This story is based on characters created by Chris 
Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. Characters used 
without permission. No infringement intended. 

TITLE: Practice Makes Perfect
AUTHOR:  Jo-Ann Lassiter
EMAIL ADDRESS:  Jolassi555@cs.com 
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Two weeks exclusive on VS10. 
Then post anywhere. Thanks.
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: S, R
SUMMARY: Three years ago, Mulder's profile was 
directly responsible for the capture of a man who had 
been killing the presidents of large corporations. 
The man escaped and had not been heard from again -- 
until now. Mulder and Scully are called to a case in 
Texas where they once again cross paths with Lawrence 
Dexter III.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel of sorts to VS8's 
"Your Past is Showing." You should be able to read 
this without reading that, though, as I think I've 
scattered enough explanation throughout to bring you 
up to speed. If not... well, it's episode 8X18.
THANKS: To Gerry, for her usual crack beta work.

Teaser

George Bush Intercontinental/Houston Airport
February 15
8:03 a.m.

Larry Dexter woke as soon as the wheels touched down 
on the tarmac. After three years, it was good to be 
back in the good ol' US of A. He'd take care of the 
business he was there for, and at the same time 
pursue a pleasure he'd put off far long.

Still clutching the folder containing the dossiers 
he'd compiled on the two FBI agents, he flipped it 
open; since his assignment required him to be a 
little further away from the agents than he would 
have liked, bringing them to him only presented yet 
another puzzle to be solved.

He directed his attention to the male of the two. 
After finally having made the decision to focus his 
attention on Agent Mulder rather than Agent Scully, 
his mind had spent the hours before he fell asleep 
working out the details. He read over the agent's 
physical characteristics, smiling when he reached the 
one that had won him the honor of 'target.'

He smiled to himself. Even if it hadn't been so easy 
to pick Mulder, he suspected he would have found some 
way to assure his selection. While Agent Scully had 
most certainly played a part, it was Mulder's profile 
that had directly led to his capture.

As for those fools who'd recommended minimum security 
over the objections of the two agents and that 
assistant director -- a shame that he couldn't bring 
him out as well -- Larry wouldn't even waste his time 
with those incompetents. And they'd called *him* 
mentally unstable. He wasn't the one who'd placed a 
trained assassin in a van with two elderly guards and 
a staff psychiatrist.

It had been laughable how he'd been able to convince 
everyone of his 'illness.' Only those three agents 
from DC had been wise enough to see him for what he 
really was. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd 
guessed his 'real' profession as well.

Being taken for a nerd had always served him well; he 
supposed there was even some substance to it, what 
with his love for science and 'gadgets.' But how many 
nerds could single out a target from a crowd of 
thousands -- and then eliminate him, quickly, 
quietly, and without having to raise a finger?

Dexter sighed. Of course, the means by which he'd 
achieved that particular aspect of his profession had 
also contributed to his downfall; short though his 
incarceration had been, it had caused him to shelve 
his plans -- however temporarily -- to deal with the 
men whose actions had caused his beloved mother's 
death.

Of the twelve on his list, he'd only been able to 
eliminate six. He hadn't expected to get all of them 
in round one, but he'd anticipated eliminating a few 
more than he actually had. Damn those feds.

No matter. He was back now, and after he'd had a 
little fun with Special Agent Fox Mulder, he'd put 
his contingency plan into action. Mother always said 
he was so good at his work -- if she only knew, he 
giggled -- because he planned so far in advance. 
Wouldn't those mother killers be surprised when they 
found out he had returned?

He dearly hoped they were all still alive so that he 
would not be denied the pleasure of watching them 
die.

Act I

Dodge, Texas
11:16 a.m.
February 23

Mulder removed a hand from the steering wheel, 
swiping it across his wet forehead; he glanced over 
at his partner, dozing in the passenger seat. That 
should be him, he thought sourly. 

When the rental agent had offered the keys, he'd 
grabbed them and settled himself in the driver's seat 
before he'd thought about it. Scully had once called 
him a chauvinist because he always wanted to drive; 
at the time, he'd scoffed at the notion as absurd, 
but here he'd gone and done out of habit something he 
hadn't even wanted to be doing. Christ. He *was* a 
chauvinist.

If he didn't feel so lousy, he might have laughed; as 
it was, all he wanted to do was find the motel and 
crawl into bed. He sighed as he left the interstate 
for the road that was the last leg of their journey. 
Another mile or two, and they'd be there.

Just as Mulder merged from the left onto the busy 
two-lane, a wave of dizziness hit him so hard that he 
knew he was about to pass out. He gave a cursory 
glance in the rear view mirror, then cut across the 
right lane into the breakdown lane, narrowly missing 
a delivery truck. He stomped on the brake, threw the 
car into park, and slumped against the steering 
wheel.

He came to when Scully's frantic voice penetrated the 
fog in which he was enshrouded. "Scully..." he 
moaned, not actually able to make out anything that 
she was saying. He felt her hands on his head as she 
gently lifted it off the steering wheel.

"What's wrong, Mulder?" she asked, her voice breaking 
up like a bad telephone connection.

"Dizzy," he mumbled, his head still spinning. He 
didn't even consider opening his eyes.

"You nearly caused an accident," she said, softly.

"I know. I'm sorry," he panted, trying to keep from 
fainting again.

"Did you -- "

A loud rapping on Mulder's window startled them both 
into silence. Even Mulder's harsh breathing stopped 
for a few seconds.

"It's a sheriff's department deputy," Scully told 
him.

"Unh hunh," Mulder murmured, when he resumed 
breathing again.

"I think he wants you to roll down your window." She 
nudged him with her elbow.

Fumbling around until he located the switch, Mulder 
tabbed the button, and the window rolled down. Hot 
air rushed in, and Mulder felt the world dissolve 
into blackness.

**

"Mulder!" What the hell was wrong with him? That was 
twice in two minutes. Scully cupped her hand around 
his chin and shook his head lightly, as she addressed 
the officer. "Deputy, my partner -- "

"I'll be wantin' your license 'n' registration, son," 
the man cut her off.

Mulder groaned and opened his eyes. Scully rubbed a 
hand over his cheek worriedly. 

"License 'n' registration," the officer repeated, 
more forcefully than before.

"Give us a minute here, would you?" Scully said, her 
patience wearing thin. 

"All right, get on out of that car," the deputy 
demanded, yanking on the door handle, pulling it 
open.

"If you'd just let me explain -- "

"Get out," he ordered, jerking with his thumb, and 
directing his words to a semi-conscious Mulder, 
disregarding Scully altogether. 

When the man reached out a beefy hand and grabbed 
Mulder's shoulder, Scully pushed it away. "Back off," 
she growled, incensed now by the man's refusal to 
listen to reason. "Can't you see he's -- "

She broke off when she found the barrel of a weapon 
three inches from her face. Very slowly, she brought 
her eyes up to meet the officer's. "There's no need 
for that, Deputy. If you'll just -- " 

"Get out of that car now!" The officer took a step 
back. "The two of you." Scully swallowed as she heard 
the safety being released. "Right now!"

She freed herself from the safety belt and reached to 
the handle on her door.

"Hold it right there," the cop demanded. Scully 
paused and looked up. "You get out on this side." He 
indicated Mulder's open door. "Get out, boy," he said 
to Mulder.

Looking somewhat more alert, Mulder released his seat 
belt and stumbled out; Scully climbed over the stick 
shift and followed him.

The deputy looked them up and down, making no effort 
to hide his disdain for their expensive clothing.

 "If I may be allowed to explain -- " Scully tried 
again.

"Ma'am, I'd appreciate it if you'd quit yer yappin' 
so I can give this feller his sobriety test." The 
deputy reached into his pocket and pulled out a set 
of handcuffs. 

Scully bristled. If he was thinking of cuffing 
Mulder... "Listen, Deputy..." She glanced at his name 
tag. "...Jenkins, we seem to have gotten off on the 
wrong foot here. My partner and I -- "

All capacity for speech left her as the deputy 
snapped the cuff onto her left wrist and then secured 
the other to the steering wheel. Scully blinked. She 
was *not* standing outside her rental in the 'hottest 
February on record,' handcuffed to a steering wheel. 
She was *not* watching as some poor excuse for a law 
enforcement officer dragged her sick partner away 
from her. 

In shocked silence, she struggled to gather her wits 
about her as she tried to ascertain what the hell had 
just happened.

**

Mulder was having trouble locating his nose. From 
past experience, he knew it was somewhere on his 
face, but trying to find it with one finger while his 
eyes were closed was a lot harder than he thought it 
would be. Having his eyes shut, though, was a big 
plus because the light from the sun had been causing 
him some serious hurt.

"All right, walk to the end of the car and then 
back," he heard barked at him.

With his eyes closed? he wondered. Pushing himself up 
off the car, Mulder got to take one step before the 
light-headedness hit him again.

"Hey, you! Did I tell you to stop? Get moving!" He 
felt a rough shove on his back and lurched forward a 
few feet, more from the push than from any power of 
his own.

"Christ," he heard, muttered under the man's breath. 
"Get your sorry ass back here, you drunkard. I'm 
takin' you in for drivin' under the influence."

"He is *not* drunk!" Scully's incensed voice reached 
Mulder's ears, just as he executed an about-face that 
toppled him onto the pavement. The tarmac biting into 
his cheek was hot, and he knew he really ought to 
move. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for 
Scully to rescue him.

**

Scully's eyes followed Mulder's ungraceful descent to 
the highway. She didn't know what was wrong with him, 
but she did know that he definitely was not drunk.

"He's not, huh?" the deputy's triumphant voice 
retorted.

"He's sick," Scully countered. "He has not been 
drinking."

"Ma'am, you assaulted an officer of the law. I'm not 
inclined to believe anything you'd tell me."

"Assaulted..." Scully sputtered. "*You* assaulted 
*him.* You're the one who grabbed him -- "

"I was assisting him out of the vehicle." The 
deputy's tone reverted to that pompous, officious 
tone that all officers of the law affected when they 
talked down to a suspect. Scully vowed never to allow 
herself to speak to anyone that way ever again.

"And I tried to explain to you that he was sick, and 
you dragged him out anyway." ...you jerk, she added 
to herself.

"Ma'am, he exited the vehicle under his own power. I 
did not 'drag' him out."

Scully was about ready to pop a blood vessel. 
"Whatever." She looked at Mulder, moaning softly, 
struggling to rise from the hot pavement. "Look, are 
you going to help him up, or what?"

The deputy shook his head. "Oh, no, Ma'am. I don't 
want to be accused of 'assaulting' him again. Why 
don't *you* help him up?" he asked, snottily, turning 
his back on her and walking to where Mulder lay.

"Fine, Deputy. I will." For once grateful for her 
small-boned structure, Scully wriggled free of the 
loose cuff. She rubbed her wrist, seriously 
considering drawing her weapon on this buffoon. The 
idiot hadn't even frisked them!

The deputy nearly jumped out of his skin as she 
passed him to kneel beside Mulder. "How'd..." He 
looked back to the car. "How'd you do that?" His 
weapon was trained on her again, and Scully sighed.

"You told me to help him, and I am." She directed her 
gaze to the gun, held in shaky hands. "Now would you 
please put that away before you hurt someone?"

The deputy's eyes narrowed. "You're mighty cool for 
someone having a gun pointed at them. Just how often 
does it happen to you?"

About to lift Mulder to his feet, Scully turned her 
attention back to Jenkins. She considered a smartass 
reply, but thought better of it. "More than I'd 
like," she muttered. To the deputy she said, 
"Actually, we're FBI agents."

Scully let Mulder latch onto her, and she rose 
slowly, holding him when he started to topple again. 
"Easy. I've got you," she assured him, softly.

"Let go of him, and get back over to that car," the 
deputy said, taking aim at her chest.

"If I let go of him, he'll fall," Scully said, trying 
to reason with the man.

"If you don't let go of him, I'll shoot you." The 
deputy's voice was steady, but the hand holding the 
gun wavered slightly. Scully decided she should tread 
carefully.

"Can I take him to your car?" 

"Let him go, ma'am. Right now."

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered as she 
relinquished her hold on him. Mulder slithered to the 
ground at her feet.

"Scully..." he groaned. "What's goin' on?"

The deputy walked over to their car and removed the 
cuff dangling from the steering wheel; he motioned 
her over, then pulled her hands behind her back and 
snapped the cuffs onto her wrists. "We're being 
arrested, Mulder."

"Why?' His tone was so innocent and so pitiful that 
Scully was now sorry that she hadn't pulled her 
weapon when she'd had the chance.

She winced as Mulder was pulled roughly to his feet. 
When the deputy produced another pair of handcuffs, 
she couldn't believe it. "You're not really going to 
cuff him, are you?" she asked. "He can barely stand. 
He's not any danger to you."

The officer pulled Mulder's arms behind him a little 
more forcefully than Scully deemed necessary. She 
could feel her blood beginning to boil. After the 
cuffs were in place, he wedged a hand under Mulder's 
armpit and started hauling him toward the sheriff's 
department car. 

When they reached the car, the deputy pushed him 
against the car. "Okay, cowboy, spread 'em."

After a second's confusion, Mulder grunted and 
shifted until he had assumed the position. Just as 
the deputy was about to frisk him, a cherry red 
pickup truck came careening around the curve, 
swerving to avoid the rear end of a slow-moving sedan 
and narrowly missing the three of them.

"Goddammit!" Jenkins shouted. Yanking at the door 
handle, he scrambled inside, getting as far as 
shifting the gears before Scully caught his eye; she 
was astounded that he was about to give chase, 
leaving them outside, lying where they'd dove to 
avoid being flattened, with their hands cuffed behind 
their backs. 

"Goddammit," Jenkins swore again, throwing the car 
back into park and getting out. He hauled Mulder up, 
then pulled Scully to her feet. "Get in," he ordered 
her.

"Deputy, this is a mistake," Scully spit out through 
gritted teeth as she clambered into the back seat. 
"You're making a mistake." She maneuvered her 
shoulder to catch Mulder as he practically fell in; 
he was barely managing to stay awake. "We *are* FBI 
agents. This man is my partner, and he's sick. I 
demand that you -- "

"Just shut up! You don't demand nuthin'!" The deputy 
closed the door, walking over to their rental, where 
he went through the motions of locking up.

Resigned to her fate for the moment, Scully turned 
her attention back to her partner. "Mulder?" She 
nudged him with her shoulder. "How are you holding 
up?'

"I feel really awful, Scully," he said, his non-
denial surprising her more than if he'd broken out in 
song. He leaned back into the seat. "Sorry," he 
whispered, closing his eyes. "I wasn't expecting it 
to hit me like that. I don't know what's causing 
this."

"You weren't sick before this?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. "Not like this. I felt a little 
wiped at the rental place, but nowhere near this 
bad."

Scully's attention was drawn to the deputy as he 
returned to the car, pocketing their keys before he 
got in; he restarted the car and pulled out into the 
flow of traffic. Looking back at her partner, Scully 
found him slumped against the door, eyes closed. 
"Mulder?"

She didn't really expect an answer.

**

Mulder came roughly awake when he felt himself being 
manhandled out the door of the car.

"Hey! There's no need for that!" Scully enraged voice 
was music to his ears. She would protect him from 
this big goon.

As Mulder stumbled along, he prayed that the big goon 
didn't let go of him, or he'd fall flat on his face; 
the rude awakening had done nothing to improve his 
state of well-being. Or lack thereof. All it had 
served to do was speed up his heartbeat so that he 
could feel the blood pounding in his head all the 
harder.

"Inside," the man growled, giving Mulder another 
shove.

"And how do you propose that I do that?" Mulder was 
surprised to hear Scully's voice in front of him, and 
he looked up. She was standing by a door, looking 
flushed and exasperated and gorgeous.

The big goon huffed, stepping around Mulder to turn 
the knob and push open the door. "There y'go, 
darlin'." Even in his less-than-stellar state, Mulder 
could hear the sarcasm in the deputy's voice.

When she speared the deputy with her venomous glare, 
Mulder was thrilled that he wasn't her target this 
time. He hoped he'd be conscious when she finally got 
to give the goon what for.

Able to move under his own power now, Mulder followed 
Scully inside. "This way," he heard off to his left.

A gentle prod from Scully nudged him toward the open 
cell door. Reaching it, he stopped and gazed at the 
deputy questioningly.

"In there," the deputy ordered.

"My..." He had to cough to clear his dry throat. "The 
cuffs are still on."

"And they're stayin' on." The man grabbed Scully's 
arm and pushed her into Mulder, nearly causing him to 
fall. "You can thank your girlfriend for that."

Ignoring Jenkins, she threw a quick glance at Mulder, 
catching his nod that he was not hurt. She turned her 
attention back to the law officer. "You can't leave 
us like this!"

A light push against her collarbone by the deputy 
landed her just inside the cell, and he swung the 
door closed. "I can't, eh?"

"Deputy, please." Mulder could tell that Scully was 
trying very hard to calm her delivery. "We *are* FBI 
agents. My partner is sick, and I need to see what's 
wrong with him."

The deputy appeared to consider her words for a 
moment, then shook his head. "Sorry. No." His smug 
expression told her that he was anything but sorry.

Scully closed her eyes, and Mulder could hear her 
counting to ten, although she didn't utter a 
syllable. When she opened her eyes, Mulder shuddered 
at the barely-restrained fury that radiated off her. 
"Deputy?" she asked, in a sweetly dangerous voice. 
"When is the sheriff expected back?"

"Sheriff's at a scene right now. He'll be back when 
he's back."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Scully had 
had enough, and Mulder couldn't blame her; the man 
had violated more than one of their civil rights.

"Scully," Mulder called, walking slowly to the lone 
bed in the cell. "It's not worth it. Let's just sit 
and wait for the sheriff."

"You just listen to your boyfriend, honey," the 
deputy snarled.

Turning her back on him while he was still speaking, 
Scully sat beside her partner. "Feeling any better?"

"Not really." Mulder tried not to whine as he leaned 
his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

"Still dizzy?"

"Mm." He shifted to the right, losing his balance and 
toppling to the mattress behind Scully.

He felt her weight leave the mattress. "You all 
right?"

"No," he whispered. "If things don't stop spinning 
soon, I'm going to lose my breakfast."

"Damn that asshole," Scully spat. "You should be in a 
hospital." He felt Scully's breath on his cheek for 
about two seconds before he heard her voice from a 
few feet away. "Hang on a sec, Mulder." The sound of 
grunting and groaning reached his ears, and then he 
felt Scully's hands on his cheek.

Taking a chance, he cracked open one eye, then the 
other, relieved when her image remained stationary. 
He grinned when he saw that her hands were no longer 
behind her back and that she was now able to touch 
him.

"Mulder? Do you think if I helped you, you could work 
your hands out in front, too?"

He shook his head. "The way I'm feeling, I'd either 
pass out or throw up if I tried it." He met her eyes. 
"Neither of those sounds too appealing."

She gave him a sympathetic nod. "How about we give it 
a try, and you tell me if you need to stop?"

He knew that having his hands in front, rather than 
behind, him would be infinitely more comfortable, but 
he was afraid of what it might cost him to accomplish 
it. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, 
nodding his head.

Scully gave him a smile that did wonders towards 
bolstering his spirits. Giving her the best smile he 
could muster, he lay back on the bed while Scully 
coaxed him through the contortions necessary to 
perform his Houdini act. With his knees crushed to 
his chest and his cuffed hands stuck between his 
ankles and his knees, Mulder felt an urgent need to 
get this over with -- quickly.

Scully must have caught the desperation on his face 
because she gave a mighty tug on his hands that 
allowed his legs to spring through. She helped him up 
and brought him to the toilet where he, as predicted, 
lost his breakfast.

When he was through, she handed him some water in a 
paper cup and waited while he rinsed his mouth. He 
tossed the cup in the direction of the trash can, 
then looked up at her balefully, certain he was 
wearing an 'I've fallen and I can't get up' look on 
his face.

 Looping her arms over his head, her handcuffed hands 
resting against his belly, she helped him to regain 
his footing and held him as he tried to catch his 
breath. "Okay now?" he heard softly from behind him, 
after his heart had stopped racing.

"Not okay," he croaked. "But better." He blinked; 
something was different. "The dizziness is gone, I 
think." He inhaled deeply, then blew it out. "God, I 
feel *much* better."

Scully started to pull her hands away, freeing him 
from where they held him captive; he clamped his 
hands over hers, holding them in place. "Must you go 
so soon?"

Scully did not resist, and instead adjusted her body 
more comfortably behind him. She pressed her hands 
into his abdomen. "Not at all."

He sighed deeply, filling her embrace all the more. 
"We have *got* to try some variation of this when 
we're not in a jail cell."

She gave him a nudge that affected him as anything 
but playful. "You," she said, giving him a meaningful 
squeeze, "are on."

**

Act II

Dodge County Jail
2:33 p.m.
February 23

The sound of Mulder's stomach rumbling loudly in her 
ear made Scully realize how hungry she was. Raising 
her head up from where she'd fallen asleep using 
Mulder's lap as a pillow, Scully checked her watch, 
pissed to find out how late it was and that they 
hadn't been fed yet. She wondered if the sheriff was 
back and why the hell they were still in jail.

Careful not to wake her partner, Scully slid off the 
bed; she trod quietly to the door and peered into the 
office. It was eerily silent. Deputy Dawg was nowhere 
to be seen.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, and a hand 
pushed the deputy inside. Scully thought that this 
was rather rash behavior for the sheriff to exhibit, 
even if the deputy did deserve it.

The man who was holding the gun on the deputy was not 
in uniform. He looked laughably geeky in his dark 
blue jeans -- with a crease in them, for chrissakes -
- blindingly white Reeboks, and pale blue pocket t-
shirt. The only thing that looked natural on the man 
was the two-days' growth of beard on his face. 

Scully thought he looked a little familiar.

"Agent Scully! A pleasure to see you again."

Scully squinted, trying to match the voice to the 
face. 

The man tipped a non-existent hat. "John Doe," he 
said, giving the stupefied deputy another shove. "I 
can't tell you how pleased I am that the FBI has seen 
fit to dispatch you to investigate the calamities 
that have befallen this placid little community." 
'John Doe' peered around the deputy's quivering form. 
"And how's the intrepid Agent Mulder?" he asked in a 
voice that indicated he already was well aware of the 
state of her partner's health.

"What do you know about what happened to him?" Scully 
asked.

The man bowed slightly. "My dear Agent Scully, I am 
responsible for it." He gave her a big toothy smile 
that she found repulsive. "I have Deputy Jenkins 
here, though, to thank for your current 
incarceration." He poked the deputy in the back  with 
the barrel of the gun; the deputy shuddered, and 
Scully almost felt sorry for him.

"What did you do to my partner?" Scully asked 
quietly, glancing back to see if Mulder was still 
asleep. She wondered if the man knew that whatever 
had caused this had worn off. If not, she wasn't 
about to tell him.

"Don't worry, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder's reprieve 
is temporary... a slight technical problem which has 
now been rectified." The man looked at her partner, 
and as if on cue, Mulder moaned.

"What did you do to him?" Scully demanded, hastening 
to Mulder's side. Sweat had broken out on his face, 
his eyes were screwed shut tightly, and he'd begun to 
thrash his head from side to side. "Stop it!" Scully 
directed to John Doe. "Whatever you're doing to him, 
please stop it!"

The man shook his head slowly. "I derive so little 
enjoyment out of life. Would you deny me, Agent 
Scully?"

"Stop it now!" she yelled.

"No." His voice no longer held that jovial tone to 
it, and Scully shivered at the menace she now heard. 
"Agent Mulder's intervention prevented my punishing 
the individuals who killed my mother."

As she realized who it was they were dealing with, 
Scully bit her lip to keep herself from blurting that 
Mulder wasn't the only one responsible for Lawrence 
Dexter's capture. She didn't want to add any more 
targets to Dexter's revenge list. Forgive me, Mulder, 
she thought, as she watched him writhing and 
groaning. 

"He was only doing his job," Scully told Dexter.

Dexter nodded. "Which is why he's still alive." His 
eyes locked with Scully's. "I understand duty. I 
believe in it. But his profile still led to my 
capture and necessitated my 'laying low' due to my 
subsequent... uh... sudden departure." The pleasant 
tone was back in his voice. "Thank those responsible 
for recommending the insanity angle, would you? It 
would have been much more difficult to effect an 
escape with handcuffs and tighter security."

Scully closed her eyes momentarily. Those assholes 
had really done it. With the exception of Mulder, 
Skinner and her, all the other agents on the team had 
advocated that Dexter be tried as criminally insane. 
The judge had apparently agreed.

But Dexter never made it to his trial. He killed 
three people and escaped while being transported from 
the hospital to the courthouse.

"Scully..." Mulder's thrashing had ceased, and he was 
attempting to get up.

"I'm right here, Mulder." She rubbed her hands up and 
down his arms. "Try to lie still."

"Gonna be sick," he moaned.

Quickly hoisting him to his feet, Scully brought him 
to the toilet. He grasped the rim, dropped to his 
knees and began vomiting. Scully turned pleading eyes 
to Dexter, who looked surprised, repulsed and 
delighted, all at the same time. "Please," she 
begged. "Stop doing this to him."

"Well!" he exclaimed. "I didn't expect this."

Scully was kneeling beside Mulder, rubbing his back 
as he continued to be sick. "What do you mean?"

Dexter smiled and shrugged. "It was supposed to cause 
dizziness and then a killer headache. Just enough to 
incapacitate him for a few days, while I completed my 
business here. But, well..." He gave her a sheepish 
look. "I finished before you arrived, and I didn't 
want to let a perfectly good plan go to waste." His 
gaze moved to take in the man now lying on the floor, 
gasping for air. Dexter gave a brilliant smile. "And 
here I am." His eyes darted to Scully and back to 
Mulder. "Enjoying the show."

Scully turned away, focusing all her attention on her 
partner. Nothing she said was going to cause Dexter 
to have a change of heart and stop whatever the hell 
he was doing to Mulder; she would just have to do as 
much as she could to help him.

"Here, Mulder," she said, lifting him by his 
shoulders. "Come lie on the bed."

"No," he panted, pulling away.

"Mulder, what the hell are you -- "

"Still sick," he groaned. "I can't... The bed..."

"Shh... It's okay." She brushed wet strands of hair 
out of his eyes.

"Well, Agent Scully," she heard Dexter saying, "as 
entertaining as this has been, I really do have to be 
going now." He shoved the deputy into the empty cell 
next to theirs and pulled the door shut with a 
'clang!'

As Dexter turned to leave, Scully pulled Mulder's 
weapon from the ankle holster on his leg. "Dexter," 
she called.

Dexter had the front door partially opened when he 
stopped and looked at her. Delight was not what she 
expected to see on his face. "He didn't take your 
weapons! I'm so glad I decided to have a chat with 
you. I would never have witnessed this shining 
example of small town ineptitude otherwise."

"Lay down your weapon," Scully directed, not amused. 
"And turn off whatever the hell is affecting my 
partner."

Smiling charmingly, shrugging, Dexter made a move to 
place his pistol on the floor, then darted through 
the open door before Scully could react. "I don't 
think so," she heard from the other side. "You have a 
nice day now."

"Dexter!" Scully yelled in frustration. "Dexter!"

She watched the closed door for a few seconds before 
whipping around to glare at Jenkins.

"Who..." Jenkins swallowed, wide eyes focused on the 
weapon now pointed at him. "Who in blue blazes was 
that?"

Ignoring him and feeling smug about it, Scully turned 
back to Mulder, hoping that whatever was happening  
to Mulder would be gone now that Dexter was.

It wasn't. Dammit, Dexter must have left some sort of 
transmitter in the office, or planted it... Scully 
whirled on the deputy. "Check your pockets," she 
ordered.

"What in tarnation is going on here? Who are you 
people?" the deputy asked, making no move to comply.

Swinging the gun around, Scully aimed it at Jenkins. 
"Check your pockets." She took a second to glare at 
him. "Now."

Jenkins pulled his wallet, badge, keys and change out 
of his pants pockets. "What'm I lookin' for?"

"Anything you don't recognize." Standing with his 
pockets turned inside out, Jenkins looked downright 
pathetic, quite a change from the arrogant bastard of 
earlier. "Damn," Scully muttered, noting the small 
pile. "Bring that over here."

When Jenkins balked, she tapped the bars with her 
weapon, and he hastily gathered all his possessions 
and delivered them to her.

"Place them on the floor and slide them in here." 
Scully indicated a section of the floor, then moved 
back a step. When Jenkins came closer, she noticed 
the pocket on his shirt and nodded toward it. "What 
about that shirt pocket?"

Shrugging, Jenkins fished around, coming up with a 
small round plastic disk. "What's this?" he asked.

Feeling her heart rate quickening, Scully glanced at 
Mulder to see if the closeness of the disk had any 
effect on him. His arms were held tightly to his 
head, and he was beginning to whimper.

"Keep the rest of that stuff, and give me the disk," 
Scully told him. Mulder's whimpers had turned into 
cries of anguish. "Move!" she shouted.

The deputy hustled toward the bars, set the disk just 
inside of Scully's cell, and backed away.

"Scully..." Mulder sobbed. "Oh, Christ, Scully..."

Cursing as she got a look at the hard plastic casing, 
Scully looked around the cell in dismay. Seeing 
nothing she could use as a hammer, she ripped off her 
shoe and pounded the disk with the heel until she 
heard a satisfying crunch.

She ran to Mulder, soothing him as he recovered from 
the torture he'd just been through. Trying to reach a 
tissue in her jacket pocket, she was pulled up short 
by the handcuffs. She looked over at the deputy.

"Jenkins. Do you have the keys to these?"

When the deputy hesitated yet again, Scully threw a 
warning glance at the weapon laying on the floor 
within her reach. She almost hoped Jenkins would 
resist.

Scully watched the deputy's gaze fall on the gun 
before he indicated the key ring on the floor inside 
her cell. "It's -- " 

"I know which one it is," Scully cut him off, 
retrieving the keys and taking them back to where 
Mulder lay, his breathing ragged and hitching. 

After removing her cuffs, Scully unlocked Mulder's. 
"Thanks," he croaked, rubbing his wrists for a couple 
of seconds before pressing the heels of his hands to 
his temples.

"Still hurt?' she asked.

He nodded. "Not like before, but, yeah."

"What about the dizziness, the nausea?" She touched 
his hands lightly, and he let her take over the head 
massage.

"Not as bad." She could see he was fading fast, and 
she all but carried him to the bed. He needed no 
coaxing to lie down, and was asleep before she got 
his feet up off the floor.

A movement in the next cell caught her eye, and she 
looked at the deputy. "Will any of these open that 
door?" She indicated her cell door. 

Jenkins shook his head.

"Where are they?" she asked.

Jenkins pointed to the desk with his chin. "Top 
drawer of the sheriff's desk."

Scully moaned. "Great." She stared at the lock, then 
at the gun still on the floor. The lock was one of 
those old, solid steel ones that looked damned near 
impregnable. Still, it wouldn't hurt to try. 

She picked up Mulder's gun, then placed it back in 
his ankle holster and withdrew her more powerful Sig. 
"Jenkins," she called, taking aim. "How old is this 
lock?"

"Uh... About sixty, seventy years."

Scully sighed. "What are the chances I could shoot it 
open?" she asked him.

She heard him take a deep breath, then let it out 
slowly. "Near impossible. That's a Yale lock, about 3 
inches thick. A bullet'd barely scratch her."

After studying the lock for another minute, Scully 
re-holstered her weapon; she didn't want to chance a 
ricochet hitting one of them. Stabbing Jenkins with a 
glare, she asked, "When will the sheriff be back?" 

"Um..." He glanced at the door nervously, as if he'd 
just remembered something important.

"When, Jenkins?" Scully asked, impatiently.

"Oh, shit, he's not coming back." He looked at her, 
his face full of fearful realization. "At least not 
until after the storm."

Scully suddenly got a bad feeling. "Storm?"

Jenkins looked anxiously at the front door, which was 
starting to rattle from the wind. "Tornado," he said, 
his voice full of dread. "A twister is headed this 
way. I just knew this blamed heat was gonna cause 
trouble!" He moved his gaze to Scully. "I was coming 
to take the two of you to the shelter, when that 
maniac got the drop on me."

Scully looked around nervously. "Are we safe in 
here?"

The deputy licked his lips. "As safe as anyplace can 
be that's not below ground."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jenkins shrugged. "This jail's been through over a 
hundred years' worth of twisters, and it's still 
standing."

The rattling of the door was nonstop now, and Scully 
felt a prickling on the back of her neck when she 
heard the roar outside getting louder by the second. 
She recalled reading that the sound from a tornado 
was likened to that of an approaching freight train. 
"Oh, God," she whispered.

"Ma'am!" Jenkins was yelling to be heard over the 
din; she gazed at him dully and found him unbuckling 
his belt, then rebuckling it around one of the cell 
bars. "You're gonna need to anchor yourselves to 
these bars. Either that twister's comin' right at us, 
or it's gonna be awful close." His gaze swept the 
cell. "If you don't want to be blown around against 
the walls, you'd best fasten yourselves to the bars." 
He indicated the outer office. "There are no windows 
in this building, and that'll protect us a mite, but 
if that twister hits us dead on -- -and it sounds 
like it might -- -you're gonna want to be connected 
to something solid."

After taking a second for the deputy's words to sink 
in, Scully rushed over to Mulder, slapping him none 
too gently in her haste to wake him. "Come on, 
Mulder. Wake up."

His eyes shot open to glare at her. "Ow! Scully, what 
the hell?" He caught her hand before another one 
landed on his cheek. Looking at her, his expression 
changed from angry to concerned. "What's wrong?" 

"Tornado!" she shouted, straining to be heard. She 
gave his arm a tug. "We need to anchor ourselves to 
the bars." Scooping up the two sets of handcuffs from 
where she'd dropped them on the floor, she snapped 
one end over Mulder's wrist, dragging him toward the 
bars at the front of the cell. Locking it in place 
around the sturdy steel, she repeated the process 
with her wrist, taking care to make it tighter than 
the deputy had. As an afterthought, she patted her 
pocket to assure herself that the key ring was still 
where she'd put it.

Hesitating only a moment, Scully locked herself into 
place mere inches from her partner. Though still a 
bit dazed, Mulder wrapped his arm around her and drew 
her close. She wrapped her free arm around his waist 
and held on for dear life.

**

2:48 p.m.

As a native of coastal Massachusetts and then as a 
denizen of Virginia, Mulder had had little to no 
experience with tornadoes. Abstractly, he wondered 
how it was he'd avoided the experience until now.

Scully had burrowed herself under his armpit, and 
while one portion of his brain was overjoyed that she 
was accepting his protection, another part was scared 
shitless. When the front door blew open, Mulder 
tightened his hold, and Scully practically crawled 
inside him.

The noise was deafening now, and with the door open, 
anything that wasn't anchored was sucked out the 
door. Scully was snatched from his grasp, and he was 
pulled into the bars; the sheer force of it jarred 
his teeth, and the air was stolen from his mouth. As 
he struggled to breathe in the vortex, Mulder was 
frantic with worry when he couldn't move his head to 
check on Scully.

Not so naïve to believe that it couldn't get any 
worse, Mulder was nonetheless surprised when the roar 
outside intensified, the wind reversed and he was 
literally blown off the bars. Even though it saved 
him from being batted about the cell, Mulder cursed 
the handcuff as it strove to sever his wrist from his 
hand. He hoped Scully's lighter body weight reduced 
the strain on her wrist. 

A loud clang by his imprisoned hand brought his 
attention to the bars in front of him. He looked on 
in horror as anything that hadn't made it out the 
door was now being hurled at them by the frenzied 
winds. He never thought he'd ever feel lucky that he 
was in jail. 

So far, everything that had come their way had been 
large enough to be stopped by the bars, but Mulder 
felt his heart leap to his throat when the desk 
drawers started exploding out. Fearful of what a 
sharpened pencil or a letter opener could do at 100 
MPH, Mulder was relieved when suddenly everything 
stopped. 

The roar, the wind, the pull on his arm ceased 
abruptly, and he dropped like a lead weight, crashing 
into the bars before slumping to the floor. He 
scrambled to get his feet under him when pain from 
his shoulder made him see stars. "Ow! Jesus!" he 
gasped.

Expecting some sort of response from his partner and 
not receiving one made Mulder shake off the graying 
of his vision. "Scully?" he croaked.

She was hanging limply by her arm, not moving. His 
heart started beating faster, and he felt himself 
trembling with fear; he could barely breathe in the 
still air. "Oh, God. Scully?" he choked out, reaching 
for her face.

Her skin was hot and dry, and Mulder didn't know if 
that meant anything. Feeling for the pulse at her 
neck, he almost passed out when he found it strong 
and steady. He thought she must have been knocked out 
when she hit the bars. Still, he checked her for 
injuries, sighing when he didn't find any.

Now that threat of serious injury had been ruled out 
for Scully, Mulder's shoulder was screaming for 
attention. A groan from the next cell distracted him 
only minimally. "Deputy?" Mulder questioned, unable 
to maneuver himself around to face the other man. 
"Are you all right?"

The deputy grunted an affirmative. "The blamed sheets 
from the bed are tryin' to strangle me." His voice 
was slightly muffled, and Mulder laughed at the 
absurdity of it. He glanced at the bed in their cell. 
It was stripped clean, but the bedding was nowhere in 
sight. Only the pillow, too thick to fit through the 
bars, remained, snug against the next cell.

Mulder winced as he moved back to face Scully, 
grateful that she hadn't left too much space between 
them when she'd cuffed them to the bars. Struggling 
to recall in which pocket she'd placed the keys, he 
ended up patting her down when he couldn't remember. 
Though an enjoyable task under normal circumstances, 
the pull on his shoulder made it excruciating. 

Sweating and shaking when he finally found the keys, 
he had to rest a minute before he could free himself. 
After unlocking the cuff, he used his right hand to 
lower his left arm very carefully; it hurt too much 
to let it hang at his side, so he tucked it into the 
waistband of his pants.

Then he turned and regarded his partner with dismay. 
Once he uncuffed her, he'd be unable to hold her 
upright with his other arm. Stepping close to her, he 
pressed his body into hers, propping her up against 
the bars. He reached up with his good arm and, after 
a few clumsy attempts, was able to get her free. When 
she slumped on top of him, he managed to get a grip 
on her waist and lower her to the floor.

He winced when he caught sight of the lump on her 
forehead. Trailing a finger gently down her cheek, he 
called softly, "Scully..." Very gently, he tapped her 
face with the side of his finger. "Come on, partner. 
Wake up."

A long, low, drawn-out groan made him almost forget 
that they both were injured. "Mulderrr..." she 
moaned, and he had to remind himself that he was 
hearing a moan of distress, not of pleasure.

"I'm here, Scully," he said gently, brushing the hair 
out of her face with his good hand. "Lie still a 
minute. You took a pretty good conk to the head."

"Okay," she whispered, surprising him with her 
compliance.

After a few minutes of kneeling and watching her 
anxiously, her eyes popped open, and she pushed 
herself to a sitting position. "Careful," he told 
her, hovering but avoiding any contact that might jar 
his shoulder.

Picking up on his out-of-character behavior, she eyed 
him appraisingly. "Where are you injured?"

"I think I dislocated my shoulder." He looked down at 
the hand tucked into his waistband. He endured a few 
seconds of her prodding on and around his joint 
before he jerked away. Surprised and a little 
embarrassed by this move, he again offered the 
shoulder for her inspection. "Sorry," he mumbled.

When he looked at her face, and her eyes met his, he 
saw the change from doctor to partner to friend to 
lover. All in the span of one second. Her hand came 
up to cup his cheek, then slid to his neck. "Help me 
up, and I'll try not to hurt you too much."

His concern for his shoulder was forgotten. "Why 
don't you give it another couple of minutes, Scully? 
You were unconscious, you know."

Smiling, she shook her head. "I feel fine now." When 
she started pushing to her feet, Mulder had no choice 
but to relent and give her a hand.

He watched her carefully, and when he saw no 
indication that she was feigning her good health, he 
let himself relax, wincing from the movement. 

"Okay?" she asked, directing him to the naked bed 
frame and pushing him onto it.

He nodded, unable to speak as she resumed her 
examination. She tried, he could tell, but it was 
impossible for her to touch him and not hurt him.

"Almost done," she said gently, as skilled fingers 
probed tender flesh.

Again he nodded, then sighed when she declared that 
she was done.

"The best I can do is immobilize it," she told him. 
"It looks like there may be some muscle damage as 
well." She turned her attention to the man in the 
other cell. "Deputy, could you hand me those sheets, 
please?"

As the officer complied, his eyes darted from her to 
Mulder and back to her. "Y'all are really FBI?"

He heard Scully sigh. "Yes, we are."

The man shook his head. "I'm sure sorry, ma'am."

"You should be," he heard his partner mutter, as she 
dumped the bedding next to Mulder.

Any comments he had on the subject of the deputy's 
apology immediately fled when he saw his partner 
tearing sheets in preparation of more torture. He 
managed to stay quiet while she positioned his arm, 
then attached it tightly to his chest. When she 
finally pronounced that she was finished, he found 
himself once again sweating and shaking, and wanting 
desperately to pass out.

"Does it still hurt?" Her tone was concerned, and a 
little alarmed.

He shook his head. "Not now."

"Oh, Mulder..." She wrestled the mattress back onto 
the bed frame, then guided him to it. Why don't you 
lie down for awhile?"

He couldn't have protested if he'd wanted to. Letting 
her help him down, he closed his eyes and sank into 
the welcome darkness.

**

Act III

10:07 p.m.

"What in tarnation are you doing in there?"

Scully practically fell out of the bed when the 
exasperated words penetrated into her doze. Rolling 
smoothly off the mattress, she faced the two men 
squared off at the adjoining cell.

The deputy sputtered an explanation of how he came to 
be incarcerated in his own jail while the sheriff 
unlocked the door.

Stopping when he caught sight of her and a Mulder 
getting slowly to his feet, the sheriff asked, "Who 
are they?" As the man's gaze took in their 
appearance, disbelief painted his face. "Oh, lord, 
tell me they aren't the 'mobsters' you arrested this 
morning."

Euphoric anticipation in the scene about to play out 
caused Scully -- and probably Mulder, too -- to 
refrain from answering for the flustered deputy.

The deputy shuffled from foot to foot, still inside 
the unlocked cell. His gaze remained glued to his 
boots. "Well... yeah."

Muttering under his breath, the sheriff unlocked 
their cell door. "I'm Sheriff Carl Farris. Agents 
Mulder and Scully?"

Scully took out her I.D. and presented it to the 
sheriff. "Yes, sir."

The sheriff's gaze drifted to his deputy and then 
back to Scully. "Why didn't you..." He indicated 
Scully's I.D. and the deputy.

"I wasn't given the opportunity to do so," she 
answered.

The sheriff pinned Jenkins with a glare. "Didn't they 
tell you they were federal agents?"

Jenkins cleared his throat. "Sort of."

"What the hell does that mean?" the sheriff exploded. 
"Either they did or they didn't."

"We told him, but he didn't believe us," Scully 
volunteered, savoring every moment of this.

"He was drunk," the deputy challenged, pointing a 
finger at Mulder. "Couldn't pass the sobriety test."

The sheriff turned back to Scully for an explanation.

"My partner was sick. The madman who locked your 
deputy in that cell was using a device that affected 
Agent Mulder's health. I tried to explain..." She 
felt the bitterness at Mulder's treatment by the 
deputy return. "...but he slapped the cuffs on and 
threw us in a cell, and he wouldn't listen."

Mulder picked up the tale of woe. "Our cel phones 
don't get a signal here, so we couldn't call anyone. 
Plus, it's hard to dial with handcuffs on," he 
muttered under his breath.

Scully -- and apparently the sheriff, too -- heard 
him anyway. "Francis," he addressed the deputy. "Did 
you put them in a cell with the cuffs on?"

Jenkins nodded miserably.

Farris shook his head, then addressed Scully and 
Mulder again. "I'm sorry about that, Agents. Francis 
has been warned about that, but it doesn't appear to 
be taking too well."

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. 'Obviously not,' 
his raised eyebrows conveyed.

Seeing her partner holding himself a little stiffly, 
Scully said to the sheriff, "I've got to get Agent 
Mulder to the hospital." She herded him out the cell 
and into the debris-strewn office. "If you'll excuse 
us, we'll check back with you tomorrow on the case."

Seemingly just noticing that Mulder was injured, 
Farris hastily moved aside. "Oh. Of course. Mind if I 
ask what happened?"

"We were stuck in here when the twister hit." Mulder 
indicated Jenkins with a tilt of his head. "At the 
deputy's suggestion, we secured ourselves to the 
bars."

"Agent Mulder came down a little too hard," Scully 
finished.

The sheriff nodded. "County Hospital is five miles 
out of town, going toward Huntsville, on the 190. You 
should have no trouble finding it."

Scully nodded her thanks as she ushered her partner 
to the door. "We'll be by late morning, if that's all 
right, Sheriff."

"That'll be fine, Agent Scully. It'll give me time to 
make this place a mite more presentable," he grinned.

Scully gave him a tired smile. "We'd have no 
objections coming by later if you need more time."

The sheriff thought a moment. "How about two? That'll 
give you time to rest a bit, and me time to get a 
little order in here."

"Two it is," Mulder answered for them. "See you 
then."

Scully smiled and followed her partner. They walked 
out the door, then turned around and walked back in.

"Sheriff, could we trouble you for a ride?"

**

Larson's Motel
9:49 a.m.
February 24

"Yes, sir. I'll keep you apprised." Through slitted 
eyes, Mulder watched as Scully placed the motel phone 
back in the cradle. 

Mulder groaned and opened his eyes. "Was that 
Skinner?" His voice was still rough with sleep, and 
he coughed to clear it.

"He sends his love."

Mulder snorted. "Maybe to you."

Scully smiled. "His concern then." Her face lost its 
brightness. "He's worried that you haven't seen the 
last of Lawrence Dexter."

Wincing as he struggled to sit up, Mulder nodded. 
"It's a valid assumption, given Dexter's history." He 
felt a little woozy, and let himself fall back 
against the headboard. The impact jarred his 
shoulder, and he grunted from the pain. Although the 
doctor at the hospital had been able to pop his 
shoulder back in, it still hurt like a son of a 
bitch.

"What's the matter?" Scully homed in on him like a 
bee to honey.

Mulder tried to shake the cobwebs out of his head. 
"Must be the medication they gave me."

"Are you dizzy again?

Now that he'd been sitting up for few seconds, he 
didn't feel so bad. "It's going away," he told her, 
his head beginning to clear. However, when he stood 
up, Scully had to grab onto him to keep him from 
toppling over. 

"Whoa! What were you saying about its going away?"

And after another few seconds, it did. Not entirely, 
but enough so he could continue his trek. "Thanks," 
he said, breaking out of her hold.

"Mulder," she called after him. "You shouldn't -- "

"Just going to the bathroom, Scully. I'll come right 
back out. I promise."

He heard her halt her pursuit of him. "All right. Be 
careful, though."

Nodding, he entered the small room and closed the 
door. He had just finished washing his hands, and was 
reaching for the hand towel when his knees turned to 
jelly, and he found himself sitting on the bathroom 
floor.

The door suddenly flew open, nearly beaning him, and 
he looked up in surprise. Scully stood over him like 
a mother bear protecting her cub. "What happened?" 
she asked as she lifted him to his feet. "Did you get 
dizzy again?"

He honestly couldn't remember. One minute he was 
standing there, the next he was on the floor staring 
up at his partner. "I don't know."

"This is *not* from the medication," Scully stated 
firmly. "Besides, that should have worn off about 
four hours ago."

"I know," he said, as she walked him back to the bed. 
"This feels like what happened earlier."

"Dammit," Scully swore. "That son of a bitch is still 
in the area."

"It looks like it," Mulder agreed, sitting down 
heavily on the bed; starting to feel ill, he crawled 
up to the pillows and lay down. "Or he left behind a 
present."

Scully's alarmed eyes met his, then she stalked away 
and heaved his partially-packed bag onto the other 
side of the bed. He tried not to groan when the 
movement upset his already queasy stomach.

"Well, that's everything." Scully's declaration 
startled him awake.

He blinked and looked up at her. "Done already?" His 
voice was hardly more than a croak.

Scully laughed. "Mulder, you've been asleep for two 
hours." She gazed at him with concern and affection. 
"But, yes, I'm done."

"Find anything?" he asked, even though he could tell 
by her demeanor what the answer would be.

"No," she answered quietly. "There's nothing here." 
Her eyes met his. "We're going to have to look for 
him."

Dumbfounded to hear her include him in the search 
without his having to fight for it, he could only 
nod, his mouth parted in awe.

Sitting beside him on the bed gently, she placed her 
palm on the side of his face. "It's your health he's 
screwing with, Mulder. You have every right to be in 
on the hunt for him."

"Thank you," he managed to choke out. Just when he 
thought he was sure he knew everything about her, she 
still had the ability to surprise him. 

She smiled her response and took hold of his hands, 
giving them a squeeze. "Do you feel up to showering?" 

He shook his head slowly. "I think I might need 
help." The sad truth was that he really thought he 
would.

She helped him to his feet and guided him to the 
bathroom, then stripped them both.

Mulder cursed Dexter anew when he found that his 
greatest desire was not to ravish his partner, but to 
keep her free of injury when he inevitably fell onto 
his ass.

**

Sheriff's Office
2:27 p.m.

"So this man Dexter is responsible for *all* the 
'accidents' this past week?" The sheriff looked up at 
Scully from behind his desk. "Even the ghost in the 
diner?"

Scully blew out a breath, but before she could reply, 
the sheriff put up a hand to stop her.

"I know it wasn't really a ghost, Agent Scully, but 
how did he do it? I have half a dozen witnesses who 
swear they saw a man walk in through one wall and 
walk back out another."

"It could have been a holographic projection of some 
kind," Mulder interjected. "He certainly has the 
technological know-how to make it look real."

Scully nodded her agreement. "And we have reason to 
believe that he has access to very sophisticated 
equipment."

She exchanged a look with her partner, critiquing his 
appearance at the same time. He sat slumped in the 
chair, elbow propped up on the sheriff's desk, his 
hand shielding his eyes from the bright fluorescent 
lights.

"So where is he now?" Farris asked.

Scully shrugged. "He left just before the tornado 
struck. I don't know where he is now."

"That's it, then?" the sheriff asked. "Now that he's 
gone, all these weird events will stop?"

Scully glanced at her sick partner, who now appeared 
to be asleep. "Almost all."

Farris looked up sharply. "What do you mean, 'almost 
all?'"

"Dexter either left something behind, or is still in 
the area. Whatever he used earlier on Agent Mulder is 
affecting him again."

The sheriff looked closely at Mulder, and his face 
softened in sympathy. "Why does it only affect him?"

Scully shook her head. "We've been wondering that, 
too, and we think he must have found some unique 
element in Mulder's chemical makeup that allows 
Dexter to somehow zero in, to focus... whatever the 
hell he devised... exclusively on him." She noticed 
the sheriff's curiosity, but to the man's credit, he 
did not ask. This factor prompted her to tell him.

"Agent Mulder is red/green colorblind. We think that 
the same genetic defect that causes the 
colorblindness is also the trait that Dexter has 
somehow been able to home in on."

Farris nodded gravely. "Can I do anything to help?"

God bless the man, Scully thought. This almost made 
up for his having an idiot for a deputy. Suddenly 
remembering their not-so-pleasant encounter with the 
man, Scully looked around warily. "We would 
appreciate your help, Sheriff, but you can understand 
that we would prefer not to work with Deputy 
Jenkins."

Farris nodded his agreement. "You won't have to worry 
about that. I let Francis go."

Immediately -- and irrationally -- Scully felt 
responsible.

The sheriff waived away her concern. "Don't feel too 
sorry for him. He's my wife's cousin and I've been 
looking for a good enough reason to get rid of him 
for months. I'm sorry it had to come at your expense, 
but I surely thank you for the excuse I needed to 
finally fire his ass."

"Uh, Sheriff, I know you've got your hands full with 
the fallout from the tornado, so if you could just 
clear it so we have free reign to search the area, 
we'll be on our way."

Farris glanced at Mulder, then nodded. "I hope you 
don't mind my saying so, Agent Scully, but your 
partner doesn't look like he's in any condition to go 
on a manhunt."

Scully let her gaze drift to her sleeping partner for 
a moment. "Unfortunately, Mulder's illness is the one 
sure way we have of finding either Dexter or whatever 
is being used to make him sick."

Farris squinted in puzzlement.

"The closer we get, the more he's affected."

Farris drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "You 
mean, the closer you get, the sicker he gets?"

Scully nodded solemnly. "That's right."

The sheriff looked appalled. "Look, I can get someone 
to take over for me here, and I can help you -- "

"That won't be necessary," Scully cut him off. "We're 
almost positive that Dexter has left the area -- if 
he was able to." 

Farris looked up at that. "You think he might be 
dead?"

She hoped. "Or injured. He left only a couple of 
minutes before that twister struck."

"But you said Agent Mulder wasn't affected until this 
morning. If your suspect was killed, who activated 
the device?"

"We know he planted one in Jenkins' pocket -- which 
didn't start to affect Mulder for a few minutes. We 
think he must have used some sort of time delay. 
Mulder could have been affected last night, but he 
was too groggy from the pain killers at the hospital 
to notice much before he fell asleep." She paused, 
thinking. "He was fine at the hospital, so we don't 
have to look in that direction. But it's affecting 
him more here than at the hotel, so we seem to be 
heading in the right direction."

Farris sighed. "All right, Agent Scully. But if you 
find that son of a bitch alive, you call me if you 
need me."

Scully smiled. "Sheriff, it will be my pleasure."

**

Just Outside the Agents' Rental Car 
4:06 p.m.

If he didn't know Scully was with him, Mulder would 
have sworn he was in hell. Why he ever thought it 
would be a good idea to use himself as a gauge to 
Dexter's whereabouts was beyond him now.

He'd lost count of the number of times they'd had to 
pull over so he could throw up, and even Scully was 
growing exasperated by all the stops. As he crawled 
back into the car from his latest bout, she was 
studying a map and acknowledged him with a glance.

"Are you through?" she asked, and the annoyance in 
her tone made him want to hit her.

"Do you think I'm enjoying this?" he spat. "I'm sorry 
if I'm holding things up, but I didn't think you'd 
want to drive a rental car that smells like a sewer."

"Look, I'm sorry, but we're never going to find him 
if we keep stopping every two minutes."

"Well, what would you suggest I do? Stick my head out 
the window every time I have to puke?" Exhausted and 
dizzy beyond belief, he let himself fall against the 
seat; when he noticed Scully's scrutiny, he curled 
against the door, turning away from her.

Her hand on his shoulder made him jump. "I'm sorry," 
she said, and the genuine sorrow in her voice made 
him swallow hard. Yet he did not turn around; he 
wasn't quite ready to forgive her.

All too soon, her warmth was gone as she put the car 
in gear and continued slowly along the debris-strewn 
road. After a few minutes' driving, he began to feel 
better.

"Stop," he croaked. "We're going the wrong way."

Scully brought the car to a stop, then looked at him 
a moment before nodding and wordlessly reversing 
direction. When they came to a side road, she took 
it, and immediately he felt the effects.

"This way, huh?" she asked, with a noticeably strong 
sympathetic tone in her voice.

Mulder knew he wasn't required to answer, so he 
concentrated on fighting the nausea, determined not 
to lose any more time at the side of the road.

After about half a minute, he knew he'd made a major 
mistake; unable to voice his panic, and before he 
could convey his dilemma to his partner, Mulder found 
himself heaving onto the floor. Though Scully 
immediately pulled over, Mulder was embarrassed at 
his inability to control his own actions. The second 
the car came to a stop, he pulled on the handle and 
stumbled out.

Christ, he thought she'd seen him at his absolute 
worst, but this was a record low, even for him. 
Feeling her hands on his shoulders, he tried to shake 
her off. "Go on ahead, Scully." He tried not to let 
his emotions color his words. "We're as close as 
we're going to get."

"Mulder..." She tried to get him to turn around, but 
he used the last of his strength to finally pull out 
of her grip.

"Scully, just find whatever the hell is doing this to 
me. I can't help you anymore." He sobbed it out, and 
didn't care that he did. "I just can't." He felt her 
watching him, but he refused to face her, looking as 
bad as he knew he must look. 

"Okay, Mulder, but I know why you're doing this." Her 
hand felt warm where she laid it on his back. "We'll 
discuss it when you're feeling better."

He nodded frantically. "Right," he choked out, hoping 
to hold back until she was in the car and away.

Though he didn't hear the car door open and shut 
before he began puking his guts out again, he did 
hear her drive away right before he passed out.

**

4:53 p.m.

Mulder was exactly where she'd left him. She winced 
when she took in his appearance; he'd been sick again 
and then passed out right into the mess.

Returning to the car, she retrieved a couple of the 
bottles of water they had bought to keep themselves 
hydrated in the hot weather.

After dragging Mulder a few feet away from where he 
was lying, she poured one of the bottles over his 
face and hair. Worried when dousing him with water 
didn't rouse him, she fished his handkerchief out of 
his pocket and wiped off the remaining hints of 
sickness from his face. She tapped on his cheek 
gently.

"Mulder... Hey, partner, come on. Wake up." She wet a 
clean portion of the cloth and ran it over his 
forehead and eyes.

"Unnh..." he groaned. "Scully?"

A thrill still ran through her whenever she was 
reminded that she was always Mulder's first waking 
thought. "Yeah, it's me," she told him, lovingly, 
nudging his cheekbone with the backs of her fingers. 
"How are you feeling?"

She watched as he took stock, then opened his eyes 
and regarded her. "Better." Taking a breath, he 
wrinkled his nose, then jerked upright. He looked at 
the ground around him. "I thought I..." He trailed 
off.

"I'm afraid you did," she said sympathetically. She 
indicated the spot about six feet away.

His eyes alit on the area indicated, and his face 
reddened, yet he didn't say anything.

She touched a finger to the back of his hand. "You 
don't have to hide from me, Mulder."

He shook his head and looked down at his lap. "I 
don't want you to see me looking like that."

"But I did." She knelt down beside him. "And it 
hasn't changed anything." He shrugged, and she could 
tell that though he believed her, it still troubled 
him. 

Looking up, he met her eyes. "What happened with 
Dexter? I assume you found the device since I'm able 
to sit here and talk to you." His eyebrows furrowed 
in question. "So what happened?"

Trying not to recall the scene she'd come upon when 
she found their suspect, Scully looked away. 
"Dexter's dead. I found the device and destroyed it. 
End of story."

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked, softly, and 
she thought how there were times when she absolutely 
hated the fact that he knew her so well.

"He asked me to kill him," she stated flatly.

Mulder displayed the tiniest bit of surprise. "And 
did you?"

Crossing her arms across her chest, she sighed. "He 
wasn't as lucky as we were, stuck inside a nice box, 
with bars all around us." She stopped, picturing the 
scene in her mind. "There were fence pickets laying 
everywhere, sticking up out of the ground... All but 
one missed him." She took a deep breath to try to 
steady her increasingly faster-beating heart. "He 'd 
lost a lot of blood, but he was still alive." She 
looked away. "He pleaded with me to shoot him."

The compassion in Mulder's eyes made her glad she'd 
done what she was about to tell him next. 

"I made him tell me about the device he was using on 
you." At the question in his eyes, she explained. "He 
had it in his jeans pocket. I took it and destroyed 
it." She focused on his face. "He had hidden similar 
devices all over the D.C. area three years ago." At 
Mulder's appalled look, she nodded. "For those CEO's 
he didn't get to finish off. You were given the honor 
of being subjected to the milder version. Because you 
had nothing to do with his mother's death, and for 
doing your job, and doing it well, you got off easy."

His look of disbelief made her laugh. "I know. I 
know." She patted his shoulder. "But at least you're 
alive. The others, if he'd been able to activate 
them, would have eventually killed them."

"Do you know where they're hidden?" he asked.

She nodded, taking a notebook out of her pocket. 
"Everything is in here: where they're hidden, how to 
activate them, the intended target." She tapped the 
small brown book with her finger. "As well as all his 
little 'experiments' out here. And his... 
professional work."

Mulder gave a low whistle. "Some legacy he left," he 
commented, then gazed at her. "So did you..." He left 
it at that.

She met his eyes, not blinking. "I couldn't do it."

He nodded. "What happened?" he asked softly.

She drew in a deep breath, then blew it out. "I took 
aim, and I was all set to pull the trigger... and I 
just couldn't." She glanced down guiltily at him. 
Although grateful for the love and support in his 
gaze, she had to look away for what was coming next. 
"He grabbed my gun. A dying, mortally-wounded man 
took away my weapon and shot himself with it."

When she looked back at Mulder, she was dismayed by 
the shock on his face. "He could have killed you, 
Scully."

She shook her head. "He didn't want to kill me." Her 
eyes met his. "And he didn't really take my gun away. 
I gave it to him."

Mulder's shocked look increased. "Jesus, Scully..."

She looked down at her shoes; she really did not want 
to tell him this. "It was his price for telling me 
where he'd hidden the device," she practically 
mumbled. "...That I kill him or let him kill 
himself."

"Jesus..." he whispered. "Scully -- "

"Don't even say it, Mulder." She met his eyes again, 
her own full of conviction. "He named a price -- you 
-- and I paid it. Don't even *think* for a minute 
that I shouldn't have."

"But... he could have killed you."

She sighed in exasperation. "You didn't see him. I 
did. You didn't examine him. You didn't see how much 
he was suffering." She shook her head. "He had barely 
enough strength to pull the trigger once. He wasn't 
about to waste that shot on me." She looked hard into 
his eyes, as if that could make him see. "I made a 
judgement call, Mulder. Either you trust me on this, 
or you mull over for the rest of your life the fact 
that I love you enough to take chances with my life 
to save yours." She narrowed her eyes at him and 
quirked an eyebrow. "Sound familiar?"

She was relieved to see him visibly relax at that. 
His lips even twitched upward almost in a smile. 
"Yeah. I guess I can relate."

Scully laughed. "Understatement of the year."

Mulder chuckled, then winced when Scully helped him 
to his feet.

"Shoulder still sore?"

He nodded, then said in a sheepish voice, "But my 
stomach muscles hurt more."

Scully nodded in sympathy; all that vomiting had 
taken its toll. "I'll bet," she said, rubbing his 
back.

Mulder gazed at her lovingly, then he smirked. "How 
about we get the hell out of Dodge, pardner?"

Rolling her eyes, Scully groaned. "You've just been 
waiting for the right time to use that, haven't you?"

Her partner smiled happily. "Yeah." He raised an 
eyebrow. "And you haven't?"

She shook her head. "Never even occurred to me."

When Mulder rolled his eyes at her, Scully laughed.

**

Epilogue

February 25
A.D. Skinner's Office
6:12 p.m.

"That's the last of them," Skinner sighed as he hung 
up the phone.

"I'm impressed," Mulder stated. "We just turned in 
that notebook this afternoon."

Skinner smiled. "Some pretty powerful people were on 
that list, Agent Mulder."

"What about the other... information?" Scully asked.

"That's not your concern, Agent." Skinner seemed 
surprised at his harsh tone, and his next comment 
came out a little milder. "The FBI has turned it over 
to another agency."

Mulder exchanged a look with Scully. Neither had to 
ask which agency.

"So..." Skinner claimed their attention once again. 
"That ends that. You can go home, Agents."

Mulder nodded and stood up, Scully right by his side. 
As they started for the door, Skinner stopped them.

"Agents?"

They turned around to face him.

"That was good work," Skinner said quietly. "I'm glad 
we can finally lay this case to rest."

"Thank you, sir," Mulder heard Scully say, while he 
could only nod dumbly. What good work had he done? 
Unless Skinner counted getting sick at every step a 
plus, and in that event he solved this one by 
himself.

When Scully turned and continued to the door, Mulder 
followed her out. He was still embarrassed that his 
partner had seen him in so many unflattering 
situations. He couldn't help but recall how irritated 
she'd been during their search for Dexter when she'd 
had to pull over every few minutes so he could vomit. 
Just the thought made him feel humiliated all over 
again.

"Mulder!"

His head jerked up in surprise. "Huh?" Finding his 
partner's eyes filled with mild annoyance, he shook 
off the feeling of deja vu.

"I said, do you want to get some dinner?"

"Um..." He really wasn't all that hungry, but if he 
said so, he was certain he'd be facing The 
Inquisition. "Sure."

When Scully gave him a stern look, Mulder returned a 
confused one. "Not here," she said, motioning him 
into the elevator.

Not sure what he'd done to get the silent treatment, 
he nonetheless accompanied her to their office, where 
they packed up and left in utter silence.

He was confident enough not to worry that she didn't 
love him any longer, and from the looks she was 
throwing his way, he was beginning to see what had 
upset her. He sighed. It wasn't his fault that he 
felt that way. And look who was calling the kettle 
black! The 'I'm fine" queen. The original 'never let 
them see you sweat' model -- or in her instance, 
'never show any weakness, never let Mulder comfort 
you, never let him take care of you or allow him to 
see you at anything less than your absolute perfect 
best!'

How dare she be upset at his being embarrassed! She'd 
had a front row seat to what he'd never been allowed 
to even *know* about when *she* was sick.

Once they were in the car and Scully turned to him, 
Mulder was ready to counter any argument she gave him 
about his feelings.

Her softly-uttered, "I'm sorry," totally derailed his 
thoughts.

"What?" was all he could manage.

"Because it was you, because it's absurd to me that I 
would see you in any light other than perfect, I'd 
discounted how very humiliating it feels to have 
someone watching while you're feeling as far from 
perfect as you can feel." She cupped his cheek. "And 
I apologize for how much worse I made you feel in the 
car. In my defense, I can only say that I was so 
anxious to catch Dexter and put a stop to what he was 
doing to you, that I forgot about *you.*"

Mulder swallowed hard, nodding. While he appreciated 
her viewpoint and could understand her impatience, 
still it hurt. In time, he would push it out of his 
mind, but for now the memory was too sharp to simply 
brush aside. He took a deep breath, and dredged up a 
smile. "It's okay," he said softly.

She gave him the eyebrow, and he laughed.

"It will be," he amended. Taking her hand in his, he 
brought it to his lips and gently kissed her palm. 
"Because I know you love me."

"Damned right," she averred. After a few seconds, he 
let her go so she could start the car.

As she drove in silence, his mind couldn't help but 
wander back to the previous day and what she'd gone 
through alone with Dexter. He hadn't been the only 
one who'd had a tough time of it.

"You'll be all right, too, Scully."

Eyes never leaving the road, she smiled. "I know."

When she didn't say anything else, Mulder felt the 
need to prompt her. "Do you know why?"

A wistful smile came to her face. "Because you know I 
love you."

Mulder shook his head slowly from side to side. 
"You're impossible," he said good-naturedly.

Taking her eyes off the road for a moment, Scully 
glanced at him. "Do you know why?

"Because I love you," Mulder said quietly.

Scully nodded with enthusiasm. 

"Damned right."

The End


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