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SPOILERS for "Paper Hearts" in this part, and for it, "Pusher" and "Revelations" in part 2. Disclaimers: Forgive me, O Wise Carter, for having the audacity to borrow and manipulate these characters of thine. I do hereby promise one day to return them to thy care, and not to profit from their use. (Can you tell I'm feeling rather sarcastic? :)) I think I'll dedicate my life to never writing the same disclaimer twice. How does that sound? ;) Anyway...categorization on this one. DEFINITE MSR, although not with a happy ending. (That's the FOURTH story in the series.) I've been told by my beta-readers that this also has a healthy dose of Mulder-angst, so I'll include that too. :) SUMMARY: An unexpected and horrible discovery in an abandoned lot on Martha's Vinyard drives Mulder over the edge, and succeeds in the unthinkable--destroying his partnership with Scully. "Schism: Division" **June 10, 1998** "Agent Mulder." Mulder paused in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable. He was balanced on the balls of his feet as if preparing to run at the slightest disturbance. That in itself was unsettling, for though Fox Mulder was many things, he wasn't, and had never been, a nervous man. "What happened between you two?" Skinner asked in disbelief, waving the paper in his hands in the general direction of the agent. "I got a message this morning that Agent Scully called to say her request for a transfer is in the mail, and I should receive it in a couple of days." Mulder closed his eyes tightly, a pained expression crossing his face and a shudder passing through him. What happened... Why did he have to ask? "We...we had a fight." "You fight all the time," Skinner replied crisply, his eyes sharp and angry. "That doesn't explain why I've just lost one of my best agents to some damned field office. I know you two too well." Don't ask. Please don't ask. I just want to forget. "Agent Mulder, I asked you a question." There was no response, only a deepening of the shadow in Mulder's eyes. Oh, God, Scully, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. "Mulder!" The agent's head came up abruptly and he met Skinner's eyes with that same defiant sadness that had lingered there, beneath the surface, since he was twelve years old, but never as overtly or as powerfully as now. "Forgive me, sir," Mulder replied fiercely, "but that is none of your damn business!" Without another word, he turned sharply and strode out of the Assistant Director's office, leaving a very bewildered Walter Skinner watching him go. ***** A few moments later, Mulder stepped for the first time into the basement office he had been avoiding all day because of what--or who--he had sensed with a grim finality he wouldn't find there. Sure enough, the first thing he saw as he entered the office was the contents of Scully's desk arranged neatly on top of it in a single cardboard box. For a minute, he just stood in the doorway, his miserable eyes fixed intently on the box as if trying to memorize its contents. Then, he sank wearily into the chair at his own desk, buried his head in his arms and began to sob bitterly. I'm sorry, Scully. I am so, so sorry! **June 3, 1998** With the usual sullen silence of anticipating an assignment they wouldn't like, Agents Mulder and Scully entered Skinner's office and sat down across the desk from him. The look of hesitation and discomfort on his face only increased their apprehension, and they watched in silence as he drew a file folder out of his desk drawer. "There's been a body discovered. A skeleton, actually. Up on Martha's Vinyard." He hesitated, his eyes drifting to Mulder, then sighed deeply. "They think it's your sister." The reaction of the two agents was almost involuntary. Mulder's face turned white as a sheet and Scully's hand that was closest to him rested lightly on his arm. "Oh, God," Mulder whispered. No. That can't be. Sam's still alive. She has to be! "Why do they think that?" Scully asked on behalf of her partner. With another uneasy sigh, Skinner pushed the file across the desk to them. "The body is that of an eight to ten year old female, and the condition of the bones indicate that they have been in the location where they were found for over twenty years. It's a remote site, and until someone bought the property recently to build on, no one had been there in years." Mulder for once was silent, his mind refusing to believe Skinner's words. Scully voiced the question he couldn't. "Then how did they determine the body's identity?" Skinner turned a page in the file to a photograph which showed the skeleton's arm. Half-buried in the mud around its wrist was a metal bracelet, an ID bracelet. What was visible was a mud-encrusted etching of a rose. "The name on the bracelet was Samantha Mulder." A bracelet. It seemed like such a slim thing to pin an identification on, but Mulder's next chilling words confirmed the awful possibility. "She was wearing it that night. Mom and Dad never let her wear jewelry to bed, but she knew she could always get me to say yes..." His voice broke before he could finish the sentence. Skinner sighed again. "I've arranged for the two of you to fly up to Boston this afternoon. Agent Scully, I've already made the necessary arrangements for you to speak with the local coroner." He fixed his eyes on the other agent, frowning sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder. I know how much you wanted to find her alive." Mulder stood abruptly and left the office. Scully rose to follow him, throwing a hesitant glance in the direction of her superior. He nodded. "Go ahead." He watched as the red-haired agent disappeared in the direction of her partner, then whispered softly, "He needs you right now." ***** "Mulder!" Scully called after him, her voice filled with concern. Almost reluctantly he slowed his frantic flight to allow her to catch up with him. "It's not her," he insisted desperately. "Mulder, I hate to say this, but you have to consider the possibility--" "It's NOT her," he repeated, even more firmly. "All right, it's not her..." Scully relented with a soft smile, placing one hand on his arm in hopes that it would provide some measure of comfort. She hesitated before speaking again, hating the words she had to say, but a sick presentiment telling her she had to know. "But what would you do if it was?" Mulder let his eyes meet hers for a moment, as if searching out her motives for asking. Then he replied as earnestly as she'd ever heard him speak in his life, sending a chill deeper than the Antarctic through her. "I'd kill myself." **Martha's Vinyard, later that day...** Mulder had been deathly silent ever since they'd stepped off the plane in Boston, and he didn't speak even now, as Scully pulled their rental car into the parking lot of the Martha's Vineyard police station. A sharp pang went through her heart as he shifted slightly in the seat beside her, his face a mixture of hope and despair, and all of it overshadowed by the exhaustion of one too many sleepless nights, one too many dark hours fighting hopelessness, and losing. Without even realizing it, his partner sent up a silent prayer that the thin strands of hope he was still clinging to wouldn't be broken today. With a deep sigh, she put on the brake and turned off the engine, glancing over at his still figure. "Mulder, we're here," she told him gently. He didn't speak, but one hand fumbled reluctantly with his seatbelt. A little reassured, Scully unfastened her own belt and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind her with a soft thud. She waited until he too had emerged before circling the vehicle and heading in the direction of the station. ***** All activity ceased for a moment as they entered, and a few questioning looks passed back and forth between some uniformed officers. Scully noticed a sad smile steal over the face of another, and wondered, not without reason, how many people here already knew her partner. Like many small communities, Martha's Vineyard kept pretty much to itself, and though some did leave the island, most of them eventually returned. A plainclothesman approached them, his eyes wary. "Can I help you?" Smiling as much as she was able, Scully drew her badge out of her pocket. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. We're here about...the body." She had to fight not to choke on those last words. A look of sudden sympathy entered the other man's eyes. "Detective Bill Farnsworth." He held out his hand in greeting, which the two agents shook in turn, both rather unenthusiastically. The detective's eyes met Mulder's. "Agent Mulder," he commented softly, with a weak smile. "I'm sorry, sir. I hope for your sake this turns out not to be your sister." Mulder nodded only the slightest bit, but Scully could tell he was grateful. Farnsworth turned back to her. "The Assistant Director said you would be wanting to speak with the coroner assigned to the case?" She nodded. "Then if you'll come with me, he's working right now..." He glanced hesitantly back in Mulder's direction, not quite sure how to handle the awkwardness his presence invoked under the circumstances. A weak, but wry smile crept over the morose agent's face, causing his partner to breathe a deep sighof relief. "I could use a cup of coffee," he commented, trying unsuccessfully to sound light. Nodding, Farnsworth turned to one of the uniformed officers behind the desk. "Myers?" Myers nodded, approaching Mulder to point him in the direction of the lounge. Scully shot one last glance in her partner's direction, then turned to follow the detective to the morgue. **Two days later...** Oh, God, no. Scully reread the report in her hands, her heart slowly sinking as she did so. This has to be a mistake. Two days had passed since they arrived on Martha's Vinyard, and Mulder had passed the time finding as many reasons as he could to bolster his hope that the skeleton was not that of his sister. Test results which were inconclusive, newspaper articles recounting disappearances of young girls anywhere near the island or within the time frame set for the girl's death, anything that could be found to make it seem less likely to be her had been found. By now, he was almost back to his old self--strange as it may seem, comforted by the thought that his sister most likely remained completely unaccounted for. And what she now held in her hands could bring that all crashing down. Since there was no previous sample of Samantha's DNA available to compare the body's with--at least none that they had access to--blood samples had been taken from Mulder instead. Several key factors had been selected for comparison, including one vital trait that is always passed directly from mother to child (the trait that had finally proven Anna Anderson *not* to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia). The fax which Scully now held in her hands was the result of those tests, conclusively proving that the skeleton was indeed *very* closely related to Special Agent Fox William Mulder. There was no doubt that it had to bethe body of his sister. "Morning, Scully." The sound of Mulder's almost-chipper voice brought his partner one step closer to tears. How could she give him this news now, when he was probably more unburdened than she had ever seen him before? "Did the test results come in?" Scully nodded silently, glad she was turned away from him so he couldn't see the look on her face. She closed her eyes, bracing herself against the awful task she held in her hands. White-faced and still fighting tears, she turned to him, holding out the papers in a trembling hand. Before he even took the report from her, she could tell that he had read the results in her eyes. The smile faded and his face turned chalky. "It's...it's her?" he managed to croak out, his voice weak. Scully couldn't bring herself to say yes. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered, her own voice breaking. The next thing she knew he had collapsed into a chair and she was holding him just as she had two years ago, when Roche had come so close to convincing him that Samantha was just another one of his 'paper hearts.' But this time, she didn't walk away to give him time alone, instead cradling his head against her heart until the tears broke down the wall and came flooding out. ********** **Back in Washington, June 9** "Mulder, are you all right?" Lifting his head to give her a half-hearted smile, Mulder nodded wearily. "I'll be fine...as soon as I get home." Scully wasn't convinced. If nothing else, experience and the strangely defeated tone in his voice told her that this was affecting him deeply. She wished he had taken the time off that Skinner had offered him, but true to form, Mulder had insisted on returning to DC and to work as soon as the funeral was over. He'd stayed one extra day to make sure his mother was going to be all right, but after that, nothing could hold him to the island he hated even more now that he knew it had also been the site of his sister's death. Frowning, she pulled the car slowly to a stop at the traffic light. She'd promised to drop Mulder off at his apartment on her way home, but once again she was questioning the wisdom of that promise. She knew him too well to expect him to grieve normally. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" she asked, turning to look at him, her voice still clearly showing her concern. He shook his head without looking up. "I'll be fine. I just...need some time to myself." "All right," she agreed reluctantly. The light changed and she pulled into the intersection, turning that last corner onto his street and pulling into the parking lot of his building. With a softly muttered "Thank you," Mulder unfastened his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, flashing her a half-smile she knew was meant to reassure her before closing the door. "See you tomorrow." "Just one thing, Mulder..." "Yeah?" "If you need to talk to anyone....I'll be home all day." He smiled genuinely this time, though still sadly. "Thanks, Scully." Mulder turned and disappeared into the building. Resisting the temptation to follow him, Scully pulled out onto the street and turned towards home, her heart crying for the partner who had no tears left to shed for himself. ***** "Damn it, Mulder, pick up. I know you're there," Scully spoke sharply into her partner's answering machine. There was no response but the concluding beep of the tape, and she swore again. I should never have left him alone. The unease she'd felt earlier had grown steadily more intense and she scolded herself for honoring Mulder's request to give him some time alone, important as she knew it had been to him. She was certain he was home, but he wasn't answering his phone and every passing second was putting her more on edge. Especially since this was the third time she'd called his apartment in the past hour and gotten no answer. Unbidden, the words they'd spoken almost a week ago swam into her mind: ("It's not her.") ("Mulder, I hate to say this, but you have to consider the possibility--") ("It's NOT her.") ("All right, it's not her...But what would you do if it were?") ("I'd kill myself.") Cursing herself silently for letting him out of her sight, Scully stood and reached for her keys, praying she wasn't too late. ***** "Mulder?" It took a moment for the sound of his partner's voice to register in Mulder's Tequila-fogged brain. The bottle was only half empty, but already he felt like he was standing knee-deep in quicksand in the middle of a swamp, and the shiny black gun on the table before him was beginning to look more appealing by the moment. When he didn't respond, Scully's knocking grew louder, more insistent. Ignoring it, he took another long swig of the bottle's contents and stared fixedly at his gun. With a sort of hypnotic fascination, he picked it up, cocked it, and pointed it straight at his mouth. He stared down the barrel in detached amusement, as if watching some twisted black comedy instead of his own impending death. The door rattled. "Mulder!" He laughed giddily, still staring at the gun. He was still laughing when his frantic partner blasted the lock with her own weapon and burst into the room. She took one look at him and the color drained from her face. "Mulder, what are you doing? Put that down!" "I am relieving this God-forsaken world of one more worthless life," he managed to slur out through the effects of the alchohol. A chill went through the red-haired woman watching him. "Mulder, your life isn't worthless." "Scully...my life's quest..." He rose unsteadily to his feet. "...has been oblith-oblig-obliterated..." Here Mulder paused again to take another drink. "...by a twenty-five year old bag of bones." "Only if you let it be," she replied decisively. "Only if I let it be?" He laughed, the sound made almost maniacal by periodic hiccuping. "I suppose if I just wish hard enough, she'll come back to life, huh? Like one of those 'miracles' of yours?" "That's not what I meant--" "Now that's something that always struck me as kind of fun-*hic*...funny," he continued derisively, leering over her like a drunken psychopath instead of her brilliant-but-slightly-eccentric partner. "Doctor Scully, worshipper of science, believes in miracles, something that's a little too out there even for gullible ole 'Spooky.' Well, where's my miracle, Sister Scully?" He leaned in close to her and waved the gun carelessly towards the far corner of the room. Scully took a step back, holding her breath against the smell of the alchohol on his. "Well, I"m waiting," he taunted, his words surprisingly clear for the state he was in. "Pray your little prayer and make her appear right there. Or do you need to be actually touching the bones at the time?" He was rapidly descending into a drunken rage, and he still hadn't put down the gun. "That's not what I meant, and you know it!" Scully finally managed to get in, her own voice sharpening as the result of his continued taunting. Even though their beliefs differed, neither of them had ever stooped to ridiculing the other, and the fact that Mulder was doing so now hurt more than she was willing to admit. "Then what did you mean?" he continued. "Oh, I know...I should profile her killer, shouldn't I? I think I already did--it must have been Roche after all, I guess. Too bad the bastard's already dead, or I'd kill him." He went to take another drink, but upon realizing the bottle was empty, hurled it with all the force of his anger against the wall. Scully jumped a little as it shattered. "Mulder, just put the gun down, please--" "Why'd you do it, huh?" he spun back to her, his eyes burning, the barrel of the weapon suddenly pointed at her. Scully faced him with forced calm, her eyes seeing the memory of another time when he had drawn a gun on her because he'd lost control of his own actions, a time when he had fought to regain that control just long enough to save her life. He could do it again--she believed in him. "What are you talking about?" "Why'd you stop me from believing him? Why'd you let me keep hoping she might still be alive?" "Because it wasn't true--" "Funny that you can be so sure of that when you never believed what I told you--that she was abducted by aliens. Well, you were right. Are you happy now?" His bitter words cut deep into his partner's heart. With eyes close to tearing, Scully watched Mulder throw himself down on his couch as carelessly as he might have thrown a dishtowel over his shoulder. Thankfully, he also dropped the still-cocked gun onto the table. Gingerly, Scully picked the weapon up, released the hammer without firing, and dropped it quietly into her purse before speaking. "No, Mulder, I'm not. You know that." "Why should I believe that? Isn't that the whole reason you tagged along with me all these years? So you could gloat when I turned out to be wrong?" "Mulder--" "Well, Scully, there's your prize. I admit it--I did it all for nothing. I chased shadows for twenty-six years while Samantha was rotting in that mud. God, how could I have been so stupid?" Scully was in tears. "Damn you, Mulder. How dare you say the work we've done is all for nothing just because one of your answers didn't turn out to be the one you wanted!! How can you just throw everything away??" Mulder spun to face her, his eyes wild with anger. "What the hell do you want me to say, Scully? That Sam doesn't matter? That the X-Files mean more to me than she did?" "No! Only that she isn't the *only* thing that matters to you! That when you told me you wanted to find the truth, you weren't lying to me!" The tears were flowing freely now, but Mulder's only reaction was a dispassionate stare. That on top of the verbal attacks he had been spitting at her since she walked through the door was too much, and Scully met anger with anger. "I want you to tell me that Melissa didn't die for nothing, damn it! That I haven't been wasting my life down here because I believed in you, and our work! That believing in you wasn't a mistake! And maybe that I mean a little more to you than just a damned sounding board!" For a long while, there was no response, then... Mulder's lip curled a little, derisively. "We all make mistakes, Scully." Scully was silent for a moment, stunned at his dismissal. "Damn you, Fox," she finally whispered. "I gave up everything for you." I loved you. "I thought that meant something."But she couldn't speak the rest of that thought. Not when Mulder had made it very clear that he never cared for her, throwing away the friendship she had cherished so much as though it were a week-old banana peel that only made him stumble. When he still didn't respond, she turned to the door, biting back tears but with eyes gone suddenly cold. "I swear, I will *never* make that mistake again."
Her words from last night echoed in his ears, mercilessly clear when they should have been erased by his own drunkenness. ("I want you to tell me that Melissa didn't die for nothing, damn it! That I haven't been wasting my life down here because I believed in you, and our work! That believing in you wasn't a mistake! And maybe that I mean a little more to you thanjust a damned sounding board!") And he couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her that she meant more to him than anything...that she was the only thing that made his life bearable. That the one thing he'd feared more than Samantha's death was that she would leave him, leave the X-Files, because the answer to that initial question had been found. And because he'd been afraid to tell her those fears, he'd made them all come true. A year and a half ago, he'd been given a vision of how their lives could have turned out, in the future. He'd thought nothing could change that, nothing destroy it, even though he'd set out to change his more immediate future because of that experience. And because of that, he'd let his own selfishness drive her away. He turned his head a little, watching the pen he'd been gripping tightly in his hand without even realizing it. He had to tell her. Even if she never heard the words, he had to say them. He had a promise to make...and to keep. Still numb, he reached into his desk drawer for a blank piece of paper. June 10, 1998 FIN |
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