For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 10a: Dana

      The distance Ellie has wrapped me in is not all of a piece.
Sometimes I exist as in a cloud. Sometimes as if I were walking in
a fog or in a dream. Sometimes the distance is so great it is as
though I exist in a world of one. At the beginning I seethed with
insulted indignation but that kind of anger won't last, besides
Ellie assured me patiently that this is temporary. She needs a few
hours so she can concentrate and do her work and on most levels I
believe her - as if I had any choice. Nothing to do then but peer
through this frosted glass and attempt to make out what the shadowy
forms I can see represent.

      One image which I wish had not been so clear is that of a dark
figure alternately pushing and pulling itself along the floor at my
feet. Ellie stood nearby so still that she was as invisible to him
as a ghost. Upon waking from Ellie's conjured dream, or perhaps
still in it, Joseph left the big bed, dressed in the big cavern
with aching and awkward slowness, and was on his way outside even
though it is barely dawn. What business he has, I have no idea.

      By the time Ellie has gathered some items from the kitchen and
follows, he is by the platform in the clearing. He's searching for
something in one of the big storage containers. Even in the gray
dawn light I can recognize the components as he pulls them out.
They are all part of the scanner Skinner had brought. Ellie moves
softly towards the opening to the path I came in on yesterday so we
are well out of sight before Joseph manages to clumsily don the
power pack and head gear. Even from this distance I can hear the
sharp intake of breath and his low twisting moan as the electrodes
start shooting images into his brain.

      Ellie is out for a long walk and to my profound irritation she
doesn't hurry. Her wanderings take her first one way and then the
other. As she goes, she reaches for the occasional leaf. Sometimes
she bends and digs for a root. She doesn't travel in a straight
line but still has some destination in mind. At its end I realize
that she is heading towards her car. Skinner had ridden with her
the day before. Since Joseph was still being sought with some
fervor by the Consortia, Center staff tried to keep their trips to
the cave random and changed vehicles whenever possible. It made
sense then that he had taken advantage of having Ellie's car
available. When he realized that Ellie would be staying the night,
he had radioed Helen and asked her to pick him up from a side road
some miles away.

      Arriving at the car, Ellie went to the trunk and took out a
tripod, a black iron pot and some other mysterious items and
proceeded to make a small fire. Only dimly can I feel its warmth
and sense its wavering light. As she chants in that tongue I don't
understand, she cooks, throwing in at odd times and with more
chanting the withered fruits of the long winter and the fresh ones
of the new spring which she had gathered on her way. She
concentrates on her work with a single-minded devotion. As if she
has forgotten me entirely, there are no hourly updates, no little
reassurances. All I know is that whatever she is brewing is a
mixture of strong, sharp odors. As distanced as I am, I can still
feel how its fumes sting her skin and make her eyes water. After
what seems hours it boils down into what can fit into a large jar
about the size of a sack of flour. She pours it in and, while it
cools, extinguishes the fire and puts away her implements.

      <Now what?> I ask.

      <<He will be some time yet on his journey. Rest.>>

      <Where does he think he's going in his condition?> I demand to
know.

      <<Not far obviously,>> is all the answer I get. In response to
my anxiety she dampers me way down. All I know is that she must be
capable of ignoring me entirely, for while I'm still complaining
she curls across the back seat of her car and goes to sleep.

                             * * * * * * *
Chapter 10b: Mulder

      The ground is soft and almost muddy. These last dozen yards or
so I've felt the dampness sucking into my clothes as I twist and
pull with my nearly useless arms and twist and push with my equally
useless legs. Tired does not begin to describe how this body feels
but I cannot stop now even if I wanted to. The seductive quality of
the dream has faded, but not the pattern it has written inside me.
This is how a salmon must feel, compelled, helpless before
unreasoning instinct. I know that this will not be over until I've
fulfilled all that is written in the plan. I just hope that, like
the salmon, the main purpose of all this is not just to mate and
die. If so, my assigned mate is in for a disappointment because
this body has been sterile for years even if anyone would want
these hybrid genes.

      Because of the Lone Gunman's newest invention, my head aches
even worse than this reject of a body even though my 'eyes' are
switched on only about a tenth of the time. I have been crawling
for nearly four hours. There is mud under my fingernails and on my
face and, despite the physical effort required, I'm shivering as
the cool air tries to dry my sweat and mud-dampened clothes. The
pale morning sun doesn't help much except to tell me that it's well
past dawn.

      The path under my hands has narrowed but under its scattering
of last year's leaves it is hard-packed from the time it was
frequently used. When the land begins to slope consistently
downhill I grit my teeth and turn on the scanner's power pack.

      Mentally squinting through the blinding headache, I eventually
make sense of all the ghostly forms. There's the rock with its
almost unnatural stairway and to the left - that must be the bank
below which flows the stream. I push the glasses up onto the top of
my head after that. They've served their purpose. I've found the
place from my dream. I need only manage a few more yards.
Calculating that I've covered that stretch of ground, I reach out
and down with my hand and all too quickly feel the wet chill of the
water and a surprising current. The stream is here, but from the
force of its flow and the nearness of the water level to the bank
it's no stream today. It must be a small river and even colder than
I remember. Of course, there had been rain two days before. Skinner
had complained about some washed out roads. Such a storm at this
time of year would have gone a long ways towards melting the
remaining snow in the higher elevations and the more shadowed
ravines. I had been stuck inside for days as the cold front slowly
passed, which was why I had been working so contentedly outside in
the sun when Skinner and Ellie came visiting.

      From the exertion of the past hours and the emotional high of
having made it this far, my heart is pounding. Now what? I turn
towards the rock, not that I can see it, but because it must be
there looming over me to my right. Follow the events of the dream.
Once I've reached its base, I remove Frohike's contraption entirely
and pile its parts in a dry spot. I've sweated under the leather
cap so the spring air is refreshingly sharp as it stirs my wet
hair. Now I begin to climb, which is not such a different process
than my lizard navigation, only more vertical.

      It proves more difficult than I thought, steeper and more
smooth, but finally I haul myself over the lip and onto the nearly
flat surface at the top. It's nothing like making it onto the big
bed in Joseph and Sara's room. The granite is rough under my
scraped and bruised hands but gratefully has warmed under the sun
more than the rain-sodden ground.  Somehow I rise to my knees. The
breeze is stronger here, fresh and invigorating. In my mind I see
two streams spread out before me. I see the stream as it was in my
dream, quietly flowing by. Inviting. But I also see it as it must
be from having touched it with my hand only moments before, higher
than I had ever seen it, rolling and plunging in a spring flood.
Despite the fact that through my knees I can feel the vibration of
the rock as it resists the pressure of the water, it's the first
image that persists.

      How can I say what happens next? Actually, describing is easy,
explaining why would be impossible. More salmon logic? The
lingering seduction of the dream? No, in the end I'd like to
believe that it is my spooky sense which tells me that this is what
was meant to be. I've learned to listen to that sixth sense over
the years - to keep me safe, to know where the bad guys are, where
there is danger. Doesn't mean I always heed it, but I'm warned.
Over the past few months it has become in large part my eyes and
ears. I trust it, and, trusting, I quite simply scoot to the rock's
edge and push myself off.

      For a heartbeat I hung suspended in the air. Won't I be
surprised if I've rolled off this nice safe rock only to plummet a
hundred or more feet to my death. I calm the panic with the memory
of that vibration under my knees. There must be water here. It
occurs to me a microsecond too late that there may be a bit too
much water. It would take tons of water rushing against a rock this
size to make it vibrate. Water has power. Didn't it cut the Grand
Canyon, literally shaping the earth?

      My flight of faith comes to an end as I hit the water which,
I must admit, happens rather sooner than I expected. I know that I
didn't have time to take a good breath. When the COLDNESS of it
hits me like the slap of a huge hand, I realize that any breath I
would have taken would have been knocked out anyway. Certainly the
cold has temporarily stilled my heart. Why the hell have I done
this anyway? I mean my life was bad but not completely without
hope. Whatever the reason, it couldn't possibly have been strong
enough. What if I died here? I have never felt any serious desire
to commit suicide and I wouldn't want either Scully or Skinner to
think that I had.
 
      I go under, no surprise there. The icy water locks onto my
skin, goes into my mouth, into my ears, freezes my eyes. Fuckinshit
but it's cold. Where's the surface? I'm in complete darkness, of
course, and the current is so strong that I don't know which way is
up. The starving ache builds up and up in my chest. It's like
knives are stabbing me in my ears. I should open my mouth and
swallow to equalize the pressure but I'm terrified that if I tried
the force of the river and my body's uncontrollable need to breathe
will drown me. The only good thing I notice as I fight to find the
surface is that my headache is gone.

      To add to this tricky problem of searching for air, I'm
burdened by the fact that I now swim about as well as a four
branched stick does but without the buoyancy. This means not very
well at all. There's also the current which is far, far stronger
than I expected even from dipping my hand in the flow earlier. I am
tumbling faster and faster in the churning water. A rock catches me
in the ribs, another on the hip. This is not just a flood, this is
a torrent, a rapid. I am swept helplessly away from the area of
pool in my dream. Dozens of yards every second. I'll be miles down
stream before I get out at this rate. On the other hand I won't
need to worry about that if I can't get to the surface for a breath
soon. My lungs are past aching for want or air. They are burning.
Panic seizes me. I must MOVE. I Reach UP with those rigid, nearly
useless arms, push OFF with those equally useless legs. It's my
spine that cracks first as I rear my head up for just a moment when
I sense the surface near. I feel the fused bones snap. Only the
knowledge that opening my mouth will certainly drown me keeps me
from screaming. I'll save the screaming for later.

      I find the surface. My mouth stretches open like a starving
baby bird. When my ears pop it's like an explosion but at least I
get a gulp of half air, half water before I am spun around by a
mini-whirlpool and pulled down again. Before I can rise, I am
caught underwater at the waist by a thick post which is fixed
somehow to other debris. Rapidly blackening terror overcomes pain
and I heave away at the post, pushing my body back against the
current in order to free myself. The strain on my right elbow
nearly fixed at a ninety degree angle is horrible. It snaps. I can
practically hear that brittle sound which is astounding considering
that I'm not only distracted by a pain, which is indescribable, but
because the river is roaring so loudly in my ears.
 
       The right knee goes next and then the hip. I am on fire from
the pain which I realize the numbing cold actually helps. More
importantly, I'm finally free of the post. I use it now as an
anchor to push against. I find the rolling, washing machine action
of the surface. Sweet stuff which is actually more air than water
this time is sucked down into my starved lungs. I cling to the post
for, as they say, my dear life, certainly for my skin, but the
current is relentless. The other hip joint and knee, which I
thought were fused nearly solid, are ripped free at a time when I
really needed their rigidity. I am below the surface again and
tumbling now like a broken toy further and further from where
anyone will ever look for me.

      Not in time anyway.

      I am battered by a series of rocks in this stretch of the
rapids and slashed once across the chest by something sharp. My old
enemy barbed wire, perhaps? I get a gulp of air here and there. I
am fading in and out of consciousness. By now all the minor joints
have broken lose, all the little bones in my hands and feet, wrists
and ankles now float free though my extremities are so numb that I
don't remember feeling each individual bit of agony at the time.
They do respond to my will, however, as I push away at the debris
that batters me but, they are like tools which have no feeling.
Thank fickle Fate, I am in the free flowing part of the stream now,
going a little slower and with no obstructions, though by now I
wonder if I have enough strength to raise my head. Always too dense
to be much of a floater, with all the water in my belly and
probably my lungs, I know what the Titanic must have felt like
towards the end. I feel a different darkness descending, my world
closing in until only the tiniest pinprick of awareness remains.
 
      No! I won't die. I can't, not like this. If I did, Scully's
going to be really pissed that she came all this way for nothing.
With that encouraging thought I know I must break free of this
downward spiral, this deadly passivity.

      In order to release the adrenaline surge which I need to hold
on for just a little while longer, I crack the fusion in my last
major joint, my left elbow, all by myself. While red lightning
going off all along my left side, I somehow get my head up. Air
again for my aching lungs. The river is quieter than before and
over its more distant thunder someone is crying, sobbing. I am. I
am so tired and so cold, I want this to be over. Within seconds I
feel a pressure of something large on my right. The surface is
prickly, somewhat sharp - but most important of all - it's solid
and not showing any inclination to go anywhere. I am caught on a
mass of flotsam and jetsam, mostly roots and dirt. Always loved
that chapter in the Rings trilogy. Such wonderful words. They are
wonderful here. The mass stop my helpless flight. Somehow I find
the strength to heave myself up so that my head and one arm are
above the surface.

      I am overcome with the simple relief of not moving. After a
few minutes to cough a lot of flood water out of my lungs and
breath in some dry air, I take stock. My limbs are limp and
floating free, though so numb from the icy water that I can barely
feel them. Still, it is so odd a sensation after being locked in my
tree shape for so long that I don't know what parts are supposed to
move like that and which are broken. Of course, I am still in
darkness so I am without direction except for up and down, and
upstream and downstream. Which is the shortest way to solid ground?
And even if I manage to make it to land, will there be any people
nearby? The cave was selected for its solitude. I'll be a sight
staggering into someone's kitchen. I've lost nearly all my clothes
so there's this mixture of greenish and Scots-Jewish skin to
explain, though with all the bruises and contusions I've received
in the last few minutes I probably won't need to. If I'm bleeding,
though, that's a problem for my would-be rescuers. But I'm thinking
far ahead of myself. Land first, and I don't have the time to wait
for the level of the stream to fall. Long before that I will die
here of hypothermia.

      Just now, however, I am incapable of finding the strength to
move. I'm still having trouble controlling my limbs, too. After
months of being carved into that single curled and rigid shape my
hands and feet seem miles away. After a while I give up trying. I
am so tired. If it weren't for the support from the roots of this
mammoth tree there would be no way to keep my head up. Love that
good solid feel of natural wood. The pile of debris must be much
more extensive then just my root ball protector. There seems to be
a kind of harbor here for the current is slight. As the minutes
pass and my heart slows, I begin to think that I was wrong about
how cold the water is. I am almost comfortable and having gone way
past exhausted it is pleasant just to lie here. I think I will
sleep a little. I do that and the darkness becomes entire.

      It is a voice that wakes me. It is calling sweetly, "Mulder,
wake up, damn you!" It is far way and a little fuzzy because there
is still water in my ears. My impression is that the voice has been
calling for some time, but I'm still having trouble finding the
strength or will to move. The voice seems suddenly nearer but then
I may have faded out for a while. Certainly the tone is familiar.
Scully's voice? Could it...? A little energy spurts though me
making my legs and arms tingle. All at once I want to go to that
voice but first there's this little problem of extracting myself
from my jealous tree stump lover.

      A few seconds later and I wish I had stayed with my faithful
friend. I literally flounder in the tide. Only a few feet from the
tree the river becomes interesting again, full of current and
eddies and undertow. It's not anywhere near as bad as it had been
upstream but too much for me. My arms and legs are useless, as weak
as water, and I go under. It is almost pleasant to give up if for
no other reason than to die knowing someone has come for me. Then
arms catch me, warm, urgent arms which hold my face above the flood
and pull me crosswise to the current. I wonder if it is the Nexie
of the Mill Pond come to capture for herself a human lover. Big
surprise she's going to get.

                            * * * * * * * *

Chapter 10c: Dana

      Ellie overslept. I know she has because when she did wake she
sprang up like a deer, grabbed her jar of potion and the armload of
blankets she had pulled from the trunk and took off back towards
the cave at a dead run. In her haste, she forgot to phase me out so
I stay quiet because I am as eager as she to get to wherever she is
going. To Joseph, I'm certain.

      We don't pause at the cave but take another path. I know this
path. I know where it leads. To the stream. The grass is new and
long and not much used but something has dragged itself along it
not so very long ago. The stream is a quarter of a mile from the
cave. The trip must have taken him hours but still we arrive too
late, in other words, we slide into view just in time to see a dark
form disappear from the rock which overlooks the stream. There's a
solid splash. Even over the rush of the water, which is thunderous
because the stream is running nearly at flood stage, I hear that
splash.

      We run past the foot of the rock and the neatly piled
components of the scanner Skinner had brought the day before. So
that's why he was putting it on back there in the clearing; he
needed it to find his way here. I break my silence but not
intentionally. <What in hell is he trying to do, kill himself?> I
shout to her.

      Ellie is concerned but light years calmer than me. <<Not at
all,  Dana. Have patience a little longer,>> and I feel the fog
settle over me again though it's more like white noise this time,
like the sound of the overgrown stream as it roars past sounding
like a locomotive. With the jar still locked tight under her arm,
Ellie begins to run again.

      Her calm quickly evaporates. I'm certain that she's
miscalculated the speed and ferocity of the flood. Frantically, she
begins to tear at the brush along the shore trying to keep pace as
he is borne helplessly along by the rush of the water. She is
chanting again and more passionately with every step. It's a
pleading cry, a prayer, but to whom I have no idea. I only know
that where she is going is where I would go if this were my choice.
It is the chanting she is isolating me from.

      We can't run along the bank all the time. The lay of the land
won't allow it and, besides, it is shorter to cut across bends.
From time to time, though, I still see the racing grayish-brown of
the once quiet stream which has turned to raging white water. I
search frantically for some glimpse of a man's dark head but there
is too much debris bobbing and rolling about. Usually what I see is
a log or submerged rock but at other times I see something that
looks like an struggling animal. I feel Ellie's tears drying cold
on her face.

      We are caught in a thicket. No way through without a machete
or a bulldozer. Nothing to do but retrace our path and go back. It
takes so long and it seems like an hour since we last saw the
water. Finally we do but though Ellie stands on the bank and looks
up and down there is no sign of him. At least the river is quieter
here and the land more level so we can stay near the edge. We begin
running again. Ellie is crying his name. I won't remind her how
useless that is, how she is using up energy she may need later, but
she has lost her calm just as I have found mine.

      I have always been good at keeping my head in an emergency, of
keeping my cool while others are losing theirs. That time Mulder
was dying from lack of water on that death ship, I rooted through
the galley looking for fluids to save his life. That day I was the
coolest mad woman you could ever hope to find. That frantic search
yielded me sardine water and lemon juice and snow glob water. A
disgusting concoction and never used as it turns out because Mulder
insisted on maintaining his own brand of stubborn nobility. But I
still remember that search. The booming of those empty kettles and
pans in the deathlike quiet of that floating tomb.

      We are still madly searching. Only when Ellie lets me loose a
little am I finally allowed to get in a few good curses of my own,
but mostly I stay centered. I know that there will be time to cry
and wail later. Ellie seems to feel my calm and draws on it
gratefully.

      In growing despair, we attempt to check out every clump of
debris in that broad expanse of dull water but there is so much of
it. It must take us fifteen minutes to find him. A third of the way
out in the center of the widening flood, his head is floating above
the surface resting entangled in the roots of a tree whose
foundation must have given way in the saturated ground. He is lying
so quiet out there in his own little universe that I am suddenly
filled with despair that we are too late. When Ellie splashes down
into the water I'm certain of it. <Oh Lord, it's cold and how long
has he been in here?> Far too long.

      Ellie lets me call to him though it's still her voice and
'Mulder' is what I call because I'm not thinking straight any
longer and it's the name that comes most naturally to me. It never
enters my head that 'Fred' would probably have as much affect.

      While we are still only half way to him, up to our chest in
muddy water and leaning forward against the force of the flood, he
stirs. He even raises his head and turns our way. How can he know?
When he pushes off from the debris where he's been protected from
the current, I call out for him to stop and wait for us but he
keeps coming. He is not swimming strongly or well and after only a
few seconds goes under. We see him disappear but almost immediately
we're there. Taking a deep breathe, I duck, flailing out for him
with Ellie's arms. Nothing. I kick with the current since this is
the way he would be sweep along and this time when I reach out I
catch hold of a long foot which is attached to a naked leg. I wrap
Ellie's arms around his chill body and heave him up. As always,
there's so much of him.

      I'll always remember the trip back. He is so waterlogged that
it takes all of my strength to keep his head above water and still
make progress across the current. We are both so cold that my only
plan for the future is making it back to where Ellie dropped the
blankets. There's little time for being grateful that we have found
him alive. Not only is he alive, but he's even of some use when it
comes time to get him up the bank, though he is far more helpful in
the water than on land. He's so limp. He crawls a few feet and then
collapses onto his face. Ellie rushes for the blankets which are a
hundred yards or so upstream.

      It's as Ellie shakes out the first blanket that my medical eye
kicks in in full. He is scratched, battered, and bruised and
there's that acid scent in the air that stings my eyes from his
blood but this is not too bad. All the water dampens it down. I'm
rubbing one dripping arm dry with a corner of one of the blankets
when I notice how long he is. He's rather like a boneless and much
battered fish but at least he's stretched out and not curled into
the rigid, carved toy he had been.  Whether this is good or bad I
don't dare guess.

      He collapsed onto his stomach and that's good because I don't
know how much water he's swallowed, lots probably. I'll risk him
throwing up on the blanket in order to take the time to roll him on
his side and get a blanket between him and the damp ground. This
will also give me a chance to check for injuries. He moans in
response to some pretty minimal prodding.  We get him on his side
and after Ellie has smoothed the good sturdy wool under him, I take
my hand and wipe the mud and grass from his face asking
automatically, "Do you hurt anywhere?"

      Sightless eyes closed, he wheezes, "Everywhere." He proceeds
to throw up about half a gallon of disgusting water before abruptly
passing out.

      I lean back on Ellie's heels and let Ellie's mouth drop open.
He HEARD my question! He'd heard me call to him in the river, too.
I'd forgotten there at the end that he was deaf.

      And so he had been, but not anymore.

End of Chapter 10
 

ALL HALLOW'S EVE IV: MIRACLES (11/18)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 11: Mulder

      It is good to be alive. It is good to finally feel warm again.
It is even good to feel this lethargic, like there isn't a muscle
in my body that is willing to move. Whether they can or not I
haven't tried and have no desire to. I just want to lie here on my
back with the thick scratchy wool under me and over me and listen
to the crackle of the fire Ellie has made for both of us and which
she is eagerly feeding with dry branches from the woods.

      The crackle of a fire. When it was the roar of the river after
that first desperate, life-saving gulp of air, I was a little too
busy to notice. When it was the voice calling my name across the
water, I was too tired to care about anything except that, miracle
upon miracles, I was being rescued.

      I don't know if Fate is being kind or cruel with me but she
certainly likes to play her little games.

      As far as being able to hear again goes, I'm reluctant to
admit it even to myself. I think Ms. Ellie feels the same way.
She'll ask me the occasional question - "Are you warm enough?" -
and I'll answer 'yes' or 'no' and both of us seem to take it as a
gift that I've heard her and don't dare question. There's an
explanation I'm sure, but I don't think I want to know what it is.
I'm afraid it will break the spell.

      I feel the same way about the changes in this body except
that, while I can't stop hearing, I can refuse to move and thus
maintain some sort of illusion about what works and what doesn't.
Even though curiosity must be killing her, Ellie hasn't tried to
examine me either, at least not while I've been conscious. What I
can say is that I'm stretched out flat, arms at my sides, palms up,
back and legs straight - a position this body hasn't been able to
assume for at least ten months. This explains why everything hurts
so. Not anywhere in particular - just one humdinger of an overall
muscle ache.

      I still don't have use of my eyes. Well, you can't have
everything. I'm not disappointed in any way, just grateful for what
I've got.

      I smell food, warm food and I'm ravenous. After Ellie first
built the fire she ran back to the cave for provisions, it being
obvious that I wouldn't be moving so far for a while. I felt a
sharp loneliness while she was gone. An surprising emotion
considering all the time I'd spent alone these past weeks, but
she's back now and has added more fuel to the fire until it's
roaring again. She's warming up something to eat so pretty soon I'm
going to have to try sitting up and moving at least my arms or
she'll have to feed me and I don't want that.

                           * * * * * * * *

      My stomach is full but my humiliation level has reached some
new heights. I had to be fed after all. When I tried to move, I
found I could but don't want to ever, ever again. The pain was so
bad that I blacked out. It's as if there was cut glass in all my
joints, as if all those fusions didn't just break, but shattered,
and all the little pieces are in there just cutting away whenever
I try to move anything. Luckily, my jaw was never much affected so
I can chew soft food but I'm not up to talking much. Like Scully,
Ellie senses this which is a great relief. She has hands like
Scully's too, far too much like Scully's, and she gave me a cursory
examination following the episode that preceded dinner. I'm
embarrassed that there's so much to check out and that it's all so
accessible. As I've said, the fury of the flood ripped off most of
my clothes. Oh, I have replacements now, I just don't have the
strength to put them on yet. On her trip back to the cave Ellie
changed out of her own wet clothes and brought me dry ones.

      She comes and sits beside me now. I hear her footsteps, the
soft thud as she places something heavy beside me on the ground,
her breath escaping as she lets herself down. She's tired, too. She
didn't come here to buy into this. What she must think of me and
what I did, I don't know. I hold myself back from her and
concentrate on the plus side of the equation which is something I
hope everyone takes into consideration. Hey, I got Joseph's hearing
back which is pretty earth shattering, and even though the jury's
still out on how much mobility I'll have in time, let's just say I
have hopes despite the current level of pain. Pain I've managed to
live with before. These improvements will change all the rules with
Skinner and Helen in terms of my independence, but if Ellie reports
that I tried to kill myself I'll be in bigger trouble than ever,
even if I am hearing and up on my own two feet.

      "Better?" she asks.

      Actually, yes, the food has helped. My inner core, which had
been so cold, has a little flicker in it now. Somehow I manage nod.

      "Still hurts when you try to move though?"

      She's as astute as a certain partner of mine.  "Like the
devil." Is that faint voice mine?

      She laughs lightly at that, I wonder why. "I have this little
homeopathic remedy," she offers. "This happens with arthritis
patients from time to time. They'll suddenly have a good day but
twenty-four hours later they're right back to square one. I've seen
this therapy work wonders."

      A pain which isn't all physical pierced up through my back
like a lance. I could go back to the way I had been? A twisted
pretzel more than a man. No....

      The fear must have registered on my face for she added, "With
some people this salve helps, especially with the young and
otherwise healthy. It's not without a cost of its own, however. I'm
told it burns a bit but I think it's worth a try."

      I'm not so sure. I know Scully would be skeptical. She'd have
had me in a hospital hours ago, but I don't think Ellie has even
called Skinner. I can't help but be suspicious about that. She
seems to want me at her mercy, which I don't like. On the other
hand, I mistrust hospitals with all those strangers hovering
around, each wanting their pound of flesh. Since she's taken
excellent care of me so far, I have no reason to complain. Besides,
the medical staff at the Center admitted to being totally ignorant
on how to treat my previous condition and so it's unlikely that
they'll be any more successful with this. At least my Ellie-shrink,
who was clearly more than any simple shrink or spy, is willing to
try, so why not let her? Can't hurt.

      "What does it do?" I ask, still hesitant.

      She picks up my right hand, careful to support the joint so it
has to move as little as possible. I'm alarmed by how weak and
rather floppy the arm is, but then most of the muscles haven't been
extended like this for months. "Make a fist," she says.

      I try. It hurts. It REALLY hurts. It's as if stuff is moving
around in there. Scully would have called it a free-floating -
something. I can't pull up the term because the pain has short-
circuited my brain. I've had such bits in my left knee but this is
a hundred times worse. It's like there's sharp gravel in there
rubbing against sensitive nerves. Ellie can tell I'm doing the best
I can and doesn't say anything. Instead I hear a sound like she is
unscrewing the lid on a large jar. Suddenly there is this scent.
Strong and pungent, like the crushed leaves of grass and herbs, but
also something tangy and sharp like pepper vinegar. The whiff I get
up my nose really clears the sinuses.
 
      "Let's see if this makes it better."

      She rubs something on my fingers. It's cool at first and then
begins to burn. You know those athletic rubs? Multiply the affect
by about a few factors of a hundred. My hand felt as if it's caught
fire. The pain races up my arm all the way to the shoulder. It
catches me so by surprise that I swear and try to jerk away, but
she's stronger than I thought and I can't shake her. Nothing to do
then but let the agony come until my body goes rigid and my back
arches like a bow, all of which triggers its own torment, and so I
swear again, but still she holds on.

      "Does it sting?" she asks innocently.

      Sting? She has got to be kidding. "Like a forty ton bee."

      "Give it a minute. Work the joint."

      Okay... I try that and, amazingly, it IS better, much better.
It's as if the gravel has dissolved away.

      "Can you take some more?" she asks. "I should treat as much as
I can."
 
      I nod slightly and even that is without enthusiasm. She leans
over to get some more of the goop from her jar and rubs more onto
my wrist. I hiss but keep the scream down. "What are you going to
tell Skinner?" I ask in a tight voice. I really want to know, but
bringing it up just now is more of a distraction for the treatments
than anything.

      "About what? Today? What do you want me to tell him? I have
problems of my own. I don't exactly have a license to practice
medicine."

      I force a smile though my wrist feels as if it has been burnt
off. So I have a co-conspirator. She isn't going to go to Skinner
about my pitiful attempt to make it up river like a salmon. Even
better, she isn't even going to talk about it. Things were looking
up. Then she starts in on my elbow which feels like its become home
for the Rock of Gibraltar. The magic salve works on it with the
subtlety of a twenty megaton bomb. I pass out. As I'm flaring, I
think about what a long afternoon it's going to be.

                            * * * * * * * *
 
Chapter 11b: Dana

      <What in the hell are you doing? He should be in a hospital!
He needs X-rays, an MRI, morphine from the look of it... >

      <<Do you really think that they have any idea of what can help
him?>> Ellie responds back into my head.

      I don't know. I don't know what to think anymore. This is all
so incredible - and scientifically makes about as much sense as a
lot of Mulder's theories which means none at all. Then it hits me
just as Joseph passes out for the second time. I've settled into
this co-habitation with Ellie better than I ever thought I would.
Viewing all this from my new definition of normality I had
forgotten what Eli was, and Ellie probably is, and how I had gotten
here in the first place.

      <You're doing this!> I cried. <You're responsible for
everything. You sent him the dream, you got him to go there somehow
and you probably even made him jump.> When she didn't respond I
knew I was right. <Why?>

      <<You wanted him better. I wouldn't question the methodology
if I were you.>>

      <That 'stuff' you cooked up will make it all better, won't it?
And that story you spun about an old homeopathic remedy was all a
fantasy. I think you could have accomplished as much with a wave of
your hand.>

      She laughed gently as she worked the shoulder joint on her
unconscious 'patient'. Even this far out of it he moans. <<You give
me credit for a lot more than you should. Belief by the patient is
at least as critical to success as any skill of mine.>>

      <But why does it have to be so painful?>

      <<Despite what you might think, sadism is not my thing. I
wouldn't have chosen this way. In a way he has. He has to believe
that the 'treatment' will work or it won't. If he believes that he
has to suffer in order to be cured, then so be it. You know him. If
I had said, 'Take up your pallet and walk,' would he have believed
me?>> Ellie had not used those particular words by chance. She had
clearly selected them for their shock value.

      <<You're thinking blasphemy?>> she asked. <<What about all the
reports on the affects of a positive attitude on the cancer
remission rates? Or the success of some faith healers? So Christ
cured the sick but he didn't cure ALL the sick, did he? Only the
ones who asked or had others ask for them. Even he had to have some
level of belief to start with. He could heal with a touch. One
woman was too shy to ask but knew it would be enough just to touch
the hem of his cloak. She was cured. Others had to go down and wash
themselves in the stream. One man had to make a poultice of mud to
coat his eyes. In the end, each person cured themselves. All they
needed was belief and a source of power.>>

      Shocked I asked, <Are you trying to compare yourself to...?>

      <<Not any more than to Saint Jude, Brother Henry - the faith
healer in Mississippi, or the most successful oncologist you know.
I was just using a reference I thought you would understand.>>

      I am not appeased. Joseph is suffering, perhaps unnecessarily,
and I can't bear to watch. I don't even know if this will work, and
she gives me no explanation except pseudophilosophy.

      <<It WILL work, but the pain and his acceptance of it must be
part of the 'cure' otherwise the small pieces will fuse back
together again over time and he'll be as bad, if not worse, than
before. Believe me on this. I know what I'm talking about.>>

      I don't have a choice, do I? So I will retreat and let her
work, or at least that's what I intend to do. Instead, when she
begins to touch him, to comfort him, I want to be a part of that,
so I creep forward and we do it together. It makes it easier for me
though not for him. After he passes out from the pain for the sixth
time, we have to wait longer than any of the times for him to come
around. He is growing weaker. I fear for his heart. I'm about to
turn on her again, but he's the one who raises a shaky hand to
stay her hand from beginning work on his right hip joint. What he
went through during her treatment of the left one I don't care to
recall.

      "Please, no more." His voice is so faint I can barely hear
him.
 
      Ellie speaks and her voice is firm and unwavering. "You have
to hang in there. This must be done today, preferably before
sunset, because the salve won't keep."

      There are tears in his eyes again. They'd been there on and
off all afternoon. "Is there any other way?" He has been trying, he
has been, but no one should be asked to endure so much - and for
what?

      That's what he needs. Some incentive. After all, what is he
enduring all this for? Even healthy, he's still the curiosity,
still the lone alien hybrid among pure humans - or at least the
only free one we know of. He is scarred inside and out. He has a
son he barely knows and no true friend since -

      <Ellie,> I say anxiously, <give me a couple of minutes. I
think I can help.>

      <<Whatever you can do, then do, but hurry. We're running out
of time. I AM sorry about this, but it is necessary.>>

      I lean down and take his face between Ellie's hands. He is so
like my Mulder even while he is so unlike, that I can barely keep
from weeping I miss him so. "Joseph, listen to me."

      He is. In fact his expression is thoughtful and less strained
as if he can actually sense somehow that I am out, the
kinder,gentler side of this firm woman he has had the most contact
with. It's almost as if he knows it is someone else. My heart
quickens. Should I tell him? No, the same rules apply. If he
survives, he has to be able to live in THIS world, and right now
his world has lost its center. I can give that back to him.

      His hand hasn't moved from Ellie's arm but he changes the grip
now into something more - intimate. It's Mulder's most gentle
touch, the one he uses to get my attention when he's afraid that he
doesn't have the right to intrude.

      "What's your name again?" he asks. I can barely hear him.

      I stare at him which, of course, he cannot see. He knows my
name - er, Ellie's name. Has the pain rattled his senses? Then I
realize that he might think that 'Ellie' is like 'Joseph', a code
name because of all the talk about going underground. He's probably
asking for her given name.

      "Ellie really is what my parents called me." That was the
right response, wasn't it?

      He sighs and pats my hand and the little spark I had seen in
him seems to fade. He still manages to get out, "Thank you. For all
of this." He fingers the blanket but I know that it's the whole day
he thanks her for - the necessities: food, clothing, warmth,
rescue, miraculous cure. His expression, I note, is still his soft,
private one. Hesitantly, his hand returns to Ellie's arm, only it
slides slowly down to her hand this time. A delicious sparkle runs
through Ellie's body just as a wave of quite undeniable jealously
surges through that part who is Dana Scully.

      'I' want to be there for him; I don't want Ellie to be there
for him.

      Physicians have to develop this sense when their patients
become too... close. This is what I sense in him. It's
understandable, this gratitude which can so easily be confused with
something else because he has been so lonely. If not Ellie, then I
must give him something or someone. Luckily, he does have someone
and he does have a reason for living. More than a reason, he has a
mission. He just doesn't know it yet.

      "There's something I need to tell you."

                            * * * * * * * *

Chapter 11c: Mulder

      Fighting back from nowhere land is getting tougher and
tougher, and Ms. Ellie, for all her help, is confusing me. One
moment she's reserved. So tough. The next moment she's softness
itself, like Scully when I've done something stupid or noble and
hurt myself.  Odd, isn't it, that it doesn't matter if what I've
done is stupid or noble, she's there anyway. A mad thought trickles
through my brain. Could I have been wrong? Could this somehow BE
Scully? Some part of her? No, not her body but her essence. Scully?
Now that is insane. The image is so impossible I nearly burst out
laughing. No, that's not true. Even if I were the type to burst out
with the occasional hearty laugh, I'm too weak, and even a chuckle
would hurt like hell. Still, just in case, I touch her the way I
have so often touched Scully and ask her her name. It's lame, I
know, but I'm not thinking clearly. Of course she's Ellie. These
warm and cool sides to her - maybe she's just having a PMS day.
Scully had those. Good time for catching up on paperwork. Don't
laugh, it's a more likely explanation than where my wild flights of
fancy had briefly taken me.

      So, another hope is dashed. It was an insane idea to start
with; still, the disappointment is a deep ache unlike any physical
pain.

      On the subject of physical pain - which I am in a boiling pot
of right now - I'm thinking of turning on the charm since she's
showing her warm side. Maybe I can get out of some of this
'treatment'. I know hospitals and there's always a way to get
around the nurses - at least there is when Scully isn't there.
Ellie, however, isn't a nurse. I don't know what she is but she's
the closest thing I've got at the moment.

      She is flustered when I put the moves on her. I feel awful.
This definitely is not playing fair. Then she says to me, "There's
something I need to tell you."

      Somehow I don't think it's the old 'Sorry, I'm married' or
'Sorry, I'm in a relationship right now' line. This is important.
I can hear the 'important' in her voice. Is she going to tell me
she's Scully after all. MY Scully?

      She doesn't but what she does say is almost as incredible.
Since I was half expecting the Scully admission, I must have seemed
a little dense at first.

      "They lied to you," she says, "Sara is alive."

      Sara. For a moment I really and truly couldn't imagine who
this girl is talking about. Then it comes to me and I'm the one
who's flustered. Here I am trying to play Joseph and I haven't
thought about Sara for months. Sara, who is HIS Dana. Sara, who
they said was dead as a result of an operation gone wrong at the
Compound long before Louis got Joseph out the last time. It's the
news of her death that I think drove poor Joe over the edge and why
I'm bloody stuck here to be begin with.

      But if she's alive, why does everyone act as if she weren't?
Why did they tell Joseph she had died? I don't know or care what
Ellie sees on my face at that moment because the reason is suddenly
and horribly clear to me.

      "Then they succeeded, didn't they? They did to her what they
always threatened they would."

      "Her memory?" she acknowledges. "Yes, they did. She doesn't
remember you at all, not Adam, not your years with the X-files, not
even her own childhood."

      Oh, shit... Scully.... No wonder you never came for me. You
can't. The pattern has repeated itself after all.

      We always traveled to this world together. So when I was sent
here to take Joseph's place ..... you took Sara's. Oh, shit... all
these months you've been a prisoner in the Compound and there's
been no Louis, no Grace, not even a half-crazed Mulder in a tank to
keep you company. Even more than me who has been a prisoner in this
body, you have been completely... alone.

      "There hasn't been a rescue attempt, has there?" I accuse
angrily. Ellie may have shook her head, she forgets I still can't
see for all that my hearing has been shocked into returning. "Of
course not, why should they?" I say answering my own question.
"Everyone thinks she doesn't remember and doesn't want to be
rescued, so why risk more lives by sending in the marines."

      And now I know what Ellie was sent here for, to prepare
herself to go in to bring Sara out. No, no, not that. Whoever sent
Ellie, sent her, not for Sara, but for me - maybe some fairy
godmother or something. I'm not going to ask who sent her or what
she is, but why she's here I do know now. She was sent to cure this
body so I can face my worst nightmare and walk blindly into the
Compound to bring out both Sara for Joseph and Scully for myself.

      Blindly is a very accurate term because though I can now
function, or I assume I will be able to after I recover from
Ellie's treatments, I'm still blind as a bat. Considering how
Frohike's contraption works, 'blind as a bat' is amusingly
descriptive.

      It is all so clear now.

      I realize that I had zoned out into Spooky space as all these
pieces came together and that Ellie has been amazingly patient as
she waits for sanity to reappear. What has she been reading on my
face? Resolve, I think. Knowledge that I know what I must endure
now to be ready to do my part to make all this right.

      "What are you waiting for?" I ask her, and I can't believe I'm
saying this. "Let's get going on that right hip and try not to
tickle this time."

End of Chapter 11
 

ALL HALLOW'S EVE IV: MIRACLES (12a/18)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 12a1: Dana

      Four days later I drove Joseph back to the Center. On the
drive he is alternately apprehensive at what his reception will be
and as percolating as a six-year-old. A quite beautiful Mulder
smile keeps creeping back to his lips. It's the sounds he can hear
again. Music and talk shows and news on the radio. Horns and wind.
He whistles, badly, then stops, grinning sheepishly to himself.
When he thinks my attention's on the road he stretches out his
fingers then makes a fist and smiles. For the first time in more
than a year he is sitting upright in the passenger seat of a car,
though after an hour he shifts to lean into the corner by the door
because keeping his balance for so long has tired him. Even with
the incredible progress he has made, his muscles still lack that
minimal tension most of us take for granted. Not that he's in any
way discouraged. He seems to KNOW with the certainly of a child and
the faith of the blessed that in time he will come back all the
way.
 
      This mood is not constant, though. Sometimes he sinks into a
place where only he can go, and then his expression is grim.

      We don't talk much. We didn't even during those days by the
river after what we are calling his 'swim' and later at the cave.
I think he'd gotten out of the habit of making conversation so I
don't press him. Besides just having him near is comforting.

      Ellie was able to treat all his joints before the sunset
deadline. Even with the new determination I was able to impart to
him with the news about Sara, it was a struggle and so painful to
watch. As the sun dipped behind the trees, he received his final
treatment. As if determined not to pass out again, he clung to my
hand so tightly that I thought he'd break some bones. Somehow he
did manage to bite his lip. Even though the fumes from even such a
slight wound made my eyes water, I made no attempt to release my
hand. He needed it there and so did I.

      "It's over," I told him, dabbing the sweat from his brow with
the edge of one of the blankets. "Sleep now." And did he - for
thirty-six hours with breaks only for calls of nature and what
fluids and foods I could force down him. After eating, since he was
still too weak to move himself, Ellie would work all the joints and
muscle groups for him and finish up with an over all massage that
never failed to send him back to sleep for hours. As a physical
therapist, Ellie is amazingly competent.

      On the morning of the third day he roused himself and, after
a few false starts, managed to stand and eventually to walk. I
don't know which gave him the most trouble: the weakness of the
muscles which had been in a state of either perpetual contraction
or relaxation for months and now had to do both, or the battering
from his trip down river. Either way it took us until noon to
return to the cave, even with his leaning heavily on my arm most of
the time.
 
      Of course I called Skinner that first day and told him the
minimum of what he needed to know about the situation so he
wouldn't worry. Subsequent calls were equally reassuring but as
uninformative even when Joseph did the talking.

      Joseph wanted to surprise his old boss. This he most
thoroughly did. After we drove into the quarry entrance, he
unfolded himself from the passenger seat and, using only a pair of
makeshift crutches for support, walked tall and straight through
the main Center doors. Eager to see even an approximation of the
expressions on the staff's faces, he had choked down a triple dose
Excedrin ten miles before our arrival and wore the scanner.

      He more than got the reaction he expected. Even my Mulder
would have been blown away by the outpouring of concern and
affection and delight at his miraculous improvement. I think he
could have managed the embarrassment better if Skinner hadn't
cried. At least Helen Janus Skinner, after her own initial shock
had passed, had the good sense to propel their prodigal friend
unceremoniously into the medical complex to poke and prod. The
examination was a blessing in a way. It gave Joseph a good excuse
to pull out all his macho stops in order to properly scowl and
complain.

      Good way to cover up all those disgusting feminine-side
emotions.

      As for me, I should be happier about his recovery. Oh, I am
happy. For Joseph. For myself, however, there is so much emptiness.
They are so alike that for a few moments back at the cave I had
almost convinced myself again that he was my Mulder. After I told
him that Sara lived, however, and I saw the naked tenderness and
determination light his face, I knew he could only be the other.
<So why am I still here?> I asked Ellie. <Haven't I done my part?
I want to go home, I want to see if Mulder is there since he
clearly isn't here.> It terrifies me to think that he could be -
like me - hitchhiking in some other body altogether, and I have no
idea where to start looking.
 

      Almost ten days have passed since we returned to the Center.
Over that time he has continued to improve steadily. Within two
days he was walking with only a cane. Within the week, jogging
again though slowly. He's even acquired an occasional jogging
partner and potential guide dog - a young lean mongrel whose mother
was an Irish setter and whose father was some kind of large hound.
His name, appropriately, is Max. The dog is a sort of Center
mascot, but to Joseph and Adam he's much more. He's a critical link
between the two. Joseph is still very reserved around his son,
which has Skinner and Helen concerned, but is understandable
considering what he's been through. Probably the boy is too bitter
a reminder that the family is still incomplete. When he gets Sara
back that will put at least one ghost to rest, though if she is as
changed as we all expect then there will be some very serious new
challenges for everyone.

      Notice that the phrase is 'When gets Sara back' and not 'if'.
He won't abide anyone saying 'if'.

      But first things first. Sara has to be rescued and he is
determined to be the one who makes that happen. Unfortunately,
being able to take a slow jog around an indoor track is not
sufficient for the kind of guerilla work everyone is talking about.
He works on his agility and physical strength in the mornings and
evenings and then goes nose to nose with the 'boys' for a couple of
hours in the afternoons to try to smooth out the bugs in the
scanner. The rest of the time he's slaving with the rest of us on
the plan. Ellie's been included on the team, 'de facto', because of
our initial cover story and because we've become such an integral
part of this weird series of events. Everyone is too polite to ask
exactly how this strange young woman fits in. I can relate to their
confusion.

      On the plus side, the team is impressed by Ellie's knowledge
of the Compound and its security, so chances are I'll be included
on the assault team. I can't tell you how odd I feel about that.
What will it be like facing a person who is, in essence, my own
self, but a self who has no knowledge whatsoever of the people I
care most about in the world? A woman who knows nothing of the
person I am or she was? A woman who tortured Joseph when he was
under her care? A woman who may be more than willing to kill any
one of us?

      <<There's something else troubling you,>> Ellie remarks.

      'We' are eating a sandwich on a balcony which overlooks the
Center's lap pool. Two stories below, Joseph is swimming, has been
swimming, consistently back and forth for more than twenty minutes.
Watching him brings back such painful memories of when he was
toughening his body in preparation for breaking the newly
postpartum Sara out of the Compound.

      <The last time he trained so hard he was doing it for me.
Sort
of. Now I'm just an outsider. No one important. No, less than that.
I think he's removed himself intentionally from being anywhere
around me. I make him uncomfortable because I know too much.
Because he's concerned that I'll tell Skinner about his suicidal
'swim' which would definitely cut him right out of the rescue
team.>

      <<Maybe he's afraid of a possible attraction,>> Ellie muses.
<< I'd be surprised if he didn't sense something familiar when he
interacts with you, despite my buffering.>>

      <Maybe,> I respond, <though it's more likely that he doesn't
want to get too close to the mystery of his recovery for the very
fact that it does touch pretty close to home. Do you know when I've
seen him the most terrified? In Puerto Rico right after he saw an
alien for the first time since his sister's abduction. Pretty
weird, huh, considering that he's been actively chasing them for
years. So he may be afraid to delve too deeply into his cure.> I
leaned forward in our chair mesmerized by the rhythmic rise and
fall of the swimmer's arms. <Then again, I may be reading too much
into it. It may not be personal. Maybe he only seems aloof because
he's concentrating so hard on Sara. That's understandable, but
still...> It would be selfish of me to say what I was thinking.

      At that moment he pulled himself from the pool. The water ran
sparkling off his sleekly muscled skin. Reaching out, his hand
easily found the slender white cane he had left propped against a
nearby chair. As if sensing he is being talked about, he looks up,
not directly at me but close enough for me to see that too familiar
face.

      <<You miss him,>> Ellie said. It was not a question.

      Does she mean do I miss Mulder? Like a part of me had been
cut
out. <I have no right,> I reply to Ellie as Joseph makes his way
with confident steps towards the changing rooms. <No right, but
he's all I have left of Mulder. You tell me that you've been in
contact with Eli. You tell me Joseph is still under sedation at the
party field and that only an hour has passed their time since I
left. Well, if he's not there, Ellie, and he's not here, than where
is he? And I'm doing nothing to find him!>

      <<You're doing everything you can to find him,>> she assures
me. <<Besides, helping him to get his Sara back is part of your
job, too. Have patience. All will come around and fit back into its
proper place in the proper time.>>

      Can I believe that?
 

      The days tick off.  Two weeks we've been at the Center. More
mornings than not I think seriously of severing this relationship
with Ellie. Sometimes she acts as if this were just some long,
dress up vacation. I calm my nerves with the certain knowledge that
something must happen soon. Joseph is doing impatient Mulder things
like walking at night instead of sleeping. I hear the restless
click of his cane as he walks and walks. It's eerie, too, because
he never carries a light. Even now, after all this time, it makes
me sick deep inside to I realize that there's really no need for
him to carry one.

      I admit I'm anxious, too. I've quit thinking of where Sara
came from and how we are the same. Instead, I concentrate on what
has made us different. Her life in so many, many ways is totally
different than mine, and now we don't even have that old common
bond of childhood and family and the days of the X-Files and
Mulder. What will Joseph find when he scales that high tower for
his lady love?

      Unfortunately, he will not find his lady love - but a
stranger.
 

Chapter 12a2: Mulder

      The main cavern is so quiet at this time of night. There are
two work shifts - day and evening - but that leaves the dead of the
night free for the likes of me to wander in peace. When I stand
still I can feel the vibration of the power generators through the
soles of my feet. That's a hold over from being deaf so long. One
becomes more aware of certain things. One of the rewards of
returning to the Center with this new and improved body is that I
can now night prowl when I've slept my fill. Believe it or not I
have met other troubled souls at least a dozen times on my wanders.
Mostly I just hear them. They all stop, probably when they first
notice me, and wait until I pass by. They don't speak to me and I
don't speak to them. None of us have come out here at this hour to
be sociable.

      Actually, one of the other insomniacs did speak to me once.
Henri DuCour, a mechanic. He cautioned me, almost apologetically,
that I was about to run into a slick patch of oil someone had
failed to clean up. I had been sweeping the path in front of me
with my trusty cane, though I seldom actually touched the floor,
and so I would never have sensed that and might have fallen. I
don't like to tap or actually the brush the floor because I hate to
disturb this silence which for me is still so full of sound. These
people. They have no idea what silence really is. Anyway, I raised
my cane in salute to Mr. DuCour and went on my way. Occasionally,
I tap the floor now.

      I walk to familiarize myself with the terrain. One floor down
and thirty steps from my door to the Med Center reception desk,
fifty-six to the commissary, ninety-two including two right turns
to the cafeteria. It's easier to fill in the map in my head when
there is no one else around who wants to stop to talk, and during
the day everyone seems to want to chat. It's amazing how much we
communicate with eye contact and visual gestures like nodding.
Because those things just go right past me, the staff I meet have
to say something like "Mornin'" or "How you doin'". In response I
can get away with a nod a lot of the time because most of these
people are just being polite and really don't want to know the
details of how I'm doing.

      How I'm 'doing' is - I'm ready to crawl out of my skin. These
scenarios keep running through my head of Scully at the Compound
being asked to... Shit... I don't really want to know what, but it
will go against her ethics just because they know they can. I found
out about what Sara did to Joseph while he was in the tanks. I
forced Louis up against an examining table one day in the Med
Center and made him tell me. It's not as if Louis couldn't have
crushed me with one blow but I guess he has this thing about not
hitting blind people.

      Why does the Consortia hate us so? I should say hate me so.
If
Scully/Sara had never become involved with Fox Mulder she would be
safely married with a house and kids and a husband with a stable
job. She and those she loves would all be safe at night and
wouldn't have to live a secret life deep inside a mountain under
tons to solid rock to feel protected. I owe her SO much. I owe both
Sara AND Scully so much. I owe them my life. I owe them my sanity.

      Don't think I haven't considered offering them a trade.
Scully/Sara for me. That way I'd be sure to be saving them both.
The only problem with this is that it's too late. Both Dana's have
already been cursed by their association with me. Perhaps the only
way to bring us all lasting peace is to find out the source of
their hate, in other words, to continue my search for the truth.

      That, however, is what the management and psychologist types
call a long term goal. I have this little immediate goal of having
to walk into the Compound somehow to get Scully out.

      And that... scares me... shitless.  You want to talk about
anxiety attacks? I'll give you anxiety attacks. You want
flashbacks, mine are in technicolor and hooked up fully to every
sense I possess and even a few I don't. You want nightmares? Waking
or sleeping - take your pick. And I must not show a hint of any of
this to anyone or I am off the team. Oh, I know it's not healthy.
I just have to hold it all together a little longer. I just hope
the 'little longer' is not too far away or I'm afraid I'll just
explode one day, fly apart, melt down. Then there won't be anything
for either Sara, Scully or Joseph to come back to.

      Oh, Scully, how I miss you. I swear I'll try not to let you
down. I just wish... Damn, there's just so much I never said. I
just wish there was one person I could talk to. The problem is...
that one person... is you.

End of Chapter 12a
 

ALL HALLOW'S EVE IV: MIRACLES (12b/18)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 12b: Dana

      Four a.m. Ellie and I got a beep from the phone/computer in
our small room in the visitor's quarters. Team Gabriel is meeting
in the Boardroom at six. 'Gabriel' is the code name for this
mission. I guess they feel they need an angel on their side and a
few miracles of their own. I am silent on the subject of miracles
with Ellie. How I would like to have one now. No, not just one but
half a dozen. The way hers work, however - not without its share of
sweat and tears - it may be that we are in the middle of the
miracle right now. I can only pray it's true and that everything
will work out as she says it will. I only know that her help is not
something I can ask for. This is a 'birds of the air' scenario.
'They neither toil nor spin and yet their heavenly Father feeds
them.' I must believe that that is what is happening now and that
it is for our good. I must have faith that we will be given what we
need and work for our hands and the strength to endure.

      If this is the case then I need to pray a little bit harder.
My strength to endure is slipping badly. The problem is, every time
I pray I end up seeing Mulder's face. The question is, is he my
angel or my temptation? I would really like to hear one of your
really bad jokes on the subject right about now, my friend.
 

      We come into the meeting on time, which makes us one of the
last in the conference room. You can feel the excitement. This is
what we have all been waiting for. Obviously a six am meeting is
significant. By the ringed caffeine-bright eyes around the room, no
one went back to sleep after the 4 am announcement.

      Skinner is at one end of the table, his hands folded before
him, right tightly over left. Joseph sits on the other end, the end
near the door. As he has taken to doing, his chin rests on his
expressive hands which are crossed on the top of the white cane he
holds between his knees. I see a glitter from one temple. One of
the contact points for the scanner leads. It testifies to how
painful the mechanism still is that he doesn't wear it even to a
meeting as important as this. What he does wear, unbelievably, is
a suit. Mulder had given up suits with his cancer years before but
he wears one today. It's one of his old ones. It occurs to me for
the first time that there must be an apartment in this place filled
with physical memories of Apartment 42. When Mulder's old apartment
was abandoned long ago when Dana - she who would become Sara - made
that deal with the smoking devil, everything was put into storage.
The suit fits Joseph's lean, long frame loosely but I know that
beneath the folds of the fabric is a strong, healthy body. A body
which, because of all its owner's hardships, has enough differences
from Mulder's now that I would never confuse them, not even in the
dark. Still I almost weep at the sight of the tie. It's tied so
poorly, he obviously tried to do it by himself, and in my world
it's still one of my Mulder's favorites.

      I turn away, afraid to be caught staring. He's not Mulder. I
remind myself and deserves his privacy. Poor Job. So many scars
outside and at least as many on the inside.

      Down on the far end of the table Skinner moves impatiently.
I
realize that I never actually saw him move but everyone snaps to
attention as if he had, even Langly who is the laid back one of the
group.

      "Mr. Frohike," Skinner says, "I believe we're all here. Are
you prepared to present your findings?"

      <'Mister Frohike'?> I guess I never thought of 'Frohike' as
a
last name or really any kind of a legitimate name at all.

      The small, balding gnome with the quick eyes link to Byers'
equally quick eyes who passes the glance to Langly, who, unique
among the men here, still wears his jeans and T-shirt. "We're
ready," the gnome replies, "though I doubt that our recommendation
will be met with much enthusiasm."

      His eyes hand off the introductory material to Byers. "The
security at the compound is standard in many ways," the
questionably 'normal' member of the trio explained. "Security
monitors, electrified fences. Those we can handle. However, they
have one twist which is entirely unique. It was installed after
Louis and Joseph's escape. DNA sensors. They're at all the building
entrances and near the elevators and stair wells, too. You slip
your hand in and - " Byers held his hand out as if it were being
scanned and " - its reads specific sequences on your DNA. Each
person's is absolutely unique unless you have an identical twin.
You have to submit to the scanning, too, otherwise you'll trigger
another kind alarm."

      Langly nodded agreement. "Oddly enough, the overall security
design seems most concerned about keeping tabs on their own people,
to make sure that they don't 'wander' into areas they shouldn't."

      "Kenneth and Grace," Joseph said, understanding. "They walked
right by the security cameras in our clothes. You're saying that
could never happen now? That they couldn't pass by the sensors now
except as themselves?"

      "Got it in one," Langly replied. "And even as themselves they
would need access to the specific floor in your building."

      Frohike hung his head, his face suddenly stricken with guilt.
"We were unaware of this little improvement when Sara and her team
went in after Kenneth Lesse and his wife. I can't say how sorry we
still are about that. Maybe Dana Scully's ID would have allowed her
access but the poor volunteers with her didn't never a chance."

      Skinner was grim. It had been a bitter blow. Almost the most
bitter of his career, of any of his careers. "Very little of that
was your fault. Our 'friends' at the Compound were tipped off that
the raid was coming."

      "All ancient history," Helen said, her face showing little
expression other than determination. "What can you do for us now."

      It was Langly who, fidgeting, managed to speak for the three.
"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" No one took him up on
his request. "The bad news is: We can't create a record for new
staff in their security files. We don't have the access privileges
and even if we did we don't know how to encrypt the DNA traces. If
we try to bring in anyone who's not in their database, their
security boards will go up like a Christmas tree. The good news is
we can access the records of one inactive staff member, a person
who's DNA is already on record. We can reactivate his status. We
can even give him some stratospheric security clearance." It took
about five seconds for everyone to focus on one lone figure, the
one figure in the room who couldn't focus on anyone. "I think
you've all figured out who that one person is... Fox Mulder."

      It seemed to take Joseph longer than anyone to put all the
pieces together. His pale skin, if possible, want even paler than
normal.

      "And at the first check post I go through they'll know who -"
 
      I hate feeling helpless almost more than anything. That's how
I felt at that moment. Utterly helpless. I couldn't go to this man
who needed me even though, God knows, I wanted to. I wanted to hold
him the way I had at the party field, I wanted to tell him that I
understood the terror that was growing huge in his belly. He could
be caught again. He could come out of the tank the next time as
something not even remotely human.

      Byers' voice distracted me. Crisp, emotionless Byers, but it
was what we all needed to hear at that moment. "Joe, your concern
is understandable, but all of our analysis indicates that though
they are still looking for you - that they have never stopped
looked for you - their nets are all set outside. They seem to see
no reason to search in their own back yard."
 
      "Why not?" Helen asked. "Certainly they must know that we
know
that Sara lives and that we'd consider a rescue sometime. Even if
Joseph had died on his way here, Louis knew and Louis got out."

      "Because," Skinner said with bitterness, "if we were going to
come we would have come for her sooner. God knows we should have."

      I found myself talking for the first time. "Everyone seems to
have missed the really impossible part of this plan. You expect
Joseph to go in alone? Alone? You can't be serious."

      "Safer that way," Frohike said, "besides we haven't told you
all. Once he's inside he'll have help. Kenneth Lesse has let it be
known that he's coming out this time, no matter what."

      Uneasy grumbling all around. Helen asked the question
everyone
was thinking, "Can he be trusted?"

      This was a statement that had far more emotional affect on
Joseph and I than the others. Kenneth had been a good friend. He
had risked his life so that two captives and their baby could be
free. He was intelligent, young, handsome, charming and
physiologically as unique as Joseph. But he'd been sent back to the
tanks as a disciplinary action after his own botched escape
attempt. How many of these admirable traits did he still possess?

      "It was Kenneth's wife who blew the whistle the last time,"
Louis said, defending the young man. "Rene panicked. Remember, it
was Kenneth who made the decision to get her out when he found out
she was pregnant. His error was not getting her full cooperation.
Probably he rushed her because of the baby. She wasn't ready.
Remember, she more than Kenneth was born in the Consortia and
didn't have the contact with Mulder and Dana the way Ken had. We
are all boogie men to her."

      "What's the status of the family now?" Helen asked.

      Frohike sent a sidelong glance at Byers. Byers looked up,
uncomfortable. "The news is sketchy but a week after the failed
rescue, Kenneth's wife went into premature labor. End of the second
trimester. Too soon. The child died." A muscle twitched in the
small man's cheek. "They told Kenneth the news seconds before they
pushed him under. These people really go out of their way to give
their victims sweet dreams, don't they."

      There was shocked silence in the room and it took a lot to
shock this group. The first to speak was the one who seemed the
most removed from hearth and home. "Bastards," Langly blurted out.

      "And the marriage?" Joseph asked, though he probably knew the
answer his face was so bleak.

      "It's over, we're told. Didn't last long after the
miscarriage," Byers informed them.

      Probably was over before that, Dana thought. The woman had
lost her nerve and betrayed her husband and those who meant only to
help her.
 
      "There's potentially a more important development than this,"
Skinner said. He hadn't spoken for a while and he was grim. "It was
Kenneth Lesse the senior who contacted us - through an intermediary
of course. He's the one orchestrating this. He WANTS his son out.
He didn't know we were in the planning stages for this assault.
We're letting him think we're doing him a big favor and in return
we get one, we get Sara. He's the one who arranged for Kenneth to
be at the Compound tonight."

      "Tonight?" I found myself asking astonished.

      "That's the reason for the unreasonable hour for this
meeting.
It must be tonight." Byers said. "We had no more warning than that.
Supposedly the son's there for some kind of medical check up but
he'll only be resident for about the next thirty-six hours,
possibly less, and so... tonight."

      Skinner turned to Joseph sitting so straight and still in his
chair, those long, sensitive hands ever folded over the head of his
cane. "Agent Mulder, what do you think?" The former FBI Assistant
Director caught himself. "Sorry... Joseph. Dressed like that you
looked - "

      The smile Joseph returned his old and present boss was almost
wistful. "I don't mind. It's good to hear you say it."

      "So what does Agent Mulder think?"

      "Many things. Cabbages and kings. In addition to the
advantages of my security clearance, a blind man doesn't need a
light and I can manage well enough with the scanner and an economy-
size bottle of Advil."

      "You know what more this signifies, don't you? If the father
feels a need to get his son out, it may mean he doesn't want any
hostages left where the dragons can get their hands on them. It
could mean the first crack in the Consortia. The beginning of the
end. That's how important this is." Skinner's expression was firm.
"I know I can never completely comprehend what you suffered in that
place, but I've seen the results. That's why I ask you to think
this over very carefully before you commit." The next words came
slowly, pulled out by the heart. "In all the years I've known you,
Agent Mulder, I've never doubted your personal courage, though I
think you'll forgive if I say that I always depended greatly on
Agent Scully's common sense. For reasons we are all well aware of,
you need both now. I have no doubt that you'll accept this
assignment, the question that you must answer is - should you?"

      Joseph tried to smile at the use of the name again but there
was too much going on behind those blank eyes. "I'm no hero. No
amount of courage would get me in there again if it weren't for Scu
- for Sara. You know I won't leave her. You know I can't. The fact
there is more at stake here than she and I and our future
complicates the issue but changes nothing. As I said before. I
believe I can do it. From what I've heard here, it sounds like I'm
the only one who can. There is no decision."
 
      Skinner nodded assent, then realized with the slightest flush
that the person he had intended that communication for hadn't seen
it. "Very well, then that's how it will be." Skinner addressed the
entire team with his next comments, "Gentleman and ladies, I think
that is it. We all have a lot of work to do before this evening. As
far as who will go to the site, we need to keep the primary force
small to minimize the chances of detection. Mr. Frohike and his
team obviously will go with Joseph. I will head the back up force.
We'll stay some minutes behind."

      "Director Skinner?" I heard myself saying. It felt odd to
still use the title but he was officially the director of the
Center. "As the person here after Joseph and Louis who has the
greatest knowledge of the Compound, I'd like to go with the first
team."

      At my words, Joseph's chin had risen from his folded hands
just a little but he said nothing.

      Skinner checked briefly with Joseph and then with Frohike,
Langly and Byers. "I see no objection. Till this evening then."

      As if on cue, everyone rose. I couldn't help looking at
Joseph
who had gotten to his feet more slowly than anyone. No jokes at the
end. What was going on in his mind? I could sense that brain, so
much like Mulder's only more wounded, turning over alone in its
darkness. I found myself walking over to where he stood, separate
within his own formless world.

      "If there's anything I can do, you only need to ask."

      He didn't show surprise at being spoken to, not even by me,
even though we hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words since our
arrival except during group meetings. He spoke quietly now so that
none of the others who were busily filing past could hear. "Why do
I think that my little swim will seem like a picnic in comparison
with this little escapade. You don't think I'm insane to attempt
this, do you?"

      "Knowing you? Knowing her? Not at all." At that I turned to
leave but at the last moment he stilled me by reaching out. I don't
know what he intended but the tips of his fingers brushed mine.

      "Thank you."

      I continued forward, out of the room. The heat of that touch
that was Mulder's, and yet not Mulder's, surged up in this body,
filling my cup to overflowing, forcing tears from Ellie's eyes that
dared not be shown to anyone.

End of chapter 12b
 

ALL HALLOW'S EVE IV: MIRACLES (13a/18)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 13a: Dana

     We waited by the Center's darkened south entrance which was
through an old warehouse. Plenty of space to pack the specially
built Land Rover with the sensitive electronic equipment which
Mulder's special glasses required. The 'boys' had also acquired some
new toys for deactivating the barriers and masking the car's
presence as it approached the Compound so they didn't have to pack
mule everything in from miles away.

     Mulder - I'm sorry, but ever since Skinner called him Mulder
I've been having trouble thinking of him as anything else - was
fidgeting near the doorway. The moonlight streaming in through the
dusty warehouse windows illuminated his anxious face. He wanted to
be doing something to help but couldn't without the scanner and he
didn't dare start wearing it this early otherwise the headaches
would immobilize him before he even go to the Compound. Not being
assigned anything useful to do either I joined him. Even if he
wasn't my Mulder who was - God knows where - I still craved his
company.

     "It's only me."

     He tilted that faintly scarred but still uniquely handsome
head in my direction. "I know."

     "How did you know?"

     "Your footsteps. You walk like someone I knew once."

     His statement for some reason made me uneasy. Ellie had been
strangely quiet all day as I helped with the preparations. The woman
who had just walked across the floor had been as nearly Dana as
possible. I must be confusing him totally. "Scared?" I asked, trying
to turn the conversation towards the business of the night.

     "Scared of failing and I can't, not this time." His head was
up, his chin out, his eyes blankly staring straight ahead. "They're
wrong when they say that once here she'll just be a prisoner. She's
a prisoner now, locked away from who she is. I know my Scully. No
matter what, she'd want to know the truth." Odd that he would call
her Scully. He'd been referring to her consistently as Sara up until
now. Maybe like the use of 'Mulder' the old patterns just reasserted
themselves as he prepared to plunge into the field. But he was also
distracted. Likely just a slip then. "She's alone among people who
hate her," he went on. "No matter how much they pretend, otherwise
they are still her enemies. I can't leave her there."

     "No one expects you to, though you realize she probably won't
come willingly."

     Slowly, he pulled a long metal object from a thin case
attached to his belt. A dart gun. "I have help."

     After he'd put the tranquilizer away we stood silently, not
touching. I watched the team pack for perhaps a minute while he
listened. At some point he must have taken a step towards me because
suddenly his arm brushed my shoulder. "May I ask a favor?" he said
quite softly.

     Unexpectedly, heat rose in Ellie's body. Was my psyche having
trouble telling my Mulders apart? "I've already offered," I replied.

     "This is personal."

     I thought the request would have something to do with his
blindness - something he needed help with and was ashamed to ask
anyone else. "I think we've already been about as personal as two
people can get and not - you know."

     Oh, he knew. His mouth stretched into one of Mulder's little
half smiles. "Can we be seen here?"

     I maneuvered him away from the window. "The moon was playing
spotlight," I explained. "Only the rats can see us now."

      Even though we were now in shadow I saw that smile widen for
a second before he became serious again. "You were so patient with
me those days at the cave. Thirty percent of the time you pampered
me. The other seventy percent of the time you were busy kicking my
butt. In that way you're so much like her. There's no way I can
repay -"

     "You don't need- " I stopped because his hand was suddenly
there again, touching Ellie's hair. Oddly enough it wasn't sexual
but almost fatherly. That wasn't so surprising. Having no sight, he
wasn't affected by Ellie's 'glamour' and probably saw her more
clearly than anyone. She must have just seemed like some ancient
fifteen year old to him. "Despite how I've acted these past few
days, I'm not ungrateful. I was - uneasy. I didn't want for people
to see us together. I was afraid that they'd start asking questions
about my sudden 'recovery' again." Pause. "And I thought that you
might have talked to Skinner."

     "I told you I wouldn't."

     "I remember. It just took me a while to trust what you told
me, that you  have as much to protect as I - probably more. Selfish
of me."

     "Under the circumstances, I think I can understand."
 
     In response, his face showed a hint of his old investigative
fire. "Of course, I have my own suspicions but I'm not stupid enough
to ask questions for which I might not want to hear the answers."

     <<Egads, a wise man,>> Ellie mused, but I was not so pleased.
If he'd only go ahead and indulge his curiosity maybe I could find
a way of telling him about who and what Ellie was. I don't know why.
I guess I just wanted to tell someone and who better to understand.
Maybe I should have told him from the first. Maybe it would bring
him some comfort to know he was not alone in this morass.

     "Thank you," I said, though I didn't know why. "I mean thank
you for not asking for explanation."

     "You're welcome," was the automatic response. This didn't seem
to be the end of the discussion, however. I felt his fingers hunt
for and finally brush my arm. "Ellie..." He began and then
hesitated. That was when I realized that he was just now getting to
the part he'd really wanted to discuss when he began this. "Ellie,
I'm going to walk into a terrible place and from our talks I believe
you're one of the few who really has some conception of how
terrible. If they take me again -"

     "Don't dwell -" I warned, but I was too late. I felt the
tremor in that strong, sensitive hand.

     "I have no choice. I've even made out my will. Skinner
witnessed. He and Helen have Adam, of course." He voice faded out as
if it had gone dry. "Ellie, there's another issue here but you and
I seem to be the only two sensitive to it. Don't you think that
Kenneth's sudden reappearance - and for such a narrow window of time
- is awfully convenient."

     I hadn't thought of that. I should have. "Not convenient for
us."
 
     "Obviously, it's convenient for somebody."

     "If you think it's a trap, then don't go."

     "Not going is not an option. It's just that I feel a need to
tie up as many loose ends in my life before I go. I..." His voice
trailed.

     "What is it?" This was what he had called me over for.

     His feet shuffled restless, almost shyly. "I just wanted
someone to say good-bye to," he stammered. "Stupid thing to say."

     "No, it's not, only I wish you wouldn't. Good-bye is so final.
In any case, you don't have to do it now. I'm going with you to the
mountain."

     When he answered he seemed miles away. "But there's always a
need to say good-bye, Ellie, just as there's always a need to say
thank you. You never know if you're going to be given another
chance.  That's something that I've learned to appreciate only
recently. There are people I've never said the important things to."

     "I take it you're talking about Sara?"

     His face registered a mild confusion. "About Sa- ? Yes...
Sara." He seemed to need to switch gears. It was clear that what he
said next was not what had been on his mind when he'd started. "I
wasn't there when she left on that mission to pull Kenneth and his
wife out. I was called away on an emergency. It was so sudden that
we never had a chance to meet. I never even had a chance to wish her
luck. I never saw her again though Louis has told me - under duress
just a couple of days ago - that we lived, one of us on either side
of one of those damned tanks, for months. I never kissed her good-
bye. Never spoke the words I should have. I waited too long."

     I don't think I've ever heard Mulder sound so wretched, and
that's going some. "What would you have said if there'd been time?"

     His shoulders drooped a little. "The old cliche 'I love you',
I suppose." He must have felt my confused eyes on him at that.
"Sorry. Of course I did tell... Sara... that I loved her but never
often enough. It hurts that even if I survive tonight and bring her
out she may never want to hear those words from me again. On the
other hand if I don't make it out and she does - then at least I
want to tell somebody. You, if you don't mind. In that way if you
two ever meet and if she ever wants to know, you can tell her."  He
shuddered all over. Even in that shadowed place I could see the
movement. He made an abrupt move to stalk out. "Sorry, that was
terrible. Didn't even make sense to me."

      I held him back with a touch. He didn't take much convincing.
"No, it didn't, not entirely, but the sentiments are part of being
human. You know, don't you, that this is all unnecessary?  I know
that she loved you. I know that she loves you still. That sort of
thing... it has no time. It has no beginning... no end."

     I saw him switch his white cane to his left hand and roughly
wiped his sweating forehead on his dark sleeve. "That's pretty
eloquent stuff, Ms. Ellie."

     "Read it off a Hallmark card, Agent Mulder," I admitted. "You
don't mind me calling you that, do you? Like Skinner did at the
meeting this morning? All the records I read on you before this use
that name."

     "Just between us, it's fine. In fact, though Skinner's been
trying to drum into my head for years about how dangerous the old
names are, I still prefer them."

     An uneasy silence. Was that it? But he seemed to be waiting
for something. For me to agree? To what?

     "For Sara's sake -" I told him in all earnestness "- for
Dana's, if we're using old names - I'll carry your message for you."
This was awkward as hell. For both of us. I know I just wanted out
of there. I suspect he was blushing. I wished it wasn't so dark. No,
maybe I was glad for the cover. I can't imagine what the expressions
on our faces must have been like. "Is there anything else?"

     His hand raised then hesitated to see if I'd moved away. I
should have while I had the chance. I didn't. I didn't because I
realized that I wanted him to touch me again, even if it were only
Ellie's body. I was as lonely and as lost as he was. Lightly, he
found her hair again and smoothed it.

     "Ellie, could you be her surrogate for just a moment longer?"

     I swear he must have heard my heart stop. They say that the
physically challenged develop their remaining senses to a fine pitch
when one is lost.  All at once he protested in that soft voice of
his, "Oh - no - it's not what you think." Odd, he sounded so young
but then, come to think of it, Mulder has sounded that way every
time we ever tried to discuss anything personal.

     "I just want to say good-bye to you as I would have said good
bye to her."

     That hand again, a single finger sliding down my cheek. Who
was blushing now? This was maddening.

     "From the beginning, you frightened me. You reminded me so of
her. Not just physically, but other things. The way you walked, the
words you used. The way you took care of me back at the cave."

     He bent, closing in. It was like all the air was being sucked
from that cold, dark building. I could sense the warmth of his skin,
could feel his breath meet my breath even though we hadn't made
contact yet.

     "Should I take that as a compliment?" I asked though my voice
was none too steady.

     His face was very near Ellie's and I certainly wasn't the only
one trembling. "I meant it to be," he said. Then he placed those
hands of his one on either side of my jaw. Clearly, he didn't want
to miss and hit my eye. He didn't miss. Our lips met. His were warm,
warm and deliberate and unhurried and quite... wonderful.

     Then he was gone. Just a few inches away but too far for my
liking. <This is stupid. It was Sara he was trying to touch. Not
me.>

     He drew further away. Below the blank eyes he was biting his
lower lip, embarrassed by what he had done. He definitely regretted
it.

     I didn't.

End of Chapter 13a
 

ALL HALLOW'S EVE IV: MIRACLES (13b/18)
By Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger)

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 13b: Dana

     Before there was even time for my heart rate to return to
normal, I heard Frohike swear loudly. This gave me the excuse I
needed to take my leave of my silently overwrought companion. A box
of spare electronic parts had fallen open and hundreds of little
pieces were scattered everywhere. Fine, I needed something to do
with my hands that didn't require that my mind be anywhere near
functional. We were just finishing when I heard a familiar voice.
Skinner's. He was dressed all in black like I was, like Joseph was,
like everyone on the primary and back up teams. In that way of his
he scanned the room. At the end he gestured for me to follow him
outside. Mildly alarmed, I complied. Skinner must have used hand
signals for only one reason - if Joseph was around, he hadn't wanted
him to know we were talking. What Skinner wasn't aware of was that
Joseph was still in the shadows where I'd concealed him before,
barely more than a lean black shadow himself. At the very least he
must have heard the door open and Skinner's boots scuff on the
concrete pad. He would know that we left together.

     I followed Skinner down into the woods the warehouse backs
against. He was as restless as the rest of us with the waiting. I
checked my watch. Half an hour till the first group, my group, was
due to take off.

     "Problem, sir?" I asked when we were beyond where anyone in
the warehouse, even Joseph, could have heard us.
 
     "Not a problem exactly." He hesitated.

     <Oh, shit,> I thought barely suppressing a groan, <another
deep discussion.>

     "I thought you might feel more free about talking here. You
were troubled at the meeting, any particular problems you see with
the plan for tonight - other than the obvious, of course."

     I carefully considered how much I should say. My status was
still uncomfortably unofficial. "By the obvious, you mean about
Joseph. I just can't believe that you're letting him go at all, much
less alone."

     "Since when does Mulder of all people wait for permission from
anybody. Besides, he has a point about who has the best chance and
his does seem to be a charmed life."

     "Cursed would describe it better," I murmured.

     A smile gleamed briefly in the dark. "True. Things do happen
to Mulder that never seem to happen to anyone else, both good and
bad. Back when we were both with the FBI, I can't tell you how many
times he'd come walking into my office after I'd been having waking
nightmares about calling his mother to tell her that he'd never be
walking anywhere again. What about all the things he's seen or said
he's seen? When it comes to Mulder, you just have to have faith."

     I heard a little chuckle from Ellie which I quickly
suppressed. This I knew wasn't Skinner's main reason for our little
hike just as Joseph had taken his own sweet time to get around to
the important stuff back in the shadows at the warehouse. I felt
Ellie's body react to the memory. I seriously needed time to sort
out my feelings about that little event - tenderness,
disappointment, jealously, desire even? - but now was definitely not
that time.

     Skinner walked on, hands in pockets, his booted feet making
surprisingly little noise. <Guess one learns how to move quietly in
Vietnam.>

     Finally he spoke. To the point this time. "Ellie, I need your
input. Off the record, you understand. Just between you and me. The
time you spent alone with Joe at the cave... Don't think that you've
gotten away with anything. Neither of you have satisfied anyone's
curiosity about those lost days. I'm not trying to pry into anything
personal that may or may not have happened, but it's essential to
the success of this mission that we can count on his mental state,
his stability. If the Consortia's finally cracking, it's more than
his life and Sara's at stake."
 
     I felt like a spy being debriefed and didn't like it. "He is
Fox Mulder," I said.

     Another unexpected smile. "I guess that does rather say it
all," he admitted then the broad back of my companion turned to me
as he took off on a new path, one which I knew from the map in the
staff cafeteria followed the perimeter of the quarry. "Did Joseph
ever say anything to you during those days that made you question
his being firmly connected to the here and now?"

     Considering Ellie's input into all that had happened at the
cave I didn't dare answer that one truthfully but something,
something deep in me - a hope when I had nearly lost hope - needed
to know what Skinner was referring to. Only how much would he be
willing to tell me? Even with Ellie's 'glamour' and our cover story,
we were to him just a twenty-one year old counterintelligence agent
who had been preparing to go underground to assume what had been
Louis' job at the Compound.

     Sometimes you need to give a little to get - and I needed
whatever he was offering.

     "You realize that I've been trained in more than medical
electronics."

     Skinner walked on kicking some leaves in his path. "I've
noticed. Though from the results you achieved with Joseph in such a
short time I'd say your medical training has been both extensive and
highly unconventional."

     "You could say that," I freely admitted and I didn't even need
to lie. Certainly the medical training was mine even though the
unconventional part definitely came from Ellie. "With that said,
could you describe a little more fully what signs of instability you
think I might have witnessed?"

     He stopped in the middle of the path he was following. The
moonlight was bright here and I could plainly make out his strong
features. He took his time, seriously considering what he should
say. "Maybe it's nothing. It's just that there was a time during his
recovery when two and two weren't making four."

     For Mulder's sake I owed Joseph. My support if nothing else.
"He woke up blind and deaf, weak and sick and in pain. He was lost
and unable to communicate. I think he can be forgiven for a lot."

     "Of course there was that, but this happened weeks later. He'd
overcome so much, was showing some actual improvement, but then he
hit a wall. He was definitely on the edge, physically and mentally,
and we thought what he needed on the subject of Sara was closure.
That's when we told him -"  Skinner stopped. He voice had gone tight
at the end.

     I knew where this was going. "That's when Louis told him Sara
was dead."

     "We thought there would be always time in the future to give
him the 'good' news, if it was good news. That wasn't the best
decision I've ever made in my life. He relapsed. We almost lost him.
It was when he was finally recovering from that that he became
delirious, though it was an odd sort of delirium."

     My instincts picked up on something. The events, out of
sequence, or perhaps just with a different emphasis from what I had
been led to believe. "You say he came close to dying several weeks
after his rescue and he become delirious only after that? Can you be
more specific? Give me all the details from the beginning."

     "I thought Louis had -" my companion began but something in my
face - an intensity that was like a deep pain behind my eyes - must
have communicated itself. He looked at me for a long time then down
at the path at his feet, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

     "From the beginning then.... As you've been told, Joe was in
bad shape by the time Louis got him to the Center. Only hours out of
the tanks you understand. They hadn't fed him well at all. He was
skin and bones." Over the years I've learned that Skinner is not a
gentle man, but the depth of the anger I sensed now surprised even
me. "You add that torture to the condition of his lungs and he
should never have been taken outside. He had a raging case of
pneumonia for a few days but it responded in time to the
antibiotics. With IVs and feeding tubes he improved. Of course, as
you noted, he was terrified. Blind and deaf. The impact of his
physical limitations came later. First, we had to learn to
communicate with each other. We actually made some progress. Then he
hit the plateau I talked about."

     "Confusion over Sara's whereabouts?" I guessed, though it
wasn't much of a guess.

     "Yes, Sara," he agreed.
 
     "But he'd been told before he went into the tanks what they
had planned for her."

     "He refused to believe that she could be made to forget him.
He had himself nearly convinced that she was just outside in the
hall afraid to see him because of her complacency with his
'treatment'. As you can imagine none of us wanted to tell him that
she hadn't wanted to leave; worse, that we had simply left her
there. In retrospect we realize that we should have told him the
truth but all we considered at the time was how impossible it would
be to control him if he knew she was still in the Compound."

     "So you lied and had Louise tell him that she died as a result
of the operation."

     "As I've said, not a decision I'm proud of. At the very least
I should have done the dirty work myself but Louis offered. He
thought Joseph would be more likely to believe a first hand account.
Obviously, he did. He went downhill. No, not just downhill but more
like someone had cut every string that connected him to this world.
Within twenty-four hours he was literally at death's door. We had
about given up. Then one day, for no reason, we saw some
improvement."

     A lump suddenly appeared in my throat which I found impossible
to swallow. "A sudden reversal and then, just as sudden, a
recovery?" I gagged.

     "Well, the recovery wasn't so sudden. Blood pressure and heart
rate picked up first and few hours later there was some spontaneous
movement. In those days any one of these signs would have been
reasons for rejoicing. As far down as he was, I guess you could call
it sudden. I know it gave us hope. His health was so fragile,
however, that it was some days before we felt confident that he had
turned a corner. It was as if he had made a decision to die one day
and a few days later found a reason to live.

     "What worried us, however, was that when he regained
consciousness this second time it was in bits and pieces and his
reality was all confused. It was as though he had lost everything
he'd been told since Louis had brought him back. Even a lot from
before. Helen was deeply concerned because there had been no trauma.
He had a fever for a few days but it had never been serious enough
to explain what we were seeing."

     "Nothing physical you mean?" I whispered because my lips, like
my whole body, felt numb. "More psychological. Like denial?"

     "Yes. And so our concern for his mental state. Ellie, he
scared us. He didn't seem to remember anything about what had
happened with Sara at all. Not her capture, not his rescue attempt,
not their threats, not what we had told him about her death. He
demanded to know where 'Dana' was and why she hadn't been to see
him. Worse, he had to become acclimated to his blindness and
deafness all over again. They seemed a surprise to him even more
than the first time and he refused to acknowledge anything we finger
spelled to him for days."
 
     My hands were beginning to shake so badly that I had to thrust
them deep into the pockets of my coat to keep them out of sight. <Of
course he wouldn't because only Joseph had ever used finger spelling
in any practical sense. To my knowledge, Mulder had not. Mulder....
Could it be? Could it possibly be true?>

     "What are some of the things he talked about in his
'delirium'?" I managed to ask without too much of a tremble in my
voice.

     "Cases. It was like he was back in the FBI, but cases he had
never been assigned. He wept over Dana having cancer which she never
had. Helen was truly concerned about that one. That he would
transfer the focus, the beginning place, of all his problems onto
her. That was so unlike him. When I first spelled out his name with
some of the plastic letters from Adam's alphabet, he swore violently
that that wasn't his name. That incident produced the most violent
reaction of all. It made no sense. He'd never liked losing his name
but had always understood the reason for it." Skinner ran a restless
hand over his bald pate.

     Somehow I managed to swallow the lump in my throat. Fighting
for calm, I balled the hands in my pockets into fists so hard that
I could feel the pain from the nails in my palms. With maddening
composure I forced myself to say, "Temporary post-stress
dissociation and delayed memory loss due to shock. It's possible."

     "That's what the final conclusion was or something like it.
Whatever it was scared us there for a long time. The night after the
episode with his name was especially bad. Heart wrenching sobs that
went on for hours followed by hours of screaming. We were forced to
use restraints because we were afraid that he might hurt himself but
we all agreed - no drugs."  Skinner head drooped from his bowed
shoulders. "That was - a bad time - but he must have worked
something out of his system because since the next morning he's been
like you saw him first at the cave. Internally driven, determined,
withdrawn, anti-social even, but at least he began working with the
therapists. Certainly he's depressed but not clinically so. You've
seen the way he's been this past week or so. That's how he was then
only it went on for months. He worked with a frenzied desperation
that was painful to watch. Regaining as much independence as
possible under the circumstances was all important to him."

     "Which is how he came to be allowed to live out at the cave
alone."

     Skinner stooped and picked up a white rock that had caught his
eye in the moonlight and turned it over in his hand before arcing it
far out into the night. "Of course we weren't happy about that, but
even though he'd never opened up to us about what was going on
inside, he earned every minute of that time. Besides, we felt that
we were building a bridge of trust with him, hoping that when he
came back that he'd let us in." Skinner smiled wanly. "He didn't
come back exactly as we expected though, did he? Oh, we couldn't be
happier about his physical improvement, but his internal balance is
still a complete mystery to us. That's the reason for my question to
you and why we're uneasy about his undertaking a critical mission
like this. If his perception of reality isn't dead on..." Skinner
shrugged his coat back up on his shoulders and began walking again
but coming back my way, back towards the warehouse entrance to
Center. The only problem I had with that was that he wasn't walking
nearly quickly enough. I fell in alongside him.

     "Trust me. You have nothing to be afraid of," I assured him.
"He's there. He's very definitely all there." <Oh, he was there all
right, that fox! I'd lost a few dozen years of my life from worry
because of him and his paranoid ways.>

     Skinner paused to study me to see if I could be believed. It
was all I could do to keep a serene and professional expression with
all the crying, laughing, dancing and swearing going on inside. He
must have been satisfied because he grunted a kind of acceptance and
resumed his walk back to the warehouse. In the evening silence
filled with only our footsteps the words rang clearly in my head -
<Mulder... Mulder, is it you after all?> All this time had it been
Mulder just pretending to be Joseph? Of course, it made so much
sense. As Joseph he had freedom. If he kept on denying being Joseph,
if he kept denying what everyone thought was his 'reality', then
they'd have locked him up with the shrinks for sure. It would be
like Mulder, MY Mulder, to distrust everyone - especially Ellie whom
he felt was Skinner's spy - and keep the truth to himself.

     On the other hand, I thought forcing myself to consider other
options, maybe not my Mulder. Mulder and I must have occasional
dreams about Joseph and Sara's life, otherwise, how had I recognized
the house entrance to the Center. How else could I have 'remembered'
the conversation with Skinner about the Center's being built near a
quarry? And all those little snatches of domestic life at the Cave?
What if Joseph dreamed too and looked into OUR lives. Mulder's panic
over my cancer would have communicated itself to this world very
clearly. In the same way he may have gained enough knowledge of the
cases he had never been part of to become confused. But I had to
remember to be careful. If Joseph and Sara spent even a fraction of
the time looking in on Mulder and me as we had spent looking in on
them, then Joseph must certainly have gathered enough information to
make a guess at the truth of this twisted horror movie of a life. He
had been, after all, my Mulder only five years before - his time.
That left a lot of nearly sleepless nights to chew on the problem.
The last thing he needed was verification from someone like me that
his nightmares were true.

     Meanwhile, this walk was definitely taking far too long. I was
about ready to jump out of my skin. Only I didn't know which
direction to jump first. Should I confront him? My target would be
on his guard as much as ever.

     <Damn him!> Seeing red, I picked an oath out of one of the
store I'd learned from my father. If I had to freeze his balls off,
I'd find some way to yank the truth out of that devil! Anxiously, I
looked at my watch. I still had fifteen minutes before my team was
due to depart. What I needed was a quiet walk back to calm my
nerves. No, enough was enough! I gave Skinner an excuse about having
some last minutes preparations and took off at a run back to the
Center.

     Only a few minutes later I slid breathlessly to a stop on the
concrete floor of the warehouse. On my lips was his name - all of
his names, even a few I bet he didn't know I knew - but the Land
Rover was gone. Frohike and his boys were gone, Mulder/Joseph,
whoever he was, was gone. At my consternation one of the members of
Skinner's team who was reviewing the contents of a trunk of
armaments informed me that the first team had finished loading and,
being anxious about the limited set up time and being unable to find
me, had left. Oh, first they had made certain that there would be
room for me to ride with the back up team.

     <Thanks a lot, guys. Skinner's group isn't due to leave for
another forty minutes.>

     Damn the man... whoever he was! Was that what that kiss was
all about? A distraction? An apology before the fact? Had he been
planning to ditch this spy of Skinner's all along? If I found out
that it was Mulder in there - my Mulder - then after I kissed him
back - I'd probably have to kill him.

     Five minutes later, I had forced directions out of the
startled back up team, retrieved a backup electric car and was
tearing up the roads heading for the one place in the world I most
wanted to reach at that moment. And most dreaded. It was a long two
hour drive and my mind was bursting with questions. Understandably,
I let Ellie take the wheel.

     <You're being very quiet about this,> I snarled to her. <Why
do I have a sneaking suspicion that all along you've known more
about this than you've let on.?>

     <<I'm just a facilitator, Dana,>> she insisted in all
innocence. <<You're doing just fine on your own.>>

     Which gave me hope even as I gave her a mental 'finger'. My
mind went back to those long, lonely days at the Center when he'd
removed himself so from me. I'd been the blind one. Why had I found
that behavior so odd? Mulder, my Mulder, had always been a loner. To
everyone, that is, except his Scully.
 
 

Chapter 14a: Mulder

     Byers and Langly were for once silent as Frohike drove. I
thank them for that. They are all more subdued than in the old
days. Maybe working for Skinner had done this. Then again maybe
it's the fact that this is no longer a game of shadows. The
conspiracy, the danger, is real. A living, breathing thing that
actually bites. They so often surprised me in the past. For the
sake of my skin and that of the woman I am going in for, I hope
their skills are as good as they always were. Better if possible.

     Odd that I'm willing to put my life in their hands and yet
there are still secrets I must keep to myself.

     On the long drive I concentrated on bringing up views of the
Compound - obstacles like buildings, walkways and stairs and more
important things like alarms and security monitors. But in the back