Title: Faith has a place Author: Lydx Distribution: Ephemeral, Gossamer etc. Sure. Anywhere else is okay too as long as my name stays attached and you mail me at lydx@angelfire.com to let me know. Classification: Vignette Rating: PG Keywords: ScullyAngst Summary: "What do you fear Agent Scully?" Spoilers: through season 8, set sometime between Requiem and Per Manum Feedback: is food for the soul, so please take a moment to tell me what you think Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm just borrowing them. They belong to CC, the creator and most especially to GA, DD, RP and the rest of the crew, who breathe life into them. ~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~< I should have told him, this is the thought that keeps going through my mind as I face the abyss. I should have told him but I never did. He took the case, unawares, and now I'm stuck here and I can't even blame it on him. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I keep forgetting he's not Mulder. Strike that, I know he's not Mulder; know it on a cellular level, every atom, every fibre of my being is suffused with the terrible knowledge that I lost him. I experience it anew each morning, this slow dawning of incompleteness as I jerk awake from achingly sweet or acutely terrifying dreams of finding him. I know that it's not Mulder beside me watching my back and my ass, his hand poised to touch me, hovering right over my tattoo, that secret place reserved only for him. What I keep forgetting is that Doggett and I don't share seven years of experience between us and he doesn't know everything about me as Mulder does. Mulder would have known, not because I ever told him but because he would have guessed from the flickering of my eyelids, divined it from the way I bit my lip, or the nervous way my tongue touched the corner of my mouth, or whatever. He would have known and he would have never gotten us into this. Strike that, Mulder WOULD have gotten us into this; it's in his nature to let his curiosity get the better of him and he would have had a field day with this case. He would have gotten us into this to be sure, but would have guiltily kept me in the autopsy room or interviewing suspects and witnesses, ordering me about as if he were my superior. And I would for once have ungrudgingly let him; knowing he was doing it to protect me from myself, from having to acknowledge that some things are too much even for Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully M.D. to face up to. I have found myself longing to be subjected to that overprotective streak of his for weeks now. Longing for his flights of fancy and his off the wall sense of humor popping up at the most inopportune moments, longing for his smile and his constant invasion of my personal space, aching for his sunflower seed scent and his knowledge of me. But he's not here and I am and I have no one to blame but me. Too proud to speak out and tell my temporary partner what with scant weeks between us he could not possibly know, I find myself living the old adage "pride goeth before the fall" How appropriate ... How perfectly stupid. Another push, another step closer and as I approach the precipice and close my eyes it is not my whole life that flashes before my eyes ... but in a way it is. When I close my eyes, it's Mulder I see. I carry the last thing that remains of him on this earth. I AM the last thing that remains of him -- and I rail at the knowledge that with me he will be wiped off the planet as well. Skinner and the Gunmen are still there but how long will their quest to recover him last when I'm no longer there to fuel it? To be sure, they're dedicated and resourceful. But when all of their leads turn up dust and all avenue's look to be explored it's me they turn to for inspiration. It's MY desperation that allows me to take some pretty creative leaps myself and entertain various and sundry flights of fancy, which in turn sets them hunting again in new directions. These are the un-trodden paths. I learned to walk them from the master. I'm sure that if anything will lead me to him -- these are the byways that just might. If I don't get myself killed in the process that is, which is looking more and more like a distinct possibility. Far off, I hear Doggett calling my name, pulling me back into the urgency of my present situation. He's never going to get to me in time, I know this, just as I know it's up to me -- and me alone -- to confront my demons and face the abyss. I stare stoically ahead and try to empty my mind. The cutting wind whipping my hair about and getting in my eyes makes it difficult to concentrate. I'm cold in my thin blouse and blazer and irrationally curse the impulse that led me to wear a skirt today of all days. To top it off, it's started to drizzle; the tiny drops landing on my fear-heated skin feel like little icy snakes slithering down my face, mixing with the blood dripping down my brow from where he cold- cocked me earlier and burrowing under my clothes; refugees from some war-torn country seeking a warm haven. The grip on my biceps tightens unbearably and numbness travels down my arm, I can't flex my fingers, can't catch my breath, my head is reeling -- "concussion" the doctor inside vaguely registers -- even as I'm forced to take another step towards the abyss. Panic is lodged tightly in my chest, having taken up residence somewhere south of my heart and just to the right of my solar plexus. Regret figures in there too, regret that I won't be able to tell my Mom goodbye, or Charlie and Bill, that I never told Mulder exactly how I feel about him, that we never did find the truth we'd so diligently sought, regret, most of all, that I'll never get to see our baby. I want to throw up, want to cry and plead for my life but my pride forbids it. ~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~< It was pride that made me take on the case in the first place. Pride and longing that overruled my better judgment when Doggett rushed into the basement waving the file in my face and excitedly telling me we had a real case on our hands for once. A real case and he'd already told Skinner we'd be on it right away. I'll show you a real case was my vengeful thought as I scanned the case-file, the taste of bile still in my mouth from my morning date with the porcelain god. A real X-file comes in many shapes and guises and there were more than a few out-there details in the file that led me to believe this case had all the makings of one. I latched onto them with a feeling of nostalgia, needing that connection after having just come from the Gunmen's lair, where another night had been spent fruitlessly chasing another dead end lead. A new X-file would help me get out of my own head for a bit. The guys would hold down the fort for me -- bless their little hearts -- and who knows what I might run into in the pursuit of this case. It was precisely what Mulder had done all those years and step-by-step his investigations had brought him closer to unravelling the truth. I didn't pause too long at the thought that it had taken him twenty-five years to do so. There were two things that made me uneasy about taking on this investigation, but I tried not to let them bother me. One was the fact that the case would take me back to New York, a city I had visited before with a partner not Mulder, which had almost led me to meet my maker up close and personal. As I read through the case notes the scar on my stomach itched furiously -- as it did on bad nights and too cold days-- with the memory of pain and near ruin. Glancing at the file again -- clinical descriptions interspersed with pictures of twisted bodies sprawled in sickening contortions on slick wet pavement at the foot of various and sundry tall buildings -- I felt another wave of nausea gather. This one had nothing to do with the little person growing inside for once, a fact I'd also not clued my temporary partner into. Instead, it had everything to do with my one, unchecked fear, which I would have to face in order to head this investigation. Keeping my thoughts to myself and the meagre contents of my stomach down -- one cup of coffee since I last offered up my guts at the altar of all things indelicate -- I told Doggett we'd take on the case and to book us two seats on the first available flight to New York. Based on Doggett's enthusiasm I figured he'd overlooked the more paranormal aspects of the case and I was looking forward to putting him in his place. It's not that I don't like Doggett; he's a good enough agent and looks to be a decent enough human being. He's not invaded my privacy beyond his initial attempts at goading me and had actually won a measure of my trust when he'd done just the right thing in shielding me from prying eyes a few weeks ago -- when I'd thought I'd shot Skinner and in a moment of weakness, despairing of ever finding Mulder, had given into grief. The thing that gets me about Doggett, other than the fact that he's not Mulder, is that he reminds me of me so much sometimes that it hurts my brain to think how Mulder must have felt all those years -- with me nay saying him all the way. To be fair, I figure Mulder had fun trying to open up my scientific mind to more extreme possibilities. And though I did my best not to show it -- no sense allowing him to mentally rack up points on the score card I knew he was keeping -- I too enjoyed the banter immensely, to the point of sometimes deliberately denying everything he said just to keep up the intellectual sparring. This is what I miss most of all these days -- aside from his gently ferocious touch and leering double entendres -- I miss the intellectual stimulus Mulder's agile mind provided. It was pride and longing that made me neglect to inform my interim partner of my findings, that kept me from telling him of my apprehensions, pride and longing that will be the death of me. ~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~< In the distance I can see Doggett running towards us, his breath plumes about his head in white wreathes, rain slants down and water showers upwards where his feet slap down on the wet puddle-marked rooftop. For a moment, an image of Mulder running towards me in a variety of similar circumstances overlays the figure of Doggett and I strain towards the vision. Then reality reasserts itself with a powerful twist of my arm and cruel laughter echoing around and inside me. I know that where Mulder always managed to reach me, albeit too often just in the nick of time, Dogget is too far away to make a difference in the drama being enacted now. I continue to struggle but it's no use, his tight hold on my arm only tightens further and he pushes me another step closer to the brink. "What do you fear Agent Scully?" Arend asks; his gravelly voice hurts my ears - feedback whine bouncing around in the auditorium of my skull -- and I strain to turn my head away. He's the one we came here to find. He takes his jollies throwing women off of tall buildings, hence our present location atop a mid sized skyscraper. Turns out HE found US first, or rather ... he found ME. Something tells me I should have seen this coming. "Not you," I answer truthfully. We take another step towards the drop off and despite my resolve my knees buckle. My head aches and blood continues to seep from my brow, getting in my eyes. It stings and I blink to clear my vision but still all I see is stars. The pain in my arm from where it's cruelly twisted behind my back is not helping. I'm sure I heard something give in my shoulder earlier when he first gabbed me as I stepped onto the roof. Tune it out; pain hardly matters now, the Special Agent inside wryly comments, as I face imminent extinction. Still -- it hurts, the little girl I once was pipes up. Another jerk and the Special Agent takes over, clenching her teeth in an effort to hang tough. A push and seemingly without transition, I'm one step away from my own demise. Laughter echoes in my head, almost drowning out the whisper. "Then why are you shaking? Not afraid of heights are you?" "No." Not a lie either -- technically. It's not that I fear heights; that would be rather impractical in this job given the number of times we've wound up on rooftops chasing down UNSUBs. It's that I fear that one day, most probably when standing at the edge of a very tall building such as this one and looking down at the miniature people and cars below, I might give in to the sudden and inexplicable urge I experience sometimes to just step off. No, I'm not suicidal, nor have I ever been. Not even now, under these, the direst of circumstances -- being pregnant and without Mulder -- do I think I'd actually take the leap. But then who am I to ever say never. Let's just say I'm intensely curious about stepping off and what comes next -- and I have this fear that one day my curiosity might get the better of me -- and leave it at that. I'm sure it's an urge most people feel from time to time. My scientific, fact-finding nature just enhances the urge until it's way out of proportion. This is what I've always told myself; and with apparent success since I'm still here, aren't I? "Then is it death that you fear?" His voice insinuates itself into my thoughts and his presence in my head is almost enough to make me physically ill to the point of throwing up. "No," again, it's the truth. Apparently, Arend doesn't fear death either. But then somehow he doesn't need to. He throws himself over the edge right along with his victims and has done so half a dozen times that we know of. There have been several witnesses and they all claim the same thing; that they saw the victim and Arend go over the edge, apparently plunging towards their death together. Somehow, though, all that's found at the foot of every single building is the mangled body of the victim with no sign of Arend. Mulder would have loved it -- as did I actually. It was not until we started this investigation that I realized I'd actually missed the thrill of puzzling out an honest-to-goodness X- file. And this one was a puzzle and a half. Still is actually -- because I have no earthly idea how Arend managed to survive falling off of a string of office buildings without a scratch. Luck can have you land in a laundry cart -- or something -- once, but not six times in a row, so that theory quickly went out the window. Sleight of hand, special effects and parachutes, a copycat and any number of weird and even weirder theories were offered up and discarded. Meanwhile a seventh victim was found without Doggett and me or the rest of the original task force getting any closer -- until this morning that is. Arend's voice makes my thoughts screech to a halt. "What then?" he asks, and he sounds like he is genuinely curious to know. I twist in his grip, disregarding the pain lancing up my arm, and face him. Raising a questioning eyebrow I ask, "How do you do it Arend?" A smile and his nondescript features transform into a cruel mask. His face seems to be elongating and for a moment I could swear something resembling a beak is forming where his nose should be and there are feathers in his hair. He speaks and the vision is gone. "I would have though you'd have figured that out by now Agent Scully. You managed to figure out everything else about me." That I did. In a flash of insight worthy of Mulder, I figured out there was a pattern to his attacks this morning, while hitching a ride on a helicopter to the latest crime scene. Connecting the dots is what it came down to. As soon as we touched down, I was on the phone and not soon after Doggett and I were poring over city maps and the configuration became clear. The sites of the attacks when we marked them on the map matched the constellation of Aquila, the faithful eagle from Greek Mythology, ever by the side of Zeus waiting to carry his thunderbolts down to kill the Titans. All we had to do was post at the next building in line to catch him. Of course, all the other Agents on the task force proclaimed me spooky -- and a nut -- and Doggett and I were left to patrol said building on our own. Which brings me back to my present situation, wet, hurt and in the clutches of what should have been OUR prey. "Explain it to me." I tell him. "How 'bout you experience it instead?" With that, he steps onto the ledge and pulls me up with him. It's rush hour down below and people are hurrying to and fro unaware of the drama unfolding up here. Pretty soon, some of them will get a taste of it when our two bodies drop from the sky though. At the thought, nausea once again tightens its hold on me. I resume my struggle but his grip is iron and no matter my training, at 5'2" I'm no match for his 6'3" bulk. "What do you fear Agent Scully?" Arend asks again, his mouth is next to my ear, his breath mists out in front of us and his voice grates on my nerves like a nail on chalkboard. What do I fear -- really? As I stand at the precipice, I DO feel fear coursing through my veins, but it has nothing to do with my earlier disquiet over this case, my fear of willingly going over the edge. Death is not what I fear; hence going over the edge -- willingly or unwillingly -- is not what frightens me. My one overreaching fear is simply this; that I'll never see Mulder again. As Arend steps over the edge and I'm dragged down with him I realize though that this too is nothing to be afraid of. In this life or the next, we're too single minded the both of us to not find each other. There's nothing to fear. The waiting may be long and hard but oh the rewards. Triumphantly, I twist around in mid-air and laughter bubbles up and over as I see panic take hold of his features. "Nothing!" My fierce whisper registers as a shout through the wind rushing around us as we free-fall. Startled, he lets go of me and starts flapping his arms and it hits me -- he actually believes he IS a bird. The pavement rushes up to meet us but Arend's flapping motions alter my trajectory and something breaks my fall. The air rushes from my lungs anyway and I register I'm still alive even as I hear the wet splatter below when Arend hits the ground. Then a tearing sound and the awning I landed on splits in two. I hit the pavement with a bone jarring thump and the remaining air is knocked out of me -- I'm knocked out with it. ~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~< I wake up and Doggett is sitting where Mulder should be. "Agent Scully?" His questioning tone indicates relief and amazement but little else and for that I'm glad. Panic, bags under the eyes and an unshaven jaw telling of a bedside vigil, are Mulder's domain. I attempt to sit up but a wave of vertigo washes through me and what must be myriad bruises make their presence known -- loudly. When I feel the gentle pressure of a hand on my shoulder, I gratefully take the hint and sink back down. "What happened?" I ask. It's an inane question, I know, but Dogget and I don't share the bedside history Mulder and I share either. Dogget looks down at me and shrugs his shoulders. "You tell me," he says. He looks frustrated. "I don't know if you're ready to hear it, I don't know if I am." But I am. Finally, irrevocably, I am become a believer. Mulder would be so proud -- that and a little terrified. Saying it aloud is another matter though, hence my hesitation but Dogget doesn't disappoint. "Try me," he tells me. A deep breath and I forge ahead before I loose my nerve, "I think he fed off of fear. He somehow managed to turn the fear his victims felt into energy, enough so to manipulate his gravitational pull. Fear buoyed him up." He looks like he swallowed grapefruit juice thinking it was Dr. Pepper. "But you weren't afraid so gravity got her own back on him?" His incredulous look is comical and I feel the corners of my mouth twist up in amusement. "That about sums it up." "Plunging towards your death and you're telling me you weren't afraid?" "Hmm..." "How's that?" He sounds a little scared now. "I found something today Agent Dogget, or I should say I re-claimed it." The fact that my words echo Mulder's sentiments, expressed so long ago, is not lost on me. His face is a question mark and my smile grows wider as I answer his unspoken query. "Faith Agent Dogget, I found faith and it buoyed me up." ~>~> FIN <~<~ Remember, feedback is food for the soul. Comments, negative or positive as long as they're constructive, will be replied to. Mail me at: lydx@angelfire.com This and my other fic efforts can be found at: http://www.angelfire.com/ga2/lydx/myfic.html ~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~ "There are only ten ideas... What makes the difference is how you spice them." Tori Amos ~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~