Abattoir: 6 Months

By Xenith
xenitha@yahoo.com


Journal of Dana Scully March 13, 1999

Mulder is finally asleep, thank God.

I am writing this, sitting by Mulder's bedside in his apartment.  He
wouldn't even let me go into the living room, needs me here--close.  I've
begun bringing this book with me wherever I go, to release the thoughts
inside when they become overwhelming.

Today I am overwhelmed.

He called me this morning, early, about 4:00 a.m.  I picked up the phone,
with the groggy feeling that this must be Mulder and something was
terribly wrong.  Only he calls me at this time of day.

"Yeah...hello," I mumbled into the receiver.

At first there was only silence, and I was ready to hang it up.  Then I
heard a low sobbing sound.

"Mulder?  Is that you?  Mulder--say something!  Mulder!!"

The sobbing sound continued, then he began to speak.

"S..s..scully....please...come over.  I need you...I can't...oh god...no,
don't come over.  It isn't safe.  Bring your gun....I promised to
call...and this is it...but if you don't get here fast, I don't know if I
can wait for you....." His voice was edge d with hysteria and clogged with
tears.  I was already up and moving, dressing as I talked.

"Mulder, I'm on my way.  Hold on, just hold on.  Wait for me--don't do
ANYTHING until I get there...okay?  I'm on my cell phone and we'll keep
talking as I go, so you won't be alone.  Just keep talking to me..."

I pulled clothing on, grabbed my weapon and car keys, then shot out the
door my cell phone glued to my ear.

Before long the conversation consisted of my talking to him, a stream of
soothing noises, and the sound of wrenching sobs on his end.  God, what
could have happened?

Halfway there, his line cut out.  I couldn't tell if he'd hung up on me or
been cut off.  Oh, God, don't think about it, just drive FASTER.  I
floored the gas, praying frantically...don't let him give up, don't let
him kill himself.  Oh, Mulder, wait for me, wait for me.  Hold on...I'm
coming...I'll be there soon...soon...

I don't think I've ever made the drive to Mulder's apartment in better
time.

I got to Mulder's apartment to find the door locked.  He didn't answer my
knock.  I opened the door with my key to find his living room dark and
quiet.  I drew my weapon and made my way into the bedroom.

Mulder was huddled on the bed, dressed in t-shirt and shorts, curled into
a fetal position rocking back and forth.  He held his gun in one hand; his
eyes were shut and streaming with tears and he was muttering under his
breath, "No...no...no, please no...  "  The phone had dropped to the
floor.  No obvious signs of violence.

I approached him slowly, keeping my gun drawn.

"Mulder...Mulder it's me.  What's happened?  What's wrong?"  Gingerly, I
sat on the bed next to him and reached out my hand to touch his shoulder.
His eyes flew open and he recoiled violently, bringing the gun up to point
it at me, the other hand up in front of him defensively.  I drew back
sharply, and he looked down at the gun.  Then he met my eyes in horror and
dropped the weapon, covering his face with both his hands.

"Mulder, it's me, Scully...I won't hurt you....You called me, remember?
I'm here,"  I kept up a soft litany of soothing noises while I fished the
gun off the bedspread and stuck it into my belt.  Then I holstered my own
weapon.  He put his hands down and
 hugged his knees to his chest and began rocking again.  But this time his
eyes were open and lucid.

"Scully..." He choked on a sob and turned his face away.  "Don't look at
me; I can't stand you to look at me...."

"Mulder...I'm going to call the paramedics.  I think we should get you to
a hospital...."  He gave me a panicky look.

"No..no hospital...no people...please Scully..please..."

"Then tell me what's wrong.  Can you talk about it?"  I moved a little
closer to him, wanting to hold him, protect him from whatever it was that
was preying on his soul.

His eyes closed and he leaned back, rolling his head from side to side.
When he opened them again, he was staring at the ceiling and not at me.

"I've been having nightmares, every night, since...since the rape.  But
you know that."

I nodded.  "Yes, I know.  I have them too."

Mulder turned his gaze to the blanket between us.  "Since we started this
case, since I've been profiling...my...dreams have changed.  I dream HIS
dreams...feel his feelings in my sleep...."

As he spoke, he held his arms tighter across his knees, hunching smaller
and smaller.

"I feel his needs...his power...his need for control...Every night it's
stronger...And I want his control, I want his power....I want not to be a
victim any more...."

I was silent.  I understood the need for control; who better?  Mulder's
voice roughened and he rocked a little as he went on.

"I've dreamed of my rape, these last nights....I've been my own rapist,
reveling in the power...disgusted with the victim's weakness...his puling
attempts to fight me off...."  He wouldn't look at me, his voice was a
soft monotone.  Oh, Mulder...

"But I could...could...handle that.  I know what a sorry showing I made in
that warehouse....I could live with it..."  He looked up, finally and
found my eyes.  His face was pale and stricken, agony written across it.

"I could....live....with the dreams until last night.  Last night...I
wasn't my own rapist.  I was *him*, the one I'm profiling.  I...kidnapped
Erica Scott from her living room and took her..someplace.  I started
raping her...and she screamed...and pleade d..and I loved the powerful
feeling it gave me.  And...and...I looked down at her face....she was
crying....her voice changed, and her face did....and it was YOU, Scully.
You were underneath me, screaming at me to stop...and I didn't...I
didn't...."  Mul der covered his face with his hands, taking gulping
breaths, then continued, with his face still covered.

"I...came inside you....then I pulled you to your feet and...and...slammed
you against the wall...and you were crying...You looked at me like I'd
betrayed you...and I had...I...You...were bleeding....from what I'd
done....And there was a knife in my hand ....I stabbed you and stabbed you
and watched the life leave your face.....  And...and...I felt ...that
rush...Oh God....I want to die.  I can't ....live....with this....I can't
let this happen..."  Mulder broke down then, and crouched forward onto the
be d, burying his face in the mattress, sobbing deep, wrenching sounds

Oh.......this was bad.  So very bad.  "Then you woke up?  And called me?"
I spoke very softly and gently.  Mulder nodded, his face still buried.

"Mulder, do you think that you've become the monster?"  He nodded, still
hiding his face from me.

"Would it help if I told you that I don't think you are a monster at all?
You're vulnerable right now to these sorts of images, and you're profiling
a very violent man.  And I do look like the victims on this case.  Mulder,
in my eyes you're a hero, and your telling me this hasn't changed my
opinion."

He slowly looked up, meeting my eyes.  "Scully, if
this...personality...gains control over me I could kill you and get off on
it.  I...I...can't live with that; can't allow it to happen.
I...know...that I'm vulnerable to this...I've known it since I took
 the case.  Since the warehouse...I...know I'm...tainted.  I'm your rapist
Scully, despite the comfort you've tried to give me...I still raped you.
How much farther is there to go from that warehouse, to killing you and
enjoying it?"

I'd sworn to myself that I would never watch that damned tape ever again,
nor would I ever encourage Mulder to do so.  But this...he truly believed
that he had raped me, and none of my reassurances would convince him
otherwise.  He'd merged the UNSUB's mo tivations and needs with his own
guilt and trauma, and his memory of what happened to us was colored by
that.

"Mulder, I am going to make a phone call in the living room.  I'm not
leaving you and I'm not calling the paramedics, okay?  Just stay here.."
He nodded dumbly as I carefully backed away and went into the other room.

I dialed Skinner's home number.

He answered groggily.

"Sir?  It's me, Scully."

"Scully, why the hell are you calling at this hour?  Is it Mulder?  What's
wrong?" I could hear him becoming more awake by the second.

"Yes, it's Mulder.  He's in a bad way...I'm at his apartment.  I need you
to do something for me; could you come here and bring the tape with you?
The one of the warehouse."

I could hear him suck in his breath.  "Scully, if Mulder is suicidal, are
you sure that he should see that thing?  Why show it to him?  How is it
going to help him?"

"He's reliving the rapes, through our current UNSUB's eyes.  He's
convinced that he's capable of killing me and enjoying it.  I have to show
him who he really is, and what he actually did for me."

I heard silence at the other end, then Skinner said softly, "Are you sure
he can take it?  Can you?"

"I can stand it.  Mulder has to *know*.  And sir, I'm calling in a
prescription for a sedative and a hypodermic syringe at an all-night
pharmacy.  Would you pick that up on your way in?  I'm afraid to leave
him."

"I'll get them, and I'll be there as fast as I can.  And Scully, keep your
weapon handy just in case."

I went back into the bedroom to find Mulder huddled where I'd left him.  I
found an afghan and draped it over him, then put a kettle on for tea.

Soon I had him sitting up, wrapped in the blanket, cupping a mug of
Lipton's in his hands.

"I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up, Scully," Mulder rasped.  "You keep having
to bail me out when I go off the deep end.  You shouldn't have to do
that."

"You'd do the same for me.  You have."  I sipped my own tea and watched
him carefully.  "Are you feeling any better?"

"No."  Mulder wouldn't meet my eyes.  Damn.  He was planning what he'd do
when I finally did leave.  I couldn't leave him, or he'd die.

I heard a knock at the door and mentally blessed Skinner for being so
fast.  Mulder started when he heard the knock.  "That's just Skinner, he's
bringing some things I asked for."

Mulder nodded.  I ran to the door and let Skinner in.  He peered around
the apartment anxiously.  "Where is he?"  He handed me a small paper sack
and a videotape.

"Mulder's in the bedroom."

Skinner was eyeing the walls of the apartment uncomfortably. Damn.  I'd
forgotten that Skinner has never seen Mulder's apartment when he's
profiling.  Mulder has taped up photos of the victims, diagrams of the
crime scenes, news clippings, bits of evidenc e, covering his walls with
the facts of the seven abductions.  Even graphic photos of the bodies, as
they were found, were scattered among them.  I didn't have to ask Skinner
what he thought about it; it showed in his eyes.

"Can you handle this alone?  Do you need me here?  Do you think you're in
any danger?"

"No, no danger.  We'll be okay.  I'll call you if I need help.  And
sir...thanks."

Skinner nodded and left.

I set the sack and the videotape down on the coffee-table and went into
the bedroom to check on Mulder.

Inside the bedroom, I sat down next to him.  He was still withdrawn, and
pale.  "Is Skinner here?" he asked.

"He's just left."  I studied Mulder searchingly.  I hoped that he could
endure what I was about to do, but he had to know the truth.  All of it.

"Mulder, I've known you for 7 years and in that time you've never flinched
from the truth, no matter how unpleasant.  You taught me that an ugly
truth is always preferable to an attractive lie, or to ignorance.  Since
the warehouse, I have asked you to be lieve a truth that you find hard to
accept."

"I know where you're going with this, Scully, and it doesn't wash.  I know
what happened there, and I know how I felt...and how I feel.  I'm dirty,
tainted by something evil.  Profiling this case has made it worse, and
it's changing me into something I ca n't ...can't live with."

"Mulder, the truth that I have been trying to tell you is that you are not
an evil man, you are not sadistic.  You are heroic in my eyes, and nothing
will change that belief.  The core that is *you*, Fox Mulder, is a gentle
man and violence is as alien to
 you as it is to any humane person.  But I think that you need to see
proof.  I have some evidence that I want you to see."  I got up and held
out my hand to him.  He took it hesitantly and followed me into the living
room.

I sat Mulder down on the couch and put the tape into the VCR, then sat
down next to him.  Mulder shied away when he saw the tape.

"No, I can't watch that.  Scully, I can't live through that again...I
can't.  With this...personality...inside me, do you know what might
happen?  Do you?"  Mulder's voice was trembling and I could see tears
beginning to roll down his cheeks.  "No, Scully ...I can't.  I'll....I'll
hurt you...or...I don't want to watch you being hurt....not by me."

I grabbed his chin and made him look at me.  "Then we'll face it together.
Do you think I want to lose you, day by day, minute by minute, behind a
wall of silence?  I'm tired of being "fine", I'm not "fine" and neither
are you!  The truth is...!"  I was shouting, I lowered my voice.  "The
truth is that neither of us is "fine" and we need each other to heal from
this.  I *need* you.  You *need* me.  I can't do this alone..and neither
can you.  I don't want to try any more.  Please?"

Mulder looked deep into my eyes, the first real look he'd given me in a
week.  "Okay.  But do I get popcorn?"

I smiled, a little trembly, but a smile.  "Maybe later."  I turned on the
VCR.

As the snow cleared, I saw the interior of the warehouse and felt Mulder's
hand slip into mine.  I saw myself dragged into the cameras' range,
knocked out and stripped of clothing.

I could see Mulder, next to me, begin to tremble.  He held my hand
tighter.  When I woke and Benny started to abuse me, Mulder sat very close
and put his right arm around me protectively.  I could feel myself
beginning to shake and the tears begin to fall
 down my cheeks.

Then Kurt began to speak, terrible things, awful things, promises of what
he would do to me, what they would do.  I saw the despair on my own face;
the certainty that there was no way out.  I couldn't watch and buried my
head into Mulder's shoulder.  He h eld me close and cried with me, his
eyes fixed on the screen.

"Scully...oh Scully, I didn't know...why didn't you tell me?"  he
whispered.

"I tried, but I just didn't have the words.  And you were in so much pain,
I couldn't add to your burden.  I couldn't tell you... And I was so
afraid.  All I could think of was what was going to happen.  I knew what
the injuries would be--what they'd do t o me--what my body would look like
in the morgue."  I could hear my voice breaking as I began sobbing.  "I
had no hope."

Mulder just held me while I sobbed aloud.

Then we saw Mulder stumble in and try to go to me.  I hadn't seen it, only
heard it.  Oh, Mulder...how you tried.  And then he came to me and tried
to stand between me and the killers.

By the time the tape got to Mulder's choice, we sat almost on top of one
another, arms wrapped about each other protectively.  On the tape, he saw
my panic and his own fear, anguish, decision.  And I think he saw my
acceptance.  I hope he did.

While Mulder made love to me, my face showed what I hoped he would see:
love and faith and trust.  And in his own face, I think he finally saw the
determination and love I saw.

When we got to my escape, I saw something new.  Mulder's desperation to
get me out of there, and my own hesitation at leaving him.  Maybe, just
maybe I didn't betray him? I still felt like I did, but...

After I the scene of my escape, I grabbed the remote, to stop the tape.
Mulder put his hand on mine.

"No," he said softly.  "The whole truth, Scully.  All of it.  We can do
this."

And so we watched to the bitter end.  I was crying, and so was he.  But,
while I ache for him, for what was done to him, I no longer feel personal
responsibility for what happened to him.  I didn't cause the rape.  Kurt
Willard did, and he's dead.

Long after the tape faded to snow, Mulder and I sat on the couch holding
each other close.

"Now do you believe me?  Mulder, you didn't enjoy my rape, did you?  It
wasn't entertaining for you.  It was..."

"Scully, it was Hell."  He cupped my chin with this hand and looked at me.
"You're right, I didn't enjoy it.  I could never enjoy something like
that.  And...I didn't enjoy my own rape...I chose NOTHING of what happened
to me.  It was forced on me, as it
 was on you."

"Mulder, you saved me from what Kurt Willard promised he'd do to me.  That
was the act of a good and gentle man.  Do you remember who you are now?"

Mulder smiled and nodded.  "I'm the man who loves Dana Scully."

I felt an immediate thrill inside.  He loves me.  He said it.  He loves
me.  I could feel a slow smile growing on my face.  Mulder noticed and he
gave me a shy smile back.

Then his face darkened a bit.  "But the case isn't over yet.  I still have
to work on the profile."

I was quiet, watching his expression.  More than anything I want this case
to be gone from our lives.  The damage it has compounded has been
incalculable.

Mulder yawned and rubbed his eyes.  He was still in shock from all this
turmoil.  Reluctantly, I got up and went over to the table and opened the
paper sack.

"What's that?"  he asked suspiciously.

"I had Skinner pick up a sedative for you.  Don't worry, it's mild.  I
think you ought to sleep."  At his jerk, I added hastily "I don't think
you'll have any more nightmares.  And if you do, I'll be here."

"Will you stay in the bedroom with me?" he asked fearfully.

"Of course.  I'm not going anywhere."  I swabbed his arm with alcohol
(Mulder has a well-stocked medicine cabinet thanks to me) and gave him the
injection.  Then I helped him to bed, covered him up and sat with him
until he fell asleep.

Now I am left alone with my thoughts.  The wall is down, the silence
broken.  Or so I hope.

And my own silence had become so hard to bear.  I am still afraid; the
case isn't over and Mulder is still the principal profiler.  I hope that
he is stronger, and more sure of who he is.  I pray that he can withstand
whatever this case will throw at us n ext.

Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (9/?)

Author:  Xenith

Journal of Fox Mulder March 14, 1999

It's late, no...early, very early Sunday, about 4 :00 a.m.  I just got
home from Scully's apartment.  I have her to thank that I survived.

Early Saturday morning, my first thought was to find my gun and just end
the pain, all of it: Samantha, years of being mocked and disbelieved, the
rape.  But the most horrible violation of all was the sense that I no
longer had control of my own psyche, that I could kill someone I love and
derive pleasure from it.  The darkness was terrible and the possibility,
unendurable.  I'm glad I remembered my promise to Scully, to call her
before I did anything.  After the call, I just waited and held the gun and
endured.

Scully's right, whatever else I may be I am not a murderer or a rapist.  I
still feel shaky, but better.  Oh, Scully, what happened to you...I wish I
had known.  I wish I could give you one quarter of the comfort you've
given me.

After I slept, I woke up from Scully's little barbiturate cocktail at
about 1:00, with the afternoon sun streaming in the window.  At first I
didn't remember the events of the morning, but I could feel a sort of
emotional cloud inside...oh yeah, the night mare...my gun...calling Scully
for help.

I rolled over and found Scully asleep on the other side of the bed, curled
up--yes, like a baby cat.  Her journal lay open next to her hand and I saw
my name on the page.  It's a very bad habit, for which Scully will kill
me, but I read her journal.

Ah Scully, I didn't know you felt this deeply about me.  I wish I deserved
it. I'm glad you see me as a place of safety.  I wish I really could
protect you, that you'd let me.  And with all the hell you've been through
since the warehouse; you never said
 anything.  But I expected that.

Our problem is pretty basic, I guess.  We don't talk.  We look at each
other, we glance, we touch, we give little innuendoes filled with hidden
meaning, but we don't talk.  And even when we do talk, we cloud it in
excessive verbiage which intentionally ob fuscates the point.

She isn't seeing a therapist; she lied.  Well, if she won't talk to a
therapist, maybe she'll talk to a friend.  She's right, we need each
other.

I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the hair out of her
face.  She opened sleepy eyes and smiled at me.

"Mulder," she yawned. "What time is it?"  Then she saw her journal, open
in my hands.

"Mulder," she started reproachfully, then sighed.  "Okay, I guess fair is
fair.  I read your journal first."  She looked down at the blankets and
picked at the lint absently.

"Scully."  She looked up when I said her name. "Scully, I had no idea how
deeply you felt about me.  Not like this.  You've never said anything, not
right out.  I always had to guess, and I was afraid I'd guess wrong."

"It's all true," Scully said softly.  "Now do you understand what I've
been trying to tell you?  Do you know how much I love you?  The thought of
losing you tears me apart inside.  And the possibility that you would, of
your own will, take yourself out of
 this life...is unbearable to me."

I was shaken.  I'd never thought of Scully's feelings for me as being akin
to mine for her.  She's strong, a survivor.  If I died, she'd go on,
marry, have a life.  Wouldn't she?

She took my left hand in the palm of her left and stroked my fingers with
her right hand.  "I don't know what I would do if I lost you.  Please,
don't wait to call me if this happens again."

I gave her a hesitant smile.  "Scully, believe me, if it happens again,
you'll be the first I call.  Besides, you bring good drugs with you."

I cleared my throat and went on.  "Sometimes it's hard for me to be
serious, but I am now.  Scully, I want to be your protection, your safe
place.  I know you don't want me hovering over you protectively, and I
respect that.  Just as I respect your abili ties.  But, when you need a
quiet place, I want you to know that I'll be there for you.  Always."

I found myself with an armful of Scully (very nice) and I think that we
were then able to communicate many things non-verbally.  We broke up the
clinch when my stomach growled.  I grinned, shamefacedly.

"Well, I guess it's lunch time on a Saturday.  What'll it be?  Pizza or
Chinese?"

She wrinkled her nose and sat up.  "How are you feeling?  You must be
better if you can eat."  She studied me carefully and I could feel her
counting my ribs through my t-shirt.  Yeah, I've lost weight lately.  I
wasn't eating much before this case, and I
 eat even less when I'm profiling.

"I'm better.  I feel more centered.  The sleep helped.  I think that was
the first sleep I've had without nightmares in weeks."

Scully's hand came out and stroked my forehead, ostensibly checking for
fever but I know a caress when I feel one.  "How are you, really?" she
asked simply.

Tough question.  "Am I suicidal?  No, not actively.  I'm satisfied that I
won't hurt you.  Will I ever get suicidal again?  I don't know, Scully." I
saw her dissatisfied look and added, "I'm sorry I can't be more definite,
but I owe you the truth."

She nodded.  "Well, you're better than you were.  We need to call Skinner
and get you off this case somehow.  You can't stay, it'll kill you."

"No, I disagree," I protested.  "I'm still Erica Scott's best chance and
she deserves that.  I've passed the crisis, I'll be okay.  Really."
Scully just pierced me with that skeptical look she's patented.  She knows
a line of bullshit when she hears it.

"So, would you like to go out?  It is Saturday, you know."  She looked
puzzled, so I added, "Our DATE, remember?  It's my turn to treat you."

"You are changing the subject."  Scully looked at me, then leaned back,
resting against my chest.

"Yes.  I am.  And I'm still hungry.  So, what will it be?"

She gave me a speculative look.  "Are you sure you're up for it?"

I leered and answered her.  "Agent Scully, for you I am always *up* for
it.  And I'm hungry, too.  So, what's for lunch?"

"Thai food.  And make it spicy."  Scully and spicy food, now there's a
combination.  Most of the fair-haired people I've ever known have had no
tolerance for hot foods.  And then there's Scully.  She likes to say that
she teethed on jalapenos, and having grown up in San Diego, she
appreciates Mexican food.

"Agent Scully, I know just the place, in Georgetown..." I gently dislodged
her head from my chest (reluctantly) and went to shower and shave.

We had a peaceful lunch and a leisurely stroll through Georgetown, window
shopping and sight-seeing.

When the sun went down, Scully insisted on making dinner for me at her
place.  "And besides, I want to show you something."

"Oh, and what would that be?"  I asked archly.  Mentally, I was torn
between the hope that it was some great new lingerie and the fear that it
was some great new lingerie.  I'm serious about not wanting to go too far
until I test clean.  And the idea of s ex with Scully....wondrous,
intoxicating...also conjures up demons still all too vivid.  I want her,
but I'm just not ready yet.  I don't know if I can...even with her.

"You'll see," was all she would say.

I discovered, when we got to her apartment, not great new lingerie, but
something even more tantalizing: a wide screen television and premium
cable.

"Scully, I didn't think you even watched television."  I picked up the
remote longingly.  I must have been fondling it, because Scully started
laughing.

"Yes, Mulder, I do watch television, and videos.  I just thought it was
time to get a decent television set and cable to go with it.  The man from
City Cable was here on Friday to hook up the cable service."

She snuggled next to me on the couch and wrapped her arm around my waist.
"Besides, I have this new boyfriend who really likes television.  I
thought he might enjoy watching public television with me."

I turned to Scully, my eyes widening.  "Very cultured, your boyfriend,
huh?"

She smirked.  "Oh, very.  He especially likes nature shows, you know,
birds...bees..."

As she leaned in for my kiss I whispered "Let's keep bees out of this
relationship, huh?...."

Dinner was late.  We spent some time necking on the couch like teenagers.
Boyfriend.  She called me her boyfriend.  I like that sound...boyfriend.
Does that make her my "girlfriend"?  Are we going "steady"?  Can you go
"steady" while in your late 30's a nd no longer a virgin?  Hell, I'm just
glad I'm her 'boyfriend'.

After dinner, and some more necking, we tried out the television set.  The
cable worked beautifully and we spent the rest of the evening watching a
Star Trek marathon...and necking some more.

All in all the day ended much better than I expected it to.  I'm not on a
morgue slab--which was all I could see when I woke up.

I have strict orders from my doctor to spend Sunday quietly at home, but
to call her at least once to check in.  I always follow my doctor's
orders.


March 15, 1999 Monday

I got to the office early, about 7:30 a.m.  Just as I put my coat down,
the phone rang and I moved to answer it.

"Mulder?  How are you feeling?"  It was Skinner's voice and he didn't
sound happy. He sounded on edge.  I could hear noises in the background.

"Much better, sir.  Is there something wrong?"

"Yes.  Erica Scott's body just turned up.  I'm at the scene...."  My gut
clenched.  Damn, damn, damn, damn...too late.  We were too damned late.
And I could hear the question he wanted to ask.  Was I up to working on
this case, or would he be forced to e xplain the suicide of the lead
profiler?

"We're ready to help, sir.  Where are you?"  I scribbled down the address
he gave me.

"Is Agent Scully there with you?" he asked.

"No, she's still at home, but I'll call her.  We'll meet you there."

I telephoned Scully.  She was almost ready to leave for work.

"No, you'll have to meet me at a crime scene.  They found Erica's body.
Skinner's there now.  He want's us."  I gave her the address and she
agreed to meet me there.

The body had been found in a vacant lot about ten miles from the Hoover
Building, hidden in some bushes.  The city police had already arrived and
the area was taped off.  I pulled on latex gloves and wandered over to
where Skinner was standing, surveying the area dismally.

He turned as we approached and gave me a visual once-over.  "Agent.  The
body was found by a jogger about an hour ago.  We are canvassing the area
for any witnesses who may have seen who dumped her here."

I walked over to the body and squatted down to examine it, then felt a
hand on my forearm.

"Mulder, you don't have to be here.  She's gone, her father can hardly
object if you leave the case at this time."  Skinner was looking at me
with something like compassion.

"No, I have to be here.  I have to find this guy, or all my work, all
my...experiences...on this case will have been wasted.  And her family
needs the closure."  I could still see doubt in his eyes.  "Sir, trust me.
I can handle this."

He took his hand off my sleeve and let me examine the body.  The body lay
face down and was half covered by dirt and vegetation, but it didn't hide
the stab wounds.  Not much blood, though.  She was killed somewhere else.

Then coroner turned the body over and I gasped.  The resemblance was even
more pronounced in person.  God, she could have been Scully's twin.  I
couldn't stop staring at her face, her blue eyes open in amazement.  Blue
eyes so like Scully's.  Scully....sh e sure was taking a long time getting
here....Oh well, sometimes she does that.

I wandered over the crime scene, one among many forensics people looking
for the same thing: evidence that would lead us to this SOB.

I spotted a small scrap of paper in the leaves near where the body had
been and carefully picked it up.  It was printed on one side, part of a
bill?

It was pink and said "City C.." The rest was torn off.  No other writing.
I put it into a plastic evidence bag and began studying it.  I
considered--It could be nothing.  'City Cafe?' or 'City Cat-care?'...then
a terrible thought hit me.  Oh my God, and Scully fits the profile.

I pulled out my cell phone and frantically called her home number.  No
answer.  I tried her cell phone.  No answer.  Shit! shit! shit! I started
running for my car.

"Skinner!  City Cable---the UNSUB works for City Cable!  We have to get to
Scully's apartment, FAST!"

His eyes widened and he began to run after me, shouting into his cell
phone.  I got to my car first, peeling out, leaving him behind as the
agents scattered.




From: Xenith <xenitha@yahoo.com>

Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (10/?)

Author:  Xenith


Fox Mulder's Journal, continued...

March 15, 1999

When I arrived at Scully's apartment house, squealing to a stop in front
of the building, I could see that I was already too late.  The area was
taped off and police were interviewing witnesses.  I didn't see Scully
anywhere.

I flashed my badge at the cop and ran inside.  Scully's apartment door was
open and I could see forensics workers combing the place.  I hurried over
to the detective in charge and flashed my badge again.

"Hello," he said. "Agent....Mulder?  Is the Bureau taking over?"

I looked around, hoping against hope that Scully would be there somewhere.
She wasn't.  "Probably.  I'm Agent Scully's partner.  Where is she?  Can
you tell me what happened?"

"I'm Detective Jenkins, Alexandria P.D.  A neighbor called and said she
heard the sounds of a fight, then saw Ms...er...Agent Scully being carried
out the door, apparently unconscious.  A man described as," he looked at
his notepad. "Short, stocky, with dark hair and mustache had her in a
fireman's carry and loaded her into a gray or white van.  The witness
didn't get a license number."

I could feel myself slump.  I pulled the plastic baggie from my pocket and
handed it to Jenkins.  "The suspect you want is an employee of City Cable,
probably a cable service man.  This was found at the scene where the body
of Erica Scott was found this m orning.  He's a serial rapist-murderer
operating in the Alexandria area, and my partner and I have been assisting
in the investigation.  You've got to call City Cable and find out who this
guy is."

"I'm familiar with the case.  She would fit the profile at that."  Jenkins
glanced at a photo of Scully and her mother on the side table, and pulled
out his cell phone.

I wandered around the apartment, looking, looking for clues, something.  I
heard a step behind me and found Skinner there, a look of sympathy on his
face.

"Agent, there's nothing you can do here.  You're only getting in the way
of the forensics team.  Why don't you go back to the office and wait for
developments?"

"What about the suspect?  Are they going to pick him up?  When can we go?"

Skinner nodded toward Jenkins. "I've just spoken to him.  The police are
already out there and he isn't home.  They're searching the house and
there's no evidence that he took any of the victims there."


"I need to see it; see where he lives. It could give me some leads."
Skinner had a familiar set to his jaw that told me he didn't support the
idea.

"Agent Mulder, competent investigators from the police and the Bureau are
on scene.  I don't think you're up to more profiling just now."

"But I know this guy, I'm the one most qualified..." I started, but
Skinner began to shake his head.

"No.  You shouldn't be on this case any more.  And with Erica Scott dead,
there's no reason for me to keep you on it."

"Scully's my...PARTNER..." I forced the words out through gritted teeth.
"She'd give her life for me; I owe her..."

Skinner just gave me a compassionate look and shook his head.  I decided
to change tactics.

"Has Maggie Scully been told?" I asked.  Skinner nodded.

"I called her on the way over.  She's on telephone standby.  There's no
reason for her to come out here and watch the police work."

"I'll call her," I started to get my cell phone, when I felt a hand on my
shoulder.

"Don't do it here.  From the office, Mulder."



So here I am, in the basement office at the Hoover Building.  The repair
man who installed Scully's cable, Everett Berger, is 5' 6", dark-haired,
stocky with a mustache.  Today's his day off; he hasn't been to work and
wasn't at home.

I called Maggie Scully.  She was collected and calm, very like her
daughter in a crisis.

"Mrs. Scully, I just want you to know that we'll find her.  I won't leave
any stone unturned; I'll find her."  I was trying to convince myself as
much as her.

"I know you'll do your best, Fox.  I'll pray for you both."

Now why does that make me feel a little better?


Using a few little tricks the boys taught me, I've discovered the address
for Berger and I'm going out there to see what I can find. Scully's life
is worth more than my career.  Shit!  My sorry-ass life isn't worth more
than hers.  I'll do whatever it tak es to bring her home.

---Later----

I'm at home with the bits and pieces I was able to gather from Berger's
house.  It looks like he inherited it from his parents.  Old but
serviceable furniture, no sign of hobbies.  He lives alone, no pets.  But
I found some interesting stuff.

A photograph album, a calendar, some paperback books.  I spent a good two
hours there, absorbing the atmosphere, learning him.

What I'm about to do probably isn't my smartest action, but I don't see
any choice.  Berger knows by now that the police are after him; he won't
go back home.  He has Scully some place that feels safe to him.  He's a
planner, stalked Scully and examined h er habits and took her to a place
he prepared for her.  He won't be found easily.

He won't rape her right away.  His hatred is so great that he has to gloat
over his victims, try to humiliate them first.  Scully.....

I have the file here, all the photographs, evidence, everything I need.
I'll find her.


NOTE, LEFT FOLDED ON MULDER'S DESK ON TOP OF FLOPPY DISK.


Scully,

I'm leaving you my journal on this disk; I want you to know my thoughts
while I'm lucid.  And I want to leave you this letter, while I can.  As I
write this, you're being held by that bastard Everett Berger, our serial
killer.  I can only see one way to f ind you, and Skinner has forbidden me
to try.  Well, you know how I feel about authority.

You know how I react to profiling.  I may actually join Patterson this
time; I don't know if I can find my way back to you.  I'll try.  I just
want you to know that.  But if I don't make it back, I want you to know
how I feel about you.

Scully, you're the center of my life, my heart and my soul.  You always
will be, whether I am able to comprehend that or not.  I've never found it
easy to say "I love you", but I've been learning how important it is in
recent days.  I do love you, with al l my heart.  And I always will.

But if I end up sharing a padded cell with Bill Patterson, don't waste
your time around me.  Find yourself a life and go live it. Working with
you has been the best time of my life and I'll always have that.

God, that sounds maudlin, doesn't it?  But I mean it, Scully.

I love you always,

Mulder


UNDATED NOTES ON FOX MULDER'S DESK, WEIGHED DOWN BY SERVICE WEAPON.  FOUND
BY WALTER S. SKINNER (A.D., FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION)

---Damned little women...china dolls, that's what they are...shrill
voices...think they're better than me.

So I work hard, they despise me because I work with my hands...I'll show
them how I work with my hands.  No...they want clean men, well-dressed
men...big men.

That little red-head, cute, bossy.  Buys that big-ass television set that
I could never afford.  No. I just get to install it, that's all.  And
connect the cable.  She wouldn't know one end of a cable box from another,
but she has money.  And I saw that g uy that she's with--designer suits,
tall.  I hate jerks like that.

Well he can't have her.  She belongs to me.  She'll always belong to me.
I'll be the last man she ever has, and I'll be the last thing she ever
sees.  ----------------

Extreme rage against women....was he sexually abused by one as a child?
Or maybe hurt by one as an adolescent?

Obsessed with height.  Obsessed with work--his work, his work is manual
labor of some kind--of course, cable and electronics.  Not 'clean' enough
for him...

Where did he take her?

Kills them in a frenzy---multiple stab wounds, over 49 in victim number 6.
Restrains them with cords--abrasions on wrists and ankles.  Control and
dominance uppermost...not much control in his life....

Dumps the bodies in vacant lots, dumpsters.  Sees the victims as 'used
up', as 'garbage'.  He wants their essence, their 'stature', takes it by
destroying them and tries to infuse it into himself....

Safe place...my safe place....where? where is it?  Come on, Everett, tell
me...

Home, gotta take them home...not the house, a happy place.  Look at the
pictures in the scrapbook---a young man standing with elderly people in
front of a farm house.  Outbuildings in the back.  Another picture of a
younger man standing over a dead deer, with older man--grandfather.

Safe place.

Grandparents house.  Shed out back, or outbuilding.  Too much blood to
sully happy place...use shed.

Thank God for friends who are hackers.  Address for grandparents' house:

32404 Moorhen Road Gordonton Maryland

Grandparents died 4 years ago, house inherited by an aunt.  She's lives in
Florida, so it's vacant.

Skinner's number: 202/555-3425

Leave message....Won't wait for backup.  Sorry Skinner...

MESSAGE ON VOICEMAIL (202) 555-3425 Datestamped: 5/15/99 4:02 p.m.

Sir, this is Agent Mulder (slurry voice), I..uh..looked over the files on
the Berger case...I think he's at his grandparents' house.  It's vacant
now..has been for years.  Address is...address is....uh... 32404 Moorhen
Road Gordonton Maryland...He won't kill her yet, but we need to get there.
I'm on my way...

(long pause--heavy breathing sounds)

I..he's inside me...I can feel his emotions, his hate.  I think..I have
some..empathy for Patterson...I..don't know what's going to happen, but I
have to get to Scully.  If it looks like I'm a danger to her, shoot me.
Please.


WASHINGTON POST MARCH 16, 1999 MORNING EDITION

--Late Monday evening FBI agents and police arrested a man suspected of
raping and murdering 7 women, including Erica Scott, daughter of Senator
Gareth Scott, whose body was found yesterday.

A woman, not yet identified, who was held captive by him was treated
briefly for minor injuries and released.  A Federal Agent involved in the
arrest has been hospitalized with undisclosed injuries.

From: Xenith <xenitha@yahoo.com>

Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (11/?)

Author:  Xenith

Journal of Dana Scully March 16, 1999


They won't let me see him.  Damn!  Skinner told them it was too dangerous
and they won't let me see him.

I've argued and explained and threatened but Skinner just looks at me and
says nothing.

I might as well describe everything that happened.  I'm so upset it might
calm me.  As I write this I am sitting on a couch in the hospital waiting
room for the special section.  I am NOT going home until they let me see
him.

On Monday morning, after Mulder's call, I was finishing my makeup, but
still needed shoes and my gun when the doorbell rang.  I checked the
peephole and saw the guy who installed my television set and cable there.
Suspecting nothing, I opened the door.

"Hello Ms. Scully," he smiled. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I realized
that I installed the wrong splitter for your type of television set.  Your
reception my be okay now, but it won't last long.  I'd like to exchange it
for the proper one, if you don't mind.  It'll only take a minute."  He
held up a small gadget and looked at me appealingly.

"Well, I'm in kind of a hurry, but okay, if it's fast."  I opened the door
and let him in, then turned my back to lead him to the t.v. set.  Big
mistake.

I felt a blow to my head and the reality of the situation hit me just as
the unconsciousness did.  This was HIM, the one who killed all those
women.

I must have been out for some hours, because when I woke up the late
afternoon sun was slanting through the windows of the shed where I lay.  I
was still fully dressed and was tied, wrists and ankles.  I could see
daylight through the holes in the corruga ted iron that formed the walls
of this place.  Wooden floor, and old farm implements made up the rest of
the decor.

Damn!  I recalled all too well waking up in that warehouse and what
happened after.  Only this time, there was no Mulder to share it with me.
I struggled with the cords but there was little give.  But the killer
wasn't here, and I was grateful for the ti me to plan.

I got mad.  No, I got enraged.  I would NOT be made a victim a second
time.  I'd die first and take him with me.  Somehow.  And knowing Mulder,
he'd be moving heaven and earth to find me.  He'll get here.  I know he
will.  What would Mulder do in this sit uation?  He'd psych the guy out.
What had Mulder said about him?  Small of soul and of stature.  Small ego.
Play on that.

Whatever the other women had tried didn't work.  They died.  Well, I'm a
Federal Agent, I have training.  That has to count for something.  And
dammit, I'm *tired* of this.

About half an hour later he came into the shed.

I tried to look non-threatening and asked hesitantly "What's going on?
Why did you take me?"  That's right Starbuck, play innocent.  He doesn't
know you're FBI, so we won't tell him.

"You wouldn't understand.  All you women, you little ones especially."  He
studied me closely.  "You're friendlier than the other ones."

Good.  Keep him thinking that way.  "When you came out on Friday, you
seemed so nice, like such a pleasant guy.  I just don't understand why
you're doing this.  What do you want?..."  I gave him what I hoped was a
non-threatening, pleading look.

"You're lying.  Women always are.  They don't want a guy like me; I'm
short and I'm a working man."

"So the only way to get a woman is to kidnap one?"  Uh oh, wrong tack
Dana.  He tensed up and looked like he wanted to hit me, so I followed up.
"That doesn't seem like you.  I think you're very good looking.
I...uh...was kind of hoping on Friday that y ou'd ask me out."

He calmed down and looked surprised.  "Really?  You really think so?" Then
his face hardened.  "You *are* lying to me.  You bitches are all the
same."

So much for the soft soap.  Time for plan number 2.  He approached me and
I couldn't control my flinch away from him.  He looked at me intently then
bent over and began kissing me.  I held still and endured it until he
pulled away, then began unbuttoning my blouse.

Good, get closer..closer..my hands were tied in front of me this time, and
I knew exactly where I was going to drive my knees, just as soon as he was
in position.
 
I was about to knee him in the groin, when I heard the sounds of a car on
a gravel driveway.  He heard it too and abruptly pulled away from me,
grabbing a handgun on his way out.

I heard voices outside...Mulder!  Then Mulder walked into the shed,
followed immediately by my kidnapper, the gun trained on Mulder's back.

"I told you, I'm not armed," Mulder said as he walked in, hands up.  "You
can see that my holster is empty.  Everett, I had to talk to you, get you
to see reason." Mulder glanced around the room, his eyes glancing
impersonally over me.

"And what reason would that be?"  The man, Everett, held the gun firmly on
Mulder's chest.

"You have to get out of here.  The FBI knows where you are, they're on
their way.  You're doing a good thing, teaching all those bitches a
lesson.  Damned women...look down on honest working men...." Mulder was
rambling and didn't sound like himself.

"And why do you care so damned much about my welfare, huh?"

"I understand your frustration.  Working guys never have a chance with
women like this...And this...this piece of garbage," Mulder shot me a look
filled with venom. "She deserves everything she gets.  But the Feds are
coming and you've gotta get out."

Mulder walked over to me and knelt next to me, then grabbed my hair in
with his hand and forced his tongue into my mouth, kissing me as brutally
as Everett had planned to.

He sat up and grinned at Everett, who by now had lowered the gun,
somewhat. "She isn't worth your time, slutty piece of trash just like the
rest..." I could see Mulder's hand reaching down to his ankle, where he
wore a hidden gun.

Everett had aimed the gun toward the floor by now.  He was believing
Mulder.

Mulder eased himself to his feet and brought out the gun, pointing it at
Everett.

"Freeze.  Hands where I can see them, I'm a Federal agent, " he said
calmly enough.  He'd had me frightened there for a moment.  His demeanor
had been a haunting twin to my kidnapper.

Everett, shocked, dropped the gun and stood with his hands up.  Mulder
kicked the gun away and cuffed the man to a support post, then came over
to me.

"Mulder...My God, you had me worried for a minute there..."  I feasted my
eyes on his face and body as he untied me.

He gave me a worried grin.  "Don't be relieved yet, that bastard is still
in my head.  I figured out enough about him to lead me here.  Skinner
should be here in a few minutes."

I rubbed my wrists and nodded.  Mulder helped me to my feet, then quickly
drew his hand away as though afraid to touch me.  He holstered his gun and
began looking around the shed.

"He's got trophies here, I know it..." While I watched, Mulder rummaged in
some metal cabinets, then came up with various articles of women's
clothing, a necklace, a watch.  He fondled them absently, his eyes going
vacant.

I reached for the items in Mulder's hands.  "Mulder?  Mulder you shouldn't
handle those without gloves....Mulder!"

Mulder had grabbed my wrist and with a strange look in his eyes he said
"Nobody touches these but me.  They're mine."  He gave me a sideways look
that chilled me.  I wasn't talking to Mulder any more.  It was him,
Everett.

"I won't touch them, it's okay." I backed away from him slowly, hoping
that Skinner would get here soon.  "Mulder?  I'm glad you found me.  When
did you call Skinner?  Will he be here soon?"

The distant look faded from Mulder's eyes and he met my glance finally.
"Scully?  What...what happened?"  He looked down at the handful of silk in
his hands, then up at me, a frightened expression on his face.

"It's happening again, isn't it?  I was him."

I couldn't answer him and still tell the truth.  It didn't matter, he saw
the truth in my eyes, and nodded.  He slowly reached for his gun and
pulled it from the holster, then put it on the floor between us.

"Take it, Scully.  I shouldn't have it.  It's too dangerous; I might hurt
you."

"Mulder, you're still you!  This will pass, it has to.  I can't take your
weapon..." I crouched down so that I was even with him.

He smiled at me forlornly and shook his head.  "Be logical, Agent Scully.
I'm not competent to handle a weapon, and I'm a danger to both myself and
you.  You keep it for me."

"For now.  Temporarily."  I picked up the gun hesitantly and tucked it
into my belt.  Mulder slowly got up, as though a weight had fallen off his
shoulders.

I heard a scraping sound and turned to see our prisoner trying to dislodge
the pole and escape.  Mulder saw him too, and launched himself at him,
then began to punch at Everett's head and body frantically.

"Mulder!  Stop!  Mulder!"  I ran forward and tried to pull Mulder away.  I
could hear Mulder's voice muttering

"I'm not a victim...you're the victim..I'm in control, not you....I have
the power, not you!  And she's MINE, not yours!"

I pulled at Mulder and he lost his balance, falling away from a now
cowering Everett.  Mulder got up from the floor, looking at me with
burning eyes.  The man looking at me was Mulder...but it wasn't him.  It
was happening again.

"I'm in control.  You damned women, you're all alike...trying to take
over....But you're mine.."  He approached me, he hands reaching out for
me.

I pulled the gun and backed away.  "Mulder, it's me, Scully..." I tried to
keep my voice soothing, remind him of who he was.  "We're partners,
remember?  You and I work together, we're friends...remember
roller-skating?  You like pizza with anchovies and I hate them..."  I kept
up a monologue, easing backward for the wall, until I could feel my
shoulders against corrugated iron.

I couldn't shoot him point blank.  But I had to.  I could feel my finger
beginning to squeeze the trigger.

Mulder blinked, then staggered back a few steps, his eyes widening.  "Oh
my God, Scully..." He looked down at his hands, then retreated from me
sharply, falling over backwards, holding his arms close to himself, his
eyes squeezed shut.  Then he began rock ing.

I could hear cars pulling up on the gravel driveway.  Skinner, at last.

"Mulder, there here.  It's okay...." I holstered the gun and knelt next to
him, but he just crouched there, rocking.

Skinner ran into the shed, gun drawn and saw me.  He looked around.

"Agent Scully, where's...?" He saw Everett, battered but restrained.  And
then he noticed Mulder.  "Damn."

Skinner came over and squatted next to Mulder.

I put my hand on Mulder's shoulder and began to make soothing noises.
"Mulder, it's okay; I'm all right, nobody's hurt.  You got Everett.  It's
okay.  Can you hear me?"

Mulder just rocked.  I exchanged a worried look with Skinner.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Minor bruises, no real damage.  But I think we need the paramedics, just
the same."  Skinner nodded and went over to the doorway to make the call.
Meanwhile, agents were pouring into the shed, beginning the forensics work
necessary to closing the case d own.

I stayed with Mulder throughout the ride to the hospital, but he never
said a word.

----Later---

Skinner got word that I was refusing to leave the hospital unless I saw
Mulder.  I think Sandy ratted on me.

Skinner came over to my couch and sat down next to me.

"Agent Scully, " he began kindly enough "You've had a hard day.  Why don't
you go home and rest?"

"Not until I see Mulder.  Nobody will tell me anything.  What's wrong with
him?  Is he conscious yet?"

"He's not really himself," Skinner said uncomfortably.  "I've spoken with
him.  He drifts away, then comes back.  But the reason you're excluded
from seeing him, well, it wasn't my decision.  It was his."

"What do you mean, his decision?" I asked incredulously.  "Why wouldn't he
want to see me?"

"Dana, Mulder was having trouble maintaining his own personality while
doing this profile even before this incident, you know that.  He left you
a note and his journal."

Skinner handed me the note and his own laptop to read the disk with.

"You've read this?" I asked.

"Yes.  I needed the insight into his state of mind.  Under the
circumstances, I have to agree with his decision.  It is too dangerous for
him to see you right now."

I picked up the laptop and read his journal entries, then read over
Mulder's notes.  I could see the beginnings of disintegration on the page.
And lastly I read his note to me.  His goodbye.

He expected this to happen before he came after me, damn him.  And he
won't let me near, so that I can at least share his pain.


From: Xenith <xenitha@yahoo.com>

Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (12/?)

Author:  Xenith

Dana Scully's Journal March 16---later

I got in to see him, finally.  I snuck a white lab coat, grabbed Mulder's
chart and bluffed my way in to see him when the shift changed.  The new
nurse doesn't know me and unlocked his room for me.

He was sleeping when I went in, restrained at his ankles and wrists.  He
looks so pale and thin, especially in that hospital gown.  I sat down in
the chair and began to read over his chart.  Not much of a physical
nature.  Brain scans were normal, no chem icals in his blood stream, no
new physical injuries.

And he'd been put into restraints at his own request.  He didn't want to
chance hurting anybody.

I rubbed my eyes and closed them for a second.  He hadn't been evaluated
by a psychiatrist yet, but he'd be seeing somebody tomorrow.  And then the
anti-psychotic meds would begin, maybe a long stay in a mental hospital.
Damn those faceless gray men who value politics over a man's life.

I looked up to find him watching me, such a sad look on his face.

"Hey, Scully.  I might have known that locked doors wouldn't keep you
out," he said quietly.

"Mulder."  I paused, uncertain what to say.  "Mulder, why?"

He gave me a deep look filled with longing, then stared at the floor.
"You know why.  I can't trust myself, not like this.  Scully, for a
moment, I was *him*.  I was looking at you through *his* eyes."  He shook
his head.  "No.  I can't risk it. I can't risk hurting you.  He's still in
my head."

"Mulder, *he* is a set of ideas and concepts you picked up while
profiling.  You're an empathetic and imaginative man, that's why you're a
good profiler.  And that's why this happens to you."  I surveyed him
calmly, suddenly angry, at him, at the situatio n.  "And besides, Mulder,
since you elected to have yourself restrained, you can't stop me from
staying here and visiting with you.  I'm in no danger."

I leaned back in my chair.  "So, what do you have to say to that?"

"I..guess I have no choice."  Mulder favored me with a surprised little
grin.  "Besides, I always did think you had a thing for bondage."

I couldn't stop my own grin at that.  I spent the rest of the evening with
him.  He faded out several of times, but came back when I spoke to him
loudly.  But he was frightened when he realized what had happened.  He was
very clear that he wanted the rest raints to stay on.

I reluctantly said good night when a nurse came in to give him a sedative
so that he'd sleep.  I plan to return early tomorrow morning.  I want to
talk to his psychiatrist.

March 17, 1999 7:00 a.m.

I was very surprised to find Dr. Heitz Werber deep in conversation with
Skinner this morning.  And pleased, I think.  Dr. Werber is
unconventional, but at least he knows Mulder.

I joined Skinner, who was conferring with Werber in the hallway.

"Do you have a prognosis yet, Dr. Werber?" I asked anxiously.

"I'm hopeful.  A.D. Skinner and I want to discuss that with you."

"You know each other?" I was incredulous.  Skinner nodded.

"We've met before.  I spoke with Dr. Werber before Mulder was assigned to
the X Files." Skinner looked uncomfortable.  "I suppose you should know,
since you're listed as his next of kin.  This isn't the first time this
has happened to him."

"I know, when he was profiling Roche he had problems."

Skinner shook his head.  "No, Dana, those were minor.  No, the reason he
left the ISU, and did it so abruptly was because he was beginning
to...well, evidence the mannerisms of a subject he was profiling: Monty
Props.  He realized it himself and sought Dr . Werber's help."  My eyes
went wide.  Monty Props, the famous serial killer that Mulder had known so
thoroughly his profile had been the key to apprehending him.

"How bad was it?" I didn't want the answer to this, but I had to know.

"He assaulted Patterson himself and broke the man's nose before he was
restrained.  He was put on involuntary medical leave."  Skinner pulled off
his glasses and began wiping them.  "We were barely able to save his
career by calling it a stress-related le ave.  With rest, he was able to
pull himself together again, and lose the voices.  The X Files were
proposed as an interim assignment for him until he recovered fully, and
could return to the ISU, and I agreed to supervise the division."

"But I wouldn't agree to his return," Dr. Werber said quietly.  "It would
destroy him.  He is far too suggestible and imaginative for that type of
work.  Fox approached me and indicated that he enjoyed the X Files and
wanted to stay.  It seemed he had a p artner he liked working with there,
as well, so I recommended that he retain that assignment if at all
possible."

"And I met with Dr. Werber at that time to make sure that Mulder was fit
for duty.  With this new...incident...I called him last night, assuming
that Mulder would want him on the case."  Skinner straightened up.

"We are now presented with a similar problem.  If Agent Mulder begins
standard psychiatric treatment, including anti-psychotic medication, he
can kiss his career good-bye.  He's already bordering on suicide, if he
loses his career on top of that..." Skinn er's voice trailed off as he
looked down at his hands.

"He'll die," I whispered. "What can I do to help?"

Werber and Skinner exchanged looks.

"I have an idea, sort of a rest-cure, if you're willing." Werber began.
"With some difficulty I've succeeded in persuading the Assistant Director
that this is the best thing to do.  I don't believe that Fox is a true
danger to you or to anyone but himself ."

"I have a vacation house in North Carolina.  I don't use it much.  I had
already approached the Director." Skinner's face took on a grim look.
"Given the content of my earlier letter to him, he has agreed to extended,
fully paid medical leaves for you bo th.  Why don't you go stay there for
a while, both of you, and heal up from all this?  It's in a beautiful
area, it's peaceful and it will give Mulder a chance to recover."  Skinner
fished into his pocket and handed me a key.  "Sharon and I...spent our ho
neymoon there.  It's a nice place.  You'll like it."

I took the key.  "Thank you sir.  But are you sure Mulder will agree to
it?  I know that he would never hurt me, but he's afraid that he's a
danger to me.  He'll hardly want to be locked in a cottage with me for
weeks."

Skinner grinned.  "He doesn't have a choice.  Either he does this or he is
given a medical retirement.  He'll agree.  But it'll be up to you to
convince him that he isn't the killer he thinks he is."

Mulder's Journal undated

They let Skinner loan me his laptop.  It's not pointy, like a pen or
pencil; not a potential weapon.  And the restraints are off.  I guess
that's good.

It's nice to be able to write my thoughts again; not that they've been
very private lately.  It seems that Skinner as well as Scully read the
contents of the CD and my note to her.  I'd be angry if I wasn't just so
damned tired of it all.

They've come up with a jack-ass scheme to save my career.  Scully and I
are going to a cottage in North Carolina that Skinner owns.  The very
thought terrifies me.  I could hurt her and never even realize it until it
was too late.  Scully looks remarkably
 calm at the prospect and just reminds me that she'll have a gun, not me.
And yeah, I know she'll shoot.

Well, at least the 'stang is going with me.  I called Frohike and he's
arranging for it to be shipped to Skinner's place.  I'll keep working on
it, hopefully it'll keep me sane.  Or maybe get me sane.  All alone with
Scully for two months.  Once that was my fantasy, now...?  Now I'm just
scared.  And unsettled.  Who am I really?  Who am I now?

Dana Scully's Journal March 31, 1999 Calabash, N.C.

Well, we've been here almost two weeks now.  It's been peaceful so far.
The cottage has two bedrooms, so Mulder sleeps in one and I have the
other.  To my disappointment, but not my surprise, Mulder has stopped
touching me, kissing me like we were begin ning to do before.

If he's lapsed into the other personality, he hasn't let me see it.
Mostly he's just silent, thinking.  I'm trying to give him space, let him
heal, but the silence is beginning to wear on me.  There is so much left
to be said between us

The cottage is pretty, a white-painted clapboard house with a deck and two
matching adirondack chairs facing the sea.  This week I've been working in
the garden and my nose is cherry red.  It's been clear with the temp in
the 60's and 70's.  The roses hav e run wild; I don't think Skinner has
come here much recently, so I've made it my task to prune and care for the
garden.

Mulder has been working steadily on the Mustang.  He won't let me help,
says it's a guy-type of job, even though I'm the one who assembled most of
that carburetor.  Nevertheless, I understand his need to do 'masculine'
things.  And the car is something un iquely his, that neither the X Files
nor what's happened to him can take away.

And I....?  This is the first real breather I've had since Kurt Willard,
and I'm starting to deal with the vestiges of the emotions that experience
left behind.  No, not vestiges, great seething cauldrons of rage, and
shame and pain.  I could never spend time to work these through before;
Mulder needed me.  He still needs me, but I sense that he just needs
quiet.  And he's still keeping a distance from me.  I think he's afraid
that the voices will come back and he'll hurt me.  At his insistence, I
wear my
 gun and have promised him solemnly that I'll shoot him if I need to.

I've begun seeing a local therapist twice a week.  It does help, talking
to somebody who doesn't know me as Dana Scully, FBI agent, although I
sometimes wonder if this gentle woman really believes half of what I tell
her.  Mulder seems to be sleeping thro ugh the night.  Now I'm the one
with nightmares: the warehouse, the shed...what would have happened if
Mulder hadn't found me when he did.

The most difficult part of this living arrangement is the sheer physical
closeness to Mulder.  I don't mean to say that we don't talk, we just
don't behave in an intimate way.

We've gone back to the "we're-platonic-partners-that's-all" facade.  When
I make overtures, Mulder shies away.  My Mulder-dream is back.  I should
feel repulsed at the idea of sex, but I'm not.  Not at all.  And facing
him across that kitchen table three times a day is hard.  I want him so
much, and we're alone here.  Nobody watching.  Does he want me?  Or have I
l ost him?

So our daily routine is fairly simple.  Mulder gets up first and makes
coffee for both of us.  If the morning is clear, I usually pour myself a
cup and join him on the deck, sipping and watching the sea.  I grab an
afghan and wrap it around myself and si t in the second adirondack and
quietly drink my coffee.  Then, when the coffee is finished, I make
breakfast.  (Soup is the only thing he can cook.) On foggy days we do the
same thing, in front of the fire.

After breakfast he works on the car and I read, or garden or just think.
This is the first extended time I've had for myself in a long time when I
wasn't either in a hospital or rehab.

And of course, Mulder watches television.  I've never known a man so
addicted to the tube.  But I don't complain.  And funny, even though we
have cable here, nary a porn movie has he seen while I've been here with
him.  The rape turning affecting his desi re for sex?  Probably.  God, how
I wish... I wish a lot of things...and I can't do a damned thing about
them.

Fox Mulder's Journal April 1, 1999

I hate to say it, but I'm getting bored.  Is that sick or what?  The guys
shipped me a stack of Playpen Magazines, but I just don't feel like
looking at them.  All the women are just...not Scully.  Ditto the porno
movies; you see one blonde bimbo, you've seen them all.  Boring.
Not..intelligent, feisty, witty, with red hair and peaches and cream
skin...Whoah.  Cold shower time....

--Later---

I'm working on the car.  The engine rebuild is going well, and I've
ordered new brake pads.  I'll finish her off with a full detailing.  But
Scully doesn't ride in her until I'm clean.  Won't know for sure until
August.  A long, long time.

I'm using my own laptop, now, and have internet access (naturally).  I've
been corresponding with Bill Draeger by e-mail.  He isn't taking patients
any more.  Too sick.  I haven't mentioned what's happening to him to
Scully.  Somehow, this is one sorrow I
 want to keep to myself.  And the fear.  I don't want to burden her any
more than she is.

The voices have died down.  I catch myself thinking Everett Berger's
thoughts less and less often.  Thank God.  Maybe Dr. Werber was right; it
was stress...all the terror and pain and need for control just bunching
all together inside.

I'm also checking in with Dr. Werber regularly, by phone and e-mail.  The
rape nightmares are dying back some, although I still don't sleep well.  I
think Scully's starting to have problems, though.  I heard her crying in
her sleep last night, and just di dn't know what to do for her.  Should I
get up and hold her as I'd like to?  Would she be scared of me?  She
doesn't say anything, so I guess she wants her privacy.

Scully.  It's so hard being cooped up in this house alone with her.  There
are times when I just want to throw her across the kitchen table and fuck
her silly....And then I remember her rape, and mine and know I could never
never do that.  Her permission has to be clear before we go anywhere.  And
nothing until I'm okay, and I know I'm okay.  I can't sentence her to what
Bill is going through.

I watched her gardening yesterday.  She wore some skimpy little white
shorts and a navy tee shirt.  No hat, little Keds sneaks, no socks.  I
wanted to sneak up on her and just kiss my way down her neck...no, don't
go there.  Don't make this any harder tha n it has to be.  Hell, don't
make *yourself* any harder than you have to be.

I need to talk to her about this...this romance.  I want it.  I want her.
I haven't brought it up because I was never sure that I would ever be *me*
again.  Frankly, I couldn't be sure what would happen in the heat of
passion.  Would it be me or *him*, B erger?  I know what he does when he
feels passionate; and it's like a time bomb inside.

I still want that kiss in the back seat.

April 10, 1999

Scully woke up crying early this morning, like she has the past week.  I
couldn't just stand by any more.  I got up and went into her room to her
bed.

"Scully?  Are you okay?"  I asked, my voice low.

"M..mulder?  Is that you?"  Her voice was trembling, so I sat on the bed
next to her.  She was wearing her cotton flannel pajamas, her hair
sticking up in all directions.  Cute as a button.

I smoothed down her hair.  "Are you all right?  It sounds like you were
having a bad dream."  I reached an arm around her and gathered her in
close.  She snuggled against my chest like it was the most natural thing
in the world.

"Yeah.  It was a nightmare." Her voice was muffled.

"Anything you'd care to talk about?"  I kept stroking her hair gently,
pushing it away from the part of her face that I could see.

"Just the usual.  Abduction.  Experimentation.  Kurt Willard.  Rape."

At the last word I tightened both arms around her and just held her until
she'd cried herself out.  When she seemed calmer, I moved to go back to my
room but she stopped me.

"Mulder, will you stay with me tonight?  I don't mean for sex, just would
you stay?"

"Of course."  I climbed into the bed next to her and we spooned for the
rest of the night, her hands holding onto mine where they were clasped
around her waist.


Dana Scully's Journal April 16, 1999

The nightmares have gotten worse.  Thank goodness for Mulder.  He's
started sharing the bed with me because of them.  I think I woke him up
the other night; he came in to check on me.  Since then, we've shared the
bed but not our bodies.

It's so comforting to have him there.  And, he makes a wonderful electric
blanket.  He normally sort of drapes himself around me anyway, and I've
found myself sleeping more warmly and definitely more securely since then.
I still crave him, and, judging by what I often feel pressed against me,
the feeling is mutual.

We have to talk about our relationship.  He hasn't brought the subject up,
so I know it scares him silly.  It scares me too.  But it's like the
elephant in the living room that everyone ignores.  It's there and it
isn't going anywhere, so it is pointless to pretend that it doesn't exist.
I've stopped caring whether he hears me call his name in my sleep.  I
think his ego could use a little boosting, and, well, he already knows I
dream about him.  He read my diary, so he has to know how I feel.

April 20, 1999

Uneventful.  We're still spooning at night, but nothing more.  I'm getting
frustrated.  Mulder finished the engine and is starting the brakes.  I'm
beginning to be jealous of that car.

April 30, 1999

A funny thing happened today.  I was searching for some cleanser in one of
the closets and found a set of Skinner's wedding photos.  Mulder found me
looking at them and stopped to see what I was doing.

"What's that?" he asked, wiping the grease off his hands and sat down next
to me on the couch.

"Skinner's wedding photos.  He did say that he and Sharon spent their
honeymoon here." I handed a formal photo to Mulder.  He grinned.

"Hey, Skinner has hair!  He looks so young."  Mulder studied the photo.
"And happy."

"I think they were very much in love," I said, looking at other snapshots
of the Skinners on a picnic, at the beach, clowning at a party.

"Yet they divorced," Mulder said thoughtfully.

"Sharon told me once that Skinner was too good at keeping secrets, that he
never opened up much.  I think that killed the marriage.  She loved him,
but she just couldn't live with the silence."  I was quiet a moment,
thinking about the parallels.  I think
 Mulder was too.

"Scully, I haven't said much these past weeks, and I know how you must
feel..." he began, but I interrupted.

"Mulder, you have no idea how I feel.  Why don't you try asking me?"

He looked at me, a little frightened.  "Okay, how do you feel?  What do
you feel?"

"I feel angry that we seem to have lost the...the intimacy we were
building.  I'm tired of being shut out of your life, even though I think
you're trying to protect me.  It never works, anyway.  And I feel...I
feel..."  I could see the fingers of my left hand gripping my knee.
Mulder's right came to rest on top of it, and he clasped my hand.

"You feel like one wrong move and we're history, right?  And if that
happened, the sky would tear apart and the world would end because being
together is all that matters." Mulder held my hand in a suddenly tight
grip.  "I don't know if you feel like that , but I do.  I don't want to
lose you, Scully.  But it's hard to say things.  It's just easier to *do*
things than to say them."

"I know.  I'm not exactly forthcoming myself.  Okay Mulder, here it is.
I'm hot for you.  Living in this house with you is wonderful and
excruciating.  Sleeping with you is the most comfortable, cozy experience
I've ever had, and the surest test of self- control I've ever met.  How's
that for openness?"

I looked up to meet his deep hazel eyes.  He was grinning.

"Why are you smiling, damn it?"

"I'm happy," he said.  "It's good to know that I'm not the only one going
crazy here."  He paused and gently put the wedding picture on the coffee
table.  "I've been quiet, because I wanted to be sure that Berger was out
of my head.  I think...he's faded away.  Finally.  Agent Scully, would it
bother you if I kissed you very passionately on this couch?"

"Agent Mulder, it would bother me not at all."

To my delight we found ourselves making out on the couch, pretty
passionately.  I took great pleasure in removing Mulder's shirt and
running my hands over his chest.  His skin is so soft...who'd have thought
he was ticklish?  This time was my turn.  I kis sed my way across his
chest and down his abdomen heading steadily south.  Okay, no bodily fluids
must be exchanged, but that doesn't mean I can't look, does it?  Or touch?
I'd wash my hands later...

Mulder had lost his shirt and jeans and I was missing my shirt, shorts and
bra and we were both going for the last bits of underwear when Mulder
stopped suddenly and pulled away.

"No, Scully--we can't.  We can't..."  He was panting and his eyes were
closed.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"  Damn!  Voices in the head?  What?  I was panting
pretty hard myself, and flushed from Mulder's kisses.

"I can't...It just feels...wrong.  Every time I get close to you, I'm back
there.  In the warehouse.  And I want to touch you, love you so
much...When is this damned thing ever going to end?"  Mulder looked at me
with anguish.

I gave him a careful hug.  "Mulder, you're still better than you were.
And you're getting better all the time.  We'll get our chance."

"Scully, would it bother you if we kept this dating thing at the, well,
the courtship level?  Dates, kisses, holding hands, that kind of thing?  I
think I can handle that.  And I think...I think I need to talk to somebody
about this." Mulder looked abashe d.  "I never thought I'd have to see a
therapist for something like this." He grabbed his shirt and slowly began
to pull it on.

I picked up my own shirt from the floor and began dressing too.  "Mulder,
it's okay.  And I think the therapist is a good idea.  Like I said, we
have time."

"Okay, but Ms. Scully, may I escort you to dinner and a movie next
Saturday night?"

"It would be my pleasure."  I gave him another hug and he hugged back,
hard.  May 5, 1999

I was taking Mulder some coffee while he was reading his e-mail this
afternoon when he stiffened in his chair, as if he'd been hit with a body
blow.

"Mulder, what's wrong?  Are you hurt?"  I put the coffee down and crouched
down to his eye level.

Mulder gulped and faced me.  He said in a low, flat voice, "Bill Draeger's
dead.  His secretary is answering all his e-mails.  He died yesterday.  Of
AIDS.  The funeral is tomorrow."  Mulder paused, then went on.  "He was
only 40 years old."



From: Xenith <xenitha@yahoo.com>

Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (13/13)

Author:  Xenith

Dana Scully's Journal--continued

Mulder looked up, his face filled with pain.  "I have to go back.  I have
to get to the funeral, and see the others from the group.  God..."  He
fell silent, then began to speak slowly.  "Bill never wanted to talk about
it, being HIV positive.  He just w anted to focus on life and get as much
living in as he possibly could.  And help as many people who
were...hurt...like he was, as he could."  Mulder scrubbed at his eyes and
got up, wandering toward his bedroom.

I followed him in and watched him pack a bag.

"When are you coming back?  Are you?"  I couldn't keep the longing out of
my voice.  Mulder looked back, over his shoulder at me.

"I'll be back.  I think I'll stay a night or two in D.C., then come back
on Saturday.  For our date."  Mulder smiled a little and I smiled back.
His face changed, and an anxious look crossed his face.

"Will you be all right, all alone here?"

"I'll be..."  I started to say 'fine', but something stopped me.  I
gathered my breath to finish the sentence, but I couldn't.  He was going.
My support, my warm, safe place.  Just me, alone in this house, with my
nightmares.  I hadn't been alone since m y kidnapping by Berger; I'd
stayed with Mom until Mulder was ready to travel.

And before that, I'd been too preoccupied with Mulder and keeping him safe
to go into my own feelings of exposure, shame, terror.  I had ruthlessly
pushed them down, dimly aware that they existed, but determined not to
succumb.  Here, in solitude I'd had a chance to open the coffin-lid just a
bit, and now, while I stood there in front of Mulder, the lid was flying
out of my hands and releasing, God only knew what.

I could feel myself beginning to shake.  "I'll be...I'll...I..."  I
couldn't get the words out.  I wasn't fine.  I hadn't *been* fine for a
long time, and I couldn't side-step it any more.  But I'm the strong one,
the independent one.  *I* nurture Mulder,
 he doesn't nurture me.  That isn't the way it works..

"Scully?"  Mulder moved forward to hold me, but I stepped backward.  I
could do this.  I had to.  I'm strong and I can't be a dependent, wilting
female, or I'm no good to myself or anybody else.

"No...Mulder...I'm fine.  Really, I'll be fine."  Mulder's face changed
from caring sympathy to anger.

"So you're fine, huh?  Who is it has nightmares every night?  You may not
wake up, but I hear you crying in your sleep.  You don't eat enough to
keep a mouse alive. Don't you think I've noticed how your clothes are
starting to bag on you?"  He plucked at my wool sweater and pinched a good
two inches of fabric.

"I haven't said anything, because you'd only deny it.  Damn it, Scully!
When are you ever going to learn to accept help?  Sure, you're ready to be
open and share a few of your feelings, but only when *I'm* the official
patient, and you can be the comfort ing earth-mother.  Every time I need
you to let me in, you pull this "I'm fine, Mulder" crap!"  He walked back
to the suitcase and began throwing clothes into it.

"Well, I am fine!  I can handle this.  I'm seeing a therapist."  At
Mulder's frown and disbelieving look I added, "Well, I am.  Really! And as
for being more open, just because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve and
run around telling the universe my life
 story, begging to be laughed at doesn't mean I...Oh my God, Mulder...I'm
so sorry...."  One look at his face told me everything I needed to know.

"Well, you obviously don't need anything from me.  I don't think you ever
did.  You can take care of yourself.  I'll see you on Saturday, DR.
Scully."  With an angry look, Mulder grabbed the suitcase and the car keys
and slammed out the door.

I ran after him and watched him pull the car from the driveway, tires
squealing, and zoom down the street.

Damn him!  He had to know I didn't mean it.  I was only angry, he's used
to my temper, or he should be by now.

He's been gone for three hours and 36 minutes now.  I sit in this quiet
house and listen to the tick of the clock.  Today is Wednesday, and so
he'll be back in two days.  I can take care of myself just fine.  I'm an
adult woman who has been living alone f or years.  I don't need him to
protect me or watch over me.  Really.

May 6 3:15 a.m.

I woke up.  I'm cold, the bed is so big and empty.  I had a nightmare; I
dreamed that a man had broken in to this house and I could feel his shadow
cast across me.  I jolted bolt upright in bed and grabbed for my gun with
one hand, the light switch with t he other.  Nobody was there.  I've
searched the entire place.  I'm alone.

My therapist has been nagging me to write more in my journal; to express
my emotions more.  I have written something of what I'm feeling but..well,
not much.  I can feel it trying to push its way out.

I'm afraid.  The house is quiet, and remote and so empty.  And I feel
anguished at what I said to Mulder and alone and empty.  That's what I am,
an empty thing.  To Dwayne Barry, I was a bargaining chip.  To those
faceless gray men who took me and surgica lly removed any chance at
motherhood, I am just a thing, a repository for a valued commodity.  To
Kurt Willard, I was an animated sex toy, to be played with, terrorized,
destroyed then discarded.  To Everett Berger...I was an enemy, an opponent
to be humi liated.  A thing.  To all these men I have been a thing.

My universe has told me for some time that who I am, as a living breathing
woman doesn't matter.  I am a pawn, a thing, to be used then dropped.

I feel....too much.  Too much.  I don't want to write.  I don't want to
feel.  I don't want to be alone.  Oh, I want Mulder....but he's miles
away.  And I sent him away, pushed him away.  Why?

I've always been a private person.  In a big family, you don't go spilling
your secrets where your brothers can make hay with them.  And when you're
short, you have to be self-sufficient, so they respect you.

And I need Mulder to respect me.  What he thinks matters to me.  But if
that's the case, why don't I let him in?  He's right.  I don't tell him
things unless I'm pushed.  I want him to talk about his feelings and I
listen without judgment.  Mostly.  But w hen he wants to support me, I
turn him away.

He doesn't think I've seen the hurt look on his face when I do that.  I
do, but I can't stop myself.

And now...I feel alone.  So alone in this empty place which creaks and
echoes with the night.

I'll try to get some more sleep.

8:00 a.m.

The house is still silent.  I had a nightmare about the warehouse.  I was
alone, on that floor and Kurt Willard had his fingers inside me and was
whispering obscenities into my ear....and I was alone and trapped.  And I
knew it was a dream, but I couldn't
 wake up.  Then Kurt turned into Berger.  And this time Mulder didn't
arrive, and Berger raped me, and raped me and ....

I'm awake now.  I don't want breakfast.  The nightmares weren't this bad
when Mulder was here.

I think I'll call Millie's office and see if she can see me today.  I need
to talk.


3:00 p.m.

I just got back from my therapist's office.  I told her about my fight
with Mulder.  She just sat back and nodded.  "You feel a strong need to be
self-sufficient, don't you Dana?"  I nodded and she went on.  "Has it
occurred to you that receiving the supp ort of others graciously is as
important as giving that support?  Giving Mulder your help and love makes
you feel good, doesn't it?"

I nodded again, suspiciously.  I knew what she was going to say next, but
didn't have to like it.  "So you think I should let Mulder have the
pleasure of helping and supporting me once in a while."

Millie smiled.  "From your description, he's a generous man.  He's shared
himself with you for some time, as much as you'd allow.  Now it's time for
you to return the favor.  That is, if you intend to continue having a
relationship with him."

Intend?  Of course I intend to have a relationship with him.  "Of course I
do!" I responded angrily, then a sudden flash of Sharon Skinner 's face
took me by surprise.  She had said that Skinner was good at keeping
secrets, that he'd built a wall to keep everybody out, especially his
wife.  She loved him, I could tell.

Mulder.  And me.  Could I lose him Skinner lost Sharon?  Am I shutting him
out as surely as Skinner walled Sharon from his soul?  The full enormity
of the last four months finally struck me.  God.  I could lose him.  I
could drive him away from me, even Mulder couldn't wait forever.  Or
worse, we still didn't know his HIV status for sure.  He could get sick
just like his friend Bill.  He could die.

I've always known that Mulder has a talent for hurting himself and coming
back from cases half dead.  I think that maybe my unwillingness to let him
in has something to do with that.  Losing him would hurt so much, so very
much.  And I'd die to save him, just so that I wasn't the one left behind.
Alone.

And what do I have to offer him, really?  A scarred body, empty of the
future, a chip in my neck that keeps the cancer from devouring me alive; a
used up shell, abused by three criminal men: Benny, Kurt, then Everett.
And a temper.  And an unwillingness to fully trust myself to the only man
I've ever really loved.

Millie was waiting patiently for me to continue.  I just looked at her
wordlessly for a minute, then everything crumbled.  I found myself crying
bitterly as she handed me kleenexes.

I stumbled through an explanation of these thoughts, crying and snuffling
through the words.  Millie, a gentle and kind woman, let me talk until I
was left weary and silent.

"Dana, I think that you should write about your feelings more.  Let them
out on paper.  And don't be so hard on yourself.  You have proof that
Mulder loves you, and you have no evidence that you've been abandoned.
But examine your own feelings about inti macy with him..." As I started to
interrupt, she held up a hand.  "And I'm not talking about sexual
relations.  I'm talking about sharing yourself, warts and all.  Do you
really think he's unaware of your faults?  Or your fears?"

She sent me home with a lot to think about.  I am sitting now, a cup of
tea at my elbow, examining the Skinners' wedding picture.  Such a happy
couple, young and hopeful.  But Skinner couldn't bend, couldn't give
enough of himself to keep the marriage ali ve.  Even though he loved her.
I think he still does."

May 7, 1999 2:00 a.m.

Another nightmare.  Worse, much worse.  Back in the warehouse and I
couldn't stop them.  I was powerless and they were using me.  God...

So now, here I am, with cup of tea generously laced with Jack Daniels,
sitting in bed, shaking.  I'm afraid, so afraid that somehow one of them
will reappear.  I know Kurt and Benny are dead, I saw them die.  But I'm
still scared.  Berger isn't dead; I'll
 have to see him eventually.  At his trial.

Even though I'll be in a room packed with people, including the various
FBI agents there to testify, and even though I'll have my gun, and even
though Mulder will be there, right beside me, I'm scared.

4:30 a.m.

I just got off the phone with Mulder.  This is the first time I've been
the one calling in the middle of the night.

"Yeah.."  He sounded groggy, I must have waked him.

"Hi Mulder, it's me."  I was quiet, struggling to find the words.

"Hi Scully.  What's up?  You don't usually call this late.  Are you okay?"
I could hear the alarm in his voice.

"I'm fine....no, wait..." No, I can't go on being 'fine'.  That isn't why
I called.  "Mulder, I'm sorry for the things I said.  I lost my temper and
took it out on you.  Please forgive me."

I could hear the smile in his voice.  "Well, yeah, you were pretty harsh.
But you've forgiven me some things.  It's okay, Scully."

"How was the funeral?"

"Sad.  His family was there, and most of the people from the Crisis
Center.  A lot of his patients.  He helped a lot of people."  Mulder was
quiet for a bit.  "He made a difference, you know?  His end was terrible,
but he really made a difference.  The wo rld is an emptier place now
that's he's gone."

"I know."  Mulder, I know just what you mean.  I can think of somebody
this world would miss if he were absent.  "Mulder, there's another reason
I called.  Um...I had a nightmare and I woke up shaking. I....just wanted
to hear a friendly voice.  I miss yo u."

"You do?"  He sounded eager, like a child who's been given a gift.

"Yeah.  I've kind of gotten used to having you around.  I dreamed about
the warehouse again.  Mulder, you were right.  I do close myself off; I do
shut you out, and I don't want to do that any more.  Would you...please
come back?"

I heard him draw in his breath.  "Do you mean that, Scully?"

"I need you, Mulder.  I'm...afraid of all the emotions I'm feeling and I
don't want to do this alone." I could feel myself tearing up.  I know my
voice got shaky.

"I'm on my way, Scully.  Just hang on, I'll be there soon."

He hung up and I just sat, staring at the cell phone in my hand.  Mulder
was coming back, a day before planned.  Just for me.


10:00 p.m.

When Mulder arrived I could hear all the angels of heaven singing.  And
his kiss....well, it was wonderful.  After he kissed me, he just held me
for a while, then we moved to the couch and did some more serious holding,
while the fire flickered in the fi replace.  After a while he spoke, and I
could hear his voice rumble from where my head was resting against his
chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  I could feel his hand stroking my hair,
gently.

"When you went away I had time to think.  Really think.  Mulder, I pushed
you away because....because the thought of you leaving me alone was
intolerable.  And the thought of letting you see me vulnerable was just as
bad.  I've been fighting off the night mare and my fears, trying to do it
by myself; telling myself that I needed to be strong.  I'm strong, but I'm
not that strong.  Sometimes, I need somebody to lean on."  I could feel
his lips against my hair.

"Go on."

"It's all become...overwhelming..." I began to tell him things, the
details I haven't told my therapist, feelings I haven't even written down.
I told him about the nightmares, in detail, feeling helpless, feeling like
an inanimate object of no value, exc ept to be used and cast aside.  I
told him about my first abduction, what I can remember about it, and the
terror I still feel when I think about it.  About the despair of
childlessness, feeling time slipping away from me without a husband,
children, a ho me.  I told him about sitting by his bedside in Dead Horse
Alaska, knowing that his life was hanging by a thread and that the only
thing left for me to do was to pray.  And I told him about the warehouse.

I told him how anguished and terrified I was, and how protected he made me
feel even in the middle of Hell.  And I told him about seeing the
warehouse tape for the first time, and going home to cry privately in the
shower so that nobody would hear me wail
 out loud.  And how Mom sat with me while I cried some more.  I told him
about how frantic I had been, searching for him in the warehouse, sure
that he was there somewhere, and how I began to claw away the false wall
that imprisoned him with my fingernail s because I *knew* he was somewhere
behind it, and then he wasn't breathing when I did manage to get him out.
And about how devastated I had felt when he had turned away from me; as
though my heart had been ripped out.

And I told him about the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear that I
didn't want to show anybody I felt.  How afraid I was that I would be
thought weak and discarded as useless, and how scarred and battleworn and
tired I feel.  And empty.

And at last, I told him about Sharon and Walter Skinner.  She and her
husband once had a glowing love that withered because one partner
withdrew, tried to be a tower of strength.  I told him that I never want
to be so strong and so independent that I drov e him away from me.  I
never wanted for us what happened to Skinner, and I'd do everything in my
power to prevent it.

And I told him that he'd never shown me anything but respect.  He has my
trust and faith that he will continue to do so; I can trust him with my
heart and my soul.  And I do.

Mulder was silent while I spoke.  We lay together on the couch, side by
side, his right arm around me.  But I found it hard to meet his glance
while I was showing him my soul.  I felt his hand caress my cheek and
looked up into his glowing eyes.

"Scully, that's the most generous gift I've ever been given.  I'm
honored."  He leaned down and gave me a feathery kiss on the lips.  I
snuggled in against his chest and gave a relieved sigh when his other arm
wrapped around me.  I felt, feel lighter some how.  It's as though my
burden has been lessened, be being shared.

Mulder nuzzled my hair with his lips and gave a rueful laugh.  "Well, as
long as we're sharing truth, I owe you some.  I didn't just go to the
funeral, I saw a therapist today, my first session with her.  You're
involved, so you have the right to know.  S he specializes in sexual
disfunction, and I'm going to her because of the problems caused by the
rape.  She said she might want to talk to my 'significant other', was the
way she put it.  I'd like you to meet with her, if you're willing to go."

I looked up at Mulder.  He looked uncomfortable and scared.  "Of course
I'll go.  This issue concerns me, too, since I plan to become your lover
the instant it becomes possible."

"Yes ma'am."  Mulder grinned back.  He went on.  "I told her about our
partnership, and our long relationship and, well, how I feel about you.
She seems to think it's a good sign.  I have some homework, in fact."

"And what would that be, pray tell?"  I asked archly (and a bit
hopefully).

"Um..fantasizing and, uh..."  Mulder looked really uncomfortable now.

"Masturbating, huh?"  I said forthrightly in my best clinical tone.  "It's
okay, Mulder, I'd expect that.  It's safe, you can trust your partner and
you don't have to worry about birth control."  I grinned at his blushing
face.  "And I've been known to do
 it a time or two."

"Oh, have you, Agent Scully?"  Mulder looked interested and less
embarrassed.  "Well, that's my homework..."

I must have looked hopeful because he shook his head.  "I'm afraid I'm
solo for now.  I don't want to lose control, and with you Scully, I would.
Please understand, I want you.  I want you bad.  But I want you so much,
and I've just gone to Bill's funeral .  He died.  Of AIDS.  That a rapist
gave him.  And...and since the warehouse, every time I've tried to...to
jack myself off, I replay the what I did with Kurt Willard."  He turned
his eyes away in disgust.  "The way it felt, when I came, and how dirty an
d helpless and I felt.  Ashamed."

"Mulder, *you* didn't do anything with Kurt Willard.  It was done *to*
you.  It will take time to heal from this, but I'm not going anywhere.
And besides, Ann Landers says that statistically, women prefer being
cuddled to intercourse anyway."  I lay back
 and waited for Mulder's reaction.  It came in the form of tickling me
until I cried for mercy.

While we both laughed on the floor where we'd landed, Mulder started
talking again.  "Two more things I need to discuss with you.  The first
is...Scully I'll have to ask you to forgive me for hiding something
important from you.  I did it, thinking I was protecting you from pain,
but now I know that it was unjustified.  You are strong and you can handle
this."  His face was solemn.  "Scully, you *can* have children some day,
if you use in vitro fertilization.  When I was looking for a cancer cure
for you I was able to steal back a vial of your eggs.  They were in a
cryogenic storage facility.  The guys have them safely stored, available
whenever you need them."

"Wait a minute.  The three stooges know about my eggs but you never told
ME?  Mulder, how could you?"  I was furious.  I sat up and faced this man,
who I knew had betrayed me with this secret.  Then I saw his face.  He was
ashamed, afraid of losing me.  "  What else, Mulder?  What else haven't
you told me?"  I held myself on edge, waiting for the next blow to fall.

"I was married before, briefly, to Diana Fowley. It didn't work out and we
were divorced within a year.  She went off to Europe and I, well, I stayed
with the X Files."  Mulder waited for the explosion from me, but I
surprised him by being calm.

"I knew that, Mulder.  The Gunmen aren't the only good hackers around.
When Diana showed up, I ran the best background check on her I could.  Why
do you think I hate her so much?  She's your ex.  You committed your life
to her once; you loved her.  Maybe
 you could again....and I'd be left alone."

Mulder caressed my chin and pulled my face up to meet his eyes.  "I never
would love her again, Scully, because I love somebody else now.  And that
won't change.  She was part of another life, another me.  You've made me
whole.  I know I keep saying that,
 but you do."  He pulled me close and kissed me, deep and tender.  I
sighed and leaned my forehead against his.

"Are those all your secrets, Mulder?" I asked tenderly.

"Yeah.  Do you forgive me?"

"Yeah.  I don't know whether I'm happy or mad about the eggs, but it's
nice to know that I have choices.  That's more than I'd have had without
you.  Now I can have little green-eyed babies if I want them."

Mulder pulled up short.  "Do you? Want them, I mean?"  He examined my
face, trying to read my expression.  "If you could have little green-eyed
babies with, say, a guy with a big nose who talks too much, would you?"

"I dunno, Mulder.  Does he have a job?  Can I take him home to mother?"  I
grinned at him.

"Yes, and you already have.  Although I don't think your big brother likes
him much.  But I do know that even though he has a big nose, he loves you
and hopes you can look beyond it."

"Oh, I think I could ignore the nose."  I ran my fingertip down Mulder's
'distinguished profile'.  "I have a little nose and I think we'd balance
out in our kids.  They'd have average noses."

"That's a thought.  I hope at least one has red hair."  Mulder leaned back
against the couch and took me with him. "Y'know, as a honeymoon spot this
place is pretty nice, don't you think?"

"Yeah.  I think Skinner would loan it to us again."  I mused.  So.  It is
understood where we are going.  Nothing so formal as a ring and a
declaration, but then we've never needed those things.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mulder frown and his face cloud
over a bit.  "Mulder, what's wrong?"

"Scully, if I don't test out clean....If I get sick like Bill did...."

"Then I marry you anyway."  I said firmly.  "I finally managed to snag
you, I'm not letting you get away."  I turned to face him fully, sitting
indian style on the floor.  "Mulder, I believe in the 'in sickness and in
health' part.  You stuck with me when
 I was dying of cancer.  Could I do less for you?  If you get sick, I'm
there for it.  We'd both be out there looking for treatments, a cure if
possible.  And if not, I'm still there, making damned sure that my face is
the last one you see.  But I won't l ose a single minute of my time with
you."

Mulder looked shaken and, for once, was speechless.  That was okay,
because I kissed him and we didn't talk for a while.

As I write this now, Mulder is asleep on the couch (no t.v. necessary for
once) and the house is quiet.  But it isn't the empty, rattling, unnerving
quiet anymore.  It feels like a home.  And I feel at rest.

May 15, 1999

We are packing up the house, preparing to go back to work on June 2.
Mulder will be driving the now fully restored Mustang back to D.C. while I
take the rental car.  We both decided to go back early so that Mulder can
start therapy in earnest now.  And I
 want to see my old therapist at the Bureau.  Both Mulder and I now have a
reason to heal, as fast and as thoroughly as we can.

July 15, 1999

I haven't had much time to write.  The backlog of cases is horrendous.
Mulder is still in therapy, as am I.  We still date; Saturday nights are
sacred and we've adopted a little diner as 'our place'.  It serves burgers
and fries, as greasy as Mulder like
 them but also has a veggie burger to die for.

Every other Saturday I cook for Mulder.  I'm enjoying cracking open my old
cook books and, believe it or not he's starting to get a little pot on his
tummy.  I think I'll cut back on the lasagna with him.  Or put him on a
diet.

Of course, there's always exercise.  But the kind I really want isn't
forthcoming.  August makes it six months since the rape.  Mulder is tense
about it and so am I.

We're both trying to be open about this and I know he's as scared as I am.
I worry about him, but as I said to him, if the worst happens we go
through it, together.  He'll have to pry me off with a crowbar.

I know he's gone in for a full battery of tests.  Physically, he's healed
well from Willard's abuse.  Emotionally, he's still in therapy and working
hard to overcome the mental scars it's left.

Me--I'm still talking to the therapist, but I feel better.  Oddly enough,
opening up to Mulder and accepting his support has helped more than
anything.  I'm not alone any more.

All that's left is the HIV question.  And so we wait for the results.  And
I pray.  I've lit candles for Mulder and said novenas.  He laughs, but
says he'll accept any help he can get and if I'm on good terms with any
saint or supernatural deity, it's oka y with him.  I've got Mom praying
too.

And so I wait.  And I worry.  Oh how I worry about him.  And how precious
he's become, even more so than he was six months ago.  How did that
happen?  I loved him then, but now...

August 1, 1999

Mulder just called.  He says he'll stop by in half an hour to pick me up
for dinner and an evening out.  He sounds...happy, light, joyous.  I think
I'll wear that new silk slip-dress he hasn't seen yet.

Later------

My gallant knight arrived on his white horse to rescue me today.....

<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Author's note:

To read the rest of the story, go to TBishop's lovely smutty sequel "1964
1/2 Mustang" at http://members.xoom.com/arcticfox42/Tbishop.htm

If you want to read any of my other stuff, the URL for my homepage is in
the intro to the story.

Writing this story has been hard work but great and fulfilling fun.  I've
enjoyed the feedback, especially the ones who said that they were sure
they couldn't read any more because it was so violent, but they just
couldn't stop.  I felt that way too while
 I was writing some of the more realistic bits.

Many thanks to all those who encouraged me and beta read different parts
of this saga: Katvictory for her good humor and encouragement early on,
TBishop for her smutty good humor and wonderful good sense, Spygirl for
some of the real-life stories, and Wy lfcynne for insisting I write MORE,
FASTER, MORE!

Now I will retire from writing until mid-November to crank out some
research papers.  Those of you with a deity, pray for me.  I'm gonna need
it.