TITLE: Lesser Evils
AUTHOR: Hannah Mason
CATEGORY: SAR
RATING: 95% R; one clearly marked NC-17 section
SUMMARY: Mulder thought that no one could ever want Scully
as much as he did. He was dead wrong.
ARCHIVE: By all means! Just let me know.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully are the collective property of
Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox; after this story they'll
probably be glad of that fact.
THANKS: To Alicia K. and Stephanie for beta services
rendered with alacrity and careful cogitation--how's that
for professorish, Alicia? ;)
QUICK NOTE: In this weird little world, it's about eight
months after the movie, but none of the events of season six
have taken place.
FEEDBACK: all types welcome at hkmason@netscape.net
This one is for Alexander, who is blessed with a wit so
sharp even Mulder would be envious. No one in the world
makes me laugh quite as hard.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lesser Evils, part one
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I have often thought upon death, and I find it the least of
all evils."
--Sir Francis Bacon, 1635
Fox Mulder circled the block seventeen times before he
finally found the courage to stop the car in front of her
apartment. He cut the engine with a swift jerk but made no
attempt to get out. Instead, he drummed restless fingers
against the smooth leather steering wheel and tried to
figure out exactly how he would explain himself.
"Hey, Scully. I just dropped by at..." he checked the dash
clock, "nine-fifty four on a Friday night to...uh...well, I
have this file, here and..."
He halted his monologue with a curse and slumped over the
wheel. There was indeed a case file sitting on the seat
next to him, though he couldn't have reported its contents.
Bee swarms in Tucson, maybe. Or perhaps the poltergeists in
Peru. It didn't really matter. He had grabbed it hurriedly
from a pile on his desk just in case he chickened out at the
last minute, in case he couldn't gain admittance to her
apartment on his own merits.
For he certainly had very few merits these days, at least
where Dana Scully was concerned.
He picked up the file and thumbed through it absently. We
should start one of these on me, he thought darkly.
Supernatural phenomena might be the best way to explain what
the hell came over me that night.
In the months since it had happened, he had replayed the
words in his mind so many times that he was convinced the
individual letters must now be spelled out in neurons across
his brain. At night he would often say them aloud and
marvel at how little time it took for the sounds to roll off
his tongue.
Just three seconds.
He had calculated the precise timing of it on that first
night, and had repeatedly checked his math since then. The
total was always the same. Three very small seconds to
utter one very big lie. How was it possible that he could
have done so much damage in such a little amount of time?
He glanced up the golden light streaming from her window.
"Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this
hallway, Mulder?"
Dammit. He winced as the long ago conversation surged into
his thoughts once more. No no no...Go AWAY, he thought
desperately. I can't do this now. But the whispery words
pricked at him relentlessly, ripping away each mental Band
Aid until the memory gaped open wide with fresh pain.
Recollected emotion oozed steadily through his body,
subsuming his resistance like a powerful hypnotic drug. He
sat captivated as the scene played out in vivid detail
against the back of his closed lids...
She was especially pretty that warm October night, sitting
curled on his sofa garbed in attire more appropriate for a
college coed than a forensic pathologist. With the soft
light of the floor lamp, she could have almost passed for
twenty-two in her faded denim jeans and sea-foam green tee
shirt. He had been sneaking many sideways glances at her
during the evening, more interested in her reaction to the
TV movie than the movie itself. Everything was more
interesting when he filtered it through Scully.
He was still floating with amazement from the fact that he
had managed to convince her to spend the evening with him.
He grew even more astounded as they flirted and teased their
way through a pizza and Mystery Science Theater 3000.
"I don't understand how this show can be any fun for you,
Mulder," she said dryly. "That little robot thingie seems
to be stealing all your opportunities for snide commentary."
He flashed her a smile. "Ah, that's the beauty of it,
Scully. It's pre-heckled for my convenience."
For once she laughed. Not a belly-laugh, not some girlie
giggle, but a delighted little chuckle that told him he had
somehow, in some small way, managed to please her. The
sound sent sparks dancing over his nerve endings.
Why are you here tonight? he wondered. What did I say this
time that I haven't said a million times before? He racked
his brain, but no answer came to mind. Later, he told
himself. Analyze it later when she's not sitting so damn
close to you. Right now just count yourself a lucky
sonofabitch and quit staring.
"Quit staring."
"Huh?" Shit, had he said that out loud?
She rolled her eyes at him. "You're staring at me, Mulder.
Do I have pizza on my face or something?"
Or something, he thought, shifting uncomfortably on his end
of the couch. Hold it together, you idiot, or you're going
to scare her away.
But then she shifted, too, and he nearly came undone. When
she leaned over, slipped off her tennis shoes and wriggled
ten perfect toes in the open air, he almost expired right
there on the fucking couch.
Scully barefoot in his apartment. Would wonders never
cease.
He was gaping openly now, he knew he was. And if the tiny
curve of her mouth was any indication, Scully knew it too.
Somehow he returned his eyes to the TV set, but he was no
longer paying the slightest attention to his favorite
program. His heart beat wildly, his every cell attuned to
the woman sitting next to him. This was the Scully of his
dreams. Relaxed, open and just a bit wild, with her usual
ferocious intellect filtered though a rarely-seen mischief.
She crackled with life and it was a contagious feeling.
He wanted to lean over and take a bite out of her, she was
that tempting.
Warning bells went off in his head at the thought. Big
trouble! they called. He snuck another look at her, her
eyes alight with amusement, her hair tousled by the breeze
flowing from the open window, and her tiny toes peeking out
from under a denim-clad thigh. She caught him looking
again, and arched one eyebrow.
He swallowed and looked away. Yeah, this Scully was big
trouble all right.
He just hadn't guessed how much.
...From his car outside her window, Mulder scrubbed his face
with sweaty palms, trying to freeze his memory while it was
still rich with light and laughter. But the voices and
images continued undiminished in his head...
The evening over, he was doing the chivalrous thing and
walking her out to her car. Well, it was partly chivalry
anyway. Mainly it was a good excuse to spend five more
minutes in her company. He turned from locking his
apartment door to see her watching him, her clear blue eyes
thoughtful and questioning.
"Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this
hallway, Mulder?"
He froze, instantly grasping the meaning of her words. Oh
shit. Not this. Not now. It had been so perfect until now.
"Uh, we talk about it all the time," he hedged, trying to
sneak past her to the elevator. How far was it to her car
again?
But Scully's reflexes were too quick for him, and her hand
snagged his elbow as he made his escape attempt. "I don't
mean part about the bee or the virus. I mean the events
immediately prior to that."
"Oh." At that point, he developed an enormous interest in
the ceiling tiles. "I guess I don't think there's really
anything to talk about," he said, hoping she would leave it
at that.
But Scully pressed onward. "Nothing to talk about," she
repeated, crossing her arms over her chest and stepping just
that much closer to him. "That's an interesting sentiment,
Mulder. Because I would have thought that our first attempt
at physical intimacy--aborted though it was--would be
grounds for some discussion."
He shook his head widely for emphasis. "Ah, but that's
precisely the point, Scully. It *was* aborted. Nothing
happened. And it's always been my personal belief that
discussions about nothing are best left up to theologians,
philosophers, and maybe Regis and Kathie Lee."
"No, Mulder," she replied softly, ignoring his lame humor
with her usual equanimity. "You're not going to pull this on
me now. You can't convince me that it was nothing." She
licked her lips, hesitating, but then plunged recklessly
ahead. "I...I wanted you to kiss me that night, and I think
you wanted it, too."
God yes. Rather desperately, in fact. She had been leaving
him, so there was nothing left to lose. But then she had
collapsed, had disappeared and then reappeared in his life
with renewed strength and purpose like his own personal
phoenix rising. And later, when she had clasped his hand
and vowed to stay with him, to fight with him, he had been
overcome with relief that he had not kissed her.
Because that was the surest way to drive her from his life.
This was a lesson he had learned the hard way, watching the
retreating backs of women he'd professed to love and
wondering why the strength of that love never seemed to be
enough. He was like that kid from the old nursery
rhyme...how did it go, again? Oh yes. Kissed the girls and
made them cry.
So he'd had to lie, if only to protect her from herself.
And from him. Most of all from him.
"That night was a fluke, Scully. It never should have
happened."
"But it did happen," she pointed out. "And ever since then,
I've found myself thinking about it...wondering what it
would have been like. Can you honestly say you haven't been
wondering, too?"
He'd scratched his head and avoided her eyes. "Honestly, no
I haven't."
She shook her head slowly, the light glinting off her hair.
"I don't believe you," she murmured after a bit.
He laughed without humor. "Ever skeptical aren't you, Agent
Scully. What can I offer you for proof?"
She hesitated just an instant before moving to stand
directly in front of him, so close he could feel her
breathing. She touched his face, her fingers warm on his
cheek, and gently forced him to look directly at her. "Look
me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about that
night. Tell me you don't still want this."
"Scully...." He squirmed under her scrutiny.
"In the eyes, Mulder."
This is it, he thought. Make it count.
He steeled his resolve and met her azure eyes with a
carefully schooled gaze. "I don't want this." He shook his
head slightly. "I never have."
Then he held his breath while she'd searched his face for
the truth, the echo of his rejection still swirling in the
air around them.
.......I don't want this. I don't want you.......
He'd known the instant that she'd believed him. Her eyes
widened briefly in hurt before filling with tears, and the
corners of her mouth twisted as she tightened her lips into
a thin line. But she did not turn away. Oh no. She made
him suffer the full impact of his stinging words, let him
watch up close as every nuance of agony played across her
expressive face.
He welcomed her pain into his own body, using it to lash
himself inwardly for the hurt he had inflicted. I'm so
sorry, Scully. I am so, so sorry. If I knew any other
way...
She trembled slightly, anguish radiating from her small body
in silent waves, and he fought the urge to pull her into his
arms. "Okay," she whispered at last, her voice roughened by
restrained emotion. "Okay, Mulder, you win."
She had left then, leaving him to stand alone in the dingy
hallway and wonder why, if he was supposed to have won, all
he could feel was loss...
It was a loss that remained unabated seven months later,
having been spread wide and deep by the river of silence
running between them. He had once tried to apologize,
however awkwardly, but had quickly shut up when he saw the
stricken look on her face. Clearly, discussing the matter
only made it worse for her. He had ceased all attempts
after that, unwilling to cause her further pain.
From his car, he looked up again in the direction of her
apartment, where the lights still shone brightly. It was
well after ten now, and he knew if he just sat outside a
little bit longer the lights would go out and he would be
off the hook for the evening. But instead of inducing
relief, this possibility brought him inexplicable sadness.
I miss you, he thought as he watched the window. I miss you
and I'm sorry.
"As good an opening as anything," he murmured to the empty
car. Maybe it wouldn't solve the problem, but at least she
would know how he really felt. Maybe she even missed him,
too. And maybe, just maybe, they could have the
conversation over again and he could get it right this time.
He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. One
step at a time, he reminded himself. If he was to convince
Scully that he would cheerfully spend the rest of his life
atoning for those lost three seconds, he first had to get
out of the car. He glanced once at the file on the seat, and
then left it sitting there as he levered himself out into
the street. No excuses tonight.
He bounded up the stairs to her building two at a time,
eager to see her now that he had a fixed plan of action. It
was a plan that included some serious kissing if all went
well. He allowed himself a brief moment to imagine what she
would look like after their kisses, with dreamy eyes smiling
up at him from a face flushed pink with passion. It was a
vision that made his heart constrict repeatedly in his
chest. What a wonderful change it would be to bring her
pleasure rather than pain. It was a phenomenon he found
himself wishing for fervently as he tapped lightly on her
door.
A minute later he heard a muted sound...laughter?..just
before the door opened with a flourish to reveal his still-
chuckling partner. She stopped short at the sight of him,
pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she assessed
him with a puzzled look. When she spoke, her voice was low
and breathless. "Mulder, what are you doing here?"
He frankly couldn't remember at that moment, because all his
brain power was focused on what *she* had obviously been
doing. As he stared at her, some small part of him
acknowledged that his vision had been startlingly
precognizant. Her cheeks were tinged high with color and
her eyes had been transformed, chameleon-like, from their
usual pale sapphire to an incredible smoky midnight blue.
Though she still wore her work clothes, the white silk
blouse was unbuttoned a bit lower than usual, and her short
copper hair appeared hand-mussed. Yes, there was no doubt
about it.
Dana Scully had been thoroughly kissed.
"Mulder?" she repeated. "What's going on? Is something
wrong?"
God yes. More than you'll ever know, he thought as the
initial shock wore off and the stinging pain set in. He
fumbled around for a story but the words slipped away from
him like quicksand. "I...uh...I just..."
He turned his gaze toward the ground, wishing like hell he'd
brought the stupid file with him. Bare feet, he noted with
a pang. Somehow this was even worse than the kissing, and
he felt grief seize him anew. Tears clogged the back of his
throat and he swallowed convulsively. It felt like someone
had slit open his veins from the inside.
Toolatetoolatetoolate, his brain taunted him endlessly.
He was apparently beginning to worry his partner because she
reached one hand out to touch his arm. "Mulder, are you
hurt?"
He jerked away like a wounded animal before she could make
contact.
"Mulder, what the...oh!" She broke off with a soft gasp and
covered her mouth as if to hide the evidence. Clearly,
she'd finally realized the picture she was presenting.
That's right, Scully, he thought bitterly. Busted.
A man's voice came suddenly from the room behind her.
"Dana? Is everything all right?" A shadow moved in the
room, and Mulder knew any moment he would be staring right
at the man who had been kissing Scully.
No no. Not a face. A face would make it real.
The face appeared anyway, and he was stunned to see that it
was a familiar one. The two men stared at each other in a
moment of mutual surprise before Scully cleared her throat
to speak.
"Mulder, I believe you know Aaron Littlefield."
"Apparently not as well as you do." The icy words came out
of his mouth unbidden as he scowled at the assistant
district attorney.
If Littlefield was perturbed by the cutting remark, he did
not show it. "Agent Mulder," he said warmly. "It's nice to
see you again after all this time."
"Yeah, a year now, isn't it? The Pembroke case?" He
stopped and looked down at Scully through narrowed eyes. "I
have to say, Scully, when you invited him to 'drop by
anytime' I always assumed you were referring to the Hoover
building."
This observation did get a rise out of Littlefield, who
started toward him with a frown. "Hey, listen here..."
"Aaron." Scully halted him with a murmur and one small
hand. "It's okay. Mulder was just leaving."
As frazzled as his senses were, Mulder did not fail to grasp
the warning in her tone. "Yeah, I was just leaving," he
echoed acidly. He jammed his hand into his jeans pocket and
extracted his key ring. With two quick jerks he freed the
small bronze key labeled "Scully."
"Here," he said, grabbing her wrist and thrusting the warm
metal against her palm. "This way you know I won't be
coming back." He glanced from her pale face to the now-
livid countenance of ADA Littlefield. "I'm sure you all
will sleep better without fear of interruption."
"Mulder..." Scully said, her eyes huge with shock. "Please
don't do this."
His heart clenched the way it always did in response to her
pain, but he ferociously stomped the feelings down, steeling
himself with seething anger. "Good night, Scully." he said,
and stalked off without a backward glance.
********************
He watched with interest as the male agent strode angrily to
his car and slammed the door shut. So, she had sent the
intrepid Agent Mulder on his way. It was a good sign, but
he knew better than to be overly pleased. Mulder's
appearance at her door that evening was a wrinkle that he
had not anticipated. In the weeks that he had surveiled
her, he had quickly deduced that Mulder had the ability to
ruin everything he had worked so hard to plan. He did not
want to make the same mistakes again, but he was quickly
running out of time.
He was more certain than ever that she was the one. God
knew it, he knew it, and soon she would know it, too.
Tomorrow, he thought.
The barest of smiles touched his lips as he glanced in the
direction of Mulder's departure, watching as the twin
taillights vanished into the night. He felt confident that
his strategy could still work if he just pushed up the
timetable. After all, the initial phases had gone smoothly
with the others. He had no reason to expect that Dana
Scully would offer any unique resistance.
And if Agent Mulder proved to be an obstacle?
Well, he was expendable.
*********************
End Part One. Continued in Part Two.
Lesser Evils, part two
by Hannah Mason
All disclaimers etc., found in part one
**************************************
Scully blinked rapidly to clear the hot tears from her eyes
as she slowly closed her apartment door. She tightened her
fist around the key until the sharp ridges pressed nearly to
the bone. The metal burned in her hand. Just when she'd
thought he couldn't wound her any more deeply, Mulder
managed a rebuff so profound it robbed her of breath.
She fought hard to control the sobs rising within her,
determined not to cry. Aaron was still hovering in her
living room, and though he was a kind man, she was unwilling
to share her tears with him. The intimacy was too great and
the hurt was too personal.
"Are you okay?" he asked finally, regarding her with
sympathetic green eyes.
She nodded mutely, not yet trusting her voice.
He moved to stand behind her and rested two large warm hands
gently on her shoulders. "I didn't realize that you and
Mulder had such an...intense...personal relationship."
She stiffened under his touch and pulled away. "My
relationship with Mulder has never been anything other than
professional," she told him briskly.
Aaron cocked his head at her. "Are you sure he knows that?
"Oh, he knows," she replied with a short, dark laugh. "He
knows better than anyone."
"I see," said Aaron softly, his eyes flickering over her
with new understanding. "Then he's the greatest of fools,
Dana."
She raised her face to his and smiled sadly. "One of us
surely is."
Aaron reached for her then, and brought her into his arms
with a gentle tug. Scully hesitated only a moment before
relaxing against him, allowing the warmth of his body to
drive away her chills. Eventually, he placed a soft kiss to
the top of her head.
"I think maybe it's time for me to go."
She nodded wordlessly against his chest, took his hand and
walked him slowly to the door. "I'm sorry about all this,"
she said. "Mulder...well, he--"
"--doesn't need you to apologize for him," Aaron finished
firmly, giving her hand a squeeze. He brushed a lock of
hair behind her ear and then leaned down to kiss her lightly
on the cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow," he murmured.
After he'd gone, Scully leaned against the door and looked
at the key she still clutched in her hand, suddenly too
exhausted to cry. Maybe it's for the best, she thought
sadly. Maybe this is exactly what I needed to make the
break for good. With a shaky sigh, she placed the key
gently on her mantle and traced its outline lingeringly with
one finger before finally retiring to her bedroom.
Later, as she curled in a ball under the covers, Aaron's
words echoed back through her mind. *I didn't realize you
and Mulder had such an intense personal relationship*.
Intense hardly seemed strong enough a description for the
emotional entanglement she shared with her partner. It was
a complicated union that allowed no room for a third person,
and therein lay the problem.
Mulder had made his feelings painfully clear on that awful
night when he'd looked her straight in the face and lied to
her.
Oh yes, she had known he'd lied.
He had wanted that kiss just as much as she had, of that
much she was sure. Standing together in the hallway that
summer evening, foreheads touching and breath coming in
unison, their mutual desire had been almost tangible.
Still, he had lied. Yet in doing so, he had also told her
an incontrovertible truth: He wanted her, but he didn't
*want* to want her.
And that was even worse.
After so many years, he still couldn't trust her, not
completely. He persisted in guarding pieces of himself,
hiding his most tender parts and snarling like an angry
bulldog if anyone dared get too close. She had tried to be
patient. She understood he'd been hurt, had seen up close
and personal some of the women who had trampled the heart of
Fox Mulder. How can you think I would be like them? she
wondered in the darkness, hugging her pillow for comfort.
His lack of faith cut her deeply even now.
Then Aaron Littlefield appeared in her life six weeks ago.
She had been initially wary, uninterested even, because her
all her thoughts and feelings were still bound up with
Mulder and the night he had pushed her away for good. But
Aaron moved slowly. She had met him in the courthouse
elevator twice before he had asked her out for coffee.
Coffee had led to dinner. Four dates later, she was amazed
to find how much she was looking forward to seeing him each
evening. His emotional availability was a welcome change,
and she warmed to his charming banter. He had a quick mind
and easy smile, and conversed with her on everything from
casefiles to chardonnay. She liked the person she became
when she was with him. She was happier, lighter.
But still not completely free.
To give herself completely to Aaron, or to any man, she knew
she would first have to extract Mulder from her heart. Was
Aaron worth it the struggle? She didn't know. But it was a
ugly chore that would have to be performed eventually, or
she was damned to be alone forever. Mulder himself had
shown her that.
She curled tighter against the pillow, the tears beginning
to fall at last.
Loosening her emotional ties with Mulder was a daunting
prospect that left her feeling drained and lonely every time
she contemplated it. It would be a messy and difficult
excision, with bloodshed and heartache on both sides. She
squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his ashen face
at her door. There was no pleasure in hurting him, only
more pain.
She wondered if she could ever be truly free of him, or if
she would always feel his presence, like an amputee with a
phantom limb.
It was many hours before she slept.
***********************************
The city morgue at eight p.m. on a Saturday night would not
be considered a sanctuary to most people, but Scully felt
overwhelming solace as she set about performing her first
autopsy, a young woman found dead in her home for no obvious
reason the local coroner could detect. The woman's husband
had also died inside the house, his demise apparently due to
the same mysterious cause.
The lateness of the hour afforded Scully a luxurious
solitude as she prepared to tackle the puzzle before her.
Scissors and tongs in hand, she began the ritual
investigation of death that she practiced with such skill.
Minutes blurred to hours as she retraced the efforts of
Silas Tewksbury, the coroner who had performed the initial
autopsy. The familiar sounds and rhythms offered both
comfort and escape, allowing her mind something to focus on
besides the emotional roller coaster ride she had endured
over the past twenty-four hours.
The wall clock read ten-oh-eight when she finished labeling
the blood and tissue samples for laboratory analysis. She
stifled a yawn on the sleeve of her blue scrub apron. One
down, one to go, she thought, rolling her head to relieve
the ache that had begun to throb at the base of her neck.
She let out a small sigh as the vertebrae shifted into place
with a satisfying pop.
"Late night, Agent Scully?"
Mulder's chilly words caused her to jump in surprise.
"Jesus, Mulder," she said, whirling on him with hands on her
hips. "Don't creep up on me like that!"
He stood leaning against the door frame. "Just out of
curiosity...when exactly were you going to tell me? When
the wedding invitation arrived in the mail?"
Scully wearily rubbed her forehead with the back of her
wrist. "Mulder, could we please not do this now? It's late,
and I still have one more body to examine tonight."
"Really, would that be living or deceased?" he asked, one
finger placed at the corner of his mouth in a look of
exaggerated puzzlement.
She felt her cheeks warm with growing anger. Damn him for
doing this. "Mulder, if you value our friendship at all,
you will stop this line of conversation immediately."
But Mulder was on a roll now. "Oh, are we still friends?" he
asked in surprise. "I wasn't clear. I thought friends were
people who talked to each other about important stuff in
their lives, kept each other apprised of any new
developments, that sort of thing."
Head down, she braced her arms on the autopsy bay and
ignored him, hoping he would stop if she didn't rise to his
baiting remarks.
"Or maybe," he continued, walking fully into the room.
"Maybe I've hit upon the answer. You didn't tell me, your
supposed friend, about your relationship with Aaron
Littlefield because it wasn't *important*. Is that it
Scully? He's not Mr. Right, just a handy lay..."
"That is enough!" she broke in angrily, whirling on him.
"Enough! You are so far over the line here, Mulder, that one
more word and you might never be able to cross back. I'm
sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry you had to find out the way
you did, but that is not an excuse for your present
despicable behavior. I don't owe you any explanation about
what I do with my personal life or who I do it with. You
gave up any right to have a say seven months ago." She
paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "And Mulder, you
*never* had the right to speak to me the way you just did.
Never."
"Are you finished?" he asked after she was done speaking.
"Are you?" she retorted.
"Actually no. Surprising at it might seem, I didn't really
come here to discuss your social calendar. We've got a case
out in Wyoming that needs immediate attention." He waved a
file folder at her. "Our flight leaves tomorrow at 7 am."
"Let me see that," she said, peeling off her gloves with a
snap and reaching for the brown folder. She rapidly scanned
the enclosed pages and photos. "You can't be serious," she
told him when she'd finished.
"I'm always serious about the files, Scully. You should
know that by now."
She ignored the jab and flipped through the folder once
more. "Missing cows?" she asked incredulously. "A few
dozen cows go missing from farms in Airsdale, Wyoming, and
you think this is deserving of federal investigation?
Cattle rustling is hardly an unexplained phenomenon,
Mulder."
"It is when it's accompanied by two UFO sightings within the
last month."
Scully rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "C'mon
Mulder, alien cattle thieves? That's a bit too extreme,
even for you."
"We can argue about it on the plane, Scully," he said
curtly. "Because it's my call and I say we're going to
Wyoming. This is a legitimate X-file, and we have a duty to
investigate." He stalked around the room, sulking like a
small child, and suddenly the true motive behind the trip
became clear to Scully.
"Fuck you, Mulder."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she said evenly. "You can take your lost
cattle and go straight to hell. Or Wyoming, or whatever.
But I am *not* going with you."
"Scully, I don't know what your problem is here..."
"What *my* problem is?" she interrupted in disbelief. She
crossed the room to stand in front of him, shoving the
folder roughly against his chest. "This isn't X-file,
Mulder, it's a goddamm fidelity test and I won't stand for
it."
He held her gaze with dark, angry eyes as the air crackled
between them. "You tell yourself that if you need to," he
replied with deliberate softness. "You can tell yourself
whatever the hell you want, Scully, but you had better be at
that airport by seven a.m. tomorrow morning."
He moved to leave and she called to him as she reached the
door. "And if I do go with you on this fool's errand,
Mulder? What exactly will that solve? Aaron will still be
here when I get back, you know."
His froze in the doorway, his back going rigid at her words.
"This is not about your precious Aaron Littlefield," he said
without turning around. "It's about disappearing cattle and
unidentified lights in the sky over Airsdale, Wyoming."
"Yeah right," she answered. "You tell yourself that if you
need to, Mulder."
Strange, she realized as she watched him leave, that she was
becoming extraordinarily proficient in catching Fox Mulder's
lies.
Even the ones he told himself.
********************************
She checked the wall clock to jot the time on her completed
notes. Twelve thirty-seven. With a suppressed groan, she
printed out in neat letters what she considered the cause of
death: carbon monoxide poisoning. It would have been a
more obvious choice if the deceased couple had inhabited a
building with gas powered heat or appliances. However,
their modest home had been run exclusively on electricity,
and thus while the cause of death might have been uncovered,
the source of the toxin remained a mystery.
One that will not be solved tonight, thought Scully as she
scrawled her initials across the bottom of the form. I have
to get at least a few hours rest if I'm going to be at the
airport before seven a.m.
Somewhere around midnight she had resolved to go along with
his ridiculous charade, if only to see just how far he was
willing to carry it. She bent her head in her hands. Admit
the real reason, she admonished herself sternly. You just
can't let go. He's like a drug, and you're hooked but good.
A Mulderholic, that's what you are.
Pulling off her glasses, she laid her head down on the desk
and closed her eyes. The argument had left her shaky and
drained of energy. One more case, she thought. Just this
one more case and then I'll go cold turkey.
"Dr. Scully? Are you okay?"
She jerked her head up, startled to find that she was not
alone in the dimly lit office. "Oh, hi Raymond." She
forced a tired smile for the young man who kept the morgue
well-stocked and spotlessly clean. They had developed
something of a camaraderie over her tenure in the morgue,
for he liked to pepper her with questions about forensic
pathology in exchange for free candy bars from the vending
machine. Recently, she had learned they shared another
connection-his mother was a regular attendee at her church.
"I'm fine, thanks. Just a little tired."
"It's pretty late," he told her earnestly. "You shouldn't
be working so hard."
"Tell me about it," she muttered, and he laughed.
"Are you gonna be in church tomorrow?" he asked shyly,
leaning his chin on the end of the broomstick.
"Seems unlikely," she answered with a sigh, thinking of
Wyoming. "More work." She tilted her head at him. "How's
your mom doing?"
"So-so," he said with shrug. "The doctor's are going to
operate on the tumor next week."
"I hope it goes well," she murmured, standing and gathering
her coat. "Please tell her I said hello, and that you'll
both be in my prayers."
He nodded slowly, watching her walk toward the door. "And
you'll be in mine," he whispered after her.
*************************************************
At last, she was finally leaving. He had been hanging
around the morgue for several hours now, waiting with
evaporating patience for her to finish. He watched her walk
down the long corridor toward the exit. Another instant and
she would be gone. Wait! He called to her just as she
reached the door, and she turned round slowly, her
expression questioning.
Then she smiled as she recognized him in the murky hallway
light.
Yes, he thought. It's me. I've come for you.
He smiled back and waved her over. She hesitated for a
moment, checking her watch with a frown. But then she was
walking toward him and his heart beat faster in
anticipation.
Yes, yes, Just a little closer.
"What's going on?" she asked as she reached him, a puzzled
look crossing her features when she saw the device in his
left hand. It could have been an electric shaver, with its
compact size and rounded curves. But then he switched it
on, and when it crackled to life Agent Dana Scully's eyes
grew wide with fear as she recognized its purpose at last.
A second later he was grinning as she lay crumpled on the
floor at his feet.
Perfect.
**********************
End part two. Continued in part three
Lesser Evils, part three
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimers and other nonsense in part one
***************************
Mulder shook his head tightly in response to the flight
attendant's offer for beverage service.
The plane was virtually deserted due to the early hour, and
under normal circumstances this would have been a blessing.
He and Scully would have usurped several seats across the
aisle from one another, the added room allowing him to
stretch out his long legs and read, her to curl up length-
wise and doze.
Scully could sleep just about anywhere.
He turned his cheek against the scratchy fabric of the seat
and regarded the empty row across from him. If he closed
his eyes he could replace the ugly green and navy cushions
with the image of his sleeping partner, one arm tucked
beneath her head and her face half-hidden among a disarray
of auburn tendrils.
He massaged his temples between his forefinger and thumb,
seeking to relieve the dull throbbing pain behind his eyes.
His gripping anger had dissipated sometime after take-off,
leaving him feeling spent and rubbery like a deflated party
balloon.
You've pulled some stupid-assed stunts before, he chided
himself. But this one deserves a fucking special
commendation. Yessir, the Grand Prize Asshole, that's what
you are; go ahead and tell the man what he's won, Johnny...
Mulder rubbed his head again. "A round trip ticket for one
to Shitdale, Wyoming," he muttered under his breath. "Yee-
ha."
It's your own damn fault, the voice in his head taunted.
This piece of chicken-shit is your "legitimate case",
remember? Your brilliant plan to lure her away from Aaron
Littlefield. Just what exactly did you think was going to
happen on this trip? That she would look at you over a cow-
pie, realize her mistake and fall into your arms like some
movie heroine?
No. He closed his eyes and banged his head repeatedly
against the back of the seat. No no no.
I didn't lie, he thought viciously. This isn't about HIM.
Don't you get it, Scully? I don't want you away from him, I
want you with ME... he sighed glumly and shook his
head...even if I have to order you around like a fucking a
Captain Commando to accomplish it.
He fiddled absently with the flight magazine sticking out of
the elastic band in front of him and tried to ignore the
feel of the empty seat at his elbow. It didn't work.
Melancholy seeped steadily through his pores and took root
deep inside, twisting like barbed wire in his gut.
You wanted proof of her feelings? Well, you sure got it.
Message received loud and clear. Fox Mulder and the X-Files
can go straight to hell.
He blinked back sudden tears. Stupid. He had really
thought she would come. Stupidstupidstupid.
Despite his horrible words, he had thought she would come
with him. Right up until the attendant had closed the heavy
door, he had hoped, had expected, that she would appear on
the plane wearing her trademark dark suit and exasperated
expression. She would have come to call his bluff, to show
him up. She would have come to prove that she could handle
any shit he threw her way. She would have come because deep
down she knew that he was terrified and needed her
reassurance.
Because when all was said and done, they belonged only to
each other.
Or so he'd thought.
He slowly traced the stripes on the seat cushion next to
him.
It had been a test, all right. However childish, however
unfair, it had definitely been a test.
And she had failed. Or maybe he had.
At this point it didn't really matter anymore.
*********************************************
He almost did not go to Sunday morning mass. What if she
woke up while he was away?
In the end, however, he gave into the urgings of his nagging
conscience. God has been gracious with you, he lectured
himself sternly in the mirror as he fastened his clip-on
tie. You asked Him for His help and He has provided you
with a fine woman. The least you can do is show Him the
proper respect in return.
At nine a.m. sharp, he slid into his normal seat in the
sixth pew, looking astonishingly ordinary among the rows of
worshippers. Heavenly Father, he prayed silently. Thank
you for this most precious gift you have given me. I
realize now that I was terribly wrong about the others. I
believed they were my destiny, but thanks to your guidance I
was able to recognize them for the harlots that they were.
You were right to see them punished, Father. I know I
questioned you at first, but I understand now that it was
the only true way. Forgive me for my insolence and my
arrogance. I will make sure to get it right this time.
He left church immediately after mass, not stopping to chat
with the other parishioners as he usually did. She would be
waking up soon, and though he wasn't worried that she could
escape, he wanted to be present when she opened her eyes, to
be the first sight that greeted her when she awoke. He
tried to keep his pace to a slow, deliberate walk, but it
was hard when he knew that she was waiting.
"Watch yourself," he warned with a mutter. The Father has
done his part, don't you screw up your end now.
He smiled and allowed himself a small increase in speed.
Just three more blocks.
**********************************************************
She awoke with a start, squinting and twisting away from the
full morning sun that painted bright ribbons of light across
her face. The terrible dream still hovered ghost-like in
her brain. With a groan, she pulled a pillow over her
pounding head as waves of nausea rolled over her.
"I'm never going to understand why you do this." His voice
came from above her, muffled by the intervening pillow.
"Tequila does this to you every time, yet you go right ahead
and drink it This is exactly why I don't go with you."
She pulled the pillow from her face and spoke to him through
thick strands of brown hair. "Don't give me that shit,
David," she said without animosity, her voice scratchy and
tired. "You don't go because you can't stand Ramona."
"Ellie, dear, *no one* can stand Ramona," he answered with a
grin. "They just can't get her to shut up long enough to
tell her."
"You shut up. She's my best friend." She was lying very
still, hoping that her lurching stomach would settle down.
The bed bounced lightly as he plopped himself next to her,
and she moaned and clutched her middle. "Ugh..don't do
that..."
He smoothed the hair from her face. "Poor baby," he teased
affectionately. "I brought some water. Wanna try?"
She took the water, sampled it with a few small,
experimental sips, and then lay back down on the bed with
her eyes closed. His face leaped instantly back into her
brain. "Oh god, it was real..." Her eyes snapped back open.
"Yeah, babe. Imaginary tequila somehow just doesn't have
the same affect."
"No no," she said, struggling to sit up. "Last night,
coming home...I saw this man carrying a dead body out of the
morgue."
"What, like on a stretcher?"
"Huh-uh. Like this, in his arms," she demonstrated with the
pillow. "It was a woman with red hair." Her hand flew
suddenly to her mouth. "God, David, do you think he stole
her body from the morgue?"
"Whoa, hold on a second," he said, patting her leg. "You
didn't say anything about a dead body when you collapsed
into bed last night. Are you sure you didn't just dream
this whole thing?"
"I'm sure, I'm sure," she answered, tugging impatiently on
his sleeve. "I passed out last night before I could tell
you, but I know what I saw. It was a big man, coming out of
the side door of the morgue, you know the one off of Cedar
Street? Anyway, he was walking out of the morgue, and he
had a dead woman with him,...and...god, David, he was
*smiling*! He was smiling and then he put her in a car and
drove away."
"Ellie..." His tone was filled with disbelief.
"It's true, David. I saw it!"
"Why would he steal her body from the morgue?"
Her brow furrowed. "I don't know, experiments maybe. I
think I should call the police."
"Experiments?" he echoed with a chortling laugh. "Ellie,
the police would laugh their asses off!"
She thumped him with the pillow. "I'm glad you think this
is so funny."
"Ellie, come on. This story is a little ridiculous, don't
you think? A man walks out of the morgue in the middle of
the night with a naked, red-haired dead woman?"
"She wasn't naked."
"Huh? I thought you said it was a dead body."
"I did! But she wasn't naked."
"Ellie, bodies in morgues tend to be naked. They can't do
the autopsies otherwise."
"Well, maybe they hadn't gotten to this one yet...maybe
that's why he was taking her away...maybe he KILLED her,
David! Maybe he killed her and then stole the body so no
one would find the evidence!"
"And maybe you've been watching too many Lifetime movies,"
he told her with an eye-roll.
"I'm completely serious."
"Yeah, seriously hung over."
She stuck her tongue out at him.
"You wanna know what I think happened?" he said finally.
"If you say I dreamed it again..." she warned threateningly.
"No, no." He held up his palms. "I think that you just
*thought* they were coming out of the morgue. I think that
they were probably from La Casa and just using the morgue
parking lot like other people do on weekends."
"David, they weren't dressed for clubbing."
"And you had how many drinks last night?" he shot back. She
crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him.
"Anyway, I think they were at La Casa, and she probably had
too much to drink, passed out, and then he carried her to
the car."
Ellie sat silently for a moment, trying to gel her memory
with David's story. "It could have happened that way, I
guess..." She was still unconvinced.
"Of course it happened that way," he insisted. Then he
grinned at her. "But if you want, we could always call the
morgue and ask them to count the stiffs for us."
"Ooo, you're gonna pay for that one." She pounced on him,
and there was no more discussion of the red-haired woman
from the morgue.
**************************
He entered the small house through the back door and went
immediately to the kitchen. Humming tunelessly to himself,
he set about fixing her breakfast. Ten weeks of careful
study had paid off, and he knew from memory exactly how to
prepare it to her liking. One seven-grain bagel, sliced
perfectly in half and lightly toasted, then slathered with a
generous coating of cream. Peach yogurt and black coffee.
The fresh squeezed orange juice was his addition, as was the
lilac sprig he had plucked from a neighbor's yard on the way
home.
"Voila," he murmured with a pleased smile as he fussed over
the tray. He hoped she would be pleased as well, but he
also knew that the first day was the hardest. Best just to
get it over with.
Still humming, he carried the tray through the basement
door, down the rickety steps and past the clanking of the
old water heater. He flicked a wall switch with his elbow
so that the room below his feet would be illuminated for his
arrival. "Time to wake up," he chuckled, even though he
knew she couldn't yet hear him.
The room was purposefully sound-proof. I really hope she
isn't a screamer, he thought grimly as he set the breakfast
tray on the dank basement floor. That would be so
unfortunate.
He fumbled with his key ring, located the one he wanted, and
then slipped the padlock open with ease. He displaced the
round cover and climbed several rungs down into the hole,
pausing to grab the tray with one hand before continuing his
descent.
She hadn't moved at all that he could tell. She lay
motionless on top of the bedspread, limp and pale, with her
hands and feet bound tightly behind her back. Her eyes
were still closed.
He set the tray on the small round table that stood next to
the bed and studied with concern the petite woman spread
prostrate before him. She should have been coming out of it
by now. Too much drugs? he wondered, feeling for a pulse.
She moaned softly at his touch, her eyes fluttering open and
her limbs twitching slightly against their restraints.
He smiled broadly in relief. "Good morning, sunshine."
**********************************************************
Hurts, Scully thought sleepily as she tried to shake the
heavy chains that attempted to yank her back into
unconsciousness. She blinked rapidly as the room spun
around several times, finally slowing to a halt and coming
into full focus. Bare white concrete walls walls. No
windows. The scent of dust and mildew permeated the air.
Where am I? she wanted to ask, but her tongue was thick and
swollen inside her dry mouth and she could not form the
words. Her head was throbbing and her body ached all over.
I've been drugged, she realized slowly. Can't move...
Behind her back, she flexed her fingers experimentally and
groaned when pins and needles shot through the length of her
arms. Shit. Tied up. Arms, legs, too...what the hell is
going on?
"I trust you slept well."
She froze momentarily at the sound of his voice. Then she
slowly twisted on the bed so she could look up at the man
standing over her. Him again. Oh my God, she thought, her
heart beginning to pound. It was true, not a dream. Trust
no one, Mulder had told her, and he'd been right.
Scully stared at him wide-eyed. "Why...?" she broke off
with a wince, her voice like harsh sandpaper over her
parched throat.
He ignored her question, fretting over her like she was a
sick child. "How rude of me," he chided himself. "You must
be very thirsty. The chloral hydrate will do that. Here,
have some juice." He reached behind her head to push her
slightly up right and brought the glass to her lips.
Scully turned away.
"Come on now," he said. "I know you must want it."
She still refused, and he sighed. "Are you worried about
more drugs? Don't be. Those were just a precaution to get
you here. See, it's perfectly fine. Tasty, even." He
demonstrated by drinking a long sip of the orange liquid.
She eyed him warily, swallowing reflexively as she watched
him drink, licking her cracked lips as the tiny drops of
condensation wended their way down the side glass. So
thirsty...
"Here, try again," he offered, and this time she allowed
herself a few small sips. The sweet citrus tang flooded her
mouth, easing away the tight pain in her throat. A few
sticky drops dribbled down her chin and he wiped them away
as she settled back against the pillows. Her head was
beginning to clear, and the renewed awareness brought
frightening questions.
"I'm sorry about the cords," he said in a tone one might use
to apologize for not having the dry-cleaning ready on time.
"I realize they're uncomfortable, but you being a trained
FBI woman and all, I had to be extra careful."
"I don't understand. Why are you doing this?" she asked
softly. Who the hell was this man she thought she knew?
How long had he been planning this? Days? Weeks, maybe
even years? She shuddered. "What do you want with me?" she
demanded with a more determined tone.
"What do I want with you?" he repeated, moving to sit close
to her on the bed. He ran his fingertips lightly over her
face and she tensed, eyes squeezed shut. "I want everything
with you, Dana. Everything there is."
Scully gulped a mouthful of air. This is not happening, she
thought desperately. This cannot possibly be happening.
He continued to touch her. "Your skin is so soft," he
murmured as much to himself as to her. "It's so much softer
than the others..."
Her eyes flew open as she fought a gag. "Others?" she
choked between shallow breaths.
"Yes, well...let's not worry about them, okay? They don't
matter any more." He kept on petting her, his hands firmer
as they stroked the column of her throat. Then he squeezed
her gently around the neck, and she realized abruptly the
extent of her helplessness.
"Please don't do that..." she said thinly, arching her head
back into the pillow.
Her words did not seem to register, and his large hands
persisted in their invasion. He slipped open the top button
on her cardigan sweater. Then another. "So soft..." he
repeated to himself, his eyes on her chest.
Oh shit. Oh, please not this, she thought frantically,
trying to wriggle away from his hands. Her mind started to
flash stark images of autopsies past, all dead naked women
with their bodies battered and bloodied from sexual assault.
Please, God, no... Scully panted and struggled harder,
pushing at him with her knees and feet as her terror grew.
"Stop it," he commanded sharply, halting her squirming with
a painful wrench that left her lower body pinned tight under
his knees. He grasped her chin roughly with his right hand
and tilted her face up toward his. "I don't want to have to
hurt you, Dana, but I will if necessary. Remember that."
He gripped her chin a bit harder. "Now, then, are you ready
to be a good girl?" he asked softly.
Scully nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his. She knew,
suddenly and certainly, that she would die in the stuffy,
windowless room if she did not play her cards exactly right.
"Good." He smiled and abruptly released her chin to smooth
back her hair. "I knew you would cooperate."
His hands went again to her sweater and Scully swallowed
convulsively, fighting the rising tide of nausea. But she
did not move. Whatever it takes to stay alive, she told
herself as her breathing quickened progressively. Don't
think about what he's doing. Think about getting the hell
out of here.
But she couldn't shake the feel of his hands roaming her
body, squeezing and caressing at will. She blinked her eyes
against the silent tears that slipped down the sides of her
face into the pillow. He seemed oblivious to her distress,
as if hypnotized by the act of touching her. Please God,
just let it be over quickly, she prayed.
He halted the process of undressing her. Instead, he slid
one hand up her breast bone, feeling around until his
fingers found the delicate gold chain that encircled her
neck.
Scully's eyes snapped open. Had she been praying out loud?
She sucked in her breath in preparation for the POP when he
yanked the chain off.
But he didn't wrench the necklace from her; instead, he
touched the tiny cross gently, then hooked it with one
finger and pulled it along the chain toward him until it
dangled between them in the air. They both stared at the
pendant, he bemused and she panting lightly with residual
fear.
"He said He would mark you for me," he told her, his eyes
still on the miniature cross. "I knew when I saw this that
you were the one, my own perfect angel sent by the Lord
Himself." He fingered the cross thoughtfully one more time
and then replaced it carefully on her chest. He brushed his
fingers through her hair. "Welcome to your new home,
Angel," he whispered, his eyes gleaming down at her.
His smile sent waves of fresh horror through Scully as it
finally dawned on her that this man had no plans to let her
go.
Ever.
***************************
End part three. Continued in part four.
Lesser Evils, part four
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer etc. in part one
****************************
Mulder was driving through the backroads of Airsdale when
his cell phone trilled softly from his coat pocket. Scully.
His heart accelerated, and he groped with one hand until he
located the slender black phone.
"Hello," he said quickly, hoping against hope to hear her
voice on the other end.
Instead, Skinner's gruff greeting crackled through the
phone. "Agent Mulder. Is Agent Scully with you?"
Mulder sighed. Apparently he wasn't the only one with Scully
on the brain that morning, "No sir," he answered ruefully.
"Agent Scully is most definitely not with me."
Probably never would be again, he finished silently.
"Do you have any idea where she might be?" Skinner's tone
was urgent.
He checked his watch. "Two p.m. on a Monday? She could be
at lunch I suppose. Why, did she miss a meeting or
something?"
"Or something," Skinner answered grimly. Then he sighed.
"Just think hard, Agent Mulder. Are you absolutely certain
you don't know where your partner is right now?"
"I'm telling you I don't..." He halted as images from
Friday night spun through his mind. "Uh, have you tried ADA
Aaron Littlefield?" he said. "She might be with him." When
Skinner did not immediately answer, Mulder frowned, suddenly
realizing that this conversation was not about Scully being
a few hours late to work. "Sir, what's with all the
questions about Scully? Is something wrong? Did something
happen to her?"
He heard a deep breath from the other end of the phone. "I
don't know what the hell is going on, Mulder," he said
finally. "But I'm pretty certain Littlefield doesn't know
where Scully is. He reported her missing at ten a.m. this
morning."
"What?" Mulder barked into the phone, bringing the Taurus to
a screeching halt in the middle of the country road. "What
the hell are you talking about, missing?"
"Missing," Skinner replied in a clipped tone. "As in no one
has seen or heard from her in over twenty-four hours, her
car was found in the parking lot of the city morgue, and
nobody can seem to account for her present whereabouts."
"I don't understand." Mulder closed his eyes and shook his
head in denial. This is not happening, he thought
desperately. Notnotnotnot.
"Agent Mulder..." Skinner's voice dropped to a tight
whisper. "Consider this your fair warning. There have been
some unpleasant reports surfacing about a few...heated
discussions...between you and Agent Scully during the last
few days. Detective Ripley of the six-oh-three was in here
looking for you not ten minutes ago. I strongly suggest
that catch a plane back to D.C. immediately."
Mulder felt the bile rise in his throat. "Sir, you can't
possibly think..."
"Immediately, Agent Mulder." And the line went dead.
************************
Pulse pounding and adrenaline rushing, Mulder crashed
through the swinging doors of police precinct six-oh-three
with the force of a F4 tornado.
"Where's Detective Ripley?" he demanded as he hurtled past
the desk sergeant at top speed.
"Hey, wait! You can't just go back there!" protested the
young uniformed man, trailing after him into the
stationhouse.
"Detective Jack Ripley," Mulder repeated to the crowded
room. Cops and criminals alike stopped their business to
openly stare at him as he starting weaving unsteadily
through the rows of desks. "I need to speak to Jack
Ripley," he said with rising intensity. "Now where the hell
is he?" He halted in the middle of the room and cast his
gaze wildly over the sea of faces in search of the man in
question. The desk sergeant caught up with him and placed
one beefy hand firmly around his elbow, intent on dragging
him back toward the door.
"You're going to have to wait out here."
"Get the hell off me," Mulder growled, twisting free with a
sharp jerk. Another officer, older and dark-skinned but
with a shock of graying hair, rose to join the argument.
"Hey, pal, just cool down."
Mulder held out one arm in warning. "I will not 'cool
down'! I will not cool down until somebody gets me
Detective Jack Ripley."
"Agent Mulder." A tall, lanky man with pale eyes and short-
cropped, black hair that sprung from his head at odd angles
materialized in the doorway at the far end of the room.
"Finally," Mulder muttered, glaring at the two officers who
flanked him. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" he asked
tightly as he pushed past them. He stalked across the room
and came to a stop in front of Jack Ripley, shaking his
proffered hand roughly.
"Thanks for coming so quickly," Ripley said mildly. His
disheveled appearance always reminded Mulder of Columbo,
right down to the omnipresent rumpled trench coat. But
Ripley's deliberate and precise style of police work was a
direct counterpoint to the TV detective's bumbling, rambling
interrogations. In fact, there were rumors that he had gone
to law school before joining the force eighteen years ago.
Some said NYU, others laid their bets on Harvard. No Jack
Ripley had ever registered at either institution, but that
didn't stop the arguments. Ripley himself never weighed in
on the dispute, content instead to season his conversation
with terms like "heretofore" and "habeas corpus" and watch
with a smile as the debate took fire once more. In the half-
dozen times Mulder and Scully had crossed paths with Jack
Ripley during a local investigation, he had impressed them
both as a serious, no bullshit kind of guy.
Mulder was relying on this candor now to get him a straight
answer.
"Just what the fuck is going on here, Ripley? What happened
to Scully?"
Pale blue eyes assessed him neutrally. "I was hoping you
could tell me." He gestured to the room behind him. "Come
on inside while we try to sort this thing out, okay?"
Momentarily placated, Mulder followed him into the
conference room and was surprised to find both Skinner and
Littlefield pacing the floor on opposite sides of the long
table. All three men froze simultaneously, and tension-
filled silence gripped the room for long moments.
"Why don't we all have a seat," said Ripley finally, but no
one moved.
"I don't want a seat," Mulder bit out, moving across the
room to stand inches from Littlefield. "What I want are
some answers."
"What, from me?" mocked Littlefield, pointing at his chest.
"I'd say you have some answering to do yourself, Agent
Mulder. I understand you were one of the last people to see
her."
Mulder clenched his fists but somehow held himself in check.
"Fuck you, Littlefield. I had nothing to do with this, and
you damn well know it." He regarded the other man through
slitted eyes. "But you...you puzzle me, Counselor. Scully
misses a lunch date and you immediately call in the cavalry?
A little sudden, don't you think? I'm wondering if maybe
you know more than you're saying, if maybe you called in the
cops so fast because you had good reason to worry about
her."
"I'd say I had reason, yeah." Littlefield held up his hand
and ticked off fingers as he spoke. "First, she didn't show
up for Sunday brunch. No call, no explanation, no nothing.
She just didn't show. Then I can't get her on the phone--
not at work, at home or at her mother's place. Finally, I
drove past the morgue just to see if, for some unknown
reason, she was still there. I found her car, but no sign
of Dana. So, yes, Agent Mulder, when she did not turn up at
home or at work this morning, I damn well reported her
missing."
"Well, pardon me if I don't trust the word of a convicted
felon," sneered Mulder.
"What?" Littlefield blanched visibly. "That was...you're
not supposed to...those records were sealed!" he sputtered.
"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" demanded
Skinner. Ripley also shot Mulder an inquiring look, arms
crossed over his chest.
Mulder's eyes remained focused on Littlefield. "I made some
calls on my way over," he said evenly. "Called in a few
favors and found that Mr. Littlefield's relationship with
the court system did not begin in law school. Turns out
that the good Counselor has a juvenile assault record from
1979. Get your jollies knocking women around, do you
Littlefield?"
"One time," the ADA said through grit teeth. "It was one
time, and it was an accident, dammit! I was sixteen and
drunk and she was supposed to have been my girlfriend, but
she was sleeping with my best friend and..."
"Asked for it, did she?" Mulder broke in derisively.
"Yes!" blurted Littlefield. "No! I mean, yes, I was angry
but I never meant to shove her so hard..."
"You god damn son-of-a-bitch," Mulder breathed as he lunged
for the other man. He grabbed him swiftly by the shirt
collar and pushed him back up against the wall. "Where is
she?" he shouted, shaking him hard. "Tell me where she is!
TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"
"Mulder!" Skinner's large hands closed around his shoulders
and yanked him off the ADA with one hard pull. Mulder still
struggled ferociously, waving his arms wildly and continuing
to rail at Littlefield.
"You better look out. You better watch yourself, 'cause
I'm gonna hit you so hard they're gonna have to scrape the
pieces off the wall with a spatula!"
"That's enough!" ordered Skinner, shoving him roughly in
Ripley's direction. "Get him the hell out of here, will
you?"
Ripley nodded and began to pull Mulder toward the door.
"Don't bother," Mulder muttered, angrily shaking him off.
"I can see myself out."
Once they had gone, Littlefield rolled his head around
gingerly and began straightening his suitcoat. He glanced
across the table where Skinner stood watching him.
"Thanks," he said grimly. "I thought for sure he was going
to snap my neck."
Skinner raked his eyes swiftly over the other man. "Save
your thanks," he said. "I did it for him, not for you."
The ADA frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Skinner
held up a hand to stop him. "Look, Mr. Littlefield, I don't
know if you had anything to do with Scully's disappearance
or not, but I can promise you this..."
Littlefield lifted his eyebrows slightly. Yes?
"If you so much as gave her a paper cut, I will personally
guarantee you some quality alone time with Agent Mulder."
He paused meaningfully. "And then your ass will be all
mine."
With that, he turned and stalked out of the room.
**************************
Ripley scraped a chair along the floor until it was even
with his desk, gesturing with an open hand for Mulder to
have a seat. Mulder glared angrily at the wooden chair for
a moment, then abruptly the fight drained from him and he
slumped down with a ragged sigh.
After a moment, Ripley spoke calmly. "You care to explain
that bit of business back there?"
Mulder jerked a shrug. "He *does* have a record," he pointed
out, jabbing one finger on the edge of Ripley's desk for
emphasis. "And he was in an awful goddamn hurry to report
her missing. Tell me you don't think that's weird."
"I think it's weird," Ripley conceded. "But not as weird as
it might seem."
Mulder looked at him sharply. "What do mean?"
"In a minute. First I want to ask you about the arguments
you and Scully had," he stopped to check his notes, "Friday
and Saturday night."
Mulder's glare darkened. "I did NOT do anything to Scully,
if that is what you're getting at," he informed him stonily.
"And if that bastard said-"
"Hey, leave him out of it for a moment, will you? After
all, he's right about one thing-you were one of the last
people to talk to her before she disappeared. I'd like to
know what you talked about."
Mulder sighed, then ducked his head and pinched the bridge
of his nose between two fingers. *You can tell yourself
anything you want, Scully, but you'd better be at that
airport by 7 a.m.* His cheeks flushed hot with the memory.
"We...uh...we were talking about a case," he said finally,
his voice sounding lame even to his own ears.
"Is that so," murmured Ripley. "You two often holler at
each other when discussing your work?"
Mulder almost smiled. "More often than you might think," he
answered dryly. "I'm, um, kind of...passionate about some
of my views, and Scully...well, she can hold her own in the
temper department."
"Somehow I have no trouble imagining that," Ripley replied
with a near-smile of his own. "But I have to tell you,
Agent Mulder, that the man who overheard your argument with
Agent Scully on the night she disappeared-Raymond Valente, I
think his name is? He seemed to think that your
disagreement was personal, not professional. More
specifically, you were," he glanced down to quote from his
notes, "'totally pissed off because she had a boyfriend'.
And judging from Aaron Littlefield's story about your
behavior at Scully's apartment on Friday night, I'm inclined
to believe Valente's reading of the situation."
"Which is what, exactly?" Mulder asked, annoyed.
"That you were jealous of her relationship with Aaron
Littlefield. Maybe even threatened by it."
"Raymond Valente should keep his day job. Psychology is not
a science for amateurs."
Ripley said nothing, leaning back in his chair with his
hands folded over his stomach, apparently awaiting a real
answer. Mulder fidgeted in his seat and toyed with a nearby
pencil as he studiously avoided the detective's probing
gaze. His feelings for Scully were something he kept under
lock and key, relishing them in the privacy of his own mind
and nurturing them every night with a new day's worth of
memory. There was no way he was going to wax poetic about
his partner while some detective jotted notes. He hadn't
even told Scully how he felt. and now he was being asked to
spill his guts in a run-down squad room amid ringing phones
and urine-drenched vagrants? Not a chance.
He leaned forward in his chair. "She's my partner, okay?
And yeah, we disagreed sometimes. But you and I both know I
didn't have a damn thing to do with her disappearance. So
while we can sit here, sing kum-by-yah and talk about my
feelings all fucking day, I personally think it would be a
big waste of time."
"Take it easy," Ripley said. "These questions have to be
asked, and you know it."
"Yeah, well, who's asking Littlefield questions?" Mulder
demanded belligerently.
"I promise no one has forgotten about him. We're checking
his story very thoroughly. But let's put him aside for
another minute, okay? Just to make sure we've covered all
the avenues. What about work-related stuff, like recent
cases you two have worked on. Can you think of someone with
a grudge, someone who might want to hurt her?"
Yes. Too many someones. All shadowmen with no names, no
faces, and no mercy. Men who made Aaron Littlefield seem
like the tooth fairy. Mulder rubbed his eyes, hunched over
with his elbows on his knees. If Scully had been taken by
one of them...
"No one you're going to be able to haul in here for a line-
up," he said at last. "I still say we need to go after
Littlefield."
You hope, the voice inside his head sneered. You'd just
better hope it's him.
"And we will," Ripley assured him. He paused and scratched
his head, causing the angles of his hair to shift,
kaleidoscope-like, into a new bizarre arrangement. "Agent
Mulder..."
Mulder raised his head up, his eyes narrowing when he read
the obvious hesitation on the detective's face. "What?
What are you not telling me?"
Ripley took a deep breath. "Agent Mulder, did you ever ask
yourself how I got this case? The city morgue is not
exactly in six-oh-three's jurisdiction."
Mulder blinked in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that; I
just assumed that since you knew Scully..."
"A fortunate coincidence," Ripley broke in. He paused
again, and then shuffled some papers on his desk. "Just
over two years ago, a woman named Lisa Marino disappeared."
He handed over a manila folder for Mulder's inspection.
Mulder flipped open the cover with one hand, peering over
the contents as Ripley began to recite the facts of the
case. "Twenty-nine years old, single, and a junior
architect at Nernst, Townsend and Young," he said grimly.
"She vanished in the middle of the night in April of 1997.
Her roommate, Stephanie Stevens, reported her missing when
she didn't come home from work one Wednesday evening. The
local boys from the 'oh-eight investigated and found no
trace of Ms. Marino, but did turn up her car still parked in
the lot outside the office building."
Mulder's heart skipped a beat. "Sounds...familiar," he
managed. "What happened? Did she ever show up?" He turned
abruptly to the last report, fearing the end of the story
but needing to know all the same.
No autopsy photos. Thank God.
He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.
"Nope, we never found her," Ripley was saying. "The
officers who caught the case followed every possible lead,
but this girl had no enemies, no vices or any of the usual
signs of trouble. She worked hard, stayed in most nights,
and went to church on Sundays." He shrugged. "Everyone
liked her, and no one believed that she would have run off
on her own, especially without taking any of her stuff along
with her."
"The case is still open?" Mulder asked, flipping back
through the pages. He stopped when he found a black and
white 8 x 10 photo of what was obviously Lisa Marino. It
had been professionally done, showing her smiling slightly,
dressed a well-tailored suit with a wall of books in the
background. Office picture, Mulder's mind supplied as he
took in her wide dark eyes and Mona-Lisa smile.
"Her case was tossed in the missing person bin and everyone
just sat around waiting for her body to turn up." Ripley
scratched his head again.
"I gather it never did."
"Nope," replied Ripley with a frown. "But a funny thing
happened. Eight months ago we had another woman go missing,
this time right in the neighborhood." He stretched out
another file folder in Mulder's direction. "Rebecca Seeton.
Age 31. Worked full-time as manager of a day-care center
downtown. Her fiance Robert Glaser reported her missing
when she didn't show up to meet him and his parents for
dinner. I caught the case, and it's been a thorn in my side
ever since."
"Her car was found but Rebecca is still missing." Mulder
quickly scanned the typed reports spread across his lap.
Ripley nodded, sipping tepid coffee from a chipped gray mug.
"You got it."
Mulder lifted a candid shot of a pretty blond woman,
laughing as she wrestled with a large, black dog on the
grass. "So you think the cases are related," he said.
"That the same person is responsible for both
disappearances."
"I don't know anything for sure," Ripley replied. "But
yeah, I think the similarity between the two stories
suggests that we're looking for one perp. I sent out a
teletype to all local divisions asking that any other cases
like this be routed through me, so when Littlefield went to
the 'oh-nine this morning, they directed him over here."
"He knew about the others?"
Ripley slugged the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "Yeah.
The Seeton woman's fiance, Glaser, he went to see
Littlefield when we told him that there wasn't anything else
we could do for him. Littlefield tried to explain to him
that you can't prosecute without a defendant." He shook his
head. "Poor bastard. I talked to him a dozen times, and
every blessed time he told me their wedding date. November
eleventh. He was so damn sure she would be back in time."
He fell abruptly silent, but Mulder filled in the ugly
blanks for himself. There wasn't going to be a wedding.
Not on November eleventh, not ever.
Finally Mulder cleared his throat, twitching uncomfortably
in his chair. "Do you...do you think that Scully..." he
broke off, unable to finish the thought. It had been bad
enough when he thought Littlefield was responsible, when he
had a solid lead and a target for his anger. But
this...this was a nightmare of epic proportions. Even the
Smoker would be preferable to a psychopathic stranger. At
least then he would have some sense of where to start the
search.
Ripley was saved from a reply by the appearance of Skinner,
who flipped his cell phone closed with a deep frown as he
approached the desk. "I'll have a list of every one who was
at the morgue on Saturday within the hour," he said. Then
he glanced from Mulder to Ripley. "Have you shown him the
tape yet?"
Mulder sat up with a start, his heart lurching into his
throat. "What tape?"
Ripley was silent for a moment. Then he rose, chair
squeaking in protest, and palmed video cassette from his
desk.
"Come with me," he said.
Mulder went.
*********************
End part four. Continued in part five
Lesser Evils, part five
by Hannah Mason
Yadda yadda yadda in part one
***************************
He had left her a few battered paperback mysteries to read,
but Scully ignored them, lost in thought as she paced the
concrete floor of her prison. The last thing he had said to
her was that he would be back, and she wanted to be ready
for him. He had finally untied her that morning, indicating
that he was beginning to let down his guard. Good. Soon he
would make other mistakes, and she knew she would have to be
prepared to strike instantly. Choose carefully, she told
herself. You may only get one chance.
In the hours since he had gone, she had examined every inch
of her cell for anything that might be used as a weapon. The
results of her search were disappointing, for the tiny room
had been stripped bare of anything remotely dangerous,
containing just a narrow single bed, small round end-table
and the oak chair he sat in to watch her eat. The minuscule
bathroom equally spartan, with only a toilet and small sink.
Certainly there was nothing that would be effective against
him and the gun he wore tucked in the waistband of his
pants.
She halted her pacing to climb again the eight rungs that
led up to the circular portal in the ceiling. Just as
before, the solid metal cover did not budge at all when she
pushed against it. "Locked from the outside," she murmured,
tracing the edges with her fingers. "That must mean that he
leaves it unlocked when he's down here."
Filing that bit of information away, she climbed back down
and went to sit cross-legged on the bed, her back to the
concrete wall. She absently traced the ugly fuchsia flower
pattern on the bedspread, mentally reviewing her limited
options. He was big, perhaps too big for her to overpower
without help. If she tried and failed...
Scully shivered and moved so she hugged her knees close
against her chest. Think, she willed herself. There's got
to be a way out of here. Her eyes went to the ceiling where
air hummed softly through a small vent.
Maybe...? She stood up on the bed for a closer look. No,
it only eighteen inches wide and less than a foot long. Far
too tiny for her to fit through. Where's Tooms when you
need him? she wondered with a sigh, and then suppressed a
giddy laugh at her sudden longing for the heinous mutant.
She plopped back down on the lumpy mattress, curling into a
ball and closing her eyes. Mulder. He had shown up in the
nick of time that night, when Tooms had oozed into her home
intent on making her his latest snack. Somehow, he had
known even before she had that she was in trouble. Does he
sense that now? she wondered. Does he even know I'm gone?
He's not coming for you this time.
Her eyes snapped open in surprise, but there was no one in
the room. The words had come from within, and she accepted
their truth with a heavy heart. There was not going to be
any eleventh hour rescue. Not this time. Even if Mulder
still possessed the desire to traipse around looking for
her, he would never think to search here, he would never
suspect...
She blinked back the welling tears and scooted off the bed
with fresh resolve. He would be back at any moment.
Thinkthinkthink. What has he overlooked?
She walked around the room slowly and finally halted in
front of the heavy oak chair, inspecting it with a critical
eye. She turned it upside down and twisted around to hold
the bottom closer to the lone light bulb that hung from the
ceiling. With one fingernail, she prodded the tiny screws
that held the legs in place, and a plan began to take shape
in her mind.
*********************
The three men stood in a close semi-circle within the
darkened AV room, hovering around the TV screen like campers
around a fire. "This is from the security camera posted at
the doorway," Ripley said as he slipped the cassette into
the VCR. "I had it pulled this morning."
The screen flickered once, then displayed a crisp black-and-
white image of the dimly-lit entryway and double glass doors
that marked the front entrance to the city morgue. The
running time stamp in the lower right corner read twelve-
forty six a.m. A few seconds later, Mulder watched riveted
as Scully slowly crossed the screen and paused, her arm
against the bar on the door as if poised to push it open.
Her shoulders drooped with a tired sag, and he felt a sharp
pang of guilt, remembering again the harsh words he'd left
her with that night.
"Watch this here," murmured Ripley. It was needless
comment, for Mulder couldn't have torn his eyes away.
Scully turned suddenly from the door, her features set in a
puzzled expression. She raised a hand to her hairline,
squinting in the direction from which she had come. Then
she smiled, checked her watch, and retraced her steps across
the screen until she was out of range of the camera.
"That's all there is," Ripley said quietly. "We've played
the tape until the end. If she left the morgue that night,
it wasn't through the front door."
"Again. I want to see it again." Mulder fell to his knees
in front of the TV, his eyes wild and unfocused as he
dragged the TV cart forward until it was level with his
face.
"Of course." Ripley hit the rewind button and Scully
swiftly reappeared on screen, moving jerkily in reverse.
Mulder pressed even closer to the screen as the scene began
to play once more.
"Wait, stop it there!" he called sharply when Scully first
turned around from the door. Her image froze abruptly and
Mulder tapped a finger against the far left of the screen.
"Look at that. See that shadow on the floor? There's
someone there in the hallway, just off camera."
"We figured as much," said Skinner. "It seems like someone
stopped her from leaving."
"Someone she knew..." Mulder breathed, his face millimeters
from the screen as he gazed at the frozen profile of his
partner. He traced the curve of her face gently before
finally rising to his feet. "I don't understand," he said,
turning on Ripley. "I thought you were pushing a link
between Scully and those other cases, that you said there
was one person responsible."
Skinner looked away. Ripley scuffed the floor with his
shoe. "Yes, well," he hesitated. "We don't know for sure
that it isn't the same person."
"Oh, that's just great. Terrific," Mulder ground out, his
anger returning full force. "So what the hell DO we know
for sure?"
"We're doing everything we can," said Ripley.
Not good ENOUGH! Mulder screamed inside, but he held his
tongue. He turned back where Scully was still captured,
silent and unmoving on the screen. "She's alive," he
blurted suddenly, his eyes widening with the knowledge.
"She's alive, I know it." He whirled on Skinner and Ripley,
as if challenging them to contradict him.
Neither dared.
Ripley cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper off
the top of the TV set. "I sent the A.P.B. out personally
this morning," he said quietly. "Every cop in the city is
on the alert. If she's out there, we'll find her."
Mulder grabbed the paper but did not immediately read it.
Four years melted into four seconds, and he was suddenly
back in another tiny, gray room surrounded by law
enforcement personnel as he read the sparse lines that
reduced his most trusted confidante into a series of dry
statistics. Not again, he thought desperately. How can
this possibly be happening again? He closed his eyes
briefly, the sheet crinkling in his too-tight grasp.
Finally, he took a deep breath and forced his gaze to the
paper in his hand. The bold print screamed out at him from
the stark white background.
NAME: DANA KATHERINE SCULLY
DOB: 02/23/64
HAIR/EYES: RED/BLUE
HEIGHT: 5'2''
WEIGHT: 102 lb.
LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS: 4/24/99 IN WASHINGTON, D.C. CITY
MORGUE AT APPROX. 1 a.m. DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, PINK
SWEATER AND WHITE TENNIS SHOES.
The words blurred on the page, and Mulder crumpled the paper
with one hand. "This isn't going to work," he said
bitingly. "She's not going to be wandering the street like
some lost puppy. We need this sort of information on HIM,
not her." He jerked a nod at the shadow on the screen, and
then stalked past the other two men and out of the room.
"I can't fault his logic," Ripley remarked to Skinner a
moment later. "But I don't see what he can do that isn't
already being done."
Skinner glanced once at the gray smudge cast along the
morgue floor. "I expect Mulder will have new insight soon,"
he answered cryptically, striding toward the door.
Ripley's words stopped him at the threshold. "How? By
investigating our phantom shadow?"
Skinner turned around slowly. "No," he said, his soft tone
an odd blend of respect and fear. "By becoming him."
***********************
The sky was streaked with wide crimson and gold bands when
Mulder pulled his car into the city morgue parking lot. The
scene of the crime. It was an obvious place to start, but
somehow he could not make himself get out of the car.
Precious seconds ticked by as he sat staring out the
windshield at the setting sun. It had seemed like such a
good idea a short while ago, to try to climb inside the head
of the monster who kidnapped his partner, to try to imagine
what he was thinking when he had grabbed her, what he was
planning to do with her, what he might have ALREADY done
with her...
Mulder swallowed back a dry heave. Focusfocusfocus. He
repeated the words to himself in a silent litany. You're
gonna get her back. Just concentrate. You're gonna get her
back.
He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally recalled the first
rule of behavioral profiling: start with what you know for
sure, the facts of the case. It was simple logic that had
been drilled into him relentlessly at the Academy. Every
action has a cause. Every crime scene tells a story. Read
the perpetrator's actions, and you can determine the
motivation behind them. Find the motivation and you will
find the killer.
The killer. Mulder's eyes flew open. Not yet, he thought.
But soon. With new determination, he finally pushed his way
out of the car and hurried up the steps into the morgue.
The heavy glass door closed slowly behind him while he stood
rooted to the floor just inside the building, approximating
Scully's position on the tape. Though deserted, the hallway
was better lit than it had been that night. He walked back
and forth a few times, casting his eyes about for any trace
of Scully or the man who had abducted her.
Eventually, he stopped back in front of the doors and turned
his head to squint up the ceiling, fixing his gaze on the
large black eye of the security camera. He took a tentative
step in its direction, his mouth parted as if to speak, then
halted. His neck was craned all the way back as he studied
the camera, and finally he shook his head. "Something's
not..." He waved a finger weakly at the lens, turning back
around to study the empty hallway. "Something's not right
about that tape." He crossed back over to stand by the door
and gazed down the length of the vacant corridor.
"Who was it, Scully?" he murmured under his breath. "Who
did you see here? Who was that smile for?"
At that moment a door opened and a tall young man in blue
coveralls stepped out into the hall carrying a large sack of
garbage. Busy in his work, he did not immediately notice
Mulder's presence.
"Hey, I know you." Mulder moved in a flash, reaching the
other man in a few quick strides. "You're Raymond Valente,
right? Amateur psychologist extraordinaire."
"Yeah, that's right." His answered sullenly as his eyes
raked Mulder from top to bottom. "And I know you, too."
"You seem to know a lot of things," Mulder said, stepping a
bit closer. The young man lifted his chin defiantly and did
not back away.
"I know what I know," he countered, eyes narrowed. "What I
heard."
Mulder did not back down either, matching the other man's
intense gaze with one of his own. "Didn't your mother ever
teach you it's impolite to eavesdrop, Raymond?"
Raymond snorted. "Who was eavesdropping? I could have
heard you a mile away, you were yelling at her so loud."
His tone dripped with disapproval.
Mulder winced reflexively at the rebuke, and Raymond caught
it, his eyes gleaming black with triumph. It was a short-
lived victory, however, because Mulder regained his footing
quickly. "If you're so well-informed then you must have
also heard me leave long before 1 a.m.," he said. He paused
and circled the janitor slowly. "But you, Raymond," he
murmured. "You were actually in the building when she
disappeared, isn't that right?"
Gotcha now, he thought as Raymond looked away, squirming
uncomfortably.
"You like to hang around here, don't you?," Mulder continued
softly. "Especially when she's working. You like to watch
her, talk to her. I understand you also ask her all sorts
of questions about the dead bodies." He pushed his face
right up into Raymond's, his tone icy cold. "You have a
thing for stiffs, Raymond?"
The young man's mouth tightened into a white line but he did
not reply.
"Or maybe," Mulder said backing off to circle him once more,
"maybe you just have a thing for my partner. Is that it?"
"No, that's you." Raymond spat, suddenly finding his voice.
Mulder ignored him. "Hey, I can see why you would like her,
Raymond. She *is* quite pretty. And smart, too." He
advanced a bit closer. "And She's nice to you, isn't she?
Talks to you, acts like she's really interested in what
you're saying. Yeah, Scully's like that. Always taking
pity on people."
"We're friends," said Raymond through gritted teeth.
"C'mon, Raymond, you don't actually believe that!" Mulder
scoffed. "A woman like that chooses you as a friend?" He
shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Better me than someone who screams at her..." Raymond
tried, but the jab fell short. He was breathing hard,
shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.
"What happened that night, Raymond?" Mulder asked softly,
his faced pressed so oppressively close that he could smell
the younger man's sweat. "Did you ask her out and she said
no? Did you finally realize that she was never gonna like
you back, not the way you wanted her to?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do. I think you know EXACTLY what I'm talking
about."
Raymond swallowed hard. "I don't," he whined. "I didn't do
anything to her, I swear."
"You swear," Mulder taunted back. "Well, I guess I should
believe you then." He reached out one finger and hooked the
crucifix that hung around the custodian's neck. "You a
religious man, Raymond? Lying's a sin. You could go to
hell."
"You go to hell!" His voice was harder and he jerked from
Mulder's grasp. "You're crazy, man," he waved a shaky hand
at Mulder. "You really are nuts. I told the cops what I
heard, but I didn't really think you would..."
He was cut off by Mulder slamming him up against the wall.
"You think that was crazy?" he demanded. "I'll show you
crazy. How's this?" he shook the man roughly, rattling his
teeth. "I have a reputation to uphold here. Don't want to
disappoint you."
"Sss...sstttop...plll..leeease."
Mulder released him abruptly and Raymond sank against the
wall to the floor. "Where is she?" Mulder said, looming
over him.
Raymond shook his head weakly, cowering under his hands. "I
don't know," he replied hoarsely. "I swear to God I don't
know."
Mulder watched him coughing and sputtering for a moment
longer. "You better pray that's true," he said at last.
"You better pray hard, Raymond, 'cause if you did something
to Scully, not even the Almighty himself will be enough to
protect you from me."
**************************
End part five. Continued in part six.
Lesser Evils, part six
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer and all that in part one
****************************
"Not only is she a complete motor-mouth, but she can never
be anywhere on time," David complained in annoyance as they
sat on a plush bench in the waiting area of Allegra, the
popular, newly-opened sea-food restaurant.
"She'll be here soon," Ellie soothed, fussing with his tie.
He lightly slapped her hand away. "It's fine already," He
muttered. She smiled sweetly at him.
"You look terribly handsome this evening," she said. "I'm
sure I am going to be the envy of every woman in the room."
"Yeah, yeah..." he answered with an eye roll, but she could
tell his black mood was lifting. He took laced their
fingers together and set their joined hands on his knee.
"Who is it I'm being dressed up for this time? Stockbroker,
congressman...?" She laughed and he shrugged. "Sorry,
babe. I just can't keep up with the revolving love life of
Ramona Jones."
"Well, you better have dressed up for *me*," she teased with
mock indignation. "But Ramona's bringing Brad
Somebodyorother. He's a DC cop."
"So, she's slumming with us working class boys for a
change?" David answered dryly. "How 'au courant'..."
"David! Be nice."
He fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Honey, I'm aaaalways
nice," he drawled. "You should know that by now."
Ellie's cheeks turned pink as she remembered how nice he had
been just one hour earlier. And how naked. He was
apparently remembering the same thing, because he pressed
his lips to the side of her neck in an echo of the gesture
that had begun an intense bout of lovemaking. "Mmmm," he
breathed into her hair. "Let's blow this joint and order in
Chinese. They'll never miss us."
Oooo, so tempting. But no. "David...I promised Ramona that
we'd be here to meet Brad."
He sighed, pulling away from her. "Right. Brad the cop."
Ellie giggled suddenly. "You know, I understand from Ramona
that he packs, um...shall we say, a pretty big gun," She
laughed again. "Long arm of the law and all that."
"Okay, that's information overload right there," he informed
her, shaking his head. "Now I won't be able to look the guy
in the face."
"I wasn't talking about his *face*..."
"Enough!" David cried, rising as if deeply offended. "I
will not be party to this crude conversation any longer."
Ellie laughingly tugged him back down. "Sorry, couldn't
resist," she murmured, and snuggled against him in apology.
He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed a warning.
"Well, you better be on your best behavior this evening,
missy, or I'll tell Brad the Cop about your sighting Dr.
Frankenstein at the local morgue. He and Ramona would sure
get a kick out of that story."
She pinched him. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
"David, you know how I rescued you from that awful bachelor
pad with the cracks in the walls and the rusty water coming
out of the sink?"
He nodded, his eyes alight with merriment.
"Good. Remember that every time you get the urge to open
your mouth this evening, 'cause you can always move back."
They were still laughing and trading threats of divorce when
Ramona and Brad arrived--only forty-three minutes late--for
dinner.
***********************
He was agitated when he descended into the basement with her
latest meal. Then he stood over her imperiously until she
began to eat. "That's a good girl," he praised, but his
tone was still marked with irritation. He began to pace the
floor in front of her.
"They're looking for you," he informed her with a frown. "I
knew this would happen, of course. It's nothing new. I'm
sure they'll hunt around for a good while before they
finally give up." He stopped suddenly, and leaned over to
stroke her hair. "And they always give up eventually."
Scully remained silent as she struggled not to spit out the
partially-chewed carrots in her mouth.
He resumed his pacing, with one hand clutching the gun
tucked in his pants. "I bet I know what you're thinking,"
he said bitterly. "You're thinking that HE'S going to come
find you."
"He?" Scully echoed softly, putting down her fork and
avoiding his eyes in an effort not to appear challenging.
"You know. HIM. Mulder." The last word he ground out with
such hatred that her eyes flew to his face in startled
horror.
"Yeah, that's right," he told her with a sneer. "He's
looking for you, too. Running all over the place like a
fucking madman."
Scully fought a shudder, surprised that she wasn't more
pleased to learn he was searching for her. Instead she was
afraid for him. Careful, Mulder, she begged silently.
Please be careful. You don't know what you're dealing with
here.
"He thinks he's pretty hot shit, doesn't he? Mr. FBI man
with the fancy Oxford education. Well, he doesn't have a
clue now." His voice was filled with triumph. "He's just
spinning his wheels in the mud, and I intend to see that he
stays good and stuck there." He moved to sit close next to
her on the bed, his breath on her face. "I know you care
about him."
Scully ducked her head instinctively. Don't let him see how
much, she thought wildly.
He began stroking her hair again, and she went rigid,
holding back a flinch. "It'll pass in time," he murmured in
her ear. "Ultimately you'll understand that he's no good
for you. You'll see that you are the chosen one. I'm a
patient man, I can wait...for a while." The stroking
stopped abruptly and he stood once more. "But your partner
better back off soon," he warned. "I'll let him run circles
for now, but eventually I will find a
more...permanent...solution to his interference."
He smiled then, and she stared at him mutely in response.
Time was running out faster that she had realized.
"You should eat more," he scolded gently as he cleared away
her tray. "I like a woman with a little meat on her bones."
He leered openly and Scully shivered. "Wish I could stay
longer," he continued as he eyed her chest with
appreciation. "But I have some work left to do. Maybe
tomorrow night we can...get to know each other a little more
intimately, huh?"
Over my dead body, she thought automatically, and then
winced when she realized the expression might actually be
prophetic. "Uh...yeah. I'd, uh, like that." She forced a
tight smile. With any luck, she would be long gone by the
next evening.
He nodded with a goofy grin, turning to leave, and Scully's
eyes slid to the oak chair in the corner. Thank God that he
had not noticed anything was amiss.
Tomorrow morning, she thought. I'll show you the true
meaning of intimate contact, you bastard.
************************
Mulder felt a twinge of guilt as the lock sprung free with a
slight twist of the tiny tools. He realized that he had no
right to be invading her space this way, not after the
tirade he had performed the other night, but he simply
couldn't help himself. He pushed the door of her apartment
open and stepped slowly inside.
It was silent as the grave; not even a ticking clock
disturbed the impressive quiet. He moved soundlessly
through the room, touching as he went: her bureau, her
lamp, her stereo, her ridiculously large floor plant that he
always liked to tease her about. He stroked each object in
turn, observing the strange, personal ritual he had
established the last time she had vanished. Touching her
things had grounded him then, given him proof that she had
actually existed. That she wasn't just some imaginary friend
he'd dreamed up in a moment of complete lunacy. It had
given him hope that she would return one day to listen again
to the Brahms CD, open [The Physician's Desk Reference},
and water the goddamn plant.
Now seeing her things just made him ache. Whoever had
Scully this time had no intention of returning her, this he
knew for certain. This latest threat was not the work of
the conspiracy artists, the powerful men who so often jerked
her life around like a yo-yo. She was not being dangled
carrot-like in front of him, a pawn used callously to keep
him in line. No, for once, this was not all about him.
And yet it was.
In the way it always was where Scully was concerned.
He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers lightly over her
bookcase. When at last he had made contact with virtually
all her possessions, he sat down on the sofa with his head
in his hands. He had never told her that he'd done this
before, when she had vanished into the night without a
trace, leaving him to weave through life like a boat with no
rudder. Not that the subject of her abduction came up in
routine conversation. Scully did not seem to want to
discuss it, and he generally followed her lead. When they
did speak of it, he kept the conversation trained fully on
her and what she had endured during those missing months.
Partially it was to push her to remember, to glean further
information from her that might aide them in their efforts
to unravel the conspiracy swirling around them.
But mainly it was out of fear that he had refrained from
sharing his side of the story. He didn't want her to know
lost he had been without her, didn't want to scare her with
the strength of his need. And he hadn't wanted to tempt
fate into stealing her again, punishing him for his love and
leaving Scully to suffer the consequences.
But fate won out anyway, having devised a more exacting kind
of torture. He had thought that the worst thing would be
for her to know how much he cared, how pathetically grateful
he was for her presence in his life.
He had been very wrong. The not knowing was much, much
worse.
"Fuck," he muttered into his hands.
He rose from the couch to wander once more around the
apartment, mentally chastising himself for the bout of self-
pity. This isn't giving you jack shit in the way of
information. Think harder. Who the hell is this animal?
Where does he have her?
His trip to the morgue had not given him much insight into
who had grabbed Scully or why. He knew only that it was not
a spur-of-the-moment job; whoever it was had been planning
it for quite some time.
He patted around until he found his coat pocket and reached
in to pull out a copy of the security camera video. There
was still something about the sequence that bothered him,
but he could not verbalize what it was. He ventured into
her bedroom and punched the power button on the TV. There's
got to be something more to this. What the hell am I
missing? he wondered.
The question kept niggling at him as he slipped the cassette
into the VCR, watching again as it played his own personal
silent horror film. The short scene appeared just as it
always had, with Scully turning around each time and walking
off screen with a smile.
"NO!" he wanted to shout at her. "Keep going, don't turn
around!" But Scully's image always ignored his advice and
crossed the screen to meet the shadow.
********************************************************
She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrestling with
the oak chair once more. It was a struggle, and sweat had
begun to gather between her shoulder blades, trickling in
rivulets down her back. "Come on, come on..." she coaxed in
annoyance. Her efforts were hampered by the pitch black
darkness that he had left her in after dinner.
At least he left, she thought grimly as she worked.
Finally, she heard a tiny tinkling sound as the small screws
slipped from their confines to land on the floor near her
feet. "Ha-ha!" she cried with a grin, delighting in her
momentary triumph. She had broken three nails in the
process, but the damn things were free at last.
"Now for the moment of truth," she muttered, and with a
sharp twist, yanked one heavy leg off the bottom of the
seat. She tested its weight in her hands. "Perfect.".
Then she grabbed the end of the wrought iron bed frame and
dragged it into the center of the room. She set one foot on
the mattress and hoisted herself, still standing, until she
was as close to the ceiling as possible. Next, she swung
the chair leg like a bat. It took several tries, but at
last the leg connected with the light bulb, shattering it
into many pieces.
Scully shielded her eyes as glass shards rained from above,
then hopped down and moved the bed back into its original
position. Next, she felt her way across the room until she
found the metal rungs in the wall. Setting the chair leg at
her feet, she climbed the make-shift ladder until she
reached the portal at the top.
Not fast enough, she thought, and tried it again.
And again.
And again.
She practiced until she had the rhythm down flawlessly.
There would be no time for fumbling mistakes.
Breathless, she finally picked up the leg again and returned
to the bed, where she sat down to wait.
***********************
The chirping of his cell phone woke Mulder from his doze. He
lay half-sprawled across her bed, coat still on and feet
planted on the floor, where he had nodded off in front of
the TV somewhere around 3 am. He blinked against the harsh
white light of the screen and felt around on the bedspread
for his phone.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Agent Mulder. Where are you?" To his addled-brain,
Skinner sounded both irritated and concerned.
"I'm at Scully's. Why, did something happen?" He sat up
quickly, all traces of sleep evaporating instantly.
"No, there's no news yet." He paused. "Mulder, Detective
Ripley informed me that you had a run-in with a janitor down
at the morgue. Raymond Valente actually lodged a complaint."
"Uh, we had a talk, yeah."
"Yes, well...It would seem the conversation was rather
similar to the one you had with ADA Littlefield yesterday
afternoon."
Mulder did not answer.
Skinner sighed deeply. "You can't keep doing this, Agent
Mulder. I realize this is a difficult situation, but you've
got to keep control or I'll be forced to pull you off this
case."
"I'd like to see you try," Mulder shot back.
It was Skinner's turn to fall silent. A few tense moments
passed before he spoke again.
"This Valente guy," he ventured finally. "You get anything
from him?"
Mulder rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Other than he thinks
*I'm* the one behind Scully's disappearance? Not really.
He's definitely strange. A quiet religious type-shy, even.
But he's also got a temper. Probably has a major crush on
Scully, too. I don't know that he has the balls to pull off
a stunt like this, but I can't rule him out. Not when he
was the only one we know for sure was there when she was
attacked."
"About that..."
"What?"
"The police found a jimmied window in the basement. No one
seems to know when it happened or how long it's been there,
but it's possible that's how the guy got in."
Mulder closed his eyes. "So his face wouldn't be on any of
the video tapes."
"Exactly."
There was a moment of silence as the two men digested this
latest piece of bad news. Mulder picked up the VCR remote
and played the tape again. Nothing new jumped out at him.
"I'm going to lean on Littlefield some more," he said as he
watched Scully smile for the shadow. "This asshole is
somebody she knew and trusted."
"Fine." Skinner hesitated. "Agent Mulder..."
Mulder braced himself for another warning.
"Lean hard."
He smiled. "Yes, Sir."
**********************
End part six. Continued in part seven
Lesser Evils, part seven
by Hannah Mason
Just story here, see part one for legal stuff
****************************
Her arms and legs ached from the unrelenting tension. It
felt like she had been crouched on the bed waiting for days
rather than hours. Finally, she heard the scrape of the
heavy metal lid being pulled away. It was time.
A funnel of light shone through from the ceiling and she
squinted, her eyes stinging with the sudden brightness.
"Dana?" he called, sounding puzzled. "What's going on with
the light?"
Her heart rate accelerated to an almost painful pace. It
was now or never. "Bulb's burnt out," she answered loudly
from the bed. Then she slipped silently along the wall
until she stood, clutching the chair leg in hand, on the far
side of the metal rungs.
"I just changed it a week ago..." his voice was laced with
suspicion and he made no move to climb down into the room.
Ohpleaseohplease...Scully waited barely breathing.
"I guess I'll have to get another one," he said finally.
"Be right back." The lid clamped down once more.
Scully licked her lips and tightened her hold on the chair
leg. "Just a few more minutes," she assured herself in a
whisper. "He's gonna come down here in a minute, so just be
ready."
No sooner had she spoken when the ray of light appeared from
above once more. "Okay, I've got one," he announced, and
she saw his foot come down on the first rung. "But I'm
warning you, Dana, this had better not be some kind of trick
on your part. I would hate to have to punish you."
She heard the deliberate cock of the trigger on his gun and
her mouth went dry. She raised the leg in the air.
"Here we..."
She whacked him as hard as she could across the back of the
neck. He cried out in surprise and pain, dropping the gun
and stumbling away from her.
But he did not fall down.
Scully barely had time to register this fact as she
scrambled up the ladder. The eight rungs seemed to take
forever, but at last she poked her head up into the
basement. Freedom!
She placed her palms on the dank ground, prepared to hoist
herself clear of the hole, when a hand clenched a fistful of
her hair.
He yanked hard, and tears of pain sprang up automatically in
her eyes. She jerked from left to right but couldn't break
free.
"That was very bad." He joined her on the ladder, pressing
close against her as he continued to pull her head back so
far she feared her neck would snap. Then he wrenched her
left arm behind her back and tugged her sharply down the
ladder into the cell.
"Very bad indeed," he growled, his breath hot in her ear.
"I hope you enjoyed that little prank, Dana, because now you
have to face the consequences."
Tears fell from her eyes in earnest now, both from the pain
and the realization that she had failed. He shoved her
roughly down on the bed, pinning her with his knees as he
produced the nylon cords from the back of his pants. She
struggled as best she could, but he easily trapped her hands
above her head with one arm. "Very bad," he repeated, more
to himself than her.
He flipped her over suddenly and she arched in pain, her
breath caught in her throat. She coughed and sputtered into
the pillow as he tightly bound her wrists to the iron bar at
the head of the bed. The bed lifted abruptly when he moved
off her, and for a second she thought he might be leaving.
Then the light came back on as he replaced the bulb, and she
heard him retrieve the gun from the floor.
I'm sorry, Mom, she thought wildly, thinking of the woman
who would have to bury her one remaining daughter. And
Mulder...hot tears seeped from beneath her lids as she
pictured him alone again. I'm so sorry, she thought once
more
And she began to pray.
He loomed over her, using the barrel of the gun to brush the
hair from her eyes. "I could kill you right now, you know
that?" he asked tightly. "Just one pull of the trigger and
it would be all over. You could join the others lying in
Potter's Field. Would you like that? Huh?"
Scully shook her head against the pillow. Please God, no.
"Me either," he said with a disgusted sigh. "I would hate
to see all my hard work wasted in just two days. Besides,
the Lord rewards those who are patient. Jesus Himself had
to endure forty days and forty nights of trials." He ran
the edge of the gun over her cheek. "So I'll tell you what,
Angel. If you promise to be a good girl from now on, I'll
overlook this little transgression, okay?"
Okayokayokay. She nodded as vigorously as she could.
"Say thank you," he commanded.
"Thank you," she whispered obediently.
"Very good." Eyes closed, she felt him set the gun down on
the bed and move to straddle her backside, his knee pressing
painfully against her leg.
She stiffened and stifled a cry.
"You didn't think you were going to get off without your
punishment, did you, Angel?" He reached under her to undo
the snap on her jeans.
Oh, please no. Scully twisted her head into the pillow, hot
tears of shame trickling down her cheeks. This was almost
worse than death.
The sound of him lowering the zipper on her jeans stung her
ears, and she flinched as moved his hands from under her
stomach to push up the back of her sweater. He froze.
"Well, well, well," he murmured. "What have we here?"
He traced her tattoo with one cold finger, and Scully
shivered. "This explains a lot," he muttered at length.
"You've got the devil in you, Angel. That's why we're
having such a rough time together." He reached under her
again and refastened her pants. "But don't worry," he
finished softly, patting her head. "I know just the thing
to get him out. It will hardly hurt at all."
*********************************************************
It hurt so much. Hours later, she lay alone in the dark,
face down on the bed dressed in only a bra and jeans. Her
sweater was on the floor somewhere, but she could summon the
energy to look for it. She moaned softly into the pillow,
the metallic taste of blood lingering in her mouth .
Everything hurt.
Her neck and arms ached unbearably from her struggles
against the restraints, and he had done something to her
left knee during their original tussle on the bed. She
could feel it swollen and throbbing under her jeans. But
all of these injuries, painful as they were, paled in
comparison to the blinding agony of the fiery burn on her
lower back, where he had tried to rid her of the devil by
searing the serpent tattoo off her body.
The room still stunk of hot wax and singed flesh.
Scully began to shake. So cold, she thought dimly. Should
be hot, why cold...? She trembled for several long minutes
before it occurred to her that she was probably in shock.
Her teeth chattered as she made a feeble effort to crawl
under the blankets, but in her weakened state she couldn't
lift herself enough to pull the covers free. Instead, she
clenched one side of the bedspread, rolling over gingerly
until she was cocooned on top of the bed.
Was it like this for the others? she wondered, shivering
with pain and trying to picture the women who had come
before her. Had they, too, struggled against their fate
only to realize the futility of their actions? When had
they known that they were going to die? Had they screamed?
Begged? Prayed for loved ones left behind?
Stop it! a voice in her head commanded. You're giving up,
and that's *exactly* what he wants.
Don't have a choice, she answered back, knowing it was true.
If she had been outmatched before, her new injuries rendered
her an even less formidable opponent. There was no way she
could win a fight now.
Use your head, the voice urged. Keep alert. He's beginning
to lose it, can't you see? He's going to make mistakes, you
just have to wait and pick your chance!
I had my chance, she thought glumly. So tired now. Can't
think. Just want to sleep.
And the voice faded away.
***************************
Wednesday morning dawned in shades of gray, and by seven
a.m. a light rain had begun to fall over most of D.C.
Mulder killed the rhythmic squeaking of windshield wipers as
he came to a stop two blocks from St. Mary's Church. Three
cars down he spotted Riggs and Delacourt, the two blues who
had been assigned to tail Littlefield for the night. Mulder
himself had shadowed the attorney for most of the previous
day, abandoning the project only when it became apparent he
had settled in for the night. At that point, Mulder had
returned the job to the local cops while he spent long hours
at the FBI computer lab, forcing a young technician to
analyze the security tape from the morgue frame by frame.
Still nothing.
With a sigh, he slammed his door shut and jogged amid the
spring raindrops until he came to the green Chevy that
housed Riggs and Delacourt. He opened the left rear door
and slid behind Delacourt, who was driving. "Anything?" he
asked tersely.
"Naw," said Riggs with disgust, twisting in his seat to look
at Mulder. "He left the house about twenty minutes ago,
came straight here. What's up with that, I'm asking you.
Church at seven a.m? This cat's a regular choirboy."
"That's police code for 'loser'," quipped Delacourt, and the
two partners dissolved into chuckles at their own wit.
"There was no movement at all last night?" asked Mulder
flatly. He did not share their merriment.
"Nope." Delacourt checked his notes. "It was lights out at
twenty-three hundred hours and then nothing 'til he left the
house a few minutes ago."
"Dammit," Mulder sat back in his seat with a huff. He
glanced out the rain-streaked window in the direction of the
church. "I'm going in there," he announced at last. "I
want to talk to him again, face to face."
"You think that's such a good idea?" Riggs asked, but his
eyes belied his excitement. Finally, there was going to be
some action. "If he is the perp, you could spook him."
"Good," Mulder answered shortly as he moved to exit the car.
"I hope I do spook him. Maybe then he'll lead us to
Scully."
A few minutes later he was brushing raindrops from his
overcoat inside the Church foyer. He entered the large main
hall cautiously and was surprised to find there was no
service in progress. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as
he took his surroundings. A large organ sat silent at the
front of the hall and the pews were sprinkled with an
occasional worshipper, but there was not a priest in sight.
Neither did he see Littlefield.
Mulder strode quickly up the center aisle, his head swaying
like a pendulum from left to right as he searched out
Littlefield. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath.
"Where are you?"
He reached the front and stared out at the questioning faces
in the rows before him. No Littlefield.
"Shit," he said, starting back down the aisle once more.
"Shitshitshit." He was about to send up the flare to Riggs
and Delacourt when he spotted a small alcove at the back of
the church that glowed with candles.
Standing solemnly in front of the candles was Aaron
Littlefield.
Mulder stood frozen for a moment, then glanced once at the
rest of the worshippers. They had apparently returned to
their private reveries. Mulder slowly approached the alcove
and stepped inside the incense laden room.
Littlefield tensed with his arrival, his shoulders set
resolutely as he turned to face Mulder. "What are you doing
here?" he demanded in a controlled whisper.
Mulder gave a purposefully casual shrug. "Oh you know, I
thought I'd drop by, say a few Hail Marys...see if you were
finally gonna tell me the truth about what happened with
Scully."
Littlefield was quiet for a long moment. "Do you believe in
God, Agent Mulder?" he asked finally.
"No," Mulder answered shortly. "But I believe in evil."
"Ah, that's half the battle won, then." Littlefield smiled
and walked over to gaze out of a small round window. "What
about redemption?" he asked without turning around. "Do you
believe a man, once plagued with darkness, could somehow be
reborn?"
Mulder felt his chest tighten. "I...yes." He had proven
that one himself six years ago.
"Me, too." Littlefield nodded slowly. He turned around.
"Karen Kittering, the girl I...assaulted..." he barely
forced the word out, "she and I are friends, now, did you
know that?"
Mulder shook his head. No, he hadn't known.
"Her parents were actually the ones who pressed the charges.
Karen knew I hadn't meant to hurt her; that's why I got off
so lightly." He paced the room with measured steps. "Don't
get me wrong, I was plenty horrified by what I did, how I'd
hurt her. I promised Karen that I'd spend the rest of my
days making up for it, and sweet girl that she is, she let
me." He gave Mulder a half-smile. "We still exchange
Christmas cards every year."
"That's a truly touching story. Let me get out my violin."
Mulder folded his arms over his chest, still suspicious.
"Look, I told you in the hopes that you would understand,"
Littlefield said with a sigh. "I'm not the monster that you
seem to think I am." He cocked his head at Mulder. "Or
that maybe you want me to be."
"All I want is my partner back."
"And I wish I could help you, I really do. But Agent
Mulder..." He waited until he had Mulder's full attention.
"I'm telling you this now in front of God...I didn't have
anything to do with Dana's disappearance. I would *never*
have hurt her. And I don't know where she is."
Mulder held his eyes for a long time, deciding whether to
believe him. Then at last he saw the truth. "Son of a
bitch," he murmured. "You didn't do it, did you?"
"No," said Littlefield again, his voice tinged with relief.
Mulder sank down weakly on the wooden bench. "I was so
sure..."
"Yes, I gathered that much," Littlefield huffed a small,
humorless laugh . "The police car parked outside my home
last night was a pretty strong tip off."
"But..." Mulder was still struggling to wrap his brain
around this new information. "But if it wasn't you, then
who..?"
Littlefield joined him on the bench. "I have my theory, but
I don't think you're going to like it very much."
"The kidnapper," Mulder said immediately. "The one who took
those other women."
"Exactly. The pattern fits perfectly. It's got to be him."
"But Scully knew this guy...you can see it on the tape."
The tape again. Always back to the tape. What the fuck am
I not seeing? he wondered angrily.
"...don't know that he was a stranger to the others,
either," Littlefield was saying. "That has been the most
frustrating part of this case. We don't know how he chose
them, why he took them or what he did with them."
"They're dead," Mulder interjected with flat certainty.
"Yes. Yes, I believe you're right."
They were silent for a moment, each staring at the
flickering candles as if hypnotized. Mulder closed his eyes
and visualized Scully as she walked down the hallway of the
morgue, trying to see her as the killer might. Almost gets
away, he thought. Almost...but then I stop her. I call to
her. "Scully!"... no-Dana... "Dana, wait!" She turns
around and recognizes me. She smiles and I'm glad. Yes,
that's right. I'm glad because I've been thinking about
this moment for so long, anticipating it with such pleasure,
and now it's here and I'm happy and she's happy...
Thank you, God.
Mulder's eyes snapped open. He stood, very slowly, and
walked over to the wooden cross that hung on the wall over
the rows of candles. He stared at it for a long moment.
"I think...I think I know why he chose them."
Littlefield sucked in his breath. "How?"
"No, not yet. I have to see the photos of the others again.
If I'm right, we may still have a little time left."
***********************
End part seven. Continued in part eight.
Lesser Evils, part eight
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer etc. in part one
***************************
He shook her shoulder gently to rouse her. "Rise and
shine," he said cheerfully. "I've got a special treat for
you this morning."
Scully moaned low in her throat, rolling her head groggily
on the pillow and shifting her limbs carefully beneath the
bedspread. She had not moved in nearly twenty-four hours,
having passed out from pain sometime in the middle of the
night. It had been a delicious escape, and she now shrunk
back under the covers, trying to recapture the tantalizing
numbness of unconsciousness. But given even a small window
of awareness, the pain asserted itself with a vengeance,
using her increasing lucidity as a weapon of torment until
Scully was biting her lip to keep from crying out in agony.
Her joints were swollen and rigid, and her lower back still
burned fiery-hot, as if flames continued to smolder beneath
the tender skin. Where she had once been shaking with cold,
she now felt smothered in heat. Her tongue was thick and
dry in her mouth, and the pillow was damp beneath her
tangled hair.
Fever, she diagnosed easily. Big one. Infection, maybe?
She swallowed twice in an effort to moisten her parched
throat. "Wha.." The word came out like a needle scratch
over a old record. She swallowed once more, tried again.
"What now?"
"Breakfast, of course." He pulled the blankets off and she
shivered in response to the cool air. "You've been so well-
mannered for the last day that I thought you deserved some
reward." He nodded in the direction of the ladder and
grinned down at her. "Home-made waffles with all the
fixins."
"Upstairs?" she croaked out, suddenly completely alert. Her
heart rate picked up, the surge of adrenaline taking the
slightest edge off her pain.
"Yes ma'm," he replied. "If you can promise to behave
yourself."
Scully still didn't move from the bed. It could be a trick,
she thought with sudden panic. He could be taking you to
Potter's Field, just like the others.
"C'mon now," he coaxed, holding her rumpled sweater out with
one hand. "Get dressed and get moving. I've got to be at
work soon."
Scully took the garment from him slowly, her eyes searching
his face for any trace of malevolence. "You didn't really
think I meant to keep you down here forever, did you?" he
asked with a short laugh.
Scully froze with the sweater part way over her head. Yes.
That was precisely what she had thought. What exactly was
his plan, then?
She eased the soft cotton down over her back very gingerly,
wincing when it scraped over the inflamed skin there. He
caught her grimace and made a tsk-tsk sound. "Sorry about
that," he said. "But you left me no other choice. The
devil had to come out." He extended a hand to help her off
of the bed. "You're all better now, Angel. You'll
see...we're going to be so good together, you and I."
She took the hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
Her heart was pounding full force now. She still wasn't
sure whether he meant to feed her breakfast or finish her
off entirely, but she sensed something was about to happen.
He stood at the base of the ladder, gesturing for her to
begin the climb out. She studied him a moment longer, her
eyes drifting from his uneven eyebrows to his full mouth,
down over his neatly pressed shirt to rest at last on the
gun still tucked in his pants. "That's right," he said,
following her gaze. He patted the revolver almost lovingly.
"Just remember who's in charge here and everything will be
fine." He jerked his head in the direction of the ladder,
and she took hold of the third rung, the cool metal soothing
under her burning hands.
He's almost giddy this morning, she thought as she shakily
made her ascent. Maybe that mistake is coming yet.
It was a slow and painful journey to the top, with her back
screaming in agony at every small movement. Her sweaty
palms slipped against the metal rings, and her limbs
trembled with the effort of keeping her body upright.
At last, she reached the opening in the ceiling, where she
lifted herself rather ungracefully out into the basement,
dusting her hands off on the back of her jeans as he
followed her into the open air. "Ready?" he inquired with a
smile.
"Yes," she said, and prayed it was true.
Together they mounted the dusty basement stairs.
*************************
The alarm went off at precisely seven-thirty three, set as
always to allow her the maximum amount of sleep.
"...other news, the search continues for FBI agent Dana
Scully, who disappeared from the city morgue sometime last
Saturday night. Ms. Scully is the third such woman to go
missing from the DC area in the last two years. Sources
close to the investigation say..."
The monologue halted as David automatically hit the snooze
button. "Mmm...needa geddup," he muttered, rolling over on
her.
"Uh-huh," returned Ellie, squinting at the gray morning
light. Then she gasped and sat up with a start. "David,
what was that?"
"Waz wha?"
She shook him hard. "On the radio just now. Did you hear
it? Some woman is missing from the morgue! An FBI agent or
something. You see? It's just like I saw!"
He blinked at her and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Just
now?" he repeated. "Ellie, are you sure?"
"Yes, dammit." She was already reaching over him for the
phone. "I'm calling the police."
***********************
Scully eagerly drained both the water and orange juice he
had laid out for her, not even caring if they were drugged.
The cool liquid flowed down her raw throat, soothing away
the tight pain and calming her rising fever. "Good?" he
asked in a pleased voice.
She nodded vigorously. Keep him talking, keep him happy,
she coached herself mentally. "This is a nice house you
have," she offered, chewing a bit of waffle.
"You like it? I'm so glad. It's not much, really, but it's
the best I can do for now on my meager government salary."
He flashed her a grin. "But don't you worry, Angel. I'm
saving away for a nice country home for us."
"Mmm-hmmm," she answered non-commitally. Did he really
think that they would live happily ever after in the
country? He was nuttier than a squirrel's lair. Time to
get the hell out of here, she thought.
"May I use the rest room?" she asked, aiming for wide-eyed
innocence.
He looked at her sharply. "What, up here?"
"It would just take a minute." She hesitated, then choked
the word out. "Please."
He paused, considering. "Around the corner and down the
hall on your right," he said at last. "You have exactly one
minute."
Scully flashed him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and
forced herself not to sprint from the room. She found the
small blue bathroom with ease and instantly tried the
window. It was nailed shut.
"Dammit," she muttered, and left the bathroom in favor of
the bedroom across the hall. It was strikingly reminiscent
of the tiny room she'd been locked in for the past four
days, painted stark white and containing precious few
furnishings. No decorations adorned the walls, and the
floor was cold and hard. There was a neatly-made bed, a
dresser, a night-stand and a mate to the oak chair from the
basement.
There was also a phone.
Scully picked up the cordless handset and dialed nine-one-
one with shaking fingers. No time, no time, she thought as
it rang and rang. He was going to be looking for her any
second.
"Hello, this is nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"
There was no time to explain; her minute was almost up. So
she set the phone carefully on the end table, making sure to
leave the line open. Then she scrambled frantically back
across the hall, flushed the toilet and then hurried toward
the kitchen, taking several calming breaths as she
approached the door.
"There you are." His tone had an edge to it, and Scully
slipped quickly into her seat. She could feel his eyes on
her as she picked up her fork once more. She resumed eating
in an effort to convince him all was well. If he got
suspicious and decided to check the back of the house...
Somehow she managed to swallow the waffle without gagging.
Trace the call, she thought with rising desperation. Hurry
up and trace the damn call.
"Would you like another one, Angel?" he asked, his manner
once again relaxed. He reached out to touch her cheek.
Scully shook her head more vehemently than necessary. Don't
touch me! she raged inwardly, but somehow held herself
still. A few more minutes...just hold on a few more
minutes.
"So soft," he murmured, stroking her face as he had that
first night. Then he felt her forehead with some concern.
"Are you sick, Angel?"
"I'm...I'm fine," she lied, pulse picking up. Where the
hell were they?
"Hmmm...maybe I should get you some aspirin." He started to
head for the door.
"NO!" Shit. She hadn't meant to yell.
He turned around quickly, his eyes narrowed.
"I mean that's really not necessary, thank you. I'm really
okay. It's just that it's a little warm in here and..." She
realized that she was babbling, but she couldn't seem to
shut up. Anything to keep him standing in the kitchen.
"...I'm always kind of hot and..."
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "You swallow
something funny when you were in the bathroom?"
"No, no..." But she couldn't stop him from leaving the room
this time.
Oh God, no. Please no.
This time her prayers were answered, and the doorbell rang.
He swung his head back into the kitchen to glare at her.
"What's this?" he asked. "I never get any visitors." He
yanked her roughly by the arm and marched her into the
living room, where through the window they could both see a
black and white cruiser with lights flashing as it sat
parked in the driveway. Scully let out an involuntary laugh
of joy. At last!
"Shut up," he growled, jerking her arm to emphasize his
threat. "Shut the hell up."
The doorbell sounded again, and was followed by a loud
pounding against the door. "Open up, police!"
He moved in a flash, shoving her in a nearby closet. "Make
a sound," he said menacingly, "Make one itty bitty sound and
I swear I'll shoot him dead." Then the door slammed shut on
her face.
Breathing hard among the coats, Scully listened as he
answered the front door. "Yes?" He sounded astonishingly
calm and collected.
"Detective Ripley!" exclaimed the surprised man on the other
side of the door. "I didn't know this was your house, Sir."
"Well, the secret is out now, Jenkins. Is there something I
can help you with?"
"I..uh..." the young man stammered. "We traced an nine-
one-one emergency call to this address," he said in a rush.
"Did you call it in?"
"Can't say that I...oh, wait. Nine-one-one, did you say? I
must have rolled over on the blasted phone again. There's an
automatic emergency button, see, and I've hit it once before
by accident."
"Oh," said Jenkins with obvious relief. "That explains it
then. Sorry to bother you."
"Not at all. I apologize for wasting everyone's time.
Gonna have to stop sleeping with the damn phone." He
chuckled.
Scully felt her heart sink into her stomach as she heard the
front door click shut. Wait! she wailed inwardly. At least
search the house! But outside an engine roared to life as
her last chance at rescue backed down the driveway.
A moment later the closet door opened and he stood before
her, his livid face purple with restrained rage. When he
spoke, his voice was surprisingly controlled. It sent
chills racing down her spine.
"I don't understand," he said with deliberate softness,
still clutching the door with one hand. "I don't see where
I could have gone wrong. You were supposed to be the one.
He told me so clearly, there could be no mistake."
Scully remained mute, afraid to provoke him further with a
misspoken word.
"I watched you for weeks," he continued, his tone becoming
louder and more accusatory. "God said you were the one, but
still I waited just to be sure. HOW CAN YOU NOT BE THE
ONE?"
His bottled anger escaped and she jumped back in startled
surprise. "You better cower from me, you bitch," he spat,
stepping closer. "I thought you were different from all the
other tricksters and whores in this city, but underneath
you're just like all the other scum I see every day." His
fingers bit into her arm as he tore her out of her hiding
place. He pulled her hard against him, yanking her head
back by her hair so he could press his face into hers.
"Harlot bitch," he breathed softly. "Just like all the
others. Well you're gonna die like them, too."
He began dragging her toward the basement door. "No,
please..." Scully called on every scintilla of strength she
had left, engaging in a death struggle with reserves she
hadn't known she possessed.
"Stop it!" he commanded, shaking her until her vision
blurred. "One more word and I'll do you right here in the
kitchen." They hovered at the top of the dark basement
steps, frozen.
And then his cell phone rang.
He jumped with surprise and then cursed. It rang again.
And again. Finally he shoved her down into kitchen chair,
placing his gun at her temple as he extricated the phone
from his pocket. "Yeah, Ripley," he said gruffly.
Rapid shallow breaths filled her lungs, the gun cold against
her skin. "What?" he barked. Then a long pause. "I see.
Okay, I'll get the stuff and meet you there in half an
hour." He closed the phone and regarded her with a twisted
smile.
"Well, Angel," he said, teasing the side of her face with
the gun barrel. "That was your partner on the phone. He
thinks he's got a lead on your case. Isn't that precious?"
Scully felt tears sting her eyes. "Oh, come on," he taunted
with a laugh. "Surely you can see the irony in this. It's
*great*, don't you think? I could shoot you right here and
then go spend the rest of the day helping Mulder follow his
stupid 'leads', or whatever you want to call that psychoshit
he was prattling on about."
"You'll never get away with it." Amazingly, there was no
quaver in her voice.
"Oh, won't I?" he sneered. "Let's go ask Lisa Marino and
Rebecca Seeton about that one. Oh wait, we can't ask them
anything...'cause they're dead!" He broke off in a laugh.
Then he checked his watch. "You know, I just had a GREAT
inspiration!" he exclaimed with false cheer. "Why not have
Mulder join us for this little party? Wouldn't that be just
the most fun?"
A fresh wave of nausea rolled over her.
"Yes, the more I think about it, the more I love the idea,"
he said, his eyes focused past he as if he were visualizing
the scene. "What a stupendous punishment that would be, to
have to watch your loverboy die..." He paused to give her a
tight grin. "But don't worry, Angel, you won't suffer for
too long."
"No," she whispered. "You can't do this."
"Ah, Angel...it's too late," he crooned as he opened a
kitchen drawer to reveal more nylon cord. "I already have."
***********************************************************
End part eight. Continued in part nine
Lesser Evils, part nine
by Hannah Mason
Legal dance found in part one
***********************
Mulder breezed past the secretary to burst into the AD's
office, print-outs in hand. "I think Littlefield and Ripley
are right," he announced, waving the sheets at Skinner. "I
think Rebecca Seeton and Lisa Marino were abducted by the
same man, and I think the same individual kidnapped Scully
as well."
Skinner looked at him with interest. "What makes you so
sure?"
He hesitated. "Instinct, mainly. But look check this out:
I called both Lisa Marino's parents and Rebecca Seeton's
finace, and both confirm that the missing women were
practicing Catholics."
"Same church?"
"Unfortunately no. Lisa attended St. Joseph's and Rebecca
went to Sacred Heart." He paused. "Scully's been attending
St. Matthew's lately."
"So there is still no link between the victims." Skinner
removed his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly.
"No, this *is* the link, I'm sure of it. I just don't know
yet how he selected these women, but I'm certain there is a
tie in to their religious faith. I think this guy has some
sort of religious fixation."
"What are you talking about, religious fixation?"
"I'm saying that our kidnapper has some sort of God
complex," Mulder explained impatiently. "He sees the world
in absolutes. Good versus evil, just like the bible says.
And he definitely feels he in on the side of good. He
probably thinks that he has a special connection to God,
maybe even believes that he can divine God's will."
"Which is to kidnap women." Skinner was still skeptical.
"Right. But I don't think the kidnapper sees it as a
misdeed. He cares for these women to the point of
obsession. He...he worships them in a way, as kind of an
extension of his religious faith. They are like gods to
him, and he might go as far as to think that they *are*
gods, or at least a sign from God. Perfection on
earth...that kind of thing."
"So why does he kill them?" Skinner leaned farther across
the desk, becoming more involved in the story.
"Because they ultimately disappoint him," Mulder answered
softly. "They turn out to be human after all."
At that point there was a knock on the door. "Come,"
Skinner called gruffly, and Detective Ripley entered the
room.
***********************
Scully arched her wrists back and forth against the cord in
an effort to loosen the restraint. She was tired, feverish
and the skin on her wrists was raw and bleeding, but she
attacked her task with the determination of a combat
warrior. Suddenly it was more than just her life on the
line.
He's got a gun, Mulder, she thought as she struggled. He's
got a gun and he is *not* your friend. Please, please,
don't go with him.
She knew it was a futile hope. Never very adept at sensing
danger, Mulder would be too focused on his new lead to pay
attention to any potential warning signals. Would leap
without looking, just as he always did.
Damn it, Mulder, she cursed silently. I will NOT watch you
die. Not like this.
She groaned and tugged her arms ferociously, nearly tipping
the chair sideways onto the floor in the process. The world
went momentarily black, and she feared she might pass out
from the exertion. Finally her vision cleared and she
rested, panting until some of her strength returned.
"Yesss," she hissed between clenched teeth as she moved her
wrists once more.
The cords had loosened.
***************************
"Sorry I'm late," Ripley murmured taking the chair next to
Mulder.
Scully's chair, Mulder thought automatically, and fought the
urge to tell the man to get the hell out. "You brought the
files?" he asked instead.
"Everything I have," Ripley replied, handing them over. He
watched as Mulder began pawing through the reports. "Mind
if I ask what you're looking for?" he inquired eventually.
"The photos," Mulder muttered in return, tearing through the
folders with increasing speed. "Here they are." At last,
he extracted the two photographs of the missing women. "You
still have that magnifying glass?" he asked Skinner.
Skinner nodded and withdrew it from the desk drawer.
Crossing the room to the light, Mulder examined the images
carefully. "Just as I thought," he said after a moment.
"They both wore crucifixes." He turned, blinking owlishly
at Skinner. "That's how he picked them. These women were
marked for death by their jewelry."
Ripley shifted in his chair. "I don't think I follow you."
"I'll explain on the way." Mulder was already heading for
the door.
"What way? Where are we going?"
"To see to a man about a cross."
Ripley followed him as he moved top speed through the
hallways of the Hoover building. "You think you know who it
is?" he asked as he caught up.
"Maybe," Mulder answered, hitting the elevator button. "The
guy is a religious freak who knew Scully pretty well. The
nighttime custodian from the morgue, Raymond Valente,
matches that description with reasonable degree of
accuracy." He punched the elevator button again. "C'mon,
c'mon," he muttered under his breath. Then he turned back
to Ripley. "I'm just gonna duck down to the office to check
one thing. We can get the address on the way."
Ripley glanced at his watch. "Tell you what," he offered.
"You do your stuff and meet me out front. I'll get on the
horn and dig up Valente's address."
"Great," Mulder said as the elevator doors slid open. "Meet
you there."
Five minutes later they were peeling out of the FBI parking
facility, Mulder at the wheel. "Got the address?" he asked.
"Two eighty-seven Sequoia Ave," confirmed Ripley. "We
should be there inside of twenty minutes."
"Fifteen." Mulder stepped on the gas.
After a bit, Ripley inquired, "So, did everything check out
okay?"
"Huh?"
"In your office. You said there was something you needed to
check on."
"Oh that. Yeah, it's fine." He did not reveal the whole
story, which was that he wanted to check his e-mail for a
message from the Lone Gunman. Yesterday he had assigned
them the task of analyzing the morgue videotape for any
anomalies. Like him, however, they had come up empty.
"So tell me more about the kidnapper," Ripley said. "You
did a whole profile on him?"
"Uh, not really," Mulder hedged, glancing at his companion.
"I was in this church today and all of a sudden I just got a
reading on him, that's all."
"And you think he's some right-wing, religious nut."
"Well, I don't know about his political affiliation, but
yes, I do believe he cares deeply about religion. Most
likely he's Catholic."
"Like me," murmured Ripley with a ghost of a smile.
"You and about a hundred thousand other people in the city,"
Mulder agreed. "But this isn't your average parishioner
we're talking about. He's highly intelligent, but rigid and
controlling. He also obsesses over labeling people, trying
to categorize the entire world into good and evil, black and
white. There is no in-between for this guy."
"Black and white, huh?" Ripley was still smiling. "It
should all be that easy."
They drove along in silence for another minute, nearing
their goal. Black and white...black and white. The phrase
continued to linger in Mulder's mind and he couldn't discern
why. Then all at once he saw an achromatic Scully, turning
from the door and smiling at her would-be abductor.
Black and white.
He frowned, remembering back. No, it couldn't be. Could it?
He fumbled with one hand, searching his pocket for a wadded
up piece of paper.
"What is it?" Ripley asked.
Mulder ignored him, pulling the crumbled ball onto his lap
and smoothing it flat with his palm. He glanced down at the
words.
"Agent Mulder?"
Sure enough, there it was. God damn.
"You sent out this A.P.B. on Scully yourself?" Mulder
queried.
"Yeah. I told you that before."
"It says here that she was wearing a pink sweater when she
disappeared. How did you know that?"
"The tape--"
"--is black and white, you fucking bastard!" He glared at
Ripley. "You god damn fucking BASTARD! The ONLY way you
could have known the color of her sweater was if you'd seen
it for yourself, and the only way you could have seen it is
if you were the one who took her!"
A strange little smile flashed across Ripley's face. "I
sensed you were going to be a problem," he mused, almost to
himself. "Right from the beginning, I could feel it in my
bones."
"What have you done with Scully?" Mulder demanded heatedly,
barely cognizant of the road in front of him. "Where is
she?"
"All in good time, Agent Mulder." Ripley's tone had
hardened. He pulled out his gun and aimed it directly at
Mulder's middle region. "Just keep driving."
Mulder glanced down at the weapon and then back at the road.
"You shoot me and we both die," he pointed out with rigid
control.
Ripley gave a casual shrug. "You and me and Scully makes
three," he answered indifferently.
Scully. Mulder felt his gut twist into a painful knot. She
was still alive; now all he had to do was find her. "Where
is she?" he repeated evenly, gripping the wheel as he would
Ripley's neck. "Is she hurt? What have you done to her?"
"Nothing that she didn't completely deserve," came the
bitter reply, and Mulder nearly ran the car off the road.
"Ripley, if you've hurt her..." He couldn't speak past the
rage that was choked in his throat.
The detective pushed the gun barrel a little closer to
Mulder's ribs and sneered, "Tread lightly, Agent
Mulder...you're not in the best position to be making
threats right now."
"Tell. Me. Where. She. Is." Mulder spoke as if through
ground glass.
"Patience is a virtue that escapes you, isn't it?" Ripley
remarked with some annoyance. "We'll be there soon enough."
"Two eighty-seven Sequoia," Mulder blurted with sudden
insight. "That's your house, not Valente's. You've been
planning this all along."
"No," replied Ripley coldly. "This wasn't my plan. My plan
was to find the new Eve, to take her away from all the
sleaze and corruption pervading this stinking city, to live
with her as my bride until the return of Eden." He raised
the gun up at bit, so it pointed at Mulder's chest. "So now
there is a new plan," he murmured. "You needn't concern
yourself with the details."
"With sin comes punishment," Mulder stated grimly.
"Exactly." His companion's face lit up with surprise. "You
understand more than I would have thought," he said
wonderingly. "You see then that she must be destroyed."
"I wasn't talking about her."
Ripley's features hardened once more. "I see," he
proclaimed frostily. "You just wait, Agent Mulder.
Judgment Day is coming...and it's sooner than you think."
****************************
Ellie walked through the double doors with some trepidation.
She had never been inside a police station before, and it
made her feel vaguely uneasy, as if she were guilty of some
wrongdoing. Hugging her arms reflexively, she approached
the main desk, where a balding uniformed officer was bent
over a high marble counter busily writing something. She
stood anxiously a few feet in front of him and waited to be
noticed. When a full minute had passed and he still had not
glanced in her direction, she cleared her throat loudly.
He peered at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. "May I help
you?"
"Uh, yes, I hope so." She hesitated. "I was supposed to
come here."
He put down his pen and shot an her amused look. "You
turning yourself in or something?"
"Of course not!" she gasped, askance. "I'm a...a witness.
I was told to speak to Detective Jack Ripley."
The man heaved a sigh. "Ripley, Ripley..." He repeated the
name under his breath as he leaned over to hit a few keys on
his ancient PC. After a moment he shook his head. "Sorry
honey, but Detective Ripley is out in the field right now."
"But it's important," she protested. "I saw that missing
woman from the morgue."
"Say what?" She had his full attention now.
"Saturday night I saw this man carrying a red-haired woman
out of the morgue," Ellie explained. "I think she might
have been the one you're looking for."
"Wait right here," he said quickly, holding up a finger to
her. "Wait just one second while I make a call, okay?" He
grabbed the phone and punched in a couple of numbers.
"Yeah, Captain? I've got a young lady down here who may
have some information on the morgue kidnapping, and Ripley's
in the field. Get this: she says saw the perp." He paused.
"Uh-huh. Okay."
He hung up the receiver and regarded Ellie again. "Captain
Luckett's calling the FBI; just hang on a second longer."
"The FBI?" Ellie repeated in a thin voice.
A moment later the desk phone rang and the uniformed man
answered immediately. "Yeah?" A pause. "All right, I'll
tell her."
Ellie waited wide-eyed to hear his next pronouncement.
"Someone from the FBI is on his way over to take your
statement," he said. "In the meantime, you can have a seat
over there." He pointed out some benches along the nearby
hallway.
"Um, okay...." Ellie went and perched on the edge of the
hard, wooden bench, blinking under the glare of the harsh
fluorescent lights. She fidgeted while several officers
walking past gazed at her with a mixture of appreciation and
intrigue. Averting her eyes, she checked her watch, wishing
again that David had not insisted on going in to work.
After a few minutes, she could no longer sit still, and rose
to pace the length the narrow hallway.
She had nearly worn a path into black and white checked
floor when she became aware of the array of photographs
hanging along the wall in neat rows.
***********************
End part nine. Continued in part ten
Lesser Evils, part ten
by Hannah Mason
just story here, mumbo jumbo in part one
*************************
"Stop right here." Ripley indicated a modest white home
surrounded on both sides by large pine bushes and brightly
colored flower beds. For a long moment, they sat silently
in the humid capsule of the car, the spring rain battering
against the roof above.
At last Mulder spoke. "You gonna invite me in?" he asked
sardonically. "Or am I just here to admire the
landscaping?"
"Shut up." Ripley tightened his hand on the gun, glanced at
the house and then back at Mulder. "Open your door very
slowly."
As Mulder moved for the door handle, Ripley pressed the gun
barrel to his temple. "Slower," he commanded.
Mulder froze, then he held up his hands to show that he
meant no trouble and gingerly pushed the door open with his
left foot. The blood coursing through his head pounded out
an insistent message: Get to Scully...get to Scully...get
to Scully. All that mattered right now was seeing that she
was safe.
Then he would kill him.
The two men trudged silently across the rain-drenched grass
until they reached the front door. Mulder came to halt on
the front stoop. "Now what?"
"Turn around," Ripley ordered. He looked completely crazed,
standing with his weapon brandished while the rain mapped
rivulets over his face. Scowling deeply, he tossed Mulder
the keys. "It's the middle one."
Mulder opened the door and stepped up into the living room
slowly, mindful of the 9 mm pistol pointed at his back.
Just find Scully.
His eyes swept the room once, twice. Sofa, chairs,
lamp...no Scully. He stood dripping on the beige carpet
until a sharp jab to his kidneys urged him forward. "Move."
Mulder stumbled against the wall but quickly regained his
footing. "Where is she, Ripley?" he asked the man in back
of her. "You promised she'd be here."
"Oh she's here all right," Ripley responded, prodding him
again with the gun. "But I don't think she's gonna be too
pleased to see you."
He was right, Mulder realized a moment later when they
rounded the corner into the kitchen. His partner sat bound
to a chair on the far side of the room, cheeks flushed and
her hair in a wild tangle. There were dark circles rimming
her eyes. Eyes that filled with tears when they saw him.
Her mouth quivered.
"Scully! Scully...are you okay?" He made as if to cross the
room, but Ripley pulled him up short by his elbow, yanking
him back and subduing him with a chokehold. He coughed,
struggling angrily in the hard embrace
"Scully...?" he croaked out again. His senses were whirling
in overdrive, his terror increasing with every passing
second that she did not answer him. Something was very,
very wrong.
"Go ahead, Angel..." laughed Ripley from over his shoulder.
"Explain to Loverboy here how this game is played."
She squeezed her eyes closed and looked away. Mulder fought
back a wave of bile. "Scully, please..." Why the hell wasn't
she saying anything?
Then she raised her lids again and looked straight at him.
Right through him almost. It was like she could see his
soul.
"I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."
**********************
He rushed into the stationhouse with his badge already
drawn, coat-tails waving like a cape in the air behind him.
"Where is she?" he asked the desk sergeant tersely.
"The witness?"
"Yes, yes, the witness," Skinner hissed impatiently. "Where
the hell is she?"
"Right over there." He pointed, and Skinner could see a
slim woman with a long thick braid of brown hair hanging
down her back. She was frozen in front of the rogue's
gallery of officer photos that graced the ugly green wall.
He crossed the room in three quick strides.
"Miss?"
She turned, startled. He flashed the I.D. once more. "You
witnessed a kidnapping at the city morgue on Saturday
night?" he asked immediately.
She nodded mutely, her hazel eyes huge, and then cast a
hesitant glance over her shoulder at the pictures.
Nervous Nelly, Skinner groused to himself. I don't have
time for this shit. But he forced his tone to remain calm;
there was no point in spooking the best lead they had.
"What exactly did you see?" he asked as gently as he could.
"A man," she answered immediately. "He was coming out of
the side of the morgue with a woman in his arms. I thought
it was a dead body."
Why the hell didn't you come forward earlier? Skinner
growled inwardly. Still he held his temper. Easy, easy, he
told himself. Just get the facts. "What did the woman look
like?" he asked.
"I didn't really see her that well," the girl hedged. "But
I know she had red hair."
He withdrew a picture of Scully from his jacket pocket.
"Could this have been her?"
The girl took the photo with both hands. "Yeah," she
breathed softly. "I think that's her." She looked up at
him, her brow wrinkled. "Is that the woman who's missing?"
"Yes, it is," Skinner answered shortly. "Did you get a good
look at the man who was carrying her?"
The girl glanced over her shoulder again. Skinner peered
around her, trying to figure out what the hell was so damn
interesting.
"Well...I thought I saw him okay," she began. "But now I'm
not so sure."
Shit, Skinner thought immediately. Folding already. "What
do you mean you 'thought' you saw him okay? Did you see him
or not?"
"I saw him." She sounded clear this time.
"Well then, do you think you could describe him? Or pick
him out of a photo line-up?" He had brought a select group
of photographs with him, including both Littlefield and
Raymond Valente. With a little luck, the girl would ID one
of them and they could have an arrest within the hour.
She colored. "That's the problem," she mumbled. Another
look back over the shoulder. "I kind of already did."
"What are you talking about? I thought you hadn't spoken
with anyone yet." Skinner glanced around the empty hallway
for another officer.
"I...I didn't. I was just looking at these photos while I
waited and, well..." She turned finally, and pointed at one
of the pictures on the wall. "That's him."
Skinner brushed her out of the way with one large hand,
squinting at the photo in question. "Jack Ripley?" he
asked. He twisted to look at her sharply. "You saw
Detective Jack Ripley at the morgue that night?"
She rolled her eyes. "Silly, isn't it. I guess maybe..."
Skinner gripped her shoulders with a jolt, cutting her off.
"You're sure," he said tightly. "You're absolutely sure you
saw this man carrying the woman out of the morgue."
The forceful touch seemed to infuse her with sudden
certainty. "Yes," she said, staring at him. "I'm sure."
"Jesus Christ...Mulder." He let her go abruptly, whirling
back toward the desk sergeant. He grabbed the phone right
out of the man's hands. "I need to find Jack Ripley," he
commanded in a low voice.
"But..." The pudgy man was shaking his head. Skinner
handed him back the phone.
"Right. Now." he said, and the sergeant began to dial.
************************
*I'm so sorry, Mulder*
Her murmured apology, so heart-felt, so ridiculously
unwarranted, cut him to the quick. He felt tears sting his
own eyes as he watched her struggle weakly against her
restraints. Aw, Scully don't, he told her silently. Don't
take this on yourself. It's my fault, all mine. If I'd
just been paying more attention...if I'd caught on just a
little bit sooner we wouldn't be in this mess now. He
didn't even want to think about what other atrocities he
might have spared her.
"Scully..." he breathed again.
"Shut up." Ripley tightened his hold on Mulder's throat,
still the gun pushing into his side. "Let's not forget
who's calling the shots around here, so to speak."
Mulder could feel him tremble with barely restrained rage,
like a living, breathing time bomb ticking down the seconds
to oblivion. He took in a skittering breath. Scully would
not be present when the explosion hit, not if he could help
it.
Abruptly, Ripley released the arm snaked around his neck,
and Mulder fell forward with sudden freedom, bracing his
arms against the tiled kitchen table to prevent himself from
tumbling to the ground. "Now," Ripley announced curtly.
"Lose the weapon." He waved his own gun to where Mulder's
holster cradled his Sig Sauer. "Slowly," warned Ripley.
"Two fingers, and use your left hand."
Mulder did as he was bidden, laying the gun gently on the
table. He risked a look back at Scully, who was watching
the scene with wide, frightened eyes. It's okay, Scully, he
tried to tell her. I'm going to get you out of here.
"Very good. Now step away." Ripley licked his lips in
approval as Mulder moved back from the table several paces.
"You see, Angel?" he said, his eyes still trained on Mulder.
"Loverboy knows how to follow instructions. Too bad you
couldn't have done the same, maybe saved your partner here."
"What is it you want?" she asked hoarsely. "I'll do
whatever you want, just leave him out of it."
"Scully, no..."
"Oh, just stop this shit," snapped Ripley. He leveled
Scully with a skewering gaze. "You had your chance,
sweetness, and you showed me exactly what you are made of. I
don't want anything from you now, except to see your pretty
face when Loverboy hits the ground dead." He turned his
gaze back to Mulder, but continued his venomous words to
Scully. "But don't worry, Angel, you'll be following right
behind. You're going to burn in hell like the rest of them.
Won't that be something?" He grinned at her again. "How
does it feel to know you're going to get to spend eternity
with the image of your partner's brains splattered all over
the floor."
"You god damn sonofa..." Mulder was seething.
"Ah-ah-ah," chided Ripley, wagging his gun for emphasis.
"Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain." He smiled,
clearly enjoying the game now. "Sounds like you'll be
having some company in hell, after all, Angel."
"I hope there is a hell," Mulder bit out in a fury. "I hope
there's a God, and a hell and all the rest of it, because no
punishment you get down here could be enough to answer for
what you've done."
Ripley's smile faded. "I have heard the word of the Lord
and it is good and just," he quoted coldly. "I thought
these women were the new Eve, cleansed of her sins and sent
to me for safe-keeping until the Revelation. But then I saw
their true souls, foul and retched as the serpent, and knew
I had made a mistake. The Lord showed me the right path. He
asked me to remove these women from the city, just as He
removed Eve from Eden to teach her a lesson. Only when we
are rid of ALL the stinking harlots will He return to lead
us back into paradise!" His voice had risen to echo loudly
off the hard surfaces of the room.
In the midst of his tirade, he did not notice as Scully
freed her wrists from the cords.
"He said unto them "Ye are like gods, able to discern good
and evil'. I am continuing this prophecy, and the Father
above knows my intentions are honorable. When the day of
reckoning comes, I will stand up and be counted proudly!" He
continued to bellow, his arm beginning to tremble as he held
Mulder trapped against the wall. He squeezed the trigger
with a quivering finger and Mulder broke out in a cold
sweat, glancing subtly behind his opponent to see Scully
removing the remainder of her restraints.
Hurry, hurry, he urged her silently.
"I will be rewarded for my service!" Ripley was yelling
now, as if determined to convince Mulder by the volume level
of his doctrine. "God will recognize my sacrifices, and Eve
will be cleansed and restored with me into the Garden of
Eden for all eternity!"
Mulder peeked around at Scully, who had risen unsteadily to
her feet. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and then he
slid his gaze to the gun lying on the table. Get the gun,
Scully, he directed. C'mon...getitgetit. Scully inched
toward the table, her hand outstretched to pick up the
weapon.
"What are you looking at?" Ripley halted his spiel and,
following Mulder's gaze, spun around to find Scully just
closing her hand around the barrel of the confiscated gun.
"No you don't!" snarled Ripley, reaching her before she
could get a firm hold on the weapon. He struck her hard
across the face with his gun, and in her already weakened
condition the blow was forceful enough to send her sprawling
to the ground, cracking the side of her head against the
porcelain sink as she fell.
"Scully!" Mulder yelled, unable to swallow the horrified
scream.
The gun escaped her grasp and clattered across the floor,
skittering out of reach. Scully lay motionless on the
ground in an awkward tangle of arms and legs.
Mulder moved as if struck by lightning, extricating his
small, back-up gun from under his pant leg in one smooth
movement. He jerked his arm up, aiming the gun at Ripley at
the precise moment the other man remembered his presence and
whirled around, his weapon equally drawn.
They stared at each other, frozen. For a minute the only
sound in the room was their heavy breathing, as the two men
circled the table with eyes locked. Mulder's arm ached from
the tension, his finger already squeezing lightly on the
trigger. He wanted desperately to look at Scully, to make
sure she was okay, but to tear his eyes from Ripley's meant
certain death.
"Scully?" he called gruffly. "Scully, talk to me. Are you
okay?"
Nothing.
Ripley gave a half-grin and Mulder widened his shooter's
stance, his gun trained on Ripley with both hands now.
"Scully?" he tried again. "C'mon, wake up."
"Burn in hell," mouthed Ripley, and Mulder almost shot him
right there.
"Come on, Scully..." His voice was urgent, commanding. If
he just wanted it badly enough, believed it strongly enough,
then she would be all right. "Please wake up."
Finally, she gave a little moan, beginning to stir on the
floor. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. "That's it, Scully," he
encouraged, his eyes still boring into Ripley's. "You can
do it. Get up now."
Scully moaned again, tried to rise only to collapse in a
heap on the floor again. Blinding pain lanced through her
head.
Ripley uttered a short dark laugh. "Come on, Angel, don't
give out now. We've just gotten to the good part."
She sat up again, bracing herself on the floor with both
arms. Mulder tracked her progress out of the corner of his
eye. "That's it," he murmured. "Almost there."
Finally, she rose falteringly to her feet, grasping the sink
for support. The room swam circles around her and her
vision blurred in and out of focus. She panted shallowly in
an effort not to vomit.
"You okay?" Mulder asked.
"Yeah, yeah," she breathed, still swaying unsteadily.
"Okay, I want you to get the hell out of here," he ordered.
His gun was pointed between Ripley's eyes.
She shook her head. "Mul..der..." Her speech was thick and
slurred.
"Run, Scully!" Mulder insisted. "Get out of here, right
now."
Ripley cackled heartily, not lowering his weapon. "Yes, run
Scully," he chortled in a perfect mimic.
"No." The word was barely a whisper. Despite the dizziness
and pain, she sensed Mulder would be dead before she could
leave the room.
"Scully, move it!" Mulder barked another warning. "Get out
now!"
"She doesn't seem to want to go," Ripley said. "What's the
matter, Angel? He's offering you a chance to save
yourself."
"Not leaving," she managed.
Ripley's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. "Such a
puzzle, isn't it Angel?" he asked softly, his tongue
sneaking out to moisten his lips. "Leave, and gain the
chance to live. Stay, and chance the possibility of saving
your partner. It's a dilemma for Solomon himself, wouldn't
you say?"
Scully didn't answer. She was eyeing the gun where it lay
three feet from her, hidden from his view by the
refrigerator. Another wave of dizziness swept over her, and
the world blurred into two identical halves, only to merge
again an instant later.
"Please just go, Scully." Mulder's voice was rough and
pleading. "Don't look back. Just go."
She snuck another look at the gun.
"Let me make it easier for you, Angel. I'll pick the
ending."
The first shot hit Mulder directly in the chest, hurtling
him back into the countertop in surprise.
"No!" Scully cried hoarsely, and scooped the gun off the
floor. But suddenly there were two Ripleys before her. She
jerked the gun back and forth between them.
Whichonewhichone?
Then Ripley fired again, the bullet hitting Mulder once more
in the torso and dropping him to the ground. The crack of
the gunshot oriented Scully to the correct figure and she
opened fire immediately.
Ripley yelped with pain as bullets riddled his chest,
falling to the floor and jerking as if someone were passing
an electric current though his body. Scully emptied the gun
with six rapid shots and then let the weapon fall loosely
from her hand.
Her vision clouded over with black circles once, twice,
before the world disappeared entirely as she collapsed on
the ground. Dimly, she was aware of the sound of the front
door breaking down, followed by Skinner's familiar voice
barking out commands.
"Too late," she whispered, drifting into unconsciousness.
The image of Mulder's body falling to the floor slowly
evaporated from her brain. "Too late..."
********************
End part ten. Continued in part eleven
Lesser Evils, part eleven
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer and other goodies back in part one
*******************************
Awareness came back to her in dribs and drabs, the images
splattered across her mind like colors across a Jackson
Pollack painting. Gradually her brain made some sense of
the scene before her, and the fractured picture fused
together to form a fuzzy whole. Unfamiliar faces loomed
large above her, their mouths moving as if in slow motion.
"Dana, can you hear me?" one of the faces asked.
She blinked at him. Not dead, she realized, shifting
slightly to look around the room. Hospital. Then she
remembered she sound of the gunshots, saw again Mulder
falling to the ground.
She closed her eyes once more.
"Dana..." The face came with hands, and they were shaking
her now. "C'mon open your eyes for me. Do you know where
you are?"
She squeezed her eyes shut more tightly and tried to shrink
back into the pillow. Go away, she thought. She just
wanted to sleep. To forget. To go someplace where it
didn't hurt so damned much.
"Dana, honey, please open your eyes." This voice was
different. Familiar.
She peeked out through her lashes. "Mom?" she croaked.
"Yes." Her hand was squeezed fiercely. "It's Mom,
Sweetheart. Please open your eyes."
She rolled in the direction of her mother, arching in pain
as the movement tightened the burned skin on her back.
"Mom..." she whispered.
"Everything's going to be okay." Her mother stroked her
cheek.
Scully blanched. Okay? How could she possibly think that?
She must not know.
"Dana, do you know where you are?" The first voice again.
She ignored him.
"Mom," she said, swallowing against the tears in her throat.
She had to make her mother see, make her understand how
horrible it was. "Mom, he's dead..."
"Yes, baby, he's dead," her mother murmured, tears brimming
in her own eyes. "He can't hurt you anymore."
Scully shook her head weakly. "No, Mom. Mulder...he's...I
couldn't...I couldn't get the gun in time, and...Ripley, he
shot him. He's dead. Mulder's dead."
"What? Oh, no, honey. He's fine. Really."
Scully's breath stopped. Could it be? She struggled to sit
up, to look around the room for his face.
Nothing.
"You're lying," she breathed, sinking back into the pillow.
Back toward unconsciousness.
"He's fine, sweetheart. He's just fine." Her mother was
pleading now.
Scully did not open her eyes. It was a trick, she knew. A
trick to lure her back into the awful, Mulderless world.
"Dana, honey...I'm not lying," her mother tried again. "Fox
is okay. He's just outside."
Scully waited, but the blackness did not return. She
finally opened her eyes, impatient with her mother's
repeated attempts to placate her. "I saw it, Mom," she
said. "He took two bullets in the chest. No one..no one
can survive that."
"I don't know what you saw, sweetheart, but I'm telling you
that he's all right." She squeezed her hand and moved to
leave. "I'll prove it to you, okay?"
Scully watched her go through slitted eyes. The doctors
were beginning to administer to her back, and she willed
herself to focus on the pain rather than her mother's
charade. It had to be a lie. On the off chance that Mulder
was still alive, he would be in worse shape than she, in
surgery or tied to life support somewhere.
But then he walked into the room. He looked tired and
worried, but completely and absolutely whole. There wasn't
a mark on him.
"Hi there," he said softly, approaching her bed.
"No." Scully shook her head resolutely. Must be
hallucinating, she thought. "No, it can't be." But she
couldn't tear her eyes from his face.
He crouched next to her so that their faces were level.
"How are you doing?" he asked gently, smiling at her with
soft hazel eyes.
She reached out to touch his hair, reveling in its soft,
springy feel. "You...you're shot," she whispered hoarsely.
"I saw it."
He shook his head under her hand. "I'm fine, Scully.
Really. I was wearing a vest."
"What?" Her eyes searched his for the truth. "I don't
understand; I saw you get hit. I saw you fall."
"Yeah," he murmured, brushing some hair off her face. "I
got the wind knocked out of me pretty good. Three bruised
ribs to prove it, too." He ran his knuckles over her cheek.
"I would have been a goner, though, if *someone*," he tugged
her hand lightly and smiled, "if someone here hadn't taken
Ripley out in a hurry. His next shot was going to be right
between the eyes."
She tried to smile back, but couldn't pull it off. The
situation was still too overwhelming for her to comprehend.
"You really wore a vest?" she queried, brow furrowed. It
would be so tempting to believe...
"Yeah." He hesitated. "I wasn't going to, but then at the
last second something told me to put one on." He gave her a
teasing smile. "Maybe your lecturing has finally sunk in,
Scully. Maybe I've finally learned not to rush head long
into trouble without taking any precautions."
She thought back to how hard she had prayed, willing him to
somehow realize how dangerous Ripley was.
*He's got a gun, Mulder. He's got a gun and he's NOT your
friend*
She looked at him in wonder. Could it be? "Maybe it was
me, Mulder," she whispered, at last finding the strength to
smile back. "Maybe it was."
************************
It was hours later when he quietly opened the door and poked
his head into the dimly lit room. Scully was curled
motionless in a small heap on the bed, and he could not see
her face. Her mother sat nearby. She smiled tiredly when
she saw him and pressed a finger to her lips. He nodded and
closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Maggie Scully rose silently from her chair. "She's going to
be okay," she whispered to him. "But they want to keep her
here at least overnight because she was unconscious for so
long."
He nodded. "I know. I talked to the doctors." He glanced
once at the sleeping figure on the bed. Poor Scully. She
had just wanted to go home.
"Why don't I grab a bite to eat and leave you two alone for
a minute, okay?" She squeezed his hand and he gave it an
answering squeeze by way of a thank-you.
She left then, and he walked around to the side of the bed
setting down the large canvas bag he had brought with him.
Unable to resist, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She
smelled of linement, and a new ache spread through his chest
when he thought again of all that she must have endured.
Scully opened her eyes immediately at his gentle touch.
"You're back," she breathed, beginning to stir beneath him.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed, caging her in a
pseudo-embrace with one arm stationed on either side of her
small form. He leaned down to kiss her again. "Shhh...go
back to sleep," he murmured in her ear.
Her hand reached around to pat his cheek gently but without
finesse. Painkillers, he thought fondly, and brushed a lock
of hair out of her eyes.
"Mmm...wasn't sleeping," she answered groggily, twisting
around in an effort to see his face. "I was waiting for you
to come back."
He was instantly apologetic. "I didn't mean to take so
long..."
"S'okay, really." She had finally settled in an awkward S-
shaped position that allowed her to look him in the eyes
without causing undue pain to her back. They stared at each
other for a long moment. Then her eyes filled with tears.
"What?" he asked softly. "What is it?"
She patted his face again, her mouth twisting with barely-
restrained emotion. "I'm just so glad you're okay," she
murmured brokenly.
His took her hand and kissed her fingers. "The relief is
mutual, trust me."
"I do...so much..." Her eyes drifted closed and he thought
she had nodded off again. He tried to move to the chair so
that she could rest.
She stopped him with surprising strength. "Don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere, Scully. I'll be right here, I
promise."
She grabbed his shirttail and tugged him back to the bed
impatiently. "That's too far," she insisted, sounding
panicked.
"Okay, okay...It's all right." He leaned back over her
again, burying his face against her neck to give her the
closeness she sought. A choked whimper escaped her and she
clenched her hands in his hair. "Scully," He crooned her
name low in his throat. "It's okay...I promise it's all
right."
She nodded, her face hidden in his shoulder. But she did
not let go.
He nuzzled her gently for long moments, murmuring soft words
of reassurance until she relaxed her grip, her fingers
smoothing through his hair. He pressed a kiss to the side
of her neck and then lifted himself several inches away so
that he could see her face. Their noses were nearly
touching. "Okay?" he asked.
She nodded, her eyes lowered beneath spiky wet lashes.
"Sorry..."
He halted her apology with gentle fingers. "It's all
right," he said firmly. There was a pause and then he
smiled at her. "I brought you some presents."
She raised her eyes to his and tried to smile back. "Yeah?"
she asked with a throaty murmur. Her hands continued to
make contact with him, glancing touches to his face and arms
to assure herself that he was really there.
"Yeah," he answered softly. He hesitated, looking down at
the bed and toying with the edge of the sheet. "I tried to
get you out of here, I really did, but..."
"I know," she interrupted, stilling his hand with her own.
"They explained it to me earlier."
"So anyway," he continued, reaching down to find the bag he
had brought. "I figured that if you couldn't go home, then
home should come to you."
"What?" She craned her head to see what he was doing.
"Ta-da." He extracted a pair of green silk pajamas. "I
thought these might be preferable to the standard issue
hospital gown."
She took the shimmery outfit from him with a broad smile.
"You thought right," she answered.
He was digging through the bag again. "I brought your robe,
too...oh, and this..." A second later he was laying a
blanket across her lap.
"The quilt from my bed," she breathed, touching it lightly
with pleasure. "Thank you."
"I grabbed a handful of your CDs, too, with a boombox to
play 'em if you want..."
She laid her palm against his cheek. "This is wonderful,
Mulder, thank you."
He covered her hand with his briefly before ducking down
beside the bed once more. "And..."
"And?" she echoed with a small, watery chuckle. "What is
it, the kitchen sink?"
"Better," he proclaimed with a smug grin. He held up a
clear plastic container filled with dried apricots.
"Mulder..."
"They're half-dipped in dark chocolate," he told her as he
popped open the lid. "So you're going to have to keep them
well-hidden, or the hospital's Food Police will confiscate
them for violation of the strict no-taste policy."
She smiled. "I don't remember having anything like this
laying around my house, Mulder," she said as she stuck one
of the sweet fruits in her mouth.
He tossed one in the air and caught it in his mouth with
ease. "So I made one other tiny stop," he answered with a
shrug.
They chewed quietly, watching each other in the darkened
room as the rain beat against the wall outside. At last
Scully squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Mulder," she said.
"All of this...it's really wonderful."
He shrugged again, avoiding her eyes. "It was the least I
could do." There was a long pause and then he looked at her
again. "I just want to help."
"You are," she assured him quickly. "You truly are." A
faint smile crossed her face. "Right now you can help me
up," she said, shifting slowly as if to rise. "I want to go
change."
Mulder moved so that she could swing her feet over the edge
of the bed. She sucked in a whoosh of air as she touched
ground and he immediately placed a steadying hand on her
arm.
"Okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Yeah. Just a little dizzy. It's better now." She patted
his hand, then retrieved the pajamas from the bed and
shuffled slowly to the bathroom.
"You holler if you need me," he called after her. She
nodded and closed the door.
Once inside, she leaned back against the door with her eyes
closed, amazed at how much energy she had consumed just with
the short trip from the bed. Finally she raised her lids
and moved to splash a little cool water on her face. Her
reflection caught her attention and she froze, staring
openly at the woman in the glass. She was barely
recognizable. Her face was ghostly pale, devoid of all color
except for the angry purple and red bruise that streaked
across her swollen right cheekbone. Her normally alert eyes
were dull, glassy, and ringed with shadows. Only her
shining hair was somewhat familiar, having been gently
washed by her mother several hours earlier.
*Tell Loverboy how this game is played, Angel*
Her eyes flew open and she saw Ripley reflected behind her
in the mirror. She gasped. Blinked. And he was gone.
She leaned her arms against the sink for support, her head
bent and her breath coming in shaky gasps.
"Scully?" There was a light knock on the door. "Are you
all right in there?"
"I'm fine." The words came out in a paper-thin whisper.
She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm okay," she
called. She glanced once more in the mirror and saw only the
olive green paint of the bathroom wall behind her. She
shivered and blinked back tears, knowing it was only a
temporary respite.
Jack Ripley was going to be lurking over her shoulder for a
long time to come.
With trembling fingers, she set about changing into her
well-loved silk pajamas. Her movements were clumsy from the
pain and the drugs, and she cursed as she wrestled with the
material. When can I feel normal again? she wondered. At
last she had managed to fasten the last button and ventured
back out into the main room where Mulder waited. She
stopped when she saw him, covering her mouth with one hand.
Poor man.
He looked exhausted in the gray half-light, slumped eyes-
closed in the arm chair by her bed. He had not even
bothered to change. His white shirt was rumpled and
untucked, the tie having long since been discarded. A day's
worth of stubble shadowed his face. It occurred to her that
he probably had not slept in days, probably not since the
whole nightmare had begun. She hesitated, knowing that she
should send him home to bed where he could get a decent
night's sleep. She opened her mouth several times to speak,
but she could not seem to bring herself to utter the words.
Selfish though it was, she craved his presence.
She padded softly across the room until she stood directly
in front of him.
He opened his eyes and graced her with a slow, sleepy smile.
"C'mere," he said, extending one hand in her direction. She
readily placed her hand in his and he tugged her gently down
onto his lap.
She curled herself around him so that her head lay against
his chest, closing her eyes with a small sigh as the
remaining tension drained from her body. He reached across
to the bed and pulled the quilt over them, pressing a soft
kiss into her hair as he did so. "I'm not hurting you, am
I?" The words were startling intimate under the cover of
darkness. Whispered warm against her temple as they rumbled
beneath her ear, they made her feel safe. Cherished, even.
"I'm fine," she said, snuggling a bit closer.
He rubbed her back gently, keeping his hand high and away
from the burn that scorched her below. "You want to listen
to some music?" he asked after a bit.
She shook her head slowly, enjoying the feel of the soft
cotton of his shirt as it rubbed against her cheek. No
music. She was busy listening to his heart. Its strong
rhythm combined with the gentle pattering of the rain
against the window had nearly lulled her to sleep when a
thought struck her. Something that she had wanted to ask
him.
"Mulder...?" She brought one hand up to toy with the
buttons on his shirt.
"Mmmm?" He sounded as though he had nearly nodded off as
well.
She hesitated. "Did you...did you read my statement
about..about what happened?"
There was a long pause. His answer, when it came, was
infinitely tender. "No." Another pause. "I guess I figured
that when you wanted to tell me, you would."
She tensed in his embrace, her stomach lurching to her
throat. She knew that this retelling would not be anything
like the dry recitation of facts she had given the F.B.I.
and local police earlier. Mulder would be able to read her
terror easily, to glean from her words just how awful the
experience had been. How helpless she had felt. Bunching
his shirt with her hands, she hid her face against his chest
as hot tears stung her eyes. "I can't," she choked out. "I
don't have the words."
He stroked the back of her head and rocked her gently.
"You'll find them," he soothed. "And when you do, I'll be
here."
She slowly calmed under his touch, then nestled closer
against him, drifting off to sleep with his promise locked
safely away in her heart.
************************
End part eleven. Continued in part twelve
Lesser Evils, part twelve
by Hannah Mason
nearing the end at last :)
************************
It was Saturday afternoon, a week since her abduction and
four days since her rescue. Or his rescue, as the case may
have been. He really wasn't sure how to think about the
hellish disaster that had occurred in Jack Ripley's kitchen.
As for the ordeal that had come before it, Scully was still
silent on the matter, and he was reluctant to push her. He
knew only that she awoke screaming every night, screaming
"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"
The burn on her back made it hard to offer much physical
reassurance, so he was reduced to sitting close to her on
the bed, stroking her hair and talking to her until the
dream faded away. She was sleeping now; he had checked just
a few moments ago, arranging the quilt protectively over her
as if to ward off any demons bent on disturbing her much-
needed rest.
Suddenly he felt her presence in the room and craned his
neck around to look, smiling when he saw her. She stood
blinking at him sleepily, dressed in pajamas with the quilt
clutched around her shoulders, her hair tousled and face
still flushed from sleep.
"Hey," he said softly. "Everything okay?"
She nodded but didn't move from her spot near the hall.
"What are you watching?" she asked.
"Baseball." He gestured at the screen with the remote
control. "The Red Sox are creaming the Orioles, six nothing
in the bottom of the eighth."
"Can I join you?"
"Sure," he answered with a touch of surprise. He shifted to
make room for her, and she carefully climbed onto the sofa
next to him, wincing when her back made contact with the
cushions.
"Here," he murmured, pulling the pillow from behind his head
to lay it across his lap. "You should probably be lying
down anyway."
It took no coaxing at all to get her to curl lengthwise
under the quilt, her head on his lap. She slipped one hand
under the pillow to rest on his knee, and he stroked her
hair lightly in response. "You sure you're okay?" he
queried gently. He knew it was not the promise of a great
baseball game that had lured her onto the couch.
She nodded her assent against the pillow, and he realized
with a start that she just wanted to be close. To him.
Amazing.
He resumed stroking her hair gently, which she must have
appreciated because she burrowed further into his lap. Her
movements caused something to swell and burst within his
chest, and tears to prick his eyes. The feel of her, so
small and so trusting on his lap, made him want to haul her
more completely into his arms and never let go. The rest of
the world could go fuck itself; his new job was going to be
to ensure NOTHING ever hurt her again.
She stirred against him once more, and he glanced down with
a guilty flush. Scully was probably not going to approve of
this new plan.
As well she shouldn't; it was not as though he could ever
make good on the promise, anyway. He sighed and leaned down
to kiss her temple.
"Mmmm?" she murmured, her eyes fluttering open.
He smiled and kissed her again. Sleepy, agreeable Scully
was fast becoming one of his favorite people. He felt a
fresh wave of protectiveness wash over him.
Easy, he cautioned himself. Why don't you start by just
being her friend?
He knew what he had to do; he just hoped it didn't feel as
much like an ambush to her as it did to him.
"Scully?"
More rustling against him. "Yeah?"
"I don't want to push you or anything, but I was
thinking..."
She tensed in his lap but did not say anything.
"...maybe it would help you to talk about it," he finished
in a rush. "Maybe that way the nightmares wouldn't be so
bad."
She pulled herself away from his stroking fingers, rising
gingerly to curl on the opposite end of the couch, as far
away as she could get. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you up
nights, Mulder."
"Scully..."
She looked away, but he caught the sheen of tears in her
eyes. Shit, this was going to be harder than he expected.
But as her friend, as someone who loved her more than life
itself, he felt he had to keep going.
"I think...I think talking about it may help you gain
control over the memory. Help it not to hurt so much." He
stretched a hand across the cushions, not quite touching
her. She was silent a long time.
Then she turned to him, hugging her knees, and he could see
he had been right about the tears. "I thought you were here
as my friend, not a psychologist," she said brokenly.
He swallowed hard. The last thing he had wanted to do was
cause her more pain. But maybe it was a necessary evil, a
way to get her to address what had happened to her. "I am
your friend," he said softly. "And I just want to help."
"Well, you're not." She rose unsteadily to her feet,
pulling her quilt with her, and walked back toward the
bedroom.
Mulder sighed and rubbed his temples with one hand.
Smoothly done, he congratulated himself. I'm sure she's
feeling so much better now, thanks to you.
He heaved another sigh and levered himself off the couch.
Maybe he could undo the worst of the damage.
He knocked softly on the bedroom door and then stuck his
head in, expecting to see her curled in a ball on the bed,
crying and unwilling to look at him.
Instead he found her standing by the window, staring at the
setting sun. Not crying. But definitely unwilling to look
at him.
"Scully..." he began hesitantly.
"You want to know why I haven't told you?" she said without
turning around.
He could guess a thousand reasons, but did not offer even
one. She was finally talking to him now, and he wasn't
about to destroy that with one of his ill-timed
observations.
But Scully did not want to let him off so easily. "Go on,
guess," she ordered, her gaze still focused on the spring
evening outside. "Let's give that Oxford training a full
work-out."
He lowered himself into a chair, scrubbing his face with
both hands. "I think it would be better if you told me," he
said after a minute.
She answered with a short, humorless laugh. "See what I
mean? Psychologist." But the words held none of her
earlier rancor. It was a long time before she spoke again,
and when she did her voice had grown tired, soft and
wistful.
"You know how some people buy a book, and they just can't
wait to see how it turns out, so they skip ahead to the
ending?"
He nodded even though she could not see him. He had been
guilty of that himself on occasion.
"I never did that," she continued, her arms folded over her
chest. "And NOT because I didn't want to know. I did.
But..."
"You figured the ending would make more sense if you had all
the prior information to process it with," he finished for
her.
She turned to look at him at last, a small, sad smile
curving her lips. "Exactly," she whispered. A pause. "You
really were paying attention."
He was not sure whether she meant paying attention in class
or paying attention to her. He hoped it was the latter.
"Anyway," she said with a deep breath. "I tell stories the
same way I read them; I start at the beginning."
"Okay."
She crossed the carpet to sit across from him on the bed.
"No, it's not okay. Don't you see?"
"I guess I don't," he admitted after a minute, scratching
his hair in puzzlement.
She lowered her eyes. "This story begins a week ago in the
morgue, Mulder. Just after we argued, when you..." She
broke off hesitantly.
"Reamed you for not jumping at the chance to investigate
cattle rustling in Wyoming?" He filled in the unpleasant
blank himself. "I remember, Scully." He looked her in the
eyes. "And I'm very sorry for the things I said to you that
night. It was unforgivable."
She was shaking her head. "No, you still don't get it. I
mean...I mean, yeah, I was upset by what you said, and it
was painful for me to hear it, but it's so much more than
all that."
"What is it, then?"
"You've been so wonderful to me these past few days," she
began softly. "I've felt very...connected...to you,
and...and I guess I've needed that connection more than I
thought, because every time I think back to that night in
the morgue...it just makes me sick."
"Aw, Scully..."
"No, let me finish." She wiped at her eyes. "I don't want
us to be those people again. I don't want to go back to the
loneliness and the misery and the silence that we had before
all this happened. I just want to stay here with you now,
like this... But the memories, they won't cooperate. They
just keep coming and coming, reminding me how awful it was,
showing me that these last few days are just a fantasy, a
beautiful lie that I keep telling myself in an effort to
make it through one more day." She gave a tiny shrug. "So
I don't want to remember, Mulder. Because then it will all
be over. I don't want to remember that night or that
argument. And I certainly don't want to remember the fact
that you..." She broke off, unable to get the words out.
He saw her swallow hard and try again. "That you..."
"That I what?"
"That you don't trust me." Her voice was small and sad.
"What do you mean I don't trust you?" he demanded. It felt
like someone had dropped a bag of cement squarely on his
chest. "I trust you more than anyone in the world. You
know that."
She shook her head and rose to go to the window again. "You
trust me with some things," she conceded, toying with the
lace edge of the curtain.
He got up from the chair and moved to stand behind her.
"Name one thing, Scully," he said, his voice low and urgent.
"Name one thing that I don't trust you with."
"The truth."
"What...?" He had never expected that answer. "I trust you
with the truth, Scully."
She turned and pinned him with one of her "don't bullshit
me" stares, and then he knew. The hallway. Seven months
ago.
Right.
She's gotcha by the balls on this one, my man, he told
himself, beginning to squirm. "That was...What I
said..it..it had nothing to do with trust, Scully."
She gave a derisive snort. "Mulder, with you it's *always*
about trust. So save your explanations."
"No, you don't understand." He took her lightly by the
shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. "I trust
you, Scully. I trust you with anything and everything.
It's me I don't trust."
She stared at him wide-eyed. "What are you talking about?"
"I wanted that kiss, Scully. I wanted it as badly as I have
ever wanted anything in my life. More even. Sometimes I
feel like it's all I ever wanted."
"Then why...?"
"Because of the after part, Scully. We kiss, and it's
wonderful, incredible, whatever. Name your favorite
superlative and I'm sure it would be appropriate. But then
what? We live happily ever after? Somehow I don't think
so."
She pulled from his grasp, turning to sink weakly down on
the bed. There was no good rebuttal for this argument. He
was right.
"The thing of it is, Scully..." He sat next to her on the
bed. "You deserve happily ever after. You should have
someone who gets it right." He cupped her face in his
hands, tilting her to look at him. "You really want the
truth?" he asked softly.
She nodded wordlessly, her hand coming up to rest on his
forearm.
"The truth is that I love you," he murmured. "So very
much." There was a pause as they traded shaky smiles, and
he rubbed his thumbs gently over her cheeks. "No one will
ever love you more than I do...it's just not possible."
He kissed her forehead, and she looked so happy at that
moment that he almost forgot. Forgot who he was and why he
couldn't give her this thing that she seemed to want so
much.
He wished his love was perfect and whole, a pretty package
he could wrap and lay at her feet for all eternity.
But it wasn't.
That, too, was the truth.
"I love you beyond all reason," he told her softly. "That's
the problem."
"I...I don't understand."
He dropped his hands from her face to twine her fingers with
his own. "If nothing else, Scully, this whole escapade
should prove to you how supremely bad I am at..." He paused,
searching for the right words. "...interpersonal
relations."
"Mulder..."
"I'm not just bad, Scully, I'm *horrible*. I set new
standards for fucked-up relationships. I'm distracted half
the time, selfish and self-involved, but then I can also be
demanding and overly focused. And I never get the words
right, Scully. I'm always saying or doing the wrong thing,
and you..." He smiled at her sadly. "You deserve so much
more. Hearts and flowers and the whole nine-yards. And
that's the truth." He took a shaky breath and squeezed her
hand. She pulled it away with a jerk.
"So I was right. You don't trust me."
"What? No." Hadn't she been listening at all? "I'm the
problem here, not you."
"Oh, you're the problem, all right, but not in the way you
think you are."
"I'm not sure I follow..."
"When did I say that I wanted hearts and flowers?" she
demanded, rising from the bed to stand over him. "I wanted
you, dammit, not some Hallmark card. You think I don't know
about your tendency toward distraction? You think it
somehow escaped my notice that you're demanding? It's been
over six years, Mulder. SIX YEARS. I think by now I know
you pretty well. And I would hope you know me, too. I
would hope that you could trust my judgment enough to allow
me to make my own decisions," she finished in a disgusted
tone.
"Uh..." He had no good answer for that one.
"I'm not a child, Mulder," she said, hands on her hips. "I
don't need a parent, a keeper, or even a partner trying to
run my life for me."
"I'm not trying to..."
"Oh, yes, you are! That's exactly what you're trying to do;
I tell you that I want you, but you don't trust me to mean
it! Instead, you go ahead and blithely make the decision
for me. That's not concern, Mulder, that's arrogance."
"I..I..." His mouth snapped shut, and he shook his head.
"You're right," he admitted finally.
"Excuse me?" She was tapping one bare foot on the carpet.
"I didn't quite get that."
"I said, 'you're right'," he repeated through clenched
teeth.
She smiled then. "That's what I thought you said," she told
him sweetly, and he laughed, pulling her to sit with him on
the bed.
Then they regarded each other silently for a moment, until
he felt the familiar panic setting in once more. He just
had her back again. How could he stand losing her now? How
did one go about risking everything they had? "Scully..."
"Yes?" She watched him with level blue eyes, and he wondered
how it was she could be so calm when he felt like his heart
might explode out of his chest.
"I just need to know...are you sure about this? I mean,
really really sure?" Did he sound as pathetically hopeful
to her and he did to himself? God. Run now, Scully, he
told her silently. Run while I can still let you go,
because once I get my arms around you I don't think I'll
have the strength to run away.
But Scully did move away, she moved closer, until their
knees brushed together. She took his hand. "I'm sure," she
said softly. "I'm scared, but I'm sure."
The words melted over him like hot butter, making his
insides turn to liquid mush. He swallowed and tightened his
hand on hers reflexively. Accept this, he commanded himself
sternly. This is SCULLY, and she's offering you everything
you've ever wanted. Why the fuck are you still hesitating?
Because he loved her that much, he realized quickly. He
loved her enough that he was willing to give her up forever,
if that was what it would take to keep from hurting her. It
was a horrible choice. But perhaps the lesser of two evils.
He looked down at their entwined fingers, swallowing past
the large, painful lump in his throat. "I'm probably going
to screw up," he managed carefully, unable to look her in
the eyes.
"Yes." Her reply was a throaty whisper. "Probably we both
will from time to time."
"That doesn't worry you?" He risked a sideways glance.
"Not enough to back down now," she answered.
"But why?" he persisted. "How can you be so sure about
this?" How can you be so sure about me? he echoed silently.
Lord knew *he* wasn't sure.
She was quiet for a long time. "I guess...I guess it's like
you said, Mulder."
His head snapped up and he stared at her openly. How the
hell could HE have come up with the answer? He was the one
with all the confusion.
"No one will ever love me the way you do." She have him a
tentative smile. "And I happpen to think that's a good
thing. A wonderful thing."
He was struck dumb. Wonderful? She thought his love was
WONDERFUL? Well. Okay then. That was that. If she thought
he was wonderful, then goddammit that was what he was going
to be. Maybe he wasn't a perfect man...okay, he knew he
*definitely* wasn't a perfect man...but somehow, by some
way, he had been blessed with a perfect love.
He finally allowed himself to smile back. Scully's smile
widened in return, and he felt her relax a bit under his
touch. Not so cool after all, were we? he thought with a
hint of humor.
"Umm, so what do we do now?" she asked at last.
He shook his head and held up his palms. "You can't trick
me into that one; I've learned my lesson. I'm leaving all
future decisions up to you. That's the new policy. In
fact, I'm never going to make another decision as long as I
live."
"Mulder?" She pursed her lips, eyes alight with laughter.
"Hmmm?"
"You just did."
He grinned. "Can't sneak anything past you, can I, Agent
Scully?"
"Someone has to keep you honest," she told him archly.
"Ah, yes, honesty," he mused, stroking his chin. "The theme
of the evening." He gave her an appraising look. "Think
you can handle a little more?"
When she nodded, he took her hand and led her out of the
bedroom. "Mulder, where are we going?"
"You'll see," he answered cryptically, pulling her toward
the front door.
"Mulder, I'm not dressed," she protested as he opened the
door, but he ignored her and tugged her into the hallway
after him.
He took her gently by the hips, bringing their bodies flush
against one another. She felt a rush of heat run through
her at the sudden contact, and her heart rate increased
considerably. Contrary to his earlier proclamation, Mulder
seemed intent on making at least one more decision.
"Unfinished business," he explained.
Excitement leapt within her, tinged with just a shade of
panic. What if he was right about the after part? "This is
the wrong hallway, Mulder," she informed him in a rough
whisper. You can still back out now. She added the last
part silently, trusting that he would be able to read it in
her eyes.
But Mulder didn't seem to want an out. Not this time. He
leaned his face down close to hers, his lips parted so that
she could feel his warm breath caressing her cheek. "I'm
improvising, Agent Scully. Go with it, okay?"
Her eyes drifted shut. "Okay..." she breathed just as his
mouth came down on hers.
It was a soft, chaste kiss. Just a fraction of a second
longer than two friends might have shared. But it was
enough to send her senses spinning.
She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, his own
expression one of wonder. "The world didn't come to a
halt," he murmured.
She smiled at his bemusement. "And I'm still here," she
pointed out, reaching up to touch his cheek.
"Yes." All merriment evaporated as he fixed her with dark
gaze. "Yes, you are."
She moved, or he moved, or maybe they moved together, but in
the next moment their mouths were joined again, this time
sliding together lingeringly as they pressed against one
another more firmly. They kissed for long minutes, learning
each other's taste and texture through gasps of pleasure.
Their tongues danced teasingly at first, then rubbed
together more strongly as the embrace wore on. She grabbed
at his back, nearly incoherent in her need, and he answered
her whimper by squeezing her ass, moving her body against
his hips in an age-old rhythm.
They were stuck together like flypaper when the sound of a
door opening caused them to jump apart, flushed and
breathless. An old woman and her terrier eyed them with
disapproval as she inched past, hugging the side of the wall
to give them as much berth as possible.
"Hello, Mrs. Cavenaugh," Scully murmured, her hand clasped
over her mouth.
"Hmpf," the woman snorted and continued on her way.
"Good night, Mrs. Cavenaugh," Mulder called after her
loudly, and Scully collapsed into his chest with a smothered
giggle. He squeezed her shoulders, chuckling against the
top of her head. "I bet she hasn't gotten any since the
Truman administration," he murmured into her hair.
"Mulder!" She pinched him playfully, but continued to shake
with silent laughter against his chest. He wrapped her in a
careful hug.
"Inside?" he suggested hopefully. She nodded, and took his
hand to lead him back into the apartment.
They stopped at the couch, where he plopped down on the
cushions with a sigh. "Where were we?" he asked. "Oh yes,
right about...here." He took her hands and brought her
gently down to straddle his lap, groaning when she settled
herself fully on top of him. She answered with a soft,
feminine laugh, leaning her forehead against his.
"So far I like the after part," she murmured.
"This isn't after yet," he told her solemnly.
"No?" She quirked an eyebrow.
"No. This is still during." And then he kissed her again,
his hands moving to entwine themselves in her hair. There
was no preliminary this time; they resumed the kiss at its
deepest point, shifting together on the couch with murmured
sounds of need muffled against their mating tongues. Scully
groaned softly as one hand trailed down the front of her
pajama top, glancing over her breast and stomach until it
rested on her thigh. She took it in her own hand, urging
him up and under the green silk. He complied, and warm
fingers began to trace circles on her stomach.
"More, Mulder please..." She broke the kiss to pant against
him. The light touches were driving her crazy.
"So soft," he breathed, stroking her higher and more firmly.
"I can't believe how soft you are."
Scully froze, going rigid on his lap..
He felt the change immediately, and his eyes popped open in
concern. "Scully? What's wrong? What's the matter?"
She swallowed several times, trying to stop the welling
panic. You're ruining this, she chided herself inwardly.
It was going so well and now you're ruining it. Stop it,
just don't think about it.
But it was too late.
"He...Ripley...he, uh..." She couldn't say the words. Her
eyes filled with tears and she cursed herself again.
Dammit.
"Scully? Talk to me. What is it?" He rubbed his hands
over arms several times, squeezing gently.
She closed her eyes, unable to look at him when he was
watching her with such love in his eyes. "He said that to
me," she managed at last. "He touched me and told me how
soft I was. I thought he was going to...to rape me...I
thought I was going to die."
Mulder's mouth quivered into a frown, his own eyes becoming
moist. "Oh, Scully," he murmured, pulling her down against
his chest. "I'm so sorry, Sweetheart."
She held him tightly, rubbing her cheek against his warm
tee-shirt for comfort. He rocked her silently for a moment.
"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I didn't mean to...I didn't
want..."
"Hey, it's okay." He shushed her with a squeeze. "We have
all the time in the world for this, and we can always stop
any time you want to, all right?"
She levered herself away from him, staring down at him with
watery eyes. "But I don't want you to stop," she said
softly. "I want the memories to stop. I just want it all
to go away."
He cupped her cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his
thumb. "I would do anything to be able to give you that,"
he told her hoarsely.
"I know," she answered, covering his hand with her own.
"But you can't. These are my dragons to slay."
There was a moment of silence as he pondered this. "Well
then at least let me give you a safe place to do it," he
said at last. He coaxed her gently back down against him,
pressing a row of kisses to her hairline.
She nodded, closing her eyes and relaxing into his embrace.
They were quiet for a long time, but finally she began to
speak. "I had just finished the last report," she said
slowly, "and I was about to leave when I heard him say my
name..."
*************************************
End part twelve. Continued in part thirteen
Lesser Evils, part thirteen
by Hannah Mason
disclaimer etc. in part one
***************************
"You're sure you don't want me to go with you?" He was
sprawled across the bed amid a mass of tangled covers,
wearing only boxers and a tee-shirt and watching her as she
finished dressing. She smiled at him from the mirror and
adjusted her collar on her blouse.
"Thank you, no. This is really something I need to do for
myself." She studied her reflection critically. Not too
bad, she decided at length. The foundation had covered the
worst of the bruise and her long sleeves hid the cuts on her
arms.
"You know the press is likely to be there."
Her eyes lowered for a moment. "I know."
The funeral for Rebecca Seeton had been in the news for
days, ever since police had identified her body at Potter's
Field. Lisa Marino's had not yet been found. Possibly
never would. But for both families, at least, there was at
last some closure.
Maybe that's what I'm seeking, Scully thought as she slipped
on her earrings. Closure. Some way to finally put this
behind me.
It had been one week since she had shot Ripley and ended her
captivity, but somehow she still felt bound by him. Not yet
free. The nightmares continued to plague her most nights,
and she would wake up sweating and crying with fright, both
from the terror of reliving the horrible experience and the
fear that she would never be the same again. Never get
control over her life again.
"At least let me drive you there."
She turned from the dresser, shaking her head. "The taxi
will be here in ten minutes, Mulder." She was still unable
to drive, as that required her to sit back fully against the
car seat. The burn was still too tender for such friction.
"Call them and tell them not to come."
"Mulder..."
"Scully..."
She gave an exasperated sigh and went to sit next to him on
the bed, ruffling his hair affectionately. "You have been
wonderful," she told him. "Unbelievably so. I don't know
how I would have made it through these nights without you."
He watched her face intently, riveted by this unusually
frank admission.
"But Mulder..." She took his hand in hers. "If I'm ever
going to get through this, I need to be able to stand on my
own two feet again. I can't go through life holding your
hand every step of the way."
He frowned as if to disagree.
"Okay, okay...I'll admit that it would be nice." He smiled.
"Sometimes," she added, unable to suppress an answering
smile. Then she continued, "I need to do this myself,
Mulder. My life hasn't been my own since this happened...I
don't know if going to Rebecca's funeral will help, but I
need to try. For me...and for us." She looked him the
eyes. Do you understand what I'm saying here? she asked him
silently.
"Yeah, I get it Scully," he sighed at last. "I may not like
it all that much, but I get it."
She leaned over and kissed him on the bridge of his nose.
"Good. 'Cause I'm not going to be able to do this if I don't
have your full support."
He looked surprised. Really?
She shook her head, eyes heavenward. "Mulder, where do you
think half my strength comes from?"
He grinned. "Three nights a week at the gym?"
"The other half, you idiot." She stood to leave, but he held
her back, anchored to the bed by her arm. She turned to face
him, and he kissed her fingers.
"Me, too, Scully," he told her softly. She smiled. "I'll
do whatever you want, whatever you need," he promised.
"Right now I need to let me go so I can catch that taxi,"
she replied. "Then I need you to be right here when I get
back."
He released her hand. "*Right* here, Scully?" he asked with
a leer, casting his eyes about the rumpled bed clothes.
She laughed and left him wondering.
****************************
Mulder was right; the press was out in full force, laying
siege to the small church as if they were enacting some
medieval military maneuver. They pushed and yelled at her
as she tried to fight her way up the walk, ignoring their
shouted questions with a fixed stare. At last she made it
through the doors of Sacred Heart, and noted with surprise
that she was not the only non-family member to attend the
ceremony. The pews were virtually packed with people
murmuring to each other as the organ played softly at the
front of the sanctuary. She slid quietly into a row in the
back, squirming only slightly when the woman sitting next to
her gaped openly at her bruised face.
For the next hour she listened as Rebecca Seeton's short
life was recounted by the people who loved her. Her younger
brother, Keith, cried as he told a story about the time when
he had broken his leg at age seven. Ten year-old Rebecca
had used her precocious artistic skills to cover the large
cast in fierce dinosaurs, making him the envy of Maynard
Elementary school. Her parents spoke of her devotion to
family, friends and teaching. Her fiance, Robert, spoke
last, addressing the coffin directly as he told her one last
time how much he loved her.
Then the parish priest asked everyone to join him in prayer,
thanking God for Rebecca's gifts to them and acknowledging
that there must have been some greater plan at work, some
higher glory that had necessitated taking young Rebecca's
life.
Scully kept her eyes closed throughout the prayer, but she
was not convinced that the priest's assurances were correct.
That would mean, in some sick way, that Ripley had been
right when he said that it was God's will that he murder two
women.
And that it had been his will that she survive.
It was hard for her to imagine a scenario where the Almighty
valued her life above two others. Maybe it was just as
random as it seemed. Maybe God let men run their lives as
they would, lingering in the background, ready to pick up
the pieces when needed.
She thought then of Mulder, and his bullet proof vest.
Maybe not so random. She just didn't know.
She sighed, then added her own silent prayer of thanks and
asked God to keep a close eye on the families of Rebecca
Seeton and Lisa Marino.
The service ended and people formed a line down the center
aisle, waiting to say a word to the grieving family.
Scully stood frozen for a moment, hanging back and watching
the line move forward. She wanted to say something to
Rebecca's family, but she was also hesitant. She was not at
all sure that they would want to see her, the one who had
lived when their daughter had not. At last she got in line.
She could always leave quickly if her presence seemed
upsetting.
"Mrs. Seeton," she said when she reached Rebecca's mother.
"My name is Dana Scully. I just wanted to tell you how
sorry I am about your daughter's death."
The older woman's eyes grew wide. "You're the woman from
the TV," she said. "He took you, too."
"Yes, ma'm, he did." She was prepared to leave in an
instant, but the other woman surprised her by pulling her
into a tight embrace.
"Thank God you're all right," she sobbed. "Thank the Lord
he didn't get another one."
Scully tentatively returned the embrace, not sure what to
say. Mrs. Seeton pulled away a bit, but did not let her go.
"Are you really okay?" she asked, searching Scully's face.
"He didn't hurt you too much, did he?"
Scully swallowed hard. She knew the woman was really asking
about her daughter, wanting to know the extent of her
suffering. "No," she said hoarsely. "It wasn't too bad."
Mrs. Seeton nodded, making an effort to smile through the
tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "That's good,"
she replied, squeezing Scully's arms. "I'm so glad. And
I'm so glad you came today. Rebecca would have liked that."
Scully smiled, and then Mrs. Seeton hugged her once more.
"God bless you," she whispered against her hair.
Yes, thought Scully as she moved away. He certainly has.
She was walking toward the door when she heard a familiar
voice call her name. She turned to see Aaron Littlefield
striding toward her with a smile. Somehow she was not
surprised to see him there. They had spoken several times
about Rebecca Seeton, and she knew that the case had
troubled him deeply.
More closure, she thought as he hugged and kissed her hello.
"How are you doing?" he asked anxiously. "I've tried to
call you a few times, but the line has always been busy."
She nodded. "Off the hook," she explained ruefully. She
gestured to the mob outside. "Reporters."
He nodded in understanding. "Do you have a minute? I'd
like to talk to you."
"Sure. Where?"
"There's a court yard around back," he said. "We can sit
there for a bit, if that's okay."
She smiled and tilted her head at him. "Lead the way."
A short minute later they were seated on a bench amid sun-
dappled cherry trees. Every time the breeze blew, pink
petals swirled to the ground like snow flakes. "I mainly
wanted to make sure you were doing okay," Aaron began
slowly. "I read the report on what happened, and..." He
broke off helplessly. "If there's anything I can do,
anything you need..."
She took his large hand and squeezed it affectionately.
"I'm fine, Aaron. Truly."
And she realized with a start that she actually meant it.
Maybe the fog was finally lifting.
"You're sure?" he asked. "I'd be happy to help you out in
any way."
"Really, I'm all right." She paused, looked at her lap and
then up at him again. "I've got Mulder to fetch and carry
for me," she murmured.
"Ah, yes. Mulder." He smiled. "He and I got to know one
another a bit better last week."
"So I gather," Scully answered dryly.
"Yes, well, I think we came to an understanding of sorts."
He paused and studied her closely. "He's a good man, Dana.
A bit unstable, mind you, but a good man."
"He said the very same thing about you," she told him.
Aaron barked a laugh. "I find that kind of hard to
believe." Then he smiled at her again. "He loves you very
much, you know."
Scully felt her cheeks flush warm with pleasure, still
unused to hearing the word love in the same context as her
and Mulder, but nonetheless reveling in the tingling
sensation it engendered in her belly. "I, uh...I know," she
managed to stammer.
He shot her an appraising look. "Hmmm...I'll say you do,"
he teased. "It's about time, don't you think?"
She nodded, momentarily too choked up to form actual words.
Then she cleared her throat. "Aaron..." she began, not sure
what to say to him now.
"Hey, don't worry about it," he broke in. "I understand
everything, really. And I'm happy for you."
"You are?" She was surprised, and maybe a little bit
piqued. Apparently he had not been as invested in their
relationship as she had imagined.
"Of course," he answered swiftly. "That man is completely
and totally crazy about you. He loves you so much, it's the
only thing he can see." He paused to touched her hand
gently. "You deserve to be loved that much...you deserve
it, and so do I."
"Yes," she agreed, grabbing him in an impulsive hug. "You
certainly do."
He chuckled and pulled away. "How about I drive you home?
"That would be wonderful," she replied, hoping it would be a
short ride. She was struck by a longing to see Mulder
again, wondering if he knew that he deserved that obsessive,
crazy kind of love, too.
If not, she intended to show him.
****************************
End part thirteen, continued in part fourtee
Lesser Evils, part fourteen //NC-17//
by Hannah Mason
cover your eyes, children; the sex starts here
*****************************
He was not still in the bed when she arrived home. Instead,
she found him puttering around the small kitchen, wearing
blue jeans, glasses, and nothing else. "Hi," he called when
he saw her. "How did it go?"
She slung her purse over a chair and removed her jacket.
"It was nice," she answered, hugging him from behind. She
pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I'll tell you about it
later."
"Lunch?" he asked, gesturing at the spread on the counter
top. "I figured you might be hungry, so I made some soup
and sandwiches."
She reluctantly pulled away. "Maybe in a minute. I want to
change out of these clothes. The waistband of this skirt is
a killer."
She walked into her bed room and immediately began stripping
her clothes. When she got down to her bra and panties, she
hesitated, and then peeled them off, too. May as well go
the whole nine yards, she thought as she slipped on her
robe. This time, she exchanged her usual terry cloth for a
silky, floor-length number in midnight blue. Cinching the
belt loosely at her waist, she went in search of Mulder.
She found him sitting at the kitchen table stuffing a turkey
sandwich in his face. "Wow," he said when he saw her,
sandwich abandoned on the plate.
"You like it?" she asked with a small smile.
"I don't know. Let's see the whole thing." He made a
revolving motion with his finger, and she did an obliging
pirouette.
"Well?" she asked.
He scratched his head. "Still not sure. I think I need to
get a closer look."
She padded across the room, stopping just out of arm's
reach. "How about now?" she said.
"Mmmm," he replied, his eyes focused on where her bare feet
poked out from under the hem. "It's definitely...
interesting. Real silk?"
She nodded.
He stroked his chin. "I don't know, Scully. I think I
should verify that myself, if I'm going to give a thorough
assessment." He reached out a hand, and she inched slowly
over to him. His fingers closed around the skirt of the
robe, careful not to actually touch her.
She could feel their heat on her thigh anyway.
"Feels like silk, all right," he pronounced at last. "I
think you have a winner of an outfit here, Scully."
"That's too bad, Mulder."
"Huh?"
"Cause I was thinking of taking it off."
He groaned and pulled her down on his lap. "You're just
terrible, you know that?" He nipped her bottom lip.
"Who's terrible?" she demanded, pulling away teasingly.
"I'm not the one who ordered a fashion show in the kitchen."
"Hey, I'm just a guy trying to eat a sandwich. Then you
walk in here, dressed--or shall I say *not dressed*--for
some serious trouble."
"Promises, promises." She pretended to study her nails.
"Okay, that's it. Now you're really going to get it." He
pulled her face to his, his lips open and moist as they
moved insistently over hers. She rested her hands against
his bare chest and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. He
accepted the invitation immediately, slipping his tongue
repeatedly inside to taste her.
He tasted like hot and spicy like the mustard from the
sandwich, and she sucked his tongue greedily, trying to
convince him to stay, but he slid out to lick over her
bottom lip again. "Now who's teasing," she breathed against
his mouth.
He chuckled low in his throat as their lips joined once
more, tongues twining with growing passion. She shifted on
his lap and he groaned his approval into the kiss, his hands
moving to press her more tightly against him. Only the thin
silk of her robe prevented her bare chest from lying against
his bare skin, and the tiny barrier was fast becoming a
large annoyance. Her shifted again, moaning softly when her
breasts brushed against the solid wall of his chest. She
slid her hands from his shoulders down to his nipples, where
she rubbed each one in turn with a delicate fingertip.
"Scu-lee..." His hips bucked against her rear, and he moved
his mouth hotly over the column of her throat. She arched
her head back and pulled the top of the robe aside so he
could lick her collarbone.
Sogoodsogood. More...
She trailed her hand down his flat stomach and over to the
hard ridge pressing against his jeans. She stroked him
firmly through the denim.
He froze. "Scully, wait..."
Not this time, she thought. She ignored his protests,
continuing to massage his erection as she planted tiny
kisses on his neck.
"Scully..." He was pushing her away more firmly now.
"Scully, wait, please..."
She stopped this time, looking at him through passion-dazed
eyes. "What?" she breathed.
"I can't do this," he said tightly. "I just can't."
"Oh. I see." She was off his lap in a flash, tightening
the sash of her robe. "Sorry to bother you, then."
She turned to leave, and he called after her. "Scully,
wait...let me explain..."
His pleas fell on deaf ears as she escaped into the
bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She braced her arms
on the sink, willing herself not to cry. Maybe I was wrong
to think this would really work, she thought. Maybe he's
always going to be too scared.
Then she opened her eyes and got a good look at the woman in
the mirror. It nearly took her breath away.
"Well, no wonder he doesn't want you," she said bitterly.
"Look at you. You're lucky he didn't just throw up on the
spot." Her face was gaunt, and there was still a large
purple bruise across most of one cheek. She knew it had
companions scattered over the rest of her body. Her wrists,
having been rubbed raw with rope burns, were now mottled
with scabs. And then there was the monstrous burn on her
back.
She tried to blink back the stinging tears, but they managed
to escape, trailing hot streaks down her face and smearing
her makeup as they went. She gave a hollow laugh. Now her
look was truly complete. So much for seduction, she thought
acidly. Try a haunted house.
Then there was a light tap on the door. "Scully, can I come
in?"
"No," she answered loudly, but he opened the door
nevertheless. Never listens, she thought angrily. I
shouldn't want to make love with him anyway.
But she did. That was the problem.
"Scully, I'm sorry." His hand touched her shoulder briefly.
"What I said back there...it came out really wrong."
"Sure. There's a lot of ways a person can mess up 'I can't
do this.' I understand completely."
He took a shuddering breath. "I told you I was bad at
this," he muttered. "Scully..."
She cut him off with one hand, still refusing to look at
him. "Just don't, Mulder, okay? I get it, really I do.
You can't do this. I accept that. Can you just leave now?"
"No. I can't leave. I can't leave until I'm sure you
understand why I stopped."
"What's not to understand, Mulder? I've finally seen the
mirror, okay? I get it."
"Huh?
She heaved an exasperated sigh. "The bruises, Mulder. And
the cuts and the burn...I realize that I don't make the most
attractive picture right now."
"Is that what you think?" he asked, surprised. He moved to
stand behind her. "You think that I don't want to make love
to you because of the way you look?"
"Well, isn't it?" Her eyes met his in the mirror.
He shook his head slowly, his hands coming to rest on her
shoulders. "No, Scully. Not at all." He pulled her gently
back against him and kissed the top of her head. "This is
obsessive Mulder you're talking to, remember? The one who
loves you beyond all reason?"
"But you said you didn't want me."
"Scully, I can't imagine a time when I didn't want you. Men
are supposed to think about sex like what, every ten
seconds? Well for the past four years or so, just about
every damn one of my ten second interruptions has been
entirely about you. And let's not do the math on that,
okay? I find it scary enough as it is."
She gave a small laugh.
"The point, Scully, is that I wouldn't know how to stop
wanting you if I tried. And," he paused meaningfully, "a
couple of bumps and bruises certainly aren't going to do the
trick."
"So why...?"
He turned her abruptly in his arms, taking her hand and
bringing it to the front of his jeans where he was still hot
and hard. "I want you," he told her unsteadily. "I want
you so much it hurts, Scully. But I also don't think we can
do this yet, not with your back..."
"There are ways..." she interrupted, licking her lips.
"I know, I know. Believe me, I've thought of them." His
hand covered hers and they rubbed him together. "God,
that's good..." His eyes drifted shut for a moment. Then
he opened them again. "I just can't be inside of you yet,
Scully," he breathed. "I can barely hang onto sanity when I
think about it, and I'm afraid that if we actually did it
now that I would forget and hurt you. It's just too soon."
There were tears in her eyes again. Tears of need this
time. And it was apparently a need that was going to be
unassuaged, because the set of his jaw told her he meant
what he said. "Okay..." She released a shaky breath.
"Okay, Mulder. We'll do it your way and go eat sandwiches,
all right?"
He gave her a slow smile. "Scul-lee," he murmured. "I
can't believe you're giving up so easily. Didn't you learn
anything about negotiation in all those weeks at the
Academy?"
Negotiation? What the hell was he talking about? "What
exactly did you have in mind, Mulder?"
"This," he said, taking her by the hand and leading her out
into the bedroom. The sheets were still in wild disarray.
She felt a flush creep over her as she realized they were
headed directly for the bed. Sure enough, he eased her down
on top of the sheets, then crossed around to his side.
His side. She felt a bubble of warmth inside her at the
thought. Four days and Mulder already had a side on her
bed. She wanted to yell with delight. Instead, she curled
on her side, watching intently as he shucked his jeans. The
boxers followed his pants to the floor, and she held back a
moan.
"Oh my," she murmured, drinking in the sight of the
afternoon light as it played over his naked skin. His
erection stood out from his body, long and hard and
delicately curved.
He joined her on the bed, scooching around until their faces
were level. She smiled at him, and he leaned across to kiss
her softly, his lips brushing hers repeated but lightly,
until she moaned and pressed against him more firmly. His
tongue licked at her bottom lip, seeking entrance, and she
parted to admit him. Her hands twined in his hair as he
tormented her with hot, probing strokes, mimicking the
motions of intercourse until she cried out into the kiss,
dizzy with pleasure.
He pulled back, breathing hard. "Well?" he asked, his eyes
crinkling at the corners with his smile.
"This is some compromise, Mulder," she said breathlessly,
licking her swollen lips. "But I have to say I'm feeling a
little overdressed for the occasion."
She shifted and her robe slipped open at the waist, parting
to reveal her legs. With a smile, he reached to tug gently
on the sash, and it came loose in a whispery caress of silk
against her skin. She held her breath as he parted the
front robe, praying that he would like what he saw.
"Oh, Scully..." His soft sigh of wonder was all the
reassurance that she needed, and she relaxed, allowing the
robe to slip off her shoulder. Her anxiety dissipated, she
wanted only to touch him.
Her hands wandered greedily over the muscles in his
shoulders, down the smooth skin of his chest and across to
his berry brown nipples. She repeated the tiny caress she
had given him earlier in the kitchen, and he moaned. "Yeah,
I thought you liked that," she murmured with a chuckle,
sneaking a look up at him.
His eyes were closed. "Mmm..a whole lot," he breathed.
"How about this?" she asked, and shifted to kiss the
hardened nubs on his chest, her tongue darting out for a
taste.
He jerked against her with a groan. "That's...that's...I
don't have words for how that is." He pushed her back a
bit. "I think it would be best if I showed you."
A moment later, she lay on her side, holding his head as a
stiff pink nipple disappeared between his lips. He stroked
her lightly with his tongue several times before shifting to
suck more firmly. She closed her eyes, her head bent toward
his. "Mulder, that's so good..." He answered her by
repeating the action on her other breast.
Then he scooted back up the bed to the pillows, and she
followed him, rolling slightly so that their bodies touched
from head to toe. His cock burned hot against her thigh.
"Love you," he muttered, bending his neck for a kiss. It
was short, sweet and wild. "So much."
"Mulder, please..." She was shifting her legs against him in
an effort to release the growing ache.
He shifted so they lay facing one another again. "Here, like
this," he murmured. He smoothed one warm hand over her rear
and down the back of her thigh, pulling her left leg up
until it rested bent over his hip. They both sucked in
their breath at the sudden full body contact.
"Okay?" he panted after a minute.
She nodded slowly, caressing the soft hair of his leg with
the side of her foot. "Yes, I'm fine."
"If I hurt you, holler." Then he smiled, his eyes dancing
with pleasure as he drew her more fully against him. "And
holler loud so I'm sure to pay attention."
She grinned and touched his face, tracing the features that
were so precious to her. "You're not hurting me," she
assured him. "Really."
They kissed again, and he drew his hand along the curve of
her waist until it rested lightly on her hip. He paused for
a moment, then slowly drew his fingertips over her buttock
and back down into the moist curls between thighs.
She pushed her hips against him instinctively, clutching his
shoulders for support as he began his exploration. He
stroked her gently for a long moment before slipping one
finger into the wet cleft at her center.
Scully made a keening sound and buried her face further into
his chest, her breath coming in hot pants. "Yes," she urged
him. "Please."
His breathing was equally ragged as slipped one finger part
way into her, pressing upwards gently. "Like that?" he
asked. "Is that how you like to be touched?'
She hummed her pleasure against him, moving her hips down
onto his pleasuring hand. His finger pushed all the way
inside her and then back out. Then in. And out. She
quivered and sobbed as a second finger joined the first.
"You feel so good," he praised against her temple. "I can't
believe how good you feel."
"Mmmmm...youtooyoutoo." She was struck by the sudden need
to touch him, to give him some of the pleasure he was
heaping over her. She brought one hand down to close around
his twitching cock and rubbed him firmly from root to tip.
"Oh, God, Scu-leeee." He bucked against her but didn't stop
the beautiful rhythm of his hand between her thighs. She
began to echo the rhythm with her own ministrations, and he
moaned again. "Oh yeah, Scully...oh, yeah."
She was squirming along his body rather forcefully now, and
at one point the tip of his cock brushed against the thatch
of hair between her legs. They both jumped at the contact.
Almost without realizing it, she began to guide his erection
between her thighs.
"Scully, no..." His voice was an agonized sob above her
head.
"Please...just for a second. I need...I need to feel you."
He hissed a slow breath, but made no move to stop her as she
placed his penis along her swollen center. "Oh!" she cried
a gasp of surprise at the sweet contact and then closed her
eyes. "Oh yes."
She arched her hips the little bit that the awkward position
allowed. The motion caused the skin on her back to tighten,
but she ignored the twinge of pain to focus on the mounting
between her legs.
Together they rubbed his rigid penis back and forth along
her heated core, coating him with slickness as their motions
grew faster and less controlled, their cries of delight
coming in unison.
"Okay, enough," he said hoarsely, pulling away. "I can't
stand it anymore." He returned his fingers to between her
legs, pumping her more forcefully now. She tried to
reciprocate, but it was difficult because the rising ecstasy
held her in full thrall.
She licked the salty skin of his collarbone, her eyes
squeezed painfully shut. "Mulder...I..." Her hips jerked in
synchrony with his wonderful hand, riding the makeshift
cock.
"That's it, Scully," he encouraged. "Come for me. Come
on."
She tensed, quivered, and then gave a tiny shriek as the
orgasm hit, shaking in his arms and grinding forcefully on
his hand to draw out every bit of pleasure. "Oh yeah," he
said. "That's it. That's it."
She lay against him, still panting and trembling with
aftershocks, when she remembered that she had left him
behind. Stretching up to capture his mouth in a kiss, she
went to work on him once more, stroking his slick penis
within her warm hand. He broke the kiss to arch his head
back into the pillow, his eyes screwed shut and his face set
in concentration.
"Your turn, Mulder," she breathed, her thumb coming out to
caress his tip. "Come for me."
He did as commanded, groaning once as his hips bucked
strongly against her, his body emptying itself in repeated
bursts of hot fluid.
Afterward, they lay together in a tangle of arms and legs,
touching softly and reveling in the majesty of what had just
happened. She placed a kiss on his chest. "I'd negotiate
with you any time, Agent Mulder," she said, and smiled when
his chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. Then she sat up.
"Mulder, what time is it?"
"Hmmm? I dunno. Two, maybe?"
"My mom is going to be here in half an hour," she said with
a note of panic, rising from the bed as she retied her robe.
"Somehow I don't think she would shocked to find us hanging
around in bed together, but I'd rather not test those waters
right now."
"You're kicking me out?" His voice was still thick and
scratchy.
"What?" She whirled from the dresser, where she had been
selecting some new clothes. "No, Mulder. Heavens no." She
crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed, kissing him
lightly. "I just have to shower and change, that's all."
His eyes smiled at her through sleepy lids. "Want some
company for that shower?"
She laughed and rested her head on his belly. "I don't
think you want to shower with me, Mulder. I still have to
keep the setting pretty cold for my back."
He caressed her hair with two hands. "Scully, right now I
think a cold shower would do me good."
She opened her eyes and noted with some surprise that he was
already getting hard again. "I'm impressed," she told him,
sitting up. She took his hand. "Come on, Studboy. To the
showers it is."
He followed her into the bathroom, rooting around in the
closet for some towels. She watched him fondly for a moment
and then prepared to slip off her robe. Her hands halted at
the sash.
The burn.
He still had not seen it, and she wasn't sure she wanted him
to see it now. Not right after... She sighed and loosened
the knot. He would see eventually, she reasoned. May as
well be now.
She let the material fall to the floor and moved to start
the shower water. A second later she could feel him behind
her, staring. She knew it was not a pretty sight, with the
skin still red and blistering in some places, flaking off in
others. And then there was the tattoo itself, which was
distorted ever so slightly, but still there.
Scully closed her eyes, standing very still. He's probably
wishing Ripley did burn the damn thing off, she thought,
remembering the angry and unpleasant circumstances that had
surrounded her decision to get it in the first place.
"Mulder..." Her voice cracked.
"It's still there," he murmured, coming to stand close
behind her.
"Yes," she whispered, head bowed.
He dropped to his knees and touched the snake gently with
one finger. Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly,
pressing his cheek to the curve of her back. "I'm so glad,"
he told her. "I'm so glad."
She reached back to touch his hair. "You...you are?"
"Yes," he declared simply. "For better or worse, it's part
of you. And I didn't want him to have any part of you."
She turned in his arms and leaned over to rest her head on
top of his. "I love you," she told him fiercely. "Beyond
all reason, beyond anything I could have ever imagined."
Then she laughed happily, squeezing him tighter. The truth
was out at last, she thought, and it would set her free.
THE END
*****************
hkmason@netscape.net
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The "R" in this story is as much a romance
for me as it is for the dynamic duo. I fell in love with
mysteries many years ago, in the days of Scooby Doo and
Encyclopedia Brown. "Lesser Evils" represents just another
manifestation of my ongoing passion. If you made it through
to the end, I'd love to hear from you. Loved it? Hated it?
Just wanna feed a junkie and recommend a good mystery?
Write me at hkmason@netscape.net.
BTW: The police precincts in Washington D.C. really are
divided up as 601, 602, etc. As far as I know, however,
they don't have anyone named Jack Ripley on staff. :) Also,
the bible quote, "For ye are like gods, able to discern good
and evil," is from Genesis 3:5.