Dreamcatcher 11
Ally

Frank's Diner. Cleveland, Ohio May 4th 1:58 p.m.

Scully paused, the french fry halfway to her lips, which were now twisted in an expression of incredulity so pronounced, Mulder could swear he heard the words a split second before she uttered them.

"You've got to be kidding, right?"

They were seated opposite each other in a corner booth far enough away so that the restaurant's other diners couldn't overhear their conversation. Mulder had picked Scully up from the coroner's office, and quashing any arguments with a determined guiding hand at the small of her back, had swept her out of the building and into the gloomy depths of the 60's style diner.

{You need to eat.}

Okay, so the fact that she had spent the last thirty minutes filling up on calorie- laden junk was a moot point. She realized Mulder had been right earlier when he had suggested she needed the carbohydrates. Besides, it was delicious, and her partner had offered to pay.

After hearing his story, she knew why. If he had expected to listen to that *and* have her pay for her own food she would in all likelihood have calmly pulled out her gun and shot him.

Twice.

Wagging the wilting piece of fried potato in his direction accusingly, she shook her head. "Mulder, that's insane. You're basing this theory on what, exactly? The testimony of a six-year-old kid."

"Six and a quarter, Scully."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Why didn't you say so to begin with? Those three months make all the difference." She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Mulder! I mean, you have to admit that this is pretty wild even for you."

Mulder's only response was to capture the errant fry between his fingers. Stealing it easily, he regarded it thoughtfully. "Be careful where you point that thing, Agent Scully."

She felt herself redden slightly. The sudden heat she felt spreading across her cheeks told her that yet again, her partner had got one over on her. Usually she found it kind of amusing. The verbal sparring was all a part of the unique relationship they shared, and most times she enjoyed the challenge it presented. Right now though, it just annoyed the hell out of her.

{Deep breaths, Dana.}

"Mulder, I'm trying to be serious here."

Scully's words had the desired effect, and he sobered abruptly, dropping the fry on to the table where it lay in a small pool of ketchup, congealing greasily. He had expected this kind of reaction from her. Hell, after six years of having her punch holes in his theories he expected nothing less, and even though he was aware that his theory sounded implausible, much of what he spoke of had come directly from the mouth of Caitlin Stevens. And despite what his partner may or may not think, he had *believed* her. No kid's imagination was that good. He didn't care how high her damn IQ might be.

"I know you're serious, Scully. I recognize the signs. But I'm serious too. I believe that something is taking these kids as they sleep."

"Mulder, c'mon..."

He held up his hand to silence her. "Hear me out, Scully, please. Caitlin Stevens told me about a place she had visited. That *they* had visited. Felicia Slabbert, Debbie Hollis, Gina Robuk...*all* of them. She talked of a place full of sunshine and trees. Flowers and butterflies. Every little girl's paradise. The way she described it...she couldn't have made it up."

"Look, Mulder, I'm not suggesting she was *lying* to you, but this child is six years old...sorry, six and a *quarter* if you insist...and I'm not refuting that she *believes* in what she was saying. Hell, at six years old I believed that fairies lived at the bottom of the garden. But that didn't make them *real*"

Mulder raised his eyebrow. "Didn't it? How do you know that, Scully? Did you stop believing in fairies because you wanted to? Or because some all-knowing adult *told* you you should?"

"That's irrelevant, Mulder, and you know it. I stopped believing in fairies because I got older and good common sense told me they couldn't possibly exist. Obviously a phase you skipped."

She picked up a rapidly cooling fry and bit down hard on it. She hated these kinds of conversations. Hated the way her partner could twist her words to suit his every argument. Hated the way her voice became high-pitched and whiny as she resorted to cheap insults in an effort to get her point across.

Mulder, however, parried her sarcasm effortlessly. "I never believed in fairies, Scully. Little green men were my kick, you know that. Look, all I'm saying is that this kid would have to have a hell of an imagination to come up with all that stuff. I mean, OK, lets say for a minute that she *is* yanking my chain. Where would she get it all from?"

Scully shrugged helplessly. "Mulder, you're asking me questions I can't possibly hope to answer. If it was just about flowers and trees and butterflies I'd take a guess that we're talking about a child with overexposure to *The Wizard of Oz*."

"OK, I'll buy that theory, Agent Scully. Now explain the giant spiders. The darkness. The man with no face who chases them down never ending tunnels, screaming out their names?"

His voice began to rise. He wasn't even aware of it. "Explain to me how this innocent six-year-old cherubic child could give me a graphic description of what it looks like for Elizabeth Armstrong to have the fluid literally sucked out of her body?"

Scully remained silent, not knowing how to respond to his sudden anger without resorting to similar tactics. Mulder, on the other hand, continued with his tirade, to the bemusement of the handful of other patrons seated at the diner's nearby tables. Once on a roll, there was usually no stopping him. He didn't much care who heard him or what their opinions might be.

"Give me your *scientific* evaluation as to how she could describe the sound of bones being ground together until they resembled nothing more than pulp? You think she got all that from a trip down to the local video rental store toting a fake ID?"

"Maybe she's disturbed, Mulder. Disturbed about what she's heard about the murder. Kids pick up on things, and what their conscious mind doesn't necessarily understand, their *subconscious* fills in the gaps."

She watched helplessly as her partner savagely grabbed at his jacket which he had casually draped over the chair back. It was rare she saw him this riled by a case. Usually, even in the face of the most horrific events, he remained detached. Professional. Balanced.

*Usually.*

But not right now.

And deep down she wondered just how much she had contributed to his state of mind. The events of the morning were still a gaping wound between them. In the heat of the moment they had both said things they probably wished they could take back.

{{Don't presume you can tell me what I can or can't do, Mulder. You're not important enough for that.}}

Scully closed her eyes as she remembered the look on his face when he had tried to persuade her to let the paramedics check her over. She'd just wanted him to back off. To stop trying to damn well *protect* her all the time. The biting, hurtful words had left her mouth before she could stop them forming.

Surly he had to know that they were just that?

Meaningless angry *words*.

Why did they seem to wind up arguing about everything lately? She was almost afraid to delve too deep. Afraid she wouldn't like the answer.

"Mulder..."

He ignored her. Casually waving his hand in her direction he headed for the door without a backward glance. "Finish your food. I'm going to the hospital."

Scully swallowed heavily. A combination of tiredness and frustration over her inability to tell him what he needed to hear had provoked a sudden onrush of tears to form behind her closed eyes.

{For Christ's sake, Dana. Stop it. Don't even go there.}

The sudden sharp trilling of her cell phone made her jump visibly in her seat, and she couldn't help but notice that her hands were shaking as she fumbled around in her coat pocket, finally locating the phone and savagely depressing the Send button to silence it.

"Scully."

Had Mulder still been seated opposite he would have had no trouble reading the subtle change in her expression as she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone.

In the space of a heartbeat, a myriad of questions flittered across her face, her features finally settling on an expression of abject disbelief.

"Can you repeat that, please. I'm not sure I caught it."

Again the young, male voice. Recounting the results of the toxicological analysis on Elizabeth Armstrong's ravaged tissue for the second time. Grabbing a wrinkled napkin from where she had thrown it earlier, Scully rapidly transferred his findings onto it.

Even as she automatically thanked him for the speed at which they had gotten the results to her, she was searching her mind for a possible explanation.

{There has to be some mistake here. This isn't possible.}

But, like exclamation points, the four words stared accusingly back at her.

*Toxin. Proteases. Lipases. Amylases.*

In simple terms, the four main enzymes used in the breaking down of cellular material. Found, as the young lab tech had helpfully supplied, mainly in the venom of certain insects and arachnids.

*Spider* venom.

Scully began to shake.

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