Inferno III: Paradiso - The Collector's Edition
by Pellinor
<Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk>



RATING: PG

CLASSIFICATION: XA

SUMMARY: While Scully attempts to undo the damage wrought by recent 
events, Mulder gets drawn into a web of intrigue that could lead him 
to the truth, but could just as easily destroy him.
____

DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and their friends, families and enemies 
are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox and I torture them 
without permission but with no mercenary intent.

FEEDBACK: Yes please. Please send all comments to 
Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk

This story is the sequel to Inferno and Purgatorio. The actual X-File 
part of the plot is self-contained, but the character element draws 
heavily on these stories. A short summary is included below for people 
who haven't read Inferno and Purgatorio, which can be found on the 
various archives.

The title of all these stories is from Dante, but I have to admit that 
this story doesn't really fit its title very well. 
____

Inferno and Purgatorio summary:

Six months ago, Mulder was targeted by Lewis, a telepathic criminal 
who, rather unfairly, blamed him for ruining his life. Lewis 
interfered with his mind and memories, kidnapped him, and tried to 
kill him. The result of all this was that, by the end of the story, 
Mulder had come to believe the false memories he'd been shown, and, 
thinking that he'd ruined the lives of everyone who'd ever trusted 
him, longed only for death. Scully, needless to say, had other ideas, 
and swore to help Mulder through it, however long it took.

However, her resolve was soon put to the test. As far as she was 
concerned, Mulder wasn't even trying to get over what had happened. 
Although she tried to be supportive, she soon found the stress of 
having to be strong was threatening to get on top of her.

It all came to a head three months ago. When a traumatic case hit too 
close to home, Scully was pushed over the edge and all her pent-up 
frustrations came out. Soon she could hardly see Mulder without 
shouting at him. Eventually she was persuaded (by Skinner and her 
mother) that the only hope for either of them was if she backed off 
for a while. 

When we last saw them, Scully had just requested a temporary transfer 
from the X-Files. This story resumes three months later.....

**********

Tuesday 7 May 1996

Only blood could wipe out the image. Blood on the blade, dulling its 
deadly shine. Blood on the steel table, polished like a mirror. Blood 
on the image of her eyes, her frown. Blood...

But corpses don't bleed. Not much. Not enough. And this one, from the 
ghostly pallor, from the deep slashes across its body, had lost most 
of its blood when still alive.

"Oh God!" 

Scully's hands throbbed with the heat of imprisoned dampness behind 
her latex gloves, her fingers gripping the knife in a muscle-aching 
grip.

Eyes. Eyes everywhere, looking at her, reproaching her. The corpse's 
eyes, glazed and staring. And then the others.... Reflections in the 
knife, on the table, on the glass of the door. Cold eyes. Stern eyes. 
_Her_ eyes.

"Oh God!"

Was it just a distortion of the metal - the deadly blade lending its 
character to the face it reflected? Or were her eyes _really_ like 
that, her face moulded into a lifeless mask by the events of the last 
six months?

Was this how _he_ saw her?

With a barely-suppressed groan, she dropped the knife, hearing it 
clash against the other instruments, and tore at the gloves with a 
sudden desperate urgency. Then she ran her fingertips across her face, 
as if she could smooth out the lines of grief and anger with a touch, 
forcing her face to reflect an innocence she could no longer feel. 

It wasn't meant to be like this.

Three months now since that terrible night outside the hospital when 
she'd told Mulder she was leaving him, and still they seldom spoke to 
each other. Oh, the anger had all gone long ago, but....

It wasn't meant to be like this. Standing over a corpse, paralysed by 
regret, unable to carry out a simple autopsy, while Mulder....

Four o'clock. She shook her head suddenly, trying to shake away that 
train of thought, knowing it was hopeless. Four o'clock. Ten minutes 
since she'd picked up the knife, glancing at the clock to record the 
time she started the autopsy. Ten long minutes, and she'd scarcely 
glanced at the body. Ten minutes....

Was every second pushing Mulder deeper into the hell she'd left him 
in?

God! She'd only asked for a transfer as a last resort, firmly 
believing that a temporary break was the only way to salvage their 
relationship before they destroyed each other utterly. Spend her work 
hours away from him, be free from stress all day, and then be ready to 
support him in the evenings as he struggled to get over the terrible 
events of last November. That had been the idea. Simple. What could go 
wrong? 

Mulder.

It had never occurred to her that he'd push her away.

She could sometimes still feel the tears rising in her throat whenever 
she thought of those terrible few days after they'd come back from 
their last case. Long nights in her apartment, sitting, pacing, lying 
rigid on the bed staring at the ceiling, the phone almost constantly 
in her hand as she called him again and again, leaving message after 
message on his machine, never knowing if she was talking to an empty 
room, or if he was sitting there curled in the dark, needing her.

"Mulder, it's me. _Please_ pick up the phone." She must have filled up 
a whole tape with those words alone, the number of times she repeated 
them, her voice cracking more each time. 

"Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean the things I said. I just need a 
little space, just for a while, but I'll still be there for you. I 
want to help you."  

Had he even heard her words? He sure as hell hadn't _listened_ to 
them, hadn't believed them. Oh, he'd returned her calls occasionally, 
always calling just as she'd decided she'd waited long enough and was 
going round, terrified of what she'd find, though even after 
everything he'd been through she hadn't wanted to verbalise the 
thought "suicide." 

"I'm okay, Scully," he'd say - the same words, the same dead tone 
every time. "It's okay. I understand. You don't have to explain it to 
me."

And then he'd put the phone down, leaving her with a dead line, but 
volumes of words to speak.

Oh, she should have insisted then, in those early days before their 
separation had become a routine, a habit. She should have gone round, 
letting herself in and refusing to leave until they'd sorted something 
out. It was easy to see that now. But then.... Then the anger had 
still been too recent. Then, she couldn't be sure that she wouldn't 
shout at him again and thus destroy their relationship even more.

Play it safe. Keep your distance. Don't rock the boat. Careful, 
careful....

She'd been so sure she was doing to right thing, even though she could 
tell from his voice on the phone, from his eyes those few occasions 
she'd met him, that he was being torn apart by it. 

"Oh God!" she muttered now, wiping the tears from her eyes, 
remembering how that too had annoyed her once - how she'd shouted at 
him for sinking so deeply into depression that he could see no way 
out. Wallowing in it, that's what she'd said, when three months had 
gone by since a criminal had kidnapped him and convinced him he could 
read terrible things in his memory. Three months, and he hadn't begun 
to get over it. Three months, and the stress of dealing with him had 
awoken in her an all-consuming anger and frustration. Three months, 
and now another three months....

Wrong. She'd been wrong. Not wrong to leave him, though, for she still 
believed that things would have been worse had she stayed, feeling as 
she had. No, that had been _right_. That had been their last hope for 
recovery.

But she'd let it slip through her fingers.

Strange how she'd never realised that before - how the sight of her 
hard cold eyes in the steel had made her realise only now what she 
should have seen weeks, even months ago.

She should have pushed. 

A week. Two weeks. That's all she'd needed. Two weeks working regular 
hours, sleeping in her own bed every night, chatting to colleagues 
about everyday things, normal things. Two weeks working with people 
who wouldn't break apart at a single word. Two weeks away from him, 
and the anger had faded. She'd been able to think of him, even speak 
to him, without feeling her muscles clench, without hearing her voice 
loud and harsh in her ears. 

But she hadn't told him....

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she berated herself now, picking up the 
knife again and twisting it compulsively round and round in her hands. 

It had been pride, she could see that now. Twenty, thirty, forty phone 
calls later, she'd simply stopped trying. Oh, deep down she'd known 
that Mulder still needed her even though he felt that, for whatever 
reason, he couldn't tell her, but there was a limit to the number of 
times she could take his rejection. She'd done all she could, she'd 
told herself. She'd called and called and offered to help. Now it was 
up to him....

But he hadn't called. Of course he hadn't called. How could she have 
expected anything else, knowing what she did about his state of mind?

Had they ever....?

The knife twisted and turned, catching the light and flashing her own 
eyes, now moist and reproachful, back at her, pinning her with guilt.

Had they ever talked - _really_ talked - since she'd left?

Had she ever....?

Another turn, and she saw a tear trickle down her cheek, dimmed and 
distorted by the steel.

Had she ever _really_ been thinking of what was best for him, even 
right at the start? Oh, she'd sincerely wanted to help Mulder recover 
from what Lewis had done to him, but had she, even then, expected him 
to conform to _her_ idea of recovery? Had her anger come from the fact 
that his way of dealing with things wasn't hers?

"No!" She almost spoke aloud in instinctive denial.

But...

Maybe?

Oh God, maybe.... But if so, it was only because Mulder's idea of 
recovery was no recovery at all.

No recovery.

And she'd left him alone with that for three months.

"Oh God!" Those two words again, wishing they could be a prayer that 
could give her the last three months - no, give her the last _six_ 
months again and do them differently.

The knife turned again, sending a dazzling flash into her eyes as it 
caught the harsh over head light. Instinctively she shut her eyes, 
seeing the light change into the flashes of memory, imprinted on her 
mind so she'd never forget.

His face, white and lost, blood on his forehead, as she told him she 
was leaving, her words tumbling out harsher and crueller than she'd 
ever intended....

His face, months before that, as he'd woken up in the hospital and 
screamed with despair to find he wasn't dead....

His face, a week even before that, when he'd started seeing terrible 
visions and the whole nightmare had begun....

His face.... Always him. Always Mulder. Still dominating her thoughts, 
even when she'd scarcely seen him for three months.

How could she have thought she could live without him?

"Blind. I was blind," she whispered, opening her eyes and looking 
intensely around the room, as if to prove to herself that she was 
seeing properly now.

Had she ever been happy without him? 

It was a cruel question - one with no easy answers. Yes, she _had_ 
been happy, at least as first, relaxing in the.... _normality_ of it 
all. She'd made new friends, felt herself respected at work, and had 
even felt she was getting some sort of social life. She'd always known 
where she'd be the next day, where she'd sleep the next night, and 
hadn't once felt in any danger of her life. Secure? Yes. Happy....?

Why had it taken three months for her to detect the sadness beneath 
the facade, to see that for every gain there was a loss? 

Oh, she'd laughed with her colleagues, enjoying their normality, but 
deep down she was different - scarred. She'd seen too much, suffered 
too much, to ever be like them. Always, nagging at the back of her 
mind, were the questions. What had happened to her? Where was 
Samantha? For what cause had Melissa died? Questions, questions. But 
every day had taken her further away from the answers, further away 
from the person who could understand why she needed to know.

Mulder. There he was again, never far from her thoughts. Mulder....

No, don't think of him! The voice of reason hammered in her mind, 
urging caution. Be objective. Go back to him for the right reasons, 
because you _really_ want to, or everything will go wrong again. Don't 
think of him. You can see him, and still stay away, if that's what you 
want. But if you go back to the X-Files too, if must be for more than 
him.

More than Mulder....

And _there_ was reason to go back too. Truth to tell, she _missed_ the 
intellectual challenge of the X-Files. She'd even started seeing 
conspiracies where there were none, feeling almost disappointed when 
another day passed without incident. God, even today, even now....

She gasped with sudden memory, guiltily reaching for the cotton sheet 
and covering the naked body. The man was dead, killed horribly, and 
was going to be dissected, but there was no need to leave him naked 
and exposed while she chased her own demons. She'd be ready for him 
soon. Just a few more minutes to work this through, then she'd do her 
job. She'd take him apart, analyse him, then send him on through the 
proper channels. She wouldn't even worry about why he'd come here, 
when no-one remembered bringing him in, and why there was no name, no 
details, no.... nothing. Just a bureaucratic error. Not an X-File. Not 
a conspiracy.

But....

What would he say if he was here, pacing at the edges of the room, 
half-fascinated, half-repelled by the whole process? Oh, it was 
obvious. He'd be miles ahead by now, his mind racing down channels 
she'd never dream of, coming up with ever more outlandish ideas that 
would make her smile fondly even as she tried to frown. And this time 
he'd have every reason. A mysterious corpse that no-one remembered 
arriving. An anonymous request for her presence at the autopsy. And 
the corpse itself.... Deep wounds from penetrating implements. An as-
yet unknown substance oozing from the injuries. Metal objects inserted 
under the flesh. _She_ could see at a glance that the wounds were 
caused by crude earthly instruments inflicted by a ordinary human 
killer, but that wouldn't stop him. Of _course_ it was obvious what 
he'd think.

Or what he _would_ have thought. 

Mulder again, the memory making her swallow back the tears that were 
rising in her throat.

She _missed_ him - intensely, painfully. Not the damaged Mulder of the 
last few months, but the old Mulder - the man he had been before all 
this had started - the man he could be again, if she....

The knife turned again, the blade slicing through her memories, 
drawing blood.

"But you left him. You left him, though you knew it would break him." 
Her conscience whispered in her mind, nagging and relentless.

"No! I meant it for the best. It was for his own good. It was...."

"Call him." Whisper, whisper, nudging her mind. "Call him now. Call 
him later. Call him at home. Visit him. Talk to him. Help him. Hold 
him. Stay with him."

"Later..."

Oh God, why was she _still_ delaying? Why wasn't her hand reaching 
into her pocket even now, dialling his still-familiar number, talking 
and talking until he accepted she was coming back to stay, that she'd 
never leave him alone again?

Her hands were trembling slightly as she held the knife, and she could 
hear her breathing, fast and shaky, in her chest. 

Scared. That was it. She was scared. Scared that he'd resist again and 
her resolve would crumble and the anger would return. Scared that the 
old Fox Mulder had been so destroyed by the recent events that she'd 
never get him back, however hard she tried. Scared that the whole 
nightmare would start again. Scared....

"Later..."

Yes, later. She'd call him later, at home. She call him and make him 
see her, and then she'd tell him she was back for good. And this time 
she'd smile, not look at him with the harsh eyes she'd seen in the 
steel. She'd smile, even if his own eyes made her want to cry for him. 
She'd smile, and hold him, and convince him, and then, day by day, 
layer by layer, she'd help him undo the devastation of the last six 
months. It might take weeks. It might take months. But this time she'd 
let him take it at his own pace, and they'd get there, together.

Together.

**********

Scully....

Hair shining as she bent over the desk, the ghost of a smile on her 
lips as she read the latest case file, shaking her head in fond 
exasperation at his newest theory. 

Scully....

Looking up as the door opened, her smile blossoming into a warm smile 
of welcome, even as she prepared her usual objections to his 
reasoning.

Scully....

Competent and assured, her voice crisp as she gave her objections, 
pointing out points he'd missed even as she came with him, supported 
him, saved him.

Scully....

Mulder paused outside his office and leant back against the wall, 
shutting his eyes to savour the memory, even as he knew he shouldn't. 
She wouldn't come back, not now. What did memory do but bring pain, 
showing him how it could have been, tormenting him with the present?

He shook his head abruptly, passing a hand over his eyes to drive away 
the past, desperately trying to find something to erase her image in 
his memory.

Think, Mulder. Think.... Not Sc... not _her_. Think. Something - 
_anything_. Something vibrant, and hopeful and.... and _now_.

But what...?

Television, last night, the night before? A blur. Chatter and music 
washing across his senses, leaving no trace. Hours and hours staring 
at a flickering picture of.... what?

The latest UFO pictures that the Lone Gunmen had forwarded to him days 
ago? Oh, he'd looked at them, desperately trying to summon up the 
enthusiasm they'd have aroused in him in the past, but in his mind 
they were flat and featureless.

The novel still resting on the arm of his couch? Just pages and pages 
of black patterns. Once he could have unravelled the code and derived 
pictures and emotions from the marks on the page, but now....

Nothing.

God, there was nothing.

Just an empty apartment, an empty office, an empty life.

"Scully."

He looked around guiltily, realising he'd spoken aloud, but what was 
the point? There was no-one there. Of course there was no-one there.

"Sc..."

No! Don't think of her. Don't think of her. She's in the past now. 
Stop mourning the death of the past, and try to salvage the future. 
_Think_.

But....

"No!" He clenched his fists, silencing the selfish little whimper in 
the back of his mind. He had to think of Scully - _had_ to. However 
much it tormented him, he had to remember what this was all about. It 
was the only way to continue.

Scully....

Smiling with her new colleagues, talking, laughing. Going out in the 
evenings. Going on dates. Sleeping long and deep at night, untroubled 
by the anxiety of a case, undisturbed by his selfish phone calls.

Scully....

Secure in the pathology department, in charge of several members of 
staff. Doing work that was admired and respected. A strong chance of 
promotion.

Scully....

Smiling. Always smiling. Her eyes untroubled, the shadows gone from 
her life. 

Smiling....

Had she ever smiled - _really_ smiled - when she was with...?

"No!" He wiped his hand over his face again, letting the fingers dig 
painfully into his eyes to drive out the selfish tears that shouldn't 
have been there.  

Scully was happy. _That_ was all that mattered. _That_ was the only 
reason to keep going. Scully was happy.

But he....

"No!" He reached for the door handle at last, throwing the door open 
with the force of his anger. What was wrong with him? Why was he 
_still_ so selfish that he could even _care_ about that? 

Scully was happy. He was alone, and Scully was happy. 

Scully was....

A noise. A sudden rustle of papers. A guilty movement.

Not alone after all. _Him_.

"Agent Mulder!" The voice was anxious, startled. "I didn't hear you 
coming." Then a quick flash of smile, betrayed by shifting glance of 
the shadowed eyes, looking anywhere but at his face.

Dan Walker, his new "partner," although he knew he could never think 
of him like that.  By now, the words "partner" and "Scully" were 
synonymous, as if he had never had any other.

It was three weeks now - three or four - since Skinner had called him 
into his office and told him, his eyes clouded with sympathy even as 
he'd lied.

"How are you, Agent Mulder?" he'd asked, leaning forward 
confidentially with an expression that made him feel like a butterfly 
caught on a pin. Hostility he could handle, and opposition, but.... 
pity? Concern? 

Then, later, when he'd grunted non-comittally, unable to meet his 
gaze, Skinner had looked away, almost embarrassed. "I'm afraid I've 
got to assign you a new partner, Agent Mulder."

He'd kept his face impassive, although inside he was screaming. New 
partner. New partner. That meant she wasn't coming back. She wasn't 
coming back. _Her_ desk, _her_ chair, _her_ hook on the coat rack.... 
they'd all become someone else's until there was nothing left of her 
in the office.

"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder." A quick, almost furtive glance at the ash-
tray next to the "No smoking" sign. "I have to do this. They'll use 
your working alone as an excuse to shut down the X-Files. If I give 
you a temporary partner, it will keep the pressure off until Agent 
Scully returns."

Mulder had almost laughed aloud then - a bitter laugh that was closer 
to tears. When Scully returns. He'd said, "When Scully returns." 
Didn't he realise how cruel it was to torture a man with false hopes? 
Didn't he know...?

"Don't do this." He'd been speaking aloud before he knew it, hating 
himself even as he spoke. It was bad enough that he felt this way, 
without telling anyone, without revealing how selfish he was in still 
wanting her back. "Don't lie to me. She's not coming back, and you 
know it."

"Agent Mulder." It had been that look again - that terrible 
claustrophobic look of pity. God! Scully had accused him of failing to 
face up to his responsibilities. Now even Skinner felt he needed to 
protected from the truth. "Agent Scully just needs a little time. She 
said...."

"So she talks to y...." And then he'd cut off mid-sentence, knowing 
how unjust he was being. Of course she'd talked to Skinner. On that 
last case they'd been on, Skinner had supported her, listened to her 
concerns, while he'd selfishly ignored what he was doing to her.

"She still cares about you, Mulder. She only ever intended a temporary 
separation. You _know_ that. She must have told you."

But Mulder had just shrugged, looking down to hide his face, knowing 
that Skinner was just saying that to protect him from the truth. 

She wasn't coming back. For the sake of her own happiness, she 
_mustn't_ come back. He'd known that then, and he knew that now, even 
though that knowledge sometimes sapped him of the strength to go on - 
even as that knowledge was at the same time the only thing that made 
it imperative that he _did_ go on. How could he burden Scully with the 
guilt of him giving up just after she'd left him? 

It was for the best, he _knew_ that. Best for her, certainly. And as 
for him - what did that matter? What right did he have to think of 
himself?

Yes, it was for the best....

But that didn't stop it hurting, didn't stop each day from feeling 
like a vast eternity of empty minutes to be endured before a sleepless 
night alone in the dark.

"Agent Mulder?" Agent Walker's voice cut into his memories, pulling 
him from one empty room into another. "Are you all right?"

Mulder gave a quick shout of bitter laughter - laughter that held no 
mirth in it at all. What would these people - Skinner, Walker and the 
rest - say if he gave them an honest answer, if he _really_ told them 
how he was feeling? Oh, they pretended to be concerned, asking for 
form's sake, but they didn't want to know, not really. Scully had been 
the only one who'd really cared, and he'd driven her away.

"What were you doing at my desk?" he asked, trying to feel enough 
anger to drown out the force of his indulgent self-pity, but failing 
dismally. 

"I'm sorry. I was just looking at the Georgetown file." Walker's eyes 
wouldn't stay still. "I assumed we'd be investigating that next, and I 
wanted to be prepared. I... I..." He faltered to a halt, before 
looking up at last, almost defiantly. "I want to contribute properly 
to this partnership while it lasts."

But Mulder had scarcely been listening to his words. "What Georgetown 
file?" He'd had a hard enough time recently concentrating on what he 
read, but he was sure he wasn't so far gone that he'd completely 
forget a case.

"This one." Walker picked up a file from Mulder's desk and handed it 
to him. "It was lying on your desk?" he prompted. "I thought you'd 
been looking at it yesterday evening?"

Mulder frowned, feeling some tiny spark of interest at the mystery, 
even though most of his mind knew it didn't really matter. "I haven't 
seen that before."

He reached for the file, flicking through the contents quickly, barely 
listening to Walker's voice as he hesitantly described the case.

"It's a missing person's case," Walker said. "Two people have 
disappeared in the same area in the last week, and at least one 
witness reports seeing a bright light." Then he paused, doubtfully. 
"Are you _sure_ you've not read this before?"

Mulder remained silent, turning away slightly, hoping the man would 
take this as a dismissal. It was strange how the little things seemed 
to hurt the most. The sound of Walker's voice made the text swim 
before his eyes as he suddenly, painfully, was reminded of all those 
occasions when _he'd_ talked through a case, feeling Scully's eyes on 
him as he spoke, warm in her support even as she was marshalling a 
whole host of objections.

"But then...." Walker's voice rose slightly, taking on a higher, 
faster tone. "The first one was found, all cut up as if.... Well, the 
youth who found him said it looked as if he'd been hurt with no 
implement known on earth."

Mulder shrugged, leafing through the file in vain for a photograph of 
the body. "How could he tell that?" he asked, thinking aloud, not 
wanting an answer.

"I don't know, but there seems to be _something_ going on," Walker 
continued, warming to his theme. "You look at the last page. There was 
an autopsy scheduled, but at the last minute the body was sent away 
for an autopsy elsewhere, and they never got a report back. Someone 
didn't want the truth to be discovered."

Mulder shut the file, throwing it down with a sigh. Walker's words 
were grating on his ears. All this talk of aliens, and cover-ups.... 
It was how _he'd_ have sounded, before. Now.... Well, he still 
_believed_, but now he knew too that there was more to it than he'd 
ever thought, when he'd naively taken on the world, always looking 
elsewhere for his enemies, not realising his worst enemy was himself.

"Are we going to investigate?" Walker asked, his face clouding over at 
the long silence. "If someone put the file there for you, perhaps it's 
something really important."

Mulder sighed again, passing a hand across his face, wishing he could 
feel any real interest in the case. He knew, of course, that Walker 
was probably being disingenuous - that he probably put the file there 
himself, acting on some unfathomable order from his superiors. Walker 
was another Krycek, he was sure of it - pretty sure. There was no 
other way _they_ would have allowed him to have a partner who seemed 
to _believe._ Not unless....

He walked across the room, hearing his steps resound on the tense 
silence, feeling Walker's eyes on his back. He didn't want to complete 
that thought, but knew he couldn't escape the possibility.

Not unless.... Oh God! The other possible reason for Walker's 
presence. Did they realise the truth? Did they know he was so broken 
by events that he posed no real threat, not any more? That even with a 
new partner, a believer, he could make no dents in their plans? If 
indeed he ever had....

And if _they_ saw that, then what about _her_?

He turned round suddenly, making up his mind. "Okay. We'll go."

Scully. It was _her_ again, making him decide. The thought of her 
anxious phone calls at the start of their separation, when she'd 
assured him she'd be there if he needed her. God! If he needed her. Of 
course he needed her - his partner, his friend, his anchor. Of course 
he did. But he couldn't tell her that - couldn't put her under any 
pressure to end her new and happy life. For her sake, he had to keep 
up an appearance of normality, coming into work every day, pursuing X-
Files as if they mattered.

Once, he'd hoped that, one day, they _would_ matter again.

But now...?

Now all that mattered was the facade - letting her know he could cope 
without her, letting her live her life without guilt. 

But he was weak, he knew that - knew it with a terrible sense of 
shame. Weak.

And for that reason he must never talk to her, never see her, not now, 
not yet. One day he'd be strong enough to see her without the facade 
shattering. 

One day.

But not yet.

**********

"This is Fox Mulder. Please leave a message."

He drew himself into the soft dark cushions of the couch, retreating 
from the sound of his own voice on the tape. Why had he left it on? 
Why had he let himself in for this.... this _torture_?

Please. Let it be her. _Don't_ let it be her. I want to hear her voice 
- the warmth and vibrancy of someone fully alive, someone who'd once 
cared. I want to....

"No! I _can't_!" Heart pounding, fingers tightly clenched and damp. "I 
can't!" Speaking aloud, covering the first words, soft and hesitant, 
most longed for but most exquisite torture.

".... Mulder?" 

Silence. Just the sound of him licking his dry lips, swallowing hard.

"Please pick up the phone, Mulder. I know you're there."

So quiet. So soft. So.... forgiving.

"Mulder. _Please_. We need to talk. I want to.... _Please_ pick up the 
phone."

Silence. He sat so still there was not the slightest creak from the 
cushions of the couch, not even the sound of his rigidly controlled 
breathing. 

Talk to me, Scully. Stay with me. Come to me....

Go away. Please go away. I can't.... I'm weak. I can't....

"Mulder...."

Scully. I'm here. Come back to me, Scully. I'm sorry about everything. 
I've been talking to a counsellor like you said. I've accepted Lewis 
left me with problems. I'm dealing with them. I won't land them on 
you. I just.... I just need to see someone - _you_ - smile at me, need 
to have a friend, need to have a partner. I just need you. Please come 
back to me, Scully. I'm lost.... alone.... wandering in the dark. I 
need you.

"No!"

He hadn't been aware of moving until his fingers brushed the top of 
the phone, and he pulled them back abruptly.

No! Don't touch it, don't look at it, don't _think_ of it. Don't 
listen. Cover your ears and don't listen. Words, her words, inaudible 
now through the pall of silence, through the torrent of words in his 
mind.

Scully. I'm here. I'm okay. Thanks for calling.... No, I'm busy right 
now, and I'm off on a case tomorrow.... No, I'm okay, really.... No, 
I'd love to see you but I'm really busy these next few weeks.... Yes, 
maybe next month. Maybe.... How are you?.... Oh, I'm glad..... 
Goodbye.

"Mulder, please talk to me." Her voice, loud and pleading, sounding 
even through the muffling pressure of his hands on his ears.

But how could he talk to her? He couldn't tell the truth, but how 
could he lie when those words, those well-rehearsed words, would be 
contradicted by the shake in his voice, by the fact that he knew 
beyond a doubt that he'd never be able to get more than a few 
sentences into it without breaking down?

"I know you're there, Mulder. Please think about what I said. I'll 
call back soon."

Oh God, no! Not again! Calling again and again, grinding down his 
resistance until there was nothing left, until he told her the truth, 
until he put the shadow of guilt on her happiness.

But where could he hide?

**********

The ringing filled the whole room, his whole being. Cold, mechanical, 
_cruel_. Ringing relentlessly, no corner of his mind free from its 
nagging torment.

He'd turned off the tape this time, sure that, protected from the 
sound of her voice, he'd be free.

But he'd been wrong.

Ringing, ringing. Making his teeth clench, his muscles tighten, his 
throat constrict with tension. 

Frozen on the couch, his limbs numb from immobility. Eyes shut in the 
dark. No touch, no feel, no.... Just the sound - the one solitary 
noise that filled everything, letting nothing escape from its grip.

No escape.

**********

Five minutes this time, before it started again.

Five minutes of silence, but also five minutes of quaking dread that 
it would return again, and that it would be _her_. 

He couldn't. He just couldn't.

**********

It would be different this time.

Scully sat, tight and tense, on Mulder's couch, her eyes staring at a 
book she wasn't reading and her mind wandering down the dark pathways 
of the past.

But it would be different this time.

For one thing, there was the light. His overhead light. The lamp. All 
the lights she could find, bathing his apartment in a yellow glow she 
was sure it hadn't seen, not for months. And then there was the 
television, a companionable sound from across the room, even though 
she wasn't watching it, not really.

Three months ago, it was now. Three months since she'd sat here in the 
dark, waiting for him to return from wherever he'd wandered to, her 
mind made up to force him to face up to his problems. 

"Mulder, we can't go on like this," she'd said then, meaning only to 
persuade him to seek some help so he could get back to normal. So 
_they_ could get back to normal.

"You can get out of this whenever you like!" he'd snapped, using anger 
to hide his pain, making the anger rise in her, despite her best 
intentions.

"Damn it, Mulder. That's not what I meant!"

Oh, she'd been so sure of it, then - so naive, even after three months 
of dealing with Mulder's problems, watching helplessly as the weeks 
went by and the memory of what Lewis had done had shown no signs of 
fading. 

Just four days later she'd left him, her words cruel even as her 
intentions had been kind.

But it would be different this time. It _had_ to be.

Minutes.... hours. However long it took, she'd be waiting for him. And 
then, when he same back, they'd sit down and talk, _really_ talk, and 
wouldn't stop until something had been sorted out. 

Mulder, I want to help you.

No! _That_ wasn't the right approach. That would just play on his 
guilt, making him think she was sacrificing her own happiness to help 
him. No, she should make him believe she wanted to return for her 
_own_ reasons.

And that was no less than the truth.

Mulder, I've been thinking....

She'd try and sound casual, try to hide the tremor that would be in 
her voice as she held her fists tense with the hope that he'd not 
refuse.

Mulder, I've been thinking about.... about my new job. It's just not 
what I want to do.... The fact is, Mulder, I _miss_ the X-Files. I 
enjoy the mental challenge. I want to find the truth as much as you 
do. They're _part_ of me now, and I can't let them go.

Oh, he'd object. Of course he'd object. She'd heard it all before - 
heard every possible variation of his guilt. But this time she'd 
silence his objections, convince him that she _did_ want to be back 
with the X-Files.

And back with Mulder himself? What of that?

She'd smile, touch him gently on the arm, and tell him that she'd 
missed him. There was nothing wrong with that. They'd  been - they 
were - friends and partners after all. Three years seeing each other 
nearly every day, then three months apart. Of course she'd missed him.

But she wouldn't say anything about his problems, about wanting to 
help him piece his life together again. Not yet.

Keep it uncontroversial. Skate over the deep issues, fixing their 
friendship, restoring their partnership. _That_ was the priority. Once 
they were back together and he was secure in her support, then _that_ 
was the time to tackle the deeper wounds. 

But she _would_ tackle them, and this time she would _heal_ them.

Yes, it would be different this time.

She couldn't afford to think any other way.

**********

Wednesday 8 May
____

Cold. He was so cold. 

Mulder sat on the bench, eyes unfocused as they stared at images that 
existed only in memory, feeling the fingers of cold reach in and try 
to draw him back to the present, try to distract his thoughts by their 
needling presence.

It was the only way....

Cold, seeping into his flesh from the metal bench, chafing his face 
from the surrounding air. Cold - and the darkness of the night which 
embraced him, encompassed him.

After five o'clock now. Not long. Soon the first tendrils of dawn 
would reach in from the east, bringing another day, bringing him 
escape.

A small sound in the night - a scraping rattle.

He no longer turned his head at the noises, no longer wasted any of 
his thoughts on who, or what, might be watching him, and with what 
intention. Probably just a scrap of paper blowing in the wind. 
Probably. And if it was someone else - someone who preyed on the 
darkness, fed on its pickings and its blood - then what of that? 

He sighed, thinking again of _her_. Perhaps he _should_ have checked 
into a hotel, after he'd packed his bags and ran blindly from his 
apartment, still hearing the ringing echoing in his head. Hours and 
hours sitting outside in the cold darkness - it was asking for 
trouble. Not that _he_ really cared, of course, but _she_.... Even now 
he knew it would cause her pain, would burden her with a guilt she 
must never feel.

But it was after five now. No point now. Just four hours - not even 
that. Only four more hours to endure, knowing he couldn't go back, 
just in case. Nothing to do but wait....

Nine o-clock. That was the time he'd arranged to meet his par... to 
meet Walker. Their tickets already booked for the flight, they would 
meet at the airport, and then he'd be safe - safe from having to see 
her.

Why had she suddenly started calling him again? Why hadn't she...?

He just needed _time_. He wasn't ready, not just yet. The wound was 
still too fresh, and seeing her would just exacerbate it - reminding 
him of what could never be - taunting him, perhaps, with the image of 
what never was.

It _wasn't_ cowardly, he told himself, knowing he was deceiving 
himself even as he said it. He _hadn't_ run away, not really. It was 
for the best. If Scully came round she'd find him gone, assume he was 
on a case, and would go away, secure in the knowledge that he was 
coping without her, that there was no need for her to feel any guilt 
about never wanting to return.

And him...?

Two or three days on a case - maybe longer. Several days to think, to 
prepare himself for talking to her when he returned. Several days to 
practice the facade so it wouldn't crack, not even if he was brought 
face to face with her.

Several days....

And then, maybe, just maybe, he'd find that the facade had become a 
reality, burnt into him by long practice.

Maybe...?

**********

He wasn't coming.

A beam of soft light snaked through the blinds, falling across her 
eyes, rousing her to full wakefulness.

He wasn't coming.

Scully hadn't realised she'd fallen asleep, but the light told a 
different story. Last time she'd noticed it had been fully dark. She'd 
yawned, reached for the light switch, and leant back on the couch, 
sure that she wouldn't sleep, but her eyes suddenly desperate to rest 
in the dark, her mind craving to be left alone to think, undisturbed 
by the distractions of her senses.

He wasn't coming.

Even now, she felt a small surge of anger, resentful that, even after 
everything, he could still disappear without telling her, oblivious to 
her anxiety, but it disappeared almost as soon as she'd thought it. 
Why should he tell her? She was the one who'd walked out on him, 
leaving him for weeks without even a phone call, even as she'd assured 
him that she'd be there for him. Why should he even think she'd _care_ 
where he was gone?

But where was he?

She sat up, resting her head in her hands, realising how little she 
knew him now. When she'd called him, she'd automatically assumed he'd 
be in, but what did she know? He could have been on a case for several 
days now, without her knowing. He could have a girlfriend, and 
regularly spend nights with her. He could be....

"Oh, Mulder!" she muttered, shaking her head sadly. "This wasn't 
supposed to happen." 

A few weeks apart to get their lives back together. That's all she'd 
wanted. Not _this_.
God! She'd only wanted to _heal_ their partnership, not to shatter it.

There was a crash as she stood up suddenly, knocking his book to the 
floor as she grabbed her coat. He wasn't coming now. There was no 
point waiting for him. Best to get back to work - to focus her life on 
the future rather than the past.

But she'd try again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for as 
long as it took.

**********

He'd hoped her image would be fainter here, hundreds of miles away 
from her, surrounded by people and places that were strangers to him, 
unshadowed by their familiarity.

He was wrong.

She hadn't been here, so there was no memory of her entwined 
inseparably with the places, the way there was in the office, in his 
apartment. No, this was new territory - a place that should have been 
untainted by comparisons with what might have been. A new place, a new 
case, a new life - that's what it should have been - that's what, deep 
down, he'd even dared to hope, as he'd watched the clouds shift and 
change beneath the plane, taking him away from the past.

But he'd been wrong.

There were just too many memories - too many cases. Arriving in a new 
town, hiring a car.... Scully there at his side, teasing him about 
going automatically to the driver's side. Checking into the hotel.... 
Scully leaning forward, signing her name in the register, her hair 
shining like fire as if fell across her face. Going to interview their 
first witness.... Scully's face, frowning in fond rebuke, warning him 
to consider the facts before jumping to hasty conclusions.

Scully....

He needed her. God, he needed her. Needed her tact - her skill at 
setting a witness at ease when his own style often antagonised them. 
Needed her clear-headed intelligence - her ability to see through the 
fantasy and point out the holes in his theory. Needed her....

"So, what happened then?" Walker's voice held a note of desperation as 
he leant towards the witness, his eyes darting at Mulder's face, 
appealing for help.

Mulder cleared his throat, desperately playing back the course of the 
questioning in his memory, finding the blanks.

"Yes, Ms..." A quick glance at his notes. "Ms Daniels. What happened 
after you heard the sound?"

God! He hoped he was on the right track. How long had he faded out? 
How many minutes had been swallowed up in thought while Walker and Ms 
Daniels waited for him to speak?

"Well...." Elaine Daniels twisted her fingers, although she seemed 
ready enough to talk, her voice unravaged by the anxiety which had 
made her face pale, her eyes deeply shadowed. "As I said, I was asleep 
when it happened. It woke me up. It was a noise - someone shouting, I 
thought it was. Someone in pain. It was...." She passed a hand over 
her face, hiding her eyes for a while. "It was horrible. I had to find 
out.... I had to try and help."

"So you went straight out?" Mulder felt he had to say something, had 
to compensate for his earlier silence, but he really couldn't bring 
himself to care about the answer.

"I _had_ to!" she said, almost defiantly. "I couldn't ignore the 
cries. I just went straight out into the dark. It was so cold." She 
shivered with the memory, drawing herself in as if she was still cold 
and vulnerable.

"But the police only found your footprints in the area the next 
morning," Walker said suddenly, his voice almost apologetic. "And they 
weren't _bare_ feet."

Where had he got _that_ from? Mulder shrugged, trying to signal he was 
happy to hand over to Walker for the rest of the questioning. Truth 
was, he'd still scarcely looked at the file, and certainly didn't have 
the knowledge to extract the truth from this witness.

"Oh, I guess I stopped to put my shoes on," she said, shrugging as if 
it was of no importance. "I was so scared, I can't really remember. 
All I remember is running out, then...." She took a deep breath, 
looking down at her clasped hands. "Then there was a bright light.... 
someone calling for help. But I couldn't.... I couldn't do anything. I 
couldn't move."

Mulder stood up suddenly, hearing the crash as his chair toppled over 
backwards and hit the floor, hearing the gasp of alarm from the two 
other people in the room.

Was _this_ what it was all about? Was _this_ the reason someone, 
probably _them_, had pushed him towards this case? Did they want to 
torment him with _that_? Didn't they _realise_? He'd really thought 
they understood now - couldn't think how they'd missed it, seeing as 
they normally watched every move. It was six months now since he'd 
been shown how truly to blame he really was for Samantha's 
disappearance - six months in which he'd lived with that knowledge 
every day. He lived the memory every day. Could they really think 
there was any fresh pain that this pale imitation of his experience 
could cause him?

"No!" he whispered, his hands clenched tight. He'd nearly been broken 
by _that_ six months ago - that and other things. Slowly, slowly he 
was getting over it, working towards a future in which he could live 
without a partner and friend and still be happy. He wouldn't let it be 
ruined by _this_.

"Who made you say this?" he asked suddenly, hardening his heart to the 
gasp of pain from the women, to the protective hand Walker half-raised 
towards her arm. "Was it _them_? Are they still playing _those_ 
games?"

"It's true!" the woman cried, sobs in her voice although there were no 
tears in her eyes. "Why would I make it up? It was.... it was 
horrible. I heard someone hurt... taken, and I couldn't stop them. 
They're probably...." She took a deep breath, visibly struggling for 
control. "They're probably dead now, like that other man."

"What do you know about that other man?" Mulder asked, relentless, 
hoping his mask was holding.

"Nothing!" She was all outraged innocence. "Just.... Well, people 
talk. I heard.... Someone said another man - a doctor - had 
disappeared and had been found.... dead.... hurt horribly. They said 
something about.... tests?" She wouldn't look at him, only at Walker, 
her voice rising slightly as if seeking his support.

"That's right." Walker's voice was soothing, his hand hovering near 
her arm, still not having the courage to touch her. "That's what 
people say, but don't worry about it. Rumours aren't always true. We 
hope we can find the person you heard. You've been very helpful."

Mulder could scarcely stifle a bitter laugh. She'd been helpful! God, 
yes! Helpful in whatever scheme she was involved in. Helpful in 
whatever scheme Walker might be involved in with her. Once he'd have 
been naive enough to fall for it. Once. But not now. She was lying, he 
could just feel it. He didn't know why. He didn't really _care_ why. 
But she was lying.

He knew he should play back her words, compare them with the file he 
should have read, and find some internal contradiction he could 
confront her with, but it was just too much effort.

But she _was_ lying. She _had_ to be. There was no way _they_ would 
allow him on a case like this, make this witness so easy to find, 
unless they were trying to lead him away from the truth.

He supposed he should care.

But it was something - something to do.... something to show people - 
to show _her_ - that he was coping.... something to occupy a small 
part of his mind so that eventually, one day, he _would_ care.

But what if, for some unfathomable reason, he _was_ being led to the 
truth? What if she _wasn't_ lying? What if this _was_ the path to the 
answer - to his.... to Samantha? 

"I'm going back to the hotel," he said suddenly, seeing Walker wince 
at the abruptness of his tone.

There was still enough of him that _did_ care.

And so he would study the files, properly this time, trying to forget, 
if only for a minute, that _she_ wasn't there to add her own 
commentary on them. He would study the files, and then.... And 
then...?

It would be the supreme irony, he thought as he shut the door behind 
him, leaning his head back to feel the cold air on his face, if he was 
being led to the truth only after it had stopped being so important to 
him. 

But he couldn't turn his back on this chance. Not if, somewhere, 
Samantha was out there and could be found. Not if she could come back 
and could tell him...

God! He knew only too well how little he deserved it, but still, 
somewhere in the back of his mind, was the hope that she would return 
and would look at him with her solemn dark eyes, and speak to him:

"Fox, I forgive you."

**********

"You wanted to see me, Agent Scully?" 

Scully started, not having heard the soft footsteps approach, their 
sound obscured by the running water.

"Yes. I.... I made an appointment. Tomorrow morning?" She reached for 
a towel to dry her hands, keeping her face lowered to cover her 
confusion. What was Skinner doing _here_? 

"I know. But I had an appointment here. It finished early so I thought 
I'd save you the journey." Skinner spoke with his usual gruff 
detachment, but his eyes suggested a deeper meaning - one she wasn't 
quite sure she understood.

"If you just give me a minute, sir. I've just finished an autopsy. I'm 
just.... tidying up." Her voice sounded surprisingly calm in her own 
ears, but inside she was floundering. It was so soon. She wasn't 
ready. She'd expected a whole night to go over what she wanted to say, 
to plan how to counter any objections. But now.... How could she 
start?

"It's okay, Agent Scully." Skinner gave her a brief smile. "You 
needn't rush. Finish what you need to do. I'll be in the canteen when 
you're.... ready." He stressed this last word, leaning forward a 
fraction so he met her eyes, and she wondered suddenly if he 
understood after all. 

"I.... Thank you, sir." She leant over a pile of surgical implements, 
rattling them in a pretence of sorting them out, although she knew it 
wasn't really necessary. She was just playing for time, trying 
desperately to sort out her feelings into words, and Skinner had just 
suggested he knew that as well as she did. "I'll be over in a few 
minutes."

It was only when she heard the thump of the closing door that she knew 
it was safe to let out the breath she'd not been aware she'd been 
holding.

"Oh God! Oh God!" she muttered. Her fingers twisted convulsively in 
the gold cross she wore from her neck, and she knew her words were 
closer to a prayer than to blasphemy. "Help me.... Help me get it 
right."

Half past three. The time suddenly seemed to be everywhere, the image 
of the dark hands on the clock face staring down at her from the wall. 
Half past three. 

By four o'clock it could be.... _they_ could be.....

"No!" She slammed a fist down on the table, hearing the metal 
implements clatter with a harsh and painful sound. She would _not_ 
think like that. There had been just too many months of pessimism and 
despair, for her as well as for Mulder.

So, she hadn't practised what she was going to say? Then she'd speak 
from the heart, and be all the more eloquent for it. 

He wouldn't say no. He couldn't say no. He _mustn't_.....

She turned to the mirror, smoothing her hair with her hand, wishing 
the face she saw reflected could show at least some of the confidence 
she was so desperately trying to feel. 

**********

"The coffee's better than I remember it." Skinner swirled his half-
empty cup, frowning with appreciation. "Not as good as in my office, 
but then that's one of the perks of being an Assistant Director."

It was too much. 

"Sir...." Scully began, her voice cracking with impatience. They both 
knew what was at stake here. Why was he discussing the coffee, for 
God's sake? "I want...."

"So, how are you, Agent Scully?" Skinner held up a hand to stop her 
flow of words. His voice was casual, but his eyes bored into hers with 
intensity, dark and warning. "I hear good things of your work. I trust 
that you enjoy it."

"I.... I'm okay, sir. I do enjoy practising my medical training 
again." It was all she could do to keep her voice level, but she 
hadn't spent three years with Mulder not to know how to play along 
with the strangest of situations, confident that she'd get an 
explanation as soon as it was safe.

"That's good. It's what you originally wanted to do, isn't it?" He 
leant towards her across the table, but his eyes flashed briefly to 
the next table, where a man was putting his jacket on, standing 
unnecessarily close to their table as he did so.

Scully shrugged, trying to force a smile. She suspected now what 
Skinner's game was, but couldn't bring herself to say "yes" to his 
question. Somehow, it seemed like a betrayal of Mulder - as if saying 
out loud that the X-Files were simply a misguided interlude in her 
chosen career path would somehow make it come true.

There was a scrape as the chair was pushed under the table and the man 
rose and walked away. There was no-one else on earshot.

"Agent Scully." Skinner seemed to relax into his chair. "What did 
you...."

"Was that really necessary?" Scully interrupted, gesturing to the 
empty chair. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed at him for forcing her 
towards a betrayal of Mulder, or amused by his excessive precautions. 
"Not wanting to talk in your office. Waiting till no-one could 
hear.... You don't think someone....?"

Skinner sighed. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. Probably not. 
But I know who you want to talk about, and they're still interested in 
him, even after.... even now."

The facade cracked at his words, and Scully felt tears start in her 
eyes. It was the wonder in his voice that hurt her. "Even after... 
even now." He'd spoken as if it was obvious that Mulder was so broken 
that he was no threat to anyone, apart from himself. God! Had 
_everyone_ noticed it before she had?

"Agent Scully?" His voice was gentle and his mouth moved in what was 
the closest to a smile that he would give her in public. 

She blinked hard, regaining control of herself, and self-consciously 
straightened her shoulders, preparing herself for what she knew was a 
make-or-break conversation, with Mulder's whole future, even his life, 
at stake. 

"What did you want to see me about?" Skinner's voice was all 
professional again, and she appreciated him for it. Treat her 
professionally and she'd respond professionally. It was sympathy and 
pity that was the hardest to cope with without cracking.

"Sir." She took a deep breath, her knuckles white as she clenched the 
coffee cup. She had a sudden overwhelming temptation to run away - to 
change the subject to something safe - but she knew she mustn't. Just 
say it. Get it over with. Face the known monster rather than agonising 
over the unseen horror in the future. "I want to go back to the X-
Files." The words came out in a rush. She couldn't look at him - 
couldn't bear to see the refusal in his face. "I want to work with 
Mulder again."

There. She'd said it. She took a quick sip of coffee, hearing her 
swallowing loud in the sudden silence which seemed to have descended 
on the whole room. A silence. An awkward silence. An ominous silence.

"No."

"What?" She put the cup down so fast that the coffee splashed over the 
top, forming a brown puddle on the table. She'd thought she'd been 
prepared for a refusal, but the despair - the fury - that she felt now 
told her that deep down she hadn't been. "I said...."

"I know what you said." Skinner's voice was firm, but his eyes were 
full of regret. She turned away, refusing to accept the message of 
friendship he was trying to communicate in his look. "But the answer's 
still no."

"But you.... Just now you did all those.... those _stupid_ precautions 
against being overheard. Why? Why did you do that? Was it just to get 
my hopes up, so you and your friends could enjoy seeing me 
disappointed." Her voice was rising to a shout, and she was dimly 
aware of people across the room turning to each other in interest, 
talking about her. 

"That's not..."

"Oh, don't tell me they're not your friends, because they're the only 
reason you could have to refuse my request - because they want to 
close down the X-Files again. You want to make this situation drag on 
until Mulder's.... until Mulder's killed himself, and then...." She 
felt the tears threaten to drown her voice again, but forced them away 
by concentrating on the anger. "It was _your_ idea that I left, and 
_that_ was a mistake."

"Agent Scully." Skinner's voice had all the firmness of his rank. 
"Agent Scully. _Listen_."

She stopped herself, exhausted by her sudden burst of anger, and leant 
forward, resting her forehead on one shaky hand. She still wouldn't 
look at him, but a little voice inside her reminded her that he'd 
proved a friend before, and she should give him a chance.

"Look, there's nothing I want more than for you and Agent Mulder to 
get back together. I can see what these last months have done to 
Mulder and it.... Well, he was always an irritating, infuriating 
troublemaker, but he was.... he was _Mulder_ and I guess I respected 
his sincerity, admired his drive. I would like to see him like that 
again."

"So let me...."

Skinner held up a hand to stop her. "No, that's _not_ the answer - not 
yet. Remember why you split up in the first place. Remember what it 
was like three months ago. You could hardly be in the same room 
without fighting...."

"No." Scully ran her finger through the cooling puddle of coffee, her 
eyes focused on the past. "It wasn't him. It was me. We weren't 
fighting. _I_ was angry then. I've had time to think. I'm over that 
now. It'll be different this time."

Skinner shook his head, sadly. "But how long will it be like that? 
Will you still be calm after Mulder tells you again and again that he 
hasn't got a problem, when you can see he has? Or when he tells you 
he's ruined your life, not listening to you when you say otherwise? 
How long would it be before you split up again, perhaps even more 
acrimoniously than the last time?"

"We wouldn't!" Scully burst out in instinctive denial, but deep down 
she knew he was very probably right. She'd ignored Skinner advice for 
too long last time, and that had nearly destroyed them. Sometimes it 
took an outsider to see things clearly.

Skinner leant forward, and she allowed herself to meet his eyes at 
last. "You know as well as I do that Mulder's not ready for this." His 
voice was level, reasonable. "But I can assure you that when he _is_ 
ready I'll give you my full support in going back to the X-Files if 
that's still what you want."

"So I'll just have to make sure that he _is_ ready then," she said, 
mustering all her determination. 

There was a short silence, both lost in thought.

"You do know he's been seeing a counsellor?" Skinner asked at last, 
almost tentatively.

Scully smiled, feeling a sudden rush of optimism. She hadn't known, 
but his refusal had been one of the main bones of contention between 
them earlier.

"Not very often, I don't think. But he does seem to be slowly coming 
to terms with what Lewis did to him - what Lewis _said_ to him." 
Skinner glanced around awkwardly, as if he was aware he might be 
breaching confidentiality by telling her this, but apparently deciding 
that she needed to know. "I've spoken to him. He's still very 
depressed, but it's.... it's different, somehow. It's less about these 
other things now. He's.... I think he's accepting slowly that Lewis 
lied to him. Now, it's more about.... about you. I don't know, but I 
think that if - _if_ - you could convince him you really want to work 
with him, you just might find that the other problems disappear."

"Thank you." Scully's smile was sincere this time. "I'll try. I 
_will_."

"Good luck." Then Skinner glanced away, looking almost apologetic. 
"He's got a new partner - a temporary one."

"What?" His words punctured the bubble of hope she'd allowed herself 
to feel after his previous revelations. "A partner? Is he....?" Then 
her words were swallowed up in horror as she remembered the last time 
he'd been given a temporary partner.

Skinner didn't pretend not to understand. "I don't know. I assigned 
him myself. He's young, enthusiastic, claims to believe in Mulder's 
theories. I hope he's above board. But you know what they're like. It 
_might_ be that I only think it was my decision, but they set it up so 
he would appear the most appropriate candidate."

"But he's only temporary?" Scully was surprised at how small her voice 
was, how desperate she was for reassurance.

Skinner smiled, although his eyes were troubled. "Yes. I made sure 
everyone knew he was only temporary. Your old position's open for you, 
as soon as Mulder's ready...."

But his words trailed off, and Scully knew there was a "but".

"What is it, sir?" She tensed her muscles again, preparing for bad 
news.

Skinner glanced around the canteen again, the spoke so low she could 
hardly hear him. "As I said, they're still interested in him. I don't 
know what game they're playing, but I sense there's something.... not 
right about his current assignment." He looked straight at her, his 
eyes full of warning. "He's not out of danger, Agent Scully."

**********

Mulder stared into the glass, watching the light strike sparks of 
reflection in the amber liquid, feeling the rich choking fumes at the 
back of his throat. It was a smell at once achingly familiar and 
terrifyingly alien. The bitter aroma of alcohol on a dying man's 
breath. The whisky-tainted words of accusation thrown at him endlessly 
over the years. The smell of a home and childhood in which he was a 
stranger, an enemy.

There were memories in the reflected light of the glass - memories and 
voices, echoing silently in his mind. Just take a sip, then another. 
Drain the glass. Drain the bottle. Drown the memories like your father 
did before you. Throw yourself on the mercy of the bottle, and there 
at last you might find happiness.

It was tempting....

The shining liquid was _so_ like the colour of her hair....

"No!" He slammed the glass down hard enough to earn a disapproving 
glare from the bar-tender. This wasn't the answer, he knew it - he'd 
always known it, since he'd first seen the dark despair in his 
father's eyes so many years ago. Forgetting through the drink, then 
living every morning with the crashing despair as reality hit again 
and again, more terrible with every day as the forgetting grew 
sweeter.

And that was assuming the drink would make him forget? What if there 
were even darker demons lurking in the bottle, waiting to entrap him 
and drag him deeper into despair. What if....?

"Oh, _there_ you are." It was Walker's voice, his tone unreadable. "I 
couldn't find you." The last few words were almost plaintive, and 
there was even a tinge of annoyance, though he was veiling it well.

Mulder didn't look up, pretending an immense interest in the patterns 
made as the quick liquid swirled against the glass, around, around, 
around....

"It's been hours." The touch of annoyance was still there, but now 
there was.... hurt?

Mulder moved away a little - a tiny movement but one which he knew was 
visible, and knew would signal his desire to be left alone. He 
supposed he ought to feel some remorse for hurting the man, but 
couldn't bring himself to care. The man was probably a spy, even an 
outright enemy. Why should he care what happened to him?

"I tried to call you. Did you know your phone is switched off?" 
Walker's voice rose hopefully, as if he expected to be patted on the 
head like a helpful puppy dog. 

Mulder grunted non-committally, but made no move to turn it on. Of 
course he knew it was switched off. He was in control, right now - 
coping. Phone calls meant unexpected developments - could herald 
things he didn't know he could cope with, even if they weren't.... if 
they weren't _her_.

The whisky swooshed rhythmically in the glass, on and on, marking the 
long passing seconds of silence.

Oh God! The words of his silent thoughts filled his mind, rhythmically 
chanted in time with the sound of the drink. Go _away_. Leave me 
alone. I need to be alone - I need to think. I need.... I need.... I 
can't have what I need.

The anguished whimper of his last thought filled his mind, drowning 
out all outside noise. He was dimly aware that Walker was speaking, 
but was unable to respond, unable even to listen. It wasn't her. It 
wasn't her. The wrong partner. The wrong voice. Not her.

"..... it doesn't matter."

He caught the tail-end of Walker's words, and heard the rejection in 
his voice. He supposed he ought to ask him to repeat himself, 
apologise for not listening, but he couldn't find any words. Maybe 
Walker had been confessing his treachery. Maybe he'd found a vital 
lead in the case. Maybe he'd.... Oh, but what did it matter? None of 
it mattered. Only _her_....

The drink lapped against the glass, orange-brown shining like fire.

Walker took a deep breath, and Mulder could hear from the rustle of 
clothing that the man was physically tensing himself for what he was 
going to say. "No, I _will_ say it. I'm sorry, but I.... I want to 
clear the air. I want this partnership to work."

Mulder could sense that Walker was looking at him expectantly, anxious 
for a reassurance that Mulder wanted it to work too, but he knew he 
couldn't give one. He just shrugged non-committally, his eyes never 
leaving the glass.

Walker tried again, his voice defensive. "It's just that you're.... I 
mean, it's so different from what I expected. I thought you...." He 
cleared his throat awkwardly. "Back there, you didn't seem to believe 
in anything she was saying."

Mulder's first impulse was to shrug again, but something in Walker's 
voice was getting through to him. He sounded so hurt, so plaintive. He 
remembered how Scully had almost accused him of wallowing in his 
emotions, shutting his mind to how they affected other people. She'd 
been right, too. Back then, he'd been so wrapped up in feeling guilt 
over hurting people in the past that he hadn't realised how the very 
fact of doing that was hurting people in the present. Maybe Walker was 
a spy. Maybe it was all an act. But maybe.... Maybe he owed him at 
least something of an explanation.

"I thought.... I _think_ she was lying," he said at last, looking at 
Walker for the first time. His voice sounded harsh with lack of use.

He'd expected the other man to ask him to explain himself, but instead 
there was silence. There was no sound of drink this time, just the low 
murmur of distant voices in the quite bar.

"Agent Mulder." It was a low croak, as if the man had scarcely dared 
to speak. "Agent Mulder," he repeated, louder this time, speaking fast 
as if anxious to get everything out in a rush before he lost the 
nerve. "Do you.... I thought you.... Do you actually believe in alien 
abduction?"

"Yes!" He snapped the answer without a second's hesitation, but then 
fell suddenly silent as the implications of what he'd said sank in.

Yes, I believe in alien abduction. Yes, I believe in alien abduction. 
Yes, I believe in alien abduction. The words echoed in his head, 
sounding louder and more sure each time. It was a revelation. For 
months, all he'd seen had been doubt and guilt. Nothing else had 
mattered. If he hadn't been for him, Samantha would never have been 
taken. That was a thought he'd lived with every day for six months. It 
was _his_ fault. Nothing else mattered. But even though it _was_ his 
fault, there was something else involved too - something else that 
actually took her - something else that was _also_ at fault. 

"Yes." He spoke the word slower now, wonderingly. Yes, he _did_ 
believe. Blaming aliens was often just a cover-up for human failings - 
he knew that now, and would never forget it. But just because 
sometimes some of the fault was human, it didn't mean that all of it 
was. He didn't have a monopoly of guilt. It wasn't all or nothing. He 
was guilty - of course he was. But that didn't mean he had to shut his 
mind to _other_ people's guilt - or the guilt of things that were 
_not_ people.

"Yes," he said again, speaking to Walker this time, not knowing how 
long he'd been wandering in his own thoughts. "I do believe."

"Then why....?" Walker frowned, looking genuinely puzzled.

Mulder put the drink down, turning to face to other man. "I _do_ 
believe. But just because I believe in alien abduction doesn't mean I 
believe _all_ the stories. This one.... it just doesn't.... It doesn't 
_feel_ right."

He could feel his muscles relaxing as he spoke, and felt the first 
stirrings of hope. He still believed, he knew that now. There was 
still valid work he could be doing, without betraying the memories of 
those he'd hurt - without shirking his responsibilities of guilt. And 
this case.... As he spoke, he realised it _didn't_ seem right, and the 
reasons were starting to interest him.

"You mean, because she knew about the doctor's death, when it hasn't 
been in the papers yet?" Walker surprised him by saying.

Mulder shrugged. Truth was, he still hadn't read the file in any 
detail, and didn't even know this face. "And her footprints...." He 
struggled to pin down his doubts, wracking his brain to remember the 
little he had learnt about the case, resolving to go back to his room 
as soon as possible as study - really study - the case for the first 
time. 

"She _could_ have paused to put her shoes on," Walker pointed out 
defensively. "It was a cold night. It's probably only habit. And the 
person who was abducted could have been drawn through the air for a 
long way, which is why _their_ footprints weren't there."

Mulder almost smiled at that, reminded with sudden clarity of the sort 
of arguments he would have given to Scully, each one sounding more 
desperate than the last, but then the smile was but off into something 
closer to a sob as he remembered that he'd never again have that sort 
of conversation with her. 

"I don't know...." He struggled to focus on the case, struggled to put 
her from his mind. "There's no one thing that's wrong. It's just the 
whole thing doesn't _feel_ right." He could have said more, but 
couldn't forget his doubts over Walker's allegiance. It just all 
seemed so convenient. The file appearing from no-where. The willing 
witness who related his _own_ memories almost word for word. The 
feeling he'd had that she'd just been pretending to be upset, and that 
Walker was somehow protecting her.

"Shall we be staying?" Walker asked, breaking the silence. "If you 
don't believe it?"

Mulder shrugged. "We might as well." The wrongness about the case 
was.... intriguing. Once, the desire to find the answer would have 
consumed him. A few weeks ago he wouldn't even have cared. Now.... 
Well, now he felt a small pricking of interest. It wasn't much, but it 
was enough to give him a tiny hope that the interest might grow and 
might distract him from his pain, might dull the fire of her hair in 
his memory.

Walker cleared his throat, awkwardly, and opened his mouth as if to 
speak, the shut it again.

Her voice was soft and insistent, weaving through the silence in his 
mind, and Mulder knew, suddenly, that he couldn't take it any more. 
Talk. Think. Reason. Work. Anything but.... but _her_.

"What?" he said, abruptly, anxious to prompt the other man to break 
the silence.

"Oh, it just.... I'm glad we had this talk. I want this to work. I 
know it's difficult for you to accept a new partner. I know I can't 
take her place, but I hope.... I hope we can do good work together in 
the future."

In the future? In the _future_? His stomach clenched as with a stab of 
pain as he realised the implications, and he knew the only was of 
keeping control was to attack. "Is _that_ what they say? That she's 
not coming back? She left _temporarily_. You're only here for a few 
weeks. She's coming back!"

He stopped suddenly, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, and he 
knew from the other man's shocked expression that he'd sounded 
hysterical. 

"She's coming back," he muttered under his breath, although he knew he 
didn't believe it. She _wasn't_ coming back. He'd known that right 
from the start, right from that terrible night three months ago when 
she'd told him. She wasn't coming back. She _mustn't_ come back, for 
her own sake. She wasn't coming back. He'd accepted this long ago, 
hadn't he?

So why had he reacted like _that_?

"I'm sorry." He could hardly hear Walker's voice. "I know I'm only 
here for a while. But I wanted.... I still thought we could work well 
together. I'm sorry."

Oh God! Oh God! He took a sip of the whisky, then pushed the glass 
away in disgust. She's not coming back. I _want_ her back. I'd try. 
I'd really try. All those things that annoyed her - I'd deal with 
them. I _am_ dealing with them. It's just _her_ - everything would be 
all right if she came back.

Dimly, distantly, he was aware of a commotion - of raised voices and 
clattering footsteps. Walker rose from his side and disappeared, 
disgusted, he supposed, with the sight of his self-pity and 
selfishness.

For he _was_ selfish, he knew that - knew it with the voice of reason 
that spoke to him through the whimpers of his own mind. She mustn't 
come back, it told him. For _her_ sake, you can't want her back - you 
mustn't let her ever know that you're not coping perfectly without 
her.

"But, Scully....!" He muttered the words silently, barely making a 
sound. "I can't...."

"Agent Mulder!" A hand shook his arm, rousing him slowly to awareness. 
It was Walker. "They've got something."

He shook his head to clear the thought, turning round to see a group 
of youths, all talking loud and fast, red-faced and breathless with 
exhaustion and.... fear?

"They were out in the park when they.... they _saw_ something. A 
bright light. Something descending from the sky. It was.... Mulder, I 
think they saw our missing person being returned to earth."

Mulder sighed, reaching under his jacket to check for his gun. It 
didn't seem right, this one even less so than the previous witness. 
But it was something to do - something to keep the memories at bay.

Out in the dark, if he shut his eyes, he could even imagine, for a 
moment, that she was nearby.

**********

The skin was cold beneath his fingertips. 

It was a silent oasis of death in the middle of the town - the still 
centre of an storm of oblivious humanity. The distant hum of cars 
moving a lifetime away. The rumble of a plane far over head. Distorted 
human voices carried in waves by the intermittent gusts of wind. 
Thousands of people carrying on their daily life, not knowing, not 
caring that one more life had reached its end.

But _he_ cared.

Slowly, Mulder drew his hand away from the man's throat. There was no 
pulse, he knew that - he'd known that straight away. But still he'd 
kept his hand still, frozen in time, unable to break this unlooked for 
connection with another human being.

He cared.

He hadn't thought he'd be able to care about anything again.

But there was something in the set of the man's face. The twisted 
agony and terror etched on his features. The terrible stillness where 
once there had been smiles and warmth and life. The cold....

It mattered. Looking at the man's dead face, he suddenly knew that it 
mattered terribly. Death - a cruel and unnatural death - mattered. The 
pain and suffering the man had gone through before death mattered. The 
terrible grief of the loved ones left behind.... That mattered. 
Perhaps more than anything else, that mattered.

The tears of that witness, unable to help. Tears of a family torn 
apart by the events of one minute. His mother's eyes....

"No!" 

He shook his head abruptly to clear that memory. There was no _time_ 
for this. Grief, memory, reproach, guilt.... Oh, he deserved them, he 
knew that. They would be his constant companions at night. But now.... 
Now there was something more important to do. There was a case to 
solve. There were answers to find for another grieving family. He'd 
failed his own family. He'd failed Scully. Nothing could change that. 
But this.... This was the future. As long as he had to stay alive, 
this was the future.

He stood up slowly, looking down on the twisted body, feeling a pang 
of protectiveness that he was leaving it uncovered beneath the vast 
expanse of night sky. He wanted to cover it, to ease the agonised 
expression on the face, but he knew he couldn't. Until the police 
arrived nothing could be touched.

"What do you think killed him, Scully?"

Her hair was fire in the darkness, and he drew on her strength, even 
though the memory brought a stab of pain and intense loneliness.

"I don't know, Mulder." Her voice was warm even as her brow was 
furrowed with concern. Even after seeing so much death, each new one 
still pained her, and he knew, with a sudden flash of insight, that 
she would have it no other way. "There are incisions everywhere. But 
I'd have to do an autopsy."

"That's my Scully."  He let his eyes lose their focus as he stared 
into the night, watching her strength. "That's what I so admire about 
you. Always studying the evidence. Refusing to be drawn until you've 
tested the hypotheses. Always focused even in the midst of death."

But had he ever told her? Had he ever told her how much he admired 
her?

And now it was too....

"No!" He spoke aloud, hearing an answering rustle in the undergrowth 
as an animal was disturbed by his sudden cry. 

The memory dissolved and drifted away, and he was alone.

Think, Mulder. Think. Focus. Clues.... Blood from wounds. Pain on 
face. Scully would do an.... No! Not that.... Think, think, think... 
The ground. Mud. Footprints....

Footprints....

He turned round slowly, letting the light from his torch fall on the 
ground. It was smooth, untouched, hard from several days without rain. 
But surely he'd seen.... Yes! There it was. 

He took a step forward then crouched down to examine it. Not a 
footprint as such, but a trail of crushed grass, only visible when the 
light was in the right direction. A trail as if several people, or one 
person dragging something, had walked toward this very spot.

Glancing back anxiously, uneasy at leaving the body, he walked in the 
direction of the trail, careful not to dislodge the marks. The grass 
was wet with dew and somewhere, hidden beneath the long grass, there 
could be a footprint.

And then he heard it.

A rustle in the undergrowth. A crack as of a twig broken under foot. A 
quick turmoil of leaves. Then silence. An unnatural silence, as if 
holding its breath, scared to make the slightest movement.

Someone was watching him.

His hand moved quickly towards the gun, but then he stopped and drew 
back. He wasn't ready for _that_ - not yet. If someone was watching 
him - if someone did want to kill him - then....

Blood on the grass, pouring into the night. A gun. A knife. A face 
twisted in agony just for a few seconds before relaxing into death. 
No-one close enough to grieve. No more nights in a waking torment of 
silence and memory. 

He smiled grimly, but turned away from the noise, taking another step 
along the crushed trail. He could almost feel the eyes boring into him 
like bullets, hard and painful, but nothing happened.

Five.... Six.... Seven....

He counted silently in his head, waiting. If it _was_ someone watching 
him, then they'd relax. They'd think he hadn't noticed them, and 
they'd move again. 

Twelve.... Thirteen.... Fourteen....

It _was_ footsteps this time, clear and unmistakable, and he checked 
himself mid-step, feeling the adrenaline course through his veins. 
Footsteps. Crashing of undergrowth. Eyes boring. A gun....

"Mulder? Are you there?"

He passed a hand quickly across his brow, feeling the shaking release 
of tension. Walker. It was only Walker.

"Mulder?" The steps came closer, then the voice gave a small 
exclamation of horror. "My God!"

He couldn't trust himself to speak. Why did he feel such absurd 
relief? He'd thought he was resigned to anything that was waiting for 
him - even looking forward to the release that it might offer to him. 
But this.... This didn't make sense. 

But then he remembered his doubts, and knew the danger wasn't over 
yet.

"Mulder?" Walker's voice sounded from close beside him. "That's him, 
isn't it? The man who was abducted?"

He nodded, but didn't say anything. The ground was hard asphalt 
beneath his feet. He switched his torch off, knowing there was nothing 
more to be gained from searching, not here.

"So she was right? Those youths were right?" 

Mulder turned to him, watching as his face dissolved and faded away 
into Scully's, hearing her controlled words in his imagination.

"There's hardly any blood, Mulder." She was still tense from the 
proximity of death, but flashed a troubled smile of reassurance, 
telling him she would cope. "He wasn't killed here. Someone brought 
him here." That slight stress on the "someone", telling him so 
tactfully that she wasn't prepared to believe any theory he came up 
with involving aliens.

He'd forgotten that memories could be happy too, but that was where 
the worst pain lay. Happy memories of the past. Happy imaginings of 
what the present could have been. But not here. Not now. Not ever 
again.

"Do you think he was abducted now, Mulder?" The voice cut through his 
imagination, shattering it.

"I don't know!" Walker winced at his tone, but he couldn't bring 
himself to care. All these questions, on and on, giving him no peace. 
Not like Scully, calmly getting on with the case, knowing what to do 
even when she disagreed with his theories.

"What were you looking for over here?" Walker's voice was more 
subdued, but still he persisted. "Burn marks in the trees?" He looked 
up as he spoke, straining his head back to study the trees that shaded 
the body.

"No." Mulder almost laughed at that, but recognised the fairness of 
the question. He was so quick to dismiss this as something of earthly 
origin that he hadn't even looked for any evidence that might point 
the other way. "No. I was following footprints."

"Footprints?" Walker looked puzzled. "But...."

"I know." He stamped gently with his foot to reinforce the point. 
"Hard surface just a dozen yards from the body. They could have driven 
him here, or walked with him, but there's no way of tracking where 
they came from."

"They?"

Mulder sighed, and turned away. What was the point in explaining? 
Walker knew, and was being disingenuous. Either that or he was.... 
nothing. Not anyone worth bothering with. Not Scully.

"So you're saying _people_ did this?" Walker's voice was high with 
incredulity, but then he paused and made a visible effort to compose 
himself, to sound in control. "I suppose it's possible. Those youths 
who said they'd seen a light.... They looked as if they'd been 
drinking. But that woman earlier..." He paced up and down, clearly 
struggling to sound calm. "But why? Why would everyone lie about 
this?"

Her eyes in the darkness, their sincerity stabbing into his soul as 
they communicated a message he hadn't quite been ready to accept, not 
then.

"You know that answer to that. You're part of that agenda." He'd 
respected her even then, spoken softer than he'd intended. He could 
never bring himself to hate her, even when he'd thought her a spy.

"I'm not part of any agenda," she'd said. And he'd believed her. 
Despite a lifetime a distrust, she'd convinced him in a few words.

Because he'd wanted to believe.

"Why would they lie about it?" Walker's voice again, refusing to let 
go, oblivious to the pain he was causing by his very presence - by the 
very fact he wasn't Scully.

Mulder shrugged, but said nothing. He couldn't. To confront the man 
with his doubts was to acknowledge that he was a permanent fixture 
whose allegiance mattered - to pretend that he himself mattered enough 
to care if he was betrayed. 

"I can understand them trying to cover up an abduction, but this...." 
Walker was still talking, more to himself now. "No. I'm sure we're on 
to something. We've got to keep looking."

"I know." Mulder surprised himself with the force of his answer. The 
memories faded and vanished. "Whatever the reason, a man is dead."

He walked back to the body, not letting his eyes stray from the dead 
face. With his right hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out 
his phone, preparing to call the police.

It matters. It matters. He muttered to himself, fighting her memory. 
_This_ matters. Not brooding on the past. Not wishing she was here. 
Not trying to find alien involvement and dismissing the case as of no 
interest if there isn't any. Whatever hidden agendas there are, a man 
is dead. I must solve this. 

Alone.

A sound close to a sob escaped from his throat, even though he tried 
to suppress it, disgusted at his self-pity.

The undergrowth rustled again, but he didn't turn round.

**********

He had to face it. He couldn't spend a lifetime running away. He had 
to face it.

Mulder clenched his hands into fists, taking deep breaths to steady 
himself. He was pinned like a butterfly, cornered by the insistent 
sound that surrounded him, offering no escape.

Ringing, ringing.... On and on....

It might not be her. It might be someone on the case. The pathologist 
with the autopsy reports. The police with the trace evidence from the 
scene. Walker....

Or Scully. 

He was in control. He was in control. Deep breaths, hammering thoughts 
in his head to force him to focus on the case, clenched muscles. 
Reading the case in his room at night, choosing what to read and when 
to read it, drawing his own conclusions.

Control.

But the viper, nagging at his peace, shattering his feeble facade with 
a single shrill bite....

He should have turned it off after calling the police. But he'd 
forgotten, and now his defences were breached and the enemy was 
battering down the makeshift walls of his control.

Ringing, ringing..... On and on.....

He had to face it. He couldn't run away. He repeated it over and over, 
trying to believe it.

And then he did it. Taking a deep breath, picking the phone up in 
shaking hands, knowing that the next few minutes could be the hardest 
he'd ever had to face.

But he couldn't say anything, not yet.

"Mulder?"

He swallowed hard, fighting rising panic. 

Oh God, it's her. I haven't spoken for.... What shall I....? How can 
I....?

"Mulder? Are you there?" Her voice was unreadable - anything between 
doubt and eagerness, fear and hope.

"Scully." It was the smallest croak, and he cleared his throat 
awkwardly. "Scully."

Silence. The phone was slippery in his hands, and he clutched onto it 
until his knuckles ached.

"Where are you, Mulder?"  she said at last. "I've been calling you all 
day."

"I'm sorry." He tried so hard to sound calm, but couldn't keep the 
catch out of his voice. Three months after escaping him, and she was 
still inconvenienced, still worried by him. "I'm on a case."

"It's okay, Mulder." She was trying to ease his guilt, but he could 
hear the shake beneath her soothing voice, and knew it wasn't okay at 
all. "It's okay. I'm the one who should apologise. I haven't called 
for...."

"It's okay, Scully." God! It was coming. He had to get in there and 
gain the initiative. He couldn't let her get too close, not yet. "I 
understand. I know why you haven't called. It's okay. I'm okay. Please 
don't worry about me. I'm doing fine. I've heard your new job's going 
well. Skinner says...."

It was too much. He couldn't. He just wasn't ready. He had to, but he 
couldn't.

He heaved great shuddering breaths, loud in the silence. The word 
"light" jumped out at him from the files spread on the table, pulsing 
off the page, insistent in its very randomness, and he knew that word 
would forever be seeped with the memory of this moment.

"Oh, Mulder." It was a sigh of.... sympathy? 

"I'm on a case." His voice was quick, desperate. He _had_ to distract 
her. The wounds were too raw. He couldn't talk about them, not yet. 
"Disappearances."

"Mulder...."

"They've died. We just found a body."

Please give up, Scully. Please. I can't take this. I can't talk about 
this, not over the phone. Please don't push....

"Mulder, I...."

"Scully!" 

It wasn't his voice. It couldn't be his voice. It was so pained, so 
desperate, so hoarse with pleading. But he couldn't let her carry on. 
He couldn't lose control. 

She sighed, and he could feel the tension hissing across the line, 
making the phone shake in his hand. "Disappearances?" There was no 
interest in her voice, though he knew she was trying, and knew he 
would be eternally grateful to her for it. She understood him. She 
always had, better than he'd tried to understand her.

"Yes." He jumped at the question, clinging to it like a lifeline. 
"Just two people. They disappeared. People reported seeing bright...." 
He took a deep breath, remembering the associations. "Bright lights. 
They just disappeared. Then they were found again, dead. Their bodies 
were cut up." He was tensed up inside like a spring. He couldn't think 
- couldn't frame his words into anything close to a coherent 
explanation.

"An abduction case." Her voice was wary. She made small noises as if 
desperate to say more, but no words came.

He knew what she was thinking, but he too was without words. How could 
he tell her? How could he tell her that such reminders did nothing to 
him now? How could he tell her that they couldn't reopen the wound 
simply because the wound was already open, permanently?

He picked up the papers, scanning them without seeing them. It was 
almost comforting, this silence. She was there. She was thinking of 
him. He could hear her breathing. But she wasn't talking to him, her 
questions like bullets, no warning of where they'd strike and how much 
blood they would draw.

"Have they done autopsies?" she asked at last. He could hear in her 
voice how much it was costing her to speak normally.

"I'm waiting for the results of the second one now." He started 
looking, really looking, at the files, feeling a spark of interest. "I 
can't see.... No...." He turned over the pages, one after the other. 
"Nothing here. I.... I don't know. It says the body was taken away to 
be autopsied elsewhere. But there's nothing about the result."

He cursed himself silently, ashamed at letting his self-indulgent 
emotions get in the way of doing what was right for the victims. He 
should have noticed straight away, of course. She wouldn't have missed 
it. Could he ever have solved a case without her? Oh, the X-Files were 
his, everyone said so. He had the reputation. He got the attention. 
She was just his little side-kick, in the eyes of the Bureau. But he 
was lost without her, unable to notice the most obvious of facts.

But had he ever told her? Had he ever done anything to deserve her?

"..... can help."

He bit his lip, tearing himself away from his self-reproach. She'd 
been speaking. Scully had been speaking to him, and once again he'd 
put himself before her, ignoring her.

"I mean it, Mulder. Call me when you've got the results. I want to 
help." Her voice was so little and tentative, trying so hard to be 
strong.

He was stunned - shocked into total silence. 

She wants to help! She wants to help! Some part of him, some little 
treacherous part of him, wanted to laugh and shout aloud with the joy 
of it, although he knew with all his conscious mind, with all his 
conscience, that it was wrong.

She mustn't help. He clenched his hands into fists as the voice of 
reason hammered in his head. She mustn't help. You know that, Mulder. 
Tell her. She mustn't have anything more to do with you. She's managed 
to escape. Don't drag her down a second time.

I want....

I can't.....

"I...." He coughed, hating what he was going to say, but knowing it 
was the only thing to do. "I've got a new partner now."

Silence.

"Scully?"

There was a small sound like a sob. It cut through him like a knife, 
dragging up tears of his own, but it told him he was doing the right 
thing. If it upset Scully just to talk to him, then pushing her away 
was the best thing he could do for her. 

And that was all that mattered. 

"Yes, I know." Her voice was level, each word separately intoned as if 
she was fighting for control. "Skinner told me."

Silence.

It was beating down on him like great suffocating wings, making him 
want to scream. Black ink. Paper. Phone. Silence....

God! He couldn't. He just couldn't.

"He's only temporary." The silence looked deep within him and ripped 
the words out, drawing blood. 

Why why why? Why had he said that? Why? Why couldn't he push her away? 
Why was he still so selfish that he couldn't do what was best for her? 

"But he's a believer" He was babbling now, desperate to undo the 
damage. "He believes in.... in things. We get along well. We.... 
He'll.... He'll probably stay, until.... until the end."

"That's.... good." She sounded on the point of tears. "I'm glad he's a 
believer."

"I'm sorry...." There was so much he wanted to tell her, so little he 
could allow himself to say. But he couldn't bring himself to harden 
himself to her sadness, even though he knew he should just put the 
phone down and walk away. "I.... I liked working with a non-believer, 
Scully. I never told you, Scully. I liked.... I liked being opposed by 
someone who still respected me, despite everything. I liked it when 
you looked at me like that and said 'Mulder, you're nuts.' I liked 
watching you work on an autopsy, biting your lip with concentration, 
that little furrow in your brow...."

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! What have I said? Deep breaths. Slow, slow. 
One... Two.... Three.... Voice like a pitiful child, whining, 
plaintive. Moisture trickling on the cheeks. Words pouring out 
from.... where?

"I don't." Her voice rose in a peal of laughter that was painful to 
hear. Hysterical, closer to tears than to any real amusement. "I don't 
do that."

Silence.

White coat, bright in the shadows of memory. White coat and fiery hair 
and shiny metal. Frowning in intense concentration, radiating 
intelligence. 

"Oh Mulder." The laughter had gone. There was nothing in her voice but 
an intense sadness and regret. 

"I'm sorry, Scully."

Silence.

He heard her deep breath before she spoke, and knew at once that he 
wouldn't be able to cope with what was coming.

"I've got to go, Scully. There's someone at the door." His voice 
sounded so implausible in his own ears - so quick and desperate.

She sighed, and he could hear the silent struggle she was waging not 
to push, but she said nothing.

"I'm sorry, Scully." He knew she didn't believe his excuse, not for 
one second, and was suddenly anxious that she wasn't hurt by it. "I 
can't. Please understand.... I can't...." His voice was fading away, 
nearly overwhelmed by tears. "I can't.... Not yet."

"I know, Mulder. I know. And I'm sorry" Her voice was so regretful, so 
guilty, although he knew that she had nothing to blame herself for in 
this. "But it's not too late. We can sort this out. We _will_ sort 
this out - together."

He knew he ought to speak, but he was beyond words.

"Mulder?"

He pressed the off switch and slowly collapsed forward onto the desk, 
clinging to the memory of her vain words of comfort as the tears 
overwhelmed him.

**********

Thursday 9th May
____

"Dana?"

The door shut with a soft click, and footsteps squeaked across the 
floor. But it was all so distant, so unimportant. Sounds, voice, 
people, work.... Nothing worth thinking about.

"Dana? Are you okay?"

A chair scraped against the floor and the voice sounded close to her 
ear, soft with concern. Alan McKenzie, one of her colleagues, 
attentive as ever. She could feel her hair ruffle with the touch of 
his breath as he exhaled slowly, settling himself down beside her. She 
didn't look round, didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Dana?" More urgent now, a concerned hand gently touching her arm.

She snatched her hand away, feeling his touch burn her skin through 
her sleeve. "It's Sc.....!" she started, then faded back into her 
thoughts.

Scully. Not Dana. Scully. 

She'd missed being Scully. 

Dana was.... soft. Unchallenging. Conventional. Dana was gossiping 
with her friend Ellen about finding a man. Dana was looking up to her 
father, accepting his every opinion as truth. Dana was performing 
routine autopsies according to Bureau policy. Dana was being respected 
by her peers for quietly getting on with her duty, and doing it well. 
Dana was.... not Scully.

Scully was....

"Are you sick?" The voice cut through her thoughts, demanding 
attention. "Has anything happened?"

"No." She dragged her head around, forcing herself to look at him. 
"I'm okay. It's just...." She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Do 
you remember that autopsy I did on Tuesday? The one without any 
paperwork?"

Alan shook his head, leaning forward and looking at her intensely. 
"Don't think about that, Dana. Paperwork gets misfiled all the time. 
There's no need to worry about it if there's something troubling you."

She felt a spark of anger rise in her at that. There was something so 
patronising, so protective about his tone. At least Mulder had only 
been protective when there was a genuine danger. At least Mulder had 
respected....

She shook her head again. There was no _time_ for that. Not if she was 
right.

"It's important, Alan." She spoke firmly, restraining her anger. 
Control. Focus. Always questioning..... She was _Scully_.

He stared at her for a while, considering, obviously judging her to be 
serious. "I don't remember," he said at last. "What was it? Remind 
me."

"It doesn't matter." She sighed, trying to look unconcerned. "It's 
probably nothing."

"But you said it was important."

"Forget it, Alan." She spoke more forcefully than she'd intended, and 
quickly tried to apologise with a weak smile. "It's nothing. I was 
just wondering. There was no record of who he was or how he'd been 
brought here, but someone asked me to do the autopsy. It was.... 
weird."

He laughed. "Bureaucratic error, probably. Happens all the time." His 
tone held such finality that she knew the subject was dismissed.

Just a bureaucratic error. Not a conspiracy. Not a cover-up. Not a 
set-up. Just a simple error. Who would think otherwise?

She sighed, wondering. Was it naivety to be pitied, or innocence to be 
envied, this total absence of distrust?

It _was_ probably nothing, but.....

Skinner's words, dark with warning. "He's not out of danger yet." 
Hints of the closing jaws of a trap. Unfriendly eyes watching. And 
Mulder....

God! It had been _so_ difficult, that phone call. His voice had torn 
into her soul, ripping apart her studied self-control. Despair, fear, 
loneliness, pulsing down the line, as clear as if she could see his 
ravaged face.

What had she done?

".... if you need me to."

The words reached in, pulling her abruptly out of her self-reproach. 
How long had she been lost in memory, oblivious to the present?

"Er...." She floundered, searching for control, knowing she needed to 
stay calm. She was the strong one. She _had_ to be the strong one. She 
had to aim for the future, not wallow in the past. "I'm sorry." She 
forced a smile. "I was thinking."

Alan didn't return her smile. His face was clouded with worry. "You 
_are_ sick, Dana. Why don't you go home? I can cover for you today."

That was it! That was the answer. Why sit still, wondering, when she 
could find out for certain? And if she was wrong, then what did it 
matter? It was excuse, that's all it was. An excuse to get them 
talking. An excuse to see him. A trigger for....

She stopped herself abruptly. 

Calm. Be calm. Be Scully. Take it one step at a time. Don't rush it. 
Don't expect miracles. Don't expect everything.

But if they just _saw_ each other....

She stood up abruptly, pushing herself away from the desk with her 
hands. "Would you, Alan? I'm sure I'd feel much better if I went." She 
didn't say the word "home", hoping he wouldn't notice.

Silence. She was suddenly aware that Alan was looking at her, 
understanding growing in his face.

"You're not sick, are you, Dana?" His tone was unreadable. Not quite 
resentment, but there was _something_ there. "It's Mulder, isn't it?" 
He turned away, his face clouded.

"Yes," she said, simply, crouching down beside his chair so she could 
look at his face. "I'm sorry, Alan. I should never have left him. 
I.... If I'm right on this, he needs me right now. I can't let _this_ 
slip through my fingers as well."

He remained silent, but she read things in his face that he'd never 
told her before - that she'd never even considered before.

"I'm sorry, Alan." She stood up, resting one hand lightly on his 
shoulder in the briefest  of touches. "But I've got to try. You 
understand, don't you?"

"Yes." He turned his face to look at her, and his eyes were sincere. 
"I understand."

But then he turned away, his face twisting with jealousy, and she knew 
that he didn't.

It was much more than that - much more than what _he_ thought. It 
was.... It was _right_.

She was Scully.

**********

It was cutting through him like a knife. It was cold. It was painful. 
It was.... necessary.

Mulder rested his head against the wooden window frame, forcing his 
eyes to stay open. Cars on the road. A cat, teetering along a high 
wall, walking a knife-edge. A couple, strolling hand in hand, their 
faces stony and their voices floating up in angry snatches. Scully....

God! It was _so_ difficult, even here, even with the needling sharp 
wind pinning his attention to the  present. Inside, safe in the 
warmth, he was lost. Eyes shut, pulled into the past by lack of sleep, 
there was no stopping the memories.

A whole day later, and her voice was still so loud....

A stronger gust, stabbing through his thin shirt. Hammering footsteps 
as someone rushed through the rain to their car. An elegant undulation 
of a tail as the cat landed safely and padded off.

Four o'clock on a cold wet afternoon, and there was still nothing.

He sighed, dragging his attention back to the files that had been 
neglected in his hands for so long. He wanted to solve this case, he 
really did. He genuinely cared. He was even capable of feeling a spark 
of real interest every now and then. But it was just so difficult to 
concentrate - so difficult to forget.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's as I said - I can't find any report on 
that."

He forced himself back to the events of the morning, hearing again the 
embarrassed voice of the police officer.

"But you were there," he'd protested, feeling something of the old 
anger. "I saw you last night at the crime scene. You and two others. 
You must know _something_."

"I'm sorry." The officer had stared down at his feet, twisting his 
hands convulsively in front of him. 

"They've got something on you, haven't they?" He'd surprised himself 
with the outrage he could still feel, even after everything. "They're 
suppressing the truth."

Suppressing the truth.....

"I trust only you, Mulder." Surrounded by doubt and distrust, her eyes 
had still shone with hope. She'd laughed when he'd first told her, but 
she'd come to believe. Hers was a different truth, but she too had 
believed that the truth was out there, and that there were those who 
wanted to suppress it.

"They're getting away with it." Later now, bowed with grief, but 
steely in her determination. "Now what I want are the answers."

What _I_ want are the answers.....

_Her_ quest too. 

They were partners - equals.

His breath caught on a sob as the wind dragged shivers through his 
body but failed to dim the brilliance of the memory, not this time.

Partners.

It was so vivid, the memory. So vivid, and so different - so unlike 
those memories Lewis had found for him, in which she looked at him 
with hate, accusing him of ruining her life. 

Partners.

But not.... Not any.....

Raindrops splashing on his face, driven by a sudden squall. Cold and 
warm liquid mingling on his cheek, trickling down to his neck. A 
scream of brakes somewhere out of sight.

"They're suppressing the truth. They're suppressing the truth." He let 
the memory of his words hammer over and over in his head, forcing 
himself back to the police station. He could almost smell the fear on 
the young officer's face.

"Is there a problem?" A more senior officer had come in, pinning him 
with a strangely wary look, even as his tone had been all politeness. 
"Can I help?"

"I'm trying to find the report on the body found last night." He'd 
turned to the newcomer, flashing his ID while speaking. "No-one here 
seems to know anything about it."

"A body?" The newcomer had turned his back, making a great show of 
hanging his coat on a coat rack, so Mulder had been unable to see his 
face. "I don't know anything about that." He turned back, and his face 
was all bland apology. "I'm sorry. I wasn't at work last night and 
I've only just got here today. Of course I'd be happy to help if I 
could."

"There _was_ a body," he'd persisted. Something just hadn't seemed 
right - didn't seem right. "I found it last night in the park just off 
South Street."

There had been the smallest of flickers on the other man's face, 
almost of surprise, but in a second it had gone. He still wasn't sure 
if he'd imagined it. "As I said," he'd continued, his tone devoid of 
inflexion. "I don't know anything about it." And then he'd smiled, 
though his eyes still hadn't been quite right. "Give it time. The man 
was only found last night. You know what paperwork's like."

"But...." He'd opened his mouth to protest, but the other man had 
turned away, shutting the door of the conversation in his face. 

And then a woman had walked past and the curve of her hair from her 
forehead to neck was so like Scully's that suddenly he hadn't had the 
strength to fight any more.

"Mulder?" 

He shut his eyes for a second, mentally bracing himself. It was 
Walker. He still had to fight.

"Mulder? Are you there?"

The door handle turned, but at least the man had enough discretion not 
to enter, even though the door was unlocked.

It had to be faced. "Come in," he called, his voice was quiet from 
lack of use. He half hoped Walker hadn't heard, but he knew it was 
probably for the best. At least it might keep him grounded in the 
present, focused on the case.

The door opened and shut. Two sets of footsteps sounded across the 
carpet, but he didn't turn round, didn't even feel any real curiosity 
about who the newcomer was.

"It's cold." Walker's voice shook slightly, as if he was shivering. 
"The window's open."

"Yes." 

Cold sharp wind, battering at the memories. A drop of rain like a 
mirror on the back of his hand, reflecting distorted white light where 
his face should be.

Walker coughed awkwardly. "I've brought someone to see you?" His voice 
rose at the end as if he was desperately trying to prompt a response. 
"It could be a lead on the case?"

"Oh." He turned round, leaning back on the window sill. There was 
nothing behind his back but empty air. So easy just to lean back and 
fall. "What?"

"This is Ross Greene." Walker's relief was evident as he gestured to 
his companion, a fair-haired youth who could have been anything 
between seventeen and twenty-five. "He was telling me...."

"I was telling him about those murders you're investigating." Ross 
smiled eagerly, settling himself down on the edge of the bed. The rain 
dripped off his leather jacket and pooled on the covers. "I know 
something about them."

"What?" He knew it came out like an impatient growl, but he couldn't 
bring himself to care. He needed to facts if he was to solve to case. 
He just didn't want to have to _talk_.

"The victims." The youth's smile didn't falter. "You've been trying to 
find if they're connected, right?"

He didn't bother answering. But it was true, of course. He'd spent all 
afternoon chasing connections, when he could think enough to do it, 
but none had come up.

"Well, they are." Ross smiled triumphantly, seemingly oblivious to 
Mulder's reaction. "I know. I saw them together."

There was a long silence. He couldn't get the energy to ask. He knew 
the rest of the story would come, whatever he did.

"They didn't want to be seen." Ross's expression faltered a little, 
and his voice lost some of its eagerness. "But I like.... watching 
people, you know? I cruise bars and places like that just.... 
watching. I saw them." He paused for effect. "And I heard them too. 
They were talking.... Something about a project. The second guy looked 
real scared. He said something about.... I think it was 'going public' 
or 'exposing' or something."

"How do you remember?" There was a note of interest in his voice now, 
and he started listening - really listening - to the youth's words. 
"How do you know it was them?"

Ross shook his head, a look of incomprehension on his face. "How did I 
know? Of course I knew. Dr Wanless - he's been.... he was our family's 
doctor for my whole life. I didn't know the other guy, but I don't 
forget a face."

"But how do you know this other guy's the one we found last night? His 
identity's not been released to the papers yet?"

He felt the icy fingers of suspicion clutching at his mind. He still 
didn't trust Walker. What proof had he that this wasn't just another 
set-up, to put him off the scent?

"I didn't." Ross shook his head, all outraged innocence. "I knew he 
was missing, of course. I heard some guys talking last night about 
seeing something in the park. And as soon as your partner described 
the body...."

His partner.... A flash of fiery hair and blue eyes....

He clutched at the window sill for support, shutting his eyes. When he 
opened them he caught the tale end of a glance between the two other 
men, but it was too late to see what it was about.

"I have a theory, you know." Ross lent forward confidingly, seemingly 
oblivious to the undercurrents. "I reckon it's all to do with that 
science place just outside town. Genetic research or something. You 
know how people talk when they've had a bit to drink.... Well, I 
reckon there's something secret happening there  - something horrible 
- and the doc and this other guy found out and...." His eyes grew 
wide, as if he was recounting a favourite movie. "Then I reckon they 
came and 'terminated' them, as they say, and disguised it so it looked 
as if they hadn't...."

"Disguised it?" He was testing him, seeing how far he was prepared to 
go. "How? As alien abduction?"

The smile faltered just a little, but then the torrent of words 
continued unchecked. "Maybe. I don't know. But I do know that those 
guys who told you about lights in the sky last night - I've seen them 
around. They don't have jobs. They never have any money. But, listen 
to this." His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes sparkling as if he was 
enjoying every minute of this telling. "I saw one of them today riding 
a new motorbike. I think someone paid them to...."

"How do you know about them?" He was relentless, hammering questions 
to keep on the offensive, to keep the doubts at bay. 

"Like I said, I keep my eyes open." Ross's smile faded and he looked 
straight into Mulder's eyes, his gaze steady. "I was there last night. 
I was watching you too."

Mulder rested his head back on the window frame, feeling the energy 
flow from him into the wind. He'd asked his questions. He'd done his 
part. He couldn't do it all by himself, not any more. Two different 
minds, two different viewpoints, complementing each other perfectly 
and together reaching the truth.

He needed his partner.

Walker broke the silence first. "I don't know." He'd been shifting 
awkwardly from foot to foot through the whole narration, but he didn't 
question Ross's assertion that he'd been there the previous night. 
"This second victim - he had his own computer business. What's that 
got to do with genetic research?"

His fingers were aching, he was clutching the window sill so hard. 
Flashes of memory before his eyes, more clear than the room, clearer 
even than the needle sharp wind at his back. Computer chips. Branched 
DNA. Hybrids....

"Oh God!" he whispered, shutting his eyes. "Not _that_."

But she needed the truth still. However painful, the truth was better 
than not knowing. For _her_ sake....

".....ask them?" Walker was speaking to him, an anxious frown on his 
face. "It's a place to start."

He almost laughed then, although there was no real humour in it. "You 
want to visit this research place and ask?"

Walker winced at his tone, but stood his ground. "Yes. Even if they 
_are_ involved it can no harm. They'll know we're here anyway. We 
won't tell them anything they don't know already."

He nodded, grudgingly recognising the truth of the other man's words 
and turned to close to window, feeling strangely reluctant to tear 
himself away from the cold touch of the wind. But he couldn't let 
Walker go by himself, not if Ross's theory was right.

"Okay," he said, without turning round. "Lets...."

But then his voice died on his lips. He couldn't speak. He couldn't 
think. He couldn't breathe. He could only stand and watch, mesmerised, 
as his feeble certainties crashed in ruins around him.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

**********

How as it possible that she could sound so confident?

But even though the knock had been firm - far firmer than her thoughts 
- there was no answer. Just the distant echo of other feet coming up 
the stairs behind her, and a rattle of keys somewhere out of sight.

"Mulder?"

Scully knocked again, more tentatively this time. Her breathing was 
anxious and shallow.

I'm doing the right thing. I'm doing the right thing.... I _am_ doing 
the right thing?

She chewed her lip, fighting the sudden wave of doubt, but then 
recovered, pulling all her emotions deep within her.

 She _was_ doing the right thing.

"Mulder?"

She hoped.

And then the door opened and she knew from the sudden almost painful 
wave of fear that passed through her that she wasn't ready - that she 
would never be ready. It would _never_ be easy, however long she 
waited.

But this was now. She had to fight. She couldn't miss this chance, not 
after everything.

"Mulder?"

She took a step into the room, feeling the cold hit her from the open 
window. He was leaning against a window frame, his back to her. His 
fingers were white with tension as they gripped the frame, and she 
could see his body moving in great heaving breaths.

"Er.... I'll go, shall I?" She scarcely spared a glance at the man 
who'd spoken - the man who'd opened the door. He was of no importance. 
Nothing was of any importance, except....

"Okay." It was the smallest of sounds, half carried away by the wind. 
He still didn't look round.

"We'll be..... I don't know how long I'll be. I'll tell you what I 
find out." His voice exuded awkwardness, but she could spare no 
sympathy for him or his companion. They were intruders. They were.... 
alien.

"Mulder?" She pulled her coat closer round her body and walked over to 
the window. She half-raised a hand to touch his shoulder, but then let 
it fall. It was too soon for that. 

God! There was so much she wanted to say, so little she could say. 
Where could she start? 

The door shut softly and footsteps sounded away down the corridor, 
giving her an idea.

"Was that your....?" She swallowed painfully. "Was that.... him?"

"Yes."

A siren sounded in the distance and grew steadily louder, changing 
pitch suddenly as it began to fade away again into the silence which 
had given birth to it. There was no other sound. She could see the 
passage of seconds in the rise and fall of his shoulders.

"You shouldn't have come." It was a rapid mumble, full of pain. "You 
shouldn't have...."

"Don't you want me to come?" Strange how it could hurt her even now, 
even after everything. She understood, but she couldn't like it. 
"Don't you want to see me?" Her voice caught on a shiver which was so 
like a sob.

"Yes!" He whirled round, eyes brimming, but then he gasped as if 
stabbed in the heart. "I mean, no!.... I don't..... I can't...."

"Mulder." She touched him gently on the arm, expecting to feel him 
flinch, but there was no reaction. His eyes were closed. "I chose to 
come today. No-one pressurised me. It was my own decision. Just like I 
chose to....."

"Leave." There was no reproach in his voice, but it was like lead.

She smiled, putting all the strength she had into the facade. "To 
stay, Mulder. That's why I chose to stay with the X-Files all that 
time. Whatever happened, it was my choice. You never forced me."

He was breathing fast but he didn't look at her. She had no way of 
knowing if he'd heard her at all. But he _had_ to believe. She'd never 
told him, not really. Oh, she'd shouted at him, during that horrible 
time, telling him how she was old enough to make her own decisions, 
but she'd never actually _told_ him, not once since this whole 
nightmare began.

But it was the key to everything.

"Mulder...."

"I haven't solved it yet, Scully." There was a wild desperation about 
his voice, like someone caught in a fatal trap. "The case. I don't 
know...."

She sighed, fists clenched in an effort at control. She couldn't push. 
She had to be patient. She had to respect his fear. The time would 
come.

But please.... She whispered a silent prayer. Please let it be soon.

"You've only been here since yesterday." She gave a quick laugh, 
hearing it come out so unconvincingly. "Not even you could have solved 
a case that quickly."

And then she froze, realising what she'd said. But Mulder gave no sign 
of having noticed. Either that, or he'd already started thinking of 
himself in the past tense and accepted her words as natural.

She didn't want to think about what _that_ meant.

"I haven't got any...." He blinked, looking lost. He was just so 
unlike Mulder. "There's so much that doesn't make sense. It's so...."

"Have you got a photo of the man who was killed - the first man who 
was killed?" She spoke firmly, remembering. Before, he could always 
pull himself out of his depressions when confronted by a direct 
question or a puzzle. She could only hope there was that much of the 
old Mulder left. 

"Yes" He picked up a file from the table beside the window and leafed 
through its pages. "Here you are." He handed her a picture, but didn't 
meet her eyes.

It surprised her how little shock she felt - how easily she'd slipped 
back into the old way of thinking. It _was_ him. She'd thought she'd 
convinced herself that it wouldn't be - that her interest in him was 
merely an excuse to justify her travelling. But she was still Scully, 
and Scully had seen too much to ignore something that.... wasn't quite 
right. She was wary of coincidence.

"I did an autopsy on this man." She looked at him earnestly, hoping to 
see a reaction - any reaction....

His exuberance, that first case together. Shouting with wonder in the 
rain. Smiling like an excited school boy while she did the autopsy, 
photographing the body from all angles. He'd been so full of questions 
- so full of wonder at the answers....

Before.

"What did you find?" His voice was weary, but there was the smallest 
flicker of interest on his face.

She paused, assailed by sudden doubt. He was so complex. She just 
didn't know how he'd take it. "Mulder?" Her voice was wary, guarded. 
"Do you think this case involves aliens?"

"No."

She clenched and unclenched her hands, her mind racing. She just 
didn't know what to feel. Part of her wanted to sigh with relief. 
She'd seen what abduction cases could do to him, and knew it would be 
more than he could cope with. But at the same time she wanted to cry 
with grief, mourning the loss of his faith.

"Oh, Mulder...." Grief won. She reached out to touch him again, 
desperate to comfort but at a loss for words.

"Nothing fits, Scully." He flinched and the scared look came back into 
his eyes, and she suddenly understood what he was afraid of. His words 
were quick and garbled - a desperate wall of defence. "The man we 
found.... The woman claimed to see.... to see.... lights when he was 
taken. Yesterday, these youths.... they spoke of.... of lights too. 
But.... Nothing fits, Scully. I think.... I think they're lying."

"I think you're right." It was so hard to keep her voice level. She 
_needed_ to comfort him, but had to respect his fear. "I found nothing 
in the autopsy that suggested alien involvement." She smiled, hoping 
to prompt a response, but there was nothing. He would have teased her, 
once. "The man I saw had been hurt by very earthly implements. Nothing 
high-tech, even."

He shut his eyes briefly, as if envisaging the wounds. She remembered 
that he'd seen a body too. "But there's _something_...."

She sighed, wearily. "Yes. There's something. Something important 
enough for me to be sent that body. Something important enough for all 
this secrecy. Something important."

"I know." He took a deep breath. Was it her imagination, or were his 
eyes more focused, his face more alert? "That young man who was here 
when you arrived? He has a theory. He thinks it's something to do with 
a.... a medical installation just out of town. He thinks the two men 
found out something they shouldn't about what went on there and were 
silenced."

She reached for the support of the wall, shutting her eyes for a 
second as she prayed for strength. She'd heard the catch in his voice 
before he said "medical installation" and knew what he was protecting 
her from. 

"Do you....?" It was a tiny croak, and she coughed to regain her 
control. "Do you believe him?"

There was nothing more to be said. Once she'd have laughed at the 
whole idea, but now.... Now she knew only too well that places like 
that sometimes _did_ have secrets they were prepared to kill to 
protect.

"I don't know. It fits..."
 
But there was such doubt in his voice. It was strange how she only 
noticed things now they were gone. For all his talk of trust no-one - 
for all his paranoia - he had always been so trusting, so willing to 
believe. She'd teased him about it, but she'd never really thought 
about it, not until now.

"So why don't you b....?" She stopped herself, realising why she was 
asking. She didn't want him to believe a theory just because one local 
youth had told him. She just wanted to see him get his faith back - 
his desperate need to believe. "Why are you so.... biased against 
him?"

"Because _he_ - because Walker found him."

Hope surged in her heart. "Don't you trust him?" Then she collected 
herself, whispering her mantra of control. "You said you.... liked 
him," she managed at last.

He opened his mouth, fighting for words, but made no sound. She could 
tell he was desperately trying to lie. "I... I don't know." He was a 
little boy, lost and confused.

She wanted so much to lie herself, but knew she owed it to him to be 
honest, whatever it cost her. "Skinner thinks he's _probably_ okay." 
She spoke firmly, defiantly, showing her weaker self that she had 
control.

He exhaled sharply, and his shoulders slumped a little more, but he 
said nothing. His face was unreadable.

There was a clatter outside, and a feline squall. A plane rumbled 
overhead, secure in a different lifetime. Voices swelled up in the 
corridor, laughed, and then passed away again.

"Mulder." It was time. She _had_ to try. "About...."

"I don't understand it, Scully." The terrible defensive look was back, 
but there was something in his eyes - something else. "Parts of it are 
being covered up. Parts of it are being made so obvious. I don't know 
what to believe. I don't know what I'm _supposed_ to believe."

"Supposed to believe?" She sighed, accepting it with resignation. It 
was just too soon for him to talk about it. "What do you mean by 
that?"

His eyes were grey-rimmed - so weary. "I was so sure it was a set-up."

"Was?" She had to keep questioning. There was something in his tone. 
She just needed to keep prompting - to hear him speak.

"But maybe that youth's right." She was right. It _was_ interest she'd 
seen - a fleeting glimpse of the old Mulder. "Maybe it's a cover-up 
instead." 

She smiled. "Not a very good one."

"No." It was a weary sigh, but something seemed to relax about his 
face. Not a smile, but rather a small release of tension, a small 
lightening of mood.

She paused. There was so much to say, but she knew she couldn't, not 
yet. She had to keep on the case, that much was obvious. Keep on the 
case, peel away the barriers layer by layer, and then....

"No!" She hadn't meant to speak aloud, but saw from his reaction that 
she had. But she couldn't let herself think of that. She couldn't let 
herself aim to high. She had to take this step by step, and rejoice in 
each small victory.

He'd smiled today.... Almost.

"Or maybe...." She forced herself to back to the case, saying anything 
she could think of to keep him focused. "Maybe there's someone who 
opposes the cover-up - someone like your Mr X. Maybe they're the one 
who sent me that body. Maybe they're the one who's making parts of 
this so easy for us."

For us....

Silence. No-one moved. No-one spoke. She wasn't even aware of 
breathing.

For us. For us. For us.... Hammering in her mind, an ever-resounding 
echo. Were they ever...? Would they ever....?

She clenched her fists so tight they hurt. "For us." She enunciated 
each words distinctly, defiantly. It had to be said. She couldn't 
push, but he had to know. He had to believe.

But the whole case was collapsing around them, his confusion 
fluttering around her like falling leaves.

"There's so many uncertainties, Scully." She couldn't be sure if he 
was talking about the case. "There's so little to go on. I.... I don't 
know where to start."

She'd never seen him so lost. God! What had she done?

"But there are answers, Mulder. We _will_ find them." She forced her 
voice to stay calm, confident. "And there are certainties too. There 
are two dead men. _Someone_ killed them." And then she smiled, hoping 
desperately. "Or some_thing_."

He met her gaze for the first time, and she saw her smile reflected in 
his eyes. "Or something."

It was genuine smile this time. It made her want to laugh. It made her 
want to cry. 

He was smiling. He was smiling.... He was recovering. There was hope. 

But underneath it all, unable to let her forget, was the voice of 
caution, dragging her own smile from her face.

How had she let it sink so far that a tiny smile, scarcely there at 
all, was all she had to cling to - all the grounds she had for 
optimism?

It was not over yet.

*********

"She's gone to him."

The rasp of a lighter, and a flame shone briefly then was 
extinguished. 

"Yes." Walter Skinner didn't face the man who'd spoken. His eyes were 
distant, thoughtful, as he replaced the receiver.

"She has loyalty." A deep breath, inhaling the smoke. "That is.... 
gratifying. It was beginning to look as if we were wrong about her 
after all."

What was he getting at? Skinner felt the deep stirrings of uncertainty 
within him, puncturing the brief bubble of satisfaction prompted by 
the phone call. But he kept his face neutral and said nothing. The 
best way to treat a man like that. Refuse to give him the satisfaction 
of seeing his words could provoke emotion.

"But she doesn't disappoint." The eyebrows arched in feigned 
admiration, but the voice was harsh, full of untold meaning.

It was too much.

He turned to face the other man, his voice steely with distaste. 
"Agent Scully has always done what she thinks is right." 

"As have I." The man smiled and took another lungful of smoke. "As 
_do_ I."

Skinner picked up a file, leafing through it with studied 
concentration, but the words were a blur before his eyes, obscured by 
the satisfied smile on the other man's face. It was no use. He had to 
be faced - driven out.

"You won't keep them apart." He put down the file, setting his face in 
a look which had broken men in the past. "You can't...."

"We haven't tried to." A breath of smoke drifted past the window, 
clouding the light. "They destroyed themselves, remember?"

Skinner shut his eyes briefly, remembering. It was true. It had 
surprised him how much it had torn him apart to see it - how important 
it had seemed that he halt the descent before it was too late. He'd 
failed, then. But now....?

"But now?" He spoke aloud, turning his thoughts into accusation. "If 
you even try...." He let the words hang, the threat almost tangible in 
his tone.

The man leant back, relaxing further into his chair. His posture, his 
tone, his whole manner were unconcerned, but his eyes were dangerous. 
"You wouldn't," he said. It was little above a whisper, soft as smoke.

Skinner didn't drop his gaze, but he knew the other man was right. He 
wouldn't. They both knew there was nothing he could threaten the other 
man with. Sure, he had access to the memorised information from that 
disk, but he wouldn't risk public and political upheaval by revealing 
it, not just for the personal interests of two of his agents. That 
wouldn't be justice. It would be corruption of politics for personal 
ends - precisely what he most hated.

"But if she asks to return to the X-Files...." He spoke fast, trying 
to reclaim the initiative.

"Then you will agree, of course." A puff of smoke. A casual shrug. "If 
she asks."

_If_ she asks....

It was wrong. This whole situation was wrong.

This _case_....

"She won't let it break down like last time." He spoke firmly, but was 
trying to convince himself more than the other man. Yet he saw a flash 
of her face in his memory. He'd seldom seen her more strong, more 
determined than she had been when they'd last met. If anyone could 
evade whatever they were plotting, it was Scully. 

"She said that, in this very office, last time." It was soft, almost 
warm with remembering. "But she left him the next day."

"But not this time." He spat the words out, feeding on Scully's 
determination. He knew there was no danger in provoking the man. He 
already knew far more about the situation than anyone else. "And I'll 
support them _when_ they get back together."

"Perhaps." A smile. "_If_...."

A cigarette was stubbed out.

**********

"I want to help, Mulder. Honestly I do."

She'd seemed so sincere. She _still_ seemed so sincere. Over and over, 
the memory of her words, loud in the silence. Her voice. Her face. Her 
soft touch on the back of his hand before she left. Her eyes....

"I chose to come here, Mulder. You never forced me to do _anything_ 
against my will."

Over and over, replaying the look of her, the sound of her, the feel 
of her, nagging at the memory for any trace of anger, any trace of 
coercion, any trace of.... of pity.

But she had seemed so sincere.

The phone was warm now, warm and moist, but it seemed to burn him like 
a flame.

Call her. Call her. Call her. Sly sinuous tongues of flame, making his 
palm sting as if every word, every thought, was lashing at his skin.

Call her....

Scully. Thanks for coming. I'm glad we can part on good terms, now. 
But we've.... Scully, you were right, back then. It's better for both 
of us if we're apart. I can't let you risk yourself....

"No!" The tongues of fire consumed his whole body in pain. "No! Not 
that! Not any more. I don't believe...."

I don't believe....

Call her....

Scully. Thanks for coming. I didn't tell you, then. It.... meant a lot 
to me, Scully. It made me think. I.... I _believe_ you when you say 
you never did anything that wasn't your own choice. I know you, 
Scully. You're strong. I'm sorry I doubted you. I believe you now..... 
But.... it's difficult, Scully. I can't believe it - not fully believe 
it - not all at once. There's been so much - so long.... I need 
time.... I need....

"No." He chewed his lip, fighting. "Not that. Not now. Too soon."

I can't believe, not yet....

Call her....

Scully. Thanks for coming. It's made me think. I thought I'd go to 
pieces if I ever saw you, but I didn't. I coped. So maybe.... Maybe I 
can see you again. I know we can't be together again, but maybe...

Maybe he _could_ see her, even though they weren't working together. 
Maybe they _could_ still discuss a case - still work together 
informally even though they weren't partners. Maybe it _wasn't_ all or 
nothing.

And he needed her. For himself, he needed her. For this case, he 
needed her. Someone to theorise with. Someone to discuss the evidence 
with. Someone to debate with until they found that the problems just 
fell away and they were left with the solution. Someone to solve the 
case with, as an equal.

Someone....

Scully.

And there was no-one else.

Walker, knocking tentatively on his door a few hours ago, just 
after.... just after she'd gone.

"We went to the research place." His manner had been diffident, but 
there had been a smugness, a tone of triumph, in his voice.

"We?" Scully had taken the colour from his world, but he could still 
care - he'd been surprised how much he'd cared. "What do you mean, 
we?"

Walker had blinked in surprise, as if taken aback by his reaction. "I 
mean.... him. The youth. Ross. He showed me the way."

Mulder had sighed, wearily. It had still seemed wrong to him, but the 
answer had been reasonable enough. "So what did you find?"

"It's called the Murphy Research Institute." Walker had sat down 
uninvited, and his face shone with triumph. "I managed to get in and 
talk to them."

"Of course you did." Mulder had almost spoken aloud, but had 
restrained himself just in time. He had no proof that the man was an 
enemy. On the contrary, both Skinner and Scully seemed to think he was 
to be trusted. He supposed his opposition to the man had more to do 
with resentment at _anyone_ who tried to take Scully's place.

"So what did they say?" This time he'd spoken aloud, but then he'd 
turned away, scarcely expecting anything from the answer. They would 
only have let him in if they were going to tell him lies.

Walker's face had fallen, his words slowing to a reluctant mumble. 
"The man I spoke to assured me that he had no knowledge of _any_ of 
the missing people."

Mulder had shut his eyes. Nothing, again. Always nothing. Meeting 
questions with lies. Murdering and getting away with it.

But then....

"Any?" He'd whirled round the face the other man, feeling sudden hope. 
"Did he say 'any'?"

Walker had nodded slowly, doubtfully. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure that what he 
said. But....?"

"He should have said 'either'" 

He'd smiled, then. It was an old feeling, this excitement at a 
breakthrough, at a new lead to follow, but it was feeling he'd never 
thought he'd feel again.

It was a feeling that hadn't lasted long.

"So you think...?" Walker had frowned, processing the information. "I 
reckoned Ross must have been lying - that or imagining things. But you 
think that man was....?"

"Lying? Yes, of course I do." His tone had been bitter, his mind in 
the past. "That's what they do all the time."

"But...."

"It fits, Scully. Why would Ross....?"

Scully....

The phone burned, a painful wrench from a painful memory.

Call her....

Scully. I need your help on this. Not as a partner, just to talk to. 
Walker.... I just can't discuss things with him - not like you. I 
don't trust him, not really. And I don't respect him. He's always 
asking questions. He doesn't.... he doesn't fight me like you did - 
force me to think. I.... I need to be forced to think, Scully. There 
are so many distractions. Like thinking about....

A flash. Krycek. Duane Barry. A splash of blood on the coffee table. 
Her blood on his hands.

"Oh God!" He dropped the phone, knowing for certain now that he 
couldn't call her, not ever. "I'm sorry, Scully."

She'd helped him then, though they hadn't been together, and she'd 
paid a terrible price. How could he be so selfish as to ask that of 
her again?

But she had looked so sincere.

"Oh God!" He buried his head in his hands, eyes tight shut against the 
confusion. "Help me."

**********

He didn't know what it was at first.

It was an annoyance, a distraction, an alien sound intruding into his 
thoughts. He was deep in the case now - he had to be. Red hair, blue 
eyes, hovering at the fringes of his vision, but kept at bay by sheer 
force of will.

And it had worked. For all of an hour, it had worked. 

But now....

Scully. He knew it was. It had to be. Calling him at night, the sound 
of her voice so much longed for, so much dreaded.

"Mulder." He answered the phone, quickly this time, knowing it would 
only get worse the longer he left it.

"It's me." 

He shut his eyes, savouring the sound of her voice. It was his anchor, 
at the same time as it make him want to cry out with loss.

"Mulder?" There was a tremble in her voice as she prompted into the 
silence. "I called as soon as I got back." A pause. "Are you there, 
Mulder?"

"I'm here, Scully." His tongue stumbled over her name, even though 
those syllables were his constant companion. 

"I'm sorry I left, earlier. I shouldn't have.... I should have 
stayed."

I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to stay. His mind was screaming 
silently down the line. I wanted you to stay. But I wanted you to go 
too. The reminder.... It's so difficult, Scully - so painful.

"Mulder?"

"It's.... it's okay." How could his voice be so composed, so in 
contrast with the turmoil in his mind? "I understand."

And he did understand. Intellectually she wanted to help with the 
case, having seen one of the victims. That's why she'd come. But she 
still found it so difficult, so stressful, to be in the same room as 
him. He still brought her nothing but pain.

"I should have stayed." She carried on as if he hadn't spoken. "But I 
didn't want to...."

"Stay."

"No!" There was an edge of anger in her sigh, and he knew that he 
still hadn't learnt - that he still was doing everything wrong. "I 
didn't want to p...." Another sigh. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry." It was tiny voice, hardly his at all. It was all crashing 
down again.

"Mulder, I....."

He couldn't take it. He couldn't talk about it, not yet. But he was 
still weak enough to want to cling to her voice.

"The case, Scully. I want to talk...."

To talk about the case. To talk to her. To talk about a safe subject. 
To hear her voice without it being drenched with grief and regret. To 
talk about the case.

A sigh. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Maybe." He forced his mind back to the files, forced himself to 
concentrate. "It was something the man at the research place said. It 
led me to think there were more than two deaths."

"And were there?" Her voice was dull, not really interested, but he 
knew he _had_ to keep talking about this, or he'd be lost.

"Yes. Two more. Or at least one death and one disappearance. No-one 
had told us since they didn't fit the pattern, but they are related, 
I'm sure of it."

"Why?" There was a spark of interest in her voice.

"The dead woman was stabbed to death with a kitchen knife. It's 
assumed that her husband did it as he disappeared at the same time."

"So why do you think it's related?"

She sighed again, and he knew suddenly that she was bored, even angry 
with the fact that he hadn't got straight to the point. In the past 
he'd sometimes done it deliberately to tease her, stating a case a 
little at a time, then trumping each of her rational explanations with 
a fresh fact. He'd thought she hadn't minded, then. But of course it 
had just been one more thing that had annoyed her about him - one more 
reason why she'd....

"Why do you think it's related?" she repeated. She didn't _sound_ 
angry, but she was being kind, hiding it. 

"Because David Epstein - that's her husband - worked at the research 
institute." He spoke in a rush, full of remorse. "And because I can't 
find out any real details about the woman's death or about what is 
being done to find the husband."

"So you think this man  - this David Epstein - is the one who's killed 
those other two men?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But there are other possibilities too. They 
could have timed these other deaths straight after his disappearance, 
hoping we'd think that. Or they could have killed him _and_ his wife, 
but for some reason we've not found his body. He could be as much a 
victim was the others."

"That is, assuming that _they_ killed these two other men." He could 
almost see her shaking her head warningly, urging caution. It was a 
look he'd seen so often before. "We don't know that. It's only a 
theory."

He wanted to laugh at that. "Sceptical as ever, Agent Scully?" he'd 
say, his eyes full of fond admiration, trying to forget that he might 
never get the chance again. But he didn't know how she'd take it, so 
he said nothing.

"Okay." She gave a deprecatory laugh. "I admit that it seems to fit, 
if - _if_ - what that youth of yours can be trusted. But you must 
remember how we've been set up before. I don't want to find we've been 
wasting time here when it's all just an elaborate charade to cover a 
simple serial killer."

We. She'd said 'we'. Not 'you', but 'we'.

"But...." He stammered, trying not to think of _that_. It was still 
too painful. There was no time for it now. "But.... why? Why would 
they go to so much effort for that?"

"I don't know, Mulder. You're the one who suggested that all this talk 
of lights in the sky, all this pretence at alien tests, was just to 
cover a very earthly murdering of opponents."

"I know." He sighed, suddenly feeling immensely weary. "That's what I 
think. But I don't understand _why_. If they wanted to kill someone 
without anyone suspecting them, there are dozens of ways they could do 
it without having to veil it in a web of lies that only a...."

Only a fool would believe. God! He'd been about to say _that_. Alien 
abduction - a thing that only a fool would believe.

He smiled. He'd caught himself out. To his surprise it was _funny_.

"You're not crazy, Mulder - believing." Her voice was gentle, 
soothing, misunderstanding his sudden silence. 

"I know." The smile faded, but the echo of it still filled him. "I 
know. And I still believe."

**********

"Hello?"

Scully blinked, struggling with sleep, struggling to find words. The 
phone had rung, its sound penetrating her sleep, but her hand had 
reached for it before her mind was fully awake.

"Scully. It's me."

"Mulder."

She switched the lamp on, screwing her eyes up against the onslaught 
of light. But she _had_ to wake up. She knew enough of Mulder's state 
of mind to know that he must have agonised for ages before actually 
calling her. She couldn't let him down.

"There's been another one, Scully." He was breathless, though whether 
from nerves or from physical exertion she couldn't tell. "It's the 
County Medical Examiner."
  
"What?" She sat up in bed, struggling to make the pieces fall into 
place. "So that means....?"

"That we can't believe anything they tell us about the deaths."

Her mind was slowed by sleep, and she couldn't keep up. "Why?" she 
asked, but a yawn took over before she'd finished, and she knew her 
genuine interest hadn't come across in her voice.

"It was the County Medical Examiner who found Jacqueline Epstein's 
death was caused by multiple stab wounds inflicted in a frenzied 
attack." His voice was duller now, all the life taken out of it. There 
was no inflection in it at all. "But maybe he was forced to say that. 
Maybe he was unhappy with lying and wanted to tell the truth, which is 
why they've taken him now."

"But, Mulder...." She rubbed a hand over her eyes, but the sleep 
refused to release its hold on her brain. Call me in the morning. 
We'll discuss it in the morning. I can't think now. That's what she 
wanted to say to him. That's what she _would_ have said to him, 
before. But she couldn't, not now. "How.... What are you going to do 
now?"

"I don't know. I'll think about it." His voice was shutting her off.

"Mulder...." she began, but another yawn stopped her words.

"I'm sorry." It was almost a sob.

"Mulder!" She snapped fully awake at last, now it was too late. 
"Don't...."

But there was no-one there to hear her.

**********

Friday 10th May
____

She had a gun. Not in her hand, not pointing at his head, but it was 
there, resting in the shadows of her table. She didn't once glance at 
it, but he knew that her whole mind was on the feel of the trigger, 
that her awkwardly twitching hand would grab it if he made the 
slightest wrong move.

"Ms Daniels." Mulder took a step forward. He tried to speak gently, 
but he knew there was no point, not if he was right. "I only want to 
talk to you again about what you said you saw." He stressed the word 
'said'.

"I don't want to talk to you." Her hand clenched and unclenched but 
was never far away from the gun.

God! He was too tired to play games. What was the point? Better to get 
it out in the open, whatever the consequences.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" He couldn't muster any real anger. 
He pushed his jacket back to show her that he too had a gun, but made 
no effort to reach for it. "You work at the Murphy Research 
Institute."

"No!" She stepped back, further away from the gun. Then she sighed, 
and her voice caught in her throat, shaking with tension. "I.... I 
don't work. I was a teacher, but I.... I've been seeing a doctor."

There was something in her look. The tremulous voice. The shaking 
hands. The welling eyes. Maybe she was just a very good actress, but 
he wanted to believe her. He saw himself in her eyes.

He held his hands out in front of him, showing he offered no threat, 
and took a step forward. "What did you see that night?" he asked. His 
voice was low and soothing, as to a child.

"I _told_ you." Her hand was pressed to her mouth and she wouldn't 
meet his eyes.

"It wasn't lights in the sky, was it?".

She gave a tiny shake of her head, scarcely there at all. There were 
tears on her cheeks.

"Did you see a _person_....?"

"Please go away." She spoke as a child to a monster of nightmares, 
little and whimpering. Her eyes were fixed on a photograph of a young 
boy, fair-haired and smiling, his eyes radiating happiness.

"Is that it?" He followed her gaze, his own eyes softening with 
understanding. "They threatened your family if you told the truth?"

Her breath caught in a sob and she nodded falteringly, then visibly 
collected herself. "I don't know what you mean," she snapped, though 
her tone, her face, didn't match her words.

He wanted to reach out to her and hold her, tell her everything would 
be okay, then leave her in peace, knowing her every tear was dragged 
forth painfully by his words. But he couldn't. He _had_ to find out 
the truth. 

But there was so much pain.

"You needn't talk to me." He tried to apologise with his eyes, though 
he could scarcely look at her, knowing the pain he was causing. "But 
I'm going to say some things. Could you nod if they're correct?"

She didn't move, didn't speak, but her eyes flickered and he knew 
she'd heard him.

"You said you were seeing a doctor. Was it Dr Wanless?"

There was no doubt about her answer. A nod.

"Did you have an appointment to see him the day he was taken?" He kept 
his own voice soft and controlled, knowing he had no chance if he 
broke down too.

The nod was smaller this time, scarcely there at all. A tear splashed 
onto the front of her dress, staining the red cloth with a darker 
spot, like blood.

"And it was _there_ that you saw something, not here?"

"I didn't see...." It came bursting out, hot with protest, but then 
her hands flew to her mouth with horror. "I heard," she whispered, so 
quietly he didn't think he was supposed to hear at all, though he 
suspected that deep down she wanted him to.

"What?" Insistent and firm, hating himself for it. He knew he would 
lie too, if they threatened someone he loved - if they threatened 
Scully.

"Nothing." It was still mumbled through her hand, barely audible. "A 
scuffle. In the parking lot. A voice - his voice. Nothing else."

"And they saw you watching?"

"I don't know!" It was a cry of anguish. "I didn't _see_ anyone. I 
just told his receptionist, but she.... She's gone away. I can't find 
her. They told me it didn't happen like I thought."

"But it did. Don't doubt your own memory. Never believe what _they_ 
say." He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but knew he couldn't. Too 
much for her, and too much for him. He hadn't held anyone since....

Don't doubt your own memory. The echo of his own words resounded in 
his head. Don't doubt your own memory. Don't let people tell you.... 
People... Lewis....

He took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the present. There was 
no _time_ for that, not now. He'd lost so many chances by wallowing in 
the past, ignoring the present. He could think of that later, reassess 
the past.

"Do you know why?" He spoke louder than he'd intended, but he needed 
the sound of his voice to pull him back. "Do you know why they made 
you lie?"

She was a rabbit caught in headlights, frozen in horror.

"They want to hide the truth." Bitterness made him harsh. "They want 
to ruin your credibility as a witness. If you talk of lights in the 
sky, no-one will take the rest of what you say seriously." He spoke 
with feeling. He _knew_ that. The pitying suspicion in the eyes of the 
police officers interviewing a thirteen year old boy, not even 
bothering to write down what he said. "They want people to think 
you're crazy." He gave a bitter laugh, one with no amusement in it. 
"Do you want people to think you're crazy?"

She backed up against the wall, her eyes dark with fear.

"But I want to find the truth." He lowered his voice, regretting his 
bitter tone. "I want to stop them. I want to stop them having a hold 
over you."

And he did. It mattered. One more thing that mattered, pushing him 
ever closer to this case, ever further away from the terrible stormy 
ocean of past reflection. It was _their_ fault again. Their fault, not 
his.

"You can't." Her voice rose above a whisper for the first time in 
minutes. It was choked with hatred and despair. "Nothing can stop them 
- nothing. You don't know anything about this. But I.... I know.... 
All my life...." She shuddered, unable to speak any more.

"What do you know?" God! He _hated_ having to push, but he needed to 
know. "What has happened to you all your life?"

A cold steel slab. Scully dying in a hospital bed. A woman's 
traumatised eyes as she spoke of tests. A doctor in Wisconsin using 
his patients like laboratory animals.

"Is that what it was?" He didn't try to shake the images aside. Their 
brightness infused his voice, making it soft with pity. "Your visits 
to the doctor - they were.... they were doing....?"

He couldn't say it, not if there was any chance he could be wrong. How 
could he live with himself if he landed that fear on her, if she 
didn't know. There was a time for truth, but there also a time for 
protection. She'd been through too much already.

"I don't know!" She spoke at last, her voice distraught. "I don't know 
what they did. I don't remember anything. I don't even know if it's 
true. But that other man - he said...." And then she froze in horror, 
her words stopping as if they'd been cut.

"What other man?" He crouched down beside her chair, trying to meet 
her eyes. "What other man? Please tell me. I want to help."

"Get out now. Please." She changed so abruptly it was as if a switch 
had been pushed. In an instant, she was all firm determination. Her 
eyes burned with the same sort of fierce protectiveness they'd shown 
when she'd looked at the picture of her son. "I can't talk about that. 
I've told you far too much already. Now please go." She looked 
meaningfully at the gun.

He didn't attempt to protest. He wasn't ready to fight a hopeless 
battle, not yet, not alone.

Not without.....

**********

"Agent Scully."

Frohike didn't smile as he opened the door, though he stood aside to 
let her in. Behind him Langly and Byers were bent over computer 
screens. They didn't make any move to acknowledge her presence.

"I need your help." She hated to admit weakness, to admit she needed 
anyone's help, but this was no time for pride. She flashed him a quick 
troubled smile, but it wasn't returned.

"What makes you think we can help you?" His voice was taut, almost 
hostile, but his eyes seemed full of regret.

She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to back off. She'd never 
felt quite at home with these men, although she had softened towards 
Frohike when he visited her to condole her on Mulder's supposed death 
in New Mexico. "I need to find out about a place called Murphy's 
Research Institute, in Georgetown, Ohio. It's something to do with 
genetic research."

She could almost feel a quiver in the air, as if all three of them had 
drawn in a quick breath, but no-one said anything.

It was too much. She'd been blocked all along. Blocked by Skinner. 
Blocked by Mulder's misplaced guilt. Blocked by herself. She was _not_ 
going to be blocked by them too.

"Damn it, Frohike." She flashed fire at him, although her words were 
directed to all of them. "There's no _time_ for this. Mulder needs 
your help."

"Mulder?" Frohike whirled round to face him, his eyes lighting with 
hope. Byers's fingers paused on the keyboard. "You're back....?"

"No." She shook her head sadly. "Not yet. But...." She struggled for 
words, suddenly unable to speak. It was so complicated. She couldn't 
express even a tenth of the complex emotions in which they were 
enmeshed. "I'm.... hopeful," she said, at last, hearing the tremor in 
her voice which belied her words.

"It destroyed him when...." There was still some accusation in his 
voice, though he didn't go as far as to complete the sentence - to 
accuse her in words.

"I know." She spoke with all the sorrow of a long-familiar guilt. "I 
know it's no excuse, but I meant well. You've got to believe me. 
I'm.... I'm sorry." It suddenly seemed so important that they believed 
her - important enough for her to put off her mask and actually reveal 
her feelings. She'd reproached herself so much. Now she just longed 
for approval, even though she knew she didn't deserve it.

Frohike frowned, as if struggling to read her, then visibly softened. 
His hand moved as if to touch her arm, but then he let it fall. "I 
know, Agent Scully. _I'm_ sorry - sorry for doubting you."

"This Research Institute...." It was too much. The apology in 
Frohike's eyes. The knowledge that he'd been right to judge. His 
awkward attempt at contact. She couldn't.... She _needed_ to get back 
to work. "What do you know about it?"

It was there again, clearer this time, the awkward tension in the air, 
as if the whole room had caught a breath. Byers' fingers flew across 
the keyboard, suddenly loud in the silence.

"What does Mulder know?" Frohike's voice was wary, though no longer 
distrustful. "Why is he interested in it?"

"He has reason to believe...." She turned to Byers and Langly, who 
still hadn't spoken to her, and looked at them defiantly. "_We_ have 
reason to believe it could be involved in the death of several 
people."

"Not just several." Byers spoke at last, looking up from the screen. 
"It's a proper research institute, affiliated to the University, 
but...." Again that wary look on Frohike's face. Byers nodded 
slightly, as if in acknowledgement of the silent warning, but 
continued to talk, his voice more cautious. "But there are certain.... 
projects that are not authorised. There are rumours." He gestured 
towards the computer. "There are reliable rumours that it's used for 
tests on human subjects."

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully." Frohike guided her to a chair and for once 
she didn't bridle at the implied sexism of his attention, sinking into 
it gratefully. She knew what was coming. "There's talk of branched 
DNA, like...." He faded out, evidently seeing in her face that she 
remembered - of course she remembered. "Not everyone was returned," he 
finished, simply.

Her nails were red on her palms, deep and painful. I mustn't think of 
it. I mustn't.... Mulder. He needs me now. Not that.... no time for 
that....

"Would they kill to protect the project?." She focused on Mulder, 
anchoring herself on his need. Mulder, glassy-eyed after straying too 
close to something that remained hidden on an airbase. His name, 
shouted through the smoke, with no answer but the echo rebounding off 
the red hills of the desert. Mulder.... And he was getting close again 
- close enough to kill?

"Yes." All three men spoke at once. It would have been comic if it 
hadn't been so terrible. "They have killed," Byers said, shutting his 
eyes briefly as if in revulsion.

"But Mulder...." She focused on his face as if she was drowning, 
forcing away the terrible blank white screen of her memory - a blank 
screen she knew was filled with horrors. "This case - it's so.... 
weird. There's nothing that makes sense. It looks as if they're.... I 
don't know. It's almost as if someone's toying with him, trying to get 
him to do.... what?" She was speaking almost to herself, knowing her 
words made little sense.

"Someone threatened to expose the project." Langly pointed at his 
computer screen. "Some guy I know - he follows these things. Says 
there's been a lot of activity there - a lot of security men 
travelling to the Institute. He thinks...." He peered at  the screen 
again as a fresh line of text appeared. "They're worried about 
something."

"And Mulder's in the middle of it." She reached for her phone, 
intending to warn him, though she knew she'd have no success. His 
phone had been turned off ever since his late-night call. "He's got to 
come back. He can't...."

"No." Frohike reached out as if to stop her hand, but once again he 
didn't touch her. "He might...."

"He could _die_!" She surprised herself with the force of her anger, 
but she couldn't let it fall apart now. Six months of.... of torment, 
and finally she was beginning to get somewhere. She couldn't miss this 
chance. "If there's a security problem they're probably desperate. 
They might _kill_ him."

"But if he stays he might find out...."

"Damn it, Frohike." She stood up, stepping away from him, backed up 
against the wall, although she regretted how defensive her posture 
was. "You said you were worried about him, but you don't care. Nothing 
- no truth, no information - is worth Mulder dying for. He mustn't 
die. Not now." It was almost a sob, and she felt the anger rising hot 
and burning, compensating for her weakness.

"But he could find out...." Frohike looked at the floor, his hands 
twisting nervously. Why couldn't he leave her alone if he hated what 
he was saying so much? "He could find out what happened.... what 
happened to...."

"I do _not_ want to know what happened to me!" 

A burning pain in her hand as she slammed her fist against a table. 
Tears of... of anger, choking her words. She would _not_ let them 
fall, not now - not ever. 

"It's over. Nothing can change it. But Mulder.... that's the future. I 
do _not_ want to know about the past."

A sudden beep as the modem disconnected, so like the blip of a heart 
monitor in....

"It's the past that has ruined everything. Mulder.... We have to 
escape the past. Just leave me alone!"

A hand touched her arm and she lashed out at it, resenting the 
intrusion. Hands, touching, powerless to resist them.... Only 
Mulder...

"Why do you want him to stay?" Her anger faded and she spoke in a 
small voice, really looking at them this time, and seeing their faces, 
clouded with concern, but them again, not some blank faces of 
nightmare, watching her. "He could be in danger."

"We know." There was so much apology in Frohike's face. "But it's...." 
He looked at the others as if for help, but they had turned back to 
their computers. The blank screens reflected their faces, frowning, 
out of their depth.

"What?" She leant forward, her gaze never wavering, though her hands 
were still shaking. "What is it, Frohike?"

"It's just...." He passed a hand across his forehead, as if feeling 
the stress. "You've seen him, Agent Scully. Ever since.... ever since 
he nearly died six months ago.... We've been sending him everything we 
can find, and he's.... he's just lost interest in everything. He just 
doesn't care. It's.... heartbreaking to see."

"And you think this could give him his interest back?" She smiled at 
him, a weak smile but a warm one nevertheless. She was touched by 
Frohike's rare expression of emotion. 

"I.... I don't know. But we've tried everything."

She felt the tears of remorse rise in her throat again. They'd been 
truer friends to Mulder than she had been. 

"But I'm back now." She gave her voice more confidence than she felt. 
"I'm not going to make the same mistake again. We will get through 
this."

There was a long silence. She tried to let confidence show through her 
every pore, aware of the three men's eyes on her, still wary, 
remembering her past mistakes.

It was Byers who spoke first, nodding consideringly, as if accepting 
her resolve. "Then you should know that he _is_ in danger. There is a 
lot of interest in that place right now from people who are.... not 
his friends."

The poor body on the autopsy slab, terribly hurt with dozens of 
wounds, killed for getting to close. Mulder's eyes, devoid of hope, of 
life. Skinner's words, dark with warning: "He's not out of danger 
yet." 

And she couldn't tell him. The dead phone. The fear in his face when 
she went there unannounced. The need to take it slowly, slowly, not 
pushing..... 

She couldn't tell him.

**********

Strange that death could smell so warm - so rich and full.

"Agent Mulder!"

There were worms in the freshly turned earth.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

A hand on his shoulder, pulling him round to face an angry face. The 
smell of earth....

But _she_ had been there, then. An angry voice, the smell of earth, a 
body exhumed, and Scully, the second day after he met her, smiling 
still.

"Agent Mulder! You can't do this. You mustn't do this."

He shook his head, forcing away the memory, seeing the face before him 
begin to grow solid and real. It was the police officer he'd spoken to 
the previous morning - the senior one who'd dismissed his enquiries.

"We were given permission." He gestured at the police officers, whom 
Walker had requested through the proper channels. It had occurred to 
him to wonder how Walker had managed to obtain permission so quickly, 
but was trying hard not to judge the man, remembering what Scully had 
said.

"But _I_ didn't.... You mustn't." The man's voice was angry rather 
than menacing, but he knew a threat could be concealed a thousand 
ways.

"And you are....?"

"George Burroughs. Detective George Burroughs." The man didn't offer 
to shake his hand. His eyes were fixed on the deepening hole in the 
ground. 

"Detective Burroughs." He forced himself to be polite. He couldn't 
take a confrontation, not now. "We have reason to believe Jacqueline 
Epstein's cause of death was.... not as it was reported."

"Why?" He had the other man's attention now. "What do you think....?"

"I don't know." He struggled with his thoughts, trying to judge his 
words carefully. He couldn't know who to trust. "I think... These 
other deaths.... They may be connected."

"They're not!" Burroughs pounced on the denial like a hawk on its 
prey, though there was something in his eyes, something unreadable. 
"They're completely different!" Then he blinked, obviously making a 
conscious effort to calm down, to change his approach. "This woman was 
murdered. She was only buried last week. Can't she be left to rest in 
peace?"

"Can she be said to rest in peace if her husband is, perhaps falsely, 
accused of her murder?" He hadn't intended to say that much, but was 
too tired to be cautious. What was the point? They knew who he was, 
whatever he said.

"You think he didn't do it?" Burroughs turned away, shrugging as if he 
didn't care. His voice was casual, unconcerned, but Mulder could hear 
the tension beneath it and knew he'd hit a nerve. It didn't bring him 
pleasure, though - not now.

"I don't know," he admitted, knowing it was the truth. "But I think 
there could be more here than you realise."

But then he remembered, and wondered. Burroughs' voice, the previous 
morning - a lifetime away, before.... before Scully had come. "The man 
was only found last night," he'd said, only minutes after claiming to 
know nothing about the body at all. And then there had been the look 
in his eyes....

More to it than he realised....?

Voices rang across the cemetery, loud in the sudden silence as the 
digger's engine growled to a halt. They were nearly there. Time to dig 
with spades. Rich earth, moist smell - the smell of death. 

Death...

Why was he doing this? She wasn't here. It was as if he'd lost his 
right arm and was standing incomplete in the place of death. He didn't 
know what to look for. _She_ could have examined the body and known 
what questions to ask. He didn't always agree with her 
interpretations, but he trusted her facts. But here.... who was there 
he could trust to do a second autopsy any better than the first one?

What was the point?

But there had to be a point. He was just so weary of living like this, 
drifting, unfocused. He wanted to care again. He needed this case.

"Did you talk to Elaine Daniels?" He spoke abruptly, pulling his 
thoughts back to the case. 

Burroughs opened his mouth as if to protest, but then he nodded, 
frowning warily. "Yes. Yes I did. I had to talk to her about the case. 
She was.... She's a witness."

"I never found out. Did you find anything in the parking lot?" He 
forced his voice to stay casual, as if it was the least important 
thing in the world, but as soon as the words were out he regretted 
them. She'd been in such terror of telling him the truth and now he'd 
betrayed her.

"We didn't.... What?" Burroughs' eyes narrowed and he looked at Mulder 
with suspicion. "What parking lot?"

"Nothing." He shrugged, but could think of nothing else to say. He 
should have been able to cover it up - he _would_ have been able to 
cover it up, before.... before then. It was just so difficult now.

The metal spades started hitting the top of the coffin, scraping and 
clattering. The wind ruffled the trees, carrying a strong smell of 
earth. He wrinkled his nose, not wanting to smell death.

But then there was something else - something wrong.

"Why did you talk to Ms Daniels? Yesterday you said.... You're not on 
that case. Why did you interview her?"

Burroughs' eyes didn't move from the exposed coffin. "I was... I take 
an interest."

The engine growled again, temporarily obscuring conversation, as they 
prepared to lift the coffin from the grave. Walker's face was pinched, 
watching from the other side of the excavation, and his hands were 
clenched into fists. He stared down the hole with an unswerving gaze.

"Did you know....?" Mulder gestured to the coffin, now just easing out 
of the whole, shiny with earthy moisture.

"Yes." It was barely audible above the noise. "Yes I did." His 
shoulders slumped and the voice was full of.... regret? 

"Detective Burroughs?" He made his own voice silky smooth, as if he 
was getting under the skin of a killer, trying to draw him out. It was 
a voice so familiar, yet so alien - so much used in the past, so 
little recently. "What would you do to protect....?"

"What?" Burroughs whirled to face him, his eyes dark. "Protect what?"

The coffin was lowered to the ground. The workers stood awkwardly, 
waiting for someone else to take charge. They all knew the coffin had 
to be opened to release the worst of the gases, but no-one wanted the 
job.

It had just fallen, that first time. Just fallen, and the body had 
fallen out. And it had all been so simple then. Taking photographs of 
her autopsy, smiling, full of joy. He'd _wanted_ the truth, then - 
felt the wonder of it. Now he knew the truth was more terrible than 
ignorance could be.

"Protect what, Agent Mulder?" Burroughs spoke through clenched teeth, 
his eyes icy. "What are you insinuating?"

"Protect.... protect what's important to you." He backed off. He 
needed to know, but he couldn't take a fight. 

Walker was consulting with a police officer. Mulder deliberately 
didn't meet his eyes, didn't come to his rescue. He couldn't face the 
smell of death.

"I care only that justice is done, Agent Mulder. I would never do 
_anything_ that caused the death of an innocent person." Burroughs' 
voice was steel, his eyes boring into Mulder's. "Can you say the 
same?"

He sighed, knowing what was coming. It was all so familiar now. The 
guilt, the reproach....  It was all true, all deserved - he knew that. 
But it was so old now - so many months drowning in it. He wanted more. 
He couldn't live like this, not any more. He wanted to live for the 
future, not the past.

Even though she wasn't there, not in the future.

"Whose justice?" He turned to Burroughs again, trying to drive out the 
old familiar thoughts by going on the attack.

But Burroughs wasn't listening. 

She wasn't there. No body. Just a weighted bundle.

And somebody had known. He couldn't tell who - couldn't read past the 
shocked surprise on every face - but somebody had known.

He could almost feel their eyes.

**********

A trickle of water ran down Scully's back, cold now, making her wince. 
She reached up with the towel, rubbing again at her hair, as she bent 
down to pick up her clothes. She'd never been happy walking around her 
own apartment undressed, not since.... not since Duane Barry - no, 
before that.... since Eugene Tooms.

She shuddered, rubbing vigorously at her skin to drive away that train 
of thought. This wasn't about her, not now. It was about Mulder. It 
was about not being able to call him. It was about not being with him. 
It was about wanting to be with him. It was about not wanting to push. 
It was about running into the shower and out again in barely minutes, 
scared all the time that the noise of the water would drown the noise 
of the phone. It was about....

It _was_ about her. It was about Mulder, so it was about her. His life 
was hers.

It had bothered her, once, intensely. But now....

And then she froze, shirt still unbuttoned, hair a tangled mass around 
her face, dripping still.

There was somebody at the door. Soft footsteps. A scraping noise.... 

And her gun was on her desk, far away, past the door. Her phone - that 
was her constant companion now, held close, trying again and again to 
call him. But her gun.... He was the one in danger, not her. It hadn't 
occurred to her to think _she_ might be the target too.

To her surprise she found she was shaking. Just three months away from 
this sort of life, and she'd forgotten what it was like to feel the 
watchful eyes of danger dancing attendance on her every move.

She stepped forward, out through her open bedroom door, heading softly 
into the living room, towards the door, towards.... it. Her hand 
itched to feel the old familiar feel of the gun, but instead she was 
unarmed, half-naked, vulnerable.She didn't look at the door, scared of 
what she might see, though still more than half sure she'd imagined 
it.

But then.... There it was again, louder this time, unmistakeable, and 
all her caution vanished. Running across the room, gun in her hand, 
whirling toward the door all fire, prepared to face whatever was 
there.... 

It was right. She was Scully again, her old life clicking into place 
the same way the gun just filled her grip as if it had been designed 
for her, as if her life wasn't complete without the gun in her hand.

It was what it symbolised. The X-Files. Mulder.... Three months since 
she'd held a gun in earnest. Three months since she'd....

And then it came under her door, scraping against the carpet. An brown 
envelope.

The footsteps receded, soft and fast.

She was across the room in a second, hand poised on the door ready to 
throw it open and stop her visitor, but then she remembered she wasn't 
dressed and stopped just in time.

She sighed, shutting her eyes briefly. Too late now. By the time she'd 
be able to get dressed he'd be long gone. Might as well look at the 
envelope.

There was just one thin sheet in it, hand written, creased around the 
edges as if it had been much handled. 

"I can't read this!" she murmured, her first reaction to the crabbed 
and disjointed writing, more like scribbles, which covered the page. 
"I won't be toyed with." She nearly scrumpled it up and threw it 
across the room in frustration. It was so like them - so like those 
shadowy figures who claimed to be on their side but just taunted them 
with half-truths and cryptic clues to nothing. 

But then she remembered Mulder, and knew that nothing was too much to 
be endured. Being toyed with by people with their own agendas - what 
was that when put against Mulder's life. 

She peered at the writing, picking out odd words. "Cardiac," "uterus," 
"accidental"..... It wasn't in code, just very bad writing. A 
doctors's writing, she thought, with a half-smile, even though the 
situation was so serious. "Unprecedented," "should continue," 
"preserved"....

"Oh Mulder." She spoke aloud suddenly, unable to keep a smile off her 
face as she realised what it meant. Not what the words meant, but what 
the envelope meant, what the body sent for her to autopsy had meant. 
She was still part of the X-Files. She might have forgotten it, Mulder 
might have tried his best to forget it, but _they_ knew. She was the 
one they sent information to, not Walker.

Unless Walker was....

She turned her attention to the paper, suddenly sober. She didn't have 
time to worry about whether Walker was trustworthy. There was nothing 
she could do about it, not right now. But this.... This, whatever it 
was, was something she could do, something she could help Mulder with.

It never occurred to her to think that it might not be about Mulder. 
Nothing else mattered.

But then there was a noise at her window....

**********

Nearly midnight, and still no sign.

Mulder's eyes felt as if they'd been scoured by grit, and his every 
muscle ached. It was.... God, he'd lost count of the last time he'd 
been able to sleep properly through the night. And then these last few 
days, since she'd called.... Oh, it was getting better, he knew that 
now, but that made it was too - so much to think about, so many 
certainties crumbling, confusion running through his head every night, 
seeping into his dreams. 

He'd thought he understood. He'd ruined Scully's life. Scully hated 
him, though she was too kind to show it. He had no-one. He deserved 
no-one. He mustn't ever let Scully get close to him again. It was all 
truth, repeated in an endless litany, over and over these last six 
months. Truth. Fact. Impossible to bear, but inhuman to ignore.

But now....

"No!" He was shutting his eyes, drifting in a sea of reflection, but 
he forced himself back to the present. There was no time for this. No 
time. Losing himself in memories he could only hope for. Wallowing in 
the thought that perhaps he'd been wrong - that perhaps he did deserve 
some happiness - that perhaps things would be as they were, 
before..... before Lewis. 

No time.

He was on a stakeout, alone again.

Words, memories of a distant past reaching out to lure him into the 
depths, dragging him from his resolve. 

A stakeout. Alone.... She'd offered to relieve him then, concerned 
that he'd get hurt. His name on her lips, unfamiliar. "I wouldn't put 
myself on the line for anyone but you," she'd said, and her eyes had 
been sincere. 

Sincere.

Strange that he'd forgotten that. When Lewis had shown him that scene, 
she'd sighed with reproach, resenting the damage he was doing to her 
career, and for months that had been the only way he could remember 
the scene. But now it was back. Back to the false version his lying 
mind had created to cover the truth? Back to the true version?

He wasn't ready to answer that, not yet. He was no longer sure if he 
wanted to. The truth....  lies.... All past. Over now. Finished. 

His whole life had been about the past, his whole quest about finding 
answers to questions fifty years old, twenty years old, two years 
old.... About returning to an imagined golden past that had never 
existed, twenty two years ago. About wanting to be happy again, happy 
like a child with no resonsibilities, no guilt. Always the past, never 
the future. All his life, not just these last six months. 

He longed to escape the past.

But it was reaching out its long strangling fingers even now, asking 
him what he was doing, why he was here.

Midnight, sitting in his car outside a stranger's house, waiting 
for.... for what? What did he really expect to achieve? Was it just 
that this way he could tell himself he was _doing_ something, that he 
wasn't just drowning in a sea of confusion, not knowing where to go on 
this case.

There was a time when he'd been so sure, so full of ideas on every 
case.... 

"Mulder. You're crazy." The voice was smiling now, the voice in his 
memory.

So sure then, so lost now. But what was better? Was this too a sign of 
hope - a sign he was thinking, and growing? Once, he'd have been so 
quick to pronounce this case a clear example of alien abduction. But 
it wasn't. Whatever it was, it wasn't alien. He'd lost some of his 
faith, but it was the blind faith of a fool, not addressing all the 
possibilities.

But now....?

Maybe the future _was_ hope. Maybe by having everything he believed in 
knocked down, the man who survived the wreckage would be stronger, 
more grounded in realism, more.... more happy? 

Could he, one day, come to believe that?

I want to believe. I want to believe. I want....

He could barely bring himself to look at Walker now. He'd tried to 
give him a chance, back when Scully was a painful memory not a future 
hope, but he wasn't, he never could be, he wasn't.... 

"Where are you going?" The anxious voice from behind him as he'd 
walked out to the car, hours ago now. "What is it? What have you 
discovered?"

"Nothing." It had been so difficult to talk to him, to acknowledge his 
presence. "Just a hunch."

Just a hunch. Sitting in his car in the dark, waiting for Detective 
Burroughs to return, suddenly sure that this was the key. 

It had been preying on his mind all afternoon, growing into a fully 
formed suspicion. The way the man had obviously known more about the 
body in the park. His reaction to the exhumation. Something about his 
manner....

And if he was going to be alone and sleepless in the dark, why not in 
a car rather than his hotel room?

What did it matter?

But maybe there _was_ hope. Maybe.... He wouldn't call her, but if he 
just reached out and turned his phone on, then sat very still and 
waited, then maybe....

Not alone after all.

**********

He was there - a darker patch of the shadow in the alleyway, silent 
and waiting.

Scully's steps faltered, just a little, and she reached to her waist, 
feeling the reassuring presence of the gun. She was still a new player 
at this game, still all too aware that the other man held all the 
cards. But she couldn't let it go wrong, not this time. 

She'd seen him from the window, waiting in the shadows, a little 
gravel trickling from his hand as he'd prepared to throw some more 
against the glass. As soon as he'd seen her, he'd turned and walked 
away, vanishing behind a building. He hadn't made himself easy to 
find.

The shadow moved, gesturing subtly to its own gun, moving briefly into 
the light. It was a warning, she knew that, but she chose not to take 
it. The cold metal of the gun was comforting in the morass of darkness 
and deception in which Mulder's informant lived.

"You kept me waiting." The voice was harsh, speaking from the shadows. 
"I have little time."

"Is he in danger?" Her heart was pounding fast, but she stepped up 
close to him, her voice an angry hiss. "Could you have warned him?"

"That is not my job, Agent Scully."

"Then what are you?" She still found it so easy to let the anger take 
over, so easy to let the emotions of the past six months flood out at 
any small provocation. "I thought you were here to _help_ us, but 
you've let him go into.... into.... something dangerous without 
warning him. Where have you been these last months?"

"I am not a therapist, Agent Scully." There was anger in the black 
man's voice now. "There was.... nothing to be gained from contacting 
Agent Mulder, not as he was."

She clutched at the small spark of hope offered by his words. "As he 
was?" she asked, the anger fading. "But now...?"

"I never pretended to Agent Mulder that I was there to help him." The 
man ignored her words, using the past tense, refusing to give her 
hope. "He understood, even if you do not. I provide information, 
_when_ I think it's in the best interests of...."

"Yourself," she finished, dully.

"Perhaps." His teeth flashed in a quick smile which she didn't return. 
"But does anyone do anything else?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but couldn't find the words to oppose 
him. Perhaps it was true. Even Mulder's "truth" was self-interest - a 
desperate attempt to find the happiness he'd lost over twenty years 
earlier on a cold November night.

"Did you send me that envelope?" She spoke firmly, determined to 
regain the initiative.

"I have something else." Maddening, calm, speaking as if she wasn't 
there.

"What was it about?" She refused to let it drop. "Is it to do with 
Mulder - with the case he's on?"

"Remember it, Agent Scully. Soon, you might understand."

The anger rose again, sudden and furious. There was no _time_ for 
this. "Then tell me, you....!"

"The topic is closed, Agent Scully."

The voice brooked no argument, but she couldn't let it go. She'd 
accepted his refusal to talk once before and Mulder had nearly died 
because of it - would certainly have died had not Skinner been more 
insistent than she had been. She could still see Skinner's bloody 
face, still feel remorse even through the gratitude.

"What is Mulder getting close to?" She tightened her grip on her gun, 
not caring about the consequences. She would _not_ back down, not this 
time. "What is....?"

"Don't push it, Agent Scully." The voice was deadly bullets, each one 
distinct and emphasised. "It mustn't be exposed."

"Then why are you here? Why tell me....?"

"The project is.... What they're doing is justified." His voice was 
devoid of doubt, but his eyes.... his eyes seemed to flicker, as if 
unsure of how to look at her.

Had he been one of the men who'd....?

"Then why....?"She stopped. She had to keep on talking - had to stop 
that train of thought - but everything was suddenly disordered, 
confusing, terrifying. "Then...." She clenched her knuckles on the 
gun, fighting for control. "Then why are you here?"

"The project is justified. But _some_ parts of the plan - some of 
their methods.... There is justice, and there is vindictiveness."

"Vindictiveness?"

"I have killed, Agent Scully. I would kill to protect what I believe 
in. But when a man - when an enemy - is no threat, not any longer...."

"You mean Mulder?" Fear gripped her by the throat, driving away those 
other memories. "Are they going to kill him?"

"Their motives are.... complex. He is recovering...." She couldn't 
suppress a gasp at that, and gave a grim smile. "Yes, Agent Scully, 
they know what has passed between you these last few days. They know 
he is recovering. But he is not what he was. He is no longer.... 
useful to them. He is an easy target."

"Target?" And she wasn't there for him - wasn't there to protect him. 
"When....?"

He was silent, but his hand reached into his coat and pulled out an 
envelope, handing it to her without a word.

"What is it?" She took out a photograph, moving it until it caught the 
best of the light which slanted down the alley from the distant road. 
"This could be anyone."

"Look at it, Agent Scully." The man's voice had an edge to it - 
impatience, even contempt at her failure to read his message. "One of 
them you know."

Cancerman. The blurry features fell into place and were suddenly, 
unmistakably, there.

"And the other?" She could barely speak. She knew with a terrible 
sense of dread that this could hold the key to Mulder's death. A 
blurry face she couldn't make out but _had_ to make out. 

"Think, Agent Scully. You met him."

She shut her eyes, seeing the face from yesterday, then opened them 
again, projecting the features on the indistinct picture. 

They matched. Oh God! They matched.

And she'd told him....

"What are they going to do? How long? _Tell_ me!"

She'd told him Skinner trusted the man. So sure that her own distrust 
of him was based on jealousy, she'd actually told Mulder to give his 
new.... to give the man a chance.

If that had killed him....

"Please tell me." She was begging, desperate, furious, guilty. "It's 
vindictiveness - you said so. You don't want this to happen. Tell me."

"You are on your own now, Agent Scully. I've given you more than 
enough. It's up to you to ensure you act.... appropriately."

"But why?" There were tears in her eyes. They'd been through so much. 
What sort of a man was this? "He could be killed. Don't you care?"

"I can not afford to care, Agent Scully. It would be.... regrettable. 
But there are more ways to destroy a man than to kill him."

"Then why don't....?"

"Like I said, Agent Scully. I believe some secrets are worth this 
protection. I will _not_ jeopardise that."

"But he could die!"

Footsteps echoed in the alley as the figure withdrew. She didn't have 
the strength to follow.

"Then it's up to you to make sure he doesn't, Agent Scully."

The world swam in tears.

I've given you enough.... Up to you.... Agent Scully..... Scully.... 
Up to you....

And if he dies....

**********

Mulder was nearly asleep when it happened, rousing him suddenly to 
full wakefulness, focused only on the sound of the phone, ringing, 
ringing....

Scully.

He passed a hand across his face, driving the stiffness of weariness 
away, and was surprised at how calm he was. Just a few days ago the 
sound had brought terror. Then, after that, it was a sound so longed 
for yet so much dreaded for the reminder it brought of a past that 
could never be.

But now....?

"Mulder." His voice was hoarse with lack of use, but still sounded 
loud. The only sound in the late night suburban street with almost 
pulsed with the stillness of sleep.

"Mulder." It _was_ her, but her voice was high and anxious, not like 
her at all. "I've been trying to reach you."

"I'm.... I'm sorry." 

He shut his eyes, knowing that once again he'd done wrong. He'd 
thought only of himself when he turned off the phone, barricading 
himself against the storm of emotions unleashed by the sound of her 
voice. But she'd needed him. Something had happened. She'd needed him 
and he hadn't been....

"There's no time for this, Mulder. Where are you?" 

His mind raced. He couldn't tell her. If she knew he was alone, 
awaiting a possible murder suspect, he knew it would be one more worry 
he'd landed on her, one more burden for her to bear. He couldn't do 
that to her.

"Mulder?" There was an edge to her voice, almost of panic. "Are you 
there?"

"I'm just outside.... Thinking...." It was the truth, in a way. No 
need to tell her the rest. "About the case...."

"Is Walker with you?" 

He shook his head, forgetting she couldn't see him, wondering.

"Mulder?" It was a shout, definitely of fear this time. "Are you 
there?"

"What is it, Scully?" 

If they'd done anything to her.... He tightening his grip on the 
phone, feeling the muscles clench with anger. He'd drive away without 
a second thought, driving through the night until he came to her, 
helping her through whatever it was that had upset her.

Unless it was him....

"It's Walker," she said at last, in a sudden burst of words. "I've 
found out.... Your Mr X spoke to me. He showed me a picture of Walker 
meeting with Cancer Man. He's one of _them_, Mulder. You've got to be 
careful."

Was that it? She was _still_ worrying about him? It was the worry in 
her voice. He suddenly needed to hear her smile. It was more important 
that anything - more important that what she'd just said.

"I guess...." He forced a laugh, remembering. In the most terrible of 
situations he'd attempt a weak joke and she'd smile, weakly, perhaps, 
but a smile none the less.  But what could he say? Where was the 
humour in it? "I guess I need a new partner - again," he attempted. "I 
get through them like...."

He stopped, the smile dying. The wrong thing again - the wrong words.

"Mulder." She spoke as if drowning in a sea of emotion. "I.... I want 
to...."

He shut his eyes, willingly sinking into the memories this time. It 
was coming. Images of happiness and a distant imagined life. 
Confident, standing up to his attempts to alienate her. "Actually, I'm 
looking forward to working with you." And then, much later, fighting 
through the darkness - "It's only temporary, Mulder. I'm not leaving 
you." Was it coming?

"Scully...." Was it hope, or dread? Hope that she might want to come 
back, even after everything. Dread that she shouldn't, that she'd get 
hurt. "Scully, don't...."

Silence. Soft footsteps in the street, another world away, but he 
didn't open his eyes. Nothing else mattered.

"Mulder...." And then she took a sharp breath, as if pulling away from 
whatever it was she'd been about to say. "Be careful, Mulder. This 
case - I'm sure it's a set-up. Your Mr X.... I don't know why, but I'm 
sure they're manipulating us, somehow. Please be careful."

"It's okay, Scully." He was touched that she could still care so much, 
though he still felt the old guilt that once again he was causing her 
worry. "Walker's not here. He doesn't know I'm here. I never confided 
anything...."

"Where are you, Mulder?" It was abrupt, concerned. "You said you 
were...."

"I'm just outside, Scully. Sitting in my car. Thinking...."

And then there was nothing but white light, searing through his closed 
eye lids, and he wrenched his eyes open, slowly, painfully, and 
saw....

"I'm coming, Mulder."

The barrel of a gun - a dark tube of death pointing at his head. Pale 
fingers clutching the handle, though the face was featureless, lost 
behind the light of a torch.

"I'll be there tomorrow morning, as soon as I can."

But she would be too late. God! What would it be like for her? What 
would they leave for her to find? How would....?

"Be careful, Mulder."

But I _was_ careful. I was careful. I.... No. I shut my eyes. I was 
lost in memories again. I.... It's my fault.

But he didn't want to die. Two days ago.... If it had happened then, 
would it have been any different? But now.... 

"Scully, I...."

But what could he tell her? Just a gun, unwavering, out of a dazzling 
light. No name. No face. Nothing. And even if he could tell her, he 
wouldn't. Why give her a lead, when pursuing it would only take _her_ 
into danger?

"Mulder?"

The gun moved a little, as if beckoning. The car jolted, as if someone 
had kicked it. 

God! He _needed_ to tell her something. He couldn't just let it go 
like this, but there was so little time.

"Scully, I.... I'm sorry." There were tears, warm on his cheeks, 
though he kept them from his voice.

"Oh, Mulder." She sighed, weary, disappointed. "Not that again. I told 
you, I _chose_ to....."

"I know!" He spoke fast, thinking only of the gun, of the need to say 
what he needed to say before it was too late, but as he said the words 
he realised that he _did_ believed them, completely now. She was too 
strong not to be responsible for her own decisions.

"Then what....?" She was concerned now, even more than when she'd told 
him about Walker.

What would make it better for her if he.... if he died?

I'm sorry, Scully. I can't talk about this right now, but tomorrow, 
when you get here, we can have a long talk. I know I shut you out, 
back then. But it's different now. I can't go back to what I was, you 
know that. This has changed me. This will forever change me. But I 
hope.... I think I most things can be as they were. I think.... Maybe 
it will be better.

And it was the truth.

But he couldn't tell her - he _couldn't_. It would be cruel to raise 
her hopes only to have them dashed when she got here and found....

"Mulder?" A shout, full of fear.

But he had to say _something_. He couldn't let her go without a word.

"Scully, I.... Thank you."

The door handle rattled. A finger tightened on the trigger, the gun 
pointed unwaveringly between his eyes. He wouldn't even see the face 
of the man who killed him.

"Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for being...." He blinked, 
feeling the tears escape his eyes. He'd only intended the best for 
her, but he'd pushed her away, hurt her. "I appreciate it, Scully. 
Thank you."

And then he pressed the disconnect button and turned to face his 
death.

**********

Pacing, pacing, up and down the room, his grip never leaving the 
gun....

"You're one of _them_, aren't you?" Mulder asked into the pulsing 
silence. He could feel the shadows closing in on him again, but this 
time he wanted to fight.

Burroughs paused mid-step. His eyes were rimmed with grey, and far 
older than his face. "Them?" he asked. He _seemed_ genuinely confused, 
but nothing could be trusted.

Mulder sighed, wearily. He didn't bother explaining.

Step, step, step.... Dull thuds on the carpet, like a heart beat. 
There were splashes of blood on Burroughs' clothes.

"Did you kill them?" He leant forward suddenly, feeling his eyes burn 
with accusation. "Did you kill them? Or did you just cover-up someone 
else's work, telling yourself you were without guilt as you kept your 
hands clean?"

Silence. Just breathing, loud and tense.

"Is there blood on your hands, Detective?"

Blood on his hands. His father's blood on his hands. Scully.... He saw 
them all, shutting his eyes dutifully to view the old familiar 
memories, but this time they left him strangely unmoved. It had been 
so often, for so long. It was time to move on.

If there was any time left.

"I told you, I would never condone the killing of an innocent person!" 
Burroughs' voice was taut with outrage. "I wouldn't...."

"So you tell yourself they're guilty. Is that how you justify it?" It 
surprised him the hatred he could still feel. It was emotion he'd 
thought he'd lost. "Guilty of wanting the truth. Guilty of wanting 
justice."

"They _were_ guilty." Burroughs threw himself into a chair, though the 
gun never lost its aim. His eyes were blazing. "More than you'd ever 
know."

"So you admit it?"

But it was strangely comforting, this confrontation. He knew death 
might be close, but he felt one more piece slot into place, one more 
confusion resolve itself. He'd not been wrong to hope. There _was_ 
evil in the world, and it was far worse than anything he'd done. He 
_had_ hurt people, that was undeniable, but it was through blindness 
not intent, and was bitterly regretted. 

And if he could live to fight such men....

Burroughs sighed, all the fight washing out of him, though the gun was 
still in his hand. "Yes, I admit it." His voice was weary beyond 
description. "I covered them up. I made sure the truth wasn't 
discovered."

"Why?" Mulder relaxed his own tone. There was something about the 
other man's voice. It was.... not quite right.... not the voice of 
death.

The gun was put down on the table, though Burroughs' hand still 
hovered over it protectively, and his eyes were intent on Mulder's 
every move. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, 
silently.

"Why?" he repeated, a soft insistent whisper. Nearly there. Just a 
little more....

"I can't tell you that!" Defiant again, a finger on the trigger. 

"Why not?" His voice soft, he leant forward, staring hypnotically into 
the other man's eyes. For all his own doubts, he could still handle 
other men, knew how to get through to them. "Because I might expose 
the project? Because you'd have to kill me?" The gun moved, trembling. 
"You don't want to kill me, do you?"

It had never once occurred to him until now that he might not die.

Burroughs shook his head. His fingers stroked the gun softly as they 
withdrew. "I don't think he'd want to.... I don't think.... You're not 
one of them."

Mulder shook his head, trying to smile, hoping he was right. "No, I'm 
not one of them." He let that other thing slip by unnoticed, for now. 
Then he let a note of defiance into his voice, aware that it was still 
possible the man was playing a double game. "I want to expose them."

"That's what _he_ said, when I told him your name....." It was a 
reflective whisper, almost too quiet to be heard.

"He?" It was unmistakable this time, too clear to be ignored.

"It's not my secret to be protected, Agent Mulder." Burroughs was all 
composure again, firm and defiant, though his hand was still above the 
gun, not touching it.

"Take me to him."

The other man chewed on his lip, torn. 

"I _need_ to know." There was a note of desperation in his voice. He 
_did_ need to know. These last few days.... It seemed as if the case 
was the barrier. Solve the confusion and everything else would fall 
into place and he could think about the rest of his life - about his 
future with Scully. Death, or a new life. Anything was better than 
this.

"But you might...."

"You have my gun and my phone. I'm alone here. No-one knows where I 
am."

"Your partner...."

"She's in Washington." The other man frowned, but he couldn't 
understand why. "I didn't tell her anything." He gestured at the 
window, a bare expanse of empty night. "If I'd told her, help would 
have arrived by now, but there's no-one out there."

And then he realised what he'd said, and he smiled. Scully. His 
partner. He could say it without guilt, without pain.

"Tomorrow." Burroughs spoke quickly, as if coming to a sudden 
decision. "He needs to sleep. He's been through a lot. Tomorrow 
morning."

He still didn't know if it was an appointment with death.

"Thank you...."

"I am _not_ doing it for you, Agent Mulder." Burroughs looked at him 
with contempt. "You are.... convenient. You fulfil a need. If you get 
any of the answers you want, that is only secondary to our main 
purpose."

"And what is that?"

"That's _enough_, Agent Mulder." The gun was raised again. "Like you 
said, you are alone here. No-one knows where you are. And _I_ am the 
one with a gun."

"So what do we do?"

"We wait. And if you do _anything_ out of line....."

The barrel of the gun loomed closer, and the message was unmistakable.

The storm clouds were brewing. It was coming. It would end tomorrow.

As long as Scully didn't....

**********

Saturday 11th May
____

He was gone.

Scully stood alone in the middle of the room, all her hopes washing 
away.

He was gone.

The thing he'd said on the phone.... She blinked back tears. God! 
She'd almost thought she was getting somewhere. He'd finally seemed to 
accept what she was saying. There was hope.

But to have it all stolen away now.... It was the final cruelty. Taunt 
her with the glimpse of what could be, then confront her with the grim 
reality of truth. 

He was gone.

She looked at her watch, knowing it would read only a minute after the 
last time she'd looked, but hoping that somehow everything would be 
different. Not yet nine o'clock. Room service hadn't been in, but the 
bed had clearly not been slept in. The sheets were crisp and white, 
and there was no feel of him in the room at all.

He was gone.

But she would _not_ give up.

Blinking back the tears in a sudden wave of determination, she ran 
from the room, racing down the stairs to the front desk.

"Is Agent Walker in? Which one is his room?" she asked breathlessly.

"Number five." The receptionist didn't look up from the magazine she 
was reading. Her voice was calm, unconcerned, but her fingers were 
tapping nervously. She'd thrown the full weight of FBI authority 
behind her earlier demand that she be given Mulder's key, and the 
girl's eyes had been full of trepidation.

Or was it something else? Had _she_ been threatened too?

"Could I have his key?" She tried to keep her voice low, suddenly 
sorry for the fear she saw in the girl's eyes. "It's very important. 
Someone's life could depend on it." She tried to speak professionally, 
not showing the depth of concern she felt.

Someone's life. Mulder's life.... God! Had he known? His words at the 
end.... They had been so final. As if he had never expected to speak 
to her again.

The facade broke. "Please...." she said, shakily. She clenched her 
hands compulsively, twisting her fingers round and round.

The key slid over the desk, shining dully in the morning light. She 
picked it up with a shaky hand, the other hand seeking the comfort of 
her gun.

She took a step forward, feeling as if she was wading through deep 
water. It was so difficult. She needed to know, but she dreaded 
finding out.

"Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for being...." His words 
from last night, echoing over and over in her mind. So final. So....

Step, step.... Nearly there. 

She pulled out her gun, keeping it trained on the door, and slowly, 
slowly inserted the key. Silent. Make no sound. Don't warn him.

"Thank you for being here for me...."

I am here for you, Mulder. I just hope.... I just hope I'm not too 
late.

The door opened.

Her hand trembled on the gun, but she stayed firm, aiming into the 
room.

There was no-one there.

She sighed, a mixture of relief and anxiety. Anxiety that there were 
still no answers. But relief....

She really thought she would have killed him, if he'd been there. Just 
shot him in cold blood, without a thought for the answers. There was 
no-one she hated more. To approach Mulder when he was at his weakest, 
so destroyed by everything that had happened, and then betray him.... 
It was horrible. 

And it would never have happened if she hadn't....

"No!" She slammed a fist down onto the table, hard enough to shake a 
pen so that it fell to the floor. "No!" she repeated, quieter this 
time. She would _not_ think like that. That was what had destroyed 
Mulder, thinking like that. There was no _time_ for it. Her guilt 
wouldn't save him. She had to _do_ something.

But what?

She bent to pick up the pen, and then froze in horror, staring at it 
as if it was death itself.

Which it was, in a way.

**********

It was close now - so close. 

Mulder could read it in the eyes of the man who faced him, feel it in 
the tension that was almost tangible, hear it in the echo of the 
voices in his memory.

"Where are we going?" he had asked relentlessly, as Burroughs had led 
him, misty-eyed with weariness, through long miles of wooded paths. 
"What am I....?"

"Be quiet!" The other man's gun had never left his hand. He looked 
more like a guard escorting a prisoner than a guide. "I taking you 
there - that's what you wanted. Don't question any further."

"But I need to know...." 

Whether he'd be dead in hours. Whether he'd see Scully again. Whether 
she'd come in time to see his lifeless body on the autopsy slab. 
Whether she'd lose herself too in trying to find the answers to his 
disappearance. Whether....

But he couldn't say it. He couldn't say anything. Scully's grief 
choked his words.

"Agent Mulder." Burroughs spoke as to a child, impatient and grudging. 
"You'll find out when we get there. You'll learn the answers to 
everything you want to know."

"Everything?" he'd stammered, not knowing if he'd understood 
correctly. Visions danced before his eyes. A girl bathed in light. 
Scully one breath away from death.

"Everything," the other man had said, not meeting his eyes. "But it 
might not be what you want to hear."

And now it was so close he could reach out and touch it. They were 
there. He was facing the man who knew the truth. In a few minutes....

"Shall I stay?" Burroughs looked at the man with the deeply lined 
face. "We don't know if he...."

"It's okay, George." The voice was old and weary, speaking from a face 
many years younger. "You go back to work. You know they'll be busy 
this morning, if they've found...." He gestured with his eyes to a 
closed door and Burroughs nodded with understanding.

"I've got his gun." Burroughs words were addressed to the other man, 
but his eyes flashed fire at Mulder, harsh and threateningly. "And his 
cell phone. He can't do anything."

The other man reached down to his waist, raising his jacket enough to 
show the gun that was attached to his belt. He didn't look at Mulder, 
but Burroughs glared accusingly at him, as if determined he didn't 
miss the warning.

Silence. It was a frozen tableau of tangible anxiety, each man 
breathing deeply, unsure how to proceed. There were long smears of 
blood across the floor, brown and dried now.

He still didn't know if this was death.

"If my partner comes....." He turned towards Burroughs, desperation 
outweighing caution. "If she comes, tell her...."

Tell her.... tell her what? That he was sorry. That he wanted her to 
be happy. That she mustn't waste her life finding answers, if he....

"I'm not your messenger boy, Agent Mulder." Burroughs looked at him 
with undisguised hostility.

"But she'll be worried." It was the worst thing of all. 

"I don't care." There was an emphasis on each word. "You're alone with 
this, Agent Mulder. You can't get help that way."

The other man was watching in silence. There was strange look in his 
eyes, though whether of threat of grief he couldn't tell. 

"You can tell Agent Scully yourself," he said, at last. He seemed to 
hesitate awkwardly before saying her name. "_When_ you see her."

Oh God! Oh God! He felt a wave of panic course through him. _When_ he 
saw her.... The blood on the floor. The gun. Scully following the 
trail to her own death....

He'd never told either man her name.

Someone spoke, but he didn't hear the words. He could only hear her 
screams. He reached for the support of something solid, feeling the 
wall cold and damp beneath his fingers.

".... okay?" Burroughs again, his voice coming through the swelling 
wave of emotions.
 
"Yes. It's all under control. You worry too much, George. Agent 
Mulder's no threat."

Burroughs opened his mouth as if to protest, but then suddenly the 
whole situation changed again. Mulder's cell phone started to ring.

Scully.

They all stood frozen, listening to the soulless mechanical sound. 
One, two, three....

"Scully...." He couldn't help but speak aloud this time. He _had_ to 
speak to her. He had to explain - to say his goodbyes, but in case. 
He'd been wrong last night, protecting her yet again - not telling her 
what might happen. She deserved the truth.

"We ignore it," Burroughs said firmly, as Mulder took a step towards 
him. He reached up and held his jacket closed with his hands, sealing 
the phone into his inside pocket., out of reach.

The rings were muffled now, but relentless. Eleven, twelve, 
thirteen....

"But I've got to talk to her," Mulder started babbling, not sure of he 
was speaking sense, but knowing that it could be more important than 
anything. "You've got to let me speak to her. If you don't.... She'll 
worry. If she can't find me, she'll report me missing. She'll go to 
the police. They might find you here...."

"I _am_ the police." Twenty two, twenty three, twenty four.... "I 
spoke to you last night. You said you were leaving town for a few 
days. Everyone has noticed you've looked distracted the whole time 
you've been here."

"But _she_ won't...." He faded out, unable to finish. Why wouldn't she 
believe it? He'd pushed her away so long, running away from her 
attempts to address the problems. She'd said she was coming to see 
him, so he'd run away again. It was simple. It was obvious. It was.... 
it was cruel. And it was all his fault, treating her like that.

But if he survived....

"Agent Mulder." The other man spoke at last, his voice quiet and slow. 
"We can't let you use the phone. It could be traced."

"But she wouldn't...."

"No. _She_ wouldn't."

Forty five, forty six, forty seven, then silence.

The key scraped in the lock and Burroughs opened the door, looking 
back over his shoulder with an expression  of distaste.

Mulder was alone in the room with.... with what?

So close to the truth, and he was lost.

**********

"What do you want, Agent Mulder?"

What did he want? Justice? Forgiveness? Some sort of strange magical 
talisman called the truth - a panacea for all ills - something to give 
him the happiness that was ripped from his life as surely as a young 
girl had been ripped from her family home in a flash of light?

Happiness?

"Agent Mulder?"

"I want...."

I want to be a child again. I want to be happy. I want to lay down 
this burden of guilt, of responsibility. I want.... I don't want to be 
alone. I want Scully to come back and help me carry the burden. I want 
to be strong enough for Scully not to have to help me carry the 
burden. I want to be able to laugh again.

"I want.... answers."

"Answers to what?"

"Answers to.... to questions. Questions about.... about abductions. 
About innocent people suffering. About my s.... About why."

"What would you do with the answers?" The man's voice was everywhere, 
relentless, coming out of the darkness of his lost soul. 

"I would...." 

_Why_ did he need to know? To go public? To show the people truths 
that would torment their nightmares with the horror of them? To get 
revenge? To avenge the cruelties by becoming as cruel as the people he 
despised? 

Or had he spent years questing for truths just because they were there 
- just because he had known no other life? And when he found the 
answers would he have to face that fact that his life was still 
damaged, broken?

"What would you do?"

Footsteps on the floorboards, rhythmically treading, round and round. 
His eyes were shut, floundering in the darkness within, but he could 
still see the gleam of the gun in his memory, still feel the silent 
menace that stared down its barrel as it was pointed at his head.

"What would you do, Agent Mulder?"

"I would.... I don't know." It was almost a sob. It was too soon. He'd 
barely managed to reconstruct himself from the wreckage of the last 
six months. It was too soon to peer deep within the shaky foundations 
of his motivations again.

"And if the truth was more horrible than you'd ever dreamed, what 
then?" It was close to his ear, relentless. "Would you rather not 
know?"

"I want to know the truth." He tried to speak firmly. He could do no 
less. It was his life. If he said anything else, everything would have 
been in vain.

"You would long for ignorance, Agent Mulder. Think of it. Not knowing 
about your father. Not knowing what he sold his own child to. Not 
knowing what was done to your...."

"You know?" He opened his eyes, looking into the barrel of the gun. 
"You know about....?"

"I know more than you should ever ask, Agent Mulder." The man shook 
his head slowly, his eyes dark with guilt and pain. "You mustn't find 
out."

The gun wavered.

"Is that a threat?" Mulder managed, eyes never leaving the gun.

"It's a warning. I've heard of you. I know more about you than you 
think. I know what the truth could do to you."

"Then why?" He leant forward, suddenly angry. It was a relief to feel 
anger directed at someone else. "If it will destroy me, why haven't 
they - why haven't you - told me years ago?"

"They have their reasons." The man looked away. His face was full of 
something close to shame. "Much of what you've done has worried them, 
but not all. Sometimes you were doing their work for them. You are 
easy to manipulate."

"Then why....?"

"There is no _time_ for this, Agent Mulder!" the other man shouted 
suddenly, slamming his hand against the wall for emphasis. "I asked 
George to bring you here because...."

"Bring me here? But I found him. He didn't want to...."

"Don't kid yourself that it's because of anything you did that you're 
here today, Agent Mulder. You were manipulated  - again. I wanted to 
speak to you. If it wasn't for that you wouldn't be here now. 
George.... Oh, George objected. He didn't trust you." He made a poor 
attempt to laugh. "He would only be happy if you'd been brought here 
tied up and unconscious and held at gun point."

"He _did_ hold me at gun point. _You're_ holding me at gun point." 

"It is necessary, Agent Mulder. This is a dangerous game - no, not a 
game. Much more than a game. Nothing can be allowed to go wrong."

"What is the game?"

"Revenge." The gun trembled. "Justice and revenge."

"Against....?"

"You'll find out, Agent Mulder." His eyes were drawn to the barrel of 
the gun. He could see nothing else. "Soon...."

**********

"That was her." The man spoke through a cloud of smoke. "Has she gone 
to him?"

"I don't know who you mean." Skinner picked up a pen, making a great 
pretence of poring over a file he wasn't even seeing. He wouldn't look 
at the other man.

"Don't lie to me. You can't play in our league. I heard her voice. I 
heard her say his name." The other man's voice was thick with 
contempt. 

"Yes, she's gone to him, as I'm sure you already know." Skinner 
whirled to face the other man, letting his anger show through. He 
_hated_ this man. Some of his cause was just, he believed that. But 
not this - never this. "And he's now missing, as you well know."

"He's missing, is he?" A breath of smoke. "How interesting."

"You treacherous...."

"I have some.... friends there. Maybe they can help find him. We 
wouldn't want him to fall in among people who mean him harm, would 
we?"

"Get out!" He walked over to the door to his assistant's room. "This 
gentleman is just leaving," he said, loudly. The man had never entered 
through that door.

"I know you're concerned about him, but you needn't worry." The man 
paused just look enough before standing to make it clear that he was 
leaving only because he chose to. "Our.... friends will ensure that 
any danger is.... eliminated."

**********

"You're one of them." It was not a question. It was obvious from 
everything the other man had said, talking round in circles, offering 
information but saying nothing.

"Let me finish, Agent Mulder." The other man rubbed his hands over his 
eyes, his voice little more than a weary sigh. "I said I'd tell you 
everything."

"Everything you want me to know," Mulder said bitterly. "Not the 
truth."

There was the faintest ghost of a smile, regretful and bitter. "No. 
Not the whole truth. Can anyone know that?"

"You're like all the others. You will only tell me what will serve 
your own personal agenda." Mulder's voice was bitter, but, even amidst 
it all, it could still give him satisfaction to feel such hostility - 
to take the pressure of guilt off himself.

"Just like you." The man was calm, though his eyes were unreadable. 
"What were you doing but seeking a personal agenda, shrouding it in 
talk of justice - of your duty to the people - to the truth?"

It was too close. He _had_ to keep with the anger, or everything would 
come crashing down.

"I'm sick of this!" Mulder stood up quickly, the chair scraping on the 
stone floor with a hideous noise. The other man didn't move, didn't 
even reach for the gun that lay beside him on the table. "You said you 
could tell me things." He pointed his finger accusingly. "So tell me! 
Stop manipulating me."

"You've been manipulated all along, Agent Mulder." The sad smile was 
back. He still made no move to counter Mulder's hostile stance. "Did 
you really think they would have allowed you to carry on if that 
wasn't true? Did you seriously think you were strong enough to force 
them to do anything they didn't want to do? Were you that arrogant?"

"Arrogant?" Mulder stammered. He sank back to the chair, the sudden 
anger fading away and being replaced by a far more familiar feeling. 
"What do.... what does....?"

"I'm sorry." The other man shook his head, sighing wearily. "Not 
arrogant. You made them worry sometimes - truly you did. But other 
times.... Sometimes it suited them to make you think you were acting 
by your own free will, when actually...."

"I was just serving them." He felt a surge of despair flood through 
him. He'd never thought it would be like this. Triumph, or death - 
that's what his imagination had shown him when he'd thought of the 
end. Triumph, or death. Not this leaden revelation of futility.

"Do you understand, Agent Mulder." The other man leant forward, his 
eyes boring into his own with intensity of urgency. He looked away, 
not wanting anyone to intrude on his feelings. "Listen to me, Agent 
Mulder. What I said.... It means that things would have happened as 
they did, whatever you did. _Some_ things.... You did nothing to 
affect the outcome."

Nothing.

He shut his eyes, willing to world to disappear and leave him alone 
with the ruins of his life. Nothing. He'd done nothing. All that 
suffering for nothing. His fault, in the hollow name of the truth, for 
nothing. Scully....

"Scully?" He mouthed her name, his words swallowed up by emotion.

The other man nodded.

Help me! Help.... I don't understand. What does he....? Scully....?

"What....?"

The man chewed his lip, frowning, as if considering his words 
carefully. "Whatever you had done, they would have found a way...."

"But they wouldn't even have noticed her if it wasn't for me!" It was 
a cry of anguish - a cry so often repeated but more painful every 
time.

"Agent Mulder." The other man took held his shoulders, forcing him to 
look into his eyes. His own eyes were moist and red-rimmed. "Don't you 
think I  don't know what you're feeling right now? _I_ felt like that 
too. If it wasn't for me...." He swallowed hard. Then he shook his 
head abruptly, starting on a new course. "But that's.... That's not 
_right_. They are the ones to blame. They are the ones who manipulate 
us - exploit our guilt. They are the ones you should be fighting, not 
yourself." 

"But...."

"But nothing, Agent Mulder." His voice was hard and urgent. "That's 
how they always win. They land the guilt and blame on the people who 
least deserve it, while they are free to carry on unchecked. They 
_must_ be stopped."

"But you said...."

"I said you've been manipulated  - yes, that's true. I said that 
_sometimes_ in the past you've been doing their wish when it most 
looked as if you were opposing them. But in the future...."

"What happened to her?" He jumped up again, all other thoughts 
suddenly wiped from his mind. "You know, don't you?" He grabbed the 
other man by the shoulders, feeling his fingers sink into the man's 
flesh. He could tell his grip hurt the other man. "Tell me!"

The eyes were wild and staring, full of fear. Blue eyes, scared of 
dying. Her eyes staring up into a bright light, unable to look away. 
Closed eyes, hovering near death. He'd have given everything to have 
seen them open.

"Tell me what happened to her!"

"I can't."

"You won't, you mean?" He squeezed tighter, until his own fingers 
ached with the tension. "You know. Were you the one who did it? Were 
you the one who stood over her and watched her suffer? What game are 
you playing?"

"I know." There was a scraping noise and suddenly the man had a gun. 
He didn't cock it, didn't point it at Mulder. "I know."

"You know?" The anger washed out of him and he released his hold, 
sinking down onto his knees on the floor. His muscles were suddenly 
unable to hold him upright. 

He felt the dread like an aching physical pain. Once, he'd have given 
anything to know the truth - to know answers. But now.... What had the 
truth brought but pain? The truth was always more terrible than he 
could have ever imagined. Ignorance was sometimes bliss indeed. 

And she wasn't here to hear it first....

He stopped that thought abruptly, the words of the threat still 
echoing in his mind. "When you see her...." 

Oh God! Let her be okay. Don't let them take her too. Don't let her 
learn the truth if the truth will kill her. Let her be okay....

"I can't tell you, Agent Mulder. Not now." The man's voice was full of 
sorrow. 

He was silent. He couldn't find the words to argue.

"You don't understand the risks I'm taking here. I need some insurance 
- some hold over you."

Scully. The truth of Scully's fate, binding him, manipulating him. It 
was as it should be.

"If I told you everything I knew, I would have no guarantee that you'd 
protect me."

"Protect you?" It was enough to penetrate the sea of emotions and 
bring him back to the present. "What....?"

"Like you said, Agent Mulder, I was one of _them_." The man still held 
the gun, but his voice was full of shame. "But now I am their worst 
enemy." He looked Mulder full in the eye, demanding his attention. "Do 
you understand? I want to expose them. I can tell you things no-one 
was meant to know. I can give you everything....."

"Everything?" He didn't dare speak her name - to speak their names. 
Red hair, dark hair, blue eyes, braids.... 

The man shook his head, his eyes clouded with deep sorrow. "Not that. 
I can't give you happiness. But I can give you facts. It's up to you 
what you do with them." 

"Why?"

The man was silent for a long time. "Because I'm tired," he said at 
last. "I can't bear this alone. I want.... They won't let me live. I 
want to die now. But I want.... I'm too tired to pursue them now. I 
want to know you won't let them get away with this."

"I won't." He said the words, not really thinking about them. The 
weariness in the man's eyes. The wish for death....

"Promise me, Agent Mulder." Strong hands grabbed his upper arms, 
holding him tight. "You will do all you can to make them pay? You 
won't give up?"

"I pro...." he began, but then he shook his head ruefully. "I.... I 
don't know. It's been.... difficult. But I'll try."

For what else could he do? He'd fought too long, suffered too much, to 
give up now.

**********

"I've _told_ you. You have to help me!"

Scully was furious. She hadn't expected the local police to take 
kindly to her rushing in and requesting their help, but she had never 
expected this.... this total lack of concern.

"A man could die!"

"Agent Scully." The officer's eyes were focused above her head, and he 
suddenly seemed to relax. Turning round to follow his gaze, she saw 
only an older officer, still in his coat, walking in from outside. 

"Shall I take over here, Bates?" His stern voice phrased it like an 
order. The other officer backed off, a look of relief on his face.

God! Had they got to the police too? She knew she shouldn't be 
surprised. Sometimes, their reach seemed all inclusive - nothing safe 
from their poison.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, from the FBI." She flashed her ID, 
deciding to give the man the benefit of the doubt. "I'm here.... My 
partner, Agent Mulder. He's disappeared. I have reason to believe 
someone's trying to kill him."

"Do you have any proof of this?" The officer didn't introduce himself. 
"How long has he been gone?"

"I was speaking to him last night on the phone, but when I got here 
this morning...."

"But you weren't here last night? It's only..." He looked at his 
watch. "Only half past nine. He's probably gone out for a morning 
run."

"You don't understand!" Tears of frustration were rising in her 
throat. "You just have to trust me on this. I _know_ he was in danger. 
I just know it. I.... I can't tell you why."

"Agent.... er.... Scully." The man made as if to turn away, his voice 
angry. "How can you expect us to trust you if you won't trust us. You 
can't just come in here and order that we help you, giving us no 
reason for your suspiscions. As you can see, we're busy here. The 
County Medical Examiner was found murdered late last night. We're in 
the middle of an investigation."

And she was left alone, blinking back tears.

"He doesn't mean it." A voice at her side made her turn, and a female 
police officer was smiling at her warmly. "We've had a lot of work 
recently, what with all these deaths. And with his friend 
disappearing.... He was very closely involved in _that_ case...." She 
smiled, reassuringly. "I'm sure your friend will be okay."

"He was closely involved....?"

Her eyes were drawn to the officer she'd just spoken to. As he watched 
in horrified fascination, he took off his coat. Withing seconds, he'd 
opened a drawer and slipped something in, but she'd seen what it was. 
He had two guns.

And the black object sticking out of his coat pocket....

"Yes, you're probably right." She forced a smile, though she couldn't 
look at the woman, couldn't risk letting the man out of her sight. 
"I'll just call him."

She should have called him anyway, she knew now. She hadn't called him 
once, not since last night. So quick to assume the worst, she'd never 
even considered that he might be okay.

With shaking fingers, she dialled his still-familiar number, and....

"Where is he?" She was across the room in a flash, hissing in furious 
demand at the officer. In his coat, the phone was still ringing. "What 
have you done to him? If you've _hurt_ him...."

"Is everything okay, Detective Burroughs?" A voice sounded from behind 
her, but she scarcely heard it. Nothing else mattered.

"What have you done to him?" she asked again, her hands itching to 
grab hold of him and choke the truth out of him.

"It's okay." Burroughs spoke loudly, addressing the other people in 
the room. "Agent Scully and I have some business to discuss. We'll 
continue this in private."

"No. I want witnesses to this." She kept her voice quiet, knowing it 
would be lost in the buzz of the room. No-one else would hear her. 
"You won't be able to get rid of me so easily." She pushed her jacket 
back, showing him her gun, though she didn't dare pull it out, not on 
enemy territory.

"I didn't...."

"So why have you got his gun? Why have you got his phone?" It was 
still ringing. She disconnected, hearing the rings stop as 
corroboration of her accusation. "Who are you working for? Are you one 
of them?"

Burroughs sighed. He looked so weary. "Okay, I _do_ know where he is. 
But he's not in any danger, not unless.... not unless he tried to play 
us false."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I said. We trusted him. As long as he's worthy of that 
trust...."

"Don't lie to me. I know you had him followed. Did you fake this whole 
thing? Using your position in the police force to set him up, to lure 
him here? I found the tracking device in the pen, just like...."

She took a deep breath, hearing her voice grow too loud again. No need 
to say too any more than she had to.

"A tracking device?" Burroughs's shoulders sagged. His expression 
changed from one of confidence to one of fear, of confusion. "They're 
tracking....?"

"Don't play the innocent with me," she hissed. "I found one, being set 
up in Walker's room. How are you tracking Mulder? Is his in a pen too? 
Who's following him now?"

"Tracking....?" he repeated. He looked genuinely horrified. "You mean, 
they can track him? They know where he is now?"

There was something in his look. It washed the hostility right out of 
her. Suddenly all she wanted was to collapse on the floor and cry. She 
just needed Mulder, and for everything to be as if was.

"Yes," she said, at last, in a little voice. "I think they do."

"Oh God!" Burroughs shut his eyes, his face pale. "Then I must go...."

"I'm coming with you," she said, abruptly. She didn't know if he could 
be trusted. She didn't know if she was going to her death. But she 
could _not_ let any chance slip by without trying to take it. If it 
could lead her to Mulder....

"Thank you for being here for me." His voice in her memory again. 
"Thank you for being...."

I'm trying, Mulder. Please stay with me until I find you. Please.

**********

"The things they did to her...." The man was weeping now, tears 
carving deep grooves of pain in his cheeks.

Scully.... Mulder shut his eyes, seeing her pain. Scully....

"It was terrible. I _saw_ it. So many times. So much suffering. I was 
there.... I saw it."

Scully.....

"Then they killed her."

"Who?" He opened his eyes. The images receded to the fringes of his 
vision. "Who did they kill."

The man looked at him, as if astonished that anyone could ask such a 
question. "Jackie. My Jackie. My wife."

Mulder stared at him, the pieces beginning to fall into place. "You're 
David Epstein?" he asked, cursing himself. He'd neglected his duty 
again. He should have read the files, seen the photographs. He should 
have anticipated this.

"They took her. They knew I was unhappy with what we were doing. They 
knew I wanted to expose it." He spoke in a monotone, as if that was 
the only thing keeping him from breaking down. "They took her to 
ensure my silence."

Mulder shut his eyes, remembering the smell of smoke and stale whisky. 
A broken man, old beyond his years, having to live with the truth that 
he'd sold a loved one to the devil. Blood on his hands as he breathed 
his last.

"They would have used her. That's the worst of it. They know I  know 
what happened to her. I hear the screams every minute."

"But...." He wanted to believe. The man's grief was almost palpable. 
But still there were doubts.... "Why would they kill her?" he asked, 
quietly, scared at the reaction he might prompt. "If they wanted to 
keep your silence...."

"They would have kept her alive for an eternity of suffering, 
like...." Epstein swallowed, looking away. "Like the others."

"Like...?" The world started spinning. He felt it like a physical 
aching pain. "Like my s....?"

An eternity of suffering.... And she was just a little girl.

"It was an accident." Epstein's eyes flashed fire - a warning not to 
proceed. "That's all I can think. She had a weak heart. She 
probably.... " He twisted his fingers. "She probably.... died 
unexpectedly. They decided to make it look as if I did it - to destroy 
me that way instead."

She was screaming in his head, but he had to stay focussed, had to 
concentrate. "They should have....?"

"Disposed of her body without telling me? Let me spend the rest of my 
life in an enforced silence, thinking she would die if I did 
anything....?"

"Would they?" He leant forward urgently. He _had_ to know. "If they 
had taken her, and you had tried to find her...." He faded out. He had 
to know, but he couldn't find the words. "Would they...." It was a 
scarcely audible mumble, his voice catching in his throat. "Would that 
be enough for them to have killed her?"

"I can't say, Agent Mulder." The man wouldn't meet his gaze. "I'm 
running out of time. I have to finish what _I_ have to say. I can't 
talk about y...."

"I _am_ talking about you!" He was desperate, crying out in anguish. 
"I'm talking about your wife."

"No you're not, Agent Mulder." Epstein shook his head, sadly. "You're 
not, are you?"

Silence. A plane flew over head, a low drone in another lifetime. His 
breathing was loud in his ears.

"No, I'm not," he said at last, filled with shame. Once again he'd 
taken another person's grief and used it only as a medium with which 
to view his own. Selfish. Just like always. Selfish. "I'm sorry," he 
mumbled.

"_I'm_ sorry." Epstein's voice was sincere, though he still didn't 
look at him. "Sorry that I was part of.... that."

"Why?" He meant it as a simple question, but suddenly felt the anger 
again, although he knew the other man had suffered greatly. "Why did 
you condone it for so long? Why?" He stood up, eyes blazing. "How 
could you do it to.... to....." He clenched and unclenched his hands 
in an agony of emotion. "Why....?"

"It is not black and white, Agent Mulder. They are not evil incarnate. 
They have their reasons - good reasons."

"But they've killed...."

"Would you hesitate to kill someone - someone you was threatening 
everything you believed in - someone you thought was wrong?"

"I wouldn't kill them." He shut his eyes briefly, hearing again the 
urgent whispered words of Mr X, long ago now, urging him to be 
ruthless in order to get the truth. _He'd_ killed that day, executing 
a man with no sign of emotion. "I wouldn't descend to their level."

"Then you're blind. Either that, or lying." Epstein's voice was harsh 
with contempt. "Have you never pointed a gun at a suspect in one of 
your cases? Have you never shot anybody? Have you never recommended 
that a killer get the death penalty?"

Barnett. Boggs. Tooms. Barry.... He'd have killed Barry without a 
moment's regret, if it wasn't for the truths he knew. Dead men, killed 
by him. "That's different," he said, knowing even as he said it that 
it wasn't.

Epstein was silent. He nodded, as if he saw in Mulder's eyes that he 
understood.

"But you said...."

"I know. I know I said they were evil and had to be stopped. But 
that's not the whole story. They genuinely think they are doing the 
best for humanity. Their experiments are producing a new master race, 
free from the.... problems we suffer from now."

Mulder shuddered. The words were familiar, from a terrible chapter in 
history. _They_ had thought they were doing the right thing too.

"It was a dream. They made it seem so exciting. Genetic engineering of 
a kind more incredible than I'd ever thought possible. I.... I wanted 
to be part of it."

"And the innocent victims.... What of them?" 

"We weren't sadists. We used people - we needed to. But we made them 
forget, afterwards. We protected them from the memories."

"You stole part of their life. They only needed protecting because of 
what you did to them." He was harsh, unforgiving. 

"I know." The life washed out of the other man's eyes. "I know that 
now. But I just want you to understand...."

"You want to walk away from your own guilt."

"No." The man made no attempt to defend himself. "I want you to 
understand. I want you to know that we all thought - they all think - 
they are doing the right thing. I want you to understand that you must 
oppose the _project_, not waste your time trying to get revenge 
against the _men_."

"Revenge...."

The feel of Barry's neck beneath his fingers. Eyes calmly watching him 
down the barrel of a gun, as cigarette smoke wreathed into his face. 
Scully....

"I tried to get revenge." Epstein's voice was barely audible. He 
gestured at the blood on the floor. "It.... it doesn't make things 
better."

"You killed them." He wasn't surprised. He felt no elation at finding 
the answer to the case.

"Yes."

Silence. Mulder blinked, trying to drive the painful weariness from 
his eyes. Days now since he'd slept, and his every muscle throbbed 
with exhaustion.

"I.... " Epstein started hesistantly. "When I found they'd killed her, 
I.... I blamed myself - of course I did. But at the same time I knew 
it was _their_ fault. I thought it would make it better if I made them 
suffer as she did."

"So they were all...."

"They were the wrong targets. That doctor - Dr Wanless?" He paused 
until Mulder nodded his comprehension. "He used his own patients. Just 
little things.... Injecting the.... product into them to see what 
happened. Recommending women to 'a specialist clinic' which could 
treat her for a few days. That sort of thing."

Mulder swallowed hard. If these were the little things.... He'd seen 
the effect of such things in Wisconsin, and knew they could ruin 
lives.

"The second one I took," Eptein continued. "He was an elctronics 
engineer. Made computer chips to implant into the necks of....."

"And the last one?" Mulder prompted desperately. He needed the truth 
for her sake, but knew he couldn't cope with it, not right now.

"The Medical Examiner?" Epstein's eyes didn't leave the blood on the 
floor. "I didn't know about him. I guess it makes sense. It was only 
when he.... when George told me what he said about Jackie's death..... 
When I found out how the autopsies were being covered up - the 
bodies.... sent away." Tears ran down his cheeks. "She hasn't been 
buried...."

"You said they were the wrong targets?" He hated himself for ignoring 
the other man's grief, but there was nothing he could do. He could 
offer no comfort. "Weren't they involved?

"Oh, they _were_ involved. They were all guilty. But their deaths will 
do nothing to end the project. They were very small people working in 
a very small branch of a thing that's bigger than I'll ever know. I 
shouldn't have killed them." His voice was cracking. "I shouldn't have 
killed them," he repeated.

"Why did you....?"

"I wanted revenge. I wanted to make them suffer like they'd made her 
suffer. I wanted to torture and kill anyone who might have been 
involved in her death. I wanted to inflict on them a fraction of the 
pain they inflicted on all those people over the years." Despite the 
words, there was no anger in his voice now, only grief and remorse. "I 
was wrong," he ended, sadly.

"Wrong?" If Scully had died, back then, back when she'd been 
returned.... Waiting in the dark with his gun.... Waiting for the men 
to come to his apartment.... Waiting to kill them.... Was it wrong?

"Haven't you been listening?" Epstein snapped impatiently. "It doesn't 
solve anything. The best revenge is to expose the project, not to kill 
people who are only on the fringes of it."

"So why didn't you?"

Epstein shook his head, sighing. "I should have," he admitted. "But I 
was crazy with grief. When I saw what they'd done...." There were 
still tears in his eyes. "I wasn't thinking straight. It was only last 
night.... The Medical Examiner.... He was looking right into my eyes 
as he died. I.... I can't forget that. I  was wrong."

"So what are you going to do now?" He couldn't meet his eyes. He 
recognised the despairing sense of futility in the man's expression. 

"I'm going to die. They will find me soon." Epstein spoke with calm 
resignation. There was no sign of any will to live. "But I've written 
it all down. Everything I know - names, places, facts. I'll give this 
to you. I want you to protect it with...."

"Why me?" Mulder cut in suddenly. He was being manipulated again. "Why 
not Burroughs?"

"Because they will try to kill you too," Epstein said bluntly. "George 
has risked his job to protect me out of nothing more than friendship. 
I can't put him in any more danger over this. But you.... You've shown 
that you're not afraid to die for the truth. You have a personal 
interest in this thing. If you die for this, you will not be dying for 
me but for...."

Scully. Samantha. The truth.

It _was_ a cause worth dying for. He knew that, despite the doubts, 
depite all the confusion. It was still worth fighting.

Just a few days ago, he'd wondered if anything was important enough to 
fight for - if death could ever be anything more than an escape.

But this.... This was the truth....

"You must go now. I'll get my reports." Epstein's face had relaxed - 
the worst of the lines of tension gone from his face. There was still 
grief there, but also relief.

And that was enough to start the doubts. Just a few seconds of burning 
intensity, then the old doubts again. Nothing was clear any more.

"You haven't told me everything," he said, accusingly, making no move 
to go. "Why was I told about this? Who wanted me on this case? Why did 
you try to make it look like alien abduction?"

"I didn't." Epstein walked to the window, staring out into the woods. 
His muscles were tense across his shoulders. "I just took them. I 
killed them here. George then dumped the bodies and helped obscure the 
evidence. That's all."

"Then why....?" He took a deep breath, wondering what he was getting 
emeshed in now. "They were talking about lights. It looked like...."

"_They_ did that."

"Why?" Mulder ran a hand across his forehead, feeling it warm and 
sticky with the tension. "Why would they do that?"

"You were being manipulated, Agent Mulder." Epstein still didn't turn 
round. The gun had gone from the table and Mulder had to assume it was 
in the other man's hand. "You are still being manipulated."

"By you?"

God! It was all crumbling again. He couldn't take it, not after 
everything. If only Scully....

"They want to find me." The voice was a dull monotone, as if relating 
cold fact. "They knew I'd be expecting that. But they knew I would 
trust you - someone with a reputation of receiving illicit information 
and keeping it secret, whatever the cost. So they wanted to lead you 
to me, by making this case intriguing. You wouldn't be here now if it 
just looked like ordinary murders."

"So everything.... everything about this case was fabricated?" He was 
lost again, hating himself for being so easily led, so predictable.

"The deaths were real." There was emotion in the other man's voice at 
last, but he still didn't turn round. "People did die."

"But why....?"

"They were planning to follow you, of course." Epstein's voice was 
impatient, as if speaking to a slow child. "You were to lead them to 
me."

Oh God! Walker.... And Scully.... He'd never considered _that_ danger. 
She'd go straight to his room and.... And then, when he had Epstein's 
papers, they'd tell him they had taken her, just like they'd taken his 
wife.

"I think...." He spoke hesitantly, fighting the images. "I think I 
evaded that. I found out who was spying on me. He didn't follow...."

But if he was holding her.... No amount of promises would make him 
hesitate. This time he'd give then what they wanted without a second 
thought.

"There's more than one way to follow a person." Epstein turned away 
from the window. The gun was still in his hand, but he showed no signs 
of being aware of its presence. "Not all are visible."

"So they're coming." He knew he should feel more urgency, but he could 
muster no real emotion. He _was_ prepared to die for this cause, but 
if Scully was in danger....

"Probably. You should go."

"You let me come here, knowing they would be tracking me?" He thought 
he understood, but he had to ask. He suddenly felt he understood this 
man so well.

"I don't want to run any more. I don't want to carry on. I just 
want.... I want to rest." He looked immeasurably old. "I just wanted 
to know.... I want to be free of the reponsibility. If I've told 
you.... Even if they don't let you get more than a dozen yards without 
taking it from you, at least I've tried. It's out of my hands now."

I don't want this! He wanted to cry out with the weight of it all. I'm 
too tired. I can't take the burden of someone else's life. However 
important, I can't. I just want to rest. I just want things to be easy 
again.

"I'll try." He summoned all his strength and tried to reassure the 
other man. He understood him, wanted to ease his grief. "I'll do what 
I can...."

"My wife _died_ for this, Agent Mulder. If her death is to have any 
meaning, you _must_ do everything to let the truth be known. It is 
more important than anything."

Mulder looked round wildly, floundering. How could he live with 
himself if he let this man down? How could he live with himself if 
_she_ came to any harm because of it? 

"Promise me." Epstein took hold of his shoulders, his eyes boring into 
his. "You must put this above everything."

"I can't...." he whispered. "I can't...."

Scully crying. Melissa's empty hospital bed. His father's blood.... 
Casualties of his obsession. He'd put the truth above everything 
before. He would never do that again. She was the only one left, and 
she'd been hurt enough.

"I thought you were strong. I thought you believed," Epstein hissed in 
his face, his face taut with disappointment and contempt. "You're 
weak."

"I.... I _do_ believe." He drew on all his strength to stand his 
ground. "I do want to expose them. I do want to know the truth. But 
there are other things too. I once said that nothing else mattered to 
me, but that's wrong." He wondered why he was confiding it all to a 
stranger when he'd not even admitted it to himself before, but as the 
words came pouring out he knew they were right. It was the only thing 
he was sure of, now. "The truth does matter, but it's not the only 
thing. People matter. Friends matter. Family matters. I will _not_ 
sacrifice them to the truth again. I will _not_ let them suffer 
because of me - because of my quest."

"But I need...."

"No." He pulled away from the man's grasp. He would not be 
interrupted. It was all clear at last. "Once, I thought everything was 
clear. The truth was all that mattered and I pursued it regardless of 
the cost. Then, six months ago...." He swallowed. He wasn't ready to 
talk about _that_ - not yet. "Six months ago," he began again. 
"Something happened. Everything was still clear, but this time.... 
this time it was clear that I'd detroyed everything I ever cared 
about. There was no point seeking the truth, because I _was_ the 
truth. The truth was that it was all _my_ fault. It was wrong to avoid 
it and seek to blame other people. Their crimes were nothing against 
mine."

"I _told_ you. They...."

"They're crimes _are_ great." His voice softened. He could see in the 
other man's eyes that he understood. "I know that now. But I also know 
that I _did_ allow people to get hurt by putting the truth first. I 
was selfish. I can't change that. But in the future.... It won't 
happen again. I _will_ try to expose them, but not if by doing so I am 
hurting the people I care about."

And this was a truth too. Maybe the truth he'd spent six months in the 
darkness searching for. The truth that there was a mid way between two 
extremes. The truth that his life could continue, despite everything. 
The truth that....

There was a soft knock at the front door.

Everything froze. Time was suspended. A drip of moisture ran down his 
neck, tickling it.

"They've come." Now it was close, there was fear in Epstein's eyes. 

"It's not them." Mulder shook his head abruptly, trying to apply 
reason, trying to think through the confusion. "They wouldn't knock. 
They'd just burst in."

"Then who....?"

Scully. He shut his eyes, trying to feel her presence. Her shadow 
across the window. The soft voice of her concern. The flash of 
sunlight on her hair....

"I'll answer it." He made a sudden decision. "Is there a back room you 
can hide in?"

"Yes, but...."

The knock sounded again. The room visibly darkened as a cloud passed 
in front of the sun.

"I'll answer it." He was so sure it was Scully. She'd found him. She 
always found him, however difficult he made it for him.

He paused, his hand on the door, waiting until he heard the soft sound 
behind him that indicated that Epstein had left the room.

"Sc...." He opened the door a crack, expecting to see her anxious pale 
face.

"Mulder. Thank God!"

It was Walker. 

And he was naked, vulnerable, without his gun.

"There's nothing for you here, Walker," he hissed, trying to push the 
door shut. "Or are your friends coming to help you finish the job?"

Walker's gun was in his hand, though he didn't threaten, not yet. He 
pushed against the door, trying to stop Mulder closing it. "Let me in, 
Mulder. You've _got_ to. I've followed...."

There was a muffled cry of pain as the door slammed shut. Mulder drew 
the bolts with shaking fingers. The certainties were crashing down 
again. Once again, he hadn't stopped to think, and a man might die 
because of it.

"Mulder!" A fist thumped at the front door, over and over, a funereal 
pounding.

The walls were closing in on him, dark and full of death. He couldn't 
breathe.

Pounding, pounding..... The voice calling his name.....

There was blood on the floor.

"Mr Epstein?" He took a few steps across the room. He didn't know how 
to face him. He'd opened the door to death. "You okay?"

Pounding....

"Mr Epstein?"

"Just a minute." The words were strangled, distorted by the pounding 
that filled his whole mind. "I'm coming."

Pounding....

The door opened and Epstein stepped out. He moved slowly, like an old 
man, his back held rigid and his face lined with defeat.

"I'm sorry," Mulder began.

"They're here." Epstein interrupted him, his eyes full of desperation. 
"They've come for me. I can't.... I have to tell you....." He ran both 
hands across his face, his fingers digging deep into the flesh. "I 
didn't tell you everything."

Pounding....

"I wanted to protect you from the truth. But I think... The truth is 
better than a lie, even if it hurts." His eyes were truly terrible, 
drenched with grief.

"The.... truth....?" His vision was spinning. His head was spinning. 
The whole world was pulsing to the pounding that left no room for 
anything else.

"Your sister."

Pounding.... Pounding.... The drums of death.

"My sister? Where is she?" 

"She's dead."

Pounding. Drums in the deep. A fiery chasm to an unutterable darkness. 
Drums in the deep. The Bridge of Khazad-Dhum. Tolkien. He almost 
laughed, a bitter hysterical laugh, that he could think of such 
things, now.

"Dead?"

It wasn't true. It wasn't true. It wasn't true.... Scully! Help me!

"They killed her that night."

Drums in the deep. Gandalf falling to his death. Gandalf died, and 
everyone cried. Died and cried. Cried and died. Rhymes. Nursery 
rhymes. The cow jumped over the moon. The dish ran away with the 
spoon. What does it mean, Fox? Tell me another, Fox. You're the best 
big brother in the whole wide world.

"That night?"

"The night they took her. They watched you search for her, and they 
laughed. They laughed at you."

Mom! Guess what Samantha just said? She thought.... she thought a 
caterpillar was a baby cat. She's so stu-pid.... Am not. Are so. Am 
not.... Don't laugh at your sister, Fox. A big boy like you. You 
should be looking after her.

"They laughed....?"

Help me, Scully. I can't.... There's nothing. Scully. I can't....

He sank to his knees. Hot tears on his face. Pounding....

"No. I _can't_."

There was nothing left. No point in going on. Nothing.

"Agent Mulder, listen to me...."

And then a gun rang out.

Epstein crumpled to the floor. Blood on his chest. Blood pulsing 
everywhere. Blood.... 

"You said.... This wasn't.... " Epstein could barely speak. He 
couldn't raise his eyes above the pair of feet that strode over to his 
side. "Will it be.... will it still live?"

The blood trickled across the floor. Mulder reached out a finger and 
dipped it in the pool, staring at it in fascination. It was all that 
existed now. Just blood. Death.

He didn't bother to look above the feet. What did it matter?

They had laughed.

"Look at me." A foot caught him in the stomach, driving the wind from 
him. The voice.... It didn't seem like Walker's. Not that it mattered. 
"I want you to see your death."

He shut his eyes. The gun was pointed at him. He could feel it, hear 
it, sense it. But all he could see was her face.

Fox! Help me, Fox! I need your help, Mulder. Fox....!

And they had laughed.

There was great crash and the fresh air from outside carressed his 
cheek.  Its chill was trying to drag him back, and he shrank away, 
seeking the warm darkness.

They had laughed.

The gun shot, when it came, brought a pain that was nothing compared 
to the pain he was already feeling. Just nothing, at first, but then 
there was another shot, and he felt the great blow on his body as the 
bullet passed through him, and the rich warm wetness as the blood 
began to flow.

His eyes closed. Not long now....

**********

She could still hear the echo of the gun shots, even through the 
pounding of her feet, the ragged sounds of her own breathing in her 
head.

Oh God! Oh God! She was too late. They had found him.

She stumbled, tripped, feeling a stab of pain in her ankle, but 
carried on running, ignoring it. There was no time. She _had_ to get 
there. She _had_ to be there for his final breath. If his last sight 
on earth was.... If he died thinking he was....

There were tears on her cheeks, and her throat was choked, obstructing 
her breathing. The trees seemed to be looking down on her, their 
twisted shapes enjoying her fear, their cruel fingers reaching out to 
trip her.

"Mulder!" She cried her thoughts aloud, all caution lost in the 
intensity of her loss. If they were waiting for her, if they wanted to 
kill her, there was nothing to be gained from caution. Burroughs still 
had her gun, and he was lagging way behind, overweight and unfit.

"Mulder?" She called again, pausing in sudden trepidation at the door. 
It had been forced open, its bolt ripped from the wall. She knew there 
was death inside. Blood seemed to fill her while vision, flooding the 
world, and she knew she would see it in her dreams for the rest of her 
life. 

"Agent Scully! In here!"

She didn't recognise the voice, but when she stepped into the room she 
saw, and she understood. Three bodies on the floor, but Mulder the 
only one that mattered. And Walker....

"Get away from him!" She had never felt such fury. "Don't you touch 
him!"

He was alive.

"Leave him alone or I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

He was alive.

A gun was lying in a pool of blood. She picked it up, too angry even 
to shudder at the thought that some of it was likely to be his. 

"Move away, Walker." His hands were still pressed against Mulder's 
side. Blood was trickling through his fingers. "I said, leave him 
alone!"

"I have him, Agent Scully." Burroughs' voice was broken, out of 
breath. She couldn't take her eyes off Mulder, but could feel that he 
had a gun pointed at Walker. "Do what she says. Step away."

"Mulder." She fell down to her knees beside him, touching him. His 
face, his arms, his chest, his hair. The feel of his warmth beneath 
her fingers. His living body, breathing still. Mulder. "I'm here, 
Mulder. It's okay."

His shirt was soaked in blood, and she pulled at it with trembling 
fingers. She'd found him again. She couldn't lose him, not now.

"It's okay, Mulder." His breathing came in shallow gasps, punctuated 
by gasps of pain, almost like sobs. His eyes were tight shut, but 
trails of tears ran down his face. God! What had they done to him? 
"You'll be okay, Mulder." She probed his wound with one hand, the 
other one stoking his face with feather soft touches. "I don't think 
it's serious. Looks like your ribs deflected it. It'll hurt like hell, 
but you'll be okay."

_Why_ wasn't he answering? It was beginning to scare her. And the two 
other people dead in the room.

Voices spoke in the distance, and somewhere there was a distant 
rumble, but she shut it out. Nothing else mattered. 

"It's okay, Mulder. I'm here. I'm not leaving you, not ever again." 
She pulled his head into her lap and stroked his hair. The blood flow 
needed staunching, she knew that, but it could wait. It was the pain 
in his expression - the utter despair. 

The rumbling grew louder.

"Agent Scully." It was Walker. 

"Leave us alone? Haven't you done enough?"

He didn't move. "It wasn't me." His voice was urgent, trembling with 
what sounded like fear. "Detective Burroughs told me what happened. It 
wasn't me. I found that thing in my pen. I tried to call Mulder and 
tell him, but he didn't answer."

She didn't let her eyes leave Mulder's face. "Look, I don't care right 
now," she sighed. "There's no time...."

The rumbling filled the whole world. A helicopter....

"There's no time!" Walker echoed her words, shouting against the 
noise. "It was Ross Greene, or whatever his name really is. _He_ shot 
Mulder, and the man he was talking to, and I shot him. I was 
suspicious of.... Look! There's no time for this! He was the one who 
tracked Mulder here. I followed him. Now his friends are coming. We've 
got to get...."

Then the room darkened as the helicopter passed before the window. 
They had run out of time.

"Where is he?" A harsh voice sounded from the door. Half a dozen guns 
were pointed at them.

"This him?" A gun was jabbed in the ribs of one of the dead men, 
rolling him over. She noticed for the first time that Burroughs was 
crouching by the body, tears in his eyes. There was still so much 
about this she didn't understand.

"Yeah, that's him. No threat now, is he?"

Laughter. Harsh, unkind laughter.

"No!" Mulder moved in her arms, whimpering. "No! Not that! Make them 
go away, Mom."

"Mulder." She bent down to whisper into his ears, feeling panic surge 
inside her. She was way out of her depth with this. "Shh. It's me, 
Scully. Don't talk right now. Wait till you're stronger."

But she needed to hear him talk. For so long he hadn't confided in 
her. She _needed_ to hear his voice. But she couldn't let him. He 
mustn't draw attention to himself, not with these.... these monsters 
in the room.

"Which one is Mulder?"

Oh God! They knew! She pulled him tightly into her embrace, wishing 
she could hold him so tight they would never find him, safe like a 
little child in his mother's arms.

Silence. She didn't dare breathe. Burroughs and Walker said nothing, 
but she could see the tension in their bodies, see the sweat running 
down their faces.

"This one." The soldier who'd spoken was over in an instant, one heavy 
foot landing in Mulder's stomach.

It was too much.

"Don't touch him!" She held him tight in her arms, turning a blazing 
look of fury on the soldiers. "Leave him alone. Haven't you people 
done enough to him?"

Strong arms grabbed her, dragging her away. She kicked and fought, 
refusing to yield her grip on her partner, but they were too strong. 
She could scarcely see through the tears.

"What did he tell you?" Mulder had curled into a protective ball when 
she let go of him, but two men grabbed hold of him, forcing him flat 
against the floor. "What did he tell you?" The leading soldier was 
shouting, his face pushed up against Mulder's. Another was sitting on 
his legs, as if to keep him from struggling.

But his legs were limp. He wasn't fighting at all.

"Stop it. He doesn't know...." she began, but a hand was clapped over 
her mouth. It was all she could do to breathe. 

"Don't lie to protect him, Agent Scully," a voice hissed in her ears. 
"He was here for hours. You've only just arrived, we know that."

"Are there papers?" The shout filled the whole room. Strong fingers 
dug into the flesh of Mulder's neck. And then it fell to a sinuous 
hiss, serpent like and seductive. "Tell me, Agent Mulder. We'll kill 
her if you don't...."

Oh God! No! Not that....

"Yes." He was gasping, having difficulty with even so small a word.

"Where?" Relentless, cruel. The fingers squeezed tighter, although the 
soldier must have known he'd won.

"I don't know. Somewhere. Somewhere here. I.... Just don't hurt her. 
Please don't hurt her."

"Oh, we might, anyway."

Nothing in the room but the sound of an unnatural laughter.

"Scully....?" His voice was so weak, but the men had left him. The 
hand left her mouth and she fell to the floor, temporarily dizzy from 
the lack of air. She couldn't speak, although her whole being cried 
out to him, comforting him.

"Scully...." There was an edge of panic in his voice. "They 
laughed....."

"It's okay, Mulder. I'm here. They didn't hurt me." She gathered him 
into her arms, speaking as calmly as she could through her gaps. Blood 
was staining the front of her blouse.

"There's nothing...." A sob. "All.... nothing."

Feet thudded on the floor, and the crashing noises nearly drowned his 
words.

"It's not nothing, Mulder." Stroking his hair. "I'm back now. I'm not 
leaving again. Together.... There's hope, Mulder. Hope."

"No!" It was cry of intense pain. "She's dead."

She hadn't thought it could get any worse. But this.... 

"Who told you that, Mulder?" She _couldn't_ think of it. She had to be 
strong. "Who was it?"

"She's dead. They killed her. She was just a little girl, and they 
killed her.... They laughed.... Just a little girl."

A table crashed to the floor, landing in a pool of blood. Small 
splashes landed on her face. The shouts of the soldiers were like a 
backdrop to Hell, monstrous and unnatural. 

"Who told you, Mulder?" She held him by the shoulders, urgent, eyes 
burning. "You must _think_, Mulder. Who. Told. You. That?"

"I don't know!" His eyes were tight shut, and she could feel him 
fighting with all his strength to curl up and withdraw completely. 
"Stop asking.... I don't know. I don't know where she is! Make them 
stop, Dad. My head hurts. I tried.... I'm sorry, Dad."

The room turned as cold as death in an instant. My God! What can I do? 
Help me... help him.

Papers fell to the floor like so many shrivelled dead leaves.

"It's me, Mulder. It's Scully. You must _listen_ to me."

"Sc.... Scully?" His head was lolling. He was barely conscious, lost 
in the darkness. "She's dead, Scully. They laughed. She was only a 
little girl. I used to pull her braids and she cried.... She 
cried...."

The harsh voice from hours, days, a lifetime away, vanishing into the 
shadows. There are more ways to destroy a man than to kill him, Agent 
Scully....

"It's not true, Mulder." She put her hands either side of his face, 
holding him with her gaze. "It's a lie. She's not dead."

She was floundering, terrified, desperately hoping she was telling the 
truth. But she _had_ to get him through the crisis. Later, back in 
life again - then was the time to talk about it, to reason.

"She's not....?" His voice was terrible to hear. So little. So 
desperate to believe - clinging to the frail hope of three little 
words.

"She's not dead, Mulder."

A shadow fell across his face as a soldier passed before the window. 
The room was crowded with their noise, their threat.

"You trust me, Mulder? You know I wouldn't lie to you."

His eyes were open, still clouded with pain. His expression hurt worst 
of all. Beseeching. Helpless. Clinging to an assurance that was only a 
hope.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Mulder - you know that. And I'm telling you 
she's _not_ dead. You can still find her. I'll be there for you all 
the way. We'll find her together."

"She's not dead?" He mouthed the words, no sound coming from his lips.

She stroked his forehead. Her fingers were stained with his blood and 
left red streaks across his pale skin. "No, she's not dead."

He heaved a great shuddering sigh and relaxed into her arms, but she 
knew with a sense of dread that it was far from over yet.

How long did she have before the doubts set in?

He lay pale, unmoving, still as....

"Mulder?" Her hands moved over him in a sudden panic. "Mulder!"

She's alive. Can you die now? He'd told her the words, reluctantly, 
not meeting her eye, long months after it had happened - months after 
that encounter in the Arctic. She's alive. Can you die now? As if the 
only thing binding him to life was the uncertainty - the need to know.

But he _couldn't_.....

"Kill them."

She was in deep shadow. The soldiers stood in a ring, looking down at 
her, their faces expressionless, like some creatures of nightmare.

"But sir, our orders. It was only him...."

Kill. Them." The voice left no room for argument. "All of them. We are 
always too lenient. _He_ should have been killed years ago."

She shut her eyes, determined not to show them her fear. Her fingers 
sought Mulder's neck and stayed there, revelling in the feel of his 
pulse. It was her lifeline - her connection to him. They would feel 
each other die.

The blood was sticky beneath her. There would be five deaths. So much 
blood....

"No!" Burroughs' voice. She didn't turn around. She scarcely dared to 
breathe. Guns were watching her every movement.

"Who are you to stop us?" The laughter again, chilling and terrible. 

"I know about you." The voice was firm, not intimidated. "I know about 
your employers. I knew you would come."

"And?" The guns were frozen. Death was frozen.

"Maybe I _told_ people before I came. The Chief of Police, perhaps? 
Maybe higher? Maybe I said that if I didn't return this morning, 
then....?" He let the threat hang.

She chewed on her lip, not daring to move a muscle, scared that the 
slightest inflection of body language would give him away. He hadn't 
spoken to anyone, she knew that. They were alone.

Silence. She could no longer tell if the pulse was in her own 
fingertips or in his neck. 

Her eyes were shut. Footsteps....

But if they lived, what then? She'd hoped before, six months before, 
when they'd pulled him from the brink of death. But this time.... 

Could she hope again?

**********

Monday 13th May
_____

"Mulder? Can you hear me?"

Scully kept her voice to a whisper. She _needed_ to talk to him, but 
she dreaded talking to him. Two days now, her eyes absorbing every 
detail of his face, seeing with an almost physical pain how thin and 
pale he'd become since.... since she'd left him.

"Mulder?"

He was conscious, she was sure of it. Shutting himself into his own 
mind, putting up the walls against her, playing the horror show of 
memories over and over in his head.

Alone.

"Mulder? I've _got_ to talk to you."

For two days he'd not opened his eyes, not moved, not spoken. She 
still had no way of knowing if he still remembered her assurances back 
in the blood-filled room. 

"Please, Mulder...."

It was the worst thing of all, this utter shutting himself away. Back 
then, back in the face of death, at least he'd _talked_ to her. He'd 
relaxed into her arms, listening to her, accepting her words of 
comfort, trusting her. It was terrible, but it was.... it was 
wonderful too. Six long months of pulling away and finally he'd opened 
up to her.

He'd confided more in those horrible seconds than he had in the last 
six months.

And _that_ was where she'd let her hope grow, fostering it as she'd 
paced anxiously up and down the hospital, waiting until they let her 
go to him.

But now....

"Mulder. _Please_...."

He didn't stir.

Warm tears dripped onto his sheets, darker patches on the white, 
spreading, spreading....

**********

A soft sound was lapping round him like the waves on a still beach on 
a sunlit day. 

The sea had been stormy, lashing at him with a wild black fury, 
grating on the shingle. It was a harsh noise. Grating, grating, 
grating.... Harsh, like laughter. Peals of cruel laughter....

Spooky. Seen any little green men? Contemptuous smoke. Laughter as the 
blood flowed.

Only a little girl....

Laughter in the storm clouds. Grating as life drained away. Black sea. 
Red sea. Red. Blood....

"I want to be free!" He tried to shout but his voice was scoured by 
the storm and he was screaming only in his own mind. "Free from your 
lies. I want...."

The soft sound reached out to him and wrapped him up, safe. He was 
cocooned. The storm fell away. The soft wind was calling his name.

And then suddenly he knew that he'd been fighting the peace for so 
long. He'd gone willingly into the storm. He'd run from the cocoon. 
He'd run from his own strength.

But not now. Not any more.

And then it seemed as if a little girl was running, her braids flying 
in the soft breeze, and she was laughing.

**********

Tuesday 14th May
____

There was so much she wanted to say, so little she could say. 

"Mulder?" She coughed, forcing her voice to rise above a croak. 
"Mulder? How are you feeling?"

"Scully." It was too much to expect a joke, not this time, but at 
least he was talking. Just one word, but so much hope resting on it.

Silence.

"Mulder?" His name again, so seldom off her lips these last few days. 
Mulder.... "I'm not leaving you again. I'm back."

She _had_ to be imagining it. The faintest ghost of a smile.

"Skinner's approved it. Walker.... I was wrong about him, Mulder. It 
was Ross Greene in that photograph, not Walker. He didn't betray you, 
but he's still.... he's been reassigned. I'm already back." She tried 
to laugh. She had to see if she'd imagined his smile. "You have to put 
up with me again, I'm afraid. I'll try not to shoot you too often this 
time."

Silence.

Stupid, stupid.... Not a thing to joke about, not now.

But he smiled. He smiled....

"Mulder, I...."

"Scully." His voice was scarcely above a whisper. He still had 
difficulty breathing and she could see the muscles tightening in his 
face as he tried not to show the pain he felt in his ribs with his 
every breath. "Scully.... Scully....."

"What, Mulder?" She touched his hand, prompting gently. He seemed to 
be savouring the very feel of her name.

"I've had a long time to think. I was... before _then_ I was...." He 
looked away. Whatever he said she knew there was a long way to go 
still. "It wasn't clear on everything, Scully, but I was... it was 
beginning to become clear."

"What was, Mulder?" She had to keep him talking. Every word that spoke 
of his feelings, his thoughts, was a precious jewel to be treasured. 

There was a long silence. "It," he said, at last.

She didn't push it, not now.

Silence. A trolley in the distance. His laboured breathing. The 
looking silence of the sterile hospital walls. No words.

But she _had_ to address it. 

"Mulder? What do you remember about....?"

It was enough. His every muscle stiffened, and his face took on the 
closed look she had seen so often before.

Oh God! Not again! Just as I thought we were _getting_ somewhere. Will 
this never end?

"Please talk to me, Mulder." She stroked his hand. Tears were 
trickling from his closed eye lids but he turned his face further away 
and she knew she wasn't supposed to see them. She wondered if he knew 
her own tears were mirroring his.

"Samantha dead. He said Samantha's dead," he said, his voice dull. 
"But you said...."

"She's _not_ dead, Mulder. He was lying to you."

She was prepared for his screams. She was prepared to hold him and 
comfort him like a child. She was prepared to have to fight her way 
through his walls of silence. She was prepared for everything.

But not this.

"I know.... I think."

Silence. What could she say? She didn't know if he truly believed it 
or if he was only trying to ease her own anxieties. He could be 
breaking inside.

"He tried to tell me something, before he.... before he was killed. I 
was... I couldn't listen, then."

She still couldn't meet his eyes. Even if he _did_ believe it, she 
knew he would never be free from the memory - the terrible vision of 
that possibility. 

"He was surprised to die, right at the very end." There was something 
of the old Mulder in his voice. "He'd expected it, before. Something 
happened...."

"There are more ways to destroy a man than to kill him...." She 
whispered the words, lost in sudden memory.

"I don't know what happened. I think...." His voice was rising in 
panic, and she knew he didn't fully believe it - with his mind, 
perhaps, but not with his heart. "They found some way to get to him, 
right at the end?"

"They did." She clenched her fists tightly, knowing he mustn't see how 
much this still affected her. "I was given some notes.... It was an 
autopsy. From what Detective Burroughs tells me, I think it was on 
Jacqueline Epstein. They hadn't wanted her to die." Careful, Scully. 
Calm, deep breaths. Steady voice. "They took her to.... to do some 
routine experiment - routine for them. She died. It wasn't the 
intention."

"Then why....?"

"She was pregnant, Mulder. They took the foetus. His _child_. In their 
hands....." 

Curled up in a jar, an object traded for his life. _Somebody's_ child. 
Squelching beneath her feet in a sea of green liquid. _Somebody's_ 
child.

Deep breaths. Don't go into _that_ ghost of memory, surfacing only on 
the fringes of dreams. Mulder. Mulder. It's _his_ need.

Mulder....

"Then why....?" His control was still so weak, and he was questioning 
her like a child.

"It was all planned, Mulder." She spoke firmly, trying to strengthen 
him with her own certainty. "They wanted to destroy him, and if they 
could take you with him...."

"Why did they want to....?"

"Because you're a threat to them, Mulder. You _are_ achieving things. 
Your life...." She took a deep breath, wondering how far to go. "Your 
life _is_ worthwhile. Why would they tell you she was dead unless she 
was alive - unless you were getting close to finding her? They 
wouldn't put all that effort into knocking you off a path unless it 
was worth taking."

He turned his head slowly. He still wasn't looking at her, but he was 
closer. "I think.... I _think_ I can believe that, soon...."

She stroked his forehead, smiling. "And I'll help you, Mulder. You 
know that now?"

He was silent. He didn't speak, didn't look at her, but there was 
_something_.... His muscles relaxing. A small sigh. A layer of pain 
falling away.

It was not over yet.

Months of grief and torment. Guilt. Reproach. Six months of his life 
disappearing into the darkness. It would be weeks - months - before it 
was over. It was _never_ be over. They would never be as they were.

But, this time, there was hope.

"I'm so tired, Scully." It was the voice of a little boy. "I want to 
sleep."

"Okay, Mulder." His hair was soft beneath her hand. "You go to sleep."

She reached out and turned off the bedside light, and sat watching him 
in the gloom. "I'm here if you need me, Mulder," she whispered. "I'm 
not leaving you, not this time."

The bed creaked as he rolled onto his side, and then there was 
silence.

But she was smiling.

His breathing was ragged, catching in almost silent sobs, and she 
could see his shoulders shaking.

"It'll be okay, Mulder." She leant forward and, on a sudden impulse, 
touched his forehead with her lips. "It'll be okay."

And she was smiling. She was crying, but she was smiling.

He was facing her.

**********

end.