~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ LAWS OF MOTION ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ by syntax6 Chapter Six: Take Me Home Tonight Mulder was cleaning his fish tank, with Watson and Holmes making faces at him from their temporary home in his iced tea tumblers, when his phone rang. "Coming," he yelled at it as it continued to ring while he struggled out from his long rubber gloves. "Yeah, hello," he said, somewhat breathless by the time he reached the extension. "People who stick their noses where they don't belong sometimes find them cut off," said a low, threatening voice on the other end. "Mom? Is that you?" Mulder asked, deadpan, as he crossed to hit the record button on his answering machine. "You and your partner stay away from that prison," the voice told him. "You stay away from this case." "Which case is that?" Mulder asked. "You know what I'm talking about." "Maybe I need some clarification. Are you talking about Melinda McKenn's murder? Or Rachel Campenella's? Both, neither -- what? I need to make sure I'm getting this all down." "Mind your own business, Agent Mulder, and nobody gets hurt." The person hung up then, and Mulder swallowed a curse. He immediately dialed Scully at home, but he got her machine. He tried her cell. "Yeah," she said, and he could hear the sound of a car engine humming in the background. "Where are you?" he asked, eyeing the clock. It was going on ten at night. "I'm on my way to see Ethan. Why?" "You might want to watch your back," Mulder said as he walked to his window. He used two fingers to scissor open the blinds and peered out at the street below. No sign of any activity. "I just got a phone call telling us to stay away from Ethan's case," he told Scully. "At least I'm pretty sure that's what the guy wanted. He wasn't especially specific, except with the threats." "Threats? What kind of threats?" "The kind that involve bodily harm. Why are you going to see Ethan?" Scully did not answer right away, and Mulder stopped his pacing to listen harder. "It's personal," she said at last. "You're going out there in the middle of the night for a social call?" "Not social. Personal. Listen, I'm at the gates so I've got to go. Thanks for the warning, and I promise I'll be careful, okay?" "Scully, wait," he said, but she had already hung up the phone. ~*~ Scully managed to fast talk her way past prison security, as the guards weren't sure how to handle an FBI agent showing up during off hours and demanding to see an inmate. She waited in the interrogation room, which wasn't much bigger than a cell itself, until a guard escorted Ethan inside the door. His hair had grown shaggy and he hadn't shaved in a few days. His face registered surprise at the sight of her. "Dana, hi. What's the emergency?" Suddenly she felt a little foolish standing there with her sample collection kit. She had gone four years without an answer; a few more hours would not have been too much to bear. "Did you find something out on the case?" Ethan asked. Scully shook her head. "Nothing like that. I'm sorry." She held up the DNA kit. "I just wanted to get a sample from you in case we need it for later comparisons." There was no way she was going to tell him about Emily before she knew for sure. Even then, what good would the news do him if the answer were yes? *So then why are you here?* the voice in her head demanded. Ethan sagged against the table and sighed. "I thought maybe you had a break or something," he said. "But sure, go ahead. Take what you need." Scully put on her latex gloves with nervous fingers and took out the sterile cylinder for sample collection. "We did go to see Ryerson," she told him as she stepped closer to him. "You did? When?" "Just the other day. You might be surprised to hear he agrees with you that Rachel and Melinda's deaths are connected." She raised the cotton swab to his mouth. "Open, please." Scully gently rubbed the swab against the inside of his cheek, avoiding his eyes as she did so. It was strange, standing so close to him after all this time. She felt his hot breath on her hand and smelled the familiar scent of his skin underneath the prison laundry soap. "Maybe that's because he killed them both," Ethan said when Scully had finished. She capped the sample. "You really believe that?" He reached out awkwardly with his shackled hands and grabbed one of hers. "I don't know what I believe anymore. Doing time in the county lock-up for a murder you didn't commit tends to warp your point of view, you know? That's why I'm glad I have you." "I haven't done anything," Scully replied, looking at his worn tennis shoes. "Mulder told me," Ethan said as he ducked his head to try to meet her eyes. "He told me about your illness." Scully pulled away. "He shouldn't have said anything. I'm fine now." "He was trying to protect you. I can understand that." His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "I never thought there would come a day when you had to be protected from me. Of course, look at me now. The cops think everyone needs to be protected from me." "They've made a terrible mistake. None of this is your fault." "It's not yours either." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "I'm sorry if I made you feel it was." "You didn't." "I just want to be clear," he said. "You don't owe me anything because of what happened between us." Scully broke free from his touch and went to put away her test kit. "You're wrongly accused of murder, Ethan. I'd be here no matter who you were." "No," he replied, not unkindly. "You wouldn't." Scully busied herself with the kit. She could still feel Ethan's gaze on her. "God knows I hope you find something," he continued. "I want Melinda's killer caught and I want out of here more than anything in the world, so forgive me if I can't take the high road here. I can't ask you to stop trying. But you were able walk away from me once, Dana, and I hope if you needed to, you could do it again." She did just that, packing away a piece of him in her briefcase and hurrying out of the prison into the cold starry night. Few cars scattered the dark parking lot, and all Scully heard was the sound of her own heels against the cement. She reached her car and shut herself inside with a resounding slam, taking a moment to catch her breath before she started the engine. The briefcase with her answer rested on the seat beside her, and Scully kept glancing at it as though it would divulge its secrets without any sort of PCR test. She considered going straight to the lab to run the gels now. It was late enough that no one was likely to be around to ask her what she was doing. Scully's thoughts on the DNA evaporated under a sudden, harsh glare in her car. The vehicle behind her had pulled up close, shining its high beams right at her mirrors. Scully squinted painfully and tried to shield her eyes with one hand as she sped up to put some distance between her and the person behind her. The SUV/truck sped up too. "Jerk," she muttered. "Just go around." The road was otherwise deserted; the other driver could easily pass her. Instead, he crept closer, nearly threatening her bumper. Scully checked her speed: sixty-five in a fifty mile-per- hour zone. She nudged the needle up to seventy, but the driver kept pace and the blinding light made it hard for her to see the road in front of her. She hit a curve and nearly ran off the pavement. Her car swerved over the double yellow line as she over-corrected the wheel. Scully held tight and pressed the pedal down to the floor. She kept one eye on the road as she groped blindly with one hand for her cell phone. Just as her fingers made contact, the much larger vehicle rammed her from behind. Scully's car swerved as she was thrown forward against the seatbelt. Her phone slipped to the floor. Her pursuer rammed her again, harder this time, and her wheels caught the edge of the road. She was unable to steer as she became airborne, her car turning over like a carnival ride. Her briefcase hit the side of her face. Her stomach slammed against her ribs. Scully shut her eyes and held her breath for the crash. Glass shattered around her. Metal and plastic twisted together as the car folded in on her like a tin can. She tasted blood in her mouth and the smell of burning oil filled the air. Hung upside down by her seatbelt, Scully slowly opened her eyes. Alive. Breathing. She tested her arms and legs and found them movable. The only sound was her own harsh breathing; the person who hit her had either driven away or was parked and waiting to finish her off if she emerged from the car. Scully winced as her bruised knee made contact with the dash. Her keys jangled but she did not attempt to remove them from the ignition. She fumbled with her seatbelt as glass fell from her hair. Her scalp still burned from the impact. Outside, she heard tires squeal to a halt. Her heart started pounding again as she felt around in the dark for her gun. "Scully?" she heard Mulder call. "Mulder," she answered with relief. "I'm okay." Dirt and gravel pinged against the shell of her battered car as he came down the ditch to her. She could just make out the familiar outline of his work boots. "Scully, are you all right? What happened?" "Someone ran me off the road." She managed to get her seat belt loose but the door wouldn't open more than a crack. The warning beep came on, alerting her to the fact that her keys were in the ignition. "Shut the hell up," she muttered at it. "Scully?" Mulder was kneeling down next to the smashed window. "Are you hurt?" "Not really." She used her forearm to wipe away the rest of the window glass. "Here, let me help." Mulder put his coat over the frame so she could wriggle through it. Her bruised ribs protested, making her grimace, but she got free without too much trouble. Mulder caught her hands and helped her to her feet. "You sure you're okay?" He brushed glass fragments from her coat as she stood there in a bit of a daze. "I'm all right. We need to call towing." Mulder surveyed her car. "More like the dump." He palmed his cell phone and called in the accident. "Help is on the way," he said as he clicked off. "How did you find me?" "I was coming out to the prison to meet you and saw your car flipped upside down by the side of the road. What happened?" "I was just coming home and some big thing came up behind me and ran me off the road. Maybe a truck or an SUV. Definitely larger than my car." "Were you followed from the prison then?" "I don't know," Scully admitted. "I wasn't paying close attention." Mulder took out his flashlight and shone it at her face. Scully squinted and put up her hands. "What are you doing?" "Making sure you're all right." "And what, you thought you'd try forced confession?" She grabbed at him until she made contact with his arm and pushed the light down. "That's quite a bruise you have on your cheek." Scully touched the tender, swollen spot under her right eye. "My briefcase clocked me somewhere in midair," she replied, and then remembered what was in her briefcase. "I've got to get it out of there," she said as she knelt down again by the side of her car. "Scully, wait a second. Your stuff isn't going anywhere. At least wait until someone comes to flip the car back over." Scully pressed herself on the cold hard ground and reached through the window. Glass shards pressed into the front of her thick overcoat as she flailed around with one arm. She couldn't quite reach the briefcase. "Damn it," she said. She felt Mulder's hand on her back. "Let me try." Scully squirmed closer and whacked her head on the window frame. "Ow," she said, wincing back. Mulder's hand slipped to her ribs and he nudged her gently away from the car. "My arms are longer." Reluctantly, Scully backed off and let him wriggle around at the car window. She stood over him, watching him grimace in the moonlight as he struggled to reach the far side of the car. "Got it," he breathed, and withdrew it carefully through the broken window. He stood up and dusted himself off with one hand. Scully grabbed the case from him for inspection. "What have you got in there, gold bullion?" Fortunately, the kit appeared intact. She could get away with swabbing Ethan once, but twice? He was bound to start asking more questions she didn't want to answer. Scully hugged the case to her middle as the emergency sirens started wailing in the distance. An ambulance and two cruisers rolled up to the scene, scattering red and blue light into the trees. Mulder reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "The cavalry is here," he said, stating the obvious. "I'm fine," Scully said by way of rehearsal. Mulder's smile was tender. "Of course you are." Two EMTs came trooping down the hill into the ditch. "Anyone still in the car?" "All clear," Mulder told him. "I wasn't involved in the accident, but she was driving." It was the EMT's turn to shine a light on her. "Are you injured, ma'am?" "I'm fine," Scully said. "Just a few cuts and bruises." They checked her over and wanted to take her for tests at the hospital anyway, just to be sure. Scully didn't want to go to the hospital. She wanted to go to the lab. But now she had six men surrounding her with concerned expressions and just one common goal: to get her to the ER. "Humor us," Mulder said. "Let them make sure your insides don't resemble your car." So Scully let them load her into the ambulance and take her to the nearest hospital, where doctors prodded and scanned her and pronounced that she would live. She was lying on the cot, peeking under her hospital gown to examine the long, seatbelt-shaped bruise she wore like a sash from hip to shoulder, when her mother appeared from behind the green striped curtain. "Oh, thank God," she said when she saw Scully. "Mom, what are you doing here?" "The hospital called and said you'd been in accident." "I'm fine," Scully said as her mother embraced her. "They shouldn't have worried you." Her mother put her hands on either side of Scully's face. "Let me look at you. Are you hurt anywhere?" "I'm okay, really." "What on earth happened?" "I was out at the prison," Scully began. "The prison? Why?" "To see Ethan." "At this hour?" Her mother smoothed back Scully's hair and frowned. "I know you feel awful for him, Dana, but I worry you're pushing yourself too hard. The police are already working on his case." "Mom, I wasn't there about the case." Her mother stumbled in mid-lecture. "Oh?" "No," Scully replied as she tried to figure out how to explain. "I've recently learned it's possible I was pregnant at the time of my abduction, that it's possible Emily was conceived in the usual way." She and her mother had not had any sort of sex talk after Maggie explained the basics back when Scully was in high school. Scully didn't believe her mother figured she was a virgin, but by the same token, this was the first time she had ever admitted as such out loud. "I don't understand," Maggie said, her brow knit. "I thought you said Emily was the product of some terrible laboratory experiment." "She was. But I thought they created her, and I may have been wrong about that. It's possible that Ethan was her father." "Possible," Maggie repeated. "But you don't know for sure." Scully eyed her briefcase across the room. "That's why I went there -- to get an answer." "I see." Maggie's gaze turned downward, and she covered Scully's hands with her own. "And if it's true? Then what?" "I--I don't know." "Will you tell Ethan?" "I think he has a right to know." Her mother pinned her with a sharp look. "Know what? That he may have had a little girl who died a horrible death?" "Leave him out of it then. I have a right to know." Maggie held her gently by both shoulders. "I know you do. I know it. I've watched you search for years to get back what you lost during those months. All it ever does is make you sick and unhappy. I don't question your anger, Dana, or your desire for answers. I just wonder if the answers you're seeking will ever bring you peace." Scully's throat closed off with tears as her mother spoke. She tried to answer but faltered. "She was my baby," Scully whispered. "I never even knew it." "I know," her mother soothed, rocking her. "And I am so sorry." Scully clung, burying her hot face in her mother's neck. Maggie rubbed her back with the same slow strokes she had used when Scully was a child. "You can't change the past," her mother told her. "You can't bring back the ones you've lost along the way, no matter how you might wish it." Scully squeezed her eyes shut against the words. She couldn't go forward; she couldn't go back. She was stuck forever in limbo with the ghosts of her own past. ~*~ Mulder sat in the emergency room waiting room between an elderly woman with a cane and a clown with a bloody nose. The clown was a talker. "You take this gig thinking you're going to make people laugh. Turns out half the world hates clowns. I should've listened to my mother and become a car mechanic. Everyone hates them too, but at least you make a butt load of money." Mulder ignored him and watched the door, waiting for Scully to appear. He had an old "Sports Illustrated" open on his lap but he hadn't read a word. He kept seeing Scully's car folded like an accordion and heard her say, "It's personal." It had not occurred to him until now that Scully might still harbor romantic feelings for Ethan. Given her track record, an arrest for homicide might just make him more attractive. This made her three-for-three in the "lovers charged with bloody murder" category. The bad news for Ethan was that the previous two ended up either dead or in a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. The clown used up one handkerchief, so he yanked it up a bit and a second materialized behind it from his pocket. Mulder silently willed Scully to hurry up. Sure enough, she walked through the door a minute later with her mother, who had an arm around her. Mulder stood at the sight of them. "Fox," Maggie said. "Dana said she could catch a ride home with you." Mulder nodded and gave Scully the once-over. "How are you doing?" "No permanent damage," she replied. Maggie hugged her daughter and kissed her on the cheek. "You get some rest, okay? I'll call you later." Scully gave Mulder a wan smile. "Thanks for waiting," she said as they started for the door. "Anytime," he said. He could not believe it was still dark outside. It seemed they had been awake for days. "I'll take you home." Scully linked her arm through his. "I've got a better idea," she said. She directed him to an all-night pancake house, where they slid into an ugly orange booth and examined plastic menus featuring all manner of greasy food. The only other customers were a pair of middle-aged men with beer bellies and faded baseball caps. They drank coffee and chatted up the frumpy waitress while Mulder and Scully considered their food options. "My dad used to take us all out for pancakes on Saturday mornings," Scully said. "Maybe twice a year. I used to wonder how the cook managed to make every one in the same perfect circle." "Mom used to make us French toast for dinner on nights she and my father went out. I don't think I've had any since I was twelve years old." Scully smiled. "You should get that, then." "I think I will." So Mulder ordered three slices of his childhood while Scully requested a plate of pancakes. They drank mugs of coffee and considered the events of the evening. "Your mysterious friend on the phone was serious," Scully said. "We continue this investigation at our peril." Mulder tried not to look at the bruise deepening on her cheek. "I think it was a man who called, but I can't be totally sure. The timing is interesting, though, don't you think? We pay a little visit to Ryerson and all of a sudden we're getting the big 'back off' signals." "Certainly lends weight to the idea that Melinda was murdered and Ethan was framed to shut them up." "Wish we could get our hands on all their notes." "Without a subpoena, we have no leverage. The station doesn't have to give us a thing." "You're sure you didn't notice anyone at the prison?" Mulder asked as their food arrived. His stomach rumbled at the smell of bacon and he realized he probably hadn't eaten in twelve hours. "As far as I recall, the parking lot was pretty deserted. I didn't even notice someone was behind me until he started bearing down on my bumper." She speared a piece of pancake and popped it into her mouth. "I think it's clear you were followed. From now on, I don't think you should go out to there alone." "Right. Next time he can try to run us off the road together." Mulder had no good answer for that one. "So your talk with Ethan," he said. "It went okay?" "Okay," she said, but did not elaborate. She washed down another mouthful of pancake with some coffee. "Mulder, I was wondering... did I say anything to you about Ethan back then before we broke up?" Prickles raised the hair on the back of his neck. He covered with a long sip of coffee. "Like what?" Scully was concentrating on dissecting her stack of pancakes. "I don't know if I ever told you," she said. "I took his ring off. I don't remember doing it, but I must have had a reason." "That's what you went to talk to him about?" "I just wanted to know if maybe I said something to you about it at the time." Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "We weren't working together. The X-files had been shut down. It's not like we had a lot of opportunity for conversation." "Okay," she said, sounding disappointed. "You didn't talk a lot about Ethan at any point," Mulder told her. And he had never asked. "He was jealous of you." A smile twitched at her lips. Mulder couldn't help his grin. "Oh, yeah? Jealous of me? Was it my rugged good looks or my unassuming charm that did it?" "He didn't like all the time we spent together." Mulder sobered a little, recalling their heated indiscretion and the resultant tension. As far as he knew, Ethan had never found out about it. "We spent a lot of time in shitty motels, eating crap food and driving around in rented cars. Not much to be jealous of there." "I don't know," Scully said thoughtfully. "Maybe he had a point." Surprised, Mulder put down his coffee mug. "What do you mean?" "Five years later, here we still are." After breakfast, he drove her home as the sun turned up the volume on the morning. Traffic increased, the birds chattered and early morning joggers appeared along the side of the road. Scully had swallowed a couple of painkillers before leaving the restaurant and she promptly conked out cold against the side of his car. Mulder pulled to a gentle stop in front of her apartment building, but Scully did not stir when he cut the engine. He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Scully," he said, "we're here." Scully mumbled something but did not awaken. He didn't want to jostle her too hard for fear of hurting her. Mulder sighed, got out of the car, and went around to the passenger side door. He opened it and crouched down as Scully sat up, blinking sleepily. "Is it over?" she asked. Mulder unbuckled her seatbelt. "Over? The fun is just beginning. Let's get you inside, hmm?" Scully let him help her out of the car, and he noticed her grimacing as she pushed off from her seat. She walked with slow, careful steps up to the front door. Mulder held out his hand to take her briefcase as she fumbled around for her keys, and to his surprise, Scully acquiesced. She opened her front door with one hand while smothering a yawn with the other. Mulder set her things down in the living room while Scully headed straight to her bed. He popped his head in to find her crawling beneath the covers. He smiled fondly at the trail of clothing she left in her wake: a coat, a suit jacket, two haphazard shoes. Mulder scooped up the coats and draped them over a nearby chair. He took a seat near Scully's hip, and she dragged her eyes open to fix him with a glassy stare. "Get some sleep," he said, tucking the blankets around her. She reached out and curled her fingers around the end of his T-shirt. Mulder pried her hand loose, capturing it with his own. "I'm glad you're okay," he said. "Ethan was right," she murmured so low he almost didn't hear her. "One reason I took the ring off was you." Mulder bit his lip. He wasn't sure whether she was giving him credit or blame. "Scully," he said, but she had closed her eyes again. Her hand went limp in his. Mulder lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before gently settling it back under the covers with her other one. Scully sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillow. Mulder crept back out of the room, intent on leaving, when he spotted the briefcase by the door. He hesitated just a moment and then stooped down to unzip the top. Inside he found her gun, her ID, her wallet, a few folders and a DNA collection kit. A used DNA collection kit. He picked up the cylinder with the swab inside for closer examination. There was no name on the label, but reason told him it could belong to only one person: Ethan. Personal, she had said. Not related to the case. Just one more open secret. Mulder tucked the kit back where he had found it and left before he could uncover any more unwanted knowledge. ~*~*~ Next weekend, Mulder went to M.I.T. for a symposium and Scully went to Quantico to run some tests. By Sunday evening, she was sipping tea at her kitchen table with the results of the PCR tests in front of her. They stated conclusively that Ethan was not Emily's father. Scully slid the gels over one another with one hand, back and forth, but there was no denying the truth. The results came back late, leaving her alone in the lab to absorb the findings, and Scully had shed tears in equal parts sorrow and relief. She had never been pregnant. Ethan would never need to know. It seemed silly to her now to have ever wondered. They had not been trying for kids. Quite the opposite; she had been very clear about not wanting them for some time. A newly minted FBI woman did not have time for babies. But five years later, Dana Scully had believed she had room in her heart for a small, serious girl with wide brown eyes and a shy smile. She leaned back with her tea mug, holding it to her chest so the heat burned through her thin blouse. If her heart was the only place she ever carried Emily, so be it. Sometimes, she thought, the answers do bring peace. ~*~*~ Tuesday morning she found Mulder back in the basement office looking both worn-out and restless. She tossed a newspaper in his general direction. "Shouldn't that be my picture next to the headline?" she asked with a teasing smile. There he was in black and white with the words 'ALL THIS CONJECTURE ABOUT LITTLE GREEN MEN, DANGEROUS, DELUSIONAL.' Mulder began drawing an ink moustache on his picture. "Cassandra Spender is living proof that the truth I've so boldly sought for the last five years is the truth of a madman." "How's that?" "One more anal-probing, gyro-pyro levitating-ecoplasm alien anti-matter story, and I'm gonna take out my gun and shoot somebody." "Well ... I guess I'm done here. You seem to have invalidated your own work. Have a nice life." "How do you know about Cassandra Spender? "Her son accosted me in the hallway. He's an FBI agent. He's of the same opinion as you, by the way - that she's not well." He tossed the newspaper back at her, and Scully took it up again. This time she looked beyond the bold print to the details below. "What?" Mulder asked her. "Cassandra Spender was abducted at Skyland Mountain. That's where I was taken ... where Duane Barry took me." "The woman is a nut, Scully." Scully knew the same had been said about her. She continued, "It says here that she has an implant ... in the base of her neck." "Where the government no doubt removed her brain. Isn't that what her son stopped you to say, Scully?" Mulder got up to leave but did not say where he was going. "Oh, no, he, uh, he asked if you'd please not talk about this with anyone." Mulder adjusted his collar on his way out the door. "Wish granted." But Scully couldn't walk away this time. She went to visit this mysterious Cassandra and found her in a psychiatric ward. Cassandra told a tale Scully only remembered in her dreams, of tests and summons and the feeling you were always being watched. "They took a fetus from me once," Cassandra said, smiling as if this were an honor. Scully's stomach turned over, but she made herself ask: "What happened to it?" "They have her out there," Cassandra replied as she turned to look outside at the night sky. "That's partly why I am so anxious to return, you see. They told me I might see her." A sharp pain hit Scully at the base of her neck, right where the implant lay, and she resisted the urge to touch her hand to it. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly unable to catch her breath. "I'm afraid I have to go." Cassandra gave her a knowing smile. "Of course, dear. I understand completely." ~*~*~ Mulder walked among the fifty odd bodies without really seeing them. The smell of charred flesh and burned rubber filled the air. Helicopters circled overhead, as they always seemed to do at Skyland Mountain. Sometimes when he closed his eyes at night he could still hear them fading away as he screamed her name over and over at the top of his lungs. He noticed Scully in the distance and was tempted to turn the other way. She noticed him, though, so he met her halfway among the dead. "Are there any survivors?" he asked. "No. Not as of this moment." "Self immolation?" "There's no evidence of that right now." "And what was their relationship to each other? Were they families?" "There's no way to ID their bodies right now," she said. "It's going to be a painstaking dental process. Mulder, why are you tiptoeing around the obvious fact here? I mean, this is Skyland Mountain. We're right back here on Skyland Mountain." "And you think it's related to your abduction from the same place?" "Well, you can't deny the connection." "You think this is some kind of abduction scenario?" "No... I'm not saying that." "Do you have any evidence of that?" She frowned at him. "What do you mean by evidence?" "That's what I'm asking you." She was the evidence. The chip, the scars, the cancer -- Scully was a living record of the atrocities perpetrated on the innocent. He knew this as well as anyone, but he was going to make her say it out loud before he could believe it. But by the time she made him hear her, it was too late. Scully was gone. ~*~ Mulder was driving home with the X-rays of the dead when he got the call from Skinner. "Mulder, I'm en route to Pennsylvania," he said. "There's been another incident. I think you and Agent Scully should get here as quickly as possible." "Incident?" Mulder repeated. "Initial report says another fifty, maybe more, burned to death tonight at Ruskin Dam. It's just like Skyland Mountain all over again." Mulder lurched his car to a stop in the middle of the road. "Sir, I haven't been able to reach Scully all day. I'm afraid she may already be there." "No, Mulder. Local officials are the only ones on the scene so far." "You don't understand," Mulder said. Someone honked behind him. "I'm saying she may be among the victims." "Oh, Christ." Mulder turned the car around and started speeding towards the highway. "Tell me there are survivors." "I don't know." "Tell me!" "I don't know! But I am damn sure going to find out." Mulder drove through what remained of the night, getting spotty and terrifying reports from Skinner. Many dead. No survivors yet. No sign of Scully. All the while the haunting memory of burned bodies floated through his mind. He tried Scully's cell phone every few minutes, just in case, but each time he got her voice mail. He left increasingly panicked messages and made up stories for himself about where she might be. Only when he reached Ruskin Dam did he have to accept the awful truth. "Is she here?" he demanded of Skinner. There were the fucking helicopters again, making it impossible to hear anything. Skinner shouted back: "Yes, and the medics are all over her." They loaded her scorched and in shock into a chopper for transport to the nearest hospital. And so it came to pass again that Mulder stood helpless, watching as Scully was carried off into the sky to an uncertain fate. ~*~ She woke for the third time to find Mulder at her side again. His tie hung loose around his neck and he was watching some sort of sports report on TV. She could see the bags puffing out under his eyes in the blue, flickering light. He noticed she was awake and rolled his chair closer. "Hey, how are you doing?" he asked softly. She sat up. "I'm still so thirsty, but other than that, okay I guess." Mulder obliged her by pouring a glass of water from the plastic pink pitcher the hospital provided. Scully drank it down greedily. "You were lucky," he said. "I heard them say they'll let you out of here tomorrow, probably." "Lucky? Mulder, I was nearly burned to death and I have no recollection of what happened." He ducked his head as if conceding her point. Her heart started pounding and she felt dizzy again. "I--I don't know how I got there. I have no memory. Mulder, why does this keep happening to me?" "I don't know," he said, "but I promise we will find out." "You said the others all had implants. What if it's the chip that's making me do these things, controlling my memory? What then? I can't take it out!" "Scully, shhh." Mulder looked a little desperate. Tough shit. He wasn't the one wandering around among the dead with no memory. Scully covered her face with both hands. Her burns protested the touch, but she welcomed the pain. Mulder tried to pry her fingers away. "I can't do this again," she said tearfully. "You won't," he soothed. "You don't know that. I could go to sleep here tonight and wake up God knows where or maybe I just won't wake up at all." Mulder squeezed her hands. "I won't let that happen. I will stay right here the whole time, okay?" "What, are you going to stay with me every night for the rest of my life?" "If I have to, I will." She looked at him askance, and he smiled at her. "We can car pool and fight over the morning paper." "I'm glad you find this so amusing." "I don't," he replied. "Not at all." He shifted so he was sitting with her on the bed. "I just want you to get some rest." "I can't," she said in a broken whisper. "Sure you can." He urged her back down against the pillows. "We can figure out the next move tomorrow, okay?" She was so tired she couldn't even think. Maybe he was making sense, maybe not. She didn't have the strength to argue anymore. Mulder drew the covers up over her shoulder and she curled against him. "Don't you ever just want to say 'enough'?" she asked him softly. He stroked her hair. "All the time." Scully sniffed and closed her eyes. "If Samantha had stayed, that night in the diner, would that be enough for you? If you finally knew the truth?" "Maybe at one time. Not anymore." She shifted to look up at him. "Why?" "Because of you. And her. And me. And all those others who died last night. No matter what I believe, I can't walk away now." "No," she said, suddenly sleepy. She grabbed his hand. It was rough and warm and familiar. "Not now." ~*~ It ended the way it always did for them, detained by Air Force security personnel after sneaking onto a base. Mulder got the memory wipe this time and the evidence got away. Scully had some partial memories, not in her head but on tape, courtesy of her hypnotic regression with Dr. Werber. She listened to herself gasp as aliens descended and took Cassandra Spender back into the sky. "Well?" Mulder asked her as they sat together in the basement. He nodded at the tape she had in her hand. "What's the verdict? Truth or fiction?" "I don't know that it's always so easy to tell." Scully sat up with a sigh and placed the tape on his desk. "Did you know that a few years ago, doctors were performing brain surgery on this woman and they opened her up ahead of time to map out various brain areas so they would not destroy important tissue during the operation. They poked her with electrodes and she told them different stories." "She was awake?" "Yes, you can do brain surgery under relatively mild anesthesia. And they needed her awake so they could figure out where her language centers were. In any case, they discovered that if they stimulated one spot, she vividly recalled her 8th birthday party. In another spot, she told a detailed story about a trip she took to Mexico." "So memory is stored in a specific place?" "Maybe not." Scully stood and collected her things. "It turns out this woman had never been to Mexico." Mulder picked up her regression tape and turned it over several times with his fingers. "So you're saying now that you don't believe what you said here is real?" "I don't know what to believe. I guess what I'm saying is, if the truth is in me, we may still never find it." "So where is Cassandra Spender?" "I don't know." She reached across and took the tape from him. "But ten to one she's not in Mexico." ~*~ Scully had taken to hiding her keys at night, as though whatever force willing her to death wouldn't know to direct her to the jewelry box under her bed. But it was the only way she could sleep, and even then it often took her over an hour to drift off. When she did sleep, she dreamt vivid, Technicolor dreams of Cassandra ascending into the stars. She saw faceless men and bodies on fire. Duane Barry peered at her from the other side of her window. She heard the high whine of a drill and felt again her swollen body. Sometimes Mulder was there. Sometimes Ethan. That night she dreamed of pounding rain and the wet smell of the jungle. She heard herself moan and felt Mulder moving inside her. She sat straight up in bed, her blood still singing hot through her veins. She throbbed from head to toe and her tongue had gone totally dry. She shook all over. Scully clapped her hand to her mouth. Not a dream, she realized. A memory. ~*~ When Scully failed to show up for work, Mulder's first reaction was to panic. He had visions of her burned to bits somewhere, and the fact that he could not raise her on her cell phone added to his worry. Not until Skinner told him Scully had taken the day off did some of his anxiety begin to subside. She had earned some R & R, he reasoned, settling in for a long day of solitude in the basement. But he could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. It started raining on his way home, razor-line drops slashing at his windows as he drove the dark, wet streets. He picked up his phone and tried Scully one more time, but her machine clicked on and he did not leave a message. He was wondering what TV dinner to thaw out as he opened his front door. Light shone in the living room. Mulder drew his gun. He approached from the side with caution, only to stop when her familiar voice called out. "It's just me, Mulder." Adrenaline subsiding, he re-holstered his weapon and rounded the corner with a smile. "Scully," he said, but drew up short when he saw her. She was not smiling back. "Um, what's going on?" She stood up from the couch and walked over to him. "I came to give you this," she said, and handed him a cigar wrapped in plastic. "It's a little late, but I'm sure you'll understand." "Actually, I don't." "Congratulations, Mulder. You're a father." ~*~*~ End chapter six. Continued in chapter seven. Big beta smooches to Amanda! Mulder clothing update: sdani has voted to remove the man's shoes, so he's now fully clothed except for his pants and his naked tootsies. ;-) Feedback is part of a healthy writer's diet: syn_tax6@yahoo.com Thanks as ever for reading!