Variant Chill

Author: Ann K

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Post-episode for “The Pine Bluff Variant”

Summary: Scully helps Mulder come to terms with his experiences at the hands of the militia.

Feedback appreciated at annhkus@yahoo.com. Read more of my stories at http://www.geocities.com/annhkus

I nearly died. It wasn’t the first time, of course. During my tenure with the Bureau, there have been too many close encounters, probably more than I realize. But this time is different. The chill of death, the cold steel inches from my head, haunts me.

Scully understands that this entire experience has shaken me, without me even having to say a word. I knew she would. She always seems to understand. While that unnerves me sometimes, the communication level we have between us, I usually find it a comfort, especially now. She is sitting beside me, in the back seat of a Bureau sedan, driving down a barren two-lane to the militia headquarters. I would say the drive was familiar, seeing how I have been to the abandoned farm a half dozen times, but my previous view was less than ideal, with a thick hood over my head.

Skinner is in the midst of a deep conversation with some nameless DOD guy in the front seat, and I jump just a little when Scully reaches over and holds my hand. Just a little. She carefully avoids my broken finger, which still throbs with the slightest pain. I stare down at her small hand on top of my larger one, the way her smallest finger slides along my thumb and into my palm. I look at our hands for a long time before I dare look over at her. She is watching me with a small smile on her face.

A Mulder, I’m glad you’re alive smile. A Mulder, I’m sorry I ever doubted you smile. A Mulder, we managed to get through something horrible once again smile.

But Scully wasn’t with me when I knelt onto that cold grass. Scully has no idea that, in the split second between when the shot was fired and the other man pitched forward onto the ground, I lived my life through flashes, snapshots, tantalizing memories. Samantha was in some of them, and my father was in others.

Scully was in the ones I remember most vividly.

We pull up into the dirt lot, and I see a few other cars. According to Skinner, not long after I arrived at the bank for the second time, a task force descended on the militia hideout. Located partially based on my sketchy directions, and mostly from good intelligence, it had long been deserted. A CDC team swept through the area and found no sign of any contagions. No weapons, no militia members. Deserted, just as I knew it would be.

I barely notice as the car rolls to a stop. “Mulder?” Scully asks softly, never taking her hand from mine. I have not told her about that single second where I thought I died, and I am not sure I ever will. We are both angry that we were used, that we once again served as pawns in some unknown game.  I try to focus on that anger, instead of the chilly fear my near-death experience has spawned in me. Now that I have time to reflect, I am not sure I want to.

“Mulder. Can you detail for us where you saw the weapons cache?” That is Skinner, although the gravelly nature of his voice is somewhat diminished. He told me I didn’t have to come out here immediately, to go home, and get some rest. I wanted to laugh at him, but I didn’t think he would appreciate it much.

I walk the handful of remaining agents through the deserted warehouse, pointing out where the weapons were stored and where I saw what could have been the biotoxin storage facility. Scully lingers just a few steps behind me, but I can feel her presence. It is a comfort, and it calms me.

I have lived to see another day, and Scully is here with me.

When I am done playing tour guide, I slip away, away from the stern-looking CDC agents and Skinner and others who I don’t recognize. My feet carry me to the spot before my brain can even process the fact that I am walking there. Of course, I am walking there. It is the way my mind works. I will make peace with the moment, and then I can move on, to another assignment, to another day.

Only peace doesn’t come immediately. As I stand beneath the ripped remnants of the greenhouse plastic, the wind whistling by me, whipping the plastic into a fury, I can only stare at the small yellow flag in the ground. This is where the other man’s body was found. The only evidence they had ever been here. For whatever reason, Bremer left him behind in the rush to leave the premises.

That should have been my body there.

I am amazed to feel the wetness on my cheeks, and to realize I am crying. The wind chases the tears away, but not before I taste the salt on my tongue.

I know Scully is standing behind me before she speaks. She knows me too well. She knows that I couldn’t bear her physical comfort at the moment, so she keeps her hands in the deep pockets of her overcoat. She likely knows I am fighting tears, because she doesn’t move to my side, or to stand in front of me, where she can see my face. Instead, she stands directly behind me, just close enough where I can feel her body heat 

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the moment.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened here, Mulder?” She already knows the answer to that, but probably feels compelled to ask anyway.

I don’t even shake my head in response. “This entire case is as tangled and twisted as anything we have ever seen before,” I finally offer. She knows this, of course, but saying it makes it more real for me. The anger makes my words short, my voice curt. “God knows how many people were in on this, working on the inside. No one really gave a damn.”

The air reeks of my fury, but Scully remains silent. What more is there to say?

“How is your finger?” she asks, hesitantly. Oh god, Scully. My loyal, unwavering Scully. Deceiving her was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Watching her face in our office, when she thought I was betraying her, was a pain I’ll never soon forget.

Which is all the more reason for her to never know what happened in this spot.

I nod my head, and use one of her favorite lines. “I’m fine, Scully,” I say, the anger abating now, my voice now tinged with just the slightest hint of amusement.

We stand that way for some time, Scully directly behind me, protecting me. I watch as the plastic dances against the oncoming storm, and the dirt beneath my feet moves in small whirlwinds. I think about the last time I looked at this landscape, and the sinking knowledge that, if my life was about to end, than there was so much left for me to do. To find my sister, to make peace with my lot in life. To thank whatever god might exist in my agnostic mind for gracing me with Scully’s stable presence.

By the time I turn around, my tears have long since dried. I am not surprised to see the look on Scully’s face, the unwavering, steady gaze of someone who loves me and will always protect me. I hope she sees the same emotions reflected in my own face. For that is what I feel at that moment, and that is what I take with me when I give Scully a small smile and walk slowly by her side back to the car.

I leave the fear and the chill of death behind, keeping only with me my partner, and our promise of tomorrow.

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