~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

UNIVERSAL INVARIANTS

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter Seven: Identity Crisis


This is who they were.

At age thirteen, Dana Scully was a straight-A student 
already doing advanced algebra in her spare time. Solving 
for X was work for some, but Scully always knew there was 
an answer -- you just had to find a way to get there.  
Identifying the missing variable gave her a sense of 
satisfaction, of power.  X had been lost but Scully found 
it.

She had wild red hair that would not cooperate with a comb 
and a mouth full of metal.  It seemed to Scully she had had 
braces forever, but really it had been only six months.  

Her sister had breasts now and went out on dates.  Her two 
brothers alternately bossed and tormented her.  Every few 
months her father would come through the door and rub her 
head and say, "There's my girl" like she was the just the 
same as when he'd left.

Scully started sneaking her mother's cigarettes and smoking 
on the porch late at night.  The person who did this 
naughty thing lived in Scully but was not Scully.  Anyone 
who found out what she was doing would be horrified -- Dana 
wouldn't smoke.  Dana knew better.

Thirteen year-old Dana took careful puffs and nurtured this 
secret part, this person she was becoming.

~*~

On his thirteenth birthday, Fox Mulder got drunk for the 
first time.  To say it had been a shitty year would be the 
understatement of his short lifetime.  His father seemed to 
take solace in the bottle so Mulder wondered if he might 
find answers there too.

He smuggled a bottle of gin up to the attic.  Gin was the 
only alcohol he'd tasted before, on hot summer nights when 
his mother had given him and Samantha small sips of her gin 
and tonic cocktails.  It tasted nothing like he remembered.

He drank it down, bitter taste matching the flavor inside 
him.  Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his rugby shirt, he 
lurched to the dingy attic window and stared dizzily out at 
the backyard.  The swings swung empty in the fall breeze.

The world had come full circle again since Samantha had 
disappeared.  Mulder felt the ground moving beneath his 
feet, life rushing forward even as he tried to hold it 
back.

Wait, he wanted to cry.  I'm not ready.

He'd grown nearly four inches.  He wore a size 12 sneaker 
now -- men's sizes.  He looked into the mirror and did not 
recognize the face looking back at him.  His parents never 
looked at him at all.

Mulder opened the window and hurled the gin bottle out.  It 
hit the ground, ricocheting off of the soft grass.  It 
bounced and bounced, but did not break.

~*~

Patty Waeleski at thirteen was older than many adults three 
times her age.  She had early signs of arthritis in her 
wrists. She had been interviewed in every single major 
national newspaper.  The president of the country knew her 
name.

She had one goal: to go to the Olympics and win a gold 
medal.  

It was her goal, to be sure, but she couldn't remember when 
it started.  It seemed to her the gold had always been with 
her in her head, shining just out of reach.

She could recall falling in love with gymnastics.  She was 
four, and her friend Kimberly had a large trampoline in the 
backyard.  Patty bounced higher and higher into the sky, 
turning cartwheels and somersaults as the other kids 
cheered her on.

That night, she asked her parents for lessons.  By the end 
of the year, she and Kimberly were no longer friends.  
Patty had new all-consuming friends with exotic names like 
Pummel Horse, High Beam, and Uneven Bars.

She assumed she would grow up, go to college, get married 
and have kids.  But when she tried to imagine this future 
life after gymnastics, the picture was always hazy.

Don't worry, her mother said.  There'll be time for all 
that later.

~*~

Mulder drove past Patty's school on his way home from work 
one night.  Under the security floodlights, he could see 
the sign the students had erected in the front yard: COME 
HOME SOON, PATTY!  WE MISS YOU.

Mulder pulled over but did not get out of the car.  The 
sign had aging bouquets of flowers, faded ribbons and half-
burnt candles cluttered around it.  Patty's classmates had 
held several vigils for her in this very spot.

They wept and they sang and they prayed.  We miss you, they 
quoted from the sign.

Mulder knew better.  Patty's life had not afforded her time 
for these people; Patty was someone they'd passed in the 
halls and heard about on the news.

But he believed their tears.  He understood their 
desperation. 

If Patty, the tiny girl who seemed so large on the national 
stage, could vanish without a trace, then no one else was 
safe.

No one.

~*~*~*~~*~

"Say something," Scully prodded her parents as she held 
hands with Ethan at the dinner table.  They were out to 
eat, at a fancy restaurant with heavy silver forks, a view 
of the water, and a quiet table where Captain Scully dared 
not shout in public.

Maggie Scully dabbed at her mouth with a crisp linen 
napkin.  Her berry mousse sat half-eaten in front of her.  
"I think it's lovely news," she said, forcing a smile.

Scully's father frowned.  "Well, I don't.  'Living 
together' -- what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Now, Bill.  Lots of people do it these days."  But her 
tone suggested she couldn't fathom why.

"We're not talking about other people," Captain Scully 
said.  "We're talking about our daughter."

"Who is sitting right here at the table," Scully pointed 
out.

He shook his head and squinted at her.  "I never would have 
expected this from you.  From Melissa, maybe.  But not 
you."

"I don't know what the big deal is about it.  Mom's right.  
Everyone does it now.  I'd think you'd be happy for me."

"Happy."  He snorted.  "Because every parent dreams of the 
day when his little girl comes to him and announces her 
decision to move in with her boyfriend." 

"We're not here to ask your permission," Scully said 
stiffly.

"That's good because you wouldn't get it."

"Bill."  Maggie laid a hand on her husband's arm.  
"Enough."

Bill Scully folded his arms across his massive chest and 
rocked back in his chair.  Maggie turned her attention to 
Ethan and Scully.  "So when did you make this big 
decision?"

Scully and Ethan traded looks.  Scully cleared her throat.  
"A few months ago.  Last spring."

"Oh, that long.  It must be working out then.  That's 
good."

Ethan slid an arm around Scully's chair.  "Don't worry, 
Mrs. Scully.  I'm taking good care of her." 

"Six months this has been going on?" Captain Scully asked.  
"You know, in six months, I met your mother, courted and 
married her."

Ethan withdrew his arm and smoothed his tie over his chest.

"We're not you and Mom," Scully said. 

"You can say that again."

"But we love each other and we're going to make this work."

"Make what work?  Make sure the rent check is evenly 
divided in two?"

"Bill, you heard them.  They're taking the responsible 
route here, don't you think?  Would you rather they rush 
into a permanent commitment before they're sure they're 
ready?"

The Captain's jaw set.  "After six months, you're sure. One 
way or the other."

~*~*~*~

Scientists were going insane in the arctic, and somehow this 
became Mulder and Scully's responsibility.  They crowded 
with three others into a prop plane bound for Icy Cape.

As the landscape disappeared underneath the blowing snow, 
Scully turned her head to look at Mulder.  The fur of her 
parka tickled her nose.

"Tell me," she said, "did someone assign us this case or 
did you volunteer for it?"

"Yes."  He stretched over her to look out the window.  "You 
can barely see anything down there.  Can you imagine living 
like this for months at time?"

Scully placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him 
back into his own seat. "My father used to tell this story 
about a guy on submarine duty that snapped one day at sea.  
He locked himself in the galley, took off his clothes, and 
smeared barbecue sauce all over his body."

Mulder raised his eyebrows.  "*All* over?"

"They busted the door in and he came at them with a butcher 
knife.  Dad said it was like something out of 'Apocalypse 
Now.'"

Mulder clamped a hand on her knee.  "Don't worry, Scully.  
I'll keep you away from the barbecue sauce."

~*~*~*~

The power was off when they walked into the base, but 
Scully could smell the answer as to why none of the men had 
responded to inquiring calls: all were dead.  Their bodies, 
half-stripped and covered in blood, lay scattered around 
the high-tech equipment.

"Five of them and five of us," Mulder murmured to her as 
they stood in the doorway surveying the carnage.  "What a 
coincidence."

Scully shivered.  "It looks like they killed each other."

Behind them, the others pushed into the room and the pilot, 
Bear, went in search of the fuse box.  "Body bags are on 
the plane," Hodge remarked.

"Before we touch anything, we have to thoroughly document 
the site," Mulder said.

Scully pulled out her camera and began snapping photos in 
the dark.  The men's eyes, white and terror-filled, lit up 
with each flash.  When she had finished, she searched out 
Mulder.  He was studying the melting remnants of an arctic 
ice core sample.

"This is what they were drilling for," he told her.

Scully braced the large camera on her hip.  "I'll have to 
perform autopsies to be sure, Mulder, but it looks like 
three of the men were strangled to death and the last two 
died of gunshot wounds.  What could have made them all just 
snap like that?"

Mulder held the ice core sample up to the newly-returned 
light.  "Whatever it is, you can be sure it's not barbecue 
sauce."

~*~*~*~

The answer turned out to be worms, not barbecue.  Bear got 
infected and ended up dead.  A spot check of everyone else 
suggested he was the only person infected with the worms.

Day dragged into night, though it was impossible to tell 
the difference.  Wind pummeled the small building, making 
it groan.   The sun had long ago left for hibernation.  
This close to the arctic circle, winter was just one never-
ending night.

As their remaining companions disappeared from the hall, 
Mulder and Scully lingered at their respective bedroom 
doors. Scully looked him up and down.  She wanted to say 
she was sorry for snapping at him earlier.  She wanted to 
ask him if he had ever seen worms cause homicide in the X-
Files before.  She wanted him to tell her they would all 
get out alive.
Mulder looked back at her, hair flat and eyes drooping with 
fatigue.  He was waiting for her to say something.

"Good night, Mulder."

"Good night, Scully."

Neither one of them moved.

"At least everyone's okay," she offered softly.

Mulder nodded.  "Don't forget," he added.  "The nodules on 
the dog went away."

He entered his room then, so she took a deep breath and 
entered hers.  A dead man's life hung on the walls -- 
posters, pictures, sports mementoes.  Here I am, the walls 
said.  This is me.

Scully recognized him as one of the strangulation victims.  
He and his friends smiled back at her from the candid 
snapshots.  They sat close, with cocky smiles.  

We are not who we are.

Scully shoved the photo back on the bureau and then dragged 
the bureau in front of the door.  She huddled next to it, 
her back against the dead man's wall.

~*~~*~

Murphy was next, killed in the night.  Scully found Mulder 
standing over the body.  He had blood one hand and his gun 
in the other.

"Mulder?" she asked carefully.  "What are you doing?

 "I found him like this. I heard one of the doors close, I 
came out to check it out. It's one of you."

He looked past Scully at the other two scientists.  Scully 
took a tentative step towards Mulder.

"He's lying," Hodge spat.

"He could have done it and not even known," added Da Silva.  
Her voice had taken on an edge of hysteria.

"It was one of you!" Mulder repeated, his eyes wild.  He 
waved his gun at the others.

"Stop it!  Shut up, both of you!"  Scully swallowed.  "Mulder, 
just put the gun down and let Hodge give you a blood test."

"Hodge is right," Da Silva said, standing back behind her 
colleague.  "We oughta lock him up!"

"I'm not turning my back on any of you," Mulder said as he 
raised his gun again.  "As far as I'm concerned, you're all 
infected!"

Hodge lunged for a crowbar and Mulder swung the gun around 
to him.

Scully had her weapon drawn in a flash. "Mulder!"  In all 
her years of service, she had only drawn her gun a handful 
of times, and almost never at a human being.  Now she had 
it pointed at her partner's head.

Mulder looked at her sideways. "Scully, get that gun off 
me!"

Her hands wavered. "Mulder, you have to understand!"

Suddenly she was looking down the barrel of his SIG.  "Put 
it down!" he yelled.

"You put it down first!"  The room spun.  Her heart 
slammed.  She remembered the two dead scientists, shot by 
their own hands.

"Scully! For God sakes, it's me!"

"Mulder... you may not be who you are."

Mulder relented.  For her, he would let himself be 
confined.  She locked him in a storeroom like he was a 
rabid animal.  Hair shaggy, lips still shining from their 
shouting match, he looked the part.

Scully wondered if she could make herself close the door.  
Mulder looked back at her from his new prison, eyes full of 
distrust.  He spoke so low she barely heard him.

"In here, I'll be safer than you."

~*~*~*~

It was something out of Alice in Wonderland.  One worm made 
you go crazy.  Two worms killed each other and made you 
sane again.

"Mulder isn't one of us anymore," Hodge had said.

Scully wasn't so sure.  In her opinion, outsiders were too 
quick to call Mulder crazy.  She was not leaving Icy Cape 
without her partner.

"I want to talk to him first," she said to Da Silva and 
Hodge. "Try to make this voluntary."

Mulder had been locked in the storeroom without food or 
water for nearly an entire day.  Even the dog had enjoyed a 
meal.

"You can't go in alone," Hodge protested.

Scully considered what she might find on the other side.  
She flashed on the fingermarks she had documented on the 
dead men's necks.  They had killed each other with their 
bare hands.

Mulder had such lovely hands.  It was one of the first 
things she had noticed about him.  Long fingers.  Golden 
skin.  His touch was always warm on her back.

Scully braced herself against the storeroom door.  "If 
anything happens," she said, "you come inside. I can't do 
this to him until I'm sure." 

~*~*~

Mulder leaned his head against the wall.  He sat in total 
darkness.  His shirt stuck to his back, his ribs.  Sweat 
plastered hair to his face.  Thirst made his tongue swell 
in his mouth and his brain turn to taffy.

He knew damn well he had not killed Murphy.  One of the 
three people on the other side of the door was a murderer.

Mulder wondered how would explain his helpless captivity if 
Scully ended up dead.  He pictured her shot or strangled, 
zipped up in one of her very own body bags.

Or maybe Scully was the killer.  That would be even harder 
to explain.  "I let her lock me up while she killed 
everyone else, sir."

Just then, the door slid open and Mulder scrambled to his 
feet.  He shielded his eyes from the strong light and 
studied her familiar silhouette.

"It's just you?" he asked, voice hoarse from hours of 
disuse. 

"Yes." The door slammed shut behind her and Scully turned 
on the light.

Mulder's eyes shrunk back in pain.  He squinted at her, 
taking in her pale face and messy hair.  He noticed she was 
not carrying her gun. "It's one of them," he said.

"No one's been killed since you've been in here," she 
replied.

"So?" 

"We found a way to kill it. Two worms in one host will kill 
each other." She took a step closer to him.  He could feel 
the heat of her body.  She was afraid.

"You give me one worm, you'll infect me."

Scully would not even look at him. "If that's true, then 
why didn't you let us inspect you? 

"I would have but you pulled a gun on me," Mulder 
whispered. "Now I don't trust them. I wanted to trust you."

"Okay," she whispered back.  She risked a glance at him. 
"But now they're not here."

Mulder stared down at her for a minute.  He wondered what 
she would do if he refused.  He could see her throat moving 
as she swallowed several times in quick succession.

Mulder turned silently, presenting her with his back as an 
animal might surrender as prey. Her hand clawed his T-shirt 
partway down his back.  He could feel the stir of her 
breath against his bare skin.  Mulder suppressed a shudder.

Scully's hand felt him up, checking for worms.  Her nimble 
fingers worked quickly over his muscles. 

She relented, relaxing.  He was not infected.  Mulder 
turned again, towering over her, and she gave him a 
sheepish smile.

He waited, not saying a word.  Scully went to leave and he 
grabbed her shoulders.  Her gasp, sharp and sexual, filled 
the tiny room.  He held tight but not enough to hurt.

She stood tense, breathing hard as he brushed aside her 
hair to get at her neck.  Mulder exhaled raggedly.  White 
and warm, her skin rippled under his touch.  He leaned down 
close enough to see the constellations of freckles dotting 
her neck.

No worm.

"All clear," he murmured, his touch becoming gentle.  
Scully trembled.  He did not remove his hands until she 
staggered forward to the door.

Together they went out into the light.

~*~*~*~*~

Much later, after Da Silva was both damned and saved and 
the Icy Cape research center had been torched to the 
ground, Mulder lay on his motel room bed in Nome, Alaska.  
Tomorrow the plane would carry them back to civilization.

Wooden paneling encased his small room, making it seem even 
darker and smaller. The old TV had rabbit ears but was 
hooked up to a cable box.  On Skinemax, a man and a bare-
breasted woman simulated intercourse to the beat of the 
synthesizer.

Mulder unzipped his fly -- more out of habit than desire. 
Exhausted but wired, he was looking for a little release.

He watched the bump-n-grind through slitted eyes.  

If sex were the opposite of death, he would need to do this 
about ten more times to make up for the hell of the last 
five days.

The blonde jiggled harder as the action sped up.  Mulder 
worked himself in tandem.

Scully was probably having a cup of tea and a hot bath.  
Here he was jerking off on top of an old bedspread with his 
shoes still on.

No, don't think about Scully.  It was a rule.  Whenever she 
crept into his fantasies, he viciously stomped her out 
again.  He was convinced she would know.  At the very 
least, *he* would know.

And he didn't want to share an office with someone he'd 
been moaning about in the shower with his dick in his hand.

No Scully.  Mulder lifted his head and looked at the blonde 
some more.  Instead he saw Scully's neck.  God, he loved 
that neck.  She wore her hair up a lot, head bent over a 
file with that perfect neck bare and smooth.  He wanted to 
take a bite out of her.

God, no Scully.  He squeezed his eyes shut and jerked 
himself faster.

"Mulder?" She rapped on his door.

Mulder leapt from the bed with his pants undone, crashing 
his shoulder against the wall.  He used the rebound to 
fling himself into the bathroom.

"Mulder, are you in there?"

"Coming!" he yelled.  He splashed cold water on his hands 
and face, and then zipped up.  Grabbing a towel, he went to 
the door. 

Scully stood there in leggings, a loose T-shirt, and that 
damned flippy pony tail.  "Yeah," he said, a little 
breathless.  "What is it?"

"I don't know.  I'm not sure what I'm doing here.  I went 
to get ice and somehow ended up at your door."

He eyed her.  "Where's your bucket?"

"Huh?"

"For ice."

Scully colored.  "Can I come in or not?"

"Sure."  He sighed and drew back the door.  Scully entered 
and immediately stopped dead at the sex party happening on 
his TV.  "Sorry about that," Mulder muttered as he smacked 
the "off" button.

"If this is a bad time..."

"No," he said, cutting her off.  "What's up?"

Scully sat in the raggedy chair as he flopped back on the 
bed.  "What do you think is going to happen to Da Silva?" 
she asked. 

"Not guilty by reason of insanity," he said.

"The worm made me do it defense?  I'd agree, but now 
there's no evidence."

"There's no evidence of the body either," Mulder pointed 
out.  "If it ever goes to trial -- and I doubt it will get 
that far -- I guarantee you Da Silva won't spend a day in 
jail."

Scully shook her head.  "I can't imagine it," she said.  
"Really going crazy like that.  I can't imagine not 
trusting myself."

"They say having schizophrenia is like dreaming while 
you're awake -- you can't be sure if the voices are coming 
from inside or outside.  You can't be sure what's real."

"I wonder what those men were thinking when they killed 
each other."  She kept her gaze trained on the faded 
carpet. "To know that it's your best friend killing you..."

"Scully."  He waited until she looked at him.  "We didn't 
shoot."

"No.  But we could have.  And we weren't even infected."

"You wouldn't shoot me," he said, smiling.  "I know."

"How do you know?" she asked, looking indignant all of a 
sudden.

"I know you."

"You've known me for six months, Mulder."

He shrugged. "Maybe that's all it takes."

"Now you sound like my father," she said.  Off his look, 
she explained, "He met and married my mother in just six 
months.  He thinks Ethan and I are taking too long to 
decide."

"What do you think?"

She searched herself.  "When I was little, everyone used to 
tell me all the time that I was just like my father.  We 
look the same.  We talk the same.  Cut from the same cloth, 
my mother said.  I used to look at him and think, that's 
who I will be when I grow up. Instead I'm this person my 
father hardly recognizes."

"So he's sure, but you're not," Mulder guessed.

"I'm not sure I'm not sure." She blew out a long breath. 
"But six months isn't long enough for me."

His cell phone rang.

"I can't believe you get reception!" she said.  "Mine's 
totally dead."

Mulder dug out the phone and answered it.  "Mulder," he 
said, flopping back on the pillows.  "Yes, that's right.  
What?  When?"  He sat up again.  "Okay.  Yeah.  We'll be 
back tomorrow, late afternoon.  Thanks for letting me 
know."

"What is it?" Scully asked when he had hung up.

"No word on Patty, but another girl is missing.  Age 
fifteen and a freshman track star."

"Same guy?" Scully asked.

"For Patty's sake, I hope not.  Or she's going to be 
thirteen forever."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

End Chapter Seven.  Continued in Chapter Eight.

Smooches to Amanda for proofing!  Any mistakes left are 
mine alone.

Sorry for the delay; illness has waylaid me this week.

Feedback is better that a bag full of cough drops: 
syn_tax6@yahoo.com