A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY(1/2)

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY(1/2)
By Anonymous

Yvonne will accept feedback for this author at yvonne@ihug.co.nz. Please indicate that the
feedback is for Anonymous.

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and the
X-Files and X-Files characters are the property of 20th Century Fox,
Fox Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. No infringement is intended.

LOGLINE
When Mulder seemingly goes off the rails, it's up to Scully to track him and
she begins to learn that a case they hadn't solved had more of an impact on
Mulder than Scully had originally thought.

*****

My hands are tied; I'm nailed to the floor -
Feel like I'm knocking on the Unknown Door.
There's a gun at my back and a blade at my throat -
I keep on finding hate mail in the pocket of my coat.
Well I've been trying to grow I been cooling my heels
I have been working in the treadmill I been working in the fields -
And I can't get to sleep and I can't catch my breath
I can't stop talking and I look like death;
But I will put Right this disgrace, I will rearrange you.
If you'll be my enemy, I'll be your enemy, too.
(Mike Scott)

It shouldn't have happened. The rain-slicked roads which had given rise
to several accidents throughout the day were drying off as the rain
dissipated. If only she had gotten more sleep the night before. If only he
weren't angry at something that had happened at home. If only either of
them had seen the man staggering out from the underbrush, one side of his
face bruised and bloodied, clothes dirty and tattered, eyes glazed with
fear, horror in whatever it was that had happened to him. If only either of
them had been paying attention, it could have been avoided.
Her brakes locked as she screamed. She was thrown viciously forward, the
seatbelt of the older car not holding her. Her forehead cracked the
windshield as she slumped, unconscious. The car skidded slightly,
shuddered, then plowed into his car. Fortunately, he had an airbag.
Unfortunately, he hadn't buckled his seatbelt. His broken body lay pinned
as his car took off the front of the other car.
The fire exploded into a ball of fury and consumed both cars. The man,
already badly injured, already knocked off his feet by the crumpled bumper
of a car, could only watch helplessly and cover his head as the fire burned.
He coughed, his ragged throat swelling as he breathed in the fumes. He
should get up. I should get up, he thought dazedly. I should go...where?
He looked up. The flames were getting closer. The two cars were blackened
husks. He rubbed his eyes. Something was moving. Something was alive.
The man somehow staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the searing pain
that shot through his leg. He limped forward, eyes on the movement ahead of
him.
It was a woman. He couldn't believe it. She was walking towards him,
unmindful of the carnage. The fire didn't bother her. She didn't even
notice it. He stared at her as she approached. She appeared completely
unharmed by the accident.
"Are you all right?" he shouted hoarsely. She smiled at him, a knowing,
half-smile that make him shudder. An alarm in his brain went off. Run.
Away. But he couldn't. He was riveted.
"Who are you?" he said as she got closer. She stopped and looked deeply
into his eyes.
"I have come for you," she whispered. He stepped backwards, on his guard.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"Who are YOU?" she inquired pleasantly. He shook his head, trying to
clear it. She should be covered in soot, at the very least, but she stood
before him, pristine in a dark green dress and cloak. Her hair was covered
by the green hood, which he would've thought odd if he had been of sound
mind. Her blue eyes bored through his. He had to get away.
"That's right, run. Run as far as you can. But it won't matter."
She moved sideways, almost shimmering. Suddenly she was somebody else.
A young girl, whose trusting gaze met his. He stared at her. The girl
frightened him more than the woman.
"You can't run away," the girl's high voice said. He had to touch her.
He reached out a shaky hand but the girl spun and disappeared. The woman
glared severely at him.
"None of that," she scolded. He wanted to cry. His shoulders slumped.
"Why won't you tell me who you are?" he asked softly.
"You'll know soon enough," she said. And with that, she was gone. The
man was left standing, shell-shocked, in front of a massive accident with
two dead drivers. That alarm in his head told him that he shouldn't be
caught here. Wincing, he turned and limped back away from the road.

*****

He remembered the light -- intense, blinding, dazzling light. He saw it,
thought about it, processed it. Suddenly, that dim part of his brain that
was responsible for self-preservation remarked to the other, more crucial
parts of his brain that the light was not only growing brighter but was also
accompanied by a rumbling and loud honking. His eyes shot open and he had
enough presence of mind to fling himself out of the way of the semi, which
roared past him, the winds ruffling his hair and the closeness making him
shake. The truck rumbled to a halt, the cab door opened, and a figure
hopped down and raced towards him, John Deere cap protecting him from the
driving rain. The figure slowed as it got closer and he could make out a
short but well-built man, peering at him anxiously.
"Hey, buddy, you okay? I didn't hit you, did I? God, are you okay?"
He had stopped shaking and was now shivering. He managed to pull himself
to his knees and he stared dazedly at the trucker.
"I --" he croaked, "You didn't hit me."
The trucker sagged in relief. He knelt down, oblivious of the rain.
"How'd you get out here in the middle of nowhere? You need some help?"
The man wanted more than anything to accept the trucker's offer of help,
but a part of him that he couldn't recognize, couldn't put his finger on,
told him that this would be a mistake. He slowly got to his feet and stood,
swaying. The trucker caught him as he fell.
"You're in bad shape, my friend. Come on, I'll give you a ride to town."
The man stiffened in terror and all senses screamed at him to run, but
his battered body wouldn't comply. Nearly helpless, he let the trucker
settle him into the cab of the truck. The trucker handed him a thermos
of coffee.
"Here. You gotta get something hot in ya. Name's Clem. What's yours?"
He stared at Clem, uncomprehending. Clem frowned as he pulled back out
onto the interstate.
"Your name, buddy. Maybe I should take you to the hospital."
"No," he said quickly, "no hospital. I'm fine. I just..." His voice
trailed off as he realized that he had no clue what lie to tell. Clem's
concern for the dazed man was growing. He desperately needed help, Clem
thought as the man began coughing. A deep cut on the man's forehead had
opened up again and oozed blood. The man's complexion was pale with shock
and illness. It was obvious that the man hadn't eaten in days, weeks maybe,
and the dull look in his eyes indicated fever. But Clem somehow knew that
this man wouldn't accept his help.
"Where are we?" the man asked quietly. Startled, Clem looked at him.
He'd been positive that the man had either passed out or fallen asleep.
He'd finished the coffee and a little color had come back to his cheeks.
"Central Valley," Clem answered. The man cocked his head.
"Central valley of what?" he asked innocently. Shit, Clem thought.
Maybe I oughta just club him on the head so he passes out so I can get him
some help.
"California," Clem said cautiously, watching for the man's reaction out
of the corner of his eye. The rain had stopped, thankfully. Clem had
avoided a bullet when the rain had cleared away the Tule fog, but the five
solid hours of storms had made Clem's wishes seem like a bad thing. The man
nodded matter-of-factly to Clem's answer, like he was neither surprised nor
shocked to find himself in California. Clem had been driving almost all of
his life, and there was no California in the man's accent. Back East,
possibly. Clem gave himself a mental shake and made a note to see if the
guy had any ID. He wanted to help him, sure, but what if he were dangerous?
Or wanted? That gave Clem an idea and fortuitously, his favorite greasy
spoon was just up the road. He signaled and carefully took the off-ramp,
hoping that it didn't look like he'd suddenly made the decision.
"Where are we going?" the man asked. Damn, but he was a sharp one! That
made Clem even more nervous. The guy was sick and hurt but he was also
somewhat paranoid. Clem was beginning to think that being a good Samaritan
wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
"I been on the road for hours," Clem said with practiced casualness,
"thought it'd be nice to get some chow. You hungry?" The man stared at
Clem for a long moment and Clem flinched. The man's gaze was penetrating
the very depths of his soul. Clem tried to think about a mess of scrambled
eggs, some bacon, and strong coffee, hoping the man would just see that he
was hungry. Finally the man nodded, satisfied.
"Sounds good. Um --" the man broke off, embarrassed as he searched his
pockets. Clem shrugged, somewhat relieved that the man didn't have any
money. Couldn't be a bank robber or a thief is he didn't have any money.
"Forget it, friend. It's on me," Clem said easily. The man looked so
grateful that it was pathetic. Clem stepped out of the cab, hustling over
to the passenger side as the man crumpled to the ground. He grinned a wry
grin as Clem helped him to his feet.
"Farther down than it looked," the man said, not a trace of irony in his
voice. Clem felt a pang of sympathy.
"They got great eggs here," he said as he started to sling the man's arm
around his shoulders. The man shook his head and made a conscious attempt
to stand on his own. He was paler, but fairly steady as they walked into
the diner.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

XAngst Anonymous Member T h e
Smart Young X-Phile #276 - -
Lone Gunwoman #41 \ /
Melissketeer X Skinner Chick
Extreme Possibilities Member / \ EMXC
Mysterious & Suspicious Founder - - -Riley-
X-Files Fan Fic Lover F i l e s
Co-Founder Anti-Spellin' Brigade (tm)
_________________________________________________________________________
Visit the M&S homepage http://www.lexcorp.com/x-files
Charctavius of the New Triumverate

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (2/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Clem wolfed down his meal and tried to avoid watching the man pick at his.
It was obvious that he needed food, that he hadn't eaten in days, but Clem
couldn't force him. Madeleine, now, she'd make this guy eat.
"Having a wonderful time, wish you were her," the man mumbled absently.
Clem almost blew eggs out of his nose. The man looked at him, a crooked
grin on his face. He'd cleaned himself up some and washed the blood and
dirt off his face. He looked almost presentable now, although the waitress
had looked at him with that motherly concern women get. Clem almost felt
jealous at the attention. He got the feeling that his companion received
this type of attention a lot. Since the man was obviously a lot less
disoriented now, Clem felt that it was high time to try and get some answers.
"So..." Clem began, then stopped. He had no idea what to ask. The man
didn't remember his name, didn't remember how he'd gotten to California,
where he was from, or if he was in any trouble. Clem couldn't very well
come out and ask him for his ID. He probably didn't have any on him anyway.
He didn't have a jacket, he'd obviously been wearing his clothes for weeks
and he had no luggage. Yep, Clem thought, he was definitely on the run.
Maybe he was a secret agent, a spy, running for his life. Like The
Fugitive, Clem's favorite show next to The Prisoner. Maybe he WAS Number 6.
He'd escaped and -- Clem gave himself a mental shake. The man was staring
at him, somewhat bemused, as if he'd been reading Clem's thoughts. That
ticked Clem off. Fuck off, he thought rudely. The man's expression didn't
waver. This guy is whip-smart, Clem decided. He's been reading me ever
since I shoved him into the rig. He doesn't belong on the road, running
from whatever it is he's running from. Clem gave up all pretense of being
the sly investigator. This guy would just see right through him.
"Look, you're obviously in some kind of trouble and I want to help, I
really do. If there's anyone I can call, I'll be happy to. I could poke
around a bit, find out if..." Shit. Blew it again. The man took a small
sip of coffee but still hadn't touched his eggs.
"If I'm wanted, you mean?" the man asked. Clem thought about denying it
but gave up. It wouldn't do him any good.
"Uh, yeah," Clem said reluctantly. The man grinned again.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but..." the man hesitated, frowning. Clem
leaned forward. The man once again gone pale as he looked out the window of
the diner. Clem followed his gaze. There was nothing out there. The man's
breaths were coming faster now and he was in danger of hyperventilating.
Clem looked around. The scattered truckers were staring. Clem leaned forward.
"Hey, buddy, you okay?" he asked. The man's fevered gaze was locked on
something invisible. He was gasping for breath, muttering at the same time.
Shit. He was freaking out. Drug addict. Clem hadn't counted on that.
Tentatively, Clem reached out and touched the man's sleeve. He jerked back
violently, swinging his wild gaze towards Clem. Clem quickly slid out of
the booth, scared to death.
"There's nothing out there! What's the matter with you? What's wrong?"
Clem said nervously. The man blinked, very slowly, then sagged against the
booth, looking worse than ever. Clem chanced a look around. Everyone had
gone back to their meals. Clem warily sat down again, his eyes focused on
his companion. The man closed his eyes, his chin sagging to his chest.
Clem was about to get up and just call the damned police when the man looked
up, clear-eyed once more. He turned and looked outside, through the rain,
for what felt like eternity.
"You can't come in here," he said softly. Clem looked outside once more.
He shook his head in frustration. Nothing. He looked at the man.
"Okay, look. You're on something, and --"
"No drugs," the man interrupted.
"I'm not giving you any, you crazy cuss, it's obvious that you're on
something," Clem said angrily. This guy was definitely NOT user-friendly.
"I'm not on anything," the man said loudly," I can assure you of that."
"Yeah? How come you can't assure me of anything else, like your name,
where you're from, how you got here?" Clem said, still miffed. The man
shook his head.
"I don't know," he whispered, "I don't know who I am. I just know
certain...things...about myself...images..." The man looked out the window
again, and Clem again felt that pang of sympathy.
"Look, buddy," he said softly," I wanna help you, I really do, but I got
a load to deliver. I can either drop you at the sheriff's, the hospital, or
you can ride along with me to the end of my route."
The man looked down at his congealed breakfast and sighed.
"You've done enough. Thank you." The man slid slowly out of the booth.
"Hey, where ya gonna go?" Clem asked, alarmed. The man turned.
"The way I was going, I suppose," he said softly.
"At least ride with me," Clem said. The man smiled slightly, then shook
his head.
"I don't want to get you involved," he said.
"In what?" Clem asked, puzzled. The man shook his head.
"I don't know," he said grimly, "but I know there's something..." The man
paused, tilted his head as if something had just occurred to him He leaned
down close to Clem, looking him in the eye.
"I have some advice for you," he said. Clem nodded slowly, mesmerized by
this man's focused gaze.
"Trust no one," the man whispered. Clem stared as Fox Mulder
straightened up and slowly, carefully made his way out of the diner.

*****

Office of the X-Files
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington DC

Dana Scully held her breath as the fax machine beeped. Assistant
Director Skinner hovered just behind her, seemingly even more on edge than
she was. Scully wanted to slug him. The curled paper slowly and
tantalizingly pushed through the machine. Scully said a quick prayer,
reached out and was soon staring into the haggard face of her partner.
Mulder. My God. Wordlessly, she handed the fax to Skinner, heard the sharp
intake of his breath. The room began to spin and Scully sank into the
nearest chair.
"Agent Scully," Skinner said softly. Scully squeezed her eyes shut,
trying desperately to ignore the image, to ignore the present. Skinner
touched her shoulder.
"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively. Scully nodded, eyes still
shut. She was all right. She was always all right. She could handle
anything. Scully drew a deep breath and stood, turning to face Skinner.
She steeled herself as she took the fax from his hand. Mulder's mug shot
stared out at her. His mug shot. Christ. He looked horrible, drawn and
pale, haunted. Even through the grainy fax his eyes were deep pools of
emotion. They screamed at her, through her. Scully's hand began to tremble
again. Shut it off. Stop it. This isn't going to help him. It won't help
you either, for that matter. Skinner watched and waited for Scully to pull
herself together. A soft sigh escaped her and she drew herself up tall,
squaring her shoulders. Skinner smiled inwardly. He met her level gaze.
"He didn't do it."
Skinner sighed. She was going to fight him. He should expect it, of
course. Hell, he didn't believe it, either. But there was all that
evidence, and Scully was, above all else, a scientist. Mulder's gun with
Mulder's fingerprints. Witnesses. And Fox William Mulder, right in the
middle of it all. Skinner gently took the fax away again, folded it in
quarters, and put it in his pocket. He needed Scully on this one, needed
her in one piece, no matter what the outcome. If Mulder had done it, he
needed Scully to help him figure out why. And if he hadn't...then he had
been set-up, and Scully was the only other person in his division who knew
what that meant. Scully could get to Ben...Skinner stopped that line of
thinking. When the day came that he needed Ben, then Walter Skinner had
lost control. And it was too early for that.
"Agent Scully, look at the evidence. It would be an open and shut case --"
"If Mulder hadn't run," Scully finished. Skinner nodded. If Mulder
hadn't somehow escaped from the small county jail in Colorado. If and only
if...then Skinner wouldn't have to give these orders to Scully.
"He's a felon, Scully. He's running from the law. All the evidence
points to the fact that he killed two people in cold blood, bashed a deputy
over the head and nearly killed him, in his fervor to escape. You haven't
seen him in a week."
"That's right, Sir, I haven't. And neither have you. We don't know what
happened, what..." Scully stopped, her throat suddenly constricting. Fuck,
Mulder, what's going on? Why haven't you called? Where are you? Scully's
vision blurred but she angrily kept her tears in check, reminding herself
that they were as much tears of frustration as tears of concern, of pain, of
weakness.
"But we need to find him," Skinner gently reminded her, "and I hate to do
this, I really do..."
Scully stared at him, disbelieving.
"You are NOT going to take me off this case!" she said incredulously.
Skinner shook his head quickly.
"No, of course not. But you have to understand, Scully, this is a Bureau
matter now..." Skinner could barely finish. The irony of it all left him
cold, so cold. It shouldn't have to be like this...but Skinner was so
afraid that Mulder HAD been set-up that he felt rushed, like he had to get
to Mulder before THEY did. He looked at Scully. He didn't have to finish.
She was staring at him, hatred in her eyes. They were so close, he reminded
himself, to imagine that Mulder had gone off the rails was one thing, but to
think that he was a cold-blooded murderer who needed --
"You're assigning another agent," Scully said in that icy deadly voice.
Skinner nodded wearily, waiting for the flood. Scully slammed her fist into
the desk and Skinner jumped. He knew what Scully was feeling right now.
He'd had to do it before, long ago, with Ben, and it didn't feel good. It
wasn't right to have to change everything you felt and believed in one
fell swoop, but he didn't have a choice.
"Scully, the brass feels like we have to make a move here. If we don't,
Mulder doesn't have a chance."
"But I know him better than anyone else, and there's a good chance that
nobody can find him but me!" Scully said angrily. Skinner nodded again.
"I know. But you of all people has to face the fact that maybe --"
Skinner hesitated, "-- maybe Mulder's not the same person anymore." Scully
turned away abruptly, staring sightlessly at her computer. She turned her
back on Mulder's desk, on his disorganized side of the office. Maybe
Mulder's not the same person anymore. Why am I the only one who has any
faith in him! Scully thought furiously. He's in trouble. He's...Scully
remembered the case, the last one they'd worked on. The one they hadn't
solved. She remembered Mulder's sweaty, ashen face as he stammered FBI
rhetoric at the devastated parents of five-year-old Sallie Mott. She
remembered Mulder's face crumple, the way he curled up in the passenger seat
of the car as she desperately tried to get him to talk to her. And she
remembered the sobs that she wasn't supposed to hear, all the anguish of a
lifetime tearing into him. Scully bit her lip, cursing herself. She hadn't
seen it, not really. Why this case affected him so much remained a mystery.
But he'd been fine the next day, a little withdrawn, a little quiet, not
really up to the usual Mulder banter...he'd been fine, and Scully had
accepted it. And then he was gone, and now this.
She needed to figure out why he'd run off, what had happened to him
during the Mott investigation that ripped him apart. And she needed to do
that alone. But she also realized that Skinner was under as much pressure
as she was and that he wouldn't screw her. He couldn't. Could he? Scully
stared at him for a long moment. Should she trust him?
Actually, the problem wasn't so much trusting Skinner but trusting those
she didn't even know. Trusting the men in the shadows who would kill Mulder
or embrace him. She just never knew...but if she caused any trouble at all,
she was certain that Skinner would bench her. And that couldn't happen.
She turned back to Skinner.
"Who's the agent?" she asked quietly. Skinner sagged slightly, grateful
to see Scully, at least, in one piece.
"Will Orsatti," Skinner said. Scully frowned. Skinner went on, slightly
embarrassed. "A psychologist. He went through the National Academy program
and...he needs this for his record. He's being recruited by ISU --" Skinner
stopped, aware of the implications. He didn't think Scully needed to hear
this right now, but her mouth twisted into a gruesome smile.
"He sounds like Spooky Mulder," she said slowly. Skinner nodded,
suddenly needing to get out of this fucking basement. It was stifling in
here. Scully read his mind.
"Send him down, would you, when he's ready. We should get on this as
soon as possible," Scully said crisply. Skinner nodded and without a
backwards glance, turned and left the office. Scully let out a breath, sat
down, and desperately craved a cigarette. She made do with some lukewarm
coffee, then she turned on her computer and went to work, trying to
reconstruct everything that had happened during the Mott case.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (3/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

'But ye maun go wi me now, Thomas,
True Thomas, Ye maun go wi me,
For ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro weel or wae as may chance to be.'

August 17th
North of Redding, California

Mulder splashed the cold creek water on his face, resisting the urge to
dunk his head in. It was cold outside and getting colder. Mulder coughed.
Besides, he was already sick. He stared at his reflection in the creek,
trying desperately to remember something, anything. Even his own face
looked alien to him. His eyes looked haunted, like they had seen the
ultimate horror and would never look upon the world in the same way again.
He shuddered and dried his face on his sleeve. What he wouldn't give for a
shower.
His leg may not be broken but it sure hurt like hell. No matter how much
it hurt, though, Mulder knew that he had to keep going. He had to get to
the top of this damned mountain. Maybe if he knew why, the trip would be
more tolerable. There was something inside Mulder, urging him forward,
pushing him to some end. Preferably an end that is in my best interest, he
thought dryly. Even the pit of pain in his chest wasn't as bad as the
stabbing pain in his leg. Mulder passed the time by identifying the
different pains in his body. It took about twenty minutes.
He began to weaken almost immediately. The temperature was really
dropping out here and Mulder turned and blindly crashed through the trees.
The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen. Mulder hesitated, but she
grinned cheerfully, reached over and opened the passenger door of the old
Ford pick-up.
"Come on, cowboy, I won't bite," she said. Mulder shrugged and slowly
limped towards the truck. He nearly collapsed but managed to pull himself
in. The girl looked at him with concern.
"Shit, you don't look too good. You sick?" she asked. Mulder nodded
through another coughing fit. He hadn't wanted to move towards the road but
he knew that he couldn't spend another night in the forest. His cough was
dangerously bad and his leg was even worse. The girl shifted the truck into
gear, applied the gas, and the truck jerked forward. Mulder winced. She
looked at him.
"Sorry," she said. "I ain't been doing this too long. What's your name?"
Mulder sighed. She didn't seem to notice.
"Mine's Abby May Hartley. You can just call me Abby, though. Only Dex
and Doyle call me Abby May. Sounds hick, don't it?" Mulder shrugged.
"It's a nice name," he said quietly. It was stifling in the truck and
Mulder was having a hard time getting air. He rolled the window down. That
didn't help. Abby took a corner on two wheels, one eye on Mulder.
"You gonna die on me, Mister?" she asked fearfully. Mulder gave her a
wan smile and shook his head, trying to breathe. What in the hell was wrong
with him? Fluid in the lungs, some unanswerable part of him said. He tried
to stay calm, tried to breathe slowly, wheezing.

An office
Washington DC

He breathed the shadows. Sometimes he liked to think that he was a
wraith, able to come and go by the shadows. It made him careful. It made
him cautious. His hard eyes glinted with distaste at the young man in front
of him. He didn't like these...people. He only used them in extreme cases,
and this had certainly been one. He'd never had to reprimand one before and
if the truth be known, he was rather nervous about the whole thing. The man
didn't move, didn't twitch, apparently didn't breathe. He awaited his
punishment, even if it meant murder. His life for a mistake. What did it
matter to the men in the shadows? The wraith spoke.
"You have made a grave error." His harsh voice was raspy, threatening.
The young man inclined his head, eyes still blank, devoid of even the fear
of self-preservation.
"I understand, Sir. I had no idea that the subject would react in this
manner."
"Indeed," the wraith said wryly.
"It would give me great pleasure to acquire the target once more."
The wraith smiled coldly.
"I'm sure it would. But I believe you should count yourself lucky that
you still have your health," he said easily. The young man frowned, the
first display of emotion yet.
"The target is null and void. It is irrelevant now."
"My job --"
"Is over," the wraith said with finality. "You have failed. The target
is no more. We are a careful people and we do not right wrongs with more
wrongs. You have your assignment. I suggest you leave this room with no
further argument."
The young man nodded crisply, turned eloquently on his heel, and
disappeared soundlessly. The wraith sighed. He hadn't felt good about this
assignment. It was too gaudy, too out on the open. Too many people had
their eyes on the prize and although it would give him great pleasure to
snatch it out from underneath the noses of others, this was not to be the
time. He didn't like dealing with the young man and his cohorts, but at
least he could trust them. The emotionless were very trustworthy.

*****
'O no, O no, True Thomas,' she says,
'That fruit maun not be touched by thee,
For a' the plagues that are in hell
Light on the fruit of this countrie.'

August 17th
North of Redding, California

The truck slammed to a halt and Mulder jolted awake. Abby May Hartley
bounded out of the truck and ran up to the door of a dilapidated cabin,
screaming at the top of her lungs. Mulder wheezed, wishing that he'd stayed
unconscious. The door to the cabin slammed and Abby emerged with an
enormous man. She half-dragged him to the truck and he peered at Mulder,
then smacked Abby upside the head.
"He ain't dead," the man said scornfully. Abby's eyes widened as she saw
Mulder looking at her. Her big blue eyes filled with tears and she flung
her arms around his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. Mulder's wheezing got
worse. The enormous man pried Abby's skinny arms off Mulder's neck and
opened the passenger door.
"Shit, you a mess," he proclaimed. "Let's get you in the house."
Mulder could hardly protest. The enormous man slung Mulder's arm around
his neck and carried him into the cabin, Abby clinging to Mulder's other
arm. He rather gently deposited Mulder on a threadbare sofa and then pulled
up a chair. He sat down and looked Mulder over.
"Abby May, call Doc Hardin. Tell him we got a guy with some kinda leg
injury and he can't breathe."
The frightened Abby nodded and dashed out of the cabin. Mulder's fevered
gaze rested on the man.
"I --" he croaked. The man glared at him.
"You shut up, you hear? Shit, Abby May's gonna have to run two miles to
get the Doc and she'll kill me if you die on me fore she gets back. I'm
Doyle, by the way. Abby's...uncle," he said by way of introduction. He
shook Mulder's limp hand.
"And you don't know who you are, right?" he asked. Mulder's eyes
widened. Doyle laughed sharply.
"That Abby May. She can tell shit about people. She tole me you don't
belong to yourself anymore," he said. Mulder stared at him. An
overwhelming sense of sadness enveloped him. He didn't belong to
himself...didn't belong...with that refrain running through his head, Mulder
drifted off again.

*****

Denman's eyes glinted in anger. If the wraith could see him now he'd
know that Denman hadn't accepted the order to cease and desist. Denman
checked his arsenal and nodded. He had gotten used to the weapons and
didn't go anywhere without them anymore. He frowned slightly. His true
superiors would find that to be a weakness. Denman pushed that thought out
of his mind and began the methodical job of checking flights and bus
schedules.
He should just be able to center in on the target, but the last centering
had been disastrous and Denman didn't want to scare the target, just acquire
it and destroy it. Denman didn't fail. It wasn't in his make-up, and to be
dismissed as a child who had done a bad job just simply made him angry. His
orders didn't bother him. The fact that if caught he would be killed didn't
bother him. The only thing that mattered was the job. The only thing that
mattered was success.

*****

There blew a drowsy, drowsy wind
And sleep upon me fell
Thr Queen of Faeries she was there
And she took me to herself.

The room swam into focus. As Mulder's vision cleared, he became slowly
aware of a shapely leg, clad in a red cowboy boot, obscuring his view of the
room. Abby May. Mulder blinked. The jeans-clad girl of yesterday had been
replaced by a seductive young woman. Her blond hair swung in her face as
she grinned at him.
"Feeling better?" she asked softly. Mulder licked his dry lips.
Instantly, Abby May handed him a glass of water. Mulder drank thirstily.
"How long have I been out?" he asked, voice raspy. Abby considered him
for a moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully.
"Doc came and looked at you, gave you some drugs. Doyle's got 'em. That
was yesterday. Mulder sighed and closed his eyes. Yesterday. Abby leaned
forward. Mulder shrank back against the pillows, staggered by this young
woman's direct gaze. Her yellow-flecked blue eyes stared into his. She
reached out a cool hand and felt his forehead.
"Still warm," she said critically.
"Abby May!" a shout came from the back of the house. Abby sighed and
stood gracefully. She turned and looked at Mulder again as Doyle rounded
the corner. Doyle was on Abby with two quick strides, pulling her roughly
away from Mulder.
"Dammit, Abby May, leave him alone! You want Dex to see you?" he
shouted. Abby glared at Doyle and pulled away, fists clenched, standing her
ground, Mulder struggled to sit up, self-preservation telling him not to
interfere in what he hoped was just a family quarrel and not something more
sinister.
"Don't give a shit about Dex," Abby said sulkily. She turned to leave
the room. "Don't give a damn about me."
Doyle sighed as Abby stomped out of the house, screen door banging
behind her. Doyle switched his gaze to Mulder. He looked worried.
"What?" Mulder asked. Doyle hesitated, then sat down on what passed for
the coffee table. He, too, reached out to feel Mulder's forehead.
"Damn," he said softly. Mulder pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring
the fact that his head began swimming. He made every effort to focus on Doyle.
"What's going on? Do you need me gone?" he asked. Doyle grinned
affectionately.
"Yeah, you leave now and we'll find ya. Ya won't make it a mile up the
road fore collapsing."
Mulder was beginning to resent the various diagnoses.
"I'm fine," he said stiffly. Doyle chuckled.
"Uh huh. Look, Dex is gonna be here soon. He's been off gettin' us
supplies. Dex is...difficult. He ain't gonna be too happy to see a
stranger hanging around."
Mulder swung his legs over the side of the couch.
"I should be going then," he said. The next thing Mulder knew, he was on
the floor, wheezing, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Doyle's
strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him back onto the couch. Mulder
closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Doyle held an inhaler up
to his mouth and Mulder was finally able to breathe. He collapsed weakly
onto the pillows, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Doyle sighed.
"You in bad shape, cowboy. You ain't going anywhere for at least a
couple a days, doc's orders." Doyle hesitated, then looked Mulder in the eye.
"Afore Abby comes back...I gotta know...you lying to me at all?"
Mulder stared at Doyle, perplexed.
"About what?" he asked.
"About...who you are. Or aren't," Doyle replied. Mulder shrugged,
suddenly exhausted.
"I honestly wish I could tell you. I wish I knew," he said softly.
Doyle shifted nervously.
"Reason I gotta know is...we got us a delicate situation here.
And...maybe you should know that the leg wound you got is a bullet wound."
Mulder stared at him, astonished. A bullet wound! His hands began to
shake and he forced himself to breathe normally. He'd been shot. And he
didn't remember it, not at all. He didn't remember anything before the car
accident. And the woman...the woman he'd been seeing in his dreams, the
woman who claimed she'd come for him, who terrified him to his very soul.
At least I know what I'm afraid of, he thought. He looked at Doyle.
"I don't know," he said flatly. "I just don't know anything. And if
it's going to be a problem, me being here, I'll leave as soon as I'm able."
"And where you gonna go?" Doyle asked. Mulder closed his eyes.
"I have something to do. I was drawn here...by something," he answered.
Doyle threw up his hands in frustration.
"How can you know that if you don't even know your own name?"
Mulder turned away, unable to answer.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

XAngst Anonymous Member T h e
Smart Young X-Phile #276 - -
Lone Gunwoman #41 \ / naXi .5
Melissketeer X Skinner Chick
Extreme Possibilities Member / \ EMXC
Mysterious & Suspicious Founder - - -Riley-
X-Files Fan Fic Lover F i l e s
Co-Founder Anti-Spellin' Brigade (tm)
_________________________________________________________________________
Visit the M&S homepage http://www.lexcorp.com/x-files
Charctavius of the New Triumverate

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (4/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Abby glared at the house. If Doyle did anything to him...Abby kicked
viciously at a rock, sent it skimming into the creek. She hated Doyle with
a passion. Doyle reined her in, made her less than she was. Doyle wanted
her to learn humility but why should she? Life was more interesting with
Dex around, even if he WAS a mean sonofabitch. Dex encouraged her. No
matter what Doyle said, Dex would be pleased that she'd picked up the
injured man. Fred, she called him in private, after Breakfast At Tiffany's.
Abby crossed her arms and redoubled her efforts to glare a hole through the
wall. She should be the one giving orders, not Doyle. She was the one the
others needed.
"Whatcha doin' out in the woods, honey bunch?"
Abby spun around, a huge smile on her face, and flung her arms around Dex.
"Christ, I thought you'd never get back!"
"Righteous bastard gettin' to ya?" Dex asked. Abby tightened her grip
around Dex's neck. His hooded eyes flickered as he hugged her back.
"Yer squishin' the groceries, punkin," he said softly. Abby let Dex go
and stepped back. He admired her.
"Yer gettin' to be quite a looker, ain't ya?" he asked. Abby blushed.
"You only been gone for two days, Dex!"
Dex trailed a hand down Abby's arm, making her shiver.
"Don't matter," he answered. Abby stepped back slightly.
"Ain't right, Dex," she murmured. He cocked his head, staring into her
eyes. His gaze held hers until he broke the connection.
"You gotta learn how to protect yourself. I ain't always gonna be around."
Abby laughed.
"Surely you don't expect me to believe THAT!"
Dex grinned a wolfish grin and linked arms with Abby.
"Whatcha been doing while I been away? Practice your driving?" he asked.
Abby nodded.
"Got a surprise for ya. One you're gonna like," Abby said excitedly.
"Only surprise gonna do me any good is a SSpiker on a stick."
Abby stopped, looked at Dex, eyes shining.
"You got the scent. You got one, didn't ya?"
Dex hefted a grocery bag.
"Whatcha think I got in here?"
Abby laughed, uneasily. With Dex, you never knew. It wouldn't be out of
character if Dex brought home a severed head.

*****

Dex glared furiously at the man lying on the couch. An uneasy Doyle
stood off to one side, gauging Dex's reaction, which was none too favorable
at the moment. Abby stood just behind Dex, her gaze a little fearful.
Mulder watched Dex, suddenly afraid. This man was definitely a loose wire,
a remote part of his brain told him. He will do anything to get what he
wants and damn anyone who gets in his way. Dex was on the short side,
slender, but wiry muscles and a catlike walk belied his size. He was
dangerous, and oddly protective of Abby. He treated her like a princess.
Mulder tried to look as sick and wan as possible, which really wasn't too
difficult. Dex turned to Doyle.
"What in the FUCKING hell is going on here? I leave you alone for two
fucking days, you know the drill, you know how important it is to keep Abby
May safe, what the FUCKING hell were you fucking THINKING?" Dex shouted.
Doyle cowered, eyes lowered. Mulder felt sorry for him. Doyle's eyes slid
towards Abby. She studiously ignored him. Mulder started to speak but Dex
suddenly had him by the throat. Mulder hadn't even seen him move. Mulder
choked as Dex lifted him up.
"I'll fucking kill him right now, Abby, I swear to God, right now in
front of you."
True to his word, Dex began to squeeze. Mulder gagged, his hands wrapped
around Dex's strong, sinewy wrist. Mulder began to see dark blotches as Dex
squeezed the life out of him.

*****

"Agent Scully?"
Scully turned. A fresh-faced young man, comfortably dressed in the
FBI-standard suit and tie, stood at the doorway, an inquiring look on his
face. Scully steeled herself and stood, holding out her hand.
"Agent Orsatti," she said. He shook her hand and took the seat she
offered, setting his briefcase down by his side. Scully studied him for a
moment, trying to hide her dismay. He looked like an English teacher.
He looked like Krycek. Scully mistrusted him immediately. Will Orsatti was
staring at her quizzically. She smiled.
"Sorry. It's been a long couple of days. I'm not really sure if you can
do anything at the moment..." Scully's voice trailed off. Was she so ready
to shun any help she might get? Did it matter if the help came from
somebody who was adept at profiling killers? Scully wasn't sure but if she
didn't cooperate, she was pretty sure that the FBI would kick her off the
case and hand it to someone who really did think that Mulder was the enemy.
Orsatti cleared his throat, took a file out of his briefcase, and flipped it
open.
"I've been reviewing the case," he began in his soft, mild voice, "and
I've taken the liberty of writing up a preliminary report."
Scully's eyes narrowed. She remembered being squeaky-clean at one point,
but she was never like this. Was she? Should she impress upon the young
agent the danger the innuendos of a "preliminary report" had done in the
past? He was still talking.
"I delivered a copy to my supervisor this morning --"
"You WHAT?" Scully asked, outraged. Orsatti stared at her and began to
stammer.
"Standard procedure, Agent Scully --"
"Let me see it," she growled. This kid was an idiot.

Preliminary Report
Case # Eas2387

In the case of the disappearance of Agent Fox Mulder, I have reviewed
Mulder's previous case file, that of the disappearance of five-year-old
Sallie Mott. In order to ascertain the wherabouts of Agent Mulder and the
motivation for his disappearance, I will be assigned to work with Mulder's
partner, Agent Dana Scully.
I have reviewed both Agent Mulder's and Agent Scully's reports on the
Mott case. While Agent Scully denies that Mulder exhibited any unusual
behavior during the case, I have interviewed several witnesses to his
irrational behavior, including the parents of Sallie Mott, James and Lila Mott.
Agent Scully maintains that Agent Mulder remained convinced that Sallie
Mott had been abducted by extraterrestrials although the evidence pointed to
an earthly abduction. During Agent Mulder's time with VICAP and the
Behavioral Science Unit, his intuition regarding abductions and killings,
especially of small children, was chillingly accurate. Rarely did a case go
unsolved. Many times, Agent Mulder put himself in danger in order to solve
a case. This is a quality which has followed him to the X-Files project and
which has served him well. Given Agent Mulder's personality type this
quality can also be dangerous if Agent Mulder becomes personally attached in
any way to the victim or the suspect. Fortunately, Agent Scully has had
some success at reining Agent Mulder in.
The difference with the Mott case is two-fold. Agent Mulder became
obsessed with the idea that Sallie Mott's father, James Mott, killed his
daughter. While Agent Mulder had no evidence with which to hold or charge
Mr. Mott, he challenged Mr. Mott at every opportunity and in fact nearly had
charges filed against him by the Mott family. Assistant Director Skinner
reviewed the case and immediately determined that Agent Mulder did not have
enough with which to charge Mr. Mott and in fact had done everything humanly
possible to find Sallie Mott. Agent Mulder and his partner were recalled to
Washington.
Based on previous cases, it is clear that Agent Mulder is having some
difficulty reconciling the Mott case and there is every chance that this
difficulty has led to his recent problems.
Given his past history, it is safe to assume that Agent Mulder presents a
danger to himself and the community and should he be found, an intense
psychological work-up should be mandatory.

Scully glared at Will Orsatti. He met her accusatory glare calmly.
"I know how you feel --"
"How the hell can you know how I feel? You took my report and Mulder's
report and twisted them to suit the Bureau's purpose! You haven't even
given Mulder the benefit of the doubt in this case. I know that barely
skimmed his report on the Mott case, that you did no research on any of the
X-Files cases, and that, like everyone else, you just assumed the worst
about him and wrote your report based upon --"
"Agent Scully, please. Give me a minute to explain," Orsatti said. He
looked so apologetic that Scully actually shut up, sat back, and gestured
for him to continue. Orsatti held up a copy of his report.
"Agent Scully, this is a preliminary report. My supervisor requested
this in lieu of anything more...substantial for the moment, hoping to be
able to piece together some information on Agent Mulder without..."
Orsatti's voice trailed off.
"Unlike me, Agent Orsatti, you don't give a damn what happens when we DO
find him," Scully replied. Orsatti sighed. He'd been warned that Agent
Scully might be the slightest bit combative but he had yet to even give her
his first impressions of the case. She'd probably pull her gun on him.
"You're right. It's not my problem," he replied honestly. "But if you
cooperate with me, be truly honest, I'll do whatever I can to give you the
time you need. I'll do what I can, but you've GOT to trust me."
Scully stared at him, hearing her own voice through his. Hoe many times
had she said those very words to Mulder? Had she ever meant them, or had
they been a last-ditch effort to talk him down from whatever ledge he'd been
on? Scully was tired of wondering, of second-guessing what she'd done and
trying to follow Mulder's train of thought as she tried to piece together
the events that led to his disappearance. Mulder had not called her. Ergo,
Mulder was in the kind of trouble that he didn't want Scully involved in.
Or...Scully didn't want to think about the alternative. But she had to.
And then, it started to make some sort of sense.
"They're going to run him out," she said quietly. Orsatti looked up at
her, startled.
"Excuse me?"
"They're going to run him out of the Bureau. And they're going to use
you and your Goddammed preliminary report to do it."
Orsatti was absolutely astonished. He looked uncertainly at his report,
then back at Scully. She sighed. How could she have been so stupid, so
blind? She didn't know all of Mulder's skeletons, all of his secrets, but
of course, neither did he. Scully knew what a psychological profile of Fox
Mulder would look like. Even his connections wouldn't be able to help him
if it went that far. Scully had to make sure it didn't.
"Look, Agent Orsatti, if you or anyone else does a psychological work-up
of Mulder, based on the information at hand, they'll commit him."
Orsatti shook his head.
"No they won't. He doesn't need to be committed. He..." Orsatti's eyes
widened. He looked at the report in horror.
"Oh, shit," he muttered. Under any other circumstance, Scully would be
proud of the kid. But she didn't have time for that. She leaned forward,
trying to get her point across as well as she could.
"According to the FBI, Agent Mulder has committed two murders and escaped
from jail. Based on your report of his performance during the Mott case and
the charges that were very nearly filed by James Mott and probably will be
filed if Mott is questioned about this, Mulder is a loose cannon who has
finally gone around the bend. He is already on record for being
psychologically disturbed and your very honest report has confirmed that he
still is. If this report is satisfactory to those people who want Mulder
gone, they will pull you off the case immediately and use that report."
Orsatti shook his head dazedly, thinking.
"They set it up...but how?"
Scully stood, pacing the office.
"They didn't. They took advantage. They always take advantage."
What are we going to do?" he asked innocently. Scully turned, staring at
him. His clear blue eyes met hers, unafraid.
"I don't think you understand what's going on here, Agent Orsatti," she
said. He shrugged.
"I understand enough," he said quietly.
Scully looked at him closely, needing answers but afraid that she was
playing right into the Bureau's hands.
"Is Mulder crazy?" she asked. Orsatti hesitated, looked away. Scully
sighed. Shit. Orsatti looked at her again.
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "When I look at his
file...sometimes I think he is. But most of the time I think he's on the
right track. Can he be crazy and right at the same time?"
Scully smiled mirthlessly.
"Damn, you ARE good," she said. Orsatti smiled slightly, chucked the
folder across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud, papers
fluttering to the floor. Orsatti stood.
"Look, Agent Scully, when I went through the National Academy program, we
studied a few of Mulder's cases. That made me want to join the Bureau, stop
this researching crap. Shit, I've practically memorized his reports, copied
his style. And you know him better than anyone, you know his weaknesses.
As far as I'm concerned, Mulder has no weaknesses, so maybe between the two
of us we can find him."
Scully had never been so astonished in her life.
"Do you have any idea...?"
"What will happen to me if I defy my orders?" he finished. Orsatti
nodded. "I'm doing my job, Agent Scully. Mulder needs to be found.
But...I won't have my work used in this manner. I'll take my chances, same
as you. I'll change the report, make it unsatisfactory."
Scully nodded slowly, relief washing over her. She was so certain that
Orsatti would turn out to be one of the "by the book" pricks that made her
hackles rise in these types of situations. Truth was, Scully would do
anything to find Mulder, anything to give him a chance to explain. Anything
to give him whatever had been taken away. She would even trust the
untrustworthy if that's what it took to get him back.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (5/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

If I'd but half the wit yestereen
That I have bought today
I'd have paid my tithe seven times to Hell
E'er you'd been won away.

Hartley cabin
North of Redding, California

The pressure was suddenly gone and somewhere deep in the recesses of
Mulder's mind, a tinny voice told him to breathe. He took in a huge gulp of
air and gagged. His eyes opened slightly and he thought he could see Dex
and Doyle fighting. He felt a trembling hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" penetrated his addled mind. He concentrated on
breathing, feeling the air trying to push through his crushed throat.
Mulder reached up and touched his neck. He winced and wondered about Dex.
How could one man be that strong?
"Are you okay?" This time Mulder made an effort to focus. Abby,
oblivious to the fact that Dex and Doyle were trying to kill each other, was
perched next to him, her blue eyes filled with concern. Mulder drew another
breath and began to cough. He was wracked with spasms. Tears rolled down
his cheeks as he clutched the pillow and coughed.
Finally, the fit subsided. Exhausted, Mulder fell back against the
pillow and smiled weakly at Abby. She grinned at him and turned slightly,
watching the show behind her. Dex and Doyle had broken off the physical
confrontation and were now watching each other warily. Dex wiped blood from
his face and swung around, eyes boring into Mulder's. He took two quick
strides forward and pointed a finger in Mulder's face.
"I coulda killed you," he said quietly, with menace. Mulder got the
sense that this man did more with tone than with fists. Mulder nodded,
winced. Dex laughed sharply.
"You know your place, got it?"
"Got it," Mulder rasped. Dex considered him for a moment, then turned
and stormed out of the house, slamming the door forcefully behind him.
Doyle looked at Abby.
"Best you get out of here now, darlin'," he said quietly. Mulder stared
at Doyle, amazed by the transformation that was taking place. When fighting
with Dex, Doyle had become impossibly large but Mulder had attributed that
to the fact that he had nearly been strangled to death. But now, right
before Mulder's eyes, Doyle seemed to be folding in on himself. Mulder
blinked. Doyle was back to normal. Mulder's hands began to shake as he
remembered this...from somewhere. He tried to capture the memory but it was
gone again.
"Doyle --" Abby was prepared to argue.
"Don't use that tone on me, Abby May. You can't make me," Doyle said
defensively. Abby glared at him with hard eyes that made Mulder wince.
Doyle started breathing faster.
"I found him," Abby said, her voice deadly. Oh God...
"Abby," Doyle said weakly, losing the battle.
"He's sick, you said. Dex is afraid."
"We're all afraid, Abby. Dex is doin' his job. That's all," Doyle
replied. Abby took Mulder's hand. He tried to pull away but her grip was
like steel. He could almost feel her blood coursing through her veins. It
made him dizzy. He swallowed, suddenly nauseous. Please let go, he
thought. Please. Doyle was paying no attention to Mulder. His gaze was
trained on Abby. He was...fighting her. Mulder closed his eyes. He could
feel himself melting into Abby's hand. Melting...it was easier this way.
He could sleep...forever.
With a yell, Doyle reached out and ripped Abby's hand away. He picked her
up bodily and threw her across the room. She landed with a loud thud and
Mulder's eyes jerked open. His breath was coming in little pants now,
alternating with coughs. He felt suddenly out of control, like he was
spiralling down into the darkness. Doyle grabbed his arm.
"Hey," Doyle said. Mulder started getting panicky. He made eye contact
with Abby and she smiled slightly.
"What did you do?" he asked hoarsely, desperately. Doyle spun around,
eyes narrowed at Abby. He looked at Mulder, concerned.
"What did you feel?" he asked. Mulder swung his gaze to Doyle, then back
to Abby. Doyle growled low in his throat. He patted Mulder awkwardly on
the shoulder and stood, advancing towards Abby.
"You got no right," he began. Abby was instantly on her feet.
"I got every right! It's you who's got no right! You're a servant,
Doyle! Just a servant! You serve ME!"
Abby leapt at him but Doyle was ready for her. He grabbed her and held
her as she struggled. Mulder was on his feet instantly. Help me...Mulder
hobbled over, reached for Abby. Doyle lashed out and kicked him, hard.
Mulder fell to the floor. Suddenly, his head began to clear. He kneeled on
the floor, still gasping for breath...seeing again. He glanced up. Abby
had gone limp in Doyle's arms, acquiescing. She looked sadly at Mulder,
then viciously wriggled free of Doyle. She glared at him. He shrugged.
"Ain't yours, Abby," he said quietly. With a pointed look at Mulder,
Doyle turned and lumbered into the kitchen. Abby reached down to help
Mulder up but he jerked away from her.
"I don't think so," he muttered. Abby bit her lip, watched Mulder crawl
back to the sofa where he sat, head in his hands. She approached him
tentatively.
"I --"
Mulder looked up.
"What did you do to me?" he asked. Abby twisted her hands, looked away.
Mulder grabbed her arm.
"What did you do to me?" he repeated with more force. Abby pulled away
and glared at him.
"I found you," she spat out. She turned on her heel and marched outside
slamming the door with as much force as Dex had. Mulder sighed, and leaned
back against the sofa. He took a deep breath, pleased that he was able. He
jerked upright and saw Doyle standing in the middle of the room, an
apologetic look on his face and a cup of tea in his hand.
"Tea?" he said unnecessarily. Mulder nodded and took the cup, hands
shaking. Doyle sat down and regarded Mulder thoughtfully.
"She likes you," he said. Mulder sipped the tea and nodded.
"She found me," he said. Doyle sighed.
"Abby's always been a bit possessive," he said by way of explanation.
Mulder stared at him.
"Of PEOPLE?" he asked, amazed. Doyle nodded unhappily.
"She used to be fond of me, before..." his voice trailed off. Mulder
sipped his tea and watched Doyle.
"Before what?" Mulder asked innocently. Doyle shook himself out of his
reverie.
"That's none of your business. Look, Dex is gonna put up with you for a
few days for Abby's sake. Gotta keep her happy. But then you have to
go...it's dangerous here and you'll just be in the way."
"Dangerous how?"
Doyle stared at Mulder.
"None of your business," he said defensively. Mulder never blinked.
Doyle got to his feet, suddenly nervous.
"I don't know who you are or where you came from, but it's dangerous
here. We got people who'd like to see Abby...us...dead. And they won't
hesitate to roll right over the top of you," Doyle said, his words coming
out in a rush. Mulder felt a vague uneasiness...one that was impossible to
pinpoint. Why did he feel that there was a lot more to this story, and why
did he feel compelled to find out what it was? Doyle frowned.
"You okay?"
Mulder looked up, smiled.
"Better, actually. I should...be moving on anyway," he said, standing.
Doyle caught him before he fell.
"Doc said two days before you'll be back on your feet. Said you were
malnutrished, or something," Doyle scolded. Mulder let Doyle tuck the ratty
blanket around him. Doyle picked up Mulder's cup and clomped back to the
kitchen. Mulder closed his eyes, once again exhausted, and systematically
wracked his troubled mind for any indication of who he was or why he was so
frightened.

*****

Mulder's apartment

With shaking hands, Scully perused Mulder's field report on the Mott
case. She sighed, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Mulder had been extremely diligent in taking notes on this case but they
were detached, dry. There was nothing here to indicate any of the emotional
problems that Mulder had been having on the case. Scully put her glasses
back on, read Mulder's summation, and threw the whole file across the room.
There was just nothing there! Mulder had mentioned the possibility that
James Mott had been responsible for his daughter's disappearance but only in
passing, like he always did on a case. Covering all the bases...Scully sat
up. All the bases.
Scully switched on the light in Mulder's apartment. He needed to get
better lighting. Maybe a nice torchiere lamp, because the pathetic, rickety
thing he had now was only good enough to illuminate a small circle on the
brown carpeting. Scully switched on Mulder's computer, typed in the
password she prayed he hadn't found out she knew. Her eyes lit up. It
still worked. Scully hunted through his Word files. Nothing there. She
began opening drawers of his desk, ferreting out disks and popping them into
the a-drive.
Four hours later, Scully was ready to admit defeat. Mulder had back-up
copies of official and unofficial reports on disk and on the hard-drive.
But there was no mention of the Mott case anywhere.
Scully stood and stretched. Her eye wandered over to the roll of masking
tape sitting by the window. She contemplated summoning X but discarded that
thought almost immediately. Maybe...if she really needed him. Hell, if she
really needed him...Scully didn't want to think about that.
"Okay, I'm Mulder. What do I do with notes on a recent case?" she asked
herself. Scully roamed the apartment, unconsciously straightening. She
stopped when she realized what she was doing. If Mulder came home to a
clean apartment, he'd really read her out. The impact hit her immediately.
Mulder was gone. Vanished, wanted by the FBI for murder. Mulder hadn't
called her, hadn't called anyone. Scully sank down onto the couch, head in
her hands. Get control, Dana, she told herself. You're not helping him.
You're all he's got. She looked up. Yes, she was all he had. Why did that
thought terrify her? Because of all the years she'd tried to be more to
people and had failed completely? Would she inevitably fail Mulder? Scully
drew a deep breath and got to her feet, determined to find his file on the
Mott case. She knew it was here, somewhere.
Scully began undoing the work that she'd done in putting Mulder's
apartment into some order. She tore through boxes, pretended not to see
porn magazines and videos. Box after box, mainly stuff from his childhood
that he'd lugged up here but had never unpacked. His mother had apparently
saved everything, all of his report cards and school papers, all of his
trophies...she hadn't really thought of his mother as a woman who had been
proud of her son. Scully froze.
Buried deep in the bottom of the box was a plaster case, obviously for a
young child. It would have covered the arm from the hand all the way up to
the shoulder. Scully trembled as she gently took it out. People had signed
it, some had drawn pictures, even a pediatrician, a Dr. Laurence, had added
his autograph. Scully zeroed in on one signature in particular, that of a
young child: "When you get better we can go swimming again. Luv, Sam".
Scully let the cast fall back into the box. She brought a hand up to her
mouth, horrified.
"Oh God, Mulder," she whispered, just imagining the implications of this
particular souvenir. Scully shut her eyes, remembering Mulder's charge up
the walk to the Mott house, remembering how enraged he'd been when James
Mott had disciplined his surviving child, Jessie, by smacking her in the
mouth. Scully remembered...and so did Mulder.
Scully quickly sealed up the box and blindly reached for another,
expecting and dreading more memories from Mulder's past. But this box was
filled with tattered notebooks. Scully's eyes lit up. Case notebooks. She
tore through them to no avail but immediately was on her feet, heading for
Mulder's desk. Sure enough, a stack of notebooks, not quite so tattered, in
the bottom drawer. Scully would try and get the lock and the drawer
replaced before Mulder even knew she'd been in there. And right on the top
of the pile, Mulder's notes on the Mott case. Scully would have been happy
if she hadn't knows that, somehow, this would give her more answers than she
really wanted.

*****

Office of the X-Files
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington DC

"Come in."
Will Orsatti hesitated, then opened the door. Dana Scully sat behind her
desk, absorbed in her reading material. Orsatti cleared his throat and she
looked up, distracted.
"You wanted to see me?" he asked quite innocently. She nodded.
"We're leaving for Colorado this afternoon. You'd better pack," she said
automatically. Orsatti stared at her. Scully stared back. He sighed.
"Chances are that he's not in Colorado," he said quietly. She arched an
eyebrow at him and he suddenly began to feel very sorry for Fox Mulder.
"No kidding, Agent Orsatti. But he was there and..." Scully hesitated,
casting a glance at the notebook that lay open in front of her. She needed
to stall this kid.
"I think we should talk to the people at the bus station, read over the
depositions that the FBI is going to use to crucify Mulder. I need to see
the scene, look over autopsy reports. I need to do something."
Scully looked at him, unblinking. Orsatti felt himself nodding. She
smiled slightly, a crack in her steel-kitten veneer.
"Plane leaves at two-thirty."
He nodded and backed out of the room.
Scully blew out a breath and leaned back in her chair. Suddenly, she
didn't trust Will Orsatti one bit. He'd told her everything she'd wanted to
hear, his reactions had been correct right down the pike. But now that
Scully had found the notebook...now that she knew that Will Orsatti HAD
filed his report with his superiors...Scully knew that Orsatti was wrong.
Mulder HAD shot those two men. Mulder was running blind and scared and it
was Will Orsatti's job to make sure that Mulder panicked his way right out
of the FBI and into a straitjacket.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (6/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Mulder's preliminary field report
Case #X-319564

Scully and I arrived at the home of James Mott in Redding, California at
ten o'clock in the morning on August 16th. His daughter Jessie, fourteen,
met us at the door. Both Jessie and her mother, Lila, appeared to be in
shock. I questioned Lila and found her to be suffering from Post Traumatic
Stress Syndrome which was unusual considering she had not seen nor heard
anything strange the night Sallie was taken. Scully doesn't want me to say
"taken". "Disappeared" works better for her and I'm too tired to have this
argument right now.
Lila Mott claims that both her daughters were asleep in their room (they
share a bedroom). she was not aware that anything was amiss until she went
to wake them the next morning. Sallie was gone and she was unable to wake
Jessie. She immediately called her husband, James, a construction worker.
A doctor came to see Jessie who finally came out of what I believe to be a
catatonic state. Jessie became hysterical and had to be sedated. Neither
parent had heard nor seen anything unusual the night before.
Two other children, both young girls, had disappeared in the Redding area
and it was Lila Mott's hysterical belief that the publicity over the Polly
Klass case had incited a copycat killer who abducted children from their
beds. This made sense to James Mott as well. He was utterly grief-stricken
over the disappearance of his five-year-old daughter. He was very
supportive of his wife but not of Jessie, who would scream out in terror
whenever she saw him or anybody male. Scully did the first interview and I
conducted the second, three days after we had arrived in Redding. Jessie
was prescribed an anti-psychotic and was very calm when I talked to her.
The transcription is as follows:

M: Do you remember going to sleep the night Sallie disappeared, Jessie?
J: Yes.
M: What did you do before you went to bed?
J: I was playing Doom on my computer. Sallie liked to watch.
M: What time did you go to bed?
J: Nine, like always.
M: Did you go right to sleep, Jessie?
J: No...Sallie doesn't like to go to sleep. She doesn't like the dark, but
Daddy won't let us keep a light on...so I have to talk to her until she goes
to sleep.
M: Do you have to talk to her every night?
J: Almost.
M: Did Sallie go to sleep?
J: Yes.
M: Did you go to sleep?
J: Yes.
M: Are you sure?
J: I went to sleep.
M: What's the next thing you remember?
J: The light.
M: Where was it coming from?
J: Outside. It was really bright...it shone right in our window.
M: It woke you up?
J: No...yes. Yes, it woke me up.
M: Did the light move?
J: No. It stayed still. Sallie was still asleep. I got up to see what it
was...
M: What else happened, Jessie?
J: I...I don't remember. Then I woke up.
M: You went back to bed when you saw the light?
J: No...I just remember seeing the light, then I woke up.
M: Were you in bed?
J: Yes...the doctor was there.
M: Then what happened?
J: I thought he was going to hurt me.
M: Why?
J: I don't know! I just...I was scared of him.
M: Has he ever given you any reason to be scared of him?
J: No...but...he wasn't who I thought he was.
M: Who was he?
J: I mean...he was the doctor, but at first...he was someone else.
M: Who else, Jessie?
J: I don't know who he was. Someone to be scared of. Someone else.
M: Someone who took Sallie?
J: I don't know! I don't know what happened to her! I was supposed to
watch her, to protect her...I don't know what happened!!

-- end interview.

*****

Montrose, Colorado

Scully smoothed her jacket in a vain attempt to look neatly-pressed after
the horrendous plane ride. Orsatti was still grumbling about it as he
collected the bags.
"It never would've occured to me that going a thousand miles out of our
way would be a time-saver. Never in a million years."
Scully smiled wryly.
"Don't travel much, do you?"
"I try to avoid it. Is that blue one yours?"
Scully dove for her bag, trying to ignore the brand-new presence next to
her. Orsatti made her so nervous that she'd placed a call to the Lone
Gunmen before she left, leaving them her cellphone number. Like they
couldn't get her cellphone number from one of the many underground "phone
books". They had known about Mulder's diappearance and were working night
and day to uncover any clues. Langly told Scully that going to Colorado was
her best bet and the words in Mulder's notebook made her ever certain that
the key to Mulder's behavior was in the Mott case.
The sheriff, Dan Gunderson, was a tall, very thin man, with sunken cheeks
and pits for eyes. He regarded Scully warily and she sighed inwardly.
Another law enforcement chauvinist pig. She smiled brightly at him and
flipped her I.D. open the way Mulder did. She'd had to practice the
wrist-flick for weeks before she'd gotten it right and she was fairly
certain that she'd developed carpal tunnel syndrome from the practice.
Gunderson eyed his deputy out of the room and sat on the edge of his desk,
arms crossed confrontationally.
"It's about that Fibbie, isn't it? The one what killed two men and cut
and run," he said. Scully nodded, wondering how long this guy had wanted to
be Mannix.
"Yes, Sheriff. He's...my partner. I'll need to see the bodies, and --"
"Whoa, little lady! Hang on there! I can't just release those bodies to
anyone!"
Bullshit, Scully thought angrily. She concentrated on her calm,
unruffled exterior.
"Either you release the bodies to me or I will send them back to Quantico
for full autopsies. I am a medical doctor," Scully said loudly, over
Gunderson's continued protests, "and unless you want those bodies completely
dissected I suggest you do what I say."
Scully could feel Orsatti shift next to her. Gunderson watched her for a
moment, then nodded, eyes dropping to the floor.
"Sorry, Agent Scully. It's been...well, it's been difficult here."
Scully ignored this obvious play for sympathy and waited. Gunderson
turned his back on her and gazed out the window.
"This is a small community, folks are close to their neighbors, I know
everyone in town. And then there's this shooting..." His voice faded.
Scully watched him, unconvinced that this was affecting him so deeply.
Gunderson had worked for much of his early career in the NYPD. He turned
suddenly, favoring Scully with a sharp gaze.
"Those men were shot, Agent Scully. Killed by your partner. You take a
look at the crime scene before you go looking at the bodies," he said
authoritatively. Scully refused to back down. She loathed this man.
"You prepare the bodies while I'm looking at the crime scene," she said,
turning to leave. Orsatti followed silently. Scully paused, hand on the
doornob, as another question occurred to her. She turned back to Gunderson.
"Were the murdered men local?" she asked. Gunderson shook his head,
surprised.
"No, Agent Scully, they weren't."
He looked almost apologetic and Scully tilted her head, watching him.
"See...the only reason I requested the FBI in the first place was because
we couldn't identify them. So when they came and tore everything up, turned
this town into front-page news, we all got a little upset, because that's
not what we needed. And then you show up..."
Scully sighed, finally getting it.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Finding my partner is paramount. I just --"
Gunderson grinned at her, a friendly grin that crinkled the corners of
his eyes. Scully, tired and anxious and terribly concerned about Mulder,
had certainly misjudged this man.
"You just didn't take the time to check on these guys. It's okay,"
Gunderson said. Scully smiled slightly.
"It's a rookie mistake," she replied. Gunderson stepped past her and
opened the door.
"You need anything, you come see me," he said, good humor surfacing.
"Thanks. Sheriff -- was the Bureau able to ID the men?" she asked. The
sheriff shook his head, looking concerned, dark.
"No they weren't."
Scully ushered Orsatti out in front of her and paused, looking at Gunderson.
"They weren't able to, or they didn't give you the information?" she said
softly. Gunderson's eyes widened.
"Sure enough, you're more paranoid than I am!"
Scully smiled ruefully.
"You have no idea," she replied. Gunderson looked at her for a long
moment, then shook his head.
"To tell you the truth...I don't know. They shoved us out of the way
pretty quick, but they did seem...worried. Like they really didn't know..."
he looked away, embarrassed.
"But you can't trust the Feds," Scully said. He grinned and nodded.
"Let me know what you find?" he asked hopefully, not wanting to be cut
out of the loop again. Scully nodded.
"I sure will," she said, then left the office and steeled herself for
Orsatti's questions.

*****

Hartley cabin
North of Redding, California

It was still fall, Mulder discovered when he was allowed to venture outside.
Doyle was more of a mother hen with Mulder than he was with Abby May which
was to be expected under the circumstances. The vague uneasiness that
Mulder felt was growing now and was not to be denied. Something was not
right here, something was in fact quite rotten. It concerned him only
because he was in the middle of it and that made him feel even more helpless
than he already was. It made him feel emotionally bereft. Since he'd so
far been unable to feel much of anything, being able to identify the lack of
emotion was probably a good sign. Mulder slept fitfully if at all and was
frequently jolted out of sleep by what he assumed to be the night sounds of
the woods. But something deep inside Mulder knew that was bullshit.
Something knew the truth.
The Truth.
He needed to know why that word was so important to him, why it sent
shivers down his spine. He needed to know why she visited him at night.
Mulder's boots crunched on the bed of pine needles. He kept one eye on the
cabin, ready to bolt if he heard the door slam. Mulder stopped, hands on
his knees, and tried to catch his breath. It was still difficult to breathe
but the bullet hole in his leg was healing rather nicely. It hadn't been as
bad as -- Mulder jerked upright, eyes glazing over as he tried to finish the
thought.
"Dammit," he swore softly. So far, he had been unable to capture any of
the strands that floated through his damaged mind. They swarmed through
him, taunting him, tantalizing him. And even though the little voice he'd
been relying heavily upon told him that these random thoughts were crucial
to his existence, there was a relief in not being able to recall events,
people, things, emotions. He almost felt...free. Which was ironic, in a
way, since he felt so trapped in that house. Abby had trapped him, like
some small stupid animal, too instinctual to know anything but immediate
survival. That had definitely been him. And now...he shook his head,
walked deeper into the woods. And stopped.
The moon peered through the tops of the trees, glowing amber against the
velvety evening sky. A harvest moon, Mulder recalled. That's what Doyle
said they were called. The moon was huge and swollen and Mulder imagined it
as his mind, swollen with memories it was unable or unwilling to divulge.
He stared at the moon thoughtfully, trying to be still in his mind so that
the tickle of a thought wouldn't be chased away. The moon...the stars,
twinkling brightly, almost mechanically...
Almost in a trance, Mulder moved through the trees and towards the moon.
It grew bigger in his eyes, reflecting through them and into his soul. And
then it changed, shifted, morphed. Into her. It was almost too much. Her
green cloak hid the moon but the intense brightness still managed to
illuminate the forest. It illuminated her almost, casting an eerie amber
glow around the moving cloth. Mulder stopped in his tracks, wary but no
longer afraid. She wanted him to be afraid, wanted him to plead with her as
he'd done the first time he'd seen her. To tell the truth, he was tired of
her. He was tired of the games, of the way she'd show him the child in
order to draw him out. She glided towards him, arms outstretched a tad
theatrically. Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.
"What cardinal rule have I broken now?" he inquired pleasantly. She
hovered before him, raised her hands. He sighed, shook his head, and turned
to go.
"Wait."
Mulder didn't. He picked his way nimbly through the forest, trying to
ignore the fuzziness in his head that meant he'd been up too long. He could
barely see the cabin through the trees and wondered hazily if he might not
just enjoy spending the night on a lovely bed of pine needles.
"Wait," she commanded again, but Mulder wasn't hearing her. His lungs
were burning with the effort of taking in air and Mulder was beginning to
panic. Deep breaths, he told himself as he gasped horribly. He began to
run, limp really, trying desperately to reach the clearing before his lungs
stopped working altogether. As he gasped what he was fairly certain would
be his last, a velvety soft hand touched his shoulder. Mulder stopped.
She'd never touched him before. Never. The soft touch exerted pressure on
his shoulder and he felt himself sinking to the ground, wheezing and praying
for air. The figure knelt before him and he could once more see into the
depths of her serious gaze.
"I am here to help you," she said quietly, her voice like the murmur of
air through the trees. Mulder would have thought it beautiful if he wasn't
dying.
"Help me?" he wheezed. He began coughing, the racking cough that
generally ended with the inhaler, which he had left in the cabin. The woman
put a hand on his chest, almost pushing air into his lungs. Mulder's eyes
widened and he looked at her. He drew in a breath, wheezing only slightly.
"What did you do?" he asked hoarsely.
"Nothing Abby May wouldn't have done, except she would exact some payment
from you," the voice told him. She'd never told him anything of use before.
Mulder seized on it.
"What are you?"
She considered him for a moment, then rose.
"You know what I am. Look inside," she replied mysteriously. Mulder
sighed. She was back to this again.
"Fine, play your games," he said nastily, rising unsteadily to his feet.
She turned and pointed a slender pale arm towards the moon.
"You are here for the moon," she said quietly. Mulder stared at her,
then looked up at the harvest moon again. Here for the moon...maybe she'd
clarify, if he asked nicely.
"Did I come here for the moon?" he asked slowly. She nodded.
"Yes."
And with that, she was gone. Mulder blinked. The amber light of the
moon glowed through the trees once more, unencumbered by the dark cloak of
the woman. He had come for the moon...what in the hell did that mean?
Mulder jerked around as he heard the door of the cabin slam. He could see
Abby May, in a bright yellow cotton dress, standing on the porch, hands on
hips. He sighed and slowly made his way through the trees and into the
clearing, towards Abby May.

End Part Six
__________________________________________________________________________