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scenes-in-between · 2 years

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Underneath

“So how does someone go about catching a killer who hides inside an innocent man?”

Scully takes a moment to collect her thoughts before responding. While the explanation Monica is positing does not precisely match something they’ve seen before, neither is it so wholly without precedent that she can discount it entirely.

Have they ever encountered a person so haunted by their sins that they physically manifested an alternate personality? No. Does she believe Fassl is some sort of shapeshifting alien bounty hunter or that he can cloud minds like Modell could, making people see things that aren’t there? Also no. (Besides, even Modell couldn’t fool security cameras.)

But she also remembers Eddie Van Blundht.

True, they were never able to fully explain his physiology or figure out the mechanism behind his ability to physically alter his appearance so completely. Further, given Fassl’s reaction to the security camera photo, if indeed he is transforming himself into this murderous other personality, she does not get the impression that he is doing it voluntarily or consciously. However, the fact remains that a physical transformation of this nature is possible, no matter how unlikely or inexplicable.

She cannot recall if Van Blundt’s file was one of the ones restored after their office was set ablaze, and explaining the whole thing to Agent Doggett right now is neither necessary nor likely to help much; the man is exhausted and at the end of his rope. She decides to keep things simple, at least for the time being.

“Well,” she says at last, “logically, if Fassl and this bearded man truly are one in the same person, then it stands to reason that we’ll only catch the killer by monitoring Fassl and waiting for the other man to… come out of hiding, as it were.”

“C’mon, Agent Scully, you can’t possibly–”

“Alternatively,” Scully cuts him off, “if this man is working with Fassl, or was working with him 13 years ago, if he somehow got into and out of the prison undetected and committed the murder there, then it also stands to reason that he might try to reconnect with Fassl again now. By surveilling Fassl, we have a chance to apprehend the killer when he tries to make contact.”

Doggett heaves a sigh, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. Monica reaches across to place one of her hands on his.

“It’s a lead,” she says gently. “Whether or not we believe the same thing about what is happening here, surveillance is the only thing that will get us any answers.”

“Except there’s no way in hell anyone’s going to give us authorization for that. Especially not after what Duke did.”

Scully feels for him. The bitterness in his voice and the betrayal on his face leave no doubt that he is still reeling over the egregious actions of his former partner.

“So we wait until it’s dark,” Monica counters. “Jana Fain may well cry foul if we follow her home now, but she might not notice a car parked across the street from her house at night.”

Doggett shakes his head, standing up straight again. “You’re outta your damn mind if you think I’m gonna step even one toe out of line on this. I’m not Duke. We do this by the book all the way, you got that?”

“There’s nothing illegal about sitting in a parked car, John–” Monica starts, but Scully holds up a hand.

“I think I might be able to convince the DA that Fassl is still a person of interest in ADA Kailer’s disappearance,” she says. “Pressure from his office should be enough to get us the okay from the NYPD.”

***

In the end, it does take several more hours to get all of the relevant parties on board, but authorization for surveillance is eventually granted. It’s fully dark outside as John all but sprints to the car the moment they’re given the okay, and Monica hurries after him. The tension radiating off of him as they drive to Jana Fain’s house is palpable, but so is the undercurrent of complete and utter exhaustion.

For her part, Monica is hopeful that this all might finally be nearly at an end. She has no doubt that Fassl’s alter-ego is responsible for the ADA’s disappearance, which means that whatever measure of control Fassl maintained while in prison has clearly evaporated upon his release. If they can catch his transformation here tonight, then this can all be put to rest, and her partner can finally put this case behind him once and for all.

“I’ll take the next couple hours. You should get some shut-eye.”

#x-files fanfic #txf: underneath #scullyfic #john doggett #monica whalesong reyes #///#two scenes in between updates in one week whaaaaat?#;)

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nettysworld-madisonclark · 6 years

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Finally a promo with her😘 our Whalesong Lady Monica Reyes🐳🐳 #xfiles #monicareyes

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joanbiez · 7 years

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if monica reyes doesnt sing whalesongs again what’s even the point of making s11

#monica reyes #the x files #ramble: on

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jaekakes · 7 years

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tv show meme: csi/txf because duuuuhhhh

CSI:Favorite male character? Gilbert Grissom, problematic asshole that he is.Favorite female character? Sara motherfucking flawless SidleLeast favorite character? Gedda. RIP Warrick 5ever. Prettiest character? Sara Sidle. Funniest character? Julie FinlayFavorite season? Five bc it has all 3 of my fave episodesFavorite episode? Committed. Nesting Dolls. Weeping Willows. Favorite romantic ship? I used to play pretend that Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom were my parents, okay???? Backup ships include Jules & DB and Catherine & Warrick.Favorite family ship? the original graveyard teamFavorite friendship? Sara and Nick.Least favorite ship? Sara/Sofia. I’m gay as hell but I never understood it.

the x-files:Favorite male character? Fox William Mulder, aka the fictional male version of meFavorite female character? Dana Katherine Scully, special agent and medical doctorLeast favorite character? Cigarette Smoking MotherfuckerPrettiest character: Scully, especially circa Ice #imsogayFunniest character: Special Agent Whalesong, Monica ReyesFavorite season: All of them? Probs season 5 tho.Favorite episode: Post Modern Prometheus. Milagro. Chinga. Pusher.Favorite romantic ship: Sculder. Roggett. Favorite family ship: Scully/Mulder/William or Scully/Mulder/The Lone GunmenFavorite friendship: Mulder & TLG or Scully & MonicaLeast favorite ship: Scully/CSM

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scenes-in-between · 3 years

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Providence

“Listen carefully, Agent Scully. You want to see your son? You come alone, and you follow my instructions to the letter.”

Scully’s pulse pounds in her ears, and the room seems to sway around her. William is alive.

“Go immediately to the airport. There is a flight leaving Dulles for Calgary in two hours, and if you want to see your son, you will be on it. When you have landed in Canada, I will call again with further instructions.”

“Wait, Calgary? Who is this, how do I know--”

There is a rustling sound, and then, faintly, she can hear a baby crying. Her heart leaps into her throat.

“You bastard! If you hurt him, I swear to God…”

“He is safe here with us. We will not let any harm come to him. You have my word on that. But unless you do exactly as I say, we will hide him so thoroughly that the next time you see him, he will have grown up without you, and you will be strangers to one another.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she brushes it angrily away. A thousand curses stick in her throat.

“The clock is ticking, agent.”

The man hangs up before she can say anything more.

Scully only barely resists the urge to hurl her phone against the wall in frustration. She nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand touches her shoulder; she'd forgotten Reyes and Doggett were there in the room with her.

"I have to go," she says tightly.

"No, Agent Scully, please listen to me.” Doggett strains to sit up. “You can’t--”

“Trust them. I know.” She turns to Monica. “That’s why I need you to go back to my apartment and get the Gunmen. Tell them to bring whatever equipment they need to track a vehicle, and then get to Dulles as fast as you can. The man on the phone said the flight leaves in two hours, so we have to hurry. I’ll call you with the flight details once I get to the airport.”

Monica nods. “I’m on it,” she says, giving Doggett’s hand a last squeeze and hurrying from the room.

Scully starts to follow, but Doggett reaches for her.

“Damn it, wait,” he says. “How do you know you’re not being led on a wild goose chase? Or worse, right into a trap?”

“I don’t,” Scully admits. “But Agent Comer crashed at the Canadian border, and this man on the phone said to go to Calgary. And I heard...” Her throat tightens, and the rest of the sentence comes out as a whisper. “They have him, John. And this may be my last chance to get him back.”

Doggett’s mouth tightens, but he nods. “Just be careful. Watch your back, and don’t let your guard down for a second.”

“I won’t,” she promises.

***

With their van totaled, and given the possibility that they might be needed at a moment’s notice to help with the search for William, the Lone Gunmen have spent the past few days camped out in Agent Scully’s living room. Her apartment is, without question, far nicer than their place, but Byers knows he is not the only one starting to feel restless and ready to get home. Langly’s been increasingly unable to sit still, not-so-subtly rubbing his back and cracking his neck and grumbling under his breath about how dining room chairs have no lumbar support. And though Frohike would never in a million years admit it, he hasn’t relaxed for more than a moment since they got here, and Byers is pretty sure he’s barely slept.

For his part, Byers is sick of feeling useless; when push comes to shove, no matter how many years he’s spent with Frohike and Langly, his hacking skills still can’t hold a candle to theirs. Sure, he takes point when it comes to research, and he can dig through a database like no one’s business, but they’ve had so little to go on with this that it’s just felt like he’s spinning his wheels.

All three of them jump when Scully’s phone rings.

Byers gets up to go answer it, but Frohike hisses, “Are you nuts?”

“It might be Agent Scully,” Byers says, eyebrows raised.

Frohike picks up his cell phone from the table in front of him and waves it. “Hello. If it were Scully calling, then this would be ringing instead.”

“It’s probably just a telemarketer,” Langly says with a shrug, turning back to his laptop screen.

The answering machine clicks on, and it is definitely not a telemarketer who speaks next.

“Guys, this is Monica Reyes. Pick up the phone. Now!”

Byers scrambles to the phone and picks it up. “Agent Reyes? What’s wrong, is Agent Scully hurt?”

“She’s fine, but listen. I’m on my way to get you three. Pack up whatever you gear need for tracking a vehicle and meet me out in front of the building in five minutes. Oh, and make sure you’ve got IDs as well. We’re going to the airport.”

“The air--?”

“Look, I’ll explain when I get there. We may have a lead on William, but we have to hurry. We can’t let them get away again.”

“We’ll be ready,” Byers says firmly and hangs up the phone, then turns around to the other two. “Please tell me there was a GPS transponder in with the stuff from the van when we cleared it out.”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Frohike says, frowning. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Agent Reyes said they may have a lead on William, but we have to leave now, and we’ll need to be able to track a vehicle. She’ll be here in five minutes to pick us up.”

“Well what are we waiting for?” Frohike stands and pushes his chair back so fast it almost tips over. “Let’s get that kid back.”

***

Josepho’s phone trills in his pocket a little after 2:00 am.

Right on time.

“Do you have eyes on her?” he asks without preamble. “And is she alone?”

“I’ve been watching her since she got off the plane,” the man he’d sent to the airport to shadow Agent Scully tells him. “She hasn’t spoken to anyone, just paced back and forth with her phone in her hand.”

“Good.”

He hangs up, then redials the number given to him by his supersoldier contact within the FBI. Agent Scully answers immediately.

“Where are you? I assume you’ve been watching me, so you know I’ve done as you asked. Now where is my son?”

“Patience, Agent Scully. You must think me a fool if you imagine I would come to the airport myself. We will meet somewhere more private. There is a truck stop west of the city off Highway 1. It is the only thing open at this hour, so you will know it when you see it. Go inside, and wait for me there.”

He hangs up without giving her a chance to respond, then puts his phone back in his pocket and turns around, walking over to where the boy sleeps peacefully in Angela’s arms. Careful not to wake him, he brushes gentle fingertips across the baby’s brow. It’s incredible, what the future holds for this child. His own mother may not be able to understand or believe it, but Josepho will make her see reason. God has assured him that all will go according to His grand plan, as long as Josepho remains faithful and overcomes the few remaining obstacles blocking the way.

***

“A woman with dark hair will come here in a few minutes, and I need you to give this to her,” Scully tells the man at the Lariat counter, handing him a note in exchange for the rental car keys he’s just given her. “Her name is Monica.”

He looks momentarily puzzled but takes the note from her with a smile. “Will do.”

Scully doesn’t make eye contact as she stalks past Monica and the boys, who are seated near the door. She and Reyes worked it out on the plane, in a brief, hushed conversation by the lavatory.

Scully is under no illusions that this UFO cult will let her simply walk away with William, not if they believe him to be some sort of messiah. She has no idea why they have offered to let her see him, unless they somehow think they can persuade her to join their cause. There will likely be a threat made, a gun held on her under a table as they take William away again.

But they won’t know about her backup, and they won’t know that she will be ready to track them right back to wherever they have been hiding.

She will get her son back. Tonight.

#x riles fanfic #txf: providence #scullyfic #the lone gunmen #monica whalesong reyes #john doggett #magically fast and problem-free air travel #(which is necessary to include due to chris carter's utter and flagrant disregard for geography)#(seriously... dc to calgary in a matter of hours? with no notice? yeah okay surejan.gif)#;)

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scenes-in-between · 3 years

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Hellbound

“You ever visited Novi before?” “No, I never have.”

Monica can feel Van Allen’s gaze on her back as she continues toward the car. It’s unsettling, but she resists the urge to look back over her shoulder; she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he’s unnerved her.

It’s not clear what exactly his deal is. Certainly he wouldn’t be the first small town detective with a chip on his shoulder about the FBI coming around to ask questions. Nor would he be the first man she’s encountered who thinks women don’t belong in law enforcement. But it feels like something more than that; the energy coming off him is dark and almost predatory. Monica learned long ago not to ignore those energies and impressions, even (or perhaps especially) when they are at odds with the way things appear on the outside.

When she rounds the front of the car and reaches for the driver’s side door, she lets herself look up again. Van Allen is still watching her, but to her relief, John exits the church just then, and the detective turns toward him instead.

“What’d I tell you?” he says. “Waste of time.”

John glances across the driveway at Monica before responding. “A man was murdered, Detective. Now he might not have been a Boy Scout, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can to find his killer.”

“Funny. I would’ve thought the FBI had bigger things to worry about than why some low-life nobody got himself killed. You must be real busy if you go chasing after every little thing that comes your way.”

The sneer in Van Allen’s voice gives Monica a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Victor Potts didn’t just piss somebody off in a bar fight and end up shot,” John says. “Even you have to admit the way he died was pretty unusual. I haven’t seen something like that since I was working a lot of gang cases, and I wouldn’t think you get a lot of that kinda activity out here in Novi.”

Van Allen shrugs. “A little here and there. This isn’t exactly South Central. But it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots and figure out Potts probably made himself some enemies in prison. You drove here from D.C. yourself, Agent Doggett. You know the city’s not all that far away.”

It’s not lost on Monica that this is, essentially, the very same argument John made last night. She’s grateful, then, that he doesn’t simply agree with the detective now.

“Maybe so,” he says. “Maybe there’s something else goin’ on. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not close a case based solely on an assumption of the facts.”

Instead of answering, Van Allen turns his head to look right at Monica, sending another chill down her spine. “Well, it looks like your partner is waiting for you, Agent Doggett. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your important work.”

Monica breaks eye contact, not even caring in that moment if it makes her look weak; she can’t bear another second locked eye-to-eye with him. She opens the car door, sits down inside, and puts the key in the ignition, not looking up again until John gets in the car.

***

Doggett reaches for his seatbelt as Monica starts the car.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“For what?”

“I know you think Van Allen’s right, that Victor Potts probably just got on someone’s bad side, maybe while he was in prison. But I appreciate that you’re willing to see the case through anyway.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Since when do you need to thank me for doing my job? Now I might not understand what it is about this particular case that’s got you all tied up in knots, but I meant what I said to Lisa Holland in there, that there’s justice to be served. Regardless of whether or not he’s right, Detective Van Allen clearly hasn’t done his due diligence, and you know that sort of thing is never gonna sit well with me.”

She looks over at him, smiling, before turning her attention back to the road. “And that’s one of the reasons you’re not just a good agent, but a good man, too.”

“Well, no need to act all surprised,” he says, and she laughs.

He has to admit, though, that he’s still puzzled as to why they’re on this case at all. Lisa Holland said that Monica contacted her about it, not the other way around, as Doggett had assumed.

“Tell me something,” he says. “If Lisa Holland wasn’t the one who contacted you about this case, how did you find out about it?”

He sees her shoulders tense. “I… I read about it.”

“What, over the wire?” he asks, frowning. “Talk about a needle in a haystack. Were you looking for something in particular or what?”

“No, it’s more like… this case found me.”

He waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t say anything more. She gets like this sometimes, clearly holding something back, but he knows it’s not because she’s trying to keep the upper hand or keep him in the dark about something important.

No, when she gets like this, it’s because she’s afraid of looking foolish.

Doggett can’t honestly say he buys a lot of the stuff that she talks about, feeling “energies” and that sort of thing. But he knows Monica is a good agent. She’s smart and cares a hell of a lot more than most people. So it doesn’t matter, most of the time, if she wants to believe in auras or ghosts or whatever. More often than not, they end up on the same page by the time a case is closed, even if they don’t agree on how exactly they got there. No matter how this case ended up on her radar, it’s here now, and he’ll see it through.

Would’ve been nice if she could’ve waited until morning to bring him in on it, though. He stifles a yawn.

“Well, where do you want to go next with this? Back to the office to run backgrounds, or is there anything else in Novi you think we should check out first?”

“I think backgrounds are the logical next step, yes,” Monica says, nodding. “We need to know more about Potts’s connections, in prison and otherwise. I’ve also asked Dana to look for any cases with a similar M.O. or cause of death.”

“You think there’s a chance we’re looking for someone who’s done this before and was never caught?”

She’s quiet a moment, then says, “I think it would take a certain type of person to do something like this. Not just the cruelty of it, but the precision. This is someone who has either done this before, or they’ve been planning for a long time, maybe after they saw someone else do the same thing.”

The precision, Doggett has to admit, is the one thing that has given him pause. Sure, he’s seen skinnings before, but they’ve generally been rushed, sloppy, and more often than not, inflicted after death. Whoever killed Victor Potts was skilled, and patient, more interested in prolonging the victim’s torture than just leaving a threat to some rival gang.

“Yeah, you may be right,” he says. “Last thing we’d want is for this to be someone just getting started.”

He sees a shiver go through Monica. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” she says quietly.

***

Background checks are tedious even under the best circumstances, but by early afternoon, Monica can see that the tedium combined with the lack of sleep is really taking a toll on John. His eyes keep drifting closed, and he’s had the file on his desk open to the same page for the last fifteen minutes.

As much as she hates to admit it, they aren’t making much progress. Even sustained as she has been by caffeine, adrenaline, and nicotine gum, Monica knows that the sleepless night is starting to catch up with her, too. She wants to solve this case -- needs to solve it -- but sheer force of will is only going to get her so far.

“Okay,” she says, clicking ‘print’ on the document she’d been reading, a report about potential instances of death premonitions. “I think we’ve hit a point of diminishing returns here. I say we take some work home with us and call it a day.”

John looks up. “You go on ahead. Truth be told, I don’t think I’m in any shape to get behind the wheel of my truck right now. I’ll grab a nap here and head home a little later.”

Guilt hits her then. If he’s willing to freely admit that he’s too tired to drive safely, he must be completely exhausted. And it’s her fault. This case is important, yes, but did she really need to haul him out of bed in the middle of the night to come look at Victor Potts’s body, or could it have waited until morning? It had felt critical and urgent in the moment, but now she’s not so sure.

“You know what? I have a better idea. Come with me. My apartment is all of ten minutes away, and my couch is way more comfortable than the floor in here.”

“It’s fine, really, I just need--”

“Please, John. I owe you. Let me buy you dinner to make up for dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night. After we’ve both had some rest, I’ll get something delivered.”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to argue more, then pauses. “Yeah, all right. Gotta admit, that sounds pretty good to me.”

She smiles. “Let’s go, then.”

#x-files fanfic #txf: hellbound #monica whalesong reyes #john doggett #a/n: i forgot how gross this episode is #rewatching it while eating lunch was not the best choice #:]

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scenes-in-between · 4 years

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Trust No 1 (Part three)

“Who authorizes you? I mean, what gives you the right? Who ARE you?!”

“I’m the future, Agent Scully. And I risked my life being here.”

“Well then why do it? I mean, why meet me?”

“Because you can reach Mulder. Mulder needs to know what I know or he may have no future. Perhaps no one will. Another car is parked on the main road, half a mile out. If I see that you haven’t contacted Mulder in the next 24 hours, I disappear and you never see me again. Do you understand, lady?”

Scully stalks away, seething. All of the theatrics, all of the waste, and for what? A two-minute conversation that raised more questions than it answered? What was the point of any of it?

Scowling, she pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket - because apparently it was absolutely necessary to blow up her clothes and her gun and inspect her watch, but Mr. Mysterious had no qualms about letting her keep her phone? - and punches the speed dial for Monica Reyes. Monica picks up immediately.

“Dana! Thank god. We’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where are you?”

“At the end of a very long and very stupid wild goose chase,” she grumbles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get in touch earlier. How’s William?”

“He’s just fine. John’s in the kitchen right now heating up a bottle for him.”

“Agent Doggett stayed with you?” she asks, surprised.

“Not the whole day,” Monica says. “After that couple left, he went to the office for a while, but then he came back a few hours ago when we still hadn’t heard from you. Seriously though, where have you been?”

Scully answers with a groan, then gives an abbreviated account of the day’s events as she continues making her way back to the main road. Her foot catches on something in the dark and she stumbles, cursing. Of all the times to be without a flashlight…

When she gets to the part about the car and the remote detonation, Monica says, “Holy hell, Dana! Do you need one of us to come get you?”

“No, he said there’s another car parked up the road. I’m heading toward it now.”

“But are you sure that’s safe?” Monica presses. “What if it’s rigged to explode, too?”

“Whoa, wait, what’s rigged to explode?” Scully hears Doggett say in the background, and she shudders at the thought that she spent the entire day driving around on top of a bomb. However, the fact that she’s still alive right now is a fairly good indicator that she’ll be able to get home safely.

“If he wanted me dead, he had ample opportunity,” she says. “No, what he wants is for me to contact Mulder, which I can’t very well do if I’ve been blown up. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

What she’s not sure of is exactly where she is right now. It became harder and harder to track her relative location after she left the interstate. The very notion of spending who knows how many more hours on the road fills her with a mix of exhaustion and dread, and she’s angry all over again at the phenomenal waste of time today has been.

“Maybe you can help me figure out where I am, though,” she says. “It was too dark to read the street signs, the last couple of turns he told me to make, but I was on Route 17 going north for a while, somewhere between Norfolk and Fredericksburg. It’s not much to go on, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

“I’m on it,” Monica tells her. “Can I use your computer?”

“Of course.”

“Here, you can talk to John while I pull up MapQuest.”

Ahead, Scully can just make out the bulk of a vehicle in the darkness. She reaches to unsnap her holster out of habit and grimaces when her fingers catch nothing but the fabric of her waistband.

In her ear, Doggett barks, “What in the heck’s going on? Where’ve you been all day, and why is Monica talking about things being rigged to explode?”

Scully sighs. “I’m going to let her fill you in on the details because I would just as soon not go through it all again right now. Short answer is that I’m fine, just tired and frustrated. I’ll be on my way home soon, hopefully. I want to thank you, though, for helping to look after William. I really do appreciate it.”

“Well, you’re welcome, but I didn’t do all that much. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She approaches the car, again wishing she had a flashlight. It’s too dark to see anything through the rear windows, but the front of the car at least appears to be empty. Cautiously, she reaches for the door handle; it’s unlocked, and the interior light comes on when she opens the door. There’s a piece of paper on the driver’s seat.

“Son of a bitch,” she murmurs, picking it up.

“Agent Scully?”

“You can tell Agent Reyes that I don’t need her help after all. I’ve been left a map.”

“A map?” Doggett asks. “So where are you?”

Thirty miles. She is all of thirty miles from Fredericksburg. It is going to take her less than two hours to get home. It could have taken her less than two hours to get here. Of all the stupid, pointless, absolutely and completely asinine...

“Just a bit southeast of Fredericksburg,” she says tightly, glancing at her watch. “I should be home by nine.”

“All right then. Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

***

This isn’t the first time Monica has been asked to watch William, but it is the first time she’s had to try and put him to bed.

And he is not having it.

She’s never seen him like this. She’s never felt him like this; William’s energy is always vibrant -- she’s known that since the night he was born -- but it’s usually contained, like the potential energy in a compressed spring. Tonight, it’s like a storm, howling around him as he wails in her arms.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Should we call Dana?”

John chuckles at her, evidently unconcerned, because of course he can’t feel what she feels.

“There’s nothing wrong. And there’s nothing she could do even if there was. He’s just tired.”

“No, John, I’m telling you, something is--”

“Here,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’ll show you.”

She passes the squirming baby to her partner and steps back, nerves jangling. John gathers William against his chest and starts to walk around the living room, gently bouncing him while murmuring softly. At first, Monica can’t hear what he’s saying over the sound of William’s cries, but as the boy gradually quiets, John’s words become clearer.

“There you go, easy does it, your mama’s gonna be home soon, don’t you worry, atta boy…”

He’s asleep within minutes, energy storm subsided. Monica shakes her head, a little abashed at having so comprehensively misread the situation.

“You were right,” she says quietly.

“Eh, nothing I hadn’t seen before, that’s all.” He doesn’t meet her eyes, his gaze still trained on the top of William’s head as he slows the bouncing to a gentle sway. “Luke certainly did his share of fussing.”

She didn’t know him then, of course. She’s only ever known him as a grieving father; this is the first time she’s gotten a glimpse of what he was like as a dad, and it makes her unexpectedly emotional.

“I’m gonna see if I can go put him down,” he says, and she nods, watching him go before turning to pick up the few scattered toys and take William’s dinner bottle back to the kitchen.

***

By the time she has retrieved her own car from where she left it parked this morning, after stewing on the whole drive home and running through the day’s various cryptic conversations over and over, Scully has come to three conclusions.

Number one: nearly everything that man claimed to know about her, he could have learned by bugging her apartment and going through her garbage bins. What did he really give her that was concrete? Knowing her clothing size seemed eerie at first, until she remembered the receipts she’s thrown away from a handful of recent shopping trips. Her childhood clown phobia? She and her mom were laughing about that in her living room a month or so ago. The rest of it -- resting heart rate, ATM pin, college boyfriend, et cetera -- was only specific enough to seem unnerving without actually proving that he knew any of it.

Her emails to Mulder would require some additional access, but that could be as simple as someone following her to the cafe. It’s probably one of the “regulars” that she -- blithely, it would seem -- dismissed as a potential threat.

Number two: while her apartment has definitely been under surveillance, apparently for quite a while, Mulder’s has not. The “one lonely night” the man mentioned? She’s reasonably certain he was referring to the night she asked Mulder to stay after the IVF failed, and that was not their first time together. If, as he said, the events of that night surprised him, then he could not have known about what they had already been doing at Mulder’s place. Or, for that matter, what they had been doing at her place before that night. So now she also knows approximately when the surveillance actually began.

Number three: if this man genuinely does have useful intel about super soldiers -- and that is an extraordinarily big “if” -- then it may in fact be worthwhile to call Mulder home. The idea terrifies and thrills her in almost equal measure. On the one hand, there is nothing she wants more than to have him home. Nothing. But on the other, if she has miscalculated, and calling him out of hiding only ends up getting him killed, she will never forgive herself.

In the end, it is Agent Doggett’s words from yesterday that settle the issue for her. If we know who these super-soldiers are we can go after them. This is somebody giving us a way that can make it safe for Mulder to come home.

How else are you going to get him home?

It’s a risk, possibly a big one, but ultimately, it’s one she has to take. He has been gone for almost seven months. This is the first time in those nearly seven months that there has even been a chance he might be able to come home. If she lets this chance go by, how much more time will pass before they get another one?

She walks into her apartment having made up her mind. There is a giddy, fluttery feeling in her stomach that is only temporarily eclipsed by ravenous hunger as she steps through the door and the smell of Thai food envelops her. Reyes and Doggett look up from where they’re sitting, at her kitchen table, takeout cartons amassed between them.

“Hope you don’t mind, we got takeout,” Reyes says, standing. “We didn’t know if you’d have a chance to eat, but if you’re hungry, there’s a bunch left.”

The last thing she ate was a bag of almonds from the gas station, hours and hours ago. To say she’s hungry is a massive understatement.

“Mind? I could kiss you both right now.”

Doggett’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and Reyes laughs. “I’ll get you a plate.”

Scully nods. “I’m just going to change and wash up.”

On her way to the bedroom, she grabs a plastic bag from the closet. The likelihood is slim that there will be much in the way of usable trace evidence on the clothes she’s wearing, but it would be irresponsible not to even look. She opens the bedroom door quietly so as not to wake William; by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, she can see him sleeping peacefully in his crib, and she smiles, some of the tension from the day melting away. Though she would love a shower, she's too hungry, so she settles for changing into sweats, carefully folding and bagging the "borrowed" outfit, then washes her hands and face before heading back to the kitchen.

Doggett and Reyes have tidied up their dishes and are in the process of putting on coats and shoes.

"We'll let you get some rest," Reyes says, though she’s looking at Doggett when she does. “Whatever else you might have to tell us about what happened today can wait until tomorrow.”

“Unless,” Doggett adds, in a tone that sounds like he’s continuing an argument from earlier, “there’s anything you think we need to know now. Or if you don’t feel safe staying here alone, knowing that this Shadow Man may well have eyes and ears on you.”

“Is that what we’re calling him?” Scully asks, arching one eyebrow. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine. As violating as it feels to be surveilled by some NSA creep--” she emphasizes the words, fully assuming that she’s being listened to right now “--I don’t have any reason to believe that William and I are not safe here.”

“Well I still don’t like it,” Doggett says, frowning. “Why don’t you let us post a couple agents out front, just in case?”

“I really don’t think that’s necess--”

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Reyes interjects, then drops her voice to a murmur. “Especially in light of what happened this morning. We know you can take care of yourself, Dana, but we also don’t know exactly what we’re up against, here. Maybe the answer is to try and watch the watchers, find out who they are, see if we can figure out who else the Shadow Man is working with.”

Scully sighs but has to admit that’s a sensible course of action. Either the knowledge that she’s being watched over will deter this so-called Shadow Man and his associates, or it won’t, in which case they could be exposed and identified.

“All right,” she agrees.

“Good,” Doggett says. “I’ll take first watch until I can get someone else over here.”

As soon as they leave, Scully makes herself a plate of food and takes it to her computer desk. If the Shadow Man is able to access her emails even when she sends them from the internet cafe, it seems pointless to wait until morning to write to Mulder. The giddy feeling from earlier comes rushing back as she types.

Mr. Hale,

I am overjoyed to tell you that circumstances appear to have changed. Exercise caution, but put the plan in motion. I cannot wait to see you.

All my love,

Dana

She clicks “send” with her heart in her throat, wondering where Mulder is and when he’ll be able to read her message. How long it might take for him to make the necessary arrangements and begin the journey home. He could be in her arms as early as tomorrow, a notion that seemed impossible just 24 hours ago.

She powers down the computer -- according to their plan, his next communication will come via text message from a burner phone -- and picks up her plate to finish eating in the kitchen. A glance out the window as she stands up reveals Agent Doggett sitting in his truck across the street, cell phone held to his ear. She sighs, regretting the additional work and worry she’s given her former partner but also deeply grateful that he’s got her back, he and Reyes both. She appreciates them more than she can say.

With any luck, all of this will soon be over. Mulder will come home, the Shadow Man will give him the information they need to take down the super-soldiers, and things can go back to… well… “normal” for them, anyway. It’s maybe too much to hope for, but right now, she will allow herself to be comforted by the fantasy, at least for a little while. When she finally crawls into bed, later, she falls asleep with her cell phone on the pillow beside her, imagining the sensation of being wrapped securely in Mulder’s arms.

***

“Holy shit,” he breathes, reading her email for the third time.

The library’s just about to close, and he had checked his email one last time before leaving, more out of impulse than any actual expectation that there would be anything there. The surprise of a new email was immediately eclipsed by the surprise over its contents.

Home. He can go home. He and Gibson both, even. No more hiding in the desert. No more ache of longing binding his stomach and keeping him from sleep. It almost sounds too good to be true, but she called him Mr. Hale, the code phrase they established before he left so he’d be able to tell a genuine summons from a trap. This is the real deal.

Which means the threat is past. Maybe Skinner cut a deal, hell, maybe Kersh did. Who knows? Who cares?! He gets to go home!

The grin on his face is massive as he logs off and heads for the door.

***

“You’re leaving," Gibson says, before Mulder has even closed the front door behind himself. "You promised you wouldn’t. But I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to keep that promise.”

It's still weird, Gibson knowing what he's thinking about before he's even said anything, but it doesn't throw him for a loop the way it used to.

“No, we’re leaving, Gibson. Both of us.”

Gibson scoffs. “You know I’m not going anywhere. It’s not safe. You might be able to outrun them if they catch us, but I--”

“Scully said it’s safe. And yes, I’m sure the message really was from her.”

Gibson stares hard at him and Mulder thinks as forcefully and loudly and clearly as he can.

We can both be free. I swear. I will protect you.

“I believe that you believe that,” Gibson says finally. “But I don’t think either of us knows for sure whether that’s really true.”

“Look, I know you’re scared. And you’re right that there are no guarantees. But for the first time since I left Washington, there is at least a chance that it’s safe for us to get out of here. If we don't take it, I don't know when another one is gonna come along. Do you really want to hide here for the rest of your life?"

"If it doesn't mean dying horribly and having my head karate chopped off by an alien replicant? Yeah. I'm fine with that."

Mulder’s thoughts flicker, involuntarily, to Dr. Parenti’s severed head in a jar, to the gash in Skinner’s forehead, to his own memory of being hurled across Parenti’s lab by Billy Miles.

“Exactly,” says Gibson. “I’m not letting that happen to me.”

“I trust Scully,” Mulder says, thinks. “She wouldn’t call me home if it wasn’t safe. She’s too smart and too cautious to take a risk like that.”

This, at last, seems to convince him, if only somewhat. He may not trust Mulder’s judgment, but he apparently trusts Scully’s, at least enough to finally sigh and say, “Okay. I hope you’re right.”

Despite Gibson’s reluctance, it takes almost no time at all to pack. They don’t have much to take, not bothering with spare clothes. Mulder shoves the stuff he printed about Mount Weather into his backpack, along with a little food, the fake IDs from the Gunmen and all of their remaining cash. They’re out the door and on the road in less than twenty minutes.

On the way to the train station, Mulder stops to gas up the motorcycle and buy four prepaid cell phones from the convenience store. Two hours later, as they’re getting ready to board the train that will take them eastward, Mulder types Scully’s number into the first phone and sends a single-word text message.

“Midnight.”

Once the message sends, he opens the back of the phone, pockets the battery, and tosses the phone in a garbage can.

#x-files fanfic #TXF: Trust No 1 #scullyfic #mulderfic #gibson praise #monica whalesong reyes #john doggett #msr #mulder on the run #a/n: this installment of scenes in between was originally going to be in two parts #and then it turned into three #aaaaaand now it's gonna be four #there are just too many gaps to fill in #hopefully no one minds ;)#i promise it won't take me as long to finish and post part four #as it did to finish and post part three

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scenes-in-between · 5 years

Text

Existence (Part Three)

It occurs to Mulder, when the nurse comes to tell Agent Reyes she has a phone call, that there’s someone he should probably call, too. He sits up slowly, eases the sleeping baby from his chest to the crook of his arm, and carefully stands. There’s a pay phone at the end of the hall, and he makes his way over to it, hoping there’s still money left on the phone card he hasn’t used in over a year.

It rings all the way through to the answering machine, but the recorded message cuts off abruptly with a breathless, “Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi, Mrs. Scully,” he stammers, thrown. “I’m sorry to call at this hour, but I thought you’d want to know--”

“Fox?! Where’s Dana, is she all right? I haven’t been able to reach her, and her doctor hasn’t seen her, and nobody will tell me where she is or if she’s alive, or--”

“She’s okay,” he says quickly, cursing himself for not even thinking about how upset she would be when Scully disappeared without warning. “She’s okay, and the baby’s okay, and I’m sorry you were worried, but everything’s--”

“Worried?” Her voice cracks, and when she speaks again, it is with a near sob. “Do you have any idea what I have been through these past three days? How terrifying it is to… to not know where your pregnant daughter is or if she’s even… if she…”

He looks at the floor, shame burning through him, as Mrs. Scully loses her composure on the other end of the line. Every hitching breath and muffled sob cuts like broken glass, and he bears them all, letting the impact of it hit him square in the chest.

He deserves this. All of it.

It doesn’t matter that he was trying to protect Scully, that he thought she would be safest if even he didn’t know where she was going. It doesn’t even matter whether he was right or wrong about that. What matters is that he didn’t even consider Margaret Scully’s feelings, that she didn’t enter into the equation at all, as far as he was concerned. He owes her more than that. After everything that has happened, from the moment her daughter walked into his office eight years ago, he owes her so much more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You should be.” Her voice is thick, angry. “I know I’m supposed to tell you that it’s okay. I’m supposed to just quietly accept this life Dana has chosen, accept the dangers and the risks because she has accepted them. But it is not okay! How many times, Fox? How many times is she going to disappear, or get sick, or have people trying to hurt her? How many times am I going to have to wonder where she is or if she’s ever coming home? Or if I’m going to have to bury her like we buried you?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“No. Of course you don’t. And to be honest, Fox, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

He has no answer to that. Mrs. Scully sighs into the receiver.

“Can you at least tell me where my daughter is now? And why you’re the one calling me instead of her?”

“She’s… resting,” he hedges, turning his gaze to the baby. He can’t help the soft smile that comes to his face, and a warmth blooms in his chest that has nothing to do with guilt or shame. “I was, um… I was calling to tell you that your grandson’s been born.”

She gasps. “Oh! Oh, but that’s… But I asked Dr. Speake to call me right away if Dana came to the hospital! I’ll be right there, just--”

“We’re not at Washington Memorial,” Mulder says quickly.

“You’re not? But… well, then where?”

He winces as he answers, “Blairsville, Georgia.”

“Georgia,” she breathes. “But that’s impossible. I don’t understand, Fox. She was supposed to be on maternity leave. No work, no travel, certainly no flying--”

“This wasn’t about work.” At least not directly. “I thought… there was a chance someone wanted to hurt her, and I… I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So you took her to Georgia? And couldn’t take five minutes to let me know she was going away?”

He squeezes his eyes closed. This is not how this phone call was supposed to go. He was supposed to deliver the happy news about the baby and reassure Mrs. Scully that everything was okay. Instead, here they are. And none of it is her fault. It is entirely his own shortsightedness that got them here.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I know you are, Fox. You’re always sorry. But I can’t think of a time that’s ever actually changed anything.”

He’s stunned into silence, the wind figuratively knocked right out of him. She’s not wrong, and it’s not as though he hasn’t told himself the same damned thing, any one of the billion times he’s wallowed in shame and self-flagellation. Somehow, though, it hits that much harder, coming from her.

“Please ask Dana to call me when she can,” she says after a bit. “I would appreciate someone letting me know when she is coming home. Goodbye, Fox.”

“I--”

But she’s already hung up.

***

Monica doesn’t see Mulder and the baby at first, when she returns to the waiting area, and wonders if they’ve been let in to see Dana. She starts to try and find someone to ask, but then she spots him at the end of the hall, baby in one arm, phone to his ear, shoulders hunched. He’s too far away to hear what he’s saying, but his posture alone speaks volumes. Whoever he’s talking to, it’s not going well.

Looking away, she goes back to the chair she was sitting in before and wearily lowers herself into it. What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette right about now. Of all the reasons to want to quit, it’s the inconvenience of the habit that’s always been the most powerful motivator. Yes, she should want to quit because it’s terrible for her, and it’s not as if that isn’t a factor. It’s just… whenever she’s in a situation where she can’t stop for a smoke, it’s usually already stressful enough without throwing cravings into the mix. Being free of those cravings would be liberating, has been liberating, each time she’s managed to “quit” in the past.

“Probably time to try again,” she mutters aloud, rubbing her forehead.

She looks up again at the sound of footsteps down the hall and sees Mulder coming back toward her, his face ashen. Before she can ask him what’s wrong, though, the door at the end of the hall opens, and a nurse walks toward them.

“Mr. Mulder? Ms. Reyes? I’m pleased to tell you that Ms. Scully is waking up. You can come see her if you’d like, but only for a few minutes. She still needs a lot of rest.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Monica says, standing.

She turns her head to glance at Mulder, but instead of the relief she expected to see and feel from him, his jaw muscle bulges, and an anxious energy is rolling off of him in waves. They follow the nurse together in silence, and it is not until the door opens to Dana’s room and they can see her for themselves that he relaxes. He practically floats the last few steps to her bedside, while Monica hangs back at the doorway. Though clearly exhausted, Dana immediately brightens at the sight of him and the baby, and though Monica can only see Mulder’s back, she has no doubt there is a matching smile on his face.

When Mulder leans down to kiss Dana on the forehead, their son cradled between them, Monica eases back into the hallway to give them some privacy. There will be time for her to talk to Dana later; for now, Monica is just so glad to see that she’s all right.

***

“You’re really here,” she croaks, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears. “I was afraid maybe I’d dreamed it.”

Mulder eases himself onto the edge of the bed, beside her hip. “I’m really here.”

He slowly places the sleeping baby, all wrapped in new blankets, on the bed next to her, and her eyes fill with tears. He is still really here, too. They didn’t take him.

“Oh, Mulder, I was so scared…” she whispers, too choked up to say more than that.

“Shh,” he says, his fingertips grazing her forehead. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe, and he’s safe, and I’m not gonna let anything happen to either of you.”

A shadow flits across his expression; he has to know as well as she does that this isn’t a thing he can promise. There were just so many of them, and all like Billy Miles. If they’d wanted to hurt her, to take the baby, there wouldn’t have been a single thing Mulder or anyone else could have done to stop them.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head, and instantly she’s back in that room, Monica yelling at her to push, and all of them there, watching, waiting…

“Okay,” someone says, and she opens her eyes with a gasp as a hand touches her shoulder. Dimly, she realizes the ECG monitor is beeping like crazy, and the nurse has come to stand beside the bed, across from Mulder. “Take a deep breath, sugar. Easy does it. Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside and--”

“No,” Scully says, shaking her head again. “No, please… please let him stay. I just need… I need…”

She feels Mulder take her hand in his, lets the familiar slide of his thumb across her knuckles ground her. That simple gesture, just one of many in the compendium of physical shorthand they have developed over the years, conveys without words that he is here, with her, in this moment. It’s support and concern and love, all communicated silently but no less earnestly for it.

Tucked between them, his head resting against her upper arm and his body snugly nestled against her side, is their son. The miracle she never expected to have and was terrified she wouldn’t get to keep. It is still a little hard to believe that he is finally here, whole and healthy and human. She spent so many months afraid, despite the tests and all of the attempts to reassure herself that he was normal, and some part of her never really relaxed enough to truly believe that she could have this. For that matter, she still keeps thinking she is going to wake up to discover the last couple of months never happened, that Mulder is still dead and buried in North Carolina, lost to her forever. It hardly seems possible she could be granted two things so extraordinarily miraculous and be permitted to keep them both, but maybe… just maybe…

Gradually, her heart stops racing.

“All right.” The nurse gives a wary nod, then turns to Mulder. “Y’all can visit a little while longer, but then she needs to rest some more. I’ll come back when it’s time.” Looking back at Scully, she adds, “But if you need anything before then, just press that call button. Okay?”

“Thank you,” Scully says.

When they’re alone, Mulder brings her knuckles briefly to his lips, then releases her hand to let it rest on the baby. She watches for a while as the small chest rises and falls under her palm, and when she looks back up at Mulder’s face, she sees him gazing at her with such a look of wonder that she can’t help smiling back at him.

“The, uh, the doctors were asking me about his name,” he says softly. “I didn’t know what to tell them. I never, um… I never asked if you had one picked out or…”

Right. That.

When Mulder was missing, she put off a lot of things, hoping against hope that he would be returned and they would have a chance do those things together. When he was “dead,” she was really only existing day by day; even something as seemingly simple as thinking about potential baby names was more forward-looking than she could manage. Since he’s been back, things were so shaky at first, and then he didn’t even want to know the baby’s sex, and so it’s really only been in the last week or two that she’s felt like she could even consider bringing up the subject of names with him.

And somehow, because their lives are the way they are, she just never quite got around to it. That’s not to say she hasn’t thought about names at all, but she is definitely nowhere near having chosen one for certain.

“No, I… I suppose I thought we’d have time to talk about it. Together. Then everything happened so fast in the last few days, and…” She shrugs, trying not to slip back into thinking too deeply about the last few days. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Me?” He looks surprised, like it never occurred to him he might have a say in this. “I don’t know. I was… gone… for so much of your pregnancy, and… I guess I just assumed you would’ve already had something in mind.”

“Nothing definite, no,” she says, shaking her head.

“Well, my father’s family had a tradition of always naming children after someone else. Of course, that’s how you end up saddled with a name like Fox, so I’m not sure I actually endorse the practice.”

She smiles. “So there’s another Fox Mulder somewhere in your family tree?”

“No, actually. But my grandmother’s maiden name was Fuchs, which is--”

“German for ‘fox,’” she says along with him, nodding in recognition.

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.” Looking down, he reaches to touch the baby's cheek with one finger. “Still. Let's do this kid a favor and not name him after his old man, all right? I like him too much already to do that to him.”

“Mulder…”

“And not… not Sam,” he adds quietly. “There’s too much weight there, and I just… not Sam, okay?”

She reaches for his hand again, and he takes it, giving her fingers a little squeeze. “Okay.”

As legacy names go, there is one obvious answer. It’s one she thought about, briefly, when she was starting the IVF process over a year ago. One she could brush off as an homage to her father, if Mulder had decided he wanted nothing to do with anything past the sperm donation, but which would still (at least in her mind) acknowledge his contribution.

Of course, it might also be too obvious a choice, which is enough to make her question whether it is the right one.

“I think,” he says after a while, “it should be your decision. And I also think there’s no need to rush and decide right now. Hang out with him for a few days, see what feels right.”

It’s not what she wanted -- the burden of making this decision all on her own -- but she’s suddenly too tired again to argue, and she supposes Mulder is right that there’s no rush. So she nods and covers a yawn with her free hand. As if on cue, there’s a light tap on the door, and the nurse comes back into the room, along with a doctor.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Scully?”

“I’m okay,” says through another yawn.

Mulder leans forward to press a kiss against her forehead. “You rest. The little man and I will be right outside.”

“Actually,” the doctor says, “we’re going to go ahead and move you out of recovery and over into the L&D wing. We’ll get you all set up in a family room together. How does that sound?”

Family. The word gives her a happy, swoopy feeling in her stomach, and from the way Mulder is beaming down at her, he must be feeling the same way. She squeezes his hand.

“That sounds great.”

#x-files fanfic #txf: existence #mulderfic #scullyfic #monica whalesong reyes #baby william #maggie scully #msr

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