Title: Reimagined: IWTB
Author: ML
Rating: 14 and up
Spoilers: “The X-Files: I Want to Believe”
Synopsis: a “fanfic-ization” of the second XF movie
Disclaimer: Please note that I do not claim ownership of anything
to do with the movie or the novel, I am doing this solely for
entertainment/amusement purposes, and not to make any profit or gain
from it. In fact, this is in celebration of the release of the DVD.
Go back for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
-x-
Chapter Fifteen – Don’t Give Up
Scully sat in her office, head in her hands. She’d been so certain the day before, but today…the interview with Father Joe had been very upsetting, not just because of the way Mulder had left, but that the ex-priest now seemed a confirmed fraud.
If he was a fraud, what business did she have taking his words to her as something to act upon? And why was she letting the words he spoke to her just now unsettle her so?
No, she told herself sternly. You had very good reasons for making the decision to operate. Maybe you had a tiny doubt, but it had nothing to do with the rightness of the decision. You don’t believe in signs and portents.
Sighing, she gathered up the folders with all her research, stacking them to one side so that she could transcribe her notes. She could have gotten her administrative assistant to do them, but she preferred doing them herself, just as she’d done in the FBI.
Some discarded articles lay under the pile of folders. She picked them up, checking that there was nothing important in them before throwing them into the recycle bin.
A word caught her eye in the first paragraph: “transplant.” Almost in spite of herself, she skimmed the article.
She’d printed this one by accident in her haste a few days before, discovering that it had little to do with her research. But now, the subject of the article held her attention for a different reason.
She vaguely remembered reading about these experiments, many years before; had probably even seen some newsreel footage in some long- forgotten basic biology class.
Russian scientists, doing early transplant research in the middle of the last century, using dogs as test subjects. She looked closely at the picture accompanying the article. Even in a poor-quality black and white reproduction, it was clear, and clearly unspeakable: a second head grafted onto a dog’s body.
Dogs. Transplants. Acepromazine in the human limbs found…
What Scully was thinking was unspeakable. Why? What awful experiments were going on, and what had she gotten Mulder into?
Without even thinking twice, she dialed his cell phone number.
“It’s Fox Mulder. I must be busy. Leave me a message.”
“Mulder, it’s me,” she started, almost incoherent with fear and horror. “You’ve got to call me back. I’ve found something — whoever it is, they’re experimenting, with dogs and humans — I don’t know why or where, but please call me as soon as you get this.” Just in case she had a bad connection, she went out into the hallway outside her office, where the reception was better. Her phone showed a clear signal, but it didn’t ring.
She couldn’t wait. What if he was already in danger? Knowing Mulder, he wouldn’t wait for backup. If he could even get backup…
*She* was his backup. No one else. There was no one else, not for him, not for her.
Unwilling to wait a moment more, she went back to her office and found Agent Drummy’s card, dialing the number as she grabbed her coat and purse.
“FBI, SAC Fossa,” a female answered the call.
“I’m trying to reach Agent Drummy,” Scully said, and waited impatiently for him to come to the phone.
“Agent Drummy,” she finally heard, after an interminable several seconds.
“Agent Drummy, I need your help. Mulder may be in trouble –”
“Is this Dr. Scully?” he interrupted.
“Yes, it’s Dr. Scully,” she said impatiently. “Look, I don’t have time –”
“What seems to be the problem, Dr. Scully?”
“I think Mulder has found something, but he’s on his own. Do you –”
“Where is Mulder?” Agent Drummy interrupted again.
“If I knew, would I be calling you?” she asked in frustration.
“Hold on a moment,” he said, and he muffled the phone. She could hear some exchange going on in the background but couldn’t tell what was being said.
Agent Drummy came back on the line. “Dr. Scully, I’m going to suggest you call the police.”
“WHAT?” she yelled into the phone, startling the few people in the corridor.
“This is not an FBI matter,” Drummy said flatly.
“But he’s working on your case! You called him in!”
“It wasn’t my call,” Drummy said. “That was Agent Whitney’s.”
“I understand that, and I know that she died chasing the suspect that Mulder is pursuing now. I need your help!”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry,” he said in the same flat tone. “I can’t help you.”
Unbelievable, she thought. “Then connect me with someone in the FBI with balls who *can*!”
Her phone went dead. She thought her connection had degraded, but no, it was just as good as it had been a moment before.
In the situation room at the FBI, Agent Drummy looked at SAC Fossa, who nodded approvingly as she left the room.
Agent Mosley Drummy watched her go. Dr. Scully was right; someone should be out there helping Fox Mulder with whatever it was he’d found. Drummy didn’t agree with his methods, but it didn’t mean he’d leave a man out on his own.
But it wasn’t his call. He watched SAC Fossa’s retreating form, wondering what the hell was going on.
At the hospital, Scully dialed another FBI number. “I’d like to speak to Assistant Director Walter Skinner, on an urgent matter.”
“Who’s calling for him, please?” asked the operator.
“Former Agent Dana Scully.”
x-x-x
Rural Virginia
The snow that had started falling before dusk was getting heavier, covering the tracks in the road where Mulder’s car had been pushed.
Down the slope, falling snow and ice had almost covered the car already. But if anyone had been watching from the road above, they would have seen some shifting of the pile forming over the passenger side of the car. The shifting turned into a hole, and out of it reached a gloved hand. The hand became two, and the hole enlarged to reveal the dazed and bloodied head of Fox Mulder. Little by little he made the hole big enough so that he could pull himself out of the car through the broken window. He’d been cut by flying glass, and was slightly concussed, but it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before. He knew he had to keep moving — not just for his own safety, but to find Dacyshyn’s latest — and, he hoped, last — victim.
He looked up the steep slope and looked for a place to start the climb back up to the road.
x-x-x
Cheryl Cunningham knew that there was something afoot. Her prison had been moved to the edge of the lighted room, and she could see her surroundings more clearly than before. It didn’t inspire hope or confidence in her to see the operating room set up, and to understand what her fate was likely to be.
The dogs set up another chorus of frenzied barking, heralding the arrival of Mean Man. Sure enough, he came through the far door. He handed a bag to Hat Man, who handed it to White Legs.
Hat Man and Grey Pants approached Cheryl’s box. She braced herself, ready to come out fighting. She was sure her life depended on it; these people certainly could have no intention of letting her go, after what she’d seen and heard.
Tense moments passed, and she heard some exchanges in whatever foreign tongue these people used, and the clatter of metal against metal.
She heard the hasp of the lock on her prison. She tensed, ready to bolt.
The door swung wide and the two men reached in for her. She screamed, “NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!” at the top of her lungs, and did her best to elude their grasp.
She never had a chance. The two men held her thrashing body as the woman approached, pressed the pneumatic syringe against her neck and she stopped resisting, going limp almost immediately.
Janke Dacyshyn watched from his vantage point next to Franz’s gurney, whispering into his ear. “You don’t need this body any more; it has betrayed you. I have a fine, strong body for you. Soon you will be healthy again.”
Franz made no reply. He couldn’t even turn toward Janke; he couldn’t speak if he’d wanted to. His head was held onto its body by sutures within and without; the result of a painstaking surgery performed a few days ago.
But despite the best efforts of the doctor and his assistants, the body was dying. It would soon take what was left of Franz Tomczeszyn with it, if they didn’t operate tonight.
So much had been leading up to this moment: the careful experimentation over the years, both animal and human; the long periods of time between attempts, so as not to draw attention. Janke had ranged far and wide to find compatible donors. Even when Franz had been in remission, the experiments had continued. Janke had wanted to be ready. Franz was all he had in the world, and he owed him everything. This gift, the gift of a new body, was his repayment.
The doctor and his assistants lowered Cheryl’s inert body into the ice-and-water bath that would lower her temperature during the procedure. The nurse began to insert the needles and lines that would connect the girl to the bypass machine for the surgery.
Approaching Franz’s gurney, the doctor waved Janke away with irritation. He wasn’t even sterile, and here he was, hanging over the patient in his great filthy coat.
Janke retreated, thinking that this might be a good time to go make sure that the man he’d run off the road — for all he knew, an FBI agent — hadn’t survived the crash. And if he had…
x-x-x
By the time Skinner picked up Scully in Richmond, he’d already gotten the location and description of the crashed car, called in by a man who’d seen the accident site on his way home. They were approaching the site now. Scully sat on the edge of her seat, willing the SUV to move faster through the thickening snow. She could see the flashing red and blue lights of the cruiser ahead, and the spotlight of the tow truck pointing down into a ravine, where the Taurus was being winched up, foot by foot.
Almost before the vehicle stopped, she was opening the door, rushing to the deputy who stood by the tow truck.
“My name’s Dana Scully,” she said. “That’s my car.”
“Right,” the deputy said. “I have your name. Some bigwig over to the FBI in Washington called already.”
“That would be this man,” Scully said, gesturing to Walter Skinner, who’d just walked up. “Any sign of the driver?”
“Not a sign of him,” the deputy said. “He could have been thrown clear; the windows were broken. We did find this.” She held up a zip-lock bag with a cell phone in it.
“It’s got blood on it,” Scully said with fear.
Skinner said, “Now, calm down and think, Scully. He’s nowhere to be found; that says he survived the crash and walked away under his own power. Any sign of tracks?” he asked the deputy.
“No sir, but snow’s been pretty heavy since nightfall. We wouldn’t even have seen the place where the car went off the road if it hadn’t been for this man.” She gestured to the proprietor of the feed store who had talked to Mulder earlier in the day.
Skinner turned back to Scully. “He had to have climbed out. If he climbed out, he climbed up — so he’s probably somewhere along this road. You know Mulder, and you were a damned good investigator — where do we go from here?”
Scully got a grip on herself. Skinner was right; her worry and fear for Mulder was drowning out that part of her that could think coolly and logically in this kind of situation. She took a deep breath and looked around.
“Which way would you say he was heading?” she asked.
The feed store proprietor said, “He was at my store about an hour before. If he was on this road leading away, he’d be heading up that way.” He pointed in the direction Mulder had indeed been heading, as he followed the white truck.
Scully gave her card to the tow truck driver and got back into the car with Skinner. At least they had a place to start now.
x-x-x
As he left the compound, Janke lowered the plow into place. He’d risked driving without it on the way, but in the intervening hour or so the snow had gotten much thicker. It was slow going but he wasn’t going to take foolish chances now.
About half a mile from the main road, the plow mechanism made a dreadful clanking noise and the truck stalled. With a curse, Janke got out of the truck and looked at the plow.
The hydraulic line was broken, and fluid was leaking out of it. Pushing that car over the edge had probably caused the damage. Janke kicked at it angrily and futilely. He slammed the driver’s door and considered his options. Surely the cold and his injuries would finish the man off. And if they didn’t, there was still no way he’d find the way to the compound. Janke headed back there himself.
x-x-x
Mulder was getting more and more tired. He knew he was slightly concussed, and he also knew that if he sat down to rest, he might never get up again. He kept on, looking for a road that might lead off the main road, one that appeared to be recently traveled, even in this heavy snow.
The thing is, how could he tell what was more, or less, traveled? In the end, he picked the first road he saw, shuffling through the snow, on the lookout for sign of civilization. As he came around a curve in the road, he froze in his tracks.
There was the truck, headed straight toward him. He couldn’t hear the engine running, and the only light he saw was reflected from the snow. It was eerily quiet, but he approached with caution, just in case Dacyshyn was lying in wait.
The engine was still slightly warm, and the driver’s door was open. There were no keys in it, and Mulder didn’t want to take the chance of being surprised by its owner while he fumbled with half-frozen fingers to hot-wire the thing.
Instead, he rummaged around in the cab, looking for anything he could use as a weapon.
-x-
Chapter Sixteen – The Surgery
Janke Dacyshyn was back in the primitive operating room, this time keeping his distance from the activities. He could see the new donor body in its ice bath, and the lines of tubing circulating the life- giving blood through the dialysis machine. The doctor and his assistant were working on Franz now, carefully cutting the stitches that held him to the dying body.
It had to work this time. He was sure that Franz could not withstand much more of this, and neither could he.
x-x-x
It was very slow going, inching along the country roads in this hellish weather. Skinner had been on the phone, trying to muster what support he could, and letting SAC Fossa know that she *would* cooperate with this part of the investigation. She was instructed to send Agent Drummy to the Richmond office, and as soon as they knew the right location, to dispatch him and his men where Skinner ordered them to go.
Scully listened to Skinner barking orders into his phone and felt a bittersweet longing for those days.
They’d made a good team, she and Mulder. They’d probably still be a good team, had things been different. But they weren’t; events had played out in ways beyond their control, and they’d done the best that they could in the circumstances.
Now, they’d established a different path for themselves. They were together in life, but separate in their life’s work. Again, it was a choice thrust upon them, but she had made her way through it, and she couldn’t just walk away.
But would she best be able to fight the future by being a doctor?
No, she hadn’t forgotten that there was a larger issue at stake; it was always in the back of her mind. Mulder had never stopped thinking of the big picture either, and had been doing what he could to find answers, even while hamstrung by his exile. Now the opportunity presented itself for them to once again enter the larger stage.
But first, she had to ensure that Mulder would be there to argue with, to make the hard decisions with her.
She would find him. There simply was no other option.
x-x-x
The only way to go, Mulder reasoned, was in the direction the truck had come from. He tucked the big wrench inside his coat and jogged down the road. The jogging made his head hurt but it warmed him up. He kept it up until he came to a tall cyclone fence, locked with a serious padlock and chain array. He could see the faint outlines of tire tracks, partly obscured by the falling snow. A collection of dilapidated buildings was illuminated by floodlights, but the area around the fence itself was in shadow.
The fence looked impossibly high, and it was topped with barbed wire. The wrench was not long enough to use as a lever to try and break the chain, and frankly it looked too thick to be snapped by anyone other than The Incredible Hulk. He squared his shoulders and started to climb.
He dropped awkwardly into a snowdrift on the other side, thankful it was there to break his fall. He crouched down low, in case there was anyone outside to see him.
Something was outside to see him, but it wasn’t human. He heard the growling and snapping before he saw anything and he gripped the wrench tightly in one hand, watching.
The dog came running out of the darkness, barking and snarling. Mulder blinked. Was he seeing double? Or did the dog really have two heads?
Then he could spare no thoughts as the dog leaped for his throat.
In the operating room, Janke hovered around the edges, watching the procedure carefully. The doctor’s assistant was swabbing Betadine over the girl’s neck, marking the path for the surgeon’s cut. Everything seemed to be going the way it should be.
Then the dogs started up. Usually once they were in their kennels, only a disturbance outside set them off. They were more agitated than usual, and Janke felt a thrill of fear. Had someone found this place?
The doctor paused in his delicate work and suggested rather forcefully that he go and find out what was happening.
He shouted to the dogs to be quiet, and they began to calm. Something still didn’t feel right. He walked past the circle of light near the buildings and cautiously approached the fence.
There he found it: evidence that an intruder had somehow breached their security. The dog the doctor called Cerberus lay dying — at least part of him was, one head quiet in the snow while the other panted, tongue lolling. There was fresh blood nearby, and not all of it was the dog’s. He could see a few spots of it leading away, toward the light.
Mulder burst into the operating room, brandishing his wrench. The warmth of the room after being cold for so long made him almost dizzy.
“Stop what you’re doing!” he yelled as forcefully as he could, though his voice sounded unbelievably weak in his ears. He held the wrench high.
A tall, gaunt looking man turned to look at him, some kind of surgical instrument in his hand. He spoke what Mulder recognized as Russian, though he didn’t understand the words.
He looked around the room, holding his weapon at the ready. He saw a female body in a tank of what looked like yellow slush, tubes of red attached to her.
“I want her out of there,” he said as forcefully as he could. “Take those tubes out and sew up her neck. *Now*!”
The table where the surgeon had been standing held a body covered by a sheet, and something else nearby, also covered. Mulder approached it cautiously, removing the cloth from the smaller object.
A man’s severed head stared up at him. As Mulder looked on in shock, it blinked.
The doctor, or someone, was still speaking to him, approaching him slowly.
“Back off!” Mulder said. “And *shut up*! Do any of you speak English?”
No one answered, at least not in English.
The doctor put his now empty hands out, in an apparently conciliatory gesture. He spoke calmly.
“I don’t understand you!” Mulder shouted.
And then he was grabbed from behind. He managed to wrest himself from the grip of Janke Dacyshyn, who then threw a roundhouse punch that made him reel. Before he could recover, the doctor had gotten a hypodermic in hand, and had administered the drug.
Mulder didn’t need to speak Russian to know what it was. And after a moment, he knew nothing at all.
x-x-x
Scully could feel hope draining away with every moment that passed. Skinner drove slowly out of necessity both due to the weather and so that they wouldn’t miss anything, but she was so afraid that they wouldn’t get there, wherever ‘there’ was, in time…
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” Skinner said from the driver’s seat, sensing her worry. “I know Mulder, he won’t do anything crazy.”
Scully didn’t answer; she just looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“Well, not overly crazy,” Skinner amended.
She turned her attention back to her side of the road. They were passing a row of mailboxes, battered by years of weather and probably the random baseball bat. She didn’t look at them closely, her attention more focused on the road ahead.
And then, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.
“Stop,” she said. “Back up.”
Mystified, Skinner did as she requested. The SUV’s headlights illuminated the mailboxes, and Scully saw it: one mailbox, evidently missing a digit so that it read “25 2.”
“I don’t believe it,” she breathed.
“What?” Skinner asked.
“Proverbs 25-2,” she said.
“What?” Skinner asked again.
“‘God’s glory to conceal a thing…'” Scully quoted softly. Without hesitation she opened the mailbox and reached inside.
x-x-x
Mulder had regained a hazy consciousness, but he couldn’t move. He was aware that there was some activity around him; now he was on the move, being dragged across the floor, over the threshold, and down the steps. He couldn’t raise his head, so it bumped against the steps as Dacyshyn dragged him outside.
He ended up next to a woodpile, in full view of a stump with an axe stuck in it.
Now I know what the Thanksgiving turkey feels like, he thought. Try as he might, he could not make himself move.
As he watched, the axe was yanked out of the stump. He heard a scraping of metal on metal, the sound of an axe being sharpened.
x-x-x
Scully shuffled through the mail, looking for any recognizable name. Most were addressed to “occupant”, but finally she found a bill — and from a medical supply company. The spark of hope inside her grew, just a little.
“Dr. Uroff-Koltoff,” she said. “I think this must be the place. It’s an address on Bellflower Road.”
“I’ll check the GPS,” Skinner said.
“Wait,” Scully said, listening. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear dogs barking. Not one dog, but a chorus of them.
It was more than a spark of hope now.
Hang on, Mulder, she thought, climbing back into the SUV as Skinner gunned the engine.
x-x-x
Mulder found that by concentrating very, very hard, he could move his head slightly. He turned away from the stump to see what else he could see.
To his left, there was a very pale, naked body. Headless.
Even without a head, he was pretty sure that he’d just found Monica Bannan. Then Janke pulled the body away, out of his line of vision, and he heard the sickening sound of the axe biting into flesh and bone.
Numbly, he waited his turn. A long, dreadful interval later, the axe was returned to its stump.
There were more dragging sounds and a rustling of plastic. Mulder didn’t need to see; his mind supplied the details of Dacyshyn wrapping body parts in plastic, prior to disposal.
Mulder strained to move his arm. He was just about in reach of the axe, if he could just make his arm move…and it did, excruciatingly slowly, his hand and fingers still limp. He dragged his arm toward the stump, willing his fingers to regain their strength so he could try to grab the axe.
Dacyshyn’s hand reached down and pushed Mulder’s arm off the stump as if it belonged to a rag doll. He pulled the axe from the stump and dragged Mulder so that his head and shoulders were now resting on it, face up.
He heard sharpening sounds again. He wondered if it was harder to chop up a living body than a dead one, and whether or not he stood a chance of rolling out of range at the last minute — and how long he’d be able to fight back in his weakened state.
I can’t believe it’s gonna end like this, he thought disgustedly. After all we’ve been through, it’s not just pathetic, it’s ludicrous.
He raised his eyes to Dacyshyn, who now towered over him, axe raised above his head.
“HEY!” A familiar, much-loved voice distracted Dacyshyn and he turned.
Mulder heard a loud THWACK that sounded for all the world like a baseball bat hitting a good, hard, fastball.
The next sound was of a body falling behind him.
His next sight was of Scully. She pulled him off the stump and ran her hands gently through his hair, lightly touching the cut on his forehead. “Mulder, are you okay?” she asked anxiously.
He smiled up at her. “Sorry about your car,” he rasped.
“Oh, Mulder,” she said through her tears.
“Cheryl Cunningham…she’s still alive,” he said.
“I’ll be right back, I promise,” she said. “Don’t move.”
If he could have laughed, he would have.
Inside the building, Skinner leveled his gun at the group around Cheryl Cunningham and yelled, “Hands where I can see them! Now!”
They might not have understood the words, but they did understand the intention. Somehow a tall man leveling a gun at them commanded more respect than a disheveled, bloody man holding a wrench. They huddled together, watching Skinner warily.
Skinner approached cautiously, checking for any other entrances or other persons who might be lying in wait. He gestured for the doctor and his helpers to step away from their victim.
He noted a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see, to his horror, a severed head, seemingly connected to the woman’s body by various tubes. As he watched, the eyes blinked slowly.
“My God,” Skinner breathed. “What have you done?”
He motioned them to move further away from the operating theatre, and spied a large plywood box behind them, its door open, obviously some kind of holding pen or cage.
“Get in!” he shouted, gesturing with his gun, and the three did as they were bid. Skinner locked the door behind them and turned to see Scully entering the room.
He marveled at how calmly she took everything in at a glance, taking her coat off and rolling up her sleeves.
“Mulder’s outside,” she said. “He’s alive, but he needs fluids and warm clothes. Please, can you help him? I’ve got work to do here.”
“What about Dacyshyn?” Skinner asked.
“He’s out there too,” Scully said. “I don’t know if he’s alive or not.”
Skinner left her to her task. He’d already called Richmond and reinforcements were on the way, but it appeared to him that Scully could handle it all, without anyone’s help. Including his.
He found Mulder lying huddled next to a stump by the woodpile. Dacyshyn didn’t look good, but he cuffed him and kicked the axe away, just in case, and then turned to Mulder.
Mulder opened his eyes as Skinner knelt next to him. He smiled a broad, disbelieving smile. “Skinner?” he asked incredulously. “Girl…inside…still alive…”
“Scully’s got her,” Skinner said, taking off his overcoat. “How’re you doing?”
“C-cold,” Mulder said, and he soon found himself wrapped in the coat and the arms of his former boss.
-x-
Chapter Seventeen – Home Again
Here he was, right back where he started from. Mulder sat at the desk in his study, trying not to pick at the stitches on his forehead, already itching.
He’d have stayed at the hospital, but Skinner insisted that Scully wanted him to go home while she made sure that Cheryl Cunningham was stabilized.
He’d been questioned while they patched him up, and according to Skinner, Scully had been questioned, too. He’d been treated as more or less a victim, but they’d had a couple more questions for Scully, such as, what did she know about the big dent in Janke Dacyshyn’s head?
When you were an FBI agent and you shot or injured someone in the pursuit of a crime, you surrendered your gun, you went before a review board, and maybe had to go in for some counseling. It appeared that when you were merely a civilian, there was quite a bit more paperwork involved. Fortunately, Skinner insisted that it was self-defense — that Dacyshyn had threatened her with an axe.
It was true enough to pass. No doubt Scully would have been next, if she’d arrived just five minutes later. Those who didn’t know Scully might not believe that she could get the better of an axe- wielding madman, but that was their problem.
There was also the mitigating circumstance that she’d saved the life of Cheryl Cunningham.
Of course, that’s not how the paper told it. Agent Drummy and his team had arrived on the scene at the same time as the ambulances and made the arrests, and it was Drummy on the front page of the morning paper.
Not that Mulder wanted any credit or the publicity. He was perfectly happy to let someone else take the credit; he just didn’t think it should be Agent Drummy.
That wasn’t the main thing that concerned him, though. What concerned him more was where he stood with Scully. They hadn’t really spoken since that last exchange in the hospital the day before, and he wished he could take those bitter words back.
He wasn’t even sure if Scully was coming home, or if she just wanted him out of her hair.
The sound of a car pulling up outside ended his self-recrimination. He sat still, listening.
A key turned in the front door, and light footsteps approached his inner sanctum. He didn’t turn as the door opened, giving instead his traditional greeting:
“What’s up, Doc?”
There was silence for so long that he was forced to turn around.
It was indeed Scully, looking mournful. He should have known that the reason she drove all the way out her was to deliver bad news in person. They had a history of this.
“Mulder,” she said gently, “Father Joe died early this morning.”
Mulder nodded, saying nothing, his face betraying nothing.
“He was obviously a very sick man,” she continued.
Mulder picked up the paper he’d been reading, with news of the grisly crime splashed across its front page. “Did you see this?” he asked her. “‘FBI Arrest of Modern-Day Frankenstein’,” he read the headline. “No mention of all about Father Joe, except as a possible accomplice.”
“Well, we’ll never know the truth now,” Scully replied.
“*I* know,” Mulder insisted. “And so do you.”
“But I don’t.”
“Well, I can prove it,” Mulder said. “Father Joe died of lung cancer, right? Same as Franz Tomczeszyn had. What time did you pull the tubes from Cheryl Cunningham’s neck and cut off the blood supply to his head?”
Scully shook her head, but there was no stopping him.
“That’s the exact moment Father Joe died, Scully. Get me the death certificate and I’ll prove it. And then I’ll take it to the FBI and-”
“Do you really think after all that’s happened they’ll take your call?”
“Skinner would,” he said stubbornly.
“And then what?”
“It’s an injustice to the man’s name. Father Joe saved that woman. We both know it.”
“After what he did to those young boys, who’s really going to care? He doesn’t have a reputation to save.”
“I care,” Mulder said. “And I think you do, too.”
Scully said nothing. He was beginning to tread on dangerous ground.
“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“I think you believed him, same as I did, Scully,” he said quietly.
“I *wanted* to believe,” she said, “and I acted on that belief.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what he said to you?” he asked.
Scully turned away.
For a long, agonizing minute, it didn’t look like she was going to.
He waited her out as patiently as he could, knowing that everything was riding on whether or not she replied. He bowed his head. If she still couldn’t talk to him about it, maybe there was nothing more to be said at all. He rubbed his eyes.
“He said, don’t give up,” Scully said quietly.
Without being told anything more, Mulder thought he understood. Still, he let Scully continue, and continue she did, her words spilling out like water over a dam.
“And I didn’t give up, Mulder, and it saved your life.” She swallowed, near tears. “But I put that young boy through hell, and I’ve got another surgery scheduled later this morning. All because I believed that God was talking to me — through a pedophile priest, no less.” She rolled her eyes at her credulity, and gave him a watery half-smile.
On surer ground now, Mulder could argue the case in terms that she could accept. “Doesn’t it make sense, Scully? If Father Joe was seeking redemption, what better way? What if Father Joe *was* forgiven? What if his prayers were answered?”
“Why him, though?” she asked. “Why would God choose to answer the prayers of a sinner like Father Joe?”
“Maybe…maybe because he didn’t give up,” Mulder offered.
Scully smiled sadly. “Try proving *that* one, Mulder.”
He smiled sadly back, knowing as well as she did that belief and proof seldom went hand in hand.
“Why is this still so hard for you?” he asked gently. “After all we’ve been through together, why are you still so afraid to believe?”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, tears starting down her cheeks, “because I don’t want to lose myself in the darkness. Or lose you.”
“I can’t get lost if you’re with me,” he said, “and neither can you. Not as long as we’re together.”
“I want to believe that,” she said through her tears, “but it’s just so hard. I believe you, Mulder. But I doubt myself. I don’t know what to believe, how to tell what to believe in.”
“I have enough belief for both of us,” he said. “I couldn’t ask you to stop questioning any more than I’d want you to stop breathing. It’s your questioning that’s saved me, more times than I can count. It’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you.”
He watched as she registered his words, waiting for her response.
“I’m due at the hospital,” she said, and turned to go.
Maybe it was too little, too late. Sure, he’d gotten her to confess her doubts and fears, but had it done either of them any good? He couldn’t just let her walk away now.
He went after her. “Scully,” he called from the front porch.
She turned from unlocking the car door.
“Why did he say it?” Mulder asked her, walking down from the porch. “Don’t give up. Why to you, of all people?”
“Clearly, he meant it for you, not me, Mulder,” Scully answered.
“But he didn’t say it to me, he said it to you. Why?”
Scully shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to tell you.”
“If Father Joe was the Devil, why would he say the opposite of what the Devil might say?”
Scully shook her head, but he had her attention.
“Maybe it’s the larger answer, Scully. Not about you, or me, or even the boy, but all of us.”
“What do you mean, Mulder?”
He got as close to her as he could, just as he had in the old days when he wanted to talk to her, to tell her something that he wanted only her to hear. “Don’t. Give. Up,” he said simply.
She closed her eyes briefly, divining the larger question he was asking in those three small words. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is,” she pleaded.
Mulder put his arms around her, and she leaned into him. He held her close, twining one arm around her waist and the other in her hair. He whispered, “If you have any doubts, Scully, any at all, call off the surgery this morning.”
Scully looked up at him. He wasn’t trying to persuade her to give up; he was telling her as he had at least once before, that it was okay to be afraid. To have doubts. And that no matter what, he would be there for her.
“And then we’ll get out of here,” he said. “Just you and me.”
She smiled tremulously. “As far away from the darkness as we can get?”
“I don’t think it works that way,” he said, answering her smile. “I think the darkness finds you. And me.”
She nodded solemnly at his words, looking up at him with such love and trust that it took his breath away. He smiled into her eyes, and continued, “but let it try.”
He held her face in his hands and kissed her, investing it with all the love and hope and promise he could. They held each other close for long moments, Scully finally pulling away reluctantly.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” he said. “Whatever you decide.”
She touched his hand one more time, for luck, and got into the car.
He watched her go, silently willing her to believe.
x-x-x
Scully felt that all eyes were upon her as she walked down the corridors of the hospital. Father Ybarra stood with the Fearons, and she had no doubt that he was trying again to talk them out of the treatment. The board, almost miraculously, had decided in her favor after a late meeting the night before, but she knew that there was still a long, hard road ahead.
If in fact, she was still going to take the journey. She headed for the operating room, where Christian and the staff already awaited.
Christian was already prepped, lying so small and vulnerable looking on the table. She smiled at him, and he gave her a very small smile back.
*What if I’m wrong?* the thought came unbidden. She looked around the busy OR. It seemed to her that no one here would look her in the eye. Even Michael was subdued this morning.
She scrubbed in and returned to the OR. Everyone waited for the word from her.
Will I know when to say, “Enough is enough,” or will I insist on continuing despite all evidence to the contrary? Will I listen to what others are telling me, or will I listen to my heart?
Like Mulder. So often they appeared at odds when really they were so much alike. Neither of them wanted to give up, despite the odds, despite what seemed like the rational course.
“It’s why I fell in love with you,” she’d told him.
*Don’t give up* she heard, this time in Mulder’s voice. She looked to the door of the operating room and saw three nuns standing there, watching, waiting.
*Don’t give up.* Don’t give up on what you believe in. Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.
“Are you ready to begin, Dr. Scully?” the assisting surgeon asked.
“Yes,” Scully said decisively. And I’m ready to go on, she thought, turning to the operating table.
x-x-x
Epilogue
The sun went down early in the tropics, but here the darkness held no fears for them.
By day they explored their domain, reveling in the freedom such privacy afforded them, to laugh and enjoy their surroundings and each other.
By night they were free to explore more intimate territory, without the fear that any prying eyes could see them.
When their time out of time ended, they returned to their new reality, their bond strengthened and their faith restored, united in purpose, and ready to face whatever was to come.
And what was to come?
That’s another story…
-x- end -x-
Author’s notes:
I loved IWTB the movie. The novelization, not so much. I bought it after seeing the movie a time or two. After reading it, I shared my opinion with a couple of friends, and told them I thought any one of us could have done a better job.
“Why don’t you do it?” someone asked.
Why not, indeed?
So what you will find here is a fanfic treatment of the movie, more or less, with a few added scenes, some different explanations for things, maybe even a couple of guest appearances. I tried not to use the novel at all, though I did use it to check on the order of a couple of scenes or a setting or two. Still, overall, I took my inspiration from the movie.
Special thanks go to Carol, who was always urging me to get back in that chair and write; Tess and Donna, who dared (or maybe guilted ) me into writing it; and Char, who gave me that final push that made me buckle down and finish it, already!
All the ladies helped with beta duties. I owe a debt of gratitude to them all for some great suggestions and tweaks. They are better than any Spell Check or Grammar Check. I don’t think Microsoft offers Reality Check, but even if it did, I’d still go with these ladies. So, HKs all around!
And now, I can go read some of the post-IWTB fanfic that I’ve denied myself lo these many months…
Thanks so much for reading!