Dreamcatcher 13
Ally

Eeazy Sleep Motel Cleveland, Ohio May 4th 1999 4:01p.m.

She hadn't spoken. Not one word since they had left the hospital. Ignoring the curious stares of the medical personnel, Mulder had placed an arm protectively around her shaking shoulders, steering her toward the hospital's exit and the parking lot beyond.

She had stood, shivering slightly beside the car as she waited for him to unlock the doors, not resisting when he ushered her gently inside. Just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the smooth coolness of the side window.

{Take me home.}

Mulder had complied, breaking several speed limits as he wove the rental through the rush hour traffic. Occasionally he rested one hand protectively against his partner's shoulder, partly to protect her from being jarred or shaken by the vehicle's momentum, but also by a need to touch her. To let her know he was with her.

She remained silent. Unmoving. Unresponsive to his touch, as though she had retreated inside herself, to a place that had stolen her soul away from her.

If he lived to be a hundred, Mulder would never forget that look he had seen in her eyes when she had hovered over Gina Robik. Such horror.

Such hopelessness.

{Take me home.}

Blinking back the image, Mulder concentrated on the road ahead.

Whatever Scully has seen or experienced back at that Hospital, she was in no shape to talk about it now. That would come later. After he had taken care of her. Soothed her. *Protected* her.

Nothing else mattered to him.

By some small miracle, he managed to get them back to the motel in one piece, allowing the car to roll to a gentle halt in front of their twin rooms. He turned the key slowly in the ignition, quieting the engine, letting the silence wash over them for a few seconds before he reached over and placed two fingers underneath Scully's chin, drawing her head around so that she faced him.

"Let's get you inside."

He was rewarded when she nodded numbly, her shaking hands fumbling for the seat belt release. Mulder cringed as he watched those normally dexterous fingers failing hopelessly with the task, until finally, he covered both her small hands with his larger one, and released the clasp without difficulty.

Her eyes filled with tears again. "Mulder, what's happening to me?"

Her voice shook tremulously, seeking answers from him that he couldn't possibly hope to give her, and Mulder could do little more than to trace his thumb down the side of her face, pausing to push a strand of lank, lifeless hair behind her ears.

"It's OK, Scully. We're gonna figure this thing out. You and me. Together."

She shook her head slightly. Denying his words. "No...but..."

"*Yes*. But first we have to get you inside. You need to let me take care of you."

Looking into the depths of his chameleon eyes, turned almost black with the intensity of his words, Scully had felt just the smallest measure of calm return to her tortured mind.

And, through the layers of confusion and fear, she grasped onto the feeling with both hands, allowing it build inside of her, settling in her stomach. Warm and soft. Chasing away the darkness that lingered, replacing it with the hope that somehow, some way, he could help her to make everything right again.

**************

4:49p.m.

As good as his word, Mulder had not yet mentioned the events that had transpired earlier. He had simply focused himself on delivering what he had promised. He had taken care of her.

Leading her by the hand as one might lead a small child, he had crossed the room and entered the small, compact bathroom. She had been shaking still. Her skin was ice cold beneath his touch and although he was no doctor, Mulder was pretty sure that she was suffering from a mild case of shock. He needed to start by warming her up. His options were pretty much limited, and the bathtub seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was either that, or simply wrap her in blankets, holding her against him, transferring his own heat to her. But he sensed she needed this time. Time to allow her to come back to herself, to relax her mind and body beneath the soothing caress of the water.

So he had remained in the room only for as long as it had taken for him to fill the tub with water, carefully mixing hot and cold until the temperature was just right. Warm enough to take the lingering chill from her body, but not so hot that it would burn. And all the while she had watched him, never takiing her eyes off him for a second as she leaned against the tiled wall, trying desperately to communicate a kind of silent gratitude which stubborn pride prevented her from voicing.

But Mulder had known. He didn't need her to speak. Words weren't necessary.

Finally, he had stepped up close to her, searching her face with an intensity that stole Scully's breath away, satisfied in some small way by what he saw there. He gestured toward the bathtub, now three quarters full and emitting spirals of heat- filled steam that rapidly turned to condensation as it hit the tiled surface of the walls.

"Take as long as you need. I'll be right outside."

And then he was gone. Leaving Scully staring after him, breathing in the lingering scent he left in his wake. A combination of spicy cologne, sweat and that unique male muskiness that was Mulder. In all the years they had spent together, that scent represented only one thing to her.

*Safety.*

She noticed that he had left the door slightly ajar, and under normal circumstances she might have closed it. But right now she needed to feel his presence. Needed to know he was close.

{Don't leave me, Mulder.}

{I'll never leave you, Scully.}

She *needed* him. Maybe now it was time to finally acknowledge to herself just how much.

Sighing heavily, feeling exhausted suddenly, Scully undressed quickly and stepped into the sweet-smelling water, allowing it to close over her as it worked its magic, sinking deeper and deeper until it covered her completely.

On the other side of the door, Mulder remained in the center of the room, listening intently for any signs that his partner might somehow need him. He relaxed, though, when the sounds of the water lapping against the sides of the tub reached him. He didn't expect her to surface anytime soon, so he occupied himself by preparing the small room for her.

First, he loosened the covers on the bed, pulling them down about a quarter of the way and folding them over. She was exhausted, she needed to sleep. Maybe when she was rested, they could begin to get to the bottom of this. To figure out just what it was that was happening, to understand why this was happening to *her*.

He didn't profess to have any insight into all of this, but as he had watched the way she had acted in that hospital room, a niggling voice had begun to speak to him. And while he didn't want to acknowledge it fully, he was becoming more and more convinced that somehow, inexplicably, his partner might well hold the key in to figuring out what had happened to those girls.

He shook his head, not wanting to linger on this mind-numbing prospect right now and instead turned his attention to the rest of the room.

The sunlight still streamed through the open drapes, the beams cutting a swath through the gloom. Bright enough for the dust motes that danced inside them to be clearly visible. It was too bright.

He crossed over to the drapes and drew them together tightly. Satisfied when the light disappeared, he switched on a single lamp, watching as the room became suffused in its warm glow.

In this false twilight of his own making, Mulder moved softly, his feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor beneath them. He frowned as he reached the small, squat refrigerator to the side of the chipped wooden desk, unsure suddenly as to whether he was doing the right thing.

Neither he nor Scully drank regularly. On the very rare occasions when they had chosen to dine at a nicer restaurant when on a case, she had normally stuck to white wine spritzers, Mulder to bottled, imported beer. He couldn't recall a time when she had ever indulged herself in anything stronger.

But, even she, with all her stubborn determination, couldn't possibly deny that these weren't normal circumstances, so Mulder shook off any lingering reservations and removed two tiny bottles of brandy from the mini bar. No doubt the tight-assed bureaucrats back in Washington would have something to say when they received his latest batch of expense reports. Mulder shrugged. Screw 'em. He'd long ago stopped worrying about what they thought of him anyway.

He set the two bottles down on the desk, allowing them to slowly reach room temperature, forcing himself to finally sit down on the edge of the sofa. Waiting. Determined not to give in to his concern and call out to her. She'd come out when she was ready.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long. No more than a half hour had elapsed before he recognized the sounds of water swirling around the drain as the tub emptied. Five minutes later Scully emerged, clad in a pair of emerald flannel pajamas he had never seen before. A towel lay across her shoulders to catch the droplets of water that hung off her recently washed hair and although she still looked drawn, Mulder was at least heartened to see the small spots of color that had returned to grace her cheeks.

She paused in the center of the room, eyes downcast, as though she were ashamed somehow. Mulder felt his chest tighten at the sight of her. She looked so tiny, so fragile and more lost than he had ever seen her.

"I'm...I'm sorry Mulder."

He was on his feet in a second, reaching her in two short strides. She cringed slightly, but didn't seek to escape him. Not this time. She allowed him to cup her chin in his hand, lifting her head in answer to the gentle pressure, feeling the feather-light touch as his thumb caressed her smooth skin softly.

"Don't be. Not with me. *Never* with me, Scully."

He traced his hand down her neck, along her shoulder and beyond, until it rested against the small of her back. "C'mon. You need to keep warm."

Scully resisted him slightly. The feel of his touch was comforting, and she didn't want to break the connection just yet. If, as she suspected, he was about to steer her toward the bed, she would have to let him go. She wasn't ready to do that yet.

As if reading her mind, Mulder led her gently to the sofa, leaving her standing for a second as he reached behind her to retrieve the soft woolen blanket he had placed there earlier.

"Here."

With infinite tenderness, he carefully brought the material around her, wrapping her in its heavy warmth, before removing the towel from around her neck. His movements were so quiet, so measured, that Scully could have cried. Instead, she felt a tremulous smile wash over her lips as he took her hand in his, drawing her down on the sofa to rest her body against his. And then, the feeling of him twisting away from her slightly as he stretched his arm out, picking up the glass into which he had recently poured the small shot of brandy.

"I want you to drink this."

Scully took the glass from him and regarded its contents dubiously. "Mulder, I..." The words died on her lips as she felt his fingers in her hair, combing patiently as he freed the tangles within.

"Sshhhh, Scully. It's OK. Just drink it."

Closing her eyes, she obeyed, melting herself against him as the alcohol cut a fiery trail down her throat before settling pleasantly in her stomach. She sighed as she felt herself relax, the tension leaving her body, until there was nothing. Just Mulder's hands. And the feel of his breath on the back of her neck as he worked.

Scully drifted.

"You hungry?"

His voice reached her from far away, invading that wonderful place that lies somewhere between awake and asleep. She shook her head slightly, unable to summon up the energy to even open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy, exhaustion stealing even this most basic reflex from her. And even as she succumbed to sleep, she felt Mulder loosen the empty glass from her hand, removing it from her as he buried his face in the sweet smelling softness of her hair.

"It's OK. Go to sleep."

She felt his arms tighten around her, drawing her closer, protecting her, cocooning her in his protective embrace, allowing her, finally, to fall into nothingness. Her last conscious thought one of safety. Of protection.

Until once again, sleep came to claim her.

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