Corrigenda (8/15)
by charvill

Email: charityharvill@yahoo.com 
Category: MSR, A, Post-IWTB

Summary:  Dana Scully was treating more patients than just
Christian during the winter of 2008.  This is the story about the
father of one of those patients who is awed by the miracles our
favorite former-forensics-dabbling-FBI-agent-turned-pediatric-
surgeon performs.  Drama ensues, of course :-)

Author's Note: Corrigenda is a Latin phrase meaning
"things to be corrected"
Archiving: Please ask permission. 


Tuesday - April 15, 2008

Residence of Fox Mulder & Dana Scully                
Just Outside Richmond, VA

3:12pm     

"We found a match--" 

"Who? Why did it take so long--" 

"He wasn't in the FBI database, Mulder, let me explain." 

"I'm listening," he said and sucked in a lungful of air after the
initial adrenaline rush.  

"The guy is on file as working for a Richmond-based,
technology retail corporation. They require all employees to
have their prints taken for security purposes."  

Mulder could hear the slight static and muffled noise of the air
conditioner circulating recycled air. "You're in your car?" 

There was no reply.

"Where is he--" 

"Mulder--" 

"You're bringing him in for questioning, right? Tell me where to
meet--" 

"I don't think that's a good idea." 

"Why not?" 

There was a rustling of fabric coming through the phone like
Skinner was shifting around. A thousand questions demanded
attention, but for some reason the one Mulder blurted was
"What part of the house were his fingerprints pulled from?" 

More silence. A long string of obscenities ran through Mulder's
head and his eyes shot down to the bottom drawer where he
kept his newly-licensed concealed handgun. "You can't expect
me to just sit here now that we've got answers!" 

"Yeah," Skinner admitted through gritted teeth. "I know. Look,
I need you to promise me you will let us handle this the way we
are authorized to...if you can't control yourself and the
investigation is blown because of some legal slip-up--" 

"I promise," Mulder said in as calm a voice as he could manage
given the sprint his heart was doing. "I *need* to be there,
Walter." 

The use of his first name didn't surprise him as much as he
would have thought: Mulder was reminding him of the personal
cost this visit could hold for both of them.  

Mulder could hear the heavy sigh through the phone and
inwardly cheered at his victory. 

"I'm only halfway between DC and Richmond. I'll pick you up
in an hour." 

**** 

4:22pm 

Mulder answered the door feeling slightly foolish and heavily
underdressed, in jeans and a henley, before an Armani-swathed
FBI Deputy Director. He opened the door and stepped
forward towards the stoop but Skinner's arm shot out to block
him. 

"There's been a change of plans," Skinner sighed, brushing by
his utterly bewildered friend. 

Mulder's eyes followed inquisitively as Skinner marched into his
and Scully's living room. "What change? We aren't going to the
Richmond Field Office?" 

"No. He's no longer a suspect--" 

"WHAT?" 

"They arrived at his home thirty minutes ago. He was very
cooperative and," Skinner swallowed, praying Mulder would
miss the beads of sweat that were forming above his eyebrows,
"they searched his property. There was no one there besides
his young son." 

"So what? That doesn't prove a fucking thing!" 

"Mulder..." he implored, eyes closed, knowing this was about
to get infinitely more heated. He gripped the "former" suspect's
file in his hands with the extreme care a snake-handler would
give a viper, knowing the deleterious power contained within. 

"I want to--" 

"MULDER!"  

Daggers of fury flew from Mulder's eyes, his mouth falling open
to protest, but before he could utter a word Skinner said, "You
need to sit down." 

A cold chill passed through Mulder's body and the room
seemed to sway. "Sh-she-she's not..." 

"No, Mulder, she's fine," Skinner quickly assured him and
gestured to the couch. "But I do have some news. You need to
take a seat." 

Both men moved so that they faced one another on the couch.
Skinner extended Mulder a thin manila file folder which he took
with quivering fingers. Opening the file, his eyes immediately fell
to the small ID picture at the top right corner of the opening
page and he gasped.  

"Mulder?" Confusion was clear in Skinner's voice, and
Mulder's next words came as a complete shock. 

"I know this man," he said without pulling his eyes from the
photo. "His son was a recent patient of Scully's. The boy had
been in a car crash. Drunk driver," he spouted off from memory
of his and Scully's conversation at the grocery store. Alarms
shrilled inside his head as he recalled with awful precision the
admiring, almost-worshipful look in the man's -- he skimmed
his eyes down the paper to confirm the man's name, Anthony
Walker Patterson -- eyes as they lit upon Scully.  

He jumped from the couch. "IT'S HIM! THIS IS THE GUY!"
And then he remembered where he was currently and the news
he had just received and glared at Skinner, voice full of
indignation as he thundered, "You let him go?" 

"Sit down, Mulder." 

"The hell I will--" 

*Jesus, Mulder. Don't make me do this.* "There's information
you don't have." 

"What are you talking about?" His voice was impatient, but he
finally took Skinner's advice and sat gingerly on the edge of the
couch cushion. 

"Mulder, what I'm about to tell you...I don't relish being the one
to bring you this news, but the last thing I want is for you to find
out from someone else..." *Well, besides the woman who owes
him one hell of an explanation,* he thought bitterly. Skinner
looked around the room, straightened his tie, adjusted his
blazer...anything to delay the inevitable.  With nothing else to be
done, he fixed his eyes back on Mulder's narrowed ones.
"Tony Patterson claims that he and Dana have been seeing each
other in secret for several weeks." 

The statement caught Mulder so off-guard he felt like he had
just run into a plate glass window. The room vanished: all he
could see was Scully's letter thrust before his eyes, the words
fire as they leapt off the page to scorch him from head to toe. 

I've met someone.  

Skinner could do nothing to stop it happening. He watched as
the whites around Mulder's eyes doubled in size. Watched as
the blood drained from his face. Watched as his shoulders
hitched from hyperventilation. 

"WHAT? He-he's lying!" 

"We suspected the same." Mulder's head jerked up at this bit
of news. "But there is evidence. He showed us text messages,
sent from her cell to his, that date back to March fifth." 

Mulder doubled over, as if Skinner had physically punched him
in the stomach; his fingers formed claws on his scalp, gripping
the locks of hair between. "The fingerprints." 

*Fuck! Don't make me say this Mulder. Of all the things you
could have thought of...*

"Where?" 

"Mulder..." 

"WHERE?" He jumped to his feet, eyes blazing; Skinner
expected steam to burst from his ears at any second. 

"The doors, the bathroom...the headboard." 

Mulder staggered backward a step, as though he'd been shot;
his jaw dropped for less than a millisecond before it snapped
shut like a steel trap. He glanced at the couch cushion, the far
wall by the kitchen, the porch, his office...and then he clenched
his eyelids shut. There wasn't anywhere in that room that didn't
hold memories of her body pressed against his.  

"What about her absence from work?" 

Skinner sighed heavily. "She did that to avoid you...after you
found the note." 

"Wait, one of your agents spoke to her?" 

"No. She is staying with a relative for a little while. We have her
contact information to do a follow-up," he said, making it clear
that he wasn't about to hand over *that* little nugget. 

"And have you?" 

"I'm waiting until I get back to the office." 

He turned away from Skinner, eyes still closed. 

"I'd like to be alone." 

Skinner hesitated. Mulder was not in any shape to be by
himself right now and he knew it. He'd seen the depths of the
man's depression when Scully disappeared and, though this
was a very different disappearance, he knew Mulder would try
to secure answers. If someone interfered.... 

"I can't do that." 

Mulder slowly turned back around, but couldn't find the
strength to lift his head. "You don't need to worry about me,
Walter. I just need some time..." 

"Are you sure you can handle this on your own...it's been a
rough few days. I don't know--" 

"I don't want an audience for this." 

Skinner had nothing to say to that.  

"Look, do you want me to check in or something later? I know
how suicide watches work. This ain't my first rodeo."
Somehow the humor was lost on both of them. 

"Yeah. If I don't hear from you by the time I make it to DC, I'm
hauling my ass back out here." Mulder snorted sarcastically.
"And then I'm hauling yours back with me." 

"Message received." 

****

Twenty minutes after Skinner left, Mulder was sitting in his
office. The piece of paper in front of him was full of angry
scrawls as his pen moved feverishly along the lines. There were
two distinct columns made obvious only by the space between.



Text Messages                    She didn't text
to
                                 Warn him
we'd be at
                                 the store

Fingerprints                     He came
here to get
                                 her things

His home was empty               He's
keeping her

somewhere else
                                 (check
for other
properties in his
                                 name
or w/possible

connection)

She's still gone                 No one has
talked to
                                 her; could be a ruse

                                 to buy time

Last known contact: Thursday around 2pm


Mulder looked at the list he had made and saw that he had left
the most important thing off. The only thing that was keeping
him sane. 

In huge, bold print, he wrote: 


                               THE CROSS

*************
END Part 8