Note: This story was originally published in Volume 2, Number 1 (Issue #7) of "THE X-PHILE--The Newsletter of The Original X-Files Fan Club", July/August 1995. ATTENTION! -- There is currently a very blantant plagerist on the Net that has taken credit for other people's stories as his own. "Silent Lines" is one of the stories he has taken credit for writing. This work is copyrighted, and we would appreciate any help in finding out who this plagarist is. ADDENDUM -- We have found the responsible plagerist. His name is Kevin Faux. Although, we have taken appropriate actions, we want to inform the fan fiction community of this individual. *** Silent Lines *** DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" and its characters are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine. This is for Peter--*my* Mulder. SILENT LINES by Elizabeth Rowandale Copyright (c) 1995 The little girl screamed when the first shot rang out. From their vantage point behind the department car Mulder and Scully couldn't see who had gone down. They knew it was someone in an FBI jacket. But neither of them let that fact materialize in their thoughts. It was the only way to work. Think of nothing else until the suspect had been apprehended... By some miracle, the child broke free of the suspect's grasp. The red-haired man took a step back and raised his gun. The movement afforded Mulder the clearest of shots--and he took it. For a moment Mulder's world fell silent. His breathing came to a halt. The rebound from the shot pulsed through his body. His shoulder pressed against Scully's and he knew she felt the shock as well. When his hearing returned he gulped in his next breath, and the scene before him sprang to life. A plethora of agents flooded onto the roughly paved street from their diverse station points. Scully pushed to her feet and Mulder followed her, more by instinct than by intention. She moved slowly around the car into the street, the tail of her beige trench coat lifting lightly in the wind. Four men had already surrounded the suspect where he lay at the base of his own driveway. A med team was racing across the front lawn toward the tightly knit group of bodies. Scully slowed her pace to a halt, her black pumps sounding a final resounding click on the dry pavement. Mulder nearly bumped into her in his eagerness to assess the scene. He deftly altered his path and touched a hand absently to her forearm as he passed her. Mulder pressed forward at a half-jog toward the group at the base of the driveway. He glanced to his side as he moved. A second gathering had formed around the injured agent. A med team was already at the scene. Mulder hesitated a moment, taking a further appraisal of this nearer group. His stomach twisted as he realized the group was dispersing much too quickly. The med team was no longer moving with practiced speed. *Damn*. Whoever the man was, they had already lost him. Mulder closeted his emotions for the time being and jogged the remaining distance to his original goal. Special Agent Winston Kramer turned toward him as he came to a stop. The med crew was lifting the tall, red-haired kidnapper onto a stretcher. "He's alive, but unconscious," Kramer said plainly. Mulder tore his gaze from the bloodied stretcher and looked toward Kramer. "Girl okay?" he asked. Kramer nodded with a glance toward the traumatized child. "Seems to be. They'll check her out." Mulder nodded. For the first time he felt the heat of the late afternoon sun. He wished he could take off his suit jacket. The scent of Queen Elizabeth roses tickled his nostrils. Just a warm spring day in a quiet suburb on the coast. He turned to comment on the irony of the scene to Scully and realized she had not caught up with him. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the street for her familiar figure, her light auburn hair that glowed so brilliantly in full sunlight. First he saw her, still standing where he had left her, only a few feet from their car. Then he followed her unwavering gaze to where the downed agent was slowly being lifted into the back of an ambulance. And for the first time, Mulder's gaze fell upon the prone agent's face. Jeff Harbison. The man Scully had been dating for the past month and a half. * * * * * "You want some more coffee, Mulder?" Kramer asked, tilting a paper cup in Mulder's direction. He shook his head. "No, thanks." Mulder sat on the edge of Kramer's desk, his gaze locked surreptitiously upon Dana where she stood beside the stairway at the far end of the room. He could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner how much this man had meant to her. He had known Scully to date before, of course. But all the signs of this liaison being something more than an exercise had been dangling beneath his nose for weeks, and he had seen nothing--until watching Scully standing alone in the street this afternoon. In those seconds, every small detail and hint and subtlety of the past weeks had flooded back to him. Only two nights ago he and Frank Dryson had been talking over a case Dryson had thought might find a place in the X-Files, when Mulder had had a spontaneous sunflower seed induced brainstorm regarding the case he and Scully were working on. He had beeped her pocket pager, knowing she was out to dinner with Jeff, and she had come into the office to see him at ten o'clock at night. She had stepped into the room and commanded the full attention of both Dryson and himself by her appearance alone. Beneath her open trench coat, she had worn a sleek black dress and matching pumps. Her hair had been fastened into a French twist, leaving a few loose tendrils to frame her face. Her delicate diamond earrings had sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights and highlighted the pale blue of her eyes. Mulder and Dryson had widened their eyes and whistled approvingly upon her approach. "Who's the fox?" Mulder had said teasingly. Scully had strolled confidently up to them. Her jaw had tightened as they spoke and she had lifted a disapproving eyebrow. Mulder had softened his expression as Dryson tactfully excused himself from the office. He had smiled at her, somewhat self- consciously and said, "No, honestly, Scully. You look--" He had almost said beautiful. But he had chickened out and said, "very nice." Now he wished he had said beautiful. Scully had nearly smiled. He was certain he had caught a flash of that sweet dimple at the corner of her mouth before her professional mask had slipped into place and she had asked evenly, "So, what have you got? Why am I down here?" Mulder crumpled his empty coffee cup and tossed it into a nearby trash can. His own mug waited for him on his desk downstairs, still filled with yesterday's forgotten coffee. He was hoping they were no longer needed here. He wanted to get downstairs to his office and he wanted to talk to Scully, though he hadn't a clue what he would say. She had trudged evenly through all the afternoon's procedural busywork, pale complected and quiet, shrugging off anyone's expressions of sympathy or concern. Mostly, he wanted to know she was okay. To tell her he was sorry. Maybe let her know he wasn't as dense as he seemed. But frankly, their relationship worked better when she was the pillar and he was the alien-obsessed misfit in need of her stable influence. The reversal made him nervous. Scully walked over to assistant director Skinner and said a few words to him Mulder could not hear. Skinner nodded and spoke something in return. Then, Scully turned and briefly but deliberately caught Mulder's gaze before starting toward the stairway to the basement. He caught up with her in their office. She was standing by his desk, sorting through a pile of manila folders. She looked up as he entered, smiled without feeling. "Hi," she said flatly. He nodded, but didn't speak until he had closed the office door. "How are you doing?" he asked as he moved across the room. He stopped by the tall cabinet of X-Files and leaned his shoulder against the cold metal. Scully turned in his direction though she skillfully avoided his gaze. After a brief pause during which she toyed with her small gold cross and cleared her throat, she said, "I'm okay." "I'm really sorry, Scully," Mulder said softly. "He seemed like a really good person." Scully cringed ever so slightly and turned away. Her whole carriage tensed and she busied herself once again with the file folders. She hooked her silky hair behind one ear. Mulder reached out and touched a hand to her shoulder and her muscles twitched beneath his fingers. "I'm gonna call it a night," he said. "Why don't you cut out of here, too?" Scully nodded, opening a folder and thumbing through its poorly organized contents. "I will--in just a few minutes. I want to get a few things together to work on at home tonight. We're so backed up on paper work." Mulder frowned, dissatisfied with the course of their conversation. He folded his arms across his chest and flexed and clenched his long fingers. Scully pulled out the desk chair and took a seat. He watched her turn a page of the file. Her hands were trembling softly. He fought the urge to close his hand over hers and quiet it. She glanced over her shoulder, aware that he had not yet moved. "'Night," she said--kindly, though at the same time testing his commitment to his statement. Mulder forced in a deep breath, watched her back for a moment, engaged in a silent debate. Scully leaned an elbow on the desktop and propped her forehead against her hand. She sighed heavily. Mulder pushed off of the file cabinet, brushed his fingers across Scully's back as he passed and picked up his coat from the seat of a chair. He hesitated in the doorway, turning his gaze to Scully once more. She was poised as if reading the papers on his desk, but from here he could see her eyes were closed. "Good night," he said at last, and when she did not respond he left the room. Mulder stopped just outside his office door, out of range of Scully's vision, and listened. No more than a count of ten could have passed before he heard her breath catch, heard her soft, tremulous sigh. His leg muscles tensed as if to propel him back into the room, but he stopped with hardly a movement. Scully had deliberately sought her privacy. Out of respect for her he could not go back. Or at least that was what he told himself. Mulder closed his eyes and let his head fall silently against the outside of the office wall. He stood for what felt like an eternity yet might have been no more than a minute. He breathed soundlessly--feeling with her, feeling *for* her. Then before Scully could move or catch a tell-tale sign of his presence, Mulder walked silently down the dimly lit hallway and mounted the deserted staircase. THE END