From the Ashes (11 of ?)

By Jamie Greco
jgreco217@aol.com


Rating: R

Classification: Serial (WIP)

Spoilers: Small Conduit, Red and the Black

Summary: Mulder is troubled by memories and new information about the case.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me, but the rest of the story
is entirely my fault.

~~~
 
 
Scully squinted at the driving rain that had developed as she drove to the
D.A.'s office.  "I have to wonder if we shouldn't start gathering pairs of
animals."

"Can we leave Tommy and Pamela Anderson Lee behind?  I think they deserve it
more than the unicorns."

"Your choice," Scully replied.

"Your choice," the voice had whispered in his ear as he had gasped for air on
the floor of his cell.  "Who do you want first?"  His stomach crawled into a
tightly knotted ball as the memories stole into his consciousness.

"Mulder," Scully began.  "I think you should reconsider your decision not to
press charges against Amber."

He heard her on some level, but the memories of the words spat into his ear
overtook his reality.  The words--spiteful, jarring, thorny words--repeated
themselves like a malevolent demon on his shoulder.  Once again, in vivid
agony, he felt as if he were nothing, devoid of humanity, as if he were
simply a vessel for the containment of their hate, long after he had
overflowed.

"After all, I think you have to agree that she shows signs of serious mental
illness."

Mulder lifted his hand to his throat as if to test its injury, then ran his
hands back along the sides of his head, squeezing tightly.  He glanced at
Scully, swallowing hard, wanting her to save him but knowing he was lost.  A
thought occurred to him, below the surface of his nightmare but bobbing up
from time to time; he wondered if the only thing that could save him was
somewhere in this artificial memory.  

"And I think your testimony would bear some weight with a judge."

He pushed himself hard against the window as the memory sullied everything
around him, inside and out.  The pain was sharp and unrelenting, and his
horror was such that he thought he could taste it; but it was simply bile
raised in his mouth as he allowed free access to the revulsion and terror
that overtook him.  His mind spun out the story in sadistic detail, and he
began to gasp for air.

"Mulder?" Scully had stopped the car and was peering into his face.  "Mulder,
what's wrong?"

He pushed the car door open and spilled out into the rain-soaked grass at the
side of the road.  As he bent over from the waist, his stomach expelled what
little he still had in him.  He coughed and gagged as the deluge soaked him
through.  Scully was soon by his side, and he silently berated himself for
being the vehicle that led to Scully's being on the receiving end of two
drenchings in less than a day.  "I'm all right, Scully; get back in the car,"
he demanded.

"What's wrong?  What happened?" she asked as she wrapped an arm around his
back.

"Get back in the car!" he demanded, swaying slightly with the drive of his
words.

"I'll get back in the car when you do," Scully responded quietly and
resolutely.

He glanced at her and knew that the only way to shelter her was to shelter
himself, so he staggered back into the car.  

When Scully climbed back inside, he couldn't look into her face.  "Got any
gum?" he asked with practiced casualness.  

"In the glove box," she directed, shaken with what had happened along with
the cold.  She turned her heater on high.

Mulder pushed the gum in his mouth with a slight grimace.  "Well, the
interior of your car is shot as well as your home.  I think my work is done."

"Mulder, what happened?"

He looked out the window at the rain, pushing his hair back off his forehead.
 "I had a...the memory was..." He lowered his head.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It just seemed to overwhelm me."

"Mulder, maybe this is a bad time for this, but I've been thinking about
something."

He nodded his consent for her to go on as he attempted to gather himself
emotionally.

"I think we should call Dr. Werber."

"The regression therapist," he confirmed.

"Yes.  Mulder, we've used him in the past.  I think we can trust him."

His forehead wrinkled as another wave of nausea hit him and he concentrated
on containing his stomach.  Raising a hand to his mouth, he murmured from
under it, "How do you think he could help in this situation?"

"Maybe...maybe if you could bring into consciousness what was really done to
you, who was involved, how it was done...maybe it would help you to know on
some level that the memories are false.  I don't know, Mulder; maybe it could
help you live with it."   

He turned to face her, his head still bowed forward with the weight of what
he had recalled.  He nodded slowly, thoughtfully.  "It makes sense," he
agreed.

Scully raised her eyebrows and blinked.

"What?" Mulder half laughed.

"I just thought this would lead to a much longer argument."

"Scully," he scoffed affectionately.  "When have I ever argued with you about
any reasonable theory you have presented?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that question, Mulder," she answered as
she turned on the ignition.

"I want to stress the word reasonable here," Mulder continued.

"That'd be a first.  Are we still going to the D.A.?"

"Hell, yeah," Mulder replied as he turned on his cell phone to call the
therapist.  "Onward, Scully."   

 


"Whooaa," hooted Norm Abrahmson.  "You two fall out of a boat?"

Mulder stepped into Abrahmson's office, with Scully close behind.  "We got
caught in the rain," Mulder responded.  "Mr. Abrahmson?"

"Yeah. Hey, you two ever heard of a raincoat, an umbrella, indoors?" He
laughed raucously, unencumbered by Mulder and Scully's lack of participation.
 After a minute, he paused, eyeing the solemn pair.  "Not feeling real
jocular today are we, folks?"

Mulder glanced at Scully.  Norm Abrahmson looked straight out of central
casting but not for the role of D.A.  He was more what a director might have
in mind for the role of Cop: South Side of Chicago.  

"Well, come on in.  Don't sit on the couch!" he cried out urgently.  Mulder
looked back at the couch in question: an ancient, plaid, particularly
dilapidated piece of furniture whose arms were completely discolored with
grime.  He looked back at Abrahmson, squinting incredulously.  "Sit down,"
Abrahmson said grandiosely.  "Can I get you anything--coffee, tea, a couple
of towels?"

"Coffee would be good," Scully replied and Mulder nodded.

"Carlson!" he hollered, making Scully flinch slightly.  "Couple of coffees
here!  Okay, I'm guessing you're Mulder and..." He shuffled a through a huge
collection of papers.  "...Scully.  Unless you're Noah and his wife."  He
began to laugh uproariously again as Mulder sighed.

"Mr. Abrahmson," Mulder attempted as a large, troubled man entered and
unceremoniously handed them chipped cups filled sloppily with coffee.  Mulder
quickly took a sip and winced and tried to send Scully a signal not to make
the same mistake, but it was too late.  He sympathized with her involuntarily
shudder.  "Mr. Abrahmson," he began again.  "You said there was some
confusion about my files."

"Yeah, in that there are no files," Abrahmson said matter-of-factly.   

"I'm sorry," Scully began.  "Exactly what files are missing?"

"What files aren't?" he replied.  "After I checked out your prison record, I
called you.  At that time, I decided to check your police records. Gone."

"Gone?" Mulder repeated.

"Phhht!" he answered, fluttering his hands like smoke.  "I got the memo this
morning that all charges were to be dropped, so I started the paperwork.
Trouble is, like I just said, no paperwork, no computer file.  All I got left
is an audiotape and Amber Whitley's statement that you did not attack her.  
Mr. Mulder, are you absolutely sure you didn't dream this whole shebang?" he
chuckled slightly.

Mulder didn't answer; but Scully sat up in her chair, suddenly obviously
protective.  "No, sir, I assure you he didn't dream the whole...shebang."

Abrahmson looked from one to another, trying to categorize them but finding
it utterly impossible.  He sat back in his chair and wiped a palm over the
side of his head, slicking down the sparse amount of hair he still had as he
watched Scully turn to her partner and almost visibly refrain from touching
him.  Abrahmson grinned.  He felt sure he had them now.  The woman was in
love with the man who was just too busy with his social life to give her any
attention at all.  Yeah, he thought, I'm good.  "I thought I'd try one last
thing," he began.  "Maybe we just have you in the wrong place.  Mr. Mulder,
can I get your social security number from you?  I promise not to put you on
my mailing list."

Mulder rattled off his number flatly, as if he were not truly engaged in any
part of the conversation.  Abrahmson typed quickly and shook his head.  
"Nothing recent here."

Mulder nodded.  "Okay.  You'll contact me if anything comes up?"

"Yeah, but there's one more thing.  Our office is considering pressing
charges against Miss Whitley for filing a false report and, by way of this
here tape, sexual assault."

Mulder pressed his lips together in a tight straight line.  

"Would you be willing to testify in this matter?  That is, we wouldn't have a
case without your testimony."

Mulder glanced at Scully and back at Abrahmson.  "When will you be making a
decision on this?"

"I got to have a bull session with my superiors in the morning, so I'd say by
noon tomorrow."

"I'll let you know by then," Mulder said quietly as he rose from the chair
and prepared to exit.

Scully reached out her hand.  "Thank you for your help," she told him
politely and followed after Mulder.

"Hey," he called out as they reached the threshold.  "Say hi to Walter."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look; and Mulder stepped back into the office
as if he was being reeled in, his face fixed in puzzlement.  "You're
Skinner's contact?"

"Hell, yeah.  Me and Walter, we go way back."

This seemed to lure them even further into the office, and the two met
Abrahmson in the center of the room.  "Do you mind if I ask how you two met?"
Mulder queried.

"Hey, neither one of us can resist the Broadway musicals."

Shocked silence ensued for the moment before Abrahmson threw his head
laughing, slapping Mulder hard on the back.  Mulder moved his shoulder as if
to test for bruising; he looked to Scully who shrugged.

"Nah, I'm poking fun at you.  See me and Walter, we're the only Bears fans in
Washington.  Football?" he added when he got no reaction.  "Never could
figure him out.  Me, I was born and raised in Chicago; I'm required to follow
the miserable bums; but Walter?  God only knows.  We go to the games whenever
they're in town."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and nodded as if it all made sense to him now and
then managed a partial smile and held out his hand.  "Well, thanks for your
time."

"Hey, no problem," Abrahmson replied as Mulder turned, took Scully by the
elbow and walked out the door.

"Jeesh," he said to himself.  "Walter wasn't kidding."

He made his way back to his chair as a well-dressed man stuck his head into
the office.  "Will he testify?"

"Would you?" he countered.  The other man shrugged and went on his way.  





Mulder and Scully emerged through the revolving doors of the building that
housed the D.A. offices.  A steady rain still fell, and people trotted up to
and away from the building.  Scully looked back at Mulder.  "Ready?" she
asked, preparing to make a run for her car.

Mulder tilted his head lightly and frowned.  "Can we wait it out a little?"
he asked.  "I just...can we just wait a minute?"

Scully frowned.  "Sure, Mulder."

He took her hand and led her to an out-of-the-way corner of the sheltered
entrance.  Pushing his back against the plate glass window, he reached out
and pulled Scully to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and placing his
chin on her head.  Scully was taken aback--it was certainly a not a gesture
she expected in public--but she didn't pull away. In fact, she relaxed into
his arms and waited.

"Can you believe that?" Mulder whispered.

"You mean Skinner and Abrahmson being friends?"

"No, Skinner being a Bears fan."

Scully looked into Mulder's face, which looked like he had tasted something
rancid.  "We all have our dirty little secrets," she said with a small smirk
before she settled into Mulder's arms again.  Several people glanced at them
as they rushed into and out of the rain, but no one seemed to afford them
more than passing interest.  

"Scully," he said after a moment, his voice sounding wounded once more.  
"Scully, there's a big bogeyman under my bed and I need you to chase it away."

"Okay," she responded curiously.

He attempted a smile.  "I need you to tell me that my theory is nonsense,
that I never look at the simplest answer.  For the first time ever, I'm
making an personal request for you to debunk me."

"Are you coming on to me?" Scully teased in Mulder's own words.

He tried to laugh, but his breath huffed out dry and brittle and quickly
turned to dust.  

"What is it, Mulder?" she said more seriously, although she felt fairly
certain she already knew.

"Scully, I feel like I'm standing in quicksand.  I don't know what to believe
about my life or what to know.  What if...Scully, what if my records are
missing because they never existed?  How much of what happened...how much is
real and how much was a colossal mind fuck?  How much of my life is..." He
dropped his head.  "Scully, I feel like crawling back to my apartment and
just hiding there, if I can realistically hide anywhere."

Scully listened to his heart slam against his ribs.  She wanted to assuage
his terror more than anything she could remember for some time.  Briefly, she
let herself long for the elegance of a psalmist or philosopher so that she
could drape him with peacefulness through her words.  She yearned not only to
chase away the bogeyman of the present but all of the various gnomes and
goblins of the past. But she knew her desire far outstripped the capabilities
of mere words, and she fell back on what had always served her in the past:
honesty and her deep compassion for her partner.

"Mulder," she began. She reached a hand up to touch his cheek, which was
chilled and bristly.  "I wish I knew what to say. I wish I could say
something wise or magical and take all of your fear and pain away.  I
understand your fear, so it's almost impossible for me to debunk it. I can
only tell you the truth as I know it."

She could feel his head nod against the top her hair. "That's what I depend
on you for."

"I know," she whispered, feeling only slightly burdened, not so much by the
completeness of his trust but by her secret feelings of inadequacy in the
face of all she knew to be against them.  She held him tightly around his
waist and tilted her chin to see his face, but he kept vigil somewhere beyond
her.  "I can say this, Mulder.  I saw you in prison.  I've met Amber Whitley.
 It is my best opinion that everything that happened, outside of your attack,
was true and factual.  I think, yes, you are not looking at the most simple
explanation."

"Which is?"

"That Amber Whitley is a very unstable person who became infatuated with you
and as a result began an unhealthy obsession with you.  I believe that the
Consortium used this to their advantage by abducting you while you were in
prison and implanting the memories within you.  That is all that I believe is
implanted memory.  I believe that your records were stolen, probably because
there was fear that a trail could have been found, perhaps an irrefutable
link.  We'll never know.  Maybe they're missing in order to suffuse you with
more doubt.  But I do not believe that the absence of those records is proof
that the factuality of any other part of your life is in question."

He pulled in a deep breath and held it, finally letting it out slowly. "It
seems so simple when you say it.  But I feel like my life has been altered in
such a way that I'm not sure any of it belongs to me."

"I understand how you feel.  When I woke up in that hospital, after...the
bridge, I felt that if I couldn't be sure of where I would suddenly go or
what I would do that my life was no longer my own.  My implant is a tangible
one, but it affects me emotionally much the same way as yours.  I can live or
die by it; but it can control me in a way I find almost impossible to live
with, yet I do.  I do, Mulder, because I have to."

"How do you live with it, Scully?  That they can control you at any time?  
How do you keep going?"          

"Mulder, I keep going because I am alive and my options are to keep going or
to die.  And because in the long run I believe my life is my own and no one
else's. And when I die, it will be my decisions and my relationships and my
attitudes that will be called into question.  That's how I go on."

"I don't have that kind of faith, Scully."

"Then you'll have to find it in yourself.  Ultimately that's where your
salvation will lie."

"You sound so sure."

"I believe in you, Mulder.  If you can lean on my belief, lean on that."  

He didn't reply, but he nestled his face in her hair, soaking her up, wishing
that their relationship had some of the hallmarks of the everyday. "You know,
on my last birthday, I wished for the Playboy Channel.  I wonder if it's too
late to go back and ask for the smallest amount of simplicity in my life.  
All I want is for something...anything...to be easy.

"It's not easy, Mulder.  Especially not what we've gone through.  I suppose
it would be helpful if someone had been there before us and could say, 'You
know, when I was abducted by the Consortium...' But there's nothing to do but
go forward, live our lives and hope."

"I feel like there's nothing around me but smoking ashes," Mulder observed
sorrowfully.

"I beg your pardon," Scully replied with a gentle punch to his ribs and a
small smiled offered up from her position in the crook of his shoulder.

Mulder was surprised by a small jolt of delight that came from a place he
thought had been decimated years before.  "Oh god, forgive me," he returned
in the same manner.  "I meant to say, smoking ashes accept for the winner of
the G-Woman I Would Most Love To Be Debunked By award."

"Debunked, huh?"

"Yeah," he said huskily and his attempt at a seductive tone wasn't lost on
Scully.  

"This contest...was there voting?"

"Yes, but I think there was more than the average amount of ballot stuffing."

They smiled against each other for a while, relieved by the small break from
the painfulness of their topic.  Mulder was silent for a long while, but his
arms still held her against his chest and she noticed that his heart had
returned to a regular rhythm.  She smiled mockingly at herself, doubting that
those outside of the medical profession monitored their lover's heartbeats.  
And then the word lover as it applied to Mulder lodged in her musings, and
she felt a slow warmth beat through her own heart and spread throughout her
body.  

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"I told Dr. Werber that I'd come after the meeting with the D.A."

"Is that why we're discussing the mysteries of our universe under an awning?"

"That and the hope that neither of us are infested with bugs, of the
electronic surveillance variety, of course."

"Do you think you're ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Mulder replied.

"I think the rain's letting up.  Let's make a run for it."

She ran out ahead of him, and he watched her run swiftly for a moment before
he ran after and finally ran beside her without passing her by.

From the Ashes (12 of ?)

*Author* Jamie Greco

jgreco217@aol.com

"Are you comfortable, Mr. Mulder?"

"I make a good living," he said thickly, as if he'd been wakened from a dense
dream.

Dr. Werber glanced at Scully, who sat next to Mulder on the couch, her face
tense and troubled.  She obviously wasn't going to share a smile with him; so
he quickly extinguished his own and turned his attention back to Mulder, who
was tilted back into a reclined position, eyes closed.  "Have you chosen a
safe place?"

"A safe place," he said dreamily.  "Yes."

"Okay, I want you to keep in mind that, if at any time you feel threatened or
frightened, you can return to your safe place.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"We're going to go back to the time you spent in prison."

"Which time?" Mulder asked.

The doctor glanced at Scully, but her eyes remained fixed on her partner.  
"The most recent," the doctor replied.  "Can you see the prison?"

"Yes."

"Now I want you to move forward to the time just before you were hit over the
head.  Can you see that?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you see."

"I'm going back to my cell after...lunch, and I'm walking back through
the...the common room and...I can't get the taste of fish out of my mouth.  
What the hell kind of fish tastes like that?"

"Mulder, can we move forward?"

"I am moving forward.  I'm walking past cells; most of them are empty."

"Is anyone talking to you?"

"No, he answered matter-of factly. "Shit!" he suddenly cried out in pain and
bewilderment.

"What happened?"

"Pain...from somewhere, from behind me.  Something hit me...I'm...I can't see
anything."

"Are you all right to go on?"

"I'm...yeah...I just can't see."

"Do you remember when you began to come around?"

"I can hear voices."

"You can hear voices, but you can't see anyone?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize any of the voices?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice becoming brittle.

"Who do you recognize?"

"The...the Smoking Man," he spat out, venomously.

Dr. Werber glanced at Scully, who nodded knowingly.  "Do you recognize anyone
else?"

"No. There are two...or three other men. Dammit!"

"What is it?"

"I can't move my hands."  His hands were held rigidly near his side, his
fingers stretching, reaching, pulling against unseen binds.

"Are they tied?"

"Yes."

"What are the men saying?"

"One man...somebody is saying 'I-I thought we were set to perform the
procedure on a woman, his partner.'"

The doctor turned quickly to Scully, whose only reaction seemed to be a
sudden straightening of her shoulders and the slightest change of expression;
one that the doctor couldn't define.  Turning back to Mulder he asked, "Can
you just relay the conversation to us?"

Mulder licked his lips. "Uh, the...Cancer Man says, 'We had planned
originally to take Agent Scully, but this situation with the young woman made
it so much more convenient to take Mulder."

"What else?"

"I hate him," Mulder replied passionately, his voice cracking with emotion.

"What else do you hear?"

"I wish I would have killed him when I had my gun to his head."

"Mulder, what else do you hear?"

"He's telling someone to inject me and...They're rolling me...and...and...Oh,
god, they've put something into my eyes!" Mulder began to push up on his
elbows as if to spring to his feet.

"Do you need to go to the safe place?"

"I need...I need..."

"Agent Mulder, shall we return to the safe place?"

"No. No, I see now."

"What do you see?"

"Colors and...patterns and...swirling, everything is spinning; I think I'm
going to be sick...oh god."

"Are you going to be able to go on?"

"I...I can see his face looking down at me through everything."

"Who?"

"The bastard!  The goddamn bastard!"

"The Smoking Man?  Is he saying anything?"

"He's saying...he's saying...god damn him, he's smiling, the son-of-a bitch!  
He's saying, 'I hear it's more pleasurable if you can relax.'  Oh god!" He
suddenly cried out, his eyes wide and frantic.

"Agent Mulder," the doctor said gently.

Mulder's jaw gaped open. He clutched at his throat, gagging and coughing.  "I
can't breathe!" he chuffed out.  "I-I can't get them off!"

"Mulder, I want you to come back to your safe place."

He threw himself forward, pulling at oxygen as if it were pulling back.  "I
can't reach them!  Oh god!"  With a quick lunge, he ended up doubled over his
knees.  Scully reached out to him, but the doctor held out a hand.

"Agent Mulder, do you remember your safe place?"

"No!  Y-yes."

"I want you to go to the safe place now."

"I can't!  I can't get away!   They're all around me!  On my god, they're
going to...I think they're going to--"

"You can get away.  You can go to the safe place now."

"I can go?" he asked plaintively.

"Yes, come back now to the safe place now."

He moaned as he began to uncurl, slowly, raggedly, but more calmly.  He took
in deep, gulping breaths but soon began to respond to the reality that his
air supply was not restricted.  His head fell back against the cushioned
couch and lolled toward Scully as he finally relaxed completely.  

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  It would have been dangerous for you to touch him
while he was reliving the attack," Dr. Werber explained quietly.  "Was there
something you needed to know that he didn't cover?"

Scully looked grimly at Mulder's sweat-soaked face, which now held an
expression of peaceful passiveness.  Looking back at the doctor, she replied,
""Ask him if any actual physical contact occurred at any time."

"Did you hear your partner?"

"Yes," he said, his exhaustion apparent in the raspy quality of his voice and
his lack of expression.  "They...they held me down and they...punched me in
the throat."

"Were you attacked in any other physical way?"

"No."

Scully's head dropped forward, and she held her hand over her mouth.  She had
thought herself thoroughly convinced that he had not actually been raped.  
But she found herself on the brink of tears with the assurance that he had
not been physically violated.  She reached out a hand to stroke his head but
asked silent permission from the doctor before touching Mulder.  The doctor
nodded, and she pushed the hair that stuck to his forehead back, watching
over his expression all the while and finally clasping his hand.

"Agent Mulder, are you ready to wake up?"

"Yes."

"When you wake up, you will feel relaxed and refreshed.  You will remember
everything you said. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Wake up,' he said simply.

Mulder slowly blinked open his eyes to see Scully's face hovering near by; he
smiled a little.

"How do you feel?" Scully asked.

"Surprisingly relaxed and refreshed," he said with a small sardonic grin.

Scully attempted to return his smile, and they continued to look into each
other's faces.

"Do you want some time alone before you go?" Dr. Werber asked.

Scully looked up at him.  "Please," she answered.

He stood. "I'll be in my office," he offered.  "Agent Mulder, if there's any
way I can be of assistance, please don't hesitate to contact me.

"Thanks, doctor," Mulder answered.  "And thanks for seeing me so quickly."

The doctor waved off Mulder's gratitude and left.

Scully scooted closer to Mulder on the couch as he concentrated on his folded
hands.  He was silent, his face inscrutable.  Scully reached out and wrapped
her hands around his.  Slowly turning his own hands, he now studied Scully's.
 "Pretty," he observed.

"What?"

"Your hands always look so pretty, your nails and...just really pretty."

"Thank you."

He fell silent again.  

"What are you thinking, Mulder?"

"Ahh, I'm wondering where you get your manicures."

"Somehow, I think not."

He sighed.  "That was hard. I feel...depleted."

"I know."

"And I'm so...full of hatred.  I don't think I've ever been so full of hate.  
If he were here, I could kill him with my bare hands."  He loosened his hands
from Scully's and rose to his feet, dragging his hand over his mouth.  "He
mocked me, Scully.  He knew what he was putting into my mind, and he mocked
me."  He paced a few steps.  

Scully watched in silence as his fury bubbled over to the surface; his face
contorted with it.

"Scully," he said, suddenly completely focused on her.  "They were going to
do this to you.  What kind of abhorrent, depraved excuse for a human being
would even contemplate doing this, let alone enjoy it?"

She got to her feet and drew closer to him.  "He was going to do this to
you," he repeated.

"It doesn't matter, Mulder."

"It does matter!  It does!  At what point does he stop?  Exactly what would
make him think, 'You know, enough is enough.'  Scully, if he had done this to
you..."

"What, Mulder?  If he had done this to me, what?"

He glanced at her and looked away again.

"Would it have more or less heinous?  Would the memory be more or less
poisonous and debilitating in me than it would for you?"

"I don't know, Scully.  I just...I can hardly contain my rage that he sat in
his apartment, thinking of placing a rape memory in your mind," he began to
talk through his grinding teeth, his voice gravely and filled with fury.  "He
sat there smoking, debating what aspects to portray to you."

"Mulder, why are you doing this?  Why are you focusing on this?  It's like
your having some macho reaction to your woman being violated...and not even
violated in the long run. You're furious because--"

"I'm outraged, Scully!   I just am!  Can't I just have a normal masculine
reaction, despite my obvious shortcomings?"

"Mulder, don't do this.  Don't doubt yourself."

"Don't doubt myself, Scully?" he cried incredulously.  "All I have is doubt.  
What else is left when I can't protect myself, let alone you?  All I have is
the hope that they will focus on me, that they won't turn their attention to
you.  Because God forbid, if they choose you next, all I can do is try to
pick up the pieces once again and pray that there are still pieces to pick
up, because there's absolutely nothing I can do to prevent it."

"I can protect myself, Mulder," Scully said quietly.

His eyes slid to her, and he regarded her with a bitterly defeated
expression.  "Well, that's good, Scully. That's good.  Because I'd hate to
think you'd depend on me."  He turned his back to her.  

"Mulder, I didn't mean--"

He held up a hand.  "I-I need a little time, Scully.  I just need to sort
things out by myself."

"Please, Mulder--"

"I just...I'm going to go." He took a few steps away from her and paused, not
completely turning to face her but inclining his head toward her.  "You know,
Scully, when the doctor told me to think of a safe place?  I thought of you,
anywhere with you.  I think, if our positions were reversed...I can't see
that you would think of me in that way."  Quickly, he turned and strode down
the hall, leaving Scully alone and bereft.
 
She walked to the window and waited until she could observe him emerge from
the building below her view.  He trotted out as if he were being pursued and
was just barely making his escape, stopping at the curb, hailing a cab and
crawling in.

She raised her hands to her eyes.  Had she said the wrong thing, or was there
anything right to say in this situation?

"Agent Scully?"  Dr. Werber said gently.

"Oh," she sighed.  "I'm sorry.  You probably have another appointment."

"No, I'm done for the day."

"Well then, I'll get out of your way," she replied as she headed out the door.

"I thought you might want to talk."

She glanced at him.  "I can't see that there is anything to say."

"I hope you'll understand what I'm going to say," he said.  "But I heard what
Mulder said to you, and I don't think you should think yourself the cause of
his self-doubt."

"I don't," she replied unconvincingly.

"It would be natural for you to think that your strength, your independence,
makes him feel like less of a man.  I think you know somewhere inside of you
that those qualities are part of what draws him to you."

Scully dropped her head.  "I don't want him to think I need to be able to
feel confident in my ability to fend for myself because I don't trust him to
do that.  It's just who I am, who I have always been; it's separate from what
I feel for him. Those times...those hellacious times when I have felt as if I
was out of control, that I was not able to protect myself, the only truth I
had was that Mulder wouldn't let anything get between him and saving me." Her
voice cracked, and she found herself on the verge of tears.  "I should
have...I wish I would have said that to him," she observed.

"He didn't give you the opportunity to say that.  Sometimes a person will
accuse others of believing what he can't confront about himself.  At this
point in time, Mulder has been made to feel vulnerable and without defense."

"I-I'm just at a loss," she replied as she quickly disposed of tears that had
escaped her eyes.  "I don't know what to say, what he needs to hear.  I don't
know how to help him through this."

"Just his knowing that you feel that way will help, eventually."

"What about now?"

"Now, he needs to relearn what is true.  He has to adjust his thinking about
his world and learn how to integrate what happened into his life."

"And he has to do that alone?"

"Yes, in many ways, he does.  But that doesn't mean it won't help him to know
that you are steadfast in your desire to support him, that his friends feel
the same, that he has a strong infrastructure, if you will."

Scully nodded.  "What about now...tonight?  Should I go after him?"

"I wouldn't.  I'd let him have his time alone to sort through what he knows.  
Doubting himself, his ability to protect himself and those that he loves,
it's a natural reaction, almost a necessary one. There is a normal
progression that he will have to go through and it will be tough, even for a
man like him."

"How do you mean?"

"This is just my perception of him, from the dealings we've had over the
years," Dr. Werber warned.

"Okay."

"Most men, faced with all that has happened to Mulder, would completely shut
down emotionally.  But he has a lot of inner strength, courage even.  Just
the fact that he could be abused as he was growing up and relentlessly
attacked and betrayed as an adult and still be able to offer himself up to
relationships, even on the limited level he has been able to obtain, that
speaks of bravery to me.  He can still trust, offer and receive loyalty, open
up to people he cares about; these are all psychological risks.  They make us
vulnerable.  I admire him.  I have to admit it.  And I believe he will get
through this."

Scully mulled over his words and knew his perception was almost identical to
her own, although she had never gelled her perception into cohesive words.  
"Thank you.  You know, I think I really needed to hear that," Scully replied.

"You know, Agent Scully, when someone is raped, there are shockwaves that
affect all of that person's relationships.  You will have issues too."

"Obviously," she replied without any sarcasm.

"I would suggest, if you see a counselor, talk about it there.  And I would
strongly advise that you encourage Agent Mulder to enter counseling as well."

"I will," she replied as she headed out the door.  She turned and smiled at
him.  "I'm glad we came here tonight.  I think you've helped both of us."

"I'm here if you need to talk, Agent Scully."

She nodded and headed up the hall toward the elevator.

"Does he know how much you love him?" Dr. Werber called after her.

Scully turned slowly, considering.  "I hope so," she finally answered as she
pushed for the elevator.


From the Ashes (13 of ?)

*Author* Jamie Greco

jgreco217@aol.com

Mulder finagled the new key into the lock on his door.  It seemed unwilling
to co-operate at first, and he wondered briefly if he would have to spend the
night out in the hall.  Finally, begrudgingly, it turned and Mulder
shouldered the door open.

There was no denying the immediate eye-catching ability of a new coffee table
wrapped in oversized red ribbon and an enormous red bow.  Mulder stood, a
little dumbstruck with the sight before advancing on it as if it might emit a
quiet, threatening, ticking sound.  But it was simply a cheaply made
facsimile of what he had rested his feet on before the events of two nights
ago occurred.  He circled it, an almost unnatural feeling of hatred rising in
his throat.  Bending over it, he looked for a tag or a note that would tell
him, not who had sent it; he knew that with full certainty.  He hoped a
hidden clue as to Amber's whereabouts so that he could find her, retrieve her
and find even the smallest amount of closure in that action.

Sighing, he finally threw himself down on the couch and tortured his mind
with what he knew about Amber and how that might translate into a clue.  But
his brain was almost numb with exhaustion, and he found himself unable to
perform the leaps of logic that usually came so easily to him.  He glanced at
the phone and talked himself out of calling Scully.



Scully turned over the day's events in her mind as she drove back to her
apartment.  She pictured Mulder's face: the anguish, the uncertainty, the
occasional lapse into his pre-prison personality.  She wondered if the rest
of his life might be measured in such a way: pre-prison attack, post-prison.  
The thought pulled her into a spiral of sadness.

She forced her mind away from cataclysmic thinking and focused on Amber.  
Picking at the remnants of what she knew about Amber, something occurred to
her.  She lifted her phone from the seat next to her and dialed information,
finally ringing Norm Abrahmson's office.

"Yeah," he answered abruptly.

"Mr. Abrahmson?" Scully queried.

"Yeah, who're you?"

"It's Agent Scully."

"Hey, how ya doin'?"

"I'm fine.  Mr. Abrahmson, may I--"

"Hey, every time you call me Mr. Abrahmson, I look around for my dad; and
he's dead goin' on twenty years.  So believe me when I say I'd rather you
call me Norm."

"Okay, Norm.  I wonder if you checked Amber Whitley's file at any point?"

"Actually, Agent Scully, as you probably know, the practice of looking up the
records of a sexual assault victim is frowned upon.  It might be seen as
blaming the victim."

"Okay, but I think it has been clearly proven that Amber Whitley--"

"Ahhh!  I get where you're coming from.  Amber Whitley ain't nobody's victim,
least of all Agent Mulder's.   Hold on; I'll check it out."

After a minute, he came back.  "Nope, nada, sorry.  I got no record for an
Amber Whitley.  Of course, we're supposing that's her real name."

"Yeah," Scully barely replied.

"Have you got anything with her fingerprints?"

Scully considered Amber's time in her apartment.  "I think I can almost
guarantee that I do.  She was in my apartment this morning."

"Busy little bee, isn't she?  How's about I send over a forensic guy and we
go from there?"

Scully hesitated momentarily, thinking about her promise to give Mulder time
to find Amber.  But she reasoned that looking up her records was not akin to
going back on her word, and she gave Abrahmson Amber's address.  

"Okay.  I'll have somebody there within the hour," Norm told her.

"Norm," Scully ventured, "I'd like to have the results from Forensics as
quickly as possible.  If there is any significant information, I'd like to be
able to tell my partner this evening."

"Do you think he might be persuaded to testify if it turns out she's been
yanking his chain?"

"Possibly.  I just think it might give him some--" Scully broke off, not
wishing to share her concerns over Mulder's state of mind.

"Peace of mind?" Norm completed for her.

"Added information with which to make his decisions," Scully amended,
although Norm's analysis was closer to the truth.

"Well, I think I can pull a couple of strings and get you the info by,
say...ten o'clock?"

Scully glanced at the clock on her dashboard: 8:25.  "I would appreciate
that, Norm.  I really would."

"Hey, no problem.  You take care of yourself."

Scully didn't answer; she was too preoccupied with her thoughts of Mulder.




Mulder was expending mounds of mental energy, shying his mind away from the
dangerous ground of the prison.  In the shower, he sang, loudly and without
anything resembling lyrics, to keep the demons away.  He was nearly
successful.  But when the terrorizing words began to whisper in his ear, he
exited the bathtub quickly and dried himself, pulling clean clothes from his
drawers and walking briskly into his living room as if he could outrun the
memories.

He looked at his phone, tempted by the deliverance Scully might provide with
the mere sound of her voice.  Picking up the receiver, he speed dialed her;
but her line was busy.  He replaced the receiver, leveling an accusing gaze
at it momentarily before turning the television on only for the company of
human voices.

Yanking the ribbon from the table, he shoved at it with his foot.  Amber had
been there again.  He hoped it was before the lock had been changed so that
he didn't have to concern himself with closing his eyes.  It was then that he
realized that the specter of Amber Whitley held some fear for him.  He turned
that over in his mind.  On the surface of his emotions, he felt nothing but a
slight squeamishness that she would climb on top of him and he would mistake
her even briefly for Scully.  But somewhere deeper inside, his mind had
connected Amber with the rape and all that had come after and she was firmly,
irretrievably tied in with that.

His eyes shifted around the room. He felt an uneasy sense of insecurity and
wondered how to unburden himself.  

The light on his computer flashed, and he wondered at it: he didn't leave it
on indefinitely.  It took a minute before he approached it and clicked on his
on-line service.  Once connected, he watched the mailbox icon blink with
something akin to dread.  He clicked swiftly, and his mail was listed.  Among
others, there were two e-mails, apparently from his own address.  He clicked
again.
 
Fox,
I want you to know I've forgiven you.  I know we can go back to where we were
before if you can just promise me you won't see that whore again.

Amber


Mulder rubbed his eyes harshly and hung his head before he forced himself to
open the other mailing.


Fox,
I hope you like my present.  I traded my computer for it.  I figure we can
both use this one once we're married.  I'll call you later.

Amber


The ringing of his phone startled him; but he hurried to answer, assuming it
was Scully.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Mulder?  This is First Card Services."

He sighed.  "I sent in my payment," he snapped and prepared to hang up.

"Sir?   Sir?"  The voice continued urgently.

"What?" he growled.

"Sir, this is not about a payment."

"Then what?"

"Sir, we've noticed some abnormal activity on your First Card business
account, and we wanted to check and make sure you were still in possession of
your card."

"What kind of activity?"

"Someone checked into the Four Seasons Hotel tonight and has been on a very
upscale shopping spree in the area."

"The Four Seasons?" Mulder repeated.

"Yes--"

He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket and sprinted out the door.




"Dana!  I've been waiting for you.  I didn't want to bother you at work with
my silly worries."

"What is it, Mrs. Bennett?" Scully asked her landlord politely as she
approached her open door.

"Wait...wait a minute.  I have your new key.  Come in, Dana, I'll be right
back."

Scully waited in the elderly woman's foyer, ruminating idly about the smell
that seemed to overtake a house as a person reaches an advanced age.  She
wondered if someday she might walk into her own house and smell it, or if a
person simply became used to the smell and never knew that their time had
come.

Mrs. Bennett walked as briskly as she was capable, holding the key out to
Scully as she approached.  "Here you go," she told her as she patted her on
the arm.  "It was nice seeing you again."

"Mrs. Bennett, you said you had some things to tell me," Scully prompted.

"Oh! Oh for Pete's sake!  Yes.  Honey, you told me your sister passed, didn't
you?"

"Yes," Scully confirmed, feeling the accompanying sorrow that always followed
a mention of Melissa surge through her once again.

"I only ask, dear, because I saw a girl here today.  I thought it was you
when I first saw her.  You know my eyes. I had a cataract in one and I had
the operation, but now I can't see out of the other.  It's just hell to grow
old, but it beats the alternative!"  She laughed heartily.

"Ma'am?" Scully began after a moment.  "This woman..."

"Oh!  Yes!  I saw her coming down the hall, just after you left. I said hello
to her, you know, since I thought it was you?  But she just looked at me.  
When she got closer, I could see it wasn't you; and I locked myself into my
apartment.  You never know who's prowling around these days, do you?"

"Well, in this case, I think I do," Scully replied.  "Was there anything
else?"

"Else?"

"You said there were a couple of things."

"Oh!  Heaven's sake.  I wanted to ask about something the locksmith said to
me when he gave me the key."

"What was that?"

"He said, 'I hope you got a security deposit on that one.'  Now, what do you
suppose that meant?"

Scully's heart picked up an urgent beat as she headed toward her apartment.



      
Mulder listened to Scully's phone ring repeatedly at her apartment and
wondered why the machine wasn't picking up.  Frustrated, he jabbed at the off
button and waited till he had come to the next traffic light he before speed
dialed her cell phone.  When he got her message, he cursed under his breath
but waited for the beep.

"Scully.  I think I have a lead on Amber.  Call me as soon as you get this."




Scully opened her apartment door and stood completely still, her mouth
slightly open, her stomach twisting in tightly woven knots.  There was not a
plate nor a knick-knack nor a lamp that was not completely obliterated.  Each
and every upholstered surface was cut into, its contents pulled from it and
tossed.  She stumbled numbly into the room, her feet shuffling through the
debris that once were her furnishings, mementos and necessities.  

"Oh god," she murmured as she headed toward the kitchen where her
refrigerator and cabinets all stood gaping and empty.  The food flung at the
wall was beginning to stink.  She turned toward her bedroom and found her
clothes pulled out and cut into small ribbons and rags.  Her mattress was
shredded and seemingly turned inside out.   An unbroken mirror hung lopsided
with the misspelled "hore" written in her lipstick.  

She noticed her phone lying crushed on the floor and she went in search of
another, to no avail.

"Agent Scully?" a confused voice echoed in her living room.

She pushed fragments of her belongings aside with her foot and rested her
hand on her gun as she headed toward the voice.

"I'm...uhh...Officer Reynolds.  Norm Abrahmson called and asked if I could
pick up some evidence to rush to Forensics."  He eyed her apartment
quizzically.  "One person did all of this?"

"As far as I know," Scully answered.

"Well, it shouldn't be hard to find her prints."

"I have something in my bedroom you can take with you," she said over her
shoulder as she headed back.  

The officer followed her and picked his way toward her bed where she stood
gesturing at the middle of the gutted mattress.  There, buried to the hilt,
was a large butcher knife.

"That'll do it," The officer agreed as he put rubber gloves over his hands.  
"Are you going to call this in or should I?"

Scully considered for a moment.  "I'll call it in," she finally answered but
didn't add that she would first inform Mulder so he would know she was about
to break her promise.  She was going to press charges against Amber Whitley
before the charges were amended to include murder, her own or Mulder's.



Mulder trotted into the well-appointed lobby of the Four Season Hotel.  He
patted his pockets and was annoyed with himself for forgetting his
credentials as he approached the registration desk.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes.  Do you have an Amber Whitley registered here?"

"Whitley?" he asked as if Mulder had asked to see a catalog of sex toys.

Mulder ignored his attitude.  "W-H-I-"

"I know how to spell it, sir," the man answered as he punched his keyboard.  
"No Whitley.  Next!"

"No," Mulder said firmly.  "No, I need you to look under..."

"Sir, I have other customers."

"Just...just a minute," Mulder told him, wracking his brain for another name.
 His cell phone began to ring, and he ignored it.

"Sir, I'm sorry; I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

"Mulder!  Look under Mulder."

"Sir..."

"Look under Mulder," he said low, his voice clearly conveying his threat.

The man began to punch keys with a wounded expression.  "Mulder...yes."

"You have a Mulder?"

"Yes.  Do you want me to ring the room?"

"No.  I want you to give me the room number."

"I can't do that, sir."

"I am an F.B.I. agent."

"Then I'll need to see your badge."

Without replying, Mulder snatched a pen from the desk and wrote quickly.  
"Call the F.B.I. and ask for this man, Skinner.  He will vouch for me."  He
reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet as the man behind the
desk watched him coolly but intently.  Mulder slapped his driver's license on
the desk.  "This is me," he offered and then, without any prelude, he reached
out and turned the monitor toward him, noting the room number.

"Sir!  You will need to leave now, or I will have to call security."

Mulder trotted toward the elevator.  "Call the F.B.I.!"  He said over his
shoulder as the lobby came to a silent halt in his wake.  "If they won't
admit to me, call the police.  They probably miss me by now."  He stepped
into the first open elevator.   

The clerk watched after him momentarily, stunned and rudderless.  Finally he
picked up the phone and dialed.  "I'd like the number of the F.B.I."



Mulder stepped out of the elevator on the fourteenth floor as his phone rang.
 "Mulder," he answered.

"Mulder, it's me.  Where are you?"

"I'm...I'm on a lead.  What's going on, Scully?"

"I came home to complete destruction.  My apartment is completely trashed."

Mulder leaned against the wall adjacent to the elevator.  "She came back?" he
whispered.

"She came back like the seven plagues of Egypt.  There's nothing left,
Mulder."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's not your fault.  But I wanted you to know that I am going to press
charges.  I think it's long past time to bring her in."

"Can't you give it another...thirty minutes?"

"Mulder, what good is half an hour going to do?"

"You never know, Scully."

"Where are you, Mulder?" Scully asked suspiciously.

"I-I'm following a lead.  I'm very close, Scully."

"Mulder, she is extremely dangerous.  Tell me where you are.  Are you at her
house?"

"No.  Have you called the police about your apartment?"

"Abrahmson sent over an officer who is going to rush through the fingerprints
on the enormous knife I found stuck in the middle of my bed.  I should get
the report any minute."

"Will you let me know what they find out?"

"Mulder, let me reiterate the words enormous knife.  She is lethal."

"Maybe to furniture."

"She tried to rape you, Mulder!  She punched you in the face!"

"Maybe she just was under the impression that it's a custom in this part of
the world."

"Mulder--"

"I have to admit, Scully, punching me in the face seems to be more than the
passing fad I had originally hoped."

"Mulder, dammit, tell me where you are."

"I'm fine, Scully.  Just let me know what you find out."

Scully was infuriated by the sound of a dial tone.  "Damn him!" she shouted
as she ran a hand through her hair.

The phone in her hand rang, and she turned it on. "Mulder!  Don't hang up!"

"Agent Scully?" Skinner replied hesitantly.

"Sir, I'm sorry."

"You just spoke with Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because I just got a very odd phone call from the Four Seasons Hotel asking
me to vouch for Mulder.  Any idea why he would be there?"

"The Four Seasons?  Yes, sir, I think I do."

"Is he all right?"

"So far," she answered.  "I'm sorry, sir; I have to go.  I'll keep you
posted."

 

 
Mulder stood with his back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around his
chest, watching the door that Amber was most likely behind.  She was a mere
twenty steps from him, and he felt that knowledge like a blow to the stomach.
 It wasn't that he felt she was an imminent threat to him; at least he
wouldn't have expressed that opinion aloud.  It was something deep and
muddled in the far recesses of his mind that whispered that she was his
rapist, that she had the power to do it again.  Pulling his weight from the
wall on which he leaned, he stood, transferring his weight from one foot to
another, his eyes holding constant vigil on the door.  He placed his hand on
his hips and seemed to face down the door before he took the steps he
dreaded.  Biting his lips together in a thin line, he knocked on the door,
swallowing his fear and hoping to vanquish it by facing it down and taking
what he hoped were the first steps in recapturing the reins to his life.

From the Ashes (14 of ?)

*Author* Jamie Greco

jgreco217@aol.com


Mulder knocked tentatively at first and then with more bravado.  He flinched
slightly as the door flung open and Amber, squealing her delight, flew
through its threshold and into his arms.  Mulder held his arms stiffly at his
side.

"You're here!" she squealed, hopping up and down as she grasped him tightly
around the neck.  "Oh, I can't believe you're here!"

Mulder gently disentangled himself.  "Amber, we need to talk."

"I know, I know," she cried in delight.  "I want to talk!  Let's talk!"

He watched her as she bent over from the waist in a contortion of pure, manic
delight.  "I just can't believe you're here.  Come on!"  She demanded,
grasping his hand and pulling him into the room.

Mulder stood thunderstruck, gaping at the luxurious appointments in the room.
   Candles burned on every flat surface.  A table stood heavy-laden with
silver platters and fine china and crystal and more candles.

"I was just going to call you, okay?  I was picking up the phone; can you
believe it?  But, then, like, you knocked at the door and I'm like, who's
that, okay?  And it's you!"

"Amber, wh-what is all this?"

"I'm making a night for us always to remember, Fox.  It's the night we'll--"
She lowered her eyes.  "We'll...you know, for the first time."

Mulder turned from her, gathering his wits.  He dragged his hand over his
face.

"I know you're mad, okay?" Amber began again.  "I shouldn't have called the
police.  I shouldn't have; I know that now.  We're together.  I should have
just let you do what you wanted to do, okay?  I was just scared.  But now..."
She touched his arm from behind and he turned quickly, more startled than
gesture should have warranted.  "Now I'm ready, Fox."

"Amber," Mulder began gently.  "Can we sit down on the couch?"

"But the food is ready and--"

"Just for a minute."

"0-Okay," she said warily, glancing around the room at all her preparations.  

He led her by the arm and sat down first, looking up at her, chomping down on
the slightest edge of fear that seemed to sneak up on him.

"Oh my god!" she suddenly screeched.

"What?" Mulder asked, his teeth set on edge by her shriek.

"I forgot!  Wait here, okay?  Just wait here!"

"No... Amber!" he called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom.

He dropped his head and sighed.  There was a growing ache at the back of his
neck, and he reached back and rubbed at it while he tried to gather his
words, to know what to say.

Standing, he began to pace, his eyes wandering over the luxurious
surroundings without really seeing.  His phone rang, and he flipped it on
quickly to avoid Amber's reaction.  "Mulder," he said quietly.

"Mulder, it's me."

"Scully," he whispered.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he answered under his breath.  "What did you find out?"

Scully sighed heavily.  "Mulder, I want you to take this at face value."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't want you to put more meaning into this information than there
actually is in this particular case."

"Scully, will you just tell me what you found out?"

"Mulder..."

"Tell me."

"All right," she said reluctantly, pausing again.  "Her name is not Amber
Whitley; it's Anne Marie Whitcomb.  She is not nineteen; she is sixteen.  She
disappeared from her family's home while she was on furlough from the mental
hospital she was committed to when she attacked an eighteen-year-old boy at a
party.  He is still in physical therapy."

Mulder didn't answer.  He stood outside the bedroom, taking in the turned
down bed on which rose petals had been liberally scattered.

"Mulder, did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Mulder, this doesn't mean she's some lost little girl who's all alone in the
world and in need of your help.  Mulder, do you hear me?  This doesn't make
her--"

"Samantha. I know."

"Do you, Mulder?"

"I know, Scully."

"She's a paranoid schizophrenic with violent tendencies."

Mulder didn't reply.

"Tell me where you are," Scully said after a moment.

"I can't, Scully."

"I know you're at The Four Seasons.  Are you with her?"

"How did you...Skinner called you," he said flatly.

"Yes, are you with her?"

"I'm...I'm with her, yes."

"Mulder, can she hear you?"

"No, and I have to go before she comes out, Scully."

"Listen to me, Mulder.  I want you to leave, right now.  Just walk out and
meet me in the lobby."

"I can't, Scully," he said apologetically.

"Yes you can, Mulder."

"Look, I don't have time to argue.  I'm going to talk to her and--"

"Her parents are on the way, Mulder.  Let them talk to her."

"I have to go, Scully."

"Mulder, I'm going to be there in fifteen minutes.  Please--"

"I have to go, Scully.  I'm sorry."  

Mulder hung up the phone and turned it of as the bathroom door opened. Amber
walked out, stumbling slightly, wearing a very sheer white negligee.  He
averted his eyes.  She had gone into the bathroom a confused young woman and
now, with his newfound information, she had returned a child in his mind--a
child who was out to seduce him.  The idea nauseated him.

"What do you, think, Fox?  I picked it out for you at the Victoria's Secret.  
It was very expensive, but I thought for our first night..."

Mulder slipped his jacket from his shoulders and approached her, his eyes
still trained on the floor.  Quickly he wrapped his coat around her, and it
did a fair job of covering her near nudity.

"Fox," she whined.  "I wanted to look nice for you."

"You look very nice, Amber.  But I don't think it's appropriate--"

"What are you talking about?  We are going to make love!  I'm going to take
off my clothes and you..." She hooked the collar of his shirt in her finger.  
"You're going to take off yours."

Mulder removed her hand from his shirt with more force than he had
anticipated.  But her trespass felt at once threatening and perverted to him.
 "Don't," he warned her.  "Don't do that."

"I don't understand," she whimpered, holding the hand Mulder had struck to
her breast.

"I know you don't," Mulder acknowledged.  "I want to see if I can help you
understand."

"I don't think I want to talk," she said petulantly.  "I think I want to eat."

"Amber, we need to talk," Mulder insisted.

Amber knocked his coat from her shoulders and strode quickly to the table.  
"I got all kinds of appetizers; that's what they're called.  I thought we
could order lobster later.  I never had lobster."

"Can we talk about what happened the other night?"

She looked back at him, her chin lowered, her eyes looking up at him.  "I
told you I was sorry, okay?"

"It's not," he began in a frustrated tone but quickly modulated it.  "It's
not about being sorry.  It's about all the ways it was wrong and how to make
sure it doesn't happen again."

"Do you know that people bake potatoes and then scoop all the insides out and
then put other stuff inside of there and then eat it?"

"Amber, do you remember what I said to you in the bar that night?"

"You yelled at me," she answered accusingly, pulling a celery stick from a
platter, dragging it through the accompanying dip and sucking it before
returning it to the dip once again.  

"Yes, I did.  I yelled because you weren't listening to me.  You weren't
listening every time I told you that I didn't feel the way you did."

"But I love you."

"I...I know that you believe that."

"It's true."

"Amber, do you remember what I said to you that night?"  He repeated.

"I don't know.  You were so mad.  You scared me."

"I said that just because you want something...even if you want it with all
of your might...Amber?"

She had turned from him and was looking up at the sky through the open window.

"I told you that, just because you want something or someone, that doesn't
make it yours to take."

"But what if I promise not to call the cops again?"

He walked briskly to where she stood and took her by the shoulders, turning
her to face him.  "I don't love you, Amber," he said gently.  "I can't love
you."

She tore herself from him and walked away from the tables to where the
couches and chairs were centered around a large fireplace.  "You...you said
you loved me!" she argued, her voice rising.

"I never said I loved you, Amber."

"You did!"

Mulder shook his head sadly.  "I know you're confused.  I know what that's
like.  When I've been confused, it's always helped me to talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you."

"I mean someone whose job it is to help you see things more clearly."

She began to shake her head, slowly at first and then quickly as if she were
trying to shake wasps from her hair.  "You-you're talking about a head
shrinker."

"I'm talking about going home with your family and letting them help you."

"I don't want my family!" she began to shriek as she bent over the couch. "I
want you!"

"Amber," Mulder began and then stopped cold as he watched her lift the barrel
of his gun from the couch cushions and hold it steadily at his face.  
"Amber," he whispered.  "You don't want this to end this way."

She nodded, weeping copiously.  "I do.  I want that bitch partner of yours,
the whore who took you away from me, I want her to find you here with your
face blown off!  And I want her to think about that for the rest of her life."

"Amber, they'll put you in prison for the rest of your life."

She laughed hollowly.  "I'm going to be dead with you.  We'll be dead
together, you and me.  First, I'll kill you and then I'll lay next to you and
I'll kill myself and they'll find us there and they'll know we were supposed
to be together and they'll all feel real bad and cry."

"Amber--"

"It'll be just like Romeo and Juliet."

"No, it won't be, Amber, because you would be killing me for nothing."

"It's not for nothing!  Love isn't nothing!"

"But you don't love me, Amber."

Her mouth opened and closed silently.  "But, I do.  I love you more than
anything," she finally squeaked.

"You can't love a person you don't know; not in any lasting way."

"I know you!" She protested.  "I know all about you!  I know where you work,
where you live, where you go to drink.  I know what car you drive, what
movies you watch."

"That's not the same as knowing a person...here."  He placed his hand over his
heart.  "You don't know me, Amber.  You don't love who I am."

"How can you say that?  After all I've said and done to show you?  I just
can't figure out what it would take to show you." Her face quickly went from
bewilderment to certainty.  She stepped toward him, suddenly grinning
slightly and licking her lips.  She inclined the aim of the gun lower on his
body.  "Take off your clothes."

Mulder's world seemed to pause in its trajectory.  A simmering rage began to
rise in his throat.

"I'm going to show you that you love me.  When we're together, you'll know."

He pressed his lips together and watched her silently, his mind racing, his
muscles tensing in a subconscious bid for protection.

"Take off your shirt first and then your pants.  Oh!"  She began to giggle,
pulling the gun to her mouth and covering her smile, like a toddler behind a
teddy bear.  "Take off your shoes first or you won't be able to get your
pants off."

He shook his head, suddenly becoming lost in his private outrage.  "When did
my body become a carnival ride for anybody with a token?" he murmured, hardly
realizing Amber's presence.

"Wh-what?" she asked, completely bewildered by his words and his manner.

"Step right up.  Got a gun?  Yeah, take a ride.  Got a hallucinogenic?  You
got me.  Do what you want."

"I don't understand, Fox?  What are you talking about?"

He focused on her, in the moment once again as he reined back his anger.  
"I'm saying that a gun isn't enough.  Threatening me with death won't work.  
I'm not going to be used again tonight."

She frowned and cocked her head.  "What?" she whined.  "But I'm going to kill
you if you don't."

"I-I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."  

Her mouth took on a bitter slant.  "It's because of her.  It's because of
Dana Scully," she simpered, wagging her hips like a six-year-old.  "You love
her and you don't love me."

Mulder nodded slowly, carefully.  "I do...love her, Amber."

"Why?" she wailed, gesturing wildly with the gun.  "I can be everything she
is!  Everything!  Look!  I cut my hair like hers, and it's the same
color...mostly.  Wait," she said, holding up her palm, backing away, the gun
still trained on him.  She bent over a grocery bag, never taking her eyes
from Mulder's face.  "I brought her suit.  I could wear it for you, okay?  
Maybe you could pretend I'm her.  I could put on the jacket and then slowly
unbutton it, maybe do a little dance?"

Mulder closed his eyes briefly and opened them again.  

"No?  Isn't that what she would do?"  Amber continued eagerly.  "I-I could go
down on you!" She announced jarringly.  "Don't get me wrong.  I'm a virgin.  
I never let anybody put their...you know...down there.  I was saving that for
you, the man I love.   But I know how to do that!  Some boy once told me I
did it real good!  I bet she wouldn't do that for you--too prissy, too
classy.  But I'd do it.  I'd do it so that you'd love me."

"Amber--" Mulder began.

"Wait!  I brought this!"  She reached into the bag and brought out a black
satin negligee with a gathered bodice.  "I found this in her drawer.  It
still had the tags on it.  She never wore it, but I will.  I'll wear it for
you and you can close your eyes and pretend I'm her.  Okay, Fox?  Okay?" She
began to whine desperately.

Mulder sighed.  "No, it's not okay.  Nothing's okay as long as you're holding
that gun on me."

"Are you saying that you're one of those guys that like to...you know...make
the first move?  You know, macho like?  Because I can do that for you.  I can
just let you do anything you want."

Mulder looked into her face and knew that he could take advantage of her
trust and naiveté to end this now, although he was reluctant on some level.  
He found it almost impossible to trade on anyone's trust.  But logically he
knew he must do whatever was necessary to finally end the dangerous situation
he had deposited himself into.

He nodded and purposefully arranged the features on his face to resemble a
look of seduction accomplished.  "That's what I want, Amber.  I want to take
the initiative."

She frowned, bewildered by the term.

"I want to be in charge," he amended.  I'd like it if you would just...put
down the gun and give me the chance to...do what I want."

"You-you wouldn't try to run away?"

"No," he said, quietly, evenly.

"If I give you this gun, you'll kiss me and we can--"
 
"Yes," he interrupted, not wanting to hear the words.

"I-I can put this on," she said, holding up Scully's nightgown, suddenly
bashful.

"It isn't necessary," he replied.

She lowered her head and batted her eyes, and he attempted an appreciative
smile.

Slowly she made her way to him, waggling her hips in what she was sure was a
seductive way.  She stopped about halfway and looked suspiciously at him.  
"How do I know you aren't lying to me?"

"Don't you trust me, Amber?  Because if you don't trust me..."

"No, no, no," she said, attempting to soothe him.  "Don't worry, Fox, I trust
you.  I do."  

She took the last few steps, and he held out his hand as she moved nearer.  
But suddenly, quickly, before he could evade her, she hit him hard across the
side of his mouth with the back of the gun.

"God!"  He cried out, staggering back against the couch, stunned momentarily,
holding his hand over his throbbing, bleeding mouth.  Removing his hand, he
studied the blood there and tested his teeth with his tongue  "What the hell
did you do that for?"

"I just wanted you to know that if you're lying to me, I'll hurt you.  I'll
make sure you never fuck anyone else as long as you live."

Mulder watched her closely, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of
his hand, watching the barrel of the gun that was only inches from his face.

"Do you understand?"

Mulder nodded.  "I won't run.  Just give me the gun and I'll put it away."

She studied him closely before passing the gun into his outstretched hand.   
With a quick snap, he took it and put it in the back of his jeans.

"Are we going to make love now?" she asked quietly.

"No, Amber," Mulder told her as he took hold of her arms and twisted them
behind her.

"What?" she cried.  "You lied to me!"

"And you loosened a couple of my teeth," he countered.

"I can't believe you lied to me!  What kind of person lies like that?"

"A person who is trying to save your life."  He began to pull her along with
him toward the door, as she screamed and wailed.  "We're going."

"I can't go out like this!" she cried out.  "People will see me naked!"

Mulder paused, realizing it was true.  "You can wear my jacket," he offered.

"That won't cover me. People will see me naked, and it will be all your
fault."

Mulder sighed.  "Where are your clothes?"

"In the bathroom," she sniffled.  "Hanging on the back of the door."

He pulled her into the room and looked it over, opening drawers, even opening
the toilet tank.  "Put your clothes on," he instructed.

"Are you going to watch?" She asked coquettishly.

"Just put them on," he instructed as he released her arms and stepped out of
the bathroom, waiting just to the side of the threshold.  

There was a knock at the door. "Mulder, it's me.  Open the door."

Mulder glanced over his shoulder. "Scully--"

The bathroom door slammed shut, and he immediately threw himself at it as he
heard the lock engage and a resounding crash emanate from inside.  "Amber!"
he cried out as he shouldered the door harshly.

"You're going to remember this!" she screamed back at him.  "You'll always
know it was your fault!"

"Amber!" Mulder cried out once more as he tossed his body hard against the
door, which splintered in his wake.  It swung open, dangling from its hinges
and all he could see was the blood.


From the Ashes (15 of ?)

Author *Jamie Greco*

Jgreco217@aol.com


"God, oh god," Mulder murmured.  He told himself to focus on what needed to
be done; to do what he knew he was capable of in order to save her.  But as
the blood spattered across his face and over the tiles, he doubted briefly if
he would be able to get past the shock of it.  

"Mulder!" Scully yelled from the hallway.

Scully's voice snapped him into action once again.  He looked around quickly,
grabbing a towel from the rack and approaching Amber. She wove dreamily on
her feet as blood continued to spurt upward in an arch from the cut on her
arm and drip from the hand that held the broken shard of mirror that she had
used as a weapon against herself.  "It's too late now," she told him thickly.
 "I'm going to die and it's...it's...all your fault."

He made no response. He was completely within the actions that he was forced
to take.  "Scully!  Call an-" He cried out in pain as Amber slashed him
across the ribs before toppling onto one knee.

"Get away from me," she said weakly.  "I'll kill you."

"Amber, let me help you," Mulder pleaded, as he drew his arm around the
wound, grimacing with pain.

"Mulder!" Scully called out again, an edge of panic in her voice.

"Call an ambulance, Scully," Mulder called.  Quickly he darted at Amber, who
managed to slice his hand before she fell back completely.

Warily but determinedly, Mulder approached Amber. He had to leap back so as
to avoid a slice to his groin.  "I told you, she murmured.  "I'll make it so
you can never..." Her eyes began to close but opened once again, wild and
ferocious.  "She won't want you, will she?" she asked before her eyes closed
and her hand dropped the glass at her side.

Mulder leaped on her, pressing hard against the flow of blood with the once
white towel, which grew bright scarlet in what seemed like mere seconds.

"Scully!" he called over his shoulder.

"Mulder, unlock the door," she called back.

"I can't," he replied, grabbing at the other towel on the rack.

"Then stand back, I'm going to shoot."

"Go ahead," he answered as he wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

It was only seconds before Scully stood over him, trying to determine how
much of the seemingly interminable flow of blood was Mulder's.  "Are you
hurt?" she asked scanning his body with her eyes.

"Did you call an ambulance?"

"Yes, they had a team in the banquet hall that had responded to a choking
victim.  They're on their way up.  Mulder, answer me.  Did she cut you?"

"Yes.  Am I doing this right?" he asked.

"Let's raise her arm," Scully suggested, stepping into the room and slipping
slightly on the bloody tile.  Taking Amber's hand in hers, she lifted Amber's
arm above her body as she looked at Mulder from the new angle.  "Mulder,
where are you cut?"

"Uhh, I-I think she got me across my ribs and...and..."

Scully bent over to look into his eyes. He looked back, slightly dazed.   
"You need to let me look at where she cut you."

"I'm all right, Scully.  I'm just a little...overwhelmed.  Is she going to be
okay?"  

"She should be.  Mulder, please just tell me everywhere you're injured."

"My ribs, my hand...That's all, I think."

She shook her head. "What about your cheek?"

He looked up at her, slightly puzzled, and then remembered.  "Oh yeah.  She
backhanded me with my gun."

Scully looked down at Amber, who seemed so harmless now, and had to fight an
overwhelming urge to leave her to face the consequences.  "Tell me what
happened, Mulder," Scully said.

"I had her, and I was going to take her in." He shook his head slightly.

"What's wrong?" Scully asked, alarmed.

"I'm just a little lightheaded," he replied, rearranging his body so he sat
next to Amber rather than squatting as he had before.

"Mulder, go into the other room and lay down.  I'll take care of her."

"No.  I need to see this through.  I can do this."

Scully sighed in frustration.  "I need to see how much you're bleeding."

He lifted his shirt with his free hand. Scully bent over him, observing a
long, straight cut just below his rib cage. The blood was coagulating and she
felt small relief at the sight, but his side and the top of his jeans were
covered in his blood.  "You might need stitches," she told him.

He grimaced at the thought.  "Will I get a sucker after if I don't cry?"

Scully shook her head grimly.  "Mulder, she could have killed you."

"It was my fault.  I had her, and she told me she had to get dressed before
we went out.  I...shouldn't have fallen for it."

"So now it's your fault that she did her best to kill you?"

"She's unstable.  I knew that when I came here."

Scully let out a growl of irritation.  

Mulder smiled up at her.  "If you're thinking you'd like to kick my ass,
you'll have to take a number."

Scully looked up.  "I think I hear them coming."

Mulder nodded, exhausted and relieved.  "That was fast," he observed.

"She was lucky. The guy the paramedics were working on spat out a carrot just
as the call came through," Scully replied as the paramedics burst through the
door in a flurry of activity.

"Okay, buddy, we'll take it from here," one of the paramedics barked.

Mulder stood, pulling on the towel rack to support himself.  

"Come on, buddy, we need room."

Mulder nodded, still working on standing steadily.

"Are you okay?" the other paramedic asked.

"Yeah," he answered, bracing himself against the wall before he made his way
to Scully, who placed herself under his arm.  He leaned more heavily than he
realized against her as she held him at the hip and back.  His jeans were
spongy with blood, and she realized he had lost more than she had realized at
first.  She wondered if he had been cut at the waist. After she lowered him
to a chair, she pulled his pants away from his skin.

"It'd be nice if someone would, just once, take me out to dinner before they
started undressing me," he said as he laid his head against the back of the
chair.      

"Sorry, Mulder.  Just checking."

"Am I all there?"

"Far as I can tell," she answered, lifting his shirt.  "This is pretty bad,"
she said.  "You'll need stitches--three...four at least.  Let me see your
hand."

He placed his hand in hers without opening his eyes.  "Ahh, looks like a
couple here as well.  She really did a number on you, Mulder."

"I made out pretty well, considering what her agenda was."

"What does that mean?"

He shook his head slowly from side to side.  "Doesn't matter."

Scully left his side briefly to ascertain the progress of the paramedics.  
They were carefully lifting Amber to the stretcher.  "You did good," one said
to Scully.  "You got to her in time.  She should be okay."

Scully nodded.  "It was my partner actually," she offered as she backed out
of their way.  

"Good job, buddy," he called out.   "She meant business.  She'd be knocking
on the pearly gates if you hadn't acted quickly."  

Mulder raised a hand in reply but didn't seem to have the energy to respond
beyond that.

"Okay, we're outta here," the paramedics as they wheeled Amber out.  "Does he
need to be seen?" he asked as an afterthought, gesturing toward Mulder.

"I'm a doctor," Scully replied.  "I'll take him in."

"Okay.  Good luck to you," he replied before exiting.  

"Come on, Mulder.  We're going to the hospital."

"Can I...Is there any water?"

Scully stood and looked around the room. Walking to the table, she grasped a
crystal goblet. Glancing at the appointments there, she frowned, bending over
to blow out the candles at the table.  Venturing carefully into the bathroom,
she poured water into the glass and brought it to him.

He sipped it at first but then quickly gulped the rest.  "Thanks."

"Are you ready to go?"

"I think so," he responded but made no effort to back his words up with
movement.

"Are you sure you don't want an ambulance?" Scully asked as she bent over
him, looking in first one eye and then the other.

"I'm really okay, Scully.  Really," he emphasized after seeing the dubious
expression on her face.  "I think I'm just tired.  Are you sure I have to go
to the hospital?  I'd just like to go to bed."

"After," she replied.  "I suppose you're up to date on your tetanus shot?"

"I'm the poster boy for tetanus shots."  

She nodded, looking around the room.  Her eyes fell on the discarded
nightgown flung across the couch opposite Mulder.  "What the hell," she
murmured as she retrieved it.

Mulder opened his eyes with some difficulty.  "She stole it from your
apartment," he offered.  

Scully held it in her hand, her face completely inscrutable to Mulder.

"What, Scully?" Mulder asked, sitting up slightly.

"It's just..." She shook her head.  "I can't explain it, Mulder.  It's just
so...completely invasive that she took this in particular."

"Why?"

"I..." She glanced at him and looked away again.  "I bought it..."

Mulder cocked his head; her slight blush had kicked his curiosity into
overdrive.  "What?"

She looked at him tentatively, and he wondered if she could part with
whatever information had distressed her in such an uncharacteristic way.  
Clearing her throat, she turned away from him and blew out more candles.  He
thought the subject was closed but soon she began, her voice small and
uncertain.  "A long while back, I bought it, thinking...we..."

Mulder's mind lurched with a surprising notion.  "Did you buy it with me in
mind, Scully?"

She nodded.  "It's a little embarrassing," she admitted.

"Embarrassing. Why?"

"I had completely forgotten it.  I bought it...so long ago, I can't remember."

Mulder drew his hand over his face.  "You bought...that, with me in mind, a
long time ago?" he repeated.

"Yes," she affirmed.

He looked down, completely flabbergasted.  "I hate myself," he mumbled.

"What?"

"I'm going to find this piece of information very hard to live with."

She smiled a little at the level of his despair.  "Mulder, do you really
think of me as the kind of woman who would sit by the phone waiting for you
to make the first move?"

"No," he replied.  "But I do think of myself as the kind of man who is so
dense when it comes to this kind of thing that I would have missed any first
moves you might have made."

"Well," she began, still slightly amused.  "Yes, you can be a little dense,
Mulder."

He looked up, pained and chagrined.

"But it adds to your charm," she added quickly and, Mulder thought, rather
unconvincingly.

He rolled his eyes and began to struggle to his feet.  Scully hurried over to
him.  "Let's get you taken care of. Mulder," she interrupted herself, "do you
know your pants are torn?"

"What?" he answered, alarmed.

"You have a tear from the zipper over."

"Oh my god," he leaned over himself, parting the material, attempting to see
inside.  "I can't see."

"Let me look, Mulder," Scully instructed.  He hesitated slightly.  "Mulder,
I've seen you naked before," she reminded him.  Wincing with his discomfort,
he tried to look for himself once again.

"I'll look through the fabric, okay?  If I can see, we'll leave it at that."

He sighed and settled himself carefully onto the couch.  Scully bent over
him, separating the fabric with her fingers, as he watched anxiously.  "I
just want to point out that the time you saw me naked, packed in ice, was not
representative."

"I don't see anything," she murmured.

"Scully, that is not the kind of thing a guy likes to hear in a situation
like this."

"No, you're not cut," she answered, straightening up.  

"That'll be news to the family rabbi," he answered casually, although it felt
as if his heart had stopped and begun again.     

"Come on," Scully said, helping him to his feet.  "You should be at the
hospital."  She placed herself under his shoulder, steadied him, and looked
into his face for confirmation that he was capable of walking on his own
power. When he nodded, they started out.

"Scully," he said as they stepped out of the room.  "When else have you seen
me naked?"

"Well, that time in the shower," she answered reluctantly, turning to close
the door behind them.

"You looked!" he cried out in mock indignation.

"Just a little."

"Once again, Scully, little is not a word that should be used in this
conversation."

"Okay, I peeked."

"Toward the beginning or toward the end?"

"Uhh, toward the end. Will you shut up, Mulder?"

"See, that was representative."

"If I say I'm impressed, can this conversation end?"

"Yes, I think I can agree to that."

"Okay, I was impressed."

"I'd swagger, but I'm afraid it would kill me."

They rang for the elevator and waited in silence and walked into the elevator
when it arrived.

"Were you saying you were impressed because you were or because you want me
to shut up?" Mulder asked.

"Yes," Scully replied as the doors closed.




"How's it going?" Scully asked the doctor as she walked around the curtain.

"Just...about...done..." The doctor replied with a flourish and then slipped
off his gloves.  "You're lucky," he said to Mulder.  "A little deeper, and
she would have lacerated your liver."

"Thanks," Mulder replied and then turned to Scully.  "Did you find out?"

"She's in stable condition, and her parents have just arrived."

Mulder took a deep breath, winced, and let it out again.  "So she's going to
be all right?"

"Seems like it."

"Good," he said thoughtfully, nodding his head.  "Good."

"Ready to go home?" Scully asked.

"Uhh, he's got prescriptions for me."

At the same time, the doctor reappeared and handed the scripts to Mulder.  
"Antibiotics and pain killers.  Take them as directed, and call me if you
have any problems."  The doctor turned to Scully. "He might be a little
woozy.  I gave him some Demerol for the pain; and he's lost blood, as you
know.  Can you stick with him?  Get him home?"

Scully nodded.  "I can stick with him," she replied.  "Ready?" she asked
Mulder.

"Past ready," he replied and grabbed his jacket and headed out of the cubicle
and toward the exit doors.

Just as they reached the revolving door, Mulder heard his name being called.
He turned, frowning as an older woman scurried toward them, a small man
following tiredly behind her.

"Agent Mulder?" she called out again as she drew closer. Her face was
flushed, and she panted as she slowed to a halt.  "The doctor pointed you
out.  I'm Amanda Whitcomb."

Mulder shook his head uncomprehendingly.  

"Ann Marie's mother?"

He glanced at Scully.  "Amber's mother," Scully clarified.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her silently, unsure of what to expect.
Scully stood at the ready, watching the woman carefully.  When Mrs. Whitcomb
wrapped her arms around Mulder's waist and laid her head on his shoulder, he
grew even more confounded and Scully relaxed.  

"I don't know how to thank you," she whispered.

"Thank me?" Mulder repeated, looking at Scully for support as she watched
approvingly.

"Yes, if it weren't for you, we might never have found her."

"Actually," Mulder interrupted, stepping back out of her embrace.  "It was my
partner, Agent Scully, who found out who she was."

Mrs. Whitcomb shyly held her hand out to Scully.  "Then I owe you a debt of
gratitude as well."

Scully shook her hand.  "I really didn't do anything."

"I talked to the police.  They told me what she did to you, Agent Mulder, and
that you called and refused to press charges.  Also that you saved her life
when she tried to...to..." She began to weep quietly.  

Her husband stepped forward.  "The D.A. said that he is willing to release
her into our custody at your recommendation as long as she is committed and
gets treatment."

"We'll have her transferred from here as soon as she's well enough to
travel," Mrs. Whitcomb added.

"That's for the best," Mulder agreed.

Mrs. Whitcomb dabbed at her eyes.  "You'll never know what we've been
through, Agent Mulder.  She just disappeared one day.  The not knowing where
she was, if she was alive or dead.  It's something I wouldn't wish on my
worst enemy."

Mulder nodded. Scully watched him grow pensive, knowing full well that he was
drawing his comparisons but unwilling to reveal his pain.  "It must have been
very difficult," he said quietly.

"You probably won't believe this; but when she takes her medication, she's
right as rain, a darling girl," her mother said.

Mulder nodded but didn't speak.  

The woman dropped her head silently, and her husband spoke up again.  "We
don't want to keep you, Agent Mulder.  We just wanted to let you know how
grateful we are."

"And that we will keep you in our prayers," Mrs. Whitcomb added.

"Thank you," Mulder replied, genuinely touched.

"Goodbye," they both murmured as they shook hands with the agents in turn.

Mulder watched them leave in something akin to awe as Scully watched his
face.  "Are you ready to go?" Scully asked him after a moment.

He seemed slightly startled.  "Yeah. Yeah," he murmured and followed after
her to the car, into which he slid carefully and silently.  

Scully glanced at him after she pulled into the street.  He gazed out the
window, giving no clue what he might be thinking.

"When did you call the D.A., Mulder?" Scully asked.

Mulder stretched his shoulders. "While I was waiting to be stitched up."

"Is that why you sent me to check on Amber?"

"You're so suspicious," he chided affectionately.  

"That's why I get paid the big bucks," she replied.  "The hotel must have
called the police," she surmised, mulling over what Mrs. Whitcomb had said
about speaking to them.  She pulled into the drugstore parking lot. When she
had turned off the ignition, she turned to Mulder and he looked back
curiously.  "I'm going to get your prescription filled," she told him.  "I'll
be right back."  

He nodded, but she didn't make a move to leave.  

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Was it worth it to you?"

"You mean going after Amber?"

"Yeah."

"I think it was, Scully.  Despite everything, I needed to know that she was
cared for.  I don't know why."

"I think I do," Scully replied.

"You think it's about Samantha?"

"Yes."

He looked out the window, nodding.  "Maybe it was.  But whatever it was, I
feel like she's off my conscience.  That, despite all of the havoc she
wreaked in my life, that she was just a young girl who needed to get home and
I sent her there."

Scully leaned toward his and placed the palm of her hand on his cheek.  "I'm
glad you feel that way."

He nodded lightly.  "I know that you were mad."

"I was worried."

"I'm sorry for that."

"You are who you are, Mulder.  If you didn't throw yourself at the devil's
door for the sake of your conscience, I wouldn't recognize you."

He mirrored the gesture Scully had performed, placing his bandaged hand on
her face.  "I...I can't tell you what it means to me that you can offer me
that acceptance."

"Well, don't think that gives you carte blanche to ditch me whenever you
think I won't approve of your various and sundry quests," she chided.

"How about I keep you appraised of the various and only leave out the
sundry?" He grinned.

"Not good enough," she replied, tapping his face lightly.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Sure you will," she replied dubiously, nodding at the storefront.  "Do you
need anything here?"

"No."

Quickly, on a sudden impulse, she leaned back and kissed his cheek. He turned
to look at her, pleased, but taken aback.  "What was that for?"

"Do I have to have a reason?"

"Absolutely not," Mulder replied.

"Okay, then," she said as she swung out of the car.

Mulder closed his eyes and laid his head back, a small smile on his face.  
When he heard his door open, he began.  "Did you forget--" But his smile
dropped from his lips.

"Get out of the car, Agent Mulder."

~~~


Mulder looked calmly into the barrels of two guns. At least, that was the
image he hoped he was projecting. His mind was racing, and his body pumped
more adrenaline than was produced in the average war.  "Do I know you boys?"
he asked with a small, slow grin.

"Get out of the car, Agent Mulder," the man who stood closest to him repeated.

Mulder glanced at the storefront and couldn't decide whether to pray for or
against Scully's arrival.  He felt very strongly disinclined to accompany
these men to another unknown, most likely less than enticing, destination. 
On the other hand, were she to arrive suddenly and draw her gun, someone's
life--most likely hers--would be lost. 
 
"I'm not going to say it again," the man repeated, a lethal tone to his
voice. 

Mulder crawled out of the car and was quickly flipped against it for his
trouble, the wound at his side informing him that his Demerol was wearing
off.  He winced and leaned heavily against the car as someone ran their hands
over his body.

"Yech," the man pronounced.  "He's damp."

"Give me a dollar, and I'll tell you if you need to start treatment," Mulder
replied over his shoulder.

"Let's go," the man demanded, pulling Mulder back by his shirt as he pocketed
Mulder's gun.

"Hey, I just got that back," Mulder protested. 

They continued to ignore him as they opened the back door of a large town car
and pushed him inside.  He remained sprawled across the seats for a moment as
he waited for the pain to subside from excruciating to merely intolerable. 

When he found he was to ride alone in the back seat, he allowed his face to
reflect his feelings for the first time.  Slowly, he lifted himself into a
seated position, checking that the door was locked and that he was unable to
open it.  Looking out the back window as they drove away, he thought he saw a
flash of Scully's red hair and it took the wind out of him.  He sat silently
for a few minutes before kicking out at the back of the driver's seat.

"Hey!  You son-of-a-bitch!" the man responded.

"If this is a surprise party, I have to politely decline.  I just hate
surprises."

"Look, motherfucker, you do that again and I'll shoot off your nuts," the man
in the passenger seat threatened.

"What the hell does everybody have against my nuts?" Mulder asked, his voice
taking on a manic edge.

"Just shut the hell up and enjoy the ride."

Mulder nodded agitatedly.  "Enjoy the ride," he murmured.  "That's my mission
statement." 

He thought about Scully.  She had come out of the store by now and found him
gone.  What had she thought at first?  Had she looked around, thinking he
might be stretching his legs?  How long before the panic had set in?  He felt
guilty at the thought of her as she wondered what had happened this time, and
he wished he knew the answer to that as well.

Looking out the window as the car slowed down, he was taken aback as they
pulled up to his apartment building.  "What are you guys, militant
do-gooders?  Maybe you didn't notice, but I had a ride home from the
hospital."

"Shut up, smart ass."

"Smart ass," Mulder replied sarcastically.  "That's a new one.  Nobody's ever
called me that before."

They exited their doors and soon reached in for him.  "I can make it the rest
of the way myself," he told them as they pulled him from the car and once
again turned him around against the vehicle, handcuffing his hands behind his
back.   "I'd kiss you goodnight, but I really didn't have that good a time,"
he continued as they led him up the walk.

"Really?" the taller man replied with a sneer.  "I hear you're pretty easy."

"And I hear you're a dickless lapdog," Mulder responded, earning himself a
quick punch to the stomach.  He tried to bend over the pain, but they held
him upright as they entered the building.  "Goddamn you," he groaned.

"You looking for more, bitch?"

"Fuck you," Mulder spat out.

"No, fuck you seems more like it."

They pulled him down the basement steps as he recovered slightly from the
blow.  The basement was completely dark, save for a small glow from the
furnace.  "We're supposed to leave him here," they told each other, as they
uncuffed one of hands and linked him to the pipes overhead.

Mulder shuffled his feet and looked around, anticipating his fate less than
eagerly.  One of the men started up the steps, but the other lagged behind. 
Quickly he positioned himself directly behind Mulder and leaned into his ear.
"How about I come back and do you later?" he hissed.

With a quick, ferocious movement, Mulder snapped his elbow back and heard the
satisfying crack of bone hitting bone.  He turned to watch the man double
over, his hands to his face.

Before he could recover and strike out, Mulder kicked hard under his chin and
the man sprawled backward, out of Mulder's reach.  He groaned and growled and
cursed, but Mulder felt completely devoid of fear.  The thought of reprisal
had not yet overcome his pumping adrenaline.  He stood, shackled by one hand,
baring his teeth.  "Come on, asshole.  Try me again!"

Slowly the man rose to his feet, testing his facial wound with his hand,
examining his blood on his fingers.  "I'll try you," he threatened, beginning
to move toward Mulder, his intentions written all over his face.  "You're one
dead motherfucker."

"Come on," Mulder repeated loudly.  "I'm waiting!"

"What the hell is going on here?" a raspy voice asked from the darkness.

Both men turned to confront the newest member of their party.  Mulder
recognized the glowing red ash before any features were apparent.  He turned
back to the now stalled man, whose face bled freely from multiple origins. 
"Are you going to let him stop you, you pathetic lackey?" he taunted in a
guttural voice.

The injured man took a few threatening steps.  "Go," the Cigarette Smoking
Man demanded, stopping him in his tracks.  Without further comment, he turned
and prepared to leave.  "Leave his weapon," the Cigarette Smoking Man added
and held out his hand.  "We wouldn't want Agent Mulder to sully his
reputation with his superiors."

Cowed, the other man handed Mulder's weapon over and turned to go.

Now alone with Mulder, who watched him with murderous contempt, the Smoking
Man approached and studied him.  "He's not the man in your memories," he
observed.

"He'll do," Mulder spat out. 

"I suppose he will."

"What do you want from me, you son-of-a-bitch, a pound of flesh? I gave at
the office."

"More than once by my count," he answered, tossing the butt of his current
cigarette to the ground in almost the same instant as he lit another.

"I can't tell you how honored I am that you're keeping count." 

"I simply wanted to borrow a few moments of your time in order to discuss a
few things," he stated calmly, squinting against the smoke of his newly lit
cigarette.

"Ever heard of AT&T?"  Mulder sneered.

"Unfortunately, you've developed a nasty habit of hanging up on me."

"And that doesn't translate into information for you?"

He smiled.  "I suppose not," he answered, circling Mulder, examining his
face.  After a moment, he reached above their heads and pulled a string,
which turned on a dim light.  Mulder blinked and narrowed his eyes.  "You
look like you've been in a war," the Smoking Man observed.

"You should see the other guy."

"I think I did.  Fox, did your partner tell you I called on her?"

"She told me," Mulder answered dismissively.

"Did she relay my offer to you?"

"At what point in our sorry excuse for a relationship did you conclude that I
am stupid?"

"I have never underestimated your intelligence," the Smoking Man protested.

"Then what would make you think I'd willingly open my brain for your use as a
personal playground?"

"Because there is no point in you carrying that memory with you, not now."

"No point?"

"Of course not.  That was not my intent."   

"Look, I've had a hard day and I'm late for my next beating.  You're going to
have to lay this out for me."

"I'm a little surprised, Fox.  I would have thought you would have realized
my purpose by now."

"Fuck your purpose."

"I must say, you're more hostile and volatile than usual tonight."

"I guess I'm feeling a little sensitive about the fact that you raped me,"
Mulder rasped harshly, straining at his handcuff.

"Raped you?  Have you finally lost the tenuous grasp you've had on reality?"

"That's what you'd hoped for, you putrid piece of shit.  You abducted me and
you violated me, hoping that I would become so incapacitated by the trauma
that I would slink away, one less obstacle."

"Do you really think that your unfortunate experience in prison was merely a
sordid exercise in manipulating your all too eager mind?  What would be the
point?  I know you're stronger than that.  Really, I'm disappointed in you,
Fox.  You aren't usually so short sighted."

"Short sighted?"  Mulder murmured.

"Think.  I know you're up to it, despite the late hour and the difficulty of
the last few days.  Surely you can perform a better profile as to my
motives."

Mulder watched his face as he turned over in his mind what had happened and
why.  He entered by the back door of his nemesis' brain, mentally pushing
aside the cobwebs and poisonous serpents that hissed from shadowed corners,
deeply entrenched in reasonings that would not have naturally occurred to
him.  One arm dangled over his head; his pain was ignored as he concentrated
on the depraved intent of the man who returned his studious gaze.  And then
he understood, and a new terror coursed through his blood. "You took me from
prison and put that in my brain so that I would know, without a doubt, that
you could take me from anywhere and put anything in my mind.   That I have no
recourse, nowhere to go."

"Very good!  I knew it would come to you."

"You want me to quit the X-Files, or you will threaten to take me at will and
put any memory in my mind."

"Or thought, or idea."

"I don't believe that."

"What don't you believe?"

"That you would be able to input any thought you'd want, even if it
contradicted what I hold true."

"What do you hold true, Fox?"

"What do I--?"

"What do you hold true or precious that you would not toss to the wayside in
the event that it stood in the way of your single-minded pursuit of a truth
you have yet to find?"

"You don't know me if you believe that," Mulder replied flatly.

"But I do know you, better than you think, more than you know yourself, it
seems.  I've watched you, Fox.  I've seen you cast aside even your own truths
to accommodate what you choose to believe, and what you choose to believe is
what I hold out for you to believe.  I have shaped you, Fox, in ways you have
yet to realize.  And I recognize you because we are cut from the same cloth,
you and I."

Mulder let out a hollow laugh that echoed from the stone walls.  "You're a
sorry piece of shit that has sold everything, including his own wife and
child, in an effort to preserve his own pathetic ass.  How do you see a
parallel between us?" 

"Because I was where you are today.  Only I found myself alone because of my
single-mindedness of purpose much later in life.  You, Fox, have a tremendous
head start.  Look at you; you are almost forty years old; you are living in a
hovel, by yourself, with your only indulgences being pornography and
sunflower seeds, still sleeping on the couch in fear of your father's next
beating."

Mulder's shifted his eyes uncomfortably from the older man's face.  Suddenly,
without warning, he felt vulnerable, naked.

"Yes, I know he beat you.  I tried to make him stop more than once.  You
probably don't even remember the night I pulled him off of you.  I was afraid
he'd kill you; as it was, he knocked you unconscious.  And all you did was
call out your sister's name in your sleep.  No one in his right mind could
have blamed you for that, save for Bill.  We had to take you to the hospital,
your mother and I.  I left her there with you and went back to talk to your
father."

"He picked us up."

"That's right.  You had a broken arm."

"You weren't there," Mulder insisted, still unable to lift his eyes, an
irrational wave of shame flooding over him.

"I'm sure you wish that were true.  I was there more often than you know. 
But we've strayed from the point."

"Which is?"

"That your life has become something other than your own.  That it is
completely swallowed up by your twisted sense of your own importance in the
grand scheme of things."

"Wait a minute, my sense of self-importance?"  Mulder cried out, completely
restored from the disturbance his father's memory had wrought.  "Holy God! 
You have set yourself up as the omnipresent center of the universe.  We dare
not even speak your name!" 

"True enough.  But I had a life once--a family, a wife--"

"The aforementioned chattel in your quest to save your own life."

"Perhaps so, Fox.  But you...you have nothing permanent. You have no
attachments.  You don't even trade on your good looks to get sex!"

"What are you now, Dr. Ruth?"

"I am simply saying that if you could free yourself from the X-Files, perhaps
nurture your relationship with Agent Scully---"

"Don't even..."  Mulder held out a finger in warning.  "...say her name."

"I know you feel for her.  But she would be another casualty in less than a
moment's time if she stood between you and your mission."

"You're wrong."

"I'm right, Fox.  I know you.  No one holds the importance for you that your
all powerful quest does.  And that is why you are such a threat, and it is
also why you will find yourself much like me if you get the chance to age:
treading water, no further along in your search for the truth than you are
now, your life behind you and absolutely nothing to show for yourself."  He
turned abruptly and walked into the shadow.  "So what do you say?  I have no
need for you to lie in bed at night, picturing your own violation.  Will you
let me help clear your mind of that sordid memory?"

"Let me go."

"Is that a no?"

"That's a hell no."

"You'd rather wonder every day if what you know and remember is true or if I
came in the night and implanted your every motive, dream or desire?  I am
your salvation, Fox."

"Salvation?  Salvation? You sad, sorry little man, spare me your redemption.
I'd rather go to hell."

He smiled a little.  "You will, Fox.  You will and with no necessary
assistance from me.  I'm really very sorry for you."         

"When I want your sympathy, I'll beat it out of you."

He began to turn away.  "I'll see you in your dreams, Agent Mulder." 

"And I'll see you on the front page of every newspaper of every major city in
this country."

"Is that your idea of a threat?" he asked without turning around.

"Do you really think I'd just bend over and take it from you over and over? 
I will bury you with publicity that will make Monica Lewinsky gasp."

Cancer Man turned and advanced on Mulder quickly, leaning into his face with
a palatable aggressiveness.  "Do you suppose you can manipulate me, Agent
Mulder?"

Mulder pulled forward, stretching his arm behind him, baring his clenched
teeth.    "I will not go gently.  If you know me so damn well, you should
already know that.  I will not go gently."

The Smoking Man inhaled deeply on his cigarette, blowing the smoke,
temporarily obscuring Mulder's face.  The burning end glowed red and
elongated; the ashes fell freely to the floor.  He glanced down slightly at
them.  "Then your life will become nothing but ashes."

"And I'll rise out of it like a fucking phoenix.  And I'll never lay down for
you."

They gazed steadily into each other's eyes, mutually contemptuous before the
older man turned on his heel without a word, leaving Mulder alone once again.
 

"Hey!" Mulder called out after a minute, rattling his handcuff against the
pipe to which he was attached.  "Hey!" he cried louder before slumping in
despair.  "Shit," he murmured as he dragged his shackle across the pipe in
order to lean against the wall.  He knew he should yell for help, but he
wanted a few minutes to gather his thoughts and whatever strength he could
lay his hands on.  Time passed as he turned the Smoking Man's words over and
over torturously in his mind.    

"Mulder?"  Scully's voice called out from the top of the stairs.

"What the hell?"  He mumbled.  "Scully?"

"Thank God," he could hear her say as her footsteps grew closer.

"How did you find me?" he asked incredulously.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine.  Why do you ask?"

"Oh hell, you're handcuffed.  Hold on, I have a key in the car."

Mulder nodded and watched her go, wondering how he could tell her everything
that was said and done, wondering if anything his enemy had said rung true. 
He dropped his head in exhaustion and hoped against hope that it wasn't.

~~~


Scully gazed up in annoyance at Mulder's hand, which dangled above his head,
handcuffed to a pipe and out of her reach.  "I'm going to need a ladder or
something," she murmured.  "And no cracks," she warned as she turned from him.

"No cracks," Mulder agreed with a small smile.  "How did you find me?"  He
asked, watching after as she poked around.

"Would you believe women's intuition?" she asked.

"I think it's pretty well established that I'll believe any damn thing,"
Mulder replied with no humor in his voice.

Scully glanced back at him, slightly taken aback by his tone, but she soon
turned to her quest.  "Well, you'd be wrong in this case."  Finding a small
door almost obscured in the dim light, she tugged at the handle and it
creaked open.    She felt around inside the room for a switch or a string to
pull.  Finally, waving her hand blindly, she found the string, and the small
closet flooded with light.  It took a minute for her eyes to adjust.  "You
may, in fact, find this hard to believe," she said.  "Oh, this will do," she
said, coming across an old chair, upturned in the corner.  She took hold of
it and turned it over, dragging it behind her. 

"What won't I believe?"  Mulder queried, his voice cracking with weariness.

"Mrs. Yates, your downstairs neighbor?  She called me."

"What?" he cried out incredulously.  "How did she get your number?"

"Remember, I talked to her while you were in prison?  I gave her my card."

"Okay, but why--"

Scully pulled the chair near him and climbed atop.  With a movement executed
with such precision that it seemed he had waited all night to do it, Mulder
wrapped his free hand loosely around the top of her thighs and rested his
head against her waist, closing his eyes. 

Scully paused, puzzled and slightly apprehensive.  Lightly she touched the
top of his head, but his hair was matted with Amber's blood. Gently she moved
her hand over his head to the side of his face.  "Are you all right, Mulder?"
she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady and sure.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, most certainly unconvincingly.

She looked down at him but only could see shadows on his face.  Looking up,
she turned her attention to his wrist, scraped and bloodied.   "You know,
Mulder," she began, attempting to convey a sense of normalcy with her voice.
"You'd think you'd realize by now that simply pulling hard against a handcuff
will not cause it to open," she observed as she unlocked him.

"Maybe I should have tried to remove my thumb," he murmured, as he dropped
his hand.  She could feel the vibration of his voice through her clothes and
against her skin.  Taking hold of his face, she tilted it up and slowly bent
her knees until she could look him in the eyes.  She saw such sorrow there as
to chill her soul.  "What happened, Mulder?" she asked.

He released her and took a step back, lowering his eyes and observing his
wrist.  "My hand fell asleep about a half hour ago," he said as he rubbed it
gingerly.  Quickly he looked into her face and away again.  He held out his
hand, and she took it and hopped down.  "Are you going to tell me about Mrs.
Yates?" he asked, attempting a casual tone of voice.

Scully watched him closely for a moment, studying his face as if she would
have to sketch it from memory at a later date.  "She said she was watching
out her window, and she emphasized that she was not spying on anyone.  But
she saw you dragged from the car, handcuffed, and punched.  She said it was
none of her business, mind you, if you want to live that kind of a life; but
she thought I might want to know, just in case you were dead and I wanted to
make arrangements." 

"The sweet milk of human kindness," he murmured as he rubbed his hand,
avoiding the deep chafing at his wrist.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Mulder kicked at a small pile of cigarette butts.  "Does that tell you
anything?"

Scully nodded grimly.  "That's what I was afraid of."

"Scully, I'd really like to go upstairs now," he said as if she might refuse
to allow it.

"Come on," she said, taking hold of his hand.

"Wait," he said, walking toward the steps, scooping up his gun where the
smoking man had left it and sticking it into the back of his pants.

"Okay, let's go," he told her and followed after her up the steps and
eventually into the elevator.  As they rode up to his floor, he stood
silently, head bowed, completely lost within his own reverie.  Scully glanced
at him, frightened of something just beyond her awareness.  She found herself
wishing she never had to hear what had conquered Mulder's almost impenetrable
ability to get past anything that didn't affect his small circle of loved
ones.  What had he said, the murderous bastard, to affect him to the point of
despair and beyond.  She found herself longing to wrap her hands around the
Smoking Man's wrinkled neck and squeezing every breath of life from him.

"Scully?" Mulder said.  "We're here."  He gestured at the open elevator door.

She smiled a little, chagrined and stepped into the hall, still silent.

Mulder walked slowly, painfully toward his door and wrestled the new key into
the lock.  As the door swung open, he walked a step inside and stalled.

"Mulder?" Scully inquired, looking around his shoulder.

"Can you hold the door for me, Scully?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Sure," she responded, watching as he strode toward the coffee table, which
still bore some red ribbon.  He grabbed it, lifting it and carrying it into
the hallway where he tossed it to t