By: Ten
kristena@ocean.com.au

CATEGORY: V, A, "mild" MSR (ie - I think it's friendshipper safe)
RATING: PG-13 for suggested violence
SUMMARY: Mulder begins falling to pieces after "Paper
Hearts", only to find offers of redemption from unlikely
sources.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Begins in the last scene of
"Paper Hearts", mentions "Irresistible".

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and
Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions
and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained.

The X-Files: "All the King's Women" (1/1)
by Ten, posted March 1998
 

The desk drawer slid shut, enclosing the last cloth heart
in darkness. Enclosing Mulder's heart as well. He sat and
gazed blankly at the wall. No red dot mocked him. Roche's
voice in his head did.

*How can you be sure it's not her?*

Mulder wanted to scream for Scully. But she had already
come and gone. Been so gentle with him in between.
Undeservedly so. She actually hugged him for one precious
heartbeat of time. He was desperate to be held for longer
but he couldn't ask or beg or reach.

He couldn't believe she could actually bear to touch him.

A little girl nearly died because of him today. Because
of his desire to find his sister.

Mulder ran a shaky hand through his hair. He should go
home. /What's the point? You're just going to nightmare.
Even though Roche is dead, he's found a way to ensure he
hangs around in your dreams for the rest of your life.
And he's not even the bad guy here. You are./

God, how he wished that first skeleton they found *was*
Sam. Then Abbie Spark's father could still have some hope
and Caitlin could be safe and Mulder could give up this
useless quest...

He toed the floor to swivel the chair around. He didn't
hate himself. He loathed himself. Caitlin's screams were
burning through his blood, mixing with Samantha's
screams, and as he turned his gaze fell on his "I WANT TO
BELIEVE" poster.

He lunged at it.
 
 
 

/Should I have left him?/ Scully asked herself yet again
as she approached her car. She knew he would just sit
there. Probably tomorrow she would go in and find him in
the same position, in the same clothes, only beard
stubble marking the lost hours.

She did not want Mulder to torture himself. But he had
to. He had to know just what he had done. This went
beyond a simple ditch.

Scully dug in her trenchcoat for her keys. Nothing. She
tried her purse and her jacket pockets. Nothing. Annoyed,
she retraced her steps, hoping she had just dropped them.
She didn't want to go back to the basement office at the
moment. She was so drained and there was no energy to put
Humpty Dumpty back together again. Tomorrow she would
phone him. For tonight, there would be no fairytale. She
could not make it better.

The keys had to be in the office. Dana bowed to the
inevitable, steeling herself.

The first thing she saw was the "I WANT TO BELIEVE"
poster. Or rather, the remnants of it. The middle was
gone, ripped out in a ragged vertical strip. Two thin
jags remained clinging to the drawing pins, proclaiming:

I W       O
 B        E
 

"Mulder?" The chair was empty. It was over near one of
the filing cabinets. Dents in the cabinet showed the
points of impact.

The display cabinets... Scully moved around the desk for
a better look. The glass of the cabinet doors lay on the
floor with scraps of scrunched poster.

"Mulder?"

Big shards, Scully noted. Big shards like knives.
Scalpels...

/No... No! I was only gone for a few minutes - but that's
enough time. Why did I leave him?/ Dazed and scared, she
looked around, searching the mess to see if glass gave
way anywhere to blood. Or a body. Was he still here?

Sobbing.

Scully looked under Mulder's desk. He sat hunched, knees
up, face buried in them, arms wrapped tightly over his
head. He was alive. But what had he done to himself?

"Mulder -" She dove into the remaining space, squatting
to avoid the few bits of glass which encroached this
area, and grabbed for him. "Let me see your wrists!"

His arms clung more tightly to his body. "Mulder!" she
screamed, hauling at him desperately. He planted his feet
against one part of the desk and expanded himself, his
back flush against the other end of the leg space,
filling it, wedging himself. She couldn't see any
blood...but...

Scully was frantic. "Mulder! LET ME SEE YOUR WRISTS!!"

She dug her fingers around one wrist. In her desperation
she was able to rip his hand away from his head. No
blood. No slash. She dropped the now limp arm and went
for his left hand. Clean. Untouched. Shaking, she held
it. He must have kicked the cabinets in. Relief blanked
her mind and wiped away his crimes for tonight. For now
she would let her heart rule over her head.

"Mulder..." More softly.

The hand yanked out of hers, and he wrapped both arms
around his knees. She reached out to stroke his hair and
neck. He was trembling and flinched when her fingers
moved through his hair. She struggled to find something
to say and wondered if she should prise his head up to
check his neck too.

"Mulder, it's okay. It's all right."

His head turned, and he gazed at her through a ravaged
face, still resting his cheek against his knees. His neck
was unmarred. "It's not all right," he choked out.

She knew that. But they were the words Mulder said after
rescuing her from Donnie Pfaster. When it felt like her
world would never be rebuilt, his words and embrace were
just what she needed.

Her legs were hurting from her cramped position. Her
heart was aching for him. "It will be all right. Now come
out, please."

"Leave, Scully. Leave me."

/Not 'leave me alone'. Leave *me*./ "I'm not leaving
until you come out."

He uncurled himself and she backed out. Glass crunched as
he got to his feet and they moved around to her desk, her
checking him out along the way. He slumped down in her
chair. "Okay, I'm out. Now you can go home."

"No, now I can hold you."

"No -"

She was already embracing him just as she had before. But
this time she was not letting go. Mulder sat as stiff as
a board.

"No," he said firmly through gritted teeth and tears.
"Stop it. The only thing I deserve from you is your
request for a transfer."

"Mulder, yes, you did a stupid thing. You know you did.
But beyond all that, at the very base of things, you
still are a good person and have a good heart," she
murmured into his hair. "You need to hear that. You
mustn't have heard it for so long. And you need this.
I've never seen anyone who needs to be held more. And I'm
here to do it."

"I wish the girl I found on Sunday really was Samantha,"
he admitted. "The pain would have stopped with me. Or
that Roche had shot me when he took my gun in the motel
room."

Her heart sped up, and she knew he could feel it. "Then
Caitlin would have died for sure," she pointed out. /And
part of me too./ "You're the one who found her. And even
if he did take Samantha, he still killed a lot of other
innocent girls, and you were the one whose profile caught
him. Who knows how many young lives you saved."

"I wish Roche had taken young boys instead. Then he could
have taken me in the seventies and all this pain would
never have started..." He was slumped against her now,
clinging on to her, head against her heart.

"Never wish yourself out of existence." She swivelled the
chair gently back and forth to rock him, making soothing
noises as she did so. A time later he had cried himself
out and was half-asleep from exhaustion and comfort. He
didn't protest when she got him into his trenchcoat,
found her keys and took him back to her apartment. She
put him to bed and put herself next to him. So they could
remain holding and be reassured the other was there. To
survive the nightmares to come. The agonising ten minutes
apart at the FBI meant separation was unthinkable
tonight. They had to hear each other's heart.
 
 
 

Swampscott, Massachusetts
A week later:

He wished he had some sunflower seeds to crunch in his
nervousness, but he didn't have any on him. He had told
Scully where he was going and why. She didn't think it
was a good idea, but said it was up to him. She offered
to come. He was grateful, but said no.

"You've given me the strength to do this. I have to do
this part by myself."

Suddenly it was a struggle to breathe. Mulder balled his
hands into fists under the table and concentrated on
getting big lungfuls of air. It felt like he was breaking
up. He made himself recall Scully's arms around him,
keeping the pieces of him in place. She had done that all
through a long dark night of nightmares and restless
sleep and tormented thoughts. She held him again at every
safe opportunity she could when they met in the last
seven days. Rebuilding him. Easing the shock and self-
loathing. She admitted it was reassuring her as much as
him, that they had wanted and needed this closeness. For
a long time.

He might think he should deprive himself of the holding
as his punishment, but he could not deprive her. And
although he had intense times where he felt he should be
boiled in oil for eternity for his actions, he found the
hatred becoming gradually briefer, not all-consuming. It
was evolving slowly into self-awareness so he wouldn't
take risks like that again.

There was still something he needed to do though. So here
he was.

He watched as Mrs Julia Epps entered the cafe she had
suggested for their meeting. An older version of Caitlin.
He had barely noticed her on the plane, more intent on
getting Roche away from the child. After the rescue he
caught a glimpse of Mrs Epps being reunited with her
daughter, then her on the news thanking the FBI for
finding her little girl.

She had wanted to thank the unnamed agent personally. The
FBI tried to clamp down on the more un-heroic details, in
full damage control - though Skinner informed Mulder off
the record that he had discovered Blevins was weighing up
the idea of exposing Spooky's act to the public so he
would have more chance of getting rid of him. It was a
question of how much damage it would do to the FBI's
reputation. The prison administrators were not pleased
that blame seemed to be landing on them - Roche's release
was being painted as 'an escape'. Then media leaks
revealed that the agent who tracked the killer down was
the one who escorted him out of prison to hunt for a
remaining missing victim. Alone. There was public uproar,
but the agent's name was withheld.

Mrs Epps was encouraged to sue. Skinner told Mulder that
if she did, it could be all Blevins needed - it appeared
he couldn't get rid of Mulder without that bit of extra
leverage. Mulder was on suspension now and wondered when
the lawsuit would be announced. And just who leaked the
case details. Certainly enough suspects to pick from. For
the ten billionth time, Mulder wondered what on earth
possessed him to take Roche off on his own like that. He
supposed almost all the other times he'd gone and done
something stupid, he was the one who ended up suffering.
Perhaps it made him complacent. Made him forget that
slings and arrows find something else to hit when they
miss the target. Or that the innocent *is* the target.

He had allowed himself to be controlled by the pain of
his loss and the promise of an end to the search. How
badly he wanted that skeleton to be his sister, so he
could finally grieve and take his life off hold. Yet the
horror of her being dead, of all his beliefs being
torn... He'd just wanted to *know* who the final girl
was, one way or the other.

He couldn't take it any more. He called Mrs Epps, knowing
it could be the end of everything.

Mrs Epps noticed Mulder. She walked towards him,
determined but slightly tensed, turning her head to speak
to the girl behind the counter in passing. "Hi Rhonda,
I'm looking forward to that mudcake."

/She's letting me know that *they* know her in case I'm
up to anything. I can't blame her./ He wanted to put some
money in trust for Caitlin, or give something towards her
therapy but that could be construed as a bribe. He just
wanted to do something. Mrs Epps had not slapped the FBI
with a lawsuit. Yet. Lawyers were clambering to represent
her. She only appeared on TV once after the uproar began.
Just to say she was glad her little girl was back and she
just wanted to get on with their lives.

"Hello, Agent Mulder."

He stood, showing his badge. "Thank you for seeing me."

She gave a brief nod as they sat down. She was
scrutinising him guardedly. "So your name is 'Fox'. When
my daughter said you had a 'furry' name I wasn't sure if
she was making it up."

He got straight to the core of things. "I wanted to ask
how Caitlin is...and to apologise for putting her in
danger. It was all my fault."

"She's had some nightmares. Sleeps with me a lot. We have
a counsellor the FBI recommended. He's teaching her that
if she feels upset or scared, she can imagine a place
where she feels safe."

/She should have appointments to play Barbies with her
friends, Mulder. Not a shrink./

Mrs Epps fiddled with the menu. "So, you're the one who I
should thank for rescuing Caitlin?"

"I found her, but I'm the one who exposed her to the
danger in the first place. I was escorting Roche by
myself without the knowledge of my superiors." He
silently included Scully in that lot. Way superior.

"Roche was already in prison for other child murders,
wasn't he? Going back into the seventies?"

"Yes. Thirteen. The thirteen we knew of at the time."

"All those poor little girls..." she said quietly. She
looked directly at him. "You got him out without your
boss knowing?"

"I got a removal order. It was for...a personal matter.
If things had gone to plan, I would have had him back in
prison the day he kidnapped Caitlin."

She scrutinised him very carefully. "And I understand
that your profile was the one which led to his capture in
the early nineties?"

"Yes. I made a mess of this whole thing. I'm not here to
threaten you or anything, just to let you know it was all
my fault and I'm sorry."

"What was the personal matter?"

He swallowed and said nothing. Rhonda came to take their
orders. Mulder selected at random, knowing it would all
taste like sawdust to him.

Mrs Epps continued as soon as she left. "Agent Mulder, I
pride myself on finding out the facts before I jump to
any conclusion." He was astounded by her calmness. "Can
you tell me just what happened and why?"

/I wanted to believe that aliens kidnapped my sister. I
didn't handle it well when an alternative solution was
offered./

When he struggled to reply, she said, "If it's a personal
matter, it can't be official FBI business. But I doubt
you could get a removal order for a prisoner without some
solid reasoning. I've read the papers. The collection of
sixteen hearts. Two of the missing bodies were uncovered
two weeks ago. The final one is still missing and
unidentified. His handiwork. Does that have anything to
do with it? That is what I want from you. The truth. I
believe I'm entitled."

"That's what I'm searching for. It is both FBI business
and personal." He could see her staring at him, feeling
his pain.

"*Your* daughter?"

He shook his head and knew she was turning to the next
obvious answer, stripping twenty years away from him.

"Your sister." Her voice held realisation and sympathy.
"You think one victim was your sister?"

"Yes. No - I was hoping it wasn't her. I was...convinced
she was kidnapped but not killed and that I'd always find
her one day. It was a shock to have Roche suddenly
throwing that belief in my face. He - he knew things I
thought only the abductor could have known. I was wrong."
He couldn't mention the dreams and the light. "But he
said he could take me back through the incident. And to
where he buried her."

"How old?"

"I was twelve; Sam was eight. I've spent my life looking
for her."

Their coffee came. As they sipped, Mulder regarded the
woman across from him. She could have ranted and raved
and rained lawsuits down on him, but she asked his side
of the story. "Mrs Epps, thank you for listening to me. I
wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I'm surprised you
asked. And I'm not telling you a sob story to stop you
coming after me with the lawyers. That is your right."

She stared into her coffee as if she could see a
shipwreck at the bottom. "Mr Mulder, when Caitlin was a
year old, I suspected my husband was having an affair. He
had gone from a cheerful, open man to an evasive
stranger. I thought it was because of me. Or the baby. He
would say he was working nights, but I'd phone and get no
answer. A few times I went to work during the day and he
wasn't there. I followed him one morning. He went to the
park and sat there for ages. I thought he was waiting for
his mistress but she didn't show. I confronted him about
it. The factory was in trouble and the corporation had
been threatening to lay off staff for months - admin and
floor workers. They had cut his hours back and it looked
like they weren't going to stop there. He searched for
other work, was in shock, spent hours wandering, trying
to work out what to do. He couldn't handle it; didn't
know how he'd support his family. The day I saw him in
the park was just after he was sacked. He had a heart
attack three months later. Died a few weeks after it."

"I'm sorry."

"So you see, Mr Mulder, I like to get my facts first
these days. You brought my daughter back. Alive. I'm not
sure just what to think about you doing what you did, but
I know what it is like to have a loved one missing. The
pain you must feel at your sister's loss. I can
understand why you wanted to know. That's all I can give
you. I hope you do find her. Safely."
 
 
 

There seemed to be hearts everywhere he looked. Just like
when you discover a word you've never heard before, then
stumble over it four more times in quick succession.
Hearts worn as lockets, as patterns on clothing,
balloons, cushions, in Boston and the airport shops and
on the plane.

Scully was waiting for him at National Airport. As he
approached he saw she was trying to read his face. He
smiled and hugged her.

In the car he told her about the stream of hearts.

"Mulder, there are always a stream of hearts around us.
People carry them - their own and others. They're not
just motifs. Hearts are wonderful things which deserve to
be shown over and over again. We can't let one maniac
taint that, physically or spiritually."

She pulled up at his apartment. He reached over and
touched her hand on the steering wheel. His thumb traced
a heart over the back of her hand. Then he smiled and got
out, going up to his apartment alone, remembering the
feel of her heart next to his. It was as close as they
could get for now, though their hearts had been exchanged
a long time ago. They had agreed to save these nights of
closeness for times when he or she felt so shattered that
only the other's arms could hold them together, or until
it was finally safe to be open. But they knew the comfort
was there when required.
 
 
 

A few days later, Mulder completed his suspension and was
back in the office. He stared at the wall. A replica of
his poster was up in its usual place. "You've been busy."

"I missed it."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She looked him directly in the eyes, and they
both knew what they had really missed. "You need your
beliefs, Mulder. You need to keep searching. With *me*
along."

Mulder smiled, nodding in agreement. He thought back to
his "Humpty Dumpty" night - as Scully had described it
the next morning - and what had transpired since. /All
the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put
Humpty together again... No wonder! They should have
brought in the women./ The shattered glass was all gone,
the cabinet doors fixed. The dent was still in the filing
cabinet though. /Put back together, but not quite the
same. I hope I'll learn from the cracks./

They would keep looking for Samantha. And the sixteenth
victim, whoever she was.

He dug into his "share" of the paperwork - opening their
mail. After dealing with several uninteresting letters,
he picked up a thick 9x12 Manila envelope and stared at
the postmark. His heart constricted and he tremblingly
slit it open.

Scully saw his face and stood up. She watched him pull
out the contents. She saw his face pass through tension
and guilt to wonder and finally, joy.

"Scully...look at this."

She came around to his side. Mulder was holding a
crayoned picture mounted on a cardboard backing.
Paperclipped to the top left corner was a small note:

"Caitlin wanted to thank you for bringing her home."

But her gaze was caught by the picture. The sky was a
brilliant light blue, and beneath it was a glorious field
of sunflowers...
 

THE END.