The Face of Madness This started out as a short vignette that follows the end of 'Grotesque'. Well, it sort of grew. But it was fun, anyway and I tried to stay more within the actual framework of the series. Therefore, Mulder is usually stable, he is not sleeping with Scully and they still hadn't quite 'shook hands and made up.' Standard Disclaimer: Let me see now, how do these things go? Oh, right, I have no intentions of infringing on any copyrights, of Chris Carter, FOX, or Ten Thirteen Productions or any of the major castles and churches in Europe (where you are most likely to find REAL gargoyles). Don't sue me, I invested all my money in diaper stock and they are sitting in the baby's room right now :) WARNING: THIRD SEASON SPOILER. Seeing the episode 'Grotesque' is a must before reading or a lot of this won't make sense. No romance, some strong language, no violence. Rated PG I love mail, and my e-mail is working fine after all the hours of cursing I did at it, so please send comments to me at vmoseley@fgi.net. The Face of Madness by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net She found him asleep at his desk, the computer cursor blinking at the middle of a sentence in his report of the case. The blue screen cast an ghostly light on his head and bounced off his glasses, rendering them opaque. It did nothing to allay the fear for him that she had been trying to deal with for the last three days and nights. She walked across the small, cramped office hesitantly, as if the floor was covered in eggshells. Cautiously, she reached out to touch his shoulder. "Mulder," she called softly. In some respects, she hoped just her touch would wake him up. Her voice was trembling and she didn't really want him to hear it. When he still didn't wake up, she took another step closer and shook his shoulder a little harder. "Mulder." This time it was more forceful. It had an effect, but not necessarily the desired one. He jerked straight up in the chair with a start. "I'm sorry," she stammered as she took in his wild eyed expression. "You were asleep and you were endangering evidence," she added, pointing to the charcoal sketch he had been laying on. During his sleep, his mouth had opened and a small pool of saliva was already marring the surface of the drawing. He looked down at the paper and bit his lip, but said nothing. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep. You look awful," she said casually or at least she hoped it sounded that way to him. He turned a deadly gaze at her and then turned back to the computer screen. "Can't. It's not finished," he growled.