Title: Abyss. Part 1/2 Author:Sherry Davis. E-Mail:SherryDav@aol.com Category: UST V A Rating: PG13 Spoilers: Up to US5 Archive: Gossamer. All other archivists should contact me. Summary: Scully tries to reach Mulder in a deep, dark place. Feedback: You Betcha. Disclaimer: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and any other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and FOX studios. No copyright infringement is intended by this author. Author's Comments: Thanks go to Polly once again for her editing skills and encouragement. Enjoy! ------ Abyss. By Sherry Davis. Homicide Division, Fulton, Nebraska. 9.24 P.M. This case is killing him. I see it etched in the deep crevices that line his once smooth brow. In the grey and lifeless pallor of his once golden skin. In the way that his shoulders hunch over, defeated and resigned to the fate that he has assigned himself. Most of all, I see it in the haunted look emanating from his hazel eyes. Eyes that now speak of despicable things, of the senseless butchery he is forced to witness as he scrutinizes the crimescene photographs before him. He is lost to me. I haven't been able to reach him in days. He is lost in the mind of a madman, voluntarily submerged into the sick sewer world of a killer. Desperation fuels his descent as he searches for the *one* clue to a murderer's identity. A clue that the authorities desperately need to stop the carnage that has taken place in this town. What he consciously subjects himself to never fails to concern me. Never fails to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in frozen fear... Going into the mind of a monster always exacts such a heavy toll. He invariably comes out the other side altered in some way. There is less of him, as though in order to retain his own sanity, he is forced to give something of himself up. A bargaining chip donated to assuage the evil he has become so intimately aquatinted with. Another part of Mulder's wounded and fragile psyche offered up to pay the ferryman his due. Enabling my partner to travel unmolested across the turbulent lake of insanity that is our prey. With this case, I fear that Mulder's bargaining power will not be enough. That the price stipulated is one he cannot afford to pay. That he will not make it back safely from the clutches of evil and madness that now surround him. That it will cost him everything that he is. Everything he has left to give. And I am helpless... At a loss as to how I can reach him. Unable to chart the right course needed to pull him back from the deep, dark abyss that he has been asked, once again, to stare into. Afraid of what I might find if I do succeed. Terrified of what will happen if I don't. He has locked himself away in a nightmarish world of his own making. Shutting out those who could share some of the burden. In the process of protecting them, he has willingly chosen to sacrifice himself upon the altar of the maniac that we seek. That he has chosen to shut me out this time, is cause for concern. In the last five years I have become acutely aware of how these cases affect him. He knows this and it is a testament to the trust that we share, that he allows me to walk the path alongside him. Usually, I am allowed the modicum of contact needed to ground him. To act as his static line should he stumble and fall from the fragile tightrope he is walking. That he has elected to walk the wire this time without the safety of a net, worries me. Truth be told... it scares the shit out of me. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes my lips, shattering the quiet of the little office that we share. My fingers rub at my temples in a vain attempt to ease the mounting tension there. His behavior is forcing me to make my own kind of choices. Choices that I'm a little uncomfortable with. Choices that my loyalty to him, and to our friendship, dictate that I make. Choices that, if revealed, could cost me my job. Covering for my errant partner has become part and parcel of my job description. In the fine print, if you will. I've lost count of the times I've pretended to *know* his whereabouts, when in fact I hadn't a clue. So covering his ass this last week has been relatively easy. Relative being the operative word. Thankfully, Mulder's reputation arrived in this town about two days before we did. For once that is acting in my favor. The detectives on this case were wary of him to begin with, probably thinking that Mulder would put some kind of "whammy" on them if they dared to get near him. So it's been easy to delegate myself as Mulder's aide-de-camp, to conduct debriefings and file progress reports on his behalf. This in no way pricks my conscience. The fact that we have nothing new to go on is the truth. I'm not lying to them, they just don't know how far down the rabbit hole Mulder's gone. And I aim to keep it that way. However, I have a harder time reconciling myself with the bogus reports I've been sending to Washington. Again, I'm not really lying, I'm just being a little selective with the truth. As far as they are concerned Mulder's submitting them. He's on top of the case and *fully* compos mentis. After all isn't it his signature that appears on the bottom of each and every report, with mine as the counter signature? I mastered Mulder's erratic scrawl a long time ago. A necessary survival tactic, borne out of the need to close out cases when he would ditch me. Of course this time he had to go one better. This time he has surpassed even himself. For Fox Mulder has managed to ditch me despite being in the same God-damned room. If they knew what was really going on... it would act as the *final* nail in the coffin *they've* been steadily building over the last five years. I feel the frustration burn inside me and I vent my anger on the small pile of suspect folders stacked neatly on my desk. With a brush of my hand they fan out, pooling at its edge before landing on the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. The anal retentive in me already wishes to make amends, to pick up the folders and stack them neatly on my desk again. I tell that side of me to take a flying leap. What difference will it make? I'm the only damn person in this room that's going to know that Mulder's suspects lie scattered on the floor. Mulder isn't going to notice, the world could come to a shuddering stop, sending us all careening to our deaths and he wouldn't bat an eye. He is so far into someone else's reality, someone else's dark nightmares that only his body remains in this room. His consciousness is long gone and I need to find a way to get it back. I hate those faceless men in VCS for doing this to him. How could they insist that he take cases like these when they *know* what they do to him? I've seen Mulder's file. I know what all those years being the ISU's pet bloodhound did to him. He came as near to a nervous breakdown as anyone can get. He was off work for four months due to physical and mental exhaustion. That's when he started looking into the X-Files. That's when his mind started looking unconsciously for the out that he so desperately needed. So why do they still insist on doing this to him? Is it their sadistic way of getting him back for walking out on them? Is it any wonder that he did; when all he had to look forward to everyday was another round of tag with some demented psychopath? I fear that they want to break him. That they're using this tried and tested technique to force him to his knees. To tip his already bruised and battered psyche over the precipice of sanity to crash and shatter upon the rocks below. It's another reason that I *need* to bring him back. Because I'm so frightened that this time... with this case... they might truly succeed. And *I* will lose him forever... A small noise alerts me to the fact that Mulder has moved from his seat, without even having to look up I know what he is doing. He is tracing those damn photographs. He is trying to absorb the scenery into the furrows of his fertile mind. Hoping to cultivate that one elusive detail that is alluding him. It is almost compulsive behavior and he doesn't notice that he's doing it. I do, however, and it cries out to me as to the state of my partner's mind. The tight fist of fear that moved in and took up residence days ago in the pit of my stomach takes that moment to tighten its hold upon me. He starts to pace the length of the room. It's another of the habits that he has formed during our long stay. Twelve paces one way... pivot turn... twelve paces back ... pivot turn. All the time his hand brushes through his unruly hair as he passes back and forth. The stench of day's old sweat permeates the air around us. He hasn't changed clothes in four days. He hasn't bothered to bathe or shave either. As for eating? It has become a redundant function as far as Mulder's stomach is concerned. He seems to be living off of coffee alone and I have already noticed a gauntness about him that was missing before we arrived in this God forsaken town. The ritual is the same every evening. Before I leave for the comparative luxury of my motel room, I plead with Mulder to come with me, but my pleas fall upon deaf ears. I don't even think that he notices when I finally give up and go. I don't like leaving him... I would prefer to stay, but we can't both go without sleep. So I leave him with a sadness in my heart and fear tickling my brain. Fear that while I'm gone, he'll slip away for good. Invariably I walk into the office the next morning to find him slumped over the desk in a fitful slumber. His head resting upon his crossed forearms. His face tortured and tormented even in the release of sleep. And that breaks my heart all over again. It is only a matter of time before his body shuts down completely. Before the days without sleep or food mount up enough to bring on a physical collapse. Exhaustion *will* win out... it always does. It's the body's ultimate defense mechanism. Mulder is living on borrowed time and when that time runs out, I'll be powerless to cover for him anymore. Our worst nightmare will be realized and the Bureau will have that which it most wants. A watertight means to close us down. I suddenly jump up from my seat and move toward him. I pace my steps with his and begin to walk the room with him. From the corner of my eye I see his hand come down from his hair to grasp his chin and he worries his bottom lip with his fingers. "Mulder." I keep step with him, turning and pivoting almost in synchronization. Mulder just keeps on walking and thinking, oblivious to my presence. "Mulder, it's me." I tug on his shirt sleeve with my hand and he comes up short. His eyes wander up slowly from the carpet and eventually lock with mine. It's the most success I've had all week. "Mulder?" His eyes briefly show a spark of recognition, but it is dowsed before it can ignite into a full blown ember. He pushes past me and renews his pacing. On his pivot he comes back toward me and I stand my ground. He looks genuinely confused and agitated when he reaches me and realizes that he can go no further. "Can you hear me? It's me, Mulder. It's Scully." I place a hand gently upon his forearm and give it a gentle squeeze. His eyes snap up as his brain finally acknowledges something other than the myriad of thoughts that have been going around in his head. "Scully?" His head cocks to one side as though he's processing this information. Slowly his eyes loose their glazed look and I know that for at least the next few seconds, I have his attention. "It's getting late. I think you should head back to the motel with me." "No!" His tone is adamant, "I think I may be onto something. I need to stay here and concentrate." "Mulder, please come back to the motel with me. You can grab a bite to eat and get some sleep." "I can't, Scully. Go on without me. I'll be fine right here." He tries to brush past me, but I grab his shoulders and shake him hard. "What day is this?" I ask. He looks a little puzzled at my question and a smile tugs at his full lips, "It's Tuesday." "Wrong. It's Saturday. You've been here for four days straight and you haven't eaten or had a decent nights sleep in all that time. You *need* to get out of here. You *need* to rest, Mulder." I shake his shoulders gently with my hands, "Besides you need a Goddamn shower, you're beginning to smell the place out." His smile widens with that revelation, "I'm a bit ripe, huh?" he asks. "You could say that partner." I reply, wrinkling up my nose for effect, "The neighbors are starting to complain." His smile beams for a fraction of a second before his iron will cracks down on it. "I can't leave. I'm almost there. I'll rest later." God! And he thinks *I'm* the stubborn one. "Damnit! Mulder, you're on the verge of collapse. What do I have to do to get you to take some rest? You're exhausted and your mind is wavering in and out of lucidity like a yo-yo." "Just a little..." "No!" My voice is much louder than I had intended, evidence of my own exhaustion and worry. A part of me is glad that my partner is back enough to argue with me, but the doctor in me worries about how long it will last. How long I'll have to try and convince him to rest. I realize with painful awareness that it is time to play the *one* card, I'd hoped I'd never have to play. "If you refuse rest, you'll give me no choice but to call Skinner and have him remove you from this case." God I hate doing this to him, but I damn well need to reach him, "You're only doing VCS a favor. Skinner, can pull you like *that*." I snap my fingers in his face for emphasis. "You have no right... " He begins, his voice rising sharply. "I have *every* right. I'm your partner and your welfare is my concern. This case is taking too much out of you, can't you see that? Can't you see what it's doing to you?" "I *know* what it's doing to me." His tone is cold and his eyes stare icily into mine, "But I can't back down. Not this time." "Don't you mean not *ever?*" I ask him, "What are you afraid of? Why are you afraid to tell them to shove their cases up their ass?" "I don't have a *choice* in this, Scully." He snarls back, "You of all people should know that." "Yes, you do." I reply softly, "Skinner asked you if you wanted to take this case. He didn't order you. He was giving you an out. You could have said no. You could have walked away." "No, you're wrong. I could never walk away. I'll never be able to walk away." He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, "That's exactly what they want. If I walk, then they have an excuse to shut us down." His smile is sad and forlorn. "You can't keep doing this to yourself." My hands slip down his forearms and take his hands into mine, "You can't keep giving yourself to these cases. Can't you see they're killing you?" I bite down on my bottom lip and shake my head from side to side, "Jesus Mulder, you've been so far gone these last couple of days; it was like working with a zombie." "I'm fine." He mumbles softly. "That's bullshit and you know it!" My voice rises higher than I had intended it to and Mulder's head snaps up sharply to look at me. "Yeah, well I guess you should know all about that." His eyes narrow, locking steadfastly onto mine, "Considering all the times you've tried to fob me off with that line." I wince at the hurt in his voice, but I'm adamant that he isn't going to distract me by turning this conversation toward me. It's another one of his mechanism's, one I learned a long time ago to deflect. "This has *nothing* to do with me, Mulder. What it has to do with is your state of mind and health right now." I'm trying desperately not to allow the worry and fear that has been building up inside me escape into my words. "As a doctor I'm telling you that you're close to having a breakdown. A total mental and physical breakdown." "Doubt if anyone will notice the difference." He replies in that deadpan way of his, then his eyes soften slightly, "I'm real close. You can't pull me off of this case, when I'm so damn close." "What you're close to is the point of no return." I inform him sadly, knowing that his inherent stubbornness wasn't going to make this easy. Knowing that he was going to fight me every step of the way. Knowing that I now had no choice but to play hardball, "If you think I won't pull you off this case, just watch me." "You're being melodramatic." From out of nowhere, his hand wraps around my wrist and I stifle a surprised gasp. His eyes are burning coals of defiance as he leans into my personal space, squeezing my trapped wrist until it hurts, "I think you're over- reacting, DOCTOR!" There is a snarl on his face that resembles a cornered animal and for a split second it unnerves me. I no longer know if it is my partner standing before me or the sick bastard we are chasing. For a fraction of a second they appear to be one and the same. End Part One. Title: Abyss. Part 2/2 Author:Sherry Davis. ------ Homicide Division, Fulton, Nebraska. It's what I have feared all along. I'm losing him to a demon killer and no amount of reasoning will bring him back. This unwanted revelation only serves to incense me, tapping into the well of anger that is rising steadily within. I feel my patience begin to wane and the spark of that anger ignites into a full blown flame. "I think you're being a fucking idiot." I pull my hand out of his tight grip, resisting the urge to rub the bruised flesh, "I will not stand by and watch you jeopardize..." "Then don't!" His voice is ice cold and devoid of any emotion, "I don't need you to baby-sit me, Scully, I never have." He motions toward the door with a wave of his hand, "You know the way out." With that, he turns his back on me, marching over to the crimescene photographs and snatching one off the board. He runs his eyes over it, pretending to study it. Does he really want me to leave? If I do, who will look out for him? Who will be there to stop him sliding back into that abyss? Nobody. Nobody else would care that much. Nobody else ever has. Minutes pass in uncomfortable silence. Mulder pegs the photo he has been studying back onto the board and takes another one down. He's ignoring me, acting the part of the petulant child better than any three year old I've ever come across. "Mulder." I'm the one that breaks the silence. "You still here, Scully," His voice is forced nonchalance, but I detect the tension in it. He is scared. Scared that I *will* walk out that door and never come back. Oh ye of little faith... don't you know it's not that easy, Mulder? Walking away is something I can never do. God knows I've tried, but I never manage to get very far, because something always brings me back. So now I stop trying... I can't leave him... I'll *never* be able to leave him. It's a fact of life. Well, of my life anyway. "The only way you're going to get me to walk out that door, Mulder, is to come with me." I fold my arms across my chest and wait for his response. I gird myself for the next round of this battle, for his continued stubborn refusal to listen to reason. He turns slowly around from the bulletin board, his hands dropping to his waist, resting lightly upon his hips. His eyes burn into mine, "Then I'd make myself comfortable if I were you, Scully, because you're in for a long wait." We stare each other down in the quietness of the tiny office. Neither one of us willing to break eye contact first. Why is he doing this? Why is he pushing himself so far toward the brink, that he risks losing himself forever? Why is he pushing me to the edge of betrayal? Mulder breaks eye contact and pivots on his heels. He sweeps up a tattered notepad from his desk and wanders back to the bulletin board. He stares once more at the crimescene photographs and starts to make scribbled notes on the notepad. He's pushing this too far. He's pushing *me* too far. I close my eyes for an instant and let out a long slow breath. He has left me no other choice. My hand seems to make its way inside my jacket of its own accord. My fingers brush against the warm plastic of my cellphone and curl themselves around it, pulling it from my pocket in an instant. Quickly, the pads of my fingertips tap out the familiar numbers and before I realize it, the phone is against my ear. The call is answered within three short rings. "Assistant Director Skinner, please..." My voice is crisp and calm, but inside I feel a tremor go through my body. This is the first time I have betrayed my partner's trust and I know I'm about to pay dearly for it. As if to answer my thoughts Mulder spins around from his study of the pictures and glares at me. Anger seeps into his countenance and his eyes go dark and hard with an intensity that could cut through the strongest of metals. In two long strides he reaches me and before I can register what's happening he's grabbed the cellphone from my hand and savagely disconnected my call. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?" he growls at me, his lips pulling back into a fierce snarl. "I'm *doing* my job!" I reach out a hand and make a snatch for the phone, but he moves his hand out of the way, raising it so that it is out of my reach. I know that in other circumstances this would look bloody comical, but right now that notion only serves to fuel my ever increasing ire, "Give me the goddamn phone!" "Why?" His eyes narrow into two small volcanic pools of red hot anger, "So you can call Skinner and get me thrown off this case?" "If that's what it takes to make you see sense..." I hold his gaze with my own, but it's not easy, not when I see the look of utter disappointment written large and clear across his face. I feel as though I need to explain, to explain the level of fear that is behind my decision to jeopardize everything that we are to each other. "Mulder, I'm doing this for your own good. I don't want to see you wind up like Patterson... locked away in some Godawful mental institution, the victim of one too many rounds against the devil." His shoulders sag at the mention of his old mentor. It gives me a glimmer of hope that I might yet be able to reach him in a way that doesn't have to result in censure. "Give me back the phone?" I ask softly. His hand drops down by his side before slowly extending outward, pushing the telephone toward me. My fingers reach out in acceptance... Just as my fingers are about to make contact with the handset, his arm moves in a whir and hurls the instrument against the nearest wall. It hits it with an audible thud before the casing smashes open spilling out the cellphones contents as though it had just been gutted. "Bitch!" His words are laced with the same venomous undertones that I had detected in him earlier, and his remark cuts me to the quick. "Bastard!" I retort as I feel the fire of anger begin to consume me, "All I'm trying to do is the right thing. I'm trying to save you from yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch!" I round on him, "Can't you see it's happening already. You're becoming him.... you're becoming that monster... that cold-blooded killer." "And rapist, Scully... Let's not forget that part." His voice is cold again. So devoid of any emotion that I find myself shuddering. He takes a step toward me and I unconsciously step back. He notices this and a small smile crosses his lips. "Yeah, Scully, maybe you should be worried. After all we don't know how much of that monster I've become, do we?" His eyes are sparkling wildly and for a moment I feel a tense coil of fear and indecision flow through me. "Are you scared?" He keeps walking toward me, forcing me further backward, "Are you worried that I might just force you to the floor right here in this office and take you against your will?" "That's not funny, Mulder." I tell him with just a hint of warning in my voice. I don't believe I'm actually contemplating how quickly I can reach the weapon nestling in the small of my back should he decide to try and test his theory. Jesus what's happening to us? "Neither's throwing me off this case." He growls in return. He spins and points a finger at the bodies depicted in the crimescene photographs, "I owe it to them to find this sick bastard and put him away. Put him so far away that he can't hurt anyone else." His eyes meet with mine and a deep sadness emanates from them. His sense of anguish at this man's crime is earth shattering in its intensity. "Nobody should have to die like that. Nobody should have to live with the fear of *that* happening to them or their loved ones." He rocks on his feet and for a moment I think he might actually collapse and I prepare myself to move quickly should that be the case. But then he stops moving and fixes me with his stare once more. "Please don't take me off this case, Scully. I have to help them. I *have* to bring this animal to justice." His shoulders slump forward and his head follows until his chin is resting against his chest. I see his shoulders start to quake and with astonishment I realize he is crying. "Mulder..." I'm still a little wary to make a move toward him. The multitude of emotions that he has just shown me in the space of the last half hour are enough to convince me that he needs help. Help in getting this monster out of his head. I take a step forward, then two more until I'm standing in front of him, inches away from touching him. I'm unaware that my arms are reaching for him until I feel the warmth of his body through his soiled shirt as my arms encircle his waist and pull him gently toward me. "Let me help you." I state softly, reassuringly, "You're not going to be of any good to those women, or to any of his potential victims, if you work yourself into an early grave." His chin comes to rest lightly upon the top of my head. His arms, which have hung limply against his body, slide around my waist, pulling me further into the heat of his body. "I'm so tired," he whispers into my hair, "I'm just so damned tired." At least he's owned up to that. It's a start, one that I hope I may be able to cash in on. "There's a nice big bed at my motel, Mulder. What do you say we go try it out?" There is a long pause and all I can hear is the beating of Mulder's heart and the steady inhale and exhale of his breathing. "Are you coming on to me, Scully?" He asks, the leer in his voice as exhausted and strained as the man saying it. I chuckle softly against his chest, glad that I have him back again. Praying that it will last. "I had to give up the connecting room. There's a convention in town and the staff noticed that the room wasn't being slept in." "Oh..." He replies. It could be tiredness, but I'm sure I detect a hint of disappointment in his voice. "They do a mean cheeseburger." I say, trying to coax him further into leaving this godforsaken office, "Lettuce, mayo, and French fries that you would die for." His stomach decides at that moment to voice its opinion by rumbling loudly. I feel the rumble of laughter through Mulder's chest as it makes its way to his throat, then past his lips. I feel his warm breath stir the hairs on the crown of my head. "I think my stomach's made its decision." He breaks the embrace we are in and looks down at me with sorrow filled eyes, "I'm sorry. Sorry for all those things I said." He looks guiltily at me, it's an emotion he wears like a second skin, "I would *never* have hurt you, Scully, I swear." "Shhh, I know." I'm suddenly ashamed of myself for thinking earlier that I might have to use my gun on him. "You've been under a lot of stress. Your body doesn't know if it's coming or going. Exhaustion makes people say and do things they wouldn't usually contemplate." I run my hands up over his back, feeling the knotted muscles quiver and relax as my fingers brush against him. His eyes lift away from mine and I know he is staring at the shattered remains of my cellphone. "Guess you're gonna have to write me up for killing your phone, copper." "What phone?" I raise an eyebrow at him, "The one *I* accidentally trashed when I dropped it in the parking lot?" "You don't have to..." I silence his protest with a finger to his lips. They're warm and soft and for a moment the sensation distracts me. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it, G-man." Maybe it's me, but I swear I feel his lips pucker against my fingertip, kissing the pad briefly before relaxing into his normal pout. I resist the urge to shudder. This is turning into one hell of a strange night. He might have a damn good excuse for his wayward emotions, but I sure as hell don't. I smile up at him, relieved at last to have him back to something like his normal self; willing, at last, to take a break from the case. "Let's get the hell outta here, Mulder." I back out of the embrace we've been in for the last few minutes and cross the room to the door. Opening it wide, I gesture with my hand for him to walk through it. "After you G-man." Mulder nods at me and wearily picks up his suit jacket from one of the chairs. Without a backward look, he strides past me and out the door. A sigh of relief escapes my lips before I can stop it. Once again I have been able to break him from the darkness that's threatened to engulf him. I turn and look briefly over at the bulletin board with its macabre selection of gruesome photographs. I can't help wondering how many more times I'm going to be as lucky. The End.