DC-1991 (2/2)
DC-1991 cont.
A thousand and two questions stood in the air between them as they silently took to the road. They had almost reached his apartment in Alexandria before he finally broke the eerie thoughtful quiet between them.
"You really should just let me do this alone, Scully," he pleaded softly.
"Shut up, Mulder," she replied simply.
It was hopeless and he knew it. She waited patiently as he ran into his apartment quickly, emerging armed and in clean clothes and then they were silent again until they were halfway to Mercersburg, but this time in an air of amiable truce.
She broke the silence the second time. "Do you think we're going to get there in time?" she asked thoughtfully, trying desperately to come up with a rational explanation for her rather irrational decision to accompany a man she barely knew to an unspecified location in a no-name town to help him catch a serial killer. But it was not something that her strong sense of practicality could explain - she just knew that it had been the only choice to make.
"I sure hope so," he replied darkly, eyes mostly staring out the passenger side window, with only a surreptitious glance here and there at his quiet companion, still not quite believing she was driving him to Pennsylvania. He had never been quite able to define what it was that drew him to her in such an odd fashion. It was a crush of sorts, he supposed, almost in a silly infatuated seventh grader kind of way. He liked the way she operated, how she was clearly highly competent, deceptively tough and had more than a slight twinge of attitude.
So, yes, he supposed he had a crush on her. Of course he did - she answered his outlandish calls, smiled shyly for him when he visited and was currently jeopardizing her life and career to drive him 150 miles because he asked nice and she had actually listened to what he was saying. And now she nervously licking her lips, probably wondering if that was the last stupid decision she would ever make.
"When we get there you're going to stay in the car, right," he stated with a note of emphasis in his tone.
She nodded in a surprising show of agreeableness. Yeah, sure, she had once considered going into the FBI but she understood clearly that she didn't have the skills necessary to be trying to capture a serial killer.
Mulder could handle it himself, she chanted to herself as they drove in a northeasterly direction. Mulder was trained to handle things like this. Whereas she was apparently trained to not only let manic FBI agents go on a whim but to chaperone said agent to a semi-distant farm county. What the hell was she thinking?
He quietly gave directions as they passed abandoned farm buildings on a rural stretch of forgotten road. He studied the vast stretches of land carefully for what seemed like hours but which was, in actuality, probably only around seventeen minutes. Finally he instructed her to pull off to the side of the road and tried to exit the car without a forlorn, possible-last-look back.
"Mulder, please be careful," was all she could say out of trembling lips that didn't match her otherwise stern expression.
He bestowed his best goofy confident look upon her as he nodded hopefully in response.
She watched him walk down the dusty access road with trepidation growing up her spine. Picturing his weary bone-thin body waging battle alone against a soulless killer was more than she could endure.
She lasted about nine minutes before she was making her own way down the same dusty road, her brain fighting a battle with her, in this case, ridiculous heart. It was a terrible idea. But she was doing it anyways.
****
near Mercersburg, Pennsylvania
February 19, 1991
1:41am
If one were to look at his choices leading up to that particular moment, Mulder could understand how they might appear to have ranged from completely irrational to totally insane. But he knew that this UNSUB, unlike the other angry, obsessed, despairingly typical-average-joe-but-for-his-penchant-for-murder, serial killers, would be so deeply engrossed with spastic blood-laced fantasies that he probably wouldn't notice a fleet of choppers surround his family's derelict farm house.
At least that's what Mulder hoped as he drew his weapon and approached the building as delicately as possible.
Noting the obviously incongruent operational vehicle behind the house, Mulder had a good inkling that his target was in the building. He then peered through dusty window after dusty window looking for any indications of the UNSUB's location while simultaneously waiting for a plan to magically formulate in his head.
Although he spotted vague signs of life such as strewn clothing and newish beer bottles in the farmhouse he didn't manage to espy either his target or any would-be victims. He did, on the other hand, notice a set of stairs that likely delved into a typical farm cellar - the perfect location for a sadistic torturer of young boys - and resigned himself to entering the building without any backup. Which he understood, even in his not-quite-operating-on-all-cylinders state, to be a rather poor idea. Even though his colleagues were generally useless they did, at least, have some vested interest in seeing that he came out of the situation alive. Even if it was only because a lot of paperwork and OPR questioning came out of agents getting shot during busts or because they wanted the credit for taking down a famous serial killer, at least he would have had some assurance of help were he to become involved in a shooting situation.
And then there was his penchant for losing his gun...
Attempting to put those rather un-useful thoughts out of his mind, Mulder gave himself a count of three to refocus on the situation before drawing his gun and pushing open the backdoor of the farmhouse.
All was eerily quiet and drafty as he entered the building with light footsteps. Looking around nervously, he thought he heard a human-made grunt emanating from the cellar area and moved carefully towards the rotting cellar stairs.
Peering through the dark opening Mulder couldn't see anything but could hear the muffled high pitched sounds of a gagged and terrified boy trying to scream for his life.
It was all he could do not to hurtle down the stairs without any thought for self-preservation. Instead, he did his best to enforce a steady breath as he stepped down on the first, thankfully-not-creaky stair.
Six stairs later Mulder could make out the shadow of the UNSUB towering over a small shuddering form and knew the killer would be wielding a sharp, standard butcher's knife.
This was it. Steadying his weapon, he knew he had a clear shot and was about to announce his presence when the killer whipped around unexpectedly and threw a large glinting metal object at him.
Completely taken aback by the sudden change in situation, Mulder fired his weapon even as the knife was slashing him deeply across his shooting arm. He knew the shot had missed by a near country mile and his heart sank as as his bloody and weakened arm allowed his gun to fall and scuttle down the rest of the stairs.
The UNSUB outweighed Mulder but at least sixty pounds and appeared to be built of solid muscle as he launched himself at the still-stunned agent. Pulling Mulder down the rest of the stairs in a NFL-worthy tackle, the two men hit the concrete floor with a loud thud and continued to tussle for a few breathless minutes as they rolled in an ungainly tangle of limbs.
Mulder put in a good fight as they continued to throw haphazard punches at each other for another minute or so. Until he felt his breath being crushed from his lungs as the heftier man belted him in the ribs with his elbow and he could barely keep conscious as they struggled to gain position in their impromptu wrestling match. He really had nothing left to offer as an opponent though as he felt his attacker grasp him by the forehead and slam his head against the concrete floor with enough force to create a good many mini supernovas in his already speckled vision.
He could feel the UNSUB getting up but his body wouldn't respond to his brain's meager attempts at survival instructions. His head was spinning horribly and gastric acid was splayed all over his intestinal tract and he clearly understood that he was going to die a painful death by butcher knife as he watched the killer pick the weapon up from the dusty corner in which it had landed.
The glint in the killer's eyes was unmistakable as he smiled disconcertingly at the blood covered knife. Switching his gaze between his next two victims, the UNSUB grabbed a barely-conscious Mulder and unceremoniously dumped him next to the small screaming boy in the corner.
"Shut up, boy!" he growled as he grabbed a syringe and jammed it into the boy's arm, effectively putting him out.
"I got a headache. Now shut up and wait your turn. Your new friend is going to go first," he continued gruffly, giving Mulder a solid kick to the ribs for good measure. "Too bad he won't be around for long... but then again, I guess you won't be around too long yourself!"
Chuckling to himself, the UNSUB considered where to make the first cut on his newest victim. It wouldn't be near as much fun to plunge his knife into the hardened skin of a fully grown man. He craved the feeling of his blade on soft supple skin of his young victims, he imagined he could absorb their innocence through his weapon. So the big one would go first. But where to make the first cut...
His mind was awhirl with possibilities and he was nearly salivating at the two kills waiting to happen. He considered his options and was raising his knife to carve a nice picture into the man's liver when a very loud noise knocked him out of his revery.
The bullet hit him before he even saw the small woman standing in a perfect shooting stance at the bottom of the stairs.
****
For a long moment she was frozen by the reality of what had just occurred. She had shot someone. She had actually picked up a gun and shot someone. Granted, he had been about to carve Mulder up like a hunk of beef but, still, she had shot someone.
And that was when she realized she should be calling for paramedics. At that point, automatic pilot set it as she called 911, requested two ambulances, mentioned that the FBI may want to be informed and ran in panic up towards Mulder's sprawled and bloody form and the small child lying unconscious beside him.
Looking between the two prone figures, she was able to quickly determine that the boy was unconscious but uninjured and breathing comfortably before she turned to the blood-drenched man before her.
"Oh my god, Mulder. Are you okay?" she breathed anxiously as her hands ran over his body, looking for the source of the blood.
"Peachy doc," he responded, a hint of a smile on his half-conscious expression. "That was some nice shooting. But I distinctly remember you were supposed to stay in the car."
Her blush was barely visible in the dim cellar light but she felt flushed as she made her sweater into an effective pressure bandage for the large gash in his right arm. Then, as she became satisfied that he wasn't bleeding from any other body parts except for a congealing cut on the back of his head, that he was dopey but alive, that she hadn't been too late, a flood of post-traumatic relief took a hold of her body as she started to process everything that had just occurred.
She wasn't a stranger to traumatic experiences due to her time in the emergency room but there was a significant difference between treating life and death emergencies in the ER and being involved in a life and death situation in a serial killer's cellar. But she had been worried about Mulder, especially after she had heard the gun shot go off and hadn't even really thought about the situation as she had ran into the house and down the cellar stairs. And thankfully she had been quiet enough coming down the stairs and retrieving the gun. And for a second she had thought she wouldn't be able to do it, to actually fire the gun, and then the killer had lifted his knife and it hadn't even been a question anymore.
And now her heart was still beating at hummingbird speed as a smile of pure relief grew on her face. "It's a good thing I have a disobedient streak in me then, isn't it, Mulder?" she said matter-of-factly.
His addled mind still boggled by being alive, he could do nothing more than smile his response as she gave his hair a light ruffle before remembering that she had an ethical obligation to see to the man she had shot.
"Rest, Mulder, I have to go check on your friend," she said with a grimace.
"He ain't no friend of mine, Scully," he replied dopily as she carefully approached the unconscious man. His knife had fallen from his grasp when he had hit the ground and she kicked it even further still as she nudged him with her shoe to check for any signs of consciousness. When he didn't move, she judged it safe to also apply a bandage to the wound in his torso, noting she had not quite hit her target dead on but that she hadn't missed by much.
Her Hippocratic duty done, Scully did another check on the unconscious boy before sitting down close to Mulder, leaning into him to provide some upward support.
"Stop staring at me, Mulder," she said, a friendly note of warning in her tone.
Mulder grinned in satisfaction as he experienced a overflow of unfamiliar feelings. He felt calm, he felt connected, he felt cared for, he felt human.
He couldn't explain his recent spate of good luck. Considering how many shitty things had been happening in his life he had begun to assume that was to be his fate. And then in what had felt like his lowest cosmic moment, shipped off to the loony bin by his old BSU buddies, things had started to change. Maybe his karma had been saving itself up for an epic good karma experience.
And it was all because of her. A very little, very competent, very stubborn doctor. She had found him and she had listened to him and had followed him into a serial killer's cellar to save his pathetic ass. And the warmth of her body was pressing against his. And as his head lolled against her shoulder, for the first time in eons, he felt good.
By the time the paramedics arrived he was dead to the world, his tousled brown locks strewn across her shoulder and she was nearly asleep herself as she gazed down at his sleeping form with obvious fondness.
****
Alexandria, Virginia
February 20, 1991
10:09am
He awoke to the wondrous entwined aroma of grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee and couldn't immediately place his location. It felt like his old leather couch under him but the last place he remembered being was the hospital in Mercersburg. He had been arguing about having to stay overnight, something about the hit he had taken to his head, but he had been dopey from concussion, loss of blood, and over exertion and so his memory was, at best, very fuzzy.
But to the best of his knowledge, they didn't make glorious smelling grilled cheese sandwiches in hospitals. So it was probably safe to open his eyes.
He was greeted by the familiar drab walls of his apartment and briefly wondered how he had gotten home before the obvious answer appeared in his field of sight.
"My Knicks t-shirt has never looked so good, Scully," he said with a sleepy smile.
She was dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants and looked completely ridiculous and incredibly gorgeous all at once. Having not yet noticed his return to consciousness, she startled with embarrassment as she heard his voice and turned with a flush of pink in her cheek.
"Sorry, I had nothing to sleep in," she said a bit sheepishly as she transferred perfectly browned sandwiches from pan to plate. "And you were so out of it last night... someone needed to make sure you were okay in the morning."
He grinned again at her slight discomfort and felt at once that they were meant to be together. Granted, he was a bit prone to grandiose romantic ideas but in this case it was much more than an idea. Somehow, at that moment, he instantly understood that she would be there at pivotal moments in his life and that he would invariably be present at important times in hers - that they were destined for these roles in all possible multiple universe interpretations of their lives.
Together with this peculiar insight, he also instantly understood that she would likely send him back off to the psych ward if he started spouting off about their cosmic destinies. So he let the lofty thoughts of karmic kismet fade as he sat up, offering her a seat on the rumpled sofa.
She sat down, further away from him than he's hoped but closer than he'd anticipated, and silently passed him the plate of sandwiches.
"How are you feeling?" she finally asked after they had each wolfed down a sandwich.
"Head hurts, arm hurts, ribs really hurt," he reported dutifully. "But I'm alive and that might even be a good thing."
He hadn't meant for it to come out quite so morosely but he had been so shrouded in death for so long it had begun to seem like a viable option. And it wasn't something he would have said to just anyone - it was the same feeling as before, the sensation of strange 'knowingness' that he could tell her anything and she wouldn't hold it against him.
"It's definitely a good thing, Mulder," she said more sharply than she meant to. "I am not losing you now, after all this."
He raised an internal eyebrow at her admittance that he was something she would regret losing. That he was hers to lose at all.
Shaking her head wryly, she laid her head back against the couch as one treacherous tear slithered down her cheek.
"I don't know what it is, Mulder, but sometimes I feel strangely connected to you in a completely irrational way," she said in a near whisper, as if lowering the sound on the statement would make it more palatable to her scientific ear. "I know it sounds so ridiculous and I can't even begin to believe that I'm telling you this..."
Her embarrassment level was through the roof, the vulnerability in her heart glaringly obvious as she relived the moment she saw his bloody motionless form on the cellar floor, so sure that she was too late, that he was gone to her forever. And all she had thought was that it couldn't be true because they were meant to have known each other for much longer, for years, for lifetimes. And then she had admonished herself for such a bizarre sentimental thought about a man she barely knew.
And now she felt the same thing, the self-flagellation for believing in old gypsy tales of fated acquaintance even as she bared her heart to him in a most uncustomary way. She looked away deliberately as she wondered what he was thinking, praying he wasn't taking it as some awkward come on.
When she finally dared to take a peek at his expression, he was smiling at her so broadly she didn't know how to react. He was generally so somber but for his dry witty moments and for a second she wondered if he was playing with her mind. But any fears were put to rest when he finally spoke.
"You are totally picking up what I'm throwing down, Scully," he said with a satisfied tone, the excitement in his eyes gleaming for a millisecond before his smile abruptly faded and his countenance shifted.
"But that doesn't mean I should be dragging you into my world, Scully," he continued, guilt dripping off his every word. "That's why I stopped calling - I didn't want pull you in."
He had returned to his lost forlorn look and she could sense his demons crawling across the floor, ready to latch on to his insecurities.
"I know, Mulder. But I'm already in. So you may as well call next time or else I'll have to come and kick your ass for letting things get so bad," she said easily as she tugged on his fingertips reassuringly. "I want to help you, Mulder. You need to get out."
"I need to get out? You need to get out, Scully. As far away from me as possible. Don't you understand? You could have died. I'm a goddamn FBI agent and I fucked it up. You should have been at home in bed but you had to save my sorry ass from a fucking serial killer. You could have died and it would have been my fault," he intoned angrily, ignoring her placating words.
"Mulder, let's get this straight now. I do what I want to do. My choices are my own and you do not have the right to take the blame for my decisions. I could have kept you in the hospital, I could have let you walk right out, I could have stayed in the car. I did what I had to do and I will never regret my choice," she replied sternly, still playing aimlessly with his taut fingers.
"But I forced you into that choice, Scully. If I hadn't flipped out and gotten tossed into the loony bin you would have never had to make that decision," he responded, persistently following his line of guilt-filled reasoning.
She was quiet for a moment, looking away from him awkwardly and he hoped that she had caught a ride on his train of thought - that he was not a healthy acquaintance for her, that she really should jump ship before anything else happened.
"But it felt right," she said abruptly, before the censor between her brain and her vocal chords could react to stop her. "Didn't it feel right to you?"
She certainly had good insight, Mulder thought as he mulled over her question. As much as he tried to believe that he hadn't expected her to show up and save his ass, she was right - he had somehow known that she would be coming to get him. And it had definitely felt right.
"What do you think that means, Scully?" he asked quietly.
"I suppose it means I was destined to be answering my phone at strange hours," she replied with a shrug. "And to lead a more adventurous life than expected."
His response was a satisfied and amicable grin. Not only had he been given express permission to be a part of her life but, unlike anytime in the past many months, he actually desired the contact.
"That's right, Scully. Stick with me and your life will never be boring. Have I ever told you about these files I've been finding lately? There was the coolest one about five people that died after getting their livers torn out back in 1933..." he mused comfortably. "I think the killer was eating the livers but there isn't any evidence to back that up..."
She raised one eyebrow in a decidedly skeptical manner but had a hard time resisting a grin all the same.
"I don't know, Mulder, a liver-eating mutant sounds highly unlikely," she said seriously, pinning him with an amused expression of mild incredulity.
Not as unlikely as her continued presence in his life, he thought. And not as unlikely as someone appreciating his inclination towards odd late night conversations. And certainly not as unlikely as him running aground at the feet of the only person in existence that could have helped him at that moment.
Looking at her comfortably sitting next to him wearing over-sized clothing, a doubtful look, and a muted aura of concern, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He had, perhaps, finally found someone who accepted him, listened to him, believed in him.
"Not as unlikely as this, Scully," he said with a satisfied sigh. "Not nearly as unlikely as this."
End
****
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A thousand and two questions stood in the air between them as they silently took to the road. They had almost reached his apartment in Alexandria before he finally broke the eerie thoughtful quiet between them.
"You really should just let me do this alone, Scully," he pleaded softly.
"Shut up, Mulder," she replied simply.
It was hopeless and he knew it. She waited patiently as he ran into his apartment quickly, emerging armed and in clean clothes and then they were silent again until they were halfway to Mercersburg, but this time in an air of amiable truce.
She broke the silence the second time. "Do you think we're going to get there in time?" she asked thoughtfully, trying desperately to come up with a rational explanation for her rather irrational decision to accompany a man she barely knew to an unspecified location in a no-name town to help him catch a serial killer. But it was not something that her strong sense of practicality could explain - she just knew that it had been the only choice to make.
"I sure hope so," he replied darkly, eyes mostly staring out the passenger side window, with only a surreptitious glance here and there at his quiet companion, still not quite believing she was driving him to Pennsylvania. He had never been quite able to define what it was that drew him to her in such an odd fashion. It was a crush of sorts, he supposed, almost in a silly infatuated seventh grader kind of way. He liked the way she operated, how she was clearly highly competent, deceptively tough and had more than a slight twinge of attitude.
So, yes, he supposed he had a crush on her. Of course he did - she answered his outlandish calls, smiled shyly for him when he visited and was currently jeopardizing her life and career to drive him 150 miles because he asked nice and she had actually listened to what he was saying. And now she nervously licking her lips, probably wondering if that was the last stupid decision she would ever make.
"When we get there you're going to stay in the car, right," he stated with a note of emphasis in his tone.
She nodded in a surprising show of agreeableness. Yeah, sure, she had once considered going into the FBI but she understood clearly that she didn't have the skills necessary to be trying to capture a serial killer.
Mulder could handle it himself, she chanted to herself as they drove in a northeasterly direction. Mulder was trained to handle things like this. Whereas she was apparently trained to not only let manic FBI agents go on a whim but to chaperone said agent to a semi-distant farm county. What the hell was she thinking?
He quietly gave directions as they passed abandoned farm buildings on a rural stretch of forgotten road. He studied the vast stretches of land carefully for what seemed like hours but which was, in actuality, probably only around seventeen minutes. Finally he instructed her to pull off to the side of the road and tried to exit the car without a forlorn, possible-last-look back.
"Mulder, please be careful," was all she could say out of trembling lips that didn't match her otherwise stern expression.
He bestowed his best goofy confident look upon her as he nodded hopefully in response.
She watched him walk down the dusty access road with trepidation growing up her spine. Picturing his weary bone-thin body waging battle alone against a soulless killer was more than she could endure.
She lasted about nine minutes before she was making her own way down the same dusty road, her brain fighting a battle with her, in this case, ridiculous heart. It was a terrible idea. But she was doing it anyways.
****
near Mercersburg, Pennsylvania
February 19, 1991
1:41am
If one were to look at his choices leading up to that particular moment, Mulder could understand how they might appear to have ranged from completely irrational to totally insane. But he knew that this UNSUB, unlike the other angry, obsessed, despairingly typical-average-joe-but-for-his-penchant-for-murder, serial killers, would be so deeply engrossed with spastic blood-laced fantasies that he probably wouldn't notice a fleet of choppers surround his family's derelict farm house.
At least that's what Mulder hoped as he drew his weapon and approached the building as delicately as possible.
Noting the obviously incongruent operational vehicle behind the house, Mulder had a good inkling that his target was in the building. He then peered through dusty window after dusty window looking for any indications of the UNSUB's location while simultaneously waiting for a plan to magically formulate in his head.
Although he spotted vague signs of life such as strewn clothing and newish beer bottles in the farmhouse he didn't manage to espy either his target or any would-be victims. He did, on the other hand, notice a set of stairs that likely delved into a typical farm cellar - the perfect location for a sadistic torturer of young boys - and resigned himself to entering the building without any backup. Which he understood, even in his not-quite-operating-on-all-cylinders state, to be a rather poor idea. Even though his colleagues were generally useless they did, at least, have some vested interest in seeing that he came out of the situation alive. Even if it was only because a lot of paperwork and OPR questioning came out of agents getting shot during busts or because they wanted the credit for taking down a famous serial killer, at least he would have had some assurance of help were he to become involved in a shooting situation.
And then there was his penchant for losing his gun...
Attempting to put those rather un-useful thoughts out of his mind, Mulder gave himself a count of three to refocus on the situation before drawing his gun and pushing open the backdoor of the farmhouse.
All was eerily quiet and drafty as he entered the building with light footsteps. Looking around nervously, he thought he heard a human-made grunt emanating from the cellar area and moved carefully towards the rotting cellar stairs.
Peering through the dark opening Mulder couldn't see anything but could hear the muffled high pitched sounds of a gagged and terrified boy trying to scream for his life.
It was all he could do not to hurtle down the stairs without any thought for self-preservation. Instead, he did his best to enforce a steady breath as he stepped down on the first, thankfully-not-creaky stair.
Six stairs later Mulder could make out the shadow of the UNSUB towering over a small shuddering form and knew the killer would be wielding a sharp, standard butcher's knife.
This was it. Steadying his weapon, he knew he had a clear shot and was about to announce his presence when the killer whipped around unexpectedly and threw a large glinting metal object at him.
Completely taken aback by the sudden change in situation, Mulder fired his weapon even as the knife was slashing him deeply across his shooting arm. He knew the shot had missed by a near country mile and his heart sank as as his bloody and weakened arm allowed his gun to fall and scuttle down the rest of the stairs.
The UNSUB outweighed Mulder but at least sixty pounds and appeared to be built of solid muscle as he launched himself at the still-stunned agent. Pulling Mulder down the rest of the stairs in a NFL-worthy tackle, the two men hit the concrete floor with a loud thud and continued to tussle for a few breathless minutes as they rolled in an ungainly tangle of limbs.
Mulder put in a good fight as they continued to throw haphazard punches at each other for another minute or so. Until he felt his breath being crushed from his lungs as the heftier man belted him in the ribs with his elbow and he could barely keep conscious as they struggled to gain position in their impromptu wrestling match. He really had nothing left to offer as an opponent though as he felt his attacker grasp him by the forehead and slam his head against the concrete floor with enough force to create a good many mini supernovas in his already speckled vision.
He could feel the UNSUB getting up but his body wouldn't respond to his brain's meager attempts at survival instructions. His head was spinning horribly and gastric acid was splayed all over his intestinal tract and he clearly understood that he was going to die a painful death by butcher knife as he watched the killer pick the weapon up from the dusty corner in which it had landed.
The glint in the killer's eyes was unmistakable as he smiled disconcertingly at the blood covered knife. Switching his gaze between his next two victims, the UNSUB grabbed a barely-conscious Mulder and unceremoniously dumped him next to the small screaming boy in the corner.
"Shut up, boy!" he growled as he grabbed a syringe and jammed it into the boy's arm, effectively putting him out.
"I got a headache. Now shut up and wait your turn. Your new friend is going to go first," he continued gruffly, giving Mulder a solid kick to the ribs for good measure. "Too bad he won't be around for long... but then again, I guess you won't be around too long yourself!"
Chuckling to himself, the UNSUB considered where to make the first cut on his newest victim. It wouldn't be near as much fun to plunge his knife into the hardened skin of a fully grown man. He craved the feeling of his blade on soft supple skin of his young victims, he imagined he could absorb their innocence through his weapon. So the big one would go first. But where to make the first cut...
His mind was awhirl with possibilities and he was nearly salivating at the two kills waiting to happen. He considered his options and was raising his knife to carve a nice picture into the man's liver when a very loud noise knocked him out of his revery.
The bullet hit him before he even saw the small woman standing in a perfect shooting stance at the bottom of the stairs.
****
For a long moment she was frozen by the reality of what had just occurred. She had shot someone. She had actually picked up a gun and shot someone. Granted, he had been about to carve Mulder up like a hunk of beef but, still, she had shot someone.
And that was when she realized she should be calling for paramedics. At that point, automatic pilot set it as she called 911, requested two ambulances, mentioned that the FBI may want to be informed and ran in panic up towards Mulder's sprawled and bloody form and the small child lying unconscious beside him.
Looking between the two prone figures, she was able to quickly determine that the boy was unconscious but uninjured and breathing comfortably before she turned to the blood-drenched man before her.
"Oh my god, Mulder. Are you okay?" she breathed anxiously as her hands ran over his body, looking for the source of the blood.
"Peachy doc," he responded, a hint of a smile on his half-conscious expression. "That was some nice shooting. But I distinctly remember you were supposed to stay in the car."
Her blush was barely visible in the dim cellar light but she felt flushed as she made her sweater into an effective pressure bandage for the large gash in his right arm. Then, as she became satisfied that he wasn't bleeding from any other body parts except for a congealing cut on the back of his head, that he was dopey but alive, that she hadn't been too late, a flood of post-traumatic relief took a hold of her body as she started to process everything that had just occurred.
She wasn't a stranger to traumatic experiences due to her time in the emergency room but there was a significant difference between treating life and death emergencies in the ER and being involved in a life and death situation in a serial killer's cellar. But she had been worried about Mulder, especially after she had heard the gun shot go off and hadn't even really thought about the situation as she had ran into the house and down the cellar stairs. And thankfully she had been quiet enough coming down the stairs and retrieving the gun. And for a second she had thought she wouldn't be able to do it, to actually fire the gun, and then the killer had lifted his knife and it hadn't even been a question anymore.
And now her heart was still beating at hummingbird speed as a smile of pure relief grew on her face. "It's a good thing I have a disobedient streak in me then, isn't it, Mulder?" she said matter-of-factly.
His addled mind still boggled by being alive, he could do nothing more than smile his response as she gave his hair a light ruffle before remembering that she had an ethical obligation to see to the man she had shot.
"Rest, Mulder, I have to go check on your friend," she said with a grimace.
"He ain't no friend of mine, Scully," he replied dopily as she carefully approached the unconscious man. His knife had fallen from his grasp when he had hit the ground and she kicked it even further still as she nudged him with her shoe to check for any signs of consciousness. When he didn't move, she judged it safe to also apply a bandage to the wound in his torso, noting she had not quite hit her target dead on but that she hadn't missed by much.
Her Hippocratic duty done, Scully did another check on the unconscious boy before sitting down close to Mulder, leaning into him to provide some upward support.
"Stop staring at me, Mulder," she said, a friendly note of warning in her tone.
Mulder grinned in satisfaction as he experienced a overflow of unfamiliar feelings. He felt calm, he felt connected, he felt cared for, he felt human.
He couldn't explain his recent spate of good luck. Considering how many shitty things had been happening in his life he had begun to assume that was to be his fate. And then in what had felt like his lowest cosmic moment, shipped off to the loony bin by his old BSU buddies, things had started to change. Maybe his karma had been saving itself up for an epic good karma experience.
And it was all because of her. A very little, very competent, very stubborn doctor. She had found him and she had listened to him and had followed him into a serial killer's cellar to save his pathetic ass. And the warmth of her body was pressing against his. And as his head lolled against her shoulder, for the first time in eons, he felt good.
By the time the paramedics arrived he was dead to the world, his tousled brown locks strewn across her shoulder and she was nearly asleep herself as she gazed down at his sleeping form with obvious fondness.
****
Alexandria, Virginia
February 20, 1991
10:09am
He awoke to the wondrous entwined aroma of grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee and couldn't immediately place his location. It felt like his old leather couch under him but the last place he remembered being was the hospital in Mercersburg. He had been arguing about having to stay overnight, something about the hit he had taken to his head, but he had been dopey from concussion, loss of blood, and over exertion and so his memory was, at best, very fuzzy.
But to the best of his knowledge, they didn't make glorious smelling grilled cheese sandwiches in hospitals. So it was probably safe to open his eyes.
He was greeted by the familiar drab walls of his apartment and briefly wondered how he had gotten home before the obvious answer appeared in his field of sight.
"My Knicks t-shirt has never looked so good, Scully," he said with a sleepy smile.
She was dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants and looked completely ridiculous and incredibly gorgeous all at once. Having not yet noticed his return to consciousness, she startled with embarrassment as she heard his voice and turned with a flush of pink in her cheek.
"Sorry, I had nothing to sleep in," she said a bit sheepishly as she transferred perfectly browned sandwiches from pan to plate. "And you were so out of it last night... someone needed to make sure you were okay in the morning."
He grinned again at her slight discomfort and felt at once that they were meant to be together. Granted, he was a bit prone to grandiose romantic ideas but in this case it was much more than an idea. Somehow, at that moment, he instantly understood that she would be there at pivotal moments in his life and that he would invariably be present at important times in hers - that they were destined for these roles in all possible multiple universe interpretations of their lives.
Together with this peculiar insight, he also instantly understood that she would likely send him back off to the psych ward if he started spouting off about their cosmic destinies. So he let the lofty thoughts of karmic kismet fade as he sat up, offering her a seat on the rumpled sofa.
She sat down, further away from him than he's hoped but closer than he'd anticipated, and silently passed him the plate of sandwiches.
"How are you feeling?" she finally asked after they had each wolfed down a sandwich.
"Head hurts, arm hurts, ribs really hurt," he reported dutifully. "But I'm alive and that might even be a good thing."
He hadn't meant for it to come out quite so morosely but he had been so shrouded in death for so long it had begun to seem like a viable option. And it wasn't something he would have said to just anyone - it was the same feeling as before, the sensation of strange 'knowingness' that he could tell her anything and she wouldn't hold it against him.
"It's definitely a good thing, Mulder," she said more sharply than she meant to. "I am not losing you now, after all this."
He raised an internal eyebrow at her admittance that he was something she would regret losing. That he was hers to lose at all.
Shaking her head wryly, she laid her head back against the couch as one treacherous tear slithered down her cheek.
"I don't know what it is, Mulder, but sometimes I feel strangely connected to you in a completely irrational way," she said in a near whisper, as if lowering the sound on the statement would make it more palatable to her scientific ear. "I know it sounds so ridiculous and I can't even begin to believe that I'm telling you this..."
Her embarrassment level was through the roof, the vulnerability in her heart glaringly obvious as she relived the moment she saw his bloody motionless form on the cellar floor, so sure that she was too late, that he was gone to her forever. And all she had thought was that it couldn't be true because they were meant to have known each other for much longer, for years, for lifetimes. And then she had admonished herself for such a bizarre sentimental thought about a man she barely knew.
And now she felt the same thing, the self-flagellation for believing in old gypsy tales of fated acquaintance even as she bared her heart to him in a most uncustomary way. She looked away deliberately as she wondered what he was thinking, praying he wasn't taking it as some awkward come on.
When she finally dared to take a peek at his expression, he was smiling at her so broadly she didn't know how to react. He was generally so somber but for his dry witty moments and for a second she wondered if he was playing with her mind. But any fears were put to rest when he finally spoke.
"You are totally picking up what I'm throwing down, Scully," he said with a satisfied tone, the excitement in his eyes gleaming for a millisecond before his smile abruptly faded and his countenance shifted.
"But that doesn't mean I should be dragging you into my world, Scully," he continued, guilt dripping off his every word. "That's why I stopped calling - I didn't want pull you in."
He had returned to his lost forlorn look and she could sense his demons crawling across the floor, ready to latch on to his insecurities.
"I know, Mulder. But I'm already in. So you may as well call next time or else I'll have to come and kick your ass for letting things get so bad," she said easily as she tugged on his fingertips reassuringly. "I want to help you, Mulder. You need to get out."
"I need to get out? You need to get out, Scully. As far away from me as possible. Don't you understand? You could have died. I'm a goddamn FBI agent and I fucked it up. You should have been at home in bed but you had to save my sorry ass from a fucking serial killer. You could have died and it would have been my fault," he intoned angrily, ignoring her placating words.
"Mulder, let's get this straight now. I do what I want to do. My choices are my own and you do not have the right to take the blame for my decisions. I could have kept you in the hospital, I could have let you walk right out, I could have stayed in the car. I did what I had to do and I will never regret my choice," she replied sternly, still playing aimlessly with his taut fingers.
"But I forced you into that choice, Scully. If I hadn't flipped out and gotten tossed into the loony bin you would have never had to make that decision," he responded, persistently following his line of guilt-filled reasoning.
She was quiet for a moment, looking away from him awkwardly and he hoped that she had caught a ride on his train of thought - that he was not a healthy acquaintance for her, that she really should jump ship before anything else happened.
"But it felt right," she said abruptly, before the censor between her brain and her vocal chords could react to stop her. "Didn't it feel right to you?"
She certainly had good insight, Mulder thought as he mulled over her question. As much as he tried to believe that he hadn't expected her to show up and save his ass, she was right - he had somehow known that she would be coming to get him. And it had definitely felt right.
"What do you think that means, Scully?" he asked quietly.
"I suppose it means I was destined to be answering my phone at strange hours," she replied with a shrug. "And to lead a more adventurous life than expected."
His response was a satisfied and amicable grin. Not only had he been given express permission to be a part of her life but, unlike anytime in the past many months, he actually desired the contact.
"That's right, Scully. Stick with me and your life will never be boring. Have I ever told you about these files I've been finding lately? There was the coolest one about five people that died after getting their livers torn out back in 1933..." he mused comfortably. "I think the killer was eating the livers but there isn't any evidence to back that up..."
She raised one eyebrow in a decidedly skeptical manner but had a hard time resisting a grin all the same.
"I don't know, Mulder, a liver-eating mutant sounds highly unlikely," she said seriously, pinning him with an amused expression of mild incredulity.
Not as unlikely as her continued presence in his life, he thought. And not as unlikely as someone appreciating his inclination towards odd late night conversations. And certainly not as unlikely as him running aground at the feet of the only person in existence that could have helped him at that moment.
Looking at her comfortably sitting next to him wearing over-sized clothing, a doubtful look, and a muted aura of concern, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He had, perhaps, finally found someone who accepted him, listened to him, believed in him.
"Not as unlikely as this, Scully," he said with a satisfied sigh. "Not nearly as unlikely as this."
End
****
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