Pushed by Fate
by Vickie Moseley

*Pusher* was a breath of fresh air for those of us who had just
about had it to the eyeballs with 'the rift' that had been going on
and on and on, but it could have ended very differently. Well, not
in the series, of course, unless FOX was feeling suicidal (please
excuse the obvious pun of that statement) and decided to end the
series rather abruptly. So I got out my laptop and made a *few*
strategic changes. And this is the result, a little scene that ended
up on the cutting room floor.

Warnings: one and a half hanky. One really naughty word, used
in perfect context (sorry, no other word fit the image I was
seeking to portray). No romance, except implied. THIRD
SEASON SPOILER, but now the third season has started in most
countries, so I hope it won't be long.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. I don't want to infringe on
any of this. I only want to borrow them for my own selfish
enjoyment. Thank you VERY much.

Send me comments, and even flames (I'm fully expecting a few
this time :) This is payback time for some of the recent
*depressing* stories.

Pushed by Fate
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

Dana sat down slowly, breathless. She didn't really hear
Modell speaking. Something stupid, like, we've been waiting for
you. She ignored him, concentrating instead on the glassy stare
on her partner's face. <Oh, Mulder. . .>

When she spoke, he wouldn't look at her. His gaze was locked
on Modell. That wouldn't have been so bad, if he were staring
down a suspect. Unfortunately, it was more likely that he was
awaiting his next orders. The thought froze Dana's heart, turned
her saliva to bile and scared her to death. What would Modell
force him to do?

Agent Burst's face, gasping for breath, red and sweating in
pain, actually causing his heart to arrest, the image flashed in her
mind. Could Modell *force* someone to have a heart attack over
the phone? It was unbelieveable, except she had seen it with her
own eyes. This man did have those powers! <No, it's not
possible,> her logical, skeptical mind kept telling her. <You just
have to focus, just keep your mind on your job, he can't make you
do something you don't want to do.>

She was thinking and had missed the explanation of the game.
Modell's game. A very sick version of Russian Roulette. Instead
of everyone getting their 'shot'--only Mulder held the gun. And
before she could blink her eyes, while her cry of protest was still
on her lips, Mulder grabbed the gun, Modell had released his grip
on Mulder's hand and Mulder had pulled the trigger, pointblank, at
Modell's head. Click.

<Oh, God, no!> her thoughts screamed. She was yelling and
Mulder was putting the gun to his own head. Her cries were lost
with the explosion that came after the trigger was pulled, the
hammer met it's objective and the bullet entered Mulder's brain.
<Nooooo!>
******
She was sitting in the lobby of the hospital. Skinner had been
talking to the head of the SWAT team. Two bodies were in the
morgue, Mulder and Modell. She didn't remember grabbing the
weapon out of the shocked team member's hand and killing
Modell. To be real honest, she couldn't remember anything that
happened after she heard the shot, saw the impact throw Mulder
backward out of his chair and onto the floor in a pool of blood.
She hadn't looked at him, it was unnecessary. He was gone.
What was left was in no way related or connected to her vibrant,
alive, irreverent partner. Her best friend. <Where the hell is
Mulder, anyway?> her disassociated mind asked. <Shouldn't he
be here, questioning the team members, the hospital staff?> She
looked around, lost, searching, hoping against hope to see him
slouched in a corner, or leaning against a counter, flirting with a
nurse. But he wasn't here.

"Agent Scully," a soft, strong voice spoke above her. She
didn't recognize it at first. She had never heard it with such
tenderness in it. She looked up and was shocked to see the
Assistant Director. "Scully, I had my secretary call your mother.
A car is being sent for her and she should be here within the
hour." Silence. He wasn't sure she had even heard him. "Scully,
do you want anything? Some coffee, maybe?" Almost fearfully,
he touched her shoulder.

She looked up at him, her eyes distant, not focused. "No thank
you, sir. I think Mulder went to get us some coffee. I need to be
down stairs, I should get started on Modell's autopsy." She didn't
see the look of anguish in Skinner's eyes or hear the deep intake of
breath. He had been so afraid something like this would happen.
He put some pressure on her shoulder, preventing her from
getting up. "Don't worry about it, Scully. It's being taken care of.
You just rest, OK?" Skinner walked away, had to turn away so
that no one would notice the tear that had finally escaped it's
barriers and slid down his cheek. <God Damn it TO HELL,> he
wanted to scream. It was bad enough that he had just lost one of
the best agents he had ever had the priviledge to work with. Now
it was all too apparent that he had lost *two* of them. Mulder
and Scully. Salt and Pepper. Joined at the hip. <DAMN IT TO
HELL!>
The SWAT team leader was at his side. "Sir, about Modell's
death. . .?" He let the question hang in the air, but Skinner was a
step ahead of him.
"Jusifiable use of force, Officer. My agent acted in accordance
with Bureau procedure in a hostage situation. Is that
understood?" No question there, Skinner was not about to let
Scully go down for this.

"Completely understood, sir." There would be no inquiry. It
was cut and dried. No problem.
*****
Maggie Scully hurried past the SWAT team members and the
other Bureau personnel, searching for her daughter. She found
her in a waiting room chair, staring off in the distance. But as she
approached, she realized this wasn't Dana. It was Dana's shell, her
outward appearance, nothing inside, no one home. Skinner
noticed her as she came through the doors of the lobby and went
over to her before she reached Dana.

"Mrs. Scully, if I could have a word with you?"

She shot a glare at him, trying to decide if her need for an
explanation outweighed her need to get through to her daughter.
Finally, she looked up and nodded, then followed him a short
distance away. "All right, Mr. Skinner. Tell me what happened
here," she demanded. In other circumstances, Skinner might have
been upset at her tone and attitude. But this wasn't 'other
circumstances'.

"I think Dana is in shock right now. Physically, she's fine. She
was in the room when Agent Mulder. . ." He stopped. He still
didn't know exactly what had happened. The only person who
knew for sure was staring into space waiting for her dead partner
to bring her coffee. <goddamnittohell> He came back from his
thoughts to see Margaret Scully staring at him impatiently.
"Agent Mulder apparently committed suicide in the presense of
your daughter and a suspect. It is possible he was under duress.
He had been taken hostage. That's all we know at this time."

Maggie's mouth dropped open and her eyes went wild.
"Suicide!" she spat out. "That's impossible! Fox would never. . ."

Skinner raised his hand to cut her off. "Mrs. Scully, the gun
was still in Agent Mulder's hand when the SWAT team entered
the room. There is no question that he pulled the trigger himself."
He swallowed hard when he saw the look of dispair on her face.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it would be a lie.
He died by his own hand."

Maggie closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them,
Skinner was surprised to see the same calm, determined look in
her eyes that he had come to know in her daughter. "Have you
contacted his mother, yet?" she asked evenly.

"No," he admitted. "I was going to do that in person. I have a
flight. . ."

"No. I'll go. Let me see to Dana first."

"Mrs. Scully, it is not your responsiblity. It's mine. You're
needed here with your daughter," he said gently.

"Mr. Skinner. I loved that young man like a son. There is no
way I'm going to let you go up there and tell that woman that her
child commited suicide. Let me handle this. Now, if you'll excuse
me." She walked away and Skinner had the uncanny feeling that
he had just been dismissed.

Dana looked up at the person standing above her. "Mom?
What are you doing here?"
Maggie swallowed. She had seen this look before. It was the
look that was on the women who had just received one of 'those
visits.' When a man in uniform came to the door of the base
housing unit you shared with your children and your husband,
when he was in port. When that uniformed man came into your
home and sat on your sofa and drank your coffee out of your
china and told you how very sorry he was to inform you that you
were now alone for the rest of your life. Yes, she had seen that
look. And it pained her now, more than all the other times put
together.

"Dana, honey, it's time to go home." She spoke quietly, firmly.

"I'm just waiting for Mulder to finish up, Mom. He'll be here in
a minute. Then we'll leave together." A faint, distant smile, meant
to reassure her mother that everything was under control.

"Dana," Maggie sighed, and the next words caught in her
throat and tore at her heart as she formed them. "Sweetheart, Fox
isn't coming. He's gone, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, but he's gone."

It was like a dawning. But not a quiet, gentle dawn of spring.
Rather a raw, angry, hurtful sunburst, like that of an atomic blast.
And her sobs broke from her throat and she wrapped her arms
around herself as tightly as she once had his arms around her, just
once. In that awful, terrible moment, Dana Scully knew. She
would be alone for the rest of her life.

It had been hard, walking up the sidewalk to his mother's
house. Dana had insisted that she should go with her mother to
break the news. She still didn't remember the events of those last
precious seconds. But she was finally able to realize that Fox
Mulder was dead and that there were things he would have
expected her to do in that event. Telling his mother was one of
the most difficult things she had ever done in her life. Walking
back out to her car, leaving the older woman sobbing in grief,
closing in on herself, that was even harder. But there were things
to attend to in Washington, and Dana had to go. She would be
back. She owed him that much, and so much more.

Office of Assistant Director Skinner
two days after the shooting

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. This was not
the way he wanted the day to proceed. He had just gotten off the
phone with the protocol officer and he was in a decidedly bad
mood. No, *angry*, a decidedly angry mood. He fairly punched
the button on the intercom through the mechanism in an effort to
call his assistant.

"Val, is Agent Scully out there, yet?" he growled.

"She just arrived, sir. I'll send her right in." Val looked up at
Scully and gave her a sad smile. "I was very sorry to hear about
Agent Mulder, by the way. He was such a nice man. We'll all
miss him."

Dana nodded but said nothing. She had been hearing the same
phrases over and over again and she had stopped any pretense of
trying to respond. Coming from some people, it was hypocracy.
>From others, it was sincere sentiment. But she didn't really have
the strength to sort through and categorize them anymore. She
was still too numb, and she let the words wash over her and hoped
they left nothing in their wake.

She knocked once, to give warning and then walked into the
room. "You wanted to see me, sir."

Skinner tried to gauge her current state of mind. She looked
exhausted. Her normally perfect business attire looked thrown on,
the blouse not really coordinating with the suit. Her hair looked
brushed, not styled. She wore no make up that he could discern.
In short, she didn't look like Dana Scully, she looked like a dim
reflection of herself. <Damn it, she doesn't need this. For that
matter *I* don't need this. But it's got to be taken care of and
quickly,> he thought.

"Agent Scully, do you have access to Agent Mulder's contact
on Capitol Hill?" Skinner asked with out preface.

Dana looked at him in confusion. The spoken word was
having a difficult time breaking through the fog that surrounded
her. "Contact, sir?"

"Yes, any one in authority. Someone who could pull a few
strings." He was staring at her, and the image he was getting was
one of a house with all the lights on and no one at home. He
shook his head to dispell the thought.

Sitting there for a moment, a tiny spark of the old Scully
surfaced. "Why do you want to one of his contacts, sir?" she
asked suspiciously.

"Agent Scully, I really hate to drag you in on this, but I think
you would feel it's important." He stopped and played with a
letteropener on his desk. "Apparently there is a problem with
Agent Mulder's memorial service."

"A problem," she repeated, not letting it sound like a question.
No doubt about it, he now had her full attention.

"Since the circumstances surrounding Agent Mulder's death
seem to point to. . .well, the protocol office is refusing to consider
it a death in the line of duty. The fact that the coroner ruled the
death a suicide. . ."

Dana was on her feet in a second, and Skinner was afraid for a
moment that she might reach for her gun. "I can't. . .I can't
believe," she stormed and started pacing angrily in front of his
desk. "That is totally absurd! Who the FUCK to the THINK they
ARE?" she screamed, choking back tears of frustration.

"Scully," the Assistant Director said softly, "I agree with you
one hundred percent. I've screamed at everyone from the Director
on down. I'm having no effect. I was hoping some pressure from
the Hill. . ."

"I'm on it, sir," she said, with all the determination he had ever
seen her exhibit. "If that's all you have for me, sir. . .?"

"Go get 'em, Agent," Skinner said with a grim smile. She gave
him the briefest of nods and was out the door.

Arlington National Cemetery
FBI Monument to Fallen Agents

The sun was bright, but lacked any warmth. There was a
strong wind blowing off the river and it sent shivers of cold
running down Dana's back. She looked around her, a steely gaze
running over all those assembled. She had really 'kicked ass' this
time. Not only had she called upon Senator Mathenson, who was
seated just to the left of Mrs. Mulder, but she had even pulled a
few favors from some of her 'dutch' uncles from her father's days
in the Navy. In the end, the official pronoucement was that Agent
Fox William Mulder died in the line of duty while attempting to
apprehend Robert Modell. There was still no mention of what
Modell was being wanted for, however, the presense of the
District's SWAT team did lend credence to the suspicion that
Modell was armed and dangerous. End of sentence, end of case.
Case closed.

<And be damned any one who tries to argue,> she thought
angrily. She was purposefully keeping herself from listening. She
didn't want to hear the Assistant Director go on and on about
Mulder's brillance, how he was always considered one the
Bureau's best and brightest, how his star will remain on the
horizon even though he will no longer walk among them. All that
was very nice, very calming, very. . .trite. And at that moment,
possibly for the rest of her life, Dana wanted nothing to do with
anything 'trite'. She didn't have time. She was too busy plotting
her revenge.

Mount Olympus
Home of the Fates

"Watch what you're doing, Sister!" the third Fate cried.
"You've cut that one too short." She waved her golden scissors at
a length of silver cord at her sister's feet.

"Oops! So I did!" said the second Fate with a merry laugh.
Ah, well, so it goes," she added and went back to her work.

Fate number one regarded her sister. "What is it now, Sister?"
she asked with a worried frown. "You haven't been 'peeking'
again, have you?"

The third Fate looked up, defiant. "And if I have?" she
challenged.

"Oh, Sister, not again," the second Fate moaned. "Remember
the last time. . ."

"And I suppose I'm to be held responsibe for not letting that
horrid little Austrian house painter fall to his death. I was trying
to save the poor woman he was about to fall on. How was I to
know they would make him their leader. . ."

"He almost took over the world, and we were cutting for
*years* to keep up with his dirty deeds," the second Fate said
pointedly.

"ENOUGH!" shouted the first Fate, trying to end the
bickering. "This gets us nowhere. You know, Sister," she said to
the third Fate, "*tinkering* is fine, but *rewriting* is expressly
forbidden!"

"But I think we've made a mistake this time, Sister. And
besides, the one she cut--I think he believes in us!"

"What makes you think that, Sister? I mean, we haven't had
any one worship us in. . .what, a millenium or so," interjected Fate
number two.

"I didn't say he 'worshipped' us, I said he believed. And face it,
we could use a few believers. The way things are going, we'll
cease to exist. When the last believer is gone. . ."
"I don't want to talk about it!" exclaimed number two. "I made
a mistake, I'm sorry, but what's done is done, it can't be fixed."
She crossed her arms and pouted.

"Please, Sisters, hear me out. I've been watching this one for
some time. I think he's important. And I know that at least one
life will be adversely affected by this mistake, maybe many more.
Look at that one, down there," Fate three said, pointing off in the
distance.
"The one with the fiery hair?" asked Fate one.

"That's the one. I'm afraid what she's plotting may end up
being more dangerous than even the little house painter," she
whispered. Then, seeing both her sister's glare, she amended.
"Well, *almost*. Please, couldn't we do something, just this
once?" she begged.

The three Sisters looked down on the scene of thousands of
rows of white markers and one very dark, disheartened individual
who was about to turn herself over to evil.

"Well, maybe this once," pronounced Fate number one. "We'll
see. . ." And she gently picked up the short silver cord from the
floor.

And you all know the end :)>