DISCLAIMER:  Mulder and Scully and the search for the truth all 
belong to Chris Carter and Co.  I'm just borrowing them.  I 
promise to return them in no worse condition than Chris would.:)
TITLE: HIGH TIDE
AUTHOR: Elizabeth Rowandale (bstrbabs@gmail.com)
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATIONS: SAR, MSR, Casefile, X-File
ARCHIVE: ONLY ON AUTHOR'S OWN WEBSITE UNTIL STORY IS COMPLETED.
TIMELINE: Takes place 11 months after "Water's Edge", continuing 
in that universe.  This universe turns AU sometime after "all 
things" and before "Requiem".

HIGH TIDE
by
Elizabeth Rowandale (bstrbabs@gmail.com)
Copyright (c) 2004


Chapter 5:


"Problems have solutions
a lifetime of fucking things up fixed in one determined flash
everything's blue
in this world
the deepest shade of mushroom blue
all fuzzy"
                     --"The Downward Spiral", Nine Inch Nails




The dream was nothing new, but it wasn't quite what she had 
expected.  She'd had enough nightmares of James Maley and knives 
and torn flesh in her life to accept the occasional return in the 
flow of things.  And if she'd had to lay money on what darkness 
might disturb her sleep this night, she would have laid her 
savings on the slime that had scarred her arm.

So, the dream of the aliens caught her by surprise.

*The deep pull in the back of her neck.  Like a heavy hand, 
shadowed and translucent, grasping her thoughts.  Directing her, 
drawing her with unwavering insistence.  And she's screaming 
inside, but unable to fight the pull.  Her will slips further and 
further away.  Until she's following commands and believing she's 
moving of her volition despite Mulder's protests.  Because this 
is right, this is how it should be, this is what she has to do.  
The others are up ahead.  She's moving toward the light where 
they're gathered on the pavement, orange and yellowish green, and 
she glances over her shoulder for just a moment--

--to see Christopher behind.  Too far behind, yelling for his 
mother, tear stains glaring on his white cheeks, and then behind 
him, a darker shadow in the distance.  Moving.  Ever closer.  
Taking form behind Christopher, and there's a silhouette--a 
knife.  Oh GOD, THERE'S A KNIFE!  And where's Mulder?  And the 
shadow is right behind Christopher, and she has to help, but 
she's turning away.  She's turning away and moving again toward 
the others and she can't--*

"Oh, God--"  Scully jerked awake in the darkness, a thin sheen of 
sweat coating her skin and flashes of dream memory transposing 
onto the drapes of her bedroom window.  *Dream.  It was just a 
dream.*  Her hand moved out in the darkness, meeting with 
Christopher's back where he had settled for the night between his 
parents.  Warm.  He was warm.  She scooted down below her pillow, 
bringing her face level with her son's, less than an inch away, 
and held her breath as she listened for his.  Deep and even.  
Warm puffs of air tickling the fine hair of her cheek.  He was 
fine.  Sleeping peacefully.  Oblivious to the horrors that 
hovered just outside the borders of his quiet life.

Mulder's breath was strong behind Christopher's.  A comforting 
bulk of shadow in the room, vague silhouette of an arm draped 
across Christopher.

Scully closed her eyes and tried to slow her breath.  But closing 
her eyes only rushed her with the images of the dream once again.  
She lay still for a moment, unwilling to break the physical 
contact with her son, then she turned away and slipped carefully 
from the bed.

She washed up in the bathroom, cooling her skin and shivering in 
the night air of the apartment.  She wrapped herself in her robe 
and crept back into the bedroom.  Her warm imprint left in the 
mattress beside the boys she loved was deeply inviting.  But she 
wasn't ready to close her eyes yet.  Her mind was running too 
fast, over too many threats and decisions and possible scenarios.

She needed to be close by.  To have visual confirmation of her 
family's safety.  The chill of distance in her dream was still 
too vivid on her skin.

So, she chose the wicker chair by the bedroom window, curling 
into its cushion, feet tucked beneath her.

She watched the small patch of stars visible through the trees, 
above the far building of their apartment complex.  She 
remembered another pattern of stars that had called to her once 
upon a time, in a lifetime that seemed too far away sometimes.  
She let her mind race, let it run over and through all the 
rampant paths that had disturbed her dreams.  The pretense of 
sleep was left far behind.


*****


Mulder opened his eyes twice before reality caught hold of his 
thoughts.  Their bedroom.  Still dark.  Christopher was here.  
But Scully...where...

He squinted into the darkness, scanning the room, gaze drawn 
toward the pale glow from the window that seemed much too bright 
so soon after sleep.  Her silhouette was there, blending with the 
line of the chair.  He pushed back the security of the blankets 
and rose to his feet.

"Scully?"

She turned her eyes his way, not startled, expecting his 
approach.  In moments like this it was hard to believe their 
lives were what they were.  She was his Scully, half in shadow as 
they had once lived their lives, jaw set in strength and 
determination, gentle lines in her brow, speaking volumes to the 
depth and quantity of thoughts running through her enigmatic mind 
tonight.  A little distant, but never cold.  And yet she was as 
he had never seen her in days past; silk robe falling low at the 
line of her breasts, white leg draped across the arm of her 
chair.

"Hey," she said simply, voice hoarse and soft with sleep.

Mulder nodded toward the slumbering figure on their bed.  "He's 
fine."

A faint smile graced her lips, but her eyes remained dark.  
"Yeah."

He moved closer to her in the silver light from the courtyard and 
pool below.  He could feel her breathing.

"What about you?" he asked.

Scully nodded, thoughts still not in the moment.

Mulder reached out and combed his fingers through her hair.  She 
caught him off guard, gripping his wrist and pulling his hand 
hard to the back of her neck.  The skin beneath her hair was 
warm, yet goose bumps pressed against his hand.  "I want it out," 
she breathed, and the depth of her voice sent a hot charge up his 
spine.

He took a moment to breathe, gather his perspective.  He sank to 
a crouch before her, bringing their faces mere inches apart.  "I 
know, Scully.  I know you do.  So do I, believe me.  And we're 
almost there."

She shook her head, lifted an eyebrow.  "No, we're not.  Not if 
we go into hiding.  It wouldn't be feasible from somewhere else, 
as someONE else, would it?"

*Dammit.*  Why hadn't he heard where this was going?  "Hey.  That 
won't stop us, Scully.  You're two and a half weeks out from your 
final injection before the procedure.  This may all be over by 
then.  And if it's not...just one more.  I have enough of the 
vaccine.  We do one extra, then we come home and we do it.  
Okay?"

Her eyes had narrowed, mind running at hyper-speed behind her 
quiet posture.  The lines in her brow hadn't lessened.  "I want 
to do it now," she said.

Mulder blanched.  "No.  We can't risk that, we can't...  We need 
to wait.  Your progress needs to be monitored.  They keep your 
chip preserved and watch you, and at the first sign of--"

"You said it yourself, we should be back by then.  Nothing will 
happen overnight."

"I said we *might* be.  Scully, I know you want this.  I know.  
But right now, we need to get Christopher and you and me to 
safety, and we need to not take chances with your health.  You 
owe that to yourself and to your son."

Her eyelid flickered with dry sarcasm.  "My son--deserves a 
mother, who is not a liability."  He caught the vaguest tremor in 
her carefully controlled voice, a flash of wetness in her eyes, 
but her firm stance did not waiver.

"Scully..."  Mulder settled forward onto his knee, stomach to her 
leg, slipping his free hand in to press against the sensitive 
place at the side of her ribs.  "We both want the same thing.  
And we will get there.  One step at a time.  Soon.  I know how 
hard the injections are on you, and I hate it.  I *hate*...to 
watch you suffer like that.  And the last thing in the world I 
want is to ask you to go through that longer than you have to, 
but--"

"They're coming," Scully said simply.

He blinked at her, losing the thread.  "What?"

"I think...there's another Calling coming."

"A 'calling?'"

"The chip has been...I've been...*feeling* it...recently."

Understanding settled like acid.  "You think the aliens are 
summoning the abductees for something?  Assembling them?"

She shrugged, shook her head, hair falling across her forehead.  
"I don't know.  I have no idea.  But I know that what I've been 
feeling is...it's not the first time.  And the last time, it 
wasn't long before I was waking up in a hospital bed and asking 
you what time it was."

*And last time you tried to tell me and I didn't listen.  Oh, 
Christ.*  "Scully..."

"Ask them.  *You* worked there, do you have any experience?  Is 
it possible my levels are high enough already?  Could I take the 
next injection early?  Could--"

Mulder swiped a hand down his face.  "All right.  Okay, okay...  
Maybe...maybe we can look into it.  I'll send a message to my 
contact.  I can take a blood sample, send it to them.  They can 
make the assessment from there.  Maybe..."

"Okay," she whispered.

And his stomach hurt.  "Scully, I don't want to--"

"I know.  I don't want to do anything stupid, either, Mulder.  
You have to know *that*."

He tried to smile, but could only close his eyes.  He released a 
heavy breath through his nose.  The succeeding inhalation filled 
his head with Scully's perfume.  "We still have to start clearing 
out tomorrow--today.  We can't risk staying here.  We'll send off 
the sample as soon as we can.  We should get the results in a few 
hours, if my contact's there to receive the sample.  Then, 
maybe...maybe they'll rush the scheduling for me, I don't 
know...set up the procedure so we could go there on our way out 
of town.  Dammit, Scully..."  He had rushed through the words, 
trying to work the logistics as a matter of course, but the truth 
of the facts was burning through his cool.

She understood it all.  "I know.  But, Mulder...I *need* to do 
this.  I can run from Maley.  That could fail or it could work.  
But I can't run from what's *inside* me.  I have nothing to 
battle that with.  *Only* this procedure.  That hope that you 
brought--is the only one I have."

Leave it to Scully to yank him by the groin.  He gazed up at her, 
half in incredulousness, half in admiration.  They were quiet for 
a moment.  He could hear Christopher snoring, and Tasha snuffling 
not far beyond.  Then, "Were you this emotionally manipulative 
before I slept with you?"

Her reply was easy.  "Yes."  And the teasing smile that washed 
over her features was fleeting but genuine and it kept him moving 
forward.

He nodded.  "All right.  Let's get the blood sample.  I'll get it 
to my contact.  It'll be waiting for him when he comes in in a 
few hours."

A slight nod and a tensing of her throat was the only reply he 
received.

"Heeeyyy..."  He softened the word into a caress and lifted his 
hand to stroke her cheek.

Scully closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.  When she 
opened her eyes, revealing a thin wash of tears, she held his 
gaze for a lengthy breath and spoke a thousand thoughts without 
words.

"We're gonna be all right," he whispered.

She didn't move.  But didn't look away.

And they were here in this world they used to live in.  Mulder 
and Scully fighting against colonization, fighting for Scully's 
life, for her right to a happy, healthy child.  But he was 
looking at Scully now, and wanting to see her soft freckles in 
the morning sunshine and take her on that trip to Ireland he had 
promised and stand in a green meadow overlooking the sea cliffs 
and watch her red hair flying in the open wind and see her smile 
at Christopher running through the grass.

Once upon a time he had never dared to dream that far.  Scully's 
hand in his darkness was all he had hoped for.

While he was lost in his reverie, Scully had locked back onto 
reality.  She pushed up from her chair, drawing a gentle hand 
across his face as she stepped past him, a rush of perfume and 
silk washing his senses.

"Let's do it."  The husky voice of determination that had always 
come as his savior in the dark.


****


Needles hurt Scully.  She wasn't squeamish about them.  She'd 
been poked and prodded enough in her life to numb her to any such 
phobia, had she ever harbored it.  But Scully had never been 
afraid.  She had never minded yearly shots when she was a child.  
Although they hurt her, more than other people, as far as she 
could guess.  Her skin had always been sensitive.  Roughhousing 
with her brothers had bruised her more easily.  She had toughed 
it out and joined the fray, because she had preferred it so much 
to Missy and her Barbie dolls.  But in the end, she had come to 
believe that she was somehow stronger than her brothers, despite 
their greater physical fortitude.  Because the challenges they 
took on together hurt her more--and she persevered anyway.  She 
doubted they would have made it as far as she with her 
physiology.

This sense of accomplishment, of mind over matter and endurance 
had stuck with her.  It had carried her through the academy, 
through field work and attempts on her life.  It had brought her 
to the place she stood today.

So, when she sat on the edge of her own kitchen counter, and the 
man she loved slid a needle into her arm with skill that 
surprised her after his years of practice she had not witnessed--
the sting ran deep.  She barely flinched.  And when it was over, 
she refused the proffered bandage and walked away.

She eventually returned to their bed for the last hour before 
dawn.  Mulder slid Christopher to the far side of the mattress, 
padding the corner of the nightstand with his own pillow, and 
settled in close behind her.  She never truly slept.  Agent 
Scully's ear listened for every sound at the doors and windows.  
Mother's ears listened for every quiet breath and shift of 
pajamas.  Scully felt the gentle ripples of dreams beneath her 
Mulder's skin.  Dana...Dana's arm hurt...


*****


Breakfast was quiet.  Scully showered and dressed and looked as 
slick as always on little to no restful sleep.  And Mulder 
wondered--not for the first time--how many days in their former 
life together she had walked into the basement office looking 
collected and polished, while he had been oblivious to her night 
of pain.  He likely would never know.

Mulder hovered near his computer, checking his email too 
frequently, waiting for the expected cryptic reply from his 
contact.  Scully pretended she didn't notice, but she caught his 
gaze amongst the busywork and lingered there once too often for 
him to believe.

They contacted Skinner and Michaels, told them of the intrusion 
into their home.  The paperwork for their temporary disappearance 
was put into motion.  Scully began packing their essentials for 
an indefinite absence.  She put a hold on their mail, arranged 
for watering of their plants.

Walked through the rote tasks of their daily routine.

Christopher had been fed and clothed and occupied with a stack of 
medical journals he liked to use as building blocks, when the 
email finally came through.  Scully missed the moment, or 
pretended to.  He found her in the kitchen, pouring herself a 
glass of orange juice.

He knew she felt him approach, but she took her time all the 
same.  She returned the orange juice carton to the refrigerator, 
took a long drink from the glass.

Then she turned and looked up at him.

"What?" she asked, simply.  The meaning was obvious.

Mulder rested his hands on his hips.  The rough denim was 
reassuring beneath his hands.  He cleared his throat to speak, 
caught the soft flesh inside his cheek between his molars.  
Scully waited.

"Your levels are almost there," he said.  "One more dose should 
knock you into the safety range.  They'd be willing to do the 
procedure tomorrow morning, if you take one more shot today and 
your numbers meet their criteria when you come in."

"So..."  A million scenarios played behind her quiet eyes, jaw 
tensed and tongue toying with the backs of her teeth.

"So...we can go to a motel tonight and hit the underground on our 
way out of town tomorrow morning."

She swallowed hard, the mix of relief and dread washing across 
her face like printed words.  Another injection.  It hadn't been 
long enough, not enough time to recover from the pain and be 
ready for more.  He knew the revulsion she felt at the mere 
thought.  So, the stoic acceptance that accompanied her 
definitive nod only affirmed once again the validity of his 
confidence in her strength.

Scully felt things more deeply than the average person.  He had 
known that for a long time.  But the knowledge only doubled his 
admiration for her stamina.  For her...it required an even 
greater power of character to overcome the hurts.

She took another drink of her orange juice.  "We should, 
uhmm...we should wait for Christopher's nap."

Mulder nodded.  Watching her, watching the dread spread like 
black oil under her skin, and remembering nightmares from long 
long ago of the darkness consuming her flesh when there was 
nothing he could do to stop it.

"I don't want to do it to you again," he said simply.

She nodded.  "I know."  Just a whisper.  But there was kindness 
there.  And an intimacy that still surprised him.

He tried to reach out for her as she moved past him.  But she was 
a thousand miles away, and he let his hand fall neglected to his 
side.  He closed his eyes in the empty kitchen, and tried to 
believe it would all be all right.


*****


It was strange to see the needles in sunlight.  They had always 
waited until Christopher was asleep for the night before giving 
the injections.  They had never performed the task on a schedule.

She came to him in the living room, blouse already loosened, 
ready to slip off of her arm.  Mulder had taken the small silver 
case from its hiding place behind the books on the top shelf of 
the den wall unit.  She wished it were handcuffs, a blindfold, a 
strap.  Any secret toy of the flesh, but what it was.

She tried not to think too much.  But she was tired.  And the 
edges of sleep insisted upon softening the edges of her 
consciousness, leaving her uncomfortably vulnerable.

He turned and met her gaze, needle lifted to his eye level as he 
tapped the syringe and let off the small test spray.  "How you 
doing?" he asked, voice tight.

She nodded.  "I’m fine.  Christopher's sleeping."

His soft eyes narrowed and she didn't want to see the pain.  
Guilt was Mulder's strongest talent.  No matter how many times 
she assured him she wanted this course of action as much he did, 
no matter how many times she told him his actions would one day 
bring her freedom, not just further pain, he would never lose the 
guilt in his eyes the days he brought the needle to her arm.  She 
hated to watch that in him.  She hated that the pain she had 
inflicted with her initial reactions upon his return would never 
quite heal, would forever add to his well of pain.  He deserved 
some peace in his life.  He deserved to see himself in the light 
her eyes cast upon him, if only once in a while.

She let her blouse fall to the sofa and sat down on the edge of 
the cushions.

Mulder knelt beside her.  "You ready?" he asked softly.

"I'm ready."  She stared at the floor and tried to put herself 
somewhere else.

*Playing out in the back yard with Charlie and Bill.  Running 
through the fresh cut grass and the sound of lawnmowers in the 
distance.  The sweet remnants of lemonade on her lips.  There--
Mulder's hand cradling her arm, squeezing the flesh to firm the 
entry point.  Falling in the patch of clover and lying on her 
stomach and looking and looking for a four leaf clover until her 
eyes hurt.  Missy calling to her from the back porch, something 
about the phone, yes, Dad was on the phone, and if she hurried--*  
"Oh--*GOD!*"

Hot acid ripping through flesh, over her shoulder, down her 
chest, crackling like fire through her veins, down her arms, 
through her stomach.  So much worse than she remembered, every 
time so much worse...

*MELISSA...Missy on the porch, and Dana running across the grass 
and up the concrete steps; the thought of talking to Dad, bare 
feet wet from the--*  "Oh, Christ, Mulder--"  She grasped at 
raspy breaths.

Tears in her eyes, and pain in her chest and Mulder's arms so 
hard around her.

*HOLD onto it...hold onto it...Dad...Missy...*Christopher*!  
Meeting Christopher.  For the first time.  There, in the 
hospital, watching that beautiful little face the first---*  
"AaaaaaAAAAHHH!  Mulder!!  Oh, God, make it stop--"

She lost it.  She was digging her nails so hard into his arm she 
knew she needed to let go before she drew blood (maybe she 
already had) but she could barely see let alone think.

She knew Mulder's weight was against her, his skin all around 
her; realized at some point they were half-lying on the couch and 
he was holding every inch of her he could grasp.  She was clawing 
at anything she could reach.  She heard her own voice crying out, 
but never consciously felt herself screaming.  Even thoughts of 
waking Christopher flashed through her mind only as gusts of 
wind, intangible and fleeting.

She knew pain.  All encompassing.

Blinding.  Colors.

Then...breath.

Her first coherent thought was of dampness.  The sweat that 
coated her bare skin and stuck to the cotton of Mulder's shirt, 
slipping against his arms.  She heard her own hoarse breaths, 
felt Mulder's heart pounding against her back.  His pulse was 
racing as fast as her own.

Sunlight streaked through the patio doors, swirls of dust dancing 
in the strands of gold.  A patch of warmth spread on the floor.  
Tasha lay on the carpet in front of the couch, pressing as close 
to Scully as she could, tail and ears down in fear and distress, 
wanting to protect her mistress, not knowing how.

Scully let a trembling hand slide off the couch into the soft fur 
of Tasha's back, stroking her reassuringly.

Scully heard the shift in Mulder's breath as he watched her 
deliberate action.  His hold on her slackened just a bit, and his 
warm lips pressed into the soft skin behind her ear.

She lifted her hand from Tasha and pushed her own tousled hair 
from her face.  Mulder took over the job and smoothed it back for 
her.  Scully closed her eyes and let her lover's touch quiet the 
tremors beneath her skin.

"For reference," she whispered at last, "taking the shots closer 
together...is bad."

Mulder pulled her tighter against him.  "Yeah," was all he could 
manage, unable to make light of the situation, if only for this 
moment.


*****

(End Chapter 5.  Continued in Chapter 6...)
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