Title: Raspberry and Lace Author: Virtie E-mail: virtuesandvices@aol.com Website: http://www.geocities.com/fanficcorner/ Rating: NC-17 Category: SA - Story/Angst Classification: Mulder/Scully Romance, Post/During Episodes Spoilers: This story jumps around a bit, but the majority of it takes places after 'Three Words', leading up to 'Empedocles' and beyond. There will be plenty of flashbacks, as well. And, of course, events in 'Existence' and beyond. Anyway, if you haven't seen Seasons seven and/or eight, you might get a little lost. Archive: Please. Just let me know first. Summery: Two different women. Two different lives. Both learn to survive with the help of one man. Fills in a few blanks from Season 8. Disclaimer: FOX, CC and 1013 now own me. They may do whatever they wish. Dedication: To Chris Carter. Not many people can create characters that people become THIS obsessed about! Author's note: Because CC and Company messed up the timeline so bad in Season 8, I'm making up my own timeline. Therefore, Mulder was abducted in August 2000, not May. ***** Raspberry and Lace Somewhere in West Virginia May 1991 It was now or never. As weak as she was, she knew this would probably be her last chance at escape. She had been working at her bonds for hours, and her finger nails were now chipped and bloody, her fingers beyond sore. But, she had finally broken through the bailing twine wrapped around her wrists several minutes ago. She was free. Or at least her hands were. He had checked on her about an hour ago. At least, she thought it was an hour ago. Time really had no meaning to her anymore. She sat huddled in the dark, naked, her bare body covered in dirt from lying on the unpaved floor. At least it was warmer than the brick wall at her back. When he had left the basement that had been her prison for days, she had noticed it was night; the room that he entered into at the top of the old wooden stairs had been dark. He would be sleeping now. She hoped. She had arrived at this hellhole about three days ago. As far as she could tell, anyway. It was dark. Damp. Cold. Though not so cold that she couldn't survive without clothing. Her body had long gotten used to the temperature, though she still shivered at regular intervals. And her eyes had adjusted to the dark. The only time she saw anything was when he entered her tomb. And when it was daylight that appeared behind his form in the door, she had to close her eyes to avoid the intense light. Her sensitive eyes were abused even more when he brought the camera down with him. The flash was painful. Blinding. She had heard about serial killers who took pictures of their victims, before and after their deaths. Despite the torture of the flash, she felt elated when she saw the camera. It meant he wasn't going to touch her this time. When he came empty handed, she knew it would mean rape. And beating. More beatings now. She had figured out early on that when she fought him, it made him mad. And when he was mad, he hit her. Beating her until she stilled. Then he would rape her. With luck, she would be so out of it by then, she wouldn't feel a thing. Now was her chance to get out. If she succeeded, she would do everything in her power to help the cops catch this guy. If she didn't, if he killed her, then she knew she would forever be known as the fourth victim of this man whom the police had been on the hunt for since February. She had read about him in the papers. Her mother had even suggested she cut her hair so the killer wouldn't target her. She had just laughed at the older woman. Look who's laughing now, she thought. The man who lived in the house above her. The man she had spent the last several hours profiling in her head. How many profilers got a chance to study their subjects this close? she asked herself. She felt a maniacal giggle well up in her throat, but she quickly swallowed it. She couldn't wake him if he was indeed asleep. She had to get out. Slowly, ignoring her sore, cold muscles, she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled over to the stairs, feeling her way carefully in the dark. Grabbing hold of the rickety railing, she pulled herself up them, avoiding the third step from the top, which she knew would creak if she stepped on it. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door, praying her hardest. Sometimes, he forgot to bolt it. It moved. It opened. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open wider and stepped through. The air was warmer, and she immediately felt invigorated. Odd, she thought. Usually it was cooler air that made a person more alert. She could see now. The starlight coming in through the windows wasn't much, but to her it was more than enough. She moved forward into the room, immediately spying a door and heading for it. A noise off to her left made her jump, and she quickly turned her head to look, her eyes wild. He was there. Lying on an old, ratty couch. Snoring. She breathed deep again, but then felt her heart speed up once more. She had to pass that couch in order to get to the door. She felt her legs tremble and reached out to grab the back of a nearby chair. She glanced around behind her, hoping to see another exit. But there was nothing. She shifted her hand on the chair, feeling stiff cloth. A coat. His coat. It had been hung on the back of the chair. Not that she needed it to get away, but covering her nakedness would make her feel better. And warm her up even more. As quietly as she possibly could, she pulled the heavy jacket off the chair and slipped into it. The sleeves fell well past her fingertips, and the hem stopped just above her knees. As she used her arms to wrap the material further around her body, she noticed the objects on the table next to the chair. His camera and other equipment. Including the flash. Her mind sped up as her body warmed itself in the coat. Her hands finally caught up with it. She reached for the flash and quickly thumbed it on. A high pitched buzz began to fill the air, and she immediately pushed the heavy object into the pocket of the coat, muffling the sound. Then, she moved forward. She walked passed the monster on the sofa without looking at him. Reaching the door, she tested the knob and pulled it open slowly. It was nearly open wide enough for her to slip thought when it creaked. Loudly. The figure on the couch behind her shot upright. "Whaaa?" Swiftly, she pulled the flash out of the pocket, faced it toward him, closed her eyes tightly, and pressed the button on the back. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she saw the flash of man-made lightning. She prayed he had been looking directly at it. She didn't wait to find out. She dropped the expensive piece of equipment and bolted out the door. She could hear him screaming incoherently behind her. When she reached the outside, her legs immediately felt the chill of a early May mountain night. She ran across the wooden porch and jumped down the slight decline the steps created, racing across the untended yard. She looked desperately about her as she ran. Where to? There was nothing. No one. She spotted a light off to her right, and without any more consideration, raced toward it. Her vision worked well even on this dark night. The stars were out, and they helped guide her, allowing her to see the tree branches before she ran into them. Helping her to dodge the rocks that fell in her path. The man pursuing her was not so lucky. She could hear his yells of anger and pain. But still he gained. She was too weak. She couldn't do it. Panic began to override any thought. She pushed on. The light wasn't getting any closer! She fumbled her way down an embankment, falling into the calf high water flowing at the bottom. The frigid water eased the pain in her battered feet. She grabbed hold of bushes and rocks scattered on the opposite bank, using them to pull herself up the slight hill. She could hear her pursuer. He was close. She heard a loud splash as he apparently fell into the creek. He swore loudly. "Shit! You bitch!" She reached the moderately level ground of the sparse forest, her eyes quickly searching for the light. She couldn't see it. With an incoherent moan, she rushed forward. She wasn't giving up yet! She struggled through a patch of thick bushes, feeling their branches grab at her, scratching her legs and her face. When she reached the other side, she saw the light. It was closer! She could make it! She heard her pursuer enter the bushes, still swearing. Her lungs burning, her feet numb with cold, she began to run once more. She nearly ran into a barbed wire fence, stopping right in front of it, grabbing it carefully in her hands. Using the stolen coat to protect her body, she laid across it and let herself fall forward, tumbling head first over it. The coat tore. She didn't care. Pulling herself off the ground, she jerked the ripped jacket firmly around her and headed across the open field in front of her. She was almost there! It was a house! With a barn! And cars! Somebody was there! Two dogs spotted her from their beds on the porch. Barking, they raced toward her. For a moment, she thought the two border collies were going to attack her. The amazement and relief she felt when they raced past her, still barking, was incredible. They were after him! She started screaming. "Help! Somebody! Please help me!" She reached the porch, throwing herself on the door to the farmhouse. "Help!" She continued to scream, her voice raw with panic. He was right behind her! He was going to catch her! Now, when she was so close to getting away! "Please! God! Help me!" ***** The police arrived at the McClarren residence less than one hour later. They found twenty-two year old Charlene Taylor, tucked tightly in a battered and torn grey coat, huddled on the old couple's couch. Her face was swollen and covered with bruises. Her long, chestnut hair was tangled. Her bare feet, which peeked out from underneath the coat, were raw and bleeding, as were the hands that held the coat closed. She was swaying her body slowly back and forth, humming softly to herself. She didn't respond to the officer when he spoke to her. A tall, dark haired man in a suit and trench coat entered the building. His hazel eyes swiftly located the cop trying to talk to the young woman, and he walked with easy strides over to them. "Officer?" he asked, his voice deep and slightly husky. The man turned toward him. The woman didn't react. He pulled out his badge. "Mind if I talk to her?" "You the agent in charge of this case?" the cop asked after confirming the FBI credentials before him. "No," the agent said as he tucked away his badge. "But I've been helping the task force." He sighed. "And I know her." He nodded his head toward the woman on the couch. The cop glanced down at her. "The old couple found her screaming on the porch. They barely got her in here. Their dogs were barking at something off to the west of the property, but they didn't see anyone." He took in a breath. "We've sent some people over to the only house in that direction. No word on what they found, yet." The agent nodded. "Let me talk to her." With another deep sigh, the officer walked away. "Good luck," he said over his shoulder. Carefully, the agent knelt down so that his face was even with the woman's. "Charlie?" His voice was soft. Almost tender. "Hey? You hear me?" He reached out and touched her cheek gently, right underneath her left eye, which was barely visible through the swelling. "Hey, look at me. Please?" Slowly, the swaying stopped. Grey eyes the color of a stormy sea met his. Confusion darkened their color. "What?" the agent whispered. "You don't remember me?" He smiled slightly. "I think I'm hurt!" She licked her lips, carefully avoiding a deep cut on the lower right side of her mouth. "Fox?" The words were barely a whisper, but they made him smile. "Yeah." She exhaled loudly. "Oh, my God! Fox!" She uncurled her body and let herself fall forward, right into his arms. He grabbed her, relief flooding through him as he felt her tears began. Tears, he knew, were the first step toward healing. Carefully, he moved up to sit on the couch beside her, never taking his arms from around her. "Shhh, Charlie. You're okay now. You're safe." She sniffled loudly. "I know. I know." He felt her body heave as she sighed again. "Guess they'll never let me into the Bureau now," she whispered. "FBI agents are never victims." Fox Mulder shook his head and tightened his arms. "You are not a victim, Charlie. You're a survivor." ************************************************************ November 2000 Raleigh, North Carolina The day was miserable in more ways than one. Charlie made her way into the crowded church, leaving the chill, wet air behind her. It had snowed in Raleigh last night. A wet snow. The air was humid, making the cold worse, but there was no wind. She wondered how many of these people would brave the chill for the graveside service. Carefully, she made her way to the back of the small church and found a seat next to an older woman in the last pew, squeezing herself onto the end of the bench. Sitting in the middle of the pew, packed tightly against strangers, was out of the question; crowds of people often sent her into a panic attack, especially if she felt there was no easy escape. Sitting on the end comforted her; she had a straight shot to the door from here. The service started. A dark haired minister spoke of the deceased in a reverent tone, and Charlie wondered if the man had actually known Fox or always spoke so emotionally at funerals. She sighed, blinked back a couple of tears, and leaned back into her seat, trying to relax. You better appreciate the effort, Fox, she thought to herself. Only for you would I brave a church packed full of so many strangers. The crowd stood as a hymn was sung, and Charlie felt slightly lightheaded for a moment. She reached out and grabbed the back of the pew in front of her, breathing deeply through her nose. 'I will not faint. I will not faint.' Finally, they sat once more. Charlie took a tissue out of her purse and carefully wiped the sweat off her forehead, dabbing her still teary eyes as well. The woman next to her gave her a curious glance; her eyes were completely dry. A older black gentleman walked to the front of the chapel, moving to stand behind the pulpit. Charlie didn't have a program, so she had no idea who the man was, but she listened intently as the man gave a short eulogy. It was brief, emotionless, and totally meaningless. Charlie felt her lips turn down in a deep frown as the man sat down. Another man walked to the front. He was tall, muscular and quite handsome, despite his balding pate. His voice was deep and relaxing as he commented on how the FBI had lost one of its best and brightest. And how he had lost a man he considered a friend. Though the man's face remained blank throughout the speech, Charlie could here the emotion he was fighting to keep under control in his voice. Her frown disappeared as a small smile replaced it. Here was a man who cared. When the man sat down, there was a long moment of tense silence. Finally, a woman from the front row stood and walked behind the pulpit. She looked to be in her mid 30's, smallish, red hair. Dana Scully, Charlie presumed. Fox's partner. Charlie had never met the woman, but she knew of the female agent. Though she and Mulder had had little contact in the last several years, whenever she had gotten a letter or card from him, he had always mentioned Scully. Though he had always called the woman his partner, Charlie had read between the lines, imagining something much more between her friend and his partner. Watching the woman now, she knew what she had imagined was real. Dana stood at the pulpit silently for a long moment, her eyes scanning the crowd in front of her. Then, she spoke. "Mulder would get a big kick out of knowing you were all here at his funeral." She smiled slightly, but there was no humor in the expression. "He would be amused that he was far more popular in death than he ever was in life." She shook her head. "I'm sure some of you are really going to miss him. Miss his mind. His sense of humor. His devotion to his beliefs. I know I will." She looked down at her folded hands on top of the wooden stand in front of her. "Those few here that he truly considered friends are invited to the gravesite." She sighed, then looked up at the silent people. "As for the rest of you, the show's over." With that, she turned and stepped away from the pulpit. Without looking back, she left the church. A few people in the front stood and followed her. The rest of the crowded church sat in silent shock for a while, then they began murmuring amongst themselves. "Can you believe that?" the woman next to Charlie said angrily. "What nerve!" Charlie looked at her, her eyebrows high. "Something tells me she has a lot of nerve. The good kind." She stood. "Excuse me. I have to get to the cemetery." Pine Lawn Cemetery wasn't far from the church, and it was easy to sneak onto the back of the short line of cars following the hearse. Once there, she stayed in the back. There were only a dozen or so people, which saddened her; he had so few friends. But she had a feeling that the few he had loved him a great deal. A few loyal friends were much better than dozens of superficial friends. Dana Scully stood at the front of the crowd. Next to her was another woman, older, with dark hair. The tall bald man also stood near her. Three men stood towards the back, and a handful of people stood behind them. Off to her right stood the black man who had spoken with little passion during the church service and another tall, official looking man. As she looked at him, he suddenly turned to look at her. Her breath caught as she was drawn into the intensity of his ice blue gaze. There was no anger there. A tiny bit of sorrow. And curiosity. About her. She pulled her eyes away from his and looked toward the minister, who was still talking as if he knew Fox. The dark haired woman wiped her eyes, but Dana stood stock still, staring at the casket in front of her. She looked as if she was about to break. Charlie hoped someone would be there to pick up the pieces when it happened. She flicked her eyes toward the man again, only to find his gaze still on her. A shiver ran up her spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold. When the service ended, Charlie turned and headed for her car. A part of her wanted to go to Dana and pass along her condolences, but she didn't know how welcome she would be since no one here knew her. Both of Fox's parents were dead, and she saw no one else she recognized from his distant family. It was best that she simply go. Halfway to her car, she turned for one last look. Both the man with the ice eyes and Dana were watching her, their brows furrowed. She took a deep breath, nodded to them, and continued on to her car. She couldn't do it. She couldn't talk to them. She didn't want to go into detail about how Fox Mulder saved her sanity almost ten years ago. It was too long a story, and one she hated to tell. How could she tell them the man who had kidnapped her, beaten and raped her, planned to kill her, had gotten away? That now, ten years later, she had to live with the knowledge that he was still out there. And that now, if he ever came after her again, Fox wouldn't be there to save her. ***** The Next Day Dana Scully's Apartment Georgetown, DC Margaret Scully was getting worried. Her daughter had made it through the funeral in one piece. And she had even cried on Walter Skinner's shoulder when it was over, something Margaret had seen while waiting in the limo for her daughter. They had returned to the motel, and Dana had slept hard. They caught their morning flight, and had arrived back here in DC on time. Now, her daughter was bustling about her apartment, straightening and dusting and generally cleaning as if there was no tomorrow. Maggie knew she should go home, but she didn't feel like she should leave just yet. A knock on the apartment door made her jump, and she rose from her seat at the kitchen table and walked toward it. "I'll get it, Dana." The younger woman didn't respond. Rising on her tiptoes, Maggie looked through the peephole. She felt a rush of relief when she recognized Mr. Skinner. She opened the door and smiled. "Please, Mr. Skinner. Come in." The Assistant Director smiled in return and walked inside. "Thank you, Mrs. Scully. And it's Walter. Please." Maggie closed the door and turned to face him. "Well, then, Walter. The next time you call me Mrs. Scully, I'll go back to calling you Mr. Skinner. It's Maggie." Skinner's smile widened. "Maggie." He looked over at Scully, who hadn't even looked in their direction. His smile faded. "How's she doing?" Maggie sighed. "Fine. Trying to keep herself busy. I'm almost afraid to know why." "Why?" Skinner frowned. "To keep herself from breaking down?" Maggie nodded. "I'm afraid the break would be more than she could handle at this point." "After all she's been through, it's bound to happen." Skinner shook his head. "But she's strong. She can make it. She's a survivor." "Would you people quit talking about me like I'm not even here?!" Maggie and Skinner both turned their heads sharply at the sound of Scully's shout. Maggie's eyebrows rose. "Honey, I'm sorry!" She glanced at Skinner. "We're sorry!" She moved toward her daughter. "I'm worried about you, Dana." Scully stood with her arms folded, watching them with a glare in her blue eyes. "Is that why you asked him over?" She nodded her head toward Skinner. "Because you think I need a masculine shoulder to cry on?" She unfolded her arms and began to pace. "Well, I don't! I don't need a man in my life! I've never needed a man in my life! It doesn't matter that I'm going to have a child and I'm not married. Or even in a relationship." She threw her hands into the air in a gesture of abandonment. "I've been perfectly content without a man for years now. Why would I want one? He'd just leave his underwear all over the floor. He'd never remember to put the toilet seat down. He'd drink milk straight from the carton. Ick!" Maggie would have laughed at her daughter's complaints if she weren't so worried. Dana never acted like this around other people. Maggie had been witness to these babbling rants before, and she was quite sure that Fox had seen a few before as well. But Maggie knew Skinner wasn't someone that Scully was that comfortable with. And besides, what Dana was babbling was nonsense. She was on a tangent nobody understood how she had arrived upon. She cast a worried look at Skinner, who stood slack-jawed and wide-eyed, gaping at his agent in astonishment. "Dana!" Maggie called, trying to get her daughter's attention. "Honey?" Dana ignored her, rambling on. "No woman NEEDS a man. They don't even need a man to have a baby, do they? They can just drop by a sperm bank, look through a list of perfect men, and take their pick. Or ask the perfect man. Only what if it doesn't work? What if that perfect man feels like it's his fault? All he wanted to do was make up for what he though was his fault, only it wasn't his fault. It was nobody's fault. It was God's fault. And when he couldn't help that way, he tried even harder to be a friend. But he was already a friend. My best friend. But then he left. Why did he leave? Why did he have to go?" Her blue eyes turned toward her mother. "Why, Mom? Why did he go? He must have known he wouldn't come back!" Her gaze turned to Skinner. "And you! You didn't bring him back! Why didn't you bring him back?! You told me we wouldn't stumble over him in a field, but that's exactly what you did! You found him. Dead! Dead, damn you!" She was screaming now. "Agent Scully!" Skinner roared. "Enough!" His voice startled Maggie. But it also caused Dana to still. The young woman took in a deep, stuttered breath. Then, she shattered. And nobody knew how to pick up the pieces. ***** End 1/10