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Disclaimers: You know whose they are. Heck, if they were my characters, don't you think I'd be actually writing for the show instead of doing fanfiction? ;-) Anyway, Chris Carter, they're all yours. And I'll give them back into your care someday, I promise. :-) Also, the song, "The Distance" was recorded by Jamie Walters on his excellent self-titled debut album. Summary: Mulder and Scully try to deal with their separation and the way they parted, with help from Scully's former college roommate, Amanda 'Randi' Randall. Spoilers: Nothing specific, as far as I know. Except maybe for the Pilot, but I'm assuming everyone's either already seen that or at least heard all about it. :-) Oh, and there ARE extensive spoilers for the previous story, "Schism: Division" so please read that one BEFORE this. It's on Gossamer. Category: Story, MSR. DEDICATION: This story is dedicated to all the St. Louis X-Philes, especially the Relationshippers. :-) Your beautiful city has been the home of my heart ever since I was little, even though I've never lived there, so I had to put Randi there, and thus by default and temporarily, Scully. :-) Now, without further ado... "Schism: Distance" **Dana Scully's new apartment** She was sitting in the middle of the floor emptying one of her moving boxes when the doorbell rang. At first, Dana stiffened, but quickly reassured herself that the person on the other side of the door could NOT be Mulder, since she had made Skinner promise not to tell him where she was. Not that he couldn't find out for himself if he cared enough, she reflected with a grim smile. But hopefully if he DID care enough, he would also respect me enough to leave me alone. The thought almost made her laugh at the bitter irony of it all--Mulder, once the one person she had trusted more than any other. The doorbell rang again, this time repeatedly. Dana laughed, her expression brightening. She only knew one person in the world who was that impatient, and she'd been expecting her. Standing and brushing the dust off her hands onto the front of her work jeans, she stood and went to the door. It opened to reveal the grinning face of a woman about Dana's age but taller, with long, dark brown hair and mischievous green eyes behind wire-frame glasses. "Well, it's about time you got here," she remarked lightly. "I could say the same to you," the redhead retorted, returning her friend's smile. "I thought you were going to come over right after church." The taller woman shrugged, eyes twinkling. "I was, but I passed this little restaurant on the way that would be just perfect for Mark and Gina's reunion scene, so I had to stop there for lunch." Dana shook her head in amused disapproval. "You get sidetracked too easily. But, I guess that's what I get for having a science-fiction novelist for a best friend." She pretended not to notice the puzzled frown that passed momentarily over the other woman's face at this remark. Maybe how close she and Mulder were when Randi visited her in D.C. two years ago had been more obvious than she'd thought... "Well, come in already!" The brunette laughed, easing her way past Dana into the apartment and surveying the modern art-like arrangement of boxes. "I see you started without me." "I do require food and sleep like a normal human being, Randi," she retorted. "If I waited for you, I would have had to fast." Randi chuckled. "That's not unheard of, Lion, even among us Protestants." The only response she got was an amused but disapproving glare that Dana had once reserved almost exclusively for her partner. The taller woman's face sobered again at this, a pensive look coming into in her eyes. "So, what brings you to St. Louis?" she asked quietly, seating herself on top of one of the boxes not marked 'Fragile.' Dana shrugged with enforced nonchalance. "The branch office needed someone in pathology, and..." She glanced up at her friend and gave her a weak smile. "...I needed a familiar face." "What happened?" Randi asked gently. The woman she had called 'Lion' laughed roughly, closing her eyes to fight the storm of emotions swirling beneath the cool exterior. But it didn't take long for the lioness's strength to give way in the face of the flood, letting a single tear escape down her cheek. "I guess you can say I finally found out what Mulder's priorities really were."
**FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.** "I'm not giving you any choice in the matter," Skinner informed him curtly, his eyes met Mulder's defiant ones with unbending authority. "You have enough disregard for the rules of this organization with a partner, there's no way in hell I'm going to turn you loose without one. And since Agent Scully has made the decision to transfer, you'll just have to learn to deal with someone else." The AD was tired, and didn't have the energy to humor the other man, let alone any desire to do so. The agent's eyes flashed. "I can handle it just fine by myself, sir." "Like hell you can. You would have been dead or blacklisted several times over now if it weren't for Agent Scully, and you know it." Mulder winced, but didn't deny the truth of the statement. Okay, so I'm being a little harsh with him. Frankly, right now I don't give a flying fig. He's been asking for it ever since he joined the Bureau--don't ask me how he passed the psych test. On a good day, Skinner respected the renegade agent, even liked him. And there had been more than one time when he'd been willing to put his own life on the line for this man and his partner. But this was not a good day, and for reasons Mulder refused to explain, that partner was no longer here. So, he felt perfectly justified in being a little irritable. "Agent Bethel is a talented young woman. Admittedly, she doesn't have Agent Scully's medical background, but considering the nature of your investigations, I imagine her computer expertise will also come in handy for you." Mulder scowled. If I wanted computer expertise, I'd hire one of the Lone Gunmen. "Are you listening to me?" "Yes, sir," he grumbled. "Good. Now get back down there and introduce yourself." Mulder turned towards the door. "And Agent Mulder...if I hear anything about you giving her any trouble, I will have your butt in a sling so fast you won't know what hit you." **FBI St. Louis Branch Office** "Agent Scully?" Dana turned at the sound of the voice behind her. "Yes." A tall man with short black hair and dark blue eyes approached her, holding out a hand in greeting. She noticed that he was wearing scrubs--apparently he'd been working on something when she'd come in. "Daniel McMillan. I've heard a lot about you." "Mostly good, I hope," she replied with a smile. He grinned. "Good enough to know we're lucky to have you. Welcome to St. Louis." "Thanks." "So, just out of curiosity, what made you decide to transfer out here?" Scully grimaced. Was everyone going to be asking her that? "My partner and I had a bit of a disagreement. Besides, I have a friend in the area who I hadn't seen in a couple of years." McMillan nodded. "Always nice to have a familiar face around. Here, let me show you around. Then you can get started right away. That is, if you want to." "I hadn't really decided yet." "Well, it's pretty much up to you, this being your first day here and all. I'm sure there's something else you probably have to do if you decide you don't want to dive in head first." He smiled, and Dana found herself returning it. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. She laughed silently to herself. Sure, Dana. So why were you so disappointed to learn that your office had windows? Pushing her doubts aside, she tried to concentrate on Daniel, who had already begun moving around the room, pointing out where the various instruments were stored. But try as she might, she couldn't help but wonder why it had never occured to her that straight pathology was bound to be boring compared to field work...especially field work on the X-Files.
**FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.** The young woman sitting at Scully's desk jumped to her feet as soon as Mulder came in. "Agent Mulder? I'm Erin Bethel, I've been assigned to work with you..." It took everything Mulder had in him to keep from pulling her out of that chair. It wasn't Scully's desk anymore--he had to remember that. And he had to remember that he had no one to blame for that but himself. But it certainly hadn't helped any that Scully had said virtually the same thing the first time she'd walked into the basement office. He grunted briefly in acknowledgement of the other agent's presence. The young woman standing before him couldn't be more than thirty, with honey-blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back in a neat french braid. He didn't notice what color her eyes were--he didn't want to look at them long enough to find out. Especially not if they were anything like Scully's blue-green ones... "I was wondering...sir...if you could perhaps fill me in a little on what exactly the work you do here is? I'm afraid I wasn't given much of a briefing..." She sounded embarrassed. Mulder laughed. "I'm not surprised. They probably didn't want to scare you off." "Sir?" "Don't call me sir. Call me..." He paused, uncertain of how to answer. Now, even more than before, he hated the sound of his first name, because it was the last thing Samantha had ever said to him before she died, and then she had been screaming for his help. But suddenly, he didn't want her to call him Mulder either. Because that would only make him think of Scully, and thinking about her hurt even more than thinking about Sam. But what did that leave? He laughed roughly. "Call me 'Spooky.'" She blinked, startled. "I was under the impression that you hated that nickname." "I do." He smiled sourly. "I've just gotten to hate my real name even more." Not really sure what to make of that remark, Erin Bethel said nothing. "So, you want a briefing, eh, Bethel?" "I would appreciate it, yes..." He saw her quickly bite off the 'sir' that would have ended that sentence. And he'd thought Scully was 'by-the-book.' Yep, this one's going to be loads of fun, Mulder groaned silently. His mouth turned up wryly at one corner. Let's see...where to begin? "Do you believe in the existence of Extraterrestrials, Agent Bethel?" **Dana Scully's Apartment** Dana Scully swore. Randi's head came up instantly, a frown in her eyes, and the redhead grimaced. "Sorry, Randi." The other woman shrugged. "It's okay--I've sort of gotten used to it lately, since most of the people I work with could care less what I believe." She grinned. "Literary agents and publishers--scary lot." Dana smiled wryly. "Too bad there's not an X-Files department any more, or you could report them." It was the first time she'd mentioned her former employment since she'd told Randi an abreviated version of her departure two days ago. Still, despite the weak attempt at humor, her voice was stony. The novelist let out a long breath. "Why do I get the feeling that rather flat attempt at a joke is connected to your...earlier remark?" "Probably because it is. I don't know, Randi...I just can't get him off my mind. I find myself wondering what he's doing now..." She sighed, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear and turning determinedly back to her dinner, poking at it with her chopsticks. The two friends had ordered out Chinese in memory of their college days. "That's only natural, Lion," Randi replied softly. "When you care about someone." Dana opened her mouth to spit back a sharp reply, but the look in her friend's eyes made her close it again with only a sigh. "That's what makes this so damn difficult...pardon the French." "Lion, you said yourself he was drunk--did it occur to you that he might not have meant what he said?" The other woman just looked at her. "You know me better than that, Randi." "Okay...so you considered it. But how seriously?" There was no answer. "You're right, Lion, I do know you pretty well. And one thing I remember pretty clearly about the Dana Scully I know is that she's really good at convincing herself that things couldn't possibly turn out the way she wants in hopes that she'll stop wanting them that way." There was still no response. "And I also remember our Lion being a stubborn little thing who had a hard time admitting when she was wrong, even if it hurt her most of all." Dana bristled. "Are you implying this is my fault, Randi?" Randi raised her hands in symbolic surrender. "I don't assign blame, remember?" "Only delegate responsibility..." the shorter woman murmured in response. "Yeah, I remember." "There is a difference." "Look, if you want to hear the whole story, go ask Mulder. I'm sure he could paint a pretty picture of the evening for you." There was a scathing bitterness in her tone. "I probably will, someday," Randi admitted. "But in the meantime, I'm trying to look out for you. I just want to make sure you aren't putting yourself through this..." "--hell," Scully interceded caustically. The other woman frowned. "Thank you for that edifying contribution. Now, as I was saying, I just want to make sure you're not putting yourself through this for nothing." "According to my ex-partner I am. Or was, rather. A big fat I-know-you-don't-like-the-word-I'm-thinking-of-ing nothing." When she finally lifted her eyes to meet Randi's again, there were tears threatening. "All I meant was that I don't think you're letting yourself be wrong about how much you do or don't mean to him. Because you're afraid of trying again and finding out you were right all along. You know you do that." Dana nodded. "I don't want to get hurt again," she admitted. Then her eyes hardened again. "But I gave him a chance to prove me wrong, damn it, Randi! I asked him straight out! But all he said was 'we all make mistakes.'" "That's why I think you're wrong, Lion. From what you told me about Fox and from what I saw when I visited you guys a couple of years ago, he has a pretty low self-esteem. Saying you made a mistake to choose to work with him could easily have had nothing at all to do with you." "But he didn't deny it," Dana pressed, her voice sounding fragile. "He didn't deny any of it." "Well, what would you have done if he had?" The agent was quiet for a few moments, staring at her hands. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."
********** **X-Files Office** What would she have done if I'd told her the truth? He was staring fixedly at a photograph on the desk, one of him and Scully together in a rare moment of peace. What if I'd told her I was in love with her? Would that have scared her off too? Closing his eyes against the pain of that contemplation, Mulder opened the top drawer of his desk and carefully slid the photograph into it. If he hadn't been so depressed, the thought might have made him laugh. His sensible, beautiful, skeptical partner. Ex-partner. If he tried hard enough, he could almost hear the words she would have spoken. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I never meant..." No. He couldn't have dealt with that. Maybe I did the right thing. She can have a normal life now...like what she deserves. He sighed audibly. Bethel's head came up. "Excuse me?" He chuckled under his breath. Unable to bring herself to employ the only possible name he'd left her with, Mulder's new partner had sort of dubbed him 'Excuse me' when she wanted his attention or to acknowledge him, and didn't call him anything the rest of the time. Which was fine with him--he didn't want to become close to another partner. Ever. "Nothing. Just...thinking." "Would it trouble you too much if I asked what about?" Once again, he could hear her clipping off right before the approaching 'sir.' He was tempted to just let her call him that, since it sat silently at the end of every sentence she spoke anyways. "Yes, it would." "Oh. Sorry..." Mulder slammed shut the book he had been reading with enough force to make Bethel jump a little in her seat. "Don't try to get into my head, Bethel, okay? Trust me, you won't like what you find there. Just keep your distance like a good little girl and no one gets hurt." If Scully had been there, she would have been surprised at the depth of bitterness in his voice, deeper even than anything evoked by his memories of Samantha. Bethel just stared at him, a bewildered, almost fearful expression on her face. She didn't know about Sam...anything about her, and as far as Mulder was concerned, she never would. God, I miss you, Scully. He closed his eyes, fighting the storm of emotions that had been taunting him ever since the last time he'd seen her. Taking a deep breath, he stood and strode across the room to where his coat hung. "Finish up that research and I'll take a look at it tomorrow," he ordered her brusquely. "Where are you going?" Straight to hell, where I belong. "Home." He slammed the door behind him.
If someone asked him now where he was going, he wouldn't have been able to answer. All he knew was that he needed to get away, to escape...even though he wasn't quite sure from what. He wasn't even sure if he was trying to escape from something, or to it. One hand tightened on the steering wheel and his foot pressed down harder on the gas. So what if he was speeding? Maybe if he drove fast enough, far enough, he could find her, and apologize... I'm sorry, Scully. I'm so, so sorry for being such an idiot, such a bastard... Without even knowing how he got there, he found himself pulling up to the familiar shape of her apartment building. A sharp pain shot through him as he recognized it, and his hand went automatically to his pocket, where the key she had never bothered to retrieve still hung with his own. Closing his eyes, Mulder clasped the piece of metal as tightly as he wanted to hold her hands, feeling every ridge and groove in the key with the somber knowledge that she had once held this...that it was probably the only piece of her he still had left, except for that photograph. Suddenly, he had to go in. He needed so badly to be close to her, and maybe...just maybe...there would be some clue she'd accidentally left behind, something to help him find her. What if she doesn't want to be found? a nagging corner of his mind asked him, but he pushed it aside and clambered out of the car. He reached the door to her apartment a few moments later, and his hands trembled as he slipped the key into the lock. Much to his relief, it turned and the door swung open. He closed his eyes, partly in silent thanks to the landlord for not changing the key, partly because he realized he didn't want to see the place vacant. He didn't want to have to face that she was really gone, that because of him she wouldn't be coming back...at least, not while he was still there. Finally, he forced himself to open them, to meet the horrible emptiness of the room. His eidetic memory could place every piece of furniture, every knick-knack, even where Amanda Randall's novel, _Sky Lights_ had sat unread on her best friend's bookshelf. His eyes searched almost desperately for something she might have left behind, some little piece of her that he could cling to, never mind that Scully's thoroughness and organization made that unlikely. But it was all gone. Because of him. He moved into the room, shutting the door softly behind him and stepping into the ray of sunlight that slipped through the curtainless window. As if on cue, a cloud passed between the sun and the window, throwing him into shadow. Closing his eyes again, Mulder sank to his knees in the middle of the room and buried his face in his hands. His emotional walls crumbled into dust like Jericho before Joshua's onslaught, and bitter, agonized sobs came heaving out of him, carrying a lifetime of pain that wouldn't let him go. Oh, Scully, I miss you so much. **St. Louis Branch Office** "Doctor Scully--" McMillan intercepted her as she entered the morgue with Randi close behind her. "I came as soon as I got the call," Scully interrupted, all business. "Where's the body?" "They just brought it in. Let me tell you, I've never seen anything like this." He sounded bewildered, and almost frightened. "Sorry to disturb you, but we've been asked to get the autopsy over with ASAP. Apparently, this appears on the surface to follow a particular MO, and if it does..." She nodded. "I understand. Just let me get suited up and I'll be right in." MacMillan nodded and disappeared. Dana turned back to her friend. "Are you sure you want to stick around, Randi? I know how squeamish you've always been." Randi shrugged with a forced smile. "I'll be fine, as long as I keep telling myself it's research for my next book." The redhead smiled wryly. "If you insist." A few moments later, the two women entered the room again both wearing blue scrubs. MacMillan approached them, gesturing behind him to the body bag on the gurney. "It's all yours. You sure she should be here?" He pointed to Randi. "Actually, I'm sure she shouldn't, but there's no arguing with some people," Scully responded with a smile. "What've we got?" "Caucasian female, early twenties, medium brown hair with what appears to be some artificial red highlighting. Can't tell you what color the eyes are because they aren't *there* any longer." Randi paled, but stoically said nothing and made no move to leave the room. "What about the prelim at the crime scene?" Scully asked. "Cause of death appears to be...well, she was ripped to shreds." The redhead raised one eyebrow. "Mauling?" "Not exactly...but something like it. Here..." He reached down to unzip the body bag. Scully's eyes widened in surprise. "My god..." "Yeah, that was my reaction too. I read a lot of books about famous unsolved crimes, Dr. Scully, but this is uncanny. If this is what I think it is, we've got one hell of a copycat on our hands." Scully only nodded mutely. She glanced up at her friend, who hadn't made any move to come close enough to see the body. "Randi, I don't think you want to be here for this, book or no book. I'll meet you outside when I'm done, okay?" Hearing the seriousness in Dana's voice, Randi only nodded, and turned to leave. Once she was gone, the agent turned back to the body with a deep sigh. "Well, let's get started...and hope to God whatever we find proves us wrong."
"Well, Randi, better get out your library card, we've got some serious research to do," Scully announced grimly as she came out of the pathology lab. "What did you find?" Randi asked. The redhaired agent closed her eyes. "Worst case scenario. We've got a copycat killer who's imitating Jack the Ripper. To a T, from the look of it." The other woman's face lost all color. "Oh my word." Scully chuckled caustically. "Y'know, Randi, even from you I was half-expecting something a little stronger." "Yeah, well don't think I didn't think it, which is just as bad," Randi grimaced. "I'm glad you chased me out." "Me too. Somehow I don't think it would have helped us to have you throw up all over the body." The writer tried to smile at the meager attempt to lighten the mood, but didn't succeed. "Well, I think the downtown library might still be open, if you want to head down there." Her friend nodded. "I don't think I'd be able to sleep if I didn't do something. It's not much, but it might help us get inside the killer's head--" She stopped, a distant look coming into her eyes. "Oh god..." Sensing what was wrong, Randi laid a comforting hand on Dana's shoulder. "You'll get him, Lion. I know you will." That wasn't the problem, but it was what she needed to hear. "You know what I'm afraid of, Randi? That this is going to turn out to be an X-File. Because if it does, that means it will be my fault if it isn't solved." "Your fault?" the other woman echoed, surprised. "Hold on a second--I think I missed something here. How is this your fault?" "Because if I hadn't left, there would still *be* an X-Files department at least! I could have stayed with it, let Mulder give up if he wanted, but at least someone would have been--" she stopped, her voice breaking. "Lion, you can't blame yoursel--" "Randi, don't try to placate me now, please, no matter how right you may think you are. You know it won't do any good." There were tears threatening to spill out of her blue-green eyes. Biting her lip, the other woman forced herself to accede to the agent's request. "All right. But why do you think this is going to end up as an X-File?" "Because I know exactly what Mulder would be theorizing right now if he were here..." she whispered, still far away. "He'd say that it's not a copycat. That because the Ripper was never caught, this could very well be him, regardless of the fact that the original case was over a hundred years ago..." She trembled, closing her eyes as if fighting the memories, the certainty. "Just like with Tooms." Randi watched the struggle in her friend's face, the battle between what she had always clung to and what her one-time partner had taught her to question. There was no way Dana would have voiced that possibility unless, in some corner of her mind that she wouldn't acknowledge, she was considering it herself. It was as if Mulder's outrageousness had kept his partner anchored as much as her logic had done so for him. Now that she had worked with him and seen so much that her science couldn't completely explain, without him to offer the impossible but plausible alternatives for her to counter, she couldn't help but think of them herself. And that scared her to death. The writer touched her friend's arm. "Are you sure you won't be able to sleep?" she asked softly. "Because I honestly don't think you're up to this tonight." There was a moment of silence. "Let me just get the books. I promise I won't read them, but I just want to feel like I'm making *some* progress..." Randi nodded. "All right." **Amanda Randall's apartment** Randi turned over in bed, her eyes staring into the darkness. I hope Dana's getting more sleep than I am...though I doubt it, she thought with a crooked smile. Sighing, she turned over again, this time wrapping her arms tightly around her pillow. There's something she's not telling me about the fight they had, she thought frustrated. Something she's...protecting him from, I think. But what? She didn't know. But she did know that this case was going to tear her friend apart emotionally, and the reason had nothing to do with Jack the Ripper. Dana said that Mulder had just given up on The X-Files, that he'd decided their work had been for nothing. But she hadn't given a reason why, and Randi just couldn't picture the man she'd met letting go of his passion. It had been too much a part of him, just as Dana herself had been. How could he have let them both go? I think I need to talk to Fox, she decided, her mouth hardening in determination. If I can find him... Convinced that her restlessness was not going to go away until she had made some effort to find out what was really going on, and thus have a better chance of being some help to her friend who desperately needed it, Randi reached for the phone and dialed a number she had once memorized as a joke. "Hello?" a sleepy male voice answered. "Am I speaking with FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner?" "Yes, and this better not be a prank." There was a note of warning in his voice. "No, it's not. I'm sorry for calling at this hour, but it's a rather urgent matter. Can you give me the whereabouts of Special Agent Fox Mulder?" Now the AD sounded suspicious. "Why?" "My name's Amanda Randall...you may have heard of me." "The novelist?" "Yes...I was hoping to interview him for my new book." "At two thirty in the morning?" "No...I've tried calling before, but haven't been able to get ahold of anyone. I guess I figured you'd be sure to be home at this time of night." Skinner harumphed. "Why should I believe you?" "Do you own any of my books, sir?" "Yes..." "Sky Lights?" "M-hmm. No offense meant, but I'm not quite sure why on earth I bought it. Haven't read it." She smiled. "Read the dedication, and the first paragraph of the Introduction." He muttered something indistinct under his breath, then..."Hold on a second, let me go find it." There was the sound of shuffling as he carried what was apparently a cordless phone into another room. She heard the lock click on a bookcase and a few moments later, paper rustling. Then there was silence. "I see," he finally said, his voice thoughtful and a touch less suspicious. "I'm trying to do a favor for a friend," Randi said softly. "One that she's too stubborn to do for herself, or even allow herself to want done." She found herself practically holding her breath waiting for a response. "What do you want to know?" "Is Fox Mulder still with the Bureau?" "Yes." "What division?" "Same one he's been with for the past six years. X-Files." Randi caught her breath. Dana *was* wrong--he hadn't given up after all. "Thank you." "Good luck, Ms. Randall." She hung up and sat staring at the phone for a minute. Much as Dana needed her right now, this was something she had to do, something that she knew her friend would someday understand, even if not right away. She could call her mother later and ask her to keep an eye on the agent until she got back... Reached for the phone again, she dialed a different familiar number. "Gary? You know that book tour in the Baltimore/D.C. area for this week that I told you earlier today I wanted you to cancel?...Well, did you cancel it yet?...Good--don't bother."
**FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.** There was a knock on the door. Mulder swore, wishing Bethel weren't so damned polite all the time. "Come in," he called curtly. The door opened and a woman stepped through, but not his new partner. Mulder's face softened in recognition. "Randi..." "Hey, Fox." "Um...I don't really know how to say this, but Scully's not here anymore..." He looked uncomfortable...downright miserable, in fact. "I know." His head snapped up at this. "You've seen her?" "She called me," Randi replied evasively, seating herself on the edge of the desk that had once belonged to her friend. "So...then what are you doing here?" "I came to talk to you," she replied simply. "Why?" "Because, as dear of a friend as Dana is to me, I know she didn't tell me the whole story. I want to know what happened between you two...from your viewpoint." Laughing nervously, Mulder ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand up on end. His viewpoint. Trust Randi to want a balanced view of things, even if it meant spending a few hundred dollars on a plane ticket to D.C. Too bad he didn't think he could give her one--his own view of the situation probably made him look worse than Scully's did. "Can this wait long enough for me to run upstairs and see if the pizza's arrived yet? I think I have enough to share..." Even though she could tell he was putting off the question, Randi nodded. "Thanks..." He stood, glancing back at her with a half-smile. "I'll be right back." While he was gone, she bent down to pick up an envelope that she'd noticed had fallen off his desk onto the floor. Some things never change, she reflected with a smile. Curious, she flipped the envelope over in her hands...and froze at the sight of the name on it. Dana Scully. He wrote her a letter... Apparently it had been written fairly soon after their fight, because his already near-indecipherable handwriting was shaky. Fighting the temptation to open the letter and read it, Randi balanced the envelope in her hands for a minute, remembering another conversation she'd had with her friend... ("What if you are wrong, Lion? What if he does care about you? What if he wants to make it up to you, but can't because you're too afraid to give him a second chance?") ("If that's true...then for once in my life, I wish I didn't always need proof. But I do, Randi. And that's going to be awfully hard to change.") Proof. She slipped the letter into the pocket of her coat. A few moments later, Mulder reappeared with a steaming cardboard box in his hands. "Hope you like mushrooms." "Love 'em." He balanced the box carefully atop a wavering stack of papers on his desk, and propped it open. Reaching in, he carefully separated one slice from the rest and passed it to Randi on a paper napkin that had come with the box. He then helped himself to another piece and they ate quietly, without conversation. When Randi had finished, she brushed her hands lightly off on her pants, and tilted her head towards him. "Well?" He laughed dryly, dropping the crust of his own piece back into the box. "What can I say? I was drunk, I acted like an idiot, and I lost the best friend I'd ever had because of it. That's about all there is to tell." "No, it's not," was the soft reply. There was a moment of awkwardness, but finally Mulder nodded and slowly related the evening to her in detail, summoning each painful memory, each hurtful word, out of the eidetic memory he had cursed all his life, but never so much as in the past eleven days. "Do you realize she thinks you never cared about her?" Randi asked quietly after he had finished. "That you were just stringing her along to use as--" "--a damned sounding board. Yeah. She told me that night...or rather, she asked me to tell her otherwise." His voice was soft but bitter with self-recrimination. "And I couldn't do it...even though it was true." "You hurt her," Randi chided softly. "I know," was the quiet reply. "And I've been beating myself up over it ever since." There was a long awkward silence as the two sat staring at the floor of the basement office. "You know what your problem is, Fox?" she finally asked. He laughed harshly. "I'm a selfish, insensitive bastard who doesn't care about anyone but himself?" "No, I'm asking seriously," Randi pressed. "You're hurting awfully bad about something, and it can't just be Dana or this whole mess would never have happened. Who's this Samantha person you were talking about?" The agent was silent for a moment. "She didn't tell you about that part?" "No. Dana would never violate a friend's confidence." "Even after I...said all those things to her?" "Even then." "Oh." Taking a deep breath, Mulder began to tell Randi about his sister, from the night she had disappeared from their childhood home to the day the DNA tests had confirmed the identity of the skeleton found on Martha's Vinyard. When he had finished, he glanced up at her with a weak smile. "Fox, can I offer you some advice?" she asked. He nodded. "Get into counseling for this. You've obviously never dealt with it, and until you do, it's going to affect every other relationship you ever have. I want to see you and Dana reconcile someday--I think you two could really make each other happy--but if you don't find a way to put this behind you, you're just going to end up hurting her again. And I don't think you want to see that happen any more than I do." "You sound like you're talking from experience." "I am. I was adopted when I was ten, after my foster parents found me wandering around in the parking lot of their church. I can't remember a moment of my life before that, but it must have been traumatic because I didn't even speak for a year. I've been in counseling since I was twelve, and even though I've never gotten my memory back, I've been able to put that part of my life behind me. I hope I do remember someday, so I can fully complete the healing process, but I've accepted the fact that I may not, and I've moved beyond that as well." She smiled. "I know I'll probably never be completely healed, but at least I have some outlet for my frustrations that doesn't cause pain for the people I love." Mulder chuckled caustically. "You'd think I would know that--I have a psych degree, after all." "Well, have you ever heard the saying, 'Doctors make the worst patients'?" He nodded. "That would certainly explain Freud." Randi grinned in response, then sobered again. "But will you do that, please? If not for yourself, then for Dana?" Mulder hesitated a moment, but finally nodded. "Thanks, Randi." "Glad I could help. And thank you for the pizza." She stood to leave. "Oh, Fox..." "Yeah?" She handed him a little slip of paper. "There's the number for my hotel. I'll be in town for a few more days, if you need to talk to anyone." He nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." A moment after she had closed the door behind her, his computer beeped, letting him know he had new e-mail. Mulder squinted at it, his eyes then widening as he recognized the return address as that of the Lone Gunmen. Curious, he moved the mouse up to the 'read' button and clicked it. The message which appeared on the screen made his eyes widen even more. It was the headline article of a Chicago tabloid: "STRING OF MURDERS IN ST. LOUIS LINKED TO JACK THE RIPPER."
FIN |
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