Tenebrous (2 of 2)

Travelodge
June 11, 2006
12:21 am

She awoke in a cold sweat, panting to get air into 
her lungs.  Even as she opened her eyes, the 
nightmare slipped from her grasp and she was left 
feeling terrified.  When Scully discovered the other 
side of the bed empty, her fear became 
overwhelming.

"Mulder?" she called out, hoping he was just in the 
bathroom.  No answer came and she cursed loudly, 
tossing off the covers and snapping on the light.  
The note was standing against the lamp, right in 
plain view.

'Scully

I fully expect an ass chewing, but I had to get those 
kids.  If I sense trouble, I'll call out the troops.  If 
you don't hear from me -- come save my ass.  I'm 
going to an abandoned building in the 2400 block of 
Santa Fe, directions on the back.

Hope you aren't so mad that you won't go on our 
date next Friday.

Love 

M'

Anger surged through her as she grabbed for her 
cell phone.  She punched three buttons and started 
looking for clothes to throw on as she listened to the 
rings.  He was smart enough to pick up on the 
second ring.

"Mulder," he said in a hushed voice.

"Where the hell are you and what the fuck do you 
think you're doing?" she growled.

"Scully," he breathed.  "Um, look -- "

"No, Mulder, you look.  What were you thinking, 
ditching me like this?  No," she stopped him before 
he could even answer.  "Let me tell you what you 
were thinking.  You were thinking that you knew 
from that vision you had this morning exactly where 
the kids are and you were going to go in like the 
Lone Ranger -- "

"Scully, that's not fair!  I left you a note, damn it," 
he hissed.  "Look, this is all fine, but I'm kinda busy 
right now."

"Where are you?"

"A warehouse district down by the railroad tracks.  
Yes, you're right, I had a vision today.  And it was 
just like Milford Bridge, Scully.  Remember 
Milford Bridge?  The one where only three people 
died instead of dozens?  So I'm here now and I think 
I need to check this out, don't you?"

She chewed on her lip.  At least she was there to 
call for help if he got into trouble.  She had half a 
mind to call 911 from the motel phone while she 
kept him on the line on her cell.  "What have you 
found?"

"Looks like late 70's urban renewal.  It used to be a 
small shopping area or something.  All the other 
buildings have been demolished except one little 
storefront.  There are bars on the windows and it 
looks like their painted from the inside -- I can't see 
anything.  Wait!"

"Mulder?" she asked frantically.

"Scully, I see something.  There's a place where the 
paint must have peeled off.  I can see movement in 
there, Scully.  I think it's the kids."

"Is there a back door -- "

"No!" he shouted and then lowered his voice.  "No, 
no good.  Can't go in the back door."

"Mulder, if you have your lock pick -- "

"Bad idea, Scully.  Trust me on this one."
 
"OK, then let me call the police.  They can get the 
door open -- "

"Scully, look, the fewer people around here, the 
better.  Besides, I found a basement window and the 
bars are pretty deteriorated.  Let me try something -- 
"

She waited breathlessly while she heard him 
grunting and the sounds of metal scraping.  
"Scully?" he asked.

"I'm still here, Mulder."

"OK, I got the bars off and the window opened.  I'm 
going in."

"Mulder, I'm calling the police now."

"Yeah, go ahead." 

She picked up the other phone and dialed quickly.  
When she had the dispatcher on the line, she turned 
back to Mulder.  "What's the address?"

"It's the 3100 block of S. Santa Fe Avenue in 
Vernon.  It's about 15 minutes from our motel," he 
told her.  She quickly repeated that information, 
along with her badge number to the dispatcher and 
hung up.

"I see stairs, Scully.  I'm going up them."

"Mulder, please, be careful.  The police are on their 
way.  Why don't you just wait -- "

"I see the kids, Scully.  I see them.  They're both 
tied up and they looked drugged, but they're alive.  
I'm --

She heard a thud, the sound of a cell phone hitting a 
hard surface, followed immediately by a sound that 
almost burst her eardrum.  The cell phone went 
dead; the display saying the call was lost.

She knew what it sounded like -- an explosion.  But 
she also knew that she could be mistaken.  She 
prayed she was mistaken.  For what seemed like an 
eternity she stood there, staring at the phone's 
display.  Then the earth started to rotate again and 
she quickly dialed Jason Clark's cell phone number.
 
S. Santa Fe Avenue
Vernon, CA
1:33 am

She had finished dressing and was waiting outside 
when Clark arrive some 30 minutes after her call.  
She'd tried Mulder's number several times in those 
minutes, getting the same recorded voice telling her 
the cellular customer was not available.  She called 
the police dispatcher, but was told that there was no 
information available from the scene.  By the time 
Clark pulled up to the curb to let her in the car, she 
was trying hard to put a stop to her frantic thoughts.

When they turned the corner to the warehouse 
district, she spotted the flashing lights and breathed 
a sigh of relief.  The police had arrived.  Her relief 
died when she saw the fire trucks and the rubble 
that had been an abandoned storefront.

Her heart was in her throat as she raced out of the 
car, not even waiting until Clark came to a full stop.  
A cop grabbed her arm and she tried to shake him 
off, but he wouldn't let her go.  Finally realizing she 
had her ID, she flashed her badge and was let loose 
to run toward the wreckage.  

As she got closer, she saw the ambulances.  On the 
ground near the two vehicles were indistinct shapes, 
lumpy and slick looking in the strobing lights.  She 
slowed her pace and her heart skipped several beats.  
Someone was tugging on her sleeve and she turned 
to find Clark standing next to a soot-covered 
fireman.

"This is Agent Scully," Clark said by way of 
introduction.  "Agent Scully, this is Chief Ramirez 
of the LAFD."

"Agent Clark tells me you're looking for someone?" 
Ramirez queried.

"Yes.  My partner and two kidnap victims, did you 
find my partner?" she rasped, finding it harder and 
harder to concentrate with those black shapes on the 
ground so near.

"Sorry ma'am, I'm not sure what you're asking.  
There was an explosion.  Place went up like a 
roman candle.  We were able to pull three bodies 
out the debris -- "

"Three bodies?" she croaked, swaying.  Clark 
grabbed her by the shoulder, but she shook him off.

"Yeah.  They're over there.  Ambulances are here to 
take them to the morgue.  That fire was hot, 
identification's gonna be a bitch -- they'll have to 
rely on dental records, more than likely.  Now, 
what's this about your partner?  Why on earth would 
he be here?"

"My partner.  My partner and I were investigating a 
missing persons case.  Two teenagers.  He found 
them.  We were on the phone together, I called the 
police and directed them to this address."

"Well, we didn't see anybody around here when we 
got here.  That car was parked over there," he said, 
pointing to a car with a Lariat bumper sticker, 
sitting just a few yards down the street.  "Sorta 
surprised it has wheels left in this neighborhood."

Scully jogged to the car, only to find it locked.  
Quickly pawing through her pockets, she came up 
with the spare key.  The door opened easily and she 
swallowed around the boulder in her throat.  She 
didn't hear Clark come up until he touched her arm 
and she jumped.

"He has to be here.  He told me he was coming 
here," she repeated.

A policeman joined Agent Clark and looked 
sympathetically at the now distraught woman.  
"Ma'am, maybe you better take a look over here," 
the cop suggested, motioning toward the bodies on 
the pavement.

"Agent Scully," Clark said compassionately.  
"Maybe . . . you have to consider . . ."

She spun on the young man with fire burning deep 
in her eyes.  "That's not him.  He's not in one of 
those bags over there," she spat out.  "Here, I'll 
prove it."  

Anger gave her the strength she needed to storm 
over to the body bags and unzip them one by one.  
The first, from the size of the body and the hands 
and feet, was obviously a young woman or a teen-
aged girl.  Her heart sank as she closed the bag 
again.  The second body wasn't much taller, but the 
feet were larger and years of experience told her it 
was a small man or a nearly adult male.  She was 
having a hard time getting air into her lungs.  As she 
pulled back the zipper on the last bag all 
background noise around her faded.  All she could 
hear was the sound of the tag running through the 
metal teeth.  She peeled open the sides of the bag 
and stared into the face of her partner.

"Scully, where were you?  I needed you," Mulder 
accused.

She stumbled backward several feet in horror.  
When she could force herself to look again, the 
image of her partner's face had vanished and in its 
place was a burned corpse, totally unrecognizable.  
She blinked twice and then darkness swallowed her.

The next few hours were almost lost to her and what 
she could recall came to her in flashes of memory.  
She vaguely remembered Clark helping her into the 
passenger seat of his car but recollected none of the 
drive to the motel.  She recalled getting in the 
elevator but had no idea how she managed to find 
herself in bed with the sun shining around the 
drapes covering the window.  

She saw movement in the shadows and raised her 
head slowly.  Her head hurt terribly and her mouth 
was unusually dry.  The shadow moved again, 
silhouetted by the light from the window.  
Assuming it was Mulder, she closed her eyes, 
thinking it had all been a bad dream.  

When she dared to look, the figure came into focus 
as Clark stood up from his chair at the table and 
offered her a cup of coffee.  Her gut twisted as she 
realized the events of the past 24 hours weren't a 
dream -- she was living her worst nightmare.

Clark looked at her sympathetically.  "I called 
Agent Martinez and he put in a call to Assistant 
Director Skinner.  The DC office emailed a copy of 
Agent Mulder's dental records to the Medical 
Examiner here.  He's waiting for you to come to the 
morgue, if you're feeling up to it."

It all came crashing back -- the note, the call, the 
noise over the phone, the rubble, the body bag, 
Mulder accusing her of not coming to his aid -- the 
burned corpse.  She drew in a breath, and studied 
the pressed foam coffee cup.  "I need to get 
dressed," she said absently running her fingers 
through her hair.

"Agent Scully, um, AD Skinner said he'd contact 
your mother.  He's on his way out here."

She nodded and stood up, only to find herself sitting 
heavily back on the edge of the bed.  The dizziness 
had come out of nowhere.  "I don't know what's 
wrong with me," she mused.  She made an effort to 
rise more slowly and wasn't bother by it again.

"Shock, most likely," Clark offered.  "Agent Scully, 
I haven't had a chance to tell you how sorry I am . . . 
Agent Mulder seemed like a really -- "

"I'll be right out," Scully said abruptly, cutting off 
the younger man's platitudes.

When she came back into the room, Clark was on 
the phone.  He smiled sadly at her, handing her the 
coffee, freshened.  "Yes, we'll be there in about half 
an hour.  Yeah, thanks."  He placed the receiver 
back on its cradle.  "That was Agent Martinez.  AD 
Skinner's plane just touched down and an agent is 
meeting him at the gate.  He'll catch up with us at 
the morgue."

"What time is it?" she asked, sipping the coffee.  
She felt so fuzzy, she drained the cup only for the 
desire to have the caffeine wake her up from the 
phantasm she was living.

"It's a quarter to four," Clark said after checking his 
watch.

"I was asleep all that time?" she asked, shaking her 
head to clear her thoughts.

"It's been a rough night," Clark soothed.  After an 
uncomfortable silence, he jiggled the keys in his 
pocket.  "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded stiffly and followed him out to his car.

As they made their way through late afternoon rush 
hour traffic, Scully stared out the window.  A 
hundred images tumbled free fall through her mind.

Holding defibrillator paddles in a military hospital 
in Alaska, watching his body jump with each 
application of electrical current.

Standing windswept in a desert outside Farmington, 
New Mexico, screaming his name as she peered 
into the smoldering husk of an ancient boxcar.

Walking through the foyer of his old apartment 
toward a sheet covered corpse lying on his living 
room floor.

Arguing with Skinner in the hallway of Northeast 
Georgetown Medical Center as Diana Fowley 
sauntered toward her.

Trembling with the force of unshed tears as a doctor 
at Georgetown told her of Mulder's precarious 
condition while Skinner watched her closely and 
gauged her reaction.

A thought jumped unbidden into her consciousness.  
She was supposed to be feeling something -- 
anything.  Fear, anger, soul-wrenching sorrow . . . 
but there was nothing.  A black and endless void 
filled her entire being.  She looked out the window, 
seeing her faint reflection in the glass.  That's 
exactly how she felt -- a faint, near-invisible 
reflection of herself.  Experimentally she bit her 
bottom lip hard, tasting the blood's copper tang.  
Nothing.  No pain, no sensation.  That should bother 
her, she thought.  That was wrong.  But then, what 
was right anymore?

She wanted to feel.  She wanted to be angry with 
him for leaving their bed and running off again.  
She wanted to feel loss, the deep, yearning 
depravation of losing half her soul.  She wanted to 
feel sorrow, grief, heartbreak, and lament, anything 
but this empty shell of emotions.

She should have gone to him, she thought.  But 
there hadn't been time.  She'd called the police; they 
would have been there before her anyway.  But 
she'd been at the motel, safe, while Mulder had --

Why wasn't she screaming, she wondered distantly.  
Why wasn't she tearing her hair out by the roots?  It 
was her own fault, she mused.  She'd held her 
emotions about her partner so tightly in check for 
all those years, only recently allowing them full 
reign over her mind and body.  This was the price to 
be paid -- now that she needed them, needed to feel 
more than anything else in the world, she couldn't.

No, that wasn't right.  She didn't need to feel 
emotions.  She needed to feel Mulder's arms around 
her.  She needed to feel his warm lips pressing a 
kiss to the crown of her head.  She needed to feel 
his hand at the small of her back, guiding her, 
letting her know that he was always behind her, 
backing her up, whatever they faced.

"Agent Scully?" Clark interrupted her thoughts.  
She realized the car wasn't moving.  They were in a 
drive through.  Trying to clear her mind to the 
present, she accepted the cup of coffee he was 
offering her.  "I got you blueberry muffin.  I 
realized you hadn't had anything to eat in a while."  
She looked down and found a small pastry bag, top 
folded, sitting in her lap.

"Thank you, Agent Clark," she mumbled.  She put 
the cup to her lips and sipped at the hot liquid.  
Even the bitter coffee hitting the cut on her bottom 
lip didn't give her any sensation.  Numb.  She was 
completely numb.

"Jason," he said, putting the car in drive and pulling 
out into traffic.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, forcing her head to turn and 
look at the young man.

"My first name.  It's Jason.  I . . . I just thought . . . 
Agent Clark sounds so much like a stranger.  I just 
wanted you to know that you aren't alone Agent 
Scully, um, Dana.  It will be all right.  My . . . uh, 
my Dad died a year ago and I remember my Mom -- 
not that you and Agent Mulder were married or 
anything -- "

"How close are we to the morgue?" Scully broke in.  
He was a nice young man and she knew she 
shouldn't treat him so coldly, but she couldn't hear 
about his memories of his father's death.  Her mind 
wouldn't allow it.

I'm not allowed to feel, but I can't hear about death 
either, she mused.  Why?  What psychological 
security system was at work acting as border patrol 
on her thoughts?  Her id?  Her superego?  Mulder 
would know.  Oh, right, she couldn't ask Mulder.  
He wasn't there to consult on psychological matters 
anymore.

"Just around this corner."  He seemed to be 
considering his next words.  "I can let you out and 
park the car -- but if you'd rather, I can help you -- "

"That won't be necessary, Agent, er, Jason.  Thank 
you, you've been very helpful.  Just drop me off at 
the curb.  I've been here before."

"Sure, Agent -- Dana.  Agent Martinez and AD 
Skinner are waiting for you in the lobby.  I'll be in 
shortly."

She got out of the car and started toward the 
entrance.  The door opened before she got there and 
suddenly Skinner was walking beside her, his large 
hand on her shoulder.  "Scully," he said, watching 
her, once again gauging her reaction.  "Are you 
ready for this?"  The worry and concern in his voice 
caused a shiver down her spine, but she looked up 
at him placidly.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said woodenly.  "Let's do this."

She caught the furtive glance Skinner cast toward 
Agent Martinez.  Martinez looked like he wanted to 
be anywhere else in the world at that moment.  
Awkwardly, he offered Scully his hand.  "I'm very 
sorry -- "

"Let's see what we've got," Scully interrupted.  She 
didn't want platitudes.  She didn't want sympathy.  
She wanted to wake up.

That thought stuck with her as they entered an 
elevator and descended two floors.  She wanted to 
wake up.  It was all a dream.  She remembered, 
although vaguely, another dream she'd had like this.  
Mulder's skeleton was laid out on a metal table near 
Brown Mountain, North Carolina.  A wake was held 
in his apartment.  Langly was in a tuxedo tee shirt 
and Frohike downed a bottle of booze while Byers 
talked the 'the party line' at her.  It had been a 
dream.  If that had been a dream, couldn't it be 
possible . . .

She jumped when Skinner's hand grazed the small 
of her back, pushing her out of the elevator car.  He 
started to apologize but she shook her head -- she 
hadn't taken offense, she'd just been startled.  There 
was a long corridor to walk down to the exam 
rooms and she felt every step take them farther and 
farther away from their destination.  You're going 
into shock again, a tiny voice in the back of her 
mind informed her.  Hell of a lot of good it did her 
to know that, she couldn't control it even if she 
tried.  

The Medical Examiner was standing near the far 
wall, a light board next to him.  Dental records were 
displayed, three sets of negatives displayed in two 
neat rows.  He waited until she was standing next to 
him before he began.

"There have been positive identifications on two of 
the bodies so far.  Councilwoman Gainer was down 
earlier and identified the remains of her daughter 
Jill.  Mr. and Mrs. Henry came down soon after and 
identified their son, Mark.  These x-rays here," he 
pointed to the last set to the right on the top row, 
"were provided by the FBI from Agent Mulder's 
file."  He swallowed and pointed to the ones 
directly below the last set.  "We took these from the 
third body this morning."

Scully closed her eyes and brought her hands up to 
her mouth, her fingers knotted as if in prayer.  
Taking in as much air as her lungs could hold she 
slowly opened her eyes and inspected the last two 
sets of dental records.

There was not even a shadow of doubt.  The first set 
showed bridgework in the area of the lower front 
incisors, the result of being an unexpected and 
unwarranted participant in a wrestling match free-
for-all six years before.  The second set showed the 
exact same bridgework and matched up a filling in 
the right back molars.  He always seemed to chew 
his gum on the right side, she noted remotely.

"Would you care to view the remains?" the ME 
asked quietly.  Skinner sucked in a breath, but 
remained silent.  Scully looked over at the table in 
the center of the room.  The other two bodies had 
already been removed and were on their way to the 
funeral homes, she contemplated.  That left only the 
final 'unidentified' body.

Each step brought her closer, but at the same time 
she felt colder and more distant, as if she were 
watching herself from far away.  The body was 
uncovered, she could see where patches of fabric 
from the clothing had seared to the desiccated skin 
before flash burning, leaving only patterns in the 
ash.  A partial circle of plastic and metal, fused 
beyond verification, lay near the left arm.  With 
great effort she forced her hand out to pick up the 
object.  Parts of it crumbled with her touch.  She 
brought closer for inspection.  "This is his watch," 
she said dully.

The ME looked to the two men and then back at 
Scully.  "Is that a positive identification, Agent?" he 
asked quietly.

She found that spot on her bottom lip again and 
worried it with her teeth.  Finally, licking lips long 
gone dry she nodded.  "Yes.  This is Fox Mulder," 
she said, running her fingertip up the arm, not 
disturbing the ash.  "I'm sure."

There was no air in that room, and she started to 
feel dizzy again.  Strong arms grabbed her 
shoulders and she found herself sitting in a hard 
chair out in the hallway.  Skinner was crouched in 
front of her, his tormented expression waiting for a 
sign that she was back from wherever her psyche 
had taken her.

"I need to talk to my mother," she said softly.  

He nodded and handed her his cell phone.  

Act III
Margaret Scully's residence
Baltimore, MD
June 12, 2005
3:15 pm

The two women sat huddled together in the bright 
sunny kitchen.  Maggie sat with a tissue wadded in 
her left hand, her right hand clasped in Tara's hand, 
fingers entwined.  It had been a long 24 hours for 
both of them.

When Dana had called, Maggie had been fixing a 
late lunch.  All thoughts of food vanished as her 
daughter told her of the death of her partner before 
succumbing to choked sobs.  Walter Skinner had 
pried the phone from Dana's fingers and related as 
much of the story as he could.  Fox had gone on his 
own to search for some missing children.  There had 
been an explosion.  Fox and the two kids were dead.  

"Could it possibly be a mistake?" Maggie asked 
fearfully.  There had been other times, too many to 
count, when Dana had been led to believe that her 
partner was gone, only to have him reappear just a 
few days later.

"No, Mrs. Scully.  The body was badly burned, yes, 
but Dana made the identification herself from the 
dental records.  There's no mistake this time.  I'm 
very sorry."

Maggie had placed her next call to Tara and they 
had cried over the phone, Tara promising to come 
over the next day -- without the children.

"I can't believe he's gone," Tara said, breaking the 
silence.  "He called just before they left for 
California to find out Matty's baseball practice 
schedule.  He thought he'd be home in time to make 
it this week."

Maggie got up and patted her daughter-in-law's 
shoulder as she crossed to the stove to refill their 
coffee cups.  "It was nice of your neighbor to pick 
up Matty and take Claire for a few hours."

"I haven't told them, Mom.  I couldn't.  How could I 
tell Matty that now his Uncle Mulder -- "  The 
younger woman's lip quivered and she bit it sharply.  
"How can he ever learn to trust someone again?  
Trust that they won't die on him?"

"Tara, neither Bill nor Fox meant to die -- "

"No, Mom, I know they didn't mean to die.  I know 
they never meant to leave us.  But it hurts so bad, 
it's like all I keep reliving the moment when I first 
found out about Billy . . ."  She broke down into 
sobs and Maggie rushed to her side, embracing her 
tightly.

"We'll get through this, sweetheart.  And we'll get 
Dana through this.  I'm just so worried about her.  
When this finally hits, it's going to hit hard."

"How is she doing today?  I know you talked to her 
before the flight this morning.  How is she holding 
up?" Tara asked, firmly clamping down on her 
emotions.

"She was -- calm.  After her call yesterday from the 
morgue, when she identified the body and she cried, 
she's just been calm.  I talked to Mr. Skinner.  He 
said she eats when food it given to her, answers 
when someone speaks directly to her, but aside 
from that, she's like a robot.  She slept last night.  
He got her to agree to change to a different hotel 
and he booked them a suite so he could give her 
some privacy but still be close by.  Oh, I wish I 
could have gone out there to be with her, Tara.  I'm 
afraid it's the calm before the storm.  Dana has 
always been so strong; she's the last one to fall 
apart, ever.  But this time, when she realizes what's 
happened -- I don't know if she'll be strong enough 
to handle it all."

"Then we'll have to get her through it.  You and 
Dana and Fox were there for me -- you and I will 
have to be there for her now," the younger woman 
said with conviction.

The doorbell rang and Maggie closed her eyes in 
exasperation.  

"Want me to get it, Mom.  I'll shoo them away, 
whoever they are?" Tara offered.

"No, that's all right dear.  It's probably just the 
mailman.  I'll get it."  

Maggie got up and tiredly walked to the front door.  
She could see a silhouette of a man through the 
curtains of the side window.  Certain it was the 
mailman, she opened the door.

Recognition was instant and she threw her arms 
around the man standing on her porch, hugging him 
for dear life.

"Mom," came the startled voice of the visitor.  
"Mom, are you -- "

"Charlie!  Oh, Charlie, you've come at just the right 
time!" Maggie told him and broke down into sobs.

Dulles Airport
4:45 pm

It had taken an Act of Congress and all the internet 
wizardry his Administrative Assistant Kim had at 
her disposal, but they managed to get a direct flight 
from Los Angeles to Dulles.  The body had been 
transported on the same plane.  Skinner was not 
going to take any chances that it might 'disappear' in 
mid air.  

He was at a loss, however, how to bring Scully 
back.  Oh, her body had sat in the seat directly 
beside him.  She'd appeared to listen when he spoke 
to her about contacting the Bureau's Personnel 
Department and getting the ball rolling for a full 
FBI funeral with burial in Arlington, if she so 
desired.  She had even mentioned that she didn't 
want the remains buried in Massachusetts as his 
father and mother had been.  But beyond a few 
moments of polite discussion about practical 
matters, she'd been detached and silent through the 
flight.

He didn't want her to worry about the casket and 
had assured her that he had agents coming to 
accompany it to the funeral home.  She had thanked 
him and went back to looking out the window.

Walter Skinner felt the full weight of her silence 
settle down upon him.  Bitterly, he knew the day 
had finally arrived.  So many near misses through 
the past, he'd gotten complacent, thinking they 
really could bounce back from anything and 
everything thrown at them.  So many times in his 
dealings with these two agents, he marveled at their 
capacity to merely exist.  Between them, they had 
more lives than an army of cats -- a seemingly 
inexhaustible supply.  But in the back of his mind, 
he knew that was just wishful thinking and one day 
he would be given the task of burying the dead and 
trying to keep the one remaining alive.

God, he was tired.  Skinner arched his back and 
heard bones crack and pop.  He'd spent the night in 
a reclining chair in the living room area of the 
Airport Comfort Suites, standing watch.  He didn't 
think they would try to kill Scully so soon after 
killing Mulder, but he couldn't afford to be 
overconfident.  So many factors were at work.  It 
was obvious to Skinner that Mulder had been 
murdered, that he'd been lured to that storefront and 
trapped inside when the building exploded.  But to 
what purpose?  The powers that constantly 
threatened the two agents had more opportunities 
over the past several years than he could keep track.  
This had seemed like a simple kidnapping case.  
Had it been staged specifically to eliminate one or 
both of his agents?

He knew that at some point he was going to have to 
answer that question.  But for now, his greatest 
problem lie in ensuring the health and safety of the 
fragile looking woman who had just left his side to 
go to the ladies room.

Maggie Scully's residence
5:00 pm

Maggie couldn't stop smiling, even though tears 
were streaming down her face.  Tara hovered 
nearby, but didn't seem to want to sit at the table 
with them.  She was making iced tea and fixing 
sandwiches while Charlie talked.

"Anyway, I was assigned to work with the 
Department of Defense Counterterrorism Unit in 
Europe and Northern Africa.  Deep cover, if you 
can believe that, Mom," he said with a boyishly 
proud smile.  "I couldn't call you, I couldn't even let 
you know through an email or a letter.  I was so 
worried about you all.  And when I got word about 
Billy -- "  His handsome features grew serious, 
saddened.  

Maggie put her hand over her son's.  "We 
understand, sweetheart.  I can't say it didn't hurt, but 
I am so proud of you.  Your father would be so 
proud."  

He looked up at her and smiled his thanks.  "I don't 
really understand, though about Dana and her 
partner.  I thought they just worked together."

Tara stiffened at the counter, but continued to slice 
tomatoes for the sandwiches.  Maggie sighed.  
"They've been more than partners for a very long 
time," she said quietly.  "They have a house 
together.  They've been living together, well, since 
before Bill's accident."

"But they aren't married?  Why the hell didn't the 
guy marry her?"

Tara spun on her heel and glared at the man at the 
table.  "They couldn't remain partners if they got 
married," she said flatly.  She grabbed a nearby 
kitchen towel and wiped her hands.  "Mom, I'm 
sorry, but I need to pick up the kids and go home."

"You'll be back for dinner, won't you?" Maggie 
asked with surprise.  

Tara looked over at Charlie with an unreadable 
expression and then to her mother-in-law.  "I'll see 
how Claire's doing.  She was really cranky earlier; I 
think she might be coming down with another ear 
infection.  I'll call you."  She took the two steps 
over and leaned down to kiss Maggie on the cheek.  
"I'll call you," she repeated tenderly.  She stood and 
looked over at Charlie.  "It's good you're home, 
Charles," she said evenly and left the room.

Maggie watched the back door swing shut and 
smiled an embarrassed smile at her son.  "It's been 
awfully hard on Tara.  She and Fox had become 
friends.  Fox did so much with Matty, really 
stepping in to make sure the boy had a male role 
model.  And Dana, well, since they can't have 
children of their own -- "

"Mom, you don't have to make excuses for Tara.  
She's probably still mad at me for not coming to 
Billy's funeral and quite frankly I don't blame her at 
all.  I felt horrible.  I wanted so much to be here, but 
it was just impossible.  I almost quit my assignment 
that week, but my superior talked me out of it," he 
said, getting up to bring the sandwiches Tara had 
made over to the table.  "But I'm here now.  What 
can I do to help?"

Dulles Airport
5:15 pm

Skinner watched the line of women leaving the 
restroom.  It had been a steady stream of people for 
the past 10 minutes.  He had almost considered 
going into the restroom and looking for Scully, but 
a plane had arrived and the baggage area had filled, 
making it impossible for him to sneak into the 
ladies room.  He had been forced to wait outside.

Finally, his worry overcame his trepidation about 
invading her privacy.  He stopped an airline hostess 
just about to enter the ladies room and asked her to 
see if she could locate his missing agent.  He didn't 
go into details, in fact, he told a white lie -- that 
their flight had been called and he was worried that 
they would miss it.  She smiled at him and promised 
to give the message.  After a few minutes she 
returned.

"Sorry, sir, but no one answered when I called for 
Ms. Scully.  I checked all the stalls and I don't think 
she's in there."

Skinner's expression went from bland annoyance to 
utter despair in an instant.  "Thank you," he said 
evenly and started toward the short-term parking lot 
entrance.  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.  
When the other party answered, he was curt.

"Is this Frohike?  You've heard about Mulder?  Yes, 
I intend to start a full-scale investigation into this 
explosion.  But there's something come up that may 
be more urgent -- Scully's missing.  I can't be sure 
where she went, or if it was of her own volition, but 
I'm giving you an hour to find her before I call out 
the troops.  I will not give Margaret Scully more 
bad news -- understand?  Call me back if you hear 
anything."

FBI Headquarters
6:30 pm

The parking garage was almost empty, it was easy 
to find a place close to the door.  She put the car in 
park and turned off the engine.  Her car.  She must 
have found it in the parking lot of the airport.  She 
couldn't remember even getting into it or driving 
anywhere.  Where was she?  She glanced around the 
cement walls and toward the entrance.  Hoover 
Building.  She'd come on autopilot.

It hadn't even occurred to her to go to their duplex, 
but when she did think about it, for a brief moment, 
she knew she wouldn't be going there anytime soon.  
She couldn't face walking into their home, seeing 
his dirty tee shirts in the laundry hamper, seeing his 
shaving cream on the vanity next to her mousse.  
The very thought of ever entering those rooms again 
left her with a feeling of sheer dread.  But for some 
reason the Hoover wasn't so hard to face.  

Scully got out of the car and walked toward the 
entrance.  The guard on duty smiled at her and 
waved her through.  He was new, she remembered.  
Had only been with the Bureau for about a month.  
He probably wouldn't have heard about Mulder, 
news didn't travel that fast.  She was glad he hadn't 
mentioned anything about her partner.  She was sick 
to death of all the tea and sympathy she'd been 
getting.

The elevator ride down to the basement was quiet 
and it allowed her thoughts to start ganging up on 
her.  Before the doors opened, she felt a panic grip 
her; she felt the walls of the elevator car start to 
close in.  She exited the car quickly and ran to the 
door at the far end of the hallway.

The door was locked, as she expected.  She pulled 
out her keys and unlocked it, turned the knob and 
stepped inside, flicking on the light with one fluid 
motion.  Mail was scattered on the floor where the 
mailroom clerk had slipped it under the door.  She 
stooped to gather it up to place it all on the desk.

The top envelope caught her attention.  The return 
address was the Kennedy Center for the Performing 
Arts.  It was addressed to Fox Mulder.  Dropping 
the rest of the envelopes, she ripped open the flap 
and pulled out two tickets.  Mozart.  Their date.  His 
promise.

Without warning, she started to shake.  She 
trembled so hard she crumbled the tickets in her 
palm.  Angrily, she tossed the stiff paper to the floor 
but it didn't feel like the expense of energy she 
needed.  She strode the four steps to Mulder's desk 
and swept everything on it to the floor in a loud 
crash.  That felt a little better, but she was just 
getting started.

One by one, she cleared the shelves of books and 
paraphernalia.  A strange feeling overtook her and it 
was as if she were watching herself from a great 
distance.  A tiny part of her mind tried to 
understand her need for violence, screamed at her to 
stop, but she quickly ignored it.  His basketball 
bounced into a corner so she grabbed it and threw it 
as hard as she could at the skylight, frustrated when 
it bounced back without the expected satisfying 
crash of glass.  She needed sound.  She needed 
something to break through the ice that had 
engulfed her in the last 18 hours.

Systematically she tore through the office, smashing 
monitors, tossing keyboards to the ground and 
stomping on them, tipping over chairs, pulling out 
file drawers and scattering the contents.  As she 
extracted some of the folders, she tore through 
them, ripping the covers and pictures and reports, 
destroying his work as efficiently as it had 
destroyed him.  She wanted to destroy everything; 
destruction was all she knew.  She was panting, 
heaving with the effort when she spied something 
that would truly give her some satisfaction.

Without a second thought, she pulled back her right 
fist and smashed it through the glass door of the 
case just over her worktable.    

The sound of the tempered glass cracking and 
finally giving way, falling to the floor in a sound 
not unlike ice giving way on a frozen lake was 
exactly what she was waiting for.

She pulled her arm back and prepared to take 
another shot, not realizing a jagged piece of glass 
had torn through the skin the entire length of her 
forearm.  She punched through the second glass 
door with her other fist, gleeful at the crystalline 
sounds of annihilation.   With a perplexed 
expression she looked down and saw that she'd 
managed to slice through a major vein in one arm, 
possibly an artery in the other.  As blood shot from 
her arms with each beat of her heart, her eyes rolled 
back in her head and she fell to the ground.

Walter Skinner found her just seconds later, lying in 
a pool of blood.  Frantically, he wrapped his 
handkerchief around the worst of the cuts; the left 
arm was spurting blood at an alarming rate.  His tie 
was called into service on the right arm.  Terrified 
at the paleness of her complexion, he found the 
phone lying on the floor and quickly dialed 911.

The ambulance arrived quickly and worked on the 
pale and unconscious agent while Skinner stood by, 
feeling helpless.  How had this happened?  He 
looked around the room at the total carnage.  If 
there was a single square inch of the room 
unscathed, he was hard pressed to see it.  As the 
EMS attendants were loading Scully on the gurney, 
a familiar figure stood in the doorway.

"Walter, my God, what happened down here?"  
Assistant Director Jana Cassidy was wide-eyed as 
she surveyed the office.  She cast a quick look at the 
agent being wheeled to the elevator.  "Is she badly 
injured?"

"She's lost a lot of blood.  Both arms."

"Suicide?" Cassidy asked, shocked.

Skinner glared his reply.  "I want an evidence team 
down here.  We have to find out what happened, 
who's responsible for this."

Cassidy stepped into the room and put her hand on 
Skinner's upper arm.  "Walt.  I think we both know 
what happened here.  I heard the news this morning.  
I'm so sorry.  I know Agent Mulder had worked 
under you for several years and you were close."

Skinner stepped away, trying to distance himself 
from the woman.  "Jana, we don't know.  We don't 
know anything.  Someone might have come in here, 
was tearing the place apart looking for something -- 
it's happened before," he objected when she started 
to interrupt.  "Scully must have walked in on them, 
surprised them.  That's how she got hurt."

"Her arms, Walt.  Her arms were cut," Cassidy said 
sadly.  She looked around the room once more, 
spying the glass doors to the cabinet.  She walked 
over and looked closer at the frame.  "Walt, there's a 
lot of blood here," she said, pointing to the red 
streaks on the white paint.  "I'm sorry, but it's 
obvious to me -- "

"Well, it isn't obvious to me," Skinner growled.  "I 
want this room gone over with a fine toothed comb.  
I want the security tapes for the last hour to show 
who's been in this basement."

"If they find out she was alone and did this herself, 
it will make it worse for her," Cassidy warned.  
"She could lose everything, Walt.  Her field status, 
her job . . . "

"She's already lost everything," he growled.  "Jana, 
at this point, I don't think things could get any 
worse."

Georgetown Medical Center
8:15 pm

Maggie Scully was out of the car and running 
before the emergency room double doors had fully 
opened.  She skidded to a stop at the nurses' desk.  
"Dana Scully, please.  I was called, I'm her mother, 
Margaret Scully."

The nurse looked up at the distraught woman and 
nodded, turning her attention to the computer 
screen.  "Yes, Mrs. Scully.  Your daughter's been 
taken to the fourth floor.  That's a restricted floor, 
I'll have to call ahead and tell them you're coming."

"Restricted?  Why?  I don't understand?"

The nurse looked annoyed but forced a smile.  "The 
fourth floor is where the psychiatric ward is located.  
Your daughter is there for her own protection.  I'm 
sure her doctor will be able to explain -- "
 
"Her own protection?" Maggie blurted out.  "What 
are you talking about?  I was told she was brought 
here unconscious.  What is going on?"

"Mom, calm down," Charlie said, coming up behind 
her.  "Sorry, my mother is worried about my sister.  
Could you tell us the name of the doctor assigned to 
her care?"

The nurse smiled at Charlie, giving credence to his 
charm.  "Certainly, Mr. Scully."  She glanced down 
at the chart.  "Although this is a little strange.  
There's a neurologist listed as her physician.  Dr. 
Jason Leonard."

"Thank you," Charlie said with another winning 
smile.  He then turned Maggie.  "Mom, let's go up 
and find Dr. Leonard.  We'll get to the bottom of 
this."

As they rode the elevator to the fourth floor, Maggie 
bit her lip.  "Leonard, I've heard that name before."  
She finally looked over at her son as she 
remembered.  "Wait.  Jason Leonard.  He's an old 
friend of Dana's from medical school.  He treated 
Fox last year when he -- "  She let her voice trail 
off, reminded of the most recent tragedy.  "But why 
would he be treating Dana?"

"Maybe Dana asked for him," Charlie suggested off 
hand.  "Mom, we won't know any more until we 
talk to him.  Please, just try and relax."

They walked toward the nurses' desk on the fourth 
floor, located outside a set of locked double doors 
with a keypad entry system.

"I'm Charles Scully and this is my mother, Margaret 
Scully.  We're looking for Dr. Jason Leonard.  My 
sister, Dana Scully is a patient of his."

"I want to see my daughter," Maggie interrupted.  "I 
want to see Dana now, please."  Tears were 
dampening her cheeks and she brushed them aside.

"Of course, Mrs. Scully, Mr. Scully.  Dr. Leonard is 
waiting for you in observation room three.  Just 
follow this hallway to the end and make a right.  
The rooms are numbered."

"But I want to see Dana," Maggie insisted.

"Dr. Leonard will have to approve any 'in room' 
visitors, Mrs. Scully.  Why don't you go down and 
talk to him."

"Mom, c'mon.  Let's go find Dr. Leonard," Charlie 
urged.

"I don't understand, Charles.  Why would they bring 
Dana to the psychiatric ward?  It makes no sense," 
Maggie uttered as they turned the corner and 
Charlie pointed to the door with a three stenciled on 
the glass.  

"Mom, let's talk to the doctor."

They entered a room with a large computer flat 
panel monitor sitting on a desk and a dark haired 
man in a white lab coat seated in front of it.  He 
turned when he heard the two people enter the 
room.  Rising, he held out his hand to Maggie.

"Mrs. Scully, hello.  You probably don't remember 
me, but we met at Dana's and my graduation 
ceremony from medical school.  I'm Jason 
Leonard."  

Maggie took Leonard's hand, but couldn't tear her 
eyes away from the screen.  It was a black and 
white security camera's view of a room, sparsely 
furnished with a single cot near one wall.  The walls 
appeared covered with cloth.  There was a lone 
figure huddled on a cot, forming herself in a fetal 
ball.  "Who is that?"

As soon as Maggie asked the question, the person 
rolled off the cot onto the floor and flew into a rage, 
throwing themselves against the walls.  Now 
Maggie could see that the walls were actually 
padded, as was the floor.  During one wild run at 
the wall, the person faced the camera full on.  

"Oh my God!" Maggie exclaimed when she 
recognized her daughter on the screen.  "What is 
happening?  Why is she doing that?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Scully, please, let's sit down.  I had hoped 
that Dana might have calmed down by now; we've 
given her a fairly strong sedative.  As you can see, 
she's very agitated."

"What are those bandages on her arms?" Charlie 
asked quietly.

"She tried to commit suicide."  He turned to 
Maggie.  "I'm very sorry to tell you this, Mrs. 
Scully, but Dana has experienced a complete 
psychotic break."

Maggie looked at the screen in horror before turning 
into Charlie's waiting arms and collapsing in grief-
stricken sobs.

To be continued.

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