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Rated: PG-13 for violence and language.
Category: Post-Ep.
Spoiler: The End
Feedback: Graciously welcomed at patfiler2016@outlook.com
Archive: Gossamer. I'm making the usual rounds. Anybody
else just please ask politley.
FBI HEADQUARTERS,
WASHINGTON, DC
BASEMENT
Stark reality hit Scully immediately and she put her arms
around Mulder immediately. Something was wrong. His arms
were so limp, his face expressionless and no words came
from his lips.
She gently eased him past the firefighter and slowly led
him to the elevator, silently cursing the smoke as she
her shell-shocked partner staring blankly all the way
to the parking garage. A mute Mulder was not good. What
he was thinking only he knew, and Scully wished she could
read his mind at that moment.
As she unlocked the car door with his keys, she could sense
the despair in her partner. Scully walked him to the
passenger side and he took the seat with no protestation.
There wasn't even a look of disdain that he didn't get to
drive. Then again, they were already exhausted from the
series of events that had led to this moment.
There was no way in the world she was going to leave Mulder
alone in Alexandria in this condition. She would take him
back to her apartment, and nobody would argue with her as a
human being. Not even Skinner dared call either of them.
She saw the look in his eyes, and knew he was had been
watched covertly, played for the fool, and likely about
to be blackmailed.
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, DC
Scully had placed an extra pillow on her couch and had sheets
ready to cover Mulder, but he had settled for sitting
upright, still in stunned silence for nearly four hours.
The coffee she had offered him had grown cold, and Scully
hadn't wanted to disturb Mulder. He would talk when he was
ready, and she knew it could either be with soft sadness or
roaring rage. She sat in an armchair across the coffee table
from him and waited, quietly contemplating the gravity of
the destruction of their office.
Mulder finally looked at her as she sipped her third cup of
coffee that night. "Why?"
The sound was hoarse and almost child-like in its innocent
timbre.
Scully didn't respond right away. They really both knew why
this had happened. "I'm not going to even try to say it. We
both know there are more than just the usual vultures we've
been dealing with. And I'm not going to say crap happens,
Mulder. I had a feeling this was coming. I ignored it."
Mulder rubbed his eyes, "Any more coffee?"
Scully gave a half-smile, pleased that he would ask for
anything for himself. It was a good sign. "Of course. I made
it a while ago. I'll make a fresh pot."
"I'll take what's going," he insisted.
"It's for MY taste buds, Mulder." As much as she was trying
to make things light, she wasn't feeling that chipper
herself.
"I didn't... I mean I did see it coming. I just didn't... "
Scully stopped him immediately. "No, I saw it coming, too,
but I just didn't realize someone would go that far to
destroy government property AND you in the process. It was
one hell of a lesson, I suppose. But I haven't learned a
thing."
"What?" Mulder couldn't quite make sense of much of what
she had been saying, but the last few words caught him off-
guard.
She returned with a fresh mug and sat down beside him,
gently placing her hand on his shoulder. "Five years, Mulder.
No matter what happened to either of us, I stayed and wanted
to believe just as much as you did. I hate what the shooter
tried to do to a little boy, whoever silenced the shooter,
and whoever set the fire. And it was deliberate. They'll say
it was something else. Maybe out-dated wiring. But we're
still around. Skinner's not as far away from our stand as
we'd thought. You know?"
As he shook his head, Mulder looked at the coffee and
decided to take it. "I don't know what I know anymore." No
emotion. It was frightening Scully.
"I'd feel better if you at least clenched your fist, but I
guess it's too soon. I want you to stay here tonight. The
sheets are ready and you're in shock. I have a feeling
we'll get a call tomorrow and it won't be an easy day. Get
some sleep." She stood and picked up the sheets.
"It was him."
"Who?"
"Spender. He was in on this. He and Diana were assigned to
the case, I overstepped the boundary, with the witness gone
I'm the fool and while I'm writing profiles on slashers and
pedophiles, you'll be at Quantico teaching young agents how
to slice and dice the victims. With Diana gone and everything
we did forgotten, I don't see any real sense staying in DC."
"Well, I got a call three hours ago that Diana has improved
somewhat. Mulder, it looks like she's going to live. I don't
really think Spender would have anything to gain by
destroying the office he was just assigned to. He's young,
but not totally stupid." Scully didn't like saying the
woman's name. Didn't it mean 'huntress'? "You should get some
sleep."
Mulder shook his head.
"C'mon. Get up so I can make up the couch. You're exhausted."
"We have to find Gibson Praise. Who the hell wants him and
why?"
"You're forgetting something, Mulder: We're not assigned to
him anymore. They're taking us down a notch. Maybe a few.
You'll need some rest if we're going to be sitting in Skinner's Office
getting read the Riot Act. Or worse yet: Going before the OPR. It's
all gone, and I feel your grief now just as much as if I had been in
your position! We lost it all, Mulder!"
He was taken aback by the volume of Scully's voice with that
last phrase. "That kettle in your head is boiling, isn't it?"
"And why isn't yours, Mulder? Dammit, react!? Yell! Throw
something! Do anything to show me you still have fight in
there somewhere!" There was no way she was going to let
Mulder fester in his apartment, seethe in some cubicle in an
office or run his car into a bridge.
And he was angry. How else could he respond by someone
yellingat him? He stood and glared daggers at his partner. "You
want ANGER!?" He picked up the nearest porcelain table lamp. "I'll
show you some ANGER!" The lamp hit the wall behind Scully and
there was not a blink or shudder on her part.
"I have another one, if you want to make it a complete set,"
she said with no emotion. Scully knew well she was speaking
Mulder drone. "You know it's all over, it's the end, it's all
for nothing, Melissa is dead, there isn't a chance in hell
you'll find Samantha... "
That didn't sound like Scully. It was shocking to say the least.
"What?"
"Gotta tow the line, Mulder. Stick it to the man and moon the
boss in your dreams. Write reports like a good little fibbie
and rescue some runaway brides who claim to have been
kidnapped, or better yet, try out for the Knicks. Hell, I
could be saving lives rather than wasting my life dissecting
Jane and John Does!"
The coffee table was Mulder's next target. It was kicked over
and unceremoniously thrown into the same wall the lamp had
dented, and did a marvellous job on the drywall.
"Feel better?" Scully's arms were crossed and she maintained
her distance, careful not to react.
Mulder sank down into the couch. "Much, and I'll pay for it
all." Fox William Mulder just couldn't face Dana Katherine
Scully, so he spoke to his feet. "Tired, fed up. We screwed
up, Scully."
She sat at his side and held his hands together in hers. "You
are not giving up. Some way, some how, the pieces will fall
into place. Forget about my 'things' and think about people.
Think about me. Think about Gibson. Think about yourself. Are
you going to let those bastards get away with what they've
done?"
"I'm not giving up. Maybe it's just a matter of time. At
least, that's what we're taught about trauma in psych."
"Then let's make up the couch and get you to bed. The next
few days are not going to be easy."
He managed a small grin. "You're sexy when you underestimate
the cataclysmic."
"Wecome back, Mulder." She gently hugged him then prepared
the couch for Mulder.
A long, hot shower was definitely what she needed. There
wasn't any part of her body of mind that didn't feel sullied
not only by the stench and smoke in the basement office, but
by the very thought that someone could go this far to stop
Mulder. To stop her. She was a fighter, but felt she'd lost a
round. Maybe two or three. She felt there was still some
purpose for her, some purpose for Mulder, and whether or not
they were going to be working together, they could both still
make a difference in some way. There was that matter of her
sister's murderer, and the hell her partner and best friend
was going through. And where was that young genius? Who took
him? What was HE going through?
As Scully tried to get in at least two hours of sleep before
facing the music at the Hoover, she wondered if it really
was the end. Her sister's killer might never be found, she
had spent five years discovering things only Jules Verne and
Rod Serling could have dreamed up, and she had her doubts
that pep talk she gave Mulder was her own honest feeling, or
just a placebo. Her quiet sobs went unheard as she drifted
off to sleep. There were no clever bromides to comfort
herself at that time.
Mulder's eyelids were fluttering as he dreamed about several
back-up hard drives and file folders buried beneath the back
garden of a house in Martha's Vineyard.
In the coming days, they would be in for more than they had
ever imagined. The machinery was in motion on a number of
fronts.
END
(NOT)
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