Keywords:  None.


XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Thirteen
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX


Mulder opened his eyes to a boxed particleboard ceiling and a 
dull throbbing at the back of his head.  His shoulder ached, 
and his left knee felt like someone had taken a lead pipe to 
it.  He derived some comfort from the fact that, at least 
this time, there were no tubes coming out of him or machines 
turning his vital signs into electronic song.

He gave his fingers and toes an experimental wiggle, and then 
turned his head to look for the bathroom.  The sight of 
Scully stopped him cold.

She sat in a chair a few feet away, dressed in tennis shoes 
and civilian clothes.  There was a magazine in her lap and 
she didn't look like she had slept recently.  She gave him an 
uncertain smile but did not say anything, so he did not say 
anything either.

A month without talking to her, it was as long as they'd gone 
without speaking since her abduction, but he found he wasn't 
quite ready to break the silence.  The days without her had 
been long but predictable; the minute she spoke, his world 
would go topsy-turvy again. 

"I'll admit," she said as she closed the magazine, "I've 
wondered on occasion who would win the contest between you 
and a brick wall, Mulder, but I never expected you to go out 
and perform the experiment."

"Bricks?" he said.

"They dug chunks of one out of your skull.  You don't 
remember?"

He shook his head and regretted it.  "I know there was a CAT 
scan."

"Which was clear, thankfully."  Her brow wrinkled.  "How are 
you feeling?"

He closed his eyes and sunk further into the pillow.  "Let's 
just say, for the record, that the wall won."

"Mulder... what happened?"

Rentham's words echoed inside his pain-filled skull: *what if 
she hates you for it?*

"Brick meets head.  Brick dents head in several places.  It 
was a brief yet torrid affair, Scully.  I think you've got 
the whole tragic story."

"Mulder, they brought you in half-conscious from a cemetery.  
The police have been waiting to talk to you."

"The police."  He rubbed a hand over his eyes.  "Tell them I 
don't remember anything."

"Is that the truth?"  When he did not answer, she leaned 
forward.  "Mulder?"

He looked at her.  "Rentham's alive."

Scully seemed less surprised than he would have predicted.  
Her eyes narrowed.  "You're saying Jared Rentham did this to 
you?"

"Brick from behind, Scully.  I don't know who did this to 
me."

She was silent for a minute, picking at the corner of her 
magazine.  "How did you find him?"

"I didn't.  He found me."

Scully swallowed visibly.  "What did he want?"

"He wanted his files back."  The originals had vanished with 
Mulder's attacker, of course, but Mulder had made copies 
ahead of time.  He had learned a thing or two in seven years.

"What files?" Scully asked. 

He could answer, he thought, could continue their volley as 
though they were back in the office discussing other people's 
lives instead of in a hospital room avoiding their own.  
Providence alone had stopped him from making the deal.  He 
wasn't sure that was enough.

"Why did you come here, Scully?"

"What do you mean?  They called and told me you were hurt."

"Well, you can see now that I'm fine.  It's just mild 
concussion and they'll let me out soon.  There was no need 
for you to leave Atlanta and come all the way here."

She stared at him.  "Why, Mulder?  Were you afraid what I'd 
find?"

For a split second, he feared she knew everything.  "No," he 
said at last, his voice hollow.  "There's nothing here any 
more."

XxX

They released him with a prescription for painkillers and a 
warning to take it easy.  Scully drove him in silence back to 
his motel, a run-down walk up with no parking lot and a drunk 
asleep on the sidewalk by the front door.  Paint peeled from 
the walls in the narrow, humid stairway.  The effort of 
climbing made Mulder's pulse pound, throbbing inside his 
skull.  He trudged up the stairs to his room with Scully 
trailing after him.

At the door, he dug out his key and turned it in the lock.  
It caught for a second before the tumblers slid into place, 
and when Mulder opened the door he found out why.  His room 
had been tossed from top to bottom.  

Mulder stood and stared.  He felt Scully behind him, waiting.  
"Mulder?"

He bit back a curse and flung his keys on the bed.  "They got 
the files," he said as he stepped into the room.  Scully 
paused at the threshold to survey the mess.

"Who did this, Mulder?"

He lowered himself to the mattress and flung one arm over his 
eyes.  "Does it matter?"

He heard the door close and the sounds of Scully righting a 
chair.  "Mulder, I'm worried about you.  I'm worried what 
you've gotten yourself into here."

"It's just another routine day on the X-Files," he replied 
from under his arm.  "Things that go bump on the head and 
files that disappear in the night."
"We could get a fingerprint team in here, maybe they--"

He waved her off.

"Well, then what?  You didn't even mention Rentham to the 
police."

He raised his arm and gave her a pointed look.  She sighed.  
"Send them after a dead man?  It would just be a waste of 
time," he said.  "Either Rentham clocked me himself or the 
men after him finally caught up.  I doubt whoever it was 
stuck around after the fact for another round of cat and 
mouse."

"So what are you going to do?"  She sat in the chair, 
surrounded by strewn pieces of his clothing.

"Get some sleep.  Get a plane.  Go home."

"I'll go with you."

"That's not necessary."

She frowned.  "Mulder, I won't leave you one thousand miles 
from home with a head injury."

So that's all it takes, he thought wearily.  A head injury 
and a few hundred miles. 

"You're off the hook this time, okay, Scully?  I made the 
mess and I'll clean it up."

Scully said nothing for a moment.  "Why do I get the feeling 
that I've been cut from the team?" she said finally.

Mulder just shrugged.

"If you want to punish me, fine.  But don't do it at the 
expense of your health."

"I'm not punishing you, Scully."  God, he was tired.  Too 
tired to fight.  "Really," he added when she looked dubious.  
She crossed her arms.  "I'm just giving you what you wanted."

Hurt flashed across her features.  "That's not fair."

"My return ticket says Washington, Scully.  What does yours 
say?"

"I--I don't have a return ticket."  He looked at her, 
expectant, and her chin stuck out.  "Mulder, you know I have 
to finish out my term in Atlanta."

He smiled sadly.  "And that's what I'm trying to tell you, 
Scully.  I won't stand in your way."

XxXxX

In her dream, he was on top of her, his breath on her face 
and his long legs mingling with hers.  She wound around him, 
hot, needy, and urged him inside.  His harsh pants rasped 
near her ear as he thrust again and again.  The headboard 
pressed against the top of her head.  The sheets grew damp 
with their efforts.

She gripped his strong arms.  His teeth bared.  She could 
feel it building, coming.

Mulder Mulder Mulder.

Scully jerked herself awake, sweaty and disoriented in her 
hotel bed.  Her heart was pounding, and her body throbbed in 
rhythm.  She curled herself tight around the pillow to try to 
stop the ache.  Phantom Mulder teased her senses, so close 
she could almost smell him.  

Scully shuddered and hid in her blankets.  Guilt.  Shame.  
Need.  They twisted inside her like the sheets around her 
legs.  She hugged the pillow closer, trying to squeeze 
everything away.  Tears burned her eyes.

Mulder, she thought.

XxX

It was late September before she came home again for good, 
just two days before the trial was set to begin.  Her 
apartment smelled foreign, stagnant air settling heavily over 
possessions she had not touched in weeks.  Scully set her 
suitcase down in the living room and took her stack of mail 
to the kitchen table.  

The sight of her plants gave her pause.

All three of her pitiful pots sat in her kitchen sink, 
soaking their feet in an inch of water.  Scully walked over 
and rubbed a leaf between her fingers, smiling down at them.  
In her hurry to leave, she'd forgotten all about her plants, 
but Mulder obviously had not.  "He's better for you than I 
am," she told them.

She poured herself a glass of water and sat down to 
contemplate her mail.  Bills, bills, and more bills.  Even 
when she wasn't living it, her life was expensive.  She 
fished a letter from her travel agency out of the mess and 
slit the end.

"Dear Ms. Scully:

This is to remind you of your scheduled itinerary from 
October 13-14 of 2001."

Scully let the paper fall aside as she slumped in her chair.  
Mulder's birthday present, she remembered.  She had made the 
reservations months ago on a whim, after the first time they 
had slept together.  It seemed like another lifetime.  

These days, she would be lucky if he agreed to go across the 
street with her, let alone across the country.

She bit her lip and peeked at the letter again.  There was a 
cancellation number posted at the bottom.  Scully took the 
letter to the kitchen counter, where her phone sat.  She 
picked up the receiver and leaned her hip against the counter 
as she dialed.  Just as it rang through, she noticed the 
plants again.

"Sullivan Travel, this is Linda speaking.  How may I help 
you?"

"Sorry," Scully said.  "Wrong number."

She hit the "off" button and pressed the phone to her middle.  
A few minutes later she dialed another number instead.

XxXxXxX

Scully sat in the easy chair and tried to make up her mind 
what to do with her hands.  She put them first on her knee, 
then at her sides, before folding them tightly in her lap.  
No reason to be nervous, she thought.  It's just your whole 
life on the line.

Across the oriental rug, Dr. Wheeler gave her a relaxed 
smile.  "It's good to see you again, Dana.  How are you 
doing?"

Scully had been programmed since birth that there was only 
one acceptable answer to this question:  "I'm fine."

"I see in the papers that the trial is set to start 
tomorrow."

"Yes, but I won't be testifying for at least two days."

"How do you feel about that?  About testifying."

Scully took a deep breath.  "To be truthful, I haven't 
thought about it much.  I don't expect it will be an 
enjoyable experience, but I am looking forward to having it 
over with.  Watts will be there.  I've thought about that 
aspect.  I haven't been in the same room with him since... 
since it happened."

"What have you thought about when you thought of seeing him?"  
Scully shook her head, unable to verbalize the constricting 
feeling inside her.  Dr. Wheeler looked thoughtful.  
"Afraid?" she asked.  "Nervous?"

"Not afraid, no.  I know he can't hurt me physically.  He 
can't even talk to me."

Dr. Wheeler shifted in her seat.  "You say he can't hurt you 
'physically.'  Is there another way he can hurt you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Let's put it this way:  you're coming into the courtroom, 
you're ready to take the stand, and you see Watts sitting at 
the defense table.  What do you think at that moment?"

Scully tried to visualize the encounter.  "I think... I can't 
believe it's him.  I can't believe that..."

"That what?"

Scully swallowed.  "That he raped me."  She opened her eyes 
but kept her gaze trained on her lap.  "I guess part of me 
still can't believe it's real."

"And the trial, that would make it real for you?"

"I don't know.  Maybe.  I don't know why that should be.  
I've said the words out loud in front of doctors, in front of 
cops and lawyers.  There's not really anyone left to tell."

"No?"

"Well, there's Mulder."  She had never told him the details, 
and he had never asked.  She wondered if he would come to the 
trial.

"Mulder... he is your partner at the FBI?"

Scully nodded and picked imaginary lint off her pants.  
"We've been seeing each other outside of work," she said. 

"I see.  Since before the rape?"

"Yes."  Scully paused.  "I don't know what's going to happen 
now, though.  We haven't talked much lately."

"Why is that?"

Scully shrugged.  "It just got so hard," she said in a small 
voice.

"What got hard?"

Not Mulder's dick, Scully thought suddenly.  Her heart 
squeezed inside her chest.  "I don't understand," she said, 
"why, if rape is about power and not sex, it should interfere 
with your sex life."

Evelyn's forehead wrinkled.  "My word, whoever told you 
that?"

It was Scully's turn to be confused.  "All the books say the 
same thing... rape is a crime about power, not sex.  It's 
about forcing your will on someone and controlling them."

"Well, yes.  All that is true.  But it's also about sex."

Scully was almost relieved.  If this were true, there was a 
possibility she was normal.  "You're the first person to say 
that," she told Evelyn.  "I think these days it's a somewhat 
radical viewpoint."

"I've always been a radical."  Evelyn smiled.  "But in this, 
I speak only the truth."  Scully hesitated, afraid to 
believe.  Evelyn leaned forward.  "Look, Dana," she said 
bluntly, "the man didn't hold you up and make you do his 
laundry, did he?  He didn't make you wash his car or mow his 
lawn.  He raped you."

The words fell like bricks on her chest.  "He--he raped me," 
she repeated, feeling lightheaded.

"The books, the movies, the after-school programs and the 
academics -- they can't tell you why this happened to you.  
They can't tell you what will make it better."

Her throat ached.  "Who can?"

"That's the hard part," Evelyn said with regret.  "The part 
you have to figure out alone."

XxXxX

The day of the trial, Scully dressed with extra care, as 
though a pressed suit and perfect makeup would ward off Nora 
Bellamy.  She very deliberately did not turn on the morning 
news.  Passing on breakfast, Scully forced a half-cup of 
coffee into her balled up stomach before driving to the 
courthouse.  

Thankfully, the real action was inside and so no reporters 
mobbed her on the front steps.  A court official showed her 
to a private lobby where she could wait until it was time to 
testify.  There were benches on all four walls, sparsely 
populated.  One man with slicked-back hair and wingtip shoes 
paced the floor.  In the corner, under a window, someone 
waved at Scully.  She squinted and recognized the woman she 
had met at Chris's office, Glory.

Scully answered with a weak wave, but the woman kept 
beckoning.  Head down, Scully propelled herself in Glory's 
direction.

"Dana, hi!  I wondered if I'd see you here today."  She moved 
her huge purse so Scully could sit.  "Are you nervous?  You 
must have been here a hundred times, huh.  The only other 
time I've been to court was when I was seventeen and trying 
to get out of a speeding ticket.  Which one of us do you 
think they'll call first?"

"Uh, I'm not sure," Scully said.

"No offense, but I hope it's me.  I've got butterflies 
dancing with clogs in my stomach."

Scully hid a smile.  "I think the anticipation is the worst 
part."

"Maybe," Glory said, not sounding convinced.  "That Bellamy 
lady scares the crap out of me.  I saw her in the ladies' 
room earlier, and I swear she was putting on her makeup with 
a blow torch."

Scully coughed as Glory rummaged through her purse.  "Gum?" 
Glory said a minute later, offering a stick.

"No, thank you."

Glory chewed in silence for a minute.  "You got family here 
today?"

Scully shook her head.  She had asked her mother please not 
to come.  Mulder... she tried not to get her hopes up one way 
or the other.

"My mom took off work," Glory said.  "Like I was in the 
school play or something.  It's a good thing they frisk you 
at the door for weapons, though, because otherwise she might 
have been packing."

The court official reappeared and called Scully's name.  
Glory hugged her purse on her lap.  "Looks like you won the 
coin toss," she said.  "Good luck."

"Thanks."  Scully considered a moment.  "Good luck to you, 
too."

She smoothed her skirt down and followed the woman to the 
courtroom.  It wasn't as large as she had imagined it would 
be for a trial of this magnitude.  All was quiet as Scully 
entered the room.  Greg Watts kept his eyes on the table in 
front of him.  Chris gave her a quick smile as she took the 
stand.  Her mouth was dry but she didn't want to reach for 
the water and make it obvious she was nervous.  She looked 
but she did not see Mulder among the spectators.

Chris wished her good morning.  He then led her matter-of-
factly through the events in Ming's parking lot, neither 
oozing sympathy nor playing up the horror.  It was easier 
than she had expected to say the words.  After an hour or so, 
he had no more questions.

Scully tensed in her seat as he turned the floor over to Nora 
Bellamy.

Bellamy had had her hair done for the occasion, Scully 
noticed as the woman rose and crossed the floor.  She smiled 
at Scully but her eyes focused in like a cat's on its prey.  

"Agent Scully, how are you doing?  Would you like some 
water?"

"No, thank you.  I'm fine."

"How long have you worked at the FBI?"

"Twelve years," Scully replied.  "Almost thirteen."

"What sort of training do you have to complete to be an FBI 
field agent?"

"There are many courses, covering everything from federal law 
to ballistics."

"Any defense training?"

"Yes, some."

"How did you perform in these defense classes?"

"Well enough to pass."

Bellamy smiled again.  "In the course of your work, have you 
ever had to disarm a criminal who was larger than you are?"

"Yes."

"Ever use your self defense knowledge to immobilize one of 
these attackers?"

"Objection," Chris said.  "Agent Scully's work history is not 
material to this case.  She wasn't working the night of June 
eleventh."

"Sustained," the judge agreed.

Bellamy did not miss a beat.  "You never saw the face of the 
man who attacked you, is that correct?"

"Not very well, no.  He wore a stocking mask."

"In fact, my client participated in a police lineup after 
your attack and you failed to identify him.  Isn't that 
right?"

"Yes."

"There was no hair, no fibers, and no semen recovered at the 
hospital.  What do you make of that?"

"I don't make anything of it.  Sometimes they just get 
lucky."

"Interesting choice of words," Bellamy observed.  "Lucky.  
Let's talk about your luck for a second, shall we?  This 
summer wasn't your first trip to the hospital this year, was 
it?"

"No."

"In fact, you've been to the emergency room seven times in 
the last two years alone.  Isn't that true?"

"That sounds about right."

"Many of these visits have been the result of alleged violent 
attacks on you by another individual."

"Objection," Chris said again.  "Agent Scully's medical 
records are not at issue here."

"Goes to credibility, Your Honor," Bellamy countered.  "I'll 
confine my questions to the legal aspects of Agent Scully's 
many victimizations."

"Objection!" Chris said.

"Over-ruled," the Judge answered.  "But you've got a short 
leash here, Counselor.  Step wisely."

Bellamy nodded and turned back to Scully.  "Last year," she 
said, "you were involved in an incident just a few blocks 
away from Ming's restaurant, were you not?  A death in your 
partner's apartment building?"

"Yes."

"You were attacked, isn't that right?"

Scully kept her voice level despite the fact that she could 
see where the conversation was heading.  "Yes, that's right."

"By whom?"

"That has never been determined."

"Oh, the individual got away?"

Scully did her best not to squirm.  "He was never 
apprehended, no."

"Huh," Bellamy said, as if stymied.  Then she regrouped. 
"Isn't it true that the local police recorded that you had no 
injuries from this alleged attack despite being covered in 
blood?"

"Yes, that's true."

"Care to explain how that happened?"

"I can't explain."

Bellamy crossed for her notes.  "I have the statements you 
and your partner gave to Detective Savioshy immediately 
afterward.  You both mention some sort of phantom...?"

The jury looked puzzled as Bellamy's question hung in the 
air.  Scully shifted.  "It was one theory."

"A theory you believed in?"

All the heads turned back to look at Scully.  "As I said, 
that investigation was never completed.  My assailant was 
never identified."

"I see.  What about the time you ended up half-burned to 
death on a dam in Pennsylvania?  Was it an imaginary attacker 
who did that one, too?"

"I--I don't remember much about that incident."

"I heard it was some sort of mass suicide by a UFO cult," 
Bellamy said.  "Is that true?"

"No," Scully said definitively.  "It was not a cult."

"But the UFOs...?"

"I told you," Scully said, struggling to remain calm.  "I 
don't remember."

"But you remember it's not a cult."

Bellamy continued on that way for some time, hammering away 
at every public -- and some private -- aspect of Scully's 
life, making her seem like a chronic victim who was a few 
fries short of a Happy Meal.  Scully figured by the time she 
was finished the jury would vote that was Watts innocent and 
was Scully guilty by reason of insanity.

When at last Bellamy exhausted her questions, Chris got to 
his feet for the redirect.

"Agent Scully, on the night of June eleventh, was it an 
invisible man who attacked you?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Was it an alien?"

"No."

"I show you again People's exhibits F and G, which were among 
the property recovered from Gregory Watts' home.  Is this 
your wallet?"

"Yes."

"Are these your underwear?"

Scully didn't waver.  The jury was silent and still.  "Yes," 
she said.

"I have no more questions, Your Honor."

XxXxX

They broke for lunch with the conclusion of her testimony.  
Chris looked a little shaken but he put on a smile as she 
approached.  "You came through that just great," he said.  
"Nora was left with nothing but smoke and mirrors.  Her 
client is guilty as sin, and she knows it."  His smile 
faltered.  "That's some kind of work you do there at the 
FBI."

"I told you my job was unusual."

"Yeah, but I had this vision of you inspecting places like 
Roswell for fallen UFOs.  This sounds, uh, rather darker."

She shrugged.  "Pays the rent," she said lightly.

As they walked to the door, she cast one last glance around 
for Mulder.  Despite everything, she had harbored hope that 
he would be there.  But he wasn't, and the men and women 
looking back at her viewed her with vague distaste, as if her 
craziness might be catching.  She was glad to escape to the 
freer hallway.

"Heading out?" Chris asked.  "I'll walk you."

She noted he did not ask her to lunch.  They walked out into 
the afternoon sunshine, where he guided her skillfully past 
the hungry reporters.  "No comment, no comment, no comment."

When they reached the cluster of trees by the edge of the 
property, they stopped.  Breathless, Scully pushed back her 
hair.  "Really," Chris said, "You did a fine job.  Thank 
you."

Scully was not listening.  She had noticed a familiar figure 
across the street, loping toward them from the distance.  He 
noticed her watching and stopped to wave.  Scully smiled 
broadly.

"Dana?" Chris touched her arm.  "I've got to run.  Will you 
be all right?"

"Yes," Scully said, still focused across the street.  "I 
believe I will."

"Great.  I'll catch up with you later, then."

He disappeared, and Scully waited for the traffic to clear 
before crossing the street to Mulder.  She kept going until 
she stood just inches in front of him.  They smiled stupidly 
at one another.

"Here," he said, handing her a giant purple daisy. "I heard 
you're into flora these days."

She twirled the stem like it was a pinwheel.  "You came," she 
said.

"I promised I'd be here."  He cast a furtive look up the 
street.  "If Bellamy spots me, though, it's back to the chain 
gang for me.  You want to go somewhere?  Get something to 
eat?"

She linked her arm through his.  "No," she said.  "Let's just 
go home."

XxXxX

End Chapter Thirteen.

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