GOSHEN by Bone Tree RATING: Story itself, PG13 (language, violence); Epilogue is NC17 (younger folks can skip the epilogue and still get the story.) CATEGORY: S, A SPOILERS: Everything through season six. Esp. all "Emily" episodes, including "All Souls." Vague reference to FTF. KEYWORDS: MSR, Angst SUMMARY: A harrowing night in the Virginia mountains makes Mulder and Scully relive parts of their past and rethink their future. ARCHIVE: Yes, but please keep my name attached and let me know where it's going. Okay to archive at Gossamer and to Spookys Site. FEEDBACK: Of course. DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction. The characters of Mulder, Scully, Skinner, Kimberly, Maggie Scully and Emily (did I forget anyone? I hope not.) are the property of 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, and Fox. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the use of these characters. All other characters are my own creation and they, along with the story in this form, are the intellectual property of the holder of the above AOL account. The lyrics of Patsy Cline's songs "Crazy" and "Sweet Dreams" are, as near as I can figure, the property of Decca Records, copyright 1960, 1961, and 1963. The epigraph is from Maura O'Connell's "Helpless Heart," copyright Warner Brother's records, 1989. THANKS to: Sheri, Beth and Gin for reading this first and urging me to post it (this is my first fanfiction...). And to Per Jonsson for his/her wonderful site on Patsy Cline and her discography (www.patsy.nu). NOTE: The punctuation marks <<>> indicate that the text within them is in italics. Here it goes....hope I formatted this right. My apologies in advance if there are any problems with that. GOSHEN Your light is brighter than anything I've ever seen.... -- Gerry O'Bierne, "Western Highway" AFTON DINER AFTON, VA 11:03 p.m. Jimmy Meredith stood up from his customary stool, hiking up his navy blue Wranglers and tucking the light denim shirt in tight in the back. He reached for his wallet, opened it and dropped seven crisp one dollar bills onto the counter, nodding to Sharon Winston, who was cutting a wedge of pie from the thick lemon meringue on the counter in front of her. "You off, Jimmy?" she asked, her voice tired, a drawl that blended in perfectly with Patsy Cline as "Crazy" drifted from the radio beside her. "I reckon," Meredith said, reaching for his Braves cap. "Not getting any closer to Harrisonburg sitting here with you." He tucked his wallet back into his back pocket, patted himself down. "On the counter," Sharon offered, pointing towards the debris of Meredith's salisbury steak and coffee dinner. "Ah." He picked up the pack of Salems and the lighter, tapped one out and hooked it into his mouth. He turned to Sharon, his arms out to his sides. "How do I look, darling?" "Fan-tastic." Sharon smiled reluctantly, set the wedge of pie on a saucer and picked up a fork, averting her eyes. "Someday you're going to come to your senses," Meredith said, shaking his head. "Uh huh. Someday all your bad luck will start changing." It was an almost weekly ritual for the two of them, and though it used to get on her nerves, Sharon now found some measure of comfort in it. Now she did look up at him, into his blue eyes set deep in his craggy features, gleaming with boyish, mischievous light. "You drive careful up there, Jimmy," she said, her voice kind now. "Always do. See you next week." He winked as he turned and disappeared out the door. Outside in the parking lot, Jimmy Meredith lit his Salem and strode through the parking lot towards the steel grey cab of his eighteen wheeler. Hauling himself up into it, he turned the engine over and listened to it bluster to life in the darkness of the lot. Behind him, the empty trailer was bathed in moonlight and seemed almost to give off an otherworldy glow in his sideview mirror. Throwing the truck into gear, Meredith nosed out of the parking lot and onto the nearly deserted highway to begin the long ascent up Afton Mountain. ******** AFTON MOUNTAIN 11:36 p.m. "Mulder, put it back." Special Agent Dana Scully, Federal Bureau of Investiga- tion, shot her partner an irritated look from the driver's seat of the rented Ford Explorer, but didn't take her hands off the steering wheel as the SUV pushed through the darkness. Night clung to the sides of the car, their headlights the only lights for as far as she could see. Beside her, Fox Mulder put on his best innocent face, sunk lower into the seat, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather coat. "Scully, that was COUNTRY music," he replied adamantly, though a smile tugged at his lips. "THAT," the redhead replied, cutting off her partner's familiar tirade, "was PatsyCline. Now put it back." Grumbling to himself, Mulder reached over and tapped the radio's tuner through a field of static and back onto the mellow female voice, talking about being <> They listened in silence for a verse or two, then Mulder cleared his throat. "I hate being in these podunk places with only country stations," he complained, though his heart was only half in it. For one, the music wasn't really half bad -- he liked the woman's voice, the lyrics floating from the speakers into the engine sounds around him. For another, he didn't really want to get his partner riled about anything. It was late, they were driving through the mountains of Virginia, sheer dropoffs just off the truck to his side, with over four hours of driving left until they reached his place in Alexandria. Plus Scully had been out of sorts with him all day. He didn't want to push his luck. For her part, Scully seemed to be ignoring him, humming along under her breath. Her lack of response sent Mulder's curiosity about her mood a notch higher into concern. She hadn't been herself at all, and her refusal to give him shit about whining to her while she was driving was even more of an indication. Finally he turned to her, studied her profile in the dashboard lights for a beat. She looked alright (alright, hell, she's beautiful, he caught himself thinking, then squelched the thought instantly) -- her hair in its neat curve around her face above the collar of her dark trench coat, her eyes clear and wide. But there was a grim set to her mouth, and fatigue clung to the corners of her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in a few nights. He wondered if the time with her family for Christmas, only a few days before, hadn't been as easy as she'd told him. He took a breath and decided to risk it. "Hey Scully?" he asked softly. "Yes, Mulder." They rounded one of the switchback corners that would take them another notch higher into the mountains, Scully guiding the heavy vehicle slowly and carefully. "Are you okay?" She didn't take her eyes off the road; there was a beat before she said: "I'm fine, Mulder," the response that Mulder both expected and despised. <> Now the choice: drop it as she intended, or press? "You've just seemed...I don't know...like something might be bothering you." He lost his nerve with every word, his voice ending up sounded too meek, too tentative, to his own ears. "Was it your visit with your family?" Christmas with the Scully family. Visions of Bill Scully, Jr. danced in his head, the man who had once called him a "sorry son-of-a-bitch." And Mulder to this day believed him. At least as it related to the woman beside him and his relationship with her. "No," Scully replied, her voice quiet, flat, and far away, as though she were thinking of something else entirely. "They were fine. It was a good visit." He rolled the words over in his mind, as he would hold something in his mouth to really taste it. <> "Well, was it something about this case?" Now she did venture a look at him, fatigue and irritation mingling in her expression. But there was something else there, too, for an instant. Something that Mulder instantly recognized as being a kin of desperation. "I'm fine, okay, Mulder? It's nothing. Nothing is wrong. Now can we just drop it?" He winced inwardly, looked away, at the twin triangles of pavement scrolling ahead of them. "Alright. Sure....I just...." "I know what you were doing, but it's not my family and it's not the case; it's nothing. There's nothing wrong." She blew out an exasperated breath, guided the truck around another turn, slowing as the caution lights lit up her face in an orange glow. He looked at her again, his concern now notched even higher. Who was she trying to convince? Him, or herself? He asked her just that as the truck continued up,on a straightaway now. Her only response was to reach over and turn the radio up, loud enough to stifle any further conversation. He shook his head and returned his gaze to the road, the orange curve warning blinking far up ahead of them, the darkness pressing in around them. *********** "Just about twelve midnight, and that was, of course, Patsy Cline with Crazy' from back in 1961, went all the way to number two on the Billboard Charts that year and part of our Artist Tribute Hour tonight on WKHO....Coming up, one of her final hits, 'Sweet Dreams,' after these words from our sponsor, Lacey's Hardware...." Jimmy Meredith rounded the corner, gunned the eighteen wheeler up the straightaway. The truck roared up the narrow stretch, unencumbered by its empty trailer, picking up speed. Meredith smiled; the trip wouldn't take the usual two hours, since he could actually make decent time without the weight of all the feed he'd been carrying over the mountain from Charlottesville. He sat back, turned up the radio, listening to the advertisement for Weber Grills drone from the truck's single speaker, reached in his pocket and pulled out another Salem. Tapping the pack on the steering wheel, he pulled out the nub and groped for his lighter. It flamed brightly in the truck's \ dim cabin, illuminating his face, then went out. ********* "Sweeeeet Dreams....of you....." Mulder quirked a smile, stole a glance at Scully. "Hey, look," he quipped. "One station in all of Western Virginia and they don't play anything but Patsy Cline." Scully smiled despite herself. He really was trying. She knew that. And his concern for her was so strong it was almost like a physical presence in the truck's cabin. She found it distracting, and yet made no move to lessen it. There was just too much to say, too much close to the surface, too close. The image of the tiny headstone, the single bouquet of sad, pink sweetheart roses that she had placed gently on the letters of her name, carved into the white of the marble like scars. That was all she could think about. She had not gone the last year at Christmas, stayed in D.C. with her mother and Mulder. But this year, in San Diego with Bill and his family, she had thought that she had been ready to go. And she had been wrong. <> The thought came unbidden, her eyes instantly burning with tears. She swallowed them down, one hand coming off the steering wheel to cover her lips, to stop them should they begin to tremble and give her away. <> If he noticed the movement, the subtle shift in her control, he gave no indication. He simply hunkered down a bit more in the seat, leaning against the door as he did so. She saw his eyes close, and was relieved. It wasn't that she didn't trust him with her emotions -- she'd probably trusted him with more of herself than anyone else in her life. But with this....this was one of the places where she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her silence was because she trusted him, loved him, she admitted finally, too much. This was the topic about which they rarely spoke, because it hurt them both more than either wanted to admit -- to themselves or each other. She remembered the two of them in the police station on All Soul's Day the year before, the case of the four young girls who'd been found with their eyes seared out, their hands cupping the air in front of them in what she could only call ecstasy. It had taken her awhile to call them angels, but that was what, at least in her own private thoughts, she called them now. That day in the police station when he'd questioned, for perhaps the first time, her objectivity, and she'd been forced to tell him what she'd seen: Emily, in a vision, laying in one of the girls' place on the autopsy table, her small voice: <> She could still feel his arm around her, the gentle but insistent pressure of his hand as it squeezed her shoulder. She could see the pain set into his features, his eyes filled with it at the mention of Emily's name. She had regretted the admission instantly, swallowed down the emotion, if only to be spared the agony of watching his face -- the sorrow, the anger, and worst of all, the blame he had laid on himself for all of it -- her abduction; her sterility; and Emily, her illness and her death. She'd vowed never to speak of it again. She'd gone to the grave on Christmas day, after Mass, alone, though her mother had wanted to come. There in front of the headstone, she'd set the flowers down and she hadn't wept, and hated herself for it. She'd walked back to the car, gotten in and driven home, flown back to Washington the next day and buried herself in work, in the questionable case she and Mulder had found in the mountains of West Virginia. The case, like most things in her life, she thought gloomily, had yielded nothing. Behind her, a sudden movement of headlights, another car coming around the turn they'd just negotiated. It caught her eye for two reasons: first, it was the only other vehicle she'd seen in a long time; and second, the car was flying. She could tell by the whip of the headlights that the car had skidded around the curve. She watched it as it approached, closing in on them, her brow wrinkling in concern. Whoever was driving that car was clearly out of control, drunk or on a joy ride or on the run from something. She slowed unconsciously, held the truck steady to be as predictable an object as possible. Maybe whoever was driving would slow down? Or at least she'd be going slowly enough that the car could pass them well ahead of the next switchback. The engine roar of the approaching vehicle finally overpowered the song on the radio and Mulder opened his eyes as the headlights glared into the truck. He turned and looked at it as Scully's eye shifted nervously between the road and the rear view mirror. "I'm slowing down," she said, reading his mind. Mulder watched for a beat. "Yeah, he's going around." And the headlights swung to her left suddenly, raking the lane beside her as the car screamed by. Without knowing it, Scully let out the breath she had been holding and the tail lights shrunk in front of her. "You okay?" Mulder asked. His eyes were wide awake now; it had scared him, too. "Yeah, I'm okay. But that guy...he's going to kill someone driving like that up here." She gripped the steering wheel harder as the taillights disappeared around the corner. "As long as it's just himself," Mulder said dryly, and settled back down. ********** " Instead of having....sweet dreams...about you...." Meredith was thinking about his first wife, Debbie, the woman who had been with him the first time he'd heard this song back in 1963 and spitting out the window when he saw the first glimmer of headlights on the reflectors around the curve. He had already started to slow down for the hairpin turn, but was a good ways from it and still coming up the hill at a good clip when he saw the car come tearing around the corner, squealing tires around the turn. "Stupid son-of-a-bitch..." he swore, leaned on the cord to blow his horn and let it fly in an angry, long note that seemed to howl off the mountains around him. The car kept coming, out of control, its back end fishtailing wildly as the car slid sideways, into his lane, coming straight for him. He swore, grabbed the huge wheel with both hands and made the split second decision -- drop off, or sheer wall -- the one he'd hoped he'd never have to make but that his mind seemed suddenly ready to. He turned onto the shoulder, towards the wall, begging God and Jesus and whoever else might be listening for enough clearance to get out the way, and slammed the brakes down hard enough that smoke rose from the front end of the cab. The noise was amazing. The car squealing shrilly towards him, the brakes screaming, the big engine rumbling underneath him. He noted all this almost calmly as he realized that the car was going to hit, hit HIM, and then an instant later it did, crushing into the truck's huge front end hard with a sound like one of the boomers on the fourth of July when he was a kid, smashing the truck's cab sideways into the wall and tossing Meredith into the passenger seat like a rag doll. The truck jackknifed, the car now pinned between the big truck's cabin and the wall, the truck's weight and speed dragging them both forward now, sparks raining into the night air around thecab as they careened along the shoulder. As the truck bent itself in half, the empty trailer snapped off its hitch, the back wheels and trailer spinning away down the center of the road at break-neck speed on its side, throwing a halo of sparks in every direction. Meredith, unconscious now in the cab seat as the truck began to finally slow, lay in a pile of broken glass and knew nothing. *********** Scully slowed as they rounded the corner, her nerves still jangling from the encounter with the car, pulled the truck around the switchback, watching the pavement stream by in the headlights as she turned and righted it again -- And found herself looking at a huge truck trailer rushing towards her with all the size and speed of a locomotive, half- hidden in a cloud of friction sparks and screaming against the pavement. The sight was mesmerizing. "Mulder?" There was no panic, no fear in her voice. Just a question, as though she meantto ask him what this unexplained phenomena in front of her was, as though she were simply curious... Both feet stamped down on the brake pedal. There was no time to swerve, or even think of it. She heard Mulder scream her name, a hand clamping vice-like on her upper arm as she threw her hands up in front of her face. Then the metal hulk was upon them, smashing into the Explorer with a thunderous crash. She felt them being lifted, the front end rising, the view spiralling. She felt pain -- nonspecific, searing pain. The airbag fired off in an cloud of vapor, the sound of metal on metal deafening as the truck smashed down on its side, her side, then up again, rolling now. Metal snapped. Glass rained down around her and the truck hit the other side, the momentum still carrying it over again. Then the sound of metal hitting on pavement stopped suddenly and she was floating in the strange quiet for an instant, the sensation of falling, the heavy pull of it.... And then, mercifully, nothing. ********** End of Part 1. Continued in Part 2. Disclaimer in Part 1. This is Part 2. *************** The first thing Fox Mulder became aware of as he slowly turned his head and opened his eyes was a blackness around him so final he thought, for a moment, that he might be blind. But then the dim shape of the dashboard, too close to him now, came into view and he let out a breath of relief and moved to sit up... And caught the breath in once more. Pain tore down his right side, from his neck, down his arm and into his side, clenching the air in him on a ragged gasp. "Oh God....!" The words were out before he realized he'd spoken, the breath forcing out with them. He froze, forced himself to relax back down against the surface he was lying against. Wait, not a surface, he realized. It was the seat belt, which still held him in place, though he hung in it now as though it were a sling. His mind hurried to catch up with his senses, but he was having a hard time piecing it together. He remembered music, a car going around them, a turn and something in front of them. Scully's voice saying his name.... <> "Scully?!" He blinked, still could see next to nothing. He said her name again, as panicked as the first time, his breath heaving now against the pain and sudden terror. Being careful to hold his right side as still as possible, he reached out with his other hand, felt metal (a part of the roof crushed in, he realized), then inched down it to a gap and moved his hand beneath it. He felt cloth. Followed it up as far as he could to the shoulder. "Scully, answer me..." He panted, unable to reach in any further. Frustrated, he pulled the hand away and reached awkwardly into the right pocket of his jacket, felt the Maglite flashlight's smooth cool shape. He drew it out, jammed the end in his mouth and turned until the light popped on suddenly, illuminating the interior of the truck in its small beam. He pulled it into his shaking left hand and pointed it in front of him, saw nothing but the dark shapes of tree trunks out the broken windshield. <> he thought darkly. The truck was laying on its left side, angled slightly down, and the roof was crushed down around them, obscuring most of his view to the side. But he could still see a triangle of Scully's coat -- her arm -- the black cloth shining with the stain of blood. Sucking in another painful breath, he shifted carefully, taking an inventory of his body. Though he hurt everywhere to some extent, felt the sharp sting of cuts and the ache of bad bruising, his right arm and side seemed to have taken the worst of it. Broken bones, no doubt, at least the collarbone, the forearm. Ribs, probably. But his neck and back and head were okay. He felt like the luckiest sorry son-of-a-bitch on the planet. Now he turned his attention back to his surroundings, reaching down to his hip where the seatbelt still held him to the ruined seat. His hand bumped against the cellphone in his other pocket, and he reached in, grabbed it frantically, and looked at the display on the tiny lit screen. The "No Signal" indicator blinked back at him, as it had done since they'd entered the mountains. His jaw clenched. "Fuck..." Tossing it into the floor, he lifted a leg to hold himself steady against the center console to hold himself in place while he released the seat belt, his body sliding down onto the ruined metal barrier because of the angle of the truck. Now he was free to turn his body carefully around, wedge his feet beneath the crumpled roof, push his back against the seat for leverage. "I'm gonna get you out of there, Scully," he said almost conversationally, holding off the terror he felt at her silence; his breathing was still ragged. "Don't you worry, I'm getting you out." Though the motion caused him searing pain, he put all his strength into pushing with his legs, feeling the crumpled metal bend up with his urging, widening the gap between them. "One more..." He pushed again, cursing aloud as he did so, the roof giving way and buckling upwards again, giving him enough room to get to her now, though she was still surrounded by the roof like a metal cocoon. Moving carefully, the flashlight's small beam dancing in front of him, he moved down until he was poised over her. "Scully? Hey Scully, come on...." She was limp as a doll and seemed almost as tiny, her body slumped against a crag of dark rock that jutted through the space where the passenger window had been. Her face was turned away from him, her upper body turned face down on the rock, her right arm thrown over the crushed steering wheel that sat just in front of her belly. The dash obscured her lower body completely. He saw the pale of her hand on the steering wheel, reached out with a trembling hand to grasp her wrist, forced his breathing to level off before he hyperventilated. <> His fingers pressed into the small dent on the inside of her wrist. He held his breath. Waited a few seconds. And felt a pulse. Faint, but there. "Okay...okay..." He blew out the breath, the world righting itself again for him. Setting the flashlight in a hole in the dash so that it dimly lit the interior, he climbed down a bit closer, arched over her awkwardly, put out his left hand and touched the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. "Scully....wake up..." He inched around to her forehead, felt the thick wetness of blood, felt bile rise up in his throat suddenly and choked it down. <> He reached until he felt the smooth skin of her cheek and pinched, gently at first, and then harder, trying to be careful not to shake her. She stirred finally, a moan, her arm sliding down off the steering wheel limply. "Hey Scully..." He leaned down as far as he could to get close to her, urging her back into consciousness. He knew she'd reached it when she moved and a weak, pain-filled cry came from her. He saw her body tense. Hurriedly, he slipped his arm beneath her waist, again moving her as little as possible, pressed his cheek against her hair in an awkward embrace. "It's okay....it's okay..." He murmured it into her ear, feeling her body heave with each breath. She had yet to attempt another move. "Mulder...?" It was little more than a whisper of sound. "Wha....?" "I think the truck went over the guardrail. But we're okay." He only half-regretted the half-lie. "I need you to tell me if you can feel your legs, Scully. Can you feel your legs?" There was a pause, and he felt her body relax a touch, becoming accustomed to the pain as best she could. Finally she turned her head a bit, showing him half her face. "Yes..." "You can?" "Uh huh...hurts...." He paled at the word, but swallowed the anguish it caused, forced his voice to stay level and calm. "How's your neck feel? Your back?" He saw her eye flutter closed, leaned down again until his lips were almost against her ear. "*Scully.*" The eye came open again. "Mul..." "Scully, listen to me: I want to move you, but I can't do that unless you tell me you don't think there's been any damage to your spinal cord." He spoke slowly, recognized her disorientation from the lolling of her visible eye. There was a pause, and were it not for the fact that her eye stayed open he might have thought she'd lost consciousness again. She moved her neck again carefully, shifted her hips an inch, grimaced, a half-stifled moan of pain coming. "Okay...I think it's okay..." "Yeah?" She nodded, her brow creasing in pain. "One of my legs... hurts bad. Something in my side, too...and my head hurts..." "I want to get you out from underneath the dash, alright?" He was panting again, holding down the panic. "To make sure you're not bleeding anywhere I can't see." "Yeah...yeah, alright..." Glass crunched with every move he made as he shifted to get his arm underneath her to where the seat belt was attached. As he tugged on it, the belt, still locked in its fastener, came out from around her. He pulled it away, throwing it over the seat in disgust. The he shifted, leaned down to get his arm around her body more firmly. She moaned as he lifted her a bit, her head lolling. "No...Mulder...DON'T..." Her voice rose as she spoke, her body tensing again. "Don't....Please..." He cringed and let her back down gently, staying close. "Okay, I'm sorry..." he said instantly. "I'm so sorry..." He kept murmuring into her hair, for a moment, nuzzling her in comfort. For both of them. Once he realized what he was doing, he stopped immediately, guilt washing over him. "S'kay," she whispered, after a moment, relaxing a bit visibly. "Let me try...to shift my legs around instead..." "Okay. Tell me if you want me to help you." She nodded, turned her upper body around slowly so that she lay flush against the seat, her brow creased in pain, biting her lower lip. Her legs remained in place. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she pulled herself up a bit, drew her right leg out from under the dash slowly, Mulder helping her once she'd pulled it halfway out. The pants leg was torn and blood seeped from a jagged cut in her calf. He ignored it for now as she panted, resting. Then, with a wrench, she pulled at her other leg, her entire body arching like a bow in pain. "MULDER!" Stricken, he reached over, pulled her leg up, shifting it as carefully and as quickly as possible out and pulled her around. As he did so, she screamed, the sound tearing around the cabin and startling him with its sharpness. "It's okay, it's out, it's out. Relax." He stroked at her face awkwardly, cupped her cheek. She turned her face into his hand, stifling another cry. His eyes stung with tears. He continued to murmur to her as she finally relaxed a bit, helped her settle down on her back now, her knees bent over the seat edge. Her black pants were shiny with blood just above her left knee. His eyes widened at a bulge on the inside of her thigh; bile rolled up his throat again. "Scully, your leg's broken." He said it quickly, and as devoid of emotion as he could muster. She nodded. "Yeah..." "What do I do?" She shook her head. "Nothing right now....just give me a minute...." He stayed close, his hand on her good knee now, her booted feet resting against his thighs. "You're doing great," he said softly, and meant it. "Just rest." She nodded, her eyes closing. He saw the angry smear of blood on her forehead, oozing from just above her hairline. It scared him, the way it stood out so starkly against her pale skin, even in the small flashlight's light. "...You hurt?" she asked softly, her voice a ghost of itself. "I'm alright," he replied quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes opened, her expression, despite the pain, concerned and just a touch rueful. "Where?" He tried to shrug indifferently, and regretted it instantly. "Shoulder?" she asked, seeing him stiffen. He nodded. "At least," he evaded, forced a smile. She looked at him reproachfully. "Where else?" He knew she wouldn't stop until he'd told her everything, and he needed her to stop talking so she could rest. "My arm's broken, I think. And the collarbone. All on the right side." He decided that was enough -- no need to mention the ribs. She winced, her eyes closing again. "I'm sorry...how's the pain?" He smiled a bit at that, a genuine smile. So like her, laying there in the car seat bleeding and worrying about him. He wanted to either kiss her or strangle her for it. He couldn't decide which. "Better than yours, I'm sure," he said softly, and started to pull his arm out of the leather jacket. Scully opened her eyes at the movement and reached a hand out. "No, don't --" "I'm just going to take my top shirt off. We need something for bandages." "Don't...shock....need to stay....warm..." "But--" "Get something...out of our suitcases..." He nodded, grabbed the flashlight, looked into the backseat and found it not only accessible but relatively undamaged, though the seat was sprinkled with shards of glass. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said, moving slowly, carefully. "I won't go anywhere," she replied, a faint smile on her face as her eyes drifted closed again. Smiling again, he crept into the back seat, cursing as glass dug into his hand as he pressed down on the seat. "Mulder?" Her voice was quieter than before. "I'm okay....just some glass..." He kept moving, crawled over the back seat and into the large cargo area, where their bags and briefcases were jumbled into a pile against the cracked side window. The car creaked around him. "They're both here. I don't know how, but they are." The talking made it easier for him, surreally normal. "Want me to bring your bag up there?" There was a beat of silence, too long. "Scully?" "Mmmm...yeah. Yeah, bring it up. I need to work....on my makeup." He barked a laugh at that, which made his side ache worse. The movement had really exacerbated the pain in both his arm and side. The laugh also sounded strange and too-loud in the truck's confines and rattled his already taxed nerves. Grabbing both bags and hooking them over his good arm, he picked his way back up towards the front seat. "Here we go," he said, settling down in his awkward place above her. She lazily opened her eyes as he shone the light on her. She licked her dry lips, her eyes dreamy and glazed. The way she looked, her eyes, her face, worried him. This was more than pain and he knew it. "In my bag, Mulder...." "Yeah?" "There's a black bag...on the bottom. A leather bag. Get it out." She puffed out breaths in between the sentences, her voice fading, as though each sentence exhausted her. "Okay, I'll get it," he soothed. "Just relax." Placing the flashlight on the dash again, he hustled his own bag onto the floor, wedging it under the dash and lay hers on the steering wheel. It was heavy. "What the hell do you have in here, anyway?" She smiled that same faraway, faint smile. "You won't be complaining...in a minute." He looted through the suitcase until he found a bag, pulled it out and opened it. An eyeliner pencil and compact spilling out onto her lap. "I was...kidding about the makeup, Mulder." "Sorry," he said, grimacing, tossing the makeup bag into the backseat and going through her suitcase again, finding another and pulling it out. This one was larger and heavier, and when he opened it, he saw the familiar white of first-aid packaging. Bandages. Disinfectant. And on the bottom, a couple of small glass bottles and a few syringes. "Why, Doctor Scully, do you always travel with this?" She smiled again. "With you as my partner? You bet....I never know when I'll have to...shoot you." She coughed weakly, turned her face away. Her chest was heaving. "Boy is that the truth," he said, forcing a wane smile. He was becoming more and more alarmed at her appearance, the sound of her voice. Though her mind seemed alright, her humor, even if at his expense, intact, which gave him some comfort. "Mulder, one of those bottles...I need...I need you to give me a shot." He froze, looked at her face. "A shot? Of what?" She licked her lips again, met his gaze seriously. "Demerol." Now the alarms really started blaring in his head. Oh shit... "That bad?" He kept his voice level, his hand instinctively cupping her knee again. She nodded. "Yeah...It's okay, though...It's okay." <> He stopped the words from coming out, barely, stopped the irrational anger -- born of fear -- that had spawned them. His hand shaking, he pulled out first the bottle and then the syringe, groping awkwardly at the packaging with his one hand. The other remained curled against his side and he couldn't move it. "Here...let me help you..." Scully reached a hand out and helped him tear the packaging open, popped the cap off the syringe. "What's the dose?" he asked, holding the bottle into the flashlight beam to make sure it was the right one. It was. "100 mg...no, wait...go 50. 50." "You sure?" He didn't like the sound of that. She nodded. "I'll hold the bottle..." She did, and he jammed the needle through the rubber stopper, began to draw the clear liquid up, watching closely. He did it slowly, carefully. "You know, between your leg and my arm, together we make exactly one complete person," he quipped, trying to keep the mood light and the terror away. There was a soft chuckle beside him, too much for his lame attempt at humor. "What's so funny?" he asked as he pulled the syringe out and laid it down carefully, taking the bottle from her. "I think...I think we're that way anyway, Mulder...." And despite the fear in him, he laughed again. *********** End of Part 2. Continued in Part 3. Disclaimer in Part 1. This is Part 3 ************ Jimmy Meredith was dozing in the cab of his cabin, nursing a sore wrist with this other hand when he was awakened by the familiar strobe of blue and white lights bouncing around the inside of the truck cabin, catching on the broken glass on the seat beside him like glitter. He opened his eyes, pulled himself up a bit straighter into a sitting position as he felt someone clambering up the driver's side of the truck, the beam of a huge police flashlight pinning him like a deer. "You okay in there?" It was a young cop, and he looked scared, his eyes wide and his breathing a bit heavy. <> Meredith thought. "Yeah, yeah -- get that goddamn flashlight outta my face, will you?" He shielded his eyes, then pulled his hand away stained with blood from a cut on his brow as the officer lowered the light and apologized quickly. "You call for an ambulance yet, son?" The officer nodded his head. "On its way. Wrecker, too. I was just on patrol up here and came around the corner onto what's left of your trailer. Half of it went over the side." Meredith nodded. "Yeah, looks a bit light from here." He gestured to the mass of wires of his dash. "Goddamn CB's in a dozen pieces or I'd have called you up here sooner." He gestured to the battered blue front end of the car he'd hit, pushed up against the wall almost vertically and pressed in against the front of his truck. "I had a look. Need a meat wagon for that feller." The young officer laughed nervously. "You're right about that. I reckon we'll have to bury him in his car. He's flat as a ten-year- old girl." Meredith snorted, his hand still on his head. "You sure you're alright?" The cop licked his lips nervously. "Yeah, I think my wrist is broke. But I'm alright. It's a big truck. Short of hitting another rig, there ain't much on the road that can get to me up here." The younger man looked down the road, his too-fast breath puffing out in the cold night air. Meredith noted that his state trooper hat looked almost comically large on his head. "Just the two of you involved with this?" he asked hopefully. The kid was desperately trying to get a handle on the scene, the trucker realized with some chagrin. "I didn't see no other cars, if that's what you're asking. Just that ignorant bastard tearing ass around that corner doing about 60 and fishtailling right into my front end. Had to be drunk. That's all I can guess, if you weren't chasing him." The officer laughed nervously again. "No, I wasn't chasing him." He breathed out, finally relaxing now that no other complications in his routine night seemed forthcoming. "Well, just sit tight. The ambulance and a wrecker will be up here soon enough. I'm going to go put up some flares around the corner so that no one who might happen along comes up on the rest of that trailer all of a sudden." He sounded so suddenly in control that Meredith wanted to laugh at him, and would have if he didn't have such a headache coming on. <> The trooper started to climb down when Jimmy stopped him. "Hey, which part of it went over the side?" The other man squinted his eyes, peering into the distance. "The back half, it looks like." Meredith swore under his breath. "Any chance of pulling that up? That's my personal trailer and I'd like to salvage what I can. That back axle might be fixable, or I might be able to use the parts." The kid shook his head. "I don't know how. It's awful steep just off that corner. Goes down into some trees about 100 feet down, then about 50 feet beyond that there's the dropoff to Point Falls. I shone the light down there and saw a piece of the trailer in the trees." Meredith waved him off like a fly. "Aw, hell, don't bother yourself. I got a friend in Charlottesville that does some mining and salvage work for you all from time to time. Got a rig with a big crane, some climbing gear, that sort of thing. I'll come up with him in a few days with a flat bed and see what he can do." "You'll need a permit to do that," the officer said instantly, finally in familiar territory. "Well consider that I just applied for it," Meredith snapped. The kid was on his nerves now. "That back wheel assembly's worth a lot to me. And if I'm doing it myself ya'll ought to hush about it. At least you won't have the Tree Huggers after you about the debris." The cop smiled at that, the goofy grin that Meredith expected. "Alright, I'll see what I can do about that permit. Now just sit tight. I'll be right back." As he climbed down and disappeared, Meredith mumbled under his breath: "Don't go far, son. I'm liable to get scared up here without you." ********* Scully had been asleep for just under two hours, and for that, if nothing else, Fox Mulder was thankful. She'd drifted off about ten minutes after he'd given her the injection, having pretzeled himself around the seat to get the shot into the flesh of her hip on her right side. As soon as she'd nodded off, her face falling gently to one side as he'd watched her, he'd broken out the first aid kit and gotten to work as best he could. First, the nasty cut on her forehead. He'd teetered over her, balanced carefully on the edge of the seat back to get to her face, holding a bandage on the cut for several minutes to slow the bleeding. She hadn't roused, even though he knew what he'd done was bound to have hurt. Then he'd put a sterile pad over it, taped it down sloppily, tearing off tape with his teeth. Next, the cut on the back of her shin, pressing his injured arm into service for leverage as he wound the bandage round and round her leg, slowing the bleeding. Then her arm, using bandage scissors from the kit to clip away the sleeve of her coat and pull it down enough to reveal the injury. The bleeding was harder to control from this one -- it was a deep slice. He'd done the best he could and pulled her sleeve back up. Finally, having taken a long break to catch his breath, warring against his own pain and exhaustion, he had confronted her leg, his hand shaking as he packed t-shirts from his suitcase around it, tucking them around the obvious protrusion of bone. The limb was already elevated, and he was in no condition to split it, so he gave up with that, finally taking most of the clothes from his suitcase and hers and piling them on her body for warmth. She looked like she were buried under a pile of his laundry, he mused. Her face was pale and cool to the touch as he brushed the hair from her forehead. As satisfied as he could be under the circumstances, he sat back, wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, sucking in shallow breaths. His side was killing him. Just as he did so, his face suddenly went hot, then ice cold, his stomach lurching. Sweat prickled on his upper lip and he took the hint. Clawing his way backwards, he turned and threw himself upwards, out the space where the passenger window had been, and vomited, ended up dry-heaving against the maroon side of the truck for several minutes. Each heave tore at his shoulder and side, and when he was done he was pale and sweaty, gulping in air and leaning his cheek against the door beneath him, reveling in the cool of it, his left arm curled around his head, his eyes closed. He rested for what seemed like a long time. <> Gradually he opened his eyes again, ventured a look upwards. The dark, jagged shapes of trees frowned down at him, the winter forest almost silent, a few stars peeking through the gnarled fingers of branches. The sky was melting into that black and blue of early dawn -- it was around four, he recalled. Then, as he stared, he saw the intermittent blink of red and blue just above the trees. His pain and fatigue leaving him in a rush of adrenaline, he pushed himselfupwards, turned towards the back of the truck, saw the flashing more clearly now, though it was still faint, bobbing off the branches. <> The mantra tore through his mind and he drew in a painful, enormous breath, screamed at the top of his lungs: "HEY! WE'RE DOWN HERE!" And kept screaming. ********* Scully was startled awake by the sound, sucked in a breath quickly and opened her eyes wide in fright. As her eyes struggled into focus, she saw, above a mound of clothes covering her, the heels of Mulder's boots, sticking out over the edge of the passenger seat, the rest of this body outside the car. She could just make out the dim shape of his body. And he was screaming, shaking the truck around her: "HEY, DOWN HERE!" <> she thought, closing her eyes again in relief. Help had come for them. "Mommy?" Her eyes bolted open again, her face turning quickly towards the sound. And there she was, her round, white face peering from behind the seat, one small hand holding onto the back as though for support as the truck continued to rock with Mulder's movements. <> The anguish, the tears, washed over Scully in an instant, her face clenching onto a ragged sob as her eyes squeezed shut against the sight. One hand went to cover her mouth as she shook her head slowly. "No..." she whimpered. Emily looked at her evenly. "Mommy, make him stop." The urgency in the small voice forced her eyes open again, the tears trailing down her temples as she looked back into Emily's small face, at the intensity of the child's expression. She shook her head again against it. <> "Mommy, make him stop NOW." The child leaned forward, revealing the green sweater that Scully had first seen her in, her soft brown red hair shining. "Why...?" The child pointed a tiny finger at Mulder. "If he doesn't stop, the truck is going to fall." Scully's eyes widened at that, then slammed shut, gasping as images were forced into her mind: <> "No..." She tugged in a breath, gasping. <> Emily only nodded calmly. "And don't let him get out of the truck until it's light outside. He doesn't know the ledge is there. And they won't come anyway. Not now, they won't." And the visions crushed her mind again: <> ********* A scream tore out from below him, so loud and so sudden that the hair on the back of Mulder's neck literally stood on end, his heart leaping into his throat. He looked down into the cabin of the truck, into the small triangle of light illuminating Scully and saw her, gasping for breath, screaming with every ounce of air she could draw, thrashing her head from side to side, the clothes on top of her flying. He was so dumbstruck it took an instant for him to realize she was screaming his name. He didn't think. He moved. ********** The scream in her throat seemed to come from the middle of her body -- the sound that round, that loud, that absolute. She could feel it flowing through her belly, then her chest, then her throat. And she could hear him, but couldn't make herself stop. The images themselves wouldn't stop streaming through her mind, and they were as real as he was. <> Arms around her. The seat back beside her dropping off and his face was against hers, his body on her. A hand pressing the back of her head up against him hard. She heard a scream, some dim part of her realizing it was coming from her. <> ******** "Hushhh..." Her chest was still heaving against him, lifting him with each fast breath, her fingers still tangled in his hair, clutching it in her fists so hard it hurt. But at least she had stopped screaming. Mulder kept his forehead pressed against hers, her shallowbreaths puffing against his face, his hand cupping the back of her skull and holding it against him. Her entire body was taut and trembling -- he could feel the terror running through her like a fine current. "It's okay," he soothed in a whisper. "Scully it's okay..." He kissed her cheek softly, lingering there, feeling her body relax a bit more, her breathing begin to catch, then slow. "You're okay...it's okay..." Afraid he might be crushing her, and minding his own throbbing side, he shifted a little against her and her hands clenched down even harder. He winced, feeling like his hair was actually going to be pulled out. "No, Mulder, d-don't. Don't move..." Her voice rose again. "Okay, okay..." He froze, pressed his lips to her cheek again. "I'm not going anywhere. Now, Scully, I need you to try to relax." She took a few more frantic breaths, then nodded, nuzzled against his cheek, her eyes closed. "Okay..." It was the first response she'd given that actually acknowledged what he'd said, and relief flooded him. It vanished as her face twisted into tears, her chest heaving. "I saw you..." she whimpered, lurching beneath him with a sob. "Saw me? Saw me what?" "I saw you...Emily showed me...I saw you fall. I saw you --" "I'm not going to fall, Scully," he said firmly. "I'm staying right here next to you. Now shhhh..." She nodded, a jerked motion, pressed her face to his, closed her eyes, still crying softly. Her fingers began to relax again, much to his relief, until they were simply laying on the back of his head. One hand slipped down to the back of his neck, threaded through the soft hair there absently. She was still trembling, but he suspected this was more from cold and shock than the fear that had gripped her before. Her breathing leveled off slowly and he released her head, let it rest back gently behind her. She was drifting off again. He was surprised her body had taken the strain as long as it had. He chanced a slow movement, and though she made a soft sound, she did nothing; her eyes remained closed, her face relaxed. Finally he sat up carefully, reached over her and picked at the clothing, laying it back on her a piece or two at a time, took one of his t-shirts and eased it slowly beneath her head. <> The muscles of his stomach lurched, his body jerking, and he thought for a second that he might be throwing up again. The tears that sprang from his eyes took him by surprise, as did the quiet cry that followed them. He leaned forward, pulling his knees up and leaning on them with his good arm, cradling his head in his hand. The breath he sucked in sounded like a gasp, and he tightened his injured arm against him as the sobs shook him, which he was helpless to stop. His mind raced over the details of what had just happened, the rationalizations not far behind. <> Another part of him played the same information, coming to a different conclusion. <> But he didn't want to believe that. He didn't want Emily to have been here at all -- even the mention of her name had wracked Mulder with anguish and guilt, sinking into his gut like acid. He'd never forgive himself for what happened that year, that Christmas when Scully had called him, hesitant, <> He cried for a long time, turning over the memories of that time. Her pulling away from him the hospital, the withdrawal feeling like a punishment. The way he'd been unable to watch her open the casket in the small chapel, thick with candle smoke and stained glass air, knowing that the body would be gone... Then, suddenly, he stopped crying as a realization hit him, his breath quick, painful. "Oh God, Scully...." She'd gone back to San Diego this year. He'd bet his life that she'd gone to the grave. And -- He began to cry again as he leaned back over, stroked the back of her hand as he took it in his own. "It's today..." The anniversary of Emily's death. <> He felt his head going light, the pain and exhaustion catching up with him, finally winning their relentless race. A fit of coughing struck him suddenly, only making the feeling of faintness worse. Being careful not to disturb her, he lay himself down beside her, on the back of the driver's seat he'd reclined in haste to get beside her, then curled onto his left side facing her. Before he could even draw one of the sweaters beside her over him, he slipped into unconsciousness, a sleep dreamless and dead. *********** End of Part 3. Continued in Part 4. Disclaimer in Part 1. This is Part 4. ************** FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, D.C. 9:36 a.m. Assistant Director Walter Skinner pretended to read the file in front of him for perhaps the fifth time in a half and hour, though his lips had drawn into an angry thin line, his jaw muscles working. He blew out a frustrated breath, checked the clock on the wall. Again. <> He knew exactly where to lay the blame for this, yet another meeting where he was kept waiting. He wouldn't mind so much except that for starters, he was planning on only working part of the day, one of the major tasks of the day to go over the absurd expense report Mulder had submitted for his department. He'd called Mulder in South Succotash, Virginia (wherever the hell he and Scully had been last night), and strongly requested both of their presences to explain themselves before he had to submit the year-end report. And then, he admitted reluctantly, the larger reason the lateness irked him: something about Mulder jerking him around by missing meetings or being late always made him feel like an ass, like the younger man just didn't think him important enough to bother following any sort of protocol. Or even good manners. And what really galled him this time was that Scully seemed to be catching her partner's fuck-off attitude. Though he knew Mulder was a lost cause, he also knew Scully wasn't. Forty minutes late and not even her usual overly-formal phone call to cover her and Mulder's asses. He reached over and snapped the intercom button on his phone. Hard. "Kimberly, could you ring Security and ask them if Agents Mulder and Scully have come in yet this morning, please." "Yes, sir," came the instant reply. He dropped the silver pen he held almost as habit, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes in frustration. His intercom beeped softly. "Sir?" "Yes?" "They haven't checked in this morning." <> "Well would you be so kind as to ring them on their cellphones and request that they grace us with an appearance this morning? Remind them of a 9:00 meeting that seems to have slipped their minds?" "Of course, sir," Kimberly replied quickly. He sighed, relenting. "Thank you, Kimberly." No need to kill the messenger.... Itching to do something, he called the Motor Pool, found that they had not signed out one of the Bureau cars for the trip. "They must have rented something, sir, because the car Agent Scully usually has signed out is parked down here. It has been since the twenty-first." The attendant on duty offered this up like an apology. <> He thanked the man and hung up just as his intercom lit up again. "Yes?" he called expectantly. "Sir, both of their cellphones are coming up with 'out of range' messages, then switching to voicemail. And I tried their apartments. Answering machines at both numbers. I left messages on both numbers. They're to contact me as soon as they get in." Though his anger continued to simmer, something else began prickling at the back of Skinner's neck, something that made him pause for an moment as the feeling niggled at him. It was not a pleasant feeling. Something wasn't right. Kimberly must have had it, too, because she said: "What would you like me to do next, sir?" Skinner considered for a moment, sitting up in his chair a bit more, his mind turning over options quickly. "Call the car rental agencies in the general vicinities of both the Bureau and Agents Mulder and Scully's apartments and find out if they rented a vehicle, what type it was, and if it's been returned. Get a license number if you can. I'll call the Virginia State Police." "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it." The light went off. He stabbed a line on and rang the Bureau operator. "Yes, sir?" "I need you to ring the Virginia State Police Headquarters for me, please." "One moment, sir." <> ************** UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER, UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA 11:45 a.m. Jimmy Meredith tossed the handful of painkiller prescriptions and the sheet of instructions on how to care for a cast into the trash can as he exited the Emergency Unit, instantly lighting up a cigarette as he walked through the sliding doors and out into the crisp, winter morning. His wrist ached, but he couldn't see doping himself up on all those drugs. It just wasn't worth all that. A tow truck was sitting, idling in a little cloud of exhaust steam, right outside the door, on the other side of the ambulance pull in. The man behind the wheel waved as Meredith caught sight of him, and Meredith raised his cigarette at him and approached the truck, climbing into the warm interior slowly. "You're moving like an old man, old man," the driver, Ray Johnston, said cheerfully from around his own cigarette. "How the hell are you anyway?" Meredith waved him off. "I'm alright. Broke my wrist, as you can see..." He raised his casted hand in the sling for emphasis. "....and banged myself up a bit. But no trouble really. Truck took the worst of it." "You find out where they hauled her to?" Johnston put the truck into gear in anticipation. "Yeah, it's a piece though, I'm afraid. Some garage on this side of the mountain. I got directions." He blew smoke out a crack of the window tiredly. "They got the cab and the front part of the trailer; damn thing split into a million pieces and the back went over the goddamn side." "Alright then," Johnston replied, nosing the truck onto the hospital driveway with a cough. "You get some rest there and we'll go see how's she doing. Ain't much I can't fix." He smiled. Meredith nodded, settled back as they pulled into the early morning traffic of Charlottesville towards Interstate 64. "That's a fact. Thanks, Ray." ********* AFTON MOUNTAIN 11:53 a.m. Dana Scully opened her eyes slowly, forced them to focus. She saw bare treetops in the gap of the passenger window, sunlight streaming through them in sharp beams. Two crows argued from somewhere nearby, but otherwise, there was an unearthly quiet. The pain throbbed through her and she was shivering. Her teeth chattered faintly. <