Title: “What the Eyes Can't See” Author: Dantzi Jean E-mail: phantom_lass@hotmail.com Website: http://www.geocities.com/myxfvoice Rating: NC-17 Category: Casefile, MSR, Angst Timeline: M and S are not on the X Files Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I do own the story. Distribution: Please don't archive without my permission. Summary: How can you fight something you can’t see? Starting date: 8/4/00—7/11/01 Feedback: Encouraged and loved ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Stop right there! FBI!" She yelled at the back of her quickly retreating suspect. The suspect ran into the blaring snow, making him a dark figure amidst a field of white. Scully followed him in pursuit, leaving Mulder behind cuffing the accomplice. The snow slowed her pursuit and made running a dangerous past time. The man in the dark snowsuit had every reason to run from law enforcement. After leading police in a nine-month search, they had finally caught him stealing the coins from the Bainbridge collection. He didn't know the FBI was involved; if he had he would have laid low for a few months. Tom Maynard led Special Agent Dana Scully through the snow and he finally stopped at the door of the Bainbridge storage facility. He turned and looked behind him. The small woman was still chasing him; running through the snow in what he guessed was three-inch heels. He opened the door and ran inside. Scully saw her suspect enter the Bainbridge storage facility and followed him. She ripped the door opened and ran in. She found herself in complete darkness, the storage house had no lights, and the blinding whiteness of the snow caused her eyes to be shocked by the darkness. She allowed herself a few moments to let her eyes become accustomed to the darkness. She quickly surveyed the small warehouse, and saw no sign of her suspect. She walked slowly around the warehouse, her wooden heels clicking as she walked. The warehouse itself was full of wooden crates and small nooks and crannies. She couldn't distinguish between the wall and the crates, due to the darkness. She heard a shuffle of footsteps somewhere in the vicinity above her. She looked up, searching for the source of the noise. She found a black metal catwalk, which spanned the length of the warehouse. The catwalk branched off to a small room, which had to warehouse's only light. Scully made her way up the stairs of the catwalk, looking around cautiously, but keeping the small room in her sight. She heard the small noise again, originating from the small room. She quickened her pace. The small door to the room was flung wide open and the name Edward Bainbridge was inscribed on the glass. The room, which was apparently the owner's office was trashed, someone had been looking for something in the office. One tentative step inside the office was as far as Scully got, before her peripheral vision caught a flash of red. It came from just inside the door to her right. She gasped and raised her weapon only to have it knocked from her hand by the red object, which came crashing down on her arm. She let out a gasp of pain before turning and running the other direction. The man who had attacked her yelled something, but Scully didn't hear him. She ran barely able to see in front of her. The light, behind her, cast odd shadows against the catwalk. Then she felt the vibrations of the catwalk. He was coming after her. She couldn't afford to look back. She had to focus on the stairs, and then get through the main loading area to the side door. There were only five more yards to the stairs. She could make it. Her heart slammed in her chest and her lungs screamed for air. And all the time the catwalk shook beneath her. He had to be right behind her. Then his hand closed over her shoulder the vise-like grip stopped her in her tracks. She brought her fist up to his face - but he was too fast. With one forceful jerk, he spun her in the opposite direction. The smooth surface of her soles did not offer any friction and she slipped along the metal catwalk. And in the critical moment, they slipped from beneath her. She pitched backward, flailing for anything, which would halt her fall. For an instant she imagined herself plunging to her death on the hard concrete floor two stories below. That was before the pain, blinding, excruciating, white-hot pain that pierced through her head to the base of her skull. She slumped to the steel. The shadows around her reeled and blurred. She heard the distant whir of the industrial ceiling fans spinning lazily farther up in the rafters, coupled with the intensifying buzz in her head, and then the voice. "Scully! Oh God, stay with me! Do you hear me? Stay with me, Scully!" Scully made out the dim silhouette above her. A pallid finger of light from the dimmed lamps high above touched one side of his face and she saw it was Mulder leaning over her. Fuzzily she wondered when their suspect had escaped. She didn't think about her death, and her life didn't flash before her. Absurdly her last impression was the fact that her suspect had gotten away. And then finally the darkness swallowed her. Beneath his fingertips, Scully's pulse fluttered rhythmically. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Mulder withdrew his hand from the silken smoothness of her neck and eased her head to one side. Fearing the worst, he feathered his fingers through her fiery red hair searching for the telltale blood, which would mean injury. There was a small gash, hardly worth stitches and a rapidly swelling lump. It would be pretty painful, he guessed; give the force with which she'd struck the railing when she lost her balance. She lay on the shadowed catwalk, unconscious, and most likely with a concussion. She needed medical attention. Even in his panicked state, he recognized that. Mulder looked at her. Her right arm was stretched out toward him; her slender fingers were partially curled. It was as if she were reaching out for him. And the way her delicate face was angled, the tenuous light from the overhead lamp lent warmth to her unconscious expression. Mulder knelt down beside his partner and lifted her against his chest. He had to get her out of here. The stairs were the trickiest. After Mulder maneuvered them he found carrying Scully through the warehouse to be relatively easy. Outside the storm had risen to its full force; the wind howled and the snow had turned to bitter pellets of ice. After struggling briefly with the passenger door of the Explorer, Mulder eased Scully onto the seat. He reclined it, the fumbled with the seat-belt clip until he heard it catch. In another moment he was behind the wheel, and the engine rumbled to life. Above the thrashing wipers and the noise of the fan, he heard the radio announcer on the local station advise people to stay indoors and warning the drivers of the dangerous conditions of the roads. "...And you can certainly expect to see a few more inches of white stuff tomorrow," the announcer said, "after that green Christmas it looks like winter is finally settling in..." Mulder steered out of the warehouse lot and onto a deserted street. Five blocks later he brought the vehicle to a screeching halt at a red light and restlessly drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as cars crawled through the intersection. In the close quarters of the Explorer Mulder detected a faint trace of her perfume. He looked over and saw how the yellow glow of the street lamp through the windshield cast gentle shadows across her striking features: high cheekbones, delicate jaw line, a small straight nose, and lips that looked as though they had been carefully sculpted into an enticing curve. Mulder didn't doubt that Scully could seduce countless men with those lips. "...And remember to drive carefully if you have to be out tonight." the radio announcer cautioned again. "Police are reporting numerous accidents in and around the city, and we've just received word of a multi-car pileup along the north branch of the Jefferson Expressway near the Harrington exit. We'll have more details on the ten-o'clock news coming up in seven minutes. For now through, here's something that should brighten things up a bit for all you storm-bound listeners. The golden oldie 'I Can See Clearly Now'--" Mulder switched off the radio and cased the Explorer past the intersection. The rest of the drive to D.C. General was a white knuckled ordeal. Throughout he snatched quick side-glances at the woman sitting next to him whenever the driving permitted. Her small frame rocked with each bump and swerve. Mulder pulled into the hospital lot. He turned off the ignition and in the welcome silence looked at the emergency entrance. Three ambulances were parked outside the doors, one with its lights still on. Beyond the wide sliding doors in the bright glare of the ER, he could see a blur of activity. When the emergency-room doors swung open at his approach, Mulder shifted Scully's weight in his arms, careful not to joggle her too much. Her head rested on his shoulder, her face was inches from his, and again he smelled her floral perfume. Dodging two attendants wheeling an empty gurney back to the ambulance. Mulder stepped through a second set of doors. He stopped abruptly. The ER reeled in utter chaos. The waiting room was jammed; people without seats paced or leaned against walls, while another dozen waited impatiently to give information to the harassed desk nurse. Orderlies flew from one station to the next, their crossing paths seeming more like a well-choreographed dance then the frantic scrambling of an ER staff beleaguered by a sudden string of accident victims. Behind him, Mulder could hear the sudden approaching siren of another ambulance. "All right, people, we've got another two coming in!" A woman in green scrubs moved past Mulder in full tilt. "Let's make room here. Jerry, use the halls if you have to. Karen, Dr. Stowe needs you in number four. Alex, get another crash cart in here." “Excuse me?" Mulder hurried after her, twisting his way through the corridor. The woman signed two more charts thrust at her by interns and started down the hall. "Excuse me!" This time he shouted, slowing his awkward pursuit only when she spun around on one sneakered foot. Even then, she didn't look at him. Her attention was riveted on the woman in his arms. “I need some help here," he said, "are you a doctor?" The woman nodded. "Dr. Delaney. Is this one of the expressway pile-up victims?" "No, she fell," he explained, shifting Scully weight, his arms beginning to feel the strain. "She hit her head." "Carol, find a gurney," Dr. Delaney called to a nurse, her eyes never leaving Scully. "How long has she been unconscious, sir?" The doctor reached up and lifted Scully's eyelids to examine her pupils. "I don't know. Fifteen...twenty minutes, I guess." "Where did she hit her head?" "The back. She fell backward and hit her head on a metal rail." The doctor was already probing Scully's skull when the gurney arrived. Mulder lowered her onto the crisp sheets. Dr. Delaney pulled open Scully's coat as well as the shirt beneath, and grappled with her stethoscope. When he saw the edge of her black lace bra against porcelain colored skin, Mulder redirected his gaze. He waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as the doctor looked Scully over and finally muttered something to the nurse, quieting her incessant questions. Then, the emergency doors slammed open. "Here they come!" someone shouted. All available hospital staff, including Doctor Delaney, raced tot he doors as attendants rushed in with the next accident victims. "We need these forms filled out, sir," the nurse said, shoving a clipboard at Mulder. "Dr. Delaney will be with you as soon as she can," she added as she scrambled tot he speeding gurneys and was swallowed up in the frantic flow of medical staff. Mulder looked down at the forms and then at Scully. He moved to the side of gurney, which had been pushed up against the corridor wall. She appeared paler now under the harsh fluorescents, her face framed by her short gleaming red hair. Her beige trench coat was splayed open and the edges of her white cotton shirt were still brushed aside. Gingerly, Mulder reached out to pull it closed over the delicate lace bra. As the rest of the ER whirled in confusion, Mulder sat in an uncomfortable garish orange hospital chair next tot he gurney and waited for the panic and chaos to become still and silent. * * * * * Skinner spied Mulder sitting on a bright orange hospital waiting seat outside the room, which, the orderly told him, was occupied by Agent Scully. He strolled casually up to the young agent. Mulder looked terrible. His hair was uncombed and sticking up in short spikes. A 5 o'clock shadow was gathering against his cheeks. Skinner didn't have to ask if he slept, he already knew Mulder didn't even close his eyes. However she is, she must be feeling better then you look," he said to Mulder. He was rewarded by a tight and sardonic grin. Both men sat in a tense silence. Suddenly turning serious, Skinner asked, "How is she?" "Still unconscious." Skinner absorbed the news. "How long has she been like this?" "Three days. I called her mother, she should be here this evening. All we do now is wait." * * * * * She'd been dreaming about her childhood in San Diego. Her father was stationed there the U.S.S. Dixon. On nights when her father had to stand watch on the ship, her entire family gathered in their old beat-up station wagon with a pizza and had a pizza party on the ship. She could almost smell the rich spices and thick tomato sauce which coated the pizza. She remembered the moment when her father opened his doors to let them in, he would pick her up and put her on his hip, smiling. He took his dress cap off his own head and placed it on hers. He put her down and she made a beeline for the pizza, where her brothers and sister were already claiming slices of their own. She passed a glance toward he mother and father who were sharing a kiss, then her mother looked up at her and she heard her voice. "I think she's coming around." Her mother's voice was distant as if passing through a layer of glass. "Nurse, find Dr. Delaney, my daughter is coming around," said the voice again. It was clearer and closer then before. "Dana. Dana? It's Mom, can you hear me, honey?" Then she heard the door. It slapped a few times, just like the two-way door to her father's wardrobe in his quarters. It swung a couple of times, and in between, she could make out other sounds: ringing phones and buzzers, and something that sounded like the chime of an elevator. Then there was silence again. Silence and the stringent odor of antiseptic. This was not her father's ship. "Scully?" A different voice this time, but familiar. There was a hand on hers. She tried to pull away. She didn't want to be dragged from this happy place. She wanted to stay on the ship. It was safe there. Her father was sitting in his chair with Charlie in his lap. Her mother was reprimanding Melissa for doing something. "Dana? Honey? Can you hear me?" Perhaps if she kept her eyes closed, she'd be able to go back to the ship, to linger in the memories. Her head--it hurt so much. It hadn't hurt when she was on the ship. And then another voice, a man's voice. "Dana?" Her father? No, it couldn't be. He was dead. He died three years ago. It had rained the whole funeral. A cold January drizzle that hadn't let up until after the funeral. "Dana? Can you hear me? I'm Dr. Delaney. Can you open your eyes, Dana? You're at D.C. General; you've had us all pretty worried. Dana? Can you hear me?" he asked again. She tried to nod but the pain hammered in her head. She wanted to answer him, but her mouth felt dry, her tongue swollen. "Yeah." The word rasped in her throat. "I knew you'd come around sooner or later," the man said, a smile in his voice. "Can you open your eyes, Dana?" She licked her lips and finally opened her eyes a crack, expecting shards of light to pierce her already throbbing headache. There was only darkness. She opened them further. Still darkness. And then there was there was the familiarly voice, Mulder. "Hey, Scully. How are you feeling?" "Mulder?" She felt a hand on hers. "I'm right here." "Where?" "Right...right beside you." Scully felt around her and touched the hand again, but all she saw was darkness. She blinked again and was met by the same chasm of utter blackness--a dizzying abyss. She heard voices. "Mulder, what are you saying?" "Scully, listen to me..." She tried to sit up. Instantly there were hands on her shoulders, on her chest, holding her down, forcing her back onto her pillows. And something sharp pull on her arm. Then there was her mother's voice again. "Dana. Just take it easy. You are going to be all right. Dr. Delaney's here and--" "Mom? Mulder? I can't see. I'm blind!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully couldn't believe this. She reached a hand up to her eyes. She expected to find gauze, bandages sometime covering them, anything that would explain this horror. There was nothing. "Mom, I can't see." She tried to sit up again, believing this to be some sort of nightmare, that this wasn't real. "Dana?" a voice called through the darkness. It was her mother. "Dana, Dr. Delaney is here to explain about your blindness." "Dana," the doctor continued, "you've been unconscious for over seventy hours. It's why we had you on an IV. Do you remember anything about the night you fell?" Scully nodded--the chase, the storm, the warehouse, and the suspect. "I think so." She swallowed but found only dryness. "What happened? Why can't I see?" Her voice was angry. You've suffered a severe concussion, from what Agent Mulder told us was a blunt force by a metal rail, due to a fall. We ran a CAT scan, there's no evidence of fracture or inter-cerebral bleeding. Nor any signs of subdural hematomas, which indicate that the damage is only temporary, but you need to understand it's only an educated guess. You have a certain degree of swelling, bruising of the occipital lobe. I still want to run an EEG, possibly today, to establish that there is no damage to the cerebral cortex." Scully knew all of this. This was just temporary, a mild trauma to the occipital lobe. "How long?" There was no need to clarify the question; the room was tense and silent as its occupant awaited the answer to the question. "I can't say anything for certain, Dana. Each case is different, but in yours I'm optimistic. I'd say after about a week or two the swelling and bruising should resolve and all, or part, of your vision should return. In fact, I don't see why you can't go home as soon as tomorrow afternoon, providing you have someone to take care of you." "I'll be with her doctor," her mother said, silencing any protests Scully might have had. "Good, I'll want to see you a couple of times over the next little while for reassessment. After six weeks, if there's still no resolution of your vision, we'll repeat the CAT scan and run another EEG. Even then, you have to understand that the bruising may take even longer the six weeks to clear up. But things should start to improve by that time..." "And if they don't?" she asked. Her question was met by silence. The science imbedded in her knew of cases and people who suffered the same ill fate as she, but that same science also knew that every case is different. Some that should get well don't, and some that should die live. With her it was the same and she needed to know. "Doctor, please I need the truth." "We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Your sight could return by tomorrow morning or next week or the week after." "Or not at all," she said almost to herself. There was a dreadful silence again, and Scully felt the doctor's hand on her arm. "You just need time to heal. That's the best prescription I can give you right now." Scully tried to find a thin shred of comfort in the doctor's words. "I'm going to arrange for the EEG," Dr. Delaney told her finally removing his hand. "I'll be back shortly." The door swung quietly in its frame a few times and then was still. She wasn't certain how long she lay there listening to the buzzing in her head, to the wild pounding of her heart, but it was her mother who eventually drew her out of the dark silence. "Dana?" She rubbed Scully's shoulder as if it could possibly ease the fears raging in her mind. "You're going to be all right." That was her mother--the eternal optimist. Scully wished she could remember more, wished that the other night wasn't such a blur. "I want to go home." "I know." She wanted to be in her own bed, away from the phones and bells, from IVs and EEGs. She wanted to turn on her radio and block out the rest of the world. Most of all she wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for six weeks. * * * * It had been a long day, followed by an equally long night. After the EEG, Scully had returned to her room with firm orders to rest, as if she could do anything else. She's listened to her mother ramble about her new condo, her neighbors, and the weather. Before he left for the day, Dr. Delaney had spoken to the floor nurses. Her mother had been allowed to stay past visiting hours, and for this Scully was grateful. But eventually her mother had been forced to leave. Reluctantly she said goodnight with promises of bringing Scully a large coffee in the morning. After that, Scully had lain awake listening to the sounds of the hospital. At one point during the night, when the corridor outside had fallen silent, Scully decided to brave a short trip to the bathroom unaided. But within moments of leaving the bed, a wave of dizziness swept over her, and when she flailed out to stop her fall, she thought she's awoken the entire hospital ward. Stainless steel pans crashed across the linoleum. Seconds later, a night nurse found Scully on the floor clutching a throbbing knee and letting out a string of explanative. After the nurse helped her back into bed and listening to Scully swear a blue streak, she had slipped in and out of sleep, never really knowing whether it was day or night. She tried judging the time of day but the sounds of the hospital around her. She even started counting seconds after a nurse told her it was 2am. Later that morning, Mulder called saying he was tied up with work. He voiced his relief, but Scully still heard the worry in his voice. There had been more tests, followed by enough of Dr. Delaney's optimism to last her a week. Only when her mother had arrived with a change of clothes and another smuggled coffee did Scully begin to feel more on track. Her mother had helped her to dress, and by the time Dr. Delaney had arrived to check her out Scully was more then ready to go home. "So, we need to book a follow-up appointment on Saturday. How would late morning do for you?" "Should be fine," she answered. "Okay, Saturday, eleven thirty, in my office upstairs. I've given your mother a prescription for you. It's just a mild sedative to help you sleep, if you feel you need it, and a painkiller. Other then that, you are officially discharged." "Thank you." Scully smiled, if only for his benefit. "Oh, and Dana, I've also given your mother my card. I want you to feel free to call me day or night if there's any change." "I will. Thanks." * * * * * The twilight deepened through the small window above Mulder's head. Absently he drummed a chewed ballpoint pen against the corner of his desk. He could still feel the remorse that had flooded him three days ago when the doctor delivered the devastating blow of his partner’s condition. He was shocked to say the least. What would happen to her career, if her condition were permanent? What in God’s name would happen to him? * * * * * Scully couldn't remember if she'd ever felt as uncomfortable as she did now. She slid her hand down he thigh, feeling for the hem of her skirt, making sure it was in place as she crossed her legs. Arriving a few minutes later had given her the excuse to take a back seat, closer to the door in case she started to feel sick again from the painkillers. She wanted to be home in the security of her apartment. She felt exposed here, completely vulnerable, naked to the eyes of people she could not see. She would just as soon have stayed in bed, with Puccini blaring on the radio, until Saturday, until her appointment with Dr. Delaney. But her mother hadn't let her. She'd convinced her to come to this lecture, which she really did want to hear, but all she wanted right now was to go home and sleep. The chatter around her had seemed like a garble of ducks, pieces and snatches of conversation buzzed around here. That's all it was to her, noise pollution. Then, the noised hushed and the shuffle of people going back to seats was the predominant noise she heard. She knew Wilfred Bauer, the speaker she had come to hear, had just entered the room. She heard a man clear his throat and tap a microphone a few times, and then he began to speak. She sat back and listened and more then anything wanted to go home. * * * * * Whirlwinds of snow danced along the empty street, shimmering momentarily in the headlights of the Explorer before being whisked off, into the darkness. It had snowed most of the day, light crystalline flakes that accumulated along the banks formed by the plows after the first big snow six days ago. Mulder pulled the vehicle to a stop, killed the headlights and turned off the ignition. He angled his wristwatch to catch the light of the street lamp. Just after nine. Perhaps he should have called instead. But he needed to see her. He tugged at the car's door handle and shoved it open into the numb, cold night. In seconds he was across the street. He cupped his hands around his breath to warm them as he stomped the snow off his shoes before going into the building. He went up the stairs to her apartment. He knocked and was immediately rewarded by the sound of movement on the other side of the door. There was a heavy thump, followed by a muffled curse and in another second he recognized Scully's voice asking, "Who is it?" "Scully. It's me." He heard the scrape of metal against metal, followed by the slap of the door chain, and finally the door gave way. "Mulder?" With one hand on the door handle and the other she used to hug herself against the cold. She wore a little white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She shivered. "Hi, Scully. I know it's late--" Cutting off his excuses with a wave of her hand she stepped back to allow him move to come in. "I just made a fresh pot of coffee. At least I think I did, it smells like coffee." "Sounds great," he said unzipping his bomber. "I didn't know if you were here, all the lights are off." "They are? Sorry about that." She reached over for a bank of switches next to the door, and her apartment flooded with light. "Oh, watch your step I think I killed the coat tree when I went to the door." Mulder looked over and there the coat tree lay on the floor, coats and all. "Dead in its tracks," he joked lifting the wooden rack from the floor. "You've got good aim." She threw a grin at him. "I'm getting better. I only managed to maim the umbrella stand the other day." Mulder knew he had never seen a smile like Scully's before and felt gifted every time she bestowed it upon him. It curled her exquisite lips into a sensuous curve and drew up the corners of her eyes where it set of sparks of amusement. She went into the kitchen to prepare the coffee and Mulder followed. He admired the skill with which she navigated around the furniture by touch: running her hand along the back of the couch, tracing her fingers over the kitchen counter and finally turning to rest her hip against the counter. She took two mugs from their hooks under the cupboard and handed him one. “You'd probably do a better pouring your own coffee. You might want to check for grounds as well. I'm still working the kinks out of the coffee-making process. Would you like to sit down?" "Sure. I'll take the cups." Scully made her way to the plush armchair next to the couch. But before she did, she tripped on the edge of the coffee table. "Scully--" In a second he was beside her, grasping her shoulders in his hands. Through the cotton of the T-shirt, he could feel her body tense as he pulled her up from what would have been a very painful fall. Her hand shot out to grasp his forearm. She must have sense how close they were, how a few more inches would have constituted an embrace, yet she did not pull away. In that suspended moment Mulder looked down into her face. He remembered the feel of her body in his arms, the tickle of her hair on his cheek, and her warm breath on his neck. At the time, six nights ago, he hadn't considered their contact enticing, but now, with Scully less then a breath away, he felt sudden and unexpected arousal. It would take nothing to lean over and lift that proud chin of hers, to taste those lips and feather his fingers through that glossy hair. Embarrassed by the direction of his thoughts, Mulder released her shoulders and guided her to the chair. "How's the coffee?" It took Mulder a moment before he grasped her words. "Great. Let me hand you your cup," he offered. "This blind business makes life hell." She admitted taking the warm cup in her hands. Her flippant remark couldn't hide the frustration she undoubtedly felt now. Although Scully was good at hiding her feelings, when her face was unguarded she was very easy to read. "You're doing as well as anyone could be expected to, I guess." "Mom follows me almost every second and picks up after me." "Have the doctors said anything else? Have they been able to give you a time frame when you'll regain your vision?" "The best they've been able to pin-point is sometime between a few days and never. The swelling makes it hard to ascertain the extent of the damage once it goes down, we'll know something more definite." Mulder fought the impulse to reach a hand out and comfort her. Regretting the question, he was saved when he heard Scully's apartment door open. "Hello Fox." "Hi Mrs. Scully." "Dana had me out getting groceries, you should see her when she doesn't her yogurt. She's a terror." Her mother said affectionately. Mulder watched the smiles exchanged between the two women and envied when they had. Scully sipped her coffee and almost immediately her mother was at her side. "That," she said pointing to the coffee, "had better be de-caf I'm tired of listening to you stumbling around this place. Or worse listening to that music of yours." Scully's only answer was a grin and another sip of coffee. Mulder felt like something of an intruder so he stood and said, "It's late and I'm sure you two have things to do." Scully set her mug on the table and stood, steadying herself on the arm of the chair as though finding her bearings. "I'll walk you to the door, Mulder." Standing at her door, Scully could feel Mulder's eyes on her. "I appreciate your concern Mulder. Really I do. But I'm fine" “There's something you need to know, Scully." "What?" “We didn't get him, Scully. Thomas Maynard escaped. None of the coins were found." "The Bainbridge coins?" Scully remembered well the nine-month search for the thief of the valuable coins had been exhausting, ending in the accident, which had taken her vision. "Yes. We can't seem to find them. Take care of yourself, Scully. This thing isn't over yet." Scully yanked the cushions from the couch and ran her fingers behind the seat. The stereo’s remote control wasn't anywhere to be found. Maybe mom had hidden it because of the hours of opera she listened to. Scully replaced the cushions straightened. She couldn't really blame mom, she hated Puccini. Initially, she had hoped that playing her father's favorite opera would help ease her mind about her blindness. But it didn't work. Then there was Mulder and his surprising visit and his startling revelation. She tried to keep her mind from wandering there, but his parting warning kept running through her head. Scully redirected her search to the coffee table. Tomorrow was Saturday--her follow-up appointment with Dr. Delaney--and her mother clearly hoped her keep her mind from it. The tactic had worked of course until her mother declared that the cupboards were bare and went grocery shopping. Then when Mulder told her that Tom Maynard was still at large her concerns grew. With mom already in bed her mind was allowed to run these worrisome courses. For almost a week now, Scully had put up a front for everyone, even herself. She tried to have faith that once the swelling around the occipital lobe subsided that her vision would return fully restored. Sometimes she even convinced herself. Each morning she would awaken, she prayed that when she opened her eyes she would see something that would give her hope of her vision returning, even if just a sliver of light shone through the darkness, but each morning she was only greeted with darkness. Too often lately, she allowed herself to speculate about the future, of the possibility of spending the rest of her life without her sight. Usually those times were in the middle of the night, when her mother would be asleep in the other room and not see her worries. God she needed a distraction! Finding the remote at last on one of the side tables offered her that. Scully was feeling for the 'on' button when she heard a crash outside her apartment. Her heart skipped a beat and she let out a gasp. Maybe it was the neighbor's cat, that thing had been the source of many noises in the middle of the night. It was when she pushed the button and heard Puccini blare his notes through her apartment that she heard another crash. There was no telling what exactly had caused the second crash. It sounded like someone outside her own door. That was not a cat. The next crash convinced her--someone was trying to get in her apartment. Scully should have felt fear; she only felt violation and anger. She had to get to a phone and, if she could find it, her weapon. The only trick was getting to her bedroom without alerting the intruder. It was when she turned to go in the direction of her bedroom that she almost tripped over a stray pillow. The first panic wave hit her. She felt defenseless, a concept she never fully comprehended until now. Her hands shook as she groped her way from the couch to the hall. And with each shuffling step she prayed nothing was in her way. If she should trip over a chord, topple a floor lamp, or bump something it would draw the intruder's attention. When she reached the hall, she reached for the light switches and flipped them all off. Darkness was her only defense. Steadily she worked her way down the hall toward her bedroom. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought she heard footsteps in her foyer. She had to keep moving. And then, when she stepped on the only squeaky board in the entire corridor, she thought the world had split open beneath her foot. Once she reached her bedroom door she stubbed a finger on the main jamb. She bit her lip from the stab of pain. She was almost there. Half-walking, her hands swept the black abyss in front of her. She inched her way across the bedroom floor until she found the nightstand. In her anxiousness to find the phone, she knocked over her alarm clock. Incredibly she caught it before it clattered noisily to the floor. For a moment she did not remove her hands from the smooth base of alarm. She listened straining through the stillness, her ears ringing. Perhaps she was listening for her, as well. She tried to calm her panicked mind as she groped for the phone. Her fingers curled around the receiver. She lowered herself to the floor, wedging herself between the bed and the nightstand. The dial tone sounded like a homing beacon. Scully covered the earpiece as her fingers fluttered over the keypad. With a silent prayer, Scully pressed the third key, programmed to be the emergency contact. She heard it ring three times. "Pick up, pick up." She mouthed into the phone. "Hello, Detective Jackson here." A voice said from the other end. "Detective Jackson. This is Special Agent Dana Scully." Her voice was barely a whisper, and yet she imagined the whole world could hear her. "Ms. Scully. Are you alright?" "There's someone in my apartment." "Are you there now, Ms. Scully?" "Yes." She heard him yell across the mouthpiece of his own phone. "I need all available patrols in the Georgetown area to respond to a B and E in progress at eighteen Whitby. Intruder is on the premises now. Move it!" Then his voice lowered. "Ms. Scully? We'll be right there. Just hang on. We'll--" Footsteps sounded in her apartment. Scully was certain of it. Not waiting to find out if Detective Jackson wanted her to stay on the line, Scully hung up. She couldn't afford to give away her location. Her next thought was to reach over a few inches from the phone lay her weapon. A small voice in her head urged her to hide. She hastily found the gun, pulled it out of its holster, and pointed it toward the door. And then she detected the faint smell of a man's cologne. * * * * * Sirens shattered the night. Their distant wail grew steadily louder, piercing through the darkness and drowning out all other sounds. Scully concentrated on that approaching wail. But there was another sound above the sirens, above the pounding of her heart. A banging sound she couldn't ignore. And then a crash. In moments she heard heavy footsteps on the hallway outside her apartment. Voices. Doors opening and closing. And still more sirens. There was someone moving down the hall, and coming in her bedroom. When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, she jerked back. "Miss? Miss, it's all right. I'm officer Barratt. Are you okay, miss?" She nodded, and tried to stand. The officer helped her to stand. Placing his hands on her shoulders and guiding her to her bed. “Are you hurt?" "No," she managed. Through the rest of the apartment, she heard officers' voices, and the squawk of police radios. Boots thudded on her hardwood floor. "Are you sure you're all right, miss?" This time when she nodded she accompanied it with, "I'm fine." The officer crossed the room and she heard him whisper something to someone about needing an ambulance. "I told you, I'm fine." She said, loudly. "I don't need an ambulance. I'm not in shock. I'm blind." The anger in her voice silenced the two officers. Then she heard shuffling in the silence. "Ms. Scully, I'm Detective Jackson. Can you tell me what happened here?" Scully nodded. She told him everything, from the moment she first heard the crash to when the officers came through her door. And when she finished she heard her mother's voice. "I'm her mother damnit! Let me through!" A nod was all Scully had energy for as she fell into her mother's embrace. "Looks like someone picked the lock, then cut the chain. We'll send some men over to dust for prints in the morning and--" "Detective? We got a partial footprint and a pair of cutters. The place is secure." "Thanks Novac. You guys can clear out. We're done for now." Scully stood and her mother, recognizing her restlessness, guided her to the living room. Jackson followed. "Look, Ms. Scully. I don't think you have to worry about this guy coming back. All the same, I can have a patrol car park outside if you like. But for your own piece of mind, I think you should find some place else to stay. Is there somewhere you can go?" Her mother's arm tightened around her shoulders. "She'll stay with me, Detective." "Good leave a couple of lights on here. I'll have a car pass by once in a while through the night to keep an eye on the place." "Thank you, Detective." "Do you want a patrol car to escort you to, Mrs. Scully's?" "Thank you, Detective, but I think we'll manage. Besides I need to pack a few things." "Okay then, take care Ms. Scully." With that the detective left and with him went all the officers. And the place was silent. When Mulder turned onto Scully’s street and passed the second patrol car within a three-block distance, he was willing to write it off as coincidence. But then, as her apartment came into view and he saw the final cruiser back away from the building followed by a dark sedan, he thought his heart had stopped. This time when he parked next to the apartment building, it was lit up like the Fourth of July. Yanking the keys from the ignition, he raced across the street and down the snow-packed walk. He was short of breath when he started pounding on her door, but it wasn't because of the run. Icy fingers of dread wrapped around his throat, choking each gulp of cold air out of his lungs. And by the time Scully's mother opened the door, he was already expecting the worst. “What happened?" he blurted before Maggie Scully even offered a greeting. "I saw the cruisers leave. Are you guys--Where's Dana?" “In the kitchen--she's okay, Fox." Her mother assured him. Standing back to allow him to enter the apartment. "We had a break-in. I was sleeping. She was alone when it happened." She blamed herself, he realized. She blamed herself because she had been sleeping and had left Scully on her own. He saw her need for comfort and touched her shoulder. "It's not your fault, Mrs. Scully." Mulder released her shoulder and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. He rushed through the apartment and was only dimly aware that Mrs. Scully was following him. Scully stood at the kitchen counter. Her back was to him, and her arms were wrapped around herself. "Scully?" She didn't move. "Scully? It's me," he said, crossing the room as she turned toward him at last. "Are you okay?" Mulder couldn't remember if he'd ever seen an expression alter as rapidly as hers did just then. Fear and trepidation were replaced by a defiant strength; he could see she had mustered her courage and was facing her fear back into the corner of her mind. "Scully?" He reached out to take her hand, desperate to make physical contact with her, to get past that stubborn facade of independence. Her hand was cold and trembled slightly in his. "I'm fine, Mulder," she said at last, her chin lifting a fraction of an inch. "The police were here almost immediately. And they don't think anything was taken." She withdrew her hand and worked her way across the room as though needing to put space between them, to stand on her own. Scully's mother broke the silence. "Dana and I were just going to pack a few things. The detective offered to have a patrol car stationed out front, but Dana agreed that she'd feel safer staying at my place tonight. Just in case they come back." "That's a good idea." Mulder agreed, not taking his eyes off Scully. "They weren't just burglars," she said. "What do you mean?" Mulder crossed the room to stand beside her once again. This time she didn't move away from him. "This is about the coins, Mulder." She stated matter-of-factly. "Scully--" "We chased after Tom Maynard for nine months, there's no way he would give up this easily. Remember, when you thought no one was home, whoever did this must have thought the same thing. This was deliberate, Mulder. Someone was looking for them. I don’t think Tom Maynard even knows where they are. Someone, maybe even Tom Maynard is looking for those coins. They figured they could find them here." Mulder stared at her, not knowing what to say. "If that's true, then it's going to be my place tonight." Scully's mother looked at him in astonishment. But didn't offer a word of argument. Minutes later, Mrs. Scully tossed Scully's overnight bag into the Explorer, then gave her a quick hug and drove off in her own car. The trip to Mulder's was silent. She was grateful for the silence. All she wanted right now was to sleep. * * * * "No. Still nothing." "How about now?" "Nothing." "And now?" Scully let out a sigh of frustration. "No." She had no idea how long she'd been at the hospital, only that it seemed like hours. Initially she'd been subjected to more scans, after which Delaney had informed her that the swelling had subsided somewhat. But he was still unsure of the total extent of damage to her occipital lobe. She lifted her hand off the vinyl armrest of the examining chair, but her wrist struck the corner of a stainless-steel tray. She jumped at the resounding clatter of medical instruments. “Sorry about that, Dana. Let me move this out of your way." Dr. Delaney's voice was low and calm, as it had been throughout the entire examination. "We're through here, anyway." There was another reverberating clatter of the tray, followed by the harsh grating of Dr. Delaney's stool against the linoleum flooring, and then the click of his hard-soled shoes. "It doesn't look good. Does it?" "I didn't say that." "No, you didn't need to." "Dana, the swelling's gone down, you no longer need the painkillers, the headaches are gone, and the tissue around your occipital lobe looks to be healing." "I still can't see, Doctor." "It's only been a week. You are a doctor, you know that everything will heal in it's own time. It could take a week, or a couple of weeks, or more. But you will heal, Dana. It's only a matter of time. I realize this is difficult for you. You just have to keep faith. We've already seen progress. It will come." She nodded. It was all she could do. Perhaps it was the quiet understanding in his voice or maybe the fact that, unlike her mother and Mulder, Doctor Delaney was a stranger and she here on the twelfth floor of D.C. General Hospital, she didn't feel the need to be strong. From the moment she'd left Mulder in the waiting room and stepped into the doctor's office, her facade had steadily crumbled. She no longer had the energy to mask her terror. For a week, Scully had tried to turn off the fear of never regaining her vision. The worst was the darkness she always awoke to. Her face must have showed her feelings for the doctor tried to distract her. "In most cases like this, although each is unique, there are some common experiences. Usually you'll begin to distinguish light, most likely starting with the peripheral. Shortly after that, you should be able to discern movement, it can be very disorienting and you should stay in bed during this period. There might be damage to the cerebellum, there's threat of double-vision or other complications, but I'm not anticipating that," he added, his tone lifting encouragingly. "You'll get better, Dana. Trust me. You just need time." "Do you think you could bottle me some of that optimism?" He chuckled. "Just sit tight. I'll find your partner so you can go home." After another sleepless night, this one in Mulder's bed while he slept on the couch, she had just managed to doze off when her mother's phone call had awoken her. She heard the ring through the closed bedroom door; she listened to Mulder's muffled voice in the kitchen. Then, there had been the welcome aroma of fresh coffee, and that was all the encouragement Scully needed. She's slipped into her robe, and headed into the kitchen. She'd been foolish to think she could make it through his apartment unaided. It was when she groped her way past the couch that she reacquainted herself with the coffee table. Her shin collided with the sharp corner, and her curses carried into the kitchen. By the time Mulder had come to her aid, she was sitting among his rumpled blankets and pillows on the couch. Just another bruise to add to all the others, she had told him. When her mother had called to remind her of her appointment, there was no arguing with him, despite her mother's offer to pick her up. They were already running late. She felt an odd comfort with him, despite the embarrassing moment this morning when he mentioned that her shirt buttons were misaligned and righted them for her. He had been very supportive. He held her hand and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze when the nurse had called her name before she was to see the doctor. She was grateful for him. "How are you doing?" He asked her when the doctor guided her back to the waiting room. "I'm fine," she said, the waver in her voice barely perceptible. "I think she's ready to go home," Dr. Delaney said for her. Scully nodded and she felt Mulder's hand grab hers and give it another gentle squeeze. Mulder saw her fleeting smile, but he knew it was an act. He'd seen the worry that drew delicate lines across her brow and tightened the corners of her mouth. The expression she wore was so withdrawn, he wondered if she was even aware of where she was. For two hours he'd sat in the waiting room; he'd leafed through an entire stack of torn and dog-eared magazines but it might as well have been the same issue over and over again; he'd paced the corridors, bought a candy bar and drank some coffee from a plastic cup. And all through the wait there was one through foremost in his mind--Scully's blindness. He had to get to those coins, and to Tom Maynard. Not until he was caught was Scully safe from all of this. She was the key to finding those coins he knew it. He helped her on with her coat and guided her from the elevators to the main door. "So how'd it go?" He asked once they were in the Explorer. "Still no change." "They couldn't tell anything?" "Nothing yet." "I'm sorry, Scully." She stared with a haunting blankness of her unfixed gaze. "I just want to go home, Mulder." In the close interior of the vehicle, with only inches between them. Mulder was drawn to his partner. He wanted to brush that line of worry from her brow. If he could, by some divine power, hand her back her sight, he would do it without a second thought. Beneath this strong need to comfort her, he felt the familiar feelings of desire he secretly harbored for her for longer then he could remember. Last night, after he'd shown Scully to his bedroom, and made his bed on the couch, Mulder had lain awake. Over and over in his mind he tried to rationalize what had happened to her. His mind replayed the night in which her sight had been taken from her. When she had come to him and asked for help finding his bathroom, he couldn't help himself. She'd come to him and whispered his name; Mulder thought his name held more of a gentling tone rather then the effect of waking him. He'd stood and grabbed her arm, to lead her to his bathroom. He looked into her withdrawn face, and had kissed her. There was honesty to her kiss. An honesty he couldn't bear. The morning had brought sanity to his emotions and had tampered his desire, for the time being. Banishing those thoughts from his mind as best he could, he put the vehicle into Drive. As he steered out of the hospital parking lot and merged with the northbound traffic, he snatched quick glances at Scully. Her eyes still stayed fixed in an endless blank stare and her hands lay clasped tightly in her lap. He braked sharply for a red light. He was so caught up in the memories of last night; he hadn't noticed it until the last second. His arm shot out to stop her from lurching forward, and at the same time, he glanced into the rearview mirror. That was when he noticed the dark sedan several cars back. "Sorry, Scully," he apologized, removing his arm, his gaze still fixed on the roof of the sedan. She nodded and he eased the Explorer through the intersection. The sedan followed. Still heading north, Mulder left the downtown core of D.C. behind, as well as most of the traffic. There was only one car between them and the dark brown sedan now. Even so, the driver of the sedan maintained a respectable distance. And when Mulder steered onto Fisher Street, heading toward Scully's apartment, the sedan also made the turn. He steered the Explorer into another turn. The sedan followed. It lagged half a block back, but it was there. He glanced at her again, now. More then ever, he wanted to kiss her. When Mulder checked the rearview mirror again, the sedan was still there. He slowed, hoping to close the gap, hoping to catch a glimpse of the vehicle's plate. But the sedan slowed too, maintaining the distance. And when he accelerated, the other car followed suit. "Mulder, what's wrong?" Obviously Scully had noticed his erratic driving. "We're being followed. Since the hospital, I think." "Can you see who it is?" "No, hold on, Scully. I want to get a better look at this guy." He glanced once more in the mirror, gauged the distance, and braked sharply as he forced the wheel all the way to the left. The heavy vehicle responded well, the tires grabbed what residual sand there was on the otherwise slippery road. Mulder managed the 180-degree turn with little more then a sideways shimmy. The wheels spun briefly against the slick surface, and then the Explorer lurched foreword. Mulder accelerated toward the sedan. The other driver had already begun to break and by the time Mulder was in range, he was already trying to turn around. But the surface here was slicker. Mulder struggled with his own vehicle. He saw the sedan's back end swerve as snow and ice flew out from behind its churning tires. Then he was within range. He could make out the license plate and he memorized the number. Still he barreled toward the sedan, and still the other driver tried to bring the vehicle back around. Then, Mulder saw the man behind the wheel. It wasn't anyone he recognized. At that moment, as Mulder started to brake, he snatched a glance at Scully and saw her ashen expression. He felt the Explorer begin to slide. "Scully, hang on." But Mulder realized his warning was pointless. In sickening slow motion, the big vehicle started to swerve. Mulder eased his foot off the brake, not daring to jam it to the floor for fear that the car would go into a deadly spin. But despite his efforts, the car's tail end glided over the smooth surface. The steering wheel became useless in his hands as the car careened into its first nauseating 360-degree turn. There was a blur of white, and through it Mulder saw the sedan's taillights as it pulled away. He saw a flash of guardrail and then more white. He fought with the steering wheel, but it dragged uselessly in his palms. And then there was the embankment. The second shuddering rotation brought them even closer to it. He saw the railing again. This time it was too close. The right front end caught it first, whipping the Explorer around sharply. There was a piercing shriek of metal, and for one second Mulder thought the guardrail would halt their momentum. He was wrong. The corroded railing was no match for the combined speed and weight of the Explorer. And in that instant, as it tore loose from its post and the vehicle pitched through the jagged opening, Mulder's only thought was for Scully. As they plunged down the ice-encrusted slope, he reached for her. The car bounced violently once to the left, and Mulder was thrown foreword. There was a flash of pain. And then only darkness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Left and right lost all relevance. As far as Scully could tell, the world reeled around her. The scream of tortured metal still rang in her ears. And her breath came in short, shallow, frantic gulps. She couldn't be sure if the car had swerved, spun or rolled. But at last, it had come to rest. Exactly where, she had no idea. It pitched forward--she knew that much--nose first. An embankment. They must have gone off the road and down into a ravine. Although she hadn't been paying attention during the drive, she was sure they couldn't be farther then five or ten minutes from her apartment. Frantically, she tried to lay out a map in her mind. She pushed back against the bucket seat, fighting the steep cant of the vehicle. Immediately, she winced. Her hip and thigh burned with pain, and the right side of her jaw throbbed. She remembered she'd been slammed against the passenger side door and window. "Mulder?" She took a ragged breath. "Mulder?" No reply. Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Mulder!" Still no response. Scully reached across the center console. He was slumped forward. Her hand skimmed over the slick leather of his jacket, traveling upward to his shoulders. His face was turned toward her. "Mulder?" His skin felt hot under her cold hands. He was running a temperature. Then she felt something hot and sticky along his forehead. Blood. "Oh, God. Mulder. Mulder." She was chanting his name now. Over and over. She rocked him, as though trying to wake him from a peaceful nap, instead of the nightmare they were in. "Mulder, please..." Her fingertips fluttered to his throat, and she gave a sigh of relief when she felt his pulse true and strong beneath her knowing fingers. She tried to pull him away from the steering wheel. The seat belt gouged painfully into her neck. Fumbling with the clip, her fingers slippery with Mulder's blood, she let out a groan of frustration. When the snap, it released, she untangled herself and twisted around in the seat. Whether or not it was her sudden movement within the cab, the Explorer shifted, and instantly there was a low gut-wrenching groan from beneath the vehicle. Scully froze and felt it again--a slight jostle. Panic clawed at her throat. The ominous grinding sound that ripped through the momentary hush then was only a fleeting warning as to what was to happen next. With barely enough time to brace herself, Scully felt the vehicle shudder, release and plunge forward. There was an earsplitting roar. Snow and rocks and everything else in the vehicle's path scraped its underbelly as it plowed its way downward until finally, with a thunderous crack and a spine-jolting lurch, it came to a halt. Whether or not they were fully wedged this time, Scully had no way of knowing, but the tilt of the vehicle was less severe. Cautiously, she moved in her seat. The car stayed. She reached for Mulder again. His body was still slumped forward against the steering wheel. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him back. "Mulder, come on. You've got to help me out here," she said knowing that he couldn't hear her, but needing to speak. She traced her fingers across his forehead again and found a gash just below his hairline. It didn't seem serious. "Mulder, if you think I can do this by myself you've got to be--" She stopped abruptly. There was another sound now. A sound far more sinister then the crushing groans of metal against rock. It was the sound of rushing water, lapping hungrily at the wheels of the Explorer. They were near the banks of the Potomac River--or in them. She knew the embankments well enough, they were steep, and the drop to the river was practically sheer. She had to stay calm. She had to think. The Explorer seemed stable enough. If they were completely immersed in the river, she would feel a strong sway of the current on the Explorer. Still, she had to get Mulder out. There was no way of knowing whether or not the bank would give way again. If he didn't wake up, she's have to climb over him, and drag him, somehow, to the shore. She reached across him and felt around for the driver's-side door handle. Immediately, the door swung open, allowing a burst of cold air to hit her face at break-neck speed. "Okay, Mulder. This is it, are you with me or not?" She turned all the way in her seat, feeling for the center console. She slipped her leg over it. Bracing herself, one hand on the back of her seat and her other on the back of Mulder's, she eased herself across the console until she was straddling his lap, her back against the steering wheel. Again, she tried to bring him back to consciousness. She touched his face and spoke loudly into his ear. "Please Mulder. I can't do this on my own. You've got to wake up!" She was practically screaming at him. Screaming above the rush of the river, the howl of the wind through the car's interior. But more then that, she was screaming above her own fear. And then the car shifted again. She threw her arms around Mulder to brace them both. But the vehicle lurched only a few feet this time. Scully let out a shaky breath of relief when she felt the vehicle restabilize itself. Then she felt the water. Freezing water. It slapped angrily against the sides of the vehicle, and rushed through the open door. In seconds it flooded the floor, soaking her shoes and pants. The shock of the cold threatened to paralyze her. And still it rushed in. She could feel it lapping against the side of her seat. “Mulder!" His name burst from her throat on a gasp, the cold knocking the wind from her lungs. "Mulder, damnit. Wake up!" She had to get him out. It could be only a matter of seconds before the swift current filled the car and dragged it loose. Then there would be no chance of rescuing them. She had to get Mulder out. The water rose past the seat. Struggling with the clip of his seat belt, Scully released him. He sagged forward against her, and for the first time she wondered if she could handle his dead weight. "Okay, Mulder, this is it," she said. Her voice ragged with cold. She slid out from under him, and grabbed the sides of the doorway. Before her was the familiar darkness, to which she'd grown accustomed, only now there was the accompanied rush of the water. Scully had no idea what to expect when she dropped over the side of the vehicle into the crippling cold water. Her boots found the bottom. Almost waist-deep in the frigid current, she had to literally force herself to breathe. By the tilt of the car and the sharp angle of the riverbed, Scully guessed that the bank lay to the right. She'd have to get Mulder out and to that bank. She prayed it wasn't too far. She reached into the vehicle. His jeans were soaked, making him even heavier as she pulled him toward her. She grabbed a fist-full of his jacket and slid his arm over her shoulder. When she finally managed to pull him out the door, she thought she'd been prepared to take his weight. And for a moment she was. But she lost her balance and Mulder slipped from her grasp. She spun around in the frigid water for him, terrified that the current had dragged him under. "Mulder!" She heard a faint cough and dived in the direction it came from. He coughed again, choking on the icy water. He grabbed her shoulders to pull himself up. And she half-guided, half-dragged him to where she imagined the bank to be. She heard him mumble her name. He was barely conscious, she realized, and how long it would last, she didn't know. But he managed to stay with her until they reached the shore. Once there, as she started to lower him to the ground, she felt him collapse. Hypothermia was the fear that drove through her numbed mind. The cold was almost painful and her muscles ached. But she wasn't as wet as Mulder, who had been completely immersed in that deadly cold. Scully shivered and eased herself to the ground next to him. She had to keep him warm. Unzipping her own coat, shaking uncontrollably she slid it off her shoulders and covered him with it. When she touched his lips they felt cool. In that moment, she remembered his cell phone. With trembling fingers she reached into his coat and found it. She punched in the correct numbers. She waited. "You've reached the 911 Emergency Line. All operators are busy. Please stand by..." * * * * * "Dana?" Her mother's voice cut through the haze "Dana? Honey, listen, he's going to be all right." Her mother's warm hand reached up and touched her cheek. Even now, in dry clothes and wrapped in the wool hospital blanket, Scully still felt chilled to the bone. She had huddled against Mulder's still body long after the sirens had stopped at the top of the embankment. And when the rescue crew had clambered down, they had to pry her off him so they could lift him into the basket to hoist him up the slope. He hadn't regained consciousness, even in the ambulance, but the paramedics had tried to assure her he'd be fine. At the hospital, they'd taken him away. An intern had examined Scully, and then--at her insistence--had led her to a phone. After calling her mother, she'd been promptly returned to the ER, sounds of the ward reeling around her. "I'm sure if it were serious, they would have told us by now. Can I get you anything, Dana?" Her mother had asked. "No, I'm fine, Mom, really. You haven't seen Dr. Delaney again, have you?" "No. I haven't." Dr. Delaney had come down to the ER shortly after her mother had arrived. He'd heard about Scully's daring rescue through the hospital grapevine and had slipped out of his office at the first moment he'd been able. Assured that she wasn't injured, he'd promised to find out what he could about Mulder's condition. That had been hours ago--at least, to Scully, it felt that long. "Here he is." Her mother left the side of the hospital bed and stood. Scully followed suit, letting the blanket fall away from her shoulders. "How are you doing, Dana?" Dr. Delaney asked, taking her hands in his. "Fine. I'm just worried about Mulder. Did you find out--" "He's fine, Dana. I'm sorry, I got tied up with another situation. I thought you would have been informed by now." "No, they havn't told us anything." "Well, let me assure you, Dana, he's all right. He's got a mild concussion. That's it. And they want to keep him overnight for observation purposes." "Can I see him?" "Of course. He's probably resting, but you can go in." Her mother draped the blanket over her shoulders again as Dr. Delaney started to lead her out. "I'll wait fo you, Dana," she heard her say. "Mom, no. I'm going to stay here, you can go home." She looked up at Dr. Delaney pleading him with her eyes. Seeing her look, Dr. Delaney nodded at her mother, and led her to Mulder's room. "I'll call you later, mom." She told her mother before she was led in the opposite direction. They'd given him a semi-private room, but the other bed was unoccupied. After guiding her to Mulder's bedside and pulling up a chair for her, Dr. Delaney promised to speak to with the floor nurses on duty to see what could be arranged for Scully to stay the night. "Feel free to make use of the extra bed. It's just a few steps to the left, but I'm sure the night nurse will be in sometime later." "Thank you." As he left, the sound of the swinging door brought back the memories of a week ago. Only a week. And yet it seemed a lifetime since she'd first heard Dr. Delaney's frightening news. Did it seem such a long time because of her blindness? She dragged the cushioned chair close to his bed. She could hear him breathing, low and deep. She felt the cool sheets, crisp against her palm, and finally she found the warmth of Mulder's hand. Scully took it in hers--caressing it and turning it over and over. Tenderly, she pressed a kiss into his palm. And when she whispered his name, she wondered if he heard. * * * * Mulder remembered the accident. He remembered speeding toward the dark sedan, remembered the man's face and license plate. The rest was only blurred images of the crash--the whole world spinning in slow motion, metal screeching against metal, and finally a great thundering explosion as the Explorer ground its way down the slope. Until there had been only darkness. He lifted a hand to his forehead and felt the bandage there. He'd hit his head on the steering wheel, he was pretty certain, and then he'd lost consciousness. But somehow he remembered water. Black icy water, tugging at his clothes, dragging him down. And he'd been choking on it. Then Scully called his name and lifted him from the water. Yes, he remembered Scully -- her arms around him, dragging him to the bank. She'd saved his life. He opened his eyes, already recognizing where he was by the muffled sounds of the corridor and the odor of antiseptic. Except for a low light on the far side of the room, he was in shadows. The blinds on the wide window were open to an inky black night sky. Beside him, half on the chair half on the bed, Scully held his hand in hers. She was asleep. Her cheek was warm in his palm, and he could feel her breath whisper across his wrist. As the soft glow of the lamp touched her face, Mulder wondered if he'd ever seen a more welcome sight. She was all right, he kept saying over and over again in his mind. She was all right. Scully had saved his life. And she was all right. He shifted on the bed and felt every muscle in his body ache. Scully didn't wake up. Only when he reached over and caressed her hair did she stir. In that gray portal between dream and reality, Mulder saw her momentary confusion as her head came up. Her face twisted with the dark memory of fear, and she gasped his name. "Scully." He clutched her hands and felt them shake briefly. "Scully, I'm here." "Mulder." She let out a breath, collecting herself, and pulled her hand away from his to smooth her hair. "You're awake." “Yeah. Are you all right Scully?" She nodded in assent. But as she tilted her head, Mulder saw the purplish tinge of bruise start along the right side of her jaw. He took her chin in his hand and tilted it to the light. "It's nothing, Mulder," she said when he touched it. She took his hand. "Just a bruise." A long moment of silence ensued and then he heard her say, "I was sure you were dead, Mulder." "I'm not, Scully. I'm very much alive, thanks to you." Their closeness seemed so natural. Her small frame was pressed against him, and with one arm around her, holding her tight, Mulder stroked her hair. "Promise me you won't do that again." She said, her voice stronger. "What? Drive you into a river?" He was sure she smiled. "You know what I mean." "I promise." He said feeling her heat against his chest. "You know, I'm getting tired of this place." "Yeah, well you're lucky." "How's that?" "You don't have to look at the god awful color scheme they've got going on here." Her gentle laughter rocked her delicate body, and Mulder found a deep contentment in its sound and the feel of her in his arms. They lay together in silence for a long time, both taking comfort in the closeness of the other, both realizing how lucky they had been that afternoon. * * * * * It took several minutes for Scully to realize it was morning. She listened to the muffled sounds of the hospital around her, and then she heard the breakfast trollies trundle by in the corridor beyond the closed door. Only once had she and Mulder been woken by the night nurse. Scully had no idea what time it had been, but shortly after, groggy with sleep, she'd heard Dr. Delaney whisper something about "they needed their rest" and that they should be left alone. And in the undisturbed silence of the hospital room, in Mulder's embrace, Scully had found that she'd had the most peaceful night's sleep since her blindness had begun. She had no idea when they'd eventually fallen asleep, or who had drifted off first. They'd talked for a long time, locked in each other's arms. Mulder did not press on her future and her coping with her blindness, and for that, she was grateful. After the crash, when she'd lost Mulder in the he icy current of the river for that one frantic moment, Scully honestly couldn't remember ever being so afraid. And last night, lying in each other's arms in the hospital bed, their embrace had changed from comfort to one that stirred deeper feelings and roused long-dormant desires that Scully had carefully kept in check for the past few years while her career took priority. Mulder had become strangely silent after a while, as though he, too, sensed a deeper intimacy shared her longings. But if he did, he never acted upon them. She turned in his arms, easing her weight from her still shoulder, and as she did, Mulder stirred. She pushed back the blanket that covered her, realizing the one at the foot of the bed had been drawn over her sometime in the night. "Mulder." She had only whispered his name, but instantly he was awake. "Mulder, I think it's morning." "What time is it?" His voice, thick with sleep, murmured softly across her ear, sending a shiver through her. Scully pulled out of his embrace far enough to reach the bedside table. Next to the lamp, she found the strap of his watch and managed to grab it before he pulled her back into his arms. She handed it to him. "Quarter to eight," he told her, and then nuzzled the nape of her neck. "When is your mother coming for us?" "She said quarter past. We'd better get ready. Her New Year's resolution is to be on time. Now she's almost early for everything." Still Mulder held her securely in his arms, against his chest, molding her body to his, and there was no way she was going to argue with that. "How are you doing?" he asked. "I'm fine." Beneath her fingertips she felt the iron-hard muscles along his forearm, wondering why it should feel so right to be held this way. "More to the point, how are you?" "A bit bruised and battered. But I'll live." He propped himself up on one elbow and fondled a strand of her hair for a moment before she felt the gentle brush of his lips on her forehead. He was staring at her, she could tell. She could almost feel his admiring gaze sweep over her, and she turned her face toward him, as though she could return his gaze. "Scully," he said quietly, "thanks for staying with me last night." He traced her lips with the soft pad of his thumb. "Where else would I have been?" she answered seconds before she felt his lips on hers. There seemed a quiet desperation about him suddenly, an intensity in his kiss that left Scully breathless. His big hands caressed her face at the same time, and a small moan slipped from her throat. She pulled herself to him, responding to his hunger, feeling deeper cravings of her own calling out. She was aware of him moving above her and the sheets falling to one side. When she reached out, her hand skimmed across the hard rippled of muscle beneath the soft curling hair on his chest. Last night's restraint was forgotten. Mulder's heart beat urgently under her palm as he shifted above her once again, and his thigh, still bound by the hospital blanket, pressed agonizingly against hers. His entire body, strong and solid, covered hers, so that it seemed as if every part of him touched her in some way, as though no amount of contact could possibly be enough. His power consumed her; his yearning enveloped her. And just when Scully found herself gasping under the force of his advances, Mulder eased off. He must have sensed her apprehension, her surprise at this unexpected and almost violent passion. his low groan broke the hush of the hospital room, and he drew back far enough that she could breathe again but could still feel the heat emanating from his body. Scully skid her hand over his muscular shoulder and wove her fingers through his hair. She wrapped the other arm around his waist. They said nothing for a long time, as she felt him gradually calm in her embrace. "I'm sorry, Scully." His whisper was ragged, and he pressed a tender kiss to her temple before drawing away. "No, Mulder." She shook her head, reaching a hand up to his face and touching her fingers lightly to the same lips that had only moments before expressed such passion. "Don't be." He was looking at her, she was certain. She gave him a quick smile and it was answered with another kiss--gentle, almost careful this time. "Now, what was that you were saying before about hating this place?" he asked. Scully was grateful for the lighthearted change of subject. Grateful that neither n apology no an explanation was due. "Yes, well it doesn't matter how good the, eh, service is here, you still can't get a decent cup of coffee." "Okay. Okay. I get the hint. We'll get you some bona fide caffeine." She felt him leave the bed and immediately missed the contact. She could hear him dress, and as he did, Scully brushed at the shirt her mother had brought her yesterday. No doubt it was hopelessly rumpled--as she herself felt right now. She ran her fingers through her hair and wished she could see herself in a mirror. Then Mulder was beside her. He brushed aside a stray wisp from her forehead and touched her cheek with one finger. "Don't worry, Scully," he said as though he read her mind, "you look fine. In fact, you look beautiful." And another hot shiver of desire went through her when he dropped a sweet kiss on her lips. * * * * Mulder heard the front door close, and moments later, Scully was entering the apartment. "I'm over here," he called and watched her feel her way through the living room area to the kitchen bar, where he sat. She looked tired. "You all right?" he asked, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. She nodded, but it did little to reassure him. Very few times had he seen her complexion so pale. "I think you should rest, Scully. You've been through a lot." "I'm fine." She took his hand from her cheek and gave it a reassuring squeeze. That night Scully's mother came over and the three of them shared a pizza for dinner. Now, almost an hour later, Mulder was becoming anxious. Scully and her mother were lounging on the couch, while an opera Mulder had forgotten the name of played on the radio. With only half an ear, he listened to Scully describe for them what was happening in each scene. Any other time, he would have been enthralled by Scully's animated description of these Italian lovers' demise, but tonight, there were other things on his mind. Pulling back one of the blinds that covered his small window, Mulder peered out into the still night. On the quiet street, almost out of visual range from the apartment, he saw the dark sedan. He's noticed it parked there, behind a couple of other cars down the street, when he had gone down to pay the pizza-delivery boy. Now, it had moved. Mulder let the blind slap back into place. Scully must have head it because she stopped in her narration. "What is it, Mulder?" "It's nothing, Scully. Go on." He should have received the call hours ago. Now it was almost eight. From the office, earlier today, he had called Danny Jones, and had the sedan's plates run. Danny hadn't been to keen about searching for the information but his reluctance had come mostly from the fact that Mulder had pulled him from his break. He would try his best, Danny promised. Then he'd warned Mulder that he probably wouldn't get to it until the end of the day. He gave Danny his home number and told him to call him with anything he might find. At last, the phone rang and sure enough it was for Mulder. “Danny?" "Oh, hey, Mulder, listen man, I'm really sorry I didn't get to you sooner. My kid got sick at school and my wife's out of town, so I've been running around all afternoon. You would believe the day I've had." "Sorry to hear that." "Yeah, well, kids, you know?" "Did you get that name for me?" "Oh, yeah. No problem. The car's registered to a Vince Fenton." Mulder found a pen amongst the bills and paperwork on his desk and jotted down the name on an old envelope. "You didn't happen to get an address too, did you?" "Yep. Fifty-Six Adele Avenue. Apartment 2C. Hope that helps you out, man." "More then you know. I owe you for this." "Yeah, well, I like Jack Daniel's. Talk to you later, man." "Thanks, Danny." Fenton. Vince Fenton. Mulder ran the name through his mind a few times. It meant nothing to him. But if it was the man parked outside in the sedan, then it probably was Maynard's accomplice and the man who had cost Scully her vision. Mulder folded the envelope and shoved it into his back pocket. What was stopping him from going out there right now? Just walking straight across the street, dragging this Fenton son of a bitch from his damned car and beating the life out of him. After what he'd done to Scully— "Mulder?" "Yeah?" He spun around, his turbulent thoughts fragmented by Scully's voice. "I asked if you were up to the final act of La Boheme." "Uh, no, Scully. I’ll pass tonight." "Are you all right?" "Sure." But judging by the look that Mrs. Scully gave him then, Mulder wasn't doing a very good job at convincing either of them. "Listen. I've got to go out for a bit." "What? This late?" Scully aimed the remote and turned off the radio. The silence was startling. "I'll be back, soon." "What is this about, Mulder?" It took Scully's mother all of one second to recognize the challenging tone in her daughter's voice, and she was off the couch in a shot. "I'll be in the kitchen if anyone needs me," she said before leaving the room and giving Mulder a you're-on-your-own look. "Scully--" "This is about the coins, isn't it?" "I don't know. I want to check on a few things." "Who was on the phone, Mulder?" His silence was her answer. "Who was on the phone, Mulder?" She said, slowly, enunciating each word carefully. He didn't answer, just took her shoulders in his hands and gazed down at her. Now he knew what was stopping him from dealing with Fenton with his bare hands. For the first time in what felt like forever, Mulder had a reason to look toward the future, a reason to tame vengeance and guilt. Now that reason looked at him, her bright blue eyes filled questions he wouldn't answer. Her eyes. Those bright blue flames that licked fire and sought answers. He lifted her chin so he could brush a kiss across her lips. She tasted sweet. "Scully, it's nothing." "Mulder, don't you dare patronize me." She took a step back with such force Mulder was afraid she'd fall back against the coffee table. He was about to reach for her again, when he realized the extent of her anger and decided to steer clear. "Do you know something about those coins, Mulder? Has someone found Maynard?" "I don't want to get you involved in this." "Who was on the phone?" He was close enough to reach out take hold of her, and shake some sense into her. Her life was in jeopardy already, didn't she see that? His hands balled into fists at his side. "Mulder?" He let out a long breath. "That was Danny. I asked him to run the plates of the sedan that drove us into that ditch." "Did he get a name?" "Yeah. Vince Fenton." "What are you going to do?" "I don't know. But it doesn't involve you." When he tried to brush past her, she must have felt his closeness, because in a flash she grabbed his arm. "Mulder, I'm already involved. Whether or not you like it, I'm in this as deep as you are." "I love you, Scully. I won't put your life at risk. I won't." All she could do was look at him then. He pulled away from her and headed toward the apartment door, and with no more then a whispered promise he was gone. * * * * Mulder drove out of the apartment lot, and headed for the one place that might provide him with some answers. He drove slowly and left the lights off. The sedan was still parked in front of the building. He guessed Fenton would stay there for another hour or two until he figured that they were going to stay put for the night. Mulder found the street address and pulled into a back alley, parking the Explorer and turning off the lights. Mulder tugged at the sheepskin collar of his bomber jacket, drawing it around his face, as he sprinted across the empty one-way street. The only thing he could hear besides the hammering of his heart was a television set through an open apartment window. Pausing on the sidewalk outside 56 Adele, Mulder gazed up at the three-story building. Snow clung to the old redbrick exterior, and a cracked and chipped archway bore the name The Royal. Obviously the residence had seen better days. The front door seemed appropriate to its derelict setting: its steel frame was battered and the reinforced glass panel was shattered from what appeared to have been a well-aimed kick. Mulder pushed the door open. To his immediate left was a wall of steel mailboxes, some with labels, other with only a tacky residue where previous ones had been. Mulder scanned the row until he found 2C. Luckily, Fenton's was one of the few marked mailboxes. Mulder mounted the stairs taking two at a time. Mulder found 2C on the second floor of the building. He tried the door, not really expecting it to be easy. It was locked, of course. He took his pocketknife from his back pocket. With expert skill he placed the knife in the lock and worked it until he was rewarded by the lock giving way. The heat of the apartment was stifling, and the place smelled of stale cigarette smoke. He took the flashlight from his pocket and scanned his surroundings. The living room. The thin beam passed over a beige sofa and armchair, worn and dotted with burn marks. Newspapers and magazines were strewn throughout the room, from the sofa to the scarred coffee table, and across the pale green stained carpeting. Where to start? It was hard to know, especially since he had no idea what he was looking for. The glow of his flashlight caught the table shoved in a corner near the window. More newspapers were stacked there, and balanced on top of this teetering stack was a black rotary phone. Maybe Fenton took notes while on the phone. Mulder moved to the table. He could feel sweat practically running down his back as he started to scan the papers and bills on the table. As he rifled through the unpaid bills, receipts, and meaningless scraps of paper, Mulder thought about the man sitting outside his apartment. No doubt, with the temperatures dropping, Fenton would get edgy. It would only be a matter of time before he comes back to his dingy apartment. Mulder had to move fast. * * * * Mulder stood back from the desk. Nothing. He'd found nothing. Mulder let out a frustrated breath and leaned heavily against a table. Then, almost immediately, his heart froze. From across the room, he heard the metallic rattle of a key in a lock. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder was proud of himself for getting out of the apartment and scrambling down the fire escape so quickly. It wasn't until he hit the ice on the last step and rammed his knee agonizingly against the steel railing that his pride deflated. Pausing to rub his bruised leg and gaze up at the open window through which he'd just escaped, he saw a light come on. It would only be a matter of minutes, seconds even, before Fenton discovered the disarray of his papers and the loosening of his lock. Mulder would have to be long gone by then. He hobbled the length of the building, staying close to the wall in case Fenton looked out. His jacked flapped open in the wind as he ran across the street. He jumped into the Explorer, and started the engine slowly, taking one last glance at Fenton's window. Once he veered away from 56 Adele, Mulder hadn't looked back. For all he knew, Fenton might have rushed down the steps and outside his apartment to see him driving off. Whatever the case, Mulder headed back to his apartment breathing easier then he had since this whole sordid mess had begun. * * * * Scully was asleep. And in his bed, Mulder thought. He'd felt her body relax by degrees, and now he could hear her low easy breathing. She was curled up beside him in her over-sized nightshirt, the covers pulled to her waist and one arm draped across his chest. Her head rested against his shoulder, and when he brushed her hair behind her ear, she nuzzled in tightly against him. After their discussion earlier and his impromptu confession, he wondered about her reaction. He'd driven home to find that she had curled up in his bed. Her mother had gone home, and Scully had fallen asleep with Gone With the Wind playing on the TV. When Mulder had pulled open his door, his breath was stolen at the sight before him. Gently he eased himself back onto the pillows. She moaned softly and awakened only slightly. Now, as he lay beside her, he caressed her cheek with his hand and looked at her. Too much was happening too quickly. Their kiss at the hospital--Mulder couldn't remember another kiss that had so totally overwhelmed him. He surrendered to an almost primal urgency to be with Scully, to feel her flesh against his, to consume her with his passion. It had been years since he'd been with a woman. Yet, beneath that desperate lust, there had been something, deep, gentle and sincere. And he had little doubt that Scully, too, had felt the significance of it. She knew as well as he did, if not for that blanket and a hospital staff, there would have been much more then kissing in that room. To top of the whole complicated mess, tonight he'd told Scully he loved her. He hadn't told her merely to stifle her objections to going over to Fenton's place. Mulder knew as he gazed into her calm and sleeping face, after all the lies, those three words had been the truest he'd ever spoken. He shouldn't have told her. And he shouldn't be feeling the constant ache and the raging desires he did every time he looked at her or touched her or so much as heard her voice. After all, what kind of future would they have, anyway? A relationship with her would interfere with his judgment. It already had. If it hadn't been for his feelings for Scully, he wouldn't have cared so much about what she said or felt tonight. Mulder gazed again at her sleeping face, at the satiny curve of her neck. Being this close to her, Mulder could imagined pressing his lips against that soft skin, could imagine her returning his caress. He suppressed a sigh of frustration, got off the bed and pulled the covers higher on her. She'd sleep well tonight, he hoped. And she's sleep without him. * * * * Sometime in the night, the furnace had kicked in. Scully awoke with the covers shoved clear to the end of the bed. She rolled over, and the bed was empty. Whether she'd been dreaming about Mulder or remembering how good it had felt to have someone next to her in the mornings, Scully felt a stab of disappointment at his absence. He must have slept on the couch. Finding a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt, Scully dressed and headed for the kitchen. She needed coffee. She felt her way along the apartment, pausing at the couch where she heard the deep resonance of sleep-filled breathing. She made her way to the kitchen. She reached for a mug when her elbow struck something on the counter sending it flying to the floor. A glass, she realized the second she heard it shatter. "Good morning to you too." Scully was certain she jumped a good foot. The mug she'd been holding dropped the floor and exploded, as well. "Damnit, Mulder!" "Sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to scare you." Both of his hands reached for her shoulders, as she grasped his bare arms to steady herself. "Are you all right?" "Yeah. You just startled me." She let out a long breath; feeling her heartbeat gradually, return to its normal rate. "Sorry." He touched a finger to her chin, tilting her face toward him. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, until she realized he was staring at her. "I'm fine, Mulder, really," she assured him, reaching a hand to his chest. He wasn't wearing a shirt. But then, with the furnace running on high last night, why should he? Under her palm, she felt the mat of soft hair and then the shift of muscle beneath before he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let's get you out of here, so I can sweep this up." He guided her to one of the stools along the kitchen bar, but Scully realized how close he had come to kissing her again. He'd been standing so near she'd felt the heat of his body against hers. She'd felt his breath whisper across her cheek, and the air around them come alive with desire. He'd wanted to kiss her, but for some reason he'd refrained from doing so. Scully wished she could see Mulder's face, see the expression there, because maybe then she'd have a better understanding of what was happening between them. He was sweeping the floor, brushing shards of glass and porcelain into the dustpan. Finally, she heard him take out two other mugs and pour coffee, and in moments she had a warm cup of the steaming brew in her hands. "How about some breakfast?" he offered. "That depends. What can you make?" She grinned. "Well, let's see." She heard the fridge door open and imagined him surveying the contents, which couldn't be much. "I make a pretty mean, slice of toast and jam." No sooner has she nodded then Mulder set about making them breakfast. She listened to him switch on the toaster, and then shuffle around the kitchen preparing their breakfast. Feeling restless, Scully decided to take a shower and get changed. She rose and felt her way from the kitchen to Mulder's bedroom. She had laid her clothing at the end of the bed for easy reach in the morning. She grabbed her clothing and trudged into the bathroom. A shower sounded delightful on her stressed nerves. A bath would be better, but one must make do. She slipped out of her silk pajamas, and started the warm stream of water coming from the showerhead. The water ran down her body in showering rivulets. The pounding felt good on her skin. It felt wonderful. She felt the edge of the tub for the shampoo and conditioner she had left there the night before. She carefully rinsed and conditioned her hair, leaving it soft and clean. Scully stepped out of the tub and toweled herself off. She walked into Mulder's bedroom and intended of dressing when a knock at the door stopped her. "Scully? Breakfast is ready," came Mulder's voice from the other side of the door. "Okay, I'll be right there." As she drew her shirt over her head and slipped her pants on. She felt the pockets of her coat. All of a sudden, she stopped. Her hands frozen by the feel of metal. She felt the object, which seemed to be a key. "Mulder? What is this?" She said as she walked into the kitchen, key in hand. "It isn't yours?" Scully shook her head s he took the key and turned it over in his hands. "Looks like it could be for a safe-deposit box or something. Do you know where it came from?" "No, I found it in my coat." * * * * Mulder must have checked his rearview mirror a dozen times in the past thirty seconds alone, and still he hadn't seen any sign of Vince Fenton's brown sedan. Either Maynard's thug had decided to adopt a more discreet tactic, or more likely, he'd guessed who'd broken into his apartment and was now maintaining a safe distance. It couldn't have been difficult for Fenton to figure out the identity of the intruder. After Mulder had practically run him off the road a week ago, Fenton must have known that he had gotten a good look at his plates. Then, when nothing had been stolen from Fenton's apartment, it should have been obvious that whoever had broken in had been looking for something specific. Whatever, Fenton was nowhere to be seen today. Mulder glanced over at Scully in the Explorer's passenger seat. She was holding the key and rubbing it with her thumb. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Are you tired?" he asked. She nodded but her eyes remained shut. "Just a bit." "We'll be at the bank soon. We'll check the box and then I'll get you home." It had been a long morning. After finding the key, Mulder had spent long and tedious hours arguing with his computer, but he finally got it to give him the serial number of the key. From that he'd found the bank they key belonged to. Through all of it, Scully had been by Mulder's side. In fact, she'd been every bit as anxious as he was, and when he'd finally found the bank, at last, it was Scully who'd given him a celebratory kiss. "There's one thing I don't get, Mulder." She said now, and Mulder pulled his gaze from the rearview mirror to glance at her again. "What's that?" "Maynard putting the key in my pocket. Why would he do that? I mean, it's a key. Why wouldn't have hidden it at his house? Or in his car, even?" "I'm not sure," he answered. "It could be that Maynard just figured he'd be caught that night anyway, and a few FBI agents wouldn't be concerned with a key. I think that's who broke in to your place last week, I think he thought that he could just put it in your pocket, you'd be none the wiser, and he could just get it back when he came in to your apartment. He could get whatever was in that box and get out of the country. Fortunately, you interrupted his intentions with calling the police. I guess, he didn't figure you'd actually be there when he broke in." Mulder steered the Explorer into the plaza parking lot and parked in a space just outside the bank. He took the key from the ignition and turned to Scully. "Are you ready?" She nodded. "Let's do it." Mulder was sure Scully was feeling the same thing he was--that they were being followed, that as soon as they had their hands on what was in that box, someone would jump them. If indeed what they were going to find was what Mulder suspected. Helping Scully from the car, Mulder slid his arm around her waist and guided her across the parking lot. He scanned the area. Still no sign of the brown sedan. The bank was bustling, and from all appearances, short-staffed. Mulder waited with Scully by the last window, as a teller promised, for the third time, that the assistant manager would be right with them. When Mulder looked at Scully, he could see the unfamiliar surroundings made her nervous. Her mouth was a straight line and she clutched the velvet-covered partition rope as though it were the only thing holding her upright. He reached for her free hand, and she seemed to welcome the contact. The tension in her face eased slightly and her fingers returned his gentle squeeze. "You don't see Fenton or Maynard, do you?" she asked, her voice a little above a whisper. Mulder turned to scan the crowded bank. Vince Fenton could have been anywhere. He wasn't in the long line waiting for available tellers, but beyond the string of impatient customers, even more people waited for the ATM machines at the front. Any one of them could be Fenton, Mulder thought. Or he could just be outside, lost in the bustle of people on the sidewalk, bundled against the cold, practically unrecognizable. "No, I don't think so, Scully," he told her, turning back to her. I didn't see his car either. I think we're all right." "Agent Mulder?" The short corpulent man who hurried up to them gave them an apologetic smile and extended one meaty hand. "I'm Mr. Cavanaugh, the assistant manager," he panted, as Mulder accepted his handshake. "I understand you're here about a safe-deposit box." "Yes, do you think we can see it now?" "All we need are a couple of signatures and the box is all yours." * * * * * For the second time, the woman in the lineup behind him at the bank machine cleared her throat sharply. Vince Fenton wanted to turn around and give her a nasty glare or, better yet, what she could do with the bankcard she tapped annoyingly against her wallet in an obvious display of dwindling patience. He didn't dare turn around. With the collar of his coat pulled up tight around his chin and a black toque covering his head, he was sure the FBI agents hadn't spotted him. After the break-in, Vince had guessed that the male agent was on to him. No doubt when he tried to play chicken the other day, he was just trying to get a look at his plates. With that the agent could have gotten his name and address. Vince had to keep a low profile. The second he'd stepped into his apartment and kicked off his boots, he had the feeling something was up. It wasn't until he noticed the screen of the window missing and heard someone on the fire escape that he figured it out. By the time he'd struggled into the boots again and raced downstairs to the front of the apartment building, he'd caught only the tail end of the vehicle heading down Adele. The woman behind him coughed again, and he punched a few keys on the number pad to keep up appearances. In the reflection in the Plexiglas side panel of the money machine, he had a clear view of the two agents. They were talking to a suit, whom they followed to the back. When finally Vince turned around, he watched the male agent drop his hand to the small of the female agent's back and guide her toward the vault. So this is where Maynard stashed the coins. At last he was getting somewhere. "Are you finished, sir?" The woman with the tapping card frowned at him, and Vince glared back. "Relax, will ya, sweetheart?" he said and shoved his card in his coat pocket. With that he returned to his sedan parked three blocks down, and continued his vigilance. He'd repay Maynard for this, once he had his hands on those coins. *********************************** “There you go Agent Mulder," Mr. Cavanaugh said. "Number 501." Scully heard the metal box slide out of its slot. "There are some rooms over to the left there if you'd like some privacy. And one of our staff would be happy to help you out when you're done." "Thanks." There were some departing clicks of the assistant manager’s shoes on the floor of the vault before Mulder led Scully to their left. He had to let go of her hand, and it was only once they'd stopped and she'd heard the door of the small room close behind them that he placed her hand on the corner of the table. She listened as he set down the safe-deposit box and released the catch on the lid. The room was like a tomb, its silence pounding in her ears as she waited for Mulder to open the box. When he did, she reached for him, needing contact, and found the edge of his open jacket. She grasped the soft leather and took a step closer to him. "What is it, Mulder?" She heard him slide something out of the box--the scraping of cardboard against metal. “It's a shipping box," he said. Scully waited, listening him peel back the flap. Then there was the crinkle of paper and more rustling. And finally silence. She placed her hand on his arm and followed its length to where his wrist rested on the corner of a small box. With outstretched fingers, Scully reached past his hand. Her fingertips fluttered across the crushed velvet lining and then her breath catching, she felt the smooth surfaces that protruded from each slot in the padded casing. As she touched the embossed surface of each coin, Scully tried to envision the ancient timeworn impressions. These were the coins she had lost her vision for, had spent nine months searching for, and now that they'd found them, she wanted nothing to do with them. Mulder placed the velvet lined box back in its cardboard container and took Scully's shoulders. “Now we have what Fenton and Maynard want. Now we have the upper hand." Vince watched the bank's entrance from behind the wheel of his sedan. He drummed his fingers against the door panel. He had been careful to hang back in traffic, making sure the FBI agents didn't catch a glimpse of his car. When, at last, the agents came out of the bank, Vince sat up and followed them with his gaze. They weren't carrying anything. He'd hoped they'd come out with a package; he'd hoped they'd found the coins. They'd either come up empty-handed, or they figured the coins would be safer in the bank. Either way, there was no sense jumping them. Not if they didn't have the coins. Something told him he'd be moving on them soon. Very soon. From the moment they left the bank to the moment they pulled up to Mulder's building, Scully knew there was only one thing on Mulder's mind. Those coins. For the duration of the drive back to his apartment, she'd given Mulder his space, letting the silence between them grow, until she could no longer stand it. And when Mulder pulled into the small parking lot in the rear of his building, Scully was grateful the tense drive was over. When they arrived in the apartment, Scully could hear a big-band tune playing on the radio, and mom in the kitchen trying to make dinner. "Mom, we're home." Scully called out as she shrugged off her coat. "I'll be there in a second," came the muffled reply. Mulder lingered by the door. Scully was pretty sure she hadn't heard him take off his coat. "Mulder?" "Listen, Scully, if your mother is going to be here for a while, I really should get back to the office for a couple of hours. There's a lot of paperwork falling behind and--" "Mulder." She moved to where she heard his voice and reached out for him, finding his arm and taking hold of it. "Mulder, you won't go and do anything stupid, will you?" Mulder gave a little chuckle. "No, Scully. No." As reassuring as he tried to sound she was unconvinced. "No, I'm just going to the office. I'd take you with me only you look tired. Honest, Scully, I won't be more then a few hours." "So you guys finally decided to come home, huh?" Mulder bent down and gave Scully a quick kiss and when Scully turned toward the direction of her mother, she could still taste his kiss on her lips. "Mrs. Scully, are you going to be here for a while?" Mulder asked. I have to take care of some things at the office." "No problem, I'll be here." "Thanks, Mrs. Scully." He looked at Scully and his voice lowered and he pulled her close. "-I promise--it's only work. I'll be back before you know it." He caressed her cheek briefly and then was gone. She stood in the door even after he'd left, even after she'd heard his car start up and back out of the parking lot. She hoped he wasn't doing anything stupid. "Hey." Her mother moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Looks serious. You want to talk about it?" "I'm just worried, mom." "About Mulder." Scully shook her head unable to suppress a smile. Mulder had been known to do some really stupid things in his time, most of them proved to be right, but all of them equally and irreconcilably stupid. “Well, I would really worry too much given the fact that he has a very good reason not to jeopardize himself." "What did he tell you?" "It's not really what he told me, or you, for that matter. It was what I've seen." "And what's that?" "Mulder loves you, Dana. I see the way he looks at you, the way he's always got to be right beside you. And when he talks about you, he gets a light in his eyes. He cares a lot for you, honey. Trust me, you don't have to worry about him doing anything stupid." Scully ran a hand through her hair, wondering if it was just her or if the furnace was running high again. "What? You're not going to tell me you don't feel the same about him, are you? I saw how upset you were at the hospital the other day. I've seen the way you act when he is close to you." "This is moving way to fast," Scully admitted, even though she recognized the truth in what her mother was telling her. "I don't know, mom. When you think about it, really, this is all about the work, his passion his quest. We are a link for each other, his passion for the work fuels mine, and my resignation for seeking answers fuels him, you know?" "Right, and next you'll be telling me that your relationship is for better work effort." "Well, maybe that is part of it." "Rationalize all you want, honey, but there is more behind your feelings for Fox then the work, and you know it. You just won't admit it yet." Maggie Scully left the table and began rummaging through one of the corner cabinets. She was finished saying what she had to say on the topic, Scully realized. She handed out her nugget of motherly advice for the afternoon. * * * * * Needing work to do at the office wasn't a total lie. There were tons of forms and files awaiting signatures and reports. And phone calls to return. But what Mulder had really needed was to get away. He needed time to think, to figure out what he was going to do about Maynard and Fenton. And as long as he was near Scully, he couldn't keep a clear head. Every time he looked at her every time he touched her doubts crept in--he'd start wondering why he was really doing it, for himself, out of guilt, for the work? No, he needed time to think, to clear his head. And his heart. Now, finally, he had a pretty good idea of what he had to do. And he knew he had to do it on his own. Closing the door to the office, Mulder paused in the hallway. There would be practically nobody here, everyone was clearing out for the day. The building was practically empty. As he stood in the hallway, he pondered Fenton, the man was a puzzle, he wondered why the man would want the coins, he was undoubtedly after. What was it? He would have known the coins had been stolen and that they were investigating it, if-- Mulder stood bolt upright. That was it! His heart raced and his stomach lurched at the realization. That was why Fenton had been following him and why he nearly ran them off the road the other day. He knew that they were after Maynard and the coins, he must have figured that they would find them before anyone else, and when he knew we'd found them he would get them for himself. He remembered vaguely Fenton's face, the night he ran into the ditch, although it was surrounded by blackness he clearly remembered the man who stared at him so intently the minute he jerked the wheel. He had been Maynard's accomplice. They must have split after the accident. Maynard had hidden the key on Scully but he must not have told Fenton how to find the coins, and when he saw them chasing Maynard he figured Maynard had been caught. He escaped from the cuffs, and was intent on getting the coins for himself so he followed Mulder and Scully until he had found them. Maynard, on the other hand, after hiding the key on Scully figured he could just break in and steal it back, fortunately Scully was at home and called the police, and Maynard had disappeared. Mulder closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying ease the headache that throbbed there. It all made sense now. He should have seen the connections before. “Mulder, I was hoping to find you here." Mulder spun around. Skinner. He hadn't heard the other agent come in. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" he asked, and Mulder wondered if he looked as startled as he felt. "Actually, sir, yes. I was just leaving." "So I noticed. Well, won't keep you long. I want to speak to you. It concerns Agent Scully." Mulder turned. He opened his office and Skinner was right behind him. “Just a word of warning, Mulder. Nothing more." "Look, sir, what I do in my personal life is no--" "But you see, Mulder, it is. Especially when that personal life concerns two of my best agents. In case you don't know, Scully and you are both agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which means no romance between agents. So your involvement with Scully does concern me, Mulder." "What exactly are you implying, sir?" "I'm not implying anything, just giving you a warning...from a friend. Watch where you step, Agent Mulder." Skinner turned out of the office; Mulder listened to his footfalls on the linoleum on the floor of the basement. Mulder had no intention of staying away from Scully, despite Skinner's warning. They'd been apart for less then two hours, and he already missed everything about her. No, he was going back to his apartment. Back to Scully. ********************************************************************** Mulder saw realization dawn on his partner’s face as he told her his thoughts about Maynard and Fenton’s operation. “So what are we going to do?” Came her voice after she had digested the information so hurriedly explained by Mulder. “We? No, Scully. Not we.” He released her hand suddenly and got up from the couch. She heard him pacing the living room, from the window to the edge of his living room. “Look, Scully, I really don’t want to argue, but I can’t involve you any further in this. It’s too dangerous. I won’t do it.” “It is dangerous, Mulder. Very dangerous, in fact. So what makes you think you can do it without getting hurt?” There was a slight pause in his pacing, and when he finally passed the couch again, she could almost feel his tension. “Scully, can’t you understand that this is something I have to handle? There is nothing you can do now.” “Because I’m blind.” When he stopped this time, he stood directly in front of her. She felt his eyes on her, and wanted to say something to break the silence, but refused to do so. The ball was in his court. “All right, fine. If that’s what you want it’s going to take to get through that stubborn streak of yours, then yes, because you’re blind. Because when I finally have to deal with Fenton or Maynard, I won’t be able to watch out for you, too. Because I can’t have you along with me, knowing you can’t defend yourself. And because I will not endanger your life.” “Mulder-" “No, Scully, listen to me—" he put a hand on her shoulder “—there’s nothing you can do. And I’d never, never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” He was right, she knew. There was nothing she could do. She Felt powerless. And as desperate as she was to see an end to this nightmare, she knew it was Mulder and Maynard now. He had to take care of it himself, in his own way, no matter how she hated the thought of that. “So what are you going to do?” He hesitated, as though unwilling to involve her in his plans. When he finally spoke, he was standing across the room. I'm going to call Fenton and set up a meeting, to get him on tape, I have more to bargain with then I did before. At this point, Fenton knows someone was in his apartment. All I have to do is scare him in to making him think everything is pointing to him, no one else." "Where do the coins come in?" "Fenton already suspects we have the coins. What I intend to do is propose a pay off. He'll think I'm in it only for the money. All I have to do is inform Fenton that, should anything happen to me, the coins will go directly to the FBI. Once I have Fenton, I can get Maynard." The way Mulder talked about it now, his manner so calm and detached, the plan sounded almost plausible. But this was his life he was risking. As much as Scully tried she could not reconcile the fact that she wouldn't be there to watch out for him. He must have recognized her fear, because he crossed to the couch, sat down beside her and took both her hands in his. "I'll be alright, Scully." He pressed his palm to her cheek. His arms wrapped around her, and she welcomed his embrace. She needed to be close to Mulder, to hold him and believe that nothing was going to take him away from her. "Mulder, I don't think I could stand to lose you. I won't take a risk like that." “Scully—“ "I love you, Mulder." His hand stopped. She felt his body tense just slightly, and in that second, Scully wondered if she shouldn't have spoken. But then, why shouldn't she? She wanted Mulder to know--so he would come back to her, so he wouldn't do anything stupid and risk his life. But most of all, she wanted him to know because it was the truth. He started to pull back. "Scully, I'm--" The shrill of the phone stopped him, and Scully could only wonder what it was Mulder had wanted to say. As he grappled for the receiver on the side table, he left the couch and started pacing again. She heard his voice on the other side of the room, "Yes, sir. Yeah...right, yes she is." And most of the rest were just mumblings. She heard the receiver click as Mulder placed it back in its holder. "That was Skinner, he approved my request for the wire tap for the meeting with Fenton, and the warrants have been issued." "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Hold me." And with her simple command he was at her side. For a long time he rocked Scully in his arms, clasping her body close. Finally, he pulled back far enough to see her face in the soft glow of the lamp behind him, and saw that she was calm. Neither of them spoke, because nothing needed to be said. As he lifted her chin, tilting her face to meet his kiss, Scully's lips trembled beneath his. But there was no hesitancy in her response. Mulder could taste her hunger as her lips parted; he could feel her almost desperate yearning, as thought she needed his passion to drown herself in. "Mulder--" she drew back, but he still felt her lips against his, shaping the words she spoke. "--I want to be with you, Mulder." As he lifted her easily in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, he couldn't tell if he'd actually murmured her name or if it had been pounding so loudly through his mind, that he thought he had. The orange-yellow glow of the street lamp just outside the Bedroom window slipped through partially opened blinds and touched Scully's face as he lowered her to the bed. Her hands never lost contact with him, even as he moved onto the bed with her. Her fingers twined in to his hair, and she pulled him closer to her, deepening their kiss. It was with certain reluctance that he left her mouth, he wanted more of her then this. He wanted to know every part of her. He wanted to bridle the rampant longing that raged through him now so that he could taste and experience every last curve and hallow of her body. He trailed kissed along her arched neck, feeling her pulse quicken against his lips as he moved past her throat and toward the V of her shirt. He felt her hands slide under his sweater and tug his T-shirt free from his jeans. And when her fingers fluttered on his stomach and up his chest, Mulder breath caught in his throat. Torn between answering his primal urges and saving each intoxicating second, Mulder concentrated on the buttons of her shirt. One at a time, he released them, and all the while Scully's fingers laced the lines and curves of his chest. When the last button of her shirt had been freed of its confinement, Mulder brushed aside the crisp cotton to reveal the luminous warmth of her skin. God, how he wanted her! Every fiber of his being screamed for him to take her right there, to give in to the overwhelming drive that coursed through his like a raging fire. Instead, he let our a ragged breath and traced the edge if the lace bra with one finger, following the gentle swell of her breasts. And when he undid the front clasp, he marveled at the perfect shape them. Cupping one breast in his hand, he lowered his mouth to it, enveloping the taut nipple, tasting it, and circling it with his tongue several times before moving to the other. Scully hungry moan drew him back. Her hands, still under his shirt, reached for his shoulders as she guided him up again to her throat her ear and finally back to her mouth. It was in the urgency of her kiss that Mulder realized the extent of Scully's own longing. And never had a kiss tasted so exquisite. It ignited every nerve in his body and awakened savage and long-suppressed need that set his heart racing. Mulder drew back slightly; his lips still only inches from hers, and felt the heat of her breath on his face. "Scully." He looked down into her exquisitely dark blue depths, getting lost in them. He trailed his thumb along her jaw and then up to tease and curl of her hair around one finger. "There hasn't been anyone since..." She pressed her palm to his cheek and whispered his name. In her voice he heard her passion. And when he kissed her again, there was an unbearable tenderness about her. With his life the way it had been the last few years, Mulder never believed he would find such absolute and open tenderness. He'd never thought he'd find love after the hell his life had been. But Scully had offered him both of these and more. When he looked at her now, shafts of light touching her almost porcelain skin and flowing over each curve of her body, Mulder wished he could hold on to the moment forever. He wondered if she felt the same way. "Mulder?" "Mmmm?" Scully propped herself up on her elbows, and with the play of shadows across her face, he could almost believe she was looking at him. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." He caressed her cheek. "I was just wondering what it must be like for you." "You mean, not being able to see you?" "Yeah." Scully reached toward Mulder's voice and found his jaw. From there she pressed her fingers across his lips and felt their moist firmness. She was aware of him staring at her, of his admiring gaze sweeping over every inch of her half-naked body, and she was surprised at how comfortable she was with that. "I was just curious," he said. She rolled across the bed and felt for her nightstand. She opened the third drawer and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. She moved back to Mulder, sitting in front of him and hooking her legs around his waist, Scully slid her fingers up his chest, drawing his sweater over his head. His T-shirt followed, and her heart skipped a beat when she anticipated the searing touch of his skin against hers. He helped her then, tying the bandana over his eyes, and when it was in place, he reached for her--touching her face first, the fanning his finger along her throat and finally over her shoulder to completely remove her shirt and bra. When he lowered her back in to the sheets, she felt his fingers trail ever-widening circles along her skin, from her breasts, past her ribs to the hollow of her stomach. With her own hands she mapped out the contours of his body as wide shoulder and the narrow but strong waist where her venturing touches were blocked by his pants. Mulder moved above her, his mouth on her, their quickened breath mingling as their growing passion urged them on. Time became meaningless as the rocked between insatiable fervor and exploratory caresses, each reveling in the other's body, each craving the other's touch. When Mulder at last unzipped her pants and slid his hands beneath the barrier, past her hips, Scully gasped and shifted under him, allowing him to remove her slacks. Within moments she was tugging at his pants. The button slipped out of her reach once in her eagerness, and then her fingers found his zipper. Already she could feel him straining against the denim restriction. Breathlessly, she tugged the jeans free of his waist. Savoring the anticipation, she trailed her fingers slowly upward along the inside of his thigh. And finally she caressed him marveling at the intensity of his arousal. When Mulder straddled her, Scully felt his hardness press Firmly against her inner thigh. She reached for him, drawing him to her as though he was her only light in this darkness of hers. His kisses burned along her skin, traveling upward across her stomach, past her breasts and at last to her mouth again. She heard him murmur to her name--a gentle but desperate sound--and Scully realized that if she ever needed anyone in her life, she needed Mulder. Then, slowly, deliciously, he moved into her. She couldn't restrain a cry of pleasure, not the arch of her body against his. Her legs encircled his waist drawing him deeper, meeting each avid thrust with one of her own. This time, when Scully heard a moan, she knew it was not hers. The low guttural sound sent a shiver of raw emotion coursing through her. And as Mulder delivered his final thrust, pushing them both to a new plateau, Scully clutched him to her, determined now in her love for Mulder—in everything he was and everything he would be with her. Scully awoke slowly, by degrees. She felt a stray ray of sunshine on her cheek, which had managed to pass through the closed blinds on the bedroom window. She also felt the warmth of a different source. She didn't have to have the ability to see, to recognize Mulder. She felt him in every pore and cell in her body. His six-foot frame towered above her five foot three one. And now, here in his bed, he draped over her like a warm, comfortable blanket. She had not yet opened her eyes, not wanting to find the darkness that she knew waited for her if she did so. Keeping her eyes closed, she rolled over to face the man she so admired, the man who had overnight become her lover. And although slightly self-conscious, Scully could not stop her hands from their next movements. Her hand came up and rested on his face. With shy and gentle movements, her fingertips fluttered over his features. She felt his forehead, smooth and strong with wide brows. She felt his eyes and nose, and reached his mouth where she could feel the slow, deep breaths that emanated from him. She ran her fingers along his cheeks and the side of his face, envisioning his face as she continued her path. When she heard a hitch in his breathing, she felt back up to his eyes to find that they were open. And before she could say a word, his mouth captured hers. His kiss was powerful and strong, filled with passion and want. She kissed him back fervently, running her fingers through his hair and pushing herself closer to him. Caught up in the kiss and reveling in the desire that it sent through her body, Scully took Mulder by the shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed, rolling atop him. She placed her hands on either side of his head and deepened the kiss, pushing her tongue past the barrier of his lips and teeth. When, at last, she had to halt the kiss for lack of oxygen, she pushed up only a few inches and leaned down to his ear. "'Morning, sweetheart," she whispered and smiled a devilish smile. "'Morning," came the strangled reply of her partner. Mulder could only stare at Scully. She, her eyes, still closed, naked and hovering over him, was beautiful. Shocked by her morning hello, Mulder needed a moment to recover himself, while Scully sat smugly by, waiting for some sort of response to the morning peck turned make-out session. All Mulder could do was lie there, shocked into silence. Nothing on earth could have prepared him for his mild-mannered, soft-spoken partner's kiss. Never had something been so completely erotic and sexy as Dana Scully straddling him and basically, kissing him senseless. Not getting any kind of response to her daring kiss, Dana Scully rose off the bed and stood. “I'm going to take a shower," she announced. And almost as an after thought she threw to her still senseless partner, "Care to join me?" No words were needed for the response to that question. As Mulder rose and followed his partner in to the bathroom, he smiled to himself and thought. 'Good morning, sweetheart'. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder had left that afternoon and as the sun was slowly sinking behind the buildings of Washington D.C. they has seen neither hide nor hair of Mulder. "Dana? I'm going to run out to Burger King down the street for some food, did you say you were hungry?" "Oh, right, yes I am hungry, a bit." She heard her mother start to put on her shoes and put on her coat to face the frigid air of the New England winter. "Thanks, mom." "I'll be ten minutes," Maggie Scully shouted back. "And whatever you do, don't sing along with Pavarotti or whoever you choose to play on that radio, okay? I think you're scaring the neighbors." Scully was standing by the radio when she heard the door open again after her mother had left. "Did you forget your purse, mom?" she shouted. But there was no answer. Scully turned down the volume and crossed the living room to where her gun lie, untouched since her accident, and took it out of its holster. "Mom?" Silence. Scully felt a wave of dread prickle along her skin. She ran her hand along the wall parallel to the front door. Her finger fluttered with the numbers on her cell phone, Mulder had told her to call for anything. When she dropped the phone on the floor and could not retrieve it, she tried to call out her mother's name again when she heard a muffled thud. Through the pounding silence of Mulder's apartment, Scully strained to hear something, any noise at all that she might be able to identify. She hoped it was only her mother, forgetting something. But now there was another sound, slow and deliberate, like something being dragged across the floor. Someone not her mother, was in the apartment. She stumbled toward the kitchen. With her heart hammering in her ears, Scully couldn't be certain if she'd heard footfalls in the apartment or even in the outer hallway. The apartment seemed to take on a life of its own: breathing around her, whispering its secrets in unfamiliar bumps and creaks. She has to find another phone. The bedroom was the closest. She'd call the police. They’d get here, just like before, she told herself. She was about to step out of the kitchen when she stopped. Adrenaline pumped through her as she brushed her hands across the counter. Her grip on her weapon tightened until her palms sweat and her knuckles whitened. When at last, she did step out of the kitchen her left hand sweeping the air in front of her, Scully was paralyzed with a terrible thought and she froze. What if the intruder was already in the apartment? What if he was watching her right now? Standing maybe five feet away? She listened again. But all she could hear were her own shallow, rapid breaths. She could feel her blood coursing through her veins, pounding in her head. She couldn't let her fear paralyze her. She had to keep moving. In moments, that felt like hours, Scully reached the bedroom door. Behind her, in the apartment she thought she heard footsteps, but she didn't know if they were real or if her mind was playing tricks on her. She crossed the bedroom floor until she reached Mulder's nightstand and then lowered herself to the floor. Even as she pulled the phone onto her lap, Scully wondered if the blinds were drawn, or if they street lamp outside illuminated the room. Like before, the dial tone seemed to shriek its presence. She laid her weapon down next to her and covered the earpiece. But even as her finger trembled over the nine, Scully smelled the cheap aftershave, sharp and pungent. There was a quick brush of slick fabric. And then a voice that sounded like death itself. "Not this time, you don't," it said. In an instant, Scully felt a rush of air and the phone was ripped from her grasp. There was a loud clatter on the other side of the room-the phone smashing against the opposite wall. She swallowed the yell clawing the way to the top of her throat. She had to be strong; she could not let this man see her fear. Besides, who could help her? Yet another part of her wanted to give in--to let this nightmare run its course. Don't fight it, a small voice whispered in her head. You're blind. You can't possibly win. Her right hand groped the floor behind her, searching for her fallen weapon. When her hand seized the cold metal she had to strive to keep her face expressionless. She was trying to lull her attacker into thinking he had her; that she had given in. He was standing over her. She could her him breathe. He was staring down at her, she was certain of it. She was also certain it was too dark for him to see the gun in her right hand. "So, you gonna make this easy on yourself?" he asked. The assuredness and ego that oozed from his voice threatened to immobilize her, and Scully bit down on her bottom lip so she could focus and aim true. The gun handle burned in her palms as she buried it deeper underneath the bed until she could use it. "The choice is yours, sweetheart," he said. When he reached for her this time, she did yell. The air churned in his wake, in this the stench of his after-shave rose in the air.Scully recognized that after-shave and sensed an odd familiarity with the attacker. It was then that Scully pulled the gun out from its hiding place and aimed at her attacker. She fired one shot and gasped as she heard the bullet strike its target. "Son of a..." He staggered back, swearing. In an instant, Scully was moving. Still griping her weapon, she scrambled across the room, away from him. He reached for her again, and she felt the warm, thick liquid of his blood running down her arms where his fingers clamped down like vices. He dragged her back toward him. She kicked at him and with her left hand she groped for anything to give her a hold on him. The throw rug bunched beneath her, and she floundered against the bare hardwood. And when she's managed to tear one ankle free, she kicked out. She heard a low grunt. The kick had obviously been well placed. She only regretted that it hadn't been harder. In seconds he was after her again. He grabbed the waist of her jeans and almost lifted her off the floor. Savagely he flung her over, by this time he was ready for her gun. When she readied her finger on the trigger to fire once more at him, he caught her wrist in his iron grip, which Scully thought would shatter every bone in her wrist. The gun fell uselessly to the floor, skittering across the boards. He straddled her, pinning her arms with his knees beside her head. Scully still fought him. It was when he forced the damp rag over her face, when she breathed a sickeningly sweet odor, that she at last comprehended her defeat. She tried to hold her breath, gagging against the fumes, but it was impossible. Her throat burned. Desperately she tried to turn her head away from the cloth and the cloying smell of the liquid, but he held her tighter still, pressing her head back against the hard floor. When his knee slipped and her arm was free, Scully thought she would tear at his face. But she couldn't even lift her arm. She heard her own frustrated gasp muffled against the brute force of his hand. And she thought she saw lights--flickering splinters exploding in front of her--and guessed the were the effect of the solution on the cloth. Then, as she felt her body slacken, as her consciousness gradually bled away, Scully's last thought was of Mulder and his trap for Fenton. * * * * Tom Maynard stood over the woman. She was out at last. He left the cloth draped across her face. He wanted to be sure she inhaled enough ether to keep her unconscious for a while. After the struggle she put up, he wasn't going to risk her coming to in the back seat of his car. He hadn't expected her to put up such a fight, being blind and all. He cursed her again she he drew off his blood-soaked glove. He turned his hand to catch the light from the street lamp outside. It glistened a dark crimson, and he could see the entry wound that went through the tine leather of his jacket and across his skin. He was damned lucky, though. If he hadn't seen the glint of the gun in that split second before she pulled the trigger, she would have nailed him. Still, he was bleeding heavily. From his pocket he took out an extra strip of cloth and wound it tightly around his arm. He looked at the FBI woman again. Yeah, she was a feisty one. A real handful. And if her kick had not been so well place, catching him square in the groin and temporarily knocking the wind out of him, he would have almost enjoyed her little struggle. He liked a good fight. Not like the one downstairs. The other woman had almost been too easy. Sure, he had to time it exactly right, but that had been the only challenge. Through the uncovered windows of the apartment, Maynard had seen the other woman come down the stair with her coat on and had know he'd have to make his move. He'd waited at the door, and when she opened it, he grabbed her before she could even yell for help. It had been a while since he felt the rush of power of grabbing someone. In the end though, she'd been disappointingly easy. But this one...He squatted next to her, removed the ether-soaked cloth and tucked it into his coat pocket, He had to admit, he admired her spunk. In fact, he almost liked her for it. Tom Maynard smiled a menacingly smile as he lifted the woman from the floor. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ At barely eight in the evening, Mulder steered Scully's Ford into the short driveway to her building. He had just come from downtown. He had finally managed to seize Vince Fenton, and with his help and, hopefully his testimony, they will be able to nail Maynard and then this whole nightmare would end. Right now, he longed for Scully's arms and a warm bed. Parking beside his own Explorer, Mulder was comforted by the fact that Scully and her mother had remained at his apartment. Her mother soothed his fears for Scully, but only a small bit. His fears remained strong, and he had the terrible feeling that unless Maynard was in prison, they would remain that way. Mulder made his way up to his apartment, and the first sign that something was not right was the silence that permeated the air. There was no sound, no voice, nothing. Scully almost always had her music on. It had become her calming comfort since her blindness. The fact that Mulder could not hear a single sound emanating from the small apartment told him something was amiss. Then as he threw his key in the lock and flicked his wrist to unlock his door, he heard a muffled crash. It had to be Scully. Just like the time he had come to her place right before the break in, Mulder recalled. He felt a tug in his chest when he remembered how she had greeted him, her sense of humor, her laughter, and the smile that came to her face, all of which were so rare, that every single one was laid out in his memory, branded there, available at any time. During the darkest times of his life, sometimes all he had to do is bring forth one of those few smiles of hers and his darkness burst into sunshine. However, when, at last the door opened, it was not Scully. "Mrs. Scully?" He must have sounded disappointed, Mulder thought. She did not smile. "Fox." Her voice was just barely above a whisper. She looked at him, and held a hand to her forehead. Her face was pale and drawn. He brushed past her through the door, and when he turned to look at Maggie Scully again, she sagged against the wall, one hand clutching her stomach. "Rough night?" he asked, wondering what the two of them could possibly have been drinking to make Scully's mother look so ill. Then her knees buckled. Mulder rushed to her side, catching her halfway down the wall. "Whoa, Mrs. Scully." He helped her up holding her for a moment as she sawed slightly. She seemed to gather herself but still she maintained a grip on Mulder's arm. "Mrs. Scully, what's wrong?" "I...I think I'm going to be sick." No more words were needed. As quickly as he could, Mulder helped her to the bathroom. But once there, she barely had the strength to vomit. When eventually she staggered to her feet, he handed her a towel and put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. "Feel any better?" She nodded weakly, but he could see she was still woozy and a bit disoriented. "Are you sure, Mrs. Scully?" "I don't...I don't know, Fox." Mulder couldn't tell what it was about her that was so unsettling. Maybe it was her expression, but he knew something was wrong. Terrible wrong. This wasn't a hangover from too much alcohol. Scully's mother had been drugged. Panic coursed through him. "Mrs. Scully, where's Dana?" She shook her head in a feeble motion he feared might make her sick again. "Mrs. Scully? Where's Dana?" But he didn't wait for an answer. "Scully!" His voice exploded through the hollow apartment as he barreled through the rooms, his shoes hammering with every step. "Scully!" He charged through the living room, the kitchen and then into the hallway, dread clutching at his heart, each stride taking him closer to something he did not want to know. And when he rushed into the bedroom, where only hours before was filled with their lovemaking, a terrified cry twisted up from his gut. The throw rug was rumpled in the middle of the room. The phone had been ripped from the wall and hurled against the far wall. It had hit the table lamp; the porcelain base lay in shards on the floor along with the phone. And there was her weapon. But what got to him the most was the blood. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough, its dark crimson trail a vivid blueprint of the violent struggle that had taken place. She'd been defenseless, Mulder kept thinking over and over as he stood transfixed in the doorway. She couldn't see her attacker. She could hardly protect herself. She'd been alone. The fear she must have felt... Her mother was behind him all of a sudden, pushing past Mulder. "Oh, my God," she cried, teetering slightly. "Oh, my God. She's gone, isn't she? Dana's gone?" Margaret Scully turned to him, her face a visage of shock as she crumpled into his arms with a sob. And Mulder held her. He held her because she needed to be held, but mostly he held her because he didn't know what else to do. Scully awoke to pain, a heavy, persistent pounding in her head that made her think of the hospital. And for a moment that was where she imagined she was. But it wasn't the sterile odor of starched sheets and antiseptic that reached her senses. Instead, it was a peculiar stale mustiness, and a wool blanket that scratched her cheek smelled of dust and mothballs. This wasn't a hospital. And then she remembered. Scully lay still, afraid to move, afraid he was next to her, watching, waiting, for her to wake. She kept her eyes shut, listening to the noises around her, hoping for any sound that might give a clue as to where she was. She could hear birds--pigeons, she was certain--a flurry of wings outside a window and then a soft cooing. Beyond that, there was the wail of a train whistle. It didn’t sound to far-off, and Scully thought about the abandoned factories and storehouses along the tracks at the sound end of D.C. More immediate then the pigeons and the train, however, was a low, constant thumping and a high-pitched whine like metal on metal--old and rusted. She imagined an exhaust vent, one of those big-bladed fans, turning lazily in a draft. But there was nothing else. Scully risked moving then, surprised she wasn't tied or restrained. She was stiff, though. Every muscle screamed in protest as she shifted on the hard mattress. She remembered the struggle. Pain rippled though her joints, and she felt as if she had a million bruises. Her hip throbbed when she rolled her weight onto it. With a major effort, she sat up. She drew her knees into the circle of her arms, feeling still more aches and pains, and when she brushed a hand across her face, she was sure one cheek bore a nasty bruise. But most of all, her head hurt. And then her stomach lurched with nausea. The cloth. He'd held it to her face, and there had been some kind of fume, like alcohol. She was almost sure he'd used some form of pure alcohol to knock her out, which is why she felt sick right now. She swallowed, containing it. She wanted water. The room was hot and the air was stale. The cotton T-shirt she wonder under her sweater was damp against her back and wet strands of hair clung to her neck and forehead. She brushed them away, the simple movement making her dizzy. Scully rubbed her forehead and opened her eyes. A blurred square of light flashed before her. It was the after effect of the alcohol, she tried to reason. Just like the ones she'd seen before she'd blacked out last night. She blinked. The light was still there. She turned her head from side to side, fighting down the nausea, but the dim square remained, fixed in space. She looked directly at it and blinked again. She lifted a hand and passed it before her eyes. A blurred shadow moved across the square of light. Her hand. She could see the shadow of her hand. A thin whimper of excitement escaped her lips. Dr. Sterling had said it would happen like this. He'd told her that when her vision returned she would distinguish between light and dark first, then movement. And then gradually, he'd promised, she would regain more focus. The process could take a matter of hours--ten to twelve, he'd said. And then, as Scully stared at the light she guessed was a window the bitter sweetness of this sudden break though hit home. Yes, she was regaining her sight, but did that even matter now? Could she get out of this to appreciate it? She could guess who had broken in to her apartment last night and had attacked her--Tom Maynard. He was the only one. If Mulder's deal with Fenton had gone through, and Fenton had given Maynard up, she shouldn't have to wait too long. And she had no doubt that Maynard was somewhere close by. Since she wasn't bound, Scully could only guess she was locked in some sort of storage room, Maynard must be outside, or at least within ear shot. Memories of her struggle with him last night churned in her mind. And then with a jolt of sudden realization, Scully thought of her mother. Maynard was just getting into Mulder's apartment when her mother had left. He would have had to pass her to get into the apartment. He must have attacked her at the front door. What had he done to her? Did he use the ethyl alcohol on her too? Fear sent another shudder of nausea through Scully. Pushing her fear for her mother out of her mind, Scully knew she had to do something She swung her legs over the side of the mattress, and swept her hand across the black shadows around her until her wrist struck something hard and sharp. Pain shot up her arm and there was a resounding crash. Within moments, there were footsteps--boots heavy against creaking floorboards. Scully's hear stopped. There was the slide of a metal bolt and the unmistakable squeal of hinges. And then his voice, cold and rough, the same as last night, sent a chill through her. "So, you're awake," he said, and she heard him take a step toward her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ”Think, Mrs. Scully. You've got to try and remember everything that happened last night," Mulder urged. He'd had to physically drag her, drag himself, out of the bedroom, away from the horror of what had taken place there only hours ago. "I don't remember, Fox." Her voice trembled. She was on the verge of tears. He handed her a cup of instant coffee, hoping to snap her out of her grogginess. She drew a long shaky breath. "Uh...I was going out to get some dinner. We were hungry and--" "What time?" She shrugged. I'm...not sure. It was late. Ten, I guess. Maybe later. Dana wanted Burger King, so I agreed to go out. I was going to be fifteen minuets, Fox. Fifteen minutes. I didn’t think anything of leaving her." She shook her head. He had guided her to his leather couch and she sat there no, wringing her hands on top of her lap. "I should have taken her with me," she said. "I wanted to, you know? But Dana...she looked so tired. Still, I should have made her come with me." He placed a hand over hers. "It wouldn't have made any difference, Mrs. Scully." Even here, in the living room, away from the dreadful evidence of Scully's struggle in the other room, Mulder could not let go of the images that lay back there. Every time he blinked, he saw blood. "Mrs. Scully, do you remember seeing him? Did you get a look at his face?" She glanced at Mulder and then back at her hands again. "No. I didn't see anything. He came out of nowhere. He was there the second I opened the door. Like he'd been waiting for me." It had to be Maynard, Mulder thought. And that was what frightened him the most. His throat tightened at the thought of those same hands on Scully. "I...I tried to warn her," Margaret Scully was saying, "To call out. But he clamped a hand over my mouth. A cloth. It was a cloth soaked with something. And the fumes--that's the last thing I remember before I woke up on the floor." He'd used chloroform, Mulder figured, or maybe ether. And he must have used the same on Scully. But why the blood, then? Why the weapon? Maynard could have walked right up to Scully, overpowered her the same way he had done with her mother. Eaiser even. Unless...unless Scully had struggled. And of course she would have. Mulder didn't doubt that. She must have put up a damned good fight, considering the state his bedroom was in. And Mulder had to wrestle down a hot rage as he imagined the attack, as he wondered what must have been going through her mind in those last frantic moments. He looked across at Margaret Scully. A trace of color had returned to her face, but her expression was still drawn with fear and dread. Even though there was nothing she could have done, Mrs. Scully blamed herself. But if anyone, he was to blame. It was his fault Scully was gone. He should have stayed with her. He should have parked outside, or sent someone. He knew Maynard was targeting Scully, and he would try to get her the first moment she was alone. "Mrs. Scully, listen to me. You have to stay here, lock all the doors; don't answer the phone or the door unless it's me. This is about Maynard, and the coins. He took Dana because he knows we have the coins. He's--" "I don't give a shit about your damned coins! Or whatever vendetta this guy has got against you and Dana. She's gone, Fox! That's her blood all over the floor in the other room there, and if you think I'm just going to--" "Mrs. Scully." He reached out and caught her arm. She was on the verge of tears. "Listen to me." "No, Fox!" She tore free from his grasp and started for the phone. "That's my daughter out there!" He was after her like a shot. "Mrs. Scully!" But she wasn't listening. She stormed through the room. And when he tried to grab her arm again, she jerked away from him, snatching up his phone. "Mrs. Scully, please!" She ignored him. Only when Mulder yanked the receiver from her hands did she turn on him, a combination of desperation and fury in her eyes. "Mrs. Scully--" he glared back at her, the phone clutched to his chest "--she may be your daughter, but she's the woman I love." Fresh tears ran down her face. "And I'm not going to let Maynard jeopardize her life," he continued. "Now listen to me. We have to think this through, okay? We have to deal with Maynard his way. As long as he has Scully, we have to play by his rules." Mulder returned the phone to the side table, his eyes never leaving Mrs. Scully's. He wasn't sure if he should hold her, or give her space. Finally she broke the silence. "So what do you propose to do?" "First off, I have to contact Maynard. I'm sure he's waiting for someone to get in touch with him." Her nod was barely imperceptible, and he felt compelled to give her hand an encouraging squeeze, even though he felt the same anxious fear Mrs. Scully so obviously did. Mulder picked up the phone. Fenton had given them plenty of information about Maynard, including his phone number and address. Mulder no longer cared about the coins, or even busting this guy. Scully was all that mattered. He had to get Scully away from Maynard. At whatever cost. Maynard picked up the sixth ring. Mulder couldn't help wondering if the man had let it ring just to toy with him, knowing it would be him calling. "Hello?" "What have you done with her, Maynard?" "Ahhh, yes. Agent Mulder, is it?" “Where is she?" There was an extended sigh over the line. Mulder fought to bite down his rage. Mrs. Scully was beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder as though sensing the need for calm in him. "I've been expecting your call, Agent Mulder." "I'm sure you have." "Seems to me we've got some merchandise to exchange. Do I need to be more specific?" "Tell me where." "Since you have my telephone number, I assume you've got that ass Fenton in custody, that you also know where I live." "Yes, I know where you live, but I'm not going to come to you." "Then where do you suggest we meet?" "The warehouse where we first met up with you," Mulder proposed. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Why don't we just say I call you at seven? I trust you won't have any trouble putting your hands on the merchandise by that time. And it will give me and Agent Scully to get better aquatinted, become friends, you know?" Mulder's rage soared and he fought for control over his emotions, he won't get Scully back by blasting this guy over the phone. "If you dare touch her, Maynard, prison will seem like a gift. And I want an assurance that she is all right, let me talk to her." "That isn't possible right now." "Look you son of a bitch, if you don't let me talk to Scully right now--" "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but you'll just have to take my word for it that...your merchandise is in good condition." "Your word? Do you think that means anything to me, Maynard?" Mrs. Scully squeezed his shoulder, harder this time, and Mulder clenched his fist. "Well, I'm sorry Agent, but my word is going to have to be good enough for you right now. Do you actually think I'd keep the good here, do you?" Mulder didn't respond. "Fine. I'm glad we finally understand each other. I'll be in touch, Agent." Mulder remained silent. "Fine," he said again. "And another thing, Agent, I don't expect any company, if you know what I mean. If there are any uninvited guests...have I made myself clear?" * * * * The blurred square of light had faded some time ago. Scully prayed that evening had fallen beyond the window, and that the light she'd seen earlier hadn't been some cruel trick her vision had played on her. She was sure Dr. Delane had said ten to twelve hours. He'd also said something about regaining more perception once she was able to distinguish light. Yet, there had been nothing beyond that dim white square. Maybe he'd been wrong. Or maybe this was all she could expect. Around here was nothing but shadows--blacks and grays--dark and ambiguous forms. She wanted out of this place. Out of this dusty prison. She had been out earlier though, briefly. Twice, Maynard had led her to a washroom down the hall. The first time he'd come to get her, he'd gripped her arm savagely and dragged her from the bed. At the time she had no idea where he was taking her or what he planned to do. She'd balked refusing to go anywhere until he told her where they were going. And once she'd finished with the washroom and they were heading back to the room, Scully had stopped him, demanding to know about her mother. She'd heard a sick grin in his voice. "Oh, don't worry that pretty head of your about her," he'd said. "I want to know what you did to my mother." His hand clamped down fiercely on Scully's arm, he'd said, "Well, lucky for your mother she didn't get a look at me, or I'd have to take care of her." After that he'd shoved her back into the room. The second time he came to get her she could have sworn she could see more. She considered her chances of making a run for it, but Maynard would have her in a second. Other then those two ventures, the rest of the day had been spent locked in the room, with nothing but then monotonous cooing of the pigeons outside on the sill and then constant thumping of the fan blades. She attempted to walk around, to stretch her stiff muscles. But when she tried to maneuver through the clutter of dusty boxes and cobwebbed furniture, each effort had resulted in another thunderous crash, and Maynard would come in to check in on her. On the third time, he let out a long string of explanative, he took her by the shoulders and roughly pushed her back on the bed, warning her to stay put. So, Scully had sat on the bed, her legs drawn up into the circle of her arms, he back against the wall. She hadn't moved. She dozed once or twice in the same position and woken up with a stiff neck. And then she just sat watching the light slowly fade away. The minuets had stretched into hours, and house into a lifetime. The only hope she clung to now was Mulder. She clung to the memories of the brief happiness she'd found in his arms. But she was afraid of it. She'd finally found love and now she wasn't sure if she could hold on to it. The sudden metallic thumb of the door's slide bolt brought Scully's head up with a start. Every muscle in her body stiffened, and when she heard the familiar squeal of hinges, she hugged her legs to her chest even tighter. She turned her head in the direction of the door, and almost gasped when she saw the bright rectangle of light and the dark hulking shape that filled it. Maynard. Scully struggled not to squint against the sudden brightness. She couldn't let Maynard know she could see him. He came into the room, his shoes making a hollow sound against the floorboards. She could just discern the hazy line of his shoulders, and as he came closer to her, the light from the corridor caught his face. It was little more then a blurred outline--black hair, pale skin, a slash of a mouth, and dark holes where his eyes looked down at her. When he reached for her, she cringed at his touch and recoiled. "Come on, let's go." His fingers hooked around her arm, bruising the soft flesh as he yanked her up off the mattress. Scully almost lost her balance, and when she reached out to block her fall, it was Maynard's arm she grabbed. She pulled back immediately. "Where are we going?" "For a drive," was his only answer apart from a forceful shove toward the door. But Scully had just about as much manhandling as she could take for one day and she wrenched her arm from his steely grasp. "Where?" she demanded more firmly this time, and spun around to face him. She looked up into those dark holes of eyes for a fleeting moment and couldn't help thinking he looked like a caricature of Death. “Where?" There was amusement in his voice, as though he took a certain delight in her brashness. "To meet lover boy is where." Mulder. So, Maynard was going to make a trade. Her for the coins. "Now come on." Maynard turned her around. "Either you walk on your own or I take you out, myself. And believe me sweetheart it wouldn't be a bother." Maynard leered in her direction, and Scully cringed. Scully walked toward the light. Mulder, Mulder. He was taking her to Mulder. Everything was going to be all right, she tried to convince herself. Mulder would give Maynard the coins and then-- "For your sake," Maynard added, as he guided her along the dim corridor, "I hope your boyfriend hasn't decided to keep those coins for himself. He might have skipped town already. What do you think, sweetheart? You worth a few million bucks to him?" Mulder would be there, she thought, he had the coins and she was going to him, and they were going to get out of this mess--with or without the coins. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Ford's engine idled dangerously low and Mulder gave it more gas. He removed his gloves and switched on the heater. But the light sweat that beaded his brow and dampened his shirt beneath his coat had nothing to do with the car's interior. It was snowing again. In short bursts of wind, fat flakes tumbled down and melted instantly on the heated windshield. Tugging his wrist free from his leather cuff, Mulder tilted his watch to catch the light of the single lamp at the end of the bridge. Seven fifteen. He was early. As promised, Maynard had called at seven on the dot. He and Margaret Scully were waiting for the call, along with the two squat teams called in by Skinner. And the second Mulder had hung up the phone; they had been ready to move. Maynard had not given him much time to get out here; he hoped the teams could get together just as quickly as he had. It was obvious why Maynard had chosen this spot. The bridge across from the warehouse experienced some traffic during the day, being primarily an industrial street, when the factories and warehouses closed the bridge was deserted. Mulder stole a glance at the Bainbridge warehouse across the bridge. It also seemed very characteristic of Maynard to choose the spot where he thought he wouldn't get out unless he was in cuffs the first time, only to hold all the cards the next. In his days with VC he had seen many criminals who enjoy going back to a previous failure, to enjoy the thrill of getting away with it the second time. He had Maynard, and this time he would not escape. Mulder had seen only one car, a green Impala, parked fifty yards from the east end of the bridge. Maynard's advance scout, Mulder was sure, to make certain that he had come alone. In the glow of the lamp, Mulder glanced over at the shipping box in the passenger seat. Luckily, Skinner had agreed with him--using anything but the real coins would be too risky. In his office, Mulder had told Skinner everything. From the night Scully lost her sight, the running off the road, and the deal with Fenton to give up Maynard, to Scully's kidnapping. Although Skinner did not completely want to go along with Mulder's plan, one glance at Margaret Scully, sitting coolly in his office guest chair, had convinced him that it was the best way to get Scully back alive. Mulder shifted in the driver's seat. His weapon jabbed his ribs. Mulder vowed silently that Maynard would not win this time. No one was going to take Scully away from him. Not Maynard. Not Fenton. No one. Mulder didn't care about the damn coins. He didn't give a damn about getting Maynard. He just wanted Scully back. He wanted her safe. nd then there were headlights. * * * * * Scully rocked with the gently lilt of the big luxury car. It smelled of leather and cigars, and faintly of liquor. All that and she could still smell Maynard's aftershave. One of Maynard's thugs sat next to her in the back seat. As tightly as she held her body, she could not avoid touching him. The man was big and smelled of cheap liquor and grease. His palms were hot and sweating on her upper arm, and his broad shoulders pinned her back against the upholstery. She believed that Maynard sat up front with the driver, judging by the vague shadowy bulk she could make out in the darkness. After Maynard had led her down the rickety staircase, he'd tied her hands and pushed her into the backseat of a car. It had been dark outside when he drove the car out of what she believed was some sort of boat storage area. She smelled the distinct odor of gasoline and fresh water. Now, as she clenched her hands in her lap, willing herself to stop shaking, Scully blinked against the glare of the light. After all the darkness, after all the praying for light these past few weeks, she thought she'd welcome it. But it only hurt her head; she knew she needed time to accommodate her deprived eyes to light again. At first she thought that the glare was that of the headlights from an oncoming car, until she realized that she hadn't heard any traffic for the past twenty minutes. Yet the glare was still there. And then she understood. It was the rearview mirror. Headlights from a trailing car reflected off the mirror directly into her eyes. She didn't dare squint for fear of tipping off Maynard. Instead, Scully cast her eyes downward. But why did Maynard need a second car? With the driver, Maynard and the man holding her down, why would he need a second vehicle? "Give Smitty a call and tell him to hand back a bit." Maynard's voice came from within inches of her face, and Scully cringed at the sound of it. "I want him to wait at the end of the bridge." When she looked up again, the glare in the mirror was gone. Past the crest of the front seat, and through the windshield, two point of light radiated out toward them, through the darkness. The car slowed. "Okay, stop here. That's him." Scully felt her heart skip. Mulder was here, close by. Her gaze fixed on the tunnel of light, and she was certain she saw a shadow pass before it. Maynard turned toward the door in front of her, but her gaze remained riveted on the shadow in the light. Maynard got out of the car and opened her door. The goon beside her jutted her in the ribs and she stepped out of the car, as did Maynard's thug retaining his grip on her shoulders. Even when Maynard touched a fleshy finger to her cheek, Scully stood stock-still. She focused on the shadow, knowing it must be Mulder. He was here for her. "Well, we'll see if this boyfriend of yours is as good as his word, won't we?" Maynard said to her, his voice sounding as thick and ugly as the fingers that crawled over her skin. Then he addressed the thug that held her. "Donnie--" his tone was caustic and sharp as if he was angered that he hadn't gotten the reaction he'd wanted to out of Scully. "If he makes any moves, shoot him." Scully caught her breath in her throat. Standing in the frigid air, and in her limited peripheral vision, she caught a movement. She turned, and as she did so, she felt something in the thug's waistband--a gun. She maneuvered her arm, trying to grab the weapon's hilt, she need to get out of here, Mulder was walking into a trap, she wouldn't put his life at risk. Then the thug, Donnie, turned toward her, "No!" she screamed. But it didn't sound like her own voice. It was so thin, so desperate. She tried reaching for the gun again, only to be pulled away from it by Donnie. She wrestled with him, grappling with his massive hands, tearing at his coat. Twice she felt the hard sharp edges of the gun against her fingers. And then someone grabbed her sweater, the collage dug into her throat, cutting of her wind; and she was yanked back into the car. * * * * * Mulder clutched the small box in his left hand. The edges of his coat blew open in the cold wind as he walked toward the other car. Maynard’s car stopped about forty yards away, its big engine idling. In the vehicle's low beams swirls of snow danced along the bridge's surface. Mulder never took his eyes off the car as he steadily closed the distance. He prayed that Scully was in that car; that she was all right. If she wasn’t if Maynard decided to keep her until he had the coins, or worse, if he had already decided she was a loose end-- He couldn't think that. Not now. The cardboard box threatened to collapse under the pressure of his grip. Another cold wind swept along the bridge and whipped at his hair, blasting snow into his face. Mulder blinked and kept walking. Thirty yards. Twenty-five. One of the back doors opened, and Mulder stopped, he could see her. Scully was okay. A big man held her; she grimaced as he pulled on her arm. Maynard got out of the car, as well. He went over to Scully. Mulder's grip on the box tightened and he wished that it was Maynard's head. He watched as the man's finger caressed her skin. Maynard smiled and laughed. Then, there was a flurry of movement; Scully was dragged back into the car. Mulder wanted to run to her, get her out of that damned car and hold her until this nightmare was over. He wanted to tell her he loved her over and over again, until she believed him. But he had to get her out of here first. A minute passed. Two. And nothing. Then a man got out of the back of the car. It was the man who held Scully just a short while ago. He was holding a gun. Mulder looked back at the car, struggling to see past the low beams into the car's interior. There were several figures inside, lit up by the dim overhead bulb. One of them, smaller then the other, he was sure it was Scully. Mulder wouldn't have believed it possible, but his heart actually hurt when he thought of Scully in that car with Maynard. A pain twitched deep in his chest when he imagined the horror she must be going through. "What are you waiting for?" The man shouted. Mulder fought the urge to look over his shoulder, to see if Skinner had gotten the SWAT team here yet. But any gesture of that kind would only tip Maynard off. Besides he wouldn't be able to see them even if they were there. "Where is my partner?" Mulder shouted, holding his position. "She's in the car. Just bring the coins." "No. I want to see her first. Let her out." The man stared at him for an endless moment and then leaned into the car. Mulder heard someone cursing, and finally the man reappeared. They allowed her out of the car. Helplessness churned in his gut. She was utterly dwarfed by the man's bulk as he dragged her from the back seat. She stumbled in his grasp, but even at this distance, Mulder recognized her steadfast determination. It was when the man brought his gun up and thrust the muzzle into Scully's ribs that Mulder started walking again. He knew he should stall the process. The more time he took, the more time the SWAT team had to get into position. But reason stood no chance against seeing Scully, helpless, in the man's ruthless grasp. And Mulder couldn't cross that bridge fast enough. When he was within ten paces of them, the other door of the car opened and Maynard stepped out. Mulder stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't imagined it could be this overpowering--the bitter animosity, the vengeful fury. Every fiber of his being wanted to rip this man's throat apart with his bare hands. This man should suffer after all the pain he caused Scully. Instead Mulder made a tight fist with his right hand and crushed the box in the other. In the beams of the headlights, Maynard stepped to the front of the car. His full-length leather coat flapped in the wind, and with gloved fingers he flipped up the collar. "Mr. Mulder." He raised his voice above the low rumble of the car engine, and a halo of vapor circled his head. Mulder shot a glance at Scully. Even with the man's arm pinning her to him, she shivered in the cold. And beneath that quiet determination, Mulder recognized her fear. "Let's get this done, Maynard." "Hand over the coins." Mulder shook his head and nodded toward Scully. "Not until your hired ape releases her. You let her go, and when she reaches the other end of this bridge, I'll give you your coins." Maynard barked out a laugh. "I don't think so, Mr. Mulder," he said finally. "Besides, she's blind. Wouldn't you rather help her to the car yourself? Now come on, let me have the package. I'd like to examine my goods first. Let's not dally, Mulder. I'm not sure how much longer Donnie over there can restrain himself. He's an impatient man, you know." Mulder caught the movement in his peripheral vision, when he looked over toward Scully, Donnie had pulled her so tightly to his chest that her feet had almost completely left the ground. A vicious grin cut the man's face in two. Mulder had no choice. He closed the gap between him and Maynard, and handed over the box. It seemed an eternity as Maynard opened the box and unclasped the lid on the narrow wooden case. As Maynard examined each coin encased in its velvet lining Mulder snatched glimpses of Scully. And when Mulder thought he could wait no longer, Maynard finally closed the box. He slid it into his coat and looked at Mulder, a cold grin sliding across his moist lips. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mulder." “Call off your goon, Maynard. Let her go." Maynard nodded toward Donnie, and instantly he shoved Scully foreword. She stumbled onto the snowy ground. But when Mulder was about to rush to her side, he was stopped by Donnie's gun. "You do realize, Mr. Mulder," Maynard whispered close to Mulder's ear before backing off, "that I can't let the two of you go?" Scully's world tilted in a whirl of light and shadows. In it she searched for Mulder. But there was only Maynard's thug, standing above her. She heard snow crunch beneath someone's boots and then she heard Maynard's icy voice. "Kill them," she heard him snarl. "Kill them both." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Blurred shadows spun in motion. In an instant Scully saw the Maynard's arm come up. Headlights gleamed like liquid silver against his gun. Mulder's name screamed in her heart. And in a breath of frigid air, she lunged. Pain jarred through her shoulder when she collided with Maynard's broad chest. She heard his surprised grunt as he staggered back. And then Mulder yelled her name seconds before an ear-shattering explosion split the night. When Maynard threw her to the ground this time, Scully thought for a moment that she'd been shot. But other then the dull throb in her shoulder, there was no pain. She gathered herself again and was about to go after Donnie once more when Mulder's voice stopped her--sure and clear through the dim haze. "Don't do it." His warning was followed by the metallic click of a gun being cocked. Scully squinted as lights suddenly flooded the bridge, and in moments there was a voice amplified over a bullhorn. "Nobody move! FBI! Everyone freeze!" The voice demanded. Scully looked at the vague outline of the figure she knew was Maynard. He didn't move. He only stood a few feet away from her. It was then that she realized that his gun was pointed at her. Lights dances and moved, as more then a dozen FBI and law enforcement agents swarmed onto the bridge. Maynard's driver and the driver of the other car were already in custody, but everyone held their breath as Maynard held the gun to Scully's head. The voice on the bullhorn blared once again and this time Scully recognized it as Assistant Director Skinner's. "I got a dozen men on this bridge, and I don't think you want to find out if I'm bluffing. Now put the gun down and step away from the woman. Now!" Still Maynard didn't move. It was Mulder's voice that gave Scully hope. She saw shadow shift to her right and knew it had to be him. "Maynard, if you don't believe him," Mulder warned, "then at least believe me." Whether it was a look Mulder had given him then, or whether Maynard had finally grasped the futility of his situation, his arm lowered. Scully saw him drop his weapon, and then his arms came up as he backed off, but as they did Scully saw the flash of movement from Maynard's direction. "Mulder!" she shouted, and turned to where she had last heard his voice. A loud crack sounded on the small dark bridge and then a man's cry of pain. Mulder had shot Maynard. The man lay bleeding on the concrete of the bridge. There were even more lights now, and shadowy figures stormed the bridge running across the packed snow, shouting orders. Scully saw Maynard fall, but her head hurt when the men came on the bridge with blaring lights. She turned to Mulder. Backlit by the glare of the headlamps, she saw a silhouette. Light turned to liquid to melt around the approaching figure. And when strong arms reached for her, lifting her from the snowy ground, Scully knew it was Mulder. Mulder heard Scully's whimper of relief and pulled her to him. Her body shivered once against his before she seemed to take strength from his embrace. Her arms tightened around his waist. She murmured his name, almost chanting it as he held her close. And only when he lowered her to the ground again did she stop. Taking her by the shoulders, Mulder held her at arms length. Nothing had ever looked so good in his life. "Scully, are you all right? Did they hurt you?" She shook her head. Her face glistened with tears, but her smile shone through. "Are you sure?" She nodded, and then Mulder noticed her eyes. It could have been the play of the lights coupled with his own exhaustion, but as her face tilted toward him, it seemed as though she were looking at him. Mulder touched her cheek with one cold finger and wiped away a tear. Her eyes never left his. "Scully, can you..." But he didn't need to finish. She was already nodding. "Mulder," she whispered, the last syllable curving her lips into a heartrending smile. She reached for him, her fingers trembling as they caressed his face. When he swept her up into his arms, Mulder felt his own darkness slip away. As the teams stormed the bridge, he was vaguely aware of the arrests being made. It was Scully who was the center of his world now. Mulder swore he would never let her go. * * * * Scully pulled her robe around herself and stepped closer to the window. Her breath cast a thin fog against the cold pane and when it cleared, she watched snow sparkle down in the pale shaft of lamplight. It scurried in fleeting tunnels of wind, and then disappeared into the early-morning shadows. Behind her, the bedroom lay in darkness, and she could hear Mulder's low breathing, a familiar and comforting sound. With the nightmare of Maynard behind them, remembering last night's events was not so terrifying. IT wasn’t until Skinner had found them in the midst of the commotion, assuring them that they had Maynard, Donnie, and the other thugs in custody that Scully realized what Mulder had done. If there had been any lingering doubt of Mulder's love, it was gone in that instant. As Mulder guided her to the car, Skinner had followed. She remembered him commending Mulder. And when he'd told her she was lucky, she hadn't known if the Assistant Director was referring to her ordeal with Maynard or to her reunion with Mulder. Skinner had agreed to let them go, provided they file reports in the morning. But when he suggested that Mulder take Scully to the hospital, Scully was adamant. She'd had more then her share of hospital visits, and doctors seldom make good patients. So Mulder had driven her home. Her mother had been absolutely frantic with worry by the time they came through the front door. She'd thrown her arms around Scully, and when she realized that Scully could actually see her, Maggie Scully had hugged her again. Her mother had stayed for a few more hours then agreed to go home and get some sleep. Still, Scully's vision had been very distorted. Dr. Delane had been wrong about the recovery time, but he'd been right about one thing. The best place to be during that disorientating period of blurred vision and wavering peripheral was in bed. Scully couldn't resist a smile as she remembered how Mulder had carried her to her bed, and the tender and passionate lovemaking they'd shared. No, she couldn't think of anyplace she'd rather have been. She was still smiling when she heard Mulder move through the dark room and come up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back against his strong solid body. "What are you doing up so early?" His question was a hoarse whisper in her ear. "Watching the snow." She swayed in the solace of his embrace. "I never thought snow could look so good." And she never thought she could feel so good, Scully mused as she leaned her head back against Mulder's chest. She never dreamed that the kind of love she had for Mulder was possible. For all these years, she'd been always too wrapped up with the work. It had taken the blindness, a forced break from work to see something that they eyes can't see. And now that her sight had returned, she understood that its temporary loss had been a blessing. Mulder was the only thing she saw in that darkness. Turning in his embrace, Scully pulled away far enough so she could look at him. Dark hair framed his handsome face--a face more beautiful then anything she could have ever imagined. She traced her fingers along the lines of his face as she had before, but this time her eyes followed: caressing the chiseled cheekbones, roving along his square jaw to his almost defiant chin, and finally trailing down and across his broad chest. And when she looked up again and caught his dark gaze, she saw the smile in his eyes as his lips curved beneath her fingertips. Seeing him in the delicate glow of the street lamp, feeling the heat of his body against hers, Scully felt the familiar desire sweep through her. "What?" Mulder asked, amusement turning up the corners of his mouth. She shook her head. "Nothing," she said, and traced the softness of his lips. "It's just...you're a real sight for sore eyes, you know that?" She couldn't see his smile as he drew her to him, but she felt its curve against her mouth. And as he kissed her, as he pressed his body to hers, Scully felt utter peace. In Mulder's arms, she found a profound sense of belonging, and she couldn't imagine ever being anywhere else. Mulder pulled back from the kiss and stared down at her. She met his admiring gaze, and he hoped she could see the love there. ******************************THE END*****************************************