Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 22:51:34 -0600 From: Loch Ness To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Subject: Empathy (1/6) by Swikstr I did not write this; I'm posting for a friend. Please direct any and all feedback to swikstr@bigfoot.com. ********************************************************************* Title: Empathy (1/6) Author: Swikstr Email address: swikstr@bigfoot.com Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, etc. Catagory: X Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all five seasons up to Kitsunegari Keywords: None -- at author's request Summary: While on a research assignment in Chicago, Mulder and Scully stumble upon a mysterious individual who may possess a remarkable parapsychic ability. Their association with her leads to a few new discoveries and pathways into their existence. Archive: Yes to Gossamer, otherwise, ask me. Intro: I confess I am a newcomer to the X Files world. My usual writing schtick is the Pretender, but after watching my first ever episode of X Files on FX back in January, I became completely hooked. And these characters are just too fascinating to leave alone. Yes, to any Chicagoans out there who catch me, I did take a few liberties in my geographical descriptions of neighborhoods and of Navy Pier. As to the play "Space," that Mulder and Scully attended, it *was* a production at Steppenwolf Theatre and I thank the writer, Tina Landau, and the actors for their inspiration. I always welcome comments and feedback to the email addy below. If that's not your thing, then by all means just sit back and enjoy the ride -- Swikstr Disclaimer: The characters Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, Tenthirteen productions and the Fox Network. No infringement is intended. ********* "Empathy" (1/6) swikstr ********* Intro -- Whirlwind 805 W. Addison Chicago, IL 10:45 PM The young woman burst from the vestibule of the building and flew down the stairs to the street. Gasping for breath, she ran past a row of gentrified townhomes, brushing by the startled single-young- professional-partyer types that cruised the streets on what was a typical Friday night down in the Wrigleyville neighborhood. Aryn Brindamour halted suddenly at a crowded intersection and looked about wildly, as the myriad sounds of car horns, shouts, and blaring music surrounded her. Her short blonde hair ruffled in the hot summer breeze and she struggled to remain calm. Panic would not help her now. If she couldn't control herself, she might unconsciously begin to broadcast and that would make it easier for them to find her. They would be on the alert for that, she knew. For people to suddenly start acting out in a strange and bizarre manner. After two years, the men chasing her were familiar with the pattern. The trick was to act outside the realm of expectations. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the street, keeping a steady pace. Not too fast and not too slow. As she walked , her eyes roamed the area with determined sweeps. She needed a public place, preferably crowded, with enough women that looked like her to confuse the pursuers who more than likely had only seen her picture. Broadway Street was within her sights now and Aryn knew it wouldn't be long till she found the cover she was seeking. And she *would* be able to blend in. The short black skirt, black tank top middy and flat loafers she wore were the standard uniform for many of the females down here. Now, all she had to concentrate on was keeping her emotions in check. If she could just manage that, her chances would be excellent. She felt confidence return slowly as she looked over her shoulder and saw nothing out of the ordinary. No suits. No ominous black cars. Nobody wielding firearms. And in just a few short minutes, her chances of evading capture would increase substantially. Faith in herself restored, Aryn began to let herself receive from the individuals around her. The carefree vitality that characterized the people out on the street was a facade -- one she quickly stripped away to find a darker, more potent mix. Insecurity, desperation, denial. Those were the emotions that infused her with strength. Nothing like Friday night club-hopping to pick up the spirit, she thought with bitter sarcasm. She quickly struck a balance by drawing on some of the false gaiety and excitement as well. No need to become too overwhelmed at this point. Besides, she knew it was going to become trickier when she reached her destination. Aryn paused before rounding the next corner, fully aware that she would need to steel herself against the first wave. Then it was out onto Broadway Street. Finally. She had been right. The area was packed. Full of people waiting in lines to get into the bars. Closing her eyes, she felt the first ripple hit her -- like the brush of a cool summer drizzle. Drawing on two years of practiced ability, she let the emotions flow into her, absorbing what she needed and letting the rest go. The sheer number of people made it a delicate process. If Aryn wasn't careful, she could go into full sensory overload, dropping to the sidewalk with a headache so powerful that it felt the same as being shot. And then the people unfortunate enough to be her general vicinity would likely suffer a similar fate. If that happened, it wouldn't be too difficult for her pursuers to pinpoint her location. Taking a breath, she stepped into one of the lines, looking up at the sign. Psyko-Rockz. A dance club. Exactly like a hundred other bars in the city and as good as any for her purposes. The music flared out from the open door onto the sidewalk, and she concentrated on blending into the queue of laughing party-goers around her. Then, without warning, a man's shout erupted across the street. "There! She's right there! Come ON!" Aryn whirled and froze as she watched half a dozen men dressed in dark suits and mirrored glasses begin racing toward her. In the blink of an eye, all the calm assurance she'd built up evaporated to be replaced by a mind- blowing terror. She knew she would rather die first. Aryn saw the faces around her begin to contort with horror, rage, and panic as the people surrounding her started reacting, slowly at first, then more rapidly as the men approached. The realization that she was broadcasting jolted her back to awareness and she began to force her way forward, ignoring the muted rumble of the crowd. It was already growing, feeding on itself, with a life of its own. Behind her, she could hear the honk of horns as the men ran across the busy street. A commotion followed as they tried to push their way through the mass of bodies that separated her from them. She found herself at the entrance, noticing the two bouncers that had stepped from the doorway to see what the disturbance was. Without another thought, she launched herself past them and into the darkness of the entryway. Mindless now, she plunged into the crowded, cramped main room, heading for the dance floor where a couple hundred people milled about to the sounds of a pounding techno beat. Once there, she paused, took a breath and looked toward the entrance. There, she thought, spotting them. One was pressing a gun to the first bouncer's side, forcing him to step back so the rest of the suits could get in the door. They were like jackals, sniffing for prey. Too bad it was her that was the ultimate prize. The noise from outside seemed to be increasing, and now, the temptation to retaliate that had been seductively waiting for her overflowed. Into her consciousness. Compelling her thoughts. Forcing her to act. Aryn stood perfectly still, knowing what she had to do and loathing herself for it. She must have looked strange to the people around her, standing by herself in the middle of a crowded dance floor, motionless, expressionless. It always was eerie, the way it happened -- how her outside appearance never gave a hint of the sensory fury she manipulated. The lead hunter had now made his way to the edge of moving bodies. Aryn watched as he scanned over the tops of people's heads, searching. Looking for her. Then their eyes met. Even through the reflective lenses of his glasses, Aryn knew that he knew. He raised the gun, provoking a frightened, shocked response in the people surrounding him. She could have told them not to worry. The gun didn't have bullets in it. Just some darts full of a nasty knock-out brew. They didn't want her dead. In fact, Aryn was certain that if any harm came to her, whoever was to blame would almost certainly pay the price with his life. She wished she could tell the people around her that, but soon it wouldn't matter. They weren't the real danger. She was. Aryn waited, watching, as a definite pattern of human behavior began to take shape before her -- one woven of all the necessary ingredients for her escape. All she needed now was a big enough spark to light the incendiary. Then the men hunting her would be the sorriest souls on this earth. And so would a lot of innocent people. Her pursuer plunged into the mob, heading straight for her and pushing people out of the way. His actions inadvertently caused him to strike a woman in the face with his gun. She let out a shriek, the shrill sound overlapping the music, causing others to stop and turn towards her. Aryn knew it was time. The man now had a clear shot at her and he lifted the gun, pointing it at her neck. *manifest* And the crowd exploded in a frenzy. Men and woman suddenly tried to scatter in all directions. But with the mass of people confined in such a closed place, there was nowhere to go. Shouts and screams started to permeate the air, dissolving into moans as individuals fell to their knees. Then the trampling began. It was a full scale panic. A riot. And in a club that had already been packed beyond capacity to begin with, the effect was like a handful of firecrackers in a tin can. In the overwhelming confusion, no one noticed as the woman quickly pulled open a fire door, exiting into the alley, with a final probing glance over her shoulder. Not even the dark-suited men, who remained strangely unaffected as they climbed atop the bar to avoid the chaos, searching.... -- End -- Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 22:54:07 -0600 From: Loch Ness To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Subject: Empathy (2/6) by Swikstr I did not write this; I'm posting for a friend. Please send any and all feedback to swikstr@bigfoot.com. *********************************************************************** Title: Empathy (2/6) Author: Swikstr Email address: swikstr@bigfoot.com Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, etc. Catagory: X Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all five seasons up to Kitsunegari Keywords: None -- at author's request Summary: While on a research assignment in Chicago, Mulder and Scully stumble upon a mysterious individual who may possess a remarkable parapsychic ability. Their association with her leads to a few new discoveries and pathways into their existence. Archive: Yes to Gossamer, otherwise, ask me. Intro: See part (1/6) Disclaimer: The characters Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, Tenthirteen productions and the Fox Network. No infringement is intended. ********* "Empathy" (2/6) swikstr ********* Part 1 -- Watershed North Halstead Street Chicago, IL 11:15 PM "See, Mulder? I *told* you those people hadn't really been abducted. All three of them were experiencing various stages of delusion based on past and present events in their lives." Scully glanced at her partner as he drove the car, noting the tense set to his jaw as he digested her commentary. "I think you missed the point of the play, Scully," Mulder finally replied, taking his eyes off the road to give her a penetrating gaze. "How so?" she shot back. "Well, I don't think it was meant to be a debate about the validity of the abductions. It's really about one person's willingness to take a look at some life-long assumptions and risk some serious self- doubt to arrive at the truth. Too bad you didn't see it that way." Scully frowned, realizing that he was implying more than a simple analysis of the drama they'd just seen. The agents were in Chicago over the weekend to take care of some long-delayed research needs. Mulder had spent over six hours at CUFOS that day, looking up information on several X-Files, and she had a 9 o'clock appointment Monday, at the M.E.'s office to review some autopsy material on a recent serial murder with occult overtones that they'd refused to fax up to Quantico. With the prospect of a long, boring Friday night confronting her, Scully had let Mulder badger her into attending a play down at one of the local theaters that he'd been wanting to see. She *had* been looking forward to a couple hours of escape from the X-Files' mayhem, but the damn thing had turned out to be called "Space" and it was about alien abductees, of all things. Mulder watched his partner out of the corner of his eye as she pondered his last statement. He wondered if she realized just how like the character of Dr. Saunders she really was, and what it would take to get her to embark on the same painful quest that had been depicted in the drama. So far, not even an act of God had done it, he thought. And now, after almost six years, he was beginning to assume it would never happen. He gave a mental pause, silently reprimanding himself for that kind of thinking. Hell, who was he to judge? He wasn't even sure he believed himself anymore. But, he reminded himself, most of the time he still *wanted* to believe. Scully didn't. Silence stretched between them, awkwardly weighting the air. She gave in first, breaking the tension. "Well, it'll be good to get back to the room. Frankly, I'm tired from pawing through all that paperwork today." "Yeah, me too," Mulder agreed absently, as he turned off on Addison, heading toward Broadway. There seemed to be some sort of commotion up on the street before them. The roadway was blocked off and there were a number of police and emergency vehicles crowding the pavement, lights flashing in a kaleidoscope of patterns. "I wonder what's going on?" Scully asked, worry creasing her brow as she turned to Mulder. "Beats me," he said slowly. "But it might be worth finding out. Could be something the local bureau will need to look into." So saying, Mulder double parked the car and reached under his jacket to check his holster. Without another word, he exited the car quickly, with Scully following automatically. People were everywhere. Lining the streets, milling around the police cars, all wandering in the general direction of the disturbance. The agents briskly made their way up to the sawhorses, stopping before a female uniformed cop. "Hi, I'm Special Agent Mulder with the FBI," he said, flipping out his ID in a practiced gesture. "This is Agent Scully," he went on, indicating her. "What's going on up there?" The uniform gave him a quick once-over and made a face. "There was some kind of riot in one of the local dance bars. It's all over with now, but there are a lot of people injured back there and it's going to be a real mess sorting it out." Mulder peered over the cop's shoulder at the mayhem. "Is this an everyday occurrence?" he asked, a curious look creasing his features. "Not around here it's not," the woman replied, shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean, we get the occasional bar brawl and disturbing the peace, but this is the worst I've ever seen in five years on the force. Three people are dead and we've got about forty or fifty others in need of serious medical attention." "My god," Scully exclaimed. "Do they know what caused it? And do they need any help?" she asked, the doctor in her going on instant alert. "I don't know," the cop answered, shrugging. "You can talk to one of the detectives in charge. They're the guys in suits, sweating bullets over there," she pointed. "The lead guy's name is Sutter. Boy, is he in for a long night," the woman rolled her eyes, gesturing them forward. "Thanks," Mulder said as she lifted the sawhorse, letting them pass. "All right folks, the show's winding down, nothing left to see, so let's get moving," he heard her say to the people swarming about as he and Scully walked down the street towards the bar. Two ambulances passed them, leaving the scene with sirens blaring, as three more sped up to take their places. "It looks like a war zone," Scully remarked as they got closer, taking in the sight of police and paramedics rushing around, attending to scores of people sitting on the curb or propped up against the outside buildings. They were almost to the club, passing a poorly lit alleyway, when a brief wink of something caught Mulder's attention. He stopped suddenly and stared into the gloom, trying to pinpoint the distraction. For a minute, he'd imagined he'd seen somebody moving in there, drifting back into the darkness. "What is it?" Scully said, looking up at him inquiringly. "Nothing. I thought I just saw something. Why don't you go on up ahead and see what you can find out," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the scene. "I'll catch up with you." She nodded, turning back toward the bar. "Be careful, Mulder." "Hey, it's me," he replied with a smile, reaching under his jacket to unsnap the holster on his sidearm. Scully gave him a little nod in reply and began to move away, briefly tossing him a worried look over her shoulder. But he'd already entered the alley. The rank air was hot and felt close in the small space between the two buildings. Mulder cursed the suit jacket he was wearing as a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. He could have sworn he'd seen the flash of somebody's face back here in the shadows but the area now seemed to be deserted. Oddly enough, he felt nervous, agitated, frightened even, and he stopped for a second, wondering why. It certainly wasn't the first time he had plunged into a situation like this. The adrenaline rush was comfortable, familiar -- but not the fear. Or was it fear? He felt strange. No, it was there, he finally concluded. But the feeling was queer, like there was some type of white noise buzzing in his ears, unsettling him slightly, putting him on the edge. In some strange way, it didn't feel like *his* fear, but he was experiencing it, so it must be, right? This is ridiculous, Mulder thought, shaking himself slightly, trying to regain his equilibrium. "Hello?" he called out, stepping forward again and peeking into one of the dumpsters that lined the alley. He heard a slight noise up ahead, and moved towards it quickly, drawing out his automatic. "Is anybody there?" Mulder skidded to a stop as a figure stepped out from the darkness before him. It was a woman, late twenties, he guessed. She was petite, thin, very short blonde hair, dressed all in black. The pale skin of her exposed flesh seemed to glow in the shadows that surrounded them. His anxiety tripled inexplicably at the sight of her -- blood pounding in his ears, fingers trembling, stomach twisting into a painful knot. "Fucking predator," he heard her say in a low, menacing voice. "You have one chance to turn around and get the hell away from me or I guarantee you'll be sorry." He blinked against the fear coloring his thoughts, fighting the urge to turn around and bolt, running from the alleyway as fast as he could. What the hell was going on, Mulder thought. He was acting like a rookie agent in his first pursuit. The woman was much smaller than he and didn't seem to have any weapons. So why was he reacting this way to her? Because she had threatened him? Logically speaking, the possibility of harm from her seemed very remote. And yet, every instinct he possessed screamed at him to get away. "Wait," he said rapidly, hearing a tremor in his voice. "I'm a Federal agent. I'm not here to harm you." Her eyes met his then, in a scorching glance, and he noticed that they were the most bizarre shade he'd ever seen. Amber-colored, light, unearthly. In a strange way, they were reflective -- almost like looking into a mirror. Mulder continued to try and fight down the irrational alarm that was threatening to overpower his reason. Whoever this woman was, he needed to draw her out and ask a few questions. From her actions, it was conceivable that she might have been involved in what had gone on down there tonight. A sudden gasp from her snapped him back to attention. Mulder saw she was looking over his shoulder while he simultaneously heard the sound of running feet enter the alley. An expression of horror imposed itself on her features, and he suddenly felt himself rocked by an overwhelming sense of terror, hopelessness and revulsion. It hit him like a hammer-blow of pure force, and the resultant nausea drove him to his hands and knees, retching uncontrollably. And it turned out to be lucky that he *had* collapsed, as four gunshots whistled over him in rapid succession, directly where his head had been. The explosions were like thunder in his ears and he tried desperately to regain control of himself. Dimly, Mulder heard the crash of her movements as she fought her way through the debris that lined the space around them. Then, he felt the rush of two men rush passing him. Clearly, they were after the woman. <<>> He heard the sound of gunfire again, two quick blasts, accompanied this time by the woman's yelp of pain and he assumed she must have been hit. Christ, what the hell was going on here? The sounds of the chase were fading as Mulder finally rose up on his knees, head spinning violently. He stared in the general direction of the retreat but could see nothing in the gloom ahead of him. It was as if the darkness had swallowed up the woman and her pursuers. The sudden squeal of tires from behind distracted him and he stood slowly, turning to face the squad cars and uniformed police that were crowding into the alleyway. "Mulder?!" Warmth flooded him at the welcome sight of Scully wending her way in his direction, and he blinked against the glare of the headlights, trying to overcome his lingering disorientation. One last time, Mulder turned and looked behind him, still seeing nothing but scattered trash, debris, and the reflective sheen of the slick pavement. "What happened?" Scully gasped, finally reaching him. "We heard gunshots." Mulder winced at her words, reaching up to clutch his forehead in pain. The peculiar feelings of fear and anxiety were gone, but they seemed to have been replaced by a mind-blowing headache. "I don't know," he said, looking down at her from beneath a shaky hand. "There was a woman here. And two men were chasing her. They had guns. I think she got hit." A detective had made his way up to them by the end of Mulder's statement, and he asked breathlessly, "Who were they? Can you identify them? Where did they go?" "They ran that way," Mulder gestured with his gun to the opposite end. "We didn't get a chance to be formally introduced." The detective turned and began shouting orders to the uniforms milling around them, directing them to search the alley. The sound caused Mulder to flinch again. Scully touched his hand slightly and gave him an intent look. "Mulder, are you sure you're ok?" "No," he replied shortly. "I've got a headache like you wouldn't believe, and I just got done puking my lights out." Scully glanced down, and then back up at him. "Mulder, what the hell happened here?" "I wish I knew." "All right, come with me," she said with concern, leading him out of the alley toward one of the ambulances. He sat down gingerly on the bumper, straightening his shoulders and re-holstering his gun. "Is the head that bad?" "Nothing an aspirin the size of a basketball wouldn't cure." She reached down, stroking his forehead gently, and then tipping his chin up till his eyes met hers. Worry was evident in her features, as was the lingering fear she'd been harboring ever since she'd heard shots fired from the direction where they'd parted company. Mulder read her thoughts and gripped her wrist lightly. "It's ok. Just a headache, I swear." "All right," she said, retreating into her usual reserve, and looking about for a paramedic. "Stay here, I'll see what I can find for you." Sighing, he leaned his head back, watching her leave, and then letting his gaze roam around the confusion that still clogged the neighborhood. Idly, he observed as two detectives in suits rushed down the sidewalk across from him, heading for the alley. Strangely enough, they seemed to be wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night. The return of Scully and a tall, dark-haired detective she called Sutter distracted him before he could analyze that anomaly further. She introduced the man and held out a package of Tylenol and a bottle of water. "Here, take these," she said, settling down next to him. "Did you find out what happened?" he asked the detective, swallowing the tablets and chasing them with the water. "Not yet," Sutter replied. "There's nothing in that alley but rats and cats. You sure you didn't catch a glimpse of the men who shot at you?" "They weren't shooting at me," Mulder corrected. "There was another person in the alley. A woman. Small, short blonde hair, dressed all in black. They were after her." "Uh-huh," Sutter replied, somewhat skeptically. "Looks like they scared the hell out of you anyway." He shot the detective a dark look, knowing it wouldn't even be worth trying to explain. The cop obviously had a lot on his mind, and there was no way he'd be in the mood to listen to a lot of intangible theories right then. Besides, Mulder thought, he couldn't even be sure himself what had happened, although an idea *was* beginning to form on the edges of his consciousness. "Well, whoever they were, they're gone now," Sutter continued, when Mulder didn't reply. "I can't imagine what the hell else will happen down here tonight. It's been hard enough trying to unfuck this situation as it is." He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "I have to get back there. Your partner told us how to contact you. We'll be in touch tomorrow for you to come down and make a statement." The detective turned and left quickly before Mulder could object. He looked down at Scully, raising his eyebrows. "Did you get the impression he didn't believe me?" Scully shrugged. "Maybe he's just trying to solve one puzzle at a time. I mean, let's face it, Mulder. You screwed up a perfectly good riot investigation by getting shot at in that alley." Mulder let out a small sigh and tipped his head back. "Any luck finding out what happened with the disturbance?" "Only vaguely," Scully replied. "I don't think this is the time to be bothering them for details. It's going to take all of tonight and the better part of tomorrow to sort out everything here." "Well, I'd like to stick around and see if they catch the people that were in the alley," he said, rubbing his temple absently and watching the uniforms toss the area, looking for the suspects. "Mulder, you look like the wrath of god," Scully said, fixing him with a frank gaze. "There's nothing more we can do here tonight. The best thing to do is call them tomorrow, once they have a better handle on things." "Ok," he relented wearily. He really *did* feel like shit right now. But the inexplicable cause of his current malaise was pulling at his obsessive streak. He needed to pick apart the incident. Try to figure out what happened. Because one thing was certain, Mulder thought. It sure as hell wasn't your average, everyday meeting-in-the-alley that he'd just experienced. Questions raced through his head. What was it then? Could it be what he suspected? And more importantly, who *was* the mysterious blonde? **** Stay 'n Save Evanston, IL 1:00 AM Scully knocked at the door to Mulder's room, tapping her foot impatiently until he opened it. In spite of the shorts and sleeveless top she was wearing, the humid summer heat felt stifling and she couldn't wait to get back into the air conditioning. He stood there, fresh from the shower. Bare-footed, clad in jeans and a clean t-shirt, Mulder gave her the once-over as he toweled his hair dry. He gestured for her to enter, noting the flush that rose in her cheeks at his bold examination. She moved to the bed, calling upon the detachment that had become a constant companion in her five years of working with him. Without it, she'd never be able to sit there in his room without thinking about a far more interesting means of communication than just talking. Sighing to herself, Scully put those ideas out of her head, and sat down gently, tucking legs and feet underneath her. "Feeling better?" she asked quietly. "Uh-huh. Headache's almost gone." He debated the wisdom of lying beside her on the bed, and decided the hell with it, stretching out his long form on the spread next to her. "So what *really* happened in that alley, Mulder?" she asked, savoring the warmth of his close proximity in the cool air of the room, and turning to look down at him. "You first," he replied. "What did you find out about that incident at the bar?" "Not too much, really. From what Detective Sutter told me, witnesses said that the panic just 'started.'" "It just started?" he asked her sharply. "No fights? No bad 'Spice Girls' tunes?" She shook her head, smiling slightly. "*Nothing* caused the crowd to act out that way?" "Nope. Not that they'd been able to pinpoint anyway," Scully said. "I heard one of the detectives talking to a witness. A woman. She said it was weird. Like she was suddenly filled with fear and an overpowering need to get out of the place." Mulder frowned at her words, drawing a parallel with his own experience. "I guess, that's what they all must have felt like, because the scene was described as 'frenzied.' Three people were trampled to death, for god's sake." She paused, watching as he processed the information. "Now tell me what happened to *you*." He shrugged his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his head. "I told you. I saw a woman in the alley. I was afraid. It felt...unnatural. Then, she threatened me and I got more freaked- out. The next thing I knew, two guys ran into the alley and I was down on all fours, just before the shooting started. When I got hold of myself again, they were gone." Gazing at him in disbelief, she asked, "*You* were scared?" "Yeah, I don't know how to explain it myself," Mulder replied, giving her a blank stare as he let his mind drift back to those tension-charged minutes. "She saw me. I think she must've thought I was somebody else. One of the men who was after her, maybe. She called me a 'predator.'" Mulder paused, struggling to relate the incident, detail by detail. "The weird thing is that while I *was* afraid there in the alley, it was like the fear wasn't mine. But I was feeling it, so it must've been right?" he asked, realizing he'd just unconsciously echoed his thoughts from the moment when he'd seen the woman. Scully observed him carefully as he stopped again, pondering. "Go on," she prompted softly. "Well," he said, "I heard someone rushing in, and I could see she was afraid. Then next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and they were firing all around me. I heard her cry out, so I assume she must have been hit -- Shit!!" he exclaimed suddenly. "What now?" Scully stared at him in surprise as he bolted from the bed, looking for his cell phone. "What's the number for that cop, Sutter?" he barked, finding it and pulling up the antenna. "We have to tell him to alert the hospitals to look for a gunshot wound to a woman with that description." "Mulder," he heard the pained note in her voice, and he looked over at her quickly. "I already told him to do that," she went on, with the 'How-incompetent-do-you-really-think-I-am' expression on her face. "Oh," he said softly, folding the phone back up. "Listen," Scully began, stretching herself out to full length on the bed, propping her back against the headboard. "It's very late and you've had quite a night. We should both get some sleep." "Fine. You're right," he agreed, moving to stand over her. "But tomorrow I want to get over to the library at the University of Chicago. There's some stuff I want to look up." "About your experience tonight?" she asked, staring up at him intently, knowing what he was thinking. "Yes." "Mulder, don't you think it would be a better idea to let local law enforcement handle this? I mean, it really has nothing to do with us, does it?" "Maybe, maybe not," he answered cryptically, ignoring her long, drawn-out sigh. "Look, something very unusual happened in that alley. And in that club tonight. I'm sure that woman had something to do with it. I just want to check on a few things, that's all." "Are you talking about your 'unnatural' emotional response?" she said, leaning forward now. "Because if you are, I think you need to consider a few things." "Like what?" "Like the fact that you were in a dark place, in a strange neighborhood, and you were on edge from the argument we'd been having." Mulder raised his eyebrows at her admission. "Argument?" "Yes," she said shortly. "That's what it was, wasn't it?" He nodded slowly, sitting down next to her again, surprised that she would even admit to the disagreement that way. "Well, I just think that might better explain what happened." "I don't agree," he answered stubbornly. "You aren't seriously suggesting that this woman *literally* put the fear of god into you?" she asked sharply. "I don't know Scully. But that's what I'd like to find out." "Mulder, I know how you get about these things," she said, shaking her head at him. "What?" he asked, putting on a defensive air and giving her his most charming smile. His efforts had the desired effect of lightening the tension between them. She moved closer to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. "You know what I mean. You're like Curious George on crack with this stuff." Mulder laughed aloud at her serious expression, until she finally gave him a reluctant chuckle in return. Standing, he reached out to pull her to her feet and toward him, abruptly remembering the cool touch of her fingertips on his fevered brow back at the crime scene. His heart rate picked up as he looked down into her clear, blue gaze, wishing for about the millionth time that he had the guts to ask her to stay. But he was well aware she would never accede to such a request, and frankly, he wasn't so sure how *he* would've responded if she *did* say yes. Scully blinked against the intensity she saw in his look, wishing she could read his thoughts, and hoping for...what? "I'll see you in the morning, Scully," he said suddenly, breaking the spell and leading her to the door. "Not if I see you first," she quipped briskly, hiding her disappointment and making a quick exit. Back in her own room, she leaned against the wall briefly, trying to calm her own racing heart. What on earth was wrong with her? Unfortunately, she already knew the answer to *that* question. And so, she suspected, did Mulder. For all the good it did them. Blowing out her breath wistfully, Scully went and curled up in her own bed, finally falling into a troubled sleep. -- End -- Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 22:55:11 -0600 From: Loch Ness To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Subject: Empathy (3/6) by Swikstr I did not write this; I'm posting for a friend. Please send any and all feedback to the author at swikstr@bigfoot.com. ****************************************************************** Title: Empathy (3/6) Author: Swikstr Email address: swikstr@bigfoot.com Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, etc. Catagory: X Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all five seasons up to Kitsunegari Keywords: None -- at author's request Summary: While on a research assignment in Chicago, Mulder and Scully stumble upon a mysterious individual who may possess a remarkable parapsychic ability. Their association with her leads to a few new discoveries and pathways into their existence. Archive: Yes to Gossamer, otherwise, ask me. Intro: See part (1/6) Disclaimer: The characters Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, Tenthirteen productions and the Fox Network. No infringement is intended. ********* "Empathy" (3/6) swikstr ********* Part 2 -- Groundswell The shrill ringing of the phone sent Scully bolting upright in her bed. She immediately looked at the bedside clock. A.M. Seven-thirty. Saturday morning. Mulder. Damn him, she thought, reaching for the phone. "Mulder, it's seven-thirty." "Hey, did I wake you?" his cheery voice sang through the line. "As a matter of fact, yes," Scully replied shortly, running a hand through her sleep-tousled hair. "Sorry," he said, in a tone that clearly indicated he wasn't. "But I thought we'd get an early start today." "Fine, Mulder. Give me half an hour." "Twenty minutes," he said, hanging up before she could respond. Sure enough, he was pounding away at her door exactly twenty minutes later. Scully opened it, glowering at him. Mulder stepped in the room, crisply attired in jeans and a short- sleeved polo shirt. "Ugh," Scully grimaced, as a wave of hot, oppresive air wafted in the room. "And I thought summer in D.C. was bad." "It's not the heat, it's the humidity," he said, giving her a solemn look. "I wish I'd said that," she replied sarcastically, putting a damper on the small talk and absently sliding on a pair of tennis shoes. "So what exactly is it that we're in an all-fired hurry to do today?" "Well, like I was telling you, I want to get down to the U of C library to do some research. I thought I'd drop you off at the local field office on the way so you can look up some stuff for me." "Let me guess. You want me to research previous unexplained riots or disturbances around the country in the last twenty-four months, right?" He winked at her mischievously. "Scully, you know what I need without me ever having to ask." She made an undignified noise in response, even though his reply pleased her. "Then what?" she asked. "Then I'll pick you up at eleven, we can compare notes, and we'll take a ride over to area headquarters and track down the unflappable Detective Sutter. I'm curious to see what the CPD has come up with." "Mulder, you amaze me. You've got this all figured out," Scully said, heading for the door as he followed. "And here I thought I'd be forced to spend the day walking the Magnificent Mile." "See?" he replied, blatantly ignoring her attempt at irony. "What would you do without me?" **** FBI Bureau -- Federal Building Dearborn and Adams Chicago, IL 11:00 AM He walked through the deserted office, a sheaf of papers rolled up in his hand, looking about for Scully. Mulder was jittery with excitement at what he'd found out. The material he'd looked up at the university library had confirmed his suspicions, and he'd spent the better part of the last hour working up a coherent theory about the events of last night. Now, he couldn't wait to share his ideas with her. They needed to get moving too, he thought. With the information he now possessed, Mulder knew that finding the mysterious blonde was more important than ever. He spotted Scully toward the back of the cavernous room, sitting at a table and peering intently at what appeared to be a long computer printout. "Hey, you," he greeted her, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Any luck?" "As a matter of fact, yes," she answered, pulling off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. "I've found mention of three incidents of the type you were looking for over the last two years. One in L.A., about three months ago, another in Phoenix, eight months prior to that. And before those two, one in New York, almost exactly twenty- four months ago. There's no mention of anything else as recent." "Same pattern?" Mulder asked, meeting her eyes and pulling the printout over to look at it. "I guess so," she said, a frown crinkling her brow. "The only real distinguishing characteristic is that the local authorities were never able to determine the exact cause of the disturbances. They were merely reported as mass breakouts of emotional panic. However, no one's been killed...until now." "Mmm...emotional panic," he repeated her phrase absently, scanning the information. "Forgive me, Mulder, but I still don't see why this is worthy of our attention," Scully said pointedly. "Really?" He gave her a sharp look. "I disagree. After the things I've read today, I'm convinced that what happened to me in the alley is directly connected to the riot last night." Scully leaned back, skepticism written all over her features. "You still think that woman you encountered had something to do with all this?" "No," Mulder replied. "I'm *sure* of it now." "Well, I give up," she said after a moment, raising her hands in surrender. "You've got my interest piqued. Tell me what you've found out." "Are you familiar with telempathy?" he asked, pulling out his glasses and spreading out the copies he'd made at the library before them. "You mean like where I form the mental image of a bird, and you somehow see it in your mind?" "No, that's mental telepathy," he corrected. "I'm talking about a different type of paranormal psychic ability. Telempathy. With an 'M.'" "'Empathy,' yes. But not *tel*-empathy. I don't think I've ever heard of that, Mulder." "Well, it's pretty rare. Documented cases of it in parapsychology are few and far between. In a nutshell, it's the ability of an individual not only to receive, but also to *willfully broadcast* human emotions. Obviously, we've seen instances of empathic phenomena in the X-Files, but I've only ever run across mention of a broadcaster one time, and the reference was very vague. That's why I wanted to look it up for myself." Scully was already shaking her head doubtfully, and he had to fight down the frustration that rose at her predictable response. "Just hear me out for a minute," he said, earnestly. "What else would explain such a sudden outbreak of fear and panic -- one like they've admittedly never seen down there before? And why else would I have reacted the way I did in that alleyway last night?" "Mulder, listen to what you're saying," Scully argued, leaning forward to make her point. "It's really not that complicated if you just stick to the facts. You had hundreds of individuals packed into a small space in that club. It was hot. People were drinking and doing god knows what else. All of those things combined could have contributed to a mass disturbance. It happens, Mulder. Why does there have to be some type of conspiracy involved? Just look at the information I dug up here today. There's really nothing unusual about it." "What about the woman, Scully?" he shot back. "What about the men with guns chasing after her? What about me, paralyzed by fear to the point of physical inability?" "I already gave you my opinion on that, Mulder," she answered, exasperated. "It seems more likely that you stumbled upon some type of mugging or attack. Hell, the two probably weren't even related." Mulder was starting to get pissed off now. It always came down to this. She listened to his explanations patiently, and then proceeded to come up with any number of logical, even inane, reasons why his argument was invalid. Sometimes it was productive; helped him bring things into sharper focus. But as usual, she seemed to be fighting just a little *too* hard. Scully hadn't been in the alley, he thought. So how could she tell him what *he* had felt, what *his* impressions had been? She was trying to bend his version of events to fit her theory, rather than just accepting what he said at face value. "Don't tell me what I felt last night, Scully," he said in a low voice. "You weren't there. You didn't feel that woman's terror like I did." She blinked at his words, suddenly remembering something that had been bothering her ever since this whole thing had started. Mulder feeling another woman's pain. Making it his own. Losing his objectivity because of it. Christ, she thought, not again. "I've been in enough tense situations by now to know the difference between my own emotions and something caused by external manipulation," Mulder continued. Did he really? she wondered. Had he known the difference when he'd bonded with Lucy Householder, for example? Scully didn't think so. And this woman he had encountered last night appeared to be taking on the qualities of yet another one of Mulder's 'lost souls.' In her opinion, that made his current impressions suspect. All the more reason to abandon this pseudo-investigation now, before he dragged them in any deeper. She realized he was still talking. "Those men were after that woman for some reason, and it made her desperately afraid. I think she *caused* that disruption at the club last night to get away from them. When she saw me in the alley, she assumed I was one of them, so she proceeded to manipulate what I was feeling to protect herself. Can't you at least admit that it's a *possible* explanation for what happened?" "No, I can't, Mulder," Scully replied, ignoring the frustration she heard seeping into his voice. It was time to quash this once and for all. "There's absolutely no empirical evidence to support such a hypothesis. Not when there are already so many tangible facts that contradict it. And I respectfully suggest you don't bring this up to the CPD detective in charge, or he's liable to laugh us out of the precinct." Mulder began gathering up his paperwork, shaking his head in anger. "Look, I'm not going to argue with you about it, Scully. Let's just go down to the local area headquarters and see what they've found out." "Fine," she bit out, becoming irate herself. There seemed to be no way to end this gracefully. She'd simply have to go with it now, and hope they didn't get in further than they already were. "Why ruin half the day, when you can go for the whole thing?" her voice was laced with sarcasm. "Remind me never to let you talk me into going out for a little distraction when we're on a research assignment," she added, sweeping past him toward the exit. Mulder shot her a black look, following in her angry wake. He didn't care what she thought. The theory was sound. He knew it was. Now, if they could just *find* the woman, he might have a fighting chance at proving it to Scully. But what was more important, he realized, was that the blonde had to be in danger. And that was something he simply couldn't ignore, no matter how much his partner urged him to drop it. **** Chicago Police Department -- Local Area Headquarters 1060 N. Broadway Chicago, IL 12:00 PM The agents sat in one the interview rooms, closed off from the bustling noise of the precinct as they waited on Detective Sutter. A frigid silence permeated the air as neither refused to give any quarter in their current dispute. The quiet was broken suddenly when the door flew open and the harried detective entered the room, carrying what looked like a video cassette. "Agents Scully, Mulder," Sutter said absently, giving each a nod. "Thanks for stopping by. We seem to have things a bit more under control today." "So I see," Mulder replied. "Any luck on determining a cause for the incident?" "Not at all," Sutter said, shaking his head. "But I do have something here I'd like you to look at." He moved over to a TV that stood in the corner. "This is a surveillance tape of the bar where the riot occurred last night. Tell me what you see." He slid the cassette into the machine. The agents watched as a picture flickered onto the screen. It was the club, packed with people, and though the tape had no sound, the view of the individuals at the bar and on the dance floor was relatively sharp. "Ok," Sutter said, pointing at the upper corner of the TV. "The entryway is here. Now just watch for a few minutes." Mulder gazed intently at the images unfolding before him, starting when he saw a figure enter the picture from the area that the cop had indicated. It was the blonde. She proceeded to push her way through the crowd until she stood dead- center in the middle of the dance floor. Her appearance was conspicuous simply for the fact that she stood stock-still, an odd expression of calm on her face. "Is that her, Agent Mulder?" Sutter asked, looking over at him. "Yes." "Ok, now just watch," the detective continued. Mulder snuck a look at Scully from the corner of his eye. She sat watching, with a stubborn frown on her face, interested, in spite of herself. He shook his head lightly, turning his attention back to the screen. Four men in suits and mirrored shades had entered the club. One man was clearly the leader; the other three followed. They appeared to be armed, and were muscling their way along the same path the blonde had taken. Mulder quickly turned to the detective. "Wait a minute. I saw two guys that looked just like that on the street last night when your people were searching the alley. They aren't cops?" he asked in surprise. Sutter gave a slow, slight shake of his head. "Did *any* of the witnesses remember armed people in the club or out on the street?" "Nope," the detective replied, giving him a significant look. "I wondered the same thing myself, after I saw this tape. But according to the reports, not a single person mentioned seeing anyone with a gun." The three of them continued watching as the blonde appeared to spot the men. She didn't scream or try to run. Her only response was to stare at them. The crowd seemed to churn around the suits as they made their way towards the woman and then, without warning, total mayhem erupted. The scene dissolved into a disturbing jumble of limbs and flashing faces as everyone appeared to be trying to go everywhere at once. Scully and Mulder saw people fall down, others stumbling over them, as the fury of the disturbance magnified explosively. "Jesus," Mulder said. "Wait, look," Scully broke in, pointing. "There she is." Sure enough, they could see the blonde making her way to the edge of the screen, seemingly unaffected by the chaos surrounding her. Sutter nodded at Scully's observation. "There's a fire exit that way. I think that's how she got out." He stood, moving over to the TV and snapping it off. "That's all the tape really shows of interest. But I'll be damned if I can figure out what it means. I assume that the presence of armed men is what caused all this, but I can't understand why none of the witnesses could account for that." "It's because most of them never even saw those men," Mulder said slowly, thoughtfully. "Or the guns they were carrying. I think it was something else that set the crowd off." He ignored Scully as she narrowed her eyes at him in warning. "What exactly do you mean?" Sutter asked, giving Mulder a puzzled frown. The agent shook his head slightly, "Before I get into that, have you heard anything from the hospitals?" "Unfortunately no. It's possible she wasn't injured like you thought." "Maybe," Mulder answered softly, certain that she had been, but not wanting to argue the point. "Now, getting back to your original statement," Sutter went on. "I'd be interested to hear any theory you might have." He paused for a moment. "I made a few calls this morning, and I hear you two have a reputation for figuring out puzzles like this." Mulder glanced at Scully, seeing she was deliberately regarding him with an expressionless look. "Well," he began, speaking slowly. "If you really want to know, I think it's possible that the blonde manipulated the crowd into a riot in an attempt to evade the men pursuing her." "Uh-huh," the detective answered, staring at him. "And how could she have done that?" "Well, based on what I can see from the tape, and my experience with her in the alley, I suspect that she may possess the psychic ability to broadcast and control extreme emotion," Mulder explained, in a calm, clinical voice. "It's what's known as telempathy,". Sutter eyed him warily, digesting the commentary. Then he looked at Scully. "Is he serious?" "I'm afraid so," she replied, maintaining her closed expression. "Well, that's got to be the most unbelievable explanation I've ever heard in seventeen years on the force," the detective said, shaking his head. Before Mulder could answer, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Detective Sutter?" a woman said, sticking her head in. "There's an urgent call for you." "Excuse me," Sutter stepped over to a phone on the wall as she departed. He picked up the handset and began talking earnestly into it. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Mulder," Scully said in a low voice. He scowled back at her, refusing to answer. Luckily, he was saved from having to by the sound of the detective banging down the phone. "There's a woman matching our suspect's description down at St. Joe's," he said abruptly, as Mulder and Scully quickly rose to their feet. "I'm headed down there right now, if you'd like to join me," he continued, still giving Mulder a slightly wary look. "Yes we would," he answered, ignoring Scully's frown. "Maybe she can answer the million-dollar-question for us." "Let us pray," Sutter said, as all three exited the room. "I'm beginning to wonder if anything makes sense anymore." **** St. Joseph's Hospital -- Lincoln Park Chicago, IL 2:00 PM Sutter and the two agents strode rapidly down the hospital corridor. "This place is still pretty packed from last night," the detective said. "They got the lion's share of the casualties. I guess that's why it took them a little while to get in touch with us. The resident who treated her is supposed to meet us up here." They stopped before the nurse's desk, where Sutter displayed his ID. "Detective Sutter, CPD. You guys just called us about a Jane Doe matching a description that was circulated?" "Oh yes, Detective," the nurse answered. "Wait here for just one minute and I'll page Doctor Kimble for you." Sutter turned back to the agents as she picked up the phone, dialing. "Now, Agent Mulder," he began, "I wonder if you could explain in a little more detail just exactly what it was you were talking about back at the station house?" Mulder shook his head. "Not now. It might be better to wait until we can interview this woman." The detective regarded him thoughtfully, pursing his lips. Then, the doctor arrived before they could debate any further. "Detective Sutter?" Kimble asked, shaking the cop's hand. "Yes, Doctor. You called us about the Jane Doe?" Kimble nodded and motioned for all three to join him in an adjacent lounge. "She came in early this morning with a gunshot wound to the upper back. The bullet entered her right shoulder and exited just under the collarbone. No major damage internally, but she lost a lot of blood." "Did she say anything?" Mulder asked, breaking in. "Or did anything else unusual happen when you were treating her?" The doctor made a negative gesture. "She was unconscious by the time we got to her. No I.D. And no one was able to discern how she arrived. We assumed she just walked in. Frankly, after the night we had, I'm not surprised there was some confusion in the ER." "So your treatment of her was fairly routine?" Scully asked. "As routine as any gunshot wound. I should mention that it's not the first time she's been shot either. We found evidence of an old injury to the hip, and another in the upper arm. I apologize, but it wasn't until some hours later that we realized the police might be looking for her." "It's ok, doc," Sutter said. "You did the right thing." "You're sure that nothing out-of-the-ordinary occurred when she was being worked on?" Mulder said again, insistently. "I'm afraid not," the doctor said, giving him an impatient look. "I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate on what exactly you're looking for?" "It's nothing doc," Sutter said smoothly, shooting Mulder a warning look. "Can we see her now?" "Yes, if you'd like, but I'm afraid she's still unconscious." Kimble stood, gesturing down the hall. They followed as he led them to the room. When they reached the door, Mulder looked in at her still form, recognizing her instantly. He stepped back, pulling Sutter with him. "Listen," he said. "Don't you think you should get somebody over here to keep an eye out for unexpected visitors? If there really is somebody after her, it probably won't take them long to come up with the same idea we had." Sutter nodded grimly. "I'll arrange it," he said, looking over at Kimble. "Can I use your phone, doc?" "Certainly," the other man replied. "And then if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my rounds. I'm sure you can appreciate that things are a bit more tense than usual around here." The agents nodded as he and Sutter moved off down the hall. "Well, Mulder," he heard Scully say. "It appears your fan club has added at least two admirers today." "Thanks," he said, giving her a dirty look. "Let's take a look, shall we?" He stepped into the room, moving over to the bed. The woman looked smaller to him. Fragile. Nothing like the imposing presence she'd had when he'd first seen her last night. Her right shoulder was heavily bandaged and a tube snaked from her hand into a nearby IV drip. Scully picked up a chart at the end of the bed and perused it quickly. "Well, she's stabilized. Nothing on this indicates any type of permanent trauma. It looks like it's just a matter of her regaining consciousness." Mulder nodded absently in reply, looking down at the woman's face. There were dark purple smudges under her eyes, and he wondered just who in the hell she was. Or what she was. Scully stepped up next to him, joining in his visual examination. "Doesn't look very frightening to me, Mulder," she said, in another attempt at lightness. The distance between them on this case was becoming bothersome, and she was hoping to find a way to make it right again. Unfortunately, Mulder was in no mood for accommodation. "Look, Scully, you've made your views on this situation abundantly clear, so why don't you give me a break, ok?" His words stung, though she refused to show it. Instead Scully busied herself by leaning over to examine the woman's shoulder. Without thinking, she reached out to grip her wrist, feeling for a pulse. The contact was like a jolt of sheer energy, and Scully straightened abruptly, letting out an inadvertent whimper of surprise. Mulder instantly looked down at her. She was stiff and unmoving, her jaw clenched tightly. "Scully? What's wrong?" he asked, grabbing her by the arm and turning her to face him. To his utter amazement, she let out a choking sob, raising a hand to her mouth and looking at him in shock as tears began to course down her cheeks. "Scully?" he asked again, eyes widening at her appearance. He glanced down and saw that she still clutched the unconscious woman's wrist with a vise-like grip. Mulder quickly grasped her hand, prying her fingers away, one by one. "Jesus, Scully," he said. "Give me a hand here! Let go for god's sake!" She was gasping for breath, fighting for control. Her head spun with confusion, and a low broken sigh issued from her mouth. Oh god, she thought. What the hell was happening to her? Why was she falling apart like this? Then Mulder jerked her hand free and she stumbled backwards, wincing and pulling away as he tried to steady her. "No, Mulder!" she cried, voice rising, mortified at her own inexplicable display of emotion. Without another word, she whirled and bolted from the room. Mulder rushed out after her, never noticing as the Jane Doe's eyes fluttered open, staring after him as he chased after his partner. -- End -- Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 22:56:19 -0600 From: Loch Ness To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Subject: Empathy (4/6) by Swikstr I did not write this; I'm posting for a friend. Please send any and all feedback to swikstr@bigfoot.com **************************************************************** Title: Empathy (4/6) Author: Swikstr Email address: swikstr@bigfoot.com Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, etc. Catagory: X Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all five seasons up to Kitsunegari Keywords: None -- at author's request Summary: While on a research assignment in Chicago, Mulder and Scully stumble upon a mysterious individual who may possess a remarkable parapsychic ability. Their association with her leads to a few new discoveries and pathways into their existence. Archive: Yes to Gossamer, otherwise, ask me. Intro: See part (1/6) Disclaimer: The characters Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, Tenthirteen productions and the Fox Network. No infringement is intended. ********* "Empathy" (4/6) swikstr ********* Part 3 -- Microburst Aryn blinked slowly, realizing they'd left the room. Perfect. Her plan was working. It had taken her all of five minutes to figure those two out. Neither knew it, but they were about to play a key role in her escape. After all, if *they* could find her, it stood to reason that those damned mercenaries could as well. But she was weak, and needed something to restore herself. Something positive this time. No way would Aryn allow herself to create the same chaos here in a hospital as she had at the club last night. Some things carried a price even she wasn't willing to pay. She slid from the bed, carefully pulling the IV needle from her hand. Padding to the corner of the room, Aryn pulled out her clothes and searched one of the drawers for a band-aid. Time was of the essence. The pain in her shoulder was manageable but the weakness wasn't. She would see to that immediately. The agents were her ticket. She was attuned to them now. All Aryn needed to do was track them down, provoke any number of responses and infuse herself with the resultant energy. No problem. The only real question was, would they provide her with what she needed? **** "Scully!" Mulder called, rushing after her retreating form. "Wait up!" She ignored him, flying past startled hospital personnel in the hallway, and finally darting into an empty room marked TREATMENT. Drawing a ragged breath, Scully leaned against the door, swiping at her cheeks and trying desperately to get control over herself. The upwelling had been unexpected, forceful, and more importantly, completely unaccountable. It was as though the bad feeling between she and Mulder had somehow been magnified, overwhelming her. She wondered if this was what he had felt last night at the crime scene. A soft knocking on the door startled her. She had expected him to pound. "Scully," she heard him say, in a low, insistent rasp. "Open the door, please." Scully wiped at her face one more time, and drew her hands through her hair, smoothing it down. Feeling somewhat more composed, she stepped away from the door and turned the knob, letting him enter. The lights were off and he moved toward her, looking down and searching her shadowed face. "What went on back there?" "I don't know, Mulder," Scully said in a disquieted voice. "You seem to have all the answers. Why don't you tell me?" He frowned with concern, reaching out to touch her cheek lightly. "It was the woman, wasn't it? The Jane Doe? Tell me what happened when you touched her." Scully turned away from him, not wanting to consider the possibility that he might be right; that the woman in that room really did have some kind of emapthic psychic ability. There simply was no scientific explanation for such a thing, so how could she accept it? Then a thought intruded suddenly: Based on what just happened, how could she *not* accept it? She felt unsettled now, afraid of herself, and began to seek the comforting refuge of denial. Mulder leaned back against the door, glancing at the window to his left. The curtains were pulled, shielding them from any prying eyes in the hallway. Thank god for small favors, he thought. "Tell me, Scully," he said, turning back to her, his voice low with entreaty. She straightened her shoulders and faced him. "It was nothing, Mulder. I'm fine." He leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling and pressing his lips shut in a thin line. Scully headed toward the door, stopping before him. "I think we should track Detective Sutter down," she said, refusing to meet his eyes. Mulder reached down and laid his hand on her shoulder lightly. "Look at me, Scully." She obeyed, reluctantly. "Why can't you accept the extreme possibility that you've just experienced a manifestation of that woman's psychic ability?" "Because that's not a rational explanation, Mulder," she asserted, some of the old fire returning to her eyes. "I think the real reason is just that I'm a bit overwrought. We had a long night last night and I didn't get enough sleep. Our surroundings are unfamiliar. And I'm worried about you," she added. "Worried about *me*??" "Yes," Scully snapped back, knowing she was waving a red flag in front of a bull, but too vulnerable now to care. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm just concerned that you're trying too hard to make a case out of nothing." "What?!" Mulder exclaimed, as anger began to join the disbelief in his voice. Scully tensed, refusing to back down. "Don't you see, Mulder? This has happened before." "When?" he demanded, eyes narrowing. "I don't have enough appendages to count all the times. It goes all the way back to the reasons why you left the ISU--" "Oh, Christ," Mulder spat, cutting her off. "This isn't even remotely the same thing and you know it." "Isn't it?" she asked pointedly. "You've let yourself develop some kind of empathic connection to this woman and it's overriding every other logical consideration. So how is it different?" "God damn it, Scully," he said, shaking his head. "You haven't listened to a thing I've said, have you? I don't know that Jane Doe in there. I've spoken but a handful of words to her. But last night, she somehow managed to take all of her fear and hopelessness at being hunted down and manifested it inside of me. I don't even have the words to express to you just *what* it felt like. And I admit I don't understand how that was possible, but I happen to believe she has the ability. I *want* to believe it. Why is it so hard for you, when you've just been subjected to a similar experience?" His words were low, vehement -- desperate even. They flooded into her, twisting her insides, causing her to bite her lower lip in distress. "I don't know," she finally whispered. "Scully, please," he said, sensing she might finally be at a threshold. Reaching out, he tipped her chin up until her tortured gaze met his. She gasped, caught in his relentless stare. It was the truth she saw blazing there, in his eyes. Clear, pure, intense. Not some empathic delusion. They were close enough now to almost be touching, and she could almost feel the tension in his body vibrating against hers... **** The empath stood quietly, just outside the door that separated her from the agents, dressed in her skirt, shoes, and a blue hospital scrub shirt. The low rumble of their voices was audible, though she couldn't actually see them. But for Aryn, visual contact wasn't necessary -- she sensed the charged emotions they were broadcasting with incredible clarity. They were spread before her like colors on an artist's palette. What to choose? What to choose? Aryn asked herself repeatedly. She needed something extreme. Extreme, but positive. She closed her eyes, concentrating. And there it was. The elixir she required. Concealed very carefully by both individuals, but still Aryn's for the taking. Excellent, she thought, letting her mind overlap theirs. In just a few minutes, she would have all that she required... **** Mulder listened to the sound of their breathing against the hum of the air flowing into the room. He felt an odd, buzzing pressure that was slightly familiar at the base of his skull. Familiar, but different somehow. What was it? he thought. He still held Scully in the warm depths of his gaze, willing her to respond to his plea. And then something compelled him to drop his eyes to her mouth. Mulder noticed her lips were parted, quivering almost imperceptibly with emotion. "I'm here, Mulder," he heard her respond softly, intimately. Fascinated, he watched her form the three words. They seemed to echo in his head, sending a flood of intense pleasure through him. Oh no, he thought. Still staring at her mouth, Mulder felt a sense of powerlessness. Like he was no longer in control of his own actions. A delicious languor was sneaking up on him and he suddenly knew what he was going to do. For a split second, he wondered if *she* would be able to prevent it. Scully let her eyes drift shut, watching through her lashes as he lowered his face to hers. Every logical brain cell she possessed was screaming at her to step back; to put an end to this before it was too late. But it seemed she was paralyzed, overwhelmed by more forcible emotions. The feeling was commanding; it was... Irresistible. She felt the first brush of his lips against hers, and was lost. Mulder slid both hands up her neck, framing her face, stroking her cheeks lightly with the rasp of his thumbs. Her lips were warm, soft. Inviting. They parted gently, and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, plundering the depths of her mouth. At that moment, his mind focused on a single absurd revelation -- he was now party to an experience that few men had ever attained. Like Galileo and the Milky Way, Newton and the Law of Universal Gravitation, Einstein and the Theory of Relativity, Hawking and the Brief History of Time. He, Fox Mulder, had finally discovered an answer to one of the great unsolved mysteries in life -- what it felt like to taste the warm sweetness of Dana Scully's mouth. She groaned softly, deep in her throat, and the sound nearly brought him to his knees. Fuck it, he told himself then, letting all coherent thought be swept away by the heated fusion of their kiss... **** Aryn closed her eyes and drew on their heated encounter, although part of her recoiled at the feeling. It was almost too personal. Indecent even. But her survival instinct had been well-honed over the past two years, and it told her that this was the quickest, safest way to regain her energy. At least enough for her to get the hell out of there. Still, in all her planning, Aryn had made one fatal miscalculation. She was now so acutely absorbed in the agents' emotional outpouring, that she failed to notice the two men in dark suits and glasses, gliding down the hallway. They had found her... **** Inside the room, Mulder and Scully were oblivious, lost in their own world. And then, without warning, there was a tremendous crash from outside, as if a piece of heavy equipment had suddenly been overturned. The loud noise surprised them, but there was something else. Each abruptly experienced a total cessation of feeling. A complete lack of emotion. Somebody had been startled, interrupted. And it wasn't just them. Scully's eyes flicked open simultaneously with Mulder's. She could see the shock and confusion beginning to permeate his gaze, knowing instantly that it mirrored her own. "Son of a bitch," she heard Mulder say in a low voice, just as she felt herself assaulted by feelings of panic, trauma, and rage. Scully cried out, clutching her head in pain as the commotion in the hallway continued. "They're here!" Mulder shouted in desperation, knowing exactly what was happening. "She's on the move, Scully! They're after her!" He pulled open the door and paused, seeing that Scully was incapacitated. But his own experience with the empathic broadcast was such that he found he could deflect some of it now. Knowing she would be able to fend for herself, he concentrated instead on scanning the hallway for the blonde. A split second later, he was racing down the hallway in pursuit of her and the fleeing men. "Stop! Federal agent!" he called out. The figures racing ahead of him paid no heed as they fought their way through the maze of frightened and confused people who were now milling in the corridor. Mulder saw the woman hurl herself into one of the elevators, catching a glimpse of her terrified face as the doors closed. The two men slid to a halt, looking around wildly for the stairwell. In a second they were through the door, continuing the pursuit. He followed after, clamoring down steps, shouting for them to stop again. But it was too late, the men were too far ahead, and simply ignored him as they made their way to the ground floor. Pausing just before the door, Mulder reached down for the A.M.T. back-up he was wearing on his right ankle. Then it was into the corridor and the lobby. Gun in hand, he scanned the area frantically, looking for signs of the pursuit. Mulder saw that they were out into the street already, and he bolted past the startled security guard at the front door, yelling for the man to call the police. The blonde had entered the park across the street, tumbling slightly as she ran up a grassy rise, slowing down. Mulder knew it was only a matter of time. He plunged into the busy roadway, just narrowly avoiding being hit by a passing car, never taking his eyes off the suits in front of him. Gasping for breath, he leapt across the sidewalk and onto the hill. His focus on the woman and her pursuers was so intent that he never noticed the other man who stepped from behind one of the trees as he passed. Until he felt the blow on the back of his head. Groaning, Mulder sank to his knees. That last image he saw was of the two men surging forward, overwhelming the woman, as she screamed and fought. Then he felt his head snap back from the impact of a kick underneath his chin and found himself descending into darkness. **** A concrete holding cell -- Unknown location 6:00 PM Aryn sat back against the concrete wall, feeling the cold seep into her flesh, numbing the ache in her injured shoulder. Idly, she watched the still form of the FBI agent curled up across the room. When she woke up, he'd still been out of it. Aryn had crawled over to him, checking to see how extensive his injuries were, and concluded he would live, despite the various cuts and bruises. He was in pain, though. Aryn could feel it, even through the blanket of his unconsciousness, and she tried her best to draw the discomfort away, expelling it into the damp, chilly air around them. After a while, she'd retreated to the other side of the room and settled in, waiting for him to come to. Aryn had no idea where they'd been taken. Her pursuers had knocked her senseless as well, and she'd regained consciousness to find herself and the agent tangled up with each other, lying on the floor of a rapidly moving van. She'd faked a convincing stupor when they'd reached their destination, letting herself be dumped into this hole with him. She now knew his name was Mulder, and that he was FBI, because one of the goons had gotten a rather vocal ass-ripping from the mercenary-in-charge when they found his ID. Served the pricks right, she thought. Mulder suddenly shifted on the floor, moaning softly, and Aryn directed her attention back to him. Finding a means of escape was still foremost in her mind and she thought she might be able to use his presence to her advantage. Anything to get herself out. And while Aryn was sorry he'd ended up in this mess with her, she also hadn't asked him along. As far as she was concerned, he was fair game for manipulation if that was what it took to break out of here. Tentatively, she extended herself, drawing on his emotional essence, searching, trying to determine exactly what it was she had to work with. Aryn could sense the natural blocks he'd erected throughout his life to keep his secrets hidden, but she peeled those back with a practiced ease that was so subtle he'd never even notice the intrusion. His depth was incredible. With her first lingering pull, his emotional well felt warm, calm, reassuring. But then she went a little farther and discovered more than she'd bargained for. It was like stepping over a steep drop-off in a lake, suddenly getting sucked into a vortex that was bone-chilling -- terrifying even. Whomever he was, his psyche contained a witch's brew of soul-numbing anger, frustration and despair. Aryn had to retreat hastily lest she be pulled into the abyss. What could have happened over this man's life to generate such a morass? she wondered. Aryn sat back again, contemplating what she'd learned about him though the intermittent contacts they'd had: His response to her in the alley. The scene in her room when he and the woman, Scully, thought she was unconscious. Their heated encounter at the hospital. She paused, struck by another revelation. He had tracked her down. That was significant. And so was the relationship he had with his partner. Those would be the keys, she realized. Now, it was just a matter of waiting until he regained consciousness. With a few well planned maneuvers, she should be able to fill in the blanks on how to manipulate him into going exactly where she needed. Aryn's only concern was tapping into the dark wellspring he called a soul -- not the most tormented she'd ever encountered, but it was damned close. The fact that he was both intelligent and sensitive ought to work in her favor. He wouldn't be able to resist. The agent moved again, rolling onto his stomach, and Aryn watched as his eyes finally opened. **** Mulder woke, feeling cold and stiff, with the harsh, metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Tentatively, he pressed his forehead against the icy floor, blinking slowly, wondering where the hell he was. He felt a throbbing ache as he worked his jaw cautiously, trying to determine the extent of his injuries. Groaning, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, shaking his head slightly. The last thing he remembered was getting jumped in the park, and then the woman being captured... Looking up suddenly, he saw the blonde across the room, sitting on the floor with her legs curled up to her chest, regarding him steadily. "Hello there," she said, in a quiet, restrained voice. Mulder nodded carefully, trying not to wince as pain jarred in his head. He moved to a sitting position, and felt tenderly along his jaw, never taking his eyes off of her. "I don't think it's broken." She jerked her chin towards one of the shadowy corners of the room. "There's a sink over there." Without a word, he stood and moved over to where she'd indicated, turning on the faucet and bending to take a gulp of the cold water. He spat out the lingering blood that lined his mouth and straightened, looking in the streaky mirror that hung over the sink, noticing a bruise on his cheek and slight cut at the corner of his lip. She was right. The jaw wasn't broken but it sure hurt like hell, he thought. Coherence was returning, layer by layer, and Mulder finally became fully aware of just who it was sharing the cell with him. He turned abruptly, meeting her strange amber gaze with a questioning look. "Who are you? And where are we?" Mulder asked in a low, curious voice. She smiled faintly, with an ironic curve of her lips. "My name is Aryn Brindamour. And *you* are in my own personal nightmare." Mulder frowned at her choice of words, flinching as the gesture irritated his already aching head. "Still hurting?" she asked lightly. "Yes." Aryn took a breath and seemed to stare into him. Bathed in the brilliant light of her eyes, Mulder felt the discomfort ease, pain diminishing to the point where he could finally think clearly. He stared at her in awe, understanding that she was responsible for the relief. "How do you do that?" he asked, moving to the opposite wall and sitting down slowly. Aryn snorted softly. "It's magic." "No, I'm serious," Mulder intoned, still watching her with an incredulous gaze. She looked away, staring at the smooth seams that lined the concrete walls of the cell. "It's a long story," she said after a minute, glancing back at him with a closed expression. "Then it *is* you that's been manipulating us. You're an empath, aren't you?" "Guilty," Aryn said, mockingly, raising her eyebrows. "A Full Broadcasting-Receiving Telempath, no less." Mulder imagined that he could actually *hear* the capital letters in her sarcastic words. She was obviously in no mood to cooperate with his curiosity. And there *were* at least a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but he found himself speechless with the wonder of finally talking to the embodiment of his theory. "I'm sorry you got dragged into all this," she said, serious now. "But they'll be back soon, so we need to find a way to get out of here." "Wait," Mulder interrupted, needing to know more. "Have you always had this ability?" "No," she said bluntly, giving him a frustrated look. He knew she was exasperated with his attitude, and supposed there was reason to be. If Scully were here, she'd be all business. Making sure that he paid attention to the primary problem; refusing to let him be sidetracked in the process of trying to validate his ideas. The thought of his partner gave him pause. Mulder wondered how'd she made out at the hospital after he'd left her. Not that there'd been any choice. The whole scene back there now seemed utterly surreal to him. Like a sort of bizarre fantasy. Had he really kissed Scully? And had she really responded the way he remembered? Jesus, what the hell had happened? And how much of it had he and Scully been responsible for? How much of it was the influence over them that the empath had been wielding? The rational part of him knew he really should be formulating a plan to find a way out of their current situation, but he desperately needed to know the truth. About Scully. And himself. And about what had transpired between the two of them in this woman's presence. He knew part of the answer lay in understanding the empath's ability. But whether or not she would share those answers with him was another matter entirely. "Did something happen to you? To make you this way?" Mulder tried again. "Is it connected to the people that brought us here?" His words triggered painful memories for her, strong enough to bleed outward. Affecting him. He responded by leaning his head back against the wall, groaning quietly. She seemed to notice his reaction and dampened down the empathic dispersion. "Sorry," he heard her say. But Mulder was lost in thought again, trying to analyze what had just happened. He found he was becoming more and more fascinated by the experience she created, even when it was a negative feeling she was redirecting. "They've caught up with you before, haven't they?" Her eyes had closed, but she frowned in resignation at his inquiry. "Yes. The first time in New York was easy. They weren't prepared for me then and I got away leaving everyone relatively unscathed. Unfortunately, it's become progressively more difficult." Aryn suddenly fixed him with a penetrating look, "How bad was it the other night?" "Fifty injured, three dead," Mulder replied in a flat voice, remembering the mass confusion. Pulling her knees closer to her chest, Aryn folded in on herself, as if she didn't want him to feel what she felt. A single tear swept down her cheek. Mulder felt a rising sense of compassion. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. That she wasn't responsible. But he knew it wouldn't be true, and was pretty sure she did too. And yet... He couldn't help but feel that there was something terribly choreographed about her behavior. In the past few minutes, he had seen her display quite an array of emotions. But in the tape from the dance club, she'd been completely controlled. Expressionless even. So why the sudden change? Mulder fought the confusion in his head, irritated that he could no longer trust his own instincts. "It doesn't have to be this way," he said finally, trying to keep her talking. To find answers. "Oh bullshit," she spat. "How would you know?" Mulder's eyes widened at her sudden invective. "Can't you see?" Aryn asked bitterly. "It's more than just the pursuit. It's my whole fucking existence. I can't ever get away. I actually hate people sometimes. But mostly I hate myself." She laughed derisively. "There are even times now when I *enjoy* the mayhem I can induce." Pausing for a moment, Aryn narrowed her eyes, looking directly into him. "Like with you and your partner." The last comment touched a nerve and Mulder rose, moving towards her. Something was wrong, but he was unable to put his finger on it. It seemed as though she was deliberately provoking him, though he couldn't fathom why she would want to do that. "What exactly do you mean?" he said sharply. "I think you know already." "Enlighten me." She made a contemptuous sound. "I can't broadcast what isn't already there, Agent Mulder. Tell me," she said, gazing up at him defiantly, "Just how did it feel there, in that hospital room? Was is an epiphany? A revelation?" her voice was scornful. "Or will the two of you just retreat into that well-worn denial you both make such effective use of?" "You don't know what you're talking about," Mulder said, feeling his anger rise. "Don't I?" Aryn asked with the irritating confidence of absolute knowledge. She watched as Mulder turned and stalked back to his side of the room, sinking back down against the wall and trying to shut her out. "You have no idea what you're really dealing with, do you?" he heard her say in a soft voice that was dangerous in its intensity. "Do you want to know what I can show you? I'll take you to a place that will blow your fucking mind." Mulder gazed at her reflectively, drawn to the secret visions he saw burning in her eyes. He *did* want to know, if he was completely honest with himself. Fear uncoiled in his gut -- the clandestine thrill that so often accompanied his search for the truth about extreme possibilities. "You do, don't you?" Aryn asked. She rose and slowly stalked towards him. Her movements were smooth, almost sensual. And utterly compelling. Mulder watched her approach, frozen, like a deer caught in the headlamp glare of her odd, light-colored eyes. She stopped before him and he drew a ragged breath. "Yes." His whisper was like a low, velvety rasp along her nerves, and Aryn savored it, appraising him thoughtfully. She had backed off of him once before, afraid of what she'd discovered. Now, she would be taking on that dark reservoir of torment again -- this time, fully aware of what it contained. Insane, she thought, but oh so extreme. Concentrating for a moment, Aryn summoned the residue of the heated outpouring she'd drawn from him and his partner at the hospital, cultivating it, expanding it, until it had reached the level she needed. Then, she stored it in a remote part of her psyche, knowing it would eventually be a necessary element in the experience they were about to embark on. Mulder waited as Aryn slowly lowered herself down to her knees, facing him, still holding him relentlessly with her gaze. "Give me your hand," she commanded smoothly, holding out her own. He reached out, feeling the glide of her cool fingers against his as she wove them together in a tight clasp. "Point of no return," Aryn warned, now feeding off of the feverish mixture of dread, apprehension, and excitement that coursed through him. "Do it." With her free hand, she brushed her fingertips over his forehead, feeling him recoil slightly at the contact. Then, Aryn took a deep breath, and let her mind reach into his. -- End -- Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 22:57:29 -0600 From: Loch Ness To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Subject: Empathy (5/6) by Swikstr I did not write this; I'm posting for a friend. Please send any and all feedback to swikstr@bigfoot.com ******************************************************************* Title: Empathy (5/6) Author: Swikstr Email address: swikstr@bigfoot.com Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, etc. Catagory: X Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all five seasons up to Kitsunegari Keywords: None -- at author's request Summary: While on a research assignment in Chicago, Mulder and Scully stumble upon a mysterious individual who may possess a remarkable parapsychic ability. Their association with her leads to a few new discoveries and pathways into their existence. Archive: Yes to Gossamer, otherwise, ask me. Intro: See part (1/6) Disclaimer: The characters Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, Tenthirteen productions and the Fox Network. No infringement is intended. ********* "Empathy" (5/6) swikstr ********* Part 4 -- Event Horizon Chicago Police Department -- Local Area Headquarters 8:00 PM Scully paced the floor in agitation as she watched Sutter shouting frantically into what seemed to be two phones at once. It had been hours and there was still no sign of either the mystery woman or Mulder. Onlookers had seen both of them attacked and hauled off in a white van outside the hospital, but so far, that was all the information they had. She heard a slamming noise as Sutter hung up both phones. "Nothing," he barked, dropping his head into the heel of his hand and looking over at her. "Not a single thing. No sighting of the van, and none of our street contacts has any idea of what we're talking about. It's as if they've been abducted by aliens, or something." Scully smiled faintly at his words. There was an inside joke in there, but Sutter didn't know it. She only hoped she'd be able to share it with Mulder if they found him. *When* they found him, she corrected herself. "Listen, Detective," she said, moving over to his desk and sitting on the edge. "What was the last direction that van was seen heading?" "South," he replied. "So where would you take two unconscious people if you didn't want anyone to find them?" Sutter regarded her with amazement. "In this city? There must be thousands of places." Scully frowned, knowing he was right.. "Well, by now they must have figured out that Mulder is FBI," she said. "I don't know that I'd regard that as a positive thing," the detective replied, looking at her darkly. "They might kill him to protect themselves." "I know," she said quietly, unsettled at the thought. "And you still have no idea who that woman is or why someone would be after her?" Sutter asked. "I thought Agent Mulder was working off of some type of theory?" "He was. I'm just not sure of it's validity. I know he believed the woman had some type of extrasensory talent, and that it was probably the reason why she was being pursued. But Mulder had no idea who she actually was or the identities of the men following her." "Did you believe him?" Sutter asked, watching her carefully. Scully shook her head. "I don't know." She stood and moved over to one of the windows, mulling over the events of the last twenty-four hours. It was hot in the station house. The muggy, summer air of the city was simply too much for the antiquated air conditioning, and she could feel tendrils of her hair clinging to her damp brow. Did she believe Mulder? Scully wondered. After what had happened at the hospital? At this point, she wasn't sure what was worse -- subscribing to a such a fantastic theory, or admitting to herself that she'd come unglued and responded to his kiss because she'd *wanted* to. The hustle of the squad room, combined with ringing phones and raised voices all combined into a steady hum in her ears, distracting her, making it impossible to think any further. Or was it the noise? As Scully gazed into the violet twilight, she felt an odd stress at the edges of her awareness. The sensation wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but she didn't make the connection immediately. She absently raised her hand to her neck, kneading it gently, staring at her reflection in the window. The tension in her head grew, forming itself into recognizable impressions. Fear. Despair. A deep sense of anger and frustration. And then, unaccountably, the image of Mulder's sister Samantha rose in her mind. Oh god, she thought, pressing her eyes closed in shock. Scully suddenly understood what was happening. Mulder was with the empath. And she was broadcasting. She was broadcasting *Mulder's* emotions. The feelings that flooded her were overwhelming, frightening, and Scully bit down on her tongue, tasting the raw, acrid tang of her own blood. She had felt Mulder's pain before, but never like this. Whimpering slightly, she clutched her forehead and forced herself to separate the agony from her conscious mind. Then, Scully took a deep breath and scanned the room, noticing that no one else was reacting as she was. With a flash of intuition, she realized that the empath must be trying to utilize bond that existed between she and Mulder to reveal her location. A brilliant idea, but what would it mean for Mulder? Scully had seen him cranked up on cerebral afterburn before and it had been a gut-wrenching experience. But this was infinitely worse. She could *feel* it. Scully knew she had to get to Mulder before it was too late. "Detective Sutter," she called, whirling and rushing back to his desk. He looked up at her, startled. "Get your car and meet me downstairs," she demanded, heading for the door. "Now!" she shouted over her shoulder, when he didn't move immediately. "I think I might know where we can find them." Without further hesitation, Sutter grabbed his keys and followed in pursuit of her swiftly departing form. **** Mulder felt Aryn grasp his hand, the smooth touch of her fingers against his forehead. And then it began. The first few moments were deceptively safe, like the early whispering winds of a tornado, presaging the violence and destruction to come. A host of images shattered into Mulder's consciousness. *He was kneeling in his wrecked apartment, after a night-long vigil at the hospital, sobs wracking his body as he gazed in horror at the phantom blood on his hands.* *He was stretched out, restrained, with scores of other men in a remote gulag, eyes contorting in panic as the black oil slid down onto his face.* *He was twelve years old, frozen into immobility as he watched the body of his sister being drawn inexorably through the window of his parents' home.* *He was a searing bundle of shock and denial as he stood before a mosaic of cranial x-rays, staring down into Scully's intent face as she told him about her life-threatening cancer.* *He was writhing on the floor at Icy Cape, overwhelmed by the doctors, hearing the sickening flip of the parasite in the clamp by his ear.* *He was sitting with Modell, a soundless scream of anguish echoing in his head as he watched himself raise the gun towards Scully, finger stroking desperately at the trigger.* *He was quivering with an antipodal mixture of fear and hope in the morgue, over the recently exhumed body of one of Roche's victims, eyes pleading with Scully for identification.* *He was in a delusional stupor of despair, curled on the floor of the house on the Vineyard, clutching his father's lifeless body in his arms.* *He was standing in an empty warehouse, paralyzed by hopeless grief, watching the bright viscid sheen of blood ooze from Scully's head into the concrete floor below her.* And then the emotions ripped into his brain with the force of an exploding star. He held Aryn's hand in a brutal grip, as his body arched with the force of pure, raw feeling. It was like a cataclysmic tidal wave rising in him. Dark, virulent, completely relentless. Mulder's eyes widened and he began to breath in short, shallow gasps, keening softly. The feelings were too intense, too extreme for him to handle. She was reaching in, finding every scrap of angst he'd ever sheltered in his subconscious and dragging it to the surface. There was nowhere for him to run. No escape from the ruthless swell of mental torment he was experiencing. He cried out, but there was no sound. He reached forward and grasped emptiness. His eyes searched frantically for a face, for anything familiar, but all he saw was the tortured visage of his own life. And then he was falling. Faster and faster. Images and impressions were flying past him with a speed that was unfathomable. Mulder realized that his capacity for rational thought was dwindling rapidly into a mindless panic, and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist much longer. He needed something to hold on to, to ground him. Scully. Where was she? Why wasn't she here for him? He needed her. Desperately. And then, suddenly, after what felt like an infinite amount of time, he felt himself collide with the terminus of his existence. He had reached the end. She had exorcised every scrap of feeling his soul had to offer. There was nothing left. Mulder saw himself then, standing before the edge of an abyssal breach. He moved forward, knowing that if he stepped into the gap - - if he fell any further -- all would be lost. No more fear. No more anger. No more despair. No more Fox Mulder as he had known himself. The vacuum that loomed before him was insanity, pure and simple, and it was his for the taking. That knowledge was both terrifying and electrifying all at once. Slowly, inexorably, he walked closer to the edge; to the warm upwelling of the void. It called to him with a siren's song. Already he could feel the cessation of the violent emotions that had held him in their grip. A blessed sense of numbness was permeating him. Just a single tread further and he would be free forever. Free from the need to find the truth. Free from Scully... That last bit of understanding rocked him abruptly, with a staggering blow, strong enough to force him backwards for a moment. Long enough for him to call out her name in his mind, a soundless cry that echoed throughout the arena of his consciousness. "Scuuullllllllyyyyyyy!!!" **** Scully and Sutter were in the detective's car, rapidly heading south, away from the precinct. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?" he asked, looking over at her. "I don't know exactly," she replied, gripping the armrest so tightly, her knuckles were white. "But we're headed in the right area. This is where the witnesses saw them going." "Ok, so we're headed in the general direction," Sutter said in exasperation. "That doesn't help us much, does it? While we're at it, we might just find the White Sox game tonight, as well." "No, wait," she cut him off, as her eyes clenched shut in concentration. "You need to head east, toward the lake. The feeling is stronger that way." "What feeling?" Sutter practically shouted. "I'm beginning to think your as far out there as your partner for Christ's sake!" "Shut up and listen," she said, trying to concentrate on what the empath was redirecting toward her. To interpret it. If she focused, she could almost see where they were. "They're in a place that's cold and damp. Concrete. It has a fairly new feel to it." Scully suddenly gasped, losing the image and feeling her brain compress with the redoubled trauma of Mulder's psychic journey. She cried out inadvertently, in pain. "What's wrong?" Sutter asked, glancing over at her warily. She drew a deep breath, fighting for control. "I'm all right," she gasped, willing her voice to sound stronger than she felt. "It's nothing. But I think we need to get closer to the lake." By now, Sutter was speeding along the Drive and he looked at her in consternation. "The lake is right fucking there, Agent Scully," he said, giving a jerk of his head. But she didn't respond. She couldn't. The pressure in her head was too extreme. And then she heard Mulder's voice, in her mind, calling out her name in a desperate appeal, followed by a profound, penetrating silence. "Oh no," Scully whispered, as she looked at Sutter's inquiring face with an expression of stunned dismay. "He's gone. I can't feel him anymore." The detective pursed his lips, watching her intently, as if he could think of no reasonable response to her behavior. She shook her head and glanced out the window at their surroundings, realizing that he had stopped the car. And then Scully saw it, though the window on Sutter's side -- an immense wrought iron sign that read 'NAVY PIER.' "That's it," she said with a certainty that was inexplicable. "They're there." **** Aryn pulled him close and held him to her as his body convulsed with the force of her empathic draw. Her skin burned where it made contact with his but she hardly noticed. She was too busy wielding a tortuous amount of control in an effort not to lose Mulder in the maelstrom of his emotions. As appalling as the journey was for him, so too was it for her. Aryn felt every single shred of the suffering that he experienced and for an instant she cursed herself for the undertaking. Directing his odyssey took just about every scrap of her concentration. It was like walking a minuscule tightrope -- one misstep in either direction and he might catapult into madness, quite possibly taking her with him. But Aryn was secure in the knowledge that she *did* have command over his experience. The impressions hurtling though him were awesome in the extreme but as fast as he felt them, she drew them out, diverting them into the empty air surrounding them. The massive energy her exertions generated caused the temperature in the room to increase expansively and a fine slick of perspiration bathed Aryn's face as she continued to hold him with her eyes. Christ, she thought. Was there no end to this man's reserve of torment?? She was becoming exhausted with her efforts and they hadn't even reached the critical point yet. Throughout the process, Aryn was indiscriminately trying to plant markers for the other agent, Scully, to define. But she found she didn't have the strength to do much in that area anymore. It was up to the other woman to do what was necessary to find them. Mulder and his catharsis alone demanded her full attention right now. Aryn gazed down into his eyes, watching for the telltale signs of when he hit the wall. They were surfacing there now. Slowly, but inexorably. And then, without warning, he was empty. Completely drained of all human feeling. A blank slate, waiting for the next step. She recognized the unearthly sheen in his eyes, as he stared through her in slack-jawed wonder. His body was limp, lifeless, and his grip on her hand had loosened to almost nothing. Aryn knew that he was strung out, wasted from the visions he'd seen and the emotions he'd been forced to confront. With just one small, gentle nudge, she could send him screaming, over the edge, into an irreversible psychosis. Aryn wouldn't do that, of course. That had never been her intention. What she *would* give him, was something slightly more satisfying. A panacea of sorts. Intense, stirring, deeply visceral. Frowning with deliberation, she searched for and tapped into the reserve of sensation she'd primed for him before they'd begun. Then, Aryn took a deep breath, gathering it all into one transcendent embodiment of radiance, exhilaration and sanctuary and let it fly with driving force into his spirit. **** He was still trembling, empty and insensate, at the edge of the abyss, when he felt what seemed to be a warm breeze caress his skin. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, cleansing breath, drawing the heat inside and letting it spread throughout him. The feeling was like a benediction, and his soul cried out in boundless relief. Looking up, Mulder held out his hand and grasped what seemed to be a thin filament of coherent light, so faint as to be nearly undetectable. It broadened at his touch, expanding, leading him over the gulf of the void and into a wellspring of pure sensation. Comfort, reassurance, love, and understanding flowed into him, and Mulder instantly recognized the essence of Scully, welcoming it with sheer abandon. Concentrating, he saw the blue of her eyes, felt the brush of her hand, and smelled the redolent fragrance of her scent. And then he was in motion again, retracing his steps along the perilous trajectory he'd just traversed. Finding his way back into the light. Returning to sanity and coherence. As with his previous plunge into despair, the resurgence seemed to accelerate with a breathtaking velocity and Mulder closed his eyes in an effort to stave off the disorienting sense of vertigo. He was racing back into himself. Back into himself and Scully. The voyage would be complete soon, and Mulder unexpectedly found himself charged with excitement at the thought of returning intact. His flight from reality had been so intense, so compelling, that even now, he wondered how he had made it back. Then, suddenly, he was there. Home. Opening his eyes, he saw himself hovering; looking down at his still form lying on the floor in a bare, concrete cell, cradled in Scully's arms. Her hands framed his face and she rocked him lightly, stroking the fine brush of hair at his temples. Abruptly, he was within himself, looking up at her. Safe. Unharmed. Of sound body and mind. Mulder finally drew a ragged breath. He was so tired. "Scully," he whispered with the last vestiges of his energy. "It's so good to be back." "It's so good to finally have you back, Agent Mulder," Aryn said, smiling, as she watched him close his eyes and fall into a clear, tranquil sleep. **** Laying him gently on the floor, Aryn stood on shaking legs, absently smoothing her hands over the front of her skirt. She gazed down at him, siphoning off the merest hint of his peaceful repose, wishing she could feel that type of contentment for herself, just once in her wretched life. Shaking her head slightly, Aryn made her way over to the sink, shelving those wistful musings. The icy shock of the water felt wonderful on her fevered skin and she looked up into the mirror to confront her spent countenance. Aryn prayed her undertaking had been strong enough to accomplish what she'd set out to. She supposed she'd know soon enough if the FBI came banging down the door. If not...well, she didn't want to think about that. For now, all that was left to do was wait. She turned, looking at Mulder's still form for a long moment and finally moved over to him, sinking down to the floor and curling herself into his warmth. Aryn smiled slightly as he absently draped an arm over her, drawing her closer to him. They had shared an experience more intimate than most people ever encountered in the whole of their lives, and she found herself looking at him as an individual now, rather than just a means of escape. For an instant, she was sorry he was already committed to somebody else, even though that union was what she ultimately hoped would save them. Sighing, Aryn reminded herself that there never was any point wasting time with hopeless dreams. The here and now was what mattered, and she knew that rest was essential if she was ever going to get out this prison. Pushing what remained of her troubled thoughts out of her mind, she tucked her head into the curve of Mulder's neck, closed her eyes, and succumbed to a weariness that was inescapable. -- End -- Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1998 22:58:34 -0600 From: Loch Ness To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Subject: Empathy (6/6) by Swikstr I did not write this; I'm posting for a friend. Please send any and all feedback to swikstr@bigfoot.com. ******************************************************************** Title: Empathy (6/6) Author: Swikstr Email address: swikstr@bigfoot.com Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, etc. Catagory: X Spoilers: Mild spoilers for all five seasons up to Kitsunegari Keywords: None -- at author's request Summary: While on a research assignment in Chicago, Mulder and Scully stumble upon a mysterious individual who may possess a remarkable parapsychic ability. Their association with her leads to a few new discoveries and pathways into their existence. Archive: Yes to Gossamer, otherwise, ask me. Intro: See part (1/6) Disclaimer: The characters Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter, Tenthirteen productions and the Fox Network. No infringement is intended. ********* "Empathy" (6/6) swikstr *** Mulder woke to the sound of shouts and running feet. They seemed to come from far away, but were unmistakable in their urgency. Instantly alert, he opened his eyes, keeping his body still and working on regaining his bearings. The noise faded and he waited tensely for more, but all remained silent. Suddenly, Mulder realized that the still form of the empath was enfolded in his arms. He could feel the slight tickle of her hair on the underside of his chin and the warm, rhythmic brush of her deep breathing against his neck. He relaxed for a moment, letting his mind drift back to shattering journey she had taken him on. It had been unbelievable. Indescribable. Even now, after it was all over with. And with a jolt, Mulder became aware that his spirit was filled with an utter sense of calmness and deep satisfaction. He let himself savor the unbelievably rare feeling, wondering how long they had been unconscious. Aryn had to have been equally depleted, if she'd really experienced the same emotional vision as he had. Shifting slightly, he glanced down into the bright sheen of her eyes. The fact that she was awake startled him slightly, and the awareness in her gaze told him she was fully cognizant of her surroundings. Mulder propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. "So is this the part where I ask if it was as good for you as it was for me?" he asked softly, a teasing note in his voice. Aryn gave him a wry grin and pulled away, moving to a sitting position. Her expression was wary as she appraised him. "I don't think so, Agent Mulder," she said. "I have a slight prejudice against men who call out other women's names at the moment of truth." Flushing slightly at her words, he realized that he had indeed thought she was Scully in some of the more intense moments. Mulder felt an absurd need to apologize, but she had an amused look on her face, indulgent almost. Like a parent with errant child. "You know, most people wouldn't thank me for that experience." "I don't know why," he replied, completely serious now. "Of course you do," Aryn shot back at him impatiently. "We live in a world where people pride themselves on how much emotion they can keep hidden. Look at yourself. Confronting everything your soul had to offer drove you to the very brink of madness. Surely you understand just how close you really were." He bit his lower lip thoughtfully and nodded. "But you're feeling better now, right? Content? Angst-free?" she queried, a bitter note seeping into her voice as she continued. "Don't worry, it won't last." "I'm not sure I understand." Aryn smiled ruefully. "I didn't take all those emotions away, Agent Mulder. They're still yours to have and hold. All I did was to drag them forward so you'd have no choice but to confront them. Now that you have, you feel more secure. But sooner or later, like all of us, you'll hide them back away. And add to them. Nurture them secretly." "It's our nature," she went on simply. "It's *your* nature. You think you won't now, but the process is inevitable." Mulder frowned as she spoke, wanting to deny her analysis, but knowing deep down that she was probably right. He suspected she was speaking from a wealth of experience. But her next words still surprised him. "I envy you." "Really?" he asked. "Why?" "Because you have a means of sanctuary. A refuge. You don't know how rare that really is." "Scully," he replied after a moment, his tone making it a statement rather than a question. Aryn gave him a penetrating look. "The feelings that infused you at the end -- when you were so close to the edge -- those didn't come from me." She paused, drawing a breath. "Those were the emotions the two of you were broadcasting at the hospital." "But I thought *you* were responsible for that little display," Mulder broke in. "Well, maybe just a little," she said dryly. "But I can't redirect what isn't already there. I can augment it, shape it, but that's all." He looked away, steeped in uncertainty. The implications of what she was saying were deeply disturbing, and he preferred not to think about it for the moment. "See?" Aryn said quietly, propping her chin into one hand and glancing up at him from beneath her brows. "You're doing it already." She shook her head in resignation, leaning back against the wall. "If this experience has taught you nothing else, remember one thing: as fantastic as that moment was, when you returned to yourself and the piece of her you carry -- it doesn't have to be a isolated event. You could have access to that feeling all the time. And I don't have to tell you how." Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "Don't bother trying to rationalize it out to me either," Aryn said wearily, holding up a hand. "I've already heard it, or felt it, a zillion times before. The choice is yours, and you know it. Deep down, she does too." Mulder looked into her eyes, reading the utter sincerity in her gaze. "And you can trust me on that last part." He was saved from replying by a renewed rush of noise from beyond the entryway. Mulder rose, moving to the side of the door, and Aryn quickly followed. They heard a man's voice say, "It's the fucking Feebs. They've got the area covered. I say we dump his ass and get her out of here like we're supposed to. Maybe they'll be so happy to get him, it'll buy us some time." Mulder looked over at her quickly, smiling faintly when she rolled her eyes at him in response to the mercenaries' stupidity. Then, he strained to hear the muffled debate going on outside, grimacing when he was unsuccessful. He turned to Aryn. "Why don't you do your act on these clowns when they come through the door?" he whispered, raising his eyebrows at her. "I can't," she murmured back. "You know those shades they wear?" Mulder nodded. "Well, those aren't glasses." He shot her a questioning glance. "Sensory deprivation equipment. They come complete with tiny ear plugs and a built-in neural net that shields them. Sometimes I get lucky and catch one with a low battery, but I don't think we can count on that." "Just who the hell *are* these people?" he asked in consternation. Aryn gave a little shrug, indicating that she had neither the time nor the inclination to explain. Suddenly, they heard a key turn in the lock. **** Scully and Sutter walked quickly through the dark, musty loading bays on the sub-level of Chicago's Navy Pier, directing the scores of uniforms that the detective had called down to assist in the search for Mulder and the woman. They seemed to be on the right track so far, Scully thought. Several of the night-shift laborers that had been questioned reported seeing a white cargo van come speeding through the docks several hours ago. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen where it went. She knew it was only a matter of time till they found the cell she'd imagined, but whether or not Mulder and the empath would still be there was another matter. Scully hadn't felt any additional pulls from the woman since she'd been drawn to the pier and it worried her. She hoped that it wasn't a sign of something sinister. Perhaps the empath had simply stopped redirecting. Or, more frighteningly, maybe Mulder had burned out... She suddenly heard one of the uniforms call out, "Over here!" and hurried in the man's direction. "They've been spotted up there! In the marketplace!" the cop declared, pointing up a flight of stairs and clutching his radio. Scully let relief wash over her for an instant at the words. They. He had said 'they.' That could only mean that Mulder was ok. Concentrating now, she drew her automatic and joined Sutter and the rest of the police as they rushed up the steps and into the waiting crowd above. **** The heavy, metal door to the cell flew open and two men in mirrored glasses rushed in, guns at the ready. Neither noticed Mulder, flattened against the wall next to the door, until it was too late. As the first mercenary entered, Mulder hooked a foot into the man's inner calf, causing him to crash face-first into the cement floor. The man following slid to a halt in surprise, and got caught with a hook to the jaw, flying backward. Seeing the path to freedom open up suddenly, Aryn fairly flew through the opening, escape once again the primary force driving her. "Wait!" Mulder called out, as he bent to confiscate the unconscious man's gun. He quickly straightened, heading off in pursuit. But she was already down the length of the concrete corridor, running as though the devil himself was at her heels. "Aryn!" he cried again desperately, trying to get her to stop for a second; to wait until he could catch up to her. Didn't she realize she had no chance by herself? She ignored him, reaching a set of stairs, climbing with frantic speed. Mulder cursed as she pulled open the door at the top, bursting though it into the crowded marketplace above. Behind him, he could hear the approaching footsteps of more pursuers and had to make a quick decision -- Aryn, or the men after her. He chose the former, racing ahead. In the blink of an eye, Mulder hurdled up the steps, running through the exit. The marketplace was a veritable sea of people. Even though darkness had fallen, the Pier was filled with summertime tourists and city- dwellers eager to escape the torpid summer air by taking refuge on the lake. Mulder couldn't see her in the throng. There were too many people. Spying an empty ledge, he hopped up, above the level of the crowd, searching for any glimpse of the her fleeing form. One thing he *did* notice was a lot of cops. They were making their way towards him, and Mulder assumed their presence must have been what spooked their captors. Then, turning, he finally saw Aryn rushing forward up ahead, jostling people in an attempt to get away. Mulder leapt down, fighting through the mob, heading towards her. As he came closer, he began to notice a telltale murmur in the crowd. Stopping, he glanced at the faces surrounding him, noticing the rising agitation in people's expressions. "No! Aryn!" Mulder yelled suddenly. He knew what was happening, what she would do to get away. Not again, he thought. "Mulder?!" He whirled, hearing the exultant ring of Scully's voice. And then she was there, at his side, looking up at him with a mixture of happiness and relief. Mulder smiled down at her for a split second, then turned back in his original direction. "Come on, Scully," he said, urging her forward. "We've got to get to her before they do!" Together, they continued the chase, breaking out of the marketplace and onto the wide promenade that lined the south side of the Pier. He could still see Aryn, far out in front, as she sprinted along one of the ramps that led to the upper level. Scully stopped, motioning him ahead. "I'll get Sutter and the police over here!" she called. "They should be able to start sealing this area off, so none of those goons can make their way up there!" Mulder nodded, whirling to continue up the incline in pursuit of the empath. Once at the top, he took a deep breath of the crisp lake air, noticing that it was less crowded up here. Then, he spotted her, still way ahead, far out onto the east end of the Pier. The good news was that the strangers around him didn't seem to be unduly stressed, and Mulder assumed that Aryn was keeping a tighter rein on herself now that she felt more secure. Which was just as well, he thought. They could ill-afford another riot, especially on a relatively vulnerable area like Navy Pier, which was surrounded on all sides by the churning waters of Lake Michigan. Mulder realized that they were almost to the end. Aryn would soon have no place further to run to, and he slowed up a bit, eyes keeping a careful fix on her distressed form. And she was there, at the northwest corner, pausing by one of the railings, right where the second-level esplanade ended at the concert hall roof. "Aryn!" he called out again, watching as she turned, a look of relief on her face. A look that rapidly turned to alarm as she seemed to gaze past him. Mulder felt the now-familiar feeling of panic assault him, augmented by desperation. Stumbling, he tried to fight it -- to get past the incapacitation of her unconscious broadcast. He could hear the hunters running past as he sank to his knees, shouting for Scully, for anyone, to help them. The action suddenly seemed to shift into slow motion as Mulder struggled to rise. He watched in horror and denial as Aryn climbed to the top of the railing, turning to look over her shoulder, capturing him one last time in the compelling amber light of her eyes. "It's ok," she seemed to say to him, as he felt the panic ease, replaced by a sense of resignation and weary calmness. "It's going to be all right now." Then, in the blink of an eye, she launched herself up and out, over the edge, just as the three men pursuing her reached the railing. "NOOOOOOO!!!" Mulder cried, as he watched her go over the side. Though he was too far away to hear it, he imagined the sound of the sickening clap when her body hit the water below. Breaking out of his stasis, Mulder began to run towards the men. A look of hatred burned in his eyes, the need for retribution driving him relentlessly forward. But he was too late. Her pursuers flipped themselves over the balustrade, sliding down onto a thin ledge below. From there, they rapidly made their way back to the lower promenade, disappearing into the gathering crowd. Reaching the railing, Mulder leaned over, searching furiously into the dark depths of the water below, hoping beyond hope for some sign of her. Depression overtook him at last, as he saw that nothing remained, except for the lingering spume from the disturbance in the water where her body had plummeted. Ignoring the sound of the approaching police, he sank down on his heels, lowering the gun and running his fingers through his hair. He sat that way for a while, motionless, a thousand-yard stare overtaking his features. After a time, Mulder heard Scully's approach, but he still didn't move when she sank down next to him. Not even the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder could rouse him from the absolute grief he felt at the loss of one of the most remarkable human beings he'd ever met. **** Scully leaned against one of the brick pillars of the pier and watched Mulder's still form, seated on a bench about twenty yards away. He gazed out toward the lake with a vacant expression, and she reflected on the fact that he had completely isolated himself for last twelve hours, ever since they'd come down from the upper level to order a search of the surrounding waters. He'd given a statement to Detective Sutter. They both had, and then he'd retreated to the water's edge, waiting on word from the police. She heard Detective Sutter's voice behind her. "Agent Scully?" Taking a breath and turning, she asked, "You're calling the search off?" with an expression of resignation. She already knew what the answer would be. Sutter nodded slowly, with regret. "It's been over eighteen hours, and we've got nothing. They'll keep a visual perimeter watch, but I really don't think we'll find anything. The breakwater pull of the pier is pretty strong. My guess is that if the fall didn't kill her, she was probably knocked senseless somewhere in the water. With the current the way it is, it could be weeks before we find a body." He paused, frowning, as he looked over her shoulder at Mulder's inert shape. "How's he holding up?" Scully gave a small, impassive shrug, not wanting to explain to the detective. "He'll make it," was all she would say. "I hope so. I have to tell you, Agent Scully, this case has been wacked from start to finish, but I think it was worth it just to have met you two." She nodded wryly in response. "I just wish it'd had a happier ending for you," he finished. "Thank you, Detective Sutter. It was a pleasure for me as well," Scully lied, reaching out to shake his hand, watching as he moved off, back to the hustle and bustle of the now-winding down search. Finally, she turned and headed slowly in Mulder's direction. He felt, rather than saw her presence, as she settled next to him on the bench. "Mulder?" she said, looking up at him, a slight frown of worry creasing her earnest features. He drew a ragged breath and began speaking, though his gaze never wavered from the water before them. "She took me places I'd only been to in dreams before." Scully stayed silent, feeling her heart ache at the pain in his voice. But after all this time, she knew it was simply better to let Mulder talk it out and find relief on his own terms. He shifted slightly, "Now I just have one more nightmare to add to my repertoire of discontent." A continuing quiet unraveled between the two of them then, as they listened to the far-off sounds of the police and the wash of the waves against the pier. "Mulder," Scully, finally said again, in a voice that was low and resolute. "No matter what you've been through in the last two days, I think you need to remember that Aryn was making conscious choices for herself, every step of the way. That means including the taking her own life as a means of escape. It wasn't something that she wanted or needed *you* to control. And if you try to accept that, I think you'll have an easier time dealing with this." The rational part of him knew she was right, but the loss still felt terribly acute. Aryn had been an extraordinary, if self- serving spirit, and at the least, he would have liked to have come to know her better. To understand what drove her, what created her, what led her to do the things she did. Blowing out his breath softly, Mulder tilted his head until his cheek rested on the soft warmth of Scully's hair. She reached over to grip his hand in response and together, the two of them sat, drawing on each other's strength and staring out at the sparkling rays of the sun glinting off the waves on the lake. After a while, Scully moved, raising her face up to Mulder's, looking into the depths of his gaze. Something was gnawing at her, and she couldn't stand it any longer. She had to ask. "Mulder, about what happened at the hospital," she began, only to have him cut her off. "Not now, Scully." And maybe not ever. She nodded slowly in understanding, tacitly agreeing to his refusal to examine the incident any further. Perhaps it was better to just let it be, accepting it. Remembering... With an unexpected sense of contentment, they rose in unison, and slowly began the long walk back to the west entrance of the pier. As they moved away, Mulder turned for one last sweep of the lake and the boats dotting the shimmering surface. His eyes searched for...something. A familiar feeling. A lost sensation. Giving up finally, he slid his hand into the hollow of Scully's back and matched his gait to hers as they withdrew. He never did notice the woman standing on the deck of a nearby sailboat, clad in the borrowed clothes of the Good Samaritan who'd pulled her from the water in the early hours of the morning. Aryn smiled, basking in their comfort of each other as she watched their departure with a deep sense of satisfaction. --The End. (Swikstr) Bruckman: "You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more undignified one than autoerotic asphyxiation." Mulder: "Why are you telling *me* that?" Bruckman: "Look, forget I mentioned it. It's none of my business." -- End --