Phone Calls By RocketMan ===== SPOILER:::: MAX Author's Notes: This is a Scully POV on the phone in Max when she is trying to keep Mulder from opening the bag he found in the airport. Loosely phrased dialogue because I didn't write it all down during the episode. Sorry. ===== "Mulder, don't open the bag. Mulder? You hear me? Don't open the bag!" I shout into the phone as I walk down the psych ward. "Do you hear me Mulder? Don't open the bag!" I can tell his line is breaking up and I feel suddenly sickened. "Mulder?!" "Hold on, Scully. I'll tell you what it is in a minute." he says, that low whispery voice coming through rough. "No Mulder! Don't!" Nothing. My breath isn't coming very well. I can't hear him, I can't tell what's going on. "Mulder!" Nothing. He's probably opening it righ now, wave after invisible wave will assualt his body and scorch his flesh. I shudder. Sometimes being a forensic examiner isn't so great. It gives my imagination way too much to work with. I am holding my breath, my face twisted, straining to hear every single thing from his end that I can. "Scully. It looks like . . ." I don't even hear the rest of his description; instead my eyes close in relief and I breathe again. " . . . get a good picture with X-ray . . . " I shake off the latch key fear and resume the professional stance again. I just am afraid that someone else will die before I do. Pendrell wasn't supposed to die, not before me anyway. I'm the one who has a life threatening case of cancer, I'm the one knocking loudly to be let in on Death's door. Not Pendrell. And not Mulder. Thank God. ~~~~X~~~~X~~~~ "I've got the man who killed Pendrell." This stops me short. "What?!" "Yeah, listen, can you have a car waiting for me?" "I don't think that will be a problem Mulder." I say, still unable to believe Pendrell is dead, let alone that Mulder has his killer. "Oh, and get Skinner out there too. I don't want to ruin it trying to get him off the plane." "Okay." I am about to speak again when I hear his sharp intake. "Scully my watch has stopped." I shiver. The phone hits something. "Mulder!" Silence. "Mulder! Hello? Mulder!" No! Not again, damnit! "Mulder!" I am shaking; I can't let this happen. His watch stopped, his *watch* stopped. All the people on that plane, and none had a watch found on them. Their watches stopped, someone had to do it. Someone had to make all that disappear, someone had to attempt to assassinate the man who would give us that evidence.......someone had to kill Pendrell. Oh, no......His watch stopped. A scream. A loud symphony of screams. Mulder. I hear him, in the background, telling someone to 'drop the bag.' He's yelling, people are screaming, and I can hear a roar. A roar. Making the phone rattle on the other end so that it echoes into my ear. Mulder. "Hey! Let it go! Let it go!" Mulder's strong, soothing voice trying to gain control. Nothing. Silence. Then the hiss of static telling me the phone line has been disconnected. Oh.....no..... Mulder. I am running to find Skinner, to get to the airport, to call someone and ask them to keep an eye out for his flight. Not Mulder. Not Mulder. Not again. ~~~~X~~~~X~~~~ "Would you like to tell me what's going on here Agent Mulder?" Skinner asks, annoyed that Mulder would bring him out to the airport on a seemingly false accusation. I release Mulder's wrist, feeling unsettled at the nine minute time difference, and purse my lips. "I don't think you want to know." I say, suprising myself, Skinner, and most of all, Mulder. He glances to me with a look of shock and I see the image in my mind of Mulder's watch, at 10:47, while mine clearly says 10:56. It's late. I want to go home, curl up in bed and just stop thinking for awhile. No more trying to figure out why nine minutes are so important. I want to stay away from things like that. I want to stop having to pretend I'm fine even though each drop of blood reminds me I'm not. Mulder leads me off the plane, out to the parking lot, taking the keys from my hands. I slump in the seat and sigh. "Mulder, you've got to stop doing that." He starts, not expecting to hear my voice since I usually shut up and allow him to think after such emotionally draining cases. "What? Doing what?" "Leaving me thinking you're about to . . . to be gone . . . or dead." He glances quickly to me and then back at the road. "Let's talk later." he says. "Mulder!" "No. I mean when we get to your apartment. I don't want to have a wreck." He smiles wryly at me. I raise an eyebrow and say, "My thoughts are not *that* earth shaking." He gives me that smirk. "Yeah, I know. Tell me about it." I frown and decide not to even comment on *his* thoughts. "No, Scully. I just think it'd be best if I could pay attention." Suprise. Suprise. First he remembers my birthday, now this. We make it home in one piece, besides that he kept looking over at me to make sure I was all right. "So, what did you mean?" I smile as we are barely in the door. It was a struggle for him to keep in his curiousity. Curiousity killed the cat. "Satisfaction brought him back." he says. "Did I say that out loud?" He looks at me strangely, then puts a hand to my head. "Hmmm. No fever." I swat at him and sit at the couch. He stradles the computer chair, a safe distance from me. "Mulder, what I was referring to was your tendency to leave me out in the cold. You did it twice today. Once when you had the bag and I told you not to open it, yet you proceeded to ignore me and didn't even tell me you had heard my warning --" "But Scully!" "Mulder, listen to me." I plead, my face almost losing its mask. He jerks back in the chair, horrified at my control loss. "I - I'm listening." he says, his voice low with danger. "You don't even think of what you're doing to people, to me," I say. "I don't mean to, Scully," he says. "I know. I just want you to be aware of it," I say in a resigned voice, knowing that he will never fully think about his actions, or the effect they may have on me. He nods and gets up. I guess he's leaving before I can start crying or something. But he comes over to me. "I'll try Scully. No promises, but I'll try." I smile and he wraps his arms around me. "No more advance warning phone calls, then," he says. I groan. "No, that's not it! I --" His smirk stops me. He's teasing me again. I give him a look that says 'I'm not going to smile because it would only say I approve.' But I smile anyway and he pulls me into his arms again. "It'll be okay Scully," he whispers. I nod into his chest. It won't be, I know. But it's nice to imagine. Just as the Apollo 11 crew did. And maybe our dreams will come true, too. end adios RocketMan Respond now.