Title: Sfumato: Prologue (Sequel to "The Marionette
Rebellion")
Author: supernova
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. I am not making
any money off this story. CC, FOX, et al, own them,
although DD and GA made us love them (Mulder and Scully, of
course).
Category: MSR, Angst-O-Rama.
Rating: R
Feedback: Feed me at supernova818@aol.com, unless you're
the nutcase that e-mailed me after "Something", to which I
subsequently responded and asked that you refrain from
sending me your special brand of idiocy. Now that I've
dealt with that bit of ridiculousness- if you like the
story, then I'd like to know. If you don't like the story,
then I'd like to know so that I can tell the Muse to shut
the hell up. Thanks so much!
Author's Notes: Okay, so this is why I said I'd never say
never to writing another fanfic, although I still want to
go back and erase the Author's Notes as the end of
"Something". (blushes) Honestly, at the time I wrote
"Something" I felt I was finished with fanfic. I received a
lot of feedback on "The Marionette Rebellion" and had toyed
with writing a sequel, but I was very busy at that time,
and the Muse, well, let's just say she was on what seemed
to be an unending vacation. I knew if I ever wrote another
fanfic, that it would be a sequel to "The Marionette
Rebellion." That's a special story to me for a lot of
different reasons, and I left some parts of the story open
so I could explore them, if I ever decided to write a
sequel. Anyway, to make a long story longer, the Muse has
been harassing me nonstop. I'm still very busy; in fact,
I'm in the middle of midterms. I don't know what in hell
I'm doing. I've tried to ignore the little monster, but
she's very persistent. So, here we are, and here I am, and
here is the sequel to "The Marionette Rebellion." If you
haven't read "The Marionette Rebellion", this fic will not
make sense to you. Please note: "Sfumato" picks up seven
years after the events at the end "The Marionette
Rebellion".
Summary:  His sanity is slipping away by the handfuls.
 
 
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SFUMATO
 
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-Prologue-
 
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Bangor, Maine
2010
 
     He sits on the couch in their living room, the
quietness of their home rankling his already ragged nerve
endings. Scully is at work, her counterpart at the
Penobscot County Medical Examiner's Office called just
before dawn, requesting that she autopsy the body of a
missing child found dead around 4:00 am this morning. They
had each taken three days off from work, and this their
second day off, was supposed to be spent further renovating
the kitchen, however, she was assisting the lead
investigator on this case, and so despite the fact she was
officially on vacation, she'd hurriedly dressed in the
shadows, as the sun had shyly begun to cast its rays into
their bedroom, after the call had come that a man jogging
had found the body of eight year old Cammie Watkins. Mulder
would have been the lead investigator on the case, he and
Scully working in tandem, had he not been leading the
investigation of eight young women who'd gone missing,
vanishing it would seem, out of thin air from their
bedrooms in the middle of the night. That investigation had
been ongoing for three months prior to the disappearance of
Lacey Tillman, Tiffany Long, and Rachel Stanton. His leads
on a killer had run cold, and finally, he had been forced
to put the case aside.
 
Scully's absence forces him to face what he's been ignoring
for the last three months. His subconscious reaches around
with icy, cold fingers, strangling his conscious with
knowledge of what he fears to be true. Over the last week,
he has realized, much to his horror, that the two cases he
and Scully have been working on have been a distraction,
fabricated by men he'd hoped were long dead.
 
Hope and William are on a field trip to Washington D.C.
with other classmates from their private school, and as
much as he wants them home, he knows it is better if they
are not. He gropes for his wallet, and pulls it out of his
back pocket. He stares at it for a moment, running his
hands over textured leather and worn edges, and then he
unfolds his wallet, noting the picture of William and Hope
taken two summers ago, when both were gap-toothed, and
tanned from spending two and a half weeks in California.
Finally, he pulls out a small business card from behind his
driver's license. He lets his fingers trace over the black
embossment, then picks up the phone and dials Deputy
Director Skinner's number. His lungs ache with the effort
it takes to breathe; all he feels is the weight of
realization in his chest. Skinner answers on the third
ring, and Mulder walks to the refrigerator, reading over
the itinerary for his son and daughter's field trip. Mulder
and Skinner exchange "hellos" and "how are you doings."
Mulder tells Skinner he needs a favor. He informs Skinner
that today both William and Hope are at the Holocaust
Museum, and that he needs him to take a few trusted agents,
go and pick up Hope and William and take them into
protective custody.
 
Mulder explains that he will be on the first flight out of
Bangor in the morning, but that he has to take care of
something at home, and not to let William or Hope out of
his sight until he arrives. Skinner does not question
Mulder's instructions, he simply answers that it is done;
Mulder says thank you, and then disconnects the call.
 
William has a pager for emergencies, which he is to keep on
his person at all times, considering his parents' past
involvement with shadowy conspirators, lunatics, aliens,
and what not. Scully and Mulder have been honest with Hope
and William about why they have to be more careful than
other children around strangers. They know why their
parents are overprotective, but still they yearn to be
normal kids, and do normal kid things, so they bought
William a pager, with the agreement that Hope would go
everywhere William went, and that his pager would never be
turned off. They were trying to allow them to be normal,
whatever that was. It was after much argument and debate
that Scully had convinced Mulder to allow their children to
go on this field trip. Mulder instructed William to take
his pager, and stay by his sister's side at all times.
William had agreed, and albeit reluctantly, so had Mulder.
William could sense danger, he knew things about people, he
was careful around strangers, and he was fiercely
protective of Hope, but still Mulder had worried, and now
he realized the reasons why.
 
He calls to memory William's pager number, punches the
numbers into the keypad of the phone, and then enters one
of the many combinations of numbers that will tell William
he and Hope are in danger. They've been over these numbers
many times. He'd made William and Hope memorize the
numbers, what they meant, what they were supposed to do if
these numbers ever appeared in digital glory across the
inky gray screen of William's pager. Mulder had prayed so
hard he'd never have to use them.  He can't help the cloak
of fear that wraps itself around him. The uncertainty of
what the night holds causes his stomach to roil
indignantly, and he can't help wishing he'd realized the
truth of their present situation months earlier.
 
He falls onto the brown leather loveseat, and waits for
Scully to return home, dreading the inevitable
confrontation. It seems as if time has stopped, that he has
traveled through an invisible portal, and he is functioning
in another dimension where everything is upside down.
 
For three months he has felt as if something with Scully
was off kilter. Just looking at the individual changes
wouldn't be enough to signal alarm, but when taking in
everything as a whole, the truth mockingly stares him in
the face. It looks directly into his eyes, and it is
unforgiving. He lowers his head into his hands, closes his
eyes, and begins to reexamine the changes in Scully.
 
She walks differently, she treats William and Hope
differently, she is distant, tired all the time, she is
less passionate when making love, she doesn't like for him
to see her naked anymore, their intimate time always shared
in the safety of darkness.
 
He should have known. He wants to believe that he is
overreacting, that he is tired, and that his turning 49
last month has made him nostalgic for the past, although
the present isn't bad.
 
He feels he has pinpointed the night in which the change in
Scully occurred. Because of their past, because of all the
shared loss, and because of their children, they'd become
extraordinarily considerate of one another when they were
going to be late coming home, or if either of their planned
schedules were altered in any way. There were phone calls
made to set minds at ease. There were reassurances given.
They'd never really talked about it, but it was as much of
a mutual need as it was a mutual agreement. A respect for
all they'd been through had prompted them to be cognizant
about the amount of worry when faced with bright lights,
and meetings than ran late. It was their way of paying
respect to their old life while simultaneously living their
new one.
 
Three months ago, however, Scully had called to say she was
running late, and wouldn't be home until 8:00 pm. Mulder
had mumbled an acknowledgement while trying to intervene in
an argument William and Hope were having over the remote,
and he and Scully had said goodbye with the sound of
children bickering in the background. Dinnertime came and
went, Hope and William abandoned their stations in front of
the television, in favor of going outside to play
basketball. Dusk crept slowly across the lawn, William and
Hope tired of their game of basketball, clambering inside,
and taking up the chess game they'd begun a month earlier.
Mulder had logged onto the computer, going over for the
hundredth time his field notes on the missing young women
in Bangor, and before he knew it, Hope and William were
saying 'where's Mom, anyway?' He remembers looking at his
watch, so self absorbed he'd been in his case, he hadn't
realized hours had passed, that it was 10:00 pm, and that
Scully had still not returned home. Immediately panic had
set it; she'd never been this late coming home before. He'd
called her cell phone and had gotten her voicemail, he'd
called her office and gotten her voicemail, he'd looked out
the window to see empty space where her car should've been.
He'd paced the floor long after he'd assured William and
Hope that everything was fine, subsequently hurrying them
off to bed. He'd cursed her in his mind for making him
worry, yet when she'd come home, looking bedraggled, and
beyond tired, all he could do was say thank you to the
heavens. She'd said she'd gotten hung up at work, and that
she'd gotten into a car accident, that had left her
unscathed, but her new car not as lucky as she.
 
After surveying the damage done to her car, they'd gone
back inside, and she'd rubbed her stomach saying she was
hungry. Relief had washed over Mulder, soothing away the
worry he'd experienced in the preceding hours, and
they had gone into his office, and made slow, gentle love
on the plush taupe carpet in front of his desk. The sex had
been good, there had been no denying that, but Mulder had
felt, even then, that Scully seemed closed off.
 
A key turns in the lock, wrenching Mulder from his reverie.
The door swings open, hitting the wall with a thud, and
Scully stumbles in, trying to maintain control of her
briefcase and a bag of Chinese take-out. She kicks the door
shut with a black, heel clad foot, and walks briskly to the
kitchen. Paint cans, rollers, and stacks of blue tape
litter the kitchen counters. Mulder approaches Scully from
behind, and says, "Here, let me take that."  He takes the
bag of take-out, and sets it on the counter. Scully drops
her briefcase onto the floor. He turns her around to face
him.
 
"You look tired, Mulder," she says, her words lost against
his cheek, as she presses a kiss on his jaw. He brings his
hands to her waist, noting the small changes, the subtle
differences. Emotions bubble to the surface, spilling over
onto his cheeks, and Scully pulls back, confusion etched in
the lines around her eyes.
 
"What is it, Mulder? Are you all right?" she asks, her
voice deepened by concern.
 
"Let's go upstairs," he says. He knows he will hate himself
for this, but he has to be sure, he has to make sure his
overactive imagination isn't playing tricks on him. Scully
follows him so willingly, eyes wide with concern, that for
a moment he believes he has made up everything. Upon
entering their bedroom, he turns on the two lamps that sit
atop nightstands on either side of their bed. Scully
continues to stand at the end of the bed, looking at him as
if he's lost his mind. For the first time he hopes he has.
Mulder kisses her so, so passionately. He doesn't want it
to be true: his wishes are kisses, and oh, how he wishes
that at the end of this night they will laugh at the
absurdity of his thoughts. They continue to kiss, and
Mulder keeps his eyes trained on Scully's face, not
allowing his eyes to close and enjoy the moment like he
usually does. Scully's eyes, however, remain closed. Long,
auburn lashes fan out against her porcelain white skin. His
pulse quickens, his breathing becomes more erratic, and he
simply has to know. He has to know for sure he tells
himself.
 
He begins to unbutton her blouse, and her eyebrows knit
together. She tries to speak, but the words are lost as he
smothers her mouth with his own. He pushes the blouse off
her shoulders, her eyes open, and she turns, starting to
walk toward the lamp on her side of the bed.
 
"Leave them on tonight," he says.
 
"Mulder, I'd really rather turn them off, and light some
candles instead," Scully says.
 
"I said leave the lights on," Mulder says forcefully.
 
"Okay, if it's such a big deal," she replies.
 
He unbuttons and unzips her slacks, letting his hands
wander over her hips, the slacks drop and pool at her feet.
He steps back, and looks at her body: every scar, every
subtle peak and valley, the flare of her hips, her round
breasts, the matching black brassiere and panties. "God,
you are so beautiful," he says. "I've missed you so much
today, Scully," he whispers into her ear, then kisses her
cheek, and pushes her gently down onto the bed.
 
She lies down, her arms crossed above her head, and Mulder
wraps his hands around her wrists, effectively pinning her
to cotton sheets that already smell so much like them. The
scent of sex makes him weak. "Do you remember the first
time we made love, Scully? That first night, in your bed,
the scent of us so strong in the air. God, I was happy that
night. Happier than I'd ever been in my entire life. I
loved that you got up in the middle of the night and cooked
me breakfast. That was one of the best nights of my life,"
he whispers, his breath hot against her ear.
 
"It was one of the best nights of my life, too," Scully
intones neutrally, not sure where his trip down memory lane
is heading. Mulder sighs audibly, his breath caressing
Scully's cheek, and she closes her eyes. He releases her
wrists, and takes her face in his hands; his weight on top
of her is suffocating.
 
He does not care.
 
His sanity is slipping away by the handfuls.
 
He rests his forehead against hers, and breathes heavily in
and out several times. One of his hands stays on her face,
the other goes to his side, and retrieves his gun from its
holster. He does not open his eyes as he presses the gun to
her temple.
 
"Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Scully yells.
 
Her eyes convey such fear.
 
He cannot hide from the truth any longer. He opens his eyes
and sees the barrel of the gun biting into the soft flesh
of her temple. It will undoubtedly leave a mark. She is so
vulnerable he thinks to himself. Tears have begun to make
their way down Scully's cheeks. She is trembling with fear.
Mulder caresses her cheek with his hand and her temple with
his gun.
 
He doesn't want to say the words because then it will be
true, and because then his greatest nightmare will be real.
He cannot stay silent any longer, because he loves Scully
so much, and because he wants her back.
 
"Where the fuck is Scully?"
 
"Mulder, what are you-" Scully starts as Mulder cuts her
off.
 
"Don't even fucking think about lying to me," he says,
releasing the safety on his gun. "You tell me where she is
right fucking now, or I'm going to blow your fucking head
off."
 
"Mulder, have you lost your mind? Please don't do this,
Mulder," Scully begs.
 
Her eyes make him waver for a moment. She's so damned
convincing.
 
"Scully and I first made love in my bed, in my apartment,
and she has never gotten up in the middle of the night to
cook breakfast for me, although I did for her once."
 
Glancing down at her obvious state of undress, Scully's
lips curve upward, forming a wicked smile. She writhes
beneath him before lifting her gaze to meet his. "We were
beginning to wonder if you were ever going to figure out
that you've been fucking the wrong woman."
 
 
Continued in Chapter 1