3 Days

Authors: SpookyLady & Lavinia's Premonition
Rating: PG (for one or two bad words)
Spoilers: 3, One Breath, minor references to Squeeze, Tooms, The Erlenmeyer Flask, and Duane Barry.
Summary: Tim Colton takes a good look into the twisted mind of Fox Mulder.
Disclaimer: Well, let's see: Fraser, Ray and Diefenbaker belong to Paul Haggis and Alliance. Oops, that's the disclaimer for Due South fan fiction. Mmmm.. (*Sob*... Gawds we miss that show..)
Mulder, Scully, Colton, and Mrs. Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and FOX. They don't belong to us, and we don't intend to infringe anyone's copyrights. We're just two poor teenagers with twisted minds who just read a little too much fan fiction.

"Agent Peterson, we would like to hear your report."
I yawned and tried to stay awake. This FBI conference was slowly transforming me into a zombie. And I mean slowly.
One more report about the crime rate in a metropolitan city and I would lose my mind (or what was left of it) and run out screaming in horror.

I changed a lot since the Tooms case. After Scully uttered a pretty nasty remark concerning the career ladder and my ass, I couldn't understand why she said it. After they caught Tooms, I understood what a moron I was. Later I heard that he died, nearly killing Mulder. Then the Bureau grapevine was overloaded with reports about Mulder's kidnapping and closing of the X-Files. The last thing I heard was that Scully being kidnapped by a psychopath ex-FBI agent, and X-Files being reopened.
I nearly yawned, but I managed to make it look like I was trying to sneeze. God, if I knew this would be so long, I would at least get a cup of coffee. I closed my eyes and tried to think about the case I was working on. I definitely dozed off because when I opened my eyes again I saw a heap of sunflower seeds on the table. Only one person I know would bring sunflower seeds to an official no-nonsense FBI conference.
"Mulder?" I mouthed.
He turned around and looked at me. I must have frowned. The guy looked more like a loonie then a law enforcement officer.Dark circles under his eyes, sullen face, beard stubble.

"We would like to hear your report, Agent Mulder."

He delivered the whole report automatically, his voice monotone and bored. The report lacked any life, which was quite unusual for Spooky. Just facts: number of cases since reopening of the X-Files - 34, 30 of them successfully solved, three of them closed due to missing evidence, Agent Scully's case still open.

"Thank you, Agent Mulder," Blevins said. "An excellent report."
Mulder rolled his eyes upwards. No wonder, I would do the same. Blevins would say it to every idiot.
Then we listened to more reports, and I dozed off again, only waking up when Peterson kicked me under the table. At the end of the conference he exited the room, moving like a wind up toy.

Well, I have to admit that Mulder is not my favorite person, but seeing anyone in this state makes you feel kinda awful. I don't have any hard feelings against him. At the moment.

As I was in the cafeteria, when I looked up to see Mulder walking. into the room, and all conversations immediately stopped. He looked even worse then the day before, like the death itself: his face a lifeless frown, his eyes blank and dark, cheekbones standing out on his sullen face.

He sank down into the chair, and listened to the silent mull of the conversation. A group of agents at a table near him burst into laughter. All of them pointing and looking back at Mulder. The other Mulder would have decked them right there and then. This new guy looked like he was going to cry. Looking back at my untouched lunch, I had a tingly feeling in the back of my head that I'd never had before. Pity.

Mulder took out a tattered case file and put it on the table in front of him. The guy was pretty much oblivious to everything that was happening in the damned lunchroom. I glanced at him one more time, now losing the remains of my appetite.

The pity now started to grow into guilt. I gritted my teeth and started to eat my hamburger, which seemed to be made of lead. The laughter became louder, and Mulder stood up, picking up the case file.

After he left, I saw something was lying on the floor near his table. I picked it up, seeing that it was a picture of Dana, gagged and tied up, her head sticking out of a car trunk. Throwing the damned hamburger into the nearest trash bin and running away screaming started to seem like a good idea to me.

Mulder definitely needed help. If I nearly threw up after seeing the picture of Dana once, I just can imagine how he felt after looking at it for three months. I put the picture in my bag, stood up and headed towards the rooms. Mulder was in room 1013, as usual. Almost all hotel rooms he ever lived in contained the number '13'. I guess that's one of the reasons why they call him 'Spooky'.

I knocked at the door. Then opened it when there as no answer. The room was dark. snapped on the lights and froze. Mulder was sitting on the bed, holding his gun in the right hand, safety off. It was obviously aimed at his head a moment ago.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" I yelled, snapping the gun out of his hand. "Are you insane?"
"Yes, I am, Colton, if it pleases you. I was just experimenting," he blurted out, grinning sarcastically.
"You need to get help," I mumbled, sitting down into the nearest chair. All that activity made me a little dizzy.
"Where from?" he asked, leaning back against the pillows. "Every damn psychiatrist in town is afraid to see me. You see, I've got a reputation. Even outside the FBI."
"Wanna get a beer?" I suddenly blurted out.
"I am hearing this from Agent Colton?" he muttered, trying to grin. This time his efforts failed, and he followed me out of the room without another word.

He slumped onto the barstool, barking "One beer" to the waitress. For about half an hour he just sat there and downed one beer after another, then he abruptly he started talking.
"I'm slowly becoming insane, Colton. It's three months since she's gone. I can't stand it anymore. It kills me to sit here and not be able to do anything."
Suddenly he snorted, then started laughing. His laughter was incredibly eerie, high, piercing, almost hysterical, scaring me to death.
"Damn, I can't believe I'm sitting here and baring my soul to the Career Boy! What is with me? Three months, I haven't slept for more then five hours each day. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't breathe. Dammit, and these bastards just sit there and laugh their asses off while I sit here and get drunk with a high profile prick!" he yelled, staring at the wall behind me.
"They are just waiting for me to go crazy. Then they'll have a big party. The black-lunged bastard will say a speech: 'Spooky Mulder is finally in the mental institution! It's a pity he didn't got committed there a couple of months ago, 'cos if he would, then there would be one less grieving family and one more lunatic tucked safe away from humanity!"

He ordered one more beer and sat silently, watching the people walk in and out of the bar. His fingers were absently tapping on the bar counter. His cell-phone rung, disturbing the silent awkwardness between us.

"Hello?" he snapped into the phone, his voice as sharp as a cutting knife. "Fox Mulder speaking."
I sipped my drink and tried to guess who the caller was, when the tapping stopped.

"What?" he gasped, dropping his glass. I watched the change in his face with amazement. It changed from the mad frown to almost humble. Then he started to breathe in short gulps, and I, having a medical education, was afraid he was going to hyperventilate.
"Mrs. Scully, I'll be there as soon as I can," he almost whispered, trying to regain his breath. He punched the button on his cell-phone, and leaned back, his eyes closed. I could see that a grin started to spread across his face.

"She's in North Georgetown Medical Center. In coma. But alive," Mulder muttered, smiling to no one in particular. He threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and stood up, nearly knocking over the barstool.
"I have to go to see Scully. Tell the guys at the conference not to expect me in the near future." With these words he ran out of the bar. I was left to sit there, to ponder the fine line between raving of a madman and the words of a man who had too much to drink.

The End

There is, was and is and shall be...
Lav'sPrem

Feedback, flames and marriage proposals (just kidding *S*) are welcome. Back