by T Bishop and Jacquie LaVa Rated: NC-17 Category: MSR/X-File/Mytharc Summary: Mulder and Scully discover a secret that someone has gone to great lengths to hide. Disclaimer: All profits from this story have been set aside in our legal defense fund. ASYLUM PART ONE ** PROLOGUE ** They were after her again - the evil ones - chasing her through the endless nightmare that was her life. Sarah knew she couldn't escape, but she had to try. She always had to try. Though the end was invariably the same; they would catch her, and the torture would begin anew. She was damned to this life of horror, a hellish prison from which there was no escape. As she ran through the maze of dimly lit corridors, wrapped in the gray/green hues that represented the decayed spirits of the inhabitants of Keystone State Mental Hospital, Sarah prayed out loud for deliverance. "GOD! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE, GOD! HELP ME... SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!" A door, an unlocked door; there had to be one someplace! The evil ones got in, coming and going at will. She had to find the way out. As she ran down the bleak hallways fervently pulling and tugging at the securely locked doors, Sarah risked a look back over her shoulder. They were getting closer! Too close! She could smell their wretchedness, the agonizingly familiar stench triggering a fresh surge of panic within her. She couldn't stand the thought of what they would do to her if they caught her, so she ran faster - frantic, wildly searching for a way out, a hole in the wall, a looking glass to tumble through... anything but this... not this... no more of this... She was caught. Hands everywhere pulling her down as she screamed and cursed and fought to break free. The monsters had her again, dragging her back. She punched and kicked, and when they restrained her limbs she bit like a rabid animal until they put the steel-meshed mask on her. Their demon claws dug into her soft pale flesh, bruising and scratching as she hysterically resisted them. 'The Room!' They were taking her to 'The Room!' Body shaking violently, teeth chattering, her screams turned to shrieks as the terror seized her. "NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO! GODDAMN YOU!!! NOOOOOO!!!" Their wicked laughter taunted her as she continued to struggle against them helplessly. Sarah had been in 'The Room' before. "I'M NOT GOING IN THERE! I'M NOT! LET ME GO! PLEEEASE... LET ME GO!" She was sobbing now as the big metal door swung wide and they heartlessly carried her forward against her will. There were more devils inside, and they joined the others, tearing at her clothes until she was completely naked on the cold floor, the indignity of it lost in the dread of what was about to come. Her mind reeled out of control knowing the horror of what would happen next. She felt the stinging bite, and then the burn as the venom entered her system, paralyzing her almost immediately. Hands lifting her again - but this time she was trapped within a body made useless by the toxin coursing through her blood. Her cries grew weak as a result of the poison, but the agony did not lessen in her mind. In fact it was intensified by her powerlessness; the fury never leaving, only the ability to express her fear and outrage at such treatment. Sarah's terror grew with each passing second, acutely aware but ineffective in her own self-defense. Her mind kept screaming for them to stop, begging and pleading with them not to do this to her, though outwardly all she could manage were a few slurred incoherent syllables. The horror was akin to being buried alive. It was a feeling of utter helplessness and despair, at the same time the urgent need to do something about her situation compelling her to react. Anger, frustration and fear waged a war for supremacy within her paralyzed body, her current mental state too fragile and confused to sustain the conflict. FIRE! ALL AROUND HER, SURROUNDING HER, EVERYWHERE!!! The devils placed her in a pit of liquid fire, a churning vortex of unbearable heat. She could feel her flesh burning - seared right down to the bone. The fire got inside of her, burning deep within; the pain so strong even her thoughts melted away. All that registered was 'HOT...HOT... HOT...' and the vague knowledge that she was being burned alive. When they pulled her from the cauldron, Sarah expected to be devoured by the evil forces whose claws dug into her charred flesh. But their intent was not so simplistic. It was not hunger that motivated them to act, but the sadistic need to torture her; to hear her scream, to watch and know that they could do these awful things to her, she being incapable of stopping them. There was no one who could help her now. She was at the mercy of those without souls. There was no salvation from this purgatory, only pain and suffering and endless torment. Her respite was all too brief before the agony began again. Not fire this time. No. This time she was restrained in a chilling bath, water so extremely frigid it took her breath away. As Sarah gasped to fill her lungs, shocked by the jarring iciness, she felt her body stiffen. They were freezing her! Freezing her solid, and the agony of it was beyond her ability to endure. As the water turned to solid ice around her, she felt her blood thickening, her heart slowing down... She was slipping away... losing consciousness... futilely fighting the cold blackness of eternal night... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER ONE ** Michael punched the elevator button and leaned against the far wall, humming a bit under his breath as he watched the floors go by. Five... six... seven. When he'd initially been re-assigned to the first floor he'd been upset; worried about all the patients on the upper levels who depended on him every day. The tenth floor in particular worried him; who would take care of the more difficult patients? It took a lot of fortitude and compassion to work that floor. The most severely-troubled patients occupied the tenth. They were, for the most part, beyond help. The majority of them were kept heavily-sedated; all of them were locked in their rooms at night, and escorted everywhere. Michael had asked specifically to work on the tenth floor; the other staff had looked at him askance, not understanding why anyone would volunteer to be up there for the better part of each day. Most of them had only served a small chunk of time on 'Floor Loon,' as it was called; some of them had never been past the eighth. All had their horror stories about the goings- on up there. Michael knew a lot of it was fabricated. Everyone admitted into Keystone State Mental Hospital had to be evaluated, and all evaluations were done on the tenth floor. Fair or not, in the world of brain-sickness, it was assumed the worst, until proven otherwise. Within a week, the hospital psychiatric board would have a good idea where that patient needed to be placed, and they were moved to the appropriate ward... except for the ones so 'out there' that they had to be locked up and sedated. Sometimes they eventually responded to treatment, and were able to be moved down. Michael rejoiced every time that happened to one of his charges. The elevator doors opened, and Michael stepped out, turning down the east corridor toward Room 1053. He'd wanted to come up an hour ago, but there had been a commotion on the fourth floor - the children's ward. Melinda Gelbert, just turned fifteen, had attempted suicide again - and everyone had thought she was doing so much better. She'd somehow smuggled a fork out of the dining room, and had stabbed herself in her left wrist, repeatedly. By the time Michael got up there, she had lost a lot of blood but was still hysterical and had to be fully restrained. Michael had held her hand as the doctors tried to repair the damage she'd done to her wrist. One of the tines of the fork had punctured a substantial artery... she very well could have bled to death. Michael shook his head sadly; Melinda had been so close to being moved to the first floor, the out-patient floor. So close... And now she'd be sent up to the seventh floor, where most attempted suicides were sent for evaluation and therapy - and would be right back at Square One. Sad. He reached Room 1053; the door was slightly ajar. He slipped in quietly; wanting to listen without being spotted right away. Sometimes the day nurse could be a bitch - Michael thought it wouldn't hurt to keep his eyes open, and just observe. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx She woke to the sting of a needle in her arm, her eyes flying open and a gasp escaping her throat. The first thing Sarah Davis saw upon coming to was the heavily made-up face of Nurse Frey hovering over her; a fake smile twisting her features in a way that was incongruent with her compassionless nature. Sarah despised the woman's condescension and patronizing attitude, all deceitfully wrapped in a guise of benevolence and concern for the patients she cared for. The fact of the matter was, tormenting and mistreating those under her charge seemed to bring her a great deal of pleasure; especially true in Sarah's case. "Welcome back, Sarah, dear. Feeling better?" She reeked of cigarette smoke and a mixture of stale perfume and perspiration. Her short chestnut hair heavily sprayed into a style from the 1950's. "Get away from me!" Sarah struggled against the restraints that held her fast to the bed. "Now, honey, let's not start with the attitude again. That's what always gets you into trouble." "You people are monsters! Evil monsters! All of you! Get away from me! I want out of here! I don't belong here!" Nurse Frey duly brushed a strand of hair from her patient's forehead; her gesture not a tender considerate act, but a symptom of her own obsessive compulsive tendencies. "Of course you belong here, Sarah. You're a terribly disturbed woman. You're here because you need help. That's what this place is about. You know we just want to help you, dear." "You're NOT helping me! You people are the ones doing this to me!" "That's not true, Sarah, and you know it." Her voice was calm but insistent, as if she were attempting to impose her will through words alone. "Let me up! Let me go!" Sarah's head thrashed wildly from side to side, the only resistance she could offer in her current state. "You're doing this to me! All of you! You're making me crazy with your torture and your drugs! I'm not sick! I'm not! Let me up!" The nurse shook her head and sighed. "The electro-convulsive treatments and the medication you receive are not contributing to your psychosis, Sarah. They're prescribed to help you." "You're a liar! This whole place is filled with liars! Let me go! Do you hear me? Damn it, let me go!" Nurse Frey watched her for a moment longer, her cold unaffected stare reminding Sarah of a zombie. Then she adjusted the straps a little tighter at the bedded woman's wrists, ignoring her objections; and turned her back to the struggling patient, walking wordlessly out of the room. That's when Sarah's eyes caught sight of the tall lanky man standing in the corner by the door. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned casually against the wall, regarding her silently. Michael. When she saw him she burst into tears, unable to check the overwhelming surge of emotion his presence always provoked within her. There was something in his eyes that spoke to her on a level she really didn't understand. He was the only one Sarah trusted in this house of nightmares. The only friend she felt she had. "They did it again, Michael. They did it again. Those bastards put me in the boiling water. And then they tried to freeze me. They DID freeze me. I felt my blood turn to ice. Why are they doing this to me? Why?" she sobbed. He slowly made his way across the room to her bedside, an empathetic look softening his chiseled features. "Sarah, we've been over this so many times," he said in a calm voice. Nobody was torturing you. You had therapy. You were tranquilized and placed in a warm whirlpool bath with a mild electric current and then transferred to a cool bath with the same stimulus. I've had the treatment myself, Sarah, to fight depression." Sometimes she forgot Michael was a prisoner here too. He had more freedom than she. He was a trustee of the facility, but he was also a patient. "I hate it!" "I know, Sarah. I'm sorry. But you really shouldn't run. There's no where to go. You know that. It's easier if you'd just accept it. They're trying to make you better. You want to get better, don't you?" "No! They're not making me better. I want to leave this place, Michael. I want to leave... right now!" "Where are you going to go? Who is going to take care of you? You can't even get off the tenth floor, Sarah. How are you going to make it outside alone?" "I'm NOT crazy!" "Then stop acting like you are. That's the first step towards getting out. You need to cooperate with the staff. I've told you this before." "They're evil, Michael. I have dreams where I see the faces of these monsters so clearly. The ones who did this to me. Dr. Kirr and Dr. Hazlam - they're devils, Michael. They're making it so I can't think right. They put the worms in my brain." His hand was gentle on her cheek, his eyes troubled by her senseless ramblings. "Don't let them hear you talking like that, Sarah. They'll never move you off the tenth as long as you act this way. Don't give them any more trouble. Please, Sarah, stop fighting it. Let them help you." "They've brainwashed you, Michael. You believe their lies. Nobody here wants to help me." "I do." He said it softly and with sincere conviction; buoying her a tiny bit, just enough to keep her afloat, with the reassurance that she wasn't alone. "Then take these straps off me. Help me escape before it's too late." Michael bowed his head in frustration. "You know I'm not allowed to do that. They won't let me come to you anymore if I interfere with your care." "You won't get in trouble. You can come with me. We'll run away together. We'll go someplace where they'll never find us..." He smiled at her but shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. You need to be here and so do I. Someday maybe we'll be better and we can leave Keystone behind; but not yet. I am going to get better though, Sarah. And I know you can too. I want you to get better and leave this place one day." Sarah's eyes shut, hot tears spilling over her cheeks. This poor man had no idea who and what these people were that held them. He couldn't see the evil like she could. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWO ** "Michael, darlin' - I need you to run an errand for me - could you walk over to the dispensary and pick up another case of swabs? I'm afraid between Melinda and poor Mr. McNabe, we're cleaned out." The first floor day nurse, Mrs. Keeler, smiled at Michael as he stepped off the elevator. Preoccupied, thinking about Sarah - he didn't hear her at first. Rose Keeler waited patiently until he looked up in her direction, and then repeated her request. He returned her smile and nodded, taking the key ring out of her hands and turning toward the exit corridor, carefully unlocking and locking doors behind him. She watched him as he moved through the last set of inner doors and couldn't help but admire the way the sun bounced off the dark sheen of his thick hair. Such a wonderful young man - she'd fallen in love with him within a week of knowing him, almost a year ago. If she could shave twenty years off her old carcass, she'd have given him a run for his money... the thought forced a cackle from her wide mouth, as she finished counting out one prescription and began on another. Michael was a gem; hard working and compassionate and never gave his doctors a lick of trouble - always took his meds and his treatments for depression and kept his spirits up, thereby lifting the spirits of everyone around him. Even that pretty little thing Sarah - Michael's friend. Poor child - she wouldn't be getting off the tenth floor anytime soon, Rose figured. Sad. Michael locked the dispensary doors behind him, turning to wave briefly at Nate, the day guard, who returned the wave before walking down the inner corridor, checking all the locks. He took his job very seriously - as did Michael. Nate had been a patient, years ago - had suffered a breakdown after his wife ran off and took his three children with her. He'd spent a year on the third floor, which housed most of the male patients. He'd finally gotten himself straightened out - and had decided he didn't want to leave. He'd made friends, had fallen in love with one of the ward nurses; applied for a security job and had been elated when he'd gotten it. Nate and Michael played basketball twice a week, sharing a love of the game as well as an easy friendship. Michael well understood the compulsion to stay here at Keystone. He didn't want to leave, either. He had a lot of friends here, people who genuinely cared for him. In his life he'd not had a lot of that - of caring. He'd been committed over a year ago, diagnosed with severe depression, psycho-hysteria, and had tried to commit suicide several times. He didn't remember the suicide episodes; his doctors had explained it all to him - what he'd tried to do to himself. But he'd genuinely wanted to get better - and so he played the game; you had to do that, in order to get better. The doctors were really full of themselves, and usually they thought they knew everything. He fought against them at first, refusing to take his medicine, acting like an asshole. But he learned, very quickly - right after his first shock treatment. Michael shuddered every time he allowed himself to think about it. He pushed it from his mind, as he walked back to the main hospital, balancing the box of swabs in one hand and holding the keys in the other. Best not to dwell on the past - best to think ahead to the future. He just wished Sarah could do the same... maybe then he wouldn't worry about her so damned much. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The chase was on... She and Michael were running through the darkness, fleeing a nebulous but clearly discernible threat, when they inadvertently became separated in a field of dense vegetation. Sarah crouched down, alone and afraid, terrified that the evil forces pursuing them were close enough to see her. She hunched low to the ground, ducking her head to her knees in an effort to make herself as small as possible - invisible to the enemy only a few steps behind. She knew she needed to catch up to Michael, but the thick plant life here was like a maze, and she didn't know which way he might have gone. The danger was too close! Time to move, she couldn't wait any longer! She did the only thing she could do - she ran ahead, praying they would find each other when they both eventually emerged from the thicket. Running faster now... had to get away... had to find Michael... which way? Which way? The threat was right behind her! Run! Run! Sarah's heart pumped hard in her chest, fear more than exertion causal to the affect. Michael... Michael... she couldn't leave him behind, couldn't let THEM catch him - whoever they were. As she raced through the labyrinth of foliage that surrounded her, she suddenly heard his voice calling out in the night. "SCULLY! SCULLY!" Pulled forward by his frantic shouts, she ran with renewed strength toward the sound of his voice. "TALK TO ME, SCULLY! SCULLEEE!! DAMMIT...!" Sarah awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, breathing hard, heart pounding as if the dream she'd just experienced had been real. Her room was dark, except for a crack of light emanating from under the closed, and she knew locked, door. These nightmares were becoming more and more frequent and vivid in their nature. She and Michael were always trying to get away from someone. She and Michael... What was it that he called her this time? Scully? The name confused her in that it hadn't seemed odd to her in the dream. Scully... Scully... She puzzled it over and over in her head, hoping the meaning would become clear to her. It was important, she knew. After struggling in vain for the rest of the night, Sarah finally gave up in frustration. Her mind could not remember, no matter how hard she tried. The drugs and the treatments, they'd taken their toll on her, stolen her memories, deprived her of the ability to think rationally. Still, the dream would continue to haunt her because there was truth in it, of that she was certain. Truth - a tiny fray in the tightly woven fabric of lies that held her like a straitjacket. She would work it and work it until everything unraveled and she would at last be free. 'The truth will save you, Scully. I think it will save us both...' The words popped into her head, but she didn't know if they were a fragment of some deeply held memory, or a trick of her drug-addled thought processes. She'd never know as long as they kept her pumped full of sedatives. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe the key to getting out of this place was not resistance, but acceptance... at least the outward appearance of such. It was only because of her refusal to swallow the oral doses that they administered her medication by injection. If she could convince the hospital staff of her compliance, she might be able to deceive them long enough to clear the drugs from her system. And hopefully then, she would see things in a whole new light. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "You're doing so much better today, Sarah. I meant to tell you the last time I was up here, but I didn't get a chance. Nurse Frey says you're off the injections; that you've been willingly swallowing pills again. I'm so glad." They were sitting in The Big Room, at one of the game tables. Michael had brought treats for everyone, as was his habit on Tuesdays when he came up to the tenth floor to check on his former charges. Today it was rice krispie treats dotted with chocolate chips. He always brought enough for everyone to have seconds, although there were usually a few patients who never got even one. Many of the tenth floor people waited for him, rather like starved vultures - and as soon as he came off the elevator, they would mob him. Michael gave them as many as they clamored for - but since he always brought up extra, hidden in the corner of the elevator in a bag - he had enough to share with the rest of the more lucid patients, and the staff. Sarah munched on a big square of the sticky treat, and regarded Michael solemnly, sitting across from her at the rickety table. She was quiet today; thoughtful and... secretive, he decided. That's what she was; secretive. Definitely calmer, but that was the medication working. He had an intuitive feeling, though - that she was shamming, somehow. He didn't know why, except that in the year they'd been here together, she had always been an open book. She expressed every emotion, cried easily and even in her more lucid moments, could be maddeningly melodramatic. Michael knew a great deal of it stemmed from her basic psychosis, which bordered on schizophrenia. She'd had to suffer through more shock treatment than he, but that was her own fault, for not taking her meds and for continuously fighting the nurses and therapists. Michael had spent the last six months worrying himself sick over her. He didn't know why she struck such a chord of protectiveness deep inside him - she just did. It had always been that way, from the very first. Now she chewed silently, and her eyes never left his as she finished the treat and licked at her slender fingers. And something about the way her small pink tongue curled around each fingertip, washing it clean... Michael stared at her, fascinated - not knowing why he suddenly felt as though someone had lit a fire inside him. That tongue... he remembered the tongue. How - why? He shook his head sharply. Why on earth would he find Sarah's tongue familiar? He rubbed at his face, eyes closed; opening them when he felt her hand touch his sleeve. "Michael... are you all right? Do you have another headache?" She knew his anti-depressant had side effects, headaches being one of them. Michael shook his head, smiling a little at her, placing a hand over hers which still lay upon his arm and giving her fingers a squeeze. "No headache, Sarah - not right now. I was just thinking, about how much better you seem today." She smiled, a bit mysteriously, and reached for the bag of treats, rooting around for another piece. She found a small one and sat back to savor it, knowing she would get well-cooked, albeit bland food for the rest of the week, and certainly no sugar. She smiled again at Michael, and stole a sip of his iced tea before replying to his comment. "I AM better, Michael - a lot better. I think I've improved enough that they could take me off the meds..." Her words trailed off as he shook his head, and his hand clasped hers warmly. "No, Sarah - you can't. Promise me you won't do anything silly, like not take the meds - you've been doing so much better. If you stop, they'll begin the injections again, and as long as you are on injections you'll never get out of the ward. And I want you to get off this floor, Sarah - so much. I want you to get better." He held fast to her hand, when she would have pulled away; his eyes bore into hers, worry in their clear depths. She stared at him, unable to look away. She sighed, and raised his hand to her face, pressing it against her cheek as she whispered to him, as well as to herself. "I want to get better too, Michael - I do. I want to find out what sort of life I used to have, before I came here - and then I want to have a normal life like that, again." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THREE ** She'd had another dream. As she lay there in her bed Sarah tried to fit together the pieces as she remembered them. No longer a prisoner of her medications, she felt herself understanding for the first time some of the images that before had been lost on her. Badges and guns, she and Michael - they worked together... some type of law enforcement... partners... yes, that was it! They were partners! But this made no sense, no sense at all. What few memories Sarah could recall of her past, told her of a completely different life. She'd only met Michael a year ago when she woke up and inexplicably found herself a patient in this horrible place. Yet Michael had been important to her right from the start, though she never had understood why. And if he knew her before this place, why hadn't he said so? Was it possible that Michael's memories were just as confused as hers? He never talked about himself. Never mentioned his past. What if it were true? What if she had been Michael's partner once upon a time? How did they both come to be here? Could someone have done this to them? And why? Why would anyone want to lock away a couple of cops in an insane asylum - not cops, federal agents - she mentally corrected herself and then wondered at how she'd known that. Agents? Agent Sarah Davis, she tried it to see if it would jog her memory. Nothing. Wait a minute. Michael had called her Scully again in her dream. Agent Scully? Agent Scully... "Agent Scully." She said it out loud this time, wanting to hear the words to see if they sounded as right to her ears as they did in her thoughts. There was a familiarity she couldn't deny, yet still had trouble grasping. "Agent Scully... Agent Scully... Agent... DANA Scully." A part of her subconscious supplied the rest and she felt a thrill as she heard herself say it. "I'm Agent Dana Scully." A sudden surge of panic came over her as the realization struck. She needed to tell Michael! Maybe he could help her put together some of the puzzle pieces. No matter what though, from this moment onward she would think of herself as Dana Scully - not Sarah Davis. And she would do everything in her power to keep them from stealing her identity again. Quietly, Scully got out of bed and turned on the light switch so she could read the clock on the wall. It was only three. The door wouldn't be unlocked until the nurse came with morning meds around eight. Five long hours before she could go into The Big Room and wait for him. Even then, she couldn't be sure he'd stop by. She didn't dare ask for him for fear that she might make someone suspicious. Michael was her only link to the life she had before this place, a life she couldn't remember but nonetheless felt compelled to return to. She had tossed and turned in her bed the remainder of the night, restlessly anticipating the opportunity to tell her friend of her discovery. When the nurse came into her room in the morning, Scully, playing the role of Sarah, dutifully took her medication; keeping it hidden under her tongue until she was given the opportunity to use the bathroom where, as was her new routine, she spat the pills into the toilet, flushing away the evidence of her deception. On the tenth floor, The Big Room was a wretched place, a commons; sort of a holding pen where the patients spent the majority of their day. And as Scully waited and hoped for Michael's familiar face to appear at the door, she kept to herself in the corner, trying not to be intimidated by the odd assortment of characters she was trapped with. Most of the others paced or wandered about. One poor woman, Elisabeth, a former librarian by trade, just sat on the floor rocking back and forth muttering cataloging terms to herself, occasionally speaking in Latin to her ghostly companion that nobody but she could see. Every so often one of the damned would cry out, cursing or screaming in a fit of insanity, and the orderlies would take them away. Many of the patients talked to themselves; a few were functioning enough to engage one another in conversation - however, best not to listen too closely to the subjects being discussed. Most of the dialogue bordered on the fantastic or the absurd. At one point as she waited, Scully was witness to an assault on one patient by another. She didn't even flinch as she watched a tall blonde woman knock a little old man out of his chair. This kind of behavior was a common occurrence on the tenth floor. It was only now that Scully realized how horrible it was that she had become numbed to the depravity of it; accepting as norm the erratic and often violent behavior of her fellow ward mates. It was almost noon before Michael made an appearance on the tenth floor. His responsibilities at the facility were such that his time was always at a premium. He talked to a few of the others first, pausing briefly to say hello to Elisabeth who stopped her persistent mumblings and beamed at him like a love-struck teenager; but his eyes were on the petite redhead in the corner from the moment he walked in the door. Scully held his gaze, fighting down the urge to run to him and tell her secret. Eventually, Michael made it over to where she was sitting. "Hi, Sarah." He sat down beside her crossing his long legs in a similar fashion to hers. "I've been waiting for you," she told him excitedly. "You have? How come?" He seemed pleased, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She shifted herself a little closer to him, lowering her voice so that no one might overhear. "I'm not Sarah. I'm Dana. Dana Scully." Michael looked pained, troubled by her revelation. Reaching out, he smoothed her auburn hair away from her face. "Sarah, you didn't tell anybody else, did you?" "No." She shook her head firmly. "If they find out that I know who I really am, there's no telling what they might do to me." He nodded sadly. "Keep it a secret, okay?" His reaction worried her. "You believe me, don't you, Michael? You have to believe me. You're my partner. I'm a federal agent, and so are you. Somebody did this to us. I don't know how or why, but they did. They took away our memories and they locked us up in here." He looked around the room nervously to be sure none of the other staff members were listening to their conversation. "Sarah, don't talk like that anymore..." "I told you, I'm NOT Sarah. My name is Dana Scully. But for some reason, in my dreams, you always just call me Scully." "That's all they are, Sarah, dreams. Don't let yourself believe that they're true." She felt her emotions come bubbling to the surface. He HAD TO believe her. "I know it sounds crazy, Michael, but..." "Yes, it does," he interrupted her. "It sounds really crazy, Sarah. I'm not a federal agent. I've never been one. I'm a tax accountant from Pittsburgh. Not very exciting but that's the reality of it." He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "You've been doing so well lately. I was hoping they'd let you move down to one of the other floors soon. Don't let them hear you talking like this, Sarah, please." "I won't." She promised him. But at the same time she vowed to herself that she would find a way to convince him that she wasn't delusional. "That's my girl." He smiled at her before he released her hand. Then glanced across the room at the clock and frowned. "Gotta go, Sunshine. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" She nodded absently, struck by what he'd just said to her. And then she knew... "Morning, Sunshine." Scully whispered the words to herself thoughtfully, watching him walk away from her; smiling as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER FOUR ** Michael tossed aside the book of poetry, finding it too difficult to concentrate when all he could do was worry about Sarah. He dimmed the bedside lamp and stretched out full length, toeing off his sneakers and propping a pillow under his head. His small TV flickered out across the room, the sound all but muted. He wasn't in the mood for a show, either. Sarah... sometimes he felt as if she would just slip away from him. She wasn't getting any better. Her psychosis appeared to be increasing; today's conversation capped it. A federal agent named Scully - Jesus. Michael had no idea what had brought that on - anything, he supposed. She could have watched one of those cop shows in the rec room, and found a new and easy way to escape her life on the tenth floor. She wouldn't be the first to try escapism as a form of tolerance for her sickness. And she was playing a game that would only result in her permanent residence on the tenth. Michael was determined to help her get better, enough to see her transferred to another floor and away from Nurse Frey, who for some crazy reason seemed to have it in for her. The older woman was unnecessarily rough with Sarah - Michael had seen it himself. And Sarah was such a petite little thing; there would never be a real need for any of the nurses to manhandle her. The room was getting stuffy; Michael got up and opened the window, letting the cool fall breeze billow the curtains. Although his room had bars on the windows - all the rooms at Keystone had barred windows - he had his own set of keys, plus a master key; not only for his room but for all the corridors and day rooms, the bathrooms and kitchen - every main inner door. He'd been given a lot of responsibility when he was made a trustee. Michael thrived on it; he was the kind of person who needed to be depended upon - needed to be given the chance to show loyalty to others. Every day he earned anew the respect of all the doctors and nurses at Keystone. He was happy here; for the first time in his life, happy. And he so wanted Sarah to feel that way, as well. He suspected that Sarah had been a victim of her psychosis for many years; her symptoms were classic and her constant paranoia and war against hospital authority a by-product of her disease. But she'd really seemed better, the last few weeks - Michael had been so glad. And now, this - a serious setback for her. Dana Scully... sounded like a name on the TV. Michael shook his head, sadly. He had promised her he wouldn't tell a soul. He couldn't help but wonder if he was adding to her overall problem, by trying to protect her - if he didn't let her stand on her own two feet, she would never be able to depend upon herself for anything. Maybe he should tell Dr. Hazlam. He was Sarah's personal doctor; a compassionate and caring man. Sarah hated him, but Michael had never seen Dr. Hazlam act in an inappropriate manner, toward Sarah or any of the other patients. The staff admired him and all his other patients seemed to like him. Michael wasn't sure why Sarah was so militantly against him. Michael worried his bottom lip against his teeth; at times like this, late at night, he always found himself craving a salty, crunchy snack. Maybe he'd meander down to the rec room and grab a bag of cashews. But even as he slipped into his sneakers, and dug in his change can for the appropriate coins... he continued to worry about his friend. He'd go see her tomorrow, as promised; maybe then she'd tell him a little more - and maybe he'd hear something that he could relay to Dr. Hazlam. The doctor would know what to do to help her; Michael was sure of it. Well, he'd give it some serious thought, anyway - and try not to feel as thought it would be some sort of betrayal... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Most of the nightmares Scully'd had since she'd been in this place left her feeling very cold inside. But as she awoke in the darkness on this night, she was acutely aware of the heat burning in her cheeks. Tonight's dream wasn't like the others. It was frightening to her not in a horrific sense, but in the shocking revelations it gave. Michael was not Michael after all. In her dream she'd called him Mulder. And what she and Mulder had done in that dream stirred things deep inside her. They'd been lovers. Not just working partners who'd shared a friendship and a close bond, but lovers in the most passionate way two people could be in love. She'd felt the powerful desire overwhelm her as their bodies joined in her dream. She'd seen the look of fire in his eyes and lost herself there. For a few brief moments in time Scully remembered... Heat. Need. Moonlight through an open window catching the glisten of sweat on skin. Two bodies, aroused, entangled, giving as they took. Voices whispering, crooning, moaning, crying out. The indulgent luxury of flesh on flesh; his strong body wrapped around hers. An overload of sensual gratification sweeping them both away in a frenzy of hedonistic rapture. Michael's face... no, MULDER'S face staring down at her, breathing hard, smiling, proclaiming his undying love. The same covenant coming from her own lips and heart as they continued their erotic choreography deep into the night... Later that morning when he came to her as promised, she found herself blushing a bit when she saw him; thinking about that incredible dream, and how they had been together. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously as he plopped himself down beside her on the couch. She couldn't tell him, not yet. "Nothing." "Doesn't look like nothing to me." He brushed a finger over the pink on her cheek. Ignoring his question about her rosy color, she forged ahead with what she wanted to say. "There IS something I need to tell you, but I'm fairly certain it's not going to please you." "Well, why don't you let me be the judge of that?" "You aren't Michael Foster. Your real name is Mulder. Fox Mulder." He tried unsuccessfully to choke back a laugh. "Fox?" "Well, I'm not positive on the first name, but it seems right anyhow." "So, you've been having more dreams." He couldn't hide his disappointment. Scully's face warmed all over again as an image from her night musings flashed in her mind, an image of Michael, or rather Mulder, naked and aroused, hovering over her as she opened herself for him, his hard length piercing her right through to her soul. "Yes," she whispered breathlessly, forgetting for just a second that it was only a memory that held her. "Our secret still, okay?" He was humoring her. Anger replaced the tumult that had momentarily affected her. "I'm not crazy! I AM Agent Dana Scully and you ARE Agent Fox Mulder and someone has taken away our memories and imprisoned us in this asylum!" He sighed, weary and frustrated, then tried his best to reason with her. "Say that were true, Sarah..." "Scully," she corrected him adamantly, determined to have it her way. "Whatever. Say it were true. Why would someone want to do that to us? And if they wanted to, how is it even possible?" "I don't know that yet. But I'm going to find out. First we have to get out of this place. I need your help, Mulder. You have keys, access to the outside... Will you help me escape? I want you to come with me to find out the truth about what happened to us." "No," he stately flatly. "I'm sorry, Sarah. You're not thinking straight. Maybe they need to adjust your medications." He responded to her fallen expression with an apologetic smile and the gentle brush of his thumb over the prominence of her collar bone. Scully shivered noticeably at the intimate gesture, though Michael was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to note the affect his touch had on her. "I won't be a part of anything that endangers your well being." "Damn it, Mulder." She closed her eyes briefly in frustration. "Please remember. Doesn't anything I've said ring a bell for you?" "No. I'm sorry. It doesn't." Scully wasn't sure what to do at that point. Admittedly, her story did sound like a wild fabrication - not unlikely behavior within the walls of an asylum. If he didn't remember, of course he would think the worst; that she'd slipped over the edge, that her supposed illness was taking its toll. She had to find a way to make him believe her. Somehow. Unfortunately, Scully knew, living up here on 'Floor Loon,' she wasn't in a position to engender much confidence in her credibility. It was an exasperating dilemma. They sat for a long time before Scully finally broke the uneasy silence between them. "You're not going to tell them any of this, are you?" "Of course not." He hesitated before answering, just long enough to worry her. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER FIVE ** Michael hung up the phone slowly, thoughtfully; and finished tying his sneakers. He had requested and been granted permission to leave the hospital long enough to take a jog around the inner perimeter of the grounds. Over four miles, if he ran along the fence - always more than enough for him, three times a week. He made it a point to ask for permission each time. The head of the hospital board, Dr. Hazlam, always let him go; admonishing Michael to not worry about asking each time, and just get the key and let himself out. Their trust in him extended that far, Michael thought, with some pride. It was a good feeling. But yet he still felt the need to ask - so he always did. He opened his door and locked it behind him; he'd have about an hour to get in a good run, before going upstairs to see Sarah again. Michael was determined to talk to her once more; to try and convince her to stop these imaginings of hers; that they were federal agents locked away in Keystone for some nefarious reason not yet known. If she didn't stop it, he was afraid she'd suffer serious consequences; she'd never get better, never leave the tenth floor. Never leave the hospital - the way he knew he would leave, someday when he was ready. And when that day came, Michael really wanted Sarah to be with him. Lately there had been an instinct, a brush of awareness when he was around her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He just knew that he cared deeply for her; needed her as a friend and confidant; wanted to take care of her. Beyond that, he wasn't sure what the future could possibly hold for them. And he was worried that they would never get the chance to know. Michael decided to check on Sarah again as soon as he got back from his run. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The second visit with Sarah had not gone very well. Michael flopped face-down across his bed and stared morosely into the muted greens and browns of the bedspread. She really was getting worse. He'd gone up to see her for the second time today, right after his shower. Had taken his dinner up with him, snagging a few extra goodies from the kitchen and offering them to her as they sat cross- legged in a corner of The Big Room. She had refused to eat; and Michael couldn't help but notice that she had lost weight. Since there wasn't much to her to begin with, the weight loss was particularly noticeable. And she was a bit shaky, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Oh, Sarah, he thought sadly. He'd put down his sandwich and reached out a hand to her, winding his fingers around her small palm, fingering the delicate bones. She hadn't said anything to reassure him - hadn't called him Michael once. As soon as he'd walked into the room, and sat down beside her in the corner... he'd become this 'Mulder' person, to her. Michael didn't know what to do. She was aware enough to tell he'd tried to humor her; it made her angry and she'd jumped up and glared down at him. "For the last time, Mulder... I'm NOT Sarah! God, what do I have to do to make you understand!" She paced in front of him; Michael stared up at her, worry marking his face. A few of the other patients looked over their way, when Sarah raised her voice; Nurse Frey, manning the front desk, also looked up; her eyes narrowed, as she took in Sarah's agitation and Michael's attempts to calm her. He found himself suddenly alarmed at the possibility that the nurse had overheard Sarah - Michael didn't want to give the woman any ammunition against her. He'd risen, standing in front of his friend, attempting to get her to sit back down and eat the rest of her dinner. She'd pushed him away, and her eyes held his, glittering with tears; she'd whispered to him and her voice had a desolate sound to it which broke his heart. "I'm Dana Scully, and you're my partner, Fox Mulder. We have a life outside of this goddamned hell-hole; a real life. I don't know what that life entails, but I want to get back to it; I want it so badly - and I'm going to get there, one way or another." She gave him one last glance from tear-filled eyes, before turning and walking away, escorted by Nurse Frey. Back to her room... this time the one leaving first. Michael stared after her, more afraid for her sanity than ever before... and curiously disturbed that she'd walked away from him. He found he didn't like it, not one little bit. He wished he knew why. The call came for him when he was just about to climb into bed; Dr. Hazlam's nurse, requesting his presence in the doctor's office. Michael glanced at the clock; almost midnight. Well, he wasn't surprised to find the doctor still up; Hazlam was very dedicated. Michael threw on some jeans and a shirt and headed up to the main offices. "Michael, I'm worried about Sarah. I would like to know your thoughts, on how she is doing." Dr. Hazlam came right to the point, which was one of the things Michael liked about him. Hazlam didn't pussyfoot around. Michael sighed and leaned forward in his chair; wondering how to word his reply in such a way as to protect Sarah, and still get her the help he knew she needed. Dr. Hazlam had the best interests of his patients in mind; Michael knew that. Still... Sarah was so paranoid about the man... "I'm worried about her too, Doctor. You know we've been friends for about a year. I want her to get off the tenth floor, but lately she's been more than a little delusional." Michael studied the doctor's face closely. He saw a concerned, thoughtful man who genuinely cared about his patients - enough to stay up late into the night trying to find the right path to take toward healing one of them. In that moment, although Michael was still worried about Sarah's attitude, and trying to keep an open mind - he decided Sarah needed all the help she could get. He took a deep breath, and met Hazlam's eyes dead-on. "Sarah seems to think she's really somebody by the name of Dana Scully..." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER SIX ** "Have a seat, Sarah." Dr. Hazlam ordered, peering up from behind his specs to scrutinize the patient being escorted into his office. His cold blue eyes looked Scully over so thoroughly that she felt the intimidation as a palpable presence surrounding her. Obediently, she sat in the chair before him, the orderly fading out of the room at the doctor's nod. "So, Sarah, you've been particularly subdued as of late," he remarked, indicating the chart that lay before him on the desk. Scully cleared her throat nervously, her hand reflexively moving to her neck out of habit, but she didn't know why. "I'm feeling a lot better, Dr. Hazlam." "Are you?" Something behind his smile frightened her. "Yes." It was always a struggle to maintain her composure around this man, or his associate Dr. Kirr. The sight of either of them or just the mention of their names was enough to instill a kind of instinctual panic in her. "Well... Nurse Frey says you've become the model patient these days. That's quite a sudden change. Leaves me to wonder what's inducing this new behavior." "I think my medication is helping." Her voice sounded meek and small even to her own ears, but she couldn't maintain even the illusion of might in this man's presence. "Doesn't seem likely, Sarah, considering your past response to such treatment." He stood up and slowly, made his way around to the front of his desk, standing before Scully, towering above her with Godlike demeanor. She avoided looking into his eyes for fear he would be able to see her dishonesty. "I don't know what it is then," she told him, keeping her eyes focused downward; concentrating hard to keep her hands from nervously fidgeting. "I'm more inclined to believe that last round of ECT put you on the right path." Scully only shrugged in response. "I've scheduled another series of electro-convulsives for you. Six sessions to begin tomorrow morning." At that she sprang up from her chair. "No! Please! I'm feeling better, Dr. Hazlam. I haven't been giving anyone any trouble. Please!" "Sarah." He put a firm hand on her shoulder as he spoke. "These treatments aren't a punishment. And there's no reason to be afraid, you'll be adequately sedated." "Please don't do this to me again." She started to cry, clutching desperately at the doctor's starched white lab coat, trembling and frantic. "There's no need for it. I'm feeling good." "Who's the doctor here, Sarah?" "You, but..." "You WILL have the treatments as scheduled. There's no debate on the subject." Further pleading only caused the doctor to call in the orderly to escort Scully back to the Big Room. Her last remaining hope was getting hold of Mulder, and somehow convincing him to help her escape from Keystone tonight. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Nate slammed the basketball home; having stolen it from Michael with very little effort. The ball swished through the webbed net with barely a sound; Nate whooped and slapped Michael on the back, laughing at the bewildered expression on his face. Michael had given up the ball too easily, and Nate was crowing. "Oh, MAN! Too sweet - just took it from you, slicker than owl shit! Where's your mind at, Mike? Sure not on the game!" Nate tossed the ball into an equipment can just off the court, and grabbed a towel from his gym bag. Wiping at his sweaty face, Nate regarded his friend. Completely not here, he thought. Michael still stood as if rooted to the spot, staring up at the net, then glanced over at Nate in frustration. "How the hell did you do that? I had it! Mine - I didn't even see you coming!" Michael was still disbelieving. Nate laughed again, and offered him a water bottle, watching as Michael swigged deeply then wiped off his mouth. "You were on another planet, buddy - eyes glazed over, frozen in one spot - you didn't even try to block. What's up? Seriously, man - you know you can always talk to me if you have a problem..." Nate was sincere; Michael was his best friend. If there was something going on with him, something bad - Nate wanted to help. Michael shook his head wearily, and slouched down on a nearby bench. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "It's Sarah, Nate - she's got me so worried. She's been talking crazy for some time now, telling me she's someone else, trying to convince me that I am, too. I think she just wants off the tenth floor so badly that her delusions are increasing. Hell, who wouldn't want off that floor! I tried to tell her she has to play the game, with the docs and the nurses. She was doing so much better for a time - but I think she'd just found a way to sham the nurses." Nate nodded in understanding; he'd had his share of shamming, too. All the tenth floor patients did it - and the more successful of the shammers invariably made it off that floor and on to a saner one. Unless they couldn't hold their wad - as it appeared had happened to Sarah. "Ah, hell, Mike - that's too bad. She's such a sweet little thing. She doesn't belong up there, but that's where she'll stay, until Kirr and Hazlam decide to move her." Nate stood up and stretched, then grabbed his gym bag and towel. "Gotta go, Mike - Kimmie's waiting..." referring to his wife. "Listen, you keep me posted on Sarah, okay? Let me know if I can do anything to help." With a final wave, he slipped out the double doors, headed for the staff housing on the northern rim of the hospital grounds. Michael sat a few more moments, thinking hard. Sarah had asked to see him - Rose Keeler had given him the message. Never before had she just come right out and asked. He was surprised the doctors gave him permission to go up there on one of his off days; he usually just went to the tenth floor on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Rose had said there was an edge of panic in Sarah's voice; but Rose worried about her almost as much as Michael did - so maybe she'd just imagined the panic. He hoped it was imaginary... And rising from the bench, Michael collected his gear and left the court. He got halfway to his room before he spun on his heel and headed for the elevators, stashing his gym bag at Rose's station. He suddenly felt an urgency, to see her and affirm that everything was all right. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Scully paced the floor of The Big Room, worried that Mulder had not been given her message. She'd asked to see him over three hours ago, surprised that her request had actually been considered, and too desperate to weigh any possible repercussions. As the minutes ticked away, Scully felt certain he wasn't going to show, and her anxiety grew. The shock therapy would surely take away what little memories she'd managed to piece together. The thought of undergoing any more of those barbaric procedures was frightening enough in its own right; but coupled with the possibility of losing her identity again and potentially forever, Scully was terrified beyond reason. It was nearly nine o'clock. If Mulder didn't come to her soon, it would be lights out time and he wouldn't be allowed to see her anymore that night. Her ECT was scheduled for first thing in the morning. It was now or never. Tomorrow would be too late. Once again she found herself nervously reaching to her neck out of habit. But this time when she made note of her compulsion, Scully's mind offered an answer to the riddle; it came in the form of a tiny gold cross. Her necklace! That's what she'd been missing all this time. And the recollection of that necklace triggered an avalanche of memories; of her mother, and her sister, and Emily... and Mulder... All these wonderful remembrances fitting into place upon the single image of that cross. These memories brought forth a wave of emotions that washed over her, and she struggled to ride it out without being swept away. She was starting to understand so much now. With each passing day Scully was able to access more of the secrets that had been locked inside her previously sedated mind. But were these discoveries only to be lost again a few short hours from now? The cruelty of such an injustice infuriated her, as it frightened her even more. She jumped when she felt a hand touch her shoulder from behind; relieved when she turned to find Mulder standing there. He was a little out of breath and his hair was damp, his T-shirt wet with sweat. "I just got your message that you wanted to see me. Sorry I wasn't here sooner but it's Friday and we always play basketball... Since it was almost lights out, I didn't take the time to get cleaned up, sorry - I'm kinda stinky." Scully let herself fall into Mulder's arms, needing his strength, having to tell him so much, and knowing that she only had a few minutes' time to persuade him. The tears came, as they had so easily and so often since she'd been a prisoner of this place. "Sarah, shh... It's okay. Honey, what's wrong? Jeez, you're shaking like a leaf." Puzzled, he nevertheless held her close and tried to offer comfort for something he didn't yet understand. She looked up at him, shimmering blue eyes beseeching. "You have to help me... You're the only one who can." "What? What's wrong?" "They're going to shock me again tomorrow. First thing in the morning. You have to help me get out of here, tonight," she whispered close to his ear - standing on her tiptoes to reach. He took her frightened face tenderly in his hands, holding her gaze as he tried to soothe her. "Sarah, it's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you. Dr. Hazlam only wants to help, to make the nightmares go away." Scully's mouth dropped open aghast. "Oh God! Mulder you didn't tell him... please tell me you didn't... please!" Apologizing with his eyes, he hastened to explain what seemed a betrayal of her confidence. "Dr. Hazlam called me into his office late last night to ask about you. We talked a little. I only wanted to help you, Sarah. Your schizophrenia is getting worse... all this nonsense about the FBI... you're losing touch with reality. I was afraid for you." She broke away from him, holding her head in disbelief. "Mulder, God! You don't know what you've done." "Sarah, I'm Michael," he said with exaggerated patience. He was regarding her as if she'd completely lost touch with reality - treating her like the others did - as if he truly believed her to be insane. Maybe she was, and too far lost inside her own psychosis to know any better. She felt sick at her stomach at the thought. This man, Mulder - Michael - whoever he was, seemed so reasonable and rational and calm. While she ranted on about her paranoid theories, talking of a sinister conspiracy and men stealing her memories... Imagining another life, another identity; which incidentally only became clear to her when she stopped taking her medications. Was the fact that she was questioning herself, enough proof of her sanity? Didn't matter, she decided. Sane or not, she had to get away from Keystone, away from that horrible witch Nurse Frey, and that sadist Hazlam with his brutal medical practices. She nodded, acquiescing, hoping he would be more likely to help if she could play his game. "Michael, will you please help me get out of this place? Tonight. It has to be tonight." "It's going to be all right, Sarah. I promise you." He took her by the shoulders and placed a kiss lovingly upon her forehead. "If you like, I'll come see you tomorrow after your treatment." Even as she doubted herself, a part of her refused to let go of the belief that she was in danger. "Michael, I'm begging you... God, please, help me..." "I know you're scared. But believe me, Sarah. This is for your own good. You'll feel a whole lot better tomorrow after the therapy." No. She knew better. He wasn't Michael. And she wasn't Sarah. And even if tomorrow it would all be taken from her, she would hold on to the truth for as long as she could. Scully dropped her head against Mulder's chest. They had so thoroughly brainwashed him, she didn't have a prayer of winning his help. And there was no way off the tenth floor without help. She felt like a condemned prisoner the night before her execution, helpless and afraid, with no way to escape the fate to which she had been sentenced. Knowing that she couldn't save herself, she turned to the only hope she had left; maybe she could save Mulder. Blinking away tears, she looked up at him, looking deep into his hazel eyes, trying to make him understand. "You are Fox Mulder." She spoke the words slowly and succinctly to emphasize their importance. "You're an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Someday maybe you'll remember. When and if that happens, trust no one with your secret. I wish I could do more to help you, Mulder, but I can't even help myself." They were already calling for lights out. Scully could see her escort coming for her. So little time to say good-bye. She pulled herself up on her toes again and pressed her lips to Mulder's, tasting the salt from his workout along with the peppermint gum he habitually chewed. "Remember me," she whispered as they pulled her away, his bewildered expression drawing a sad smile from her as she left him standing there alone. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER SEVEN ** AMC was playing "Snake Pit" - Jesus. He sat for a few minutes, watching the flickering black and white screen, as Olivia DeHavilland was dragged by her flailing arms, screaming in terror; dragged by two hard-faced hospital orderlies, over to what appeared to be a metal table fitted with restraints and wires. Shock treatment... he shuddered and snapped off the TV, shutting out the disturbing imagery. Then sat on his bed and wondered if that level of terror was as real to Sarah, as it had been to the actress on the screen. He'd had shock treatment; the baths. It hadn't been so awful - and it had gone a long way toward helping him. He knew that traditional electro-shock therapy was a thing of the past; replaced by much- improved medication, and milder treatment such as the hot and cold baths. He also knew that Sarah was terrified of it. And if that terror was real, to her - then it was real, period. He would never denigrate her fears. He lay back on the bed, and crossed his arms behind his head. Thinking about her last, whispered words. "Remember me..." And the kiss. Her lips, so soft and sweet - and... familiar; somehow familiar. Why would her mouth be familiar to him? They had never kissed. Maybe she'd reminded him of a past girlfriend... no, that wasn't it, he thought. He'd never had a girlfriend who was anything like Sarah; that he knew as surely as anything. He would have remembered someone like her, even if there were gaps in his past, and in his memory. Would have recalled that sweet mouth, rosebud-pink and just as prettily curved. He could never forget anyone like her, he was certain. She was so scared - and he had only added to it. Had made her feel as if she was alone against a multitude of enemies, even though they all wanted to help her. The doctors and nurses here - they wanted to make the patients better; help them to get back to their prior lives. These people gained nothing by imagined cruelty - Michael couldn't accept it. They'd all been great to him; had really saved him. Every day he awoke with the assurance that he was healing, getting stronger. And now he was actually on the payroll, so to speak; was earning a small weekly wage. It wasn't a great deal of money, but he saved most of it. He never had to buy much of anything; almost everything he needed was given to him at Keystone. He'd give anything to see Sarah healing half so well, and he didn't know what to do to help her. She wouldn't give up on this wild fantasy life she had created for herself, and tried to impress upon him as being real. A part of him hated having to betray her, but he'd been so concerned, thinking she'd never get better, never leave the tenth floor. And as long as she was trapped in that mire of madness, she'd never improve. The tenth floor ward was for those who were mostly beyond any sort of medical or emotional help. Sarah wasn't like that - Michael refused to believe she'd sunk that low. He wouldn't let her fall so far; even if it meant hurting her in the process; losing her trust. He had to do what he felt was best for her; same as their doctors. Michael sighed, heart heavy with sadness; he had a feeling he'd lost much more than her trust. Perhaps someday she'd forgive him for betraying her. He sure hoped so. And as he readied himself for bed, he decided to bring her some ice cream in the morning, right after her treatment. She loved pistachio ice cream - maybe a big dish of it, topped with cherries. She'd feel better tomorrow - he was sure of it. Michael turned down his bed, absently chewing at his bottom lip. He hadn't eaten much of his dinner, and he was suddenly dying for something crunchy. Maybe some peanuts... the cashews he'd eaten a few nights ago had done nothing for him. He put his shoes back on and headed out the door and down the corridor to the rec room. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx She tried to scream but couldn't. In the darkness she could barely make out the form of a man hulking over her, his hand pressed firmly over her mouth to stop her from calling out for help. For just a moment Scully forgot she wasn't tied to the bed, that hesitation gave her aggressor the advantage. Lucky for her, his intentions were not malicious. "Shh..." The face leaned in closer where her wide eyes could finally see. Mulder! Thank God! As soon as he felt her body relax, his hand moved away from her mouth. "I didn't mean to scare you, Sarah," he whispered. "I came here to help you." "You're going to help me escape?" Did she dare hope? He nodded and she threw her arms around his neck in thanks. He hugged back with more enthusiasm than he ever had before. "What changed your mind?" she asked as they separated. "I was on my way back from the rec room, just a little while ago - and I overheard what Dr. Hazlam was planning to do to you tomorrow. He was talking on the phone to somebody; I don't know who. But what he said made my blood run cold... and even though I don't believe this wild story you've imagined about us, I couldn't let him..." He stopped, the words too difficult to say. "What?" she demanded. "What was he going to do to me?" "A lobotomy." Her face paled at the dreaded word, and she sat up in her bed in shock. "Oh, God!" she whispered horrified. "You see? I told you. I was right, Mulder. They'll do anything to stop me from remembering the truth." "Sarah, I don't know what to believe. This story of yours is so fantastic, but clearly Dr. Hazlam has evil intent. Lobotomies are against the law; have been for many, many years. I'm willing to help you get away from here, because I care about you and I don't want to see harm come to you. I still think you need to be treated for your illness, but Keystone obviously isn't the place." "I'm not crazy, Mulder. Much as it would seem. I can give you the proof that will make you believe." Those words curiously made her smile. She wished she'd gotten the joke, but there was no time to reflect on it now. "I've got a little bit of cash; it won't get us far, but at least we won't starve." He helped her out of the bed. "I don't know what we're going to do for clothes for you. Looks like we're just going to have to play this thing by ear." "We'll be all right, Mulder. As long as we're together, I know we'll be fine." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER EIGHT ** Under cover of a moonless, cloudy night sky, they made their escape. It had been touch and go; Michael was still amazed they had managed to get beyond the first set of gates. He owed Nate a hell of a lot, he decided. It had been pure luck that he'd even seen Nate. Usually in the evening, once Nate locked up the dispensary and the night guard took over, he went home to Kimmie and that was it. Since they'd started trying to get Kimmie pregnant, Nate was in the habit of unplugging his phone. But tonight, Kimmie was sick - stomach flu - and Nate had gone over to the main building to get a prescription from Rose Keeler, who had pulled night duty. On his way back from the nurses' station Nate had made a spur-of-the-moment decision to visit Michael; still worried about him from earlier in the evening. He could spare five minutes; Kimmie was sleeping anyway, and would have to be awakened to take her pills. Nate moved quietly down the dark, silent corridor, stepped up to Michael's door and knocked. The door opened, a tiny crack; one of Michael's eyes peered out, widened in surprise, and then the door flew open and Nate found himself jerked into the room and the door shut and locked behind him. His sputtered, "Mike, what the -" dropped off into a small gasp - as he saw who was huddled on Michael's bed. Sarah... Nate turned to his friend and demanded, "Are you NUTS, man? What's she doing off the tenth floor?! How the hell did you get her down here?" Michael smiled wanly, and pushed Nate into the only armchair in the room, then sat down on the bed next to Sarah and pulled her shivering body into his arms. "I smuggled her down the back utility stairs. No one ever uses them, especially late at night. Nate, Sarah's in danger here. I have to get her out of here tonight." In a low voice he told Nate what he'd overheard, earlier that evening. When the word 'lobotomy' hit the air between them, Sarah visibly shuddered, and moaned in distress. Nate's jaw dropped open. "But that procedure has been outlawed for years! What the hell's going on? Sarah?" She started at the sound of her name, and looked at Nate, at his concerned, dear face - and found herself repeating the tale she'd been telling Michael. Nate listened, incredulous at first, but slowly nodding as she came to a halting stop. He looked at Michael, absently noticing for the first time how tenderly his pal was holding Sarah; the loving glances he sent her way - glances, which spoke volumes. Nate betted that Michael didn't even know he was doing it. Nate found himself forming a tiny smile - these two were falling in love, right before his eyes. Just like he'd fallen for his Kimmie... He brought his attention back to his friend as Michael spoke. "I have got to get Sarah out, Nate - can you help us? I'm not saying I believe her story, of us being feds and locked in here for some nefarious reason - but the fact remains that somebody is trying to keep her quiet, by cutting into her head. You know what the procedure will take from her - she'll be little better than a zombie! I've been pacing for an hour, wondering how in hell to do it. "Can you unlock the rear doors for us, after the two o'clock security check? It's almost one-twenty... if we can just get to the main road, I know we can hitch a ride, or maybe take a bus. I've got some money saved; I know we'll be all right. Please, Nate - help us..." Michael implored his friend. Nate rubbed at his eyes tiredly, feeling a headache coming on fast. He stared at both of them, there on the bed; Sarah was leaning into Michael's shoulder, tears slipping down her face. Michael smoothed her hair with tender fingers, his own face tense. Nate sighed and stood up, walking over to the barred window and looking out over the gated, well-kept grounds. It was so dangerous - but so was leaving Sarah to the doctors' sadistic devices. A lobotomy... God. Nate couldn't even begin to imagine it - and in that instant he'd made his decision. "You're right; she's got to leave here; get help someplace else. I can get you out the rear doors, even out the inner gates. But the outer gates are yours; I can't help you with them. I never use those gates; I don't have the code. I always go out the front gates, but you can't chance using those. They're too visible. We've got forty- five minutes. I don't have much cash; haven't had time to go to the bank in a couple of days. But what I have is yours." Michael started shaking his head, ready to refuse Nate's generosity; Nate cut him off with a brusque, "Shut up and accept it, jerk - you're gonna need it. I know how much a trustee gets paid in this place and it's pathetic. Now, is there anything else you need? Sarah? What about you?" Nate bent down and cupped her shoulder gently, to get her attention. Sarah looked up at him with teary, grateful eyes, and pressed the large hand on her shoulder. "Do you think I could borrow a few of Kimmie's clothes?" xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx They were approaching the outer gates. It was impossibly dark, and very difficult to see anything, but Michael knew the darkness was working for instead of against them. Also working for them was the antiquity of Keystone itself; although the buildings and main hospital had undergone substantial modernization, the grounds had not been updated very much. Outside security lighting was minimal; the double-gate system comprised the majority of grounds protection. Michael and Sarah did their best to avoid what security lights they encountered, and made it to the outer gates without incident. They were running out of time - in just four hours the AM nurses would begin their rounds, and Sarah's absence would be discovered. And when Michael failed to show up at the nurses' station at eight o'clock... "Sarah - we have to hurry, sweetheart; I have to get you over this gate..." Michael had reached the gate first, and watched as Sarah hurried toward him. Wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater, Michael's black windbreaker zipped up to her chin - Sarah blended well into the night. Nate had swiped Kimmie's jeans and shirt, a pair of socks and a pair of canvas sneakers. Everything had fit fairly well, except for the shoes, which were about a size too large. Sarah had dressed hurriedly, and had given Nate a huge hug and a smacking kiss on his chin, earning her a fierce return-hug from one red-faced Nate. Michael had hugged his friend and they'd slipped away, out the back entrance. They'd run at first, dodging all the lights and the main walkways. After awhile Sarah could not run any farther; it had been so long since she'd exercised with any regularity, and her body was run-down as well. Michael had really hoped to be off the main grounds way before now - but they couldn't move any faster. Now Michael hoisted Sarah on his shoulders, instructing her to grasp the top rail of the gate, and pull herself over. She reached up as far as she could, barely able to get a grip, straining hard, until she managed to coil a few fingers around the iron rail. Michael gave her one final boost, standing on his tiptoes, and she got a good handhold and pulled herself up and over the top. Michael followed close behind, so thankful that this gate had no barbed-wire or was electrified... although he would be willing to bet after this little escape, the hospital board would be coughing up the funds to fix that omission. They had been walking for almost an hour before they saw a motorist of any kind. Keystone was located in Belle Valley, Pennsylvania, just outside of Erie; to the southeast, in a remote section of the countryside. Michael did not like the idea of hitchhiking; these days it just wasn't safe. He'd heard of horrible things happening to hitchers. But he knew they didn't have much of a choice... and they had to find someone willing to take them south, before sunrise. Sarah was exhausted, too; barely able to keep one foot in front of the other. And they were hungry; neither one had thought to grab any food. So they walked Schrimper Road to Route 8, concentrating on their feet and where the road was leading to - Interstate 90 and the long journey to Virginia. Sarah's choice; she wanted to find her mother, insisting that she lived in Virginia, and that her name was Margaret Scully. Again, with the 'Scully' - Michael had sighed and had said nothing; at this time it was better to keep his own counsel. He knew Sarah was about at the end of her energy, and upsetting her further would do neither of them any good. The roar of a semi boomed behind them; Michael turned quickly and stuck out his thumb, hoping and yet dreading that the driver would stop. With one arm around Sarah, he thumbed frantically, knowing they needed this ride - and the truck slowed, pulled over and stopped. Michael hurried up to the cab, pulling Sarah along; the high door opened, and within the dim light of the cab they saw a large shadowed figure; heard a gruff voice bark at them, "You an' your Missus need a ride? Hop on in; I'm goin' as far as Nashville." Michael tugged Sarah forward, and helped her climb in the massive cab - and just as he lifted himself in after her, and settled on the seat, preparing to thank the trucker - an ungodly growling-screeching- howling-snapping sound, emanating from the back sleeping area of the cab, caused both of them to just about jump out of their skins. Sarah gasped, clutching at Michael in fright. The trucker cracked out one loud booming laugh, and locked the cab door, turning to his suddenly-uneasy passengers and remarking, "That's Clem; he's a mite hungry. Ain't been able to feed 'em yet. He's in a cage, little lady; can't hurt ya none." Michael slowly turned his head, and looked behind him; in the dimness of the back, he saw a large cage; and in the cage a large, smelly, furry creature with glowing eyes, ears spread out on either side. Rather like a badger, but it wasn't a badger - he knew what a badger sounded like and the noise this thing was making wasn't a badger. It sounded, and looked, more like a - Michael shook his head; no, it couldn't be a - wolverine? In Pennsylvania? He must have voiced it aloud. "Hell, yeah, Clem's a goddamn wolverine - brought him with me from Alaska. I'm a native Alaskan boy; born an' raised in Chicken. You heard of Chicken, Alaska?" He didn't wait for either of them to answer; he told them all about his hometown as he pulled away from the shoulder and edged back on to the roadway. "Well, now... about sixty years ago, some folks livin' out in the dry bush, right around Dennison Fork, decided they wanted their own lil' town. About ten of 'em got together an' built a post office, an' a dry-goods store, voted in a mayor and sat around tryin' to come up with a name for the place. Most of 'em wanted to call the place Ptarmigan; y'know that's our state bird... well, trouble was, nobody in the place knew how to spell Ptarmigan - so's they named it 'Chicken' instead. Guess they's smart enough to know how Chicken was spelled -" the trucker cracked out another ear-splitting hoot, enchanted with his own joke; the noise he made set off the hungry wolverine, who chimed into the general noise level with its own snarls, growls and howling... the truck barreled down Route 8 toward the I-90 interchange - and Michael held Sarah close to him, both of them wondering what in hell they had gotten themselves into... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER NINE ** "So where you folks headed?" the scruffy truck driver inquired when he'd finally finished with his colorful hometown tale. "Virginia," Scully answered, liking to hear herself say it. Home. They were heading home. Each time she thought about it the images became clearer in her mind. She had memories now of her mother's house, as well as her own apartment, which she was fairly certain was in Georgetown. Alexandria was important to her as well - she knew she'd spent a lot of time there too for some reason. And she was beginning to get mental pictures of a dark and cluttered office space... The bearded man frowned and chewed thoughtfully on a wad of tobacco tucked inside his bottom lip. "Well, I was gonna take 90 across to Cleveland then head down to Cincinnati on my way to Nashville, but bein' as I could use some company, I suppose I could reroute through Pittsburgh. That'll getcha headin' in the right direction, anyhow." He nodded, deciding for himself that this was the plan now. "Thanks," Mulder told him, stretching out his long legs and settling in more comfortably for the ride. "We appreciate it." The other man grabbed for a paper cup resting in the drink holder that hung on the driver side door and noisily spit into it. Then he replaced the cup and used the back of his flannel sleeve to wipe the remaining brown liquid from his lips. "No problem. Like I said - I could use the company. Clem's not much for conversation. By the way, name's Floyd - Floyd Usabelli." He tipped his cap, a beat up gimme proudly displaying a logo of a grizzly bear with the words Alaskan Independence Party emblazoned upon it. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Usabelli." Mulder nodded back. "Don't stand much on formality up where I come from. Floyd'll do. You two got names?" Scully and Mulder exchanged uncertain looks. Usabelli immediately jumped to his own conclusion. "Trouble with the law?" "No," Mulder said quickly. Too quickly. Floyd just grunted, suspicious. "I'm Dana and he's Fox," Scully put in, determined to leave behind not only Keystone, but their bogus identities as well. "Fox! You gotta be fuckin' kiddin'? I got a cousin by that name! Bet you get all kinda shit with a label like that. My cousin hates it. He's not gonna believe it when I tell him 'bout you." He hooted and shook his head in amazement. "Another Fox! What are the odds? What are the fuckin' odds?" Mulder just smiled politely and nodded. Then glared good-naturedly at Scully who was trying her best to hide an amused grin. They were almost to the Interstate when a couple of rabbits ran in front of the semi. Floyd immediately slammed on the breaks, nearly throwing his unsuspecting passengers into the dash in the process. "I don't think you hit... " Scully began, but stopped short when she saw Usabelli pull a shotgun out from behind his seat. She felt Mulder's grip tighten protectively around her shoulders. Without a word to either of them, Usabelli hoisted himself out of the cab and ran off in the dark into the field beside the road. "Mulder, I don't know about this guy." "Me neither, but he's the only ride there is at the moment. As soon as we get to a more populated area, Sarah, we'll hitch with someone else." He was right of course. They didn't have the luxury of choice. They were lucky to have a ride at all. Usabelli was friendly and accommodating; and the truck cabin, while it reeked of both man and beast, was at least warm and comfortable. It could be a lot worse, she decided. Floyd really wasn't much different than some of the patients at Keystone. Just then there was a loud gunshot, startling them both. Nope, not much different - except for the fact that he was armed. Scully sighed and shook her head. She was very tired and more than a little apprehensive about what lay ahead for them. At least they were away from Keystone. Anything was better than being imprisoned in that asylum... A few minutes later Floyd reappeared, a wide grin on his hairy face, carrying the lifeless body of a poor little bunny in one massive paw, his hunting rifle in the other. He lifted himself into the truck and Scully nearly climbed onto Mulder's lap to keep out of his way when the odiferous truck driver wrestled his heavy body around and clambered into the back of the cab, clutching the dead rabbit. There was more hissing and snapping, a few growls like they heard before, and then... the sickening sound of Clem the wolverine feasting on the unlucky little creature his keeper had killed for him. Scully groaned in disgust and Mulder pulled her closer, pressing one of her ears against his chest and covering the other with his hand so she wouldn't have to listen anymore. Floyd slid back into the driver's seat, replacing his gun where it would be handy for his next big game hunt. Then he shifted the still-running rig back into gear and they were off and rolling once again. "That'll hold 'em for a while," Floyd boasted as they hit the interchange. "He'll sleep like a baby soon as his belly's full up." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx She must have fallen asleep. When she awoke she felt a bit dizzy, and noticed a sickly sweet smell. Opening very heavy eyelids, Scully shifted in Mulder's arms and looked out the windshield. It was dawn. The morning sky was hazy pink... actually, the haze seemed to be coming from the inside of the truck's cabin. She inhaled deeply... and then it came to her. A distant memory from her college days. Pot. Someone was smoking pot. She sat up straighter, noticing that Mulder was sound asleep, then looked over at their trucker chauffeur who was at that moment heavily drawing on a thick marijuana cigarette. Seeing she was awake, he immediately offered to share. "Good for what ails ya." He held the smoking weed under her nose. Already feeling seriously lightheaded, Scully tried not to breathe in any more of the fumes from the burning hallucinogen than she could help. "No thanks," she told him politely, wondering if she dared to roll down the passenger window. He shrugged off her refusal, taking another hit and holding it for as long as he could. "I only smoke the stuff for medicinal purposes. It's legal up in Alaska, if the doc says ya need it. Me, I got terrible fibroids..." Scully shot him a dubious look, one brow skeptically raised in question. "Fibroids?" Unless this idiot had a uterus, what he professed was a medical impossibility. "Yeah. The missus and me both suffer with 'em somethin' awful. All this driving I been doin' lately ain't helpin' 'em none neither. My butt's been sorer n'hell since I left the Yukon." Biting her lip, Scully fought to hold back the fit of laughter that was trying hard to get out. Not only was this guy crazy, she was willing to bet his IQ wasn't much higher than his pet wolverine's. When Mulder started to stir beside her, Scully turned her attention his way, watching as he slowly woke to the narcotic vapors as she had. He sniffed the air a few times and then his eyes snapped open wide. She couldn't help the snort of laughter at his expression. Trouble was, once she started laughing she couldn't stop herself. She kept thinking about Floyd and his 'fibroids' - and it had really been far too long since she'd had a good laugh. Mulder frowned at her strange behavior and shot an angry look at Floyd when he realized what was happening. "Jesus, man! You're going to get us all killed!" "Relax, Fox. I can handle my dope. Not to worry." "It's against the law, you know," Mulder tried. "Nope. Not for me. I got fibroids." He said it proudly. "What?" Mulder looked at the other man, perplexed. Scully was nearly on the floor, laughing so hard it hurt; she had to struggle for each breath she took in between her giggles and chortles. This only seemed to worry her partner more. "Sarah, you weren't doing that stuff with him, were you?" The only answer she could manage was a shake of her head as she wiped at the tears in her eyes, body still convulsing with laughter. She could feel herself loosening, all over her body. Even her tongue... much looser. Hmmm - she decided she liked the feeling of freedom her laughter had afforded her. She laughed even harder when she noticed the narrowed stare of their driver. "What did you call her? I thought her name was Dana..." Usabelli eyed them both suspiciously. "Oh... ah..." Mulder fumbled, caught by his inadvertent slip. When Scully finally managed to catch her breath she decided to help out her partner by explaining the situation to Floyd. "Sarah is just a name he calls me. My real name is Dana. Dana Scully. I'm an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation." She indicated Mulder. "He's my partner, Agent Fox Mulder." "You're a couple of goddamn Feds!" Usabelli roared indignantly. His sudden rage frightened Scully and she quickly sobered. "I gave a ride to a couple of fuckin' FBI spooks!" He crushed out his joint in the ashtray and then reached under the seat between his legs for something. A second later Mulder and Scully were staring down the barrel of a Smith and Wesson .45. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TEN ** It was at that moment that Michael knew they were in serious trouble. The huge truck was weaving all over the nearly-deserted interstate (thank heaven for small favors, he thought inanely); Floyd still had his foot mashed on the pedal which meant they were flying low - his erratic driving had awoken Clem, whose instant snarls and growls indicated he was still hungry, and pissed at being jostled awake - and Sarah was beginning to hyperventilate. Wonderful, Michael thought to himself, as he alternated between trying to persuade Sarah to put her head down between her knees and avoid breathing in any more lingering pot fumes, and trying to reason with Floyd, who was screaming a medley of obscenities and threats into their poor ears. "Jesus H. shithead Christ! I can't believe this! Feds! In MY truck! You sons-a-bitches are the reason I hadda go back on the goddamn road! I was doin' just fine; had my cabin an' my dividend check an' the missus an' me were gonna make us a baby or two... then some shit-fer-brains Feds in Washington decided they hadda get a piece of the action up in Alaska... made the goddamn local pukes jack up the residency rules fer claimin' our fuckin' dividend! I lost out on three years of money 'cause I left the state for eight goddamn months!" Floyd was beside himself with fury. "I hadda prove residency all over again when I got home! My wife was so pissin' mad, all her hair fell out! You got any idea what it's like to hafta screw a goddamn bald broad? I couldn't even get it up nearly enough to get the bitch planted!" Michael surreptitiously wiped some of Floyd's spittle from his cheek, and tried to reason with the furious man - without laughing himself silly in the process... "Floyd, listen - just calm down! I feel for you and your wife, I really do -" Floyd's screech of outrage withered his attempt at empathy. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE! YOU DON'T KNOW JACK SHIT ABOUT NOTHING! Hell, you got a woman with hair, dontcha? Jesus Mary Clyde... between the Feds nosin' around in our shit an' me losin' my dividend rights, we hadda sell our cabin an' move in with Dotty's nut-case mother! Now THERE'S a day at the fuckin' beach... another bald broad. No wonder her dad offed hisself years ago!" Sarah began to sob, and Michael was helpless to do any more than just hold her tightly and soothe shaky hands over her back and shoulders. "Floyd... look, you're scaring Sarah, er... Dana. Couldn't you just either slow down a little, or maybe stop for a while, walk around; you know, cool off a little? Don't you think that's a good idea?" No sooner had the words left his mouth, than Floyd began pumping on the brakes, slowing the truck enough to take the next exit at Butler. Though the massive rig slowed a lot, it still took the exit lane much too fast; sending Michael, Sarah and Floyd squidging into the passenger side door - the enraged Clem spitting and screaming when his fat, furry body hit the walls of his cage as it rolled around in the rear of the cab. Michael hit the door with an audible "Oomph!" - still holding onto Sarah, who found herself wearing Floyd and his Smith & Wesson.45... The truck finally came to a stuttering stop; Floyd wrenched open his door and was out and moving around to the passenger side before Michael could pry the door handle out of his right hip... the enraged trucker could move damn fast for such a large man. "Awright... get the fuck out! You wanna 'walk around'? 'Cool off'? Fine! Let's take a goddamn walk!" Floyd aimed the gun at Michael's head, watching them both like a hawk as first Michael, then Sarah hesitantly climbed down out of the cab. Michael immediately put Sarah behind him; she clutched at the back of his jacket and tried to make herself as small as possible. In the early-morning light, Floyd looked menacing and very dangerous - clearly stoned, borderline insane - unbalanced as anyone they'd seen at Keystone. Michael was used to abhorrent behavior; he'd had a year to grow accustomed to it, and to learn how to deal with it, at the hospital. But he'd never come across anyone quite like Floyd Usabelli, whose eccentricities went way beyond 'odd', and slid right into 'out there'. And never had Michael dealt with a 'Mr. Instability', holding a lethal weapon. His foremost thought was protecting Sarah at all costs. He decided to try talking reasonably to the deranged trucker. "Floyd, will you just listen! Sarah and I are NOT Feds! Sarah gets a little carried away when she falls under the influence, and you've gotta admit, blowing weed in her face would be enough for a small woman like her to become stoned... she has this thing for secret agents, like James Bond and Simon Templar; you know Simon Templar, "The Saint"? Roger Moore... you know he had a weekly TV show and had all these adventures each week and he always got the girl..." Michael was babbling and he knew it. Next to him, Floyd still held the gun steady, and was staring at him with his mouth open in confusion. Behind him, Sarah was trying to shush him, whispering frantically, "Knock it off, Mulder, he'll kill us..." At the sound of her voice and the word 'Mulder', Floyd got un-confused in a hurry, and his sudden shout of impatience overrode Michael's flustered ramblings. "JUST SHUT UP! FUCKDAMN! I ain't never heard anything so retarded in all my born days! You goddamn Feds'll say anything to keep from gettin blown away, wontcha? SHIT! I oughta just let ole' Clem loose on the both a ya! Worthless damn government shitheads! You cost me four thousand bucks! That's how much I lost when I came back home an' found out I hadda re-register for my own money! And you dumb shits wonder why Alaska wants to get the hell outta the Union!" He jabbed a grimy finger at the emblem on his equally-grimy cap, and snapped at them, "See that, Asshole? Independence! That's what it's all about! Independence to have the money sittin' in goddamn Juneau, waitin' for us to come and get it! Hell, we got plenty of good common folk, be glad to strap on a gun or two and become an army! We can teach our fuckin' rug rats at home... don't need no stinkin' schools! You know what I say to those fuckin' legislators, when they come up from the pissin' capital to spout their damn propaganda at us? I say, "FUCK YOU ASSHOLES AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON! I'd like to shoot the shit outta you! All a you..." And then he pointed the barrel of the gun... right at Sarah's head... and cocked it. And Michael suddenly saw splintering red behind the explosion of sensory overload in his head - as the gun aimed itself at Sarah - no, aimed itself at... his partner shit not again they were trying to take her from him yet AGAIN! He couldn't let that happen - not again - couldn't almost lose her again - not another bullet not another wound no more hurt no more! He found himself moaning, low and angry, deep in his throat; saw as if from a distance the momentum his booted foot gained, as it flew up and level, and the spin he put on his body propelled that foot forward and caught Floyd neatly underneath his flabby, bearded chin... sending the big man to his knees in agony, the damage done to his neck and larynx instantaneous and immensely painful. Michael couldn't stop there, however - the enemy was still upright, could come back at them any second - she was still in danger had to keep her safe had to... he pulled back one hard fist and rammed it home; the satisfying 'crack!' to the man's cheek knocked his head back, snapping it hard. With a grunt of pain, he keeled over, face- down in the wet grass. Michael immediately turned to Sarah and wrapped her into a protective embrace, whispering to her brokenly, "Shh, it's okay, he's gone he can't hurt us it's okay, Scully..." And Sarah wound her arms about his waist and just hung on. Amidst the engine noise of a still-running semi, a furiously pissed off wolverine snarling in the distance... they held each other and whispered reassurances, low and soft, into each other's heart. After a few minutes, each much calmer - silently they turned to gather up their jackets from the cab of the semi, preparing to make their way back on the road. Fortunately (or not, depending upon how one would accept such news), as Michael was reaching into the cab for their jackets, he heard the CB radio squawking; he paused, and listened. And what he heard sent a chill through him. Hurriedly he grabbed his duffel bag and their jackets, ignoring Clem; climbed down out of the cab and ran back around the truck to Sarah, waiting by the passenger door and looking a bit dazed; tucking her shirt down into her jeans. He threw her jacket over her shoulders and urged, "Sarah, we have to get out of here, fast! There's a road block on the interstate; I just heard it on the CB. Another trucker was warning his buddies... about the state police looking for two dangerous, escaped mental patients. US, Sarah - they're looking for us. Luckily the road block is behind us, but still we have to get a move on." He brushed her hair back out of her sweet face; Sarah stared up at him with damp eyes, and nodded wearily. By mutual, silent consent, realizing they were too close to the turnpike - knowing their safest bet would be the back roads - they turned toward Butler County Road. And so they began their day of walking, and hitching - together. It would be much later in the day before Michael would discover two things: that he did not remember calling Sarah 'Scully' - and he did not recall how on earth he knew to defend himself using tried-and- true FBI self-defense moves. It also would never occur to him that Sarah would actually take Floyd's gun... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER ELEVEN ** "You DID, Mulder. You called me Scully." They sat in a booth in a tiny roadside cafe eating breakfast and arguing over their early morning skirmish with the deranged truck driver. "Sarah, IF I did, it was simply a slip of the tongue. I was confused... between that charade you had us playing, and breathing in all the secondhand smoke from Jerry Garcia the trucker... not to mention having a gun in our faces! It was an honest mistake, that's all it was." He stuffed a few more bites of hashbrowns into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of coffee. Scully worked on her strawberry waffle, savoring the sweet berries and rich whipped cream. It had been a long time since she'd indulged in anything this sinfully delicious. "Mulder, you took Usabelli out like a pro. Are you going to tell me they taught you moves like that in accounting school?" "I thought he was going to kill you. I reacted." He shrugged. "Got lucky. Don't make more of it than that." She sighed, picking up her coffee cup and cradling it in her hands as she regarded him. "Why do you refuse to see the obvious?" "Because what you're saying is ridiculous." He laughed at the thought of it as he spread more grape jelly on his sourdough toast. "I'm not an FBI agent, Sarah. And neither are you." He bit into the bread, then spoke as he chewed. "Just because I'm here with you doesn't mean I'm buying into this fantasy of yours." She swallowed some of the hot coffee before setting the mug back on the table. "Then why did Dr. Hazlam want to stop me from remembering? What was he afraid of?" "I don't know." Mulder rubbed his temples and grimaced. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a bottle of pills. Scully's reaction was immediate. "Mulder, no! Don't take those anymore. You need to get the drugs out of your system so you can remember too. It wasn't until I stopped my medications that my memories really started to come back to me." "Damn it, I knew you were scamming! No wonder your schizophrenia is worse." He shook his head and sighed. "Sarah, the medications were helping you." "No," she insisted, reaching across the table, closing her small hand over his larger one and the bottle of pills he held. "They were KEEPING me from remembering who I really am." "Secret Agent Dana Scully?" he said derisively, rolling his eyes. "SPECIAL Agent Dana Scully," she corrected him, frowning at his sarcasm. She pulled her hand back and took another bite of her breakfast, trying not to be too angry with him for continuing to doubt her. Mulder shook his head. "What was I thinking? I should have reported Hazlam to the state medical board. Taking you out of Keystone was a big mistake. You need help, Sarah. You need your medications. I'm just feeding your psychosis by helping you escape..." He put the pills back in his pocket unopened and returned his attention to his plate. "If I had any good sense I'd go to the nearest pay phone and turn us both in." She almost choked on her coffee. "God, Mulder, don't do that! Promise me you won't." He didn't look at her, just toyed with the scrambled eggs in his dish. "It's the right thing to do." "They'd never take your word over Hazlam's. You may be a trustee, but you're still a patient - a crazy. You start spouting off about the head of the hospital lobotomizing patients and see how fast they put you up on 'Floor Loon' and pump you full of sedatives." Scully caught his eye and held it. "We can't go back, Mulder... I WON'T go back." He looked out the window to avoid her gaze, then nodded at the two police cars that were pulling into the diner's parking lot. "We may not have a choice." Scully's face paled. She quickly slid out of the booth and grabbed Mulder's hand. "Come on, partner, we've gotta get out of here fast." Mulder stood and snatched up his bag. "Sarah, wait a sec, I have to pay for the food..." he complained as she frantically pulled him toward the back of the restaurant. She ignored his protests; the Bureau could reimburse the owner of this establishment once she and Mulder got back to DC and straightened everything out. There was a fire exit sign back by the restrooms. Scully figured they'd have to run once the alarm was triggered, but there was a wooded area behind the diner that would provide cover while they made their escape. When they rounded the corner by the ladies room, she was overjoyed to discover that The Creekside Cafe hadn't bothered with such an extravagance as an emergency exit alarm. They slipped out quietly, before the cops caught a glimpse of the petite redhead and her tall, dark and handsome companion. "Maybe they weren't looking for us," Mulder said hopefully as she led him deeper into the forest. The road they'd been traveling along seemed to be paralleling this creek for the most part. Scully thought it safest after their close call to stay out of view as much as possible; so they followed the creek itself now, rather than the highway. From time to time they would lose sight of the road, but the meandering stream always wound its way back at various points along the way. "They may have found Floyd by now; and if they did it's a sure bet they know we're headed for Virginia," Scully huffed as she climbed over a fallen tree that blocked her path. "We'll be in big trouble once they find him." "We were only defending ourselves," Mulder argued as he followed close behind her. "That's not what I mean." She stopped and turned to him. She had to tell him. He may not believe her story yet, but he needed to know the seriousness of their situation. "We'll be considered armed and dangerous now, Mulder." She reached behind her back and lifted the gun she'd taken from Usabelli out of the waistband of her jeans. For several seconds his mouth hung open as he stared at the deadly weapon in her tiny hand. "Jesus! Sarah, are you out of your mind!" He combed his fingers though his hair nervously. "That seems to be the consensus anyway," she quipped with a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not laughing." Hands resting on his hips, he glared at her crossly. "What the hell were you thinking stealing that man's gun?" "I was thinking we might need it." She tucked the weapon behind her back again for safekeeping. "What - you're going to shoot at the police now?" "Mulder, the police are the least of our worries. Whoever is responsible for doing this to us, for putting us in that asylum; the person you overheard Dr. Hazlam talking with on the phone... THAT'S who we need to be afraid of." He sat down on the fallen tree trunk looking very weary and frustrated, and Scully thought - a little guilty too. "Nobody did anything to me. I was in Keystone because I tried to kill myself... several times in fact." He looked at her standing there before him and confessed his shame. "No one's conspiring against me. I'm my own worst enemy, Sarah." Scully couldn't help herself. That defeated look in his eyes drew her in. Her heart ached for him, knowing how real her own implanted memories still felt sometimes. She went to him. Standing between his legs as he rested on the mossy log; she placed her palms against his chest as she spoke. "No, Mulder. They put that in your head. Please, trust me." She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes for a minute and remembering... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWELVE ** She had a gun shoved into the back of her - no, Kimmie's - loose- fitting jeans. God. Michael was having a hard enough time wrapping his mind around that fact... and it wasn't a small pistol, either. The day had taken on a surreal quality that made him half expect to see Dali-ish clocks melting down over the sides of trees, or perhaps the roofs of nearby houses. He shook his head, rejecting his silly thoughts, and found himself a bit startled when Sarah's cool forehead pressed against his as she stood between his legs with her small, warm hands resting on his chest. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to experience the pleasure of having her so near. Something about the feel of her, in just this position, her brow touching his... so maddeningly familiar. He couldn't fathom why; it was the strangest thing. Everything about her, so suddenly; after knowing her, being her friend for a year - and now these feelings were swamping his senses and he didn't know why. It was Sarah, just Sarah, for God's sake - and yet he felt as though they'd stood brow to brow more than once before; her hand would have been curled around the back of his neck, though; little fingers tunneling under the cotton of his collar, to rest against his bare skin. Neatly trimmed nails, scoring him lovingly... Wait a damn minute. 'Lovingly?' Where the hell did THAT come from? Michael could feel his head begin to throb and pound. He needed his pills... but just as he thought to move his hand to his jacket pocket and retrieve them, he felt Sarah slip her fingers from his shoulder, up along his collarbone to his face, cupping his cheek gently before laying a cool palm against his forehead and massaging gently. Michael sighed, and leaned into her hand, feeling that oddness of familiarity, once again. Her touch was so healing; he let her minister to him, grateful that she knew where he needed pressure applied. And the pain was dissipating quickly, far more quickly than the last time she rubbed his - Shit. Again; he'd done it again. What the hell was WRONG with him! There couldn't be any "again" between them, because there had never been anything to BEGIN with! Anger at the way his thoughts were straying, had him pull away from her with almost a rough jerk; feeling the throb start anew but determined to fight it. Leaning back on the log, as far away as he could without hurting her feelings, Michael met her puzzled expression with as much of a smile as he could muster. "Mulder? What's wrong? Your head... I thought I was helping. You can't take any pills, you know that..." Her soft worry faded in her throat, as he focused unsmilingly on her face. And he stood up abruptly, and his hands took her shoulders and set her aside so he could move from the cradle of her small form. He knew he had to explain. He really hoped as he did so, that he would be able to understand as well, for every instinct in his body was telling him to yank her back into his arms and never let her go... "Sarah... don't. Don't call me Mulder. Can't you see you still need some sort of professional help? We need to get you to a doctor; someone we can trust who can help you with your delusions. I can't get close... like that... with you. It's not fair to you. Not while you and I are still sick. I still suffer from depression, Sarah - I still feel suicidal, sometimes. Not to the point of no return, never that. But sometimes I feel the depression weighing me down like the burden of the world on my shoulders - and I know until I stop feeling that way I'll never be able to have any sort of relationship, with you." He had to make her understand the seriousness of their situation - far beyond these supposed 'troubles' of hers. "I have to protect you, Sarah - you have to let me do that for you. I'm not gonna deny that there's something there between us - I don't know why. But we need each other's friendship and trust, right now - and I need you to know who I am. Me - not some imaginary person you created as a way of coping. Please, Sarah - can't we drop this charade, and just concentrate on surviving?" He rubbed at his forehead again, trying to ease the ache that had come back with a vengeance. "Look, my head hurts... but I won't take any of the damn pills, if that worries you. I'll stay away from them, as long as I can. And I won't turn us in - or call anyone, I promise. For now, we'll play it your way. But you've got to give me that gun, Sarah -" Her violent shake of her head made him huff in impatience. "Sarah, you can't keep that huge thing shoved down your pants! At least put it in the pocket of your jacket, and keep it zipped and hidden." He pushed up the back of her shirt and retrieved the gun, slipping it into her jacket pocket and zipping it shut. Sarah smiled weakly up at him, and wiped at her damp face. "Thank you for letting me keep it, Mulder," - and his whispered correction of, "Michael, Sarah" - made her retort a saucy little, "Whatever," right back at him. Michael shook his head, exasperated and charmed by her. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her forward, past the edge of the forest and closer to the running stream which wound through the dense vegetation. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx They followed the stream for hours until they came to a public campground where they decided to rest for a little while and hopefully find a ride from one of the travelers passing through the day picnic area. It was late afternoon and Scully's stomach was starting to grumble, and she knew Mulder must be hungry too. At least there was a drinking fountain here where they could quench their thirst, and restroom facilities - even if they were only outhouses. The barest necessities were taken care of. Food would have to wait. They found a shady place down by the water and leaned against a large rock to rest their weary legs and aching feet. Neither of them said a word; Mulder rubbed at his throbbing temples and Scully stared at the beautiful scenery surrounding them, remembering other trips into the forest - as a child with her parents and brothers and sister, camping trips on summer vacation; and later in her life with Mulder, on bizarre cases that had haunted her as nightmares during her time at Keystone. A lot of the memories that had been coming back to her were not good ones, but she welcomed them all, holding on to each memento from her past as a treasured keepsake, embracing the good with the bad because it was all a part of the whole that constituted the truth - the truth she and Mulder needed to reclaim. A man and woman were swimming nearby in a place where the stream widened and pooled. Though the days had turned chilly with the onrushing fall weather, it would seem some folks were not bothered by the cold. Scully watched them frolic carelessly in the rippling water; and when the man turned Scully's way he flashed her a bright smile. He had shoulder length sandy blonde hair that he wore fashioned back in a ponytail. Scully guessed him to be in his late twenties. His companion who kept diving under the water to taunt him, popped up beside him; her short, jet black, pixie-style hair clinging to her head like a swimming cap. She wasn't wearing a suit. And Scully quickly guessed that neither was he. The woman and man talked amongst themselves for a moment and then she left him, wading out of the water without the slightest bit of modesty. Mulder had his eyes closed leaning back against the rock and missed the show. But when the woman grabbed up a beach towel off a nearby rock and wrapped herself in it and then came their way, his eyes flicked open. "Hey," she called to them. As she got closer, Scully could see she was very young, not much more than twenty-two or so; her shining makeup-less face pretty and honest-looking, dotted with freckles from too much sun. "I'm Zoe. You guys want to swim?" "I don't think so, Zoe. Thanks anyway," Mulder declined politely for them both. The young woman gave a quick look back and shook her head at her companion in the water. Then she returned her attention to her new acquaintances with an inquiring grin. "You two got names?" "I'm Dana, he's Mulder." Scully offered. She wasn't about to call him Fox again after the look he gave her last time, and she flatly refused to refer to him as Michael - that name being a part of the lie she was determined to leave behind. "Cool name - Mulder." Zoe's eyes lit when she looked at him. She nodded over her shoulder at the man still swimming in the creek. "That's Mic, my old man. He's a Pisces; can't drag him out of the water. I'm a Cancer, a moon child... my spirit belongs to the water too, but I'm like - not such a freak about it as he is." She giggled. "We were getting ready to head out, but then we saw you and we thought if you guys wanted to like - swim with us or whatever, we could hang here for awhile longer." "Sorry, we really can't. We're just resting for a few minutes and then we need to find a ride before it gets dark," Mulder told her. "We're on our way to Philly for the poetry festival. Mic is an awesome poet. That's how we met - three years ago in San Francisco at a coffee house in the Haight-Ashbury district. Mic was reading one of his sonnets and I felt like he was speaking only to me... you know? It was like - WOW! Went right to my heart... Anyway, I had just broken up with my 'sort of' boyfriend Chris - he was this surfer dude who was really good looking, but a serious drag; he just wanted to be platonic friends, so I like - split." She shrugged indifferently. "I mean, I'm into sex. He just didn't get it, ya know?" Scully nodded, noticing Zoe's pierced eyebrow and nose, then glancing down at the trio of butterflies she had tattooed above her right breast. Scully's hand moved to her back thoughtfully; she hadn't seen it in a very long time but suddenly she remembered it was there... a tattoo of her own. Along with that recollection came images of a man named Ed Jerse - Jesus, how many more of these skeletons were hidden in her mental closet? She shuddered to think. Zoe was still talking. "...So anyway, if you need a lift and you're heading east, we've got room in the bus - if you don't mind crashing on the bed while we drive." Just then Mic decided to join them, wading out of the water completely naked to pull on a pair of beat-up Levis he'd left laying on the shoreline. Scully couldn't help catching an eyeful. 'Poetry in motion - hoo boy,' she thought to herself as she let her eyes wander over the well-built man's tanned frame, glistening in the waning afternoon sunlight. It wasn't until he made eye contact with her and she felt herself blush, that Scully turned away and saw the look on Mulder's face. Uh oh. "We're not going to Philadelphia. But thanks for the offer." Mulder turned away from Scully's apologetic stare. "Bummer. It could have been fun. Me and Mic like to hang with new people. Where are you guys headed anyway?" "DC," Scully answered absently, worried that she'd upset Mulder. He was staring at the gold ring on Zoe's big toe with a petulant frown. "Hey, we could take you as far as Harrisburg." Mic approached them before Scully could decline. "You making new friends, baby?" He had a soft deep voice and dark brown soulful eyes, the kind that drew you in and held you captive. Scully found herself fascinated by his rugged good looks, despite her best efforts to appear disinterested for Mulder's sake. "Mickey, this is Dana and Mulder. They're looking for a ride to DC. I told them it would like - be okay to hitch with us to Harrisburg." "Excellent!" He offered Scully a hand up. And when she reluctantly accepted, he refused to let go until he had made a production of kissing her hand. "Dana, it's a pleasure. Such enchanting blue eyes..." He reached out and tucked a few stray hairs back into place behind her ear. "And the tresses of a Goddess - aflame like the sun itself... Dana, Goddess of the sun, with eyes that steal the hearts and souls of mortal men." Zoe laughed at the expression on Mulder's face. "He's always like that. It's his muse. He finds inspiration everywhere. You'll get used to it." "I doubt it," Mulder mumbled under his breath as he climbed to his feet. They hadn't accepted the ride, but Mic and Zoe seemed thrilled to have their company, and getting out of it gracefully didn't look like a possibility now. Mulder stepped in between Scully and Mic, slipping an arm around her shoulders in a clearly territorial gesture. Zoe had gathered up her clothes and was heading back along the trail that lead to the parking lot. Mic walked slower, showing Mulder and Scully the way. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Michael decided the day was shaping up to be nothing more than an extension of his pounding head. Bouncing along in the middle of a lumpy, unmade bed which smelled of coconut and pinenuts... The old, creaky VW van hit a pot-hole and the jarring thump sent him flying upwards, and then he landed on a rogue pinenut that had fallen onto the bed. Michael yanked it out from under his stomach and threw it over his shoulder. It hit Sarah on the back of her head, but she never felt a thing - she had fallen asleep. On her side, body rocking with each jerky motion of the van; Michael watched her, thinking how young she looked in her slumber. Sleep had a way of smoothing out all of life's little troubles, every one which usually trapped itself on the face, all-too-visible during the waking hours. Michael traced a gentle finger along the flush of her cheek - wondering for the umpteenth time why she brought out such fierce protectiveness in him, not to mention jealousy. He admitted it - he was jealous. He'd seen the way Mic had stared at her, and he'd also noted her response. She was a lovely, normal woman - maybe her health wasn't up to par, but her libido was doing just fine... and guys like Mic loved to take advantage. Michael wasn't about to let anything happen to her, either from a deranged doctor or an over- amorous retro-hippie. Michael's stomach rumbled, reminding him that all they'd had to eat was a handful of coconut chunks and a bowl of pinenuts. Mic and Zoe had scarfed the odd combination, claiming between bites of coconut, that both foods were natural aphrodisiacs. Zoe had exclaimed to Sarah, "You gotta keep the coconut very cold, and eat it while it's still dripping with milk. And the pinenuts are the best, man - you wouldn't believe the shot of hot Mic gets from eating them." She had grinned at Mic, who had leaned over the middle section of the van and kissed her passionately, his hands roaming possessively over her breasts. Sarah had blushed, but Michael noticed she didn't turn away from the intimate display. Michael had dropped the piece of coconut he'd been nibbling on, thinking the last thing he needed was a sexual stimulant. He was already semi-hard just from lying next to Sarah, in the close and humid confines of the van... To make matters worse, Zoe had spent much of their mealtime hand- feeding Mic pieces of coconut as he drove - and the way she sucked the sweet milky residue from her fingers was slowly driving Michael crazy. He closed his eyes against the sight of a pink, feminine tongue swirling around on slender fingers - suddenly finding himself focusing on the memory of Sarah's tongue, lapping at her fingers... lapping at his hot, rock-hard... Oh, shit. He was doing it again; seeing a past which had to be some kind of weird wishful thinking - because he knew Sarah had never touched him - or licked at him - anywhere on his body. And he sure wished he could understand why so many little things were falling into place, when he never knew of any place for them to fall, in regards to him. He was letting Sarah's psychosis get the better of him - that had to be it. She was so convincing in her determination. Between her continuous attempts to drag him into her fantasy world, and not taking his medication, it was no small wonder he'd been getting terribly confused about himself. His head was hurting again; maybe he should get some sleep. Michael stretched out alongside of Sarah, and let himself doze; let himself forget about the couple in the front seat who wanted to play with each other - and with them, if Zoe's amorous glances in his direction would be anything to go by. Michael was determined to ignore it; play dumb. He felt the rocking of the van cradle him in its moist warmth, and he slept. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTEEN ** She'd fallen asleep somewhere around Altoona only to wake up again and discover that they were no longer driving. It was dark and the old VW bus was parked; Mic and Zoe, gone from the front seats. Scully rolled over on the lumpy mattress and found herself face to face with a soundly sleeping Mulder. Apparently he'd been just as exhausted as she after not sleeping the night before, and the physical and emotional stresses of the last twenty-four hours. She watched him for a moment, his face half in shadow, half lit by the full moon as it shone through the badly curtained window. He still believed he was Michael... what if he never remembered the truth - what they'd meant to each other? NO. She wouldn't accept that! She'd find a way to make him see who they really were; that all of this had been done to them. That she was Scully not Sarah and he was Mulder not Michael and... and... what in the hell was that? Scully slowly lifted her head, sneaking a peek over her partner's quietly snoring body. Her eyes grew wide and she quickly ducked back behind him again before she could be seen. GOD! Zoe and Mic were doing it right there on the bed beside her and Mulder! She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the image of what she knew was happening only a few feet away, but it was useless. Between the amorous demonstrations they had been subjected to all afternoon, the debatable side-effects of the pinenuts, having Mulder's increasingly familiar body lying so close to her on the bed... and now THIS - trapped in a small space with two relative strangers doing the naked pretzel right beside them; Scully found herself getting very very... warm. She buried her face in Mulder's shirt to hide from it all, but the smell of him... damn! The musky scent of his skin, and the heady perfume of sex that was beginning to fill the van, pushed her further and further in the wrong direction. Her respiration increased and her pulse rate was quickly climbing as well. Sexual desire. It had reawakened within her only recently with that erotic dream she'd had about Mulder and her making love; coming to life again after lying dormant for months in her drug-ravaged mind. But now she remembered, and her body remembered too. And right now her body was showing her just how much it remembered what Mulder had always done to her. The way she'd felt whenever he got too close, or he'd touch her, or sometimes all it took was just the sound of his voice over the telephone tickling the inside of her ear. She wanted him. Wanted to feel their bodies joined together like Zoe and Mic were joined - one passionate jumble of flesh on flesh, tangled arms and legs, hungry mouths and exploring tongues... she bit down on her lip hard; trying to stop the groan that was threatening to come from a very naughty place deep inside of her. Scully realized too late that she'd been inadvertently digging her fingernails into Mulder's chest as she clutched at his shirt. He awoke with a grunt of complaint, looking down to find the source of his pain. Their eyes met. She hoped he couldn't see her flushed cheeks in the dimly lit van, but she doubted he'd miss her racing heart pressed into his side or her heavy breathing so close to his ear. Mic and Zoe's activities had increased dramatically and Mulder didn't even have to turn to know what was happening directly behind him. "Christ," he murmured, and Scully nodded her agreement with that sentiment. Mic and Zoe were not at all inconspicuous about their lovemaking. The noises increased along with the rhythmic rocking motion of the van, gradually becoming more and more frantic. "Oh, God! Yes! Right there, Mickey, right there..." Zoe wailed. Mic's voice was deep and threatening. "Gonna fuck you so hard, baby... Gonna fuck. You. So. Hard!" "Yes! Harder, ohhhhh... harder!" she begged him. Mulder was starting to sweat. And Scully could feel the growing bulge in his jeans as it pressed against her thigh. In the tight confines of the darkened van the groans and moans were becoming increasingly unbearable to listen to. The windows were steamed; the stifling air created by too many people breathing heavy and hot in such a small space. "Zoe... uhh... if I fuck you any... uh... harder, baby, I'll split you in two." A stirring flutter started in Scully's belly and worked its way downward, and she could feel the wetness making her uncomfortably slick inside her panties. She could smell her own arousal and she knew that meant Mulder could too. The sensual tension was excruciating. The bed shifted and jerked beneath them as their affectionate traveling companions continued to thrust into each other. Mulder's right leg accidentally moved, brushing Scully's achingly needy and highly responsive center, causing her hips to jerk in reflex into him. It was all she could do to keep herself from rubbing against him more, letting that sweet friction build and build until she became so overwrought with stimulation that the tension inside her would explode in blinding ecstasy. "Ohhh, Mickey... that's sooo good," Zoe cooed. Tears of frustration were stinging Scully's eyes. Mulder's taut sweaty body was beginning to shake. "Zoe, baby..." That deep voice vibrated through every bone in Scully's body. "...you're too much woman for one man to handle." There was a brief pause and then Mulder let out a gasp. And Scully looked up to find an expression of agony on his face as Zoe's hot wet tongue played in his ear. "Come on, Mulder," Zoe whispered seductively, and Scully watched her partner's eyes snap closed in distress. "Come and play with us. Zoe will make you feel soooooo fuckin' good." Mic's handsome face appeared next to Zoe's, and he reached over their bodies to caress Scully's cheek. "You too, beautiful. Come and have some fun with us." Part of her was so aroused at that moment she just wanted to give in - hoped that Mulder would too; but she still had enough good sense about her to know what a horrible mistake surrendering to such impulsive desires would be. Though it took every bit of resolve she had to shake her head and decline, as Mic's palm continued to intently rub her burning cheek. The long-haired poet wasn't willing to give up so easily. "Oh, come on, Dana... It's all about feeling good. No harm in that. We won't do anything you don't want to do," he promised her, and his hand began to move slowly down from her face to her neck and continued to head south. Mulder caught Mic's wrist in a firm grip before he could get any farther. "She doesn't want to. Leave her alone." But Mic was a very persistent man. "Her eyes are saying yes," he insisted. Fear was rapidly replacing Scully's excitement. She remembered the gun in her pocket and worried she might have to use it after all to get them out of this mess. Mulder suddenly sat up, glaring hard at the other man, still holding a death grip on his arm. "Yeah, well why don't you tell me what MY eyes are saying!" "Hey, man, we don't want any trouble, okay?" Mic backed off and Mulder let him go. Zoe moved to the far corner of the van with her boyfriend, gathering a blanket around their naked bodies. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A clear, somewhat warm night - cloudless so far, and just a little humid. Michael took off his jacket and tied it around his waist, pushing up the sleeves of his long-sleeved cotton shirt as he and Sarah walked through Barrow Park. There were lots of thickly foliated areas, with soft grass and benches scattered everywhere. Michael didn't want to have to sleep in a neighborhood park, but they had to save on money whenever possible. As long as it was warm and clear, they would sleep in the open. Sarah was very quiet, walking beside him; actually neither of them had spoken very much since they'd climbed out of the 'Mic and Zoe Bus of Love,' and begun walking again. After the couple's attempt to start a little foursome had flopped... Michael decided he would rather not accept any more rides - finding himself understandably gun- shy. True, once he'd made it very clear that he and Sarah wanted no part of their love overture... they'd been left alone. Mic had smiled regretfully at both of them, and had remarked, "Too bad, you know - could have been a lot of fun. But hey, I got no problem with monogamy; just don't feel the need to practice it myself! But to each his own, right?" He and Zoe had snuggled down into a corner of the large bed, fully intending to resume their activity; Zoe had locked eyes with Michael, clearly not ready to give it up just yet. Her smoldering stare had never left him, as she allowed Mic to pull her underneath him, arranging her so she lay mostly on her stomach; and as he slipped into her from behind Zoe kept her eyes on Michael even as she pushed back against her lover, and gasped in cadence to his thrusts. And Michael had to get out of there; couldn't remain blas about something so intimate, so private - he just couldn't. Beside him, Sarah had stiffened; when he glanced at her he found her face turned away from Mic and Zoe's sexual frolic, her cheeks very pink. Michael had just had enough. He'd moved toward the side doors and opened them, grabbing his bag and their jackets and a very embarrassed Sarah, and they'd left. Mic had never ceased his hard thrusts; never even knew they'd gone. But Zoe had watched them leave, her hungry eyes focused on Michael. They'd been walking about a half hour before they even knew where they were: Harrisburg, just outside a large residential area. They walked through quiet streets; this neighborhood obviously settled in early, for it was only nine o'clock. Michael kept his eyes peeled for a likely place to crash. By silent, mutual consent they'd chosen to avoid a motel. They couldn't afford to waste their money; it was more important for them to eat, and they'd had nothing but coconut and pinenuts, thanks to Mic and Zoe's aphrodisiac fetish. They came upon Barrow Park after about an hour of walking. Situated next to a "2-Go Express" convenience store, the park was clean, well- tended, and as good a place as any to crash for the night. They flopped on a park bench, nearby a large jungle gym; Sarah sighed in relief as she toed off her sneakers. Michael, collapsed beside her, looked over at her as she lay her head back against the wooden bench. Dark smudges under her eyes, and pale - the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks stood in sharp relief against the ivory of her skin. Odd to see her freckles - and that cute little mole as well; usually she kept them hidden with makeup. He smiled, remembering how he would tease her about always wanting to cover up her sexy mole... then he sat up abruptly, confused about what he'd just thought to himself. Make-up? Sexy mole? Jesus... where had that come from? Sarah never wore makeup of any kind; in all the months he'd known her, not a drop of the stuff. It wasn't allowed in the hospital. Michael shook his head to clear his suddenly fogged senses. This was getting too weird; he was obviously letting Sarah's fabrications affect him. He needed a distraction. Just then Sarah straightened, gasping; grabbing at her foot; Michael turned to her, concerned - she managed to whisper, "Charley-horse, God that hurts!" - he looked down at her little foot, and smiled in relief. Pushing her hands aside, Michael pulled her foot into his lap and began massaging it. She sighed as his strong fingers rubbed the cramp out; leaned back against the bench and watched with half- closed eyes. He kneaded her high instep, rotating her ankle and massaging each little toe; she was almost purring with contentment, as she mumbled, "Mulder, that feels so good." And Michael found an element in her low voice which struck a very familiar chord, deep within - and refused to analyze it. He just couldn't - because one of them had to remain focused - one of them had to remain locked into reality. He released her foot when he heard her stomach rumble; they needed food. Michael remembered seeing the little convenience store around the corner, and he murmured, "Sarah, we need to eat; let's go get some food at that 2-Go store..." At her moan of protest, not wanting to get up, he grinned and grasped her hands, tugging at her. "I'm not leaving you here by yourself, and besides I wouldn't know what to get you." She came off the bench bonelessly, straight into his arms, which automatically wrapped themselves around her - and her face looked straight up into his, her eyes melting into his wide hazel gaze, as she breathed into his face a retort which sounded so achingly right. "Mulder, I'll eat anything you put in front of me, as long as it's hot... and juicy... and fills me to the brim..." The stab of heat her words invoked arrowed right down to his groin; he sucked in a breath of shock and released her abruptly; then turned and picked up his duffel bag. Subdued by his sudden withdrawal, Sarah followed him silently as they walked out of the park and into the street. A few minutes later they were in the tiny store, choosing their food. She zeroed in on the foot-long hot dogs, smothered in meat sauce and relish, asking the clerk for extra mustard and a side order of chips. And she refused to comment on the way Michael's eyebrows rose, as he viewed her meal choice; adding his own purchases alongside of hers - a thick hamburger on a sesame bun, and onion rings. As he paid for everything, he couldn't help eyeing that hot dog - thinking back on what she'd said just a few minutes earlier... and her saucy retort, placed close to his ear as they waited for the clerk to bag up their food, brought another huge grin to his face. "Shut up, Mulder..." The wail of a police siren woke Michael first, and he sat up with one quick jerk, wide-eyed with panic, looking all around. He couldn't see a patrol car, but he sure could hear it - and it sounded very close. Beside him on the soft grass, Sarah was just gaining awareness as the sleep left her and she heard the siren as well. She sat up next to him and laid a hand on his arm, whispering, "Where is it? I can't see -" Just then Michael spotted the patrol car, moving slowly under the glow of a streetlight, and he pushed Sarah down and covered her with his body, hoping that the darkness and the thick foliage under the tree where they lay would be enough to shield them. Apparently so, or else the occupants of the car were not looking for anything or anyone in particular - just perhaps doing their nightly rounds. They drove slowly by, and disappeared down the street. Michael felt the breath he'd been holding escape him in one huge whoosh, as he moved off Sarah and sat up. She came up beside him with leaves caught in her hair; eyes worried and face pale. "Mulder, we should go... I don't feel safe here. I feel like we're being hunted, even though I know it's silly to be that paranoid yet - but I can't help it. We really aren't that far from Belle Valley, and the word about us has got to be out by now, farther out than just some trucker's CB radio. I want to go..." Sarah stood up and brushed off her clothes, pacing around in a little tight circle; a bundle of nerves. Michael rose to his feet and caught at her arms, making her stand still. "All right, Sarah - we'll go. We'll start walking again. We'll figure out something." He looked at his watch; three-thirty in the morning. They had been sleeping about four hours; not nearly enough, but it would have to do. He picked up their jackets and helped Sarah into hers, then shrugged into his and shouldered the duffel bag. They walked out of the silent park and onto a small side street; feeling their way instinctively, toward whatever nearby thoroughfare would take them to a back highway, and out of town. As they trudged along, Michael looked up at the night sky, noticing the rapidly- blossoming clouds... shit. Well, it HAD been a cloudless night. Now, it looked like rain - that's all they needed to make this a most memorable evening... Wonderful. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER FOURTEEN ** They'd been walking in the pouring rain for nearly an hour, both of them soaked to the skin. Shortly after they'd left the park the sky opened up, a hard steady cold September rain drenching them as they worked their way through the closed up business district of Harrisburg; following the signs to the nearest highway. They were crossing the deserted parking lot of the local Act III theater when Scully spotted a blue and white flashing light - Pennsylvania State Patrol - heading in their direction. She panicked, grabbed Mulder's hand and started to run, yelling at him, "Come on!" They ran to the back side of the theater, her heart pounding as they ducked behind a garbage dumpster. There was no denying that the cop had seen them this time. A loud blast from the police siren confirmed it. Scully shoved Mulder further back into the darkened recess between the building and the smelly trash bin. This was a mistake, she thought; we've got ourselves trapped. They had nowhere to run if the cops found them hiding there. No way was she going back. The prospect of being returned to that hell, being drugged and tortured and helpless again was simply unacceptable - out of the question. With cold rain- numbed hands she fumbled open the zipper on her jacket pocket, then drew the .45. "What are you doing?!! Put that away!" Mulder whispered, alarmed to see the weapon in her trembling hands. She shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not going back, Mulder. I told you that." He wiped at his weary rain-soaked face. "You're going to get yourself killed, and me right along with you. Damn it, you have to snap out of this fantasy! That's a real gun!" "I know how to handle firearms, Mulder. I learned at the academy... just like you did." She unlocked the safety with a grim look of determination. "I'm not going back to that asylum." "Sarah, IF what you're saying is true, the police will verify your story and you won't have to go back." "No, Mulder. You don't know the kind of enemies we have." "They're not above the law. Nobody is above the law. The police will protect you." She laughed. "Oh, Mulder..." God, was he ever in for a rude awakening when he started to remember. IF he started to remember. She shook away the thought. Mulder WOULD remember someday just like she did. She had to believe that. "Sarah, please give me the gun." He reached out a hand to her, his eyes pleading and afraid. She moved away from him as much as she could afford without putting herself at risk of being seen by the patrol car that was now searching the area around the theater with a spotlight. Scully shook her head, regretting that she couldn't show him her trust by honoring his request. "I can't. You don't understand what we're up against. And I'm not going back... even if I have to turn this gun on myself." "Sarah, you're scaring me. Please... give me the gun." "Don't worry. I'm not suicidal. I want to live if for no other reason than to see justice served on the sons-of-bitches who did this to us. But I'm not going back to Keystone. Never. No matter what. I can't go through that again." "I won't let that happen, Sarah, I promise. I swear to you. If you give me the gun I'll protect you. I've protected you so far, haven't I?" He had. But... "Trust me." "Mulder, I can't. Not until you trust me." "I'm here, aren't I?" "Not because you believe in me." "I'm trying, Sarah." He sounded so tired and frustrated. "Scully," she corrected him. "Shh!" He grabbed her and pulled her down beside him in the very darkest corner as a searchlight flashed back and forth over the dumpster. Scully held her breath, her knuckles turning white around the grip of the pistol. Her stomach tightened at the prospect of a shoot-out with the police. She and Mulder were hunted animals, cornered now, of course they would fight back; there was no other choice. She prayed to God she was still a fair shot and could incapacitate rather than kill the officers who were only doing their job. She also prayed for forgiveness for what she might have to do if it all ended right then and there. It was the driving rain that saved them. Safely hidden behind the trash bin, Mulder and Scully managed to avoid being spotted; in the end, eluding the police who weren't eager to conduct a foot search in the heavy downpour, opting to stay warm and dry inside their patrol car instead. For the longest time they didn't dare move, huddled together shivering; cold and afraid. Eventually Scully felt Mulder's hand close over hers, his thumb stroking her fingers, gently encouraging her to relax her grip on the pistol she clutched against her body. "You can put the gun away now. They're gone - it's okay... It's okay, Sarah. They're gone," he told her softly. She started to cry as he carefully took the weapon away from her, and was surprised as hell when he slipped it back into her pocket rather than keeping it for himself. Scully wondered if he knew how much she needed his faith, how important having his trust was to her right now. Or maybe Mulder realized that she needed the feeling of control that the gun represented. Whatever the reason, she was thankful and she told him with a hug and a whispered 'Thank you' into his shoulder. He squeezed back, as much for his own comfort as to reassure her. The embrace lasted a fraction longer than Mulder felt comfortable and he pushed away from her, his eyes an unreadable mix of emotions. It was difficult for Scully to put aside the feelings that had recently reawakened in her, the memories of Mulder as her lover, of a time when making love came as naturally to them as breathing. His rejection of their intimacy now felt like a denial to her, even though she understood his reasons. She ached to lose herself in him; to forget her fear and the pain and horror of the last year and let passion take them both someplace far away from their current troubles. "Come on, Sarah. It'll be dawn soon. We need to get moving." He grabbed up his bag and tossed it over his back, avoiding her sad longing eyes. She sighed and nodded, knowing that he was right. They had to get on the road again and get to DC and straighten this whole mess out. The thought of a good night's sleep in a warm bed and one of her mother's home-cooked meals propelled her forward as she and Mulder made their way back out into the relentless rainfall. Half an hour later, soaked and shivering, they were walking along the highway when a big RV rolled up beside them and pulled off the road. An older man and woman climbed out of their respective doors, popping up umbrellas over their heads and walking back to Mulder and Scully. "You two kids need a lift?" the man asked. Mulder shook his head. "No thanks." Scully sneezed twice, the wet weather taking its toll on her stressed and exhausted body. "Goodness!" the old woman exclaimed. "You're going to catch your death out in this rain." "I'm all right," Scully sniffed, brushing away some of the hair that was plastered around her face. "We're headed south on our way to Myrtle Beach. We'd be happy to give you a ride," the man offered with a friendly smile. Mulder was about to decline again when Scully sneezed three more times in succession. He shot her a worried look. She coughed and swallowed hard over her sore throat. Just then the old woman stepped forward and put a motherly hand on Scully's forehead. "She's got a fever, Harley," she told her husband, then put an arm around Scully's shoulders and started ushering her toward the RV. "Come on, dear, it's nice and warm inside our motor home. I'll fix you a hot breakfast and you can get into some dry clothes. You shouldn't be walking around out in this weather." "Come on, son," the old man motioned for Mulder to follow. "When my wife's maternal instincts kick in there's no sense fighting it." Scully looked back at Mulder, helpless as the older woman led her into the RV. Mulder had no choice but to follow. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ASYLUM PART TWO ** CHAPTER FIFTEEN ** Inside the toasty-warm motor home, Michael did his best to dry his hair off with the towel that the man called Harley had given him. He sat gingerly on the edge of a kitchen chair, afraid to relax for fear of soaking the material with his dripping clothes. He blotted his jacket with the now-damp towel, and started a bit when the older man's hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, don't you worry about that chair! A little water won't hurt it at all. Just relax. Matter of fact, if you want you can go in the back bedroom and change into something dry. If you don't have anything, I got a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt I can lend you." Michael looked up into a pair of very kind eyes; felt himself actually smile a little, and he nodded and picked up the duffel bag. Hopefully there would be something in there which was still dry. As he moved to the small bedroom, he looked back over his shoulder; Sarah was being... mothered, he guessed would be the best word for it. She sat on a small but well-cushioned sofa, a blanket wrapped around her bare shoulders, drinking hot soup out of a mug and occasionally sneezing, while Harley's wife rubbed her hair dry with another soft towel and clucked under her breath - sounding very much like a mother hen. Michael smiled again; Sarah's eyes were closed and she was almost humming in contentment. A mother... that's what she needed right now. That's what he'd bet she missed, so very much - Enough to fabricate an entire life, complete with loving mother and doting older brother - all waiting for her in a mythical neighborhood deep in the suburbia surrounding Washington, DC. Michael sighed as he closed the little accordian-pleated bedroom door, and struggled out of his wet jeans. He was so tired... too tired to worry about it right now. For the moment, they were safe. From what or who, he still wasn't sure. But safe, nonetheless. He rummaged through the duffel bag, pulling out a wrinkled but dry pair of jeans and a mostly- clean cotton sweater. He dressed hurriedly, the smell of ham and eggs cooking torturing his poor empty stomach. In all the fright and worry of the alley and their near-encounter with the police, he'd forgotten just how hungry he was. He opened the bedroom door and stepped into the larger living area - and almost laughed aloud at the sight which greeted his eyes: Sarah wearing clothes at least six sizes or more too large for her; somehow managing to look adorable regardless. At his low chuckle, Sarah glanced up at him, nose buried in a Kleenex. "Mulder, I caude a code an' I cand brede..." Interrupting her cloggy commentary with about six sneezes in a row - and earning the instant attention of her self-appointed mother hen, who turned from the pan of scrambled eggs, and handed her the entire box of tissues while she clucked anew. "Poor little thing - hardly enough there for a cold to grab onto! I gave her some cold medicine; a little over-the-counter decongestant we keep in the medicine cabinet just in case. She should start to feel better soon. I'm Edna Byington by the way, and the man wielding the spatula over there is my husband Harley. So glad we saw you folks! If you'd kept this little girl out in the rain one more hour she'd have pneumonia. I've seen it grab hold just that fast - and good thing you got out of your wet clothes too, young man! Now you come over here and sit down at the table; we've made a big breakfast for you." Michael sat down, eyes still on Sarah; she had leaned back against the sofa and appeared to be almost asleep from exhaustion. Dark smudges under her eyes... and nothing but a few mouthfuls of soup in her belly, he'd wager. He got back up again and moved to the sofa, bending down and stroking a gentle hand down her cheek, until she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily at him. "Mudder, wad's wrong?" Michael tried hard not to laugh at her stuffed-up voice, and tugged her up and into his arms, ignoring her whiny, "Bud I'm nod hunkry!" - and made her sit at the table with him and eat some of the huge plate of ham, eggs and corn bread which Edna had placed before him. He spooned bites of scrambled egg and ham into her mouth along with crumbled pieces of buttered bread, feeling as though he was feeding a baby bird, and a suddenly-ravenous one at that. Sarah yawned between bites, and rested her head on Michael's shoulder, her entire body relaxed. Edna watched them both with a smile on her face, then heaped a plate for her husband and brought it over to him; her own very small portion waiting for her on a smaller plate. Sarah eyed the tiny amount of food with alarm; paranoid enough to be concerned that she and Michael were scarfing all the kind couple's food supply; her eyes started to shimmer and she pushed the full plate of food across the table toward Edna. "No, take mide, Edna! I cande ead eddy more!" Edna chuffed out a tinkling laugh, and pushed the plate back to Michael and Sarah, admonishing them to eat every bite. "Land sakes, child... our fridge is full of food! But I'm on a strict diet, my dear; doctor's orders! He says I'm much too plump for the good of my heart." She nibbled on a tiny piece of bread, and pointed her fork meaningfully at the ham and eggs, until Michael scooped up some on a spoon and pushed it at Sarah's lips, making silly airplane noises until she let loose with a weak giggle; opened her mouth and let him shovel it in. Edna beamed at both of them and poured Sarah a big glass of orange juice. "I want you to drain every drop, dear - then as soon as your young man says you've eaten enough, we'll clean this up and get back on the road. We're in no hurry, not at all! We'll be glad to take you right where you want to go - that's the best part of being retired, y'know. Freedom! Why, we just travel all over, don't we Harley?" Her husband nodded enthusiastically, seated at the driver's console and fiddling with the radio. Edna bustled around the tiny kitchen area, waving off Michael's offer to help, and instructing him to take Sarah over to the sofa. She'd actually fallen asleep at the table, one hand curled around her half-full glass of juice. Michael carefully loosened her fingers, and picking her up, he carried her to the sofa and laid her down, covering her with a soft throw which Edna handed to him. Sarah sighed with cloggy contentment, and snuggled into the warm wool. Michael found himself seated next to her, her head in his lap and his feet propped up on a small ottoman; he could feel his consciousness ebbing away as he gave into the need for sleep; his full belly making it very difficult to resist catching some Zs. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, vaguely registering the soft conversation between Edna and Harley Byington, their rescuers; the gentle jarring of the motor home as it rolled silently through the damp streets and made its way onto the interstate. Warm and full of good food and with Sarah cuddled next to him... for the first time in days, Michael let himself relax; allowed himself to quit worrying about anything. The bumps and ruts of a patch of road construction woke Michael out of his exhausted slumber, and he struggled to open his eyes, gritty with sleep. He raised his head and looked out the window; the motor home was parked behind a line of cars, all waiting for a pilot car to guide them through the mass of upturned dirt, broken pavement and heavy machinery. A warm weight in his lap; he glanced down, yawning. Sarah was still asleep, still curled next to him with her head in his lap. Her breathing sounded labored - God, he hoped she wasn't getting worse. The last thing they could afford, either in money or in possible risk or exposure, was for her to get sicker and require a hospital stay. He stroked a hand over her silky hair, and watched her sleep. The dark circles had eased from beneath her eyes, and her cheeks were a bit flushed. Michael felt her forehead. It was on the warm side but not bad enough to worry, yet. In the front seats of the large rig, the Byingtons were talking softly, an occasional tinkling chuckle from Edna complimenting Harley's deep voice. Michael smiled; these two had really saved their asses - taking them in, no questions asked; feeding them wonderful food and treating them as if they were family. God, so trusting! It was humbling and scary at the same time - for he just knew that sooner or later these fine people were going to meet up with someone who would take advantage of them. It seemed that true goodness was so hard to find in this world. He'd had a nice chat with Harley, while Edna had cleaned up the dishes and Scully was falling asleep; he'd discovered that the Byingtons were from Plattsburg, New York. Snowbirding down south before the weather got nasty, Harley had said - visiting their children and grandchildren for the bulk of the winter months. Three of their married children, to be exact - and fourteen grandchildren. Michael's eyes had gone wide, and he'd exclaimed, "Fourteen grandchildren! How many do you have in all?" Harley had actually started counting on his fingers, as he counted the number of children first, then computed the number of children per child. He finished counting and grinned at Michael as he rattled off some names. "Well, I won't bore you with all the names, son - suffice to say Edna and I have been blessed with ten children, all but one married - and a total of forty grandchildren. Seems like a lot, I know - but we believe in big families, that we do! Mormon, born and raised, my boy - Edna and me both, coming from generations of large families. Why, our yearly family reunions are as big as some small towns! It's been a blessing, it really has - to be able to obey our teachings, and be healthy and hale enough to bring forth so many good children into the world, and watch them follow the Byington and Yearling traditions by doing the same as their mother and I have done. We're very proud of all our kids, and we try to visit as many each year as we can. Luckily for us they aren't scattered to the four winds too badly!" Harley had risen and moved to the driver's seat; Edna, finally done with the clean up, taking her seat next to him. She'd found another wool throw, and had draped it over both Sarah and Michael, tsking away his thanks and leaving a full glass of juice for him to drink, as the couple got strapped in and the motor home roared to life... Now Michael watched out the window, and stroked Sarah's hair, feeling the motor home inching through the construction; eyes peeled for police, and not seeing any yet. He released a held-in breath, and stretched as much as he could without waking Sarah. Trying not to agonize over more than was absolutely necessary... things such as what they would find (or not find) when they got to DC. Michael was so worried for her, but unable to figure a way to stop any more of this determination of hers to cling to a fantasy life. He feared for her; so afraid she'd lose her slender grasp and just spin away from him, forever. God, he didn't want to lose her. There was too much between them; and while it was true he wasn't ready or able for it to go any further right at this time... he knew he wanted Sarah in his future. Sitting with her head heavy in his lap, running his fingers through her hair... Michael decided he would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, and keep her with him. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER SIXTEEN ** She didn't remember the street number; numbers in general were still fuzzy in her memory, but once they'd driven into Georgetown, Scully knew exactly the right route to her mother's house. And when they pulled up in front of the modest colonial she could hardly wait to get out of the RV and run up the walk, already imagining her mother's smiling face and overjoyed expression, and the warm hug that would be waiting to envelop her. She and Mulder thanked the Byingtons for the ride and their hospitality. Mulder tried to give them some money which they kindly refused, insisting that helping their fellow man was reward enough. They said their good-byes, Edna hugging both of them as if she hated to let them go - and handing Scully a bag filled with fried chicken and baking powder biscuits, all wrapped in plastic and ready 'for nibbling later on,' as she smilingly remarked. Scully had given her a fierce, teary hug in return. And then the kindly woman tucked the rest of a package of cold pills into Mulder's pocket, kissing him on the cheek and eliciting a promise from him that he'd see to it Scully's cold was not neglected. Harley had shaken their hands vigorously, then pressed a book into Mulder's hands; Scully looked down and saw a copy of the Book of Mormon. Mulder lifted a questionable eyebrow; Harley had just smiled, slapped him on the back, and stated, "Just a little light reading, son - I hope you find what you're looking for, and if you do maybe this book can help put it into perspective for you." Then Scully and Mulder climbed out of the motor home, waving to the old couple as they drove away. Scully took a deep breath, fighting back the tears of joy at finally being home again. They still had a lot of answers to find but now they had a safe haven and a support system to anchor themselves to. Unable to stand it any longer, Scully practically ran to the door and rang the bell; then stood there nervously fidgeting with her hair and clothes, thinking how horrible she must look, and not wanting to worry her mother first thing upon her return. She couldn't help but wonder what her mom's reaction would be having her daughter who'd been missing for over a year just show up on her front porch out of the blue. At last the door opened - and it was time to find out. "Can I help you?" a fifty-ish man in a conservative navy blue business suit stood before them frowning. Scully was startled by the unexpected but undaunted in her quest. She studied his face a moment, but didn't recognize him. "Yes, um... I'm looking for the woman who owns this house, Margaret Scully." "Sorry, you must have the wrong address. There's no one by that name living here." He started to close the door. "No! Wait!" Scully put her hand out to stop the man from shutting the door. "I'm her daughter. I know this is the right house." "I'm sorry, Miss. I've been living here for the past three months. And before me there was a family from Osaka that had the place. My company owns this house as a temporary residence for transfers to the area." Scully's heart sank. This couldn't be true. The joyous family reunion she'd hoped for was still beyond her grasp. Where could her mother have gone? And why? "Thank you," she said absently. The man nodded impatiently and closed the door on his uninvited company, eager to be rid of them. "She must have sold it." Scully said it more to herself than to Mulder. "But that doesn't make any sense. She loved this house. She always used to say that it made her feel close to my father and... Melissa - because there were so many memories of them here." "Melissa?" Mulder tilted his head inquisitively, having never heard her mention that particular name before. "My sister. She was killed a few years ago. A hit man mistook her for me." Mulder sighed, the worry lines in his brow deepening. "Sarah, are you sure this is the right house?" "Positive. I'll prove it to you. Mrs. McNeely has lived next door since before my family moved here twenty years ago. She'll know where my mother is. If nothing else she'll verify my story and tell you once and for all that I really am who I say I am. And then maybe you'll stop looking at me like that!" She turned and started down the walk, Mulder right behind her. But when she saw a black sedan parked across the street a couple houses away, something about the man sitting behind the wheel sent a chill through her. She stopped dead in her tracks. "Sarah, what is it? What's wrong?" Mulder eyed her with concern. She watched the man watching them for a second or two longer, knowing she knew him but not quite able to recall a name. And then he brought a cigarette to his mouth and she saw him light it, and that simple act triggered an avalanche of terrifying memories. Nightmares... this man had haunted her nightmares for a very long time. He was there with Dr. Hazlam and Dr. Kirr. One of the monsters. She remembered him now. He'd been their enemy for a very long time. "We've got to get out of here. We're in danger." "What are you talking about?" Mulder looked around at the seemingly normal suburban neighborhood, oblivious to any threat. She grabbed his hand and hurried him around to the side of the house. Then proceeded to guide him through a gate into the backyard of the house next door. "Sarah! What are you doing? We can't just walk though people's private property like this!" He tried to stop her, resisting as she tugged at him. "Mulder, there's a car parked on the corner with a man in it watching my mother's house - watching us! I recognized him. He's a very bad man. Someone who means to harm us. I'm sure of it. We have to get out of here. Now!" She let go of his hand and ran on ahead forcing him to follow as she climbed over a fence, heading through another yard and then into an ally that ran between some of the houses. "Damn it, Sarah! Wait up!" Mulder struggled after her, wrestling with the duffel bag as she charged on unencumbered. When they got to the end of the alley, Scully put her back up against one of the garages and peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear. That's when she saw a metro bus starting to pull away from the stop only a few yards away. Before Mulder knew what was happening, Scully had darted out into the road right in front of the bus, waving frantically for the startled driver to stop. "Jesus! You're gonna get yourself killed, Sarah!" He hurried after her as she climbed aboard the bus. A short time later they were riding through the Georgetown suburb, a very paranoid Scully checking out the back window of the bus every thirty seconds or so to make sure they weren't being followed. Mulder kept watching her, his expression growing more concerned with each passing minute. "Where are we going?" he finally had to ask. There was only one place Scully could think to go at the moment. They'd have to be careful; take the back way in - just in case someone was watching there too. "We have friends. They call themselves The Lone Gunmen. They'll help us, Mulder. We can trust them." And as they rode along she told him all about Langly and Byers and Frohike... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ** Sitting on a bus bound for who-knew-where, Michael listened to the tale of the Lone Gunmen, as told by Sarah - whose telling of it more or less cemented further the certainty that he was dealing with dementia - and for once in his adult life it was almost impossible to keep the tears from stinging at his eyes. He watched her carefully as she hurriedly explained about their supposed 'friends' - three men who sounded even more 'out there' and paranoid than she did. And he couldn't in a million years imagine ever wanting to cultivate friendships with these characters - yet according to Sarah the men were their very best pals and had helped them out of one scrape after another. Nerds, they appeared to be - holed up in an apartment full of every sort of surveillance equipment, hacker's contraption and monitor known to technology - and spooked to the gills on their weird beliefs... In Sarah's fantasy world these men were detailed and specific, right down to the thick glasses which the oldest, and shortest Gunman wore - Frohike, she'd said his name was - and the long blonde hair of the quirkiest of the trio, a guy named Langly who for some reason had a thing about his 'kung fu.' Sarah had rattled this information off in wild spurts, as if the telling of one piece would spark the memory of another. During her narrative, they had changed busses twice more at her insistence -- and she was constantly looking over her shoulder and out all the bus windows to assure they weren't being followed. As Michael listened, he bit the inside of his cheek more than once, to keep the emotion at bay; fought to maintain a semblance of calm, when all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and lay his head in her lap - and pray for it all to end, now. No more fantasies - no more phantom men running after them, no more pills or hospitals or anything else to mess them over. He sighed; Sarah's voice had finally wound down and she was sitting up very straight, staring at him, expecting him to say something... and Michael was fast approaching the very end of his patience; the last few days having drained him to the core and leaving him paper-bag-empty. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, hard - and tried to say something that wouldn't add to her fear. "Sarah... I don't know what you want me to say. These men you describe - I would never have had friends like that. I know nothing about the sort of equipment you describe; hell, I know just the bare basics of a computer! Just enough to be able to prepare financial statements, and that's all. And I just can't imagine anyone that obsessively paranoid, either - not even with good reason..." He was as earnest as could be, holding one of her hands and never breaking eye contact - and he could see her tears forming, glistening in each blue orb. He let go of her hand and stood up abruptly, grabbing hold of a hand rail, under the premise that he needed to stretch his legs. Actually he needed to distance himself, in that small, raw moment - because the pleading in her face was sucking him down again, and he needed to get tough, stay tough - for the both of them. He opened his mouth to speak... and the bus jerked to a stop in front of a large parking lot; looked like a shopping complex, fairly new. They got out and Michael looked around him, not seeing anything like an apartment building, or any other sort of residential place. There was a bank, and a few eating establishments; a convenience store and a good-sized strip mall shopping center, comprised of places like Pearle Vision and Kinko's and a Fotomat, along with a few tiny boutiques and an H&R Block office. Same thing you could find in any business area of any good-sized town... And beside him, Sarah sucked in a gasping breath, and one strangled sob escaped her. Michael turned to her and took hold of her shoulders, staring down into her face, alarmed. "Sarah...?" She was gaping at the little mall, mouth open in shock; tears were gathering in her eyes and gaining momentum as they overflowed and ran down her cheeks. Two, three, four tears; she let them fall as she whispered in a broken little voice. "It's gone - their building is gone. I don't believe it - gone! Oh, God, Mulder - what could have happened to them!" She broke out of his gentle hold and spun in an unsteady circle, taking in the bustling area before her; cars pulling in and out of the parking lot; people walking on the sidewalks and entering and exiting all the little shops. There were a few small benches along the cement walkways, and they too were dotted with shoppers. In the distance could be heard the sounds of a street carnival; over that the high sweet laughter of children. All so normal... and so hideously frightening to the trembling woman who stood next to Michael and sobbed silently as she surveyed yet another fantasy which disintegrated in front of her eyes. She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook under Michael's cold grasp. "Sarah, please... enough. There's nothing here, sweetheart; can't you see? Nothing here but what is supposed to be - please, let it go, okay? For me. We need some rest; you're still not over that cold and I'm so tired of running all over, chasing people and situations which don't exist -" Her angry interruption dried up his pleading, as she wrenched herself away and stood facing him, glaring at him. "Goddamn it, Mulder! They DO exist! The Gunmen lived here, in a building! A big, old funky building! They were our best chance at getting the help we need, to defeat the monsters; to find out why we were locked up in a loony bin!" Her flashing eyes spat at Michael, daring him to contradict - and the look on his face; the look of sadness and despair, fathomless worry and defeat... the combination of all that just about knocked her to her knees, as she whispered, more to herself than to him, "It can't be another fantasy; it's too real! I know these men; know them through and through - I couldn't have made them up! Could I... Mulder, did I? Am I so far gone that I could fabricate something this complex? How could I see them so clearly in my head, if they weren't real?" There was a bench nearby; she sank onto it, looking more bewildered and lost than she'd ever had in her life. The bench creaked as Michael sat down beside her, his face a mask of concern and worry. He picked up one of her icy hands and chaffed it between both of his - and tried to choose his words very carefully. "Sarah, listen to me... I want you to think, really think about what you're doing to yourself. I know you've been through horrible times; know this past year has been mostly a blur of medication and treatments and fighting the psychosis. Anyone would have an impossible time surviving it, Sarah - I don't know if I could do it, myself. Even all the horrors I endured probably can't compare to your ordeal. "But creating this other world of yours is the worst thing you can do to yourself! These people aren't real, Sarah - none of them exist anywhere but in your mind. We went to a house that you claim belongs to your mother - and she's not there. That's because you were orphaned as a young child - I hate to be cruel but there is no mother, Sarah. And I think, deep down - you know that. You look for the home of three men whose lives seem too fantastic to be real - and you find a shopping mall instead. Do you see a pattern emerging here, Sarah?" At his words, Sarah's head popped up and she stared at him, repeating what he'd said. "You've said that to me before, Mulder... those same exact words. Only you called me Scully, not Sarah..." Michael found himself on his feet and towering over her, the latest of her wild imaginings hanging between them - and he couldn't take it, not one more word, not one more crazy story. His voice came from a raw throat; raw with frustration and strung out with deep worry - words which stung and bit at her. "I don't care WHAT I said to you, Sarah, in this little fairy-tale life of yours - I don't give a shit! I want this to stop, right now! And I am only saying this one more time! NONE OF THIS IS REAL! None of it! You are Sarah Davis and I am Michael Foster and we just escaped from a mental hospital and we're packing heat, thanks to Floyd the Alaskan wolverine-lover... we have very little money and hardly any food - and most likely, the state and local police are after us! We are NOT FBI agents and we are not embroiled in some sort of conspiracy-laden government plot..." His heated words trailed off in surprise as Sarah suddenly jumped up and clutched at his shoulders, almost shaking him. In mid-rant, he looked down at her, taken aback at her sudden change from downtrodden to a woman with a mission. "I can prove it - God, why didn't I think of this before?! I can prove who both of us are, Mulder! I can call Skinner!" And she was off and running toward a phone booth, Michael's frustrated, "Dammit, Sarah!" hanging in the air between them, as she made it to the booth, thumbed quickly through the phone book for the number while she dug in her pocket for a bit of spare change, then lifted the receiver and began dialing. Michael followed slowly, eyeing the renewed flash of purpose in her blue eyes, with fresh despair. 'Here we go again,' he thought despondently, as he neared the booth and caught most of her side of the conversation. "Yes, I'd like to speak to Assistant Director Walter Skinner, please..." There was a pause while they transferred her call. "What? Never heard of... Walter. W-A-L-T-E-R, yes - but that's impossible; he's worked for FBI Headquarters for years, and... you're sure? Well... Yes, thank you... no, no - no message... What? My name? Ohh..." - She hung up, abruptly, turned to Michael; the look of utter desolation on her face just about killed him. He took a step or two toward her, close enough to see the way all those cute little pale brown freckles were thrown into sharp relief against the paper-white blur of her face... She stood very still, and then, as if the pain began rolling over her small self in waves - she doubled over, arms clenched around her middle. Michael pulled her into his embrace and held on tightly - and Sarah lost it. Completely, fully, irrevocably - lost it. Shaking all over, increasing in intensity until she was shuddering so violently that Michael found himself barely able to hold on - her thin, panicked, "No, no, NO, NO!!" - increasing in volume until she was screaming it into Michael's shoulder, little hands clawing into his sweatshirt and soggy eyes drenching his heart. Michael rocked her gently; murmuring to her that it was all right, they'd be all right, everything's all right... And the broken voice which vibrated to the left of his shoulder; tiny and shattered and splintered into a million pieces... that small sound broke his heart as he heard her numbed words. "I don't... Oh, God help me... I don't know who I am... don't know, don't know..." She was still repeating it, over and over, as Michael led her away; away from the curious stares of the shoppers and the banking customers and other inhabitants of the mini-mall, where Sarah Davis had fully expected to discover Dana Scully's whereabouts... within herself. She never saw the faces, observing her disintegration; never heard Michael as he brokenly told her he was taking her someplace to rest - a motel; somewhere they'd find an inexpensive motel, and they'd sleep. And maybe they'd begin to find a way to heal. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ** She let him guide her into the motel room, the mechanical whir coming from the heating unit under the window an ambient background for their wordless interaction. He shut the door and locked it behind them, pulled the filthy faded drapes closed, and dropped his duffel on the floor. Then he guided her over to the bed, his hand at her back... the gesture felt so familiar. One lonely tear slipped over her cheek - how could something that felt so right be nothing more than a delusion of her troubled mind? All of it; a mother that didn't exist, friends and coworkers that never were, an imagined love affair with a man she hardly knew... it all seemed real to her, vivid memories of a life that never was. She started to shake again, her teeth chattering together as uncontrollable tremors overcame her. He helped her sit down on the edge of the bed, removing her jacket and hanging it in the closet. She watched him slip out of his own coat and hang it beside hers, then he pulled the extra blanket down from the top shelf and came back to her, wrapping her in the thick cotton cover. "Sarah, it's going to be okay," he told her as he knelt in front of her and looked up into her dazed expression. Sarah. Sarah Davis. That was her name. She knew that. Why had she rejected it? Did she hate her real self so much that she needed to invent a fictitious identity to escape the pain? That's what Michael had been telling her all along. Michael. Not Mulder. Michael Foster, the kindhearted trustee from Keystone who'd been her only friend in that horrible place. She had twisted her feelings for him into a fantasized romance, made him her heroic and handsome partner in an outrageous, imaginary life. "Michael?" She looked into his hazel eyes and told herself she didn't see what she thought she saw, the soul of a man who'd traveled to the ends of the earth for her, who'd been willing to lay down his life for her, a man with whom she was so deeply connected that sometimes even she didn't know where she ended and he began. "Yes, Sarah, I'm Michael." He tried to force a smile but couldn't manage to pull it off. He was too worried about her and it showed in the pained look he wore. "Michael... I don't know who I am." Even her voice sounded wrong, the cold having settled in her throat, making her words rough and grating. He reached up and cupped her cheek in his palm, his eyes filled with compassion. "I know, Sunshine..." 'Morning, Sunshine...' The words echoed over and over and over in her throbbing head, mocking her, taunting her, pulling her back into her psychosis - memories - no, not memories... delusions!!! "NO MORE!" she screamed, jumping up from the bed, her hands covering her ears as if she could somehow keep out the voices in her head. "NO MORE!!! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE!!!" There were flashes of doctors, of a smoking man, of monsters and aliens and spaceships... God, she wanted it all to stop! She saw the faces of a mother and a father and a family... but Sarah had no family, she was orphaned as an infant, and raised by the state. The worst part was seeing Michael the way she did. She longed for what she'd imagined she had with him, a bond that couldn't be broken, a passionate love affair, a romantic heroic knight to her damsel in distress. Mulder was her soul mate and she was his touchstone, the constant he depended upon when everything else in his world was chaos and lies within lies - she anchored him and he freed her... NO, NO, NO!!! NONE OF THIS IS REAL! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD, GOD DAMN IT! GO AWAY!!! I'M SARAH!!! I'M SARAH!!! I'M SARAH!!! She realized she must have been screaming it out loud because the next thing she was aware of were Michael's strong arms wrapped tightly around her as she sank to the floor exhausted and sobbing, her already sore throat stinging from the abuse. Her head ached horribly and her thoughts were spinning out of control as she fought to hold onto the perception of reality she believed was the truth. Yet her instincts told her to believe the lies her demented brain was manufacturing. She could feel herself slipping over the cliff and didn't know which actuality to cling to that wouldn't crumble under the pressure, sending her spiraling downward into an abyss of madness from which she would have no hope of ever returning. "Shh... It's all right. It's all right. Sarah, please don't do this. Don't fall apart on me." She could hear the fear in his voice as Michael pulled her into his lap, wrapping her body with his, physically holding her together as if that would somehow stop her from mentally and emotionally shattering to pieces. "I need help. Somebody please help me," she cried as the battle continued inside her head. She knew it was Michael holding her, consoling her... but everything about him evoked within her powerful feelings she had for Mulder and memories of the life they'd shared. "I don't know what's real... Nothing is real anymore... I'm not real." Without any truth to lash on to, she was lost in a tumultuous sea of mental Pandemonium, a bedlam of uncertainty and disorder. Slipping deeper into insanity. He held her tighter and slowly they rocked back and forth. "Remember what you said to me... about everything being all right as long as we're together? Don't leave me, Sarah. Please don't leave me. Hold on, honey. Stay with me." He murmured quiet reassurances to her, calming her with his peaceful monotone utterances as he held her and they continued to slowly move to and fro in a huddled mass on the floor. "I'm insane, Michael. I really am," she told him when she'd gathered enough courage to admit it out loud. "These images are so clear to me. I can see every room in my apartment and yours... I remember you making love to me on my kitchen table one rainy Sunday morning after we ate breakfast... I'd made french toast - your favorite - and you... you drizzled the strawberry syrup all over me and..." "God, Sarah." He blushed, flustered by the erotic mental picture she'd painted for him. "Well you did! I mean... I thought you did. And it was wonderful. Oh my God! Michael, help me, please! Everything is all confused in my head. I don't want to be crazy. They'll make me go back to Keystone, to the shock treatments, and the drugs and the worms in my brain... I can't take that again." She cried anew as she considered the prospect. "No, Sarah, I promise you. You won't have to go back there. We'll get you help someplace else. Don't worry. You're going to be okay." "I'm sorry, Michael," she sniffed, attempting to get a hold of herself for his sake. He was trying so hard to be strong for her, though she knew he must be terribly afraid. They were, after all, fugitives in a strange city with very little money, no identification, no place to go - and now she was falling apart on him too. He must be scared to death. "You have nothing to be sorry for." His voice was calm and reassuring, but his hands were trembling. "I should have listened to you. I never should have stopped taking my meds. I should have accepted the treatments no matter how much I hated them. Look what I've done. I've messed up your life, Michael. You had it good. They were going to let you out soon. I've ruined that for you." "Sarah, listen to me. I took you out of there for a reason, remember? Dr. Hazlam was going to hurt you. I couldn't let that happen." She nodded and leaned into him. Maybe he WAS her heroic knight; just not the same one she'd imagined. "I wanted it to be real. I wanted US to be real." Her confession made Sarah realize that even if she couldn't trust anything else, at least she knew her feelings for Michael were genuine. She loved him. Whether he was Mulder or Michael it didn't matter - that he was embedded in her heart was undeniable. He looked at her tenderly, putting one finger under her chin and lifting until her gaze met his. And then he slowly moved in, closer and closer until Sarah's eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. She felt his hot breath caress her mouth as he hesitated just briefly before his lips touched hers, softly. It was overwhelming at first, as Sarah's mind tried to tell her she remembered his taste and the feel of his stubbly chin... but she struggled with it and pushed those deceptions to the side, concentrating instead on the present, on the extraordinary experience of kissing Michael for the very first time. He allowed her to deepen the kiss when she was ready, parting his lips when her tongue tentatively sought entrance. Michael let her explore him at her own pace, accepting her but not yet taking for himself. Her tongue stroked the roof of his mouth, slid over the smooth surfaces of his teeth and teased his tongue - inviting him to play. He responded in kind, thrusting his tongue enthusiastically into the wet heat of her mouth, hungry to feast upon the offering she made. There was no awkwardness as the passion erupted between them. Sarah's hands moved to the back of Michael's neck, pulling him closer. Mmmm... Kissing him had always been one of her favorite pastimes. Mulder's lips were full and soft and he had this ability to melt her, turning her insides to hot butter, whenever his tongue grazed slowly and seductively back and forth over hers, like he was doing now... God, it was happening again! Her imagination was running away with her. Sarah tried hard to convince herself this was the first time she'd ever kissed him, but it was impossible to maintain that conviction once he began to brush his fingertips along her spine, lightly over each vertebra, and she remembered that too. It was frightening, feeling herself fading in and out of reality. Any minute she expected she would lose it all and become like that poor librarian Elisabeth back at Keystone, talking to invisible companions and incessantly muttering nonsense to herself for the rest of her life. Locked away in an asylum, yes, but locked even further away inside her own dementia. She'd rather be dead than exist like that. Sarah was terrified that she wasn't strong enough to fight this lunacy that threatened her. The images and feelings of her delusional mind were very powerful. And the problem was, she WANTED them to be real. She wanted to be his Scully and him to be her Mulder and their lives to be an exciting adventure... It was an alluring dream. But maybe, Sarah thought, if she could capture a bit of that flight of fancy and make it real, just a small taste of what she longed to return to yet never had... then she wouldn't have to hide in her fantasies anymore. She pulled back from him suddenly, tearing her lips from his, her heart beating fast and her breathing heavy. "Make love to me." Michael smiled at her but shook his head. "Sarah, no." "Please? I need that physical connection with you right now," she tried to explain. But how could she make him understand the absolute emptiness inside her that only he could fill? "I told you, I wanted to wait until we were both better. Now isn't the time..." "Please!" She hadn't meant to sound so desperate, but the fact remained - that's exactly what she was. Desperate to have him and make the fantasies real - to have some truth to found herself upon. "I know you're Michael and I'm Sarah. I understand that now. I do. Please, Michael... make love to me. Don't you want to?" And even as she asked it she knew the answer to her question was a very explicit yes. She could feel his growing erection pressing hard against her hip, betraying his desire. "God, yes! Of course I do, but..." "But what?" She whispered the words into his ear and began to nibble on his lobe; a seductress tempting her heart's desire. He made a purely carnal sound, moaning into the heated air surrounding their bodies, as she let her tongue play recklessly in his ear. "I'm not prepared for this." But even as he said it his hands had slipped beneath her T-shirt and were working their way up her ribcage, seeking the soft pillowy mounds of her breasts. Her frenzied thoughts distracted her, such that for the moment she didn't understand what he'd meant, then suddenly the realization made her blush. She stopped molesting his ear long enough to make eye contact with him again. "Oh... It's okay. I can't get pregnant. You know that." "You can't?" She could detect excitement, relief and sadness all in those two words he spoke. "I didn't know... How would I?" How would he? Of course he wouldn't know. The more important question was - how did she? Had this little factoid come from her imagination or the vague recollections of her own unfeigned past? Sarah was too tired and confused and far too aroused to try and sort it out now; she only knew that she needed to be with him - she couldn't wait. If she lied to him though and then got pregnant, Michael would never forgive her, nor she herself. What Mulder and Scully had was based on honesty and the deepest kind of mutual respect; she wanted nothing less for her and Michael. "I... I don't know for certain. But I don't BELIEVE I can conceive a child. I know we might be taking a risk, Michael. But I want you so badly." His hands had finally reached their destination; thumbs gently toying with Sarah's nipples through the scanty weave of her bra. She drew in a sharp breath as the sensation of his touch upon such an aching, needy place caused a fire storm within her. Michael closed his eyes in frustration. "Sarah... Jesus, sweetheart, I want you too - but we can't... No." His actions spoke in direct opposition to his words. As he brought his mouth down to gently bite into the soft curve of her shoulder - sinking his teeth in just far enough to make her hiss. And with the fingers of one hand he worked the hooks loose on her bra, wasting no time taking his prize as he pushed away the lacy fabric and found her. "Oh God, Michael!" His strong hands kneading her flesh, his fingers squeezing her nipples; Michael seemed anything but ready to put a stop to their wanton prelude. Sarah squirmed in his lap, a helpless victim of her own sexual urgency. She wrestled out of her shirt, tossing it and her bra aside, letting Michael's hungry eyes take her in. She watched, fascinated as his fingers teased delicate pink nubs, seeing them harden and pucker in response to his deliberately languid stimulation. With each exquisite scrape of his fingernails over her tender nipples, Sarah shivered. She was ready for him; hot and wet and yearning for Michael to fill her, fill her deep and hard, satisfy the longing she'd had for him since that erotic dream where she'd first thought of him as her lover. "Sarah, you're so beautiful," he sighed, "but too vulnerable right now... What kind of a man would I be if I took advantage of that?" Her eyes sparkled with tears. How could she make him understand how much she needed him to make love to her? If anything, it was she who was taking advantage of him, of his kindness, his sympathetic nature, and his natural impulses that had likely been neglected for far too long. "I'll forgive your trespasses tonight if you'll forgive mine. I want to take comfort in you, Michael. I NEED something real to guide me tonight or I'm afraid I'll lose my way forever. Please, Michael, don't say no. I couldn't bear the rejection. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me. Please believe me when I say that I've never needed anything more than I need you right now." She held her breath, waiting for his response, afraid his conscience wouldn't allow him to take her. His hands moved up to her face and he held it firmly, locking his eyes with hers. "I love you, Sarah. I can't explain it, but I feel as though I've always loved you. I want you to know that." She tried not to cry as his hazel eyes pierced her, bringing on a kaleidoscope of new memories that she dared not allow herself to believe. He'd just said he loved her. Michael loved her. She should be ecstatic; instead she was being bombarded by false retrospections - of Mulder's confessions of love to her - to Scully. The longer she looked as him the harder it was to separate fantasy from reality. Unable to stand any more of the lies her mind continued to deceive her with, Sarah shut her eyes, whispering, "I love you too... Michael. Please let me show you how much." His fingers combed through silky auburn, playing in the unkempt waves that softly framed her face. For a long time he said nothing, continuing to gently stroke her hair; and Sarah didn't dare open her eyes, afraid she would become caught up again in the intensity of his stare and lose herself forever in her delusions. Finally, his hands left her satiny tresses and slid lightly over her bare back sending a delicious shiver through her; his rich, smoky whisper tickled deep inside her ear - reverberations descending through her body until the rumbling hum settled between her thighs as an insistent ache. "Come to bed, Sarah." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER NINETEEN ** Up until the moment he actually laid her down on the old bed, Michael told himself his intentions toward Sarah were purely meant to comfort her, regardless of how much his body cried out for more... it wouldn't be fair to her - wasn't the right way for her. But oh, what she was doing to him... and it had been so long since she'd lain in his arms, and kissed him like this - NO, that wasn't right! Not Sarah, not her - just too long in general, since any woman had touched him with such yearning tenderness. Of course it would feel familiar to him; a woman's touch was, after all, a soft and caring thing - Except never in all his adult life had it felt like this - and Michael couldn't find a way to explain it - and if he couldn't explain, how could he accept? Especially from a woman who needed his protection, and his concern... but did she really need the complication of his love in her life right now? It didn't seem to matter; her arms wound tightly around him, fingers digging reflexively into his shoulder muscles as they lay facing each other. Damp eyes swimming with fresh tears; their expression such a mixture of desire, hope and some residual fear - and it had been so long since a woman had held just that look in her eyes when she gazed at him - but Michael knew that look, and his own eyes softened and returned her teary stare. His hands slipped over smooth, rounded shoulders and trailed alongside her arms, until they could reach her fingers and twine through them, tugging her closer, closer - Until she lay beneath him, still partially-clothed; but what she'd already revealed to him was so much his standard of womanly beauty. Skin so baby-pure, it looked as newborn as an hour-old child; creamy and pale and so soft Michael felt that if he touched it, his hand would actually pass through it and mesh with her blood. He knew her skin; refused to analyze it; just accepted that fact and moved on. Tracing her ribs, each one rippling under his fingers as his touch caused her breathing to accelerate - he followed the hike of each finger with his tongue, tasting her - learning anew the parts of her that he'd forgotten. How could he have forgotten this? He must have been insane. Under his mouth her body vibrated with life; every place he kissed welcomed him with eagerness. He could hear it in the tiny sighs she breathed against whatever part of him came within mouthing distance, as he moved over and around her. All his senses attending a sort of school, and she his only book of knowledge. It was all he needed - all he wanted. No words, at first - who needed words? Besides, his mouth was full - and even if he'd been able to speak, words would have failed him miserably - for no words could describe loving Sarah. Content to lay still and just receive, she kept her hands on him, rubbing at his skin, occasionally digging into his muscles if his kisses caught an especially sensitive place. Her mouth was a vital necessity and he returned to it again and again, taking small sips and then hungry long drinks of it, as his hands made short work of removing the rest of their clothes which had become a nuisance. And after he had uncovered the rest of her, he had to stop and marvel at the overall beauty of her - not that Sarah was so very perfect - that wasn't it. But what she had was exactly what Michael wanted; what he had always held most dear. And pressing his naked body down upon hers felt so much like coming home after a long rough journey. He allowed himself to melt into her; seep into her bones; the small arms and legs coiled around him forcing one deep hum of need from his soul, and he sent that sound into her throat as he returned her embrace and slipped inside her in one long stroke. "Oh, God..." She breathed it into his ear as she closed tightly around him. Michael shuddered and pressed deeper, trying to hold still; knowing she would enjoy it so much more if he took it very slow... A small part of his brain wondered how he would know that about Sarah - even as he found himself moving within her warmth, slowly; slipped his fingers into her hair and held her face very close to his as he measured the strokes he took, and murmured to her in an almost soundless voice, "Tell me... what you want... what you like..." Sarah's focus never lost his as she sighed the words back at him. "You already know... don't you?" And he did; somehow he did. He knew. What she liked... what made her sigh. And gasp - and scream. He knew. "Yes, I do... I know. Jesus, so right -" And he held her face close, breathing into her open mouth as he gave her long, slow thrusts; she wouldn't need to breathe at all for he would feed her body the oxygen it needed. Watching the emotion flit across her lovely face as she registered each stroke which made her body arch like a bow beneath his... So right. He gasped it into her mouth, fighting the need to go any faster, knowing she wanted it deep and slow and needy... just as he'd done for her the last time they'd been together this way. The last time... steel in silk, it had been. Silk. Her skin - silk. The delicate underside of each slender arm - silk. The swipe of her tongue along his, as his kisses grew more passionate, echoing the movements of his body - more silk. It enclosed him, encased him; spun itself inside his head as he thrust faster now - long and fast - and his hands held her hips arched high against him; an angle which made him fill her past the point of comfort and increased the friction until she was sobbing with it. Michael closed his eyes and felt it pull him under; the spinning whorls of it unraveling him until it clenched him hard and burst - And at the moment she gripped around him and her climax forced a sobbing scream from her throat... his cry of, "God oh GOD, Sculleee...!" echoed and bounced off the walls surrounding them. His boneless frame shuddered a few final times and then fell full upon her, face-first into the pillow next to her sweat-dampened hair. Her viselike grip on him relaxed somewhat, but she wouldn't let him go; needing to feel his weight almost smothering her. Whispering unsteadily, "Don't leave me yet, don't pull out yet..." He smiled against her throat and replied softly. "No, Scully... I'm not going anywhere..." Scully... Oh, Jesus. He felt her hand winnow into his hair; fingers tugging until he had moved his head and was staring straight down into her wide, bemused eyes. He was never sure what she saw there but her simple acknowledgment confirmed it; confirmed him. "Mulder..." That one word said it all; said it and cemented it for both of them. He found himself nodding; how could he have not remembered something as life-sustaining, as being Fox Mulder to her Dana Scully? How...? He nodded, more confidently, and kissed her on each soft breast, as he replied. "Yes..." Another kiss, between the warm mounds, feeling her heartbeat increase under his mouth. "Yes..." Lower on her, mid- section kisses, hearing her gasp in response as her body began to respond again. "Yes... Mulder, oh yes..." He echoed her - "Yes..." Over her stomach, on a trip to heaven, punctuating each loving kiss with a "Yes," until he reached her saturated warmth, and sent the final "Yes" deep inside her where, just a short while ago, Michael Foster had discovered Fox Mulder. Her fingers grabbed onto the bedspread and she held on tightly as he lavished upon her the sweetness of remembrance. And for Mulder the coming home was tender and poignant and so much more treasured for the almost-loss of it; as he took his love and life with tender, soft licks and kisses, he found himself dizzy with the myriad of unanswered questions teeming in his head. Just knowing, and caring only - that he'd found his Scully; and understanding not so much why the loss occurred in the first place but that the rediscovery was so very, very sweet. He felt himself tearing up; cradling her hips between his hands as those tears fell upon her skin. He probed her delicately, needing to feel her lose herself again. As his mouth and tongue whipped her into another frenzy; as she screamed and shivered and pulsed beneath him - Mulder remembered just what he always did, at moments such as these; when her quaking body was more than enough to make him ready again - and he held her in his mouth until her tremors subsided, and turned her over on her stomach. Searching for, and then finding with first his tongue, then his mouth - The tattoo. Her tattoo. And he traced the dark beauty of it with his tongue and heard the satisfied sigh she uttered unto the pillow under her face. It was one more spot of affirmation; not required at this point... but cherished just the same. The words he spoke into its center were also already known - but a woman liked to hear them just the same, and it had been too long since he'd given them to her. All the sweeter for the telling, now that he knew who they both were. "Scully, oh baby... I love you. I love you so..." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY ** Dana Scully awoke in the arms of Fox Mulder and for one brief sleepy moment she thought it had all been nothing more than a horrible nightmare; the asylum, the evil doctors, her lost identity, Mulder being someone else, their crazy escape from Keystone and the people they'd met along the way, her mom vanishing - their missing friends too... all of it, just a bad dream. She listened to the strong steady beat of Mulder's heart, her head resting on the warmth of his bare chest as she lay cradled in the protection of his loving embrace. But slowly, as her consciousness rose from the hazy mist of post-slumber confusion, Scully remembered what had happened the night before; and she opened her eyes with a tiny gasp, squinting into the sunlight that was pouring in the dingy old motel room through tattered draperies. Sometime last night in the tumult of their passion Mulder had come back to her. And upon his return she once again found her true north, a compass point by which she could get her bearings and once again set a steady course. Now that Mulder was by her side she could weather the storm with the comforting knowledge that she was not going in circles, not hopelessly lost in a sea of surging delusions and ebbing certainties. Once again he had rescued her, Fox Mulder - gallant champion to her distressed damsel. There was a time when she would have deeply resented the notion that she needed him, needed anyone to depend on other than herself; but that day was since past - the theory debunked by a myriad of experiences that were heavy testimonial to her own frailty. She had long ago admitted to herself that without Mulder she wasn't the tower of strength she had always pretended to be. The last year was evidence enough, had she not been convinced of it before. Her fear of codependency had stalled their relationship for years. It wasn't until she realized that avoiding intimacy would not prevent the inevitable emotional nexus, that Scully finally ceded and allowed herself the pleasure of loving him physically. As she remembered it now they'd kept their love affair a secret. But so much of what they'd shared was still lost to her. The year prior to their commitment to that asylum was still too vague in her recollections for her to grasp onto any sort of understanding of events. Thinking about it gave her a terrible feeling of uneasiness. She hoped that Mulder would soon be able to shed some light in the more nebulous corners of her memory. They'd been too exhausted last night to do anything more than hold each other after they'd made love. Mulder had affirmed his feelings for her over and over, speaking her name as if he were invoking a prayer. With each 'Scully' he breathed she felt reborn, baptized in his adoration and empowered by the strength of his belief in her. This morning she awoke with renewed vigor and purpose, a determination to find the truth and take back her life from the evil forces who'd stolen it. Mulder began to stir, and she lifted her head so she could watch him slowly work his way to consciousness. He took a deep breath and yawned, his eyes blinking a few times before focusing on her smiling face. He immediately flashed her a smile of his own. "Morning, Sunshine." Scully's grin increased tenfold. She inched her way up Mulder's body and caught his mouth with hers, eager to reassert her claim as his lover. His body came to life beneath her as she teased him with her tongue, then sucked on his bottom lip. "Mmm... Morning, Mulder." "Michael," he steadfastly corrected her. Scully's eyes went wide, a sinking fear pulling at her chest. Then she saw the twinkle of mischief playing in his sleepy stare and sat up abruptly, smacking him hard in the arm for his cruelty. "You bastard, Mulder! That's not funny!" "Ouch!" he complained through his laughter; then playfully pulled her down on him, rolling them both over and pinning her to the bed. She struggled indignantly beneath him for a moment, but her fury quickly faded, replaced by another strong emotion as she felt his erection pressing into her sex. Scully let herself relax then, shifting her legs apart so he could enter her. He slid in slowly... Heaven... perfect... She hummed her approval, sighing with contentment as she received him. Then he began to move in her with long, unhurried strokes; in and out, each time going a little deeper than the time before, slowly stretching her to accommodate his length and girth. Mulder had always been a fabulous lover, giving and attentive, diligently seeking her pleasure and release before his own. He knew she liked it slow; the deliberate and delicious sweet agony of his deep penetrations playing on her sensuality until her passions went white-hot and the intensity made her scream. Always good... so good... he was so incredibly good to her... "Mulder," she cried breathlessly, and he understood she was very close then; concentrating on just the spot he knew would be her undoing, he increased his efforts and was almost instantly rewarded. "Oh, yesss... God! Just like that. Yes... right there. Don't stop! Please... Don't... OOOHHHH!!!" Her body stiffened, back arching off the bed, overwhelmed. She shuddered and clenched around him and he thrust into her twice more before surrendering to his own release and calling out her name. "Sculleee..." She loved the feeling of him spilling inside her, filling her, giving her, lavishing her with his essence. A holy act; consecration. It had always been that way for her with him, deeply satisfying, sanctifying, reverent. Before Mulder, sex had invariably provoked a sense of guilt in her. But her conscience felt no transgression in loving him; it was almost as if God knew her heart and blessed their union, absolving her of the sin. Or to look at it in a way Mulder would better appreciate, perhaps it was the cosmic rightness of it, two soul mates intimately joined physically as they were spiritually... Either way, the experience was ethereal. Absently, she brought her hand to her neck to touch her tiny cross, then gave herself a silent admonishment for forgetting again. As Mulder's body relaxed over hers, he rolled to his side in a boneless, sated heap. They lay facing each other, contented and tingling, enjoying the afterglow. When Scully could manage the strength to speak again, she couldn't resist giving him a little gentle ribbing. "So, Mulder, am I to understand that the only time you remember my name is when we're having sex?" She bit her cheek to keep from laughing. He winked at her. "Take that as a compliment. You're unforgettable in bed, Scully." She raised her brows and couldn't hide the smile any longer. It was good to have him back. She took much needed comfort in the familiarity of their playful banter. Everything outside of them may be terribly wrong - the life they'd known mysteriously vanished - but he was Mulder to her Scully again and that gave her a place from which to start to make it all right again. "I missed you, Mulder. I was lost without you." He kissed her forehead, cuddling her close. "I don't remember much. But I know you are Dana Scully, my partner... my love. My one in five billion." "It's six billion now," she teased, her playfulness a symptom of the overwhelming joy she felt at having him back. "What did I tell you about math geeks, Scully?" She chuckled into shoulder. "Ah... So you do remember me." Mulder's light mood became weighted with frustration as he tried to reach into the past. "My memories are all... jumbled. Some things I recall, some you told me and now I know you're right, and there's a lot of... nothing... gaps. And so much of it is confused with this other life, this Michael person I thought I was... God, Scully, it's maddening when I think too hard." She understood his suffering all too well. "Time, Mulder. Each day, each hour, more and more comes back to me. Whatever was done to us, it's not irreversible. Maybe that's why they put us in the asylum, monitored us and kept us drugged." "Whoever THEY are, and whatever they did to us, it was apparently a lot more successful on me. You retained some of your memories, found a way to resist them. That's why you were on the tenth floor and they kept up the shock treatments..." "They did something else to me, Mulder - something truly horrible... but I can't remember... It's like waking up from a nightmare, the terror is still with you but you can't recall the dream. I just know it was terrible." She found herself starting to tremble, but forcefully willed herself to stop. "I'm sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you." He hugged her closer, blinking back tears of regret. "No. God. Don't be sorry. You saved me, Mulder. When I needed you the most you were there... just as always." He shrugged off her praise. Mulder always did find it easier to accept blame than compliments. "So, now what? The Gunmen are gone, your mom... Something's happened to Skinner. Whoever our enemies are, it seems they were pretty thorough in erasing our lives. Should we go back and talk to your mom's neighbor? Try and find out what might have happened to your mother?" "I don't think so. They were watching for us there. I can try to reach my brothers." "Bill and...?" he struggled for the rest. "Charles," she offered. Mulder rolled his eyes in frustration. "Don't feel bad, Mulder. You've never met him. He's been stationed overseas for years." "You know how to get in touch with him?" "Well, I'm going to try Bill first. I don't remember his phone number, but if we call the Naval base where he's stationed; they should be able to put us in contact with him." She climbed out of bed and searched the room for her clothing, putting on her T-shirt and panties before excitedly kneeling in the chair beside the phone. Her hand was on the receiver when she realized she had no way of making a long distance call. "Damn!" "What?" Mulder had put on his boxers and pulled up a chair beside hers. "It's long distance." She frowned. "I guess I'll have to call the Department of the Navy here locally and try and get the information from them." He helped her find the number in the phone book and she quickly dialed, impatiently checking the clock by the bed when the phone rang unanswered for the fifth time. It was after 10 AM; two rings later the switchboard operator picked up and very shortly after that Scully was being transferred to the appropriate office. "Records, Petty Officer Connors speaking," a young male voice answered. "Yes, I'm trying to contact my brother. He's stationed out in San Diego. Lieutenant Commander William Scully, Jr. I need a phone number for him if you could find it for me, please." "Your name, ma'am?" "Dana Scully, I'm his sister." "One moment." She could here the click click of a keyboard in the background as the young noncom searched for the information. "I'm sorry," he came back to her after several minutes. "Did you say you were Commander Scully's sister?" "Yes. I'm Dana Scully." "Ma'am, according to my records both of Commander Scully's sisters are deceased. Dana Scully died on July 13, 2001. And Melissa Scully died..." "I KNOW when Melissa Scully died!" she cut him off angrily. "But I'M very much alive. Your records are obviously mistaken. Now, please give me my brother's phone number and I can straighten this whole thing out." "I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't do that. It's against regulations to give out personal information to unauthorized parties." "Damn it, this is important! I don't have time for military red tape!" There was a long pause and then a female voice came on the line. "This is Lieutenant Drake, did you say you were Dana Scully?" "Yes." "Ms. Scully, could you give us your location? We'll send a car for you so that we can verify your identity and clear this matter up immediately." Scully felt a cold chill of apprehension. This wasn't right. This wasn't protocol. And when she heard the distinctive click of a trace on the line, without another word she hung up the phone. Though he'd only heard her part of the conversation, Mulder caught enough to know there was trouble. He gave Scully an expectant look. "Well, according to the Navy, Dana Scully died in July of 2001." She sighed. "I'm betting Fox Mulder did as well." "The plot thickens." "The plot stinks, Mulder! My family thinks I'm dead! And I could swear they were tapping that phone call just now. They wanted to send a car for me. First the person waiting at my mother's house, then someone intercepting my call to Skinner yesterday, now this... Someone is anticipating our moves and is ready and waiting for us at every turn." "It seems the fun's only just begun. So, Agent Scully, are you up for a little investigating?" "Mulder, we have no money, no identification, no access - we don't even have a car. How do you propose we conduct an investigation?" "Public library. Bus stops right in front." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ** Checking out of that funky motel hadn't been any big loss, Mulder decided, as he and Scully sat on a bench in front of the bus stop. The prices may have been cheap but the economy of the place had been reflected in the quality of the room they'd rented - which meant it had no quality at all. But for all its grimy antiquity, broken bedsprings and shredded draperies... Mulder would always remember that room with nothing but affection. It had housed the reunion of the millennium - it had aided and abetted his return to himself, and to Scully. He reached out a finger or two and played with an errant strand of her hair, as they waited for the bus, and took mental stock of their resources. Figuring their money, however sparingly spent, would not last very long at all... they needed to find someone fast who not only knew who they were, but who also could be trusted to help them. With all the city's enormity, Mulder couldn't assure himself they'd stay hidden for long. If there were people searching for them; enough of a desire out there to find them - to warrant tapped phones at high military levels... Mulder wondered just how long they could avoid the seemingly-inevitable. Memorial Library was old and mammoth; so large it had its own directory on the main floor lobby, rather like a mall. They stood in front of it, trying to decipher the myriad of floors, departments and sub-departments. "Exactly what are we looking for, Mulder?" Mulder scanned the diagram, floor by floor. Each one was sectioned off, labeled and then sub-labeled by room. He patiently searched, until he found what he wanted. Pointing at a section of the fourth floor diagram, he grabbed at Scully's hand. "There it is - 'Public Records - Births and Deaths'. That's where we need to be. C'mon." He tugged her behind him to a nearby elevator... They found Scully's death record first; it felt odd to be looking at something so clinical - so downright chilling. Mulder held tightly to her hand, as they read both records on the microfiche. They found a newspaper article as well that described their tragic end. An apartment gas line... faulty valves and bad wiring combined to create an explosion which ripped through the first and second floors and resulted in nine deaths; two of which were burned beyond recognition. Beyond dental identification - it was later determined the two bodies were Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, since they had been found in the incinerated ashes of her apartment. A memorial service had been held for both agents, on July 16, 2001; burial had been at St. John's Cemetery, in Rockville... "Oh, God, Mulder... my poor mother! First my father and then Melissa and - Jesus, burying another daughter." She choked back a sob, turning her face away while she tried to keep her composure. Mulder hated seeing her hurt like that - struggling so hard to hide her pain from him. He bit back the urge to scream at the top of his lungs at the injustice of it all; for everything that had been taken from them - from both of them. He put his arm around her, drawing her near, giving her the strength he knew she needed from him but was trying to do without. "Scully, please - it's gonna be okay. We're gonna get to the bottom of this; find out who's responsible and make them pay. Mark my words, they'll pay." Scully nodded again and wiped at her eyes, quickly dismissing her emotions, then rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a damp kiss on Mulder's mouth, softly caressing his bottom lip, before pulling away and gazing up at him. "Mulder - I want to go to the cemetery. I want to see it." He regarded her with surprise, at first thinking she was kidding. He stared hard at her; she was serious. "Are you sure? You really want to see something like that?" "I really do." It took them the better part of the afternoon riding busses; public transportation being a slow circuitous route, but eventually getting them to their destination - Rockville, Maryland. The last bus took them within a block of the front gates of St. John's Cemetery. The wind had kicked up a bit as the day had worn on; leaves rustled along the footpath which led around the main grounds and up to the cemetery office. The doors were unlocked but the office was empty - and they entered quietly, looking around for someone to help them. When no one showed up after ten minutes, Mulder went on a search for the cemetery directory. Five minutes later, they had the directions they needed. Fifteen minutes later, they stood in the brisk wind of a dreary fall's late afternoon, staring down at the double grave site. Two marble headstones; one white and one gray - both identical in shape and connected together by a grecian urn placed in the center between each headstone, its handles creating the connection. The urn was filled with a profusion of late-summer flowers and trailing ivy. The flowers were still fairly fresh and the planting soil had been recently watered. Mulder examined the surrounding site with a critical eye; it showed signs of being swept and cleaned recently. Someone was coming here on a regular basis and taking care of them... Beside him, Scully drew a ragged breath and read aloud the words on each stone: 'Dana Katherine Scully Beloved Daughter and Sister February 23, 1964 to July 13, 2001' And on Mulder's: 'Fox William Mulder Cherished Son and Brother October 13, 1961 to July 13, 2001' And on the very bottom of each stone, two words; the phrase connecting from one stone to another beginning with Scully's stone: "I Want" - and ending on Mulder's stone: "To Believe"... "Oh, Mulder... she remembered. I had told Mom, years ago - that your creed had become my creed... and she remembered." They stood entwined, staring down at the stones; both fighting to hold in the tears. And neither one saw the silhouette of a man, garbed in a dark trenchcoat, standing several yards away and watching them very carefully; a man who raised a smoking cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag of it, before dropping it to the ground, crushing it under his heel and immediately reaching into his pocket for another, as he walked slowly toward them in the dwindling daylight. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO ** As difficult as it was to look upon their deaths, Scully's heart was touched deeply that her mother had understood what she and Mulder meant to each other. That they would want to be remembered in death as they were in life, two parts of the same whole. To the best of Scully's memory, she and Mulder had never publicly admitted to a personal relationship beyond that of friends; but Maggie Scully had always treated her daughter's partner as one of the family - seeing and acknowledging the unspoken love between the two of them long before they'd even admitted it to themselves. Scully let herself sink deeper into Mulder's embrace, feeling oddly like a ghost looking back at her own life. The day was fast dissolving into twilight and she shivered as a strong gust of wind came out of the East and bit at them angrily. Mulder rubbed his hands briskly over her back in an effort to warm her. "Come on, Scully. It'll be getting dark soon. We have to find shelter for the night. I'm afraid we don't have enough money to stay someplace as fashionable as the DC Motor Lodge again. There was a cozy little overpass a couple of miles from here though, and I noticed a Wendy's along the way." "You really know how to show a girl a good time, Mulder," she chuckled as they started to walk, hand in hand, back toward the front gates. That's when she saw him. He was approaching them steadily, gaunt and wrinkled, draped in a black overcoat, smoke leaking from his thin, tobacco-stained lips. This time her mind supplied a name for the evil one - Spender. Looking ever so much like he'd just stepped out of a nightmare; the sight of him sent Scully's heart racing. The two agents froze in their tracks, Scully's hand surreptitiously sneaking into her jacket pocket to grip the gun still hidden there. "I see you've come to pay your respects." He took a drag from his cigarette, letting the wind carry away the malignant exhaust as he exhaled his habit into the chilled air. "Aren't you dead?" For some reason Scully thought she remembered his end. He smiled, but the gesture seemed foreign to him. "I could say the same to you, my dear." "Is this your work?" Scully glared at the old man, letting go of Mulder's hand and pointing back at the gravestones angrily. "Was it you who stole our lives from us; locking us away to rot in that hell up in Pennsylvania?" "You put us in a desperate situation. Choices had to be made. I did what I could for both of you. I kept you together." "I didn't know Satan had a conscience," Mulder quipped. "You liken me to the devil, Fox? I was your angel of mercy. If it weren't for my interference, the others would have seen you both dead. I petitioned on your behalf. Your survival was conditional of course, dependent upon the success of the indoctrination process. But there were complications. Agent Scully was resistant to the ingraining; and you, Fox, suffered terrible bouts of depression as a result of the procedure. Keystone seemed the best choice. I had hoped the doctors there could help you both." Scully's rage was increasing rapidly. Her finger twitched over the trigger still concealed inside her pocket. "Where is my mother? What have you done with our friends?" "I've done nothing. They have simply gone on with their lives. Your mother moved to Florida last November when your brother Bill Jr., received a promotion to full Commander and was transferred to the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville. Margaret is a lovely woman, with amazing strength... She's enjoying her duties as grandparent now. Your sister-in-law Tara gave birth to twin daughters this past May. They're all doing quite well, I assure you." "Stay away from my family," Scully warned, the desire to put a bullet in the vile man growing more difficult to ignore. "I've merely been keeping watch in your absence." "Well, I'm back now. Your services are no longer required, or appreciated. Stay the hell away from all of us." "It's getting dark and a bit too cold out here for old bones like mine. Come with me and we'll find someplace more comfortable to talk... over dinner perhaps?" "We're not going anywhere with you, Spender," Scully laughed at the man's audacity. "But I've come offering you protection. My associates know of your escape; and the dogs and hunters have already been set loose. It's only a matter of time before they have you both treed for the kill. You can't return to your former lives, they'd never allow it. You're in terrible danger just being here in DC." "And you want to help us?" Mulder asked skeptically. "Yes. I'm prepared to offer you a brand new life together. New identities, jobs, a home, a sizable bank account to start over with." "Why? Why would you help us? And for that matter, why were we targeted in the first place?" Mulder shook his head confused. "None of this makes any sense. We've been enemies for years; why kill us now?" The Smoking Man took a long pull off his cigarette, giving thought to the younger man's queries. "Would you not expect me to have compassion for my own son?" "Don't listen to him, Mulder. He's lying to you. He's not your father. Your father was Bill Mulder, and I'm fairly certain our cigarette-smoking guardian angel here had a hand in his death." "Bill Mulder betrayed me, but he was my friend. The order to kill him did not come from me." He tossed down the smoldering butt and crushed it into the grass with his heel. "I AM your father, Fox. I can prove it if you like." Scully'd had enough. The last thing Mulder needed right now was CGB Spender confusing him with self-serving lies. She drew the gun from her pocket and aimed it where the man's heart would be if he had one. "We're not interested in your deceit. Mulder and I are going to find out the truth behind this scheme of yours. And we're going to see to it that everybody involved gets what's coming to them." "You're making a fatal mistake, Agent Scully. Without my help and protection you're both as good as dead," Spender warned. "We'll take our chances." Scully kept the gun on him as she and Mulder slowly backed away. "Trust me on this! Let me help you! Please!" he called after them as they moved further and further away. "Dana, my son is all I have left! Let me protect him before it's too late!" xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ** "Scully... do you think -" "No, I don't, Mulder." "But what if he -" "NO. Not even, Mulder - no way. You may not remember much of what Spender was to us, but I am recalling more and more. That monster was one of the biggest inhabitants of my nightmares when we were in Keystone." Scully was walking so fast that Mulder had to lengthen his stride to keep up. Rounding the corner, one block from the cemetery, he finally caught up with her and reached out a hand to grasp her arm, swinging her around to face him. She stared almost through him, her mind obviously far away. Mulder sighed, and led her over to a low cement wall; sat both of them down. "Tell me what you remember. My memory is sketchy at best, so I'm gonna have to rely on you to tell me about our past. Tell me about Spender... help me to understand." Scully took a deep, shaky breath and gripped his hands, meeting his eyes with such a look of despair it tore at him. He whispered to her, "Please, Scully... tell me. Something, anything that can prod at me, even if it hurts -" "He killed... some people very near and dear to us, Mulder. All in the name of someone or something he is a slave to... the details are still nebulous to me. I can only recall bits and pieces of it. I know that he killed your father - or gave the order to have him killed. Same thing, I'd say. God, Mulder - he was the one responsible for my sister's death too! As soon as I saw his face I remembered that. My sister Melissa... the man who shot her, I think he thought she was me, that night. It was in my apartment, I remember that. She came to my apartment and I still can't quite recall why she was there and not me... but they killed her. I can't see the face of her murderer now - but I will, someday. I may not remember him yet but I know he's still running around a free man." She took a moment to fight down her surging anger. "He claims to be your biological father, Mulder. Don't believe him - he's a filthy liar. He has done so many horrible things to us, both of us. You can't believe a thing he says. There was something he did to me, a terrible thing, several years ago - it's foggy still; but I would feel it sometimes at the edge of my consciousness, when I would try to sleep in my room at Keystone. I remember being very cold, frozen in liquid ice; like a tomb. I couldn't get out. I couldn't breathe. But I could see out through the liquid - and it was as if my eyes would be forever frozen open. I could see and feel every horror yet to come... but would be powerless to help myself get away. Paralyzed, Mulder - the way I felt when I would have to go through those awful shock treatments. Helpless... oh, God, Mulder..." She shuddered, and swallowed hard a few times; but she did not cry. Her eyes hardened ominously, however; and although Mulder hated to see her clamp down on her emotions that way, he knew it was necessary. She had to get strong; get tough. Sarah Davis was gone... and in her place was a new woman. This one was healing rapidly - this one would not let anyone force her into any sort of shock treatment again. This one would hang tightly to his side; fighting with him - and for the first time in days, Mulder felt his balance once again. There were still many gaps in their collective memory, especially his... but it was returning to him, a small piece at a time. He pulled Scully into his lap; she came warmly and willingly and curled herself close; seemingly content to let him baby her, just a little. He whispered silly, outrageously corny cliches into her ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin; she giggled into his shoulder and kept her head pressed close to him, listening to every word. It was the best comfort he could offer at that moment and she seemed to like it very well; seemed to thrive on it. The rumble of rain clouds brought them both to their senses, and Mulder smoothed back her damp hair and whispered to her, "Sweetheart, come on; we need to find a place to sleep for the night. Maybe sleeping out in the open isn't such a good idea - let's catch another bus and find a cheap place somewhere downtown, okay? It can't be as expensive out here in Rockville as it is in DC." Scully took a deep breath or two, and her worried eyes met his as she struggled to a more upright position, still sitting in his lap. "Can we afford it? We don't have much money left." He smiled at her and nodded, giving her a squeeze. "Yeah, I think we can handle it. We'll get the cheapest room we can, and pretend we're at the Ritz, okay? We'll get some Wendy's or McDonald's, and pretend it's champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries... and we'll make love and fall asleep spooned together like baby cats... alright?" She grinned at him delightedly, and squeezed him back, happy again. "I don't have to wear that awful itchy green beauty mask again, do I?" He regarded her very seriously, frowning a bit. "You mean that inch- thick shit on your face was some fancy-pants salon's idea of beauty? Sheesh..." "Shut up, Mulder." The Rockville Arms was cheaper in price than the last dive they'd rented, but cleaner and minimally nicer. At least the curtains stayed shut and weren't torn. The bed was lumpy but the sheets smelled clean and the TV worked. Scully ran a bath for herself while Mulder counted out the remainder of their money, laid out on the bedspread. It wasn't bad but wasn't very good, either. He figured they'd have enough to get them to Florida, with a bit left over to take several buses if needed and still get in a couple of inexpensive meals. He pocketed the cash and got out of his clothes, wrinkling his nose at the smell of them. It would be less than pleasant getting back into soiled clothes with a clean body... but they'd solve that problem as soon as they could find Scully's family. He had money in the bank somewhere; he just had to. He'd figure out something. He jumped up from the bed and sauntered into the bathroom, casually naked; catching sight of Scully in a bath full of... bubbles? "Hey, where'd the bubbles come from?" Scully grinned up at him and held out an empty bottle of motel shampoo - surprisingly, for such a budget priced motel, the Rockville Arms boasted luxuries as soap, shampoo, and even shower caps. She gazed up at him admiringly as she dropped the bottle at his feet and held out a soapy hand. Mulder couldn't help but notice the exact area of his anatomy that held her rapt attention - his embarrassment battled with his male pride and the pride won out. He squatted down to eye level and out-stared her, then gawked pointedly at her sudsy breasts, until she started to squirm. "Stop that - it's impolite to stare." He laughed out loud and swirled a lazy finger in the warm silky water, intentionally brushing up against her rosy nipple. Her eyes bored hotly into his face as he watched his finger play on her skin. "You stop staring first, Scully - and while you're at it, quit drooling in the tub water. Some of us want to use that water to bathe in..." She snorted and sat up a little straighter in the tub, watching his hand moving gently on her. "I saved the second bottle of shampoo for our hair. Come in and soak, Mulder - there's enough room. Come wash my back, and then I'll wash your front - and then you can wash my -" she broke off as he slid into the tub behind her, and wound his long legs all around her slippery body, reaching in front to cup her bobbing breasts. " - toes, Mulder... you can wash my toes." He rubbed bubbles into her nipples, and she gasped and arched back against him. He put his mouth very close to her ear and licked at the delicate curl of it before he spoke. "I'm gonna wash a hell of a lot more than your toes, baby... I'm gonna get you squeaky-clean, so clean I could eat off you - and then I think I'll follow my own instincts... and eat off you." And he slipped his hands lower in the water, and proceeded to demonstrate the proper way to get her all squeaky clean, just by use of the hands. Judging by her wriggles, humming moans and clenching fingers on his arms, as he diligently applied himself to the task at hand... Mulder figured he was doing an acceptable job. He relaxed against the slick rim of the tub, pulling Scully into more of a prone position; her head rested quite nicely into the crook of his shoulder and he slipped long fingers in and around her warm center, letting them talk to her flesh in the very best way. She sighed, more than happy to just accept. He murmured to her, "You're so soft and silky, Scully... so pretty. So very pretty - I've always thought so. I don't say the words to you nearly enough, you know..." She reached up one wet hand and curled it around the back of his neck and rubbed at him soothingly, as he toyed with her gently. Her words made him tremble... "Oh, yes you do, Mulder - you do. You tell me all the time... when you touch me; when you do nothing more than believe in me, or trust me. Nothing more complicated than that - just trusting me. You say it to me every minute of each day. And it's all I need, Mulder; all I'll ever need. I love you so much..." She pulled at his head until he leaned down and his mouth reached hers, kissing her with tenderness, as he kept up the soft rhythm of his hands and fingers, until she gasped into his mouth and arched into his hand. And by the time they'd finished their bath and he'd dried them both off, she was so relaxed and sleepy he carried her to bed. Then he lay down beside her, pulling her into his arms and drawing the sheets snugly around the two of them. She curled into him and slept on - one of her hands finding his erection which had not yet been eased away; she held him in her warm palm as he snuggled her to him, back to front, and they fell asleep that way - Like a couple of baby cats. In the black depth of the night, the dream came again to him; he'd thought those horrors were over, that once the medication had worked its way out of his system, there would be no more nightmares - but he was wrong. And this one was the worst... Sleeping so contentedly with Scully in his arms - or was it Sarah? Was he back at the hospital, and once again vulnerable to their dark machinations? He couldn't tell. In the dream, as he woke to the feel of his love being wrenched cruelly from his arms... he couldn't find breath to scream - his mouth was fastened tightly with tape of some sort. His wide, terrified eyes watched as the shadowed room came alive with the writhing forms of a malevolent presence, in a place which just hours ago had held such warmth, and promise. Scully/Sarah... God, where was she? He tried to call out to her; the tape held his cry locked down in his throat, glued there and choking him, as he found himself dragged to his feet. Hands biting into his bare arms; a blow to his stomach that doubled him over upon himself and forced tears of pain to his eyes... Somehow he managed to keep his feet, however. And at the sound of an angry scream, he managed to look up. Through eyes tearing with residual pain he saw her; across the expanse of the rumpled bed, naked and pinned, backside pressed against her captor's front - an obscene parody of the loving way he and Scully/Sarah had fallen asleep so many eons ago. Held tightly around her slender waist, by a black-clad arm; she fought and struggled to get away. The arm must have been very strong, for it kept her restrained easily - and there was a gloved hand holding a gun, right to her head. More figures in the room, forcing them forward, out the door and into the cold night air; he shivered and tried to turn his head, needing to see her; not able to find her - but he heard her. Screaming and cursing, then begging - no, not begging, not his Scully - or was it Sarah? Ordering was more accurate - someone, something - to let her go, to not do this to her; not this not again, please... And through his muddled thoughts he tried to imagine how on earth they could have brought an entire electro-shock treatment system to a dingy motel room in the middle of the night, all the way from Keystone... Hands, and tight bands of steel in their captors' arms, pulling them into vehicles; a van of some sort. Still naked, freezing and aching with the cold... he forced his head up against the pain in the back of his neck. One of them must have chopped him at the base of his nape and shoulder. He remembered now; he bit somebody's hand; someone not wearing a glove; someone stupid enough to let their appendage get too close to his teeth. The tang of bitter blood in his throat, he smiled in grim satisfaction as it registered in his head that he'd drawn blood. Good. Motherfuckers... He forced his head up; forced his swollen eyes to open, looking for her, everywhere for her. He could hear her but he couldn't see her... and the taste of blood again in his mouth, so strong and so real. Real... This was real. Not a dream, but real. The night breeze chilling his bare skin - real. The hands shoving him, gagged, into an idling van - real. The sudden clear sight of Scully being crammed into an identical van, just yards away from him in the poorly lit parking lot of the motel - real. Naked and with her mouth taped shut, arms forced behind her; eyes huge with a combination of fright and anger and helplessness. Even in the watery light of the streetlamps, he could see the glitter of hate on her face. Her hands were also bound with tape, and for the first time Mulder could feel the tape strapped around his wrists as well. Thrown into the back of the van, doors slammed shut - it was dark and musty. He couldn't see a thing; one of these goons must have removed all the interior lights from their tiny little sockets. He felt the van rock slightly, as his captors got in and the doors slammed. As he heard the engine roar to life, he maneuvered himself with painful resolve until he was in a semi- sitting position and could see over the back of the rear seat - just as the driver of his van turned around, and Mulder caught a glimpse of his face. Something about that face made him clench deep inside; clench in furious anger and wrenching betrayal. He knew that face - couldn't put a name to it but he knew it. The eyes stared at him, through him - dark and empty and cold. For endless seconds, they bore into Mulder's soul - then he turned and looked out the front windshield, slamming a foot on the accelerator; the van took off. Mulder was thrown to and fro by the erratic maneuvering of the vehicle, as he desperately tried to watch out the tinted side windows. He was able to see out the front windshield, enough to realize that the other van was in the next lane and slightly ahead of them. He struggled to keep his mind focused on figuring a way to escape, and not on whatever Scully might be going through, imprisoned in the vehicle which kept pace with theirs. If he dwelled there, he'd go mad. The ride so far had been made in absolute silence; at least three men besides the driver sitting in a dark heap in their seats, not one word passing between them. The driver had obeyed all traffic regulations and had not attempted to run stop signs or do anything else that might possibly call attention to him and his cohorts. Mulder had not bothered to make any sounds. His mouth ached under the tight tape, and expending his strength in yelling would do him absolutely no good for no one could hear him. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR ** They'd forced her, naked and bound, into the back of a van. Unlike Mulder, who had to fight to disengage himself from the depths of sleep when they were being dragged from their bed, Scully had come suddenly full awake to the horror of it the moment they'd grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back to restrain her. She'd resisted, but couldn't match the muscle of her attackers. As they dragged her out of the room, she'd screamed and cursed at them, furious at once again being made the victim. Then they'd sealed her mouth, the vile taste of adhesive gagging her as she struggled against the duct tape. Her bare feet hurt as they'd hurried her over the pebbly, cold asphalt of the parking lot and shoved her hard into the side door of a big black van. Two men climbed in after her, wrestling her into the back seat as the vehicle drove off into the night... Ten minutes later she was still seeing the vision of Mulder's terrified expression, his worried eyes watching helplessly as she'd been taken from him. Goddamn these bastards! Why did they have to separate them? "Where we gonna do 'em?" one of the thugs asked the driver. "The lake at Rock Creek Park. It's deep enough that no one will find them." He snickered. "None of the bodies have ever surfaced. It's a fucking underwater graveyard out there." No. No. They'd come too far, fought too hard for it to end like this. Scully burned with rage inside. Her fury erupted into fireworks when the man closest to her turned and put a lecherous hand on her bare thigh, looking her naked body up and down with a hungry gleam in his eyes and suggesting to the others, "Let's have a little fun with this one before we finish her off." Scully screamed her outrage through the binding over her mouth and launched herself forward down the center aisle of the van. The other two passengers were on her in a heartbeat, but she kicked out against them, connecting hard with the groin of the one unfortunate enough to get to her first. He doubled back on himself, slumping in pain to the floor. The other man struck her brutally across the face with the back of his hand, sending a stinging jolt of pain into her head. It stunned her into submission, but the second blow - done just out of spite - rekindled her will. And she kicked again, this time with both feet; knocking the second gorilla off balance; sending him backward into the driver's seat. Causing the vehicle's operator to lose control and swerve into the other lane - throwing everybody to the right and then the left and then the right again as he struggled with the wheel. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx They had been driving less than ten minutes, when suddenly the van in front of them swerved violently, pulling to the side and almost rolling. Mulder was thrown forward when the driver of his van jerked the wheel hard left to avoid a collision, as the other van slid into his lane. He slammed on the brakes, cursing under his breath; Mulder strained to hear the voice in the futile hope that it would trigger something, but the man's muttering was too low and gravelly to recognize. Then his entire body stiffened in shock... as the driver whipped around in his seat, the van still moving forward - and swung a mean-looking Sig up and into the faces of the three men sitting in the seats behind him; in just a few stunned seconds he blew them away, picking them off as easily as cans on a fence. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating the side windows and the doors. They never had time to react - and neither did Mulder, as the van screeched to a stop and he was flung forward, hitting his head hard on the seat in front of him and almost getting knocked out. Another round of gunfire snapped him out of his semi-conscious state, and Mulder crawled over to the side window, wincing in pain at the throbbing in his head... just in time to see Scully's van and its occupants flip and roll, spinning a few sluggish times before coming to a sliding stop on its side. He barely had time to react - to start to panic - before the side door was wrenched open and an arm reached in and yanked him out by his hair, flinging him to the ground. He landed on his bare ass, grunting in pain as the rough pavement bit into his tender skin, and the force of it nearly knocked the wind out of him. Mulder shook the hair out of his eyes and jerked his head up at the sound of the voice coming from the man who stood over him; the Sig trained dead on his face. A few guttural words, and the man just turned and melted away into the night... "Go. Get her. She's alive. Get her and disappear... hurry." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The big ape with the wicked backhand had just regained his footing and was bearing down on Scully with an angry face when there was a loud !POP! and the driver's passenger window shattered. The driver who had just regained control of the vehicle suddenly slumped over the wheel, his foot weighting the gas pedal, surging them forward out of control. Three seconds later the body of the driver fell sideways turning the wheel hard and causing the van to turn sharply and flip on its side, rolling completely over and sliding off the road before it came to a hard stop. Scully had tumbled and bounced wildly around the van's interior, unable to grab on to anything to stop herself from being thrown about. She slammed into the roof as the van rolled over, then hit the right passenger window with bruising force before finally coming to a bone jarring halt; one of the others landing on top of her, his dead weight pinning her against the broken glass. Disoriented and dizzy she barely made out the face of the man whose arm reached through the shattered windshield with a gun. She cringed, thinking the bullets were meant for her; but the gunman only fired two shots, one into the head of each of the semi-conscious men beside her. What in the hell was happening here? Who were these people and why was one of them seemingly on her and Mulder's side? Mulder... God, what had happened to him in all of this? She struggled to inch herself out from under the dead thug - thanking God for safety glass as her bare flesh scraped over the remains of the smashed window. Her body ached, especially her arms, pinned as they were so unnaturally behind her back. She could taste blood in the back of her throat and felt it trickle from her nose. She couldn't remember banging her face on anything... maybe the hit's she'd taken from that nasty Neanderthal had caused it. Regardless, she desperately wanted the tape off her face as it was fast becoming difficult to breathe through her injured nose. Ignoring her discomfort she willed herself to continue toward the doors at the back of the van, the easiest and closest exit. That's when she heard him calling and her blood began to pump faster through her veins at the panicked sound of his voice. "Scully! Sculleee... God! Scully, can you hear me?!" There were several loud bangs against the back doors. "Shit! Goddammit! Scully, please answer." She fought harder to get to the door, to get to Mulder... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "Scully! Scully, Jesus, answer me! Scully, you gotta unlock the door..." Mulder fought with the bindings on his wrists, trying to rip them off with his teeth. He'd managed to remove his mouth tape with one bound hand, the pain from pulling his hand up at such an odd angle just about making him black out. The skin around his mouth was raw but not bleeding. He'd run over to the other van and yelled hoarsely for her, in between trying to gnaw on his wrists. He kicked at the door with his bare feet, finally hearing a rustling inside, then almost cried aloud in relief as first her bright hair, then her pale face emerged from the back door; looking up at him with wide, teary eyes, mouth still taped shut. She had somehow been able to maneuver herself to reach the door, unlocking it with her hands still tied behind her. Later Mulder would tell her what an amazing woman she was; but for now they needed to get the hell out of there. The road was deserted, but they weren't very far out of town and anyone could come by at any moment. Carefully, Scully crawled out of the van, struggling to her feet as she emerged; by then Mulder had managed to chew the tape and free one of his wrists, and he reached out that arm and yanked her hard to his chest; she buried her taped mouth into his neck and mumbled his name over and over. He pushed her back a little, looking her over for injuries. There were minor abrasions all over her body, but her face seem to bear the brunt of the trauma. Her cheek was swollen and her nose was bleeding; why that panicked him, Mulder couldn't quite understand. But the sight of that trickle of blood coming from her delicate nose made him weak in the knees, hit him square in the stomach and nearly brought him to tears. "Scully," he breathed, fighting off his unreasonable reaction to her relatively minor injury. "Are you okay?" She nodded at him, wide eyes shimmering with relief. Mulder kissed every inch of her face, thankfully - then used his teeth to tug at the tape until he was able to loosen it and pull it off. He was as careful as he could be but she still cried out with the pain. Her poor mouth looked as raw as his felt, but that didn't stop her from covering his mouth with eager lips and kissing the legs off him. In between frantic kisses, he forced a few sentences out. "Scully, mm... We gotta get outta here, try to get back to the motel. Get our stuff, mmm... love you too... We gotta move, now! We're not safe here." He removed the tape from his other wrist, then carefully got her hands free and chaffed her sore wrists between his palms, finally urging her back to the first van. She shook her head, tugging him away. "Mulder, no, what are you doing? We have to leave..." He resolutely dragged her behind him as they reached the passenger doors, and he opened one of them, letting two of the bodies fall to the ground, where they lay face-up, staring sightlessly into the night sky. "Scully, we both need clothes - in case you haven't noticed we're stark naked and I don't know about you, but I'm goddamned cold." He removed a suit jacket from the first man and wrapped it around her, ignoring her gag of disgust, as the blood-spattered garment touched her. He jerked off the guy's pants and flung them at her; she grimaced but put them on, using the man's belt to hold them up. The second dead man was larger than Mulder but the pants stayed up reasonably well and the man's blazer would suffice. Taking Scully's hand, they ran off into the night, headed back to town. Mulder had figured they had about ten miles to go. Actually, it was more like five; they hadn't been as far away from the motel as he'd thought. They were exhausted though, by the time they reached their room - the whole ordeal taking a lot more out of them then either had to give. Amazingly, nothing looked amiss. No lights on in any of the units; the rest of the motel's occupants must have been undisturbed by the commotion, or indifferent to Scully's cries as they were taken from their bed and forced into the vans. He ushered Scully into the room, and they locked the door securely behind them. By mutual consent each threw off the offensive clothing they had borrowed, before falling face-first into the lumpy bed. They were content to just hold each other for the moment, although Mulder knew they'd need to scrub their skin raw and get back into their own clothes, hitting the road again and putting a lot of distance between them and the DC area. But for right now he needed to feel Scully's heart beating against his. Once again he'd almost lost her... and the panic he'd felt, the despair and helplessness... God, he never wanted to feel that way ever again. He kissed her face tenderly, every inch of it, before cupping her cheeks and gazing into her weary eyes. Oddly, on their walk back to the motel neither had spoken of the ordeal they'd just suffered through; shock had set in and they'd made the journey in silence, trying to recover from the terror and confusion of being abducted from their beds in the middle of the night. But now he had to know, needed answers; had to sort it out and make sense of it if he could. "Scully, think - did you recognize any of their faces? A voice maybe? Your memories are stronger than mine are; anything ring a bell?" Scully rubbed at her eyes hard and her brow furrowed as she struggled to get past the fear and stress of what they'd gone through, enough to let herself remember. And then her eyes opened wide, and her head came up and she stared at Mulder in dawning realization. "I remember; I DO, Mulder! A face. I got a flash of it, under one of those worthless streetlamps out in the parking lot, before they shoved you in the van. The other driver; the one who killed the men in my van... I know him! Oh, Jesus... I know him." She let out a shaky breath. "His name is Alex... Krycek." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE ** Krycek. The name sent a chill through her. He was the one, the one she'd tried to remember. "He's the bastard who'd killed my sister and your father. I remember him now. He was your partner for a short time. He left the Bureau when..." She stopped short, a flood of haunting memories rushing at her all at once. Duane Barry, Skyland Mountain, her abduction, nearly dying in a hospital bed - Mulder's voice her only tether to life in her weakest moments... Cancer. More doctors and hospitals. A chip implanted in her neck. Her hand moved to lightly brush fingers over a spot on the back of her neck. She felt a tiny scar there. My God, it was true. "Scully? What's wrong?" He was staring intently into her dazed and troubled eyes, worry creasing his brow. Her voice was distant, haunted with sorrow. "Sometimes it's not easy to remember." "Tell me," he prodded. "I want to know everything about you, about us... about our work. I NEED to know." "I can't. Not right now." Her eyes pleaded him not to pursue it any further. She wanted to be strong now - HAD to be. She'd shed far too many tears recently. And these tragedies from her past had already been dealt with; she'd cried for the pain she'd suffered and mourned the losses a long time ago - they were old wounds and she didn't want to reopen them. Mulder huffed out a frustrated sigh, but nodded his understanding. "So this man, Krycek, he was an agent that went bad, but now he's helped us escape. I hope you can make some sense of this, Scully, because I'm really at a loss as to what's going on." "I don't know what that was all about either. These people, Spender, Krycek... they are part of a very complicated game; a game we were trying to put a stop to. They can't be trusted. Whatever their motives are for wanting to help us, I'm sure they're self- serving and not in OUR best interest. And on that note, Mulder, we really should be getting out of here. I'm not interested in hanging around now that they know where we are." "I checked the bus schedule; there were a lot of options to Jacksonville. We can leave any time. The trick is to avoid being followed." "Spender will suspect we're going to Florida. We'll have to be careful. I don't want to endanger my family, but we need their help." It was mutually agreed that they would limit their visit with Scully's family to a brief reunion, just long enough to explain what they could and enlist their help; money really, that's what they needed the most. And it was important that someone they could trust knew they were alive. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx They hadn't even bothered to try and call first; they'd just shown up on Bill Scully's doorstep, after the night had darkened and the stars had come out. Scully was wildly impatient to cross that street and ring the hell out of the doorbell. She knelt in the damp grass across the street from the house, staring hungrily at the partially- slatted blinds of the living room. Every few minutes Mulder could see movement in the room, silhouetted against the glow of a lamp - but neither of them could make out anyone specific. The entire neighborhood was eerily quiet, almost hushed. Scully was practically dancing on her knees with anticipation by the time Mulder deemed it safe enough to cross the street and ring the bell. He knew he was probably being overly-cautious... but he was very tired and very spooked. Most of all he was worried about the reaction of the Scully clan once they looked upon their Dana, come back from the dead. Would they believe? That was the reason they'd opted not to call first. Returning from the dead was best done in person. At least that's what Scully had decided. Would they accept and welcome her with open arms and open minds? Mulder hoped so... for both their sakes. They'd checked the immediate area thoroughly before crossing the wide street, walking slowly and casually, holding hands. Scully's hand was icy and trembled; Mulder soothed his thumb over and over the top of it, until the trembling eased a little. By then they were at the door, and Scully reached out a shaky finger to press the doorbell. Stomping, kid-type footsteps rattled the glass in the windows as a heated argument in childish duet hung in the space between the wooden door and its screened partner. "Lemme! My turn!" "No it isn't, get away! Mine! You got it last..." "LY-ER! Mom!!!" Mulder glanced down at Scully, and saw her eyes were already tearing up, just from hearing her nephews fighting like that... it sounded sweet to him as well, and he smiled, thinking for the first time that everything was going to be all right. A woman's voice; he guessed it to be Tara; scolding both children, shooing them away; opening the door, a polite smile on her face which froze into a rictus of incredulous shock, as she locked her eyes on first Scully, then Mulder... he found himself reaching out a hand to her, convinced she was going to pass out right on the spot. Her eyes blinked, hard; her bottom lip started to tremble... And Scully whispered in a voice squeaky with emotion, "Tara? Tarr? It's me..." And Tara gulped visibly, swaying a little on her feet, her eyes never leaving Scully's as she opened her mouth and at first breathed out in a tiny moan, then cried out, "Bill... Mom... oh God... BILL!! MOMMMM!!!" xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Tara was shaking her head in utter disbelief, when first Bill and then Maggie came running at her frantic call. Both mother and son looked with wide eyes at the cause of Tara's excitement. "Hi," Scully said to them simply, fighting the urge to throw herself into her mother's arms. This was a shock to them, she reminded herself; they needed time to process what they were seeing. But it was so hard to stand there, little more than an arm's length from her family, and not reach out to them physically. Her mom had gone pale, face questioning, eyes hopeful and glistening with emotion. "Dana? Honey, is that really you?" Fighting back tears, Scully nodded to her mother, reaching out a hand to her. Maggie tried to push past Bill to get to her daughter, but her son held her back. Annoyed, Maggie threw him an angry look. "Bill, it's Dana! What's the matter with you? Let me go!" "No, Mom, wait. Listen. I was notified yesterday by my CO that someone impersonating Dana was trying to get in contact with me." Obviously her call to the Department of the Navy had put them on alert. This cemented Scully's decision to keep the visit with her family as brief as possible. She and Mulder would have to leave first thing in the morning. "Bill, are you insane?" Tara asked her husband. "That's your sister, just look at her! It's her! It's Dana!" "Auntie Dana?" a tiny voice could be heard from somewhere behind the adults. "Matt, you and your brother go upstairs, now!" Bill snapped at his boys, and neither challenged his commanding tone, obediently following instructions - a rarity for the young Scully boys. "It really is me, Bill." Scully insisted. "If you'll just let us in we can explain." Her brother stubbornly shook his head, stepping around his wife, protectively putting himself between his family and the two people standing on his front porch. "You can explain yourself from right there." "Bill!" Maggie objected, continuing to try and fight her way past her immovable son. "I'm sorry, Mom. You know the kind of people Dana was involved with. If we we're to believe even half of what she told us over the years, we'd have to accept the possibility that they are capable of this kind of deception." Margaret Scully looked torn. She wanted to believe her daughter had been returned to her, but it was true what Bill was saying; Fox and Dana had some powerful and mysterious enemies that could seemingly do the impossible when it suited their needs. Scully's heart sank, but she couldn't disagree with her brother. He was only trying to protect his family; she knew that. "You're right," she told him. "They are capable of as much. They were clever enough to deceive you into thinking Mulder and I died in that explosion over a year ago." "If you're really Dana, where have you been all this time?" Bill's attitude was just short of contemptuous. "In Pennsylvania, locked up in an insane asylum." She looked over at her partner for reassurance and he gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Mulder and I escaped four nights ago." "What took you so long?" Bill frowned at her skeptically, his voice heavy with sarcasm. It was evident he found their story highly suspect. "Jesus Christ," Mulder muttered under his breath. Dropping his bag impatiently on the steps. "Well... It's a long story, Bill. And not one either of us could tell you in its entirety. Something was done to both of us to make us forget who we were; we were given new identities and new memories to go with them. Only recently did I start to remember things. Who I really was." "That's pretty unbelievable," he quipped, eyes dark with suspicion. "It's the truth," Mulder put in, clearly angry at the way Scully's brother was treating her. "I didn't ask you." Bill shot him a menacing glare. "Bill," Scully tried again, pulling her brother's attention back to her. "I AM your sister. How can I prove it to you?" He thought for a minute, ignoring the protestations from the two women behind him. "Tell me the name of the dog we had when we were kids and we live out in California." Scully felt the panic rising up within her as she searched her clouded memories and came up blank. She vaguely remembered her childhood, her REAL one; but no where in the dark corners of her recollection was there a dog. "I... Bill, I don't remember. I'm sorry. I'm still trying to piece everything together." "Oh, for Petes' sake, Bill!" Maggie tried once again to get past her son but he wouldn't allow it. "That's convenient. By claiming to have a memory lapse you're giving yourself an easy out, aren't you?" He ignored the shove from behind that his wife gave him. This was not what she'd expected at all, and Scully's composure was quickly leaving her. What if she couldn't convince Bill? What then? Where would she and Mulder turn for help? She forced down her growing anxiety and tried again to get through to her brother. With a shaky voice she told him, "Ask me more questions. I'm sure I'll remember something that will convince you." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Five minutes later, during which time Mulder went through a multitude of emotional highs and lows... he wanted to strangle Bill Scully. Five minutes... that was how long Bill made his beloved baby sister stand on the front porch of his house, and prove her identity. Five agonizing minutes for Dana Scully, as she stood before her big brother fighting her emotions, trying to answer his gruff questions, without breaking down. Tara had punched him in the arm, and had tugged hard on his hair; Bill had not budged. Mulder had wound his arm around Scully's waist, lending her his strength. The embrace was not lost on Bill, whose eyes narrowed ominously as he witnessed this physical connection. And still he wouldn't believe. Margaret Scully was not even allowed in the doorway; her outraged cries of, "Bill! You ASSHOLE! Get away from her and let them in! My GOD, it's Dana!! -" were ignored completely, as Bill subjected his sister to the third degree. Mulder was itching to pop this man a good one. And he couldn't quite understand why he felt such deep-seated anger toward a man he barely could recall - but he was sure it would come to him sooner or later. For now, it was enough to want to break Bill Scully's stubborn, mulishly squared-off jaw... Finally, five minutes later, after answering enough questions about the senior Bill Scully, revealing intimate family secrets such as pet names for each Scully, and childhood vacation spots... Bill must have decided the Dana before him was the real deal, because he took two steps forward, held out a hand to her, and his uncertain, "Dana? Is it really you..." even caused a lump to form in Mulder's throat. Scully took the hand, and gave her brother a small smile - and was abruptly tugged inside the now-opened door and swept into her brother's repentant embrace. Tara wiped tears from her eyes, then smiled at Mulder and murmured, "Please come in, Mr. Mulder... and I apologize again, as usual - for Bill. But he must have had his reasons - and sometime tonight I am going to force those reasons out of him, you can rest assured." She smiled again; this time Mulder returned her smile with a wide one of his own, and he followed her inside... to find himself swallowed up in Maggie Scully's petite but ferociously warm arms. He dropped his head on her shoulder and just hung on, never questioning why this woman would feel so important to him, when he could not remember anything of her yet - just knowing she felt like a mother. It was just what he needed. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX ** It felt wonderful to be surrounded by her family again, resting in her mother's arms. Even though she knew the sense of security was a false one, Scully still relished it after everything she'd been through. Mulder had absorbed some of the warm welcome for himself, but eventually he'd left the living room where the family reunion was in full tearful swing, giving Scully a chance to be alone with her family and fill them in on all the details of her ordeal. Tara had checked on Mulder about an hour later and reported back that he was fast asleep at the kitchen table. "Should I wake him?" she asked. "I hate to. He's really out." "He'll be fine there," Scully assured her sister-in-law. "Mulder could sleep standing up if he had to. Don't wake him. He didn't get any rest on the bus; he was worried at every stop along the way that something might happen. Though I can't say that I blame him after the incident in Rockville." Once the gist of the story had been told, the conversation turned to catching up on what she'd missed. Of course that meant a trip upstairs to the nursery to peek in on her sleeping nieces, Claire and Christina. Bill and Maggie went up to tuck the boys in for the night, while Tara and Dana tiptoed in to check on the girls. Tara turned the dim table lamp on and Scully grinned when she caught her first glimpse of the two little red haired babies. "Oh my God, they're precious," she whispered to her sister-in-law who stood beaming beside her. "Can you believe it, Dana? Just a few years back Bill and I thought we'd never have a child, now we're four times blessed." "They're fraternal," Scully noted, after a quick study of two angelic faces. She hadn't intentionally meant to ignore her sister- in-law's comment... at least she hoped not. "Yes," Tara told her brightly. There was a long silence between the two women as they watched the sleeping infants. Eventually, Tara broached a subject. "So, Dana, Bill and I can sleep in with Matty and Zach if you and um... Fox want to take our room tonight." Scully almost laughed at Tara's not so subtle investigative skills. "Don't be ridiculous, Tara. By the way, he likes to be called Mulder." Her sister-in-law frowned at Scully's purposely elusive reply. Finally she couldn't stand it any more and she had to ask. "I hope you don't think I was being presumptuous about the nature of your relationship with Mulder." "Not at all." Another evasive move. Scully was enjoying this way too much. Tara's shoulders sank with defeat. "Oh... Lord, Dana, please. I have to know. Are you and Mulder together or aren't you?" She never actually thought her sister-in-law would have the nerve to come right out and ask. But now that she had, Scully couldn't bring herself to lie. "We are." "Thank God!" It was said with a tremendous amount of relief. Scully raised a brow at Tara's response. "What I mean is... I'm glad for you." Tara went on excitedly to explain, "He's really incredible, Dana. I always hoped the two of you would get together. Mom thought you were, but I wasn't sure... Anyway, I think it's great." "Well, now that I've told you, you can break the news to Bill. But do me a favor and wait until after Mulder and I leave, okay?" The two women exchanged grins. "That's probably a good idea," Tara agreed. Later that night Scully was curled up on the couch next to her mother who continued to softly stroke her daughter's hair as they talked. It was so soothing that Scully was having a hard time keeping herself awake. It reminded her of when she was a young girl and her mother would pet her head lovingly and hum lullabies when she couldn't sleep. Tara had reluctantly gone off to bed knowing her mornings started bright and early with the kids. And Bill was looking tired himself, but sat and listened intently to his sister's story. "... At this point Mulder doesn't remember much of anything. I'm hoping with time that will correct itself. We need to get back to DC and straighten things out with the Bureau, but first we have to find out what's happened to Assistant Director Skinner and our friends." Bill's tired face sparked to life with a twitch at the mention of DC and the Bureau. "Dana, haven't you been through enough? Forget about the FBI. I want you to stay here with Mom and me. You can put in for a medical license in Florida; maybe get a job right here in the base hospital." "Bill, haven't you heard a word I've said? There are people after us. Mulder and I have to get back inside so we can do something about it." "Has it occurred to you that maybe the only reason they're after you is BECAUSE of your work with the FBI?" "So what are you saying? We should walk away? Let the bad guys win?" "I'm just suggesting that it might be healthier for YOU, if you forget about all that conspiracy crap and do something else with your life. At the very least, stay here with us for a while. Mom's been through hell because of this. You're not going to run off now and have her worrying about you again. Haven't we all been through far too much - all because of this ridiculous crusade and that flaky partner of yours?" She was actually surprised that it had taken him this long to bring up Mulder. Bill had always had it in for her partner; she remember that very well. "Why do you hate him so much?" "Why? Have you looked into the mirror recently? That's one hell of a bruise on your face." Scully's hand went reflexively to her cheek and she winced a little, more from the memory of the attack than anything else. "He's not to blame." "Ultimately, I believe he is. It's because of him that you stay in that crazy job." "Is that what you think? You think that my only reason for staying with the FBI is my loyalty to Mulder?" Bill snorted. "No, not loyalty." Maggie piped in. "Bill, you're not being fair to your sister. Her relationship with Fox has nothing to do with it." "I disagree. I think it has everything to do with it," Bill continued pointedly. "I believe that if it wasn't for him, she'd have quit a long time ago. I see the way she looks at him. I'm not blind." Several choice retorts popped into Scully's head but she resisted the temptation to hurl them at her brother. However, she wasn't going to let Bill make an accusation like that without countering with a point of her own. "You've always hated the men I've been involved with." 'There,' she thought, quite pleased with herself; 'now I've confirmed your suspicions, you big jerk. Mulder and I are involved. Deal with it.' Bill's eyes narrowed just enough that Dana knew her brother had understood her confession. "And with good reason." He seethed for a moment then lashed out at her again. "You know, everyone use to think of Missy as the boy-crazy one; but, Dana, you... you go out of your way to find the losers and make a fool of yourself over them." She was remembering things well enough by then to know Bill's comment wasn't true. She could recall a few relationships in her past, a mistake or two along the way; but never in her life had Dana Scully made a fool of herself over a member of the opposite sex. She was not some frivolous chickadee throwing herself at every man she saw - using her career to fulfill her life's ambition to get married. She'd been waging a battle against men who thought like Bill her whole life. It bothered her deeply that her own brother had so little respect for her. "Well, it's nice to know my big brother has such a high opinion of me," she told him with a frosty glare. Maggie let out a tired sigh. And right on cue Bill launched a missile. "You're thirty-eight years old for chrissake. Isn't it time you grew up, stopped playing secret agent and settled down to a normal life?" "Being an agent IS my normal life. I'm sorry if you don't happen to approve." Scully started to get up but her mother put a hand on her shoulder and held her gently but firmly in place. "Okay, enough you two. It's late and we're all tired." Bill returned his mom's stern look with an innocent appeal. "I just want what's best for her, Mom." Maggie nodded, understanding her son's heart was in the right place where his sister was concerned. "We all do, Bill. But Dana is a grown woman and she has the right to make her own decisions." "Tell me you don't wish that she'd chosen another career? Think of all the terrible things that have happened because of the choice she made. Dad was right when he disapproved of her 'decision' to go to Quantico." When her mother didn't answer immediately, Scully looked up at her. She needed to know. Bill's remark about their father not approving had struck a cord of regret in her. "Mom?" Maggie looked pained. "Oh... Dana, I'm not going to lie to you. In retrospect, yes, I wish you'd made a different choice." "Because of Mulder?" Scully hated the thought that her mother might share Bill's contempt for the man she loved - might blame him as well for the horrors they'd been through. "No. Fox is a wonderful man," Maggie hurried to reassure her daughter. "The two of you have a very special relationship for which I'm grateful. I just don't like seeing you in danger all the time." Scully sat up enough to hug her mother. "I'm sorry, Mom. I don't mean to worry you." "I know you don't, honey." Maggie tucked a few fallen strands of hair back in place behind her daughter's ear. "But maybe you SHOULD stay here with us for a while. At least until you fully recover..." "I can't. We've put all of you at enough risk just by coming here for help. Mulder and I have to leave in the morning. But I promise you, as soon we get this all sorted out, I'll take some time off and come down for a visit." Her years as a Navy wife had taught Maggie how to hide her disappointment well. "Charles is coming for Thanksgiving," she said through a practiced mask. "Then I'll be here too. I promise." Scully forced a smile and hoped that it was a promise she'd be able to keep. "Charlie's not going to believe it when I tell him you're alive. He was inconsolable at the funeral. He felt terrible that the two of you had seen so little of each other over the years, when as children you were practically inseparable." She remembered that. She and her little brother Charlie used to play Batman and Robin together, and when they were a little bit older they'd built a secret fort and wouldn't tell Bill and Missy where it was. And in high school they hung out with the same group of friends. It wasn't until she joined the FBI and Charlie joined the Navy and went into intelligence work and got stationed overseas, that they'd lost contact with each other. She pictured the scene at her funeral, her mother trying to console her little brother. It broke her heart. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry. God, I feel horrible for what all of you have had to go though." "Not horrible enough, apparently," Bill mumbled just loud enough to be heard. "William, end it now!" When Margaret Scully used THAT voice it was the final word. She'd raised four children virtually on her own while her husband was at sea, and out of necessity she'd learned to command respect and assert her authority. The Navy did that to wives too; it was all part of their basic training. Her son backed down immediately with an apologetic nod. For another half hour Maggie managed to keep the peace as they chit- chatted about Charlie coming home and Thanksgiving and Grandma Scully's secret stuffing recipe. Finally Dana had conked out, and Maggie carefully lifted her daughter's head from her lap and then slid off the couch. She covered her little girl with a cozy afghan and then tiredly turned to her son. "Guess it's bedtime for all of us. I'll go wake up Fox and get him more comfortable in the den." "No, Mom, you look beat." Bill stood and put a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Go ahead up to bed. I'll take care of Mr. Mulder." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN ** Bill entered the kitchen slowly, and collapsed into the nearest chair. Rubbing at his reddened eyes, he pressed his face into his hands and his low mutter was almost lost in his large palms, "I still can hardly believe it - seems like a dream. God, I never imagined there was even a chance she'd be alive." He dropped his hands and regarded the silent man sitting in the chair across the table; his head leaning on his crossed arms, asleep sitting up. "Mulder..." "I'm awake..." Mulder lifted his head and stared at Bill Scully through exhausted, bleary eyes, noting the puffiness of Bill's blue gaze. The big, strong Navy man had broken down and cried in his sister's arms; great tears of mingled pain and joy shaking his frame. Scully had held tight to her brother, and had murmured to him in a teary, broken voice; letting him sob it all out. Mulder had stood in the doorway of Bill's house and remained very quiet, his arm around Maggie Scully who was standing next to him and weeping silently herself. The reunion had been an emotional roller-coaster from the get-go, and Mulder had been cried over by both Maggie and Tara. He'd finally sensed their need, these Scullys; to be alone and private in their rejoicing - and he'd kissed both Tara and Maggie, watching as Maggie went to Scully and lifted her from the shelter of her brother's arms and sat her down on the sofa, both of them holding each other and crying/talking at once. Tara had wrapped her arms around her husband and held him as he struggled to regain his composure - and Mulder found himself in the kitchen. Seating himself at the table, needing to lay his aching head down on a flat surface and try to ease another damn headache... he let the exhaustion take him over, and he slept. Now, Bill Scully wanted to talk, apparently to him. Mulder pressed long fingers into his eye sockets, attempting to massage away the residual ache left by the headache from earlier in the evening. His head felt muddled and spongy; felt like a cold coming on. Probably Scully's cold - just great, he thought; facing the elder Scully with a look of inquiring politeness on his face. Mulder didn't think for a minute that Bill was fooled by the look. Didn't seem to matter; for this was a man with something important to say. "Mulder... I want to thank you... for taking care of Dana. I still don't know the whole story, and I want to hear it soon, I promise you. But for now, thanks. For getting her out of that shithole asylum, and for keeping her alive and returning her to us." The hesitant, gruff words were so hard for Bill to utter - somehow Mulder knew this. He wasn't quite sure why - gaps in his memory again, he supposed - except it sure seemed like he would have had a lot in common with Bill Scully; could have counted him as a buddy, of sorts. After all, they both loved Dana Scully; both wanted the best for her. Wouldn't that make them friends? Unless... maybe Scully's brother had a problem dealing with the idea of a man occupying his baby sister's heart - and her bed - and Mulder wondered... just how protective a big brother was Bill Scully? He was about to find out. "... should leave soon, Mulder - we think it's for the best." Mulder's wandering attention snapped back to Bill, as his last words registered. He stared at the elder Scully in confusion. "Leave... yeah, first thing in the morning - We don't want to bring trouble to your home. We had already decided that we'd have to leave tomorrow; as soon as we pick up a few staples, we're heading out -" He got no further, as Bill held up one hand and shook his head, frowning at Mulder. "No, that's not what I meant! Let me re-phrase it. I, well... WE, that is - my mother and I - just feel it would be best if you let us worry about taking care of Dana. She's our responsibility. We appreciate what you had to go through, to bring her home - Dana told us some of it, before she fell asleep." Bill paused and rubbed at his face again; Mulder's eyes never left his; the eyes were the windows to the soul, it was said - and Mulder was having a tough time imagining this man could have much of a soul. Where that thought had sprung from, he couldn't fathom - he just had a feeling. He focused in on the other man's words again... "She's been through so much, you know that. We all have; seems like this family never gets a break." Bill's eyes wouldn't quite meet Mulder's, as he stood up and moved to the sink and got himself a glass of water. Mulder's gaze remained steady and sure, but the sudden sinking feeling in his gut would not go away, and he somehow knew he was about to hear something... unpleasant. With very little enthusiasm, he focused on the other man's words. "We want Dana to stay with us, Mr. Mulder. I know you both think you're in some sort of danger, and God knows in your line of business I can only concede the real possibility that you are. I do have the United States Navy behind me, though - and I think between all of us we can keep Dana safe." Bill paused, and for the first time looked Mulder directly in the eyes. Mulder didn't think he liked being on the receiving end of it - but this was Scully's brother, even if he didn't remember the man... so he continued to listen and didn't interrupt. "Mr. Mulder... you can't keep Dana safe. Surely you can see that. I mean, it's amazing you were able to find us, given the memory loss and all - but the fact remains there are dangerous men after you, if yours and Dana's story is to be believed. Dana says they will stop at nothing to find you. And I can't help but think - as I always have - that one of the reasons she has lived under the shadow of all the danger in her past, was because of you and your X-Files. Dana says you have a lot of gaps in your memory, Mr. Mulder - and I'm sorry for your loss. But I can tell you, if you don't remember yet - that your 'quest' almost killed her more times than any of us can bear to recall. "This family has lost a great deal, over the last seven years. My sister... gone. Dana, almost dying of cancer... it nearly decimated our mother. Sure, Dana recovered - but she says herself that this disease could come back at any time. I don't necessarily believe in the technological hoo-doo that put her cancer into remission - but she does, and I guess I have to respect that. But I can't live through another bout of Dana in a hospital bed, with a bullet in her body, or with Death eating her up, little by little. So please... let us take care of her, if you will - let her family come first in her life, for a change." Bill sank down onto the chair across from Mulder, his eyes locked on target. And the 'target' in question was feeling every word, deep in his heart... trying not to reveal how hard those words had cut him. At that moment, every denial in his soul rose up inside him, screaming to get out; during Bill Scully's entire speech it had been all Mulder could do to stay still, and quiet. He wanted to deny everything; protest that he would NEVER endanger the woman he loved in any manner whatsoever... but he knew in his heart that he couldn't in all honesty make that kind of statement. He might not remember very much, but Scully had explained enough to make him accept a great deal of the blame for their imprisonment at Keystone. He would remember, soon - and he dreaded the awareness of it. He was also a man so deeply and irrevocably in love that he would join in the fight to keep Dana Scully safe... even if it meant leaving her behind. He would also fight not to leave her behind, if he could justify it. Mulder cleared his throat painfully. "It's true my memory is sketchy, at best. So far, Scully has been able to recall much more than I have. She hasn't said much of anything about past cases, or either of us being in danger, other than what we have discovered ourselves, since leaving Keystone. I love your sister, Bill - I can't recall yet just how far back that love goes, but I know it feels like forever. I'd lay down my life for her, willingly. I'll do anything in my power to protect her, and keep her safe. And to keep this menace away from you and your family... again I'll do whatever's necessary. I can protect her -" His words trailed off when Bill's angry epitaph reached his ears, and the older man jumped up and glared down at Mulder. "No, you CAN'T, Mr. Mulder - you can't protect her. You're very dedicated to your job; you proved that - with your all-consuming quest for your sister - and you are a very brave man - but you can't protect MY sister. You're also an intelligent man - and you have to know that your obsession for this damned 'truth' of yours is going to be the end of you someday. And when that happens, I don't want Dana anywhere near you." Bill spoke in a calm, low voice - but his hands clenched and unclenched, in time with a tiny twitch in his left cheek. He took a deep breath, staring Mulder down. "I know you don't remember, so I'm going to refresh your memory, Mulder. I hope you can recall it all someday soon. You know, for me every little bit of it is ingrained up here -" he tapped the side of his head with one blunt finger - "and there are days when it plays, over and over. In fact, it had been repeating itself a lot this past year, when I thought my sister was dead. I think you need to know this; call it a reality check, if you want. "I'll be the first to admit I never wanted Dana to go anywhere near the FBI. I never wanted to see her paired with you, either, and I still don't. Not only because you're not good enough for her, Mr. Mulder - but because I've watched her brush at Death too many times. Her loyalty to you knows no limits - and for that loyalty she has lost her ability to have children, faces an uncertain future, subject to a cancer reoccurrence - and has been kidnapped, shot, stabbed, beaten up, suffered broken bones... and God only knows what else. I found myself not wanting to know 'what else' over the years; changing the subject every time our mother tried to tell me what was happening in my sister's life. Because of you and your damn quest, my sister Melissa was killed and I almost lost my baby sister far more times then I care to recount. I also lost track of Dana's life - until I got a phone call one day from my mother, telling me that she was dead - again, because of you. Can you maybe see why I think you are poison to her, Mr. Mulder?" Bill pinned Mulder with another hard stare. Mulder returned that stare with unblinking, numbed hazel eyes. Fighting to recall any of it... not wanting to remember any of it. Denying he could ever put Scully in any sort of danger... and having no reason to discount what her brother had told him. He could feel the headache building again behind his brow; the pressure increasing rapidly. He pushed the heels of his hands hard against the ache, leaning his head into them, slumped at the table. Bill remained standing, arms crossed, his gaze still locked on the dejected man before him - and Mulder mumbled between his hands. "God... Bill - I don't remember any of it, I swear to you - I don't. I only know I love Dana more than my life. More than I can ever express..." His headache was getting worse; the pain shooting stabs of striated light behind his damp eyes. He couldn't remember having ever been so confused in his life... and he could feel his heart splintering within; bursting open and laid raw. He whispered brokenly, "I love her so much..." And Bill sighed and sat down next to Mulder at the table. He was silent for long seconds... and then his voice echoed in the quiet kitchen, low and firm. "If that's true, Mulder... if you love her as much as that... then you'll leave her. Now, tonight. It has to come from you. The past has a way of repeating itself, and if you don't get out of her life now, it'll start all over again - and this time we'll lose her for good. We can't lose her again, Mulder - it would kill my mother. It almost did, last year. Please... I can't believe I am begging you but I am. Let her stay with us, where she belongs. Let her get a decent life set up for herself; the sort of life she truly deserves." Bill reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and removing a small wad of bills; laying them near Mulder's arm. "I've got some money - I can buy you a bus ticket, anywhere you want to go - and I can also give you some extra spending cash, enough to keep you fed for awhile." He stared at Mulder, seemingly willing him to pick up the money. Mulder looked down dumbly at the cash, then up at Bill Scully's serious, sincere face. Jesus... leave Scully behind? He couldn't do that to her - to them. She'd be devastated. She'd be heartbroken... She'd be alive. Alive, and able to face another day; live her life the way she deserved; not on the run from some vague nefarious force, but home with her family, working at her chosen profession. Maybe falling in love with someone else... someone who could give her everything. She'd be alive. He saw his fingers reaching for the money about three seconds before he was able to speak with any clarity; the lumpy ache in his throat wouldn't go down, as he rasped, "Will you take me to the bus station, Mr. Scully?" xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ASYLUM PART THREE ** CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT ** Scully sat up with a start, then relaxed when she realized where she was. She'd fallen asleep on her brother's sofa last night and someone had covered her with a crocheted afghan. She noticed that the sun had already come up, although the house was still quiet. She checked the clock on the wall, 6:14 AM. Coffee, she thought. God, she could really use a nice hot cup of coffee. Without any more contemplation she decided to find her way to the kitchen and make a pot; half expecting to see Mulder still soundly asleep at the table. When he wasn't there, she started the coffee maker and then went searching to see where he'd gone to sleep for the night. Three minutes later she realized he wasn't in the house and started to panic. She quickly found her way to her mother's room and knocked quietly at the door so as not to disturb the rest of the house. Then she poked her head in as Maggie was starting to stir in the bed. "Mom?" Her voice betrayed her panic causing her mother to wake with a concerned frown. Sitting up in bed, Maggie blinked at her worried daughter, now standing in the doorway to her room. "Dana? Honey, what time is it?" "It's 6:15. Mom, do you know where Mulder is?" "Yeah... Ummm, Bill was going to get him set up in the den last night, honey." Scully shook her head. "He's not there, Mom. And he's not in the shower or anywhere else in the house." "What?" Maggie climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. "He wouldn't leave without telling me, Mom. I can't imagine where he would have gone off to." "I'm sure there's a simple explanation;" Maggie tried to reassure her daughter. "Let's go see what Bill knows about this. He was the last one to talk to Fox." And as her mother said the words, Scully felt her stomach sinking. After everything Bill had said last night, she couldn't help but suspect that her brother might have had a dirty hand in Mulder's disappearance. Her sense of dread was prevailing. "I hope Bill didn't say anything to upset him. There wasn't enough money left for Mulder to go to a motel again." Maggie was half way out the door when she shot back over her shoulder to her daughter, "I'd hope your brother would have better manners." Scully wasn't so sure... A very groggy Bill Scully was rousted out of bed to face the wrath of three angry Scully women. Tara had immediately become suspicious when her mother-in-law told her Fox was missing. Especially since her husband had only recently come to bed. "Bill, Bill, wake up!" Tara shook him by the shoulders insistently. "Huh...? Jeez. Tarr? What the hell?" He squinted into the bright morning light, the women before him slowly coming into focus. "... Mom?" And then he caught sight of his sister's face and came fully awake under her reproachful stare. "Oh, shit." "WHERE IS HE?" Scully demanded, arms crossed over her chest. "Dana, just calm down, okay?" Bill stumbled out of bed and stood facing his trio of accusers. "Mr. Mulder left last night. He asked me to explain. He thought you'd be better off staying here with us, Dana. He knew you wouldn't agree and that's why he left after you'd gone to sleep. He's going on with his life and he wanted me to tell you to do the same." She exploded with outrage as her suspicions were confirmed. "GODDAMN YOU, BILL! WHAT DID YOU DO?!! MULDER'S IN NO CONDITION TO BE OUT THERE ON HIS OWN!" "Keep your voice down. You're going to wake up the kids," Bill warned her. His sister lowered her voice, but not the intensity of the words she hurled at him. "There are people who want us dead! And Mulder wouldn't recognize them if they walked right up to him! Do you understand how dangerous it is for him to be out there alone?" "Mr. Mulder is a big boy," Bill smirked. "He can take care of himself." "Billy, how could you?" Tara stood beside her sister-in-law with her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband; clearly appalled by his indifference. In his own defense Bill made a weak attempt at buffering. "Look. It's not like I threw him out the door with nothing. I gave him money. And I drove him to the bus station. He'll be fine." Scully fixed him with a fierce look. "What did you say to him to make him leave without even waking me to say good-bye?" "I helped him to remember a little of what you've been through - what we've all been through - because of HIS asinine pursuit of UFOs and aliens and his ridiculous notions about government conspiracies. I let him know exactly what hell you've endured for him all these years. And I told him if he cared for you at all - if he loved you like he claims - he'd get out of your life for good." "YOU BASTARD!" Scully couldn't help it. She was furious with her brother. And her indignation shot out of her fiery Irish temper. All her rage at the injustice of what she'd recently been through was suddenly brought together, and took the form of an angry fist that connected hard with Bill's jaw and knocked the big man off his feet. Tara gasped and Maggie's eyes grew wide as Bill landed with a 'thud' on the bedroom floor, stupefied and reeling. Scully felt no remorse; her brother got what he deserved. "Jesus Christ, that's one hell of a right cross!" he quipped as he rubbed his jaw and tried to recover from the blow. "Where did you learn to hit like that?" "You don't know me at all, Bill! I'm not the helpless female you believe me to be! I don't need you to protect me! All I've ever wanted from you is your respect!" "I respect you. Why would you think I don't?" He struggled to his feet with as much dignity as a six foot one, two hundred and ten pound man can when he's just been flattened by his baby sister who happens to be a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. "You don't even think I'm capable of making my own decisions! How is that respecting me? I'm an FBI agent - a damn good one! And I like what I do! It gives meaning to my life!" "It's dangerous, Dana." "Yes. So is being a naval officer. What's your point?" Bill sighed, knowing he was treading on thin ice. "That partner of yours gets you into a lot of extraordinarily bad situations. Do you expect me to be happy about that?" "I EXPECT you to accept that it's MY choice to put my life on the line for my work. I EXPECT you not to interfere! That goes for my personal life too!" "Fox Mulder has brought you nothing but trouble, Dana. You're just too blinded by love to see it. Besides, I'm not the only one in this family who wants you away from him. You heard Mom last night." Maggie came to life at the invocation of her name. "William Matthew Scully, when did I ever say such a thing?" "Well, you said you wished she were out of the FBI..." He shrugged off her narrowing stare. "Look, she's better off without him! I'm not going to feel bad about what I've done." "Billy, how can you say that?" Tara demanded. "What if those terrible people who are after Mr. Mulder and Dana catch up to him?" "If something happens to him, he brought it on himself. I won't lose any sleep over it." "Damn you, Bill! Mulder is all I have! You've got Tara and four beautiful children, but Mulder is all I have in this world - all I'll EVER have!" He was obviously moved, though he tried not to be. Clearing his throat he told her, "You can do better." "Billy!" Tara exclaimed, thoroughly incensed. Maggie tried to get through to her son. To make him see his mistake before what was left of her family was irreparably fractioned. "Fox is a wonderful man, Bill. You've never made the effort to get to know him. He loves your sister very much. I couldn't imagine anyone better for Dana. He respects her as an equal and trusts her with his life. And I KNOW there is no one else in this world that she trusts like him. They're a perfect match, Bill, just like you and Tara." It was getting harder and harder for Bill to maintain his resolve on the issue when the three women he cared most about were all making him feel knee-high to a grasshopper. But there was still something to be said for obstinate self-righteousness - and mulish determination. "He left willingly. That sorry sonofabitch AGREES she's better off without him!" Maggie frowned at her son. "Because of your meddling... " Dana put a hand on her mother's shoulder and interrupted her. "Mom. Don't bother," she said with a resigned and disgusted sigh. "You're wasting your breath. He hates Mulder and he always will. And the last thing on earth Bill would ever do is admit he was wrong, about anyone or anything." "That's for sure," Tara put in. "The man has a stubborn streak a mile wide. I'll vouch for that." Bill shot his wife a wounded look, which she met with reproachful silence. Scully turned to her mother and asked quietly. "Can I borrow a change of clothes, Mom? I've been in these things for days. Before I hit the road again I'd at least like something clean to wear." "You're not going running after him now," Bill insisted. "Just try and stop me," Scully challenged him defiantly. She'd love to deck him again, given the opportunity. And she still had enough fury in her that she believed she could pull it off without much difficulty. "I want you to know, Bill, if anything happens to Mulder because of what you've done, I'll never forgive you. And I'll never speak to you again. I mean that!" She did. She would never be able to find it in her heart to absolve her brother for intentionally taking Mulder away from her. "Dana, come on -" he tried, but she turned her back on him and walked out the door and down the hall to her mother's room to change... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE ** The back of a Greyhound bus is usually stuffy and stale-smelling, and every once in awhile a whiff of disinfectant and urine feathers by the occupants seated in the last row of seats. Mulder hadn't really noticed. He'd sat huddled against the window of the old bus, staring so sightlessly out the window that even the frequent incoming headlights shining in his eyes did not cause their natural dilation to retract. His mind had been numb. He'd shivered every few minutes but he really wasn't cold - he'd been sitting right underneath one of the heat vents. The muted roar of the engine and the rough ride of the bus itself hadn't really registered on him. The bus hit a pothole and his duffel bag had tipped over and landed on his foot. He never felt it. For the first hour of the trip, he had never blinked; never moved a single finger or muscle. Outwardly he'd looked like a pale statue, not quite real... Inwardly, he was dying. Bill Scully had driven him to the bus station in complete and utter silence; his tentative overtures at conversation politely rejected. Mulder didn't want to talk to him anymore; there didn't seem to be anything more to say. He'd stared out the side window and watched the neighborhoods zip by. Nice little neighborhoods filled with cute little houses populated by happy little families. Warm kitchens and frilly little girls' bedrooms with canopy beds, and rough-tough boys' rooms with Batman posters on the wall and beds shaped like race cars, or maybe a big football... he'd always wanted a bed shaped like a football - at least until he'd discovered basketball. Well... such is life. In those houses in those neighborhoods, couples seemed to be standing still, immersed in their lives, while he flew low in Bill Scully's car, alongside and away from them. Men and women who ate dinner and watched television and tucked their children into bed and cleaned up the dirty dishes and tiptoed upstairs to press one last kiss upon their offsprings' brows, before entering their master bedrooms and falling down upon their mattresses and making slow, passionate love... Normal stuff; maybe a bit boring - maybe not. He wouldn't know; he'd never gotten the chance to find out, with a woman he could adore and worship. Now, he never would. But maybe, someday... Scully would. She'd make a home in one of those pretty neighborhoods; come home to a man who would eat dinner with her and watch the tube with her and take her upstairs late into the night - and love her until the wee small hours of the morning. It was what she deserved; that and so much more. More than he could ever give her. At the bus station, there had been even less to say. Mulder did not shake Bill's hand; he kept his hands in his pockets. He really didn't want to touch Bill and he suspected the elder Scully didn't want to be touched, by him. Both men avoided each others' eyes; preferring to look anywhere else. Bill had waited while Mulder got his ticket; probably worried he'd run off and grab an alternate form of transportation and high-tail it back to the Scully household, and spirit his sister away. As he stood in line for his ticket, Mulder had rubbed wearily at his forehead, trying in vain to ease his now full-blown headache. He didn't really know where he wanted to go, other than straight back to Scully's arms. But with Bill Scully standing guard over him, there in the doorway of the only way out of the bus station... when his turn came at the window, Mulder hadn't really known what to say. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the huge bus schedule tacked up on the wall behind the tired-looking ticket agent, Mulder had blurted out the first place which came into his mind. "DC... one way, please." He had put down some of his borrowed cash and had received the ticket and had stuffed it into his pocket and had gone back outside to tell Bill where he was headed. In some small place in his hopeful heart, maybe he wished for Bill to tell Scully; spill the beans. Maybe she would follow him; maybe she would find him someday. And when Mulder looked into Bill's emotionless, implacable blue gaze one last time - noting with detached fascination just how similar his eyes were to his sister's... he knew with utter certainty that Bill would never tell Scully where the bus ticket had taken him. They said a stilted, awkward goodbye; as the bus loaded passengers and luggage, Mulder turned once more to the man who could have been a brother-in-law to him, and quietly asked, "If I'd never been FBI... if I'd been just another Joe Schmoe living a regular kind of life... and I met your sister..." He paused; the look on Bill Scully's face said it all. Shuttered. Closed. Hostile. The other man shook his head, and turned to walk away, toward the parking lot; tossed a last remark over his shoulder to Mulder, who stood there motionless, waiting for some sort of assurance. "No, Mr. Mulder. You aren't good for her... not good enough for her. She's so much more deserving of the best this world has to offer - " His voice softened, and he murmured, almost to himself, "The very best." Mulder sat in the back of the bus, remembering it - what had happened just a few hours ago; the ending of the life he'd found with Scully. Gone, much the same way as the miles which were eaten up by the tires beneath him; all gone. Gone... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Scully stormed out of her brother's house, a woman with a mission, determined to catch up to her partner and straighten out the horrible mess Bill had caused. However, she'd only gotten as far as the driveway when she met with her first hurdle... Bill. He was waiting for her by his car. She tensed when she saw him, ready for another fight if need be. She wasn't about to let anything stop her from going after Mulder. He stepped in front of her. "Dana, what do you think you're doing?" "Get out of my way, Bill." "Sis, please! You can't just take off on your own." "Mom wanted to drive me, but I can't... I WON'T put her life in jeopardy. She gave me all the cash she had in her purse. I'll hitch a ride back to DC. Hopefully I'll be able to get there ahead of Mulder and can wait for him at the bus depot." Bill opened the car door. "Get in." She looked at him questioningly - suspiciously. "Get in, already. I'll drive you." When she hesitated Bill hefted a heavy sigh. "Look, Dana, I'm not about to let you hitch - a woman alone taking rides from complete strangers; that's insane. Besides, I've already put a call in to my CO and arranged for a forty-eight hour pass." She was certain her mother and Tara were behind this - forcing Bill to make amends, even though helping her find Mulder was the last thing he'd ever want to do. She'd rather take her chances hitching than accept his disingenuous offer. "I don't need your help, Bill." She started to walk around him. He caught her arm. "Now who's being stubborn? Get in... Please?" The look she gave him was withering; but rationally, taking him up on the offer was her best hope of catching up with Mulder. She didn't like herself for doing it, but she got into Bill's car. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Mulder sat in the back of the old bus, watching the sun rise higher and higher in the pale morning sky. He had no idea how far he'd traveled; he'd spent the remainder of the night in a sort of numbed, frozen state. The sense of loss within his heart had seemed to gain momentum with every mile eaten up by the tires beneath him. He'd only been apart from Scully for less than seven hours... and he felt shattered and cracked, with a fragile and damaged soul. And he could only wonder what it would be like for him, a month from now - a year... twenty years. A few of the other passengers had pulled out various snacks and were quietly eating. The faint aroma of food here and there inside the bus only nauseated Mulder. His stomach was knotted up and he doubted he'd feel hunger anytime soon. He turned away from the window and his gaze fell upon a little girl, sitting three rows up from him, on the opposite side of the bus. She looked to be about eight, slender and freckled with pale red-gold hair and huge blue eyes. He smiled at her, thinking that Scully could have looked just like that when she was a young girl... then his eyes went wide and his whole body clenched, as the girl put a slightly grubby little hand to her thin neck and wrapped her fingers around a chain suspended there - and pulled it out to admire it - and dangling between her two fingers, sparkling in the morning light - A cross. Small and golden and much-cherished, judging by the way the child handled it so carefully. Mulder could hardly catch his breath, for that cross had suddenly triggered flashes of deep-rooted images; minutely-dissected scenes which rolled over his awareness and made him shiver. And he could do nothing more than just sit in his bus seat and let them take him over... ... A golden cross lying in a glass coffin, shining in and around the heap of black suit and white silk blouse; the look and fragrance and essence of Dana Scully still contained there... ... Flashes of her, naked and impaled by an alien feed, swimming in green Death, icy and lethal and he had to get to her and save her, save himself... 'We gotta keep moving, come on -' Her weak whispery, 'I CAN'T'... His grunt of, 'Yeah you can...' So sure, so determined - so afraid, scared out of his wits, gotta get her out, my fault, all my fault - you should get as far away from me as you can... ... Holding her hand tightly in a doctor's office while she cries in frightened disbelief at the horrific images her subconscious mind is being forced to remember... a burning bridge - no, a bridge full of burning people, Oh my GOD my God... So close, they've come so close - too close... ... Standing in a vault of some kind, fingering a metal drawer, lots of metal drawers with the names of familiar people on them - could have been future mothers but now they're all empty inside, each drawer holding their hopes for maternal continuance... one small vial in his hand, pocketed secretly as he shuts the drawer marked with Scully's name - again his fault - if she'd never known him, never been partnered with him... Mulder sat and shivered in his seat, the flood of remembering pulling him down into a maelstrom of denial and panic and reluctant belief. Great chunks of it floated to his surface, broken free because of the visual of something as simple as a child's gold cross. It was by far the most painful episode of his life thus far - the awful knowledge that he had been the direct, as well as indirect, cause of so much anguish in his partner's life. He moaned and dropped his head in his hands, suffering anew with each snapshot of reality flipping through his consciousness. Scully, barren - because of him. Sisterless. Estranged from her family and friends, her loyalty to her partner cutting her off from the small piece of humanity known as Dana Scully's world. In constant danger of her cancer resurfacing; again as a way to get to him, control HIM - the bitter knowledge that he was responsible for her disease in the first place eating him up inside; he moaned again and wrapped his arms around his aching body and rocked in his seat. It hurt - hurt so much to remember. He knew there was so much more than just the immediate images attacking with full force - and he didn't really think he could survive much more. Other disjointed scenes from his past wove in and out of the massive conspiracy he had been reconstructing, bit by bit: fantastic creatures, born of somebody's over-fertile imagination and yet real and deadly and fought by them; the most heinous sort of criminal animals plaguing mankind, coming into contact with their strange world, and threatening their existence more than occasionally... "Too much, it's too much, God what have I DONE..." He laid his head in his knees and shuddered. The bus sped along the interstate in the damp morning of a day which promised to be full of revelations for Mulder - and he let it wash over him and hoped when it was all finished, he'd still be alive - and sane. He took a deep breath, and raised his head, his reddened eyes searching for and finding the little girl again, needing to see a small glimpse of Scully in that innocently smiling face... And she turned around, not playing with her cross any longer - this time she held a doll. One of those newborn-types, wearing a little fake disposable diaper and wrapped haphazardly in a tattered receiving blanket which had probably belonged to her, once upon a time ago. The doll had tiny tufts of dark brown fake hair on its little plastic head; its eyes molded shut in the universal expression of infant sleep. The little girl cradled it to her freckled face, and pressed loving, smacking kisses all over its cheeks, humming off- key as she rocked it. Rocking the baby... The baby. Mulder sat up abruptly in his uncomfortable seat, as he replayed those words in his head, at different frequencies and speeds, until he was screaming them fast and furiously, feeling the letters and syllables bounce and careen throughout his chilled body. His hands were icy cold, as he rubbed them hard on his face - but his face was burning up. He jumped out of his seat, standing up while the bus swayed in and around some interstate construction. Tripping over himself and various legs and feet that stuck out into the narrow aisle, he made his way to the front and up to the driver, bending down to shout in the man's ear, trying to be heard over the din of the engine. "I need off, it's an emergency! Stop the bus - please stop!" The driver turned slightly in Mulder's general direction, never taking his attention from the road. "Next scheduled stop is Florence, Sir. Lotta people getting off there, including me. You'll have to wait." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY ** They'd been driving in silence for nearly three and a half hours before Bill finally said the words. "I'm sorry, Dana." She turned away from the passenger window and regarded him in near shock - Bill Scully apologizing? That's almost like admitting he was - heaven forbid - wrong. If he hadn't continued, she would have thought she'd only imagined it. "You came to us for help and I only made things worse for you. I'm very sorry. I believed I was doing the right thing. I still do." Scully rolled her eyes - how typical - saying he's sorry without accepting fault. Bill caught her reaction in his peripheral vision as he watched the highway ahead of him. "You're my baby sister; I know I'm overprotective of you but I can't help it." Scully turned her attention back to the view outside. "Is wanting the best for you such a terrible thing?" "No. But taking it upon yourself to decide what's best for ME... that's intolerable." She continued to look away from him. "It's just that sometimes, Dana... your judgment seems irresponsible at best." She said nothing, refusing to let him bait her into another argument. "And I don't just mean in regards to your work. You've made some reckless choices in your personal life too, over the years..." That comment she couldn't ignore. She threw him an angry look. "What's reckless about me having a relationship with Mulder?" "The guy's a flake, Dana. And not a harmless one like Missy was; he carries a gun and has federal authority to chase after his fantasies. He believes all that paranormal crap; it's his religion." Scully crossed her arms over her chest. "I believe it too. Does that make me a flake in your opinion?" "He's done that to you, corrupted your thinking. Another reason why I dislike him." Bill continued to look straight ahead at the road. "I'll freely admit, Mulder's had an influence on me. He's opened my mind to extreme possibilities. I've seen things, Bill... things you wouldn't believe." "Little green men?" he smirked. "Would you really like to know?" Her voice took on a strange timbre. Bill glance over at his sister. The sudden haunted look in her eyes put a chill in him. He let out snort of nervous laughter; but he was unable to resist finding out what was behind her spooky stare. He nodded.... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Mulder sat in the last seat of the old greyhound bus, in a state of almost suspended animation - hardly breathing, not moving, staring out the side window sightlessly; seeing only the reality of what was pounding though his head. Hearing nothing but disjointed words that had been buried so deep in his subconscious mind that it was a miracle they'd ever surfaced at all - but they had. A miracle... their miracle. A miracle to which he'd pressed his ear, late in the night when the nightmares still caused him to sit up in his bed, shaking all over; when the only way he could sleep again would be to put his ear to Scully's rounded belly, and whisper to the life within that Daddy was here, and waiting impatiently, couldn't bear to wait another second to hold you, love you, baby... baby. All that had come before this one momentous event - still so cloudy and murky. What caused those horrible nightmares... maybe he'd never know. But one thing he knew for sure... he whispered it to himself, deep and low and awestruck. "We have a baby, Scully - a baby. Oh Jesus, Scully..." He couldn't believe he would have forgotten, even for one minute, such an incredible event in his life. Whatever the method of brainwashing the monsters at Keystone had employed, it was unfathomable to him that he could lose something like this. His and Scully's baby. He couldn't remember when. He could barely remember how, although the obvious DID come to mind; the technicalities of it, how they'd managed to pull off this miracle... they were still lost to him. He supposed that memory would come later. For now it was enough to remember that first time. And he suddenly saw it all in his mind, exactly how it had been - and he leaned his head against the lumpy seat and let it storm over him in one huge healing rush... The feel of her had been so familiar, as if he'd always known her skin would be velvety soft, and the delicate curve of her back would enchant him. He had placed one hand at the customary small of her back; the feeling so very different than when it was covered by one of her silk suits. The position was different as well - for she lay upon her stomach in the bed next to him, arms flung out on either side of her; breathing deep and easy as he traced feminine musculature and little ribs and the enticing dip which ran from mid- shoulder all the way down past her tattoo. He had let his tongue follow his hand, and she'd shuddered under his mouth and had whispered into the pillow, "Mulder, God... don't stop touching me, ever -" His mumbled assurances were lost against the back of her neck, as he pressed his full naked length upon her, gently; nestling his heat and need between her sweet curves. He had linked her fingers with his and had remained very still, carefully pushing her into the mattress, afraid he would crush her. When he'd tried to ease up a little she had protested, curling the backs of her legs up and around him, holding him in place. She had turned her head and murmured, "No, don't move - I like it. I like to feel this way, almost crushed... it feels so good. I feel safe like this - I feel loved, Mulder..." He had squeezed both her hands, and had whispered back to her that yes, she was loved, so very much - "Scully, God - so much. I love you so much..." He whispered it again into the fogged-up bus window, as he stared out into the nondescript scenery zipping past him. He would get off soon. Florence... soon. He'd find a way to go back to Jacksonville, and get her. And then, they'd find their child... He promised himself, and his family. Soon... It became his mantra; his reassurance. Soon... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx By the time they'd arrived in DC, Bill Scully had a much better understanding of what had become his sister's life's work. She'd managed to piece together from her broken memories enough cases and amazing adventures to hold his rapt attention the entire trip. Aside from the occasional disbelieving look or 'Oh, come on - you're putting me on,' he'd hung on her every word. And after regaling him with such wild tales as liver eating mutants and flukemen, she told him the most unbelievable story of all, about aliens and a plot to take over the earth. It was more than he could wrap his brain around, yet his sister reported the facts to him as cool as if she were dictating an autopsy. With Mulder having almost a three-hour head start on them it was no small feat getting to the bus station in DC ahead of him. But Bill managed it with twenty-two minutes to spare. And Scully was anxiously standing at the arrival gate when the big Greyhound rolled in. One by one the passengers disembarked and Scully's eyes strained for her partner's familiar face. She huffed with nervous impatience as it seemingly took forever to unload the full capacity bus. But when the last passenger straggled off, Scully bit her lip to contain her anxiety. "Where the hell is he?" Bill frowned. "Are you sure he got on this bus?" "Positive," he assured her. Scully ran up to the driver, who had immediately lit up a smoke as soon as he stepped off the bus. "Excuse me -" He greeted the pretty little redhead with a broad smile... until he noticed the big man who was with her, glaring at him. Ain't that always the way it is? The good looking ones are always taken, he sighed to himself. "Yes, ma'am. What can I do you for?" "I'm looking for a man who got on this bus in Jacksonville. About six foot, dark brown hair, he was wearing..." By the time she'd finished her description of Mulder the driver was shaking his head. "Sorry, ma'am, we made several stops with passengers getting on and off along the way. He could have missed the boarding call at one of them if he got off to stretch his legs or grab some food. I took over as the relief driver in Florence. It's possible the other driver may have seen him. Check with the agents inside the depot, they can put you in contact with the driver from Jacksonville; and if your friend is on another bus to DC they'll be able to tell you that as well." Scully nodded her thanks to the man and rushed off, leaving Bill to hurry after her. She very quickly found out that no one had reported missing the boarding call in any of the stops along the route which Mulder's bus had taken. And unfortunately the first driver could not be reached. At that point she wandered out into the chilly night air not knowing what to do next. The only reason she could think of why Mulder hadn't made it to DC was that he'd met with trouble along the line. Suddenly she was furious with her brother all over again. This disaster was his doing. She might never see Mulder again, and it was all Bill's fault! Damn him! It no longer mattered that he'd broken every speed limit from Jacksonville to Washington to get her here in time. Her brother's efforts to redeem himself were less than genuine anyway, she reminded herself. Knowing he was in big trouble, Bill approached his sister cautiously. The look she gave him was deadly. "You've as good as killed him with your meddling. Without Mulder, I have nothing." "Dana... I'm so sorry for all this. What can I do?" "I'd say you've done enough for me - don't you think? Go home, Bill. Go home to your wife and children. I don't ever want to see or hear from you again." The absolute bitterness with which she spoke the words to her brother reflected the hatred she felt in her heart for him at that moment. HE had a life - a wife to adore him, four children to love and watch grow - a family of his own. She and Mulder only had each other. And now because of Bill's arrogance and sanctimonious interference, she might very well have nothing. "I know you're pissed at me. And I deserve it. But I can't just leave you here like this. Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?" "I'm going to find out what happened to Mulder," she shot back over her shoulder as started off down the sidewalk away from Bill. It didn't matter to her where she was going; she just couldn't stand there talking to him another minute. "How?" He hurried along beside her. Yeah. How? She stopped suddenly, considering the question, but she was too furious to think effectively; she only became frustrated which fueled her wrath even more. "I have no fucking idea, okay?!!" "Let me help you, Dana," he pleaded. "I don't WANT your help!" Scully screamed at him. "I want you to get the hell away from me and leave me alone!" She started to walk again and he continued to follow her - as she knew he would. Besides being stubborn, Bill was a persistent bastard. "Damn it, Dana! At least let me give you some more money! Look..." He held out his keys to her. "Take my car. I'll get the next bus back home. I'll give you my bank card and PIN number so you'll have whatever cash you need. You can never speak to me again if you want - but, Dana, don't put yourself at risk to spite me. If something were to happen to you because of my stupidity, I wouldn't be able to live with myself." She was considering his offer even as she picked up her pace and continued to walk away from him. It was tempting. She'd hate herself for accepting his help, but without it her chances of finding Mulder were practically nil. "Dana, please!" he called after her. With a huff of resignation she had just turned and walked back to Bill when she heard the loud 'crack' of gunfire coming from out of the darkness. Scully dove for cover reflexively, ducking behind a nearby parked car. She kept her head low and snuck around to the back of the vehicle to see if she could spot the sniper. But as she peeked out from behind the rear bumper, what she saw nearly stopped her heart. Bill was down. Shot in the chest. Lying on the concrete about fifteen feet out of her reach in a rapidly growing puddle of his own blood. "Oh God, oh my God!" Her first impulse was to run to him, but the sniper was still out there somewhere. Scully was torn; Bill needed help, but she knew if she gave up her cover she'd be a goner. "Bill!" she hollered out to him, holding her breath until he answered her. "Dana... Stay where you are... I'm all right," he croaked back to her. And then he tossed the keys that were still in his hand as hard as he could and they flew over her head and landed just a few feet away. "Take those... and get the hell out of here! You hear me?" "Bill, I'm not going to leave you! I'm coming to help you!" Somehow, she told herself. "No! You come out here and... you're as good as dead! Go! Damn it, Dana! Go! You can... call an ambulance for me... after you get yourself out of here!" This was crazy. She couldn't possibly leave her brother there bleeding to death while she saved her own ass, as he suggested. It was unthinkable. But by the looks of how quickly Bill was losing blood, she didn't have much time to come up with an alternate plan. Besides, going to him to try and help him herself would only draw more fire in his vicinity. She didn't want to risk that. There really was no other choice. "I don't want to leave you!" she yelled out, overwhelmed with regret for the horrible things she'd said to him just minutes ago. "Don't... be stupid! I'll be... fine! Damn it, just... go and... call for help!" His voice was weakening and even at this distance she could tell her brother's breathing was labored. It was hard leaving him there, but she knew she had to. "Okay!" Scully grabbed up the keys with a trembling hand and fought away tears, telling him, "Put pressure on the wound and hang on, Bill! I'm going to get help!" Even though she was doing the only thing she really could, she still felt like she was abandoning him. "Be... careful, Danes," was the last thing she heard him choke out as she made her escape, keeping low and weaving her way through the rows of parked cars, back to the other side of the station where Bill had left his sedan. All the way she silently prayed for her brother's life. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE ** Scully had called 911 from the nearest pay phone, watching from an agonizing distance until the ambulance arrived and she saw her brother safely loaded on board. She couldn't go to the hospital as she wanted to; her enemies would surely be waiting for her there. In point of fact, her enemies seemed to be everywhere. So after a fitful nights' sleep in the back seat of her brother's car, the first thing of highest priority was a disguise. She'd bought a cheap box of hair coloring - 'Nice and Easy', medium brown - and used a sink in a gas station restroom to transform her trademark and highly visible red tresses to something nondescript that would let her blend into a crowd. There were several pairs of sunglasses in the glove box and she selected the darkest pair to hide her distinctive blue eyes. In the trunk of Bill's car she found a sports cap - Portland Trailblazers; Mulder would have cringed if he saw her wearing such an abomination. It pleased her that she remembered such things now - little details about him; they were all she had of him at the moment, and she clung to them possessively. Really, only her most recent memories; the last year or so before she'd been locked away in the asylum, were still beyond her. Perhaps that was what the Consortium had tried the hardest to erase, she theorized. She tried not to lose hope; not to let herself think that Mulder was lying dead somewhere. Without identification his body would be just another John Doe on a slab in a morgue God only knew where. If he were still alive he would most likely try to reenter his old life somewhere (what he could remember of it, anyway) - contact someone that he thought might be able to help him. The whole business with Skinner still bothered her. And though she knew it was dangerous, she decided she had to get inside the Hoover building to see if she could solve that little mystery. It was Thursday, by her account. They'd be giving the tours today. She'd just blend into the crowd and then slip away when no one was looking... Her plan worked just fine. She got inside and ditched the tour with shamefully little effort; immediately rode the elevator down to the basement where there was less likelihood of being discovered without a badge. Their old office was locked of course, but it brought a smile to her face when she saw that their names were still affixed to the door. Wistfully she ran her fingers over the lettering. Now that she thought about it, she didn't remember HER name ever being on the door. It must have been a recent addition; some little bit of her history that continued to remain non-retrievable to her. She wished she could recall it. Certainly it must have been a momentous occasion for Fox Mulder to finally concede that it was her office too. After all, it took him seven years before he broke down and let her have her own desk! "Can I help you?" A voice behind her made her start. She recognized that voice... It was Drake, one of the security guards. Leave it to Hawkeye, as he was better known, to catch her so quickly. Silently praying that he wouldn't recognize her, Scully turned around to face the linebacker-sized patrol. "Um... I'm kind of lost." She sheepishly showed him her visitor's badge, and tried to disguise her voice. "I was on the tour and needed to use the restroom and kind of got lost." "I'd say so, miss," he told her sternly. "This is a restricted area. You can't be down here. I'm afraid I'm going to have to escort you back up to the lobby." "Thank you. I'm terribly sorry. I get lost all the time. My sense of direction is just awful. I'm always getting myself turned around." She smiled at him and for a few horrifying seconds his eyes narrowed and she feared he might have recognized her. But then he just shook his head as if he didn't believe himself and ushered her back up to the main reception area. She wandered around in the gift shop for several minutes to allay suspicion and then left the building. If Security was on to her now, she wouldn't be able to sneak in again until tomorrow. Her car was in the visitor's parking. She was almost to it when she saw him there waiting for her. The Smoking Man. And this time she regretfully didn't have a gun to point at him. "Agent Scully, it was very foolish of you to come here. Very foolish indeed. You've put yourself at great risk." So much for disguises, she thought to herself as she fought her overwhelming sense of fear and approached the old man. "Where's Mulder?" she demanded. "What have you done with him?" The old smoker's thin lips curved downward around his cigarette. "He's missing?" "Yes." "I warned you. This is most disturbing news." "You expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with his disappearance?" "I give you my word." Scully snorted at that. "Right." "I only want to help you. To protect you from those that would see you dead. You turned down my gracious offer once, and may have forfeited Agent Mulder's life in the process. Don't be a fool. Let me give you a safe haven before it's too late." "I have to find Mulder." "You'll find nothing but your own death without my help." "I don't trust you, Spender. It's because of you and your cohorts that we're in this situation." He seemed to study her, as if wondering how much she really knew. "I am no longer associated with the men you speak of. I am here today out of concern for my son... and you, Dana. I've grown quite fond of you over the years." "So concerned for Mulder and so fond of me that you stole our memories and locked us away in a place where the devil himself would feel at home." "I did what I could for you both. As I told you at the cemetery, the procedure failed. The end result was not what I wanted for either of you." He dropped his burning cigarette onto the pavement, leaving it to smolder. "If you come with me now I can offer you refuge and I will make every effort to locate your partner." "And if I don't?" Scully was fairly certain there would be repercussions for failing to 'voluntarily' submit. "It's not only yourself whose well-being is at stake. You see what happened to your brother because of your stubborn refusal." "Are you threatening my family?" An enemy's greatest strength is knowing the weaknesses of his adversaries. And CGB had not made it this far in the game without being a formidable foe. "On the contrary, my dear. I'm hoping to save them." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO ** Mulder had been lucky; he'd been able to jump right back on the bus leaving from Florence, headed straight for Jacksonville. As he settled into his seat and the driver took the huge vehicle carefully out into the mainstream traffic, Mulder tried to figure out just how he was going to break this news to Scully - without sending her way over an emotional cliff. She would lose it; of this he couldn't be more sure. She would disbelieve, question, refute, analyze and hopefully (finally) accept - and then the guilt would take over. He knew her. Guilt that she could forget the existence of her own child. Guilt that she never said a word to her family about the baby, so that they might remember - for there would have been no doubt at all had the Scullys known about a baby... they would have been screaming it from the roof-tops. He couldn't allow her to wallow in even a second of guilt; they could not afford to spare the time or energy. Besides, none of this was her fault. 'Someday I'll make them pay,' he thought, with grim determination. His body swaying with the bus's movements, he finally fell into a light doze, dreaming of a baby he could only imagine. Mulder arrived at the Scully home at about nine o'clock, running up the shallow steps and pounding on the door. He panicked when no one answered immediately, and pounded harder - only to find himself almost hitting Maggie Scully on the head, when she yanked open the door, indignant at the disturbance and ready to take a bite out of someone's ass. "What the hell do you think you - Oh, God... Fox!" He fell through the open door and into her waiting arms; suddenly drained of all energy. She sank to the floor with him, holding him; her eyes huge with worry because he truly did look awful. Slipping a hand under the cheek which rested on her shoulder, Maggie spoke to him in urgent tones, after he'd mumbled almost incoherently about needing to see Scully. "Fox, what are you doing back here? Dana went looking for you!" Mulder raised his head, bewildered. He looked into Maggie's worried face with equal worry on his own. "She's gone? Oh, Jesus... I have to find her. Where did she go? Please tell me she didn't hare off by herself!" Maggie shook her head, and squeezed Mulder's hand reassuringly. "No, no - Bill took her. He insisted on it, especially when he realized how much he had hurt Dana by his treatment of you. Making you leave like that! Honestly, I love him, but someday I am going to kill him!" Mulder shook his head vehemently, and clutched at Maggie's arms, pulling himself to his feet and bringing her along with him. He stared intently into her face, fighting down the panic. "No, you don't understand! He was right; maybe not all of it but certainly a lot of it! So much of what Scully has been through was because of me... and now, oh God - it doesn't matter anymore, I have to find her, Mrs. Scully... Jeez, how can I tell you?" He took a deep breath, and just blurted it out. "We have a baby, Dana and I - a baby. Don't ask how, or why... I don't know. But somewhere in our past, before we got taken and our memories destroyed, and locked up in that hell-hole... there was a baby." He searched Maggie's face for her reaction; she didn't disappoint him. Her wide, shocked eyes and pale cheeks said it all; told him for certain that for whatever reason, she had not known. She swayed a bit on her feet; Mulder cursed under his breath and half-carried her over to the sofa and sat her down, then perched next to her, still holding her icy hand. She looked up at him with wounded, bemused eyes. "A baby... how... why wasn't I told, Fox? How could this be...? She can't get pregnant; she told us that! Was it an adoption? Oh, dear God, she didn't find another...?" At Mulder's decisively negative head-shake, Maggie pressed unsteady fingers into her forehead, looking dazed. "A biological birth, of Dana's, and... yours, I am sure. IS it yours?" He nodded again, and then gasped as he felt her trembling lips upon his cheek, kissing him soundly. She pulled back and smiled tearfully at him. "Thank you, Fox - I cannot imagine how such a thing would have been possible... but I thank you. I know how much Dana wanted to be a mother. Now, where is my grand - well, wait a minute... what did you and Dana have? Boy or girl?" Her expectant, now-bright eyes fairly bounced with anticipation as she demanded to know her grandchild's sex - but Mulder drew a complete blank. He stared at her in mounting worry, realizing for maybe the first time that he could not remember the sex of his child... Because he had never gotten to see it, after it had been born. And as he digested this frightening news, and his face blanched and he clutched Maggie's hands even tighter... the phone rang. Maggie wriggled a hand free and leaned over Mulder to pick up the phone; spoke low into the receiver... and whatever words she heard in her ear caused all the color to drain from her face. "What about Dana? My daughter? They were traveling together," she said in a shaky voice, sending a spear of panic into Mulder's chest. Maggie listened for a moment longer and then she turned to Mulder, gasping aloud as the handset slipped from her numbed fingers. "Bill... he's in the hospital, in DC. He's been... oh my God, Fox... he's been shot! And nobody knows where Dana is, Fox. NOBODY KNOWS WHERE MY BABY GIRL IS!!!" They made it to Jacksonville International Airport in record time; Tara had insisted on driving and Mulder and Maggie didn't argue. It was obvious Tara needed to be in some sort of control; that something as simple as designated driver might be all that stood between her, and a nervous breakdown. They took Tara's station wagon; piled into it after Tara had settled the kids with her next-door neighbor Kate, who simply herded the Scully crew into her house and hugged Tara and told her not to worry. In the car Mulder and Maggie huddled together in the back seat; Tara had refused to let anyone sit in the front with her. The front seat of her car belonged to Billy, she'd said... Mulder and Maggie let it go; climbed into the back and buckled themselves in. After about ten minutes of dead-silent motoring, Maggie started to shiver with reaction - and Mulder calmly unbuckled her seat belt and pulled her into his arms and held her. Maggie curled against his side and leaned her head on his shoulder, sobbing copious, silent tears. She was in shock - and Tara was in denial... and Mulder had, at that moment, such a tenuous grip on reality it scared him. He understood Tara's need to be busy doing some sort of task - she drove like an automaton, both hands tight on the wheel and eyes straight ahead. She hadn't said a word since leaving the neighbors' house; hadn't shed one tear. Mulder understood. His memories of his and Scully's past together were coming to him, clearer and stronger now. He could remember pauses in time, when the pain of knowing would be best survived by the choice of denial... He was also quite certain that, given time, he'd remember other things - and again exercise his right to deny - to preserve sanity. Forty-five minutes later they were at the airport, and were able to get three seats together on the plane. Thankfully there weren't too many passengers on the flight. They were exhausted, especially Tara - whose sails suddenly lost significant wind right after they buckled themselves into their sets, Mulder and Maggie occupying the seats on either side of the suddenly-sobbing woman. Mulder held one of her hands while Maggie gripped the other, and Tara buried her face in her mother-in-law's shoulder and wept the entire flight. Mulder, sitting nearest the window, swallowed down the emotion, and the need to scream his fear out into the canned air of the cabin... knowing if he started he would never stop. At BWI Airport they grabbed a taxi and sat together in the back seat, with Mulder in the middle holding both women close to him. By offering them his strength he was effectively staving off the massive worry which had been collecting within; worry that Scully had been taken by whomever had shot Bill. Each time it bubbled up in his tight throat, threatening to choke off his breathing, Mulder ruthlessly shoved it back down and held the Scully women tighter, until he was just about squeezing the life from each of them. Oddly, they seemed to understand... and both women suffered through Mulder's boa constrictor routine without a whimper. The cabbie, sensing a tragedy brewing in the back seat of his cab, wisely never said a word; not until he had pulled up at the emergency entrance of Bethesda Naval Hospital - and then his simple and gruff, "Good luck, folks - I'll say a prayer for you," almost did them in. They grabbed their overnight bags and rushed through the wide doors - and as Mulder glanced frantically around the bustling lobby, locating and then tearing off towards the reception desk with Tara and Maggie on his heels... A large, warm hand grabbed onto his shoulder from behind, and spun him around... and he locked eyes with a tall, wide-shouldered man whose face broke into a huge smile, and whose rough, emotion-filled gasp of "MULDER! Thank GOD!", almost sent him to his knees in an onrushing burst of relief. Mulder found himself clasped to a broad chest, hugged hard and then released; he managed to keep his footing, as he smiled at the familiar face. "Sir... it's good to see you, too..." "When I heard the name 'Scully' on the damn scanner, I about broke every speed record in the world, getting myself over here." Skinner and Mulder were sitting in a corner of Bill Scully's room, trying to keep their voices as low as possible so as not to awaken the three unconscious people in the hospital bed: Tara had just climbed right into the bed and had curled up against her husband's side. Maggie had pulled up a chair close to his other side and had retained hold of her son's free hand. Bill had awoken once, and was able to speak to the women he loved, assuring them in a raspy voice that he was fine; that the combination of drugs they were infecting him with was responsible for his overall helplessness... not the fact he'd undergone major surgery to remove a pesky bullet. They'd cried all over him, and Bill had let them get it out of their systems; then had sent Mulder a hoarse, "Mulder, you gotta find her... Please find her." - before he'd closed his eyes and fallen asleep again. Mulder couldn't help but feel sympathy for Bill; understanding how difficult it must be for Scully's brother to know he'd failed to protect his sister. Bill was a very proud man; it must have just about killed him to ask Mulder for help. In a different situation Mulder would have enjoyed watching Bill eat crow, but not this time... his feud with Scully's brother seemed hugely unimportant at the moment. Mulder turned back to Skinner and continued to question him about what he had discovered after he'd rushed to the hospital in a panic, thinking the Scully in room 617 was might be Dana. "... Frohike had given me one of those blasted scanners a long time ago, but I never used it. After you and Agent Scully... disappeared, I started monitoring it religiously, hoping I would hear something. After the apartment fire... well, I knew you weren't the bodies found in that fire. I went ape-shit trying to find you. I was forced to take an extended leave of absence from the Bureau. They thought I was losing my sanity. It sure felt like that sometimes." Skinner was grim-faced, remembering; Mulder had been listening intently, and now interrupted Skinner's monologue with more questions. "Sir, the baby - do you know where it is? Do you know anything at all... Jesus, I don't even know for sure if Scully remembers she had our child!" Mulder rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes. Skinner sighed, thinking back on those dark months. "Mulder, honestly I never was able to discover anything about the baby, or what happened to you and Scully - I'm so sorry. That fucking Spender got to you guys before I could. And then he disappeared right along with everybody else. I thought we'd managed to keep Agent Scully's pregnancy a secret. Obviously that was not the case. It becomes clearer and clearer that there's some sinister plot underlying all of this. Something we're overlooking. They're not going to get away with it though... not this time. You can bet we're going to find out the whole story - and we are going to get your baby back." Skinner pressed a reassuring hand on Mulder's shoulder, then added, "And we start by finding Scully. We should get in touch with the police. Maybe we can track her down by finding her brother's car." The police had been eager to assist; putting out an immediate APB on Bill Scully's car. But Mulder had never been good at waiting, especially not in situations such as these; if only there was something - anything - he could do... just waiting around was driving him crazy. Bill had been unable to offer anything in the way of a description of the shooter or shooters who had done this to him. He could only reiterate that he'd been shot once, had gone down in the open and had been unable to move. He remembered calling to his sister several times, begging her to get out of there... and said her tearful voice promising to get help for him had been the last thing he recalled, until he woke up in his hospital bed with tubes everywhere... With nothing else to do, Mulder paced the small confines of Skinner's apartment. Hidden away in an older part of town, the place was about half the size of his former apartment. Skinner had been living there for several months; nobody knew his address. Mulder didn't mind the tiny rooms; he felt safe here. But worry was slowly driving him over the edge - it had been hours and they'd heard nothing. The click of a key in the front door roused him from his knuckle- gnawing, and he strode to the door and wrenched it open before Skinner could even get his hand on the knob. He didn't waste any time; just barked at Mulder, "I got my car waiting. Received a call from the station on my way here - they found Bill's car. "Come on, let's go! And before you ask - no, I didn't say anything to her family - Jesus, I wouldn't know where to start!" Mulder nodded gratefully, as they tore down the stairs, too impatient to bother with an elevator. "It's better we don't say anything until we know something definite." Half an hour later, the evidence before their eyes seemed very definite. They stood on the Pullman Ferry dock, still and cold and utterly despairing... watching as the dripping car was lifted from the brackish Potomac River. Mulder couldn't take his eyes from what had to be the most horrifying sight ever: Bill Scully's car, brought up from a watery grave. Beside him, Skinner stood rigid, emotionless; his only sign of distress a wildly pulsing vein in his broad forehead and a restraining, yet comforting hand on Mulder's arm. A young cop came over, and spoke to them, his exhausted face giving evidence of many sleep-deprived nights. He spoke to both of them, although his eyes remained mostly on Mulder, as if he could sense Scully belonged to him and not Skinner. "We've just started to drag the river, but I doubt we'll find anything in the same general locale as the car. River currents are pretty strong right along here. The car itself would have moved downstream a little before filling with enough water to sink. But a body would have been pulled along quite a ways, unless it snagged on something or - Sir?!" The cop stuttered to a halt, as his words caused Mulder's face to drain of color, and he swayed on his feet in sudden agonized shock. Skinner grabbed at his arm to keep him upright, leading him to a bench on the side of the dock, and forcing him to sit. He tried to reassure Mulder, who'd dropped his face into his hands and was shaking. "Easy, Mulder - come on, don't do this! You can't be thinking that way; you'd be the first one to give ME hell if I reacted like this! Agent Scully is tough and resourceful; she would have found a way to get out of the car - and she's an excellent swimmer. Don't make a tragedy of it, not now!" He clasped Mulder's shoulder, and Mulder nodded, taking a deep breath to compose himself, then stood and faced his former boss. "You're right. Scully would shoot me dead if she knew I'd come unglued at a time like this." He turned to the young cop and smiled wearily; shook his hand. "You'll keep us apprised of any new developments, anything at all? Whatever you find when you finish dragging, even if it's the tiniest bit of inconsequence... you'll call us?" The cop nodded, his eyes filled with sympathy for the distraught man. Mulder thanked him and turned toward the parking lot, Skinner following behind. Neither man spoke as they walked back to Skinner's car. But the air between them was flavored with new, hard resolve - as if they'd stared into the worst of the fire and found it lacking in the power to truly burn them. Mulder didn't feel the sort of emptiness which stemmed from losing one-half of himself. He was in pain, and he was heartsick and afraid and worried as hell - and anger boiled deep within him. But he did not feel that level of empty - not yet. And if he had anything to do with it... he never would. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE ** "Yes, I have her." He drew in a deep satisfying drag as he spoke into the telephone. "Dr. Hazlam is en route as we speak. He'll be here tonight. We'll begin the procedure immediately. By morning Dana Scully will no longer be a problem." Another thoughtful puff of smoke as he listened to the voice on the other end. "How's the child?" There was a much longer pause before he spoke again. "Good, good," he smiled. "Excellent." He flicked the ashes from his cigarette into a butt-filled ceramic ashtray. "No. Mulder is back in DC now. He shouldn't be any problem either. Rest assured, this time Agents Mulder and Scully won't be returning from the dead." He hung up the phone, once more filling his lungs with nicotine - soothing a long-held addiction. He listened to the sound of the shower running in the guest room bath. And pictured her there, standing in the steamy mist, warm water cascading over her young supple form. He'd had the pleasure of seeing her in all her splendor on more than one occasion. He wondered if his son appreciated the rare beauty of which he'd been fortunate enough to partake. Not for the first time, he imagined what it would be like to enjoy Dana Scully for himself... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx She went with him. Voluntarily. Again. Again? Each time she reached into her memories and came up blank, Scully's rage at what had been done to her and Mulder intensified. And right now as she prepared herself for bed in the secluded lakeside cabin of her sworn enemy, Scully knew she'd been there before, a guest of the Smoking Man... or had she been his prey? She slipped into the silky pajamas he'd had waiting for her after her long hot shower. Admittedly, the man was quite the host. She'd found an entire wardrobe of fine clothing hanging in the closet, everything perfectly sized to her petite form. His confidence astounded her; how could he be so certain of her complicity? Then, and now... Then. God, she wished she could remember when it was. Or what the circumstances were. She'd been here before - been in this very bed before, she thought as she slipped beneath the quilt and settled her head on the down-filled pillows. But why? And when? She drifted off to sleep puzzling it over... She was in terrible pain. Everywhere that her body touched the bed, she hurt - ached. She was sweating, shaking, her mouth was dry. The pain was excruciating; it stole her focus, making it impossible to concentrate on anything beyond the threshold of her own restraint. He was standing there, watching; a cigarette poised between his lips; cold eyes fixed on her as she writhed and cried and screamed. Goddamn bastard had her tied to the bed. Too much, it hurt too much... There was a doctor - oh, please no, she thought as she saw him approaching her. What were they doing to her? The pain hit Scully again harder. They were killing her; had to be. That Smoking bastard had tricked her into coming here and now he was having her tortured to death while he sadistically stood by and watched her suffer. She screamed as her body tensed with yet another agonizing wave. And then she started yelling at him, at the doctor, at the nurse that paid no attention to her pleas for help. She was yelling - no... she was screaming and crying, someone else was yelling... Mulder! Thank God! Mulder was there to help her! But he couldn't help; that's why he was yelling at Spender and the others... "Goddamn you! Give her something for the pain!" They ignored him. Scully scanned the room through tear-filled eyes until she found him so far away, tied securely to a chair in the corner staring back at her, more anguished than she'd ever seen him look. "Mulder... God! Mulder, don't let them do this!" And then she lost it again, squeezing her eyes shut tight as a fresh surge of pain seized her, its tightening current intensifying until she let out with another hysterical shriek. Too much... too much... Her head thrashed wildly on the bed as the hurting became unbearable again. "Scully! Scully, look at me!" Mulder's voice was raw with emotion, calling to Scully through the mire of pain and fear that held her. "Do you hear me, Scully? Look at me!" he demanded. She forced herself to obey; hoping he could lead her out of this misery. Her blurry eyes fought to focus on him. "I love you, Scully. It's gonna be all right. It's almost over." She wanted to believe him, but she knew better. This pain would never end. Never. "Time to push," the voice from behind the mask told her, void of any human feeling. No! She wouldn't! She wouldn't give them her baby! She wouldn't... but try as she might Scully could not fight the inevitable. The urge to bear down was overwhelming, and she was weakened from the hours of pain she'd already suffered. She fought it as long as she could; but in the end it was Mulder's tear-choked voice over the sound of her own cries that implored her to stop resisting. "Scully - honey, let go... please, just let go." With the next contraction she gave in, pushing through the burning pain. She could feel the baby moving down inside her, her tortured body shifting, bones separating, as she held her breath and pushed as hard as she could. The head was out and then the shoulders... and then she felt the baby being pulled from her; torn from her body. She lifted her exhausted head, struggling to see the tiny newborn crying angrily in the doctor's gloved hands; but they had cut the cord and the nurse had quickly spirited the infant away before she could even get a glimpse of its pale skin. "No! Where are you taking my baby? Please! Please... God, please - don't take my baby away!" She turned to Mulder, needing to take comfort in his gentle eyes, but his head was bowed low and he was sobbing, his body quaking with grief in a moment that should have held great joy for them both. And then they took the father of her baby away too. "Mulder!" she screamed after him as two big goons unfastened him from the chair and dragged him towards the door. "I love you, Scully. I love you!" It was the last thing she heard Mulder say before the heavy door slammed shut and she was left alone with the heartless doctor who'd forcibly taken her baby from her, and Satan himself - CGB Spender... Scully awoke from the nightmare gasping for air - too much air... she was hyperventilating. The baby! Oh God, how could she have ever forgotten her own baby? The cruel bastards never even told her if it was a boy or a girl, never let her touch it, never even let her see the miracle she and Mulder had created. But she remembered its cry, infuriated at being taken from her; a newborn pawn, tiny and helpless and screaming at the top of its lungs at the injustice of it all. The rest of the puzzle pieces were all falling in place now. The baby, their baby, hers and Mulder's, that's what this was all about. CGB had taken their child and wanted them to forget. She slipped out of bed quietly and hurried to dress. Her mind singularly focused on one thought - finding her baby - Scully didn't notice the door knob silently turning. Didn't see the dark figure soundlessly steal into the room while her back was turned. As she bent to pull on her shoes, she didn't realize he was creeping up behind her. Not until it was too late did she hear his rapid breathing or feel his hot hand clamping down hard over her mouth as he grabbed her from behind. Her eyes went wide and she froze... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR ** All the way back to Skinner's apartment, Mulder agonized over the knowledge that he would have to tell the Scully family something about what they'd discovered today. Skinner had found a hotel within walking distance of the hospital, actually maintained by hospital staff to house the families of patients whose stay went past a week or so. Only half-full, it had been easy to get them a room. Tara and Maggie had been able to get some decent sleep and a hot meal, before they had gone back to spend the day with Bill, who was improving slowly. He was awake for longer periods of time and was speaking more coherently. Mulder rejoiced at the good news - even as he dreaded having to burst their small bubble of happiness by telling them about Bill's river-marinated car... and the possibility that Scully could be - NO! He would not go there. His heart refused to go there. On the drive back to Skinner's he fought to re-harden his resolve - and by the time they reached the apartment building and were standing in front of Skinner's door, Mulder had decided not to say anything just yet to Scully's family. Maybe, please God, maybe - he would not have to. Maybe there would be news, a waiting phone message, something... anything. Someone must have been listening to his plea, Mulder figured - because just ten minutes after they had entered the apartment, the phone rang, startling both of them. Skinner rushed to the desk and grabbed at it, barking, "SKINNER!" into the mouthpiece. Mulder stood stiff and unmoving, watching for every expression flitting across his boss's face - finding him as unyielding as stone as he listened, then spoke. "You're out of your fucking mind, asshole - forget it. No meeting. Why don't you just mosey on over here, if you're so hot to talk?" He listened for a few more seconds, then cursing colorfully under his breath, he held out the phone to Mulder wordlessly, his jaw clenched tight. Without a sound, Mulder took the receiver and put it to his ear. "Mulder." The voice he heard on the other end was the last one he expected... "Dobroe Utro, Mulder - tell me, are you reasonable these days?" Mulder's eyes went wide, as he recognized the rich, low tones of the only man he'd ever known who could stir up such equal portions of hate, and camaraderie... Alex Krycek. And with the remembrance of the voice came memories of the man himself; but this time, for reasons he wasn't entirely clear on, those memories eased a portion of Mulder's fears, instead of worrying him anew. His eyes locked with Skinner's angry glare, as he replied. "Same to you. I hope I can assume if you're calling me, it means you can be of assistance. And I am also going to assume you may have some idea of what the fuck's been going on lately. Am I right?" The voice on the other end sighed, and there was a pause before he answered. "I know enough, Mulder... we have to meet, the sooner the better. Tonight. Arlington, that old deserted baseball field. You know the one. Ten o'clock. And come alone, Mulder - I am trusting you to follow directions. Alone. You can trust me - I think you understand that by now." He paused, and Mulder thought he could hear a muffled conversation going on; he strained to hear but could not make it out. Then Krycek's voice came back on. "Well, Mulder? Will you be there? I can guarantee your safety, as long as you come alone. I need an answer..." Mulder glanced again at Skinner; he was shaking his head violently, mouthing "NO, NO!" at him. Mulder ignored him, and turned partially away as he answered. "I'll be there, Krycek - alone. You have my word. Arlington field, at ten. And you'd better keep your word, as well." The tired chuckle in his ear was suddenly very familiar to him, as Krycek shot one last retort into the receiver before he hung up. "My word is as solid as yours, Comrade... so, until ten." Mulder dropped the phone back into its cradle, and turned to face the wrath of Skinner, who had moved closer to him and now stood nose to nose with Mulder, eyes blazing with anger and worry. "Are you out of your goddamned MIND, Mulder? You are NOT going alone! Jesus, use your brain, man - this is Alex Krycek we're talking about! You can't trust him! He set you up in Oregon! Mulder... are you even LISTENING to me!!" It took some major convincing... but in the end, Mulder went to Arlington Field alone. Skinner had argued, pleaded, cajoled and then outright ordered him to take backup. Mulder had just sent him a grim smile, and replied, "NO... Sir. I'm afraid you can't order me to do squat - I am officially dead, remember? I even saw the headstone. And, correct me if I'm wrong - but aren't you officially 'off the clock' so to speak? Put those together and you've got legalized rebellion." Mulder slipped into a dark jacket and stuffed Skinner's spare cell phone into his pocket, then turned to face his worried ex-boss. "I'm stealing your cell phone - I'll stay in touch." He clapped a hand on Skinner's broad shoulder, and added earnestly, "Don't you see I have to do this? Krycek may be a rat bastard, but he saved my life - and Scully's - at least once that I can recall. And I am remembering more and more - things about Krycek, about the way he can worm his way into a situation and manage to control it, to make everyone trust him... and if anyone can work both sides, it's Krycek. I have to trust him - I'm convinced that not only can he help me find Scully, but he may know something vital about our child." He moved to the door; looking back at Skinner one last time, he quipped, "By the way, Skin-man, I stole your spare SIG, too..." The look of comical disbelief on Skinner's face, at the mention of that long-ago nickname - well, it went a long way toward lightening Mulder's burden, and filling the dark places in his heart with something resembling hope. Arlington Field was in complete darkness when he arrived. The park didn't look as if it had been used at all during the summer. Mulder remembered reading about a new baseball park that had been under construction. He figured this would explain why Arlington had fallen neglected, perhaps used now just for its batting cage facilities. As Mulder walked across the dark, silent field - headed toward that wire cage - a memory, sweet and fleeting, came to him: Scully, in his arms. Batting at balls, shagged to them by a mysterious little boy in tattered overalls that looked at least fifty years old. The warm, solid feel of her pressed up against him as they both swung at the ball - Mulder's eyes closed and he swallowed painfully, panic and worry taking over his previously confident resolve; oh, God, Scully... "I hope you brought some elegantly-wrapped gifts this time, Mulder - seeing as how all I got on our last baseball 'date,' besides you rubbing up alongside my ass, was twenty dollars' worth of balls thrown at me..." The soft voice coming out of the darkness behind him just about stopped his heart - then made it slam back to life inside his aching chest. He was almost afraid to turn around; afraid that what he'd just heard was a longed-for figment of his most desperate wish - Scully alive, and warm; vital - and safe. He turned, very carefully; eyes searching for her, finding her standing only a few yards away. Smiling at him with eyes bright from unshed tears - trembling fingers tucking a wayward strand of brown hair behind her ear. Wait a minute. Brown...? He stared at her hair; Scully smiled and ruffled her hand through the unfamiliar color. "It was necessary, Mulder. Don't worry, it'll wash out." Her smile got even wider when Mulder held out a hand to her, and his voice dropped to a low, emotion-wrought rasp. "Get over here, Scully..." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx In a heartbeat she was in his arms, and he was holding her so tight that Scully could scarcely breathe. "Scully," he whispered, his face buried in her hair. "Thank God you're all right." "Mulder, I remembered what happened to us," she told him anxiously. "Why we were in that Asylum. Oh God, Mulder..." How was she going to tell him this? The realization had ripped her own heart wide open. "I know, Scully. I remembered too. They took our baby." She nodded, relieved that the burden of telling him had been lifted from her shoulders; then pushed back so she could look into his eyes. "Yes. We had a baby. A boy, Mulder." Scully watched him bite down on his lower lip to stave off the wave of emotion that threatened to overtake him. She could see the incongruity of joy and sorrow fighting to incorporate in his stare. "A son..." he breathed, his voice choked with emotion. "He's fifteen months old now." Her heart ached at the thought of everything she'd already missed; his first smile, his first laugh, his first tooth, his first word, his first steps... His entire life thus far - and she had missed it all. But she couldn't dwell on that; she had to focus on getting her child back, for all the firsts that were yet to be. "Krycek believes our son is being held in a safehouse somewhere in the DC area. He said he would try to find out where and call us with the information as soon as he has it." "We'll find him, Scully," he promised her. "We'll get our son back." She smiled at him. "Damn right we will." "CGB's going to pay for this too; for what he took from us, for what we've been through - and if any harm has come to our child..." "Mulder, Spender's dead." There was a brief moment when she feared he might ask. But after looking deep into her eyes, into her soul, Mulder just nodded and heaved a world-weary sigh. "I'm sorry for everything you've been through because of me, Scully." "Mulder, don't... don't apologize. No matter what Bill told you, it's not your fault what I've been through. We've both been through a lot because of our choice to search for the truth. OUR choice, Mulder, yours and mine. It was MY choice to stay and fight." "But why did you stay, Scully? Because of the fight, or was it because of me?" "I stayed because of you... and because of me. But mostly I stayed because of THEM, Mulder. I didn't want THEM to win." He smiled. "And they won't. We'll make sure of it. But I'm still sorry, Scully. If you'd never met me, your life would have been -" "Incomplete," she finished for him. She wondered if she could ever make him see just how much he'd given to her. Words could not express, so she let him look into her eyes, willing that he would see what was in her heart. The high-pitched trill of a cell phone interrupted their silent communion. Scully fished the offending device out of her pocket. "Krycek gave it to me. He said he'd call when he found the baby," she explained to Mulder. They both held their breath as Scully answered on the second ring. "Yeah." There was a pause and then she let out a shaky sigh of relief, closing her eyes and quickly thanking God for the news she'd just received. "All right, Alex. Thank you." As soon as she hung up the phone she answered Mulder's anxious look. "He doesn't have the address yet, but he's confirmed that our baby is safe and somewhere nearby. He's meeting with a contact tonight that promises to have the information we need. He wants us to be ready to move quickly when he calls us back." A wide, relieved smile was Mulder's response, and he folded Scully into his arms, pressing his face into her hair. Scully was stiff for about five seconds, still digesting the news that their child was, for the moment, safe - and then all the strength left her limbs and she collapsed in Mulder's embrace, whispering to him, "So scared... I was so scared. I'm still scared, Mulder." She raised her eyes to his and searched for reassurance; finding it in the tender look he gave her and the sweet kiss he placed on her mouth, murmuring against her lips as he took them so softly. "I'm scared too - but we're almost there. It won't be much longer - you've got to hang onto that thought. Not much longer, and we'll be holding our little boy - and planning our future." He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her again; adding, "We need to get back over to Skinner's place, Scully - figure out how we're going to proceed." She nodded against his neck, knowing she had to pull herself together. They'd go to Skinner's and wait for - her eyes went wide, as she digested her thoughts, and Mulder's words. Skinner... Wait a minute. "Mulder, what? Did you say Skinner? You found him?" "Oh, yeah... guess I forgot to fill you in on a few small details, Scully..." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE ** They had almost given up, as night wore on and dawn came and went; it was practically mid-morning before Alex called back with the address. All their plans to give Krycek a slow and painful death for leaving them to wait on pins and needles all night, were instantly forgotten the second the phone rang and he came through on his promise. "Are you ready, my friend? I have the address. It will be locked... which I am sure won't deter you at all. Tell Skinner to stay well back - and if you are wise you will approach from the rear. I have driven by, but I cannot tell you how well-guarded the place is, this time of day." Scully stood very close to Mulder, both of them listening carefully to the directions given to them. Near the door Skinner stood, kevlar in place - and Mulder didn't ask where he'd gotten the vest - grim-faced and prepared to leap in at a moments' notice. Mulder was grateful for the backup, since they didn't really know what kind of a situation they would be walking into. Krycek warned them that one of Spender's best was looking after the boy. Mulder spoke into the mouthpiece, his other hand holding Scully's firmly. "We'll be careful. Where will you be? Skinner wants to know." The low chuckle on the other end of the phone made Mulder smile wearily. "Oh, I am sure he'd LOVE to know where I'll be... so he can kick my ass and tear off my other arm. Tell Skinner I will find him, when the time is right. I'll be close by... I'll be watching. Use great caution, Mulder - and all will be well." A soft 'click' in his ear; Mulder hung up the receiver, and turned to hug Scully, and she returned his embrace, strong and steady, solidly determined. His eyes met Skinner's, and he nodded. Okay, let's do it..." The address Krycek provided took them to a comfortable neighborhood about ten miles outside Annapolis, Maryland. Severna Park; right on the water and very quiet during the day - Mulder noted the lack of dogs barking, children screeching in the throes of play, cars motoring down the neighborhood streets. He glanced at Scully, seated next to him in the rented car. Behind them, a decent length away, Skinner was a comforting shadow. "This is one weird neighborhood, Scully - more like a ghost town." Scully nodded, her eyes searching out the well-kept houses and yards for any signs of life. Except for a lone bicycle-rider turning left onto Bay Drive... the streets were deserted. Mulder looked again at the scrap of paper in his hand. "2513 Trelawny Court... it's a cul- de-sac... damn. Going in through the rear is gonna be difficult. Second house from the right - see it?" Scully nodded again, her eyes fastened on the small white clapboard house with pale gray trim and louvered shutters. "Too open here - too close to the house. I'm pulling over, at least one street down." He found a quiet side street just a little past the small circular court, and killed the engine. They opened their doors carefully, eyes scanning the area constantly. Nothing - nobody. They moved silently through back yards; luck was with them and they didn't encounter one dog. Amazing... weird. From the back, the house looked cozy and sweet; the yard was small but well-kept, and there was even a tiny patio filled with wrought- iron furniture and a variety of flower pots, now empty of foliage and soil. A chilled wind blew across their faces, and the watery autumn sun did little to warm them. Scully shivered and zipped up her jacket. Mulder motioned to her, and they moved cautiously across the yard, crouched low. They reached the back door and Mulder checked the lock; searching in his pocket for the small pick Skinner had given him and inserting it silently. After about a minute of fishing around (God, he was out of practice) - the lock clicked open - and Mulder carefully opened the door. They entered on noiseless feet, finding themselves in a mud-room which held rubber wading boots, various sneakers and raincoats, including a tiny yellow slicker. Scully made a soft sound of maternal hunger and picked it up, staring longingly at it. Mulder grasped her hand gently and tugged at her until she put the slicker down; he could see her struggling to hold her emotions in check. They opened the mud-room door which luckily did not have squeaky hinges; finding themselves in a small but well-appointed kitchen. Passing through to an equally-modest dining room, the house seemed deserted. No clocks ticking - no television or radio playing. They found a quaint living area with cozy chairs and low tables; in the corner was a plastic tub full of baby toys. Scully's eyes latched onto that tub and she started drifting toward it. Mulder in turn latched onto her, effectively distracting her from being distracted... then all his focused attention went out the window, as his gaze fell upon the fireplace built into the wall nearest them. There were several picture frames arranged on the mantle. Small ones and large ones, all of the same subject - a child in various baby stages. A tiny infant, wrapped in blue; a naked baby on a thick yellow blanket, his rosy cheeks stuck straight up in the air... a few months older, chubby and sweetly-smiling; little hands grasping a Paddington Bear, sitting in a rocking chair sized just-right. And a photo taken in the pouring rain, of a sturdy little boy perhaps fourteen or so months old, wearing a bright yellow slicker and trying to catch raindrops on his tongue. They were beautiful photographs, showcasing a child with dark red hair and huge hazel-green eyes; a full pouty MulderMouth and rosy cheeks... causing Mulder's heart to alternately swell with pride and ache with the loss of over a year of seeing his baby develop and grow. An audible sob from Scully tore his focus from the framed photos, and Mulder turned and wound her into his arms, whispering to her brokenly, "He's here, Scully - in this house. And we're gonna go get him, right now..." She nodded and wiped her eyes, nodding again when he pointed toward a stairway and indicated they should keep looking. Up the staircase, praying the steps wouldn't creak - they made their careful way to the second floor. A narrow hallway, and three or four doors, all closed but one. And from that open door, they heard a high, soft sighing coo - and a giggle - and they carefully removed their guns and walked toward that sound... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX ** The blood in Scully's veins turned to ice when she saw her. Diana Fowley. Another miraculous resurrection from the dead. She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. But one look at the little boy sitting in Diana's lap, and Scully suddenly found no humor in the situation at all. She was furious at the other woman's gall; to try and pass herself off as the mother of HER child! "Diana?" Mulder said, his mouth dropped open in disbelief. Fowley looked equally stunned for the minute; her attention drawn from the boy to Mulder and Scully standing in the nursery doorway, guns in hand. But her recovery was fast, and she immediately produced a weapon of her own, its deadly aim fixed on Scully's heart. "Well, this is an unexpected surprise." "Diana, what are you doing? Scully said you were dead..." "You shouldn't have trusted her, Fox. She was all too eager to be rid of me. In fact, it was because of her threats that I was forced to deceive you. She told me if I didn't get out of your life, she would kill me." "You lousy liar!" Scully took three quick steps toward Diana before Mulder grabbed her arm and stopped her. She shot him an angry look for his interference. "Scully," he cautioned her. Scully took immediate exception to his warning. The history between the three of them made it difficult to accept his counsel without wondering at his motives. Was he protecting her - or Fowley? "Mulder, don't you dare take her side. Not this time. She's lying through her teeth. I never threatened her, I -" "Fox, I'm telling the truth," Diana insisted, her face a study in sincerity. Scully wanted to strangle her for lying so bold-faced and unashamedly to a man who had always given her his complete trust. Scully tried to pull away from Mulder. And both women continued to hold their weapons leveled at one another. Mulder refused to let go of Scully's arm. The baby in Diana's lap studied the tense faces of the adults; then he locked eyes with Scully and reached out ten chubby fingers in her direction. "Mama," he said decisively. Scully's heart broke; shattered into a million pieces as she stood there looking at that sweet cherubic face, and those big innocent eyes staring back at her - his father's eyes, she thought with and extra twinge of anguish. He knew her; knew she was his mother even though he'd been taken from her at birth. How could that be? Unless what Krycek had told her about the boy was true. That she and Mulder's son, like Gibson Praise, had unique abilities - a special gift for reading the thoughts and feelings of others; her son, the genetic handiwork of men whose purpose superseded all standards of moral behavior and medical and scientific ethics. But she couldn't let these thoughts distract her now. There were more immediate concerns that required her full attention. With a hard jerk she finally freed herself from Mulder's grip, and moved forward toward her baby. "That's far enough, Agent Scully." The barrel of Diana's pistol was pointed at Scully's head as she slowly stood up, holding the baby under one arm. "Give me my son, Diana!" Scully demanded. "I'm his mother. I've raised him. He doesn't have any idea who you are." "Mama," the boy said again, ever more insistently, reaching out to Scully. Fowley shot the child a look of pure irritation. "Diana, put the gun down." Mulder's focus jumped nervously between the two women. "I've been tasked with raising this child. You don't have any idea of what he is. How important his well-being is to all of us. Fox, your son will save the world someday. When the viral apocalypse hits, the human race will survive because of one small boy." Diana's eyes lit as she spoke, sparked by her enthusiasm. "He is genetically immune to the alien virus. He must be studied. He must be protected at all costs." "He's a child, not a research project!" Scully took another step closer to her baby. Diana cocked her gun. "Agent Scully, one more step and I'll shoot." "Scully," Mulder warned her again. Scully raised her gun, pointing it at the other woman's face and cocking it, her finger poised over the trigger. "Not if I shoot first." "All right! That's enough!" Mulder barked. "Diana, put the gun down! Scully - please!" The women ignored him completely, their eyes locked in a deadly standoff. The little boy started to protest. "Down! Down!" He wiggled and squirmed, momentarily distracting Diana in his attempt to break free. "Damn it! Hold still!" she snapped at the small child. "Mommy can't put you down right now!" The baby's face wrinkled up, ready to cry. That was the last straw for Scully. While Diana was struggling with the boy - in the two or three seconds she allowed herself to be distracted, Scully lunged forward to grab the gun out of her hand. She managed to get a hold of the weapon before Diana could react, but the two women began to grapple over ownership of the gun; and in the process, the baby started to slip from Diana's grasp. Mulder saw his son starting to fall and dove to catch him. Managing to rescue him just before he would have hit the floor; Mulder held the boy safely in his arms, cradling him close - then turned to see Scully and Diana locked in battle over the gun. A second later there was a heart-stopping 'BANG!' Mulder screamed, "NOOOOOOO!" and the startled baby began to wail. Diana and Scully both sank to their knees, still frozen in each other's grip... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN ** With the soft yet squirming weight of his son in his arms, crouched over him on the floor, Mulder looked up through reddened, tear-filled eyes as the battle came to its bloody end there on the floor next to him. Scully and Diana were still on their knees, hands and arms pinning each other; eyes riveted with deadly intent. Blood was spattered on both of them; it was impossible to know which one was hurt. The gun was nowhere to be seen; Mulder tried to calm the screaming baby even as he uttered prayer after prayer for Scully's life... And as he watched in horrified pain, he saw Diana turn her head toward him - and her wide gaze fastened on the little boy still sobbing in Mulder's arms - and she smiled at the child, and her whispered, "It's OK, Mommy's OK, little one..." froze Mulder's blood in his veins as his eyes snapped to Scully, silently begging for a sign, some sort of affirmation from her, that she was all right as well, something, anything - And he saw the smile on Diana's face; her white teeth turning a sudden and gruesome pink darkening to red, as the blood filling her lungs bubbled up into her throat. She gurgled a weak sputtering cough and slid sideways, falling face-up on the floor, her hands slipping from Scully's neck and revealing the hole in her chest, the result of Scully's unerring aim; a hole directly over her heart. Still on her knees, Scully slowly lowered the gun she held and laid it carefully on the floor, not far from her own that she'd dropped earlier in the battle; then she crawled with stiff, jerky movements - until she could reach Mulder and her child. She fell into Mulder's embrace, now sobbing hard with the aftershocks; and Mulder held her tightly, their baby sandwiched between them, the little guy not seeming to mind being squashed by his parents. Amid kisses and teary murmurs of loving reassurance the baby had managed to turn himself around in his father's embrace, and now faced Scully. With the most angelic laugh he reached out his chubby hand and patted Scully's wet cheek, leaning in to give her a smacking kiss on the side of her mouth, exclaiming in a high excited baby voice, "MAMA - MAAMMAA!" Mulder laughed shakily and wiped the tears from his face as Scully wrapped her arms around the baby and squeezed him tightly, peppering his chubby cheeks and hair with kisses, whispering in a tear-clogged voice that yes, Mommy's really here and Mommy's got you and Mommy loves you so very much... Rubbing the last of the tears from his face, Mulder slowly got to his feet and helped her stand, still clutching the baby; walked to the door with his family, on unsteady legs, and he didn't look back. As they descended the stairs, he stated the obvious - "I think he knows who you are, Scully..." And at those tender words the baby turned in Scully's arms giving Mulder a look of understanding that defied his young age, and pointed one fat baby finger straight at him, smiling his sweet baby's smile. "Daddy." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx When Skinner burst into the house, just a minute or so after hearing that single gunshot - the sight of all three of them, safe and on their feet walking down the stairs, almost doubled him over in a flood of relief. He never asked or demanded to know what had happened; he simply sent one encompassing, reassuring glance over them. Mulder turned to take the baby out of Scully's suddenly limp grasp and Skinner put a strong arm around her and walked her out of the house, helping her into his car; leaving Mulder to follow at a slower pace, carrying his now-sobbing son. Reaction had set in with the little boy, and he clung to his father as Mulder slid them both into the front seat; little arms refusing to let go. Skinner had put Scully in the back; she closed her eyes and reached a hand over the top of the front seat; Mulder linked her fingers in his and held on tightly all the way back into DC. At Skinner's apartment, the first thing Scully did was strip the little boy's clothes from his body and give him a bath. He splashed and whooped happily while she bathed him and hummed a silly song to him and fought to stop tearing up every time she looked into his beautiful hazel eyes. She fingered his baby hair... red hair. Soft and dark red and curly - "I'll bet yours was that color too, when you were his age - wasn't it?" Mulder had come to the door of the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat, watching the soapy ritual. Apart from a happy "Dada!" in his general direction, the child ignored his father and continued to play in the water. Scully smiled up at Mulder. "Uh-huh... Melissa and I were the red-head throwbacks in the family; it skipped a generation on the maternal side. Our grandpa Jon was the red-head; he always lamented that more of his grandchildren didn't have his red hair." She ran the wet washcloth over the baby's face, grinning at him when he stuck out his tongue and attempted to suck on the soaked terrycloth. She thought for a moment, then added, "I always liked the name 'Jon' - simple and honest. Mulder, do you think we could name our son 'Jon' - after my grandfather? A red- headed great-grandson would have been such a source of pride to him, if he were alive to see this miracle of ours." Mulder smiled gently at her and bent down to kiss her sweet face. "I think it's a wonderful idea, Scully - Jon it is. And in honor of a long string of 'Williams' in both our families... how about 'William' as a middle name?" Scully nodded happily, and repeated the name softly; they both gazed at their wet, precious son. Neither cared to find out what their son's birth certificate happened to say - if the little guy even had a birth certificate. As far as Mulder was concerned, their lives together began now, in this place and in this time. He repeated his son's name, softly. "Jon William..." At the sound of it, the baby looked up and grinned a gappy smile, slapping his hand on the surface of the water and spraying them both, exclaiming his babyish approval. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ** EPILOGUE ** "DANA!" Scully's mom wrapped her in a warm embrace, pulling her across the threshold into the house where she found herself the recipient of loving hugs and welcoming smiles from the rest of her family. But just as suddenly as she'd been the center of their attention, she was a minute later instantly forgotten when Mulder stood in the doorway with their son in his arms. The little boy was overwhelmed as Grandma, aunts and uncles surrounded him, young cousins calling out to him to come and play. The child was passed from grown up to grown up, everyone taking a turn to admire and befriend him. Finally Maggie took mercy on the bewildered child and returned him to his father. "He's grown and it's only been a few weeks since we left you three in DC!" Mulder smiled warmly at his son's grandmother. "With the way he eats I wouldn't be a bit surprised." "Speaking of food," Maggie turned to Tara, "Now that the whole family is here we should probably put the final touches on dinner. I put a few appetizers on the dining room table, if you just can't manage to wait for the main course." "Good! I'm starving!" Bill put in. Charlie slapped him on the back and commented derisively on that rather obvious statement. "You're always starving, Bro - that damn hollow leg of yours. I suppose I'm gonna have to fight you again for the drumsticks." Bill's sidelong glare at his younger brother was pitying, as they made their way into the dining room ahead of Scully who was letting the baby walk between her and Mulder, each of them holding a hand. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Later in the evening, Mulder would concur that Thanksgiving spent here with the Scullys far surpassed any he could remember having, in a very long time. The house was crowded and ridiculously noisy, with adults and dogs and children running amok. The sideboard table in the dining room had groaned under the weight of all the food; much of it had ended up in Mulder's stomach; and it had been so long since he'd eaten like that. Come to think of it, he decided as he lay on his back on the living room floor with a small-fry Scully bouncing up and down on his legs and a dog of interminable breed enthusiastically cleansing his face - he'd never eaten like that. He was in serious pain, and Scully had shown him no mercy when he'd collapsed at her feet gasping with the agony of a stretched out digestive system. She'd plopped their little one down on his chest and informed him, "I'm going to go do dishes, Mulder - don't just lay there like a slug, make yourself useful and keep our son happy..." And Mulder had gladly played with his adorable little boy, trying not to wince every time the excited child bounced on his poor stomach. Eventually, Bill had come to his rescue, snatching the child up and tossing him into the air; the baby had sent one shocked hiccup into his uncle's face, before erupting into delighted screeching giggles. Bill hung him upside-down and tickled him, commenting, "Tough kid, Mulder - just like his mom and dad." He sat down on the floor next to Mulder, holding the boy on his lap and continuing to tickle the wriggling child, adding, "I still can't believe it. I look at him and he's real and solid and warm and I'm holding him, yet I can't shake the image of Dana's face not so many years ago, when she came to us and told us she could never have a child. This is truly a miracle, Mulder. I don't understand it, even though you told us just an hour or so ago how it happened. I guess I can accept it, but man, I don't understand it." Mulder nodded, knowing just how Bill Scully felt - probably much the same as he'd felt when he'd finally learned the whole story. Krycek had been so kind as to fill them in on the missing details. And what details they were... Mulder and Scully's progeny was just another of the machinations of CGB Spender; a continuation of 'The Project.' Apparently, Bill Mulder had been secretly conducting his own project, the result of which had left his children genetically altered; possessing attributes that the consortium failed to recognize the potential and importance of at the time. It was only when Mulder's brain function abnormalities of a couple of summers ago caught their attention, that the consortium discovered the truth of what their former colleague had created. Bill Mulder's attempts at giving his children immunity to the coming viral apocalypse, had also inadvertently triggered in them the ability to utilize their untapped genetic potential. They were genetically superhuman... steps ahead on the evolutionary scale. Mulder's exposure to the alien artifact had somehow activated his special abilities. But the brain surgery he'd undergone had mysteriously rendered them inactive again. Gibson Praise was also, for reasons unknown, genetically predisposed to these preternatural traits. But when Gibson vanished, the only hope of continuing the project and discovering the secret Bill Mulder took to his grave, was the chance that Mulder would produce genetically super-evolved offspring. However, there was a problem. They needed a suitable female with compatible DNA that would guarantee them a success. Ironically Dana Scully fit the bill perfectly - except for her infertility. Because of her prolonged exposure to the alien virus in Antarctica - actually having an alien gestating inside her - Scully's DNA was fused with aspects of the alien DNA, rendering her a human-alien chimera. Essentially, the replication process of the viral infection mutated her DNA. Basically, this gave her, AND any potential offspring she might pass it along to, natural immunity to the alien 'virus' because the virus would recognize her chimera DNA and not begin the replication process in a host that had been previously infected. The alien's are parasitic in nature and require an outside host for their reproduction. Once the host is infected and the chimera process occurs, the host is essentially immune to further infection. Normally the host does not survive the reproduction process, but because this process was interrupted when Mulder injected Scully with the anti-viral serum and expelled the gestating alien from her body, Scully survived with her chimeric DNA intact. Mulder's acquired immunity combined with Scully's naturally developed immunity would virtually guarantee their children protection against the alien virus. Studying a child of their mating was the only hope of unlocking the genetic secret to activating this immunity in all humans; as well as potentially giving the consortium the key to unlocking the 'superhuman' factor that Bill Mulder had inadvertently produced in his children. And so it was decided that steps had to be taken to restore Scully's fertility. CGB contrived an elaborate plan to deceive Scully into going with him so that, unbeknownst to her, she could undergo the treatment that would cause her cells to regenerate and produce new ova. This treatment utilized alien technology and was highly risky. It basically was the cure to all disease as CGB professed. Activating progenitor cells, the building blocks of life, to regenerate damaged and diseased tissue. The technology was developed based on data obtained from the alien artifact. Scully was the first human to undergo the treatment. Since then, it was apparent that CGB had used the technology on himself to cure his terminal illness. Thus explaining his miraculous recovery. All things considered, Mulder and Scully's son was a very special little boy indeed. He was naturally immune to the alien virus, likely gifted with the same preternatural traits that his father and Gibson Praise displayed. And he potentially carried genetic factors that made his cells capable of self-regeneration. "...It's been a lot to process for Dana and me as well," Mulder confessed. There was a long pause before Bill spoke his mind again. His face had grown tense; he was clearly irritated, yet struggling to control his agitation. "I'll bet you were shocked as hell when you found out Dana was pregnant." Mulder barked a laugh. "You could say that." He remembered that day very well, and what his reaction had been. Skinner had brought Scully to the hospital to see him shortly after his return from... 'out there' - wherever he'd been for all those months - (Scully preferred just to think of it as Oregon); and upon seeing his very pregnant partner for the first time, Mulder had been so stunned that he'd hyperventilated. It had not been the most romantic reaction, but it had been an honest one. And after he'd been able to catch his breath, he'd reached out a hand, and laid it against Scully; against his child cushioned there, safe and protected... Scully had pressed her small hand atop his, and the smile they'd shared was the beginning of their promise. Mulder shook his head, still smiling; then he caught Bill's stern face and sobered up in a hurry. "You gonna marry her?" Bill fixed the other man with a bullying stare. "I already did." The look that won him from Bill caused Mulder to instantly regret the admission, but it was too late; all he could do now was hasten to explain. "We were married as soon as I was released from the hospital. We signed the papers in front of a judge and it was done. If it weren't for Skinner, who knows when we would have remembered - there's still so much of that last year in particular that neither of us can recall. Anyway, Skinner was our witness. He had our marriage license stashed away in a safety deposit box." Mulder shifted uncomfortably under Bill Scully's steady glare. "We felt horrible that everything had to be kept secret - especially from the family. But we thought we were protecting our child." "So when were you planning on telling us?" Bill asked tersely. Mulder sighed. "We were hoping to have a ceremony. I want to see Dana walk down that aisle in a beautiful gown. I hated that she got cheated out of picking out flowers and a cake and all those little details that women like to worry themselves over. If anyone deserves that kind of frivolity, she does. She's had so much pain and unhappiness in her life - I want to make up for it. I love your sister very much, Bill, and I want to marry her for all the world to see." That seemed to soothe Bill's ruffled feathers for the moment. His next words were spoken not with contempt but with genuine concern. "So what now? If this kid is as highly prized as you say, how will you protect him?" "To be honest with you, I don't know. Some of our enemies are dead. And Alex Krycek and his allies will likely be watching to prevent what's left of the consortium from continuing their project. But there are no guarantees. Dana and I will have to be on guard constantly where our son is concerned. We've always lived with the danger ourselves - found a way to go on with our lives in spite of the fact that our enemies are powerful. But now that we have a child to protect... we're finding it difficult to sleep at night. I suppose it's something we're just going to have to deal with as best we can." Bill looked down at his little nephew whose innocent face seemed troubled, as if he understood the seriousness of their conversation. "I don't envy you, Mulder. Parenthood is enough of a responsibility without having something like that to contend with." Mulder took Jon back from his brother-in-law, having the sudden need to hold his little boy. "We'll find a way," he said, trying to put as much conviction as he could behind his words. Then he shrugged off the grim thoughts that were weighing heavy on his shoulders. There was no point in dwelling on such dismal things when the family was together and happy and all was well. He smiled at his son and poked a finger at the boy's chubby belly. "This little guy is worth any amount of trouble." The child giggled and squealed delightedly. "Daddy," he declared proudly, beaming at Mulder with sparkling eyes. "You betcha, slugger." Mulder's grin widened, his own eyes reflecting the joy of fatherhood. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx For the first time in years Scully was actually enjoying a holiday celebration with her family. She'd been through hell's fire to get to this day; but she finally had what she'd wanted for so long. A family of her own. A normal life - well, as close to normal as she and Mulder were capable of. She had a husband and a child and hope for the future. True, there was a lot she could lament if she wanted to focus on the gloomier side of her life. But Scully chose to contemplate the positive things. She was grateful that she and Mulder and the baby had survived this ordeal and were together again. She was determined to enjoy every precious moment they had now as a family, because past experience had taught her how quickly everything could change. Bill and Tara's home was filled with the joyous noises of family life. This holiday was truly a cause for celebration for the Scullys. With Dana back, Bill fully recovered from the shooting, Charlie and his family home from overseas for a rare visit, and the new additions to the family, it was hard not to exult in their good fortune. The telephone rang and a few seconds later Charlie called Scully off dish detail to take the call. She ceremoniously passed the scrub brush on to her younger brother as she took the phone from him. She couldn't imagine who would be calling her, but she was glad for the break and a chance to sit down. She was very tired - likely a postprandial complication of the fabulous meal she'd overeaten, she decided. Taking refuge in a relatively quiet spot on the stairs, Scully took the call. "Hello." "I'm sorry to interrupt your holiday," Skinner's voice came through the receiver. "That's okay, Sir. Is anything wrong?" "No. Actually, I have good news for a change. That's why I decided not to wait until you and Mulder returned to DC to deliver it." "Good news?" "Yes. I've located the Gunmen. It wasn't easy but I managed to find the rock they were hiding under. I brought them up to speed on everything that's happened. Needless to say, they're thrilled and can't wait for a reunion." "Oh, thank God! That's wonderful news! Mulder will be relieved to hear it. We've been worried about them." "I figured as much. That's why I called. Look, you have a nice time with your family. And tell Mulder not to stuff himself on your mother's home cooking." "Too late for that I'm afraid." Scully chuckled. "Thanks for calling, Sir." As she hung up the phone, Scully hurried to give Mulder the happy news. To her amazement, she found Mulder and Bill engaged in a friendly game of Battleship; after-dinner board games had always been a traditional holiday observance in the Scully family home. Of all the strange things Dana Scully had witnessed since she'd been assigned to the X-Files, the sight of her older brother and Mulder getting along together had to be the most astonishing. So much so that she was momentarily overwhelmed; choked with emotion. Scully wiped a tear at the corner of one eye and her mother happened to be passing by and took note. Maggie looked first with concern at her tearful daughter, then noticing the scene in the living room was instantly filled with understanding. "It looks like Bill and Fox have made a start on settling their differences," Margaret Scully commented softly. "I can't remember a time when I had so much to be thankful for." Scully sniffed and wiped again at her misty eyes. Her hand went to the cross at her neck; touching it for reassurance. She'd found the necklace amongst CGB's possessions at the cabin. She had no idea what such an unholy man would want with a symbol of faith. Perhaps he'd seen it as a token, his prize. A spoil to the victor. Who could know what that evil man was thinking? It was important only that she had it back now. Its religious symbolism aside, Scully had become convinced of its mystical qualities; it was for her a good luck charm. It always had a way of bringing her and Mulder back together. Even when Mulder had been abducted, that tiny gold cross had brought him back to her. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "B - 5," Bill Scully called out, intently studying the game board. "Miss," Mulder crowed. "F - 11." "Damn it! Hit," Bill hissed, placing another red peg. "You sunk my sub." It was a begrudging admission. "Yesssss!" Mulder made a victory show of raising both fists in the air just as Scully walked into the room. Both men looked up from their game. "A word of warning, Bill. I taught Mulder everything I know about Battleship." "That must have taken a whole sixty seconds," Scully's brother shot back playfully. "Ooooo - " Mulder cringed, knowing that his wife wouldn't let that challenge go unanswered. "I can see I'm going to have to refresh your memory as to who the family Battleship champion is." Scully pushed up her sleeves, glaring good-naturedly at her brother. "Move aside, Mulder," she ordered. He slid down a bit, giving her the space on the floor in front of the game board. While she set up the pieces, Scully filled Mulder in on her phone conversation with Skinner. "... So it looks like we'll be having the Gunman over to our place for Christmas, Mulder." Skinner's good news had capped off Mulder's wonderful holiday. Knowing his friends were safe was a tremendous relief. From what they had been able to piece together, the Gunmen had disappeared without a trace around the same time he and Scully had been declared dead. He'd hoped they'd simply gone underground, but in the back of his mind he'd been fearing that the consortium might have had something to do with their disappearance. At least this was one less worry to feed his insomnia. Scully and her brother waged a sea battle of epic proportions. Mulder was the only one fascinated by their rivalry. Maggie and Tara had swooped up the children and taken them out into the backyard to play, while Charlie and his wife were enjoying an afternoon stroll around the base in the late November Florida sunshine. Some twenty minutes into the game the realization dawned on Scully... "Hey! You cheat!" Scully stood up suddenly, looking across the coffee table to scrutinize her brother's game board. Mulder started to laugh. He'd actually figured out several moves ago what Bill was up to. But his laughter came to an abrupt end when his wife's hand shot up to her head and she swayed on her feet, fighting to keep her balance. "Scully?" He looked up at her concerned. "Um... I'm all right. Just got up too - " Before she could finish her sentence Scully lost her battle with vertigo. She reached out a desperate hand for Mulder, and then collapsed into his waiting arms. "Jesus! Dana!" Bill was up and moving around the coffee table in a flash. Holding her close, Mulder tenderly stroked Scully's cheek until her eyes fluttered open. "Scully? You okay?" "Yeah. Boy... just got really dizzy for the minute. I guess I got up too fast." She looked from Mulder's anxious face to her bother's worried expression. "I'm fine," she assured them, attempting to sit up. "Scully," Mulder said knowingly, "You felt lightheaded at the airport too." She nodded, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. Bill did not understand the look that passed between his sister and her husband. He couldn't fathom why something as worrisome as Dana nearly passing out should bring such conspiratorial smiles to their faces... ~THE END~