The Rarity of The Human Connection
And Several Months Missed (6/9)
By MD1016






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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


God, Mulder.  Please.  Please be all right.


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


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


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


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


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


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


Her eye lids were too heavy to open . . .


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"They were the right questions -"


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


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


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


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


Mulder!


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


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


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


"Your success," the woman added with approval.


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


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


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


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


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


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


"There's also some food and water."


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


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


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


"But why?"


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


*****


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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



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


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


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


*****


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


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


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


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


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


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


Mulder.


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


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


Walking away.


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


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



"Mulder!"


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


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


And the look there terrified Scully.


There was no recognition.


Just hatred and death staring back at her.


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


The connection.


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


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


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


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


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


Infinitely more.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Under Mulder.


"Oh, Mulder."


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


"Mulder . . . wait . . ."


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


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


"Mulder!"


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


"Oh, GOD!"


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


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


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


Lifting her head, she whispered his in return.


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


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


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


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


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


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


Then everything became silent.  And dark.  And calm.



End of 6/9


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



*****


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




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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Scully!" he screamed.


And screamed.  And screamed.






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


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


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




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


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


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


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


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


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


"My answers first."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I didn't hurt her!"


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


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


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


"But they've done tests -"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Her mother is with her."


"Please."


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


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


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


*****


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


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


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


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


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


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


So, Mulder sat quietly in the chair.  Waiting.




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


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


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


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


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


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


*****


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Says a lot."




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


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


"Where is she?!"


"I'll take you there."


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


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


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


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


"What's that supposed to mean?"


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


"Merchandise?"


"Bought and paid for."


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


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


End of 7/9



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


*****


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




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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"What, they know us personally?"


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


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


"Yes, and she was returned."


"So, who has her now?"


"The Helmsmen."


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


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


"But if we're Untouchable -"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I don't trust you."


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


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


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


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




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


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


And then put his foot through it.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Neither are the people who put them there."




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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I know you know."


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I love you, Dana Scully."




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


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


"No."


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


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


End of 8/9



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


*****


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




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


"Help me!  Mulder!  Muuuulder!"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I've got you, Scully.  I'm here."


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


"You awake, Scully?"


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


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


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


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




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


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


"I'll get them."


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


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


"I want my own clothes."


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


*****


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


She yelped.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Is this about Fox?"


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


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


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


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


"Thanks, Mom."


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


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


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


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


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


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


One thin door.  And the width of the room.


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


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


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


"I think we should talk, Mulder."


"No."


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


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


"Do we?"


"Yes."


"Then why are we sleeping in separate rooms?"


"We're not."


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


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


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


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


*****


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


"I think I miss the hospital coffee."


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


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


That thought terrified her; chilled her to the bone.


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


"You okay, Scully?"


"I'm fine, Mulder."


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


Scully sighed.


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


"Skinner?"


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


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


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


"I think it's bad."


"But after we explain, Mulder-"


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


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


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


"Nothing more than shock and need."


"And release."


"Right."


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


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


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


"Who?"


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


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


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


Oh.  "AWOL is bad."


"An offense that screams dismissal."


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


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


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


"Yours, too?"


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


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


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


"Mental note.  Scully likes foreplay."


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


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


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


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


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


*****


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


Scully stepped into the elevator first and pressed 3.


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


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


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




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


"Back there.  You gave up your career."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I know."


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


"You're scared."


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


"I always was."


"Not like this."


"No, not like this."


*******


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


"So, you brought them in?"


"Yes, the Group needs their expertise."


"How did you do it?"


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


"What did you promise them?"


"Something they thought they needed."


"You lied?"


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


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


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


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


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



The End.



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




Acknowledgments:


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


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


And to Lacy, for everything.







                              "Only love can conquer all."