Chapter Text
6.30pm
Georgetown PD
The clock on the wall kept a deafening rhythm. It felt like an eternity since he stepped out into the hallway, standing in front of the door, back to the wall. In reality it must have been no more than ten minutes. The damage to her body was being photographed, catalogued and documented for the official record that was to serve as justification for her actions. As if any district attorney would pursue this case. She’d refused to do so unless he stayed with her, so here he stood her own personal guard. If only he’d insisted on the same earlier this afternoon.
The scene played out every time he closed his eyes. How he wished he had chosen differently.
“I’m fine Mulder” she had insisted as they pulled up in front of her building.
The cases that involved faith always elicited this tension between them. She was hurt by his questioning of her desire to believe and he was annoyed that of all the things she could choose to believe this was the one that always stuck with her.
“We both know that’s not true,” he had spat back. “Why won’t you ever let me take care of you? I understand not wanting to seem weak, but Scully this is me.” Frustration and anger giving way to hurt “Do you ever think perhaps I need to make sure you’re ok?”
Her expression had softened. She placed a hand over his on the handbrake.
“I know. I’m sorry.” She paused trying to organise her thoughts and package them in a way he may understand “I just need a little space to sort my head out tonight. It has bothered me; I don’t like feeling that I’ve allowed that man to take that power from me again” She brushed a thumb over his knuckles. “It’s not about seeming weak to others but my feeling weak. I need to take that control back for myself. I can’t do that if you do it for me. Can you understand that?”
He sighed in resignation and reached over and placed a light kiss over her lips.
He knew her well enough after all these years to know there was no winning this today. He knew how fiercely she defended her independence, how important it was to her own sense of self to feel strong. If this was what she needed he would give it, albeit reluctantly. This change between them was so new, still in its infancy and he didn’t want to start a fight. The discussion about how he felt when she withdrew, especially since the start of their more personal relationship could wait until tomorrow. “I guess so.” He sighed placing his forehead to hers “I don’t like it though.”
She smiled.
“I promise to call you later.”
He’d waited for her to walk into her building and driven off. From the moment he saw her figure retreat something felt off. He should have gone back. If only he’d heard the voicemail when he had first walked in the door? Ordinarily this would have been his routine but distracted by his nagging annoyance he had headed straight to the shower. The first he’d known was that song as he set the alarm, surely too much of a coincidence? Followed by a nagging doubt that maybe she was right. For all her faith he couldn’t trust it. I want to believe… anything except this. He’d lain on the bed calling her number, then her cell, when hearing no answer the dread continued to grow cancerous in his chest. He’d called twice before he noticed the flashing light on the answering machine.
“Pfaster got real upset when she was wearing a red wig… Does this mean anything to you?”
When he’d heard it he knew exactly what felt off. The profiler in him must have had known. Their personal relationship, his love for her had made it impossible for him to see it. He simply hadn’t wanted to see it.
He’d got to her place in record time, frantically calling her becoming more and more alarmed with each unanswered call. He raised the alarm on his cell phone when he had continued to be unable to contact her but was still the first to arrive on scene. He had taken the stairs three at a time. When he heard the song from outside the door, he just knew, forcing the door in record time, hands shaking, his gun in his hand.
There he was. Pfaster was standing in her living room, blood on his shirt; a living breathing nightmare playing out before his eyes. She was nowhere to be seen. His stomach dropped suddenly full of lead. For a moment Mulder had been sure she was dead, waiting for him to discover her beaten and violated in a cold, blood filled bath, her slender fingers already chilling in the freezer.
In an instant he knew he would kill him.
Then she was there, bleeding and emotionless and wearing his pyjamas. There wasn’t even time for his relief to fully register before she had done it and Pfaster had fallen lifeless to the floor.
He had moved her to the bedroom while they waited for the authorities. He held her shaking frame to his chest, as she sobbed, Pfaster’s blood spreading over her living room floor. He had knelt in front of her as the shock set in. She had adamantly refused to be processed as a victim despite the ties on her feet and wrists, the bruises developing over every inch of her body, and the scene prepared for what would have been waiting in her bathroom.
She had killed him. He was apprehended. She had killed him in cold blood.
Skinner had arrived; the relief that flooded Mulder was palpable. Agent Mulder was trying to manage the scene. Fox wanted to support Dana. Mulder took him to her and he firmly but kindly insisted that he was not allowing her to turn herself over; unable to think straight she wanted to agree to anything to be allowed to leave. Mulder had never been so thankful for his partner’s deference to male authority figures. He had insisted she would cooperate fully but in a way that was managed to support her and there was no debate. She had agreed only if Mulder could stay with her.
As he’d walked into the room with her at the station he’d caught Skinners eye. Skinner knew. He knew about the change between them. Mulder had suspected he had for a while. He knew he was choosing to turn a blind eye. This left little to the imagination. It was so far from Bureau policy he had no idea how Skinner could even attempt to justify this to the inevitable OPR panel. He met his eye as he held her hand as she walked into the room to hand over her clothes for testing and have the injuries on her body catalogued and photographed.
He had been given a chair. He turned it respectfully to the wall. Seeing nothing but whitewashed plaster his brain began filling in the blanks. He heard as the plastic evidence bags were opened. The CSI’s listing the items one at a time.
“Wrist binding; left arm. Pantyhose…”
“Grey pinstripe men’s pyjama shirt, size large, rolled at the cuffs. Blood spatter evident…”
“Grey pyjama bottoms, size large, rolled at the cuffs….”
He had closed his eyes, listening to the flash and whir of the camera documenting images of his partners’ body that he hoped to never see.
“Friction burns to wrists and ankles”
“Bruising to face, cut to lip.”
“Swelling to back of head, dried blood within hair”
“Bruising and abrasions to entirety of the back and shoulders. Mirror fragments still in situe”
“Cuts and abrasions to stomach and chest”
It seemed the list would never end. It was the last one that got him. He felt rather than heard his breath hitch in his chest.
“Bruising to neck; Clear finger marks. Evidence of strangulation”
He felt suddenly sick.
“Scully,” he whispered “I’m sorry but I need to step outside.” He heard the break in his voice; he knew that everyone else in the room did too. “I promise I won’t move from the door. Is that ok?”
He turned to look in her eyes. She had never looked so vulnerable. There was no nod, no agreement, just silent communication of her understanding and he bolted for the door.
In the hallway he leaned into the wall and tried to focus on controlling the bile he could feel threatening to spill from his oesophagus. His hands balled into fists, wanting nothing more than to punch a hole in the plaster and split his own knuckles just to distract from the horror of it all.
Skinner stood with the detectives at the desk at the end of the corridor deep in discussion. Mulder felt his eyes burning into him as he tried to compose himself. He knew Skinner was using his badge and his stern presence to try to circumvent procedure and agree more favourable treatment of Scully. Mulder leant his forehead against the door, both hands on the doorframe. He knew questions were being raised by this; by her request and by his behaviour. He was certain Skinner knew about the change in their relationship; but they didn’t broadcast it, he didn’t go looking and it seemed he was determined to turn a blind eye. He knew that all this was placing Skinner in an awkward position. Right now he didn’t care; nothing mattered but Scully.
He was not naive to the knowledge this could not be kept under wraps forever. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was getting tired of keeping everything hidden. Scully, so deeply private in everything personal was content to keep to the shadows. Mulder, who wore his heart on his sleeve found this all exhausting.
It was coming. Mulder knew it. Skinner knew it.
He knew they would probably be split up and lose the X-files, he wasn’t sure it mattered. Priorities were shifting.
He heard the footsteps approaching and opened his eyes.
“How is she?”
Mulder couldn’t answer. He closed his eyes and shook his head, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“I’ve managed to negotiate a quick interview today, pre-approved questions in the presence of a bureau lawyer. After that you can leave. They’ll give her a few days space and a more formal interview later. It wasn’t easy, he isn’t very agreeable” Skinner gestured to the detective he’d just walked away from “but I think it’s more of a pissing contest. He’s young and ambitious; this is going to be national news. He isn’t keen on the FBI stepping on his toes. By the time they call her for a formal interview I think it will be more favourable for her. No one has any real thirst to take this to prosecution. Even if he tried no DA would go for it. We can worry about OPR later.”
Mulder nodded “Thank you sir”
“I’m confused how this happened. It’s not like you to miss the mark like this on a profile. Marshall Daddo left a message hours ago about his reaction to the red wig. I’d have expected you to have been one step ahead of Pfaster. You were last time”
Mulder heard the unspoken subtext… you’re too close to this case. He wouldn’t deny it. They both knew it to be true.
“I didn’t hear it Sir, not until too late” Mulder looked down. “I’m not sure why I didn’t see it. I was called out to investigate Orison. Orison was found in a grave he dug himself. Case closed. I think I didn’t want to think about pursuing Pfaster. It wasn’t really our jurisdiction and you know how he affected Agent Scully last time. I think maybe it bothered me more than I thought it had too.” He paused “Truth be told we’d had a bit of a disagreement. She was shaken. I wanted her to go home and let me deal with it. She doesn’t like people to see her as fallible.”
Skinner nodded “It’s understandable for women in our line of work”
“I was a frustrated with her for not taking care of herself. I dropped her off… and I left…”
Skinner sighed. “Don’t. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.”
Mulder nodded.
“I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news but I’ve been told there are reporters with camera crews camped outside Agent Scully’s building. Looks as though it’s going to blow up” Skinner continued as Mulder buried his head in his hands. “I know you are listed as agent Scully’s emergency contact but I think someone needs to call her Mother or there is a very realistic chance she might learn about all this on the news. Do you want me to call?”
“No Sir,” Mulder sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll do it now”
Mulder pulled out his cell phone and dialled the too familiar number. “Maggie, it’s Fox…”