REPOST: Trace Evidence 3: Say Goodnight (05/10), Saundra Mitchell

[Vampyres Incorporeal]

Title: Trace Evidence III: Say Goodnight (05/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Rating:R

Outside

Krycek ran out onto the drive,
waving his hand at a car parked in the
distance. At the signal, the car fired
up and roared toward him, only slowing
enough for him to pull open the door and
jump inside.
"I just can't kill that bitch," he
spat, pulling on his seatbelt.
"What are you talking about?"
"She's alive, she's fucking alive,
and just when I thought I had my second
chance, some pockmarked bastard in black
comes in and rescues her."
Patting Krycek on the hand, Marita
pulled out into traffic, blending their
sedan with all the other sedans in the
world. "There's always next time."

Later
Hilton Oceanview Hotel

"Will you just let Tim do it,"
Scully snapped.
Mulder held up his hands and
stepped back. "Okay, okay."
Munch and Mulder watched as Tim
slipped into the chair across from
Scully. He put on a pair of latex gloves
from her bag, then gingerly picked up
the needle and thread. Patiently, she
explained to him how to sew the torn
gash back together, and tried not to
wince when he did as she said. She
watched and coached his progress in a
mirror they'd pulled down from the wall
for the purpose.
"Do you get the impression that
they really belong together sometimes,"
Mulder asked Munch quietly.
John raised an eyebrow. "No.
Because then I'd have to date you.
You're pretty and all, but it's just not
the same."
Clenching his lower lip between his
teeth, Tim paused. "Are you sure I
should be doing this?"
"Just give me another shot, you're
doing fine. You're almost done."
Munch moved in, pouring another
half shot of whiskey and putting it in
her hand. Unfortunately for her, it was
the only anesthesia she had-
pathologists rarely need to sedate their
patients. Bayliss stopped long enough
for her to slam the shot, then picked
back up where he left off.
"So now we have half an answer,"
Tim said, pressing down lightly to make
sure the stitches matched. "We know who
tried to kill you."
"It also means I know who killed my
sister," she replied soddenly. "Now we
just have to find out who that woman
was."
Mulder had a theory, but was
completely unwilling to share it. All
lies lead to the truth, X had reminded
him and he realized that his lies were
part of it, a part of the whole.
Evidence he had seen, evidence he had in
his apartment's freezer were all parts
to the puzzle of why someone wanted her
dead. He thought he'd been protecting
her- and now he was too afraid to tell
her the truth.
"No, you can just leave it, you
don't have to knot it," Scully said,
picking up a pair of manicure scissors
and cutting the needle from the thread.
"You did a good job. It probably won't
scar."
Heaving a sigh of relief, Bayliss
patted her hand. "Please don't ever ask
me to do that again."
"So where do we find this Krycek,"
Munch asked, straightening his tie. "I
have a couple of things I'd like to say
to him."
Mulder shook his head. "You don't
find Krycek. Krycek finds you."
"Well we have to tell Washington
homicide," Tim insisted innocently.
Laughing, Scully patted Tim on the
cheek. "You're so cute, Tim. We could
tell them who did it all day long, and
they still won't find him. Things. . .
happen. Heads get turned. Cases get
dropped."
Tim wanted to protest, but he knew
it was true. Once, a few years back, he
and Frank had sat in the Waterfront,
trying to pound a confession out of
someone they couldn't touch because of
what he did for the government. "Then
what do we do now?"
"We," Mulder emphasized, "Don't do
anything. We know the source of danger,
and it's the same as it always has been.
You and Munch go back to Baltimore.
Scully miraculously reappears, unable to
remember anything of the last four
weeks, and then she and I . . . she and
I go to New Berlin."
Tim looked incredulously at his
lover. "No way. Absolutely not. We're
in, Mulder. We want to help."
Scully shook her head. "There's
nothing for you to do now, but get
killed. You'd be in our way."
"Nothing has changed for us,"
Mulder added. "But there are some things
we've seen that we can't let you be a
part of, not now, not ever."
"What if we insist?" Munch crossed
his arms across his chest, peering over
the top of his glasses.
"Then we'll ditch you," Mulder
answered honestly. "We'll leave you in
Bumfuck, Egypt and pick you up when we
get done."
Bayliss knew from his tone of voice
that he was dead serious, and nothing
would change his mind. Shaking his head,
he stood up and sighed. "I'll drive us
back tomorrow. I need to get some
sleep."

Crawling into bed, Mulder hesitated
a moment before pressing up against Tim.
Wrapping an arm around the other man's
waist, he closed his eyes.
"I'm not angry," Tim said softly.
"I'm sorry this is what my life
is," Mulder answered.
"If you wanted to change it, you
could."
Mulder sighed, rolling onto his
back. "Up to a point, yes, I could have.
But it's too late now."
Propping himself up on his elbows,
Tim looked down at Mulder. "What happens
when you find what you're looking for?"
"It won't happen," he answered. It
was the first time he'd said it out
loud.
"I know you, Mulder." Tim brushed
his fingers along his lover's arm.
"You'll find it, but what good will it
do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Once you have the truth, what good
will it do you? Will it bring your
sister back? Will it change your
miserable childhood? Will it undo all
the damage you've done to yourself
looking for it? What will you have to
live for? People don't want the truth,
even if it's ugly. They don't want it.
They don't care what the government
does, not when it comes down to it. No
one cares until they have to, and then
it's too late."
"So I should stop," Mulder asked,
sitting up. "I should let them kidnap
people, maim and destroy them? Let them
control the world, for whatever reason?
I should just stop?"
"I never said stop trying. I only
said that finding the truth will destroy
you, and I'm right. You think it's your
responsibility to stop it, and you
can't. That's what the final truth will
be. No matter what you do, it won't end.
I know that when I get up in the
morning, by the time I go home, I will
have spent the better part of my day
involved in someone else's untimely,
unlawful death. In the beginning, I
thought, in my heart, that I could
change that. Suddenly, I would be a
murder police, and murders would stop.
The world would be a better place, but
that's not what happens. You have to
resign yourself to the fact that bad
things will happen whether you're there
to clean up after them or not. You think
I'm naive, and maybe I am sometimes, but
not like you are. You still think you
can save the world."
"I'll lose you over this." It
wasn't melodrama and it wasn't designed
for a response. It was a realization, a
plain statement of fact.
Leaning over, Tim kissed Mulder
gently. "Probably not."

"I guess this isn't your usual one
night stand," Scully said, brushing her
hair. Munch watched her from the bed,
admiring the graceful arc her arm made
as she picked up an elastic band and
tied her hair up. Even with the
imperfect stitches and bruises, she was
beautiful.
"No, I'm usually the one who gets
beaten up. Besides, four weeks of
meaningless sex, I can deal with the
quirks."
She smiled in spite of herself. "I
didn't expect you to want to stay."
"Well, it was Tim's idea. He made
me. If the other kids jump of a bridge,
I'm right there with them. Of course, I
usually bring a raincoat, some oxygen. .
"
Walking over, she sat next to him.
"That's not true and you know it, John.
You are nothing if not original."
Reaching up to touch her face, he
took a sharp breath. "Outward beauty is
not enough; an attractive woman must use
words, wit, playfulness. . . I don't
feel like doing this."
"I'm sorry, do you want me to
leave?"
"No. That's not . . . I am loathe
to admit this, Dana, and I swear I'll
deny it if you ever mention it, but
right now. . . I don't want to be funny.
I don't want to be cynical. I don't want
to quote masters of literature. You
could. . . you could hurt me right now."
She stared at him, confused. "But I
don't want to hurt you."
Sitting up in a flurry of
bedclothes, he grabbed her hand and
pressed it against his chest. "No, no,
that's a good thing. It's a good thing.
I still have hope, as a human being."
Pursing her lips, she smiled. "You
sound like a soap opera."
"Do I really?"
"Now all you have to say is. . .
I'm going to stop sleeping with my
sister's husband, I'm going to stop
kicking puppies. . . and from this day
forward, I swear. . ."
"Okay," he said, letting go of her,
and falling back onto his pillow. "Very
funny. Thank you very much."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she
laughed, lying down next to him. Twining
his fingers through hers, she looked
over at him. "I'm sorry! Finish what you
were saying."
Pushing his glasses up, Munch laid
his free arm across his forehead. "I
don't love you, Dana."
Stung, she tried to fight the blush
rising in her cheeks. "Okay."
"But I could, if you let me. You
could hurt me. That's all I meant."
"Oh."
Having had quite enough of feeling
vulnerable, he turned to leer at her.
"Of course, I don't mind being your boy
toy either."

The Next Day

Scully played hysterical amnesia
beautifully. She had stumbled into
Skinner's office, wearing the
bloodstained suit from the funeral, her
face puffy and bruised. The assistant
director wasted no time moving into
action. He called the police, he called
an ambulance, then accompanied her to
the hospital, all the while asking her
question she thought only she could
answer. She knew he was trying to
convince himself that it was her, but
she played along. The last thing she
remembered was leaving John Munch's
apartment in Baltimore, four weeks ago.
She faced her family with outward
innocence- 'You thought I was dead? You
had a funeral? Oh my God. . . '
Then Mulder's part. He performed
delighted, relieved, anger at her
injuries, and indignance toward Skinner,
a deft version of 'I told you so'. He
demanded DNA tests, to prove for certain
that this was really Dana Scully, and he
got them. Between them, they told a
thousand lies that day, but never once
wavered from their own truth. It was
better this way.
Back in Baltimore, Munch and
Bayliss had their own parts in the
drama. Feigned shock when the call came
in, then muted celebration. Each motion
that Tim made, he felt his partner's
eyes delving into the back of his neck,
calling him a liar. Fortunately, his
performance was cut short by the
announcement that Sergeant Howard would
be returning to homicide the following
day.
As the day wore on, things in both
cities wound down to normal. Strangely,
Scully's resurrection hadn't made the
papers; nor did anyone stop to ponder
who was buried in her stead. It was a
winner of a story, but no one touched
it.

Baltimore, Maryland
The Waterfront

The bar was officially closed, but
a large percentage of the Baltimore
homicide unit was still inside, trading
stories and unwinding. Bayliss and Lewis
stood behind the bar while Munch fiddled
with something in the kitchen.
"How 'bout another one," Kay said,
nodding her head at Lewis.
He smiled and poured her a beer. "I
do this for you not because you outrank
me, but because you are a patron."
Stivers laughed, swirling her glass
idly. "Mikey told me you had quite a
thing for Sergeant Howard here,
Meldrick."
Howard blushed, and Lewis
sputtered. "Our relationship is strictly
professional, absolutely, always has
been. Mikey. . . he's the one who had a
burn on for a certain redheaded police."
"It's true," Tim said, lowering his
voice and leaning forward on the bar.
"But hell, the entire homicide unit had
a burn on for Howard."
"I'll hurt you, Bayliss," she said,
raising an eyebrow.
Tim clutched his chest, and fell
back, mockingly overwhelmed. "I think
she likes me, Lewis. Just a little, but
I think she does."
"Nobody likes you," Gharty scowled.
"We just keep you as a mascot."
"Hey, one point for the old man,"
Lewis said, pouring him another beer.
Stumbling out of the bathroom,
Falsone grinned blearily at the small
knot of colleagues. "I think I'm gonna
go home."
Picking up the phone, Tim
automatically called him a cab while
Lewis rolled him for his keys.
"Oh come on," Falsone whined. "I
can drive. I'm fine, I can drive."
Lewis swung the keys in front of
the younger man, who tried and failed to
grab them. "I'll give these back
tomorrow."
Carrying over a cup of coffee to
Falsone, Bayliss gently pushed him down
in a chair. The door to the bar swung
open, and Kellerman sauntered in, taking
a seat next to Howard. Tim deliberately
passed him on his way back behind the
bar, pounding him on the shoulder in a
perfectly masculine expression of
greeting.
"Good to see you again, Mike."
"Whatever," he mumbled. "I just
want a beer."
"What, your liver got the night
off," Lewis asked wryly.
Mike half smiled. "Yeah, something
like that."
Pulling out a glass, Tim poured the
beer and slid it to Mike. "On your tab."
He pushed himself off the stool,
and tossed a couple of ones on the bar.
"Changed my mind."
"Hey, what's the damage here,
Mikey," Lewis said. Everyone else had
fallen silent.
"I changed my mind," he repeated,
heading outside.
Bayliss exchanged a glance with
Lewis, and dried his hands on the bar
towel. "I'll go talk to him."

Outside

"Hey, Mike," Tim called, catching
up to Kellerman's quick double-time
pace. "Something wrong?"
"I don't want a beer, okay?"
"You don't want a beer, or you
don't want my beer?"
"Just get away from me, Bayliss."
Tim held up his hands. "What's
this? You don't call me Bayliss.
Everybody else does, but you don't."
"Well I'm calling you that now,"
Kellerman replied, stuffing his hands in
his jeans' pockets.
"You've been avoiding me," Tim
said. "I thought we were friends."
Mike stopped abruptly, pushing a
sharp finger into Tim's sternum. "We
have never been friends, Tim, so don't
go pulling that touchy-feely shit on me.
Just take your candy-ass back inside
before you get hurt."
"What," Tim said, his face wide and
open with surprise. "Who's gonna hurt
me? Are you gonna hurt me, Mike?"
"Don't start with me."
Tim pushed him. "I haven't started
anything."
"Don't fucking touch me," Mike
spat, shoving Bayliss away.
Childishly, he reached out and
brushed his index finger along Mike's
jaw. Kellerman responded with a sucker
punch that flattened Tim against the
side of the building.
"Don't fucking hit on me," he
yelled, failing to avoid Bayliss' left
hook return.
"You think I'm hitting on you?" Tim
was incredulous, pushing Kellerman away
from him. "When did I fucking hit on
you? Huh? When?"
Wiping a trickle of blood from his
mouth, Kellerman narrowed his eyes.
"'Heard you put down the Rowan case,
Mike', 'Good to see you, Mike'. Since
when are you that damned friendly, huh?
You disgust me, everything about you
disgusts me!"
Tim had thought he could handle it;
he'd done pretty well so far. From
Gaffney to Gharty, it hadn't hurt when
they'd flung nasty words at him; but
from Mike, it hurt. Kellerman was right
when he said they hadn't been friends,
but they hadn't been enemies either. He
respected him, even liked him sometimes,
and he thought Mike had felt the same.
"You know what, Mike," Tim said,
taking a few steps back, calculating his
response to return the pain. "Feeling's
mutual. I wouldn't fuck you with a
stolen dick."
Kellerman laughed, an unexpected
response. "Why not? You pick up my
seconds."
Bayliss leaned forward with a cold
smile. "She came to me. Not the other
way around. She came to me. She was
tired of little boys who throw tantrums
and can't stay out of trouble."
"You son of a bitch," Mike howled
in fury, slamming Bayliss against the
building again. "You son of a bitch!"
"Who's touching who now, Mike?"
Kellerman slammed him again. "Stay
away from me, Bayliss." Letting go, Mike
stormed off toward home, not bothering
to look back.
Catching his breath, Tim slid to
his knees. His cane was sitting against
the bar, and he had nothing to pull
himself up with. As the adrenaline wore
off, he felt a sharp pain as he drew a
breath. Looking down, the red stain of
blood blossomed on his white shirt.
Pulling the shirt out of his pants, his
fingers sought the source. His scars,
not yet healed, had broken open.
Reaching around to his back, he felt the
slick heat of blood pouring from the
exit wound as well.
"Oh, this is what you get for
picking fights," he told himself.
Sitting alone in the dark, he tried to
pull himself up again. Slowly gaining
his feet, he dragged himself back into
the bar, one jagged step at a time. He
ignored the stunned looks on his co-
workers' faces, shaking his head.
"I fell down."

(End Part Five)