The Elixir Trilogy - The Collector's Edition by Rebecca Rusnak As always, all feedback is welcome, and I promise to respond to anyone who takes the time to write me. Send all comments to rrusnak@avana.net DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. Everybody else belongs to me. SUMMARY: Posing as a married couple for an undercover assignment holds more than one kind of danger for Mulder and Scully. When Scully becomes infected with something not from this world, a figure from the past reappears. Events come to a head when Scully fires on her partner and flees. With the help of his new ally, Mulder races to find Scully before other, more sinister elements do. SPOILERS: Some references to "One Breath", "End Game," and "Tunguska/Terma." I've placed these stories in 4th season, after "Terma", but they would obviously have to take place before the events of "Leonard Betts", etc. RATING: I'd rate this PG-13 with some swearing. Archive it under XRA. This is dedicated to my husband, the skeptic to my believer. He is Scully. ******** Elixir I: Retreat ********* Upstate New York Jan. 12, 1997 The wind whipped through the bare trees with an eerie whistling. Low clouds scudded across the leaden sky. The weather forecasters speculated daily on the arrival of snow, while proclaiming that the cold was here to stay. At least, Whitey thought morosely, they were right about something. He turned from the window with a sigh and sat in the richly upholstered chair before it. He gripped his hands together tightly in his lap and tried not to look nervous. The blonde secretary behind the walnut desk glanced up at him, then back at her computer. Whitey squirmed in the chair, and the secretary looked up again. This time her lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line before she looked away. he told himself. For a minute or two, the harsh words actually helped, but then his fear began to seep back. After all, it wasn't every day that you walked into your boss' office to tell him you were quitting. Not when you were as far down the totem pole as Whitey was, and definitely not when your boss was the biggest drug runner outside the Mafia. So he was scared. The phone buzzed on the secretary's desk and she looked up at him with a thin smile. "Mr. Courteney will see you now," she said. He stepped through the wood door into a lush office. The furniture was all walnut, and the office was backed by a wall of clear glass windows. The back half of the office was lushly carpeted, leaving the front half tiled with something Whitey thought was marble. Charlie Courteney sat behind his immense desk, beaming broadly at Whitey. His dark hair was perfectly combed, not a strand out of place. A crisp white shirt contrasted sharply with his immaculate dark suit. He worked hard to cultivate a fatherly manner, but right now his smile didn't quite reach his light blue eyes. "Whitey, what can I do for you?" His voice was cultured, warm and pleasant, but Whitey knew how quickly that same voice could hold an edge of steel. He glanced at the two silent men in black behind Courteney. Their faces were emotionless, and Whitey knew if things turned bad he stood no chance against them. He cleared his throat. "Sir, I wanted to tell you that--" he faltered, glanced again at the two minders, and swallowed hard. "Whitey, it looks to me like you could use a drink," said Courteney. On cue, one of the men moved to the office bar, poured three fingers of whisky in a glass, handed it to Whitey, and moved back to his former position. Whitey gratefully took a large swallow of the whisky and felt some of his courage return. "Mr. Courteney, sir, I came to tell you that I'm leaving," he blurted out. Courteney stopped smiling. A look of concern spread across his fine features. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?" Whitey shook his head. "No, sir. I-I've met someone and I--" Courteney nodded, giving Whitey that fatherly look. "Ah, yes, young love. Is she pretty?" he asked.. Whitey's head bobbed up and down. "Yes, sir!" he said proudly. Why, this wasn't going bad at all. His earlier fears suddenly seemed ridiculous. "Well, Whitey, I'm going to hate losing you. Are you sure I can't change your mind?" "I'm sorry, sir," he shook his head sorrowfully. Raising glass, he began to congratulate himself on a job well done. "I'm sorry, too," Courteney said, as Whitey froze, hearing the change in his voice. The man on Courteney's left reached under his jacket and Whitey dropped his glass. The splintering sound of glass on the tile sounded at the same time as he wet his pants. "No," he breathed, then there was the ugly shock of bullets slamming into his body, and he staggered, and his eyes burned from the whisky fumes, and then a bullet exploded into his head and he fell. **** J. Edgar Hoover Building Jan. 21, 1997 8:40 a.m. Dana Scully walked quickly down the basement hallway, briefcase swinging at her side. She was late this morning, through no fault of her own. Traffic in D.C., she decided, was God's punishment for allowing the politicians of the world to live in one place.. She paused at the door to her office--her office, even though her name still wasn't on the door. The door was still closed and she frowned slightly, then shrugged. Probably he was stuck in traffic, too. She opened the door, reached for the light switch, then stopped. Asleep in the gloom of the darkened office, face down at his desk was her partner, Fox Mulder. He was still dressed in the suit he'd worn yesterday, although he'd shed both coat and tie. Files and loose papers covered the desktop. A thick strand of brown hair had fallen onto his forehead and he looked younger, boyish, certainly more peaceful than Scully had ever seen him while awake. It was a shame to wake him, but they had work to do. She flipped on the lights, and put her briefcase on her desk. Mulder jerked, then sat up, blinking in the sudden light, looking lost and befuddled. His hair stuck up in a dozen directions, and a paper clip stuck to his cheek. Looking at him, Scully couldn't repress a giggle. "Hey," he said, smiling back at her. With a small plink, the paper clip fell to the desk. He looked down at it, then back at her. "You're laughing at me," he pouted. "I trust you slept well," she said, still smiling. "Actually, no, I didn't," he said, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" "Almost nine," she replied, picking up her coffee cup and heading to the break room. She filled her cup, tossed in some creamer and walked back to the office. In the doorway she bumped into Mulder, sloshing some of the coffee on her hand. "Damn," she muttered, transferring her cup to the other hand and shaking the wet one. Mulder had his coat on and was already halfway down the hall. "Where are you going?" she called. "Home," he answered. "It's awfully hard to impress you with wrinkled clothes and a paper clip tattoo." He tossed her a smile over his shoulder She shook her head. she thought. **** When Mulder came back she was waiting for him. "Let's go," she said, moving toward the doorway. "Where we going?" he asked, hanging up his coat. "We've got a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner," Scully said, "and we should have been there half an hour ago. What took you so long?" "Oh, you know," he said vaguely, following her down the hall to the elevator. "Skinner? What's he want?" "I don't know," she admitted. "Whatever it is, it can't be good," Mulder predicted darkly. Skinner rose when they entered, and waited until they sat before sitting himself. Not, Scully knew, to intimate that he was their equal, but because he had old-fashioned manners, and in the presence of a lady, you let her sit first. The AD got right to the point. "Judging by the lack of paperwork I've received from you this month, it appears that the X-Files--;" "Sir," Mulder interrupted, leaning forward. "We've--" "Hear me out, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. "You know Bureau regulations require agents to meet certain work quotas to maintain full-time agent status. I am simply not seeing this amount of case reports coming out of the X-Files." He paused. Scully began to get a bad feeling about what was coming. "So I've decided to assign you to a case outside your usual field." He went on to describe how this fell into the FBI's jurisdiction, but Scully barely heard him. She'd been afraid Skinner was going to tell them that he was closing down the X-Files for lack of work, and the sudden release of tension left her feeling much more relaxed. Next to her, Mulder's relief was palpable. "...so you'll need cover identities. The lab folks can take care of that. The local police will be fully informed and aware of your situation. You'll have a special call radio, a sort of 'panic button', if you will. If anything happens where you find yourselves needing to get out quickly, just hit the button, and the police will be on their way. Any questions?" Scully blinked. She dared not let Skinner know she hadn't been listening, so she shook her head. "Good. You leave tomorrow." With that, Skinner dismissed them. Mulder managed to hide his grin until they were in the hallway. "What? What is it?" she asked. "Scully, I--I have something to ask you," he said. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that she decided she didn't like. "Okay," she said, a bit uncertainly. To her alarm, he grabbed her hand and dropped to one knee. He put his other hand over his heart and declared, "Scully, will you marry me?" She was too stunned to act for a moment, then abruptly came to her senses. She jerked her hand away from his as if it were burning. "What?! Mulder, get up. What are you doing?" "But, Scully," he protested, standing up. "If we're going to be married..." "What are you talking about?" She looked hastily up and down the hallway. Thank God no one was around to witness this scene. "Didn't you hear Skinner? We're going undercover, Scully. As a married couple." She wanted to slap the smug smirk off his face. "I'm just getting into character." Scully closed her eyes. This was definitely *not* good. **** Jan. 22, 1997 10:37 a.m. EST Married. She couldn't believe it. She stole a glance at her partner--no, her husband--she'd have to remember that. Mulder was asleep in the seat next to her, his seat pushed back and his long legs stretched out in front of him. The airline stewardess was coming down the aisle, checking on her passengers, and she caught Scully's eye and smiled. "Do you or your husband need anything?" "No, thank you. He's fine. We're fine," Scully said curtly. She looked again over at him and was relieved to see he was still sleeping soundly. So then. She opened the case file on her lap for the tenth time since takeoff from Dulles. The first page was a black and white photograph of a handsome man: Charlie Courteney. Long suspected by the FBI to be a drug runner, he hid any suspicious activity behind a completely respectable front. He owned a string of hotels and bed-and-breakfasts across the Northeast. No one was sure which business was the front, or if they all were. Only recently had new information come about that provided some solid leads. In addition to his hotels, Courteney owned and operated a marriage retreat in upstate New York. Wealthy couples from all across the country came to the posh locale known only as Retreat. For several thousand dollars, couples whose marriage was in jeopardy traveled to Retreat, stayed a week and went back home feeling like newlyweds. Until now. A woman in Tacoma, Washington had contracted a lawyer, wanting to sue Retreat, claiming the week's stay had not only *not* improved her marriage, it had destroyed it. In putting together his case, the lawyer discovered that the woman was being blackmailed by Retreat. The lawyer was no fool. Having learned through his research that Charlie Courteney was not somebody you messed with, he advised his client to drop the case and contact the federal authorities. Which she had done. So now Scully and Mulder were on their way to Tacoma to interview this woman. And then they would head to Retreat, to check in as a married couple in need of help. Married. Scully glanced at Mulder again. This was not at all the kind of case she needed right now. For the past few weeks she had been wrestling with herself, with her feelings. Lately things had been different between them. Ever since his return from Russia, Mulder had seemed--changed. He touched her more often, took advantage of any opportunity to stand close to her. He had always struck her as a needy person, but of late he had seemed to require even more. More of her. She had been unsure at first how to react to all this. She'd been angry at one point, annoyed at how selfish Mulder was, always putting himself and his needs before her, and using her for whatever it was she could give. But she couldn't stay angry with him for long, and she had found her attitude thawing. And gradually she had begun to realize that she enjoyed the newfound closeness between them. Enjoyed, but at the same time was vaguely distrubed by it. She had examined her feelings for him once before, years ago. That terrible time he had been in the hospital after they had found him on the ice, when they hadn't known at first if he would live. Faced with the prospect of him dying, she had been forced to be honest with herself. Yes, she had strong feelings for Mulder, possibly even love, but they didn't belong in what was a strong relationship, both professionally and personally. So she had hidden the truth behind a wall, locked the door, and forgotten. Until recently, when she found that the secure barrier she'd placed over her heart wasn't as secure as she had thought. And now they were going undercover, as a married couple, and she didn't know if she could handle it. Bad enough that the small touches between them would have to become overt and more numerous. Worse was having to act in front of everyone--the loving wife to the Retreat staff and the lying agent to Mulder. But worst of all was the dread of having to share a room together, and having to participate in "marriage counseling" that would focus on their sexual life together. Scully blushed just thinking about it and squirmed in her seat. She shook her head to clear it, then looked over at Mulder. He was mumbling something in his sleep, and one hand suddenly clenched into a fist. His head thrashed to one side and he whimpered. Instantly Scully leaned over and shook him, trying to wake him from his latest nightmare. He opened his eyes with a gasp, and for a moment stared at her wildly, then seemd to recognize her and he calmed. "Hey," she said, rubbing his arm. "You were having a dream." She didn't say again.' "Yeah." His voice was thick. He rubbed a hand across his face, then stood up. "I'll be right back." She watched him head down the aisle toward the back of the plane. When he came back the old Mulder was in control again. "Miss me?" he grinned at her. Then he noticed the open case file on her lap. "So what do you think of our case there?" Scully flipped back to the picture of Courteney. "He's blackmailing this woman with a video of her nude and--and having sex with another man. She claims she was drugged. We know this man deals drugs and now we find he's blackmailing innocent women. He's a ruthless businessman who got to the top of the hotel industry by buying out or eliminating his competition. He--" "Wait a minute, Scully. What do you mean by eliminating'?" "Doesn't it strike you as odd that every competitor Courteney couldn't buy off either died or became seriously ill and while in hospital decided to sell out?" "Yes," Mulder replied matter-of-factly. "I just wanted to hear you say it." There was an odd tone to his voice and Scully looked up at him suddenly. "Scully, this case could very quickly turn dangerous. I would hate to see anything happen to you." His hazel eyes stared intently at her. she thought. If anything happened to her Mulder would blame himself. More guilt to carry around. "I have to be your wife, Mulder. What could possibly be more dangerous than that?" she asked with a teasing smile. To her relief the apprehension left her partner's eyes. "I guess I shouldn't ask if you want to elope, then," he said. "Go ahead, ask. Maybe I'll surprise you," she teased. The laugher died in her throat as she saw his expression change. Oh, God, now she'd done it. She waited for him to do exactly as she'd said, and ask her to come away with him. If he did, she had no idea how she would answer him. Instead he gestured to the file. "Let's go over it again, shall we?" Gratefully, she nodded. **** Tacoma, Washington 3:25 p.m. PST The front door opened to reveal a short, rounded woman. She was dressed in a light-blue uniform-style dress and was obviously a servant. Mulder held up his ID folder. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI. We're here to see Mrs. Williams." "Please, come in." The woman led them through the foyer to the living room. Probably they call it a parlor, thought Scully. "Mrs. Williams will be right with you. Can I get you anything?" They shook their heads and the woman left. "Mulder, my whole apartment would fit in this room," she breathed, looking around. "Better leave government service, Scully, if you want to live like this." They both turned at the sound of footsteps. Trudy Williams came in and sat down on one of the brocaded chairs. Her fabulous hair and makeup and elegant clothes concealed the fact that she was actually quite homely. She gave their ID's only a cursory glance, crossed her legs and laced her hands together in her lap. She regarded them coolly. "Let's get this over with." She spoke bluntly, but couldn't quite hide the tremor in her voice. It's all a facade, Scully thought. She's embarrassed and scared and hates having to talk to us. "You know I am being blackmailed by Mr. Courteney," Trudy Williams said. "He demands ten thousand dollars a month or he will share his--," She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Or he will show the tape to my husband." Scully was about to speak when Mrs. Williams went on. "What he doesn't know is that I have already shown my husband the tape. That is why he left me." "Where is your hsuband, Mrs. Williams?" Scully asked. "Dale is in Hong Kong. On business. *Extended* business." "Mrs. Williams, I know this must be difficult for you, but could you tell us exactly what happened to you?" The older woman closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. Flint gray eyes stared into Scully's blue ones. "I know you're going there, probably posing as husband and wife. So I'm telling you all this for your own benefit. It's bad enough that it happened to me. I don't want it happening to anyone else." >From the corner of her eye Scully saw Mulder turn to look at her, but she refused to look away from Mrs. Williams. "There was a formal dinner, served in the dining room, for all the couples. Afterwards the ladies and men separated, each going to a separate room for the evening's entertainment. I don't remember anything past dinner." The woman dropped her gaze. "When I woke up, I was in my room, in my bed with my husband beside me. I thought that I'd just gotten drunk. Until I saw the tape." Trudy Williams looked up. "You have to understand. I would *never* sleep with someone other than my husband. That's why I know I was drugged." Her voice, her eyes implored them to believe her. "What was your hsuband doing all this time?" asked Mulder. "He says he and the other men had a Casino Nite. Drinking, gambling. Dale was hungover the next morning and didn't remember anything he'd done." "Thank you, Mrs. Williams--" Mulder began, but Trudy cut him off. "Something you should know since you're going there. They have security there at the highest levels. And I think our rooms were bugged." Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. The futher they got into this case, the less she liked it. **** Outside Buffalo, New York Jan. 23, 1997 3:40 p.m. The blue rental car pulled off to the side of the road. "All right, Scully," Mulder said, turning off the engine. "We need to talk." Scully looked up. "What do you mean?" she asked. "We're going to be arriving at this marriage retreat in less than an hour, and we still haven't talked about how to do this. How we are going to pull this off. We've got identities created for us by the FBI lab, and we've got to bring them to life." Mulder forced himself to stop. He was babbling and Scully was looking at him strangely. But, dammit, this was awfully difficult. Having to pretend to be Scully's husband was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Not because he couldn't imagine it--but because he could, all too well. "Okay," Scully was saying. "Let's start at the beginning. We met--how? At work?" "No, that won't work. Not if I'm a psychologist. You know--violating patient-doctor privileges." He grinned at her. "Unless you want to be my overworked and underpaid secretary." Scully glared at him and he caught his breath. Those blue eyes... "We met at a medical convention," she said. "Won't work. You're the only MD here, *Doctor* Scully." "All right. Fine. Whatever. Some friend introduced us at a party. Now I teach pathology at Rice University, and you--" "Work at an adult video store," Mulder said, unable to resist.. "Mulder! This is serious. You were the one who drove off the road, insisting we talk about it." She seemed disturbed by something and it wasn't too hard to guess what. "Are you thinking about what happened to Trudy Williams?" he asked gently. "No," she answered quickly. Too quickly. "That won't happen to you, Scully. I won't let it. I would never let someone hurt you." She nodded. "I know, Mulder." He paused a moment, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two items. He handed her the first one, a small black plastic instrument that looked like a radio. "That's the panic button Skinner told us about. If it looks like our cover is blown, all we have to do is punch that button and the local police will be on their way. Skinner said they have promised full cooperation with us." Which was unusual enough to be notable, as local police and the FBI did not always get along. Scully inspected the radio, then tucked it into her pocket. Along with their guns, it would have to stay hidden in their luggage during their stay at Retreat. Mulder frowned slightly as he opened up the second item, as if this was not something he looked forward to. "Okay, Scully, if we're going to be married, we have to go all the way." He looked up at her in time to see her eyebrows arch as she stared at him. Sighing heavily, he pulled a gold band out of the box and held it out to Scully. "Til death do us part," he said dramatically. Scully gaped at the ring as she slid it on her finger. The diamond had to be at least two carats, and was probably more like three. Her brain raced, trying to calculate the value of the stone on her finger. Mulder sighed again as he put on his own wedding ring. "I can feel that old ball and chain already." He sneaked a peek up at Scully and was unsurprised to find her glaring at him. "Hey, you know I'm just kidding," he protested. "I don't think you're a ball and chain, Scully. In fact--" Better not, Mulder," she warned, cutting him off. He could tell by the dangerous gleam in her eye that he should shut up, so he merely chuckled and started the car again. **** Retreat 4:26 p.m. Retreat looked exactly as Mulder had expected. A sprawling house set amid lush green lawns, surrounded by acres of forest. He drove up the winding driveway slowly, taking it all in, memorizing it for future use. "Sure is alot of security for a getaway, " Scully remarked. To enter Retreat, they'd driven through an open wrought-iron gate that undoubtedly closed and locked at night. A guard shack stood beside the drive about fifty feet from the gate. An armed guard had given them a sticker for their windshield, then waved them on. Mulder had counted two phones and half a dozen video screens in the security shack. A camera was mounted on the back corner of the shack, monitoring all who came and left, and their transactions with the security officer. "I guess if you're a drug dealer you can't have enough security," Mulder said. They pulled up to the house and immediately a uniformed valet came up. "Here goes nothing." Mulder parked the car, popped the trunk, and turned off the car. He and Scully got out and retrieved their luggage from the trunk. Mulder held his hand out to the valet. "Sam and Diana Freeman. Pleased to meetcha. Where do we go now?" The valet extended his hand uncertainly and Mulder pumped it up and down. The valet jerked his head in the direction of the house. "Registration is in the front lobby," he said. "Thanks, son." Mulder dropped the Taurus's keys in the valet' still- outstretched hand. The man started to get in the car. "Wait a minute, honey. Where are you taking our car?" Scully imitated a Texas drawl with a vicious perfection. Mulder bit his lip to keep from laughing. "There's a garage out back," the valet said vaguely. He got hastily in the car and drove off, deciding he'd had enough of this loud, vulgar couple from Texas. They headed up the front steps and into the spacious lobby. A pretty young woman sat behind the front desk. She smiled at them. "Good afternoon and welcome to Retreat!" "Good afternoon!" Mulder boomed, feeling slightly ridiculous. Surely not everyone from Texas acted this way? "Sam and Diana Freeman." The woman shuffled through some papers, then held out a manila envelope in triumph. "Here are your brochures, schedules, welcome letters, etc. You're in Room 23. Upstairs, down the hall to your left. Dinner is at eight o'clock and I just need you to sign here." She pushed a registration book at them. Scully signed "Diana Freeman" and handed the pen to Mulder. He had barely begun to sign when Scully kicked his shin. Abruptly he stopped and looked at her curiously. "Look what you're doing," she said in a dramatic whisper. He looked back at the book and his heart nearly stopped when he saw what he had written. A big capital "F", followed by a pen mark that trailed into nothing where Scully had kicked him. "F" for Fox. Oh, shit. The receptionist was looking at them strangely. He couldn't believe it. Not quite five minutes into their first undercover assignment and he was already blowing it. Scully as usual came to his rescue. "You are embarrassing me." She spoke in that same stage whisper, as if she didn't want the receptionist to hear. Mulder forced himself to laugh. "Well, looky here! Here I am thinking I'm in the boardroom or something. Guess I forgot you need a *real* signature." He squeezed "Sam" in front of the capital F and scrawled something that could be "Freeman" after it. The receptionist handed him the envelope and room keys. "Enjoy your stay," she said. They thanked her and headed up the wide, curving staircase. Twin hallways split off to the left and right. Following instructions, they turned to their left. Room 23 was half a dozen rooms down. Mulder unlocked the door and they went in. The room was big, but seemed smaller with all the furniture in it. French doors led to a balcony overlooking the front of the house. A door to the right opened on a bathroom that they shared with the room next door. A large bowl of fresh-cut flowers stood on a round table near the center of the room. Mulder put down their suitcases and strode across the room to the French doors. He unlocked them and stepped out onto the balcony. Scully followed, closing the doors behind her. "What was that all about?" She kept her voice to a whisper, afraid they would be able to hear them even out here. "What were you thinking?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know." He squinted up at the sky, where low gray clouds promised snow. "We have time to explore the grounds before dinner, if you want," she said. "I imagine we won't have much free time after tonight." Mulder agreed. "All right. We'll unpack, then do some investigating." He led the way back into their room. **** While they were out walking it began to snow. Beautiful, enormous white flakes drifted down from the sky. The snow covered the ground, and the silence seemed to grow until speech was impossible. Mulder glanced over at his partner; the thoughtful, pensive look on her face matched his own mood. Maybe it was the nature of this case, or the simple fact that they were walking through gently falling snow, but Mulder found his thoughts turning inward. How long had it been since he had taken a leisurely walk, how long since he'd reflected on the beauty of nature, how long since he had allowed himself to relax? Too long, he realized. And initial impressions showed that starting a potentially dangerous case did not seem to be the best opportunity for relaxation. Yet, here he was. Admittedly Scully's presence helped. By himself, he would be restlessly prowling, brain racing for solutions to the case, relentlessly driving himself forward. But not now, not with Scully beside him. Right now he was content to walk beside her, lost in thought. He wanted to reach out, put a hand on her back, lift a strand of copper hair, just touch her. Lately he had found himself needing to touch her, to reassure himself that she was there. Since that time in Russia, lying helpless and alone in a dark prison cell, he had made a vow to himself, that he would finally admit his feelings. Admit them to himself, and to Scully. Yet he found that he couldn't. For too long he had successfully hidden his feelings. Concealed them beneath a sarcastic, wisecracking facade. He had thought he could do it, could go alongside Scully without revealing his true emotions. After all, he had been doing it all his life. Why stop now? He'd long ago realized two things. The first was that he loved Dana Scully. The second was that there was nothing he could do about it. Declarations of love had no place in the relationship he and his partner had, and he'd been content with the strong friendship between he and Scully. Except now that friendship was being tested to the utmost, and he wasn't sure he would pass. Beside him Scully sighed softly. He glanced over at her. "Penny for your thoughts." She shrugged. "It's just so pretty. It's too bad it all belongs to a drug dealer and possible murderer." "It may be pretty, but it's also cold. Let's head in," Mulder said. Scully followed him willingly enough. They walked in silence for a while, heading back toward the house. Then Scully cleared her throat and stopped walking. "Um, Mulder, we haven't yet worked out the sleeping arrangements." He paused beside her. He'd wondered when she would bring the subject up. "What do you mean?" he asked, giving her an innocent look. "Mulder, you know damn well what I mean. I've thought about it and since it's not fair for you to have to always sleep on the couch, I thought we'd take turns." "Wait a minute. Who says I'm sleeping on the couch?" "We can't share a bed, Mulder." "Why not?" He flung the question at her as a challenge, a mocking light in his eyes while he waited to see what she would say. Her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted, but nothing came out. Suddenly Mulder was afraid where this was heading. "All right, all right. That was a stupid question. You don't have to sleep on the couch, Scully." "No," she insisted. "We can take turns." "We will not. Besides, I'm used to sleeping on the couch, remember?" "But Mulder--" "No, Scully. I'll take the couch, you take the bed. That's final." "All right." She gave in meekly. Feeling quite satisfied with himself, Mulder resumed walking, completely missing Scully's small smile of victory. **** Dinner that night was a casual getting-to-know-each-other affair. Mulder and Scully played their roles perfectly and by the end of the evening the other couples were convinced that Sam and Diana Freeman were nice folks. A little too loud, perhaps, but still quite likable. That night while Scully slept soundly in the king-size bed, Mulder tossed and turned on the too-small couch and wondered how he'd gotten suckered into this. **** Jan. 24 7:21 a.m. Scully awoke the next morning feeling quite good. She yawned and sat up, only to see Mulder glaring at her from the couch. "What?" she asked, suppressing a giggle. His hair stood up crazily and he wore an adorable pout on his face. "What is it?" She yawned again. "Well, I'm glad one of us got some sleep," he said sarcastically. Scully raised a finger. "Don't start with me. We discussed this yesterday." "You tricked me! If I had known--" "Oh, stop whining, *Sam*. You sound like my brother's kids." Scully hoped he wouldn't slip and forget their cover. "I am not whining," he sulked. "Yes, you are," she said cheerfully. She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. In a flash Mulder was off the couch, a determined look in his eye. They stared at each other for a moment, then both agents raced to be the first to the bathroom. Scully didn't stand a chance, of course. Mulder's long legs carried him to the door way ahead of her. He ran into the bathroom, turned around, stuck his tongue out at her, then slammed the door shut and locked it. "Now you're *acting* like my brother's kids!" she yelled at the closed door. When no answer was forthcoming, she crawled back into bed to wait. **** 9:42 a.m. After breakfast they all trooped into the front parlor. There were half a dozen couples visiting Retreat this week. They arranged themselves around the room, watitng for the day's first scheduled event. Charlie Courteney himself was going to personally greet all the couples--as Mulder put it, "bestow his blessing upon us." The handsome man who walked into the room looked exactly like his photograph in the file. Scully watched as he made his way to the front of the room. He walked with a lithe grace, and not a little swagger. He obviously was full of self-confidence. There was an undefinable magnetism, or presence to the man. Her sister, Melissa, would have called it an aura. Scully felt a pang of grief thinking of her sister. Melissa would have known right away that this man was evil. Yet the rest of the men and women in the room looked at Courteney with a mixture of awe and adoration. "Welcome to Retreat. I am Charlie Courteney, and I want to begin by thanking all of you. You have plenty of ways to spend your money and your time, but you have chosen to come to me. It is an honor to have the opportunity to serve you." thought Scully, toying with the garish diamond that was her "wedding ring". "And yes, I do mean it when I say serve," Courteney continued. "You folks have come here for an important reason--each other. That is what the Retreat staff is here to do--serve you so you may devote your time to that most important thing: each other. "I created Retreat several years ago when I realized that a couple needs to create time for themselves. In today's busy, high-tech world, too often it's the people who get lost. For those who want to find themselves and their mates again, Retreat is here for you. We have an impressive track record in helping people, as I re-learn constantly by the grateful mail I receive from couples who have benefitted from Retreat's healing atmosphere. I only hope I hear from some of you in the future. "You may feel free to visit me in my office here on the first floor at any time. My door is always open. "And now may I introduce one of Retreat's finest." Courteney paused and extended a hand to a young man who'd been standing at the back of the room. He came forward and Courteney put his arm around the man's shoulders. "This is Kevin. He will be your guide on this morning's tour. He's very good at what he does, and I leave you in capable hands." Courteney flashed them a smile and left the room. Scully blinked, feeling like a spell had just been broken, and suddenly wondered if they should have applauded. The man certainly had style. Their tour guide, Kevin, took over. He asked them all to "line up, please" and "follow me." Mulder stood up and bent over to whisper in her ear. "I kept waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of his hat." Then they were at the back of the group and moving out of the parlor. **** 10:30 a.m. "As you can see, Retreat offers a wide varity of nature trails. Due to the snow, I won't take you down any right now, but please feel free to do so at your leisure." Kevin the tour guide pointed at the woods. "If you were to follow the signs on the trails you would eventually come out on our picnic area. This being January, you'll probably have the place to yourself." The young man smiled charmingly. Scully shivered as a gust of wind lifted her hair. She and Mulder stood near the back of the group. The had been taken on the tour of the house, and were now standing on the edge of the lawn where the woods began. Snow fell steadily downward. So far the guided tour had shown them nothing exciting, but then, Scully hadn't expected much. They would be hiding all the things she and Mulder needed to know. Now Mulder nudged her elbow. "He's got a gun," he whispered. "What?" "An ankle holster." Mulder coughed slightly and straightened up. He ambled a few steps away from her and pretended to study the trees as they were covered by the snow. Scully walked around to the other side of the group until she had a clear and unobstructed view of the tour guide. She peered closely and saw how his trousers flared slightly above the ankle. She caught Mulder's gaze over the heads of the group and nodded. She was chagrined she hadn't noticed, but then, Mulder himself wore a gun that way and he knew what to look for more easily than she did. She was about to head back toward her earlier position when she heard a faint crackling hiss, followed by a voice coming from near the tour guide. He glanced down briefly at his hip, frowning, although he never stopped singing Retreat's praises. Scully looked closely at his bulky winter coat and decided he could have a radio in there. "Are there any questions?" Kevin the tour guide paused for two seconds, then turned. "Now if you'll follow me--" "Wait, I have a question," Mulder called. Kevin turned back to the group with a barely concealed frown of annoyance. "Yes?" Mulder pointed to a tree. "What's up in that tree?" Scully stared forward, squinting, then saw what he was talking about. "That," the tour guide said with pride in his voice, "is a camera. It's part of our security system. We have some of the best technology here at Retreat. Several years ago," Kevin continued, "Retreat experienced an attempted burglary. Mr. Courteney has since taken steps to make sure that it doesn't happen again." Some of the couples began glancing nervously at each other. "Is the camera watching us?" asked an older woman nervously "In a way. It's an infrared camera. It reads your body heat. Right now all the camera sees is a big splotch of heat. That's us." The tour guide looked smugly satisfied. "Now, moving on--" Mulder, by her side again, leaned in. "Security at the highest levels," he said, echoing Trudy Williams. "He's got a radio," Scully said. "Good job, G-woman." Mulder looked thoughtful for a minute, then smiled crookedly at her. "What?" she asked. "Better hope we don't have to make a getaway through those woods." **** 1:10 p.m. Their first counseling session met after lunch. Two other couples, also looking nervous, Mulder and Scully, and the Retreat counselor all gathered in a large airy room on the first floor. Like their tour guide from the morning, the staff member had a discreetly hidden radio, although Scully could see no sign of a gun. The counselor was talking about sex and Scully studiously stared out the window at the falling snow. This was what she had been dreading all day. she thought. Yet her traitorous thoughts kept going back to Mulder, and what it would be like... "When a couple begins to neglect their marriage, one of the first things to go is their sexual life together," the counselor was saying. "I can look at each of you and judge how long since you and your partner had sexual relations. For example, Sam and Diana, when was the last time you had sex?" Scully's gaze snapped back to the counselor. She could feel her cheeks burning, and she could think of nothing to say. She was afraid to look at her partner, and the silence drew out. The counselor made an encouraging gesture. "Sam, tell us." "Sex?" Mulder choked on the word. "We *don't* have sex," he said emphatically. Scully groaned. So much for blending in. "What we do," Mulder continued, "is make love." Now it was Scully's turn to choke. She looked at Mulder incredulously, unable to believe he had just said what she thought he said. There was a smirk on his face and her fingers itched to slap him. How dare he! But to her surprise the counselor grabbed the bait. "Ah! Sam brings up an excellent point!" He droned on, and Mulder leaned over. "Saved ya again, partner." He grinned and ducked away before she could smack him. **** 6:09 p.m Scully stood before the floor-length mirror and sighed. She usually enjoyed dressing up, but the undercover nature of this case perversely made her feel like everything she did was on display. The formal dinner tonight was not something she was looking forward to. Mulder's image appeared next to hers in the mirror. "Scoot over," he said. He expertly knotted his bow-tie, leaving it nestled snugly against his throat. Finished, he stepped back. "How do I look?" He spread his arms and pirouetted for her inspection. Scully smiled. His brown hair was carefully combed, except for the stubborn lock that fell onto his forehead. His hazel eyes smiled down at her, awaiting her answer. In his tuxedo he looked more like a GQ model than a federal agent. "You look like a rich Texan," she said. "What about me?" Mulder's eyes darkened and a strange expression crossed his face. Then he smiled brightly. "You look beautiful," he said sincerely. Scully felt a warm flush of pleasure. She was surprised at how much Mulder's opinion meant to her. She looked again in the mirror, trying to see herself as he must. Unlike her daily business suits, the white silk dress she wore was feminine and alluring. The dress had three-quarter length sleeves and buttons down the bodice. Her hair shone against the thin material and Scully decided she passed muster. She turned to Mulder. "Well, let's get this over with, shall we?" They headed down the hall toward the marble staircase. At the top of the stairs Scully paused. "Mulder, let's just do dinner," she said softly. The evening's entertainment called for the ladies to prepare the ballroom for dancing after dinner, but Scully wanted no part of it. Having to laugh and charm her way through dinner suddenly seemed bad enough, but spending half an hour with giggly, half-drunk women while they got ready for a dance... It was enough to make her shudder. Mulder seemed to share her sentiments. "We'll make an exit after dinner, okay?" Scully sighed, relieved. "Okay." Together they headed down the stairs. **** 8:10 p.m. Mulder stifled a yawn. He squirmed in his chair, trying to get more comfortable. The man next to him finished telling his raunchy joke, and the other men laughed. Mulder discreetly glanced at his watch, while feigning a loud laugh. Five minutes until he and the other men would all file into the ballroom and join their spouses. Five minutes until he and Scully could make their escape. At last a tuxedoed staff member came into the room. A white handkerchief peeked out from his breast pocket and a cummerbund wrapped smoothly around the man's waist. Clearly the staff here took their jobs seriously. The men walked into the ballroom, which was now lavishly decorated. Elegance fought with kitsch as flower arrangements were reflected by glittery mirror balls hanging from the ceiling. The women were laughing and glowing with pride at their handiwork. Mulder looked around for Scully but did not find her. "Excuse me." He stopped another staff member in formal dress. "Have you seen my wife? Red hair, white dress?" The man shook his head and Mulder glanced around again. Maybe she was just in the bathroom. Except that Scully had wanted to retire early, and he couldn't imagine her not meeting him so they could leave. After five minutes he began to grow worried. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Where was she? She had been quiet at dinner, and he wondered if she had already gone to their room and skipped the decorating. After all, she hadn't had any desire to attend the dance. He walked up to one of the women. She stood with a drink in one hand, the other possessively on the arm of a man Mulder knew was not her husband. He deliberately wiped the frown off his face and forced himself to smile. "Pardon me, but have you seen my wife?" he drawled in his worst Texas accent. The woman shook her head. "Diana? No, she left after dinner. She didn't even help us decorate." The woman's scarlet lips turned down in a pout. "She left? By herself?" That sick feeling grew stronger. He knew what the woman would say even before she said it. "Why no, she left with one of the servants." Mulder turned away from the woman, missing her pitying smile. He was sick with dread. They had taken her. Scully. She was in danger, and once again he had done nothing to stop it. Dammit, he shouldn't have left her alone for so long! But truly he hadn't thought half an hour enough time for anything to happen. The cold knot of fear twisted in his stomach. If they did anything to her... He ran up the marble steps, the drunken laughter behind him growing faint. Quickly he ran down the hall and unlocked the door to their room. "Scully?" He didn't care that they would hear him call his "wife" by this strange name. A hasty glance around showed she wasn't there. Mulder went across the room to the closet. He reached inside his coat pocket and fingered the "panic button" that would send a call to the local police station. Making a decision, he slipped it into his pocket. Then he pulled his gun from his coat. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but he would do whatever it took to find Scully. whispered a voice in his head. He shook his head fiercely. No! This time he would not be too late. He'd find her. But where? He had to think. All the rooms on the second floor belonged to the guests. The first floor was being used for entertainment purposes, and they would want to hide their activities. That left the third floor, which according to Retreat's brochure was where the staff lived. He opened the bedroom door and poked his head out into the hallway. No one. Taking a deep breath, Mulder sprinted down the hall. The door at the end of the hall was locked. He glanced around once, then kicked the door open. The steps here weren't marble, nor was the bannister highly polished. In fact, the whole stairwell was gray and drab, merely utilitarian. He darted up the stairs and slowly opened the door at the top. The hallway was poorly lit from a few light sconces set in the walls at varying intervals. Most of them were burned out, but in the dim light Mulder could see frayed carpeting and stained walls. Obviously Retreat had different standards of living for its staff. He moved along the hallway, gun raised, listening for voices. Only a couple of the rooms showed a crack of light under the door. At the first one of these he pressed his ear against the door but heard nothing. Silence lay behind the second door, too. Behind the third door, though, he heard a masculine voice. Mulder leaned hard against the wood and strained to make out what was being said. The man's voice remained a frustrating murmur, and Mulder held his breath, not wanting even that small sound to interfere. Finally, he could make out words "Yeah, that's it. You like that? Wanna take that off?" The man's voice was coaxing, low and pleasant. Mulder felt his blood run cold. Even if it wasn't Scully in there, it was still some innocent woman and he had to stop it. Tentatively he tried the doorknob and was unsurprised to find it locked. Not that a locked door had ever stopped him before. One swift kick forced the door open and he rushed in, gun up and ready, shouting, "Freeze! Don't move!" He kept the gun trained on the male occupant, who looked up, startled, and then reached for his own cleverly concealed weapon. "I said freeze!" Mulder shouted, moving forward, putting the gun in the man's face. And all the while the horrible scene was indelibly printing itself on his mind's eye. His cursed memory, which would never let him forget what he saw. The centerpiece of the room was the enormous bed in the middle of it. The bedcovers had been turned back invitingly, but the thing happening on the bed was not warm and loving. Scully lay back on the bed, limbs sprawled, red hair gleaming against the crisp white pillows. The hem of her silk dress was bunched up around her thighs and the buttons of the bodice were halfway undone, nearly exposing her breasts. Her eyes were half-closed and there was a dreamy expression on her face. A video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, ready to record the night's events. "Give me the gun," Mulder ordered. The man shrugged and handed it over. "Sit on the edge of the bed and put your hands in your lap. Do it!" The man did as he was told with a mocking smile. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, sneering. Mulder longed to punch the guy out but he didn't have time for indulgences. "Stay put or you're dead," he said coldly. He walked over to the bedside lamp and unplugged it. Using his pocketknife he cut the cord off the lamp and used it to tie the would-be rapist's hands behind him. He plucked the handkerchief from the man's breast pocket and stuffed it in his mouth. Only then, satisfied that he wouldn't give any more trouble, only then could Mulder look at Scully. She lay quietly, that same vague look on her face, blissfully unaware of what had just happened. Mulder hurried to her side, fighting the panic that threatened to choke him. "Scully, wake up." He shook her shoulder gently. Her head lolled to one side and she made a small "mmmm" sound, but did not open her eyes. "Scully!" Mulder shook her harder. "*Dana*, come on, wake up." He couldn't keep the urgency from his voice. There was no telling how long before somebody figured out what was going on, and then they'd be on the run. At the sound of her given name, Scully's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Mulder, confused and uncertain. Her lips moved but nothing came out. "Scully, can you hear me?" he asked anxiously. She nodded slightly, and he sighed with relief. "Listen, Scully, you've been drugged. You were going to be the next blackmail victim." Her eyes widened at his words. "Mulder--" she started. Her voice was slurred but at least she was speaking. Dazed blue eyes darted around, trying to make sense of it all. "It's all right, Scully. Nothing happened," he assured her. "But we have to get out of here, and fast. They may be already looking for us. Can you sit up?" She nodded again, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried. But she only succeeded in lifting her head before letting it fall back wearily. Mulder bent over her, concern written on his face. "It's okay, Scully. Take it easy. We'll go slow." He put an arm under her shoulders and carefully propped her into a sitting position. The front of her dress gaped open and Mulder sucked in his breath. His brain screamed at him to look away, for God's sake, don't take advantage of her, she's so vulnerable right now. But it was hard; he was only human, after all. Either she followed his gaze or the sudden cool air on her flesh alerted her, but Scully suddenly realized she was nearly hanging out of her dress. She gasped and her face turned as red as her hair and she brought her hand up to cover herself. Mulder gallantly looked away as she fumbled with the buttons of her dress. "I'll get your shoes, Scully," he said, moving away. She was already humiliated, there was no reason to further embarrass her. He rescued her shoes from the floor and checked on the man sitting on the edge of the bed. Satisifed that he wasn't going anywhere, Mulder turned back to Scully. She had buttoned up her dress and was attempting to stand. Her legs were wobbly and with a frustrated sigh she sank back onto the bed. "Give me a minute," she muttered. Mulder handed her the gun he'd taken from Retreat's amateur photographer. "Here, take this. We have to get out of here tonight. *Now.* I'm going to get our things. You stay here and watch Mr. America's-Worst-Home-Videos." He left Scully sitting on the bed, holding the gun up with a shaky hand but a determined eye. The hallway was still empty and Mulder closed the door behind him quietly. Either they didn't know yet what had happened, or they had set a trap and were waiting for him to walk straight into it. Well, he wouldn't find out just standing here. He stole down the hallway, opened the door at the end, and stepped down onto the stairs. Only to come face to face with another staff member. He recognized this one--Kevin the tour guide. Only now both his radio and his gun were out, in full view. The younger man stopped, halfway up the stairs, and for a moment he and Mulder just stared at each other. Then they both moved and Mulder fired, sending Kevin toppling back down the stairs to lie in a crumpled heap on the landing. The radio squawked, a male voice asking what was going on. Oh, shit. With a curse, Mulder turned on his heel and ran, back up the stairs and down the hallway, not caring who heard. He burst into the bedroom he'd just left. "Scully! Come on!" She looked up, startled. "Mulder, what--?" "They're on to us, Scully. Come on, we gotta leave *now*." He went to her side hastily. Putting a strong arm around her waist he pulled her up until she was standing with his help. He glanced at her. "Okay?" She swayed slightly, but nodded. With Mulder's arm protectively around Scully, together they left the bedroom and moved down the hall, mercifully still empty. When they reached the stairs and the dead body, Scully tensed. "So much for a clean getaway," she said softly. They moved on to the second floor, and Mulder suddenly stopped, making Scully bump into him. "What?" she asked. Mulder pointed to the steps leading to the ground floor. "Who knows where that will take us? Better to go out the front. Can you sing, Scully?" He smiled mischievously into her puzzled gaze. "This is what I love about these undercover assignments, Scully. You get to do things you normally wouldn't." He stuck his gun into the waistband of his pants and placed Scully's arm around his middle, hiding the gun in her hand under his tuxedo jacket. Then he pushed open the door to the second floor and lurched out into the hallway. Another young couple was standing in front of their door and they turned at the sudden appearance of the two agents. " Scuse me," Mulder bellowed, then belched. "We cain't find the Gawddamned bar!" Beside him Scully erupted in a fit of giggles, probably at his awful accent, he thought wryly, but her nervous laugher helped lend a touch of authenticity to this dreadful scenario. "Go down the stairs," the man said, pointing down the hall. "The bar is down there. You can't miss it." There was a faint sneer of contempt on the man's face for what he obviously considered a drunken couple. Mulder wondered briefly what the guy would do if he could see their guns, then decided against it. Moving in a drunken stagger, he headed off down the hall, taking Scully with him. Her unsteadiness was unfeigned, however, and he kept a careful grip on her. As they reached the marble front staircase, he burst into song in a slightly off-key tenor. "Ohhh, what do you do with a drunken sailor, ear-lie in the morning?" Scully convulsed with laughter again, then gamely joined in as they lurched down the stairs. Despite the lunacy of their situation Mulder felt a pang go through him. Drugged and frightened, she still backed him loyally. Again. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to his left, glimpsed a staff member talking into his radio, and continued the turn, all the way around until they were facing the opposite direction. He let his song fade out, then headed for the parlor. Scully stumbled and he hitched upward on her waist. She gained her feet again and they crossed the parlor, weaving unsteadily. Behind them a voice called, "You there, stop! Turn around!", and Mulder started running, dragging Scully with him. He hit the French doors with his free hand outstretched, and they popped open . Letting go of Scully, he jerked his gun out, spun around and fired at the oncoming man. Without waiting to see if he had hit or not he grabbed Scully's hand and they ran out into the cold night. **** Scully could never remember being so cold. Even that case with the worm, in the Arctic, she hadn't been this cold. Her teeth chattered and her body shivered convulsively, making the ache in her head double in size. Her legs felt numb, even as she continued to move forward. Forward to where? Why was she running? Her mind was too confused, too blurry to provide any answers. Her foot hit something; abruptly her forward motion stopped and she was simply falling. Something soft cushioned her landing, soft but cold. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision and drew in a gasping breath. A face suddenly hovered over her, hazel eyes full of worry and concern. "Scully, are you okay?" Mulder. She began to remember where they were. Retreat, in New York. The last thing she clearly remembered was eating dinner, and somehow they had gotten outside. Outside where there was already two feet of snow on the ground, with more falling right now. Mulder had taken off his suit jacket and put it on her, but the wind still seemed to drive right through her. She shivered again with the cold. "I--I'm okay," she ground out between chattering teeth. Mulder helped pull her to her feet, that worried look still on his face. "We can stop and rest, Scully, if you need to. I'm sorry I made you run, but we had to get some distance between us and the house." She was not quite sure yet of all that had happened, but she knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good. There was no time to stop and rest, she knew, no matter what Mulder said. But she also knew he blamed himself for her condition and the fact that they were on the run in 20-degree weather with no coats. So even though they couldn't afford to, he had offered to let her rest here. She looked around. Where was here? They were in what looked like a forest, with snow-covered trees surrounding them. They seemed to be on a path, where the snow covering was only an inch or two--obviously the path had been cleared earlier today. There was a blue sign on a tree trunk proclaiming that Retreat was "this way" and the picnic area was "that way." Scully suddenly realized where "here" was. "Scully? Do you need to rest?" Mulder asked again, with a faint note of rising panic in his voice. She gave herself a slight shake. "No, I'm--I'm all right. How do we get out of here?" Mulder pointed off to her left. "If we follow this path it will let us out by the front gate." She nodded. He'd looked at the map earlier and had committed Retreat's layout to memory. He said they were on the right path for escape and she believed him. Her head throbbed with sudden pain, and she closed her eyes. So much had happened... She raised her eyes and looked around the woods again. "How did we get here?" The question suddenly made her remember another time, years ago, only the second case she and Mulder had worked on together. Watching him move unsteadily to the car and get in, turning bloodshot and confused eyes on her. She must have looked at him the same way he was looking at her now. Mulder's concerned look deepened, then the lines in his forehead smoothed out. He held out a hand. "Come on. I'll tell you while we walk." Scully hesitated only slightly before taking his hand. "Remember talking with Trudy Williams? How she was blackmailed?" Scully nodded, then stopped walking as realization dawned. She looked up at Mulder, horrified. Had they--? "No, they didn't," he answered her unasked question. "But they tried. They gave you some kind of drug to make you drowsy and uncoordinated, so you'd go along willingly. That's why you're feeling sluggish and dizzy. That's why you're unable to remember." He put a hand on her back and they started walking again. "Why are we running through the woods when it's snowing out?" she asked. "Did they find us out?" Mulder nodded. "I think so. I was headed down to our rooms to get our things when I met someone in the stairwell. I had to kill him, but he had a radio and I think that alerted them. We got here by running across the lawn and dodging some bullets." He tossed her a crooked smile. "Not exactly my idea of after-dinner entertainement." "Are they following us?" "Probably. Remember the tour, that guy bragging about their high-tech security system? I hope all those infrared sensors aren't picking us up." "Wait a minute, Mulder. In this cold, on an infrared screen, we'd stick out like sore thumbs." "Yeah, but for the snow. It's a good insulator, in addition to what's falling." Scully looked up. "But it's tapering off," she said. "Then we'd better hurry. I had to hit the panic button Skinner gave us, so the local police should be on their way." They trotted on through the woods, and the snow gradually stopped falling. Scully tried not to think about how cold she was. Mulder's jacket helped a little, but her legs were still bare. She knew her partner must be freezing in just his dress shirt, but he said nothing about the cold. At last they reached the edge of the woods. Up ahead, the guard shack sat beside the snow-covered driveway. The black front gate was closed. As they watched, a dark car drove up from the direction of the house and stopped in front of the gate. A tall figure got out and went into the guard house. After a few minutes, a shorter figure left the house and got into the car. The black gates inched open and the car drove off. "Now or never, " Mulder said. He looked at her. "Are you up to this?" Scully nodded She was exhausted and her head beat out a merciless drumbeat of pain, but she could not let Mulder do this by himself. She drew her gun, the one that had belonged to Retreat's resident rapist, as Mulder did the same. He looked at her again and she nodded, and they were up and running through the snow toward the guard shack. Keeping low, they ran to the back of the small building where they paused to catch their breaths. "Okay?" Mulder looked at her questioningly and she gave him a slightly dazed grin in response. The run had done her in more than she wanted to admit. They stood up and Scully followed Mulder closely as they headed for the corner of the building. She saw the figure step forward as they came around the side, but could do nothing. She saw him swing his arm, saw the butt of the pistol smash into the side of Mulder's face, knocking him against the guard shack where he crumpled to the ground without a sound. Her brain screamed at her to move, but her body was still sluggish to respond, and by the time she got her gun up it was too late. "Freeze! Federal agent!" she shouted. "Put the gun down!" Standoff. Courteney had hauled Mulder to his feet and he stood now with the agent in a chokehold, gun pressed against his temple. Blood streamed down Mulder's face from a gash on his forehead and he hung limply in Courteney's grasp. "Put your weapon down, Agent Scully, " Courteney said. She gasped as she realized what he had said. "Oh, yes. I know who you are. Now put your gun down." Scully's mind raced. All FBI agents received training in Hostage Negotiations at the Academy, but Quantico suddenly seemed very long ago. "All right. All right, just don't hurt him," she said quietly. Mulder stirred and groaned, bringing his hands up in a feeble attempt to loosen the pressure around his throat. Courteney jammed the gun harder into his temple, and Mulder froze. He dropped his hands to his side and slumped forward. But his eyes locked on Scully and she could read the message there. "Okay," she said. "I'm putting the gun down. But you won't get away with this, Courteney. The police on their way here right now." "Maybe so," Courteney said. He took a step back, dragging Mulder with him. "But I told you to put your gun down, and you still haven't." His finger curled around the trigger. "No!" she cried. "Okay, just don't shoot him." She lowered herself to her knees, letting her gun lie flat on her palm. She watched Courteney closely, but she was acutely aware of Mulder's stare. Courteney smiled. "My dear, do you really think I am a killer?" Scully leaned forward slowly, the gun in front of her. Her eyes met Mulder's and something passed between them. Without warning Mulder reached up with both hands and yanked down on the arm encircling his neck. Courteney stumbled forward and his gun hand wavered slightly. It was all the time Scully needed. Still on her knees, in one smooth motion she brought the gun up and fired. A look of surprise came over Courteney's face as the bullet entered his forehead, then he dropped to the ground. Mulder fell with him, but rolled clear as soon as they hit the ground. He knelt over Courteney's body, breathing hard. Scully lurched to her feet, keeping her gun out. "You okay?" she asked Mulder. He nodded, then looked up at her, his face unreadable. She knew she had just beaten incredible odds. Not only was she emotionally charged from recent events, but she was still overcome by some strange drug. She suddenly realized that in her state she could just as easily have killed Mulder, instead of Courteney. Weak with reaction, she swayed on her feet. Lights came up over the hill then, bathing them in the sudden glow. The local police, she realized. Mulder raised his head wearily. In the bright light Scully could see the blood on his face. "Here comes the cavalry," he said. He turned to her and gave her a lopsided smile. "Suppose there will ever be a day when we can step back and let them handle this stuff?" He waved a hand at the corpse. The cars had pulled up now and people were heading towards them. Scully leaned in. "I'm surprised at you, Mulder. What fun would that be?" **** J. Edgar Hoover Building Jan. 28, 1997 Dana Scully stretched in her chair and sighed. Typing up field reports was never fun. At least her current task was easier than Mulder's. He was hopelessly buried in a sea of receipts, trying to file an expense report. She glanced down at her left hand and idly wondered if the wedding rings they'd worn for their disguise were on the expense report. Amazing how it had taken only two days for her to accept seeing a ring where she had never expected to see one. "Dammit!" Mulder swore as a pile of receipts fell to the floor from his desk. He got down on all fours and began combing through the mess angrily. Scully laughed softly and Mulder looked up. "What?" She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. A lock of brown hair fell onto his forehead, partially obscuring the white bandage there. He looked so handsome Scully sucked in her breath. She still couldn't believe how close she'd been to killing him. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally she said, "You look like the lone survivor of an out-of-control ticker tape parade." Mulder smirked at her. "Thanks a lot. Wanna help me here?" She shrugged innocently. "Sorry. I've got my own report to write." She had started typing again when a knock on the door made her look up. "The hell with it," Mulder grumbled, tossing a fistful of white slips back to the floor. He got up and opened the office door to reveal Agent Pendrell. Scully sat up straighter and put on her best blank expression. She suspected Pendrell was in love with her and she wasn't entirely sure what to do about it. Now Pendrell shouldered his way past Mulder, ignoring the tall agent. He carried a file folder in his hand and had eyes only for Scully. He stopped in front of her desk. His hand restlessly squeezed and relaxed on the folder. "I have your lab results, Agent Scully," he said, his eyes boring into hers. Oh, yes. She had had a blood sample taken on the night of their dramatic departure from Retreat. The drug in her system had not seemed familiar to her, so she had wanted it analyzed. On Mulder's suggestion they had also had the sample tested for illegal drugs. Perhaps Courteney had been coming up with some creative uses for his product. She looked up at Pendrell. Something about the way he stared at her set off alarms in her head. "What is it?" Mulder came up to stand behind her. "What did you find?" he asked. Pendrell cleared his throat. "We--um. There's something odd about the sample you gave us, Agent Scully." He cleared his throat again. Scully felt her chest contract suddenly, making it difficult to breathe. Something was wrong here. She was absurdly grateful when Mulder's hand came up to rest on her shoulder. Pendrell paused. "It's nothing any of us have ever seen, or heard of. It's not organic. We don't know what it is. "Agent Scully, that substance in your blood, whatever it is, it's alien." END RETREAT Elixir II: Replay WARNING!: While I make no claims to be able to work miracles, there is a "resurrection" in this story of an old character. I may be way out of line here, but it's something I've always wanted to do. Sometimes it just seems a shame that the best characters on The X-Files are doomed to live for only one season, at best. This is my attempt at rectifying one such shameful mistake. **** J. Edgar Hoover Building Jan. 28, 1997 "Agent Scully, that substance in your blood, whatever it is, it's alien." Dana Scully felt as if her death sentence had just been pronounced. Her heart skipped a beat and a loud roaring began in her ears. Her vision began to dim as the whole world shrunk to the size of a small pinprick of light. Then she suddenly felt herself being shaken. "Scully! Wake up!" Mulder's voice, coming to her from miles away. "Scully, don't you dare turn all girlie on me and faint." That did the trick. Scully blinked rapidly, bringing the world back into focus. She saw Mulder standing over her with his hands on her shoulders. She took a deep breath and said, "Don't you *ever* call me girlie' again." Their relieved laughter helped break the tension in the room, but only momentarily. Mulder let go of her shoulders, and she felt a pang of regret, wishing he would still hold her, then ruthlessly tamped it down. It wouldn't do to start thinking like that again... Although he'd relinquished his hold, Mulder continued to stand close beside her. "What do you mean, it's alien?" It was the question Scully was afraid to ask. Pendrell looked down at his feet. The simple gesture fueled Scully's fear. In all the time she had been bringing strange things to Pendrell, she had never known him to be nervous or afraid. Curious and eager, yes, but never worried. "Agent Pendrell, what did you find?" She kept her voice even but her eyes stared at him intensely. The young man raised his gaze to hers. For a moment all his hopeless love for her was written across his face, then he swallowed visibly, and regained his composure. "Actually, it's a mixture of known organic compounds, and...and something else. It appears to be similar to the RNA of a virus, but if it is, it comes from no virus I've ever seen. I've exhausted all the tests I can run, and I still can't identify it." "Have you shown it to anyone else?" asked Mulder. "No, I didn't think you would want me to," Pendrell replied, without taking his eyes off Scully. "Good. Keep it that way." Now Pendrell looked at Mulder, then he nodded. "I guess I'll head back to the lab," he said. "I'll let you know if I find anything new," he offered as he left. After he was gone the office was silent. Scully let her rigid posture relax, just a little. She didn't have to pretend in front of Mulder. Well, not much. "Scully--" She held up a hand. "Mulder, don't." He gave her a mock wounded look. "I was only going to say that it's a good thing the Capitals are playing the Sabres tonight." This inane remark was so unexpected she could only stare. Mulder gave her an innocent shrug. "Seeing as how we're going back to Buffalo." "Why?" She was instantly suspicious. *Now* what was Mulder up to? "Because all of Retreat's records were confiscated by the Regional FBI Office in Buffalo." Mulder gave her a long look, his eyes dark. "Scully, Charlie Courteney had to get that substance somewhere. Probably we'll find some record of purchase among Retreat's papers." She raised an eyebrow. "Mulder, you don't really believe that drug is half extraterrestrial, do you?" He gave her a lopsided smile. "I hope not." But the excited light in his eyes said otherwise. Which was not entirely reassuring to Scully. **** FBI Regional Office, Buffalo Jan. 28, 1997 7:52 p.m. Sitting amid a stack of file folders, Scully sighed. She longed to grab the pile of papers in front of her and hurl them across the office. Envisioning Mulder's reaction to such an action made her smile slightly, and she looked up at him. He was slouched at a desk across from her, reading glasses perched on his nose, frowning at the contents of the file he was reading. She watched him for a while, taking a guilty pleasure in staring at him, unnoticed. As she watched, Mulder's frown deepened, and he suddenly sat up straight. "Hey, Scully." He looked up suddenly, and she quickly lowered her gaze, unable to hide the smile that curved her lips. Mulder gave her a puzzled look. "What's so funny?" he asked, then raised a hand to his cheek. "Any paper clips that I should be aware of?" he asked. Scully's smile grew. "No," she confessed. "Good. Cause I found something." Instantly the professional mask was back, wiping the smile from her face. "What did you find?" Mulder got up and walked over to her, carrying the file with him. He laid it on the desk and pointed. "Here. An unnamed purchase of unnamed goods, from a man called only Arntzen, and this Alexandria address." Scully looked up at him. "Krycek." Mulder nodded. "Looks like Defense Department secrets wasn't the only thing he was selling." Yet... "Wait a minute, Mulder. You're making an awful big leap here." "It makes sense, Scully. We know Krycek's been on the run from the Consortium for a while now. He's probably been forced to sell whatever he can just to survive." No, she thought. Krycek had sold that long ago, if he'd ever had one to begin with. "But, Mulder, where did he get it?" Seeing a name on a page might be enough for Mulder, but not for Scully. She needed more tangible proof. "I don't know. But I think we should go back to Washington," Mulder answered. Scully looked down. Sometimes the way Mulder's mind worked was too much. She just had to be patient and wait for him to explain, in his own time, as he always did. Usually she could pry some explanations from him with the right questions, but she was too tired to try right now. Some unknown substance had been in her body, and maybe still was. Let Mulder handle the investigative aspects of this case; she just wanted to find out the unknown. "Scully? Ready to go?" She sighed and gave in. "Why are we going back to DC?" "I think the answers are there. You should try to dig up anything you can on this substance, or any new miracle drugs out there." "What are you going to do?" The sixty-four thousand dollar question. "I'm going to run down some other leads," Mulder answered vaguely. Same story, different day. Scully stood up slowly and followed her partner out of the office. **** Apt. 38E Alexandria, Virginia Jan. 29 12:45 a.m. Footsteps suddenly sounded in the hall and Mulder tensed. At last! In a few seconds Krycek would walk through that door. Mulder made a sudden decision. He would give Krycek enough time to answer his questions, and then he would kill him. For his father, for Melissa, for Scully, for Skinner, for himself. Scully would not be here to stop him this time. The footsteps slowed before the door. Mulder went to stand near the back of the room, the better to hide in the shadows. Nothing he could do about the moonlight coming through the window, but Krycek wouldn't see him until it was too late. By the time he realized his lights didn't work he would be on the floor with a gun in his face. The footsteps stopped. Mulder could see the two dark shapes of feet blocking the light coming under the door. Krycek stood outside, and Mulder began to sweat. Had he given himself away somehow? Did Krycek know who waited for him in his apartment? The doorknob turned, and the door swung open just enough to let a pencil-thin ray of light into the room. Mulder tightened his grip on the gun and soundlessly moved forward. The seconds ticked by agonizingly. The whole world narrowed down to this moment in time. Nothing else mattered. Then the voice spoke from behind the door. "Leave this case alone, Agent Mulder." A pause. "The military will not tolerate an FBI investigation." A deep, rough voice. Mulder sucked in his breath. That voice. Those words. He'd heard them all before. The door pushed open a few inches more. "I can be of help to you. I've had a certain interest in your work." That voice! But it couldn't be... "Let's just say I'm in a position to know quite a lot of things." The door swung open all the way then and Mulder brought his gun up, trying desperately to control his shaking hands. The figure in the doorway stepped into the room. "Things about our government." The light from the hall threw the man into silhouette, making it difficult to see his face. But Mulder knew--he knew with chilling certainty who stood here before him. He began to shake again helplessly. "You! You're dead!" The man chuckled softly. "I've heard that one before, Agent Mulder." He stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. For a moment they were enveloped in darkness, then Mulder's eyes re-adjusted to the dim light coming from the window. Oh, God, it was him! That dark hair, frosted with gray at the temples. The dark suit, nondescript government issue. The deeply lined, expressionless face. But he was dead! Mulder gripped the gun firmly and licked his lips nervously. "Who are you?" Unconsciously he echoed his half of the script being replayed here tonight. "You know who I am, Mr. Mulder. I would suggest you put that gun away so we can talk. I haven't much time." It sounded like him. It looked like him. It even talked like him. But it just couldn't be! Not for the first time in his career, Mulder wondered if he was losing his mind. "Deep Throat is dead! So cut the crap. Who are you?" "I'm surprised at you, Mr. Mulder. When did you stop believing?" The casual tone of voice belied the hurtful words. Mulder gasped, stricken. Of course he still believed! He was here, wasn't he? He still believed in a lot of things. But to believe that a man had come back from the dead and was talking to him, even "Spooky" Mulder had a hard time believing *that*. "All right," he said hoarsely. "If you are who you say you are, prove it." The man who might or might not be Deep Throat sighed. "I thought it might come to this. My proof lies in the information I can give you about the drug you search for." Mulder's finger curled around the trigger of his gun. This man knew! Whoever he was, he knew about what had been inside Scully. He opened his mouth to demand some answers when the man spoke again. "Do you remember what I told you that day in the aquarium? About sharks?" Mulder's knees went weak. It *was* him! It couldn't be, but it was. He lowered the gun and finally accepted the truth. "If a shark stops swimming it will die." Deep Throat smiled. "It's good to see you haven't stopped swimming, Mr. Mulder." **** Reflecting Pool January 29 2:10 a.m. Mulder popped another sunflower seed in his mouth and shifted on the cold bench. The January wind seemed to cut right through him and he huddled a little deeper into his coat. Despite the cold, he couldn't help being excited. After nearly three years, he was meeting with his first informant again. Even with all the aid he had received over the years, all the informants come and gone, he still missed his original contact. Deep Throat. The man had seemed amused to hear the name Mulder had given him, although apparently not enough to reveal his real name. He had seemed worried, too; more paranoid than he had ever been before. "We can't stay here," he'd said in Krycek's apartment. Mulder had begun to speak but Deep Throat had waved off his protest. "He won't be coming back here, Mr. Mulder. He has bigger fish to fry." He'd arranged this meeting, then left. Mulder shivered again in the cold and yawned. He was about to get up and start pacing when he heard the footsteps. A trenchcoated figure walked up to the bench and gazed out over the pool. "This brings back memories," he said. "Feeling nostalgic?" Mulder asked. Deep Throat turned his head sharply. For some reason the question had angered him. "If you think I enjoy having to do this again, taking all these risks--" Mulder sprang to his feet. "Then why are you doing it?" he shot back. His informant stared at him for a moment, then smiled, the anger gone. "Still swimming," he said softly, almost to himself. He turned to stare back out over the water. They were silent for a while, until Mulder could no longer contain his curiosity. "You were dead. How did you...?" Deep Throat sighed heavily. "No, I was not *dead,* despite how it looked. With modern drugs, Mr. Mulder, you can make the human body do almost anything. Including lowering functioning until it appears you have a dead body on your hands. Such drugs, carefully hidden in a capsule designed to release upon impact, a capsule fired from a gun...Well, you saw how it happened." "It was them, wasn't it? They planned it all, didn't they? They knew they had a leak and they had to flush you out." Mulder glanced at the older man, who nodded confirmation. "They used me, to get to you. And you knew what they were doing, you knew what would happen to you." "I-uh, I had an idea of what would happen, yes. Certainly I did not think I would ever be standing here talking to you again." "But you *knew,*" Mulder insisted in amazement. "What happens to one person is inconsequential, Mr. Mulder. It's the larger picture you have to keep in mind." Mulder's head spun with a thousand questions, a thousand theories. He sorted through them rapidly and picked the easiest. "I am part of the larger picture." Deep Throat nodded again. "You, and your work." "But why?" The older man turned to face him. "When I first began helping you, I did so out of guilt, trying to atone for all the things I had done in the past. But I found something happening. I began to believe in your work. I began to believe in *you*." "And that's why you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me?" "The big picture, Mr. Mulder. If I'm dead, nothing happens to them. Life goes on. If you're dead, nothing happens to them. Life goes on. But with one important exception. If you die, so does the best, and maybe only, chance of exposing them, of exposing the truth." "There was a time when you didn't want the truth exposed," Mulder said. He could vividly remember the bitter realization that he had been lied to, by the very man he had just thanked for all his help. "Yes, yes. But things have changed. You know things now you didn't then. You've seen them yourself." "But what haven't I seen? What else is out there, what other lies and half-truths? What else is waiting to be discovered?" Mulder began to gesture angrily. "Are you going to tell me these things, or do I have to find them out myself, and nearly get killed in the process? Did you come back just so you can drop little clues around, knowing I'll go running off to wherever you point? Is that why you're here?" Deep Throat watched this tirade calmly, and Mulder suddenly stopped, feeling foolish. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "Okay, you obviously have something to tell me. What is it? How high should I jump this time?" He made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "I told you back in the apartment, I have information about the drug you're seeking." Deep Throat's words sliced through Mulder's remaining anger with the force of a blow. "What is it? What's in that drug? What do you know about it?" He was suddenly breathless, unable to speak. Deep Throat gestured toward the bench, and Mulder went over and sat down. The older man sat heavily next to him. He looked down at his hands pressed together in his lap for a time. Mulder waited anxiously. He knew from past experience the man would speak only when ready. "You know about the alien hybrid experiments already." He paused, and Mulder's mind flashed back to a room in a storage facility. The first time he'd learned about the hybrids, those wonderful, awful creatures that figured so prominently in his and Scully's lives. Nothing good had ever followed sighting those creatures, and he shuddered, remembering a boxcar in the desert, and fire... "In 1991, just in time for the Gulf War, a breakthrough was achieved on the extraterrestrial viruses. Several of our scientists found a way to extract specific strands of RNA from an alien virus and combine them with organic compounds to make a highly potent drug. Taken orally the drug produced extreme lassitude, dizziness and lowered awareness of environment. A person given the drug was very susceptible to suggestion, and would do anything suggested, even actions hypnosis could not induce. The government found this new drug to be a highly effective interrogation tool. Captured prisoners of war could be questioned and made to betray themselves and their country, all by drinking a glass of water laced with the drug. "The drug was used successfully in the Gulf War, on captured Iraqi soldiers. After the war, with no legitimate test subjects, the government began experimenting on innocent civilians. In several states, the drug was substituted for the flu vaccine, and subjects were closely monitored." "Why?" Mulder asked. "If they already knew what the drug did, why risk alerting the public?" "Because," Deep Throat replied, "they were interested in side effects. Prisoners of war go back to their own country eventually, and are hard to track. Ordinary citizens, on the other hand..." "What did they find?" Mulder asked, afraid of the answer. **** Georgetown University Library 4:16 a.m. Scully pulled off her reading glasses and pressed her fingertips into her eyes. Going through paperwork for hours always gave her a headache, and tonight was no exception. Added to that was the lack of sleep, and the personal worries this case was giving her. She felt like she belonged in one of those aspirin commercials, only instead of Excedrin, her headache was screaming She'd come directly to the university library from Dulles Airport. Mulder had still been vague about his destination, but Scully had had a feeling that Alex Krycek was going to be paid a visit. The address in Retreat's files had been his last-known place of residence, and although she doubted he still lived there, she supposed it was worth a try. She'd wondered briefly how Krycek would avoid being killed by Mulder *this* time, then had forgotten about it. The library was closing when she had arrived, but her FBI badge and a few connections at the university had guaranteed she would have access to the library overnight. Campus security was informed of her presence, and she was left to her research. Scully sighed. So far, she had turned up nothing. No medical journal, no university publication, and certainly no government document made any mention of a newly discovered drug with the properties she was looking for. She wasn't surprised, but it was frustrating nonetheless. A soft sound in the gloom of the library made her head snap up. For hours the only sounds in the deserted library had been made by her, and her heart began to beat faster. She listened carefully, straining to hear something. The seconds ticked by and she had decided she was mistaken when she heard it again. Instantly alert, she jumped to her feet, reaching for her gun. "Hello? Is anybody there?" Her voice seemed to echo in the quiet, mocking her. The sound came again and Scully backed away from her study carrel and flattened herself against the wall, eyes scanning the library. Her fear began to mount. Anybody could be creeping through the aisles between bookshelves, slowly coming closer.. When her cell phone rang she nearly screamed. Pure reflex took over and she whirled on the balls of her feet, her gun aimed at the study carrel she'd just vacated. The phone rang again and she relaxed, feeling slightly foolish. She put the gun back on the desk, then reached into the pocket of her coat. "Scully." "Scully, it's me. Where are you?" Her lips twitched in a rueful smile. If she had a dollar for every time she'd heard that, she could have retired years ago. "I'm at Georgetown's library. Where are you?" "Why are you at the library?" "Because, Mulder, you told me to see what I could find out about the drug." "Did you find anything?" She sighed again, and absently rubbed the back of her neck. "No. What about you?" "Yeah, but I don't want to talk about it over the phone," he said. "Listen, can you be at the airport in an hour?" "The airport? Why?" But she knew why. He'd found out something, and in typical Mulder fashion was off and running after it. At least this time she got to come along. "Where are we going?" "Dayton, Ohio. Our flight leaves at 5:30, Scully. I'll meet you at the gate." "Mulder, what's in Dayton, Ohio?" "Wright Patterson Air Force Base." It was all he would say. **** Dulles Airport 5:50 a.m. "Mulder, will you stop pacing? It's not going to make the plane come any earlier." Scully tried to speak lightly, but their recent topic of conversation made it hard. Their flight was postponed due to bad weather in Kentucky, which was just as well. Despite her haste, Scully had been late getting to the airport and would have missed the plane if it had been on time. Now Mulder was pacing back and forth, occasionally throwing impatient looks out the window. Unshaven, in a rumpled suit, hair standing up where he'd repeatedly run his fingers through it, he still was incredibly attractive. He stopped pacing when he saw her staring at him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She forced herself back to the business at hand. "You're saying that this Deep Throat--that he's alive?" "I know how it sounds, but it was him, Scully." She shook her head. "He was dead, Mulder. I checked him myself. I held him on that bridge when he died." "I know, Scully. But he was here tonight. I am not making this up. We talked and he told me things. Scully, I know what you saw, but I also know what I saw." His eyes pleaded with her to believe. She felt herself hesitating. Normally when she questioned Mulder's beliefs he put up a defensive stance, obstinately refusing to listen to her logic. Yet here he was now, almost desperate for her to believe him. "All right, Mulder. What did he tell you? Is he the reason we're flying to some Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio?" Mulder glanced around the gate area, then sat beside her. "Charlie Courteney got his drug from Krycek. We knew that. Krycek was stealing it from the government. We had guessed that. But what we didn't know was that what Krycek was selling was only a replication of the original drug." Scully was confused. "What do you mean? The lab results clearly showed an alien compound in that drug. If Krycek wasn't selling the real thing, then explain that strange substance." "Listen to me, Scully. What Krycek--and who knows how many others--was selling was a drug created in a government lab. Part of it is organic compounds, the ones Pendrell found. But the key to the drug is an alien virus, or the RNA, actually. "And the last store of that alien virus is being kept at Wright Patterson Air Force Base." "But why are we going there? Surely you're not planning to break into this military base and steal the RNA specimen?" Mulder's expression didn't change, but the rising excitement in his eyes told her that he was planning to do exactly that. She was torn between exasperation at his stubborn tenacity and admiration at his optimistic persistence. The exasperation won. "Mulder, you can't just walk into a military base and steal their secrets. How on earth are you--" Mulder interrupted her. "Not me." He was smiling. "You're going to do it." Scully's mouth dropped open. "Me? You've got to be kidding." How dare he drag her along on what was undoubtedly a wild goose chase, then make her do all the dirty work? Well, she supposed, she ought to just be glad he hadn't ditched her this time. "Don't worry, Scully. We'll cover for you," Mulder said. Her eyes narrowed. "We?" "We're meeting Deep Throat in Dayton." She sighed and Mulder poked her playfully. "Come on, Scully. It'll be just like old times again." Which was exactly what she was afraid of, she realized gloomily. Their flight was called then and Scully looked up in surprise. Sure enough, the plane was sitting at the gate and the last arriving passengers were headed down the terminal. "You see?" Scully said. "I told you the plane would come if you stopped pacing." She kept her voice light to hide her dread at the thought of getting on the plane. "Hey, Scully, did you know that Dayton is the birthplace of aviation?" Mulder asked as they got on the plane and settled in their seats. "I thought that was Kitty Hawk," she said. "That's where the first flight occurred. But Wilbur and Orville Wright lived and worked in Dayton. That's where they did all their research. They only chose Kitty Hawk because it was the perfect location for their flight." Mulder rambled on about the Wright brothers as the plane taxied onto the runway. He kept talking during take-off and Scully concentrated on his voice, trying to ignore the whining of the engines. She knew Mulder was talking on purpose, to try and take her mind off the airplane, and she resented his help as much as she needed it. Once they had leveled off Scully relaxed. She released her death-grip on the armrests and put her hands in her lap. She turned to Mulder, who was apparently giving her a lecture on the history of aviation. "What else did he tell you?" Mulder stopped in the middle of a sentence, staring at her blankly for a moment before her words registered. "You mean Deep Throat." It was a sentence, not a question. "I assume he told you more than what you've told me," she said. "Not much. Nothing important." But he dropped his gaze and she knew he was lying. She lowered her voice to a whisper, but spoke forcefully. "Mulder, that drug was in *me*, it may have affected *me*. So if you know something about it, and you're not telling me..." She let her voice trail off threateningly. He nodded, but still would not look at her. "They created it in time for the Gulf War, and they used it in prisoners of war, for interrogation purposes." That made sense. Her memories of that night at Retreat when she'd been drugged were vague. She could remember walking up stairs, following some man as if this were something she did every day. She remembered running through woods, blindly following Mulder, not thinking to ask why they were doing it. "But the war didn't give them much chance to study the effects of the drug, so they tested it on innocent civilians." Mulder paused, then raised his head and looked squarely at her. His eyes were dark with something she couldn't read, and she began to worry. "Most of the people showed no effects from the drug," Mulder continued. "But some people began to experience a form of psychosis. They became extremely paranoid, believing everybody was out to get them. They became aggressive, irrational, and showed tendencies toward violence. The government eventually intervened and took control again." He stopped abruptly. "But what?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry with fear. "But not before two of the subjects had committed murder, induced by their extreme paranoia. One man shot his mailman, believing the man was looking through his mail. All he was doing was delivering it." "What happened to the others?" "They were institutionalized for paranoid schizophrenia. Probably still are." He took her hand in his and held it tightly. "Scully, you have to remember that most of those people developed no side effects at all." He spoke quietly, urgently, and Scully looked up at him. She could see fear in his eyes now, and it touched her that he could be so afraid for her. "Mulder, I'm fine. I don't feel any different." For a moment she thought of the incident in the library, then dismissed it. She gently pulled her hand from his. "I'll be fine," she said. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He merely nodded. "Okay, Scully." **** The Camelot Inn Dayton, Ohio Jan. 29 10:13 a.m. Scully sighed quietly as she looked around the motel room. No matter where they went, Mulder had a knack for choosing the seediest motels. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he was proud of this talent. Right now he was watching out the window of the motel room, waiting for their contact. Scully still could not believe the man was really Deep Throat, and she found herself growing unaccountably nervous as the time for their meeting grew closer. What if it was him? It would mean her memories of that night on the bridge were false, and if she couldn't trust her own memories, what could she trust? At the window Mulder suddenly tensed. "He's here, Scully." He moved to the door and opened it. Scully's view of the man was blocked by Mulder for a moment, then he moved away, and she gasped. It was Deep Throat. She had held him, had watched him die, yet here he was. Alive in her cheap motel room in Dayton, Ohio. She thought maybe this was the most extreme possibility of all. Deep Throat nodded at her. "Scully. It's good to see you again. We met under some rather inauspicious circumstances." Oh, yes. She remembered. She could only return his nod, unsure of what to say. Deep Throat turned to Mulder. "I've arranged for us to enter the base this afternoon. We won't have much time, I'm afraid." Mulder grinned. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. Deep Throat looked at her now. "I have a uniform for you in the car, Scully. It should give you the cover you need. Just get in and get out, leave the rest to Mulder and me." They had obviously planned this out already; she had no idea what the man was talking about, so she just nodded again. "We'll meet back here by 4:00," Deep Throat continued. He gave both of them a stern look. "Should anything go wrong, your first priority is getting out. These people will not take kindly to anyone stealing from them." He paused to make sure they understood how serious he was, then added, "I'll be back at 2:45. I'd get some sleep before then." **** Wright Patterson AFB 3:52 p.m. Getting onto the base proved ridiculously easy. The passes Deep Throat had somehow managed to get gave them necessary access onto the base. Once they were there it was a matter of finding where the drug was kept. >From the gate they turned right, headed toward a building vaguely shaped like the letter H. Two wings jutted off the middle section, and Deep Throat informed them that this particular building extended nine stories underground. The passes got them into the building, and Deep Throat used a security code to enter the elevator taking them to the lower levels. After they stepped off the elevator he took Scully's arm. He pointed off down a long hallway. "At the end of the hall," he said, "you'll find the lab. The vial will be in a freezer marked B178. Just take it and leave. Act natural and make your way off the base. Mulder and I will provide a diversion for you." Scully swallowed hard and nodded. Then she forced a smile at Mulder. "Is this what you meant when you said I could get the next mutant?" He smiled back. "No, actually you did that a long time ago. I just wanted to see you in a military uniform." She glared at him, but couldn't help looking down at herself. The olive-green adjutant's uniform fit snugly, and looked crisp and sharp. She'd pulled her hair up into a bun and put it under the cap she wore, hoping no stray strands would fall down and earn her a dressing-down from some passing colonel. Wearing the uniform made her feel a strange kinship with her dead father, and she automatically carried herself prouder and straighter than usual. "You'll do just fine," Deep Throat said. "We'll meet you back at the hotel." They turned and got back into the elevator. Scully squared her shoulders and headed down the hallway. **** Mulder followed Deep Throat through the maze of hallways. Clearly the other man knew where he was going, and he was content to follow. Being on a military base again was not high on his list of fun things to do, but he swallowed his misgivings and continued to follow Deep Throat. The older man stopped at a door in the hall, and looked around. No one was watching; in fact they had seen no one since entering the building, Mulder realized. He thought they were five stories below ground now, but he'd never had a very good sense of direction, so he gave up trying to figure it out. "In here," Deep Throat said. Cautiously he used his pass-card to open the door, and they found themselves in a small room that looked like a storage room. Mulder looked around, wondering what they were doing here, as Deep Throat crossed the room. He opened a door on the opposite wall, motioned for Mulder to come forward, and disappeared through the doorway. Instantly an alarm sounded, piercing and strident. Mulder went through the door and found himself in a smaller room, holding only a computer. A door was set in the far wall, and a video camera was attached to the wall in the upper corner, monitoring them. "Did we set that off?" he asked softly. Deep Throat nodded. "Access to this room is supposed to come only from that door," he gestured to the other one, "and then only with another person who has the pass-card." Not that it mattered. This was the diversion, giving Scully enough time to get the precious vial and run. There was a dull crashing noise outside the room. Somewhere out in the hall a door slammed. Voices sounded, then running footsteps. Mulder looked over at Deep Throat. The other man seemed unperturbed to be the object of a base-wide manhunt. Not that it would matter if they were caught. Surely by now Scully had the vial, and in her stolen uniform and her hair pulled back tightly she was as nondescript as the next Air Force adjutant. The door burst open suddenly and a dozen men streamed in carrying rifles. Mulder put his hands in the air and let them surround him. Hands reached out and took his gun. Deep Throat stood a few feet away, nearly hidden by the circle of men around him. A tall figure walked into the room, a colonel, by his insignia. The soldiers all straightened their postures and wiped any human expressions off their faces. Mulder would not have been surprised if they had saluted in unison and cried "Sieg Heil!" The colonel strode forward. He eyed Mulder, then turned to look at Deep Throat. No emotion registered on his face, but his eyes gave him away. This man knew Deep Throat, knew who he really was. "Where is the vial?" he asked coldly. Deep Throat said nothing, only returned the man's stare. "Where is the vial?" he repeated. "We don't have it," Mulder said. Deep Throat turned to him, but he ignored the warning on the other man's face. "And you don't know where it is, do you? Looks like somebody else got to it first. We're just the decoys." He smirked at the colonel. The officer's eyes narrowed in anger. His cold stare raked over Mulder, then he raised his gaze and nodded slightly. He caught the movement in the corner of his eye and ducked, but not fast enough to avoid a rifle stock slamming into the back of his skull. He fell to the floor, stunned but conscious. Through dazed eyes, Mulder saw the colonel step forward and the circle of men around Deep Throat retreated to a safe distance. "I'm going to ask again. Where is that vial?" Deep Throat shook his head. "I don't have it." The colonel's eyes narrowed. "You should have stayed dead. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." He gestured toward the door. "Get him out of here." The soldiers rushed in, surrounding Deep Throat, and quickly hustled him out of the room. "No!" The cry burst from his lips and Mulder managed to get to his hands and knees. The colonel glanced at him contemptuously, then turned on his heel and left. Mulder swayed and tried to stand, and somebody kicked him in the ribs and he fell again. He looked up and saw the rifle swinging in slow motion, then pain exploded in his head and the world went black. **** 4:02 p.m. Scully did not allow herself to breathe until she was off the base and back on Wright Brothers Parkway. Despite her disguise, she had not expected to get off the base so easily. Yet no one had stopped her, no one had questioned her. Apparently Mulder and Deep Throat had done as promised, and provided enough of a diversion to allow her enough time to leave. She forced herself to slow down, and drive at a normal pace. After the past few hours, it would be ironic to get pulled over for a speeding ticket. So then. They had the vial--the last remaining pure extract of the alien RNA. Undoubtedly some forms of the drug would exist in circulation for a while; Charlie Courteney probably hadn't been Krycek's only customer. But without the original raw material there would be no more of it manufactured. Scully shifted in her seat and felt the cool glass of the vial against her skin. She had the same uncomfortable, queasy feeling she'd had while holding the Purity Control flask, so long ago. Being so close to something obviously extraterrestrial was disconcerting, to say the least. She pulled into the motel parking lot and looked carefully at the cars. There were a few new ones parked, ones that had arrived while she was at the base, but none looked like something the government would drive. She let herself into the motel room and immediately locked the door behind her. She moved to the windows and pulled the drapes shut, then went into the bathroom and locked herself in. Her eyes swept restlessly around the room before meeting her reflection in the mirror. Scully had to smile at herself. Mulder's paranoia had definitely rubbed off on her. Quickly she unbuttoned the uniform blouse and reached inside her bra. With trembling hands she pulled out the small vial. She turned it slowly in her hand, almost mesmerized by the deep blue color. She couldn't wait to get this to the FBI lab and analyze it. But first, she had to wait for Mulder and Deep Throat to come back. **** Time Unknown Location Unknown It was the rocking motion that woke him. A slight back and forth motion, accompanied by a low, droning noise. He opened his eyes and knew instantly he was in the back of a truck. Two soldiers sat on either side of him. They hadn't yet noticed he was awake. Mulder focused on the man who held his gun the slackest and tried to ignore the pain in his head. He lunged forward, reaching for the gun, and to his astonishment found that he could not move. He was strapped down. Strapped down and in the back of a truck. Panic flooded him as vague memories of another Air Force Base assaulted him. Memories of another ride in a truck, a ride that had turned into a nightmare. "Looks like he's awake," one of the soldiers said, nudging his companion. "You'd better put him out." The second soldier reached into a bag and pulled out a small bottle and a syringe. Mulder stared at the needle, terrified. He jerked at the restraints holding him, struggling to get free. "No, don't do this!" he pleaded. And like the time before there was nothing he could do about it. The soldier stared at him impassively, then he felt the sting of the needle and the blackness swallowed him again. **** The Camelot Inn 4:48 p.m. Scully pulled out her cellular phone for the hundredth time, looked at it, at the clock, back at the phone, at the motel room door, and back at the clock. Abruptly she made a decision. It was 4:48. If they were not back by 5:00, she was calling Mulder's cell phone. If he was still in hiding and the chirping noise gave him away, so be it. She was very worried by now. They should have been back an hour ago. Scully had gone to the copy room, made some copies for the benefit of anyone who might be watching her, and then left. Mulder and his informant had planned to generally cause havoc, anything to give her time to leave. she thought, exasperated. Yes, that was it. They had been caught sneaking around, and the military didn't particularly care for snoops. So they had been arrested and would eventually be released when it was determined that they didn't have the vial. Scully felt almost smugly satisfied to have thought of this scenario, and the worry eased slightly. Except that it didn't work. It *wouldn't* work. Deep Throat, whoever he was, had enough connections to avoid being detained. And as Mulder's partner and listed next of kin, she should have been notified if he had been arrested. So what had happened? Where were they? Scully reached for the vial again, the cause of her worry. The glass tube was only three inches long, but the contents of that three inches were priceless. A pure extract of RNA from alien viruses. The scientist in Scully longed to analyze the liquid, to break down and determine the genetic makeup of the contents. The skeptic in her asked if this wasn't just some newly created chemical compound, something no one had heard of it. And the believer in her was afraid. If this *was* a drug that was half-alien, then think of the ramifications! The breakthrough making this possible had occurred back in 1991. What other miracles had taken place since then? What else was out there among the unsuspecting public that had extraterrestrial ingredients? Scully's hand went to the back of her neck, fingering the scar where the implant had been. An implant made of alien materials and know-how. What else did the government have that was alien? What other methods did they have of controlling the populace? Scully shook her head, clearing her thoughts. These were questions that she wasn't sure she wanted to have answered. Perhaps they weren't even the *right* questions. Better that she put it out of her mind. The crunch of gravel beneath her window startled her, and her head snapped up. Hastily she tucked the vial back into her blouse and grabbed her gun. Dropping to a crouch, she ran over to the window. She used the barrel of her gun to slowly lift the drape, allowing her to peek outside. She could see nothing, and she let the drape fall back. She got to her feet and moved to the door. The peep hole was dirty, but she could see well enough to realize there was nobody outside the door, either. Maybe it just been her imagination, playing tricks on her when she was already jumpy. The crunching sound came again, and Scully peered out the peep hole again. There! A shadow crossed in front of the door, and then came to stand in front of it. Scully tried frantically to make out a face, but the glass was filthy. All she could tell was that the figure outside was a man. One hand strayed to her blouse, feeling for the vial, making sure it was safe. She was still standing indecisively when the man outside knocked on the door. She made a quick decision: better to scare an unsuspecting stranger than be caught unarmed by an enemy. She stood to one side of the door, and unlocked it. "It's open!" she called and brought both the gun and herself up to the "ready" position. Legs apart, knees locked, both hands on the gun, chin up, eyes open. The door opened slowly, and she knew who it was even before he walked into the room. The smell gave him away. A half-smoked Morley between his thumb and forefinger, the Cigarette Smoking Man walked into Scully's motel room. **** Time Unknown Location Unknown The light hurt his eyes, and he wished it would go away. His head hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in darkness and go back to sleep. But the light wouldn't let him. The light and the voices. "Can you hear me?" A man's voice, speaking near his ear. His eyes opened, and he cringed from the bright light shining in his face. "Can you tell me your name?" He strained to make out the face behind the voice, but the light was too bright. There were vague shapes that might be men, but could be anything. His eyes closed again, and the voice said, "Give him a few more minutes." When his senses began working he tried to figure out where he was. He was laying on a bed, it seemed. Something soft, anyway. There was a prickling sensation in his left arm, and with an effort he turned his head. An IV line snaked from his forearm to a point above him that he couldn't see for the light. Something was taped to his chest, irritating the hairs there and he wanted to itch but didn't dare raise his hand, knowing they would stop him if he tried. One of the shadowy figures leaned in close, gaining a face as it did. The man was middle-aged, with a brushy mustache. He spoke again, enunciating carefully. "Can you tell me your name?" Of course he could. "Fox William Mulder." "When were you born?" "October 13, 1961." He was vaguely pleased to be able to answer their questions right. "Do you know where you are?" He looked around slowly, painfully. His head felt like someone had cut it open, filled it with rocks, and sewn it back up. "No," he said. "Are you sure?" This was not the answer they had wanted, and he felt disappointed. Summoning his energy, he tried to cut through the bright light, to see something of the room he was in. There was nothing familiar here, and he sighed. "Yes." "Wait a minute." A different voice. "You're not asking it right. Let me." "Do you know what city you are in?" This was one he knew, and he was glad to answer. "Dayton, Ohio." "Where in Dayton?" "Wright Patterson Air Force Base." "Why did you come here?" For a moment, something flickered in his memory. , but thinking was so hard, it hurt too much. Still he hesitated, unsure if he should answer. "Agent Mulder, answer the question. Why did you come to Wright Patterson Air Force Base?" He gave up the struggle in his mind. It was so much easier just to tell them what they wanted. "I wanted to find the drug." "What drug?" This was the first voice again. "The drug they gave Scully." He couldn't believe they didn't know this. It was all so simple. "What is in that drug, Agent Mulder?" "I don't know." He paused, trying to remember. "It's part alien. Part alien RNA from a virus." "That's it," the second voice whispered. He stayed quiet, knowing they weren't talking to him. "Did you find this drug?" the first voice asked. It sounded tense, with barely concealed excitement. "Yes." Alarms again in his head. There was something here he shouldn't be telling. "Do you have it?" "No." Definite unease now, and his head hurt badly. He turned to look at the IV again. "I hate needles. Can you take this out please?" The shadowy figures withdrew, and were gone for a time. When they came back, one of them reached out for the IV. "Just one more question, Agent Mulder. Who has the drug?" That was an easy one, too. But--but, he shouldn't tell. If he did, something would happen, something...He tried desperately to collect his thoughts, and a jolt of pain shot through his head. He gasped, and tried, but it was so hard... "Agent Mulder, I can take this needle away, but first you have to tell me, who has the drug now?" The voice was low and soothing, and he did want that needle gone, and it was so hard to think, so hard. "Agent Scully. She has it now." He tried to see their faces, to see if they were happy with this answer. "Where is Agent Scully?" "I don't know. She was supposed to go to the hotel. The Camelot Inn." "You heard him. Go." The first voice spoke sharply, then the face leaned in, close to his ear again. Spoke soothingly. "You did very well, Agent Mulder. I'm going to take the needle away now, but first I want to give you a shot of something." Cold and wet, swabbing at his arm. "Please don't. I hate needles." The figures seemed not to hear him and he moaned softly as the needle stabbed him. A stinging sensation as the IV was pulled from his arm, and then retreating footsteps. A door closed, sounding miles away, and the light was suddenly gone. He went gratefully into the blackness. **** Camelot Inn 4:59 p.m. "What do you want from me? What are you doing here?" It was hard for Scully to control the powerful emotions this man aroused in her. Fear, suspicion, mistrust, resentment, but most of all, anger. For too long this man had thwarted them, and probably had laughed as he had done it. Scully resolved that this was one time he would not get in their way. Cancerman regarded her solemnly. He raised his cigarette to his lips and inhaled heavily, all the while watching her carefully with those dark eyes. "What do you want?" Scully cried. Twice before, Mulder had come within a hair of killing this man. Facing him now, Scully could suddenly understand how easy it would be to pull the trigger. "They're coming for you, Agent Scully." He drew on the cigarette again, watching her reaction. "What do you mean? Who's coming for me?" She was suddenly certain that this man knew what had happened to Mulder and Deep Throat; moreover, he would never tell her. "Surely you didn't think you could get away with stealing from the military?" His voice was soft, almost wondering. Scully hated that voice, the one that spoke so pleasantly, but whose words were laced with poison. "What do you know about Mulder? Where is he?" She deliberately refrained from mentioning Deep Throat. Of course this man knew about him, too, but there was no reason to bring that fact into the open. "Does it matter? They have him, and now they're coming for you." "I don't believe you," she spat. All lies, all tricks, this man was a magician with words. He could use them to make you do anything, make you believe anything. Scully was not falling for it. "You should." Dark eyes gleamed. Another deep inhale. "Mulder is the one who told them." Scully's eyes widened and she gasped at the fury that coursed through her veins. He dared to tell her this, and he seemed to enjoy telling her. Oh yes, she was definitely going to kill this man. "You're lying." But the scientist in her refused to let her discount any theories. It was possible that this man was right. "But if they have Mulder, and they made him tell them where I was, it's not his fault." Cancerman smiled, a slight twist of thin lips. She'd responded exactly as he had expected her to. If he had known how loyal she would turn out to be, he would never have chosen her to be assigned to the X-Files. But some things couldn't be undone, no matter how hard you tried. "Do you have the vial?" "No," Scully lied. "But I know where it is." She could see that he didn't believe her, but he seemed to accept her lie. she thought bitterly. "You should leave here, go somewhere else. South of the city, perhaps." He had finished his cigarette, but he continued to hold the filter between his thumb and forefinger. "Why? Why are you telling me this?" She was confused and wary. After all he had done to ruin their investigations, their attempts at finding the truth, she just could not believe he was offering her help. "That drug should never have been made. It should be destroyed, Agent Scully. I would suggest you *find* where you put it, and burn it." Cancerman spoke with unusual passion, and Scully's head reeled with the implications of his words. "Why? Why do you want it destroyed? You were the one who made it in the first place," she insisted. "Or is this simply more destroying evidence that could incriminate you?" "I never wanted it made," Cancerman replied. He paced the length of the room, tossed his used butt in the trash, and fished a new one out of the pack. He lit it as he headed back toward Scully and stopped in front of her. "I would suggest you leave now. Your time is running out." He began walking for the door. Scully let him go until he was in the doorway. Then she cocked her gun, the sound echoing loudly in the silence. "Wait!" Cancerman froze, then turned around. A dark eyebrow arched in her direction, and smoke wreathed his head. "If you're right, where is Mulder? What have they done to him? And how do you know?" She had a thousand more questions, but she had little hope of him answering the ones she had posed. "He'll be fine. But I would not let them know you plan to destroy the drug, or they will probably kill him." The words dropped like boulders into the stillness of the room. Scully hardly noticed as the man left, taking with him the reek of smoke. It *was* Purity Control all over again, she realized despairingly. *They* had Mulder, and they would not let him go until they had what they wanted, which just so happened to be something she possessed. And what of Deep Throat? Probably dead, for certain this time. There would be no help from him. Scully walked unsteadily over to the bed and sank down on its soft surface. How, oh how did her partner continually get intothese situations? Why did she always feel she was running after him, picking up the pieces and cleaning up the messes? And just how the hell was she supposed to save him this time? A car engine turned over out in the parking lot, and she suddenly realized that if Cancerman was right, then she was wasting valuable time just sitting here. She jumped off the bed and grabbed the overnight bag she had not even unpacked and her purse, and in five minutes she was walking quickly across the parking lot, luggage in hand. As she opened the trunk she scanned the street, suspicious of everyone who even glanced her way. Any one of them could be the point man for an ambush. **** Dayton Mall 7:15 p.m. There were two women in front of one of the department stores, each holding clipboards and waylaying any shopper they could get their hands on. Scully sat on the bench in the atrium, watching in amusement as wary shoppers walked out of their way to avoid the women. The trick seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Her amusement evaporated as she realized how ridiculously similar her position was. But instead of solicitors, she spent her time trying to avoid running into and being waylaid by the Consortium. And in her world lack of eye contact wouldn't save her. She'd been at the mall for almost an hour, long enough to remember why she hated these places. But when she'd left the hotel she'd been in a near-panic state, and had gotten onto the highway going south, unconsciously following Cancerman's instructions. At the time she hadn't cared where she went, just as long as she put some distance between herself and the Camelot Inn. When she'd seen the exit surrounded by acres of retail, she'd gotten off the highway, thinking that the abundance of people and cars in the area would make her hard to find. She had parked the car at a nearby gas station and walked over to the mall, at considerable danger to life and limb. The way people drove here! "Excuse me, ma'am." A voice suddenly intruded on her thoughts and she started. A young woman stood in front of her, laden with shopping bags. She looked frazzled, and in a hurry. "Could you tell me what time it is?" Scully looked at her watch. "7:20," she said. The woman thanked her and walked away. Scully's eyes followed her until she couldn't see the lady anymore. Probably she was being paranoid again, but after her unsettling visit from Cancerman she was extremely edgy. She got off the bench and headed down the mall in the opposite direction of the woman. Immediately she decided this had been a bad idea. While sitting in the middle of the mall had afforded her a good look at everyone passing by, walking around gave her a limited view. She had no idea if someone was following her, and it didn't help that there were plenty people following her--all of them ordinary shoppers. she commanded herself. She was beginning to sweat and gaze at everyone suspiciously. She had to get out of the flow of shoppers. She ducked into the first store that offered surcease from the noise and bustle, and breathed a sigh of relief. She took a moment to collect herself, then took a deep breath and turned around. She'd walked into a men's wear store, an obviously upscale one, judging by the racks of suits and ties she saw. She wandered further into the store, allowing herself to relax. There was only one other shopper here, an older man who was looking through winter coats. He couldn't possibly be a threat, and she breathed deep again. Already her flight through the mall was appearing quite ludicrous. "Can I help you find something?" Startled, she looked up to see a salesclerk standing next to her. She tensed, then relaxed as she got a good look at who had spoken to her. He was dark-haired and short and had one hell of a nose. He was wearing the seemingly requisite uniform at this store, a blue shirt, brown pants and a tie. An expensive pen poked out of his breast pocket. Not somebody to fear. "No, I'm just looking, thanks," she answered. "Our ties are on sale, if you need to pick one up for your husband," the clerk offered helpfully. He reached down and picked up a stray tie, folded it and put it back in the display. Hmm, Mulder did have a horrible fashion sense. Maybe this was her chance to set him straight. "Well, my partner could use a new tie or two," she said, smiling. "What colors does he prefer?" The clerk gestured toward a display two rows down. "We have these ties here, which are very popular in Europe." Scully hid a grin. The ties were fluorescent greens and pinks, definitely *not* something the FBI would approve of. "No," she said, "I think something more subdued, more conservative." "Is he a businessman?" the clerk asked. "What kinds of suits would these be coordinating with?" Scully couldn't resist playing with the clerk. He looked as if he hadn't had a date in years. "Actually, he's in government work. Beyond that I can't tell you. It's classified." The clerk stared at her, then looked back at the other employees, who were gathered behind the cash registers. Clearly he was wishing he hadn't been the one to pick her out. But she had to give him credit, he kept on going. "Wellll, we have these over here, if you'd like." He gestured to a tray behind them. Scully was saved from answering by the chirp of her cell phone. The clerk looked surprised, then backed up. "Take your time," he said, then hurried back to the relative safety of the cash register. She turned her back on the racks of ties and hunched over so no one could overhear. "Scully." There was nothing but silence for a few seconds, then the sound of someone breathing. Her heart began to race. The last time she had been on the receiving end of such a call it had been her mother telling her that her father was dead. She gripped the phone tightly, and waited. More breathing, then, "Scully?" Oh, God. "Mulder? Where are you?" There was a muffled sound, a clunk, then another voice spoke. "We know you have the vial, Agent Scully. Bring it to us or your partner dies." A click and the connection was broken. It took a superhuman effort to stand straight, put the phone away without screaming in frustration. She pasted a bright smile on her face, turned around, and left the store. Out in the mall again, she hesitated, unsure of what to do. They had told her to bring them the vial, but what exactly did that mean? Back to the base or an arranged meet? She shook her head, trying to clear her thinking. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin defiantly, and strode through the mall toward the exit. She was halfway there when she was struck by a new realization: Cancerman had been right. He had warned her, and in doing so had saved her life. **** Time Unknown Location Unknown He was in a truck again. Mulder opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. Pain shot through his head and he bit his lip to keep from groaning. For a time he lay still, letting his senses bring him information about his surroundings. He could feel no restraints holding him, nothing that prevented his body from swaying slightly with the rocking motion of the truck. He heard a radio crackle, then a male voice, speaking quietly. He cautiously opened his eyes. Four blurry soldiers in fatigues sat beside him, eyeing him dispassionately. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision and the four soldiers coalesced into two. He licked his lips and swallowed. "Water?" His voice was a hoarse croak. The soldiers didn't even blink. Mulder closed his eyes and tried to calm his churning stomach and pounding head. His thoughts raced. The last thing he clearly remembered was the Air Force colonel taking Deep Throat out of a room filled with soldiers. Oh, God. Deep Throat. Mulder felt a pang of despair, even while he told himself to be realistic. The odds were very good that Deep Throat was dead. Again. The truck jolted over a pothole and Mulder's stomach lurched. Sweat broke out on his brow and he rolled onto his hands and knees. The soldiers both leaned forward. "Stop," he rasped. "I'm gonna be sick." One of the soldiers beat a hand on the grille between the back and the front seat. "Pull over," he called. The truck slowed, then stopped. The soldier who had called out opened the back doors and hopped out onto the blacktop. Mulder crawled over to the doors and attempted to get out of the truck. His head spun sickly and he would have fallen to the pavement, but the soldier grabbed his elbow, steadying him. He had time to notice it was dark out, then he swayed and staggered over to the waist-high weeds on the side of the road. He fell to his knees and was violently ill, retching until there was nothing left. He knelt, head hanging, while the soldier paced restlessly beside him. A glimmer of an idea formed in his mind. He lowered his weight onto his hands and moaned loudly. Beside him, the pacing stopped and from the corner of his eye he saw two booted feet stop next to his hands. He moaned again. "Help me. I can't--" He raised his left hand blindly, seeking help. The soldier grasped his wrist and yanked. Mulder allowed himself to be pulled forwards and upwards. He curled his right hand into a fist and suddenly dug in with his feet, propelling himself forward. His fist caught the soldier squarely in the crotch and the man doubled over with a pained grunt. The action left his jaw exposed and Mulder straightened up quickly. The top of his head connected with the soldier's jaw, flipping him over onto his back. The man twitched once, then was still. Mulder stooped down, grabbed the man's pistol and took off. He ran bent over, trying to stay below the weeds. Away from the faint light provided by the truck's headlights, he would be hard to find, but he had no doubt that the soldiers had a light source in the truck, and his few seconds head start would soon evaporate. The weeds were beginning to thin out, and dark shapes loomed up ahead. Trees. Despite the darkness, he continued to run. At least in the woods he could hide; running through the field he was a sitting duck. He heard shouts behind him, just as the weeds disappeared and he plunged into the woods. Mulder slowed his pace, not wanting to run full tilt into a tree, stumbled over an exposed root and fell heavily to the ground. He lay stunned, his lungs burning, his head beating out a steady rhythm of pain that matched his racing heart. After a while the voices behind him faded, and he heard a metallic thunk. An engine roared and the truck pulled back onto the road. Mulder couldn't believe it. They'd let him get away. His throbbing head suddenly offered up another memory. Voices, coming to him out of the darkness. Something plastic being held in front of his mouth. His own voice. A gasp sounding in his ear, then they'd moved the phone, and someone else was speaking. Something about coming to them, and killing him. Suddenly he knew. They wanted the vial, and they were using him to get to Scully, to make her give it up. They must have been on the way to rendezvous with Scully. She would be planning to give up the vial for him, only when she got there she would be handing over the drug and receiving nothing. The soldiers had obviously decided not to waste their time looking for him. In the long run it didn't matter. He was no longer their problem, and they would still be getting what they wanted. Mulder got painfully to his feet and made his way back to the road. He squinted hard at his watch and decided it read 2:30. There seemed to be no traffic at this time of night and he started walking. Lights shone off in the distance and he headed in that direction. After a couple hundred feet he came to an intersection with a county road. The street sign told him he was on State Route 835. Which was Wright Brothers Parkway, eventually. All he had to do was follow this road until he came to the Camelot Inn. Until he could get to Scully. **** Friendly's Restaurant 1:50 a.m. The restaurant was getting ready to close, and she'd have to find a new hiding place soon. She had stayed at the mall until the shops had closed, then bought a movie ticket for a nameless film. She'd sat at the back of the darkened theater, her gun on her lap, her eyes trained on the doors at the back of the theater. When the movie had ended she had re-holstered her gun and left with the crowd, while the mall closed for good. She'd walked across the road to the gas station and retrieved the rental car, looking for an open restaurant, and eventually came here. An hour later, she was still here. Scully was not so naive as to think that hiding in a crowded place could save her, but she didn't know what else to do. "Here you are, ma'am." Her waitress brought her change, smiled hopefully for a big tip, and left. Scully pocketed the money, leaving a dollar on the table. She'd ordered an ice cream to blend in, and now her stomach was wishing she hadn't. She left the restaurant and got in the car. She sat for a moment, watching couples and families leave the building, then suddenly sat up straight as an ugly thought struck her. Hastily she pulled out the bills she'd gotten back from the waitress, a five and a one. She ripped off the sides, looking for the magnetized strip the Lone Gunmen had shown her so long ago. Satisfied that neither bill was being used to track her, she wadded up the remains, rolled down the window and tossed the ball out into the parking lot. After a moment's thought, she flung the coins out the window, too. Better safe than sorry. She was shaking with fright now, unable to stop herself. All night she had been waiting for the phone call, the one that would tell her where to meet them, where the exchange would take place. All night she had been checking her cell phone to make sure it still worked, unable to believe the continued silence, not understanding why they hadn't contacted her yet. Unless it was all a lie. Scully's eyes narrowed and she stopped trembling as anger swept through her. Of course. Cancerman had lied to her. That "black-lunged son-of-a-bitch" would never willingly tell her the truth. He had lied to her, tried to use her for his own purposes. *They* might have Mulder, but she had the vial. She had what they wanted, and they knew it. So who was in control here? She was. And it was about time they learned it. She turned the car on and pulled out onto the road. Cancerman had contacted her at the motel once before, when it became obvious she was not going to give in to their demands, he would try it again. Only this time she would be waiting for him. **** The Camelot Inn 4:37 a.m. She was behind the motel, waiting, waiting. Scully crouched behind the ice machine, one hand holding her SIG Sauer, the other braced against the side of the machine. The vibrations from the ice maker traveled up her arm, but they were not the reason she was trembling. *He* was coming. He had already come here once, supposedly to warn her, but now he was coming to kill her. He knew she had the vial. He wanted it destroyed. So much the better if he could destroy her, too. There! Footsteps--only one set, he must have come alone. Scully's mouth tightened into a thin line. So he thought she was such an easy target? Thought he could walk in and kill her, just like that? Probably he thought he'd have time to smoke a cigarette, too, before the police came. Well, she would not let him. Scully poked her head out from the ice machine as the footsteps came closer. A dark figure made its way through the parking lot. The man moved slowly, one arm using the back wall of the motel for guidance. She was surprised not to see a small orange glow from a cigarette, then angrily decided that he was undoubtedly waiting until she was dead to light up. In one swift movement she stepped out into the open. "Stop where you are! Put your hands up!" Her voice rang with triumph. The figure came to a halt. Arms were slowly raised. "Scully?" The voice was hoarse and raspy. she thought pitilessly. At least he knew who she was, knew who was going to kill him. "I have what you want. And you're not going to get it, you bastard!" Anger made her voice shake. The figure made a move forward. "I said freeze!" she yelled, and fired. The man was flung back against the wall of the motel, then slowly crumpled to the ground. Scully ran forward, her finger around the trigger, ready to fire again. One of the motel room doors suddenly swung open, spilling light out into the parking lot. Scully immediately spun to her right. The old man who had opened his door at the gunshot started in terror as he saw the same gun now pointed at him. "Get back in your room!" Scully cried. The man scuttled backwards into the room, leaving the door open. She looked back at the still form on the ground. There was a splotch of blood on the wall and she smiled tightly. The man lay on his side, and she lowered herself to one knee, grabbed his arm and prepared to turn him over. He groaned in pain and she tensed. He was still alive! She put her gun to his temple and nearly pulled the trigger, but stopped. No, she wanted him to know who was killing him, wanted him to know he was about to die. Yanking his arm hard, she rolled him over. The man flopped onto his back, and Scully found herself staring into a pair of hazel eyes. "Scully?" Mulder's voice was weak as he stared at her in fear and confusion. He tried to raise one hand and failed. She backed up, her heart suddenly pounding in terror. This wasn't Cancerman! What had she done? She shook her head, her lips moving soundlessly. Panic flooded her and she began trembling violently. Behind her another door opened and a voice called, "What's going on here?" Something in her snapped. Scully shoved the gun into her pocket and ran off into the night. **** END Elixir II: Replay Author's Note: The information about Wright Patterson Air Force Base is as factual as I can obtain. There is indeed a rumor about a building going nine stories underground, although what exactly is down there is anybody's guess. Elixir III: Retrieval by Rebecca Rusnak St. Elizabeth's Hospital Dayton, Ohio February 1, 1997 10:38 a.m. The Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was not a happy man. He never got used to getting a call that one his agents was down. It was bad enough to feel that helpless anger and worry. What made it worse this time was that it was a fellow agent who had done the shooting. An agent who was on the run, and whose whereabouts were unknown. He headed for the nurses station, then glanced up as he heard his name called. "Mr. Skinner?" A white-coated young man walked briskly down the hall towards him. He held a clipboard in one hand and there was a dull maroon bloodstain on his surgical greens. The doctor stopped in front of Skinner and held out a hand. "Mr. Skinner, I'm Dr Tholking." He turned and began walking back in the direction he'd come from. Skinner kept pace with him as they headed down the hall. "One of the paramedics discovered your man's ID, and as the listed next-of-kin could not be reached, it was decided to call the Bureau," Dr. Tholking explained. They turned a corner in the hallway and Skinner sidestepped a gurney. "How did he get here? Who called it in?" "Apparently some salesman was staying at the same motel. He heard the shot and opened his door to investigate. He says he saw a body, and that a woman tried to shoot him and told him to get back in his room. He called 911 from his hotel room phone. When the EMT squad arrived, there was no sign of any woman." Skinner sighed and his lips pressed into a thin line. The doctor stopped abruptly in front of a closed door. He glanced at his clipboard, then gestured at the door. "The bullet got him in the left side. It went straight through, missed his kidney by millimeters. We've done some minor surgery to repair the damage, and unless infection develops he should be fine. He got lucky." Skinner shook his head. How had society gotten to the point where guns and violent shootings were so common that a simple gunshot was classified as "lucky"? He reached for the doorknob. "Thank you," he said, using his most polite, yet dismissive tone of voice. "I can be paged if you need me," Dr. Tholking said, then left. Skinner opened the door, stepped into the room, and closed it behind him. The man in the bed stirred at the sudden noise, and his eyes fluttered open. Eyes dark with pain and drugs focused on Skinner, then scanned the room. Skinner stepped forward. "She's not here, Agent Mulder." **** Atlanta, Georgia Hartsfield Airport 11:21 a.m. Marilyn Latham was an experienced traveler. Twenty years as a flight attendant for Delta had taught her how to pack efficiently, how to negotiate strange airports, and how to be as comfortable as possible on airplanes. She also knew almost instantly how to spot the fellow passenger who would be cooperative, and the one who would cause trouble. Marilyn thought that the petite redhead next to her was a prime candidate for the latter category. The woman was curled up on two chairs in Gate 32, currently sleeping. Marilyn had arrived an hour early for her flight, which left from this gate, and the woman had been here sleeping. Her flight was now in its second hour of being delayed, and the woman still slept on, oblivious to the noise all around her. Marilyn watched the woman with undisguised curiosity. She was dressed too well to be one of Atlanta's homeless, trying to get some sleep in a warm place. She had a purse between her body and the back of the chair, and was using a small overnight bag as a pillow. She *looked* merely like a traveler taking advantage of a layover to catch up on some rest, but something made Marilyn doubt it. Maybe it was the woman's pallor, and the way her face was set in tense lines even in sleep. Her eyelids twitched violently as she dreamed, and a strand of copper hair fell against her cheek. The woman moaned in her sleep, and muttered something. "Mother," maybe. Marilyn leaned in, ready to calm the woman down, if need be. The woman stirred on the uncomfortable seats, and her hand reflexively grabbed at her purse. She inhaled sharply, and suddenly sat upright. Blue eyes flickered wildly around the room, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Marilyn put her hand on the young woman's arm. "Honey, you're okay," she said soothingly. "It was just a dream, and now it's over." The woman's head snapped to the left. She stared at Marilyn for a moment, then her gaze dropped to the hand on her arm. "Get your hands off me," she hissed, jerking her arm away. "Miss, you just had a bad dream," Marilyn continued calmly. She stood up as the red-haired woman got to her feet. She reached out again a placating hand. To her astonishment the younger woman cocked back her fist, then struck her. Marilyn fell backwards into a chair, her face flaming. "I told you to leave me alone!" the woman hollered. She scooped up her bag and purse, and ran off down the terminal, leaving Marilyn sprawled in the chair. **** 6:16 p.m. 900 W. Georgia St. Washington D.C. He sat back in the old armchair, slowly inhaling. Few things in life were as satisfying as a cigarette after a good meal. In front of him the TV blared the day's new--nothing he didn't already know. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. He'd flown in to Dulles from Dayton last night, and had little chance to sleep since. It had been another long day. Manipulating information, manipulating people. He felt like a master puppeteer, controlling both people and ideas. Sometimes he idly wondered when he would finally trip up in his own wires. He was not naive enough to think that day would never come. He just hoped he'd be able to pick himself up after the fall and not find any of the strings attached to *him.* With a small regret he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table next to him. He really shouldn't have moved back here, but the irony was just too great to pass up. He had been forced to move, of course, after Fox Mulder had surprised him here. An interesting encounter, that. The horrified look in the young FBI agent's eyes still made him chuckle. But he had had to ensure that there would be no more surprise visits from his favorite agents. Yet sitting in his new apartment he had continually expected the hand to fall on his shoulder, to hear the creak of the floorboards. The sheer tension had gotten to him, making more irritable than usual, and he had jumped at the chance to move back here. Not even Skinner would think to look for him here twice. He lit a new cigarette and was beginning to consider working on his new novel when the phone rang. He eyed it with distaste for a moment, then noticed it was his private line. A number very few people had. "Yes?" Curious. Who could it be? The man on the other end cleared his throat. "There is a situation," he said. The smoking man felt a cold smile cross his face. So, the turncoat needed his help. "Oh?" He exhaled into the phone. "What might that be?" "Don't give me that crap!" The man's voice was harsh. He wondered if the man knew they referred to him by a rather runflattering name, either way you looked at it. Prostitute or traitor. He supposed time would tell which one this man was. "I am aware of many situations," he said evenly. "There is a problem with Mulder and Scully," the man said. "It cannot be allowed to continue." He inhaled deeply, taking in the smoke. "Yes, I know. She will, of course, have to be found." It was a shame, really. He had not been lying on that long ago day to Mulder. Now he would have to send out men to find her. And if that didn't kill her, she'd be institutionalized, and spend the rest of her life in a very small, padded room. The other man spoke urgently. "Let me do it. I can find her and bring her safely back. Her and the vial." The man paused, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Even after three years of renewed loyalty to the cause and the Project, he distrusted this other man. The pain and shock of his betrayal could sometimes seem as fresh as if it had just happened yesterday. "Let me," the man insisted. "Mulder trusts me. I can do this far better than anyone else could." The man had a good point. "Yes, I believe you could. See what you can do." The man Mulder and Scully knew as Deep Throat let out his breath in relief. "It will be a few days--" he began. "We don't have a few days!" the smoker snapped. "I need that vial destroyed." "All right. But you have to give me time before you send in your men." "What makes you think I would do that?" The other man chuckled. "I know you too well, old friend. Just give me some time. You'll get both Agent Scully and your drug." "I'll be waiting." He hung up the phone and smiled. **** St. Elizabeth's Hospital 8:32 p.m. God, he hated hospitals. He hated the needles, catheters, IVs. He hated the bland food and fuzzy TV reception. But mostly, he decided he hated cheerful nurses who insisted on speaking to him like he was four years old. "You need to take these, Fox, so they can help you," the pretty young nurse was saying. White capsules clicked in her hand as she rolled them about. She had a pleading look on her face, but Mulder wasn't fooled. The nurses who pouted were the ones to look out for, he knew from past experience. "Look," he said, for what had to be the hundredth time. "I don't want to take any more drugs, okay?" "Fox, I know you're hurting, and these will help," the nurse said, holding them out like a sacrificial offering. "All right, fine." He held out his hand and was rewarded with a beaming smile from the nurse as she handed him the pills and a cup of water. He put the pills in his mouth, swallowed a bit of water, and gave her the cup back. "See, now that wasn't bad, was it?" the nurse said brightly. She ruffled his hair and left the room. As soon as he was sure she wasn't coming back Mulder spit the pills out into his hand. He grabbed a Kleenex from the table beside the bed and wrapped up the evidence of his defiance, then dropped the wadded tissue into the trashcan. The nurse was right, of course, Taking the medication would help ease the pain in his side, but it would also dull his mind, and right now he needed to be able to think clearly. Somewhere out there was his partner, Dana Scully, and she needed his help. But first he needed to find her. Mulder's memories of last night were hazy at best. He could remember staggering through the motel parking lot, going around to the back. Could remember Scully yelling something at him, then the hot pain in his side and he knew he was shot, and then, nothing. The EMT's had all reported the same thing: no signs of any woman in the parking lot. The rental car was gone, and none of Scully's belongings remained in the motel room. It was as if she had vanished--vanished without a trace. Except that was impossible. Scully was out there somewhere, and it was up to him to find her. Skinner had wasted no time in getting Scully's description out on the wire, and against Mulder's protests, had added that she was armed and dangerous. They had all been through this once before--the quietly desperate search for Scully. It had been hell the first time around, and Mulder had no doubt that this current search would be just as grueling and difficult. It made no difference that this time, as before, Scully was not responsible for her own actions. She was still considered dangerous, and therefore had to be found soon, at any cost. The question was: who else was looking for her? Mulder shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to lay in. The pain in his side was a nagging constant, and he was beginning to think he should have taken his medication. For a moment he eyed the call button next to him wistfully, then looked determinedly away. No, not yet. First he had "find" Scully. A call from Skinner had established that her mother knew nothing. Margaret Scully had promised to let them know if she heard anything from Dana, and Mulder thought she was worried enough to keep that promise, even if it meant alienating her daughter. Surveillance teams were watching both her apartment and his, on the off chance that she would show up there. The hotel was also being watched, although no one believed she would return. With all the obvious bases covered, it was time to consider some "extreme possibilities." He closed his eyes and called up the image in his mind. Scully, standing horrified over his body, still holding the gun. The man comes out of his motel room, and calls out. Scully runs. This much they knew. Now what? He just didn't know. **** Hartsfield Int'l Airport 11:21 p.m. Blue high heels clicked on the cold restroom tile as the woman crossed to the sink. She washed her hands and pulled a makeup bag out of her purse. With a practiced hand she touched up her cheeks and eyes, pursed her lips and reapplied color. She put away the makeup and glanced at her image in the mirror. Satisfied, she left. She never noticed the red-headed woman huddled in the corner stall. **** St. Elizabeth's Hospital 1:02 a.m. The click of the door closing woke Mulder and his eyes snapped open. His hand moved toward his hip automatically, reaching for a gun that wasn't there. A dark figure stood before the door, not quite blending into the shadows of the room. Too big to be a nurse. Mulder sat up, ignoring the ache in his side, and grabbed for the call button. Cautious but curious, he poised his thumb over the button but stopped short of pressing it. The man came forward slowly, quietly. When he reached the side of the bed, Mulder relaxed. He dropped the call button. "I thought visiting hours ended at eight," he quipped. His visitor shot a searching glance around the room, then looked at Mulder. "Get dressed," he said. Mulder gaped at the older man, sure he had heard wrong. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Deep Throat did not look amused. "We haven't much time. Now get dressed and come with me." "Where?" "To find Scully, of course." He spoke as if Mulder had a hearing problem, enunciating each word carefully. "You know where she is?" "Yes," the man said impatiently. "But we have to move quickly." Mulder sat up, turning to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He gathered his strength, and stood up on shaky legs. "Where is she?" "We've traced her to Atlanta. Apparently she drove to Cincinnati, then took a plane to Atlanta. We think she's still at the airport," Deep Throat replied. Atlanta. What was in that city to draw Scully? Why go there? Unless, in her haste to get as far from Dayton as possible, she had merely hopped aboard any flight that left soon after her arrival at the airport. Did it matter? Mulder shook himself angrily. They were wasting time while he stood around. Suddenly he realized that he was in no condition to go anywhere, dressed as he was. He grinned at Deep Throat. "I hope you brought me some clothes. Airports can be rather drafty places." He gestured at his flimsy hospital gown. The older man turned and walked over to the door to the room. He bent down and retrieved a knapsack and carried it over. "I got these from your motel room." Mulder pulled out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and his dark blue V-neck sweater. A pair of boxers, socks and his sneakers. He looked up at Deep Throat. "I don't suppose you found my gun?" he asked hopefully. Deep Throat pulled back his suit jacket, exposing the Sig Sauer in the holster strapped around his waist. "I thought I could hide it better if I wore it." Mulder nodded, already occupied with how the hell he was going to get into his clothes. His side was letting him know in no uncertain terms that it didn't like this idea of standing up, and he doubted he could raise his left arm high enough to brush his hair, let alone pull on a shirt. Deep Throat noticed his dilemma. He glanced back at the door, then again at Mulder. "I'm going to check that no one knows we're leaving who shouldn't." When he was gone Mulder sank back onto the bed. Well, there was nothing for it. His clothes wouldn't do the work for him. For a second he grinned, thinking of the animated brooms in "Fantasia." If only he could enliven his clothes... He managed to dress the lower half of his body without incident, then sat for a moment collecting himself. He reached up behind him with his right hand and undid the knot that kept the hospital gown together. He leaned forward and let the thin material flutter to the floor. Then, curious, he looked down at his left side. White bandages stood out sharply against his skin, and did not quite hide the blue and purple bruising around the whole area. Looking at the injury seemed to intensify the pain, and he forced himself to look away. Gotta finish dressing.. He took a deep breath and painfully pulled on the shirt and sweater with only a minimum of moaning. He had been tempted to leave the sweater, but it was still February, he had to remember. Undoubtedly he would be grateful later for its extra warmth. After all, it had served him well enough in the Icy Cape, why not in Atlanta? By the time Deep Throat came back he was dressed and ready. The older man looked at him sharply, taking in his pale face, covered with a fine sheen of sweat, but said nothing. The urgency of their mission precluded wasting any more time. Deep Throat unstrapped the holster from around his hips and handed it out. Mulder pulled his gun out and jammed it into the waistband of his jeans. No way could he strap on that holster. He tossed it on the bed, where it would be quickly found. "Tell them you are checking yourself out," Deep Throat said as they left the room. Mulder walked unsteadily and only pride kept him from leaning on the other man for support. "They'll call Skinner," he said through clenched teeth. "Yes, but we'll be long gone by then," came the calm reply. The nurse on duty looked up in alarm as they came abreast of the nurses's station. "Sir, you shouldn't be--" "Sorry I couldn't stay," Mulder said. "But don't worry, I'll be sure to recommend you to all my friends," he offered over his shoulder as he and Deep Throat kept walking. "Sir! Wait! You need--" Mulder didn't glance back as he left the hospital. **** Hartsfield Int'l Airport Concourse D 1:49 a.m. She walked through the terminal, eying the people with envy. They waited for loved ones to arrive, for loved ones to depart, for someone to bring them news of loved ones. She thought bitterly that at least they all *had* someone they loved. Her? She had shot and probably killed the only man she loved. And wasn't that a happy thought? A sob escaped her lips but she didn't stop walking. If she stopped, they might catch up to her. She was so afraid, so alone. Hunger had forced her out of her hiding place, only for her to discover that she could not appease that need. She had no money for food, so she had resigned herself to walking endlessly up and down the terminal. Laughter to her right snapped her head around, and Scully felt tears sting her eyes as she watched a happy couple embrace. Had she ever been that happy? Had she ever felt the warmth of a lover's embrace? The answer, of course, was no. And she was not likely to feel either of those things ever again. The world had turned against her, and there would be no happiness for Dana Scully again. An empty gate loomed up on her left, and she wandered over to one of the black vinyl chairs. Her eyes scanned the gate area sharply, looking for shadowy figures that could be any of *them*, but found nothing. Wearily she sat down and forced herself to try and think of a way out. She had no money, nothing to buy a plane ticket with, rent a car with, pay a taxi fare with, or even buy food with. She could not use a credit card or ATM card without *them* being tipped off as to her location. A check was similarly traceable, and she shuddered slightly, remembering the Lone Gunmen demonstrating one day that paper money was traceable, too. Which left her two options. Stay here wandering in the Atlanta airport, or use her gun and rob somebody. Earlier in the day staying in the airport had seemed preferable, but she was so hungry now. Only the realization that robbing someone was a sure-fire way to get her picture in the paper was stopping her now. So, now what? Scully refused to give in. *They* would not get her, no sir. She had shot Mulder, and that was regrettable, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Her current situation was much more important. She needed money, and bad. Begging for it would not work, as she had watched how the Atlanta Police and Airport Security promptly dispatched anyone trying such a thing. Apparently the city was trying to upgrade its image, which was admirable, but it effectively put Scully in a bad spot. A security guard was heading her way, and Scully quickly drew her boarding pass out of her purse, pretending to study it. The guard would never be able to tell it was already used. He passed her by, and she let out her breath in a rush. Still, it was a reminder. If she stayed in one place they would find her. Scully stood up and headed down the terminal again. **** St. Elizabeth's Hospital Dayton, Ohio 2:01 a.m. "What do you mean, he checked himself out? Less than twenty-four hours ago this man was in surgery for a gun shot, and you're telling me you just let him walk out?" Part of Walter Skinner was glad Mulder wasn't around right now, or he would have flayed the agent alive. As it was, the young nurse before him was practically cowering beneath his anger. "Sir, I don't know what to tell you. Mr. Mulder was capable of making his own decisions--" "And God forbid any of you interfere for fear of getting sued," Skinner snapped. The nurse reddened but said nothing in response. Skinner looked away in disgust and made a mental note to handcuff Mulder to the bed the next time he landed in the hospital. *If* there was a next time. Right now the AD was mad enough to fire his wayward agent, and to hell with the consequences. >From the corner of his eye he saw the nurse look up, and he sighed. Taking a different tack, he tried to sweet-talk the nurse. "Look, I know you must be busy, but did you happen to notice if Mulder was with anyone, or if he mentioned where he was going?" The nurse nodded, more confident now. "Yes, sir. He was with an older gentleman. But they didn't say where they were going." Skinner frowned with sudden suspicion. "What did this older gentleman look like?" "He had dark hair, going gray," the nurse replied. "He seemed well dressed, too. I'd say he was in his sixties, but he seemed in good health." It was a vague description. Could be Cancerman, could be anyone. And dammit, they were still no closer to finding Scully. No rental car place, no airport within 100 miles reported seeing a young, red-haired woman. Margaret Scully, frantic with worry, had reluctantly been talked into staying at her house, on the off chance that Dana showed up there. The surveillance teams in DC reported nothing. And now the best chance they had of finding Dana Scully had just walked out of a hospital and vanished, too. **** Hartsfield Int'l Airport Concourse A 3:52 a.m. The dozen or so passengers straggled off the plane and into Gate 12. Mulder watched them head off for various destinations, stifling a yawn. He had managed to get some fitful sleep on the flight to Atlanta, but the events of the past day were beginning to catch up to him with a vengeance, and he was exhausted. Deep Throat began walking down the terminal and Mulder hurried up to him. "Where are we looking?" he asked. "How do we know she's still here?" "Because I would know it if she had left." "How?" The older man stopped walking and cocked his head in the fashion Mulder remembered from earlier days. "Does it matter how I know? What matters is that Scully is here and she needs our help." "How did you know she was here?" Mulder asked. "Do you remember me telling you about the man who shot his postman, Mr. Mulder? Do you know how they found this man?" Deep Throat paused for effect. "A young housewife found him hiding in her bushes, shaking with fear, forty minutes after neighbors saw him commit the murder. This woman lived five miles from the killer's house." "I don't understand," Mulder said. "What are you saying?" "Panic, Mr. Mulder. It's a very basic reaction in all of us, and even more so in psychotics. That man who killed his postman ran five miles on foot in just over half an hour." "But that's not possible. You'd have to be an Olympic athlete to do that." "Or suffering from drug-induced psychosis." Mulder stared at Deep Throat. "You're still not telling me anything here. What does this have to do with Scully?" Deep Throat gave him an exasperated look. "Don't you see? Scully is going through the same reactions this man did. When she shot you she panicked. She did the first thing she could think of; she went to the airport and took a flight out of Ohio. Anything to get away. And in her panic to flee, she made a mistake." "She used her credit card." He saw it now. It seemed awfully easy. "So why doesn't the Bureau have men down here already?" Skinner would be doing everything in his power to get Scully back safely. Mulder found it hard to believe that the AD hadn't discovered this information. Deep Throat looked down, an uneasy look crossing his face. "You kept it from them, didn't you?" Mulder asked, disbelieving. His informant looked up again. "She has something we need, Mr. Mulder. It is vital that we obtain it first." "The vial." "Yes. As long as she has it, Scully will remain a target." "A target for who?" The words struck terror into his heart. Once before Scully had held a piece of something vital, something they didn't want her to have, and the price for holding that had been three months of her life. What would they ask for this time? "Target for who?" he repeated. "Who wants it?" A hint of dark amusement lit Deep Throat's eyes. "I believe you know him already." "Cancerman." "Yes. But he wants the drug destroyed, too. That's why he wants it. He won't hurt Scully unless he has to." "What do you mean, *he* won't? He sent you to get her, didn't he?" The fear within him was growing. Could it be his informant, the only man he had trusted besides Scully, had turned on him? Was Deep Throat really sent to kill Scully? Then why bother getting him out of the hospital? The other man wouldn't look at him, and Mulder knew he had hit on something. "You never told me how it was you kept them from killing you," he said, afraid of the answer. Afraid he was trusting the wrong person. Again. Deep Throat stared at a spot over Mulder's shoulder. "Killing me would have meant losing too much ground. I know things, I have seen things important enough to keep me alive. They knew it, and I knew it. Once I had been made to see the 'error of my ways,' renewed loyalty to the Project came easy." "You knew the other man who helped me. You let them kill him." Oh, God, the lies and half-truths. The way these people used others! He would never forget the pictures of Mr. X lying in his own blood. X, who had believed Deep Throat to be dead. The lies ran deep with this group. Too deep. "How do I know you're telling me the truth now?" Mulder asked. Deep Throat looked at him shrewdly. "You don't," he said softly. He walked forward a few paces, then stopped. He stared at Mulder. "But I'm the only one who can help you find Scully." Mulder watched him walk away. He felt nearly torn in two by his conflicting emotions. On one hand he wanted to turn his back on Deep Throat and his tangle of lies and truths. He was too tired to sort through them all and pick out which truths were real, and which ones were fabricated. Yet he doubted he could find Scully without Deep Throat. The man still had his uncanny knack for ferreting out information, and if Scully was still in the airport, Mulder knew the other man would find her. Deep Throat had stopped, and was watching him with dark eyes, waiting to see what he would do. Mulder continued to stand, indecisive, and then he heard Scully's voice. Could he do anything less than that for her? **** Hartsfield Int'l Airport Concourse D 5:01 a.m. Scully jerked in surprise as a recorded announcement let travelers know that the electric trams were now running between concourses. For hours she had been walking up and down the concourse, head down, eyes scanning the ground for loose change. She had managed to collect forty cents so far, which was still not enough to buy even a cup of coffee. There might be loose money on the floor of the tram, and even if there wasn't, she could take it to another concourse and start looking there. She left the gate she was in and began walking towards the tram entrances. A flashing sign told her there was a minute until the tram arrived, and Scully sighed, rocking back and forth on her heels impatiently. A few people walked by her, and she eyed them suspiciously. The longer she was here, the better the odds got that someone would find her, she knew. she urged the tram mentally. A crackle and hiss of a radio near her suddenly caught her attention. A member of airport security stood off to the left, near the escalators carrying travelers to the terminal, speaking into his radio. He was looking right at her. Terror overwhelmed her, and Scully closed her eyes and turned away, hoping the security guard hadn't seen her panicked reaction. She could hear the tram approaching now, and she clutched her purse tightly, sweaty fingers digging into the fabric. Behind her the security guard started moving forward. The tram arrived, and the pneumatic doors opened. Scully leaped forward, onto the car, moving to the back of the car, out of sight of the guard. She frantically unzipped her purse and put her hand inside, feeling the reassuring metal of her gun. If the guard tried to follow her... But nobody else got on the tram, and the doors closed. With a whoosh, the train began moving. **** Concourse A 5:05 a.m. "They've got her," Deep Throat said. "What?" Mulder shook his head to clear the cobwebs. For an hour he had been laying on the hard chairs of Gate 8, trying to sleep. Deep Throat had informed Airport Security of the target of their search letting them do the dirty work. Which was just fine with Mulder. His side was hurting badly now, and he doubted he could have walked much, anyway. "A member of Airport Security saw Scully getting on a tram in Concourse D. She's heading in this direction." Mulder sat up painfully, pressing his hand to his side. "Did he try to approach her?" "No, but he says she saw him. He said she seemed nervous and jumpy." "All right. So what do we do now?" "We wait for her." Deep Throat began walking towards where the tram exited. He turned around and frowned when he saw that Mulder wasn't coming. "We have to hurry, Mr. Mulder. We need to get to her before anyone else does." He was right, of course. Still Mulder hesitated. Faintly he could hear the approaching tram. Deep Throat gave him a penetrating look, then turned his back and walked towards the tram entrances. Seeing his informant was about to go it on his own jolted Mulder out of his funk, and he quickly stood up. Instantly he bent over in pain, breathing shallowly. The noise of the tram was getting louder, and only the knowledge that Deep Throat would get on it and leave him alone got him moving. The tram arrived and the doors wheezed open. Deep Throat peered inside, then turned back to Mulder. "She's here," he whispered, urgency written on his face. Mulder forced himself to walk faster, his arm pressed against his side. He reached the tram just as the doors began to slide closed, and Deep Throat grabbed his elbow and yanked him into the tram with him. Not a moment too soon. The doors shut and the tram started moving. Startled by the abrupt forward motion Mulder was jolted off his feet. He fell hard to the floor, twisting desperately so as not to land on his injured side. He landed heavily on his back at the same time the scream sounded behind him. Terror gave him strength and Mulder got to his feet with a speed he wouldn't have believed possible five minutes earlier, oblivious to the pain that ripped through his side at the sudden movement. All his attention was focused on the back of the car. Scully was here, all right. At least in body, if not in spirit. She was curled up in the corner of the car, her face deathly white, her eyes wide with fright. Her purse and overnight bag were on the floor next to her. The purse was open, its contents spilled out all over. In shaking hands, Scully held her gun out. Her eyes gave no sign of recognizing him. "Scully, it's okay. Everything's okay now." He kept his voice soothing, trying to appeal to her. "Get away from me!" she screamed. "I'll shoot!" Deep Throat glanced at him. Mulder remembered what the older man had said about panic. There was no doubt it was the controlling force in Scully right now. "We want to help you, Scully. We're not here to hurt you." That was it, try to make her see they were on her side. Scully was not buying it. "Liar!" The gun wobbled in her hands, and she swallowed hard and brought her hands under control. The recorded announcement on the tram declared they were pulling into Terminal T, and the car began to slow. Mulder braced himself, and leaned forward slightly. "Scully, please trust me." Her eyes darkened, and an uncertain expression crossed her face. Encouraged, Mulder held out his hand. "Scully, it's me. Please trust me," he repeated. The tram came to an abrupt halt, and the doors opened. For a moment Scully's eyes left Mulder as she glanced at the doors. To Mulder's horror Deep Throat suddenly lunged forward, knocking Scully to the floor. "No!" Mulder cried out as Scully fell backwards. She screamed, and Mulder cringed as her gun went off, the bullet plowing into the ceiling. Deep Throat grabbed Scully's wrists and held them over her head. She screamed again and struggled wildly beneath him, kicking and writhing. Mulder could only stare as Scully continued to struggle. Deep Throat kept one hand on her wrists, preventing her from firing again, and clung to her waist. The effect was to pull Scully's blouse tightly against her body, and Mulder's eyes widened as he suddenly saw the outline of the vial under her breast. Deep Throat saw it, too. "Get the vial!" he ordered tensely, still holding Scully down. Mulder ran forward, dropping to his knees in front of Scully. There was no reasoning with her now, he could see. Taking a deep breath and hoping she would not remember this, he reached inside her blouse. His fingers found the vial, tucked inside her bra, and he hesitated only a second before reaching in for it. Scully screamed again, and tried to twist away from him. Quickly he grabbed the small vial and pocketed it. Scully kicked out at him, and her foot connected with his thigh, narrowly missing the vial. Mulder stood up hurriedly, trying to get out of range. He took a hasty step backward, and his head spun sickly, the tram car spinning around him. Pain ripped through his side, and he could feel the sticky wetness that told him the wound had re-opened. He tried to take another step back, and the world suddenly tilted, and he slid bonelessly to the floor. **** Dayton, Ohio 5:40 a.m. The chirp of his cell phone startled Walter Skinner. He had found himself unable to sleep, pacing back and forth with restless energy. His thoughts were continually racing, trying to discern the whereabouts of not one but two of his agents, and his frustration level was at its highest when the phone rang. "What?" he barked, praying it would be good news. "Care to buy a magazine subscription, sir? I can get you a good rate on _Discover_ if you'd like." Mulder. Being his usual smart-ass self. Then his words sank in. "What have you found, Agent Mulder?" "Agent Scully, sir. She's okay for now, sleeping. But I need your help." "Wait a minute. Where did you find her?" "In the Atlanta airport. We've got her sedated now, in the airport security office, but she needs help, sir. I need--" Skinner cut him off. "We? Who are you with, Agent Mulder?" He said a silent prayer it wasn't that smoking bastard. "Ah, I can't say that, sir. But he has helped me before. He's the one who knew where Scully was." Skinner sighed. Mulder had pulled this 'confidential source' crap before, and the AD knew from experience that this was all he would get out of Mulder on the subject. "All right. What do you need?" "A safe house, in DC. Somewhere we can bring Scully to so she can recover from...all this. She's been through a lot." There was a slight catch to Mulder's voice, revealing just a little of the depth of his feelings over this incident. Skinner decided right then and there to change the subject, not wanting to go any further down this road. "I can arrange something for you. Call me back in an hour." "Thank you, sir." The connection was broken. Skinner turned his phone off and looked at it for a minute. He'd never felt like he understood those two, and he doubted this experience would help any. **** Safe House Washington, DC Jan. 31, 1997 2:43 p.m. "What do you mean, it's not enough?" Deep Throat sighed in exasperation. "I already told you, Mr. Mulder. The amount contained in that vial may not be enough to save Scully." He couldn't believe it. Not after all they had gone through, to be told there was a chance to save Scully, only to have that chance be a slim hope at best. It was just...well, it wasn't fair. Mulder looked at Scully, glad she couldn't hear what was being said about her. She lay in a wide bed, coppery hair spread out on the pillow. Dark circles underscored her closed eyes, and her face was paler than usual. The sight reminded him of the time she'd lain in a coma, after her disappearance. Only this time instead of sitting around helplessly, he could *do* something for her. "Tell me again how this works," he said sharply, looking up at Deep Throat. The older man stood by the window, watching the two of them. Mulder sat in a chair by Scully's side, unwilling to leave her for even a moment, and, he thought ruefully, he wasn't physically in any shape to be going anywhere anytime soon. So it looked like he was staying put. Deep Throat indicated the vial, lying on the nightstand next to Scully's bed. "What's in that vial is the only thing that can bring Scully back," he said. He'd heard it before, but Mulder still shook his head. "I don't understand how that's possible. "How good are you at math, Mr. Mulder?" It was a rhetorical question and Mulder didn't bother trying to answer. "Remember back to your high school algebra classes. What's the first step in solving an algebraic equation?" "Isolate the variable," Mulder replied. Deep Throat walked over to the bed and pointed to Scully. "Your variable." "Cut the crap and just tell me," Mulder said angrily. He was in no mood for mind games tonight. Tonight he just wanted answers. "Don't you see? *How* do you isolate the variable?" Deep Throat paused, then answered his own question. "By canceling out the other factors." He picked up the vial, the blue liquid sloshing around. "Your factor." Deep Throat's earlier explanation was beginning to make sense. "So you're saying we have to use the contents of that vial to 'cancel out' the drug that's already in Scully." It was a terrifying prospect, and not one that Mulder wanted to consider. "Why do you think it was so important to get this?" Deep Throat asked, holding up the vial. "You knew," Mulder said dully. "You knew we'd need it." "I suspected as much, yes. Even if Scully hadn't shown any side effects we still would have needed it. To destroy it." Mulder looked down again at Scully, sleeping a dreamless, sedative-induced sleep. She was dependent on him to save her, and God help him, he didn't know if he could. "Will it work?" He couldn't look up as he said it. "Yes, it should. As I told you, I don't think this dosage will be enough. Scully is small enough that it may work, but the times I have seen it used successfully required a larger dosage than this." Mulder was silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke his voice was hoarse. "I need some time to think about this." Deep Throat nodded. "I'll be downstairs." He left, closing the door softly behind him. After he was gone Mulder sat still, watching Scully's even breathing. Eventually he raised his eyes and gazed at the vial lying on the nightstand. Did he dare do this to Scully? Did he have the courage *not* to? He obviously could not sit back and do nothing. Without intervention Scully's psychosis would only grow, until she was spending the rest of her days in a padded cell, in a drugged stupor. So something had to be done. The question was: what was the right thing to do? If the amount contained in the vial was not enough, he would single-handedly be responsible for sending Scully over the edge, into insanity. Thre was no way could he live with *that* on his conscience, no way he could even see living at all if that happened. If Scully woke up screaming, he would..he would...best to not think about that. Yet, if it worked...The nightmare would be over, and there would be no lasting side effects, except for whatever horrors would haunt their sleep at night. Mulder knew he would never forget the look of terror and confusion on Scully's face when she had realized she'd shot him, but he would gladly see that face over and over again in his nightmares if it meant having her back again. He closed his eyes in defeat. There really was no choice. He simply could not deny Scully the one chance she had. When Deep Throat came back some time later, Mulder only looked at him and nodded. **** They talked quietly while they waited for her to wake up. Mulder had convinced Skinner to leave the safe house unguarded, so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Any visitors were forbidden, and communications were to be kept to a minimum. They had been guaranteed an unlimited time here, but if all worked out, Mulder thought by morning they would be gone. They talked of inconsequential things: the basketball season, the weather, the OJ trial. Nothing serious. Until Mulder finally pointed to the now-empty vial and asked, "What happens now?" Deep Throat did not pretend to misunderstand him. "I report that the drug has been destroyed. You and Scully go on being a thorn in our side. Life goes on." Mulder stared at him for a minute. "You don't really believe that, do you?" Deep Throat gave him a strange look, then he chuckled. "Contrary to your beliefs, Mr. Mulder, not everything revolves around you and the X-Files." Mulder sat up so sharply he gasped in pain and fell back against the chair. "Dammit!" he panted. "You know that's not what I meant." The older man stopped smiling. "Yes, I know. But what do you want me to say? I can't see the future, any more than you can. But yes, I do believe that is what will happen." "In other words, nothing." Deep Throat nodded. "Did you expect any different?" Mulder sighed. "Just once, to have some evidence..." He didn't bother finishing the sentence. "You might want to consider how well-off you are *not* having any evidence, Mr. Mulder," Deep Throat said, with a significant look. Mulder ignored that comment and looked at Scully. His heart leaped in his chest when he saw her eyelids moving. A veteran of many hospital stays, he knew that was a sign of returning consciousness. Deep Throat saw it, too, and he moved back, where Scully would not be able to see him. Mulder leaned forward with a wince, and took Scully's limp hand in his. He squeezed it softly and called her name. Blue eyes slowly fluttered open and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Scully? Can you hear me?" He pressed her hand again. Her hand moved in his, and her head slowly turned. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus her eyes. Mulder felt a cautious hope. If she had not tried to pull away yet, it could mean she was all right. Or it could simply mean she was still too out of it to do anything. "Mulder?" Her voice was a thin whisper, but there was no hiding the incredulous look in those blue eyes. "I thought--" He gave her a small smile. "Can't keep me down for long, Scully. You ought to know that by now." Instead of smiling back a stricken look crossed her face. "Oh, God. I hoped it was just a dream, or a..a..." "Hey, it's okay. You're okay now," he said gently. "Everything's all right now." Scully's head moved as she tried to see where she was. Tired by just that simple action, her eyes slid closed again. "Get some sleep, Scully. We can talk later," he told her. She nodded, a barely perceptible movement, then was asleep. Mulder reached up and stroked her cheek, feeling bold enough to touch her now that she was asleep. The tears in his eyes belied the joyous smile on his face. **** J. Edgar Hoover Bldg. Feb. 7, 1997 7:45 a.m. Her heels clicked loudly as Dana Scully walked down the hall to her basement office. Skinner had told her to take as much time as she needed, but after a week of talk shows and soap operas, she had had enough. It was time to come back to work. Light showed under the crack at the bottom of the door and she shook her head. After taking her home from the safe house Mulder had reluctantly allowed himself to be re-admitted to the hospital. The wound in his side had been stitched up again and after two days of putting up with his complaining, they had released him on the fourth of February. He'd spent the weekend supposedly resting, as she had done. She wasn't surprised to find him here, but felt slightly disconcerted. She had not seen him since February first, the day she'd left the safe house. Time enough to formulate the necessary apologies, to erect the emotional barriers again, but she was still hesitant to enter the office. Her musings were interrupted as the door suddenly swung open, and Mulder strode out, coffee cup in hand. He stopped when he saw her, and for a moment they stared at each other. Then he smiled. "Welcome back, Annie Oakley." She frowned, but could not keep the stern expression, and burst into laughter. She went into the office and put down her briefcase at her desk, then took a long look around. During her week at home, she had thought long and hard about her life, about her job, about everything. She had almost lost it all due to this job, but perversely, it was the connections made because of the X-Files that had saved her. Without Deep Throat, and, to a lesser degree, Cancerman, she would surely be in a padded cell by now. If she had ever had thoughts of leaving the X-Files, they were gone now. How could she possibly leave this all behind and never learn the truth? More importantly, how could she ever leave Mulder? A noise behind her made her turn around. The object of her thoughts stood in the doorway, coffee cup in hand, a quizzical look on his face. She made an all-encompassing gesture. "It's just nice to be back." He smiled. "It's nice to have you back." He walked over to his desk and put the cup down, balancing it precariously on a stack of file folders. He grabbed one up from his desk and came over to her. "Now that I have you back, let's see if I can't interest you in *this*, Agent Scully." She took the file with a small smile. It was nice to know some things didn't change. **** W. 46th St. New York City Feb. 7, 1997 "Do you believe him?" "Of course I do," came the answer. Smoke wreathed the man's head, and he stubbed out his latest cigarette. "I would like to keep Agent Scully under surveillance to determine if she really is cured," rasped a bulky man. All eyes swung to him when he spoke. "If she is not, we may need to bring her in again." Heads nodded. Another man spoke, one with a clipped British accent. "Your man claims there is none of the original material left?" The smoking man nodded. "So he says. That will have to be determined, of course." The elegant gentleman nodded grimly. "Yes, just be sure to do it quietly." "Don't I always?" the smoker said, with a hint of humor. "This could have been very serious," said the man clearly in charge. His husky voice showed he was not amused. "We need to take precautions against this ever happening again." Heads nodded. "Well," said the smoking man, standing up. "I'll get right on it." He took his pack of cigarettes and lit one, then inhaled deeply. With a thin smile, he left the room. **** FINIS NOTES: August 9, 1998. Wow. Hard to believe how things have changed. This trilogy of stories was my very first foray into fanfiction. Doesn't show, does it? Anyway. I hope you've enjoyed these stories. Write me with comments, questions, "My, how you've changed!" letters, and anything else at: rrusnak@avana.net. -- Rebecca