Title: FAULT LINES
Author: Jean Robinson (jeanrobinson@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are the
property of Ten Thirteen Productions and the Fox
Television Network. All others are the property of the
author. No infringement is intended. 
Rating: PG
Classification: S, A
Archive: Please ask permission.
Spoilers: Post-episode for  "Anasazi," "The Blessing
Way" and "Paper Clip" trilogy.
Summary: If wishes were horses, I'd have one heck of a
stable. So would Scully.
Feedback: To jeanrobinson@yahoo.com
Author's notes at the end
*****************************

FAULT LINES
By Jean Robinson


The muted beep of a cellphone woke her from a deep,
dreamless slumber. For the first time in days, perhaps
weeks, she felt warm and safe, too comfortable to move
even the small amount it would have taken to stretch
out an arm, locate the phone and punch the "off"
button.

An odd feeling altogether, since Scully wasn't
entirely sure where she was, and even more peculiar,
felt no immediate desire to open her eyes and find
out.

Something shifted next to her, rising up from the
cushions. Heavy footsteps thumped across the room.

"Mulder."

Of course. She was in Mulder's apartment, lying on her
side on his couch. When she'd dozed off her head had
been resting on his thigh; at some point he'd eased
her down on to a more conventional pillow and covered
her with a fleece blanket.

She hadn't cried at the hospital, not really. One or
two tears did not constitute an outburst of grief.
Scully supposed it was a combination of exhaustion and
shock, coupled with anger and a hefty dose of guilt.
Mulder had held her, tried to reassure her that pleas
for forgiveness had not gone unheard by Melissa, but
she didn't believe him. She couldn't.

God knows her mother didn't.

When it was time to go, when there was nothing more to
be gained by staring at an empty hospital bed, she'd
asked Mulder to take her home.

"What about your mother?"

It was then that the tears threatened to bubble over.
Not when the doctors had invited Scully and her mother
to the little private room to tell them Melissa hadn't
survived the second surgery. Not when Maggie, eyes
streaming, had simply said, "I have to call your
brothers," and literally walked away from her
remaining daughter. Not even when, an hour later, she
finally caught up to her mother again and discovered
the preparations for Missy's funeral and burial well
under way, despite knowing that her sister would have
preferred cremation to the strict Catholic rituals she
often professed to despise.

No, what hurt the most was informing Mulder that her
mother, for the moment, didn't want or need her
around. Popping her partner's inflated impression of
her mother's saintliness made it real to her, too.

Skinner had given her a hint of what was to come when
he'd told Scully about speaking to Maggie at the
hospital, prior to making the deal for their freedom,
not to mention their lives.

"Your mother was very upset that you couldn't be
there, Agent Scully. I told her it couldn't be helped;
that you were safe but still required protection."

The expression on his face spoke volumes more than the
bland words. Family was everything to Margaret Scully,
even more so since she'd become its nominal head. Dana
could almost hear the reprimand - your sister came to
see you when you were ill. And you got yourself mixed
up in something so terrible Missy may die and you
can't even return the favor.

Bill and Charles hadn't come, not when she'd been the
one lying in a coma or now. But their jobs hadn't
jeopardized their sisters in the first place, had not
been the direct cause of the problem.

Maggie's need for her daughter's company had been most
acute before Missy took a downturn. What good was
coming to see someone after they were dead?

What good, indeed.

Scully had summoned up the last of her energy and
said, "My mother's gone home already."

Mulder had paused, a bit taken aback and more than a
little confused, as she knew he would be. "Okay. Let's
go."

He steered her out of the hospital; at that point,
Scully's powers of concentration were focused solely
on putting one foot in front of the other. Navigating
a maze corridors and elevators without his assistance
would have left her wandering for hours. 

There was something else she needed to tell him,
something she knew was terribly important but just out
of reach as she tried to breathe through her mouth to
keep from crying. She remembered it as she fastened
her seatbelt, and reached over to put a hand on her
partner's arm as he grasped the key to turn it.

"Mulder."

"What, Scully?"

If she looked at his face, she'd lose it before she
could tell him. So Scully stared hard at her hand on
his sleeve, vaguely thinking that the drab color of
the camouflage jacket he was wearing did nothing for
him. "My apartment is still a. . . a crime scene."

Technically, the police had long since finished
dusting, poking and peeking. And according to Skinner,
the Smoking Man had folded in the face of the AD's
bluff, meaning she and Mulder were free to return to
their homes without worrying about the CIA, DoJ, or
any covert hit squad lurking in the shadows to arrest
or kill them. But she could not bear going back there
right now, to questioning, curious neighbors, rooms
coated in fingerprint powder, and a lurid bloodstain
marking the spot where her sister had spent the last
cognizant moments of her life.

The spot where she was supposed to have died, not
Melissa.

"Scully, I'll take you anywhere you want to go, but
you have to let go of my arm if you want me to drive."

She realized she wasn't just resting her hand on his
forearm, she was squeezing it with something just shy
of bone-crushing force, and Mulder was wincing.

Scully snatched her hand back. "Sorry."

"It's okay." He rubbed his arm, and then leaned down
to look at her. "You gonna be all right?"

She kept her gaze pinned on her hands, which gripped
themselves tightly in her lap. She wanted to say, "I'm
fine, I'm all right, I'm okay," but the quiet concern
in his voice was her undoing. If she tried to talk
now, she'd end up weeping all the way home. So she
nodded, knowing he wouldn't believe her but not
caring. It was the best she could manage under the
circumstances.

He pulled back with a soft snort, but he sounded more
resigned than angry. "Yeah. You're about as all right
as I am, Scully, and that's not saying much."

The remark destroyed what remained of her defenses,
because Mulder had lost a family member courtesy of
the damn digital tape, too. Scully did exactly what
she'd tried so desperately to avoid; she cried for
entire ride back to his apartment.

She'd gotten the waterworks under control by the time
they arrived, and once upstairs she'd fled to the
bathroom to wash her face and plaster up the cracks in
her self-control.

When she emerged, she'd expected him to want to talk,
discuss, and ponder, but Mulder, flopped on his couch,
looked even more tired than she felt. A confrontation
with her seemed to be the last thing on his mind;
instead he suggested she just lie down and rest for
now.

Scully had started out sitting up, while Mulder
channel-surfed at warp speed, never landing on a 
program for more than three seconds. Eventually, as
the fatigue seeped deeper into her bones, she'd
slumped sideways against his shoulder, and finally
slid all the way down to recline against his leg,
closing her eyes against the shifting babble. Mulder
continued his rapid-fire jabs on the remote buttons
with one hand, slowly smoothing his palm up and down
her arm with the other.

Now, as she came more fully awake, she was about to
open her eyes and find out who had called when her
partner's next sentence stopped her.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Scully."

On the couch, Scully froze. She could feel Mulder's
gaze upon her, and tried to maintain the deep, even
breathing pattern that simulated sleep.

"Thank you. I'll pass your condolences along to my
mother. I'm. . . I'm very sorry about Melissa."

"Yes, she's here with me."

"Mrs. Scully. . . " Mulder pitched his voice lower and
moved farther across the room. "Mrs. Scully, Dana's
sleeping right now, and I really hate to wake her up.
. . ."

Up to now, Scully had been able to hear only the tone,
not the words, of her mother's part of the
conversation, a tinny squawk that reminded her of the
trombone sounds that signified adults speaking in the
old "Charlie Brown" TV specials.

At Mulder's refusal, however, Maggie raised the volume
on her end, directing all her frustration, grief and
ire at the one viable target she was certain could
hear her.

"Don't you DARE play games with me, Agent Mulder! You
put Dana on the phone this instant!"

Mulder reacted immediately, retreating, by the sound
of it, to the kitchen. He lowered his voice further,
but she could still hear him clearly over the faint
burble of the fish tank filter, the only other sound
in the apartment.

"Mrs. Scully, Dana's exhausted. If you'll give me a
message, I'll be glad to have her call you when she
does wake up."

More agitated screeching from her mother. Clearly
Mulder was not going to make the Christmas card list
this year.

"I understand more than you think." Her partner's
voice suddenly hardened into a tone she would have
sworn he'd never use to Margaret Scully, a woman with
whom he'd shared bedside duty following Scully's
abduction. "Do =you= understand, Mrs. Scully? Do you
have any conception of what Dana's been through in the
last week? Did you even know that she saved my life?"

Another tirade from Maggie.

"Because it's her =job=, and she's damn good at it. I
know it didn't turn out the way you hoped when she
came to work for the FBI, but it's what she does and
what she wants to do."

More venom from her mother's end.

"What, you think I wanted this to happen? Mrs. Scully,
I joined the Bureau to help find my sister. I'm
=still= trying to find her. That's =all.="

A prolonged outburst. Scully cringed under the
blanket, biting her lip. Mulder didn't deserve this.
No one did.

Mulder apparently realized he'd been raising his voice
to match his opponent's, and made a concerted effort
to come down to a less confrontational level. "I'm
sorry, Mrs. Scully. I'm sorry that Melissa got in the
middle of this. But if they hadn't killed her, they
=would= have shot Dana."

"No! No, I'm not saying that would have been
preferable. But as long as Dana and I are back on the
X-Files, we have a chance to find the truth. The truth
about everything. And that includes bringing to
justice the people who murdered my father and
Melissa."

He paused, drew in a deep breath, and added, "It might
be the only chance, in fact. If they close the
X-Files, no one will ever know anything."

Maggie Scully had more to say.

Mulder's voice dropped into a near whisper, so soft
Scully almost didn't catch it. "Don't ever say that
again."

If there was a response from the other end, it was
brief; Mulder started in again almost immediately.

"Your daughter is the most loyal, most courageous
person I know. Nothing could have prevented this once
these people set their minds to a course of action.
Nothing could have saved my father, and nothing could
have stopped them from lying in wait in Dana's
apartment. These people operate outside of laws you've
never even heard of, Mrs. Scully. Don't you even think
that this is somehow her fault, let alone tell her
that."

Oh, God.

Scully felt the tears slide from underneath her closed
eyelids, and swallowed hard to keep from making any
noise.

Of course her mother would blame her. Hell, she blamed
herself. If she'd been five seconds faster on the
redial, if she'd just waited for Missy instead of
charging out to head her off, if she'd stood her
ground and argued with Skinner for just a few more
minutes rather than getting into his car - even if he
had been her assassin, surely he wouldn't have gunned
her down on the sidewalk, with so many potential
witnesses ready to look out their windows?

If, if, if. If wishes were horses, then beggars might
ride, as her grandmother always said.

"I'll tell her you called, Mrs. Scully, and have her
get back to you."

Still dwelling on her mother's assessment of fault,
Scully didn't realize the conversation had concluded.
Suddenly the air around her was suffused with warmth;
Mulder had crossed the room and was standing directly
over her, his body heat radiating outward.

"How much of that did you hear?" he inquired quietly.

She sighed and sat up, pushing the blanket away and
blinking to adjust her eyesight. Scrubbing her hands
over her face to eradicate the traces of tears, she
admitted, "All of it."

Mulder sat down beside her and gently placed the
offending cellphone on the table. "It's the grief
talking, not her. She didn't mean it."

"No." Scully finger-combed her hair back. Her scalp
itched, her eyes burned and her skin felt gritty from
their sojourn into the Strughold mine. What she
wouldn't give for a shower. When Skinner had brought
them back from the diner in Maryland, he'd wanted to
take them directly to the Hoover Building and place
them into protective custody. Mulder had talked him
out of it, insisting instead that they would be safer
with his friends. When they arrived outside the
Gunmen's warehouse address, Skinner cast a dubious
look at the neighborhood, but relented after Mulder
pointed out the various security systems guarding the
entrance. "Just stay here until I call you," their
boss had said. "There's no point in making this deal
if you're dead."

Once inside, there was nothing to do but wait until
one of their cellphones rang. Byers, every inch the
gracious host, offered every amenity available, but
Scully was too keyed up to accept anything beyond
water. She had no fear of bathing in the Gunmen's
facilities; if the bathroom had been in anything other
than satisfactory condition for a female guest she
knew Byers never would have suggested it. But she had
nothing to wear other than her grimy suit, and
cleaning herself only to don filthy clothes again
seemed a waste of energy.

In the end, the idle waiting had proven too much for
Mulder anyway. He persuaded the Gunmen to let him
borrow a car, and Scully to accompany him back to
confront Victor Klemper. Fearing that this latest
expedition would turn out to be another jaunt that
began as a day trip and ended a week later, she'd
demanded that he stop somewhere en route so she could
buy something else to wear. So now she had somewhat
clean clothes, but the skin underneath was still
coated with West Virginia clay and the dust from lots
and lots of files.

Now she looked down at her hands again, noting that
some of that dirt was still wedged in the creases of
her knuckles, despite all the tears. "She did mean it,
Mulder. Tomorrow she might not, but today, now, she
did."

"Hey." He turned and cupped her face with his hand,
his expression full of worry. "It's =not= your fault,
Scully. You know that, right?"

My head does, but my heart will take a lot more
convincing, she wanted to say, but there was no need.
Undoubtedly he felt an equal, if not greater, burden
about his own accountability for Bill Mulder's demise.
So she nodded.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, not commenting
on the wetness he was spreading as a few more tears
spilled over. "Don't call her until you're ready."

"I can't dodge her forever. It would only make it
worse, anyway. She'll need help with. . . things."

Things like picking a dress for Melissa to be buried
in, selecting a caterer for the post-funeral
gathering, discussing the eulogy with the priest,
notifying far-flung relatives, old neighbors and
friends who hadn't seen or thought about a Scully in
years.

All the things her sister would have hated, but which
would give her mother  comfort, closure. More than the
promise of future "justice" or answers to questions
Maggie Scully had neither asked nor wondered about.

At the hospital Scully had told Mulder she wanted to
go back to work, that the job was a necessary
distraction that would, hopefully, someday lead to The
Truth. Whose truth, she had no idea anymore. Or if it
even mattered. The truth wouldn't bring Melissa back,
or Bill Mulder, and, if past experience was anything
to go by, it wouldn't give her any more answers about
merchandise or tests or what the hell a microscopic
computer chip was doing in the back of her neck.

She hadn't told Mulder about the chip yet. There had
been too many other frantic, mind-warping discoveries
taking precedence over their time once he'd come back
from the dead, and later too much tension over deals
and sisters who should have been alive but weren't,
and parents who were supposed to protect them but
hadn't.

As he moved his hand, his fingers brushed over the
small bandage she still wore, almost as if he'd read
her thoughts.

Mulder frowned and plucked at the gauze, sending a
tiny spark of pain through her neck. "Is that where
they hit you when they shot through my window?"

She swallowed. "No. When I was suspended, I had to go
through the front metal detector, and something on me.
. . something =in= me. . .  was setting it off. The
doctor took an X-ray, and removed a small piece of
metal that was lodged just under the skin at the top
of my spine."

"Shrapnel?"

She pulled away and looked him in the eye for the
first time since she'd woken up. "No. This wasn't
something random, or accidental. This was deliberately
embedded in my neck. And it wasn't just a sliver of
metal, either. It's an extremely small computer chip."

Mulder's mouth dropped open. "A computer chip?"

"Yes. I've never seen anything like it. Neither had
the doctor. I was going to take it in to the labs and
have Agent Pendrell look at it, but. . . ."

"But you've been too busy losing your job and breaking
into secret mountain vaults with your dead partner to
take care of it." He sighed. "You think this happened
during your abduction?"

"Mulder, =I don't know=. I don't remember what they
did to me. Logically, it's the only answer that makes
sense, but realistically, I just don't know."

Melissa had tried to help her find out. Memories of
that failed appointment with Dr. Pomerantz led
straight back to the last time she'd seen her sister
alive, and the tears she thought she'd finally
vanquished for the evening rose up in rebellion once
again.

"Scully. . . " He reached for her, not understanding
her sudden distress but obviously wanting to soothe
her. She dodged his hands and stood up. This wasn't a
pain she was ready to share yet.

The wound was too fresh, and the emotions stirred up
by that half-heard conversation with her mother all
too raw. If you hadn't taken this assignment, you
wouldn't have a microchip implanted in your neck,
because you wouldn't have been abducted by God knows
who, and your sister wouldn't have been murdered by
people who were out to kill =you= because no one would
have been out to kill you in the first place.

Stop the merry-go-round, please, I'm getting seasick
from going in circles.

"Stop it, Scully."

The sudden harshness in his tone jarred her back to
reality. She turned around, surprised, and found her
partner on his feet, glaring down at her.

"Mulder, what. . . ?"

"You're doing just what your mother wants. Blaming
yourself. Wallowing in guilt. Just like my mother
wanted me to do, because it was easier than simply
accepting that sometimes things happen that are out of
your control. Like I told you. Fate."

He paused for that to sink in, then continued. "I went
to see my mother while you at the hospital. I wanted
to know why that folder with Samantha's name on it had
been mine first. What it all meant. If I was supposed
to be the one who was taken, not her. And if so, what
had happened that changed that."

She'd wondered where he'd vanished to, after they'd
learned of Klemper's untimely demise. But she'd been
too preoccupied with worry over her sister's condition
to find it odd that Mulder, normally empathetic to the
point of irritation, deserted her during a personal
crisis. "What did she say?"

Mulder let out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Nothing.
Just that someone had to make a choice, but not why
the choice had to be made. Maybe it was supposed to be
me, but somehow I ended up with a Get Out Of Jail Free
card. I'll probably never know. You'll never know what
you could have done to make your outcome any
different, either, Scully. Melissa's dead, but you're
not. Don't let your mother make you wish it really had
been you instead."

A brief flare of fury swept through her, shoving the
grief aside, and she welcomed it with surprising
eagerness. "I don't wish it had been me. Neither does
my mother. I wish =none= of this had happened, Mulder.
. . ."

"Including staying on the job to search for proof of
extraterrestrial life?"

"No." It was her turn to glare now, and the sensation
of familiarity, of looking up at him and debating an
issue, almost but not quite actually arguing, was both
a comfort and a relief. "I'm not wishing my career
away, Mulder."

He smiled, seemingly pleased to see her combative
nature returning to the forefront of her personality.
"Good. And despite what I said earlier, I'm glad we
both still have careers."

It was, she supposed, as close to an apology over his
attitude about the deal for the digital tape as she
was going to get. Considering how things turned out,
she was amazed he didn't appear to be harboring any
bitterness; Skinner had made his bargain, but Melissa
died anyway.

There was a small silence. Mulder used it to put his
hands on her shoulders and pull her forward into a
hug. "I'm sorry, Scully. I really am."

"I know." Her voice was muffled against his shirt, but
this time the tears did not threaten. "I'd better call
my mother."

He released her immediately. "Are you sure you don't
want to get something to eat first, maybe clean up?"

"No. I'm all right. Can I use your phone? I think the
battery in my cell is dead."

"Be my guest." He gestured to his cellular, sitting
next to his home phone, then turned for the kitchen.
"I'm going to make some soup, you want some?"

Scully picked up his cell and sat back down on the
couch, next to the fish tank. "What kind?"

"Depends on whether you want to cluck or moo."

"Chicken noodle is fine, please." She pressed the last
button and took a deep,  breath. "Mom, it's Dana.
Mulder said you called."


End