Title: Scully’s Journey 4: Trust
Author: ML
Originally posted 10/21/01
Distribution: Ephemeral, Gossamer, yes; if you’ve archived me before, yes; otherwise, please just let me know and leave headers, email addy, etc. attached. Thanks!
Spoilers: Ice
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Vignette
Keywords: Scully POV
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Chris Carter, TenThirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. I mean no infringement, and I’m making no money.
Summary: It takes two to trust.
=====
Arctic Ice Core Project Station Icy Cape, Alaska
What the hell are we doing here?
I thought Mulder was kidding when he said that we probably pulled this assignment because we were expendable, but I wonder now if it really is true. I’m sitting here, huddled in the corner of a barricaded room, but the door is so flimsy that anyone could probably break through it. Outside, an Arctic storm is making eerie moaning and wailing sounds. My father used to talk about the wind in the North Sea sounding like a banshee, and I never knew what he meant until now. It sounds like a living thing, trying to tear through these walls and get at us.
We’re trapped here, until the storm abates and someone can fly in and get us.
Inside, the air is still and oppressive. The feeling of death is everywhere. We walked into death when we entered the station, and now one of our party is dead, too, and we’re not sure why.
What dreadful thing happened up here? What’s hiding out in the storm — or worse, here in the station?
I just re-read those overwrought paragraphs and it makes me realize how on edge I am, how on edge I’ve been since our arrival here. Recent events haven’t helped, either. Mulder and I were practically at each other’s throats. I could see the looks exchanged by the others. No one trusts us.
I guess it’s even, because we don’t trust them, either. So now we’ve all barricaded ourselves in our rooms. I don’t think any of us are going to sleep. I feel like I should be trying to figure out what happened, how that parasite infected Bear instead of trying to sleep.
I’m going to try and reconstruct the events which happened, and see if I can figure out what we have to do next.
First of all, we *do* have a probable cause for the illness. We saw it moving around under the dog’s skin, and we removed it from Bear just before he died. In fact, it appears that removing it may have killed Bear. We found evidence that it was also in the dead men we found when we got here, but not that it killed them. They appear to have killed each other.
So far, the parasite has raised more questions than we have answers for. Why does it attack the hypothalamus? What was the black oily substance that seemed to drip out of it when we pulled it from Bear’s neck? How has it survived in subfreezing temperatures for so long? And, most importantly, can we destroy it?
Mulder doesn’t think we should destroy it, but rather study it. Part of me agrees, but I told Mulder I was too worried about containment for that to be a viable choice. If I’m completely honest with myself, it’s also because I’m scared to death. I’ve never seen such carnage as we witnessed upon arriving here. I’ve never seen such a rapid onset of infection, as what happened to Bear. I don’t know if we can safeguard ourselves, let alone the general population, if this thing somehow got out.
Mulder and I argued pretty fiercely about it, in fact, which made Hodge suspect that one or the other of us might be infected. Actually, he seemed most suspicious of me. I know I was pretty vociferous, but Mulder and I argue all the time. This argument wasn’t any different than others we’ve had, but everything seems to have more of an edge in this situation. And the others have no way of knowing how we work together. Looking back, I admit that my argument probably took on an edge of hysteria. Considering the situation we’re in, that’s not so surprising. I still resent Hodge’s implication that there is something wrong with me. I think he was goading me on purpose, and I did rise to the bait, I’m sorry to say. I was ready to deck him, and might have if Mulder hadn’t stopped me. I already don’t like Hodge, and his patronizing attitude. It’s not just me; he also treats Nancy da Silva in a cavalier fashion.
Mulder doesn’t treat me that way. Oh sure, he teases me, and he was very prickly when I first started working with him, but he does treat me as a colleague, not an assistant. Most of the time, anyway. And he does listen to what I have to say, even if he doesn’t agree with me.
I often find myself comparing Mulder to the people we work with on cases. On the surface, Hodge seems similar to Mulder — intelligent, forthright, a little suspicious of authority. But you don’t have to scratch far beneath the surface to see how different Mulder and Hodge are.
Anyway, I can see it will be a battle of wills with Hodge. Maybe no one ever stands up to him. The strain we’re under only makes it worse.
This trip just felt wrong from the start. The first thing Hodge did when we met at Doolittle Airfield was ask to see our credentials. To be fair, he showed his as well, but it didn’t get us off on a very cordial footing. Mulder seemed to take it in stride, at least on the surface. He’s used to other people doubting and distrusting him. But it made me bristle. I didn’t say anything, but I thought, if he only knew Mulder, he’d be slapping him on the back and buying him a beer, trading stories about government cover-ups and conspiracies. Our badges were enough to put Hodge off, and he didn’t bother to look beyond them.
Dr. da Silva seems a little cowed by Hodge’s behavior. She doesn’t protest, though, she just goes along. I don’t understand that kind of reaction at all.
The one ally I think we have is Denny Murphy. He’s friendly, if eccentric, and I have to wonder what a scientist in his field is doing teaching in San Diego. He seems pretty nervous about the whole investigation.
Hodge has scoffed at every idea that wasn’t his own, and appropriates those ideas that have some merit. His slightly superior attitude about this whole thing gets on my nerves. Both Murphy and da Silva seem so passive in comparison, almost as though they’re out of their depth.
Maybe we were all chosen because we’re expendable. Maybe Hodge is a trouble-maker and this is a way to get rid of him without it being obvious.
I can’t believe I just wrote that. I know I haven’t been infected, but there’s something about being trapped in this place that’s bringing out the worst in all of us.
I need to concentrate on the facts, and leave the emotions out of this.
Both Bear and Mulder were attacked by the dog. So far, Mulder hasn’t shown any signs of infection. That’s only marginally reassuring, as the outward signs disappeared both on the dog and on Bear. And Mulder was also attacked by Bear. And I got Bear’s blood on my hands, as did Hodge.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Hodge wasn’t making a little list of his own right now. He looks at everyone with suspicion and distrust.
XxXxXx
Day Two-AICP Station
Dr. Murphy is dead. We heard a commotion in the main part of the station, and came out to find him sprawled on the floor, his throat apparently slit. And Mulder hanging over him. It looked very bad. I know Mulder could have explained himself, given half a chance, but everyone was already too much on edge. He didn’t want Hodge to give him a blood test, he wouldn’t even allow us to re-inspect him. Nothing I said was making any difference. He had lumped me in with them. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re all infected,” he shouted. I found myself forced to side with them. I had to make Mulder understand that it was in *his* best interests to allow himself to be locked up. Oh God, how I hated to do it. I had to make him believe I would shoot him if he didn’t comply.
I could see the shock on his face when I drew my gun on him. I think he might have shot Hodge, otherwise. Even though he then turned his gun on me, I didn’t believe he would shoot me. Not really. Would I have shot Mulder if he hadn’t lowered his gun? I like to think I wouldn’t, that I would have found a way to save the situation. But I couldn’t, not then. I had to try and make him understand that he might not be himself. What the original occupants of this place said on tape, and in their notebooks. “We are not who we are…” I still don’t know what it means, except we saw Bear turn violent yesterday, and I feared the possibility that somehow Mulder had gotten infected, too. I’m not sure that Mulder would even be aware if he is. We just don’t know enough about it. I had to defuse the situation quickly, the best way I could, and the best way seemed to get Mulder out of danger as quickly as possible.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw how serious I was, that I wouldn’t back down. I think I knew in that instant that he was okay, but I still couldn’t see any other way out of the situation. No one else here knows Mulder as I do.
Mulder allowed himself to be locked up. Not because he believed he was a danger to anyone, but because I asked him. He allowed me to put him in that little storeroom and bolt the door, without raising a finger to stop me. I felt like a coward, and a traitor, but I honestly didn’t know what else to do.
I’m sitting outside that room right now. I can’t bring myself to leave him. I feel very vulnerable without Mulder there to watch my back, and I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. I saw the look in his eyes when he told me he would be safer than me. The words were taunting, but his expression pleaded with me. I almost said “lock me up in here, too,” but I had to stay out to figure out what to do. I trust Mulder, but I don’t trust those two.
I’m not sure Mulder trusts me now, though.
Sitting here isn’t helping the situation at all. I’ve got to find a way to help Mulder, and save us all.
XxXxXx
Day Three-AICP Station
We’re waiting for transport back to Doolittle. Somehow, we’ve made it through without losing anyone else.
I almost lost my partner, though, in another way. Only time will tell if we are okay with each other again.
If it hadn’t been for a mistake made by Nancy da Silva, we might never have come up with a solution in time. It makes me think of the number of discoveries that have been made due to accidents and inadvertent errors. If Nancy hadn’t been so tired, if we all hadn’t been so tired, we might have died before the discovery was made.
As time passed and none of us showed any more symptoms of the parasite, it seemed more and more possible that Mulder was the infected one. I couldn’t help but think of him in that little room as we worked in relative freedom. As far as Hodge was concerned, Mulder was already beneath consideration. He told me flat out that he wouldn’t risk taking Mulder back with us if there was any chance he was infected.
I remembered my words to Mulder earlier on: that we couldn’t take the risk of exposing the rest of the world to this. I felt like my words were being thrown back at me. I knew Hodge had overheard us when I said it to Mulder. He was using my words against me, daring me to disagree.
Once we discovered a possible cure, we tried one of the live worms on the dog first, and it seemed successful. It took a long time for us to confirm that both worms were dead, and that the dog had recovered.
All I could think of was Mulder sitting in that little room, not knowing what we were doing, or even if any of us was still alive.
Hodge and da Silva both were ready to hold Mulder down and forcibly insert the other live worm into him. I convinced them that I should go in and speak to Mulder alone first. I still wasn’t convinced that he was the infected one, even though no one else had died or shown signs of infection since we locked him up. I wanted to prove it to myself, once and for all, before subjecting Mulder to the “cure.” I also still wanted Mulder to understand why I did what I did. I felt if he was really who he was, that I could somehow make him understand.
Mulder was sitting in the dark when I opened the door. He stood tentatively, blinking in the harsh light, looking vulnerable and a little afraid, and very far from violent. But angry with me, I could tell. I couldn’t blame him for that.
When I told him about the possible cure, he understood immediately what we wanted to do. As I expected, he insisted that he wasn’t the infected one. And, he said he would have let us inspect him before, if I hadn’t pulled a gun on him. I could have reminded him that he’d already pulled his gun out, but I didn’t want to start another argument.
“I don’t trust them,” he hissed at me. “I want to trust you.”
That was the opening I’d hoped for. I pointed out that we were alone, willing him to see that I was still on his side.
Without another word, Mulder turned and bared his neck to me.
I hesitated; I was a little afraid of what I might detect. I just knew I didn’t want to be afraid of Mulder, or have him be afraid of me.
He held very still until I touched him, then I could feel an almost imperceptible shudder as my fingertips brushed his shoulders. I had to stand almost on tiptoe to reach him. I felt the strong tendons in his neck, revealing just how tense he was about this. I steadied myself by placing one hand on his shoulder, which was also knotted with tension. Some detached part of me noted how warm and smooth his skin was. I ran my hands all over his shoulders and neck and upper back, and found nothing. When I finished, I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, signaling that he could turn around.
I didn’t say anything; what could I say? “I’m sorry” seemed so inadequate, “I’m relieved” couldn’t possibly describe how I felt. I couldn’t meet his eyes after that first quick look. I hung my head with a mixture of relief and embarrassment, and turned to lead the way out of Mulder’s prison.
But as I turned, Mulder grabbed my shoulder.
If I was afraid, it was for no more than a fraction of a second. That’s what I tell myself now — and that *if* I was afraid, it was only because it might be that Mulder wasn’t really Mulder — that I’d missed something, guessed wrong, and somehow “It” — the entity, disease, whatever — had fooled me somehow.
Then I felt Mulder yank down the neck of my shirt and his hand cupped the back of my neck. I felt not only his hand, but a slight whisper of his breath stirring the hair at my nape. I stood absolutely still as he inspected me. I wanted him to understand that I knew why he was doing it, and that I felt that it was only right and fair. He said nothing as he touched me, but his touch, though firm, was gentle. Though the air was still stifling, and his hands were warm, his touch sent a chill through me. It wasn’t fear. I’m not sure what it was, but it wasn’t fear.
I think Mulder needed to touch me not only to restore his own trust, but somehow to reassure me. I want to, no I need to, believe that. If we don’t trust each other, then it’s done.
I keep remembering what he said. “I want to trust you.” I want to trust Mulder, too. I *do* trust him. By examining me as he did, he made me understand with more than words just how vulnerable he’d been, and what it felt like.
I don’t know if Mulder will ever want to talk about it, but if he does, I’ll tell him that I know he needed to inspect me as I did him, not because he didn’t trust me, but because he did. We can’t trust each other again until we trust ourselves. I know it sounds paradoxical, but it makes sense to me, and I know it would to Mulder, too. It was almost like the sealing of a pact, a bond between us.
In any case, once our mutual inspection was over, we were once again a team, confident in each other and ourselves. But not quite in tune; we walked right into an ambush.
I can’t believe we fell for it. I was just so relieved for Mulder, I forgot for a moment that we needed to be on our guards, that one of them was obviously suspect. And I’m embarrassed that I never suspected Nancy da Silva was the infected one. I did exactly what I complained that Hodge did, I dismissed her, didn’t recognize her irritability as a possible symptom.
Fortunately, and I can’t believe how difficult it is for me to admit this, Hodge did notice the parasite crawling under Nancy’s skin. We still almost lost the worm and the chance to cure her. And Mulder came within a hair’s breadth of being infected.
XxXxXx
I just checked on her; she’s resting comfortably. Transport is going to be here in the morning; the storm finally subsided enough for us to get a distress call through, and they’ll be here as soon as it’s clear.
When we get out, Nancy will have to go into quarantine. I still can’t figure out how she got infected; of all of us, I would say she had the least exposure to the parasite.
Hodge, Mulder, and I each ran blood tests on each other. Well, Hodge and I ran the tests. Mulder watched us both, and we all stayed in full sight of each other the whole time. All three tests came out clean.
Mulder still has barely spoken to me. I hope that when we get out of this damned place, we’ll be able to talk about it. I know we want to trust each other, but it may take a little time to regain the ground we’ve lost.
What would Mulder have done in my place? Would he have believed me if I said I was uninfected? Would he have put down his gun first if I threatened him and everyone else with my gun? Would he have locked me up?
I hope he’s never put in the position where he has to make those decisions. I can say now that maybe the decisions I made were wrong, but without benefit of hindsight, it’s impossible to know. Maybe if it had been only me, no one else’s life on the line, I’d have had the courage to make that leap, to give Mulder that unconditional trust. I don’t know. I’d like to think that I would, and that he would do the same for me.
Partners are supposed to watch each other’s backs. But what do you do when said partner pulls his gun on supposedly innocent people? When your partner may not be who he is?
XxXxXx
En Route to Washington DC
Addendum to my entry on the AICP case: Parties unknown destroyed the AICP station right after we were airlifted out. Hodge told us, a smug little smile on his face. “They’re *your* people,” he said sarcastically.
Hodge reminds me of that insufferable security man at Ellens AFB, the one who masqueraded as a reporter. “What we are protecting is equal to the protection we give it,” he said to me in a portentous tone. At the time, it seemed more like an excuse for thuggery.
Was the destruction of the Project station meant to protect us, or protect this entity in the ice? I told Mulder I’d rather leave it buried under 200,000 years of ice. The thought of something that virulent unleashed on the world is frightening in the extreme. I know I should leap at the chance to investigate something like this, but something more primal is ruling my rational side here. I’m not ready to face this.
Hodge’s comment also reminded me of something Mulder said to me on our first case, when he accused me of being a part of the official agenda to cover up the truth.
I hope I’ve proved that I’m not by now. What Hodge thinks is unimportant. What Mulder thinks is becoming more important to me all the time.
end.
Next up: Fire