Though War Rise

By Leese (LJKwriting4life)

Rating: M

Summary: When colonisation happens, Scully finds herself alone in the desert. So begins the search for old friends and the battle to survive. [This is an XF story from 2008 that I'm only just getting around to posting. It's long, in hindsight it starts off a bit slow but picks up around chapter 3. It is complete, and all chapters will be up. My first AU story. MSR, eventually also DRR, Skinner/Other, Gibson/Other.]

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Prologue

Rural Virginia - June 2005

Dana Scully wrapped her arms defensively around herself as she stared out the bedroom window from the second floor of their sprawling rural residence. Their residence, she thought to herself. Or was it only hers now? The house was in her name, as was everything. Her partner of several years was wanted for murder, a crime he did not commit, and escaping from a military prison, a crime he did commit with the assistance of several notable ex-colleagues including herself. It made for interesting memories but not very simple living or financial arrangements.

The house was big, there were secrets hidden there, various means of protection should somebody come for them. If people or those claiming to be people broke in, they would hopefully be to safety before they were found. The driveway was long and gravel, and blocked by a wire gate that scraped very loudly when it was pushed open. Nobody could get in quietly if they were listening.

The house was also set in the middle of nowhere. Neighbours were far away. Behind their expansive backyard stretched a thick wood that provided privacy, though it was far enough away that if they were looking, they would see intruders coming. The front was the same. It was her fortress, but it had become his prison.

Staring out of their bedroom window, Scully watched the earth. Grass dry from summer blew in the soft but warm night's breeze; the sky was black and filled with stars, the moon half-crescent. There was nothing unusual about the night, and she held no fears of intruders. Contrary to all their safety preparations, they had never actually been broken into. Her fears were much closer to her heart. Her fears were that she had done or said something incredibly stupid in a moment of exhausted frustration that had provoked the silence behind her, around her and inside her.

Silence because he was not with her. He hadn't been for more than an entire day.

Scully felt tears sting her eyes and held herself tighter, her stomach slim and soft, her lilac singlet top damp from stress and the summer heat.

Where was he, she wondered? Usually when Mulder got pissy, he ran around the block a few times until he calmed down. Not this time. This time he had 'left'. He had not taken his keys or his phone. She had no way of contacting him. Had he left his keys on purpose, as a sign to her that he wasn't coming back? There had been no words exchanged to that effect. At least, she did not think there had been. Had she said, 'I never want to see you again'? No, she hadn't. Had she said, 'Fine, go away, whatever'? Maybe.

Scully swallowed painfully as she contemplated the unusually intense emotions she was feeling. Was it so pathetic to miss him already? This much? Was it so horrible that she had a stabbing, unshakable fear inside her that something bad had happened, because he had never left her for this long? They hadn't even really been fighting about anything serious, right? She let her tired, sore eyes shut and tried to remember.

She had worked eighteen and a half hours at the hospital. It was not normal. Usually she worked ten hour shifts during the day, but she had only been rostered on to an eight hour evening shift. She had called Mulder in a spare moment during the night, but he hadn't picked up his mobile. So she had left a message. Something along the lines of, 'Honey it's me. It's crazy here and I'm going to be late, I'm sorry. See you when I get home'.

Had there been an insincere tone in her voice? No, she didn't think so. The call had been made around seven hours into her shift. Twelve hours later, after driving the thirty minutes from the hospital to their remote home, she had returned. She had managed only a half-hour break in that time, and she had spent it eating rather than sleeping, though perhaps she had shut her eyes for ten minutes. She thought a nurse had come to wake her.

Scully hated double shifts. They did funny things to her mind. The day blended together and she had been at the hospital for so long that she could dream for eight hours about a complete day of work and it would be real to her upon waking. She was reminded why she had decided not to practice medicine straight after graduating. She was reminded every day. She was NOT twenty-something anymore. She was forty. Nearly twenty hours away from home at one time did her no good.

Focus Dana, she told herself. So she had come home and Fox had been waiting. She called him Mulder unless they were in a particularly intimate moment. She had called him Mulder ever since she had walked into the basement office of the FBI more than twelve years previously. He called her Scully, or Doc, and sometimes Dana. Again, it depended on the mood. She liked when he whispered her first name in her ear, just as she knew he liked hearing Fox from her, but they still reserved those names for special times; as though they meant more than they really did.

Scully laughed when she realised the sudden and intimate fantasy in her head had nothing to do with what she was meant to be contemplating. She frowned, forcing herself to remember what had happened the previous evening, forcing herself to analyse the fight for anything, any sign of where he might have gone or when he might be back.

Mulder had been waiting for her. It was afternoon. He was mad she hadn't called again. She had asked if he was so worried, why he hadn't called her for a change. She always called him. It worked both ways. Then...he had said something about being sick of sitting around just waiting for her to come and go, wondering what her schedule would be so he could fit his meagre definition of a life around her 'routine'. He had said something about her job being no good, that they used her there, and that they relied on her too heavily.

It was a rural area, she had replied. Of course they relied on her. She was a talented, intelligent surgeon and could have practised at any major medical centre across the country, but she had chosen that hospital, not for herself, but for 'them'. Didn't he understand that? She wasn't working long hours for anybody but the two of them, to earn money Mulder couldn't, to earn a reputation that could help them in the future, to earn some self-respect that she thought she deserved after being gutted so badly in that last year at the FBI.

He had made an odd expression then, his eyes had flashed with something, maybe anger, maybe regret. She had seen it even though she wasn't sure what 'it' had been. She had asked him whether he thought he should have those things above her, and why he always made her feel so guilty for working longer hours when she was helping people.

'I thought you liked your space,' she had spat in his direction. 'You ditched me often enough!' 'I do,' he'd replied. 'And I'm about to get a whole lot more of it.'

Then he had left. She remembered the bulge in the back of his pants, his wallet, but he'd had nothing else with him. Not even a jumper in case he got cold in his jeans and t-shirt. It was summer, but what if he did get cold? What would he do?

Scully let tears stick to her closed eyelashes as his parting words echoed at the forefront of her mind. 'And I'm about to get a whole lot more of it.' Space. Time. Away from her. Away from their home. Away from their life together.

It had only been a day, but Scully was sure he would have cooled off. She had stayed up all night waiting for him, drifting off only occasionally because she was so tired. A part of her had felt desperate and disgustingly needy for waiting up. He had been the one to walk out on her; she should have felt no obligation to worry. But it was there. It had always been there. She loved him. She was still in love with him.

Mulder had gotten claustrophobic before. He couldn't work; he couldn't regularly show his face in town. He had spent a lot of time readying the house, its true capabilities concealed by its run-down appearance. But nothing had challenged him intellectually. He got bored. He felt caged. He had walked out before for space, just never so much.

Scully had slept for most of the day, her rostered day off. Tiredness had won out over her worry but it had not been a peaceful sleep and though she had somehow managed to lie in bed for ten hours she did not feel rested. She felt more exhausted than she had coming off her shift. She just wanted to be home, even though she was home. But there was one integral ingredient missing, one which ensured home would be wherever he was.

God, she was pathetic. What had happened to strong, Special Agent Dana Scully? Who had never needed anybody to make her feel safe? Who had never needed anybody's love no matter how much she had wanted it?

What a complete lie, her conscience told her harshly. She had always needed people to make her feel safe. She had always needed love. From her father. From her mother. From friends she had abandoned long ago. From the older lovers she had spent time with in her youth, her mentors. From the FBI. From her profession. From Fox Mulder.

She had needed all of that safety and protection. She had needed it to make her strong. To keep her strong. And what of that did she have left? Not her father, not her friends, not her mentors, not the FBI. She barely even had her mother. They spoke on the phone regularly but Maggie never visited. Mulder couldn't fly, and Maggie Scully still lived in Washington DC, a city Mulder was reluctant to return to and one Scully wouldn't let him. It made visiting at Christmas difficult. Scully had gone the last year but come home early.

'Surprise,' she had announced upon walking in the door. Mulder, bless his soul, had been decorating the tree for their 'fake' Christmas planned for her return on New Year's Day.

'What are you doing?' He had looked stunned, she remembered. She had beamed at him, so happy to be home despite the fact it was only the twenty-seventh. She had shrugged and he had frowned, waiting for her to reply, curious as to her explanation. Though upon reflection Scully had seen in his eyes that he thought he already knew.

'Wasn't the same,' she had answered, shrugging casually as though her returning just one day after Christmas officially ended, when she was meant to stay until New Year's, was no big deal. Her smile had disappeared in an effort to seem nonchalant and Mulder had humoured her; he hadn't smiled. He had held out his hand in a silent invitation and led her to their tree, where he proceeded to give her his presents. Only once all the wrapping was torn did he hold her and tell her how happy he was she was there. In his own way.

Merry Christmas Dana, he had whispered in her ear. She had felt a tear on her neck and the strength of his arms. She had felt his vulnerability seeping into her and she had hugged him back as tightly as her petite frame would allow, nuzzling him affectionately, silently replying that she was happy also, that they were safe and not alone. Their greatest fear was loneliness, and Mulder had no other family to be with. Just her.

Perhaps her vulnerability at his absence was not so surprising, she reasoned. Perhaps she had nothing to feel ashamed about in worrying for him. He felt it too. He had felt it that Christmas. He had felt it at other times in their life when they had been apart or in danger, or just feeling particularly nostalgic. Her vulnerability was his vulnerability.

So did that mean this aching, intense fear she had for his safety was a reflection of his intense fear for hers? How could that be? How could he be afraid for her at that moment when she was the one safely at home, staring at the stars and wondering where HE was?

But Scully couldn't shake it. She could not let herself fall asleep again. She felt sick but surely Mulder was safe. He was a grown man. He was middle-aged. He was independent and intelligent and hardy, and he would come back. Right?

She turned from the window, frowning and shutting her eyes. She rubbed the bridge of her nose to dislodge the headache forming. There was suddenly only one thought in her mind and it was beginning to hurt her brain as well as her heart.

His vulnerability is mine, and mine is his. So is it my fear for him I feel, or his for me?

No, it was ridiculous. She was acting like a housewife from the fifties whose husband was home late from work. Mulder had always run off, most of the time chasing a hypothesis. There was no need to worry. He loved her. She should go to bed, and in the morning he would come back. There was no need to panic. In fact, he was probably in a panic having forgotten his mobile phone. Perhaps he did want to contact her.

To warn you.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she hissed aloud, shaking her head. She HAD to get some sleep. Her mind was beginning to short-circuit. Her rostered day off had done little to allow her any recovery time and she was scheduled for hospital rounds at seven the next morning.

Scully stared forlornly at the bed. She had gotten into it but barely lay there five minutes before standing. It felt strange without him there just as it had during the day, but she felt it more keenly at night; the oddity of not having him beside her. They had not been apart a night since they had run from the prison. It was a perhaps pathetic but nonetheless true fact of her present life. She was 'used' to him.

Maybe she would take something, she decided with a little shake of her head, her long, orange hair brushing her bare upper arms and back. She hated sleeping pills but the doctor inside her knew she was driving herself mad, and she was in no fit shape to practice medicine in little over eight hours.

Damn you Mulder, she thought in a sudden fit of anger. Look what you do to me. And even worse, I let you.

Still turned from the window, Scully heard the ringing first. It was soft, and then it got gradually louder until the high-pitched squeal was so great it drove her to her knees on the floorboards. It was so loud she thought her hearing may be lost, but it only seemed to get louder. Her brain pounded. What is this, she wondered? Some sort of super-sonic migraine she had never experienced before? Brought on by exhaustion? Madness? Fear?

The silent wave of whiteness that followed answered her question. The light that seared her shut eyelids was bright but without the heat of an explosion. It was as though a giant theatrical spotlight had rolled across the earth, illuminating everything that she suddenly knew was about to be destroyed. Scully covered her face with her hands and crouched forward, her head buried in her lap, her long hair enclosing her. The light, the noise, the fear she had felt all made sense in that moment as she contemplated the end of hearing, the end of sight, the end of life. For the experience was not just her own, it couldn't be.

It was everyone's. They had come.