Corrigenda (12/15)
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. 

WARNING: This part of the story contains a section that is
VERY NC-17 for graphic violence and explicit sexual assault. 
This section is demarcated by ########## so that those
inclined can skip past it.


12:41am 

Tony sat in the basement, one eye on *Wedding Crashers*
playing on his 20 inch computer monitor and the other on the
video feedback monitor that currently showed Dana's sleeping
form beneath the comforter. He laughed boisterously at Will
Ferrell's loser character, Chaz, and tossed back another shot:
the once three-quarters full bottle was now less than
one-quarters full. 

He had wanted to go back to the main house to sleep in his
bed, but had known that wasn't a safe move with that asshole
Mulder watching the ranch. Tony stroked his finger tenderly
along the shaft of his gun from where it gleamed at him on the
desk. It would be so easy to just go out there and put a bullet in
the man's brain...but it was the *after* that was the problem.
So, he had holed himself up in the stuffy basement, watching a
comedy and Dana's room in nothing but his shorts while Jack
Daniel's soothed his tensions.  

There was a movement from the video monitor that correlated
exactly with a scream from above. *Shit. Now is* not the time,
Dana.* 

He watched as she struggled with the comforter, getting more
deeply tangled with the material as she fought. Dana's legs
kicked and thrashed as another bone-chilling scream echoed
through the house. Tony, unable to stand it anymore, grabbed
his gun and keychain and stumbled up the cement staircase to
her room.

Dana's screams became moans during the two minutes he spent
just trying to fit the right key in the lock. *Maybe the alcohol
hadn't been the best idea,* he considered while closing the
door behind him. 

He approached her bedside as quietly as he could, not wanting
to wake her tonight of all nights. Not after what had happened
outside. As carefully as he was able, he crawled onto the area
of the bed beside her and began pulling the comforter off her.
This was his usual routine, as it kept her from physically battling
whatever demons her mind currently provided. Normally,
tonight being no exception, she would continue to sob or
scream or moan and throw the occasional elbow, but her legs
would have stilled. The only solution Tony had found meant
crawling on top of Dana to secure both of her arms, then rolling
off to the side to hold her until the cries grew faint as a peaceful
sleep would finally came over her. 

And that is exactly what he did...until he heard the man's name. 

**** 

Mulder sat in his car and cursed silently when, sifting blindly
through the cellophane bag, he found he had gone through his
entire stash of seeds. It had been over two hours since he had
seen Patterson cross the dark ranch, presumably going back to
watch over the woman he held captive. He grinded his teeth at
the thought of what might be transcending behind closed doors. 
  

Scully was a genius. There was no doubt about it: coming up
with that clue in the insanely short amount of time she had to
prepare it was nothing short of amazing. When he had googled
a German to English translator site, he had only to try two
different spellings of the word to see that it meant "do not
surrender". Mulder looked at it once and though he understood
the meaning, he wondered why she had chosen that particular
phrase. So he turned the words around again and again, until
growing so mad with frustration that he began laughing aloud at
himself. And, then he pulled up the site Thesaurus.com and
entered the word "surrender".  

And all the oxygen in his lungs seemed to vanish. For under the
verb entry the definition said "give up". 

Nicht aufgeben: Don't give up. 

*Jesus, Scully.*   

Mulder stared out the windshield, concentrating on the pitch
black air to keep from glancing -- again -- at the gun in the seat
with the bag of what had contained his only source of protein in
two days. 

He sat, impotence overwhelming him again as the emotional
cycle reached its beginning for at least the third time since he
had left their home. *What the hell am I doing just sitting here
anyway? Waiting for Patterson to come out in animal skins,
waving his club around the air, grunting and pointing? Do I call
Skinner? And what do I tell him, "Hey Walt, I saw Scully today
and...oh yeah, I followed Patterson out to the ranch he didn't
tell you about and...what? Oh, well I waited for him to come
home...what do you mean 'how did I know where he lived?'
Haven't you ever heard of Google?"* The cycle continued on
and self-doubt renewed itself. *What if Scully's clue was
metaphorical? What if she's not being held prisoner, but rather
just wants me to prove that I still love her? Shit, that's
dumb...even for you, Fox. Why the hell would she...* 

As he glared, he could have sworn he saw something move in
the darkness. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood at
attention. Was it Patterson again? Would he really have left her
unattended now that he knew -- and this much Mulder was
sure of -- that he was being watched? He blinked, thinking
maybe it had just been his tired eyes playing tricks on him.
Nothing. Mulder let out a deep sigh of frustration and peeked
instinctively at his Sig again. The edgy feeling settled further,
charging down his spine, through his limbs, and out to the tips
of his fingers and toes. He shuddered. 

Something was not right.  

It was one of those indescribable moments of hypersensitivity
that had long ago earned him the nickname, Spooky. But clever
monikers aside, the feeling had saved countless lives: his and
the woman's inside being two of those.  

He grabbed his gun and shoved the door open. 



WARNING: The next part of this story is VERY NC-17 for
graphic violence and explicit sexual assault. 

##########

TEN MINUTES EARLIER 

He was combing his left hand through Dana's long,
night-darkened hair while his right one kept her body cocooned
tightly to his chest. As he shushed her and began humming a
random melody in effort to soothe her, Dana sobbed, "Don't,
Mulder" -- Tony froze -- "love you...don't...up on me." 

"No," Tony growled. *No, no, no! How can she still be
hung-up on that asshole after he left her today! You're mine
now, Dana, not his! I'll show you...I'll fucking show you...*  

He rolled on top of her -- the monster inside him clawing and
scratching as it sensed that freedom was close now -- and
attacked her throat. 

"Wha?" Dana moaned, still half-asleep.  

He nipped and sucked the soft flesh just below her chin down
to where the plunging V-neck of her tank-top met the skin of
her breasts. Holding her arms effectively out of the way with
one hand, he squeezed the soft silk-covered mound. 

And Scully screamed.  

Re-securing her now thrashing body with his, he ripped the top
down the middle and yanked it from her body in two quick
motions. 

"TONY, PLEASE! Don't do this! PLEASE! You promised,
remember?" she squeaked, grasping for straws in which to
break his focus. "You said you wouldn't hurt me!" 

She could see the whites of his teeth in the darkness as he
grinned down upon her in arousal.  

"I'm not going to hurt you, Dana," he panted and attempted to
place a kiss to her nose but she quickly averted her face. "Just
love you. Love you so much." 

Scully wrinkled her nose as the smell of alcohol spread through
the air around her head. *He'sdrunkhe'sdrunkhe'sdrunk...oh
God, please no...* 

Dealing with a traumatized maniac was hard enough to reason
with, but now he was in even less control of himself. In that
same moment, she felt where the majority of his control lay and
screamed out again.  

"Dammit! You can't holler like that, Dana....shhh...just shhh...oh
Jesus," he groaned as he grinded himself against her again. 

"Tony, please--" She paused as he shifted his weight the
slightest bit. He was searching with his free arm for something.
When Scully began trying to reason with him again, she was
immediately and forcibly silenced by the silk pajama top he had
recently stripped from her. He shoved it so deep that when she
tried to push it out with her tongue, she inadvertently caused
herself to bring it deeper. 

Her lungs burned as she fought against the obstruction until the
only option she had was to surrender so that she could begin
breathing through her nose. 

Somewhere in the back of Tony's mind he demanded this to
stop...whether it was the alcohol or the pure need to feel
himself inside her he didn't know, but his body couldn't stop.
He could feel her shoulders shaking as her arms continued to
wriggle, but instead of feeling remorse he became even more
intent on showing her how good he would make her feel. 

The next part was difficult given his drink-addled sense of
balance. He had to hold one of her legs still between both of his
-- her free leg kicking wildly, obviously hoping to make contact
with something that would bring him intense pain -- while he
yanked and pulled at her pants and underwear until they, too,
ripped down the middle.  

"Shhh, baby," he cooed even though he had made very sure
that she would no longer be able to verbalize her distaste for his
idea of love-making. He positioned his lower body between her
legs that were still trying to clench together and force him away.
"This'll feel good," Tony slurred. "I promise, Dane...only hurt
for a little." 

Scully couldn't help it: she was crying. She had been trained for
this exact type of situation many times, and all the experts said
the same thing: let it happen. She knew it was inevitable. He
would rape her and then maybe he would leave her alone for a
while. It was all she could hope for now. 

That's what all the experts said. But Dana Katherine Scully was
nothing if she wasn't stubborn. 

Tony reached between her legs and roughly began searching
for an opening.  

Scully wanted to leave her mind, imagine herself in a better
place. A place with Mulder. Mulder. The tears burned furiously
down her cheeks and she looked around the room desperate
for something to lock onto. Something to fight for in this sudden
hell. 

"Oh...shit...yeah, that's it..." Tony whispered as he found what
he was looking for and pulled his hand away. And then he was
pressing himself into her. 

*Don't, Dana...Don't think about it...Find a way out...there has
to...Oh God, it hurts! Stop! Stop!*  

And, as if her eyes had gained some sort of infrared capability,
she saw it: lying right there beside her. 

As Tony started moving faster, his grip on her arms loosened
with sweat. If she pulled free, she would get less than a second
to grab it. He moaned again, and she went completely limp. His
hand slid slightly and she pushed with everything she had and
freed her right arm. With speed that could only have come from
pure adrenaline, she brought the butt of the gun crashing into his
temple. 

He landed with a thud on top of her. 

##########


As Mulder approached the gate, he thought he saw a flash of
movement in the unlit kitchen. He heard the sound of a door
being opened and froze as he waited expectantly for someone
to come out of the house...but no one did. A few seconds later,
the bay window was awash with light. 

He crept up slowly to the house when the sounds of sirens
sounded in the distance. Mulder interpreted this to mean he had
less time to get inside so he sprinted up to the side of the small
house, ducking beneath the bay window in effort to get to the
door. The sirens grew louder and now he could make out the
blur of blue and red lights flashing two hills down the road.  

The front door was ajar. He straightened his gun arm so that it
was even with his shoulder, prepared for the inevitable and
immediate confrontation, and pushed his way inside. 

But the room was empty. 

He kept his gun trained as he surveyed the entire kitchen,
adjacent living room, and the immediately visible area of the
hallway. He noticed the wireless phone laying haphazardly
beside the charger, but other than that, nothing out of place.
Mulder walked toward the hallway to continue his search and
the ceiling burst into red and blue flames; he watched in horror
as two cruisers pulled into the drive in front of the ranch. 

*Shit! Patterson called the cops.* 

As he watched the policemen get out of their cars, he noticed
an ambulance pulling up behind them.  

*What the hell? Why would they have sent an amb--u*--his
stomach dropped into his shoes-- *Scully!* 

He raced down the hallway and came to a screeching halt two
feet from the entrance of a doorway. 

"Ungh..." a deep voice groaned. "Wharrrthefuuuck?" 

Mulder pressed himself to the wall, gun tucked under his chin,
as he heard heavy footsteps in the same room now just on the
other side of the barrier. 

"Dane? Daaaa-na?" There were more, quicker footfalls,
followed by silence, and then, "Shiiiiiit!" 

Around the corner emerged an irate-looking Tony Patterson --
dressed only in boxers and sporting a gash on the side of his
head that oozed a dark red. 

"Don't. Move." 

The image that had replayed so sadistically in Mulder's mind for
days rolled behind his eyes, but now with a fresh perspective.
Scully had attacked Tony. Who was nearly nude. In the
bedroom. His grip on the trigger tightened as his stomach
heaved. 

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?" 

Tony glared in bewilderment at the man who was holding a gun
in his face at arm's length, not seeing in the dim light the sheen
that covered Mulder's forehead or how sickly green his skin
had suddenly turned. "Do?" 

"SCULLY!" 

Just then, Mulder could hear the commotion of people entering
the open door and, keeping his gun pointed at Tony's head,
moved backwards into the bedroom and flipped on the light.
The sounds of the cops were getting closer and he felt
comfortable enough to leave Tony with them.  

There was no one in the room. Had she fled to some other part
of the house? It wasn't that large, the majority of it he had
already searched before coming down the hall. He saw an
entrance to a smaller room and ran towards it. Again, Mulder
turned on the lights to find nothing there but a toilet, shower,
sink, and a door that appeared to seal the closet.  

He could hear Tony's loud and vulgar protests behind him as
the cops yelled harsh commands for him to surrender. Mulder
knew he had seconds at the most before he would be found
and questioned. He darted for the closet door and threw it
wide. 

And his heart seemed to literally shred itself with the sight he
was presented. 

Scully, her shirt on backwards, nude below that, a pair of jeans
clutched in one hand while the other pointed a gun straight into
his face. Her eyes bugged wide as she realized who she was
looking at. The gun dropped dangerously to the ground as she
rushed head-long into his chest. 

The sound of police bursting into the room, bellowing for
Mulder to put his hands up was the only thing that could have
kept him from enveloping her in his arms until the world
stopped spinning. 

"No" Scully choked. "No, it-it's okay. He's not th-the guy. He's
okay." 

"M'am?" 

They both looked toward the sound on Mulder's right to see a
young, female police officer eyeing them warily.  

Scully held up her hand for a second before backing into the
closet and closing it. She emerged less than ten seconds later
with her jeans on. 

The cop had moved close enough to Mulder that he was able
to identify the name on her badge: Kennedy. "M'am, on the
phone you said you'd--" she glanced from Scully to Mulder and
back, "you'd been hurt." 

*Oh God, no. No, please, not this,* he thought as the urge to
wrap her up in himself heightened. Instead, Mulder looked
down at Scully -- who had kept a good distance of over five
feet after getting her pants on -- and saw her eyes squeeze shut:
putting up the only wall she had for the moment.  

"We have the paramedics here to attend to you." 

Scully nodded and then her eyes flew open, darting past
Mulder into the bedroom. "Did you find him?" 

"Yes, m'am. He's being dealt with by my partner and two other
officers at the moment." Officer Kennedy glanced again at
Mulder. 

"Sir, may I ask--" 

"He's my husband," Scully interjected with a ferocity of which
he didn't know she was currently capable.  

"Ah. Well then, I will leave you two here while I go get you
some help." 

"Thank you," they both replied. 

As Mulder stared at Scully in the silence, he was reminded of a
moment so very long ago. He had tracked Donnie Pfaster
down at Pfaster's mother's house, just in time to find him
straddling a bound and gagged Scully. While he helped remove
her restraints, he saw just how strong the woman before him
was. The fact that she allowed herself some release, with him,
in the moments afterward only amplified that observation. 

"I'm okay," she spoke at last. 

He thought about that. "Yeah, well, I'm not." 

"Sorry about the husband thing, I thought that it would provide
the best explanation given the situation." 

Wait. She was apologizing to him? She had just been -- he
skipped over the word, unable to face the horror that had
happened on *his* watch -- and she was apologizing for
claiming that he was something that he would give anything to
be to her. She was worried about his uneasiness? This was
insane! 

He was about to express his opinion when she spoke again.  

"Actually, I think it might be best if you wait outside--" 

"Scully--" 

Her pleading eyes stopped him cold. 

"Okay, I'll be waiting in the ambulance." 

She was looking at the floor as she nodded. 

His right hand quivered as it longed to touch her again, but he
doubted that was the best idea. Turning slowly, he began
walking out of the room and missed the tear that ran down her
cheek as she watched him go.  


*************
END Part 12