******* Part 6/? ------------ "Casy said in wonder, 'All night long, an' she was alone.' And he said, 'John, there's a woman so great with love--she scares me. Makes me afraid an' mean.' John asked, 'Was it a sin? Is there any part of it you might call a sin?' Casy turned on him in astonishment, 'A sin? No, there ain't no part of it that's a sin." John Steinbeck: The Grapes of Wrath ----------- When Krycek first saw the blood on the metal door and the body on the floor, it reminded him of a particularly obscene piece of modern art he had seen once in a small gallery in New York in the late eighties. The blood of the guard's body was bright and it's design pretentious...the masterpiece of the ultimate egotist. Krycek had only known one man who had taken such lengths when arranging his kills, only one man whose vanity demanded his work be admired as art. Robert's face was bone white, his eyes expressionless as he walked into room, and Krycek followed him into the room with his eyes, although for some reason his body physically did not follow. He tried to prepare himself for the way Mulder's body would look...he had seen many after all. But he couldn't enter that room...he could stand the blood, he could stand the stillness of the limbs...but he could not endure the blankness of those famous eyes. Not today. It was a good effort, Mulder, he thought. It had been a spectacle, a show, an extravaganza. But it had never been dull. He had expected more somehow though...okay. He had always hoped for more. In spite of himself. He waited a moment to allow himself to reconcile this new fact. To accommodate to it. To Mulder's death. Perhaps a moment is optimistic, he thought with unexpected humor. Robert appeared from the room with a strange expression on his face. "I think we're screwed." Krycek blinked. How inelegant. How un-Robert. He handed him the a small object made of paper, a filter and tobacco leaves. A cigarette butt. "The body?" He asked. Robert looked at him, confused, and glanced at the dead guard. He gazed at Krycek skeptically. "I don't think he made it, Krycek." Smart-ass. "No, I *meant*--" And then the implication of what Robert had said traveled slowly around his brain. Apparently his moment to contemplate his own brave new world had been unnecessary. He turned the cigarette around in his fingers. "Hard to play the game when they take away the most important piece," Robert said sourly, looking particularly grim. "Did he know? Who he was?" The doctor considered that for a moment. "He knew his name...he knew some basic facts I supplied. He knew enough not to trust anyone." "Then he knew enough," Krycek said quietly. ------------- It had begun to rain, not long after the wind picked up. Scully shivered and wrapped her arms around her body, staring at that dark, unreadable sky. Wondering for a second if she could ever remember it being so dark and desolate before. Byers appeared to be just as miserable. They had failed to come up with a good plan. Or any plan. As of now they were waiting on Langly and Frohike, hoping their expertise would crack wide open a plan of operation. An impregnable fortress, indeed. Only Sam Doyle didn't seem effected by the weather. Or the hopelessness of it. His calm eyes held hers steadily, shining with trust and encouragement. He seemed to have a simple faith in the ability of both Scully and Byers. It scared her. She couldn't remember such simple faith, the faith of an innocent child. When she first heard the engines, she was unable to comprehend the sound. Her body rejected hearing, her mind slammed shut to its import. The sound of a jeep engine --(years on military bases had taught her well) of more than one jeep engine was treated as a back round stimulus. As something that could not be processed when her senses were so full--so damaged. Byers looked shocked, his face a pasty white, his hands carefully still at his sides. They sat there without breathing, the ground itself rumbling with the announcement of others. Scully ducked her head, wishing she could cover her hair and concentrated on breathing. //Hail Mary, full of grace// They sat there waiting...listening as the sounds increased in volume and somehow in velocity. Or was that their heart beats? Scully knew it was true of her own. And in the middle of this Sam looked calm. He squeezed Byers on the shoulder and somehow Byers managed a sickly smile back. He smiled kindly at Scully and pushed a wet strand of hair off her forehead. And then she allowed him to envelop her in a hug, closing her eyes tightly as he carefully maneuvered her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing in the painful beats in her head and blocking out all other sounds. He held her a moment, tender and tight, the way her father would have when she was little, her arms pressed awkwardly, caught between their chests. She felt him kiss the crown of her head and lift her face to his, his hand under her chin. His dark eyes caught hers and for a second she knew the true meaning of the word grace. "You find him, Scully. Take him home. And don't ever look back." He let her go then. Her arms were empty suddenly and she almost fell to the ground, the loss of his support--in every sense of the word--unimaginably painful. He walked then. A sacrificed man walking. Out of the clearing, past Byers, past a line of trees. Toward whatever awaited out there. Toward the unfathomable. In less than 15 seconds he was gone. No. She felt it weakly. The word itself. Across her body, it traveled..through bone and blood until it reached the heart. It never even approached the mind. No. No. *NO*. A silent scream rose from her chest....she sank weakly to the ground, a dry sob ripping from her throat. She was struggling to run after him--to move *dammit* she thought of herself....get this mortal coil in gear, for fuck's sake, when Byers grabbed her from behind and put his hand over her mouth--hard enough to bruise. "Don't you dare," He hissed dangerously. "Don't you *fucking* dare." She wanted to struggle, but the pain in her chest flared suddenly and she couldn't move. "Don't ruin this, Scully. Don't even fucking think about invalidating what he just did." She held still, although Byers' hand on her mouth and his arm around her waist convulsed painfully when they heard the sounds of shouting (and even though it was impossible she knew she could hear the sounds of guns being raised). Her eyes closed again and she waited. "Hands up! Don't move!" Sam's voice floated across the clearing, across the entire universe. "I'm sorry...I thought this was Colonial Williamsburg. Perhaps you gents could show me the way?" The thud they heard, the one that made Scully flinch as a tear slid down her cheek, was the painful sound of a man's body being slammed against the hood of a military jeep. It was a sound she had heard before (how could she not have, what with being Mulder's partner?) but tonight the hollowness of it, its frankness made her body vibrate with pain. They heard him say loudly (for their benefit, Scully thought. All for them. All for Mulder.) although with a painfully forced note, "Perhaps you guys are right. Italy *is* lovely this time of year." A few seconds later the only sound was the jeeps as they withdrew from the forest. Leaving Scully and Byers in the dark, wet, alone and free. To imagine what would follow. And to pray. ----------------- Byers cried a little when he saw the bright red marks on her face, courtesy of his own hands. The rain was hard enough so you couldn't quite be certain, yet she knew. Oh, he turned away so she wouldn't see, but she knew that he was hiding the shame and fear he felt...poor Byers. Such a nonviolent man, only driven to violence to protect the great gift that had been given to them. Scully forcibly, *calmly* put all thoughts about the good doctor away in a small box she kept in the many drawers of her mind. Next to the fear and rage she felt when she accidentally touched her neck and felt that cold metal in the tissue. Next to the image of a small white coffin. Next to the possibility of living the rest of her life without Mulder. "I'm sorry," Byers whispered, his back facing her, shaking slightly. "You did the right thing, Byers." And he had. So. Yes, he *had* treated her like an hysterical woman, but that was because (with shame and fury she had to admit) she had *acted* like an hysterical woman. So, yes he had done the correct thing. But it hadn't been what Mulder would have done. Ever. Above all she was an equal to him, above even her sex ...and his own. (She knew it was just an accident of fate she was a woman, just a fortuitous coincidence. He would have loved her no matter what; *that* she was a woman just made life a little easier for him.) Mulder lived by the credo "To thine own self, be true." Mulder would have let Scully ruin it, had he been the one by her side. He would have let her destroy lives--more than *one* life--had her conscience dictated it. That was Mulder's greatest gift. And perhaps the curse he had passed on to her. Because he respected her judgement. Because he knew that what we feel is just as important as what we know. I need you now, Mulder. I do. I need for you to tell me how to fix this, because I just don't know how. I just don't. The box where she kept everything she never wanted to think about (which she imagined had an 'Do not open until Xmas' sticker) was becoming unwrapped. She had to find Mulder before it did... Byers laughed suddenly. Loudly and with pleasure. Okay...so maybe she wasn't the only one cracking today... "Scully," he shouted joyously, his eyes still wet. "How did they know we were here?" She blinked. Well...maybe--no. It could have been--*no*. Oh my god. Suddenly those dark green trees weren't just large and wet. They were beautiful, too. Because somewhere out there was Mulder. Hiding, running. Safe. Byers looked at her seriously. "I'll wait for Frohike and Langly, here." She swallowed. "I don't know--" "But, Scully--" he grinned suddenly, "they're bringing, uh, 'reinforcements'." She was rather afraid to ask what he meant by that. She wanted to thank him, actually thank everyone. Even God for hope. But it was still early yet, and hope was fickle even if her gratefulness wasn't. Scully ran in the opposite direction from where the jeeps had been--*don't think about it*--and further towards the middle of nowhere to bring her partner home. End 6/?