By Writergal
Writergal2000@aol.com
 

RATED:  NC-17, MT, S/A, M/S/SK friendship

SPOILERS:   Season 7 hasn't happened.  No romance, per se, but you'll
discover in the last chapter why that has more impact in this story.

This is a part of my UTB (Under The Bed) Series - those stories that
were written at some point in time and shoved under my bed.  Yes, the
theme of this story has been used before.   What the hell.  Please
refrain from e-mailing me and telling me this isn't finished.  It is.
Any of you that want to pick the story up where it leaves off, think
of it as a post-ep and go for it.  I'd love it.

DISCLAIMER:  The usual, CC owns the rights, we just borrow them, make
their lives more interesting.

SUMMARY:  Scully, Skinner and agents from DEA search frantically for
Mulder, knowing he's been beaten and is in the hands of a mobster.
 

~~~
 

Fish on the Hook
By Writergal
 

STREETS OF GEORGETOWN
12:05 A.M.

Mulder peered through the icy windshield, then turned the car's
defroster up a notch.  Impatient with the slow-acting heater, he used
his hand to clear a patch of condensation from the glass.  Slowly the
Taurus crawled through the empty streets.

He glanced at his partner. "Where did that caller say we turn?"

"Just past the ... there!  Kelly's Antiques," Scully answered,
pointing ahead.

Noticing the red neon sign in the window of the shop, Mulder drove
just past the building to an adjacent parking lot and stopped.  Both
agents scanned the area.

"Didn't he say he'd be out front?"  Scully asked.

"Yeah."  Mulder looked at his watch.  "Maybe we beat him here."

There was a moment of silence.  Mulder turned the windshield wipers on
low to brush the falling snowflakes from the glass.  Quietly the
agents sat together in the dark car, settling in to play the
all-too-familiar waiting game.

"So . . ." Mulder said in his get-ready-to-prove-yourself voice.  He
turned slightly in his seat to face his partner.  "You were explaining
this dilemma that religious scientists face -- faith versus fact - or
rather lack of facts."

"I'm speaking from experience here.  My Catholic upbringing has me
indoctrinated with a strong sense of faith."

"Faith being the ability to believe without proof?"

"Well . . . I suppose you could put it that way.  But faith is also
believing that there is some kind of managed order to the universe,
and that somehow everything will work out as it's supposed to."

"Managed order," he said, rolling the words around in his mouth like a
piece of candy.  "Interesting way you have of describing God."

She ignored his sarcasm.  "I wasn't describing God, I was referring to
God's power."

"My apartment could use a little of that *managed order*," he kidded.

Scully chuckled.  "I know.  I'd faint dead away if I walked through
your apartment without finding Cocoa Puffs under the kitchen table or
a pile of laundry in the hallway."

Mulder dramatically laid his hand over his chest.  "It speaks of
*me*."

"It screams for Merry Maids!"

Mulder laughed with her.  Then he looked contemplative again.  "Well,
I do agree with you that faith is an intangible.  It seems to be a
part of human predisposition, much like Jung's archetypes."

"Jung's archetypes are a *theory*.  Faith is part of a belief system."

"Agreed," he stated bluntly.

He saw the surprise on her face and he laughed again.  "Oh, come on,
Scully, our thinking isn't *that* far apart.  Not always."

"You'll never get me to admit that in public."

He grinned at her, enjoying the interplay with words and thoughts.
His partner had a way of stimulating his mind like no other.  It made
him wonder what other incredible ways she might stimulate him.

<Whoa, down boy.  Don't go there.  Not tonight.>

Mulder sighed, shook off the thought, then looked back at the antique
shop, once again checking his watch.

"Hey Scully, what say we do a little investigative footwork."

"You mean like venture out into this snowstorm so I can test the
disclaimer of these new waterproof boots?"

"Would you like me to carry you?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"I think once in a lifetime is enough for that."

She didn't intend for her statement to invoke such a reaction from her
partner, so when she saw his face suddenly go blank, she punched him
lightly in the shoulder and smiled.

"Come on, partner.  Let's do a little window shopping."

Mulder turned off the car and they exited the vehicle.  As they walked
around the side of the building, Scully pulled her coat tighter around
her.

They could see a light on inside the shop, but the window curtains
prevented them from getting a better look.  Mulder pulled his gloves
out of his coat pocket and began putting them on.  Scully did the
same.  Then they followed the sidewalk around to the back of the
building.

"How does this informant tie in to the Barbino warrant?" Scully asked.

"He wasn't specific.  He hinted that we missed the main cache.
Maybe he just wants money for a little information," Mulder said.

"I've got four dollars and some change on me."

"Are you hinting that I'm buying the pie and coffee later?"

Before Scully could respond, the back door of the shop swung open,
slamming forcefully into Scully, and knocking her into Mulder. Both
agents were thrown to the ground. As Mulder and Scully tumbled in the
snow, they instantly went for their guns.  Mulder had his free of his
holster when there was the muffled retort of a silencer.  The bullet
whizzed between them, close enough to be heard, and landed with a soft
thud in the cold ground.

Scully looked quickly at her partner to see him also looking at her as
he slowly raised his hands in the air and stood up.  Four burley men
in ski masks held weapons on them.  But before Scully could stand, one
of the men grabbed her around the throat with his arm, jerking her to
her feet, and placed the handgun to her temple.  Mulder reacted
instinctively, leveling his gun at Scully's assailant.

"Stop right there, Agent Mulder!  I will kill her!" the man holding
Scully warned.

Mulder froze.  Again he raised his hands in the air and his gun was
taken from him. Two of the men positioned themselves on either side of
him. Mulder glanced at his partner, who was still held securely by one
of the burley men. Then he spoke to the man in front of him.

"Who are you?" Mulder asked.

"You got a phone call earlier.  Who was it from?" the man with the gun
asked.

Mulder hid a shudder.  There was only one threat they could make that
would force him to give them an answer.  He could only hope it didn't
come to that.

"He didn't give his name," Mulder answered.

Mulder saw Scully wince, as the gun was pressed harder into her
temple.

"Look, don't hurt her!  I swear that's the truth," Mulder said, barely
constraining the fear that was creeping into his voice.

Suddenly, without any warning, a fist pounded into his abdomen,
doubling him over and knocking the air out of him.  Scully's reflex
was to go to him, but she felt the gun tighten against her skin.  A
few seconds later, Mulder slowly straightened up again.

His voice was strained. "If you would just -"

He was stopped abruptly by another hard hit in the stomach from the
man standing in front of him.  This time when he doubled over, his arm
went across his stomach, while the other one sought the surface of the
wall to keep him from falling.  Scully heard him wheeze, trying to get
air back into his lungs.

It took longer for Mulder to stand up, and he had to put both hands on
his knees in order to rise again.  He said nothing this time.

The man who stood in front of Mulder seemed to be the leader.  He now
addressed Scully.

"Agent Scully, maybe you remember more than Agent Mulder.  Who did he
talk to?"

Scully shared Mulder's fear, that her answer would sound like they
were being evasive.  She locked eyes with her partner, sharing his
confusion and dread.

"I don't know.  Neither of us do," she said, a pleading tone in her
voice.

She watched as each of the two men took Mulder's arms, pinning them
behind his back.  It made her stomach tighten.  She knew what was
coming.  So did Mulder.  His eyes found hers and his unspoken message
to her was loud and clear.

<Don't try and stop this.>

Her eyes answered back.

<Mulder . . .>

The leader slammed a fist into Mulder's face, hitting him just below
the left eye.  His head jerked to the right, but he was still held
firmly by the two men.  As soon as his head came back around, he was
hit again.  This time his lip split and blood sprayed against the wall
and onto the jacket of one of the men holding him.

"Son-of-a-bitch!  Look what he did!  I just picked this up from the
cleaners!" the man yelled.

The man holding Mulder's right arm forced it higher up his back.
Mulder grimaced and held back a scream.  Scully was trembling,
helpless to stop the brutal beating of her partner.

"Please, we don't even know who we came here to meet!  The caller was
anonymous!" she tried desperately to explain.

Scully watched in horror as her partner was hit in the face again,
this time on the right side, splitting his cheek.  Both eyes instantly
began to swell.  Scully saw him struggling to stay on his feet.  Tears
filled her eyes as the leader's fist went back and she saw her partner
trying to brace for the blow. The fist was driven with tremendous
force into Mulder's stomach.  He groaned as air was forced out of his
lungs and blood sprayed from his mouth.  When he doubled over, he was
raised up by the hair, still trying to gasp for air, and hit twice
more in the face.  His knees buckled, but the two men continued to
hold him up.

"Stop hitting him!  Please!  If I could tell you, I would!" Scully
pleaded.

Despite the weapon being held on her, she tried to go to her partner.
When she heard the gun at her head cock, she stopped.  She was ready
to take the risk for Mulder, but he would never be able to live with
her death if she did.  She had no choice.

Scully had to close her eyes to the sight of her partner continuing to
be beaten.  With several repeated blows to the abdomen, he was no
longer able to stand or get a breath.  Scully could hear the sickening
sound of flesh hitting flesh and she fought the urge to vomit.

Suddenly, she heard a car engine and she opened her eyes to see a blue
van backing down the alley toward them.  She forced herself to look
over at her partner, illuminated eerily in the red glow from the van's
taillights. His body was limp in the grasp of the other two men.
Mulder's head was down, and blood dripped into the white snow.

Scully felt torn as the events unfolded too quickly to make sense of
them.  She knew they were about to be kidnapped, but there was some
small relief that at least it would end Mulder's suffering.

The van stopped and another man jumped out the door.  He opened the
back of the van as the two men holding Mulder dragged him across the
snow and threw him in the back of the van.  The man with the gun
shoved Scully away from him, holding the gun in her face as he backed
up toward the van.

Scully panicked when she realized what was happening.

"NO!  NO!"

The man who had held the gun on Scully jumped in the back with Mulder
and the other men and pulled the door closed.  Then it sped out of the
alley, leaving Scully standing alone in the dark alley.

"Mulder . . ." Scully whispered as the van disappeared around the
corner.

*   *   *   *   *

5:25 A.M.
HOOVER BUILDING
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER'S OFFICE

Lights in the Hoover Building burned at an early hour.  All available
agents had been called back in.  Scully had notified Skinner, who
immediately got hold of the Director, who ordered all his ASAC's to
call their teams in.  A federal agent had been kidnapped and they knew
it had something to do with Barbino.  Most of the agents were familiar
with the Mob hit man.

Scully sat with a team of agents who had worked with her partner years
ago to send Antonio Barbino to prison.  She was staring absently when
a cup of coffee was placed in her line of vision.  She looked up to
see Skinner holding it.  With an unsteady hand, she took it.

"Thank you, sir."

Skinner noticed her bloody sleeve and he gently took her arm.

"Is this your blood, Scully?"

She hesitated, as if it took her a moment to realize he had asked her
a question.  Then she glanced at her own arm.

"My elbow hit the door when they knocked us down," she answered in a
monotone.

"Roll your sleeve up."

"Sir . . ." she started to protest.

Skinner turned to one of his agents.  "Get someone up here with a
first aid kit."

"Sir, it's nothing," she said, watching the agent hurry out of the
office.

"Scully, the blood has run all the way down to the back of your hand.
It must be pretty deep.  Roll your sleeve up."

"I said it's nothing!" she snapped.

Skinner's expression was one of understanding, not anger.  He could
only imagine what it must have been like for an agent to stand
helpless and watch her partner being beaten, then kidnapped.  The
shock was wearing off and the aftereffects of that were just beginning
for Agent Scully.

Scully regretted her outburst immediately.  She took a deep, shaky
breath, trying to slow her heart rate and calm the nausea that hadn't
abated since the ordeal in the alley began.

She slowly rolled her sleeve up, somehow being numb to the pain.
Skinner gently turned her arm to get another look at her elbow.  He
saw a fairly deep gash and it was still oozing blood.  Taking his
handkerchief from his pocket, he folded it into a square and gently
placed it over the cut.  He took Scully's other hand out of her lap.

"Hold that over the cut until we can get a bandage on it."

Scully couldn't bear to look at her own blood.  It was too much of a
reminder of the terrible blood loss suffered by her partner.  She had
seen the look on the faces of the agents and officers who were called
to the crime scene, as they marked the trail of blood left in the
snow.  A lot of blood.  Agent Mulder had suffered a horrible beating.

<And they've rushed off to get me a Band-Aid.>

Skinner took a seat across from her then motioned to two men across
the office.  They took chairs next to Scully.

"Agent Scully, I'm Agent Fields from DEA.  This is Agent Turner.  We
worked with Agent Mulder nine years ago to put Barbino in prison.
Your partner did the profile."

"Tell me about the case.  I need to know everything."

"There were a series of serial killings in Philadelphia and local
police could find no common links as far as the victims.  After seven
murders and getting nowhere in the investigation, it was turned over
to the FBI.  Three more killings took place before they brought in the
Golden Boy - Fox Mulder."

"When did this take place?" she asked.

"1990," Fields continued.  "Agent Mulder shocked everyone when he
claimed the killings were mob-related.  He said there was a feud going
on between two lesser-known crime families, and that's why the victims
were unfamiliar to law enforcement.  Where he got all that is still a
mystery.  When Mulder was laughed out of the room, he brought in DEA,
and they started searching their database.  But he told us that it
would be unlikely for any of the victims to have criminal records,
that we would need to stretch the database to see a 'family tree' so
to speak.  And guess what?  Every one of the murdered men had distant
ties to one of two crime families.  And I mean distant - step-son of a
second cousin, daughter of a niece of a second aunt, and so on."

"Were the murders retaliation hits?" Scully asked.

"Absolutely.  Mulder hit it right on the nose.  He went against three
other profilers to state that these were mob killings, made to look
like random serial killings.  It was brilliant.  Barbino was actually
stunned that we caught on to his game."

Agent Turner picked up the story.  "Unfortunately, the press got the
names of the agents involved in the operation.  Although it wasn't
specifically stated who the profiler was, it didn't take much to
narrow it down.  Almost anyone could have found out Mulder's
reputation in VCU.  He was protected for a while, but then we figured
Barbino was smarter than to kill an FBI agent from prison.  It would
have been just a little too obvious."

"But he's still in prison.  Why take revenge now?"

Turner and Fields looked at each other.  Scully looked at Skinner and
saw the same look on his face.

"What?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Skinner put his cup on the table.  "The State's murder case against
Barbino was inadequate, and they had to settle for a charge of tax
evasion.  He became eligible for parole a month ago.  Mulder testified
before the parole board, effectively crushing any hope Barbino had of
getting released."

"When?  I don't recall-" she started.

"You were at a ...wedding, I believe?" Skinner answered.

Scully remembered the three days she had taken off to fly to San
Diego.  Her partner hadn't told her about the parole hearing.  She
recalled reading in the paper that Barbino had been denied parole, but
had no idea it was her partner's testimony that kept him in prison.

"But, sir, if Barbino has reached parole hearing review time, why
would he risk his next chance?"

Skinner looked to the DEA agents, and Turner answered.

"Agent Scully, Barbino's mother committed suicide three days ago.  We
can only assume that Barbino believed the parole denial was the reason
she killed herself."

Scully looked at all three men, her expression changing to anger.

"And you knew this!  But no one warned my partner!"

"No!" all three men answered at once.

Fields explained.  "Agent Scully, we had no knowledge of the suicide
until this morning when we started checking the whereabouts of
Barbino's family members."

Scully steepled her fingers and put them up to her mouth.  "Oh, god,"
she whispered, closing her eyes briefly.

Another agent walked up with a computer printout.

"We found the van.  It was stolen and it's been ditched.  So that's a
dead end."

Turner spoke.  "How do you know it's the right one?"

The agent who had just entered glanced at Scully before he answered.
"Someone bled in the back of the van - quite a bit of blood.  We're
running it now, but we're pretty sure it's Agent Mulder's.

All the agents, Skinner included, refrained from looking at Agent
Scully.  She was entitled to her reactions without scrutiny.

Turner again picked up the conversation.  "It's not uncommon for them
to steal two identical vehicles, so that when one is ditched, they can
continue to drive the identical vehicle, assuming that we're now
expecting them to be driving a different model.  So we can't eliminate
any vehicle from the search."

Skinner nodded, pleased with the thoroughness of the investigation so
far.

Another agent approached the group.  "We're trying to find Alonzo
Latima.  He's a snitch from a few years back.  Maybe they'll take
Agent Mulder to an old safe house.  At the very least, maybe we can
get their MO."

"Okay," Skinner answered.

"Sir," said Turner, "we'll put pressure on the rival mobs to turn
their snitches.  Even with the mafia, kidnapping a federal agent is
just not done.  It could be an opportune way to use the bad guys
against the bad guys."

"You're more familiar with that than I am.  Do what you have to do.
Tell us what we can do to help.  I want my agent back.  Alive," he
said, glancing at Scully.

"We've got it covered from our end.  More than 30 agents are hitting
the street.  We'll find out who set Agent Mulder up," said Fields.

Scully rubbed her tired eyes and shook her head.  "Something's not
right here.  The facts don't add up."

"Explain, Agent Scully," said Skinner.

The agent had returned with the first aid kit.  He kneeled in front of
Scully and opened the bag, not intending to interrupt any of their
conversation.  Scully gave Skinner a forlorn look and he took the
hint.

"Agent McKenna, thank you.  We'll take it from here," he said, taking
the first aid kit from him.

The younger agent nodded and stood, walking from the room.

"Why did they just take Agent Mulder?  If they wanted information so
bad, why not bargain with me?  Wouldn't it seem logical that by
threatening me, it would make Mulder talk?  Or vice versa.  Threaten
to harm Mulder and maybe I would talk.  It doesn't make sense," Scully
said.

Scully caught Skinner glancing at the two DEA agents, and she realized
that they had been thinking exactly the same thing. She got the
impression that they were keeping something from her.

Skinner opened the bottle of peroxide and soaked the cotton ball with
it.

"Sir, the anonymous caller told us that Barbino's operatives had a lot
of cash and weapons stashed at the Riverside address --  close to $1
million in cash and half a million in guns.  According to the
informant, it's hidden on the property and he can lead us to it."

Scully allowed Skinner to gently clean the wound.  She was more intent
on trying to focus on the facts regarding Mulder's abduction.

Agent Fields spoke softly.  "Agent Scully, we believe that's a lie.
The phone call was a set up, nothing more."

"To get my partner?" she asked, feeling like ice water had been thrown
on her.

He nodded.  Scully maintained her control, but Skinner saw the
tightness in her face, the anxiety in her eyes.  He tore the paper off
a roll of self-adhesive gauze and began to wrap it around Scully's
elbow.

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

There was hesitation as the two DEA agents exchanged glances, their
thoughts wandering briefly as they watched and wondered  about the
Assistant Director administering with such care to his agent.

Then Agent Fields shook his head.  "We don't know."

Agent Turner looked inside his empty coffee cup, then set it back down
on the table.  "From experience, I can tell you that there will be
opposing sides to the kidnapping of Agent Mulder.  Such an act turns
up the heat on a crime family to the degree that if they so much as
toss a gum wrapper out the car window we'll throw them in jail for
littering and revoke their probation."

Agent Fields tried to look reassuring.  "Every crime family has its
mole.  We'll find someone who will talk."

"Soon," Agent Turner added softly, cutting his eyes at Scully as he
spoke.

*   *   *   *   *

7:15 p.m.
DAY ONE
UNKNOWN LOCATION

Mulder's eyes were blindfolded, which was unnecessary because both
eyes were swollen shut.  He lay completely still on a bed, his right
hand shackled to the headboard by his own handcuff.  The room was cold
and his body ached from the beatings.  He vaguely remembered someone
coming in and cleaning him up, washing the blood off his face.  It
confused him.  But as he lay there, he was thankful for one thing:
they had not taken Scully.

Mulder drifted in and out of consciousness.  Once, he felt his head
lifted and a cup of water placed to his lips.  Slowly he drank.  He
couldn't understand why his treatment had suddenly turned so humane.
Or maybe he had just passed out again and he was dreaming.

He heard the door open and several pairs of footsteps cross the wooden
floor.

"Agent Mulder, I admire your stamina."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"But everyone has a price.  If we were completely ruthless, we'd have
taken your partner.  I have a feeling the minute we tied her down and
removed her clothes, you'd be talking your head off."

Mulder swallowed hard, his stomach churning with the thought.

The voice in the room continued.  "But believe it or not, we have
scruples.  And one of them is that innocents do not deserve more
severe punishment than the offender."

"How noble."

"We all went to Sunday school, Agent Mulder."

"And did you learn something called the Golden Rule?" he whispered
past the pain.

"Do unto others before they do unto you?"

Mulder picked out the laughter of two other men in the room.

"Guess we went to a different school," Mulder said weakly.

Mulder felt the bed sink as someone sat next to him.  Then his free
arm was grasped by two strong hands and held down on the bed.  He felt
a rubber band being tied around his upper arm.

"Everyone has a price, Agent Mulder."

Mulder knew it was useless to struggle, but it was instinct to try and
free his arm.  He was too weak, though.  He felt someone thumping the
inside of his arm, and then he smelled alcohol, as something cool and
damp swabbed the skin of his arm.

"What are you...what are you giving me?" he asked, trying to keep the
anxiety out of his voice.

He felt a pinprick and suddenly a cool liquid spread up his arm.  He
was startled at first, then immediately he began to relax.  He
realized instantly what it was.

"No ... please don't do this."

"You should be honored.  This is some of our best stuff.  In just a
few seconds you won't be feeling any more pain."

He was vaguely aware of the men laughing, then the sounds became
muted, distant.   He felt like he was falling, and finally a warm
darkness enveloped him and he drifted into sleep.

*   *   *   *   *

DAY FIVE
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
6:45 p.m.

Scully threw her snow parka on the sofa as if the mere force of the
throw could cause damage from the fleece-lined jacket.  Exhausted, she
walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, intending to
grab a bottled water.  But frustration took over and she slammed the
door shut, sinking against it and resting her forehead against the
cool surface.  After a moment, she went into the bedroom and got out
of her clothes, changing into a thick cotton robe.

Skinner had made her go home.  Tempers were flaring and everyone was
tense, disappointed, and avoided verbalizing the fear that Agent Fox
Mulder was probably dead.  Now here she was, as ordered, drifting
aimlessly around her empty apartment, her thoughts still in the same
place - with her partner.

Scully leaned against the kitchen table, shutting her eyes and
remembering one of the last times she and Mulder sat there together
going over reports and sharing a pizza . . .

///Scully had finally taxed her brain to the limit and admitted she
could go no further with the case.  Mulder set his briefcase on the
table and, as her supervisor, advised her that they were far from
finished.  Scully had closed her eyes for a quick reprieve, hearing
Mulder remove items from the case.  She opened her eyes when she heard
an unusual clicking sound.  Mulder was shaking a dice cup over a
backgammon board.  Seeing that she was truly surprised and amused, he
winked at her. "Never accuse me of being predictable." "Not on your
life," she said with a chuckle.///

Scully found herself smiling at the memory, and a tear slipped down
her cheek.  More and more over the last few days she had found herself
slipping back into moments with Mulder.  It was painful, ripping at
her heart and bringing her to the brink of collapse.  But she
maintained her strength.  She needed to be whole and strong when she
found him.

When she found him. . .

She jumped at the sudden sound of knocking at her door.

<Go away>, she thought.

The knocking persisted.  Finally she went and looked out the peephole.
The Lone Gunmen.  Hesitantly, she opened the door.

"Guys, it's not a good time."

"That's why we're here," said Frohike, gently moving past her along
with Langly and Byers.

She shut the door watching Langley and Byers sit at the dining table
while Frohike went into her kitchen.  She sat next to Byers, not
paying attention to what Frohike was doing in the kitchen until she
heard him banging around, opening drawers.

"What are you looking for?" she asked tiredly.

He held up a wine bottle.

"Left of the sink," she answered.

Scully put her elbow up on the table, resting her head in her hand.
The two men saw the shadows of fatigue under her eyes and the sag of
her shoulders.  It was what they expected.

Frohike returned to the table with four glasses, which he filled with
the wine.  Langly handed one to Scully and she took it.  There was
silence for a moment, each of them wondering how to start the
conversation.  Scully stared at her glass, running her finger around
the rim.

"It started snowing again today," she said absently.

The three men looked at each other, wondering where her mind was.  She
answered their unasked question.

"Mulder loves when it snows.  He's like a big kid.  He always comes
over here and wants me to make a snowman with him."

"And do you?" Langley asked.

She hesitated a long time.  "No.  I always fix hot chocolate and watch
from the porch," she said sadly.  "But if ... I ever get the chance
again," she stopped and swallowed hard.

They saw tears form in her eyes.  Frohike leaned across the table,
just barely touching the sleeve of her robe.

"Scully, you can't give up."

"Why did they take him?  Why not just kill him right there!  Why did
they take him!  I can only think of one reason," she said, her voice
breaking.

"No," said Langley.

"You said there's a snitch in their organization and they think Mulder
might know who it is," said Byers.

"They know Mulder.  They know me.  They know *us*," she said softly.
"If they had taken me, they could have made Mulder talk.  But they
didn't. I think they just wanted to hurt him."

"Scully ..." started Langley.

"And every minute, EVERY FUCKING MINUTE, I'm imagining what they could
be doing to him right now!"  Scully's fists were clenched on top of
the tablecloth.  "There was nothing I could do!  While they were
beating him, he wouldn't look at me because he knew I'd break down,
and he was trying to help me stay strong!  *ME!*  There was nothing I
-" her voice broke again.

Tears began to run down her cheeks as she buried her head in her
hands, despair and worry finally overtaking her.

The three men looked at each other, feeling inadequate, not knowing
what to say and feeling the same frustration and futility.

"Dana," said Frohike, "when I think of all that you and Mulder have
been through, I have to believe that there is some purpose for his
beating the odds so many times.  And it's not for it to end like
this."

Langley spoke quietly.  "He has been chosen for some greater mission.
You've been told that.  I know you don't believe the way he does, but
you know better than anyone how unique he is, how ... rare."

Byers added his voice in the same subdued tone.  "Mulder is the
epitome of the unexplainable.  His very nature is a phenomenon.  If
you believe nothing else, you must believe that."

She nodded, wiping at a tear.  Several minutes passed without any
conversation.  Each of them had their own thoughts about Fox Mulder.
Although Scully reminisced about the past with her partner, she seemed
to always be brought back to the last few moments she spent with him.

When she spoke again, her voice was raw and filled with pain.

"They hurt him.  They beat him badly in the alley.  I couldn't stop
them.  I just stood there and watched them hitting him," she repeated.
 "He kept trying to stand up, and they'd hit him again."  She put her
hand over her mouth, trying to muffle a sob.  "I know he isn't getting
any care.  And I know he's hoping I'll find him.  He's waiting.  And I
can't find him," she said, her voice trailing off into a whisper of
torment.

"Scully," said Byers, "he knows what you're going through.  He's been
there," he said gently, trying not to force those thoughts on her too
harshly.

"That's why he'll hold on as long as he possibly can."

Byers reached over on the counter and picked up the box of tissues.
He set it on the table in front of her and she pulled one out, dabbing
at her eyes.

"Thanks."

She looked over at the window as the snowflakes softly hit the panes.

"I miss him so much.  All this time we've been together, I never told
..." she stopped, raising her glass to sip the wine instead of
finishing.

Frohike nodded, understanding.

"You guys must wonder about our relationship," she said.

They all shook their heads and Scully looked doubtful.

Langley looked a little embarrassed.  "Mulder's honest.  He would
never imply anything that wasn't truthful, nor would he tell about
anything that happened.  He's very protective of your relationship,
and because of his respect for you, he's always made it clear that
there is nothing to hide in your partnership," he stated.

Scully nodded, but it wasn't a gesture of being pleased.  They picked
up on it at once.

"He's also not secretive about how he feels about you, Scully.  There
has never been anyone in his life like you.  He's had women, of
course, and they've all come and gone - in far less time than the
seven years you and Mulder have been together," said Byers.

"Diana," she said lowly.

Frohike snorted.  "Diana and Mulder thought alike, and they fought
like cats and dogs.  He wasn't happy when he was with Diana, not like
he is now. He monopolized her and he hated it more than she did
because it was too easy.  Mulder thrives on challenge.  He loves a
different view, one that he can sink his theories into.  I envy that
guy.  He absolutely loves going to work every day.  He loves the work,
and he loves his partner.  What more could you want .... for now
anyway?"

Scully took another sip of wine.

"Thank you for coming over.  It helps to be able to talk to someone
who knows Mulder like I do.  We just ... have to ... keep praying,"
she said, her voice trailing off.

"He knows you're looking and you'll never give up.  He knows that,
Scully," said Byers.

She nodded and her eyes teared up again, but she forced a smile.

"He came to me in a dream once.  I just wish he could tell me where to
find him."

"That doesn't sound like skeptical Agent Scully to me.  That sounds
like a believer," said Langley.

"That's desperation.  I'll believe anything if it will bring him
home."

*   *   *   *   *

DAY EIGHT
UNKNOWN LOCATION
7:50 P.M.

Mulder stumbled from the bathroom to the bed.  He had hoped a shower
and shave would revive him a little, but he couldn't shake the
drowsiness. The drugs had definitely helped the pain, but he knew to
take it slow, not be deceived into believing his injuries were healed.
 He had broken ribs and maybe a bruised kidney.  He was aware enough
to realize that he could do real damage to himself if he allowed the
drugs to mask the subtle warning signs of those injuries.

He noticed that new clothes had been laid on the bed.  He shook his
head, not understanding any of what was happening.  No one had asked
him any questions. They simply kept him drugged all the time.  As soon
as he started to come down, they shot him up again.  He knew it was
heroin.  He found himself looking at the clock and beginning to get
anxious if they didn't show up with the needle.

<Scully will find me.>

It was the thought that kept him going.

<Please hurry.>

*   *   *   *   *

DAY EIGHT
7:50 P.M.
MULDER'S APARTMENT

She hesitated at the door, wanting to knock, wishing there were a
reason to knock.  Then she slid her key into the lock and pushed it
open.  She hadn't been here in two days.  Time to feed the fish.

Scully shook the flakes into the water; she looked around the
apartment.  She would give anything to once again see an empty pizza
box on the table, or Mulder's tennis shoes in the hall. As much as she
wanted to feel optimistic, she had to shake off the feeling that
Mulder might never step foot into his apartment again.

Scully wandered into his bedroom.  She had been in there before,
taking care of him when he was sick, but never really looked around or
had the opportunity to explore.  She had never felt the urge to pry
into Fox Mulder's private sanctuary, nor did she feel that way now.
Her interest was not curiosity, but a need.  A need to get close
through the things that were Mulder's.  A need to feel close to him in
the only way she could.

The bed was made and a comforter was folded at the footboard.  One of
his dress shirts, still in the plastic dry cleaning wrapper, was
hanging on the closet door.  She reached over and slid open the drawer
of the nightstand.  She was surprised at the contents:  a Walkman,
some cassettes, batteries, and a couple of mystery novels.  Then she
saw a small photo album.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took it out, expecting to see
pictures of Mulder's family.  Instead, she saw snapshots of her and
Mulder - sitting outside a café, walking down E-Street, sitting near
the reflecting pond, and many others.  And there were some of her
alone -- coming out of her apartment; in the library; and a few more.
 She was puzzled at first, then remembered Mulder joking with her once
about having hired the Gunmen to secretly take pictures of them
because she refused to pose at tourist traps with him.

<Oh, Mulder.>

Tears came to her eyes.

<Why didn't I do that simple thing for you?  God, if only I could be
given a second chance to make it right.>

Scully opened Mulder's closet and stood there a moment.  These were
the clothes that had become so familiar to her.  She ran her hand
across the shoulders of the row of coats, imagining his strong but
gentle arms in the sleeves.  On his tie rack, she felt the smooth,
expensive silk, recalling times she forced Mulder to stand still so
she could straighten his tie before he bounded into Skinner's office.
 On the closet floor were his hiking boots, the toes still crusted
with dried mud from their last 'nice little trip to the forest.'

Then she found his leather jacket.  Pulling it from the hanger, she
clutched it in both hands, holding it up to her face, savoring the
faint scent of Mulder's aftershave.

She put on the jacket and laid down on his bed as the tears began to
flow endlessly.

*   *   *   *   *

Scully was startled awake by a noise.  As she sat up, she was
disoriented.  Looking around her, she realized she was in Mulder's
bedroom.

The noise she heard was knocking at the front door.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked over at the alarm clock and noticed the
time:  8:25 p.m.  She couldn't' even remember when she had fallen
asleep.

The knocking persisted.

Jumping up from the bed, she hurried into the living room, checking
her clothes, wondering how she got into her pajamas.  When she looked
through the peephole and saw Assistant Director Skinner, her blood
turned cold.  She knew that expression.  She saw it on his face when
her sister died, and when they thought Mulder had committed suicide.

<No.  God, please.>

Before Skinner could knock again, she unlocked the door.  It seemed to
weigh a ton, and she found that she was barely able to open it.  As
she tugged and pulled, suddenly a chilling wind brushed past her,
followed by Skinner squeezing through the small open space.

Scully was further alarmed by his attire.  He was dressed in black
from head to toe and his black leather jacket was spotted with
raindrops.  She watched him cross the room and blow out a burning
candle on the coffee table that she didn't remember lighting.

Then he faced her and she caught her breath.  His face was pale and
lined with sorrow.  His eyes mirrored her pain.

"Don't . . . say it," she said to him, her teeth chattering.

"Scully . . ." he whispered, reaching for her hands.

She backed away from him as if denying him physical contact would make
the truth go away.

"Leave me alone!  You have no right to be here!" she ordered.

"Scully . . ."

She closed her eyes, denying sight into the wells of sorrow, and
clasped her hands over her ears, refusing to hear the words.

"No!  No, Skinner!" she yelled at him.

His voice was like a drone, low and without inflection.  And although
he spoke in a mere whisper, his words resounded in her brain like a
thousand kettledrums.

"We found him, Scully."

Pressing her hands harder against her ears, she turned her back to
him.  But his voice somehow cut through her shield.

"They killed him, Scully.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so . . ."

<Sorry>

<Sorry>

<Sorry>

Scully screamed.

*   *   *   *   *

Her own scream brought her out of the clutches of the dream, bolting
upright on the bed.  Frantically looking around, she found herself in
Mulder's bedroom.  She was still in her clothes and Mulder's leather
jacket.  The clock on the dresser read 9:10 p.m.

It was a nightmare.  Slumber's trip to hell.

But the effect left her shaking.  No matter that the experience was a
phantasm, the grief was real.  Terror and heartache surged through her
like an electric current.  She had felt what it would be like to hear
those words, to realize that her partner was gone.  Her chest
constricted and she crumbled like a pillar of ash.

Pressing her face into the pillows, she felt the last of her reserves
flow out of her and seep into the rumpled sheets.  Her inward scream
found a voice in her muffled cry as her heart tried desperately to
empty of the pain.  For endless moments, Scully thought she might
never breathe again.  And she found that she didn't care.  Without
Mulder, she had no reason to breathe.

Until she heard his voice.

Sitting straight up in the bed, Scully blinked.  Her senses were
attuned to that unexplainable link between her and her partner.  She
knew the possibility existed - she felt it once before when Mulder was
lost in New Mexico with Albert Hosteen.  Now she felt it again.

And again she heard his voice -- soft, reassuring, confident.

<Faith is the ability to believe without proof.>

Scully wiped angry tears from her eyes and ran from the apartment.

*   *   *

30 MINUTES LATER
WALTER SKINNER'S APARTMENT

Skinner had received Scully's brief but frantic phone call notifying
him that she was on her way over.  He had said not one word before her
abrupt hang up.

He paced the apartment impatiently, trying to re-focus on the reports
turned in by his agents that day in their search for Agent Fox Mulder.
 But it was no use.  His mind was on Dana Scully.

He didn't know how she had held on this long without cracking.  The
pressure had been building with each passing day since Mulder's
disappearance. He saw through her stoic demeanor, her ability to
appear professional, yet worried.  He knew she was barely holding it
together.  Talk in the Bureau was that Mulder was surely dead.  Their
hope was no longer in finding him alive, but simply finding him and
his murderers and putting finality to the case.

The case.

It had never been a case to Skinner.  It was a mission, just as true
as Mulder's search for his sister.  He now understood the importance
of closure. Somehow, some way, he'd give Scully closure.

When he heard the rap at the door, he experienced both relief and
dread.  Quickly he opened the door and she briskly brushed by him.  As
he closed the door, Scully turned to face him.  He could tell right
away that she'd been crying.  She hugged her arms to her chest and he
saw her trembling.

"Sir, he's alive."

"What?" he asked quietly.

Scully sat down heavily on the sofa, and Skinner sat next to her.  She
took a deep breath and locked her fingers together in her lap.

"He's alive.  I know it.  We have to find him!" she said desperately.

Skinner saw she was wearing Mulder's jacket and he reached over,
fingering the soft leather, wondering if she even realized she was
wearing it.

"Scully, you need some rest -"

"I felt this once before.  He . . . communicated with me."

Skinner closed his eyes briefly, willing his mind to supply the
answers he needed to help his agent.

"We need to find him.  Whatever it takes -" she continued.

Skinner put his hands on Scully's shoulders, and she instantly
recognized the placating gesture.  Swiftly, she knocked both his hands
away and her tone was sharp.

"I don't need consoling!  I'm not some fucking widow!"

Skinner let her ironic remark slide.  He didn't want to completely
banish her hope, nor did he want her to hang on to false hope.
Somewhere there was a middle ground.  But how the hell did he get
there?

He needed to take charge, to make her listen to him.  His voice was a
little firmer.

"Agent Scully, we're doing everything we can to -"

She bounded off of the couch and her fists clenched in rage.

"None of the agents believes my partner is alive!  And neither do you!
How can you help me find him if you don't believe he's still alive!"

Skinner stood up next to her.

"I won't give up until I see the proof that -" Skinner stopped,
appalled at his own bluntness and seeing the shock on Scully's face.

Her composure was unraveling and Skinner didn't know how to stop it.

Scully had come to Skinner's apartment with every belief that she had
heard her partner speaking to her, and every sense inside of her knew
that he was pleading for her help.  Now she stood before her Assistant
Director, ready to deny any inferences to Fox Mulder being dead.  She
knew her own weaknesses - knew the paralyzing fear of her own
self-doubts.  Her sanity could not afford to believe the worst.

Standing up to Skinner, her eyes hard, and her body rigid, she let her
emotions go.

"Fuck you, SIR!  And FUCK the Bureau that won't help me find my
partner!"

Skinner heard the harsh words, but he saw her lips quiver, saw her
body shaking with the effort of believing in her heart's desire.  He
knew that for her to succumb to the facts, she would be severing the
fragile thread that linked her to the one man in her life that she
could not live without.

"Dana," he said softly, "we haven't given up.  I've been on the phone
all night.  There are 15 agents still at the Bureau"

Skinner saw the change taking place.  He saw her shoulders sag and in
her eyes, which filled with tears, an immense pain replaced her anger.
 Her body was so exhausted from trying to cope that she swayed on her
feet.

Skinner grabbed her, and once again Scully fought desperately to hold
on to her anger, which was the only source of strength she had left.
Only this time when she attempted to pull away, he held firmly.

He knew that she was crashing and if he let go, she would fall.

And fall, she did.

Her knees buckled and she began to sink to the floor.  Skinner pulled
her to his chest, holding her close as he sank to the floor with her.

And then she broke.

In heart-wrenching sobs, she let it all go.  Her body sagged against
him, her face buried against his shoulder.  He felt her shaking with
each sob.

Pulling her into his lap, he closed his arms tighter around her.  Her
torment was like a jagged knife, cutting through the paper-thin
constraints of his own emotions.

After a few minutes he felt her arms around him, holding on for dear
life.

Skinner whispered softly against her silky hair.  "It's okay, honey.
Let it out.  It's okay."

He felt Scully grab a fistful of his shirt and he was surprised to
hear her speak, softly, barely a whisper.

"He's alive."

*   *   *   *

DAY TEN
6:50 a.m.
HOOVER BUILDING

Scully was in Mulder's office on his computer.  She was accessing all
the information she could find on Barbino's associates.

Again.

The phone rang and she hesitated answering it.  Finally, she picked up
the receiver.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's Skinner.  Can you come into my office please?"

His tone of voice sent chills down her back.  "Yes, sir."

Almost from the moment Mulder was taken, she had re-lived the
nightmare over and over . . .

<We've found your partner, I'm very sorry . . .>

Shaking her head to herself, she shoved the chair back and headed for
Skinner's office.

She and her AD had not talked about the night in his apartment two
days earlier.  Even though she had slept earlier that same day in
Mulder's bed, she had collapsed with exhaustion and worry in Skinner's
arms.  She woke up before dawn, finding herself in yet another man's
bed -- Skinner's.  And she was wearing only her underwear and one of
his long tee shirts.  Events of that night were a blur to her.

Finding her clothes folded neatly on the dresser, she dressed quickly
and entered the living room.  A blanket and pillow were lying in a
heap on the sofa, but Skinner was already gone.  He left her a note on
the kitchen table, along with a fresh pot of coffee and a bagel.  The
note said simply to meet him at the office later.

Up until now, they had not spoken of any of those events.  Nor had she
repeated her claim that she *sensed* her partner was still alive.
Skinner simply continued his search, along with the agents assigned to
the case, under the assumption that Special Agent Fox Mulder was still
alive until there was proof to the contrary.

And somehow, Scully continued to make it through the long days and
nights with only the faith of her beliefs.

When she entered Skinner's office, Agent Turner was there.

"Sit down, Agent Scully," Skinner motioned to the sofa.  He and Turner
were seated in leather chairs across from the sofa.  She could tell
right away from their demeanor that they were not preparing to give
her news of her partner's death.

Turner began.  "Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from Maryland State
Prison. Barbino wanted to talk to me.  I had tried to interview him at
the beginning of all this, as you know, but he wouldn't cooperate and
his lawyer was standing in the way.  But yesterday was different.  He
said he had tried to get some information through his contacts, but
nothing was turning up."

"What are you saying?  That he's denying involvement?" Scully asked.

She saw Turner and Skinner glance at one another.

"Agent Scully," said Turner, "that was the farthest thing from my mind
when this all started.  If there hadn't been a guard in the room with
us, I would have beaten the information out of him.  But things aren't
adding up."

Scully cringed inwardly at his choice of words.  "What things?" she
asked, suspiciously.

"First of all, we found out Barbino and his mother weren't close, and
she had been very ill.  According to prison records, they hadn't seen
each other in over 4 years.  And he had received only two letters in
that time."

"Maybe her death made him feel guilty for his lack of devotion."

Turner shook his head.  "There has never been a history of a close
mother/son relationship.  That comes from several people who knew
them.  Secondly, Barbino will probably be out of prison in two years.
 Kidnapping a federal agent, nine years after the crime, well, it's
pretty farfetched.  And a little too obvious."

"So you believe him?" she said, harshly.

Skinner broke in.  "Scully, we've made absolutely no headway in that
direction.  None.  Mulder's life may now depend on us considering
other possibilities.   Barbino believes he's been set up for the very
fact that he may get out in six months after another parole hearing,
or, at worst, two years.  The other crime family has more to gain by a
frame-up than Barbino has in getting rid of Agent Mulder."

"Sir ..." she agonized over the thought, and Skinner and Turner both
knew what she was thinking.

"I know," Skinner said softly.  "If we've been going in the wrong
direction all this time, Mulder has paid for it."

"So what happens now?"

"We turn our focus to the other family.  And I mean full force.
They're going to know we're on to something."

Scully took a deep breath and both men knew she was struggling with a
question.

"Agent Turner ... you've dealt with these kinds of people, their
methods.  What ...?"  She looked at Skinner and he saw the raw fear in
her eyes. "What are the chances that my partner is still alive?"

Turner let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair.  "Agent Scully,
we're talking about a federal agent that's missing.  If it were a
snitch, I'd say he was dead the second they put him in the van.  But I
just don't know.  Their pattern is not to keep someone for very long.
 They ... seldom let them go.  But again, I've never been involved in
the abduction of a federal agent."

She nodded, grateful for the truth, no matter how disturbing.

*   *   *   *   *

DAY TEN
7:30 A.M.
UNKNOWN LOCATION

Mulder sat on the bed, head down, his breathing becoming more
difficult as the hours went by.  There was a tray of food on the bed
table.  It was untouched.  He had tried to eat earlier, but the nausea
overwhelmed him and he almost threw up.

He grabbed the glass of juice and threw it against the wall, where it
shattered.  That brought two men into the room.  They saw Mulder
standing near the bed, his eyes glassy, and his posture defensive.

"Agent Mulder, you'll feel better if you eat."

"Fuck you!  I know what you're doing!"  He screamed, clutching his
abdomen.  Then he lowered his head and his voice was barely
discernible.  "I know what you've done."

"It won't be long now."

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't even know what you want!  You - you
ask me nothing!  You bring me food, clean clothes.  WHAT THE FUCK DO
YOU WANT!" he screamed in frustration.

The men were silent.  Mulder plopped on the bed, running his hand
through his hair.  He looked up at the men. He had been afraid for his
life when days ago they had removed his blindfold and exposed
themselves to him.  He didn't think there was much chance they would
let him live once they got from him what they needed.  But there were
times he found himself not caring - until he pictured the last image
he had of his partner.  The vision of her fear and helplessness were
still crystal clear.

"Is my partner still all right?"

"She's fine.  A little. . . depressed.  Now that would be an
understatement.  Her attitude seems a little extreme for just a
partner.  You two must be very close."

"You bastards.  What did we do to you?"  Mulder laughed without humor.
"I don't know who you are . . . OR WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT FROM ME!" he
ranted, his patience long gone.

There was no response again, and their silence was maddening.

Mulder struggled to hold it together.  "Just tell me what you want,"
he pleaded.

He saw them starting to back out of the room and he jumped off the
bed, but stopped when he saw one of them pull a gun on him.

"Wait.  Don't go.  Just - just ... I'll tell you!" Mulder said,
bordering on delirium, his eyes wide with the fear of being left alone
with his pain.  "I'll tell you anything!  Just . . . please!"

One of the men stepped closer, a smug smile on his face.  "All right
then.  Where does Agent Scully live?"

Mulder blanched.  Feeling his knees weaken he lowered himself to the
bed.  He pursed his lips so as not to allow a single word to escape,
and his eyes were hard and cold.  When he realized what they wanted,
he again fought the rising nausea.  He knew as time passed it would be
harder to stay strong and resist their questions.  He shuddered at the
thought that he might reach the point where he didn't even know what
he was saying.

So he asked for help from someone he hadn't spoken to in a long time.

<Please God, not that.  Help me.>

Mulder's thoughts were jumbled.  He knew the situation was hopeless.
But then he heard the two men laugh.

"Don't worry Agent Mulder.  We know where your partner lives.  That's
not the million dollar question, is it Regis?" he said humorously to
his accomplice.

The other man laughed again.  "'Fraid not.  And that's my final
answer," he said, obviously amused by his own attempt at humor.

The two men left the room, locking the door behind them as Mulder
collapsed back on the bed, rolling onto his side as agonizing stomach
cramps and a pounding headache began to overtake him.  Two thoughts
consumed him:  one, that he had received an answer to his prayer so
quickly . . .

<Thank you, God.>

And the second thought, which soothed his soul like a tender touch,
pulled him quietly out of his harsh world of pain into a softer, safer
place.

<Scully>

*   *   *   *   *

DAY TEN
10:33 A.M.
MARYLAND FEDERAL PRISON

Scully and Skinner stood on the other side of the one-way mirror
watching as Antonio Barbino was brought into the room.  Agents Fields
and Turner were waiting for him, and Turner pulled out a chair
indicating that he sit.

"Nice to see you gentlemen again.  What's new at the box office?"
Barbino asked smartly.

"You get it a month after we do, so stop your whining," said Fields.

Barbino smiled and lit a cigarette.  "Can't beat federal prison."

"We don't have time to waste, Barbino.  You know why we're here,"
Turner said.

"I've heard the news.  You're still looking for Agent Mulder."

"His partner wasn't taken.  She was a witness to his abduction.  They
were asked specifically who the informant was that had called Agent
Mulder that morning."

Barbino shook his head.  "You guys think blackmail and setups aren't
part of the game?  Why in the world would I be that obvious -- leave
another federal agent alive to tell what she saw and heard."  He
laughed to himself.  "What am I saying?  I wouldn't touch a federal
agent with a ten-foot pole.  Come on, guys.  G-Men get all the gold
stars.  Use some of that IQ."

Scully saw the two agents glance at each other and she knew at that
moment that they believed him.  They had had the very same thoughts
themselves.

"It's no secret that you have a grudge against Agent Mulder.  He's the
one responsible for you being here."

"Yes, he is.  As a matter of fact, he's got quite a sizable fan club
in here. But regardless of how I feel about him personally, he's
brilliant.  I wish I could have gotten to him a long time ago.  Maybe
he'd be working for me."

"Not likely.  If you're being set up, who would be the most likely
person to do that?"  Fields answered.

"I think you know the answer to that, too.  Ambrose.  We shut down one
of his gambling casinos in Atlanta.  He knows it's just the
beginning."

"You've been arrested dozens of times.  Why would Ambrose set this up
to look like you went after Agent Mulder because he arrested you?"

"I don't know exactly.  Maybe Ambrose misinterpreted my reaction to
the arrest.  It's true that we didn't expect it.  We didn't expect
anyone to figure out our MO.  There was a lot of talk within the
organization about Mulder, about staying clear of him.  All I can
figure is that Ambrose thought I'd be royally pissed.  *Insane*, is
more the word."

"We'd be willing to make a deal if you can help us," said Fields.

Scully, surprised, looked at Skinner, who stood quietly with his arms
crossed.  He only gave her a slight nod of his head.

"What kind of deal?" Barbino asked.

"I know you trade snitches.  For the right amount of money, the low
men on the totem pole will cross the line.  We believe you still have
enough pull in here to orchestrate that.  If we can get Mulder back,
we'll give you an early parole."

"And what if Mulder's dead?"

There was silence between the two men and Scully briefly shut her eyes
again that image.  Then Turner spoke, knowing she was on the other
side of the glass.

"We need to know, one way or the other.  It's not fair to his family,
his partner.  He was just doing his job."

Barbino snuffed out the cigarette.  "You know I won't refuse, if only
to get back at Ambrose for setting me up."

The two agents nodded, as Barbino added a side note.  "But I have to
tell you that it's very doubtful Mulder's still alive.  And if they
don't want you to find him, you never will.  And you probably won't
ever know what happened to him."

"Yes we will.  If we have to manufacture evidence to put every last
one of them behind bars, we'll do it," Fields whispered, leaning
toward the prisoner.

Barbino said nothing, only met his cold stare with curiosity.  Then he
nodded.  "It'll take a couple of days to get the word to the right
people."

"We don't have a couple of days," said Turner.  "You can set things
up, even from in here, to get information."

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly the concierge
here."

"You underestimate yourself.  We'll be back in the morning to see what
you've got."

Barbino said nothing and continued to sit as the two agents pushed the
buzzer and waited for the guard.  Within minutes they had joined
Scully and Skinner.

"You think he'll do it?" asked Skinner.

"Yeah, he will," said Turner.  "He wants out of here real bad."

"Why? asked Skinner

"He's got lung cancer."

Skinner looked at Scully, and his expression was hopeful, but she
realized that the chances were slim, and getting slimmer, that her
partner was alive.  She couldn't fathom the thought of never seeing
him again and never knowing what happened to him.  For the
one-thousandth time, she was reminded of what Mulder must go through
searching for his sister.  She felt a sudden lightheadedness and had
to sit down.

"Scully?" asked Skinner, bending down to check on her.

"I'm okay.  It's just ... hard to listen to that."

"Let's get out of here."

*   *   *   *   *
 

DAY ELEVEN
2:19 P.M.
GEORGETOWN
 

The sleet lightly pelted the windshield of Agent Scully's car.  She
sat quietly in front of the antique shop, watching the flickering red
neon sign in the window.  Occasionally hurried shoppers rushed in out
of the storm, laughing as they fumbled with packages.

Across the street in the Java Hut, the aroma of fresh coffee drifted
through the open door.  Scully could see couples sitting at tables
near the window, talking, smiling, holding hands, taking a break from
their everyday routines.

She longed for that simple pleasure, to be able to escape the crushing
weight of depression that bore down on her.  She wanted her life back
- as extreme as that seemed sometimes.

She wanted him back.

The people who crossed the street, running for the dry warmth of their
cars, probably wouldn't remember that a week-and-a-half ago,  less
than 100 feet away from the entrance to the shop, an FBI agent had
been viciously beaten and abducted.  It was on the TV and radio - an
assault on a federal officer was big news - but the story had died
down with each passing day.  It had moved to the back pages of their
lives as surely as it moved to the back pages of the newspaper.

FBI Agent Fox Mulder was most likely dead.  End of story.

That's what they all said.

Scully grabbed her umbrella on the seat and got out of the car. As she
made her way toward the alley behind the shop, she focused on avoiding
the deeper puddles in the asphalt so she wouldn't have to focus on why
she was even here in the first place.

The sleet made a quiet sound hitting the fabric of the umbrella,
almost like shushing a baby.  The air was frigid and the wind brisk.
A cinnamon fragrance wafted from the antique shop.  All of Scully's
senses struggled to absorb the impact of her location.

<I'm here, Mulder.  Talk to me.>

Most of the snow had melted, washing down the bricked street, carrying
Mulder's blood with it.  Scully looked over at the wall where her
partner had put his hand, trying to stay on his feet.  Ahead of her in
the shadows, the vision of a blue van rushed away from her, taking a
part of her life with it.

Scully closed her eyes to the sensations, feeling the pain hit her
again, hoping that there would be some comfort in returning to the
place she had last been with Mulder.  But the effect was just the
opposite.

Perhaps she was punishing herself for not being able to save him.

She was suddenly startled by the ringing of her cell phone.  Breaking
out of her stupor, she reached in the pocket of her coat and retrieved
her phone.

"Scully," she answered, trying to sound like her world had not
splintered into a thousand pieces.

"Scully, where are you?"  Skinner asked.

"Just . . . on my way back to the office."

She heard a long hesitation, then a sigh.  The hairs on her skin stood
up.

"Do you know where the Berman Street Safe House is?"

"Yes."

"Meet me there."

His words were clipped - his way of relaying that he wanted no
questions asked right now.

"Yes, sir.  On my way."

Scully had no instincts or intuition about the call from Skinner.  She
could read nothing into the short message, but she knew it had to do
with her partner.

She jammed the phone back in her pocket and glanced one more time down
the cold, deserted alleyway.

<Hang on, partner.  I'll find you.>

* * * * *

25 MINUTES LATER
BERMAN STREET SAFE HOUSE

Scully saw the multitude of twirling blue and red lights before she
ever reached the gate to the property.  Flashing her badge to the
police officer standing guard at the gate, she was allowed to proceed
toward the building.

There were several unmarked cars that she recognized as FBI, including
Skinner's.  There was also the Coroner's wagon there.

This was an FBI safe house where victims, as well as informants were
protected.  Many of the temporary residents ended up in the Federal
Witness Protection Program, but Scully was not aware of anyone who
would be here under a case that she and Mulder had worked.

As she approached the door, an officer handed her a pair of latex
gloves and she put them on, then entered the building.  There was a
flurry of activity in the hallway as technicians took prints and
measurements.  She could see a door open towards the end of the hall
where two more officers stood guard duty.  She had just started in
that direction when she saw AD Skinner come out of the room.  He began
talking to another agent when he looked up and spotted her.

She still could read nothing on his face as he motioned her toward
him.  She entered the room behind him, immediately spotting the victim
lying on the living room floor.  A photographer had kneeled beside the
body of a man, as the whine of the camera and bright flashbulbs
popped.

There was no guessing cause of death - the victim lay face down, his
hands tied behind his back, and half of his head blown off.  He had
been shot execution-style.

Scully started to ask her first question when she noticed Agents
Fields and Turner at the kitchen table with a uniformed officer who
was being attended to by paramedics.  The officer was holding an ice
bag to his head.  When Scully frowned and looked back up at Skinner,
she saw that he had been watching her.

"Sir?"

Scully looked back over at the DEA agents and saw Agent Fields motion
to Agent Turner - who had his back to Scully -- that she had arrived.
 Now she knew for certain that whatever had happened in the safe house
was directly linked to her partner.  But the expressions of the men
were not good and once again she was filled with an overwhelming sense
of dread.

"Scully, come with me, please," Skinner said, gently taking her arm
and leading her down the short hall and into a back bedroom.  She saw
that Fields and Turner were following.

Once they were all in the room, Skinner gently pushed the door closed.

Scully braced herself, refusing to show any more apprehension than she
already felt in front of the DEA agents.

"The victim's name is Alonzo Latima.  Ring a bell?" asked Skinner.

She thought a minute.  "He's one of the informants that was being
brought in early on in the investigation, wasn't he?"

"Yes," answered Fields.  "But more than just *an* informant.  *The*
informant.  He's the one who turned Barbino nine years ago."

Her frown deepened.  "I'm lost.  What informant?  I thought Mulder
solved the case through his profile."

Skinner looked over to the DEA agents to explain the story and  Fields
took the cue.

"What you and everyone else were told about the case is not entirely
true."  He looked to Agent Turner, then back to Scully.  "This might
be a little confusing."

Her tone was impatient.  "I don't care about history here.  I want to
know the bottom line.  What does this have to do with Agent Mulder
right *now*?"

The three men looked at each other, questioning how to proceed.
Skinner spoke first.

"Scully, we now know why they took Mulder.  They wanted to find out
where Alonzo Latima was.  They wanted to kill him."

The implications of what he said were racing through Scully's head.
She tried to slow things down, but she felt herself entering the black
hole again.

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

Agent Turner leaned back against the dresser.  "It began nine years
ago with the serial killings.  As we said, the police agencies were
stumped, and so was the FBI.  Mulder did in fact write a profile which
blew everyone out of the water.  Well, almost everyone," he said,
looking at his partner.

Agent Fields picked up the story.  "We believed Agent Mulder, so we
started digging.  That's when we found the link between the two crime
families.  And through leads and interrogations, we came up with an
informant - Alonzo Latima.  But his cooperation meant a death warrant,
so we decided to base everything on the profile.  We knew it would be
believed because Golden Boy Mulder was a genius.  That's how we
covered the informant, by giving all the credit to Mulder."

"You jeopardized his life," Scully said bitterly.

"We didn't think so," said Turner.  "Barbino and Ambrose weren't
stupid.  They weren't about to go after a federal agent just because
he solved the case.  There was no benefit to getting rid of Mulder."

"So Latima supplied all the information for the search warrant.  But
all we could get Barbino on was tax evasion.  We had no case at all
against Ambrose. Even though we knew about the murders, we couldn't
get enough to prosecute either of them," Fields added.

"What kind of search warrant?" asked Scully.

"Barbino had a lot of cash stashed along with guns.

"So you think Agent Mulder knew where Latima was, or is this a
coincidence?"

"He knew.  But none of us made the connection - until now."

Scully felt her body turning ice cold.  She walked a few steps toward
the window, her mind spinning and her stomach queasy.  She understood
grimly what all this meant.  She turned back around, still lacking so
many answers.

"But that was nine years ago.  Latima hasn't been in a safe house all
that time," she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

There was a moment of contemplation between the three men.  Now they
would have to tell the rest of the story, and they knew she wasn't
going to take it well.

Turner took a heavy breath.  "As we said, Latima knew where Barbino's
cash and guns were stored, and he gave that information to us.  But
not before he took about $200,000 in cash.  We successfully protected
his identity, but of course when the trial started, and the specifics
of what was retrieved through the search warrant were revealed,
Barbino learned of the missing money.  But then Barbino went to jail,
so it kind of ended there."

Turner looked over at Fields who picked up the story.  "Until the
parole hearing, when it looked like Barbino might get out.  That's
where Ambrose comes into the picture.  He knew, through his own
snitches, that someone in Barbino's camp had stolen part of the money
before the search warrant was served.  And so Ambrose must have
wondered, as the police did, whether Barbino would try to find out who
the snitch was that not only sent him to jail, but stole from him as
well."

Scully listened quietly, beginning to put the puzzle together.  Even
though she felt like she had been kept in the dark concerning her
partner's involvement with Barbino and Ambrose, she understood how
many different parts there were to the puzzle, and how confusing to
sort them into a coherent picture.

Turner shook his head.  "We were way off base.  When your partner was
taken, we believed Barbino did it to try and find out who the snitch
was nine years ago.  It didn't make a lot of sense to us, because
$200,000 is not that much money when you consider the risks of going
right back to prison."

Scully's eyes flared.  "Then you lied to me!  You knew it had nothing
to do with Barbino being angry about the parole hearing denial and
some fucking story about his mother's suicide!"

"No," said Turner, "we *did* believe that.  We knew that, in Barbino's
mind, he took the theft of the money personally --  one of his own men
set him up and profited from it.  But we didn't think he would act on
it . . . until his mother's death.  We thought that might have pushed
him over the edge. Even though it was Agent Mulder who testified at
the parole board hearing and essentially axed his release, the blame
all went back to the informant."

"So you believed that from prison he had his men take Agent Mulder in
order to find out who that informant was?" Scully asked.

"Well, it was a way of punishing Mulder while trying to get to
Latima," said Fields.

Scully's face went blank as she began to make the connections.  "Then
Agent Mulder *did* know who the caller was who arranged to meet us
that night.  Didn't he?"

*   *   *   *   *
 
 

BERMAN STREET SAFE HOUSE

"Well?" Scully repeated.  "Did Agent Mulder know who the caller was?"

Fields looked a little uneasy.  "He thought he did.  He hadn't talked
to Latima in nine years, but he thought it was him.  After he got the
call that morning, he talked to AD Skinner, who then notified us.
Latima was again assisting in another search warrant against Barbino's
estate - again tax evasion.  Apparently back in 1990 none of Barbino's
men ever suspected he had been the snitch."

"But we got information that Barbino might suspect Latima was the
snitch," said Turner.  "That's when we called Agent Mulder to see if
he could find Latima.  He was reluctant to get involved again and he .
. . made it clear that you were to have no part of this."

Scully stiffened, her first reaction being one of anger at her
partner, but immediately followed by the realization that he was
protecting her - and maybe himself.

"So while we made the arrangements at the safe house, Agent Mulder
thought he had found Latima.  That's why you and Agent Mulder were
still planning to meet him, because Agent Mulder was then going to
advise him of the danger and see that he got to the safe house,"
Turner added.

Scully suddenly felt like she had been the last one picked for the
kickball team.  She tried to cover her disappointment and hurt with
anger.

"So you suspected Barbino's involvement all this time and that little
bullshit talk with him about Ambrose's motives - what the hell was
that!"

Skinner knew she was keeping her rage as closely confined as possible,
because she was a true professional, and only under extreme duress
would she lash out in such a manner.

Skinner's voice was quiet.  "No, Scully.  It *was* Ambrose.  It was
made to look like Barbino was behind all this, and that would make
perfect sense.  But the facts weren't adding up.  Ambrose had his own
informants who told him another warrant was pending against Barbino,
and it was probably the same snitch that sent him to jail in 1990.  So
he decided to get in on the action."

Fields' voice was almost as subdued.  "It wasn't Latima who made the
call that morning, requesting that your partner meet him behind the
antique store. It was one of Ambrose's men."

Scully was still confused.  "If that's true, then why did he ask Agent
Mulder and me who the caller was?

"Just to throw you off.  From the beginning it was a set up to get
your partner and find out who the snitch was.  If the snitch was
killed, the blame would fall back on Barbino.  Why not?  What possible
connection would there be to Ambrose?  It was almost perfect."

"What led you to suspect that Ambrose was orchestrating this?" Scully
asked solemnly.
 
 

"Just facts, informants that admitted that Ambrose was still steaming
about the casino in Atlanta the Barbino had closed down," Turner
answered.

"But how did Agent Mulder know that Latima was at the safe house?
Latima was still missing at the time of my partner's kidnapping."

"He knew we had set it up.  It was only a matter of time before we
found him, so I'm sure Agent Mulder knew he would eventually be
there."

Scully felt drained.  They all did.  Skinner saw her beginning to
shake as she turned her eyes toward him.  She folded her arms around
her stomach, trying to lessen her trembling.

"Then if Mulder knew where he was . . ."  She forced control into her
voice.  "They did something to him to make him talk."

Skinner lowered his head, not able to meet her eyes for fear that she
would see the desolation in his face.  Scully's anger returned as a
means to get to the truth.

"It means he's been alive all this time, but now they got what they
want!  Now they'll kill him!"  She tore the latex gloves from her
hands and threw them on the floor.

Skinner closed the distance between them, wanting somehow to comfort
her, but he still couldn't find the words to speak.  Each of them knew
that Mulder's life was truly in jeopardy now and they were no closer
to finding him.

Scully sank down in a chair and lowered her head into her hands.
Skinner finally looked up at the DEA agents to find them needing
direction from him.  He shook his head and they understood.  Silently
they left the room, shutting the door behind them.

Skinner hesitated a long time, then slowly approached Scully and
kneeled down beside her.

"Dana . . . I don't know what to say."

She looked up and her eyes were filled with tears, but she had managed
to keep her control.  It was as if she had overdosed on emotions the
last week, leaving her with an emptiness that she was not able to
express.

"Do you know who killed this man?  Is there any lead to follow?"

"Yes.  We're sure Ambrose is behind this, but I won't pull punches -
it's going to be very difficult to prove.  The men involved in this
are long gone. Plus it's going to take time, and --"

"And Mulder doesn't have time," she whispered, a single tear slipping
down her cheek.

Skinner was silent.  For the first time in his life he felt the
situation was absolutely hopeless.  He looked over Scully's shoulder
at the sleet hitting the windowpanes.

"Sir . . . " she asked, the words strained and weak.  "What do you
think they did to him to make him talk?"

Skinner felt an ache so sharp and deep he thought he might start
bleeding.  All he could do was shake his head.  He wouldn't answer
even if he could.

"Mulder held out a long time," she said again, so softly he thought
maybe her words weren't meant for him to hear.

Skinner could not bear the pictures in his head, and he knew that for
Scully to be voicing such thoughts, she must be bordering on shock.
Gently he touched her knee.

"Come on.  We don't need to be here.  I need to check in with some of
the other DEA agents.  Do you want to come along?"

She waited so long to answer he wasn't sure she even heard him.  Then
she shook her head.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

*   *   *   *   *

DAY ELEVEN
MARGARET SCULLY'S RESIDENCE
10:45 p.m.

Maggie Scully was just getting into bed when her phone rang.
Apprehensively, she picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Dana," she said, instantly worried, that in that single word there
could be so much raw emotion in her daughter's voice.

"I'm pulling in the driveway," Scully informed her.

"Good.  I'm coming downstairs."

Maggie opened the front door just as Scully reached the porch.  When
the older woman looked into her face, she saw the grief and the
tear-stained cheeks.  Instantly she thought the worst.  Quickly she
pulled her into the living room and led her over to the sofa.

"Dana, what is it," she said, trying to keep the panic out of her
voice as they both sat down.  "Did you ... is it Fox?"

Scully started to break down, and she couldn't answer for a moment,
but she shook her head.

"We still can't find him, mom.  I can't take any more of this," she
sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

Maggie pulled her close, tears streaming down her own cheeks now.

"Oh, honey.  I'm so sorry."

Scully suddenly heard footsteps and jerked up, catching something out
of the corner of her eye.  She was startled to see her brother
standing by the staircase.

"Bill?"

He slowly walked toward her and sat on the other side of her on the
sofa.

"I just got into port last night, Dana, and I got Mom's message.  I
asked for a couple days leave so I could be with you."

"Why," she said sharply, "to celebrate?" she said, her voice cracking.

"Dana ..." started her mother.

Bill looked stricken.  "No.  Of course not.  You think because Mulder
and I have had our differences that I want to see you suffering like
this?"

Bill handed her a tissue as Scully's tears continued to flow.  Maggie
and Bill exchanged worried glances as Scully wiped her eyes.

"I miss him so much.  I feel so guilty because I almost wish him dead,
rather than think about what they might be doing to him if he's still
alive."

"Dana," said her mother, "this is why you have faith to help pull you
through."

"Faith . . . " she whispered, suddenly recalling the conversation she
and Mulder had in the car before her world crashed in.

"Well it's not working, mom!  All I feel right now is pain!  And I
question why ... why my partner has had to endure such anguish in his
life.  If you only knew, Bill, how much he feels.  How caring he is to
complete strangers.  Have you ever heard the truth!  Do you have the
faintest notion of what Mulder's life was like?"

"No, but that doesn't matter now," Bill said carefully.

"It matters to me!  Because if I've lost him ...," she said, having to
stop and force the words out, "...the only way you can help me is to
understand the magnitude of that loss."

Maggie shot a warning look at Bill and stood up.  "I'm going to fix
some coffee, and then, Dana, you're going to tell us all about your
partner."

Bill nodded in agreement, hoping for anything that would calm his
sister down.  She had needed to talk for a long time, and now it was
imperative.  Bill took his sister's hand.

"Dana ... I know you love him.  I guess that's what's scared me all
these years.  You know my concern for your safety.  But I've also been
afraid for you if something happened to him.  And like a jerk, I
thought that my hostility toward him might help you keep a distance.
I should have known better.  I'm sorry, Dana."

She nodded and hugged her brother.

"I'm praying for him, Sis.  I really am.  You have to believe that if
there's a way for him to come back to you, he will."

As a new flood of tears overtook Scully, she clutched her brother
tightly, feeling like her heart was going to break.  The thought that
kept ripping her in pieces was that Mulder had been alive all this
time, just as she knew he had, yet she hadn't been able to find him.
She shuddered at the realization that without all the facts that
Skinner and the DEA agents had, she couldn't have put the right pieces
together.  Her partner didn't stand a chance of her finding him.  And
now it was probably too late.  There would be no reason to keep him
alive.

As much as she had fought against it, she was beginning to accept that
her partner was gone forever.  She just didn't think she would live
through it.
________________________

1:18 a.m.
MARGARET SCULLY RESIDENCE

Scully had fallen into a restless sleep at her mother's.  She wasn't
up to driving home, and couldn't bear to walk into her apartment
alone, where she and Mulder had shared so much.  She was awakened by a
noise, and realized it was her cell phone.  Sleep left her immediately
as she grabbed it.

"Hello?" she answered anxiously.

"Scully, it's Skinner.  Where are you?" he asked tightly.

"My mom's."

"Get dressed.  I'm picking you up in 15 minutes."

"Sir, what's happened?" she asked, her voice teetering on panic.

Skinner hesitated.  "We're going to get your partner."

* * *

Scully had spoken briefly to her mother and brother, and she waited
alone on the driveway for Skinner.  The snowflakes had started again,
but she hardly noticed them falling into her hair and down the collar
of her coat.  She paced anxiously, unaware that her brother kept watch
on her from behind the living room curtain.

Finally Skinner pulled up and she jumped into the passenger seat.  She
saw right away that he was in Assistant Director mode.  His cell phone
was up to his ear, and he hardly waited for her door to shut before he
floored the accelerator and sped down the street.  Scully listened to
the one-sided conversation.

"Agent Fields, I want uniformed personnel to surround the house.  I
want them to keep their distance.  There are only going to be four
people going into the residence - you and Turner, and Agent Scully and
I.... paramedics are on the way.  Hold on, I'm getting another call...
Skinner."

Scully saw him frown with surprise as he just listened for the longest
time.

"What's wrong with him?" he finally asked, his eyes cutting sharply to
Scully.

Scully's heart began to race at his words.

"Okay."  Skinner turned to Scully.  "Scully, write this address down."

She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from her purse.

"Moon Mist Cabins, 3 miles off the interstate, Kenilworth, New
Jersey."  Skinner's attention was back to the caller.  "New Jersey?
That's a four-hour drive!  If Mulder's hurt ..."

Scully clutched the pen as she waited for Skinner to speak again.  He
glanced at her, knowing she was only getting the difficult part of the
conversation.

"All right.  Yes.  I understand what you're saying, but I can't see
any reason why we wouldn't take Mulder to a hospital. . .  Yes, she
can take care of him, but ..." he said, looking again Scully.

Skinner listened for a few more seconds, then took the phone away from
his ear and flashed back to the first call.  He squealed around the
corner and Scully could see dozens of red and blue flashing lights up
ahead.

Again he spoke into the phone.  "Agent Fields, we've got a new game
plan.  Don't ask any questions.  Scully and I are going into that
house alone. . .  Hear me out!  That phone call was from the man who
found Mulder.  He has given me explicit instructions, and I don't have
time to explain why it has to be done this way.  I just expect you to
do it!  Is that clear?  I will communicate with you from inside the
house and direct you from there. If I need your assistance, I'll call
for it immediately.  Am I clear on that?   Good.  We're pulling up
now."

Dozens of police officers and agents crouched behind police cars and
trees, their focus on a small house at the edge of the lot.    An
ambulance sat at a safe distance a few hundred feet down the street.

From the front window of the house, they could see one lamp was on.
Fields came up to Skinner.

"I've passed on your message.  Put these on," he said, handing them a
Kevlar vest.  "This could be a trap."

Scully ignored him and started for the house.  Skinner shook his head,
and left Fields holding both vests.

With guns drawn, Scully pushed open the front door and Skinner entered
first. The room was sparsely furnished, but it was neat and clean.
They could see the faint light down the hallway.  Skinner motioned for
Scully to follow him and they cautiously proceeded down the hall.
There was a bathroom on the left, and it was empty.  At the end of the
hall was the source of the light.  Skinner inched his way along the
wall, then finally was able to peek around the corner.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, and
when they did he realized that there was one man on the bed.

"Scully!" he yelled, charging into the room.

She was right behind him, and as she came in, she saw him bending over
her partner.  Mulder's hands were above his head, his wrists rope-tied
together to the bedpost.    He wasn't moving.

<PLEASE BE ALIVE!>

<PLEASE BE ALIVE!>

Scully was in a frenzy, but forced herself to remain calm so she could
examine her partner.  He was deathly pale, but even before she
detected the steady pulse in his neck, she felt his warm skin.  The
relief she felt in that instant temporarily overshadowed her concern
for his physical condition. Then she immediately snapped into doctor
mode.

She was surprised at his appearance.  She had expected the worst after
almost 2 weeks, but he was wearing clean clothes, and as she leaned
closer to see his face, she could smell shampoo in his hair.

Skinner brought the lamp over closer. The A.D. could still see
evidence of the beating he had taken.  Both eyes were still blue and
swollen and the split in his lip had not yet healed.

To their surprise, Mulder was not unconscious.  He moaned painfully,
and tried to turn on his side, but the ropes held him, cutting into
his wrists.  Skinner took out his pocketknife and began to cut the
ropes off.  Scully laid him carefully on his back.  His face was
bruised, but there was something else.

"Mulder ... can you hear me, partner?" she asked, worried.

His eyes didn't open and there was no response from him.  Tenderly,
Scully put her hand on the crown of his head and her lips to his ear.

"Hey partner, it's me.  Can you open your eyes?  Mulder, come on,
honey," she spoke, hoping he would respond to the endearment.

Again, he moaned.   Then his pain seemed to worsen, as he doubled over
and rolled to his side.  Scully watched him, trying to diagnose
whatever was nagging her about his condition.  She took a pen light
out of her pocket and tried to wake him again.

"Mulder, open your eyes for me."

Skinner decided to try.  He leaned over him as well.  "Agent Mulder,
it's Skinner.  You're safe now.  We're going to get you to a
hospital."

Skinner didn't care what the caller had said to him earlier.  He took
out his cell phone and was ready to summon the paramedics.  Gradually
Mulder's eyes opened and he blinked slowly.  He was unaware of his
surroundings.  Scully turned on the penlight and directed the light
into his left eye.

"Hey, partner.  Let me play doctor for a minute.  I just need to. . ."

When Scully stopped in mid-sentence, Skinner turned to her.  He saw
her expression go dark.  He didn't see what Scully did - that Mulder's
eyes were fully dilated and not responding to the light.  She then saw
the dark circles under his eyes.  Skinner saw her look of
astonishment, just as she grabbed Mulder's sleeve and began to
unbutton his cuff.  Resting his arm on her thigh, Scully quickly
pushed his sleeve up to the elbow.

His forearm was covered with needle punctures.

"Oh, god, no," she whispered.

Skinner had just gotten through to the paramedics when he saw what
Scully did.  Before either of them could react, Mulder had leaned over
the side of the bed and was trying to throw up.  But the only fluid
coming from his mouth was blood.  Scully and Skinner were instantly in
motion.  Scully grabbed him, pulling him into her lap and cradling his
head.

"Sir, we've got to get him out of here.  No hospital."

Skinner nodded.  Now he understood the informant's call.

"Scully, that address I gave you -"

Mulder cried out softly in pain and doubled over.  Skinner winced,
seeing Scully tighten her hold on him as she put her lips close to his
ear.

"That address is a cabin that's been reserved for us.  We're to take
Mulder there.  He said there would be some medical supplies.

"What about the officers outside!  Sir we can't let them see him like
this!"

Skinner dialed a number as Scully waited.  She didn't know who he was
calling, but she trusted him.

"Fields, come in here.  We've got Mulder.  But I want everyone to stay
outside.  There's no danger.  He's okay."

"I'm here," Fields announced.

They heard him open the front door and come down the hallway.  When he
came in the room, it took him only a minute to realize what had been
done to the federal agent.  His experience with DEA made that obvious.

"Oh dear god," he said, almost mimicking Scully's remark.

"Is there a back way out of here?" Skinner asked.

"Yeah.  Through the kitchen."

"Get everyone around front.  Tell them Mulder hasn't been exposed to
light in awhile, and we're getting him to a private hospital for some
help.  Reassure them that Agent Scully is a doctor, and she's
perfectly capable of taking care of him."

"All right, sir."

"Pull my car up around back. We're leaving town.  I'll notify you as
soon as I can."

"Yes, sir."

Fields took a last look at Mulder and started out the door.

"And Fields ..."

"Yes, sir."

"Not one word about this to anyone other than your partner."

"No way.  I wouldn't do that to him."

Skinner nodded and watched him rush out.

Mulder was in terrible pain.  He tried to twist out of Scully's arms,
not realizing she was the one holding him.  "Scully ..."

"Mulder, it's me.  I'm here," she said, pulling him closer.

"Where's Scully," he asked, delirious.

She pulled his head to her neck and kissed his forehead.  "I'm here,
partner. You're safe.  We're getting you out of here."

Again he was wracked by dry heaves.  Skinner finally realized the
magnitude of Mulder's condition.

"Scully, he's going through withdrawal," he said, a note of disbelief
in his voice.

*  *  *  *  *