He Found Her in Pieces

He Found Her in Pieces, Part 1

Mulder stepped into the white house that they share, shared. There's a blanket on the couch still curving to fit her body where she'd stood up early one morning to get ready to go to the hospital and it had fallen -- no longer secure without her there. Yeah. The house was empty without her there and yet, there were still pieces of her everywhere. Including the cup of tea, still a sip or two full, the tag hanging over the side, because she never removed the tea bag after it steeped. He'd never been sure if it was because she liked the tea strong or by the time the liquid had cooled enough for her to swallow it her mind was elsewhere. He'd stared at it after she left that morning, stared at the last things she'd allowed to touch her lips in an intimate way before she left, and even though she'd packed her bag for the conference she would be attending after work that day to be followed by a week consulting on a stem cell treatment case in Pennsylvania, he knew she wouldn't be back.

Her mind had been elsewhere, not just while sipping on a warm cup of tea, but for awhile now. He dropped his own bag at his feet. Had he hoped his own trip to DC was long enough that she'd be back by the time he returned, if only to pack up some more of her things? Had she come and when she found him unavailable to her, found no reason to stay? Mulder sat down next to his bag, leaning against the door that they had gone in and out of so many times, only this time she stepped out of it once too many.

Scully. He'd once told her that she was his touchstone, but they wandered so far from each other in this house the last few months, disagreed without any words. She wouldn't open up to him. She kept everything bottled so tightly inside. He thought they were past that. I'm fine. How long hadn't she been fine? He'd thought about it after leaving Skinner's office, he thought about her the whole drive home. This is the second time since they'd left the Bureau that the FBI had come to him for help. The first time Scully had brought the message, she'd worried about his isolation, she'd soon regretted leading him back to the darkness. His booking agent. This is what he'd called her. Maybe she had been pleading with him softly, as loudly as Scully could. Maybe she wasn't afraid of the darkness that was coming back into their lives. Maybe she was scared of the darkness that had been trapped inside of her so long. Maybe he always knew that she wouldn't be able to run from it always, that running with him never meant, that she was leaving behind that which had grabbed on so tightly to her organs, her lungs, her mind. Dark things, that once they'd settled in their house she could let float underneath the serene pool of finally being still for more than a week.

Christian had recovered significantly and had been released from the hospital six weeks after his final stem cell treatment. Not giving up had been right the decision. Not for him, but for the boy she'd been fighting so hard to save while he was off chasing down monsters. Then, it had been Scully that had saved him as well. Was that enough for her? It hadn't been long after Christian was discharged when she'd come home late one night and asked him if he'd ever wanted to find out more about their son. William. Was he okay? Did they make the right decision? They were settled now. They were out of the FBI. Couldn't they at least meet with him? She would not meet his eyes, throughout the entire conversation she looked down into her tea. He could get into the mind of the darkests psychopath, estimate the next move of the most evil serial killer, but he'd missed it. Hurt by her willingness to walk away if he kept freelancing for the bureau. He'd taken one more case after that night when he'd responded that shaking up their son's life now would do more harm than good. He had parents. He had a life. He thought she would be gone when he got back to their home in Virginia because he'd went one more time when Skinner's office called, one more time without her. He'd missed all she wasn't saying and then she hadn't said much. Mulder was fearing a darkness, he wasn't even sure Scully knew was there.

He rested his head against the door and tried to think of her tired eyes, the nights she couldn't sleep, and as he rested his eyes all he could see flashing into view were the images ... the situations ... every time she uttered the words, "I'm fine."

It was just as he saw the sparks shimmering down over head. A flash of that night in her apartment. A loud release of the final bullet in a round that ended Donnie Pfaster's life. His cell phone rang. He jumped, awakened abruptly from his trancelike state, and stood up. He hesitated once he saw the name on his phone, but he couldn't not take her call.

"Maggie." He breathed into the receiver.

"Fox, I'm worried about Dana." Mrs. Scully replied.

What time was it? He wondered.

"Maggie, I'm sure she's fine." He shook his head, almost sure he regretted the words and his tone. It was too late.

"Fox," she began again, more softly this time. The only woman he let call him by his first name and somehow with her it felt like a privilege. It drove Scully nuts.

"Mrs. Scully things are not --"

"I had a dream. I woke up shaking."

Mulder found himself transported to the last time Mrs. Scully had a dream about her daughter. She dreamed she was taken. He remembered her telling him about the dream after he'd seen Scully's hair and blood stuck to a table in her apartment the night Duane Barry abducted her.

"She left for a conference a week ago and was staying in Pennsylvania to supervise some work the Hershey Center Children's Hospital is doing with stem cell treatments. Have you tried to call her? I'm sure she's just thrown herself into her research. You know how --" He let his voice trailed off, having a hard time even believing it himself. Yes, Scully was a workaholic. They both were passionate about their work, but he trusted Mrs. Scully's intuition.

"She was here a few days ago. She left early Tuesday morning. She said it was work. Fox, she needs you."

"Mrs. Scully, what she needs is space." Even as he spoke, his anxiety was rising.

"Have you heard from her?" She asked.

"No. I've been on a case." He replied, all the more reason he would've been in contact with her under normal circumstances.

"You always kept her safe. It's the only reason I've ever been able to rest at night. I think she's gone. I just think she's gone, Fox."

Maggie listened as if she could hear him thinking though the phone. He wanted to tell her that her daughter didn't want him coming after her. That Scully thought they couldn't be together. The truth was he hadn't heard anything for longer than he liked, it had kept him distracted on the case, and this did nothing but fuel the idea that things were a lot worse for her than she'd ever let him see.

"Did she say anything while she was there? She didn't tell you where she was going for work?" He asked.

"No, she just went through a box of William's baby clothes that were up in the attic. She seemed tired. She went to bed right after dinner." Maggie Scully sounded exhausted.

"I'll find her."

He grabbed the bag that had been sitting at his feet and headed toward the car he'd rented in DC. "Try not to worry, Mrs. Scully. Everything is going to be okay."

Yet, there was something deep within him that just didn't believe it.

Not this time.