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The Ghosts Whose Christmas Was Stolen

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"Scully?" He called out, spotting his partner's crumpled form on the ground. "Scully!" He repeated when she didn't answer, although she did groan and move a little.
She turned toward him laboriously, grabbing and pointing her gun at him. He could see holding her head up so she could see him from her position laying on her back was taking some serious effort. So why was she doing it? He in turn pointed his gun at her, with seemingly much less discomfort, courtesy of his advantageous position on his stomach.
"I'm not gonna make it." She whispered, the words barely making it to him, she sounded as though she was in considerable pain.
"No you're not." He replied, his voice hoarse with the pain he himself was enduring. "Not without me, you're not." His words took on a dangerous, almost foreign edge. He took aim at her and tightened is finger on the trigger, if he tightened is any more the gun would go off.
"Are you afraid Mulder?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly, although he couldn't tell if it was from the strenuous position or fear of her own.
A gun went off.
At first he didn't notice it'd been his own, but he felt the recoil, saw Scully's eyes widen in surprise, saw her fall back with a whimper, saw a red stain form on her formerly white blouse. But hadn't it been red? He then noticed his own clothes were now blood-stain free . He dropped the gun, ran his hands over his chest, nothing. Oh, no. "Scully!"
He ran over to her side, whipping out his phone - no signal - he tossed it onto the floor, not caring when it shattered. Her blood was now pooling beneath her. "Oh, Scully." He fell to his knees beside her, pressing his hands over the wound.
"Why'd you shoot me Mulder?" She had to force the words out, the betrayal was evident in her voice. He looked over to her face and saw the pained look etched there.
"I didn't mean to, the gun just went off." He half lied, knowing he must've pulled the trigger, not wanting to believe it.
"And before?"
At this a look of confusion crossed his features. "Before?"
"Why did you shoot me the first time. And why were you bleeding? And why aren't you anymore?" At this the scene finally made some kind of sense.
Scully had pointed a gun at him because she'd seen him shoot her, just as he'd seen her shoot him. "A murder-suicide is all about trust." She'd been planning this. No, not her, *them*.
"Look, Scully, I think that the three double-murders in the last eighty years were not as much part of a lovers' pact as they were Lyda and Maurice's doing. I think they made them see themselves getting shot by the other, just like we did, which moved them to actually shoot one another, and then themselves, when they realized what they had done."
"Lyda and Maurice?" She was poking around in her injury now, no doubt trying to survey the damage.
"The Star-Crossed Lovers. I saw them, only they were aged. Didn't you?" Then, looking back at her probing hands. "How bad is it?"
"Yeah." She grimaced. "I think you may have pierced my stomach, Mulder."
He winced at the wording. "What can I do to help? Is it serious?"
"If you did puncture it I have maybe 15 minutes before I die of either blood loss or poisoning from my stomach acids. You need to get help Mulder, fast." Her pallor was increasing, her breath becoming more labored.
His face fell. He stood up, intent on getting an ambulance on the scene as soon as possible, but with his phone broken and no signal available he'd have to run outside to get it. He got up, quickly going to the closest door, the one he'd come through a few minutes earlier. It was closed. He jiggled the door knob, it didn't give. He ran to the other door, same thing. He tried to shoot out the lock of, and then beak down, one after the other, none of it to any avail. He resorted to banging on the first door he'd been trying, hoping still it would give out, open, anything to give him access to help. He must've been at it for awhile, for his fists were bloodied. Or maybe it was from Scully's blood.
He slumped back onto her side.
"I can't get it open. Or call for help." He spoke evenly, tone purposefully devoid of emotion.
"It's okay, I'm not sure how much help could have been given anyhow." She paused and took a long, painful looking breath. "You didn't really think I'd shot you, did you Mulder?"
"You were the one pointing a gun at me, Scully." He deflected.
"I didn't shoot you." She let that sink in, and then another thought seemed to occur to her. "And that thing you said before you shot me, Mulder, about me not making it without you, what did you mean?"
Gee, Scully, you really cut to the core on that one, didn't you? he thought. "That I wouldn't have let you shoot me." He said, feeling more than a little ashamed.
"You could've at least shot me in the shoulder, Mulder. Or are you that bad a shot?" Good, she was joking. Maybe she wouldn't die hating him, he thought, then grimaced.
"His and Hers bullet scars, Scully. Why, I never thought you were the type." His humor, however, fell pitifully flat.
"Better than a COD." She said, trying to smile to take the sting out of the words, her face twisting up in pain instead. She swallowed with some difficulty, and seemed to pale even more. He wondered how much more time she had.
"How are you so calm, Scully?" He asked, pressing his hands more firmly against the bullet wound, she winced and squeezed his hand.
"I don't think I have the energy to be mad at you right now, Mulder." It was his turn to wince. She was going to die, there was nothing he could do about it, and to top it all off, he'd been the one to shoot her. "You know, Mulder, I really didn't think either of us was gonna do it."
He looked at her with regret. "I didn't mean to, the gun just went off." He repeated dumbly. "Are you sure I pierced it? Isn't there anything I can do, really?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure, if the pain's anything to go by. At least it didn't rupture, I would be dead already if it had." Her eyelids fluttered. He pressed the wound harder.
"Don't pass out on me just yet, Scully, c'mon."
"I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out. I'm not gonna make it Mulder." Her voice fazed out and he felt her go limp in his grasp.
He readjusted his position so he could check if she was still breathing. She wasn't. He freed one of his hands from her now weak hold and checked her pulse. Nothing. The doors both swung open, each to reveal one of the Star-Crossed Lovers.
"She's dead, oh dear." Said Lyda, feigning surprise.
"I did try to tell her he was unstable, she had more faith in you than she should've, apparently." Maurice chimed in.
"You." He stood up. "You killed her." He pulled out his gun, pointing it at Lyda, then at Maurice and back.
Lyda let her robe fall open and Maurice took off his hat to reveal a hole where the rest of his head should've been. "That hardly seems to be the most effective weapon, wouldn't you say?" Lyda said casually.
"Besides, she's already dead, what's shooting us gonna do?" Maurice weighted in.
"And it's not like we were the ones to shoot her, dear, you managed to do that all by yourself." She sighed. "Killed the only person who could put up with you, now how sad is that?" She stepped closer to him.
"Stay back!" He yelled.
"Why don't you just finish it?" Suddenly she was pressing the muzzle of his gun to his temple. The cold metal felt soothing on his throbbing head. He tightened his finger on the trigger.
A gun went off.