XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Thirteen XxXxXxxXxXxxX He shut the hospital room door behind him with a soft click, sealing himself inside the pale, cool walls. Scully lay propped against some pillows, her arm bandage visible underneath the short sleeves of the thin gown. The sight of her safe and sound did not make his stomach unclench the way he'd thought it would. "Hey," he said, taking a step closer. "How are you doing?" She pushed her hair behind her ear, and he noticed an angry red scratch on her cheek. "Fine. I can leave in an hour. How are Grenier and Russell?" "Russell's severely dehydrated but in stable condition. They're operating on Grenier now to try to remove the bullet." "Prognosis?" "The doctors seem optimistic." She frowned, and he knew she was thinking his interrogation must have been lax; Scully grilled medical staff the way most of his colleagues worked over suspects, and she didn't let up until she got a straight answer. "I, uh, I can check again in a minute." She smoothed the sheet at her hip. "What about Quentin?" "He'll make it for sure. Just some broken bones, though they might have to amputate his foot. But he'll live. The families of his victims will have their day in court." She looked away, and he winced, remembering that Carl's victims were not just abstract concepts to her. The bruises were rising on her neck. "I need a change of clothes and some shoes," she said. "Do you think you can get them from the hotel?" "If I can beat my way through the press outside." "If it's a problem..." she began, but he cut her off. "No, I'll do it." He made no move to leave, instead watching her as she sipped a cup of water. "What?" she asked, meeting his eyes. "Nothing." He paused. "Your gun is still missing, but they recovered my weapon at the scene. He used it to shoot Grenier." She plucked at a loose thread on the sheet. "I'm sorry." "Are you?" She drew her head back. "You left me no choice. I had to do it this way." "You had a choice. You could have told me what you were doing. Instead you took off in the middle of the night like some--" "You wouldn't have let me go." "Damn straight I wouldn't have let you go! Look what happened!" She set the cup on the nightstand. How could she be so calm? He felt coiled up inside, like a snake waiting to strike. "I'm fine and Russell will be okay. Quentin is in custody." "You acted impulsively. You took unnecessary risks. You --" "Unnecessary? She was going to die, Mulder." "And so were you!" The door behind Mulder pushed open and Bill appeared in the room. He glanced from Scully to Mulder, his frown deepening, apparently preparing for another hospital room showdown. Don't look at me this time, Mulder thought. She chose this herself. "They're saying on the news that you caught the bastard," Bill said tightly. "Is it true?" Scully cleared her throat. "Yes. He's been arrested." "Arrested? I heard he was in the hospital." Somewhere in this very building, Mulder remembered. But Scully didn't even blink. "The doctors are working on him, yes, but he's under armed guard." "Here? He's here, with you?" "I'm perfectly safe." She reached for her water glass, and Mulder felt the heat rise in him again. Perfectly safe, she said, just like she'd planned it this way, just like she hadn't been offering herself to a madman only hours before. "I'm going to get some air," he announced, his voice overloud in the small room. Bill looked gave him a sharp, sideways look, but Scully's face remained impassive. The door wouldn't slam; it absorbed his anger with a noiseless slide, leaving Scully unshaken in his wake. XxX She watched him go, thinking she should be worried or angry or sorry. She waited to feel something, anything, but no emotion rushed to fill the void. She was curiously empty, bleached to her very edges. Bill jerked a nod after Mulder. "He seemed upset." "It's been an upsetting day." Not a lie, but it sounded like one to her ears. Bill's gaze flicked over her. "You're okay, though? Everything all right?" "I'm fine." Bill gave a short nod that said he hadn't expected otherwise. Whatever faults he might possess, at least Bill spoke the same stoic Scully language that she did. "You should call Ma. It's all over TV and the radio. She's probably worried sick." "I'll call her." He nodded again and walked to the window, where he split open the blind with two fingers. "It's a goddamn circus out there." "What are they saying?" He dropped his hand and turned to her. "Same as last time, only more hype because he's caught. They said he was holding at least one federal agent hostage in the mountains. Your name came up." Scully averted her eyes, dodging the question in his piercing gaze. "It's over now. That's all that matters. Eventually they'll tire and move on to some other news." "You can stay with me." Bill blurted the words to the wall over her head. When she didn't immediately reply, he fumbled around for clarification. "For a few days, I mean. While you're getting better. It'd be cheaper than a hotel and more private." Her fingers curled around the sheet. How tempting it was, the thought of disappearing into her family, where no one talked about murder or madness, where no one would want an account of her reckless behavior. Her true self had long been invisible there, among people who couldn't imagine Dana Scully happy in a morgue, chasing her own death as much as the monsters she brought to justice. She took a deep breath. "Bill, that's kind of you, but..." "Mulder, too." He looked at the ceiling. "If you want." "I can't," she said, and he met her eyes again. "I have to go back to DC. We have to give reports, there will be a trial..." "And another case." She didn't try to deny it. There was always a fresh horror waiting around the corner. "I've been doing some homework, Dana. The FBI has a policy of rotating their agents out of departments that experience unusual amounts of stress. You've put in almost eight years. Where does it end?" "This case was unrelated to the X-Files." "That's not what I asked." "I know what you asked." "Then give me an answer. There's got to be a line somewhere, a place where you say, 'That's it! Enough!' Tell me." "It doesn't end. This isn't like war, Bill. There's never a winner, a loser and a dated piece of paper to say it's over and everyone can go home. We caught this guy, but there's a dozen more just like him still on the streets. That's the way it is, the way it's always been, and the way it will be until the end of time." "So this goes on forever." He gestured at her hospital bed. "I'm sorry for that, Dana, I really am. I'm sorry your world has closed off to the point where all you see is an endless parade of monsters." She dropped her chin. "I never said that." He shook his head. "I didn't come here to fight. I know I'll never convince you to stop. Lord knows I've beaten my head against that wall long enough. Now I'm just trying to understand." "What?" She looked at him, challenging. "I used to think it was about Mulder, that he had some hold on you that you couldn't shake." "That's ridiculous." "Is it? I don't know. I used to think if I could just get him to let go, it'd be over. You'd be safe again. But I've seen the guy a few times now. I've taken a good, hard look. And you know what I think? I think now he's the one following you." XxXxX He'd expected to find her asleep, but Amelia greeted him with a small smile and a slow blink. "Hi," she said. She stretched out the arm not attached to an IV line. Mulder accepted her hand carefully, making sure not to disturb the bandages that swathed her wrist. Her feet, also wrapped in white, stuck out from under the blankets. He sat on the bed near her hip. "You should be resting." "When I close my eyes, I forget where I am. How is Adam doing?" "He's still in surgery, but the doctors say it's going well." The worry lines around her eyes didn't fade, so he squeezed her hand. "Hey, it'll be all right. You know he can never stand for anyone else to get the last word." Amelia sniffed and squeezed back. "You're right about that." She gave a watery chuckle. "Can you just imagine him with a teenager?" Mulder smiled. "You might need to explain to him that parents don't hand down punishments like 'twenty to life.'" "All these weeks, I've been so afraid to tell him. Now I can't wait." "So everything's okay? I mean, with..." "Yes." She touched her stomach through the sheet. "Everything seems normal." "Good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm glad you're all right." "It's thanks to you," she told him. "And Scully. How is she?" "Fine," he said automatically. "They're releasing her soon." "She's amazing," Amelia said, and Mulder tensed. Normally, he would agree. Normally, he found awe in the tiniest Scully details, from the faint ticking of her watch as she curled in his arms to the flash of skin that appeared at her navel whenever she had to stand on tiptoe. "She left without a word," he said. The words caused a hot flush inside him, half anger, half guilt at opening her up as a target for someone else. Amelia's answer was quiet. "I figured she lured him out behind your back. There was no way you and Adam would have let her out of your sight." "Even suicides leave a note." He kept his eyes trained on the gray speckled floor. "Funny you should use that word." His head snapped up. "I didn't meant it that way." "No, of course not." She rested her free hand on his leg. "You are so careful not to turn your profiling skills on those you love; it's one of the things I've always admired about you." His breath caught, making his heart skip a beat. "What are you talking about?" "Quentin asked for her by name. He killed her best friend. It's just possible she felt responsible for his actions." "That's irrational." "Exactly." She gave him a pointed look, which was followed by a large yawn. He noted with some shame that her hand felt weak in his grasp. "You should get some sleep," he said, reaching to smooth back her hair. She shuddered under his touch. "Is there someone I can call for you?" "No," she whispered, her eyes closing. "There's no one." "There's me." He tucked the blankets more securely around her. Amelia's breathing evened out but he held tight to her hand. He thought of Scully as he'd left her, stiff and quiet in her bed, maybe hurting more than just her arm. Fourteen women in the grave. Two still fighting to get away. XxXxX That night they went to sleep in a new hotel where the press wasn't howling at the gates like a pack of wolves. The room had heavy drapes, soft expensive sheets and a bed with chocolates on the pillow. He saved his for Scully, but noticed she didn't eat either of them before heading for the shower. Carl's little mountain hideout had taken them up into the sun, and his skin still burned with residual heat. Peeling off everything but his boxers, he cranked the air conditioning up to high. He lay on the bed with his arms spread, letting the cool air swirl over him and listening to the rush of water on the other side of the door. He forced himself to stay awake in case she needed him, but of course she never did. "It's freezing in here," she said when she emerged in a cloud of steam, looking smaller with her wet hair and thin robe. She went to the thermostat, and within seconds the air was still again. "Shower's free," she announced unnecessarily. "In a minute." Ever since the bones in the desert, they'd been running on her schedule. He wanted another moment to decompress. Her reflection winced as she tried to comb through her hair. Even from across the room, he could see the welts on her arm from where she had scraped the skin off. He folded his fingers beneath his head and shifted his gaze to the stucco ceiling. The movement caused his lower back to throb. A possible bruised kidney, the doctors had said. As if reading his mind, she rattled a plastic bottle in his direction. "Tylenol." He shook his head. "You need help with your bandage?" "No, I've got it." A few minutes later, he felt the mattress sag under her weight and the clean, sea breeze scent of her shower gel assaulted his nose. The bedspread pulled taut under him as she climbed beneath the covers. "Is it okay if I turn out this light?" she asked, reaching for the lamp on her side of the bed. "Fine." She flicked the switch and then the only illumination came from the bathroom. Shifting away from him, she lay on her good shoulder, the white satin of her pajamas gleaming in the shaft of light. Mulder turned his head to study the shadowed curve of her hip. Every time he thought he'd mapped her from her arched eyebrow to her painted toenails, he would catch sight of her from a new angle and see a stranger. He hesitated a moment, then rested his hand on her waist. "None of this was your fault." She stiffened, and he gripped her a little harder, trying to pull her towards him. "Scully." "Of course it's not my fault. I didn't kill anyone." "No." He stroked her hip through the blanket. "But you walked away when a lot of others didn't. That can be as much a burden as a relief. Back when I worked in the BSU, I know in cases like this sometimes..." "Don't." She turned in a rush, and he drew his hand back before she trapped it underneath her. The light caught her across the eyes. "Don't try to tell me about cases like this. I've lived it, Mulder. More than once. You may have had special knowledge on this subject years before, but I've caught up, okay? I've had my trial by fire a thousand times over." "And yet you chose to walk through it again." "Yes." She regarded him with a steady gaze. "If you want to be angry with me for that, go ahead. I can't stop you, and I can't blame you. But it wasn't personal." He sat up, bracing himself on one arm and blocking her light. "The hell it wasn't personal." "You're right." She pushed off the covers and got out of bed. "It was personal. To me. He didn't come after you, Mulder. He didn't tie you up to a bed and take your clothes off. He didn't threaten to kill you or chase you half-naked through the woods. It wasn't your friend he murdered." "He wasn't the one who ran off from my bed in the middle of the night on a goddamn suicide mission, either. And yeah, I take that personally." She paced the room. "I know. It's always personal to you. Your case, your trauma, all those years of not knowing. The headlines, the failure--" "Scully--" The force of his anger dissolved under hers. "All those poor women, looking to you for justice and you couldn't deliver. But you're the only one who's that invested, right? You're the only one who's allowed to rush blindly into situations, damn the consequences! Who cares what the risks are? Agent Mulder always gets his man!" Very much personal, he realized with a start. This anger was directed at him. She continued, "How can you question my actions, talking about risk? You make the same choices, take the same risks and I don't--" "What, Scully? What have I risked?" "Me!" She froze. Her hand clapped over her mouth. "Oh, God." Slowly, he rose from the bed. "Scully?" "No," she murmured, shaking her head. "No, I didn't mean that." "I think you did mean it." Was that his voice, so light and calm? He walked to her with silent footsteps. "No, Mulder. I'm just tired. Let's forget about it, please..." She tried to move, but he held her arm. "Tell me." "I didn't mean it." She tugged but he held fast. "You did. Tell me, when did I risk you?" The fight drained out of her all at once, her arm limp in his grasp. "The park." Her voice was barely audible. He couldn't see her face. "But you didn't know, Mulder, you couldn't have known." He dropped her arm. "Scully, I..." His mouth was working, but no sound was coming out. He felt her palm on the center of his chest. "Shhh. I'm sorry. It's just been a really long couple of days. Please, let's forget it and go back to bed." Shhh. What she'd said the last time, he remembered, when he'd tried to tell her what had happened. How he had accidentally managed to provide Carl Quentin with the perfect opportunity to attack her. "You read the reports," he said. Scully said nothing. Of course she'd read the reports. Scully who thrived on reports, who cherished the cold recitation of facts. Logical Scully, who loved to play connect-the-dots and who rooted herself in the safety of scientific axioms. If X, then Y. If Mulder hadn't been at the park, Carl could not have grabbed her. None of this would have happened. "Mulder, don't." She tugged on his hand. "I don't blame you. How could I blame you? You saved my life." Twice, his mind added. But maybe it wasn't enough. His head buzzed. "You're right. It's late." He started to pull away from her, but she held onto his hand with surprising strength. "It was the right decision," she said. "In your position, I would have done the same thing. But Mulder..." She was waiting for him to turn and look at her, he knew. When he didn't, she sighed. "Last night, in my position, you would have made the same choice. You would have been out there waving the red flag at Quentin the minute he kidnapped Amelia." "You don't know that." "I do. I've watched you sacrifice yourself over and over." "And so this was what, payback?" "It was about stopping him." He relented, half-turning to look at her. "Which you did." "Which you did," she corrected. Are you angry about that, too? he wondered. First I dragged you into this and then I stole your revenge? But she didn't seem angry. In the dim light, with her shoulders sagged and her head down, she seemed defeated more than anything else. "You want the truth?" he murmured, and she met his eyes. "I thought Amelia was already dead. I figured we were looking for a body, and so there was no need to risk your life to bait him. But you were right to force a change in his MO. You saved her life." "She saved herself. I don't know what we would have done if she hadn't thrown him off balance with her missing toes. How she could have sliced them off like that...I don't think I've ever seen such a will to live." He remembered the first cabin, with the scratch marks on its door and the missing headboard posts on the bed. Turning her hand in his, he ran his thumb over the scars on her wrist. "I have." Maybe that was why he couldn't believe she would willingly go through it again. Scully accepted his small caress for a minute longer, then pulled away. She drew a shuddering breath. "We have to be up again in less than eight hours." He nodded and followed her back to the bed. The king size mattress would have allowed her an ocean of space, but she settled close to the middle with him, her back to his front. He drew the covers up to the very edge of her shoulder, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck. She reached back to touch the side of his face, stroking the sandpapery stubble. XxXxX End Chapter Thirteen. Continued in Chapter Fourteen. syn_tax6@yahoo.com