the door quietly. He moved over to the other chair and sat down to wait for Mulder.
8:15 am
Mulder stepped out of the bathroom after a difficult struggle to get dressed. Thankfully Skinner had brought easy maintenance clothes, supplying him with a tee shirt and sweatpants. There would have been no way in hell he would have asked the AD to button up his jeans.
Brushing his teeth and hair had also been quite a chore, and he had barely managed to wet a cloth and swipe it over his face. His stubble was dark on his cheeks and jaw, but shaving was something else that would have to wait.
Skinner was sitting in the chair by the bed, and looked up when Mulder came back into the room. Mulder saw the man’s eyes scan him from head to toe, stopping at his running shoes, which were on but untied.
“Would you like me to tie those?” the AD asked gruffly, gesturing at the laces trailing on the floor.
Mulder nodded, resigned to being somewhat handicapped for a day or two, and Skinner got up from his seat, indicating with a nod that he wanted Mulder to sit on it instead. He complied, first dropping the duffle bag on the floor beside the chair, and the AD knelt and swiftly tied his laces.
“Thanks,” he muttered, trying not to sound ungrateful.
Skinner nodded in reply and had just stood again when the nurse entered the room.
It was a new nurse, not the one who had brought him breakfast. “Hi, Agent Mulder,” she said with a smile. “I’m Ashley, and Dr. Cray wants me to change the dressings on your hands. Could you sit up on the bed, please?”
Mulder rose from the chair and got back on the bed. Ashley pushed the table over in front of him, and he laid his bandaged hands on it. She quietly and gently unwrapped each hand, touching the palms of both with careful fingers. He managed to hold in a hiss of pain and then looked at them curiously.
The palm of his left hand had what looked a little like a blister, reddened and puffy, while the right palm had two fairly shallow cuts across it. There were also a few cuts on the backs of both hands.
He barely remembered cutting them on the glass of the hospital window, and had no idea where the burn had come from.
“They look like they’re healing nicely,” Ashley remarked. “I don’t think I’ll wrap them as much. It’ll make things a little easier for you as well.”
She applied ointment to some of the wounds and put sterile pads on both the palms and the backsides of each hand, wrapping them with gauze. After taping them up, leaving his fingers free, she patted him on one forearm.
“There you go, Agent Mulder. You’re all set. The doctor has your discharge papers at the nurse’s station, and you’re free to go.”
She gathered up the discarded wrappings and her supplies and headed for the door. She pulled it open and then paused, saying, “Don’t forget to get those hands looked at in a few days, okay?”
Mulder nodded, seeing Skinner do the same out of the corner of his eye, and slid off the bed once more. “Scully,” he said, prepared to argue.
Skinner merely nodded again and scooped the duffle bag off the chair. He indicated with a lift of his chin for Mulder to proceed, and Mulder headed out the door, Skinner behind him.
They started down the hallway, Agent Marks trailing behind after a gesture from Skinner.
Mulder remained silent in the elevator, staring at the floor indicator as it lit each number. His heart was thumping almost painfully in his chest.
The news from Dr. Cray that she had had a quiet night had sent an enormous surge of relief through him. He had been so afraid she would…he hated even thinking it, but he had been afraid she would die, and he wouldn’t have been there.
The elevator ride seemed interminable, although in reality it was only minutes. They walked through the ICU department, and Mulder saw the nurse at the station look up, about to speak, and then stop when she saw Skinner. He still remembered the way to her room, even though his first trip up had been a hazy one, and in moments was standing before her door.
Skinner quickly introduced him to the agent sitting there, and Mulder nodded before slowly pushing the door open.
Mrs. Scully had also been sitting, her chair next to Dana’s bed, and she stood up when she saw Mulder.
He saw that her hair was slightly disheveled and there were lines of weariness on her face. “Fox!” she exclaimed. “How are you feeling?” Her voice was the same however, warm and loving.
Mulder moved closer to her and sighed when her arms went around him in a gentle hug, lifting his own to return it. “I feel fine, Mrs. Scully,” he replied. He was fully aware of the woman in his arms, but his eyes were focused entirely on the woman lying on the bed.
Mrs. Scully patted him on the back and released him. She turned back to Scully and touched her daughter’s hand lightly. “She’s doing well, Fox,” she said softly. “She had a very quiet night, and the doctor said he would probably take the breathing tube out later today.”
“Is she still sedated?” he asked, eyes traveling her face, trying to avoid the bruises there. When Mrs. Scully’s hand left Scully’s, he replaced it with one of his, needing the contact.
“They kept her sedated through the night, but stopped it early this morning. The doctor said she would probably stay out of it for a while longer though, while her body rests.” She reached her hand out once more, and patted his where it lay on Scully’s.
“She’s going to be all right, Fox.”
“Yes, she is, Mrs. Scully,” Mulder replied. In his head he was thinking, I hope so. He knew Scully would have many fears and nightmares stemming from her ordeal, and that it would be a difficult process for her while she healed. He avowed then and there to help her through each and every one, no matter how much she would try and hide it. He was not going to let her push everything aside and bury herself in work.
Skinner had been silent, but finally spoke up. “Mrs. Scully, I’ll take you to Dana’s place where you can get cleaned up and have a rest. Mulder will be staying with her, I’m sure, and there will bbe an agent outside her door at all times.”
Mrs. Scully stroked her hand down Mulder’s arm and then moved to kiss Dana on the cheek. “I’ll be back later, baby,” she said softly. “Fox is here now, and he’s going to sit with you for a while.” She gave Mulder a small smile and turned to Skinner.
“Thank-you, Mr. Skinner.”
Mulder watched the two leave, and then pulled the chair Mrs.
Scully had been sitting on a little closer to the bed, so he could sit and hold Scully’s hand easily.
The morning flew by, and still he sat. Nurses came and went, checking Scully’s vitals, adjusting her IV, and other tubes and wires. One even asked if he needed anything, to which he replied in the negative.
Mulder had slipped into a trance-like state, staring at his hand on hers for so long, and therefore missed the faint movement of her eyes beneath closed lids.
The movements continued, became more rapid, and then her hand twitched beneath his.
Mulder was instantly alert, and jolted to his feet. He squeezed her hand and leaned over her, eyes searching her face. “Scully?”
he whispered.
He saw her eyes move, and then her eyelids slowly fluttered open.
Mulder’s heart skipped a beat before falling back into rhythm and then a grin stretched his face wide.
Scully was awake.
Revenge Part 13 by Lovesfox
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
ICU Department, Scully’s Room
Time Unknown
Scully drifted in a sea of haze.
Sometimes she was a child, chasing after Missy and Bill, the sounds of their laughter ringing in the air. Other times she was a student at Quantico, so focused on her studies. Still other times, she worked beside Mulder, challenging him, and being challenged by him.
Faces flashed before her – Mom, Ahab, familiar, loving faces. The faces changed, became frightening, sinister – Eugene Tooms, Luther Lee Boggs, Duane Barry, Donnie Pfaster. More and more faces, each one bringing with them memories of fear and pain.
The next face frightened her most of all. Elliot Andercott. She watched, as if from a distance, as the filmy figures of Elliot and herself struggled on the floor, saw his hands hitting and punching her, saw herself bleeding and in pain. She tried to will the vision away, to lift her hand to push it away…
She felt an answering pressure on her hand. Was someone squeezing her hand?
Mulder, is that you?
“Scully?”
It was Mulder’s voice. Saying her name. She strained to open her eyes, to see his face. To see Mulder. They were heavy, and it was an effort. The effort was rewarded though, by the slightly blurry image of Mulder’s grinning countenance.
She struggled to say his name, and could only manage to whisper the first syllable. “Mul…”
Her chest felt like a weight had been dropped on it, and she realized there was a tube down her throat, which ached and burned.
Burned?
With sudden clarity she remembered the fire, smelled again the smoke and gasoline. Panicked, her heart rate increased, and she heard an alarm sound.
Noise. Her ears caught footsteps and strange, disjointed voices.
Mulder was gone, and in his place, a woman in white. Nurse? Was she in a hospital? She felt hands, cool and soothing, on her forehead, stroking her arm. Mulder, where are you? Her eyes rolled frantically, trying to find him.
“Relax, Miss Scully,” the woman’s voice said. “You’re all right.
Calm down.”
The voice was soothing, and Scully found herself obeying instinctively, although she wanted to see Mulder again. She focused on the woman’s face, close to hers, willing herself to relax, letting the tenseness leave her body. She realized then that she could hear Mulder once more, calling her name agitatedly.
Relief.
He hadn’t left. “Mul…?” she tried again, but the sound was faint and garbled.
Somehow he heard her though, and answered. “I’m here, Scully. I’m right here.”
She still couldn’t see him, and tried to shift her head to look.
The nurse’s hand was on her chin, holding her still. “Please don’t move, Miss Scully. We don’t want you to pull on your tube.” The nurse moved aside, still speaking, “Here he is, Miss Scully. He’s right here.”
Mulder’s face reappeared above her, his hazel eyes worried, but the smile on his face was one of relief. “Hey, Scully,” he said softly. “You caused quite a stir.” His hand came out to gently run through her hair.
She saw a flash of white on his slightly darker skin. Why was his hand bandaged? Had he been hurt? Frustration churned in her mind.
She had so much she wanted to ask, and could not.
Mulder must have sensed her discomfort, for he said, “It’s okay, Scully. You’re safe, and you’re going to be okay.” He disappeared for the briefest of seconds, and she identified the sound that came next as that of a chair scraping on a floor. He sat, his head only inches from hers, a smile on his face.
Scully was aware of the nurse, still busy about the bed, could feel the bedclothes being shifted, and hands touching the leads on her chest, checking wires and tubes, but kept her attention on Mulder.
He too kept focused on her. She could not speak, and implored him with her eyes to talk to her.
Again he understood immediately what she could not say, and his low voice began filling her in. “You’re at Walter Reed Hospital, in the Intensive Care Unit.” At the widening of her eyes, slightly filled with alarm, he hastened to add, “You were having trouble breathing when you got here yesterday, so they put a breathing tube in. We saw the doctor this morning, and he said it would probably come out later today.”
We? She wondered. His next sentence had her wondering nonsensically if they were speaking telepathically. No, she told herself. He just knows you that well.
“Skinner and I talked to him in the Emergency Department, and then when we came up here, your mom told us he had spoken to her as well,” Mulder said.
She gave him another questioning look, and he smiled and then said, “Your mom stayed with you all night. The doctor didn’t think you would wake until later, so Skinner took her to your apartment to rest and get cleaned up.”
She wanted to know more, so much more, but her eyes were getting heavy. She was still so tired. The pain in her chest and throat had receded slightly, and she had a sneaking suspicion the nurse had given her something through her IV.
Mulder’s face blurred before her, and she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision. It didn’t help, and she slowly slid into sleep, with the feel of Mulder’s hand stroking through her hair.
4:30 pm
Margaret Scully knocked softly on the hospital room door before pushing it open and walking inside. She was not in the least surprised to see Fox there, the chair he was seated in pushed close to Dana’s bed, and his tousled brown-haired head lying on the mattress at Dana’s hip. He was snoring softly.
Mrs. Scully smiled tenderly, and placed the bag containing the Tupperware container of sandwiches and the thermos of iced tea onto the floor by the other chair. She slipped off her coat and laid it on the back of the same chair before tiptoeing quietly to the bedside.
Fox did not stir. Poor man, she thought. He must be exhausted.
She was tempted to stroke her hand through his hair, as she would her own children’s, but did not want to disturb him.
She lifted her gaze from Fox to look at Dana. She too was sleeping, her lips softly parted. Mrs. Scully started a little. The breathing tube was gone. That was what had been different about the room. The sound of the ventilator was missing. She smiled again knowing for sure now that Dana really was getting better. She had believed the doctor, of course, but somehow it was more reassuring to see it for real. Her eyes ran over Dana, but could make out nothing else different. She would ask a nurse when one came for an update.
She settled quietly into her chair and pulled a paperback book out of the bag, opening it to her bookmark. She had only read perhaps one paragraph when Fox stirred. She lay the book down on her lap and watched him as first his head popped up to stare at Dana, before it swung around to check the room. She had to smile when his eyes widened comically at seeing her.
“Mrs. Scully!” he exclaimed, straightening up in his chair, and pushing it back from the bed a little. One bandaged hand came up to smooth at his spiky hair. “How long have you…” he started to ask.
Mrs. Scully interrupted with a low chuckle. “Not even five minutes,” she said. “Have you eaten, Fox?” she asked next, leaning over to lift the Tupperware container out of the bag, already knowing his answer would be no. There was no way he would leave Dana’s side, even for the sake of his own body’s needs. He had probably been sitting in that same chair since she had left that morning.
She was correct. He shook his head no, but she saw that his eyes were following her hands, watching her open the container. “I brought you some sandwiches, Fox. Here you go.” She handed the container over, and had to contain another smile as he managed not to snatch it from her hands. She retrieved the Thermos next, saying, “Here’s some iced tea, too, Fox.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Scully,” he said, taking the thermos as well. He balanced the container holding the sandwiches on his lap, and opening the thermos, took a large swallow. He put it on the floor beside his chair and started in on his first sandwich.
While he ate, Mrs. Scully stood and moved to Dana’s side, skirting Fox’s knees. She touched Dana’s hand, noticing it was much warmer, and then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi, honey, it’s Mom. You keep resting. I’m just going to sit here with Fox.”
She smoothed a strand of Dana’s hair off her forehead and studied her daughter’s face for a few moments. The bruises had yet to fade, but already there was some color in Dana’s cheeks. So much better than the pallid whiteness from when she had first seen Dana.
She turned from Dana to see Fox watching her, the second sandwich in one hand. “She looks so much better,” she said, smiling again.
He nodded, his own eyes drifting to Dana’s face. “She woke up a few hours ago for a couple minutes and I told her she was going to be okay. They took her breathing tube out about an hour ago, and she woke up then for a few minutes too. The doctor said she’s doing far better than he had expected so soon.”
The relief was visible in his eyes, and Mrs. Scully smoothed her hand through his hair like she had wanted to when she first saw him asleep on Dana’s bed. “Dana is strong, Fox, and she knows you’re here with her. You give her strength, Fox.”
Fox nodded again, ducking his head down.
Sensing he was uncomfortable, Mrs. Scully took her seat once more, and picked up her book. A second later, he resumed eating his sandwich. She read several pages before he was finally done, and then said, “Fox, why don’t you stretch your legs a bit? I’m here and Dana will be fine. You know she wouldn’t want you endangering your own health for her, and you were hurt too.”
Fox opened his mouth, to protest she was sure, before a sheepish expression took over his face. “She’d kick my a…” he stopped in mid-sentence, and actually blushed.
Mrs. Scully hid her smile and waited for him to continue.
“No, she wouldn’t,” he said instead, and rose from his chair.
“I won’t be long.”
“It’s okay, Fox, take your time,” she said, and was nearly overwhelmed by a wave of love when he swooped down to press a kiss on her cheek. He then raised Dana’s hand and kissed it slowly and tenderly, his thumb brushing her knuckles before replacing it carefully on the mattress and making his way out of the room.
Mrs. Scully looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully, and whispered, “Oh, baby, he loves you so. I just wish he’d tell you.”
With the tiniest shake of her head, she resumed her place in her book.
Walter Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Monday
5:30 pm
Skinner placed yet another report on top of the completed pile and reached for the next one from the pile of unfinished reports.
He sighed as his eyes took that pile in; it did not seem to have shrunk at all in the few hours he had been hard at work on it.
His eyes were starting to blur just slightly, a sure sign he would get a headache if he didn’t take a break, so he relaxed into the leather of his chair, hearing it creak and give with the weight of his body, and leaned back.
He let his head roll onto the headrest, and shut his eyes. Just for a few minutes, he told himself. His mind immediately went through his day.
He had been on the go since early that morning, stopping first at Walter Reed to check on both Mulder and Scully, and then to take Mrs. Scully to Scully’s apartment. He had introduced her to the agent who was to stay with her at all times, and left her with his cellular number to call if she had any difficulties. He had then headed to the Bureau, where his first stop had been to the office of his superior, to report the events of the day before. Two long, tedious hours later, he had checked in with ASAC Powell, still stationed in Leesburg, to learn that the Fire Investigations Team was going through the remains of the mental hospital where Andercott had taken Scully, and had nothing as yet to report.
There had also been nothing on Andercott himself. Finally, he had got to his office, to go through the mounds of paperwork that had accumulated with those he had left behind when he had gone to Leesburg.
Skinner wasn’t sure how much time actually went by as he sat there with his eyes closed, before another sound disturbed him. It came from his outer office. His eyes popped open, a frown crossing his features, and sat up. Kimberley had left at 5 o’clock, as had probably a majority of the agents who worked within the building.
Just as he was about to rise from his seat and check, there was a tentative knock at his partially open door, from when Kimberley had poked her head in to say goodnight. “Yes?” he called, watching the door expectantly.
The door opened slowly, to reveal the last person he would have expected to be there. It was Allison, the secretary who had been helping he and Mulder. His mind drew a blank, for the life of him he could not remember her last name. His eyes swept over her quickly.
She was wearing a knee-length skirt that showed off the long legs he definitely recalled. Her look had been shy when she stepped fully into his office, but now she looked a little uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat and took the aggressive route. “Can I help you?” he asked somewhat sternly. Maybe she would think he was just busy, not that he had been staring at her legs.
Her pretty brown eyes widened, and she seemed to want to leave, her body actually turning back to the door, but then her shoulders straightened, and she took another step forward. “Yes, sir,” she replied. “We…I…well, I heard that Agent Scully had been found, and was in the hospital. I just wondered if you knew how she was doing. And Agent Mulder, too.”
“Yes, Agent Scully was found,” he answered slowly, a little surprised to see the concern for two agents who were often disregarded or mocked about the Bureau. “She was injured, but will be fine. Agent Mulder helped to find her, and he is fine as well.” He didn’t know what else to add, there were details that could not be discussed yet, although he was sure there were rumors already flying.
Allison looked uncomfortable again, and her hand had not yet released the doorknob. “Um, well, thank-you for your time, sir,”
she said. “I’m glad that they are okay.” She turned to leave, and called over her shoulder, “Goodnight, sir.”
Skinner opened his mouth to say good night, and then hesitated, wondering if he was misreading signals. It had been such a very long time that he had played the game of catching someone’s eye, of first interest.
“Allison?” he called instead. She stopped, and looked back at him. “Would you like to go get a coffee?” he asked. The agent watching Mrs. Scully had called an hour ago to report that he was taking her to the hospital to see Scully, and Skinner had planned on going himself at seven o’clock. There was still plenty of time.
Allison’s smile was slow, as was her nod. “I’d love to,” she said softly, and waited as he rose from his chair. He walked over to the door, gesturing her though, before flicking the lights off and pulling the door closed behind him. Her coat lay on the edge of Kimberley’s desk, and he moved closer to help her into it, and then they walked out of the outer office.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
ICU Department, Scully’s Room
Monday
9:00 pm
Visiting hours were over, had been for some time, but Mulder remained stationed by Scully’s bedside.
No comment was made, however, all staff on the floor were aware of their patient’s status. The FBI Agent on guard outside her door and the stepped-up Security presence on the floor were visible reminders if any happened to forget.
Mulder hooked one ankle around the other chair’s leg and pulled it closer, to prop his feet up on. He probably would not sleep, but at least he could be comfortable. A smiling nurse had brought him a pillow and blanket after Mrs. Scully had left with Skinner, and he arranged them into a nest of sorts, both chairs close beside the bed.
There was one light on, set low, and he was able to watch Scully with ease. His eyes continually traced the features of her face, waiting for a sign that she would awaken.
She had once earlier, for a few minutes, and had given a smile to her mother, who had almost cried in relief at finally seeing her daughter’s eyes open. She had not spoken though, the painful grimace on her face an obvious sign that her throat made talking difficult, but had managed to chew on a few ice chips to moisten her dry mouth. The effort had exhausted her, and she had drifted off again.
Mulder’s thoughts wandered. Skinner and he had taken a walk while Mrs. Scully had sat with her daughter, and the AD had told him that there had still been no sign of Elliot Andercott. They had discussed the very real possibility that the man had indeed perished in the fire he had started at the Leesburg Mental Hospital.
Mulder had speculated that perhaps believing there was no way Scully could be rescued in time, Elliot had let himself burn to death to finally be with his sister again. He had not been able to come up with a clear psychological profile on the man, and having no other incidents involving Elliot Andercott to base probable outcomes on, it was the only one that seemed to fit.
As well, the fact that Andercott had not tried to contact him in any way since that last phone call after he had started the fire could be another indication that the man was dead. Even though the Fire Investigations Team was not through at the site yet, physical evidence of a body might never be found.
Skinner had also told him that after a very long meeting with his own superiors, there would be agents assigned to he and Scully for the next week. At that point, the case and all facts would be reviewed, to determine if further protection was warranted.
Mulder scowled irritably to himself. His gut instinct, or “Spooky”
radar, whatever you wanted to call it, did not seem to be working.
He really had no feelings as to whether Elliot Andercott was dead or alive.
Part of him hoped with an almost stunning ferocity that the man had died horrendously in the fire, while another part of him wished for the chance to confront Elliot so he could have the pleasure of blowing the bastard away.
The grinding of his own teeth stirred him from his violent imaginings, and he went back to thinking about Scully’s protection.
Regardless of what the Bureau decided, he was not leaving her side.
He knew he was in for a battle once Scully learned of his plans to live in her back pocket, but that was one battle he was more than ready and willing to face.
Rustling sounds, those of movements beneath bedclothes, disturbed him next. He realized it was a good disturbance when he looked at Scully and saw that she was coming around again. His feet hit the floor with a thud and then he was up and out of his chair, the blanket that had covered him dropping unnoticed to the tiles.
He leaned over her as her head moved restlessly on the pillow, her eyes blinking slowly. “Hey there,” he said softly, reaching out to lightly stroke her cheek.
Medication-hazed blue eyes met his, and then a small smile curved her lips. Her answering “Hey,” was soundless, and he scrambled to pour her some water from the carafe the nurse had brought earlier.
His hand was gentle as he slid it under her hair to the nape of her neck, lifting her head slightly so she could sip at the tepid water.
She made a face, but drank it anyway. He watched carefully, and when she pursed her lips closed, took the cup away, setting her head back down onto the pillow. “Thanks,” she rasped out.
Mulder returned the cup to the little night table with one outstretched arm, keeping his eyes on her. “Welcome,” he whispered back. His hand continued its motions on her cheek all the while as he shifted his stance a little so that his elbows supported his weight on the mattress.
Scully seemed much more alert this time, her eyes wandering the small room curiously. “Mom?” she asked, wincing again, her eyes closing briefly.
“Sent her home,” he replied, and then letting a grin take over his face, continued, “I wanted you all to myself.”
The blue of her eyes deepened as she stared into his, her face serious for a moment, before she smiled back. “Mulder.”
That was all she said, but Mulder heard a wealth of meanings in the way she said his name, and he was content. A lock of hair had fallen on her face, and he moved his hand from her cheek to brush it back.
The gesture caught her attention, and her eyes widened. “You… hurt?” she got out, her voice gravelly.
The bandage on his hand. He looked at it for a minute and then met her gaze again. “It’s nothing,” he replied, shaking his head.
Her eyes narrowed and this time he got the distinct impression she was trying to growl his name.
“Honest Injun, Scully,” he said, giving her his most innocent expression. The one with the wounded puppy eyes. “It’s not serious. Just some cuts.”
“How?” she managed. She was watching him with some suspicion.
He knew she was sure he was hiding something from her, which he was, but he was not going to go into it now. He didn’t want to get her all worked up, and maybe have a relapse. “It’s not important, Scully,” he said. “I’ll tell you when you’re feeling better.”
He stroked one finger down her cheek, and then with more daring, across her lips. “I promise.”
Her lips curved into another smile beneath his finger, as her eyes told him she would hold him to that promise, and he smiled again.
He would keep that promise, and the one he had made to himself to tell her his true feelings, but not here in the hospital, while she was still in serious condition. He pulled away from her to pull his chair back over to the bed and sat down again, reaching out his hand to grasp one of hers. Their fingers entwined, and he let his thumb rub slowly back and forth across her knuckles.
Scully watched the motion of his thumb for the longest time, and then her eyes slid shut. Her breaths deepened and a tiny sigh of contentment left Mulder’s lips as he watched her sleep.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
General Floor, Scully’s Room
Wednesday
11:30 am
Scully shifted restlessly on the hospital bed, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at the IV in her arm. She gave it a resentful glare; she was more than ready for it to be removed. She had thought the doctor would have removed it today, she had been moved from the ICU to a regular bed earlier that morning.
In fact, she had been hoping to hear that she would be released from the hospital entirely. The doctor had shaken his head and told her he wanted to keep her under observation for a few more days.
Her vigorous protestations that she was fine, albeit spoken in a croak due to her still tender throat, had been ignored.
Scully sighed. Everyone was treating her like glass, Mulder most especially. He still had not told her what had happened to his hands, despite her continued questioning. He also had not yet told her how she had gotten away from Elliot Andercott. When she had asked him the night before while they sat quietly together after her mother had left with Skinner, his eyes had gotten wide. Then his panic face had made an appearance. In a low voice, he had told her they would talk about it later.
Scully shifted again, a little more carefully this time. She made a decision. It was later. Now she just had to wait for Mulder to make an appearance. She didn’t have a watch, but had asked the nurse the time on her last rounds, and it had surprised her.
Mulder had been there when she woke up in the ICU, but had been asked to leave while they transferred her to a regular room. He had kissed her on the cheek and told her he would be back, and had yet to return. She wondered what was keeping him.
She yawned, widely, and it made her cheek hurt. She lifted one hand to probe at her face, wincing again as her fingers traced what she knew must be bruises. She sat up, determined to make a thorough investigation of her body. She hadn’t really given too much thought about what had happened to her since first coming to in the ICU, where Mulder had told her about the breathing tube the doctor had put in.
She tried to think clinically as her fingers moved over her face again, feeling pain in both cheeks, one more than the other. Her nose was a little sore, and her lip felt puffy. Obviously Elliot had managed to land some good blows. Next, she felt her neck, moving along the gauze taped there. Rope burns, she told herself.
A picture flashed in her mind, of Elliot pulling the rope tightly around her neck, and she blinked it away. Her fingers felt all along her neck, and she began to breathe a little heavier. Where was her necklace and cross? She made a mental note to ask Mulder or one of the nurses where it was, thinking they had probably removed it when she was brought in to the emergency room, standard procedure.
That calmed her a little, and she continued on with her inspection, holding her arms out in front of her. There was a slightly swollen area on one upper arm, from the repeated injections, and the odd bruise here and there. Both wrists were also wrapped in gauze.
Her hands were rough and red, and two fingers of her right hand had small bandages on them. Her fingernails had ripped off, she remembered, from working at the rope that had bound her.
She took a second look at her hands and arms, and patted her face again. There didn’t seem to be any burns. She had apparently been overcome with smoke, if a breathing tube had been necessary, but had managed to escape being burnt. She had believed without a doubt that Elliot Andercott wanted her to die in that fire. How the hell had she gotten out?
Or, more importantly, who had gotten her out?
Her mind flashed to an image of Mulder. Saw again his red-rimmed eyes, and the bandages on his hands. Could Mulder have somehow gotten to Elliot? Knowing Elliot’s glee in tormenting Mulder with phone calls, maybe he had called Mulder somewhere, and Mulder had been hurt apprehending him. She knew Mulder’s rage upon encountering Elliot would be incredible, and she could picture him attacking Elliot with his bare hands.
That could explain the bandages. Maybe. She frowned, it didn’t sound right. She would have to wait until Mulder got there, and force him to tell her everything.
The door opened then, and Scully looked up, hoping to see Mulder.
A woman, dressed casually, but with a hospital ID badge pinned on her sweater and holding a chart, stood there. She smiled and came in, moving over to stand beside the bed. “Hello, I’m Hannah Martin. I’m a psychologist with the hospital, and I was wondering if we could talk about what has happened to you.”
Scully stared for a moment, wondering why a psychologist wanted to speak with her, before remembering her manners. She held out her hand, saying, “Dana Scully. Nice to meet you, Miss Martin.” The words came out gravelly, and it still hurt to talk.
“You can call me Hannah,” the woman said. “Do you mind if I call you Dana?” Her voice was warm and low, and her eyes were kind.
“I don’t mind,” Scully replied. “Hannah.” She flicked her eyes from Hannah’s face to the chart Hannah had tucked under one arm.
She coughed, which made her chest ache and her eyes water, before saying, “You said you’re with the hospital, right? I can understand the FBI or the police wanting to speak to me, but why the hospital?
And why a psychologist? I can assure you I am not traumatized by what happened. I feel fine, in fact, and would love to go home.”
She knew her cheeks were probably red with the effort of speaking, and she was breathing a little heavily.
Hannah looked a little alarmed. “Let me get you some water,” she said, and turned to pour some into a cup. She handed it to Scully, and watched her take several small sips.
Hannah seemed relieved when Scully relaxed back into the pillows and continued on as if there conversation had not been interrupted, “I can imagine you would want to go home. I don’t like staying in hospitals myself, but you know they’ll only release you when they feel you are ready.” She smiled then, saying, “Excuse me,” and reached over to pull the chair against the wall over to the bed.
She sat, crossing her legs, and laid the chart on her lap.
Scully nodded, sighing again. “I know. Doctor’s make the worst patients, and I have certainly had my fill of hospitals.” She took another sip of the water. It’s coolness felt wonderful sliding down her throat.
Hannah had opened the chart and was perusing the top page. “Oh, that’s right, you’re a medical doctor as well as an FBI agent. That must be quite a challenging career.”
“It has its moments,” Scully replied, smiling slightly. More than a few, actually, but she wasn’t quite ready to share them with this woman. She was still very curious as to why Hannah was here, and had noticed how smoothly the psychologist had avoided answering her question. She had been injured in the line of duty many times before, but could not recall having to speak to any psychologist other than the FBI appointed one for a required evaluation. Oh well, she had played aggressor before. “You never answered my question. Why are you here?”
Hannah blinked rapidly, clearly startled, before her features smoothed out. “To talk to you, of course, Dana,” she answered.
“Talk about what?” Scully demanded. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude here, Hannah, but could we please just cut to the chase?”
Hannah looked down at her lap for a moment. The woman’s own cheeks were red, and she seemed to be debating with herself. She took a deep breath and then replied. “Certainly, Dana.” Her gaze became sympathetic. “Your partner, Agent Mulder, told us you had been raped.”
“I was raped,” Scully repeated, a little stunned, just as Mulder walked in the door.
11:40 am
Mulder stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to Scully’s new hospital room, a helium balloon emblazoned with Garfield the Cat in one hand and a small bouquet of pink roses in the other. His meeting with Skinner had been thankfully short, giving him lots of time to peruse the gift shop downstairs.
Nothing new had been learned in the last two days. There had still been no sign of Elliot Andercott, and while the Fire Investigations Team had forwarded their initial findings from the Leesburg Mental Hospital, no trace of a body had been found.
Mulder shook his head; he didn’t want to think about that madman right now. He glanced at the balloon bobbing in the air beside him, and hoped Scully wouldn’t think it was too silly. Yet her eyes had lit up when the gift basket had arrived from the FBI yesterday, and it had had a small balloon on a stick poking up from amongst the goodies.
Agent Lee Cormier was sitting on the chair outside Scully’s room, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. The agent’s head came up at the sound of Mulder’s footsteps, eyes narrowed. He visibly relaxed as he recognized Mulder, and nodded hello.
Mulder nodded back and putting the roses carefully under the arm that held the balloon, reached out to open the door. He turned the handle and pushed, walking in just in time to hear Scully say, “I was raped.”
A rushing sound filled his ears and the words echoed in his brain.
He felt weak-kneed, and actually staggered back a step into the doorjamb.
The balloon string slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, and it rose up to the ceiling, where it bounced there for a moment, the string swaying slightly.
Even though he had already known Andercott had raped her, it was so much worse to hear it from her lips, spoken so baldly, so plainly. Guilt crashed through him in waves, pounding into his soul. Oh, Jesus, how much more did she have to suffer because of him?
He hadn’t seen the woman sitting with Scully, until she rose, walking over to him in concern. “Agent Mulder, I presume? I’m Hannah Martin, the hospital psychologist. I understand you were the one that recommended I come speak to your partner?”
He nodded his head jerkily, forcing himself to straighten from the doorway. “Yes, I’m Agent Mulder,” he replied hoarsely, automatically sticking his hand out. They shook hands briefly, and Mulder watched as Hannah Martin turned back to Scully.
He shifted his gaze to his partner, to see her staring at him, an odd look on her face.
Scully spoke then, and her voice was strangled. “Hannah, could you give me a few minutes with my partner?” Although the words were spoken to Hannah, Scully did not shift her eyes from his face.
“Certainly, Dana,” he heard Hannah say. The psychologist retrieved a chart from her chair and left the room after a brief nod at Mulder.
He nodded back reflexively, eyes entirely focused on Scully, and then stumbled forward a few steps after the door swooshed shut.
“Mulder…” Scully started to say, and then grimaced. She coughed and then swallowed thickly.
Mulder forced himself into action, moving over beside her bed to pick up the water carafe off the table. “Do you need some more water?” he asked, holding it up and gesturing at the cup she held in her hands.
She nodded and thrust the cup towards him.
He managed to fill it up without spilling any water, and returned the jug to the table. He realized then that the roses were still tucked under his arm. He grabbed them and placed them on the table beside the jug.
Scully had obviously taken a few sips while he was occupied, for she now held the cup resting on her blanket-covered lap. “Mulder… Mulder, he didn’t rape me,” she said. Her blue eyes stared at him earnestly, their whiteness only slightly marred by the occasional red streak left over from the smoke.
Those were the last words he had expected her to say. Oh, God, was she in denial? Had it been so traumatic that she had pushed it out of her head?
“Scully,” he whispered sadly, shaking his head. He found it hard to look in her eyes, and shuffled awkwardly beside the bed.
“Mulder, look at me,” she said, reaching a hand out to snag one of his. Once he had lifted his head and met her eyes, she spoke again. “Mulder, Elliot Andercott did not rape me.” She enunciated each word slowly and carefully.
He wanted so much to believe that, but could still hear Elliot’s words in his head as the man tormented him with what he had done.
Her eyes searched his, and she repeated it yet again. “Mulder, he didn’t rape me. He couldn’t…he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t maintain an erection.”
“But, he told me…” Mulder said hoarsely. Her hand squeezed his as he blinked back moisture in his eyes. “Scully, he phoned me and told me what he had done to you.”
“Mulder, whatever he told you, it didn’t happen,” she said softly.
Her next words unknowingly echoed his thoughts. “Mulder, I’m not in denial. I was not traumatized so badly that I have pushed the memory away.” She broke their eye contact, looking down at her lap. “I’m not saying he didn’t try, or that he didn’t hurt me, but Mulder, I swear to you, he did not rape me.”
Her words rang so true, and relief flooded through his entire body.
His shoulders, which had been taut, relaxed suddenly, and the tension flowed out of him. “Oh, Scully,” he whispered.
Her head was still bent, and he saw that her shoulders were shaking slightly. A sniffling sound reached him, and he slipped his hand from hers to reach out and push through her hair, which had fallen forward to hide her face, to touch her chin. He nudged upwards and her face lifted, revealing tears tracking down her cheeks. She sniffled again, and then her face screwed up as she tried to hold back her sobs.
He was on the bed beside her in seconds, pulling her into his embrace. One hand held her to his body, and the other stroked through her hair. “It’s okay, Scully,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He rocked her gently in his arms, and let her cry.
She was tiny and warm against him, and it felt so good to hold her this way. They still had so much more to talk about, but for now, this was enough.
12:20 pm
Margaret Scully saw the two agents outside Dana’s room, and knew Fox was with her daughter. The agent assigned to guard her walked silently beside her, toting the small carry-on bag she had filled with personal items and toiletries from Dana’s apartment.
She smiled at them when she reached the door, and both smiled back.
One even tipped his head down and said, “Ma’am,” in a slightly southern drawl. Agent Phillips joined them, handing her the carry-on bag, and she turned to the door, hesitating a moment before pushing it open.
The first thing she saw when she entered was Fox perched precariously on the edge of Dana’s bed, his arms wrapped around her daughter, Dana’s hand clutching one of his to her chest. Dana appeared to be asleep, as did Fox, but his eyes popped open when she advanced into the room.
A look of apology mixed with embarrassed shame filled his face, and she quickly held up one hand. “It’s okay, Fox,” she said gently, putting the carry-on bag down beside the gift basket from the FBI and the flowers Bill and Tara had sent on the ledge across from the bed. “Is she asleep?” she asked quietly, turning back to face them.
Fox had extricated himself from Dana and risen from the bed, and nodded his head. “She dozed off about ten minutes ago,” he replied, just as softly. His feet shuffled nervously, his gaze moving everywhere about the room except on her.
Margaret hid a smile. Fox was obviously very uncomfortable at being caught on Dana’s bed by her mother. If he only knew how many times she had wished to see them together like that. Of course it would be far more ideal if it occurred somewhere other than a hospital room.
“I see you’re not wearing your bandages any more,” she said, to change the topic.
Fox glanced down at his hands and replied, “They bugged me.” Seeing the look she gave him, he quickly added, “They’re okay, really.
Hardly hurt at all.”
A scratchy voice interrupted them. “Let me see.”
Dana was awake.
Fox looked guilty, and actually backed up a step. “Look, Scully, your mom’s here. Why don’t I leave you two alone?”
It was an obvious escape tactic. One that would not fool her daughter, Margaret knew.
“Mulder,” Dana said, and Margaret had to hide yet another smile as Fox immediately went to the bedside and held his hands out for inspection.
She watched as Dana tenderly held first one hand and then the other, fingers gently tracing each mark. When she got to the big blister on his left palm, her breath hissed in noisily. “Mulder, this looks like a burn! How…what…what happened?” Dana exclaimed.
When Fox did not reply, Margaret stepped forward to stand next to him, and softly said, “Dana, Fox went in that burning building and pulled you out.”
Dana’s eyes went incredibly wide as she stared at Fox. “Mulder?”
she asked. Her eyes filled up then, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, God, Mulder,” she whispered, and brought the blistered hand up to her lips, placing a gentle kiss on his fingers. She repeated the gesture on his other hand, and then sniffled. “Oh, God,” she said again.
“Scully,” Fox whispered back. “It’s okay. I was okay. Little smoke, few cuts, that’s all.”
“But Mulder,” she said, now pressing her cheek to the hand she still held. “You went into…into fire for me? My God…Mulder, you saved my life.”
“And I’d do it again, Scully,” he whispered. He bent, and Margaret felt tears form in her own eyes as their foreheads touched. Dana’s eyes were closed, but a few more tears had joined the first one to roll down her cheeks.
Margaret was just starting to back away to leave the room to give them some privacy, when a noise at the door startled everyone.
Dana and Fox broke apart, and they all looked up to see a nurse at the door, holding a tray that had to be Dana’s lunch. The nurse, who didn’t look old enough to have finished nursing school in Margaret’s opinion, smiled nervously.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I’ve brought Agent Scully’s lunch.” She hurried over to the little sliding table and put the tray down. “Do you need anything else?” she asked.
Dana shook her head, wiping her cheeks with one hand. Margaret busied herself with getting Dana’s tray ready, although she could still see the two of them.
Fox leaned down and pressed a kiss on the top of Dana’s head.
“I’ll be back in a little while, okay?” he said softly.
He straightened, but his hand lingered for a moment, playing with Dana’s fingers. Finally he pulled away and headed to the door, hesitating on the threshold to stare at Dana for a moment before striding out.
Dana had composed herself by the time Margaret slid the table in front of her, the lid of the tray removed to reveal a bowl of broth and a bowl of green jello. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered.
Her voice was still a little thick, and she hadn’t looked up yet.
“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Margaret replied. “I’ll go get some more ice water for you, okay?” she said, to give Dana a little more time. She was intensely curious about what had transpired, but knew her questions would have to wait. “I’ll be right back.”
With that, she picked up the carafe from the night table and left the room.
Revenge Part 14 by Lovesfox
Dana Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Saturday
11:00 am
Home. She was finally home. Scully stood a few steps inside her apartment, vaguely aware of Mulder talking quietly to their escort of agents behind her, and just stared. It felt so good to be home.
She moved in a little further, hearing the quiet snick of the lock after Mulder shut the door. A rush of cool air teased her as he walked past, carrying her bag from the hospital. He headed down the hall to her bedroom as she surveyed her home.
Signs of her mother’s presence were everywhere, the vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table by the couch, the smell of her special chicken soup simmering in the kitchen, the sparkle on the hardwood floors. Scully could tell her mother had done a massive clean-up job after Skinner and the other agents were done here, there had apparently been quite a mess.
Mulder had finally told her their theory of her kidnapping, that she had been taken after exiting her car two weeks ago yesterday, and that he and Skinner had set-up a post of sorts in her apartment. It had taken a lot of effort on her part to get Mulder to talk after her mother had revealed that Mulder had been the one to rescue her from the fire.
Even though she had still been reeling from that news, despite memories of so many other instances where Mulder had risked his own life to save hers, she had pressed him to tell her as much as he knew.
He had done so, his voice sometimes monotone, other times choppy and thick, and even though he had been careful to relate only details, his feelings and emotions had leaked through. It had been as she had imagined while imprisoned with Elliot; Mulder had gone through his own hell.
There had been silence for long moments after his recitation had ended, Mulder staring unblinking at his own hands, linked together and hanging towards the ground, his elbows on his knees. His shoulders had heaved several times, his breathing harsh.
She had watched him, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and finally whispered his name.
When he had looked up, she had patted the mattress beside her, saying only, “Please?”
He had hesitated only seconds before climbing up onto the bed, and once she had them arranged satisfactorily, with his arm wrapped around her and her head tucked into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, and her hand clasping his free one, she had told him what she remembered.
She had held almost nothing back, knowing not only that he needed to know, but that she needed to tell him, for her own sake. Mulder had been quiet through most of her narration, but she had felt his body tense when she told him of being forced to change and shower in front of Elliot, and of her near-rape at his hands. Bitter curses had been torn out of him then.
The tears that had fallen from her eyes had been a form of release, of cleansing, and she had not been ashamed of them. Nor had Mulder been ashamed of his tears. She had been so very tired though, that she had fallen asleep, still cradled in his arms.
Scully finally forced herself to move again, walking over to the couch, and easing her still bruised body down onto the couch.
She curled her feet up under her body, her head resting on her palm on the armrest. As she heard Mulder’s footsteps returning from her bedroom, she recalled the one thing she had not told Mulder that day.
That she had heard his declaration of love in the warehouse, when he had thought she was dead.
“Scully, do you want me to make you some tea?” Mulder asked, his voice soft, stopping beside the couch to lightly touch her shoulder.
She realized he must think she was dozing, and pushed herself up onto her elbow. She cleared her throat and smiled faintly at him.
“Yes, thank-you,” she replied, and watched him walk into the kitchen. She lowered her head back to the arm of the couch and resumed thinking.
She still wasn’t sure why she had held back that little piece of information. Hearing it while standing beside Elliot in the abandoned hospital’s room, had affected her profoundly, caused her to finally and truly evaluate her own feelings for Mulder. She loved him.
So why couldn’t she tell him?
Because he hasn’t told you, that little voice in her head answered.
And he hadn’t. Not in words, anyway. She knew he loved her, he showed her in so many ways. She was just afraid it was not the same love she felt for him. That it was a love of friendship, of mutual trust and respect. Not a love of devotion, of passion and desire.
Through their years together, on hundreds of cases, in hotel rooms and abandoned warehouses, on stakeouts and investigations, she had caught glimpses of what she thought might be his attraction for her. Sometimes even a flare of desire, quickly masked. Heard his innuendos and teasing comments, wondered if there was meaning behind them. Hoped there was.
There is, she told herself. Her mind flicked through memories, of warm glances, of tender touches, of late night calls just to make sure she was okay. Images of his smile, the one only for her, sounds of his voice, saying her name in that way that made her toes curl.
This was love. She was suddenly sure of it.
Muted sounds from the kitchen distracted her, cupboards banging, Mulder mumbling under his breath. She had to smile. It sounded so right, him being here with her, and she knew right then and there that she had to tell him how she felt.
Scully sat up straighter, but left her feet tucked underneath her.
Her hands were cold, and her heart was pounding. She took a deep, steadying breath just as Mulder walked back into the room, carrying a laden tray.
He moved carefully and slowly lowered it onto the coffee table, nudging the vase of flowers aside. She saw he had found her favorite china teapot, a gift from Melissa, two teacups, milk and sugar, and two spoons. The couch moved slightly as he sat down beside her, his hand reaching out to lift the teapot.
No time like the present. Another deep breath, which had Mulder looking at her with concern on his face, and she said the words.
“Mulder, I love you.”
11:10 am
Mulder dropped the carry-on bag on the floor beside Scully’s bed, his eyes wandering her bedroom for a minute. Mrs. Scully had obviously cleaned up, the bed was freshly made, with a different comforter, and there was another, smaller vase of fresh flowers on one night table.
Gone were the traces of fingerprint dust, the mess he had left when he had searched desperately for the clue supposedly left by Elliot Andercott, any trace that someone other than Scully herself had been in there.
For a brief instant, he saw again her bed as he and Skinner had found it, covered in the surveillance photos Andercott had taken of Scully for God knows how long, heard again the ringing of the cellular phone the man had left on her dresser.
He shook his head to dispel the memories, and headed back to the living room. As he approached, he could see that Scully had settled down on the couch, her head resting on its arm. He wondered if she was sleeping, but then could see that she seemed too tense to actually have fallen asleep. He stopped beside the couch and reached out with a light hand to touch her shoulder. “Scully, do you want me to make you some tea?” he asked quietly, and watched as she pushed herself up a little.
At her acknowledgement, he went to the kitchen to make the tea. He found himself wondering if she were in any pain. Her movements from the car to inside her apartment had been slow and careful, and he was pretty sure he had seen her conceal a wince or two. He had also seen some of her bruises earlier that morning at the hospital when he arrived to take her home, having walked in on her without knocking.
She had been partially dressed, her bare back facing he and the door, and he had not been able to control his harsh intake of air.
One large purple bruise decorated her right shoulder blade, and other smaller, brownish ones dotted her spine. She had looked over her shoulder at him as he mumbled an apology and backed out the door.
Neither of them had mentioned what he had seen on their drive to her apartment.
He had asked if she was all right, of course, a couple of times actually, and the first time she had replied that she was okay.
The second time, he had received her standard answer of ‘I’m fine’
in a somewhat testy tone. He just wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t want to push her. Despite their long talk in the hospital after her mother had left, she was still holding back. He supposed it came from years of practice.
Mulder snorted quietly to himself.
Pot meet kettle.
He was just as guilty as she. He too had held something back.
He knew that when he had told her of the week spent in frantic search for her that some of what he had truly been feeling, his despair and fear, had leaked through, had seen her reactions to his recital. She had been drawn as taut as a bowstring in his arms, and had not been unable to control her ragged breathing or the occasional gasp or sniffle.
Yet he had not told her he loved her. He had chickened out. But somehow, it had not felt right telling her something so important in the hospital, despite the fact that many of their confessions and declarations had happened in one.
He would have to find the right time.
The teakettle whistled then, knocking him from his thoughts, and he lifted it from the burner to pour the water into the teapot he had found. He put the pot onto the tray with the other things he had rummaged through Scully’s cupboards to find, and went back to the living room.
Scully was sitting up on the couch, and she looked so serious, almost melancholy, that he was a little taken aback, his steps nearly faltering. He managed to get the tray onto the coffee table without incident, shoving the vase of flowers there aside, and came around to sit beside her on the couch. He leaned over to pour the tea, and heard Scully inhale deeply. He turned to her in alarm, worried that something was wrong.
What he heard floored him.
Scully’s voice, a little breathless and rushed, saying, “Mulder, I love you.”
Mulder stared at her, speechless, unable to move. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. Foremost was ‘Scully loves me’. It was closely followed by ‘She’s confused, she doesn’t really mean it’.
The emotional upheaval she had been through with her kidnapping, on top of learning he had been the one to pull her from the fire, had done a number on her.
As much as he had longed to hear those words coming from her lips, had dreamed of hearing them, he did not think she meant them, at least not the way he wished she did.
Scully rose suddenly, avoiding his gaze, and hurried down the hall to her bedroom, and Mulder felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.
Jackass! He yelled at himself. She just told you she loved you!
Even if the sentiment was misplaced, you could have at least said something. Anything!
He rose from the couch, tripping over feet that suddenly seemed miles too big, and called out, “Scully, wait!”
He knew he was in trouble when she did not slam her door, but merely shut it gently. With finality. He hustled down the hall, coming to a skidding halt at her door. He knew there was no lock on it, but would not enter without her permission. “Scully,” he said, knocking softly. “Can I come in, please?”
She did not answer, and he repeated his plea. And twice more.
Finally he heard her voice faintly telling him to come in. He turned the doorknob and entered slowly, seeing Scully sitting on the edge of her bed. Her face was composed, but color was still high on her cheeks. She regarded him solemnly as he crossed the throw rug to sit beside her.
Although in reality only inches separated their physical bodies, his thigh almost touching hers, the emotional chasm between them was enormous.
Now that he was there with her, he was at a loss for words again.
He could feel her gaze on him, sensed her waiting for him to make the first move.
“Scully, I…” he hesitated, trying to find the words. He started again. “Scully, I know you think…”
Her voice interrupted them, low and husky. “Mulder, why don’t you believe me?” She lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, turning his head to face her. She had shifted slightly on the bed as well, so most of her body was turned to his, her hand falling to her lap.
“Why is it you can believe in the existence of aliens, and in all things fantastical and paranormal, but you can’t believe that I love you?”
She raised her hand again, saying, “I love you here.” Her fingers grazed his forehead. “And I most especially love you here.” Her fingers left his forehead to touch his chest, her palm lying directly over his heart. “I think I have for so very long, it just took a very terrible ordeal to realize it.”
Mulder stared into her eyes, clear and wide and so very blue, and saw truths in their depths. Beautiful truths.
“Scully,” he whispered. He did not remember moving his hands, but they were suddenly framing her face, pulling her closer. “I love you.” The thumb of one hand stroked her cheek, feather-light.
“More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”
He copied her gestures, moving his fingers to touch her forehead.
“Here.” Sliding them down along her face and neck to the swell of her breast. “Here.” Back up to her lips. “And here.”
He leaned towards her, and she met him halfway. Just before their lips met, he whispered, “I believe, Scully.”
11:20 am
Scully waited anxiously for Mulder to respond. Slowly, the happiness that had filled her from uttering those fateful words turned to dread. Oh, God, he doesn’t feel the same way. She got to her feet as quickly as her aching body would allow and fled down the hallway, not even looking at him.
It was not until she reached her bedroom did he finally speak, calling out, “Scully, wait!” She ignored him; shutting the door softly behind her, enclosing herself in the silent, empty sanctuary of her bedroom. She stood just inside, her heart racing from her flight, wondering what she was going to do now. On shaking legs she moved over to sit on the edge of her bed.
Deep breaths, she told herself. In, and out. Again. Feeling the thudding in her chest subside. There was no way she could pretend it was all a bad dream, but maybe there was some way she could salvage things.
Explain to him. Explain what? That you didn’t mean it? When you did, with all your heart and soul?
There was a soft knock at the door, and then Mulder’s low voice, asking if he could come in. She stared at the wood surface that was all that kept Mulder from her, and heard him ask again. He was stubborn, he would stay there all day and night, and she would be trapped inside, alone. “Come in,” she said finally, her voice a little quieter than she had intended.
Yet Mulder had heard. She watched the doorknob turn slowly, and Mulder entered. She kept her gaze on him, her face carefully blank, and tracked him as he walked over to sit down beside her on the bed.
He was so close to her, only inches away, and she imagined she could feel the heat from his body, warming her chilled one. She waited, to see if he would speak first, and listened to his stumbling attempts.
It hit her in a flash of insight.
In the complexity that was Mulder’s mind, he believed he was not worthy of love, and therefore could not believe that she would love him.
She interrupted him, her new realization making her voice not quite level, and asked him why he couldn’t believe. She touched him on the cheek, the heat of his skin scorching her cold hand, and turned his face to hers. She moved on the bed, so that she was now facing him, and spoke again.
She did not mock his beliefs in the paranormal and fantastical, but questioned why he couldn’t include her love for him in them.
She lifted her hand again, touching his forehead lightly, saying, “I love you here.” Moved her hand to lay over his heart. “And I most especially love you here.” Saw his eyes widen, saw him begin to believe.
His hands lifted to cup her face, whispering her name, and then she heard the words she hadn’t realized until now she had longed to hear from his lips.
“I love you.”
His thumb on her cheek was so soft, so tender, and nearly moved her to tears. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”
He echoed her gestures, touching her forehead and her heart, but added one of his own, his fingers lightly brushing her lips.
“And here,” he said.
She sensed him leaning towards her and moved with him, heard him say more beautiful words. Words that filled her heart to bursting.
“I believe, Scully.”
Their lips met, tentative and light at first, then more firmly.
Scully parted her lips on a gasp of pleasure, and felt Mulder’s tongue swoop inside, tracing her gums and teeth. She allowed the tip of her tongue to meet his, and the kiss deepened. Her hands, which had wound up at his hips, swept up his back to clutch him to her. She could feel Mulder’s hands, fisting gently in her hair, angling her head to the side.
Somehow she ended up on her back, Mulder’s body partially covering hers, their legs entwined. She could feel the delicious weight of him, all along her, and forgot all her aches and pains. In one corner of her mind she was surprised at how easily and quickly they had moved from declaring their love to showing it physically. She thought that it should bother her, but it didn’t. It felt right, and oh so very good.
It had been such a long time since she had lain in a man’s arms, and that it was finally Mulder, something she had dreamed and fantasized about, only made it that much more incredible.
Stop thinking, she told herself, and slid her hands into the silky softness of his hair. She could not prevent a small moan from escaping when his lips left hers to trail along her jaw to her ear.
She shivered next, when his tongue wetly traced its rim before biting gently on the lobe.
His chuckle reverberated against her skin, followed by his warm breath as he whispered, “You feel so good, Scully.”
“Mulder…“she sighed, lifting her chin to give him better access to more of her neck, not caring about the gauze bandages that still graced her skin, covering the rope burns.
He obeyed her unspoken request, and kissed and nibbled his way around her neck, pausing when he encountered the white squares.
His shoulders tensed as well, and she knew he was thinking about Elliot.
She would not do the same, that man had no place in her bed.
Nor would he, she would not let what he had done to them spoil what she had been wanted for so long. She smoothed her hands up and down his back, pressing her breasts up into his chest, and whispered, “Kiss me, Mulder.”
Slowly he relaxed, and groaned as she rubbed herself against him.
In retaliation, he sucked at a tendon in her neck for a moment before moving back to her lips for a deep, satisfying kiss that went on and on.
She needed to feel his skin, his bare skin, and managed to get her hands under his cotton tee shirt. She kneaded and stroked his firm muscles, feeling them bunch and flex beneath her hands as his hands moved too, touching her anywhere he could reach. Soon even that was not enough, and she gripped the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards, forcing him to break their kiss so she could yank it over his head. As soon as she did, his lips descended again, hot and wet, slanting across hers. The tee shirt fell from her fingers and then she was running her hands along his lightly furred chest.
One of his hands was hovering at her midriff, where her sweatshirt had risen slightly, the other rested near her head, supported his weight on his bent arm. Her nipples tightened as she felt his fingers grazing her bare skin, and she sucked in her breath when he circled her belly button with one tip.
She teased his nipples with her fingernails, loving the way he squirmed in reaction.
He groaned again, into her mouth, and pulled his lips from her, breathing raggedly. “Scully…” he panted. “We should stop.
You just got out of the hospital, and I know you’re still hurting.”
“Mulder,” she whispered, sliding her hands up his chest to hold his face. “You make the pain go away.”
The smile on his face was beautiful, as was the heat and desire she could see in his eyes. She fluttered her own eyes shut as his face lowered to hers once more, her hands slipping to his shoulders.
He traced her lips with his tongue, before pulling the lower one into his mouth, between his teeth. He sucked at it for long seconds and then released it, lathing it with his tongue again.
She surged her head upwards and caught his lips with hers, encouraging him to kiss her once more.
Neither one heard the sound of the key in the lock, nor had they seen the note left by Margaret Scully, telling them she was out buying groceries and would be back in one hour. The breeze from them opening the door when they came in had blown it off the coffee table to land on the floor.
11:45am
Mulder was not sure what heaven was supposed to be like, but if it was anything like the feel of lying with Scully in his arms, he was prepared to die happy. Of course, it helped immensely that she had just declared her love for him, as he had for her.
Something he had hoped for, but never quite believed.
He moved his lips against hers, her mouth warm and inviting.
Begging to be explored. Their tongues met, teasing and stabbing.
He held her head by his hands fisted loosely in her hair, and turned it slightly, deepening the kiss. He could feel her hands, at his hips, holding him to her, and his legs were tangled with hers. He couldn’t even remember kicking off his shoes, but he must have at some point. Scully had shed hers as well; he could feel one sock clad foot rubbing along his calf.
She moved her hands then, to slide into his hair, sending goose bumps rising all over his flesh, and pulled his lips from hers to slide to her jaw, following along it to her ear. He traced it with the tip of his tongue, hearing her moan, and nipped at her earlobe.
Her answering shiver made him chuckle, and he breathed into her neck, “You feel so good, Scully.” The words seemed inadequate.
She sighed his name, and tilted her head back, an invitation if he ever saw one. One he would not refuse. He kissed and sucked and bit along her neck, and then felt the obstruction against his lips, almost like being doused with cold water.
Bandages. Covering the rope burns. He saw the Polaroid in his mind, the one that Elliot had taken of Scully with the rope around her neck, and couldn’t help the tensing of his body.
Scully seemed to sense where his thoughts had gone, as she somehow always could, and moved her hands up and down his back rhythmically, soothingly. She thrust her breasts into his chest, the hard points of her nipples teasing him, and whispered, “Kiss me, Mulder.”
How could he resist? He banished the image, hopefully forever, and relaxed into her embrace. Before he could oblige her, she rubbed herself against him again, making him groan. He swooped down and bit at her neck before moving back to her lips.
He could lose himself in their kiss.
Mulder felt her hands, sliding under his tee shirt, touching, stroking, and working at the muscles there. His body responded automatically, the muscles jumping beneath her fingertips. His hands became busy as well, touching her hair, her face, but not yet straying out of the safe zones.
Scully surprised him by pulling his tee shirt up, and he was forced to break their kiss in order for her to remove it completely. Once she had, he dived back down to her luscious lips, thrilling to the feel of her hands on his bare chest.
He had to shift his body, his jeans were extremely tight. He ended up supporting himself on one arm, lying beside her head, their lips still joined. With his other hand, he teased the narrow ribbon of flesh at the waistband of her sweatpants.
Her sweatshirt had moved up a little when they had fallen back onto the bed. Her skin was soft and warm, a caress on his fingertips. He let one finger stroke around her belly button, feeling her stomach tighten as she sucked in a breath.
She scratched at his nipples, and they hardened immediately, making him shiver. She smiled beneath his lips, and he groaned into her mouth.
He wanted to tear off his jeans, strip away her sweat pants…He broke the kiss, panting for air. They couldn’t. It was too soon.
For God’s sake, she had just got out of the hospital, and he knew she was still in pain. He said that to her, almost gasping the words, and her hands left his chest to cup his face.
Her words blew him away again. He made her pain go away?
This incredible woman in his arms, did she realize the impact her words had on him?
He smiled, so in awe of her, wanting her so very badly. He watched her eyes close as he descended to claim her lips. Her lower lip beckoned, and he traced them both before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently. He bathed it with his tongue again, but she had other ideas. She moved, searching for his lips with her own.
Mulder’s hand squeezed her hip once before moving upwards beneath the sweatshirt, aware of her hands once again on his chest, alternately stroking and scratching his skin. His fingers grazed the underside of one breast, and she thrust upwards in reaction, encouraging him on.
Emboldened, he cupped the fullness in his hand, his thumb flicking over her hard nipple. She obviously liked it, for she began sucking on his tongue, her legs moving restlessly amid his.
The blood had long since rushed to his groin, but at her action, he hardened even more. His hips began thrusting lightly, nudging his erection into her thigh. Scully shifted so that he was pushing against the juncture of her legs. They both groaned.
A voice called out then, startling them both.
“Dana, honey, are you all right?”
Mrs. Scully.
Mulder pulled away from Scully so fast that he actually fell off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thud and a muffled groan.
He rolled onto his back and from his perch, jean-clad legs sprawled, and the bulge of his erection still apparent despite the double shocks, he watched as a very sexy-looking Scully scrambled off the bed.
Her hands first tugged her sweatshirt straight, and then went up to stroke through her hair, which had been lovingly mussed by his hands.
From the other room came, “Dana? Fox?”
“Are you okay, Mulder?” she whispered, her cheeks flushed bright red. She bent slightly, offering a hand to help pull him up.
“Define ‘okay’,” he whispered back, eyes flicking from her face to his groin.
She obediently followed his gaze, and although her cheeks reddened further, she actually smirked, her eyes shining with arousal and humor.
He waved her off, saying, “Go reassure your mother. I’ll be out in a second.”
She nodded, glancing at the partially open door, and then with a slow, devastatingly sexy smile, whispered, “I love you.”
Mulder watched her leave, admiring the sway of her hips, and waited until she crossed the threshold before calling softly, “Scully?”
She looked back over her shoulder and lifting up slightly, he blew her a kiss. Once she was out of sight, he let his head fall back to the floor with another thud. Maybe the pain would help make Junior go away. Or an ice-cold shower.
Knowing that was out of the question right now, he sat up and took several slow, deep breaths. He thought about Tooms, his hands touching the man’s bile. He thought about kissing his grandmother. He thought about Frohike in a black leather corset.
Finally he felt his desire ebbing, even as he wondered where the hell that image of Frohike had come from.
The passion-heated sweat on his body had cooled, and he realized he was bare-chested. He gained his feet and found his tee shirt tossed in the middle of Scully’s bed. He grabbed it and slipped it on, then ran his hands through his hair, trying to tame it a little, knowing the spikes were probably going every which way.
As he headed down the hallway, he could hear Scully and her mother’s voices, coming from the kitchen. Mrs. Scully asking Scully if she had a fever, saying that her cheeks were flushed. Mulder smiled to himself, thinking, the best kind of fever there is, Mrs. Scully.
He entered just in time to see Mrs. Scully’s hand slide from Scully’s face, where she must have been checking her daughter’s forehead for a temperature. Scully looked at him with an embarrassed smile.
“Hi, Mrs. Scully,” he said brightly. “We were just putting Scully’s stuff away.”
“Hello, Fox,” Mrs. Scully answered, turning to face him. She had a hard to read smile on her face. “So Dana was just telling me. That was very nice of you to help her, Fox.” She turned to the stove and busied herself with the teakettle. “Oh, and Fox?” she called out, to get his attention. Her next words were bland. “Your tee shirt’s on inside out.”
Mulder felt his cheeks go red.
Bus-ted.
11:45 am
Margaret Scully thanked Agent Andrews for helping her carry the grocery bags in to Dana’s apartment. After unlocking the door, and accepting the bags back, she nudged it open with her hip. She saw that he waited until she had put the groceries down on a side table and then closed the door, locking it behind her. She turned back, staring with curiosity at the empty living room.
Fox and Dana had to be back by now, Agent Andrews had pointed out the agents assigned to them sitting in an unmarked car just a few spots down from the front of the building. She advanced further, wondering if perhaps Dana was not feeling well, and had gone to bed. She heard something then, almost like a moan, and stopped in her tracks.
“Dana, honey, are you all right?” she called out.
A thud answered her query.
She took a cautious step in the direction the sounds had come from, her daughter’s bedroom. Her mind whirled with thoughts, her heart started to pound. Was Dana hurt? Was there someone else in the apartment? Taking a firm rein on her emotions, she called out, “Dana? Fox?”
She heard the faint sounds of voices, and then Dana was coming out of her bedroom, walking towards her.
“Sorry, Mom…we…Mulder was just helping me with…some things,”
Dana said, and she seemed flustered, not quite together.
Margaret watched as Dana’s eyes scanned the room and lit on the grocery bags on the side table. “Um, are those groceries Mom?”
She asked. “I think I could go for some tea and toast.”
Margaret saw that Dana was headed towards the side table, and moved to grab the bags before her daughter could. “Let me get those, dear,” she said, and lifted both bags. “We’ll get these to the kitchen and I’ll make some tea.”
Dana trailed obediently behind her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as her mother busied herself putting the items away. “You were out of a lot of staples, and I picked up some chicken to make you some homemade soup,” she commented.
After placing the milk and butter in the fridge and shutting the door, she turned to her daughter, curious about her silence. She took a closer look at Dana and saw that her cheeks were flushed.
“Dana, are you feeling all right? Do you need to take a painkiller?”
“No, Mom, I’m fine, really,” Dana replied.
Her hands played with her hair, nervously it seemed to Margaret.
“Are you sure?” she continued, striding over to Dana’s side, one hand lifting to her daughter’s forehead, to check her temperature.
“Do you have a fever? Your cheeks are all flushed.” Yet Dana’s skin was only slightly warm. She was aware of Fox walking into the kitchen, saw Dana smile a little. She studied Dana a moment longer. If she wasn’t mistaken, Dana’s mouth looked swollen.
Kiss-swollen.
Fox spoke then, saying, “Hi, Mrs. Scully. We were just putting Scully’s stuff away.”
He spoke so heartily that she immediately knew something was afoot. She turned to face Fox, saying, “Hello, Fox,” and saw that his tee shirt was reversed. It took her a moment, but two plus two definitely equals four. As well, there was the fact that she had raised four children and had experienced teenage hormones and first loves. Now of course Dana and Fox were not teenagers, but there were like them in some ways, fumbling towards something deeper and more profound than friendship.
She had to work hard to control the smile that wanted to escape.
She knew she should be shocked, or even disappointed that Dana and Fox had been…fooling around in Dana’s bedroom, but was just so tickled pink, and even a little bit relieved, that she couldn’t be.
And the fact remained that they were adults. She was not that naive that she believed Dana was a virgin, nor Fox, and despite the teachings of the Catholic faith about pre-marital sex and abstinence, she also believed her daughter had to make her own choices and decisions. As had her other children.
“So Dana was just telling me,” she continued. “That was very nice of you to help her, Fox.” Despite her pleasure that Dana and Fox finally seemed to be headed in the right direction, she still couldn’t resist the urge to tweak them both. She turned to the stove to get the tea kettle and said, “Oh, and Fox? Your tee shirt’s on inside out.” She was proud of how blase she sounded.
A strangled sound came from Dana, and then what sounded like a giggle. Margaret glanced at her daughter, to see her with one hand over her mouth, her cheeks redder than before. She looked over her shoulder at Fox, to see that his cheeks too were blazing.
Yet he met her eyes. In his were an apology and a plea.
No wonder her daughter couldn’t resist him. His puppy dog look, waiting to be scolded or chided. Margaret smiled at him, a huge, happy grin, signifying her acceptance of what had happened, and saw him relax, saw the light return to his eyes.
He smiled back, a thank-you, and said, “I’ll be right back.” He shot a look at Dana, and a quick wink, and headed out of the kitchen.
Margaret gave Dana a few minutes to get composed, and busied herself with filling the kettle with water. She didn’t see the tea tray, or the pot, and instead pulled the loaf of bread out of the fridge, for toasting, and retrieved a jar of marmalade and one of jam.
She was very aware of Dana just to her left, and imagined her fidgeting like she had as a child when she had something to say, but difficulty getting the words out. She had learned that it was best to wait it out and let Dana find them on her own.
“Mom…” spoken softly.
Margaret waited, keeping her hands busy. Popping slices of bread in the toaster, putting the jam and marmalade in little bowls.
The next words were rushed, almost breathless. “I love him.”
Margaret stopped and turned to face Dana. “I know, baby,” she said. Two steps and she was pulling Dana into her arms, feeling Dana’s arms wrap around her tightly. “And he loves you,” she whispered into her daughter’s hair. She felt Dana nod against her shoulder, and closed her eyes on the rush of tears that threatened. “I’m glad, baby.”
She heard what sounded like a sniffle, and pulled back slightly so she could look at Dana’s face. Their eyes met, both watery, and then they smiled at each other. Margaret gave Dana one last squeeze and then released her.
“Enough of this, or we’ll both be bawling, and poor Fox won’t know what to do.”
She was rewarded by Dana’s surprised laugh, and a nod of agreement.
“Now where are your tea things, dear?” she asked.
Dana blushed again, which made her smile anew. “They’re…um, on the coffee table,” Dana replied. “Mulder made tea, but we…” her voice trailed off.
Fox walked in just then, tee shirt on correctly this time, saying, “I heard my name. What did I do?”
This time, Margaret laughed. The puzzled look in his eyes made her laugh harder. Dana started to snicker too, and Fox backed away slowly, looking from her to Dana. Margaret took a deep breath and then said, “I’m sorry, Fox. It’s nothing. Could you bring me the tea tray from the other room?”
At the sudden intake of breath from him, Margaret knew he had figured out what was so funny.
The grin he gave her was unrepentant, because she had in sort given them her blessing, Margaret guessed, and then he nodded, leaving the room to fetch the tray.
When he returned with it, she told them to go sit down and that she would bring everything out in a minute. She was pleased to see Fox take Dana’s hand to lead her out of the kitchen.
In minutes the tea and toast was ready, and Margaret joined them in the other room. Fox jumped up from his perch on the couch beside Dana to take the tray from her and placed it on the coffee table. She sat down in the wing chair and they settled back for their little repast.
3:00 pm
Scully sighed after she shut the door and locked it. She loved her mother dearly, but she had really been ready for her to leave a while ago.
It had also become a little bit awkward when she learned that both Mulder and her mother had plans to stay with her. She valued her independence, always had, and having either one of them around would be tough enough. Both would be impossible.
Yet after only a few minutes of what had started out to be a tense standoff, her mother had capitulated, rather easily, now that she thought about it further, and said that Mulder was the better choice. That he would be there for her protection.
She had nearly bristled at that, about to vehemently protest that she could look after herself, when she had seen the look in Mulder’s eyes.
She had seen fear. Fear for her safety. And fear that somehow, despite all that she had said, she had not meant what she had told him. She had almost cried. Instead, she had crossed to his side and slid her arm around his waist, insinuating her body tightly against his, and agreed with her mother. Mulder’s exhalation of relief had been audible only to her, and she had felt the shudder that had run through him.
His arm had come up around her shoulders and squeezed briefly in return, before he moved over to the side table to pick up her phone. He had called the agents down in the car, requesting that Agent Andrews return to the apartment to take her mother home. He had then said he would clean up, and carried the tea tray back into the kitchen. The sound of running water and cupboards being opened and shut had soon followed.
Scully realized her body had stiffened up from sitting on the couch so long after they had eaten their light lunch, and she walked slowly and carefully from the door into the kitchen to check on the pot of soup her mother had left simmering on the stove. Mulder had done a quick clean-up only, rinsing the dishes and leaving them in the sink. She stared at them for a moment, and decided she really didn’t feel like tidying up right now. She was actually a little tired too.
The aroma of the chicken broth had been wafting through the entire apartment for some time now, teasing her appetite. She decided to check on it before going to lie down, and lifted the lid of the pot, releasing a cloud of steam and more of the delicious smell. She gave it a slow stir. It would be perfect by dinnertime, along with the loaf of crusty bread her mother had also picked up.
She replaced the lid and headed to her bedroom to find the prescription painkillers given by the doctor upon her release. She hated to admit a weakness, and knew Mulder would go overboard in taking care of her. As she thought more on that, she admitted to herself that it wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing, being taken care of by Mulder.
She paused at the doorway, leaning on the wood jamb, watching Mulder trying to unpack her bag from the hospital.
He looked up as if sensing her there, and straightened slowly, her bra dangling from his fingers. He was smiling, and Scully was unsure of whether it was because of her lingerie in his hand, or because he was happy to see her.
“I don’t think that will fit you, Mulder,” she murmured, smiling back at him.
His eyes crinkled in confusion, and she nodded towards his hand.
He held up the bra, and she was rewarded with the second Mulder blush of the day. “Uh…” he started to say.
Her smile widened. It was so rarely that she got the upper hand with Mulder; it was usually he who had her tongue tied and fighting off a blush or a smile. “And it’s really not your color,” she continued, walking towards him.
“Funny lady,” he finally replied. Not to be outdone though, he held it up to his chest, and struck a pose. “Are you sure it’s not me?”
“Mulder!” she exclaimed, trying to pull it from his grasp. “You’re starting to worry me. Please don’t tell me you like wearing women’s clothing.”
He waggled his eyebrows up and down. “Only yours, Scully,” he replied. “Only yours.”
Her struggles to get the bra from him knocked them both over, onto her bed, with her landing on top of Mulder. He was wiggling too, and his elbow happened to catch her in the ribs, right over one of her bruises. She could not contain her hiss of pain.
Mulder froze instantly, all traces of humor vanished. “Oh, Jesus, Scully, I’m sorry!” he cried out, scrambling to roll her gently off of him. His hands moved from her arms to her hair and back to her arms again, unsure of where to rest them. “Scully, are you okay?
I’m so sorry.”
Scully heard the absolute panic in his voice, and managed to rise to a sitting position. “Mulder, I’m okay, really. You just hit a sore spot, that’s all. I’m fine,” she hastened to reassure him.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his hazel eyes running over her face, searching for evidence that she was hiding her pain from him. One hand came up to stroke a strand of hair back behind her ear. It was shaking slightly.
She reached up and grabbed the hand, bringing it to her lips to press a kiss on it. “I’m sure, Mulder. I’m okay,” she replied.
She shifted her body, grimacing a little.
Seeing his eyes narrow and his mouth open to protest, she added, “I’m a little stiff and sore, Mulder, but not because of anything you or I did. It’s bound to happen, and will probably last a couple more days. I just need to take a painkiller and lie down for a little while, okay?”
He finally relaxed, and leaning down, pressed a kiss on her cheek.
“Thank-you, Scully,” he breathed.
“For what?” she asked, tilting her head sideways, a little perplexed.
“For really telling me how you are, instead of just telling me you’re fine,” he said huskily. This time he kissed her on the lips, a gentle brushing, before rising from the bed, careful not to jostle her at all. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Be right back.”
Scully admired his butt in his tight jeans as he left the room, remembering squeezing it once while they had been making out on her bed earlier. She shook her head at herself. Making out. She hadn’t used that terminology in years. Yet, it seemed to fit.
Then she smiled.
If she used Mulder’s baseball terminology, she guessed they had gotten to either first or second base. She was really looking forward to a home run.
Somehow though, she sensed that tonight would not be the right time. She wanted to be healthy and unmarked, despite the fact that she knew Mulder would not care how she looked. She did though.
She wanted it to be perfect. And it would be, when the time was right.
Hopefully that would be soon.
In the meantime, she had a feeling she would be doing a lot of fantasizing.
True to his word, Mulder returned moments later, carrying a tumbler of water. He went to her dresser and retrieved the bottle of painkillers from it, and brought both to her. With a smile of thanks she shook one out of the bottle he opened for her, and downed the pill with a drink of the water.
Mulder put the glass and the pills on her night table and then helped her climb under the covers, pulling them up to her chest, and smoothing them a couple of times. He bent and kissed her on the cheek, and then whispered, “Have a good rest, Scully.”
She looked at his beautiful eyes and with a smile said, “I’ll sleep better with you here.”
That was all it took.
In seconds he had moved around to the other side of the bed and was climbing in beneath the covers to lie beside her. He moved carefully to snuggle up to her, placing his hand gently on her waist with a whispered, “Is this okay?”
Scully ran her fingers along the arm on her waist to entwine her fingers with his and whispered back, “This is perfect.” She closed her eyes, settling more into her soft pillow, and felt herself drifting off to the feel of his warm breath on her neck.
Revenge Part 15 by Lovesfox
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Monday
11:30 am
Skinner moved briskly through the throngs of people in the hallway. His face was a careful mask, hiding any sign of emotion or feeling. His fists were clenched tightly however, a clue to anyone who might have looked that he was angry. Finally he reached his destination, and stepped into the outer office that housed his assistant.
Kimberley was busy at the computer, but she looked up at his entrance. The smile that had started to form on her lips faded away when she saw him. Her tone was sympathetic as she asked, “It didn’t go well, Sir?”
He had told her on his way out to head upstairs that he had a meeting about the situation with Elliot Andercott, and whether surveillance was to be continued on Agents Mulder and Scully, and that he did not have a good feeling about it. It was apparent that Kimberly had realized that his feeling had been correct.
He grunted negatively, shaking his head, and then took a deep breath. There was no point in dwelling on it, the decision had been made, and by someone higher up then he. Except he was the one who had to tell Mulder the surveillance was to be terminated in the next few days.
Skinner forced himself to relax, and said, “Any messages?”
Kimberley shook her head, replying, “No, sir, no messages.”
Skinner glanced at his watch and decided to leave for his lunch date with Allison a little early. He was meeting her at a little cafe a couple of blocks from the Hoover building, before he headed over to Scully’s apartment to meet with her and Mulder to discuss the status of the investigation into Elliot Andercott and the surveillance on them both.
“I’m heading out for lunch and then over to Agent Scully’s. I have my cellular, or you can reach me there later,” he told Kimberley, who nodded and smiled.
His steps were lighter this time as he made his way down to the parking garage, having skipped the elevator and taken the stairs instead.
In moments he was in his car and headed down the street. He was lucky, and found a parking spot right in front of the cafe.
They had arranged to meet at noon, and he was early, so after sitting at a table, just asked the waitress for a glass of water, explaining his companion would be joining him shortly. She smiled and brought the water quite quickly, for the place had not yet gotten its lunchtime crowd.
The time passed rather quickly, and as the tables slowly filled to capacity, he checked his watch several times, wondering where she was. He knew traffic could be heavy at this time of day, so he assumed she was just caught in traffic. Or maybe she had decided to walk, and that was why she was late.
However, he couldn’t keep his fingers from tapping on the smooth surface he sat before, feeling awkward and very noticeable sitting alone at the table without food.
From across the crowded cafe, the waitress held up the menu yet again, and he shook his head once more.
Where the hell was she?
Finally, at just before 12:30, he accepted that Allison was not going to show. He gestured for the waitress, and after she had wound her way through the other tables to his, placed a takeout order for a turkey on whole wheat. It fortunately did not take long, and when she brought it to him in a little deli bag, he handed her a ten and told her to keep the change.
He ate the sandwich as he drove to Scully’s apartment and had finished it before he arrived. A car had pulled out from the spot in front of the building, and he took advantage of the prime parking location. He scanned the area out of habit, seeing the unmarked car that contained the two agents still assigned to Mulder and Scully about a block away. He made no sign that he had seen them, and strode up the walk and inside the building to Scully’s apartment door.
Two brisk raps on the wood surface, and then he waited, knowing Mulder was probably peering at him through the peephole. A moment later he heard the bolt sliding open and the lock disengaging.
The door opened, revealing Mulder standing there in a tee shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He looked casual and comfortable, and quite at home, except for the gun held down by his side. He was obviously taking his job to guard Scully very seriously.
Once inside, Skinner saw Scully standing just beside the couch.
She smiled a little when she saw him, and then sat down. His quick eyes had noted she looked very tired and pale, with circles beneath her eyes. He walked past Mulder and sat down on the edge of the wing chair that was to the left of the sofa, leaving the space on the couch for Mulder, who also sat down.
Without preamble, he began. “Well, the meeting went pretty much as I suspected, and told you yesterday. The surveillance is to be terminated as of Wednesday. With no contact from Andercott, despite the lack of a body or a location, the Bureau feels it is a waste of resources.” The look on his face showed he did not share that opinion. “They do, however, share my concern that this matter may not be over, and are in agreement with the suggestion that I made.”
“Which is?” Mulder broke in, somewhat rudely. He had risen from the couch and was now pacing about the room. His feelings were quite plain on his face. He was angry, and worried.
“That you remain with Agent Scully at all times until she returns to active duty. Said active duty is not scheduled for another week.”
Scully’s face had been a calm mask as she watched Mulder pace, but she started a little at hearing his last words, and turned to face him. “You suggested this, sir?” she asked. “And they agreed?”
“I did,” he replied. “They did.” Skinner grimaced a little and continued. “After a bit of persuasion.” He sighed, and then let his body sink back into the chair. “Quite a bit of persuasion,” he added, almost unnecessarily. He knew Mulder and Scully were familiar with the often-difficult workings of Bureau politics.
Scully’s voice was soft, as was the look on her face.
“Thank-you, sir. I know it must not have been easy trying to get them to agree to your plan.”
Mulder finally stopped pacing, and resumed his seat on the couch. “I’ll enlist the Gunmen to help with surveillance.
I’ve already got them searching high and low for any mention or sign of Andercott,” he related, his voice tight-sounding.
Skinner nodded, and watched as Scully reached out to grasp Mulder’s hand and squeeze it tightly. Mulder glanced at her, and they seemed to have a silent conversation. He realized that the energy always present around the two seemed charged, electric almost.
Something had changed, and he thought for the better. He found himself wondering once again about the true nature of their relationship, and decided he would check on the status of the pool running about them when he got back to the office. He couldn’t participate in it, not as an AD, but he knew Kimberley had. He could give her a nudge in the right direction.
There was no actual rule forbidding that two agents could not have a relationship, although it had always been frowned upon.
The fact that they were partners, under his supervision, made it even more of a dilemma. Yet they had also become more than just agents in his command, he had a connection to them deeper than just that of employer-subordinate. He resolved that he would look the other way whether they were starting, or continuing, a relationship beyond friendship.
Skinner had nothing else to discuss with them, so he rose to his feet. “I have nothing else, Agents, but will continue to check in with you several times a day. If anything comes on regarding Andercott, I will of course contact you as soon as possible. I trust you will do the same if you learn anything from your outside sources?”
Mulder and Scully rose almost as one, their hands still connected, and Mulder nodded. “Of course, Sir,” he replied.
Scully released his hand, and Mulder moved around the couch to see him out the door. “Thanks, sir,” he added as Skinner stepped out into the hallway.
Scully echoed him, calling out, “Thank-you again, sir.”
Skinner nodded and strode down the hallway, hearing the door close and lock behind him. He made his way quickly outside and to his car.
Once back at the Bureau, he headed directly to his office. He passed Allison in the hallway, who smiled at him. He merely nodded back and continued on, despite the fact that she had been turning to talk to him.
He was too old for these kinds of games.
Kimberley was not at her desk, so he would have to tell her later to arrange calls to the agents who had been on surveillance duty for Mulder and Scully to inform them of the plan to end the duty as of Wednesday. He shrugged his jacket off and hung it on the back of his chair before taking a seat. At some point while he was gone, Kimberley had added a new stack of files to his desk, although thankfully it was a small one.
A knock came at the door, and he lifted his head to see Allison standing there. “Yes?” he asked gruffly. Why did she have to be so damn pretty?
“Walter,” she began, for he had told her to call him Walter after their second coffee date, feeling awkward hearing her say AD Skinner while he used her first name. “Is something wrong?” Her face wore a puzzled expression as she waited for him to respond.
He had intended to be cool about the whole matter, but his feelings got the better of him, and he reacted, saying with a more than a little anger, “I don’t like being stood up. I would have aappreciated a call if you couldn’t make it.”
Her eyes widened, and she almost stammered, “I don’t understand… what do you mean?”
Skinner’s collar felt tight. Had he perhaps mixed the dates?
He glanced down at his little desk calendar. No, it was open to today’s date, and in his scrawl was her name and the time, noon.
Was it a game? Was this how it was played? He exhaled loudly and said, “Our lunch date? At the cafe?”
She blinked, and then her cheeks reddened suddenly. “Oh, no… was that today? I’m so sorry, Walter. I honestly forgot.” She brought one hand up to cover her face.
The look appeared genuine. But, she forgot? He felt a wave of cold run through his body. Maybe he was taking things too seriously; maybe she had just been being nice. He rubbed his hand over his mouth nervously, unsure of what his next step should be.
Make a joke; tell her it was no big deal?
“Maybe we could re-schedule?” she asked tentatively. “I’ll write it down this time, I promise.” She smiled a little and continued, her words rushed, almost babbling. “If it’s not about my job, I tend to forget everything if I don’t write it down. It’s terrible, I know, but I can’t help it. My mother always says I need a keeper.”
“We could do that,” he answered slowly. “How about you pick a time and a place, and let me know?”
Now the ball was in her court. If she did not call, she obviously was not interested. He pulled one of the files towards him and opened it, to show he was busy.
Allison’s voice was low, but sounded happy. Relieved. “I will then, and let you know, okay?” At his nod, she turned and left.
Skinner sank back into his chair, staring at the empty doorway.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Monday
1:00 pm
Mulder glanced down at the woman dozing in his arms. Her feet were curled up so that her heels brushed against her rear, and her head was on his chest. Faint smudges were visible beneath her closed eyes, evidence of her troubled nights. He was used to getting little or no sleep on a regular basis, and was not really bothered by it now. He was thankful she was getting at least a little sleep now, even if it was curled up somewhat uncomfortably on her couch.
Scully had started having nightmares late Saturday night, waking him up with her cries. He had been sleeping beside her, at her insistence, and the eerie keening noises she had made had scared him more than any full-blooded scream would have.
He had been afraid to touch her at first, for she had stared wild-eyed at him, her body shoved up against the headboard as far away from him as possible.
The moonlight had streamed into the room, illuminating her pale, frightened face. Little gasping sounds had come from her mouth intermittently. He had spoken soothingly, his hands in front of him so that they were clearly visible to her, and after a few minutes she had calmed and thrown herself into his arms, silent silvered tears running down her cheeks.
He had managed to get them both back under the covers, spooning his body around hers, feeling her shiver, and stroked her hair until she had finally fallen into a fitful slumber.
Twice more that night she had awakened him the same way.
Sunday night had been no better. They had stayed up late, watching movies, in the hopes that exhaustion would keep the nightmares at bay.
It had not.
She had been tired, extremely so, but less than an hour after climbing into her bed, she had awoken with a moan of fear, pushing violently at his arms, which had been wrapped around her.
The entire night had been passed that way. Scully falling exhaustedly off to sleep in his arms, only to wake up crying and shaking. He had asked her after the second nightmare if she wanted to talk more in-depth about her experience with Andercott, in the hopes that doing so might be a catharsis of sorts, but she had told him she was not yet ready to do so.
Disappointed that she had not chosen to unburden herself to him, but at the same time understanding she needed to deal with it in her own way, he had desisted, not wanting to distress her further.
She had been wan and red-eyed earlier that morning when she rose from the bed, barely able to meet his eyes, and he had hid his hurt. He had told her he would make breakfast while she had her shower, and had tucked his feelings away while puttering in her kitchen making bacon and eggs.
When the shower had stopped, he had assumed she had gone to get dressed, and it was only his keen sense of smell, catching a whiff of peaches and vanilla that had warned him she had come into the kitchen. Her arms had suddenly been tight around his waist, her nose buried in his back.
Her voice, low and husky had whispered, “Thank-you for not pushing me. Just as you thanked me for telling you the truth about how I felt yesterday, I thank-you for letting me tell you in my own way, in my own time.”
He had placed his hands on her terry cloth covered arms, returning her embrace as best he could, and then heard her whisper, “I love you, Mulder. I always have, and I always will.” Her arms had loosened, enabling him to spin around to hug her tightly to his chest, rubbing his nose in her damp hair, his hands running up and down her back. Before he could say anything, she had spoken again, “Don’t ever doubt that I love you, Mulder.”
“I still believe, Scully,” he had whispered back, and by the movement of her face against his chest, knew she had smiled.
She had pulled free then, and he had let her, sensing she needed to pull back a little, to regroup. He had told her, “Breakfast is almost ready. Why don’t you get dressed?”
She had nodded and turned to go to her bedroom.
“I love you, Dana Katherine Scully,” he had added before she had made it from the room, and she had spun around and rushed back into his arms, their mouths meeting in an explosive kiss that had had his pulse soaring and his heart pounding. A moment later she had again pulled from his arms and left the room, leaving him standing there slack-jawed with surprise and desire.
Thinking about that kiss again now, Mulder had to shift a little on the couch, spreading his legs slightly, careful not to disturb Scully.
She moved anyway, making a little mewling sound, her head rubbing back and forth on his chest. He grinned at her kitten-like actions, wondering what she would think of his naming her a kitten.
The knocks that came then surprised him a little. He didn’t think Skinner was due for a while. He lifted his arm to glance at his watch and then looked at Scully again. She shifted, obviously having heard the knock, and lifted herself off of him so he could get up and answer it.
He grabbed his gun off the coffee table and moved over to the door.
He took a quick peek through the peephole and saw the balding head of their boss. He relaxed, calling to Scully, who had also risen from the couch, “It’s Skinner.” He unbolted and unlocked the door, pulling it open, and then stepped aside to let Skinner enter.
Their superior walked in and over to the wing back chair, sitting on its edge. He waited until Mulder had closed the door and sat back down on the couch beside Scully before beginning.
His first words, while not actually a big surprise, angered Mulder, and his anger had him up on his feet and pacing. He was also a little rude to Skinner. His gut feeling told him Andercott was still alive, and not quite finished with them yet. He was also worried that he would not be enough to protect her.
Not that he would ever vocalize that worry to her, she’d have his nuts in a knot for the implication that she was not able to protect herself. Being somewhat fond of them as they were, he decided silence was the best course of action. Besides, he was hoping they would get to see some action of their own very soon.
Skinner’s next sentence, about Mulder remaining with Scully until she resumed active duties, something he had decided to suggest himself, surprised him so that he was actually rendered speechless.
Scully was not however, and quietly asked Skinner, “You suggested this? And they agreed?” At Skinner’s affirmation, she thanked him, telling him she knew it must have been difficult.
Mulder finally stopped pacing and sat back down beside Scully.
He observed Skinner’s somewhat undignified position, slumped back into the chair, and that their superior seemed very down. He was tempted to ask if anything was wrong, but Skinner had never really shared many personal details about his life, and he felt awkward intruding in it.
Pushing his thought aside, he decided to kill two birds with one stone, and inform both Scully and Skinner that he had asked the Gunmen to aid in the surveillance, as well as search for any sign of Andercott. He couldn’t keep the tightness out of his voice when he said the bastard’s name, but relaxed fractionally when Scully reached over and grasped his hand, squeezing it.
He looked at her, into her blue eyes, and was calmed. They spoke volumes, sending him love and reassurance. They also promised things – deep, wet kisses and unbelievable passion. The hairs on his entire body stood up, and he nearly shivered. He had never loved anyone, or wanted someone, as deeply and with such painful pleasure as he did the woman beside him.
He wanted her to know him, inside and out, as no other ever had.
He wanted to spend hours and hours learning every part of her body, mapping every inch of her skin. He wanted to take her fast and furious, hearing her scream his name in ecstasy. He wanted…
Skinner rising suddenly broke the spell he had fallen under, making the obligatory speech about contacting him if they had any news, and that he would do the same.
He and Scully rose from the couch together, hands still clasped.
Scully let go, reluctantly it seemed, and he swore he felt a spark as their fingers released. He answered Skinner, saying, “Of course, Sir,” and then moving around the couch, saw the AD out the door, adding, “Thank-you, Sir.”
Mulder closed and locked the door and looked to see Scully still standing by the couch, watching him. Her eyes were slumberous, and as much as he wanted to drag her down the hallway to ravish her on her bed, he pushed aside his caveman impulses.
He walked to her side and stroked her cheek gently, loving the way she leaned into the caress, tilting her head so that he cupped her cheek. Unable to resist the lure of that curved beauty, he bent and pressed feather-light kisses along her cheekbone to her lips.
She sighed, her body wilting, and he pulled back with regret.
Pushing her gently onto the sofa, he bent and lifted her feet up onto the couch, so she lay stretched out. He took the chenille throw from the back of the couch and spread it over her. “Rest for me?” he asked, and smiled when she nodded. “I have a call to make, and then I’ll join you, okay?”
Her sleepy smile and eyes drifting shut was his answer. A last lingering caress with his eyes, and he moved into the kitchen so he wouldn’t disturb her.
4:30 pm
Scully stretched with a contented groan, her eyes still shut.
She actually felt rested for the first time in a couple of days, and did not want this lazy lethargy of her limbs to end. Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket that covered her for a moment before relaxing again, and a small smile drifted over her lips. Mulder must have covered her up. She had a vague memory of him lifting her feet onto the couch and telling her to rest for him.
She remembered something else then. He had also said he would join her.
Her eyes snapped open, and she struggled to sit up. Sounds from the kitchen reached her ears. Water running, a cupboard banging, followed by a muffled curse. She smiled again. And now he was cooking dinner for her.
He had acted affronted yesterday morning after he made her breakfast and she had been surprised, telling her with a pout that he wasn’t just a brilliant profiler, that he was an okay cook with other hidden talents. His wagging eyebrows had hinted at what he had meant by ‘other’ talents. The leer he added had started a tingle low in her belly, and made her blush.
Thinking about it now made her blush again. She shook her head slightly and leaned back into the sofa cushion. Mulder had always had that affect on her, unbeknownst to him; she had just been able to hide her reactions better. But since she had finally heard those three little words she had longed to hear from his lips, she hadn’t wanted to hide those reactions. She wanted to revel in them, respond to them, and give them right back to him.
As her eyes wandered she saw that there were no lights on in the apartment, and the shades were partially drawn on the windows, letting in only some sun. She recognized the time of day as being late afternoon, and was surprised that she had managed to sleep that long without having any dreams.
Her dreams.
A shiver ran through her body at the thought of them, and she pulled the throw blanket up from her waist where it had puddled to cover her shoulders, clutching it to her neck.
Whatever happy or romantic feelings she had been having rapidly disappeared.
At first the dreams had been dark, jumbled. She had felt fear, and pain, but had not known why. Woken up crying out, terrified to find she was not alone, that someone was in the room with her.
Mulder’s low voice, speaking soothing words, had finally reached her in that place in her mind where she hid, and she had flung herself into his arms. Drawing the comfort and protection she knew she would find from him.
And comfort her he had. Tucking her back into the covers like a child, holding her back against his chest, his strong thighs beneath her own legs, stroking his big hand through her hair until she had fallen asleep again.
Only to wake from another nightmare God knows how long after the first one.
As they progressed, the dreams became more detailed. Elliot Andercott was in each and every one of them, but he was not always alone. Sometimes he was joined by Donnie Pfaster, in others by Duane Barry and even the Alien Bounty Hunter. She was being taken, she was being hurt, in each one, something terrible happened to her. Strangely, though, or maybe not so strangely, the scariest one had been when Mulder had been the one harmed. She had seen him killed by Elliot.
Each had been terrifying in its own way, and she had seemed to slip from one to the other with only brief periods of respite, sheltered in Mulder’s strong arms.
Saturday night had passed that way, and she had been bleary-eyed and cranky all of Sunday. Mulder had been incredibly patient and unassuming, asking her quietly if she were hungry or needed anything. Being unobtrusive and careful. Sometimes his demeanor had actually made her angry, and other times she had wanted to cry.
He had suggested staying up late Sunday night, to see if her tiredness would help keep the nightmares away. She had agreed, willing to try anything, and they had lain together on the couch, Mulder sprawled on his back with his bare feet propped on one arm, and her lying atop of him, her feet rubbing his calves.
They had watched Lethal Weapon 1 and 2, Mulder having discovered her weakness for Mel Gibson, and he had teased her through both.
When she could no longer stop the yawns, and her eyes felt like they were full of sand, they had retired for the night.
Yet the dreams had still come.
As distressed as she had been by them, she had still been able to see that same distress on Mulder’s face. Heard it in his voice when he had asked her if she wanted to talk about them.
She had also seen the hurt that he tried to hide when she had told him no. She hadn’t done it to hurt him, would never deliberately hurt him, but had not felt ready to talk about them, as if doing so would give them more weight, more power. Had seen the hurt again in the morning when she found it hard to meet his eyes, ashamed of her weakness, even as she knew Mulder would understand it, would never think less of her for it.
After the shower he had suggested she take, she had shrugged into her robe, intending to go to her room to get dressed.
Something had called her to the kitchen, to Mulder, feeling the need to explain or apologize for not being able to tell him yet, and she had rushed in and practically thrown herself at his body, grabbing him around the waist, anchoring herself to his body.
She had whispered her love to him, asking him never to doubt it, and when he had spun in her arms to embrace her properly, she had felt again such a range of emotions-peace, happiness, safety, love.
The kiss she had gone back for had been the most incredible, arousing kiss she had ever experienced in her entire life. It had taken all of her will power not to push Mulder back against the counter, fling off her robe and have her way with him. But that was not how she had wanted their first time to be.
She would save that for later.
Scully smiled to herself, feeling the heat rise once more to her cheeks. She was really looking forward to later. And before. And every other time in between. And there would be plenty of other times. She had quite a few years of longing and pent up lust for Mulder to work out, and she was pretty sure he had some for her as well.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” came Mulder’s voice, and she started in surprise, seeing him standing beside the couch. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “How you feeling?” he asked.
Scully was glad the darkened apartment hid her blush. She sat up, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders again, and swung her feet down around to the floor. “I feel really good,” she answered. She stood, her knees creaking in protest, and realized she had spoken a little too soon. Her body voiced a few other complaints, her ribs gave a twinge, and her back ached. “Well, I’m rested, at least,” she amended with a small groan. She looked at Mulder with a lopsided smile. “I’m getting old, Mulder,” she said ruefully.
He snickered and held out a hand to her. “Well come on, old lady, I’ll give you a hand,” he said. He tugged her gently down the hall to her bathroom, where he pushed her inside.
“I’ll get you a painkiller while you get cleaned up. Dinner’s almost ready, you can watch me drain pasta.”
“My wildest desire,” she teased. She met his gaze in the sink above the mirror, and he grinned at her. God, she loved a playful Mulder.
“Better believe it, baby,” he returned, swatting her gently on the behind. He left the bathroom, and his next sentence drifted back to her from her bedroom. “If you’re real good, I’ll do it without my tee shirt.”
Despite knowing she was dueling with the innuendo and dirty talk King, she still couldn’t resist adding, “Not in the nude?” in a disappointed tone.
“I was saving that for a more formal dinner,” he said, standing in the bathroom doorway. He held out a little white pill, and when she opened her palm, he dropped it in the center, letting his fingers brush hers as he pulled them away.
Just that light contact sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.
She wondered how the long the two of them could hold out. Okay, to be truthful, she was wondering how long she could hold out.
She knew Mulder would wait until she was ready, and would content himself with gentle touches and teasing. She was also wondering if she was being stupid with this insistence to herself to wait until things were perfect. They already were perfect. Except for the fact that she had not yet made love with her man. What were a few bruises and some disturbing dreams?
“Scully?”
She looked up to see Mulder’s reflection watching her worriedly.
“Scully, it’s okay. We’ve waited this long, and I want it to be perfect too. I will wait forever for you to be ready.” His voice was husky, and honesty burned brightly in his beautiful hazel eyes.
My God, he had read her mind. Not that he hadn’t seemed to on many an occasion, as she had seemed to read his once in a while.
But to know exactly what she was thinking, and to reassure her so.
Damn her suddenly overly emotional heart. Tears had filled her eyes, and she blinked them back before turning to face him.
She took a step forward, and he leaned into her at just the right moment. Their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss, with no other parts of their bodies touching.
Mulder broke it, smiling gently, and said, “Come on, G-woman, let’s go eat dinner.”
As he had intended, her mood lightened, and she grinned back at him. “Show me what you’ve got, G-man.”
“Ooohhh, Scully, just you wait,” he said, and taking her hand, led her from the bathroom.
I don’t think I can, she thought to herself.
9:00 pm
Who would have known that watching a shirtless man pour limp noodles into a colander could be so…so damn sexy?
Even hours later, lying in her bubble bath, Scully could still not forget the image of Mulder’s arms cording as he dumped the boiling water and pasta out into the sink, the play of muscles in his back as he moved from the stove with the heavy pot. She smiled to herself as she remembered that she had felt it necessary to caution him about the possibility of being burnt or injured, despite her desire to see his bare chest, but Mulder had waved her concerns off with a smile.
From her vantage point a few feet away, leaning on the counter, she had been able to see how the steam had caused dampness to form on Mulder’s chest, how the hairs there had darkened with moisture.
She had wanted to lick at the sweat on his body, and until Mulder had looked at her, his eyes dropping to her mouth, she had not realized that the tip of her tongue had been out, licking her upper lip in parody of the act.
He had sucked in his breath, his eyes dilating, and Scully had felt her cheeks go incredibly hot. They had stood there for long moments, Mulder’s hands tight on the handles of the pot, staring at each other, her own hands gripping the counter top, before Mulder had heaved out a huge breath and with a slight waver in his voice, told her to pour the wine.
Her own breath had whooshed out, leaving her light-headed, and she had turned to do so, both grateful and a little saddened that he had not taken the next step.
Scully shifted in the tub, lifting one smooth leg up into the air for a moment, enjoying the feel of the bubbles as they slid along her skin. The bathroom was warm, partially from the hot water Mulder had filled the tub with, and from the candles flickering all over the room.
As she stared at the way the light bounced off the walls, she thought about the fact that this was the first time since she had killed Donnie Pfaster that she had been able to take a bubble bath with lit candles in the room. She was rather proud of herself.
When Mulder had suggested she go relax in the tub after their tea, the aches of her body had made her agree without hesitation, despite feeling guilty and a little rude leaving him alone while she lounged in a tub. Again he had seemed to read her mind, telling her he would be fine, that he wanted to go online and check a few things.
While the tub had been filling, she had changed out of her clothes and into her robe. Staring at herself in her dresser mirror, she had removed the bandage from around her neck. The wound was almost totally healed, the scabs gone and the flesh the healthy pink of new skin.
The only thing that was missing was her necklace, which had never been found. The nurse had double-checked with the emergency room staff, but she had had no personal effects on her person when she was admitted. She thought sadly that it could have fallen off at any time since Elliot Andercott had grabbed her, and the chances of finding it were unlikely. With a sigh she forced herself to relax shoulders that had gone tense.
Upon entering the bathroom, she had found Mulder busy lighting the candles he had obviously discovered in one of her cupboards. She had thrown a huge number out after Pfaster, but had still had some lying around. The urge to yell at him to stop had been strong, her mouth already opening, when he had turned to her with a look in his eyes that begged for approval. He had looked so pleased to have done this for her, that she didn’t have the heart to tell him the candles were too much. So she had smiled and thanked him softly.
He had brushed a kiss on her lips and left her to her bubbles.
The surge of pride returned. After a brief flash of how her bathroom had looked that night, with the stubs of candles everywhere, and the tub still filled, she had been able to relax into the steaming water, thinking only of Mulder.
Scully let her hand float lazily beneath the water, just brushing the skin of her stomach. She closed her eyes, and imagined it was Mulder’s hand instead. He was in the tub with her, her back to his chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck. His calloused fingers on her body teasingly light, moving upwards, skimming over one nipple, which hardened instantly with the fleeting touch. His head was bent, his lips warm as they grazed over her temple and along her cheek. His hand moved up along her neck to cup her chin, turning her head and angling it upwards for his kiss…
“Scully? You okay in there?”
Mulder’s voice. Low and questioning.
Scully’s eyes shot open as she sat upright quickly, breath panting in and out from both the shock of the intrusion into her little fantasy, and the fantasy itself. Her motion caused some of the water to splash out of the tub onto the floor, and she gasped in dismay.
“Scully?” This time filled with concern.
In slow motion, Scully’s head moved to stare at the door, still sitting up in the tub, watching the doorknob turning as Mulder opened the door.
His head popped around it, eyes worried. As he took in the sight of her bare breasts, only partially covered in dissipating bubbles and still heaving slightly, they widened comically, and then he quickly averted them, choking out, “Sorry.”
Heart pounding furiously, Scully fought the instinct to bring her hands up to cover herself, and said softly, “It’s okay, Mulder.”
She lowered herself slowly back into the water, now feeling a chill in the air from the opened door. “I’m just about done.”
His head disappeared, and she could hear him shuffling out in the hallway. “Okay,” he replied. “I’m just going to fix some more tea, and then we can watch a movie. Does that sound all right?”
She had decided right then and there that she needed to tell him about her dreams, and her feelings, so that they could move on to the next step.
The one they both so desperately wanted.
She did not explain this however; she would do that face to face.
So she merely replied, “Sounds all right to me.”
She listened to his footsteps recede down the hallway, and then quickly washed up, before pulling the plug out of the drain. She stepped carefully out of the tub, mindful of the puddle of water, and wrapped the large fluffy towel Mulder had left for her around her body. She dried off, slathered herself with her body lotion and shrugged into her robe. After swiping up the water with her towel and discarding it in the hamper, she was in her bedroom, slipping into panties and a sweatshirt and tights. She left her feet bare, having noticed Mulder always seemed entranced when he saw her bare toes.
A quick peek in the kitchen showed her Mulder getting the tea tray ready. He looked over his shoulder, knowing she was there, and smiled, saying, “Go sit on the couch, it’s almost ready.”
She nodded and moved into the living room, sitting herself down on one end of the couch to wait for him.
Mulder had two lamps lit, very low, and the window shades drawn, making the room cozy and warm. It was perfect for her to tell him everything.
9:00 pm
Mulder relaxed on Scully’s sofa while she took her bubble bath, his feet propped on her coffee table. He smirked as he wiggled his toes, what she couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt him.
Of course, as soon as she was out of that bathroom, his feet were on the floor.
His mind wandered back to their dinner. He had surprised himself by actually removing his tee shirt as he had joked, and drained the pasta bare-chested. The slight risk of injury had been worth the look he had seen in Scully’s eyes.
Lust. Pure, unadulterated lust.
Lust he definitely reciprocated. It had been with supreme effort of will that he had not reacted to her look, and the sight of her pink tongue licking her full upper lip, and continued on with the pasta, asking her to pour the wine. The food had been good, and after an initial awkwardness, their conversation had been light and easy, full of banter. He had also made Scully laugh, twice.
He loved to hear her laugh; full-bodied and warm, sending little darts of pleasure through his entire body.
Despite the relaxed atmosphere, they had both been careful not to stray into dangerous territory, easing back into safer topics if the subject got more intense, or even remotely sexual in nature.
Through their years together, they had always played the game.
He teased and made innuendos. She ignored him and rolled her eyes, and on very rare occasions, even gave some back. Yet there had always been an awareness between them, of each other. Mostly masked, but sometimes seen or heard. A sudden intake of breath, a flare of desire in one’s eyes.
There had been plenty of that during dinner, Mulder mused to himself. He had watched her lips as she delicately sucked her pasta into her mouth, imagining her doing other things with her mouth, and had caught her staring at his mouth a few times as well.
At one of those times, when she had realized he was watching her watching him, her cheeks had turned a charming shade of pink before she had huskily said that he had sauce on his face.
He found himself wondering if Scully had ever fantasized about him.
She loved him, he knew that, and she obviously desired him, but did she think about him the way he thought about her, or as much as he thought about her?
He had always considered her to be very sensual, even though she hid it beneath business suits and a stern demeanor. As well, he had caught glimpses of what she wore beneath those suits.
Accidentally of course, he would swear it in a court of law.
Could he help it if sometimes when she bent over, her blouses gaped and treated him to a tantalizing view of cleavage displayed in wonderful lingerie?
Or that if he had once or twice, walked through their connecting hotel doors while she had been half-dressed? He was a man; he could not help but look. Or gawk, as the case may be.
And gawk he had. And then filed the mental picture away for later retrieval late at night, alone in his dark, lonely apartment.
His mind wandered, sifting through some of those pictures, and with a shake of his head, Mulder tried to get back to his original topic. It was a given that he fantasized about Scully.
What red-blooded man wouldn’t?
From the top of her head to the tips of her toes…oh, he loved to look at her bare toes. He especially loved when the nails were painted, in bright, sexy colors. She was small, but curved in all the right places, with toned muscles and a fit body. And to top it all off, she was so incredibly intelligent. Some of her diatribes on their cases had turned him on so much; he had been forced to leave the room before embarrassing himself. On occasion, even an accidental brushing of her breast or thigh, and even once her ass, had been enough to set things stirring.
Face it Mulder, you’re a horn dog, he told himself. He was also missing Scully, even though she was only a room away.
Restlessly, he shifted around on the sofa, before finally rising to his feet and stretching. She had been in the tub a long time. He would just check on her, make sure she was okay.
He walked on his socked feet down the hall and stopped at the bathroom door. Leaning in, he quietly said, “Scully? You okay in there?”
There was a splashing sound, followed by a gasp, and worried, Mulder called out a little louder, “Scully?” His hand rose of its own accord and grasped the doorknob. Before he knew it, he had opened the door and was peeking around it.
He first saw her staring at him, her blue eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. Peripherally he was aware that she was sitting up, and not completely covered by the bubbles.
His eyes dropped, taking in the curve of her shoulder, her skin glowing in the candle light, before moving down further, to see her breasts, rising and falling rapidly.
The appearance of one pink nipple, peaking out through a curtain of slowly disappearing bubbles, made his mouth go dry.
With a jolt, he pulled his eyes away from the entrancing beauty before him, looking at the wall across from the tub instead, and managed to get out, despite severely constricted lungs, “Sorry.”
Scully did not berate him, or yell at him to get out. Instead, she softly said, “It’s okay, Mulder.”
He heard the water slosh slightly, and assumed she had lowered herself back into the tub. She then continued, “I’m just about done.”
In the hallway now, Mulder took a deep breath, willing the desire coursing through his veins to ease. He was surprised his voice sounded so calm when he told her he would make some more tea and they could watch a movie.
Her soft agreement wafted out to him through the partially closed door, and he made his way to the kitchen. It was familiar to him now, almost more so than his own barren apartment, and a comfort.
He retrieved the necessary items easily, and made the tea.
Again it was Scully’s scent that alerted him to her presence, and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway watching him. He smiled at her and told her to go sit on the couch, that the tea was almost ready. He watched her leave before resuming his task.
Moments later he was setting the tray on the coffee table, and moving around it to join her on the couch. He felt a sense of deja vu, and remembered that the last time they had sat on the couch to have tea, they had ended up making out on her bed like a couple of teenagers. The visual his eidetic memory pulled up, of Scully’s flushed face and swollen lips, caused a tingle in his groin.
Scully leaned forward to reach for the teapot, and her thigh brushed against his, intensifying the tingle. His next breath was slow and shaky, and Scully looked at him in concern, her hand holding the pot poised in mid-air, about to pour the tea into the second cup.
“Mulder?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
Mulder huffed out a laugh. Nothing that burying myself deep inside you wouldn’t cure, he thought. He couldn’t say that to her yet, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, or feel like he was pressuring her. “No, everything’s okay,” he answered finally.
She had tilted her head to study him, her eyes a very dark blue, and after a long second, resumed her task. She poured the tea into the cup and then fixed both, as they each liked it. She handed his cup to him, and then sat back into the cushions, cradling her cup in her hands.
He watched her curiously. She seemed nervous, on edge. Was she disturbed at the fact that he had blundered in on her in the tub?
“Scully, now it’s my turn to ask you if something is wrong.”
She kept her eyes on him as she took a sip of her tea, shook her head, and then leaned forward again to put her cup down on the tray. “Mulder…” she started to say, and then paused, her brow creased. With her next words, he got the sense she had changed what she had intended to say. “Mulder, I love you.”
As always, the words sent a warm feeling through his entire body.
However, as much as he loved hearing them, this time he thought there was an unspoken ‘but’ on the end. “And I love you,” he responded.
Each time he said it, the words came easier and the emotions it arose, felt more right.
She smiled, and he saw some of the tenseness leave her shoulders.
“Mulder, I want to tell you about my dreams,” she said then, and her voice was low, and a little husky. With nerves, he suspected.
“Only if you’re ready, Scully,” he said softly, reaching one hand out to lie gently on her knee. “Don’t push yourself to do this if you don’t think you’re ready. Not on my account.”
It was her turn to laugh, a small, somewhat self-effacing sound, and then she shook her head again. “This is for both of us, Mulder,” she said, her tone wry.
He watched as she took a slow, deep breath, saw her shoulders rise and fall with the deliberate motion, obviously meant to calm or ready herself. “If you’re sure,” he returned.
She shot him a look filled with such longing and lust-tinged love that he almost forgot his resolve and dragged her into his arms.
He was strong though, and held back, forcing himself to relax back into the cushions, give her some space.
She took another deep breath and then began. “Elliot Andercott is in them, of course, but there are others too. Duane Barry, Donnie Pfaster, so many from over the years. At first I can’t make sense of them, it’s dark, and everything is fuzzy. But I’m scared, so very scared, and I know I can’t get away. Then the pictures become clearer, and I am there, but at the same time I’m watching it from outside, if that makes any sense. I try and warn myself, make myself run, but the other me can’t hear. I see them come for me, and sometimes I am so close to hiding or getting away, but they always find me. They touch me, hurt me.” She paused, swallowing noisily, and looked down at her hand, which had reached out to grab onto his, lying on her knee.
“Sometimes I dream of being in the fire. Elliot ties me to the cot, and I watch as he pours gasoline. He leaves, and I lie there helpless, and then the smoke begins to fill the room,” she continued, her voice husky. She cleared it and then looked at him.
“I have to tell you this, too. When I was really there, not in my dreams, but really trapped in that hospital room, all I could think of was you. I pictured you so clearly in my head, and thought about you. And about all the things I have never told you. I regretted it so much that I had never told you how I felt, that I loved you, and had for God knows how long. I was so sorry that I had never taken the chance to say those words to you, to see if you might feel the same way.”
She stopped, smiling weakly at him, and his heart ached, thinking of her back in that room. Thinking what if he hadn’t found her in time?
Scully started speaking again, and he blinked back the moisture in his eyes, brushing away the thought, for he had found her in time, she was here, safe, with him.
“I think I became delirious. I remember lying there on the floor, thinking of everyone I loved. You, my mom, even Bill,” this was said with a tiny smile, an attempt to lighten things, Mulder knew.
“I saw Tara, and Matthew. Even Skinner and the Gunmen.”
Mulder’s eyes widened at that, and she smiled again. “Even them, Mulder. Don’t tell Frohike, but he’s kind of grown on me.”
He let himself laugh, and joked, “Like a fungus?”
She laughed too, nodding. “Like a fungus,” she agreed. Her face sobered quickly, and her head tilted to the side again, her eyes not quite meeting his, and he knew her next words were hard for her to say. Her voice was quieter, almost a whisper when she finally spoke again. “I saw my father, and Melissa. And…Emily.” She sniffled, tears shining in her eyes, but kept going. “She was holding Missy’s hand, and smiling, and then she reached out her hand to me. I tried to reach her, I remember that, and then everything went black.”
“Oh, Scully,” he said softly, and this time did not hesitate to move. He shifted on the couch, and pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently, hearing her sniffles escalate to sobs. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into the top of her head, even now aware of its sweet smell.
Her head was buried in his chest, and he felt her pull back slightly to let one hand wipe at her cheeks. Her voice was rough and tearfilled as she said, “Sometimes I dream that I was able to reach her hand, and I know that I have died, that you weren’t able to reach me in time.”
He had no words for that, could only hold her tighter, feeling his own eyes fill with tears. He pictured Emily as he had last seen her, lying near death in a hospital bed, and then imagined her happy and at peace with Scully’s sister.
Finally her shudders had subsided, as had her tears. She straightened, and he let his arms drop from around her so that she could look into his eyes. Her mouth quivered as she saw that he too had been crying, crying silent tears, and she lifted her hand to wipe at them with a delicate touch. “The dreams are mostly all variations of that, me running and not being able to get away, or dying in that fire,” she said, and then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. You must know that I have a very difficult time opening up and sharing how I feel. I also hate knowing how they will make you feel.”
Mulder cleared his throat and cupping his hand on her cheek, said, “Thank-you for telling me, Scully. I know it was hard for you, and it hurt, but I needed to know. Maybe telling me will help you get past them.”
“I hope so,” she whispered back, turning her head so that her lips could press a kiss into his palm. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze dead on, and with a smile said, “Now I can tell you about my other dreams.”
“Other dreams?” he asked, worried she was going to tell him more horrible nightmares, maybe something from her childhood that still haunted her.
It wasn’t until she said her next words that he spied the glint in her eye. “Uh-huh. These are the good dreams, Mulder.”
Her voice was low and sultry, and went straight to his groin.
“Bring it on, baby,” he said.
Revenge Part 16 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Monday
9:40 pm
Scully was surprised that she was actually able to laugh. A full-blown one too, although it came out more as a muffled snorting sound because of the hand she held to her mouth.
Dropping the hand and slapping at his leg lightly, she said, half-indignantly, “Mulder!” Trust him to say…she had been about to use the words ‘something sexually suggestive’, but amended them to ‘just the right thing’.
The words suited her suddenly very playful mood. A mood that also caused some surprise. She had to admit that she actually did feel better for having told Mulder about the dreams, like the proverbial weight had been lifted from her chest. She didn’t expect them to be over just because she had told him, not by a long shot, but the tension that had built up within her, both from having them, and not talking to Mulder about them, had gone.
Mulder had not responded to her saying his name, or the little blow to his leg. He was merely watching her, a little smile on his face. She knew it was in no way a sign that he had taken her tale lightly, or that he discounted her feelings about her dreams.
He had processed them, and despite the questions she knew he was burning to ask, he was following her lead.
She also knew he was very intrigued by the thought of her other dreams.
It felt good to be in a playful mood, one she had not been in, or allowed herself to be in, for a long time. With a slightly shaky breath, feeling a little unsure of herself, and very out of practice, she followed up the slap to his leg with a soothing caress, running from his knee to almost the top of his thigh, feeling the muscles beneath her hand flex and tighten.
“You sure you can handle it?” she asked, and her voice sounded breathy even to her ears. Once the words were out, she realized the unintentional innuendo.
Mulder, of course, bless his perpetually hormonal little heart, picked up on it too. One eyebrow rose slowly, and the smile on his lips became a grin.
“I’d much rather you handle…it,” he said silkily. He then moved his leg just the right way to cause her hand to brush against the suddenly straining hardness between his thighs.
They both hissed in a breath, staring into each other’s eyes. The grin had slipped from his face, and been replaced by such an intense look that Scully felt her mouth go dry. She unconsciously licked her lips, and saw Mulder’s eyes drop down to follow the motion of her tongue.
He groaned deep in his throat, and she felt the vibration in his chest, where her other hand now rested, not that she remembered placing it there. Even through his tee shirt, she could feel the heat of his skin, sending answering waves of heat through her entire body. She could also feel heat where her other hand lay, now directly over the fly of his jeans.
His hips moved, bucking himself harder into her hand, and she squeezed him through the denim in reaction.
“Scullee…” he groaned her name, and then his hand was in her hair, at the nape of her neck, bringing her face closer to his.
Their lips met, wet and open, and Scully allowed herself to be pulled from her seat on the couch into his lap, instinctively and intimately straddling his body. The action placed her pelvis directly over his erection, and Mulder bucked upwards again, intensifying the contact.
This time it was she who moaned, low and deep in the back of her throat, feeling herself thrust downward in reaction. Desire pooled thick and heavy in her belly.
Mulder’s tongue thrust deeply into her mouth at the sound, and then his other hand was at the small of her back, grinding her lower body against his.
Scully sucked at his tongue, and her hands slid up his body to fix firmly in the softness of his hair. She could not stop moving, thrusting her breasts into his chest, feeling her nipples harden to almost painful points. She wanted to feel his hands tugging and…oh, God, his mouth, his agile tongue, on her nipples, licking and sucking.
As if she had somehow spoken the words out loud, Mulder’s hand left her back to insinuate itself between their two bodies, crawling teasingly along her ribs to cup one breast. He squeezed it, and her back arched, thrusting it more fully into his hand. His nimble fingers plucked at the nipple through the thick cotton of her sweatshirt, and it wasn’t enough.
She wanted to feel his hand on her bare skin. She pulled free of his mouth, only able to gasp out, “Skin,” through panting breaths.
He obliged, hand darting to the hem of her sweatshirt and shoving upwards, gaining access to her now bared breasts. Her head had lolled back in wanton surrender, and they both moaned at the contact when his long fingers just barely brushed her nipple. His breaths were loud in the silence of the room.
She wanted to touch him too, to feel the crisp hairs of his chest, his male nipples pebbling beneath her fingers, and lifting her head once more, tried to pull his tee shirt up. It was awkward in their position, and she was dismayed at being unable to reach her target.
Mulder’s hand left her breast, wringing a moan of disappointment from her. His voice was smoky as he said, “Your bed. I want us in your bed,” in her ear.
Liquid heat pooled between her legs at his words, and then he had somehow lifted them both off the couch, with her body pressed against his, and his hands on her rear, supporting her weight. She wound her arms around his neck, and secured her legs around his hips, hooking her ankles together just over his butt. The position kept her pelvis in close contact with the bulge between his legs, and as he carried her, she jounced up and down, rubbing against his hardness.
He groaned and came to a stop halfway down the hallway, turning so that her back rested against the wall, fusing his lips over hers, his hips thrusting and grinding. Although he had not been rough, he had not been overly gentle, and her head had thumped a little painfully into the smooth, hard surface.
Scully did not care, she was too caught up in the sensations and feelings of the rest of her body. She raised her hands to fist them tightly in his hair, and enthusiastically counteracted his hip motions with gyrations of her own pelvis.
This wrangled another groan from Mulder, and she smiled against his lips and hummed a little, thrilled at the sounds she could evoke in him. His wet lips moved along her cheek to her ear, where he bit her lobe before whispering, “Witch.”
Her answering chuckle turned into a moan of her own as his tongue did amazing things to her ear and neck. She sighed his name, a long, drawn-out breathy sound and tried to bring his lips back to hers.
He seemed quite happy where he was, now licking and sucking along her collarbone, pushing the neck of her sweatshirt aside with his nose.
Oh, God…the things he could do with that tongue. She wanted more.
Scully unhooked her ankles and let her legs drop to the ground before tugging, none too gently, at his hair. When his eyes, nearly black with desire, met hers, she released his hair and grabbed one of his hands, walking backwards down the hall towards her bedroom.
Tugging at him, she said, “Come to bed, Mulder.”
He followed with alacrity, and sped up so that his hands could grasp her hips, her body still facing his, and guide her quickly through the door and over to the bed. He stopped just as she felt the mattress bumping the backs of her knees, and lifting her easily, placed her in the center of the bed. He made no further move, merely stood there and ran his eyes over her.
Restlessly Scully lifted herself up to her elbows, saying questioningly, “Mulder?”
“You are so beautiful,” he answered. His voice was gravelly, and made her shiver. “I have always loved looking at you, but before, I had to sneak those looks, when you were preoccupied, or sleeping.
Hoping you wouldn’t catch me.” He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly, and continued, “I don’t have to anymore, do I?”
She shook her head slowly, stunned at his words. Of course she had caught him looking at her before, and despite the thrill that had gone through her each time, she had always dismissed it as nothing.
She kept her eyes on his as she confessed, “I looked at you too.
So many times. Wondering what if would be like to run my hands over your chest, and up and down your back.” With a blush, she lowered her gaze a little and whispered, “And other places.”
“Scully,” he said, and when she had lifted her head again to meet his eyes, his hands went to the hem of his tee shirt. He gripped it firmly, and with one swift motion, lifted it over his head and off his body, dropping it on the ground. He then placed one knee on the bed, dipping the mattress, and lowered himself gently beside her.
She let herself slide back down onto the bed, and raised one hand to lie on his firm, muscled chest. The springy hairs there tickled her hand and she smiled, remembering her early thought about touching his chest. She scratched lightly, getting the shiver she knew she would from him, and then flicked a nail over one nipple. That action elicited a moan, which pleased her, and using the palm of her hand, she pushed him flat on his back.
She had always found being on top to be quite arousing so, sliding one leg across both of his, her knee brushing his hardness in the process, she straddled him once again. Her bottom rested just below the waistband of his jeans, with her knees touching his ribs.
His hands automatically rose to settle on her hips, but she grabbed them just before they could make contact, and leaning over him, laid them back against the mattress above his head. This action had brought their faces close together, so she paused to kiss him lingeringly on the lips before sliding them down his jaw and neck to where his Adam’s apple bobbed. She lathed it with her tongue before nibbling at it with her teeth. She felt the motions of his throat as he swallowed noisily, and with a smile, continued down to his chest.
She kissed her way slowly towards the bullet scar she had given him on his shoulder and traced it with the tip of her tongue before pressing one last kiss on it and moving down to the hard little nipple that begged for attention. Again with only the tip of her tongue, she circled it several times, enjoying the way Mulder’s breath huffed out in reaction, before drawing it into her mouth.
She sucked at it for a moment and then bit gently. Mulder jumped a little, so she soothed it with her tongue.
Leaving that nipple she kissed her way across his chest to the other nipple, treating it as she had the first one. Mulder moved again, squirming beneath her, his hips bucking upwards to thrust his hardness against her rear. She sat up and wiggled her behind a little. She smiled down at him, seeing the desire in his eyes, and crossing her arms in front of her, grasped the hem of her sweatshirt with both hands. She shimmied her hips as she lifted the material up inch by inch, slowly revealing her bare flesh. Her own nipples were hard points, and the cloth brushing over them teased her unbearably. With one last yank, the sweatshirt was off, and after throwing it behind her; she tossed her head from side to side to adjust her hair, which had fallen onto her face.
Scully felt the muscles of Mulder’s body tense beneath her, and knew he was going to move. “Uh-uh,” she said softly, and although his mouth opened, to protest perhaps, he subsided. He was staring wide-eyed at her breasts and breathing heavily, so she lifted her hands once more to run them through her hair, knowing the action caused her breasts to bob and sway. She glided them slowly along her face and down her neck, feeling the heat of his gaze as his eyes followed her every move, and next over her breasts, her fingernails scratching lightly, the sound audible, to rest at the tops of her own thighs.
Mulder groaned, low and deep.
She was killing him. Slowly but surely. Every action deliberate and devastatingly mind-blowing. Mulder could not fill his lungs with enough air, and was forced to breathe in short, shallow pants.
His Scully was a temptress, and he loved every minute of it.
From the moment she had touched his thigh as they sat on her couch and said those innocent words that he had turned around in an effort to tease and seduce, to being here now in her bedroom, poised at the brink of making love with her.
Now, standing motionless by the side of her bed, feeling every individual beat of his heart, every drop of blood rushing through his veins, Mulder could not take his eyes off of Scully.
She shifted and rose to her elbows, saying his name questioningly.
He hastened to assure her there was nothing wrong, saying slowly, “You are so beautiful.” He told her of how he watched her, sneaking looks when she wasn’t aware, hoping she wouldn’t catch him, and as realization came to him, he inhaled deeply, her fragrance scenting the air, and said, “I don’t have to anymore, do I?”
The negative shake of her head was both a relief and an encouragement to move forward, and hearing her say that she had watched him too did incredible things to his insides. To get her attention, for she had being looking shyly downward at her admission, a blush on her cheeks, he said only, “Scully.”
Mulder saw the heat in her eyes when his hands went to the hem of his tee shirt and then as he stripped it off, the way they roved over his bare chest, dipping briefly to glance at the fly of his jeans, behind which his erection bulged. Just a mere glance from her was enough to have him throbbing almost painfully.
He set one knee down on the bed and maneuvered himself so that he lay on his side next to her. She had lowered herself to lie back against the mattress again, and placed one palm on his chest. The contact was electric, and he felt it all the way down to his toes.
He could see the smile on her face, and was content to let her set the pace. For now.
He shivered when her nails scratched lightly through his chest hairs, and moaned when she ran one nail over a nipple. She obviously liked his response for she smiled again, and then using the hand still on his chest, pushed him flat on his back. A moment later her knee brushed his straining erection as she slid her leg over him to straddle his body.
He lifted his hands to grab her hips, to position her more firmly over him, but she took them in her hands and bent over him, bringing his hands to rest on the bed above his head. Her movements had placed her almost nose to nose with him, and just as he was going to lift his head to capture her lips, she captured his instead, in a long hungry kiss.
She then moved her lips down to the base of his neck, where she first licked his Adam’s apple and then bit it gently. His throat was thick, and the sound he made as he swallowed heavily was loud.
Scully’s lips were on his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The scar where she had shot him was lovingly licked and kissed and then he felt the hot tip of her tongue on his nipple.
Holy shit!
He choked in a breath, it felt so good, he didn’t ever want her to stop. He did however wonder what her tongue would feel like swirling over the head of his cock, and fought the instinct to release himself from his jeans and guide her to him. He jumped when she bit his nipple, and at his motion, she soothed it with her tongue again. She then kissed her way across his chest and subjected his other nipple to the same wonderful torment.
He couldn’t help it, he had to move. He bucked his hips, trying to push his hardness into her shapely little ass. Scully sat up straight and moved that ass, smiling down at him. He watched her breathlessly, wondering what she was going to do next, and thought his eyes would cross when she slowly and seductively removed her sweatshirt, revealing her beautiful breasts, their pink tips hard with her arousal. She tossed the garment somewhere; he didn’t care where, and lifted her hands to run through her hair.
The action emphasized the tautness of her torso, and thrust her chest forward. His chest was heaving with the effort to get air to his starving lungs, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her breasts. He wanted to touch her so badly. His fingers curled, as if already cupping them, and his hands and body tensed. He barely heard Scully saying, “Uh-uh,” and subsided, his mouth opening on a protest and shutting again.
He almost couldn’t believe what she did next. Her hands were in her hair again, causing her breasts to sway enticingly above him, and then she was stroking herself, sliding her hands down her neck and over her chest, along her stomach and coming to rest on her thighs.
Mulder could not contain his moan, a low guttural sound. He gulped in air.
“Scully…I want…I want to touch you.” He had meant it as a plea, but his voice was rough, and the words came out more as a demand.
His temptress smiled, and leaning over once more, a nipple grazing his cheek, she grasped a wrist delicately in each hand.
Straightening, she brought his arms forward and laid his hands, palm down, on each of her knees. The pressure from her hands resting on top of his was light, but enough to guide his hands into skimming upward along her legs.
Mulder moved his thumbs outward slightly, and as he and Scully’s hands together reached the tops of her thighs, they just brushed the apex between her legs.
He felt the jolt that ran through her, and his penis twitched in reaction. Her breathing was becoming more erratic, he could tell, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her hands tightened fractionally on his before relaxing. She continued leading his hands upward, along her ribcage, and this time his thumbs brushed the outside of each breast.
Her hands fell away then, and her head dipped back again, thrusting her breasts forward. He covered them with his hands, squeezing and shaping, feeling her nipples hard against his palms. He moved his hands so that he could roll her nipples between his fingers, aand she gasped his name, her pelvis grinding into his midsection.
His penis twitched again, and with a swift move, his hands now at her hips he flipped her onto her back and covered her with his body. One hand slid back up to tease a nipple again as his lips descended on hers, the kiss almost bruising in its intensity.
Their legs were entwined together, his hardness pushing into her thigh. He began thrusting against her, and she copied him, her hands fisting in his hair for a moment before sliding down his back.
Mulder felt her fingers dancing along the waistband of his jeans, teasing the skin of his lower back, and then they were sliding around to work at the fastenings of his button-fly jeans.
She opened them with dexterity, and then she was pulling the denim down over his hips, taking his boxer-briefs along with them. He shifted, lifting some of his weight off of her to help her, and was forced to release her lips as she pulled away to slide further down the bed to get them off. A few kicks of his legs and the last of his clothing was gone, his erection springing free, hot and engorged with blood.
Scully wiggled her way back up, the points of her breasts teasing him as they brushed along his body. He thrust against her leg again, wanting to feel her bare skin against his body. He pressed a kiss to her lips and then whispered in her ear, “I think you have too many clothes on.”
She nodded, and her hands went to the waistband of her tights. It was his turn to say, “Uh-uh,” and lift her hands up and over her head. He kissed her once more and then began a meandering path along her jaw line to her neck. He licked at the pulse fluttering wildly at her throat and then nibbled and kissed his way down to her collarbone.
There, he first licked and kissed her, before pulling the skin into his mouth and sucking. He pulled slowly at the skin and then released it, leaning his head back to admire his handiwork. He had marked her.
With a smile he kissed the mark and resumed his exploration of Scully. He took his time, feeling the restless movements of her legs, hearing her sigh and pant above him, kissing all around each breast, nuzzling the underside of each with his nose.
Scully writhed beneath him, tossing her head from side to side, and he finally lowered his mouth to one waiting nipple, drawing it into his wet mouth.
It was her turn to moan.
Sensations. She was swimming in sensations. Incredible, mindnumbing sensations.
Every nerve ending sizzled. Every millimeter of her skin craved the touch of his hands, his lips and tongue.
And where he did touch, he left a trail of fire, blazing hot.
He was at her other nipple now, teasingly licking and blowing on the near-painfully hardened nub, but not yet sucking on it as he had her other one. As Scully arched her back in silent supplication for him to deepen the contact, her fingers clutched convulsively at the comforter in an effort not to wind themselves in his hair and force him to suck.
She felt him chuckle, the vibration sending tingles of pleasure shooting through her body, but he still continued his torment, keeping his touches light.
Holy Mary, Mother of God. The man was going to drive her insane.
“Mulderrrr…. please,” she whimpered. She could say no more, she would not let herself beg. She did continue to move beneath him though, shifting her body so that her hips cradled his erection, trying to entice him into more. She could feel his hot, hard length pressing against her center, wet with her arousal. Her mouth hung open slackly, little panting breaths all she was capable of.
“Please, what?” he whispered, his voice smoky. Sexy.
That voice did amazing things to her insides, turning them to liquid.
It also blew any inhibitions or hesitations she might have had completely away. Despite the face she had vowed not to beg, and that she knew it was his intention to have her do so, she wanted his mouth on her so badly.
“Please…” she gasped out. “Suck!”
She did not feel humiliated in the least, and was rewarded at last by his warm lips drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking furiously. She moaned again. His teeth scraped the tender flesh, and her back arched in reaction. He followed up by lathing her with his tongue and then sucking it once more.
She realized she was babbling, almost incoherently, his name figuring most predominantly amongst the nonsense words. She could no longer control her hands, they were down and in his hair, fisting tightly as his mouth worked his magic.
With an audible pop, he released her nipple and began kissing his way down her ribcage, his tongue tracing each individual rib. She tried twisting away from the contact, which was a combination of tickling and tormenting. Seconds later his tongue was in her navel. She was ticklish, with very sensitive skin, always had been, but she had never before considered her belly button to be much of an erogenous zone.
It was now.
The muscles in her vagina clenched tight and hard, and she moaned again at the sensation. She felt empty, waiting to be filled.
Filled with the hard heat of Mulder’s erection. She could feel it, bumping against her thigh, and she imagined it pulsing and throbbing. Her vagina throbbed again at her thought, and she bent her knee so that his length slid enticingly along her leg and closer to where she wanted him so very badly.
He growled against her abdomen, and thrust upwards, rotating his hips slightly. His hands were suddenly at the waistband of her tights, tugging them downwards.
She planted her heels flat on the bed and lifted her rear, enabling Mulder to pull them past her hips and down her legs.
He shifted his weight off of her, lying on his side, and used both hands to slip them slowly off each leg, one at a time.
She was suddenly glad she had picked a lacy pair of panties; black ones that dipped to a V in the center and were only thin ribbons of material over her hips, for Mulder was staring at them quite intently. His head was propped on one elbow by her hip, and he brought the other hand up to trace the edge of the panties, almost brushing the curls that shielded her core when he followed the V.
He dipped his head, and then his teeth were scraping over her hip, nibbling at the lace there. He tugged gently, and pulled it down until the strap was at the top of her thigh, and her reddish-brown curls were partially revealed. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along the waistband until he had reached the other strap, and did the same to it as he had the other.
Scully jumped when his mouth was directly over her center, nipping gently to pull the panties into his teeth.
He shimmied downwards on the bed, pulling the panties off of her with his mouth, his chin brushing through her curls and just barely touching the little bundle of nerves that was suddenly taut with anticipation.
She began squirming, and Mulder used one hand on a hip to hold her steady while the other hand grasped the panties and pulled them down her legs. With quick kicks of her legs they were gone.
His hot breath was on the inside of her knee, and then his lips and tongue began their magic all over again, this time traveling upwards. He lifted one leg a little so that his lips and teeth could tease the tender, sensitive underside of her knee, making her shiver and moan. He next nipped the tender flesh on the inside of one thigh and did the same on the other one, before moving ever closer to the juncture between them.
Scully reached down and fisted her hands in his hair again. As much as she wanted to feel his mouth…there, she wanted him inside of her, deep and hard.
She tugged gently, whispering, “Mulder, please, I want you.”
She paused and then added, “I want you inside me, now.”
With amazing speed he was up her body, his mouth on hers, tongue thrust deep inside. His weight was a pleasurable agony, pinning her to the mattress. She smoothed her hands down his back, and onto his firm ass, squeezing and kneading for a moment before letting one hand slide around his hip to grasp his erection in her hand. It leapt at her touch, and she moved her fingers up and down its length, feeling it pulse in reaction.
He groaned into her mouth and pulled free, gasping, “Scullee…”
She squeezed his flesh once and then guided him to her entrance, spreading her legs wide as he settled between them. One thrust and he was buried to the hilt.
They both sighed.
“Scully,” he said, his voice gritty, his teeth clenched. “I love you.”
Scully brought her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, her heels digging into his ass. This position pushed him even deeper and she nearly cried out with the ecstasy. Her hands were around his back, holding him tightly. “I love you too, Mulder,” she whispered into his neck.
Their movements were slow and careful at first, Mulder pulling almost all the way out before sliding slowly and deeply back inside.
As the magnitude of this moment hit them however, they both began to move more frantically. Mulder’s hips were like pistons, but Scully met him thrust for thrust.
Tension coiled low in her belly, and each thrust brought his penis into contact with that spot, that sweet ache between her legs.
Lights danced behind her closed eyelids as she felt the wave build and build and build…until it finally crested, throwing her over the top. Her inner muscles gripped his penis like a vise, and she screamed his name.
Seconds later Mulder began jerking and pumping, groaning continuously, and then with one last long thrust, he came with a shout, “SCUH-LEEEE…”, emptying himself inside her. He collapsed over her, breathing heavily, his mouth in her neck.
Scully unhooked her ankles and let her legs slide from his hips.
Mulder shifted so that his weight was no longer crushing her and swung onto his back, pulling her on top of him, where she sprawled bonelessly.
She pressed a kiss into his shoulder, and felt one of his hands stroke up and down her back. With effort she raised her head to look at him. Their eyes met, and she watched a slow smile curl his lips. “That was…” her voice trailed off. She couldn’t think of a word that would do justice.
“Perfect,” he finished for her.
Her eyes misted, and her answering smile was a little tremulous, but she replied, “Yes, it was.” With that, she lay her head down on his chest, just for a moment. Until her legs stopped their trembling and she felt that she could walk on them again.
Afterwards, cleaned up and refreshed, they snuggled against the pillows on her headboard, sated. Mulder was again on his back, with Scully snuggled up against his side, her head resting on his chest, just over his heart.
She traced tiny circles on his belly while he played with the strands of her hair. They were still nude, the covers pulled to Mulder’s waist, and up to Scully’s chest, their legs entwined beneath them.
He had never felt such an overwhelming need to stay in a woman’s arms as he did right now. He was perfectly content to lie there for hours.
It felt right. Perfect.
They dozed off.
Mulder woke first, thirsty as hell and with a tickle in his nose.
Scully had moved in her sleep, and her hair lay partially across his face, her body sprawled face-up across the bed. She also had the majority of the covers. Mulder managed to get his arm out from underneath her without disturbing her and shifted away and up out of the bed.
He smiled tenderly at the picture she presented. Her glorious hair was now spread on her pillow, her face and one small foot peeking out from the comforter the only parts of her body visible. He would let her sleep for a while longer, replenish her energy.
She was going to need it.
With a jaunt in his step, Mulder walked naked to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water before heading to the bathroom. He completed his business and washed his hands and face, brushing his teeth and combing his fingers through his spiky hair, and then headed back to the bedroom.
He paused there, leaning against the doorjamb to stare at the woman in the bed. It was hard to believe that he had been there, with her, and would be again.
Scully was stretching beneath the covers, blinking sleepily.
Hearing or sensing him there, she rose up on her elbows, the covers falling slightly and revealing her creamy shoulders.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi, yourself,” Mulder returned. He saw her eyes drop, to where he was already hardening again for her, and smiled, quirking his eyebrow at her. He padded over to the bed and slid back under the covers to join her.
She moved easily into his arms, resting her head on his chest again.
He kissed the top of her head and drawled, “Soooo…you never did tell me about those other dreams.”
Scully moved one hand beneath the covers, searching for Mulder, but she met only empty space, still slightly warm from his body.
She had obviously fallen asleep, but she had been lying with her head resting on his chest. Where did he go?
For the briefest of instants she panicked, thinking he had left.
That he might have thought what had happened between them was wrong, or that he had regretted it.
Just as quickly she pushed the thought aside. They loved each other, and they had shared that love.
Oh, boy had they shared that love. With a smile of contentment, Scully stretched her body fully; her toes curling, and bones popping. There was a slight ache between her thighs, but it was a good ache. An ache of fulfillment and pleasure. She opened her eyes, blinking to clear the sleep from them, and sensed that Mulder was there and was watching her.
She rose up a little, propping herself on her elbows and saw him leaning against the doorway. His eyes were intense, heavy-lidded, and they sent awareness tingling through her body. She spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the suddenly charged atmosphere, saying, “Hi.”
Mulder said, “Hi, yourself,” and the way he said it had her breath quickening. Her eyes lowered, taking in his beautiful nude body, and saw that he too was reacting to whatever was in the air, his penis hardening. He smiled, raising his eyebrow in that way that made her heart flutter, although she had denied that reaction for so long, and then he came towards the bed.
He slid in and she moved over quickly into his arms, resting her head once more upon his chest. He smelled wonderful, of male sweat and a woodsy pine fragrance, with that quantity that was undeniably all Mulder underneath.
She wanted to take things slow and easy this time, to linger and savor his body, and before she could move, felt him kiss the top of her head. She heard his drawled words next, about her other dreams, and turning her head slightly, took a nip at his chest, just above his nipple. She used her teeth, and exerted just enough pressure to make him yelp in surprise.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, his body jumping. “Scuh…”
Her name trailed off as her mouth was now busy lathing the spot she had sorely abused, and her hand had slid down his belly to lightly stroke his still semi-erect penis. It immediately pulsed beneath her hand, and she smiled against his skin.
He groaned her name this time, his hand sweeping from her shoulders to grasp her chin, tilting it upwards for him to capture her lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue swept inside her mouth, and the hand on his penis tightened in reaction. He surged upwards a little, thrusting into her hand, and she obliged by sliding it slowly up and down his now fully erect member. His other hand was now on her hip, and he tightened his hand there for a moment and flipped them, so that she was on her back. He lay partially over her; never having broke their kiss.
This action forced her hand away from him, and she ended up running both hands up and down his smooth back. The hand that had been on her hip slid up to cup her breast, the thumb stroking over her taut nipple. He broke free of their kiss and with a swift movement had latched onto the nipple with his mouth, sucking strongly.
She bucked her hips in reaction, the tugging motion of his lips having ignited a trail of pleasure that shot straight between her legs, and her movement brought his hip into contact right there.
She moaned and ground herself against him.
He released her nipple to whisper, “Did you ever dream of this?”
“Yes…” she admitted, still a little embarrassed about revealing her secret dreams and fantasies, despite the wonderful event that had transpired between them not long ago. She gulped in air next when his mouth moved steadily downwards; brushing wet kisses over her belly. In seconds he was fully between her legs, his chin resting on her pubic bone, staring up at her.
“And this?” he asked, before nuzzling between her curls for a second.
She was biting her lip, her entire body tight with tension, waiting for him to place his hot mouth over her. When he made no such move she lifted her head to see him regarding her steadily, his hazel eyes once more black with desire. “Mulder…” she mewled, wiggling her hips.
“Have you dreamed of this, Scully?” he asked again, his voice a seductive whisper, his words a hot breath on her most intimate place.
Closing her eyes and letting her head drop back to her pillow, she hissed, “Yessss…”
“Yes, what, Scully?” he continued.
He seemed so unaffected, but his hands on her hips were gripping her tightly, and she could feel the tension in the lines of his body, which was pressed against her open legs.
This knowledge emboldened her, and lifting her head once more to meet his burning gaze, said in a sultry voice, “Yes, I have dreamed of you lying between my legs. Dreamed of your tongue dancing over my aroused flesh. Dreamed of you wringing such pleasure from my body that I can barely say your name.”
His eyes darkened more than she thought possible, the flush on his cheeks evidence of the impact of her words, and with that, his tongue was suddenly delving between her folds, doing just what she had said, dancing over her aroused flesh.
She had meant to say more to tease and arouse, but her breath was swept away. Her head fell back to the pillow again, and her eyes squeezed shut, her hips lifting and falling in rhythm, pressing herself against his mouth.
She was capable of only one thought.
God bless his sunflower seeds and his oral fixation.
The pleasure she had said he would wring from her body was rapidly building to a crescendo, her hip movements more frantic, her hands clenched tightly in his hair. She could hear herself, moaning and sighing.
It swirled, tighter and tighter, faster and faster, and then she was over the top, body exploding with exquisite pleasure.
She had been wrong though. She had been able to say his name, had screamed it in fact, long and loud, her head thrashing back and forth on the pillow, heels digging deep into the mattress.
Mulder held her tightly as she came down, his cheek resting on her lower belly, as little aftershocks continued to ripple tthrough her body. He rubbed his face against her and then she sensed he was looking at her again. She managed to pry her eyes open and angled her head on the pillow to see him, unable to lift it.
He had a pleased, ‘cat the got the canary’ smile on his face and once he saw that she was looking back at him, he said, “You like?”
Smug bastard, she thought lovingly. If she had any energy, she’d do something about it, reciprocate in kind. That was another one of her fantasies; only it was usually in their office, while he sat at his desk. She’d share it with him, one of these days.
For now, she summoned the strength to roll her eyes at him and say, “No, not at all.”
Liar, his eyes said, dancing with suppressed laughter. He pressed a kiss on her belly and crawled slowly upwards, his hot penis nudging firmly against her hip as he lowered himself onto her.
She shifted automatically, cradling him between her legs. Her body still pulsed with the incredible orgasm he had given her, and he slid easily inside, groaning with pleasure.
His thrusts were languid and gentle, letting her ease into the rhythm her body instinctively matched. Wrapping her arms around his back, feeling his crinkly chest hairs teasing her nipples, she slowly ran her hands down to grasp his ass. His movements picked up, the thrusts coming harder and faster, rocking her against the mattress. She spread her legs wide, tilting her pelvis, and felt his pubic bone bumping her clit. She began to wiggle a little, each time he thrust, intensifying the feeling, and thrusting upwards.
Mulder had his face buried in her neck, his breaths hot beneath her ear, and he groaned suddenly, “I’m coming, Scully, oh, God, Scully.”
He began thrusting frantically, and she matched his pace, feeling the pleasure building inside again. She gasped out, “Come for me, Mulder.”
With one last hard thrust, he did, gasping,
“LoveyouScullyohGodthatfeelssogoodScullyloveyou.”
She followed seconds later, her inner walls contracting and pulsing, and cried, “Mulder! Oh, God, Mulder I love you.”
They continued to move for long moments, her arms now tight around his waist, holding him to her, one of his arms under her shoulder, the other hand fisted in her hair. Panting, he lifted his head from her neck and met her lips in a sweet kiss, before rolling onto his side and pulling her onto hers, their bodies still joined.
Eventually, her pulse slowed and her breath returned to normal.
His penis slipped out, leaving a slight burning sensation between her legs, and with a little groan, she pulled reluctantly away from him.
He groaned too, rolling onto his back, one hand scratching his chest.
She sat up and leaning over him, pressing one more kiss on his lips before rising. She stretched up on her toes, her arms above her head, comfortable with her nudity.
He lifted his head, punching the pillow into shape beneath him and propped himself on it, watching her slip into her robe.
Huskily he said, “Where you going?”
Scully felt her cheeks redden. It had been so long since there had been a man in her bed, and aftersex etiquette was a distant memory. Despite being unconcerned about being naked before him, she was embarrassed to say she needed to clean herself up, and instead said, “I’m thirsty. Do you want anything?”
Mulder’s eyes were knowing, and he smiled gently. “Sure.
Water, please.”
She smiled back, the embarrassment easing, and was just turning to go when his next words halted her.
“Love you, Scully.”
She paused, the smile still on her face and tilting her head slightly to the side to regard him, replied, “I know.” She said the words calmly, matter-of-factly, secure in the knowledge that it was the truth. “I love you too.” She turned and walked to the door. Her bones felt loose, her entire body relaxed and replete.
About to pass over the threshold, she had a thought, a variation on the fantasy in his office, and what he had done to her, and she paused, turning without turning to face him, her hand resting on the doorjamb. “I thought of another dream, Mulder.”
He cleared his throat and said, “Yes?”
She smiled slowly, although he couldn’t see it.
“In this one, I fellate you until you scream.”
Dead silence.
Gotcha, she thought, and sauntered off down the hallway.
Revenge Part 17 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Monday
10:45 pm
Mulder felt Scully pull away from him with a little groan, and couldn’t contain a groan of his own as he rolled onto his back.
His hand went to his chest, where his heart was finally slowing.
He had felt like it was going to burst free for a moment there as he had felt the ripples of Scully’s release burst through her, her inner muscles clenching and pulling at his cock just seconds after his own explosive orgasm, milking him for all its worth.
He could still hear her husky voice saying, “Come for me, Mulder,”
in his ear and it was almost enough to have his blood stirring anew.
Almost.
He just needed a little rest; his eyes were already slipping closed. He hoped Scully didn’t think this was the stereotypical male behavior, rolling over and falling asleep after sex.
Mind-blowing sex, he corrected himself. He was about to force himself to move, to gather her into his arms, see if she was interested in a nap, when she kissed him on the lips. The bed shifted then and he pried his eyes open to see her standing by the side of the bed, stretching her gloriously naked body.
With the last vestiges of his energy, he managed to maneuver a pillow more comfortably beneath his head, and as she put her robe on, ask, “Where you going?”
The blush that stained her cheeks and the almost bashful expression in her eyes filled him in. He should have thought of it really, Scully was a very fastidious person. And still very shy with him, even after all they had shared, both emotionally and physically. He had some work ahead of him, he knew.
At Scully’s response, asking him if he wanted anything, he held back the automatic response that was on the tip of his tongue, ‘You’, and said, “Sure. Water, please.”
Her smile was pleased, and as she turned to go, he called after her, feeling this sudden need to reassure, to reconnect. “Love you, Scully.”
She had stopped in her tracks, and was looking at him with such a tender expression, the smile still on her lips. Her answer went straight to his heart. “I know.” No hesitation, no doubt.
“I love you too.”
He decided he could keep his eyes open a little longer, watching the play of silk over her hips and ass, and was sleepily recalling the feel of her body beneath his hands when she stopped at the doorway. He watched her lean an arm on the trim around it, without facing him, and then she said, “I thought of another dream, Mulder.”
He perked up slightly at the mention of dreams, thinking of the only one she had thus far admitted to, after some coercing, and after clearing his throat, said, “Yes?”
And then he heard words coming from Dana Scully’s mouth that he had never imagined hearing outside of some of the many fantasies he had that involved his beautiful partner. Who was now his lover.
“In this one, I fellate you until you scream.”
Sweet Jesus. His air, his higher thought, all motor function was suddenly gone. And before he could react, so was she.
An image popped in his head, so vivid, so real, that he had to suck in a desperate gulp of air. It was of Scully on her knees before him, her wet mouth sliding slowly up and down his cock as his hands clenched frantically in her hair, his head thrown back to lie against the back of his office chair.
All the energy he had thought was gone suddenly surged to life.
He scrambled to free himself of the covers that were clinging to his body like desperate grasping hands, and for the second time in less then a week, Mulder found himself falling off of Scully’s bed.
He landed on his shoulder first, hitting the hardwood floor with a thud and a groan, and then his knees followed, twin bolts of pain lancing up his legs, but he didn’t care. He found his feet and bounded out of her room and was headed down the hall to the kitchen when the light from the bathroom stopped him. He skidded to a halt in the open door, startling Scully, who dropped the wet cloth she had been holding with an audible plop on the counter.
“Mulder!” she exclaimed. “You scared me!” Her hand was now at her throat, her chest rapidly rising and falling.
“I…” he started to say, but his tongue felt tied. She was standing there without her robe, her nipples already hardening under his gaze, and as he ran his eyes feverishly over her body, he could see the mark he had given her on her collarbone. The sight of it aroused him further, and with a growl, he was beside her and hauling her up on her tiptoes to meet his lips in an almost bruising kiss.
Her hands went to his shoulders first, as if she were going to push him away, and then with a muffled groan, she was winding her arms around his neck and returning the kiss with equal fervor.
Her tongue swooped inside his mouth, and he met it with his.
One of her legs was suddenly around his thighs, pulling him tightly into the juncture of her body.
He slid his hands from arms down to her hips, and then along to the leg that was still on the ground. He gripped her thigh firmly and lifted her leg, encouraging her to wrap that one around him as well. He shifted her upwards, so that both her legs now encircled his waist and staggered over to the counter, his lips never leaving hers.
He set her down on top of the counter, feeling her jerk in his arms as her bare flesh met its cool surface, and with a swivel of his hips, slid his cock inside her waiting wetness. His thrusts were hard and fast, and he was forced to release her lips in order to gulp in air, little grunts escaping with each push.
Scully’s head fell back, the ends of her hair just brushing his hand where it lay on her back, supporting them both. He turned his head slightly, his mouth open against her throat, and began chanting her name.
Her hands were on his ass, her nails digging into his flesh, pushing him into her as she surged her body forward to meet each of his thrusts. She was gasping his name as well, a litany, interspersed between her ragged breaths.
It was over in minutes, and he felt his orgasm from the tips of his toes to his balls, gasping her name. She crested almost on top of his, and he managed to raise his head and open his eyes to see the most beautiful sight before him.
Scully’s face screwed up in such intense pleasure, her teeth biting her lip as she came. Her head was still thrown back, the tendons of her neck taut, and he couldn’t resist the lure, lowering his head to nuzzle at her throat before drawing one of the tendons in his mouth and sucking deeply.
His hips were still jerking periodically, but they finally stilled. He heard Scully groan and released the flesh in his mouth, placing a soothing kiss there before raising his head once more.
Her legs unwound from his, dropping to hang on either side of him, and she straightened slowly, the flush of arousal still high on her cheeks.
Their gazes locked, her eyes wide with shock, surprise and completion. “Jesus, Mulder,” she said weakly. “What the hell was that?” She blinked and then added, “Not that I’m complaining.”
He let his hands slide from her back to her hips and with a slight heaving motion, lifted her off the counter.
She wobbled a little when her feet hit the ground, and he left his hands where they were, to steady her.
She smiled ruefully and said, “Although my body might tomorrow.”
He felt shame wash over him, hard on the heels on his pleasure, and as if she had sensed his withdrawal, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his chest.
“Mulder,” she whispered. “That was incredible.” She raised her head to meet his eyes, smiling at him. “Incredible,” she repeated.
Relief came next, followed by an enormous sense of pride.
“Incredible, huh?” he asked, unable to control the smirk that flitted over his lips.
“Don’t get cocky,” she murmured, slapping his chest where she had kissed him.
“I just did,” he returned, giving her a grin with teeth. “And you said it was incredible,” he reminded her, waggling his eyebrows up and down.
“I may live to regret it,” she snapped good-naturedly. She stretched as she stood in the loose circle of his arms. “What was that all about?” she then asked.
“That,” he said, “Was all about a certain activity a certain G-woman tossed at me just a few minutes ago.” He moved one hand from her hip to her rear, where he gave her a little pinch, gaining himself a startled jump and a gasp of indignation.
“An activity I hope to hold her too.”
Scully ducked her head down, a fall of hair swooping over her face to hide her from his view, and whispered something so low he could not catch her words.
Mulder placed a finger on her chin and lifted until she met his gaze again. Her cheeks were stained with embarrassment again. “I didn’t quite catch that,” he told her.
“I said, I can’t believe I actually said that to you,” Scully said, her voice rising slightly on the end. Her eyes flitted from his to his mouth, still finding it hard to look him in the eye.
“I’m glad you did,” he said huskily. “It’s been one of my fantasies for a very long time.” His finger left her chin to stroke along her cheek, before running over her lips, which parted at his action. He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth before releasing her and backing up. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? It’s pretty late and you need to get your rest.” He waggled his eyebrows again, hoping she would catch the intended meaning behind his words.
She did, naturally, shaking her head slightly and then smiling. She was still blushing, but she managed to say, “So do you,” in a very seductive tone. With that, she turned from him and reached over to turn the sink taps on.
He slapped her on the bottom lightly and padded from the room, heading to the kitchen. He was thirsty again. He drank a full glass of water before refilling his glass and pouring one for Scully.
By the time he returned to the bathroom, she was just exiting it, her robe on, the belt tied loosely at her waist. He handed her the two glasses and said, “I’ll be right there.” She nodded, brushed a kiss on his shoulder, and left the bathroom to him.
He whistled as he cleaned up, and couldn’t help grinning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked happy, he thought.
Because you are happy, he told himself. Extremely happy.
Finishing, he flicked the light switch off and made his way back to Scully’s bedroom.
To Scully.
She had left one lamp on, at a low setting, and was lying on her side facing the middle of the bed. She had straightened up the mess he had made of the bedclothes, and they were drawn down invitingly on what he guessed was now known as ‘his side’. The covers were to her waist, and he could see that she had found a tee shirt to put on. He searched the floor for a few minutes, but could not see his clothes anywhere.
Scully said softly, “On the chair.”
She had obviously been watching him, and he looked up to see that she was still on her side, but propped on one elbow, watching him with an amused expression on her face.
He grinned at her, a grin she returned, and retrieved his briefs from the chair where she had neatly folded his jeans. He did not see his tee shirt anywhere, and realized with another smile that it was his that Scully was wearing. The thought pleased him to no end, sending a warm feeling throughout his body. He stepped into the briefs and slid into bed, feeling like he was home.
Scully reached out to touch his face, drawing him to her for a long kiss, before turning on her other side and wiggling her butt. He smiled again and spooned himself around her body, resting his arm on her waist, his hand immediately snaking under her tee shirt to curl loosely around her breast.
They both sighed in contentment, and were asleep in minutes.
As she held her hand under the running water, waiting for it to warm, Scully looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, preening just slightly.
Her skin glowed, and her eyes were shining. Her hair was sexily tousled, a look she could never achieve with a curling iron and hairspray. She smiled and thought, I look like I have been well and thoroughly fucked. For indeed she had been.
After her initial start when Mulder had loomed in the bathroom doorway, she had glanced down his body to see that he was once again gloriously erect. Her heart had started pounding anew, and between her legs, a steady pulse had begun, the moisture of new arousal already pooling.
She had had only seconds to marvel at Mulder’s admirable recuperation and stamina, thinking to herself, My God that’s three erections in less than two hours, before he had crossed the small space between them and hauled her into his arms for a deep, almost painful kiss, his teeth pressing hard against her lips.
She remembered bringing her arms up, unsure as to whether she had meant to push him back a little to ease the pressure on her mouth, or to grip him tightly to her. And then his tongue had been in her mouth, and she had lost all thought.
It had been quick, and almost rough, and very, very erotic. She had had previous lovers, naturally, probably not as many in her past as in Mulder’s, but she had never before had sex on a bathroom sink.
In fact would never have imagined such a place. The bathtub yes, and certainly the shower, but the sink? She smiled to herself and thought, since when had she and Mulder done anything expected or normal?
Look how long it had taken them to get this far, a step taken almost out of desperation and fear. Certainly not the way she had dreamed their love life would evolve.
She pushed the somewhat disheartening thoughts aside and let her eyes drift shut as she went over their joining on the counter again in her mind, reliving the sensations. His hands on her butt, lifting her to the counter, the momentary shock at its coldness, his hot, hard cock sliding inside where she was wet and ready, his mouth at her neck, sucking at her skin.
Her eyes opened and drifted down to that spot, seeing the faint beginnings of a hickey, to match the one on her collarbone. One finger lifted almost lazily and traced them both. Mulder had marked her.
And she was proud of those marks.
She realized with a start that the water was actually quite hot, and adjusted the taps before taking the cloth she had used earlier and rinsing it thoroughly. She washed herself, wincing slightly at the burn between her legs, before rinsing the cloth out again and wringing it dry. She laid it aside for a moment and then washed her face and brushed her teeth. After patting her face with a hand towel, she applied her moisturizer and ran a brush through her hair with sure strokes. Returning the brush to its spot, she put the cloth in the hamper and then shrugged into her robe, tying the sash loosely.
She turned to exit the bathroom and Mulder was there, holding what looked like glasses of water. He handed them to her, saying softly, “I’ll be right there.” Feeling their icy chill against her fingers, she kissed him on the shoulder and headed to the bedroom.
She drank half of one of the glasses, the water easing her parched throat, and then put both glasses down on the night table. As the sounds of Mulder splashing in the sink filled her ears, she tidied up her bedroom, finding the clothes they had strewn about in their haste to disrobe. Hers went into the laundry bag hanging inside her closet.
Mulder’s tee shirt felt soft, and she imagined she could almost feel the residual warmth from his body in the cotton threads. She lifted it to her nose, and inhaled essence of Mulder. With a smile, she shed her robe, laying it neatly at the end of her bed, and slipped the tee shirt over her head.
It fell to mid-thigh, wrapping her in a personal Mulder-blanket. A clean pair of panties was next, and then she finished picking up the rest of the clothes, folding Mulder’s jeans and briefs neatly and placing them on the chair in the corner.
Her next move was to straighten the bedclothes, which were hanging off one side of the bed. She shook her head because she didn’t remember them getting that disheveled, and pulled them back into place. Pillow fluffing was next, and when everything was orderly again, she slipped into the bed, making sure the covers were folded back for Mulder on his side.
Lying on her side, facing where he would soon be, she snuggled into her pillow, loving how it smelled of him. Her body was sore, but it was a good sore, one of satisfying physical exercise. With a smirk she thought, very satisfying. She yawned then, and tacked on, and exhausting.
She felt Mulder come in the room then, like she had built in Mulderradar, and propped herself on one elbow to watch him. He seemed to be searching the floor, and with a smile she realized he was looking for his clothes. She spoke softly. “On the chair.”
He met her gaze and grinned at her, and she grinned back, watching him go to the chair and pick up his briefs. He smiled again, and she just knew he had realized she was wearing his tee shirt, and was pleased. After slipping the briefs on, he climbed into bed with her.
She lifted her hand and laid it on his cheek, leaning over to place a lingering kiss on his lips, before turning her back to him and wiggling her backside in what she hoped he took as an invitation to spoon.
He did indeed, his chest warm against her back, his hand coming up to lie over her waist, sliding under his tee-shirt to pass over her belly in a tickling caress to cup her breast.
She sighed with happiness, hearing and feeling his answering sigh, and closed her eyes to let sleep take her away.
4:00 am
Scully woke suddenly, her eyes automatically going to the bright red numbers of her alarm clock. Her eyes widened a little as she saw the time, and then she realized with growing pleasure that she had not had a single nightmare. Instead, her sleep had been filled with dreams of Mulder. Or, more specifically, dreams of she and Mulder in a variety of places and positions.
Dana Scully, you are a wanton hussy, she told herself, and then smiled in the darkness. She was, but only for Mulder.
Her mind slipped into the past again, remembering long ago lovers.
Then, her age and her slowly emerging sexuality had exhibited themselves in a sea of exploration and experimentation that had settled as she had matured.
Over the years, she had learned and become comfortable with her body’s needs and desires, and catered to them when possible, ever mindful of the complexities of her heart. Her health and safety were second nature to her, drummed into her not only by her mother, who as a devout Catholic still gave her children the freedom to grow and to choose, but also by her teachings and experiences in medical school, and later in the FBI.
She realized now though, that she had begun to suppress the natural urges of her body during her partnership with Mulder, and wondered if it was her subconscious desire that Mulder would show some sign that he felt the same way, or perhaps initiate a deeper level in their slowly evolving relationship. Of course, he hadn’t, nor had she, but they had become something more than just friends.
Until now.
Although she regretted the instances that had led them to this point, most particularly her ordeal with Elliot Andercott as the final catalyst, at the same time she had to be grateful for them as well, for they had forced their hands, and moved them to the place they had both wanted to be.
And what a place it was. That thought had her rolling over to face her lover. The word had such beautiful meaning behind it, and it felt amazing to think it, let alone say it out loud.
My lover.
Mulder is my lover. It cause goosebumps to rise on her skin, and sent a shiver down her spine. It also sent awareness and desire coursing through her veins.
She propped herself on an elbow again, regarding her lover. Mulder lay sprawled on his back, his head turned slightly on the pillow, facing her. His mouth was open, and tiny snores were emitted. The covers were to his waist, and if she craned her neck, she could see one bare leg free from its confines.
Moonlight splashed over his supine figure, making his skin glow almost silver. His face was relaxed in sleep, the most relaxed she had ever seen it, and a surge of pride went through her, knowing it was she who had made him so.
Although she was loathe to disturb his slumber, for he had gotten little over the last few days, and knowing him, next to none while she had been missing, she could not help reaching out to gently whisk the blankets off of his body.
She let her eyes roam from his pouty lips, along his lightly furred chest, pausing briefly at his rather impressively sized manhood, even while flaccid, snug in his boxer-briefs, before continuing down his long swimmer’s legs to his skinny feet.
His skinny, big feet, she amended, smiling as she remembered the old saying, ‘big hands, big feet, big…’ Of course, there was also the one about big noses, and Mulder certainly had that one covered as well.
After flicking a glance at the appendage in question her eyes returned to his groin. She realized she was licking her lips, and was embarrassed for a brief moment before she realized she was also getting aroused. Her comment from earlier, about making him scream popped in her head, and with an impish smile, she moved carefully into position.
Mulder shifted a little as she climbed between his legs, mumbling something that might have been her name, and she froze, looking at his face. It was still slack with his slumber, so she relaxed, took a deep breath, and carefully eased his briefs down and off his body, tossing them to the floor.
She kept her tongue strokes light, moving along his length, and after maybe a minute of her ministrations, was rewarded by a twitch. Encouraged, she swirled her tongue around the head, and Mulder shifted again. His breathing hitched, and his head moved restlessly on the pillow. He was becoming erect, so she moved one hand to cradle his balls, squeezing them gently. This time he moaned a little, but still did not wake.
Scully intensified her actions, first tracing her tongue up and down his burgeoning length, and then engulfing it completely in her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked gently, his leg muscles tensing beneath her upper arms, where they rested. Her head began to bob as she moved her mouth up and down his cock, and moments later she heard a gasp, followed by Mulder hoarsely crying her name.
His hands were in her hair then, thankfully not pulling or guiding her, just holding her. She smiled around his penis and continued her motions.
Mulder was speaking again, a long stream of words running together,“HolyshitScullythatfeelssogoodpleasedon’tstopohScullyIlove youohshit,” and his hips were now thrusting himself deeper into her mouth.
She forced herself to relax her throat muscles, and a second later had succeeded in deep throating him. She had never before wanted to go this far for any man, and was only semi-enthusiastic about giving blowjobs to begin with. For Mulder though, she was willing to do and try almost everything.
He groaned low and deep, and as his sperm spewed into her mouth, he did indeed scream. Long and loud.
She bathed him with her tongue, as his hands unclenched from her hair, and then kissed her way up his body until her head rested on his chest. She nuzzled there for a moment and pressed a last kiss on his breast, before yawning deeply.
“Oh, Scully.” Mulder had apparently found his breath again, and she smiled, keeping her eyes closed. “Now I’m the one that has to say incredible.” He kissed the top of her head, his hand stroking up and down her back. “You are amazing. Thank-you.”
Scully said sleepily, “Welcome. Night, Mulder.” She yawned again and managed to add, “Love you,” before drifting back to sleep.
She did not hear his returning avowal of love.
Tuesday
7:43 am
Mulder rubbed his face in the pillow beneath him, Scully’s scent surrounding him. The thought of her brought a smile to his lips, and he reached out with one hand to touch her, his eyes still closed. His fingers met nothing. His eyes popped open and he sat up quickly, searching the room.
It was empty, sunlight streaming through the partially open curtains. He turned his head to look at Scully’s alarm clock and gaped in surprise at the time. He had been an early riser all his life, even as a child, and only rarely could he be found still in bed after six o’clock.
Scully was probably in the kitchen making coffee, he knew what a bear she could be until she had her first caffeine jolt. He could go for a cup himself, but he didn’t feel like getting up just yet.
He fell back onto his pillow, stretching his body again, with his hands above his head, feeling his toes curl, and had another realization. He felt wonderful. The previous night had been the best sleep he had had in years.
It had been because of Scully.
He was not thinking of just their physical activities either, although having some of the best sex of your life certainly helped.
Having sex period helped, he amended with a rueful smile, thinking of the lack in that department for the last few years. The smile stayed in place, becoming almost wistful as his thoughts returned to the night before. He knew his peaceful sleep, this total feeling of ease that was still with him was because he and Scully had shared more than their bodies; they had shared their hearts and their souls.
As FBI partners and friends they already had a special connection, a bond, and now that bond transcended anything he had ever known, or had hoped to know.
His mind flicked back to the erotic dream he had been having, of Scully pleasuring him with her mouth, and how he had awoken to discover it was no dream, but an actuality.
Mulder Junior stirred anew as he recalled every moment of that actuality. He also could not help but wonder where Scully had developed that particular talent, and wondered if she would get angry if he asked her. Probably, he thought, and decided he would wait on asking that question for now.
One last stretch and he slid out of the bed, spying his briefs on the floor. He smiled again. He hadn’t even felt Scully’s nimble fingers removing them in the middle of the night. He left them there for a moment, going to his opened overnight bag in the corner. He fished around it, found a pair of clean boxers, the last pair actually, and slipped them on. He then shrugged into the second to last clean tee shirt and went back to the briefs on the floor. He scooped them up, thinking he needed to talk to Scully about laundry, and going to his place to get some more clothes and took them to her hamper in the bathroom.
As he performed his morning ablutions, his mind continued to think. Their discussion about him staying at her place had not really been that in-depth, had actually been him stating he was and she surprisingly not disagreeing. He did think however that she more than likely assumed the situation was temporary, or had at least in the beginning. He was not sure what her thoughts were on the subject now.
He only knew he did not want it to be temporary. Something else they needed to discuss. Not yet though, he knew they were both going to be rather timid in feeling their way around this new development in their relationship.
Mulder flicked a glance at Scully’s tub as he left the bathroom to head to the kitchen. He had the image of Scully covered in dissipating bubbles and candlelight permanently stored away in his mind, and could not wait to reenact the moment, only with one addition – himself. Maybe he could talk her into doing so right now.
He could smell the coffee now as he neared the kitchen, and when he walked in, he saw Scully was busy pouring herself a cup. She was in her robe, the terrycloth one this time, and had her back to him. He went into stealth mode, making his way over to her as she returned the coffee pot to its holder.
As she reached for the sugar dish, he snaked his hands around her waist and hauled her into his body, his mouth immediately nuzzling her neck. “Morning,” he rumbled into her warm skin, inhaling once again the scent that was Scully. His nose had to be directly connected to his groin, for his earlier excitement upon waking immediately responded again.
She had tensed as soon as his hands touched her, gasping slightly, but she relaxed a second later, her head tilting to give him better access. Her hands dropped to his arms and squeezed. “Morning,” she whispered back. She wiggled slightly, her rear brushing Mulder Junior, who returned her greeting with enthusiasm.
“I see you’re…up,” she continued, her voice husky.
“Scuh-lee!” he said with delight, moving his hips in little circles. “My morning motto has always been ‘up and at’em’,” he continued in a leering tone. “Wanna get at’em?” As he was speaking, he allowed one hand to slide from her waist to splay over her abdomen, his fingers just brushing the top of her mound and pushing her rear end more firmly into his erection.
“Mmmmmulder,” she moaned out, hips jolting upwards beneath his hand. “I’m all yucky. I haven’t had a shower, and my hair’s a mess.”
Her voice had gone just the slightest bit whiny, but he knew she was not fishing for compliments. He also fervently hoped she was not pulling back, rebuilding the walls that kept him out.
Her teasing rejoinder had been a good sign, albeit a surprising one, and he did not want it to go away. He would not push her into making love, if she truly did not want to right now, he would go quietly and take care of things. It had become somewhat of a routine in the last few years – getting excited by Scully or thoughts of Scully, and having to deal with that excitement on his own.
He would not, however, let her shut him out. He wondered suddenly, does she need reassurance? Had doubts taken over, as she stood alone in the kitchen? He had been plagued by the doubt monster a time or two himself in the past, and even more recently after they had declared their love. He knew they both were guilty of hiding their emotions and keeping things to themselves, and that they would both have to work on being more open. Starting now.
He gripped her by the hips and spun her around in his arms, pushing her into the counter. He ran his eyes over her, seeing the riotous curls her hair had become, the pale skin dotted with freckles that were normally concealed by her makeup, and her full lips, bare of lipstick. Her robe gaped open, and he could see she still wore his tee shirt. It looked way better on her. He rubbed his nose over hers in an Eskimo kiss and then said softly, “You look beautiful. All rumpled and sexy.”
A pleased blush stained her cheeks as she mumbled, “Flatterer.”
Her hands, which had gone behind her to steady herself against the counter when he had turned her around so quickly, now slid up his arms to his shoulders. “It just might get you somewhere,” she said next, before pressing a kiss to his jaw.
Mulder cupped her face with his hands, lifting her head to meet his gaze, his expression serious. “It’s not flattery, Scully,” he said slowly and deliberately. “It’s the truth.”
Scully melted.
That was the only word he could find to describe her reaction to his words. Her eyes, her face, everything about her went soft, and then she was rising on her tiptoes to capture his lips.
He enjoyed it for long moments before pulling back to study her face.
Her eyes had closed as their lips had met, but she opened them when he broke their kiss, a look of confusion obvious in their blue depths. He ran one thumb over her cheekbone, saying, “Scully…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “You would tell me if something were bothering you, right? If you don’t want to make love, we don’t have to.”
“Oh, Mulder,” she replied, her hands lifting to lie on top of his, still cradling her face. “I want to. Very much.” Her eyes dipped, a frown line appearing between her brows. “It just scared me a little, that’s all. How much I want you. All the time.”
She tried to smile, her eyes meeting his again. “I’m not used to…all this. To being with someone, to wanting and loving so much.”
The grip around his heart eased suddenly, and he let out a relieved breath. He also recognized the feeling behind her answer. He felt it himself, he just hadn’t realized it. His shoulders had tensed when she had said she was scared, and he let them relax. “It’s new to me too, Scully,” he said. “I have never felt this deeply about another human being in my life, and it scares me.” He smiled then and continued. “It thrills me at the same time.”
Her answering smile was more genuine, lighting her eyes. “We are a pair, aren’t we, Mulder?” she asked. She used her fingers to grip his hands and pull them away from her face, clasping one hand in hers and letting the other go, and started out of the kitchen, tugging him along. “I’m pretty sure you said something about getting at’em,” she remarked. “I think I’m…”
Her words turned to a shriek of surprise as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the hallway to her bedroom.
7:43 am
Scully stared almost unseeing at the counter top, waiting for the coffee to finish percolating. She did not know why, but she had fallen into melancholy, her mind whirling with thoughts. She was not having regrets, exactly, but she was very confused.
When she had woken up, just before 7:30, she had lain there for long moments, watching Mulder sleep. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the slight fluttering behind closed lids. Did he dream of her? Or was he somewhere chasing aliens? She had hoped it was the former.
She had also remembered many stolen moments doing just that, watching Mulder sleep, on airplanes where he stretched out over vacant seats, in cars as they headed to their next case or even on stakeouts, and a few rare times when he had allowed himself to need her nearby.
Her feelings at each of those times had been similar to the ones she felt as she lay beside him on her bed-tenderness, the urge to protect, desire, love. Yet intensified a thousand fold, and far more terrifying. On top of those other feelings she had also been swamped by an almost overwhelming need to be alone.
So she had slipped silently out of the bed, found her terrycloth robe and put it on, and after a brief stop in the bathroom, went to the kitchen.
She had always been an intensely private person, even as a child, and opened up very rarely and with difficulty. Having shared so much of herself with Mulder, even though she had wanted to, and seen the need to do so, had hit her suddenly. As if the walls around her heart had crumbled, leaving her defenseless. Open to attack. Vulnerable.
She did not like feeling this way, for it seemed like a betrayal to them both, or to their love. The more she thought about it though, she knew the walls had needed to come down, to finally let Mulder in. And that was what was frightening her so. The vulnerability brought on not only by having let him in, but at the sudden realization of how much she wanted and needed him to be there.
It was a hard fact to face after years of being alone by choice, and one she was obviously having a hard time adjusting to.
Part of her hoped Mulder would wake up and come find her, tease her out of this state, while the rest of her wanted him to stay asleep awhile longer to let her have some solitude.
She moved automatically about her kitchen, getting her favorite mug and a spoon, setting out the cream and sugar, the aroma of the brewing coffee filling her senses.
She sighed heavily, wishing that she were able to just turn her mind off for a while, and not think at all. Wishing she could take that final step and turn herself around, go back to her bed where the man she loved lay sleeping and join him, to revel in their togetherness.
The coffee was finally ready, and reaching for the pot, she poured her mug almost full before returning the pot to its holder.
Just as she reached for the sugar dish, hands were suddenly around her waist, a firm body pressing against her back and warm lips at her neck. Mulder. She had not heard him approach, and even though she knew it was he, she could not help the momentary tensing of her body or the gasp that escaped.
He spoke into her neck, mumbling, “Morning,” and the vibrations of his voice against her skin sent shivers down her spine. It also brought her into closer contact with a certain part of his anatomy that seemed very happy to see her.
In an effort to pull herself from the abyss of doubt and fear she had let herself fall into, Scully placed her hands on top of his, and squeezed, whispering, “Morning.” She then wiggled back further into his embrace, brushing her rear into his groin and tried her hand at a little innuendo.
“I see you’re…up,” she murmured, surprised at the huskiness of her voice.
Mulder was of course thrilled with her wittiness. Not only could she feel the physical evidence firming even more against her backside, but she could also hear it in his voice, in the way he said her name, long and drawn-out, emphasizing both syllables.
And par for the course, he had an immediate comeback.
A smile flicked across her face at his ‘morning motto’, and the hand he slid down to rest on her lower belly had her quivering.
At the same time she wondered if making love right now was really the solution to what had been plaguing her since arising from bed.
Maybe it was time to talk some more; to tell him what else was in her heart.
She hadn’t meant to moan his name, but she did, his hand on her having its desired effect. She struggled to keep her next words level. “I’m all yucky. I haven’t had a shower, and my hair’s a mess.” Was that a whine in her voice? She hadn’t meant there to be.
Mulder’s hands were on her hips then, spinning her around to face him.
She gripped the counter behind her to steady herself and stared at him. There was no sign of the teasing lothario of seconds ago; his face was serious, intent, as his eyes scanned her features.
He surprised her with a tender Eskimo kiss, and then said, “You look beautiful. All rumpled and sexy.”
The words went straight to her groin, after a brief detour to her heart.
“Flatterer,” she said quietly, unbelievably pleased by the simple compliment. She placed her hands on his forearms and slid them up to his shoulders. “It just might get you somewhere,” she continued, and kissed his jaw.
His next sentences passed by in an almost blur, the word ‘truth’
echoing in her head. Was she his truth now? She hoped so, for he was hers.
They kissed, and it was sweet and tender. When Mulder’s lips pulled from hers, she stared at him, knowing her confusion was written all over her face.
His explanation as to why was almost halting, and she realized he needed reassurance, much as she herself did. She placed her hands over his on her face and tried to explain her disquiet as simply as possible, knowing they would need to make time soon to talk further. She told him about being scared, and that she was not used to being with someone, to wanting and loving them so much.
Mulder’s reply, about it being new to him, and scaring him as well, eased another burden from her soul. Her spirit was light, and filled with love for him.
She smiled and said, “We are a pair, aren’t we, Mulder?” She lifted her hands from his, pulling them from his face, and started from the kitchen, Mulder in tow. “I’m pretty sure you said something about getting at’em’,” she added, breath already quickening. “I think I’m…”
Her shriek was one of happiness and surprise as she was lifted into Mulder’s arms and carried off. She was giggling by the time he had thrown her onto the middle of the bed, both from the sexy talk he had been rumbling in her ear and his hands groping where he could. The laughter died and turned to lust when he stripped his clothes off in quick movements, his desire for her very evident.
He joined her on the bed, made short work of her robe and the borrowed tee shirt, and set about making her shriek for other reasons.
9:01 am
This time when Mulder woke up it was to discover Scully draped over his entire body like a second skin. A warm, limp as a dishrag skin, with her head burrowed under his ear.
He was hungry and feeling very energetic, eager to get moving, so he said her name experimentally. She mumbled something unintelligible into his neck but did not move. It seemed Scully had other plans. Namely, more sleep, with him as a giant pillow.
A smug grin crossed his face. He had worn her out.
Mulder ran his hand down Scully’s bare back, smiling as she shivered beneath his touch, and let it come to a stop at the swell of her ass. Once there he began tracing tiny circles with one finger, and this time she squirmed slightly.
“Mulderrrr,” she groaned out, turning her head so that it now rested at the hollow of his throat. “That tickles, and right this minute I don’t even have enough energy to laugh, let alone try and stop you.” Her voice was low, the words coming in slightly spaced intervals, little puffs of warm air ruffling his chest hairs.
He was tempted to continue, but ceased the motions with reluctance, for he loved the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. He left his hand lying there though, loath to lose contact, and with a bit of effort craned his head to press a kiss on her forehead. He couldn’t let the opportunity go, however, and murmured, “In other words, you are at my mercy.”
“I’m pretty sure I surrendered a while back,” she returned with a hint of spice, voice tinged with the memory of exactly how he had made her surrender.
An image of Scully poised above him, back arching and head thrown back popped in his head, and his voice was just a little bit huskier when he hummed his agreement. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her a little.
“I have to say your panties made the most beautiful white flag I have ever seen,” he quipped.
He could feel the muscles of her back bunching beneath his hand, and then she was propping her elbows on his chest so that she could look at his face. One eyebrow was raised and she had a little smirk on her lips.
“Especially atop your ‘pole’,” she purred back at him.
He loved when she bantered right along with him, and burst out laughing. “Touche!” he managed to say, his arms tightening around her as the movements of his body threatened to dislodge her from her perch on top of him.
Scully’s laughter joined his, staining her cheeks a becoming shade of pink and making her eyes sparkle. Her unadorned and simple beauty at that moment stunned him, and his breath hitched suddenly in his chest, his laughter halting. He unconsciously squeezed her a little harder.
Her head tilting to the side, Scully watched him, the expression on her face slowly growing serious as he continued to stare at her without speaking. He was unable to say a single thing to reassure her.
“Mulder?” she said quietly. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
He could feel her body tensing against him, and then he was no longer paralyzed. “Nothing’s wrong, Scully,” he replied slowly.
“Everything is just right.” He relaxed his hold on her, hands sliding along her arms to cup her face, and smiled gently. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” The words were from the bottom of his heart.
“Oh, Mulder…” she sighed, her eyes going liquid. “I love you.”
“The feeling is very mutual,” he returned, and pulled her face down to his for a deep kiss, one that was passionate yet not demanding. He released her lips slowly and then grinned at her.
“Now I have to be a man and say, woman get in the kitchen and make me breakfast!”
Scully snorted, a totally inelegant sound, and tweaked one of his nipples, making him jump. “Dream on, Mr. Petrie,” she retorted. “I am going to have a shower.”
They tussled for a moment, Mulder not letting her pull from his arms, until she managed a tickle run at his ribs. While he squirmed away, she untangled herself from him and climbed out of the bed.
With a victorious grin, she added, “While you make me breakfast.”
Mulder propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she slipped into her robe, his mouth open to protest. He only managed to get out, “But…” when she interrupted.
“I think I’d like you without your shirt again.” That said, she flounced out of the room, her soft laughter floating back to his ears.
“I guess I have work to do,” he said to no one in particular, and heaved himself off the bed.
Revenge Part 18 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
9:40 am
Mulder had ambushed her in the shower.
Scully stood in front of the steamed up bathroom mirror on legs that were still not quite steady, blood still thrumming in her veins, and felt shellshocked. He had literally ambushed her in the shower.
She had been lathering up her hair with enthusiasm, thinking of the breakfast Mulder was surely hard at work preparing, when the whisking sound of the shower curtain being opened and a rush of cold air had warned her that she was no longer alone. Before she could wipe the shampoo out of her eyes, Mulder’s hands had been on her.
With a sputtered gasp, she had said his name, and hurriedly rinsed out her hair. She had opened her eyes to see Mulder kneeling before her, and then had felt his lips on her belly.
Scully felt her cheeks warm as she remembered his lips trailing ever downwards, and the way her knees had buckled, nearly causing her to fall. It had only been his strong hands on her hips holding her steady, keeping her upright. She shivered slightly and took a deep breath, grabbing the hand towel on the countertop and lifting it to wipe at the condensation on the mirror.
Even as she studied her reflection, it was fogging again due to the steam that was still rising from the curtained stall, as Mulder had not yet completed his shower. Her image was blurry, but she could still make out the newest of hickeys Mulder had graced her with, on her neck again. That made three in total. It looked like she would be wearing turtlenecks for a few days. She hadn’t had to do that since high school.
A memory drifted over her.
She was fifteen, and had gone out on a date with the boy with whom she had had a crush on for what had seemed like forever. They had spent a good portion of that date making out in his father’s station wagon. Scully stared almost blankly at herself in the mirror and tried to recall the boy’s name, but could only draw a blank. Once he had gotten her home, she had tiptoed passed Ahab, sleeping in his Laz-Y-Boy chair in the family room and snuck upstairs to the room she shared with Missy. She had stood in front of their dresser mirror staring dazedly at the very predominant hickey on her neck, knowing Ahab would kill her if he saw it. Missy had breezed in not much later, and despite her efforts to hide the mark, had spied it on her younger sister’s neck. After snickering for long moments, Missy had caught the glimmer of worry in her eyes and told her not to worry. Missy had then winked and said, “Why do you think I wear so many turtlenecks?”
Scully smiled wistfully as she heard Missy’s voice in her mind, and felt a pang in her heart. With a sigh, she pushed the memory away. She resumed her routine, smoothing lotion onto her body and then brushing her hair before slipping into her terrycloth robe.
The phone began to ring as she was tying the sash, and she stopped midway through, hurrying down the hall to her bedroom to grab the portable off her night table.
She pressed the ‘talk’ button and holding the phone to her ear, said, “Hello.”
Her mother’s voice answered. “Hi, Dana, it’s Mom. Just calling to see how you’re doing.”
Scully sank down onto the side of the bed, not noticing that her robe had gaped open as she did because it was not properly tied about her waist, and smiled.
“Hi, Mom. I’m feeling much better, actually. The odd twinge or ache, but for the most part I think I’m pretty much healed.”
“That’s a relief, dear,” her mom said next. “When do you go back to the doctor’s?”
Lifting her hand to push back a strand of damp hair behind her ear, Scully replied, “This Friday, although I really don’t think it’s necessary. I’m fine.”
Her mother’s chuff of irritation had a note of amusement in it, as did her reply. “If your doctor thinks it’s necessary, then it is,”
she said, and then continued wryly, “You always did hate going to the doctor’s, even as a baby. Our doctor at the time then used to have to take his white coat off before he saw you so you wouldn’t scream during the entire visit. And don’t get me started on you and needles…”
Scully smiled to herself. She had heard this story so many times, along with her mother’s comment that she couldn’t believe that she had ended up choosing to go to medical school. A sound at the doorway had her looking up.
Mulder stood there, a towel wrapped precariously around his lean hips, droplets of water still running down his bare chest and his hair slicked back. Her mouth gaped a little. He looked so damn sexy.
“I heard voices,” he explained then.
Scully had to slap her free hand over her mouth when he said that, to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape, and nearly choked instead. She began to cough heavily and bent over to ease the attack.
She could vaguely hear her mother’s concerned calls in her ear, and also sensed Mulder moving across the floor to her. A second later the mattress dipped as he sat beside her on the bed, and then his hand was pounding her gently on the back.
She managed to catch her breath and stop coughing, but a giggle still burst free. She knew Mulder was looking at her with puzzlement and she started to tell him what was so funny when she remembered her mother on the line.
She pressed the phone back against her ear, having almost dropped it, and said a little breathlessly, “I’m okay, Mom. Sorry about that.”
“Are you sure? What happened?” High-pitched and concerned.
“I’m sure, Mom,” she answered, another snicker escaping. “Um… Mulder came in. He…uh, he wanted to know who was on the phone.”
Puzzlement this time. “And that’s funny?”
“It’s hard to explain, Mom.”
“Okay, dear,” her mother sighed. “I won’t ask.” A pause and then she continued, “Well, how is Fox anyway?” Her voice sounded more normal now.
Scully glanced at Mulder, and her mouth went dry. When he had sat down, the towel around him had gaped, revealing all of one bare thigh, and his muscled abdomen was in fine relief. She practically had to bite her tongue to stop from saying, ‘he’s absolutely beautiful’.
She forced her eyes away from him and instead she said, “Mulder is fine, Mom.”
“Just fine?” her mother queried, and there was no mistaking the teasing curiosity in her question.
“MOM!”
The word came out louder and more emphatically then she had intended, for the man in question had chosen just that moment to lean over and start nibbling her neck.
Mulder made a questioning sound, and it vibrated against her skin, causing her to shiver. Scully felt her cheeks go warm again, and pulled away to shake her head slightly at him in warning. He grinned unrepentantly and because he could no longer access her neck, consoled himself by slipping one hand inside the gaping front of her robe. “Mulder!” she hissed.
Scully jumped when his hand stroked her breast and tried to bat his hand away. He chuckled softly and continued to caress her.
She could not believe she was sitting on her bed with her lover while her mother was querying her about her sex life. It was just a little bit embarrassing.
“Yes, dear?” her mother said, and Scully could still hear humor in her voice.
Slightly exasperated, she blurted out, “If you must know, Mom, Mulder is fantastic!” and then had to clap her hand over her mouth once again.
Oh. My. God. Did I just say that out loud?
There was silence on the other end for a long, torturous moment, while beside her Mulder gasped out, “Scully!” His hand slithered out from her robe and he moved over on the mattress, away from her.
Apparently she had.
Mortification rushed over her, and then she became aware of laughter coming over the line. “Mom?” she said, cheeks now completely on fire. She flicked a glance at Mulder, to see that his cheeks were also red.
He was staring at her, the look on his face one of aghast.
Muffled sounds, as if her mother were cupping her hand over the phone. She tried again. “Mom?”
“I’m still here, honey,” her mom said, and this time her voice was a little strangled. “Why don’t you call me back later, when you’re feeling…better?”
Scully swore she heard a snicker after that comment. She closed her eyes briefly; unsure as to whether she wanted to laugh or to cry. “Okay, Mom. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
“Goodbye Dana,” her mom said, and then added, “Oh, and say goodbye to Fox for me, would you?” It was practically cooed.
Arggghhhh.
“I will, Mom. Goodbye.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the ‘talk’ button to disconnect the call with relief and tossed the phone onto the bed. She brought her hands to her face, and with a muffled groan, fell backwards into the mattress.
“What was all that about?” came Mulder’s voice. “You were talking to your mom…about us?” He actually sounded affronted.
Scully lowered her hands and opened one eye to peer at him. “She figured it out all by herself, Mulder.” She smiled faintly at him and added, “Besides, I think she’s pretty happy about it.”
His answering smile was sickly. “Wait until she tells Bill.”
She groaned.
“And what was so funny back there anyway?” he asked, shifting to move back beside her, leaning back on one elbow.
She opened the other eye and turned her head to look at him completely.
The pose he had struck once again accentuated the muscles in his abdomen, and she had to tear her gaze away from them to meet his eyes, which were watching her curiously.
“Funny?” she repeated, still dazed. “Oh! You mean when I started to cough…well, you said ‘I heard voices’, and I was going to say that I had suspected for years that you heard voices.” She smiled, showing her teeth, to ease the sting.
Mulder threw back his head and laughed deeply. When he had stopped he mock scowled at her and said, “Thanks a lot!”
Scully laughed again and sat up, fixing her robe. She slapped him lightly on his tight belly and said, “You still owe me breakfast, Mr. Petrie.” She rose to her feet and with a smirk, added, “Up and at’em!”
“Slave driver!” he said, and heaved himself to his feet, nearly losing his towel in the process. A quick grab kept it in place.
Barely.
Scully was disappointed, but philosophical. They had things to do anyway.
And there was always time for that later. Lots of time.
Margaret Scully’s Residence
Baltimore, MD
Tuesday
9:45 am
The sounds of the kettle frantically whistling pulled Margaret from her perusal of the unmarked sedan parked in front of her house and the vague shape of the agent sitting within it. She released her grip on the curtain covering the large picture window in the living room and it swished gently back into place as she made her way to the kitchen which took up the entire back part of the house.
She was still a little uncomfortable with the idea that the agent who had been assigned to watch her by Dana’s boss might be a necessity, but tried to shake off the unease with which it left her. She recalled the telephone call from Mr. Skinner the day before, informing her that the surveillance on both herself, and Dana and Fox, was to end tomorrow.
That the FBI would no longer be watching her daughter also left her uneasy, as Mr. Skinner had also told her that the man responsible for kidnapping and injuring Dana had not yet been apprehended, nor had his death been confirmed.
She shook those feelings off and went about the familiar routine of making herself a cup of tea. Her eyes lifted from the countertop to the clock on the stove and saw the time. She still had an hour before she needed to meet her church group. There was plenty of time to give Dana a call while enjoying her tea before she had to leave.
That decided, she carried her teacup to the table and sat it down on one of the placemats before walking over to pick up the phone.
She dialed Dana’s number quickly and then walked back over to the table and sat down in her usual seat. She had a second to muse about how she always chose to sit in the same seat, the seat that had traditionally been hers during the Scully family meals, before she heard Dana’s voice say hello.
Margaret smiled to herself, Dana always sounded slightly suspicious and a little aggressive when she answered the phone, as if she resented the caller for intruding on her time.
A thought popped in her head, that maybe she really was interrupting something, something intimate between Fox and Dana, much like she had on Saturday when she had returned to Dana’s apartment with some groceries, even as she was saying, “Hi, Dana, it’s Mom. Just calling to see how you’re doing.”
However there was no hint of anything amiss in her daughter’s reply, or their next few minutes of conversation. With a brief moue of distress, she wondered next if that interruption of hers had halted any further connection between her daughter and Fox. She fervently hoped not.
If there were ever two people more deserving of happiness and each other, she did not know who they could be. Although, from the fact that Dana had finally admitted she loved Fox, and he Dana, she doubted that things had not proceeded in the right direction.
Margaret realized that there had been silence from the other end for a long moment, and then heard a muffled male voice followed by a choked sound from Dana. Hard on its heels was a coughing fit.
Fox must have joined Dana in the room.
She was just about to express her concern when she heard Dana giggle, something her daughter sadly did not do very often, and tthen Dana apologized. Her voice still came out higher than normal when she asked Dana what had happened.
Her daughter’s jumbled reply confirmed that Fox was indeed there, but did not explain what had been so funny. She decided to forget about that, and instead asked Dana how Fox was. There was silence again, but not as long as last time, and then Dana replied that he was fine.
Margaret could not explain what impulse had her asking teasingly, “Just fine?” Perhaps it was her happiness over the fact that Dana and Fox were together, combined with her relief that Dana seemed to be completely healed, although she knew her daughter had a tendency to exaggerate her well-being, and often did not inform her of injuries she had sustained until well after the fact, or just that streak in many a parent to torment their child. Whatever the reason, she did it, and thoroughly enjoyed the results.
Dana’s indignant, “MOM!” followed by a low hoarse, “Mulder,” had her smiling broadly.
She managed to reply, “Yes, dear?” quite calmly.
Her daughter’s next response was a little more than she had bargained for, but delighted her all the same. It also gave her an odd feeling to be cheered by the fact that her daughter had obviously engaged in sexual relations with a man and had announced it so baldly.
These mixed reactions kept her silent for a moment before she went with her first instinct, which was to burst out laughing, while blushing too, for having to hear that Dana thought Fox was fantastic. Her hand gripped the receiver tightly, covering the mouthpiece to hopefully hide the sound from Dana. Her daughter did not deal with embarrassment well.
Margaret dimly heard Dana call her name, and then once more, and struggled to control her laughter. She did get it under some semblance of control, but her voice was still not quite right when she told Dana to call her back later when she was feeling better.
She hadn’t meant to put a pause before the word ‘better’ and her sentence came out a little suggestively, which made her laugh again, a snickering sound.
Dana’s goodbye was a little quick. Margaret couldn’t resist tacking on a request for Dana to say goodbye to Fox for her, and after Dana’s affirmative reply, hung up the phone. She realized she still had a smile on her face, and that her uneasiness from earlier was completely gone. Lifting the teacup to her lips for a small sip, she discovered ruefully that it was quite tepid.
Oh, well. There would be plenty of tea and coffee at the church.
With that thought, she rose from her chair and crossed the floor to the sink, dumping the tea down the train. She rinsed the cup out and put it in the drainer before heading upstairs to get ready.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
8:00 pm
Mulder held the TV remote loosely in one hand, surfing the channels randomly, while sprawled comfortably on Scully’s couch, one bare foot on the coffee table, the other dangling off the edge. His gaze was fixed on the screen, his face and body bathed in its blue glow, which flickered in a hypnotic pattern.
He was waiting for Scully to join him, to entice her to curl herself around him and snuggle, so that he could bask in the warmth and scent that was Scully. She had gone to change out of her jeans after cleaning up the remains of their somewhat late supper, and was taking a surprisingly long time. With that thought, he shifted slightly so he could look down the hallway to her bedroom, hitting the mute button for the TV at the same time. The door to her bedroom was ajar, light spilling from within, but there was no sound.
He wondered if she had fallen asleep, remembering her smothered yawns at the dinner table, and was just debating about going to check on her when the door opened wider and her figure filled the frame. The light clicked off, cloaking the hallway in darkness again, and then he could make out the faint sounds of her footsteps as she neared.
The floor creaked once and then the lamp on the end table to the left of the couch was clicked on as she said a quiet ‘hi.’
Mulder had to blink rapidly at the sudden infusion of light, bringing one hand up to rub briefly at his eyes and said, “Hey,” in response. He felt a nudge on his thigh, and shifted so that Scully could join him on the couch.
She chose to curl up at one end, her back propped on the arm, her feet tucked beneath her, and opened the book he hadn’t realized she had brought with her.
Mulder looked at her, a little disappointed she hadn’t read his mind and lay down with him, but had to smile. Her glasses were perched on the end of her nose, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and she was wearing…his sweatshirt. His favorite sweatshirt. The one he had packed when they went to his apartment to check on whether any of his fish had succumbed, and to pick up his mail and some more clothes.
She had volunteered to unpack his suitcase, after offering to clear out a couple of her dresser drawers for him, once they had got back to her place, and had obviously taken a liking to it. Not that he minded, he found it gave him a little thrill to see her wearing it, much as the sight of her in his tee shirt had.
She looked like a librarian in her glasses. A very sexy librarian.
He mused to himself that if she had been his librarian in school, he would never have gotten anything done. A more perfect touch though would have been if she had been wearing a crisp, white button-down shirt. His, of course, with the top three buttons undone, hinting at what was beneath.
A pleasant little tingle ran through his body at the thought, and seeing that Scully was engrossed in her book, decided to indulge himself a little. He laid his head down on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
Instead of the library scene he had started to imagine though, his mind drifted back to earlier, to when they had gone to the Laundromat a block away from his apartment after picking up his stuff.
It was his regular place, both for its convenient location, next to a dry cleaner’s on one side, and a bakery on the other, and was staffed by an eccentric little old woman named Daisy who rarely spoke to anyone.
Tantalizing aromas had drifted from the propped open door of the bakery, and Scully had surprised him by going over to press her nose against the window, a smile on her face as she beheld all the treats displayed there. He had teased her, telling her not to drool on the glass, and said that if she were a good girl, he would buy her something later. She had shot him a look, managing to look prissy and sexy at the same time, and then surprised him again by asking how good.
He had groaned and after resisting the temptation to haul her against him for a deep, wet kiss, had dragged her away from the bakery window and into the Laundromat. It had been empty except for Daisy, who had winked at their entrance and then cackled when she saw they were holding hands. The lack of other customers was a bonus, for they quickly staked their claim on three washing machines, after Scully had explained to him the necessity of separating whites from darks. He had then asked what the third machine was for, and Scully had said for delicates. His face must have been blank, evidence of his utter lack of comprehension, for she had rolled her eyes and then briefly held up a pair of her silk panties in explanation. She had then quickly sorted all their clothes and got the washers going. He had sat down on one of the orange plastic chairs to start reading his latest Omni magazine, which had been waiting in his mailbox, thinking how odd and yet how exhilarating it was to be so domestic with Scully, and how comfortable they both were with it. Scully had brought a book with her, but after maybe ten minutes of reading, had put it down and began wandering.
Mulder had found himself distracted, glancing up to stare at her jean-clad ass every time she had walked by him. He so rarely had the pleasure of seeing her in jeans, and had to admit it was probably a good thing. They weren’t skin tight, but they certainly clung in all the right places. Finally he had been able to stand it no more, and had risen after her last saunter past him, grabbing her from behind at the hips and pulling her backside into his groin, which had started to react to her feminine charms. Scully had wiggled her behind in reaction, brushing against the fly of his jeans. With a quick glance around the Laundromat to see that Daisy was nowhere to be seen, hopefully busy in her little office in the back, he had swooped his head down to nibble at Scully’s neck, nosing her turtleneck aside and whispering ‘hussy’ into her warm, scented skin. She had whispered back, “Only for you,” and wiggled her ass again. She had then moaned, “Let’s go back to your apartment, Mulder. We can’t…not here.”
On the couch, Mulder shifted a little, for his jeans were a little restricting now. He was aware of Scully beside him, shifting about as well, and cranked one eye open to peer at her. She was still reading, one hand rubbing absently at her calf. Mulder shifted again, and reaching out, scooped his arm under both her calves to straighten her legs and bring her feet onto his lap.
Scully lifted her eyes to peer at him from above her glasses and smiled her thanks before returning her gaze to her book. He resettled himself into the cushions, and with one hand, began to massage one of Scully’s feet. It twitched beneath his hand, and she shifted again, but did not pull away. He let his fingers begin on her arch as he drifted back into his memory.
Scully’s wiggling had had an effect, naturally, and he had staggered forward, pushing her into one of the gyrating washing machines, which was now in its spin cycle. With Scully’s height, her groin was pressed against the machine, the top of it at her waist. He had felt the motions of the machine through her body, and had pressed himself even more firmly against her backside, groaning slightly. She had hissed his name, her embarrassment obvious, and tried to push them both away from the washer. His feet were planted on the floor, and she had not been able to budge him. He had heard her growl of frustration, and worried that she was now angry instead of aroused, had been about to step back when she had moaned quietly. The sound had emboldened him further, one hand leaving her hip to trail up her body to cup her chin, angling her head back and to the side for his kiss.
Unfortunately two things had happened then. The little bell over the door had rung, announcing a customer’s arrival, and Daisy had come from the back of the Laundromat. He and Scully had sprung apart like two scalded cats, both of their cheeks flushed red. He had walked awkwardly back to his chair, holding the opened Omni magazine over his lap as camouflage while he waited for his erection to subside, and Scully had feigned interest in the posters decorating the dingy beige walls.
The place had gotten busier, and there had been no more chances to play. After folding their dry laundry, they had gone into the bakery next door to purchase some lemon tarts and fudge brownies.
Their next stop had been the grocery store and then over to the Gunmen’s. The guys had had nothing to report, but had sworn to keep looking. Finally all their errands had been completed, and they had headed back to Scully’s apartment.
And now here he was sporting another erection. He shifted again, and accidentally brought Scully’s foot into contact with it. His eyes popped open, and shot over to Scully, who was perusing him over her glasses, her expression somewhat serious.
Her lips parted in a smile as she rotated her ankle in his now loose grip, letting the bottom of her foot brush against him again. “What were you thinking about?” she asked teasingly, head tilted to the side and one eyebrow quirked.
He answered honestly. “The intricacies of the spin cycle.”
Her foot jumped in his hand, and heat flared in her eyes. She inhaled sharply and then her tongue darted out to lick her upper lip as her eyes dropped to his lap. “Mulder.” Huskily said.
That was all he needed to hear. He released her foot and crawled up her body, his hands going to her hips to pull her further down the couch. He settled his weight on top of her and after gently removing her glasses and laying them on the coffee table, met her lips in a deep kiss.
Their clothes were quickly shed, both gasping at the feel of naked skin against naked skin.
He rasped her name once and then the soft sounds of their loving filled the apartment.
Revenge Part 19 by Lovesfox
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Wednesday
10:00 am
Walter Skinner stepped into his outer office and looked up to see Kimberley watching him expectantly. She had a smile on her face that he could only describe as enigmatic. He crooked an eyebrow at her in question, and she cheerily explained, “I heard you in the hall.”
Her eyes flickered briefly from him to his opened office door before lowering to her desk. She reached out and picked up a file that was lying there, along with two pink message slips. She held them out and said, “Agent Carmichael dropped this by, and there are two messages for you, sir.”
He continued forward and took the file and slips from her hand, glancing cursorily at both. As he did, Kimberley added, “One of the messages is from a reporter in Leesburg, where Agent Scully was found.”
“Thank-you, Kimberley,” he said a little absently, as he shifted the slips so he could see the one from the reporter, an image of the young woman he had spoken to at the Leesburg Mental Hospital after Scully’s dramatic rescue by Mulder entering his conscious briefly.
Shoulder length reddish-blonde hair, quite short, with a determined look on her face. He read the slip. Heather Baber, Leesburg News, followed by a telephone number.
He had another vague memory, of seeing her at the hospital, her calling his name. He had been too concerned about learning the status of his two agents, and getting Mrs. Scully to her daughter, to talk to the reporter at that time.
An idea formed in his head. As he had just been discussing with his superior, there had still been no sign of Elliot Andercott.
It was unknown as to whether the man was dead or alive. Perhaps getting the story out again, getting the man’s face and name on the news and in the papers could help flush him out if he were alive.
He gripped the message tightly, and headed to his office, resolving that after first calling the Media Relations Department, he would call Heather Baber as soon as possible.
He stepped into his office, turning to tell Kimberley to hold all his calls before he shut his door, and found his assistant staring at him with that same strange smile. What in the hell was wrong with the woman? Had he forgotten her birthday or secretary’s day or something? Wait, no, her birthday was just before Christmas, so that couldn’t be it. He decided to ignore it, shrugging his shoulders irritably, and said somewhat gruffly, “Hold all my calls, please.”
Kimberley nodded, still smiling, and with a small shake of his head, Skinner shut the door. He crossed the floor, dropping the file from Agent Carmichael on the stack already there for his perusal, and put the message slips on his blotter. He slipped out of his jacket and draped it on his chair before taking a seat and pushing the chair closer to the desk.
It was not until he reached for the telephone did he see what appeared to be a folded piece of notepaper lying on his blotter, not far from the two pink slips. He looked around his office, as if he might find someone still there, and then glanced at the closed door leading to the outer office where Kimberley manned her desk.
Whomever had placed the paper on his desk had to have gone past Kimberley, for the double doors leading out to the hallway bypassing the outer office were always locked, and his assistant would have said something if she had been the one to place it there.
Thinking of her odd little smiles, he wondered if she was aware of the note, and decided she must be. He finally picked the notepaper up and unfolded it. It was a piece of personal stationary, not Bureau issue, with some sort of purple flowers bordering the entire edge, and the writing on it was definitely feminine.
Adjusting his glasses minutely, Skinner began to read: ‘Walter~
I’m hoping you’ll be free this Friday night. I have made reservations at The Bistro for 7 pm.
Allison’
Beneath her name was a telephone number, one he assumed to be her home phone number. He stared at the note for a long moment, idly admiring her handwriting, before folding the paper back up and tucking it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He would wait and call her tonight, from home. To accept her invitation.
That decided, he picked up the other pink message slip, and re-read iit. It was from Karen Kossoff, of the Employee Assistance Program, advising him she had arranged a time to meet with Scully for her mental fitness evaluation this coming Friday. It was standard procedure after injuries sustained while on duty. He would call Scully after he spoke with Heather Baber, to confirm she had received notification of the appointment, and to inform her of his decision to have Elliot Andercott’s face and name put out by the media. He also had to tell her and Mulder that the FBI protection for them was officially over, despite his attempts to dissuade his superiors to the contrary. Though he was certain the pair would notice when the unmarked car outside her apartment building was no longer there.
His call with the Media Relations Department left him with a headache, but at least they had come to an agreement. They would handle speaking to the local papers and news shows here in Washington, while he called the Leesburg News. There was always an off chance that Andercott had remained in Leesburg, despite the lack of any sightings. They had no way of knowing whether he might have had other places set up to hideout in.
Skinner removed his glasses, laying them down on his desk, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A quick glance at his watch showed that it was only 10:45. The day was not even half over, and he already felt like calling it quits. Not that he would, of course.
It just wasn’t in his nature, was not how he had been raised and to further that, his time in the Marines had instilled an even greater sense of responsibility and discipline.
With that in mind, he donned his glasses again and picked the phone up, cradling it between his ear and shoulder as he dialed the number for Heather Baber.
It rang twice, and then a female voice said, “This is Heather Baber with the Leesburg News.”
“Miss Baber, this is Walter Skinner. You phoned my office today.”
He spoke the words crisply as his fingers tapped on his desk blotter. He mused about how ballsy the reporter was in phoning him directly, and not going through the proper channels. He recalled how she had reminded him of Scully at the scene in Leesburg, and how this move would also be typical of his agent, going right for the top and skipping the go-betweens. He admired it, and realized that even if he hadn’t already planned on discussing the case with her for a tactical move, he probably would have spoken to her anyway.
Although he also would have directed her to ASAC Powell, who had been in charge in Leesburg until Mulder and he had arrived there.
“Oh! Um, yes I did. Thank you for returning my call,” came her voice through the receiver, followed by the sound of papers shuffling. There was a pause, and then she continued, “The reason I called was that I am interested in doing a follow-up to the fire at the mental hospital and on the man responsible. I understand you are in charge of the investigation, and was wondering if you would mind answering some questions?”
There was a fine line as to who was actually in charge of the case, actually, Skinner thought. Powell was still running the investigation into Andercott from his Field Office, but no doubt the case was not his only priority. Mulder had certainly been an important part of it, while he himself was both Mulder and Scully’s direct superior, and had a vested personal interest. He was not however a field agent, and very rarely did he involve himself this completely. This was not something he could explain, so instead he merely replied, “Yes, I am, along with Agent Powell, and yes I can probably answer some of your questions. There is also another reason I returned your call.” He then proceeded to explain his intention to have an article published in the Leesburg News, along with the composite of Elliot Andercott.
Heather Baber, while obviously young, seemed to know her stuff, and plunged right in. In no time at all they had gone over the pertinent facts, once he had informed her the FBI did not want to release the name of the agent who had been kidnapped, nor the agent who had pulled her from the fire. He gave her permission to use his name in the story and requested her fax number for him send a current composite of Elliot Andercott. He then gave her the contact number to be printed in case anyone had information about Andercott or had seen the man who was now a fugitive.
Skinner concluded the call and proceeded to his next one, to Scully. Mulder answered, and after a brief greeting, made a snide remark about the ending of the surveillance.
Skinner commiserated and then went on to inform Mulder of the media reports that were soon to come out about Andercott. His agent was silent for a moment before commenting that they should have thought of it sooner.
They spoke for a few more moments, with Mulder reiterating that he would be staying with Scully, and that alternate surveillance had been arranged, before Scully came on the line.
He asked her if she had spoken to Karen Kossoff, to which she replied in the affirmative, and after receiving positive responses to his inquiry about her health, he said he would see the two of them on Friday. Scully replied warmly, thanking him for his call and the conversation was ended.
Deciding a cup of coffee was in order before attacking the accumulated paperwork, he rose from his desk and stretched briefly, feeling the pull of muscles in a desperate need of a workout. As he shrugged into his jacket, he made a mental note to himself to head to the gym in the evening. Straightening his tie, he made his way over to the closed door that led to the outer office.
Stepping through, he glanced at Kimberley’s desk and found her regarding him once more. He nodded at her and said, “I’ll be back shortly.” He turned to go, and out of the corner of his eye, saw a look of disappointment cross her face.
With an inward sigh of resignation he decided his assistant was definitely aware of the note from Allison. It was somewhat discomforting, and he swore as he left the office that he could feel her eyes on his back.
Women.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Wednesday
6:53 pm
From the kitchen where she was tidying up the remains of their delivered Chinese food dinner, Scully could hear the different sounds of TV shows as Mulder channel surfed his way through each and every one. In the last few days living with Mulder she had been witness to a whole new plethora of his habits, some of which were very endearing.
Others were not, and were instead downright annoying. His almost mindless need to flick through channel after channel was one of those habits.
The sounds ceased. Wryly she thought that it would be her luck that Mulder would find a dirty movie to watch. A smile quirked across her face and then was gone as she first scraped their plates clean and then rinsed them before loading them in her dishwasher.
She returned to her earlier train of thought about personal habits.
She had to admit that it was more than likely that Mulder had found some of her habits irritating. But this was her apartment.
Her home. Her sanctuary. And sometimes she felt like it had been invaded. She tossed the scraps into the garbage and rinsed out the containers to go in the recycling bin, while musing that it could just be the fact that she was going a little stir crazy, despite their outing of yesterday.
Click. Click. Click.
The channel changing resumed again, making her grit her teeth.
With a last wipe of the table and countertop, she rinsed the dishcloth out and hung it neatly on the tap and then headed into the other room to tell Mulder to either pick a damn show or to pop in a movie before he drove her insane. She rounded the wingback chair to the left of the couch, her eyes flicking to the television, and the sentence died unspoken. Her steps faltered and then stopped completely as she recognized the picture on the screen.
Elliot Andercott.
Mulder’s indrawn hiss of breath was a faint sound, and peripherally Scully saw his arm rise to point the converter at the TV, intending to change the channel.
“Leave it!” she barked, surprised at the harshness of her voice.
He froze, his arm returning to its place on his thigh, and shifted so that he was no longer slouching on the couch.
She remained standing, knees locking into position to still the sudden trembling of her legs, and her attention entirely on the news program that was winding down for the end of the hour.
The female broadcaster… <what the hell was her name?>…was obviously reiterating a segment from earlier in the program, stating that the FBI was asking the public’s help in regards to a criminal at large, wanted on a variety of charges. The updated composite sketch of Elliot Andercott remained in one corner of the picture through the entire blurb, and as the broadcaster… <damn it why can’t I remember her name?>…finished speaking, the picture enlarged to fill the screen, with a hotline number displayed at its bottom.
A few seconds later the sounds of the news stations theme music filled the room as the picture changed to that of the nameless female broadcaster and her male counterpart.
Scully barely registered it as she felt her knees start to buckle, and managed to stagger forward a few steps and almost fall into the couch.
Even though Skinner had told them about his intention to have Elliot Andercott’s name and picture in the media, it was still a shock to see him there in full Technicolor.
Beside her, Mulder aimed the remote at the TV again and turned it off, tossing the little black gadget onto the coffee table before turning sideways to look at her with concern. “Scully?”
he said softly. “You okay?” One hand reached out slowly, tentatively, and rested lightly on her thigh.
She flinched. Lost in a sudden memory of waking up to Elliot’s face looming before her, his hands touching her, that when Mulder put his hand on her thigh, she equated it to being Elliot’s hand, and reacted. Wrongly.
Even as Mulder was pulling his hand away, wounded, she reconnected with the present, with Mulder sitting next to her on her couch.
Face crinkling in concern, she reached out to grab his hand in hers and clutch it tightly. “Mulder, I didn’t…it wasn’t…”
her words ended in a frustrated sigh. She took a deep somewhat shaky breath and began again. “I saw his face on the TV, and I was just there again.” There was no need to say where ‘there’
was; she knew Mulder would know what she meant. “I woke up one time, he was kneeling beside the cot, and he was touching me.”
She squeezed his hand and brought it up to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “I was remembering it just as you touched me. I’m so sorry, Mulder. I didn’t mean to react like that.”
Mulder’s face had gone carefully blank as he pulled away from her, and when she spoke, she saw the life come back in his eyes, the features crinkle into a frown of concern. At the words ‘he was touching me’, the frown deepened, and anger flared briefly in his hazel orbs, anger at the madman who had done this to her. Then he was carefully pulling her into his arms.
She went willingly, wrapping her own arms around his waist, her head burying itself in his chest. He shifted them both and she was sitting in his lap, her legs up on the couch cushion.
Mulder began rocking her, his hand in her hair, cradling her head.
She felt his lips brush her crown, and then heard him murmuring gently. Soft, nonsense words meant to soothe and to comfort.
And they did.
The tension that had built in her body at seeing Elliot on the television slowly melted away. The tears that had formed in her eyes as she relived a horrible memory, the tears she had refused to shed, had dried up.
Scully was not sure how long they remained that way, she on his lap being rocked in his arms, but finally she had to move. There was an ache in her back, and her cheek where it was pressed against Mulder’s chest was sweating lightly. So she pulled free gently, and shifted to sit beside him.
He arched his own back, twisting his head from side to side with a small groan. She did the same, and heard her vertebrae pop and crack.
Mulder mouthed the word ‘ouch’ at the sounds, and she winced slightly and nodded. “My back is a little sore,” she said unnecessarily.
He quirked an eyebrow at her and replied, “I gathered.” He paused, head tilting to the side, and then said, “Do you want a massage?”
A massage sounded really good, and she opened her mouth to say yes, when he spoke again.
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you take a nice, hot bubble bath, and then I’ll give you a massage?”
That sounded even better, and she found herself nodding.
Mulder bounced up from the couch and held out his hand. She placed hers within it and he tugged her up gently. Once she was standing he bent his head and brushed butterfly soft kisses over her forehead, her nose, both cheeks, and then a last one on her lips. He stepped back, squeezed her hand, and began to walk to her bedroom. She trailed along behind him, still reeling from the simplicity and gentleness of his kisses.
Mulder stopped them at the bathroom door, released her hand, and gave her a little push towards her bedroom. “You go get into your robe. I’ll start the tub.”
Scully nodded, and as he started to turn away, reached out to grab the hem of his tee shirt, halting him. He turned with a quizzical look on his face, and she surged forward and up on her toes to kiss him hard on the lips. “I love you, Mulder,” she said, her hand fisted in the material of his shirt.
Mulder smiled, a devastatingly beautiful smile, and replied. “I know.” He gently disentangled her hand from his tee shirt, placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to face her bedroom once more. He patted her behind and said, “Get going.”
Just as she stepped into her bedroom he called out, “I love you too, Scully.”
She smiled and continued into her room. A few seconds later she heard the crank of the taps, followed by the whoosh of the water as it began to fill her tub. She disrobed slowly, letting her clothes fall to the floor, and padded naked to the end of her bed where her silk robe lay.
It was cool to the touch as she slid her arms into the sleeves, and she shivered lightly when it touched her skin. Belting it loosely, she went to retrieve the clothes from the floor, pausing to look at herself in her dresser mirror. The replacement for the mirror another madman had cracked her skull against, shattering it to pieces.
She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes. She did not want to think about bad things.
Opening them again, she raised her chin a little and studied her reflection. Her hair was mussed from lying against Mulder, the cheek that had been pressed to his chest redder than its twin, and her lips were devoid of lipstick. Yet there was a softness to her eyes. A softness put there by Mulder. She remembered her earlier thoughts about his annoying habits, and felt a brief spurt of shame. For along with those habits was his thoughtfulness and tenderness. And his love.
She reached for the small crystal dish that held pins for her hair, and after twisting most of the red strands into a knot, carefully pinned it up. Some stubborn locks resisted the pins, and framed her face. With a shrug, she turned from the mirror and spied the clothes on the floor once more. She scooped them up and deposited them in the hamper before making her way to the bathroom. Upon entering, she saw that not only had Mulder poured her bubble bath, but he had also lit the candles that were still there from her bath a few days ago, and gotten a huge, fluffy towel and laid it on the countertop for her.
He was leaning against that countertop, watching the water rise in the tub, but looked up when she entered. She watched his eyes sweep from her pinned-up hair, pausing at her breasts, where her nipples puckered against the silk, and then down to her bare toes peeking out from the hem of her robe. The robe had been a gift from her mother, and was actually just a little too long. She liked it though, and from the glint in Mulder’s eyes, knew he did too.
He said nothing though, and straightened from his slump against the cabinet. He made a sweeping gesture with one arm at the bathtub, bowing slightly at the waist, and said softly, “Your bath awaits, milady.”
“Thank-you, kind sir,” she replied, with a small, regal-like nod of her head. She then ruined their medieval royal to servant playacting by grinning.
He grinned too, and walked past her to exit the bathroom. Scully untied the sash of her robe and slipped it off, laying it on the counter beside the towel.
She had not seen Mulder pause, but heard his voice say, “Would you like a glass of…” The question trailed off and then she heard Mulder’s indrawn hiss of breath. She turned only her head to see him poised in the doorway, staring at her silhouette. She felt her nipples tighten again as his eyes dipped to her breasts once more, and could not help flicking her own eyes downward to the fly of his jeans. To see an unmistakable bulge there.
She knew he had not intended to make any advances on her, that the tub was solely for her benefit and enjoyment, and that he had only stopped to ask her if she wanted something, a glass of wine perhaps.
Yet it gave her no small pleasure to see how he had reacted to her nude body. She turned so that she was facing him fully, and said throatily, “Would you like to join me in the bath, Mulder?”
The words were hardly out of her mouth, and his hands were already stripping his tee shirt over his head. Scully chuckled as he hastily worked at the button and zipper of his jeans and yanked them off, dragging his briefs along with them.
A glorious feeling of power swept through her as she witnessed the state to which she had driven him. She felt like a seductress, a siren, and it was a wonderful feeling.
He smiled, a little sheepishly, at her chuckle and said huskily, “See what you do to me?”
“I see,” she answered. Oh boy, do I see, she thought. This time it was she who gestured at the tub. “In this case I have to insist gentlemen first.”
He walked over and climbed into the tub, muscles flexing, and her mouth went dry. Maybe it was more a mutual seduction, she thought, and once he was settled, grabbed onto the hand he held out for her and lifted one leg carefully over the rim of the tub and into the bubbles.
It was hard to be graceful while maneuvering around Mulder’s legs, but she managed to situate herself between them without incident, her back lying against his chest. His knees poked out from the bubbles, framing her on either side, and she rested her hands on his thighs.
She had to wiggle a bit to get more comfortable, feeling herself sliding down too far. Mulder’s hands settled on her hips beneath the water and helped adjust her properly. In the process he brought her more firmly into the vee of his legs, and she felt his penis nestled against her lower back, just above the swell of her behind.
Mulder’s only reaction was a slight wiggle, and then his hands left her hips to circle loosely at her waist, resting on her belly.
They both sighed, and Scully let her head drop so that it rested in the hollow between Mulder’s jaw and shoulder. Her eyes closed as she felt him rub his cheek against her head, and she sighed again.
This was perfect.
7:30 pm
Mulder leaned his butt against the countertop and watched the bubbles continue to form as the water cascaded into the tub. He had lit the candles he had brought to the bathroom days ago, and they were the only illumination in the room. He liked the way their flames flickered and danced on the ceramic tiles of the walls and floor, and how they made the room seem warm and inviting. He hoped it would be relaxing too, for Scully.
His thoughts ranged to the scene earlier in Scully’s living room.
The sight of Andercott had been a shock, to both of them, even with the pre-warning from Skinner, and his first instinct had been to protect Scully, to hide the evidence before she could see it.
He hadn’t been quite fast enough, and had been stunned by the grating texture of her command to leave the news report on. Her pain had been obvious as well, but he had not been able to hide his own pain when she had recoiled from his touch. Her words had helped to soothe his pain, and let him understand her reaction.
His Scully sense was on full alert, and he knew she was there before he heard a sound. He swiveled his head up and to the side to see her enter the bathroom. At first glance he saw that she was clad in her silk robe, the one that dragged slightly along the floor as she walked. The one that draped lovingly over every dip and curve of her body. The one that made him wish he were that robe.
He let his eyes caress her entire body, starting at the top. She had her hair twisted up in one of those sexy knots again, the name of it escaped him at the moment, with little tendrils framing her face, emphasizing her cheekbones, the angle of her chin, and her long, graceful neck. In the dim light of the candles the faint scar he knew was there from the rope could not be seen, for which he was thankful.
He continued on and the sight of her nipples poking through the silk caused a little twinge in his groin. He wanted to brush the material aside and draw one into his mouth. He did not move however, for this time was for her, and made his eyes move downward, to where her little toes, tipped in scarlet, could just be seen. Felt that twinge in his groin again.
He kept his desire in check however, and straightening, gestured grandly at the bubble and water filled tub, adding what he hoped was a courtly little bow. “Your bath awaits, milady,” he intoned, glad to be her humble servant.
Scully replied in kind, saying quite regally, “Thank you, kind sir.” The little nod of her head was just as regal, despite the fact she was clad only in a silk robe. She then grinned at him.
He was glad to see her playful, she had seemed kind of shellshocked while on the couch, adding to his worry, and let himself grin back at her as he headed out of the bathroom.
An idea hit him, maybe she’d like a glass of wine or something, and he paused, turning back around as he asked, “Would you like a glass of…” He never finished the question as he saw her standing there nude, and sucked in a breath.
She was exquisite.
She was not facing him, was standing facing the tub, and the glow from the candles threw her outline in sharp relief. His eyes caressed the slope of her shoulder, her taut nipples, the swell of her belly. One leg was forward a little, hiding the triangle between her thighs, and the action called attention to the curve of her ass, which he admired next.
He had never before wished for artistic talent, but at that moment he could have cried at his lack of the ability to sketch her in charcoal, or shape her in clay, as a lasting tribute to her beauty.
His body reacted of course. Lungs expanding, pulse accelerating, other parts…swelling.
Scully turned then, to face him fully, and seduced him with her voice and her words. “Would you like to join me in my bath, Mulder?” she asked.
Would he like to join her in her bath? God he loved this woman.
He was stripped of his clothes in seconds, hearing Scully’s soft laughter. He smiled with some chagrin, and said, “See what you do to me?”
Moments later they were immersed in the bubbles, his back resting against the tub’s wall, and Scully lying along his chest. His knees were bent, due to the tight quarters, feeling the coolness of the air as compared to the heat of the water. Scully’s hands rested on his thighs, and he brought his to rest on her belly, clasped loosely together. Their sighs were in unison, merely following the pattern of their lives together, and then Scully tucked her head in his neck.
His burgeoning arousal was forgotten, as Scully relaxed trustingly and comfortably against him. He felt his own muscles go slack, and he let his head loll back on the rim.
It could not last forever, unfortunately.
The water grew chill, the bubbles dissipating. With a bit of careful maneuvering, they were both out of the tub, and he was wrapping Scully in the big towel he had laid out for her. He grabbed another one, dried himself off quickly, and then twisted it around his hips so he could take over the task of blotting Scully dry.
She smiled self-consciously as he tugged her towel away, and blushed adorably as he knelt on the little oval rug she stood on. He dried her feet carefully, and slowly made his way up her legs with the towel, catching each and every rivulet and drop of water on her smooth skin and patting it dry. Her pelvic area and bottom were next, receiving the same attention, and then he had to stand to dry her front and back. He pressed a little kiss on the back of her neck and then stepped back, saying softly, “All dry.”
Scully was no longer blushing and smiled her thanks. She turned to face the counter, and he watched as one slender arm reached out for her moisturizer. He stepped forward again, pressing his front to her back and placed his hand over hers holding the lotion bottle.
“Your massage,” he whispered in her ear, and felt the shiver that ran through her body.
He took the bottle from her and left the bathroom, going directly to her bedroom. Shedding his towel, he went to his drawer and pulled out a pair of silk boxers, in a dark green. He slipped them on and moved over to the lamp on the night table, turning it down to its lowest setting. When he turned around, Scully was there. Her robe was on, but not belted.
Mulder’s heart skipped a beat, but he held onto his composure and gestured at the bed. After a moment of hesitation, Scully moved over to the bed, slid off her robe, draping it over the end, and then climbed onto it, lying on her stomach, head pillowed on her crossed arms.
Mulder studied her for a moment, admiring her pale, alabaster skin, the slope of her back and the shapely curve of her ass, and although short, her well toned legs that ended in delicately arched feet. He then took a fortifying breath and knelt beside her. He didn’t think he could hold on if he straddled her body.
He flicked the top of the moisturizer bottle open and squirted a generous amount in his hands. The lotion was cool, so he rubbed it between his hands to warm it up before starting at her neck. He worked at the tenseness still there despite their bath, using his thumbs to knead the muscles.
Scully groaned slightly and dipped her head down further, offering her neck up for further exploration, to which he obliged. From there he squeezed and smoothed and stroked, enjoying the feel and suppleness of her soft skin, all along her shoulders and upper arms. He paused for more lotion, rubbing it between his hands again, and then started on her back.
Her head had fallen to the side, resting on one bent arm, and he could see the fan of her lashes lying on her cheeks for her eyes were closed. She was not sleeping though, because every once in a while she would sigh his name or the words ‘right there’.
Smiling, Mulder bent and pressed a quick kiss on the shoulder closest to him. She hummed in response.
He smoothed down along her spine until he reached her lower back.
His spot. The spot where she had once been marked by a tattoo of an ouroboros. He had never told her, but he had found the fact that Scully had gotten a tattoo quite intriguing, and just a little bit arousing.
At the time, it had seemed so out of character, almost dangerous, for his straight-laced partner. Now that he knew her, knew her innermost self, or at least he was fairly certain he did, it did not seem so dramatic. Scully was a very passionate woman, with hidden depths just waiting to emerge, and had chosen to demonstrate them through a tattoo. He mourned its loss only briefly, resolving to ask her another time why she had gotten it removed, and continued with his massage.
Soon his hands were stroking over her rear, and Scully shifted beneath him, gulping in a breath. He was not unaffected either, for his pulse had slowly sped up as he had massaged her naked body, and he was once again hardening beneath the silk of his boxers.
Scully surprised him, rolling over onto her back in one swift movement, and his hands were now on her hipbones, thumbs just brushing the edges of the thatch of curls shielding her womanhood.
He looked at her face, and saw the arousal shining in her eyes, her lips parted.
He rose off the bed and slowly shed his boxers, watching Scully watching him disrobe. He placed a knee on the mattress and then lowered himself on top of her, balancing himself on his elbows.
Her legs automatically spread to cradle him between them, and her chin jutted upwards, inviting his kiss.
Their lips met, wet and warm, Scully sighing his name into his mouth before darting her tongue inside to meet his. Her hands circled him, stroking and rubbing his back before sliding down to caress his ass.
In moments he was entering her, and her legs were up and wrapping around his waist, her arms now pulling at him until his weight covered her completely. Only then did she encircle his neck, the fingers of one hand toying with the hair at his nape.
They moved gently and easily together, and found their bliss, both crying out the other’s name.
11:40 pm
Scully flopped onto her back yet again, but just like all the other attempts, changing positions did not help. She was wide-awake, and hungry as hell. Shooting a hopeful glance at Mulder to see if he too were awake, she saw that he was peacefully sawing Z’s. She studied him for a moment, tracing his features lovingly with her eyes, and had a flicker of memory. Waking him from a sound sleep with her mouth on his cock.
With a sigh she decided to leave him be, pushing aside the temptation to accidentally awaken him with a not so gentle nudge of her foot. She liked that he could sleep easily and deeply in her bed, and wanted to let him get as much as he could. She smiled suddenly. She also liked the thought of him being in her bed.
She slid from the blankets without disturbing them or him, and moved quietly to the end of the bed where her silk robe still lay.
She would have preferred her terrycloth robe right now, for there was a slight chill to the air, and she wore only Mulder’s tee shirt and a pair of panties, but could not find it in the dark. She shrugged and slipped into the robe, tying the sash to keep it closed, and tiptoed from the bedroom.
One last look at the bed to see Mulder sleeping undisturbed, and she pulled the door almost all the way closed. She made her way to the kitchen, moving easily in the night-darkened apartment.
Instead of turning on the big overhead light, she left it off; the partially opened curtains on the windows provided enough illumination to work by while preparing a snack. Her brother Bill had always commented that she had eyes like a cat, for she had moved about in the dark during games of hide and seek with ease.
That knack, for lack of a better word, had served her well on many an occasion while investigating with Mulder.
Perusing the contents of her fridge, curling her toes under at the cold that resulted from standing in front of it open like that, she could not decide what she should eat.
Something healthy, her good side said.
Chocolate, screamed her bad side.
Ooohhh, that sounded so good. Did she have any chocolate? Still staring unseeing into the fridge, she mentally catalogued the contents of her cupboards. The only chocolate she could think of was a container of liquid Hershey’s that she, on very rare occasions, or so she tried to convince herself, dribbled over vanilla ice cream. Ice cream was out of the question, for she was already quite cold. What else could she do with it? She went back to studying the shelves of her fridge and spied the quart container of strawberries her mother had bought on Saturday.
Healthy and chocolate. Perfect. Smiling, she reached in and grabbed the container, pulling it out. As long as the strawberries were still okay, she was in business. Bringing them to the counter, hearing the fridge bang shut behind her, she pulled the plastic wrap off, discarding it and the elastic band in the garbage can beneath the sink. She lifted one of the berries out, and its tantalizing aroma filled her nose. They seemed fine.
Scully found a plastic bowl and dumped the strawberries inside before going to the sink to rinse them thoroughly for several minutes. She drained them, shaking all the excess water off, and returned the bowl to the counter to look for the Hershey’s syrup.
Once that was found, she set to cutting the green tops of the strawberries off, her mouth watering the whole time.
Another smaller bowl, to pour some of the syrup in, and she was ready. Too hungry to even sit down, she chose a large strawberry and dipped it into the chocolate. She held it over the bowl for a few seconds, to let it drip, and that’s when hands slid around her waist and drew her back into a warm body.
Mulder’s husky, sleep-filled voice whispered in her ear, “Strawberries and chocolate? My next favorite thing after Scully fresh from the bathtub.”
She had forgotten to mention sexy in that description. Shivers ran down her spine, and she couldn’t help squirming a little.
He chuckled, eliciting another shiver, and continued in that whispering tone, “Gonna share?” He then nuzzled her neck, licking the skin there briefly.
Two can play this game.
“Mmmmm…” she drawled, and wiggled her hips just slightly, letting her bottom brush his groin. “Maybe.”
“I only get a maybe?” he asked. This time he added a little pout to his words, and punctuated them with a thrust of his own hips.
“Depends on what you do for me,” she replied, smiling to herself.
She was still holding the piece of fruit, and the mingled scents of chocolate and strawberry were making her mouth water even more.
Or maybe that was just from Mulder’s body pressed so close to hers.
“Ooohhh, a challenge,” he said, and spun her around. Before she could even blink her eyes, he had bent and taken a large bite out of the chocolate covered strawberry in her hand. He straightened, and grinned at her around the berry.
“Hey…” her protest died off as his lips descended to cover hers.
Part of the berry poked into her open mouth, and she could not resist. She bit down and chewed, and because she had not closed her eyes, could see that he was doing the same, his lips just millimeters from hers.
She swallowed and then murmured, “Cheater.” She licked her lips, pouted a little, and added, “You got all the chocolate.”
“There’s lots more where that came from,” he said, leering at her.
He reached past her, deliberately pressing his bare chest into her silk-clad one, and grabbed the bowl of strawberries. Straightening again, he passed it to her and then grabbed the bowl of syrup. She expected him to go to the table, and was surprised when he sank to the floor with his back to the cupboards, brushing her legs.
When she did not move, merely staring down at him, he said simply, “Join me.”
Bemused, she did as he requested. She stepped over his sprawled, bare legs, for he wore only the silk boxers from earlier, and sat down across from him, her back to the fridge but not touching it, and put the bowl of strawberries down on the floor beside where the bowl of syrup now sat.
“Ever see ‘9½ Weeks’, Scully?” he asked.
Mulder watched her eyes widen and the pupils contract at his question, and saw the quick intake of breath raise her chest. Her robe was gaping open at the front and he could also see that her nipples had hardened almost instantly, poking through the cotton of his tee shirt.
He would take that as a yes, she had seen the movie.
He moved the bowls containing the strawberries and the syrup to the side, so they were no longer between them and scooted closer to her.
She was sitting cross-legged, so he mimicked her position, letting his knees touch hers.
“I think I’d rather do without the blindfold,” he said conversationally, holding her eyes with his. “I’d rather watch your eyes, because they are so beautiful, and so expressive.”
Scully sucked in another breath, her mouth falling open, and then licked her lips. Her voice was a little husky when she said, “Oh…um, thank you.”
He smiled and then reached over to pick up a plump berry, bringing it to the syrup. He dunked it in to just about his fingers, careful not to dip them in there as well, and swirled it through the chocolate until it was almost completely covered in the rich, dark substance. He lifted it, and let the excess chocolate drip off, before cupping one hand beneath it and carrying the berry to her lips.
She licked her lips again, in anticipation of the treat, and instead of sliding it between them, he rubbed the strawberry along them, coating them with the chocolate, and teasing her. He let his free hand drop to her knee, feeling the silk beneath his hand and the warmth of her skin through it. Some of the chocolate dripped off the berry and fell in little plops onto her cotton-covered breasts.
Mulder leaned forward, feeling the muscles of his thighs strain in that position, and licked the chocolate off her lips with slow strokes of his tongue.
Scully sighed, and lifted her chin, inviting his kiss. He obliged for a long moment before pulling back and sliding the strawberry between her still parted lips. She bit down, making an “mmmmm”
sound as she did so. She chewed the ripe chocolate-coated fruit slowly, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he popped the remainder of the berry into his own mouth.
Sitting back down, his eyes dropped to where the chocolate had dripped onto her front. “Looks like I made a bit of a mess,” he commented, and Scully dipped her chin down to look at her chest as well. “Maybe you should take it off,” he suggested next.
Scully arched an eyebrow at him, to let him know he wasn’t fooling her in the least, and he grinned in response. “Maybe I should,” she replied. She then straightened, arching her back slightly, untied the sash of her robe and slipped it off before pulling the tee shirt over her head and flinging it aside. She remained sitting up, back straight, chest thrust forward.
He had watched her every movement avidly, and now his eyes dropped to her breasts, emphasized by her position, to where her nipples stood out predominantly. “Cold?” he queried softly.
“No,” was the equally soft response.
He hadn’t thought so, but had asked on the off chance that she were. Sitting so close to the refrigerator with only a silk robe draped over her hips and thighs, it was a distinct possibility.
“Good,” he said silkily, and reached for another berry. Same routine with the syrup, only this time instead of bringing the fruit to her lips, he gently circled one hard nipple, bathing it in chocolate.
Scully hissed in her next breath, back arching once more, and he followed the path of her thrusting chest with the berry up along her neck, leaving a faint trail of the syrup, to her lips.
Just as he pushed the fruit into her waiting mouth, he swooped down and covered her lips once more. They shared the berry this way, before he pulled back and licked his way down the same path, gathering up the sticky chocolate, to her waiting nipple, which he sucked into his mouth.
She moaned this time, and her hands came up to clench in his hair, holding her to him, encouraging him to continue his sucking, which he did, with enthusiasm.
Finally he had to stop, his thighs quivering with the strain of holding himself that way, and released her nipple with an audible popping sound. But before he sat back down again, he dropped a quick, hard kiss on her berry and chocolate stained lips.
Her hands left his hair as he pulled back, her fingers stroking over his cheeks and then his lips as he lowered himself back to the floor. He studied her for a moment, admiring her flushed cheeks and shining eyes, before reaching for another strawberry. After coating it in chocolate, he treated her other nipple to the same torment, wringing a gasp and a moan from Scully. He followed up with another kiss and returned to his seated position.
While he was debating where to tease her with the next strawberry, Scully leaned forward and removed one from the bowl, saying huskily, “May I?”
He nodded, and watched avidly as she slowly swirled the berry through the chocolate and then leaned forward on one knee, the action causing her bare breasts to sway slightly, a motion he found absolutely fascinating.
She hesitated briefly, some of the chocolate dripping onto the floor, and then ran the berry down his neck, past his Adam’s apple, which bobbed in reaction, and through his chest hairs to one nipple, circling it before gliding it across to his other nipple.
Both the berry and the chocolate were cool, and their touch on his bare heated skin made him shiver in reaction.
She then traced the path back up his neck to his slightly parted lips, running the berry across them a few times before pushing insistently for entrance into his mouth.
He opened it, letting her push the berry inside, and unsure as to whether she was going to share it with him, he managed to reach out and grab her shoulders, pulling her face to his.
She tilted her head just slightly, so their noses would not bump, and nibbled delicately at first his upper lip, avoiding the berry altogether, then his lower lip, and then finally nipping at the fruit. When they had both swallowed their share of the strawberry, she leaned in further and kissed him deeply for several seconds.
She then pulled back and licked the path of the chocolate, paying particular attention to his nipples, which were tight and hard with his excitement. She retraced the same path back to his lips and slipped her tongue inside his mouth, where upon he sucked on it strongly.
His erection was tenting his boxers, and there was no way she could have missed seeing it. Her next move showed she had not. One of her hands on the cold tile of the floor supported her weight, and she let the other travel teasingly down his chest, circling his navel briefly before coming to rest on his silk-clad penis, squeezing gently.
Mulder moaned, and his penis twitched, his hips jerking upwards in reaction. Scully moaned back and squeezed him again. He moved his hands from her shoulders to her hips, and yanked her onto his lap, her legs automatically parting and curling around his hips, her robe covering their lower bodies like a silken sheet. She wiggled in his lap, her silk panties-encased heat directly over his hard cock, and they both moaned again at the contact. He thrust upwards and she retaliated by grinding herself against him.
It felt good, but the position was not quite right.
Reluctantly, he lifted her off of him, seeing the surprise on her face, and the pout that followed, and after a quick kiss of apology, rose to his feet, tugging her up after him. Her robe puddled to the floor, and she quickly kicked it away. He stripped his boxers off, tossing them aside, and made short work of her panties, flinging them after his boxers. Next, he pulled her tightly against his body, mouth covering hers, and then maneuvered them both until her back was to the counter.
She hummed her approval into his mouth, and then gasped when he lifted her in one swift easy motion onto the counter. With his hands on her hips he slid her towards him until she was almost dangling off the edge, his body between her spread thighs. One more push/pull effort, and he was sliding into her waiting body.
He buried his face in her neck and moaned “Scully,” through gritted teeth, as the sensations swam through his body. Hot. Wet. Tight.
Home.
She gasped his name in response, and he felt the brief sting of her nails on his back before her hands slid up his sweat-slicked skin to fist in his hair once more.
His thrusts were hard and almost uncontrolled, little grunts escaping his mouth with each one, but Scully met him with equal intensity. He had teased them both into quite a fevered pitch with their food play, and could already feel her inner walls clenching around him.
Her entire body tightened, her grip on his hair almost painful, and screamed his name as she came, her head arching back in wild abandon.
He followed seconds later, pumping furiously, groaning her name out in long, drawn-out syllables, his own head arching back, the tendons in his neck feeling like they would snap with the pressure.
Finally he sagged forward, burying his head in the crook of her neck once more, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. Scully’s hair covered his head and tickled his ear as she rested against him with equal tiredness. The only sound was of their ragged breathing.
His legs were trembling from the strain of leaning into the counter, half-supporting Scully’s weight, and with a small groan, he let himself slip from her body and step back, carefully letting her down from her perch.
She wobbled slightly when her feet hit the floor, and he hugged her to himself clumsily, her face pressing into his sweaty chest.
She didn’t seem to mind. A moment later he heard a weak, “Wow.”
Felt the motions against his skin as she swallowed, and then she continued, “I’ll never look at a strawberry the same way again.”
Mulder’s heart swelled with love, and the slightest tinge of lust, and he chuckled softly. “Neither will I,” he returned, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go back to bed,” he added.
Scully nodded, and lifted her head up, pulling out of his loose embrace. She made a moue of distress and mumbled, “This mess…”
He glanced down at the chocolate mess drying and probably already hardened on the floor, and their scattered clothes. “In the morning, Scully. It’ll keep.”
She surprised him by nodding again, and saying, “‘Kay.” With that, she grasped his hand and led him from the kitchen to her bedroom.
She detoured into the bathroom, where he waited in the hallway for his turn, and then shuffled past him.
Once he joined her in bed, after slipping on another pair of boxers, he curled around her and discovered she had stolen another one of his tee shirts. He whispered, “Love you,” and heard her quiet response.
He remembered nothing after his head hit the pillow.
Revenge Part 20 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Thursday
3:20 am
Sounds slipped through his unconsciousness, dragging him from his peaceful sleep.
Mulder’s eyes popped open, and he blinked rapidly in the moonlit room, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what had awoken him this time. The last time had been because Scully was not there. He had found her of course, in the kitchen. Oh boy had he found her. He imagined he could still taste chocolate, strawberries and Scully on his tongue.
His question was answered before he could move, by a low moan coming from Scully. He turned on his side to face her, going up on his elbow, already knowing what he would see.
She was in the throes of a nightmare, her head thrashing weakly on her pillow, one hand flailing at the air, the other fisted tightly and clutched to her throat. She moaned again, and then said in a voice that quavered, sounding so unlike her that he winced, “Please…no…don’t.”
Obviously this nightmare was a lot stronger, or more frightening, then the one she had experienced the night before. During that one, she had only mumbled and moaned for a few minutes, without waking.
It had been over almost as soon as it had started, for he had been awake at the time. She had not even mentioned it in the morning, and he was sure she did not even remember it.
Her head stilled on the pillow, facing him now, and he could see the tears leaking from her closed lids. His heart twisted, and though he wanted to gather her in his arms, he did not touch her, afraid he would only deepen her fear within the nightmare. “Scully,” he called softly. “Scully, it’s me, you’re okay. You’re home and you’re safe.”
Scully’s only reaction was to begin tossing about, her legs kicking the covers free, and both arms now flailing in the air. She was panting and gasping, the tears still flowing.
He tried again, speaking a little louder this time. “Scully, it’s Mulder. You’re safe, everything is all right.”
Forgetting his intention not to touch her until she had woken up, he reached out and gently grasped the wrist of the arm closest to him, stopping it from its thrashing motion in the air.
Screaming, “Don’t touch me!” she exploded into violence, her other hand, fisted again, swinging in his direction, her body twisting and turning as if she were trying to escape, legs getting in on the action as well, now that they were unencumbered by blankets.
The fist connected soundly with his chest, drawing a pained and surprised, “Oof!” from his lips, and one of her legs somehow caught him on the shin. He let go of her captured wrist and she immediately scrambled up the bed to huddle against the headboard, arms hugging her legs to her chest.
Mulder eased into a sitting position, still on his side of the bed, and giving her lots of clearance space if she should move again.
His heart was pounding, the adrenalin flowing through his body.
“Sc…” his mouth was dry, and he swallowed thickly before trying again. “Scully?”
Her eyes popped open, darting around the darkened room, and he could hear her harsh breathing. He moved slowly and carefully, keeping his eyes on her face, leaning over to reach for the lamp on his side of the bed. He turned it on, and straightened, watching as she blinked a few times at the introduction of the low light.
A moment later her head turned towards him and it seemed like her eyes focused, and she saw him. Then her shoulders slumped slightly and she croaked out, “Mulder?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” he said softly, and her face crumpled.
Seconds later she was in his arms, which closed tightly around her, crying into his chest. He rocked her much as he had earlier on the couch, feeling the trembles running through her body, and rubbed her tee shirt clad back in easy, slow strokes. It was his tee shirt again, it seemed that they had become her favorite nightwear.
His own back was starting to ache, so he gently eased them down onto the bed. This put him on his side with her facing him and still cradled in his arms. Her crying had ceased, the occasional sniffle or sigh all that remained. He continued to rub her back, his hand slipping into her hair every once in a while to wind through the tangled strands.
A muffled, “Damn it,” reached his ears, and he pulled back to try and see her face.
When he moved, she did as well, rolling onto her back, effectively forcing his arms from around her, although one remained draped over her belly. Then one of her hands came up to wipe her cheeks and eyes, hiding her face from his view.
“What is it?” he asked softly, and lifted his hand from her stomach to gently pull her hand away from her face. He squeezed the hand he held, and felt slightly better when she returned the squeeze. He lowered their clasped hands and rested them high on her belly, and studied her face.
Her skin was red and blotchy, her eyes puffy from her crying jag, and she looked pissed off at the same time.
It made him want to smile despite his concern for her, but he controlled the urge, afraid she would take it the wrong way.
“I hate…I hate this!” she muttered, only briefly meeting his eyes before focusing hers on some point above his shoulder. “I hate that he can do this to me, can make me…can make me so scared!” Her voice rose on the end, and then she bit her lip, as if holding more words back.
‘He’ had to be Elliot Andercott, this particular nightmare brought on by seeing his face on the television, but Mulder did not mention him.
“Hey,” he said softly, releasing her hand to lift his so that he could stroke her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes flicked to his and then skittered away again. “It’s only natural to have nightmares about what happened to you. It was a very traumatic and frightening experience, and you still really haven’t dealt with it fully.” He had an instant to wish he could call those last words back, knowing she probably wasn’t ready to or didn’t want to hear them, but it was too late.
“What do you mean I haven’t dealt with it?” she demanded, and this time there was a hint of anger in her tone. “I told you what happened, and about my dreams, didn’t I?”
He could feel the tension in her entire body, and she radiated that anger and discomfort as well. Yet she did not try and pull away from him, for which he was thankful. He hoped that despite how she was feeling, she was still managing to draw some measure of comfort from both his presence and their contact.
“Some, yes,” he conceded. “But I think you need to talk about it more, and maybe not to me just yet. Keeping it all bottled up inside like this isn’t healthy. You need to let it all out and I think this appointment with Karen Kossoff gives you the perfect opportunity. As well there’s the fact that she’s impartial, and she won’t react like I do, which is probably exactly what you need.”
“Hmmm,” was her only reply, and he was unsure as to whether it meant she agreed with him, or was trying not to tell him to go to hell.
She then she rolled onto her side, presenting him with her back.
Apparently the conversation was over.
Mulder sighed quietly and rolled onto his back to stretch his arm out and turn off the lamp before rolling back onto his side to spoon loosely around her body. She did not protest, so he settled his hand on her hip and lowered his head onto his pillow. “Good night, Scully,” he whispered. “Love you.”
Again she made no move to get away from him, but nor did she try to move closer. She wiggled slightly to get more comfortable, exhaled loudly, and finally murmured back, “Love you, too Mulder.”
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the tone he heard in her voice. Resentment, or perhaps resignation.
In a few minutes her breathing was slow and even, signifying her return to sleep.
He lay there in the dark for a very long time, listening to her breathe. Eventually his eyes grew heavy and he let them close.
If she had any more nightmares that night, they did not disturb his slumber.
Thursday
11:00 am
Scully tossed her book aside with disgust, hearing the small thud it made as it hit the floor. Although she was not looking at him directly, she was aware of Mulder halting his perusal of the latest issue of the Gunmen’s paper, which had apparently been sitting outside her door this morning along with her usual daily paper, and staring at her for a moment.
He made no comment and resumed reading. Coward, she sneered in her head. She had been hoping he would say something, so she could…damn it, what the hell was wrong with her? Why did she want to pick a fight with Mulder?
With a huff of breath to show her pique, she shoved herself off the couch and stalked over to the window to peer outside at the street below. She was unaware that her entire posture radiated her discomfit; her shoulders tense, arms crossed tightly over her chest, jaw set.
She felt edgy and restless. Had since she had woken up just after seven to an empty bed. She had heard Mulder in the kitchen, and had not wanted to join him. So she had lain there trying to go back to sleep, but her mind had been too busy replaying her nightmares of the night before. The others had not been as strong as the first one, when she had woken Mulder up, but they had been frightening enough that the remainder of the night had been passed in brief nap-like spurts.
Which probably partly accounted for her present mood, she mused.
As for the rest, it obviously stemmed from her thoughts of yesterday evening, about feeling cooped up, and a little overwhelmed by Mulder’s continued presence. She loved the man, desperately and deeply, but it was difficult to be around for long periods of time.
Like days on end, the nasty voice in her head remarked.
Scully pushed the thought away, and with a deep, hopefully calming breath, tried to get her mind on a more pleasant track. Yet despite her wish to focus on the memory of their midnight snack, on strawberries and chocolate and the taste of Mulder, on making love with Mulder in her kitchen, she instead flashed back to their conversation after her nightmare that had woken them both. Or, more specifically, Mulder’s thoughts on the matter of her ordeal with Elliot Andercott.
She hadn’t dealt with it? What the hell did he mean by that?
What more did he want? She had told him what had happened with Elliot.
Maybe not word for word, or describing every waking moment, but she had shared what was necessary. He didn’t need to know every little detail, like how the man had been turned on by her struggles as he tried to rape her, or that he had watched her shower and dress.
They were things that would only hurt him, and more than likely cause him further guilt, as if he didn’t already have a large enough burden where that was considered.
And as to her keeping things bottled up, talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Mulder was the King of close-mouthed ness. She was forced to grit her teeth to hold back an expletive as a picture of Diana Fowley, a prime example of his failure to share, filled her head.
She was still almost completely in the dark as to Mulder’s relationship with that woman. She knew it was terrible to think ill of the dead, but she could not help it. She had never liked Diana, nor put much faith in her while she was alive, and bitterly resented whatever relationship the woman might have had with Mulder in the past now that she was gone. She still harbored residual resentment for the way Mulder had automatically believed Diana and disregarded her, the person he had professed on many occasions to be the only one he trusted, and her feelings and the information she had gathered before the incident at El Rico Air Force Base.
She almost turned around right there and then and demanded that Mulder tell her about Diana, as she had wanted to so many times before. But again she held back, not sure if she was ready to hear it, or if she was ready to listen to Mulder put her off once again.
So she remained standing and glaring out the window, the occasional page snapping or turning of Mulder’s paper the only sounds in the room.
Her mind wandered again, back to earlier in the morning, after she had showered and dressed and gone to the kitchen to find that Mulder had actually cleaned up the mess they had left after their impromptu lovemaking.
Mulder had seemed to sense she was feeling anti-social, and after a brief good morning, had left the room to get showered and dressed himself. While he was busy, she had poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot he had brewed and made some toast. Her plan had been to eat while reading the morning paper, but she had been unable to locate it. So she had eaten and sipped her coffee while staring into space, waiting for Mulder to finish and tell her where he had hidden the paper.
It had to have been him; the daily delivery of her paper was precise and without fail, always at her door by 5 am. She was also certain he had hidden it because it there was an article or articles about Elliot Andercott, his natural instinct to protect her in the forefront yet again.
She had been correct on both counts. Once she had confronted him, fresh from the shower and smelling unbelievably sexy, the pleasure from which she had derived pushed firmly from her mind, he had sighed and retrieved the paper from under the couch where he had stashed it. Elliot had not been in the headlines, but there had been a rather prominent picture with accompanying article on the third page.
She had been aware of Mulder, hovering at the door to the kitchen, while she had forced herself to read the paper calmly and show no outward sign of reaction. After a few minutes of this, he had sighed and left, presumably to get dressed, for when he had returned about ten minutes later, he was clad in jeans and a sweatshirt.
The chair had scraped noisily as he pulled it away from the table and then he was sitting across from her, watching with steady regard as she scanned the last few pages of the paper.
She had lingered deliberately, Scully could admit now, knowing it would irk him to no end. Which it had, for when she had finally raised her head to meet his gaze, he had been tight-lipped and close to glaring.
He had started without preamble, discussing what he thought they should do if they were to encounter Elliot Andercott. To her ears it sounded like he was trying to wrap her in cotton and play the hero, while she was sure to his ears he sounded perfectly rational and logical.
She had mentioned the fact that he seemed to be disregarding the fact that she was fully capable of taking care of herself and he had had the nerve to say that she hadn’t been able to a few weeks ago.
It had been a very low blow, and left her steaming. He was lucky she had cleared the table, or he would have been sporting a bruise from her coffee cup.
She had declared quite hotly that it had been an unexpected attack, and the man had used chloroform, and that she would now be on alert for any similar situations.
He had conceded that point, barely, and still argued that he did not want her to confront the man if she were to encounter him. He had then added that of course he would be with her 24 hours a day, and that it would be unlikely that Elliot would get past him to get to her. She had known any further words from her would have been ugly ones, so she had merely nodded her agreement and left the kitchen.
Scully forced herself to relax her shoulders, which had gone tense as she replayed the morning, and decided she desperately needed some air. Turning around, she saw that Mulder was watching her again, his face a blank, but frustration and sadness apparent in his eyes.
She sighed, a tiny bit of her anger dissipating, and said, “I’m going to go for a walk. Would you like to join me?”
As if he would have let her go without attempting to go with her, or follow her at the very least.
She could see by the look on his face he did not want them to go outside, but her own look was equally determined.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and replied, “Yes, I would.”
She watched as he rose from the couch in a graceful, panther-like movement and leaned down to pick his gun up from the coffee table.
He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, making sure his sweatshirt hid it from casual observers, and went to get his boots.
She joined him at the door, slipped into her running shoes and grabbed a light jacket.
He did the same and after locking the door securely behind them, they made their way outside to take a walk.
12:15 pm
Mulder trailed slightly behind Scully as they walked up the front path to her apartment building. He could see that she was no longer tense as she had been before their walk, when she had seemed ready to jump down his throat. Her gait was no longer a stomp, but more her natural, easy stride, her arms swinging loosely, shoulders relaxed. She was still very quiet though, having spoken no more then ten words during the entire walk through her neighborhood, and most of those had been monosyllabic replies to questions he had posed.
He sighed quietly to himself, hating that he had not been able to shake her out of this mood she had been in since she had risen out of bed. He had been a little put out himself earlier, but had managed to push the feeling aside, not wanting to be at odds with her when they had to be together out of necessity. He didn’t mean that he didn’t want to be there with her, now that they had finally admitted their love for each other; it was the only place he wanted to be now.
It was just he could not, would not leave her alone, nor let her go anywhere without him either, even though they both probably needed some space, some time apart.
Scully had seemed so… He tried to find a better word, one that was not quite as harsh, and failed. He continued his thought.
Scully had seemed so bitchy this morning; he had found himself glancing surreptitiously at the calendar on the wall over the table.
He was fairly certain Scully was unaware he charted her monthly cycles, because she would probably kick his ass if she did, telling him he was a sexist pig in the process. It had taken a moment, but he had figured out it was not that time of the month, and the reason for her bitchiness had to be due to something else entirely.
Things had clicked more into place as she had read the article on Elliot Andercott that had been in the newspaper. The one he had hidden under the sofa, hoping she wouldn’t miss it. It had been a foolish hope, for he had watched these past mornings as without fail, Scully read the entire paper while enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee.
Her face had gone pale as she read, paler than it had been when she had first gotten up, and her lips had been tight, even as he knew she was pretending everything was fine. She had taken her time reading the remainder of the paper, stalling deliberately, an obvious
attempt to avoid a discussion they had both put off for far too long.
He had let it anger him, and he knew his words about how they should deal with Elliot Andercott if he showed up had come out wrong.
Scully had responded with spirit at first, and then had surprised him by agreeing with him before leaving the room. He had left her alone after that, staying close but not underfoot.
And had been enormously relieved when she had asked him to join her for a walk, even if her invitation had been lacking somewhat in sincerity.
It had been almost painfully apparent she would have preferred to go alone, but Scully was too wise to jeopardize herself that way.
At least it had saved him from having to insist on accompanying her, there was no way in hell he would have let her go without him.
Mulder shook his head slightly, pushing his thoughts aside, and let himself lag a bit further behind her as they neared her apartment door.
His eyes naturally fell to her ass, to where it was beautifully encased in yet another pair of faded jeans, swaying enticingly from side to side. He decided that her jeans were his next favorite Scully-wear, his most favorite being when she wore absolutely nothing at all.
He felt eyes on him, and glanced up to see Scully looking over her shoulder at him as she unlocked her door. She had caught him in the act of staring at her ass. He tried a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulders a little in an ‘aw, shucks’ manner, but Scully did not react, other than to turn back to finish her task.
She pushed the door open and walked in, and he stepped lively to get inside just in case she decided to slam the door on him while he was still in the hallway.
She didn’t though, and when he stepped over the threshold, her hand was suddenly in the collar of his jacket, yanking him in.
The door did slam shut then, but he was on the right side of it. The next thing he knew his back was thudding against its hard wood surface, all the air rushing out of his lungs with the impact.
Scully’s body was pressing into his before he could draw his next breath, both hands now gripping his collar, her face inches from his. He had a second to ponder that she had to be standing up on her tiptoes and then her lips were on his.
Her tongue stabbed inside his mouth, aggressive and hungry, and just as he was about to suck on her tongue in reaction, her mouth left his and slid along his jaw to his ear. She bit his lobe with surprising force, and he grunted, feeling a surge of lust go straight to his groin. She spoke, and her breath was hot, her words almost panted.
“Did you like what you saw?” she asked, and punctuated her question with another stab of her tongue, this time directly in his ear.
He was instantly and immediately hard. His hands, which had been dangling uselessly at his sides, lifted to grasp her hips and haul her lower body more firmly into his. “I liked very much,” he said, and thrust his own hips upward, pushing his hardness into her soft lower belly.
She moaned, her hands leaving his jacket to slide down his chest, pushing at his arms so that his hands fell again to his sides.
She also dropped down from her toes, her lips and teeth worrying his Adam’s apple. She shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it somewhere behind them, and then her busy fingers were plucking at the buttons of his jeans. Not even waiting to shove them at least partway down, one hand burrowed inside his now open fly and brushed aside his boxer-briefs, grasping his erection firmly, squeezing rhythmically.
“Scuh…” He grunted an approximation of her name and thrust again, hands coming up to wind into her hair and lift her head. He mashed his lips down on hers and angled his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue now the aggressor, swooping inside, running over her teeth and gums, the roof of her mouth.
She squeezed his cock once more and then her hands left his jeans.
He moaned his disappointment into her mouth and then became aware of her movements.
She was struggling to get her own jeans off, one elbow poking him in his gut in her haste.
He released her lips and untangled his hands from her hair to help her push her jeans off her hips, yanking her panties down with them.
“Shoes,” she gasped, and jiggled a little as she toed her runners off.
They finally managed to get her jeans and panties down to her ankles, and with two kicks of her legs they were off. His hands went to the hem of her turtleneck, a gray ribbed one that molded to her figure, to shove it up to give him access to her breasts, while her hands had returned to the waistband of his jeans and were pushing them and his underwear down.
She stopped when they hit his thighs, arching her back and hissing his name, for his fingers had nimbly unhooked her bra and his lips had descended to suck on one hard nipple.
Arching her back also thrust her lower body against his, and she ground herself into him. Mulder could feel her wetness, and his cock twitched in response. They moved at the same time, his mouth releasing her nipple and his hands going to her hips and lifting her upwards, Scully raising one leg to hook around his. His cock jabbed at her entrance, but he was not centered properly.
Grunting in frustration, he spun them around until her back was against the door, propping her up with one muscled thigh, and moved his hands to cup her behind, tilting her pelvis up and towards him.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, positioning herself perfectly, and Mulder pushed his cock inside, sheathing himself to the hilt.
They both moaned at the contact and began to move, thrusting eagerly, almost frantically. Scully’s hands were around his shoulders, her mouth was at his neck, and over the sounds of his harsh breaths, he could feel her lips moving against his skin, hear her mumbling.
“Love you, God so much, sorry for being a bitch, oh that feels so good, Mulder, love you.”
The words went straight to his heart, and his groin, and he began to thrust harder, his hands kneading her ass. His own face was in her hair, and he managed to get his lips next to her ear.
“Don’t be sorry…I understand.” He had to stop for a second as her inner muscles gripped him like a vice in reaction to his words.
“I know…you like your privacy…and I’m not the easiest…person to live with. I just…I can’t…I won’t let him…hurt you ever again.” He paused again, his mouth opening wide in a rictus of pleasure as she gripped him yet again. “Love you Scully…so much …scares me how much.”
He felt her begin to tremble, and then she was coming, her hips bucking, screaming his name in long, drawn out syllables. He could feel her inner walls, clamping down on his cock, milking him, and he exploded, his hands tightening so hard on her ass that he was sure there would be bruises the next day, his head arching back to grunt out, “Scuh-leeeee…”
A few more jerking thrusts, and then he was slumping into her, his forehead resting on hers, their panting breaths mingling together.
Her hands swept down his arms, and she slowly eased the grip of her thighs, letting her legs fall weakly to the floor. He shifted his hands from her rear to her hips, not squeezing, just resting them there. From his stance above her he was looking down, and he could see her sock-clad feet between his much larger, still booted ones, and he realized he was still almost fully dressed, with his jeans and briefs bunched at his thighs. They hadn’t even gotten his jacket off.
He could not remember ever being so excited to get inside a woman before in his life that he had remained dressed while…he decided making love was not the correct term for what had just occurred.
They had fucked each other, plain and simple, and it had been fantastic. He was glad his first time for something this raw and primal had been with Scully.
Scully wobbled in his loose grasp, and let out a feminine little giggle. “I…wow, that was intense,” she said, and he lifted his head to see her blushing. “I’ve never…”
Her words trailed off, and as he mentally finished her sentence, he felt a surge of something like pride at her words. It had been a first for her too. “Me neither,” he said, and was rewarded by a blinding smile. “That was intense,” he agreed. “And incredible.”
She nodded, and then ducked her head shyly. He moved one hand up to lift her chin, bringing her eyes back to his. “What is it?” he asked softly.
Her eyes were such a deep shade of blue, he almost thought he could drown in them. They went liquid, filling with tears, and his heart stuttered briefly. Did she regret it; was she ashamed of what they had done? “What?” he asked again, more urgently.
She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears and smiled a little tremulously. “I’m so sorry, Mulder, for being such a bitch. I know you just want to protect me…”
He moved his other hand up to her face as well, cupping it between his palms, holding her gaze. “Scully, you don’t have to apologize for anything, I told you that, and I meant it. This is a difficult situation for both of us, and maybe we should talk some more about how we should handle it. We’re both pretty private people, and I don’t know a whole lot about your past, but my one experience with actually living with someone, with actually sharing a home together, did not go very well. There’s bound to be some ups and downs, and we’ll just have to learn how to get by them.”
He could feel her whole body relax, and watched her heave out a sigh of relief. He could also see the question in her eyes, about who he had shared a home with, but she did not ask it. It was a subject they would have to discuss one day, and even though he thought she might be ready to do so, he wasn’t just yet.
Instead, she raised herself on her tiptoes once more and brushed a kiss over his lips. “Thank you,” she whispered against them.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, Scully,” he returned, and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Let’s go get cleaned up, huh?” he asked next, and she nodded. He stepped back and saw her eyes go down his body, pausing at his groin, then again at his jeans and briefs bunched at his thighs, and then finally sliding down to his feet, still shod in boots.
She blushed again, and he laughed uproariously. “Now she’s thinking about my clothes,” he teased, and laughed some more when she smacked him on the arm.
She bent to retrieve her jeans and panties while he pulled his own clothes back up, leaving the fly of his jeans undone for now.
He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the closet and then kicked off his boots, nudging them out of the way. He mused to himself that she had him pretty well house-trained.
If it were his place, the boots stayed wherever he took them off, and he was lucky if his jacket made it to the arm of his couch instead of the floor.
Scully surprised him by slipping her free hand into his, and he gave it a squeeze as she tugged him down the hallway towards her bedroom.
He stopped her just before she went into the bathroom, and bent to give her a hard but brief kiss on the lips. “You can be mad at me anytime you want, Scully,” he told her, and was delighted when she blushed yet again. “As long as we get to make up like that,” he added, jerking a thumb in the direction of the front door.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she responded, and then stuck her tongue out impishly.
“Ooohhh,” he said. “Tease.” He flicked a finger down her nose and continued, “I’ll need some recovery time though. Give me about …oh, say five minutes?”
“In your dreams!” she retorted with a grin. “Now, shoo.” She made a waving gesture with both hands, indicating she wanted him to leave.
“And your dreams too, I hope!” he called over his shoulder as he obeyed her request. He heard her faint reply of ‘always’ from inside her bedroom, where he shucked his jeans and briefs, laying the jeans on the bed and tossing the briefs in the hamper. His stomach growled then, reminding him they had not yet had lunch, and he decided to surprise her with his one other specialty. Pancakes.
She really hadn’t had a proper breakfast, and he loved pancakes any time of day, so what the hell.
That decided, he fished out a pair of boxers and slipped them on, dragging a pair of track pants over top before heading to the kitchen. The bathroom door was partially shut and he called out as he passed it, “I’ll make us some lunch, okay?”
Over the sounds of running water he heard her say, “Sounds great.
I’ll be there shortly.”
“No rush,” he called back, and whistled his way down the hall.
1:00 pm
Scully lifted the hand towel from the corner of the sink and patted her face dry before hanging the damp terrycloth on the towel bar to the right of the sink. One last look in the mirror revealed her disheveled hair. She fluffed her fingers through it several times before realizing it was just going to get messed again when she changed out of her turtleneck into a more comfortable sweatshirt.
Sans bra, which was currently unhooked and hanging open beneath said turtleneck. She smiled in remembrance of Mulder’s busy, agile fingers opening it in the blink of an eye.
Turning away from the mirror, she scooped her discarded jeans and panties off the floor before heading out of the bathroom, flicking the light off as she went, and into her bedroom to change. The panties went into the hamper, and the jeans were tossed onto the bed, falling partially on top of Mulder’s pair. She paused in mid-swivel, about to retrieve a fresh pair of panties, and admired the picture their mingled clothes made lying on her neatly made bed.
There was something so elementally…homey about it. Suffusing her with warmth and happiness, feelings so at odds with her earlier behavior and attitude.
A wave of shame washed over her. She had been such a bitch.
Scully frowned as she thought the words, knowing they were entirely true. Mechanically she moved over to the bureau, dug through her lingerie drawer for a pair of cotton Jockey For Hers and slipped them on before searching another drawer for a pair of tights. Her favorite ones, faded and worn, were neatly folded on top. Pulling them on, she mused that she had definitely acted like a bitch, taking out her fears and frustrations on the handiest target – Mulder. He had remained amazingly unflappable, although there had been signs of his own anger; the tightness of his facial features, the slightly harsh tone in his voice.
At least their walk, if it could be called theirs, for she had kept herself just ahead of Mulder at all times, striding briskly to remain so, had helped her to think, and to unload some of that bitchiness.
She frowned anew as she recalled that she had for all intents and purposes, virtually ignored him, responding to his repeated attempts at conversation with only the barest of answers.
Scully continued thinking while stripping off her turtleneck and bra, putting both into the hamper before opening one of the drawers that now belonged to Mulder and taking out his beloved Knicks jersey. She eased it over her head and smoothed the material over her hips and rear, smiling a little as she saw that the hem reached to mid-thigh on her.
The smile widened as she recalled how the walk had ended. Reaching her apartment door and starting to unlock it, she had been about to ask Mulder if he wanted to order a pizza so they could sit down and talk like reasonable adults, looking over her shoulder to do so, when she had caught him leering at her ass. The look in his eyes had rapidly turned any lingering feelings of anger into lust, shooting straight to her groin.
She had grabbed him the moment he walked into the door, pushing him back into it and had her way with him. A faint blush graced her cheeks yet again as she thought about how he had still been fully clothed, and she herself had removed only those clothes covering her lower half. She had felt wanton, and wild, desperate for his mouth anywhere on her, and for his cock to be buried deep inside her.
She had never done anything like it before in her life.
God, it had been fantastic.
Her heart was thumping a little faster, her mouth was dry, and she could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. She had never realized how deprived her life had been, both emotionally and sexually. It saddened her some to think that it had taken a madman’s sick plan of revenge for her to see what had been before her very eyes, what she had denied to herself for so long.
With a shaky breath Scully pushed her thoughts aside and decided it was time to rejoin Mulder, recalling he had mentioned something about making lunch. At those words, her stomach growled loudly, and rubbing it with one hand, she headed to the kitchen to see what masterpiece he had created.
Upon entering the kitchen, she saw that he had set the table, with placemats and matching cloth napkins, and her pretty china plates.
The china had been part of her hope chest, or as Bill had often teased, her hopeless chest. Mulder had obviously been digging through her cupboards, for they had been on the top shelf of the corner cupboard, tucked away out of sight and memory.
Mulder turned from the stove and smiled, his hair adorably tousled, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. She watched his hazel eyes widen as he took in the fact that she wore his jersey, and unconsciously took a deep breath when they lingered on her breasts.
He moved closer to her, and now his eyes were at half-mast, giving him a sensual look. He lifted one hand, his index finger coming out to trace the air above the KNICKS emblazoned on the front of the shirt.
“I like how the ‘k’ and the ‘s’ kind of curve to the sides,” he said huskily. “It never looks like that on me.”
Good Lord, what that man could do to her with a look or a gesture.
Her nipples had hardened the moment he brought his hand close to her, and when she exhaled the breath she had been holding, it sounded loud in her ears. “Mulder…” she tried to say sternly, and was surprised at how husky her voice sounded.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding contrite in the least. He then cleared his throat and straightened to his full height, taking the towel from his shoulder to drape over one arm, like a waiter in a fancy restaurant. “If Madam would have a seat, lunch will be served,” he said next, quite formally.
It still amazed her how quickly he could swing from one persona to the next, despite having been witness to it on many occasion over their years as partners. From a man seemingly bent on seduction, to a more humorous side, posing as a waiter.
Scully felt herself relax, and with a smile and a nod, sat in the chair he had indicated.
He moved forward as she did and pushed in her seat. He next removed the napkin from the plate in front of her, snapping it in the air theatrically, before placing it delicately on her lap.
Removing her plate, he turned and went back to the stove.
Scully watched the muscles in his back rippling beneath his sweatshirt as he moved, apparently sliding something from the deep fryer, the edge of which she could just make out when he shifted, to her plate.
A moment later he was turning, holding her plate up high so she could not see its contents, and then he was at her side. He presented her plate with a flourish, bowing slightly at the waist, and she looked down to see a pancake shaped like a flying saucer on its china surface.
Her laughter snorted out, unladylike and loud, and she brought her hands up to muffle the sound, her shoulders shaking. Every time she thought she had herself in control, she would see the pancake and start anew. Finally, her cheeks red and tears pooled in her eyes, she managed to stop the almost hysterical laughter, the occasional giggle escaping. She was aware of Mulder still standing beside her, totally silent, and was suddenly afraid she had offended him with her reaction.
She looked up, hiccupping, to see him watching her, the tiniest of smiles just creasing his lips and an indefinable light in his beautiful eyes. “Mulder?” she asked, her chest suddenly tight.
“You have the most incredible laugh,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I don’t know what I love more, the sound of it, or how it changes your entire face. Your eyes sparkle, and turn the most amazing shade of blue I have ever seen, and you…you just glow.”
The pressure within her chest eased, and a soft ‘ohhh’ sound escaped her lips.
Before she could say anything, he started talking again. “I lie awake sometimes at night, thinking of ways to make you laugh. I would say things, and do things, just to see if I could. Mostly you just smiled, or gave a polite laugh, but every once in a while, I would be rewarded by outright laughter. Laughter that made my insides feel like I had swallowed a swarm of butterflies, and that made me want to kiss you until you were breathless.”
“Is…” she had to stop to swallow, her mouth dry again. “Is that how you feel now?” she asked.
He nodded once, and she was out of her chair in a flash, hands going up to his neck to yank his head down, her lips latching onto his.
She made the kiss as passionate as she could, trying to convey the feelings his words had left her with as best she could without words of her own. Her hands wound themselves into his hair, and she could feel his hard body all along hers and his hands at her hips, squeezing gently.
She finally had to come up for air, and pulled her lips away slowly, regretfully, opening her eyes to study his face, seeing his eyes open as well. They smiled at each other, and Scully felt it necessary to whisper.
“Mulder, that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.” His smile widened, and she continued, no longer whispering, but instead shifting her eyes shyly away from his. “I always thought my laugh was too loud, kind of brassy, and I hated how it seemed to draw attention to me. I felt like people stared at me because it was so awful.”
“If women stared at you, it was probably because they were jealous that you had such a wonderful laugh, and well men, they stare at you all the time, and it ain’t because of your laugh,” Mulder said, and she could tell he was being perfectly serious.
“Men don’t stare at me!” she exclaimed, slapping at his chest.
The sound he made could only be described as somewhat like a donkey’s bray. “Scully…” he said finally, shaking his head. He pushed her towards her seat, and she let herself sink back onto the wood of the chair, watching as he continued to shake his head while staring at her. “That’s another thing I love about you. You are so totally unaware of the impact you have on members of both the sexes.”
At that, she snorted, one eyebrow arching upwards. “What? Are you crazy?”
He smirked, waggling both his eyebrows up and down and said, “Scully, that’s a debate for another day. We are talking about you and how beautiful you are.”
He held up a finger then, an indication he would continue in a moment, and grabbed the other plate off the table, turning back to the stove. He returned the plate to its spot, laden with a stack of pancakes, and then turned again to grab the bottle of maple syrup he must have gotten out of her fridge earlier. He plunked the bottle onto the table and then sat down across from her. With a jut of his chin at her own plate, he said, “It’s getting cold.”
He watched as she buttered her flying saucer pancake, and then poured syrup on it, before doing the same to his stack. He lifted his fork and knife in his hands and began to cut into the pancakes, and then started where he had left off in the conversation. “I’m lucky sometimes that I don’t have to beat the men off of you with a baseball bat. And there have been more than a few times where I have seen other ladies checking you out too.”
“You have not!” she blustered, hands holding her utensils poised in mid-cut, staring at him with her mouth agape.
Mulder looked at her solemnly, although his eyes were twinkling a little, and held up his hand like he was swearing on a bible.
“Scout’s honor,” he intoned.
“I thought you were an Indian Guide?” she smirked, shaking her head. She was pretty sure he had made all that stuff up to try and make her laugh again. She was aware she was a reasonably attractive woman, had caught the occasional admiring glance from someone other than Mulder, but definitely not to the extent he spoke of.
“Close enough,” he responded with a grin. Then his face sobered.
“Scully, I am not kidding. You are incredibly, amazingly beautiful. And it’s refreshing too, because you don’t think you are, and people stare at you all the time. On cases, in restaurants, hell half the agents at the Bureau stop dead in their tracks when you pass by. I’ve even seen Skinner himself giving you the eye.”
He took a healthy bite of pancakes, chewing enthusiastically, while she still stared at him, completely stunned. He swallowed, and then said, “And Scully, your laugh is not brassy, or too loud. It is absolutely perfect.”
Her cheeks had gone red as he told her these things, and even redder still when he had mentioned their boss. Skinner checking her out?
She was both flattered and embarrassed as hell. How in the world was she going to look him in the eye tomorrow when they went to see him after her meeting with Karen Kossoff?
It took a moment for Mulder’s last sentence to kick in, and then that same ‘ohhh’ sound left her mouth. “Mulder, thank you,” was all she could finally say. “For what you said and,” gesturing at her pancake, “for this, for making me laugh, for putting up with me this last little while, for everything.”
“No thanks are needed, Scully,” he returned. “Ever. But you’re welcome, anyway. Now eat up, you need some food to build up your energy.”
“My energy? For what?” she asked, smiling a little foolishly, feeling like she was walking on a cloud.
He lifted one eyebrow at her. “Do you really have to ask, Scully?” Mulder replied.
Damn her fair complexion.
She blushed again.
Revenge Part 21 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Thursday
9:20 pm
Mulder nuzzled his nose into Scully’s hair again. He could not get enough of her special fragrance, a combination of her fruity shampoo, her perfume and that indefinable essence that was just her. He also loved the way her hairs tickled his face.
The way they lay together on the couch, his back resting on the pillow that was propped against its arm, and Scully’s back nestled into his chest, positioned her head perfectly, enabling him to nuzzle at will, without straining at all. Which he had been doing quite frequently over the past hour, with contented little hums escaping his mouth periodically.
His arms were wrapped loosely around her, his hands resting at her belly. She seemed intent on the movie they had popped into the VCR, while he was intent on her, but she still reacted whenever he touched her or made a sound, by stroking one of his arms or tilting her head to the side to invite his lips to nibble at her neck.
She did so now, and he immediately obliged her by placing a tender kiss beneath her ear. He added a touch of flair to the gesture by tracing his tongue over her lobe and ending with a gentle bite. Her little moan ended in a wide, jaw-cracking yawn, which made him huff out his breath in pretended disbelief. “Woman, there is no way you could be tired. You had a nap this afternoon,” he said in mock indignation.
Scully giggled out her apology, cleared her throat and then said tartly, “I don’t recall doing much sleeping during that nap, Mulder.”
“You complaining?” he whispered into her ear. She had a point though, Mulder mused, a smug smile lifting the corners of his mouth. She really hadn’t gotten much sleep.
Scully shook her head in reply, sighing out gustily, “Never.”
His intentions had been purely honorable after their late lunch of pancakes, and the quickie on the kitchen table. After cleaning up the mess in the kitchen while Scully showered to remove the sticky traces of maple syrup off her body, he had gone into the bathroom and over the noise of the water, suggested she take a nap. He had not mentioned the fact that she had to be tired after her nightmare, not wanting to reopen that can of worms, but had teasingly mentioned their midnight activity. She had acquiesced rather quickly, and he had realized she really was tired.
Nuzzling Scully once again, he stopped to ponder their seeming attraction to having sex in her kitchen. And then there was also this on going theme they had happening, with foodstuffs. He idly wondered if Scully had any honey in her cupboard, and felt a twinge in his nether regions as he imagined drizzling it over her bare breasts and…woo, down boy, he told himself. It’s not time for that. Scully had to be a little sore.
He supposed he should feel guilty for disturbing her nap, even if she had not complained, and had in fact been quite enthusiastic, both vocally and physically. Scully chose that very moment to yawn again, muffling it behind her hands, and then he did feel guilty.
During the supposed nap, he had found it necessary to go into her bedroom a few times. Once, to get an extra pillow so he could be more comfortable on the couch, another time just to check on her and see if she needed anything. He smirked again, shaking his head slightly. He was so pathetic. She was there to sleep, everything she had needed had been right there – bed, pillow, covers. He admitted he had really gone in there in the hopes that she was awake and lonely. She had been awake, barely, and had grumbled at him to go away, definitely not seeming the least bit lonely. He had gone, reluctantly, and had only pouted a little.
Really.
However, on his next trip to ‘check’ on her again, he had not been able to resist the temptation of sleep-parted lips. He had leaned over to press a gentle kiss on those lips, and had overbalanced and fallen on top of her, jolting her awake. She had let out an ‘oof’
of surprise, her eyes snapping open and her hands automatically coming up to push at his chest.
After her initial shock, and his heartfelt apologies as he struggled to rise off of her, she had tugged at his tee shirt, the one he had donned to replace his syrup-covered sweatshirt, and hauled him back down until he covered her completely, wiggling beneath him.
Blinking her sleep-blurred eyes, she had run gentle hands over his cheeks, crooning, “Is Mulder lonely?”
Hell, his mama didn’t raise no stupid children.
He had nodded his head energetically, lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, and threw in the puppy dog eyes for good measure.
Bingo! The hands that had been gentle were suddenly aggressive, yanking his head down to hers, her lips latching onto his.
Yet another yawn from Scully interrupted his pleasant reverie. This one was the longest by far, and contagious, for he actually yawned himself. “Hey,” he said softly. “Why don’t you go to bed?”
Scully merely said, “Hmmmm,” but showed no signs of getting up. In fact, she snuggled more deeply into his arms, turning onto her side and drawing her legs up a little. She accidentally elbowed him in the family jewels, and after he yelped, gasped, “Oh, I’m so sorry Mulder. Are you okay?”
Manfully he nodded, saying, “I’m okay.” His voice even sounded like his own, if a tad higher. He shifted a little to ease the discomfort, and Scully made a noise of sympathy.
“Are you sure?” she asked, turning to look into his eyes. He nodded despite the lingering pain and the slight nausea low in his belly, and managed to give her a smile. Once she saw that, she relaxed again, her eyes fluttering shut, and resumed her earlier position, her head pillowed on his stomach. She rubbed her cheek there briefly, and mumbled something low and sleepily, which he barely caught.
“I’ll kiss it better for you later.”
Pain? What pain?
“Scully?” he said, a little hopefully. He was disappointed, but not upset, when there was no reply. He craned his neck to peer at her face, seeing that she had slipped off to sleep. He admired how the lashes of her eyes lay on her cheeks like ladies fans, and how utterly peaceful she looked, before lowering his head back onto his pillow. He supposed he should really get her into her pajamas and into bed, but it was so pleasant lying like this with her. He’d wait until the movie was over.
He reminded himself that he also needed to find out which of the Gunmen had guard duty tonight. Langly had been up to bat last night, and had reported no signs of anything unusual when Mulder had called him while Scully had still been in bed earlier that morning.
Something else to do after the movie.
It was his turn to yawn widely. After, he blinked suddenly heavy eyes several times, trying to remain focused on the TV screen. He really liked the movie ‘Payback’, another Mel Gibson he had teased Scully earlier when he had found it in her small stack of videocassettes, even if he had already seen it a couple times.
That chick…<yawn>…from Ally McBeal was really funny in it.
Minutes later he was following Scully into slumber.
11:48 pm
She could not move, something was holding her, keeping her restrained. She wriggled frantically, but was unable to escape.
It felt like arms, strong muscular arms pinning her down. Masculine arms. Oh God, was it Elliot?
Suddenly she could smell him, his body odor mixed with the overpowering cologne he had worn. Hear his voice, the sounds low and oily, calling her Elizabeth, telling her he had missed her so.
Her breathing became frantic and harsh, her struggles more intense.
She had to get away from him. She pushed at the arms around her, twisting her body from side to side to break the hold. Made contact with something warm and hard. Flesh?
<Scully?>
She paused in her struggles. Had she really heard Mulder’s voice?
Was he coming to help her? She tried to call out to him, but was only able to whimper.
<Scully, wake up. Scully, you’re okay. >
It was Mulder. Relief flooded through her in waves. The arms that were holding her were gone. She surged upward, eyes popping open, gasping his name. “Mulder!”
Scully could see Mulder from her crouched position on the couch. He was beside her, holding his arms up and away from her, showing her he meant her no harm. His hair had pillow head on one side, and his eyes were wide and worried as he watched her. She said his name again, sighing it out on a heavy exhalation of breath. “Mulder.”
Her eyes felt heavy and gritty, lined with sand.
Mulder smiled gently, slowly lowering his arms. “I’m here, Scully.” His voice was as gentle as his smile and the look on his face. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”
The sound of the television, blaring snow because the movie has long ended, was loud in the darkness of the room. Scully watched as Mulder leaned over and retrieved the converter from the floor where it must have fallen and turned it off. Doing so made the room even darker, for the blue-gray light from the screen had been the only illumination, except for a pale stream of moonlight shining in through one of the partially drawn shades on the living room windows. She had a vague recollection of pulling the shades down just before they settled in to watch the movie.
Scully let herself slump back into the couch, lifting one hand, which was shaking slightly, to rub first at her face, and then drag through her hair. “Jesus,” she moaned, her eyes closed. Remnants of the dream filtered past her closed lids, and she opened her eyes again, whipping her head to the side to look at Mulder. She could remember the feel of her fist striking someone. “Did I hit you Mulder?” she asked, her voice sounding harsh in her ears.
He nodded, and rubbed at his chest, putting on a mock face of pain.
“You got me good,” he said, and she knew he was trying to lighten up the situation.
Determined not to let a nightmare get to her again, she took a deep, cleansing breath and slid closer to Mulder. Raising one hand, she pushed his aside so she could rub at the spot he had indicated on his chest in amends for hitting him. “Sorry about that,” she said lightly, and managed to smile.
“It’s okay,” Mulder replied, and placed his hand on top of hers, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.
It was not okay. She hated to know that she had hit him, even if it was while trapped in a nightmare, but she will let it go, because Mulder has, and she wanted to forget it even happened.
Mulder lifted her hand from his chest and brought it to his lips, turning it so he could press a kiss onto her palm. He then glanced at his watch and said, “It’s pretty late. Why don’t you go get ready for bed while I check on whichever Gunmen is on duty tonight?”
Scully hesitated, sending a glance down the dark hallway towards her bedroom, then stiffened. She would not be afraid in her own apartment again. Not after she had worked so hard to get over her fears in the past, after Donnie Pfaster.
She flicked her eyes in Mulder’s direction, but he did not seem to have noticed her momentary pause, and rose to her feet. “Don’t be long,” she said casually, and reached out to tousle his hair before heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A tiny jackhammer had taken residence behind her left eye, and she wanted to take some Excedrin to chase the pain away. She was almost tempted to take a couple of painkillers, for she knew that was one way to guarantee a deep and more than likely dreamless sleep, but vetoed the idea. She would not become dependent on sleeping aids in fear of nightmares.
As she poured herself a glass of water, using the light from the fridge to help her see, she could hear Mulder on the phone in the other room. From the tone of his conversation and his sharp bark of laughter, she just knew it was Frohike.
Moments later she was in her bedroom, the Excedrin taken, changing into her new favorite pajamas, one of Mulder’s tee shirts. This current one was clean, but she imagined she could still smell traces of him on the cotton, and it comforted her. Her next stop was the bathroom, where she made use of the facilities before brushing her teeth and washing her face.
By the time she had finished that, Mulder was waiting in the doorway for his turn. He snagged her by the hem of his tee shirt as she made to go past him, and murmured, “I’m running out of those, you know.”
“You’ll just have to buy more,” she replied, and jumped slightly when he slapped her on the rear. She surprised herself by giggling, amazed she had any laughter in her at all right now, and moved into her bedroom, climbing under the covers on her side of the bed, laying down facing his side to wait for him.
He joined her a few minutes later, after stripping down to his boxers, and slid beneath the bedclothes to lie on his back.
Once he was settled, she moved closer and laid her head in the crook of his arm. “I love you, Mulder,” she said, and brushed her lips on the skin just beneath her.
His answering kiss was pressed into her forehead, and she felt the vibrations beneath her cheek when he replied, “Love you too, Scully.”
She closed her eyes and fell asleep listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Friday
7:50 am
Mulder hung up the phone after talking to Byers, who had told him Frohike had nothing to report from the night of surveillance, and headed down the hall to check on Scully. She had been deeply asleep when he had awoken just after six, and he had slid quietly out of bed, not wanting to disturb her slumber. A second nightmare had ripped them both out of sleep in the very early hours of the morning, and while he actually felt reasonably refreshed, he had known Scully needed more rest.
He had hoped she would sleep until at least eight, before having to rise to get ready for her doctor’s appointment, which was at ten o’clock, but he could already hear the water running in the bathroom sink. So much for his other plan to wake her with some gentle loving.
He stopped at the bathroom and leaned against the doorjamb, to see Scully in her robe, busily brushing her teeth. “Good morning,” he said softly.
Their eyes met in the mirror and when she smiled around her toothbrush, he smiled back. His eyes darted downward, to where her robe gaped open, and he could see she was nude beneath it. His penis stirred in his silk boxers, his only covering besides the tee shirt he had put on upon rising, and he waggled his eyebrows up and down at her.
No words were necessary, he was sure the eyebrows and the hopeful look on his face conveyed his message.
Scully broke their eye contact, blushing a little, and spit out her mouthful of toothpaste. After wiping her face on a towel she said his name, dragging out the last syllable. “Mulderrrr…we both still need to have showers, I haven’t had breakfast yet and we need to leave by 9:30 so I won’t be late for my doctor’s appointment.”
He advanced into the bathroom, putting a little swagger into his walk, and reached out to grip her hips, pulling her into his body.
“We can shower together. Saves time and water.” He gave her his most sincere look, adding, “Water conservation, Scully. It’s important.”
“Water conservation, huh?” she repeated. “And that would be your only motivation for us sharing a shower?”
“Wellllll…” he drawled out. “There might be one other small benefit.”
Scully thrust her lower body into his with a smirk on her face.
“Only a small one?”
“I’ve always believed it’s not very polite to brag,” he returned, trying to maintain a straight face, pleased with her willingness to play along. He had always known Scully was capable of dishing out the innuendo, and on rare occasions she had. Those occasions had always delighted him.
If she had made any sign of not wanting to engage in extracurricular activities, he would have waited until she was finished her shower and had an icy cold one of his own. He barely managed not to shiver from the delicious feeling of her body pressing intimately against his growing erection.
“How well-mannered you are,” she murmured, already shrugging out of her robe. When it pooled to the floor, she brought her hands to the hem of his tee shirt, yanking upwards.
He helped her, pulling the shirt over his head, and the cotton muffled his voice when he replied, “I forgot to tell you my other motto after ‘up and at’em’.” The tee shirt fell to the floor, and their hands went to the waistband of his boxers next. Scully paused in mid-pull and looked at him, one eyebrow arched in question, waiting to hear his other motto. He smirked and said, “Ladies first.”
She yanked the silk material down suddenly, letting his erection spring free, and said, “Wise motto.” With that she turned away, leaving him to finish the task of removing his boxers, and started the water for their shower.
He finished the job quickly, flinging them aside with a kick of one leg, and watched her step inside the tub. He waited until she was under the spray before joining her, pulling the curtain securely closed, making sure there was nowhere for the water to escape. He planned on being very thorough in this shower.
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
2:30 pm
Skinner heard the noise of people entering the outer office, and gratefully pushed aside the stack of files he had been working on for most of the day. It had been slow going, for he had been distracted all day with thoughts about the evening ahead. He had called Allison the night he had received her note, as he had decided, and accepted her invitation, arranging to pick her up at her place at 6:30, giving them plenty of time to arrive at The Bistro for their reservation. He had not seen her about the building in the last two days, and was feeling a little apprehensive about their date.
Kimberley’s voice interrupted his introspection, and he blinked rapidly, realizing he had been staring at her in his doorway without saying a word. “Sir? Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you.”
“Send them in, please,” he replied, and rose from his chair.
A moment later his two agents came in, Scully first, with Mulder close behind her, ushering her gently inside. A scene carried out so many times before, but this time there was something different, something more to it. Something very, very personal, like they had finally taken that last step taking them from deep friendship to love.
Skinner came from around his desk and stepped forward awkwardly. He felt this strange compulsion, and moved closer to Scully, his arms out, and pulled her into a hug. He was not, and never had been very demonstrative in either his personal or professional lives, but it seemed the right thing to do. She tensed for a moment, clearly as surprised by his gesture as he was, and then relaxed into his embrace. Skinner patted her back, and caught a glimpse of Mulder.
The agent was standing stiff as a board, his face a careful blank, unblinking as he watched his partner, and now Skinner was convinced they had become lovers, being hugged by another man. Skinner recognized Mulder’s pose as an Alpha male stance, one that felt his territory was being threatened, and had to fight back the urge to smile. He released Scully, and this time had to turn his head to the side, unable to contain his smile when Mulder immediately stepped forward into Scully’s personal space, as if reclaiming it, and grasped her elbow to guide her to their customary seats before his desk.
Instead of sitting back down behind his desk, Skinner came around to the front and leaned against it, his extended feet quite close to both Mulder’s and Scully’s.
Both agents looked at his feet, and then exchanged a quick glance before returning their gazes to him.
He took a second to look them both over. He noted that Scully wore a ribbed gray turtleneck beneath a black blazer, with casual black pants, and that while she looked quite healed, with nary a bruise showing on her face, her eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen.
Her session with Karen Kosseff must have been quite emotional, and possibly even painful. He could not tell if her neck was still bandaged, although there did not seem to be any bulkiness that would indicate bandages, and her wrists were definitely not wrapped, with only faint red marks remaining from her wounds.
The sight of her Visitors ID badge clipped on her blazer reminded him that the Personnel Office had dropped off her replacement badge earlier that morning. He also had her replacement Sig Sauer, which he had requisitioned from the Bureau Armory, after it was realized that Elliot Andercott had taken both items when he had kidnapped Scully.
Mulder was dressed far more casually than his partner, seeing as he was technically on what could be considered special detail, wearing khaki pants, a casual shirt and a black leather jacket. He was slumped in his chair, leaning towards Scully. The fingers of the hand closest to that side were tapping the arm of his chair, and Skinner fancied that the man was that close to leaning over and grasping Scully’s hand to toy with her fingers. A quick flick of the eyes back to Scully showed that the hand closest to Mulder was also restlessly fingering the arm of her chair.
Skinner cleared his throat. “You’re looking well, Agent Scully.
How did your doctor’s appointment go?” he asked, focusing on the redheaded agent. He noted that she seemed a little flushed, and hoped she was not getting ill.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, meeting his gaze directly. “I’m fine. I’ve received the all-clear.”
“That’s good to hear. And your meeting with Karen Kosseff?” he continued. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mulder shift nervously in his seat.
Scully tensed as well, her lips pursing tightly for a moment, the color fading from her cheeks, before she answered, “It was fine as well, sir.”
Doubtful, but he was not going to press Scully further. She was clearly uncomfortable with what had occurred, and he could only imagine it would have dredged up some memories she would rather not have had brought forward. As her supervisor, he would receive a copy of Karen Kosseff’s report, although she could not divulge any details of what she had discussed with Scully, only her findings.
He was confident Scully would be cleared for duty by Karen. With a brisk nod, he said only, “That’s good.”
He stood and returned to his seat behind his desk, reaching into one of the drawers to remove Scully’s replacement weapon. He laid the gun on his blotter, along with a clip, and then reached for the interoffice envelope that contained her new ID badge. He opened the flap of the manila folder and shook the badge out where it landed near the gun. “Agent Scully, here is your replacement weapon and ID.
The serial number for the missing weapon has been entered into the system as lost or stolen. We can only hope it is retrieved without incident.”
Both Mulder and Scully rose from their seats, Scully stepping closer to the desk to first pick up the ID, which she clipped on the other side of her blazer before removing the Visitors Badge. She passed it to Mulder, and then picked up the Sig Sauer and ammunition clip.
She loaded the weapon, double-checked the safety, and placed it into the black purse she had brought with her. She smiled slightly at him and said, “I didn’t think to bring my holster.”
He smiled back and then rose once more, extending his hand out before him. She took it and they shook briefly. “I guess I’ll be seeing you two on Monday morning.” As they turned to leave, he kept his voice casual and said, “Agent Mulder, if you have a moment?”
Mulder stopped, his eyebrow quirked upwards in question, and Skinner watched the two share another look before Scully murmured, “Goodbye, sir,” and headed out to wait for Mulder in the outer office.
Skinner watched her go, momentarily preoccupied, and then heard Mulder’s voice.
“Sir?” Mulder asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said, keeping his voice a little lower than normal. “Were you there with Agent Scully for her appointment with Karen Kossoff?”
“Not at the beginning, but she called me in for the last few minutes,” Mulder replied slowly, his voice equally low. “Scully was…she got a little upset. She’s been having some nightmares, and she must have mentioned them to Karen. I guess Karen was pressing her quite a bit about them, and well, you know Scully.
The harder you push, the more she clams up.”
Skinner frowned, hoping that wouldn’t be enough for Karen to consider extending Scully’s leave from the Bureau.
Mulder saw his frown and hastened to add, “Karen is giving her the okay to go back to work, but she really wants to see Scully a couple times a week. She said she wouldn’t make the visits mandatory, but she did make a follow-up appointment in two weeks that is. I’m going to do my best to encourage Scully to see her before then.”
Skinner felt his tense shoulders relax, and gave Mulder a brisk nod. “That’s a good idea. I hope you are successful.” He hesitated, not wanting to pry, but Scully was often reticent when it came to discussing her own health. “And everything was all right at the doctor’s?”
“She’s fine, sir,” Mulder replied, smiling a little. “Her neck healed better than the doctor had expected, the scar is really faint, and not as extensive as was originally predicted. There will be some faint scars on both wrists, but nothing really noticeable, and the majority of her bruises are gone. She has the occasional twinge, but really she’s doing just fine.”
“I’m glad,” Skinner said. “Now on to the next subject. Just to let you know, despite the media blitz on Elliot Andercott, and forgetting the expected crank calls, there have been no sightings or information as of yet on the man or his whereabouts. I can only advice you to be cautious and vigilant, Agent.”
“You have no idea, sir,” Skinner heard Mulder say. He read what was unspoken in Mulder’s eyes. That Mulder would lay down his life for hers. Skinner nodded once, in understanding, and in respect. He gestured at the door, and followed Mulder to the outer office, where Scully was talking quietly to Kimberley. He watched how Scully’s eyes seemed to light up when she saw Mulder, and felt a tug of envy at the obvious affection and love she held for him.
They exchanged goodbyes, and minutes later he was back at his desk and working on reports again.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
2:30 pm
Scully stepped into the ladies washroom and gave a quick glance around. Thankfully it was empty, enabling her to repair the damage from her crying jag in Karen Kosseff’s office without an audience.
Stepping over to the closest sink, she looked critically at herself in the mirror above it. Eyes puffy and red, traces of mascara on her cheeks, which were devoid of color. Even her lips were pale, the lipstick chewed off long ago. A childish thought ran through her head – how come on television the actresses always looked beautiful when they cried? She sniffled pitifully and shook her head at herself. She reached down and turned the cold-water tap on high, then leaned over to grab some paper towels to blot her face with.
She was angry with herself for breaking down in front of the woman, just because Karen had wanted to know a little bit more about her about the nightmares. She had not meant to bring them up at all, but when Karen had asked her how she was sleeping, she had blurted out, “Not very well.”
Which had led to further questioning and her revealing that she was suffering from nightmares about her ordeal with Elliot Andercott and other frightening faces from her past.
The water was icy on her fingertips, so she soaked one of the towels and held it to her eyes for a minute, sighing as it soothed their soreness. Discarding the sodden paper in the trashcan, she carefully bent over the sink and cupping water in her hands, splashed her cheeks a few times before drying her hands and blotting her face with more towels.
A few minutes to touch up her makeup, reapplying lipstick, and to finger comb her hair, and one last critical look in the mirror. Her eyes dropped to the high collar of her turtleneck for a second. The bruises were gone, the rope burn on her neck a fading memory, but Mulder’s hickeys were still quite livid. It had been embarrassing enough when the doctor had seen them, watching one of his eyebrows crook upwards, but it would be beyond imaginable if Skinner or anyone else saw them. Sighing, she decided she was ready to rejoin Mulder, whom she imagined pacing up and down the hallway outside.
Scully took a deep breath, pulled open the door and stepped out of the washroom.
She had to smile. Mulder was indeed pacing, and his hair was spiked in all directions, evidence he had been running his hands through it abstractedly while he had been waiting for her. He stopped at the sound of the door opening, and rushed over to her side, his hands outstretched. For a second she thought he was going to pull her into his arms, the fact that they were in the hallway of the Hoover Building be damned, but at the last second he stopped, and merely lifted one arm to touch her gently on the shoulder.
“Scully, you okay?” he asked softly, his eyes intent on hers.
She almost said those words, the ones guaranteed to piss him off, had her mouth open forming them, but the look on his face stopped her. So instead she said, “Yeah, I’m okay, Mulder. But I’m tired, and I’d like to go home, so let’s go see Skinner so we can get out of here.”
He nodded, and she watched some of the tension leave his body. They turned together, his hand going to the small of her back, and walked to the elevator. While they waited, Mulder ran his hands through his hair again, taming it somewhat, and she brushed imaginary lint off her blazer and pants, still feeling uncomfortable after the session with Karen. She really could not wait to get home to sit down and relax.
When the elevator stopped, it was quite full, so they were unable to talk, for which she was actually a little grateful. She knew Mulder would press her to tell him about the entire session, and while she wanted to, she was not quite ready yet.
Scully knew two of the technicians that were in the car with them, and she nodded her thanks when they voiced their sympathies. Inside she was wincing, because their words had drawn the attention of the other occupants of the elevator, who were now regarding her with curiosity.
Thankfully she and Mulder only had to travel two floors, and the doors were already opening. She stepped out, as did one of the other passengers, conscious of Mulder’s hand again on her back, and of the eyes of those remaining in the elevator as the doors closed once more, and began to walk down the hallway towards Skinner’s office.
Kimberley was sitting at her desk when they walked into Skinner’s outer office, and she looked up, a polite smile on her face. Scully watched it widen into a more genuine one when she saw them, and found herself easily smiling back. Although she and Kimberley certainly didn’t socialize, or spend time around the water cooler chatting about their lives, she had always found Skinner’s assistant to be warm and friendly.
“Agent Scully, it’s good to see you,” Kimberley said. “I’m glad you’re all right, and hope that you’re feeling better.” She then added, “Hello, Agent Mulder.”
“It’s good to see you too, Kimberley,” Scully replied. “I am feeling much better, thank-you for asking. I think I’m actually a little anxious to get back to work.” It was true, she was not used to sitting around her apartment with little to do. Little to do except make love with Mulder, she thought suddenly, and felt her cheeks warm. She could definitely get used to that, hell, she was already hopelessly and completely addicted to the man.
Even now, despite her emotionally wrenching meeting with Karen Kosseff, and the fact that she was extremely tired, she was very aware of him standing close to her, close enough to touch, and to smell the wonderful scent that was Mulder. A wave of desire washed over her, and she had to concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply to stop herself from reaching out to him. With an internal admonition to behave, she focused on her surroundings again.
Fortunately neither Mulder nor Kimberley seemed to have noticed her momentary lapse. They were conversing quietly, and then Kimberley rose from her seat, saying, “I’ll let AD Skinner know you’re here.”
She moved to stand in the doorway leading to Skinner’s own office, and said, “Sir? Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you.”
Scully heard Skinner’s distinctive voice reply, “Send them in, please.” She moved around Kimberley’s desk, Mulder at her heels, and passed Kimberley, who was going back to her desk, to go into Skinner’s office.
As she stepped over the threshold, she was very aware of Mulder again, extremely close to her, could practically feel his warmth all along her back, and his breath stirring her hair. She could do nothing to get him to back off a little, without calling attention to them.
Skinner was coming from around his desk, and his next move pushed every thought completely from her mind. His arms were outstretched, much as Mulder’s had been when she had exited the washroom, only Skinner did not hold back.
He actually pulled her into an embrace. She stiffened at the contact, and then forced herself to relax, feeling Skinner patting her on the back.
The arms holding her were very strong, the chest beneath her cheek broad and firm, and she could smell his cologne, so completely different from that worn by Mulder, yet compelling as well.
She sensed Mulder standing stiffly to the left of them, and was relieved when the embrace was over, as nice as it had been. Mulder immediately stepped closer, his body again almost touching hers, and took hold of her elbow to lead her to her customary chair.
They both sat down, and then Skinner surprised her yet again. He had always been a rather predictable man, and the times when he was not already seated when they entered his office he invariably did so once they had taken theirs. Now he did not, and instead came around to perch on the edge of his desk, his body between she and Mulder’s, his legs stretched out before him.
The pose accentuated his long, muscular legs, and naturally her attention was drawn there. She suddenly realized she was staring at them, and pulled her gaze up, meeting Mulder’s for a brief second, before facing Skinner once more. He seemed to be studying her, and Mulder’s comment about having seen Skinner ‘check her out’ before popped in her head. She felt herself flush yet again. Great. She was probably going to feel awkward every time they met in his office now.
Her hands clutched at the arms of her chair for a second, and she had to concentrate on relaxing them as well, although she could not still them completely. She wished she could hold Mulder’s hand instead.
Skinner began speaking then, and she focused on listening to him.
What followed was basically what she had expected, a comment about her well being, and an inquiry about her doctor’s appointment. She answered evenly, telling him she was fine and that she had received the all clear for returning to work.
His next question had her tensing all over again, and she fought the impulse to bite her lip, pressing them tightly together instead.
She knew it would be asked, but her meeting with Karen, and how difficult she had found it was still quite fresh in her mind, as much as she would have liked to put it aside. She replied that it too was fine, and fortunately, he did not press her on the matter.
In fact, he rose from his position leaning against his desk and moved behind it to sit down. She watched with interest as he bent to the side and seemed to be removing something from one of the desk drawers.
A second later the heavy and familiar thud the item made as he laid it on the desk’s surface told her it was a gun. It had to be a replacement for her weapon, the one that had at some point been in the possession of Elliot Andercott. It could be anywhere now, and that thought made her distinctly uneasy.
Skinner then lifted a brown interoffice envelope and dumped something out of it. Scully was fairly sure it was a new identification badge for her, seeing as her old one had also disappeared with Andercott.
Skinner’s next words confirmed her assumptions. She rose from her seat, aware of Mulder rising at the same time, and stepped closer to the desk. The ID badge she clipped to the lapel of her blazer, before removing the Visitors tag she was wearing and handing it to Mulder. Her gun was next. She hefted its weight, loaded the clip and checked the safety, before putting it inside her purse. She smiled at Skinner and commented, “I didn’t think to bring a holster.”
Skinner smiled back and then stood up, offering his hand across his desk for her to shake. They did, and then Skinner said, “I guess I’ll be seeing the two of you on Monday morning.” She and Mulder turned almost as one again, and started to leave when Skinner spoke again.
“Agent Mulder, if you have a moment?”
Scully could not detect anything other than informality in his voice, and decided Skinner just wanted to double-check with Mulder on how her day had gone. She briefly considered being insulted, and settled on being a little disgruntled, and a tiny bit pleased about his concern. She shared a look with Mulder and then continued out into the outer office.
Kimberley looked up from her computer when she did, and peered behind her as if waiting for Mulder to appear as well. An expression of curiosity crossed her face when he did not. “Is something wrong, Agent Scully?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Scully found herself responding in kind, automatically lowering her voice as she replied. “No, AD Skinner just wanted a moment with Agent Mulder.” She shrugged to show it wasn’t important and smiled brightly at Kimberley. “So, how are things these days?” she asked, to make conversation.
Kimberley looked back at the empty doorway to Skinner’s office once more, in a conspiratorial manner, and beckoned Scully closer with one hand.
Scully leaned forward, now very curious herself, and waited for Kimberley to speak. She hesitated once more, flicking a glance at the door again and mock whispered, “AD Skinner has a date.”
Scully blinked. That wasn’t what she had been expecting Kimberley to say. “A date?” she repeated, and her voice accidentally rose up a notch.
“Shhhh!” Kimberley gasped, sending another glance to the door, this one quite worried. When no one appeared, she nodded and added, “It’s tonight.”
This really wasn’t any of her business, and she really did not like to gossip, but she was immensely interested. Personal details about her boss were rare indeed, and she just couldn’t pass this one up.
She also did not know how to ask for more details, without seeming like a nosy busybody.
Kimberley continued on. “He’s going out to dinner with Allison McIntyre, from the secretarial pool.”
Scully did not know the woman, and the expression on her face must have shown that to Kimberley, because she next said, “She was assigned to help Agent Mulder when…” her voice trailed off, and then her face saddened. “When you were missing,” she finished, more quietly than before.
“Oh,” was all Scully could think of to say.
The conversation died then, Kimberley clearly uncomfortable after having brought up the fact that Scully had been missing, and because Scully still had not spoken.
It was fortunate, because the sounds from Skinner’s office indicated he was finished talking with Mulder. A moment later Mulder came out of the office, smiling when he met Scully’s eyes.
“Ready to go?” he asked, coming over to stand next to her, his elbow brushing her arm.
She nodded, and they both said goodbye to Kimberley before heading out. His hand felt warm on her back, and she had to resist the temptation to lean into him.
They spoke little until they had gotten into Mulder’s car. Once buckled into their respective seats, he started the car and pulled out of the parking spot, driving carefully through the underground garage.
“How about we stop at the video store and rent a couple movies?” he asked as he turned onto the street.
“Sounds good,” she replied, and smiled when his hand left the wheel to land on her knee. He gave it a squeeze, and she covered it with her own hand.
“You okay?” he asked, staring at her while he waited for the light to change to green.
“Mm-hmmm,” she responded, and to knock herself out of her sudden funk, said, “Kimberley told me some interesting news.”
“What’s that?” Mulder asked, his hand now rubbing slowly up and down her thigh.
She squirmed a little, for the caress tickled. “Apparently Skinner has a date tonight, with someone named Allison from the secretarial pool.”
“Get outta here!” Mulder explained, and then said, “Way to go, Skinman!”
Scully shot him a look and then said, “What about, way to go Allison?”
He shot her a grin, showing lots of teeth and joked, “Maybe tomorrow it’ll be way to go for both of them.” He paused and then said, “Or should I say way to come?”
“Mulder!”
“Scuh-lee!” he mimicked and then snickered. “Come on, Scully, you have to admit that was a good one.”
“Sexist pig.”
“Oink, oink.”
Exasperated, Scully asked, “What am I going to do with you?”
He turned his face to hers and winked slowly. “Anything you want, baby. Anything at all,” was his reply, in a low, sexy voice.
That sent a tingle down her spine. “Promise?” Her voice was husky.
The car was stopped at another red light, and he used the opportunity to move his hand, which had been on her leg the entire time, and turn it to capture hers. Lifting it, he brought her hand to his chest, where he used his fingers to grasp her index finger.
He traced the pattern of an ‘X’ over his heart, and whispered, “Cross my heart.” He then leaned over, the seatbelt straining across him, and kissed her softly on the lips.
She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. “I think we should skip the video store for now, Mulder.”
He managed to only squeal the tires a little as he pulled the car away.
Fortunately the light had turned green.
Revenge Part 22 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Friday
3:30 pm
The parking job was not his greatest, but with all his attention is focused on the woman in the seat beside him, everything else just kind of faded away. Hell the whole car ride since Scully had uttered those words about skipping the video store had been an adventure.
Driving one-handed, while his other hand could not touch Scully enough, on her leg, her arm, her cheek. If he hadn’t been positive Scully would object due to the fact that they were in broad daylight and traveling in a car, he would have been touching her in a lot of other places.
Mulder barely remembered to put the car in park, already struggling to unbuckle his seatbelt with fingers that refused to work. He flicked a glance at the woman in question, to see Scully calmly retrieving her purse from the floor well, her seatbelt already off.
She opened her door and swung her legs out with one smooth motion.
Her blazer rode up as she did, and he got a prime view of her backside, the material of her pants stretched delightfully taut.
His nerveless fingers fell away from their task.
He groaned when she shut her door, and stabbed at the release button for his seatbelt one more time. Finally he was successful, and the moment it snicked across his chest, he was yanking the keys from the ignition and forcibly opening his door.
Scully was rounding his side of the car as he almost stumbled out, and she actually had the effrontery to giggle. Although she did try and hide the action behind her hand, and turn the sound into a cough.
Evil woman. She had quickly realized exactly the affect her words had on him, and had teased him unmercifully with sultry glances and skimming touches. Said touches only while stopped at a stoplight of course. She wouldn’t risk doing anything that could cause an accident while the vehicle was in motion, although he had come close a few times anyway.
It still amazed him now how quickly she had turned the tables on him. From being the seduced, turned on by his words and his voice, to becoming the seducer, leaving him breathless and wanting. And clumsy as a boy.
“Come here,” he growled, and hauled her against his body.
She came willingly, her arms wrapping around his waist, her head tilted up, begging to be kissed.
He lowered his head slowly, teasingly, wanting to regain the upper hand. He nipped at her lips, and then traced them with his tongue, and although she tried to capture his mouth, he would not oblige.
She retaliated by moving her lower half sensually against his and raising herself on tiptoe to lick delicately at his neck.
Forget the upper hand.
His hands swept up from her back to hold her face, lifting it, and his mouth swooped down to cover hers in a passionate kiss.
They were in full view of almost the entire street in broad daylight, and neither of them cared.
Until a passing car crammed with rowdy young men honked and yelled encouragement as they passed by.
Mulder felt Scully stiffen against him, not in desire, but in embarrassment, and realized exactly what they were doing. He broke the kiss off, glancing about for a second, but thankfully it seemed no one else was around. “Hey, what do you say we take this inside?”
he asked, smiling gently.
Scully nodded, her cheeks flaming, and he grasped her hand tightly, giving it a quick squeeze. Together they walked up to the entrance of her building and inside. Scully tugged at his hand when he made to go in the direction of her apartment, and indicated the mailboxes off to the right.
He watched as she retrieved her mail, her eyes downcast, and his ardor dwindled slightly. “Scully?” he asked softly.
“I’m okay, Mulder,” she replied just as quietly. “I just…I can’t believe we were kissing like that out there for anyone to see.” She finally lifted her head and met his gaze, and he could see that she was really bothered by the incident. He was too, but not to the same extent. “We know better than that, Mulder. We’re adults, for one thing, and should be able to control ourselves.” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice lowered even more and her eyes shifted from his. “Although lately I seem to have no control whatsoever when it comes to you.”
The perturbed tone had him smiling, but he was careful to hide that from her. “Believe me, Scully, you have the exact same affect on me.” He leaned in close to whisper his next words directly into her ear. “I see your silk robe lying on the end of the bed and I want you. I smell your shampoo when I’m alone in the shower and I want you. One look from you and I am instantly hard.” He saw and felt her shiver at his words. He sighed then, and said, “But you’re right, we do know better. And with the possibility that Andercott is out there we shouldn’t be taking chances like that. He could have taken us both before we’d even know what was happening.”
This time her shiver had nothing to do with desire, and Mulder hated to have brought the man’s name up at all. “Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
Scully met his eyes and nodded, even smiled a little at him. He gestured for her to go ahead, and was right behind her, his hand on his customary spot. She spoke, but did not turn her head, so the words floated back over her shoulder, low and kind of throaty.
“Just tea?”
Mulder grinned. How he loved this woman.
Outside Margaret Scully’s Residence
Baltimore, MD
Friday
10:30 pm
Elliot Andercott scrunched his body down a little lower in the seat of his car as another vehicle passed by. It was the second car he had stolen since fleeing Leesburg. He had dumped the Ford sedan he had stolen in Arlington after the FBI had identified his van once he had reached Washington, D.C., and had quickly found a replacement, gain a Ford, in one of the many long-term parking lots in the busy city.
He had driven it for almost a week, had even slept in it for the first couple nights until he found somewhere to hide out, before stealing another car just hours after he had seen his picture on the news while sitting in a tiny but thankfully busy diner in the seedier side of town. Due to the noise and size of the dinner crowd, not many people had been paying much attention to the old black and white TV in the corner, so he was able to slip out with no trouble.
No trouble, yeah right he thought to himself. He had received such a jolt when he had seen his own picture there on the screen with the FBI’s hotline number beneath it that he had been lucky to get out and back to his car without exploding into fear and rage.
His eyes flicked to the rear view mirror and despite what he knew he would see, he was still shocked at his own image. Hair now dyed blonde and buzzed shorter than he had ever worn it, and his cheeks and chin smooth. Not much of a disguise, but enough that his features no longer screamed alert, seeing as his face and description had been plastered all over the TV and newspapers for the last couple of days. During the daytime he also sported a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes. He had taken to walking with a slouch, and hunching his shoulders, to appear shorter.
He looked away from the mirror. He hated the way he looked now, hated the fact that the FBI, that Mulder, had made it necessary to disguise himself. Made it necessary for him to have to hide, and to sneak around. He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, hard, and the noise and the sudden rush of pain along his arm were good.
Mulder. Just thinking the man’s name made him even angrier. Why hadn’t he died when he ran into the hospital after Dana? She should have died too. She was supposed to have died, like Elizabeth had died. He would have left then, and faded into the woodwork, knowing that Mulder was suffering as he had suffered. But no, Mulder had gone in there and found her, dragged her out of there. Bastard.
Elliot ground his teeth angrily. The news people, while not identifying Mulder or Dana by name, were calling Mulder a hero, going on and on about how he had risked his own life to save that of his partner’s.
His bitch.
Elliot smacked the steering wheel again, even harder, and cursed them both.
He began to rock in his seat, his eyes glazed over, lips moving soundlessly. The papers had also said he was dangerous and to be approached with caution. One news bitch had even said he was insane. His fists clenched tight in rage. What the hell did they know?
Another car passed by, startling him, and he shook his head violently. He couldn’t think about those things right now, he had work to do. He shifted his eyes to the rear view mirror once more and watched the car’s taillights disappear before training his gaze on the house he had been watching for the last hour.
Dana Scully’s mother’s house.
He’d actually been watching the house, and Dana’s mother, on and off over the past week, never staying long enough to raise the suspicions of the agents he knew were sitting in the unmarked sedan that had been parked directly in front of her house.
Or had been up until Wednesday, and then the agents had not returned. He had taken advantage of that fact, and over the last three nights, this one being the third, he had been watching the house and the others around it a little more closely, and for a lot longer.
It was a nice house, in a nice neighborhood. Fairly upscale, set back from the street with a deep lot and screened in by shrubbery on both sides. Perfect for what he needed to do.
He glanced up and down the street before getting out of the car.
Another quick check, not a soul in sight. Nor had there been, except for the odd car passing by. There were lights on in most of the houses, but it seemed that most families around here settled in fairly early for the evening.
Dana’s mother had been driving one of those cars that had passed by. She had come home, not long after he had arrived, and parked her car in the garage. Which told him she more than likely had no plans to go out again. He smiled to himself as he walked casually but quickly along the sidewalk, avoiding the pools of light from the streetlamps.
A few seconds later he was approaching the edge of her property, his nerves on high alert for any sound that might signify he had been seen. One last look over his shoulder, and then he was ducking to move along the shrubs to the side of her house. His heart was pounding, and he was covered in a light sheen of sweat. He was nervous and exhilarated at the same time. His hand went to one of his jacket pockets, patting the outside, feeling for the familiar shape of his wire cutters, and sighed in relief when they were there.
It took him a few minutes, but he managed to find the telephone lines. A fiddle with a wire here, a snip of a wire there, and they were cut.
He smiled, thinking, the first step was done. Now it was on to step two.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Friday
10:45 pm
Scully listened as the phone continued to ring. Her mother did not answer, nor did her answering machine click on. She sighed and then finally disconnected the call, putting the portable back down on the counter.
She didn’t normally call her mom this late, but had forgotten to try her earlier. Smiling to herself, she thought that forgotten wasn’t quite the right word. Been wonderfully and thoroughly distracted was more apt. Not to mention completely and utterly satisfied.
Her mind took a brief sojourn back to several hours ago. True to his word, Mulder had indeed made tea, and toast as well, and they had shared their light repast snuggled on the couch. Snuggling had led to touching, touching had led to caressing, and they had ended up in her bed. Where they had spent the next few hours exploring and learning each other’s bodies. Seeing what drew the best reactions, what made each other’s pulses soar, or what wrung moans and whimpers from each other’s mouths. It was something they really hadn’t done, despite the number of times they had previously made love.
The distracter chose that moment to enter the kitchen, his hair adorably spiked and his plain white tee shirt rumpled. He was scratching absently at his belly as he walked, and she stared in fascination at his long fingers, remembering them tracing random patterns over her own skin. Her eyes dropped and saw that the top button of the Levi’s he had donned for their much later than originally planned trip to the video store and Chinese takeout was undone for comfort. Her breath caught. God, he was so unbelievably sexy.
“Your mom not home?” Mulder asked, moving past her to go to the fridge, his hip just brushing her rear end.
The light contact sent a tingle of awareness through her body, and shivering, she turned around to lean against the countertop and watch him as he rummaged through the contents of the fridge. He was bent slightly at the waist, and the pose naturally drew her eyes to his butt, covered in faded denim. She tried to recall if she had ever told him what an incredible butt he had, and opened her mouth to do so, even as she was thinking, forget lack of control, I’m insatiable for this man.
Mulder said her name questioningly, turning his head to look at her, obviously wondering why she hadn’t answered him. “Hmmm?” she said, and started. “Oh, sorry. No, she’s not answering. I guess I got all mixed up about the Fridays with being in the hospital and everything.”
The look in his eyes explained his confusion, so she hastened to add, “She usually goes to bridge at the Church every other Friday.
You’d be surprised how late she comes home sometimes.” Her brow crinkled slightly, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “Though she usually has her answering machine on. I wonder if it’s broken.”
She shrugged the vague feeling of unease off and said, “Remind me to call her in the morning, okay?”
Mulder nodded and returned to his foraging. She continued to watch, admiring what the swaying motions of his body did to his rear, and remembered her thought of moments ago. “Mulder?” she asked.
“Uh-huh?” came his voice from deep inside the fridge as he reached way in the back.
“Have I ever told you that you have a great ass?” she asked conversationally, a hint of teasing in her voice. “If not, I am now.” She made a sound, one that was a toss-up behind a purr and a growl, and then said, “I am particularly loving it in those jeans.”
At her words, Mulder straightened, apparently forgetting his upper body was inside the fridge. There was a thud, followed by a yowl of pain, and then he was rapidly back stepping, one hand already cupping the top of his head. Once he was clear, the other hand joined the first one, and the food he had been clutching against his chest fell to the floor, a loud plop signifying something had broken out of its container, followed by other muted plops as the remaining items followed the same path. “Shit!” he exclaimed next, his eyes scrunched shut.
Scully stared at the mess on the floor, watching as yogurt continued to ooze out of the broken plastic cup to mingle with leftover low mein noodles and sweet and sour chicken balls, before raising her eyes to look at Mulder. One of his eyes was open, squinting down at the same mess, over which he was standing, but his hands were still on his head. She left the counter, reaching out to gently grasp his upper arms to pull him away from the fridge, saying, “Let me see your head, Mulder.”
He moved obediently, stepping carefully over the spilled food, and let her lead him over to the kitchen table, where she nudged him down onto one of the chairs. His face was still scrunched, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, and Scully had to smile. He looked like her nephew Matthew after he had fallen or bumped himself on something.
The only thing missing was the giant crocodile tears Matthew could shed at the drop of a hat.
“Duck your head and put your hands down please,” she said quietly, and when he did, gently combed her fingers through his silky soft hair. She encountered a bump at the top of his head, towards the back, but there was no bleeding. She prodded carefully and Mulder hissed in pain. She smiled again, and bent her head down to press a feather-light kiss onto the injury.
“There, I kissed it all better. I think you’ll live, Mulder,” she teased, and arched back a little to look into his face.
Both his eyes were open now, and when they met hers, he smiled.
“Thank-you, Dr. Scully.” His hands moved lightning quick and snagged her by the hips, pulling her much closer. She ended up standing between his wide spread legs, the outsides of her thighs pressing against the insides of his. “You know, I seem to recall a promise to kiss something else better,” he said, and his voice was now several octaves lower.
Scully stared at him, puzzled, while he waggled his eyebrows up and down and then shot a glance down at his lap. She still didn’t get it, and shook her head slightly, one of her eyebrows arching up in question.
Mulder pouted again, and she barely resisted the urge to lean in even further and swipe her tongue across his full bottom lip.
“Scully…last night, on the couch?” he said.
She shook her head again. She really didn’t know where he was going with this.
He was frowning now, and seemed disappointed she was not playing along with him, but she really didn’t know what he was talking about. Finally he sighed and explained in a huffed tone of voice.
“During the movie last night, you were falling asleep, but I couldn’t convince you to go to bed. You decided to use me as a pillow, and you…” He stopped, and now he looked embarrassed.
“I what?” she asked, trying to think back to the night before.
She did remember being really tired, and not seeing very much of the movie, and him trying to convince her to go to bed sounded vaguely familiar, but she still did not know what he was trying to tell her.
“You elbowed me in the…in the, well…you know!” he blurted out.
His fingers tightened briefly on her hips and then relaxed again, sending little currents of pleasure up and down her spine.
She had found herself moving her head with each burst of speech, trying to encourage him on as he tried to find the right words, but suddenly it was as if a light bulb had come on in her head.
The glances down at his lap, his low sexy voice, they made sense now. Smiling inside, she decided to have some fun with Mulder.
Letting her eyelids droop slightly, she opened her mouth and licked slowly at her lips. “No, Mulder, I don’t know,” she sighed, and watched as his pupils contracted, his eyes watching the motion of her lips and tongue.
He also looked very consternated, and unbidden, a giggle escaped her lips. His eyes widened then, and he realized she was teasing him.
He stood with surprising swiftness, and lifted her by his hands on her hips, saying, “Well, I’ll just have to show you then, won’t I?”
Scully automatically wrapped her legs around him, and lifted her hands to cling to his shoulders. Mulder shifted his hands to cup her bottom when she did, and began to walk out of the kitchen, heading towards her bedroom.
Scully wiggled a little, and slid her arms around his neck, bringing her face close to his, their noses brushing against each other with each up and down motion of their bodies as he carried her.
“You’re only going to show me?” she pouted.
Mulder’s laughter, warm and beer-scented, washed over her, and then one of his hands was sliding up her back to cup her neck, pushing her closer, his lips descending to land firmly on hers. He still continued to walk, and the swaying motion rubbed her body teasingly along his as his tongue danced inside her mouth. He released her lips slowly and murmured, “Oh, believe me, I’ll do more than that.”
Scully laughed too and said, “Mulder, I believe.”
That remark earned her a slap on the butt, and another deep kiss, just before she was dropped onto her bed.
Saturday
12:08 am
The sharp insistent ringing of a phone pulled Mulder from a sound, satiated sleep, although at first he did not know what the sound was. He bolted upright, totally disoriented for a moment, and swiveled his head, trying to locate the noise. His eyes glanced off of Scully, sprawled on her stomach with her head under her pillow, the blankets kicked off her body, as he realized it was a cellular phone.
His gut clenched.
The cellular phone.
Elliot’s phone.
Scrambling off the bed, nearly falling in his haste, he finally located it on Scully’s dresser, where he had put it on their return from the hospital. Even as he was picking it up, he was remembering the look on Scully’s face when he had removed the phone from his jacket pocket. It had been a look of terror and hatred. Yet she had said nothing, and from that point on, had seemed to ignore it totally.
He jabbed the send button, feeling imaginary, icy fingers of fear skittering up and down his naked spine, and put it to his ear.
“Mulder,” he whispered hoarsely.
“It’s about time, Mulder. You do recall I don’t like to be kept waiting, don’t you?”
Elliot Andercott’s voice, as evil and slimy and horrifying as he remembered it. “What do you want, Andercott?” His voice was a little louder this time, and harsher. Thinking of Scully, sleeping peacefully in the bed, he winced and hunched himself around the phone.
Andercott’s answer was straightforward, with no hinting or beating around the bush. “You.” A brief pause followed. “Just you.”
Mulder was so stunned by the man’s reply he barked out a laugh.
“You honestly think I’m just going to hand myself over to you?” he sneered, trying to gain the upper hand.
“If you want to save Margaret Scully’s life, yes,” was the prompt reply. “Now enough chit-chat. Be at Zeus Warehousing in one hour or your girlfriend’s mother gets it. I know you remember the place, Mulder.”
Mulder froze when Andercott said Scully’s mom’s name, and his mind almost went blank, all thoughts about gaining the upper hand completely gone. Oh God, oh Jesus. Mrs. Scully. Scully hadn’t been able to get her on the phone. Did this mean he really had her? Oh shit, oh fuck.
Then the sick bastard’s next words registered, and he stupidly parroted, “Zeus Warehousing?”
The click of the phone disconnecting was his only answer.
Indecisiveness had him standing there for a few seconds, eyes running along Scully’s bare legs, to the curve of her panty-covered behind and the vulnerable dip of her lower back, revealed by the tee shirt, his tee shirt, that had ridden up in her sleep.
He would not risk her again. Or Mrs. Scully. Andercott had said just him. Clad in only his boxers, he walked stiff-legged to the chair in the corner, where Scully had once again neatly folded his clothes.
He hesitated just for a second, picturing her as she had knelt and lovingly tended to his mess, and then shook his head and moved.
Socks and jeans went on, fingers pulling and tugging automatically, before he moved over to the dresser again to remove a sweatshirt.
He put it on almost roughly, and then dug in the drawer for his back-up piece and ankle holster. He strapped it on quickly and shoved the Walther PPK in, fixing the cuff of his jeans over it.
One last look at Scully as he lifted his 9 mm from the night table where it lay next to her Sig Sauer, and then he was going down the hall to shove his feet into his running shoes, tying them hastily, and slip into his black leather jacket.
His teeth clenched as he quietly opened the door, imagining Scully waking up and catching him in the act of leaving. How could he explain? How could he tell her she could not come with him, that he would not let her? She was going to be so angry with him when she found out, and he fully planned on both he and Mrs. Scully coming back so she could rip into him as many times as she liked. There would be no walls allowed to come up, nor her pushing him away.
They would talk about everything and anything, once he had Mrs.
Scully safely home and Elliot Andercott dead.
He pulled the door shut behind him and locked it with equal quietness, and took off down the hallway.
In moments he was outside, at the Gunmen’s hideously ugly blue van, rapping sharply on the window. Langly’s head popped up, and Mulder could see a couple CD cases in his hand. A second later, Frohike’s head came into view, poked out from the curtained back of the van, a puzzled look on his face.
Langly hurriedly unrolled the window, and asked, “What’s up, dude?”
“Listen up, guys, I’ve got to go out for a bit,” his words were rushed, and he could see the urgency in his words had reached them as they both stiffened in place like soldiers standing at attention.
“Scully’s still asleep, and she doesn’t know I’m gone. Keep a tight watch on her place, and call 9-1-1 if you see anything even remotely suspicious.” He had seen Frohike’s frown when he said that Scully didn’t know, and added, “I couldn’t tell her, but she’ll understand.”
With that he turned and ran in the direction of his car.
Back in the van, Langly and Frohike exchanged glances, wearing identical expressions of dismay.
“She won’t understand.” Langly.
“She’ll kick his ass.” Frohike.
“Mulder won’t stand a chance.” Spoken together.
Revenge Part 23 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Saturday
12:13 am
The moment the front door clicked shut, Scully was up and out of the bed. It had been difficult to lay there pretending to be asleep while he got dressed, particularly when she had felt the warmth of his eyes traveling over her exposed body, when all she had wanted to do was jump up and demand to go with him.
She was still not sure what had made her play possum after she had realized the ringing that had awoken her was the phone Elliot had used to communicate with Mulder during her kidnapping. Probably the fact that she knew he would have tried to insist she stay behind, and that they would have ended up having an enormous fight about it.
She had also thought there was a distinct possibility he would try, and more than likely succeed due to his superior size and strength, and handcuff her to the bed to ensure she could not leave. This way she could follow him and watch his back, as a partner should do.
Or more correctly, as the partner in question should let her do.
In the closet she grabbed the things she needed, returning to throw them on the bed while she yanked open drawers to find socks and an oversized black turtleneck. She dressed quickly, grabbed her Sig from the night table, noting that Mulder’s gun was gone, and headed down the hall to get her coat and boots.
She detoured for a quick look outside one of the windows, careful to stay to the side in order not to be seen, and quickly found what she had been looking for. The Gunmen’s van, still parked in front of her building. It did not surprise her that Mulder had not taken them as back up, naturally preferring to protect her rather than himself.
Idiot.
When this was all over, she was going to ream him so good, he wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.
She slid her feet into her black Doc Marten-style boots, lacing them tightly and efficiently, before putting on her black leather jacket, zipping it almost all the way up. Her Sig went into the deep right side pocket, where she would have easy access to it. No struggling to clear it from her holster. She knew she would need it.
Scully glanced down at herself just before she opened the door.
Dressed entirely in black, she would blend into the shadows and dark of night, with only her hair to call attention to herself. Cursing, she hesitated at the doorway and stepped back, eyes scanning the closet quickly.
Ah-ha. An old baseball cap of Mulder’s that she had appropriated long ago after a sudden rain shower had drenched her and turned her hair into a flattened, sodden mess. She had to stretch on tiptoe to get it from the top shelf, barely managing to snag it with her fingertips with a muffled grunt at the effort, and plunked it down on her head, covering most of the vibrant red strands.
Now she was ready to sneak out the back door of her apartment building and through the alleyway to the next street over to get a taxi. She hoped she would not have to wait long for one, for she knew that time was of the essence.
Mulder already had a good ten-minute lead on her, and he had been able to go straight to his car. It pissed her off to no end that she would not be able to take her car, it being parked not too far from the Gunmen’s van, and she needed to get past them undetected.
She was positive that on his way out Mulder had stopped to tell them to keep an extra close eye on her place; it was just something he would do.
Which was why, although she was beyond angry with him for ditching her, she could still understand what had made him go without her.
She had not heard the other end of the brief conversation, just Mulder saying Andercott, and Zeus Warehousing, but could only think that somehow Elliot had threatened more harm to her, and demanded that Mulder come alone.
Which of course Mulder would do, without second thoughts or hesitation.
She glanced up and down the hallway as she stepped out, pulling the door shut and locking it behind her, for she wouldn’t put it past one of the guys to come up here and sit in her hallway. Thankfully it was all clear, but she had to get moving. She ran swiftly and lightly to the emergency exit back stairs that led down to the storage room/basement of her building, where there was also another emergency exit in the far back that led to the alley. The way was lit only by one small box light, but it was enough to guide her way.
Fortunately the alarm on the door was disabled, or she would have had to waste precious time doing it herself. She made a mental note to tell her landlord about it later, and slipped outside.
A shiver ran through her as a cool breeze blew by, and she moved quickly through the alley, hooking up with another one that led to the street. It was surprisingly busy for this time of night, and then she remembered that it was Friday, where most people were still out celebrating the fact that another workweek had ended.
Flagging a taxi was no problem, and minutes later she was sitting in the back of a Yellow Cab, giving the driver the address of Zeus Storage and Warehousing, which she had read from the file that had been started on her disappearance. The one Mulder had reluctantly given to her to read at her demand.
The driver’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, a toothpick lolling in his mouth. “Ya sure, lady?” he asked, and in her nervous state she could not place his accent. “That’s a pretty tough part of town.”
She was briefly tempted to pull her Sig out of her pocket to show him how sure she was, but refrained. She nodded instead, saying, “Yes, I’m sure.”
He shrugged, chewing on the toothpick, and said, “It’s your money, lady.” Flicking the barest of glances over his shoulder at the road, he pulled out and sped off down the street.
Scully fell back into the cushioned back, uncaring as to their condition and lack of cleanliness, and stared unseeing out the side window.
In her mind, she was picturing Mulder charging angrily and recklessly into the warehouse, not knowing that Elliot had hidden himself in the perfect spot to ambush him, her weapon in his hands and ready to fire.
She had to bite her lip to stop from screaming his name in warning, but could not control her flinch and a startled gasp when Elliot fired and Mulder’s body spun from the impact of the bullet.
She moaned quietly as she watched his body fall to the floor, the pool of blood beneath him rapidly expanding and spreading, bright and thick and deep red, and was jolted out of the horrifying and oh so real imagery by the cabbie’s voice saying, “You okay, lady?”
Scully inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly until the image of Mulder’s dying body finally faded, and managed to say, “I’m fine.” The words and tone were flat, in the hopes that it would discourage him from continuing the conversation. She was successful, for the cabbie shrugged once more and resumed watching the road, one hand steady on the wheel.
This time, she kept her eyes focused on watching the black strip in front of them as well, determined not to let her mind slide into any more waking nightmares.
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
12:38 am
Mulder pulled slowly into the abandoned lot that belonged to Zeus Warehousing, the headlights turned off, while trying to look everywhere all at once. He was fully aware he could be driving into an ambush, and scrunched a little further down in his seat, to make a smaller target of himself in case Andercott had weapons other than Scully’s original Sig Sauer.
The lot was empty, which was what he had expected, and he had passed only a few parked cars on the street the warehouse was located on.
For the most part they had appeared to be abandoned pieces of junk, although one, a sedan of some sort, had looked to be in useable condition. Some of the other buildings were still in use in the area, though not this late at night, and it could very well belong to a night watchman or someone from a cleaning service.
There was no way of driving around the entire building, seeing as it jutted up against the pier, so he finally just parked the car in the shadows along one side. At least the building would provide some cover as he made his way over to the only entrance he could see. It was the same one he had run through in what seemed to be a lifetime ago to find what he had thought to be Scully’s body, swaying on a rope.
Scully.
Mulder hissed in a breath, hand poised to remove the keys from the ignition. He pushed the horrible picture of the dead woman out of his head and instead imagined Scully still lying sprawled in the bed. Or maybe she had even rolled over into the spot he had vacated, snuggling into the sheets where he had lain, inhaling his scent in her sleep. He preferred to think of her doing that, as he often rolled into her spot when she got out of bed. Although he was usually wide-awake, and ended up thoroughly aroused just from the warmth and scent that lingered on the sheets. He swore now that he could still smell her, on his skin, a fading memory of their expended passion of earlier.
Not now, pervert, he told himself. Concentrate, damn you. Get in, get Mrs. Scully, kill Andercott and get home to Scully.
Easy as pie.
Sure, no problem. SuperMulder to the rescue.
Great, now he was talking to himself, and giving himself a nickname befitting a comic book character. Not that he didn’t talk to himself all the time anyway, and especially in stressful situations.
He knew humor at this point almost belittled the gravity of the situation, but it was how he often dealt with his fear. Yet at the same time it didn’t seem right at this minute. He should be focused and intent.
There was another life at stake besides his own, and as much as he knew his death would devastate Scully, her mother’s would be just as, or even more so.
He stepped out of the car, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him. He shivered, and although the night was cool, he was not sure the shiver was entirely a reaction to the weather. His hand tightened on his gun, which he had lifted from the passenger seat where it had been laying since he had gotten into the car back at Scully’s building.
Steeling himself, Mulder crept even closer to the door, sidling along the wall of the building, his senses alert for any sound or smell, anything that did not look right. He reached the entrance, which was wide open, and poked his head in briefly before pulling it back out.
It did not show him very much, other than darkness with a small patch illuminated by moonlight.
He was just going to have to go inside. A deep exhalation, and he moved swiftly through the doorway, remembering that it led to a hallway in both directions, or slightly to the left and forward through another much larger, double-doored opening that led into the warehouse proper.
A flash of the body he had thought was Scully’s, which he pushed out of his head almost immediately. He could not let memories of the past distract him.
As he advanced, he tried to peer through the murky shadows down the hallway, but could still see nothing. His Spooky sense told him to go into the warehouse proper, that Elliot would choose that location for its impact.
He rushed in, throwing himself to the side and rolling along the ground, coming up in a smooth move, his weapon extended and cupped in both hands.
All for naught.
There was no bullet rushing towards him, no voice calling out to taunt him. Mulder wiggled his shoulder a little, feeling the ache from his SWAT-team like maneuver, and found himself staring at the spot where the body of Kathy O’Neill had hung, this time spotlighted by the moon shining in from windows up high. Only then, he had thought it was Scully, and had felt his world end.
Mulder froze, the horrible tableau playing out before his eyes once more. The squeak of the rope as it moved against the beams, loud in the otherwise silent warehouse, the light shining down on the red locks of her bent head, the sight of her lifeless toes clad in black pumps pointing down towards the floor. He suddenly heard his own voice crying out in shock and pain, screaming to God and to Scully, finally telling her he loved her.
Mulder’s arms shook, barely able to hold his gun steady. He shook his head, blinking furiously to clear the image from his mind, and only then became aware of another sound.
The sound of Elliot’s laughter, echoing over and over.
Mulder leapt to his feet, spinning around and around, pointing his gun wildly. “Show yourself, you bastard!” he yelled out, hearing his own voice rebound in the cavernous warehouse. “I’m here just like you wanted. Now where’s Mrs. Scully?”
More laughter.
Margaret Scully’s Residence
Baltimore, MD
Saturday
12:40 am
Margaret Scully rolled over for the fifth time in as many minutes, unable to settle into sleep. She felt uneasy, and was not sure why. With a sigh, she pushed the covers off and slipped out of the bed, her feet automatically finding her slippers on the floor and sliding into them. Her hands felt for her favorite robe, that she always lay at the bottom of the bed each night after removing it, and did not encounter the warm fleece, just as her feet bumped it in a pile on the floor.
She bent, feeling the pull in her lower back, and retrieved it from where she must have kicked it during her tossing and turning, and rose much more slowly to put it on. She did not bother turning on any lights, fully comfortable in the darkness of her own home, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen to make some warm milk.
Some light was necessary, so she turned the one over the stove on, and set about getting the small pot and the milk and putting it on the burner. While she waited she rested against the countertop, and her eyes ended up looking at the clock across from her. The time surprised her. After getting home from bridge, which had run over a little late, she had taken a quick shower and gone to bed.
She rarely had trouble falling asleep, and had dropped off almost immediately, only to wake up not much more than an hour later. She had then spent the next half hour or so trying to fall back into slumber, quite unsuccessfully.
A sudden chill ran through her, and Margaret looked up in surprise, shivering slightly. It had almost felt like a breeze from an open window, and there was no way it could be that. The weather had been quite cool lately, too cool for her to have opened any, and even if she had, she always shut them again whenever she went out.
The sense of unease had returned, and it was stronger than before.
Margaret gathered her robe a little closer and looked nervously at the many windows of her kitchen, the dark night staring back in at her. She started to wonder if she had perhaps missed a window, and tried to think of the last time she had done a little house patrol, checking the locks on all the doors, the security of the windows.
Margaret also thought of how Dana had asked several times if she could have some friends of Mulder’s install an alarm system, and how she had so far balked at the idea, telling Dana she felt safe in the house. She mused to herself that maybe she was being a little foolish and perhaps even naive, and resolved to call Dana in the morning and tell her to set something up with her friends.
Another chill, this one a little stronger, and she became sure it was a breeze of some sort. Down the hall to the left was the side entrance of the house, with a small mudroom, and there was a window in there that she sometimes opened up to combat the musty smell.
She must have forgotten it.
Sighing, she tightened the sash of her robe and headed down the hall to shut it. As she approached, the rush of cool air was much stronger, and she shook her head at herself. It was definitely the window in the mudroom. She entered the room, and heard the crunch of glass beneath her feet just as she saw the hole in one of the windowpanes of the side door.
She froze, her hand going to her mouth, muffling her instinctive gasp of shock. Her eyes moved from the broken pane to the brass lock several inches below. It was turned to the side, in the unlocked position. Her heart started to thump painfully, and she backed away on fright-stiffened legs, head swiveling from side to side to look down the dark hallway, which only a few minutes ago had not bothered her in the least. Now it was menacing and terrifying.
All she kept thinking was, Oh God, is there someone in the house?
Margaret finally found the strength to move, and hurried back to the kitchen to call the police. Her fingers were icy as she grabbed the receiver in one hand, the other one already lifting to dial 9-1-1, stabbing frantically at the suddenly microscopic-sized numbers.
Just as she realized there was no dial tone, she happened to glance down at the kitchen table. There was something there, propped against the ceramic pig salt and peppershakers that had been a gift from Matthew, something she had not noticed when she first entered the kitchen.
Even while she was wondering what was wrong with her phone, one shaking hand was reaching out to grasp whatever it was. She felt smooth cool leather, and like a light had gone off in her head, recognized it as an identification wallet, like Dana carried. Her fingers were suddenly nerveless as she pried the rectangular folder open. Her eyes had just focused on the small square picture of Dana when something fell from inside the wallet, and hit the table with a tiny scratching noise. She glanced down and caught the shimmer of gold, and knew with a certainty that it was Dana’s cross.
Oh dear God. Dana. Something had happened to Dana.
She dropped the phone, not caring as it hit the floor with a thud, and scooping up the necklace, the wallet still clutched in her other hand, ran for the front door. Her breath was panting in and out as she struggled with the lock and chain, and seconds later she was outside and heading for the next-door neighbor’s house.
Margaret darted up the two decorative cement steps onto the porch and pounded on their heavy wooden door, shooting frightened glances back over her shoulder, expecting a heavy hand to drop onto her at any second and yank her away. So intent was she on searching the dark night she didn’t hear the door being opened, and nearly screamed when a hand did indeed touch her. She spun around to see the sleepy, bewildered face of Ronald Johnson peering at her.
“Oh thank God!” she exclaimed. “Ronald, there’s an emergency, I need to use your phone.”
Ronald stiffened, moving his gaze past her to look suspiciously outside, and then ushered her in through the door. Still looking, he gestured vaguely down the hall, saying, “Go ahead, Margaret, you know where it is.”
As Margaret made her way to the Johnson’s kitchen, she faintly heard Mary Johnson calling down to her husband, asking if everything was all right.
No, it’s not, she wanted to scream, my baby’s in trouble, but she did not, and instead focused all her attention on dialing 9-1-1.
The moment the operator answered she took a deep breath and stated her name and address, surprised at how calm her voice sounded, and then said the nature of her emergency. As the operator asked for more information she implored the woman to reach Assistant Director Walter Skinner with the FBI, and told her that it was about the possible kidnapping of a federal officer.
At those words, Margaret detected a sudden urgency in the operator’s tone, and knew that the call to Dana’s boss would indeed be made.
She sank down into a chair, aware of Mary and Ronald standing behind her, to wait for the police and Walter Skinner to arrive.
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
12:40 am
Elliot watched the car pull into the parking lot through the telephoto lens of his camera. He had the perfect line of sight from his vantage point on the roof of the old warehouse, and could clearly make out Mulder’s features, particularly his very distinctive nose.
He snickered to himself when he saw that the headlights were not on. Did Mulder really think the car would not be seen because he turned them off?
He saw how Mulder studied the whole area, and approached with caution, almost slumped in his seat. He felt a surge of pride.
At long last the agent was recognizing him as a worthy opponent, not just a criminal to be taken down, or something slimy on the bottom of his shoe.
The thrill of the moment was fully upon him now, and he found it difficult to sit still. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from excitement, making it difficult to keep the camera steady, and his heart was pounding furiously.
He giggled softly to himself, because it was kind of funny really, where he was right then and there.
He had never thought things would have ended up like this, going almost full circle. During all the planning stages, when all he did was think about how to get back at Mulder, how to punish him for his part in Elizabeth’s death, he only ever imagined killing Mulder, perhaps choking him to death and burning his body, feeling that Mulder’s death would be enough. Then, when he was following Mulder, learning all about him, he had seen Dana, seen how she seemingly was the only person in Mulder’s life, much like Elizabeth had been in his, and it had suddenly become clear to him.
Take Dana from Mulder, as Elizabeth had been taken from him. Only that had not worked. Mulder had fucked up his plans. So now Mulder would pay with his own life, instead of Dana’s, as he had once originally plotted.
Full circle.
The chuckle this time was for how easy it had been to lure Mulder here. After fleeing Leesburg, and hiding out for a couple days, he had carefully emerged to discover that his plan of revenge had failed, that not only had Dana not died, but also that Mulder had been the one to save her. So he had started to hatch a new plan, one that would take them both out. Yet there had been a kink in that plan.
Dana’s mother wasn’t the only person he had been watching. The apartment building across the street from Dana’s had some wonderful spots that afforded him a great view right through her windows. And with the telephoto lens, it was almost like being right there with them. And whether or not they had been lovers before he had taken her, they most definitely were now. He had gotten quite the show on a few occasions.
His fingers clenched spasmodically on the camera. He couldn’t wait to talk to Mulder about them.
Mulder. Shit.
Lost in his reverie, he had actually forgotten about him. Elliot lifted the camera back up to his face and jammed the viewer against his eye to scan the entire surroundings. Damn, he couldn’t see him anymore.
Mulder must have parked the car against the side of the building.
One hand holding the camera tightly, Elliot jumped down from his perch and made his careful way along the catwalk to the metal stairs. He needed to get to the other position, for when Mulder came into the warehouse. He was sure that Mulder would instinctively know exactly where to go.
Where it had in a way all begun.
Finding one of the little niches he had searched out late at night, while hiding out during the day to avoid the routine police patrols through the area, he settled in to wait for Mulder. His mind returned to his thoughts of moments ago.
Besides getting quite a show while watching Dana’s apartment, and getting off during almost every one of them, he had also realized how difficult it would be to grab her again to use her as bait for Mulder. The few times that they had actually come up for air and ventured outside, Mulder had been on Dana like a second skin, although there had been a few moments where the man had been distracted. Just not long enough for him to do anything about it.
He still wasn’t sure now what had made him think of using Dana’s mother as bait instead. Not actually taking her, but letting Mulder think he had. He had seen Dana’s mother a couple of times with the big balding guy he had learned was Mulder and Dana’s boss at the FBI, and at first had not known who the small pretty, older woman had been.
It was amazing what kind of information could be charmed out of people.
One of the nurses at Walter Reed had been so enthralled with all the excitement of the two injured agents, that she had readily believed his story about being a reporter. And as much as he had wanted to kill her, feeling that indescribable need, he had let her live, not wanting to call attention to anyone even remotely connected with the agents or the hospital.
Once he had learned the woman was Dana’s mother, he had followed her first to Dana’s apartment, and later to her own home, noting the surveillance at the time.
And just a few short hours ago after cutting her telephone line, he had broke into her home and left her a little gift. He wondered when she would find it.
Suddenly all his nerve endings came alive, and he knew Mulder was there. He blinked a few times to clear his vision to peer through the dark, hearing faint scrabbling sounds, and there he was, barely illuminated by the light of the moon. Elliot smirked to himself as he watched Mulder poised in a crouch, his gun held out in his two hands, as if ready to fire at him. Or as if he expected to be fired upon.
Elliot smirked again. There would have been no fun in that, shooting Mulder just as he came through the door. And he could have, very easily, with Dana’s gun, which was sitting casually beside him on a crate. The irony of that did not escape him, to shoot Mulder with the gun belonging to the woman he loved would be sublime.
But he did not shoot Mulder. He wanted, needed, to torment him first.
He wondered idly how Mulder had managed to come here alone, surely against all protocol, and also if the agent had snuck out on Dana.
He had hope that maybe she would follow him. Now that would make things very interesting.
The lack of any further movement made him notice that Mulder seemed to be frozen to the spot, his hands shaking as he held his gun.
Again Elliot just knew that Mulder was reliving the moment when he thought he had seen his precious Dana hanging from the beams in the ceiling.
The memories that were evoked by that were glorious for him, personally. Mulder falling to his knees, crying out his love for his Scully. They were, and had been, beautiful. He was sure they were not quite as pleasant for Mulder.
Elliot laughed.
And watched as Mulder reacted fiercely, scrambling to his feet and pointing his gun in every direction, obviously trying to get a bead on his target – him. He also listened as Mulder yelled out his fury.
“Show yourself, you bastard! I’m here just like you wanted. Now where’s Mrs. Scully?”
Perfect. It had worked. The fool really believed the woman was here.
Elliot did not answer except to laugh again.
The All Night Cafe
Georgetown, D.C.
Saturday
12:55 am
Skinner smiled again at Allison as she fiddled with the spoon that was in her empty coffee cup.
A faint blush stained her cheeks, but she smiled back. She dropped the spoon, flinching a little when it clattered noisily against the saucer, and then clasped her hands together tightly on the Formica table. “Nervous habit,” she muttered.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked in surprise. He thought the evening had gone, and was still going, well. Neither one of them had wanted to part company after their dinner at The Bistro, and after the waiter there had made several trips past their table with disapproving looks, he had suggested they come here, to this late night diner, unimaginatively called The All Night Cafe.
Allison had agreed with enthusiasm. And here they had sat, drinking coffee, lots of coffee, and at one point, eating blueberry pie, for the last couple of hours.
Allison ducked her head a little, a tactic he had discovered she used when uncomfortable with the subject, and replied, “Yes!” She then blinked in surprise and said, “I mean no.” She blushed again and with a small sigh, said, “Well, a little, I guess.”
“Can I ask why?” he said next, a little concerned. He thought they had gotten passed the whole mess with her standing him up for lunch that day, but maybe he was pushing too hard. Perhaps what he had thought was enthusiasm to continue their evening had really been a reluctance to be the one to end it. His heart started to beat a little faster, and he actually felt flushed. He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch, a sure sign to all who worked under him that things were not right, and struggled to control his facial features.
Somehow Allison seemed to read whatever he was feeling, for she unclenched her hands and reached one out to touch his, loosely clasped on the table, her pretty brown eyes meeting his. “Oh, it’s nothing bad, Walter. Honestly.” The blush was back, but she kept her eyes on his. “I’m just worried about how this night’s going to end. I mean, well…”
Skinner could see only honesty in her eyes, and inwardly heaved a huge sigh of relief. Outwardly the only sign was the slight relaxation of shoulders that had gone tense. He realized suddenly where she was coming from, and hastened to reassure her.
“Allison, I’m not expecting anything here.” He turned his hand so that he was now gently holding hers, and let his thumb brush across her knuckles. “I had a really, really great time, and I’m hoping you did as well, and that we can do it again. Hopefully real soon.”
Her answering smile was wide, highlighting the adorable dimples in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. “I had a great time too, Walter, and definitely hope we can do it again.” She giggled girlishly, charming him all over again, and added, “Soon.”
His beeper chose that moment to go off, and with a grimace he reached down to pull it off his belt where it was securely clipped.
The number displayed was that of the Bureau’s Emergency Contact Department.
The muscle in his jaw started again, for he knew this could not be good. He had rarely been contacted this way, and in the few instances he had, the reasons had always been because there was trouble.
Skinner fumbled in his inner jacket pocket for his cellular phone, and quickly dialed the Contact Department. He could feel Allison watching him, and lifted his eyes to see her biting her lip.
When she saw that he was looking at her, she said softly, “Do you need some privacy?”
He shook his head quickly, listening to the phone ring in his ear.
If it were private, he’d leave their cozy little booth. Once the line was answered, he gave his name, title and badge number. He was asked to hold, and a moment later another voice came on the line, that of the department’s senior personnel. The hand that was not holding the phone clenched tightly into a fist as he heard about the incident at Margaret Scully’s house. He gave a terse thank-you and disconnected the call to immediately make one to Scully’s apartment. It rang twice, and then her answering machine clicked on. He left a brief message, leaving his cell number and folded the phone up and tucked it back into his jacket.
“I need to take you home right away. There’s a…situation,” he explained, holding one hand out to help Allison up out of the booth. His entire body was taut with tension, and the words came out through gritted teeth.
“Walter, I can get a cab, its no problem,” Allison said softly.
“I can tell it’s very important. I don’t mind, really.”
Skinner was torn. He needed to get to Mrs. Scully’s ASAP, and to coordinate things to get a unit over to Scully’s apartment, but he wanted to see Allison safely home. He had an idea, and pulled his cell phone out once more. He hit the speed dial, and a moment later was ordering a car to come and pick Allison up to take her home.
Tucking the phone away again, he turned to her with an apology in his eyes. “I’m very sorry about this, Allison. There’s an agent coming to take you home. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” With that, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek before striding rapidly outside to his car.
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
1:00 am
The laughter was mocking, and sent chills down his spine. Chills that lingered even after the laughter stopped. In the sudden silence, Mulder tried desperately to peer through the gloom, to pin down Andercott’s location, but could not. He relaxed the grip on his gun fractionally, and continued to move about, circling slowly, all the while advancing further into the warehouse.
He was not sure how far he would be allowed to move, was expecting at any second to hear a bullet whine by his ear in warning, but knew he could not just stand there and do nothing.
His eyes eventually adjusted to the almost negligible lighting, and he was actually able to make out the faint outlines of objects, abandoned crates and the odd piece of furniture shoved up against the walls.
Yet he still could not see where Andercott could be hiding, or where he could be keeping Mrs. Scully. He had briefly considered that the psychotic bastard might have rigged something up, a way of playing a recording of laughter, that he was not even really here, for he had not yet heard the man’s voice, but had rejected that notion almost immediately. Andercott had wanted him here for a reason, and whatever that reason was, he would want to witness the events firsthand.
Enough of this shit.
“Andercott!” he bellowed. “Are we going to get on with this, or what?” He hoped his words would push the bastard into saying something, and maybe reveal his location.
“Or what, indeed,” was the response, followed by a giggle.
It had sounded like Andercott’s voice had come from the far corner to his right. Mulder whirled around, squinting in an effort to see better. That whole part of the warehouse was situated in the deepest of shadows, and he really couldn’t be sure if anyone was there. He moved anyway, raising and lowering his feet carefully in an effort to minimize the noise. There was a chance that Andercott too was hampered by the darkness, and might not be able to see him either. He cursed silently, recalling that there was an industrial strength flashlight in the trunk of his car. Fat lot of good it was doing him sitting there.
He opened his mouth to yell out again, when Andercott said, “Besides, Mulder, I like to watch you.”
Mulder thought he could make out the sound of a footstep, almost like the heel of a shoe clanging against metal, and strained towards the noise.
It was not repeated, but he did hear what could be the rustling of clothes, as if Andercott were moving around. He stopped and stood still, closing his eyes, and attempted to picture the warehouse as it had been that day. With his eidetic memory it should have been easy, but because all his focus had been on the body he had believed to be Scully’s, details of the warehouse were sketchy.
He did however remember staring up at the beams around which the rope had been tied, and beyond those beams, a series of catwalks high up near the ceiling.
His eyes popped open. That had to be how Andercott was moving around and staying out of sight. Hopefully this knowledge would help him in some way.
When Andercott’s voice came the next time, it seemed to be almost above him. “I liked watching you and Dana, too.”
Angling his head back to look up, Mulder felt another chill at the man’s words. Just the way he had drawled out Scully’s name gave him a very bad feeling. “When were you watching us, Elliot?” he asked, somehow knowing what the man was going to tell him in reply and that he would not like it at all, but feeling compelled to ask nonetheless.
“All the time, Mulder.”
Innocuous words, really, but the tone, lascivious and knowing, gave them new meaning. The bad feeling got worse. Mulder also had the sense that Elliot knew the effect his words were having, and did not want to play into the man’s hands any further, or give him encouragement. He began moving again, still scanning the ceiling; now able to make out the dim outlines of the catwalks he had remembered seeing.
“Really, Mulder,” Elliot said conversationally, as if they were two friends having a chat over coffee. “You and Dana should be a bit more…circumspect, shall we say? That little scene outside her apartment building? Where you had your tongue down her throat in broad daylight? Tsk, tsk, Agent Mulder.”
Mulder’s shoulders tensed as he remembered that moment, how abandoned they both had been. Until the honking car had shocked them back into reality, and Scully had reacted with embarrassment.
It had been a foolish move on both their parts, and it angered him to know that Elliot had witnessed it. Obviously the bastard had been watching them, perhaps even following them, and it made him wonder what more the man had seen. Although Mulder was fairly certain Elliot was going to tell him, and that the bastard was enjoying it very much, and probably reveling in the sense of power he thought it gave him.
He hadn’t heard any movement this time, but when Elliot’s voice came again, it was from somewhere else. Mulder assumed Elliot had spent much time in the warehouse, and knew all its nooks and crannies, and the entire layout of the large building, like the back of his hand.
An advantage Mulder was not going to let him use for much longer.
He continued his slow but steady advance towards what he believed was a staircase along one wall leading to the catwalks above.
“That little scene in the Laundromat was quite…hmmm, what’s that word I’m looking for? Oh yes. It was quite arousing.” There was a timed pause, the silence almost deafening, before he continued.
“For Dana, for you…and for me.”
Mulder felt bile rise in his throat. Both at the thought that Elliot had watched he and Scully playing on the washing machine, and most especially because the man was implying he had enjoyed watching them do so.
Despite his own admitted proclivity for pornographic videos, which had declined almost to the point to being non-existent in the last year or so, Mulder found it sickening to be the one who had been watched, as opposed to doing the watching. He had also never participated, or wanted to participate in a live viewing, so to speak.
“What, nothing to say, Mulder?” Elliot asked mockingly. “Doesn’t it bother you to know that I’ve seen you?” Yet another laugh followed his words, joyful and sardonic at the same time.
That emphasis on the word ‘seen’ told Mulder that Elliot was not quite through with his revelations, and he steeled himself to hear even worse. All the while he continued to search out the shadows and to feel with his feet as he walked, hoping he would not find Mrs. Scully injured, or even worse, already dead.
“Answer me, Mulder!” Elliot barked, sounding angry. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
Mulder pondered his reply. He could tell an outright lie and say no, it didn’t, but would Elliot somehow pick up on that lie? He could turn the tables on Elliot and tell him he was more worried about how excited Elliot seemed to have gotten from the watching then the watching itself, explaining he was used to being spied on.
Which was the truth, he and Scully had both been under watchful eyes in the past, and probably still were to this day, to some extent or another. However, not knowing where Mrs. Scully was, his provocation could have terrifying results.
Finally, he decided on the truth. “Yes, it bothers me.” His teeth were gritted with the effort to keep his voice calm, while inside his emotions were roiling. If he had Elliot in his sights right at that moment, nothing would stop him from charging at the man and taking him down.
That fucking giggle came again.
“I knew it did, Mulder,” Elliot said after a few minutes. “You’re very protective of Dana, I’ve seen that. And she’d be horrified to learn I’d been watching the two of you together, wouldn’t she?”
He didn’t wait for an answer; the question had apparently been rhetorical. “I wish she were here now so I could tell her what else I saw.”
Another pause.
“And how much I got off on it.”
Mulder’s jaw tensed. Here it was. He had known it was going to lead to this next announcement. All along his mind had been flicking back to all the times he and Scully had made love, how many of them were visible through the windows because they hadn’t realized, hadn’t even considered that someone could be watching them.
And despite the fact he was now deeply regretting not calling for backup or waking Scully up, he was glad she was not here to have to listen to Elliot’s evil voice telling him these things.
Revenge Part 24 by Lovesfox
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
1:00 am
Scully stood on the street a few buildings down from Zeus Warehousing and watched the taillights of the taxicab retreating until it finally turned a corner and was gone from sight. There was very little light along this road, which dead-ended about 100 meters down in the opposite direction the cab had taken, and all the buildings around her had that decrepit, abandoned, or about to be abandoned feeling. No sign of life anywhere.
She cursed herself suddenly, loud in the darkness of night. This had not been a very smart move on her part, was in fact the opposite of everything she had ever been taught at the Academy. She should have called Skinner, or someone, though God knows whom else she could, and told them where she was going. Although she and Mulder had never been ones to follow many of the rules, preferring to operate on their own.
But they had usually had each other for backup.
She gritted her teeth and thought, she was going to be Mulder’s backup. Or tried to convince herself of that.
It was a bad idea, on both their parts. Mulder should not have gone alone, and neither should she have.
And of course she had not grabbed her cell phone in her haste to follow him. The cabbie was long gone by now, and the chances of there being a working telephone anywhere nearby were slim and none.
She spit out another curse, one that would have made a sailor proud.
It was much colder here, on the waterfront. She shivered and decided she’d better get moving. Who knew what kind of lead Mulder had on her, he could have been here for upwards of half an hour already.
With that thought, she began to run towards her destination, her eyes focused on the battered and faded sign that was hanging halfoff the building the cabbie had pointed out with his chin and a muttered, “Ya sure, lady?” once he had pulled the cab to a stop.
Much as he had asked her when she had first climbed into the cab and recited the address.
As she neared, angling across the wide, empty lot in front of Zeus, she was able to make out the shape of a car parked very close to one wall. She was almost certain it was Mulder’s.
She could also see the wide open door a few feet away from the car.
Her steps hesitated, she did not want to enter the building through that very obvious door, and then resumed as she decided to head around the back and look for an alternate means of entrance.
Hopefully an entrance that would go unnoticed.
Coming around the back of the large warehouse and storage structure still at a run, she realized how big it actually was, nearly a city block long, and in height it was at least two storeys tall, even higher at some points. Mulder and Elliot Andercott could be anywhere, and she hoped she would be able to find them before…
She shook her head to banish the thought that was trying to form, but her sadistic side finished it anyway.
Before Elliot killed Mulder.
For that had to be why he had lured Mulder here, by whatever means he had employed and she had not been privy to.
She was soon at what had been the receiving dock, and her pace slowed and then stopped. Climbing up on the wooden frame, she discovered it was locked up tight, the roll doors where trucks had delivered and picked up goods padlocked shut. There was one emergency exit door as well, but it had no handle to tug on, nor any way or means to try and pry it open, and after a frustrated smack of her hand on the metal surface, she jumped down from the dock.
Resuming a fast pace, she came upon a bank of windows about 12 feet of the ground. Several of them were broken, and she was pretty sure she could squeeze through at least one of them, if she could get herself up to it.
Remembering the pile of crates she had seen heaped to one side on the receiving dock, she jogged back there and searched for the sturdiest. Hefting two that looked like they would hold up, she carted them back to the window she had chosen, and positioned them beneath it, stacking one on top of the other.
Climbing onto them, she was still a few feet short of her goal, but did not want to waste any more precious time in retrieving another crate. Scully stretched up on her tiptoes and firmly grasped the bottom of the window frame. Gritting her teeth she lunged upward with determination, while using her arms to pull herself up, her muscles quivering with the effort. With a grunt, and a move that demonstrated her litheness and often underestimated strength, her middle section landed on the frame where her hands had been. Now came the tricky part. Getting the rest of her body up so she could maneuver herself around to land on her feet inside the warehouse.
Twelve feet may not seem like much, but when you had to dangle from a window and let yourself drop to the ground blind, it could be quite dangerous. Sustaining an injury now would not help Mulder or herself.
And it would be a blind jump. The moon was hiding behind a layer of clouds, and what little light there had been was gone. She could make out next to nothing in the room in which she was preparing to enter.
And like her forgotten cell phone, her Maglite was at home as well.
Damn it. Oh well, moaning about it was not going to make it better. She had to keep going.
Panting slightly, she managed to shift to the side a little, and bring her legs up; thankful the window was both wide and tall. A careful twist, her feet finding the inside wall to guide her so that she could slide her body down until she once more was hanging by her fingers. Deep breaths to fortify herself, her heart pounding with fear and adrenaline, and then she let go, pushing slightly away from the wall.
She landed with a small thud and another grunt, bending her knees to take the impact off her ankles, her arms outstretched to maintain her balance. She did not fall, nor had she landed on or hit anything on her way down, for which she was thankful. Because she had no idea where Mulder or Andercott could be, she did not know if any noise she made could be detected. She waited a moment or two, to see if there was any sort of reaction to her entry into the building, and then pulled her Sig from her pocket, holding the reassuring and familiar weight.
Turning around and blinking slowly as she let her eyes adjust to the blackness, she moved her head to each side to see if she could make out anything that would give her an idea of where to go. Seeing a gray patch about the size of a doorway cutting through the black, she began to step carefully towards it, sliding each foot forward to feel for objects or impediments, her hands outstretched once more in another cautious gesture. Walking face first into a wall or piece of furniture would not help her either.
Scully exhaled softly in relief when she reached the gray patch, for it was indeed a doorway. Passing through it, she let one hand trail along the cement wall as she moved down what she thought was a hallway.
She tried to remember what she had seen of the warehouse when Elliot had first held her captive her, but her memories were hazy, and other than when he had dragged her to where he had killed that poor woman, she had been kept in one small room.
She tensed then, cursing in her mind. She had let herself dredge that time up, when she had been trying so desperately to keep it buried. She did not want to remember being tied up and drugged, waking up time after time afraid for her life. Being forced to watch as a woman chosen only for her likeness to herself was hung to death.
Enough. Think of Mulder. You need to find Mulder.
Her resolve strengthened, she continued on. Her fingertips grazed the edges of doorways, and at each one she would pause and tilt her head to the side and listen, her gun cocked and ready, held pointed upwards, arm tensed in readiness to bring it down and aim. When she felt secure she would take a quick peek, able to make out nothing, and then move onward.
Up ahead, and to the left, she could see a faint area of lightness, in the elongated shape of a large rectangle, like light spilling from a doorway. She quickened her steps and as she neared the area, she thought she heard laughter. She froze for a second, peering down the hallway, and her closeness revealed that there was an opening, the size of two huge doors.
A memory flicked through her, and she shuddered. That was where Elliot had taken her to witness the woman dying, where Mulder had later come to find what he had believed was she, hanging from the rafters, and she and Elliot had watched through the eye of a camera.
The sound of voices was next, one full of anger. It was Elliot, yelling Mulder’s name, wanting an answer, asking if it bothered him.
Her heart skipped a beat and then started to pound rapidly.
Mulder was alive; he had to be if Elliot was asking him questions.
Mulder’s reply was not immediate, and she wondered to what Elliot had been referring to.
She crept ever closer, until she was hugging the wall right next to the doorway, and then heard Mulder’s voice, saying, “Yes, it bothers me.”
The words were even, but because she knew Mulder so well, had heard his voice even in her dreams, she could hear the fury. And something more, something that sounded like horror, or disgust.
Obviously the topic had not been a pleasant one.
Scully risked a peek around the doorframe, looking all around, and was actually able to make out a few things, for the moon had apparently come out from behind its cover of clouds. She could see Mulder off to one side, crouching slightly, his gun in his hand, his head moving as he searched all around him. She could see the rafters high in the ceiling, and what could be catwalks up there as well. She could not, however, see Elliot.
Elliot chose that moment to speak again, and she quickly pulled her head back. At his words, she understood Mulder’s fury. Revulsion rolled through her in waves. Oh God, he had been watching them, and by the particular emphasis on together, she knew he meant he had watched them making love. She felt physically ill, and had to fight back the impulse to gag, to bend over and empty the contents of her stomach.
She also knew he was taunting Mulder with the news, and that he was probably waiting for Mulder to make some kind of move. And then he would…God, would he shoot Mulder? Skinner, Mulder, they were all certain he had her gun, from when he had grabbed her coming home from work, and from what they had seen themselves, and what Mulder had shown her from the case file, he was fully capable of murder.
She had to back him up now.
Taking a deep breath, Scully crouched a little herself, and moved around the doorframe and into the large warehouse area. She had barely taken a few steps when Elliot spoke once more.
“Ah, Dana, how lovely it is that you could join us. I was just telling Mulder about how much I had enjoyed watching you two fuck.”
1:15 am
Elliot had made his words deliberately crude, hoping for a reaction. And of course he got one.
He smiled to himself with delight as he took in the disgust and horrified shock on Dana’s face, emotions she was not able to conceal, as she stood frozen just inside the door. He did not think this moment could get any more perfect. It was amusing that just moments ago he had been telling Mulder about how he had wished Dana could be there to hear him, and now, here she was. It had to be fate.
Dressed all in black she was, and with a hat on in a failed attempt to disguise the glory of her hair. She had probably even been thinking she was sneaking in unawares. He shook his head. His eyes had long been used to the darkness of the warehouse, and on top of that, the moonlight behind him had provided some illumination. So that when Dana had peeked around the doorframe, the strands of red escaping from her baseball cap had been like a beacon.
And had set his heart racing.
From where he was perched, still up on the catwalks, Elliot could see them both easily, and he let his gaze leave Dana to check on Mulder.
The agent was standing stock-still, the sudden woodenness of his features an indication that his words had had momentous impact, staring at his partner. Elliot shook his head again and corrected himself. Mulder was staring at his lover. He wished he were close enough to see their eyes, especially Mulder’s, but not magnified through glass.
When he had first started following them, learning them, and taking roll after roll of pictures of the two of them together, and later of Dana alone, thanks to his telephoto lens, and occasionally the pair of high-powered binoculars he had picked up at a pawn shop, he had been able to see the emotions in their eyes, the emotions they hid and did not allow to be displayed on their faces for others to see. He had realized that they spoke not only with their voices, but also with their eyes.
He wondered what Mulder’s eyes were saying right now.
Either sensing he was under scrutiny, or angrily impatient, Mulder suddenly yelled out, “I asked you this before Elliot. Are we going to get on with this, or what?” He had turned slightly away from Dana, and was once more scanning the ceiling.
Elliot dropped the hand which had been reaching for his camera to look anyway, having decided through the lens of the camera was better than not at all, and flicked a glance from Mulder to Dana.
She had taken another step forward into the room, and was also searching the shadows.
Mulder’s tone had been belligerent, and Elliot realized it was a ploy. He now knew what Mulder’s eyes had been telling Dana. Mulder was trying to take control of the situation, to distract him by talking while Dana slowly moved around and tried to find him. A sign of partners long used to each other, of teamwork. He was going to have to break that up. There was no way he was going to let Mulder gain the upper hand.
“But I’m not finished telling you about what I saw yet, Mulder,” he crooned, eyes darting back and forth between Mulder and Dana, trying to catch both their reactions. Dana’s footsteps seemed to falter for just an instant, her body tensing, but then she continued on.
Mulder’s jaw was clenched; Elliot was able to make that out even from the distance between them, yet he too was still scanning all around him.
He had gotten reactions, small ones, yet they were still attempting to carry out their plan. Elliot put his hand in his pocket and pulled out Dana’s gun. He brought his other hand up and caressed the cool metal for a moment before slowly and deliberating checking the weapon for ammunition and then cocking it. He already knew the gun was loaded, had checked it the day he took Dana, having found it when he carried her into the warehouse, and several times after that in confirmation. He just wanted them to know it, too.
The click had been loud, echoing in the warehouse, and this time he noted, feeling a little gleeful, both agents froze in place, their own weapons clenched tightly and held at the ready. Elliot chuckled and said, “That’s better. Now Dana, I want you to turn around slowly and walk over to Mulder.” She did not move right away, and in fact looked back at Mulder as if asking him what she should do.
“Now, or I’ll shoot him!” he barked.
Dana flinched, but did what he asked, walking steadily back towards Mulder until she was standing a mere foot away. While she was doing that, Elliot took the opportunity to move again, coming very close to another staircase, one that would bring him no more than 15 feet away from where Mulder and now Dana were standing. He checked them and saw that they were again staring at each other, silently communicating, and Elliot was tempted to let off a round to stop them.
“That’s better,” he said more softly, and watched how they both started to look around, obviously having judged by where his voice was coming from that he had once again changed positions. “Now I want you both to put down your weapons and kick them away from you.”
He remembered something from a TV show he had watched once, and quickly added, “And don’t get cute on me. I want those guns as far away from you as possible.”
Elliot could see them both a lot better, and was able to see quite clearly how Mulder looked at Scully, the indecision and even panic on the agent’s face.
Then Mulder turned back to his general direction and yelled out, “We’re not relinquishing our weapons until you tell us where Mrs.
Scully is!”
Dana’s gasp was audible, and the look on her face as she stared at Mulder was indescribable. Elliot could only describe it as a mix of shock, horror, and pain, with perhaps a hint of anger. Anger towards Mulder?
He realized with sudden insight that she had not known about his threat to Mulder about her mother. It was terribly bad of Mulder, and perfectly wonderful at the same time. How could he exploit this to his benefit?
“Mulder?” came Dana’s whispered voice, cracking slightly on the second syllable. It implored Mulder to turn and look at her, but he did not, standing rigidly only a few steps away from her, staring towards where Mulder believed him to be.
Surprisingly, Mulder was dead on. He just didn’t know it, being not quite able to see through the darkness of the corner in which he was now situated, just at the top of the stairs, poised on coming down.
He giggled and mimicked in a high falsetto, “Mulder?”
Mulder did turn around then to face Dana once more, and spoke, but so quietly Elliot could not make out the words. He could see Dana’s face though, how it twisted up in what he thought was an effort not to cry, and how she was biting her lip.
“Mulder!” Elliot yelled. “There are no secrets here. What did you tell Dana?” He didn’t like not knowing what they were saying to each other, for Dana’s lips were now moving in reply and he could not make out what she had said either.
Dana replied instead of Mulder, calling out in a voice that only shook slightly, “He told me what you had said to him on the phone.”
She hesitated and then asked, “So where is my mother, Elliot?”
Elliot’s anger had disappeared as quickly as it had come. The smirk was apparent in his reply. “Actually, I don’t have a clue where she is, Dana. Have you lost her?” He followed with another giggle, which turned to a full-blown laugh as he saw the identical looks of confusion on their faces. “It was just a ruse!” he called out in between fits of laughter. “And Mulder fell for it!”
This time he caught Dana’s muttered voice. She had called him a bastard.
Quick as a flash he was angry again. “Put your guns down on the floor now and kick them away!” he screamed. “Or I’ll shoot you both where you stand.” His hand holding the gun was shaking, but he still managed to keep it aimed at them.
“No you won’t,” was Mulder’s reply, sounding amazingly calm and matter-of-fact. “You wanted me here for a reason, and shooting me now would spoil all your fun, wouldn’t it?”
Smug asshole, Elliot thought, and squeezed the trigger.
Margaret Scully’s Residence
Baltimore, MD
Saturday
1:35 am
Walter Skinner watched Margaret Scully’s hands shake as she lifted her teacup to her mouth to take a sip. It was the only outward appearance that the night’s events had gotten to her. He found himself once again comparing her to her daughter, and admiring her strength.
He shifted on the couch beside her to take a look out the large living room picture window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the CSU, to no avail.
True he had only called them a short time ago, but he had put a priority on the case. He frowned, the muscle in his jaw ticking again, and returned to his study of Scully’s mother.
After driving like a madman to get to her house, with his bubble light on the dashboard, and thanking God there was little traffic due to the lateness of the hour, he had arrived to find several police cruisers parked haphazardly on the street in front of her home. A flash of his badge had gotten him inside, where he had questioned the first officer he saw as to the whereabouts of Mrs.
Scully. Told she was next door, he had taken a moment to check out the scene in the mudroom, which had been cordoned off awaiting the arrival of the Crime Scene Unit, before heading over to speak to her.
He had found her in the neighbor’s kitchen, sitting with a woman whom she had introduced as Mary Johnston, her face pale and tearstreaked, but at the same time, completely composed. He had also been able to see that she was very uncomfortable there, and had decided that sitting in her own living room would not hamper the investigation or compromise the crime scene in any way.
So he had brought her home, and questioned her quietly and efficiently in what she probably no longer considered a safe haven.
There had been little for her to tell, beyond not being able to sleep and discovering first the broken window in her mudroom, and then finding Dana’s things as she tried to call the police. She had not recalled hearing any noises, or seeing a strange car or person about the neighborhood.
Margaret seemed to sense his study, and turned her head slightly to meet his gaze. She almost dropped the teacup in the process, and gasped loudly, her other hand coming up to steady it, just as he lunged forward to do the same.
Their hands collided, and the tea spilt, dribbling onto her robe.
She gasped again, but Skinner was certain it was not because it was hot; in fact he knew it had to be lukewarm by now, having been made by her neighbor some time ago, but more because of the situation they were now in.
Waiting to find out if Dana was in danger. Again.
They both jumped up, he babbling an apology, she muttering to herself. It ended up being a tension-breaker, of sorts, and they both gave each other small smiles. Skinner watched as Margaret left the room to go get changed after excusing herself, and then pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. Also like the CSU, his calls for agents to check out both Mulder and Scully’s apartments had not been made too long ago, but he felt the need to check anyway.
He dialed Agent Traci Reynold’s cellular number and after two rings, heard her familiar Oklahoman twang. A brief conversation revealed she had not yet arrived at Scully’s apartment, and would call as soon as she had.
He knew the other team of agents sent to Mulder’s apartment would not have arrived yet either, as Mulder lived further away from the Bureau, so he did not bother checking in with them yet, and tucked his phone back in his pocket.
“Did you hear something?”
Margaret’s voice startled him, for he had not heard her come back down the stairs, although no one would have been able to tell. He had learned to hide his reactions long ago in the jungles of Vietnam, where a flinch or a sudden move could get your head blown off.
Skinner turned to see her standing in the doorway, dressed in pants and a sweater, the look in her eyes hopeful. He hated that the negative shake of his head made the hope fade.
She entered the living room, but instead of resuming her seat on the couch, she instead walked over to the window to stare outside.
He knew what she would see – police cars still parked on her street, their blue and red strobe lights flashing the news that something terrible had happened here, and perhaps officers moving through her neighborhood, conducting a door-to-door canvass to see if they could learn anything about the intruder that had broken into her home.
Even if they both were fully aware that it was Elliot Andercott who had been here. The gifts he had left behind, Scully’s ID wallet and her necklace, were proof of that. The police however, still had their job to do.
“It’s a little too soon for news, Margaret,” he said in a low voice as he joined her at the window. “The agents I deployed to Scul… to Dana’s apartment were not there yet. They’ll call me as soon as they arrive.”
She nodded her head jerkily, not turning from the tableau outside her window, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if fighting off a chill. “I know,” she said softly, a few seconds later. “I just hoped…I just keep hoping that they’ll get there, and Dana will be grumpy because they woke her up.” Her voice wobbled a little at the end, and she cleared it before continuing, now reminiscing.
“She always hated to be woken up as a child. She loved to sleep, and nothing disturbed her at all. Except when I had to wake her up to go to church, or for school.” She turned to look at him, hastily explaining, as if he would think less of Scully for what she was saying, “Not that she didn’t like to go to church, or to school.
She was the only one of my children who would get upset if school was cancelled for some reason. It’s just…when she slept, she slept deeply and well.” She turned back to the window, and her next words were very faint, and sad. “I don’t think she gets very much sleep anymore. Too many nightmares.”
Skinner winced to himself as he thought about all the things that could cause Scully to have nightmares, all of them experienced while working on the X Files. Yet he knew she wouldn’t give them up to stop the nightmares from happening.
Feeling slightly awkward, he lifted his hand to rest briefly on Margaret’s shoulder. “She’s going to be fine, Margaret. You’ll see.”
And hoped his words would be true.
1:35 am
Margaret Scully was grateful for the presence of the strong yet silent man beside her on the couch. Walter Skinner had an imposing presence and often a stern appearance, but she was able to see beyond that. Dana’s boss was a kind, caring man, who was deeply worried about her daughter, just as she was.
She was ashamed when her hand shook as she lifted the now tepid tea to her mouth, as she had been ashamed after breaking down at the Johnston’s once the police had been called. She had not wanted to lose control in front of Mary and Ronald, but the adrenaline rush from her frantic race to their door had faded, and she had been swamped by a wave of tiredness and fear.
Mary had tried to pry Dana’s ID wallet out of her hand, presumably to see what it was, and she had reacted rather strongly, pulling away from the woman with a gasped shock that had led to her bursting out in tears, clutching the leather folder to her chest. She had sniffled out an apology once she had gotten the sobs under control, and Mary had patted her back and murmured soothingly before going to put the kettle on.
Her husband had stood tensely at the front window, eyeing the neighborhood suspiciously. And reminding her so much of what Bill would have done in the same situation that it had brought a fresh round of tears.
She closed her eyes briefly in embarrassment at the memory, and when Mr. Skinner shifted on the couch beside her, it startled her. The teacup rattled on its saucer, and when she went to grab it with her other hand to steady it; Mr. Skinner tried to as well, and the tea spilled onto her lap. Placing the cup and saucer onto the coffee table quickly, before she spilled anymore, she rose to her feet, aware of Mr. Skinner doing the same.
He started to apologize just as she did too, and then they both stopped and smiled. For just a second, it seemed like everything was going to be fine.
“I need to go change out of this,” Margaret said, indicating the stain on her robe with one hand. “Please excuse me.” With that she left to head upstairs, aware of Mr. Skinner watching her go.
Once in her bedroom she put her robe in the hamper, and put on a pair of slacks and a sweater, deciding she should be dressed just in case…She froze in the middle of slipping on a pair of shoes, and tried to stop that train of thought. There was nothing wrong; Dana was going to be fine.
She found it difficult to believe in her own hopes.
With a deep breath, she glanced into the mirror and fixed her hair before turning to go back downstairs. It was not until she was stepping out into the hallway that she remembered she had put Dana’s necklace in the pocket of her robe. Hurrying over to the hamper, feeling moisture pool in her eyes, she pulled the robe out and stuck her hand frantically into one pocket. Her fingers encountered nothing but threads, and she felt the panic increase. Had she lost it?
Feeling foolish, she realized she had forgotten to check the other pocket. The tears in her eyes turned to those of relief when she felt the delicate chain there. Pulling it out, she moved back to the mirror and circled it around her neck, to keep it until she saw Dana again.
Halfway down the stairs she could see that Mr. Skinner was still standing where she had left him a few minutes ago, the only difference being that he now had a cell phone to his ear.
Her heart started to thump, and she said a quick prayer that it was Dana. She finished the last few steps and crossed the hallway to enter the living room. As she did, he folded the phone up and put it into his pocket. She wanted to shout ‘was it Dana?’ but instead asked, “Did you hear something?”
She tried not to panic when he shook his head, and walked over to stare out the window, at the scene that was in her front yard. The police were still there, and if she was not mistaken, there seemed to be more cars than had been before.
Margaret managed not to react when Mr. Skinner joined her at the window. The man walked like a cat, silent and graceful, and for a brief moment she allowed herself to admire him for the handsome, virile man that he was before once more thinking of him only as Dana’s boss, and the man who was going to help find her daughter.
He spoke quietly; telling her it was too soon for any news, as she had known in her mind, while her heart had foolishly hoped. She replied just as quietly, talking mostly to herself as she saw again Dana as a child, deep in sleep, her bright red hair across her pillow, nose buried in her blankets, telling him about how she had imagined the agents going to Dana’s door, and waking her from a sound sleep, something she hated and had since she was young.
Margaret turned to him once, explaining further, not wanting him to think Dana had been a slacker as a child, to find he was regarding her steadily, compassion in his eyes.
She resumed her study out the window, and fear and sorrow for her daughter made her voice even lower as she said, “I don’t think she gets very much sleep anymore. Too many nightmares.”
Mr. Skinner rested one warm, heavy hand on her shoulder, and she so wanted to lean into it, into him, and garner some of his strength.
He spoke again, saying, “She’s going to be fine, Margaret. You’ll see.” He said it with conviction, and because she wanted so badly for it to be true, she let herself believe him, like she had not been able to believe herself.
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
1:35 am
Sharp, burning pain streaked along his scalp at his temple and just inches above one ear as the echoes of the gunshot faded into the gloom of the warehouse. Mulder clasped his free hand to his head, feeling the hot wetness of his blood, and then threw himself to the ground, rolling over and over. His mind kept repeating ‘he shot me, he shot me’, and the thought stunned him, even though had already realized it was only a flesh wound.
He heard two more shots fired in rapid succession, and knew it was Scully. Probably firing at where she had seen the muzzle flash of Elliot’s weapon. He stopped rolling and ended up on his stomach, elbows propped, with his gun extended and ready to fire, eyes searching where he had thought Elliot had been. He blinked back the sweat and blood that was trickling down his forehead, his breaths harsh and panting. His heart was beating rapidly, his veins being pumped with adrenaline and more blood.
But there was no return fire from Elliot, nor any indication that either of Scully’s shots had found their target.
He guessed it had been too much to hope to see Elliot’s body lying twisted and broken on the ground, blood trailing from two wellplaced shots.
Scully hissed his name, saying softly, “You okay?”
Mulder took a deep, and hopefully calming breath, and then shot a quick look back and to his right, to where Scully had been.
She was still standing in almost the same spot, crouching slightly with her legs spread for balance, probing the darkness of the warehouse. Her gun was clasped in both hands, her arms outstretched. Somehow the hat on her head had fallen off, and her red hair was wild and brilliant. The expression on her face was fierce, and she reminded him of an avenging angel, or a Valkyrie, the warrior maidens of Norse mythology.
Prepared to slay his – their – demons.
For the briefest of seconds he was terribly and incredibly aroused.
“Mulder?” Scully repeated his name then, more urgently.
He realized he had not answered her question as to his well-being, and the tone of her voice chased his arousal away. Mulder went back to being just plain scared and a whole lot pissed off. Turning his head, wincing as the crease in his head stung with pain, he saw that she was still on guard, but sending anxious glances his way, clearly concerned because he had remained lying on the floor. She had also moved a little bit closer to him. “I’m okay, Scully. Bullet just glanced along my head.”
He rose to his feet, feeling foolish lying on the ground, and had to fight off a momentary wave of dizziness that made him stagger slightly. His wound still oozed blood, so he fished in his pockets, pulling out a rumpled but clean handkerchief, which he pressed firmly against it, before turning a bit and lifting his head slightly to scan the ceiling once more, even as he knew it was useless. He hadn’t been able to spot Elliot yet this way, and it was doubtful that he would now.
Then the sound of Elliot’s laughter registered, seemingly all around them, and Mulder tightened his grip on his gun, feeling his shoulders tense. It was the same laughter Elliot had made when he had told them that the call about Mrs. Scully had only been a ruse to lure him to the warehouse. Mulder had surprised himself by keeping his anger in check then, although now he let it have full rein. Scully had radiated hers, nearly bristling with it, and had reacted by calling Elliot a bastard. He flicked his eyes towards her once more, and knew she was barely holding it in check now.
The laughter stopped, to be replaced by Elliot’s voice. “Are you ready to listen to me now?” the madman asked, the smug pleasure impossible to ignore. “Maybe the next bullet won’t cause so little damage. Or maybe it will be for Dana,” he singsonged next, before chuckling a little. His tone changed like quicksilver as he barked, “Put your guns down and kick them away from yourselves. And no funny moves.”
Teeth gritted to hold back the curses he was dying to unleash, Mulder slowly bent his knees and placed his gun on the shiny concrete floor with a gentle clunk, hearing the twin sound of Scully’s gun also being put down on the ground. Just seconds after he had done so, as if she had been waiting for him to make the decision for them.
He straightened equally slow, holding out his hands, one still clutching the bloodied cloth that had been pressed against his head, to show Elliot they were empty. Peripherally he was aware of Scully doing the same.
“Not quite done,” Elliot said. “Kick them away.” The smugness was still there, but added to it now was superiority.
Mulder used the toe of his boot and did so, regretfully watching the metal of the gun glint in the moonlight as it slid across the floor with a heavy scratching sound. He felt naked and vulnerable without it, and was thinking furiously about how to retrieve the back-up gun at his ankle.
A second later he watched as Scully’s gun made the same trip, stopping a foot short of his, and about the same distance apart.
He glanced at her, wanting nothing more than to grab her and tuck her behind his back, to be her shield. She had moved even closer, and was now less than two feet away from him.
“That’s better,” they heard next.
Mulder wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but it seemed like Elliot’s voice was no longer coming from above them. That he might actually be down on the ground with them. He shot another look at Scully, and it was obvious she thought the same thing, for she was peering ahead in the darkness, instead of searching above them.
“Now Mulder, lose your back-up piece. I know you’ve got one.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit and shit.
How the fuck did Elliot know he had a back-up? Did he really know, or was he just bluffing? Mulder held himself tensely, trying to keep his facial features even and calm. “I don’t have one,” he called out.
His answer was the cocking of Scully’s stolen Sig, and then Elliot’s much lower and enraged-sounding voice. “Lie.” Elliot paused briefly. “Shall Dana pay for that lie?”
Jesus, no. He could feel the painful thudding of his heart all the way down in his stomach, which was tied in knots.
“All right,” Mulder called. “I’m taking it off, okay?” He went down on one knee, loud cracking pops accompanying the motion, and slowly brought his hands to the cuff of his jeans. He kept his head ducked down in an effort to hide the fact that he was frantically searching the room. He would have only one chance to pull his gun out and fire at Elliot, before the man could do the same, knowing Elliot’s gun was more than likely trained on Scully. If he could locate him.
Where the fuck was he?
“Mulder,” Elliot said. Just that one word, as a warning.
Damn it. Mulder yanked the gun free from the holster and threw it across the room, hearing it clatter noisily as it landed on the floor, and rose to his feet. Thankfully his dizziness was gone.
“Now what?” he spit out, unable to disguise his anger and frustration and fear.
“Now we talk some more,” Elliot said, and materialized out of the darkness, roughly fifteen feet away from them. Scully’s gun was evident in his hand, held waist-high and pointed directly at them.
Mulder judged the distance as too far away to risk rushing at the man. Elliot would be able to get off at least two rounds before he even got close. Hearing Scully’s rapid breaths, he took a few steps to the side to get closer to her, and maybe maneuver himself in front of her, all the while keeping his eyes focused on Elliot.
The man looked completely different than the composite, or how Mulder had ever pictured him. His hair had obviously been dyed, a horrible platinum blonde, and was cut very short and spiked. He was also clean-shaven. The only thing that was the same was the man’s eyes, although they seemed wild and flicked nervously from he to Scully, back and forth. Tension was visible in every line of his body, and the hand holding the gun shook every so often.
“What would you like to talk about, Elliot?” Mulder asked. He was thinking to himself that now was when the SWAT team was supposed to rush in and take the bad guy out. Except he had never called for back-up. He could only hope Scully had, and there was no way of asking her that. If he had believed in God, he would be praying to HHim right now. Perhaps Scully was doing that right now, and had graciously included him in her prayers, despite the fact that if they got out of this, she was probably going to kill him herself.
Finally, after what seemed like long minutes of silence, where the three of them stood in their strange tableau, he and Scully watching Elliot, and Elliot watching them, Elliot answered. “Well, I never got to finish telling Dana about how much I enjoyed jacking off while watching you two do the wild thing.” He grinned salaciously at Scully and added, “And you were wild, Dana.” He shifted slightly to include them both in his gaze and said, “You both were wild.
Like dogs.”
Mulder sensed, and almost felt, Scully stiffen beside him, heard her gasp, and wanted to punch the grin off of Elliot’s face. He clenched his fists uselessly, hating to listen to this sick bastard belittle how they had expressed their love with their bodies.
He felt entirely helpless.
Revenge Part 25 by Lovesfox
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
1:50 am
Wild. Like dogs.
The words kept echoing in her mind. Scully wanted to scream as loud as she could to make them stop, to scream and scream until it was the only sound she heard.
Wild. Like dogs.
She felt nausea rise anew. To have to hear this man, this sick pervert, debase the physical love she and Mulder shared, to hear how he had turned it into fodder for his own pleasure was one of the most difficult things her very private self had to endure.
Wild. Like dogs.
Her hand clenched into a fist, mourning the loss of her gun.
Wishing she had it still, for she would happily plug the bastard full of holes, for the feelings his words invoked were the basest, the most primal.
There was no thought of justice, or due process of law. There was only the thought to bring him down like the animal he was.
She could still remember the first instant after hearing the sharp crack of a gun firing how she had immediately dropped into a protective crouch, minimizing her potential as a target, hoping to avoid being in the bullet’s path. Her mind had been screaming, ‘get down, get down, get down’. In the next, instinct and training kicked in, and she had assumed a shooter’s stance, had aimed her gun at the location where she had seen the flash. She had pulled the trigger twice, one after the other, smoothly and cleanly, but unfortunately, she had not found her mark.
She recalled how she had all of a sudden realized she also had not heard any shots from Mulder’s gun. The concern she had felt as she had flicked a glance in his direction, and seen him down on the ground. Her heart, which had already been beating furiously since Elliot had fired his gun, had begun a triple beat. Had then only been able to think, had Mulder been hit?
Once Mulder had finally told her he was okay, that the bullet had only glanced him, and he had slowly gotten to his feet, she had let herself relax a fraction. Only to be forced to relinquish her gun, to watch it slide farther and farther away from her, too far to retrieve it without risking her self or Mulder. Mulder had done the same, with both his weapons, Elliot somehow knowing or guessing that Mulder had a back-up strapped to his ankle.
And here they stood, almost side-by-side, staring at Elliot, waiting for his next move.
They did not have long to wait. His insidious snicker came then, and the sound was as disgusting as the leer on his face. She focused her attention on his appearance to distract herself from both the snicker and the leer.
He had obviously been trying for a disguise of some sort, although she would have recognized him anywhere. No amount of hair dye or lack of facial hair would have hidden him from her. There was just something about him, something that made him linger in her mind.
And she hated him for it.
“That time against your door, Dana?” He phrased the words as if they were conversing together, reminiscing about old times, even tilting his head to the side like he was waiting for her response.
She unintentionally gave him one. She started forward, her fists clenched, biting her lip to hold back the words she wanted to yell in his face. Words she did not often use, words that would shock and shame her mother, even her sailor father, if he were alive.
Soft-voiced, Mulder said, “Scully.” Just that one word.
She knew it was a quiet warning or plea for her to keep her cool, and halted her forward movement. The fists, however, remained clenched. So tight she thought the knuckles had to be bleached white with the strain. She dug her fingernails deeply into the flesh of her palms, sure there would soon be crescent shaped marks emblazoned on them.
She welcomed the stinging pain as a distraction from the feelings invoked by Elliot’s words and voice.
Seconds after Mulder had spoke her name, Elliot said, “Ah, ah, ah,”
while wagging the gun at her in the manner a mother uses with her recalcitrant child. Seeing she had stopped, he tapped the gun to his lips and said sotto voice, “Now where was I?” He giggled and then said, “Oh! I remember now!” Like it was a revelation.
His performance was sickening. She knew damn well he had not forgotten, that he just wanted to drag the moment out as much as possible. Well, if it gave them a chance to make a move, she supposed it could be a good thing. She just hoped Mulder was right at this moment thinking of a plan to get them out of here, because she was drawing a complete blank. And bemoaning once more about how she wished she had grabbed her cell phone on the way out and called Skinner. Or even had gotten the Gunmen to drive her here.
“Anyway, Dana, before I was rudely interrupted, we were discussing that time against the door,” Elliot continued. “You know, after the two of you went for a walk?” He paused and then mused, “Though it was more of a march on your part, Dana. You seemed a bit… preoccupied at the time. In fact, I got the distinct impression you were angry with Mulder. Until you let him fuck you up against your door.” He leered again, and then spoke, his voice much lower, and filled with arousal. “It turned me on.” He giggled that same damn giggle, the one that sent shills down her spine and then asked quite chattily, “Do you know how…oh, naughty me, I was going to say ‘hard’,” another giggle “how difficult it is to hold onto a camera with a telephoto lens and keep it focused while playing spank the monkey?”
Scully had not meant to let herself get drawn in by his words, but she had. She could see herself that day, stalking around her apartment ready to bite Mulder’s head off at a moment’s notice, see herself walking as quickly as she could to stay ahead of him.
She could also vividly picture what had happened once they had shut and locked her door upon returning from their walk. She had been wild, from her desire and her love for Mulder, but she had not been ashamed then, nor would she be now. She was just angry and sick that Elliot had witnessed it, been aroused by it. Had pleasured himself during it.
She struggled to keep her face expressionless, her body tight with tension, and was peripherally aware of Mulder standing equally stiff beside her. She wasn’t sure but she thought she heard him whisper almost inaudibly, “I’m going to kill him.”
“Hmmm…” Elliot said. “No comment from either of you? Pity. I would love to hear your thoughts about me and my monkey.”
This time Mulder was the one who stepped forward, and she who said his name in an appeal for him to stop. She shot a glance at him, to see his hands clenched in fists as well.
Elliot looked disappointed that neither of them had reacted anymore than that, and his next words proved he was trying to egg at least one of them on. “I have to tell you, Mulder, by the way she handled your monkey, I’d rather she’d been the one handling mine. I never did get to finish what I started, did I, Dana?”
Flashback to his attempted rape. Scully flinched, for a brief moment felt his hands on her body, touching her everywhere, pulling her sweatpants down. She pushed the thought violently from her head, and forced herself to look him in the eye, not wanting to let him enjoy this moment any more by seeing her cowering and ashamed.
Beside her, Mulder had spit out, “You bastard!” He began to step forward, and added, “You miserable, taunting, impotent little bastard.”
Scully lunged forward too, and grabbed onto his arm to halt his progress, seeing that Elliot had stiffened at the first uttering of ‘bastard’, and had now trained his gun fully on Mulder. The muscles of Mulder’s arm beneath her hand were rock solid, and trembling with his rage. His entire body quivered with the urge to get to Elliot.
She whispered, “Mulder, don’t let him get to you like this. He’s taunting you on purpose.”
Mulder did stop his advance, but he did not stop his mouth. “That’s right, you bastard. I said ‘impotent’. Scully told me how you couldn’t keep it up. What’s the matter, Elliot? Can only do it when you’re watching other people? Or is it because she wasn’t your sister?”
Oh God. What was he trying to do? Did he hope that his words would anger Elliot enough that he could rush him? “Mulder!” she hissed, flicking a glance at Elliot.
The madman had gone completely rigid, and his eyes were almost bulging from the sockets, his face purple with rage. “Shut up,” he whispered first. He continued to repeat the same two words, getting more vocal with each repetition, until he was screaming them, spittle flying from his mouth.
Scully could feel Mulder’s body tensing, preparing to make the leap forward, when Elliot suddenly roared unbelievably loud, halting him completely.
“YOU MOVE ONE MORE GODDAMNED STEP AND I’LL BLOW HER BRAINS OUT!”
The words echoed and echoed, and when they finally stopped, Elliot heaved in a deep, noisy breath and then released it with an equally loud exhalation. He made a ‘move it’ gesture with his gun, looking directly at Mulder, and said, “Step back, Mulder, right now.”
Once Mulder had complied, Elliot moved slightly and shifted his gaze to her. “Now, Dana, we’re going to show Mulder that I am not impotent. Come here.”
Margaret Scully’s Residence
Baltimore, MD
Saturday
2:00 am
Skinner heard the cell phone in his pocket ringing, and lifted his hand and held it out in apology to the CSU agent, a young-looking woman by the name of Aislynn Waters, putting a halt to their discussion. He pulled the phone free, flipped it open and pressed send, barking out, “Skinner.”
He turned slightly away from the agent, grimacing slightly as he listened to the voice of Agent Reynolds telling him there was no sign of Scully or Mulder, and that it appeared as if the bed had been slept in, but whomever had been sleeping in it and gotten up in a hurry. Nightclothes on the floor, the bed unmade.
The muscle in his jaw twitched a little, as he heard the questions in her tone. It was obvious the signs pointed to the fact that only one bed was in use, and that she wondered about the relationship between the two currently missing agents.
He ignored it, and hoped she would do the same, as well as keep her assumptions to herself.
“Anything else?” he asked briskly, his free hand coming up to rub at his forehead, at the headache that had started not long after his arrival at Margaret Scully’s house, and was now building furiously into migraine-like proportions.
Through the tinny line of the cellular, Agent Reynolds told him about the two men her partner had observed sitting in front of Agent Scully’s apartment building in a dilapidated blue van, and the suspicious nature in which they had acted once confronted by Agent Marks. She lowered her voice a little to add that they were very strange, although she did not think they had anything to do with the missing agents. That in fact, they had been quite upset to learn that Agent Scully was not in her apartment.
Mulder’s friends, the Lone something or other. It had to be.
Skinner sighed, rubbing once more at his forehead, and then straightened up from his uncharacteristic slouch. Maybe they knew where Mulder and Scully were. “Where are they right now?”
“Um…Agent Marks brought them up to Agent Scully’s apartment, Sir,”
Agent Reynolds replied. “Marks is still talking to them.”
“Put one of them on the line, please,” Skinner requested. A sound behind him had him turning back to where Agent Waters had been, to see she was back at work, dusting the kitchen table for fingerprints.
A moment later, after a shuffling noise from his cell, a gravelly voice came through, asking a question without introduction. “You Mulder and Scully’s boss?”
What the hell? Skinner frowned and growled, “I’m AD Skinner, and yes, I am their boss. Who are you?”
“A friend,” was the short answer.
“Well, friend, I need to find both of them right away. Do you know where they are?” Skinner had to work hard on not yelling the words, and they came out terse and clipped.
“All we know is Mulder came out just after midnight and said he had to go somewhere, and for us to keep watching Scully’s apartment. We got the feeling he hadn’t told her where he was going,” the man said.
Skinner registered the unspoken words ‘and she’s not going to be very happy about it’, which at any other time would have made him smile, and pushed them away. Shit. Why the hell hadn’t Mulder told them where he was going?
The man continued. “We didn’t even know Scully was gone until your agents brought us up here. She musta snuck out somehow, maybe through the back. She definitely didn’t go out the front.” He then added, “And her car’s still here.”
Skinner was thinking rapidly. There was no one else Scully could call, and a bus seemed unlikely, so she had to have taken a cab.
Christ, there were so many cab companies around, it would take hours to contact them all, and even then, there was a chance the cabbie never registered the fare. Shit. But he knew it could be his only lead, as slim as it was. “Thank-you,” he said finally. “Put Agent Reynolds back on.”
She came back with a brisk, “Yes, Sir?”
“I’m going to have the Bureau contact all the cab companies to check if Agent Scully was one of their fares. You can let Mulder’s two friends go. I need you and Agent Marks to talk to the superintendent, see if he heard or saw anything, and get him to show you any other exits out of the building. It’s more than likely that Agent Scully did not use the front entrance. Report back to me if you learn anything.” He disconnected before she could reply, and quickly dialed the Bureau line to make his request about the taxicab companies, putting yet another priority on the job.
Once that was done, he pressed the end button and replaced his phone in his pocket. He stood there with his hands on his hips, and tried to think if he had missed something, skipped an important step. The pair of agents he had sent to Mulder’s place had checked in a few minutes before the call from Agent Reynolds, and had reported nothing unusual there, so that was not it. He cursed under his breath.
Agent Waters looked up at the sound, and quietly said, “I’ve only found one set of fingerprints so far, Sir. And from what you said Mrs. Scully had told you about using the phone to try and call the police, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb when I say they are more than likely hers.”
“Thank-you, Agent Waters,” he said, and started to pace a little, his hands on his hips.
He almost growled with his frustration. Why had Mulder and Scully not gone together? Something was not right. He knew Mulder would never have left Scully alone like that, not unless…
“Shit!” he exclaimed, startling Agent Waters. He waved at her in apology and then headed outside to find an agent to take with him.
He paused at the entranceway to the living room, to where Mrs.
Scully was sitting in the near darkness. “Margaret?” he called softly, unable to see her face.
She leapt to her feet with a gasp. “Is it Dana?” she asked, clasping her hand in front of her. Even from the distance separating them, he could see that they were shaking.
“No, there’s been no news yet,” he told her. “I need to go for a little while, check out some things. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”
She nodded her head jerkily, and whispered, “Thank-you, Mr. Skinner.”
Skinner did not reply, just looked at her for a moment, letting his eyes do the talking, and then turned to continue outside.
He saw Agent Andrews, talking to a couple of uniformed officers, and called him over. “Come with me,” he said. “We’re going to check out Zeus Warehousing.” He did not explain any further, but saw the comprehension in Andrews’ eyes.
That was the last known whereabouts of Elliot Andercott before he had turned up in Leesburg, Virginia.
They strode quickly over to his Bureau issued sedan and climbed inside. Skinner buckled in and brought the engine roaring to life, reversing quickly before turning the car in the right direction.
Many criminals often returned to the scene of their crimes.
Especially to those places that held particular meaning to them.
Andercott had already once returned to a place of big import, the mental hospital where his sister had died. There was a very good chance he would return to Zeus Warehousing, the place he had first lured Mulder to in his bizarre plan of revenge. Perhaps he had done so again.
It was not much of a theory, but it was the only one he had right now.
Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
2:00 am
Why weren’t they reacting like he wanted them to? Sure Dana had looked like she had swallowed something bitter, and Mulder had actually started to move as if the agent had planned to rush him and stop his flow of word with his bare hands, and had even muttered the words ‘I’m going to kill him’, but it was not enough.
Elliot wanted to see Mulder enraged and beyond all common sense. He wanted Mulder to actually attempt that rush, to get so close to him that Mulder would think he was going to succeed and then he would show him how wrong he had been. He would shoot him, not fatally, but wound him enough that he would be incapacitated, and then force him to watch as he killed Dana.
Maybe he’d even fuck her before he killed her. That would really torment Mulder. Then he’d either finish Mulder off, or leave him to die all alone, staring at her dead body. Mulder had ruined his plans back at the mental hospital, so it was only fitting that he come up with a new plan, one that he decided would be far more satisfying than his original one.
He had thought telling them how he had masturbated while watching them fuck against Dana’s door would have pushed that last button, especially with his crude talk, referring to it as spanking the monkey.
Yet Dana had been able to pull Mulder back just by saying his name.
It was discouraging.
He would have to try a little harder. Push a little further. He smiled inside, he thought he knew what would do it. It had become obvious that Mulder was extremely protective of Dana, even more so than one would expect of one partner to another. He would have to play on that fact to a greater extent.
“I have to tell you, Mulder, by the way she handled your monkey, I’d rather she’d been the one handling mine. I never did get to finish what I started, did I, Dana?” He had made his voice as intimate and carnal as he could.
Bingo!
Mentally he rubbed his hands together, and let a smile slide across his face. Dana had visibly flinched, although her face was a stoic mask. Mulder on the other hand, had gone beet red, and looked like he was ready to go ballistic.
Go for it, Mulder. I’m ready and waiting, Elliot thought. More than you could ever imagine. Vaguely he heard Mulder yell, ‘You bastard’. He stiffened; leveling the gun at Mulder, but stopped before he could fire it, and cautioned himself to ignore that for now.
And then came the moment he was waiting for.
Mulder started forward, and Elliot tensed, hand tightening on the gun. Let him get closer, he counseled himself. Let him get closer and shoot him in the stomach. He’d seen cop shows on TV, and anytime someone was shot in the stomach, the paramedics always looked really worried. And then he could do whatever he wanted with Dana.
Mulder yelled again, and Elliot heard only two words, ‘bastard’ and ‘impotent’. Through the sudden angry red mist that filled his vision, he saw Dana move forward and grab onto Mulder’s arm. His hands shook with fury, and he almost dropped the gun.
He hazily saw Dana’s lips move, but could not make the words out over the two roaring inside his head.
Bastard.
Impotent.
Over and over again.
Elliot wanted to scream, to tell them he was not impotent, but could not get the words out. His jaw was clenched so tight he thought it might shatter from the force.
Mulder yelled so loud this time that Elliot heard every word, and each one crashed inside his head. “That’s right, you bastard. I said ‘impotent’. Scully told me how you couldn’t keep it up.
What’s the matter, Elliot? Can only do it when you’re watching other people? Or is it because she wasn’t your sister?”
Images flashed in his head. He saw Elizabeth writhing beneath him in ecstasy, and then the picture changed to Dana’s bloodied face as she lay still under him, refusing to fight him. He saw himself running from her room in the hospital, leaving her bound on the floor. He saw his own hand as he pleasured himself with Dana’s panties, having been unable to do so with her. He stiffened even more, pain and fear and loneliness and despair rolling through his body, hearing the disgust and the anger in Mulder’s voice.
Elizabeth, where are you?
He was so confused.
Bastard.
Impotent.
NOOOOOOO!
Elliot finally found his voice. “Shut up,” he whispered, not knowing if it was his mind he was telling, or Mulder. He said it again, louder, and kept repeating it until he was yelling the words, feeling his own spittle flying from his mouth.
He also regained complete vision, in time to see Mulder about to move forward again.
He opened his mouth, filling his lungs with air, and roared, “YOU MOVE ONE MORE GODDAMNED STEP AND I’LL BLOW HER FUCKING BRAINS OUT!”
The sentence rang in the empty, cavernous warehouse, seeming to bounce off each wall, until the words finally died away. Once they had, Elliot gulped in more air, loudly, and then blew it out again.
He focused on Mulder and made a wagging motion with the gun, saying, “Step back, right now, Mulder.”
Elliot shifted after Mulder did so, and moved his gaze to Dana, who was standing tensely and just a little bit behind her lover. He was smiling inside when he said, “Now, Dana, we’re going to show Mulder that I am not impotent. Come here.”
Dana blanched; there was no other word for it, and this time Elliot did smile. Mulder’s face went tight and ugly, and his words were hoarse when he spoke.
“Scully, get behind me.”
Elliot raised the gun again, and said mockingly, “Dana, get over here.” He widened his smile to a grin, showing his teeth, and added, “Or I shoot him.”
He paused to let the threat sink in before continuing. “Do you want to chance it as to whether I hit him this time or not? The beauty of it is that you don’t know if I missed him on purpose, do you? Perhaps I’m an expert shot, and right now have this gun targeted at your lover’s stomach…or maybe right where a wellplaced bullet would render him impotent, as he so jarringly painted me.”
Elliot loved the tortured look in Dana’s eyes as she flicked them from the gun he held to his face and then to Mulder ahead of her at her left. “Now, Dana,” he snapped out, and was rewarded by her flinch.
Mulder hissed, “Scully, don’t listen to him.”
Dana shut her eyes and took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly before falling once more, and then she reopened them and began to walk forward. Elliot noticed how she kept her eyes on him, not on her lover, as she passed Mulder. He could see she was drawn as tight as a bow, and that her fists were tightly clenched at her side.
Elliot laughed, enjoying his apparent victory, and felt a stirring in his pants. He imagined he was already feeling Dana’s soft hands stroking him as she knelt before him, her mouth open and ready. He let his eyes close for a moment to let the pleasure build, not realizing both his arms had lowered to his sides.
Suddenly Mulder roared, “No! Scully, get down!”
Elliot’s eyes popped open and all he could see was Mulder starting to move towards him, his arm coming up in a move to sweep Dana aside and down to the ground. Surprised and panicked, Elliot raised the gun again, his hand shaking uncontrollably, and pointed it at them.
He fired twice.
The next few seconds seemed surreal, as if he observed them from inside a vacuum. Everything happened in slow motion, with absolutely no sound.
Instead of falling to the ground out of harm’s way, Dana had turned from her original course towards him, and he watched as she lunged forward in slow motion into Mulder.
Directly into the bullets path.
Elliot saw them impact in her body; saw her jolt once and then again, his mouth opening in shock. He watched as her arms first went up as if to embrace Mulder, and then fell limply to her sides.
Sound returned with a whoosh.
Over the echo of the two shots, he heard Mulder scream, “SCUH-LEE!!!”
Revenge Part 26 by Lovesfox
Zeus Warehousing
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
2:10 am
Mulder just knew somehow that he was not going to like Elliot’s next words. His Spooky sense was giving off weird signals, and he wished he were able to communicate telepathically with Scully, to tell her to get the hell out of Dodge. The talking they often did with their eyes was not going to be enough this time.
“Now, Dana, we’re going to show Mulder that I am not impotent. Come here,” Elliot said in that arrogantly smarmy voice that grated on Mulder’s nerves.
It was one of the few times he wished he hadn’t been right.
The implied meaning behind them sent new waves of revulsion through Mulder, and had his mind screaming in horror. He was unable to control the physical reaction of his body. He could feel the heat of his rage reddening his face, and his teeth were grinding painfully together in an effort to keep the scream inside, every muscle tight with tension.
When he had stepped back at Elliot’s command, Mulder had also moved slightly to put his body at an angle that allowed him to see both Elliot and Scully. He now watched Scully pale at Elliot’s demand, her skin as white as paper, and Elliot smile in gleeful pleasure.
That smile did it. There was no way this sick fuck was getting his hands on Scully. He would take the chance that he could be hit by another bullet, just to stop her from getting in Elliot’s clutches.
He refused to think what might happen to her after, if he was indeed shot. His voice was raspy and rough as he said, “Scully, get behind me.”
Elliot had obviously learned fairly quickly that when one of them was threatened, the other one reacted very strongly. He pointed the gun at him again and jeeringly told Scully he would shoot him if she didn’t come over to him.
Mulder could see the distress in Scully’s eyes as she looked from Elliot and the gun to him. He knew she was going to go to Elliot, knew that she absolutely believed Elliot would try and shoot him again, and that she would try and stop the man by doing whatever he asked, for his sake.
I’m not worth it, Scully, he wanted to tell her. I am not worth the sacrifice this sicko wants you to make. He tried imploring her with his eyes to make a run for it.
But she didn’t. Either she was not reading the message or was ignoring it for the same reason he would have ignored the same message from her. When Elliot barked out ‘now Dana’ she flinched, and by the tenseness of her body Mulder could tell she was about to move forward.
“Scully, don’t listen to him,” he said frantically.
Mulder watched in dismay as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath as if girding herself for what she was about to do, and then opened her eyes again and started forward. Her body language screamed her fear, but she kept on, avoiding his gaze.
He opened his mouth to beg her to stop, and was distracted by Elliot’s evil laughter. He looked at the sick bastard and it was immediately apparent that he seemed to be very distracted. As much as the thought disgusted and horrified Mulder, it looked like Elliot was actually in a state of arousal, a somewhat blissful expression on his face, and his mouth hanging slightly open.
He had also lowered the gun, most likely unknowingly.
Mulder knew this was his chance, maybe his only one.
He yelled out, “No! Scully, get down!” and lunged forward in Elliot’s direction, intending to push Scully aside and down to the ground, hopefully out of the way of any shots that Elliot might fire.
Except his voice alerted Elliot to the fact that he was making a move, and the man reacted by lifting the gun once more and firing.
At the same time Scully somehow dodged his arm and plowed into him, as if she were trying to knock him down to safety.
Her upper body struck him full in the chest, her arms coming up to clutch at him, and he had a second to think that she had intended for her momentum to carry them both down to the ground and away, before he felt both bullets strike her, felt her body jerk with their force of impact. She gave a surprised grunt at the first one, and only a puff of breath for the second one.
A puff of breath that might have been his name.
Her arms then flopped lifelessly down, over his, which had instinctively gone up to grab her around the waist. He screamed her name, long and loud.
And then they were falling together.
Mulder managed to both halt their downward fall, staggering slightly, and twist his own body so that he cradled her in his arms. But his precious burden was limp and awkward, so he first dropped to his knees, and then let his legs slide out so that he sat on his butt, Scully’s upper body draped over his legs.
“Scully?” he whispered shakily, looking at her pale, slack face. A lock of her hair had fallen across her eyes, and he gently pulled one arm out from underneath her to push it aside.
His fingers were wet with bright red blood, her blood, and he stared at them in horror.
“Oh, Jesus, Scully, please open your eyes, baby. You’re okay, please open your eyes and tell me you’re okay.” He hurriedly wiped his hand on his tee shirt and then brought his trembling hand to her face, carefully smoothing her hair behind her ear.
Her eyes were closed, the pale blue tracery of veins clearly visible on her lids, and her lips were as bloodless as her face.
He didn’t know what to do first. He alternated between stroking her hair and her face, continually calling her name, pleading for her to wake up. He was only vaguely aware of Elliot in the background, screaming at him to get up. He knew he should be trying to find the entry points of the bullets and apply pressure to them, but he couldn’t make himself let go of her.
“Scully, baby, please, come on, I don’t know what to do here. This is your job remember? Come on, open those eyes for me.” He cajoled, he whined, he begged. Anything to get her to open her eyes, to let him see that beautiful blue again.
And behind him, Elliot continued to rage. “GET UP, MULDER! FORGET ABOUT THE BITCH. SHE’S PROBABLY DEAD.” Then a pause as he loudly gulped in air, only to choke it out in maniacal, wheezing laughter.
“DEAD JUST LIKE ELIZABETH.” He paused again, still laughing, and then continued, “THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND ME NOW. ELIZABETH IS DEAD, AAND DANAIS DEAD, WHICH IS HOW IT SHOULD BE.”
Mulder ignored him, and finally realized he had not even checked Scully’s pulse. His hand shook even more as he brought it to her neck and tried to search for it with his suddenly nerveless fingers.
There was nothing. Terrified he brought his hand down to her breast, to her heart, and was surprised to feel something else beneath his fingers besides her clothing and soft flesh.
It took him a moment to recognize what he had felt.
It was a Kevlar vest.
Scully had worn a vest. Despite his terror, Mulder smiled inside.
She had worn a vest, something he had not even considered in his rush to get to the warehouse, to confront Elliot. She was hurt, yes, the blood was evidence of that, but it probably wasn’t as bad as he had thought, or so he desperately hoped.
He flicked his eyes from her chest to her face, and saw a most welcome sight. Scully’s eyes were fluttering, trying to open. He bent over her even more, and brought his face close to hers.
“Scully,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyes opened fully, and he smiled in relief, even though the blue orbs were hazy and painfilled. He watched her struggle to focus on him, and continued to croon softly so Elliot could not hear.
“That’s it, baby. Keep your eyes open, look at me.”
And she did. Her mouth opened too, and she sucked in a noisy breath, which made her wince. She seemed to be trying to speak.
“Shhhh, Scully, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk,” Mulder whispered.
He could almost swear she glared at him.
Her hands had been lying limply in her lap from when he had brought them to the floor, and he felt her straining to lift one of them.
She opened her mouth again, and the faintest of sounds emerged. It had sounded like, “Mulder…gun.”
Mulder lifted his hand from her chest and stroked her hair once more. “I know, baby, he had a gun. He shot you, but you’re going to be just fine. You just relax.”
Okay, that was definitely a glare. He knew she was a lousy patient, but what did she want him to do?
Her arm finally lifted, and she grabbed at his hand, trying to pull it down with hers. He said again, “Scully, relax. It’s okay.” Her hand tightened, and with a loud groan she yanked his arm down and forced his hand to her side. “What Scully? What’s wrong?” he asked, and tried to pull his arm away.
Behind them Elliot was still raging, yelling obscenities and questioning Mulder’s parentage. Mulder ignored him, expecting at any moment to feel the barrel of the gun pressing into the back of his head, or to feel a bullet hit him just as the noise registered.
Scully moaned, “Gun,” again, and with obvious tremendous effort, brought up her other arm and used it to push his hand further behind her, while at the same time shifting her weight slightly so that she could lean towards him, lifting her back a little from the floor.
His fingers brushed cool metal, and he realized then what Scully had been trying to tell him. She had a back-up gun shoved in the waistband of her pants. His eyes widened as he stared into hers, and hers briefly flashed her thoughts.
You idiot, they said. I have a gun. Take it and shoot the motherfucking bastard dead.
He improvised on that last one, using words he ascribed to Elliot.
What Scully was really saying was more along the lines of ‘neutralize the threat’ or some other such Bureau-trained ideology.
She was right, of course, but his blood was pumping, and his rage was overflowing, along with the need to avenge what the madman had done to Scully. He couldn’t stop the fierce grin from spreading on his face, and saw her wobbly answering smile.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Her reply was soundless, but he could read it easily in her eyes and on her lips. Love you too. Then she surprised him yet again by winking before her eyes slid shut once more.
“MULDER! GET AWAY FROM HER NOW BEFORE I KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND,”
Elliot screamed. “GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!”
I’ll get up all right, Mulder thought. He pulled the gun out from Scully’s pants, adjusted his grip, finding the trigger and with one last look at Scully, rose and spun to face Elliot.
He did not think, he just aimed and fired.
Over and over, until the clip was empty and all that could be heard was the click of the chamber.
Mulder watched unblinking and unfeeling, his gun arm still extended, as Elliot’s body jolted with each bullet, moving backwards with the impacts, jerking like a marionette in some macabre dance until he fell to the ground without a sound, limbs still twitching.
It seemed to take forever, but finally Elliot stopped moving.
Mulder’s ears were ringing from the gunfire, and he stood stunned for a moment before dropping his arm with a harsh sigh. The little 32 fell from his hand to hit the floor with a small clatter. The sound roused him from his stupor, and he ran over to the body.
Elliot’s hand was still clasping Scully’s gun, and with a quick flick of his boot Mulder kicked it away into the darkness.
He then looked at the madman who had tried to extract a horrible and twisted revenge for the unfortunate death of his sister. Elliot’s eyes were open and staring unseeing at the ceiling, and a small trickle of blood ran from one corner of his mouth. Mulder used the toe of his boot to prod at Elliot’s leg, but there was no movement.
The bastard was dead.
Behind him Scully moaned, and he whirled around and ran back to her, falling to his knees to gently gather her in his arms again. Her eyes were open and he met them, seeing awareness and comprehension there.
“Is…he…dead?” she wheezed, and then coughed a little, closing her eyes tightly as she did.
When she opened them again, Mulder nodded and then said, “Scully, I need to see where you were shot. I’m going to have to turn you a bit, okay?” He had noticed a relatively large pool of blood spreading under her shoulder, and it scared him. The Kevlar vest covered the chest and most of the back, and he didn’t think the bullet could have penetrated the armor, but the blood was coming from somewhere. He just had to find out where.
She took a shaky breath and blinked rapidly, croaking out, “Yes.”
He reached out to grab her shoulder, intending to roll her towards him so he could check her back, and she moaned loudly. He could feel blood beneath his hand, and realized he had found what was probably an exit wound.
“Sorry, baby, I gotta do this,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He did not want to cause her any more pain, and hated the fact that he had. He felt quickly on the underside of her shoulder, almost her arm actually, and found another entry or exit wound.
TThat was probably one bullet, but where had the other one hit? He patted gently all along her back, and found a ragged hole in her leather jacket right between her shoulder blades. He did not feel the wetness of blood, so he inserted his finger carefully and touched the metal end of the other bullet, lodged in her vest.
There would be a hell of a bruise there in a couple days, and it had probably knocked the wind out of her, but she was not critically injured as he had been thinking.
He let out a harsh sigh of almost relief. They weren’t out of the woods yet. He still had to get her out to his car and to a hospital, and she seemed to be bleeding quite heavily. He lowered her back down to the ground, deciding he would use his tee shirt to try and staunch the flow. He flicked his eyes to her face and saw that she was awake, if not exactly alert, and brought his hand to her cheek, rubbing it softly. “You’re going to be okay, Scully.
I’m going to get you out of here right now.”
Her eyes smiled at him, and then drifted shut again.
There was an odd sound coming from outside the warehouse, and his head shot up and around to look at the door he and Scully had come through.
It was empty, but all of a sudden a voice yelled out, “Mulder?”
It was Skinner.
The cavalry had arrived.
2:20 am
Scully lay shivering on the cold floor, and the feelings made her recall another time where she had lain waiting for Mulder to come back to her, in the hallway of his apartment building after she had been stung by a bee. Only that time she had been barely conscious and had ended up missing for several days, with Mulder later finding her in the Antarctic in the bowels of a spaceship. Or so he had told her, she seemed to be a little vague on the details.
This time she was merely wounded and listening to the sounds of one man possibly killing another. Although she was hesitant to ascribe the word ‘man’ to Elliot Andercott. Psychopath was more apt.
Deranged lunatic worked as well.
She was afraid she was going into shock, and she wanted to remain conscious until Mulder had finished checking on Elliot, although it was a supreme struggle. Her eyes were heavy, she felt dizzy and weak from the blood loss, and she was having trouble catching her breath. She knew she had gotten the wind knocked out of her from the bullet to her upper back, and was pretty certain the other bullet was a through and through to her shoulder, right beside where the Kevlar ended. Whatever the damage tally was, she was hurting.
She was also still reeling from the fact that Mulder had fired the entire clip at Elliot, despite what she had seen in his eyes as he looked at her after he had realized she had a back-up gun. Still, she had been unable to stop herself from flinching with each bang as the bullets left the gun, yet at the same time she had viciously and vindictively thought, ‘Take that, you bastard!’ as she imagined the bullets striking his body.
Scully mused that she should be more disturbed by the event than she actually was, and wondered if the blood loss was affecting her thought patterns.
She couldn’t remember hearing any other gunshots than those fired by Mulder, but then again, she hadn’t been completely alert at the time either, and it seemed like Mulder had been gone a very long time.
Oh God, had Elliot actually gotten off a round and shot Mulder?
Terror-stricken, she tried, in vain, to lift her head. All she managed to do was to send waves of pain coursing through her body.
She moaned, and seconds later heard Mulder scrambling back to her side. She nearly sobbed to have her fear alleviated by his apparently unharmed presence. Relatively unharmed, she corrected herself as she ran her eyes of his features and saw the dried blood from the bullet that had creased his head.
He maneuvered her upper body into his arms, biting his lip as he did so, as if the action hurt him as much as it hurt her. Knowing Mulder, it probably did.
Their eyes met, and she croaked out, “Is…he…dead?” with troubled breaths, already knowing the answer, but needing to have it confirmed. Her back ached, along with her shoulder, and talking had brought a need to cough, which she did, squeezing her eyes shut on another wave of pain.
When it passed, she reopened her eyes to find Mulder watching her worriedly. She wanted to sooth that worry from his brow, but her good arm was trapped against his body, and her injured arm seemed to have gone numb. She was barely able to curl the fingers of that hand, and shook with the effort of trying to do so.
Mulder nodded then, finally, in answer to her question, and then told her in those soothing, croon-like voices people automatically used when someone was hurt that he needed to turn her over. She told him yes, and tried to prepare herself for more pain, understanding his need to find the source of the bleeding, belatedly realizing she should have been more concerned about that.
Only Mulder grabbed her shoulder, right over the bullet’s exit wound, and she was not prepared at all. This time her moan was much louder, almost a scream, and her entire body stiffened in reaction.
She could hear the remorse and pain in Mulder’s voice as he said he was sorry, and that he had to do this. She nodded, her breaths panting in and out, and was not even sure if Mulder had caught the slight movement of her head, the silent permission she was granting for him to continue the necessary torment.
As his fingers felt along the edges of the Kevlar vest, Scully bit her lip to hold in another moan, and blurrily wondered what had made her decide to wear the spare, tailor-made for her smaller size vest that she kept in her apartment, and to bring a back-up gun after she had decided to follow Mulder to the warehouse. She was still not in the habit of always carrying the little 32, which had been a gift from Mulder the year before after a case where they had both had their weapons taken away from them, and usually only did so if he reminded her to.
She remembered the odd little feeling she had gotten while in her closet searching for a pair of dark jeans, and how it had prompted her to grab the vest from the uppermost shelf, and then get the gun from one of her dresser drawers.
She was extremely thankful she had listened to that little feeling.
As a doctor, she knew had she not been wearing the vest, the bullet in her back more than likely would have caused serious damage, if not killing her outright.
She also knew if she had not jumped in front of Mulder and taken the bullets in his place he would definitely be dead, and she would be the one cradling his body in her arms, keening with her grief.
Her eyes, which she had scrunched tightly closed during Mulder’s examination, slid heavily open as she heard his loud sigh, and Scully blinked a few times to clear her vision to see his face.
As if he had sensed her looking at him, Mulder met her eyes, and then brought one hand up to caress her cheek.
She could see the worry he was trying to hide, although there was no trace of it in his gentle voice when he spoke to reassure her. Or maybe to reassure them both.
She didn’t have enough energy to smile, and in fact thought she was close to passing out. She was very cold, the dizziness had increased, and there was a strange buzzing in her head. Definitely in shock, she thought to herself, and could not find the strength to tell Mulder. She held his gaze for a moment longer, and then let her eyes close once more.
Over the sounds of Mulder’s loud, and most likely panicked breathing, she thought she heard noises coming from the doorway.
Was somebody coming to help them? Had Mulder in fact actually called for back-up?
When she heard a deep, male voice, sounding surprisingly like Skinner’s call out Mulder’s name, she decided he must have.
Above her, Mulder whispered, “Thank God,” and then yelled out.
“We’re in here! Scully’s been shot.”
If she hadn’t been so close to oblivion, she would have asked him when he had found religion. For some reason the thought struck her as being really funny, and she laughed, or at least tried to. The sound that came out was more of a choked cough, which made her back and chest ache. This in turn brought about the need to really cough, and she did so, raggedly and painfully, her upper body lifting from the floor with the force.
Mulder sucked in a noisy breath as he tried to hold her, and she knew he had felt the warm gush of blood from her shoulder when she had moved. He yelled again, the panic obvious in his voice, just as she caught the sounds of footsteps running across the floor.
“Skinner! She needs help.”
A second later Scully felt a heavy weight settle on her legs, and opened her eyes to see Skinner spreading a blanket over her. His eyes, worried behind his glasses, met hers, and she saw the infamous jaw muscle twitch rapidly. She let her lids flutter shut, feeling herself slide away.
Faintly through the swirls of black mist, she heard Skinner say, “Ambulance…on…way. She’ll…okay, Mulder.” Her last memory before she succumbed to the beckoning of nothingness was the feel of Mulder’s arms tightening spasmodically around her as he rocked them both on the floor of the warehouse.
Skinner’s car,
Enroute to Zeus Warehousing
Saturday
2:20 am
Skinner was glad that Agent Andrews had the sense to remain quiet as they drove through the darkened Washington streets, heading towards the docks, and the warehouse where they could possibly find Mulder and Scully.
He had been silent since Skinner had first rounded him up outside Mrs. Scully’s house and stated their destination, as he rode shotgun, staring out of the front windshield, the elbow he had propped on the door’s edge acting as an effective wedge to hold him in place as Skinner often took the corners at speeds not recommended.
It was as if the young agent had realized his superior’s need to concentrate only on the drive, and not on small talk or other distractions.
Skinner ran his thoughts about his initial theory that Elliot Andercott had returned to Zeus Warehouse and somehow lured Mulder and Scully there over and over in his mind until it became the only possible situation.
That surety sent tension humming throughout his body, resulting in hands tightly clenched around the steering wheel, teeth grinding so hard he thought his teeth would shatter and fall out of his mouth if he opened it, and an even wilder and reckless handling of his car.
And for a brief moment he was back in Vietnam, sneaking through the jungle on a midnight patrol, heart thumping and nerves snapping as he and the other members of his team approached their target.
Beside him Andrews made a sound filled with alarm, a half-grunt, half-gasp, and Skinner wanted to apologize, to explain, but could not. Instead he took the next corner a little less aggressively, and eased up slightly on the gas pedal as he drove down the street.
He realized sharply and suddenly that they were only seconds away from the warehouse, and yanked his foot completely off the one pedal so fast in reaction and automatically hit the brakes. The car shuddered to a jerkingly abrupt halt, throwing them both forward against their seatbelts. Skinner swore ripely and richly as his forehead nearly made contact with the steering wheel, and then shot a look at Andrews, the adrenaline rush making his voice harsh as he asked, “Are you all right?”
The other agent had both hands braced against the dashboard, and was panting slightly. He turned his head slightly to look at Skinner and merely nodded before straightening and sitting back in his seat, one had readjusting the seatbelt until it was once more snug against his body.
With a slight shake of his head, Skinner did the same with his belt and then gently tapped the gas again, guiding the car slowly down the street.
The moment he pulled into the parking lot of Zeus Warehouse, he shivered, remembering the day he and Mulder had arrived in the van with the SWAT team and found Kathy O’Neill hanging from the rafters in the main warehouse.
Pushing the memory aside, he scanned the area carefully for anything remotely suspicious as they drew closer to the building, peripherally aware of Andrews rolling down his window and doing the same.
Just as he spotted the car parked close along one wall, he heard the faint sounds of two gunshots. He was positive they had come from within the warehouse, and that his two agents were in deep trouble.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, and slammed the brakes on, deliberately this time, but at least they were both prepared. Seatbelts snicked off almost in tandem after he turned the car off, and then both their doors were open and they were exiting the car. “Wait!” he hissed to Andrews, and the other agent stopped at the front of the car, watching him with a tense yet curious expression. Skinner pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 and quickly stated his name and badge number, along with the warehouse address before requesting back-up and an ambulance.
After disconnecting the call, he tucked his phone back in his pocket and exchanged it for his gun. Looking at Andrews, he saw the young agent also had his gun out, held at the ready. Skinner nodded at Andrews, and they carefully approached the open door, a few meters from the car he had determined with a glance to be Mulder’s.
Coming up flat against the wall to the left of the door, he heard Andrews thunk into place beside him, the agent hitting the wall rather hard. Skinner held up three fingers of one hand, tucking his thumb and pinkie down, so that Andrews could see it, the signal that they would move on three. He shot a glance over his shoulder and caught Andrew’s affirming nod.
Message understood.
He lowered his fingers back against his palm, arm still bent at the elbow and raised, and took a deep breath to ready himself. He would have felt better if there was a large number of agents slowly surrounding the building and preparing to sweep in en masse, but there was no time to wait for the police or other agents to arrive.
For all he knew, those two gunshots he heard could have been the deaths of his two favorite agents. He could admit that now, that Mulder and Scully were his favorite agents, after all they had been through.
His index finger came up.
One.
Skinner could sense Andrews gathering himself behind him, just as he was, his body tense, his muscles coiled into tight springs waiting to be sprung. To leap into action.
His middle finger was next.
Two.
Before he could lift his ring finger, they heard yelling from inside the warehouse.
“MULDER! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER NOW BEFORE I KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND. GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!”
Skinner had never heard Elliot Andercott’s voice. The calls had always been to Mulder, and they had never had a chance to record any of them. But he knew without a doubt it was he. The words sent a chill through him.
As did the next sound, which had him dropping to a crouch in reaction, Andrews mirroring the action.
Rapid gunfire that seemed to come from only one gun.
Followed immediately by dead silence.
Skinner rose to his feet as quietly as possible, flinching when his shoe scraped noisily against the pavement, and risked a peek inside.
Faint moonlight streaming through windows high up barely illuminated the interior of the warehouse, but it was enough to show him huge double doors leading into another room, the room where they had found Kathy O’Neill.
There was no reaction to the noise he had made, or his quick look inside, and the silence continued. Skinner took a chance and called out, “Mulder?”
A moment later he heard, “We’re in here! Scully’s been shot.”
Relief set in, and immediately on its heels, worry. He ran back to the car, jabbing the trunk key into the lock. He snapped his head back to avoid being hit by the trunk as it sprung open, and then reached inside to pull out a wool blanket he kept there. He slammed the trunk back down and headed back to the entrance.
He quickly told Andrews to wait for the police, and ran inside the warehouse, just as Mulder yelled, “Skinner! She needs help.”
Skinner followed the sound of Mulder’s voice, barely able to make out the dim outline of two huddled shapes, and found Mulder cradling Scully’s upper body in his lap. He knelt beside them, unfolded the blanket and spread it across Scully’s legs, smoothing it at her waist.
She opened her eyes briefly before they fluttered shut.
Skinner looked at Mulder and saw the panic and worry on the agent’s face. He reached out and squeezed Mulder’s shoulder. “Ambulance is on its way, Mulder. She’s going to be okay.”
He didn’t know how badly she was hurt, and hoped like hell she was going to be okay. After everything that had happened to these two, it could not end on the dirty floor of an abandoned warehouse.
Mulder nodded, never removing his eyes from Scully’s face and quietly said, “Andercott’s dead. I shot him.” He lifted his head briefly and jutted his chin to show him the direction of where the body lay.
Skinner squeezed Mulder’s shoulder once more and then got to his feet to go check on the body. He found Elliot Andercott lying on his back roughly twenty feet from where Mulder and Scully were, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He bent down on one knee, and reached one hand out to search for a pulse, to double-check. Not that there was really any doubt, he thought to himself, eyes spying the bloodied bullet holes spread over the man’s chest.
With a twitch of his jaw muscle, Skinner rose to his feet, just as the sounds of approaching sirens filled the air.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
3:45 am
He hated hospitals.
The smell of each one, subtle differences in all, but somehow still the same. The white antiseptic look of them no matter what city or state he was in. The brusqueness and almost coldness of the medical staff who bustled about dealing with their patients, sometimes having no time for the worried family member who had accompanied said patient.
Or him, waiting anxiously for news on Scully.
He had always hated them. As a child who feared the unknown and mysteriousness of that place where Mommy had gone with her belly as big as a house, or so he had thought then, and later came home with a squalling, red-faced bundle named Samantha, and where he had been taken to have his broken bones or deep cuts fixed, where whitecoated men and soft-soled women swished in and out of doors. And more particularly as an adult, due to the frequency of his injuries and illnesses, and the times spent there for Scully.
It was worse when he was there for Scully. A hundred times, a thousand times, it was beyond imaginable how much worse it was when he was there for Scully.
As he once again was.
Mulder sat on the edge of the hard plastic chair, thankfully along a hallway off from the emergency area and not in the very open waiting room, his elbows on his widespread knees, hands dangling into space.
His gaze moved up, from the ugly linoleum floor he had been studying for an unknown length of time while his mind wandered, to his fingers, and he gave a start as his eyes focused on the blood that had dried there and caked beneath his nails.
Scully’s blood.
His mind, and sometimes he cursed his perfect memory, that allowed him to recall each and every detail clearly and concisely, flashed back to that moment in the warehouse, when he had felt the bullets impact into Scully’s body as if they had hit his own. Sitting there, he fervently wished it had been his own body that had taken those bullets, instead of only a minor wound to his head. The replay continued on, to the next moment when they had fallen to the floor together and he had lifted his hand to find it covered in her blood.
Mulder lifted that hand and its twin now and brought them closer to his face, looking at how the blood was cracking and flaking off, how the lines on his palms and the whorls and arches of his fingerprints stood out against the faded brownish color. Staring at the evidence of her life staining his skin, knowing how easily it could have been drained completely from her body if she had not worn that vest.
This time the picture in his head was not from memory, but from a mixture of imagination and memory. Memories of the layout of her room, the placement of her clothing in her drawers and closet. He imagined her, he saw her, rising swiftly from the bed after he had left to get dressed, having maybe been awakened by Elliot’s call on the cellular or even drowsing when he had thought her deeply asleep, and striding into her closet, picking out the dark jeans she had worn. Saw her hesitate and then reach for the Kevlar vest guided by some impulse or feeling, one of dread or danger, and then exit the closet to get dressed. Clad in dark, loose clothing that concealed both the vest and the gun she had also grabbed on that same impulse/feeling. Moving through the darkness of her apartment with ease and the comfort borne of familiarity to pull on boots, jacket and cap, all also dark colored, and out the door. Here he slipped into further projection, not really knowledgeable with the layout of her apartment building and its back alleyway, and imagined her leaving through some fire exit, jogging through the alley onto another street all to avoid the Lone Gunmen stationed out front.
She wouldn’t have been able to get to her car, so she had probably taken a taxi.
<Mulder?>
A voice, a deep, male voice, pulled him from his mental visualization, and his eyes snapped open, hoping to see the doctor who had seen Scully on admittance, when he had been forced out of the examining room by a large, robust nurse with a tight, pinched face.
But it was not the doctor. It was only Skinner standing over him, watching him with lines of worry etched on his face.
Mulder blinked heavy, tired eyes at his boss, and waited for the inevitable words. The words that asked how Scully was, for Skinner had stayed behind when the ambulance had arrived, to deal with the police, and he supposed the removal of Elliot Andercott’s body. And the questions that body had probably raised.
Skinner surprised him though, and instead said, “Why don’t you get cleaned up, Mulder?” as he gestured at Mulder’s front. “Mrs. Scully is on her way, and I know you don’t want her to see that.”
Mulder looked down again, taking in his sweatshirt, just now noticing that it too was covered in dry blood. Somehow it had gotten on him, either from when she had been shot and fallen into his arms, or when he had cradled her against him on the warehouse floor.
“Here,” came Skinner’s voice again, and Mulder raised his head to see Skinner was thrusting something, it looked like it could be a cotton tee shirt, in his direction. He lifted his hand, grimacing at the blood again, saw peripherally Skinner grimacing as well, and took the offering.
Rising from his perch on the plastic chair, he swayed a little, closing his eyes tightly at the feeling of dizziness the action had brought about, and felt Skinner’s strong hands grip him by the upper arms.
“Easy, Mulder,” the AD said, and did not release him until Mulder had reopened his eyes and nodded that he was okay.
Mulder had nearly dropped the item Skinner had given him, and it had unfolded to hang loosely from his hand. He brought his arm up a bit to look at it. It was a tee shirt, a white one that looked large enough to cover the AD’s far broader shoulders.
Skinner saw his glance at the tee shirt and said, “I keep a change of clothes in my trunk.”
“Thank-you,” Mulder returned, and after a deep breath to test the waters of his stability, walked slowly and carefully towards the sign dangling from the ceiling that said ‘Washrooms’. He pushed the heavy door leading into the Men’s open, and seeing that it was empty, stripped off his leather jacket and laid it and the borrowed tee shirt across the one chair that was pushed up against a wall.
The soiled sweatshirt was next, and without hesitation he threw it into the large plastic garbage can next to the two sinks. There was no way in hell he was going to keep it, for even if the stains came out, it would forever be tainted by the memory of Scully being shot and by her blood that had marked it.
Looking at himself in the large rectangular mirror that ran most of the length of the wall over the sinks, he saw with distaste that some of the blood had soaked right through the fleece of the sweatshirt and dried on his upper stomach.
He closed his eyes and immediately regretted doing so as his mind cheerfully and disgustingly supplied him with another picture that of the pale skin of Scully’s stomach instead stained with blood. One he had seen in his head over and over again as he had raced to another hospital, in New York this time, after learning Scully had been shot by Agent Ritter.
Lurching forward with the resultant surge of nausea, Mulder turned the cold water of one of the taps on and first splashed it on his face, not carrying as it dripped off his chin, and then grabbed a handful of paper towels, soaking them thoroughly before scrubbing roughly at his skin. Tiny rivulets of cold, brownish water ran down towards the waistband of his jeans, making him suck in his stomach in reaction. He quickly discarded the one handful of paper towels, and grabbed another one to swipe at the water.
Finished with that, Mulder looked into the mirror again, turning his head slightly to one side to study the bandage that covered the crease from the bullet Elliot had fired at him, now slightly damp from his face washing.
Once the ambulance attendants had gotten Scully’s stretcher settled into their unit, and she was relatively stable, the one riding in the back had turned to Mulder and taken care of his head wound.
The woman, who had introduced herself as Mary Anne, had cleaned it professionally but gently with an antiseptic before applying the bandage, while keeping up a steady stream of soothing chatter.
He had barely heard her though, or felt her ministrations; his whole being focused entirely on the pale figure of his partner, his best friend, his lover, lying strapped to the portable stretcher in yet another ambulance. He had sat as close to her as he could be, without getting in the way of Mary Anne, who continued to monitor Scully’s vital signs and periodically check on the IV they had started in the warehouse.
Mulder grimaced at his reflection as he remembered wanting badly to hold one of Scully’s hands, but being unable to do so with them strapped down at her sides beneath the bright orange blanket with the blue cross emblazoned on its front. So he had contented himself with stroking the strands of her hair that were not flattened under her head on the small pillow.
He realized he had been in there for too long, the doctor might have already come out to talk to him, so he quickly squirted a large puddle from the liquid soap dispenser into one hand and vigorously rubbed his hands together. He worked at his fingernails, but knew without a scrub brush of some sort, he wouldn’t be able to get all the blood out from underneath them. After rinsing them thoroughly, he splashed water all around the sink in order to flush the splatters of blood down the drain.
He dried his hands and face and scrambled into the tee shirt, which was definitely a size or two too big, before re-donning his jacket and exiting the bathroom. Looking down the hall towards the row of chairs where he had been sitting, he saw Skinner had taken one of them, sitting in much the same position as he had, only the AD’s hands were not dangling but propping up his chin.
Skinner looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and Mulder asked, “Did the doctor come out?”
His boss shook his head negatively, and Mulder sighed harshly, his nerves jangling again. Despite what Mary Anne had told him when she and her partner, whose name he could not remember, had first examined Scully in the warehouse, that the gun shot to her arm looked to be a clean through and through wound, he was still worried.
He could not forget the enormous pool of blood on the floor after they had lifted her onto the stretcher. And the doctor had been in there for a very long time.
Unable to relax, he chose to pace up and down the hallway instead of sitting again. On each pass when he reached the end farthest from where the doctor would likely emerge, his steps would speed up until he was closer to that door, and then they would slow again, almost lingering there.
It was at one of those passes when he was almost at the far end that Mrs. Scully arrived, accompanied by a far kinder nurse than the one Mulder had dealt with, who pointed her in Mulder’s direction. His steps lagged this time, reluctant to bring himself to her, now beside Skinner, who had risen at her arrival.
Before Elliot Andercott had made his unwelcome presence known to them, Mulder had not seen Mrs. Scully socially in quite a few weeks, and that last time had been an accidental encounter as she had lunched with her daughter in a small Georgetown coffeehouse. She had graciously welcomed him to join them, and he had done so, and ended up spending a pleasurable hour with the two Scullys.
Now he had seen her several times over the past week and a half, and most of those meetings had been in the hospital either by Scully’s bedside, or waiting for news of her condition. He knew she had to hold him responsible for these visits, and dreaded the day when she no longer greeted him with kindness and love.
However, this was not one of those times. As he drew nearer, Mulder saw her eyes light upon him with compassion and understanding, shared worry and fear, and yet still her love.
She held out her arms, and he rushed into them with gratitude, sighing and fighting the urge to cry as he felt those same arms wrap around him and squeeze him tight.
Revenge Part 27 by Lovesfox
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
4:10 am
Margaret Scully kept her strides even and steady as they entered through the emergency doors of Walter Reed, remembering doing the same thing with Walter Skinner not so long ago, also seeking word about her daughter’s condition. She had been a bundle of nerves since receiving Mr. Skinner’s phone call where he had told her Dana and Fox had been found and that Dana was injured, but had managed to keep it well hidden.
The young man who had driven her here from her house, Agent Hughes she recalled, had his hand on her elbow, and gently led her to the Nurse’s station just inside the next set of sliding double doors.
He then excused himself and stepped politely back, leaving her some privacy.
There was only one nurse behind the chest high counter, and she was on the telephone. She held up one hand to signal she would be a moment, finished up her call, and then stepped over to stand close to the counter. “May I help you?”
“My daughter, Dana Scully, was brought here. She’s an FBI agent…”
Margaret began. There was only the slightest quaver in her voice.
A sympathetic look immediately crossed the nurse’s face, and Margaret felt her heart speed up, terribly afraid she was going to hear very bad news. Mr. Skinner had not gone into great detail on the phone, but he had said Dana was in stable condition. Had she worsened since then?
The panic must have shown on her face, for the nurse quickly said, “I didn’t mean to alarm you, I’m sorry. Your daughter’s been taken upstairs to surgery, but she’s doing very well. There’s another agent here who came with her in the ambulance, I’ll get someone to take you to him, all right?” She turned away and then looked back, adding, “Just a moment, please.” She paused once more and said, “Oh, and the doctor will be there shortly to speak to you and give you a better update.”
Margaret released the breath she had been holding as soon as she heard the words ‘she’s doing very well’, and eased her grip on the edge of the counter where she had unknowingly latched onto in her fear, and watched the nurse move out of sight. Her fingers felt unnaturally cold, as she did all over.
A moment later another nurse came out from a door to the right of the nurse’s station and touched Margaret softly on the shoulder, a kind smile on her face. “Ma’am? If you’ll follow me?” She indicated which direction they were to go in with one hand, and started walking, the soles of her white nurse’s shoes nearly soundless on the uncarpeted floor.
Margaret nodded and followed the nurse, along the hall a short bit to where it ended, branching off either to the left or the right.
The nurse stopped and pointed down to her right, saying softly, “He’s right there.”
She thanked the nurse and turned the corner. She immediately saw Mr. Skinner, sitting military straight in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair, and beyond him, several meters further along, was Fox, apparently in mid-pace.
Both men appeared to see her at the same time, Mr. Skinner rising from his seat as she approached him, while Fox seemed to momentarily freeze in place before he resumed walking in her direction, his steps quite slow. Margaret felt her heart twist. He looked so lost and alone. She put aside her worry for Dana for a moment, and concentrated on Fox.
It was obvious to her he was carrying an enormous burden, one of guilt and worry. She sighed softly, inwardly, at his apparent need to lay claim to any and all blame when terrible things happened to her daughter, even when there was none. She took a moment to curse the cold and uncaring nature of his upbringing, and to wonder what could bring parents to treat their child so, remembering the pain for him in Dana’s voice as her daughter had related some of Fox’s background to her after arriving late and unexpected one night on her mother’s doorstep.
Margaret made sure there was no pity in her eyes as he drew nearer, only her love, and held open her arms in invitation. She thought she saw tears glisten in his eyes, just before he came into her embrace, and felt answering tears spring into hers. She held him tight, and rubbed one hand up and down his back, feeling his deep sigh, and the slight trembling of his body. She said his name softly, and whispered, “Please don’t blame yourself, Fox. It hurts me to see you like this.”
Fox made a snuffling sound, and then spoke, his voice muffled by the fact that his face was pressed into her shoulder. “It is my fault.
I…I pushed him and he…”
“Shhhh.” Margaret gave him one last squeeze and then drew back, lifting her arms up to cup his cheeks, and stared into his painfilled eyes. “Don’t,” she said, and when his mouth worked in protest, added, “Please.”
He closed his eyes briefly and then nodded, and she pulled away, turning to face Mr. Skinner, who had stood silently by while she had been hugging Fox. She reached out and found one of Fox’s hands, and held it, finding the chill of his fingers outmatched hers. “The nurse told me Dana’s been taken up to surgery, and that she’s doing well,” she told them. “She also said the doctor should be coming shortly to speak to us and tell us a little more.” Her use of the pronoun ‘us’ showed she intended for the conversation to include both of them, for she knew they were just as worried about Dana as she was.
Through the clasp of their hands, Margaret felt Fox stagger a little, and turned back to him quickly. His face was pasty white, and that was when she finally noticed the bandage at the side of his hairline.
“Fox, what happened?” she gasped, and manhandled him easily into one of the chairs. She was stronger than she looked. She bent slightly at the waist, so their eyes were level with each other’s, and asked, “Do you need the nurse?”
Fox shook his head and then winced, bringing one hand up to touch his forehead. “No, I’m okay, Mrs. Scully. I just got a little dizzy.”
She sat down to his left, and touched him gently on the knee, resting her hand there. She had always felt that the touching of another person was vital in life, particularly when that person was hurting. She hoped he drew comfort, and perhaps strength from her.
“What happened?” she repeated, and when Fox remained silent, shifted her gaze to his superior.
Mr. Skinner was frowning slightly while watching Fox, but he shifted to meet her eyes. “He was shot at, but fortunately the bullet only grazed his head.”
Margaret turned to look at Fox again, and asked him, “Did you see the doctor, Fox?” She was almost positive he had not, for the bandage appeared to have been applied almost hastily, as if it were only a temporary one. And it would be like him to ignore his own injuries in his worry for Dana.
He was silent for a minute, and would not look up at either of them, confirming her suspicion. His voice was low and scratchy when he replied. “They looked at it in the ambulance and cleaned it up. It’s fine.”
She could feel the tension in his body as her hand lay on his knee, but had also learned from Dana that pushing him only resulted in him digging his heels in further. So she didn’t push, and said only, “If you’re sure then.” Already plotting to get the doctor aside to ask him or her to take a look at Fox.
He nodded, and slumped back into his chair. Mr. Skinner resumed his seat on her other side, and they sat silently together waiting for the doctor to appear.
Fortunately they did not have long to wait.
A tall, bespectacled man in a white doctor’s coat came around the corner and called out, “Mrs. Scully?”
Margaret rose from her seat, followed by both Fox and Mr. Skinner and headed towards the man, whom she assumed was the doctor. He met them halfway and holding his hand out, said in introduction, “I’m Dr. Richards, and I saw your daughter when she arrived in the Emergency Department.”
Margaret shook his hand, confirmed she was indeed Mrs. Scully, and before she could say anything further, he spoke again, nodding at both Fox and Mr. Skinner.
“Agent Mulder, Mr. Skinner,” he said, and then turned back to her.
“I understand the nurse has already told you Miss Scully is up in surgery. The bullet to her upper shoulder was what we call a through and through gunshot wound, and although I was fairly confident there was minimal, if any, damage to her joint or tendons, I called in the orthopedic surgeon for a consultation. She remains in stable condition, and should be out of surgery within the hour.
As for the other bullet, which struck her in the upper back, due to the intervention of her Kevlar vest, there is only a deep tissue bruise. Of course there will be some pain from this injury, but I do not expect any complications to arise. She’ll be sent to our surgical floor after recovery, and will more than likely need to stay here for 2 to 3 days. If there are no questions, I’ll send an orderly to takeyou up to the surgical waiting room.”
Margaret released a huge sigh of relief, and sent a quick glance upwards to thank God. She could not think of any questions right then, she was just so glad to hear that Dana was going to be all right, so she shook her head and said, “Thank-you, Dr. Richards.”
Fox had walked a few steps away, his back to them and his hands on his hips, but not before she had heard him echo her sigh.
Remembering his head wound, Mrs. Scully took a step after the doctor, who had started to walk away after shaking Mr. Skinner’s hand. “Doctor?” she called softly, and when he turned, continued, “Agent Mulder was injured by a bullet grazing his head, and I don’t think he’s been treated yet.” Seeing Fox had turned back to look at her, she added with a little wobble in her voice, “I’m worried about him.”
The doctor looked towards Fox with concern, and told her, “I’ll take a look at him right away, Mrs. Scully. Come with me, Agent Mulder.”
Fox had been frowning, with what looked like a protest on his lips, but at her last statement, he capitulated and headed after the doctor.
“Thank-you, Dr. Richards. And thank-you, Fox,” she said, and watched the two of them walk away. She turned to resume her seat in the row of chairs and saw Mr. Skinner watching her with a look she could only describe as admiration.
“Very nice move, Margaret,” he said, shaking his head a little and smiling. He joined her at the chairs and sat down beside her again.
“Mother’s guilt,” she said with just a hint of smugness, and not a trace of a wobble. “Works every time.”
6:45 am
The feel of his chin hitting his chest woke Mulder from the unnatural sleep he had drifted into, and he snapped his head up, gaze immediately flying to the hospital bed, one hand going up to rub at the ache in his neck.
Scully was still there, her eyelashes dark against her pale cheeks and her only slightly dulled red hair spread out on the crisp white pillow. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and the room was so quiet except for the quiet beeps of the heart monitor, that he imagined he could hear the steady drops of the IV solution as it was slowly fed into her system.
She was on her right side, facing him, propped up by a multitude of pillows, to help keep pressure of her bruised back and to elevate her injured and heavily bandaged shoulder, and her right arm lay outstretched from her body atop the covers. Her hand was palm up with her fingers curled a little, and he fancied it was as if she were reaching towards him, even in her drugged state.
Lifting himself partly off the chair, he reached down and grabbed the seat edge with one hand and carefully walked closer to the bed, pulling the chair with him. Once his knees brushed the metal frame of the bed, he stopped and took his seat once more. It was much better this way, for now he could easily hold her hand, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier, when the nurse had first led him into Scully’s room.
Of course lack of sleep and hours of worry and fear had taken their toll, not to mention a small head injury, leaving him fuzzyheaded and tired beyond all belief, and he felt he was lucky to have been able to walk after the nurse. Not that he would have let any of that stop him from seeing Scully.
Mulder’s eyes flickered to her bandaged shoulder once more, and he recalled the update they had received from the surgeon, after Dr.
Richards had finished the forced examination of his head wound and he had gotten the all clear.
Mrs. Scully, Skinner and he had gone up to the other waiting room, and it seemed like just minutes after they had taken their seats, the orthopedic surgeon, a Dr. Chambers, had come in and told them Scully was in recovery and that there had been no other tissue damage to her shoulder. She had tolerated the procedure well and would be moved to a surgical room in the next hour.
Mrs. Scully had been the first one to see Scully, at his insistence, for he had planned on staying until they kicked him out. Scully had woken only very briefly to whisper to her mother that she was fine, and then Skinner had taken Mrs. Scully home.
Before Mrs. Scully had left though, she had taken something from around her neck and given it to him for safekeeping, until he could return it to Scully.
Her cross necklace, the one she had thought lost forever.
Mulder remembered how he had decided to buy her a new necklace, once they had learned it was gone, and how he had wanted to surprise her with it. Only he hadn’t been able to, with them being in each other’s back pockets as their living arrangements had once been quaintly put, and he supposed it was just as well.
His free hand reached up and gently touched the cross where it lay at his throat, for around his neck was the safest place it could be until he could put it around hers. Now that it was unnecessary for him to buy her a necklace, he wondered if there was some other piece of jewelry he could buy her. The thought of going to purchase a necklace, of buying anything for her, had sent such an odd feeling of joy through him that he wanted to run out as soon as he could and do so. He tried to picture her reaction to receiving a gift from him, having only a few short experiences to draw from, and each one of those had been entirely different.
He remembered her childlike glee the Christmas morning at his apartment, after the interesting night spent at a haunted house, as he handed her a present, despite their mutual avowal not to buy anything for each other, and the enigmatic looks and her soft, flirty behavior at the baseball diamond the time he had given her the really early or really late birthday present, depending on how you looked at it. Both times had been pretty pleasant experiences in his humble opinion.
Mulder wracked his brain, trying to think of any other times he had given her a present, and could only think of the Apollo 11 key chain, now broken by its collision with the pavement outside Scully’s building, that he had given to her for her birthday quite a few years ago.
Was that all he had ever bought her?
He didn’t like to count the gag gifts they had exchanged on other Christmases, chosen for their laugh or shock factor, like the tiny rubber alien hiding in her desk drawer that he had given her once.
Mulder blinked in surprise as he recalled that in return that year, she had given him a beautiful, sedate silk tie. He tried to think of any gag gifts that she had given him, and he could not. It was always his to her that had been for fun.
He had a lot to make up for, he thought. Birthdays, Christmases, Valentine’s Day…the list was endless.
Mulder was so intent on planning his shopping agenda for some time in the near future that he at first did not notice the twitching of her hand within his. It was not until she actually squeezed his fingers did he realize Scully might be waking up.
He rose from the chair and leaned over the bed, saying her name very softly, still holding her hand. She squeezed his hand again, and a smile took over his face. He repeated her name, and watched as her eyelids flickered and then slowly opened, revealing hazy blue eyes that rolled as they tried to find him.
Her mouth opened and closed like a baby bird’s, and then she licked her lips before trying to speak. “Mul…” It was the faintest of sounds, and he could tell her mouth was very dry by the way she tried to swallow several times to work up some moisture.
He brought his free hand up to softly stroke her bangs off her forehead, and said, “Hey, Scully, I’m right here. Do you want some ice chips or water?”
“Mmmm,” was all she said, and her eyes drifted shut.
He thought she had fallen asleep again, and was about to sit back down when she whispered, “Mulder? You…okay?” Her eyes had remained closed, but he could tell she was not going to sleep as he had first thought.
“Me?” he asked. “I’m fine, Scully, and so are you.” He continued to stroke her hair, and she moved her head a little on the pillow, a slight smile on her lips. “Doctor said there was no damage to the tendons in your shoulder or anything, and you’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”
“That’s good…“she sighed, and he smiled a little to himself. She was on the good stuff, and thankfully feeling no pain.
Unfortunately he knew that would change, probably when the initial dose wore off. But Scully was a trooper, and hated to give in to her pain. Knowing her, once she was alert and clearheaded, she’d be trying to convince the doctor to let her go home early.
And as much as he wanted her home, so they could talk about where they were going to go with their relationship, he did not want her to push herself to soon. Recalling Mrs. Scully’s trick to get his head looked at, he hoped she could pull the guilt trip on Scully just as well as she had pulled it on him.
“You just rest, Scully,” he said. “Okay?”
She moved her head against the pillow and his hand in agreement and then whispered, “You…stay?”
“Always, Scully,” he replied.
And he meant it in more ways than one.
Mulder kept up the motions of his fingers on her head until she had reentered never-never-land, and then resumed both his seat in the chair and his grasp of her hand. He let out a deep yawn and then shook off his tiredness. His own sleep could wait until later.
10:15 am
Slowly a persistent, nagging ache in her upper body penetrated her sleep, and Scully began to wake, swimming towards consciousness with reluctance, not yet ready to leave that calm place where nothing could disturb her.
Other things drifted into her awareness, the dry, gummy feeling in her mouth, that all too familiar antiseptic smell of a hospital, the slow steady blip of a heart monitor, and the most welcome of all, the touch of Mulder’s fingers on her hand. With a small smile, she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear the residual drugged sleepiness from them.
When her vision was clear, she turned her head carefully on the pillow to look for Mulder, trying not to move to quickly or jar her shoulder in any way. She was only partially successful, the slight pull on her neck muscles caused her shoulder to twinge angrily, and she winced with the fresh pain. She took several slow, deep breaths until the pain had subsided to a dull ache once more.
Luckily she had been able to hold in the accompanying moan when she had moved, for it would have woken Mulder, whom she had immediately spied, sleeping in what had to be the most uncomfortable position she could imagine. And having spent too many nights, more than she wanted to think about actually, on stakeouts in cars and other, more unsavory places, she could imagine quite a few.
Lifting her head just slightly from the pillow for just a moment, she was able to see that he was sitting in a chair, one of those ugly plastic ones, standard to every hospital she had ever had the misfortune to be in, that never conformed to your body no matter how many times you tried. It both amused her and relieved her, for at first glance she had thought he had been overcome with exhaustion and was sleeping on his feet, leaning over the rail of her bed. She knew the chair had to be pushed as close as he could get it, for him to be able to achieve the position he had, which seemed to almost be stretching his spine.
Scully was glad he was asleep, because it gave her time to study him, without him jumping up and making everything about her. She appreciated his concern, had even grown somewhat dependant on it, but sometimes she wished it wasn’t so all-consuming.
Because he was on the right side of her bed, she had a clear view of the side of his head where the bullet had grazed him. She could see it had been taken care of, and she was thankful, for it would be like Mulder to push aside his own hurt in his concern for her.
The bandage was neat, and cleanly white without a hint of a bloodstain, which relieved another worry she had been holding inside her since the moment she realized Elliot’s first shot had indeed struck Mulder. He had told her the bullet had just grazed him, but she had seen him stagger, and there had been quite a bit of blood.
She had been afraid he had been hurt worse than he had admitted to.
Now that her fear had been partly assuaged, for it would only truly be alleviated when Mulder was awake and talking to her, she was able to study the rest of him. His hair was spiked every which way, like it was in the mornings before he showered, or after her hands had run through it over and over again while he pleasured her with his mouth, and the lower part of his face that she could see was lightly stubbled, for his other cheek was pillowed on his bent arm. There were deep lines around his eyes and mouth, lines that she knew were from fatigue and anxiety, and he was paler than normal.
His other hand was lying on the mattress, only millimeters from hers, and with the tiniest of stretches, she was able to reach it, so that her fingers brushed his. The small contact was enough to wake him.
Mulder’s eyes popped open as he lifted his head, bloodshot and full of confusion for just a brief instant. Then all traces of tiredness fled, and his hand was moving to clasp hers more firmly, a gentle smile crossing his lips. “Scully.”
His voice was husky, as was hers when she replied. “Hey, Mulder.”
He gave her hand a small squeeze and then released it to get up, the chair scraping back noisily as he did, and moved until he was standing at the head of her bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked tenderly, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair off of her face, his hazel eyes lovingly tracing her every feature.
“Actually, not too bad,” she replied honestly. “A little sore, and I could probably go back to sleep again, but I was enjoying looking at you.” She paused a second and then added in her prim doctor’s voice, having caught the wince he had tried to hide as he stood, “Even if you should be at home sleeping. Mulder, you look…”
“Terrible?” he put in with a wry twist of his lips.
Scully pursed her lips in mock displeasure. “I was going to say that you look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
Now she knew why he hated those two words so much. “Mulder,” she sighed, and forgetting for a moment she had to be careful when moving, tried to lift her arm to touch him. Pain flared, fast and furious, in both her shoulder and her back, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she moaned.
Shit, did that ever hurt.
She clenched her teeth to hold back another moan, the fingers of her right hand gripping at the bedclothes, and heard Mulder say her name with apologetic regret. Once again assuming he was to blame.
If she’d had the strength, and wasn’t being wracked by pain, she’d have called him on it.
Naturally her heart rate had accelerated, and the monitor gave a discordant note. Only seconds had gone by and there came the sound of the door swooshing open and rapid footsteps as someone came to the bed.
Scully was dimly aware of a female voice, most likely one of the nurses, trying to order Mulder from the room, and he vehemently refusing to go while she panted in an effort to control the pain.
She wasn’t ready for him to go yet, hadn’t really had much time to look at him, and to talk to him. She opened her eyes and this time the sound she made was more one of protest than anything else.
It had the effect she wanted, for the nurse subsided in trying to eject Mulder from the room, and he resumed his spot close to her head. His hand hovered over her for a moment before it descended to stroke through her hair.
The nurse leaned over the rail and patted her hand, which had relaxed its hold on the sheets. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
she asked in a gentle voice, so different from the one she had spoken to Mulder with.
“I moved by mistake,” Scully replied, a little tightly. While the pain was not as intense, it had not retreated completely.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Scully,” the nurse said then. “You’re slightly overdue for your pain meds. We had two new patients come down from surgery and we got a bit backlogged. I’ll be right back.” With that she turned and swiftly left the room.
Before the door had even finished closing, Mulder was already apologizing.
“Mulder, stop blaming yourself for everything,” she sighed. She kept her eyes on his face, and saw his mouth opening, probably to protest. She spoke again, not giving him the chance to do so.
“Mulder, I wanted to hold your hand, and I forgot and moved, okay? You didn’t do anything.”
“But, Scully…”
“Mulder, when the nurse gives me the pain medication, I am going to fall asleep within a matter of minutes,” Scully interrupted him. “So please give me a kiss before she comes back.”
His face immediately softened like she knew it would, and he bent down over the railing to bring his face to hers. His hand moved from her hair to her cheek, and his thumb gently caressed the delicate skin beneath her eye before he brought his lips to hers in a soft kiss.
For some inexplicable reason, her eyes welled with tears. She tried to blink them away, but of course Mulder saw them as he was drawing back, and his eyes grew worried.
“Scully? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
Scully sniffled, feeling foolish and tired and weepy, and hastened to tell him in a watery voice, “No, Mulder, you didn’t hurt me.
I just…I, oh…I love you so much, Mulder!” A lone tear had gathered and lay trembling on her lashes.
“I love you too, Scully,” he replied, sliding his thumb up to wipe away the wetness. He smiled anew, and this time it was teasing.
“Boy, those drugs really make you silly, don’t they?”
She chuffed out a tiny laugh. “Brings back memories of another hospital bedside declaration, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, brother!” he mimicked, still smiling, and bent to press another kiss on her, this one at the corner of her mouth.
The door opened then, and Mulder straightened rather hastily, but he stayed at his post by her head. The nurse came over to the bed and competently injected the pain medication in Scully’s IV port. “My apologies again, Miss Scully,” she said, and then turned her gaze to Mulder. “Excuse me for a moment, please. I need to take her vitals.”
Mulder stepped aside with a small nod, and Scully watched him while the nurse checked her blood pressure and temperature and jotted the results down on the chart she had brought with her. He kept his eyes on her face the whole time, until the nurse moved to lift the bedcovers. Then he turned his back to them and Scully knew it was to give her some privacy. The nurse first looked at the surgery site, peering briefly at the drainage tube, before she checked her catheter quickly. She then fixed the bedclothes around her, gave her a small smile, picked up her chart and left the room.
Once the nurse’s footsteps could be heard leaving, Mulder turned again and came right back to his position by her head.
Scully smiled and blinked sleepily at him, the medication was already taking effect. “Mulder?” she sighed.
“Yeah, baby?” he almost crooned at her, his hand smoothing her hair back in a gesture she found immensely soothing.
Her lids were so heavy, but she managed to keep them open. “Promise me you’ll go get some rest?” Her eyes started to slide shut, and she forced them wider. “Really rest, I mean. At home, in my…”
she hesitated, for that hadn’t sounded right, and found the words tthat did. “In our bed.” They sounded even better when she said them out loud.
She watched with bemused interest as a goofy smile crossed his lips. “Our bed, I like the sound of that,” he whispered.
She mouthed, ‘me too’, and then he said, “I will as soon as you fall asleep again, I promise. Indian Guide’s honor.”
“‘Kay,” she murmured, and let her eyes finally slide shut.
The last thing she remembered was the press of his lips on her forehead.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center
Surgical Floor, Scully’s Room
Saturday
3:30 pm
Mulder walked through the hospital lobby towards the elevators.
In one hand he carried a bouquet of flowers, a riotous mix of colors and scents he hoped Scully would like, in the other her overnight bag, and inside the inner pocket of his leather jacket was the result of his two hour shopping trip. Besides missing Scully like hell, he was nervous and very tired. As he pressed the button to summon the elevator, he ducked his head down to hide a yawn, and wondered how long it would take Scully to deduce he had not kept his promise.
He had tried to sleep, he really had.
After Scully had drifted off, he had watched her for long moments, his eyes focused on her face. On the fan of her dark lashes resting against cheeks just blushed with the palest of pinks, a sign her body was rejuvenating itself, and on the faint flicker of movement behind her eyelids as she slid into what was hopefully a pleasant dream.
Once he had been certain she would not wake again for some time, he had left, and gone home to Scully’s, not even questioning how easily he had termed it ‘home’ in his mind.
He had been glad Mrs. Scully had chosen to go back to her own home instead of staying at Scully’s, for the apartment had been quiet and still. His boots and coat had been shed at the door, and from there he had gone straight into the bedroom. The first thing he had noticed was that the bed was not made, the bedclothes still thrown back and disheveled, as if he and Scully had just climbed from it.
He had not been able to resist the lure to surround himself in the place she had last been. The borrowed tee shirt and his jeans had been shucked, along with his socks and briefs, and he had climbed into the bed nude. His body had immediately rolled into the spot long ago vacated by Scully, trying to pretend it was still warm from hers, and he had buried his head in her pillow, nostrils flaring for a moment as he had inhaled her sweet scent.
An enormous yawn had cracked his jaws wide then, and after nuzzling Scully’s pillow once more, he had closed his eyes to catch up on the sleep he desperately needed, and that Scully had wanted him to get, had made him promise he would get.
He had actually drifted off, his body weary and sore, his mind filled with thoughts of Scully. Thoughts that had quickly turned to dreams.
Dreams that had him reaching out for her, and meeting only empty space.
Panic had had him shooting quickly awake and upright, his heart pounding and his eyes searching the bedroom frantically before he had remembered where she was.
The dream, and the realization that he did not want to be there without her, had been the end of his attempt at sleep.
A long, hot shower, a quick shave and a fresh change of clothes had been followed by a bowl of his secret stash of Lucky Charms, all he had been able to muster the will to make. A few minutes spent stuffing Scully’s overnight bag with her toiletries and some underwear and extra clothes, and then he had left. He had gone to the Gunmen’s first, to fill them in on all that had happened after he had left her building the night before, and had given them Scully’s hospital room number once Frohike had gotten over the news that Scully had been shot.
His next stop had been to his own apartment, to collect his mail and to check on his fish. After disposing of the one floater down the toilet and listening to a couple phone messages, he had left to go to his last planned destination before heading back to the hospital.
The jewelry store.
He hadn’t had a particular one in mind, in fact had had no idea where to go at all. He just had that lingering feeling that made him want to buy Scully something personal, something that would maybe show her how he felt.
So he had gone to Union Station, on Massachusetts Avenue, and wandered in and out of all kinds of stores while he fought the butterflies that had taken up sudden residence in his stomach, and the little voice in his head that had been telling him it was a bad idea.
An entire hour had been spent like that, until he had finally found his nerve, and walked into the first jewelry store he had seen. It had been fairly busy, which had made it easier to wander about peering in all the different display cases. He had shied from the one that had so very obviously contained engagement rings and wedding bands, that was something he thought they both were not ready for, and had ended up looking at one that showcased rings of a different sort. As he had stared at them he had tried to think over the years if he had ever seen Scully wear a ring. He didn’t think he ever had.
Just as he had decided that maybe a ring wasn’t the way to go, even if it wasn’t one that screamed ‘Marry me!’, he had seen several displayed beside a small sign that had made him take a second look.
A saleslady had come by then, and had told him a bit more about them. The more he had looked at them, the more sure he had become that this was what he should buy for Scully.
While the saleslady had been ringing in his purchase, his eye had been caught by something else that he just hadn’t been able to resist. So he had bought them both.
The elevator doors opened then, startling Mulder out of his reverie. He saw a young woman with a cane moving towards the car, and jammed his foot inside the door to hold it open for her. Once she had gotten in with a smile of thanks, he followed her inside and pressed the button for Scully’s floor.
His grip on the flowers had tightened as he walked down the hallway towards her room, making his fingers cramp, so he switched the bouquet over to the other hand, holding the bag and the flowers together. Her door opened when he was a few feet away, and out walked Skinner.
“Mulder,” the AD said when he spotted him. His eyes flicked to the flowers in Mulder’s hand, and he quickly hid a smile. “How’s the head?”
“It’s fine,” Mulder replied, reflexively reaching up to touch the now unbandaged wound. After his shower he had decided some air would do the injury good. It had garnered a few strange looks during his shopping excursion, but he was used to getting odd stares.
“That’s good,” Skinner said, and reached into his pocket to pull out a small, white business card, holding it out towards Mulder.
“Listen, you need to stop by the police station and give your statement about last night. They’re going to arrange a time to come and get Scully’s statement as well. There will also be some loose ends to tie up at the office. You should probably come in on Monday, but I’ll see what I can do about postponing things a couple days.”
Mulder nodded, he had expected no less. Skinner had confiscated the weapon he had used to kill Elliot Andercott while they were waiting for the ambulance, as well as the one that Andercott had used to fire upon both he and Scully, and their other pieces, but the AD had also told him he would handle the police while Mulder went to the hospital. “Thank-you, Sir,” he replied, and hoped his words and his expression conveyed his measure of gratitude for all his help.
Apparently he had, for Skinner cracked another smile before nodding and taking his leave.
Shifting the flowers once more and taking a deep breath, Mulder knocked briefly on Scully’s door before pushing it open. He found her propped up just slightly, with more pillows under her head, and staring expectantly at the door, and watched her eyes light up.
Seeing that gave him the warmest feeling, and suddenly he wasn’t quite as nervous about the contents of his jacket pocket as he had been moments ago.
She was smiling as he approached her bed, and her voice, while still a little groggy, was filled with happiness. “Mulder.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he told her as he dropped the bag on the floor by the night table, and bent to kiss her on the cheek. Only she moved her head just before his lips touched her, so that he kissed her lips instead.
“I’m glad,” she said softly. “Even though I know you didn’t get the sleep you need.” She gave him that look, the one that dared him to tell her she was wrong, and then softened it by adding, “I missed you.”
He knew his cheeks had gone red by the way her smile widened, but chose not to respond to her comment about his sleep, or lack thereof. He instead held out the flowers, and said, “I always miss you when you’re not with me.”
“Ohhhh…” was her soft exhalation. He knew it was for his words, and not the flowers. She sniffled then and moved her eyes from where she had been holding his to the bouquet he held out.
“They’re beautiful, Mulder. Thank-you.”
He reached out and laid the flowers down on the little side table to the left of her bed and then looked from the bed to the chair pulled nearby. He didn’t want to sit on the chair, he wanted to sit with Scully.
She had seen him looking at the bed, and said, “Lower the side rail.”
Smiling, he carefully moved it down before easing his hip onto the mattress, making sure he did not jostle the bed in any way. His hand went to hers, lying atop the covers and he lifted it gently to lie on the knee that he had raised and now rested close to her hip.
He played with her fingers while they stared at each other, and was extremely conscious of the small bulge pressing against his ribcage beneath his jacket.
Should he give them to her now? It was probably a good idea, before he lost his nerve. “Hey, Scully,” he said. “I, uh, got you a little something while I was out.” She looked at him with curiosity as he let go of her hand and reached inside his pocket. His fingers felt the plush velvet of the little, square box, and then on further exploration, the longer, rectangular box. Which one first?
“Mulder, you didn’t have to buy me anything,” Scully said.
“I wanted to,” he told her, while trying to formulate the right words to tell her how he had come to buy her what was in his pocket.
“When you found out your cross was gone, I decided to go out and buy you another one, only I was not going to leave you alone while I went out, so I put the plans aside for the time being.”
“Oh, Mulder,” she sighed. “That’s so…sweet.” She looked a little sad, and he knew she was thinking about her necklace, for he had never got the chance to tell her it had been found. He wished he had remembered, so that she didn’t have to feel sad about it, even if it was only for a moment, and also because he thought returning it now might take away the impact of his gifts for her. Yet he could not hold back the news from her, not just because it might spoil his surprise.
“But…” he drawled. “I found out early this morning I didn’t have to.” Her expression changed to one of puzzlement, and he removed his hand from his pocket to go up and pull her necklace from under his shirt collar. “Your mom gave me this for safekeeping,” he told her. “It’s yours.”
Scully blinked slowly, seeming a little stunned. “But…how?” she asked. “Where did she find it?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, and when she opened her mouth, probably to insist he tell her, he added, “A story for another time, please, Scully?”
“Okay,” she said, chewing on her lip. He knew she had sensed it was not exactly a pleasant story, and although she wanted to know how, she would not press him because he had asked her to wait. She managed a small smile for him. “You’ll wear it for me until I come home.”
Mulder nodded and tucked it back against his skin. “So,” he said.
“Has the doctor been it yet?”
He had decided the hospital wasn’t the right place to give her his gifts. He would do it at her apartment, when he brought her home.
Besides, she wouldn’t be able to wear them anyway, not now.
Scully nodded, a little carefully he noted. “Just before Skinner came.” She paused and took a slow, deep breath before continuing.
“He took a look at the two sites, and said there’s no sign of infection, that everything looks clear. He’s still estimating my stay here at a couple days, but I’m hoping that might get shortened.” She then yawned, grimacing slightly, and smiled sheepishly at him. “Getting tired again, and the damn meds are sneaking up on me.”
“I think that’s to be expected,” Mulder said, and picked her hand back up to rest on his knee again. He played his thumb over her knuckles. “You close your eyes if you want. I’m just going to sit here for a while.” And watch you, he added silently, as her eyes drifted from his face to her hand in his, before starting to slide shut.
“But you just got here,” she said, forcing her eyes open, and yawned again. Her lids started to close once more, and she fluttered them open to look at him with a small pout.
“Scully, you need your rest. Especially if you want to get out of here early.” He added that last one as an enticement for her to go to sleep.
“I know,” she sighed, and then cranked her eyes open yet again.
“You need your rest too,” she said, and tried to pin him with a glare. It was ruined by another yawn.
Actually, rest sounded good. But not in her empty apartment that seemed lonely without her there. “Tell you what. You go to sleep, and I will too. Right in that chair there.” He indicated the one near her bed. Getting up carefully, he pulled it closer to the bed and arranged it sideways and sat down, so that his long legs lay parallel to her bed, his feet level with her head. That way he could
stare at her until he fell asleep, and still hold her hand.
“Deal,” she murmured, and let her eyes stay shut.
“Deal,” he whispered back, and laid his fingers on top of hers, his right arm resting along the mattress. Her hand twitched slightly, but that was the only reaction. He let his head fall to the right shoulder, keeping his eyes on her face.
The soft sounds of her breathing lulled him to sleep.
Revenge Part 28 by Lovesfox
Skinner’s Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Monday
11:40 am
Skinner heard Mulder’s voice out in the outer office, talking to Kimberley, and pushed the report he had been reading aside.
Removing his glasses and laying them atop the file, he stood up and walked out to greet the agent, needing to get up and stretch a bit.
Mulder was surprisingly dressed in a suit and tie, and Skinner guessed the surprise must have shown on his face, for the agent shrugged his shoulders and gave him a wry, twisting grin. “I went to give my statement,” he explained. “Had to give a good impression.”
Skinner felt his lips quirk in response, not quite a smile. “Come on in,” he said, and headed back into his office.
A moment later Mulder followed, and took his customary chair in front of the desk.
Skinner sank back down into his leather chair, feeling the pull in his calf muscles as he used his legs to bring the chair close to the desk once more. Time to get back in the routine of going to the gym on a regular basis, something he had intended to do, and not yet gotten around to.
“How’s Scully doing?” he asked, both out of politeness and a genuine concern. He had not yet been able to get back to the hospital to see her after his brief visit Saturday afternoon. He had spent most of Sunday here in the office going over all the reports from the shooting at the warehouse, preparing everything for the meeting he had had with his superiors earlier in the morning. He had also had dinner at Allison’s apartment.
“Going stir crazy,” was Mulder’s humorous reply. “She’s been trying to convince the doctor to let her go home today, but he’s sticking to his guns. No earlier than 9 am tomorrow.”
They shared a smile, for Scully’s dislike for hospital stays was well known by the two of them, and then Skinner got back to business. “Your statement went well?”
“Took a little longer than I expected, but yeah, it went fine,” was Mulder’s reply. “I suppose I need to give one for the Bureau file?”
Skinner nodded, rubbing his hand over his chin. “There will be a meeting with OPR as well, I just found out this morning it’s scheduled for this Friday. They want to hear Scully’s report of the shooting as well.”
Mulder frowned slightly, but said nothing, merely nodded his acceptance. “How does it look?” he asked quietly.
“It definitely helps that both Agent Andrews and myself heard Andercott threaten to kill you. It’s also been pretty much agreed upon that he fired first, and though we did not hear the gunshot that injured you, we did hear the two shots that hit Agent Scully.
I’m sure that Agent Scully’s report will reflect that he did indeed fire that first shot. All the ballistics tests validate your story, there were no shots fired from any other weapons than the one possessed by Andercott, and the weapon used by you to kill him, which as also witnessed by Andrews and myself, was after he had shot Scully and threatened to kill you.”
Skinner stopped for a second, the fingers of one hand playing with the wire rim of his glasses lying on the blotter before him. “As for the…excessive use of a firearm,” and here he was referring to the fact that Mulder had emptied a clip into the man, and by the grimace on Mulder’s face, he knew the agent was very aware of that, “I’m sure that it will be understood that it was a very explosive and dangerous situation. You were in fear for your life and that of your partner’s, and…”
“I wanted to kill him,” Mulder stated baldly, his eyes like flint.
His face was a wooden mask.
One that Skinner was fairly certain he could still easily read.
“And that was entirely off the record,” Skinner added smoothly, dipping his chin slightly, his own eyes conveying a warning.
Fortunately Mulder took it, and said no more.
The admission had not surprised Skinner in the least. He himself was glad the sick bastard was dead. He was more thankful however that Mulder would not be censored in any way for having killed him.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I think OPR will merely be a formality, although I am sure you’ll be required to see Karen Kosseff, as will Agent Scully.” He tried to lighten the almost uncomfortable situation with a small smile and said, “Not exactly how we had planned to have Scully go back to her, was it?”
Mulder blinked, and then his features relaxed completely, regaining life and warmth. “Not exactly, no sir,” he replied, and smiled too. He stood then, and said, “Well, I promised Scully I’d bring her something decent for lunch. Hospital food, you know.”
Skinner nodded in understanding and commiseration, and stood, hands going to his hips. “Say hello to Scully for me, would you? I’ll try and drop by the hospital tonight to see her in person.”
“I will, Sir,” Mulder replied, and headed for the door.
Skinner watched him go, and saw him slow at the door, and then stop completely.
Mulder looked back over his shoulder and quietly said, “Thank-you, sir.”
Skinner twisted his lips slightly and nodded once more, silently telling Mulder no thank-you was necessary. Seconds later Mulder was gone from the doorway and he was listening to the agent say goodbye to Kimberley. With a sigh of regret that he had not been able to show more of his personal thoughts about the entire situation to Mulder, Skinner re-took his seat and donned his glasses once more in preparation for battling his never-ending stack of reports.
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
10:15 am
Home at last. Thank God Almighty, she was home at last.
Scully giggled to herself at her painkiller induced parodic interpretation of the old Negro spiritual about their freedom from slavery and wobbled slightly as she waited for Mulder to finish turning the key in the lock. She sobered quickly though, not having meant in any way to belittle the momentous struggle for emancipation, and shuffled through her now opened door into her apartment.
Mulder was thankfully busy with her overnight bag and the largest of the flower arrangements she had received while in the hospital, the one that had arrived with a card that had read ‘Love Frohike’ in large letters, with the names Langly and Byers squeezed in messily beneath. He hadn’t caught her momentary lag in the hallway.
Scully carefully eased down onto her sofa with a contented sigh, hiding a grimace from the flare of pain that resulted when her injured arm hit the arrangement of pillows a little too hard.
Mulder had quickly hastened after her, dropping the bag with a heavy thud, the flowers mysteriously gone as well, and was now hovering above her like…
There was a sharp inhalation of breath coming from near the kitchen, followed by her mother’s voice. Mulder had not seen the grimace, but her mother apparently had. “Dana, honey, why didn’t you let Fox help you? You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
…an anxious mother.
Just what she needed, two of them. She loved them both, dearly, but combined they were sometimes overwhelming. And she’d yet to be home five minutes.
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said without a hint of her exasperation and offered her a sincere smile. She was fine; the twinge had been just that, a twinge, already forgotten. Probably one of many she would have to endure while she healed. After a second, her mother nodded and returned to the kitchen. Scully yawned, and peering down at her feet, struggled to toe off her running shoes. Before she had even thought of asking for assistance, Mulder was on his knees, pulling her feet onto his lap, his fingers quickly undoing her laces and then tugging each shoe off.
He looked up and said, “Do you want to put your feet up on the couch?” At her nod, he circled her ankles with his hands and swung her legs up and onto the couch, keeping his eyes on her face for any sign of distress.
But the half-dose of painkillers she had taken before leaving the hospital had her fully in grasp now, and she was floating nicely.
She had also been admiring the play of muscles in his forearms as he had shifted her legs from the floor to the sofa. She smiled a little muzzily at him, still on his knees beside her, and murmured, “Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Scully. I’m at your beck and call, okay?”
A line from a movie, or maybe it was a book, she couldn’t remember, flitted into her head and made her giggle again. Definitely feeling the effects of the meds. At his quirked eyebrow, she said, “I’ve never had a beck and call boy before, Mulder. I think I like it.”
The words were breathy, from the sleepiness that was overtaking her, but sounded sexy instead.
The look on his face was priceless. Eyes wide as saucers, eyebrows up to his hairline, mouth open. With that pouty lower lip just begging to be sucked. Scully blinked her heavy eyes. Had she discovered a new aphrodisiac? She didn’t remember feeling like this with all the other doses of painkillers. So…horny. True she had been getting far more sex over the last week than she’d had in months. Okay, years. Maybe she was just missing Mulder.
Or she was getting her period. Scully closed her eyes and tried to count backwards. Her fogged brain made it difficult, but she managed. Yep. She was definitely due in a few days, and was experiencing one of the few quirky little benefits to ovulation, in her case anyway, which was an increased appetite for sexual satiation.
Damn.
Her arm was certainly going to make it tricky, if she could convince Mulder to go for it, that is. He had been treating her like a hothouse flower ever since he helped her from the wheelchair into his car, and she had barely been able to talk him out of carrying her into her apartment, having had to use the excuse it would probably hurt more because of the jostling than if she walked herself.
At Mulder’s loud exhalation, she opened her eyes again to see him still regarding her open-mouthed, and his eyes slightly dilated.
The sight made her smile and murmur, “Cat got your tongue, Mulder?”
Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by her mother, who came out of the kitchen baring the laden tea tray. Mulder scrambled to his feet, kicking her running shoes out of the way, and came around the coffee table to take the tray from her and place it on the wooden surface.
Scully watched through half-closed eyes as her mother poured tea for the three of them. She knew she was not going to stay awake long enough to drink it, but could not summon the energy to tell her mother not to bother with a cup for her.
She closed her eyes for just a moment, and when she opened them again, she just knew hours had passed.
The tea tray and its contents were gone, the shadows stretched farther across the floor, and there was no sign of Mulder or her mother. She moved carefully on the sofa, trying to shift herself and relieve the ache in her back from lying in the same position ffor so long, and seconds later, heard Mulder approaching.
His hand stroked through her hair, and then he was kneeling on the floor once more, leaning over to press a kiss on her cheek. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Mmmm…” she said, and took mental stock of her body. The slightest of aches in her shoulder, but a tolerable ache, one she could handle. The sling was going to have to go though. It was chafing her neck. Her throat was dry, and her stomach was vaguely protesting its emptiness.
“Good. Thirsty. Hungry.” She smiled at him, and remembered their earlier, brief conversation. “I’m calling, boy.”
Mulder was silent for a minute, before taking a deep breath and giving her that look, the one that said she had impressed him with her little comment. His voice was just slightly husky when he playfully said, “Yes, mistress.”
His reply sent a pleasant tingle through her entire body. Oh, now that was a fantasy she wouldn’t mind carrying out. Damn, there she went again. She had better stop thinking about things like that, or she was going to hurt herself trying to jump him.
He gave her hair one last caress before rising and heading to the kitchen. She watched him go, staring at his jean-clad butt. She listened to the sounds of him in her kitchen, heard him opening and closing cupboards, and the whirring of her microwave, and slowly the savory aroma of her mother’s chicken soup drifted out from the kitchen.
Ah, heavenly. There was nothing like mom comfort food.
She closed her eyes to await his return, and actually dozed for a bit, awakening to the sound of the tray being placed on the coffee table. Mulder came around and asked, “Do you want to sit up a bit more?”
“Please,” she said, and together they shifted her about on the pillows until she was half-sitting, half-reclining, her arm in its sling resting on a pillow draped across her stomach, and supported by the back of the couch behind her. Scully used her other hand to quickly adjust the sling against her neck, her cool fingers momentarily soothing the irritated skin. Mulder waited for her to move her arm back down and then lifted the tray from the table and put it carefully on her lap, sitting on the floor to help keep it steady.
Besides the bowl of soup, there was a glass of what looked like apple juice, a plate with some cheese and crackers, and one single yellow rose in a tiny vase. “Oh,” she said. The man was a sweetheart, and a bit of a romantic it seemed. “Thank-you, Mulder.
That’s so sweet.”
“I do try,” he said modestly, and smiled at her. He then filched some of her cheese, and used it to indicate the soup. “Your mom made that yesterday for us. She left after her tea, and said she’d call you later on and see how you’re feeling.” That said, he popped the cheese in his mouth and downed it, before asking, “You mind if I flick on the TV?” At her negative shake, he grabbed the converter and aimed it at the set, turning it on. It was on the sports channel, and he was immediately engrossed in their sports update.
Scully watched him as she ate all her soup and most of the remaining cheese and crackers, and drank all her juice. She loved seeing the myriad expressions that crossed his face, and hearing the occasional groans and comments he mumbled to himself as he learned the scores of various games that had been played in the last day. She had missed this closeness, craved it actually, while she had been in the hospital.
True Mulder had been there as much as he could, and had even snuck back the first night after visiting hours were over to stay longer, but it hadn’t been the same. She wished she had a free hand, so she could play with the hairs at the nape of his neck, just inches away from her, and sighed softly.
Not softly enough. Mulder caught it, and turned his head quickly.
“You okay, Scully?”
How to answer? She went with the truth. “I’m okay, Mulder. Just wishing I could touch you.”
He looked inordinately pleased as they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then smiling, he shifted his gaze to the tray.
“Are you all finished?” At her nod, he lifted it easily and carefully, shifting to put it on the coffee table again. When that was done, he scooted over on the floor until he was much closer to her.
This allowed her to sift her fingers through his hair without straining, and she did so happily.
They sat that way for quite some time, with Mulder occasionally rolling his head so that her fingers touched more of his scalp, and whenever her nails happened to gently scratch at the skin of his neck, he would shiver or give a low groan. But her hand grew tired, and she had a pressing need to use the facilities, so she regretfully stopped with a squeeze of the shoulder closest to her.
“Mulder, can you help me up? I need to go to the washroom.”
At her words, he was up in a flash and helping her stand. Once he was sure she was steady, he let go, and they headed down the hall, Scully conscious of his warm body close to hers, knowing he was ready to grab her in an instant if she faltered. After she entered the bathroom, he stood in the doorway to ask, “Do you need me to help you?”
It was awkward doing things with one hand, but she had managed for the last day and a half while in the hospital. And as much as she relished the fact that she was home with him again, this was something she really didn’t need him to witness, or assist. “I’ll be okay, Mulder. I’ll call when I’m done, or if I need help.”
“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll wait in your bedroom.” With that, he pulled the door most of the way closed, leaving it cracked about an inch.
Scully did her business, managed to wash her one hand, and brush her hair into some semblance of order, all without irritating her shoulder, for which she was thankful. She hoped to lengthen the time between the pain medication doses, because she did not want to sleep so much during the daytime, and it was easier to do that when the pain was minimal. As long as she was careful and did not jostle it, she would be able to use the medication in moderation.
She pulled the door open and said Mulder’s name softly. His footsteps sounded a second later, not coming from the bedroom, but rather from the direction of the living room.
“Everything okay?” he asked, and at her nod, waited for her to pass him so he could follow her back to the couch. “How do you want to sit?” he asked, and for some reason he seemed fidgety to her.
“Like I was when I was eating is fine,” she replied, and with his help, eased herself back down onto the sofa and into her nest of pillows. Instead of sitting on the floor, Mulder lifted her legs and carefully sat down, his hip just touching her upper thighs, and placed her lower legs over his lap.
“This okay?” he asked. “You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”
She could feel the warmth of his hand on her calf through the material of her sweat pants, gently stroking up and down. “It’s just fine, Mulder.”
He smiled, and they remained sitting and looking at each other for long moments.
She saw him flick a glance to the pillow beside him, and then begin nibbling on his lip. He didn’t look uncomfortable, was in fact slouching in his normal couch potato position, but maybe he wanted the pillow for his neck, and didn’t want to disturb her to get it.
“What’s wrong Mulder?” she asked. “Is your neck sore or something?”
“Huh?” he asked, whipping his head back to look at her with puzzlement.
“You were staring at the pillow,” she said each word distinctly, feeling like she was talking to her little nephew. “Do you need it for your neck?”
“Uh…” he said, and flicked another glance towards the pillow in question, briefly gnawing on his lip again.
She was just about to say something when he seemed to reach a decision. He looked at her almost shyly, and then leaned over and stuck his hand under the pillow. What was he doing?
“Um, Scully…” he said. “Do you remember me telling you I got you something the other day?”
Scully felt a nervous little flutter in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes…” she answered slowly. “And then you showed me my cross, which I thought I’d lost.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Well…I wasn’t talking about your cross. I just got nervous and used it as an excuse. I really did get you something.”
He was acting really odd, hesitant and kind of hopeful.
The nervous feeling intensified, and a slight hint of excitement began to war with it. She didn’t know if Mulder knew this or not, but she loved getting presents. And each and every time he had gotten her one, even if it was a silly gag gift, she had been secretly and utterly thrilled. She still had her Superstars of the Superbowls tape, despite the fact that Bill had tried to steal it a couple times, and had even watched it, because it had been from Mulder.
Mulder was fidgeting with whatever was under the pillow, still biting his lip and regarding her with those puppy dog eyes.
Her eyes flicked from his face to the pillow and back again, and she found herself biting her own lip, in nervousness and anticipation.
“Mulder…” she said after the heavy silence continued to grow, and cringed inwardly at the slight whiny sound to it.
At that, he finally pulled his hand out from underneath the pillow.
Her eyes immediately went to his hands, and she had to suck in her breath when she regarded the small velvet box he now held. Her heart started to pound.
Was it…?
Oh, God, they had never talked about marriage since they had become…lovers. They hadn’t even discussed what they were going to do about living arrangements after it was no longer necessary for him to stay with her because of Elliot Andercott.
It was something she had been afraid to bring up, and with her just getting home from the hospital, they really hadn’t discussed anything at all. Like why he hadn’t taken her as back-up when he had gotten the call…
Scully told herself to stop her mental babbling, she was going to start hyperventilating soon. And it might not even be what she was thinking it was. Oh, God, he wouldn’t have, would he?
There she went again. Stop it.
Fortunately Mulder spoke again, and saved her from herself. And also surprised her with how much his words mirrored her thoughts.
Though she told herself, she really shouldn’t be surprised, they had almost always been on the same wavelength, for years. With the occasional total misunderstanding, of course.
“Scully…I know we’ve never really talked about…well, this thing between us. Not seriously anyway.” He paused, and his swallow was noisy, a sure sign of his nervousness. For some reason, it calmed her, and she began to breathe again. “I love you, and I know you love me, and I wanted to get you something to show you how I felt.
So that you would always have a reminder of it, and of me, especially if I wasn’t there.”
He shifted his hips slightly then, so he was facing her better, and she watched as he held out the little box, with just the smallest of tremors. “Not that I won’t be here,” he added hastily, swallowing noisily again.
Her own hand was shaky as she reached up to take it, and they both seemed to realize at the same time that she wouldn’t be able to open it on her own. With a sheepish smile, he leaned forward even more and put it into her palm, so that their fingers cradled it together. He then brought his other hand up and lifted the lid.
“It’s a…”
Scully sucked in her breath at what was revealed.
And they both said it together, “Claddagh ring.”
1:50 pm
Mulder had long ago cleaned up the remains of the tea and sandwiches Mrs. Scully had fixed for them, and even walked her down to her car as Scully had slumbered on. Not wanting to disturb her with the television, he had headed to her room and tidied up there too.
While she had been in the hospital, he hadn’t been quite as diligent in cleaning up after himself, and thankfully she had fallen asleep and given him the opportunity to rectify the matter.
He had just finished putting away the contents of Scully’s overnight bag, dumping the dirty clothes in the hamper and taking the toiletries back to their proper places in the bathroom, and was feeling a little restless.
His gaze kept wandering over to his underwear drawer, the one that was currently housing the two velvet boxes he had yet to give Scully. He was just about to go and take them out, to look at them yet again and see if they bolstered his courage any when he heard the slightest of sounds coming from the living room.
Sounds that meant Scully was awake. He flicked a glance at her alarm clock on her night table, and saw that she had been sleeping for just over three hours. The painkillers had certainly kicked in as she hadwarned them they would on the drive home from the hospital.
Feeling desperate to see her, despite the fact he had watched her sleep for a while, because now he would be able to talk to her and to touch her, he headed down the hall to be her ‘beck and call boy’, smiling faintly to himself at the term.
Woo, had that one knocked him for a loop.
Especially spoken in that husky, just about to fall asleep, totally bedroom voice he’d lately had the incredible pleasure of hearing on a pretty regular basis.
She was shifting about on the couch when he entered the living room, and he slid his hand over her hair before going to his knees to kiss her on the cheek and ask her how she was feeling. The sleepy huskiness of her voice was endearing as she replied, until she said, “I’m calling, boy.”
Then it became downright sexy.
His pulse leapt.
Oh, he was a sick man for wanting to jump her while she was injured, he thought to himself, after spending a delicious few seconds planning a way to keep her shoulder from harm’s way while they did the wild thing on her couch. The thought didn’t stop him from responding with a teasing, “Yes, mistress,” after taking a deep breath to slow his heart rate.
Of course watching her eyes darken in response to his reply did incredible things to his ego, and the hungry beast behind his zipper.
On that note, he decided it was time to remove himself to the safety of the kitchen. He ran his fingers through her hair once more and went to fix her a late lunch.
While the soup her mother had made warmed in the microwave, he readied the tray, plucking a yellow rose from one of the bouquets she had received, but not the one from dear brother Bill, that was just…not right, and putting it in a tiny bud vase he had discovered in the one of her cabinets while looking for a place to hide his Lucky Charms.
Once everything was organized, he carried the tray over to the coffee table, seeing that she seemed to have dozed off again. Her eyes opened though when he put the tray down, and together they got her arranged on the pillows and the tray on her lap. He was pleased at her response to the rose, and after swiping a piece of the cheese he had cut up for her, told her that her mother would call later.
He then asked if she minded if he watched TV, which she didn’t, and settled in to catch up on some sports.
Even though he was engrossed in the program, he was very aware of her lying just behind him. He was on the floor propped against the couch, and he knew if he tilted his head back, he would encounter her thigh.
Her firm, smooth…Whoa! Them be dangerous thoughts. Think basketball instead, my man.
When Scully sighed, he turned to her in concern, and was relieved, and buoyed beyond belief at her explanation about wishing she could touch him. After confirming she was finished, he lifted the tray out of the way and then moved over a bit on the floor quickly and happily, nearly moaning at the feel of her hands in his hair.
Mulder thought he might actually have been able to doze off, was not even sure how much time had passed, when Scully squeezed his shoulder and said she needed to go to the bathroom. He helped her up from the couch, feeling relaxed and loose, and then stepped back to let her make her own way, staying close just in case, and followed her as she shuffled down the hallway.
He wasn’t sure if she needed his help in there or not, or even if she would accept it, for she was still very private about some things, and was not surprised or hurt when she declined his help with a gentle explanation. He told her he’d wait in her bedroom, and found himself once again sitting on her bed and contemplating that same drawer.
Remembering the reaction the rose in the vase had gotten, and how good it had made him feel, he took a fortifying breath and got up from his perch to take the velvet boxes from their hiding spot and sneak them out to the living room.
It didn’t mean he had to give them to her right away, just that they would be closer if he decided to.
In the living room, he turned in circles a few times, trying to find a spot to tuck them away, and hearing the water in the bathroom turn off, knew he didn’t have much time. He stuffed the two little boxes under the throw pillow at the opposite end of the couch from where Scully had been propped, and heard her call his name.
He hastened back down the hall, to where Scully was standing outside the bathroom, and asked her if everything was okay. She gave an affirming nod, and started her slow, careful walk back to the couch. He was again at her back, at the ready if she needed assistance.
He could not help glancing at the pillow he had tucked the gifts under, but as he was behind Scully, she did not notice.
Once they got her resettled on the couch, like she had been sitting to eat her lunch, he joined her on the couch instead of resuming his spot on the floor. He scooted closer to her, his side bumping her thigh gently, and lifted her legs to lay them across his lap.
He inquired as to whether she was okay, and that she was comfortable, and then began to rub her calf.
Scully said, “It’s just fine, Mulder,” and he could only stare at her and smile, wondering if he looked as goofy as he felt. Or if his nervousness showed. Worried he would blurt it out before he was prepared; he finally had to look away, unconsciously gnawing at his lip, his eyes flicking to the pillow that hid his secret and away again.
Her next words startled him. “What’s wrong Mulder?” she asked.
“Is your neck sore or something?”
“Huh?” he said. Way to dazzle her with a brilliant Oxford graduate response, he told himself, and turned his head to look at her, seeing her blue eyes regarding him seriously.
“You were staring at the pillow,” she replied, speaking slowly as if to a child. He felt like one. “Do you need it for your neck?”
“Uh…” he managed. Jeez, where did all his intellect go? It had been sucked right into the beauty of her eyes. He had to look away from her, and ended up shooting another glance at the pillow while biting his lip yet again.
What the hell was he waiting for? The perfect moment? What exactly defined a perfect moment? To him, a perfect moment was any time spent with Scully.
Like now.
Mulder looked at Scully again, a tense, achy feeling low in his belly, and decided to bite the bullet. Slanting his body to the side a bit, he stretched his arm out and groped under the pillow.
The ring should be first, so he found the small, square box and grasped it tightly.
“Um, Scully…” he said, “Do you remember me telling you I got you something the other day?” He was surprised at how calm he sounded, amazed he had a voice at all.
Mulder could see curiosity and confusion in her eyes, and her reply about her cross was a little hesitant. “Yeah,” he continued, gaining a little more confidence. “Well…I wasn’t talking about your cross. I just got nervous and used it as an excuse. I really did get you something.”
Scully’s eye widened, and he could see excitement warring with the confusion now. There was a faint hint of color in her cheeks, and she seemed to be sitting up just a little bit straighter.
He watched her eyes leave his face and look at the pillow, as if she were trying to sneak a peek at what might be under it, and then come back to his face. He had a feeling that if she were not hampered by her injured shoulder, she’d be trying to climb over him and get at the pillow herself. It made him smile, and the ache in his belly disappeared, to be replaced with a feeling of serenity, or tranquility. This was the right moment.
Wanting to enjoy it as much as possible, he decided to tease her a little. So he played with the pillow some more, and gave her his puppy dog eyes, the ones he knew made her melt. He sucked in his lower lip and saw her eyes flick down to watch the motion.
She then bit her own lip, and after a few seconds, said his name in this pleading, kind of whining tone that almost made him want to smile.
Instead, he brought his hand and the small velvet box out.
Her breath was an audible gasp.
“Scully…” he said slowly, thinking of the words he wanted to say.
“I know we’ve never really talked about…well, this thing between us. Not seriously anyway.”
His mouth was suddenly dry, and he had to swallow, the sound loud in the quiet of the room. He could even hear his own heartbeat, a steady thud in his ear.
Okay, so he wasn’t as calm as he had thought he was.
It almost felt like he was proposing to her, which he supposed in his own, weird way, their way, he was. They had never talked about commitment, and where their relationship was headed, or even what their living arrangements were going to be like after Elliot Andercott, and while he knew they weren’t ready for marriage, and maybe never would be, he also knew he wanted her to know he was declaring himself to her, declaring himself hers.
“I love you, and I know you love me, and I wanted to get you something to show you how I felt. So that you would always have a reminder of it, and of me, especially if I wasn’t there.”
Mulder turned his body carefully, so that he was facing her directly, and held the little velvet box, seeing that his hand was actually shaking slightly. His last sentence registered, and its implication that he might not be there, and he hastened to add, “Not that I won’t be here.”
Hoping she understood that he meant ‘here’ as anywhere she was.
Scully’s hand shook as well when she lifted it to take the box, and just as it clicked in his slow-witted brain that there was no way she could open it one-handed, her lips quirked in a tiny acknowledgement of that fact.
He smiled with chagrin and leaned closer to her to rest the box on the palm of her hand, keeping his fingers there in support, and because he craved the contact. He used his other hand to open it, nerves striking again, and began to explain it to her, “It’s a…”
She made that gasping sound again, and spoke the words with him.
“Claddagh ring.”
They smiled at each other, and Mulder watched as her eyes grew big and shiny. “It’s beautiful, Mulder. So very beautiful.”
“Like you,” he whispered, and watched her cheeks bloom with color.
Her hand moved within his, until he was the one holding the opened box, and then her index finger traced the air just above it lightly, as if she were stroking the gold circlet.
“Do you know the legend?” he asked, and his voice was husky.
Scully’s was too when she replied, “Yes, but I want you to tell me it.”
Mulder let his hand with the box lower until it was resting on her lap, and her hand came down to rest upon both his and the box. She seemed torn between wanting to keep her eyes on his face, and on the ring.
“Well, the lady at the jewelry store told me a little, but I went on the Internet to learn more.” He shifted his hand slightly, so that he could run his thumb over her knuckles. “It was the name Claddagh that caught me in the first place. I knew it was Irish, so I asked her what it meant, and she told me it was the name of a fishing village in Galway, Ireland. She also said that it was used as a symbol for friendship, love and loyalty, and that there were many legends as to how it came about. I was sold when she said those three words, Scully. Friendship, love and loyalty. For they symbolize everything that you are to me.”
“Oh, Mulder…” Scully sniffled, and her fingers were gripping his tightly now, the box lying on her lap. “As you are to me.”
He lifted his other hand, and stroked it softly down her cheek.
Before he could move it away, she turned her head and kissed his palm.
It sent a shiver of heat down his spine, and he had to clear his throat in order to speak again.
“There was one legend I liked the best. It’s about a man from Claddagh who was kidnapped by slave traders just before he was to marry his sweetheart. He designed it for her, with the crown signifying loyalty, the hands signifying the hands of friendship, and the heart signifying love. When he finally was released from his slavery, he returned to Galway to learn his sweetheart had never married, and presented it to her.”
“I like that one the best too,” she whispered. She tilted her head a little to the side and looked at him, her eyes luminous and the most incredible shade of blue, as if she were waiting for him to say more.
When he didn’t, she said a little hesitantly, “There’s more to the legend though.”
Of course there was, he had just gotten a little nervous again, even with her reaction and her avowal that he was also to her what those three words symbolized. He cleared his throat before beginning again.
“Yes, there is. It’s about how the ring is worn. If worn on the right hand, with the crown facing outwards, it shows that the wearer’s heart has not yet been won. If worn on the right hand, with the crown facing inwards, it shows that love is being considered.”
He paused, the hand holding hers suddenly damp, and his heart thumping loudly, before finishing with, “If worn on the left hand, with the crown facing inwards, it means two loves have joined forever.”
Scully’s hand was trembling a little beneath his, but her voice sounded clear and strong when she said, “Take the ring out, Mulder.”
His fingers felt huge and clumsy, but he managed to lift the small circle of gold from the little slot in the satin that lined the box, staring at it the whole time, afraid he would drop it. Suddenly her hand was grasping his hand, the one that held the ring, and she was moving it to her other hand, her injured hand, holy shit, her LEFT hand, which was lying in the sling’s hold against her midriff.
“Put the ring on.” No hesitation, no hitch.
He had to use his other hand to lift her hand gently, terrified he would hurt her, and brought the ring to the fourth finger of her left hand. Here he stopped, until he heard her voice again, guiding him.
“Crown facing in, Mulder.”
He pushed the ring onto her finger, easing it over her knuckle, and saw that it was a perfect fit.
She spoke again, and after the first word, he said the rest with her.
“Two loves have joined forever.”
Revenge Part 29 by Lovesfox
Scully’s Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
2:15 pm
Scully watched as Mulder’s fingers, fingers that had caressed and stroked and teased every inch of her body, eased the Claddagh ring from its satin enclosure. She flicked a glance up at his face, and saw that his eyes were focused on the ring, and that he had sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, a sure sign of nervousness.
Once he had removed the ring, she gently grasped his hand and brought it to just below her breasts, where her left hand rested.
She had forgotten to take the sling off, and made a mental note to do so later. With all the butterflies in her stomach she was surprised her voice remained so calm and even as she gave him her next instruction.
“Put the ring on.”
His touch was tentative and so gentle as he lifted her hand up from her stomach with his free hand, using his elbow to support his weight against the back of the couch, while bringing the ring ever closer to her fourth finger.
He stopped, and she sensed his uncertainty.
It left her with a pang in her heart. Oh, Mulder, how can you still doubt how much I love you? She once again silently cursed the coldness of his parents and the women in his past who had damaged him so, and then said, “Crown facing inwards.” There was no trace of her hurt – hurt for him, and for his doubt.
But his hand was steady when he slid the ring onto her finger, guiding it gently over her knuckle so it wouldn’t scrape. She was not surprised to see that it was a perfect fit, that Mulder had known the exact size to buy. She started to speak, with Mulder joining her after the first word.
“Two loves have joined forever.”
There were no wedding bells, no friends or family surrounding them, no priest before them to bless their union, but she felt as if a ceremony had just been performed. All that was required now was a kiss, as one last seal for their pledge.
Scully raised her eyes from the glimmering band of gold around her finger, to see that Mulder had raised his head to look at her.
Their gazes met, locked. She murmured, “Kiss me, Mulder.”
And watched as his head slowly descended towards hers. His eyes slipped shut as he let instinct guide him home, but she left hers open to the very last second, until his lips brushed hers as delicately as a butterfly’s wings. Shivers tingled along her spine at the contact, and then her eyes fluttered shut, her mouth opening in supplication for his tongue.
He accepted the invitation, swooping his tongue inside her mouth to mate and duel with hers, sending a rush of heat straight to her groin.
Her injury was completely forgotten as she lifted her other arm to cup the back of his neck, her fingers playing in his hair as she had earlier. He moaned into her mouth, and slanted his head further to the side, deepening and intensifying their kiss, while at the same time he brought his own hands up to fist into her hair. His body leaned even further into hers, and his groin was now pressing into her thigh. She shifted slightly so that she turned onto her left hip curving her body towards him, trying to straighten her legs, which had been curled up on his lap.
Their positions were awkward, and a little uncomfortable, and finally Mulder pulled away, mumbling, “Are you okay, Scully?”
She slid her hand from his neck to rest on his laboring chest, feeling the fast, furious beating of his heart, which matched the pace of her own heart, and whispered, “I’d be more comfortable on our bed.”
If it were possible, his heart started pounding faster, and his eyes were glittering with passion and arousal. Yet he panted, “Scully, we have…we have to wait.”
“Wait for what?” she asked, and scratched her fingernails over his nipple. She was delighted when he sucked in a breath, but before she could do it again, he reached up to move her hand away, squeezing it tightly before laying it down on his thigh.
Which was an even better location. She was sliding her hand up the soft, worn denim as he replied, “Wait until your arm is bet-TER!”
She giggled at the way his voice rose when she reached her target.
“Scuh-lee,” he moaned, “You’re not playing fair.” Still, he pushed up against her hand once, and then moaning again, took it away, this time holding it against his stomach and not releasing it.
“The operative word being ‘play’,” she said, in a credible imitation of his leer, waggling her eyebrows up and down. She could see though that he was really worried. “Mulder, I want you. Very much. And I think if we’re careful, we’ll be able to play without incident.”
His lips quirked up in a smile before he replied, “Without incident? That’s no fun. I want you to have…multiple incidents.” Then he shook his head, like a dog shook water off his back, the sober, responsible man back in the forefront. “We can’t.
I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
She was going to hurt him if she didn’t get any action soon.
“Mulderrrrr,” she groaned. “I know we can do this. We’ll prop lots of pillows under my arm, and I promise I won’t move.” She tried the wagging eyebrows again, and teased, “You can do all the work.”
He looked stubborn, even with an obvious erection straining against his tight jeans.
Time for the big guns.
With effort, she leaned forward until her lips were brushing his ear. She let her tongue dart out and touch the lobe, and felt the shiver that went through his body.
Mulder had very sensitive ears.
She followed up by whispering directly into the canal, “Did you know that I have been aware for quite some time that you chart my time of the month?” She spoke reasonably, without a hint of anger, for in fact, it had amused her to no end the first time she had caught him at it, unbeknownst to him.
His body jerked beneath her hand, his stomach muscles tightening as if he expected a blow.
She chuckled softly into his ear, eliciting another shiver. “But what you don’t know,” she continued, and threw every bit of seductiveness she could into the words, “is that for the few days before my period starts, I am so…unbelievably…” She paused to suck in a noisy breath and exhaled the last word, “horny.”
Bull’s-eye.
Mulder’s hands were in her hair, and his lips were on hers before she could take her next breath. A long, delirious second later he was releasing her and rising from the couch, holding his hand out to help her up.
Scully placed her hand in his, and while he gently tugged, she leaned her weight forward, and together they got her up and off the couch.
He released her hand and brought both of his up to frame her face.
“I love you, Scully. More than I can ever say.” He punctuated the words with the sweetest of kisses, close-mouthed and gentle.
When he lifted his head, he was smiling. So was she. “I love you too, Mulder.” She lifted her hand to hook it in the waistband of his jeans, just above the zipper, millimeters away from the visible result of her teasing. “Now take me to our bed and make love to me.”
“With pleasure,” he said, and grabbed her hand to lead her down the hallway.
“God, I hope so!” she teased, lagging just slightly behind him.
If she’d had a free hand, she’d have pinched his butt, which was framed so nicely in those jeans.
Of course, she would prefer him out of the jeans, for now anyway.
Maybe later he could walk around in just the jeans, with a bare hest and bare feet. One of his better looks, after the one where he wore nothing at all.
“That had better not be a disparagement of my prowess,” he growled, and shot her a look over his shoulder. He followed up by winking at her. “But I’ll certainly do my best.”
Once they had reached her bedroom, he led her to the chair in the corner and helped her sit. He then turned to the bed and began arranging her pillows, muttering that he needed more. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the room. He was back less than a minute later, more pillows stuffed under his arms. He added them to the pile, and then turned back to her. He helped her up from the chair and looked at her, one eyebrow lifting in question.
“I need the sling off first,” she told him, and instructed him on how to pull it off in one direction while she gently moved her arm in the other. He then lifted it off from around her neck and placed it on her dresser. She had worn a buttoned shirt, because it was easier to slide on and off, and after she slowly lowered her arm to her side, he began to undo each tiny button, starting at the one between her breasts.
His knuckles grazed the swell of each breast, and she sucked in her breath at the contact, fleeting as it was, for he had already moved on to the next button. As he continued down to the last one, the shirt had slowly fallen open, baring her skin to his view.
She was not wearing a bra, having decided the strap would have been too painful on her shoulder, and knew Mulder had realized it when he exhaled rather loudly, his eyes riveted to her cleavage. He stood that way as if transfixed, for a few seconds before a shudder went through him and he moved to unbutton each of her cuffs.
Once that was done, he eased the material down off her injured arm, while she shrugged out of it on the other side. The shirt fell to the floor and pooled at her feet. She kicked it away with a flick of one foot.
She stood before him nude from the waist up, with the white bandage at her shoulder, and her nipples hard and aching for his touch.
One of his hands came up and just barely brushed a tight, little bud with his palm, and goosebumps raced over skin. She moaned and thrust her chest forward in mute invitation.
He ignored it though, and hooked his hands in the waistband of her leggings.
Her stomach jumped and twitched at the feel of his fingers beneath the material, almost brushing the edges of her panties. With a gentle tug, he pulled them down over her hips, going down on his knees before her as he brought them to her feet.
Scully placed her good hand on his shoulder and lifted each foot one at a time to step free of the leggings. Mulder tossed them aside, remaining on his knees. She watched as he slowly leaned forward and nuzzled her center through her panties, inhaling deeply.
He made an ‘mmmmm’ sound, which reverberated over her flesh, and she thought vaguely to herself that she should be embarrassed, knowing he was smelling the most intimate part of her, a sure sign of her excitement, which was slowly saturating her panties, but she was not.
She was extremely aroused, and her knees buckled slightly.
Mulder chuckled, sending a wave of pleasure through her, and then pressed a moist kiss on her before bringing his hands to the waistband of her panties and guiding them off as he had with the leggings.
Tossing them aside, he rose to his feet and took her hand to lead her to the bed. She sat down and he helped her swing her legs up onto the mattress. She was able to shimmy over a bit so that she was not so close to the edge of the bed, and Mulder helped her get settled on her mound of pillows. He softly asked if it she was comfortable, and she nodded in reply, licking her suddenly dry lips.
Mulder had watched her as she did that, and echoed the gesture on his own lips, unconsciously it seemed to her, before he met her eyes. They commanded hers to watch him, and then his hands moved to the hem of his untucked tee shirt. He ripped it over his head in one smooth motion, and threw it aside, his hands then going to the button of his jeans.
It opened with a tiny, audible pop, which made her jerk slightly on the bed. She could not take her eyes off of his hands, and watched as he slowly lowered his zipper, careful of the bulge behind the denim. He moved to his waistband, hooking his fingers beneath the jeans, and with a shimmy of his hips, pulled them down a little, teasing her with a look at his heather gray boxer-briefs.
She loved those boxer-briefs. How they clung to his ass and upper thighs, and gently cupped him between the legs. Scully licked her lips in anticipation of when he would be revealed in all his naked glory, and heard Mulder chuckle again.
“Getting anxious, Scully?” he teased, and shimmied his hips again.
Yes, but damned if she was going to admit it. So she faked a yawn, patting her mouth theatrically. “Getting tired, actually,” she sighed, and batted her eyelashes at him.
He grinned at her, and then with one quick yank, pulled his jeans and the boxer-briefs down. His erection sprung free, and she felt herself grow even wetter. A few kicks of his legs, and the rest of his clothes were gone. He placed on knee on the mattress, which caused it to dip slightly from his weight, and then climbed carefully onto the bed, easing himself beside her, lying on his side.
His hardness pressed into her thigh, and she moved her leg slightly to rub at it, which made him hiss in his breath.
Scully tilted her head a little and stared into his desire-filled eyes. She licked her lips again, and gave him a command. “Kiss me, Mulder.”
He did, with alacrity.
It took all his will power and then some to get back up on his feet after kneeling before the altar of Scully, her scent surrounding him, enflaming him, when all he had wanted to do was drag her down on the floor, cover her with his body and let nature take its course in the wildest of ways.
He was still reeling from her assault on his ear and her admission to being horny. Scully was a very sensual and passionate woman, but she still had this inherent shyness about her sexuality, and much insecurity about revealing it to him, although together they were slowly getting her past her barriers. Hearing those words from her had nearly thrown him for a loop.
And sent arousal skyrocketing throughout his body.
But his flicking glance upward, past the triangle of curls, her quivering stomach and turgid nipples, had caught the flash of white, the bandage on her injured shoulder, and he quickly regained the ironclad hold on his control. He was not going to risk hurting her for the sake of pleasure, as mind-blowing as it would be.
Mulder took her hand and led her to the bed, where he helped her climb onto the mattress, gently lifting her legs up so she would not have to strain her shoulder, and arrange herself on the pillows.
He asked her if she was comfortable, and her reply was a nod of her head, followed by her tongue licking her lips.
The gesture captivated him, it was so innocent and so erotic at the same time, and he had to lick at his own suddenly dry lips. He then met her eyes, which seemed as desire-filled as he knew his must be.
The desire in her blue orbs flared brighter after he ripped his tee shirt over his head and moved his hands to the button of his jeans.
She jolted a little as the button popped open, and he slowed his movements in response, dragging the zipper down in increments, careful of the erection that was contained within. Once the tab was down all the way, his moved his hands to his waistband, but instead of yanking the jeans off, he merely lowered them a little and wiggled his hips slightly, giving her a little glimpse at his underwear.
He knew Scully had a thing for the boxer-briefs he often wore; he had caught her eying him in them on numerous occasions as he had dressed or undressed.
He was rewarded by another dart of her tongue, and he couldn’t resist asking, “Getting anxious?” He punctuated the question with another wiggle of his hips.
Not to be outdone, his little temptress mock-yawned and replied, “Getting tired, actually.” She punctuated her retort with a flutter of her eyelashes.
What a tease.
His grin was wide. How he loved her. Forget the little strip show, he wasn’t sure who was more turned on by it, him or her. His fingers gripped both his jeans and his underwear and hauled them down quickly. He almost sighed as his erection was freed from captivity.
Mulder still held onto his control, the one that kept him from descending onto the bed with a pounce, and slowly lay down on his side next to Scully, careful not to move the bed too much or dislodge her from her nest of pillows. His hardness bumped her thigh, and she responded by infinitesimally moving her leg in a teasing caress on the sensitive tip of his penis that he felt from his toes to his scalp, and had him sucking air in noisily through his teeth.
Scully shifted her head slightly on her pillow so that their eyes met.
He watched avidly as she traced her lips with the tip of her tongue yet again and then said, “Kiss me, Mulder.”
As he hastened to obey her, Mulder was not sure what he loved more.
Hearing those three words spoken as a demand or as a breathless plea, or seeing them shaped by her utterly perfect mouth. The mouth that was currently being crushed beneath his. The mouth he had fantasized about for longer than he could remember. She had to know about his fascination with her mouth and her lips, for all the wetting and licking she did couldn’t all be accidental or unconscious.
Not that it mattered right now.
Their tongues had immediately resumed the duel they had begun out on Scully’s couch, and somehow his hand had found her right breast.
Her nipple was a hard little peak beneath his palm, and he moved until he was pulling and tugging at it with his fingers.
She thrust her chest upwards in reaction, and moaned into his mouth.
He eased up on her mouth, afraid she had hurt her shoulder, and mumbled against her lips, “Are you okay?”
“I’m…fine!” she gasped back, and nipped at his upper lip with her teeth, sending a shockwave of pleasure/pain through his body.
He growled in response, and reciprocated by sucking her lower lip into his mouth to first bite it and then sooth the sting with his tongue.
Her hand swept up his back to wind into his hair, and then she was pushing his head down, until their lips were mashed together again.
Keeping most of his weight on his elbow, he leaned his body forward a little more to press himself firmly against her length, and slid one leg up and between hers, nudging them apart.
Scully bent one leg at the knee, so that her heel rested on the bed, which brought his thigh in snug against her center. She began to rock her hips, rubbing herself against his leg, and he started a slow thrusting to deepen that contact, and from the way her hand tightened in his hair, her pleasure as well. It also allowed his erection to slide along her hip, creating a wonderful friction.
Except he would not last long if that friction continued. He forced himself to slow his movements, which made Scully groan her disappointment. He peppered her face with tiny kisses in apology before shifting his body and inching downwards with his mouth and his hand. He sucked and nibbled along her neck to her collarbone, which he traced with his tongue, while his hand left her breast to meander its way down towards the nest of curls between her legs.
Scully sighed his name and her head rolled lazily back and forth on her pillow as the leg closest to him moved restlessly, brushing against his straining erection.
Mulder grit his teeth and lurched his hips back with a gasp, for the contact was too much, and had to gulp in a lungful of air, needing to slow the rapidly intensifying feelings. He was not ready to be inside her yet, he wanted to tease and taste for a while before bringing them both to completion.
His mouth and his hand worked in concert and reached their intended targets at the same time, wringing a gasp and then a moan from Scully.
Her grip on his hair tightened as she held his head to her breast while his teeth worried her nipple, and her hips began a dance as old as time in tune with the stroking of his fingers.
He teased her nipple with his tongue before slowly pulling back, sucking on it and drawing it along with his mouth until he released it to gently blow across it.
Scully shivered, and a fine tracery of goosebumps dotted her skin.
With one last kiss to the slope of her breast, his lips began a meandering journey downwards. He traced each rib with his tongue, and then scraped his teeth over her hipbone, feeling her stomach muscles skittering and jumping beneath his mouth.
Her belly button was next. First he circled it with his tongue before teasing it too with a blowing breath. Scully’s breathy giggle turned into a moan when he gave it an open-mouthed kiss.
Her hand tightened even more in his hair, and she called his name with urgency.
Lifting his head and letting his chin rest on her lower belly, he saw that she was regarding him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Mulderrrr…” she sighed. “I can’t wait any more. I want…I need you inside me.”
His cock leapt at those words, and with careful, precise movements, he was lying on top of her, his thigh insinuating itself back between her legs. He held his weight off of her with his right hand planted on the mattress on the left side of her head, and his left elbow also planted firmly, but snug by her right side. Her good arm was wrapped around his shoulders, and her knees had fallen open so that his pelvis was pressed against hers.
With a few experimental movements of his hips, he had his hardness poised at her opening. She surged upwards as he thrust forward, and then he was buried deep inside her.
They both moaned, and Mulder dropped his head to rest on her good shoulder, feeling her hand stroke his back. He held completely still, to absorb the wonderful feelings of being inside her at last.
After a minute, Scully whispered his name, and swept her hand down to cup the cheek of his ass.
At that, he could hold still no longer. He began a slow, steady thrusting, feeling her hips responding to his rhythm, and hearing her breath huff in and out with each surge of their bodies.
She lifted her right leg and encircled his hips, her heel pushing firmly into his flesh, and began to grind her pelvis into his.
He still had the presence of mind to ask, “Is this… <thrust> …hurting…<thrust>…you?”
“Only…if you…stop,” was her response.
“I don’t…<thrust>…think I…<thrust>…could.”
“Oh…God…that feels…sooooo…good.”
“Yes…<thrust>…you do!” he gasped.
As much as he wanted it to last, the pleasure was spiraling throughout him, coiling in his balls, gathering in the base of his spine.
He began to thrust harder, faster, and still Scully matched him pace for pace. He panted into her shoulder, sweat forming on his brow, and managed to lift his head and bring his lips to hers for a deep, wet kiss.
Her hand swept up from his ass to his hair again, and fisted tightly, while her heel dug into his lower back, pushing him even harder into her body. Inside, her muscles were gripping and releasing him, slowly pushing him over the edge.
“Scuh…” he grunted. “Gonna come. You…ready?”
“Right with you,” she panted back, and he felt the first flutters within her that signified the beginning of her climax. He added a twisting motion to his thrusts and a few seconds later her back was arching and her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. “MulDERRRR!” she cried.
He felt her orgasm rush through her, and as the contractions caused her muscles to clamp down on his penis, he began to pump madly, finally giving one last, deep thrust and exploding with a long, furious burst and a hoarse shout. “SCUH-LEE!!!”
His arms were quivering with the strain of holding his body off of hers, but he would not let himself collapse on top of her. Once his hips had stopped moving, he gently slipped from inside her and rolled to her side, his right hand splayed over her belly, which was still rising and falling in rapid bursts, and sighed her name.
“You…okay?” he asked, and lifted his head weakly to see that her eyes were closed, and that she was breathing through her mouth in pants.
She inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled before replying, “I’m wonderful,” in a sighing voice. “That was…fantastic.” She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. “I love you, Mulder.”
Her right hand came up, a little awkwardly, for he was pressed against her, and her thumb rubbed his bottom lip. “So very much.”
Mulder grabbed her thumb with his lips, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before releasing it to reply, “I love you too, Scully.” He lifted his hand from her belly and reached for hers, entwining their fingers together and brought them back down to rest on her belly.
It was then that it occurred to him that he had forgotten to give her his other gift, which he had tucked beneath her pillow when he had brought the group of pillows in from the living room for her nest.
He was just too comfortable to move right then. He’d give it to her as soon as they were cleaned up. Which would be…<yawn>… in just a minute.
Scully was still watching him, but she looked as sleepy as he felt.
She blinked slowly, and then her eyes closed as she yawned herself.
His own eyes slipped shut.
The pleasure was building and building within her, bringing her ever closer to the final pinnacle, and Scully could not stop her hand from moving endlessly over him. She cupped his ass, stroked his back, and finally as she felt the beginnings of her orgasm, she fisted it in his hair. She moved her leg too, up higher over his hip, to squeeze him tighter against her.
Mulder grunted an approximation of her name, telling her he was going to come, asking her if she was ready.
Was she ever.
Scully answered him on a panting breath, “Right with you.”
His thrusts remained steady, but he added a little swivel to his hips, and the motion added pressure in just the right spot, throwing her over the edge.
Her back arched impossibly high off the mattress, and she thrashed her head back and forth on her pillow, a cry bursting from her lips.
His name. “MulDERRRR!”
He began to pound into her, his breaths short, harsh pants in her ear, and then Scully felt his entire body go rigid for long seconds as he emptied himself into her body. “SCUH-LEE!!!” Mulder shouted, a glorious cry of completion.
She was still flying high on the heels of her own orgasm, her insides quaking and quivering, but concentrated on absorbing every nuance of his pleasure. She loved the way his eyes scrunched tightly shut, and how the tendons in his neck stretched taut as he threw his head back and groaned her name in long, drawn out syllables.
She also loved that moment after, when he would collapse on top of her, and all his weight would press her into the mattress, providing a cocoon of heat and love and protection.
Instead though, after slipping out of her warmth, he lowered himself to lie at her side, his big hand resting easily on her belly. She was disappointed, but at the same time touched by how careful he was even while in a post-coital haze. Speaking of that haze, she let her eyes slide shut and concentrated on slowing her breathing, still rapid and short, and on the flutters still rippling through her body.
He said her name again, a sighing sound, and from the movement against her shoulder, she knew he had lifted his head and was probably looking at her. “You…okay?” he said next.
Scully took another deep breath, held it for long seconds before releasing it and sighed out, “I’m wonderful. That was… fantastic.”
Opening her eyes, she turned her head to the side, met his gaze. “I love you, Mulder,” she said softly. Her eyes dropped down to his lower lip, slightly swollen from the eager attention she had laved on it, and wiggling a bit, managed to pull her arm free from where it had been caged between their two bodies, to stroke her thumb across its fullness. “So very much,” she added earnestly.
She watched the pupils in his eyes contract, and their hazel color deepen and darken, and realized she could lose herself in those depths, staring at the flecks of green and gold and brown.
Mulder quickly moved to capture her thumb with his lips and pulled it into the heat of his mouth, applying gentle suction and starting the faintest of stirrings in the pit of her belly. But he released it almost as quickly as he had grabbed it and said, “I love you too, Scully.” The warmth of his hand left her stomach as he lifted it up to reach for hers, twining their fingers together, and brought them both back down to lay against her flesh.
His head lowered again, to share her pillow, his chin resting gently against her shoulder. Their breaths mingled as they continued to stare at each other, and her eyes felt heavy, a sweet lassitude sweeping through her body. Her eyelids had drooped to half-mast but she still saw him yawn, felt as his chest swelled against her side with its force, and blinking slowly, sighed out a tiny yawn of her own.
She kept her eyes shut, and knew his eyes must have closed too as his body sank and relaxed further into hers. Her neck was getting sore angled like the way it was, so she let her head roll gently back into the groove of the pillow where it had rested before.
It was nice, lying like this with Mulder, but she wished they were able to spoon instead.
But it would be another week at least before that would be possible.
Surprisingly though, their muted yet still vigorous activity had not caused her any pain. Not that she recalled anyway, she thought with a smirk. She’d been too caught up in the incredible sensations swamping her body to notice if her shoulder or back had hurt.
Mulder made a snuffling, snoring sound in her ear then, and she smiled slightly, opening her eyes and turning her head to the side once more to watch him sleep. Although she was tired, a very pleasant kind of tired, she did not think she would be able to do the same. Her long afternoon nap almost guaranteed she would be awake for a while.
He looked younger, and more innocent, his features slack, relaxed, despite the shadows under his eyes. Shadows that were a result of his confessed sleepless nights while she had been in the hospital.
She hoped that now she was home, those shadows would disappear.
His lush lower lip jutted out endearingly and that boyish, stubborn lock of hair was lying on his forehead. She automatically lifted her free hand; the one not entwined with Mulder’s, her left hand, to stroke it off his face.
She was halfway towards her goal when a spike of pain deep in her shoulder had her freezing in place. She bit down hard on her lip to hold back the moan that had risen in her throat as tears formed in her eyes, turning her head away from him once more, and slowly lowered her arm back down along her side. Several deep breaths in and out through her mouth helped, and the pain subsided to a dull ache.
She had clenched both hands into fists when the pain struck, with her right one squeezing Mulder’s fingers so tight she was surprised he didn’t wake up.
As for her left hand, she was now aware of her ring, the beautiful Claddagh ring from Mulder, digging into her flesh. That sharp little pain distracted her from the one in her shoulder.
Releasing her fists slowly, the blood rushing back into the digits with a vengeance, she felt Mulder’s fingers twitch against hers.
She moved her head slightly, and saw a frown flicker across his face. As always, her instinct was to soothe. “Mulder,” she whispered softly. “I’m here, everything’s all right.”
Immediately the frown disappeared, to be replaced by a small smile.
Behind closed lids his eyes moved rapidly, and his lips moved almost soundlessly. Scully.
“That’s right, Mulder. It’s Scully. I’m here,” she whispered. She squeezed his fingers gently, not like the death grip she’d had on them before, and he returned the squeeze, still smiling in his dream state.
God, he was so beautiful. She could stare at him for hours. And with him asleep, she had a chance to do so without him trying to distract her, or moving away in embarrassment.
Or divert her attention by kissing her silly, and touching her anywhere he could reach.
Both were diversions she quite willingly went along with of course, but it was such a treat to look at him, and to know that she did not have to sneak these looks like she had in the past, before they had admitted their feelings to each other.
As they had reaffirmed them again today.
That thought brought to mind the gift Mulder had given her in celebration of those feelings, now gracing her left hand, her wedding finger. Unable to bring her hand up to study her Claddagh ring, she used her thumb to rub against the circlet, closing her eyes to replay that moment when they had opened the velvet box and she had gotten her first glimpse of it. She was not even sure she could accurately describe the emotions and feelings that had run through her and over her and all around her.
Shock, amazement, pleasure, fear, you name it, but most of all, overwhelming love.
She wondered if Mulder knew how completely and utterly he owned her heart. She would have to tell him when he woke up again.
Despite her wish for him to get some rest, Scully hoped it would not be too long.
3:30 pm
Mulder woke slowly, easily. He did not immediately open his eyes as was his usual first response, but instead snuggled his face deeper into the pillow beneath his head. The pillow that was scented like Scully. His chin brushed something soft and smooth and warm, and he smiled to himself, remembering drifting off to sleep, his head by her shoulder.
There was also something tickling his nose, and he wiggled it before finally opening his eyes. Scully’s hair was fanned out across the pillow, and a strand of it lay curled just beneath his nose. Every time he inhaled and exhaled, his breath disturbed it, lifting it to tease his nose. He did not mind.
He looked past her hair, to her face, presented in profile to him.
His eyes caressed the smooth line of her brow, her proud Roman nose, the beautiful rosebud lips slightly parted as she breathed evenly and slowly, and her usually stubborn chin softened in relaxation.
So involved was he in his visual feast, he was startled when Scully spoke, without opening her eyes.
“I can feel you looking at me,” she said softly. Her lips then curved into a tiny smile.
Mulder smiled too. “You can, huh?” he asked, and ducked his head a little to press a kiss on that shoulder, delighted by the little shiver that ran through her at his touch. “What does it feel like, Scully?”
“Love,” she whispered, and turned her head, her eyes now open. They captured his with their intensity. “It feels like love.”
This time it was he who shivered. “Oh, it is love, Scully. It is,”
he whispered back. “More than I can say.” He felt his abdominal muscles strain as he lifted slightly and propped himself up on one elbow.
He then tugged gently to free his other hand from her clasp, bringing it up to her face. He used the tip of one finger to delicately trace the features his eyes had touched just moments ago, before leaning forward to brush his lips across hers.
“Mmmmm,” she sighed against them, her eyes fluttering shut. “More.”
Always happy to oblige her, he let his own eyes slip shut, and applied more pressure to her lips, while still keeping the kiss somewhat chaste.
Her chin angled up, and she nipped at his lips, in an attempt to entice him into providing the more she had requested.
He smiled without easing up, and opened his eyes again to see that she had as well. And that they were filled with love and laughter.
He gave her one last, quick close-mouthed kiss before raising his head again. Using the hand that had been stroking her face, he reached way over her to search under the mound of pillows for the other jewelry box.
His arm brushed over her face in the process, and he had the hell surprised out of him when she used the opportunity to lick at the tender skin on its underside. The action sent a jolt of fire through his veins, and he huffed out, “Jesus!” twitching his arm away from her mouth.
She giggled and replied, “No, the name’s Scully.”
“Ha, ha,” he responded, and with one final lunge, he located the velvet box. He remained the way he was though, half-leaning on her, his face just inches from hers. “Close your eyes,” he said huskily.
She looked at him with curiosity plain in her eyes, one eyebrow quirking up adorably, before she obeyed his request.
“Don’t open them until I tell you.”
She nodded and kept them closed, although her head turned a little when the pillows rustled as he withdrew his second gift. “Mulder?”
she said softly.
“Shhhh…” He lifted his arm back, and wiggled a bit until he was more comfortably arranged on his hip, bringing the velvet box to her stomach. Using just its edge, he nudged her hand off of her belly, where upon she let it slide back between their bodies, and then traced a circle around her belly button.
Her stomach muscles jumped and quivered, and her breath escaped in a noisy rush of air that was an approximation of his name.
Twisting his wrist slightly, he dragged the box up and along her body, and watched the expressions flit across her face, knowing she was trying to figure out what he was touching her with. But she did not try and peek. Her honesty and sense of fair play was stronger than her curiosity.
After a minute of tracing idle patterns on her flesh and watching her twist and shiver in reaction, her nipples harden to little points, and her breaths grow more and more rapid, he whispered, “Open your eyes.”
They popped open immediately, and he had to laugh.
She blushed adorably, but her eyes were searching unashamedly for the object he had teased her with. She was hampered by her injury, unable to lift her head or really try to grab at it, so he lifted the box from where it rested just under her chin and held it up to her eyes.
Like her reaction when she had seen the box that had held the Claddagh ring, her eyes went all misty and soft, her lips twisting in an effort not to cry. “Mulder…” was all she said.
“I saw this when I was paying for your ring, and I couldn’t resist.
Guess it was fate.” Her eyebrow crooked upwards in question, and he squirmed around again until the hand that his head had been propped on joined his other one.
The box opened with a creak, and Scully stared at what it contained for several seconds before sputtering out his name again. She then followed that up with a giggle.
“It’s…it’s perfect, Mulder,” she finally managed to say, shifting her gaze from the box to his eyes.
He grinned and nodded, and watched as she looked again at the gold bracelet whose links consisted of tiny X’s.
“I thought so,” he said. “It was also a good back-up for if I lost my nerve regarding the ring.”
“I’m glad you didn’t lose your nerve,” she said quietly, and lifted her right hand up so that she could caress his cheek with her thumb.
He turned his head so that her thumb brushed his lips, and pressed a kiss upon the digit. “So am I,” he said huskily. Laying the box down on her belly, Mulder awkwardly pulled the bracelet free of the tiny hooks that held it pinned to the satin that lined the box, and brought it to her right wrist. He fastened it easily and Scully held her arm up, twisting it from side to side so that it gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Thank-you, Mulder,” she whispered, and lowered her arm to touch his chin, turning his head to face hers. Their lips met in a deep, slow, satisfying kiss that went on and on until Scully finally pulled her lips free.
“So, Mulder,” she said, her voice and expression serious.
He was almost worried, until he saw that her eyes were smiling.
“Yes, Scully?” he asked.
“When are we going to move your couch and your fish in?”
THE END
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