Access Denied by Pam Gamble eksphyl@yahoo.com 8/22/98 CLASSIFICATION: MSR, ANGST and more ANGST!! SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully have been dating for some time, but secretly. Scully is missing (and I *swear* she wasn't abducted by aliens this time) and Mulder's search brings back haunting memories for both of them. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is part three of three. Enough is first, then Indiscreet. ARCHIVE: Sure. Fine. Whatever. DEDICATION:To everyone in Gertie's chat room, especially Lynda for helping me to get this out! What good is a story if no one reads it? SPOILERS:Little Green Men, Folie a Deux, Tempus Fugit, End Game *******NOTE******* Because this story contains a lot of flashbacks, I've set them off with asterisks in an effort to make it less confusing. Changing tenses became too complicated. ************************************************* ACCESS DENIED PART 1 Mulder was getting antsy. Where was she, anyway? They should be halfway there by now. She was almost never late. He zipped his coat against the November chill, and yanked his phone from his pocket. Her home number rang, followed by the click of the answering machine. He looked around, waiting to see her car flying down the street. He would get in and she'd spill out some apology about traffic or stopping at the ATM, some excuse. And he would blow it off with a smartass remark, really just happy to see her. Where *was* she? He tried her cell phone. No answer there either. Why would she turn it off? Mulder paced the sidewalk in front of his building. This wasn't like her. They had planned on driving into Baltimore to meet with the police chief regarding their latest case, but there was just no way they would make it now. Fifteen minutes later, panic had conquered his thoughts. He flagged a cab and ordered the driver toward Scully's apartment. Just before he got in, he thought to scribble a note and jam it in the frame of the door to his building. "Scully-wait for me here. Be right back-M" He directed the driver to her place, but had no idea what route she'd taken. Maybe she had car trouble and forgot her phone. Arriving at her place, he felt a lump form in his throat. Her car was still here. He was running now, reaching her door, and quietly inserting his key, not knowing what he would find on the other side. He could feel the silence around him, sense his aloneness, yet felt compelled to check every room for her, calling her name as he ran. "Scully!!" Coming back to stand in her living room, breathing heavily, he noticed the blinking light on her answering machine. Three messages. All from him. Hang-ups. Locking her door he stormed out onto the street, where the cabbie still sat, happily running his meter. Mulder searched wildly up and down the street. Nothing. Turning to go inside and interrogate her neighbors, he caught a glimpse of something metallic in the bushes by the door. Her keys. He stooped to pick them up, gingerly in case there were prints. They were definitely hers, the Apollo keychain swinging prominently from the ring. He carried them back inside, sliding them into a plastic bag. Reluctantly, he reached for his phone, about to make a phone call he'd prayed he would never have to make again. Two rings. "Skinner." "Sir. It's about Agent Scully." Silence. "She's missing." The word, unspoken, hung in the air. . ACCESS DENIED Part 2 A.D.'S OFFICE FBI BUILDING "Let's go over this again, Agent Mulder." Mulder leapt from his seat, knowing he was out of control, beyond caring. "I do not have *time* to go over this again. We should be out looking for her," he shouted, his face an inch from Skinner's. Tension raised Skinner's voice to match Mulder's. "OK-then let's get down to it, Mulder. You want me to commit Bureau manpower to this. How do you know she didn't just leave, not tell you where she went? How do *I* know that, Mulder?" Skinner relaxed slightly as Mulder sat back down. "She wouldn't do that," Mulder said forcefully. "You've done it to her, maybe she's turning the tables on you." Mulder shook his head. He needed Skinner to understand, to believe him. It was worth the risk to say it here, no matter who else might be listening. "You know it isn't like that now." Skinner leaned across the desk, leaning closer to Mulder's ear. "But how do I know this isn't something--personal. Did you have a fight?" Mulder met his gaze evenly. "No." He took a deep breath, realizing how important it was that he seem rational. "And I would not be attempting to drag you into this if that were the case." He chose his words carefully, clinging to the facade they had all agreed to perpetuate. Skinner nodded and picked up the phone. "I need all available agents in the conference room in fifteen minutes. We need to organize a search and rescue. I also need you to notify local police. I'll be out in a moment with the details." He dropped the receiver and addressed Mulder. "Last time you saw her?" Mulder shook his head. He didn't like thinking of it that way. "Early this morning. At her place. Around 6 am." Skinner walked towards the door, trailing Mulder in his wake. Skinner pulled up Scully's personnel file on his assistant's computer, and told her to get the necessary details from there. He then requested 30 copies of her file photo. He waited a moment for the printouts, swept them from the printer, and they headed for the conference room. Mulder could only watch as Skinner efficiently placed all the papers on the long table, pinning one photo to the easel behind him. Using a large black marker, he wrote: Agent Dana K. Scully Last seen 6am 11/21 Circumstances of disappearance: unknown Mulder leaned against the wall, dizzy with confusion. What was happening? Scully's face stared back at him, the photo's empty gaze providing no answers. It was an old picture, from her first days at the Bureau. So much had happened to her since then, it was as though she wasn't even the same person. Doubt began to creep into his confused mind. <*Would* she have left me?> he answered. Of all the things that had surprised him about Dana Scully, the one he still couldn't grasp was the nightmares. She had them, too. And he had thought only he took his work home. ****************************************************** They had only been together for a few days when he had awoken one night to blood-curdling screams, adrenaline pumping through his body before his brain was able to coordinate thought or movement. Reaching blindly into the darkness to snatch her back from a danger he couldn't see, he had encountered only her sleeping form, twisted in the sheets, body flushed and shivering. Blood pulsating in his ears, he picked her up gently, whispering to her. "Scully, Scully, wake up. It's okay, I'm here. You're safe. Shhh." She had whimpered, then, and his heart shattered like a fracture in the Arctic ice. He'd rubbed her back gently, talking to her until her eyes opened slightly, unseeing. He felt her body stiffen in his arms as a panic reaction attacked her nervous system, and he tightened his arms around her. Louder, now. "Scully, wake up. I'm here. You're okay." At his voice her body went limp, while her heart raced on, unable to slow so quickly. She groaned and turned her face into his body, her entire being reverberating with exhaustion. She'd grasped his t-shirt in one hand, clutching it for dear life. Sleep overtook her almost immediately, but she never let go of his shirt, and he held her close the rest of the night. The next morning he'd confronted her about the night before, and she seemed embarrassed. "Not again." His head had jerked up. "Again?" Scully looked away. "I have them sometimes. More often lately." "What are yours about?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "I don't always remember. Mostly vague, being chased, lost...you..." "Me what?" His eyes opened wider. Scully leaned against the back of her sofa, and folded her arms around her. Her gaze never moved from the floor as she spoke. "Sometimes I dream that you're hurt, and I can't get to you." "Me, too," he interrupted in surprise. "And sometimes," she continued, "I dream that you...you...become so single-minded in your search that you...forget about me." Mulder nodded. "It hurts more," she continued, "for you to leave me. Someone taking you from me," he had to strain to hear her words, "you can't control that." She looked up finally, tears glistening in her eyes. "It hurts when you leave me." Mulder could see the pain in her eyes. He knew what it took her her to reveal these things to him, to herself. Knew they weren't talking about dreams anymore. Physical intimacy had been easy compared to this. He exhaled deeply, rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, Scully." He moved from the wall to stand a few inches from her. "I never meant to hurt you. I've always done what I've done to protect you." He reached out slowly to run his hand along the slope of her jawline. "I can't live with myself if I am the cause of your pain." He shook his head. "Not anymore. I can't do that to you." She sighed, releasing a new rain of teardrops down her face. His thumb brushed them gently away. The shuddering breath that preceded her next words told him how painful honesty was for her. "I would never begrudge you your freedom." His eyes narrowed in pain as he tried to get his mind around her words. "But you tear me apart," her voice crashed over a sob, "every time you leave me." He reached for her and she backed away as much as she could against the sofa. The rough edge to her voice was gone. Her head shook as she spoke, causing his hand to fall away from her face. "And I don't want you to stay out of pity. And I don't want you to stay because you..." Mulder found his voice, surprised to find it drenched in tears. "What if I stay because I love you. What if I stay because I can't live without you." He took her face in his hands now, and her eyes fell closed, unable to accept the honesty of his gaze. "Would that be enough?" Her eyes opened at the familiar question, and she nodded once. "I *love* you, Scully. Hurting you is the last thing I ever want to do. As long as you still want me, I won't leave you. I can promise you that." In the silence, Scully's composure returned, and she opened her eyes to look at him. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping the tears from her face. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't be sorry." He reached for her again and this time she came willingly into his arms. "We have to stop pretending that we don't need each other." His arms tightened around her, and she lowered her head against his chest, nodding, agreeing to let him in, agreeing to no more secrets. No more nightmares. ******************************************************* Mulder shook his head, concentrating on the room of agents before him. No, she wouldn't have left him. Not voluntarily. But a small part of his mind still wondered if they weren't just creating new nightmares. ACCESS DENIED Part 3 Stalking throught the bullpen, he ignored the sympathetic stares of his co-workers. At least, that's how their badges identified them. Mulder wouldn't have known any of them if he'd passed them on the street. Too impatient for the elevator, Mulder flew down the steps, barely slowing down to unlock the door. Once inside, he experienced a sickening loss of equilibrium. A place that was once so familiar suddenly seemed so foreign. He felt like a tourist in a Russian McDonald's. Outwardly, things seemed the same; but something was different, something intangible. Mulder moved slowly through the room, seeing everything as if for the first time. He picked up the stapler and examined it as though it was a precious archaelogical find. Moving behind his desk, he sat down hard in his chair, and noted that it was positioned to face the area where Scully usually sat. He glanced over at her things, his eyes following a path they'd taken a million times. Lamp, pencil holder, Scully's laptop, calendar, coffee mug... Calendar. There was something scrawled on it. For tomorrow, it looked like. Cautiously, Mulder got out of his chair and stepped closer to read her handwriting. The Consortium hadn't done this, as he'd first believed. There were no aliens involved. And he still didn't know *where* she was, but now, he thought he knew *why*. Grabbing her laptop, he sat down at his desk again. While it booted he put on his reading glasses, and picked up the phone. "I need the number for the D.C. Criminal Courts building." Scribbling the number on his desk blotter, he began to tap the keys. It wouldn't help to find her, but he knew it was what she would have wanted him to do. He had to try. ACCESS DENIED Part 4 Three days. There had been no sign of her for three days. His usual channels had turned up nothing. Mulder stood in the doorway of his apartment, hopelessness and defeat crushing his heart within his chest. He was finding it difficult to breathe. Had he known for certain that she was dead, breathing would have been too much effort. An effort he wouldn't have made at all. If he knew. He couldn't sit on his couch. It was something close to comfortable, and that was a place he couldn't bear to be. He needed to hurt, needed more pain. He wanted to be numb. Numb. ordered his brain. He opened a cabinet in his kitchen. The bottle stood there, framed by the black emptiness of its solitary confinement. It looked almost dignified. He twisted off the cap and took a swig from the bottle. It was about half-full. Probably not enough for numb. He wondered if he had some sleeping pills or something. Just one or two. Numb. How do you get there from here? Sitting in his floor, he leaned his head back against the desk chair. The bottle sat between his legs. Absently, he ran his fingers over the warm neck of the bottle. He stared into the brown darkness of his apartment, unseeing. It was too painful even to think her name. To say it would have sent him over the edge. Numb. The human body seems to enjoy inflicting pain on itself. When you have a toothache, your tongue sadistically seeks out that spot time and again. Sore arms and legs seem to attract things to bump into. Pain becomes almost exquisite. And unbearable. The body becomes addicted to the adrenaline rush. And the pain becomes almost necessary, familiar. It reminds you that you're human, mortal. Mortal. Mulder's mind kept coming back to her. Every flash of her voice, her body, her scent inflamed the open wound. He tried to push his thoughts away. Tried to drown them. Nothing worked. He gulped a deep breath of air. It wasn't fair. He had nothing. If she was gone forever, he had nothing. No pictures, no clothes, no jewelry. They'd been so careful. Left no evidence. And in doing so had left him with nothing to hold onto. His eyes blinked open and he swallowed a long, searing drink. Nothing. His eyes roamed the room, seeking some proof that she'd ever been here. A stray hair, books arranged a certain way, anything. 'Do you think everyone is just going to take your word for it?' Her voice echoed in his head. For a second he thought his muddled brain was playing tricks on him. No, she'd really said that...when? The liquor was obliterating brain cells as he sat there. He quickly tried to cling to the ends of that memory, of her voice, that were slipping away into the darkness. When? When? His gaze landed on the VCR. Stumbling over to his desk, he leaned against it and stood before his bookshelves. ******************************************************* It had been about 6 months ago. Scully had been lightly teasing him about never being able to collect any hard evidence... "Six years. Six years of searching for UFOs and it never occured to you to carry a camera? What, do you think everyone is just going to take your word for it?" He had, actually, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that *now*. I mean, his credibility may have been a *little* questionable, but... Okay. He had no credibility. *She* was his credibility. The only one who would ever believe him. So that weekend he'd gone out and bought a camcorder. Now he would show her *proof*. He'd been sitting on her sofa trying to read the instructions. Apparently they'd been translated from Japanese into something which, superficially, resembled the English language. 'To depress button and see image pressing red circle.' "What the hell does that mean?" Scully had shrugged and shook her head. She was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to balance her checkbook. "You're the genius, you figure it out," she'd smiled. Mulder had flung the sheet of paper away, and just started pushing buttons on the small black box. "Ha! Got it!" He squinted as he peered through the viewfinder, seeing the little red light blinking in the corner. He swung the camera around for a moment, lighting on Scully's...hands? His fingers searched for the focus, and abruptly he could see her clearly. He had pulled the lens back, until she was framed in his viewfinder. "Hey, Scully." She smiled without looking up. "Mulder, put that thing away." "Testing 1-2-3. Come on, Scully," he said playfully. "I'll make you a star." She looked up then. "Mulder," she warned. He kept the camera trained on her. "Scu-lly", he mocked her. She dropped her pen in resignation, then, and took off her glasses to lay them on the table. She turned to him. "What do you want me to say?" "Stand up," he grinned. She stood slowly, leaned against the table. She looked uncomfortable. "Okay. Now what?" "I don't know. Talk to me." She folded her arms over her chest. "Mulder, this is ridiculous." "Tell me you love me." She smiled then. "I love you." "Tell me you're crazy about me." "I'm crazy about you." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "Mulder." "Ready for your close-up, Miss Scully?" He zoomed in on her face. "You're blushing!" "And *you* are like a kid with a new toy." "You're beautiful when you blush." His voice registered an octave deeper, and turned Scully's face a deeper shade of red. "Okay. Enough practice," she said lightly. "Got something else on your mind?" She nodded and with a wicked smile began walking toward him. He hit the stop button on the recorder and they... ******************************************************* Where the hell was it?? He ripped furiously through his desk drawers. Finally at the bottom of one, he found it. What if he'd recorded over it? What if it was erased? What if it hadn't worked? He'd forgotten to check. He hadn't known what he was doing...oh, please... He shoved the tape in the VCR and pressed rewind, then play. Two or three heartstopping seconds of blackness, and then... "Hey, Scully." Before, he couldn't bear to even think of her. Now he just wanted to see her face. "Come on, focus." There she was. Sitting at the table. Before. She'd been so reluctant to look at the camera. "Come on Scully. Look at me. I wanna see your face." His voice echoed in the empty room. There. He hit 'pause' for a moment, then 'play' again. He watched, waited for the part he knew was coming. 'What do you want me to say?' "Tell me you love me?", he spoke now into the darkness. "Tell me you love me," his own voice echoed from the tape. "I love you," she answered them both. "Tell me you're crazy about me," he begged the stillness. Tears were streaming freely down his face now. He listened to his voice repeating the question on the tape. "I'm crazy about you," she replied. Mulder watched her walk toward the lens, then the picture dissolved into grey static. He stared a moment, then reached for his remote, alternately pressing rewind and play. 'I love you.' 'I love you.' 'I love you.' 'I love you.' Pause. He looked now into the close-up image of her beautiful eyes. "Scully, where are you?" he cried. He reached up to touch her cheek, his hands finding only the cold glass of the television screen. With a surge of rage, he grabbed the bottle and slammed it against the wall. His body recoiled from the bits of flying glass, and in his anger he reached down and found the will to keep going, for her sake. To stop feeling sorry for himself. To find her. He looked once more into her face, unanimated, frozen on his TV screen. "I'm coming, Scully," he whispered hoarsely. "Wait for me. I'm coming." At least he had something. Something to hold onto. ACCESS DENIED PART 5 Scully sat alone in the semi-darkness. She shook her head and watched the walls swim in front of her, the floor seeming to undulate beneath her. she observed to herself. But sleep seemed such a sweet escape from the waking nightmare she'd found herself in. She was accustomed to trading her safety for his. To being used as a pawn, to playing her role, being manipulated, as she and Mulder desperately tried to manipulate the odds into their favor. She had felt invincible. She had survived so much, had beaten her cancer, was trained in self-defense, she carried a gun. Now she was not just literally, but figuratively, in the dark. The last thing she could remember was leaving her apartment. Coming to, she was being roughly dragged into this-closet?-hands cuffed behind her. "Who are you? Where's Mulder?" The blank stares and the kick in the stomach she had received didn't exactly provide a wealth of information. Why was she here? What did they want? The questions ran endlessly through her mind, but stubbornly refused to attach themselves to any answers. She'd gone over their recent cases in her mind, but narrowing down suspects with a motive of revenge would have been an insurmountable task, even if she had been able to think clearly. And knowing why wouldn't get her out of here. She'd tried to throw her body against the door, worked the lock with her cuffed hands. The door had opened, earning her a glimpse of freedom and another blow to the head. When she'd awoken, her feet had been bound as well. She'd considered getting them to open the door again, but she had no weapon, and didn't know if she would survive another head injury. Tears formed at the painful pressure building behind her eyes. If she could just close them... she ordered herself. she thought groggily. She was so tired. And lonely. Usually they got into trouble together. Scully tried to focus on the past. Memories of waking up beside him, running her fingers through his hair, the way he said her name when they made love, only accentuated her pain. Thinking of a time when they had only been friends was easier. Although it was hard to remember when that was anymore. It was hard to believe there had been anything before those lips on hers, those eyes, those hands on her... But all her thoughts were of him. He had been her whole life for so long. Good memories and bad, he was centerstage in every one. Mulder had run off to Puerto Rico. ******************************************************* She could remember sitting in the office at his computer a few days later. With the X-Files decommissioned, they had done what they could secretly to salvage something, sneaking in and out of the basement office. She'd called up a protected file, and the computer had prompted her for the password. Assuming it was the same as his home computer, she'd typed: TRUSTNO1 Invalid password. Access Denied. A small frown creased her face. She tried again with the same result. Maybe some egocentric part of him had been angry with her for breaking into his files. . He hadn't seemed angry before, though. She tried to think of other 8-character possibilities. SAMANTHA. Access denied. MAXFENIG. Access Denied. DKSCULLY Access Denied. Scully was so deep in concentration that she hadn't heard her partner come in until he moved to stand behind her. She glanced up at him, but was too preoccupied with her task to even look sheepish. She was more embarrassed that she hadn't cracked it yet. Mulder retrieved a file from the cabinet, then turned to leave. Stopping, he stood behind her, watching for a moment. Leaning over her shoulders, his arms reached down and his long fingers gently stroked the keys. Even now, tied up in a cold, empty room, she could feel his warm breath on her earlobes as he bent over her. Scully's eyes had widened as the letters had appeared, one by one, on the screen. TRUSTYOU Access Granted. Without a word, he had turned and left the room. ******************************************************* Tears formed in her eyes now, as they had so many years ago. Access granted. It was a good phrase for the two of them. All the pain and the sadness and the joys they had carefully locked away from everyone else for so long, they now revealed only to each other. No one else knew what they saw in each other, because no one else was *allowed* to see it. No one else *could* see it. Only him. Only her. Folie a deux. Scully sighed. ACCESS DENIED Part 6 Mulder darted through the heavy midtown traffic, headed for the office. He slammed on the brakes as the car in front of him turned without signaling. Mulder was a very perceptive man, , and the irony of that thought was not lost on him. He had been self-centered most of his life. Remembered a night in a darkened submarine when he'd been willing to die for the sake of the truth. And, just as surely, he knew now that he was no longer willing to die for those answers. The thought scared him as much as it elated him. In any war, the most fearsome enemy is the one who is ready to die for their cause. He wasn't quite the soldier he used to be, perhaps. But now, he had someone to be accountable to. It seemed to make his life worth something. Full. Complete in a way his search for Samantha never had. Now he just felt empty. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ See Part 1 for disclaimers ACCESS DENIED PART 7 Scully tried to keep her mind occupied. She didn't want to exhaust her vigilance before it had a chance to do her any good. She had no idea how many days she'd been kept here. She'd fallen asleep four times, but didn't consider that an accurate measure of days. She could smell herself, though, and knew she must desperately need a shower. They had taken her to the bathroom every few hours, but not on any sort of schedule she could determine. She didn't have anything in her system, anyway. Since the last time they'd come for her, she had managed to contort her body and step over her hands, so that the cuffs were in front. With her short legs it wasn't too difficult. With her hands in front of her, it was easy to work the ropes from her feet. *If* she had enough time. She kept busy by reciting lists she'd had to memorize in med school. Bones in the arm, bones in the leg, anything mundane to keep her mind off that doorknob. She was a third of the way through the Periodic Table when she saw the knob begin to twist. Her only advantage was the element of surprise. If she were outnumbered, she would be dead in a moment. As the door opened, Scully crouched, quickly bringing the chain of the cuffs under the man's foot. Pulling her hands together, she yanked hard, leaning to the left as his foot flew up and he landed with a smack on the unyielding concrete floor. In the second it took him to realize what had happened, Scully got her hands off his foot and onto his weapon. Only reflex caused him to hold onto it, as she tenaciously gripped the butt of the gun. Seemingly in slow motion, his finger began to squeeze the trigger. At the same moment, Scully pulled as hard as she could. Still pulling on the pistol, Scully pulled her knee up. With one swift motion, she jammed her knee between his legs, and he released the gun. She pulled the trigger without thinking, without remorse. She knew that despite what she had promised Mulder, she would see his horrified face in her dreams for the rest of her life. Scully shuddered, ignoring the smell of powder and flesh, the spatters of blood on her clothes. As she'd expected, the gunshot brought with it unwanted attention. She heard footsteps at one door, approaching quickly. Clutching the gun, she ran to the other door, flinging it open and propelling herself down a long corridor. There was a door at the end. Shoving the door open, Scully ran outside. Into the kind of drizzly rain that defines the District in the winter. She was still looking over her shoulder, knowing they were right behind her. Taking a chance and turning right, she dove into the first doorway she saw. Her head was spinning from the sudden movement. She'd had no food or water for days, and she was so weak. Black spots danced before her eyes. She knew if they caught her again she would have no resistance to offer. ACCESS DENIED Part 8 Officer Richard MacArthur, retired, of the A-1 Omega Security Company, had worn his uniform proudly for almost five years now. A younger Richard had been a proud member of the Chicago Police force, until age had forced him behind a desk. He didn't mind, though. He'd let the boys be out where the action was. His wife was happy to have him home for dinner, and she hadn't had to worry as much. The worst injury he'd had recently was a serious papercut. And in his new job, even the arthritis that plagued him was less of a nuisance, because A-1 Omega did not require its employees to carry a sidearm. His company had sent him to this small bank branch last year, when a noisy bar next door had been scaring away customers. They wanted their bank to seem a bastion of security. The bar had come and gone, but Richard had stayed. He knew the owner was just too good-hearted to let him go, but he considered this lobby his beat, and he liked having something to do every day. He knew he wasn't a real cop anymore, but he knew he had been once. And that was something. In the span of his 20-year career on the force, he'd been witness to many people leaving banks in handcuffs. Today, he reflected, was the first time he'd seen someone come *in* with them. The gun was an interesting touch. ACCESS DENIED Part 9 Scully stumbled through the doorway, conscious of little that surrounded her. She felt herself slowly sliding, blacking out, couldn't stop it... Suddenly a greying, weathered face was in her own. "Miss! Miss! Are you all right?" Even in her condition, Scully felt the answer to that question should be blatantly obvious. "Call Police," she sputtered, before her body crashed to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor. "Mul-" "Call the police!" Richard shouted at the small group of tellers cowering behind their bulletproof windows. In a lower voice, he spoke to the woman he'd gathered in his arms. "Don't worry, we'll get your mother." The now unconscious woman lay limply against his chest. She was still breathing, shallow but steady. Richard began to check her pockets for some kind of identification. The handcuffs made him suspicious, but she didn't look too much like a criminal. Slipping off his company-issue grey jacket, he bundled it and placed it on the floor, resting her head just beneath the black and gold 'SECURITY' patch on the sleeve. Glancing up only for a moment as the door opened again, he was immediately alerted by some sixth sense that something was not right. This bank had regular customers, and this man was not one of them. His eyes locked onto the woman in the floor, and his hand reached under his jacket. With the reflex that comes with 20 years of experience, Officer MacArthur reached for his weapon, remembering too late that the only thing on his belt these days was his keyring. Richard's eyes darted around the floor. The weapon was on the other side of the woman, lying where she had dropped it. He didn't even know if it was loaded. Reaching over her, he scooped the gun from the floor, and could see the man's trigger finger move ever so slightly. His eyes widened as the bullet tore through his right arm. Had he not been bending over her, that bullet would have sunk straight into her skull. Unable to ignore the pain, he gritted his teeth and squeezed off a shot of his own. Too high. Pieces of wood moulding flew apart, sprinkling around the gunman, causing his concentration to waver for one precious second. The officer's next shot went straight into his chest. Vaguely aware of screams behind him, Richard allowed himself to sink to the floor on his knees, one shaky hand trying in vain to stanch the flow of blood from his arm. he reassured himself. Propping himself against the wall, he studied the two prone bodies now lying in his lobby, and wondered what had happened between them that led to this. The wail of sirens that was so familiar in this part of town was music to his ears. The D.C. police who arrived on the scene immediately recognized Scully from the APB they'd been issued earlier in the week, and quickly removed the handcuffs. They took a moment to congratulate Officer MacArthur for his quick thinking and bravery as Scully was loaded onto one ambulance, he into another. Once inside their patrol cars, they called the contact number on the APB printout, then reported to the station that they could call off the search for Agent Dana Scully. ACCESS DENIED Part 10 The doctor nodded and disappeared through the automatic doors, leaving Mulder and Skinner alone in the ER waiting room. Mulder's tongue ungracefully formed itself around a few words. "Does her mother know?" Skinner nodded quickly. "I called her. She's on her way here." Mulder sat down hard in one of the orange plastic chairs that filled the small waiting room. He was vaguely aware of car wreck and gunshot wound victims being brought in on stretchers. Some screaming, some disturbingly silent. But he could focus on nothing but her. His brain repeated her name over and over again, so that it no longer had any meaning, but became a mantra. He felt Skinner touch his arm and say something about going. Mulder nodded in his general direction but later wouldn't even remember him leaving. He also wouldn't remember getting up and passing through the double doors, absently flashing his badge at anyone who tried to stop him. So, finding himself in the doorway of Scully's room, he felt as though he'd been transported there just by focusing on her face, her name. "Scully," he whispered in awe. Still on auto-pilot, he stumbled over to her bed and sat down beside it. All he had wanted for four days was to see her, to touch her, and now he just couldn't do it. Because he knew--once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. His gaze landed on a blackish-purple knot on her temple, slightly swelling one eye. Beneath her hospital ID bracelet, he could see the red ligature marks on her wrist. Anger surged up within him, then fizzled because he had nowhere to direct it. The men who had done this were dead. Anyway, Mulder had no energy left for vengeance right now. Walking his fingers across the sterile white sheet, he let the tips graze over the back of her hand. The feel of her skin was so sweet, so missed, so bittersweet in its association with happier moments, that it caused him physical pain. He couldn't bring himself to hold her tightly. Every time he had done that in the past, she'd pushed him away. Or they'd taken her. He knew it was dangerous to love her so much. But it was the one thing he would not live without. He lay his hand flat across hers, adjusting to the sensation, listening to her heart monitor's reassuring beeps. Slowly, he allowed his grasp to tighten around her fingers, and closed his eyes. Had Scully's entire corporeal being dissipated into the mist at that moment, he wouldn't have been surprised. And as he'd been sure she would disappear if he closed his eyes, he was just as sure that she *would* be there when he opened them. Because she'd promised him. No more nightmares. Gently he laced his fingers with her smaller ones, and lay them on her stomach. Her deep, slow breathing lifted their hands atop the white sheet. Mulder watched, entranced, as his own breathing took on the rhythm of hers, of their hands rising, falling, rising, falling. The anxiety that had driven Mulder for the last few days ebbed, floating away on the hypnotic waves of her presence, her warmth, her very being. Succumbing at last to the sensation, Mulder let his eyes fall closed, tucking his head in close to her waist. ACCESS DENIED Part 11 As Scully awoke, the muscles in her right arm spasmed. As she pulled her hand away in pain, she found it locked in place yet again. she thought, dread filling her like sand, its granules reaching every crevice. Gently she rotated her hand, trying to relax the muscle, until another flare of pain caused her to cry out softly, her hand finally coming free. Heart pounding, she dared to open her eyes. And met his. Her eyes closed with a sigh, and her hand reached blindly for his, finding only empty space. Mulder looked down and slowly took her hand once again, reaching with the other to brush the hair from her eyes. Relief flooded her body at the familiar gesture, and tears forced their way to the corners of her eyes. When she opened her eyes, she felt the tears fall, taking with them the powerlessness and frustration and fear she had lived with the past few days. If she were being truthful, she had never been afraid for herself. She'd faced death many times. She and death were old drinking buddies. But what her death would do to Mulder was something she couldn't bring herself to think about. Scully opened her mouth but no sound came out. Words seemed hopelessly inadequate. Their eyes said everything at a glance. Scully squeezed his hand tightly. His gaze never left her face. "Why?" she whispered. "The Edwards case," he replied. Her eyes widened in recognition. She'd only been thinking of her cases with Mulder, assuming that she'd been taken to control him. Had she for one second considered herself to be the target, the motive behind the kidnapping would have been clear. "Forgot," she said, and he nodded. Almost two years before, Scully had been called in to consult on a Violent Crimes case in which Jerome Edwards was suspected in the poisoning deaths of his two ex-wives. Exhaustively examining autopsy reports, Scully not only proved that the deaths were not accidental, as Edwards had claimed; she'd also linked him to the deaths of three other women. Scully had provided the forensic evidence which would convict the man and keep him in prison for the rest of his life. Her testimony at trial was crucial. With the legal system the way it was, the case had been postponed and continued and postponed some more, until a final date had been set. November 22. The day after her abduction. Mulder spoke to her quietly, stroking her hair. "He must have thought if he could keep you from testifying, he'd get off." She questioned him with a look. Mulder shook his head and smiled at her. It was a welcome change, he hadn't smiled in days. "I contacted the judge and asked them to accept your written report as evidence. The D.A. said there was enough in there to put the guy away. Due to extraordinary circumstances, they agreed to keep the report private, until you were found. We expect prison phone records to confirm that Edwards hired the men who took you." Sheepishly, he looked down at the bedsheets. "I had to hack into your laptop to find your report. Took me most of a day." He looked up. "I'm not as good at guessing your passwords as you are at mine." She sat up a little and smiled, struggling to regain her voice. "So you got it, huh?" "MsSpooky" he announced proudly. "Nice ring to it." He held his face close to hers, smelling her, feeling her, tasting her, touching her. His shaking hand gently combed through her hair, drifting down her back, and suddenly he was pulling her fiercely to him, clutching her body to his. She moved her head to rest against his shoulder, and locked her hands around his waist. He opened his mouth slightly, inhaling her, his lips brushing her hair. She felt the sobs come over him, rocking his body against hers, as he held her impossibly tighter. "Mulder," she whispered, burying her face in his neck, her right hand tangled in his hair. The left hand, tethered by the IV, stroked his waist. "I know, I know," she crooned, not feeling at all strange about being the one to do the comforting. Mulder sat back, smoothing the tear-dampened spots in her hair as he caught his breath. ACCESS DENIED PART 12 There was a soft tapping on the door. An elderly African-American man stood in the doorway. He had one arm in a sling, and a dark blue sweater draped over his shoulders. "Hello. I don't mean to disturb anything. I know you're not up for company." Mulder put a hand protectively over Scully's. "I'm sorry, you're...?" The man extended his hand to Mulder. "Richard MacArthur. Officer Richard MacArthur--retired, now. I was working security..." "At the bank," Scully interrupted, the memory linked to that face flooding back to her. The man nodded proudly. "First I thought you'd got yourself in with the wrong crowd--abusive boyfriend or something. Then they told me you were a federal agent." He patted his bandaged arm. "Be proud of this scar now. I'll have to show it off." "You saved my life," Scully whispered, reaching to take the man's hand. "I can never repay you for that." She reached up to kiss his wrinkled cheek. Richard blushed. "It was in the line of duty, ma'am." Mulder stood and shook the man's hand again. "Officer MacArthur, I hope your agency wouldn't frown on you receiving a commendation from the FBI for work done while in their employ." Richard's eyes glistened. "Well, no, sir, I don't think they would mind at all," he beamed. "Do you think my wife could be there? She'd be proud, real proud." Scully smiled. "I'm sure she already is." Richard nodded. "I'm going home, now, start my vacation. You must need your rest, too." Mulder walked with him to the door, clamping a hand on his good shoulder. "Thank you again, for everything." Richard looked into the man's eyes, and what he saw there made him smile. "You take care of her. I'm not always gonna be around." Mulder held the door, returning the smile. "Count on it." The door quietly closed, masking the muted sounds from the hallway. Mulder moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge and taking her hand once again. He was just beginning to wonder if he was hovering, about to ask if she wanted to be alone, when she reached up to run a finger over the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. He closed his eyes, sighing in response to her unspoken question. She nodded and shifted in the bed, pulling him down beside her. He waited for her to get comfortable, then molded his long frame into the space that was left. One arm draped across her stomach, one tucked under the pillow for balance, he fell asleep watching her breathe. She soon followed, the tips of her fingers reaching for his even in sleep. ACCESS DENIED PART 13 When Maggie Scully looked into her daughter's room a few moments later, she was taken by surprise. Not by Mulder's presence, but by the way they were so hopelessly entwined that there seemed no point at which they were not connected to each other. Turning abruptly, she placed her hand squarely in the center of Bill Jr's broad chest. "What?" he asked, looking down at her. "She's resting, Bill. Later." Maggie used her best mother voice, and he complied, turning to go back down the hallway. Maggie followed, smiling to herself, thinking of her husband with a familiar twinge of sadness. He'd been a wonderful man. A caring father, a brilliant officer. They'd had a strong and comfortable marriage. But he had never loved her like *that*. And from somewhere in the recesses of dreams, she thought she heard her daughter answer. THE END Feedback would be very much appreciated! eksphyl@yahoo.com