TITLE: Mirror Images (4/42) AUTHOR: Ana Vicente RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: X KEYWORDS: MS friendship SUMMARY: Indicated on Mirror Images head page. SPOILERS: The End, Little Green Men TIMELINE: Indicated on Mirror Images head page. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files trademark, concepts and characters are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television, 1013 Production and Chris Carter. No infringement intended. ARCHIVE: Just let me know about it (before hand would be nice:)). FINISHED: August 9th 2000 APPROXIMATE SIZE: 9K (4 pages) FEEDBACK: Constructive criticism would be much appreciated, whether or not you liked it. To Thorn17@mailcity.com or alienmoon76@hotmail.com. All flames will be sent to Kaye to light her pipe. ICQ: #86468911 WEBPAGE: http://members.tripod.com/Thorn17 AUTHOR'S NOTES: None whatsoever. ------- + ------- 4 The faint light traveling down from the small windows near the ceiling pierced through the dimness of the room in the shape of immaterial blades that melted into grayish dust when they touched the burnt remains of many lives. To many it would look like nothing but the charred skeleton of an old file cabinet. Others would recognize it as the origin point of the fire that had ravaged the room. He knew better. That filing cabinet had once contained all the records pertaining to the X-Files. The X-Files' purpose was to investigate any strange occurrences that didn't quite fell under the scope of any other of the Bureau's sections. Inside each folder, underlying each sheet of paper, had been the fears of many people - people struggling to understand what they had experienced while trying to convince themselves and others that they weren't verging insanity. Those people had turned to the Bureau for explanations, for help, but after a while the Bureau had stopped listening, or had been made deaf - he just didn't know anymore. The X-Files had remained in that same basement, buried in people's memories and in the heavy lace of dusty cobwebs, until the day he had accidentally stumbled upon them. He had read them, the words of people he had never met, some of them long dead, echoing his own memories, his own fears. He had succeeded in having the unit reopen and for the following years those files had been the axis around which his life revolved. It was going on seven years. Now, it was all gone, and his fears had changed and grown. Standing against the doorframe, he again looked around the room. He couldn't understand why they hadn't cleared it up yet. He had already removed the few of the dog-eared paper backs, of the ancient leather-bound yellow-paged books, of the boxes filled with blurred photographs of ovoid lights the fire hadn't consumed or rendered useless. He would've expected them to want everything forgotten as swiftly as possible. He entered the room slowly. Scully and he had given so much of themselves, they had given up so much, lost so much; and he was beginning to wonder if it had all been worth it. His foot struck something lying on the floor. He crouched and picked up a black plastic plaque with the words FOX MULDER, Special Agents, in a white bas-relief. He blew away the ashen dust that was gathering in the letters. A hand fell gently on his shoulder. "It won't bring them back," a warm feminine voice said. "Stop torturing yourself." Mulder looked up, a broad smile greeting his partner. He held her hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. "You look terrible; must've been one wild party. Go girl!" She didn't reply to his remark with the usual snappish complicity. "Wild is good word for it." She gave his hand a slight tug before releasing it and heading for the stairs. "Aren't you coming?" Torn between her and that room, he glanced one last time at the spot on the wall where a poster depicting a presumed UFO hovering over a field to which the words I WANT TO BELIEVE had been superimposed had hung. Then he trailed after Scully, catching up with her in a few wide strides. "So, what happened?" "One of my friends were attacked as we were leaving the party," she said. Mulder leaned towards her, not hiding his interest. "Attacked by whom? Or should I say by *what*?" Scully smiled patiently at the question. "Tom's attacker was a perfectly normal-looking individual. And there was nothing paranormal about the attack itself, even if it was unusually violent." She looked straight at him. "In case you were wondering." "Was he hurt bad?" he asked, ignoring her final remark. "The attacker tore a piece of flesh from his face," she said, her fingers fleeting across her own cheek." Mulder grimaced. "Ouch! How did he do that?" "I'm not sure. The resulting would was like nothing I've ever seen." They had reached their new working stations, two desks pushed together, face-to-face, lost in the middle of the many other desk occupying the vast room that housed part of the Violent Crime Section. At least, this time they hadn't been separated, although their situation was still under assessment. The first time the X-Files had been shut down, Scully had been returned to her original assignment as an instructor at Quantico and he had been reassigned to Intelligence, Communications and Surveillance. But he and Scully were one of the best investigating teams of the VCS, with one of the highest case resolution percentages, no matter what anyone thought of their beliefs and methods. He figured that was why they were still together. He smiled to himself. The kind of cases the X-Files had comprehended would continue to occur, the FBI would continue to be called in. The unit wasn't truly closed. The X-files weren't a pile of dusty files in a basement room; the X-Files were the two of them. Scully sat behind her desk and he pulled his chair around the desks, sitting close to her. "How's your friend doing?" She placed her bag on top of the desk. "He suffered severe blood losses but he seems to be recovering well." Mulder saw the confusion underlying the weariness in her expression. "Except that ... " "He has amnesia. I suppose it's not unusual after a traumatic experience ..." She lapsed into silence. "I'd say someone cutting out a piece of you face certainly qualifies a s a traumatic experience." He stared intently at her face. "What exactly is bothering you?" "You're the psychology expert here, not me - " "When did that ever stop you?" he teased. She went on, not missing a beat, " - but I can't remember ever hearing of a case like Tom's. His amnesia is ... strange, to say the least. By the time I got to the hospital, after helping the police with a composite of the attacker, Tom was already getting amnesic." "*Getting* amnesic?" Mulder echoed. "You mean he was already amnesic when - " "I meant exactly what I said. That's what I find so strange about it. From what I was told, when Tom arrived at the hospital, his memory was fine. Then he started not being able to recall certain things and it gradually got worse," she said. "He randomly lost all memory of particular events from his past. He also seemed to be forgetting things as they happened. One minute he knew exactly who I was, suddenly he'd be turning to me and asking me who I was what I was doing there." She ran her fingers through her hair, hesitating. "And, at the same time, there seemed to be very specific rhythm to the whole process. It was almost as if his memory was being ... drained." "It's not exactly your textbook case," Mulder agreed, disappointed. "But we both know how peculiar the human mind can be. We're only now beginning to understand the mechanism both of the brain and amnesia." "You're starting to sound like me," she pointed out. "Only because you're starting to sound like me." He smiled. "Balance, you know." The phone on her desk started ringing, startling them. Mulder picked it up. "Mulder here. Yes, she is. Just a second." He handed Scully the receiver. "Detective Weller. Last night?" She nodded, her furrowed brow smoothing. "Detective Weller?" She listened carefully to what he was saying. "Yes, of course I can. I'll be there in a bout twenty minutes." Mulder watched her hang up the phone and pick up her purse. "What happened?" "They've apprehended a suspect. They need a positive identification," she replied. "That was quick," he said. "Tom's attacker isn't exactly inconspicuous," she said. He stood up and grabbed his jacket. His curiosity had been piqued. "Mind if I go with you?" It wasn't really a question. "This case is starting to sound interesting." "Just don't embarrass me," she said, suppressing a smile. "This isn't our case and it certainly isn't an X-File." "When did I ever embarrass you?" he asked, stopping as they were heading out, and sounding genuinely offended. She didn't reply and continued walking. He speeded up to catch up with her. "Scully?!" END OF CHAPTER 4