A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (2/2)

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (2/2)
Anonymous

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Disclaimer in first post

They'd buried him. His eyes snapped open and when they had adjusted, he
found himself staring at the inside of the lid of a coffin. He drew in a
breath and tasted damp soil and musty air. The only air left that would
keep him alive was inside the coffin. They'd buried him. He wasn't dead.
They hadn't even checked, they'd just consigned him to a life with the worms
and the maggots without the knowledge that he was alive. And then he saw
the moon, shining impossibly through the coffin lid. Mocking him. You
didn't know, it said. You knew too much. And it killed you. But I'm not
dead, he protested. The moon inclined towards him. Oh yes you are, it
replied. You didn't know. And then you knew. And then you died.

Mulder's terrified scream tore at his throat. He ended up on the floor,
gagging as he screamed, stupidly unable to stop himself. The lights went on
and Doyle's heavy steps moved towards him. Dimly, Mulder was aware of Doyle
grabbing his hands, holding them firmly. Mulder writhed, gasping, screaming.
"Lemme out! God, please! I can't...I didn't..." Doyle just held his
hands, watching mutely as Mulder thrashed. Then, finally, it was over.
Mulder slowly opened his eyes, focused on Doyle.
"Ya awright?" Doyle asked equitably. Mulder shivered, the memory of all
of that pressed Earth above him still fresh in what passed for his memory.
Mulder slowly glanced down at his hands. Doyle let go and Mulder stared as
the blood dripped down onto the floor. Doyle watched impassively and
Mulder remembered pounding on the coffin lid in the vain hope that someone
who loved him, someone who believed in him, would hear his pounding and
rescue him. But even in the nightmare Mulder had known that nobody would
come. Even then, he knew he was alone. Mulder slumped against the couch,
ineffectively wiping a bloody hand on his shirt front. Doyle watched him
for another moment, then rose and walked towards the kitchen. He returned a
moment later, silently handing Mulder a towel. Mulder had a fairly deep
gash on one knuckle, but the blood made it look worse than it actually was.
Mulder sat on the couch and smiled at Doyle, taking the cup of tea from him.
"Hands okay?" Doyle asked. Mulder nodded.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he said softly. Doyle shrugged.
"Used to it now," he said, then stopped. Mulder stared at him.
"Have I had these before?" he asked incredulously. Doyle nodded.
"Yeah, but not as bad. Lucky for you, Dex and Abby May are off tonight,"
he replied. Dex and Abby...Mulder sipped his tea. His rapidly beating
heart was finally getting back to normal.
"Where'd they go?" he asked innocently. Doyle hesitated, clearly uneasy
with the subject.
"To see if they couldn't make a deal and the Spikers," he said. Mulder
looked at him. Doyle stared hard at the wall.
"I never did find out what was going on with the Spikers. Some kind of
feud?" Mulder asked as innocuously as possible. Doyle favored him with a
quick nod.
"Somethin' like that," he replied cautiously. Doyle rose abruptly.
"Get some sleep," he said.
"Thanks," Mulder replied. Doyle paused in the hallway and turned around,
locking eyes with Mulder.
"You're feeling better," he stated. Mulder nodded.
"Are ya feeling good enough to set out tomorrow night?"
Mulder was surprised.
"Um..sure, I guess. Dex wants me gone?"
Mulder hadn't seen much of Dex. The man had snarled at him a few times
but generally had ignored him. Mulder knew that there was something strange
happening in this house and he hoped fervently that he wasn't going to be a
part of it. If he had to climb Buckhorn Summit on his knees in order to get
out of this house, he would. Doyle contemplated Mulder for a long moment.
"It's been six days," he said quietly, as if that should explain
everything. Suddenly, the moon flashed into Mulder's mind. The harvest
moon, the knowing moon. The woman.
"What happens after six days?" he asked. Doyle got a faraway look in his
eyes and he seemed to transport himself out of the dingy cabin for a moment.
"The seventh day," he said flatly, eyes coming back into focus. Mulder
just nodded stupidly as Doyle rambled back down the hallway.

*****

Mulder's preliminary field report
Case # X-319564

I have interviewed James Mott, who appears properly grief-stricken at the
disappearance of his youngest daughter. Scully is waiting for me to
pronounce sentence on Sallie Mott as an abductee, but for once I'm not so
sure. Sallie is the third girl to disappear from her bedroom at night, the
third girl who was seemingly abducted. Were it not for the testimony of
Jessie Mott, I would believe that these were all earthly abductions. It's
strange; I believe Sallie was taken by somebody and not something, even
though Jessie witnessed a classic abduction. The other girls could have
been abducted for all we know. Both cases were treated as kidnapping and
the Bureau was not called in on any of them. The locals blamed the
kidnappings on a drifter, your typical white male, aged 25-35, battered as a
child, dominated by his mother...and every time I try to explain that you
can only get so much out of a textbook, the cops' eyes lock me out and I'm
once more the crazy Fibbie, come to show the yokels how to dispense justice.
I'm willing to believe that we have some nutcase kidnapping girls from
their beds; it's certainly not unprecedented and is, in fact, a disturbing
new trend. But my little voice, that which Scully calls Lucifer Cricket, is
niggling at me, telling me that I've just seen the beginning, the tip of the
iceberg.
I can't substantiate this yet because I've not decided if a profile
should necessarily include the other missing girls, but I believe that
Sallie's "abduction" was staged. It's too perfect -- now if only I could
account for Jessie's recollections.
What I should do is call Skinner and tell him to get in touch with Mike
Tours at ISU. They should send someone down here. Scully and I should go
home, have a few weeks of sifting through dusty case files and eating bad
shrimp salad for lunch. I can already feel this case closing in on me. I
see Sallie Mott when I close my eyes, and I know that there are more out
there. I can feel it. There's going to be more. One more.

*****

Best Western Motel
Montrose, Colorado

Scully closed the notebook and leaned back against the headboard. Think,
Dana, she told herself severely. She was having a hard time reading
Mulder's notes on the Mott case.
He'd filled the entire notebook and the scribbles at the end indicated
his state of mind as they were sent home. Mulder was right; they should
have been sent home as soon as it became apparent that there were no little
green men involved. But Mulder was so damned persistent; he just couldn't
let that idea go entirely. He had to consider all the facts and the truth
be known, the last case had worn him out emotionally and he was simply too
tired to be involved with this one.
Scully had tried but had been unable to obtain anything out of Mulder's
VICAP file, but she'd talked to one agent who'd worked with him on a few
cases and found out that Mulder reacted even worse to overwork than many of
the other agents. Mulder involved himself completely in each case, just as
that rat bastard Patterson had taught him, and it had nearly been his
undoing. Scully had seen him doing this with the X-Files, but never to such
a degree as had been described. Scully was terrified to read through to the
end of the notebook, sure that she would be even more certain that Mulder
was in deep trouble.

*****

Washington DC

The woman was in Colorado. Good. He'd already been to Colorado. That
was where he'd lost the subject. Damn him for being so resourceful! And
damn ME for insisting upon backup, he thought. Denman had gotten sucked
into the Fox Mulder legend and was so determined not to let him slip away
that he'd requested those two idiots who now lay in the morgue, being
dissected like fetal pigs by the woman. He'd contented himself (for awhile)
with the thought that Mulder would just be charge with the crimes, be
brought back to Washington in chains, and would be thoroughly discredited as
an FBI agent and as a human being. Even though he was an assassin, there
was some thrill in emotional assassination, in devastation. It was never
enough to quell the pain of a missed kill, but he'd learned to live with
whatever satisfaction he could get.
But the woman...the woman was trouble. She was insistent that Fox Mulder
had somehow been framed, of all things, that he hadn't killed those two men,
hadn't gone nuts, hadn't run. That he was being pursued. How DID she get
that paranoid, Denman wondered. And then he smiled delightedly. She wasn't
paranoid. Fox Mulder WAS being pursued. He swirled the Scotch around in
his glass and watched the patterns the liquid made. He knew that Mulder
wasn't in Colorado. What he didn't know was why Mulder hadn't gotten in
touch with the woman. And that bothered him. He knew that they were close
and fantasized that he'd one day get an assignment to blow the woman's face
off, if only to see these two burrs under the saddle of democracy vanquished
forever from the face of the Earth.
Annoyed, Denman set the Scotch down on the end table. Alcohol always
made him reminisce, it always made him wax poetic. He would find Mulder.
It wouldn't be hard -- his phone rang. He jumped slightly, then flipped it
open and put it to his ear, waiting. The voice spoke, then he heard the
audible click of a phone being hung up. He smiled, pocketed his phone.
Informants were worth their weight in gold. Fox Mulder was in California,
Northern California. He frowned slightly, perfect eyebrows creasing. But
then his face cleared. He didn't need to know why Mulder was in California,
what he was running to or what he was running from. All he needed to know
was where to aim.

*****

If what I see this night, Tamlin
Last night I'd only known
I'd have taken out your heart of flesh
Put in a heart of stone.

Hartley cabin
North of Redding, California

Abby smoothed the skirt of her dress and smiled brilliantly at Mulder.
She handed him a sandwich and frowned when he took it listlessly.
"What's a matter, Fred? Ya don't like tuna?" she asked worriedly.
Mulder grinned crookedly. Maybe Fred WAS his real name. He'd started
answering to it. He took a bite of the sandwich. Abby smiled devilishly.
"Guess the secret ingredient?" she taunted. He shook his head.
"I don't want to know. It's probably pig's intestine or something," he
said. Abby shook her head resolutely.
"Nope. Spiker," she said. Mulder stared at her. She laughed.
"You've got an odd sense of humor, Abby," he said ruefully. She nodded
as if that made everything just about perfect.
"It's Dex. He gets me goin' and I just can't stop."
Abby shaded her eyes with a hand and looked around, bored. Mulder chewed
and watched her.
"How long have you been here?" he asked. She shrugged, slurping down
lemonade.
"Month, maybe two. Waitin', you know," she replied, embarrassed.
"Waiting for what?" he asked. Abby hesitated, refilled his lemonade glass.
"For you," she said, almost shy. Mulder stared at her, mystery sandwich
forgotten. She began shoving food back into the picnic basket.
"Not for you, exactly. For someone...something. Spiker's will kill us
if they find us. 'Specially me. Dex and Doyle are protecting me.
You...you're sorta my insurance," she said, her words tumbling out in a
rush. Mulder was completely at sea now.
"Insurance for what?"
Abby sighed, picked up the basket. Mulder shoved the rest of his
sandwich in his mouth and got to his feet. That had to be the shortest
picnic in the history of the world.
"I really shouldn'ta said anything. I didn't wanta say anything until I
knew for sure. Now I know, so..." Abby's voice trailed off as she
contemplated Mulder. She set the basket down again and took a quick look
around. Mulder had noticed that when Abby, Dex or Doyle used their eyes,
they also used their other senses. They were complete that way. Abby's
nose quivered and she finally sat back down, satisfied that nobody was
around. Mulder followed her example, sitting next to her. She took his
hand. He jerked back and she gave him a hound-dog expression.
"I ain't gonna hurt you," she said scornfully. He cast her a wary glance.
"Not like before," she said softly. "I hadn't any right to do that. I'm
right sorry for that, but Dex can make me so mad..."
Mulder let her take his hand. She held it between her soft hands,
studying it.
"Are you a palm reader or something?" he asked. She laughed.
"Nope. Stuff's stupid. Doyle believes in all that stuff. I don't. It
ain't true. I wanna make a pact with you," she said. Mulder nodded slowly.
"Uh...okay. What kind of pact?"
"I wanna be aware of you, and you of me," she said mysteriously. This
was not good. Mulder watched her warily as she studied his hand. She
glanced up at him and he was struck by her gaze. Her eyes, blue flecked
with yellow, seemed to glow in the soft afternoon sunlight. She smiled
slightly at him.
"I ain't gonna seduce you," she said. Mulder laughed nervously.
"Okay."
Abby took his other hand and there they sat, motionless. She closed her
eyes, and Mulder followed suit. Her touch was feather light and calming,
tranquil. The bonelessness he'd felt before came back in a rush but it was
different this time, it was welcomed. Before, it had seemed like a
violation, like an intrusion. But this was warm and enveloping, comforting.
Mulder wanted to cry, it felt so good. He had a flash then, of another
woman. She was looking down at him smiling as if he was the only person in
the world. He felt safe with her, safe in that moment. Safe with Abby.
She slowly withdrew her hands. The spell was broken. Mulder blinked his
eyes open and he stared in shock at Abby's eyes. They were dark blue pools
and Mulder could se himself reflected in them. They were pain-filled eyes.
Then she blinked and smiled at him, and the pain faded. She leaned forward
and kissed him lightly on the lips then sat back and regarded him for a moment.
"Is that it?" he asked hoarsely. She tossed her hair.
"Yeah. That's it."
Mulder nodded, somehow satisfied. He was definitely aware of Abby May
Hartley now, down to his bones. And that was a good feeling.

*****

Best Western Motel
Montrose, Colorado

"Agent Scully?"
Scully jerked back to the present. She smiled wanly at Orsatti and
picked up her fork.
"Sorry. What were you saying?" she asked politely. Orsatti sat back in
his seat, watching her. Always watching her...Scully was now positive that
she had to give Will Orsatti the slip. It was too pat, too perfect. He was
too eager, like Alex Krycek had been. Mulder would have mistrusted Orsatti
from the beginning but Scully had been foolish and had thought that she
needed to bring him with her in order to keep an eye on HIM. Now, it was
backfiring. Orsatti stuck to her like glue. They'd visited the crime scene
and found nothing. Scully had looked at the bodies. Nothing. And now she
was convinced that not only was the key to Mulder's flight in his notes, but
also that there was more to the story than she'd suspected. Mulder had
killed those two men in a panic, which meant that he was afraid. Of Them.

*****

Scully knelt down next to the dried pool of blood. There had been a lot
of blood from both bodies, blood running in rivulets down the floor. Mulder
had ostensibly killed these two men in a bus depot, witnessed by forty
people. Mulder had been taken into custody almost immediately and try as
she might, Scully could make neither heads nor tails of the arrest report.
It was idiotic in its simplicity and no mention was made of Mulder's state
of mind, of anything he'd said at all. Mulder HAD killed them.
The gun was his own, his fingerprints were all over it. Those were the
facts and Scully dealt in facts. They made her comfortable, able to think
clearly. Facts could be compartmentalized, referred to. Facts could not be
misconstrued or twisted. Now, Scully wished with everything she was that
this was not the case. Mulder was not a killer, but he'd killed.
Therefore, something had to have set him off. Something took the Fox Mulder
she knew and switched him off, turned him into someone else. Fear, perhaps.
Illness. Psychosis? Scully didn't want to imagine that.
Scully abruptly got to her feet, shouldering her bag. The cop in charge
squinted at her.
"See enough?" he asked perfunctorily. Scully nodded, feeling the mask
slip onto her features. Dana Scully, Special Agent.
"Ballistics --" she began. The cop waved a hand.
"In the report. Your people were thorough," he said, and Scully heard
that faint snarl in his voice. The FBI's most unloved, that's what she was.
Scully took the file and went back to the motel.
The motel was where it hit her, that blinding insight that she'd been
searching for. She read the report. Mulder was sitting on a bus bench with
a few other people. Just sitting, doing nothing. According to witnesses,
Mulder had suddenly bolted, running through the station away from the two
men who had appeared. Threatened. The men gave chase. The witnesses
assumed that they were cops and Mulder was some psychotic escaped convict.
The people didn't want to get involved. Nobody ever wanted to get involved.
Backed up against a wall in the dimmest, darkest part of the station, Mulder
had apparently pulled his gun and shot the two men. The gunshots echoed
through the station and the first person to reach the scene reported that
Mulder stood against the wall, gun limply in one hand, staring at the bodies
of the two men and the blood enveloping their still forms. People never
want to get involved but they are quick to judge. Station security arrived
and took Mulder into custody. His gun, the weapon that had been issued to
him after the last time he'd lost his gun, had most definitely fired the shots.
Two things bothered Scully. One, the identities of the victims were
never uncovered. Mulder WAS paranoid, but most of the time it was with good
reason. Even the Lone Gunmen couldn't identify the victims. They were
ghosts. How unusual could it be that Mulder would kill two nameless,
faceless men? How much of a coincidence could that be? Scully started
getting the chills up and down her spine, the chills that told her there
were bigger problems at hand. She'd tried so hard to ignore her paranoid
leanings but after all that had happened she realized that she was slipping
into a new persona. She felt like a heretic, preaching the word of truth to
the uncaring.
The other thing that concerned her was Mulder being at a bus station. He
didn't have a ticket on him when he'd been arrested but he was obviously
going somewhere. Scully flashed on Mulder's mug shot. He hadn't said a
word from the time he was arrested to the time he escaped. He had no ID on
him at all. The cruel irony was that the cops had faxed his photo to the
Bureau, hoping to identify at least one person in all this mess. And it had
turned out to be one of their own.
Scully leaned back, letting her mind work.
Mulder in Colorado, Mulder obviously on the run. Something had happened
to him in DC after they'd returned. She'd been so worried about him...and
he'd disappeared right under her nose, right from work. Scully had found
Mulder's ID on his desk. He had his gun...Scully jumped up, spilling papers
all over the floor. She grabbed her coat, then hesitated. Orsatti. Fuck
Orsatti, Scully thought viciously. She wouldn't play the game anymore. If
he wanted to follow her, good luck. Scully crept silently out of her room.

*****

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A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (8/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Will Orsatti sat up as he heard a door shut softly. Dammit. He shut the
laptop, swung his legs off the bed, and picked up his jacket. He moved
quickly towards the window and saw Dana Scully slink past it and to the car.
"Shit!" he hissed. He raced for the door, opened it and shouted.
"Agent Scully!"
She froze and turned to look at him, eyes wild, caught. Shit, he
thought. She knows. How does she know? He considered what to do as he
walked quickly towards her. He had no authorization to do anything but let
her lead him to Mulder. Harper had been very explicit in his instructions
and Orsatti wasn't about to let a chance at a good field assignment go out
the window by breaking the rules. Even if it meant letting Dana Scully get
the jump on him occasionally. He hadn't believed that Scully was really
this paranoid or this ready to throw away her career, so this whole sneaking
out thing had come as a surprise.
Now she watched him warily as he approached and he realized with relief that
she wasn't yet far gone enough to bolt right in front of him.
Scully still believed in the system, he had to think that. He could see
her balanced on the balls of her feet, though, ready for flight. Suddenly,
he was crushed to have put her in this position. He was a good agent,
dammit! Who did she think he was, anyway? He was feeling magnanimous
tonight, and a little smug that he'd managed to trap her. He put on his
best, most welcoming smile.
"Hey, if you're going for food, mind if I come?" he asked pleasantly.
The rigid line in her body softened somewhat, but too much worry and too
little sleep kept her on the defensive. And the offensive, as it turned
out. She pulled her gun on him. Stunned, Orsatti took two steps backwards,
arms going up automatically. Scully's focus was unwavering and she glared
furiously at him.
"Who were those men?" she asked in a low, deadly voice. Orsatti
shivered. He had underestimated Dana Scully terribly. She would kill him
if he didn't have the answers she sought. They didn't even play the game
now, because both of them knew that the facades had dropped.
"Who were they?" she shouted, lunging forward, deadly weapon still aimed
at his chest. Orsatti's inner self was disgusted when his outer self began
shaking his head, babbling uselessly.
"I don't know I don't know you have to believe me they didn't tell me
anything I don't know --"
"SHUT UP!" she yelled. He shut up, his palms sweaty with panic. She
stood still, staring at him, waiting for him to do...what? It suddenly
occurred to him that he wasn't trained for this. He wasn't trained for
anything. All he could do was sit in a dark room, look at crime scene
photos, and try to figure out what kind of sicko could do this sort of
thing. Orsatti never left his office. He was safe, cocooned. He might
have a bad dream every once in awhile, but he knew the sickos would never
find him. They'd never know that they were apprehended because of his work.
He got to do the work, but never had to pay the price. He never had to live
by his wits, figure out who was trying to fuck him, wonder if anyone was
trying to kill him.
And now, here he was, Ivy Leaguer Will Orsatti, staring down the barrel
of a loaded weapon, pointed at him by a fellow agent. Now he envied Dana
Scully almost as much as he feared her. He was pissing his pants, he was so
scared. What kind of a fucking FBI agent did that make him? He had soft
hands and a soft mind. He still couldn't program the VCR. He was hoping to
get a gold watch when he retired. And this woman...this woman was trying to
fight through the morass of intrigue and shadowy figures in order to get her
partner back. She didn't know who helped and who hurt. She had to distrust
everyone.
It wasn't always like that, Orsatti thought. Please tell me it wasn't
always that way. Please tell me that once upon a time, Dana Scully had been
a nice, lovely, bright young woman with a bright future ahead of her and
superiors who doted on her. Now, her unwavering faith in Mulder and his
cause made her dangerous. Now, Orsatti sobbed, tears streaming down his
face, praying that Scully would see him for what he was and hating himself
for the need to be weak and ineffectual.
"Look, Agent Scully, you have to believe me. Harper...Harper sent me,
said to find Mulder, find him and bring him back...he didn't trust you...he
didn't think you'd bring him back...I swear, I'm working for the FBI...it's
all I ever wanted...I do my job, I hope for more...Harper gave me the
chance...I'm going to be a field agent, he said so..." Orsatti couldn't go
on. He hated himself for what he was. Scully's aim didn't waver. She
pressed her advantage.
"You are NEVER going to be a field agent!" she snarled. Orsatti looked down.
"Hands up, Orsatti!" Scully said. Orsatti jerked erect again, once more
staring into her heated gaze.
"You listen to me, Orsatti, if you lie to me I will kill you. If you
EVER lie to me, I will kill you. If I learn that you are not working for
Harper, that this whole pathetic breakdown is a sham, I will kill you. I
have got to find Mulder. NOTHING else matters to me. And I will not turn
him over to you or anyone else until I am convinced that he will be treated
fairly. Got me?"
Orsatti could do nothing but nod. Scully went on.
"No matter what Harper told you, the Bureau is playing you. There is
always another agenda, Orsatti, which is something that you need to learn if
you want to be involved. We are all puppets, every one of us. We're all
working for a higher truth that we'll never find," she said, her voice
beginning to calm slightly. Orsatti drew a hopeful breath. Maybe she
wouldn't kill him. How could he convince her that he was telling the truth?
And then it hit him: he couldn't. Not ever. Because Dana Scully had been
lied to too many times to believe the likes of Will Orsatti. Dana Scully
believed in exactly two people -- herself and Fox Mulder. And Orsatti,
Harper and everyone else were trying to take that belief away from her.
Jesus Christ, Orsatti thought bleakly.
"I will do whatever you want me to do," he said calmly. "I will say
anything you want me to say. I am not here to obstruct your search for
Mulder. I was not forced or coerced in any way to write my report. My
truth is in that report. I stand by it. I believe in it."
Scully stared at him, eyes wide. She still won't believe me, Orsatti
thought. And she didn't.
"You are good, Agent Orsatti. Much as I would like to believe that
you're telling the truth, I can't."
Scully lowered the gun. Orsatti was weak with relief.
"But I can't shoot you because of my paranoia. I will shoot you if I
suspect you're going behind my back. You had better watch out for me, Will
Orsatti."
Isn't that the truth, Orsatti thought. He would always watch out for
Dana Scully. Mulder didn't know how lucky he was. He'd trained her
well...or maybe the multitude of tragedies had trained her the same way
they'd trained Mulder. That thought brought tears to Orsatti's eyes.
Scully was completely bereft of whatever innocence she'd arrived with the
first time she'd gone to meet her new partner. And Orsatti viciously,
furiously hoped that wouldn't happen to him. He wouldn't let it happen to
him, even if it meant profiling his fool head off in that windowless room at
Quantico for the rest of his life, until they gave him the watch for the
years of uninspired, unimportant service. That would be fine with him.
Scully holstered her gun and gestured to the car.
"Get in," she said, unlocking the door and climbing into the driver's
seat. Orsatti cautiously and very, very slowly got inside and buckled his
seat belt. Scully started the car, then turned to look at him.
"We're going to the bus station. I expect you to stick close by me
unless I tell you otherwise. Got it?"
Orsatti nodded.
"Are you going to try and find out if he bought a ticket?" he asked.
Scully scowled at him and shifted into drive.
"And don't ask any questions," she said darkly.

*****

Scully stared at the bus schedule and tried to see it logically. She had
to put herself in Mulder's head, something that was both frightening and
dangerous. In order to do so, she had to admit to herself that there was
something seriously wrong with Mulder. It was the toughest thing she'd ever
done. She closed her eyes and visualized Mulder the last time she'd seen him:

Mulder hadn't shown up for work the morning after their return from
California. Scully waited about two hours before calling and wasn't
surprised that there was no answer. She made some lame excuse that Skinner
would never in a million years buy, and left, heading straight for Mulder's
apartment.
Scully didn't even bother knocking, she just barged in, using her key.
If he wasn't answering the phone he certainly wasn't going to answer the
door. Mulder was sprawled, face down, on the couch, apparently dead to the
world, still dressed in the clothes he'd travelled home in. Scully stifled
the prickling of fear she felt and moved towards him, relieved to find a
bottle of sleeping pills on the coffee table. Scully waited almost four
hours before Mulder finally began to stir. She helped him sit up and made
him drink about a gallon of water. Fortunately, it hadn't appeared that he
was in any distress. He looked at her blearily.
"What time is it?" he asked hoarsely. Scully glanced at the clock.
"Two-thirty," she replied cautiously. Mulder groaned and ran a hand
through his already disheveled hair.
"Shit. I'm sorry, Scully."
Scully smiled. At least he was somewhat repentant about missing work.
"Are you okay, Mulder?"
He nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Yeah..." His gaze followed hers to the bottle of pills and he
grinned sheepishly.
"I should stay the hell away from those things. I just took one, which
was stupid. You know how these things knock me out."
Scully locked eyes with Mulder. That fear was back again. Mulder was a
master at putting one over on her, playing to her sympathies or denying
them. Playing her. Mulder looked back calmly, then yawned. That was his
signal to Scully for her to leave, but she still sat there, looking at him.
"What's going on, Mulder?" she asked quietly. He leaned back against the
couch.
"Nothing. I was just tired. You know, one case after another...from the
Bartlett case --" Mulder stopped and made a caustic comment that somehow
erased all doubt of trouble from Scully's mind. Mulder was fine; he was
just tired. The short temper he'd displayed during the Mott case had been
the result of too much stress and not enough sleep. Scully had left him
poring through what appeared to be more case files and gone back to the
office to do the same. He'd disappeared that night.

Suddenly, Scully saw it. She saw everything now. It all made sense now,
it all fit together. The Bartlett case had been harrowing for both of them,
but more so for Mulder. He'd started doubting himself during that case and
Scully had been so relieved that he'd managed to bounce back that she hadn't
questioned how much. What had the Bartlett case cost Mulder? Why hadn't
Scully been more insistent that they leave Redding before Mulder lost it and
flat-out accused James Mott of kidnapping and killing his daughter? The
jumble of words in his notebook came back to her. And began to make sense.

*****

James Mott loved astronomy. He had a gigantic telescope set up in the
family room and he used to spend hours in front of it, delightedly searching
the skies. His interest in astronomy had come about in March of 1972, when
he'd witnessed the occultation of three (theoretically, since Celaeno is not
visible to the naked eye) of the Pleiades by the moon. Ever since, Mott had
been fascinated by astronomy. And now, in his notebooks, so had Mulder.
Scully remembered their first visit to the Mott home, when Mott had proudly
shown off his powerful telescope. He showed Mulder the constellation of
Orion and Mulder had shown enough interest to get Mott's mythology lecture.
Reading Mulder's notebook was like reading a book in which every other word
was deleted. On the flight to Redding, Scully read about Orion, the Hunter,
who had fallen in love with the Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters,
and chased them for seven years.
When James Mott was a child, the younger sister he was watching was
struck by lightning and killed. Mott had been temporarily blinded by the
incident and had experienced serious emotional problems for some time
afterwards, but he had apparently recovered and appeared to be a happily
married family man. He was a devoted father and a dedicated worker. The
construction company he'd started was growing by leaps and bounds. And he
truly appeared distraught at his daughter's disappearance.
But it was Mulder's insistence that James Mott never got over his
sister's death and in fact, that James Mott was trying to exorcise his
demons by murdering his daughter. Scully frowned and noticed out of the
corner of her eye that Orsatti appeared to be asleep. He was a terrible
flyer and had taken a pill before they'd boarded. Scully was having an
impossible time taking Mulder's intuitive leap. Mulder never leapt like
normal people; he would never give an indication of the steps that took him
from point A to point Z. If you couldn't follow him, he couldn't explain
it. But now it was up to Scully to follow it.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (9/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****
'O see not ye yon narrow road,
That lies over yon lillie leven?
That is the path of wickedness,
Tho some call it the road to heaven.

Hartley cabin
North of Redding, California

Mulder dreamed again. This time, the moon was calling to him. Every
time he tried to answer, it turned into the cloaked figure of the woman.
The woman was hurting him, stabbing him. And Mulder jerked awake once more.
He flashed a guilty look around the room, but fortunately, he hadn't made
any noise. It was breaking dawn outside and Mulder dressed quietly and went
to the door. Doyle's pronouncement that Mulder should leave today had
scared him badly. The seventh day...
Dex and Abby May weren't back yet. Their whole disappearance didn't make
any sense. Abby was being protected by Doyle and Dex from this Spiker
family, so why would Dex risk her safety by taking her out? And why didn't
Doyle appear to be concerned?
Something inside of Mulder wanted desperately to know what was going on.
He jogged slowly through the clearing, pleased that his leg had healed so
rapidly and that his breathing was fairly clear. He glanced nervously back
at the cabin. All quiet. Mulder hesitated, then entered the woods where
he'd seen the woman just yesterday. The moon shone dimly above him, guiding
him...Mulder stopped, looked up.
The moon looked down. The Moon was the last. The Moon will suffer
terribly. Mulder cocked his head, perplexed, and tried to get the memory
back, but he was again frustrated. A sharp crack off to his right made him
dive for cover, but he sheepishly rose to his feet as he realized that it
had only been a deer. Mulder and the deer stared at each other for a long
moment, then the deer deemed him unworthy and ambled off through the woods.
Then Mulder heard voices, raised in anger. He crept silently through the
woods towards the voices. And froze.
Abby, still in her light cotton dress, stood in the middle of a clearing,
hands on her hips. Dex stood uncomfortably close to her, talking to her,
convincing her. A group of incredibly filthy people, men and women,
surrounded them. They were holding torches. Mulder crept slowly forward
then crouched behind a tree. He could hear Abby's strong voice float
through the silence.
"I don't care, Dex, you ain't lyin' to me about this! Today's the
seventh day and you got nothin' on me anymore, and we two made a pact and
there ain't no Spiker who could break that. Not even you," she added
scornfully. Dex stepped back as if he'd been slapped. He lunged forward
and grabbed Abby's thin arm tightly.
"You so great, Abby May Hartley, you so great. You're not untouchable,
little girl, no matter who or what you are. You will do what we say and
you'll do it gladly. You'll do it for all of us who're sick of Spikers
killin' us. Ya don't think the one you found is really goin' through with
that pact, do ya?" Dex asked. Abby shrank from him, but her eyes blazed
furiously. Mulder's sense of foreboding grew exponentially.
"Already did, you stupid old fool," Abby spat at Dex. "I'll be no
sacrifice for you."
Dex roared an inhuman roar, picked Abby up and threw her. Mulder was on his
feet and into the melee before he even remembered moving. Abby crumpled
against a tree and lay, motionless. Mulder flung himself furiously at Dex,
who was surprised by the attack but recovered quickly. Mulder raked his
fingernails over Dex's face and Dex yelled, then backhanded Mulder
viciously. Mulder stumbled and fell and then, to his horror, watched as Dex
grew and swelled. Into a monster.
The men and women backed away fearfully as Dex changed. Mulder, still on
his knees, vomited at the base of a tree as Dex's skin split and curled.
Mulder gagged and spat bile as the smell of wet fur stung his nostrils. Dex
roared again, his all-yellow eyes glaring balefully at Mulder.
"Come, now!" he roared, his voice foreign and guttural. Mulder wiped his
mouth with his sleeve, feeling his rage grow. He stood, swaying slightly,
and dimly remembered hearing the shouts of the people behind him. The
torches cast an eerie glow as Mulder uncaringly launched himself at the
monster that had been the slight, strong man. He grabbed fur and pulled Dex
off-balance. Dex wrapped a strong arm around Mulder's neck and lifted him.
Mulder's eyes bulged as he struggled ineffectually with Dex's iron grip, yet
again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Abby stir. She looked
directly into Mulder's eyes, unafraid, helping him.
Something grew in Mulder then, something powerful, something foreign. As
Dex shifted his grasp Mulder managed to pull free. He hit the ground
lightly on the balls of his feet and crouched warily, waiting for Dex's next
move. But there wasn't any next move. Mulder heard Abby May scream and he
half-turned, now knowing what the people were shouting about. The people
fled into the forest, into the Spikers who had attacked from the rear.
All Mulder saw was a sea of beady yellow eyes moving towards the
clearing. Dex saw it, too, and turned to look at Mulder.
"Abby," was all he said. Mulder nodded, whirled around and helped Abby
to her feet. The yellow flecks in her eyes were growing brighter and she
was getting heavier. She stared at him, eyes terrified.
"I won't turn," she whispered. "They'll have me if I turn."
"What can I do?" Mulder asked breathlessly. Abby watched as Dex hit the
Spikers full on. Mulder cringed as he saw the discarded torches, lighting
up the night sky as they ignited the dry pine needles and trees.
"The moon," she said. "Get me to the moon."
"Uh...isn't that bad?" he asked uncertainly, automatically accepting what
Abby was. She smiled slightly, in pain.
"That's fiction. Harvest moon two nights ago. Back up the road near the
lake...there's a bluff. I gotta get there. Please," she begged, clinging
to him. He felt her in him, and he nodded.

*****

The last entry in Mulder's notebook

The hunter hunts. Always. Finding and stalking prey, killing it. But
he doesn't kill, he hunts, he terrorizes, he never atones. Nothing will
lift the veil. He has tried many times to rid himself of the images. The
Hunter hunts. He has loved and lost, but can never get that back again. He
can't get the love back so he tries other methods. He is the dominator, or
he sees the dominator in himself. He dominates, he controls, he
manipulates. Merope rejects him so he must dominate her. He fears her,
hates her. He hunts her. He rapes her. He was young, in a rage. He rapes
her over and over, she screams out, the justice is never meted. He can
never be judged, or killed. The child represents the Lost Pleiad. She
hates him for her sister and Dionysus turns a blind eye. Dionysus refuses
to help him.
And when the Moon falls, when Artemis fails her task, when the sisters have
been chosen, he will rest with the Moon. He will rest...but
One more to go. Alcyone, Electra, Merope and Taygeta. Taygeta is left.
Taygeta is the last. IT MUST NOT HAPPEN. He must not succeed. The
watchers do not care. The watchers have been there, they know. Mars,
Mercury, Venus. They Know. They know he hunts and they think he can't help
himself, but he can. The daughters go up to Orion. They don't need to
suffer but he needs it for himself. The Moon will suffer terribly. There
are two more -- Taygata and the Moon. Artemis failed and she will be
punished. And he will Hunt forever. And he will remember Merope but the
rest will fade. He will remember...and be unable to stop himself and it
will keep happening and keep happening and keep happening...because he will
Hunt forever.

*****

Scully tried to quell the tears but couldn't. She got up and quickly
made her way to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she leaned her
forehead against it and cried. She sank down to the floor, arms wrapped
around herself, and mourned Mulder's sanity. He had not appeared this
delusional when they'd been sent back to Washington. He'd been enormously
depressed and withdrawn, but nothing like this. Nothing like this. Scully
reached for a tissue, sniffled, and thought. Whatever Mulder had been
operating on during the Mott case, whatever insight he'd gathered, had been
spewed out in a strange stream of consciousness in his notebook. It had
taken Scully quite a while to decipher his rambling, sloppy writing and she
hadn't been happy when she'd finished. Now, she had to think like Mulder.
It was fairly obvious that Mulder wasn't being literal in his ramblings,
but there was something so...logical about the writing. The question was --
was Mulder talking about James Mott? Scully just didn't know. Orion.
Shit. Scully scrambled to her feet, made sure her eyes weren't red, and
unlocked the bathroom door. She darted back to her seat and picked up the
Mott file, the one she'd halfheartedly brought but hadn't really looked at.
Mulder had asked Mott strange questions, mainly about astronomy, Scully
remembered. And then he'd gone right for Mott's throat, insisting that Mott
come and make a statement. After Mott's statement Mulder had closeted
himself in his room for most of the day and then he'd appeared, loudly
announcing that James Mott had staged the abduction and killed his daughter.
At that point, they were sent home. Mulder had no evidence at all and
Scully had been too worried about him to even consider what he was trying to
tell her.
There was a good chance that James Mott had not only kidnapped and killed
his own daughter, but that he'd also killed the other two girls who had
disappeared from their rooms at night. The daughters go up to Orion. Good
God. Who was more delusional -- Mott or Mulder? And the Moon -- Scully
shook her head, frustrated. Christ, Mulder, why didn't you tell me? Where
are you? Why haven't you called...
Scully flipped through the mythology book. It hadn't answered many
questions. At the first opportunity, Scully was going to pick up an Edith
Hamilton book and find out if Mulder had contacted James Mott.

*****

Sacramento, California

Scully, Orsatti at her heels, went right to the bus station once they'd
landed in Sacramento. Scully had fallen asleep on the plane, dreaming about
Mulder and James Mott. And Orion. Now, all Scully could see was Mulder's
face, imploring her to help him, to save him from whatever sort of madness
this was.
"Yes," Scully said in soft triumph. There was a regular bus to Redding.
Scully turned to the woman at the front desk and casually flipped open her ID.
"FBI. I need to know if this man --" Scully hated to do it, but she held
up Mulder's mug shot -- "bought a ticket to Redding in the last week." The
woman stared at the photo, then called over a few other workers, who also
stared at it. Nothing. Scully sighed, caught on the horns of a dilemma.
What she should do was contact the local FBI office and discuss strategy
with the SAC in the hopes that they could locate Mulder before he did any
serious damage. Scully cast a glance at Orsatti. Yeah, that was procedure,
all right, but it wouldn't ensure Mulder's safety if someone really was
after him. What she wanted to do was to go straight to Redding, hide in the
woods around James Mott's house, and wait for Mulder to show. But there was
no way she would lead Orsatti to Mulder, no matter what nonsense the kid
spewed. Scully needed him out of the way. She turned suddenly, taking
Orsatti by the arm and leading him away from the curious onlookers.
"You really want to help?" she asked quietly, keeping her voice even.
Orsatti, still scared by her, nodded.
"Okay. Mulder's most likely in this general area. You need to find out
if he took a bus anywhere."
"But those women --" he began naively. Scully glared at him.
"I show four people a photo and you think that's conclusive evidence that
he didn't take the bus? What kind of an FBI agent are you?" she growled.
He stiffened, his face reddened. Scully bit back a smile. He was hooked.
"Procedure dictates that we contact the SAC at the local office," he
mumbled. Scully nodded.
"I know. And that's what you're going to do. Follow procedure," she
replied levelly. He stared at her.
"And what are you going to do?" he asked. What WAS she going to do?
Could she actually do this? Could she follow Mulder's ping-ponging thought
processes, his damaged mind, based on a three-year partnership that was
closer than almost any relationship she'd ever had? Could she take the
mixed-up words in Mulder's notebook, marry them to the facts of the Mott
case, and figure out why there had so far been no sign of Mulder anywhere
near the Mott's house? Most importantly, would she do ANYTHING to stop
Mulder from hurting himself further, even if it resulted in the pain she'd
caused him earlier when she'd had to shoot him to keep him from killing
Krycek? How far was she willing to go with this, when it was obvious that
Mulder didn't want her help?
Scully wondered as these thoughts raced through her mind. She remembered
how frightened she'd been when she'd seen the introverted behavior Mulder
had exhibited during the Mostow case. Patterson had told Scully to let
Mulder do his job and she had, but more out of helplessness than out of any
great faith she had in Mulder. Was it time to sit back and let things
continue, or should she take the bull by the horns and force Mulder back
into reality?
She looked at Orsatti, almost fiercely.
"I have some leads to follow," she said. Orsatti started to reply, then
stopped. His eyes lowered and he nodded. Scully hid her look of amazement
and turned away, turning her back on Orsatti and perhaps on her livelihood.

*****

Highway 99

As Scully drove she replayed the scenes from their investigation of the
Mott case in her mind, combining them in odd ways with Mulder's notes. And
frighteningly enough, Scully was starting to believe that Mulder was right,
that James Mott was a seriously deranged man whose guilt over his sister's
death was such that the only way he could ever be free was through
sacrifice. The Edith Hamilton book Scully had picked up had given her a
more extensive overview of the myth of Orion and of the Pleiades, the Seven
Sisters. Much of Mulder's ravings came from the myth of Orion. Orion loved
Merope, to whom he was denied marriage by her father, King Oenopion. In a
rage, Orion raped her and was cast into a deep sleep and blinded by
Dionysus. Scully shuddered and turned up the heat, applying a little more
pressure to the accelerator. She craned her neck and saw the moon, full in
the sky, lighting her path. Her path to what, she wondered. She saw the
myth in everything now, saw it the way Mulder, still half-cocked after the
horror of the Bartlett case, must have seen it. But Scully was still
rational enough to be able to take a giant step backwards and see it
clinically. Mulder, so intuitive about catching criminals by getting inside
their heads and understanding them, didn't have that luxury. But even the
small flashes of insight Scully was receiving scared her. She looked hard
at men who walked with their daughters, their trusting children, beaming up
at their fathers. Scully felt like she had been elected to protect those
children in the same way her father had protected her. She'd always felt
safe around him, and had taken that feeling of safety for granted. Maybe
Sallie Mott didn't have that chance.
It certainly appeared that something was terribly amiss in the Mott
household. Jessie had been almost ignored by her father, shunted aside for
the light of his life, little Sallie. And Scully had seen enough domestic
abuse cases to know that there could be a dark, secret reason for that
adoration. Jessie and Sallie were very close and Jessie felt protective of
her little sister. The daughters up to Orion...why not Jessie, Scully
wondered. Why only Sallie?

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (10/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Out then spoke the Queen of the Faeries
And angry queen was she
Shame betide her ill-starred face
And an ill death may she die.

North of Redding

Mulder drove recklessly, Abby half-conscious beside him. His lungs were
hurting him again and he blinked feverish sweat out of his eyes. He nearly
sideswiped two trees in his vain attempt to ignore the swelling fire that
had already claimed the little bit of forest behind Abby's home. Abby's
cold hand found his. He looked at her. She smiled wearily.
"I'm goin' to the Moon?" she whispered. He nodded. She closed her eyes.
"I'm gonna give it back to you," she murmured.
"Give what back to me?" he asked. She whispered something that Mulder
didn't catch, then drifted off again. Mulder was terrified. Dex hadn't
hurt her enough to kill her. What was wrong with her? If he could save
her...another flash. Mulder held onto that one. He remembered being
paralyzed, somehow. Paralyzed...unable...to help. He touched Abby's cheek
softly. No change. She wasn't changing yet. Off to the left, he could see
the fire working its way up to the ridgeline. He shuddered, happy to be as
far away from the fire as he possibly could.
Abby had told him that there was a bluff by the lake where the moon was
perfectly visible. Mulder sailed past a turn-off and something clicked in
his mind. Orion, the Hunter, raping Merope, being punished, being saved,
then killed. The Moon's failure. Artemis' shame.
The Moon hiding.
Mulder suddenly swung the wheel hard to the right and the old car bounced
up the narrow dirt road. He could see the moon above him, taunting him to
find the answers. The cloak of the woman obscured the moon as she spoke
to him.
"She is not your salvation. She is not your truth."
Mulder shook his head, unwilling to believe. The moon spoke again.
"Orion had two loves and savaged them both."
With dread, Mulder looked at Abby. He slammed down hard on the brakes
and reached out a trembling hand. Abby's cheek was cold as ice. Mulder
whimpered, scrambled out of the car and carefully pulled Abby out, laying
her on the hard ground. With trembling hands he took off his jacket and
laid it over her. He felt for a pulse. Nothing.
"Abby?" he whispered. "Baby, come on. Look, we're going to the moon.
You'll be okay. You'll be safe."
Her porcelain smooth skin reflected moonlight. She was calm. He took
her cold hand in his, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to feel the
bonelessness again, the safety and security. But there was no safety or
security, only the cold and harsh reality. Cruelty. Orion had two loves
and savaged them both. Mulder lay down next to Abby and sobbed for her loss
and his.

*****

Ten miles to Redding. Scully could see the glow of a forest fire off to
her left. She began to wonder. If James Mott was completely deranged and
had kidnapped his own daughter, staging her disappearance to look like an
abduction and somehow brainwashing Jessie, why hadn't the body turned up?
If Mott was also responsible for the other kidnappings, why hadn't the other
bodies shown up? It's ritualistic, Scully told herself.
Mott is using the girls as substitution for his guilt. He'll use their
deaths to pay for his guilt, the guilt he felt over his sister's death. It
has to be done according to myth, but Scully had wracked her brain and her
references and found nothing that made any sense. Okay, go back to the
beginning. Why was James Mott obsessed with Orion? He wasn't. He was
obsessed with astronomy. Shortly after his sister's death, Mott had gotten
interested in astronomy. He'd seen the occultation...Scully almost swerved
off the road. He'd seen the occultation of three of the stars of the
Pleiades. The Seven Sisters. Orion had been placed near the the Seven
Sisters in the night sky. Orion the Hunter. Daughters up to Orion.
Mott was Orion, and the girls represented the stars that were not
occultated. Mott was reliving his first almost orgasmic experience and
using it as repentance for the blame he'd gotten and felt for his sister's
death.
Jesus Christ! Scully thought, partly in pleasure and partly in horror.
There was something intoxicating about putting this together but Scully knew
that it was going to take her a long time before she stopped thinking like
this.Celaeno, the Lost Pleiad, was hit by lightning according to mythology.
James Mott was blinded when his sister had been killed. He was sent back
East to a specialist and fully recovered. Orion was blinded by Dionysus and
in order to get his sight back he was told to travel East and let the rays
of the sun hit his eyes.
Scully shivered. If she were Mulder, still recovering from having
Bartlett in his head, and she had been handed this case...she might believe
it, too. Hell, it was hard not to be swayed by the coincidences. Mott
certainly had. The guilt he'd felt turned into a delusion and Mulder,
unguarded, got inside his head.
Think, Dana. What would Mott need to do next? If he is kidnapping girls
to use in his ceremony, he would also need a Moon. Four girls, one Moon.
Artemis. His lover. Shit.

*****

Scully knocked fruitlessly on the Mott's door. Flicking on her
flashlight she crept around the side of the house. Lila Mott's car was
still in the driveway but James Mott's truck was not. The house was empty,
except...Scully heard something. The back door was wide open, banging
against the railing. She crept cautiously into the house and the sound
became louder. It was sobbing. Scully raced towards the back of the house,
heaved the door open, and found Jessie huddled behind her bed, arms wrapped
around her knees, sobbing into the sleeve of her nightgown. Scully knelt
down next to her and touched her. The girl jerked away.
"Jessie? It's okay. It's Agent Scully. Remember? From before?"
Jessie opened one red-rimmed eye, fixed it on Scully, and nodded slowly.
Scully put an arm around her and the girl melted. Jessie threw her arms
around Scully and cried into her shoulder.
"Where are your parents?" Scully asked softly. Jessie stiffened and
Scully stroked her hair. Jessie finally pulled back, still shaking, but her
gaze was clearer. Scully was horrified to see that one of Jessie's eyes was
badly bruised.
"Who did this to you?" she demanded. Jessie shrank back, guilty.
"Did your dad hit you?" Scully asked. Jessie nodded slowly and started
to cry. Scully's heart went out to the girl. No wonder Mulder had been so
upset! Scully hadn't even considered the idea that James Mott beat this
girl but Mulder had known almost instantly. And it enraged him.
"Where's your dad, Jessie?"
"I don't know," the girl said tearfully. "I don't know. He left and he
took my mom."
Oh God, Scully thought as a flash of fear hit her. Oh no oh God.
"Did he take her, or did she go with him?"
Jessie wiped her face on her sleeve.
"He kept hitting her and she was screaming, and he hit me when I tried to
stop him...he said he needed her to finish it. He was saying stuff...I
didn't know what any of it meant..."
"Jessie, can you tell me what he said? Don't worry about it making
sense. Just tell me what he said," Scully said slowly. Jessie gulped and
nodded.
"He said he raped Merope and he got blinded, and that mom was going to
kill him. She loved him and the moon went away. I don't remember," Jessie
sobbed helplessly. Scully felt cold all over. Mulder was wrong. James
Mott didn't become deranged or psychotic after his sister was killed, but
before. Orion raped Merope, one of the Seven Sisters. Oh God. And
Mulder's ravings would lead him right to the Moon, and to Mott.
Scully called 911 and fidgeted nervously until they arrived. Satisfied
that Jessie was being cared for, she set off again, towards the Moon.

*****

Denman watched the moon, which guided him. He'd heard about the fire and
knew that Mulder had to be nearby. A riot, the police said. Some stranger
abducted a local girl, took off like a bat out of hell into the fire. A car
sped past him and he cursed, then smiled in delight as his luck held. It
was the woman and she had the same idea. He frowned when she pulled off
onto a side road but he kept going. He wasn't going to miss, not this time.
And this time he would do the woman as well. He drove into the fire,
towards the moon.

*****

'O see ye yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi thorns and briers?
That is the path of righteousness,
Tho after it but few enquires.'

Mulder stumbled up the path, palms raw from falling. His mind assaulted
him, taunted him, teased him. The images were staying with him now and they
weren't pleasant. He kept one eye on the moon and tried to ignore the
terror of the smoke curling in his lungs. The fire had reached the
ridge-line and was burning furiously, eating up everything in its wake. At
least I know I'm afraid of fire, Mulder thought. Good to know that now.
He could see the Moon through the smoke. He'd called out for the woman
after Abby had died but she had deserted him. He wanted her desperately
then, to explain more of the puzzle, but she wouldn't come. He was on his
own. A face appeared to him, a terrified face. He froze, suddenly
helpless. Who was she? Why did she make him feel such remorse?
"Orion raped Merope," Mulder muttered, surprised to hear his voice.
Something was coming back now, flooding into his brain. As he staggered, he
spoke.
"The Moon occulted Maia and Asterope. Dionysus blinded Orion and Artemis
killed him. She loved him, but she killed him. Why do I give a shit?"
He continued to climb. Brambles clung to his legs as he fought his way
up-slope. The smoke was thicker here but he tried to ignore it, ignore the
terror rising within him.
"Celaeno was killed...just at the limit of human vision...Celaeno...the
Hunter hunts...always..."
And then Mulder reached the top of the bluff. The Moon showered him with
her light and he soaked it in. He raised his arms to her, saluting her.
And she spoke to him, told him wondrous things. He opened his eyes and
looked at her and around her he could see a blaze of starlight. He blinked.
The occultation. Alcyone, Electra, Merope and Taygeta sparkled down at him.
"You've killed them," he whispered in horror. "For your own self, to
save face, to satisfy your urges."
Even though he had no idea who he was or what made him so afraid, he knew
beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had been led here, perhaps by something
otherworldly, perhaps by his inner voice which appeared to be blinded right
now. Blinded, just like Orion.
Mulder turned and raced down the bluff, keeping sight of the Moon above
him. Dimly, through the acrid smoke, he could see a figure, digging. A
figure digging. In furious anger, Mulder flung himself on the figure,
surprising the bigger man and tackling him to the ground. He knocked the
shovel out of the man's hands and hit him hard, one, two, three times. The
man was still. Mulder stumbled to his feet, tears streaming down his face,
only partly due to the smoke. He staggered to the hole the man had been
covering up and fell to his knees. The dead eyes of a woman stared back at
him, unseeing.
"Oh Christ..." Mulder whispered. He looked up. The Moon was directly
overhead. He got to his feet and, still looking up, went to where Alcyone
was. Picking up the shovel, he began to dig furiously. He'd soon unearthed
the body of a small child in a nightgown. The body had apparently been dead
for awhile but buried this night. Weeping, hardly able to walk, Mulder
searched out Electra and dug underneath her. Another body.
Mulder spun as he heard a crack behind him. The woman stood there, but
this time she had rid herself of the cloak. She seemed almost naked to him.
She was holding a gun and pointing it at him. Mulder narrowed his eyes.
She was so familiar...and then he flashed again. She had shot him, and he
had gotten on a plane. He trusted her...he remembered that much. Then the
cold shock hit him, staggering him. She was the only person he trusted, and
she was trying to kill him.
She advanced, firing again. Mulder spun out of the way, dropping the
shovel, and began running. She shouted at him and ran after him. A shadow
fell across the Moon and Mulder skidded to a halt. A man stood there, a man
holding a weapon. The man's bloodless mouth turned up into a cruel smile.
He fired. Mulder felt the heat of the bullet as it seared through him. He
gasped and sat down hard. The man took another step, then stopped, aimed,
and fired behind Mulder. Mulder took the opportunity to crawl away, out of
the line of fire. He saw the man jerk as a bullet hit him, then saw the man
jerk many more times as bullets tore into his flesh. He fell silently to
the ground.
Mulder wasn't waiting to find out what happened. The woman had wanted to
kill him, the man had wanted to kill him; what was the difference? He had
to get Merope and Taygeta out of the ground, away from the Moon. She was
jealous of them, she would harm them.
Mulder ignored the searing pain in his shoulder and lunged for the
shovel. Something grabbed his arm and he wrenched away, coming face to face
with the woman. She was talking to him but he was absolutely terrified.
Kill me, he thought. Because I'm going to free them. I swear it.
Taygeta proved to be Sallie Mott. Mulder stared at the face of the girl
for a long moment. She was so peaceful...peaceful like Abby. He blinked
back tears. The woman was standing a good many feet away from him, watching
him with wide eyes that somehow seemed caring. Mulder was still afraid of
her but figured it was his destiny to die out here anyway, and if she was
going to let him dig, that was fine with him. He was exhausted, losing
blood, tired of having to look the woman back to her spot. He dug fitfully
underneath Merope and unearthed an urn. He looked at it blankly. It was an
urn. He picked it up with trembling hands and brushed the dirt off the
inscription, which read:

SARAH JANE MOTT
B: 4/1/60 D: 12/21/68

"Merope," Mulder said softly. "Sister."
The woman caught the urn as it fell from his hands. He covered his face
with his filthy hands and crumpled onto the ground.

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (11/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Scully watched helplessly as Mulder dug. She needed desperately to get
him out of here, needed to get that horrible gunshot wound and whatever
other injuries he'd collected attended to. But he looked at her as if he
didn't even know her, as if she'd come to hurt him. Mulder did not know who
he was and all Scully could do was wait until he was through processing this
information. Thank God Scully had some idea of what Mulder was doing.
Thank God she'd discarded her clinical rationale and gone down that path
that scared her so. Mulder dropped the urn and Scully reached forward,
catching it. Sarah Mott. Good God. James Mott's sister.
Scully looked bleakly at the horrible landscape. The assassin who had
almost killed Mulder was dead. Scully had emptied her clip into him. And
James Mott was still out cold, lying by the newly-dug grave of his wife,
Lila. The other two girls would most likely be identified as the two
missing girls, abducted from the safety of their homes in the middle of a
cold, dead night. Scully didn't even want to consider the rest of the
story, how Mulder got here and why he was staring at her in horror. but
something told her that she needed to get Mulder's focus now, that she
needed to help him get through whatever ugly process he needed to get
through. She stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turned,
tears still streaming down his face.
"Samantha," he said, his voice cracking. Scully bit her lip. She knelt
down next to him and put her arms around him. He stiffened, but didn't
resist her.
"I won't hurt you," she said softly. "Tell me what you need."

*****

He knew this woman. Goddamn it, why couldn't he remember anything? The
face of the girl he had seen before kept appearing to him. She was
laughing, joyous, then deadly frightened. Her name was Samantha. The woman
seemed to know who Samantha was, when he'd uttered it. Her whole face had
crumpled. Samantha. Sister.
He jerked backwards suddenly, terrified. He was in a house. A dark
house, and there was a storm outside. There was a man...he was angry.
Mulder was crouched in a corner, watching the man with fearful eyes. The
man stalked towards him, drunk. He held something and Mulder's eyes went to
it immediately. It was a belt. The man moved, lashing out, hitting him.
Mulder screamed.

*****

And they'll change me in your arms
Into the red hot iron
But hold me fast and fear me not
I'll do you no harm.

Scully jerked back as Mulder screamed.
"Mulder, it's okay! It's okay! Nothing's going to happen --"
But he wasn't hearing her. His eyes were glassy, as if he wasn't there,
as if he were reliving something. Scully wracked her brain. What the hell
was going on? Mulder was flailing as if he was being hit. The small cast
flashed into Scully's mind. She sank to her knees, blindly reached out
again, and held Mulder for all she was worth.

*****

He was in the house. The house was full of people, all moving with a
purpose. They were clustered around him, asking questions, plying him with
water. He was sick to his stomach and all he could think about was
Samantha. He kept asking where Samantha was but nobody would answer him.
The man wouldn't even look at him. He wanted to throw up.

*****

"I won't let you go through this alone, Mulder," Scully whispered in his
ear. She turned her head and coughed as the smoke thickened. Fuck it,
we'll both die here, she thought. She wasn't going to let go for anything.

*****

He was in a room, sitting in a chair. He did not feel well. He was
burning up with fever. But the men didn't care. They questioned him
relentlessly, and the man was there, too, staring at him with hard, unloving
eyes. Questioning, accusing, threatening. He was scared. They told that
he'd done horrible, unforgivable things, that he'd killed Samantha. He'd
never kill her, he shouted, never. He looked at the man. The man looked away.

*****

Mulder was thrashing now and even in his weakened state, Scully was
having a hard time hanging on. He was shouting, screaming. And what he
said made Scully's blood curdle.
"She's my sister! She's my sister! I would never hurt her! You
bastards...look at me! Fucking...look at me! Where's Mom? Where's Mom? I
wanna see Mom. Please...look at me...please..."
He quieted down somewhat after that, dropping exhaustibly into Scully's
lap. His breathing was ragged, uneven. And then he sat up again.

*****

I don't want you in there. Get out...get out of my mind...get out...he
pointed the gun.

He formed the clay, pinching it between his fingers, feeling the monster
grow. He looked at her, but he didn't see her. He saw the obsession.

He heard her scream his name, asking, beseeching. He couldn't help her
anymore. He'd led her here, and abandoned her. He couldn't help her. He
was helpless.

The man gave him the cold look again and even though they both knew the
Truth, it hurt him. It hurt to have the man treat him the same as he always
had, even though he had worked so hard, wrapped his whole life around this
one quest. But the man only cared about himself and used his mother as
emotional leverage. He felt that familiar pain of failure in his gut again.

She was lying, ghost-still, on the bed and he raged at the people
surrounding her. He was enormously relieved and scared shitless. He
spiraled down into the darkness.

*****

At last they'll turn me in your arms
Into the melting lead
Then throw me into clear well water
And throw me in with speed.

Scully could hardly breathe and she wondered how Mulder was managing it.
He had shifted and muttered several times and she clung to him, keeping him
warm and trying to staunch the bleeding. She had to get him off this
mountain. They were going to have to go right through the fire, which was
running down the ridge-line and threatening to engulf Trinity County. He
was trembling now, crying again. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at
her. She smiled and much to her joy and amazement, he smiled back.
"Scully?" he asked hoarsely. She nodded, helped him sit up.
"Scully...how did you get here?"
Mulder looked around. He saw the graves, saw Mott, saw the assassin.
Awareness crept into his eyes.
"Oh shit...Abby..."
Mulder was on his feet. Scully groaned.
"Mulder! Stop!"
She got to her feet and bolted after him as he staggered towards the
small road, which was completely engulfed in flames. As she would have
predicted, he froze. The flames paralyzed him. Scully reached him and
pulled him back.
"They're all dead, Mulder," she said firmly. "Mott, his wife,
Sallie...the others..."
Realization dawned and Mulder stared at her.
"You...how do you know?"
"Let's discuss that later, okay?"
Scully tried to lead him back the other way but Mulder saw the assassin's
body and stumbled over to it. He looked back at Scully.
"He tried to kill me," he said flatly. "In DC."
"I figured," Scully replied.
"But I thought it was you," he said softly. Scully stared at him.
"What??"
He got up and limped over to her.
"I don't remember much, except leaving my apartment. I knew he'd done
it, Scully. And I knew he needed one more, and the Moon...thank God he used
his sister...he didn't have to kill another one."
Mulder let Scully help him down the other path, the one not yet consumed
by fire. She tried to hurry him along but he was apparently so taken with
the notion that he could now remember that he wouldn't shut up.
"I went to the airport...and that's all I remember. He tried to kill me
there. It wasn't you, but I thought it was you. You shot me once, right?"
Scully nodded, wishing he wouldn't keep bringing that up.
"It's all jumbled together. I don't know where to put things. You shot
me, and I must have been...I'm sorry," he whispered softly. Scully shook
her head.
"Don't worry about it. Let's just get out of here, okay?"
Mulder nodded and let Scully lead him down the path.

*****

Mulder collapsed just before they got to the bottom of the path. Scully
quickly checked for vitals. Slow but steady. With all of her strength she
hauled him to his feet and half-carried him the rest of the way. The smoke
was blinding now and filling Scully's lungs. Debris and ashes swirled
around her, making it almost impossible to see. Thank God she'd rented a
white car. She heaved Mulder in the passenger seat and got the hell out of
there.
Mulder was in and out of consciousness as Scully drove recklessly down
the mountain. Fire crews were arriving now, and the deafening sound of
helicopters could be heard above the roar of the fire. Scully's vision was
blurring and she blinked rapidly, praying that she could stay conscious long
enough to get to Redding.
Scully nearly took out a tree and was a little glad to see the lights of
a police car behind her. She pulled over gratefully and immediately went
into a coughing fit. She vaguely remembered flicking her ID at the cop, and
then she checked on Mulder, and then she passed out.

*****

Cool, clean air. Scully breathed it in. It felt wonderful. She opened
her eyes, blinking to focus. She sighed. In the hospital, again. A
nurse's face swam into focus. She smiled.
"How are we, Miss Scully?" she asked pleasantly. Scully pulled at the
oxygen mask that covered her mouth. The nurse frowned, but Scully ignored
her. She sat up, surprised to find herself still in the ER and not in a
room. Good sign, she thought.
"Much better, thanks," she replied, her voice still a little hoarse. The
nurse nodded.
"The doctor debated keeping you but there doesn't appear to be any smoke
damage, so he just wants you to rest."
"Agent Mulder..." Scully said anxiously. The nurse smiled at her again,
that soothing, sickening smile that made Scully's skin crawl.
"I'll just check on him, okay?" she said. Scully shook her head and sat
up.
"I'll just go with you," she said forcefully. The nurse's eyes narrowed
and she put a firm hand on Scully's shoulder.
"Not on my watch," she said severely. "You rest, I'll go check on Mr.
Mulder, and I'll bring you some food."
Scully smiled then, absurdly happy to be mother-henned. She glanced at
the nurse's name-tag.
"Thanks, Sharon," she said quietly. Sharon smiled and left silently.
Scully contemplated defying Sharon and going in search of some information
and a really tall glass of water, but while she was considering it, she fell
asleep again.
Sharon woke her and handed her a donut. Scully looked at her
suspiciously. Sharon shrugged.
"You looked hungry. Here." Scully drank almost a gallon of water and
munched her donut as Sharon sat next to her.
"Mr. Mulder's out of surgery. He's lost a lot of blood and his lungs
were already weakened by pneumonia...he's going to be with us for awhile."
Scully nodded, wondering how to bring up the latest subject. Just dive in,
Dana.
"Has he...said anything?" she asked carefully. Sharon shook her head.
"He's been out most of the day. We're keeping him pretty heavily
sedated. He was...very upset when we brought him in."
Scully stared at her, donut forgotten.
"He was conscious?" she asked.
"In and out. Mostly out, but he must have been quite startled when he
came to and a team of doctors was standing over him."
Scully closed her eyes, relieved that Sharon didn't think Mulder's
behavior odd. Was it odd? Scully finished her donut.
"I need to see him," she said quietly. To her credit, Sharon only nodded
matter-of-factly.
"He's in ICU. I'll take you up," she said. Scully loved Sharon.

*****

__________________________________________________________________________

A CHILD ACROSS THE SKY (12/13)
Kay Reindl
Parateam@aol.com

Disclaimer in first post

*****

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending upon how one looked at the
situation, Mulder had definitely looked worse. Scully sat next to him and
took his hand. She could see his eyelids flickering and was glad that he
wasn't completely sedated. She glanced at the chart and raised an eyebrow.
The dosage would be perfectly adequate for anyone else. How was it that
Mulder could sleep for two days on one sleeping pill, but an elephant's dose
of morphine did nothing for him? He groaned, and Scully leaned over him.
"Mulder?" she said softly. He shifted restlessly, then opened his eyes.
And panicked. Scully had never seen him in this much terror. He screamed
at her, pulled away from her, threatened to dislodge the various tubings
from his arms. Scully had enough presence of mind to get out of his
sight-line and to pay attention to what he was screaming. It tore her heart
out.
"...killed her...!" he was shouting, "...couldn't...kill her! Why??
Dad?? Why?? Abby...gave it back...take it...I don't want it...Dad?? Why??"
Mulder collapsed, sobbing, as a team of nurses rushed in and put him back
together. Scully, backed against a wall, just stared at him in horror. Who
was Abby? What had she taken away? The nurses finally got Mulder sedated
and Scully winced as they put the restraints on his wrists. A tall doctor
with a kind face swooped in and checked Mulder. He took the chart,
scribbled something, and turned away to talk to a nurse. Scully edged over
and glanced at the chart.
"Miss!"
Scully turned. The doctor was giving her a severe look.
"I'm his partner," she said quietly. "I'm a medical doctor."
The doctor's eyes softened. He took Scully by the arm and led her away
from Mulder's bedside.
"I've upped the morphine dosage. If that doesn't work, we'll put him on
something stronger," he said. Scully closed her eyes. The doctor touched
her arm and Scully looked at him.
"It's okay," he said. "He came out of it too fast. He was just
disoriented."
Oh doctor, if only you knew, Scully thought. But he really was trying to
help.
"Thanks," she said. And then something occurred to her. She wanted to
get out of here, out of this hospital and out of Redding.
"How soon can he be transferred?" she asked. The doctor looked surprised.
"He can be released in a week or so," he said, unsure. Scully shook her
head.
"I'd rather take him back to Washington, where he can be in...somewhat
familiar surroundings," she said. The doctor's mouth quirked.
"He in the hospital a lot?" he asked. Scully nodded.
"Yes, but the point is that I'd rather take him home when he's still
sedated," she said, not realizing what she was admitting. The doctor smiled
then, and turned to look at Mulder, who was once again still. He glanced
back at Scully.
"Two days," he said. Scully smiled.
"Thank you," she said quietly.

*****

Washington DC

Mulder was recovering nicely. He'd had a minor setback, a lung
infection, but he was responding well to treatment. He was still somewhat
withdrawn, but always happy to see Scully.
She sat in the basement office, brooding. Mulder couldn't really tell
her much about what had happened. As he'd said on the mountain, things were
all jumbled together. He was starting to sort his mind out, but there were
still gaps and some things that he thought had happened recently had
happened years ago. He told Scully not to worry, that it would eventually
all come back, but a part of Scully was terrified that whatever horror he
kept reliving might cripple him. She felt closer to Mulder than ever
before. She'd identified with him when she'd started to understand his
notes and she felt drawn, somehow, towards an attempt to figure out what was
still missing.
She still didn't know who Abby was, and Mulder wouldn't tell her. His
eyes would cloud over and he'd look away, then find some way to change the
subject. He still didn't know what had brought his memory back in a flood.
He still didn't know what had drawn him to the mountain. That, Scully
thought, was the key. Mulder's memory worked in strange and unusual ways,
and it had most definitely been fucked up royally by the repressed memories
of Sam's abduction.
Operating from that as a starting point, Scully started piecing together
the evidence.

*****

Skinner was absurdly relieved that Fox Mulder had been found, and
relatively in one piece. The two men he'd killed had disappeared from the
morgue. Vanished, without a trace. As had Mulder's arrest report. While
Skinner had every reason to mistrust these things, he also had enough
presence of mind to be grateful. Sure, it would come back one day, somebody
would need something and then he'd have to pay, even though he hadn't
condoned them in the first place. But Skinner was happy to pay, happy to
have Mulder and Scully back in the fold.
"Sir?"
Skinner glanced up and inadvertently smiled as Dana Scully hovered in his
doorway. She still looked a little drawn, a little worried, but that was to
be expected. She'd come through with flying colors on this one and had
scared the shit out of Will Orsatti, scared him right back into the basement
at Quantico and out of field work. Skinner hadn't liked the little shit and
was immensely proud of Scully.
"What can I do for you, Agent Scully?"
She smiled and took a seat.
"How's Agent Mulder today?" Skinner queried.
"Much better, Sir. The infection set him back a bit, but he should be
out in a few days."
Scully hesitated.
"I'm sure he'd like to see you, Sir," she said equitably. Skinner laughed.
"I'm sure he would," he commented wryly. Scully folded her hands in her
lap and looked down. Skinner frowned.
"What is it?" he asked softly. Scully looked back up at him.
"I --" she hesitated again. "-- I need...I need...to do some research,
Sir." Skinner sat back in his chair, suddenly worried.
"What kind of research?"
"When Agent Mulder's sister was...taken...he was interviewed by the FBI,"
Scully said slowly. Skinner nodded.
"I need to see that report."
Skinner stared at her, shocked.
"May I ask why?" he asked. Scully twisted her hands in her lap, looked
down again.
"I think that it may shed some light on..." Scully's voice trailed off
and Skinner got the impression that she hadn't thought up a good enough lie
yet. Skinner had been keeping pretty close tabs on Mulder and had
absolutely no idea where Scully was coming from. Mulder had had a few
nightmares in the hospital but he'd always been prone to nightmares. To
tell the truth, Skinner had been pretty worried about Scully when he'd first
seen her upon her return. She was shifty, nervous, jumpy. And unbelievably
protective of Mulder. Not that this was news, it was just so...complete.
Different somehow. And now...
"Are you sure you want to dig into this?" he asked her. She still didn't
look at him.
"I think I have to, Sir," she replied evenly. Skinner sighed. He'd
never really worried about Scully before, not in this way. At the
beginning, when he'd first been made Assistant Director, he worried that she
wasn't strong enough, that she'd crack under the pressure. But she just
kept getting stronger, more determined. She'd never shown any signs of
obsessiveness before, however, and that was plainly what Skinner saw here.
"Is this for Mulder, or for yourself?" he asked. Scully finally looked
at him, surprised.
"For both of us, I suppose. Something happened to him in California,
Sir, something...brought back memories. And..." her voice faded again.
"I just wanted to make sure, Scully. You had a rough time of it out
there, too. I don't want to see you lose your objectivity."
Scully smiled then.
"I think I already have, Sir," she said. He grinned.
"Not completely. Not yet."
He stood and she followed suit.
"None of those reports are computerized, so make sure you wear some old
clothes when you go through the files," he said. Scully nodded crisply.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
She turned on her heel and left. Skinner sat back down and wondered if
he'd ever know what Scully was looking for.

*****

Mulder stared at the ceiling in frustration. He was on oxygen again,
which made it impossible to do anything else. When he was a kid and had
trouble sleeping, he used to find patterns in the ceiling, but this was a
dull, boring, painted ceiling. No patterns there. His sigh echoed eerily
in the mask and he closed his eyes, hoping to sleep. No good. He opened
his eyes again and thought about Abby, then he wondered why he kept thinking
about her. The pact they had made...Mulder still hadn't been able to work
much of it out. And he was pretty sure that taking her to the moon had
killed her. But she'd asked him, begged him...she wanted to die.
And Mulder felt that it was his fault. Dex had betrayed her, that much
was certain. Dex was responsible for the Spiker attack, for Doyle's broken,
half-changed body. For his own death. Maybe it was just too much, Mulder
thought. Dex had cracked. And Abby had gone to the Moon, the same Moon
that had claimed the lives of Lila, Sallie and the other two girls. Orion
hadn't died, he'd survived, but he would be spending the rest of his life in
an institution for the criminally insane. The fear that James Mott had
killed his sister Sarah was unfounded. The fear that he'd raped her...that
was another story. Orion admitted to raping Merope. James Mott admitted
nothing.
Mulder had been convinced that James Mott had coldly, calculatingly
killed his daughter. And that had enraged him. Snatches of memories
assaulted him; his father, with the same attitude, yelling at him, ignoring
him. Mulder couldn't place it and he wracked his brain every time that
memory floated to the surface. He didn't remember it from before. Not at
all. Mulder tossed it aside and went back to James Mott. The abduction HAD
been staged but Mulder was wrong, at least he remembered being wrong in one
of his last lucid moments. The abduction was ritualistic and Sallie had
been sent to Orion. The M.O. changes but the signature stays the same.
Mulder shuddered when he thought about the talk he'd had with Scully over
this case. Scully had laid all of this out for him, everything he'd
researched, thought, deduced and concluded. Only he'd never told her any of
it. He'd been too...disconnected. But somehow she'd managed to figure it
out and come after him. And save him again.
James Mott, who Mulder had seen as a remorseless killer, was more fucked-up
and dangerous than Mulder had ever imagined. This was no Luther Lee Boggs;
Mott was driven to complete his tasks and something inside of Mulder refused
to believe that. For one shining moment, Mulder had been the skeptic. And
it nearly destroyed him.
He wished Scully would come. She usually visited him two or three times
a day and he really needed some contact now. He closed his eyes again,
suddenly feeling vulnerable, small. Like a child.
It was coming back on him again, with a vengeful force. He tried to
block it out but began shaking, shivering. Remembering.

*****

Scully sat back on her heels, perplexed. She'd been rooting around in
the old, dusty files for hours and couldn't find the report. His father
probably made it disappear, she thought darkly. But something told her that
nobody had thought this important, that everything had been done by the book
and that Mulder's FBI interview was in here somewhere.
Scully got to her feet, stretched and took a sip of her coffee. She
looked around the cluttered room, then sighed and headed for the last cabinet.
Bingo. Scully stared at the folder, almost afraid to hope. She'd
already read the file three times and while there were no names associated
with it, there was little doubt in her mind that this was Mulder's file.
And it made her sick.
When Samantha disappeared, Bill Mulder flew into a blind rage. He used
all of his clout and the Mulder household was crawling with various
government men asking their questions. And Fox Mulder had been at the
center of the storm. Scully recognized Bill Mulder, somehow. She didn't
want to question the leaps her mind made now, didn't want that to go away.
She needed it. She needed to know, as much or more than Mulder even needed
to know. It was frightening and exhilarating. And she attacked the file
with everything she had.
Mulder didn't remember much after Samantha's abduction. His memories
wavered between a vague hospital visit and weeks of silence in the Mulder
home. He had no recollection, or so Scully thought, of the two solid weeks
of questioning, intimidating, accusing that Mulder had been subject to. And
Bill Mulder spearheaded the vicious assault on his son. And he relished it.
Heartsick, Scully pushed the file away. She knew that it was Mulder's,
now. And she also knew that Mulder's nightmares, these strange memories
that she had been privy to, stemmed directly from these files. Maybe the
Mott case had triggered it somehow; Mulder's leaps from abduction to Orion
were too abrupt even for Mulder. Did Mulder harbor the fear that he HAD
killed Samantha, based on what had happened to him, those memories that were
so safely locked away? Or did he think...
How could one man be so cruel? No wonder Mulder had been hospitalized
after Samantha had disappeared. No wonder he had been comatose,
unresponsive, withdrawn. No wonder he'd reacted exactly like he had in
Redding. Scully put her head in her hands, grief-stricken for her partner.
She couldn't imagine the weight this placed on him. How did he even
function? Part of Scully knew the answer to that. He functioned by locking
it away and it only returned at night, when he was helpless. But now, with
his memories returning in blocks...now he didn't have that control anymore.
Scully's phone rang and she answered it automatically.
"Scully," she said briskly. She sat up, automatically rigid.
"Scully?" the faint, weak voice said.
"Mulder?" she asked incredulously. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Is Abby dead?" he asked. Scully frowned.
"Abby...yes, Mulder. Yes. She's dead," Scully replied, hoping she was
doing the right thing. Mulder sighed, resigned.
"I need...to give it back to her..."
Oh God. Oh shit.
"Mulder? Is there someone there with you?"
Silence. Scully stood, tucking the file under her arm, and strode out of
the office and down the hall, searching with one hand for her car keys.
"Mulder? Is someone there with you?" she repeated as she sailed out of
the Bureau and to her car.
"Nobody's here..."
Shit.
"Did you take the oxygen mask off, Mulder?" she asked. His answer was
slow in coming, as if he was having a hard time processing Scully's questions.
"No...they did. This morning. Scully --"
"I'm on my way, Mulder. Can you call a nurse?" Scully pulled out of the
parking lot and headed down the street.
"I can't..."
Dammit.
"Mulder, I want someone to be there with you until I get there," she said.
"Scully, I don't know where to put things anymore," he said quietly.
"I know, Mulder."
"I don't trust anyone, Scully."
Scully sighed, pulled into the hospital parking lot.
"I know, Mulder. Look, I'll be there in a few minutes. Can you at least
stay on the phone with me?"
Click.
"Shit," Scully muttered viciously.
She was out of the car before she had locked the brake. Tossing her
phone aside, she jumped out of the car and headed into the hospital,
straight up to Mulder's room. Which was empty.
Scully stared blankly at the empty bed and lunged at a passing nurse.
"Fox Mulder. Where is he?" she asked desperately. The nurse looked
stunned and poked her head into Mulder's empty room.
"He was here..."
Scully turned and started to run down the corridor. Where would Mulder
go? Was he having a breakdown, or was he finally putting everything
together? Where would Mulder feel safe? Where would she feel safe?
Scully altered course and nearly took out an intern. Eyes wide, she
raced down the stairs, praying that she was right.

*****

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

Disclaimer in first post

*****

The soothing lights lit the chapel, the benevolent Virgin Mary smiled
down as Scully burst in. It was dim in here, and looked empty. Scully
crept slowly through the pews.
"Mulder?" she whispered. Nothing. Dammit. She was wrong. Where WAS
he? She started to go, then hesitated and continued her search.
"Mulder? Are you in here?"
Scully whirled as she heard a scratching noise. A wave of relief washed
over her. Mulder was huddled in the corner, bloodshot eyes staring at her.
She approached him slowly, searching for any recognition in his eyes.
"Mulder?" she said softly. She crouched in front of him. He didn't
shrink away from her.
"Mulder, it's Scully. You called me. Remember?"
He nodded slowly, closed his eyes and sighed. She tentatively reached
out and took his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away.
"What's wrong, Mulder?" she asked, desperate to make some sense of this.
"Is my father dead?" he asked in a small voice. Oh God.
"Yes, Mulder, he is."
Mulder nodded as if that made perfect sense.
"Did he kill my sister?" Mulder asked, voice quavering. Scully carefully
sat down next to him and took in the sheen of sweat on his too-pale skin.
Scully slowly took her jacket off and placed it around his shoulders.
"I don't know," she said honestly. She wouldn't lie to him, she decided.
If he needed to know the hell his father had put him through, she would tell
him. He deserved to have all the pieces of his life. He looked at her.
"Did I kill her?" he asked softly. Scully shut her eyes and leaned back
against the wall. Did he? A nearly comatose twelve-year-old boy? Could
she tell him, unequivocally, that he hadn't killed Samantha? Yes, her voice
told her. Yes, you can. All of the doubts you've had since this whole mess
began have been shunted aside, resolved. Scully thought about how she'd
tracked Mulder, how she'd found him on that mountain and never once
considered him the kind of monster he was identifying with. Her trust was
complete.
"No," she told him. He looked at her for a long moment, shivering. Then
he nodded.
"I thought I did, for awhile. I remember..." he stopped. Scully wasn't
sure she wanted to know what he remembered. She found herself handing him
the file.
"This is what you're trying to remember, Mulder. I don't understand why
you're trying to remember it now, or why you never did before...but you
deserve to see this." Mulder took it, hands shaking, and flipped it open.
He read the whole thing, a mask across his face. When he was finished he
looked at Scully.
"I never remembered any of this," he said quietly. "But Abby gave it
back to me. She took everything, all the things I couldn't remember, and
then when she died she gave them back."
"I don't understand," Scully said cautiously. He sighed, pulled Scully's
jacket around him.
"In multiple personality disorder, the first personality is usually a
split personality, created because the abused child can't handle the abuse,
the trauma. The trauma splits off from the core and forms a new
personality, one that will hold the pain so that the core can survive. When
someone with MPD is integrating the personality, the trauma that created the
disorder is abreacted, relived. And the first personality to go is that
childlike personality. Once the trauma is abreacted, the personality is
gone, integrated into the core, so that the core retains those memories."
Mulder's eyes were starting to clear somewhat as he talked. Scully just
stared, afraid.
"Somehow, Abby was able to take all of that from me...I saw it
happen...and then give it back. Only she gave it back all at once and I
can't...it's overwhelming. It's too much, Scully," he said, his voice
cracking. He looked down at the file.
"But this helps, somewhat. I couldn't remember...I still don't really
remember what happened. But I was remembering the pain...the betrayal. And
I had to get out of that room...they questioned me in the hospital, did you
know that?"
Scully, still not trusting her voice, shook her head.
"One day, before they came, my mother came to see me. And she took me to
the chapel. They didn't question me that day. My mother kept me there, in
the darkness, holding me. And they didn't come."
"Oh, Mulder," Scully whispered. He smiled a twisted smile.
"I remembered that when I got here. And things started falling into
place..."
"Why did you ask me if you had killed your sister?" Scully asked. Mulder
shrugged.
"Because I knew you'd tell me the truth," he said simply. She stared at him.
"Mulder, I thought you were...I thought you had..." she couldn't finish.
He nodded.
"Scully, you are the only one I trust."
Scully squeezed his hand. She'd never been so relieved before.
"When you came in here...I remembered meeting you for the first time. I
remember you coming into my office, challenging me from the beginning. I
could...put you where you belonged."
"And now?" Scully was almost afraid to ask. Mulder sighed, looking
incredibly weak. His voice was going.
"I still don't know...everything. The Mott case, on top of the Bartlett
case...and then that man..."
Scully nodded in sympathy.
"And the daughters went up to Orion," she said softly. "And Samantha..."
Scully saw it then. Samantha would always be the key, as would the abuse
Mulder suffered at the hands of his father and the neglect he suffered at
the hands of his mother. But Mulder would survive through that. He seemed
to need it. It drove him. Scully looked at him. He was slumped against
the wall, completely drained. She stood and pulled him to his feet.
"You're feverish again," she observed. "I suspect your release has been
delayed a bit."
"Story of my life," Mulder said hollowly. Scully wondered if the haunted
look would ever leave him. She suspected that one day, maybe not too far
into the future, he'd be able to shunt it aside again. The pain would once
again be compartmentalized and Mulder would return to what, for Mulder, was
normal. But both of them would always know it was there. And they would
have to deal with that.

*****

Mulder was discharged a week later. He had suffered a relapse of his
lung infection on his jaunt through the hospital and had been a model
patient afterwards. Scully sat in the basement office, flipping through
some of the more ridiculous cases that had come across Mulder's desk since
he'd been away. She sighed. Another flukeman. She shoved that file to the
bottom of the pile. Mulder didn't need to grapple with monsters in sewers
just yet.
"You look awfully comfortable in my chair."
Scully looked up, a welcoming smile on her face. Mulder, a bit thinner
and paler, was nevertheless a sight for sore eyes.
"Somebody had to water the plants," she remarked. Mulder glanced at the
long-dead ficus tree in the corner.
"Uh...yeah. Thanks," he said caustically.
"You came back too soon, Mulder. You still look tired," Scully said. He
grinned at her.
"I got to the eleven billionth level on Doom. What choice did I have?"
Mulder sat down and rubbed a hand over his face. The haunted look was still
there, but it was receding. Scully tried to ignore it and wait for
everything to return to normal. But it never would. Scully had lived in
the depths of Mulder's pain and she'd never forget that. But while she'd
been concerned that she would forever see him as weak, as damaged, just the
opposite had occurred. Mulder might bend under the pressure, but he'd never
break. He would always be there, searching. Mulder and the cockroaches, at
the end of the world.
That made Scully smile and actually get up and make him a cup of coffee.
He deserved that much.

*****

The wraith was satisfied. Denman had been a fool, going after the
target. And he'd paid the ultimate price. Of course, the problem with
ridding the world of Denman's body had been the deal with the Smoking Man.
Fox Mulder was to be exonerated of all charges, freed into the world again.
The two dead men never existed. Fox Mulder had never been arrested. And
because of his cooperation in this matter, the wraith was not disciplined
for his...rebellious acts.
He would watch and wait, taking orders from both sides. Two sides,
rather. There were more than two. And the Consortium wouldn't be giving
him any orders for a long while, not until they deemed him trustworthy once
more.
The Others...they would trust him. He had almost done them a favor. If
they wanted Fox Mulder eradicated, though, they would have to look
elsewhere. Mulder had proven impossible to erase and the wraith was almost
starting to like the lad. Maybe there was a brief contact in their
future...and maybe not.
The wraith smiled. He'd reconciled his actions and he was pleased.
The Hunter hunts. Always.

The stars are alive and nights like these
Were born to be sanctified by you and me;
Lovers, thieves, fools and pretenders.
And all we gotta do is surrender.
(Mike Scott)

Q.E.D.

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