From Within - post ep orison/empedocles
By Monique Benedetti

Disclaimer:  X-files, Mulder, Scully, Doggett, etc.
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 not me.  Used without
permission.
Rating:  PG
Classification: VA
Spoilers:  orison, empedocles
Archive: Sure, please let me know and carry my name
with it.

11:23 p.m.
Annapolis, MD

A thin stripe of deep red blood made its way along
the thin bones of her neck. It was trapped short of
reaching her naked back by the bright white gauss pad
in the paramedic's hand. He had thin, agile fingers.
They worked slowly and carefully, removing one jagged
piece of silvered glass after another.

"Sir?" the paramedic looked up at Mulder then and
nodded towards Scully.  "Can you give me a hand
here," he gestured towards Scully's thick red hair
with his free latex covered hand.

Mulder slid his hand under the warm red strands and
lifted them up and out of the way.  Scully's
expression changed.  Her eyes fell downwards to where
she clutched her rumpled pajama top against her bare
chest and Mulder felt her body tense.

He felt guilty.

After all he was holding the prize.  He couldn't help
himself trying to get into Pfaster's head as he held
one of the objects of the man's desire.  Beautiful,
fire red hair.  His stomach turned and he found that
there was nowhere in her ransacked bedroom that he
was comfortable looking.

Scully continued to swallow back the pain as the
paramedic cleaned each slick cut in her neck and
back.  Mulder let himself believe that the slight
trembling he could feel in her body was caused by the
pain, not the feelings and memories his grasp on her
hair evoked.

When the paramedics had first entered her bedroom, he
had made a move to leave but something in the way she
looked at him stopped him.  He'd quickly turned
towards the window as she began to remove her
bloodied pajama top.

A heavy zipping noise echoed from her living room and
Scully flinched.  Mulder focussed again on the room,
trying to see through the narrow opening left by her
bedroom door.  Four men grunted as they lifted
Phaster's body bag.  There was a metallic thud as it
was positioned on a gurney.  Flashbulbs lit up the
room like the fourth of July.

Scully was firing glances over her shoulder at the
young paramedic, her body shifting, and her mood
impatient.  This did nothing to change the young
man's pace but brought Mulder's attention to
something he was trying to avoid: looking at her
naked back.  He knew he would fall asleep counting
each cut and bruise, preserved in exact detail by his
eidetic memory.  He didn't want that image. He had
too many like it already.  He forced himself to close
his eyes even though he knew it was too late.

"I don't see anything that needs stitches, ma'am.
Just keep the area clean.  The steri-strips will fall
off on their own."  The paramedic rechecked the
dressings on her hands and then began gathering the
clean gauss and bandages, arranging them carefully in
his case.

"It's all right now, sir," he looked up at Mulder;
"you can let go".  Mulder felt a slight flush of
embarrassment invade his features as he quickly
released his grip on her hair, allowing it to fall
against the patchwork of thin bandages on her neck.
Scully was fumbling with her bloody shirt and Mulder
composed himself enough to hand her a clean one from
the duffel bag they had been packing.  He got to the
door in time to body two police officers away from it
so Scully could change in relative privacy.

The police were anxious for a statement.  He tried to
remain detached but the memories were too focussed.
Too real.
He'd had to describe what he'd known of Phaster and
the two attempts on Scully's life.  The images came
at him with little warning.

Phaster straddling his partner's tiny frame his fist
raised to deliver a blow that may not have been the
first.

The angry, red chaffing that surrounded Scully's
wrists when he had finally fumbled away her
restraints.

Tipping Scully's battered face towards his and
watching it crumble for the first time into tears.

Many of the new images were still in front of him as
he described what he saw when he entered her
apartment after hearing that fateful song.

"Don't look any further..."

This time Scully had been on her feet.
Armed, scared and angry.
He couldn't remember how many shots she'd
fired because the image he had was of her. More
intense and full of purpose than he'd ever seen her.
Blood marred her nose and lips; bruising spread like
blue ink across her cheek.  Her expression bled rage.
He wasn't even sure that she knew he was there.  The
murder was clearly self defense, the victim a deviant
killer.  The police understood but he wasn't sure
Scully did.

He lost his balance when Scully opened the bedroom
door.  The police gestured to Mulder to leave, as
they were interested in Scully's statement.  He was
not reassured by the look in her eyes.

The bathroom door was partially open when he passed
but he forced himself not to look.  A man with his
imagination was better off not tempting it.  He sank
heavily onto her sofa and tried to ignore the
flashing bulbs and the voices of the group of
professionals buzzing about her apartment.

A few minutes later he felt a warm hand fall onto the
top of his head.  "Let's go," she said simply.  Her
fingers slid gently through his short, brown hair.
The crisp white bandage across the side of her hand
and wrist scratched the edge of his forehead.  She
went right to the door and opened it without looking
back.  Mulder followed her through.

The corridor was dim and choked with bodies. He felt
her small frame press against him as they worked
their way past the group of neighbours with nothing
better to do than try to ogle Scully and what they
could of her apartment.  People and voices pressed at
them from all directions.  A woman saw one of
Scully's bandaged hands and shuddered to the man next
to her "I heard he cuts off fingernails ... ".

"sick fuck..."
"she's hurt..."
"who's the guy?"
"I heard shots!"
"murderer..."

The words felt like an assault.
Scully, though, had lost none of her pace, her head
bowed downward to avoid the obnoxious stares.  Mulder
matched her stride, taking full advantage of his
height and size.  He slid a hand under Scully's coat
and recalling the pattern of bruising on her back
tucked it around her waist. He pressed through
quickly, protecting Scully's injuries with his body,
and forced his way outside.  Disengaging from him,
Scully took long, deep breaths of the cool air,
tilting her head back and letting the wind stream
over her swollen face.  Red and blue police lighting
flashed across her skin.

***

1:45 am
April, 2001.

Mulder stood quiet as a thief in her hospital room,
Scully's very pregnant form lying on the bed before
him.  His legs and back ached and he realized that he
had been standing there for a long time.  Marinating
in old memories.

At first he thought he was as sick as Phaster was.
Seeking solace in the memories of brutal attacks on
his partner.  He realized, however, that it was not
the violence he was searching to hold on to.  It was
her strength.  Her pride.  Her courage.  She'd been
through worse than this; he could relax.  Relax.

Where was his control?

He had had some then.  His skills as a criminal
profiler uncovered Phaster's location and saved
Scully's life.  His intuition, which usually got him
into trouble rather than out of it, led him to her
the second time.  He made a difference in what
happened to her.
No longer.

He felt assured of nothing about her anymore. In the
last seven years of his life, she had been his
constant, an anchor on his life.  He knew Scully.
What she liked, what she didn't and hell, even what
turned her on.  But the woman he'd faced after his
"death" was irreconcilable with the one to whom he
had held fast during his ordeal.

Where was her strength?

Pregnancy had scattered her emotions like marbles on
a hardwood floor.  It had resculpted her body into
something wholly unfamiliar and for him now,
frightening. The agony of his being gone and for all
she knew dead, she still wore like an old shirt.  His
anchor always had strength.  What he felt from her
now was need.
Deep, undisguised need.
Before Doggett and babies and death, he'd have known
in a heartbeat how to react to her.  But he was a
stranger in his own life and so he pushed her away.
Hard.

Most fathers had nine months to adjust to the changes
in their partner and the idea of fatherhood.  He felt
like a child thrown into the deep end of a pool.  He
had to adjust, he just didn't know if he could do it
in time.  Touch was a large part of what he and
Scully had together and for the first time he didn't
know where or how to do it.  Not when there was
another person involved. For some reason the baby
embarrassed him, sent him reeling backward when what
he desperately wanted was to feel her skin again.  To
crush her to him with all his strength.

But that would hurt the baby.

He denied himself his cravings and plunged deeper
into fear.  Fear that he had lost everything and
somehow Doggett was responsible.  Fear that was
locked around images of the brutal torture inflicted
on him when he left her.

Earlier he had somehow found the courage to reach out
and press his hand against the warm swell of her
belly. She had been awake and looking at him.  It was
tighter and smoother than he'd imagined and his face
had lit up in a grin when the baby poked him in
greeting. He had marveled at the softened edges of
elbows and knees gliding across his hand under the
smooth surface of her stomach, wondered how it felt
to Scully. Very reluctantly, he had drawn back his
hand.

Now she slept and he watched the baby's heartbeat on
the fetal monitor.  It seemed odd to him that there
were no alarms going off.  140 beats per minute
seemed awfully fast to him.  He found himself holding
his breath every time the baby shifted and the beat
was temporarily lost.

"Are you all right, Mulder," the voice came from
beside him.  So great was his focus that he hadn't
heard anyone enter the room.  At least it wasn't
Doggett.
"She's doing all right, now, sir" he said quietly,
not looking at Skinner.
"I know, Mulder, I talked to the nurses.  I asked
about you."

Mulder couldn't take his eyes from Scully.  Sleeping
she looked calm and satisfied.  He could feel that
there was nothing she wanted or needed from him.
"Nothing an exhumation couldn't heal," he deadpanned.
They stood then, Skinner's presence tangible to
Mulder by the quiet sounds of this breathing and the
faint scent of his cologne.  Mulder turned his
attention back to the monitor.

"It's been very hard on her."  Skinner's eyes were
focussed on the mottled tile flooring.  "A lot of
close calls.  Like this one."  It took Mulder a
minute to realize that he was talking about the
pregnancy.
"When did she find out?"
"Just after you went missing."  Regret and guilt
flowed through the assistant director's voice.  "She
was happier than I'd seen her in a long time."  He
finally looked at Mulder.  "And scared."

Memories stared to click into place for him.  Scully
had been nauseous and dizzy when she'd come to his
hotel room in Oregon.  He bit his lip at the memory
of holding her for hours when she couldn't get warm.
A single thought pulled him from his reverie.

"Are they safe?"  Mulder suddenly turned and faced
Skinner's glare head on.
"What are you saying?"  Skinner's face betrayed that
he was not as confused as he let on.
"Cancerman, Krycek, the Bountyhunter, the Rebels,
secret governments, the military, FEMA.  They're not
involved.  This is just Scully's baby?"
Mulder's voice was steadily rising.  Skinner turned
from him and opened the door, pushing him firmly out
into the hallway.  He couldn't put words together
fast enough and his pause gave Mulder the answer he
was afraid of.
"Shit."  Mulder was calmer than Skinner had
expected.  He walked a few paces from the assistant
director and swept a clammy hand through his hair.
"Mulder," Skinner raised an eyebrow.  "Were there
natural circumstances involved here?" He looked
uncomfortable.  Mulder shook his head slowly, lying
as best he could.  His emotions were so close to the
surface he doubted that Skinner bought it.  He'd
lived on those memories for so long.  Was it really a
lie when Skinner knew
Scully was barren?  Sterility doesn't just suddenly
become all right.  Does it?

Mulder's eyes shone in the half-light of the
hospital hallway.  Anxiety poured from him in waves.
Skinner could see that their presence had just been
detected by the night staff and a rather annoyed
looking nurse was headed straight for them.  He put a
heavy hand on Mulder's shoulder and leaned in toward
him.  "I will do what ever it takes to protect Scully
and that baby."  Even after failing so miserably for
the father he might have added.  Mulder turned
slightly towards him.
"Agent Doggett," he couldn't keep a note of
resentment from entering his voice. "Do you trust
him?"
Skinner paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Scully does.  He's by the book, as far as I know an
honest man."
"Then I'm done."  His voice sounded as if it were
still in the grave. Mulder turned abruptly, colliding
shoulder to shoulder with the approaching nurse.  He
just kept walking.
"Out. Now," the nurse pointed to the red glow of the
exit sign.
"Sorry," Skinner offered to the nurse as he passed,
striding purposefully toward the door Mulder had
exited.  He followed the sounds of his footsteps down
to the parking garage.  Opening the door swept the
distinctive smell of gasoline and oil into Skinner's
face.  He saw Mulder getting into his car a few rows
away.
"You can't protect her that way!" he shouted over the
roar of the engine.  The car pulled out and Mulder
drew up alongside Skinner.
"I'm not sure anyone can."

***

Author's note: I realize that this story is somewhat
out of date.  I came back to it and finished it after
I watched the season 9 premiere as I missed the show
as it was. I hope you've enjoyed the story and I'd
love to have your comments: mandg@golden.net
Monique.