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From: TBishop27@aol.com

Wake Up Call
by TBishop27@aol.com
Rated:  R  (For Language)
Category:  Mulder Angst/MSR
Summary:  A photo from Bill Scully causes some unexpected consequences.
Disclaimer:  This Mulder and Scully are mine.  Chris never lets his play like
this.
Feedback:  Always welcome and encouraged.  As always, flames will be
forwarded to that dark part of my writer's imagination that roams the night
in search of victims.
Archive:  Yes, just as long as you drop me a line and tell me where.
Author's Note:  Well, this is a different direction for me.  I continue to be
intrigued by Scully's apparent metamorphosis into someone so much darker and
more complicated.  Wanted to explore it a bit.  This is very short and I feel
compelled to warn all you non-shippers that there's enough sugar at the end
of this to make your teeth ache.

WAKE  UP CALL

That damn picture.  I can't seem to get it out of my head.  I should have
known better than to open a letter addressed to me from Bill Scully, Jr.
Leave it to Scully's big brother to discover a way to kill me without risking
his spotless Navy record.  Murder by photograph.  Sounds silly but this
particular photo and the accompanying message did the job better than any
letter bomb could have.

I climb out of bed and stumble around in the darkness until I find what I am
looking for.  In the inside coat pocket of my gray pinstripe my hand finds
the source of my torment.  That damn picture.

It is a photo taken of Scully the day before she joined old Spooky on the
X-Files.  It's actually a very beautiful photo.  Considering the subject
matter, that doesn't surprise me.  Scully is, after all, incredibly
beautiful.  I may be dense but I'm not blind.  Switching on the light, I look
once more on her image.

So young.  Could she have aged that much in less than seven years?  She
looked so happy.  So innocent.  So full of promise.  Her eyes were shining
and her smile... God, that smile.  When was the last time I saw her smile
that bright?  Have I ever?

There are no worry lines on that face.  No pale skin.  No heavy makeup.  No
haunted eyes.  It is the face of a young woman ready to conquer the world.
She looks so full of life.

His written words cut into me like a thousand shards of flying glass.

'Just thought you might want to see the before picture.  This was taken the
day before you came into my sister's life.  Amazing, isn't it, what a sorry
son of a bitch can do to a person in such a short time?  Keep this to remind
yourself of what you've taken from my family...and what you've taken from
her.'

I am bleeding to death though it is my soul, not my blood, that is spilling
out onto the floor. I hadn't realized her transformation before Billy boy so
kindly pointed it out to me.  And as much as I hate him for it, he was
completely right to do so.  This young vibrant woman in the photo had been so
profoundly and thoroughly corrupted in the short span of seven years that the
toll on her physical appearance was remarkable.

Not that she is any less beautiful today, of course.  Scully is still every
bit the knockout she was the day I first laid eyes on her.  But she is so
very different from the Dana Scully who posed playfully on the stairs at her
parent's house where this photo was taken.  What comes to mind are the faces
of children who have lived through the horrors of war.  Young bodies housing
old spirits.  Victims of abuse.  The shattered look of one who has lived
through unspeakable tragedy.  My Scully is the casualty of association with a
man who, unintentionally and regretfully, has made her life a living hell.
And I had no idea how obvious it was.

How could I have missed it?  She came to me a beacon of light in the darkness
which I refer to as my life.  And I swallowed her up like a black hole,
smothering her fire, stealing from her the illumination of hope, trust,
faith.  And now that her spark has been lost, she is trapped with me in my
world of shadow.  She can no longer live among the creatures of the light.
Her soul has been damned to the purgatory of Fox Mulder's pathetic existence.
 She is tormented by demons others cannot begin to comprehend.

It is a testament to her incredible unyielding strength of will that she has
come this far and not given in to the temptation to end it all.  Though she
has never said as much, I know she has been tempted.  Especially after she
lost Emily.  I was afraid she wouldn't be able to recover from the grief of
the loss of her daughter.  And, in a way, she hasn't.  Emily's death sealed
Scully's fate.  One too many tragedies whose meaning is lost on mere mortals
have taken her into inescapable darkness.  Though it is a daily battle to
fight the ghosts of her recent past; she somehow finds the courage not only
to go on, but to keep me going as well.  I am in awe of her fortitude.

In my hand I hold a photo of Bill Scully's sister Dana.  Staring at it, I
finally realize why it is he despises me so.  Dana is as dead to him as his
sister Melissa.  And I am the cause of both women's demise.  Oh, I know
Scully would argue that she made her own choices.  That I am not to blame for
what has happened to her and her family.  That I am not to blame for what has
been done to her by our enemies.  But I'm not as convinced as she of my
innocence.

I should have sent her away years ago.  I could have.  If only I hadn't been
so goddamn selfish.  I let myself believe I could protect her from THEM, all
of them.  The consortium, the aliens, the men in black, the monsters, both
human and not, who make up the bulk of our work on the X-Files.  I told
myself I wouldn't let anything happen to her.  I would save her countless
times, if need be.  I would protect her from any and all harm.  I've done one
hell of a job, haven't I? It makes me wonder if my intentions weren't so much
to protect her as they were to keep her at my side.  After all, if I really
wanted to guarantee her safety and well being, shouldn't I have sent her as
far from me as possible?

So, yeah, I'm responsible.  I let this happen to her.  I stood there and
watched, in fact.  Watched while she lost the respect of her colleagues and
became a 'Spooky' like me.  Watched while she lost her innocence and faith.
Watched while THEY took her, and used her for their own evil purposes,
returning only part of who she had been.  Watched while she anguished over
heartbreaking personal losses perpetrated by our enemies.  Watched while she
suffered through the physical and emotional pain of her cancer.  A disease
that nearly claimed her life.  A terminal illness GIVEN to her as a means of
controlling me.  I watched while she was made a slave by a tiny microchip
implanted in her neck.  She lives with something she doesn't understand, that
could take her life as easily as it has given it, buried in her flesh because
she believes in me.  How could anyone possibly find me innocent?

The young woman in the photo is wearing a bright blue dress, very flattering
to her figure, and even more so to her lively eyes.  Scully wears black.  I'm
not sure when she stopped buying those colorful suits she used to favor.  At
some point she lost interest in wearing them.  Maybe because you can't see
color in the dark.  Maybe she just wanted to dress the part of Mrs. Spooky.
Black has always been my color.  The two of us, garbed in our shadow clothes,
create quite a stir when we walk into a room.  An uneasy stir.

I pretend not to notice the stares or hear the whispers about us.  Does she
as well?  They think we're creepy, crazy, scary.  'Look out, the Spooky's are
here.'  'Those two give me the creeps.'  'Who called them?'  'Did you hear
about their last case?'  'They're heeere.'  I've heard it all.  Including the
rumors of our love affair.  They've been speculating at the Bureau for years
about whether or not there was hanky-panky going on in the basement.  I've
overheard a few crude comments slandering Scully's reputation.  The whole
Bureau knows about the thing with Jerse.  That bothers me more than it seems
to bother her.  Scully doesn't give a damn what the gossip is.  She wouldn't
have been able to openly date Jack Willis, her Academy instructor, if she was
sensitive to the talk.  It's just more crap she has to put up with because of
me.  It seems there is no part of her life that I haven't touched.  And by
touched I mean soiled.

She has given up so much for me and because of me.  What have I given her in
return?  A sad and lonely life filled with horrible memories and so many
scars, both the kind you can see and the kind you can't see.
Why didn't she leave when she could have?  Why didn't she run away when she
should have?  It's too late now.  I know that and so does she.  And so does
Bill.  He loved his sister, Dana, very much.  He only wanted to protect her
from me.  He fought for her.  But I won.

So, what can be done to rectify this travesty inflicted upon an unsuspecting
beautiful and brilliant young woman.  I cannot turn back time.  I cannot undo
the past.  If I sent her away now, I would only end up hurting her more.  Her
place is with me.  Cursed as she is by that.  How can I give back to her what
I have taken away?  How can I move forward knowing I will most certainly be
taking more from her in the future?  What do I have to offer her besides my
eternal need?

Without a thought as to the hour, I quickly dress and head out the door.
It's suddenly clear that there is only one thing I can give to Scully.  The
only thing I have that is worthy of her devotion.  The one thing she's been
waiting for all these years.  The reason she stayed at all costs.  The
elusive truth she seeks but dares not hope to find.  Tonight I will show her
the truth.  Tonight I will take her in my arms and confess it all.  I will
make her believe.  I will kiss her so that she finally understands why all
these horrible things have happened to her.  I will make love to her until
the pain of the past is forgotten and her eyes sparkle again with the light
of happiness.  I will never let her know another moments loneliness as long
as I live and breath.  It is something I should have done long ago.

If it weren't for Scully's big brother, who knows when, or if, I might have
come to my senses.  Grinning, I pull my cell phone out of my coat pocket and
punch the number for directory assistance.  In no time at all I hear an
irritated and groggy "Yeah?" on the other end of the line.

"Bill?"

"Who the hell this?  It's one o'clock in the goddamn morning?"  He growls.

"It's Fox Mulder."

He's wide awake now.  "Christ!  What's happened?"

"Relax, Bill.  Everything's all right."

"Then why the fuck are you calling me?"

"I wanted to thank you."

He snorts.  "I'm sure."

"No. Really.  Thank you."  I try to put all the sincerity I can into those
words.

"What for?"  He's suspecting a set up.

"The wake up call."

"Are you drunk, asshole?  You're the one who woke me up!"

"No."  I reply.  "I've been asleep for the last seven years.  Rip Van Mulder
is wide awake now, thanks to you."

"Jesus."

"I love her, Bill."

There is silence on the other end of the line.

"I'm going to make things right."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"Maybe I'll send you a photo.  I'll warn you though, Bill.  That gleam in her
eye, it's going to be me."

"Keep your photo.  I don't think I could stomach that."  And he abruptly ends
our conversation.

He really is an asshole.  And I've probably just ruined any hope he had of
getting back to sleep tonight.  That's something, I suppose.

At this time in the morning it's a quick drive from my place to Scully's.
Before I know it, I'm pulling up in front of her apartment.  I wonder what
her reaction will be?  My pace quickens as I move up the steps, using my key
to enter so as not to wake her.  I imagine myself slipping quietly into bed
beside her and rousing her by nibbling on her earlobe or some other sensitive
and delicious part of her anatomy.  So intrigued am I by the thought, I
almost don't see her sitting there in the dark.  I am half way to her bedroom
before my eyes register the movement from the area of her sofa.  She sips at
a mug of tea.

"Scully?"

"I was hoping that was you, Mulder.  I left my gun on my night stand."  She
sounds weary.

"Sorry if I scared you.  I thought you'd be asleep."  As I approach I can see
her exhaustion from yet another bout of insomnia.  I actually think I sleep
better than she does anymore.  I sit down beside her on the sofa.

"What's up, Mulder?  I mean besides you and me?"

"That's what I came here about."

She sets down her mug.  "What?"

"You and me."

"It's too early in the morning for word games.  What's on your mind?"

I produce the photo from my pocket and hand it to her.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Bill sent it to me."

"Uh oh."  Her eyes search mine.

"There's a note on the back."

She switches on the lamp.  Her face flushes as she reads her brother's words.
 "God Damn him!"

"Actually, Scully, I just got off the phone with him.  I called to thank him."

"Thank him?  Mulder, you have my permission to shoot him!  That is, if I
don't do it first!  He is way over the line with this!  I have a good mind to
call Mom and tell her about it."

"But, sweetheart, he's right."

"No!"

"Yes, he is."  I take her hands in mine.  "You're not the same person that's
in that photograph.  And it's my fault that you've been through so much."

"Mulder, we've had this talk."

"No.  Not this talk.  This is the talk where I tell you how much all your
sacrifices have meant to me.  The talk where I apologize for being so
selfish, wanting to have you with me even though I knew I was putting you at
risk.  The talk where I finally tell you, 'Scully, I love you,' and you
believe it with all your heart.  The talk where I get down on one knee..."
And I do this as she watches in stunned silence.  "And I ask you to marry me."

Time has stopped.  All I can hear is the sound of my heart beating
frantically in my chest.  She just keeps staring at me as if she expects me
to morph into an alien or Eddie Van Blundht.  But when the tears start
falling, I know.  And that beautiful smile...the one in the
photograph...shines on her face and lights up her eyes.  "Is this the part
where I say yes?"

Fini

Life is too short to drink bad wine.