Disclaimers: I'm just borrowing them. I'll put them back when I'm
done.

Author's note: I was so distressed at the preview for "The Red & the
Black" that I just couldn't rest until I put some words down about it. I'm well aware that this story will be made obsolete in just a few days...but bear with me here...

Whenever he ran, his healthy lungs demanded air and took it freely. This time it was different. The stench and heat were unbearable, and he had to slow down when he got close to the pile of bodies. Some of the charred, twisted remains gave off steam in the chill of morning. Mulder scanned the field, a shudder of horror running the length of his body.

He walked down rows and rows of yellow body bags. He saw fragments: a hand here, a twisted arm there, and had a horrific flashback to every concentration camp photograph he had ever seen. Added to the indelible memories were his own native fear of fire, and he shuddered again and again with each new body he saw.

Not hers. Dear God, please, not hers.

Wrong height. Wrong gender. Someone else's loved one.

A flash of scarlet hair caught his attention and his heart thundered. He went to where the body was being bagged and flashed his ID at the worker. "I want to open it back up."

"Sir, you don't want to see..."

Mulder's hand went reflexively to his gun. "Get away from her."

Overtaxed, exhausted, and sick at heart of his grisly task, the man took two steps backward. Let the poor bastard look.

The gun forgotten, Mulder knelt, stretched out his hand, and took hold of the zipper. No. Until you see her body, there's still a chance.

Open the bag.

If there's an iced tea in that bag...

With an animal's cry, Mulder pulled the zipper back. There was no more thunder in his chest, nor air enough in his lungs save for a single word.

"Scully."

What kind of sick cosmic joke was this, that had burned her body but left her face intact? Mulder wiped away the soot and grime and looked at her expression. There was fear in her clouded blue eyes. Scully had died, and she had died afraid.

Mulder's hand was steady as he swept his fingers over Scully's eyelids, closing them and feeling as if he had closed the only window in his heart. "She was an FBI agent. My partner. Dana Scully."

The workman nodded.

"Write it the hell down! I don't want her left out here to rot! Write it the hell down and let me take the body!" His voice rose in volume and pitch. "Dana Katherine Scully! She turned thirty-four last week. Five feet, two inches, one hundred five pounds. Red hair, blue eyes. Tattoo of a snake on her back! Write, damn you!"

"Sir, let me take you to..."

"Shut up and write!"

"Mulder."

The deep, authoritative voice made Mulder stop his tirade and look up. Skinner was waiting, standing just behind him. "Sir," Mulder whispered. "It's her."

Skinner's face was impassive, but his hands balled themselves up into fists. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He sat on his heels across from Mulder and looked down at Scully's face. "You didn't come with her?"

"No. I had a contact on the phone, and there was a problem. I went to check it out, and Scully was just...gone."

For an instant, Skinner considered a rebuke, but one look at Mulder's face made him change his mind. Mulder had a lock of Scully's hair in his fingers, stroking it idly. Skinner took hold of Mulder's wrist. "Don't do this to yourself."

"It's my fault."

"There'll be time for that later. Right now there's something you have to do." Skinner rose and took out his cell phone, offering it to Mulder. "Or do you want me to take care of it?"

"I...can't." He looked from Scully's face to Skinner's, his eyes enormous with agony.

"It's all right." Skinner scrolled down the list of telephone numbers and punched one into the phone. He took a deep breath. "Mrs. Scully, this is Walter Skinner of the FBI. I'm afraid I have some terrible news..."

In the morgue, Skinner paced back and forth as he waited for Scully's family to arrive. He had gone in the back of the ambulance with the curiously silent Mulder as their friend's body was being transported to Quantico. Neither man had spoken a word the entire trip, and Mulder was still inarticulate. He stood at the head of the autopsy table, a thin, brooding sphinx guarding its secret treasure. Skinner was standing near the window to watch for Mrs. Scully.

"She's here," he told Mulder. "And her son's with her."

"Bill. He came to pick up some of his father's Navy memorabilia." Mulder's head drooped. "I'd forgotten that he was in town. Oh, God."

The morgue attendant opened the door and let Bill and his mother enter the chilled room. "Mr. Skinner," Margaret said quietly. "Thank you for making the call." She turned her head toward Mulder. "Fox," she whispered, holding her arms out to him.

Mulder shook his head wearily. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Scully."

Not to be deterred, Margaret went to him and wrapped her arms around his body. Mulder stiffened and stepped back. "Why are you pulling away from me?"

"Because I don't deserve your kindness."

"Damn straight." Bill came near and inserted himself between his mother and Mulder. "Third time's a charm? Can't kill her on the first two tries, so you get another?"

"Bill!"

"Mr. Scully!"

Margaret and Skinner shouted in unison as Bill took his fist and hit Mulder squarely in the abdomen. Mulder reeled backward, crashing into a cabinet, but somehow remained on his feet. Quickly Skinner charged up to Bill and held his arms behind his back. "I know you're upset, Mr. Scully, but this won't help anything."

"Like hell it won't!"

"Let him go!" Mulder cried. Skinner released Bill's arms and stepped back as Mulder came nearer, wincing at the pain in his stomach and back. "Go on, Bill. Take your best shot. Get it out of your system."

"You're crazy, Mulder, you know that?"

"Hit me! Come on, you've been wanting to do this for months, now. Knock me on my ass!"

Bill's breath was expelled in a hiss as he swung again, splitting his knuckles on Mulder's jaw. Mulder dropped to his knees, then fell backward and lay on the floor.

"Bill, stop this right now! Your sister's body is in this room! Show some respect!"

"I'll show him as much respect as he deserves, Mom." He stood over Mulder, panting, holding his bloody hand with his good one. "Get up, you son of a bitch. Don't make me hit a man who's down."

"I won't." Mulder reached for his gun and tossed it to Bill. "Take it. Shoot me."

Bill leveled the gun at his adversary, blood dripping along the side of the weapon. "Don't tempt me, Mulder."

Skinner approached cautiously. He saw Bill turn toward him, malevolence in his glare, and found the gun pointed at his own head. "Mr. Scully, put down the gun."

"Not a chance."

"Bill, for the love of God..."

"Mom. I know what I'm doing." He turned back to Mulder. "You want me to do it, don't you? You want me to put you out of your misery like the dog you are. Don't even have the guts to do it yourself. You killed my sisters! Both of them!"

"I know that," was the muttered reply. Mulder was ashen and drawn, the only color coming from his green eyes, huge against the thinness of his face. There were silver tears shimmering at the base of his lashes. "Do it, Bill. Please."

Bill pivoted toward Skinner, threatening him with the gun if he moved. "Stay the hell away from me," he growled. "You too, Mom." He leaned over Mulder and put the barrel of the gun next to his temple. "I'm going to kill you right here, right now. And you know how I'm going to do it?"

Everyone in the room froze as Bill threw the gun into the corner and grabbed Mulder's shirt front. "I'm going to do it the way you deserve. I won't shoot you. I won't even hit you. You're going to die slowly and alone, eating yourself up with guilt. And you won't even have the courage to end it yourself. No, Mulder, I want you to live a long, long life so you have all the time in the world to contemplate the truth. You killed Dana. She's dead, and it's because of you. Live with that, you bastard."

There was silence.

The next sound was the most terrible of all.

Mulder's tortured cry split the cold air as his face contorted and he dropped his head on his arms. His weeping was dry and painful and offered him no relief from the burden of ultimate guilt that he would take to his grave. Skinner was busy pinning Bill to the wall and letting him cool off, so Margaret took the place at Mulder's side and drew him into her arms.

"I killed her," Mulder moaned. "She was your only daughter and my only salvation."

"Don't, don't." Margaret's eyes spilled enough tears for them both. "Not now, Fox, with Dana's spirit so close to us. She wouldn't want that. It would have broken her heart."

"I broke her heart. I broke her spirit. She knew the truth all along, and I didn't believe her, and now she's dead..." He pulled himself to his feet, trembling, and went to the table in a few long strides. "Scully, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...Hear me, Scully...I'm sorry..." He took the bag into his arms and began to pull down the zipper.

"Fox! No!" Margaret screamed, horrified.

His hand froze as a gap appeared in the bag. There was a drip on the floor, and another.

A pool of green liquid began to form.

Mulder shoved Mrs. Scully toward the door. "Out! Everyone out of here, NOW!" The four of them ran into the hall and Mulder slammed the door.

"What the hell is that green stuff?" Bill demanded.

Skinner stared at Mulder, his mouth agape. "A construct A clone?"

"I don't understand..." Margaret whispered.

Mulder's eyes slid shut and his shoulders shook. "It's not her. It's not her."

"Agent Mulder!" The voice was Jeffrey Spender's, accompanied by the sound of running footfall. "Don't touch the body. It's..."

"I know." Mulder turned in the direction of the voice and heard a second, wearier step.

High heels.

"Mulder?"

Pandemonium.

Margaret clasped Scully in her arms and smothered her with kisses. "My baby, my baby," she crooned in delight as Bill embraced them both.

"Spender, what's going on here?" Skinner demanded.

"I found her wandering at the edge of the clearing, by the bridge. She seemed confused, somehow. She was bleeding."

"Bleeding?"

"Yes sir." Spender swallowed air, looking nervously at the family reunion a few feet to his right. "Agent Scully took a pocket knife and was cutting at the back of her own neck."

"The implant. Oh, God." Mulder loped over to Scully and pulled her hair aside.

"It's still there, Mulder," Scully told him over the heads of her mother and brother. "I saw the Bounty Hunter. The one who killed all those people. He had a woman with him, a clone, just like Samantha, but of me. That's when I knew I had to get away."

Mulder's fingers traced the line of blood at the nape of her neck. "I don't think you got too close to it. I want you to get x-rayed, just in case, to make sure it's okay in there."

"I'm fine, Mulder," she began, then met his eyes. She saw the anguish there, and the regret, and her heart warmed toward him. With a reluctant motion she freed herself from her family's arms and walked slowly to her partner.

"It's real, isn't it, Scully?" he asked softly.

"It's the truth."

He looked sadly at the floor, unable to meet the delft blue of her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Mulder."

There was no response.

"Mulder, look at me." She lifted his chin and forced his eyes up. "You look like hell."

"I've just been there."

"But now you're back." Her arms went around him and held him even as he slipped to his knees and rested his head against her waist. His tears flowed at last, the horror releasing its grip on him, the guilt absolved in the touch of Scully's hands in his hair.

Bill started to move toward them, but one look at Skinner's stern face convinced him to stay with his mother. Margaret inclined her head toward the end of the hallway and led the men away from the tableau.

"I love you, Mom," Scully mouthed.

Margaret whispered back: "I'll light a candle for you both."

Scully felt the corners of Mulder's mouth turn up. "What?"

"Your mother." He lifted his tear-streaked face; Scully had never seen anything so warm and beautiful in her life. "Only your mother would fight fire with fire."

As Scully leaned over and pressed her lips to Mulder's forehead, a new flame burned brightly and forged a union that could never be broken again.

END