TITLE: Twice Mulder Once Removed AUTHOR: RB Kendrick DISCLAIMER: Everybody but Spot belongs to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox. I'm only borrowing. If Mr. Carter wants to use Spot, sure thing. If he wants to use Laine, Rory or Russ from my novel HIDDEN PLACES (Aegina Press, 1996) sure thing. Let's keep this friendly, folks. RATING: R for language and sex, Mulder Angst (noromo) Thanks to Mike, who doesn't have a clue why I do this, but is always the very best buddy anybody ever had. SUMMARY: Mulder meets a special friend when he needs one the most. ARCHIVE: wherever, just keep my name on it and let me know where it goes. Feedback welcome! jab@rectec.net X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X TWICE MULDER ONCE REMOVED (1/4) By RB Kendrick "One large cinnamon regular with cream and extra sugar." Fox Mulder smiled at the girl behind the coffee shop counter. She was young and pretty and smiled back openly. His long "G-man" raincoat was out in his car and his tie was loose. It was a starting out to be a sunny, warm, beautiful fall day in DC and he was determined to let it effect his mood. "Ticked her off again, didn't you?" the counter girl said. The coffee shop was off his normal route to work. But Scully liked their coffee, especially their house-blended cinnamon. "She didn't say I-told-you-so when she had the right." "I'd better throw in a blueberry scone for good measure," she quipped. He was only an irregular regular, but Mulder was a very memorable man. He laughed lightly. "It won't hurt." Oh, but it would because she would scarf it down then mutter curses at him for the extra mile she's have to run tonight. Yep, he thought as he got out his wallet. A pretty day and a pretty girl smiling unabashedly adoringly. Both were good for his spirits. He heard loud voices outside, the screech of tires, but he let them stay on the periphery of his attention. The girl was counting change into his hand, taking longer than needed, her fingers brushing his as she laid each nickel and dime into his palm. It'd been a long time since he flirted with someone. Been a long time since he felt like it. The voices grew louder, more distinct. He could have continued to ignore it and stay basking in the girl's glowing attention, but she looked away and took all the charged energy with her. "What do you suppose that's about?" He frowned a little. A little piece of him had now connected with the commotion outside. He knew the rest of him would follow quickly. But he would delay it as long as possible. He held up his hand. "You still owe me a dime." But she was looking outside now, his last dime still in her fingers. The man burst in through the door a moment later followed by a pair of DC uniform policemen. "Drop it, Key!" they ordered in unison, taking their shooting stances, guns pointed. Mulder saw the rifle a half-second before it was shoved into his face. He raised his hands reflectively. "Get down," he told the girl firmly. "Get back or I'll kill him, I swear I will!" The gunman was between the police and him. Mulder knew he was in their line of fire. He hoped both of them had earned marksman awards. "You don't want to shoot me," Mulder said with a calm he didn't feel. "I'm a federal agent. You shoot me and it's a federal crime. I don't know what you did, but shooting me will only make it worse." "Shut up!" The gunman screamed, waving the rifle in Mulder's face, brushing the tip of his nose with the end of the barrel. Mulder jumped in spite of himself. "You, missy, come out of there. And the rest of you!" he yelled to the dozen or so people also in the shop, "Get down on the floor! I don't want to see anybody's eyes! Nobody's! You hear me?" The girl sidled up close to Mulder, her hands raised. She still had the dime in her fingers. "It's going to be okay," he told her quietly when he saw the tears in her eyes. "You think so?" the gunman said. "If you make a move, if those cops behind me make a move, she's the first one I'll shoot. That'll wreck that pretty face all the hell, won't it?" "Why don't you let her go?" Mulder tried. "Maybe I can work something out with the cops. Hey, you boys are reasonable, right?" The guns didn't lower, didn't waver. Just steely eyes focused on their target, keeping him in their sites. "You really some kind of Fed?" "FBI." "Yeah, you don't act like no civilian. You ain't pissed in your pants yet, so I figured you either did time or was a damn cop. Keep your hands up. Don't do nothing stupid." "What about the girl? What about the rest of these people?" "They're gonna get me out of this. Especially missy here." "Look, I know procedure. They've already called in the hostage team." "You keep yappin' and she'll never live to see them." The rifle raised in her direction, but not enough. She'd be dead long before Mulder's hand even found his holster. His arms were getting tired. The girl beside him was crying harder. "Can you let her sit down before she faints." "She ain't gonna faint. She's just a little upset. Bet you never thought nothing like me was gonna come through your door this morning, did ya, missy?" She shook her head, then looked at Mulder. Her eyes pleaded with him. He shook his head firmly. She looked away, disgusted. He felt a twinge of frustration. Listen to his demands, do what he says, wait for the team, and live. And none of that macho-shit stuff, Mulder, Scully would have added, although she had been known to pull some of that macho-shit stuff herself. That's what happened when they gave you a gun, then taught you how to use it very well. But this was the man with the gun right now and Mulder was not the only one at risk. In that first second, maybe he could have flung himself at the gunman. He probably would have been shot, probably even killed, but they would not be in this situation now. Outside, sirens screamed, coming in from all directions. All Mulder needed was a moment of distraction and if the two uniforms didn't get ambitious and fire, he might be able to take the guy. Just reach up and snatch the end of the rifle. Point it away from the girl. Point it away from the people on the floor behind him. Oh yeah, and point it away from him if there was time and he was very, very lucky. The hostage team was setting up in the parking lot outside. Mulder could have watched the whole thing through the big, picture window if his attention wasn't wholly on the gunman. A trained negotiator would contact them soon, using the coffee shop phone. Maybe then, when it rang, if there was a chance. "This is starting to get worse," Mulder said. He slowly, carefully slid a half step away from the girl as if he was merely shifting his weight. "Those are federal agents outside. They have only one objective. To get these hostages out alive." "Hostages? I don't got no hostages!" "Holding people at gunpoint against their will makes them hostages." "No! I ain't taking no hostages! I ain't that kind!" "What do you think that is in your hands? A butterfly net?" "It's a gun and it's pointed at you, Mr. FBI! Now shut your yappin' mouth!" The rifle was pointed at him now. Good. He'd've liked it even better if the gunman's finger wasn't twitching on the trigger. But the first order of business was to do all he could to protect the girl and the others. "Can we sit down? She can get us some coffee." The man's trigger finger twitched. "You need to shut your yappin' mouth." His eyes sited down the barrel. "Maybe I oughtta just send you to heaven. With the others. Maybe we all oughtta go." The girl screamed. A gunshot. The rifle pivoted and went off. The girl went down in a heap. Another shot. Mulder went for his gun. There was a rifle in his face suddenly. He ducked by reflex. A lot of running and rushing. A lot of voices yelling and shouting. A third shot. A lot more running. A lot more yelling and shouting. He felt like an island in the middle of a tumultuous sea. All the action eddied around him. He still had his gun in his hand as he crossed the floor to where the girl lay, sprawled unflatteringly by the force of the gunshot. She still held his last dime in her hand. He squatted beside her and laid his gun down. Mulder smelled cinnamon. The coffee meant for Scully lay spilled across the counter and dripped down onto the tile floor beside the dead girl, mingling with her blood. Mulder stared at the dime in her hand, the coffee puddled on the floor and the girl he might have worked up the courage to ask to dinner. He took the dime from her hand. Someone touched his shoulder. "Hey, agent? Hey---hey, you're bleeding. Jeez, you've been shot. Hey! We've got another one over here!" Only then did Mulder's shoulder begin to burn. He noticed his whole shirtfront was wet with blood. His blood. He closed his hand tightly around the dime and when the paramedics eased him onto the floor, he was already gone. ~X~X~X~ "Fox. Come on, Fox, wake up. Open those hazels for me." The voice in his ear was soft, comforting and pleasantly familiar. "Scully?" he whispered. His voice broke, his throat dry from disuse. "Come on, Fox, open your eyes." His eyelids were so heavy and his eyes behind them felt scratchy and hot like desert sand. He tried to rub them but his hand couldn't seem to find his face. His left batted what felt like a pillow and his right didn't move at all. "Where'm I?" "Come on, Fox. Peek open just one. You can do it, sweetums. Just one." He frowned. Scully rarely called him by his first name. Okay, once in awhile, to really get his attention. But she would never ever call him "sweetums". God, he thought, if I can remember all that, it must not be as bad as it feels. "You think so, do you? Why don't you wake up for me and we'll test that theory out." A cool wet cloth touched his face. He smelled something. Some soft, pleasant scent. Perfume? Not what Scully usually wore. Nothing he recognized. What is that? "You don't know?" the voice asked quietly. "You should. It's lavender water." Yeah, that was it. His grandmother used to dust all the sheets with lavender. It felt so good to snuggle down between them and let the fragrance take him over. He loved to visit her on the Vineyard. Long summer walks on the beach, his hand in hers. Her skin was soft and warm. Samantha hung on the other side, stumbling in the sand. She was little, and sand was tough to walk in for someone who hadn't been walking all that long. Samantha, he thought. Samantha... "Nope, huh-uh," the voice said firmly and all thoughts of his sister went obediently away. "We're not ready to go there, not yet. One crisis at a time. Now come on, Fox. Don't be so stubborn. Don't make me get rough." The lavender scented cloth was cool on his face and he felt comfortable and safe. He could just turn over and drift away *I need to sleep* "Nope. You've slept enough. We've got work to do." He opened both eyes at once, blinking and squinting to focus. He was in a room, in a bed, on top of a paisley bedspread, dressed in a suit and tie. "Scully?" The voice laughed pleasantly. "No cigar, G-man. Try again." "I can't see you." Panic rose in his chest a little. He didn't like disembodied voices. "Where are you?" "Here I am," the woman said and leaned into his line of vision. Actually, as close as she was sitting, she should have been there all along. One moment she wasn't and then she was. *Weird* "You think so? Just wait." She came rapidly into focus now. She was middle age, pleasant of face and well dressed, but plain and simple, nothing fancy. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him, washcloth in hand. "Good morning, Fox. Nice to see you." "You're not Scully." "Dana is far away from where we are. Sorry. But soon maybe. Are you ready to get started?" "Started?" "We have a long way to go together." "Long way?" "Fox, if you're gonna keep repeating everything I say, we'll never get anything accomplished." He opened his mouth, but shut it again. "Don't worry. You'll get it all straightened out." She took his hands and pulled him up. He rose easily off the bed, no dizziness, which surprised him. She stood him before her and straightened him up, fixing his tie, smoothing his hair, dusting off his suit jacket like somebody's mother before Sunday school. The weird thing was, he didn't protest. *I must be more out of it than I thought* She clucked her tongue at him. "Everybody needs a little looking after now and then, especially at times like these." "Time like these?" "Fox, you need to stop re---" He held up his hand. The cobwebs were still so thick. He shook his head and blinked hard, but they stuck stubbornly. "What's going on? What am I doing here? Who are you?" She took his hand. "Come with me." But he pulled away suddenly. "No---wait---I need---I need---" "What do you need, Fox?" She brushed his hair back gently. Clumsily, he pushed her hand away. "I need some answers, dammit!" "I know you do. That's where we're going. Come on." She pulled; he resisted, but with only the lightest of tugs, his feet were moving and he had no choice but to follow her from the room‹ --And into another. A library. Private, by the looks of it. Shelves and shelves of books lined the wall, floor to ceiling. A big room, large and woody with dark, thick rugs on the floor and leather wing-backed chairs in front of a crackling fireplace. *I know this place* "I thought you'd appreciate it. My little indulgence." *I was sixteen* "Fifteen actually." He looked at her sharply. "You wanted to be sixteen, so you could drive and come here whenever you wanted. Whenever things got bad. Go ahead. Look around. Enjoy yourself. We can't stay long." He stepped into the room, feeling the excitement building in spite of his better judgement. "Old Man Parson's place," he whispered, wandering. "I loved it here. I'd come summers. I read ever book in the place--at least, I tried to. It was just after Samantha---" The woman stopped him instantly with a hand to his lips. Where had she come from? She'd been on the other side of the room, hadn't she? "That's quite a reflex, Fox. You've successfully divided every happiness into before and after. It would be nice if you just let yourself enjoy something for once. No guilt." He whirled on her. "Who are you? Where are we?" He hid his hands. He didn't want her to see how badly they were shaking. "You know where we are." He frowned. "I know where it looks like. It looks like we're on the Vineyard, in Milton Parson's private library. My grandmother was a friend." "More than a friend, actually, but you probably don't want to know the details of your grandmother's sex life." "This is impossible." "That she had a sex life?" "That this is Milton Parson's library!" Anger was beginning to burn away the bewilderment, which chased the last of the cobwebs away with quick efficiency. And as it did, he felt the frustration begin to build. But he didn't want to admit to the fear. "You like it here, Fox. I just thought it would help make it easier for us to get started." "I liked the real library! This isn't it! It can't be!" "Why not? And quit yelling." "I'll yell if I want to yell! What's the matter? Are you afraid someone will hear me?" A light shrug. Which infuriated him. "I don't like being taken places I don't want to go. " "Control issues. Yes, I know." "And I don't like being held against my will!" She frowned lightly at the volume if not the tone. "And I thought you said a little bondage was a good thing." "Who are you?" he roared, his hands in fists. His face was red and hot. His heart pounded hard inside his chest. "You'll figure it out, Fox, when you stop fussing and let yourself think." "Stop! Stop playing games with me!" He whirled away, calling, "Scully! Scully, where are you? Get me out of here, Scully! Scully!" The woman dropped into one of the armchairs and crossed her legs. She regarded Mulder's frantic darting with interest. Books went flying when he collided into a shelf. "Be careful, Fox. You make a mess, you'll have to pick up." "Scully! I'm here! I'm here! Come get me!" "I already told you, Fox, she's not here. Now quit charging around." So he charged toward her instead, shouting, "I want out of here now! No more games! I want to go home now!" "Come here and sit down." "No!" Back to the middle of the room, turning this way then that, his fists pounding the air at his sides. He felt as frustrated as if he actually was fifteen and the grown-ups were ordering him around without any good reason. He could always be reasonable if someone just told him the goddamn reasons. But he was supposed to be so smart, and so smart people should be able to figure things out on their own. "I don't want to be here anymore," he said in a sudden small, boyish voice. "I wanna go home." He heard himself and frowned, but couldn't seem to control the words or how they came out. "I know, sweetums. Soon, I hope. We'll work real hard, okay?" She was talking to him now as if he really was fifteen, not thirty-four with a doctorate, a real job and an apartment all of his own. He had a gun, for crissake and the FBI didn't hand out guns to mere teenagers, not even the so smart ones. Why did he feel homesick and frightened, and why did that make him feel so pathetic? The woman held out her hand to him. "All you need to do is think this through, Fox. Come on. Come sit down. I'll help." And then, just as stubborn as any adolescent denying comfort, he scowled and shouted at her, "No!" "Fox William Mulder, come over here and sit down, now." And Fox William Mulder, knowing damn well he was acting too big for his britches and was about to get knocked down a peg, stalked over and plopped himself into the other wing chair, all arms and legs. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. The woman met his glare evenly, dousing all that simmering fury with cool patience. They sat like that, Mulder glaring and her just watching for a long time. Finally, Mulder had to admit he was starting to feel stupid. He advanced twenty years all at once and looked away. "Better now?" "I don't understand what's going on here." "You will, sweetums." He flinched at that, almost as he had flinched at her calling him by all three names. "I know that room in there." He pointed at the door they'd come through earlier. "It's a motel room. I don't know which one, or where it was, but it was far away from this library." "Yes, it was. Anything special happen in that motel room?" "What?" "You chose it for a reason." "I chose it?" "Maybe you got lucky? I mean, we can count the times that's happened on one hand, can't we?" "You abducted me to talk about my sex life?" She looked affronted. "I didn't abduct you." "Then how did I get here?" "You brought us here." "I did?" "Yes." "Who are you?" "Tell me and we'll both know." He rose clumsily to his feet, staggering on disbelief. Think this through. Think this through. What's the last thing I remember? Think! Think! Woke up in my apartment. Got into my car. Drove to work. Okay, okay, and then? But his brain was stubbornly uncooperative. *Dammit*! He whirled on the woman, trying to make his memory work and tell him where he'd seen her before and why she was doing this to him. And how she knew so goddamn much about him. "Scully!" he screamed again and turned sharply away, running hard and slamming back into the motel room with a shuddering bang of the hollow-pine door. "This is some kind of experiment isn't it?" he yelled at the ceiling and the four walls. "You're watching me, aren't you? You're listening! You're writing down everything in your little books! That's what I am, your little experiment! Well, fuck you! Now let me out! I want to go home!" He let out a guttural scream, stomped and kicked at the walls. He tossed chairs, ashtrays and ice buckets around. He yelled and swore and demanded answers. No cool macho exterior now. He was all fire, fear and rage. "I want you to tell me how I got here!" he demanded when exhaustion had cooled his fury down to glowing embers. He sagged onto the side of the bed, his face in his hands. "Just tell me. That's all I want. Just tell me." "Sleep, Fox," the woman's voice said out of nowhere. And obediently, he fell back and closed his eyes without knowing why. A moment later, he was snoring softly. (end 1 of 4) X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X TWICE MULDER ONCE REMOVED (2/4) By RB Kendrick He lay stretched out on his back, his fingers laced behind his head. He'd removed his tie and shoes and suit jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He stared at the ceiling. He wished mightily for some sunflower seeds. "Spitting things on the floor calms your nerves?" "Yes," he snarled. She was not in his line of sight and he refused to turn his head even a smidgen to look at her. If the crazy woman wasn't hanging from the ceiling, he wouldn't even acknowledge she existed. Ha, he had control now. Of sorts. "This is getting us nowhere, Fox." "Stop calling me that." "What is it with you and this name thing?" He smiled smugly. His refusals to cooperate irritated her; he could hear the thin edges in her voice. No one was threatening him with drugs or violence, nothing that would force his cooperation and since he had found a way to gain the upper hand, he was going to use it. It gave him a perverse pleasure. "Fine. This is getting us nowhere, Mulder." He shrugged. "You can keep me here, but I don't have to cooperate." "What are you going to do? Lay there and stare at the ceiling forever?" "Maybe." "You'll have to get up some time." "No, I won't." "Yes, you will." "No, I won't." "You'll have to eat." His stomach growled in response, but he ignored it. "I'm not hungry." A pause, then, "You'll have to go to the bathroom." The pressure in his lower abdomen grew suddenly. "I'll live." "You gonna just pee the bed?" He shifted as his discomfort grew, but replied calmly, "Too bad if you have a problem with that." "You're going to have to go soon, Mulder." He shrugged, trying to hide the wince as his bladder ballooned. "Very soon," she said. Nearly bursting. "A lot." He bounded up and dashed for the bathroom. When he came back, after flushing and washing his hands, she was sitting on the bed again. "Hi again." "I don't know how you did it---some kind of mind control trick‹but don't do it again." She shrugged. "Have you decided where you want to start?" He dropped down beside her, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, and looked at the carpet between his sock feet. "I give up. I don't know what's going on and I don't think I even care. Just do whatever you want." "I want what you want." Her suit jacket was off. Her scarf, too. She massaged her nylon-stockinged toes against the carpet. "Most of the time anyway. You can get pretty far off the path sometimes. I'd have had to be stupid to follow." "Who are you? Someone from the Bureau? Someone from outside? Come on, no more games." "I am who you say I am. It's for you to decide. What I am is different." "Fine. I'll play." He sighed and fell back, his arms over his head. "Who? What?" "Which?" "I don't really care which game we play. Pick whichever you want." "Not games, Mulder. Reality." He waved his hand around the room. "This is not reality." "Depends on your definition, doesn't it?" She settled back against the headboard and stretched out her feet. He moved over just a little, to make room. "There's the clinical definition of reality. Then there's the theological definition, the esoteric, the spiritual. I can go on. ŒCourse they all suck." Mulder looked up sharply, a light, surprised laugh escaping. "Is that a professional assessment, doctor?" "So I'm a doctor, am I? What kind?" "A shrink, probably. Sent here by the powers that be to piss me off. Well, it's working." "You do that very well." "What do I do very well?" "Assign everything you feel to an outside stimulus." "I don't. "Denial ain't no river in Egypt, Mulder." "What is this? Is this some kind of psycho-Scrooge thing? Are you a figment of my imagination? Are you just a bad hamburger or a bowl of tomato soup that sat in my refrigerator too long?" He thought quickly, trying to count up the number of beers he might have had. Zip, zilch, zero. "Shit," he sighed. She held up her hand. "Do I feel like a figment of your imagination?" He gripped her hand in his. It felt warm and soft. He felt life pulse through it and hung on. The room was spinning. He felt sick to his stomach and weak in the knees, and was glad he was sitting down, not standing up. He'd look stupid on his butt. He wondered if she was doing this to him. "Mulder, trust me for once, okay? I'm on your side. I've always been on your side." "Reality was whatever I make it," he said dully. She smiled. "Now you're catching on." "I make my reality what it is." A little stronger. "That's another way of saying it." He looked at her suddenly. "I control what I sense and I control my reactions to it." "Now you're getting redundant." "Am I asleep? Is this a dream?" "Heavily sedated actually. Reality sucks, remember?" He dropped her hand and stood up. "Tell me why we're here and why we're doing whatever it is we're doing." She smiled, delighted. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere. But we need to move things along a little, Mulder. It will be easier if you just agree to accept a few things on faith for now, okay? You don't have a lot of time. And you know that." He did and it surprised him. But how? He needed to talk to Scully. Scully always made him look for the plausible, logical explanations. She made him hunt and scrabble for it, kicked him in the ass until he found it. He needed that now. He missed her. He needed her. He looked for a phone on the bedside table. There wasn't one. He ran to his suit jacket lying where he'd thrown it. No cell phone in the pocket either. Whirling, "I want to talk to Scully!" "You can't. I'm sorry, Fox. It's just you and me." "Stop it!" "I'm sorry, *Mulder*." "No. Not that." It bubbled up from inside him in a rush. He was suddenly very near tears. It infuriated him as much as it embarrassed him. "Who are you?" "Jeez, a Ph.D. in psychology from Oxford and you're still stupid. I can't believe you haven't figured it out yet, Mulder. But you need to. And soon. You don't have time to take the long way through an identity crisis. Come on, think." *But I can't. It's like wading through cement! Help me, Scully! Help me!* "Don't worry. She's waiting for you." One tear fell. And then another. He couldn't stop them. He whirled furiously. "How? Where?" She was there, beside him suddenly and he had to stagger back to keep from running into her. She caught his arm to steady him, then lifted his face easily, just a gentle finger under his chin. "Right over there. See?" There was a door on the wall now where there had not been one before. He knew that for a fact. He had pounded his fists against that exact spot. His hand still stung from the impact. And she covered the spot with lavender kisses, right where it hurt the most. ~X~X~X~ From the bed, he asked, "Am I nuts?" She sat at the table. "At the moment or in general?" He sighed heavily. "Am I locked up?" "Would it help to know?" "Yes." She nodded. "And in full restraints." "Is that why we're here? Is that why you're here?" He sat up, ran his fingers through his hair. "So what are you, some kind of a guardian angel for whackos?" "If it makes it easier to understand, yes." "Nothing about this is easy to understand." "It's not supposed to be. Wait till we really get started. Which we really need to do." He felt mild alarm. "What's that mean?" "I noticed you didn't try the door. Why?" He shrugged. "Come on. It'll help." She got him up by simply waggling her finger at his direction. He crossed the room looking at her. When he reached for the knob, it wouldn't even turn. He let his hand just fall to his side. "I can't leave. Uh-huh. I figured that one out already. What good did this do?" When you can open the door, you'll be ready to go back." "Who decides?" "You do." "We're going to be here for awhile, aren't we?" "Yep." "Who are you-‹I mean, what do I call you?" "You can decide that." He leaned against the door, folded his arms and considered it for a moment. "Okay, let's assume everything you say is true and you're my alter ego, my sub-conscious or an alternate personality I've splintered into. You're me." "Finally," she sighed. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lazy down there in your basement." "I could call you Mulder." He smiled tightly. Just a little. Learning to be comfortable and crazy at the same time would take time. "That's a little too ego-centric, don't you think?" "I've been called worse." "Tell me about it, Spooky." A small smile cracked the corner of his mouth. "I'll call you Spot." She wrinkled her nose. "What the hell kind of name is that?" He shrugged, smiling a little more now. He had irritated her and that was fun. Jab, jab, jab. "I've never had to name anything before. You don't have to name fish. There are no attachments, no commitments. And that is the beauty of fish. I hope Scully remembers to feed them." "I'll let you think about it for awhile before we make anything permanent." She got up. "Where are you going?" "To the bathroom." "Figments of my imagination have to go to the bathroom?" "You go. I go. Whatever. Just one us better go." It hadn't noticed. But yeah, he did have to go. He shrugged. "Okay. You go." She threw him a frown. "Just don't get out of the habit, Mulder," she said and closed the door. ~X~X~X~ He was surprised when he realized he was hungry. Spot produced a plastic cup of strawberry Jell-O from somewhere and set it in front of him at the table. "This is dinner?" "You should see what they're putting in your NG tube. Yuck. They could at least use the chocolate stuff." "If this is my version of reality as it stands at the moment, why can't I have steak and eggs and banana cream pie?" He looked her up and down. "And why aren't you a centerfold pin-up?" "Think about it. It's your doing." He sucked a spoonful of Jell-O into his mouth and sat back. He sat for so long, she sighed and said, "We haven't got all night, so let me help. What do you need right now?" "Answers." "And to find those answers, who do you need to help you?" "Then why not Scully? Or my mother? Or my third-grade teacher? Why you and not someone I already know and already trust? And if you are me, why aren't you a man? Why not my father? Or Skinner? Or why not just me? Why play these little games?" "The mind is a mysterious and creative thing, Mulder. And besides, I'm not you. Not all of you. Some of me is you, but some of me is me, too, just like some of you is me and you're you." "No offense, but I'd like to think I can be a whole lot more creative than this." "Trust, Mulder. You gonna trust a forty-four inch bust with bleached blond hair with your most intimate thoughts?" A wry smile. "I'd like to try." "Yeah? Well, you try and while we wait, we'll see what happens." "What will happen?" She didn't answer and it made him a nervous. "Spot?" That at least got a damn-you frown. "We're gonna have to work on that name thing, real hard. Give it some thought while you're eating, hmm?" "What will happen if I can't open that door." A slight pause, then sadly, "I hope you like Jell-O." "I can't accept that. How do I know you're not some drug-induced hallucination? How do I know you're not spiking my Jell-O?" He pushed the bowl aside with disgust. "You don't even believe your own poster, Mulder? That's disappointing. That's pathetic." "What?" "I Want to Believe. Mulder, if you can believe in the strange things out there, why can't you believe in the strange things in here just as readily? I've watched you dash from coast to coast on nothing more than a half a clue without a second thought. Yet here I am, waving my arms in front of your face, and you won't extend to me the same courtesy you give mutant cockroaches?" "It's not the same thing." "Obsessed on a tear is obsessed on a tear." He was quiet for a long moment, letting it sink in, wondering idly in skips and hops if she always knew what he was thinking, always knew how much he was afraid of the things he couldn't understand. She took his hand gently. "Okay, Mulder. It's okay." "Would you lie to me?" "I can't lie to you any more than you can lie to me." He had to let that sink in, too. But Spot was patient. She held his hands, gently rubbing the tops of his knuckles with her thumbs. He gave up trying to not like it. It was soothing, he found comfort in the gesture and that was that. "Okay," he said at last, with some firmness. Her eyes were blue like a summer sky. He knew those eyes, but couldn't place them. They had looked at him like this once before, with understanding and concern. At another time when he'd been lost and afraid and feeling far, far from home. "I'm ready," he said. "Tell me." "Yesterday morning, on your way to work, you stopped for a cup of coffee. A man came in with a gun. There was a shooting. Someone died." "Am I dead?" "Didn't I tell you that? No, Mulder." "Did I do it?" "No." Straight and simple. "How did it happen?" "The man took all of you hostage. There were thirteen people in the shop, plus the counter girl, plus you. Everything was wrong from the first moment, long before you decided to stop for a cinnamon with cream and extra sugar to go. Long, long before. But your path intertwines with so many others', sweetums, you keep getting your feet tangled. But what happened this morning wasn't your fault. Not at all. And there wasn't any way you could have stopped it." "It that really the way it happened? It really wasn't my fault? Or is that just my perception?" Spot looked at him hard. "You did what you could, Mulder. You talked to the man and tried to keep him calm and the situation contained until the team got there. You did it all by the book. But he went nutso. He killed the girl, shot you in the shoulder, then shot himself in the head. Three shots, three seconds, boom, boom, boom, over and done." Mulder looked down at his chest, picking at his white dress shirt. "I'm not shot." "Yes, you are. In the right shoulder." He remembered earlier, when he couldn't move his right arm, just the left. Suddenly, there was a stab of pain. It radiated down his arm, across his back, down his spine, up into his head. Mulder grimaced. A sharp moan. "You don't have to feel the pain. Save it for later. Trust me." It receded slowly, then dissipated all together. He took a deep breath, blew it out in a cleansing sigh. "But there must've been something I could have done." He looked up at her suddenly. "Survivor's guilt? Is that why we're here?" "A little trite, don't you think? You can come up with a better reason to go seriously bonkers than that, can't you? After everything you've been through? After everything you've seen?" "Samantha." The sigh came with a frown. She let go of his hands. "I knew we'd get back to her. Leave that part alone for awhile. Eat your Jell-O." "Is that how I got here? My sister?" "You got here step by step. You been skipping a few lately, jumping ahead. I tried to stop you, slow you down, but you wouldn't pay attention. You always think that just because you're so damn smart, you must have all the answers. You never listen to me. Or to anyone. Spooky Mulder? Stupid Mulder is more like it." She pushed back from the table suddenly, got to her feet, and stomped away. He watched her stalk across the room and stop at the far wall, her back to him, shoulders braced, arms locked around her waist. This is bizarre. Is this me, mad at myself? For what? What did I do? "I'll tell you what you did," Spot growled from across the room. "How often do you put yourself deliberately in a risky situation? Ask yourself that one, bucko." He got up slowly. "I only do what I have to do." "No, Scully only does what she has to do. Why do you have to be such an over-achiever?" "You tell me." "Answers are up to you." "Why?" "You're asking for another answer." "I don't have any answers." "Well, you better figure it out quick, because time is tick, tick, tick, ticking." He stepped up beside her now. "You keep saying that. Why? What's going to happen? And that's one you can answer, so don't dodge it." She looked at him. "It's time to be afraid, Mulder, I mean really afraid. I know I am." A twinge of guilt, then a flash of anger. "Why?" "You're about to wimp out." It hurt like a slap in the face. He recoiled with fury. "And then what happens then? Do I have to stay here in this damn motel room with you for the rest of my life? Do I just sit here and endlessly eat red Jell-O out of a plastic cup with a plastic spoon? Is that what happens?" "No, you keep sleeping on a couch watching plotless porno movies, with the phone off the hook, all alone, by yourself, in the dark. Afraid to go to sleep, but more afraid to stay awake. All that will happen is that nobody will care anymore. Not even you." He glared down at her. And she glared back, her face up in his. "I'd prefer not to let that happen. I've seen QUEENIE DOES QUANICO enough, thanks." His expression softened suddenly as something else fell into place. "That's not it. You'll be gone, won't you? If I give up, you disappear." It was a long moment before she whispered, "Yes." He looked at her a long time. Lift his hand and he would touch her. Sigh and his breath would move the loose strands of hair that framed her face. He knew suddenly. He knew. "I'll lose you," he whispered. "Yes," she said. Mulder moved away. His throat grew tight, but it was Spot's eyes that filled with tears. "I remember when it was bad," he said, but the words got swallowed up and he had to wait. "When it was bad, when my father would---After Samantha was gone and he---Afterward, when I was alone in my room, when I was hurt and scared, I knew I wasn't alone. I could feel someone else there with me. I thought it was Samantha somehow, comforting me, helping me through it. Sometimes I thought I heard a voice. I thought I was crazy." He turned back and smiled weakly as a tear slipped down her face. "Good ol' Spot." She forced herself to smile. "You coming on to me, Mulder? I can't even begin to tell you how self-centered and egotistical, that is. Not to mention kinky." He laughed because she laughed. And then he cried because she did. She led him back to the bed and pushed him down. "Sleep," she said quietly and he did. ~X~X~X~ He was so still. Monitors beeped and blipped and told Dana Scully that everything was fine. The bullet went through his shoulder cleanly, so he wasn't in any physical danger. Yet he lay stubbornly wrapped in his silence. She touched the restraint on his wrist. Mulder had been screaming when the ambulance brought him in. Raving about going down to where it was deep and dark and cold. A precaution. A potential danger to himself and others. Four point restraints in a locked room in a locked ward and she had a panic button in her pocket. She looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and sadly frowned at the nurse she knew was watching. Mulder would not have any privacy for awhile. Maybe not for a very long time. Absently, she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Mulder?" she whispered for the millionth time. "Come on, Mulder. It's me. Wake up. Come on." Frustration had taken the place of fear, which had taken the place of anger, which had taken the place of confusion. She'd read the police reports, seen the crime photos and would have gone down there in person to poke around for some answers of her own, answers that didn't have much to do with a madman shooting up a busy coffee shop on a soft, warm, DC morning if Mulder wasn't being so pig-headed in his refusal to wake up. What was he doing in that coffee shop anyway? There was no organic reason at all why he shouldn't be sitting up right now, cranky as hell because his shoulder hurt, but refusing to admit to the pain because of that damn pride, that intense need to be in control. He'd only take the meds because if he didn't, he'd insist at length, some big, burly female nurse with a mustache would force him. The woman would yank his gown up to his armpits and inject him full of whatever she wanted stabbing him in his most sensitive parts with the biggest needle ever seen. Epidermal rape with a deadly weapon. Needles turned Mulder's knees to jelly. Scully had sworn she'd never tell a soul that the man who chased down Big Blue and the Flukeman, fainted at the mere sight of his last flu shot. Out cold, on the floor, before the poor nurse had even finished wiping the site on his arm with the alcohol pad. Where are you right now? She smoothed the hair back from his forehead with her fingertips. It was a shamelessly maternal gesture, right up there with feeling to see if he had a fever or insisting she see the finger he'd slammed in a desk drawer. Mulder wasn't big on maternal gestures; they made him wary. "Hooks," he'd grumbled once, making Scully wonder if he thought all contact with females should either be sanitized-professional or as down-in-the-gutter-sleazy as in one of his porn videos. Either way, it kept things superficial. Except for her. He held her somewhere in the middle: not quite sanitary, but not gutter either. From Mulder, that was a compliment. "Come on, Mulder, you jerk, what are you waiting for? Wake up," she whispered unhappily, then let her head fall to the pillow beside him. He smelled like hospital linen, gauze, antiseptic and something else. Lavender, just behind his ears. No, couldn't be. Must be a new kind of soap. Scully growled his name in frustration as she straightened. And Mulder slept on. (end 2 of 4) X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X TWICE MULDER ONCE REMOVED (3/4) By RB Kendrick Out there anyway. In here, things were decidedly different. "You can't sleep all day," Spot told him, sitting beside him on the bed in the motel room. Mulder turned over, away from her and curled up. "Go Œway," he muttered. "Don't you want to see what I got for you?" "Nope." He was in the middle of one hell of a good dream. Just mildly erotic, this version. Nice. Restful. One in which he had to do very little of the work. "You sure?" "Unless she's a twin, no." "No, you don't want to see, or no, you're not sure?" "Just no. Now go away." The bed bounced: Spot moving away or closer, he couldn't tell. And didn't care. And then he was cold. No more blanket. Gone. Poof. He was in only his underwear now, just his boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt. And just how nice the dream had been was very, very evident. "Unfair," he growled, feeling his face grow hot. He scrambled up and drew his knees to his chest, eyes open and glaring, ready to confront his tormentor. But Spot was nowhere around. He was in the middle of vast field of pink. "Spot!" he called, angry at first, but when that didn't produce her, a little more plaintively. "Spot?" Still nothing but pink. And blue sky overhead. "Spot, I'm sorry?" "Well, either you are or you aren't," she said calmly from behind him. "You need to sound more definite than that." He whirled onto his knees. "Don't do that." "Don't do what?" "Don't sneak up on me like that. And don't just leave like that either. It scares me." She handed him jeans, a sweater and his favorite running shoes. "Here." "Where have you been?" She was watching him get dressed, but he was too damn grateful not be alone to be embarrassed. She was dressed like he was: jeans, sweater, running shoes. "Where I go when you send me away." She said it coolly, with a slight arrogant edge. Mulder looked up sharply. She sounded a lot like he did when he thought he was proving his superiority. "Yeah, well, no matter what I say, don't go there again. Okay?" Spot tossed her head sideways and shrugged. *Bitch* "Back at'cha," she said smugly. Then backed off a little. "Well, how do you like it?" "What? The pink stuff?" "Crownvetch," she corrected. "Okay, I'm lost. What's the symbolism here?" "Ground cover." "I see." "No, you don't. Can't lie to me, remember, Mulder?" He sighed. "We have a lot of ground to cover, or there's a lot of space that needs to be covered by something. Which?" "Both. Probably. You want to take a walk?" "Fine. Which way?" "Choose." The idea suddenly made him very uncomfortable. "What if I go in the wrong direction?" Spot shrugged. "Whatever." He was irritated. Not with her. With himself. He could feel the fear rising up to choke him and knew there was nothing he could do about it. "I can't do this." "You do this all the time, Spooky." He frowned at that. Her teasing seemed inappropriate now and it hurt. "No, I can't." "Why not?" "I think this is important." "Ahhh." Hurt again, his frown darkened. "And so, which way?" she asked again. He looked around. "I don't know." "Mulder." She was insisting. Wasn't going to let him off the hook, not on this, not this time, no how, no way. "Choose a direction and let's get going." "I can't." "Choose, Mulder." "I can't!" "Dammit, Mulder!" But suddenly, he broke into a run, just going in the direction he happened to be facing when the urgency came over him. Zoom. Feet pounding, legs pumping. Mulder was fast. Could've been a track star. If things had been different. Spot had to hurry to catch up. Of course she could run as fast and as far and as easily as he could. Of course. He felt her close the gap between them quickly. Heard her breath behind him, then beside him. They fell into a rhythm, legs and arms pumping, going hard, running flat out until his lungs and thighs were burning. Beside him, Spot matched him stride for stride. Except she was smiling. His lungs were about to burst, and she was grinning‹laughing now. He pulled up sharply, without grace, arms and legs rubbery and just dropped to the ground. She jogged back to him easily. "What's the matter?" "I'm tired." "No, you're not. Come on. Get up. Let's finish this." "I can't." "There you go again." "Listen, just back off, okay?" He winced as his muscles began to cramp. He stretched one leg out, then the other. "I don't want to run anymore. I can't." "You sure?" "Yes." "Positive?" "Yes," he snarled. "Good," she said and plopped down beside him. "Now you don't have an excuse." He glared at her. "Meaning that I'm always running away." "FromŠ?" she prompted. Out maneuvered, he sighed heavily. "Relationships." "AndŠ" "And memories." "AndŠ" "And? And nothing." "Don't stop now, you're on a roll." "Screw you." He got up suddenly and limped away from her, as fast as his cramping muscles would allow. She smiled and followed. "Kinky one, Mulder." "Not funny." "Still running, I see." "Damn straight." "Hobbling actually." "As long as it gets me away from you." "How far you think you'll get?" "Until my legs fall off." "You're a stubborn son of a bitch." "Glad you finally noticed." His legs hurt, really hurt. Every step gave a new definition to the word pain. But he kept going, even when there were tears in his eyes, he kept going. And Spot was right beside him. Except she was walking easily. Strolling really, her hands clasped lightly behind her back. There was tiny bouquet of crownvetch in her hair now, tucked behind her ear. It made Mulder furious. "You can stop any time you want," she told him calmly. "I don't want." Angrily, he wiped his hand across his face. "You want to sit and watch the clouds?" "No." Spot stopped suddenly. "Samantha," she said. And Mulder stopped too, wincing because hearing her name right now hurt. Crying because everything else hurt. And because he was still so frightened. "Why are you doing this?" "I'm not doing it, sweetums. You are." "Quit calling me that." "What is it with you? I can't call you Fox. I can't call you sweetums. You have this aversion to pet names, don't you? What are you afraid of?" He turned away. "Stop it." "Lets people close, doesn't it? Give them a way in." "Stop it!" He was thinking that actually. Word for word. She went to him. "Shh," she whispered and gathered him close. He resisted at first because he was angry with her. He felt like such a fool standing in a field of pink flowers, weeping like a lost child. But most because he wanted her arms around him. *A way in. Close. Please.* "Shh, sweetums," she whispered softly against his ear. "Just let it go." He tried to push away, but she held him firmly, with apparently little effort. Finally, all energy spent, he sagged against her and just let himself be held, in her arms. ~X~X~X~ He pushed back, ducking his head like a shy child. "Well?" "That's a deep subject," he said softly. He smiled a little, lopsided and tight, then looked around, wiping his nose, drying his face with the hem of his shirt. "Pink," he said, at last. "Sam." "Yep." "Blue sky. Me. Too simple." "Why does something have to be tough to find to be true? Some things are sitting right under your nose, Fox. Don't be so stubborn all the time." He sighed, drained, too exhausted to argue. "It's blue and pink as far as I can see in every direction. No matter how far or how fast I run, it's still going to be there, blue and pink, me and Sam." "Good. And?" "And nothing. That's it. Just the sky and a bunch of flowers. If you want something deeper, sorry to disappoint you." "It's not me who's disappointed." "Who? Me? Hell, I'm used to it." "Scully," she said. He looked at her, incredulously. "Scully? Scully is disappointed? A light shrug. "Is Scully part of this? Is she pink, too?" "No! Scully is not part of this! Pink is definitely not Scully!" He winced, knowing how absolutely stupid it sounded. "How about the girl in the coffee shop? The one you wanted to ask to dinner?" He wretched suddenly, fell to his hands and knees, and was violently sick. Spot's hands were soft on his back, rubbing in slow, easy circles until he was finished and could sit up. He opened his eyes slowly. And they were in the motel room again. Spot handed him a wash cloth, but his hands shook so badly, he couldn't do anything except hold it and let it drip lavender-scented water on his suit pants and white shirt. She took it from him and wiped his face and neck, his hands and forearms below his rolled sleeves, any exposed skin. "Everything," he said quietly. "Everything is like this. I keep losing everything." "No, not everything," she said as she stripped him of his damp shirt and pants. He didn't protest. Didn't help. "It just seems like it, sweetums. But it's not everything. And it's not everyone. Trust that. Trust me." "I didn't even know her name," he whispered. "I know." She eased him into bed and beneath the covers. "Samantha?" he asked. "Scully?" "What about them?" But he shook his head. Not now. Oh God, not now. "Tell me to sleep," he asked. "Run, run, run," Spot said softly, but with a disapproving sniff. He caught her hand and held it to his face. "Just not now. Please. Just tell me to sleep." She looked at him. No tears. Only the dull, flat expression of utter exhaustion. "Go to sleep," she said. And he did. ~X~X~X~ There was that smell again, the lavender. "Is this some new kind of lotion?" she asked the nurse who came to change Mulder's shoulder dressing. "Lotion?" "I like it. I mean, the old stuff smelled so medicinal. This is nice." "Sorry. Don't know what you mean?" "Don't you smell it? This isn't some kind of new lotion you're using on patients?" "No. And especially not on this ward." She put the last piece of tape on. "The wounds healing nicely." "Wait---You don't smell the lavender?" "Sorry." Scully stopped the woman and pulled her back beside the bed. "Here. Smell here. Smell his neck." The nurse looked skeptically at Scully, but took the sniffs anyway. "Sorry. Industrial grade antibacterial laundry soap and about half a gallon of Betadine. With a light touch of adhesive tape, but then, that might just be me." "You sure?" "I know what I smell. And it ain't lavender." "Sorry," Scully said quickly and let the woman get on with her job. Mulder wasn't her only patient. But Scully sniffed again. It was still there. Just as strong as before. Lavender. Definitely lavender. ~X~X~X~ He sat up, slid his legs off the side of the bed and scrubbed the sleep from his face. "I think I'm allergic to your damn pink weeds," he said loudly to cover the distance from the bed to the table where she sat behind him. He yawned and scratched sleepily at the itch that traveled up from the inside of his knee all the way up to his chest and around to his back. "And I think you've got bugs. You want me to hallucinate an exterminator for you?" He turned around and smiled. "Funny," she said, without humor. "You okay?" He got up and walked toward the table. Being in his underwear wasn't nearly as embarrassing as it had been just a little while ago. It seemed kind of natural actually. Maybe he should just take it all off and see what happened. He could sing while he stripped: *Da Da Da Da-da Da Da* Would he get a reaction? What would that mean? Mulder, you are one sick puppy, he told himself with a wicked chuckle. But this might be fun. It was hard to get one up one's subconscious-slash-alter-ego-slash-alternative personality-slash-imaginary friend when she seemed to know your every thought and intention. Still, he had to try. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and lowered them bit by bit, humming with depravity. But Spot didn't look up to a lot of fun. He dropped down into the chair instead. "Hey?" "Hmm?" She didn't look up. "You okay?" "Sure." "What's going on?" She shrugged. She still hadn't looked at him. Her absence disturbed him. "You're not feeling guilty about what you did to me, are you?" "No." "Because you don't have to. I know what you did and why you did it and I don't blame you. I'm not mad." He expected some sort of sarcastic retort, but got none. "Fine." "Spot?" "Hmm?" He needed a new conversation starter. This one didn't work. That got a smile. But still no warmth. No light. "So are you still mad at me?" "No." "Then what's the matter?" "I just thought it would be easier. That if anybody could get through that thick head of yours, I could. I thought that if anyone could push you to open that door, it's be me." "You sound like you're giving up." She gave him a helpless shrug. "No---No, don't do this, Spot. Don't do this to me." "You're doing it to yourself, sweetums. I can't stop you." "What happened? What changed? Not five minutes ago you were ready to run my ass off rather than let me fail. What happened?" "It may have seem like only minutes for you, Mulder, but you've been asleep a very long time." He straightened sharply. "How long?" "Long." "How long?" He got up and ran around the table, knelt down and grabbed her arms. He looked straight up into her eyes, searching. "How long, Spot?" "Long enough that Scully left." "She went home?" "She went on with her life." "No." "She had a life outside of you, Fox Mulder. You saw that, didn't you? She just started putting things on hold. She got caught up in your intensity, your passion, your charm. But now she's going on, where she was going in the first place. And all you've got left is cold pizza, a dark room and FELICITY DOES THE FBI." He forced a weak smile. "No, you said it would be QUEENIE DOES QUANICO." He forced a chuckle, too. Absolutely pushed it out. It was a weak and strangled sound. "And it's not, not--not Felicity who screws her way through the FBI, it's Fawna. Felicity---" the words got caught it his throat suddenly "---Felicity does the FDA." "It doesn't really matter, does it?" "Yes, it matters!" He was on his feet now, palmed pressed hard against the table, elbows locked. "It does matter, doesn't it? Why wouldn't it matter?" "Poor Fox," Spot whispered and reached to stroke his cheek softly with her fingertips. But he pushed her hand away. "No!" "I'm sorry." "What happened? When did it happen? Tell me what happened!" "I don't know. But it did." "No! You always know! Don't I have to say, I give up? Don't I have to say, I surrender? Don't I have to say, I don't give a damn anymore? Well, I never said it! Spot, I never said it! Please don't do this!" "Done is done, Fox. I'm sorry. I wish you could know how much." "But I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it Don't go! Don't leave me alone! I don't want to be alone!" "I'm sorry, sweetums." "No!" he whirled away, rushing from the table, running to the door. He pounded his fists against it. "Scully!" he screamed. "Scully, stay there! Don't leave me! Scully, I'm here! Don't leave me!" Spot stood beside him and stroked his hair, knowing it was inadequate comfort. He pounded and screamed until there was nothing left. Mulder was empty now. ~X~X~X~ He was hoarse when he woke. His hands were sore and he didn't have the foggiest notion why. He knew it was the same dream, but he never could remember this one. He just opened his eyes and it disappeared. He knew it had something to do with her, though. He missed her. Except he didn't know who "her" was. Just knew that every now and then, he woke with drying tears on his face. Not a good image for Mr. FBI, the stud with a badge, which was it's own aphrodisiac. Credentials that got him an easy one night stand. Credentials which got him in the back door of the Hoover building and into his own little cubicle tucked in the back corner of a vast, cavernous room of maybe twenty fellow agents. He smiled that boyish smile of his and people were charmed. He was pleasant. He was kind. He was generous. He was chivalrous to the woman and buddy-friendly with the men. He was first pick for the surveillance section basketball team. But it was all prefunctory. It was just going through the motions. It was all bullshit. He missed the X-Files. He missed Scully. And he missed her. His whole life was nothing but an endless one-night stand. Everybody nameless. Everybody faceless. Just bodies intertwining somehow: go to work, catch the bad guy, go home, go to sleep, try not to dream too much. Screw one today, another screw tomorrow. Except he was the one getting screwed. He watched his porn alone. And no one cared. Scully went to Quanico. On temporary assignment, they said. But the truth sat wordless between them: this was a good job with lots of possibilities for climbing the ladder and reaching the top. Not like sitting in a basement with him. Maybe there would be a director in a skirt with real breasts, not balls. He wondered if Scully would make him call her ma'am and stand up when she entered the room. She still called or wrote or e-mailed or dropped by now and then. Their rare moments of contact were warm but brief. Like she had to do it then get the hell out. Because it was too hard, he knew. The hurt he'd caused went just too deep. No new loves except the job. She liked the people she worked with, but admitted it was boring next to what their day to day lives had been while working on the X-Files. When they'd taken away the X-Files, he didn't even protest. Just let it become a done deal. It had hurt for a while, then one day it didn't. He turned on his computer at his new workstation and got on with it. Fraud. Now that was an ironic assignment. They had offered it to him as a cushy job until everybody was sure he wasn't going to flip out on them. He stayed after the FBI shrink certified him fit for duty because he didn't have to put much effort into it. He came to work a lot now zoned and mellow, and everyone seemed relieved. Spooky Mulder faded into just plain Fox Mulder, and he let it be. Yep, done deal. At least, tried to get on with it. Frohike just wouldn't let it lay. Byers and Langly, fine, but Frohike, never. He seemed honestly freaked out than Mulder had given in and become part of everything he had once railed against, that he no longer tore around seeing conspiracies in everything from backyard beehives to downed telephone poles. Frohike kept leaving emails and telephone messages, trying to entice Mulder back into the inner circle of the truly paranoid, but Mulder wouldn't bite. No interest? No, no guts. Until the day the one message that he'd been successfully ignoring on his email list, beckoned. It had no subject listed, no sender, just sat there in the bold lettering of the unread. He'd almost deleted it as he had all the others he knew were from Frohike, but couldn't make his finger hit the key for this on. He never opened it, but kept it and didn't know why. Finally he copied it to a floppy disk and took it home, threw it in his dresser drawer and told it to sit, stay, shut up and leave him out of it. And it would have stayed quietly there, too, if the girl hadn't found it while rummaging for something to finishing tying him up with. All his usual "props" were already in use. This girl was thorough. She wanted him immobile. "What's this?" He couldn't really see what she had in her hand. And even if he could've, he'd've been too distracted by her breasts in the background. "Dunno. Come back to bed." "What's on it?" She smiled wickedly. "Anything good?" His need was real. This girl did all the right things to make him hot and horny. "Let's don't do this now. Come on." "You keeping a list? Or maybe it's a journal of all the woman you do." She knew there were others, but she didn't care. That's what he liked about Candace: her enthusiasm to overcome the competition. "Naw. Too many women, too little time," he said, smiling still, but squirming uncomfortably. If she made him wait too much longer, it'd all be over and there'd be nothing he could do to stop it. It was all in the way she looped his Mickey Mouse tie with Marvin the Martian. He'd smile ear to ear every time he wore those ties again. If the cleaners could get the stains out. She pouted prettily. Usually, he didn't go in for the dumb, fluffy-haired ones. But Candace was an expert at what she did. It was well worth the annoyance. "I want to see." "Not now." She stomped her foot; her breasts jiggled. That didn't help. "Please?" "After." "Promise?" "Yes!" Of course, right then, if she'd told him to promise he'd screw her on top of his AD's desk in the middle of a Monday, he'd've agreed. Anything to get her back on track. Sometimes, he thought she had Attention Deficit Disorder. To his great relief she agreed and finished the job that had been interrupted by the discovery of the disk. And in short time he was finished, too. Utterly. "Now?" she asked and tried to drag him up before all the restraints had been removed. "Oww," he winced with fleeing patience and genuine pain. Old Marvin the Martian's knot was being stubborn. It was not the kind of thing a guy rushed. She snatched the disk off the bedside table and ran to the living room. "I'll boot it up." "You don't know the password," he called after her, still fighting Marvin. "Tell me," she called back, in all innocence. "No way," he muttered. Luckily, Marvin gave up and Mulder slipped himself out. He found the boxers he'd dropped to the floor earlier and pulled them on. For whatever reason, he didn't want to go out there buck-naked. Whatever was on that disk insisted on some dignity. Although that didn't seem to bother Candace. He nudged her hands away from the keyboard and kissed each bare breast. "Close your eyes." She smiled deliciously. "Why? What are you going to do?" "I'm going to enter my password and I don't want you to see what it is." Her face darkened. Glaring at him like that, she looked a little like Scully, only with lots more make-up and maybe some plastic surgery to make genuine beauty artificial. Funny he hadn't noticed it before. Or maybe he was just seeing things. A man only had so much blood in his body and if it wasn't flowing through one head, it was flowing through the other. Even after spending all afternoon in his bedroom, he was still turned on by the girl's closeness: her round, cantaloupe breasts, her full lips, her eagerness, her lack of guile, the musky smell of sex still on her body. His sex. His scent. Him. "Done?" "Not really," he murmured, nuzzling her neck, feeling himself go hard again. This was good for his ego. Another reason to like Candace. But he lifted his head from her neck and looked at the screen. "Okay," he said. "You know how do the rest?" She gave him another little glare, then finished opening the notepad and told the computer to look for what she wanted on the floppy drive. "Text file," she said. "Little. Not much to it." He laughed. "Don't say little to a man with a hard-on." Another couple of buttons and the whole file flashed on he screen. One word. "Sweetums," she said, sounding very disappointed. And Mulder froze. (end 3 of 4) ~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~ TWICE MULDER ONCE REMOVED (4/4) By RB Kendrick He had Frohike by the collar and shoved up against the wall. Byers and Langly each had one arm and were trying to pull him off. "How do you know?" Mulder was screaming, his voice hoarse. He'd been screaming it for awhile now. "How the hell do you know!" I don't know what you're talking about, Mulder, Frohike would have said if he could have talked which he couldn't with Mulder's fists pressing against his throat. So Langly said it for him: "He doesn't know what you're talking about, Mulder." "Who told you?" Frohike shook his head for what must have been the hundredth time. He didn't know before and he still didn't know what the hell Mulder was talking about. "Tell me where you got it!" he screamed. "Tell me how you know!" "You got the disk on you, Mulder?" Byers asked quietly, calmly. Well, it wasn't his neck in Mulder's hands. "Yeah! And you can look at it when Frohike shits it out, Œcause I'm gonna shove it down his goddamn throat!" "Maybe we should call 911," Langly offered. "You know what that'll do to his career," Byers whispered. He made a circling gesture around his temple. "Not on such solid ground, if you know what I mean?" Langly nodded. But Frohike looked like he was about ready to pass out. "What if Mulder hurts him?" "I won't hurt him! I'll kill him!" Mulder bellowed. "Let me see the disk," Byers said. "I'll see what I can find out. Afterward, if you still want to beat the crud out of him, you can." "You're on his side!" Mulder screamed, spitting, his face twisted and red. Frohike, despite being threatened and throttled, smiled. It was the old Mulder. Seeing shadows within the shadows. "If you want to you can beat the crud out of all of us," Byers said quietly, unconcerned. "Fine," Mulder said, and let released Frohike with a toss, then reached into his pocket and produced the disk. "You should keep those things in a case, Mulder," Langly observed. "Lots of things outsiders can do to corrupt a floppy disk. Once there was this guy---" Mulder cut him off. "Look, I don't want to hear it, Langly. I just want to get this over so I can kill Frohike." "Did you take you medication this morning, Mulder?" Mulder's glare made Langly grimace. "Just asking," he said, and moved away quickly. It didn't take Byers long. "This isn't from us, Mulder. Sorry. You'll have to let Frohike live." "Who sent it?" "You sent it to yourself, Mulder. This is from your private address to your office address. Didn't you check that before you came all the way down here?" "Jeez, Mulder," Langly said. "You could have strangled Frohike for nothing." Mulder was pale. He rubbed his forehead. "How?" "You're saying you didn't send it?" "Of course, I didn't send it." "You have a secure account for private messages, of course," Byers said. "Yes." "Who knows the password?" "No one." "Not even Scully?" Everyone stopped. They rarely spoke of Dana Scully now. She was a ghost and it was so painful. "No. And even if she did, she wouldn't do this. Scully would not do this." "What's sweetums?" Mulder found the chair just before collapsing. "Not a what," he whispered, hiding his eyes in case the tears he felt threatening actually started. "She's a who---I think. I don't know." "You being stalked, Mulder?" "I wish." "Could this be an old lover wanting to rekindle the flames?" Langly asked. "That's kinda hot." "I just know I miss her." Quietly. Sadly. He ran a hand back through his hair. "Sweetums?" He shook his head, angry at having to explain. "No, I'm sweetums. Me." "You're sending love notes to yourself, Mulder?" Byers asked. It was curiosity, not judgement. But Mulder started to laugh. He laughed until it hurt. "I guess---I guess---I guess you could see it that way," he said as soon as he was able. He stood up, still holding his side. "I have to go. Sorry I almost killed you, Frohike." "Hey, no problem," Frohike managed to croak. "It's just good to have you back, man." Byers held out the disk. "You want this, Mulder?" Mulder held out his hand, then decided against it, shook his head and left. It was raining, of course and his car was parked a couple blocks away so a witness couldn't identify it. He felt bad for almost strangling Frohike. Felt worse that he'd started babbling and almost cried. Now that would've been a stupid thing to do. Shit. He was soaked by the time he got to his car. He felt miserable. Lost. Alone. Cold. Afraid. Wondered if he could find Candace for another round, then decided he wouldn't be able to get up for it. Literally. He laughed darkly. What he wanted was a couple of beers and a hot shower, knowing that the beer would lower his resistance and the shower would provide him cover. Like rain. He could just in his car and let go, he knew. Bawl his eyes out right now and since his face was already wet, no one would know he was crying. So go ahead, he told himself. Do it. What are you afraid of? Of not being able to stop. And someone would come along eventually, maybe in a day or two when the sun was shining and report that there was a grown man in a trench coat with a gun and a badge, crying alone in his car. Someone would call the nice men in the white suits with to come throw their net and haul him off to the loony bin once and for all. And there would be needles. Lots of needles. No, he had to stay sane, if only for that reason alone. He pulled out carefully and headed home. Only he never got there. Somehow, he took a wrong turn and ended up at Scully's instead. "Mulder," she said as she opened the door. "This is a surprise." "Hi," he said. "You want to come in?" "If this is a bad time, I can come back later." Or not at all. He started backing away, but she caught him by the sleeve of his coat. "No, it's fine. Now is okay. I was just doing dishes. Trust me, they can wait. Come in." Trust me. Mulder nodded, feeling every bit of the awkwardness as it bubbling up from inside. Trust me. He had been so at ease with her, her and no one else but her. Trust me. He could be his normal, overzealous, rabid, frenzied, obsessed self and never quite go overboard because she would haul him back by the balls and pin his ears to his head until he came back from whatever planet he was on and listen to reason. Cool. Calm. Infuriating. Trust me. He squished when he stepped onto her carpet. "I'm sorry. It's raining outside. I got caught in the rain." "Here, let me take your coat." Trust me. Her and no one else, but he had shoved her away. She had tried to help those days after the shooting, but she didn't know how. And he wouldn't tell her, no matter what tactic she tried. And she tried them all. But Dana Scully had been taught good manners and the social graces, and now she was determined to be a good hostess if nothing else. That was so Scully. That was his Scully. "You want to sit down?" "I'm wet." "I'll get you a towel." He was going to freak out and bolt. "You okay, Mulder?" A dark laugh broke loose from his chest at that one. "I still have to figure out why I came here." She looked disappointed. But then Fox Mulder had disappointed her a lot, hadn't he? "I've been thinking about you a lot lately, Mulder. About us. About the X-Files." "You don't like Quanico?" "It's all right. But it's not the basement of the Hoover building." "I hope not." "I liked it down there. I liked it with you. I just want you to know that." He'd heard it before. Many, many times before. When she was trying to give him a reason to stop her from taking the job at Quanico. He nodded now, like he had nodded then. Just accepting the information. Thanks. She stood looking at him, with his wet coat dripping all over her carpet. "I was always pissed at you for never getting my name put on the door." "I put in the requisition‹I don't know‹maybe a couple dozen times." "I was going to buy my own and hang it up myself." "Why didn't you?" "Because you didn't want me to. Because you could have made them do it, Mulder, if you'd wanted. I know you. You can make anybody do anything." He nodded sadly. "I made you follow me to hell and back." "Are you sure you made it back from hell?" He reached for his coat. "This was a bad idea. I didn't come here to hurt you, Scully. I didn't come here to make you feel sad and maudlin. I'll leave." But she clutched his coat to her tightly. "Do you feel sad and maudlin, Mulder?" "Yeah. But that isn't your fault, so you shouldn't have to pay for it. Give me my coat. Thanks for letting me ruin your rug." "I don't want you to go. I want you stay and talk, really talk about what happened to you." "I don't know what happened to me, Scully." "I never said thank you." "For what? For making your life a living hell for three years? Scully, I got you suspended and reprimanded. I got you censured and hauled before a board of inquiry, not just once, but several times. I should be thanking you. You saved my ass more times than I can count." "I meant for the coffee. That morning. It was a nice thought." "No one should have died." "The man took you as a hostage, Mulder. You did what you had to do." "I don't want to talk about this, Scully. I have to go." "He'd killed a policeman earlier. Do you know that?" He glared at her. "But why don't you know?" she challenged. "You could have looked it up. It was right there in the police reports. You had access to everything, but you didn't bother. Why? Why didn't you look it up?" "I didn't come here to fight with you, Scully. I didn't come here to be psychoanalyzed either. I screwed up! My arrogance got a girl killed! It could have been you, Scully! Just like Sam!" "Your sister isn't gone because of you, Mulder. She's gone because of your father and because of the men he worked with. It had nothing to do with you." As if he hadn't heard that before. He stalked away, his shoes squishing across the room. At home he would have thrown something. At home he would have started screaming and swearing and just generally made a mess. But these were Scully's things, not his. Nothing here belonged to him. Not one thing. So he just kept pacing as far away from her as he could get. "Run, run, run," Scully muttered. He stopped and whirled. "What?" "Sit down and talk to me, Mulder." "No, what did you say?" "Stop running---" "No, you said Œrun, run, run'." She sighed. She still held his drippy coat. "Maybe I did. I don't know. What does it matter? Just sit down, Mulder. Talk to me." "I don't want you to get hurt." "I'm not going to get hurt." "If you stay with me, you are." It was an old argument, one they had each and every time one of them got hurt. Usually Mulder, but she'd had her share of close calls. And weird as it was, she missed them. Like she missed him. He always got her adrenaline pumping. Fox Mulder‹Spooky Mulder and all his way out there ideas and obsessions. She often wondered what he did with his poster, the one with the flying saucer on it. I Want To Believe, it said at the bottom. A bold statement, not some half-assed, wishy-washy appeal. Trust No One. But trust me. "You're my friend, Mulder. And my partner no matter where we work. I love you." He braced quickly for the impact. It hit hard. Overwhelmed, all he could say was, "oh." And even that came out more like a sob than a word. And suddenly he was in Scully's arms, his face buried in her shoulder, hanging onto the back of her flannel shirt with both fists, determined not to drown, but knowing he might. She made soft, soothing noises and held him just as tightly. They booth stood for a long time and cried. She kissed his ear and smiled when at last she caught the scent. "Lavender," she said. "And all this time I thought it was something the hospital did. When did you start dousing yourself in lavender, Mulder?" He pushed her back, his heart fluttering a little. "Excuse me?" "Lavender. You reek of the stuff. Not that it's bad. It's better than eau de Last Night's Woman." Mulder felt his face flush. "I didn't know I was that obvious." "There's a betting pool going around Quanico about what the finally tally will be before you give out." A slight, sardonic smile. He dropped down on the couch. "Who said I'm gonna give out?" She dropped down with him. She was still wiping her eyes. The tears had ruined her make-up. "I just hope you're careful." "I am, Mom, thanks. I think I'll give it up for awhile. Renew my subscription to CELEBRITY SKIN and give the women of DC time to catch their breath." She slapped his knee. "You're not as charming as you think you are, sport. You want something to drink? Crying jags make me thirsty." But he misheard. He was on his feet and out into the room in a single motion, furious. "It was you? How could you do that to me?" Scully could only look at him. He wouldn't have let her anywhere close to him now anyway. "Mulder?" "I miss her, Scully! Aww God, I miss her! I want her back! I am so empty without her!" It took his best friend to notice. Someone who knew him so completely, inside and out. Knew all the silly quirks and weird twists. All the secret delights and hidden horrors. So Scully knew instantly this wasn't about Samantha. Mulder's sister brought guilt, not need. "Who?" she asked gently. "Spot." "Excuse meŠwho?" And with tears running down his cheeks, standing in the middle of her living room, dripping onto her carpet, he told her all of it. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked gently when he was finished. "You already thought I was crazy. I figured this would confirm it." She stood slowly and went to him. He only resisted for a moment before he allowed her to draw him into her arms. "We're back where we started," she said. "Are we?" She took his face firmly between her hands. "Yes." And kissed him. Not a romantic kiss. Just a tender smooch. He needed it. He needed Scully. His Scully. "You hungry?" "Yeah," he admitted. Shoot, when wasn't he hungry? He followed her into the kitchen. He didn't want to be alone, even in just the next room. "You think I'm nuts?" "How about some tomato soup?" "You didn't answer me." "Answer me and then I'll answer you." "Soup is fine." "I think you're a giant pain in the ass, Mulder, but no, I don't think you're nuts." "Thanks, I think." He sat down at he table and was immediately hit by déjà vu. Scully saw it in his eyes. "Spot?" she asked without a flinch. Mulder thought she was extremely good at covering. Just about the best he'd ever seen. He wouldn't believe such a wild story, so why would she? Because he was Spooky Mulder, that's why. You can only sound crazy for so long before you start to be crazy. But he nodded anyway. Even if Spot was only a hallucination, he still missed the fantasy. "My dad used to beat the shit out of me for losing Samantha," he said then, out of the blue. "I know," Scully said softly. He looked at her. "You do?" "I mean, I put the pieces together. I'm sorry, Mulder." "I didn't leave her alone. I didn't let them in the house. I didn't say, hell yeah, come on in, take her, who gives a fuck. I didn't do that, Scully, so why was it my fault?" "It wasn't." "Then why did he come into my room at night and make me get up and make me take off my pants and my underwear and lean me bare-assed over my bed while he hit me with his belt? He made me count, Scully, you know that? I had to count and I wasn't supposed to cry. Only sissies cried. Sissies who let their little sisters get taken away in the middle of the night. Sissies who didn't do anything to stop it." "He knew how to manipulate your guilt, Mulder. He handed you the blame and you took it. Because you missed her. Because you loved her. Because of who you are." "She was there, Scully. Every time he came into my room with that belt, she was there. She talked to me. She'd count for me. She kept me from crying---she'd cry for me until it was done and he was gone and it was safe." Spot, she knew. During one of those awful sessions, he had fragmented and let this other self take the pain and humiliation. But Mulder kept the guilt all for himself. "Scully," he whispered. "I've missed you. Don't leave me." She went to him. Smoothing his hair back released the tears. They came in a rush, nearly swallowing him whole, but he didn't make a sound. She pulled his head to her breast and held him there, feeling his silent tears, until at last he slipped from her arms and went to the couch. There, he fell asleep. ~X~X~X~ The lavender cloth woke him. "Hmm...Scully?" "I'm flattered, but no, sweetums, wrong again." He opened his eyes and sat up suddenly. He was in the motel room again, lying on the bed with the paisley bedspread, in his white shirt and suit pants. But he was alone. He looked around frantically. "Where are you?" "You're supposed to ask, where am I, what happened? And hold your head. That's always a good affect." "Quit playing around, Spot. Come on." "Or what?" "Just quit. Come on. Please." He was begging now. The pain was almost physical. His breath caught as she slid her arms around his chest from behind. "Better now?" He leaned back against her, limp as the cloth in her hand. "Don't cry," she said. "Can't help it. God, Spot---" "How have you been, Mulder?" He flipped over, pushing her down. "Don't do this! Don't you dare do this! Don't make this sound like it was nothing! Because it was something! It is something!" His tears were dripping onto her face. "Okay, Mulder," she said quietly. "Now let me up." He slid off, curling up, wondering if he'd ever be able to stop crying. Wondered where Scully was and what she was doing while he lay here on the bed with Spot. His Spot. Him. Spot stretched beside him, pressing her body against his and waited for the tears to die down so they could talk. "You've been busy," she said at last. "Were they what you needed?" He made himself smile. "I fulfilled just about every fantasy I ever had. And some I just made up as I went along. I needed you more, but you were gone." "I know, but I couldn't stay." He pulled her arms around him and held on. "Why not?" "I'm so sorry I hurt you." "I couldn't do it without you. Not even hurt Scully. And I didn't care. I was a stupid son of a bitch." He was quiet, listening to her silence. "You're not going to try to talk me out of that last part?" She kissed the back of his neck and sat up. "You just keep calling Œem as you see Œem, sweetums. Now are you ready to get started? We've still got a way to go." "Scully is pink, after all." Spot scoffed. "No, she's not. You were right to begin with. She doesn't belong in that field with Samantha and you, Mulder. That's where you buried yourself and all the guilt. It used to be a small, simple plot of earth, just your two and a half feet of personal space to be responsible for, but no, you keep gathering it in, piling it on, storing it up. What, you think you might have a guilt shortage some day? Think you might need to be prepared?" He laughed at that. A real laugh. Nothing forced. "My mother raised me to always plan ahead." "And you dad?" "I don't know." "Try." "He taught me to be afraid of the night. And to hate the smell of whiskey. And to hate the sight of leather belts. You know how long it took me to actually wear a leather belt? I was in the FBI, for godsake. I had a gun, but I was afraid to slide leather through the belt loops of my pants." "Lots of kids get beat, Mulder. They go on. Why are you still stuck?" "It's not something you forget. You grow up, you leave, you get out, maybe you even forgive, but you never forget. You never forget." "You ever tell him that." "No." "Don't you think you should?" "He's dead." "I know that." "Then I can't very well tell him, can I?" She frowned. "I'll go get those running shoes for you." He started to protest, blinked and when he opened his eyes, he was in his old bedroom at home, sitting on the side of his old twin bed. Dark outside and in. *Spot? Are you here? I can't see* *Are you awake, Mulder?* His heart stammered. *I'm always awake. Until he comes home and I know it's safe to go to sleep* The sound of a door downstairs, slamming hard. Mulder's breath caught. *It's going to happen, isn't it? That's why I'm here. I don't want to be here* *I know* *I'm afraid* He curled up against the wall as he always did, knees to his chest, tight in as little of a ball as his long legs would let him. *I am so afraid of him sometimes* *I'm here* *I'm a man, not a child and I'm still shaking* *He won't hurt you, not if you don't let him* *You wouldn't let him. Help me, Spot* *I can't, sweetums. Not anymore* *You were always there* *Yes, but only because you too young and couldn't for yourself. Now you can, Fox. You can do this for yourself* *I'm afraid! Do it for me again! I can't* *No, Fox* *I wanna go home* His father appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. "Did you remember anything today, Fox?" "No, sir." "You need to remember what happened that night, son." "I know, sir." "You want to get your sister back for your mother, don't you?" "Yes, sir." "You know how disappointed I am that you let them take her?" "Yes, sir." His father took a step in, unbuckling his belt. *Spot* *I'm here* "I have to make you try to remember, Fox. You know that, don't you?" *Spot, please help me* *Just tell him, sweetums* A deep breath, his eyes closed. "Dad, don't." His voice caught. "Don't do this." "Get those pants down, son. All the way off." *Spot! I can't* *You're all right, Fox. Tell him* The belt snapped. "Get over the bed." "Dad. Please listen. This isn't going to make it better. No matter how often you beat me, Samantha will still be gone. Hitting me isn't going to bring her back. It just gonna make me go away, too." Mulder's father stood over him, arm back, ready. "You have to remember, Fox. You know that. Now stop crying. You have to be strong." "Why? So you won't feel so bad? Well, I feel bad! I feel bad!" "Someone has to be responsible." "But why me, Dad? Why me? I didn't do anything!" "Maybe if you'd've stopped them, Fox." "How? How was I supposed to stop them? They just took her! They came right in our house and took her! There was nothing I could do!" "If you had put up a fight, they might have left her behind. They may have taken you like they planned." "I know it was supposed to be me. I've seen the folder. If it was supposed to be me and not her, why did they take her?" "You weren't strong enough, Fox. You were weak. You cried, you called out, you screamed. Samantha was the quiet one. It was easier to take her. Now be quiet. Stop crying. You need to learn to be strong. Your mother needs you to be strong." And the belt came down. "No!" Mulder cried and slammed his eyes shut. He knew better than to move his arms behind him. No warding off blows. That would earn him an extra welt. But he never felt the sting. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the motel, kneeling beside the bed, paisley spread clutched in his hands. His breath caught. "He still hit me, Spot." "Yes, he did, sweetums." Not an apology. Just a statement of fact. Mulder hid his face in his hands. Anger, fear, pain, he felt them shiver through him. "Then nothing changed. Not a goddamn thing." Her hand ran softly across his shoulders as she passed behind him. "Are you sure?" "You want to check my ass for marks?" "You still have them. That didn't change." He looked up at her, scowling. Watched her continue slowly across the room. "Then what the hell was that for?" She sighed heavily. "Jeez, come on, Fox. Do some of the work here, will you?" Her cool tone, slightly ticked off, tired and exasperated, made him mad. He stood suddenly. "Bet it made you hot." "It didn't and it doesn't make me hot to see you hurt. It breaks my heart when you cry. If you're upset now, just say so. You don't have to get vulgar to cover it." "Sam is still gone, my father still beat the shit outta me-‹so what the hell was that, Spot? What?" She pressed a hand on the door behind her. "You know, Fox. So say it. Just say it and get it over with and walk out of here. Be able to walk away." "And if I click my heels together three times will I end up in Kansas?" He smiled, arrogant as hell. Jab, jab, jab. She met his eyes evenly. "Are you done acting like a wounded ass?" Wounded? He hooted at that one. "Hey, whatever you want." She glared. "Dammit, it's not about what I want, it's what you want. If this was about me, you'd've taken the shrink job at that private hospital in Hawaii, not your goddamn FBI." "I hate Hawaii. Too warm." "Spoken like a true Yankee." "I want to go home," he said suddenly, the anger rushing from him like a deflating balloon. Hers, too. "Then go, sweetums. Scully's waiting." "I need her." "She needs you. You're both equally pathetic." "I don't know if I can." She held out her hand. "I'm still here." He took it. Eyes closed, he whispered, "I didn't lose Samantha. She was taken. It wasn't my fault, but it still hurts like it was. And what my father did to me may have hurt, but that wasn't my fault either. I suppose he thought what he did would keep one of us safe. He just wished it wasn't me." "You think that's true?" He thought for a moment, then quietly. "Yeah, I do." Another moment, scowling, then, "I don't know. Maybe. There at the end...I just don't know." She put his hand on the door, then stepped away. "Go on, sweetums. Try to open it." "What if I can't?" "What if you can?" The door knob turned, but not easily. He didn't expect that. Spot just stood off to the side, her arms folded, and watched. It took a little effort and perseverance, but finally, Mulder got it open. But he was afraid swing it wide. Afraid to step through. "Yeah, it's a real bitch, ain't it?" Spot said from behind him. "You want me to push?" He shook his head. "Spot?" "Hmm?" He whirled and kissed her suddenly, hard, on the mouth, before he could think about it. When he drew back and let her go, she was smiling. "One of us is going to have to take a cold shower now," she said, fanning her face with her hand. "You know this, right?" He grinned wickedly. "Candace showed me how to do laundry-‹among other things. I now have softer towels. You'll like Œem." "Figures," she said, then, "See you, sweetums," and shoved him lightly through the door. ~X~X~X~ God, he loved his runner's high. Better than sex, he teased Scully. She would only go a couple miles before she got bored with it and turned off, no matter how many times he begged her to stay with it and keep pushing to the point where all those juicy little endorphins started pumping. Of course, as a doctor, she knew all that. But as someone who actually used a stationery bike for more than just a clothes hanger, it was a hard sell. "It's wet out here, Mulder," she pointed out. "It's cold. The path is slushy. Mean dogs with rabies chase you---" "Really cute guys in tiny little jogging shorts with buns of steel are in front of you." "In January?" "Use your imagination. Undress them with your eyes. That's what I do. There was this blonde yesterday--I could have gone another twenty miles--thirty even---" "Shut up, Mulder." "Fine. I'll go with my other jogging partner. She keeps up and doesn't complain." "You do that. Tell your imaginary friend I said hi and that we'll have a tea party with Mrs. Bear and Mrs. Bunny when you get back." He laughed until he was nearly knocked off his feet. *Tag, sweetums, you're it* And Mulder took off after her, having to go flat out to catch up. When he did, he fell into an easy long-legged lope beside her. He felt loose and fit and comfortably in control. "I got the X-Files back. Skinner made it official yesterday. Scully and I move back into our old office on Monday." "So much for Scully going all the way to the top. Now you gonna put the poor woman's name on the door?" "I put in a requisition." A smile. "Scully knows there's more to this than a name plate." "Like?" "Look at all the places she gets to go." "Bet she'd like two weeks in Tahiti better." "She gets to meet interesting people." "Most of Œem mutants." "Makes for an interesting day." "Yeah, alien conspirators should be every woman's first choice for a lunch date." "I have a better ass than AD Monroe." Spot laughed. "Yeah, you're a regular Mr. Buns of Steel." "Hey, you think Scully would follow me thirty miles just to keep looking?" "She does. She just doesn't need to wear herself out to do it." "Really? Scully's been scoping me out, huh? I never noticed." "That's because she works for the FBI and has been trained in covert surveillance techniques." "Hey, I work for the FBI and I have been trained in covert surveillance techniques." "Yes, but your drooling always gives you away." "I don't drool. I may hypersalivate sometimes---" "Breasts and ass: Pavlov's dogs. Ding!" "I don't." "Ding!" "Maybe every now and then." "Ding, ding, ding!" Laughing, he turned the corner at an easy pace, and she went with him, out under the canopy of winter-bare trees. And out into the bright Washington sunlight. Finis (end 4 of 4)