By Xenith
xenitha@yahoo.com
 

Website: http://xenith.freeservers.com

Rating: NC-17 for graphic torture,
gruesomeness and intensity.

Classification: Story and angstfest

Keywords:Muldertorture, M/Sc/Skinner
friendship

Disclaimer: The XFiles and all the
characters belong to Chris Carter. This
story is written in homage to a fine
series, intended to keep the flame alive
until CC gets us the next XF movie!

Spoilers: little one for Avatar, but takes
place assuming seasons 8 and 9 never
happened.

Archive: Sure! But e-mail me first.

Feedback: Oh yes! Lots of it!! Lots and
Lots!!!

Summary: Mulder is missing and only Scully
can find him and help to save his body and
his mind.

Author's Note: The Lone Cabbage Resort can
actually be found in Florida near Orlando.
Parked on a wide spot on the highway, they
offer burgers, gator sandwiches and
airboat rides. Truly the experience of a
lifetime, you should go there! And not
related at all to the completely imaginary
motel I've located in Clovis.

And thanks again to Donnaj for keeping up
the archive and to Gail (Mulderache), my
medical consultant!

~~~
 

The Invisible War (6/?)
 

Skinner kept working on Mulder's still
body. He found himself cursing under his
breath: Come on, dammit, breathe! Don't
you die on me, Mulder...

He'd waited too long to pull over. Should
have stopped sooner. But if he'd stopped
short of the two mile mark they'd have
shut Mulder down again. Keep forcing air
inside, pump on his chest, breathe
Mulder....I take back everything I ever
said about you being a screwup....

He felt a slight movement under his hands
and checked Mulder's throat for a pulse. A
beat. Two. Regular rhythm and he was
breathing. Thank God. Skinner sat back on
his heels with his head back and closed
his eyes in relief. Damn, that was too
close...He felt a fine rain starting to
fall on his face and came back to himself.
Mulder was unconscious but breathing.
Better get him out of the weather and get
the hell as far away as possible. Those
sons-a-bitches had cars too.

He hoisted Mulder back into the passenger
seat and draped him with his suitcoat for
lack of a blanket, then strapped him
carefully in. He hopped into the driver's
seat, locked all the car doors and floored
the gas. The car took off with a squeal.

He didn't see any headlights behind them
and hoped they'd gotten far enough away.
Mulder's breathing sounded steady, so he
allowed himself to relax just a bit. But
not too much. Now what? "Gotta get you to
a hospital, Mulder," Skinner said under
his breath. "And get those damned implants
out."

"No..." said a hoarse voice from the
passenger seat."No hospitals. Please."
Mulder coughed and straightened up a
little.

"How do you feel?" Skinner asked
anxiously.

"Like I should be watching my
cholesterol," Mulder replied. "My head's
pounding, though. You got any aspirin?"

"I have some in the trunk but can it wait?
I want to get as many miles behind us as
possible. The onramp to highway 99 is just
ahead." Skinner glanced at Mulder from the
corner of his eye. It was dark in the car
but Mulder still looked pale and
tired."I'm serious about the hospital.
Scully has a friend who's a neurosurgeon."

"No. I can't..." Mulder's head lolled back
against the headrest. "No more hospitals.
Been in one for a month... Please...I just
can't..."

Skinner was silent, watching the road and
thinking. "I don't know what to do,
Mulder. You need a doctor to look at
whatever it is they did to you. Gordon
said they put five implants in your brain
and it's obvious they can control even
your heartbeat from a distance. You're not
safe until those things are out."

"I'm not safe in a hospital. Public place,
all they need to do is check hospitals,
hit the button and I'm dead."

Skinner sighed. He had a point. "Well, the
tinkering they did in your brain didn't
affect your IQ any. You're right. We have
to get you into a less populated area. I
think I may know a place but it'll be a
while before we get there. Think you can
make it?"

Mulder nodded then winced. "Yeah. Think
I'll sleep now. Don't tell me where or
take off the blindfold until we're
inside."

"Good idea. I'll wake you when we get
there."

Skinner kept the car going just ten miles
over the speed limit, but watched for
traffic cops just the same. What did they
call them here? CHP, that was it. God only
knew what a CHP officer would think if
they got pulled over. Yes officer, I'm
driving along with my friend who's
blindfolded, cuffed and shackled and
dressed in what looks like a prison
jumpsuit. Skinner shook his head. His life
had been much more peaceful before Mulder
entered it. Must be that Chinese curse
working overtime; yes, he lived in very
interesting times.

How on earth were they going to get the
implants out if Mulder couldn't stand a
hospital? Skinner glanced at him and
listened for his breathing. Deep and
steady. Good. Gordon had only given a high
level outline of what had been done to
him, but Skinner could hazard a few
guesses. He couldn't get the picture of
that 'murder' out of his head. That made
him angry all over again. If only he could
have grabbed that remote, done something
to prevent this. He was there, maybe
jumped Gordon? No, He'd have joined Mulder
in the "Treatment" room. Distracted him?
Could he have stopped it? The anger roiled
in his stomach with a vague sense of
guilt. And God only knew how Mulder would
react when the adrenalin wore off.

The rain started to come down harder, so
Skinner turned up the windshield wipers
but didn't slacken speed. He passed truck
after truck, keeping to the fast lane and
tried to remember just how you got to
Clovis, California. Just outside Fresno,
raisin capitol of the U.S....

Time passed on a road that was flat,
straight and featureless. He was startled
when he heard a choking sound from Mulder.
Then a low moan, "No...no...don't make me.
I'm not a killer. I'm not. NO! Please
don't make me kill her...kill
Scully...No!"

"Mulder? Wake up! Mulder, can you hear
me?" Skinner reached out his right hand
and grabbed Mulder's shoulder. Feeling the
touch, Mulder cringed away as far as he
could push himself. Skinner jerked back
his hand. "Mulder? Can you hear me? It's
me, Skinner. You're here with me. Is the
Voice back?"

"Skinner? No. No, the Voice isn't back.
Just a nightmare. I was...killing someone.
That part wasn't a dream, was it? I really
k..killed a woman today."

"I saw. I was on the other side of that
two-way mirror," Skinner kept one eye on
Mulder as he drove. "You didn't do it;
they forced you."

"I dreamed I was killing somebody I cared
about. A friend. Scully. Who is Scully?"

Now there was a question for the ages.
Just who was Scully to Mulder? "She's your
friend. She works with you."

"Did I kill Scully?" Mulder's voice was
low and trembled. "Did I kill a friend?"

"No. It wasn't her. The woman looked a lot
like her but she was a stranger to me."

"Oh." Mulder relaxed a bit, then tensed.
"They did that on purpose, didn't they?
Made me kill a woman who would remind me
of someone I...loved."

"I think so," Skinner kept his voice
level, brutally squelching the rage that
had started boiling up inside him again.
Not yet. Can't let it out yet. I can't
frighten this man, he's been through too
much already.

"My memory is coming back, then.
It...hurts. They conditioned us to keep
from trying to remember." Skinner heard a
rustling sound and saw Mulder huddle next
to the window again.

"Gordon said you've broken the
conditioning once before. They didn't
believe that the amnesia was very strongly
implanted in you. I think you're breaking
through again. Take your time, there's no
hurry Mulder."

Mulder sat up. "Gordon. Is that the name
of the man in the labcoat?"

Skinner gave him a compassionate look.
"Yes. He's the one who was in charge of
you, of what they did to you. He's quite a
piece of work. I wouldn't mind meeting him
alone in a dark alley some time."

"Don't. He's mine," said Mulder quietly.

"Mulder...the violence came from them.
It's not in you, not unless you allow it
to be." Skinner wasn't sure what Mulder
was thinking but he didn't like the note
in his voice.

"I have some memories, just bits and
fragments. I see myself with a gun,
chasing and shooting at someone.
They...the ones who...they told me I was a
serial killer they'd taken off death row.
They said that killing is natural to me;
that's why I enjoy it," Mulder's face
twisted as he forced the last words out.
"I don't know who I am. They might be
right. And I want to kill Gordon. With my
bare hands, I want to feel the life
squeeze out of him."

"They're wrong, Mulder," Skinner said
intensely. "I've known you for at least
five years and they lied to you about
everything."

Mulder was silent and Skinner went on.
"You are an agent for the Federal Bureau
of Investigation. You investigate unusual
cases for a department called the X Files
which I supervise. Your partner is Dr.
Dana Scully, a pathologist and you two are
the finest pair of investigators I've ever
worked with. You are not a criminal, a
murderer or a killer. You are probably the
most moral person I have ever known and I
owe you my career and my freedom." Skinner
felt his voice shake and stopped talking.

Mulder turned his head away and asked in a
flat voice, "Then why do I want to kill
Gordon so much?"

"You have cause, Mulder," Skinner said.
"But wanting to kill and doing it are two
different things. You can choose not to
kill. The creature they were trying to
make is denied a choice."

Mulder was silent for a long time and
Skinner heard him breathing hard.

"Mulder? You okay?"

"Yeah. I think so. It hurts to try to
recall it, but some of it's coming back...
You. I remember you. I remember! You were
pissed at me because of the last expense
report I submitted. You said it was
unreasonable to ask for a reimbursement
for dry-cleaning two suits covered with
slime."

"Of course I was. Departmental policy says
that normal wear and tear isn't
reimbursable and your getting slimed is
normal wear and...Mulder, you remembered!"
Skinner found his grin matched by
Mulder's. "Anything else?"

"I remember the basement
office...and...and Scully. Scully! Where
is she?"

"She made a deal to get you out." Skinner
stopped and saw the tight-lipped
expression on Mulder's face.

"Who with? Skinner, did she deal with the
Smoker? Dammit, what did she agree to?"

"She's performing an autopsy for him. We
have his assurance that she'll return safe
and sound," Skinner could hear his voice
fading away in the face of Mulder's anger.

"And we both know how good his word is,
don't we?" Mulder cried then suddenly
leaned forward gasping.

"Mulder, she'll be fine. She's a trained
FBI agent and can defend
herself....Mulder? Are you all right?
What's wrong? Should I pull over?" Skinner
eyed Mulder.

"No, don't stop the car," Mulder gritted
out. "We need to get as far as we can. My
head is pounding, that's all. I think I
need to be quiet for a while."

"Try to sleep if you can. It's a long
way."

Mulder just nodded and rested his head
against the headrest.
 

10 p.m.
Lone Cabbage Motel
Clovis, California
 

Skinner looked at the neon sign
advertising cabins with kitchenettes. It
looked safe and certainly remote enough.
He didn't think they'd be searching the
wilds of Fresno for Mulder. He pulled the
car into an unlit parking space.

"Mulder? Wake up. We're here." Skinner
kept his voice low and neutral.

"Huh? We are?" Mulder asked in a groggy
voice.

"I need to go in and get us a room. I'll
be back in a few minutes. Will you be
okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

Skinner got out of the car and went into
the office. The night clerk was a bored
twenty year old behind a desk chewing a
wad of gum. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'd like a cabin for me and my
brother. Do you have one with two
bedrooms?"

"Sorry, those are all taken. I got a
studio with a bed and a pull-out couch.
Will that do?"

"I think so, but I'd like to make sure
it's well off the road. I'm...ah...a light
sleeper and don't like traffic noise."

"Number 17'll work for you. Credit card?"
The kid grabbed a key off a rack and set
it on the counter.

Skinner reached for his wallet, then
remembered how easy it was to track credit
cards electronically. This life on the run
thing was out of his normal experience.

"I don't believe in them. How about a cash
deposit or something? Good. How much?..."

Ten minutes later he was back at the car.

"So, do we have a room?" asked Mulder
tiredly.

"Yes, let's take a look. It should be in
the back." Skinner started the car and
followed the map the kid had given him
past a series of buildings, large and
small, until he found a single cabin in a
grove of pine trees. He parked the car as
far under the trees as he could fit it,
then turned off the headlights.

He got out of the car and opened Mulder's
door, unlatching the other man's seatbelt.
"We're here. I'd better take the
restraints off."

"Just the feet and keep the blindfold on."
Mulder swung himself around the seat and
waited while Skinner undid the cuffs on
Mulder's ankles.

"There isn't much to see. Are you sure?"
Skinner asked.

Mulder nodded. "I don't want to take any
chances. And be sure not to mention where
we are. What I know, they might find out."

"All right. I'll guide you in." He helped
Mulder get out of the car and stand up
shakily.

Mulder took a step forward and lurched to
the left a bit before he caught himself.
"Sorry. My left foot is kind of numb.
Okay, I'm good. Let's go in."

Skinner alternately supported Mulder and
led him up the steps and into the cabin.
Inside, Skinner turned on the lights and
closed the blinds. "Okay, I'm taking the
blindfold off now." He untied the tie and
stepped back to get a real look at the
cabin.

The kid had been right. It was a studio,
he supposed. It was a single big room with
a small kitchenette with table and chairs
in the corner, a sagging bed on one wall
and an old leather couch on the other with
a battered television set on a stand. A
print of two sad-eyed children with an
equally sad-eyed puppy stared down at them
from the wall over the bed.

"Can't beat the ambiance," commented
Mulder, limping over to the couch and
sitting down.

"Let me get the cuffs off," Skinner
reached for his key, then saw Mulder
hesitate. "You can't mean to live in those
things, do you?"

"I could hurt you without ever wanting
to," Mulder said tensely.

Skinner folded his arms across his chest.
"No offense, Agent Mulder, but I could
take you any day of the week and right now
you aren't even in the best of health."
Skinner stopped and looked at the
expression on Mulder's face, then sighed.
"All right, I'll make you a deal. When I
go to bed, I'll cuff you to something so
you can't kill me in my sleep. Otherwise,
just trust me when I say that I can defend
myself." Skinner grabbed the Mulder's
handcuffs with one hand and unlocked them
with the other. "You're okay for now. I'm
going outside to get the luggage. I'll be
right back."

Mulder nodded and sank back into the
couch. It was comfortable and somehow
familiar. Comfortable wasn't something
he'd had a lot of lately. He grabbed a
pillow and tucked it under his head, then
stretched out on the couch. He knew that
his insistence on security was annoying
Skinner but he wasn't going to hurt
anybody against his will ever again. Not
if he died for it.

Skinner brought in his suitcase and the
first aid kit, then went back for the
cooler he'd bought. He was glad he'd
thought to pack food in case Mulder was
hungry. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave
him for any length of time until Scully
could get here.

He saw Mulder laying on the couch and was
alarmed until he saw his chest moving.
Just sleeping. It was probably the best
thing for him. Skinner had planned to give
Mulder the bed but didn't have the heart
to wake him up and this way he didn't have
to cuff him again. He went to the bed and
grabbed the blanket off it then carefully
draped it over Mulder.

Sitting on the bed, Skinner pulled out his
cellphone and turned it on. There was only
one voicemail message, from Scully. He
dialed his voicemail and listened to her
message:

"Sir, I'm calling from the Hoover
Building. I got back safely and am
planning on boarding a plane to Los
Angeles tonight. It's due to leave at
midnight and should arrive at LAX at about
6:00 a.m. local time. I'll sleep on the
plane and be ready to meet you when I
arrive. Please call my cell and let me
know where to meet you and what Mulder's
condition is."

Skinner picked up the phone and quietly
stepped outside the front door and made a
call to Scully's cell phone from the front
porch. "Agent Scully, I have Mulder with
me but for reasons I'll explain later
haven't been able to take him to Dr.
Lewiston. When you land, rent a car and
phone me when you get to the parking lot.
I'll give you directions then. Be aware
that you may be followed and take all
precautions to prevent that."

He closed the phone and stood quietly for
a while. The rainstorm had cleared and he
could see the stars bright above him. They
were much brighter than what he could see
in DC. Come to think of it, this town was
about an hour from Yosemite. Such beauty
and so close to such terrible things.

Mulder. What do I do? he thought. He felt
responsible for Mulder's condition, as
though he'd caused it somehow. He sure
hadn't prevented Gordon from forcing
Mulder to murder that girl. Could he have
stopped it? Caused a distraction somehow?
Why hadn't he? Come on Walt, a little
voice piped up. You know the real truth
and it's been this way for years. You're a
coward; you always were more concerned
about saving your own ass, your pension,
your career than anything else. Mulder's
been the courageous one: demanding the
truth, no matter how uncomfortable or
dangerous it might be, daring to look at
monsters that left you terrified.

Skinner shifted position uncomfortably. He
felt vaguely ashamed of all the times he'd
run for cover and let Mulder take the
heat. Now Mulder was near breaking and
he'd done nothing to prevent it. Hell, he
didn't know what to do for him now. He
could only hope Scully would get here
soon.

Skinner went back into the cabin to find
Mulder still asleep. Relieved, he set the
bedside clock-radio for 6 a.m. then
stretched out on the bed fully dressed. He
left the kitchen light on for a nightlight
and drifted off into a light sleep.

He woke to the sound of a shower running.
Mulder wasn't on the couch any more,
probably showering that mental hospital
off himself. Skinner pulled his glasses on
and checked the clock. Two a.m. Oh well,
he'd just keep an ear open in case Mulder
needed anything. He dozed, then checked
the time. Two thirty and Mulder was still
in there. Two forty-five and Skinner
debated whether he should check on him,
then realized Mulder could have passed out
in there and got up quickly.

He tapped on the bathroom door, "Mulder,
are you okay in there?" No answer but he
heard movement. "Mulder? Okay if I come
in? Are you all right?" When there was
still no answer, Skinner opened the door
and half-stepped into the bathroom.

The small bathroom was dense with steam,
the floor covered with moisture. Skinner
fanned his hand in front of his face and
squinted against the condensation on his
glasses. He could see the outline of
Mulder's form against the shower curtain.

"Mulder? Are you all right?" When he still
heard no answer, Skinner made his way
forward and pulled the shower curtain
aside. "Mulder....Oh my God! What are you
doing?"

The bath water ran pink with blood mixed
with soapsuds. Mulder was assiduously
scrubbing his hands and forearms with a
scrub brush and soap he'd found in the
bathroom. He had clearly been doing so for
a long time. He'd scrubbed long gouges
into his skin and the scabs on his hands
had broken open and were bleeding freely.

Skinner reached into the shower and turned
off the taps. When the water stopped,
Mulder seemed to waken and noticed
Skinner's presence.

"What are you doing, Mulder?" Skinner
asked in shock.

"I can't get clean. I keep washing and I
still feel so dirty..." Mulder broke off
and began to reach for the taps again.

Skinner stopped him, taking the soap and
scrub brush from his hands. "No, Mulder.
It isn't going to help. It wasn't your
fault." He snagged a towel from the towel
bar and draped it around Mulder, then put
his arm around his shoulders and helped
him out of the tub. Mulder blinked but let
himself be led into the main room.

Skinner sat him on the corner of the bed
and wrapped the blanket from the couch
around him. "Wait here while I get the
first aid kit. Don't touch anything with
those hands until I bandage them. Okay?"
He waited for Mulder's nod, then got the
kit. He thought hard while rummaging
through the first aid materials. Scully
had packed plenty of gauze and anti-
bacterial but Mulder's chief ailment right
now wasn't anything he could treat with
band-aids.

"Here you go," Skinner made his voice calm
as he approached Mulder and pulled up a
chair next to him. "Let me see your
hands."

Mulder quietly stuck his hands out and
Skinner winced. What skin remained was
fiery red and abraded, although Mulder
seemed unaware of any pain. He took the
antibacterial and spread it liberally over
the wounds, noting ironically that at
least they were very clean. He bandaged
both hands and forearms with gauze and
scooted his chair back. Neither man had
said a word during the entire process.
Skinner looked at Mulder and sighed. He'd
seen that expression before, times when
Mulder was too hurt or upset to talk to
anyone. Except maybe Scully.  Well, she
wasn't here right now and he hoped to God
she'd get here soon. But until then all
Mulder had was a sorry ex-Marine.

Skinner went to his suitcase and pulled
out a pair of gray sweatpants and t-shirt.
"Why don't you wear these for now. I think
I'll make a pot of coffee. You want some?"
Skinner waited for Mulder's nod, then got
up and found the coffee pot he'd seen and
began to fill it with coffee grounds. He
kept an eye on Mulder and noted with
relief that he was slowly dressing himself
in the sweats. Mulder wandered over to the
kitchen table, wrapped in the blanket in
spite of the sweats, and quietly watched
Skinner's preparations.

Skinner gave him a cup and poured one for
himself, then sat down opposite. They were
silent for a while, sipping the coffee
companionably. Then Mulder spoke.

"I...I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what I
was doing. Not exactly." He wouldn't meet
Skinner's eyes.

"I know. Sometimes it's hard to deal with
things you don't understand. Guilt can be
bad," Skinner sipped his coffee. "But
shame is the worst."

Mulder looked up. "You know..."

Skinner grimaced and put his cup down,
meeting Mulder's gaze. "I know. I was
there, on the other side of that damned
window. I saw everything. Everything." Now
it was Skinner's turn to look away. "I
know what commands Gordon gave you and how
little choice you had. I saw your face
while it was happening and it wasn't your
fault. None of it was."

"You don't understand. They've done
something to me..." Mulder looked away.
"I...when I killed anything they gave me a
reward, a sort of jolt of...of pure
pleasure. When I killed that woman I had
it again, stronger than ever. They told
me...they told me that they didn't do it.
I felt that myself because I enjoyed it. I
never want to enjoy killing another human
being." His voice fell to a whisper.

"Another lie, Mulder. Gordon did it and I
saw him press the button. That was part of
the conditioning. You have to believe me."
Skinner looked for some sign that his
words had gotten through.

Mulder gave him a rueful smile. "If it
wasn't my fault, then why do I feel so
guilty?" His smile disappeared and he
started shaking his head as though trying
to clear it. "The headache's back, 'n I
jus can't get rid of it." He looked up,
frightened. "Harrd t'talk suddn'y."

Skinner frowned, pushing down panic.
"Maybe I should call the paramedics. We
don't know what they did to you..."

"No hospitals! I don't wanta be locked up
again...don't want..." Mulder trembled
with so much emotion that Skinner backed
off.

"Okay. No hospital. Scully will be out in
the morning and she'll look at you then.
I'll give you a couple of aspirin. Maybe
it'll help. Do you think you can sleep
some more?" He fished the aspirin bottle
out of the first aid kit and gave two
aspirins to Mulder, who gulped them down
with the last swig of his coffee.

"I c'n sleep." Mulder got up unsteadily
and carefully put the empty cup back on
the table. He began wobbling over to the
couch.

"Do you want the bed? You might be more
comfortable," Skinner moved in closer to
catch him if he dropped.

Mulder gave him a lopsided grin. "No, f'r
some reason th' couch seems right." He sat
down suddenly and stretched out, taking
the blanket Skinner handed him and draping
it over himself.

"Good night," Skinner said and lay down on
his bed. He heard a muffled "G'night" as
he turned off the bedside light.

April 10, 2002
Budget Rent-a-Car Lot, LAX
7:00 a.m.

Dana Scully sat back in the seat and
fished for her cell phone. She'd checked
her messages as soon as the plane taxied
into the terminal and was relieved that
Mulder was safe for now. She was worried
about the things Skinner hadn't said,
though. Nothing about Mulder's condition.
But she hadn't dared to make the call
until she was somewhere private. She
dialed Skinner's number.

"It's me, Scully. How is Mulder?"

"Agent Scully, it's good to hear your
voice. Are you in the car? Any signs of
surveillance?"

Scully glanced around. "None that I can
see. Where are you?"

"We're in the Lone Cabbage Motel in Clovis
California, right next to Fresno. Make
your way north to Highway 99 and you'll
find us."

Scully looked down at the California
roadmap next to her on the seat. "I see
where you are. I'm on my way. How is he?
Can I talk to Mulder?" She put the car
into drive and pulled out of the lot.

Skinner's voice sounded ragged. "I'm not
sure what his physical condition is. They
put implants into his brain to try and
turn him into some kind of robot. They are
able to take control of his bodily
movements, force him to do things he
doesn't want to do. And Scully, they can
control his body so perfectly that they
can stop his heart."

"Implants?" Scully swallowed hard. "How
long ago?"

"About two days ago, I think. His hair is
just starting to grow back and the
incisions look pretty raw."

"Why didn't you call Evelyn and get Mulder
to a hospital? That's where he should be
right now!" She tried to keep herself from
shouting in rage and frustration but it
was difficult.

"Mulder gets ill when I suggest it. After
what he's been through he can't stand the
idea of being surrounded by people in
labcoats. And worse, their control boxes
have a two mile radius. If they find him,
they can shut his heart off. They almost
killed him last night before we got beyond
the two mile radius. I was able to
resuscitate, though, and we seem to be out
of range for now."

Scully took all this in and considered.
"What are his physical symptoms?"

"He's been complaining of severe
headaches. They come and go. Occasional
slurred speech and he favors his left leg,
seems to be limping. They induced amnesia
as part of their conditioning but he's
regained most of his memory through sheer
stubbornness."

"Are the headaches worse when he's upset?"
Without waiting for a reply Scully went
on. "The body I autopsied was a man, about
a month post surgery who had five implants
in his brain. They caused the mini-strokes
and aneurysms that killed him. Mulder may
be suffering from the same effects but I
won't know for sure until I see him."

"What should I do? Force him to go to an
emergency room?" Skinner sounded doubtful.

"No, don't upset him! The strokes and
aneurysms are caused by high blood
pressure secondary to the implants. Keep
him calm at any cost. I think I put some
benadryl in the first aid kit. Give him
two every four hours along with two
aspirin as well until I can get there."

"Benadryl? Isn't that an allergy
medicine?" Skinner sounded dubious.

"It will make him sleep and and sleeping
will lower his blood pressure. The aspirin
will act as a blood thinner to keep clots
from forming. And don't let him get upset
about anything. A spike in blood pressure
could kill him. You may not want to tell
him all I've told you." Scully was proud
that she'd kept her voice on the
professional level. She had quietly nudged
the car up to 70 miles per hour despite
the L.A. traffic.

"Dana, this is Mulder we're dealing with.
How likely is it that I'll be able to keep
something like this from him?"

"You'll have to."
 

~~~

Author's Note: The Lone Cabbage Resort can actually be
found in Florida near Orlando. Parked on a wide spot
on the highway, they offer burgers, gator sandwiches
and airboat rides. Truly the experience of a lifetime,
you should go there! And not related at all to the
completely imaginary motel I've located in Clovis.

And many many thanks to my medical experts,
neurological nurse Gail (Mulderache),  radiologist
Jennifer Shepard, and Dr. Shaden, neurosurgeon!

~~~
The Invisible War, part 7

Scully sighed. Skinner could hear the sheer weariness
in her voice. "And I just realized, I need to adjust
the aspirin dose. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't sleep well
on the plane. I kept waking up with nightmares....
Give him 325 milligrams of aspirin per day; I'm not
sure how many tablets that works out to. You'll have
to read the bottle."

"Agent Scully, are you all right?" Skinner asked
anxiously. "If you need to rest, you should stop."

"No, sir, I'm fine. I have to get to you and Mulder.
I'll rest then.
Can I talk to Mulder?" Scully asked.

"He's sleeping. And  I think I should tell you more
about the situation. You need to know before you see
him."

"What more is there?"

Skinner tried to find the words. "He isn't the Mulder
you're used to. Before the surgery they used intensive
conditioning techniques on him; they somehow read his
mind and implanted  their own commands in his head.
The implants only reinforced the commands. When I was
there, Mulder was used as a demonstration for one of
the functions these abductees are intended to fill.
They're assassins."

"Mulder was a demonstration? How?"

"Dana, he killed a woman on their command. He was
forced to look into her eyes while he strangled her to
death. And she bore a striking resemblance to you.
He's been very... affected... by it." Skinner shifted
the phone to his other ear and took off his glasses to
clean lenses gone suddenly blurry.

"I...see. Does he know that I'm still alive?"

"Yes, he can differentiate. But he still feels
strongly about what he was forced to do." Skinner
remembered last night and shuddered. "I found him in
the shower last night trying to scrub the guilt out of
himself. He gouged his hands and arms pretty well but
I've bandaged them. It will take him a while to bounce
back from this."

"I'll be there as fast as I can, sir."

--------------

Skinner opened the door into the darkened room and set
his cell phone down on the table.

"Was that Scully? She all right?" Mulder sat up
groggily.

"Huh? Yes, it was," Skinner said.

"Where is she?" He climbed slowly off the couch and
limped over to the table.

Skinner opened the refrigerator and pulled out a box
of doughnuts. "I'm glad I thought of these. She's
fine. Her plane just landed at LAX and she's driving
out. She'll be here about noon. I told her about your
experiences." He glanced up at Mulder then turned
quickly away, pulling clean plates from the cupboard.
He kept his face averted as he spoke. "She thought you
should take aspirin for the headaches and suggested
you sleep as much as possible. She wants you to take a
couple Benadryl to help you rest."

"I can understand the aspirin but why allergy
medicine?" Mulder sat down then yawned and scratched
his neck where Skinner's sweatshirt rubbed.

Skinner couldn't meet Mulder's eyes as he put the
plates on the table. "I...think she thought that the
noise around here might keep you awake. She was very
firm that you need to rest." Skinner pasted a bright
smile on his face. "And who am I to argue with a
doctor?" He put a doughnut on Mulder's plate and slid
it toward him then picked a doughnut out of the box
for himself and sat down.

"No offense intended sir, but you've always been a
rotten liar. You didn't look happy when you came in
and since Scully's fine, there must be something wrong
with me. And judging by the symptoms I've been having,
it must be serious.  I'm dying, aren't I?" Mulder
munched his doughnut and eyed Skinner thoughtfully

Skinner started coughing, spraying doughnut crumbs
across the table. Mulder thumped his back helpfully
until he could breathe freely again. "What? How did
you...No of course you're not!"

Mulder frowned and put the doughnut down. "Sir, we've
always been honest with each other. I think I have the
right to the truth, whatever it is. She found
something in that autopsy, didn't she?"

Skinner looked questioningly at his agent. Keep Mulder
calm. Upsetting Mulder could kill him. Well, he didn't
look upset and he'd already guessed the worst. Not
telling him would only upset him more. He might as
well know the truth. He certainly had a right to it.

"All right. Scully's autopsy involved another probable
abductee who was given multiple implants about a month
ago. The implants somehow caused small strokes and
brain aneurysms, which ultimately killed him. She told
me to keep you as calm and quiet as possible until she
could get here. The aspirin is to thin your blood and
prevent clots. The Benedryl is to make you sleep. When
you sleep, your blood pressure goes down, reducing the
chances that an aneurysm will burst. I'm sorry,
Mulder."

Mulder nodded slowly. "It doesn't surprise me after
this." He lightly touched one of the surgical scars on
his head.

Skinner recalled Gordon's chatter at dinner and
contrasted it with Mulder's intent expression. "I'd
love to be the one who brings them down," he said with
supressed rage.

"They saw us as objects, useful but expendable. They
brought meals twice a day, took me to and from the
Treatment Room but never said a word. When Dr.
Gordon...put the implants into my brain he didn't
bother to use anesthesia. Why waste chemicals on a
piece of furniture?" Mulder shredded the rest of the
doughnut into crumbs.

"Even the pain wasn't anything personal. Gordon always
looked...disappointed...when he hit that button and
half twisted my guts out of my body. After a while you
start to wonder whether they're right." Mulder looked
up and smiled wryly. .
"Did you know that I fit most of the serial killer
profile? A single man, a loner who has trouble forming
relationships with women. Had a bad childhood. Big
porn collection..." He stared at the pile of crumbs in
his plate. "I've been wondering whether they chose me
on purpose because of my...propensities or whether I
was just an extra fish in their net."

Skinner didn't know what to say or whether he should
say anything at all. Scully would have his head if
Mulder's blood pressure spiked now. But Mulder
obviously needed this. "A collection of pornography
doesn't make you a serial killer," he said mildly.

Mulder held up his bandaged hands, his eyes haunted.
"No. Killing and enjoying it does." He paused, and
then added meditatively,"You know why some of them do
it? There's a strange intimacy in murder. It's just
you and your victim, you know.  They share their last
moment on earth with you and only you. I've profiled
murderers who can only find intimacy in the act of
killing their chosen victim. Some of them take
trophies to help them remember and recreate the
murder. But that's why they do it." He held out his
hands, palms up and stared at them. "Killing her was
kind of like that. I could feel her soul in my hands,
slipping through my fingers. I felt her life, all her
past and her future, pulsing in her throat. And in one
act, I took all that away from her." He cupped his
hands, then separated his fingers. "And I couldn't
stop it."

Skinner didn't like where this was going. "And now
you're profiling yourself? You can't. You have no
objectivity. Mulder, you're still hurting from
everything that happened. You have to let yourself
heal. And, at the risk of sounding like your mother,
you need to eat something." He pointed to the pile of
crumbs on Mulder's plate.

Mulder shook his head and pushed the plate away. "I'm
not hungry." He looked up brightly. "So, does Scully
have a treatment for all this?"

"We'll know when she gets here. Until then," Skinner
went over to the first aid kit and shook out two
Benedryls, then read the aspirin bottle. He read it
again, shook his head and carefully counted out a
small handful of pills. "Here's your first dose. To be
repeated in four hours if you're awake."

Mulder took the pills from Skinner and eyed the pile
of aspirins, then washed them down with a glass of
water. He went back over to the couch and lay down on
his side, face to the wall.

Skinner sat for a while and stared at the plate of
doughnut crumbs left behind. His own appetite had
vanished. He watched Mulder for a while and again felt
helpless. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
What can I do? he demanded of himself. He had to do
something! He'd never been very introspective, shying
away from emotion or masking it with anger. Or if a
problem could be solved by action, he'd be leading the
rescue team. But there was nothing here that he could
do. Just be there and share Mulder's pain.

Skinner got up and reached for the television remote
then caught himself. No television. The station
identifiers would tell Mulder where he was. There was
nothing for Skinner to do but try to sleep himself.
And worry.

Mulder watched Skinner drift off to sleep but found it
elusive himself. Too bad they couldn't turn the t.v.
on. He found the background noise soothing but he'd
seen Skinner's move toward the remote and understood
why he dropped it. Another bit of data for Them to use
to track him down with.

He rested his arm over his eyes and pounded at his
memory. He still had gaps but remembered most of his
life. Scully, Skinner, the Lone Gunmen were all back
in his head where they belonged. For so long he'd felt
like he was losing himself by inches. But he still
wasn't sure what They might have planted in his mind.
Recovering memories was only part of it. The Voice had
been conditioning him to obey without question and
he'd been forced to listen to it for weeks.

Intimacy. The people he could really call his family
were the Lone Gunmen, Skinner and Scully. And
relationships with women....At first he'd tried to
convince himself that he was not in love with Dana
Scully since she so evidently was not smitten with Fox
Mulder. He'd dated a little but finally dropped it
when he realized he was in deep with Scully. Yes, he
had intimacy problems. She'd guard him like a lioness
guards her cubs, loyally and fiercely,  but wouldn't
consider him as a lover. She'd certainly squelched
enough innuendoes. When she arrived, she'd be in
danger as well as Skinner. And if he ever hurt Scully
he couldn't live with it.

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. Great. The
one time he really had to sleep was the time his
insomnia kicked in. Yesterday kept running through his
mind. Was it only yesterday? This time yesterday that
woman was alive and breathing. She had family and
friends she'd been taken from. She could easily have
been Scully.

Her face kept flashing in front of him. She'd had blue
eyes, like Scully's, and short coppery hair. While he
was killing her he couldn't look away. They had made
sure of that. He couldn't tell her how powerless he
was, and how very very sorry. She'd spent her last
moments looking deep into his eyes, begging for her
life and he couldn't look away. They still haunted
him.

And then that horrible blast of pleasure had hit him.
Skinner kept insisting that he'd been forced into it
but the shame and the guilt sat there like twin
boulders on his chest. Maybe if this thing killed him
it would only be justice done. He couldn't look away.
Not then, not now.

He stared at the ceiling, feeling the tears welling up
in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. The past
can't be undone, it can only be atoned for. If they
ever used him as an assassin again he didn't know what
he'd do, it didn't bear thinking about. He pushed the
fear deep down and took a shaky breath. The most he
could do now would be to keep away from them and make
sure that Skinner used security precautions.

"Mulder? Are you all right?" Skinner had sat up in bed
and was watching him in the dim light.

"I'll be okay, sir." Mulder said and turned away,
pulling the blanket over him until it covered his
head.

Skinner wasn't so sure but decided to let it be. Thank
God Scully was on her way.  He wasn't sure how much
more of Mulder's pain he could take.

7:30 a.m. PST
Fletcher Mental Health Institute

An anonymous looking man sat intently focused on a
large computer screen. Suddenly he stiffened. "I have
him, sir," he said to the man at the terminal next to
him. "Should I activate the disposal program?"

The second man slid over. "No! There are special
orders about this one. Jerry threw the switch on this
one when he escaped and caught hell for it. He was
just lucky the subject managed to survive somehow. No,
report this to Dr. Gordon. He left orders to be
contacted whenever this one was found."

The first man gulped. "This one's assigned to Gordon?
Poor bastard." He reached over and picked up the
phone. The second man watched him for a while, then
ducked into the back of the control room to make his
own quiet call.

10:30 a.m. EST (7:30 a.m. PST)
New York

The smoking man leaned forward onto the large
conference table, intent on making his point. "As I've
indicated before, the management of this program has
been seriously deficient since it was transferred from
my control. Without my input, I might add. Cost
overruns have been substantial with no verifiable
results."

"I certainly object to that characterization,"
Strughold's voice came from the speakerphone. "The
project is on course and has produced the results
sought. Our test subjects are completely under our
control, the conditioning is working. You have all had
reports from your representatives, haven't you? They
were here just yesterday and had a demonstration of
the program at work."

"That doesn't explain the high mortality rate among
the test subjects," put in the Well Manicured Man.
"You can't dispute that the numbers have been
unusual."

"Test subjects are easily obtained and are not a cost
factor," Strughold countered. "Basic materiel has been
used economically and the return on investment will be
even greater than projected."

"You already have my audit of cost overruns. I do have
one thing more to add." The Smoker reached into his
briefcase and took out a pile of reports, handing them
to all at the table. "My messenger should be there
with a copy of this report, Strughold. Gentlemen, if
you will review this autopsy report you'll find that
I've been quite accurate in my assessment."

"This autopsy was performed by Dana Scully? How on
earth did she happen to do an autopsy for you?" the
Well Manicured Man demanded.

The Smoker smiled and took a drag on his cigarette.
"She owed me a favor. I think you will all agree that
she is impartial in this matter, and her credentials
are impeccable. Surely the most credible of all
experts."

He picked up the report and held open the last page.
"Dr. Scully autopsied a recently deceased test subject
from a Washington area satellite of Mr. Strughold's
project. As you can see, the test subject was killed
by a reaction to the implants. It is her position that
they caused the aneurysm that killed him and she
doubts that any person so equipped could live more
than a year." He slapped the report down onto the
table. "And gentlemen, I am safe in saying that NO
subject from this project has survived twelve months
post surgery."

"How can this be? This project is intended to create
moles who can be activated to assassinate at a
moment's notice...." The other elders fell into heated
discussion.

A phone rang in the background and an anonymous
looking man brought it to the Smoker. He took it and
listened for a bit, then smiled. "Thank you. I'll act
on that immediately." He handed the phone back to the
assistant then turned to the other men. "Gentlemen, an
urgent piece of business requires my attention. I hope
you will excuse me."
 

7:45 a.m. PST
Lone Cabbage Motel
Clovis, California

Mulder's eyes snapped open and he stared at the
darkened ceiling.

*Good. You're awake. We've missed some sessions but
we'll make up for lost time... Close your eyes and
feign sleep for the duration of our session. You will
forget entirely about this session and my commands
until you are reminded of it by my Voice...."

10:00 a.m.

Skinner woke with a full bladder and stumbled out of
bed, headed for the bathroom. Out of habit he glanced
over to the couch to check on Mulder. He was sweating,
muttering in his sleep. "No....no...no..."

Skinner stopped and considered waking him up but
decided against it. When he came out of the bathroom,
Mulder had stopped muttering and was quiet and still.
Almost too still. Skinner went over to the couch and
knelt next to him to check his vital signs. He was
relieved when he saw Mulder's chest move. He picked
himself up and wondered which of them was suffering
most through all this. Skinner sat down at the kitchen
table to watch over him and wait for Scully.

12:00 p.m.

Skinner woke from a light doze and straightened up. He
was still sitting at the kitchen table, his head
pillowed in his arms. The room was dim and he saw
Mulder's sleeping form on the couch. Still breathing
but muttering again...

He got up and picked a doughnut out of the box. He'd
taken a bite when he heard a car engine out front and
a car door close. Putting the doughnut down, he
grabbed his weapon and headed for the door.

Looking through the peephole he relaxed and put the
gun down. Scully was here finally. He opened the door
and stepped out onto the porch.

"Assistant Director Skinner?" Scully tried to look
around him into the room as he closed the door.
"Where's Mulder? How is he doing?"

"He's sleeping now, I don't want to wake him." Skinner
scanned the area for movement. "Were you followed?"

"I don't think so, sir." Scully went over to the car
and opened the trunk, pulling out a large sack and a
smaller bag. "I stopped at a drugstore on the way in
and got a blood pressure monitor and some other
things." She brought the sack and bag back to the
porch and looked wistfully at the door.

"Before we go in I should tell you that his appearance
has changed. He's lost about twenty pounds and all his
hair," Skinner gave her a weak smile. "At least now I
have more hair than he has." He paused nervously. "And
Scully, he knows that the side effects of the implants
threaten his life."

"Sir! I told you not to upset him..." She struggled to
keep her voice low, for Skinner's ears only.

"He figured it out on his own and wouldn't let go
until I told him. I decided it would be less traumatic
just to tell him." He paused. "Dana, he's been denied
control over even his own body.  At the very least, we
need to give him the dignity of the truth." He met her
eyes until she nodded and bowed her head. Skinner
pushed the door open and let Scully in.

In the dim light she saw Mulder laying on the couch.
The blanket had slipped to the floor. Mulder's bones
stood out sharply on his face, his eyes dark hollows.
His emaciated body swam in Skinner's sweats. The
surgical wounds were a rough line of crude stitching
crossing his shaved skull. Surgery about two days ago,
she estimated. His skin was pink, not cyanotic, his
breathing was unlabored.

She gently let out the breath she'd been holding and
walked to the kitchen table. She set down the bag and
looked up to see Skinner watching her. She tried to
smile but knew it hadn't fooled him. Mulder coughed
and they both turned toward him.

Scully went to the couch and leaned over him, smiling
down. "Hey," she said softly.

He looked up sleepily, his eyes haunted. "Scully? Hey
yourself. You took long enough to get here." He smiled
slowly, then sat up and winced as his head started
pounding again. "I hope you brought some good drugs
for headache."

She frowned  and went back to the table for her bag.
"Let's take a look at you, Mulder."

Skinner stood back and watched her examine Mulder. He
had to admit she was thorough. She delicately examined
his stitches with light fingers. Then she took him
through what he recognized as neurological testing,
frowned when she tested his left hand grip against the
right, nodded as she listened to his breathing and
heartbeat. Lastly she opened the sack and took out the
blood pressure monitor. "New toy?" Mulder asked with a
grin.

"Just for you, G-Man," she replied and began putting
the cuff on him. Skinner saw her listen intently then
stiffen. She let the air out of the cuff and leaned
back in the chair a bit.

"Well?" asked Mulder.

She forced a smile. "It's a little high, but
understandable given your recent experiences." She
reached back into the sack and pulled out a
prescription bottle. She shook two pills into her
hand. Skinner was there with a glass of water before
she'd risen halfway out of her seat to get one.
"Thanks," she said and handed pills and glass to
Mulder.

Mulder looked at her questioningly but swallowed the
pills with a raised eyebrow.

"Lopressor. It'll lower your blood pressure," Scully
said. "One last test. Skinner tells me you're favoring
your left leg when you walk. Would you walk across the
room for me?"

Mulder got up and limped to the table, stumbling on
the way. Skinner caught him and helped him sit on a
kitchen chair. "Sorry, Scully. My leg has been doing
that lately. It doesn't seem as strong as the other
one these days."

Scully sat down at the other kitchen chair and
examined Mulder anxiously. " Mulder, I need to discuss
your condition with you. Skinner filled me in on the
details. You know that these implants make you
vulnerable to aneurysms and mini-strokes, called
TIA's."

"So I've been told," Mulder replied calmly.

"I can only guess at the implants' effect on you. The
only real diagnosis comes from either an MRI or a CT
scan. That doesn't mean you have to go to a hospital
for that," she held up a hand. "A friend of Evelyn's
runs a neurological clinic in town. I've made
arrangements for us to go there today to get you a CT
scan. Skinner and I will be there the entire time."

Mulder frowned. "And what if They're there too, with
their little control box?"

"We're so far out I doubt they know where you are. And
the danger's the same in the clinic as it is in this
motel. They're both private environments," Scully
replied. "Mulder, you have to do this.  Not only could
this drop you at any instant, but we need to know how
many implants and where they're placed to remove them.
We have to know."

Mulder swallowed hard and nodded his head. "All right.
When do we go?"

Scully checked her watch. "Evelyn should be there by
now, I called her on the way in and asked her to meet
me there." She opened her cell phone and made a quick
call. "She's there and they're ready for you. We can
go now if we want to. They're holding the machine
ready."

"Now?" Mulder said. "I was sort of hoping to get used
to the idea first." He caught a look at Scully's face.
"Okay."
 

Fresno Neurological Centre
1:30 p.m.

"Mulder, I still don't understand the need for you to
wear a blindfold," Scully complained.

"I don't want Them to know where we are. It's bad
enough that Skinner wouldn't cuff me for the trip. If
they get me, I could kill you without blinking an eye.
And I really don't want you to shoot me again, okay?"
Mulder folded his (unrestrained) arms against his
chest with a petulant expression.

Skinner raised his eyebrows at Scully, who returned
the look. "There it is," Skinner said with relief,
cutting the tense silence short."  He turned into the
driveway and parked.

Scully helped Mulder out of the car and up the steps.
Skinner was glad he'd packed a pair of running shoes
in case he decided to work out. They were small for
Mulder but fit well enough.

Inside the lobby the receptionist watched in
bemusement as Scully took the blindfold off Mulder.
Mulder's eyes briefly flicked over then quickly turned
away from the large "Fresno Neurological Centre" sign
on the wall over the desk.

Scully approached the receptionist. "Dr. Haugen is
expecting us, I'm Dr. Scully."

The receptionist nodded and led them to a side door.
"Dr. Haugen is waiting for you inside." She stood
aside while the three agents went inside. If she
thought the patient's appearance or the fact that he
needed two keepers unusual, she said nothing.

The walked into a standard medical examination room,
complete with table. Skinner and Scully both watched
Mulder closely for a reaction, but Mulder's face
remained impassive.
The radiologist, a young man wearing jeans and a
t-shirt,  was waiting for them and stepped forward to
shake Scully's hand. "Hello, I'm Dr. Brian Haugen.
Evelyn has told me so much about you, Dana. Please
call me Brian. And here is Evelyn..." A tall slender
Black woman, also in jeans and t-shirt approached from
the back of the room.

"Dana! It's so good to see you!" Evelyn Lewiston ran
over and hugged Scully, lifting her off the floor.
Scully just laughed back and was quietly glad she'd
told Evelyn about Mulder's fear of labcoats.

"Evie! It's been so long and I'm so glad to see you.
And this is Agent Mulder whom I told you about, and
this Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Sir, Mulder,
this is Dr. Evelyn Lewiston, a neurosurgeon and my
med-school room mate." Brian and Evelyn cordially
shook hands all around.

"Well, let's get down to business," Evie said. "Agent
Mulder, how about I take a look at you?"
 

Fletcher Mental Health Institute
1:30 p.m.

Dr. Philip Gordon sat down with a satisfied smile. The
morning had gone well and past errors had been
successfully corrected. He was well satisfied. He
punched some numbers on the phone and listened to it
ring.

"Yes sir, it's Dr. Gordon. I wanted to give you a
status report. Do you remember my telling you earlier
today that we had relocated that missing test subject?
Yes. We've made contact and conditioning has been
completed. He's been given his target, we simply need
to retrieve him and go forward from there. Yes. We
know where he is and we'll have him by the end of
today."

~~~

Author's Note: Many thanks to my medical experts,
neurological nurse Gail(Mulderache), radiologist
Jennifer Shepard. And a special not of thanks to
Mulder's neurosurgeon, and Dr. Shaden.
 

The Invisible War, part 8

"I'm glad to hear that you've found him," Strughold
replied. "When you have him in hand, you'll make
arrangements to transport him to his target. By the
way, have you determined just how the subject escaped
in the first place?"

Gordon's voice took on a whiny note. "We did a
thorough search and it appears that the subject had an
accomplice with our security codes. We also discovered
later that one of the security cameras had been
disabled. I'm very much afraid that we have a traitor
in our midst."

"You told me that you'd assured the staff's loyalty! I
thought that you had disposed of those working for our
tobacco-stained colleague.

"I'm afraid we misjudged at least one of the staff.
I've instituted an investigation to determine who our
traitor is and dispose of him."

"You had better. I don't want our plans disclosed."
Strughold added with a tone of menace. "Our smoking
friend has continued his efforts to regain control
over the project. He managed to autopsy one of our
research subjects from the D.C. unit. With that paltry
evidence and a few figures cobbled from our past
reports, he hopes to portray us as incompetent
wastrels. Needless to say, he hasn't found any
support. Yet. You have hidden our real statistics
somewhere safe, I trust?"

"Of course, sir. All of our available records depict a
highly successful program. The second set are in
somewhere safe. Only I have access."

"Make sure it stays that way. I want my position in
North America to be unassailable before any of that
information comes out."

"Yes sir."
 

Fresno Neurological Centre

The three doctors huddled around the screen showing CT
results as they came in. Evelyn Lewiston finally
pulled her eyes off the monitor and let out a breath.

"Yes, there's the aneurysm and it looks ready to
burst. And there's another one, less progressed, with
two more forming... I can also see evidence of a
recent small stroke. That would explain his left sided
weakness. But what are those objects near each one?
He's got...five foreign bodies in his brain, each near
an extant or forming aneurysm... How very strange.
They seem to be extruding filaments and they look
like...no, they are...they're wrapped around and
through his brain tissue. It's almost like they're
plant rootlets. I have never seen readings like these.
Has Agent Mulder had prior aneurysms clipped off
before? Those don't look like the right shapes, but I
don't know what else they could be."

Scully's voice was dull. "I know what they are." She
fell silent.

"Well, what are they? They're obviously the foreign
bodies causing the rise in his blood pressure. But
it's unusual that the aneurysms should be in such
close vicinity."

Scully looked at the screen hopelessly. "They're
implants. A month ago Agent Mulder was abducted and
used as a test subject by a covert group of government
scientists. I recently autopsied a man who clearly had
been a test subject who had implants in a similar
dispersal. He died of subarachnoid hemorrhage."

Evelyn frowned. "What are they used for? Monitoring
telemetry?"

Scully shook her head. "No, they were and are used for
mind control. They have a range of two miles and allow
the subject's behavior and autonomic functions to be
controlled remotely."

"That's not possible," Evelyn replied. "Our science
hasn't progressed that far..." She turned back to the
screen in puzzlement.

"In any case," Scully went on, smiling sadly at her.
"I'm theorizing that the implants are causing the
aneurysm. I believe that something in the composition
of each implant is weakening the neighboring blood
vessels. The hypertension also caused by the presence
of the implant in the brain merely compounds the
problem and helps to create the aneurysm."

Brian turned to Scully. "Do you know what those
implants are are made of? Surely you had an
opportunity to analyze the ones from the body you
autopsied."

Scully shook her head, wondering just how much to
tell. "As far as I know, these are an entirely new
compound and probably untested in human beings." She
turned to Evelyn without much hope. "Can you remove
the implants surgically? Repair the aneurysms?"

Evie gave her a long compassionate look. "I can clip
off the existing aneurysm and it will buy him some
time, but the underlying cause for it is still there.
It won't be long before more of them develop. And
Dana, you can see for yourself where
these...implants... are lodged. The way those rootlike
structures have invaded...Honey, I'd kill him on the
table. The only people who can take these things out
are the people who put them in!"

There was a tap at the door and Brian let Skinner into
the control room. "Well? What's the verdict?" he asked
tensely. The look on Scully's face told him all he
needed to know.

"How long does he have?" Skinner asked, his eyes
widening as he saw the scan with five large blobs on
it. "Are those the implants?"

"Those are the implants, sir, and they've taken over
almost all his brain tissue. Even if we repair his
existing aneurysm, the next one could kill him. Or the
next after that. And we couldn't get the implants
causing it out of him," Scully looked silently at the
screen, then turned toward the door. "I should tell
Mulder."

Skinner caught at her arm. "Dana, do you want me to do
it?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you sir. But I think
Mulder should hear it from me."

Mulder was lying on his gurney, quietly looking at the
ceiling tiles overhead. As Scully approached, she
noticed his lips moving slightly and she realize he
was counting the perforations in them. "ninety eight,
ninety nine...Oh, hi Scully." Mulder looked up at her
brightly. "I was just wishing I had some freshly
sharpened pencils. That there is a virgin ceiling!"

Scully grinned despite herself. "I'll see what I can
do before we leave, Mulder." She caught his hand in
both of hers and hung on.

Mulder's expression grew serious. "Hey, what's this?
Why so solemn?" He watched her expression. "It didn't
go well, did it?"

"You have more hardware in your head than the average
television set," Scully began shakily. "And...and it
looks like it may have to stay there for a while.
We're not quite sure how to take it out."

"Well, as long as my television reception stays good,
I guess I can live with it," Mulder replied. "Aside
from that, what do you have planned?"

"There isn't much we can do, Mulder. You do have an
aneurysm and we can try to clip it off to give you
some time. But as to the implants, this technology is
completely alien to all of us. Evelyn has never seen
it before. And I..."

"You've only seen it in a corpse," Mulder levered
himself into a sitting position and grabbed Scully's
hand in both of his. "So how long do I have and what
can I expect?"

She shook her head. "I don't know Mulder. Clipping off
the aneurysm will control this one, but there are more
forming at the implant sites. And surgery, especially
clipping multiple aneurysms is very hard on the brain.
It could cause lasting deficits for you. We'll work
hard to keep your blood pressure down and to avoid
spikes. You probably will have to do desk work from
here on in. Chasing mutants is just too exciting for
you system now," she gave him a wavering smile.

"So I could drop dead at any minute, is that what
you're saying? And surgery to repair the aneurysms
could turn me into a vegetable." Mulder asked. Scully
nodded.

So this was it, then. Well, he wasn't going to wait a
minute longer to say what had to be said. Mulder
tightened his grip on her hand and looked into her
eyes, taking a deep breath. "Scully, there's something
I've been meaning to tell you for some time. I've
always cherished our friendship but I've come to know
that my feelings for you go deeper than that. I've
been trying to tell you for years..."

*Go out to the front of the building. Let nothing stop
you.*

Mulder stopped speaking and blinked his eyes hard,
then opened them again Noooo! he cried inwardly. No!

"What? Tell me what?" Scully asked softly.

Mulder abruptly let go Scully's hand and got off the
gurney. He looked blankly ahead of him and walked
toward the examination room door.

"Mulder? Where are you going? You aren't even dressed
yet!" She followed him out of the examination room and
into the hall, then suddenly realized what must be
happening. "They've found you, haven't they. They've
commanded you to leave here." She jumped in front of
him. "Mulder, you aren't going anywhere."

Mulder tried to sidestep, but Scully was too fast for
him, always placing herself in his path.

*Kill her and go out the door. You will be met
outside.* NOOOOO!! I won't kill again. And I won't
kill her! I can't...Before his eyes he saw his two
hands reach forward and wrap themselves around Dana
Scully's slender neck. They began to apply pressure
slowly, though Mulder mentally bucked and resisted it.

Her skin was silky beneath his fingertips and he could
feel her pulse, getting faster as she fought him. The
face of the other redhead swam before him and he knew
what was going to happen. Not Scully. It couldn't be
Scully. His fingers tightened harder, digging into her
white throat. He could see the red marks he was
leaving that would become bruises later.

I can't let this happen. Not Scully. Please God, not
Scully. What can I do? Have to think! Can't control my
body but I do control my emotions. I still have my
mind. And I have a high blood pressure and an aneurysm
and I'm not supposed to let myself get too excited or
the blood pressure will spike and ....

Scully's face was purpling. She had tried to break his
hold on her, first shifting her balance, then
attempting to jam his chin or face with a fist. But he
already knew the countermoves and dodged her with
ease. She vainly attempted to grab the weapon in her
waist holster but he wouldn't let her reach it. Her
eyes were slowly closing, amid the sounds of her
gurgling breath.

Mulder held her close in a death grip, forced to look
deeply into her eyes, as he'd done when he killed
before. Tears ran down his cheeks as he tried to
communicate his helplessness to her. Then he grimly
unearthed all the emotions he'd ever felt about Scully
and flooded his mind with them: his love for her, his
absolute determination to keep her safe and his terror
of her dying and leaving him alone. He flooded his
mind with his old fears for her, remembering when
Scully'd been returned, dying. Remembering the cancer
and his terrible anger and despair at the men who
caused it. He remembered the other red haired woman,
the one he'd killed, pulling out and reveling in the
pain of it, the guilt, the shame. I am a killer, he
reminded himself. They are making me kill and I don't
want this. I reject this! I reject it!  The headache
started up, throbbing somewhere behind his eyes.

Remember the pain...the rage. He remembered Samantha
and the years of guilt and loss. Anger. Angry...how
dare they steal our lives!...angry angry
angry..rage..He visualized Gordon's face, impassively
torturing him in that Treatment Room and wished it
were Gordon's throat between his hands. He could feel
his heart thumping very hard and fast. The headache
was worse, pulsing with his heartbeat. Damn them for
taking so much away from him! Damn them for making him
hurt this woman! He swam in the rage, embraced it and
fed it with all his might.

"Mulder! Let her go!" Mulder dimly heard Skinner's
voice and his feet running down the hall. He kept
squeezing, conscious that Scully was starting to
crumple. Think harder! Gotta do this fast.
Anger...fear...rage...Scully I'm so sorry...forgive
me... His head was pounding harder and harder. God it
hurt...push the rage. C'mon blood pressure, spike for
me...Head HURTS...

He felt hands tugging at him, pulling him away from
Scully. Skinner grabbed and jerked him away from her.
His body began to fight Skinner off, throwing punches
toward what he could see of him though his vision had
gone suddenly blurry.  He thought that Scully was
somewhere on the floor, gasping for air. Thank God, he
hadn't killed her. He tried to rush Skinner but
abruptly found himself turned and grabbed from behind,
trapped in the crook of Skinner's arm in a choke-hold.
The grip was tight and he could hear himself gasping
for air. His head pounded...pain PAIN His head was
shrieking with agony, it hurt Hurt HURT...

Mulder abruptly collapsed.

Skinner felt the dead weight against his body and
released his hold. Mulder slipped bonelessly out of
his grip. Skinner flashed Scully a look of blind panic
and caught at him, easing him down to the floor, then
knelt down by his side. Scully skidded in next to him.

She checked his pulse and put a hand on his chest.
"He's breathing," she rasped through her bruised
larynx. "Call  911 NOW!" she barked. "Get Evelyn down
here!"

Skinner was jolted out of his daze and found himself
dialing his cell phone while running to the CT control
room. He swung open the door and gasped out
"Mulder...collapsed in the hall. Scully with him. I'll
call paramedics..."

The two doctors were out the door before Skinner
finished the sentence. He tersely ordered an ambulance
from the emergency operator, running back to the
hallway all the while. He was folding up the phone
when he got back to Mulder.

Mulder was sprawled on the linoleum floor, surrounded
by doctors.

"Pupils are different sizes," said Brian, flashing a
penlight into Mulder's eyes. Scully was busy placing
an oxygen tube down Mulder's throat.

"Mulder! Agent Mulder, can you hear me?" Evelyn
shouted with no response." Scully looked up at that
and watched as Evelyn vigorously rubbed Mulder's
sternum. His arms and feet turned inward in response.
Evelyn and Scully exchanged glances and Scully's face
went pale.

"We might as well do another CT, they'll get it anyway
when he gets to the hospital. Mr. Skinner," Evelyn
waved Skinner over. "Could you help us lift Mulder
onto a gurney?"

Scully brought a gurney over and Brian and Skinner
lifted Mulder onto it. Brian propelled the gurney
swiftly into the CT room, leaving Skinner behind.

Skinner stood and tried to catch his breath. What
triggered Mulder's attack? Could it have been the
fight? Had something he did triggered this? A blow
maybe? The choke hold?

"Agent Scully," he grabbed her arm as she passed, on
her way to the control room. "Did something I did
trigger his attack? The choke hold?"

She nodded absently. "It's possible, sir, excuse
me..." and ran down the hall to the control room.

Skinner was left alone in the hallway wondering how
much of this was his responsibility. And again he
couldn't do anything to change it or help it. The
situation was, yet again, out of his hands.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the CT had been
completed and none of the doctors were saying
anything.

After the ambulance left, taking Scully and Mulder
with it, he followed more slowly in the rental car.
The hospital wasn't far but it was far enough. He
couldn't let it go. He'd maybe caused this attack.
He'd been trying not to hurt Mulder but he'd had to
subdue him to save Scully's life. But was it necessary
to subdue him that hard? He wished he could just take
a bullet for Mulder; that would be cleaner and easier
on the conscience.

Fresno Community Hospital

Mulder was given a room to himself and all was quiet
except the patient and the machines keeping him alive.
The door opened and a man walked softly in. He wore an
expensive business suit but his face was worn looking,
his blue eyes faded. He stopped at the foot of
Mulder's bed and shakily took a pack of cigarettes
from his pocket, then fumbled for matches in another
and failed to find them. Then he glanced up and saw
the "No Smoking" sign and eyed the cigarettes
ruefully, before pocketing them again.

He crept closer to Mulder's bed and looked down at him
with a worried expression. The man sighed and, pulling
up a chair, sat down watching the sleeper in the bed.
So much potential there, and wasted on a stupid
mistake by Gordon. He abhorred waste and had always
run efficient projects, using up a minimum of test
subjects. He had his standards, but this...this was
just unprofessional. He eyed the suture marks on
Mulder's skull and sneered at the rampant incompetence
that allowed this to happen. When he regained the West
Coast, it would certainly be different.

He heard light footsteps in the hall and quickly got
to his feet, consciously straightening his body into a
confident posture. The door opened and Dana Scully
rushed in, then stopped when she saw Mulder's visitor.

"You!" she breathed. "You have a nerve, coming here
after all this! Are you here to gloat?"

"I have every right to be here," said the Smoking Man.
"And may I remind you that I was the one who helped
you get him out. I can still be of assistance." He
gestured toward Mulder.
"His prognosis isn't good, I gather."

"He has a subarachnoid hemorrhage," Scully said
shortly. "We're doing everything medically possible
for him."

"And you know how effective that's likely to be. I can
offer Mulder my help. I have access to the technology
that created those implants; I can remove them." The
Smoker paused and smiled. "I can even have the damage
to his brain repaired."

Scully stilled. "How? That's impossible even with our
most cutting edge technology."

"But not mine. I'm offering Mulder a chance," the
Smoker said. "The only one he has. But I require a
favor in return."

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Another autopsy? Do you want
me to dissect another tortured victim of your hellish
program?"

"Why, no. Actually there's a small errand I believe
Agent Skinner could perform for me. A matter of
picking up a man and some documents. I'll supply the
tools if he will make the pick up. I don't want to use
an operative who can be traced to me. Ah, here's the
Assistant Director now."

The door had opened and a panting Walter Skinner
strode into the room, stopping dead when he saw the
Smoker. "What are you doing here? Come to kill him in
his bed?"

"Now, now, on the contrary I'm here to offer
assistance," the Smoker said genially. "I was just
telling Agent Scully my offer."

Skinner glanced at Scully. "What could he possibly
offer that Mulder would ever accept?" he asked, his
voice rough.

"I'm offering Agent Mulder a chance. That's not
something that anyone else has for him. Agent Scully,
you can give Mr. Skinner the details. Call me when
you've decided to take me up on it." The Smoker walked
past Skinner with a knowing smile and went through the
door.

Scully sat down in the bedside chair and watched
Mulder closely, her hand stroking his.

"Agent Scully, what does he mean?" Skinner asked. "How
is he?" He walked over to the bed and studied Mulder.
His eyebrows rose when he saw a tube projecting
directly out of  Mulder's skull, draining fluid.

"He's had a cerebral hemorrhage, a hemorrhagic stroke
which is leaking blood into the space between his
brain and his skull. The stroke caused damage to the
brain stem," Scully said, her eyes fixed on Mulder's
face.

"Can you do anything about it? Why aren't they doing
surgery on him or something?" Skinner asked.

"They're not planning on any immediate surgery," She
said dully. "The Smoking Man says that he can remove
the implants and heal the brain damage Mulder suffered
in the stroke." She looked up at Skinner, her eyes
very blue. "In exchange, he says he wants you to 'run
an errand' for him as he puts it."

Skinner's face grew stern. "Scully, you can't honestly
consider giving Mulder to him. He's in this hospital
right now because of people like that bastard! If
Mulder were conscious, he'd never let you do it."

"You don't understand, sir. Mulder sustained damage to
his brain stem. The only reason they haven't performed
surgery on him because there's no point!" Her voice
cracked and failed.

She gently put Mulder's hand back onto the blanket and
stood to face Skinner.  She spoke deliberately. "The
very best Mulder can hope for is a lifetime on a
ventilator in a vegetative state until some infection
mercifully kills him." She turned away, then sat down
in the chair again, her eyes welling with tears.

With a shaking hand, Skinner pulled up another chair
next to Scully and sat heavily down. "Dana, you know
that you can't trust the Smoker. Look what he did to
you.  And you know that Mulder has a horror of the
man! You *know* that Mulder would rather die than be
given to him," he said forcefully.

"I know," she said with forced calm. "But that's his
only chance. He has no future. There's nothing,
absolutely nothing that medicine, as I understand it,
can do for him. He'll die if we don't accept the
offer. Can't you understand that? We have no choice!"

"How do we know that Mulder won't end his days a human
test subject? How can we betray him like that?"
Skinner said raggedly. "What's his life worth to him
then? It might be kinder to just let him go."

"You mean, turn off the ventilator and wait for him to
die?" Scully fought for a shred of calm. "I can't do
that as long as there's some chance, any chance for
him." She was quiet, then said shakily, "I...think I'd
like to get some coffee," she said. "You want some?"

Skinner shook his head and looked away, unable to meet
her eyes. She got up and made her way to the door,
closing it gently behind her.

Skinner sat, his hands resting uselessly on his knees.
It wasn't just her decision. It was his as well, since
the Smoker wanted him to seal the bargain. "I owe you,
Mulder," he said quietly. "I may even have triggered
this thing. I'm sorry if I did; I didn't intend to
hurt you. But I don't know what the right answer is
now. You've never been the kind of man to give up a
struggle. But I know how you feel about the Smoker; I
know what he claims he is to you." He drew a deep
breath. "And I can't stand the thought of handing you
over to him, knowing how you'd feel about it if you
knew."

He looked over his shoulder at the door through which
Scully had gone and his frown grew deeper. He owed
Scully something too, if only to take Mulder's role
and try to protect her. God forbid the Smoker decide
to offer to let Scully run his errand for him. With a
last look at Mulder, Skinner turned and left the room.
When he was on the sidewalk in front of the hospital
he made a call.

"I understand you need my services," Skinner said
shortly. "What do you need and can you guarantee
Mulder's recovery?"

"Ah, Mr. Skinner. I'm so glad to hear from you. Our
technology is quite advanced. While nothing is
certain, I can assure you that he has an excellent
chance of a full recovery."

"What is it you want me to do?" Skinner was conscious
that he was holding his breath. He deliberately let it
out.

"There is a man I need you to retrieve for me. He has
some documents I need and only he knows where they are
kept. I want you to get to him and force the
information out of him by any means necessary. Obtain
the documents and bring them and the man to me."

Kidnapping and burglary, Skinner thought to himself. A
typical day's work in the Smoker's employment.

"Who is this man and where do I find him?" Skinner
glanced around, making sure nobody was overhearing
this call. Conspiracy charges were made up of less
evidence.

"You will be going to the Fletcher Mental Health
Institute. The man I require is Dr. Philip Gordon.
And, Mr. Skinner..." The Smoker's voice cut through
Skinner's sudden wolfish grin. "A few bruises can be
overlooked, but I need him alive"

~~~

Author's note: My best thanks to Hawkeye for her
incredible help and input as Mulder's neurosurgeon.
Any medical errors or inaccuracies I've made are
purely mine alone. Also, Skinner would never punch
bunnies. It's only a figure of speech.

The Invisible War, part 9

Skinner thought hard. He couldn't just let Mulder go
into the unknown with the Smoker. "You bring the
treatment, whatever it is, and administer it here," he
said firmly.

"I'm afraid not," said the Smoker, just as firmly.
"Our processes are secret and need to remain so. The
deal is that you run this errand for me and in then my
people will pick Mulder up and transport him to our
facility for treatment."

"Then Scully goes along," Skinner replied, beginning
to feel desperate.

"No. The agreement is as I stated it or the deal is
off. It's your choice. Call me when you've made up
your mind." The Smoker hung up.

Skinner stared glumly at his cell phone before tucking
it back into his pocket. He didn't know what to tell
Scully, but he'd have to face her.

Back in the room he took his place again at Mulder's
bedside. Nothing had changed; Mulder hadn't moved. He
looked asleep, more than anything else. Skinner
wondered vaguely whether Mulder would wake if Scully
kissed him....

Scully returned to the room, her face freshly washed,
to find Skinner sitting quietly at Mulder's side.

He looked up as she approached. "I called him."

Scully stopped short. "The Smoking Man?" Skinner
nodded and she let out a breath.

Skinner explained. "The 'little errand' he wants me to
run is doable. My concern is still with Mulder. The
Smoker won't allow treatment here, but insists that
Mulder be taken to one of his facilities. And Scully,"
Skinner said in a low voice. "I tried to arrange that
at least you accompany Mulder. But he wants Mulder
alone. You can't go with him."

"I see," she said, her face falling. "Then we have no
guarantee if or when Mulder will ever be returned."

"None," he replied. "What do you think we should do?"

Her face grew still as she considered. "We already
know that conventional treatment offers Mulder no
hope. I think we have to do it," she looked up at
Skinner. "if you're willing to do the Smoker's dirty
work for him."

"I'll do it," Skinner smiled dangerously. "And as you
said, Mulder has no choice. We'll have to take the
chance for him," Skinner laid his hand on Scully's
arm. "He'll come out of this. He's the stubbornest man
I know." He got up. "I'll call the Smoker now. The
sooner I get this job done, the faster Mulder gets
treatment."

From the sidewalk Skinner dialed the number again. The
Smoker answered it on the first ring. "Well, Mr.
Skinner?"

"When will you take Mulder to your facility?" he
asked.

"As soon as you deliver Gordon and the papers," the
Smoker replied smoothly. "I'll give you an address to
pick up the information necessary to do the job...."

"All right," Skinner said, wondering whether this was
really a good idea.
 

Fletcher Mental Health Institute
April 11, 2002
10:00 a.m.

A white panel truck labeled "Harris Institutional
Laundry--We Deliver" drove to the front gate of the
hospital where a bored guard gave the truck driver's
ID a brief glance before waving him through. The
driver nodded and carefully drove the truck around the
building to a loading dock. He backed the truck up to
the dock and rolled open the truck's rear door, then
put a ramp in place and removed a wheeled hamper
filled with folded clean laundry.

He went over to the door and rang the bell. A security
guard opened it and eyed the white uniform coveralls
the driver wore. "Where's Juan? He sick today?" he
asked.

"He had a dental appointment. He'll be back tomorrow,"
the man answered blandly. "Can I come in or do you
want to keep your dirty laundry?" he waved toward the
door.

"Right. Yeah," the guard said and opened the loading
dock gate. The laundry man wheeled the cart through
the loading area and into the building.

He casually rolled his cart down one hallway, turned
and down another, carefully following the usual route.
At the last minute he made a quick turn and headed for
a wood paneled door labeled "Director".

The janitor's closet was where he had expected it to
be. He picked the lock on the closet and carefully
rolled the cart inside. He reached in under the towels
and removed a gun, ankle holster, some cuffs and a
small pouch. He donned the ankle holster and gun, then
hid the other objects in the various pockets of his
coverall.

He carefully closed the door but didn't lock it and
walked two doors down to the Director's office. He
tried the door and found it open, turned the knob
silently and went in.

Dr. Gordon was sitting behind his desk with a stack of
files in front of him. He looked up, startled at the
intruder.

"Who are you? What do you...I know you.  Dr. Smith?
What are you doing here dressed up like that?"

Skinner, grinning evilly, advanced on Dr. Gordon and
pulled the gun from it's holster. "Step away from the
desk and put your hands against the wall." Skinner
gestured toward the richly paneled wall.

Gordon gulped when he saw the gun and slowly complied.
Skinner patted him down but found no weapons. He
cuffed the man's hands behind his back and turned
Gordon around to face him.

"I...I don't understand..." Gordon said nervously,
looking at the gun.

"I've been sent to retrieve some documents you have.
Specifically, the second set of books you're keeping
for this place. Where are they?" Skinner brandished
the gun at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Gordon
returned. With a savage smile, Skinner moved the gun
to his left hand and hit him with the right. "Try
again," he said.

Gordon's eyes teared up. "Who are you? What is this
all about?"

"Where are the documents?" Skinner replied. Gordon
didn't reply, so Skinner hit him again. After three or
four good punches, Gordon looked considerably battered
and Skinner was no further in his quest. He reflected
that beating Gordon was a bit like punching bunnies,
their noses twitched and they didn't fight back.

Time to try something else. "You want to know who I
am? Well, I'm a friend of Fox Mulder's. You know? That
'subject' you used as a demonstration model for your
'program'. He's dying, thanks to you, and I have some
strong feelings about that. Although I'm not supposed
to kill you, It would give me great pleasure to give
you a taste of what he went through while he was
here."

Skinner pulled a switchblade from his coverall and
flicked it open under Gordon's nose. "Mulder told me
you opened up his skull and put things in his brain
and did it without any anesthesia. Now that has to
hurt, but you apparently don't know that. So it's up
to me to educate you. I'll start with your head and,
if you haven't told me by then, I'll continue down the
rest of your body. But if you give me the papers I'll
go and leave you without hurting you," he said softly
and held the knife blade to Gordon's forehead,
pressing it in deeply enough that a trickle of blood
flowed down and into Gordon's eyes.

Gordon started babbling. "I have them. They're in my
office safe. The combination is...."

Skinner backed away and carefully opened the safe. He
saw a leather portfolio inside. He removed it, checked
the contents and nodded. "This looks right," then
moved back toward Gordon.  He grinned again and pulled
out the pouch, removing a hypo. "You'll need this for
the trip."

"Trip? You said you'd leave me here!" Gordon wailed.

"I lied," Skinner said and moved in on him. He quickly
had Gordon in a headlock and inserted the hypo. Gordon
soon slumped unconscious but Skinner gagged him to be
safe. Leaving him on the floor, he retrieved the
laundry cart and shook out the towels into a pile. He
hid Gordon on the bottom of the pile and wheeled both
cart and Gordon out of the office, which he carefully
locked behind him.

He nonchalantly rolled the cart back to the loading
dock where a bored guard let him out. The guard
watched with disinterest while Skinner loaded the cart
into the truck, shut and locked the back, then waved
good-bye and got into the cab.

He was let out of the facility by the same bored guard
that had let him in. Once outside he hit the gas and
quickly got on the freeway.

Later...

He returned to where he'd picked up the truck and
found a black Lexus parked next to his own rental.

He got out of the cab and approached the Smoker,
standing next to the Lexus.

"I see you were successful, Mr. Skinner," the Smoker
said with satisfaction. "Where are the papers?"

"You know, I could tell you right now that I'm holding
Gordon and the papers until you deliver a completely
healed Mulder to me," said Skinner wearing his best
poker face.

"Would you?" the Smoker said in a bored tone. "Then
you'll have Dr. Gordon as a permanent guest and Agent
Mulder will die. I made my offer of help because I
like Agent Mulder and because it was useful to have
someone not known to work for me pick up the
documents. But if you're trying to make a different
deal with me, you're wrong." He took a puff and
smiled. "I hold the cards and, while I'd like to have
Gordon and the papers it isn't vital to me. Please
give my condolences to Agent Scully." He turned and
began walking back to his car.

"Wait!" Skinner called. The Smoker stopped and turned,
waiting.

In a defeated tone, Skinner said "I have the papers
and Gordon. He's in a hamper in the back of the
truck." Skinner went to the cab and retrieved a
leather portfolio. "Here are the papers."

The Smoker approached and took the papers from
Skinner, then opened the portfolio and reviewed them
briefly. A smile lit up the Smoker's face. "Yes, these
will do."

Skinner saw the Smoker's two goons open the back of
the truck and hoist out the hamper, then pull Gordon
from it and lay him on the gravel.

The Smoker ambled over to the prisoner and looked down
at him. "I see you didn't bruise him much." He looked
over at Skinner. "If I were you, I'd have killed him."

"That's the difference between us," Skinner said with
suppressed rage. "I'm not a murdering bastard like
you."

"Temper, temper Assistant Director," said the Smoker.
"My people will be at the hospital at 8:00 a.m.
tomorrow morning to remove Agent Mulder. I trust he
will be ready?"

"He will be. When will we know if it's successful? And
when will we get him back?" Skinner said, trying to
look as bland as the Smoker, but failing.

The Smoker caught it. "I'll call you when there's any
word. And in the meantime, you have my number. That
will have to suffice."

Skinner stood and stared at the Smoker until it became
clear that the Smoker would say nothing, concede
nothing more. Giving Gordon a backward glance, Skinner
walked across the gravel to his car. He carefully
opened the hood and examined the engine, then lay down
on the gravel and checked the undercarriage for car
bombs. Let the Smoker know in what esteem Skinner held
him.

"Don't worry, Mr. Skinner! We haven't mined your car.
If we wanted you dead, we could have done it any of a
number of ways at any time," the Smoker called in
amusement.

Skinner gave him no reply but continued examining the
car. When he was certain that there was nothing to be
found, he got into the car and drove away.

------------------------

Gordon returned to consciousness snorting and gasping.
He looked up into a blue sky, then saw the Smoker
towering over him.

Gordon sat up and tried to scoot himself away from the
Smoker but was caught and hauled upright.

"S...s...sir. It's you," he said.

"I'm glad you remember who I am," the Smoker replied
evenly, taking a puff. "You evidently didn't when you
turned the operation over to Strughold."

"I d...d...didn't have a choice. His people just moved
in. Said they had authorization from the
Consortium..."

"Indeed. And then you took this project and ran it
into the ground. Tsk tsk, such waste. And when it
appeared that the mortality rate was 100%, you didn't
scale back. No, you expanded, taking in more test
subjects indiscriminately, thereby risking project's
becoming public knowledge. Six abductions from a UFO
convention! Ridiculous. And, I might add, the security
at your facility is laughable. But that isn't what
upsets me the most," the Smoker moved in close and
stood eye to eye with Gordon. "There are orders
regarding Fox Mulder that have been outstanding for a
number of years. You chose to break those orders."

"I didn't know it was him..." Gordon shrank away.

"Yes, you did. But you used him anyway. So what do I
have here? A combination of disloyalty, incompetence
and disobedience. That I cannot allow."

The Smoker blew a puff of smoke into Gordon's face and
waved to his assistants who began to drag Gordon back
towards the truck.

"Please! You're not going to kill me, are you?
Please!! If you want to get the implants out you need
me alive! Let me live! I'll do anything!" Gordon
shouted.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," the Smoker said
mildly. "And I don't need your help. I've been
supplied with specifications of all the advances your
group has made. As for you, you're simply going to
become a volunteer subject for another program I'm
supervising. It involves some brain surgery along the
same lines as your current project. I'm sure you'll
find it enlightening."

Shouting and crying, Gordon was thrown into the back
of the truck. One of the assistants got into the cab
and drove it away to the sound of Gordon thumping
against the truck walls and shouting.

"Anything more, sir?" the second assistant asked.

"Yes. Make sure that Gordon's fate is known throughout
the organization." The Smoker smiled, then threw his
cigarette butt onto the gravel and strode away.

April 12
8:00 a.m.
Fresno Community Hospital

Promptly at 8:00 p.m. an ambulance pulled up to the
emergency entrance of the hospital. Scully had had
Mulder prepped and put onto a gurney for transport.
She and Skinner waited next to him.

"I see you're ready," the Smoker's said. The ambulance
opened and the attendants got out. Scully and Skinner
stepped back as they began loading Mulder into the
back.

"I'm glad you saw reason. It would be a shame to waste
an intellect like his," the Smoker said.

"I'm still not sure I understand how it is that you
can repair all the damage the implants have caused,"
Scully said, half of her attention directed behind her
to the attendants busily checking Mulder and strapping
the gurney in for travel.

"If I told you, I'd have to shoot you," the Smoker
said with a genial smile. "Suffice it to say, the
information is classified. But it will work."

Scully noted that they'd finished loading Mulder. "It
looks like it's time." She bit her lip, her voice low
and pleading. "Are you sure I can't go with Agent
Mulder? You can blindfold me so I can't identify the
location, exclude me from the treatment rooms..."

The Smoker looked almost sympathetic. "No, Agent
Scully. But rest assured that Agent Mulder will be in
capable hands."

The Smoker got into the ambulance behind the
attendants and then the door was closed. Skinner and
Scully watched as it left the parking lot.

"We could follow it..." Skinner offered, then Scully
shook her head.

"I don't want to jeopardize Mulder's life in any way.
We'll just have to have faith that the Smoker wants to
keep Mulder alive for his own reasons." She turned and
began to walk toward her car, Skinner following.

May 14, 2002
Location unknown

Mulder was conscious that he lay in a very soft bed,
much better than the usual beds in the cheap motel
rooms he and Scully generally used on cases. Was he on
a case? He didn't think so. But he thought he
remembered a motel... He thought he heard a voice that
was vaguely familiar. He smelled cigarette smoke and
his nose twitched. He couldn't quite place why this
should be so familiar, but he felt he'd been drifting
for a while in a gray sort of haze and he'd heard
someone talking to him but didn't quite catch the
meaning.

"You never understood that I sacrificed it all for
you," a man's voice said. "Your mother wouldn't leave
Bill, so we agreed to keep it all our secret. I've
spent the rest of my career trying to protect the
world as we know it and keep you safe. I did it for
your mother, and ultimately for my son." A low laugh.
"Bill never understood why I came waterskiing at the
summerhouse so often, not because I enjoyed water
skiing but to get a glimpse of you. I never dared get
too close to you, though. I couldn't risk Bill seeing
any resemblance."

"When we negotiated with the aliens, I made sure that
your sister Samantha was taken and not you. I'd
already given a child to the program and even that
young you had incredible potential; more than you can
know.  I couldn't allow it to be risked. If I and my
efforts eventually failed, you might be the savior of
us all one day." He heard the sound of puffing on a
cigarette. "And that's why I am determined to have you
join me. I'm not as young as I once was. I need to
pass the torch to younger hands and I'd always
intended them to be yours."

Pass what into younger hands? Mulder thought dreamily.
What was he talking about? He had vague memories of a
summer house on the ocean, of swimming and playing
with a girl. His sister? And he remembered another man
who chain-smoked so much that he and Samantha had
quietly nicknamed him 'Old Stinky'. Samantha. Aliens.
Abduction. Scully. The implants. Shit! Mulder's eyes
opened wide.

He lay in a luxurious four poster bed in a beautifully
appointed room. He thought the furniture might be
French Provincial. Old oil paintings adorned the walls
and fresh flower arrangements stood on the antique
tables. The most modern thing in the room was the wide
screen television that faced his bed.

The Smoker sat next to his bed, smiling benignly at
him. "Welcome back," he said. "You had us concerned
for a while."

Mulder scowled at the Smoker and tried to climb out of
bed and away from him. To his dismay, he was just too
weak to get up and settled for moving as far to the
other side of the bed as he could. "You! Where am I?
Where is this place and why are you here?" Mulder
looked around the room. "And where's Scully? She's
always there when I'm in the hospital!" Mulder looked
around at the room more closely. "But this isn't a
hospital, isn't it?"

"It's a hospital of a sort. Agent Scully couldn't be
here. She had another urgent matter to attend to.” The
Smoker's smile grew broader.

"The last thing I remember, I was in the hospital
getting CT scans for implants," he raised a hand to
his head. The scars had diminished so that he barely
felt them. His hair was even an inch or so long. "How
long have I been here?"

The Smoker stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal
ashtray on the cherry wood table at his elbow. "About
a month, more or less. We kept you unconscious until
we were certain you were healing properly."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "We? Who are we?'

"My people and I." The Smoker lit another cigarette.
"You were in a coma and expected to remain so. I took
steps to save you. The least you can do is show some
gratitude."

"Why? Your people caused it in the first place,"
Mulder touched his head. "How did you do it? They told
me I was incurable; they couldn't get the implants
out."

The Smoker smiled. "I have access to the technology
that created them, and no, it wasn't my people who
abducted you. My colleague, Mr. Strughold, is
supervising that program. Badly, I might add. In any
case, the implants are made of an inert organic
substance and, as you have noticed, respond to the
commands of a remote control. They couldn't be removed
because of the filaments which, extruding from the
implants, invade the brain tissue of the subject.  I
simply used a control box to instruct the implants to
retract all filaments and to 'die'. They immediately
began dissolving and what little residue was left was
flushed out of your brain by your bloodstream." He
took a puff. "We treated the brain damage with one of
our newer innovations. I'm sure you've heard of
nanotechnology," he smiled proudly.

Mulder frowned. "I've heard of it."

"These are a microscopic machines, short-lived but
useful. A very new innovation for us of which we are
rightfully proud. The nano-machines simply went into
your brain and repaired the tissues that they were
directed to, shut themselves down and dissolved." The
Smoker looked intently at Mulder. "You may not believe
this, but I have always been your friend. I have a
business proposition to make you."

"And what would that be?" Mulder eyed him with
suspicion.

"Why, to come work with me of course. I value your
skills and want you to join me in the organization."

"Absolutely not," said Mulder. "When can I go home?"

"Just think about it," the Smoker said and got up to
leave.

"I'm not going to work for you! Let me out of here!"
Mulder shouted as the Smoker left the room
.

Hoover Building
Washington DC

Skinner opened the office door and found Scully seated
at Mulder's desk engrossed in a phone call. "Yes, we
already tried that, Frohike. Well, anything you can
turn up is more than we have. Thanks."

She hung up the phone and looked up to see Skinner
hovering anxiously. "Anything?" he asked.

"No. You?" she replied.

Skinner pulled out the chair and sat down, defeated.
"I've telephoned the Smoker's number every day since
he took Mulder and ended up leaving a voicemail
message each time. Today the number was disconnected.
All my contacts have dried up." He caught her eyes and
held them. "Agent Scully, I have no idea where Agent
Mulder is nor how to locate him. I assume the Smoker
has him in some kind of classified military hospital,
but have no way of knowing which one."

Scully was silent, fighting for her composure. "We had
no choice," she said finally. "He had no choice."

Skinner looked down at the floor, going over
everything that had happened since Mulder was first
abducted. "What have we done?" he asked.
 

May 28, 2002
Location unknown

Mulder looked around the suite with distaste. It had
been made very clear to him that he was allowed, even
encouraged, to do anything his heart desired. Except
leave. Or have any contact with his friends.

He'd been given a luxurious suite with bedroom, living
room and adjoining workout room with pool. The living
room was stocked with books, a DVD library fully
stocked with pornography, a stereo system and another
big screen television. Mulder took stock of all this.
"He's trying to buy me," he said to himself.

The doors were locked. The staff was solicitous and
friendly but firm. And unfortunately the waiters all
looked like former assassins. Which, Mulder supposed,
they might well be.  And every day at 1:00 p.m.
promptly, the Smoker appeared to have a "chat" with
him. Mulder had to admit that he'd grown so starved
for human company that he'd almost begun to look
forward to the visits. The Smoker spent most of the
visit describing places he'd been, books he had read
and his conviction that exceptional men, of whom he
numbered himself and Mulder, had a duty to make
sacrifices for a greater cause. He never told Mulder
what that greater cause might be, but Mulder suspected
it involved secret government projects.

After the Smoker left, Mulder was left with his own
thoughts and memories of killing. He couldn't escape
killing that woman and almost killing Scully. He
thought she was okay, he had a foggy memory of Skinner
grabbing him and Scully gasping on the floor before
everything went black. It had worked then, he'd
managed to stop the outside control. Now without the
implants he could hope that he was free.

But why would Scully allow the Smoker to have him? She
knew how he felt about the man. She may have felt she
didn't have a choice, he decided. Scully, always
logical, would have dealt with the devil himself to
find him a cure. And she probably had.

Mulder had been working off his frustrations in the
pool, which also had the helpful effect of gradually
building up his muscles again and increasing his
endurance. He felt pretty much recovered from what
Gordon had done to him physically. Emotionally and
mentally? He wasn't sure. He didn't hear the Voice any
more and hadn't been compelled to do anything since
he'd arrived. This elaborate prison was also a refuge
of sorts, but he couldn't allow himself to depend on
it if he ever wanted to leave here. And he did. He had
to face everything he'd done, whether he had willed to
do them or not.

The windows to this suite had been bricked up and
covered with heavy drapes, so he had no way of knowing
where he was or even what the weather was like
outside. He felt increasingly isolated; probably what
the Smoker intended.

Every day a stack of newspapers was delivered to
Mulder representing the at least twelve national and
international papers. He picked up a copy of the
London Times, then set it down next to an English
language version of Pravda. He was so starved for news
that he devoured all the papers every day, then tuned
the big screen television to CNN. He wasn't sure what
he was looking for; maybe a clue that FBI Agent Fox
Mulder had been missed and was being sought by his
friends?

He sat on the bed and clicked the remote, then put it
down with a dissatisfied sigh. The attendant Mark,
Mulder'd finally coaxed a name from him, had brought
this month's issue of The Lone Gunman. Normally Mulder
quietly trashed his copy and said nothing to the guys.
Supporting them with his subscription payment was his
own quiet form of charity. But today it meant a touch
of home.

He picked it up and sat down in the leather easy chair
to read it. He stopped at the first article, headed
"Missing! Have you seen this man?" with an old picture
of himself. Scully must have dug it up from somewhere.
The article gave him some needed detail. So Skinner
and Scully had cut a deal for his treatment and later
return and now the old Smoker had reneged. Mulder
wondered if this had been his plan all along. Catch
him, cage him and hope that by isolating him from his
friends he could be persuaded to throw over the FBI
and join the Organization. Maybe he had been hoping to
piggyback on a brain already susceptible to mind
control after weeks of brainwashing. He touched his
head, a new nervous habit for him when he thought
about the Treatment Room and the Voice.

He frowned when he read the list of other people who'd
died because of the implants, some of them names he
recalled from the UFO convention.  One abductee had
been strangled: Mary Ellen Murphy. "Mary Ellen
Murphy," Mulder whispered and promised himself that
he'd find out if she had a family. He'd go to them and
quietly try to make up for their loss.

Yet the Smoker disavowed any responsibility for
Gordon's program; all the fault of Strughold taking
over what was formerly the Smoker's turf.

At this point he didn't know what to believe. He
rubbed his eyes and looked sadly down at the magazine.
Scully was usually his touchstone in these matters. Oh
how he longed for her clarity of thought.

"Penny for your thoughts," said a familiar voice.
Mulder smelled the stale cigarette smoke and knew who
it had to be.

"How many people have you killed?" Mulder said, not
turning around. The smoker rounded the easy chair and
stood, looking down at him.

"When? Ever?" he took a drag. "I've never killed
anyone in my life. Not a soul. Why?"

Mulder looked up accusingly. "There's a list of people
here who were abducted with me and died. One of the
Consortium's precious projects."

"And a badly managed one at that," the Smoker said
reasonably. "You must understand that everyone
involved in the Consortium has sacrificed family,
career aspirations, their own lives to benefit
mankind."

"I see," Mulder said dubiously. "While you kidnapped
innocent people, including my sister Samantha and
Scully, and used them as test subjects. What good is
it to help mankind if you pay no attention to the
people?"

"Mankind is my business and I have sacrificed
everything I ever valued to serve it," the Smoker
pulled up a chair and sat down. "I've mentioned it
before. You should be working with me and not against
me. You could progress in the FBI, earn a better
salary, gain influence."

"I have everything I want right now," Mulder replied.

"Not everything. Once you're my aide you become privy
to everything. All the programs, the databases, the
history. You'll even find Samantha." He smiled at
Mulder's sudden movement. "Yes, I'll take you to her.
She's in a somewhat delicate position at this moment
or I would have brought her with me today, but she's
been kept apprised of your condition."

"Samantha? Or some kind of fake?" Mulder replied.
"I've seen your version of Samantha."

"When you become a part of the organization, no door
will be closed to you. I'd have no reason to hide
anything from my second in command. Just think about
it." The Smoker stubbed out his cigarette in the
ashtray and left.

Mulder sat for a while looking at the dead cigarette.
He was beginning to understand just why he was here.
The Smoker wasn't going to let him go without a
commitment to work for the Consortium. He'd probably
made the deal with Scully just for this opportunity.
Mulder rubbed his hands across his face. Even if he
agreed to the Smoker's blandishments, he'd be trapped
somehow. The Smoker would see to that. Wheels within
wheels within wheels....and how did one slightly
battered FBI agent think his way around them?

May 29, 2002
1:00 p.m.
Location unknown

Mulder was waiting when the Smoker showed up for what
he termed their 'daily chat'.

"Don't you have any work to do? Spread plague among
babies or something?" Mulder asked tiredly. "Because
this is going nowhere. I have no desire to work for
you despite the obvious rewards you seem to feel come
with it. Why can't you just accept that I can't do it
and let me go? Kidnapping is a federal offence, you
know."

The Smoker smiled encouragingly. "But Agent Mulder,
you weren't brought here against your will. You're
living in luxurious surroundings and anything you ask
for is provided. Surely these are ideal surroundings
for you to recover in."

"I am recovering and you're evading the point," Mulder
said. "I'm tired of yelling at you, so I'll just tell
you. I won't do it. Not. Ever."

A tap on the door interrupted Mulder and both men
turned to see an anonymous looking man in a black suit
enter with a telephone. "Call from Mr. Strughold, sir.
He says it's very important."

The Smoker shrugged and accepted the phone, turning
away slightly to talk. The assistant slowly backed
away toward the table next to Mulder's chair and
silently reached into his pocket. He pulled out a
length of black cord and dropped it onto the table and
moved away from the table again with a smile.

Mulder looked at the cord and was about to ask the man
what it was, when he had a sudden flash of memory. He
was in the Treatment Room, holding a cord like this
and he was using it to garotte a dummy with a
photograph of the smoker taped to its face. *Kill
him!* he heard the Voice say and heard it again,
echoing louder and louder in his mind.

He felt himself reaching for the cord and remembered
many many sessions in the Treatment Room, before the
surgery, when he killed the dummy that looked like the
Smoker. His hand closed on the cord and he could feel
the fineness of silk running through his fingers. He
stretched it taut between his hands.

This must have been planned in the beginning. The
other abductees were window-dressing, he'd been the
actual target. He was a Trojan horse, an assassin
aimed at the Smoker but by whom? Strughold. It had to
be. They were battling for power. The Smoker's words
about their dispute came back to him. The attendant
was standing against the wall, watching Mulder pick up
the cord and advance on the Smoker, who stood with his
back to Mulder.

As Mulder whipped the cord around the Smoker's neck,
he saw the attendant quietly slip out of the room. The
Smoker caught at the cord with one hand, gurgling and
choking as Mulder drew it tighter. "I didn't plan
this," said Mulder, fighting with the struggling man.
"I remember it all, now. They trained me to be an
assassin; to be YOUR assassin. For weeks before they
gave me those implants they drilled me every day on
just how I was to kill you." He pulled a little
tighter. "I didn't fight that as much as the later
programming. I've wanted you dead for so long...."
Mulder gritted his teeth and pulled harder, hearing
the Smoker gurgle. "And you want me to be your second
in command! I want you out of my life. For everything
you did to Scully; for Samantha and for all the
anonymous people you've destroyed, you bastard!"

He could feel the Smoker beginning to lose
consciousness. Good. Soon it would be over and the
Smoker would be dead at Mulder's own hands. Another
death....If killing Mary Ellen Murphy didn't make him
a killer, what did this make him? He wasn't killing
because of the programming, he wasn't even fighting
it. The implants were gone now, he could choose what
to do. But he wanted the Smoker dead. It would be a
service to humanity. Wouldn't it?

For a moment he thought he saw Scully's face, looking
at him with fear and disgust. Scully. What would she
think about this? Oh my God...

He released the cord and backed quickly away from the
Smoker, who dropped to the floor, still breathing but
unconscious. Mulder rubbed his hands together, trying
to erase the feel of the black cord in them. Then he
realized that here was a chance.

He went over to the Smoker's body and deftly pulled
the man's wallet from his jacket pocket. There. The
card-key he'd seen the Smoker use a dozen times to
leave this suite. Mulder would have jumped him before
but the Smoker was too savvy. He'd always had an armed
goon with him when he visited Mulder. He also took an
ID badge he saw in the Smoker's pocket as well and
clipped it onto his own shirt, hoping nobody would
look at the picture too closely.

Mulder spared the unconscious man one last look, then
ran to the door and swiped the card-key eagerly. The
door unlocked and he was free!

He carefully made his way down the halls, avoiding
people wherever possible. He seemed to be inside an
office building. He'd been in the penthouse.

He used the card-key and slipped down the fire stairs,
avoiding elevators, and discovered that the building
was 12 stories tall. He used the card-key one more
time to open the door from the fire-stairs to the
lobby. He walked swiftly through a lobby and out to
the sidewalk.

He was in a city, but which one? He passed a news rack
and stopped to see what the paper was. Washington
Post. Could it be? Was he...He squinted between two
buildings and saw the very top of the Washington
Monument and broke into a manic grin.

May 29, 2002
2:02 p.m.
Hoover Building

Dana Scully's cell phone rang and she absently picked
it up. "Scully," she said.

"Will you accept a collect call from Fox Mulder?" said
a voice.

Dana Scully's eyes shot wide open. "Yes! Put him
on!...Mulder is that you? Where are you? How are you?"

"Scully, I was wondering if I could get a ride? I'm
broke right now and need to get back to the office."

She laughed," Where are you? I'll be right there and
pick you up."

"Scully, I'm at the D.C. Public Library, main branch.
I'd hoof it to the office, but I..."

"No, no problem. I'll be there in a minute. Stay right
there, Mulder!" Scully grabbed her keys and ran out
the door.

May 29, 2002
2:20 p.m.
Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library

Scully walked into the library foyer cautiously. It
had been Mulder's voice but she couldn't be sure she
hadn't been duped somehow. She saw a tall man with a
very short crew cut seated near the library catalogs,
reading a magazine. She glanced at the title: UFO, and
laughed out loud. He put the magazine down and she
could see his face.

"Mulder!" she ran over to him and was caught up in a
bear hug. "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered into
his ear.

"I thought I'd lost myself, Scully," he whispered
back, then pulled back and looked into her eyes. He
smiled, his face glowing, then leaned in and kissed
her.

When she could get her breath again, she heard the
clapping. All the people in the magazine section were
applauding. "Go for it, man!" yelled one man. Then, at
the approach of the librarian, they all shushed and
went back to their magazines, smiling.

"We'd better go outside," said Mulder with a grin. "I
think we're being too noisy."

Scully nodded and followed him out, holding tightly to
his hand. On the sidewalk, she stopped him. "Where
were you? Are you all right? How do you feel?" She
touched one of his surgical scars. "I can barely see
any evidence that you ever had surgery? What
happened?"

"First things first," Mulder said and grasped her
hands in his. "I'm going to say this before I lose the
chance...and the nerve...again." He cleared his
throat. "Dana Scully, I am in love with you and have
been for a very long time. I...think you feel the same
and hope you do." He trailed off uncertainly.

Scully eyed the scars of his brain surgery again with
a skeptical look, then decided that Mulder was neither
demented nor drugged. "Mulder, I...I don't know what
to say," she cupped his cheek with her hand. "I love
you too." She paused, doubtfully. "Are you sure you're
feeling okay?"

"Never better, Scully. My brain is working better than
ever and my heart...my heart has never felt so good,"
Mulder said. They walked hand in hand back to her car.
 

Fresno Bee Article
May 10, 2002
 

The body abandoned in a quarry near Yosemite has now
been identified. On May 3, the nude body of a man was
discovered in a quarry outside the small town of
Coarse Gold, with what looked like surgical wounds to
the head. He has since been identified as Dr. Philip
Gordon, head of the Fletcher Mental Health Institute
who was reported missing on April 11th. Although the
body was found in mysterious circumstances, the cause
of death was determined to be a burst aneurysm and
therefore a natural death. The identities of those who
dumped the body or even their motives are still
unknown and under investigation.
 

May 10, 2002
Location Unknown

The Smoker smiled as he read the report. "Very good,"
he said to Krycek, who sat in the chair in front of
his desk. "With the additional information we've
provided, Strughold has given up without a fight. Full
control over the Fresno facility has been returned to
me."

"You want me to do a cleanup?" Krycek asked.

"Yes, do that. The local program is showing much more
success. The test subjects are expected to survive
longer with the modified compound in the implants. We
don't need Fresno any more."

"And Mulder?" Krycek asked, standing up. "He knows all
about the program."

The Smoker smiled. "Leave him to me. He'll come to
work for me eventually. I just haven't found the right
motivation yet."