"Would you shut up?!" barked the man driving the truck.
His dark complexion was flushed from heat and
frustration.

Scully clamped her lips shut and fumed.  It had been two
hours since they'd left the train yard and she still didn't
know who the mysterious man was or why he was
'helping' her.  Most of that time they'd been speeding past
open fields, and down back roads.  She had no idea where
they were, or where they were headed.  And Mr.
Congenial didn't seem keen on volunteering any
information.

And she was still naked.  True, she had the sheet; but her
ingrained modesty screamed for more.  Especially since
she was basically powerless and feeling less than her
usual 'fine'.  The oven temperatures in the truck had nearly
rendered her unconscious by the time the small driver had
finally shown up.  In his defense, he had turned the air
conditioning up full blast as soon as the air from the vents
was cool enough to breathe. But, by that time, the sheet
was nearly transparent from her sweat, and the
combination gave her chills.  It took her twenty minutes to
drag herself up from the floorboard.  And another ten or so
for the dancing lights behind her eyes to fade away.

Scully couldn't help the inevitable comparison.  Mulder
would have helped her up into the seat.  He would have
seen to it that she had water and was safely buckled in
before he tore out on to the open road.  And he certainly
would have offered her his shirt if he had nothing else to
give her!

"I need water," Scully insisted, unable to ignore the
demands her body was making any longer, "and clothes.
And an aspirin or something-"

"You'll get everything that you need when we get to the
rendezvous point."  The man clipped off  the words with
his teeth.  As his shoulders rounded towards the steering
wheel, he barked out: "We're almost there." His voice was
higher than Mulder's, and the harsh tenor grated on
Scully's last aching nerve.

"Why won't you give me any clothes?  Are you afraid I'll
run away?"

She heard a faint rumble set deep in the man's long throat
as he slowly peeled his black eyes from the road.  They
met with hers before he slowly grazed her entire length
with their touch.  Her heart doubled its cadence. With a
grimace, she pressed herself against the passenger door.
Her hands pulled up defensively against her chest.

His leer continued as he spoke.  "Nothing I ain't seen
before, sweetheart." Then his focus snapped back to the
road an he continued at his normal, crisp rate, "I wasn't
impressed then, and I'm certainly not now."

His ability to leave her feeling cheap and violated without
so much as laying a hand on her infuriated Scully.  How
dare he dismiss her like some piece of garbage he picked
up from the side of the road!

Her mind was whirling in and out of rage.  Okay, so he
wasn't going to rape her.  Or fondle her.  Or probably
touch her unnecessarily.  Asshole.  It was all so
horrendously demoralizing.  The relief she thought she
*should* feel was muscled away by the humiliation of his
insult.  Why?  She had no idea.

So, with all of the indignity that pulsed within her, Scully
sat up straight again.  The man treated her with a certain
amount of familiarity.  And a large dose of contempt.  Did
he know her?  Had they met?  She didn't remember him.
Did she?  She closed her eyes and tried to call up
memories that didn't seem to be in her head.

Well, she silently crooned, even if he did know her from
somewhere, insulting her physically, while she sat
unclothed - and feeling horrible - was a low.  The guy
hadn't even snuck a peek.  Not in the train car, not when he
got into the truck.  At first she was relieved, but now!
Even Mulder would have snuck a peek.  And then given
into the urge to tease her a little to lighten the mood.  After
he'd given her his shirt, of course.  And some water.  And
after he'd reassured himself that she was all right.

God, Mulder.  Please.  Please be all right.

And once again it all came back to Mulder.  She needed to
see him, to have him with her when she was feeling so
bad.  To hear his voice and his reassuring presence.  To
know that no matter what, he would protect her . . . from
people like the hateful man beside her.

Another flash of heat slipped through her, followed by a
moment of disorientation.  When she got her bearings
again, the truck pulled off the paved road on to a small,
pitted private drive.  They bumped along for a few
minutes - just long enough for Scully to become nauseous
- and then came to a stop before a small, two-story farm
house, tucked neatly behind a row of evergreens.

The new sickness only weakened her further, and as soon
as she felt the motor die, Scully opened the door and fell to
the grass.  She landed on all fours, and emptied a
yellowish bile from her stomach, coughing and sputtering.
Her arms and legs ached.  And when they finally
threatened to give out, she crawled a little to the side and
laid down in the shade.

"Oh, Mulder.  Why aren't you here?  No," she closed her
eyes, "I'm glad you're not here to see me like this."

By the time Scully realized the man had gone into the
house without giving her a second look, she was beyond
caring.  She spread out on her stomach - the sheet covering
most of her torso and legs - and gloried in the cool,
pillowing blades of grass.  There was a slight breeze that
toyed with the hair at her neck.  It felt so . . . good, like it
brushed away the waves of unbearable heat that her own
body was generating.  To be shaded, and cooler was a
welcome sensation.  And she was so tired . . ..

At some point later, someone lifted her from the yard and
carried her into the house and she was placed upright . . .
in a chair, maybe?  A soft, velvet rested below her
fingertips.  A recliner?  Her feet didn't seem to touch the
ground.  Or did they?

Her eye lids were too heavy to open . . .

Until she felt the sharp pain of a needle digging into her
thigh. After that, Scully couldn't open them wide enough.
Or scream loudly enough.  "What the hell are you doing!?"
Mr. Congenial held the syringe, filled to the brim with a
translucent, green liquid.  "STOP!"  He was pressing hard
on the end of it, forcing the solution under her skin.

Scully's hands grabbed for the syringe on impulse, but two
hands came from behind the chair and held her in place.  It
wasn't much of a struggle.  Most of her energy was gone.
The headache was worse.  The chills were back.

"Just relax, Agent Scully.  We're here to take care of you."
The voice was decidedly female.  And soft.  Honest.
"Close your eyes.  Relax in to the anti-toxin.  Allow it to
warm through you.  It will correct much of what they tried
to do to you."  The hands began a gentle caress of her
wrists and arms.  Light and soothing.

There was no option except to follow the voice.  What else
could she do? Gradually, as her breathing deepened, her
shivering dissipated, starting from the inside of her body
out.  Without being able to stop it, Scully felt her only
tangible protection - the sheet - lifted from her; a small tug
releasing the part she sat on.  Then, caring hands lifted her
from the back of the chair, and slipped something over her
head.  A shirt.  Soft.  Cotton. Her arms were laced through
it.

Scully's hips were lifted in the same fashion and shorts
were slipped on.  At least, she thought they were shorts.
Her legs still felt exposed.  And while the pounding in her
head shrank back a notch or two, she still couldn't bring
herself to open her eyes.  Knowing she wasn't asleep, but
not quite awake, either, Scully faded in and out around
hushed voices, both male and female.  Their conversation
buzzed around her.  The sensation was unnerving.
Catching "we've got to hurry" here and "all arrangements
are made" there.

"We work our asses off to keep these people safe, pull
them out of danger time and again, and how do they thank
us?  By allowing themselves to be caught up in the net,
again!"

"I'm sure, given the choice, she wouldn't have decided on
the tests They put her through."

"She insisted on asking the wrong questions.  It's the same
thing."

"They were the right questions -"

"Yeah.  Ask her kids that when they're born with no arms."

A thin whimper eked from Scully.  Her semi-conscious
mind was flooding twisted images past her.  Infants with
stubs for arms.  Babies with enormous heads and black,
alien eyes.  Her babies.  Her tortured little babies.  "No . . ."

Then the woman's hushed voice was in Scully's ears again.
"Listen carefully.  You're safe.  The anti-toxin should clean
out your system in less than 72 hours.  Normally we'd
have you in bed, unconscious during that period.  The
side-effects are unpleasant.  But there isn't time."

"Right.  And you shouldn't get the brunt of them until
sometime tomorrow."  The man cut in.  His tone was less
than pacifying.  "Agent Scully.  Your partner is in danger."

Mulder!

Scully lulled her head from side to side in an effort to
shake off the lethargy that had enveloped her.  "Muuul-er,"
she attempted; her tongue got hung up around her teeth.
Danger?  What kind of danger?

"Don't talk, Agent Scully.  Just listen to what we have to
say."  There was a momentary pause before the woman
started again.  Something cool and moist was placed on
Scully's face.  "You've been missing from your family and
friends for over five months, now.  Closer to six. The group
that took you originally intended not to return you at all.
While we regretted losing you, we owed your captors a
certain . . . debt.  You were considered a regrettable, but
necessary loss."  She took a calculated breath, "We didn't
count on the extreme of Agent Mulder's reaction to your
second disappearance."

"Which is how we came to meet again," the man's grumble
filled the room. "Mulder  is a wild card that many of my . .
. bosses . . ." he tripped over the word, "need playing in
their field.  They needed his success."

"Your success," the woman added with approval.

With a furrowed brow Scully tried to take in what she was
hearing. Bosses?  How many Theys were there?  And
Mulder.  Why was he in danger?

"Agent Mulder, " continued the woman, "was allowed, this
time, to believe that you were dead.  We figured in a drop
in his success rate for a year or so, but the outcome has
been far worse than we first imagined.  Instead of simply
mourning, he has given up completely, and our group
feels that he may, in the perceivable future, decide to end
his life."

Scully's face screwed up around the rush of panic and
grief.  "No . . ."  Her eyes flashed open to the swimming
outlines of the room around her.  NO! Mulder!  Don't even
think it!  Hang on, Mulder!  I'm here!  PLEASE!

The man leaned close to her face, violence in his voice.
"You must stop him, Agent Scully.  The X-Files must be
reopened.  The world cannot afford for our group to fail."

FUCK YOUR GROUP!  FUCK YOU ALL!  Mulder!  She
had to get to Mulder.  Her arms attempted to awkwardly
push her weight up from the chair.  The result was
pathetic.  How could it come to this?  Mulder's life being
thrust in to the hands of an invalid.  "Help Mulder . . ." her
voice wasn't any stronger than the rest of her.

"You really should sleep now, Agent Scully, but as we
said, time is of the essence.  It's going to take about an
hour before you're able to walk. Another hour before
you'll be clear enough to drive.  There is a map on the
table that tells you were Agent Mulder was last sighted."

"There's also some food and water."

Scully forced her eyes open and the woman's face came in
to view.  She was beautiful.  And somehow familiar.  Her
intelligent brown eyes peered down at the agent.  "At
some point in the future, I will be in touch with you again.
There's too much information for you to process for now.
Just know that They will be trying to get to you again, and
this must not be allowed to happen." She tucked a loose
bit of brownish hair behind her ear and smiled faintly back
at Scully.  "There's a car with a full tank of gas outside for
you.  We're working on getting the red tape thinned out so
that it won't be too difficult to reinstate you amongst the
living."

Scully shook her head, "Why?"  Her mouth was dry again.
"Why are . . . you doing . . . this?  For . . . Mulder?"

"There are those of us who want him safe.  Who believe in
his work, and want to help him.  And you."

"But why?"

"Because there is enough horror in the world.  We're not all
monsters, Agent Scully.  There are some who believe that
there can be truth if we fight for it.  It is possible to right
the wrongs.  If we're not too late."

*****

The nameless man and woman had left a little less than an
hour before, according to the clock above the small shale
mantle.  And in the interim, as she waited impatiently for
her body to begin to respond to her commands again,
Scully hadn't heard any evidence of anyone else in the
house.  It was odd that they would just leave her there.
But then, she expected nothing less.  Nothing about the
last several months of her life made much sense.

Mulder.  I have to get to Mulder.  Mulder. . . don't be
stupid.  You've made it this long.  Oh, GOD!

Gradually, the heavy, groggy fatigue in Scully's body
melted away, leaving a residue of aches and stiffness.
Still, there was no doubt in her mind that she could easily
sleep for three days straight.  If that were a luxury that she
could afford.  "Mulder," she reminded herself, "he needs
me."

End his life?  How could he even think . . .?  But then, if
one wasn't concerned about heaven . . ..  Damn him!
Making her suffer mercilessly. Knowing that she had to
reach him, and reach him immediately.  Before he took his
gun . . . or a rope . . . or found a lake . . ..

The second she trusted her legs not to give out underneath
her, Scully pushed herself up from the comfortable,
overstuffed chair.  Sure enough, on a large wooden table
behind her was a bag of food and water and a large map
pinned down with tacks.  There was also a pair of tennis
shoes and a set of keys nearby.  "Gee, it's almost like
Christmas."    And a large manilla envelope.

With shaking hands Scully reached into the envelope and
pulled out a nightmare.  Five 8X10" photographs.  Black
and white.  All of Mulder.  His long, naked body was a
sharp contrast against the dark shore line.  Water
blanketed his calves.  His arms twisted unprotected out to
his sides.  His face was blank and empty.  His eyes closed.
"So," her heart wrenched, " it was a lake after all, Mulder."

With everything that boiled within her, Scully ripped the
pictures in half and grabbed the shoes and keys.  The
woman had said to wait at least another hour - God forbid
she lose control of the car and get herself killed on the way
to stop Mulder from attempting the same thing!  But if she
didn't arrive in time . . . if she made it to his side only to
find she'd been too late . . ..

NO!  The thought of him not being there when she was
finally so close filled her with  a stabbing dread.  Scully
had trouble beating back the panic that threatened to
reduce her to frenzy.  It would have been so easy for her to
simply give into the emotions that through her.  To
succumb to the hysteria that swirled through her and
around her.

Pausing at the door, Scully braced herself against the jam
and allowed herself a deep breath.  "Control," she told
herself.  "Mulder needs you in control."  And if that's how
Mulder needed her -- that's how she would be.

All she knew was she had to see him and to touch him.
She needed to feel him in her arms; to know that he was
alive and all right.  The craving to feel his hair against her
cheek and smell his sweet tang took a firm hold of her
insides with a jerk.  It was a need that she'd never known
before.  At least, not for Mulder.  Well, not that she
allowed herself to acknowledge.

The compact car was parked in the front yard next to an
old pecan tree. The door was unlocked.  Scully threw
herself behind the wheel and pulled the map flat in front
of herself, bracing it against the steering wheel. A large
black circle marked a small back road as Frimyer, and a
large red X was firmly situated over a small town labeled
Quonochontaug.  RHODE ISLAND!?!  First Maine, then
Alaska, and now . . .

"My god," Scully sighed, "He's gone to his father's lake
house."

*****

The drive itself took all of twenty minutes.  The longest
twenty minutes of her life.  Most of which she spent
chanting to herself that everything would be okay, and that
Mulder wasn't really as impulsive as she usually gave him
credit for.  "He won't do anything stupid.  He won't do
anything stupid."

As her body woke up more, the aches and pains drained
away, and the heat oscillated between sweats and chills.
Once she stopped by the roadside to vomit, the symptoms
dissipated somewhat and she was able to concentrate one
the task at hand.  Finding Mulder.  Getting to the town,
and finding Mulder.

Once there, however, Scully was at a loss as to what to do.
She had no address or directions.  Her best bet was to stop
in town, and see if anyone knew where the Mulder house
might be.  It was a small town, after all.  Someone must
know something.  Christ!  There wasn't time for this!

Beside the local post office, Scully parked the car.  It had
taken an enormous amount of energy just to keep the car
between the lines on the road.  Though the pain was nearly
gone from her heavy muscles, it would only be a matter of
time before she passed out completely.  And once again
she would be surrounded by strangers who didn't even
know her name. Even the clothes she wore didn't represent
who she really was.  A white and pink knit top that rode
high on her waist, and a stiff pair of thick cotton shorts.
Also a disgustingly Pepto color.

And the heat was sinking back inside of her again.  She
had to hurry.

Taking a deep breath, Scully stepped from the driver's
side and tested her legs.  Not bad.  Achy, but functional.
She looked up just as a tall man brushed past her off of the
curb. Brown hair.  Straight nose.  Pouty lower lip.

Mulder.

He walked right past her without even seeing her.  His
eyes were glazed and miles away. His stride was slow and
deliberate; set more by habit than destination.  The hair on
the back of his head was longer than she remembered it,
and it fluttered with the summer breeze.  But it was him.
No question.

Her vision tunneled to encompass only him, effectively
silhouetting his form against the blackness of everything
else.  There was a swelling of her chest that burst into a
massive swirl of butterflies in her stomach.  Her straining
heart pounded.  A new energy ignited within her and she
tingled inside and out from the sight of him.  Knowing he
was alive.  That he was mere feet from her.

Walking away.

Without knowing she was doing it, Scully called out to
him.  There was a momentary waver in his stride; a nearly
imperceptible catch in the mechanical swing of his arms.
Scully knew he had heard her voice, or at least the sound
of his name.  But he didn't turn.  He didn't waver from the
path that was already chosen.

"Mulder!" she yelled.  "MULDER!"  Her voice broke with
the force of her desperation to reach him.  Her legs tried to
run to him, but the quivering weakness in her thighs was
returning and all she could manage was a limp.

"Mulder!"

He stopped in mid-stride with his back to her; his body
frozen.  Then, without warning,  he reacted, but in a way
she never could have expected. His head shook.  His
trembling arms raised and both hands muffled his ears as
if from some horrid offense.  As she took another step she
could hear his tormented pleas; his pained, "No . . . no . . .
leave me alone . . .."

"Mulder?"  His cheeks were gaunt and hollowed by
starvation.  His intelligent eyes were dark and dull.
Beside herself, Scully reached out and slowly brought her
right palm to his heavily stubbled face.  His eyes snapped
to hers.

And the look there terrified Scully.

There was no recognition.

Just hatred and death staring back at her.

She gasped.  His eyes held something else, too, and she
was completely unprepared for it.  Something that she
couldn't put a name to.  Beyond horror.  Beyond agony.  In
the next second, she saw a transformation.  He was no
longer looking at her, but into her.

The connection.

And then his knees buckled and he slipped to the ground;
a priest kneeling down before his God.  The dull grey of
his eyes never leaving her face, refusing to blink.  Scully
dropped down with him. Her shaky arms wrapped
themselves tightly around him.  He was warm against her,
smelling just as she had remembered.  Oh, thank you,
God.  Thank you.

With all of the weariness her body held, she rested her
head on the crook of his neck and pressed her chest firmly
against his.  She needed the contact. She wanted him to
know she was there.  With him.  For him.

Slowly, as his heart raced below her ear, his arms snaked
around her middle and pulled her closer, squeezing her
hard to his chest.  So hard, that she had trouble taking a
breath. The pain in her lower back renewed. "Mulder -"

Suddenly, a string of sobs erupted from Mulder's chest
like cannons, shaking them both.  But Scully simply
smoothed the back of his head and neck with her left hand
and held him with her right.  She rocked him gently.  In her
world, there was only Mulder and her.  Wrapped tightly
together.  Never to be separated again. She would see to it.

Scully realized with a quiet shock that their embrace was
like that of two found lovers, not partners.  Not friends.
And that her need to touch him didn't end with their fierce
embrace.  But the newfound intimacy didn't scare her as
much as the realization that came with it: He needed her to
live, and she needed him . . . even more.

Infinitely more.

Tears began to fall down her own cheeks, quieter than his,
but tears just the same.  His arms continued to pin her
fiercely to his waist and she could feel every breath that he
took through the swelling of his belly against her own.
His lips gently grazed her shoulder between sobs.  His
scratchy cheek scraped against her neck.  He rubbed it
softly up to the side of her face; his wet tears cooling the
heat of her skin.  Then his teeth scraped at the gentle
incline of her neck and his tongue kissed its way up to the
lobe of her ear.  There, something unintelligible was
whispered against her flesh.

What was left of her rational mind fought to stay afloat in
the rapidly thickening fog.  He's kissing me, she told
herself, somehow trying to make it more real.  He's saying
something . . . and kissing me . . .

But she couldn't concentrate on the sounds he was making.
Her whole being at that point was focused on the way he
felt.  The way he was making her feel.  The sensations were
new and powerful.  Consuming. And she was powerless
against them.

One of his hands traveled down and cupped her bottom
tightly against his lower body.  Scully's whole being jerked
to him,  blossoming a ravenous need.  They'd been apart
for so long.  She'd been so afraid for him.  And now that he
was safe in her arms, he wasn't close enough.  She craved
to comfort his tormented cries.  To assure him and
reassure him until they were both convinced that she was
back and he was alive.  Nothing else existed except for that
need.  Nothing else mattered except easing his pain.
Stopping his suffering.  Soothing his wounds.  Satisfy the
hunger.

His mouth briefly suckled at her ear before moving on to
the damp saltiness of her cheek.  Kissing a line down to
her full, dry lips.  She knew his urgency.  It was a part of
her, too.  Her mouth opened wide against his and her
tongue slid over the smooth teeth she found there.  She
could taste him.  And even though she'd never kissed him
before, the taste of him was unmistakable.

The kiss intensified, and beyond all reason - lost in a
world that consisted only of sensation and passion - Scully
moaned into his mouth.

Then, all at once, she was pushed backwards and she hit
the pavement, landing hard on her back.  The sudden rush
of adrenaline left her gasping for air.  But Mulder's mouth
refused to relinquish her lips and she inhaled the already
moist air from his body.  The sensation was electric.     It
consumed her.

His hands were everywhere, grasping at her hips and
breasts and face.  His groin  rutted firmly against hers.  It
was all she could do to keep another moan of pleasure
from escaping.  Her body was impossibly heavy and
unwielding.  Hot.  Numb.  She couldn't have sat up at that
point, even if she tried.  Not that she wanted to be
anywhere than where she was.

Under Mulder.

"Oh, Mulder."

The sound of her own voice registered a spark of
realization in her mind. Just a glimmer, that at first she
tried to ignore.  But it quickly expanded, knocking the
incredible physical desires down a notch, and she couldn't
ignore the fact that Mulder was lying on top of her.  In
public.  Mulder, her partner.  Mulder, her best friend.
Mulder, the man she had been kissing so passionately just
a second before.

"Mulder . . . wait . . ."

His weight pressed her into the rough cement, and she felt
her tee shirt beginning to ride up.  A tidal wave of panic
flushed through her.  It would be so easy just to let go, she
thought.  The fatigue in her arms and legs was
compounded by a sexual lethargy that she'd never
experienced before.  It felt so good.  And after feeling so
bad for so long . . ..  "No," she tried to get out, even though
her heart wasn't in it.  "Not here, Mulder." His lips
continued to grind into hers.

Her palms pushed against his chest, and she tried in vain
to push herself out from under him.  She had to stop them
before they went too far with an audience.  He was just
responding to the shock, she knew.  Just as she had
initially.  And to the wonderful feeling of his mouth on
hers.  His hands on her.  Reaching lower.  Oh, yes, lower.

"Mulder!"

Two of his fingers found their way to her elastic waistband
and one yank had the shorts down to her mid thigh.
Before her mind caught up to register what was
happening, she felt him forcing his way inside of her.

"Oh, GOD!"

The ripping pain was swallowed up by a flood of heat and
need that saturated the lower part of her body.  His full
stiffness stretched her; feeding the ache that already
throbbed there.  His thrusts were powerful and rough.
And his tongue continued to battle in her mouth, pulling
moans of pleasure from her throat.

With all the desperation and need that had controlled her,
Scully climaxed around him in a hard, almost painful
orgasm.  She couldn't have stopped him, she couldn't stop
herself.  Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she
cried out.

His frenzied rhythm slammed his groin into hers, even as
she convulsed around him.  She clutched his back and
held on, unable to do anything else. She was beyond
herself.  Until a second later.  He went rigid above her, and
she felt a hot explosion deep inside her body.  His eyes,
though slitted, looked down into hers, refusing to close
against the pleasure, and her name slipped out like a
prayer on his lips.  "Scully."

Lifting her head, she whispered his in return.

They were together.  Literally, yes, but emotionally as
well.  The innermost parts of their souls sighed in relief.
The pain was abated.  Their separation was over.  They
were all that mattered.  They were their own world set
apart.

Until, like a jolt of thunder, the real world barged in and
refuse to be ignored.  Gasps and crude comments and the
realization that a crowd of people had gathered around
them filtered through the mush of Scully's brain.
Somewhere in the distance she heard sirens.  Mulder
seemed to pick up on the flash of panic in her eyes,
because without a word he lifted himself from her, and
slipped out.

Scully tried not to cry out as he left her, only managing in
stifling a small grunt at the abrupt separation.  Her
tingling pain grew in his absence.  Her numbed hands
slipped the shorts back in place over her sticky thighs and
she was vaguely aware of being mortified with herself for
losing so much of her control.  Losing?  Or surrendering?

Mulder's hands were on her again, pulling her up to him,
his eyes never lifting from her face.  "Scully," he said again,
as if the mention of her name would act like an anchor and
keep him in the fantasy of having her back. "Scully."

"I'm here, Mulder.  But we have to get out of here . . ."   It
was at that point that Scully's legs gave out all together,
and she clung to Mulder's arms to stay upright.  The
euphoric tingling pain that Mulder had left in her body
drained away in the span of a breath.

Once again the stabbing pain ignited, but this time it flared
through every cell in her body.  She screamed.  And
somewhere, through cotton ears, she heard him calling her
name over and over.  But the ability to respond had left
her.  At least this time someone knew her name.  This time,
she thought, I won't be alone.

Then everything became silent.  And dark.  And calm.

End of 6/9

"When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I
go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full
eternity." -John Donne (1572-1631).  The Legacy.

*****

The Rarity of The Human Connection And Several Months
Missed (7/9) By MD1016

Mulder stared down at the limp body in his arms.  The
sound of his own horrified voice screaming Her name still
rang in his ears, even after the sound of sirens squealed to
a stop on the street in front of him.  Someone touched his
shoulder.  They tried to turn him around.  But Mulder
continued to stare at the unkept cascade of red and gold
that lifted gently in the breeze.  Her hair.  She had
beautiful hair.

She was real.  She, the fantasy, was real.  This time, She'd
stayed with him, in his arms.  Where before, She had
vanished into the darkness.

Two foreign hands were on Her, pulling.  Trying to rip
Her from his grasp.  They wanted to take Her away.  From
him.  Again.

With all of his strength, he pulled Her against him;
crushing Her body against his own.  He wouldn't let Them
have Her.  They would never have Her again.  Never.

A slight vibration rumbled against his stomach; and then
he caught a weak, muffled sound.  Her head flopped
against his chest.  She didn't have the strength to lift it.

Cutting through the crowd, a male voice yelled out: "My
God, man! Stop!  You're hurting her!"

Mulder's head quickly shot up to search out the accuser,
but then dropped down to the small woman he held
upright.  Her feet, in their white canvas shoes, barely
scrapped the ground; Her arms hung awkwardly out to
Her sides like a rag doll.  Her eye lids were red and
sunken against the almost chalky complexion of Her
cheeks.  Her pale lips cracked themselves open just
enough to whisper, "Mulder..."

He was holding Her too tightly.  She couldn't breathe.  In
his panic to release Her from the stronghold of his arms,
She slipped through his embrace and crumbled to the
ground.

A set of arms instantly snatched Her up, and a second later
he was down on the cement -- face first -- with his wrists
securely handcuffed behind his back.

"Scully!"  He couldn't see Her.  They'd taken Her from his
line of sight.

"Scully!"  He tried to roll to see where they'd taken Her.

"Scully!"  A sharp weight pressed into his back.

"Scully!"  A disembodied voice told him he had the right to
remain silent.

"Scully!" he screamed.

And screamed.  And screamed.

They had taken him to the county jail, strip-searched him,
put him in a cell, and locked the door.  At one point in the
night, an officer held a phone through the bars, saying he
could make a call to make arrangements for council.
Mulder had stared blankly at the man, choking out,
"Scully?" as if the answer to that simple question would
save his world.  Or possibly destroy it.

But the guard hadn't understood his plea, and had simply
shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah. Whatever, pal.
Suit yourself."

That night She hadn't come to him.  She didn't haunt his
nightmares.  Not even when he had begged Her to.

Morning came with a hot cup of tasteless coffee and a visit
from his boss.

Assistant Director Skinner sat across from Mulder wearing
a flawless white dress shirt and a navy and green speckled
tie.  His round wire glasses bobbed lightly as the bald man
clenched and released his jaw. Apparently he hadn't liked
the answers his favorite agent had given him.

"What do you mean you don't remember?" he growled, his
tense body hunched over the table in an effort to remain
calm.

"She was there, and I grabbed her . . . I don't really . . ."
Mulder's face remained steady against the flashing images
that flipped before his eyes and the sensations that
accompanied them.  The memories were so real - so vivid -
that he could actually feel Her pulse racing beneath his
lips as if he was, at that second, tasting the sweet flesh on
Her neck.  He closed his eyes against the feel of Her mouth
on his.  Her tears mixing with his. And the intoxicating
sensation of Her convulsing around him . . . so tight and
hot.  Nestled between Her thighs.  "Jesus."

"Then tell me where you found her -- why you didn't
bother to inform the rest of the world."

Mulder ran a hand over his face.  It came away wet with
sweat.  "I want to know how she is."

"My answers first."

"NO!"  Mulder slammed the flat of his hand against the
table.  "She's my partner, damn it!  I have a right -"

"You fucked your partner, Mulder!  In front of fifteen
witnesses!  In front of a goddamn post office, for crying out
loud!  You've given up any rights you previously had."
Skinner took a moment to allow the full effect of his prior
sentence to sink in before he dropped his next: "The
doctors are even saying rape."

The look of anger and frustration shifted to horror as all of
the blood drained form Mulder's head.  A soft ringing
buzzed in his ears.  "Ra . . .." He couldn't complete the
word.

Skinner shifted uncomfortably.  "There are bruises.  And
some bleeding . .." he cleared his throat.  "I don't really
know the details."

Mulder ignored the blatant lie.  He didn't care if the AD
was uncomfortable with the topic at hand.  His only
concern was with Scully.  "Is she all right? Tell me what
you know.  How badly -"

"Badly."  Skinner didn't wait for the rest of the question.
He didn't need to.  "She hasn't regained consciousness."

"What?!"  Mulder shot up from his chair.  The guard next
to the door took a threatening step closer, his hand
strategically placed over the hilt of his weapon.  Mulder
raised his hands in submission and retook his seat. He
shook his head to refocus.  Unconscious?  No . . . what had
he done?

"Apparently there are other . . . complications."  The way
Skinner smoothed down his tie told Mulder that
'complications' was a mild word to describe the situation.
"Agent Scully has, for lack of a better description, swelled
up like, well, like nothing I've every seen.  Her arms, her
feet.  Even her face.  If I didn't know any better, I'd say that
Agent Scully was pregnant.  At least eight months to term."
Skinner lifted his eyes to meet the haggard ones opposite
him, almost daring Mulder to tell him that he was wrong.

The image that Skinner described couldn't solidify in
Mulder's mind.  It didn't make any sense.  And the look his
boss was giving him . . . "What are you saying?"

"When she 'disappeared' six months ago, she wouldn't
have been showing-"

"YOU BASTARD!"  Mulder lunged forward and managed
to grab a shocked Skinner by the collar just as the guard hit
him squarely with a night stick from behind.  Mulder hit
the table hard and winced at the burning sensation
imprinted between his shoulders.  "That's gonna leave a
mark."

Skinner, with all of the clam and dignity that he could
muster, sat back in his chair and straightened his tie.
"Agent Mulder, I suggest you behave or this is going to be
a very short conversation."  With an authoritative nod of
his head, he dismissed the guard and looked back at the
wincing man across from him.  "And under the
circumstances, I think it's wise to examine every
possibility from every angle."

"I didn't hurt her!"

"The doctors are baffled.  They say they've never seen
anything like it."

"They say she's pregnant?"  Mulder tried again to picture a
rounded belly on the petite woman he knew, and couldn't
reconcile it to what he remembered of Her from the store
front.  Could She really have been . . . surely he would
have noticed.  It was impossible.  Impossible.

"They say they don't know what to think."

"But they've done tests -"

"They don't know!  But, the EMTs insist that she wasn't as
big when they recovered her from the scene.  By that time
she was comatose.  No one seems to have answers."
Raising a wide palm to his forehead, Skinner dabbed at a
bead of sweat that lined its way down to his brow.  "And
frankly, Agent Mulder, I'm at a loss."  Then he sat back in
his chair and crossed his arms.  "Why did you attack Agent
Scully?"

Mulder shook his head and sighed.  "I didn't attack her.  I
couldn't have.  I never would."  The day was becoming
endlessly long for him, and it was becoming increasingly
obvious that he wasn't going to be getting out jail anytime
soon.  To see Her any time soon.  Not even in his
nightmares.  "I thought she was a ghost."  His words
whispered through the still air in the room.  "I thought she
was haunting me.  Like before."

A nod of understanding from Skinner told Mulder that the
hospital in Georgia, and the reasons for his admittance,
hadn't been forgotten.  Licking his lips, he inhaled and
spoke again.  "When she touched me . . . when I could feel
her . . . smell her . . . "  Mulder dropped his elbows to the
table and cradled his head in his hands.  And hear her, his
mind continued, moaning into my mouth.  "Jesus."

Skinner's eyes narrowed as he studied the haggard man.
He looked only vaguely like the once pristine agent who
would saunter into his office demanding the truth on a
silver platter.  The new Mulder was thinner; more frayed.
Scared.  That was the real difference: the Mulder before
him knew fear.

"We never," Mulder had to breathe for a second before the
words would come out audibly, "I never touched her
before today.  Yesterday." Mulder shook his head at the
correction.  It didn't really matter anymore. Time would be
measured differently, he knew.  Before Her, and after.
Before he'd discovered Her mouth and body, and after
he'd tasted Her. Loved Her.  "Did they really say . . . rape?"

"Some suggested it."  Skinner's face twitched.  "Was it?"

"No . . . no . . . I hope to God, no."

There was a moment of painful silence where Skinner
seemed to almost say something, but opted not to at the
last second.  He pushed himself from the table and
stretched to his full height, taking in a cleansing breath in
an effort to stall for lack of something to say.  "Try to relax,
Agent Mulder.  We'll get this matter sorted out either
way."

"I have to see her."  The tears that pooled in his eyes
threatened to slip over his lashes as he looked up to his
superior.  "She needs me.  She came back to me because
she needs me.  If she's hurt, she shouldn't be alone -"

"Her mother is with her."

"Please."

"Agent Mulder," Skinner grumbled, not at all enjoying
what he was going to have to say, "what do you want me
to do?  Even if I could get you released from jail on bond,
you'd never be allowed into her room as long as
allegations of assault are made."

The calm desperation in Mulder softened Skinner's steel
eyes as he continued his plea.  "I have never asked you for
any favors.  Never asked for special treatment.  But I'm
asking you now . . . I'm begging you. Please.  I have to see
her."  Mulder didn't blink, even as his elder looked away
from the pain in his eyes.  "Please.  If she's really as bad as
you say she is,  then I'm throwing myself at your mercy.
Don't let her die alone. Not without me.  Not again."

Skinner's lips pursed in consternation.  The perturbed
wrinkle just below his right eye spasmed as he bit out, "I'll
see what I can do."

*****

The plastic hospital chair was pushed as close to her bed
as was possible without his knees touching the thin metal
railing that separated them. Mulder's hands were still
cuffed together, as per the judge's standing conditions, but
Skinner had come through for Mulder, and gotten him to
Her bedside.  He watched the slow rise and fall of Her
chest as She slept, Her inhalations keeping perfect time
with the blips on the heart monitor to Her right.  Wires
spilled out of the neck of the thin hospital gown, first
resting in the valley of Her firm, swollen breasts; before
flowing across Her barely perceptible collar bone, and
then on to the pillow beside Her smooth, fleshy neck and
disappearing under a splay of auburn hair.

Even rounded she was beautiful.  The light sweep of
lashes lying so peacefully against the curve of her cheek.
Her small hands plumping beside Her slightly inflated
belly.  The doctors had explained that even though they
had no idea what caused Her to swell, the height of the
crisis seemed to be over.  Even before Mulder had reached
Her side, Her mother had commented that She didn't seem
as large.  And since then, over twelve hours had passed,
shrinking Her down to . . . well . . . bigger than Mulder'd
ever seen Her.

Doctors had been by to check the status of their patient, all
nervous and wary of having a man in shackles watching so
intently over their ministrations.  Especially a man, who,
as far as they were concerned, may very well have raped
the woman intrusted in their care.  More than one
complaint had erupted in arguments between Skinner and
the medical staff over Mulder's presence in the room.

The only one who didn't seem to notice the hubbub was
Mrs. Scully with her sad smiles.  "At least her mother is in
there with her," one nurse commented to another,
whispering loud enough to be audible to the entire floor.
"Although, I I'll never understand why she let's him stay.
The doctors are all saying she's okay with him in there
with her.  The bastard."

But Margaret's smiles shielded him from the attacks, and
he was able to focus back on his beautiful partner.

Touching her, though, was forbidden.  If Mulder made so
much as a move to take her hand, the guard was under
strict orders to beat him senseless and ask questions later.
A command the over zealous man seemed intent on
carrying out, given the chance.

So, Mulder sat quietly in the chair.  Waiting.

Still dressed flawlessly, Skinner appeared near dawn the
next morning. The cracking of the door woke Margaret,
and she rose from the chair in the corner as two police
officers accompanied him into the room.  "He doesn't have
to leave, does he?"  Her worry was evident, even without
the waver in her voice.  Mulder winced.  Her absolute trust
in him pierced deeper than the countless accusing looks.
"She hasn't woken yet."

The single shake of Skinner's head pulled a sigh of relief
from her.  "These gentlemen are here to inform Agent
Mulder and the officer guarding him that all charges have
been dropped concerning the alleged attack on Agent
Scully."  The look of complete shock that registered on
Mulder's face prompted Skinner to continue.  "It seems
that after talking to eye witnesses, Agent Scully's
participation was . . . more than willing."

Mulder just hung his head and nodded weakly.  Not so
much from humiliation that his boss and Her *mother*
knew the naked truth; but from the understanding that She
was now going to have to shoulder the blame with him.
When She was blameless.  When She had saved his life.
When She was lying in the bed in front of him, waiting for
him to return the favor, and all he could do was stand
there and stare.  A baboon in the monkey cage.

The officers exchanged paperwork, released Mulder from
his handcuffs, and then left, Skinner trailing after.  All was
quiet for a few moments before Margaret cleared her
throat.  "Fox."  He looked up into her intelligent eyes.
Eyes that mirrored Scully's in so many ways.  "You can
touch her now, you know."

His gaze swept back down to the woman laying before
him, like Sleeping Beauty in her tower.  The index finger of
his left hand slowly slid over the soft, smooth skin of the
back of Her hand.  "She's really here."  A sound of
affirmation came from the woman standing behind him.
"She's alive."  His fingers curled protectively around to
Her palm, and he lifted Her clasped hand to his lips.
"Scully."

If he'd looked up to Her face one second later he would
have missed it. The nearly imperceptible lift of Her right
brow at the sound of Her name. He leaned in closer to Her.
"Scully," he repeated, bending to leave Her brow with the
lightest of feather kisses.  "Scully, I'm here.  For you."

*****

The morning had stretched into afternoon, and when the
sun hung low on the horizon, Mrs. Scully sent Mulder out
for coffee.  He understood that she was worried about him.
That he was still thin and pale.  That he didn't look like he
had six months before.  Before the case in Maine.  But he'd
eaten so little over the past few weeks, that his stomach
had shrunk.  His body was getting used to functioning
with less food in it.  He didn't need nourishment as much
as he needed Her to wake up.  He didn't want to leave Her
side to eat.  Not even for a second.  What if Her perfect
eyes opened and he wasn't there?

Just get the damn coffee and drink it and get back there, he
told himself. You promised her you'd drink a lousy cup of
coffee, so do it.

Mulder grabbed the pot from the end of the cafeteria line
and poured himself a Styrofoam cup full.  The line for the
register was three people long -- too long, as far as he was
concerned -- and somehow he managed to gulp down the
scalding liquid before plunking down a dollar in quarters,
and heading straight for the cafeteria door.

Of course, Mrs. Scully was there in the exit, waiting for
him.  Her arms crossed authoritatively.  "Fox, have a seat."

"Did she wake up?  You left her alone -"

"Her doctors scheduled her for another MRI.  They've
taken her down to prep her."

His shoulders sagged, and he turned slowly, knowing
she'd follow him to the nearest table.  It was time for the
talk.  He knew it was going to come. Sooner or later it had
to.  It was only natural that Mrs. Scully would want to
know what really happened.  The charges had been
dropped, but that didn't mean she'd been given answers.

"Fox," she began, and he shrank back in the chair,
preparing himself for the inevitable, "she's going to be
okay, you know.  You don't have to be with her every
second, now.  If you make yourself sick, then she'll just
end up taking care of you before she's recovered, herself."
He watched with quiet wonder as the older woman sat
back in her chair, not pressing the issue farther.  And not
starting the other.  Christ, what a saint.

But all along, when everyone else had been demanding
answers, she was content in trusting that Scully would be
okay.  She had stood behind the mayhem and kept vigil.
Never once did she waver.  And not once had she blamed
him.  "Why did you believe me?"

"Because the last thing you said to me was that you were
going to find her. Because she was dead, and you found
her anyway."  Her face was open and sincere, so different
from the callous way the hospital staff had treated him.
"Fox, Dana believes in you.  So do I."

His chortle left a curious look on Margaret's face.  "It's just
that I always accused her of not being willing to believe.
To hear you say that she believed in me -"

"Says a lot."

They stood in the open doorway to Scully's private room,
side by side, staring in at the empty bed.  And the woman
just beyond it.  Her wavy brown hair fell in clumps against
the soiled grey oversized sweatshirt.  Her arms crossed
tightly against her chest as she took a step forward, not
waiting for the bombardment of questions that Mulder
was ready to fire.

"They got her again."  It was as if the floor below Mulder's
feet opened up and swallowed him whole.  He heard a
gasp from Margaret beside him, as the brunette continued.
"The MRI was a hoax.  There's no time to lose."

"Where is she?!"

"I'll take you there."

Before the woman reached the door, Mulder grabbed her
arm and yanked her around to face him.  "Who are you?"
he demanded, the vein in his forehead already bulging.

"There's no time for this.  We have to leave now."

She tried to pull away and head for the door again, but he
stopped her and slammed her body against the wall. "NO!
I want some answers!  You say she's gone and just like that
I follow?  How do I know They took her? How do I know it
wasn't you?  How do I know she's gone at all?"

"Fox, there isn't time for this.  I warned her that they would
try to take her again."  Her slender hand ran from his left
shoulder to his forearm and tugged him towards the door.
"This time they won't be so kind."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They're going to make an example out of her.  They're
going to try and show us that we shouldn't try to take what
They believe is rightfully theirs. No more rescue attempts
with their merchandise."

"Merchandise?"

"Bought and paid for."

Mulder pulled back from the woman.  She gave no hint of
fear or nerves at his earlier physical threat, and the new
look she gave him bordered on a smile.  "Who the hell are
you?"

"Your only chance at seeing your partner alive again."

End of 7/9

"And finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad
is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep
on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like
to be, and could be, if . . . there weren't any other people
living in the world." -Anne Frank (1929-1945). The Diary of
a Young Girl (1947), last words of last entry, 1 Aug. 1944.

*****

The Rarity of The Human Connection And Several Months
Missed (8/9) By MD1016

"Always in history, there have been king-makers.  Powers
behind the throne pulling the strings on the puppet
governments.  After 1947, these powers coalesced into the
six major Cabals that run just about everything, from
yogurt flavors to college entrance exams to bugging and
debugging the Oval Office."

"'47.  You're talking about Roswell."  Mulder sat in the
passenger seat of an old Jeep, watching the scenery fly by
as the brunette continued.

"Each Cabal has Their own agenda.  The one that is
interested in your partner isn't one of the strongest, but
They are the most vindictive.  Certain members of this elite
organization call themselves the Helmsmen.  They believe,
as do we all, that by conducting the experiments on
unwilling patients, They are leading humanity into the
twenty-first century."  The woman drove around a series of
hair-pin turns with a familiarity that gnawed at Mulder's
gut.

"And your Cabal?  Where do you fit into all of this?"

She glanced up to the rear view window, and then darted
her eyes back to the road.  "That's harder to explain.  We
try to work towards the greater good."

Mulder's face soured.  "The greater good for all mankind?
Don't feed me that crap-"

"I'm not saying we're the good guys and They're the bad.
All of us believe very firmly in what we're doing."

"Well, it's good to know They believe firmly in killing my
partner."  His flippant remark was touched with violence.

"Their power has been threatened.  They believe that her
death will discourage further attempts against them."

Was she defending Them?  Why did he feel like he had
just walked in, in the middle of a David Lynch TV series?
"Wait.  Scully is that important to Them?  To all of you?
That her death would scare you into submission?" For a
long moment the woman was silent beside him.  He could
see the small beads of sweat breaking at her hairline.  The
way her long fingers gripped and then re-gripped the
steering wheel like she was trying to knead it into another
shape all together.  He had her anxious.  Good.  "Would
it?" he repeated, more firmly than the last time.

She inhaled deeply.  She bit her lower lips as she debated
his question.  "It might.  There is a shift in power, and
everyone is scrambling to be on top. You and Dana are
considered Untouchables by the Helmsmen."

"What, they know us personally?"

"Of course.  You're father's involvement, however, kept
you and you partner fairly safe until his 'untimely' death."

My father, Mulder's mind reeled.  So, Dad, I have you to
thank.  "But, Scully was taken before my father was
murdered."

"Yes, and she was returned."

"So, who has her now?"

"The Helmsmen."

""Wait, I thought they were on our side.  The sacred cow
thing-"

"No, Fox.  You were considered Untouchable to Them out
of respect for your father.  But They've never been on your
side.  By the very nature of your search for answers to the
truths They've tried to hide, you are working against
everything They represent."

"But if we're Untouchable -"

"Were.  Your father is dead.  His protection is gone.  By
taking Scully and making a example out of her, They're
saying to the rest of us that They are willing to kill one of
Their own.  That no one is safe from Them."

"No.  It's doesn't work.  Scully's not one of Them."

"Your father was.  You were under his protection.  There is
no question to any of us as to what Their intentions are.
That's why I'm here.  Scully must survive for our project to
succeed."

"Now, I'm getting some answers.  What is this project, and
why do you need Scully?"

"From 1951 the Helmsmen have made it their primary
mission to create and cultivate an alien/human hybrid
race."

She was saying it.  Admitting it.  Alien contact.  Hell, alien
*involvement*! "What?!"  Mulder could barely contain
himself.

"To what end, or to what extent they have been successful,
we don't know, but we have reason to believe that the
Helmsmen are not only using human test subjects against
their will, but they're breeding their own.  Our project is to
end these unwilling tests.  There is no need to involve the
masses."

Breeding?  He'd heard the stories.  Women who had sworn
that they were pregnant and then suddenly were not.
Miscarriages where the fetus was never recovered.
Women who claimed to have been shown children that
weren't quite human, and instantly known that they had
mothered them. Mulder closed his eyes.  He tried to stop
the images of Scully's tearing eyes as she looked down the
face of a baby she'd never be allowed to remember.  A face
that was foreign and still familiar.  "You said they were
going to make an example out of her.  What are they going
to do?"

Shrugging, she checked the rear view mirror again.
"Torture her, for starters.  Torment and terror are their
specialties.  She's of no use to them now, because we
destroyed the toxin in her body.  Before, they were trying
to glean what another throng was working on, from
experiment residue and the like.  We effectively foiled that
plan.  So, the only reason for them to take her again is to
assert their power.  They'll use her fears against her."

Fears?  Scully wasn't afraid of anything.  "But why her?"

"Why any of us?"  Her focus drew Mulder's out the
passenger side window.  A large two story structure stood
at the end of an overgrown drive.  It looked as if it might at
one time have been a mansion.  Or maybe a private
hospital of some kind.  "There it is.  You'll have to get out
here."

Every alarm in Mulder's head went off.  "What?  Why?"

"I've risked too much in bringing you this far.  I have
people I want to protect, too."  She leaned forward over
him, and pulled a cell phone from the glove compartment.
"You're going to need back up, I know.  But I'm going to
need some time to get away from here.  As soon as I'm
back on the main road, I'll call 911."

"I don't trust you."

"You don't have to.  But right now, are you willing to risk
Dana?"

Damn it!  He shouldn't have had to!  Who the hell were
these people playing games with their lives?  Twisting
them and manipulating them like pieces on a board.  Hand
fed only what They wanted them to know. Seeing only
what They would allow.  But the suffering, the repeated
exploitation, *that* never ended.

Mulder slammed the Jeep door and set off on a sprint
towards the building.

Just hold on, Scully.  I'm coming.  Don't let Them hurt you.
Don't let Them scare you.  We'll survive this, Scully, you
and me.  And tomorrow, we'll pick up the pieces and
move on.

He could heard Her screams even before he was close
enough to see the door.  She was terrified.  Had to be.
Scully simply didn't scream.  Not shrill, shrieking screams
that chilled him to the marrow.  Not his Scully.

The door, like the ten or twelve windows on the front of
the three story building, was boarded up.  But the
plywood that blocked his entrance was old and greyed,
and the nails had long since rusted even the wood around
them.  The bricks that held the structure up were corroding
underneath themselves from weather and neglect.  And
from the hint of dawn that glowed like a ghosting light
behind him, Mulder sized up the decayed barrier.

And then put his foot through it.

"Scully!"  Her wails never stopped, and he could hear pain
in Her ragged voice as well.  He followed the sound down
a long hallway and past a stairwell.  Something was
knocking against wood somewhere just ahead of him.

Mulder's feet quickened the pace.  Rounding a corner, he
knew She had to be close.  From the sounds of Her cries,
he figured he must have been on top of Her . . . or below
Her.  Mulder's gaze shifted up to a gaping hole in the
ceiling and floor boards above.  Through the hole he could
see a box.  "Scully!"

Mulder dashed back down the hall and bounded up the
rickety stairs, two at a time.  Pieces of railing dropped to
the floor below as he passed, but he didn't notice.  His
whole being was focused on reaching Scully.  On retracing
a path on the second floor that would bring him back to
the same location as the first.

The halls were different - more forks and dead ends - but
Mulder reached the source of the screaming:  A large
wooden coffin connected to the ceiling by four glass tubes
inserted into its side.  The box shook with the force of Her
struggles.

"I'm here, Scully!"  Mulder was on the lid of the coffin in a
flash.  The steel nails kept the top firmly in place.  Quickly
glancing around for a hammer or crowbar -- anything that
he could pry the lid open with -- his eyes fell on a metal
brace that kept the box attached to the floor.  It was thick
and sturdy.  And it was lazily held in place with just one
short screw. "I'm coming, Scully!"

With brute force, Mulder yanked the brace from the
molded floorboard, and slid it into the groove under the
lid.  That's when he noticed the struggling had stopped,
and the screaming had died down to whimpers. "Scully!
Hold on!  I'm here!!"  He jammed the make-shift pry
deeper into the crease and was satisfied when the lid lifted
a fraction of an inch. Mulder yanked the brace out and
repositioned it further down the side of the coffin; when,
from the corner of his eye, he saw something shoot down
the tube to his right.  And then again.

Swinging the metal in his hand hard against the tube, the
glass shattered into large shards.  A second later a long
and soft form thudded down onto the floor near his feet.
He jumped back. CHRIST!  SNAKES!!!

Mulder was like a man possessed.  It took less than a
minute for him to pry the lid up high enough to yank it
completely free of the coffin.  Inside, Scully laid huddled
on Her side, still in the hospital gown, Her face hidden by
the fall of Her hair.  Around Her slithered at least twenty
snakes of various colors and sizes; all knotting themselves
possessively against the warmth of Her body.

"Scully!"  Mulder jerked Her up and out of the wooden
cage, and was relieved when She clung to him a fierce
strength.  Her arms locked around his neck and Her legs
around his hips; four vises squeezing to him with all of the
strength she held.  She trembled and whimpered and wept
all at the same time.  In the hazy reflection of what was left
of the shattered tube, he could see Her eyes were wide
with pure terror.  "I've got you, Scully.  I've got you."

He made it back to the stairwell and managed to navigate
the eroded stairs with little problem.  The entrance to the
building was a little more tricky, however.  Mulder had
kicked in a hole just big enough for himself. Holding
Scully, they were twice as big.  Maybe even a little more.
Even though much of the unexplained swelling had gone
down, her hips and breasts were still much fuller than her
normally slender figure.  They pressed heavily against his
chest with each of her ragged breaths.  She continued to
shake in his arms, and her head crushed almost painfully
into the side of his neck.  "It's okay, Scully.  I've got you."

From outside the door, a man's voice called in, startling
Mulder.  Scully's vise-grip renewed, as a small cry echoed
in the empty hall.

"You the one who called about a fire?"  The man, in full
fireman's garb, poked his head through the splintered
door.

Mulder stumbled forward, trying to get a better grip
around her thighs as the man kicked a larger hole in the
door.  "No.  No fire.  She's hurt, though.  Snake may have
bitten her."

The man looked out from under his heavy helmet and
nodded at Scully's semi-exposed back, "That's what it
looks like from here."  Mulder's eyes closed at the
confirmation.  Her worst fear.  Snakes.  He remembered a
time, when She had been gone, and Her mother had told
him a story about when She was a child.  About a gun and
a snake, and that despite the fact that Scully was deathly
afraid of snakes, She held it in Her hand and tried to heal it
by will alone.  That was the beauty in Her nature.  Her
willingness to face a fear head-on to help others.  And that
was her tragic flaw.

A paramedic came from the side of the ambulance, and led
Mulder towards the rolling cot as the fireman relayed all
of the information he knew.  The bewildered look on the
bulky man's face was evident, even though the thick black
moustache.  "What the hell were you two doing in there,
anyway?  With snakes?"

Ignoring the questioning man, Mulder tried to lay Her
down on the bed.  Her breathing was labored, but She
wasn't about to let go.  With a fierce grip and digging
nails, she screamed as he tried to pry her off. "Scully, come
on.  Lay down.  These people need to look you over."  She
shook even harder, lost in her panic.

My God, She's terrified, Mulder told himself. "Dana, listen
to me," he smoothed a hand over her bare back, for the first
time conscious that she was still in her hospital gown,
"everything's okay now.  I'm here.  I won't let anyone hurt
you."

Another well-muscled man came from behind Mulder and
steadied the cot. "Lay down with her.  We need to get her
to the hospital ASAP.  Luis already called ahead for the
anti-venom serum, but it'll take us fifteen minutes to get
there.  Do you know what kind of snake it was?"

"Uh . . ." Mulder managed to lay back on the narrow bed
without tipping it over.  "There were all kinds."  Scully's
arms created a natural cradle for his head, Her own fitting
snugly in the crook of his neck.  Her legs still wrapped
around his hips and the back of his thighs, which kept his
knees bent and his back flat.  But it wasn't at all an
uncomfortable position, if not for the worried anxiety over
her well-being.  He'd never seen her even remotely like
this.  Never.  It scared him shitless.

The paramedics folded the bed down low to the ground
and then lifted both Scully and Mulder into the
ambulance.  "All kinds, huh?  Are you sure?  Snakes don't
usually behave like that.  They aren't community animals."

"Neither are the people who put them there."

Inside the small ambulance, the two men did what they
could to tend to Scully's wounds.  "I'm counting three on
her left leg," said the moustached man.

"Okay, I've got two on the right and two on her back and
hip.  That's seven."

"Oh, here's one on her left arm.  How many snakes did you
say there were?"

Mulder didn't hear their conversation; and he sincerely
hoped Scully hadn't, either.  Slowly he whispered deep-
held secrets into Her ear, as his hand gently caressed the
back of Her head and neck.

"You know what I missed most about you, Scully?  Me.
I'm at my best when I'm with you.  I'm smarter, funnier.  A
whole lot better looking. Seriously.  I thought, if you were
gone - for real, for good - then there was no point anymore.
Not for me, anyway, because there was no more me.  Not
the best of me.  Not the real me.  Not the me I want to be.

"In all the years that I've known you, I've never told you . .
. showed you ... but then, I don't think I really knew - or at
least understood - what we . . . how you complete me.  I
didn't even really know it after you were gone this time,
either.  Talk about a thick skull, huh?  I mean there were
times when I could see you, hear you even.  They had me
committed.  I let them commit me, really.  Because I didn't
want to have to face the world alone. It seemed so much
easier inside a padded cell.  But even then I didn't really
understand.

"I thought that you were trying to reach me.  To make
some kind of connection that transcended normal human
connections.  That you were sending me messages through
some kind of bond.  Never once did it occur to me that
maybe it was me trying to reach you.  That I was so
desperate to find some kind of reason to keep going, to
keep trying to find the truth . . . Samantha . . . and you
were the only thing that could . . ..

"But then, when I saw you on the street, and you touched
me, and you were solid and . . . and real . . . I realized - no,
I should say 'I felt' because there really wasn't any thinking
going on at that point - but I *felt* that simply touching
you wasn't enough.  That I needed you inside of me, under
my skin . . . in my heart.  That's where you've always
belonged, Scully.  No matter how hard I tried to deny it.
And believe me I did.  Self- denial is a specialty of mine,
you know.

"I know you know."

Mulder nuzzled Her head lightly, and it lulled easily
against the slight pressure.  "Scully?"  There was no
response.  He stilled his body as much as was possible in
the bouncing vehicle for any slight movement that might
tell him -

"She's not breathing!"  The panic in his voice snapped the
paramedics from their tending of the wounds, and on to
the lack of movement in Scully's back.

One of the men was already on the phone with the hospital
giving the stats of his patient, dictating them to the doctor
on the line just as quickly as his partner finished the
procedures.  "Breathing: nil.  Blood pressure: nil. Heart
beat: can't find a pulse.  Should we ventilate?  No, on her
stomach, we had some trouble getting her to lie down on
the gurney.  Time was an issue. Right.  About two minutes
from the hospital."

"One minute!" called the driver from the front.

"One minute.  Right.  Okay.  Be ready for us, I think we
counted nineteen total, but we haven't see her front yet."
The man hung up the phone and recited to his partner:
"We're not to resuscitate.  We don't want to get her heart
going and circulate the poison anymore than it already
has.  There should be a six to twelve minute window,
right?  Before brain death."

Mulder stared at the ceiling.  He couldn't think of anything
else to do. Brain death.  Scully was lying on top of him.
Dead.  Her body, even without its life, still held his head.
She still felt warm.  Soft.  He focused up, past the roof of
the ambulance, and wondered if She was up there, looking
down at him.  Many people who claimed to have near
death experiences describe hovering over the heads of the
people around them; looking down on their own bodies,
before seeing the light.  It could very well have been that
Scully was up there, somewhere, and that would be the
last time he would ever be able to make a connection with
Her.  After all, where She was going, he most certainly
wouldn't be allowed to follow.

"I love you, Dana Scully."

The doors slammed open and Her weight was lifted from
him.  Stripped from him.  He was cold; bereft.  He heard
the people screaming orders for injections and IV drips.
There was a hum that steadily rose in pitch as the shocking
paddles powered up.  Then the slamming boom of a
startling jolt that shook Mulder to his very core.  And then
another.  And another.

One of the paramedics sat down next to Mulder on the
bed, and placed a hand on his arm.  "Are you hurt, too?"

"No."

His voice was low and understanding.  "You want to get
up yet?"

Mulder didn't move.  He listened to the doctors working
on Her.  Trying desperately to restart Her heart.  "No.  Not
until she does."

End of 8/9

"For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out
the breast. And the heart must pause to breathe, And love
itself have rest." -Lord Byron (1788-1824). So We'll Go No
More A-Roving.

*****

The Rarity of The Human Connection And Several Months
Missed (9/9) By MD1016

Scully woke up screaming.  She could hear her screams
apart from herself, echoing in the confines of the coffin.
Coffin!  They'd buried her alive. No!  She's wasn't dead yet!
Help!

"Help me!  Mulder!  Muuuulder!"

Light streamed in like thick lasers at her sides,
illuminating a strange cross section of her body,
highlighting the curves and rounded edges in such a way
that she had to run her hand over her breast to prove to
herself that it wasn't that big.  Of course, it was.

Then, she heard it.  The WHOOP sound, followed by a soft
thud.  Then quiet.  Scully held her breath.  Something cool
moved against her leg, and there was the faintest whisper
of a hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

"Mulder!"  Scully screamed, her fists and feet slamming as
hard as she could without leverage.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And then the walls of the coffin gave way; softening while
still remaining solid.

And then the sides came in and wrapped tightly around
her thick body, pulling her up, pinning her arms in an X
across her chest, rocking her back and forth, smoothing her
hair against her neck and shoulders.

And then his voice melted through the hissing and her
screaming, and the words reached her and pulled her out
of the darkness of the coffin, and into the brilliance of the
hospital room.

It was like all of the other countless hospitals that she'd
been in.  White, sterile, bright.  A complete contrast to
everything she could remember remembering.  Mulder's
chest was pressed against her face, with the smell of him
filling her nose, mouth, and soul.

"I've got you, Scully.  I'm here."

His voice was tight, almost a forced whisper against her
hair.  His fingers worked slow circles against her
shoulders and neck.  Comforting and reassuring.  The
snakes were gone.  The ants were gone.  The nightmare
was over.  Mulder was holding her.  Now everything
would be all right.

"You awake, Scully?"

From the top of Mulder's left shoulder, her mother poked
her head around, and smiled broadly.  "She's awake."

Under her cheek, Scully felt Mulder's body shift; pulling
away from her gently.  His arms loosened their grip on
her.  He was letting go.

"No!"  In a moment of panic, Scully's nails drove into this
back and jerked him back to her.  "Don't leave me!"

Without hesitation, his arms squeezed back around her,
securing her against him firmly.  "I'm not going anywhere,
Scully.  I'll never leave you again.  I swear, Scully.  Never
again."

When the doctor came in, Scully was still sitting up against
Mulder, though her arms were nearly limp as he coaxed
her back to sleep.  "You need your rest, Scully.  Don't fight
it.  I'll be here when you wake up, don't worry."

"Mulder?"  She could feel the calmness settling within her.
His heart bounded steadily in her ear.  "I want my clothes.
My own clothes."

"I'll get them."

"No," she stirred a little, her fingers locking again behind
his shoulders. "Don't leave me."  If he left, then They'd be
back.  And she'd be lost again.

"I'll get you some clothes, Dana," her mother's hand
smoothed across her back.

"I want my own clothes."

She'd been naked for so long.  Both physically and
emotionally.  It was time to start pulling herself back
together.

*****

The house was quiet around Scully, and the once familiar
sounds of the air conditioning kicking on did nothing to
help her sleep.  Her mind twisted and turned over the
darkness that surrounded her.  It seemed to constrict like a
snake around her throat.  Squeezing its cold, smooth body
tighter and tighter, cutting off blood and air, making her
eyes bulge and her mouth fly open.

She yelped.

And the sound of her own voice startled her out of semi-
consciousness and back awake.  Bolting up and flipping
on the light convinced her that she was safe.  For the
moment, anyway.

"You're losing it, Dana," she said to herself.  "Get off the
emotional roller coaster before you crash."

A small knock at the door turned her head.  "Dana?" her
mother asked in a whisper, before opening the door.  "Are
you okay?"

"Fine."  She sighed, running a hand through the limp
strands of hair that had fallen in her face.  "Just scaring
myself."

Margaret looked over her daughter, and stepped inside
the room.  "Do you want to talk?  You know, I'm really
good at listening."

"I know, Mom.  Just not now.  Not yet.  I have to sort things
out some before I'll be able to voice them."

Sitting, Margaret sighed, "You always were a thinker,
first."  The older woman ran a protective hand over her
daughter's shoulder and down her arm.

"Mom." Scully pulled away a little, not enough to be
insulting, but enough for Margaret to take the hint.  Her
daughter wasn't in the mood to be babied.  "Pancakes in
the morning, okay?"  Scully tried to cover with a wan
smile, but the effort was empty.

"Is this about Fox?"

"No.  This is not about Mulder.  This is about the loss of
control of my life. Of my body."  She looked down at the
still heavy breasts that hung from her chest like tumors.
They weren't hers.  Her own breasts fit into a B cup and
didn't get caught up in the car seat belt.  These things, they
weren't hers.  "I don't feel safe, Mom.  Not here.  Not
anywhere."  She sighed and shook her head.  "I shouldn't
stay here.  If  they decide to come to get me, you might be
hurt.  I'm putting you in unnecessary danger."

More than a minute passed between them, neither
knowing just what to say.  "Mom," Dana whispered, "I love
you."

"Oh, baby." Margaret hugged her daughter to her.  "I love
you, too.  No one is coming to get you in my house."

Scully smiled.  She knew that in truth, if They wanted her,
They could take her anywhere.  But just hearing her
mother say it with such certainty made her feel infinitely
better.  It lifted a small cloud from her heart.

"Thanks, Mom."

Kissing Scully's head, Margaret headed for the door.  "Try
to sleep, Dana.  The meeting is early tomorrow, and you're
going to need your strength for it."  Scully nodded.

Margaret left the door slightly ajar, and Scully could hear
her footsteps retreat back behind her own shut door.
Mom.  Ugh!  Scully rolled her eyes at the memory over
dinner, when her mother had announced that she'd made
up the full bed in Dana's brother's old room.  "I think the
two of you will be more comfortable in there."  A sweet
gesture, really.  But mortifying just the same.

Scully had looked up to judge Mulder's reaction, but he'd
just pushed a few peas around on his plate and muttered,
"Uh, I think I'll take the couch, if you don't mind. I . . .
haven't been sleeping much . . . " The look her mother had
given her was one Scully would never forget.  Somewhere
between confusion and sadness.  " . . . and Scully needs her
sleep."

"Actually, I'd rather sleep in my own bed, Mom.  Mulder
can go ahead and sleep in Andy's room."  That suggestion
had ended the conversation dead. The tension in the room
had been almost painful.

Scully shook her head.  It was cloudy from exhaustion.
Out of the hospital didn't mean recovered, Scully knew.
Her body was going to take some time regaining its
strength.

Scully stood and headed for the door.  She cursed herself
for not being stronger.  For knowing that he was in the
other room, and needing to be with him.  As if he hadn't
been with her every second in the hospital.  As if it hadn't
been enough that he agreed to stay at her mother's house
with them.  He, himself, had said he wasn't comfortable
sharing a bed with her. So why was she standing outside
the door that used to bear a Crayola sign proudly
proclaiming Andy's Room?

One thin door.  And the width of the room.

She listened for any sound that might tell her if Mulder
was awake, but nothing made a sound.  Slowly, Scully
turned the knob, and peered into the darkness.  Sill
nothing.  She took a shy step and whispered his name.
"Mulder?  Are you awake?"

His response was quiet and low.  "Come in and shut the
door."

He didn't seem surprised that she'd come to him.  In the
night's shadows, she couldn't even make out his form, but
she knew from the sound of his voice that he was in the
bed.  So close.  She heard the click of the door closing and
then the soft tread of her bare feet over the thick carpet.
The bed was just three or four steps into the room, against
the far wall. After two, she felt his warm hand reaching for
her, and then clasping her arm.  He steered her to him,
leading her onto the bed.  There was no awkwardness
between them.

"I think we should talk, Mulder."

"No."

She didn't want to say it, and yet, still she said the words.
"Please.  We should talk about what happened between
us.  On the sidewalk."

"There's no need.  I know.  We both know, Scully."

"Do we?"

"Yes."

"Then why are we sleeping in separate rooms?"

"We're not."

No shy words.  Nothing clumsy that could be
misconstrued.  Just the minimum.  That was always their
way.  Instinctively they knew what the other was feeling;
needing.  Because it mirrored their own individual
longings.  So, they wouldn't talk about it. They would
simply move forward.  Following the understood
demands of their link.

Scully climbed into the bed and found herself kneeling
beside Mulder; his hands running up her sides and then
behind her back, drawing her down to him.  There was no
force in his manner, and no hesitancy in hers.  She laid
down beside him, curled against his warm body. Her hand
roamed over the plane of his chest, finding its own resting
place just above his strong beating heart.  She felt one of
his hands draw low on her hip, and then a blanket pulled
up over both of them.

Her body relaxed comfortably against his.  He was warm
and solid and just what she needed.  And what she
wanted, she realized with an easy smile. Her left leg lazily
drifted across his as she sighed.

Then once again, the house was quiet, and Scully drifted
off to sleep.

*****

As they sat in the coffee shop on Pennsylvania Avenue,
Scully watched the man in front of her sip down a swallow
of the steaming brew with a look of disdain.  "Not good?"

"I think I miss the hospital coffee."

Scully smiled and inspected her own mug.  In the pervious
two weeks that she spent in the hospital, Mulder had
faithfully stayed by her bed side, leaving only for the
occasional visit to the men's room and a trip to the
cafeteria to gulp down a cup of the infamous hospital
coffee.  And she'd needed him there.  More than she
wanted.  The once independent and strong woman that
she'd been had suddenly been reduced to a frightened,
clinging blob.  But Mulder was there, allowing her
weakness, and embracing the more swollen version of her
body without complaint. Scully's mother had even told her
that she'd caught him downing an entire cup while he was
still in line to pay so that he wouldn't miss her when she
finally woke up.

Finally being the operative word.  It had taken her longer
than it should have to recover from her injuries.  Whatever
it was that they'd been doing to her during the abductions
was taking its toll on her body.  From what she read of her
charts, the ER doctors had to give her three times the
normal dosage of the anti-venom serum before her body
began to respond. And then, it nearly killed her.  But in the
end, she'd survived.  There wasn't much choice, really.
Not when she knew what Mulder would do if she didn't
survive.

That thought terrified her; chilled her to the bone.

Scully tried to suppress the shiver that worked its way up
her spine, but the tremor won out, and Mulder's concerned
eyes were on her in a heartbeat.

"You okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

He gave her an ironic chuckle and nodded.  "Yeah.  You
always are."  He took another distracted sip from his mug.

Scully sighed.

"Mulder," Scully started slowly, "what are we going to tell
Skinner at the meeting?"

"Skinner?"

Scully glanced down at her watch.  "We've only got an
hour."

"We're not meeting with Skinner.  Blevins."

Sitting back in her chair, Scully took in the harrowing look
on Mulder's face.  The Director of the FBI, himself.  Not the
AD.  "You think the news is bad?"

"I think it's bad."

"But after we explain, Mulder-"

"What?!"  He laughed then, and the sound was almost
painful to Scully's ears.  There was a definite bite in it.
"That . . . that I ravished you on the street, but I'm real
sorry.  It won't happen again."  His patronizing stung a
little.

"That we weren't well," Scully corrected, trying to save
some dignity. "Neither of us.  That we weren't in our right
minds -"

"Well, that's just it."  Mulder's face darkened and she could
see a struggle playing out behind his eyes.  "I wasn't."  He
put down his coffee mug and slowly ran a finger around
the lip of it.  Then he pushed himself away from the table,
sat back in the chair, crossing his arms.  "I don't think
they'll dismiss us for what happened in Quonochontaug.
That wasn't anything more than a drastic response to
reconnect."

"Nothing more than shock and need."

"And release."

"Right."

He took a breath and his eyes dropped down to the black
liquid swirling under his fingertip.  "But I'm pretty sure
they'll have my badge anyway."

Her stomach was tightening as she watched him fiddle
with his coffee.  He didn't want her to know something.
Something that she guessed she was going to find out in
less than an hour, anyway.  "What?  Why?"

"When you were gone . . . I lost it.  Big time.  They put me
in a mental hospital.  In Georgia -"

"Who?"

"FBI psychologists.  In-house doctors."  Mulder took a
deep breath, signaling that the *bad* news was still left to
come.  "After a while, I left."

"You left?"  That didn't sound so bad.

"I hitched a ride back to DC.  I ran away from the hospital."

Oh.  "AWOL is bad."

"An offense that screams dismissal."

"Not always."  Actually, she couldn't think of an instance
where it didn't, but she had to have something to hope for.
Something to hold on to.  So much had happened in the
last half-year of her life, so much had changed, that she
needed the stability of knowing that she still had Mulder
as a partner.  That the X-Files were still there in the
basement.  That she still had her science and the protection
that it offered.  That she -

"Scully."  The look on his face told her that she was
denying the answer she already knew was forthcoming.
"It's Blevins."  He sighed heavily and then sat forward
again, resting his crossed arms on the table.  "Besides.  It
doesn't really matter anymore.  They'd never let us work
together again. Not on the X-Files.  As partners."

Slumping forward, Scully closed her eyes.  It was true.  She
knew it.  A part of their lives had already changed; twisted
beyond repair.  The things she took for granted before --
his midnight calls for no reason, answering the door and
knowing it would be him there on the other side -- they
were a luxury from the past.  "This is a nightmare."

"Yours, too?"

She saw the hint of a smile that crawled across his lips, but
the sincerity in the statement screamed out loud and clear.
It was in his hands, as they worried over the paper napkin;
in his jaw that clenched against the tension and pain.
"Mulder, what you said before . . .."  She watched as he
forgot the shreds of paper in his hand, and refocused on
the mug next to it.  "I'm sorry to have to ask you this,
Mulder, especially now . . . but I have to know . . . before
we face Blevins.  I need to know, Mulder . . . if you regret
it."

His eyes closed against her question and she was relieved
that he didn't play stupid and ask 'regret what?'.  Mulder
could avoid a topic when he wanted to -- forever if need
be.  But he didn't try to squirm out of his answer.  He
simply took a moment and then looked her in the eye.  "I
did when I found out that I'd hurt you."  Apology was
written all over his face.  "I never wanted to hurt you
Scully."

"You didn't, Mulder.  Not really."  She could tell from the
way his eyes darted back down to the strips of napkin that
he didn't completely believe what she was telling him.
And she needed him to believe.  "You're just . . . you have
to admit: I didn't have a lot of time to prepare myself."  He
looked up to her face again and a smile broke over his
features that mirrored her own awkward grin.

"Mental note.  Scully likes foreplay."

A voice cut through their conversation.  "Nice to see you
both alive and well."  Standing not two feet from their table
was the woman with wavy brown hair.  Her dark eyes
matched the playful tone in her voice.  "Is anyone sitting
here?"

Scully looked to her partner to see the look of surprise on
his face.  "You know her?"

By the time she glanced back at the woman, she had seated
herself at the table and called to the waitress still at the
counter, "Coffee.  Black, please." Then she turned back to
Scully.  "I told you I'd be in touch with you again, Dana.
Don't you remember?"

This time it was Mulder's turn, "*You* know her?"

The woman interrupted Scully's attempt at an explanation.
"Just a passing acquaintance.  The same as you and me,
Fox.  But there's some more information that I have for the
both of you.  And since I heard about your meeting with
Director Blevins today," as she said his name, the disdain
in her tone was clear, "I decided this would be an
opportune time.  "You see, I also have a proposition."

*****

They walked out from the J. Edgar building side by side.
Down the steps, along the path, and to the parking garage
elevator.  Neither of them spoke a word.  There wasn't a
whole lot to say.

Scully stepped into the elevator first and pressed 3.

The meeting had been a study in humiliation and
degradation.  She had watched as Mulder sat glassy-eyed,
seemingly unperturbed by the accusations and disgusting
remarks of the Director and the other officials present.  His
face hadn't flinched when they ripped his badge out of its
protective leather casing and threw it on the floor.  Scully
thought she even caught a glimpse of a smile when
Blevins had some lackey read off the list of offenses that
Mulder had been charged with.  All of which, as Mulder
had expected, called for his immediate, and irreversible
dismissal.

Horror had ripped across his face, however, when Scully
finally stood up and interrupted his symbolic flogging.
The Director, with his puffy red cheeks and chubby hands,
demanded that she take her seat; that he would deal with
her shortly.  But she continued to spout her own disgust at
her superiors, people she no longer trusted or believed in.
She threw her own badge on the floor, handed over her
own gun before Blevins could form a response, and
marched from the room with fire in her heart.  Before
Mulder joined her in the hall outside, she heard one of the
male voices growl in a fierce accusation, "She was once a
good Agent, Mr. Mulder. You did this to her."

"She's still a good agent, sir.  She's just not willing to work
for immoral men under a corrupt government any longer.
And I WISH I could take credit for that.  Nothing would
make me happier.  But it's your own fault. You're the ones
who played along with the Shadow men.  You're the ones
who lied and covered up the truth."  Mulder's biting tone
had turned bitter, and from the hall it was difficult to make
out all of his grumbles.  "But you forgot to take care of
your own, gentlemen.  And you forgot that nothing stays
buried forever."

When they reached the car, Mulder took a moment in
buckling his seat belt.  From the corner of her eye, Scully
caught him looking at her, and she turned.  "What?"  His
gaze was stong and unwavering, and it seemed to pull her
in.

"Back there.  You gave up your career."

It was hard to place the tone of his voice.  Worry?  Regret?
Admiration? "There wasn't much left of it anyway."  With a
shrug, she turned away from him.  "Besides, I wouldn't be
able to go back without you."

"You're thinking about taking the woman up on her offer."

"We'd be working together.  Doing similar work to what
we've done before-"

"We'd be working for Them, Scully."

"We're already working for them."  She knew in her heart
that he was right. That she was selfish to even consider
forcing him into anything that the mysterious woman had
suggested.  It went against his makeup.  It went against her
morals.  Even if They weren't the They that they'd been
fighting.  Even if it was a different group.  The idea and
principle was the same.  They were people with power
who shouldn't have it.  They weren't elected.  They weren't
controlled.

"It would mean giving up any chance for a normal life.  Of
seeing your family regularly -"

"I'll never have a normal life, Mulder.  Not now.  Not when
I know they can get to me anywhere.  Anytime."

He sat silent for a minute.  His hands went from resting
lightly against the steering wheel to the tie knotted at his
throat.  He pulled it away, and then off completely, tossing
the strip of material into the back seat.  The top button of
his dress shirt was next.

"Now we don't even have the Bureau's protection.  Not
that it really helped before."  She hated herself for bringing
up these points, knowing that he'd agree to anything that
helped to keep her safe.  "The woman, she said that They
weren't done with me."

"I know."

He looked beaten.  Tired and warm and beaten.  She knew
he hadn't slept at all the previous night, and before that,
he'd been at the hospital for weeks without a bed, and
before that . . ..  He needed rest.  He needed quiet.  He
desperately needed the normal life he'd been talking
about. "Mulder," Scully's head shook in disgust, "I don't
know why I'm trying to convince you.  I don't want to work
for Them.  I don't want us to become one of Them."

"You're scared."

She was.  And it infuriated her.  They'd stripped her down
to this. Changed her.  "I never used to be."

"I always was."

"Not like this."

"No, not like this."

*******

In the darkened room, only the mahogany table and the
plush leather chairs that surrounded it were visible.  But
the two occupants cared little for decoration.  The short
man with the olive complexion sat still and calm across
from his brunette partner.

"So, you brought them in?"

"Yes, the Group needs their expertise."

"How did you do it?"

The hint of a smile skimmed her thick lower lip.  "I can be
very persuasive."

"What did you promise them?"

"Something they thought they needed."

"You lied?"

She nodded once.  "It had to be done.  Their knowledge
and experience would have been lost to us if I hadn't."  Her
brown eyes lifted from his face and traveled to a nowhere
point behind him.

"Christ, woman!  They would have been alright if you'd
left them alone. They would no longer be of any interest
outside of the Bureau.  They would have faded into
society.  And might I mention that they wouldn't have
caused any more risks to us, as well!"

"I can keep them safe.  There won't be a problem."

The certainty in her voice didn't play for her partner.
"Safe?  They're still in the game, for crying out loud!"  The
woman's shrug seemed to infuriate him more.  "Christ!
He's your brother!"

Pushing herself from the table, the woman stood and
walked into the darkness.  "My friend, there are some
things that are bigger than personal interests."

The End.

"Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven." -John Milton
(1608-74). Satan, Paradise Lost.

Acknowledgments:

Thank you first, to Karen Rasch who edited and critiqued
far and beyond the call of duty.  The hours that you spent
on this story mean so much to me that simply saying thank
you seems entirely inadequate.

Also a hearty thanks to Nic, Dia, and Kathy who helped
me settle the "sidewalk" scene.  And also to Dia again for
proofing.  Believe it or not, I think my spelling is getting
better.  :)  And also, also: a sincere thank you to Kathy
again for helping with plot -- the evil four letter word.

And to Lacy, for everything.

                              "Only love can conquer all."