Summary:  After Mulder's brush with the beast woman, Scully
figures out why she keeps following him.  Another 'fill in the
blanks' from the first season story.
Spoiler:  The Jersey Devil
Keyword:  Strong Friendship, hint of MSR
Rating:  PG
Category: V A UST
Disclaimer:  I'm working my way through season one, here folks,
and it all belongs to the big Kahuna--Carter and 10-13 (Happy
Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you).  But I'm just a poor
struggling fan fic writer, making no money, asking for indulgence.
Archive:  You have my permission to post this one the newsgroup,
the archives and any specialty archives that might want it.
This is going out on EMXC, please abide by all the rules, don't give
it to anyone until it's been posted by the 'proper
authorities'--whoever he or she might be :)  Thanks
Comments:  to me, please.  vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

The Devil With Him
by Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

New Jersey Woods
Near Atlantic City
4:35 pm

"Why did you have to kill her?"

Scully stood a few feet away, breathless, watching her partner's
expression as he waited for an answer to his question.  He was
locked in an anguish she couldn't fathom.  The woman had
attacked him, cut him badly on the ribs.  She'd killed at least one
person that they knew of, probably more.  And yet, for all her
harmdoing, Mulder saw something else.  

Scully remembered his words as she helped him to lie down on the
cold cement floor of the warehouse.  She was trying to assess the
damage to his chest, the rip in his shirt and the copious amounts of
blood making her task that much harder, and all her partner could
say was 'She's beautiful'.  She almost rips his lung out and he calls
her beautiful?  Mulder, we have to talk, she thought to herself.

Finally, after staring holes in Mulder, Detective Thompson sneered
his reply.  "The same reason you kill a rabid animal."  

Mulder's face went from pale to shock white at that, and Scully
knew that if she didn't get him away, he'd have a few bruised ribs
to add to his other injuries.  Or maybe the good Detective would
just make contact with his jaw after Mulder questioned Thompson's
parents relationship.  

She took a step forward and captured his attention with her gaze. 
He looked over at her, pleading her indulgence-- 'one more minute,
mom' --but she held firm.  Reluctantly, he stepped away from the
detective and the rest of the team parted, letting them both through. 
By the looks on their faces, they didn't want to get too close to the
two agents.

Half way to the car, the run through the woods, the loss of blood
and shock finally took their toll and Mulder stumbled and almost
fell.  She quickly put her arms around his waist and got him safely
to their vehicle.  She put him in the passenger's seat and helped him
buckle the seat belt.  He looked up and tried to smile, but his eyes
still held a sadness that broke her heart.  He shivered slightly and
she felt his arm.

"Mulder, you're freezing!  Why didn't you say something sooner?"
she chided and reached around to find his jacket.  Somehow, even
with everything that had happened, his Armani suit looked none the
worse for wear.  The blood stain was limited to his shirt--which was
a loss anyway with the 6 inch tear across the left front.  She shook
out the jacket and eased it around his shoulders.  He started to put
his arms in the jacket, but it pulled at his ribs and he gasped and
stopped.

"You're going to be sore, Mulder.  I really wish you'd get some
stitches there.  I think you pulled some of the butterflies apart
already."  She pointed to the bandage, stained bright red.  He stared
down at it numbly.

"I hate stitches.  They hurt."  His voice was faint, and held a
childlike, petulant air.

"Yeah, well, they also keep you from bleeding all over the Bureau's
car," she pointedly reminded him.

He closed his eyes and leaned back.  "I'll pay to have it cleaned," he
offered and she decided it really wasn't worth the fight.

It was three hours back to DC, and the ride was in silence.  At first,
Scully assumed he was brooding.  Mulder did that better than
anyone she'd ever known.  The man brooded over cases.  Even
when they solved them, sometimes, he brooded.  She was used to
it.  But somewhere in northern Maryland, she looked over to find
his eyes closed.  His mouth hung open just slightly in his slumber
and she could see white teeth behind the pale lips.  She smiled.  He
was asleep.  Sleep was good, especially with Mulder.

But she noticed, with closer observation, that his sleep was not
restful.  He was leaning toward her, favoring his injured side.  And
when the car hit a bump in the road, he winced in pain.  Sleep like
that would only make him more tired when he woke up.

She pulled up to his apartment and silently debated how to wake
him.  The cessation of movement did the trick for her and his dark
lashes fluttered opened.  "Home so soon?" he yawned hoarsely.  He
started to remove his seatbelt and get out, but he stopped with a
gasp and grabbed at his injured side.  "Shit," he muttered.

"I have the pain pills the EMT gave you.  But there aren't very
many.  Maybe I should run to the drug store and get the
prescription filled tonight," she offered.

"Nah, I'll make it," he said, but she doubted even he believed that. 
He slowly rolled himself out of the car and winced as he stretched
to full standing.  "Night, Scully."  He turned and started slowly
toward the door.

She sat there a moment, watching his movements.  Damned,
stubborn, pig-headed man, she cursed silently to the night sky.  He
was going up there, he wouldn't take the damned pain pill, he'd be
awake all night, hurting and then he'd get dressed and come into
the office--against orders to rest--and make _her_ life miserable
with his groaning and whimpering!

She glanced around the car, looking for a good excuse.  Her eyes
fell on it immediately.  He'd forgotten his briefcase.  She set the
parking brake and grabbed the briefcase, then waited a moment
until she was certain he'd made it to his apartment door before
following after him.

She knocked on the door and stood nervously waiting for him to
answer.  It didn't take long, but he'd shed his jacket and tee shirt
already.  She looked down at the bandage, and could see that the
tape had become caught on his tee shirt while he was sleeping and
was now hanging at a rakish angle.  Very vogue, but hardly
functional.

"Mulder, you forgot your briefcase," she announced and then
pushed past him.  "And that bandage isn't going to make it through
the night," she added with a wave of her hand directed at his
midsection.

"Gee, Scully, long time no see," he smirked and closed the door.  

"Sit down.  Where do you keep the gauze and tape?" she asked in
clipped tones.  If she played her cards right, he'd just answer the
question without questioning the motive.

"At the emergency room, where there are people who know how to
use them," he replied with a grin.  "I think I still have some Sesame
Street Band-Aids, but I used up all the Elmo ones.  Ran out of
masking tape one night."  

She shot him a look that screamed impatience and rummaged in her
purse.  "You're in luck.  I 'lifted' some from the ambulance today."

"I hope they're worth less than 1500 dollars, Scully.  I'd hate to
have to arrest you for Grand Theft," he warned her, shaking an
index finger in her direction.  She glared at him and he sighed
deeply, then went to sit on his couch.

"Mulder, I need more light than the fish tank to do this," she
informed him tersely.  

He sighed again, more deeply this time and got up painfully to walk
to the kitchen.  "I don't have an OR here, Scully.  This will have to
do.  I just put in a 75 watt bulb, that should be enough."

She gave him a look.  "I've worked in worse lighting," she told
him.

"I'll just bet," he replied with that velvet voice he had that sent
shivers down to her toes.

She had been on the phone when the EMT had cleaned the wound
and bandaged the area, so it was the first time she'd gotten a good
look at the damage.  It looked like claw marks, four of them, about
a half inch apart and running for six inches along his ribs.  The cuts
were deep, and the area around them was already an angry red.

"Did they give you some antibiotics?" she asked him as she gently
probed the injury.

He squirmed uncomfortably.  "Yes," he said tersely.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling.  

"Well, it's still red there.  You should keep an eye on it.  Sometimes
one shot isn't enough."

"Easy for you to say," Mulder shot back.

She tore off a section of gauze and folded it over several times,
then deftly taped it into place.  "How's the pain?  And don't try and
bull shit me, Mulder," she warned him.

He hissed as the tape hit the tender skin around the wound and
swallowed.  "It hurts."

"Then you should take one of these," she said and handed him the
white packet the EMT had given her.

He stared at the white paper packet and closed his eyes.  "Scully--I
really don't like drugs," he said in an almost whisper.

"Mulder.  This isn't crack.  It's Tylenol with codeine.  It will take
the edge off the pain and make you sleepy.  You need to rest.  It's
the best thing for you.  I won't think you're a wussy if you do," she
added with a teasing tone.

He raised an eyebrow at that.  "A _what_?"

"A wussy," she smiled and met his eyes in a challenge. "That's what
Missy and I would call the boys when they'd scream after Mom got
out the iodine.  Mom was big on iodine.  And peroxide.  She was
really big on peroxide.  One time, when Billy fell off his bike on a
gravel road, he hid under the back porch for three hours while
Missy hid the peroxide bottle.  Didn't work.  Mom went next door
and borrowed some from Mrs. Jackson."

But this time, Mulder was chuckling.  "My mom used some weird
smelling goop she got from the pharmacist.  I hated it."

"Drawing salve, I bet," Scully said knowingly.  "They don't use it
anymore.  The stuff led to more infections than bad water."

"Too late to save me, but at least other's were saved from that
smell," he joked. 

"Well, this is a little white pill and it doesn't smell at all, so take the
darned thing and get some sleep."  She tapped the packet in his
hand.

"My mom--" he stopped and she could see tears well in his eyes. 
"One time, my mom--"

"What, Mulder?" she encouraged.

He took a deep breath and stared directly into her eyes.  "When I
was 14, my mom tried to commit suicide.  With pain pills."

Scully's whole body went instantly cold.

"I came home from school early.  They say that's what saved her
life.  I usually got home about 3:30 but there was a teachers
conference or some such nonsense and they let us out at 1:00.  I
got in the door about 1:15.  She was on the floor of the bedroom.  I
think she might have gotten scared and was trying to get to the
phone."

"Mulder--I'm . . . I'm so sorry," Scully whispered.

"I called the ambulance," he continued, staring off into space, for
now he was caught up in the memory and had to relive it all or be
lost in it forever.  "I sat with her, trying to get her to wake up.  I
called her name, and I cried and I hit her and she wouldn't wake up. 
I picked up the phone and threw it against the wall and she still
didn't wake up."  He came back to the real world for just a second
and looked at his partner.  "I was so scared, Scully.  I didn't want
to lose her, too.  I was so scared."

"What happened?" she asked, suddenly unable to let the story go
unended.

"They pumped her stomach.  She was pretty sick for awhile.  My
dad came and got me and I stayed with him while she was in the
hospital.  I heard him one night, talking to his lawyer.  He was
trying to decide if he should sue for full custody, not just joint.  I
guess the lawyer talked him out of it.  But he did make her see a
shrink.  I heard them arguing about it when she came home from
the hospital.  He told her that if she couldn't get a grip on reality for
her own sake, the least she could do was get some help for my
sake.  I was sort of surprised that he thought of it that way.  I was
really surprised when she actually did it."

"Mulder.  These are pain pills.  But there are only three of them in
the package.  You'll be safe taking them," Scully assured him.

He shook his head sadly.  "You don't understand, Scully.  I'm not
afraid of them.  I know they'll work.  But if I stop the pain now--I
won't want to go back to it.  It's not the fear of them, it's the pull
they have over me.  I'm afraid I'll decide that it's a far better place
to be than the reality--my life."

She closed her eyes to escape the sadness and anguish she saw in
his.  "Mulder, you need to rest.  And you won't be able to do that if
you're hurting.  I'll tell you what.  I'll give you the pill, you'll take
it from my hand and only my hand.  And then I'll sit with you, just
to make sure you're OK."

He smiled sadly at that.  "You need a life, Agent Scully.  Don't you
have something better to do with  your time than watch me sleep?"

"I have a life, Agent Mulder, and it might be fun to watch you when
you aren't constantly running off at the mouth," she fired back
evenly.  He tried to look wounded, but she could see the admiration
of a point scored in his eyes.

She got up and got him a glass of water, then took the white packet
out of his hands and shook out just one white pill.  She handed him
the pill and the water.  He looked like he was going to argue, but
then he sighed and downed both, saluting her with the empty glass
when he was finished.

"Off to bed," she ordered.

"Ah, . . . I don't really sleep on my bed, Scully," he admitted
sheepishly.  "I sort of sack out here, in the living room."

She shook her head in resignation.  "I guess, Mulder.  It doesn't
even really surprise me that much."

"You really don't have to stay, Scully.  I'll be fine," he told her
quietly, refusing to meet her eyes as he said the words.

She shook her head.  "No, Mulder.  We'll both sleep better if I'm
here."

He made a quick detour and snatched a blanket from a closet in the
hallway.  She took it gratefully and snuggled up in the arm chair
across from the sofa.  "Night, Mulder," she said tenderly.

The pill was already having the desired effect.  He yawned and
blinked sleepy eyes at her as he slowly lowered his battered body to
the couch.  "Night, Scully."  He was snoring softly in minutes, his
face, for once, peaceful and relaxed.

She glanced at her watch.  Not quite 10 pm.  Suddenly, she
remembered.  She was supposed to call Rob, if she got in before
11.  It was a consolation promise for having to end their date so
abruptly.  She groaned inwardly and looked over at her
unconscious partner.

Mulder would never know if she called Rob.  He was sound asleep,
aided by a good dose of codeine.  Still, she wouldn't want to wake
him.

That's a great excuse, her small evil voice told her.  Use Mulder as
an excuse not to call the guy.  That was what she was doing, she
had to admit.  That was the reason she'd given for leaving the
restaurant as fast as she could just two nights before.  My crazy
partner--my time is never my own with this job--you know how it is
in law enforcement.

What was wrong with that? she demanded of the voice silently. 
But she knew exactly what was wrong.  She was purposely
avoiding Rob.  

Rob was very good looking, had an excellent job, was obviously a
loving father--what more could she ask for?  If she was waiting for
Prince Charming, a never before married 'Prince Charming', she'd
be waiting till the cows came home.

But even after her little conversation with Ellen, she couldn't
fathom what she'd do if she did find the right man.  Her life, her
once boring, same daily grind kind of life, had changed dramatically
in the last few months and it was time she realized that she liked the
changes.

Could she admit it to herself that a day spent crawling through
abandoned factories in downtown Atlantic City with Mulder was
worth a thousand nights sitting across prime rib and horseradish
with any guy she could name?  

Could she admit that she'd rather hear her partner spout off about
his latest outlandish theory than hear the tales of woe of the newly
divorced from the most handsome man she'd set eyes on in ages?

Could she admit that even at his most tortured, Mulder was a far
sight stronger, braver and more resilient than all the 'normal' men
she'd dated in her time?

To herself, yes, maybe she could admit all that at last.  But to her
partner--not yet.

She smiled, deciding that she wasn't going to worry about the
missed phone call.  She had more important things to attend to
tonight.

And for now, at least, he was sleeping, safe and sound, across the
room from her.

the end

Vickie

"Poems, prays and promises,
Things that we believe in.
How sweet it is to love someone.
How right it is to care.
How long it's been since yesterday, 
And what about tomorrow,
And what about our dreams and 
All the memories we share."

Goodbye John.

 John Denver, 1944-1997
 Singer, songwriter, poet