He'd killed him! Krycek had murdered his father and he'd never be punished, except by Mulder himself. There was never any justice for people like Krycek. Enraged, he pointed Krycek's gun at him. She had stolen his.
"Mulder, don't shoot him. Just back away."
Scully? Where had she come from? It didn't matter; she was working with them now. "He killed my father, Scully.
"I have him, Mulder."
"No, Scully . . ." He couldn't trust her, he couldn't trust anyone. The sound of a gunshot jolted him. No, it was the bullet entering his body. She'd shot him, not Krycek? That was his last thought before everything went black.
He was alone; he could see nothing, feel nothing. Maybe he was dead. He was pretty sure his eyes were open, but he wasn't sure he could feel his body. There was no pain, no physical pain anyway. Yeah, that was probably death, for him anyway. Did he want to be able to see or feel anything? It was over, wasn't it? They'd murdered his father before he could tell him anything. And now . . .
Now Scully had betrayed him.
Even in the darkness that enveloped him, everything seemed to become even darker just at that thought. He had begun to trust her. No, he had truly trusted her. But just like everyone else, she had betrayed him, killed him. She'd protected herself at his expense, taking his gun while he lay helpless in her damn bed. She'd turned in her littler reports to him, to Cancerman, and probably laughed while she did it.
She'd never believed; he knew that now at least. She allowed him to confide in her, encouraged it even, led him to trust her. He'd been honest with her, more open than he'd been with anyone in years, face it, in forever. And she'd done it for them, not him, never him.
Despair brought him even lower and for a while, he could think of nothing, just existing in this dark.
Why did he still exist? There was no reason to continue - no one to trust, no one to help him, only to mislead, betray, and use him.
Untold time later, he became aware that wherever he was, his surroundings seemed slightly less dark. His mood remained dark and he wondered again why he still existed, but he seemed to have no control over that.
What had turned Scully, or had she always been working against him? Somehow that didn't feel right. She had gone with him on the cases, the X-Files, really assisted him on more than one occasion. She had put herself on the line for him, even lied for him, when they had worked on the Tooms case. She had put herself in danger to come for him when he's gone to Arecibo.
She'd shot him and allowed Krycek to escape. Why would she do that?
She had turned to him after Donnie Pfaster had taken her. That had not been feinted, she had allowed him to hold her, and she had cried in his arms.
She had pulled a gun on him when they'd been in Icy Cape.
She'd allowed him to use her as bait for John Barnett. Even now, disconnected from his body, he shivered at that. Putting her in danger even to catch Barnett had been hard, now he knew he couldn't do it at all.
Why not? She'd thrown him to the wolves.
The reason Duane Barry had taken her was because she'd continue to work with him even after the Bureau had separated them.
Why was he thinking about any of this? It didn't matter, nothing mattered. He'd never see her again. She would have taken off to be with the others that worked against him. Those whose life's work was to destroy him, as soon as her bullet had entered his body.
She had to have run. After killing him, she'd want to be as far away from him as possible. He was alone. That had to be for the better, right? He floated in the stillness and waited with no hope.
"He's awake." A strange man's voice came to him. Then he heard the only words he needed.
"Mulder, Mulder it's me."