TITLE: Retaliation AUTHOR: Vivian EMAIL: wakwekobi64@hotmail.com RATING: PG ARCHIVE: Anywhere is fine, but let me know please SPOILERS: Nothing specific - but it's Season 6 fic! SUMMARY: After Scully is injured, Mulder seeks revenge. CATEGORY: S DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Fox and 1013 Productions. No infringement intended. AUTHOR'S NOTE: At the end FEEDBACK: Is a beautiful thing - this is only my second story, and wouldn't have been written if I didn't get such nice responses to my first...yep, that's a hint :) wakwekobi64@hotmail.com ***************************************************** 12:30 A.M., NOVEMBER 18, 1998 SCULLY'S APARTMENT Mulder waited in the dark. The ticking of the clock accompanied his thoughts like a metronome. He was accustomed to this place. It wasn't so much the fact that he was sitting in Scully's apartment, as the pose and mindset he was in. He was tightly coiled; a cannon ready to go off. The waiting. The rage. The need for revenge. It was all too familiar. But in all his years of harebrained schemes and impulsive actions nothing was quite like this. This time he was doing something about it. Something that would actually have meaning and produce a tangible result. No more letting "them" get away with it. For once his enemy was not elusive, nor capable of disappearing in an instant. He had a plan. A good plan. And he'd enlisted allies. Tonight somebody was going to pay. He rose restlessly and paced around the apartment. Just a little longer, he told himself, trying to rein in his impatience. He tiptoed over to Scully's bedroom door and peeked in. She was sleeping soundly, thank God. He took a deep breath, and expelled it slowly. "You will be avenged Scully," he vowed to the night. As he made his way back to his post on the couch, he reflected on the day's events. It had all started so normally. Well, as "normal" as things had been for them lately. Kersh was still imposing his will, and no sub-level of humiliation seemed enough for him. Filing, for pete's sakes... what new low could he force them to? When they'd come in to cubicle-land that morning they were greeted by the sight of overflowing boxes of files on their desks. A memo signed by Kersh informed them that it was their duty to place the "refuse of their careers in the X-files" into their proper place. Bastard. They'd headed down to the basement archive, which was ironically located only a few doors down from their former office. They'd been at their task for five hours when it happened. He'd emerged from the Men's room, where he'd been as a result of his overzealous caffeine intake, when he heard Scully's cry. Heart pounding, he'd raced back into the file room. When he got there he'd stopped short in shock. Scully was bent over, clutching one hand to her chest. She was wincing, and swearing under her breath. Blood was dripping onto the carpet. Mulder quickly strode over to her to see what was wrong. He was completely unprepared for what he saw. Dear God, the blood! He'd immediately scanned the room looking for the weapon. Who had caused this? How had this happened in what should be one of the safest buildings in the country? Quickly he'd stanched the flow and hustled her out of the file room and into the parking garage. During the drive to Georgetown she'd steadfastly refused a trip to the ER, stating in her best doctor voice that she'd be fine, and telling Mulder that he was completely overreacting. When they'd arrived at her apartment he'd handled the first-aid efforts. Things were soon under control, but Mulder couldn't let go of it. He pestered and badgered, but Scully, though in pain, seemed resigned to what had happened and refused his pleas to do something about it. Mulder's head was spinning. When had they become so beaten down by the bureaucracy that they just accepted wrongs that were inflicted upon them without question? When had they lost the drive that propelled them take action for justice's sake, even when they knew it was most likely futile? Asking himself these questions made thoughts of vengeance start percolating in his head. He knew exactly who to blame. And what to do about it. He'd managed to wheedle himself an invitation stay for dinner. When he suggested Irish coffee for dessert Scully had suspected nothing. Okay, so he put three times the usual amount of Bailey's into hers.... he was only looking out for her. No need to have her mixed up in his scheme. A second serving had her out like a light. He'd carried her to bed, removed her shoes, and covered her with an afghan. Then he'd made the phone call. Mulder knew he was risking a lot. But, dammit! Visions of Scully's blood dripping onto the carpet tormented him. He had to do *something* about it. A soft knock on the door shook him from his musings, and he knew the game was afoot. He strode over and opened it, quickly putting a finger to his lips and inclining his head toward the bedroom. Frohike leaned into the apartment before he winked in understanding. Mulder stepped outside, and pulled the door shut quietly. He looked the boys up and down. They were garbed all in black, and Langly even had a pair of night vision binoculars in his hand. Mulder nodded in approval. "You guys got the stuff we need?" he asked. "We brought everything you requested Mulder... and a few extras," Byers replied. "Are you sure this is how you want to handle it?" Mulder sighed. "If you could've seen it.... you'd understand. There's no other way. No matter what I do to try to get the X-Files back, it only seems to push us farther away from them. And now this. She did nothing to deserve this. It's no time to go through proper channels, boys. This is the only way." Frohike was bobbing his head in agreement during Mulder's speech. He didn't need to hear any more - he only needed to know that Scully had been hurt before he agreed to the actions they were about to take. 'Anything for Scully' was one of the unofficial mottoes he lived by. "Let's roll," said Langly, turning toward the stairs. The others quickly followed. Once they were in the van and on their way, Mulder examined the equipment. "Very nice boys... this ought to take care of it," he muttered, more to himself than the gunmen. Twenty minutes later they pulled into a quiet Arlington neighborhood. "You sure this is the right address?" Mulder asked, looking around. "We double checked it - the FBI database and the DMV," Byers replied. "Not to mention the phonebook," Langly added. The van rolled to a stop in front of an innocuous looking split-level house. There was nothing extraordinary about the neighborhood, the house, or even the car parked in the driveway, but Mulder knew that just inside those doors evil lurked. As they exited the van, Frohike pulled out a slingshot while the others hauled out the supplies. Taking aim at the streetlight above them, he quickly fired. Bingo! They were left under the cover of darkness. "Hey, the wind's picking up, man, we better hurry," Langly stated as they began organizing their attack. "I think it's going to rain soon," Byers responded, squinting up into the night sky as the stars disappeared from view. In under five minutes they began putting their plan into action. -90 MINUTES LATER- The van came to a shuddering halt just outside Scully's apartment building. Mulder stepped out gingerly. God he was tired! And filthy.... the rain Byers had predicted had ended up being a passing thunderstorm. Though the wind and rain had hampered their efforts and created a bit of a backlash against themselves, the mission had still been a success. The only casualty they'd sustained was Mulder's leather jacket, which unfortunately now bore a visual history of the night's events. He leaned into the side door of the van to thank the gunmen before they left. "Mulder!" Mulder jumped at least a foot at the sound of Scully's voice. Whipping around, he saw her sitting on her apartment building's front steps. She was clad in her trenchcoat, with an umbrella protecting her from the drizzle that remained from the earlier storm. Inside the van the gunmen cast alarmed looks in her direction before abruptly putting the vehicle into gear. Mulder barely escaped having his feet crushed under the wheels as he leaped onto the curb. It was time to face the music. He took a few tentative steps towards Scully and stopped. Without saying a word she gave him the once-over. The only sound was the squealing of tires in the distance as the gunmen beat a hasty retreat from Scully's neighborhood. Slowly Scully took in all the signs. Mulder was drenched. His jacket was covered bits of debris, and more evidence clung to his legs. Ever the detective, it took her only 30 seconds to reach the proper conclusion. She looked back at his face, and gave him a hard stare in the eye. Mulder squirmed. "For God's sake Mulder! It was only a paper cut!" "Scully-" he began, only to be cut off by her quiet fury. "I can't believe you! Almost 40 years old, and you toilet-papered and egged someone's house? It was Kersh's, I presume...." she paused, took a few steps forward, and sniffed at Mulder. "Oh Mulder.... and a stink-bomb too?" Shaking her head, she turned and climbed the steps into her building. Mulder stared at her back, swallowing hard, and finding it impossible to say anything in his own defense. He didn't know which was worse - seeing Scully hurt, or having her disappointed in him. His shoulders sagged in relief, when, without turning around Scully made her pronouncement. "You'd better come in and clean up Mulder. You don't want to slime the inside of your car with the egg you still have clinging to your sleeves... and leave the wet toilet-paper outside." Mulder bounded up the stairs after her. THE END ***************************************************** AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, c'mon... if I'd said that Scully was felled by a "vicious paper cut" in the summary, would you have kept reading?! I was inspired by an actual cut I received whilst opening my box of season 4 DVD's from amazon.... it must've been fate. Well, that and too much sugar from leftover Halloween candy:)