Crying Towel
Date: 6 Oct 1995

Your basic 'I couldn't get this out of my head until I wrote it down'
piece. Lots of angst, no sex, no violence, no more romance than
the elevator scene, but it does give away the third season opener
plot--be warned.
No copyright infringement intended. Mulder, Scully, Skinner,
Melissa, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, all belong to Ten Thirteen
Productions.
Dedicated to Jan, Janet, Rae, and Thea and the longest night of my
life. Yup, stuff like this really happens.
Comments to vmoseley@fgi.net. All mail welcome.

Crying Towel
by Vickie Moseley

Washington, DC
June 3, 1995

It had been hard, at first. They both had lost so much. But
going back to work seemed like the only thing they could do. And
so they did. Mulder dug through the files and came up with some
doozies. Mostly supernatural things, poltergists, demonic
possessions. He was careful to avoid anything with alien
undertones. She caught it right away, though Scully knew he didn't
want her to notice. They were cases, they were unexplained, they
were X Files, just like all the rest. So they worked on them. And
the month passed, both of them hurting deeply, feeling their grief
everyday, but never talking about it, never letting the words out
that would start the healing process. It was all still too close and
still too personal for work.

Before the MJ files, before the trip to New Mexico and meeting
Albert Holsteen, before Mulder's father was murdered and Scully's
sister had been gunned down by Alex Krycek, the two had
maintained an agreement. Nightmares plagued them constantly in
their line of work. So, when the monsters crawled out from under
the bed and tried to inhabit their dreams, they agreed to call each
other. It only made sense. Scully could hardly turn to her mother
in those times--the woman would have died from worry. And
Mulder really had no one else to turn to. So the phone calls passed
between the two apartments, sometimes sounding like film clips
from 'When Harry Met Sally', sometimes sounding like Siskel and
Ebert, and sometimes, just the two of them in the office, except it
was 2:00 in the morning and they were both in separate parts of the
city. But Scully had grown to rely on those times. And she
realized how important they were to her when they stopped. Yet,
she kept her silence. She assured herself it was the grief of losing
his father that made him not call, even though the dark circles under
his eyes betrayed his quick denial of bad dreams. With time, he
would start calling her again. Things would go back to normal. So
she quit calling him, too, afraid that he might really be getting some
sleep for a change and not wanting to disturb him.

Otherwise, things seemed the same. They worked hard, they
joked easily with each other. The companionship was still there,
undamaged for all the wear and tear it had been put through. A
case came in one morning that required them to go to Illinois.
Disappearances. Mostly women in their early thirties, late twenties.
Bodies had been found in cornfields and soybean fields, mutilated.
Mulder and Scully got the assignment, quite frankly because no one
else had the stomach for it. So they went.

The first two victims were gruesome, but not more so than
many others they had worked on. Scully did the autopsy, Mulder
combed the crime scene. There was no past haunting them, no
future hanging over their heads. It was the present and they felt
secure losing themselves in it. Then the third call came in.

The body was found in a winter wheat field just outside of
Roodhouse, Illinois. She was late twenties. Found nude, near a
small irrigation ditch just off a country road. Although her body
had been horribly mangled, her face had been left intact. She had
long curly brown hair, almost chestnut in color. A slim face, full
lips. The eyes were what caught Mulder's immediate attention.
They were hazel eyes. They were his eyes. Staring back at him
was an unidentified woman who, in his mind, was his sister
Samantha.

Scully had been talking to the local coroner when she noticed
her partner. He was shuddering, almost convulsing. He ran back
to their rental car, tore open the driver's side door and threw
himself in. Then, he sat there, head bowed over the steering wheel,
and sobbed. Scully took a deep breath and excused herself from
the older man she had been talking to. Quickly, she ran over to the
car, tried to open the door, but he had locked it. She tapped on the
window, tried to get his attention, but he refused to raise his head.
She pressed her face as close to the glass as she could and tried to
talk to him. Finally, without even really acknowledging her, she
heard him flip the lock and she ran to the passenger's side and slid
in.

He was no longer crying, but he was still shaking in his toment.
She talked to him quietly, finally got him to slide over to the
passenger seat so she could drive him back to the hotel. He refused
to look at her, he just stared at the dashboard, shaking and taking in
deep, shuttering breaths of air. It hurt her to listen to him, trying so
hard to regain control of himself. She reached over once and tried
to squeeze his arm, but it startled him and he jerked away, out of
her grasp.

He managed to get the key into the door and walk inside his
room, but once there, he bolted for the bathroom. Slamming the
door and locking it behind him did not prevent Scully from hearing
him lose the contents of his stomach, and the retching that
continued even when there was nothing left to come up. She sat on
the bed, frightened for him, wondering what to do. Finally, what
seemed like hours, but was only minutes, he came back out of the
bathroom. He was sheet white, shaking and covered with sweat.
He almost fell, and she caught him, helped him to the bed. She
pulled off his shoes and pulled the bedspread over to cover him, but
he didn't notice, he was already asleep.

She pocketed his key so she could check on him during the night
and retreated to her own room. It was obvious that this was more
than just grief. Something was at play here and she had no clue as
to what it was. <Dammit, Mulder! You're the psychologist! Why
can't you just be sick with the flu? That I could handle,> she
thought. She finally decided her only course of action for the night
was to get some work done, so she changed clothes and curled up
on the bed with her lap top.

It was 8:00 in the morning when she saw him again. He had
called her at 7:30 and told her to meet him in the coffee shop of the
hotel. She got there first and ordered, watching the door, waiting
for his arrival. He didn't look any the worse for wear. Actually, he
looked like he had finally gotten a good night's sleep for a change.
He smiled sheepishly at her as he slipped in to the other side of the
booth.

"Scully, I want to apologize. . ." he started.

She cut him off with a brisk wave. "Don't you dare, Mulder.
You aren't made of stone. But I do want to talk about it. How
long have you been getting sick like that?" she asked. He dropped
his eyes and for a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer
her.

"It doesn't happen a lot, Scully. Just three or four times in the
last month. At first, I figured it for the flu. It's just stress, I know
that. I'm just. . .I'll work on it. I promise." He looked across and
gave her a lopsided grin. "Hey, there is an upside. I sleep like a
baby after one of these jags. I feel great this morning."

"Mulder, why haven't you told me about it? Did you think I
wouldn't notice?" She wasn't going to give up on this topic.

"I didn't tell you because the last thing you need is to be worried
about me. Your mom needs all your attention right now, Scully.
She's been having a hard time with Melissa's death. I know that. I
didn't want to add to the burden. Besides, there is nothing you can
do for me. I have to work this out. Everybody has to grieve in
their own way, at their own pace." He picked up his cup and took
a drink, then set it down, scowling. "What the hell is this?"

She smiled. "It's tea. Your stomach doesn't need coffee, it
needs a break. And I ordered toast and oatmeal. Take it easy
today or you really will mess up your system," she warned.

He reached over, still frowning and dumped two packets of
sweetner in the cup. "That's another reason I didn't tell you. You
baby me when you know these things. I'm a grown man, Scully. I
can take care of myself," he growled. "And you know how I
_hate_ oatmeal."

"I got bananas with it," she countered, ignoring his protests
against her concern.

The frown slowly faded and a tiny hint of merriment replaced it.
"OK, if you got bananas, I forgive you. Just watch your step. I
carry a gun," he warned.

"I'm not too scared. I've seen your range scores, Mulder," she
teased and turned the conversation back to the case.

The case was closed a couple of days later when Mulder made
the connection that each of the women had attended the same small
local college. In a case of unrequited love that spanned years, a
janitor at the college had hunted the women down and killed them.
No more than two hours after his confession, he was found in his
cell, having hanged himself with the cord that edged the mattress.
Both agents were exhausted, depressed and ready for home as they
got on their plane and headed back to Washington.

Back in DC, the routine continued, but Scully began to notice
that certain things were effecting her partner more than they had in
the past. He had a much harder time dealing with the occasional
upbraiding from Skinner. Skinner, for his part, was trying to not
coddle the two agents, something he inherently wanted to do. He,
more than anyone, knew what they had been through. He was well
aware that whatever had been found in that mountainside had
effected both his young mavericks and in ways that he could never
understand. That, coupled with the grief of losing a loved one--
something that both Mulder and Scully were still a little
inexperienced in--could and usually did equate to extra supervision.
At times like these, people got sloppy. And sloppy, in this line of
work usually meant dead. So, he rode them hard when they made
mistakes and didn't hesitate to call them on the carpet for the least
little infraction.

It was after one of his 'bend over and grab your ankles' sessions,
as Mulder affectionately called them, that Mulder suddenly
disappeared. No one noticed him leaving the building, he left his
car in the parking garage, his raincoat on the coat tree in the office.
At first, Scully thought he had gone off to one of his many sulking
places in the building. When it got close to 5:00, she started calling
all his haunts, hoping to get him to join her for dinner. An hour of
phone calls later, Mulder was still missing. She hated to alert
security to find an agent who was purposefully hiding--that would
only add another log to the rumor mill. By 6:30, she decided she
had to go home, she had promised her mother she would stop by,
so she reluctantly left him a note on his windshield to call her.

She went to her mother's directly from the office, and tried to
spend some pleasant time, but it didn't take Maggie Scully long to
notice that her daughter's attention was somewhere else.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" Maggie had asked after Dana
had lapsed into another silence, staring into space.

"What, mom?" Scully replied, not having paid attention to the
question.

"You seem a million miles away. What's the matter? Something
wrong at work?" Maggie continued to prod, but secretly, she
suspected the real reason wasn't a what, as much as a who.

Scully sighed. The one thing that had bugged her the most as a
teenager had been her mother's uncanny ability to see right through
her. "Ah, it's Mulder, mom. He's just having a hard time. Skinner
really laid into him today and he, well, he took off. He didn't come
back to the office for the rest of the day. I still don't know where
he is." She played with a lock of hair that kept falling in her face
and tried not to let her own worry show too strongly on her face.

"Dana, why don't you call him? See if he's home. That's what
you want to know, isn't it?" Maggie stated the obvious.

"No, mom. He's probably not picking up, anyway. Maybe I'll
just stop by. Make sure he's OK." She got up and retrieved her
umbrella and raincoat. It was raining cats and dogs again, and had
been doing so intermittently all day. For a brief moment, her mind
flashed on his raincoat, still hanging on the coat tree. <Mulder, if
you get sick on top of all this, I will really let you have it!> she
vowed.

His apartment was dark and she hesitated using her key, but it
was still early, at least early as far as Mulder was concerned. She
let herself in and her heart sank when she realized he hadn't been
there. His morning paper was still thrown just inside the door,
where he had undoubtedly kicked it that morning as he hurried off
to his meeting with Skinner. <Damn it, Skinner, couldn't you just
let up, just once,> she cursed.

After leaving the apartment, she made a quick stop at the office.
It wasn't a good idea, she discovered, because the raincoat was still
hanging there. With a sigh, she pulled it down and folded it over
her arm. As she switched off the light and turned to go, she
bumped into a tall form standing in the doorway.

"Agent Scully, what are you doing here so late," Assistant
Director Walter Skinner asked gruffly.

Scully thought fast. "Ah, I left a file on my desk, sir. I wanted
to read it tonight before I went to bed," she lied expertly.

"And what file would that be, Agent Scully? The one tucked in
Agent Mulder's raincoat?" Skinner countered, letting her know that
he wasn't buying it for a minute.

Scully took a deep breath and started into an explanation.
Skinner held up his hand to stop her.

"Agent Mulder left the building after our meeting and never
returned, isn't that correct, Agent Scully?" Scully was a little upset
at the interrogation, but she only nodded. "Scully, I think we need
to talk." He reached past her and flipped on the light switch.

It was almost 10:30 when Scully finally made her way back to
her apartment. Skinner had noticed Mulder's behavior and had
even had a few comments forwarded to him by the local police in
Roodhouse following the incident in the wheat field. He had
seemed honestly concerned for Mulder's well being, but Scully was
quick to take Mulder's side. She assured the Assistant Director that
there was no need to worry, even though the longer she talked, the
more worried she became.

She pulled up to her parking space, lost in thought. She was
almost to her door when she notice the dark form, sitting on the
steps, just out of the reach of the pouring rain. It was Mulder. He
was shivering in the cold and wet. She approached him slowly, not
wanting to show her concern, but wanting to gauge his emotional
state.

"Where've you been, Mulder?" she asked quietly, coming to a
stop just a step below him.

"Well, I went for a walk. Then I discovered that I left my keys
in my raincoat, which I left in the office, so, I've been sitting here,
waiting for you. How's your mom?" he asked casually.

She stepped past him and opened the door to the hallway.
"She's fine. Come on in, you're soaking wet," she chided.

Once in the apartment, she got a towel and motioned for him to
dry off, while she moved off to the kitchen to heat some water.
Even after drying off, he was still shivering. He stood in the middle
of the living room, looking somewhat lost.

"Mulder, sit down," she ordered, seeing the puppy dog look on
his face.

"Can't. I'm wet," he replied with a half-hearted grin.

"Then sit on the towel," she said, in the tone she reserved for her
godson when he was visiting. Once he had settled himself down on
the armchair, she pulled the afghan off the sofa and draped it
around him. He smiled briefly and sighed.

She left him for a few minutes, then returned, holding a cup of
hot cocoa in one hand and sweatpants and sweatshirt in the other.
"Here, take a few swigs of this to get warmed up and then go put
these on," she ordered, in her doctor mode.

He eyed the sweats with a sly grin. "Been holding out on me,
Scully?"

She gave him her best icy glare. "They're my brother Kevin's.
He's taller than you are, Mulder and is a better shot. Now, go put
these on, or I do it for you, and you won't like it when I do," she
growled. He bowed his head in mock obedience and did as he was
told. When he returned, he looked a little better than his drowned
rat imitation of a few moments before. She was sitting on the sofa
and patted the seat next to her. "Sit, Mulder," she commanded.

He held the cocoa in his hands and stared at the skim on the top.
Scully rolled her eyes toward heaven, whispered a silent prayer for
patience and finally regarded him. "Mulder, what the hell happened
today?"

He was quiet for a minute, then he sat down next to her. "Guess
I was just tired of getting the shit kicked out of me. I'm sorry I
took off like that, Scully. I hope you weren't worried," he added, in
a vain attempt to apologize.

"Well, hoping didn't help, Mulder! I was worried! You took off
without your car, your keys, for Pete's Sakes, Mulder, you left the
building without your raincoat on one of the rainiest days we've had
this spring. And it's cold out, to boot. What got into you?" she
seethed.

"I needed time to think," he said lamely.

"Time to think or time to sulk?" she shot back, but regretted the
words the minute she saw the wounded look that froze on his face.
"I'm sorry, Mulder," she said quickly. "I didn't mean. . ."

He looked at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen. "No,
Scully. Time to 'think.' I've had a lot on my mind lately." He
stared back at his cocoa, but didn't move a muscle.

Scully sighed. She knew what he was going through. She had
gone through it when her father died. So many things left unsaid,
so many emotions fighting within. At least, with her father, there
had been an underlying foundation of love. She had never doubted
that her father loved her, even when he disagreed with her choice of
career paths. Mulder was still uncertain if his father loved him. He
still didn't know exactly what it was his father wanted him to
forgive as he died in his son's arms. That had to be tearing Mulder
apart.

They sat in silence, each not really knowing what to say.
Suddenly, Mulder sat up and turned to her. "Scully, did your
parents have a favorite?" he asked.

It caught Scully by surprise. "Ah, gee. No, not that I ever
noticed. The boys used to tease me that I was the favorite, because
I was the baby, but I never remember them treating me any
differently. My parents loved all of us. Sometimes one of us
needed some extra attention, Bill got into some trouble in High
School and Missy. . ." her words stuck in her throat for a minute.
"Missy," she continued, "well, Dad was always a little worried
about her. But no favorites." She bit her lip as she realized where
this was leading. "Samantha was always the favorite, wasn't she?"
she asked quietly.

He drained the cup and put it down on the coffee table.
"Apparently not," he stated, as if he had just found some interesting
footnote in book somewhere. She dropped her mouth open in
shock.

"What are you saying, Mulder?" she asked.

"Well, it appears that Sam wasn't the favorite after all. I was.
At least as far as my father was concerned." He got up and started
to pace the room. "I remember hearing words, voices, when I was
in the fever dreams in the hogan. My father said 'I never dreamed I
would again be brokering fate with the life of someone to whom I
gave life.' It made no sense, but then I was somewhere between
living and dying and not a lot of things were making sense at that
moment." He looked down at her.

"Remember what Kempler said, Scully? That my father was not
supportive of the project. That he fought it. Remember in the
mountain? My name was on the file first, and then an index label
was attached and Samantha's name was covering mine. I know
why. I know why they took her and not me." He voice was
strained and the color was draining from his face.

"Mulder, whatever you're thinking, that man was a Nazi. He
would have said anything to get us out of that greenhouse, to make
us leave him alone."

"Scully, I didn't just take his word for it. I went home that
night. To my mom's in Greenwich. I woke her up out of a sound
sleep at 2 in the morning and made her tell me. Scully, she spilled
her guts. It was like watching a murderer confessing. She said that
Dad had wanted her to choose, but she refused. So he did. He
chose which one of his children he would trade for his own safety."
Mulder said down on the armchair across from Scully and looked
totally miserable. "He traded his baby girl to the devil, Scully. And
it should have been me all along."

Scully sat in stunned silence. This was not what she had
expected. This was beyond grief, beyond guilt. This was
completely out of her league. "Mulder, you have to talk to
someone," she conjoled.

He shot up out of the chair, angry and pacing again. "Who!
Who the hell do I talk to about this, Scully? EAP? Dr. Verber?
Give me a break! If thinking my sister was abducted by aliens has
gotten me a moniker like 'Spooky', imagine what thinking my father
was a willing participant will do for me? They have real special
drugs in mental institutions for delusional paranoids, Scully. I
know, I worked in a place one summer. Real neat drugs that make
you stare into space for long periods of time." Each of his words
dripped in acid. He ran his fingers through his hair and let his
shoulders sag.

"Then talk to me," she said, so softly he almost didn't hear her.
He stopped and looked at her. "Talk to me, Mulder. Tell me how
you feel. I know you better than anyone else. Talk to me." She
got up off the couch and took his hand, guiding him down to sit
next to her. He hesitated a second and then the floodgates opened.

At some point in the night, the towel ended up getting soaked with
tears, not just his, but hers, as well. They sat on the sofa and held it
between them as they cried. He told her how horrible he felt
knowing that his father had traded his sister for him and then
regretted the decision for the rest of his life. She told him how she
had argued with Melissa and how Melissa persuaded her to go to
the hypnotherapist, but she couldn't go through with it. How
horrible she felt when she realized the bullet that had killed her
sister had been meant for her all along. All the guilt, the hurt, the
anger, the sorrow fell from their lips and their eyes and ended up on
the towel.

It was almost sunrise when they found themselves exhausted and
out of things to say. Scully reached over and hugged her partner
for dear life. "It'll all be alright, Mulder. Samantha is still alive.
This isn't over. We'll find her someday, I promise." The use of the
term 'we' was not lost on him. He pulled back and touched her
cheek. The look that passed between them contained more healing
power than all the hospitals of the world combined. Slowly, she
got up and pushed him back so that he was lying on her sofa. She
pulled the long discarded afghan over his lanky form and smoothed
his hair.

"Get some sleep. I'll call the office and tell them you're sick, and
that I'm taking you to the doctors. Ruby will never suspect a
thing," she grinned. He nodded sleepily and turned onto his side.

She made the call, left the message on the answering machine,
since no one was in the personnel office at 6 in the morning. She
rolled her shoulders and headed off to her bedroom. Just as she
was leaving, she heard him mumble, just loud enough to hear "we
still have each other."

The end.