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When he closed his eyes, he was back in that field. Down on his knees with his hands behind his back. Terrorists pointing a loaded gun at his head with every motive in the book to not hesitate before shooting. His heart was beating out of his chest. It was so loud, he wondered if no one else could hear it. Except in his dreams, the bullet pierced straight into the back of his skull. He could feel the agonising pain and the warm trail of blood dripping down the back of his neck. And then everything went black.
~~~
Fox Mulder awoke from his nightmare with a frightened start. He bolted straight up, trying to catch his breath. He ran a hand through his hair as he glanced around his apartment, trying to gather his bearings. It was dark out. The only light being emitted was from the static on the TV across the room. He was on the couch, still dressed in his work clothes. He could feel a thin coat of sweat dripping off of his forehead. He was so exhausted when he came home last night, he never even bothered to change. It just seemed like an extra step that was unnecessary and time consuming. Mulder peered at the digital clock on his VCR setup below the television. 1:46 AM. A full forty-five minutes this time, not bad. He thought to himself.
It had been three days since they had finished up the case about the New Spartans. Mulder was relieved it was all over, even if the events kept replaying in his mind over and over again. Hell, he was angry for the sake of just being set up and even the CIA was in on it. The biotoxin was being produced in his own country. Innocent people were being left in the dark about the government’s own actions and even being killed because of it. The entire situation disgusted him.
And then came the sleeping issue. In the past three days, Mulder estimated he had gotten a total of two and a half hours of sleep. He was riddled with terrifying nightmares, reliving his experiences with the New Spartans. Of course, nightmares and sleep deprivation wasn’t anything new to him. He lived with the nightmares all his life about his sister’s abduction which came and went as they pleased. While Scully was battling cancer, he had recurring nightmares about her dying. During her abduction, he experienced nightmares about the whole ordeal. That was when he slept at all during that time period. Then there were the even rarer ones. Once in a while he would experience a nightmare or two over some horrifying thing he experienced on the X-Files. Or going back to his childhood, a nightmare or two of him fighting with his parents or his parents fighting with each other. All of those were normal and he had learned to live with it. But this time was different. The dreams rattled his brain and nothing seemed to shake the intensity of it, no matter how many times he tried giving his head a shake. Get a grip, Mulder. It was just a damn case like any other. You’re fine.
It wasn’t a normal case though. Even Mulder knew that. It was his first undercover operation and it was distressing to say the least. Over the course of those few days, he had his finger broken, was forced to participate in a bank robbery, watched a guy get gunned down right before his eyes and came inches away from having his head blown off in a field. He had slept very little on that case, if at all. For any normal person, it would be a lot. Mulder, you’re fine. Get over it. He repeated to himself like a mantra. He was receiving worried looks from both Scully and Skinner. Scully had asked him countless times if he was alright when she caught him staring off into space. He shook off her concern. The Bureau Psychologist was urging him to make a counselling appointment. He ignored them. Now the man was well past exhausted, lacking any quality sleep for quite some time. His psychologist brain suggested he was experiencing a small form of post-traumatic stress. He shrugged it off. You’ve been through worse. You’re fine!
Mulder sighed as he got up off his couch and began heading for the shower. It would be futile trying to go back to sleep. He figured he could get to the office early and finish off his report before the meeting later. If there was one thing the FBI couldn’t penalise him for, it was his attendance. Perhaps if he got the report over and done with, he would be able to get the case details out of his mind for good.
The next several hours went by in a haze. He showered, changed his clothes, made coffee and got to the office before 3 o’clock. He sat in the dimly lit room, struggling to type up the report. The facts were there, but he felt lost in space as his mind kept drifting away. His hands were jittery. He couldn’t tell if it was from the exhaustion or the caffeine or a mixture of both. He kept rereading the same sentences over and over again. Even on his fifth read, he was still catching boneheaded spelling errors like “the4e” and “n3w.” Come on, Mulder. Get it together. He tried giving his head a shake. Mulder accepted that this report simply wasn’t going to be any good. He just hoped nobody else would catch on and make him redo it. He didn’t have the energy to write any poetic verses about the cerebral cortex or the darkness of man. After two days of time to work on it, his report came out to be three pages of straight facts, a ton of broken grammer and no excessive details. God Mulder, it’s a wonder if they don’t fire you for this report alone. He laid his head down trying to give his brain a rest.
“Morning!”
He bolted upright once he heard the voice. No, she can’t be here yet. It’s not even 6. He quickly checked his watch and confirmed that it was 7:15. His partner, Dana Scully had just walked into the office. She hung up her coat on the rack as she placed a tray of two coffees on the main desk.
“Hey Scully, if there’s sugar in that coffee, it might be love.” He said while giving his tie a quick fasten, and trying to search for where he left off in the report.
He watched as his partner turned around and walked over to where he was seated at the computer desk.
“Two sugars, just the way you like it, Mulder.” She handed him one of the coffees as one of her eyebrows raised in concern as she got a good look at the man. “Have you slept at all, Mulder? You look terrible.”
“Way to kick a man when he’s down, Scully. Want to look over this report before I send it up to Skinner?”
“Sure, Mulder,” she said, taking a seat behind Mulder’s desk.
Scully gingerly sipped on her coffee, letting the warmth wake her up a bit as Mulder sent his report over to the printer. Once the noise on the machine started going off, she turned around and swiftly picked up the pages. She sat there for an extra minute, checking to see if there were any more coming or if the printer had run out of paper. But nothing. Three pages. It was a heck of a lot shorter than their usual reports, and Scully felt that concern creeping up on her again, silently letting her know again that something was definitely amiss with her partner. She heaved a sigh, as she turned back around and started reading the report. Once in a while, she would peek up a glance at Mulder across the room. He was completely slouched in his chair, head back, eyes reddened and unfocused. She couldn’t tell what was on his mind, but given the details of his paper, she had a clear idea. Not that she could fault him for it. He had been through a lot and it was obviously taking its toll. She really wished he would talk to her. She could run her fingers through his floppy hair as she offered her undying support, the same way he did for her after the Donnie Pfaster case. It would be a lot better than watching him deteriorate right in front of her eyes. It frustrated her, but she couldn’t necessarily blame him either. She used the “I’m fine” excuse plenty of times last year, she would probably be able to patent it by now.
It didn’t take long to get through the report. All three sloppy, ill-described, clumsily worded pages of it. It read more like a C rated high school english paper, than it did an FBI case report. Come on, Mulder. You know better than this. She dismissed her thoughts with the shake of her head. That wasn’t helpful. With another quick glance up at her partner, she considered what would be the best approach to take. Tough love, but she didn’t think it would have the best effects given his current mental state. She had half a brain to kick him off the computer and write the report herself, but that was ludicrous. This was HIS case. They needed his direct insight. Scully gave a brief smile as she picked up her red pen. Maybe humouring him would work. She went over the report, jotting down notes and correcting grammar mistakes like a teacher would do. Once she finished, she got up from her chair and crossed the room over to him. She placed a soft hand on his shoulder.
“Mulder,” she said gently.
The touch was enough to snap him out of his reverie and gaze up into her blue eyes.
“For a second there, Mulder. I thought I was reading my nephew’s social studies report.” Well nobody ever said a bit of humour couldn’t help? She took a pause. “I’m worried about you, Mulder. Talk to me.”
His brow creased and he winced. She couldn’t tell if it was out of sorrow or frustration.
“Geez Scully, you’d think I’m on death row here. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
He gave her an attempt at a weak smile, which she knew was false, as he took the graded report out of her hands. He sipped on his coffee as he looked over the red markings with a soft chuckle.
“Well it’s a good thing it never crossed my mind to be a writer. Will I get a gold star if I do what you say, teacher?”
Scully sighed, trying to figure out how best to handle the situation. Sheepishly, she crossed her arms as she looked to the ground, tapping her feet from side to side.
“You know, Mulder. You don’t have to do this alone. I could type and you could dictate. It might be easier given your finger-”
“I’m fine, Scully,” he cut her off.
She sighed as she walked back around to the desk.
“Sure, Mulder,” she said quietly.
Over the next couple hours, they worked in silence. She finished up some of her overdue autopsy paperwork, as Mulder edited his report. His brain cleared enough through the dense fog to follow through on Scully’s outlined corrections. His tired mind couldn’t even find the energy to chuckle at the whole ordeal.
He struggled to get it out of his mind. The sheer terror he felt walking through that field to his supposed death. Is this it? I didn’t expect it to end this way. What’s going to happen now to Scully and The X-Files? To Samantha? Dammit, what about the bioweapon? These guys are going to win now, aren’t they? Why did I have to get involved? If only I didn’t make that damn statement at the UFO conference. Shit, I should really learn to keep my mouth shut more often. Scully, I’m sorry…for everything. I hope you can one day forgive me. But he wasn’t killed. Worst, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or angry. Dammit, snap out of it! He was fine. You’re fine! It shouldn’t be affecting him like this.
When it came time for the meeting, he printed off his polished report and stuffed the papers into a manilla file folder. The two agents took the elevator upstairs and made their way into Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office.
“Agents, have a seat,” the man directed as they entered the room.
Mulder silently handed him the report as he and Scully took their respective seats in front of the desk. Skinner opened up the file and began reading. He sighed. Neither agent knew how to intercept that response.
“This is much shorter than your usual reports.” The Assistant Director said with a straight voice, looking up at them, while averting his eyes towards Mulder.
Mulder opened his mouth to say something, but Skinner cut him off instead, changing the subject.
“Jacob Haley is dead. They found him in his car. His face had been eaten away by the same biotoxin we’ve been dealing with.”
“The car keys must have been contaminated…” Mulder mused. “Bremmer handed him the keys to get away, right before they tried to shoot me.”
“Has there been any further involvement regarding the terrorist group or the bioweapon?” Scully asked with an air of professionalism.
“August Bremer, or whatever his real name is, has disappeared. We’ve been tracking them, but we’ve heard nothing about the New Spartan’s in a few days now. Additionally, no new deaths have been found linked to the biotoxin.”
“So that’s just it?” Mulder’s voice was laced with barely contained anger. “The government can get away with killing people just like that and then it’s swept under the rug?!”
Skinner sighed. He could hardly blame him. In place, he gave him a stern look as a warning to calm down before he carried on.
“No new news has come out about that at this moment. Right now we’re trying to determine what exact labs the bioweapons were being produced from.”
“What about the CIA and their involvement?” Scully asked. She had a crossed look on her face to indicate she was just as mad about this entire thing as Mulder was. She was just doing a better job at hiding it.
Skinner sighed again.
“Just like I said, so far no new developments have been made in this case. We’ll let you know if anything comes up. You’re dismissed, agents.” He said with a gruff tone, before he turned to Mulder with a sympathetic glance. “Mulder, I want you to go home and get some rest. You’ve been through a lot with this case and quite frankly, you look like hell.”
Mulder managed to say a meekly “yes sir” before he and Scully left the office and went back downstairs to their basement office. Contrary to what he was hoping for, that meeting did nothing to calm his nerves. It only seemed to make him more angry. How could they do this?! And nothing’s being done about it!
He heaved a large sigh as he dropped down into the chair behind his desk. He opened up his filing cabinets and started pulling out a few folders.
“Mulder, I don’t believe those fall under the definition of what Skinner meant by the word ‘rest.’” Scully sat down in the chair in front of the desk. She started gathering her own papers out of the way, strands of what she was working on earlier.
“I have to find out, Scully. We can’t let them get away with this!”
“Mulder, I’m just as pissed as you are but quite frankly there’s nothing that can be done until new information is given out. We’re off the case, Mulder. This isn’t an X-File.”
“I was there, Scully! Nobody can tell me it’s not my case when they sent me on it in the first place! People are dead, Scully! That man in the bank is dead!”
Scully could feel her own anger rising with his tone of voice, but a quick look at her ranting partner told her it wasn’t due cause. He was suffering. Giving rise to this argument wasn’t going to help matters. Quite frankly, if she didn’t hold such a strong bottle cap on her own emotions, she would probably be ranting too. She crossed her arms with a shake of the head.
“Go home, Mulder. Get some sleep. Call me later and we can talk about this.” The last part came out as a plea. He wasn’t alone, despite what he was thinking. She wanted to make him aware of that.
Mulder gathered up a few of the files he pulled out and shuffled out of the room with a brief “goodbye.” He didn’t want to go home. God knows he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He didn’t want to stay and argue with anyone either. The caffeine from earlier was starting to wear off and he was starting to feel he may be ready to drop at any minute. His body was not giving him any signals it was prepared to be chasing anyone down, or doing any detective research. Maybe another coffee is in order.
Despite his weariness, Mulder managed to drive himself home in one piece. He let himself into his own apartment and made a B-line straight for the kitchen, as he tossed the files over on the coffee table. He rubbed his eyes as he started up the coffee pot, making sure not to spill any of the grounds onto the counter. God, I’m so damn tired. Once that was brewing without assistance, he went to the bathroom. That was when he got his first good look at himself in the mirror. Eyes red. Hair, an unruly mess. His skin was as pale as a ghost. He looked like something of an X-File itself. It was a wonder no one pulled him over on the way home, mistaking him for some sort of escaped animal. Jesus, Mulder…
He splashed some water on his face, and then made his way back into the kitchen to grab his coffee, before collapsing on his couch. He opened up the files for potential X-Files cases, hoping that would help calm his mind. Some unexplained disappearances that could be linked to alien abduction. Or not. Or more government conspiracy crap, he reminded himself. He shook his head. This was not helping.
Giving up, Mulder pushed the papers aside as he decided to stretch himself out. He laid back, as he grabbed the remote, flipping through the channels on the TV. Something to give his brain a break before he allowed himself to conform to the pressures of sleep. A glance at the clock on the VCR player confirmed it was already a quarter to noon. God, it’ll be a while before Scully gets home… There was a rerun of an old Dracula movie on the TV, but that was bringing back bad memories of the case. Finally, Mulder settled on the Spice Channel. His favourite comfort show. Once the moaning and the pumping began filling the room, he let his eyelids slide shut. It wasn’t long before he drifted off for good.
~~~
He was back in the field. His heart pounding. A tight feeling in his chest as terrorists led him across the walkway. Even before death, he cracked jokes in a thinly veiled effort to hide how he was really feeling: scared. Is this it? Is this really it? He complied when they told him to get on his knees and put his hands behind his back. Scully, I hope you can forgive me one day… He could hear the terrorists flicking the safety off of the gun. There was never a time before when Fox Mulder had felt closest to death as he did in that moment. At least none that he had been conscious for anyhow. BANG!
The sound of the gunshot went off and he could feel the bullet as it entered his skull. Blood was flowing downwards, falling down the back of his neck. He turned around in an effort to look his captors in the eye, but in its place, he saw the face of the bank teller. The poor guy who lost his life in that horrific heist all because of him. Mulder had been paralysed with fear, and his stupidity had cost the life of an innocent man. He kept feeling like he could have done something different. As the man stood there right before him at that very moment, laughing his head off, nothing could have been further from the truth.
“How does it feel being on the other side of that bullet, huh?!” He taunted. His face was wide and distorted, making him almost look alien.
“Want to explain to my family why I won’t make Christmas this year, you sorry son of a bitch?! I had A CHILD! You failed her…And you failed me!”
The man’s insolent sneer morphed into that of a look of uncontrollable rage. He lifted the gun once more and fired. The bullet heading straight for Mulder’s face…
~~~
His eyes snapped open and Mulder jolted awake into a sitting position. He tried to catch his breath as he looked around in an attempt to gather his bearings. He was okay. He was back in his apartment. The TV across the room was still blaring away its X-rated content. Mulder reached for the remote and turned it off. It was just another stimulus that he didn’t need right now. He took a couple of short choppy breaths as he felt his forehead for the perspiration that had already taken up residence there. Come on, Mulder. It was just a dream… he blinked a couple of times to adjust his eyes to the waking world, and that was when he spotted the current time. 1:36 PM.
Mulder glanced over to his desk near the window. His answering machine was blinking red, indicating that he had a new message. Who was calling him? With his arm that felt like weighted down lead, he reached over and hit the play button.
“Mulder?” The voice said. It was Scully. He would recognize her soft soothing voice anywhere. “Mulder, it’s me. I went home early today. It’s easier to get my paperwork done at home rather than the office anyways. Mulder, I’m worried about you. When you get this message, give me a call, okay?”
Oh Scully, I don’t deserve you… He wanted to run to her so she could make it all better. God, he hated how he sounded. Like a child crying to their parents after a nightmare. He tried that on his own parents a few times after Samantha’s abduction, but they couldn’t care less. That’s life, Fox. Get over it, he remembered his mother saying. But Scully would never say that. Maybe he could just talk to her to hear her soft dull voice. Perhaps she had a new scientific rationale for how vampires don’t exist. That would certainly calm him.
He took a large sip of the cold coffee that sat waiting on the table, before he pushed himself off of the couch. God, he could feel the tension in every muscle. His shoulders were sore and his limbs felt like lead. He grabbed his keys as he headed for the door.
The drive over to Scully’s place was quiet. Of course, most adults were out working instead of clogging up the highway. He parked his car in a vacant spot before heading up to her floor and knocking on the door.
He took a moment to smooth down his hair, trying to help his appearance just a little. A moment later, Scully opened the door. She had since changed into a light cardigan and a pair of jeans. She looked beautiful and well dressed, especially for an afternoon sitting at home. She took a moment to gaze into his bloodshot eyes, and her brow creased in concern.
“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked kindly as she moved to the side to let him inside.
Mulder stepped into her apartment and took off his shoes at the front door. The aroma of grilled cheese and tomato soup filled his nostrils. He turned to her with a smile.
“Well I didn’t know you were a chef, Scully. I should have RSVP’d.”
“There’s always a table open for you, Mulder. Make yourself at home. I’ll fix you a bowl.”
He made his way over to the couch and took a seat, as Scully disappeared into the kitchen. Her couch felt comfortable. Much more comfortable than his own couch at home. She came out two minutes later, handing him a bowl of hot soup, and took a seat down next to him.
“What’s on your mind, Mulder?” She probed gently. “Talk to me.”
He took a bite of his soup, letting the taste swirl around his mouth as he thought about what to say. He didn’t realise just how hungry he was. He had skipped breakfast that morning.
“That guy at the bank was killed, Scully. And it’s my fault…I could have done something…” He had dropped into a monotone as he lost eye contact with her, staring at the patterns on the carpet.
She knew what he was talking about. She had seen the video tape. Although she didn’t quite see Mulder’s face there, she could only guess what kind of fear he was feeling in the moment.
“Mulder, no. Don’t do this. You were an unwilling participant in a horrifying situation. You did the best you could considering the circumstances.”
“I couldn’t move, Scully. I just stood there. I didn’t even lie when they asked if he was dead. I could have lied, Scully. I could have done something.”
“Yes Mulder, you could have. But you were under a tremendous amount of stress. These guys had already tortured you. The New Spartan’s killed him, Mulder. Not you.” She put her hand on his shoulder for comforting effect.
He shook his head.
“I keep seeing his face in my dreams, Scully. Laughing, almost twisted like. I’m always back in that field only this time, they actually shoot me”
Her heart broke for him when she had first read about that detail in his report. He didn’t talk about it really, but there on paper he was forced to elaborate. She could make a good guess at the sheer terror he must have felt at that moment, being led away to his supposed execution. In an effort to support him further, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Suddenly, he turned to her.
“What do you think it means, Scully?”
“Well I don’t know, Mulder. You’re the one who’s always saying that dreams are just answers to questions we don’t know how to ask yet.”
“Do you think I should have died in that field?” He asked.
It wasn’t an accusation. His voice held a sorrowful tone laced with a matching look of hurtful curiosity. It pained Scully to even hear her friend ask it. So much so that she felt a tear drop fall from her eye. She had a simultaneous urge to smack him with a pillow to knock some sense into him, but to also hold him in her arms until he felt better. Instead, she gave his shoulder another tender squeeze.
“Mulder, no. You can’t think like that.” She wanted to say more, to plead with him, yell at him, anything. But for one of the first times in her life, she was feeling rather tongue tied.
Instead, he let out a self depreciative chuckle.
“God, I must be finally losing it, Scully. Hey, you can tell the guys upstairs that it wasn’t one too many little green men that finally broke the camel's back.”
Well at least he’s not questioning his own fate right now, Scully thought. In an attempt at humouring his spirits, she let out a soft chuckle as she wrapped her arm around him and pulled him in closer.
“You’re not broken, Mulder. For Christ Sake, you were mock executed! No one walks away from that without feeling some form of psychological effect.”
He let out another chuckle as he set the bowl down on the table in front of them.
“What were you thinking about, Scully? You thought I’d actually gone to the dark side?”
“I didn’t know what to think, Mulder. Your behaviour was so erratic, but it wasn’t the first time we had been down this road. I knew there had to be a rational explanation.”
He looked at her with a smile.
“You thought I betrayed my country and yet you still covered for me?”
“It’s what we do, Mulder.” She grinned back at him, softly letting him know everything was alright with the world. It didn’t matter who they were fighting or what was going on, they were always going to be partners and have eachothers backs.
Still entangled in their embrace, Scully noticed that Mulder’s eyes had slid shut and for the first time in a while, it looked like he would actually be able to get some proper sleep. She looked down on him with a feeling of deep seated sympathy and love. He had been working so hard lately, he was so rundown. No, she couldn’t give an estimate when these feelings had surfaced herself. But it didn’t matter. Whatever the nature of their relationship was, she loved him.
Scully carefully removed her arm from around him. She was trying to be careful not to wake him. With an extra look in his direction to be sure he had not stirred, she gently moved the bangs out of his face and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
Sweet dreams, Mulder, she said allowed in her thoughts as she slowly got up off the couch. She looked down at him once more. No, he didn’t look the most comfortable according to Scully-standards but his facial features were no longer creased with stress for the moment. That was what mattered. She took the blanket that was draped over the side of the couch and carefully placed it on top of his sleeping form.
Rest well, Mulder…