Title: Thief in the Night
 Author: Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 
 Spoilers: Theef
 Summary: Fill in the blank for Theef. Scully steps into someone else's
 shoes.
 Rating: PG
 Category: A MT more A. Lots of A
 Disclaimer: Just when I'm ready to throw in the towel, you hand us one
 like this. A real gem, in my honest opinion. And you gave me the perfect
 opportunity to delve into Scully's statement at the end of the show. Thank
 you! I won't make a penny off this.
 Archive: yes
 Comments: Thanks to Susan and Sally, who are always there. Bless you both! 

Thief in the Night
 By Vickie Moseley 

I was still shaking when we got to the car. The ambulance lights were
 flashing against the logs of the cabin. The good Doctor and his daughter
 were being treated for shock, but would recover completely. I don't think
 Mr. Peattie will be so lucky. I think it will be a miracle, black magic
 notwithstanding, if the old man lives through the night. 

I was rather amazed at how quickly my eyesight had been returned. Mulder
 is convinced it was removing the nails from the little talisman doll that
 restored my sight. I tend to think it came back on it's own. I'm not
 searching any further to find the answer. 

Now, we're driving. Mulder thinks if we hurry, there is a red-eye back to
 DC that we can still catch. He was on the phone to the airlines as I was
 finishing up with the locals. Personally, I would just as soon stay the
 night, even if it means another night in the 'Super 8' that Mulder checked
 us into. I just want to go somewhere and pile a million blankets on me.
 Maybe sit in a tub of hot water until it starts to turn cold. I just want
 to be warm. 

I glance over at my partner in the dim light coming from the dash. It's an
 odd sight these days, Mulder driving, after a case. No white gauze
 covering a flesh wound from a stray bullet, no tell-tale marks left by the
 fangs of a rattlesnake. Just Mulder, psyche unscathed by our latest brush
 with the occult. To be honest, I think Mulder enjoys these kinds of cases
 the most. Times when his extensive knowledge of the dark world of
 mysticism and the black arts can outshine any of our associates. He
 definitely left an impression on our friend the Doctor and his family.
 What's left of his family. But for all his showing off, Mulder saved some
 lives tonight. Mine included. 

It's a dark road, the one we're driving. Two lane, country, the kind I
 usually like to be on when the moon is full and we can roll the windows
 down without risking frostbite or wind chill. I push the button on the
 door handle and take a deep breath of the night air. It's a beautiful
 night to be driving. 

The cold that had me shivering at the cabin is starting to recede. The
 night is full of star light, moon glow, my partner, quietly humming with
 the radio. I close my eyes and let the fact that another case has been
 solved, two lives saved, lull me into an almost doze. 

I think it was the screeching of tires that woke me up. Then, the car was
 spinning and there was a loud crash of metal on metal and more screaming
 and tearing and I think I might have passed out a minute . . . 

And now, all is silence. I look over at the driver's side of the car - 

Ohmigod! 

Mulder! 

Everything rushes together. I'm just pulling my cellphone out of my
 pocket, hand reaching across to check Mulder's pulse, when I hear a siren.
 Someone is pounding on the window at my side, screaming at me. I'm still
 searching Mulder's neck, it's sticky with blood and it's hard to get a
 read. There! A pulse. Fast, weak, but it's a pulse and I'm not going to
 argue. And as I bring my hand away, Mulder groans. 

"Scully?" 

"I'm here, Mulder. I'm right here. Just sit still. We've had an
 accident." I'm trying to stay calm, he doesn't need panic right now. It's
 so dark, not even the dashboard to guide me. I can't see how badly he's
 injured, but his pulse tells me it's pretty bad. 

The guy at the window finally jerks the door open. "Lady, are you all
 right?" he shouts, right in my ear. 

I wince and cover my ear. I come away with more blood, but I'm not really
 sure if it's mine of some from Mulder. I glare at the bastard standing in
 the door. 

"I'm fine. My partner needs an ambulance. Do you have a flashlight in
 your . . ." I glance over and see what hit us. An 18 wheeler. A frigging
 Mack truck. I should have guessed. "A flashlight in your truck?" 

He's wide eyed and chewing on his lip and if he's a day over 23 I'll eat
 the steering wheel, but finally he comes back to me and nods. "Yeah. I'll
 go get it." 

"You do that," I mutter and reach over to unlatch the seatbelt. It occurs
 to me suddenly that the standard passenger safety air bags in this
 particular Ford Taurus have failed to successfully deploy. A class action
 suit in the making. 

My friend from the Mack is back with the flashlight and I grab in out of
 his hands to shine it on Mulder. 

Oh God. 

I swallow hard to keep my stomach in its place. Sure, I see blood and gore
 every day. I've seen skulls ripped away by bullets and crowbars. I've
 seen severed limbs. I've seen it all, I would dare say. 

But not on my partner. 

"Mulder, are you still with me?" I ask and don't mean it to sound quite so
 much like a prayer. 

"Scully," he moans again. His face contorts in pain and I can see where
 the dashboard has collapsed and bent into the frame of the car. His legs
 are crushed in that metal and plastic and foam padding and where in the
 unholy hell is that ambulance? 

"Hang on, Mulder. Please, just lie still and hang on. Take my hand. I'm
 right here. Take my hand, Mulder. Please just hold my hand and we'll be
 all right, Mulder. I promise, oh God, on my Father's grave, I promise
 we'll be OK, Mulder." 

My babbling continues as the ambulance arrives. The paramedics take one
 look at Mulder and then promptly grab my arm and drag me from the car. I
 scream and kick and bite and inflict as much damage as I can only to be
 held down by two of them and the trucker while a third EMT shines more
 light on Mulder through the passenger side door. 

"How's it look, Dave?" asks some idiot who is currently sitting on my legs. 

"Not good." I can see what's happening, but I can hear a blood pressure
 cuff inflating over the moans coming from Mulder. 

"For God's sakes, let me see him," I yell again, struggling against the
 arms holding me down. 

"Lady, you have a concussion. Will you please just let us help you? We're
 helping your friend all we can!" 

"Stan," says Dave and his voice has that tone that I know I'm going to hate
 anything that comes from his mouth. "Stan, his pressure's going through
 the roof." 

Oh God. Oh dear God. 

"Can we get him out?" So it's Stan that holding my arms. I still haven't
 identified the brute on my legs. 

"No way. We need the jaws." 

I stop struggling. I hold my breath. I want to hear every word, every
 syllable of what they are saying. Stan is on the radio, talking to
 someone. The guy on my legs has figured out I'm not moving any more and
 has moved off me to join Dave next to Mulder. 

"Pressure's 140 over 115. Pulse rapid and thready. Eyes dilated. He's
 bleeding out." Dave gives this information with a calmness that I can't
 even imagine, much less attain. 

"Jaws can't get here for another hour. There was a five car pile up on the
 I-5." 

"He won't make it," Dave says. Everyone has forgotten me. They are all
 standing near Mulder now. He's crying out, calling my name, but his voice
 is so ragged and weak. 

"Do something!" I scream. "Get him out of there! Do something!" 

"Lady, that metal won't budge. We'd kill him getting him out!" shouts Stan
 and his hands are making bruises on my upper arms. 

Dave is talking on the radio again. He's speaking so quietly, I can't hear
 him. I can't hear anything over Mulder's cries. 

"Scully . . . please, god, Scully, make it stop, make the pain stop, please
 Scully!" Over and over and over until the words run together in my ears
 and stream out my eyes to fall from my chin. I shake off my lethargy and
 climb back in through the passenger side door. I grab Mulder's hand in
 mine and squeeze it so hard my knuckles creak. 

"I'm here, Mulder. I'm right here. I'll make it better, Mulder. Just
 hang on for me." 

Dave is standing at the driver's side window, pulling something up into a
 syringe. 

"What are you doing?" I growl. The look on his face is not determined,
 it's resigned. He doesn't like what he's about to do, but he feels he has
 no choice. 

"I said, what are you doing?" I repeat. "You should be starting an IV.
 Get some Mannitol in him, get his pressure down." 

"Lady, it doesn't work that way," Stan is breathing in my ear. "Ma'am,
 it's too late. The jaws of life can't get here in time to save him. I'm
 sorry. I wish I could get them here faster. But I can't. The doc at base
 said to make him comfortable." 

"What are you saying?" I scream. "Make him comfortable? How?! How the
 hell can you . . ." And then I realize what they're doing. The syringe is
 morphine. It will relieve the pain. So Mulder can die in peace. 

"No, you don't understand," I say, fighting with myself to find the calm,
 detached professional that would merit their attention. "He's my partner.
 I know him. I know his medical history. He's been worse than this and
 come through it. Believe me, he was frozen, his temp was 86 degrees and
 his heart stopped and he survived. You can't do this. Just start an IV,
 get some fluids in him. He'll hang on, he always hangs on for me." 

Dave jabs the needle into Mulder's upper arm and depresses the plunger. 

"NO!" I scream. "NO! You bastard, you don't know what you're doing!
 He'll be fine! You just need to get him fluids! He won't die on me!
 You're killing him, you idiots! You're killing him!" 

Mulder's hand is growing slack in mine and I throw my arms around his neck,
 as if hanging onto him will keep him with me in this world. "Mulder,
 listen to me. You have to hang on, partner, you have to hang on for me.
 You can do it, Mulder, only you can do it." 

"Ma'am. He's gone." 

A hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch and shove it off. 

"Scully! Wake up!" 

Wait, that voice. 

"Scully, c'mon, open your eyes. Wow, that was some dream. One minute you
 were sawing logs, the next minute you were flaying around like you were
 fightin' off a swarm of dragons. You OK?" 

That voice. My god. It's Mulder. 

My eyes fly open and I force myself to take in the whole scene before me.
 Mulder, still driving. No blood. No agonized cries. Giving me a
 lop-sided grin with a tinge of concern around the eyes. 

We're still in the car. We're still driving. We're all right. 

"I had a dream," I say and it sounds horribly lame to my ears but I refuse
 to go farther. 

"I gathered that. A real barn-stormer, from the sounds of it. Care to
 share with the class?" 

I look at him. I think back to Mr. Peattie and his daughter. How far
 apart the medicine of the 21st Century must seem to someone forever caught
 in the late 1800's. How frightening it must have been for him. That
 doesn't excuse what he did, he killed two innocent people and would have
 killed a third and a fourth if we hadn't stopped him. But the pain he must
 have felt. The agonizing sense of loss and grief and the unending pain of
 'what if'. I can't condone his actions, but now, at least somewhat, I can
 understand his motive. 

"Scully? You're awful quiet. Are you all right?" He reaches over and
 grabs my hand that is now tangled in the hem of my jacket. "You're shaking
 like a leaf." 

"Can we just stay here for the night, Mulder?" I ask. I hope it doesn't
 sound like pleading, but then again, I'm not too proud to beg. I just want
 off this road. 

He looks at me, like he knows there's more to this. But to his credit, my
 partner doesn't press me for more information. "Sure, Scully. There's a
 motel up ahead. Besides, if we wait till tomorrow, maybe Peattie will be
 able to give a statement." 

I doubt that sincerely, but I won't argue. He's giving me an out, and I'm
 jolly well going to take it. 

"I just want to get warm," I tell him. "I just want to get warm." 

The end. 

Vickie