AUTHOR'S BABBLE: Greetings!:) Here it is at last. Part three to the "Ashes" series (preceded by "Among the Ashes" and "Rising From the Ashes"). Parts one and two can be found on our webpage at www.geocites.com/Paris/2275/stories.html or just let me know if you would like them Emailed. In my opinion, they are necessary to understanding part three, but I certainly won't stop you from reading it alone, particularly if you send feedback.:D A word of warning...though this segment of the saga does basically complete the "emotional angst" arc, the X-File is left unresolved, because...well...I'm afraid there's going to be a part four.... I really tried to wrap it up here, but my beta readers were rather insistent I not cut corners... Anyhow, hope you enjoy this one!:) Very Special Thanks to my dedicated Beta Readers: my Mom (for technical errors), my husband Peter (for legal procedures and plot consistency), and Barbara A. Langan (for everything else!:)). DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine. SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully's intense manhunt for a serial killer mixed with Scully's long weekend with her family, brings to light a number of unresolved issues. TITLE: The Ashes That Remain AUTHOR: Elizabeth Boyd-Tran RATING: (PG) CLASSIFICATIONS: (SA) KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST SPOILERS: Season Five, "Fight the Future" ARCHIVE: Yes, Please, Everywhere!:) Just tell me, please. THE ASHES THAT REMAIN (part three following "Among the Ashes" and "Rising From the Ashes") by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1998 "Say what I need, I'll kick you down No, I'm fine--And don't you hang around And I find myself, Here in another home Where everything moves so slow, so tired." Toad the Wet Sprocket "Woodburning" LATE SUMMER 1998 ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA - POLICE OFFICE THURSDAY, 10:40pm Pebbly grey walls. Grey metal tables. Pale grey faces. Blurry grey photographs. Grey thoughts. Fox Mulder sat at the scuffed and abused interrogation table, close enough to Alfred Marsden to smell the stale cigarette smoke on his rotten breath. Face to face with a man Mulder harbored no doubts had murdered 13 young women in as many months. They'd had more than enough evidence to arrest him. But Mulder wanted more. He wanted the closest thing the justice system offered to a guaranteed conviction. He wanted Marsden to admit to the murders, and after that, he wanted him to reach the stage...where he began to brag. Marsden was not the eternally suffering, unwitting murderer of novels, not the tortured soul or the monster in which we see what we fear in ourselves--the inability to quell our darkest impulses and needs. No, Marsden was born of a much deeper evil. The beast without conscience, without regard for life, yet well- endowed with twisted pride. They had been in this stagnant room for hours--he and the man in uniform who stood stoically in the corner, the Monster across the table, and the red-haired woman with the glare that seemed to peel back a layer of Marsden's skin with each passing hour. Mulder pulled another of the photographs toward him, forcing back a grimace at the stark brutality in the image. "Let's try this one more time," he said, the firmness of his voice swallowed by the echoless confines of the room. He turned the picture around and pushed it toward Marsden's handcuffed hands. "Did you kill this woman?" Marsden gazed intently at the photograph for a moment, his thick eyebrows hiding his eyes. "Hmmm..." He fingered his two- day beard for a moment, then lifted his head and met Mulder's gaze. "She's kinda cute. Was she your girlfriend? Or are you bangin' this hot number over here?" He nodded towards Scully. Mulder winced, frustration mixing with disgust and leaving a bitter taste. He shoved back his chair, jabbing Marsden with the table edge in the process. Scully barely moved, just breathed out through her nose, let her eyelids droop just a bit. She showed Marsden only disgust, cold, superiority. But Mulder sensed more--weariness, aggravation, revulsion. She loathed Marsden more with each breath he drew. But Mulder also knew Scully could outlast even him in the cat and mouse game of the interrogation. The same stubbornness that made personal communication with her such a living hell, made interrogations yield twice the result in half the time. But not tonight. "That's it. Get him out of here," Mulder said, motioning to the silent guard. "Oh, and I was just beginning to so enjoy your company." His saccharin southern was nauseating. "I suggest you sleep while you can. You have another very-- long--day ahead of you," Scully said darkly, eyes narrowed, eyebrow arched, making clear they had every intention of returning first thing in the morning. The thought left Mulder more tired. Marsden smiled around crooked teeth as he was led away. "Jesus!" Mulder breathed, combing a hand through his time worn hair. Scully closed her eyes and drew a soft breath as the heavy door slammed shut. Mulder looked at his watch. 10:45pm. He'd been up since 6am, met Scully at 7. She had to be exhausted. Had they even had dinner? "Did we ever eat dinner?" he asked, feeling as though he were emerging from a dim tunnel and reality were a foreign place to be explored. "Mulder, we never had lunch." He rubbed his eyes. "Oh, God. Are you hungry?" Her brow was still creased with tension. Her soft green eyes swept the table, taking in the eerie tableau. To his surprise, she said. "Yes. Come on, let's get out of here." They ate in a dingy Chinese place downtown. The food was good, the lighting soft. They spoke very little, but their silence was comfortable. Mulder drove them back to the office where Scully had left her car. Standing together in the deserted parking garage, Mulder gently squeezed Scully's arm. "There's no reason for you to come back tomorrow. I can handle what's left on my own." Scully frowned, the fluorescent lights highlighting the fine lines around her eyes. They hadn't been there five years ago. "Mulder, I should--" "You should be with your family," he said, hoping his tone left no room for argument. "Come on, Scully, it's your mother's birthday. She's been planning this for months, right? Having you all there at the same time for a long weekend?" Scully sighed and looked away, unable or unwilling to refute his words. "You've done what you can here already. He's wearing down, I can feel it. Besides, we'll be handing it over to the lawyers soon, anyway. It's a miracle he's waved this long." She laughed dryly, eyes on the pavement. "Go, Scully. I'll call you if anything comes up." She looked up at him, searching his gaze for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Okay. Just call me." "When do I *not* call you?" Gentle affection crossed her expression, though she seemed to lack the energy for a genuine smile. "Try and get some sleep," he said, his voice softening. "Yeah, you, too." "You going to your place tonight?" "No, I've--" she nodded distractedly toward her trunk, "-- got my bags. I promised my Mom I'd come even if it was late." Mulder smiled, not the first time he had envied Scully's solid family life. No dissention, no secrets, no betrayals. Just love. A world he had never quite known. Only tasted in passing. "All right. I'll call you in the morning." She nodded. He expected her to turn and go. But she lingered before him, staring at his shoes, hands on her hips, pushing back her open suit coat. She seemed to want to say something, to be weighing something specific amongst her complex thoughts tonight. And in that moment she became for him the gentle, sensitive woman he had come to treasure in her--seen only in fleeting glimpses and shadowy glances, felt in touches and heard in whispers. She was soft, vulnerable, even beneath the glare of the harsh lights. Just as she had been that early morning in the ashes of their workplace. She had needed him then, and he had not understood why, or how to help. *"Did you love her?"* *Scully...Ask me again...* *Do you need me now?* She sighed heavily. "Yeah, okay." And she pulled her keys from her pocket. "'Night." He watched as she opened the car door, tossed her shoulder bag into the backseat. "Have a good weekend," he said. She looked back at him and smiled. He needed that smile, to counteract the grey. "Thanks, I will." She was gone. * * * * * Scully rolled her car to a halt against the curb, behind what she assumed was her brother's rental. The warm glow of the porch lights stood watch for her, and she gave a faint smile. Some nights she missed coming home to the warmth of a family. Her apartment was not cold, but occasionally she needed something more. She had pictured so many times what it would have been like to bring Emily to *their* home. She had planned how she would have redecorated the guest room, chosen a place for Emily's video tapes, decided the stuffed Dalmatian would sit on the couch in the living room to watch TV with them, imagined sharing cookie dough and afternoon naps... She closed her eyes. But that only brought flashbacks of the gruesome photos she had been living with for days. Time for fresh air. A change of scene. Outside, Scully pulled her bags from the trunk, leaving behind the small emergency overnight bag she had kept ever since she met Mulder. She slammed the trunk and started up the familiar front walk. A flicker of light on the lawn drew her attention to a fluttering curtain. She had been spotted. The door swung open as she stepped onto the porch. "Dana, you made it!" "Hi, Mom." She dropped her bags onto the hallway tile and moved into her mother's open arms. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here, honey!" Dana squeezed tightly in response. "Me, too." Her mother leaned back a bit, wrinkling her nose. "God, Dana, you're solid cigarette smoke." Dana rubbed her eyes. They'd been burning and watering all day. "I know, I'm sorry. I've been stuck in a cloud for about ten hours. Now you know how *we* used to feel around *you*." "Eeeiiww, was I really that bad?" Dana raised a knowing eyebrow. "Sorry about that." She smiled, letting her Mom off the hook. "You're forgiven," she said, grasping her mother's hand. Margaret frowned sympathetically at her daughter's weary smile. "You look exhausted, hon." She reached up and touched Dana's cheek. Her fingers smelled of cinnamon. Dana gave a gentle smile and closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into her mother's soft touch. The voices she had been hearing from the back of the house drew nearer. "Dana?" "Bill!" She opened her eyes to her brother's tall figure against the living room light. He wrapped her in a warm embrace. "Hey, Little Sister, how's it going?" Bill smelled of roses and dry pine needles. Somehow he always had. "I'm fine. How are you? How was the trip?" He rolled his eyes. "Long and miserable, as always. But we're here." "You're here," she echoed, thumping his chest with her open hand. "Hey, Dana, my turn!" Tara said coming forward for her turn in the greetings. "Where's Matthew? Is he sleeping?" Dana asked, surprised by how much she wanted to see her small nephew, wanted a chance to hold him. Feel his warmth. The budding life that had survived that bitter December of Ashes... "Finally out cold, upstairs," Tara said. "He never *once* napped during the entire trip." Dana groaned. "Sorry." "Guess who!" Firm hands grabbed Dana's waist and she gasped and whirled around, more startled than she should have been on such safe ground--and came face to face with her younger brother. "Charlie!" she cried, happiness overshadowing the inevitable twinge of hesitation. Charles wrapped his solid arms around her, and after barely a second Dana hugged back. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow!" she said into his shoulder. "We got lucky, got an earlier flight." Dana closed her eyes, lingering a moment in her brother's embrace. She found herself analyzing his touch, struggling to read each nuance--and needing very much this moment of seemingly genuine affection. He seemed to sense something of her thoughts and held her closer. Maybe she had been wrong...Maybe... Charles toyed with her hair a bit, then pulled away. His gaze moved the length of her petite figure. "You look great, Dana. Really." He hadn't seen her since before her cancer. Awareness of this fact trickled through the bodies around her like an electric current. "Thanks," she said. "So do you." And he did. So young...and he was the one with the two kids, his daughter Jamie already in second grade. "So, where's Annabelle?" Dana asked with a glance past her brother's shoulder. "Sound asleep, I'm afraid. She zonked out right after the kids did. Dana sagged a bit. "Oh, I missed the kids?" "Yeah, but don't think it was easy getting them to bed when they knew Auntie Dana was on the way." "*Oh*, no," Tara confirmed with a smile. "But we've been up since the crack of dawn..." Dana nodded. "Mmmm...I'm falling asleep where I stand myself. And we have the whole weekend." "Unless, of course, you get called back to work," Bill said dryly. Dana glanced at him, cautiously, testing the ferocity of his sarcasm, but his smile seemed genuinely warm. Margaret closed her arm around Dana's shoulders and picked up her bag, which Bill promptly took from her. "Come on, honey, let's get you settled. Are you hungry? We've got some--" "No, thanks, Mom, I'm fine. We got some Chinese food. Just some iced tea would be great. I think I'll just shower and crash, if you don't mind. I'm dead tired." "Of course, honey, we're just glad to have you here." "Sure we are," Tara said sweetly. * * * * * "Another day, I call and never speak. And you would say, nothing's changed at all. And I can't feel, much hope for anything If I can't be there, to catch you when you fall." Toad the Wet Sprocket "Something's Always Wrong" The night breeze cooled Mulder's heated brow. His rhythmic strides on the blacktop were all that broke the silence. He had slept a couple of hours, fully dressed and stretched out on the couch. But he had awakened, restless and still wired from their stressful day. His mind was grinding overtime on the details of the Marsden case, on his lingering suspicions about Nealy, and upon his latest failure to speak when he sensed Scully had cautiously opened a door. So he had come out for a run. To work his body and drain his mind. She was getting stronger since the virus. For that he was wordlessly grateful. They had lived these weeks with the silent fear dancing between them--*weakness, weakened immune system, failed remission*. But in these last few days he had begun to breathe again. She was recovering, brightening, living. They had, perhaps, been spared once more. He paced to and fro before the steps to his apartment, slowing his pulse and clearing his mind. The cool night air was a sweet relief from the heat of the day. He was grateful the Marsden case had landed in his lap. It should have stayed with Violent Crimes. It wasn't an X-File. But the Bureau had passed it his way when the Agent-in-Charge had landed in the hospital with a liver problem. Mulder had relished the chance to sink his teeth into a real case--their first since the X-Files had re-opened. And Scully had been ready this time-- not like with Nealy. She had seemed equally grateful for the distraction of a challenge. In her own way her need to be buried in the work was as great as his. He had seen the eagerness in her more than once. The drive to stretch her mind and confront the demons. He wasn't sure where Scully's drive rose from, what subterranean angst had spawned her intensity. But there was so much he didn't know about Scully... Like why she had asked him if he loved Diana. They had never been allowed to finish that conversation. And the whole world had turned upside down days afterward and monopolized their thoughts and their time and complicated things so much further. And the priorities had become Scully's life and their stake in the larger scheme of things. But now...as things sank back to a comparatively normal rhythm, as Diana moved closer toward health each day, and Scully withdrew from him, back to her usual professional distance, Mulder's thoughts repeatedly returned to those whispered words among the ashes. Mulder slowed his pace and took a seat on the concrete steps. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, though there was no sign of storms nearby, just a tangy foreboding in the night air. His thoughts chained themselves together to bring him back to the Nealy case. He was still frustrated with the lack of closure. Nealy was locked up again, just as he had been when they had begun the case. There had been no "copycat" killings since Nealy's attack on Scully, and the case had fallen dormant in the eyes of the Bureau. Mulder had been drawn away from further investigation by the urgency of the Marsden killings. Perhaps now with Marsden in custody he could do a little more digging. On his own time, if nothing else. Though frankly the line between work and leisure time had vanished from his life long ago... He had said as much to Diana, teasing about having no life, but the self-depredation had really been a joke for her benefit, oddly conflicting with his true feelings. Diana had mentioned Scully, and it had silently clicked somewhere within him, bringing a wave of warmth in its wake--Scully was the reason he didn't mind that work was his life. Mulder pushed to his feet and turned toward his apartment. Maybe he could sleep now. He needed to be focused later this morning to continue the Marsden interrogation. God help him if he told Scully he could handle it alone, then screwed things up. He smiled softly. One thing about Scully, fear of her wrath was the best incentive he knew of to keep him on track. But there had to be something more he could do about Nealy. If for no other reason than to quell the creeping fear that he would somehow carry out his threat to Scully. *"I'll be back for you."* * * * * * She woke in terror and confusion. The fog of the dream kept its possessive tendrils wrapped around her into the first stages of waking. The two realities blurred into one. She couldn't think yet, couldn't remember where she was. Fumbling for the light in the darkness, she heard something clunk to the floor from the nightstand. But her fingers found the unfamiliar switch and golden light dispelled the worst of the shadows. Dana squinted at the brightness, though the small lamp had seemed little more than a nightlight a few hours ago. *Mom's place. Visiting for the weekend. 3:15am by the little wind-up clock. Okay.* She was gasping for breath as though she'd been running. Lingering impressions moved over her in nauseous waves. Blue light. Red blood, purple in the darkness. Silver blade. Dirt. Cold. Something like a cave...or a hole in the ground. Something she couldn't climb out of. And so--much--screaming... Dana pushed back her covers, but shivered when the cool air hit her damp skin. She sat up anyway, combing back her hair with trembling hands. She needed to move, to breathe, to shock herself back into reality. A thin stream of moonlight trickled in through the filter of leaves outside the bedroom window, testifying to the continued existence of the world beyond. Dana was both angry with herself and terribly frightened. This hadn't happened in a long time. Not like this. She had thought she was handling this case all right. Revulsion, sadness, anger, these were all natural reactions in the midst of such horror. Feelings that kept her from sharing the cold cruelty and heartless dementia of the criminals they pursued. But she needed a sense of control over her reactions. She needed to vent by choice, not by overload. She was shaking. And she wanted very much, a single moment of human contact. But the house was silent, peaceful. Her family sleeping around her. Which should have been a comfort in itself. But tonight it was not enough. Dana slipped into her robe and crept down the hall to the bathroom, uncomfortably aware of the unfamiliar patterns of shadows surrounding her, of hulking shapes in corners, and creaks within the walls. She rinsed her face at the sink, avoiding eye contact with the pale face hovering in the mirror. Then she retreated to the comparative security of her bedroom, stopping only to press a tentative ear to one of the bedroom doors, hoping to detect the soft snoring of her older brother. She heard nothing. Snuggling into the warmth of her bed, Dana tried not to close her eyes until the images had faded further into the distance. She was so tired... Staring at the nightstand in the still dim light, her gaze settled upon the small black bump that she knew to be her cell phone. She spread her hair across her pillow, keeping the heavy dampness off the back of her neck. Her muscles ached from days of tension, and she debated asking Bill for a shoulder rub tomorrow. How long had it been since she had let someone do that for her? She sniffed softly, watching the phone, uncertain what she wanted from it. Yet somehow it offered a strange sort of comfort. She slipped back into a relatively peaceful slumber before she ever decided she was ready to close her eyes. Exhaustion could be a blessing in disguise. * * * * * He opened his eyes to the glowing clock numbers in the blackness. He didn't know what had wakened him. But all he could think of was Scully. And his cell phone on the coffee table in the living room. He had the strangest urge to climb out of bed and dial her number. He couldn't for the life of him think why. She was safe and sound, snuggled in with her family, with half a dozen people looking out for her tonight. Safer than she had been in a long time. And he hadn't a clue what he would say if she answered, roused from a peaceful sleep in her mother's guest room. But he wanted to call her, to hear her voice. He closed his eyes again, struggling against the powerful need for sleep that had at last overtaken him a little over an hour ago. Perhaps he had dreamt of Scully. Maybe that was it, he was mixing reality with his dreams. It wouldn't be the first time. And yet he thought he remembered something about Frohike and maybe a chicken pot pie and a dentist's appointment at that place with the sexy hygienist who had gone off to be an orthodontist, but nothing in his dream about Scully... *Scully, did you want me to call you?* But his thoughts blurred back into his subconscious and sleep overcame him as he clung to the memory of the way her fingers felt when she reached for his hand. * * * * * (Continued in part 2...) THE ASHES THAT REMAIN 2/4 (part three following "Among the Ashes" and "Rising From the Ashes") by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1998 (Continued from part 1...) * * * * * "Aunt Dana, Aunt Dana, Aunt Dana!" Sunlight splashed across Dana's room as two small bodies threw themselves onto the bed with her and into her arms. "Hi, you guys!" she said hoarsely, squinting against the light, as she pulled herself from her heavy slumber. "'Morning, Aunt Dana!" Jamie Scully said, kissing Dana on the forehead. Jamie was already dressed in shorts and a Spice Girls T-shirt, her long red hair pulled back in a French braid. Scully couldn't believe how mature she looked. Seven years old. It seemed like yesterday she had been at Jamie's baptism. "Good morning, Sweetheart. Good morning, Patrick," she said, razzing four year old Patrick's curly dark hair. "You're not mad, are you?" he asked. "Uncle Bill said we could wake you up..." "Oh, he DID, did he?" She pulled Patrick closer and kissed him. "Of course, I'm not mad, honey, you can always wake me up. What is this, what have you got?" she asked, fingering the action figure in Patrick's hand. "Power Rangers!" Patrick said, proudly displaying the object. "Wow, that's cool," she said softly, covering a yawn. Dana pushed up to a sitting position and shoved back her tousled hair. Jamie, reached up and smoothed it for her and Dana smiled. "Thank you." "'Morning, Dana." Bill's voice came from the doorway. She looked up. "I'm told this was your idea." He laughed with a warm smile. "Aw, we couldn't have held them off much longer anyway. Besides it's almost ten o'clock, Sleeping Beauty." She glanced at her travel clock in surprise. "Oh my God, I had no idea." "Long week, huh," he said kindly, and she nodded agreement. "Well, come on, everybody's downstairs already. Better hurry or you'll miss breakfast. You look like you could use some fortification." "Come on, Aunt Dana," Jamie said, tugging her arm. "I want to show you my picture, the one that got the ribbon in the School Art Contest, I brought it..." "Me, too!" Patrick interjected, not to be one-upped. "I drew you a picture yesterday, on the plane--" "A stupid baby picture--" "Whoa, whoa," Dana said. "I want to see both pictures as soon as I'm awake--" "You ARE awake!" Jamie said with a grin. "--But right now, everybody off, or I'll never get UP." "Come on you guys," Bill said, motioning them off the bed. "Go ask Grandma if you can help her in the kitchen. Maybe it will earn you some extra cookies later." And when they looked to Dana, she said, "Go on, you guys, I'll be down as fast as I can." She blew them kisses, and they smiled and hurried out the door and down the stairs. When the kids had vanished, Dana sagged in half-feigned exhaustion and dropped back onto the mattress face down. Bill laughed and tossed her robe onto her before leaving her to dress. * * * * * Dana pulled her sweater over her head and reached up and freed her hair. She was fishing through her satin pouch of jewelry, when she heard a light tapping on her open door. Turning, she found Charles hovering in the doorway, a gentle smile gracing his genial expression. That smile had captured many a girl's heart in his school years. Dana had always just loved his laughter. "Morning, Sleepyhead." "I earned it," she said, returning his smile. Her fingers settled upon her elusive earring and she reached up to slip the post through her ear. "I hear Mother is hard at work cooking us a massive breakfast." "Good, I'm starving." She tightened the cord on her jewelry pouch and dropped it into her open suitcase. Charles strolled further into the room, his gaze moving over the file folders spilling out of her briefcase onto the bedspread. "Hey, don't tell me you're working already. I thought Mom made you promise this would be a real vacation." She turned her back to him, retrieving her watch from the top of the bachelor's chest. "I'm not working, just wanted to look something up." "Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before. You're just as obsessive about work now as you were about school when we were kids. I never saw anyone so determined to get into the med- school of her choice." When she didn't respond, Charles said, "So, how have you been, Dana? Seems like forever since we've really talked. I get all the news second hand from Mom now that we're stationed so far away. What's going on in your life?" "The usual. Work, food, sleep." "Okay, what kind of cases are you working on, then?" "Charlie, why didn't you come see me when I thought I was dying?" She swung around to face him as she spoke, surprised she had spoken the words aloud. She hadn't decided if she would even bring the subject to his attention this weekend, let alone plunge in feet first. But once she had spoken, she felt her defenses rise to the occasion and the challenge in her gaze did not waver. Charles appeared to be just short of thunderstruck by her blatant accusation. His flimsy attempt at recovery was less than endearing. "Dana...I thought Mom told you, I was out to sea, on a training exercise, I--" The coldness in her look silenced his words. "Hmmm...I guess you found out that wasn't true, huh?" he said softly. "Who told you, was it Bill?" She sat back against the dresser, folding her arms across her chest. Her jaw was tight, eyes narrowed. "It doesn't matter who told me, Charles. What matters is that it should have been you." Charles nodded slowly. He let his eyes slip closed for a moment, then said gently, "I know. I'm sorry, Dana." "Are you?" His eyes opened, surprise and a glimmer of pain coloring his countenance. "*Yes.* What's that supposed to mean?" She watched him a long minute in silent consideration, then said softly, "Why didn't you come...?" "Oh, Jesus, Dana, I feel like the biggest chump in the world telling you this..." He slipped one hand in his pocket, ran the other restlessly through his thick auburn hair. "Try me." A bit colder than she had intended. But nothing she wished to withdraw. Charles took a seat on the foot of her bed, pushing aside the files. He drew a deep breath, released it in a defeated sigh, "I was too scared." "What?" She was caught off guard. The sincerity and the simplicity in his statement were so unexpected. Charles spoke against her silence. "I just...I called the travel agency, I even bought my ticket, but I... You're my Big Sister, Dana. The only one I've got left." Dana flinched at this, but he seemed not to see. "And you've always been the strong one. You were the only one I was close to in age, and you always went to school ahead of me and tried things out ahead of me. You went through Driver's Ed ahead of me, and then went off to college and--you prepared me for everything, Dana. And the thought of going to see you...of seeing you that sick and helpless...Of *losing* you..." He shook his head, his freckled cheeks paling as his voice faded. "It's horrible, of me, I know. And childish. And I know you live in a different world, you've been to med school, you work a job that's forced you to deal with this whole death and cycle of life thing a long time ago. And I know I'm not a child, I'm the father of two, for God's sake, but I--I was just...really scared to see you that way." His last words came as an open, shy admission. Ringing sincerity. Dana stared at him, her brow tight, thoughts racing. She was struggling to accept this flood of new information, so contrary to what she had thought for so long. So many things to process in an altered light... "I know you're angry with me right now, and you have every right to be, Dana, but if--" "I thought you still blamed me for Missy's death." She spoke softly, uncomfortable with the sound of the words, the sound of her voice. Charles was stunned. Her words seemed as far out of his line of thinking as his words had been to her. "You *what*?" His tone was wispy, incredulous. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him, leaving her statement ringing in the air, yet unable to speak it again. Charles held her gaze as the full impact of her words washed over him. She could almost see the realizations moving behind his eyes. Subtleties of past conversations, gestures, actions, replaying before his mind's eye. The staggering length of time she had harbored this painful misconception. "Oh, God, Dana. You really thought...?" He cringed, pulling back from the truth thrown before him. He swiped a hand over his face, glanced about as if seeking a route of escape. "Oh, my God." Pushing to his feet, he closed the space between them in two quick strides, reaching out to wrap his arms around her. But Dana moved back instinctively, and he let his arms sink to his sides. Her rejection cut, but after a half second delay, he didn't show it. "Dana. I was angry when I first heard about Melissa's death, and I know that I lashed out at you that night completely unfairly. But I thought you knew we were long past that. We're the red-heads in the family, right? We've always been the two with the hot tempers?" His attempt at camaraderie failed to touch her, and his tone deepened in response. "Dana, I moved past that so long ago...I do not hold you responsible for Melissa's death, and I swear I thought you knew that. The next time I saw you after...I...we seemed okay. We've talked about Missy on the phone, I thought..." She kept her gaze on the shaggy cream carpet beneath his feet, the way the edge of the bedspread toyed with the pattern of the threads. "I loved her, Charlie," she whispered. "Just as much as you did. And you never..took back..." "Oh, Dana, of course you loved her. Of *course* you did." It seemed hard for him not to touch her. His voice was so gentle now, it was hard for her to let it in. "And I know that you would never deliberately do anything to hurt Missy. Or me, or Bill or Mom..." "I wanted you there with me, Charles," she said, her voice stronger now, hiding just the vaguest hint of tears she would not acknowledge. She shifted her weight. "It really would have been nice." Charles didn't speak. He seemed to have lost his gift for words, though his eyes spoke a heartfelt apology that made her want to cry. The unspoken words in Dana's response hovered between them--*"I was scared, too, Charlie."*. And this time, when Charles moved forward to hug her, she didn't move away. It took her a minute to warm up to him, to respond to his proffered embrace. Charles held onto her in silence for a long minute. He kissed the top of her head and said softly, "I love you, Dana." A pause. Then at last, "Yeah, me, too." The grandfather clock chimed in the downstairs parlor. Their mother's sweet voice carried up from the kitchen. "Come and get it, food's on the table!" For several seconds neither of them moved. Then Jamie ran past the door, yelling, "Daddy, come on! Aunt Dana, you said you'd come down for breakfast!" Dana pulled away. "We're coming, honey!" Charles called to Jamie, his gaze still on Dana's lowered head. "Come on," Dana said softly, never looking up. And she turned to go. * * * * * The phone rang. "I'll get it," Bill said, pushing back his chair. "I seem to be the only one without syrup all over me." A chorus of laughter. "I think Uncle Bill's right," Jamie said, giggling as she took the damp cloth from her grandmother and wiped her fingers. "Just take a bite of pancake, and then lick your fingers," Dana said, demonstrating as she spoke, only she licked Patrick's fingers instead of her own, which sent him into another round of wild giggles. She looked up as Bill tapped her shoulder. "It's for you. Mulder." "Oh, thank you." Jamie passed her the cloth and she hurriedly wiped her fingers before taking the phone. Bill returned to his seat. "Hi," she said. A squeal from Matthew obscured whatever response Mulder might have given, so she said, "Just a second" and stepped over to the far side of the kitchen. "Okay." "What was that?" Mulder asked with a smile. "My nephew wanting more applesauce," she said affectionately. "So what's up?" "He confessed." "To everything?" "Everything. All the bodies we've found, as well as a few more completely unverified. We've got people out searching the locations he gave us. I'll let you know if anything turns up." "My God. Why the sudden change of heart from Marsden?" She leaned back against the counter, gazing out the window at the well-tended yard. "I may be a psychological profiler, Scully, but I wouldn't even hazard a guess as to how that man's mind works. I like to think we just wore him down yesterday with our finely honed interrogation skills." "Right. What kind of locations did he give you? Did he bury the bodies?" Jamie looked up from her pancakes with a curious expression and Margaret threw Dana a reproving look. She ducked through the archway into the dining room, stretching the cord to its limits as she pushed the door closed behind her. "We're not really sure yet. Maybe some of them were buried. Others just seemed to be hidden. Time will tell. They might not exist at all." "Yeah, okay. Let me know as soon as you hear." "Will do." "Why didn't you call my cell phone?" "I did, you didn't answer." "Oh, sorry, I guess I left it upstairs." "Did you not want me to call your mother's number--" "No, that's fine, I was just asking." "Okay. Enjoy your breakfast with the wildlife, Scully." "Thanks." She heard the click as he disconnected, and that small sound brought with it a wave of regret. Dana lingered in the dining room. She held the receiver against her stomach for a good ten seconds before she returned to the cheerful kitchen. * * * * * The blue lights colored the scene even in the warmth of the daylight. Men in dark jackets stood all around him. Upturned earth. Dead trees. Plastic. And ten feet up ahead, two stretchers with newly filled body bags. Two young women reported missing several months ago. Bodies Marsden had promised would be there. The first two sites--a warehouse and a port authority locker--had turned up nothing, and the investigators had begun the dig at this sight with less than hopeful spirits. No, that wasn't right...one never *hoped* to find dead bodies. One only hoped to put matters to rest if the irreparable damage had been done. Mulder watched the men in the distance with their shovels, feeling in his gut that they had already found their lot for the day, but understanding the need to check every inch of ground. He had always hated this part of the job. The hidden graveyards. The seemingly untouched tracts of nature passed by hikers and bicyclers and picnickers in their innocence, that secretly harbored the remnants of cruelty and torture. He always wondered--always *needed* to know--if the victims had died far ahead of their burial, or if these trees above his head were the last visions they had ever seen. Sometimes he touched the gnarled old trunks, wishing they could speak to him, sensing they had fought to protect the victims, that they had shuddered and abhorred the acts of violence they had been forced to witness. Today, he stood alone amidst the silent workers, rarely making eye contact, offering monosyllabic responses, receiving and giving necessary paperwork. More than once he glanced to his side expecting to see Scully, then caught himself, remembering he was alone today. She had become so much a part of his thought process. Of the way he moved. The way he breathed. Mulder squinted up through the fluttering leaves at the gradually sinking sun. In less than an hour, the sun would drop below the tree line, and the shadows would close in hard. He didn't want to be in this place when the light was gone. * * * * * "No, not Pictionary. Dad can't draw his way out of a paper bag." Jamie frowned into the game cupboard as the room broke into gales of laughter. "Still not so strong in the artistic department, eh, Charlie?" Bill prodded. "You going to let her talk to me that way?" Charlie asked, eyeing Annabelle, only half seriously. Annabelle attempted composure. "Well, Charles, when the kid's right, she's right." She held her almost straight face for a moment, then gave in to outright laughter. "How about Scrabble?" Maggie suggested as she took a seat beside Dana on the living room couch. "Unh-uh." Bill shook his head. "Dana cheats, she uses all those big medical words." "I do not!" Dana cried, hurriedly swallowing a sip of iced tea before she could speak properly. "Oh, my God, you do--you remember that last time?" He glanced at his mother for backing, but she only smiled, enjoying her children's banter. "*Anaphylactic*..." "That's a common word! Besides, it's better than you, you just make things up and hope we'll believe they're words." "Oh, when have I ever--" "*Pronaxial*? You remember that? You said it was a type of predatory bird..." Dana's half stiffled giggles were highly contagious and the room fell into further laughter as she spoke. "And then Cousin Amy tried to use it in class, remember, as her new word of the week, and she told her teacher you swore it was word." Bill started to defend himself, but finally he, too, smiled, his cheeks blushing. "Okay, maybe that one..." "So, what are we going to play?" Jamie demanded, bored by the adults' shared humor. "It's Mom's Birthday, she should pick," offered Tara. Maggie dropped back into the generous couch cushions and folded her arms across her chest. "How about Trivial Pursuit? We can ask the kids from the junior set." "Yeah!" Jamie said with a bounce of approval. "Agree?" A consensus of nods and "yeah"'s circled the room. "How about we set up in the dining room. That has the best table," Bill suggested. "I'll do it!" Jamie called. "Me, too!" from Patrick. "I'll help," Annabelle mediated with a mother's knowing smile. "We need to get fresh drinks. The lemonade should be cold by now..." Maggie started to stand up, but Tara motioned her back. "Sit, Mom, we'll get it. It's your birthday, take advantage of it." Maggie smiled. "I think I will. Thank you, Tara." The group temporarily dispersed, leaving Dana and her mother in semi-privacy. Dana met her mother's gaze and smiled warmly, enjoying her mother's happiness and a bit of her own. Maggie watched her daughter closely for a moment, then reached out and smoothed her red hair. "It's good to have you really here with us, Dana," she said softly. "It's been a long time." Dana leaned into her Mom's hand as it moved up to cradle her cheek. Her gaze fell to her lap. "I'm sorry," Dana said softly. Sincerely. "In a job like mine there are...different ways of dealing with the dark parts. Sometimes you have to just detatch from everything, even when you don't want to. Other times you need to dive in and feel everything, reaffirm the joyous side of life. I guess this is one of those times." Maggie let her hand fall to meet Dana's as their gazes locked once again. "Is the case you're working on really that bad?" Dana just closed her eyes and released a soft breath. "Aunt Dana? Will you sit next to me and Patrick?" Jamie's vibrant voice floated in from the dining room. "Where else would I sit? Grown-ups are boring!" Jamie giggled, and Maggie silently leaned her forehead against Dana's. * * * * * Mulder winced as the point of his pencil snapped off against his notepaper. He was pressing harder than he'd intended. A little too tense. Too many forms. Too many bodies. Too much grey. He sat in the silence of his apartment, his computer screen the only illumination. He was tapped into the Bureau system, seeking information on Nealy. His way of unwinding from the Marsden case. Sick, in its own way, he knew. But it kept him going, and he had learned not to argue with survival. He didn't handle the detailed analyses of the dead bodies as well as Scully could. On any other weekend he would have called her in to perform the autopsies herself, then fill him in on all the neccesary details (preferably without visual aids). But this time he had let her be with her family. And he had felt obligated to observe the doctor's work first hand, visual aids and all. Noodles were a definite no for dinner for a while. Mulder tossed aside his now useless pencil and fished for a pen at the back of his desk. He finally found one on the floor beneath his chair when he almost stepped on it. He jotted down the name Susan Nexton. It was a place to start in the morning. Mulder took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He needed sleep. But he wasn't sure he could stand the images flashing across the inside of his eyelids. He disconnected his modem and shut down the computer, deepening the darkness that surrounded him. Television. Yes. The best mind- numbing device ever invented. *How do you do it Scully? How do you go to sleep each night alone with your true thoughts? Or have you disciplined your sub-conscious as sternly as your conscious?* He reached for the remote. * * * * * Dana watched the pattern of raindrops splashing on the rear window of the guest room. She shifted under the warmth of the covers and slipped her hand beneath the cool pillow. Jamie was snoring softly behind her. She had begged for a "sleepover" with Aunt Dana, and Dana had been unable to deny those bright blue eyes their heart's desire. She remembered nights much like this one from Jamie's point of view. Curled up on the sofa bed of her own Grandmother's house in Texas, squished between Melissa and Aunt Maureen, still tasting the potato chips they had snuck past their mother, and memorizing the sweet exotic scent of Aunt Maureen's Elizabeth Arden cosmetics. The world had been a different place back then. One without monsters any scarier than Grover. One free of government conspiracies and shadowy figures, and massacred children, and alien breeding experiments that gave you the most precious child in the world, and then stole her away from within your last loving embrace. A world where Melissa was always going to be there to ask for advice. The rain continued its steady pace against the window, and Jamie's steady breathing gave it a friendly warmth. Dana closed her eyes again, and gradually slipped into quiet slumber. * * * * * (Continued in part three...) THE ASHES THAT REMAIN 3/4 (part three following "Among the Ashes" and "Rising From the Ashes") by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1998 (Continued from part 2...) * * * * * MARGARET SCULLY'S RESIDENCE MONDAY, 2:25pm Dana held the lunch plate beneath the clear running water, then pushed the faucet back toward her mother's side of the sink as she propped the plate in the drying rack. Voices carried in from the back lawn where Jamie was spraying her father with the garden hose. "You know, Mom, I really hate to mention this lest I give you any ideas, but I've noticed it's been a long time since you tried to set me up with anyone. What's going on? Did I finally get through to you, or have all your friends' sons and nephews finally been married off?" Margaret Scully shrugged with a small smile. She considered a moment before saying, "Oh, I think I just finally realized you were no longer taking any dates seriously...as long as Fox is around." Dana almost dropped a good crystal wine glass into the cluttered sink. "Mulder? What does Mulder have to do with it?" Maggie let her hands fall to the counter edge in feigned exasperation. "Dana..." "What?" "Is it really so obvious to everybody but you?" Dana laughed incredulously, feeling the blush behind her freckles. "Oh, my God, Mom, what are you thinking? Mulder and I are just friends. That's *all*." "Just friends." "Yes!" "So, he's never tried to kiss you?" She tried to answer immediately, faltered, looked away, picked up another plate. "No." "I really hope you don't do a lot of undercover work, Dana, because you are a miserable liar." She shifted uncomfortably, moistened the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes. "Not exactly," she corrected. "Not exactly." "Tell me again why this is your business?" Dana said, glancing at her mother with a smile meant to soften her sarcasm to a friendly tease. The effort was only half-effective. Margaret reached up and smoothed her daughter's hair behind one ear, untouched by the coldness she well knew was based in fear. Her expression turned serious. Her friendly ribbing had become pure kindness. "I'm going to tell you something, Dana, and I want you to listen." She glanced briefly over her shoulder to assure their privacy. "I have two happily married children, with wives I love very much. They have good relationships, loving, loyal relationships." She paused. "And I have never seen two people as devoted to one and other as you and Fox Mulder." Dana breathed out softly. She kept her eyes lowered. She tried to brush off her mother's words, accept them gracefully in the context of friendship, comment on what she and Mulder had been through together. But to her surprise and confusion, she felt her throat tighten and her vision blurred with tears. She drew a breath to speak, then fell silent. Her mother's soft eyes darkened with concern. "Dana...What is it?" Her mother had a beautiful way of comforting without over sympathizing, of soothing without condescension. Without pushing her away. Maybe that's why they were still so close. Dana wanted to answer, but she didn't know what to say. "What, Dana?" She drew a shaky breath, couldn't raise her eyes. "I was just thinking of..." she shook her head, frowned, "...something..." A quiet pause. Patience from her mother. Her own words seem to explain her frenzied thoughts as she heard them spoken. "Mulder...said some things to me--before I was stung, taken away...And I never--I never answered him or acknowledged... . I should have..." Her voice faded, colored with shades of tears. Margaret nodded slowly. "Are you afraid to talk to him?" Another long pause. A red bird singing in the yard beyond the window. Memories of a time long ago. "Maybe." Dana drew a gentle, wet breath. "Why?" Her brow tensed. "I don't know." Margaret reached up and touched Dana's cheek. "Okay." The tender silence was broken by the sharp tweet of a telephone. "Oh..." Dana sniffed, blinked her eyes dry. "That's my cell phone." She turned away, aware of her mother's concerned gaze upon her, feeling the regret at her withdrawal, but she was unable to give any more just now. Self-consciousness had settled in. Fishing the phone from her purse beneath the table, Dana clicked the "talk" button. "Scully." She glanced at her mother still watching her with that unnerving sixth sense of hers in high gear. "Hey, Scully, it's me." "Mulder, hi." She cleared her throat. *Impeccable timing, Mulder. As always.* "I'm sorry to bother you, I know you're supposed to be with your family this weekend..." "It's okay." A pause. "What's going on?" She could feel the hesitation in his words, knew he sensed something was off. "I finally tracked down the victim who...I...Are you okay, Scully?" "Yeah, I'm fine." She couldn't look at her mother. She walked toward the living room, seeking a sense of privacy. "What victim?" "Susan Nexton. The woman who escaped Nealy, helped put him in prison." "*Nealy?* Mulder, that's not even officially a case, anymore, and certainly not ours. Nealy is in prison." "That didn't stop him from trying to kill *you*." *Dammit. Touche.* She didn't answer, but she knew he could all but see the look on her face. "Look, all I'm asking, Scully, is that we talk to a few more people. That can't hurt anything, can it?" She gave a small, humorless laugh. "Every time you say that I end up in some Godforsaken backwater town at 3am on a Saturday looking for vampires or walking mummies or killer pussy cats." Mulder was smiling. "It's a great job, isn't it?" She didn't give him the satisfaction of a laugh, but the subtext of affection in his voice had warmed her. "Pick you up at your mother's in half an hour?" She sighed heavily. "Yeah, okay." She clicked off the phone without saying "goodbye". * * * * * "These fragile bodies of touch and taste This fragrant skin this hair like lace Spirits open to the thrust of grace Never a breath you can afford to waste" Barenaked Ladies "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" Mulder pulled up in front of Margaret Scully's house, a few minutes earlier than he had intended. The traffic was lighter than usual today. Maybe everyone was off somewhere enjoying the last of the warm weather. Scully's familiar car was parked in the driveway, squished between two others he didn't recognize. He had rarely, if ever, been to this house in the daylight. It was always a crisis that brought him here--fear or sadness surrounding Scully. And such things always seemed to come in the darkest hours of the night. He was surprised by the cheeriness and warmth of this place beneath the mid-afternoon sun. Brightly colored tulips lined the front walkway, a rose trellis, alive with pink blooms, decorated the bricks beside the door. A small, white iron filigree bench waited beneath the shade of a graceful willow tree in the far corner of the lawn. In the distant sideyard, he could make out the bright colors of children's toys, a tricycle, a rubber ball, and a waterslide. He hadn't been part of that world in a very long time...maybe too long. Mulder shut off the car and started up the walkway. He rang the doorbell, then listened as he waited. A television, or maybe a radio was playing somewhere inside, and muffled but animated voices escaped through the stoic walls. The door swung open, and he was startled to find a petite blonde woman before him whom he didn't recognize. "Hi," the woman said, her smile warm and friendly. "Are you here for Dana?" He smiled, glad to avoid explanations, and held out his hand. "Yes, I am. Fox Mulder." "Annabelle Scully," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm Dana's sister-in-law, Charlie's wife." "Oh, okay. Hi, nice to meet you." "Come on in, I'll get Dana." Mulder stepped into the entrance hall, just as Margaret Scully appeared from the back of the house, a kitchen towel tossed over her shoulder. "Was that the door--Oh, hello, Fox, how are you?" He smiled warmly. "I'm fine, Mrs. Scully. How are you?-- Oh, Happy Birthday!" "Oh, thank you!" "Mom, do you know where Dana is?" Annabelle asked. Margaret glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, I thought she was in the family room..." "Is she?" The two women disappeared in pursuit, and Mulder was left standing alone for a moment before Bill Scully stepped in from the dining room. Just then Jamie catapulted between them, shouting for Patrick, and oblivious to their new guest. "That was my niece, Jamie. She's very pleased to meet you," Bill said with a hint of a smile. Mulder looked up, a bit surprised by the almost friendly comment from Bill. He cleared his throat. "Well, you can tell her I return the sentiments next time you see her go by." Bill nodded. "So, you're stealing Dana away again?" "Well, I--" "It's all right. Three whole days is a record for her. She never could sit still very long." He shrugged. "Charlie's leaving in the morning anyway." Mulder nodded, unsure how to respond. Bill slipped one hand into the pocket of his khaki slacks and stared at the floor for a moment. Then he lifted his gaze, and said plainly, "I understand you saved my sister's life recently, at some significant personal risk. Now, regardless of any feelings I might have on what part you had in placing her life in danger...," he took a step forward, and offered his hand to Mulder, "I have to thank you for what you did." Mulder nodded slowly, holding Bill's steady gaze as he shook his strong hand, finding his expression nearly as hard to read as his little sister's could be. "I appreciate that," he said. "But there's no need to thank me. I'm no more capable of leaving your sister behind than you are." This time it was Bill's turn to let this soak in and nod quietly. A familiar voice stood out amongst those approaching (he had developed a kind of radar to that voice), and Mulder turned to see Scully, facing the other way, deep in conversation with Tara, and carrying Matthew on her hip as though she did it every day. She turned and smiled in her quiet, casual way when she saw him. "Hi, Mulder." "Hey, Scully, who's your new boyfriend?" She took a step closer and grasped Matthew's hand, leaning him back to look up at Mulder. "Hey, you, can you say 'hi' to my friend? This is Mulder," she said gently, and Matthew's wide blue eyes turned curiously from his Aunt Dana to the face of the tall stranger. "Hey, Buddy," Mulder said, touching a tentative hand to Matthew's shoulder. "Look at you. I think you're twice the size you were when I last saw you." Matthew blinked at Mulder, then turned and buried his face in Scully's shoulder. She smiled and kissed his fuzzy head. "He's a little shy around strangers," she said to Mulder, her cheek resting comfortably against her nephew's head. Mulder nodded. "I can be pretty scary. Especially first thing in the morning." As usual, Scully disregarded his attempt at humor. Tara laughed politely. Scully turned to Tara. "I need to get my jacket." She handed over Matthew to his mother, but his little face screwed up in protest and he began to cry, stretching away from his mother and reaching out toward Aunt Dana. "Oh, I'm sorry, honey, but I have to go to work." Again, she took Matthew's hand and kissed his pink forehead. And all of this was so beautiful and so excruciating for Mulder to watch. *Scully, does this help you? Or does this just make it hurt so much worse...? I can see how much he loves you...* Matthew dropped his head resignedly against his mother's shoulder as Scully stepped into the living room to grab her suit coat. "Dana, did you say goodbye to Jamie and Patrick? They're taking off pretty early tomorrow morning," Bill called after her. Scully nodded as she slipped into her dark red suit coat, straightened the lapels. "Yeah, I did. But I should be back for dinner tonight, anyway." "Yeah, yeah, we've all heard that one before." Bill's tone was light and teasing, but Mulder was surprised by the look it brought from Scully. A mixture of annoyance and disgust, and maybe a soft degree of injury. Bill flinched a bit, perhaps surprised himself by the rebuff. "I hope you do make it back," he added. Scully nodded, softening. Maggie hurried back in from the kitchen, the towel no longer with her. "You taking off, honey?" "Yeah," Scully replied, moving forward for a quick but deep hug with her mother. "Bye, Sweetheart. Hurry back." "I will. Bye, Mom." She leaned in once more and kissed Maggie's cheek. It was such a sweet gesture between them it struck Mulder profoundly. How often had he seen Scully kiss someone's cheek? Had he ever? "Hey, Dee!" Charles (at least Mulder assumed it was Charles) bounded down the stairs, his bright green eyes the color of his sweater. "Guess I'll say goodbye, too, in case I miss you." Scully smiled at her little brother. Her clear, genuine smile she so rarely bestowed upon mortals. And Mulder was ashamed to feel a quiver of jealously. She was in Charles's arms the moment he hit the ground floor, coming up just slightly further than she did against Mulder's chest. If Mulder hadn't been watching her so closely, he might not have intruded upon a moment he sensed was meant to be private. But he couldn't look away. As Scully pulled back from Charles, he whispered something to her that looked on his lips for all the world like, "I'm sorry." Then he leaned over and pulled Scully's forehead to his with a firm hand on the back of her neck. Mulder pretended to look away, but he couldn't tune out. Scully closed her eyes for a long moment and hovered there, in silent communion with her brother. Mulder saw Margaret steal a quick glance at her youngest children, and her eyes registered a degree of understanding Mulder was not allowed. Then Scully was beside him, briefcase in hand and moving toward the door. "I'm ready," she said softly, her voice no longer Dana's, but Agent Scully's. He wondered if her family heard the shift. Or had they ever met Agent Scully? Mulder touched a hand to her back and they moved across the threshold. * * * * * (Continued in part four...) THE ASHES THAT REMAIN 4/4 (part three following "Among the Ashes" and "Rising From the Ashes") by Elizabeth Boyd-Tran Copyright (c) 1998 (Continued from part 3...) * * * * * "So, tell me again how we ended up back on the Nealy case, Mulder?" Scully queried as she looked over the open file folder in her lap. "Well, we're not so much *on* it, as we are *'looking into it'*," he said, tossing her a million dollar smile that had no effect whatsoever. "Why couldn't we find Ms. Nexton before?" "Because she wasn't Ms. Nexton." "Excuse me?" Mulder popped a sunflower seed into his mouth from the open bag between them. "Stupid clerical error by the local officers. She got divorced since the trial and changed her name back to Nexton from Malone." "Didn't they have her social security number?" He nodded. "She never got around to updating her information." A slight arch of her eyebrow. After a beat, Scully slammed the file folder. "So, what are we looking for, Mulder? What are we asking?" Mulder shrugged, bit another seed. "I don't know. I'm hoping she can tell us. Something the police missed? Some strange detail that's come back to her since the trial? Who knows." Scully nodded, eyeing him pointedly. He glanced at her, then the road, then Scully. "What?" "This is how you spend your weekends?" "Well, it beats *Walker, Texas Ranger*." Scully sighed softly and looked back out at the road. They rode for a minute in silence, Mulder peripherally aware of her pensive expression, her fingers toying with the corner of the file folder in her lap. "So, how was *your* weekend, Scully? You've been kind of quiet." She glanced at him briefly before responding. "It was really nice, actually," she said, entertaining the ghost of a genuine smile. He was touched by the openness of her response. "That's great, Scully. I'm glad." He lifted the bag between them and angled it in her direction. "Seed?" She took one. * * * * * Mulder pushed forward to the edge of his cushioned seat, hoping to convey his genuine interest in Susan Nexton's impending story. "There's really nothing I haven't already told at the trial, or in my statements," she said softly, her mousy brown hair slipping over one eye. She reached down protectively toward the toddler playing at her feet. "I understand," Mulder said gently. "And I realize you probably just want to move on, and not delve into these memories again. But we'd really like to hear your story first hand, Ms. Nexton. I truly think it could help us." Susan hesitated a moment, then nodded, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. Mulder tossed a glance toward Scully in the easy chair across from his. She sat quietly, legs crossed, brow intent, as she watched their witness. Absorbing details like a sponge. And they said *he* was the one with the idietic memory. "Well, okay," Susan began. "I was just coming home from work. I walked home back then, I was working as a nurse in the emergency clinic just down the street from my apartment. There was an alley, just about a block from where I lived. Usually it was pretty well lit, but this time the street lamp was out, and I could hardly see. I think maybe the power was out on that whole block. You can check the records, I think they documented that for the trial..." Mulder nodded, motioned for her to go on. "Well...anyhow, I was halfway across the alley, when this shadow came out of nowhere--kind of like black on black, you know?--and grabbed me from behind." "How did he grab you?" Mulder asked. "Tell us everything you can remember." Susan winced at the painful recollection. She lifted her young son onto her lap and nestled him close as she resumed her story. "One arm was around my waist, I think, and the other was over my mouth. And strong. Really strong. But at the time, it was all just...weirder than that." Mulder lifted his eyebrows. "Weirder? How do you mean?" Scully circled her ankle. Just once. Which probably meant nothing. Just a stretch. But she wasn't a fidgeter. He tried not to look at her. A mistimed consultation between agents could make a witness feel she was being unfairly scrutinized. Susan sighed heavily as she searched for a better description. "It was like...it was like for a second, I didn't know what was happening. I didn't realize a *person* had attacked me. The way he moved, the blackness of his shadow, the smell, sound--it was almost..." She struggled for the word. "Animalistic." Mulder turned at the sound of Scully's voice. Her gaze was firmly set upon their witness, her posture as calm and controlled as ever. But he sensed the speed of her thoughts. "Yes!" Susan Nexton's expression was wide-eyed. "How did you know?" Then after a beat, she said, "He attacked you, too, didn't he...?" Scully broke eye contact. She looked quickly at the floor, her lap, ever so briefly at Mulder. She swallowed stiffly, but never broke form. "What happened next?" she asked calmly, leaving no room for further question. Mulder watched Scully watch their witness, and he tried to hear what Susan Nexton said. "I, um...Look, before I go any further...I really should tell you something..." Susan shifted position, busied herself with the buttons of her son's overalls. "There's a reason I agreed to see the two of you today." "What was that?" Mulder asked, hardly hearing his own voice. "I...you'll probably think I'm crazy, but--is there any way the two of you could hang around and watch the house--even just for tonight? You see, I've had the strongest feeling lately...It's like Nealy is...like he's trying to find a way to come back for me." * * * * * They were three-quarters of the way down the brick walkway before Mulder found the courage to stop and say, "Scully, why didn't you tell me?" Scully turned, squinted up at him in the late afternoon sun. "Tell you what?" "What you felt when Nealy was attacking you." "I told you everything that happened, Mulder--" "You never said to *me* what you said in there." Scully lowered her gaze, tipped one foot back onto the heel of her black pump. "Mulder, it was just a feeling, an impression. Nothing specific I saw or heard. I just...rationalized it, I suppose. Credited it to exhaustion and fear. Which is probably what it was--in my case as well as Susan Nexton's." He nodded, his expression still sober, carefully distanced. "That's what you think?" "What else would I think?" "I don't know." And he expected her to retaliate with *Help me out here, Mulder. Are we talking werewolves or just shape shifters?* But instead she said, "Look, Mulder, it's not as if you tell me everything you're thinking." He flinched, surprised by her direct counter-attack. "What are you talking about?" She breathed out heavily through her nose. Her breathing was always more audible than his. And faintly...sexy. "Come on, Mulder. Anything you haven't quite figured out yet, and aren't prepared to defend against my scientific analysis. Anything you learn from one of your elusive informants--at least *one* of whom I've never even met--" Mulder cringed at this and shifted his weight uncomfortably, "--and anything remotely connected to your family, or your past, or what may have really happened to your sister." He was a little taken aback by the neatly prepared list that sprang to her lips. *Just how much thought had she given this subject?* "I've told you everything I know about Samantha, Scully," he said openly. "After the fact. Same as I just did," she added, a note of kindness softening her tone. Mulder wrinkled his nose and looked away down the length of the quiet street. Scully stood with him a moment, then moved a few more steps to the curb and sat back against the hood of his car. She seemed reluctant to settle inside the vehicle just yet. He couldn't blame her. The air was fresh and sweet, freed of the heavy dampness of the early weekend's heat. Mulder moved closer to Scully, lost in his own thoughts as she was in hers. They had learned to be comfortable together without words. In the beginning of their partnership, her frequent silences had made him nervous, he had felt obligated to keep talking, to fill the void. But he had since learned to respect her quiet nature, to revere it. Which was only one reason he was startled to hear her ask, "Why didn't you tell me about Diana Fowley?" Mulder looked down at her, his pulse stepping up a notch. But Scully's gaze was resting on the freshly mown grass beneath their feet, her dark fan of lashes veiling her clear blue eyes. He tried to picture Scully applying her mascara, but it was too hard to see. "Tell you what?" She considered a moment, lifted her eyebrows as if to say the 'what' should have been obvious to him. But she said, "That you worked with her, that she was part of your discovery of the X-Files...That she existed at all." Mulder narrowed his eyes, wishing he could see her expression, however Scully-subtle, however distant--straining to hear her unspoken words. Because each time they spoke of Diana something shifted between them, something he didn't understand or like. Something that made him want to kiss the tiny uneven place in Scully's left eyebrow. "I guess, I just never gave it much thought. I haven't spoken to her in so many years, I..." Scully kept still, eyes lowered. He drew a deep breath. "Why does this bother you?" he asked gently. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if shutting him out. Then she tossed back her hair, lifting her face into the wind. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. Forget it." "Scully..." An admonition--but one born more of injury than anger. It seemed to get to her. She looked up at him, straightening the line of her ivory blouse and in his mind he saw a flash of the soft white skin beneath the silk. "It's silly, Mulder, I..." He couldn't take his eyes off of her. So rare was it that Scully was so vulnerable before his gaze. Almost...shy. "Scully..." "I always thought that I was the first one to believe in your work, Mulder. That you were alone against the Bureau, and against the powers that be, until I was sent down to work with you. And then I learned out of the blue that you not only had someone sharing your work on the X-Files, but someone far more open to your views and your style of investigation than I was or even am." "Someone who laughs at my jokes," he added, hoping to endear her, but his words seemed only to push her away. His brow drew in. "Scully, it *is* true that Diana was a part of the time in my life when I discovered the X-Files. And that she assisted me with some of my earliest investigations into the paranormal. But, Scully, nothing you've thought all this time was wrong. You are the only one I have ever thought of as my partner in this quest. I would never have come this far without you. You know that." He deliberately softened his voice, leaning nearer, soothing with words when he was afraid to touch. "You *do* support my theories--" "I never agree with you, Mulder." "You agree with my *legitimate* theories. *You* only agree with me when you've dug through all my enthusiastic crap to find out I have a real point. Diana would just agree with me, because she was my girlfriend." "Is that why you ne--" "What?" "Nothing..." "Scully...Diana believed in my theories. You believed in me." He watched the tender muscles in her throat working as she swallowed. Strength masked by delicacy. So much of Scully was simply that. She sighed softly, let her head fall to the side. The wind lifted her hair. "What are we doing here, Mulder?" she said at last. She looked up at the shingles of the two story house. "We're out here guarding the near victim of a serial killer who's locked up in a maximum security prison, guarded like Fort Knox since his last escape. And we're out here based on nothing but a hunch." "It's certainly not the first time we've based an entire case on an extreme hunch." "*Our* hunches Mulder. This isn't even our hunch!" "There's something here, Scully. You know it, and I know it. Something no one has figured out. And if we don't continue to look into this, then who will?" She gave a small laugh. "That's becoming our theme song." He watched her profile, the small flutter of her lashes, the slight sucking in of her cheeks. He loved the way her hair hung in a perfect single curve, accentuating the line of her cheekbone. "Yeah, well, that's what you get, *Mrs. Spooky*, when you go to work with the crazy guy in the basement." Scully almost smiled. He felt the wave of companionable affection she threw his way. "It's not so bad," she said softly. And he knew she was the only woman in the Bureau who would have responded that way. Hell, maybe the only woman in the world. His one in five billion. Scully closed her eyes against the sunlight and stretched her head back, bathing in the golden warmth. "You want some soda? I tossed some cans in a little cooler in the trunk, just in case..." he trailed off. She was looking at him now, with a mixture of resignation and bewilderment and perhaps a kind of pity. "In case this turned into a stakeout?" He thought perhaps the Adorable Puppy Dog Look. Oh, well. "I'm fine, thanks. Maybe later." "Okay." Another comfortable silence. Mulder reached out and rubbed her upper back through her suit jacket. She had always loved that gesture of his. Like the time they had sat on a bench outside the sheriff's office in Home, Pennsylvania, and he had sensed how deeply the tragedy of the child's suffering had affected her. She wondered if he knew how much good he could do her with a single touch. "How are you doing with the Marsden case?" he asked gently, apropos of nothing but the faint vulnerability she knew he had sensed beneath her pale skin. "With these last *two* investigations, for that matter? Both of these cases should have been with Violent Crimes, not with us. You're such a good agent, Scully, so often the strong one, the less squeamish one between us--I forget you haven't had the experience with these kinds of cases that I have. Not that it's ever easy, but you learn different ways of coping, of dealing with the violence. I should ask you more often if you're doing okay? I should have asked you last Thursday night before you left." "You did," she said simply, offering him a half-smile and a glance to tell him what she meant. He didn't respond to her with words, but accepted her answer gracefully, respectfully. After a pause, he asked, "Are you okay?" *Blood on her hands, digging in the dirt in the sides of the grave, desperate for escape. Rain on the window. Endless screams in the darkness.* "Yeah, I'm fine." He let it go. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "There's something...something I need to tell you." She couldn't look at him. She wanted to. But the kite flying above the house in the distance seemed to ground her. "What is it, Scully?" She cleared her throat. Her words were so soft, she feared they, too, would be carried off by the wind. "You said I owed you nothing," she said, and it sounded solid enough. She felt the shift in his posture, knew he had jumped to the same moment with her. Knew the web of emotional current surrounding that memory was as strong for him as it was for her. Though neither of them had ever spoken of their exchange. He nodded in her peripheral vision. "You're wrong," she said plainly. With a rush of fortitude, she turned to face him. His eyes had narrowed and deepened in that curious fashion she had come to love. "I didn't get a chance to answer you at the time, and then..." She glanced away, searching for words, but forced herself to return to his seeking gaze. "Mulder, I'm with you because I want to be. Because I belong here right now. Because you want me here. Your dedication, your beliefs...you...You give me...faith, Mulder." "Faith in what?" The threads of his voice were woven snug as cloth. *That someone needs me. That I'm not alone. That in the end, there is a calmness of truth behind the lies and the anger.* "In a lot of things," she said, with a sense of finality to her vagueness, and he knew the rest of her response would not come today. Someday. He nodded slowly. He watched her in the speckled sunshine beneath the massive maple tree. This woman. His partner. His friend. He had seen this woman on so many of her days--the days her complexion was fresh and clear and she looked like a young model, far too soft and beautiful to work their rough job. On the days she wanted for sleep, and the skin around her eyes was tight, showing a weariness and vulnerability beneath her perfect make-up he sometimes imagined only he could see. On the days she seemed careless of her appearance, though none the less beautiful for it--her hair back in a ponytail, her make-up pale, freckles showing, kevlar strapped on, gun tight in her hands. And on days like this one, when her mastery of words fell short in the face of her desire to convey something she was not yet ready to speak. When the words she spoke didn't matter anymore. Just the look in the endless depths of her eyes, and the silken huskiness to her voice. And yet...part of him felt he didn't know her at all. Sometimes he seemed to see her as a passing stranger might, and wonder what right he had to peer into this woman's private thoughts. To ask for her trust. Scully stood up straighter, pushing away from the car, stretching her legs. "It'll be dark soon, we should get ourselves out of sight." No one spoke like her. Such elegance and sensuality in the most ordinary of words. "Yeah, we'll move the car down the block. Those trees should hide us pretty well." A pause. "You looked beautiful holding Matthew, Scully." He moved as he spoke, reached out and cupped her cool cheek in his hand. He couldn't imagine where the words had come from or what had possessed him to speak them aloud. He only knew the image had been hovering behind his eyes, weaving in and out of his thoughts of serial killers, of interrogations, of paperwork. Blanketing his mind. And somehow, it had slipped over into his immediate reality... Scully stared at him, his words echoing behind her eyes. She felt the penetrating tenderness in his touch. And that scared her most. Because for that moment, caught in Fox Mulder's pale grey gaze, Dana Scully was tired of being strong. Tired of pretending that her misconception about her brother's thoughts had not been a slow ache these many months, of pretending--no matter how much she loved her niece and nephews, loved to hold them, touch them, smile with them--that she didn't see Emily in every smile, feel her in every soft little hand in hers, and miss her so desperately...tired of pretending she wasn't waking from horrible nightmares with no one to comfort her until they faded away, tired of pretending it didn't leave a dark scar on her soul each time they unearthed the body of another young woman, tortured to death before her life had really begun. Someone else's Emily... In that moment, Dana Scully just wanted to go home. But she wasn't sure where home was anymore...except with Mulder. He wouldn't pull his hand away, and her eyes began to burn with unbidden tears. She rolled her lips in as if smoothing her lipstick and subtlety blinked her eyes dry in the wind. But Mulder saw it. And his brow furrowed, his soft grey eyes that could touch her like no one else ever had, deepened with concern. The last thing she wanted right now was to cry, especially in front of Mulder. But the gentleness and affection in his gaze and the promise of the touch that could keep her on her feet when nothing else could...*was what she wanted so much right now...* Scully took a step back from him, looked away, withdrawing as always, to a safe distance. And to any passerby her mask was perfection. But he had seen her on the days when she was the picture of calm and composure--and something was gnawing away at her soul. A gust of wind pushed her hair across her cheek, across his hand, the uneven ends tickled their skin. "You asked me if I loved Diana," he said, not speaking too gently, careful never to push her away, but ever so aware of the softness of the corner of her mouth against the base of his hand. Scully winced just slightly, and he thought he heard her whisper "Mulder..." to stop him from answering her question. To try to take it back. But it was written in his mind forever. "I thought that I did. At the time. But at the time...I hadn't learned what love really is." Scully didn't respond. He watched the rise and fall of her perfect chest. There was nothing he hated more in the world than Scully's tears. Her constant strength made the cracks in her armor burn like fire. But at the same time her beauty was unsurpassed.... Her suit jacket was pushed back by her hands on her hips. Her red lipstick, sweet and soft, in the glowing sun, moistened just slightly by the grace of her tongue. Such vulnerability amidst such strength. Always, the heart-wrenching contradiction... Mulder shifted his hand just slightly, and swiped his thumb across the tender skin beneath her eye, though not a single tear had been allowed free. He felt her shiver. He didn't know what to say. He feared speech. Their accustomed language was silence. Slowly, gently, without threat or force, or direction, or admission, Mulder coaxed Scully into his arms. What shocked him was the force of her tears when she at last gave in to his touch. He didn't understand what she was feeling, knew it was likely to stay that way. Maybe it was a dozen things mixed together. But he guessed it was at least in the end about Emily...and maybe in a warped sort of way, he wanted it to be. Because--of all the pain they had shared, of all the traumas and losses they had stood side by side through, all the fears they had allowed one another to comfort and confront--Emily was the one soft place Scully had never let him touch. "Ssshhh...." Which was nothing but an offer of comfort. For she allowed barely a sound. Only her touch told him the depth of her pain. "It's okay." He breathed the sweetness of her hair. They listened to the wind. *I'm here, Scully. Tell me when you want me.* THE END lizbethb@geocities.com Feedback?? Please?? I refuse to beg...okay, I'll beg.