MEA CULPA(1/2)Date: Sat, 20 Jun 1998 
CATEGORY: MulderTorture big time, MulderAngst big time. ScullyAngst. M/S
Romance to a degree. And my own favorite category... SkinnerConcern. 
DISCLAIMER: I don't own'em. I'm just borrowing them. They'll be returned in
the state I found them in. :o) They do, however, belong to CC and 1013
Productions and that's about all I have to say about that. 
SPOILERS: A little bit for PINE BLUFF, but apart from that... not really.
Guess where I got the idea, though. :o) 
ARCHIVE: Yeah, go ahead. As long as my name and e-mail address are attached,
knock yourselves out. :o) And let me know where it goes, please. 
FEEDBACK: Please! And thanks to everybody who's commented on my other
stories. All comments are welcome. 
THANKS: To my dear friend Kristina in Sweden for reading these tales of woe
with an unprecedented appetite. Your comments mean the world to me,
Kristina. Thanks. 
SUMMARY: Well, I guess there has to be one. After the X-Files have been
closed down -- again -- Mulder is sent on an undercover mission (been there,
done that! :o) I know!) by his new boss, where he gets in a whole lot of
trouble. It's up to Scully to get him back on his feet again. There are also
aliens involved and Skinner gets his say as well. Want to know more? Read
the story. :o) 
************* 
MEA CULPA(1/2) 
by P.C.Rasmussen
p.c.rasmussen@get2net.dk
************* 
The atmosphere was unbearably laden with bad vibes. The incessant banging of
a shutter swaying in the wind upstairs put a bit of eeriness into it and
with a sprinkling of a sixth sense telling him that the shit was about to
hit the fan, Mulder felt that he had to get out. But he couldn't. Undercover
work had never been his big thing. He always found it virtually impossible
to keep his wise-cracks in check and they somehow always managed to piss off
people who were in one way or another obsessive. Most militia groups and
extremists were obsessive and this group no less than the rest of them. Six
men were spread out over the barren-looking, inhospitable living room of the
old, abandoned house and they were all equally hostile in their own ways.
One of them had made contact with him, believing that he felt as they did
and that it was always good to have contacts inside such high-ranking
agencies as the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He had played along after
his new boss had pushed him hard enough to do it and now he was here,
sitting on a chair, feeling very exposed. Something had gone wrong. Somehow,
they had found out that he was working undercover and if that was the case,
he was a dead man. Knowing these guys since he had spent the past two weeks
with them more or less constantly, he was fully aware that they wouldn't
just put a bullet through his head. That was just too damned subtle for
them. 
Jack, the leader, stood next to the window, staring incessantly at him.
"I've heard bad things about you," he finally said. 
Although neither of them had so far voiced any suspicion, he didn't need
them to cut it out in cardboard for him to know. Attempting to look
innocent, he leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and stared
back. "Like what?" he wanted to know, keeping his voice calm. 
"I've heard that you're working undercover for the Bureau," Jack said, his
expression utterly calm and unresponsive. 
"Really? And where did you hear that?" he countered, forcing calmness into
his voice. So far, it didn't show that he knew about their suspicion. 
"A little bird was singing. Quiet loudly, actually. He told us that you were
not at all into our cause. That you were grabbing information from us and
handing it over to your boss. That you were actually setting us up." 
Mulder briefly glanced at Jack's second-in-command, a guy who answered to
the name Harley. "Is that so?" he asked sarcastically, frowning. "And what
do you think I've been doing these past two weeks?" he added, sounding
rather miffed now. Or at least he hoped he was. Because he was beginning to
feel rather nervous. Last time he had been in such a situation, it had
earned him a broken finger. He didn't think he would get away so easily this
time around. 
Jack continuously stared at him, hardly blinking. "Well, that's what I'm
wondering about right now, Mulder," he said. He didn't sound particularly
upset. But, then again, Jack wasn't a man who showed his feelings easily.
"Maybe you would care to... tell us?" 
No longer feeling safe sitting down, Mulder got up from the chair and took a
step toward Jack, a look of anger on his face. "Look, I don't know who told
you this, but it's a lie, Jack. You know it is. I wouldn't betray you. If I
wanted to do that, I would have done it a long time ago. If the Bureau gets
information about you, it's not coming from me," he said, working up a
temper. Mainly because he knew what lay ahead. 
Jack blinked once, his expression still calm. "And how do I know that,
Mulder? What guarantee do you give me for your loyalty?" 
Mulder stared at him, not certain how to reply to that one. Glancing over at
Harley again, he actually expected any attack to come from that corner. "You
came to me," he countered after a moment. "You contacted me. I may not agree
with your methods, but I do with your cause. And you damned well know that."
Keeping calm was getting more and more difficult for him and Jack noticed. 
"If that's a fact, Mulder, why are you getting so upset?" he wanted to know. 
"Because I don't like being accused of ratting people out," he countered
angrily, hoping that his anger would be justified. 
By the look on Jack's face, he could tell that it wouldn't be. Jack shook
his head almost sadly. "You would have been an asset, Mulder. Too bad you
couldn't come clean with us," he said and turned his back to Mulder to stare
out the window. 
Before Mulder could do anything to stop it, two of Jack's goons had grabbed
him and smacked him back down on the chair. Holding his arms and keeping him
down at the same time, they waited for further orders. "Jack, come on. You
know you can trust me. I've come through for you," Mulder tried, a little
more anxious than he should be. 
"That's true. And that's why we won't kill you," Jack said, his back still
turned. "We'll just... state an example." With those words, he turned around
again and nodded at the others. "Sorry, Mulder. But we just can't accept
treason." 
The five other men descended on him almost at once, ripping him off the
chair onto the floor where they preceded to beat the shit out of him. One he
might have been able to handle. Maybe even two. But not five. Instead of
trying to defend himself, he curled up, protecting himself as best he could,
but that did him fairly little good. Boots and fists hit him everywhere and
he screamed in pain, writhing, trying to get away without being able to.
Someone grabbed his left hand and before he could do the slightest thing
about it, Harley had dislocated his thumb. He screamed in agony, fighting to
get free as Harley ground his knee down on his hand and preceded to break
the remaining fingers one by one, doing it slowly and gradually. Desperate
to get out of this one alive, he finally managed to rip his left hand away
from Harley and roll over on his stomach. Before he could realize his
mistake, the first boot came down hard on the hollow of his right knee,
grinding his kneecap into the wooden floor below. Pain exploded in his leg,
ripping through him, stealing his breath. And they just kept on hurting him.
After a while he stopped paying attention to where they were hurting him
next. His energy was draining away, leaving him depleted and in horrible
pain. 
Jack watched dispassionately from his place by the window, not flinching
once. He didn't smile, didn't enjoy the show, but he didn't find it
appalling or wrong, either. He merely watched, admiring the technique of
some of his men and at the same time keeping an eye on that they didn't kill
him. He let it go on for half an hour before he finally intervened. "All
right, guys. Enough, enough," he called. They slowed down and eventually
broke away from Mulder. Jack took a step closer, looking down at the
unmoving, bleeding form on the floor without twitching a muscle. "Is he
still breathing?" he wanted to know. 
Harley dropped down on one knee beside Mulder and felt for a pulse, then
nodded. "Yeah, he is. What do we do with him?" he wanted to know, looking up
at his boss. 
Jack heaved a deep breath, held it in for a second, and then sighed.
"There's that rubble heap at the edge of town. That building site they never
got further with. Take him there and dump him. If somebody finds him in
time... well, we'll deal with that when we get to it." With that, Jack waved
his men away. 
Two of them grabbed Mulder's arms and hauled him out of the house,
depositing him in the back of their van with no measure of care. They simply
threw him into the back. He was barely conscious, but aware that he was
being moved. All he could do was cling to his consciousness and pray that he
didn't pass out. If he did, he would die. He could feel it. 
The ride was none too soft, either. It seemed to him that they hit every
pothole on the way on purpose and after what seemed like forever, the van
came to a stop again and the two goons dragged him out and onto the old
building site where they dropped him well out of view, making certain that
he wasn't comfortable in any way. "That's what you get for screwing the boss
over," one of them said and just for good measure hammered the tip of his
army boot into the small of Mulder's back. He would have screamed if he'd
had the air for it, but he didn't. A million tiny suns exploded in front of
his eyes and the new pain briefly overshadowed the rest of his aching body
before it blended in with the rest. "Have a happy death," the guy growled
and walked away, followed closely by his partner. Moments later, the van
drove off and everything became quiet. 
Finally alone, he allowed himself the luxury of giving vent to his misery.
Not that he had much strength for any great scenes. He groaned and that was
all he could manage. With an inhuman effort, he managed to move himself off
a painfully protruding piece of rubble and carefully rolled onto his left
side. His right side was a mess. At the stabbing, virtually debilitating
pain he experienced with every shallow breath he took, he knew his ribs were
broken. His left hand was a mess. Harley had taken great pleasure in
breaking his fingers and dislocating his thumb. The feeling that left him
with was that his hand had swollen to twice the size and was throbbing away
with a beat of its own. His right leg was on fire from ankle to crotch where
several of them had repeatedly stomped on him. His face felt as if it was
completely out of proportion. Wincing in agony, he shoved his right hand
under himself and tried to push himself up in a sitting position. That
movement almost cost him what little breath he had left, but he managed.
Sitting upright was impossible though, so he slumped, trying to find the
best position and finding that there was none. He would have to find a phone
somewhere, he thought, then snorted a half-hearted laugh, which pulled a
trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He would have to get up first
before he could even think of finding a phone. A troublesome idea at best,
he realized. His right eye was already swollen shut and he could barely move
his head. Every time he tried, it sent a lightening bolt of pain through him
so powerful, he nearly blacked out. He feared one of his vertebra in the
neck might be busted. 
With an effort he had actually thought he wouldn't be able to perform in his
present condition, he got to his feet. Or rather foot. His right leg was
unmovable. Every time he tried, he gasped in pain. He could lean on it, but
he couldn't move it. Holding his left wrist in his right hand, he slowly
turned in a circle, hoping to spot something, someone. Anything would do at
this point. But there was nobody out there. This was an entirely industrial
district and nobody was working at this hour. At least not in the immediate
neighborhood. Realizing the predicament this put him in, he moaned, slumping
a little further forward. His jaw hurt badly and he hoped it wasn't broken
and would therefore prevent him from talking. But in general, he would be
happy to just get off the building site. Once he had reached an open street,
the chance of getting help was a lot better. Slowly turning in a circle
again, he tried to spot the closest exit and his good left eye came to rest
on an opening in the collapsing fence about five yards from where he stood.
And there were plenty of rubble heaps and pitfalls in between. Breathing
shallowly and rapidly, he stared across the potentially dangerous path he
would have to take, then took the first labored step forward. The movement
sent a scream through his right leg, a pain similar to the needles and pins
one could feel if a foot fell asleep. This was just ten times worse.
Groaning under his breath, he braced himself against the pain, knowing that
if he gave in and sat down again, he would die here. He needed to get out,
find a phone and call for help. 
The first yard was still fairly easy compared to the following four. The
more he moved, the more he hurt. He would not have thought that possible at
his starting point, but the pain actually increased. Pausing to gasp
shallowly for the breath every move stole from him, he kept his eye on the
hole in the fence, willing himself on toward that goal. Once there, he would
set himself another goal. And then another until he found a phone and could
call the only person in the world he could expect immediate help from. 
Groaning, he forced himself to move on, his gait lumbering at best. Every
step he took sent shockwaves of new pain up through his body, robbing him of
valuable air. He would have ground his teeth against the pain if he could,
but his throbbing jaw would have made that a one way ticket to oblivion. He
took another step forward when the rubble shifted under his foot, causing
him to loose his already precarious balance and sprawled him onto the
ground. The impact sent him into a very dark place where there was no pain
for a moment. Then it all came rushing back to him, the sensations from his
battered body returning ten-fold. Whimpering, he lay still for a while,
feeling tears of frustration and pain seeping out through his closed lids.
He stayed down until he felt the worst of it had passed, then gingerly
rolled onto his left side again and tried to push himself up. Try as he
might, his right arm could not carry his weight. "Oh no," he moaned. He was
scared. More scared than he had ever been in his life. It all seemed so
hopeless right now. This incident had just been the straw that had broken
the camel's back. All the things he had worked for were gone. All the time
he had put into the X-Files had been a wasted effort. The past nine years of
his life had gone up in smoke and now he was here, alone, probably dying of
internal injuries he could only guess at, and all he could think of was what
Dana Scully would say if she saw him like this. Strangely enough, nothing
mattered more to him at this very moment than to get up and get moving again
so he could reach a phone and at least hear her voice again. The devastation
of the X-Files had not only deprived him of the past nine years of
meticulously collected information on extraterrestrial activity, government
plots and the like. No, it had also deprived him of the day-to-day company
of one of the few people he trusted fully. Somehow, the thought of her gave
him some much needed strength and with a whimpering effort, he managed to
regain his feet. Gasping, he stood there for a moment, hunched over like an
old man, every fiber of his body in pain, then he straightened his back a
little, wincing at the renewed pain that caused him and fixed his left eye
on his goal again. With more determination than before, he started moving
again, slowly, laboriously, pained. But he was moving and he was getting
steadily closer. 
When he finally reached the fence, he leaned his left shoulder against it
and sobbed with relief. Reaching up to wipe a now more or less steady
trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, he gazed out at the street
while regaining his breath. Then he pushed through the opening and stopped
again once he hit the sidewalk. Turning his whole body, he looked down the
street, trying to make his twitching vision steady enough to make out
anything that might look like a phone booth. And there it was. Brightly lit,
ten or fifteen yards away. Drawing on all his resources, his stubbornness,
his stamina, all the things that had helped him overcome one defeat after
another in the past, he resumed his unsteady gait, now more securely as the
ground beneath his feet was level and firm. 
But his conviction faltered the closer he got to the phone booth. All the
what-if's connected with the hope of finding a working phone paraded through
his mind and when he was halfway there, a trek which had almost depleted his
strength, he was certain that the booth would have been destroyed by
vandals, the receiver missing or the cord just plainly ripped out of the
phone. If that was the case, he would sit down with his aching back against
the booth and let himself go. He didn't think he could handle such a serving
of bad luck. Not in his present condition. 
Not daring to hope, he moved on, slower by the minute, his left eye fixed on
the door of the booth. The glass was intact and as far as he could see, so
was the phone. His movements slowed considerably over the last two yards and
when he finally reached the door to the booth, he leaned his right hand
against the middle of it, attempting to push it open and found he had no
strength to do so and that any pressure he put on the door with his right
hand sent a scream through his broken body. A helpless sob escaped him while
he stared in at the phone, all perfect and in working order, and feared that
he might not be able to reach it because he couldn't perform such a simple
task as opening the door. Instead of giving up though, a thought which
didn't cross his mind right then, he leaned his left shoulder against the
door and managed to open it halfway. Putting some effort into it, he pushed
it further out of the way and was finally able to more or less haul himself
into the booth. Picking up the receiver, he waited until he reached the
operator. 
"You haven't dialed a number. May I help you?" a friendly female voice said
into his ear. 
Mulder almost sighed with relief. "Yes," he pressed out, barely able to move
his split lips. "I need to reach a Dana Scully in Annapolis," he added, his
voice a hoarse whisper. 
"I beg your pardon? Sir, you're gonna have to speak up. I can't hear you,"
the operator replied, still friendly. 
Mulder squeezed his eye shut for a moment, hauled as much air into his
obviously injured lungs as he could and tried again. "I need to reach Dana
Kathrine Scully in Annapolis." This time, his voice was slightly clearer and
definitely louder. In the process, his split lower lip broke open and
started bleeding again. 
"Do you have a phone number?" the operator asked. 
Barely able to remember his own name at this point, he almost snarled at
her. "No," he pressed out. 
"Dana Kathrine Scully?" the operator asked on and he confirmed it. "Just one
moment please. Will this be collect or charge?" 
"Collect," he countered, leaning heavily against the left-hand side of the
booth. 
"One moment, please." There were a lot of clicks and whirring sounds,
followed by a brief patch of silence. With a feeling of dread in his
stomach, he waited. What if she wasn't at home? He couldn't call her
mother's place. That wouldn't be fair. With a faint effort, he cleared his
throat, having the feeling that it was clogging up. The salty taste of blood
invaded his mouth and he feared the underlying reason for that. The
heaviness in his chest combined with his inability to breathe properly
indicated that either of his lungs and probably both were filling with
fluid. It occurred to him that he should have called 911 instead of Scully,
but he couldn't think past the moment and he didn't want some complete
stranger to deal with his injuries. So he waited, hoping and praying that
she was in.
*** 
Dana Scully sat cross-legged on her couch, a bottle of diet coke in her
hands, while she stared at the TV, halfway watching the show that was on.
She wasn't exactly dressed to kill in her sweat-pants, matching t-shirt and
her hair tugged up in a pony tail, but it didn't really matter how she
looked when she was alone. 
The show didn't really interest her. She was just trying to unwind after
having had a rather hard day teaching a bunch of nosy, inquiring kids. Some
of them had asked questions about the cadaver she was showing them, which
she couldn't readily answer and to ward them off, she had shifted into a way
of thinking she had never realized she was capable of. A sarcastic remark
had shut them up for a while and then the ball was rolling and she had been
forced to use every fiber of her wits to keep up with them, to not let them
take control. It had been fun, had reminded her of the times when she had
been in similar situations with Mulder. And all of a sudden, she had started
missing his company badly. She knew he was working undercover. Not because
anybody in his section would volunteer that kind of information to her. He
had told her himself, telling her not to worry if she didn't hear from him
for a while. And that was exactly why she worried. Because it reminded her
of that one time, while they had still been working together, when he had
worked undercover and had come back with a broken finger. Although she had
not shown him then, she had been utterly relieved that he had not sustained
greater damage from that encounter. 
The latest cadaver to come her way in the form of an autopsy had been a
distant colleague, who had been brutally murdered during an undercover
assignment. There had been no limit to what his torturers had done to him
and Scully had been forced to clamp down hard on her feelings and eventually
had asked to be excused from doing that autopsy. Because she couldn't help
thinking about Mulder and about the kind of work he was now doing. Work that
cut into his psyche like nothing else ever would. 
She had talked to him several times since their separation, had even met
with him for lunch several times and it had not escaped her keen eyes how
worn-out he already was. And how quiet. And if there was one thing she
didn't like, it was him being quiet. Everything in the world was wrong when
he didn't make wise-cracks about everything. And then he had told her about
the assignment, about the undercover work with a militia group involved in
various terrorist actions around the country. He would have to gather
information, stick with them for a while, then retreat when it was safe to
do so. And Scully had been able to derive from everything he said and
everything he didn't say that he was scared out of his mind. 
Submerged in that kind of thinking, she jerked violently when the phone
suddenly rang. Glancing at the clock on her video, she hoped it was him.
That he was calling to tell her he was home again, safe and sound. Grabbing
the receiver, she switched the TV off. "Scully," she said. 
"Dana Kathrine Scully? I have a collect call for you. Do you wish to receive
it?" a female voice said, her request identifying her as a telephone
operator. 
Scully frowned. "Yes, of course," she then countered, wondering who called
her collect. There was a click, a few whirring sounds and then silence. For
a moment, she listened to the somehow buzzing silence at the other end.
"Hello?" A sound she could not at first identify drifted through the wires
to her. Frowning, she tried to figure out what was going on. "Hello?" she
tried again. 
"Scully." His voice was barely a whisper, hard to hear despite the silence
around her, but there was no doubt in her mind who this caller was. "I need
your help." He groaned. 
Flinching, she could already imagine what was happening at the other end.
"Mulder? Are you all right? Where are you?" she demanded, getting up off the
couch and setting her soda down on the coffee table. 
"Can't... talk," he groaned. "I'm a mess." 
"Where are you?" she demanded, anxious enough to be fidgety. "Mulder? Where
are you? You have to tell me where you are. I can't help you if I don't know
where you are." 
"I'm..." he began, then moaned in pain. "G...George Washington Memor..." he
tried, his voice failing him constantly. 
"The parkway?" Scully asked. 
"Yes," he gasped. 
His breathing was quick and shallow and Scully thought she could hear the
wetness in his voice. "Where on the Parkway? It's very lo..." she began,
then shook her head. "No, don't worry about it. Sit tight. I'm coming," she
added. "You're in a phone booth?" 
"Yes," he gasped again. That was followed by a scraping sound and a hollow
thud combined with his wheezing breath and moans of pain. "Hurry." With
that, the connection broke. 
Scully stared at the receiver for a second, then with a gasp of fear, she
grabbed her coat, stuck her bare feet into her sneakers, grabbed her
doctor's bag and raced out the door, not bothering to kill the lights before
she left. She raced for the car and got in, having started the engine before
she had closed the door. Her hands jittered and she was a bundle of nervous
energy. Her worst fears had just come true. Stepping on the gas pedal, she
managed to stall the engine and had to restart it again, cursing violently
under her breath.
*** 
Mulder had lost his balance and had slid down the wall of the phone booth,
too worn-out to stand up any more. She was on her way and that was all he
needed to know. That was also all it took for him to loose what little
strength he had left. Groaning at the pain the movements caused him, he let
go of the receiver and gingerly leaned back against the cool glass. He
didn't think he had ever in his life felt so miserable as he did right now.
No amount of talking himself into keeping an open mind about this helped him
steer clear of gloomy, dark thoughts. What if she didn't get here on time?
What if she found out he was mortally wounded and he died in her arms? What
if, what if, what if. He closed his eye and laboriously cleared his throat,
wincing at the pain this caused in his throat and chest. He felt so
helpless, so lost. The only consolation in sight was that Scully was coming
for him. 
With that on his mind, he let himself drift. And the further he drifted, the
less he felt the pain. Everything numbed, slowed down, oozed away. It was a
blessing at first until he realized what was going on. Until that part of
his mind that assured his constant survival stood up and screamed him in the
face. He was not only letting himself drift in his mind. He was, virtually,
drifting away, about to cross over and leave the world behind.
A sudden burst of air seeped into his lungs and he coughed, a painful
procedure. Blood spattered the glass of the phone booth's walls, confirming
what he had thought earlier. That his lungs were filling with blood. Gasping
at the renewed pain, he briefly welcomed it. It had pulled him back from
staring into the abyss, from letting himself be swallowed up by the
darkness. It was a fight to stay awake, to stay lucid, but he fought gladly.
Because he wasn't prepared to die yet. When it really came down to it, he
wasn't prepared for it. 
***
Scully had slowed the car down enough to keep an eye out for phone booths
along the way, but those she passed were empty and mostly unlit. Sighing in
frustration, wishing she had bugged him for more information, she sped up a
bit toward the next one she could see further down the road. Cursing
silently, she tried to make out if anybody was in the booth, saw nobody and
was about to accelerate again when she realized that someone was in the
booth after all. He just wasn't standing up as she had expected.
Slamming her foot down on the break, she peered out of the windshield at the
figure lying in the booth. And the blood which had spattered the glass. For
a very long moment she didn't move, didn't dare go out there. She didn't
think she could handle it if he was dead. Heaving a couple of deep breathes,
she got a grip on herself, opened the door and slipped out, her eyes never
leaving the unmoving figure in the phone booth. Reaching into the backseat,
she retrieved her bag and hurried over. The sight of him made her stop short
and raise a hand to cover her mouth. "Oh my God," she whispered, then
gingerly squatted down, reaching a now trembling hand out to touch him.
"Mulder."
For a moment, nothing happened, then he stirred and his left eye opened. He
blinked, breathing laboriously and shallowly. Then a vague smile tugged at
the corner of his mouth. "Scully," he breathed, reaching his right hand out
to her.
"Oh my God. Look at you," she whispered, carefully taking his hand in hers.
"Let's get you out of here. You need to go to a hospital," she added.
It took time and it hurt him more than he was willing to let on, but
eventually, Scully managed to get him back on his feet. Everywhere she
touched him he flinched or groaned at the pain it caused him, but she had to
give him credit for containing it well.
Mulder found it easier to move when she supported him and hence he leaned
heavily on her. The time he had been sitting still had weakened him and the
car, although only a few feet away, might as well have been on the other
side of town from his perspective. But she got him there. Wrestling the
backdoor open, she somehow managed to get him inside without jarring him too
much and after depositing a blanket under his head, she draped her coat over
him, then did a cursory examination. Her findings made her fight to hide her
horror. His jaw was dislocated, perhaps broken. As far as she could tell
without prodding him too much, he had several broken or bent ribs. His right
leg was swollen and hot to the touch. His face battered and bruised and, as
far as she could tell, that went for the rest of his body, too. What
concerned her was the trauma and the possible internal injuries he had
sustained. From the occasional trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth
and the fact that he seemed to have extreme trouble breathing, she guessed
that his lungs were heavily affected, probably punctured, too. His left hand
would be unusable for a while yet she figured as she carefully wrapped her
fingers around his wrist and raised it up. A whimper escaped him when she
did that, but he didn't fight her on it. His thumb was quite definitely
dislocated. The rest of the hand was too swollen to give her any indication
of how badly it was injured. With a sigh, she climbed out of the back of the
car and carefully closed the door, then returned to the driver side and
slipped behind the wheel. Glancing back at him, she flinched involuntarily.
Whoever had done this to him, had left him out here to die. With that
haunting thought on her mind, she started the engine and commenced the slow
and careful drive back to Washington and the North West Georgetown ER.
Somehow, she didn't feel like taking him to any other hospital. He had been
there so often, she felt they had to know him by now. 
***
The ER was busy, but not overly so. After having had Mulder transferred from
the back of her car to an examination room in the ER, Scully made sure he
was as comfortable as he could get before she would fill out any paperwork.
A young female doctor popped into the examination room, took one look at her
would-be patient and shook her head sadly. "What the hell happened to you?"
she asked, slipped latex gloves on and stepped up beside him. "A mugging?"
she added, then made a face. "Not likely. Muggers usually don't put so much
effort into hurting their victims," she said, then smiled warmly at him.
"Don't you worry. We'll patch you up. You'll be as good as new when you
leave here."
Scully was grateful that it wasn't one of these unfeeling ER-doctors she
herself had come across some of the times she had been forced to go to the
ER. Some of them just didn't care. They did a job and that was it. They
didn't view their patients as living beings.
Mulder, too much in pain to be able to think straight, could only think of
one thing. He didn't want Scully to leave. "Scully," he whispered hoarsely,
reaching his still good right hand out toward her. The gesture was weak at
best.
Scully came back to him and took his hand. "Don't worry. I just have to fill
out some forms. I'll be right back, okay? You just hang in there," she said,
her tone of voice soothing, her expression concerned. "I'll be right back,"
she repeated, released his hand again and headed toward the door.
Out in the reception area, she walked up to the counter and received two
forms to fill out and went about doing it in a sloppy, quick fashion. She
didn't care. She wanted to get back to that examination room so she could
monitor every step they took. Mainly, she wanted to make sure they didn't
hurt him unnecessarily.
In the examination room, the doctor's beeper went off before she could even
touch him. Mulder almost sighed with relief. He didn't want them poking and
prodding him as he was sure they would. Mainly because he knew that any
contact with his injuries would send him through the roof. They hurt enough
as it was. She glanced at her beeper, then back at Mulder. "I'm sorry. I
have to run. I'll send another doctor in to take a look at you. Take care
now, you hear?" she said, smiled again and hurried out of the room. She was
a specialist and someone with a severe head trauma had just been brought in.

Mulder closed his eye again, wishing it would just all go away. Then he
heard footsteps and opened his eye again to blink sluggishly up at a tall
man in green scrubs. "What have we here?" he said, flexing his fingers in an
alarming way. "Let's take a look at you, buddy," he added.
Mulder swallowed, trying to speak, but the words just didn't come out. This
doctor didn't look like the gentle sort and all he wanted was for him to go
away and leave him alone.
"What happened to you, then? You look like you've been run over by a steam
roller," the doctor said, his name tag identifying him to be Joseph Stahl.
He ran his eyes over the patient, noting all the signs, then took a hold of
Mulder's left wrist and raised his hand up. "This doesn't look good, pal,"
he added, then looked at Mulder's face, never once meeting his eyes. "And
your jaw's dislocated, too. Man, you've really been worked over, haven't
you?" he went on and put Mulder's hand down again. There was a kind of
admiration in his voice, a quiet kind of stunned surprise at what people did
to each other. "Well, we'll have you fixed up in no time," he added, wrapped
his hands around Mulder's jaw and flipped it back in place. He couldn't
possibly have done anything at this time that would have hurt him more. And
Mulder didn't hold back on the pain. He basically screamed his head off.
Scully dropped her pen in shock when she heard the scream, forgot all about
forms and pen, and raced over to the examination room. "What the hell are
you doing to him?" she snapped angrily and instantly pushed herself between
the doctor and Mulder, preventing Dr. Stahl from doing more damage to her
hurting friend. "Shhhh," she hushed him, gently stroking his cheek. "It's
okay. I'm here."
Dr. Stahl had stepped back in surprise when the bad-tempered red-head had
pushed him away, but he had a job to do and he wasn't going to let this
guy's wife interfere. "Look, honey. I know it's hard to see him in pain, but
you have to let me do my job," he said, putting powerful hands on her
shoulders and started pushing her away.
In general, Scully would have agreed with him. But the frantic look on
Mulder's face combined with the fact that his right hand had cramped around
hers made her realize that she couldn't leave him. "Let go of me," she
snapped at the doctor. "I'm a medical doctor," she added heatedly.
Dr. Stahl frowned at her, releasing her at once. "A doctor?" he asked and
she nodded. "Oh, I didn't know. But, still. Your husband is going to be in a
world of hurt if we don't set whatever is broken and dislocated right now.
You know that," he added, giving her a saying look.
Scully stared up at him, the clinical mode of her mind agreeing with him,
while the human mode, the powerful one right now, refused to leave Mulder's
side. "Excuse me, but I think he's been hurt enough. If you do any setting
on him, you will do it when he's sedated and not a moment before. Do I make
myself clear?" If her words had been visible, they would have been covered
with ice. She didn't bother to correct him in his belief that she was
Mulder's wife. Right now, she felt as if she should have been. That at least
would have given her more power over the situation. But Dana Scully did not
belong to the meek when it came to protecting her friends and Mulder needed
her protection right now.
Mulder allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. The previous dull throb
of pain in his jaw had blossomed into a killer and he couldn't stop the
tears of pain from flowing. When Scully returned her attention to him, he
tried to smile, but that only aggravated the pain and he flinched, closing
his eye again. Her cool little hand briefly touched his brow, feeling for
fever.
Stahl knew the man's name, but he didn't know hers. So he called her by what
he thought was her married name. "Mrs. Mulder," he said, causing Scully to
give him a confused look. "I know you are concerned for his well-being. But
if you really are a doctor, you also know that I have to examine him before
I sedate him. To estimate how bad the damage is."
Meeting his eyes, she almost smiled. The thought of being married to Mulder
was a concept she had not previously thought of. And for some reason she
could not explain to herself, she didn't disagree with him on that point.
She let it slide. She could always clear up that little misunderstanding
later. "Look, all I'm saying is that he is in such severe pain right now
that any further aggravation of it might kill him. I did a cursory
examination of him in the car and I can tell you what I think is wrong." She
listed her findings in a calm, clinical voice, telling him where she thought
they needed to do x-rays and that she thought his lungs might be punctured,
at least one of them, due to the excessive amount of blood he coughed up now
and again. She knew that he was okay for now. The scream had probably
cleared any clogged up passages, but it still had to be dealt with.
Stahl eyed her thoughtfully, hiding his irritation at her interference well.
He nodded at her words, then strode up to the door and vanished for a
moment. When he returned, he had security with him. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder.
You don't see things clearly with your husband this messed up. I'm going to
have to ask you to leave so I can help him," Stahl said, his tone of voice
friendly enough.
Scully stared at him, then glanced over at the security men next to him.
Mulder had grabbed her arm, his fingers weak, trying to hold her back. She
looked down at him, peeled his fingers of her arm and stroked his cheek.
"He's right, Mulder. I'm sorry. I'm not objective right now. I want to spare
you the pain, but it will backfire if we don't deal with this fast. I'll
stay, but I won't interfere," she said, glancing up at Stahl. The man
returned her stare, then nodded at the security men, who went about their
business again.
"Please step over on the other side so I can work," he told her.
Scully hated herself for this. She knew what came next and she knew how it
must hurt already. But Stahl was right, however little she wanted to admit
it.
With Scully hovering this close, Stahl did what he could to prevent the
pain, but couldn't do it entirely. Which Mulder let him know all to clearly
when he felt over his chest to estimate how many ribs were broken. When he
hit the one that had punctured his lung, Mulder yelped, the fingers of his
right hand curling into a fist. Scully grabbed his arm, holding it down,
knowing for sure what Mulder intended. He wasn't thinking clearly. He just
wanted the pain to end. And to do that, he would probably have knocked the
doctor on his ass.
After a half-hour examination, they did some x-rays which revealed cracked
ribs in general and one broken. A bone splinter from that rib had ripped a
small hole in his left lung, which caused the blood to seep into his lung.
That would have to be fixed, of course. Apart from that, four fingers on his
left hand were definitely broken and the thumb was dislocated. After
establishing that fact, Stahl relocated Mulder's thumb without hesitation.
It was over so quickly that Mulder didn't have time to scream at the searing
pain. He simply passed out.
He briefly went through surgery to patch up the hole and a drainage tube was
put in to remove the excess blood in his lung. After that, he was bandaged
up. The third vertebra in his neck had been pushed out of place and had to
be worked back into place carefully to not server any nerves in his spinal
cord. After that he was put in a neck brace, which would prevent him from
moving his head. And through it all, he was out cold, partially
anaesthetized, partially just unconscious.
Scully followed the whole procedure from a distance, making sure nothing
went wrong, and was relieved when they finally placed him in the ICU. He was
hooked up to various machines, monitoring his condition as closely as
possible. Scully sat down next to his bed after making it very clear to the
nurse on duty that she wasn't leaving his side until she was sure he made
it. Sitting there beside him, she held his right hand in hers and so sat
vigil, waiting for the tide to turn. She feared the worst and hoped for the
best. 
***
After several hours, she got up to stretch her legs and decided that calls
had to be made. It was eight in the morning and Mulder had shown no sign of
waking up yet, so she decided to take a break and just inform the
appropriate people of his condition. She called the VCS and talked to his
boss, letting him bluntly know what she thought of his methods and let him
know that Mulder was still among the living. Then she called Quantico and
let them know that she wasn't coming in for a few days because a good friend
had been involved in an accident and she was needed there. For a brief
moment, tired as she was, she almost said that her husband had been in an
accident, but she caught that rather peculiar slip-up in time. Laughing a
little hopelessly, she rubbed her palm over her face, then grabbed the phone
again and dialed a number, not realizing who she was actually calling before
she heard the voice on the other end.
"Skinner."
Scully closed her eyes, cursing herself. Skinner had nothing to do with them
any more, but she figured he might like to know just the same. "Sir, it's
Scully," she finally said.
"Scully?" he countered, sounding surprised. "To what do I owe this honor at
this time of the morning?" he added, sounding just a tad miffed.
"Sir, I just thought that you would like to know that Agent Mulder is in the
hospital in critical condition," she said, putting it on a little thick.
There was actually nothing speaking for that he wouldn't pull through. But
she had seen too many things go wrong in her life to have blind faith in his
survival.
Skinner was silent for a moment. "What happened?" he wanted to know, his
tone of voice sinister.
"He was on an undercover job. Something went wrong, as far as I can tell. He
hasn't been able to tell me yet. He's in the ICU and he's in bad shape," she
explained, grateful that Skinner didn't brush her off by telling her that
this was none of his business.
"Which hospital is he in? Georgetown?" he wanted to know.
"Yes, sir," Scully said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
"I'll drop by on my way to work. Call me if there's any change in the
meantime," he said and hung up.
Scully pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it in surprise.
"He does care," she mumbled, then hung up the phone and returned to Mulder's
room. Settling herself down on the chair again, she sighed and stifled a
yawn. 
***
Skinner stepped into the ICU, glancing around for a nurse who could show him
where to find Mulder. But most of the nurses were busy, so he had to wait
around for a while for one of them to notice him at the nurses station. When
one finally did, she stared at him as if he had lost his senses.
"Can I help you?" she virtually demanded, her expression somewhat strained.
"I'm looking for Fox Mulder. He's supposed to be here," he countered,
ignoring the tone of the obviously fatigued woman.
With a sigh, she glanced over the patients register. "Room 302. It's down at
the end of the hall. You can't stay too long, though. This is the ICU, you
know."
Skinner nodded and headed down the corridor, not bothering to thank her.
Even if she was tired, she could still be friendly and he didn't feel like
thanking her for that tone of voice. When he reached the door to 302, he
paused, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he might see in there.
Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Scully turned around on her chair and glanced up at him, smiling briefly
when she saw him. "Good morning, sir," she said.
Skinner's eyes were on Mulder and he paused a moment before looking back at
Scully. "Is it?" he asked. "How is he?"
Scully shrugged lightly, at a loss of an explanation right now. "We'll know
more when he wakes up again. He'll be in a lot of pain," she countered,
looking back at Mulder with sad eyes.
Skinner stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"He'll pull through. He's tough."
Scully just sat there for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I know. I'm just not
so sure about this time. And the doctor who initially took care of him in
the ER wasn't very gentle."
The latter came out a bit angrily and Skinner frowned briefly. Then he
picked up the chart and took a look at it. Staring down at it, his frown
deepened. "Scully, is there something you haven't told me?" he asked,
looking at her quizzically.
Now it was her turn to frown. "About what, sir? I've told you everything I
know about his condition."
"I'm not talking about his condition," he countered and handed her the
chart, pointing to one part of it. "I'm talking about this."
On the chart it said that Mulder had been brought in by his wife. Blushing a
little, Scully couldn't help smiling. "A little misunderstanding, sir," she
countered. "I was too concerned about his condition to bother to straighten
that one out at once."
Skinner nodded, eyeing her suspiciously. "Right," he said after a moment's
thought. Looking over at Mulder again, the idea of these two married didn't
seem so far-fetched. Then he shook his head. "Well, I have to go. Keep me
posted, Scully."
Scully nodded. "I will. And I'm sure he'll be okay."
Staring darkly at the injured man, Skinner thought that he had seen men in
better condition than Mulder succumb to their injuries. "Let's hope so," he
countered and left again. 
***
He was drifting again, on a peaceful sea this time, where no injury could
hurt him. His head was slightly fuzzy and he felt as if there was something
he had forgotten to do. He wondered about that, then suddenly realized his
mistake on focusing on that thought. Because he was starting to resurface,
to return to the world. Slowly, a dull ache broke through the haziness in
his head. The dullness wore off the more awake he became and was replaced by
a screaming inferno. He didn't think that there was one inch of his body
that didn't hurt. His head was thundering away, every muscle seemed to have
been pulled through a meat grinder, every bone ached deeply.
Groaning, he laboriously opened one eye and blinked at a world out of focus.
A blurry shape was leaning over him and he could vaguely make out the voice
speaking to him. His eye sight cleared slowly and the sounds he heard came
into focus.
"Mulder, can you hear me?" Scully asked, staring down at his battered face
with deep concern.
He blinked again, then smiled weakly. "Scully," he whispered, barely moving
his lips.
Smiling with relief, she brushed her knuckles over his cheek. "Welcome
back," she said, finding it very hard not to disclose the true nature of her
feelings right then. "I'm not going to ask how you feel because that's
obvious," she added.
"I'm in pain," he groaned, trying to move and flinched at the escalation of
the discomfort he was in.
Scully's brow knitted into a frown, a very concerned frown, as she glanced
up at the drop of steady painkillers he was being fed. He shouldn't be in
pain. "Where?" she asked, looking back down at him.
"Everywhere," he replied, his voice breaking with the strain. The more awake
he became, the more he hurt. His jaw thumped away with the beat of his
heart. His left hand, though splinted and bandaged, throbbed with a life of
its own. His right leg felt as if it had been pumped up and was ready to
explode. His chest felt as if someone had detonated a hand grenade inside
him. Breathing was painful, moving was out of the question, thinking was
difficult to the extreme due to the thundering headache.
Scully watched him for a moment, then made a decision for which she could
get in a lot of hot water. But his welfare was foremost on her mind and she
would go to any length to make sure he was okay. "I'll be right back," she
whispered to him and slipped out of the room. Looking up and down the
corridor, she didn't see any nurses around, so she hurried down to the
nurses station and retrieved what she needed from the medicine cabinet.
Returning to the room, she inserted the hypodermic into the small vial of
clear liquid, pulled out an appropriate amount of CC's and injected it into
his arm. Mulder flinched at the new pain the needle caused him, then slowly
relaxed. Smiling softly at him, Scully held his hand. "Better?" she wanted
to know. There was nothing a little morphine couldn't help with at this
point.
He blinked sluggishly up at her for a moment while every single ache in his
body ebbed away and then smiled briefly before he slipped into an almost
comatose sleep. 
***
The days passed in an unending flurry. The doctor eventually decided to move
Mulder out of the ICU because he was getting steadily better. Scully had
been forced to return to work, but she dropped by every morning and came
back after hours to spent some time with him. She felt overprotective toward
him, wanted to make sure he was doing okay.
Mulder was very much aware of this, but was too much out of it most of the
time to comment on it. Not that he really minded. It was so rare that
anybody stood up for him. The aches and pains from his various bruises
diminished and eventually left him all together. Left was his neck, which
was also getting better, his ribs, which were healing slowly but surely and
his jaw, which was slowly becoming more mobile again. His leg was what
worried him. Because he knew it would have to be retrained. According to the
doctor, his tendons had been strained to a near-breaking point and his
muscles had been severely bruised. In protection, the latter had cramped up
and that was why his leg didn't move easily. The thought of how painful the
retraining would be made him wish he didn't have to go through it. There
wasn't much calling for him outside the hospital. His mother had been by a
few times, at first very concerned, then somehow preoccupied. As usual, she
talked very little and had few words of consolation for him.
Scully had witnessed one of these visits and had been utterly taken aback by
how cold his mother seemed. There was fairly little compassion in that woman
and whatever she had, she reserved for something or someone else. She wasn't
sharing much of it with her son. After Mrs. Mulder had left again, Scully
settled down on the edge of his bed, staring at the closed door for a
moment. Mulder was sitting up, finally being able to move a little on his
own, and he was downcast like nothing she had ever seen before. Taking his
right hand, she squeezed it and returned her attention to him. "I'm sure
she's just so upset about this, she doesn't know how to express it," she
tried, hoping somehow that he would agree with her.
Slowly raising his eyes, he met Scully's and then slowly shook his head,
taking great care not to move too much. "She doesn't care, Scully. She
doesn't give a damn about me," he finally said and dropped his eyes again.
Scully stared at him for a moment. "But, she's your mother, Mulder. Of
course she cares."
Looking up to meet her eyes again, he wished he felt the same. That she had
to care about him because she was his mother. But in his world, things
didn't work that way. "No, she doesn't," he said and sighed, gingerly
flexing his jaw. It was still sore like hell. "Let's talk about something
else, okay?" he asked after a moment, not looking at her.
Scully felt the strongest need to just hug him right then. Somehow, he
looked so utterly lost. And she didn't blame him for feeling that way. His
mother didn't exactly spur him on. Thinking things over for a moment, she
then smoothly slipped her arms around him, hugging him lightly. "Okay," she
agreed to his request. She just wanted him to know that somebody cared.
Mulder was slightly taken aback by the gesture, but appreciated it
nonetheless. And it did make him feel better. Wrapping his right arm around
her, he hugged her back, for a moment wishing that this was the beginning of
something new. Then he discarded the idea again, not wishing to pull her
further into his world of misery. "Scully," he said, causing her to lean
back a little. "I was set up. Somebody leaked information to these people.
They... told me so."
Scully's eyes narrowed. Not in disbelief, but in anger. "Did they say who?"
she wanted to know.
"No, but I've got a pretty good idea," he countered and leaned back more
comfortably, trying to make his stiff joints loosen up.
Staring at him, the petit red-head thought she knew what came next. But she
just had to ask. "Who?"
Mulder made a face, then flinched when the rather severe bruise still
covering the main part of his right eye hurt in the process. "Spender," he
countered. "He's been on my case from day one."
There were a lot of people that Scully liked in the world. There were almost
as many that she was rather indifferent about. And then there were the few
that she didn't like. And Agent Spender, try as she might, was one of them.
And she knew why she was so apprehensive about him. Because he didn't like
Mulder for whatever reason he could justify. To go as far as saying that he
would put Mulder in a potentially life-threatening situation was a bit much,
though. "Mulder, just because he doesn't like you, that doesn't mean that he
would go to such lengths to hurt you," she said, unconvinced.
"Wouldn't it?" Mulder countered, looking intently at her for a second. Then
he shrugged lightly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just being paranoid
again." His tone of voice conveyed his feelings to her more clearly than any
words did.
Cupping his cheek with one hand, she caused him to look up at her again.
"You are not being paranoid, Mulder. Your sixth sense has been proven to be
right again and again. I believe that this means one thing and one thing
only. If you believe that Agent Spender set you up, I think we should look
into it."
He stared at her and wondered what had changed. Something had. Maybe it was
because they were separated that she was able to put things in perspective.
Maybe she had just finally decided to believe him no matter what. He didn't
know which. He only knew that without her, he wouldn't be alive now. Raising
his left hand, he sighed while staring at the cast. "I won't be out of here
for a while, Scully. And when I finally get out, he's had plenty of time to
bury the evidence if there even was any."
Smiling, Scully couldn't help herself. "You sound like you're talking about
someone else," she said with a knowledgeable look.
Mulder met her eyes, not smiling. "I am. I heard a rumor I didn't much care
for. But it explains why Spender is on my case about everything. He's
undermining everything I do. Everything I try to do. He was even the one who
managed to persuade our supervisor to land me with that job."
Heaving a deep breath, she didn't like what he was telling her. She didn't
like it one bit. Because if what he thought was true, then this wasn't over.
He had survived a situation which should have killed him. Which meant that
the higher forces were now working hard on not only destroying his
credibility, but also on destroying him. Setting him up for total failure,
perhaps they had hoped that he would blow his brains out, kill himself. When
he hadn't done that, they had started to investigate other ways of bringing
him down. Ways that would eventually lead to his destruction. Realizing
this, Scully felt cold all over. She was going to loose him if something
wasn't done about this. And it dawned on her that losing him would be a
horrendous thing for her. They had been split up and that alone was bad
enough. To think that a mortal threat like that was looming over him made
her want to run and hide. "Oh, my God, Mulder," she finally said, sighing
deeply. "This thing isn't over yet, is it? You're not safe here," she added.

Mulder stared at her, wondering when they had formed this bond where they
didn't need to speak to each other any more and still knew what the other
was thinking. She read him like an open book and that would have scared him
away from her years before. Now it was a comfort to know that she knew what
he was thinking without making an effort of it. "That's right," he agreed.
"Spender being who he is... and related to... him, I should actually get the
hell out of Dodge while I've still got a chance."
Looking very concerned, Scully held his hand with a hard grip. "Then why
don't you?" she wanted to know.
Meeting her eyes openly, he realized that there were still some things she
didn't want to see. "Because, Scully, if I do, they know I'm onto them and
they will know from that, that I'm aware of the threat. I'll be on the run.
I won't be safe anywhere." Sighing, he realized what this reminded him of.
"I'll end up like Krycek. Nowhere to go. Nobody to turn to. I won't have any
other option than to work for them or die. And I won't work for them. No
matter what." 
***
Spending the day teaching potential agents how to view a cadaver was perhaps
not the most exciting way to live, but Scully had always liked it. But at
the moment, she was too distracted to give a proper teaching. Preoccupied
with how to solve Mulder's very tangible problem, she failed to catch her
students attention and eventually decided to take a personal leave of
absence. That way she could concentrate on what was important to her right
now. Namely Mulder.
Pacing her small office, she felt aggravated by something which was hovering
at the edge of her consciousness all the time. A possible solution to this
problem. But the harder she thought about it, the further away it slipped.
Finally, she gave up on it and decided to go to the hospital again. Mulder
would probably be in the gym undergoing what he called a demeaning form of
rehabilitation. And that was where she found him.
The physiotherapist was attempting to coax him into moving his right leg and
there was no end to the excuses he came up with to avoid having to do it.
Scully stood behind the gurney he had been placed on for a moment, watching
this rather funny display of his ability to worm his way out of duties he
didn't like to do. "If you keep this up, you'll end up getting that peck-leg
you always wanted," she finally said.
He let himself drop back down on the gurney and looked up at her. "Hi,
Scully," he said with a weak smile, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm just
not up to this yet. It hurts too much," he added, trying to justify why he
wasn't working with the therapist.
Scully glanced over at the woman, who took the opportunity to grab his ankle
with one hand and shoved the other under the hollow of his knee, pushing it
up.
The startled, pained expression on his face didn't elude Scully and she
barely prevented him from knocking the poor woman of her feet by grabbing
his shoulders and holding him down. His complexion had turned pale and
Scully realized that he obviously knew better when to start moving that leg
than the therapist did. "I think that's enough for today," she told the
therapist, who looked a little intimidated. She nodded briefly to Scully and
took off.
Mulder let out a groan, grabbing his leg with his right hand. "I wish
somebody would just listen to me for once," he hissed through clenched
teeth.
"I think I'll take you back to your room and take a look at this myself,"
she said. His action following that actually surprised her. He reached up
and grabbed her hand still on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
"I'd appreciate that," he told her. "God, I hate being cooped up in here,"
he added and slowly sat up. The neck brace had come off two days ago and he
was still slow in moving his head.
"Don't worry. If this keeps up, I'll take you home with me so I can take
care of you. Then you don't have to deal with therapists. Only with me," she
said, a sweet smile on her lips as she helped him off the gurney and into
the wheelchair.
Mulder glanced up at her, figuring he might better give that therapist a
break. He got the distinct feeling that Scully wouldn't be so mellow if he
didn't comply or started to whine. All the response she got for that one was
a brief smile and that was it. 
***
Back in his room, he laboriously hauled himself back up on the bed,
stretching his aching leg out. Scully sat down on the edge of the bed and
rolled the loose leg of his sweat pants up to take a look. The whole joint
was still swollen and felt hot. "Well, I don't think moving that is going to
do you any good as long as it's this swollen," she finally said. "I'll see
if I can get some ice for that. Or something similar." After getting an
ice-bag, which she placed under his leg, her eyes briefly touched his left
hand, which was in a cast from the tip of his fingers to his elbow. "How is
your hand doing?" she asked.
Raising it up, he stared at it for a moment. "I don't know. They did an
x-ray of it this morning. Said it wasn't healed yet. I guess I'll have to
run around with this cast for a while longer, huh?"
Scully smiled. "Looks like it," she countered, then sighed. "Mulder, we've
got a problem on our hands which we have to deal with. A severe problem. If
we don't deal with it, you could end up dead." Hesitating, she looked up to
meet his eyes. "And I won't let that happen."
Staring back with serious eyes, he appreciated her frankness, but didn't
have any suggestions. "How are you going to prevent it?"
"I don't know. I just don't like the idea that when you go home, you're all
alone. It appears that they won't touch you as long as you're in the company
of others. Maybe because they can't afford to be recognized. But... once
you're home again..." She trailed off, shaking her head. This was an
intolerable situation, completely and utterly hopeless, unless they could
come up with a satisfactory solution. Turning the problem over in her mind,
she stepped up to the window to look outside.
Mulder frowned a little, trying to come up with a solution himself, but the
one thing he could think of, he couldn't ask of her. So he kept his mouth
shut, somehow hoping that she would come up with it without daring to
believe she would.
Trailing back to the bed, she looked him over for a moment, noting the
lingering signs of his injuries and sighed. Reaching out to grab his right
hand, she held it tightly and sat down on the edge of the bed again. "I am
not letting you go back to that apartment of yours as long as this danger
persists, Mulder. I want you to come and stay with me."
He still frowned, forcing to keep his excitement at this prospect under
wraps. "I don't know." For a long moment, he just sat there, staring down at
his hands, then he slowly raised his head to meet Scully's eyes. "Okay. It's
an option. But... there are certain people in the Bureau who might have
something against that," he said.
"Well, to be honest.... I don't really think any of them would find it odd,"
she said with a weak smile.
Somehow, he couldn't believe his ears. Even though he had hoped for it, he
hadn't dared believe it. And now she was really suggesting it. "Maybe,
but..." he tried, wondering what he was actually trying to accomplish by
arguing this. Meeting her calm gaze again, the implications of this started
tumbling down over him. "You would... do that just to make sure I'm safe?"
Looking at him, she could tell he was surprised at her suggestion. Not so
much because the idea wasn't good, but because she had suggested it on her
own accord. "Yes, I would," she agreed. "Why? Is that so hard to
understand?"
Hesitating again, he swallowed hard. "No. It's just... how are you going to
explain it to... the brass?" he wanted to know. It wasn't really because he
didn't want to. It was more because he didn't want her to be sorry she had
made the offer in the first place. He was giving her plenty of chances to
pull out in time. But she wasn't taking them.
"There's really nothing to explain. You can't be on your own right now and
once you're well again -- and if we don't find a solution to this situation
before then -- well... I don't think they're going to make a fuzz."
"What if this is over tomorrow?" he wanted to know.
"Well, then you can stay with me until you're well again. But it's the
easiest way to offer you protection," she countered and couldn't help
thinking 'and a life.'
"I don't feel right about taking advantage of you this way," he said, still
not sure she really wanted this. He knew he could be a handful under normal
circumstances and being sick made him cranky like a little kid. He didn't
want her to hate him when this was over.
"This isn't about right or wrong, Mulder. This is about your survival. And I
for one will do anything in my power to keep you alive."
How could he argue a comment like that? The plain and simple truth of it all
was, that he couldn't. And he didn't want to, either. A little considered
dream was about to come true here and he wondered where it would leave him
when this was all over. Providing of course that he survived it in the first
place. 
***
Skinner turned up on a regular basis to visit Mulder and to give him the
latest news. After having aired his suspicion to his former supervisor,
Skinner had promised to look into it and, having seen Spender's obvious
hatred toward Mulder in action, Skinner wouldn't be at all surprised if
Mulder turned out to be right. So he conducted his own quiet investigation,
asking the right people the right questions at the right time and was mostly
certain that Mulder's suspicions were correct.
Standing by the window of Mulder's room, Skinner stared out at a world that
had gone completely haywire over the past few years. Everything he had
previously put his faith in had been washed down the drain. "Most of the
people I've talked to are trustworthy, Mulder. And it seems more and more
likely that you're right. That Spender may have leaked the information. I'm
not sure he himself was involved in telling the group, but... it seems very
obvious that the information comes from him." Turning around to face Mulder,
he made a face. "If I find any concrete evidence, he's busted. He will be
out of the Bureau and behind bars so fast, he won't know what hit him. And I
don't care who he's related to."
Mulder stared at his former boss for a moment, then sighed. "That's a
dangerous way to think, Skinner," he countered. "You know what that man is
capable off. And if he really wants to protect his son, you might get caught
in the middle."
"I can handle myself, Mulder. Don't worry about that. I've managed to obtain
certain contacts which may or may not prove to be fruitful. If everything
goes to hell, I have another option up my sleeve. One I'd rather not think
off if I can help it, though." Frowning, the Assistant Director leaned back
against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. "What are you going to do
once you get out of here?" he wanted to know. "Going home alone is probably
not the best idea. I don't think these goons will touch you here, but they
won't hesitate to finish the job once you're home."
Thinking of the options presented to him, Mulder briefly considered letting
Skinner in on the plan Scully had concocted, Skinner was quite obviously on
their side. No doubt about that. So there was no need to distrust the man.
"Scully suggested that I should stay with her until this is over," he said,
glancing down at his left hand. The pain in it had subsided a few days ago
and now it only felt numb.
Staring intently at him for a moment, Skinner turned that idea over in his
mind. He couldn't readily find anything to object about. They weren't
working together any more, so if anything else would arise from this, it
wouldn't pose as a problem. At least not off hand. "That might be a good
idea," he finally said, causing Mulder to look up in surprise.
"Isn't something like that easily misunderstood," Mulder wanted to know.
Heaving a deep breath, Skinner made a face. "Well, not really. If you two
were still partners, it would change things a great deal. I wouldn't advise
you to do this if that were the case. But since you're no longer partners...
well, I can't see anything to object about. Whatever happens between you is
your business. And if Scully thinks she can handle you, that's her
business." 
***
Scully carried through with her plan and moved him into her apartment
despite his feeble attempts to change her mind. It was too dangerous, he
insisted. But she wouldn't hear of it. He was still not able to walk
properly, still not able to move his head as freely as he should have been
able to and that alone made up her mind. He wouldn't be able to defend
himself. If they stuck together, he at least stood a chance.
He was sitting on her couch, his right leg stretched out on it. The joint
was still stiff enough to give him a sever limp, and although he hardly said
anything about it, she knew he was still hurting. Going against conventional
medicine in this case, Scully leaned toward a remedy her mother had used on
them while they were kids. Sprained ankles, bruised shoulders. There was
nothing this oil wasn't good for. Watching her intently, Mulder just sat
there, his hands in his lap, while she poured a little of the oil into the
palm of her hand. Glancing at him, she smiled. "It's not going to hurt, so
don't look so apprehensive," she said. Judging by his expression, one should
think that she was about to cut off his leg. Then she went about rubbing the
oil into his skin and gently massaged his knee.
He watched her, his apprehension ebbing away like dew before the sun and
eventually he leaned back to enjoy the treatment. He fancied he could feel
his joint softening and the idea made him grin. "You can do that to me any
day," he finally told her. Raising his left hand, he flexed his fingers
gingerly. The cast was finally off and he had been told to exercise the
fingers regularly until he had regained full strength in them. The doctor
did not believe that there would be any permanent damage despite the
severity of the injury.

Scully threw him a small knitted ball filled with rice and he caught it with
his right hand. "Use that. It's good for strengthening your fingers," she
told him and continued to massage his knee.
Watching her, he kneaded the ball with his left hand, working slowly. The
movements were still somewhat painful, but he could grip without much
trouble, which in his opinion made a world of difference. "We've never
really talked, have we?" he suddenly asked her.
Scully's head snapped up and her fingers stopped moving while she stared
into his eyes. "What do you mean?" she wanted to know, having an eerie
feeling of deja-vu. For the briefest moment she wondered. Then she pushed
the thought away.
Mulder was slightly taken aback by her reaction and indicated this by
frowning. "Nothing. I just mean... we never really talk unless we have a
case to discuss or my warped theories."
For a moment, she tried to subdue the smile, then she chuckled under her
breath, dropping her eyes to his knee again. For a moment she just stared at
it, then she resumed the gentle, careful massage of it. "No, Mulder. We
don't."
Smiling in confusion, he followed the movement of her fingers. "Why is that
so funny?" he wanted to know.
The smile on her lips widened as she briefly glanced up at him. "It's
just... remember that case with Eddie van Blundth?" She just couldn't help
bringing it up and it caused her to giggle uncontrollably for a few seconds.
Looking up to meet Mulder's eyes, she could tell that he was still confused.
"When he came here... as you... he said basically the same thing," she
confessed and shook her head in disbelief. That situation had been so
abnormal, so screwed up.
Mulder's expression didn't reveal what he really felt. That punk had talked
to her, pretending to be him, trying to put the moves on her, pretending to
be him. And he would love to know what he had said to Scully to make her as
pliable as she had obviously been when he had burst through the door to her
apartment just in time back then. To his own surprise, he realized he was
actually jealous about that incident. Because van Bluendth had experienced
something he would like to and didn't have the nerve to try. "Really?" he
wanted to know, keeping his tone of voice neutral.
Scully looked up to meet his eyes again, slightly surprised at the tinge of
jealousy she heard in his voice. "Yes, really," she countered, watching him
closely. It was fascinating to her how she had learned to read him like an
open book. Five years ago, she wouldn't have known what that little edge to
his voice meant. Now she did. "He was actually... quite attentive," she went
on, knowing which buttons to push and taking a kind of perverse pleasure in
seeing the jealousy blossom in his eyes. "He was very... interested in me."
Smiling weakly, she again shook her head. "I was quite taken aback. I didn't
think... that you had that in you. As it appears, you didn't." The last was
probably a bit cruel, but she couldn't help herself. She just had to test
the waters right now.
Mulder stared at her, having to fight to maintain a partially believable
smile. He didn't know what to say to that, didn't have any sharp or snappy
comeback to that one. And he just knew she had noticed how he felt about it.
Dropping his eyes, he stared down at his right hand and resumed kneading the
ball with his left, putting more pressure on it than he actually should.
Every move hurt and it wasn't getting any better.
Scully's smile vanished when she realized what he was doing to his hand.
Instantly reaching out, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand forward.
"What are you doing? Don't put so much pressure on it. You're hurting
yourself," she admonished him.
Mulder looked up again, meeting her eyes for a second, then he sighed and
let go of the ball. It dropped down on the couch next to his leg. Instead of
releasing his hand, Scully turned it around, palm up and inspected his
fingers for a moment. And then she proceeded to massage the palm with her
oil-slick thumb, slowly working her way across every finger. He watched her,
wondering if he was reading more into this than was actually there. Her
actions hurt, but not as badly as kneading the ball had hurt. "Do you think
I'll ever be able to avoid serious injury?" he asked after a while.
Scully glanced at his face. "I don't know. You seem prone to seeking out
situations which do this to you. I can't really figure out if you do this on
purpose or... if it's a natural gift." The latter she said with a faint
smile.
"If things had been different... do you think that we would still be
friends?" he asked on.
Scully leaned her head to one side and eyed him thoughtfully. "Why all the
questions? You never ask me this many questions," she countered, meeting his
gaze fully.
Giving her a crooked grin, he shrugged his shoulders. "I've got nothing
better to do," he said and leaned forward. To his immediate surprise, she
didn't pull back. She just kept on staring at him, her head leaning slightly
to one side. "What about you? Do you have something better to do? Is there
an... 'Eddie' in your life right now?"
Smiling again, she shifted her position on the couch a bit, actually
managing to shorten the distance between them. "When would I have time for
something as ordinary as a relationship, Mulder?" she asked him. "No,
there's no Eddie in my life. And you know that. We spend almost every waking
hour together. Even though we're no longer partners. Actually, I think we
spend more time together now than we ever have before. Quality time."
"Quality time?" he asked with a bemused expression. "You consider our time
together as quality time?"
"Yes, I do," she agreed. "And you should stop asking so many questions. Why
don't you just tell me something instead?"
Staring at her, he gave her a full-fledged smile. "Like what?"
Chuckling softly, she inched a little closer. "There you go with the
questions again," she told him and, not really giving her actions much
consideration, she tapped a finger against the tip of his nose.
"Sorry," he said, blushing a little. "The force of habit."
"I know," she nodded, inching closer still. They were close enough to kiss
each other and she stared into his eyes, wondering what was going on in his
mind right now. He was thinking like crazy. That much she could tell. She
just didn't know what he was thinking about.
"Scully?"
"Yes?"
"Would you mind terribly much if I kissed you right now?"
Somehow, she was completely unable to take the situation serious right then
and had to fight a losing battle not to laugh. She managed to stick to a
smile. "You and your questions. Why don't you just go on and do it?" she
countered, challenging him. "Then you'll find out if I mind."
Grinning sheepishly, he edged closer.
The whole thing was rudely and brutally interrupted by the sound of a shot
to his right. Mulder wasn't aware of what had happened before he realized he
was on the floor between the couch and the coffee table with Scully starring
down at him in shock and a flame of pain lacing through his right shoulder,
radiating out into his neck and down his arm. There was no mistaking that
pain. He had been hit.
Scully was off the couch in a second, kneeling beside him and out of the
line of fire. She had grabbed his left shoulder, keeping him from keeling
over, the paleness of his skin and his distinctly wide eyes indicating shock
of the first degree. Glancing past him toward the dresser standing next to
the entrance door, she stared at her gun, wondering if she could get to it
in time. But after a moment, she heard tires squealing outside and a car
race off at high speed. Getting up carefully, ready to drop down behind the
couch in an instant, she looked over at the windows and the bullet hole.
"Jesus," she whispered. Easing Mulder down on the floor, she briefly
examined his shoulder and became aware that he was both bleeding profusely
and that the bullet was imbedded in his shoulder, possibly in the joint
itself. In a flurry of movement, she grabbed her phone, smearing everything
with blood in the process and not caring one bit, and called 911.
Then grabbing the closest thing she could find, she folded up the towel she
had put under Mulder's leg and pressed it hard against the wound, causing
him to gasp in pain. 
***
Within half an hour, Mulder was on his way back to the ER, in pain and
losing blood rapidly. The paramedics had acted quickly and had commended
Scully on her fast thinking, not aware that she was a doctor herself, where
after they had hooked him up to a plasma drop and taken him to the waiting
ambulance. With the sirens squealing and the lights flashing, the ambulance
wove its way through town at top speed, racing against time to get him into
surgery so they could stop the internal bleeding, which didn't want to stop.
Scully's greatest fear as she sat beside him, holding his limp left hand in
hers, was that the bullet had severed the main artery in some fashion, which
could mean that he might bleed to death before they reached the hospital.
He was still breathing and, though irregular, his pulse was still there when
they reached the ER. He was immediately rolled off to a room where two
doctors and six nurses surrounded him, while two further nurses held Scully
back so they could do their work in peace.
Some time later, she was sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room,
too shocked by what had happened to give it any special consideration that
she was basically covered in his blood. When a heavy hand fell on her
shoulder, she looked up at Skinner and was surprised to see him there.
"Scully, are you all right?" he demanded a little gruffly, slightly taken
aback by her bloodied appearance.
Glancing down herself, she spread her hands out, first then becoming aware
of the state she was in. "Yes. It's all his," she countered a little slowly,
then again raised her head to look at Skinner. "Where did you come from? How
did you know?"
Frowning, he realized that she was in a state of shock. "One of the nurses
said that you asked them to call me," he stated and sat down next to her.
"What happened?"
Shaking her head she heaved a deep shuddering sigh, not able to recall
having said that to anybody. But she must have since he was here. The memory
of the moment right before the incident and how close they had been to
kissing each other cut off all other thoughts, dominating her mind. Would
they ever be allowed any respite in their lives? "We... uhm... were sitting
on the couch, talking," she began and considered that it was the truth,
although not all of it, "and suddenly somebody shot him." The latter came
out in a tone of disbelief. "Why?" she wanted to know, looking back at
Skinner.
Thoughtfully pursing his lips, he held her gaze steadily. "I don't know,
Scully. All I know is that I've had enough of this situation. Next time they
may be successful and finally kill him. That seems to be what they're after.
I'm putting you both in protective custody. And nobody knows where you go
but me. You don't tell anybody. You don't call anybody. You don't write to
anybody. If they can track you even then..." he said, but she interrupted
him.
She placed a still bloodied hand against her neck. "They can," she said.
"They can track me. Because of the implant."
"Scully..." he began, not looking convinced, but she cut him off again.
"No. That's why they always know where we are. Because they can track me.
I'm not going with him. Take him somewhere safe, Mr. Skinner, but I'm
staying here."
The desperation, the sadness in her expression didn't escape Skinner. Nor
did the truth in her words. He was sick of this whole business, but he was
also fully aware that these people wanted Mulder dead and would shy no means
to accomplish their goal. "God damn it," he mumbled. "All right. As soon as
he's fit to travel, I'm going to move him to a secret location. But you're
getting a body guard, Scully. I don't want anything to happen to you,
either."
"It might be better if you didn't. There's no sense in jeopardizing another
man's life to protect me. If they wanted me dead, they would have shot at
me, too. But they didn't. It's Mulder they're after. It's him they can't be
allowed to get to." Slowly getting up, she again glanced down herself. "I'm
a mess. I'm going to go home and change. If Mulder wakes up in the meantime,
tell him where I am and that I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, she
strode out the door, not giving Skinner a chance to reply.
Frowning, the assistant director stared after her for a moment, then sighed
and settled down to wait for the results. In the distance, thunder rumbled
and the occasional flash of lighting split the sky for seconds at a time.
Dark, sinister thoughts cruised through his mind, filling him with dread for
the future. He had to heave a deep breath and focus on something else to
subdue these feelings that seemed to linger just under the surface most of
the time. 
***
Dana Scully's residence
Stopping short just inside the front door, her eyes drifted to the bullet
hole in the window, then over to the sofa and the blood everywhere. Clearing
the open door, she closed it behind her and locked it, feeling uncommon
tears stinging her eyes. Was she going to lose everything? Her ability to
become a mother had been taken away from her. Her sister had been ruthlessly
killed in her place. And now they were trying to finish the job by killing
Mulder, too. She didn't think she could handle it if he died. He had been
there for her when times had been rough. He had held her or just been there.
His presence had been a comfort when she had found and lost Emily, a little
lost soul she could have called her own if the child had been conceived in
the normal, human way. Bizarre things had happened to her, to her life, her
family, and yet he had been there. When she had raged against the world, he
had been there. Fighting to hold back the tears, she knew she could not
follow him where he had to go next. Because she would be the reason they
would get to him. Due to that damned chip in her neck. That damned little
piece of technology, which was going to force her to keep her distance from
him. A distance she no longer wished to maintain.
Angry and sad at once, she strode into her bed room and stripped off her
bloodied clothes. After a quick shower, where she forced herself not to
think, she returned to her bed room to get dressed again. The longer she
stayed away from him, the less likely it was that they would find him.
Sighing, she stopped short. Maybe she should stay away completely? Put in
for re-assignment and just get the hell away from him? Right now, she was
dangerous to him. A jeopardy. Finally giving in to the feelings which
threatened to explode inside her, she dropped down on the bed, half-dressed,
and cried. Cupping both hands over her face, she sobbed into them, trying to
make sense of why her life - and his - had become such a pain, such a
hazard. Why were they doing the things to him that they were doing? Why
couldn't they just leave him alone? She cried so hard she was gagging,
feeling nauseous. For a brief moment she thought she would have to rush to
the bathroom to empty her upset stomach, but the feeling passed again,
though the nausea did not.
It took a long time for her to regain her composure. For a long while, she
just sat on the edge of the bed, not thinking, her tears drying on her face.
Then she grabbed the receiver of her phone next to the bed and dialed a
number. "Yes, sir, it's me," she said when a connection was finally
established. "Uhm... I'm not coming back to the hospital. I'm going to steer
clear of him until this is over. Please let him know. And... uhm... take
good care of him." With that, she broke the connection without ever giving
him a chance to demand an explanation. She knew he would eventually, but
right now she just couldn't give him one. After having returned the receiver
to its cradle, she curled up on the bed and cried herself to sleep. 
***
Skinner stared at his cell phone for a moment, then switched it off and
returned it to his pocket just when the doctor came in. He glanced around
for Scully, then settled his eyes on Skinner. "Uhm... have you seen where
the young lady with the red hair went?" he wanted to know.
"She went home. I stayed instead of her. I take it you have news about Agent
Mulder?" Skinner countered, his tone of voice demanding.
"Yes, actually I do. He's out of surgery. We managed to remove the bullet,
but he's lost a lot of blood and there is substantial trauma to the
shoulder. It's too early to say, really, but I don't think his chances of
ever moving that shoulder again are very good," the doctor explained.
"Damn it," Skinner grumbled. "Can I see him?"
"Certainly. He's still out, but he should wake up pretty soon. Just be aware
that he will be a little groggy due to the blood loss and the anesthesia." 
***
The hospital room was quiet and rather peaceful. Skinner had spent the
better part of an hour waiting for Mulder to wake up and when he finally
did, he displayed all the signs the doctor had warned him about.
Blinking heavily at Skinner, Mulder tried to figure out where he was and how
he had gotten there. He couldn't really remember. All he was aware of was
the pulsing pain in his shoulder and the fact that all muscles in that area
seem to have cramped up. "Where am I?" he finally managed.
Skinner looked down at him, not happy about what he had to say. The
questions would pop up. He knew that. "Georgetown. Again. If you keep this
up, Mulder, they'll start giving you a discount here," he replied.
A weak grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, might not be such a
bad idea," he countered, then glanced around. "Where's Scully?"
Skinner made a face and glanced down at the floor for a second. "Agent
Scully is at home," he finally said. "Mulder, I want you to listen to me
now. It's very important that you understand this correctly. Scully has
decided to stay away from you for a while because she believes that the
implant in her neck is responsible for that these men keep finding you. I
find that rather hard to believe, but right now I'm not making any snap
judgements. You are in protective custody and as soon as I am able to move
you, you're getting out of town."
Mulder stared at him, fully awake now. All he was aware of right now,
though, was that Scully wasn't there and she wouldn't be coming by any time
soon. For a moment, he just kept on staring at Skinner, then he closed his
eyes and turned his face away. "Fine," he mumbled.
Skinner sighed. It was obvious to him that something more was happening
between Mulder and Scully. What it was he could only guess at, but he
believed that it was a fairly good guess that they were somehow romantically
involved. Perhaps that had been a major part in her decision to stay away
for a while. "She only wants to protect you," he said after a moment, not
very good at being the go-between in situations like this. He never knew
what to say.
Keeping his eyes closed and his face turned away, Mulder nodded weakly.
"Sure," he countered. "I'm very tired. Can we talk tomorrow?" he added, his
tone of voice slightly stand-offish.
"Of course. There's a guard outside your door at all times. We'll see how
you're doing tomorrow. Maybe we can move you already then," Skinner said,
hesitated for a brief moment while thinking of something to say, then shook
his head and strode out the door. Somehow he understood what Mulder was
going through. The only person he trusted fully wanted to avoid him when he
was in pain and alone. That had to hurt, no matter how good the intentions
behind these actions were.
Once the door had closed, Mulder opened his eyes again. His reason for being
dismissive had been a simple one. Tears burnt his eyes as he stared at the
door. "Scully," he whispered, then again closed his eyes, squeezing them
shut so hard it hurt. The thing was, he could understand her reasoning, but
it hurt him that she would even think that he wouldn't gladly face the
dangers if it meant he could be with her. "Damn it," he mumbled, then
flinched at the pain from his shoulder. He wanted her here with him.
Glancing up at the bedside table, he frowned briefly, then reached for the
bell with his less than optimal left hand, calling for the nurse.
One turned up almost immediately. Smiling a concerned smile, she hurried
over to his bedside. "Are you all right, Mr. Mulder?"
"I'm in pain," he groaned, then cleared his throat. "I need a phone. I need
to make a call," he added.
"A call?" she asked with surprise written all over her face. Then she
nodded. "All right. I'll get you something for the pain and a phone," she
added, still looking slightly startled. Phones were usually not the first
thing gun shot victims asked for, but she would comply because she couldn't
see a reason for why she shouldn't let him make a call. 
***
Scully woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright on her bed with the phone
ringing next to her. Glancing around her bedroom, she tried to shake the
utter disorientation, then grabbed the receiver. "Yes?" Glancing at the
alarm clock, she noted that it was half past one in the morning.
"Scully?"
Her disorientation vanished immediately and she bit her lower lip for a
second, silently scolding herself for not having seen this one coming.
"Mulder," she finally countered. "How are you?"
"I'm hurting and I'm disappointed that you're not here," he countered,
cutting right to the core of what was bothering him. "Skinner said you
wanted to steer clear of me," he added.
His tone could not have sounded more hurt. Scully closed her eyes for a
second. "Mulder," she began, not certain she could make him understand. "I
think it's for the best. They can track me. Skinner can't protect you if I'm
with you. They'll know where to find us and next time, they may kill you."
She ran a hand through her tousled hair, wishing by god that he would
understand. That he wouldn't lay this guilt-trip on her.
Mulder was silent for a moment, contemplating her words. Then he sighed. "I
don't care," he whispered.
"Yes, you do," she countered, unable to keep the anger and exasperation out
of her voice. "I care. I don't want you to die. I don't want to... lose
you." Curling up on the bed again with the receiver pressed to her ear, she
listened to him breathing for a moment. "I..." she began, but he interrupted
her.
"Don't, Scully. I don't want to hear that. Not now." His tone of voice was
somewhat sharp, a cutting edge to it.
She felt tears well up in her eyes again and angrily wiped at her face to
remove the traces of them. He had known what she was about to say because he
felt the same way. But this was neither the time nor the place to exchange
vows of eternal love. The thought made her smile helplessly. "Try to
understand that I'm doing this for your own good, Mulder. I don't want to
attend your funeral. Not now. Not ever. Do you hear me?" Biting her lip
again, she forced the tears back once more. "Please understand."
"Fine. If that's the way you want it, fine. I won't bother you again."
With that, the connection broke. Scully sat up on her bed, the beeping
receiver still pressed to her ear and let the tears fall. This wasn't the
way she had wanted it to happen. This wasn't what she wanted to do. She had
hurt him, hurt his feelings, betrayed his trust in her. And all because she
wanted to protect him. After returning the receiver to its cradle, she
wrapped her arms around herself and sat there on her bed, shaking lightly,
unable to go back to sleep, unable to stop crying. What the hell was wrong
with her life? What was it that made her so incapable of loving others, of
showing them how she felt about them? 
***
Mulder closed his eyes once more, aware that he had probably been unfair to
her. Yes, he had, he decided. But there was nothing to be done about it. She
had made up her mind. She wanted to stay away from him and that was how it
was going to be. With a shaky sigh, he opened his eyes once more and stared
up at the ceiling, wishing himself away from it all. Away to another world,
another time, another dimension where he was allowed to love her. Where she
wouldn't push him away. Where he wasn't in danger of getting his brains
blown out all the time. Biting his lip, he tried to subdue the tremor
running through him and the tears burning in his eyes. "I just want to love
you," he whispered to the unresponsive ceiling. "Is that too much to ask?"
Deciding that he would be damned if he would let himself be torn away from
her now, he closed his eyes again in an attempt to get some sleep. Things
would look better when he started feeling better. Soon, they would be back
together and she would see that she wasn't dangerous to him. That they could
exist together without jeopardizing each others lives. With that thought on
his mind and the painkiller really starting to kick in, he drifted off into
a dreamless sleep.
Some time later, a glass of water standing on the bedside table started
shaking ever so lightly. The trembling increased steadily for a bit, then
ebbed away again and everything was once again quiet. For almost a full
minute, nothing happened. Then a searing bright cone of light cut through
the window, illuminating the room in an eerie, harsh light.
Mulder woke up slowly, blinking against the sudden brightness. He found,
however, that he could not move. An eerie feeling of deja-vu rose in him,
making him compare notes mentally to a great many X-Files he had dealt with
over the years. Alien abduction. The light, the inability to move, and he
suddenly felt very afraid. Combined with the inability to move, though, was
also the inability to speak, to call for help. His vocal cords just did not
want to perform their duty.
The light became stronger, harsher, making his eyes water involuntarily as
he tried to make out what was going on. In the center of the light, the
figure he was searching for appeared. Then everything went blank.
The nurse who had previously brought him the phone, stopped short outside
the room, staring in fascination at the radiant ray of light spilling out
under the door. She tapped the guard on the shoulder, drawing his attention
to it and the man was on his feet at once, trying to open the door which
seemed to be stuck. When he finally managed to open it, they found the room
empty. Special Agent Fox Mulder had vanished into thin air. 
***
On to Mea Culpa(2/2)

MEA CULPA(2/2)************* 
MEA CULPA(2/2) 
by P.C.Rasmussen
p.c.rasmussen@get2net.dk 
************* 
Skinner stood outside the room, talking to a man from Forensics when Scully
turned up. He had called her to let her know that something had happened,
but not what. When she saw the forensics team there, she feared the worst.
"Sir?"
Skinner turned to her. "Scully," he countered, putting a hand on her
shoulder. "Agent Mulder..." He hesitated, staring at her for a second, then
sighed, "... vanished from his room last night. We don't know how, but the
fact remains that he is gone. The guard was in front of his door all the
time and the nurses were here, too. None of them saw anybody coming or
going."
Scully's eyes flicked toward the door, then back to Skinner. "Gone? How
gone? What do you mean, he's gone?" she demanded, staring at him as if he
had lost his senses. Brushing past him, she pushed the door open and looked
around the room, then glanced back at him.
"As I said, I don't know, Scully. That's why we called Forensics to take a
look around. Maybe they can find something," Skinner countered, waving at
the man working in the room, looking for clues.
"But... he can't... just vanish," she stammered, looking back into the room.
"People don't just vanish from guarded rooms on the tenth floor."
"Sir, I think you'd better take a look at this," the Forensics agent working
in the room said, waving Skinner over.
He pushed past Scully and squatted down next to the man kneeling on the
floor at the foot end of the bed. "What have you got?" he wanted to know.
"Look at that?" the agent said, waving at a foot print he had been able to
bring out with a bit of dy.
At least Skinner presumed it was supposed to be a foot print, although it
did not resemble any foot print he had ever seen. Staring down at it, he
frowned. "What is that?" he wanted to know, glancing at the man kneeling
next to him.
"Well, sir, it looks like a foot print," he countered, looking a little
uncertain.
"Nobody has feet like that. Nobody," Skinner told him, looking back down at
the slim, very long foot print. It was too thin and definitely too long to
be a human foot print. And the fact that the foot seemingly ended in three
toes instead of five was another proof of that.
"No, sir, I agree with you. But... it's still a foot print," the agent
countered uncertainly, glancing at Skinner.
Scully came over and looked down at the blue print, her mind racing. Before
she had a chance to think about what she was saying, she had managed to
voice a thought she would never have entertained a few years previously.
"I've seen prints like that before. In an X-File," she said, then frowned at
her own words.
Skinner looked up at her with a frown of his own. "In an X-File? Do you
remember which?"
"It doesn't matter," she countered. "I don't have the material to back me
up. But I know what Mulder would call that foot print," she added, turned
around and strode out of the room. Before clearing the doorway, she paused
and glanced back at Skinner. "He's been abducted," she said and left.
Skinner rose again, looking after her with a frown. Now that was something
he had never expected to hear from her. The worst thing about this was that
he was inclined to agree with her. All of Mulder's theories usually panned
out whenever they were examined more closely. Glancing back down at that
print, Skinner sighed. "Take photos of it. Do a cast of it if you can. Make
sure you maintain as much information about this print as you can. Give me a
couple of prints, too. I want to know what happened here." With those words,
he followed Scully out of the room.
He found her further down the corridor, standing at a window, staring up at
the sky. "Scully."
"He's been abducted," she repeated, not looking at him.
Skinner heaved a breath and sighed heavily. "I'm inclined to agree with you.
That seems to be the only logical explanation right now, despite the lack of
evidence and eye witnesses."
Scully kept on staring up at the sky. "I should have been here. I should
have been with him. They wouldn't have touched him if I had been here," she
said, her tone of voice neural.
Skinner stared at her for a second, then glanced back over his shoulder
toward the open door. "Don't blame yourself, Scully."
"Why not? He will if he ever returns," she countered a little angrily,
turned around and walked away.
Skinner watched her go, a dark expression on his face. This thing was
getting more and more out of hand and he was getting utterly fed up with it.
First the indication that Spender had set Mulder up, then the shooting which
had almost killed him. And now this. What else could go wrong?
"Mr. Skinner?"
Hearing that voice, he realized what else could go wrong. He turned around
to face Tina Mulder's anxious eyes. "Mrs. Mulder. I'm afraid I have some bad
news for you," he said, not looking happy about this. 
***
He had not been happy about his brief period in exile and it was a relief to
be back in action. Although he knew his situation was precarious, he also
knew that the Consortium could not do without him. They needed his
expertise, his knowledge. Shaking a cigarette out of the pack, he lit it and
inhaled the smoke, relishing the tickling feeling down his throat. Being a
man of means, though not means in the general sense of money, he knew how
far he could go before others noticed his handiwork. When his wayward son
had ratted Fox Mulder out to the men he was working with at the time, he had
been furious. The kid didn't understand Mulder's importance to the case. He
didn't understand that there was no room for personal vendettas in this
game. He had been corrected, admonished never to pull a stunt like that
again. But the Cigarette-Smoking-Man didn't think that Jeffery Spender had
gotten the point.
Spender had stopped short further down the corridor and was staring at him
in that way he had. "What do you want?" he demanded, coming closer, an air
of caution about him.
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man frowned a little. "What did I tell you about
Mulder? I told you to stay clear of him. He is none of your business. You
will not have to deal with him again."
Spender heaved a deep breath, staring at this man who claimed to be his
father. A claim he could use for fairly little at this point. "Well,
whatever you're indicating with this, it's not going to be a problem from
now on, is it?" he countered.
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man frowned. "Why? Did he die of the injury?" he
wanted to know, concerned about the outcome of the answer.
"No. In that sense Agent Mulder has more lives than a cat. He vanished from
the hospital room last night. Nobody saw him leave. The guard claims to have
been outside his room at all times and one of the nurses claims that she saw
a bright light under the door before he vanished. I'm surprised you don't
know this," Spender countered, his tone of voice condescending.
The frown on his forehead deepened while he stared at his son. "Vanished?"
he mumbled, then turned around and headed back to the lifts. "This is not
good," he mumbled on, leaving Spender behind. 
***
Tina Mulder stood patiently outside the door of the apartment, waiting for
the man to come home. And he eventually did. His expression betrayed his
utter surprise at seeing her there, waiting outside his door. Then he
smiled. "Tina, what a pleasant surprise," he said, reaching a hand out
toward her.
Tina took a step back, staring at him with hard eyes. "I just came to ask
you if you are content now," she said, her voice steely.
"Content? Are you referring's to your son's disappearance?" he countered,
letting his hand drop. "Let's talk inside, shall we?" he added.
"No, I will not set foot in your apartment. I just wanted to know if you're
happy now that you have deprived me of every reason I ever had to live? You
have taken my daughter, my husband and now my son from me. And for that I
curse you. I used to have hopes, Raoul. Hopes that things would work out in
the end. But instead they became more and more unmanageable, unbearable."
Tears rose in her eyes while she spoke. Tears of hatred, of anger, of
sorrow. "You have killed me. I hope you're content now." With those words,
she pushed past him and hurried toward the elevator, intent of leaving him
behind.
But he wasn't about to let her go so easily. He followed her and stopped her
at the elevator doors by grabbing her arm. "Tina, I had nothing to do with
Fox's disappearance. I swear to you."
"On what? Everything that is holy to you?" she snarled angrily. "Nothing is
holy to you, Raoul. You kill indiscriminately. You have no feelings. You
never did," she added, anger and hurt vying for control inside her. Ripping
her arm out of his grip, she slapped her palm against the call button for
the elevator. "You must hate deeply me to hurt me this much," she added just
before stepping into the elevator.
He stopped the doors from closing by pushing them back with one hand. "I
don't hate you, Tina. You know that. I have always cared for you. And for
your children, too. And Bill was my friend."
"Friend?" she spat, staring at him with hatred etched into her face. "Is
that why you had him murdered in cold blood? Is that why you took our
daughter from us?" Without any thought to his reputation, she slapped him
hard across the face. "I can do fine without your kind of friendship, Raoul.
I never want to see you again. Ever."
He stepped back, utterly taken aback by the blind and obvious hatred in her
eyes. The doors slid shut and he could hear the elevator going down. With an
unreadable expression, he reached up to rub his cheek, which stung from the
slap. "I don't hate you. I never could," he whispered, turned around and
walked back to his apartment. This was turning out to be a very bad deal and
he wondered what he could do to rectify the situation, to at least regain
some compassion from Tina Mulder. She had, after all, always been the love
of his life. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door to his apartment and
stepped inside, closing it behind him without locking it. Who knew? Maybe he
could do something. 
***
Scully dropped down on her couch after returning home from the hospital. The
foot print had been enough to rattle her to the very core of her being. She
had no way of knowing what it really meant, but the first thought which had
hit her, had been one that belonged in Mulder's head and not hers. 'He's
been abducted', she had said to Skinner, leaving it up to him to deduct from
her words what exactly she meant by that. He hadn't questioned her. He had
accepted her statement without argument. And that scared her even more than
the thought that Mulder might be right about his alien theories. That there
might be creatures out there, who did to human's what human's did to lab
rats. Closing her eyes, she heaved a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her
home. A place that no longer felt like home. Frowning, she opened her eyes
again and looked around. Why did this place suddenly feel so empty? Nothing
was missing. Nothing... except him.
With a heavy sigh, she finally acknowledged her tumbling feelings. "Damn
it," she whispered softly. Shifting on the couch, she looked over at the now
taped-up hole in the window, thinking again about the incident, about how
she had basically disowned him, told him she couldn't be with him for his
own safety. And what had happened? She had left him alone and now he was
gone. Gone where, she didn't know and she didn't much care to think about
it, either. There were things better left alone. Things that would scare the
life out of you if you thought about them too much. Yet the images came
flooding into her mind, filling her senses, making her want to scream.
Because if what had happened to her was happening to him now, she just knew
it would destroy him completely. For what was to stop him from thinking that
the same might have happened to his then eight-year-old sister, Samantha?
Closing her eyes, she slumped down on the couch, curling up in a fetal
position, unable to stop the horrifying images parading in front of her
mind's eye. She hated these memories, wished them back into the dark, far
recess of her mind where they had been hiding for so long. But things in
hiding had a tendency to creep out into the light when you least expected
it. Pressing both hands over her face, she moaned silently and wished that
whatever was happening to him was over soon and that he would not remember
anything when... and if he returned. 
***
There was silence around him. Silence and darkness. Lying still, he tried to
remember where he was, what had happened to him. But his mind was sluggish.
It did not work properly. Slowly inhaling a laborious breath, he finally
managed to force his heavy lids open and stared up into darkness for a
moment. Raising his right hand to about an inch from his nose, he had to
concede that the darkness was complete. He could see nothing. Then he
remembered the bullet wound, the shot to his right shoulder. He turned his
head and moved his arm, feeling no pain, no restrictions anywhere. Frowning,
he reached across to touch his shoulder, feeling for the wound and finding
it. There was an open hole in his shoulder, but it didn't hurt. Frowning, he
sat up, the fingers of his left hand feeling feebly over the edge of the
hole. Then he further remembered his broken fingers, the inability to use
them properly without pain. There was no pain now and his left hand felt as
strong as it had been before the event which had deprived him of its
flexibility. It felt normal. Yet something was utterly wrong here. He just
knew it. And then it suddenly hit him why it was so dark. Why he could move
with such ease yet had trouble breathing properly. Moving both arms, he felt
the resistance that was more than air. It was heavier. He was submerged in
fluid. Fluid he could breathe in. It was difficult to breathe. Not as hard
as he would have thought it might be, but still harder than if he was
breathing air. And then something happened. The fluid around him was moving,
being sucked down past him. The pressure forced him to lie back again and he
closed his eyes, not sure he wanted to know what came next. Then the fluid
slipped off his face, off his chest, and icy air hit him like a slap in the
face.
He inhaled sharply, immediately aware that he had made a mistake by doing
that. The fluid still left in his lungs caused him to start coughing
violently. He rolled over on his side, spitting dark fluid out on a dark
floor, something which reminded him of black rubber, only shiny. After
regaining some of his breath, he became more interested in his surroundings
and the fact that he was naked. That as such wasn't a problem for him unless
he wasn't alone, that was. Using his left hand for support, he slowly sat
up, blinking at what he could vaguely make out. He was in what seemed to be
a tank of some kind. A tank with dark tinted glass all around him and a
black rubber floor.
As he sat there, wondering what this was all about, his shoulder started
throbbing and he could feel the hot moisture of his own blood seep down his
arm. Turning his head, he looked at the wound in his shoulder, at the blood
oozing out of it, and knew it was going to hurt like hell if the throbbing
continued to increase the way it was right now. Grabbing his arm just below
the wound, he tried to put pressure on it, but found that the fingers of his
left hand were once again weak and beginning to ache.
Breathing more rapidly, he looked around, trying to find out if he could get
out of this tank on his own. But there was fairly little chance of that as
he was surrounded by solid-looking glass walls all around. Groaning, he
tried to dig his fingers into his right arm. The pain from his shoulder was
returning fully, though the bleeding was minimal. The best guess he could
come up with was that the bullet had been removed and the wound healed
somewhat by the fluid.
Grinding his teeth together, he tried to breathe around the pain, tried to
distract himself from the thundering inferno which was spreading from the
wound. His left hand ached badly now as if some stored up pain had been
released.
And then suddenly the glass walls moved. Soundlessly like the fluid had
left, they slid down into the black rubber-covered floor, vanishing without
a trace. Sitting there on the floor, stark naked, with a bleeding, aching
shoulder and barely enough strength to sit up, he felt eyes on him. Using
what reserves he had left, he looked around, trying to figure out who was
watching him. Or rather what. By now he was utterly convinced that whoever
had removed him from the hospital, stripped him of his clothes and submerged
him in the fluid after removing the bullet wasn't human.
And then they turned up, three of them, almost as tall as him. Spindly
looking aliens with big heads and huge eyes, their three-fingered hands
moving restlessly. They didn't approach him, though. They remained standing
where they had turned up, watching him with big black orbs which held no
feelings, their unmoving faces disclosing no obvious awareness. Then one of
them raised its thin arm up, tilting its head back a little as if to look up
at the ceiling. A beam of light cut through the semi-darkness, engulfing
Mulder completely.
He let out a startled yelp as the freedom to move was taken away from him
and he was, against his will, pressed back down on the floor. The floor
below him moved and rose, forming a plinth in the rubber-like material the
floor consisted of. It rose up high enough to allow the aliens easy access
to him. The light continued to shine, keeping him in place, making it
impossible for him to move his arms and legs.
First then did they approach. Moving in, they took position around him, one
at the foot end of the plinth and one on either side. The one on his right
side focused its attention on his still bleeding shoulder. It reached out
with one finger, touching the surrounding tissue. He winced, the soreness of
the surrounding skin increasing the pain level. "Don't..." he begged, but
got no further when the alien suddenly prodded its finger into the wound,
causing him to let out a scream of pain. It's head turned and it looked at
him, apparently fascinated by the response it had caused. The alien on his
left side moved sideways, reaching out for something, which it handed over
to its partner. The gadget looked like a pen of some kind, a round cylinder
which ended in a point at one end. The right-side alien took it gingerly and
positioned the tip right in front of the wound in Mulder's shoulder.
He was still gasping in pain, horrified at being the subject of these
creatures attention. His previous concern for these creatures had evaporated
the second he had realized that they didn't care if they hurt him. The
right-hand alien pressed the blunt end of the gadget it was holding and a
beam of clear blue shot out of the pointy end and right into the wound. It
hurt like hell. Thinking that it might as well have used a blowtorch to seal
the wound, he screamed, writhing against the invisible restraints holding
him down. The alien didn't budge, though. Despite the pain it was inflicting
on its subject, it kept up the steady beam, sealing the wound from the
inside and out. At one point, he simply passed out from the pain. But only
for a moment though. The alien prodded his cheek rather forcefully, trying
to restore his conscience and managed halfway.
After having repaired the wound, they stood there for a moment, obviously
trying to figure out what they could do next. All the while, the subject of
their attention sobbed in pain and fear, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands
clenched into fists. The left-hand alien leaned closer, looking down at his
face, then almost carefully tapped his left eyelid. It briefly looked up at
its counter-part who in turn handed over the gadget.
Mulder, who had opened his eyes again to find the alien terribly close to
him, instantly realized what they had in mind. "No," he gasped, trying to
twist away from the point of the pen-thing when the alien positioned it
right over the inner corner of his left eye. "No, please." He was begging
and he hated himself for it. But he was scared out of his mind. There was no
denying the fear he felt at lying there, naked, immobilized, playing lab-rat
to alien beings who had no compassion, no sense of his fear and pain.
The alien wrapped a rubbery hand over his forehead, holding his head in a
vice-like grip, then pressed the blunt end of the pen-thing and the beam
shot out again, basically drilling a needle hole through his skin. The pain
was excruciating, but he didn't dare move out of fear that he might lose his
eye in the process. The examination or whatever it was they were doing went
on for a long time. When they were done and retreated, leaving him to his
own devices, he could barely move even though the harsh light which had held
him had vanished again. Curling up on the plinth, he brought both hands up
to cover his aching face, wishing it would just all go away. These were the
aliens he had been so fascinated by? Finding it hard to keep his fear in
check, he sniffed, attempting to hold back the tears. This was a lonely,
painful place to be. And the worst part was not the pain, but the
loneliness. Knowing that no human being would or could come to his rescue
here made the situation almost unbearable.

The examinations were repeated again and again, some of them more demeaning
than others, all of them equally painful. There was no care in the actions
of the aliens, no consideration for his state of mind. They did what they
had to do or wanted to do and then left him again. He was fed something he
couldn't identify. It tasted horrible, but it didn't seem to harm him. They
gave him water, too, which was rationed into two portions, which appeared at
irregular intervals.
No amount of pleading or begging or threatening had any kind of effect on
his hosts. They did what they did, the light catching him no matter where he
would try to retreat to. There was nowhere to hide. The chamber or hall or
whatever it was he was in conformed to him, obviously always knowing where
he was. The plinth would turn up out of nowhere when the light had caught
him and deprived him of his ability to move.
He had no concept of time. There was no change in the light unless they came
to do their evil deeds. There were no cycles he could go by. When he slept,
which was rare, he had horrible nightmares which gave him little or no rest
and the more time passed, the more exhausted he felt.
Sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, he had his face
pressed against his knees, trying to wish himself away. They were getting
more careless in their treatment of him, utterly and completely indifferent
to the fact that they might be hurting him permanently.
The light beam suddenly hit him again, forcing him to stretch out on the
floor. Fighting an internal battle to contain his fear, he ground his teeth
together, groaning helplessly as he felt the plinth forming and rising
beneath him. "No, not again," he whispered, trying to turn his head. But he
couldn't. They turned up again, the three of them, standing around him,
eyeing him, before they proceeded with their examinations.
The left-hand alien brought out the pen-thing again and grabbing his
forehead, it positioned it over his left eye. This time, there was no
mistaking the direction it was taking. It had placed the tip of the device
right over his pupil. Terrified, he tried to break free, sobbing at the
prospect of losing his eye to this uncaring being's scrutiny. "No, please."
He kept begging, hoping that at one point they would understand and show
some mercy.
Before the alien could turn the device on and probably carve out his eye,
the one at the foot end suddenly raised a hand, turning its head toward a
fourth member of the team, who had materialized out of nowhere. The three of
them broke away from the plinth and their terrified subject to convene with
their counter-part for a moment. The one with the gadget turned its head and
looked back at him, its soulless eyes regarding him for a moment. Then they
all vanished.
Sobbing with relief, he allowed himself the brief respite of closing his
eyes and trying to regain his composure. And then the light went off and the
plinth sank back into the floor. Suddenly, everything went dark and he lost
consciousness. 
***
Scully had fallen asleep on her couch with all the fears in the world
crowding her mind. When she woke up again, she was utterly disoriented for a
moment, not fully awake yet. Sitting up on her couch, she blinked in
confusion, then realized what had roused her from her troubled sleep. She
had left the light on in the bathroom. With her arms wrapped around herself,
she got up from the couch and looked toward the closed bathroom door and the
light spilling out from underneath it. Shaking her head lightly, she tried
to clear the rest of the sleep from her mind. Something was amiss and she
couldn't quite grasp it yet.
"You're jumping at shadows, Dana," she mumbled to herself. It was now three
weeks since Mulder had mysteriously disappeared from the hospital and she
had more or less given up on ever seeing him again. That didn't make things
any easier, though. On the contrary. Heaving another deep breath, she sighed
heavily and started toward the bathroom door, then came to a shaking stop
when the light suddenly went out at the same instance as she heard something
heavy hitting the bathroom floor. Standing there with her arms wrapped
around herself, she stared at the door, both afraid and confused. There was
no possible explanation she could come up with which would justify the sound
and the light going off. Unless somebody was in there.
Suddenly not so confused any more, she strode over to the sideboard next to
the entrance door and retrieved her gun. Checking to make sure it was
loaded, she then strode over to the bathroom door, twisted the knob and
pushed it open, taking on a defensive stance immediately. It was as dark in
the bathroom as it was in the living room, but not dark enough to obscure
the figure lying curled up on her bathroom floor. Frowning, Scully glanced
at the window, then back at the shape on the floor, noting that the window
was closed. Still keeping her gun ready, she reached for the light switch
and flipped it, briefly blinking to get used to the bright light. Then she
froze. The gun slipped out of her grip and clattered to the floor as she
stood there, staring at the naked, curled-up form of her friend lying on her
bathroom floor.
Without hesitation, Scully closed the distance between them, dropping
painfully hard down on her knees next to him. Her lips moved as she
attempted to form words, to speak to him, to demand an explanation, but no
sound came over her lips. She was too shocked at this event to speak.
Reaching a trembling hand out for him, she carefully touched his shoulder,
gaining the first reaction from him. Which was more or less a reaction she
would have expected from a wild animal. He moaned in fear, jerking away from
her hand. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to be steady, to not ask
questions she could not possibly answer right now. Instead, she drew in a
deep breath to calm herself enough to have a calming effect on him.
"Mulder," she whispered leaning in over him, her hand finding his shoulder
again. This time he didn't pull away, but she could feel the fear in him in
the tremor running through him. He was scared out of his mind. Slowly,
slowly, she eased her hand down over his chest to his opposite shoulder to
give her leverage to turn him onto his back. In the process, her face came
very close to his. Instead of turning him around to get a better look at
him, she pressed her cheek down to his, wrapping her arms around him as best
she could. "Oh, Mulder," she whispered again, her tone steady and soothing.
The shiver running through him increased and she could hear by his breathing
that he was crying. "Shhhhh," she hushed him. "It's all right. You're safe.
I'm here." Gathering him into her arms, she pulled him closer, hoping that
she could still the fear in him. 
***
It took Scully a very long time to get him to the point where he would sit
up. Wrapping a big towel around him, she then proceeded to give him a
cursory examination in order to estimate if he was hurt in any way. He had
puncture marks around his eyes. Light bruises covered his forehead and
throat and she could make out further, older puncture marks on his chest and
stomach. He was scared out of his mind and she couldn't get him to say
anything. He kept averting his eyes, not looking at her, his hands cramped
around the edges of the towel.
Wrapping her arms tightly around him, she attempted to get him to his feet.
"Mulder, come on. You have to help me a little. You can't stay out here,"
she told him, trying to coax him into moving on his own. After a moment, he
finally moved, getting shakily to his feet with her help. Swaying, he stood
hunched over, his face slightly contorted by the fear still lingering in
him. Scully held onto him, trying to steady him, afraid of what he would
tell her whenever he reached the point where he could talk about it. "Come
on. Let's get you to bed," she said, carefully guiding him out of the
bathroom. He walked like a man who had not been on his feet for a long time,
every step a potential hazard. But she managed to get him to the bedroom and
under the covers within a fairly reasonable span of time. Tugging the covers
down around him, she sat on the edge of the bed, staying close enough to
touch him all the time. Somehow, she felt that she had to. Just to make sure
that he was really there. Carefully brushing his hair away from his
forehead, she regarded his haggard face for a moment, observing all the
signs she could see. The clinical part of her mind sorted and sifted through
these inputs and came up with the estimate that he was either in shock or
just plain scared. The latter seemed to apply more than the first, actually.
She did not attempt to make him tell her what had happened. Mainly because
she was fully aware that he would either refuse to talk about it or couldn't
talk about it. "Sleep. You need to rest, Mulder," she told him softly,
smiling weakly at him. About to get up, she was slightly startled when he
suddenly grabbed out at her arm, holding her back. For the first time since
he had mysteriously appeared in her bathroom, he was looking directly at
her. But still he did not speak. Words, however, were unnecessary. She could
interpret the look in his eyes without any trouble at all. He didn't want
her to go. Settling herself back down on the edge of the bed, she took his
hand in both of hers and gave it a light squeeze. "You don't want me to go?"
she asked, finding that it was rather superfluous to ask such a question.
Yet she still hoped he would open his mouth and speak to her. Instead he
merely shook his head very lightly, his fingers closing hard over her hand.
After a while, Scully decided she might as well slip into the bed with him.
He wasn't going to let her go and she needed some rest herself. Slipping
under the covers, she edged close to him, one arm draped over his chest and
within minutes she fell asleep, the feeling of having him so near soothing
her. 
***
Mulder was caught in his own private hell. Although Scully had handled the
situation in the best possible way by not asking him any questions and in
general just trying to calm him down, he was still scared senseless. The
more he tried to convince himself that he was safe with her, the more he
felt that it was a lie. The only consolation through it all was that she was
staying close to him, holding onto him in a way that made him feel safer.
But he couldn't shake the fear. It was deeply rooted in him and he felt like
a little kid who was afraid of the monsters under his bed. Actually, in this
case it were the monsters outside the window.
Swallowing hard, he turned his head a little, trying to glance at the window
without really wanting to. Light from passing cars upset him. The sound of
the wind scared him. Closing his eyes hard against the fear, he pushed
closer to Scully, grabbing her hand on his chest hard and holding onto it.
Just to feel her warmth, her slow, steady breathing was something that gave
him that certain sense of security. He knew he would have to heal for a long
time. The rational part of his mind, diminished by almost half, was still
functioning and letting him know that this would pass, that he would rise
above it and move on. But right now, he just could not see the light at the
end of the tunnel.
Drifting into an uneasy sleep, the memories of what had happened to him
overflowed him, threatening to drown him, and he woke up not too long after
he had fallen asleep with a terrified gasp. Fighting hard to regain control
of his raging fear, he tightened every muscle in his body to suppress the
shivering. But Scully had noticed. She was awake.
Stroking his hair gently, she tried to sooth him. "Easy now. You're okay.
You're safe," she whispered.
Shivering, on the verge of tears, he lay there, letting himself be
comforted, and felt nothing short of terror. After a moment, he turned
around, wrapped his arms around her and nearly crushed her against him in a
fierce, frightened embrace. His face buried in the crook of her neck, he
fought the tears and lost. The fear, the pure terror he felt simply took
over and shook him to the core of his being like a dog would shake a rag
doll. Sobbing, he hugged her to him, wishing to God she could do something
to subdue the fear, to take the terror away.
Scully had her arms around him, holding him tightly against her, feeling
utterly helpless in the face of his fear. He was emotionally raw, on the
verge of going over the edge. She could feel that in the tremors going
through his body. And there was nothing she could do which would make it all
go away. All she could do was offer herself and hope that it did at least a
little good. So she caressed his back, letting him cry without a word. There
was nothing to say, no words of consolation which would tide him over.
Carefully, she planted a gentle kiss on his brow. He had fallen silent in
her arms, holding his breath, then he suddenly pulled his head back to look
at her with bloodshot eyes. Smiling weakly, she caressed his face gently,
her smile reassuring. "It's all right," she told him quietly. "Just try to
get some sleep."
He stared at her for a moment, then heaved a deep breath and let it out in a
sigh. Snuggling up close to her, he pressed his face against her chest and
so protected, he managed to fall asleep moments later. This time without
dreaming. 
***
He woke up slowly with the sun warming his back, his face more or less
buried in a pillow with a light scent of violets to it. He was lying on his
stomach, the covers around his waist. With a ripple of fear, he pushed
himself up on his elbows and looked around. Then he sighed and dropped back
down on the bed. For a moment there, he hadn't known where he was. Still
frightened beyond reason, yet not as strongly as the night before, he rolled
over on his back and looked over at the window and the sunlight bathing the
room in warmth and comfort. Sitting up, he pulled the sheet covering him
around himself, marveling at what a calming influence the sunlight had on
his wrecked senses. The darkness would be an enemy for a while to come, but
for now, he would relish the light, the warmth and the comfort he could gain
from being with Scully. The thought of her made him look around. She was
nowhere in sight and he couldn't hear her, either. Maybe because the door to
the living room was closed. Getting off the bed, he straightened up, his
legs somewhat unsteady beneath him, while he arranged the sheet around
himself. Then he slowly walked up to the door and opened it. The living room
beyond was also bathed in sunlight and he could hear movement in the
kitchen. Glancing around, he slowly padded across the living room toward the
open doorway to the kitchen and came to a shaky stop in front of the tiles
of the kitchen floor. Somehow, he felt too exposed to step onto something
cold and hard right now.
Scully, who was busy clearing up the kitchen, very quickly became aware that
she was being watched. Turning, she saw him standing there and smiled. "Good
morning. How are you feeling?" The tinge of concern to her voice was
something she could not hide. Nor did she want to. She walked over to him,
looking up into his still haggard-looking face and couldn't stop herself
from touching his cheek.
"Pretty out of it," he countered hoarsely and cleared his throat.
"You want some coffee?" she wanted to know, taking his right hand in her
left.
Mulder looked down at her and thanked whatever deity had time to listen to
him for her friendship, for her understanding of this predicament. Then he
glanced over at the coffee pot and nodded weakly. "Yeah, but not too strong.
My stomach's a bit upset," he finally replied.
She smiled and turned to get him a cup of coffee. Before she had managed to
take one step, he had wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her
close. Concerned that this reaction was based on another anxiety attack, she
turned around in his arms, wrapping her own around him and looked up into
his haunted eyes. "Are you okay?" she wanted to know, inspecting his bruised
face thoughtfully.
Staring down at her, he blinked to clear his somewhat blurry vision and
nodded weakly. "Yeah," he whispered and released her again. The urge to hold
her had suddenly come over him and he had responded promptly to it, hoping
she didn't mind. And she didn't seem to.
Reaching up to cup his cheek, she smiled at him. "I'm going to go by your
apartment after we've had breakfast to get you some clothes. You can't run
around in a sheet," she said after a moment. 'Not that he doesn't look good
in a sheet', she thought to herself and quickly turned away before he could
see the blush on her cheeks.
Mulder wasn't up to this right now and couldn't think of anything to say
other than, "Thanks."
While she poured him a cup of coffee, she couldn't help smiling. The joy she
felt over having him back was unprecedented and it both scared and delighted
her that she was capable of such strong emotions toward another human being.
It somehow invalidated her fear that she wasn't able to love somebody else.
Picking up the cup, she turned around to hand it to him and almost dropped
it when she saw his utterly white complexion. Before she had a chance to
think, the cup did drop out of her hand, shattering on the floor, as she
rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around him in time to prevent him from
collapsing.
Weakly he tried to steady himself, finding he had no strength for it at all.
"I don't feel so good," he moaned.
Scully had to put all her strength into keeping him upright and getting him
over to the couch. "My God, Mulder. You should be in bed," she admonished
him. He was shivering profusely, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Getting him down on the couch, she then draped a blanket over him and tugged
it in around him. "Better?" she wanted to know.
Lying on his side, his back pressed against the back of the couch, he
nodded, his teeth clenched against the dizzying feeling which made his head
reel and his stomach roll.
Her hand on his arm, she felt the icy cold of his skin and realized that he
was still in a state of shock. "Hang on. I'll find some more blankets," she
said and got up to retrieve what she could find in the ways of blankets and
piled them on top of him to keep him warm.
Her temporary time schedule was pushed off course by this, but eventually,
after making sure he didn't slip into a coma or something like it, she
finally decided to go out to get him some clothes and, more importantly, to
go by the office to let Skinner know that he was back.
Brushing a hand through his hair, she looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you
think you can manage without me for an hour or two?" she wanted to know.
He looked up at her, his expression less tense now. "Yeah. I'll be fine," he
countered and gave her a weak smile.
Scully looked into his eyes and feared the worst. She saw a weakness in him
she had never seen before and it made her afraid for his immediate future.
"Okay then. I'll be back as fast as I can. I'll just get you some clothes
and then I'll drop by the office to let Skinner know you're back, okay? I'll
have my cell phone with me at all times. If you need me, you just call." She
pulled the phone over so he could reach it without getting up. "Are you sure
you don't want me to stay?"
Smiling a bit tensely now, he closed his eyes. "I'll be fine. I'll just try
to sleep some more," he countered, his voice weak.
"Okay," she said after having studied his face for a moment, then leaned in
and kissed his cheek. "Just take it easy, okay?" With that she got up, got
her things together and left.
He pretended to sleep when she left, but as soon as the door had closed, he
shifted over on his back, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. The
sunlight chased some of the shadows in his mind away. But there were darker
corners where the sunlight couldn't reach. Corners that had been uncovered
by the harried experience he had been through. Memories flooded him like
water from a broken dam, pressing urgently into his conscious mind,
unrelenting, terrifying, and for the briefest of moments he wished for
oblivion. But there was also potential in those memories. Potential he had
not previously seen because these memories had been too deeply buried.
Memories of his sister, of her disappearance. Things he had yet to find
words for. But he knew he would in time. When his mind calmed down and the
immediate memories of his ordeal faded into the background he would be able
to focus more directly on the memories unleashed from their dark hiding
places within his subconscious mind. 
***
Assistant Director Skinner looked up when the door to the corridor opened
and Scully stepped into his office. A little surprised, he glanced at his
watch, then looked back at Scully. "It's a little early for a social call,
isn't it, Agent Scully?" he asked, waving at a chair for her to sit on.
Scully sat down, smiling weakly. "Well, it's not a social call, sir. I've
taken a few days off from Quantico. Mainly because I have received some good
news."
Skinner frowned. He could only imagine she would think of one specific thing
as good news. But he wasn't too sure that was what she was talking about.
"And that is?" he asked.
"Mulder has returned," she countered, a full fledged smile on her lips.
Skinner raised an eyebrow. "When? And where has he been?" he demanded.
"He re-appeared last night. I don't know where he has been. I think he needs
some time to consider what has happened to him before he talks about it,"
Scully countered, not certain she would be able to answer Skinner's next
question to his satisfaction.
"Where did you find him? Did he just call you out of the blue?" he wanted to
know.
Scully stared at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes. "No, he didn't
call me. I found him... on my bathroom floor."
Skinner stared at her, slightly concerned that she might have gone off the
deep end due to Mulder's disappearance. "You found him where?" he asked, his
tone of voice thick with disbelief.
"On my bathroom floor," she repeated, glancing up at him.
Skinner remained silent for a while, his eyes on her face, watching her
intently for any indication of a joke. There was none. "You found him on
your bathroom floor?" he repeated after a moment.
"I know how that sounds, sir, and, believe me, I'm not entirely sure I
believe it myself even though that is where I found him. I had fallen asleep
on my couch and I woke up because I thought I had forgotten something. I
then noticed that there was light in the bathroom, so I figured that was
what I had forgotten. When I approached the door, the light went out
accompanied by a... thud. When I opened the door and turned the light back
on, he was lying on the floor."
Skinner kept staring at her, a feeling of unreality settling in. Was he
dreaming? Was this some kind of warped dream because he knew how much it
meant to Scully to get Mulder back? Briefly closing his eyes, he pulled his
glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to get some order
in his thoughts and some sense out of Scully's words. Then he replaced his
glasses and leaned back on his chair. "Just like that? There was a thud and
then he was there?"
"Yes, sir. I have no way of explaining how he got there. Especially
considering that he was... naked and the window was closed from the inside."

Frowning, the Assistant Director made a face. "Could he have closed it
himself?"
"No, sir. Not in the condition he was in."
"And what condition might that be?"
Scully considered her next words carefully before saying them. "Absolute
terror. It took me nearly two hours to get him off the bathroom floor and
into bed."
"Shouldn't he be in a hospital, then?" Skinner asked, not happy about what
she was telling him. That Mulder was back was a very good thing. That
something had nearly scared the life out of him was not.
Again she took a moment to consider her following reply. "No. There's
nothing physically wrong with him. Apart from very apparent fatigue. And I'm
not certain that a hospital would further his mental state in any way right
now. On the contrary. He seems very much in need of stable, familiar
surroundings and as he knows my apartment, I believe that he should stay
with me until he's ready to face the world again."
Skinner didn't want to ask these questions, but in light of his job, he had
to. "Do you consider Agent Mulder to be a danger to himself or anyone else?"
he asked.
Scully made a face. "No. Absolutely not. He's not mad. He's scared.
Frightened out of his mind." She knew well enough why he asked those
questions, but still disliked the hidden innuendos.
"People that are that scared can be a danger to themselves or others,
Scully. Has he exhibited any violent behavior since last night?"
Sighing, Scully shook her head. "No. He's like a frightened little kid right
now. It seems to me that all he wants to do right now is crawl into a hole
and hide from whatever has terrified him."
Pursing his lips, Skinner steepled his fingers, still watching her intently.
"You know I have to ask these questions," he said after a moment as ways of
explaining himself.
"Yes, sir. I know. That doesn't mean I have to like them," she countered. "I
just wanted you to know that he's home again and that, with a bit of
support, he will be fine. It may just take a while."
For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Then Skinner
finally nodded. "All right. I'll inform his supervisor and make sure he gets
sick leave. At one point, though, I would like to know where he's been.
People don't just vanish into thin air for three weeks and then pop back
into existence as if nothing had happened."
Scully rose, her expression both concerned and a little tight. "Believe me.
Something has happened to him. Something I can't... won't even begin to
guess at," she said. "I'd better get going. I don't want to leave him alone
for too long."
Skinner rose, too. "Keep me posted. I would also like to meet him, talk to
him about this."
"I know, sir. But for now, I think it would be better if I were the only one
he sees for a while. Mainly because I get the feeling that any sound scares
him. He needs to regain his composure before he can re-enter society." With
those words, she took her leave of Skinner and walked out, feeling oddly
overprotective toward her friend and former partner. 
***
The living room, although brightly lit by sunlight, seemed dangerously tight
and closing in on him. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in various
blankets, he kept glancing around him, trying to calm himself with no luck.
"Damn it," he mumbled. The sound of a key in the door startled him to near
terror and he had to breathe deeply a couple of times to keep himself in
check. Staring at the door, he waited for it to open and was very relieved
to see Scully stepping inside. She smiled when she saw him, her eyes
searching his face and obviously seeing the fear. "Everything okay?" she
wanted to know as she set a bag down inside the door and closed it behind
her.
"Yeah," he replied somewhat reluctantly. "What did Skinner say?"
Tactical deviation from course, she thought, aware that he didn't want to
talk about it yet. "Not much, really. He's glad you're back in one piece and
he's going to talk to your supervisor and have him put you on sick leave
until you're ready to come back," she countered. "I brought you some
clothes," she added, waving at the bag.
He stared at her for a moment, a million thoughts racing through his head.
The fact that she had come back had chased the fears away. The almost
claustrophobic feeling he'd had before she arrived had evaporated. For a
moment longer, he just sat there, then he slowly got up. "Thanks, Scully,"
he said. "For everything."
Smiling weakly, she regarded him, looking for signs of the near collapse he
had experienced some hours before. "Don't worry about it, Mulder. That's
what friends are for," she countered and handed him the bag.
Smiling weakly, he took it and vanished into the bathroom to get dressed.
With a sigh, he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and briefly went
through the carry-all bag, smiling when he realized that Scully sure knew
him a lot better than he would have thought. She had managed to pick up the
clothes he preferred to wear when he was off duty. Jeans, t-shirts, socks.
Raising his head, he looked over at the bathtub, wishing he had the strength
to take a bath. Nothing would make him feel better right now than soaking in
a hot bath. But he was afraid of what might happen if he got another anxiety
attack. The thought of that fluid, whatever it had been, rose in his mind
and he gasped for breath, finding that he got no oxygen even though he was
breathing in deeply. Starting to get dizzy, he could think of only one thing
to do. "Scully," he gasped, trying to get to his feet to reach the door. The
motion sent him sprawling onto the floor, where he continued to gasp like a
fish out of water. It took mere seconds after he had hit the floor before he
passed out. 
***
Scully was sitting on the chilly bathroom tiles with her friend's head in
her lap, scared beyond reason. Her training as a doctor had long since
convinced her that he was in no mortal danger. But she did not have the
strength to move him on her own and she couldn't make him wake up, either.
Staring down at him, she wondered again what had happened. She'd heard him
collapse and found him on the floor. After repeatedly trying to wake him up
and finding him too heavy for her to move, she had taken the time that gave
her to give him a more thorough examination. The traces were unmistakable
the ones he had once described to her as being the main signs of an alien
abduction. The puncture marks at vital parts of the body, the fear, the
weakness. And sitting there now, with his head resting in her lap, her back
sore from leaning against the bathtub, she wondered if it was for real. If
what she had experienced had been an alien abduction, too. At some point
during the hours she had been sitting there, she had more or less come to
the conclusion that aliens did exist and that her friend had been subjected
to demeaning and painful experiments at their hands. It was a highly logical
explanation for his state of mind and general state of health. Gently
caressing his forehead, she looked down at his face and sighed. "We are not
alone," she mumbled, then sighed heavily.
Groaning, he suddenly started moving. His eyelids fluttered open and he
stared up at her for a second, then glanced around. "Why are we in the
bathroom?" he wanted to know, his voice weak.
Smiling sadly, she ran her knuckles over his cheek. "You collapsed. I want
you back in bed. And I want you to stay there until I say otherwise. I don't
want this happening again." She supported him as he slowly sat up, then
helped him as best she could to get him back to his feet. "What's the last
thing you remember?" she asked and helped him ease down on the toilet again.

Blinking rapidly a few times, he tried to focus his sluggish mind. "I was
sitting here, wishing I could take a bath. Then I remembered..." he began,
but trailed off before finishing the sentence. There was terror in his eyes.

Scully squatted down in front of him. "Look at me," she insisted, holding
two fingers up in front of his face. "How many fingers do you see?"
He stared at them for a moment, then focused on her. "Two."
"Follow my finger with your eyes," she went on, moving her finger back and
forth slowly. His eyes trailed it with no obvious difficulty. Slipping her
hands behind his neck, she felt for any tenseness at the base of his scull
and found none. Then she again ran her fingers through his hair, feeling for
bumps on his scalp and again found none. "How's your head? Any aches?"
"No, none," he countered.
"Well, at least you didn't hit your head when you fell. At least not apart
from the light bruise on your forehead," she finally said, gingerly touching
the darker spot on his skin. Sitting down on the floor in front of him, she
eyed him for a second, looking for signs of another collapse and not finding
them. "Mulder, this is getting serious. If it had happened once, I could
live with it. But not twice. And not so soon after another. I'm not certain
what causes these collapses of yours and they worry me." In the process of
speaking, she put her hands on his knees.
Mulder grabbed her hand with his right. "I hyper-ventilated," he said. "I
remembered being submerged in fluid and I couldn't breathe. I
hyper-ventilated and I passed out. It's got nothing to do with my general
health. It's in my mind."
Squeezing his hand tightly, she looked deeply into his eyes. "You need to
talk about it," she said quietly.
Her words caused an involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then he
closed his eyes. "I can't," he whispered, letting his head drop.
"You have to," she insisted. "I know it may be painful and I'm aware that
you probably don't want to remember it, but I think you do anyway, don't
you? That's what causes these anxiety attacks, isn't it?"
For a moment, he sat there, his head down, his eyes closed, then he nodded
weakly, biting his lower lip.
Getting up again, Scully wrapped her arms around him. "Come on. Back to
bed," she urged him, getting him back to his feet. Once he was back under
the covers, she started feeling a little better. Sitting down beside him,
she could not help herself from scrutinizing his face once more. "I'll make
you something to eat. You need food," she observed. "Do you like soup?"
Smiling weakly up at her, he found that she played the mother-part a lot
better than his mother ever had. "I like basically anything," he countered.
"All we need to do now is get you back on your feet, back in control of your
head and back to work," she said, getting up. "And the best way to start is
with my mother's tomato-soup. There is nothing in this world that it can't
cure," she added with a smile.
"How come you haven't made that for me early?" he dead panned.
"Because you have never been so much in need of it as you are now. Rest.
I'll be back in a bit," she told him, kissed his brow and left him alone.
He settled back on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling and for the first
time since his return, he was actually able to imagine that all this would
end. That he would return to life more or less whole. With those calming
thoughts on his mind, he closed his eyes and slipped away into dreams. 
***
Scully was sitting on her couch, watching television with the sound turned
down, occasionally glancing at her watch. She had taken action and she
wasn't so certain how Mulder would respond to it. She had called his mother
to let her know he was back and Tina Mulder had actually sounded nearly
ecstatic and was now en-route to Scully's place, desperate to see her son.
Hoping that he wouldn't resent the notion, Scully had not told him about it.
Mainly because he was asleep.
Moments later, there was a tentative knock on the door and she got up to
answer the door, opening it wide to let Mrs. Mulder inside. "How is he?" was
the first thing the older woman wanted to know.
"He's asleep. He's been through a bad spell as I told you on the phone. I'm
not sure how long it will take him to heal, but he is already doing better,"
Scully countered.
Tina regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged out of her coat.
"Fox has always been strong. Stronger than most people think he can be. That
is one of the lessons his childhood has taught him, I'm afraid," she
countered.
"And adulthood as well," Scully said, noting the saddened expression on his
mother's face. "He hasn't had it easy. The thing I'm actually the most
afraid of is what others are going to say to him once he's back on his feet
and back to work. He has been subjected to a lot of scorn due to his
believes. I've never worried about it before, but he's no longer that
strong."
Tina nodded, then glanced around the apartment. "This is a nice place," she
said, smiling weakly.
Scully frowned a little, then realized where Mulder has his ability to
change the subject from. His mother did it as smoothly as him. "Thank you.
He's in the bed room," she countered, waving toward the half-closed door.
Tina nodded again, walked up to the door and pushed it open. Staring in at
her sleeping son, aware that his rest was troubled, she glanced back at
Scully, then walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Reaching out
to caress his face, she cursed herself for all the times she had let him
down. By now, he would not put his faith in her and he wouldn't seek her out
when he was in trouble. Why should he? She had never been willing or able to
console him. Well, that would change now. If he was willing to give her one
more chance, she would change. She would show him what a good mother she
could be. She had actually been a good mother before Samantha had
disappeared. The loss of her daughter combined with the knowledge of what
had happened to her had made it impossible for her to concentrate on her
remaining child. For all the years he had been growing up she had pushed him
away, being distant and inattentive to him. Eventually he had fled to
Britain only to return to find her still unable to open up to him. She knew
he had been through hell and she had not been able to support him because
she was caught in a hell of her own. But her confrontation with their common
tormentor had released something in her. Something she had held back and
buried for years. When she had slapped him, she had felt as if life had
returned to her. As if the daily routine she pushed herself through
dissolved around her. It had taken the complete and utter disowning of that
man to set her mind free. Now that she could once again feel, she felt
ashamed of how she had treated her son. "I'm so sorry, Fox," she whispered.
"I'm so sorry."
Waking up with the knowledge that he wasn't alone and that it wasn't Scully
by his side, Mulder was actually startled to see his mother sitting on the
edge of the bed, holding his hand. "Mom?" What could he say to her? He had
no clue. He didn't really know the woman.
Tina smiled weakly. "I'm so glad you're back. I thought I'd lost you for
good, Fox," she countered, again startling her son with her frankness.
Blinking in confusion, he stared at her, still unable to find words. Heaving
a deep breath, Tina's smile vanished, being replaced by a sad expression.
"I'm so sorry for a lot of things I have done and said to you. And things I
haven't said... and done." The confession startled he son more than
anything, she realized, but she had to tell him these things in the hope of
regaining some of his love. "Once you're better, we have to have a long
talk. The things I said I could not remember... well, I do remember. I
remember only too vividly. I have never been able to talk about them and
that was a mistake. One that you must not make. You must know the truth."
"Mom," he began, trying to get past the confusion and surprise of her words.
But she put the tips of her fingers against his lips, preventing any further
words.
"No, Fox, it's important to me that you know this. And that I love you. I
always have. I know I have not been good a showing it and I am very sorry
about that. I have been so engulfed in my own misery, I never knew how much
you needed me." Finally dropping her eyes, a vague feeling of hopelessness
overcame her. "You don't need me any more, do you? I saw to that myself."
Mulder sat up, staring at his mother with a frown. He was seeing her in a
new light. Or rather, he was seeing her in an old light. This was the mother
he remembered from before Samantha's abduction. The one he had missed so
terribly. And he couldn't help the tears rising in his eyes. Instead of
answering her, he slipped his arms around her.
Tina was delighted at his response and gathered him into her embrace,
holding him close. He had cried so seldom when he was a child, convinced
that it was unmanly to do so. He didn't seem to think so now, because he was
crying in her arms now.
Scully had watched the exchange from the door, but withdrew to let them talk
in private. It warmed her heart to know that he seemingly had regained his
mother's affection, something she had always suspected him of missing
terribly somewhere deep down. Somehow, seeing that exchange between mother
and son gave her hope for the future. Whatever Tina had to tell him, she
hoped it wasn't something that would shatter his world even more than it was
shattered now. 
***
Progress was slow but steady. Eventually, he managed to be alone without the
feelings of suffocation and sheer terror. He had known all along that it
would turn out that way, but due to the help of three very special women,
Scully, her mother and his own mother, he managed to regain his composure
and face the world again much sooner than he had hoped for. Upon insistence
of both Scully and his mother, he had told them both what had happened and
to his immediate surprise, neither of them had discarded his story as a
figment of his imagination. They had actually discussed whether or not it
might have an influence on his general health. Scully monitored him on a
regular basis, keeping her eyes open for any sign of fatigue or weakness,
but he did not collapse again. He had sever anxiety attacks a couple of
times, but the three of them, Scully herself most of the time, Margaret
whenever she came over and his mother when she came to see him, helped tide
him over just nicely. Surrounded by such love, how could he do anything
other than get better? Within record time he was back on his feet and
actually managed to generally return to his old state of mind. There were
moments when the fear crept up on him, making him hesitate, lose his
concentration, but Scully was never further away than a phone call and
simply talking to her made things better right away.
Skinner had come by on several occasions, had been giving a toned-down
version without all the nasty details of the events and had not made any
comments on it. He had listened closely to Scully's recount of what had
happened to Mulder and had merely nodded and wished him a speedy recovery.
When Mulder was finally ready to return to work, a process which had taken
nearly three months, he was asked to report in with Skinner the first
morning. 
***
Sitting patiently on a chair he had been sitting on a lot in his life,
Mulder waited for whatever Skinner had to say. In general, he feared that he
didn't have a job any more. He had, after all, been gone for nearly four
months.
Skinner steepled his fingers and stared at Mulder for a moment. "I take it
you want to get back into business as fast as possible?" he asked.
Mulder stared back, aware that what he was about to say could have two
outcomes. One was that he would leave the Bureau and try to figure out what
to do with himself from then on. The other was a prospect he did not want to
think about right now. "Well..." he began and sighed. "I... have been giving
it a lot of thought and... due to these recent events... I can't return to
the VCS. I just don't have the stomach for it any more."
Skinner pursed his lips, then nodded. "I figured as much from what Scully
told me," he said. "What do you have in mind?"
Folding his hands, nervous like never before, Mulder glanced away for a
moment. "Well... I don't know. I'm... not sure if there's anything else I
can do. You know how I am about routine work. And since the X-Files no
longer exist, I can't ask you to reopen that division."
Skinner leaned back on his chair, thinking that statement through for a
moment. Then he inhaled deeply. "Why don't you restart them? That would give
you something to do. Try to dig out as much information on the missing files
as you can and start new ones."
Mulder's eyes snapped back to Skinner's face, disbelief painted all over his
own. "Restart the X-Files?" he asked.
"Yes. Somebody started them initially. Why don't you do the same? There's
more than enough work in that task alone."
"I thought the Attorney General had ordered them shut down?" Mulder
countered, slightly confused.
"Well, I talked to her. I explained - to a certain degree - what has
happened to you and I think I convinced her. She at least told me to
disregard that - order." Skinner was aware what this meant to Mulder and he
had put his own soul on the line to see that it became a reality. He had
bombarded the Attorney General with phone calls until she had agreed to meet
with him and he had spent the better part of an afternoon convincing her.
Eventually, she had conceded and told him to do whatever the hell he wanted,
just as long as she wasn't asked for any more favors for a long time to
come. That would be a small price to pay, he figured. "The only thing you
can't ask me to do is to ask her any favors. That was the price we have to
pay for re-opening the files."
Mulder blinked, wondering if he was dreaming for a moment. It would be
painstakingly difficult to re-gather the lost information, but he knew he
could do it. "I can work with the X-Files again?" he asked, wanting to make
sure he wasn't imagining things.
"Yes. But only you. I can't assign you a partner. Besides, Bureau Policy
prohibits any romantic liaison between partners, so..." He knew he was
basically allowing them to proceed with whatever was happening between
Mulder and Scully, but he couldn't for the life of him see why he should
object. As long as they didn't work together as partners, there was nothing
standing in the way of the development of a relationship between them.
"Well, what do you say?" he asked, knowing full well what the reply to that
one would be.
"I... accept," Mulder countered, still a little out of it. Getting up, he
frowned a little. "Uhm... may I ask... why?" he wanted to know.
"Why?" Skinner countered, frowning. "Because you've done some very
impressive work with the files. Besides, I still expect you to be ready to
do profiles whenever its needed. You just won't be working with the VCS on a
daily basis and I get to decide which cases you take."
Nodding, Mulder shuffled his feet for a moment. Then he smiled. "Thank you,
sir," he finally said.
Skinner handed him a file. "Here's your first assignment. Nothing big. I
don't want you overdoing it on your first day back. Inside is also a
filled-out requisition form for an office. To give you better security, I've
moved you up in the building. It's office 1013. Now get out of here and do
some work. You've been slacking it for too long already," he told him with a
half-smirk, then waved Mulder away.
With a grin, Mulder left the office, wondering what he had done to deserve
this special treatment. On his way to the tenth floor, he opened the file
and found a key inside as well. Wondering what it was for, he got off the
elevator again and walked briskly down a well-lit corridor toward office
1013. The door with that number turned out to be a fire door. Locked, no
less. Frowning at it, he tried the key and found that it fit. The office
beyond was rather bare, considering that it wasn't in use, but his immediate
attention was drawn to two fire-proofed filing cabinets standing alone one
wall. The key to the door fit the cabinets as well. They were a yawning
void, but he figured he would soon enough be able to fill them. Dropping the
file on the desk, he then glanced around, inspecting the office. Big and
bright. Something he certainly wasn't used to. Grinning to himself, he
figured he could enjoy working here much more than he had down in the
basement. There was only one thing missing now and he knew that she was out
of his reach as a partner. He dropped down on the new leather chair, pulled
out his cell phone and punched the re-dial button. "Hi, Scully, it's me." 
***
Having heard the news of Mulder's return not only to the Bureau but to the
X-Files as well had upset certain people in certain circles. The
Cigarette-Smoking-Man was ordered to deal with the situation in any way he
saw fit. Keeping his usual calm, he had agreed, but was not at all prepared
to do as he was told this time around. Mainly because the memory of a very
hard slap still stung his cheek when he thought about it. Having Tina Mulder
hate him was actually the worst thing that could ever have happened to him.
So he decided to keep an eye on the situation and hamper Mulder where he
could without getting the boy in serious trouble. If he could do that, he
would have done his job to a certain degree.
When he found out what office Mulder had been assigned to, he got furious.
It was the one office in the whole building that he didn't have access to
and, knowing the layout of the building well, it was also the only lock in
the building that he could not get a key for. There was only one and it was
in Mulder's possession. And the lock itself would resist the most ardent
attempts to open it without the key. The office had been intended for
purposes only he and his cohorts knew about and hence the security
surrounding this office was immense and impossible to breach. When it
occurred to him that Assistant Director Skinner had actually managed to turn
one of his own aces against him, his furry subsided and he smiled. The man
was actually beginning to play the game right and he found that thought
rather amusing. 
***
There was one employee of the Bureau who was not at all amused at Mulder's
return. Jeffrey Spender, having vowed that he would bring Mulder down, was
very annoyed. And the old man didn't do anything to stop it, either. Meeting
him in the garage, Spender stared angrily at him. "What's this with Mulder
being re-instated?" he demanded.
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man eyed his son thoughtfully, wondering where this
obvious animosity toward Mulder came from. "There are things that are beyond
my control. Not many, but this one is. Unfortunately, we cannot afford to
have Mulder vanish completely from the scene. He is useful."
"Useful? He's a nut," Spender snapped. "He has tried to destroy my career
before it has even begun to take off."
"You give Agent Mulder too much credit." Dropping his cigarette on the
floor, he stepped it out. "He is not at all interested in you and your
career. All he is interested in are the X-Files. He has been allowed to
re-open them with the Attorney General's blessing. There is fairly little I
can do about that. At the moment, at least." Looking his son in the eyes, he
wondered why the boy disgusted him so. Mulder was much more his cup of tea
than this arrogant young pup. Even Alex Krycek had been preferable to
Spender. With a vague smile, he had to concede that he found both Mulder and
Krycek more interesting because they both opposed him. Spender did not. He
was only happy to receive a helping hand. In a way, he reminded him too much
of Cassandra Spender. He had left her because she was a weak, feeble being.
And he had actually never really loved her. His passion belonged to someone
else. Another person who opposed him. The opposition put a kind of sport
into it and he realized he liked it that way. "I advise you strongly to
steer clear of Agent Mulder. Leave him to his own devices," he added,
feeling he had to make it clear to Spender that he didn't want his
involvement in this. Having said his piece, he turned around and walked
away, leaving the younger man hanging.
Raging inside, Spender watched the man go, then turned around and headed
back to the elevator. Leave Mulder alone? He didn't think so. He would come
up with a plan to get rid of that meddling lunatic once and for all.
Displaying much more of his father's trades than the old man was aware of,
Spender started concocting his plan right there and then. 
***
It had taken Mulder no time at all to make his new office look homey. Papers
littered every free surface, books towered on the floor and the desk, both
filing cabinets were open, some of the drawers already containing a few
files.
Skinner had turned up in the open doorway and was watching Mulder sorting
through some piles of paper, completely absorbed in his work. "That didn't
take you long," he commented and stepped into the office.
Mulder looked up, his reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose, and
gave his boss a grin. "I'm just trying to sort through a few things here,"
he countered.
"A few things?" Skinner asked, looking around the paper-littered office. "It
basically looks like a tornado hit this place, Mulder. I hope you know where
things are."
Mulder dumped the pile of paper he had been sorting through on the desk and
glanced around. "Now that you mention it..." he began, looking a little
guilty. "I'll have it cleared up before I got home."
"Mulder, don't overdo it," Skinner warned him. "Scully has vouched for you,
but I still want you to take it easy. Three months absence isn't overcome in
a day. Clean this up and go home. That's an order."
Mulder stared at him for a moment, then nodded. He appreciated the concern,
but felt that he didn't need it. "Okay," he conceded, not wanting to make a
fuzz on his first day back. "Uhm... sir?"
"What, Mulder?"
"Is mine the only key to this office?"
Skinner eyed him for a second, then nodded. "Yes. The only one in existence.
So take good care of it. We can't have copies made."
Mulder frowned weakly, then glanced down at the key lying on the desk. "Why
is there only one key?" he wanted to know.
Skinner made a face, glancing at the window for a moment, then sighed. "You
ask too many questions, Mulder," he said. "I want to have a lunch-meeting
with you tomorrow so we can talk about your future plans for this division."

Mulder raised an eyebrow, staring at his boss in surprise. In all the time
he had worked under Skinner, something like this had never come up. He
figured there was more going on than met the eye right now, so he merely
nodded. "Okay."
Glancing around once more, Skinner stepped up to the door, but paused before
leaving. "Finish up here and go home. I mean it, Mulder," he repeated and
left.
Mulder leaned back and stared at the door for a moment. Then he redirected
his attention to the piles of paper, glad he had something to do which
preoccupied him in this way. That way he didn't have to think about other
things than work. That way he didn't work up a sweat over being alone, even
in this crowded building. Swallowing hard, he cursed himself for letting his
mind wander there. He didn't want to go to that dark place in his mind
because it always left him emotionally raw. Finding it harder to breathe all
of a sudden, the only thing he could come up with before he gasped himself
into a faint was to do what Scully had taught him to do. He pushed the chair
back and leaned forward, dropping his head down between his knees while
cupping both hands in front of his mouth and nose. Slowly, his breathing
became more steady and the dizziness passed again. He straightened up again,
afraid of what would happen to him if this kept up. This definitely wasn't
good for him. He didn't need Scully to tell him that. Wiping away the sweat
accumulated on his face, he sighed.
"You look terrible."
Looking up, he saw Scully standing in the doorway, her head leaning slightly
to one side while she watched him intently. "Funny," he countered with a
weak smile. "I feel terrible, too."
She stepped inside and looked around for a second, the focused on him again.
"Maybe you should call it a day?" she added, keeping both hands behind her
back.
Mulder eyed her, certain that she was hiding something behind her back. "I
was planning to after orders from Skinner," he said. "What have you got
there?"
Her otherwise serious expression crumbled into a smile and she handed him a
cardboard tube. "Here. I brought you something," she said.
Mulder stared at the tube for a moment, then took it and pulled the lid off
one end. Inside he found a poster. And not just any poster. Unrolling it, he
smirked. "Thanks, Scully. That was sweet of you," he said. The words I WANT
TO BELIEVE stared up at him like an old friend.
"Oh, it's nothing. Come on. I'll help you clean up this mess you call an
office and then I'm taking you to dinner. Just to make sure you eat
properly. Tina actually asked me to look after you," she countered,
grinning.
"My mother asked you to do that?" he countered incredulously. "I don't
believe that," he added.
"I told you she cared. And I was right, wasn't I?" she said, grabbed a pile
of paper and leafed through it. Falling back into old habits easily, she
started sorting them and put them in a neat pile on top of the filing
cabinet she was standing next to.
Mulder watched her for a moment, then went about sticking the poster to the
wall behind his chair and left her to it. Together, they managed to tidy up
the office in no time and eventually, Mulder was able to close and lock the
cabinets.
Scully looked around once more, inspecting the office for a moment. Then she
sighed. "I never thought I would say this, Mulder, but I miss this. However
much I like cutting up dead people, I still miss this," she said, turning to
face him with a smile.
Mulder smiled back at her a little sadly. "And I miss you," he consented.
The office was more than Scully would have thought it could be. The fact
that Skinner had given Mulder his favorite job back was still something she
had trouble understanding. Not that she wasn't delighted for him, but there
was something more going on and she would love to know what it was. Pushing
that thought away for now, she reached out and took his hand. "Come on now.
Let's get out of here," she said. "I've got the rest of the day off."
"Yeah? That's funny. So do I," he countered, grinning. "I just want to run
something by Skinner's office before I leave, so why don't you just go ahead
and I'll meet you there?"
"Don't be late, okay?" Pecking him on the cheek, she grinned and walked out.

Mulder stood there, wondering if this was all really happening. To be in two
so different states of mind was something he had never believed was
possible. One moment he was having an anxiety attack, the next he was
deliriously happy. These two feelings just didn't match up and he would have
to do something about it soon before it drove him over the edge. Heaving a
deep breath, he admonished himself to stay calm and focused on what he had
to do. Mainly to keep the creeping fear at bay. The weird thing was that he
was utterly annoyed at the fear, but could do nothing much to suppress it
once it started ripping its way through him.
Gathering up the file he wanted to run by Skinner before he left, he then
grabbed the key and left the office, closing and locking the door behind
him. The sounds following the twist of the key in the lock made him stare at
the door for a moment, utterly dumb-struck. It sounded like at least six
bolts had clicked into place. Again he wondered what this office was
intended for. He had never come across an office that was locked up as tight
as a vault at Fort Knox. But this seemed to be just that. A vault. Frowning,
he turned around and headed for the elevators to get Skinner's approval of
the file and then head out to Scully's place for dinner. 
***
Skinner considered the file Mulder had shown him before leaving, then sighed
deeply. He was not up to doing more this day, feeling that he had placed
himself in a precarious situation once again by re-instating Mulder in the
X-Files Division. But he also knew that he was giving those shadowy men a
run for their money by doing it and that alone was worth it. To know how it
had them squirming gave him a kind of perverse pleasure. Almost grinning, he
leaned back on his chair for a moment, surveying his office absentmindedly,
then decided to call it a day and go home.
Making the trip through the front office, he let Kimberly, his assistant,
know he was leaving and walked out of the office and up to the lifts to go
down to get his car. Sharon had called him earlier, asking if he would join
her at the cabin for the afternoon. Although he had turned her down then, he
figured he might as well just do it. It would be nice to get out of town for
a few hours.
He had more or less decided to do just that when the elevator doors parted
again in the garage. The sounds drifting toward him had nothing to do in a
garage. Frowning deeply, he followed the sounds, aware that whoever was
having a fight down here would hear him coming. And just before he rounded
the corner, he heard running footsteps departing from the area. He stepped
around the corner just in time to see two men disappearing up the ramp to
the next level. Stopping short, he considered calling security, but figured
that they were gone already. Then he turned to see who the recipient of
their attack had been and was both surprised and appalled to see Mulder
laboriously trying to get up from the floor. Walking briskly up to the
younger man, he grabbed his arm, helping him up. "Jesus Christ, Mulder. What
do I have to do? Get you a bodyguard?" he asked, his tone not nearly as
brusque as he had actually intended for it to be.
Mulder winced a little, grabbing his head. "I'm beginning to think that
might not be such a bad idea," he countered, his voice thick.
Skinner eyed him closely for a moment. "I think you've got a concussion,
Mulder. I'm taking you to the ER."
"No, it's okay. I'm fine," Mulder countered and staggered when Skinner
briefly released his arm.
"Like hell you are. You're going to the hospital if I have to drag you
there," Skinner countered, grabbing his arm again and preventing him from
falling over.
Mulder glanced up at him, wincing at the thundering headache, then nodded.
There was no sense in debating the issue. Skinner would have his way and
that was that. "All right."
Holding onto Mulder's arm, Skinner guided him over to his car and waited for
him to get in before he closed the door. Shaking his head in annoyance, he
got in himself and started the engine. For a moment, he just sat there,
staring ahead of himself, then he turned his head to look at Mulder. "Who
were they?" he wanted to know.
With his right hand covering his face and his right elbow resting at the
edge of the window, Mulder groaned. "I don't know. I've never seen them
before," he said.
Skinner nodded. "Professionals, I would guess," he grumbled. "I'm getting
tired of this situation. Very tired," he added and put the car in gear. "You
are in constant jeopardy, Mulder. That is an unacceptable situation. I'm
going to double my efforts to find out who is involved and when I find
him..." He trailed off, leaving the rest of it to Mulder's imagination.
As the car pulled out and drove away, Special Agent Jeffrey Spender stepped
out of the shadows, looking very annoyed. He swore it would be the last time
that Mulder escaped his wrath. And he knew just who to contact to get the
job done properly. 
***
Scully glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time and grumbled under her
breath. She was a lot more concerned than she was angry that Mulder was a
no-show. The fear that he might have experienced another anxiety attack
while driving drove her crazy. But she didn't want to get all worked up over
nothing. He would never let her live it down if he walked in to find her
going to pieces over his safety. Cursing silently, she glared at the phone,
then walked back into the kitchen to put the dinner in the oven to keep it
warm. "Damn it," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have left him. I should have..."
she went on, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. She ran into the
living room and ripped the receiver off the phone. "Yes?" she demanded.
"Agent Scully. This is Skinner."
Holding her breath, she feared the worst. "Sir. Is something wrong? Has
something happened to Mulder?"
"Yes, you could say that. It's not serious, but bad enough. I'm here with
him at the Georgetown ER. He's got a mild concussion and some bruises. Don't
bother coming down. I'm going to bring him to you. He's almost finished
here. I just wanted to let you know. He looks worse than it is."
"All right. I'll be here," she countered, knowing it did no good to press
Skinner for information. If there was one person she knew of who clamped up
when they were pressed, it was Skinner. Hanging up again, she dropped down
on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself. "Damn it all to Hell," she
growled. Whoever was after Mulder, why couldn't they just leave him the hell
alone? Closing her eyes, she massaged her temples tensely, preparing herself
mentally to take care of him once more. 
***
Skinner opened the passenger side door for Mulder and grabbed his arm when
it looked like he was about to topple over. Embarrassed as he was by the
whole thing, he didn't turn down a helping hand. "I'm going to take you to
Scully's place and I want you to stay there for now. And listen to what she
says. In the meantime I'm going to look into this... incident," Skinner
said, then closed the door, not giving him a chance to reply.
Not that Mulder felt much like replying to anything right now. The ER-doctor
had given him a handful of pills he was supposed to take one of if the
headache got too bad, but in general, he should avoid the pills and just
sleep. Sitting there in Skinner's car, he felt very much like giving up on
the whole thing right there and then. His health was constantly being
compromised by whoever was out to get him and he thought he knew who it was,
too. If only he could prove it.
Skinner got into the car and started up the engine, backing them out of the
parking lot. He was silent for most of the drive, not attempting any small
talk or general conversation. Mainly because he had noticed the sickly pale
countenance of his wayward agent. There was no doubt in his mind that Mulder
was feeling lousy. And he should with the bruises he had received. Skinner
had stayed close, keeping an eye on things, while the doctor had examined
him and he had seen the beginning of purple and black bruises all over his
torso. Arriving at Scully's place, they were met by her as she hurried
toward the car.
She opened the passenger side door and caught her breath for a second. "I
can't leave you alone for just a minute, can I?" she scolded him softly and
helped him out.
Skinner went in with them, but stayed back when Scully guided Mulder into
her bedroom and get him into bed. He waited for about half an hour before
she came back out again. "Is he asleep?"
"Yes. He basically passed out," she countered, then looked up to meet his
eyes. "What happened?"
"He went down for his car and got attacked. I don't know by who, but I've
got a pretty good idea. Heads are going to roll when I get that solid proof
I'm after," he told her, looking ominous in all his anger.
Scully didn't want to belittle his effort, but she feared there was one
thing he wasn't thinking of. "Where are you going to get that proof? And how
do you know that it's going to... remain where it is after you found it?"
Skinner stared at her for a moment, then a cynical little smile spread over
his lips. "Because I've got connections," he countered cryptically. "I'd
better get going. I've got work to do," he added, glancing at his watch.
"Keep me posted, Scully. And look after him. No matter what he says. If I
hadn't turned up, I think those men would have killed him. Somebody is
definitely out to put an end to Mulder and there's nothing between them and
him but you and me. It's up to us to keep him safe."
Scully nodded, feeling cold all over. "Don't you think that they anticipate
finding him here?" she wanted to know.
Skinner, who had been on his way out, stopped with his hand on the door
knob. "You're actually right," he agreed, then turned back to face her. "Get
him out of town. Go somewhere where you feel safe. Get him there at gunpoint
if you have to. And if you call me, call me on the mobile and keep it short.
That way they can't track you."
"Sir," Scully countered. "They can track me."
"Well, then keep moving. I really don't care what it takes, Scully. Just get
him out of Washington for a while." With that said, he did leave.
Scully closed the door behind him, thinking her own somber thoughts. Looking
around her apartment, she wondered if this run-and-hide business they were
embarking on would ever stop. Right now it sure didn't feel like it. 
***
The word of the attack on Mulder reached the Cigarette-Smoking-Man's ears
early the next morning and he did nothing to hide his furry. Confronting
Spender, he basically cornered him. "I told you to steer clear of Agent
Mulder," he snapped, doing nothing to subdue his anger.
Spender stared at him in surprise. "I have no idea what you're talking
about," he countered indignantly after regaining his composure at this
unexpected attack in the garage.
"No idea what I'm talking about?" the Cigarette-Smoking-Man countered
distastefully. Grabbing the young man's collar, he pushed him back against
the wall, staring down into his face. "You are going to leave Agent Mulder
alone. Bigger men than you have stood up to me and failed," he said, his
tone of voice icy cold. "Back off or you better find a place to hide. If
anything further happens to Agent Mulder, there will be hell to pay. You
have no idea how important he is to us."
"Us who?" Spender demanded, nervous beyond reason now.
"You will know soon enough. Just stay away from him or pay the price." With
those words, the Cigarette-Smoking-Man turned around and walked away, his
exterior betraying nothing of the anger boiling inside him. His own son was
compromising the whole thing by being stupid. And if there was one thing he
could not stand in other people, then it was stupidity. 
***
Alex Krycek wasn't among those who were seen the most on the streets of
Washington D.C. Mainly because he was a hunted man and would be arrested and
probably killed if anybody identified him. So he kept to the shadows,
steering clear of the more popular streets. He had received word that
somebody wanted to see him. The reason wasn't clear, nor was it clear who
the man was. But that in general didn't bother him. He would do anything to
get away from the Well-Manicured-Man and his idiot cohorts. The whole lot of
them had sold mankind out and though they were trying to correct that
mistake, Krycek didn't feel that they were doing enough. Not nearly enough.
Everything was hanging in the balance and it all now came down to what Fox
Mulder could or couldn't remember.
Standing in the shadows of an alley, he watched and waited, listening to the
sounds of a city he had once seen as the center of the universe. Now it was
nothing but a dirt heap waiting to be swept under the carpet. Sneering a
little at the unfairness of fate, he pushed further into the shadows,
keeping an eye out for whoever it was that wanted to talk to him. When the
man finally turned up, Krycek's eyes narrowed in distrust. He had never seen
this particular individual before, but there was something familiar about
him. Krycek kept an eye on him until he was withing earshot. "Evening," he
said, stepping forward just enough to be seen but not really recognized.
The young man stopped short, staring up at him for a moment. "Krycek?" he
wanted to know.
Glancing around briefly, Krycek hoped nobody had heard, then nodded. "Yeah.
Why don't you shout it out a little louder? I don't think the police
precinct down the street heard you," he snapped.
Actually ducking his head a little, the younger man glanced around, too.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I have a job for you."
"Who the hell are you and who sent you?" Krycek countered, not interested in
talking business with someone he didn't know. Much less someone who wasn't a
pro.
"I'm Special Agent Jeffrey Spender," the younger man countered. "I believe
you know my father."
Krycek frowned, then it suddenly hit him and he actually took a step
backward, his expression tense. "I should have know. You've got the same
sleazy look on your face. What do you want?" Krycek was under the false
impression that Spender's father had sent him and that the job Spender
wanted him to do was thereby sanctioned by the Consortium. He didn't mind a
bit of action, but he didn't trust this man further than he could throw him.

Spender glanced around again, then took a step into the alley. "I want you
to kill Agent Mulder."
For a moment, Krycek thought he'd heard wrong. "You want me to what?" he
countered, staring at the kid as if he had lost his senses. Which he in
general believed Spender had.
"I want you to kill Agent Mulder. I want him gone. You have the ability,
don't you?"
Krycek kept staring at him, not at all certain he wanted to be here right
now. "Yeah, I have the ability. Wouldn't be my first. Wouldn't be my last
either. But... kill Mulder? Are you insane? You can't kill him. That would
be the same as condemning the entire population of Earth. What are you?
Dense?"
Spender stared at him in obvious surprise, not at all prepared for what
Krycek had just said. And he didn't believe it, either. "Are you telling me
that the future of this world depends on Mulder?" he wanted to know, his
tone of voice incredulous.
"As much as I hate to admit it, yes. If Mulder dies, so do we. So why don't
you just waddle back to daddy and tell him go fuck himself. I'm sure as hell
not going to kill Mulder. No way." With that, Krycek turned and walked away.
He had nothing more to say to this kid on that subject.
Spender stood there, flabbergasted, unable to comprehend what he had just
been told. He would have to demand an explanation from the old man. This was
getting more and more screwed up. Sighing, he turned around and walked back
to his car, annoyed and confused. If Krycek had told the truth, he would
have to lay off Mulder. But what did it mean that Mulder was important to
the survival of the world? It didn't make sense. Shaking his head, he
decided to leave Mulder alone until he had figured this one out. He would
definitely have to speak to the old man about this. 
***
Mulder was lying on his stomach, his face buried in the cool pillow while an
army of small men with mallets were hammering around the inside of his
scull. Groaning in agony at the headache, he buried his face deeper in the
pillow. He was getting utterly fed up with being pounded on by everybody.
It was dark in the bed room and a chilly breeze from the open window kept
things tolerable for him. He just wished his head wouldn't hurt so badly.
Groaning again, he tried to shift his position and found that it made no
different how he was lying. It still hurt.
A cool hand touched his left shoulder and he gasped, rolling onto his right
side and startling Scully. "Easy. I've got a pill for you. Your groaning is
driving me crazy," she said with a small smile and handed him one of the
small white pills the doctor had given him.
Mulder sat up and took the pill, washing it down with the glass of water she
also handed him. "I feel lousy," he grumbled, pulling his knees up,
positioning his elbows on them and covering his face with his hands.
"Well, at least you have no major injuries this time," Scully countered,
inspecting what she could see of his bruised chest. Reaching out to grab his
left hand, she pulled it away from his face. "Skinner wants us to leave
Washington for a while. He wants to deal with this in peace."
"I'm not going to roll over and play dead, Scully. If I leave, I'll be..."
he began, then stopped, dropping his other hand to stare at her. "We?" he
wanted to know, having suddenly become aware of what she had said.
"Yes, we. You didn't think I'd let you out of my sight, did you?" she wanted
to know with a weak smile. "I'm worried sick every time we're not together.
After all that has happened to you, Mulder, I don't want you to be on your
own."
Mulder regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then frowned and winced at
the rumble that caused in his head. The pill wasn't working yet. "I don't
want you to be in any jeopardy, Scully. You were right to try and steer
clear of me. I'm not good for you," he countered, sounding depressed.
"You're starting to sound like Bill," she told him. "And I don't want to
hear that kind of talk. We are in this together. Whether you like it or not.
So, you're stuck with me, Fox Mulder. End of story."
Grinding his teeth, Mulder closed his eyes. Then he reached out for Scully
and pulled her into an embrace which was probably embarrassing for her, but
he just wanted to feel her close. Scully slipped her arms around him, too,
letting him hug her with no sign of opposition.
"Aw, isn't that cute?" That voice came out of nowhere and they both
recognized it.
With a gasp, Scully pulled back and turned around, staring over at the
shadowy figure standing just inside the window. He was holding a gun at
them, but didn't seem intent on using it for anything other than
self-preservation.
Mulder squinted, then made a face. "Krycek. What the hell are you doing
here?" he wanted to know, sounding more resigned than angry. "Come to give
me more doomsday predictions?" he added cynically, finally feeling the
effect of the painkiller kicking in.
"Actually, yes," Krycek countered, taking a step closer. "I just came by to
warn you, Mulder. There's this kid, Spender, who's out to wack you. He tried
to hire me to do the job. Not that I wouldn't love to comply, but..." He
trailed off, staring intently at Mulder.
"Gee, that's so nice of you," Mulder countered, rubbing his forehead in
annoyance and discomfort.
"Hey, I may just have saved your life. A little gratitude might be in
order," Krycek countered, actually sounding a little hurt.
"Gratitude?" Mulder snapped, starting to get up.
Scully grabbed him, holding him back, when he flinched in pain. "Take it
easy," she told him, then looked back over at Krycek. "Why would you want to
warn him about that? You've been out to kill him yourself," she demanded,
her tone of voice tired.
"True. I can't deny that," Krycek agreed and came closer still. "But he
means something to the Consortium. They want you away from the X-Files, but
not dead."
Mulder stared at him. "Why? What's in the X-Files that is so dangerous?"
Krycek stared back, his green eyes locking on Mulder's brown ones. "It's not
the Files as such. It's what they might unlock in your head, Spooky."
Grinning viciously, he stepped back again. "Just thought I'd do the
neighborly thing and warn you. Dosvedanje," he added, turned and vanished
out of the window the way he had come in.
Mulder slumped back in the bed, wrapping both arms over his face and groaned
again. "Why is nothing ever easy?"
Scully stared at the window for a moment, then got up and closed it. Krycek
was long gone by then. "Because that's just the way things are," she
countered absentmindedly. "Mulder, what are we going to do?" Turning around
again, she folded her arms over her chest and looked over at him with
concern written all over her face. "I don't know who to trust any more. Our
enemies warn us and friends betray us. What is wrong with this picture?"
Letting his arms slip away from his face, Mulder stared up at the ceiling.
"I've never trusted anybody but you, Scully," he said, not looking at her.
"I still don't trust anybody but you. But if Krycek is right, and I think he
is, then Spender is the one who's trying to kill me. And I'm sure he's
acting under orders from the Cancerman."
"Why would he suddenly want you dead?" Scully wanted to know, exasperation
in her tone of voice. "I don't understand this. One moment it seems like
he's protecting you, the next he wants to kill you." Feeling as if the world
was becoming more unraveled than it had ever been before, she sat down on
the edge of the bed with her back to Mulder, covering her face with her
hands. This was becoming too much to handle.
Mulder sat up again, looking over at her with concern. He had been so
engrossed in his own misery lately that he had completely neglected her
feelings in the matter. Scooting over behind her, he slipped his legs over
the edge of the bed on either side of her and wrapped his arms around her,
hugging her to him. "It'll be all right. I don't know how I know, but I do,"
he mumbled into her hair. Burrowing his face into her hair, his lips touched
the back of her neck. "It'll all be all right somehow, Dana."
Scully slipped her hands off her face and crossed them over her chest, her
right hand gripping her left shoulder and her left hand gripping her right
shoulder, and leaned back against him. Although his words were no comfort,
his nearness was. He just held her, his face pressed against the back of her
neck, his breath hot on her skin. They sat like that for a long time, both
silent, both contemplating what life still had in store for them.
After a while, Scully shifted her hands to his arms and heaved a deep
breath. "Do you know what I would like?" she asked.
"A little peace?" he countered, his lips grazing her neck as he spoke.
"That, too. But right now, I want you."
Mulder blinked. What had she said? Raising his head, he stared at her hair.
"You want me?" he countered, dubious. "What do you mean?" He had to have it
cleared up. He was afraid he might have misinterpreted her words.
Shifting, she pulled one leg over his right one, turning in his arms so she
could face him. "I want you," she said again, her eyes burning, her face
flushed. To underline what she meant, she kissed him. "I want you," she
repeated.
"Why now?" he countered, staring into her eyes, his lips burning where she
had kissed him.
"Why not?" she asked, slipping her arms around him. "Who knows how much time
we have left together? Who knows what's going to happen tomorrow? I want to
live. I want my life to be worth something. I want us to be together. I
don't want to lose you. Because..." She hesitated, her eyes never leaving
his while she contemplated if she should say what was on her mind. Then she
decided that she might as well, because she could tell by his expression, by
the look in his eyes that he felt the same and was as afraid as her to voice
it. "... I love you."
He blinked, feeling as if he had just been severely slapped across the face.
The headache was subdued by the pill, and it had also taken away the general
discomfort of the bruises covering his torso and all he could do was stare
into her eyes and see the truth there. The truth of her words, the truth of
her life, the truth that was them. And what else could he do but agree with
her. "I love you, too," he countered. "I think I have from the beginning."
That made her smile. A small, tight smile, which brightened her face.
"Liar," she countered. "You couldn't stand me in the beginning."
That made him grin despite his split lower lip. "Not true. I liked you from
the beginning. When you walked into my office and started telling me off
right there and then. I may not have trusted you at first, but..." He shook
his head. "Dana, what are we doing here? This is insane. There's no room for
this. Life is too precarious right now."
"Live a little, why don't you, Fox?" she countered, cupping one hand against
his cheek. "You haven't lived for so long." For the first time in their
nearly six years together he didn't object to her using his first name.
"I'm afraid, Dana. Afraid of losing you, of losing myself. I'm scared out of
my mind that something will happen to you again. I don't think I could bear
it."
Still smiling, she again kissed him. "I always know that you will come for
me. And you know that I will always come for you. I will be there when you
need me. And I don't want you to spare me any more. I know you've been doing
that a lot over the years. That every time you ditched me was because you
were concerned about my safety. But I want you to lean on me. For what it's
worth, I want to help you. Because I love you. Because you mean the world to
me. Because I don't want to be in this world if you're not in it."
Pulling her close, he hugged her to him again, kissing her face. There was
nothing more to be said on the matter. The dam had been broken and there was
no reversing the tidal wave of emotions rippling through both of them. All
they could do now was go with the flow and see where it took them.
Wrapped up in each other and content with that for the moment, they went to
sleep half an hour later, just holding onto each other. Tomorrow was another
day and whatever the future would bring, it was uncertain at best. But now
they at least had each other to cling to. And that was enough for now. 
THE END