Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: SMYTHJA@BRAVO.aston.ac.uk (SMYTHJA) Subject: Dawn 1/3, Culverson Danielle - xnet171.txt [1/1] Date: Thu, 23 May 1996 07:42:34 GMT This is a fiction story based on the characters created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by 10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognised characters and plot-lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please keep me as the author. Rating - PG Anasnazi plot line mentioned. Danielle Culverson. Dawn. (Part 1/3) Janice Cartel hurried into her brightly lit kitchen to turn down the heat under a pan of boiling potatoes on the cooker. Her long brown hair was pinned up in a roll, with two wavy strands at the front curling down to her jawline to soften the effect. She wore a plastic apron over the front of her elegant dark red cocktail dress. Her sheer black stockings ended in slippers, her glossy high-heeled shoes causing her too much difficulty as she bustled over the preparation of the meal. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, and saw it was ten to seven. Her husband, Clarence, would be home soon from his solicitor's office. In the dining room, which was adjacent to the kitchen, and linked by a small serving hatch, the polished mahogany table was set for two people. - The Cartels' two young sons were staying over at a friends house. - Two white candles in silver holders stood at thirds along the table. The two places were set with lace tablemats, the best silver, and white napkins, folded into pointed crown shapes. The overhead light was dimmed, and the faint strains of a symphony came from the two speakers on the wall. The phone in the dining room rang. Janice groaned softly, and hurried out of the kitchen to the small telephone table that stood near the door that led from the dining room to the hall corridor. She lifted the receiver, not bothering to sit down. Her eyes were sparkling, her lips faintly curving up at the edges as she spoke. "Cartel residence." The words Janice heard through the telephone caused the faint smile to drop from her face almost at once. A look of anger gradually surfaced to replace it. Her eyebrows drew down, her eyes narrowing, and she scowled at the front door which she could see through the open dining room door. Her previously sparkling eyes smouldered angrily. "Well thank you!" she said sharply, and slammed the receiver into the cradle, abruptly ending the telephone conversation. She stormed into the kitchen, switched off the oven and the two simmering pans, and then walked swiftly through the dining room, through the hall corridor, and into the living room. She dropped down onto the black leather settee, the fingers of one hand pressed to her forehead as though it gave her pain. She remained like that for several moments and then leaned back against the settee. Janice caught a movement in the corner of her right eye. She turned, just in time to see a dark-haired man in his early thirties approaching her. He leaped at her, pushing her down on the settee until she was lying along it. He grabbed her hands, and held them both above her head with one hand. As the man pulled up the stretchy fabric of her cocktail dress, Janice's last coherent thought was, "He's going to rape me!" * * * Dana Scully walked briskly through the basement corridors of the J. Edgar Hoover building towards the office she and her partner shared. Her wavy auburn hair bounced above her shoulders as she walked, and her left arm, - the one not holding the blue case-folder, - swung lightly at her side. She wore a navy blue skirt and fitted jacket, a white v-necked blouse beneath. Navy blue suede low-heeled shoes added two inches to her height. For some time after she had started working at FBI headquarters, Scully had captured the attention of many of her male colleagues. She was an attractive, intelligent woman, and she had grown used to the eyes which followed her every time she entered a room. A while after she had started working on the X-files, the unwanted attention had started to lessen. Rumours about her relationship with her partner, and her involvement with the X-files, had slowly changed the glances of appreciation into stares of distrust. Most people avoided her gaze now. But not one person. Scully's partner had never shown particular interest in her appearance. He occasionally commented about it, or their relationship, but that was just his way. His sarcastic, often ironic, humour, and nothing more. Scully arrived at the office door, and opened it. The room inside was dark. She reached for the light switch, and turned it on. Sitting at his desk, Fox Mulder groaned softly. "I preferred it dark." Then he smiled, looking at her, "What a beautiful sight." Scully rolled her eyes in playful impatience. She came into the room, and put her handbag, - which had been hanging from her left shoulder, - down on her desk, which stood adjacent to Mulder's. She opened it, and took out her mobile phone, expecting a call. Then she turned back to her partner. "Mulder, what are you doing sitting in the dark?" She spoke in the tired tone of someone used to the person she was speaking to doing odd things. "It helps me to concentrate." came the reply. "I hadn't noticed you haveing any problems." Scully retorted. The phone rang, halting the playful banter. Scully picked it up, and switched it on. "Scully." She listened for a few moments, then, "Thanks Danny, I'll send the tickets on." She put the phone down again, resting it on a sheaf of papers. It stayed for a moment, and then slipped sideways down the slight gradient, and off the desk, landing on the floor with a crack. "Oops." Mulder commented disinterestedly. Scully bent to pick it up, tested it, and shook her head. "Have to get this fixed." she muttered, and replaced it in her handbag. She moved around her desk, and sat down in the imitation leather chair. She glanced across at her partner. He had a case-file open in front of him. It appeared to be one of the many which were passed to him when the investigating agents had reached an apparent dead end. Mulder's ability to find unseen links in cases such as this had led to his nickname, "Spooky", and him being passed a large number of "stuck" cases. Usually he got them past the problem, and more often than not he solved the whole case. Scully studied her partner for a few minutes, and then she opened the case-folder she had brought in with her, and began to read. * * * A tall, athletic looking man with light brown hair strode across the lawn of a fairly ordinary house at the end of a Baltimore suburbian cul-de-sac, and into the open garage. He hit the "close" button just inside, and the metal door glided slowly down to close off the garage from the street. Then he opened the door to the house, went inside, and returned a moment later with a set of car keys in one hand. He used the keys to open the drivers door, and then he released the bonnet by pulling a short lever below the steering wheel. Mike Donatti lifted the car bonnet, and stared at the engine, mild uncertainty crossing his face, - he knew little of the workings of cars. His wife was out shopping with their ten year old daughter, Lizzie, as it was a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon. Mike didn't expect them to be back for at least two more hours, so he had plenty of time to check the car over. Donatti pulled out the oil dipstick, and wiped it clean. Dipping it in and out again, he measured the oil level, and found it to be low. A can of oil stood on a nearby shelf. He picked it up, opened it carefully, and added it until the oil level was just below maximum. Then he put the can back where he had found it, and wiped his fingers on a piece of tissue. Donatti carefully removed the spark plugs, cleaned them, and replaced them. Then he checked the water level. Then he picked up a bottle of "Turtle-wax" and a cloth, and went around the car, waxing over scratches. He was working on the boot when he heard a noise from the front of the car. "That cat's got in here again." he said impatiently. He put down the bottle of wax polish and the cloth on a work bench behind him, and walked around to the front of the car. Seeing nothing, he bent over to peer under the car. "Here puss... nice puss. Come on out, puss." A rustle behind him made him straighten, and he turned to see a man rush towards him, a heavy piece of wooden plank held above his head. Donatti raised his hands to ward off his attacker, but it was too late. The plank struck him, - a glancing blow which knocked him to the ground. A second blow, and his conscioussness slipped away. * * * There was relative silence in the basement office of FBI headquarters. Scully was at her desk, completing an ammunition request form. Mulder, at his desk, was forming a psychological profile of a murderer in a case being handled by his old department, - the violent crimes unit. The phone on Scully's desk rang. She picked it up with her left hand, while continuing to write with her right. "Scully." There was a pause as she listened to the person at the other end of the line, then, "Yes, five minutes." She replaced the phone in the cradle. Mulder looked up, and glanced over at her. "We're wanted upstairs." she told him simply. Five minutes later Skinner's secretary was showing the partners into the Assistant Director's office. Skinner was standing at the window, looking out across Washington through the vertical blinds. He turned as the two agents entered, and gestured with his left arm towards the two chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit down." Mulder and Scully sat, Mulder cautiously sniffing the air for signs of cigarette smoke, - the trademark of "Cancerman". There was nothing. Scully crossed her legs neatly, and watched the Assistant Director. Finally Walter Skinner turned away from the window, and sat down at his desk. He pulled a manilla folder from a drawer, and handed it to Scully, who opened it dutifully, and scanned the first page. "This case involves what appears to be a serial killer." Skinner told the two agents, "With your medical knowledge, Agent Scully, and your ability to profile serial killers, Agent Mulder, I thought it best that you take this case, even though there is nothing... unusual, about it." At this remark Mulder smiled slightly, but his distrust of Skinner remained in his eyes. "There have been two victims so far. - All the details are there. Hopefully we can get this cleared up before the killer strikes again." "I hope so, Sir." Scully agreed. With a nod of dismissal from Skinner, the two agents rose to their feet, and left the office, Scully carrying the folder. They didn't mention the case until they were back at their office. Mulder sat down in his chair, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and rested the ankle of his right foot on his left knee. He gazed up at Scully, who was leaning against her desk, studying the case-folder intently. "As Skinner said," she began, "there have been two murders so far. The first, Janice Cartel, was killed three weeks ago in the living room of her home, at approximately 7pm. The second, Michael Donatti, was killed four days ago, in the garage adjacent to his house, at approximately 2.30pm. Both victims died from internal injury and blood loss. Someone apparently slashed open their abdomens, and ripped their organs out." Scully paused, and winced slightly. She picked two photgraphs out of the file, and handed them to Mulder. Both were of Janice Cartel, the first before she was killed, the second after. Scully handed Mulder a second pair of photos, this time of Mike Donatti. the black and white of the glossy pictures did nothing to hide the brutality of the crimes. "the point of entry into the victim's house is undetermined in each case." Scully continued, "Donatti had the back door of his house, which opens into the garage, open, but the main garage door was closed. - He was killed in the garage." Scully stopped and waited. She watched for Mulder's reaction. He shrugged. "Let's go to the Cartel House." * * * Mulder and Scully stood on the doorstep of the Cartel house. It was a fairly large house, the owner obviously being well off. - If that could be said of a man who had recently lost his wife. - Flowers bloomed in the small border around the lawn. The driveway was paved with hexagonal flagstones. A growing wind lifted Scully's auburn hair as she reached to press the doorbell a second time. Mulder glanced behind them at the quiet street. The front door opened, and he quickly turned back to see Mr Cartel at the door. "Mr Cartel?" Scully was saying, "We're from the FBI. - Special Agents Scully and Mulder." She held up her identification badge. "We're investigating your wife's death." "Oh." the man replied quietly, "Come in." The agents followed him into the house, which was as neat inside as it was outside. He led them into the living room. "This is where it... happened." he said, his voice shaking slightly as he stood just inside the door to let the agents pass, unwilling to go in any further. "I found her... sprawled out along the settee. It was past 8.30pm by then. If only I hadn't stayed on for that meeting..." "Mr Cartel, did your wife usually keep the doors and windows locked when she was in the house alone?" Scully asked. The man nodded. "Even when we were both in, we did. - Not that this is a bad area, but you never know these days, do you?" "Is there anyone she might have let into the house? A friend, colleague, or neighbour?" "Possibly Betsy, from down the road, but she usually only comes around in the day. Janice wouldn't let any strangers in the house though. Anyone she didn't know had to be expected, and have ID before she would let them in. - It's only sensible." "Yes, of course." Scully agreed. She glanced over at Mulder, who had walked over to the fireplace, and appeared to be examining it. "I think that's all for now, thank you Mr Cartel. Mulder?" "Umm." Mulder straightened, and crossed the room quickly. Cartel led them to the front door again, and let them out. Outside, on the road, a second car was parked behind Mulder's. A man in police uniform was leaning against it. He straightened when he saw the two agents, and stepped towards them as they moved away from the house. "Agents Mulder and Scully?" he asked, and held out his right hand. Mulder took it, and shook. "I'm Serjeant Attwood." He shook Scully's hand. "I'm in charge of these two cases. Did you just arrive?" "Yes." Scully answered, "We spoke to Mr Cartel briefly. - He seems quite disturbed by it all. - I suppose he does have an alibi for the time of his wife's death?" "Yes, he was in a meeting with his two partners at their solicitor's office." Mulder nodded vaguely, and glanced at his watch. Attwood noticed the look. "Would you like to visit the second scene now?" he suggested, "I can drive there, and you can follow in your car." Mulder nodded, and Scully thanked the Serjeant. They got into their cars, and drove away. * * * "Of course the garage door was closed when it happened. - One of the neighbours saw Mr Donatti close it himself from inside." Attwood was saying. Mulder nodded vaguely, only half-listening, and pressed the "Close" button just inside the garage door. The door glided shut. They had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, and proceeded to the garage after talking to Mrs Donatti. Scully was standing near the back door of the house, her arms folded, watching Mulder rather than the scene itself. he moved about the car slowly, checking the tyres, and the small scratches on the car body. When he reached the back, Attwood spoke again. "That's where we found the wax-polish and cloth," he said, "on the workbench behind you, Agent Mulder." Mulder glanced at the bench, and then crouched down to look at the car. He traced his fingers across it lightly, noting that up to this point, and scratches hadn't been touched up, but from there on they had. He stood up quickly, and walked around the car to the front, by the door. Again he crouched down, and looked around him. He glanced underneath the car itself. Then he stood up. "He must have heard a noise, and come around here to investigate." he mused, half to himself, "And when he stood up, the attacker knocked him down again." He glanced around again, and then nodded. "Okay, I've seen enough here. Let's go." * * * Mulder stood at the side of Baltimore General Hospital morgue, watching his partner as she examined the bodies of Janice Cartel and Mike Donatti. Serjeant Attwood had made his excuses and left when he had heard the agents next stop was the morgue. Mulder didn't blame him. - The cold antiseptic and steel of the place took some getting used to. Scully, dressed in blue overalls and overshoes, with plastic glasses over her eyes, and a paper cap over her hair, didn't seem to notice the atmosphere as she examined the two corpses. One of the benefits of specialising in pathology, Mulder supposed. The corpses were laid out on two stainless steel examination benches, each covered with a white sheet. Above them was a bright light, and a microphone for recording autopsies. Two large sinks stood near the door, with bottles of antiseptic soap hanging over them. A stainless steel trolley stood between the two corpses, with a small array of instruments on it, which Scully was using. "This is strange, Mulder." Scully said as she peered over the re-opened wound in Mike Donatti's abdomen. "Both of them have been pretty much messed up inside, but I would say that the attacker was going for the same thing both times. - The liver." "The liver?" Mulder crossed the room quickly, and looked into the cavity Scully had opened. He almost pulled back, the horror of the crime was so awful. Scully was right, - the organ removed in both cases was the liver and gall bladder. In Mike Donatti, most of the stomach was also gone, and when Mulder moved to Janice Cartel, he saw that the upper part of her small intestine and her pancreas were missing as well as her liver. He swallowed. "What about the incision and... er... removal? How were they carried out?" "I'd say the skin was cut with a knife, - probably a penknife, - as was the muscle beneath. But the organs were ripped out by hand." Mulder looked into his partner's eyes. Neither of them spoke, but they were both thinking the same thing. * * * Mulder and Scully sat facing each other at a small table in Baltimore General Hospital visitors canteen. Scully had two lettuce and tomato sandwiches, and a cup of coffee in front of her, and Mulder a herbal tea and a plate of chips. They sat in silence for the first part of their meal as the canteen bustled around them. Neither had spoken since the end of Scully's examination, each lost in thought. As he finished his chips, Mulder broke the silence. "It's Tooms again." "Don't be silly." Scully answered at once, revealing all too clearly that this had been on her mind also. "Eugene Tooms is dead." "Maybe not." "Mulder, we saw him being buried." "A metal box with a lid and six feet of turned earth won't hold in Tooms." Mulder replied darkly, "You know that. Who else takes people's livers? You said yourself that the point of entry was unknown, - we don't know how the killer got inside the victim's houses." "It wouldn't take Tooms to get inside Donatti's garage." Scully countered. "No, but what about the Cartel house?" Scully didn't answer. She watched a woman on the far side of the canteen who had just come in. She was dripping wet, and holding an umberella in one hand. - The electrical storm which had been building with the wind all morning had finally hit. Outside the rain was pouring, and sheets and forks of lightening were coming down from the dark clouds. Scully returned her thoughts to Mulder. "What do you want to do?" she asked wearily. "Go back to his nest. - To 66 Exeter Street." Mulder replied immediately. Scully sighed. "Surely he wouldn't go back there again?" "He always has before." Mulder answered determinedly. They finished their lunch quickly, and left for 66 Exeter Street. End of part 1. ===================================================================== ====== Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: SMYTHJA@BRAVO.aston.ac.uk (SMYTHJA) Subject: Dawn 2/3, Culverson Danielle - xnet172.txt [1/1] Date: Thu, 23 May 1996 07:43:17 GMT This is a fiction story based on the characters created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by 10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognised characters and plot-lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please keep me as the author. Rating -PG Danielle Culverson. Dawn (Part 2/3) * * * Scully stood outside 66 Exeter Street looking up at the building uncertainly with an umberella in her right hand and her lips pursed. Eugene Tooms had caused her and Mulder a lot of trouble, having first tried to kill her, and then to frame Mulder for harrassment and GBH. He had been a genetic mutant who was capable of contorting his body into any form he wished. The agents had tracked him down, finally chasing him under a shopping mall escalator, where he had been crushed to death. Or so it had seemed at the time. Mulder walked up to the derelict building, and unlocked the door with a skeleton hey. He opened it. "You coming?" he asked Scully. She nodded, hurrying to the door and closing the umberella as she entered. Mulder closed the door, and they listened to the noises around them. Rain drummed on the roof, - what was left of it, - and against the side of the building. The large tree at the back creaked and rustled ponderously in the wind. The wind shrieked around the building, and thunder clapped overhead. Mulder moved eagerly on ahead, going to Toom's old apartment. He entered the squallid and desolate room, and pulled down the stained old mattress which hid the entrance to Toom's lair. With a glance at Scully, he stepped onto the ladder, and climbed down into the basement. Scully followed apprehensively. When she reached the bottom she switched on the light bulb which hung over the basement. The two agents made their way across to Tooms' "nest". The air smelled dank, and Scully was aware of a pipe on one wall that was dribbling water. "My God, Mulder," she whispered, "it's exactly the same." It was. Except that Tooms' collection of souvenirs had been removed by the police. The nest was still there, but the entrace to it now was dry, and not wet with bile as it had been when Tooms had been hibernating in it regularly. Mulder went right up to it, and peered through the hole. "It doesn't *look* like he's been here, Scully." he said, the disappointment obvious in his voice. "Well, what did you expect?" Scully began. She broke off as a thunderclap sounded right overhead. With it came a terrible groaning, wrenching noise. Then a splintering crash that made Scully jump, and suddenly the light went out. The noise seemed to go on for ages, gradually settling, but finally the sound of falling debris stopped, and relative silence reigned again. A faint light trickled in from a grating at the base of the building, letting onto the sidewalk. Scully turned around slowly to face her partner. "Tell me that wasn't what I think it was." she said. Mulder shrugged, and hurried to the ladder. He climbed a couple of rungs, and then stopped. He came down again slowly. "Looks like the old tree fell onto the building." he told his partner, "There're wooden planks across the opening from the ceiling above. - I can't move them." "Your mobile..." "Is still in the car." "Mine's in for repair." They stared at each other in horrified silence for a moment. "Mulder, nobody knows we're here." "They'll look for us when we don't show up." Mulder reassured her, "It may take a day or so, but there's water here. - We'll be alright." Scully stared at her partner in the gloom of the basement, wondering if he believed what he was telling her. * * * By the time the rain stopped, it was almost dark outside. In the basement of 66 Exeter Street, Mulder and Scully sat on Mulder's black overcoat on the floor, their backs against the wall. The air in the basement was still, and cool. They faced the grating, which gave very little light now, watching the last of the daylight disappear. In the wall on their left, the old pipe still dripped water. On their right, Tooms' nest smelled of old newsprint, and something else which neither agent wanted to think about. Scully folded her arms across her chest, and tried to ward off the cold. On her right, Mulder didn't seem to notice the temperature. He was absorbed in thought. As the light grew so dim that Scully could barely see the grating, she sensed Mulder lift his head. "Okay," he said quietly, "what do you think this case is about?" "Mulder, I don't know." Scully sighed, "I don't think it's possible to impress logic on the actions of a serial killer. - But I don't think it's Tooms. He was more... methodical, than this person. - He only took what he wanted, not half of the victim's guts. He ripped his victims open with his bare hands, but these wounds were made with some sort of a knife... I don't know, Mulder. It just doesn't feel like Tooms." "No." agreed the quiet voice at her side, "So what? - A copycat killer?" "I doubt it. - Mulder, the very brutality of these cases distinguishes them. I don't think that someone could "copy" this. It's either a part of a psychotic mind, or it isn't. I don't think there's any choice in the mind of the killer." Scully paused, realising that somehow their usual roles had been reversed. "Hey, Mulder, - shouldn't you be telling me this? You're the one who studied psychology." There was a non-committal grunt from her invisible partner, and Scully sat back against the wall again, pulling her jacket closed under her overcoat. She paused, running her fingers lightly across the material of her brown overcoat. Then she sat forward, shrugged it off, and turned it sideways. "Here Mulder, take the end of this. - Blanket." They covered themselves as best they could, and sat back to wait for the night to pass. Trained to sleep whenever possible since her junior doctor days, Scully slipped away, and soon her gentle snores resonated in the otherwise quiet basement. Mulder remained awake for a long time, staring into the blackness. * * * Both agents were awake before it got light. Barely a word passed between them but for Mulder's mildly concerned, "You okay, Scully?" They watched and waited for the light. Finally, and slowly, it came. Early morning shafts of dingy, orangey light slwly brightened into yellow morning sunlight. The bars on the grating cast lines of shadow on the floor of the basement. Mulder looked at his watch, and saw it was 7.31am. He got to his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness pass over him, stretched his stiff muscles, and went over to the water pipe for a drink. "Are you sure that's safe, Mulder?" Scully asked cautiously. "Safer than the water in my apartment building used to be." Mulder replied, and cupped his hands to catch the small flow. Scully smiled slightly. Mulder was right, - wherever this water had come from, it hadn't been treated with any drug like the water in Mulder's apartment had been for several weeks just before his father had been killed. It was ironic that they were trapped, - not by "Cancerman" and his consorts, but by nature, - a pure accident. She got up, and went to join her partner. "What would you like for breakfast, Agent Scully?" he asked her, a playful smile touching at his lips, "I can offer you the special of the day, - liquid surprise. - It's a nutritionally balanced meal of water." Scully smiled again as she cupped her hands to catch the water. "This meal also has an educational value, - it teaches you to find for yourself the best way of holding the water long enough to get it to your mouth, - of forming a leakproof cup using only your two hands, and the five digits attached to each." Mulder grinned at his partner. She rolled her eyes, and flicked her wet fingers at him, causing a spray of droplets to fly up and hit his suit. After a few more mouthfuls of water, she straightened, and wiped her mouth with a tissue. "Did you enjoy you meal, Agent Scully?" Mulder asked. Scully smiled, unable to help herself, and went back to sit down again. There was nothing to do but wait. * * * They talked on and off all day, but it was only after darkness had fallen again that either of them said what was really on their minds. With no sensory input but for the steady trickle of the water, and the gradually deepening cold, they both felt that they needed to talk occasionally to keep from going mad, although what silences there were were comfortable, - the comfort of a long partnership, and many hours spent together. "It's not fair, Mulder." Scully said suddenly in the darkness, after a prolonged perios of silence. There was a pause. "The world isn't fair, Scully. - You know that." Mulder replied, "But what in particular isn't fair?" "We've done so much, worked so hard against everyone who tried to stop us. Time after time they tried to separate us in any way they could, but we always managed to keep going, - even though it hurt, even though it was hard, and we sometimes didn't seem to be getting anywhere. It's not fair that it should end this way. We're not yet finished. - We've still got work to do." "You should be careful, Scully." Mulder commented dryly, "You're beginning to sound like me." The bright light of a car's headlights, - the first to pass since the storm, - shone in through the windows for a moment, and Scully felt her partner stiffen next to her. She put her hand over his, and squeezed it gently. "Try and get some sleep." she told him. * * * They both slept for a while, and silence, - except for the dribbling water, - reigned over the basement again. Mulder muttered under his breath, and moaned slightly. His dreams, - as always, - were bad. At his side, Scully stirred a little, and then bolted awake at his first cry. "No!" She searched for, and found his hand in the dark. He was shaking all over. He cried out again, startling her. "Samantha!" He woke up. Scully tightened her grip on his hand. "It's okay, Mulder. I'm here." "Huh? I'm sorry, Scully, did I wake you?" "You were dreaming about your sister again." she said matter-of-factly, "Mulder, you told me you'd almost stopped having those dreams." "Scully, I..." he paused, and then continued, his voice pained, "I still dream about her, - all the time." "Mulder, we've been through this before. Your sister's disappearance was *not* your fault. You've every reason now to suspect that it was to keep your father's silence that Samantha was "abducted"." "But I still didn't stop them from taking her. - I was there. I should have done something. I... I've never been able to stop them. Not with Samantha, and not with you, Scully. When they took you... I'm your partner, I should have done something." "Mulder, you weren't even there! You weren't to know that Barry would escape and come after me. Besides, you did do something. - You managed to work out where he was headed, - no-one else would have been able to. You weren't the one who took me up Skyland mountain, and you didn't help them take me from Duane Barry. - It's *not* your fault, Mulder. You're *not* responsible." "No? Then answer me this, Scully. Would they have taken you if it weren't for the X-files? And would the X-files even exist if it hadn't originally been for me?" Scully was silent in the darkness. She knew she could never take away Mulder's paranoia, - it was too deeply ingrained in him. He would always blame himself, no matter how many times she told him that she didn't see him as having played any part in her "abduction". They both slept fitfully until just before the dawn. * * * Scully awoke first in the morning, and as the first rays of light entered the basement, she looked at Mulder's face, peaceful in sleep. Something in her chest fluttered, and her heart seemed to pause before beating. What was this? She pulled back for a moment to ponder why her first sight of her partner's face in the morning should make hre feel this way. Then she returned her gaze to Mulder. In sleep, when he was not troubled by bad dreams, the worry lines fell away. The pain in his eyes was veiled by his closed eyelids, and his mouth occasionally lifted slightly at the corners as he smiled at his dreams. He looked much more innocent than when he was awake. He reminded Scully of the way he had looked when she had first met him, before they had both been hurt by the actions of the "shadow government" who fought them at seemingly every turn. She smiled her beautiful, rare smile, as she gazed at him, and as though he felt the weight of her eyes, he stirred into wakefulness. "Morning, Scully." he mumbled, and sat up a bit. She said nothing, continuing to watch him, until he looked up at her, when she quickly looked away. She got to her feet, and went to the pipe for a drink. Mulder straightened a crink in his back with his hands as he watched his partner lean over to drink. He contemplated her, enjoying, as he always had, her presence near to him. Even before he had trusted her, he had admired her intelligence, courage, and dauntlessness. She knew what she wanted, and she went for it. He savoured just being near her, - watching her, listening to her, almost breathing her in. - He couldn't even begin to put into words what she meant to him, but he often wondered just what it was he felt for his partner. But he never once even hinted at the "truth" that lay between them, and he expected that he never would. Scully turned back towards her partner, and Mulder quickly looked away. * * * Darkness had once again engulfed the basement of 66 Exeter Street, and all it contained. Mulder and Scully leaned against the wall, Scully's overcoat wrapped around them both. they talked quietly, words their only entertainment and comfort in the unchanging basement. "I've been afraid of fire almost as long as I can remember." Mulder told Scully, "I think I must have blocked out whatever it was that started my phobia. I can cope with small domestic fires, but even they make me uneasy. Anything larger or less controlled than a boy scout camp-fire terrifies me. That fire at the end of the L-Ively case, - I really wanted to just turn and run. - It was more than just a normal fear of danger or pain. It's difficult to describe, but I had to force myself to go forward. I thought the case might help, - an immunisation, so to speak, but it didn't. - I still can't stand fire." There was a pause. The atmosphere hung heavy in the darkness. Then Scully spoke, almost to herself, her voice very quiet. "I'm afraid of being alone. Ever since Duane Barry, when I'm alone I feel nervous and scared. I have to keep all the lights on in my apartment, and the curtains shut. I find myself wondering again and again it I locked the door, - and then I have to go and check it. I'm not really sure what I'm afraid of, - Barry was an unusual case, a one in a million incident, - but I'm still afraid. I know it's crazy, but I can't help it." She fell into silence again. The basement was very cold, and she shivered involuntarily. "You alright, Scully?" Mulder asked. "Just cold." she replied, trying to keep the shiver from her voice and the chatter from her teeth. "Come closer, so we can keep warm." Mulder said, putting his arm around her shoulders, and drawing her against him. They pulled the overcoat tighter around them. "You're not alone, Scully." Mulder said in the darkness, "Remember that. I'm always here." Scully lowered her head onto his shoulder, grateful for the comfort. Being so close made her body tingle in unexpected ways. She felt surprise that his touch could so stimulate her. She sat for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation, before falling asleep. Mulder was awake longer. He had put his arm around Scully as a friend, to offer her comfort and support, but he found himself enjoying it in a different way. Having her so close, his feelings at her presence intensified, and he had to conscioussly stop his hand from stroking her shoulder, or curling into her thick auburn hair. He drew comfort himself from their proximity, and gradually his thoughts started to drift to other things. Sleep took him, almost by surprise, and for once his dreams weren't troubled. End of part 2. ===================================================================== ====== Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: SMYTHJA@BRAVO.aston.ac.uk (SMYTHJA) Subject: Dawn 3/3, Culverson Danielle - xnet173.txt [1/1] Date: Thu, 23 May 1996 07:43:55 GMT This is a fiction story based on the characters created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by 10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognised characters and plot-lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please keep me as the author. Rating - PG Danielle Culverson. Dawn (Part 3/3) * * * "Wouldn't it be wonderful," Scully asked her partner, who had just woken with a numb arm, as they sat and watched the light coming into the basement brighten, "to watch the sunrise? i never really appreciated hoe beautiful sunlight is until we were trapped in here." "Perhaps when we get out, we'll appreciate it more." Mulder commented. "Yes. Imagine, - standing on a cliff, watching the sun rise out of the sea. Everything peaceful. Birds singing the morning chorus..." "Gulls bobbing on the waves..." "The sea lapping onto the sand..." "A light wind blowing through our hair..." Scully glanced at her partner, an expression of mild surprise on her face. He looked away, pretending to be interested in something else. She continued, "Yes, it would be lovely to do that. To really appreciate light and freedom, away from everybody else." "Away from the hassle of work." Mulder added. "Away from the noise of the city. Just the two..." She cut herself off. There was a pause. "It would be nice." she said finally, and then quickly got up and went to get a drink. "Yes," Mulder whispered in a voice so low that Scully didn't hear, "it would." * * * It was warmer on the fourth night, the long-forecasted high pressure having finally arrived. The two agents sat in the darkness, Scully's overcoat across their knees like an odd travelling blanket, sitting close but not quite touching each other. It was a long time after darkness fell before Scully slipped into sleep. She, like her partner, had spent most of the afternoon and evening absorbed in thought. She had tried to think about the case, but they had pretty much talked that to extinction now, and she found her thoughts returning repeatedly to her partner. It was with these thoughts that she finally drifted into troubled sleep. Mulder, the eternal insomniac, remained wakeful. His thoughts constantly drifted from Scully, to the X-files, to his sister, and back again, just as they always did during the hours of darkness when most people were sleeping. Mulder sensed Scully stirring at his side, and heard her mutter something in her sleep. A low moan escaped her lips. Then she called out. "Mulder!" It sounded like a plea, but for what he couldn't be sure. He felt her start awake at his side with a little gasp. "You alright, Scully?" he asked. "Huh? Sure." she replied, "Just a bad dream." "Tell me." His words were short, but Scully heard compassion in his voice. She closed her eyes, - not that it had much effect in the darkness, - and saw in her mind the last few moments of the terrifying nightmare. "I... I can't, Mulder." "Why not?" he persisted, "I hear fear in your voice, Scully. What did you dream that scares you so much that you cry out in your sleep, but can't talk about it when you're awake?" "I cried out?" she sounded worried, "What did I say?" "It was mostly incoherent." Mulder replied. "Oh." she sounded relieved. Mulder continued when she didn't. "But then you called out my name." "Oh." Mulder could almost hear the disguised emotion in her voice, "Scully... have you had this dream before?" "Yes." Now he was certain he could hear her uncertainty and fear. "Please..." He stopped, not wanting to push her, - but it seemed it was enough. "I've had it quite regularly for the last six months." Scully began slowly, "I... It's always the same. I'm going to the hospital, drivin as fast as I can. You've just been brought in after you chased the alien bounty hunter to the Arctic, trying to find Samantha. I already know you've been infected with the retrovirus, and are suffering from hypothermia and exposure. I reach the hospital, and run to the room where they are treating you. When I run in, they've got you in a warm bath to bring your temperature back to normal. As I arrive you heart goes into arrest. I... I try to save you, but... but it's too late... It's always too late." She paused, and took a deep breath. "Mulder, when you ran off after your sister, I was so worried for you. I thought that worry and fear of the future were the worst feelings anyone could have. But I was wrong. I found that out only two months later when..." She broke off, and for a moment there was silence while she regained her composure before continuing. "When we all thought you were dead. I realised I was wrong then. Without you there, I felt so totally alone. It didn't matter that I was about to lose my job, I couldn't see any future for myself anyway. All that mattered was somehow making your death meaningful, - finishing what you had set out to do." Scully stopped, unable to say any more. After a few minutes of silence, Mulder spoke quietly. "When you were "abducted", I wondered if you were dead. For three months my life was desolate. I worked, but I didn't enjoy it any more. - I felt like I was only doing it to hit back at Them. "And then, when you returned, I wanted to hurt someone to make up for the pain you were going through. I never told you, but I actually tracked down "Cancerman", and attacked him in his apartment. I wanted to kill him, and I would have done, but..." He broke off. Scully looked up towards where his voice was coming from. "What? What stopped you?" "He said I was "becoming a player", - like him. That stopped me. I didn't want to be like him. I think my stopping lowered his estimation of me, but..." he shrugged in the darkness, "who cares?" There was a prolonged silence between them, during which the only sound was the dripping water of the pipe. Scully broke the quiet. "It's easier to talk in the dark, isn't it?" she said, "When I talk to you usually, I'm afraid of saying something which will bring you more pain. you've been hurt by so much, - your sister, your father, - every step of your life seems to have brought you pain, and I don't want to do the same. "Scully, you could never hurt me. I'm only afraid of not being there for you when you need me. I feel so guilty when you're hurting and I'm not there." There was masked anguish in his voice which touched Scully. She reached for his hands in the darkness, and found them. They held onto each other in the blackness, their touch giving each of them hope. * * * As the day began outside, light seeped into the quiet basement. the partners' hands were still clasped together, and neither of them spoke, or sought to release their hands. Not a word had passed between them since their hands had joined, and yet somehow Scully sensed an unusual air of quietness about her partner. She squeezed his fingers gently, and spoke in a low voice. "Mulder, look at me." He didn't look up, but continued gazing at the floor between them. Scully extricated her right hand from his grasp, and put it under his chin, lifting his head until he could no longer avoid meeting her gaze. She now saw fear and pain in his eyes. - He had never been able to banish his emotions from their clear green orbs. A slight frown crossed her attractive features. "Mulder, what *is* it?" He tried to look down, or turn his head away, but she wouldn't let him. He closed his eyes for a moment to block out her image, and it danced inside his eyelids instead. He opened his eyes again, and looked into her concerned face. "Scully, I... I'm afraid to say words that will surely change our relationship forever. I'm afraid that if I tell you, I'll drive you away... But I'm not sure that I can hide this from you much longer without pushing us apart anyway..." He lapsed into silence, still uncertain of what to do. "Please, Mulder. You *have* to tell me." Scully prodded. He nodded slowly, his eyes fearful and sad. "Scully,... Dana, I..." he paused, "I want to watch the sunrise *with you*." Scully stared at him for a moment. He watched her reaction with worried apprehension, and the atmosphere hung heavily around them. Then she started to cry. She barely seemed to notice the tears at first as they coursed down her face. Mulder put his arms around her, and pulled her closer to him as she continued to weep onto his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him almost with a will of their own. Finally she found her voice again. "Mulder, how could we have both been so blind? I kept wanting to tell you how much I need you, how I feel about you, but I was afraid that the only thing that was important to you was finding your sister. I thought that my revelation would raise a barrier between us." "Dana, after all we've been through, *you* are the *only* thing that's important to me." They sat in silence for a long time after this, each watching the other, savouring the chance to truly look without having to hide their feelings beneath fake expressions. Outside, the day passed, and darkness fell again. * * * The night was drawing to an end, although the darkness in the basement of 66 Exeter Street had not yet been breached. Neither of the two agents had slept, and as yet they didn't feel in the least tired. "Mulder?" Scully's voice broke the darkness. "What?" "I was thinking about what you said about watching the sunrise. I wondered... why can't we do it now? Pretend we're waiting for the sunrise at the east coast?" Mulder smiled in the darkness, "Why not?" he said, "Where are we?" Scully thought for a moment, "We're at the top of a tall cliff, facing east." she said finally, "Can't you hear the waves crashing down below?" "Mm... yes. I can taste salt on the air as well. There's a light breeze coming off the sea." "I know, it's making my hair tickle my ears. I think... yes, I do. I can hear a cockeral." "Surely not? From here?" Mulder sounded surprised, "The air must be very clear." "Whatever it is, it's very cold." Scully replied, "I can hear the dawn chorus, it must be almost time." They watched intently, their eyes fixed on the would-be horizon. Through the grating, the tiniest bit of grey outlined against the black. "Look!" exclaimed Scully, "There it is!" They watched as the light grew, and their imaginary sun slowly lifted itself from the sea inside their heads. "I love the way the orange reflection seems to make a path across the water to us," Mulder whispered, "and the clouds in the distance turn orangey-pink." "Look, it's almost up." Scully said softly, "Nearly, nearly... there. Sunrise!" A shout upstairs startled them. "Mulder, was that?" The shout came again, louder. "Hoi! Anybody here? Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?" "Hey!" Mulder yelled, "We're down here! In the basement." "We'll have you out in a few minutes." came the reply, "Don't worry." * * * Scully awoke slowly, and blinked at the bright white light all around her. As her eyes adjusted, she turned her head to look at her partner, who was lying in the bed next to her. As though he felt her eyes upon him, he turned his head towards her, and smiled his beautiful smile. She returned with a smiled of her own. They had been in the hopsital for two days now, and had left intensive care. They no longer had IV drips attached to their arms, and were gradually getting stronger. A movement in the corner of Scully's eye caught her attention, and she was startled from her quiet contemplation of Mulder's face by the realisation that Assistant Director Skinner had just entered their room, and was watching them closely, a quizzical smile on his face. Seeing that they had become aware of him, Skinner greeted the two agents. "Good morning, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. I came by to see how you're getting on. - Your doctor says you'll be out within the week." Scully nodded her agreement with this expectation, and then a question touched at her eyes. "Sir, what's going on with our case?" "Oh, it's almost closed now." Skinner replied, "The killer was caught after an unsuccessful third murder attempt, two days before you were found. He's seriously psychologically disturbed, of course, and is currently undergoing temporary treatment pending an agreement to have him permanantly placed at an institution." Mulder nodded quietly, no longer really interested in a case he had solved in his mind a week earlier. "Well, I look forward to your return to work, - although I don't expect to see you at the Bureau for at least two weeks yet. - You need time to put this behind you and recover properly before you come back to work." Skinner turned and left the room, leaving the two agents in silence once again. * * * Scully sat in the passenger seat of Mulder's car in silence, staring at the road in front of them, lit only by the car's headlights. They had come out of the hospital three days earlier, having been judged fit to return home by their doctor. The previous night Mulder had come around to Scully's apartment, and asked her to come for a drive with him. They had driven all night, barely speaking, a comfortable silence permeating the car, - but unfortunately not the engine, which sounded very loud in the dead of night. It was now nearly 7am. Other cars were appearing on the roads as the signs told Scully they were approaching Atlantic City. Then Mulder turned off the main road, and drove along a smaller road. He pulled up, parking the car at the side of the road, and switched off the engine. Scully undid her seatbelt uncertainly, and got out of the car as her partner did likewise. With him slightly ahead, they walked across a small patch of grass at the side of the road, and then stopped. Scully gasped in surprise. They were standing at the top of a cliff, with the sea below them, gently lapping on the sand. A seagull cried overhead, and flopped down to land on the water below, bobbing on the crests and troughs of the waves. There was barely a sound, but for the water. In the distance, a faint glow indicated the presence of the sun just below the horizon. the sky was almost cloudless, and the half-moon was behind the partners as they watched and waited for the sunrise. A small lip of red lifted above the water, casting the first rays of sunlight towards waking America. In the quietness, Mulder took his partner's right hand in his left, without taking his eyes from the growing segment ot sun showing above the horizon. Scully squeezed his fingers gently. They watched as the segment continued to grow to a hemisphere, and then continued to lift. Finally, the liquid ball of fire detached itself from the ocean, it's initial redness already giving way to a golden morning glow. Scully turned towards her partner, a smile of contentment on her face. Mulder looked at her, her clear eyes reflecting the emotions in his. Taking hold of her other hand as they faced each other, he drew her closer to him. She looked up at his face, not breaking the silence between them, and he recognised the emotion now openly displayed on her face as being the same as the one within him. He lowered his head slowly towards hers, and in the golden light of the early morning sun, their lips gently touched. The End. I'd greatly appreciate any comments or constructive criticism from fellow X-Philes. Email me at . Danielle Culverson.