Crying Towel Date: 6 Oct 1995 Your basic 'I couldn't get this out of my head until I wrote it down' piece. Lots of angst, no sex, no violence, no more romance than the elevator scene, but it does give away the third season opener plot--be warned. No copyright infringement intended. Mulder, Scully, Skinner, Melissa, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, all belong to Ten Thirteen Productions. Dedicated to Jan, Janet, Rae, and Thea and the longest night of my life. Yup, stuff like this really happens. Comments to vmoseley@fgi.net. All mail welcome. Crying Towel by Vickie Moseley Washington, DC June 3, 1995 It had been hard, at first. They both had lost so much. But going back to work seemed like the only thing they could do. And so they did. Mulder dug through the files and came up with some doozies. Mostly supernatural things, poltergists, demonic possessions. He was careful to avoid anything with alien undertones. She caught it right away, though Scully knew he didn't want her to notice. They were cases, they were unexplained, they were X Files, just like all the rest. So they worked on them. And the month passed, both of them hurting deeply, feeling their grief everyday, but never talking about it, never letting the words out that would start the healing process. It was all still too close and still too personal for work. Before the MJ files, before the trip to New Mexico and meeting Albert Holsteen, before Mulder's father was murdered and Scully's sister had been gunned down by Alex Krycek, the two had maintained an agreement. Nightmares plagued them constantly in their line of work. So, when the monsters crawled out from under the bed and tried to inhabit their dreams, they agreed to call each other. It only made sense. Scully could hardly turn to her mother in those times--the woman would have died from worry. And Mulder really had no one else to turn to. So the phone calls passed between the two apartments, sometimes sounding like film clips from 'When Harry Met Sally', sometimes sounding like Siskel and Ebert, and sometimes, just the two of them in the office, except it was 2:00 in the morning and they were both in separate parts of the city. But Scully had grown to rely on those times. And she realized how important they were to her when they stopped. Yet, she kept her silence. She assured herself it was the grief of losing his father that made him not call, even though the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his quick denial of bad dreams. With time, he would start calling her again. Things would go back to normal. So she quit calling him, too, afraid that he might really be getting some sleep for a change and not wanting to disturb him. Otherwise, things seemed the same. They worked hard, they joked easily with each other. The companionship was still there, undamaged for all the wear and tear it had been put through. A case came in one morning that required them to go to Illinois. Disappearances. Mostly women in their early thirties, late twenties. Bodies had been found in cornfields and soybean fields, mutilated. Mulder and Scully got the assignment, quite frankly because no one else had the stomach for it. So they went. The first two victims were gruesome, but not more so than many others they had worked on. Scully did the autopsy, Mulder combed the crime scene. There was no past haunting them, no future hanging over their heads. It was the present and they felt secure losing themselves in it. Then the third call came in. The body was found in a winter wheat field just outside of Roodhouse, Illinois. She was late twenties. Found nude, near a small irrigation ditch just off a country road. Although her body had been horribly mangled, her face had been left intact. She had long curly brown hair, almost chestnut in color. A slim face, full lips. The eyes were what caught Mulder's immediate attention. They were hazel eyes. They were his eyes. Staring back at him was an unidentified woman who, in his mind, was his sister Samantha. Scully had been talking to the local coroner when she noticed her partner. He was shuddering, almost convulsing. He ran back to their rental car, tore open the driver's side door and threw himself in. Then, he sat there, head bowed over the steering wheel, and sobbed. Scully took a deep breath and excused herself from the older man she had been talking to. Quickly, she ran over to the car, tried to open the door, but he had locked it. She tapped on the window, tried to get his attention, but he refused to raise his head. She pressed her face as close to the glass as she could and tried to talk to him. Finally, without even really acknowledging her, she heard him flip the lock and she ran to the passenger's side and slid in. He was no longer crying, but he was still shaking in his toment. She talked to him quietly, finally got him to slide over to the passenger seat so she could drive him back to the hotel. He refused to look at her, he just stared at the dashboard, shaking and taking in deep, shuttering breaths of air. It hurt her to listen to him, trying so hard to regain control of himself. She reached over once and tried to squeeze his arm, but it startled him and he jerked away, out of her grasp. He managed to get the key into the door and walk inside his room, but once there, he bolted for the bathroom. Slamming the door and locking it behind him did not prevent Scully from hearing him lose the contents of his stomach, and the retching that continued even when there was nothing left to come up. She sat on the bed, frightened for him, wondering what to do. Finally, what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, he came back out of the bathroom. He was sheet white, shaking and covered with sweat. He almost fell, and she caught him, helped him to the bed. She pulled off his shoes and pulled the bedspread over to cover him, but he didn't notice, he was already asleep. She pocketed his key so she could check on him during the night and retreated to her own room. It was obvious that this was more than just grief. Something was at play here and she had no clue as to what it was. she thought. She finally decided her only course of action for the night was to get some work done, so she changed clothes and curled up on the bed with her lap top. It was 8:00 in the morning when she saw him again. He had called her at 7:30 and told her to meet him in the coffee shop of the hotel. She got there first and ordered, watching the door, waiting for his arrival. He didn't look any the worse for wear. Actually, he looked like he had finally gotten a good night's sleep for a change. He smiled sheepishly at her as he slipped in to the other side of the booth. "Scully, I want to apologize. . ." he started. She cut him off with a brisk wave. "Don't you dare, Mulder. You aren't made of stone. But I do want to talk about it. How long have you been getting sick like that?" she asked. He dropped his eyes and for a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer her. "It doesn't happen a lot, Scully. Just three or four times in the last month. At first, I figured it for the flu. It's just stress, I know that. I'm just. . .I'll work on it. I promise." He looked across and gave her a lopsided grin. "Hey, there is an upside. I sleep like a baby after one of these jags. I feel great this morning." "Mulder, why haven't you told me about it? Did you think I wouldn't notice?" She wasn't going to give up on this topic. "I didn't tell you because the last thing you need is to be worried about me. Your mom needs all your attention right now, Scully. She's been having a hard time with Melissa's death. I know that. I didn't want to add to the burden. Besides, there is nothing you can do for me. I have to work this out. Everybody has to grieve in their own way, at their own pace." He picked up his cup and took a drink, then set it down, scowling. "What the hell is this?" She smiled. "It's tea. Your stomach doesn't need coffee, it needs a break. And I ordered toast and oatmeal. Take it easy today or you really will mess up your system," she warned. He reached over, still frowning and dumped two packets of sweetner in the cup. "That's another reason I didn't tell you. You baby me when you know these things. I'm a grown man, Scully. I can take care of myself," he growled. "And you know how I _hate_ oatmeal." "I got bananas with it," she countered, ignoring his protests against her concern. The frown slowly faded and a tiny hint of merriment replaced it. "OK, if you got bananas, I forgive you. Just watch your step. I carry a gun," he warned. "I'm not too scared. I've seen your range scores, Mulder," she teased and turned the conversation back to the case. The case was closed a couple of days later when Mulder made the connection that each of the women had attended the same small local college. In a case of unrequited love that spanned years, a janitor at the college had hunted the women down and killed them. No more than two hours after his confession, he was found in his cell, having hanged himself with the cord that edged the mattress. Both agents were exhausted, depressed and ready for home as they got on their plane and headed back to Washington. Back in DC, the routine continued, but Scully began to notice that certain things were effecting her partner more than they had in the past. He had a much harder time dealing with the occasional upbraiding from Skinner. Skinner, for his part, was trying to not coddle the two agents, something he inherently wanted to do. He, more than anyone, knew what they had been through. He was well aware that whatever had been found in that mountainside had effected both his young mavericks and in ways that he could never understand. That, coupled with the grief of losing a loved one-- something that both Mulder and Scully were still a little inexperienced in--could and usually did equate to extra supervision. At times like these, people got sloppy. And sloppy, in this line of work usually meant dead. So, he rode them hard when they made mistakes and didn't hesitate to call them on the carpet for the least little infraction. It was after one of his 'bend over and grab your ankles' sessions, as Mulder affectionately called them, that Mulder suddenly disappeared. No one noticed him leaving the building, he left his car in the parking garage, his raincoat on the coat tree in the office. At first, Scully thought he had gone off to one of his many sulking places in the building. When it got close to 5:00, she started calling all his haunts, hoping to get him to join her for dinner. An hour of phone calls later, Mulder was still missing. She hated to alert security to find an agent who was purposefully hiding--that would only add another log to the rumor mill. By 6:30, she decided she had to go home, she had promised her mother she would stop by, so she reluctantly left him a note on his windshield to call her. She went to her mother's directly from the office, and tried to spend some pleasant time, but it didn't take Maggie Scully long to notice that her daughter's attention was somewhere else. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?" Maggie had asked after Dana had lapsed into another silence, staring into space. "What, mom?" Scully replied, not having paid attention to the question. "You seem a million miles away. What's the matter? Something wrong at work?" Maggie continued to prod, but secretly, she suspected the real reason wasn't a what, as much as a who. Scully sighed. The one thing that had bugged her the most as a teenager had been her mother's uncanny ability to see right through her. "Ah, it's Mulder, mom. He's just having a hard time. Skinner really laid into him today and he, well, he took off. He didn't come back to the office for the rest of the day. I still don't know where he is." She played with a lock of hair that kept falling in her face and tried not to let her own worry show too strongly on her face. "Dana, why don't you call him? See if he's home. That's what you want to know, isn't it?" Maggie stated the obvious. "No, mom. He's probably not picking up, anyway. Maybe I'll just stop by. Make sure he's OK." She got up and retrieved her umbrella and raincoat. It was raining cats and dogs again, and had been doing so intermittently all day. For a brief moment, her mind flashed on his raincoat, still hanging on the coat tree. she vowed. His apartment was dark and she hesitated using her key, but it was still early, at least early as far as Mulder was concerned. She let herself in and her heart sank when she realized he hadn't been there. His morning paper was still thrown just inside the door, where he had undoubtedly kicked it that morning as he hurried off to his meeting with Skinner. she cursed. After leaving the apartment, she made a quick stop at the office. It wasn't a good idea, she discovered, because the raincoat was still hanging there. With a sigh, she pulled it down and folded it over her arm. As she switched off the light and turned to go, she bumped into a tall form standing in the doorway. "Agent Scully, what are you doing here so late," Assistant Director Walter Skinner asked gruffly. Scully thought fast. "Ah, I left a file on my desk, sir. I wanted to read it tonight before I went to bed," she lied expertly. "And what file would that be, Agent Scully? The one tucked in Agent Mulder's raincoat?" Skinner countered, letting her know that he wasn't buying it for a minute. Scully took a deep breath and started into an explanation. Skinner held up his hand to stop her. "Agent Mulder left the building after our meeting and never returned, isn't that correct, Agent Scully?" Scully was a little upset at the interrogation, but she only nodded. "Scully, I think we need to talk." He reached past her and flipped on the light switch. It was almost 10:30 when Scully finally made her way back to her apartment. Skinner had noticed Mulder's behavior and had even had a few comments forwarded to him by the local police in Roodhouse following the incident in the wheat field. He had seemed honestly concerned for Mulder's well being, but Scully was quick to take Mulder's side. She assured the Assistant Director that there was no need to worry, even though the longer she talked, the more worried she became. She pulled up to her parking space, lost in thought. She was almost to her door when she notice the dark form, sitting on the steps, just out of the reach of the pouring rain. It was Mulder. He was shivering in the cold and wet. She approached him slowly, not wanting to show her concern, but wanting to gauge his emotional state. "Where've you been, Mulder?" she asked quietly, coming to a stop just a step below him. "Well, I went for a walk. Then I discovered that I left my keys in my raincoat, which I left in the office, so, I've been sitting here, waiting for you. How's your mom?" he asked casually. She stepped past him and opened the door to the hallway. "She's fine. Come on in, you're soaking wet," she chided. Once in the apartment, she got a towel and motioned for him to dry off, while she moved off to the kitchen to heat some water. Even after drying off, he was still shivering. He stood in the middle of the living room, looking somewhat lost. "Mulder, sit down," she ordered, seeing the puppy dog look on his face. "Can't. I'm wet," he replied with a half-hearted grin. "Then sit on the towel," she said, in the tone she reserved for her godson when he was visiting. Once he had settled himself down on the armchair, she pulled the afghan off the sofa and draped it around him. He smiled briefly and sighed. She left him for a few minutes, then returned, holding a cup of hot cocoa in one hand and sweatpants and sweatshirt in the other. "Here, take a few swigs of this to get warmed up and then go put these on," she ordered, in her doctor mode. He eyed the sweats with a sly grin. "Been holding out on me, Scully?" She gave him her best icy glare. "They're my brother Kevin's. He's taller than you are, Mulder and is a better shot. Now, go put these on, or I do it for you, and you won't like it when I do," she growled. He bowed his head in mock obedience and did as he was told. When he returned, he looked a little better than his drowned rat imitation of a few moments before. She was sitting on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. "Sit, Mulder," she commanded. He held the cocoa in his hands and stared at the skim on the top. Scully rolled her eyes toward heaven, whispered a silent prayer for patience and finally regarded him. "Mulder, what the hell happened today?" He was quiet for a minute, then he sat down next to her. "Guess I was just tired of getting the shit kicked out of me. I'm sorry I took off like that, Scully. I hope you weren't worried," he added, in a vain attempt to apologize. "Well, hoping didn't help, Mulder! I was worried! You took off without your car, your keys, for Pete's Sakes, Mulder, you left the building without your raincoat on one of the rainiest days we've had this spring. And it's cold out, to boot. What got into you?" she seethed. "I needed time to think," he said lamely. "Time to think or time to sulk?" she shot back, but regretted the words the minute she saw the wounded look that froze on his face. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said quickly. "I didn't mean. . ." He looked at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen. "No, Scully. Time to 'think.' I've had a lot on my mind lately." He stared back at his cocoa, but didn't move a muscle. Scully sighed. She knew what he was going through. She had gone through it when her father died. So many things left unsaid, so many emotions fighting within. At least, with her father, there had been an underlying foundation of love. She had never doubted that her father loved her, even when he disagreed with her choice of career paths. Mulder was still uncertain if his father loved him. He still didn't know exactly what it was his father wanted him to forgive as he died in his son's arms. That had to be tearing Mulder apart. They sat in silence, each not really knowing what to say. Suddenly, Mulder sat up and turned to her. "Scully, did your parents have a favorite?" he asked. It caught Scully by surprise. "Ah, gee. No, not that I ever noticed. The boys used to tease me that I was the favorite, because I was the baby, but I never remember them treating me any differently. My parents loved all of us. Sometimes one of us needed some extra attention, Bill got into some trouble in High School and Missy. . ." her words stuck in her throat for a minute. "Missy," she continued, "well, Dad was always a little worried about her. But no favorites." She bit her lip as she realized where this was leading. "Samantha was always the favorite, wasn't she?" she asked quietly. He drained the cup and put it down on the coffee table. "Apparently not," he stated, as if he had just found some interesting footnote in book somewhere. She dropped her mouth open in shock. "What are you saying, Mulder?" she asked. "Well, it appears that Sam wasn't the favorite after all. I was. At least as far as my father was concerned." He got up and started to pace the room. "I remember hearing words, voices, when I was in the fever dreams in the hogan. My father said 'I never dreamed I would again be brokering fate with the life of someone to whom I gave life.' It made no sense, but then I was somewhere between living and dying and not a lot of things were making sense at that moment." He looked down at her. "Remember what Kempler said, Scully? That my father was not supportive of the project. That he fought it. Remember in the mountain? My name was on the file first, and then an index label was attached and Samantha's name was covering mine. I know why. I know why they took her and not me." He voice was strained and the color was draining from his face. "Mulder, whatever you're thinking, that man was a Nazi. He would have said anything to get us out of that greenhouse, to make us leave him alone." "Scully, I didn't just take his word for it. I went home that night. To my mom's in Greenwich. I woke her up out of a sound sleep at 2 in the morning and made her tell me. Scully, she spilled her guts. It was like watching a murderer confessing. She said that Dad had wanted her to choose, but she refused. So he did. He chose which one of his children he would trade for his own safety." Mulder said down on the armchair across from Scully and looked totally miserable. "He traded his baby girl to the devil, Scully. And it should have been me all along." Scully sat in stunned silence. This was not what she had expected. This was beyond grief, beyond guilt. This was completely out of her league. "Mulder, you have to talk to someone," she conjoled. He shot up out of the chair, angry and pacing again. "Who! Who the hell do I talk to about this, Scully? EAP? Dr. Verber? Give me a break! If thinking my sister was abducted by aliens has gotten me a moniker like 'Spooky', imagine what thinking my father was a willing participant will do for me? They have real special drugs in mental institutions for delusional paranoids, Scully. I know, I worked in a place one summer. Real neat drugs that make you stare into space for long periods of time." Each of his words dripped in acid. He ran his fingers through his hair and let his shoulders sag. "Then talk to me," she said, so softly he almost didn't hear her. He stopped and looked at her. "Talk to me, Mulder. Tell me how you feel. I know you better than anyone else. Talk to me." She got up off the couch and took his hand, guiding him down to sit next to her. He hesitated a second and then the floodgates opened. At some point in the night, the towel ended up getting soaked with tears, not just his, but hers, as well. They sat on the sofa and held it between them as they cried. He told her how horrible he felt knowing that his father had traded his sister for him and then regretted the decision for the rest of his life. She told him how she had argued with Melissa and how Melissa persuaded her to go to the hypnotherapist, but she couldn't go through with it. How horrible she felt when she realized the bullet that had killed her sister had been meant for her all along. All the guilt, the hurt, the anger, the sorrow fell from their lips and their eyes and ended up on the towel. It was almost sunrise when they found themselves exhausted and out of things to say. Scully reached over and hugged her partner for dear life. "It'll all be alright, Mulder. Samantha is still alive. This isn't over. We'll find her someday, I promise." The use of the term 'we' was not lost on him. He pulled back and touched her cheek. The look that passed between them contained more healing power than all the hospitals of the world combined. Slowly, she got up and pushed him back so that he was lying on her sofa. She pulled the long discarded afghan over his lanky form and smoothed his hair. "Get some sleep. I'll call the office and tell them you're sick, and that I'm taking you to the doctors. Ruby will never suspect a thing," she grinned. He nodded sleepily and turned onto his side. She made the call, left the message on the answering machine, since no one was in the personnel office at 6 in the morning. She rolled her shoulders and headed off to her bedroom. Just as she was leaving, she heard him mumble, just loud enough to hear "we still have each other." The end.