Subject: ***NEW*** The Cold Truth (1/4) by Lori Shupe
From: ldshupe@aol.com (LDShupe)
Date: 22 Sep 1997 02:22:15 GMT

"The Cold Truth" by Lori Shupe 1/4
Disclaimer:  These are not my characters, they are the property of Chris
Carter, 1013, Fox, and whoever else.  I'm just borrowing them.
Rating: PG-13 (language and violence)
Category: MS ANGST/Romance 
Spoilers: none
Summary:  Mulder investigates a mysterious phone tip, which leads to
tragic consequences.
Author's note:  Warning: this story contains serious amounts of pain and
suffering for our heroes.  This story is in response to Gertie's FanFic
Challenge (http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Cavern/4867/intro.html) for a
major angst-o-rama.  I hope you enjoy it, and please e-mail me if you do
(or even if you don't)-I love feedback! Thanks, Lori

*************************************************

"Everyone you care about will suffer."

Special Agent Dana Scully froze as she opened the door leading into the
office she shared with her partner, hearing the ominous words spoken from
across the room. At the same moment, her partner, sensing her presence,
looked up and hit the stop button on the cassette player on the desk in
front of him.  

"What was that?" she asked, entering the room and removing her brown wool
coat. She slung it casually across a chair, and crossed the room to stand
in front of her partner.  She ran a hand over her auburn hair, smoothing
away droplets of melting snow. She was still irritated that the FBI
Headquarters parking garage had been full, and she'd had to park outside,
two blocks down the street no less, and walk to work in the snow.   Her
partner, Fox Mulder, looked up at her and gave a look as if to suggest he
had no idea what she was talking about.  

Further irritated, she repeated, a bit more curtly this time, "What was
that you were just listening to?"

She watched his eyes closely, as his mental wheels spun.  After nearly
four years as his partner, she could read this man like a book.  

He was going to lie to her.

"It was nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing.  Mind if I take a listen?"  

She moved her hand towards the recorder, half-expecting him to yank the
tape recorder away from her.  She watched his face closely as she sat in
the chair across from him, sliding the machine closer, hitting the rewind
key.  His expression remained mostly blank, but she could sense a bit of
anxiousness and knew he didn't want her to hear the tape.

She hit play.  The voice was electronically distorted so as not to be
recognized, and the words it spoke made the hair on her arms stand up. 
They were sardonic, mocking, and frightening.

"..been warned for the last time.  I will *not* tolerate your intrusion
into my.transactions.  You are way out of your league Agent Mulder.   Way,
way out of your league.  If you do not drop your little investigation *for
good*,  you will learn the true definition of sorrow and agony.  And not
just you, Mr. Mulder.  *Everyone* you care about will suffer."  

Then there was a chuckle; deep and evil, before a click and the sound of a
dial tone. Scully felt a chill run up her spine and she slapped the stop
button.  Mulder reached across the desk, ejected the tape, and put it in a
drawer without a word.  Finally he spoke.

"It's nothing.  Just something I've been working on on the side."

She shot an incredulous look at him. "Nothing?  Mulder, someone is
threatening your life, and others' lives as well. I'd call that something."

"I know what I'm doing Scully," he said gently.  

He avoided her gaze at first, and began tidying up his desk. Yet without
looking at her, he could sense the piercing gaze from her ice blue eyes,
following him, drilling into him, silently, persistently, until he could no
longer stand it, and looked up into her gaze. She had the shadow of a smirk
on her lips because she'd broken down his defenses again with merely a
look.  How does she do that? he wondered.  He sighed deeply and began;

"The voice you heard on the tape was on my voice mail yesterday morning
when I came in.  I don't know who it is, but I have a feeling he is the
head of a large drug-smuggling organization."

"Drug smuggling Mulder?"  she arched a thin brow at him.  

"Yes, although my interest in this case was piqued earlier without
realizing that drug smuggling was involved.  I received an anonymous e-mail
tip two weeks ago, while you were in the hospital having your tests run,
that children were being kidnapped by a secret organization that used them
in some kind of sacrificial satanic rituals down in Mexico."  

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  He didn't mean for it to sound like
he was sneaking around behind her back, while she had lain in a hospital
undergoing numerous tests for her cancer.  Yet, as he told the story, he
couldn't help but feel guilty for having kept it from her at all.  Her gaze
however, was neutral.  

"The e-mail said most of the children that had been taken were dead, but
that some remained alive, and were being held like animals in cells until
they could no longer be of any use."

"This sounds like an urban legend.some sort of sick rumor spread on the
Internet, and told as `a friend of a friend's cousin knows a guy'."

"Yeah, well I thought so too.  But as I looked into it further, the story
was corroborated by another source that I deem fairly trustworthy. And the
details started filling in.  It seems that whoever this person on the tape
is, his gang steals little children from their homes, from their yards,
while they are walking to school.  They fill balloons or some kind of
packets  full of heroin, and force the children to swallow them, and they
board planes with these kids and fly them to wherever they want to
distribute the drugs."  He looked at her again, and saw skepticism in her
eyes, but also a slight glimmer of belief.  "Most of the kids, they just
gut them open, take the drugs, and burn the body."

"Oh my God Mulder." she brought a hand to her mouth.

"Some of the kids though.if they are good on the plane, quiet and
well-behaved, they keep them and use them again and again, shoving packets
of drugs into them, and then removing them, until their little bodies just
can't take it anymore." 

"Do you really think this is true?  Do you have evidence of a specific
child who this was done to?" 

She looked at him, and suddenly knew what it was that led him into this
investigation.  He had the tired, sad-eyed look she'd seen too often on her
partner's handsome face.  Her voice softened.  

"Did they tell you Samantha was one of them?"  

"That was the story originally, yes."

"But not now?"

He slouched down in his chair, holding up his head with his hand.  "I
don't think that is what happened to my sister. I believe though that a
percentage of the children that are missing from the last 25 years and
never seen again have been taken for this drug Mafia to use as tools for
smuggling, then killed,  and their bodies destroyed. And I have a lead that
may rescue one of these children."

"And somehow the leader found out you were close and left you this message."

Mulder nodded, and swiveled slowly in his chair.  "I'm no where near
knowing anything about this guy, where he is, or who works for him, except
for this one piece of information, also supplied anonymously, that a little
girl missing since last Tuesday from Baltimore will be carrying drugs on a
flight out of Dulles tonight."

"Mulder, all these anonymous tips.stories that Samantha could have been
one of these children.threats on your life that sound like a challenge.I
think someone is setting  you up for something. That this is all really
just an urban legend, and that you are being manipulated for some unknown
reason." 

That tired, sad-eyed look returned. "But what if it's true Scully?  What
if I can at least save one little girl who's family is frantic with worry?
What if.  I have to go to the airport tonight and see for myself.  If it
turns out to be nothing, OK."

"And if you're walking into some kind of trap?  That threat sounds real
Mulder."

"I can't not do this Scully.  I *have* to follow up on this."

She groaned impatiently.  "Can we at least get others involved?  The DEA
should be made aware of this if drug smuggling is what we're dealing with here."

"What we're dealing with is kidnapping, and I don't want anyone else
involved in this Scully.  Just let me do this tonight, and if it turns out
to be a wild goose chase, then.'

"Then what?  You'll drop it?  I don't believe that and neither do you. 
This is not something you should be pursuing outside the Bureau."

"I knew I shouldn't have told you about this."   He was angry now, though
most of his anger was directed at himself for being unable to have those
cool blue eyes stare at him without spilling his guts.

"Fine, Mulder, you do want you want tonight," she shot back.  "But come
tomorrow, we go to Skinner and turn this investigation over to the
department where it should be."

The partners stared at each other silently.  Scully broke the silence,
"Let me come with you to the airport tonight at least."

"No."

She shifted in her chair at his answer.  "Mulder, whenever someone wants
you to do something, if they know anything about you, they bring your
sister into it, and-"

"If I'm being set up, I'll deal with the consequences."  His harsh tone
softened, "Scully, just let me go tonight and we'll talk to the boss in the
morning."

She stared a him for a long moment, and knew that her influence over him
was strong, but not strong enough to stop him from doing something crazy
when he set his mind to it. His hazel eyes stared back at her; intense,
sad, driven, and pleading all at the same time.  I can't stop him, she
thought and relaxed into a barely perceptible sigh.  And then she saw a
shadow of a smirk catch in the corner of his mouth, and she realized she
wasn't the only one who could control the other with merely a look.

******************************

Mulder slouched in one of the horribly uncomfortable molded plastic chairs
in the airport waiting area near Gate 23.  These sort of chairs, all hooked
together in rows, crammed together, were meant for people more of Scully's
petite stature. At 6 foot 1, Mulder was only able to stretch his legs out
by sitting diagonally in his seat. Luckily, he had the row to himself.  He
stifled a yawn, and looked at his watch.  2:35 am.  Another 10 minutes or
so and anyone on the next flight would be arriving. 

He'd sat here for 40 minutes, rolling the events leading up to the present
around in his mind. An e-mail had arrived 2 weeks ago,  suggesting that
Samantha had been one of many children taken for bizarre and  hideous
sacrifices down in Mexico.  I'm checking with another source, the author
had written,  and will mail you with more information soon. So Mulder had
waited for details, not telling Scully for reasons now that he couldn't
quite recall.  

When the next message arrived, the mysterious author had let him know that
he hadn't been able to substantiate the rumor about Sam one way or the
other, but that he'd discovered a heroin kingpin was responsible for dozens
of missing children, and had included text from another anonymous source
that detailed the smuggling methods, the gutting of the kids, burning of
bodies, and the possible imprisonment of others. Mulder had printed the
e-mail, deleted the file, and met that night with his informant at the
United Nations, Marita Covarrubias .  She'd provided him with good
information in the past, so when she told him two days later that some of
what he'd been told was the truth, and provided him with the flight number,
he'd had no reason to doubt it was true.

So here he sat, his ass numb from sitting too long, waiting for someone
traveling on this flight with a small child.  He stood and stretched his
lanky frame, and slid his hands down his thighs to straighten his jeans. 
As he stretched upright,  he saw a man approaching this gate.  He looked
vaguely familiar somehow-short, neat hair, conservative dress, wire frame
glasses.  His hand clutched that of a sleepy dark-haired girl who was no
more than 4 years old.  Mulder watched them both closely as they
approached.  The man seemed cool and calm, and the little girl did not
appear to be distressed in any way, as she would if she was with a stranger.  

Mulder moved closer, accidentally kicking the chrome leg of one of the
chairs.  The man was occupied with finding his tickets, but the little girl
slowly looked at him, and Mulder realized that the child was heavily
sedated.  Her pupils were large and fixed, and she stared in the direction
of the sudden noise with a lack of comprehension. Mulder signaled quickly
to a pair of local police officers across the terminal whom he'd informed
of his intentions.  In one sudden move, he  took the little girl's hand and
yanked her away from the man while he pressed the barrel of his gun to the
man's head.  

"Don't move a muscle or I'll blow your goddamn head off."

Mulder heard the gasp of surprise from the man, and saw the look of
resignation and disgust in the man's eyes at having been caught.  His hands
went slowly up, and he growled, 

 "Who tipped you off to this Mulder?"

It was Mulder's turn to gasp in surprise.  His eyes widened in shock as he
realized the man he was arresting was someone he'd seen in the hallways of
FBI Headquarters-he was a fellow agent.  Mulder cuffed him before turning
to check on the little girl.  One of the  police officers had her coat off
already.  Mulder kneeled in front of her and gently lifted her pink shirt
over her head for a moment, revealing tens of thousands of dollars worth of
heroin duct-taped around the  girl's ribs. He smoothed her hair gently and
stood up to face his prisoner.

"You know, this is what I get for working for the ambitious up-and-comer,"
the FBI agent groaned.  "I shoulda went with Louis."

"What are you talking about?" Mulder snarled, disgusted with the man in
front of him.

"We tried to give you Louis, you know?  Get him out of the way." He
watched Mulder's face, and could tell he wasn't following.  "My guy, who I
work for, we tried to give you one of the biggest dealers for the East
Coast. Thought for sure you'd be halfway to Mexico by now looking for your
sister," he said sarcastically.   "Guess you and he must run in the same
circles, huh?" 

Mulder felt his heart thumping dully in his ears.  He felt suddenly cold
and numb, and managed to croak, "You're under arrest.  Read him his rights"
before stumbling backwards to the uncomfortable plastic seats and falling
into one.  He still clutched his gun in his now sweaty hand, and his left
hand had involuntarily moved to cover his mouth. Scully was right-he'd been
played like a fiddle.  He heard the agent chuckling loudly for Mulder's
sake as he was being led away.  

"You got troubles worse than me Mulder."

************************

In the hours that followed the arrest of Special Agent Michael Dermott,
Mulder learned  of the incredible web that he had been pulled into.  It was
frightening, frustrating, and humiliating to learn he was so easily
manipulated, that anyone could send him off on obsessive, driven pursuits
with only the hint that somehow Samantha could be involved. Even more
upsetting though was Mulder's sudden realization that he was apparently the
last to know just how easily led he really was.

Mulder's most important role in the whole scenario, as his boss Assistant
Director Walter Skinner was none to pleased to point out, was no more that
a pawn in a game between two drug gangs. One had tried to set the other
up-to send the obsessive, driven Fox Mulder after him.  The other had found
out, and turned the tables.  

"Agent Mulder, what you did violates every protocol that the Bureau has
established for it's agents,"  Skinner grumbled the next afternoon as
Mulder shifted uneasily in the leather chair across from him.  "Not only
did you endanger yourself, the child, and 2 members of the DC. police
force, but you made me look bad for not being able to keep you under
control.  And I don't like having to answer to my superiors about my
agent's lack of sense."

"Sir, I realize now that what I did was wrong.  That I should have
notified you of my investigation, and followed your direction.  It won't
happen again."  

He hated having to tuck his tail between his legs and hope this breach of
protocol wasn't the last straw.  But with Scully sick, and the truth about
everything feeling closer and closer, he couldn't afford to be suspended,
or worse yet fired.

"You were a pawn for these men, Agent Mulder.  You let your personal
pursuits cloud your judgment more than I have ever witnessed from you,"
Skinner continued.  His tone was angry, and his eyes drilled into Mulder. 

"I'm sorry sir. Am I going to be suspended for this?"

Skinner leaned back in his leather chair and took his glasses off.  He
merely sat for a moment in silence, giving Mulder no indication of his
intentions, until he saw the younger agent squirm again in his seat.

"No, I will not suspend you for this.  Despite the lack of judgment and
protocol, it appears some good has come from your investigation.  Agent
Dermott sang like a bird during interrogation."

"What more do you know?" 

"Agent Dermott had hopes of getting a break.  He implicated his crime
boss, Bobby Pascali as the one who sent the emails that drew you into the
game in the first place, as well as the one who decided kidnapping the
little girl to use for smuggling drugs wasn't such a bad idea. Dermott
admits that until her, that hasn't been done.  That was for your benefit,"
Skinner sneered.  

 "An arrest warrant has been issued for Pascali, but no sign of him yet.
Dermott couldn't supply the name of the rival dealer-he knows him only as
Louis.  He seemed to think if we get Pascali,  he will lead us to Louis. 
Dermott had also promised to testify against them both; to do whatever he
had to in order to get the best plea bargain available."

"They'd let an FBI agent turned bad off the hook?" Mulder asked angrily.

"They were considering some form of a deal, yes.  But I have just received
word that Dermott was found dead in his holding cell a little over 2 hours
ago, apparently of a drug overdose."

"What?!"

"The DEA believes Louis orchestrated Dermott's death. They also believe
retaliation from Louis against Pascali is forthcoming if they don't find
him first.  These people are deadly serious about their business, Agent
Mulder.  You may have placed not only yourself, but those close to you in
danger. Watch your back."

Mulder sat for a moment, then stood to leave.

"One other thing Mulder.  Who was your informant?"

"Sir?"

"Who gave you the information about the little girl at the airport?"

"I have a contact at the U.N. who was able to provide me with that tip
after checking with her sources."" He stared back at Skinner, knowing why
he asked.  "I think this source is trustworthy sir.  I think she was used
in this game as well."

He looked at Mulder again, and felt uneasiness that he was once again
lacking judgment due to personal reasons. He repeated, "Watch your back
Agent Mulder."

*********************************


Mulder still had the key in his apartment door when he heard the phone
ringing inside.  He was exhausted and wanted only to sleep and forget about
the events of the last 19 hours.  He entered his apartment and closed the
door as the answering machine picked up the call.

"Mulder, it's me. Are you there?"

Shrugging out of his coat, he picked up the receiver.  "I'm here Scully."

"How did it go with Skinner?  Are you okay?"  

Mulder sat on the couch with a sigh.  No matter how bad things got, no
matter how much it seemed like everything was wrong, hopeless, crazy. his
partner remained the one positive, sane spot in his life.  She was the only
person who he could trust, the only one who understood his motives, the
only one who ever called to make sure he was all right.  And just the sound
of her soft voice on the other end of the line was comforting.

"I'm fine.  Skinner was pretty angry.  I screwed up."

"Don't be too hard on yourself Mulder.  You saved someone's life.  You may
not have gone about it in the best way." 

He could hear her smile as she said it, and it brought a weak grin to his
mouth.  He tugged off his snow-damp shoes and leaned back on the couch in
the dark apartment, suddenly wishing Scully was here with him.

"Did you hear Agent Dermott is dead?" he asked.

"Yes I did."

"Skinner and the DEA think Bobby Pascali is a dead man, and this Louis
goes scott free if we don't find Pascali first."

"Sounds likely. Pascali has painted himself into a corner.  He pissed off
someone he shouldn't have, and most likely doesn't have enough information
on this guy to save himself."

"It doesn't sound like either Pascali or Dermott have any real idea who
this guy is.  They just got greedy and brave, and thought they could get
him out of the way."

"They were hoping you would do that."  Scully said.  "They figured if you
thought it had something to do with your sister, you'd chase after Louis
till you found him."

Mulder let out a pathetic sigh.  "What a reputation I have."

They both sat silently on the line, until Scully spoke, this time upbeat;
trying to change the subject and cheer up her partner.  "Hey, I have a
favor to ask you."

"What's that?"

"Can you come pick me up at my Mom's house tomorrow for work?"

"Sure.  Why?"

"Her car is in the shop, and she wants to go out and do some Christmas
shopping, so I'm loaning her mine."

"OK, no problem."  He smiled then; really smiled for the first time in
nearly two days. "Did you let her know my sizes and colors and everything?"

He heard his partner's warm, easy laugh across the line.  "I didn't
realize a lump of coal came in a variety of sizes and colors."

*********************************

When Mulder pulled up outside Margaret Scully's stately suburban house, he
found both her and her daughter talking outside near the street where
Scully's car was parked.  It was one of those cold, crisp, bright early
December mornings, with Christmas looming on the horizon, and fresh snow on
the ground where Mulder could almost admit he liked winter.  Both woman
watched him pull up, smiles on their faces.  Scully's mother waved hello
happily, and Mulder smiled widely as he eased the car up behind Scully's
and put it in park.  

Mulder was quite fond of Scully's mother for a variety of reasons, not the
least of which was that she had always treated Mulder as if he was a member
of her family.  In the three long months when Scully had been missing, he'd
spent quite a bit of time with her, including the dark day he'd taken her
to pick up Scully's gravestone.  When Scully had returned, comatose and
near death, Mrs. Scully had included him in all the decision-making,
including the one that nearly broke his heart-the decision to disconnect
her life-support.  It was because of these highly personal moments they'd
shared that Mulder felt a bond towards Margaret Scully.

Mulder was still smiling as he glanced away from the two women and into
his rearview mirror for a moment to see a car pull up very quickly behind
him. Thinking it was a neighbor's carpool ride, and he glanced away to
unbuckle his seat belt.  

When he looked up, the man was already at his passenger door.  In that
split second, Mulder became aware of the man's wild, panicked  eyes, the
sweat on his brow, and the gun waving frantically towards him and his
frosty breath as he shouted,  

"I need FBI protection Agent Mulder! They're going to kill me!"  

Everything that followed was a blur.  Another car pulled up next to Mulder
and a man in a ski mask leaned out the passenger window.  Mulder yelled to
Scully and her mother "Get down!" before he himself dived across his front
seat.  

The sound of automatic weapons fire was deafening and seemingly endless. 
Glass shattered around him, over him, and he was aware of the sudden blast
of cold air and the sound of screams. Just as quickly as it began, it was
over, and the sound of tires speeding away on the snow-packed street was
followed by an eerie silence, the smell of gun powder, then the sound of
Dana Scully screaming.

Mulder bolted from his bullet-riddled car and ran around to where Scully,
her mother, and the man had been standing.  He stopped in his tracks at the
sight of Scully kneeling in the snow next to the bloody bodies of the
wild-eyed man and her mother.  He was sickened to see steam coming from the
wounds, and blood all over Scully's blouse and coat.  Blood had splattered
across the sparkling snow of the front yard.  Scully was sobbing now; loud,
wailing sobs that came from the deepest part of her soul as she smoothed
her mother's hair with a shaking hand.

"Oh my God," he gasped. "Oh no.ooh no...no.Scully?"

She looked up at her partner to say the words, and found she couldn't
speak. He watched helplessly as she sat back in the snow, arms wrapped
tightly around herself, and rocked back and forth, her gut-wrenching sobs
splitting the early morning quiet.  

**********************

Police were everywhere; stringing crime scene tape, taking photos,
interviewing neighbors, and waiting for the coroner to arrive. Mulder was
in the house with Scully, sitting very close to her on the couch as the
flurry of activity went on outdoors.  Scully hadn't said a word since he'd
helped her up from the ground and led her into her mother's quiet house. 
She'd finally stopped crying, and Mulder suspected she was in shock. His
hand rested lightly on hers, and she stared blankly at it.   An FBI agent
Mulder did not recognize walked up and in hushed tones said,

"We ID'd the other victim-it was Bobby Pascali.  We're guessing he
followed you here from your apartment," the agent told him.  Next to him,
Mulder felt Scully stiffen.

"Jesus," Mulder hissed.  He reached over to comfort Scully and she jerked
violently away from him.  He looked at her with wide, surprised eyes.

"Get away from me," she moaned.  Her blue eyes shone again with tears.

"Scully."

She jumped up from the couch and moved away from him, as if repulsed. "Get
out of my mother's house now please Mulder," she said, her voice unsteady.

He stood and moved towards her, arms open to comfort her as she had done
for him in the past.  She moved away from him quickly.

"Scully?"

"Get out of here!" she shouted, and several officers turned to look in her
direction.  "Leave me alone!"

"Please, don't do this.you're in shock."  He felt his heart racing and the
lump in his throat constricting tightly, making it hard to breathe.

She looked him straight in the eye, and said with an eerie calmness, "My
mother is dead, Mulder, and it's because of you.  Now leave before I have
them escort you out."  

She continued to stare at him with angry, icy eyes.  She watched his face
crumble, tears well in his eyes, and his shoulders droop, and she stood up
straighter, staring him down.

"Scully." he could barely find his voice, and looked at her face through a
haze of scalding tears.  "You don't mean that." His eyes pleaded with her,
begged her to stop blaming him, and to let him bundle her in his arms and
see her through her grief.

"They warned you and you didn't stop to consider who you'd hurt.  All that
mattered was *you* and what you wanted to do.  *Your* pursuits, at all costs-"

His voice was a pitiful sob, "Scully."

"You've got to get out of here Mulder," she said, her voice rising in
anger again.  "I can't look at you anymore."  

And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Mulder
standing alone in the middle of the living room, all eyes focused on him
silently as he felt the last little bit of good in his life slip away and
bitter tears roll down his face.

*****************************
When Skinner pulled up to the Scully household, he spotted Mulder standing
in the snowy street, staring absently at his totaled automobile, keys
dangling limply in his hand.  

"Agent Mulder?" he said as he approached him from behind.  

Mulder turned slowly to look towards the voice, and Skinner struggled to
mask the surprise on his face when he saw Mulder's red, puffy eyes and
realized that he had been crying.

"I guess I can't drive my car," Mulder said in a strained, soft voice. He
wouldn't look directly at Skinner.   "I need to go home."

"Why.is Agent Scully all right?"

Mulder looked up at Skinner again and said sadly, "She's having a hard
time dealing with it all."  He looked at his trashed car again and
repeated,  "I have to go home now."

Skinner indicated to his agent to stay put, while he trotted over to one
of the dozen or so police officers who were now mostly standing around. 

 Without the officers knowing he was a higher-up, Skinner commanded
attention and respect merely by his presence.  Six foot tall, and nearly
bald, the former Marine was in rock-hard physical shape to this day.  When
he spoke, his voice boomed, and his gaze was piercing.  He had assistance
for Mulder lined up in a moment.  

Skinner returned to Mulder's side and put his hand lightly on his back and
started him walking in the direction of a waiting squad car.

 "Officer Wilder will take you home Mulder, if you'll just tell him where
to go."  

Skinner observed Mulder's actions closely; he seemed distraught to the
point where he was unable to focus on the simplest of tasks.  Skinner
watched him stand in the street where they had stopped, seemingly unable to
figure out how to continue walking to the car and open it's door.  Skinner
lightly took hold of Mulder's arm and slowly guided him to the squad car,
opened the door for him, and closed it behind him.  He told the officer
Mulder's address, and added, "Please make sure he gets to his apartment and
in the door."

Mulder and Scully's boss then made his way up the front steps of Margaret
Scully's house, puzzled by Mulder's extreme distress and his apparent 
abandonment of Scully.  He dreaded speaking to his other agent and facing
her at a time of personal tragedy.  When he found her though, she seemed in
much better shape than her partner had been.  She was making a pot of
coffee in the spotless blue and white kitchen, and when she heard him
approach, she turned to face him.

"Agent Scully, I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you sir," she said bravely, and he noticed that her blouse was
caked with drying blood.

"I just sent Agent Mulder home with a police officer. .."

When she wouldn't elaborate for him, he continued, "I was surprised that
he would leave you here alone."

She looked at him with eyes that conveyed both sadness and anger. She
spoke coolly,  "I asked Mulder to leave.  My mother was murdered today
because of him, and I couldn't see any reason for him to remain here under
the circumstances."

He was not easily shocked, but Scully's statement truly floored him. This
time Skinner could not mask the surprise on his face. He felt a chill at
the back of his neck as he understood with sudden clarity Mulder's dolorous
state in the street.

"Is there someone I can call for you?  A family member or friend that can
come sit with you, and help you with...arrangements?"  

She looked at him for a moment, suddenly near tears again at the
realization that the one person in her life she would have chosen to stay
with her, to comfort her, to see her through this nightmare  was the one
person she couldn't bear the sight of anymore.  

She whispered, "My Aunt Katherine, I guess."

"Do you have her number?  I'll make the call for you, unless you want to."  

"You do it please sir," she replied, and crossed the room to the wall
phone to tear a slip of paper from the message pad and jot the number down.
 She then moved to pour herself some coffee while she heard Skinner's voice
quietly talking into the phone,  

"I have some distressing news to tell you..."

********************************
Officer Wilder pulled up at the apartment building where Assistant
Director Skinner had instructed him to go.  He was glad to have gotten out
of the cold, back into his warm squad car, and off his barking dogs.  At 52
years old, Robert Wilder had put in his share of stake-outs on frigid
January nights, and foot patrols in the sweltering heat of July.  He
preferred the comfort of cruising in his climate-controlled car, while the
elements stayed outside.

He put the car in park and shut off the engine, then turned to the
dark-haired man slouched in the backseat. 

 "Home at last," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

The young agent didn't move, or say a word. There were tears on his
cheeks.  Wilder got out, and opened the back passenger door for Mulder.

"Here we go.  Let's head on up."

Mulder looked up at the portly officer, and let out a ragged breath before
swinging his long legs out of the car and heading up the sidewalk.  Wilder
followed, and felt a surge of pity for Mulder, who seemed so distressed
that he couldn't walk straight. 

They reached apartment 42, and Mulder fumbled the keys out of his pocket
and onto the floor. 

"I gotcha," Wilder said gently, and scooped the keys off the floor.  He
offered them to Mulder on his palm. Mulder's reaction was strange, Wilder
thought; he merely pointed to the right key and let the police office open
his door for him.  

Mulder stood for a moment in the doorway, staring into his apartment as if
he was afraid to enter it alone.  After a moment though, he slowly stepped
over the threshold, and turned to Wilder.  

"Thanks for the lift."  

For someone so handsome and young, Wilder thought, his eyes looked
incredibly sad and old. Wilder forced a smile.  This guy is a goner, he
thought. 

"Sure thing."  

Mulder shut the door, and Wilder exhaled loudly. Jesus, what had happened
to that guy?  In his 30 years with the force, he'd seen Post-Traumatic
Stress Syndrome in fellow officers several times, and he surmised that was
Agent Mulder's problem as well.  Perhaps the sight of those bloody murders
today had finally sent him over the edge. 

He was halfway down the dimly-lit hall before he felt compelled to turn
around and rap his knuckles on the heavy wooden door.  It swung open and
Mulder looked uncomprehendingly at the graying, heavyset cop.

"I just. are you sure you're gonna be OK?"

Mulder actually managed a small, but sincere, grin.  "Thanks very much,"
he said in a soft, choked voice.  "I've just had a really bad day."  

"Is there anything I can do?  You need someone to talk to?" Wilder asked. 
He laid a hand on Mulder's arm in a fatherly gesture, and saw tears sparkle
suddenly in the young agent's eyes.

"I just need some time alone."

"Can I bring you back some lunch then, eh?  Some soup maybe?"   

"No, but thanks."  

Those sad, sad eyes, he thought.  What a damn shame.

Wilder wouldn't push it.  He fought the urge to touch him again, and said 
"OK, you take care then, son."  

The door shut again and Officer Wilder headed back to the crime scene,
unable to shake the uneasy feeling he got from looking into Agent Fox
Mulder's haunted eyes. 

****************************************

Once Wilder had left for the second time, and the door was shut and
deadbolted,  Mulder made his way slowly to the sofa and fell onto it
heavily.  He sat motionless, staring at nothing, wondering what in the hell
he was going to do now.  Minutes went by like hours. The silence was
intolerable.  He picked up the remote on the coffee table and turned on the
stereo, hoping the music would drown out the sounds in his head of Scully
screaming at him, blaming him, hating him.  He felt tears burning at the
back of his eyelids like hot needles, and he took deep, quivering breaths,
willing himself not to cry anymore.  Despite his best efforts though, tears
raced down his cheeks. He brushed them away twice before he regained
control.  His head thumped dully.

He picked up the phone to call Margaret Scully's house.  If he could just
talk to Scully, they'd work it out, he thought.  She'd forgive him if she
knew just how badly he felt, how sorry he was, and how much he needed her.  

And then the cold truth came crashing down over him like an avalanche.  

She was right. 

He was to blame.  

His grip on the phone tightened.  For years, he'd pushed through life with
a sort of recklessness in his pursuit of some elusive, mythic truth.  And
it had always been only himself that he'd been endangering. He had never
given a fleeting thought to the consequences of his actions. 

Then one day, they'd sent a pretty, fresh-faced young agent to his
cluttered basement office to work with him on his wild cases, and keep an
eye on him.  So he'd pushed forward like always, this time with Scully
right behind him.  And along the way, his reckless path became strewn with
casualties; her sister, his father, her mother.  She'd also lost three
months of her life, and only now was it becoming evident that someone or
something had done hideous things to her that had left her tagged like an
animal, barren, and dying of cancer. She was no longer the chipper,
enthusiastic skeptic he'd met.  Four years with him had turned her hard,
solemn and even less likely to believe. Yet she'd remained at his side, and
had become the only other thing in his life he cared about. He realized now
though that he'd put himself ahead of her far too many times and had taken
her for granted almost always.  And every time he did, she suffered.

"Everyone you care about will suffer."  

That voice on the recorder had warned him.  Fox Mulder's own conscience
hadn't bothered, and now the end result of all his selfish actions was the
blinding humiliation, rage and heartbreak he felt at this moment, and the
agony in knowing that he had caused his only true friend immeasurable pain.

With a scream, Mulder yanked the telephone from the wall and hurled it as
hard as he could across the room and through the window with a startling
crash.  He felt the cold air rush into the room. He grabbed the next thing
he could get his hands on, a carved onyx trinket box, and heaved it into
the television screen, which  imploded with a loud pop. A glass of warm
soda was next-into the wall. Liquid and glass flew back at him, into his
face, and he stopped for a moment, panting heavily.  The frigid December
air filled the room, and Mulder sunk to his knees, arms wrapped around his
already chilled body, and let the sobs he'd been repressing overtake him.
 
****************************************
It was nearly 2 AM the morning after her mother's murder, and Scully
couldn't fall asleep.  She lay wrapped in the crisp sheets of the guest
room bed and stared at the ceiling, trying desperately to push all thoughts
from her weary mind.  But every time she closed her eyes, she replayed the
scene over and over-the car pulling up, Mulder shouting, guns blasting, and
the sight of her mother's blood spraying across the snow and splattering
Scully, then the silence, and the stillness, and finally the horror.   Her
mother had died right in front of her eyes.

Now as she lay in the quiet of her mother's house, she remembered the
sight of Mulder running towards her and freezing in his tracks, his icy
breath floating in the air.  She recalled sitting in the snow, sobbing
hysterically and looking up to see her partner standing over her, reaching
down to help her up.  The look on his face was clear in her mind, like a
video she could play and replay.  He had knelt in front of her and reached
out to help her to her feet, and she'd looked into his hazel eyes, dazed. 
He'd been talking to her, she remembered seeing his lips moving, but she
couldn't hear what he was saying.  She had been fixated on his eyes, and
mesmerized by the tear creeping slowly down his smooth, cold cheek. Without
realization or warning,  he had her on her feet and his warm arms were
wrapped tightly around her.

She opened her eyes to the dark room again.  She was weeping softly,
though she wanted to scream.  So much crying.herself, Mulder, her brothers
sobbing on the phone,  Aunt Katherine.  Every time she closed her eyes, she
saw someone crying and she couldn't stand any more.  She knew it was
natural to shed tears when you lost someone you loved, but Scully felt she
would become sick if she cried much longer, or had to witness it in others.

Against her wishes, the image of Mulder kneeling in front of her crying
played in her mind again, and she had an odd revelation that tore a fresh
hole in her shredded heart.   Everyone today had cried because they'd lost
someone they loved, except Mulder.  Scully knew he was fond of her mother,
but he was weeping for other reasons.

Mulder wept because someone he loved had lost a loved one.

Scully sat up and turned on the light.  "Damn it Mulder," she moaned,
trying to push his face out of her head, and banish the thought that she
had been unimaginably cruel to someone who truly cared for her.  

No, she told herself, it was because of him that all this had happened. 
Her mother would still be alive if it weren't for Mulder's obsession for
his missing sister, and his reckless pursuit of the truth. 

But once again, his gentle, caring eyes were staring at her, crying
because of her pain, his soft voice whispering comforting words she
couldn't quite hear,  and she knew in her heart that he was no more to
blame for what happened than she was for asking him to meet her here. 

She squeezed her eyes shut on another image of Mulder, that of their last
moments together, when she had yelled in his face to get away and blamed
him for her mother's death.  And she saw, as clearly as if he still stood
in front of her, his eyes flood with tears and his face crumble with the
pain she was willfully inflicting on him. 

The tears that ran down his cheeks this time were because now he also had
lost someone he loved.

 "Oh Mulder," she whispered.  "What have I done?"

********************************
When Scully awoke the next morning, she had dialed Mulder's phone number
even before she got out of bed.  She heard only one hollow ring after the
next.  She'd tried his cell phone number next, but only got the recorded
message that his phone wasn't turned on.  

The day soon became a blurry haze of activity with its jangling phones and
ringing  doorbells and people stomping their feet at the front door. The
rug in the front hallway was soaking wet from snowy shoes, Scully noticed
with an odd detachment at one point.

Her brothers both arrived in town, and while their mother's sister
Katherine stayed to accept visitors and flowers, the three remaining Scully
children drove to the funeral home to select a coffin and make the final
arrangements.  

Scully tried throughout the day to reach Mulder with no success.  That
evening, without a word,  she put on her coat started out the door to drive
to his apartment.

"Dana, where are you going?" her brother Bill asked her gently.

"I need to talk to Mulder."

He sighed and took hold of his sister's shoulders.  "Where is he Dana?"

She felt dangerously close to tears.  "I don't know.I need to talk to him
though.  I have to apologize-"

Bill Scully sounded angry when he said, "This is unbelievable.this guy
leads the psycho HERE, and Mom is killed, then this partner of yours leaves
and YOU need to apologize to HIM?  No way, Dana."

"Bill, you don't understand.I blamed him for what happened-"

"Rightly so!"

She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears of frustration.  "No."

"Dana, if Mulder gave a damn about you, he'd be standing outside in the
snow waiting for you.  Just the fact that he's no where to be found tells
me that he is still too damned wrapped up in himself."  His voice softened
as he helped his sister out of her coat, and led her slowly to sit on the
sofa.  "You've been through so much, and the last thing you need is that
kind of stress.  If you really want to see him, it can wait until after the
service tomorrow."

Scully wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath.  She didn't
have the strength to argue anymore, and merely nodded in agreement.

*****************************************

At the same moment Dana Scully stood at the church, scanning the crowd for
her partner, Mulder was across town, pounding on the door of Marita
Covarrubias's 17th floor luxury apartment.  In a desperate attempt to take
his mind off his loss of Scully, Mulder resolved to focus his attention on
catching the man who had ordered the hit on Bobby Pascali.  The actual
drive-by shooter, the man in the ski mask, was already dead. He'd been
found shot in the head in the same car he'd been riding in that cold
morning.  The driver was dead next to him, yet another victim in Louis's
ruthless attempt to eliminate those who could implicate him, to take
control once again of the business, and to send the message that he was not
to be trifled with.  

Mulder understood clearly that if he went after Louis, and did not succeed
in bringing him down, he would end up dead.  There was no doubt in his mind
that this was the inevitable consequence, and he accepted it with bitter
resignation. He also knew that if he did find Louis, there would be no
arrest made; Mulder fully intended to execute him on the spot, then turn
the weapon on himself.  There was no other way to bring justice for Scully
and peace for himself.

He pounded again on his informant's door.  In the two days since Mrs.
Scully's death, Mulder had come to suspect that Marita was guilty of
duplicity; that she worked for Louis and he had provided her with the
information that eventually brought Dermott and Pascali down.   The thought
that she has betrayed him hurt, and made him angry, but he would do
whatever he had to to get Louis's whereabouts from her.  She was his only
hope of ever finding the elusive assassin.

He raised his fist to knock once more, when the door swung open and the
tall, beautiful blonde stood in front of him.

"Agent Mulder," she hissed.  "You shouldn't be here."

"I need to talk to you," he said, brushing past her and into her lavish
apartment.  The cool steel of a handgun was at his temple before he knew
what was happening.  A hand reached under his coat and removed his gun from
the holster clipped to his jeans.  He was roughly frisked by a giant of a
man with a blonde mohawk and nose ring. He shoved Mulder into the loveseat.
 Marita sat down next to him without a word.  

"Well, if it isn't Special Agent Fox Mulder," came a voice, and into the
room walked a tall, slender black man, impeccably dressed and smiling
congenially. He walked up to Mulder and extended a manicured hand.  "I see
you've met my friend Ed.  I'm Louis." 

Mulder jerked away from Louis, who chuckled dryly and went across the room
to sit on the couch.  On the coffee table in front of him lay Mulder's gun,
now sans the clip, and a large spread of  what he guessed was heroin and
the paraphernalia needed to use it.  Mulder looked closely at Marita again,
and then at her arms, noticing with surprise the tell-tale tracks of a junkie.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"You've arrived at a rather inopportune time, Agent Mulder," Louis said.
"Seeing as how we have never met, I had considered leaving you off my list.
 Now I'm afraid you are most definitely on it."

"What list?"

Louis gave Mulder a look so icy it sent chills down his back.  "My hit list."

Ed stood in front of the loveseat.  He looked down at the drugs, then at
Louis, who nodded almost imperceptibly, then towards Mulder.

"Ms. Covarrubias has already gotten a little taste of our hospitality.  I
wouldn't want you to feel left out Agent Mulder."  

Mulder looked nervously at Marita, who sat listlessly in her chair,
staring into space.  As Ed moved towards him with the syringe, he felt his
blood run cold.  He tried to stand, and was met with a blow to the throat
by Ed's beefy forearm.  While Mulder gasped desperately for air, Louis
walked calmly to face Mulder.  Ed yanked Mulder to his feet and placed the
gun to his head.

"Remove your coat please, " Louis said, and Mulder reluctantly obliged. 
Ed then pushed him to the ground and sat on him, holding his arms firmly to
the ground above his head.

"No!" Mulder croaked, his throat strained from the hit. Louis pushed up
Mulder's sleeve with a surprising gentleness, then wrapped a rubber cord
around Mulder's bicep and cinched it tightly. He tapped the syringe three
times before ejecting a small stream.  Mulder desperately tried to wriggle
free from Ed, but could only roll his head from side to side.  His eyes
were wild with dread and fear.

The sting of the needle as it pierced the  inside of his elbow elicited
another desperate cry from Mulder.  Almost immediately, he felt the drug
burning through his veins, up his arm and into his system in a hot rush.  
Ed's face doubled, then trebled in front of him, and he heard Louis's sick
laugh somewhere far, far away.

Ed stood upright and looked down at Mulder, who fought desperately to
focus his eyes on something, anything.  Ed grabbed the back of  Mulder's
shirt and propped him up against the wall so he could see the entire room.
Mulder brought his hand to his face, seemingly in slow motion.  When he got
it there, he had no idea what he had intended to do with it, and dropped it
again.  Ed chuckled, and kept watching Mulder to make sure he was conscious
and looking in his direction.   When he saw he had the agent's attention,
he placed his gun in Marita's ear and pulled the trigger. Mulder screamed
in horror as blood and brains spattered on the wall behind the loveseat,
and Marita toppled across the cushions like a doll.  

"Oh fuck..oh my god." he whimpered and tried to pull himself to his feet. 
He  couldn't take his eyes off Ed, who stood across the room, gun still in
his hand and smiling at Mulder.  Mulder was on his hands and knees, unable
to get his rubbery legs to function.  He looked again at Marita's body and
the large dark stain under what was left of her head, and vomited onto the
carpet.  His head was spinning, and his heart raced like it would explode
from his chest. Dry heaves overtook him until tears streamed down his
cheeks and the muscles in his stomach felt torn from his body.  He crawled
weakly away from the mess he had made, tried once more to become upright,
then passed out.

***************************

Mulder opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Marita's dead body
across the room.  His stomach did a sickening cartwheel.  He looked around
and saw neither Ed nor Louis in the room.  He sat up slowly, his head still
fuzzy.  He was able to stand this time when he tried, though he was
unsteady at best.  He took two tentative steps, and spotted Louis outside
on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and talking on a cell phone. Mulder
slid the door open and walked outside, leaned over a planter, and vomited
again. Cold wind slapped his face.  He felt the blood pounding in his
temples.  He heard Louis say, "I'll have to call you back" and he tucked
the phone into his coat pocket.

"Feeling a bit woozy, Mr. Mulder?" he asked in a prissy voice, and Mulder
stumbled towards him like a zombie.  He looked into Louis's eyes as he
approached, and saw the amusement in them, as well as cocky confidence.  Fucker.

With every ounce of strength he was able to muster, Mulder threw himself
at Louis, pinning him against the balcony railing.  He punched him in the
mouth and felt his knuckle split open on a tooth.  Again and again Mulder
hit Louis with all he had until blood poured down his chin.  Louis threw
his arms up to protect his face, while Mulder was relentless in his beating
of the monster who ruined Scully's life and their relationship forever. 
Mulder bent him backwards over the railing, his arm across his throat, and
said, 

"This is for Scully, you sick mutherfucker."  

In one swift move, he ducked down for leverage, and hoisted Louis up onto
the balcony rail and with all his might, shoved him as hard as he could. 
He watched Louis's arms flail wildly, grabbing fists full of air.  Mulder
stepped back in horror as Louis screamed and fell over the edge and onto
the street 17 floors below.

Mulder's head was spinning from the shock of what had just happened, and
the exertion, and he felt dangerously near blacking out again. He saw Ed
enter the living room, his angry eyes blazing.  Mulder stepped indoors and
grabbed the first weapon he could find, a marble statue from the table by
the patio door.  He threw it at Ed, who ducked and grabbed Mulder by his hair.  

The first punch he threw hit Mulder in the temple,  and he thought he'd
never been hit so hard in his life.  That assessment changed when Ed
punched him again in the abdomen, and he actually heard a rib snap.  He
gasped wildly, unable to catch his breath. He felt panicked and sick, and
was barely able to throw an arm up to try and block the next crushing blow,
this time right below his eye.  He felt the skin split and blood stream
down his already swollen face. He tasted the hot, coppery blood in his
mouth, and fought the urge to vomit again.  

The huge, silent man followed with a blow to the other side of Mulder's
face before throwing him across the room, through the glass coffee table.
Mulder felt shards of glass slice his head and upper arm as he landed on
his side.  He rolled onto his back and saw Ed stomping towards him. He
realized Ed still hadn't drawn his gun, and Mulder concluded that either it
had gone over the edge with Louis, or Ed intended to beat Mulder to death.
From the wild look on his face, he guessed it was the latter.

Ed bent to grab Mulder again and, using the last bit of strength he had
left, Mulder kicked him  full force in the crotch with his hiking boot.  
His kick actually sent Ed to his knees, and Mulder dragged himself to his
feet and stumbled towards the kitchen.  His eyesight was blurred from the
repeated blows to his head, the residual effects of the heroin, and the
blood now trickling from his gashed scalp. He could barely breathe, and
knew that if he didn't keep it together and act fast,  Ed would kill him in
a matter of minutes.

He stumbled to the  counter and pulled a large knife from the butcher
block, then flattened himself against the wall next to the door and waited.
The thought of having to use a knife on someone made him sick with dread,
and with the fear that he'd be unable to actually go through with it when
the moment came.  His chest was on fire, and the kitchen was spinning in
front of his swollen, blurry eyes.  He heard Ed's heavy footsteps
approaching. Mulder held his breath.

As Ed thundered through the door, Mulder slid quickly behind him and drew
the knife across his throat as hard as he could.  He felt it slice through
Ed's neck and the hot blood pour over his hand.  Repulsed, he dropped the
knife and stumbled backwards through the door.  He lost his balance and
fell, then skittered backwards like a crab as Ed spun violently out of
control, both hands clutching the gaping, gushing wound in his neck. Mulder
sobbed in horror as Ed finally fell to the ground and died, his eyes wide open.

Mulder crawled into the living room, leaving bloody handprints as he went,
and found the phone on the floor near the couch.  He pushed the speaker
button and dialed 911.

"911, may I have your address?"

Mulder watched the room suddenly lurch into a rapid spin.  He felt
nauseated again, and saw dancing white dots rush to cloud his vision. 
"Please ."  was all he managed to say before the world went black.

****************************
As Mulder fought his way up from the depths of unconsciousness, he became
aware of his senses one at a time.  The first was of pain; dull, throbbing
pain in his head, his arm, his chest, and his face.  Next came his sense of
smell-the unmistakable disinfectant smell associated with every hospital
he'd ever been in in his life.  OK, so he was in the hospital, and he was
in pain. A new sensation awoke, and this one was actually pleasant.  It was
the gentle touch of a nurse, pressing a cool cloth to his sore face.  When
it stopped, he felt her comforting touch as she petted the hair back from
his forehead, softly and gently.  She was holding his hand as she smoothed
his hair, and he felt so cared for and relaxed that he almost gave up on
trying to wake up, and simply drift back into unconsciousness instead. 

"I'm so sorry Mulder," he heard her whisper, and he fought again towards
the surface.

It was Scully's voice, soft and sad, and it was her that lovingly stroked
his hair and nursed his wounds and held his hand.  

"Please wake up."

Mulder stirred enough to let her know he could hear her, that he was on
his way.  His eyelids finally fluttered, and he looked at her hazily.  She
was smiling, her hand still holding his, and her other hand in his hair.

"Scully I'm sorry," he whispered, then his eyes closed again. 

********************************

The next time Mulder opened his eyes was 6 hours later.  He turned his
head to look at his partner sitting in a chair next to his bed.  She looked
into his eyes, judging whether he was really awake or not and smiled when
she knew he was. 

"How're you feeling?" she asked.  He slowly shook his head in a negative
gesture, and she saw a tear trickle out of the corner of his swollen eye
and slide towards his ear. 

"Oh Mulder," she whispered sadly, not knowing what else to say.  "Should I
call for a nurse?"

He shook his head no again and she gently smoothed the hair near his
temple, now damp from tears. 

"Are you okay?"  

His head shook no again, and a small sob escaped.  She watched him cry,
helpless to do anything but hold his hand  and whisper "Shhhhhhhhhh, I'm
here."  

Skinner had told Scully about what Mulder had done; how he'd risked his
life seeking revenge against her mother's killer, and in the process had
been drugged and severely beaten.  He'd apparently witnessed a violent,
horrific execution of someone he knew, then even worse, had fought back and
killed the two men in gruesome, terrifying ways she knew would give anyone
nightmares. She shuddered at what the experience must have been like. It
felt like the both of them had suffered more than any two people should
ever had to suffer.  How did things ever fall apart so fast?  And why them?

"Mulder, I'm so, so sorry.  I've been trying to call you since.that day,
and I couldn't reach you."

He looked surprised.  "Phone was unhooked," he whispered, and found that
was all the voice he had.

She smoothed his tear-dampened hair again, and gently held his face this
time so he'd look into her eyes when she spoke.  "What I said to you that
day was wrong. I was in shock,  and I lashed out at you when I needed you
the most."  He was shaking his head no again. "Yes, Mulder. I feel
horrible. I'm sorry."

He looked at her sadly.  He was a mess.  His left cheek was badly bruised
and the cut under his eye had taken 5 stitches.  His right eye was swollen
nearly shut.  The cut in his scalp from the coffee table had taken 3
stitches, and the gash in his arm took another 10.  Ed had broken one of
Mulder's ribs and cracked another, and the broken rib had slightly
punctured his lung.  He'd broken a finger fighting back, his lip was split,
 and he had been severely dehydrated from the bouts of vomiting the heroin
had caused. His throat and larynx were bruised so he couldn't speak above a
whisper.

"Scully, it was my fault. I'm so sorry." 

 Oh God, he was crying again.  How much more could she take before
completely losing it? She and her partner had been through many terrible
things together.  She'd seen him cry before, and she'd cried in front of
him as well.  But this was worse than anything she'd seen.  It scared her,
confused her,  and angered her.  She wanted them both to be able to put all
the guilt and sadness and suffering behind them, and move forward together,
like always.

"No, Mulder, no,"  she protested, and clutched his hand tightly.  This
time he nodded his head yes, his hazel eyes sparkling with such pain. She
shook her head and knew nothing she could say would convince him at this
point.  He was drowning in self-loathing and self-pity, and if he'd been
well, she'd have been tempted to slap him out of this destructive,
unhealthy funk.  But he looked so pathetic and broken-hearted, and he was
suffering so much both mentally and physically  that she did the only thing
she knew would make a difference to him at this point.

She looked into his eyes and told him she forgave him.

And she watched him breathe a small sigh of relief, and more sweet,
child-like tears ran from his eyes.  She smoothed his hair again and kissed
his forehead.  "Everything will be all right Mulder. I'm not mad at you.
Everything will be just fine."  He closed his eyes and let her voice soothe
him to sleep. 

And when she was sure he was out, she brought her hand to her mouth to
muffle the sobs for herself and everything she had lost, for this poor,
tortured man lying in front of her,  and for their future together, which
she was afraid could never be the same.

********************************

It snowed on Christmas Eve, just like Scully remembered wishing for as a
child. She stood at the window, watching, when Mulder's car pulled up.  He
got out and stood for a moment at the end of the sidewalk, illuminated in
the glow of the street light.  He held a bottle of wine in one hand, and a
bunch of flowers wrapped in green paper in the other.  Snow accumulated
rapidly in his dark hair as he took a deep, calming breath before walking
towards her front door.  

Scully opened the door before he could knock, smiling widely.  He looked
momentarily surprised, then flashed her a smile that made her want to cry.
His face was still bruised, and the cut on his mouth slightly visible, but
as he stood in the snow on her front step, smiling for what seemed like the
first time in ages, she thought he'd never looked more happy or more handsome.

His eyes twinkled at her, amused.  "Can I come in?"

She snapped from her daze and laughed, embarrassed, as she stepped aside
for him.  He shook snow from his coat and hair, and wiped his feet.

"Thanks for having me over," he said, almost shyly.  He handed her the
tissue-wrapped bouquet, a crooked grin on his face.  His eyes were dark and
twinkling, and without the sadness that had been there when she'd last seen
him two weeks ago.

"Merry Christmas Scully."

"Thanks.  Merry Christmas.  I'll go put these in some water.  Come on in
and have a seat and  I'll---" she stopped walking and actually gasped as
she ripped the paper off the bundle.  Mulder was taking off his wet shoes.

"What?" he looked up, startled.

"Roses," she said.  She'd been expecting a cute $20 arrangement of
carnations and mums with a couple of sprigs of baby's breath.  What Mulder
had brought her though was a dozen of the most perfect white roses she had
ever seen, arranged with holly and juniper,  and tied with a gold ribbon. 
She looked up at him, and he had that million dollar smile again. 

"They're OK?"

She smiled at him and shook her head in dismay, both at herself for being
such a sap when it came to flowers, and at her partner, who never did
things like this.  "They're beautiful Mulder.  Thank you."

She disappeared into the kitchen and was on her hands and knees on the
floor, digging for a vase under the kitchen sink when Mulder walked in with
the wine.  

"I brought some wine too.  Where do you keep the corkscrew?"

She looked at him and once again shook her head in dismay.  "That drawer
next to the fridge." 

"What *is* it Scully?" he asked, and began working on the wine bottle.

She stuck her head back under the sink and said under her breath, "Who are
you and what have you done with the real Fox Mulder?"

"What did you say?"

"I said `I found a vase, Mulder'," she said and stood up.  He handed her a
glass of wine, and raised his glass in a toast.  She did the same and took
a sip, then filled the vase with water and arranged the roses carefully. 
"Dinner should be ready in about a half hour. Let's go sit in the living
room until then."

"It smells great.  What are we having?"

She recited the menu like a waitress reading off the daily specials as she
led him out of the kitchen. "We have some lovely Cornish hens stuffed with
wild rice and mushrooms, potatoes au gratin, green beans almondine, rolls,
and a scrumptious store-bought chocolate pie for dessert."

"Wow, you're kidding!"

"No.  Why?"

"I didn't know you cooked Scully."

She merely shrugged at him.  She sat at one end of the couch and he at the
other, closest to the fire.  He was looking at her Christmas tree, admiring
her eclectic assortment of decorations and it afforded Scully another
opportunity to study him.  He was dressed casually in faded blue jeans and
a bulky cableknit sweater the color of oatmeal. His hair was still slightly
damp from the snow, and hung down on his forehead.  As he sat there, the
glow of the fire behind him and the sparkle of Christmas lights in his
eyes, she realized for the second time this evening just how attractive her
partner was, even with the numerous facial abrasions.  He turned to speak,
and caught her admiring glance.  He grinned, then said,

"Your tree is nice.  Those are family ornaments, aren't they?"

"Yes," she replied with a hint of sadness.  "Every ornament means
something, or has some special memory or story associated with it.  Like
that really tacky looking gold  Santa right in the front," she pointed it
out for him and he laughed when he saw it. "Believe it or not, when I was
little, that was just the coolest ornament there was, and Melissa and I
would fight every year over who got to hang it on the tree.  Same with the
plastic Snoopy on ice skates, blowing bubbles.  My brother Bill and I both
wanted to be the one to hang that one each year." She turned back to Mulder
and caught a sad look in his eyes.

"My mother stopped putting up a Christmas tree once Samantha disappeared,"
he sighed.  "It was just too hard for her, I think,  to dig that box out
every year and see all the memories...the little gold stars with each of
our names on them, the angel Sam always got to put on the top.  So Mom had
a company come in each year and put up a tree for us; complete with
color-coordinated ornaments and lights. It was beautiful every time, but it
just wasn't the same."  He forced a grin on his face to try and lighten up
the mood.  Scully smiled sadly back at him, not knowing what to say. What a
pair they were; not even able to make it through the first hour of
Christmas dinner without getting depressed.  She felt a warm film of tears
glaze her eyes and blinked hard to clear them.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, and sipped his wine.  "I really liven up a
party, don't I?"

"It's not you.  Christmas is hard.I lost my dad at Christmas time also. 
I'm just glad you agreed to spend the holiday with me, when you could be
with your mother."

The sad, sweet look on his face nearly broke her heart.  "It was no
contest," he said softly and looked down, embarrassed by what was for him a
huge show of affection. She reached over and touched his hand, just for a
moment, then got up to check on dinner.

When dinner was eaten, and the dishes cleared, they took their places
again on the couch, a fresh bottle of wine on the coffee table.

"That was fantastic, Scully.  The best meal I've had for a long time."

"Thanks Mulder.  I like to cook when I have someone to cook for.  I hate
going to the trouble for just myself, you know?"

He nodded in agreement.  They sat in silence for a while, watching the
fire and sipping the wine.  Scully excused herself and left the room, and
when she returned, Mulder stood with the front door wide open.  She felt a
wave of disappointment so strong it surprised her.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"No.not unless you want me to."

"No," she answered quickly.

"I was just looking.I'm wondering actually if your couch is comfortable." 

She walked up to the door and stared in amazement at what had become a
full-fledged blizzard.  She laughed happily.

"Look at it snow! Wow!"

"Yeah, neato," he mumbled, but couldn't help grinning at her childlike
excitement.

"It must've snowed 3 or 4 inches just since you've been here."

He pushed the door shut.  "It was coming down pretty hard when I got here,
but not this bad.  The roads were only kind of slick."

"It might be dangerous for you to drive home in this storm Mulder," she
said seriously. "You're welcome to stay here tonight.  The couch folds out."

He smiled at her as he headed back to the couch.  "But then Santa won't
know where I am."

**********************
They had nearly finished their second bottle of wine by ten o'clock and
both had that warm, fuzzy, not-quite-drunk buzz.   Scully was delighted to
find that her partner, when sufficiently loosened up, was hilarious.  He
told her story after story that had tears of laughter rolling down her face. 

Mulder, on the other hand,  was amazed to find that after a few drinks his
partner was quite a giggler, and he took pleasure in throwing all his best
material at her to get her to the point where she was actually laying on
the couch gasping for breath. He could only sit back and watch her fondly
as she fought to regain control after something he'd said sent her into
peals of uncontrollable laughter.

"You're a funny drunk, Scully," he laughed, and stood up to stretch his legs.

"This is not drunk Mulder," she said, trying to be serious.  "I'm just
having fun."

He smiled at her again, wishing that in the four years he'd know her
they'd had a lot more fun like this, and less of the other.  He stretched
and she stood also and headed towards the kitchen.

"I'm going to make some coffee."

When she came back into the room, the first thing she saw was a small,
beautifully wrapped gift sitting on the spot where she had been.

"Mulder.?"

He looked at her with those little boy eyes again and said with a smile,
"Open it,  Scully."

She picked up the small gold box and sat down, pulling the bow slowly
open.  Her heart was pounding in anticipation, and she could tell she was
blushing.  "You already gave me the roses.  You didn't need to get me
anything else."

He was still smiling warmly at her.  "It's just something I thought you'd
like.I hope you'll like it anyway."

She lifted the lid and pulled the tissue paper back and pulled her gift
out of the box.  She hadn't even gotten a good look at it before she felt
her eyes filling with tears.   It was a beautiful crystal snowflake
ornament for her tree. She held it up and felt a tear roll down her cheek
which she quickly brushed away.

"Oh Scully," he said with a gentle, surprised laugh, "I didn't want to
make you cry."

"I'm not crying," she laughed, embarrassed, wiping at her eyes.  She
walked over to the tree and hung the delicate sparkling ornament in a
prominent spot in the front.  She turned and looked at him, sentimental
tears in her eyes.

"I didn't know you were gonna get all sappy on me Scully," he said, and
walked over to her, smiling. "I just wanted to commemorate the first
Christmas we spent together."  

Any hope she had of regaining her composure was lost at that point. She
burst into tears.

"Come here," he said affectionately and bundled her into his arms, rubbing
his palm over her back.  She regained control quickly and pulled away
embarrassed, wiping her face and not looking at him.  He gently touched her
chin and forced her to look into his dark eyes, and there she saw that her
sentimental reaction to his gift had touched him also.  He leaned in slowly
and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas Scully."

"Merry Christmas Mulder."   

She bent and lifted a wrapped package from beneath the tree and handed it
to him without a word.  He looked at it and then at her, a bit apprehensive.  

"Your turn," she said with a smile as he tore it open.  He lifted a
handsomely matted and framed document from the box and read what was
inscribed on it silently, then turn and looked at her.

"You gave me a star," he said incredulously.

She leaned in close and pointed to the bottom.  "These are the coordinates
you need to set on a telescope in order to see it clearly."

"That is so cool," he grinned widely.  His smile froze though when he
looked into her eyes and saw she was again near tears. 

"Scully?"

"I'm glad you like it, but it was really my mom's idea.  We visited the
observatory one evening after Thanksgiving, and they sell them there to
raise money.  She saw it and got all excited--she immediately said I should
get this for you, that it was something she knew you would appreciate. 
They set the coordinates for us while the certificate was being wrapped,
and Mom and I both looked at your star.just a tiny but very brilliant spot
in the vast black sky. When you look at it through the telescope, it looks
like it's shining out there all by itself."  She looked into his eyes and
smiled.  "I thought it was perfect for you."

Mulder stared at her for the longest time, unable to move.  The symbolism
of the lonely star put an ache in his throat and he felt his eyes mist. 
Finally, he whispered, "I love it.thank you." 

He kissed her forehead this time, and she threw her arms around him and
squeezed him tightly, feeling a desperate, deep sense of loss for the
people in her life she had loved so much that had left her.  She also felt
an odd sense of joy unfold as her partner held her in his arms, and pushed
hard at the fear she had harbored about them never being close again.  

He pulled away and looked at her again, and smiled that same bright smile
he'd given her when she opened the door to find him standing there, all
snowy and full of hope and anticipation for a special evening.  She smiled
back, then looked away for a moment.  He lightly touched her arm, and she
looked up.

His damp, hazel eyes stared at her with such sudden intensity and
expressiveness, that she gasped.  In that instant, as she wallowed in his
unwavering gaze, Scully saw into his heart for the first time.  And what
she saw was both heart-breaking and joyful. She could sense his struggle to
open up, to push all the hurt and fear and guilt aside, to burst through
the wall he'd put up, and let her in.  

He had tears in his eyes, and without him saying a word, she understood
that the incredible inner battle he was fighting was the same one she
fought.  He swallowed hard, and with the last bit of fearlessness in his
heart, he put his hands gently on the sides of her face, and pressed a
soft, slow, tender kiss on her lips.

He pulled away and looked at her, his eyes swimming with pain, and managed
to say,

"I'm so sorry for everything Scully."

She felt the gut-wrenching emotions of the past several weeks churning
inside her.  She didn't blame him for anything, yet she knew he blamed
himself for everything. He was the cause of her pain, and the source of her
salvation, and the hopelessness of this paradox tore at her like claws
until she felt tired and weak and hopeful and redemptive. She knew of no
way to hurdle his wall of guilt and blame, when she herself felt weighted
down by her own grief from her mother's death, her remorse for the things
she had said to him, and her fear of moving forward.  

"Scully," he whispered hoarsely as a sob caught in his voice. Her name was
a question he was afraid to ask.  

She opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out.  She shook her head
slowly back and forth, dazed, and watched his heart break right in front of
her eyes as he interpreted her reaction as rejection.  Immediately, he
turned his face to stone, and she could perceive that wall around his heart
fortifying as he turned to leave.  

His movement snapped her out of her daze.  She took hold of his arm and
when he turned again to face her,  she was smiling tenderly at him. His
eyes glazed with tears and he wrapped his arms around her and held her as
tightly as his still-sore ribs would let him.  He fought for composure, and
had  just gotten there when her heard her voice, muffled in his shoulder,
say, "We'll be all right Mulder. I love you.We'll get through it."

He pulled back quickly so he could look in her eyes and see if she had
really said it, if she really meant it. In a glorious moment he realized
that she did. 

"Scully,"  he whispered and kissed her once more,  then looked into her
eyes. He was shaking.  "I love you," he said.

And he smiled that million dollar smile at her again.  Scully felt a huge,
uncontrollable smile spread across her own face.  At that one perfect
moment, she knew they both had a complete understanding of what the other
was thinking and feeling; that they were communicating the last details of
their hearts through their eyes, and that the depths of suffering were
fluttering behind them like ashes on a cold wind.

Scully couldn't help her reaction as they gazed, speechless, into each
other's eyes. 

She started laughing.  

It was a small giggle at first, but as she looked at him and the emotions
she'd spent four years repressing bubbled to the surface, she laughed
harder and harder.  She allowed herself for the first time to look at him
without reservations; to see him as someone she was deeply attracted to,
someone she wanted to be with, to kiss and touch and comfort and cherish. 
Someone she wanted share her life with.  

And it cracked her up.

Mulder looked puzzled for only a moment, then he chuckled softly.  She
only giggled harder until he exploded into laughter.  They felt the pure
joy of the moment pouring from the deepest parts of their battered hearts,
and for the first time in a long time Dana Scully and Fox Mulder felt complete.



THE END