GUARDED SECRETS sequel to Verlassen by TexxasRose (a.k.a. Laura Castellano) laurita_castellano@yahoo.com February 17, 1999 Classification: S, A, MSR Disclaimer: If I owned Fox Mulder I'd keep him much too busy to solve cases. If I owned Dana Scully she'd be my shopping buddy. If I owned Kersh I'd use him for target practice. Who knows what I'd do with Skinner or the smoking man... However, they all belong to Chris Carter, and 1013, and Fox Broadcasting, and all those other lucky entities. Spoilers: for Fight the Future MAJOR thanks to my long-suffering beta-reader, Julie, who makes them intelligible. Rating: R for language Summary: It's been two months since Mulder's return from Verlassen, and he is almost fully recovered. Just as things seem to be working out for the happy couple, danger strikes again from unexpected sources. It's strongly recommended that you read Verlassen before this or you won't know what's going on. ********** JUNE 14 ********** Only two things in life mattered to Fox Mulder: freedom, and Dana Scully. Anything else, including his own existence, he could take or leave. For months he had been deprived of both, and it had surprised almost everyone involved--except him, of course--that he'd come near dying from the loss. Faced with the prospect of lifelong imprisonment, Mulder had begun to slowly perish, little by little, both inside and out, his will to live disappearing along with his prospects of being released and reunited with the woman he loved. In the end, those who had exercised the option of locking him away rather than killing him outright were forced to make a decision. Release him or watch him die. He had been supremely disinterested in the outcome. For reasons known only to himself, the man with whom that decision rested had chosen to release him--for a price. That had been two months ago. They had been long months. Now Scully watched him sleeping and smiled easily. His ribs were no longer prominent, and his face had at last fleshed out to its former fullness. She admired his handsome form, noting the way his arms had regained their shape and, as she knew, their strength as well. Mulder was finally, at long last, back. Body AND mind. He'd been taking care of himself, eating nutritious foods instead of the junk that had been his steady diet before his abduction, and Scully was proud of him. Since their marriage he seemed to take a greater interest in maintaining his health, and she sometimes thought that before, when he was alone, he'd considered his own well-being of little consequence. She shuddered when she thought of the times while imprisoned at Verlassen that Mulder had tried to take his own life--attempts he had only admitted after much probing by his therapist. She probably wouldn't have known about any of it if she hadn't practically forced him into the therapy. She hadn't wanted to nag, but she'd been so frightened for him. Mulder had insisted that he didn't need it, that he could recover on his own, but they had been married less than twenty-four hours when she had realized he might never find his way back without professional help... ********** APRIL 6 ********** "Mulder?" Scully felt around in the bed for her husband of one day and was surprised to find an empty space. It was the first time they had been out of touching distance since his return--he had clung to her with a ferocious need that surprised even her, and at first the idea that he might have been taken from her again flashed uneasily through her mind. Raising up on her elbow she scanned the room. (All right, Dana, people get up at night all the time to use the bathroom or get a drink of water or just because they can't sleep. That fact that he's not here beside you doesn't mean he's gone.) The dim light shining through the open bedroom door relaxed her a bit. Mulder was still here. He was simply up and about. She hoped he hadn't gone out alone at this time of night. With a rueful smile and a shake of her head, Scully slid out of bed, padded into the kitchen and discovered her husband leaning against the counter, wearing only the boxers he'd been sleeping in, slowly sipping a glass of orange juice. His eyes roamed the room constantly, as if searching for something--or someone--and when he caught sight of her he froze. After a second Mulder quickly removed the glass from his lips and, with a guilty look and a swipe of his hand over his mouth, set it carefully on the counter top. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He lowered his gaze, as if afraid to meet hers, and Scully wondered if, during his captivity, he'd been punished for some similar action. Mulder hadn't yet gotten accustomed to the idea of autonomy. He was constantly asking her permission to leave a room, go to the bathroom, or go outside. Meals were left to her discretion, as if he had neither the right nor the ability to make himself something to eat, and she wondered how long he'd go without food if she didn't mention it. Sneaking out at night to get a drink was, apparently, something he rarely indulged in. His look of fear at being caught in the act was one she'd not quite grown used to. He'd told her repeatedly that he had been well-treated, but there definitely hadn't been a kitchen in that small apartment they'd had him locked in, and she doubted that midnight snacks were on his daily schedule. Partly to put him at ease, but mostly to make that awful expression leave his eyes, she reached into the refrigerator and extracted a carton of milk. "Hungry, Mulder?" she asked, forcing herself to sound casual. Mulder watched her warily for a few seconds, and then seemed to realize how bizarre his own reaction was. A look of embarrassment crept over his features, and he rubbed his face with both hands for a moment as if to hide from her. "Sorry, Scully," he mumbled sheepishly from behind his shield. "For a minute there I thought you were going to threaten to tie me to the bed." Scully stared, the obvious sexual comment driven far from her mind by his haunted look. At any other time this would be innuendo. At any other time this would be a joke, his gentle poking of fun at her more staid attitudes. With a feeling of regret tinged with real anger, Scully realized that this time Mulder was totally serious. "Did--did they tie you to your bed, Mulder?" she asked hesitantly, afraid to say anything that might cause an unpleasant memory for him--but avoiding that was impossible, wasn't it? His entire mind was chock-full of unpleasant memories now, it was all he had of the last seven months, courtesy of the man who had insisted Mulder be kept alive but locked away in order to protect his secret. Mulder closed his eyes for a second, retreating somewhere deep within, and then forced himself back to the present. "Only once," he said softly in answer to her tentative question. "But the threat was there. I learned to behave." He laughed shortly. "Can you believe that, Scully? Me, being a good boy?" His desperate grin revealed how hard he was trying to cover his nervousness with his usual self-deprecating humor, but it was too late to salvage the moment. He was slipping into it again...his eyes darting frantically around the kitchen, seeking out a window, a doorway, freedom...slipping into IT. The Zone. The Bad Place, or whichever of a hundred other names they wanted to call it. In his mind, in this place, Mulder was still a captive. Almost before she'd realized it was happening, he was pushing past her and practically racing into the bedroom, murmuring urgently, "I've got to get out of here." Scully sighed, put the milk away and quickly followed him. They'd played this scene a dozen times in the last few days. He would be fine, often for hours on end, and then suddenly that feeling of panic would overtake him and he would flee. Mulder had never coped well with being shut in, unable to come and go at will, but since his release from confinement he'd attained a level of claustrophobia that she'd never envisioned. Scully had known people with this problem before, even dealt with a touch of it herself on occasion. Most of the time they were fine in their own environments--homes, offices, etc. It was only when they were thrust into elevators, crowded stores, overly noisy, populous parties, or something such as the stereotypical 'small closet' situation that a problem developed. Mulder, on the other hand, (the Mulder of today anyway, not the Mulder of before) was likely to go off in completely unpredictable scenarios, those sometimes no more threatening than sitting on the couch talking with his wife. Scully found herself hating the people who had done this to him. When she entered their bedroom she discovered him throwing on the clothing he'd removed before climbing into bed that night, hastily buttoning his jeans and pulling a shirt over his head. "Mulder," she ventured. "It's the middle of the night." He gave a weak grin and sat down to tie his shoes. "What? Is there a curfew now?" She shook her head impatiently. "Where are you going?" "I don't know," he mumbled into his shoelaces, distressed by his own sudden, desperate need but feeling forced to give in to it. "I just have to get out." Looking up at her, standing, he reached out for her. "Please try to understand, Scully." She let him fold her into his embrace, then pulled back and reached for her own discarded clothes, sliding her legs easily into the pants. He watched her for a moment, his face inscrutable. "You don't have to come with me," he began, but she smiled at him and he stopped, finding he was still amazed that she was there with him, and that he had an actual, real, legal and moral claim on her. "I want to," she said, and took his hand as they left the bedroom. He squeezed the wedding ring on her finger briefly, as if to assure himself that she did indeed belong to him, and allowed her to lead him out of the apartment. They walked quickly through the hallway and down the stairs, Mulder beginning to press ahead a little. He glanced hurriedly over his shoulder a time or two, and Scully was struck with the thought that he was not looking to see if she was keeping up with him, he was not looking at her at all--no, Mulder was making sure nobody was following who might try to stop him. They reached the ground floor and he pushed out the front door of the building almost fearfully, then stopped short. She gave him a puzzled look and stepped out beside him. A light rain was falling, almost a mist, and it clung to her skin like the whisper-soft kiss of a tender lover. Scully looked up at Mulder, expecting to see wonder and joy on his face, and was astonished to find a look there that she didn't recognize. If she hadn't known him better, known how out of character such a thing would be for Mulder, Scully would have said it was an expression of utter defeat. Dejectedly he turned as if to walk back inside, and with a sudden rush of insight she understood. He thought his freedom was going to be curtailed now by the weather. Instantly Scully decided she wasn't going to let a little moisture in the atmosphere make him look like that. "Hey," she said softly, catching at his hand again. "Want to take a walk in the rain with your wife?" He paused, unsure. "You mean--you'll let me stay outside?" he asked hesitantly. She shrugged. "Your decision. What do you want to do?" she asked him seriously, staring into his eyes and waiting for his answer. He didn't have to think twice. "I want to walk. But Scully, I don't want you to get sick or anything..." She slipped an arm around his waist, tugging gently on him, and they started off down the sidewalk. "Come on, Mulder, it's barely misting." When he still seemed doubtful she reassured him, "I won't stay out long enough to catch anything, all right? How about if we just walk around the block, will that give you what you need?" "That should do it," he nodded and they started off. They were almost to the end of the block when he stopped and pulled her into his arms for a completely unexpected, passionate kiss. "YOU are what I need, do you know that?" he asked vehemently. "All that time I was locked away I needed freedom, but most of all I needed you." His arms around her were strong and unyielding, and she snuggled closer to him happily, reveling in their protection. She knew that Mulder would die before he let her go again, and it was a comforting knowledge. Scully wondered how to tell him of the agonies she had gone through while he was away. Wanting and waiting for him to come home; knowing how miserable every waking moment of life was; how it had almost ripped her heart in two to walk away from him that day, leaving him in hell and knowing she couldn't rescue him from it. Finally she looked up at him and said simply, "I needed you, too." Her words were cut off as his mouth descended on hers again, and this time his hands were all over her, uncontrollable, and his kiss left her breathless. He was turning wild again and Scully knew that had they been inside, he would have had her out of her clothes in three seconds flat. She shivered, wondering if his lovemaking would always be this excitingly animalistic or if it would tame once he grew accustomed to having her. She fervently hoped for the former. Clinging to him, Scully wished suddenly that they had never left the safety of their bedroom. He seemed to have the same thought at the same moment, and when he growled in her ear, "Home. Now." she nodded in blessed relief and pulled him back toward the building they had left only moments before... ********** JUNE 14 ********** ...She finally managed to convince him to seek the professional help which had forced him to face the ordeal he'd been trying to forget. Some sessions the therapist had wanted her to sit in on, and some Mulder had told her about later when he'd felt more confident discussing the experience. He had glossed over the suicide attempts, but Scully knew Mulder and his tenacity of life. If he'd been pushed to the point of wanting to do himself in, it had been bad--worse than she could imagine. She tried to picture herself locked away, day after day, her entire world consisting of three small rooms and the view of an ocean that did nothing but torture her by its proximity and unreachability, and found herself unable to even comprehend what confinement must have been like for Mulder, a man who thrived on freedom and the outdoors. Scully had always been a bit of a homebody, content to stay in her own apartment on her days off, bemoaning the necessary errands she'd been forced to run. Mulder was just the opposite. He could stay at home for a little while, and then he had to get out--to run, to work, to pursue an investigation on his own time, to visit friends, to visit her--he just couldn't stay shut up inside. She'd seen it get to him time and again when they were cooped up in the office with no active cases pending. Those were the days his pacing and fidgeting drove her crazy. Those were the days she was tempted to handcuff him to his chair. Those were also the days he insisted on taking her out to lunch, even if it meant he had to buy in order to coerce her away from the yogurt and fruit she'd brought from home. Anything, whatever it would take, just to get out. Then they'd taken him to Verlassen where he hadn't been able to get out for weeks and weeks that had finally turned into months, stretching on into what looked like forever. She shook her head sadly at the thought. No wonder Mulder had wanted to kill himself. He had come to believe that his captivity was permanent, and those holding him had been able to give him no definite answer to the contrary. They'd have kept him there for the rest of his life if it meant their project would be safe, if only Mulder's depression hadn't brought him to the point of simply willing himself to die. Scully had tried to tell the man who acted as her informant, bringing her occasional news of Mulder, that her partner couldn't live indefinitely in a prison but no one had seemed to believe it until they'd seen it with their own eyes. For whatever reason, they didn't mind the idea of keeping Mulder locked away for years and years and years, but they didn't want to be responsible for his death. Scully still didn't know what it had cost Mulder to obtain his release, and she had all but resigned herself to the idea that she never would... ********** APRIL 14 ********** ...Scully raised up on one arm and regarded her sleeping husband. Even now, two weeks after his return, he was still so incredibly thin. His facial bones were more prominent than she had ever seen them, and she knew that underneath the sheet his ribs were countable. His skin was a milky white color that looked out of place on the usually-tanned Mulder, and even now his eyes were only just beginning to regain some of their former brightness. She smiled fondly. In spite of all that, he was still the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. In all the months without Mulder, Scully had found herself playing scenes over and over in her mind like endlessly looping videos, and berating herself for always being the cautious one. And what, she had to ask herself, had her caution been for? The truth that she'd finally admitted was that she'd been afraid. The fact of their love changed everything, changed it irrevocably, and Scully hated change. They had such an easy, comfortable friendship, such an intuitive partnership, they already had so much more than most couples--why risk it all for physical intimacy? Her analytical mind kept telling her that what they had was enough, and it had almost convinced her heart it was the truth, until the day, believing he was about to lose her, Mulder had raised the stakes. He'd almost kissed her. He'd intended to kiss her and would have completed the act had that freeloading bee not intervened. And as she had stood there in his hallway, watching his lips draw slowly closer to hers, Scully had known that what they had wasn't enough, and never would be again from that day forward. This was a chance to have more, to change the face and nature of their relationship, and her heart had been singing to her that this was one change she would welcome. Scully hadn't fully realized how deeply she had repressed the longing, the needing, the WANTING Mulder until his hands had cupped her face and she'd seen a look of pure, smoldering desire in his wonderful eyes. Scully knew she would always be able to pinpoint that particular moment in time as the one in which they confessed their love, even though no words were spoken. Then, since after all it was Mulder she was dealing with, all hell had broken loose and the moment had been lost. The very fact that he had gone to the ends of the earth to rescue her told her how deep his commitment was, but by the time they had made their way home, recovered from their respective injuries and returned to work things had changed again. Diana was back, the X-Files were still forbidden, and they had both had a chance to push those feelings back down where they'd been storing them for years. The opportunity to grab their chance at happiness was past. Scully knew that had she given him any encouragement when they returned from Antarctica, Mulder would have responded willingly and wholeheartedly. She had always been the one to set the timetable for their relationship, both of them seeming to have an unspoken acceptance of the knowledge that Mulder ached to consume all of her but would be content with whatever pieces of herself she felt comfortable giving. He had silently handed her his heart in its entirety long ago, and she had been overwhelmed, unable to reciprocate fully although they had both understood at the time that her eventual, total capitulation was inevitable. In short, Scully had known for a long time that Mulder loved her, but she had never guessed the depths of his passion for her--just as she had known that she loved him but never realized the strength of her need for him. She was never one to rush into anything, and even with the life-and-death situations the two of them had encountered, Scully had always believed that they had time. Time to explore their feelings slowly, nuance by nuance, without rushing headlong into the whirlwind that was their declared love for one another. After his abduction she understood how foolish she had been. There was no time. There was never time. Time was an illusion. She had a sudden impulse to wake him with a kiss and, resolutely thrusting away her natural hesitancy (shouldn't disturb him, he needs his rest) she decided to surrender to her spontaneity. No more wasting of that time that was so precious. Her lips on his woke him instantly, and with a small murmur of surprise he reached out and drew her into his arms. He held her tightly, as always, as if to keep her from slipping away again, and Scully felt herself crushed to his undernourished body as though she were a quintessential part of his being. His hands stroked softly over her back as his desire pressed into her thigh. There was no question that they would make love now, only whether it would be the tender give-and-take that they sometimes shared or the fierce, untamed possession of her that he usually seemed to need. He caressed her face and she sank into him, always willing to be whatever he needed from now on, no matter the cost to herself. Tender expression won out, and when they were both completely sated she sighed in contentment and cuddled close to him. Still sometimes, when she opened her eyes, she expected to find him gone. A thought occurred to her that had been playing in her mind for some days now, and she hoped that with their newfound closeness she would be able to find the answers that had niggled at her consciousness. Mulder was a noble man, a righteous man, but he was still only a man, one who had stood on the brink of despair and been pushed over, and because of that Scully needed to know. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" he questioned lazily, running his fingers absently through her silky hair. "Why did they let you go?" He froze, and when she raised her head she saw him staring grimly at the ceiling, his face a mask. "Why, Mulder?" she asked again, and knew with a cold realization that her suspicions had been correct--there had been a deal made, promises exchanged. What essential part of himself had Mulder been desperate enough to sacrifice...? ********** JUNE 14 ********** Mulder opened his eyes and gazed up into the beautiful face of his wife and for the thousandth time thanked the heavens for her. Her face broke into the smile that always melted him, and he reached for her, pulling her down to lie on his chest. "And what are YOU lookin' at?" he asked playfully, his hands finding her hair. Mulder loved Scully's hair. Not just the color of it, but the softness, the feel of it slipping between his fingers. Now that he had the right to touch it whenever he felt the urge, he found he couldn't get enough. She shrugged. "Nothing much. Just the most gorgeous, sexy man I've ever seen," she responded, reaching up to kiss him. "Mmmm...better than Hunt?" he asked when she released his lips. Allen Hunt. The partner Scully had been paired with in his absence. Mulder had met him on several occasions; he'd hated the man instantly. It hadn't seemed to occur to Hunt, when Scully introduced Mulder as her husband, that this meant he shouldn't be touching her so proprietarily--it was as if Hunt thought he had some sort of claim on her person. Mulder would bet that the bastard wouldn't hesitate to take Scully to bed, wedding ring be damned, had she given him any encouragement. "Well, Allen was okay while you were gone, but now that you're back--hey!" she squealed when he rolled her over and pinned her to the mattress. "Is that right?" he asked with an evil grin, holding her small wrists together with one hand while the other slid slowly down to her waist. He ignored her kicking legs and as she fought to escape his tormenting fingers he began tickling her mercilessly. "Allen was all right while I was gone, was he? All right at what?" "Nothing!" she howled, tears of laughter streaming down her face. She squirmed helplessly beneath him and Mulder found himself becoming incredibly aroused as her body rubbed against his. "He was nothing!" "Was he better at solving cases?" he inquired, his fingers finding her ribs and digging gently between them, sending her into paroxysms of screaming laughter. "No!" His grin grew wider. "Was he better at making your coffee?" "No! Mulder, stop!" she demanded, and his hands stilled immediately. The memory of being held immobile while someone else tortured his body was as fresh as the day it had happened all those months ago, and Mulder had no intention of letting a playful game with his wife turn into something he would regret later. Scully looked up at him trustingly, understanding in her eyes, and he couldn't resist taking advantage of his position. He slid his fingers again through that hair that he loved, holding her head gently in place beneath him. Her lips were the softest, sweetest thing he had ever felt, and as he took them Mulder felt himself drowning in her as he did every time they lay like this, bodies pressed against one another. "Was he better at this?" he murmured, nuzzling her neck and trailing his tongue slowly toward her ear. Ears were Scully's thing, he had discovered early in their intimate relationship, and he never tired of his ability to drive her wild with so little effort. As she sighed and whimpered beneath him he knew it was already working. "Hmm? Who? Oh God, Mulder--" she gasped, her arms gripping him firmly around the waist and her hands caressing his back and down the gentle slope of his behind. She pressed him downward and he could feel her soft heat against his hardness. "Mulder, please, I need you now--" she whispered against him, and he found he couldn't tease her any longer. What Scully wanted, Scully got. It would always be that way with them, he knew. No holding back, no lies, no secrets. Except those she was willing to allow... ********** APRIL 14 ********** ...He closed his eyes briefly and lay for a minute in quiet anguish at her question. He had known that sooner or later it would come to this and she would demand to know. Mulder had already made his decision--Scully must never learn the terms of the agreement he had made with the smoker. If she were to discover that her life was, quite literally from that day forward, in his hands...how would she ever be able to trust him again? How could she be honest with him, disagree with him, argue with him, even fight with him--how could she continue to be the Scully he loved if she knew that he had the power to end her life horribly, simply by revealing his knowledge? Mulder knew that he had proven time and again that he would always protect her, cover her, watch out for her, and sacrifice himself for her. He also knew that having this level of power over her--even though using it against her would be the antithesis of his being--could foster in her a subconscious fear that would manifest itself in ways that might eventually destroy their marriage. Therefore, in order to protect a relationship that was based on honesty and trust, Mulder did the only thing he felt he could do. He lied. "They knew I was dying," he explained slowly. "I'm not sure what Cancerman's reason was for wanting me kept alive, but he realized that I couldn't survive if he didn't let me go." The smoking man's possible reasons for wanting him kept alive had haunted Mulder. He remembered the man's final words to him, remembered the casual 'As soon as you're strong enough, Son,' that had been thrown at him. It hadn't been until hours later that Mulder had realized the implications of that simple statement, and he had fought hard not to let the idea demoralize him. He'd reminded himself repeatedly that nothing that man said could be trusted. Now he found himself uncomfortably wondering just exactly who he was. He had, in fact, confronted his mother with this very question some time ago, and had received unsatisfactory answers and a slap in the face for his impertinence. After the sting of her hand on his face had faded but the ache in his heart had not, Mulder had eventually decided to have faith in his parents, if only for his own peace of mind. Until he was shown irrefutable proof he refused to believe his horrible suspicions could be the truth. Bill Mulder may not have been anyone's idea of Father of the Year, but he would never have cruelly teased, tormented and tortured his son the way this man had done for so long. He was more likely to ignore him altogether. There was no question that the man had been closely involved with the Mulder family at one time, but there was absolutely no evidence, no reliable evidence anyway, to indicate that he was anything more than a family friend. Besides, Mulder found the idea of his mother having an affair too repugnant to dwell upon. As far as he was concerned, until he could no longer deny it, it simply had not happened. Now he wondered how much longer he could continue to deny. Scully lightly rubbed his fingers, still tangled in her hair. "It seems strange to me that he would suddenly release you after keeping you captive all those months," she observed, and he'd known even then that she wasn't fooled. "He was afraid that you would tell what you know. Why isn't he afraid of that now?" "Because I promised him I wouldn't," he told her, unable to meet her eyes. "And he believed you. Just like that." He made a small noise of assent, and she reached over to take his chin in her hands, gently turning him toward her, forcing him to face her. "Mulder, you have to trust me," she said softly. "I know there's something more involved here. Can't you tell me what it's about?" When her gentle voice washed over him he knew he was lost. He had no choice now but to reveal everything or obtain her permission to keep it a secret. If she insisted, he would be forced to talk. "You're right," he finally confessed. "There was something else I promised him, but Scully--I really don't want to talk about it. It wasn't anything I can't live with. It was just a small agreement between us, nothing really." Please, his eyes begged, don't make me tell you... ********** JUNE 14 ********** ...She knew that he adored her. She knew she could trust him. She knew he would never, never do anything to hurt her, no matter what. The thing that troubled her the most was that he might, in his zeal to protect her, hurt or endanger himself in some way. He would willingly walk back into his luxurious cell at Verlassen if it meant she would be protected. Scully knew, beyond any doubt, that she had been used in some way as leverage against Mulder. Some threat or promise concerning her well-being had been made to him--something they could be certain would prevent him telling what he knew, for they couldn't afford to take any risk. Therefore, whatever bargain they had made with him was absolute. Scully lay there, content in her husband's arms, and wondered again how long their peace together could last. Sooner or later, she was afraid, whatever sacrifice of his soul he had made to Cancerman would come back to haunt him. She only prayed it would not tear them apart... ********** APRIL 14 ********** ...She could see it in his face--his promise had something to do with her and he didn't want her to know. Scully briefly considered pressuring him to reveal it to her, but his bottomless eyes prevented her, the haunted grey-green of them, only now starting to regain a hint of their former sparkle. She felt the loss of his eyes deeply. Everyone in his life, they reminded her, for the last seven months had taken every choice and every decision and all power from him. How could she become one of them? He was silently asking her for control of this, requesting her permission to keep his secret. She rested her forehead on his arm wearily for a second, feeling his tight breathing as he waited for her answer, knowing if she insisted, he could refuse her nothing. Finally she raised her face to his and nodded, and felt him noticeably relax as she gave him the trust he needed. She knew that someday this secret of his would be revealed to her, maybe when they were old and tired together and his eyes had become their natural, beautiful hazel again, but for now she bowed to the greyness. ********** JUNE 14 ********** ...At long last, today he was going back to work. Not just any work, either. Real work. HIS work. And Scully would be beside him, in life as well as in work, where she belonged. Mulder didn't know how the smoking man had managed to arrange it, and he certainly didn't know why--wasn't sure he wanted to know--but today he would take his old place as head of the X-Files division, and Scully would resume hers as his partner. In spite of rules, either written or unwritten. People would gossip, of that Mulder was sure, but then they always had, hadn't they? At least now when people called her 'Mrs. Spooky' it would be accurate, he thought with a smile as he released her and watched her make for the shower. He looked around the room, amazed at what Scully had been able to do with it in such a short time. They had only had the house for three weeks and she had already managed to make it into a home. When he'd first broached the subject of them buying a house together, starting anew to mark the beginning of their relationship (not to mention the fact that things were getting quite a bit cramped at his apartment and wouldn't be much better in hers), Scully had been uncertain. He didn't even have a job at the time, and she had depleted her savings by continuing to pay his rent, utility and credit card bills while he'd been away. She agreed that buying a house was a good idea, but informed him doubtfully that she was afraid they wouldn't be able to get a loan. Mortgage companies were becoming stricter all the time, and at first glance they didn't really look like a good risk, in her opinion. Mulder had reminded her that both of them had excellent credit ratings, and then had gently broken the news about his inheritance to her. Money had been left to him, he explained, by his grandparents as well as his father, and he had tucked it away, not wanting to dip into it except on occasions where the circumstances seemed to warrant it. A down payment on a new car, for instance, or to buy himself a really nice suit--one of his admitted weaknesses. He wanted to live on his own nickel as much as possible, he told her, but at the same time he wasn't foolish, and he certainly didn't intend to live in poverty or drive a junker while he had money in the bank. He didn't tell Scully this, but he also had held onto the bulk of his inheritance in anticipation of needing it to take care of his mother in her advanced years. While that could still be a consideration in the future, he told himself that now he also had a wife to think of. Scully deserved the best, and she was going to have it. So, combining her salary with what Scully called his 'magic bank account', they had been able to buy a nice house in a decent neighborhood, and had gone about setting up housekeeping immediately. Finding just the perfect home had taken more than two weeks--and they had been very busy weeks, with Mulder checking out literally dozens of houses while she was at work and taking her along later to see anything he thought was promising. At first he hadn't been able to impress upon his real-estate agent the importance of finding a house with many, preferable very large windows, but eventually she had caught on. The first few she had taken him to had windows with small panes of glass separated by wood, an uncomfortable reminder of steel bars. He was determined not to sink his money into a place that made him think of Verlassen in any way and so, no matter how suitable they might be otherwise, Mulder had rejected those homes out-of-hand. Finally Mrs. Andrews had understood that he didn't want to feel penned-in, although Mulder hadn't elaborated, and she began showing him places with spacious rooms and many windows. The house they'd finally settled on had four bedrooms--a little large, he agreed, for a couple unable to bear children, but Mulder had reminded Scully that he wanted his own office, and she might like a room of her own to use as she saw fit as well. They would, of course, share the master bedroom, and that left one to fix up as a guest room. There was a small, formal living room with an enormous picture window that Mulder adored, a larger family room, a cozy kitchen with a well-lit eating area, and a good-sized separate dining room. A laundry room and two-and-a-half baths completed the house, and Mulder was entirely satisfied with their new home. Very well-lit. Windows everywhere. Big ones. The first thing Scully had done was hang curtains at all the windows, telling him she hated the idea that the neighbors could look into their house at night when the lights were on, and Mulder allowed the closed curtains after dark to make her happy. Once the sun was up, however, he engaged in his morning ritual of opening them at every window, and in a way it broke Scully's heart to see him. When she closed them in the evenings, she tried to do it as unobtrusively as possible. If the weather was cooperative they often spent the evening outside anyway--at least part of it. They had a large patio off the kitchen, and it was a good place to sit and talk over their day, have a cool drink, and just enjoy being together. They had nice neighbors who would occasionally visit over the fence with them, and all-in-all, life was good. Mulder often shook his head in amazement at the seeming normalcy of it, and wondered when the other foot would fall... ********** APRIL 7 ********** "Mulder, I absolutely have to go back to work today. Allen's getting really suspicious and if I don't show up soon he's liable to call out the troops. Besides, sooner or later we're going to have to break the news to everyone about our marriage." Scully looked at him in the bathroom mirror. He had come up from behind and put his arms around her, and now she melted back into his embrace, sadly acknowledging the fact that they didn't have time for anything more. What she'd like to do to Mulder right now... She'd seen a look of insecurity cross his face when she'd mentioned her new partner, and it was all she could do to keep from dragging her husband back into the bedroom in order to prove to him exactly which of the two men would be on her mind today. Sighing, she straightened up and reached for her clothes. She had to get dressed, she had to go to work, and she had to earn a living. One of them had to have a steady paycheck. Two days after their marriage, and already reality had to be dealt with. Neither Scully nor Mulder knew what was going to happen as far as Mulder's further employment. She'd told him about the forged letter of resignation that Kersh had shown her, and he'd been predictably upset, but they both knew at this point Mulder wasn't able to work anyway. Not when he still had to jump up and rush outside fifteen times per day just to prove to himself that he could. Mulder, on the other hand, didn't want to explain to Scully that the smoking man had told him he'd get it all back--his job, her, the X-files--as soon as he was fit to return. He was certain any conversation like that would lead to more questions about the deal he'd made to get himself released, and he wanted to avoid that topic altogether. With a tender caress to his cheek, Scully released herself from his arms and went into the bedroom to finish dressing. Mulder followed her, of course, flopping himself down on the bed pathetically. "What am I supposed to do with myself all day while you're off chasing the bad guys with Hunt?" he mumbled, and she smiled at his obvious jealousy. "Sleep, eat, and walk," she told him. "Work on making yourself healthy again, work on convincing yourself that you're a free, autonomous man again. The sooner you're able to pull yourself together the sooner we can see about trying to get your job back." "I can think of better types of exercise than walking," he reminded her as he watched her brush her hair. She sat down beside him on the bed and he reached up to stroke it now, enjoying the way it fell softly back into place as it left his hands. "More fun, anyway." Scully smiled and bent down to place a kiss on his lips. "I'll try to be home early," she told him. "We need to go over to my place tonight and pick up some of my things. I do believe it's time for us to choose a permanent residence." He regarded her seriously for a moment. "Maybe we should look into buying a house," he said. She stared. It hadn't occurred to her. They'd been staying at his apartment since his return, because Scully wanted him to be around familiar settings as much as possible, but running constantly over to her place to pick up clothes and feed the fish was becoming a chore. She realized she had unconsciously assumed they would move into her apartment once things settled down, simply because it was larger, but now she found the idea of a new house appealing to her. New beginnings. Something that belonged to both of them, together. It sounded better all the time... ********** JUNE 14 ********** ...And it was better. They were happier, if that were possible, in their new home, and they couldn't get enough of each other's company. Three or four days a week Mulder would arrive at the Hoover building to take Scully out to lunch, ignoring the looks of venom that he would receive from Hunt. He simply put his hand in its customary place at the small of her back and guided his wife out of the room as her partner (soon to be ex-partner, Mulder hoped) glared at them and she looked up at her husband adoringly, something completely out of character for her. Mulder relished those moments, even though he suspected Scully was playing the worshipful wife role to the hilt in order to massage his ego. He wasn't proud, he'd take what he could get. He'd been jealous of Hunt at first, unreasonably so, Mulder knew, but still--it was there. Scully had taken great pains to remind him on those occasions how stupid he was being, and her efforts usually landed them in the bedroom, a situation which Mulder could not bring himself to resent. Now, lying here in their bed, he stretched, yawned, and deliberately prevented himself thinking of Scully taking her shower all alone. If he joined her they would be late, and they were due in Skinner's office at 9:30 sharp. Which would just give them time to settle back into their old, but newly remodeled, office. Mulder hadn't asked where Spender and Diana had been reassigned. He really didn't want to know. He didn't even care. As long as they weren't interfering in his life any longer, they could be in heaven or hell for all it concerned him. He supposed he could have asked the smoking man that question, but he didn't want to delve too deeply into those topics. He'd all but decided the promise of his work was a lie when, to his shock and slight dismay, the man had paid him a visit on Scully's second day back at work... ********** APRIL 8 ********** ...Mulder stretched himself out fully on the bed and lay there, postponing opening his eyes for another few minutes. What was there to open them to except another day of steel bars and captivity, another--his eyes flew open suddenly as he realized that there was noise coming from his bathroom. Who was taking a shower? Martin? George? Why? When his gaze fell on the window beside the bed he inhaled sharply and blew out a long sigh of relief. Clear glass. Even after six days of freedom he still found himself expecting to see bars at every window. Raising to a sitting position he looked around his bedroom with something akin to delight. It was small, it was cramped, it was messy--and it was HIS. And most importantly, he could leave it at will. The sound of water running ceased and Mulder heard the noise of the shower curtain being drawn back. Scully. His salvation. His wife. Sweet Jesus, she was finally his wife. It was a fact his heart and mind still balked at accepting, for deliriously happy things did not happen in the life of Fox Mulder. They had been married three days earlier, privately, in the presence of witnesses they had never met, by a Justice of the Peace whose name Mulder had already forgotten. When he'd asked Scully to marry him, quite on the spur of the moment in a desperate attempt to ensure that she was never parted from him again, he had been more than surprised to hear her agree. All the same, Mulder had expected their engagement to last for months--he was unwilling to saddle her with a husband who had no job and no options and who was, in his own opinion, incredibly messed up from the ordeal he had just endured. Scully had other ideas. She insisted that they proceed with the marriage as quickly as possible, telling nobody their plan until it was completed. It occurred to Mulder now that Scully had been as anxious to attach them permanently to each other as he had been, and this was her way of making certain she never lost him again. She simply wasn't going to give him a chance to back out, or allow anyone to try and talk them out of it. She hadn't even told her mother yet. It had been a simple matter to reclaim his legal identification. The only really important things that had been destroyed by his captors were his driver's license and his Visa card, both of which had been tucked away in his wallet. His Social Security card, birth certificate, F.B.I. identification--all of those been left in his apartment when he'd been abducted. He simply claimed that his wallet had been stolen--not a lie, it had been taken from him without his consent--and they'd replaced his stuff without question. Which had made obtaining the marriage license a piece of cake. The two of them had been together for the entire six days since he'd been returned, spending most of their time in bed, either making love or just talking, catching up. Occasionally they would get dressed and go for long walks, because Mulder couldn't seem to get enough of the outdoors. The doors in his apartment stood open at all times now, and it was all Scully could do to convince him that leaving the front door open simply wasn't safe. They went for drives, and Mulder would open the car window and allow the wind to blow through his hair, turning his face toward it and inhaling deeply, much like a contented puppy. She drove, because he wasn't ready to tackle that just yet. Easing back into life would be slow, but it could be done. Mulder was determined to avoid formal therapy, a decision which irritated Scully, but she was reluctant to wrest control of anything from him at this point. He was so tentative about everything he did, and he tended to ask for the strangest things, rather than simply getting them for himself, as if he'd forgotten what autonomy felt like--or perhaps was afraid of being punished if he exercised it. The fact that they had been staying at his apartment only made it worse; it unnerved Scully to have Mulder ask her hesitantly if he could have a glass of water. She was working very hard to remind him that he was free now, but the mindset of captivity was still strong in him. Now, with a territorial grin, Mulder slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom, happily hoping to catch site of a naked Scully before she dressed for the day. She had wrapped her towel around herself and had just finished brushing her teeth when he opened the door. Scully smiled at him in the mirror as she stood up and wiped a stray bit of toothpaste from her lip. "Good morning, Husband," she said with a voice that made him want to drag her forcibly back to the bed. Willing himself to remain civilized, Mulder gave her a light kiss on the lips. "It is a good morning," he agreed, encircling her with his arms. He hated the fact that she was going off to spend the day with another man, even if it was strictly professional. Even though he knew she loved him, the last thing Mulder wanted was to send his new wife off into the clutches of a man who was intelligent, good-looking, employed, and not fucked up from a recent ordeal. Scully, watching in the mirror, saw his feelings register on his face and turned to him. "Mulder," she began, but he pulled her to him for a sudden, deep, ravishing kiss. When he let her come up for air, Scully clung to him weakly, leaning against his chest and feeling the heat of him through her towel. She knew that he wanted to take her back to bed--hell, she wanted it too--but she had to go to work, and she had to be on time. She'd called in sick on Monday, the day they were married, and she'd left work early on Friday after getting the mysterious call informing her of Mulder's return. Each time she had reported to her new partner that she wasn't feeling well he'd voiced growing concern for her. It had been all she could do to prevent him coming to her apartment to check on her. Which had been a good thing, she thought, since she hadn't been back to her place since she'd found Mulder here, drugged to the gills on his couch, except to grab a few clean clothes. "Think about me when you're working alongside HIM today," he whispered in her ear, his hands caressing anywhere on her body they could reach. "I'll be thinking about what I plan to do to you when I get home tonight," she promised, pulling back and starting for the bedroom. He followed her. "Ooh, Scully, tell me more!" he smirked, but she ignored him and began dressing for work. Finally Mulder decided he could at least make himself useful, so he went into the kitchen to throw together some breakfast for her. They had made a trip to the grocery store after their marriage ceremony (didn't everybody?), so luckily there was food in the apartment. It was a simple matter to prepare Scully's breakfast. Yogurt, some of that healthy cereal she liked so much, and a banana. He set the carton of yogurt and the banana on the table and poured the cereal in a bowl for her, placing the milk carton within reach. As for himself--Mulder still hadn't gotten his appetite back, and the idea of making a decision as to what to eat for breakfast and then actually following through on it suddenly seemed overwhelming. Decisions had been denied him for such a long time. Scully came into the room, still fastening one of her earrings, and smiled when she saw the table. "Thank you, Mulder," she said quietly as she seated herself, and then noticed his confusion. "What are you having?" she asked. He just shook his head. "I'm not really hungry--" he began. "Don't start with that!" she interrupted, more sharply than she'd intended, and her face softened at his startled look. "I'd really like it if you would try to eat something," she said gently, caressing his arm. "I want you to regain your health, and believe me, lover, you are going to need your strength!" Mulder smiled at that, and sat down in the chair next to her. After a moment he pulled the box of cereal over and inspected it. "So, what does this "fruits, nuts and flakes" cereal taste like?" he asked casually. In answer she held her spoon to his lips and he swallowed the bite obligingly. "Not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "But I don't think I've ever eaten cereal before that wasn't sugar coated." Her response was to place her bowl of cereal in front of him and hold out the spoon determinedly. "Go ahead, Mulder," she said at his hesitation. "It'll be a defining moment of your life." When he took it from her, she rose, extracted a fresh bowl from the cupboard and poured herself more cereal. The two of them sat munching away in companionable silence for a few minutes and before Mulder knew it his bowl was empty and he was reaching for more. Scully watched him hopefully, not daring to say a word that might cause him to back off, but he noticed her look. "What?" he demanded around a mouthful of cereal. She smiled happily. "Nothing. It's just that this is the most I've seen you eat since you came home." He shrugged. "It's the most I've eaten in one sitting in a long time, I suppose," he said nonchalantly, and she squeezed his hand before returning to her breakfast. Soon after, Scully left for work, still reeling from the goodbye kiss her husband had bestowed upon her. Mulder showered, dressed, and after downing half a glass of tea wondered what to do with himself all day. Might as well clean up a bit, he decided, and was just about to clear the dishes from the table when he was startled by a knock at the door. He almost didn't open it. He couldn't imagine who would be visiting him at this time of day, and his hand shook slightly as he released the lock. Grimacing at his own nervousness, he forced himself to swing the door open. A moment later Mulder stepped back reflexively, his face losing its color. He might have slammed the door in his visitor's face in the next instant had not a well-placed foot prevented it. "May I come in, Mr. Mulder?" the smoking man asked pleasantly. "What do you want?" Mulder demanded after taking a moment to catch his breath. He knew it was irrational to think that the man was here to renege on their agreement and haul him back to Verlassen, but having been free for less than one week, Mulder also knew he wasn't exactly thinking rationally. He forced himself to calm down, take deep, slow breaths, and listen to what the man had to say. "We need to discuss some things. I must inform you of certain arrangements that have been made." The man slipped easily into Mulder's apartment, casually walking into the living room and motioning for Mulder to take a seat on the couch, as if he were the host and Mulder the guest. After a short hesitation, Mulder complied with the unspoken request and waited to see what the man would say. He wished fervently for his weapon, but he knew without asking that Scully had taken it to her apartment. She wasn't willing to risk losing him should he have an anxiety attack while she was away and do something stupid. "I've kept my part of the bargain, so why are you here?" Mulder asked again, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the man in front of him. He tried desperately to suppress the feeling of panic creeping over him, concentrating instead on his slow and steady breathing. This man had released him from hell, whatever his purpose may have been, and there was no reason to think he had changed his mind, Mulder insisted to his inner, frightened self. The older man gave a small smile and reached into his pocket for his ever-present pack of Morleys. Mulder watched him light up without comment. "There's been a slight change in circumstances." Mulder clenched his fingers together to keep them from shaking. He was determined not to let this man see his fear, even though he felt its coldness creeping through every part of his body now. The smoker was going to cancel their deal. He would try to take him back there. Mulder could feel it. Despairingly he realized he should have known freedom and happiness couldn't last. "What change?" he asked in a voice that sounded much braver than he felt. "I've done as you asked. Nothing's changed." The man took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke thoughtfully out his nose. "We never envisioned you marrying her," he commented mildly. "That changes things somewhat." Mulder's fingers were going numb from being squeezed together so tightly. His marriage to Scully--the biggest dream of his life finally come true--was this man here to tell him he must give it up? He wouldn't. He couldn't. It would destroy him completely, and God only knew what it would do to Scully. Her need for him wasn't as obvious as his for her, but Mulder knew it ran just as deeply. Shaking his head in confusion, he said, "I don't understand--how can it change anything that you and I agreed to?" His eyes flicked amusedly over Mulder, as if he were reading the younger man's thoughts. "Our agreement stands, Mr. Mulder." Reassuring. "But now you and Agent Scully--or should I say Agent Mulder?--" he grinned knowingly, "--are at greater risk. Now she can be used against you." Mulder made a noise of disbelief. "You and your people have been using the two of us against each other for years," he retorted. "What makes the circumstances any different now? You threatened each of us to buy the other's silence, and we've given you what you asked for. What more do you want from us?" His eyes found the smoker's again, holding them steadily. The old man flicked his ashes onto the floor and smiled again. "Nothing more. Only to warn you that you should be careful. There are still those out there who would jeopardize the project, and your silence is as essential as ever. If you should tell what you know, even under duress, our agreement is null and void." Mulder dropped his gaze then, rubbing his forehead with tired hands and nodding. He knew this to be true. It was one reason he didn't want Scully to know about the deal. (Deal with the devil), his mind told him quietly. "I understand that," he said in a weary voice. "Good," the man commented finally, dropping his cigarette butt into Mulder's almost-empty glass of iced tea. "Just so long as you're clear on what the risks are." "Perfectly clear." "You'll be expected back at work the third week of June." Mulder raised his face angrily at that. "What work? I don't have a job any longer, remember? It seems I resigned without giving any notice. I don't think AD Kersh is going to be too keen on rehiring me after that." "You won't be working for Assistant Director Kersh any longer," the older man replied in his mild voice. "And as for your resignation... anyone checking your personnel file will find a request for a ten month leave of absence filed last September. I don't believe there's any record at all of a resignation, in spite of persistent office gossip." Mulder simply stared, amazed at the things this man could accomplish. "Who will I be working for?" he asked finally. "Why Assistant Director Skinner, of course," his visitor responded. "He is still in charge of the X-Files." "I'm--I'm getting the X-Files back?" Mulder asked, incredulous. "And Agent Scully--or is it Agent Mulder now?--as your partner. As promised. Per our agreement." Mulder just shook his head, still in shock. "Wait a minute," he finally asked, suspicious. "What more is this going to cost me?" It was inconceivable to him that this man would give him any more than absolutely necessary to buy his silence. "Nothing more," was the answer. "Only your continued cooperation. But you should be aware, it may be more difficult to keep this secret than you imagine." He made his way to the door, and then turned back for a moment. "Third week of June, Agent Mulder," the man repeated, and then he was gone, leaving a thoroughly dazed Mulder behind... ***** JUNE 14 ***** ...So far keeping the secret hadn't been difficult, for he had spoken with few people other than Scully, and they had reached a tacit agreement not to mention it. They simply held on to one another and thanked heaven and earth that they were together again. Some things simply didn't bear too much discussion. Even with his therapist Mulder had been intentionally vague in his explanations for why he had been held captive, informing her that it wasn't relative to the situation or his recovery from it, and that matters of national security forbade him going into great detail. He simply explained that he possessed knowledge that wasn't to be revealed, and it seemed to satisfy the good doctor. Occasionally Mulder wondered what the smoker's cryptic comment had meant, but as weeks had passed and nobody had tried to force any information out of him, he'd decided the man was being deliberately intimidating. Not that he didn't need to be careful, he told himself, but he was at least able to breathe normally for the duration of his recovery period. He stopped looking over his shoulder for Martin, George, Kenneth, Amelia...or anybody else who might be a threat to his freedom... ***** MAY 11 ***** Since he'd begun running again Mulder had plenty of uninterrupted time to think, and he finally began to believe his therapist, who told him that confronting the painful memories was better than holding them inside. So he'd been kidnapped and held captive for seven months. So he'd thought he was going to die in that place. So what? It didn't change who he was now, did it? So he'd tried, on four separate occasions, to end his own life, actually managing to cause himself harm on two of them and a good bit of discomfort as a result of the last...no. Mulder's thoughts bounced skittishly away from that track. He wasn't quite ready to deal with his attempted suicides yet, having dismissed them lightly during the therapy sessions and with Scully. Mulder knew that deep down within himself he was disappointed. He'd been threatened before, certainly, and even tortured and had come close to being murdered once or twice, but never in his life had he felt the desire to end it himself, except on a few occasions when it all seemed completely hopeless. After Samantha's abduction, after Scully's abduction, one horrible night while Scully was so ill with cancer...these episodes had all concerned someone else, someone he cared for deeply. So why, he asked himself yet again, had he felt the need to end his own life when he was simply being kept indoors? Mulder shook his head, angry at himself as he turned a corner and started back toward home. It was not simply a matter of being kept indoors and you know it, he retorted inwardly. The despair he had felt, the agony of depression he'd sunk into, had robbed him of much more than his freedom to come and go. His very essence had been sacrificed, and it was damned hard to get back, as he was discovering. If he hadn't had Scully here beside him every step of the way, if she'd refused the marriage proposal he'd thrown at her almost as soon as he'd been returned, if she'd told him she wanted to continue working with Hunt...any one of those things and Mulder knew he might never have come out of the downward spiral he had been in. Slowing down, stopping to catch his breath, Mulder consciously pushed those thoughts away. You could only analyze yourself for so long without losing your mind in the recovery process, he told himself grimly. It was time to think of other things, like what color carpet he wanted in his new office at home (that yellow stuff simply had to go), and what they were going to have for dinner (it was his job to cook as long as he was unemployed, and Mulder took great satisfaction in presenting Scully with a nice meal at the end of the day, even if a large portion of it came frozen in a box with a name like Marie Callender's or Stouffer's on the label). He began walking briskly, but not too briskly, toward home in order to cool down. Mulder was about two blocks from his house, comparing the nice residential neighborhood where he lived now with his wife to the place he'd spent the last umpteen years of his life, when he was startled out of his thoughts by a commotion just ahead. An older, brown station wagon with chipped paint and several visible dents pulled over to the curb a little past the next house and the driver rolled down the window. "I told you I ain't takin' care of no pets!" a woman's voice drifted vehemently from the car, and in the next instant, over the loud protests of the child beside her, the woman tossed a screeching bundle of fur onto the sidewalk and the car roared away. Mulder stared at the disappearing vehicle, unwilling to believe what he'd just seen. Someone had actually thrown out--was it a cat? He drew closer and was able to see that the animal in question was indeed a very young kitten, barely old enough to be away from its mother in Mulder's uneducated opinion. It looked trustingly up at Mulder as he approached it and knelt down, holding out his hand in a friendly gesture. The kitten sniffed Mulder's fingers curiously for a moment, then rubbed its forehead over them, beginning a loud, ratchety purring sound. Mulder absently stroked the animal's fur, coal black except for an arrow-point of white on its forehead, and glared after the offending car. "Hey, buddy, looks like you've been abandoned," he said to the kitten. (Verlassen) his mind whispered, and he forcibly shoved the thought, spoken in Amelia's musical voice, far away. The kitten purred in response, marking Mulder's legs with the side of its face. "Now I suppose you'll want to come home with me," he remarked casually, wondering if Scully was a cat-person or a dog-person or not an animal person at all. She'd had that dog, Queequeg, briefly, but that had sort of been thrust upon her. It wasn't as if Scully had ever spoken to him about actually going out and adopting a pet. The small cat was now trying to climb the leg of Mulder's sweat pants, and he winced as the tiny claws dug into his flesh. "Hey!" he protested, picking it up and cuddling it close to his shoulder, and laughed as it promptly snuggled up to his neck, reminding him vaguely of Scully. "Looks like you got yourself a new friend," a voice said from behind him, and Mulder swung around to find an elderly woman standing on the porch of the house whose lawn he was occupying. Mulder looked fondly at the kitten and then back at the woman. She was about eighty years old, he guessed, and had a kindly face. Just the type to adopt unwanted animals, if he judged her character correctly. "Would you like him?" he asked her eagerly, starting across the lawn toward her. He certainly wasn't going to leave the kitten to fend for itself, but if he could see that it was taken in by a caring person it would mean he didn't have to explain to Scully why she was suddenly a surrogate mother. The lady laughed at Mulder's obvious attempts to pawn off his newfound admirer on her. "No thank you, Son," she said. "I've raised seven children, one husband, and countless dogs, cats, fish and turtles over the years. Even a mouse once, although I hated the nasty thing. I'm quite happy just taking care of myself now." She reached out and petted the kitten, who nuzzled closer to Mulder's ear, tickling him with its whiskers. "He seems to like me," Mulder commented. "I'm not sure how my wife will take to him though." "You sure it's a 'him'?" the woman asked with a twinkle in her eye, and before Mulder could answer she plucked the kitten from his shoulder and turned it upside down, inspecting its privates. Mulder grinned, a little embarrassed, but she returned the cat to his shoulder seconds later. "That's a little girl kitty," she crooned, petting its fur, and Mulder hoped for a second that she would relent. She pulled back in the next instant, though, and reached for the doorknob. "I've got to be getting back inside," she told him politely. "I only stepped out to see what all the shouting was about. I was in the middle of my daytime stories." She patted Mulder's shoulder comfortingly. "I can tell you're new at this, but don't worry, young man. There's not much to taking care of a cat. Whatever they need, they'll be sure to let you know about it!" She winked and smiled and in the next instant disappeared back inside her house, a bemused Mulder still standing on her front porch holding the kitten. "Well," he said to it finally. "It looks as though you've managed to wangle yourself a new owner. I certainly can't abandon you." (Verlassen) his mind sighed, and he ignored it. Tucking the kitten safely against his body, Mulder made his way home... ***** JUNE 14 ***** ...Mulder was about to force himself to get out of bed--he had to get ready for his first day back at work--when a purring furrball suddenly landed on his chest. "Good morning, Reject," he said, smiling again at the name Scully had suggested. He'd been scared to death by the time she had made it home that day, and had already thought up at least a dozen reasons why they should keep the kitten, who in the space of a few hours had wormed its way firmly into Mulder's heart, but Scully had taken one look at the small bundle of fur and gathered it up into her arms, crooning to it sweetly. "Someone ab--threw her out," he'd told her, quickly changing his choice of words in order to prevent his mind whispering to him again. "I didn't know how you'd feel about it, but I couldn't just leave her so I brought her home." When Scully kept stroking and cuddling the kitten, Mulder kissed her on the cheek and put on his best puppy-dog face. "Can I please keep the kitty, mommy?" he'd asked in a wheedling tone, and Scully smiled up at him. "Well, I think we'd better," she'd told him, and Mulder knew with relief that the battle was over. Now Reject was a part of their family, and there was no question that she ruled their home with an iron paw. She had taken to Scully right away, but Mulder was her special toy, and she was never far from his side when he was home. He got a kick out of Scully carefully admonishing her every morning, "Now you take care of Daddy, Reject, and don't let him get into any trouble while I'm away. You know how difficult he can be," and the kitten listening to her words solemnly, then coming over to brush up against his legs insistently. Of course, Reject's attention to him in the morning might have a little bit to do with the spoonful of tuna he would sneak into her bowl after Scully left for work, but he preferred to believe that she took her Mulder-sitting duties very seriously. "I have to get up," he now told her sleepily as she began to knead his chest with her sharp little claws. "You're going to be on your own today." Reject purred happily in answer, refusing to let her toy up to get dressed, and they were still there when Scully emerged from the bathroom. "You'd better get a move-on, Mulder, you don't want to keep Skinner waiting," she said, seeing her husband still lying comfortably in bed. "I can't," he reported. "I'm trapped." Scully crossed over and picked up the cat, and Reject transferred her attentions from Mulder's chest to Scully's shoulder easily. "I'll take care of Daddy today, sweetheart," Scully told her. "You can have the day off. You deserve it." "Just stay out of the tuna," Mulder admonished as he disappeared into the bathroom. "Mulder! Have you been feeding this cat tuna?" Scully's voice followed him but he pretended to ignore it, turning on the water and stepping under the warm spray. He fought down a nervous shiver as he began shampooing his hair. Back at work after so many months away--Mulder hated to admit it to himself, but he was a little scared. Scully had told him about Kersh's involvement in his kidnapping, and now Mulder wondered, no matter how minor his former supervisor's connection may have been, how he would react upon seeing the man. At least he didn't have to work for him any longer, he reminded himself with relief, and reflected again upon what it would be like to wield the kind of power that the cigarette smoking man appeared to possess. The benefits might be enjoyable, he decided, but the cost would be too great. ***** "I don't understand," Spender complained sulkily. "I thought you wanted to break Mulder, and now you've given him back everything you took from him in the first place!" His father sighed, silently wondering at the gods that had given him such a moron for a son. On the other hand, he had to be fair--he hadn't been exactly honest with Jeffery where Mulder was concerned. "He's married to Scully now," he reminded Spender mildly. "That partner you found for her while Mulder was away couldn't do the job. She was never interested in him at all." "He did the best he could, he--" "He came on too strongly! Scully needed to be comforted over Mulder's disappearance, she needed someone with a gentle hand to lull her into a sense of trust. Instead he tried to get her into bed within the first week!" Spender's face reported his emotions accurately. He'd been so certain that Scully and Mulder were involved with each other that he'd told Hunt to come on strong with her. He believed that Scully would welcome the attentions of another man, a strong, attractive man, while Mulder was out of the picture and that soon he would have eclipsed Mulder in her life entirely. He'd been desperately wrong. "You seriously underestimated Agent Scully," his father informed him, "and so did Hunt. It was a plan that didn't work. Now we move on to something else." "So you're giving him back the X-files. Doesn't that clash with your objectives?" "You don't want to stay there, do you?" the older man countered, amused. Spender snorted in disgust. "I want to do real work, work that makes sense. And you know how I feel about Diana Fowley." "Agent Fowley has been quite helpful to us," his father reminded him sharply. "You'll have to put aside your personal differences with her in the future if you're going to assist me." "As long as she's not my boss," Spender mumbled. "And with both you and Agent Fowley removed from the X-files, there is a vacancy created. One that only Mulder and Scully are truly qualified to fill. Their superiors at the FBI are beginning to realize that, since you and Agent Fowley have been...less than successful in solving cases while assigned there. They haven't forgotten your predecessors' closure rate. It looks good. It therefore makes them look good." "But they're married, how can they work together as partners?" Spender argued. His father blew a long breath of smoke out and crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the desk. "That's easily arranged. And they'll be more readily controllable this way. If Mulder steps out of line again, we can simply tighten his leash. We've done it before." Spender regarded his father thoughtfully. "Yet you still don't want him killed. Why?" The man played idly with a pencil on his desk. He wondered how best to explain this to Jeffery, which answer would least upset the man in front of him. He needed his son's loyalty right now. "I have several reasons, actually. First of all, because his father was a very old friend of mine. Bill Mulder and I may have had our differences in his later years, but we had a lot of history together. I was once very fond of Bill's wife as well." He smiled a cryptic smile. "Also, because I have a certain admiration for the type of man Mulder is. He has courage, strength, tenacity, integrity. In some ways he reminds me of myself...in my youth." Spender stared. "You're thinking of having him join us, aren't you?" he asked angrily. "You want to pull Mulder into the project." The smoking man nodded slightly. "I've tried before and been unsuccessful. But I haven't tried everything. A man with Mulder's fortitude would be a great asset to us." "He'll never join us." Spender's voice was positive. "He'll die first." "Perhaps. That doesn't mean I should stop trying. Giving up is the surest way to failure." ***** Mulder sat back in his chair and looked hungrily around the basement office. He was a man who had it all. A job he loved, a wife he adored, a home, and most of all, blessed, blessed freedom. And all it had cost him was his silence. At first Mulder would have said it had cost him his integrity, but each time he looked into Scully's face and knew that she was his, each time he stepped outside his front door and knew that he could come and go whenever he pleased, he realized how little Dr. Steinmetz' journal and the information contained in it meant to him now. After everything that had been taken from him, Mulder knew he would have given a lot more than his silence to get it all back. He'd almost given his life for it. Mulder had finally come to terms with himself and his attempted suicides, something which his ego told him was the height--or depths--of weakness. He was no longer disappointed in himself because of them. He recognized that he was a person who held on as long as there was hope, but once hope had been lost he knew when to cut and run. Some people, he knew, would have lived for years inside the prison that was Verlassen. Mulder was not like some people. When life ceased to be worth living, Mulder wanted out. Now he had it all back, and life was good. It was worth living again. So he maintained his silence, as promised, in order not to lose the things that made his life worth living, in order not to reach that state of despair again. Mulder had been there too many times in his young life--he never wanted to go there again. Their meeting with Skinner had gone well, with him welcoming Mulder back to work as if the fictional "leave of absence" had been gospel, but Mulder could see in his supervisor's eyes that he knew the truth. Maybe not all of it, and Mulder would never believe that Skinner was involved in his abduction, but he knew something. Skinner was certainly aware that Mulder had not taken a ten month leave of absence in order to do "research", which was apparently the lame excuse that had been officially offered up. Also, the dreaded meeting with Kersh was behind him now. He'd run into the man as they left Skinner's office, and when Kersh uttered a gruff "Welcome back, Agent Mulder," he had felt Scully's firm, comforting hand on his arm. Mulder had merely glared at Kersh's retreating form, relieved at the fact that he felt no fear, only a slow burning anger at the man who had been a part, although an insignificant one, of his imprisonment at Verlassen. "Let it go, Mulder," she had advised him gently, and after a moment of hesitation he'd turned away from Kersh and the two of them continued toward their office. Now Mulder surveyed his domain happily, and when Scully presented him with several case files that Skinner had sent down for them, he took them anxiously and began reading. Mulder hadn't gotten more than a few paragraphs into the first one when he wordlessly set it aside and reached for the next. Scully watched in amazement; she'd never once in all the years they had spent together seen her partner do that. She reached for it, and Mulder's words stopped her. "Leave it, Scully," he said. There was just a hint of uneasiness in his voice, almost too little to detect. "There's no case for us there." "I'd like to take a look at it, if you don't mind," she told him evenly, and he shrugged, unwilling to argue with her about it. She didn't miss the way he turned his back on her slightly as he dug into the next case file. Sighing quietly, Scully flipped open the file folder. A small town in South Dakota. Elementary school children. Odd behaviors. One school counselor suspected of influencing those behaviors. Strange illnesses. Disappearances. At first glance it seemed to be a straightforward case, not an X-file at all. Unless you knew the things they knew and had seen the things they'd seen. Scully looked up at Mulder to find him studiously ignoring her. He could feel her gaze on him--she knew it by the way he kept his own carefully fixed on the papers in front of him. His eyes were unmoving. Mulder wasn't reading, he was avoiding. "Mulder?" she questioned. He shook his head slightly. "No, Scully." She put the folder down and came around to face him, leaning her hands on the desk and getting deliberately in his face. "Why?" she demanded bluntly. "This is the type of case that you've always thrived on." He leaned back in the chair, removing himself from her accusing influence, eyes firmly cast downward. He saw the wedding ring on her finger and played with the one on his own hand, still not speaking. "Why?" "Scully, am I still the senior agent here? Am I still the one in charge in this office?" he asked, his voice a little harsher than intended. "Don't pull that on me, Mulder, not after all these years. If you have a particular reason for not wanting to pursue this case, fine, but don't try to pull rank on me, and don't run away from it just because you're afraid!" "Yes, Scully, I do have a particular reason." He stood and came around the desk angrily to face her. He planned on using his height to intimidate her, but he should have known by now that trick didn't work with Scully. She would stare up at him from her eleven-inch disadvantage and never back down. "And what is that reason?" she demanded, not wavering a bit as he towered over her. They faced off for a few seconds, and finally Mulder said, "Because I don't want to." Scully had a minute of disbelief. "You don't want to?" she repeated, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it. He gave her a wry grin, silently thanking her for allowing him to save face. "Right," he agreed. "I examined it and I think there's every reason to believe it is what it appears on the surface to be. There's a case there, Scully, but it's one the local field office should handle. It's not an X-file. This, on the other hand," he said, waving the file he was holding at her, "is definitely weird." "Weird?" "Interesting weird." "What is it?" "Ghostly murders," he told her in his best Bela Lugosi voice. Scully stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and tossed the object of their disagreement into a basket on his desk. "Fine. Ghosts. Welcome back, Spooky." Her small smile took the sting out of the words. "Thank you, Mrs. Spooky," he countered. "Now, do you want to insult me, or are you going to read up on this case?" She held out her hand with the smile still in place, and as he handed her the folder he bent down to give her a quick kiss on the lips. "Thanks," he muttered, turning away before she could see his embarrassment. "Don't thank me yet, Mulder. This isn't over." He watched her peruse the file for a few seconds, then worriedly buried his face in his computer. She wasn't going to let it die, she was only giving him a reprieve. He exhaled heavily. He should also have known that Scully wouldn't let him run away, but the last thing Mulder wanted to do right now was investigate any case that smacked of government conspiracy. He'd had way too much of that recently. He'd felt the consequences deeply. The price was just too high. ********** JUNE 15 ********** It was beginning to get dark, and Mulder knew he'd better make his way home before Scully got worried. Since his return to work he'd had to do his running in the evenings, and she didn't like him being out after the sun set. He supposed it was an irrational fear that something might happen to him after dark that wouldn't happen in the broad light of day; they both knew that to be a farce, but still it was easy to fall into the natural trap of fearing the dark. He wasn't quite ready to stop running yet tonight, but in deference to her feelings he turned around and headed back toward their street, wondering if he had time to make it just once more around the block before she really started to fret. He almost didn't notice the blue van pulling up behind him, and if he hadn't been about to cross the street it probably would have driven past him without registering on his consciousness at all. Mulder turned to cut across the quiet residential street and had to wait while the van turned the corner in front of him. Idly his gaze drifted up to the windows of the vehicle and he froze. He felt his face drain and the energy leave his body all in a rush. Sagging against a nearby, convenient tree, Mulder stared after the van with eyes made huge by shock and terror. It couldn't be. Surely he was mistaken. Mulder shook his head and told himself how ridiculous the idea was. There was no way, no way in hell, that had been George riding beside the driver of that van. No way. Rubbing his hands over his eyes wearily, Mulder gazed off down the street again where the van had disappeared. Finally pulling himself together and regaining the breath he had lost when his eyes had met those of the van's passenger, he started quickly for home. On the off chance that it HAD been George, Mulder wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and that mysterious blue van. He had no idea what George would be doing here in Virginia, but he felt certain it meant nothing good for him. Frantically his mind tried to recall every word he had said over the past few weeks, wondering if somehow, somewhere in some conversation he had let something slip that could be construed as breaking his agreement with Cancerman. That couldn't be the case, though. First of all, Mulder was extremely careful what he said, and he had discussed Verlassen only with Scully and, to a lesser extent, his therapist. Nobody else that he'd talked to even knew where he had been for all those months. He'd gently but kindly brushed off his friends when they'd asked, and Scully's mother had only been told that Mulder had been "out of town on business". She had seemed to understand that they didn't want to answer any questions. Besides, if the smoking man believed Mulder had broken their bargain he wouldn't send George to get him. Taking Mulder back to Verlassen had never been part of the deal. The deal was (ifItalkScullydies) for Scully's cancer to return, and so far she was completely healthy. Wasn't she? Or was she, he wondered desperately. He reached his house and stood on the porch for a moment, breathing heavily. Warily Mulder cast his eyes about the neighborhood searching for the suspicious van, but it was nowhere to be seen. All the cars parked on the street or in his neighbors' driveways were familiar to him, and as he entered the front door he shook his head at his own paranoia. Of course it hadn't been George. It was simply another man who looked a lot like him. Mulder told himself he really hadn't gotten a good look at the van's passenger anyway. Probably if he had he'd have seen that the man bore little or no resemblance to George at all. He entered the house and made his way to the bedroom, hoping to avoid Scully and her observant eyes. He knew his face was still pale and scared-looking, and that no matter how hard he tried to hide it from her she would notice. The last thing he wanted right now was to answer his wife's questions. "Mulder? Are you back?" Her voice called to him from the kitchen as he slipped into the master bedroom to change. "I'm just getting in the shower." "Dinner's almost ready," she said from behind him, and he jumped a little in surprise. He hadn't heard her approach. "What's the matter?" she asked when she saw his reaction. "Nothing," he muttered, grabbing clean clothes from the dresser and starting toward the bathroom. He tried to keep his face averted from her, but he could never hide from Scully. "Mulder? Did something happen?" Scully's voice held that tone that it always took when she knew he was about to lie to her. He wondered for a moment if he had ever been successful in putting anything over on her. Not since their marriage, that was a certainty. Her MulderRadar had been in full force ever since his return from Verlassen, and he had every reason to believe that it would continue that way for the rest of their lives. "Nothing happened, Scully. Everything's fine. I just want to get cleaned up. I'll hurry." He disappeared into the bathroom and Scully stood staring at the door in irritation. When would Mulder stop pushing her away? Probably never, she decided. It was just his way of dealing with things, and Mulder had always had a very strong, if misguided, need to protect her. With a sigh she walked back into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on their supper. She would work it out of him in time, she knew, but things would be so much easier if he would just tell her what was wrong. "You know," she said conspiratorially to Reject, who sat at her feet watching the food preparations carefully in case any small bits found their way to the floor (and Scully always made sure some did), "if you crawl up on his chest and purr and do that stuff with your claws, maybe you can soften him up enough for me to get the truth out of him." Reject accepted the small bit of chicken Scully fed her as a bribe and purred her agreement, but later on when the opportunity came, Scully found that her co-conspirator had other fish to fry. They went to bed that night with Mulder's secret still under wraps. ***** JUNE 16 ***** The instant he awoke he felt the fear begin in his stomach and work its way quickly throughout his body. Mulder raised himself to a sitting position and looked around carefully. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing it to go away, but when he opened them a few seconds later he found that wishes never came true. He was still there. The bars at the window mocked him with their brightness in the morning sun, and for a moment Mulder felt sure that he'd never left at all, that his marriage to Scully and his return to work had only been a cruel dream. Then he glanced down and saw the wedding band on his finger and knew that the cruelty came not in the dream of a marriage to Scully, but in the truthfulness of it and the fact of his losing her yet again. Unless she was here, too? He jumped up quickly and made for the bedroom door, hoping against hope to find his wife, but instead was greeted with a silent, empty room. "Scully?" he called, lunging for the steel door that separated this suite from the rest of the mansion and giving a mighty tug on it. Of course it was bolted. Everything was always locked at Verlassen. Martin emerged from the bedroom then, and Mulder wondered how he had missed seeing the man there before. He carried strips of terrycloth toweling over his arm, and Mulder backed away when he saw them. Surely they wouldn't tie him to the bed again. He hadn't done anything to deserve it yet. "Why am I here?" he demanded of Martin. "I didn't say anything. I didn't break our agreement." "It was just too dangerous to leave you out there in the open, Fox," Martin said sympathetically, reaching for him. "Too many opportunities for you to compromise the project." "But I haven't. I wouldn't! Not with Scully's life at stake," Mulder protested, feeling the wall at his back in his attempts to elude Martin's grasp. A look of sorrow crossed Martin's features. "You don't remember, do you?" he asked slowly. Mulder shook his head, confused. "Remember what?" Martin began knotting one of the towel strips around Mulder's left wrist, pinning his prey up against the wall with his enormous body. "Scully was killed," he said softly, not meeting Mulder's eyes. "They shot her and they tried to get to you but George was watching you, and he saved you from them." Martin's words hit Mulder like a sledgehammer to his gut. His face paled and he slumped back against the wall for support. Scully dead? How could she be? He didn't remember anything, no confrontation, no shootout, no George... "Why?" he moaned softly, running his free hand through his hair. "Why would they kill her?" "Because they planned to torture you until you told them what they wanted to know, and with Scully dead they knew you had no reason to keep silent. George managed to grab you before they could, so you escaped that fate, but we can't let you leave here again, Fox." Mulder stared into the other man's eyes and saw his future reflected there. He knew the bigger man was telling the truth. He was here forever. Scully was dead and he was back in the prison that was Verlassen and he would be here until he died. Rage began to build up inside him then, rage at all the people who had put him in this position, people who had taken everything he cared for and then, instead of mercifully killing him, locked him away to die a slow death that could take years and years and years. Mulder shoved Martin away forcefully. Martin, taken off-guard by Mulder's attack, fell back into a chair and watched as Mulder went completely crazy, ripping curtains from the windows, throwing furniture across the room, running into the bedroom and flinging books from the bookshelves to the floor. He tried to pick up one of the heavy chairs but was unable to lift it satisfactorily, so he grabbed the lamp next to it and threw it at the television, shattered glass flying everywhere. "No!" he screamed as he destroyed the apartment. Over and over the word left his lips until he was exhausted from the activity and the emotion and his voice was raw from the screaming. Finally giving in to the tears, Mulder sank down to the floor, sobs overtaking his entire body. He felt totally annihilated. "Mulder? Mulder!" Scully's voice cut through his consciousness and with another strangled "No!" Mulder opened his eyes and realized the horror he had just endured was not real. "Scully?" he cried in a voice that was half sob, and grabbed her to his body tightly. He held her as close to himself as he could, running his hands over her body to assure himself that she was alive and unhurt. She had turned on the lamp beside the bed, and Mulder's eyes darted frantically around the bedroom, convincing himself that he was in his own home and not locked away again in the hell that was Verlassen. "Shh, shh, it's all right," Scully crooned to him as his head fell back to the pillow, relief flooding him. "Everything's all right, Mulder." "Out. I have to get out!" he said suddenly, throwing back the covers and grabbing his discarded pair of jeans from the chair by the bed. Scully watched him, her fear growing, as he threw them on and buttoned them up quickly. She expected him to race from the room immediately, but instead he took her hand and pulled her out of bed. He handed her the robe that she always hung inside the bathroom door and waited impatiently while she put it on, then grabbed her hand again and pulled her toward the kitchen. They went outside on the patio and he stood there, surveying their back yard by the moonlight, breathing deeply of the fresh air. "Mulder, it's over now," she said soothingly, putting her arms around his waist as he stood there. She could feel the trembling that still gripped his body. Sadly she wondered when this torment would leave him. It had been weeks since he'd been overtaken by the need to bolt outside like this. "It was another dream, wasn't it?" she asked, reaching up to caress his cheek. "It's been a long time since you had one this bad. Something did happen while you were out running this evening, didn't it? Something that caused this." He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his face in her hair, feeling the solid warmth of her and trying desperately to push away the feeling of utter despair that had invaded him when he'd thought she was dead. The dream had been so vivid. He could still recall the conversation with Martin as if it were one he'd had that day. "Scully..." he whispered, kissing the top of her head, her face, her lips, with soft, quick kisses. "Do you want to talk about it?" she questioned hesitantly, knowing that often Mulder would battle these demons on his own rather than burden her with them. "You were thrashing around in the bed, and I thought you'd never wake up. You dreamed you were back there, didn't you?" He took a deep, shuddering breath and released it, his arms tightening about her for a moment. "It doesn't matter," he said softly. "It's over now." "I want you to call Dr. Algernon tomorrow." She shook her head at the closed-up expression his face began to take on. "Mulder, listen to me. This one was bad--the worst I can remember since your first week back. If something happened to trigger those feelings again you need to talk to someone about it. If not me, then her." "I'm fine, Scully." She glared at him. "After all we've been through together, don't even think of trying that with me," she ordered. "We both know you are not 'fine', Mulder. You just endured one of your most horrific dreams ever, and if your nightmares are going to be starting up again you need some help to overcome them." She took his hand and led him over to a nearby lounge chair, settling him in it and climbing comfortably in beside him. Scully snuggled up to his warm chest and listened to the sound of his heartbeat for a moment, still slightly quickened from the nightmare. "Please don't shut me out, Mulder. I want to help you." Her soft voice did him in. "All right, Scully, I'll tell you about it if you promise not to make me go see Dr. Algernon." She considered for a moment. "Tell me first, and then we'll decide together if you need to see her or not," she finally agreed, and he knew it was the best he would get out of her. Haltingly, Mulder described his dream to her, giving her an abbreviated version of his glimpse of the man he'd thought might be George earlier that day. He left out the fact that he had almost passed out right there on the sidewalk from terror, but Scully knew him too well. "That's why you looked like you'd seen a ghost when you came home," was her only comment. "I didn't look that bad, did I?" he protested gently, trying to lighten the mood a little. Mulder had had enough of gloom and fear for one night. "Absolutely," she insisted. "I tried to enlist Reject's help in making you spill your guts, but the little traitor went off to play instead." He laughed. "Oh, Mulder. I wish I knew what to do to make all this leave you forever," she whispered. "I'd sacrifice anything to give you peace." He pulled her closer. "You are my peace," he mumbled drowsily, exhaustion beginning to finally claim him after the last strenuous hour. "Just don't ever leave me, Scully." "Never," she promised, placing a soft kiss on his shoulder. Eventually they both slept. ***** JUNE 25 ***** "Scully, did you remember to buy cat food?" Mulder called from the kitchen as he poured the last of the box into Reject's bowl. She purred contentedly and fell to briskly devouring her dinner. "No, I think I forgot it, Mulder. Sorry," came Scully's voice from the bedroom where she was changing into comfortable clothing. Supper was in the oven and she was ready to relax. It had been a long week at work, and she was looking forward to a weekend of quiet domestic bliss with Mulder. She was glad to be working with him on the X-files again, except for the fact that his choice of cases to track had changed radically. If an investigation even looked like it might be something that would get them into trouble, Mulder steered clear of it religiously, something he had never done in the past. Scully might have been happy for the change--NOT being in trouble while partnered with Mulder was a new experience--if not for the fact that she knew it wasn't right. It wasn't him. It seemed to be the last holdout in his complete mental recovery, and it bothered her. "She's completely out of food," Mulder reported, entering the bedroom with the empty purple box in his hand. "She's not going to be a happy kitty in the morning." Scully raised an eyebrow. "For breakfast, why not just give her some of that tuna you've been hiding in the fridge?" Mulder gave her a shocked look. He'd thought for sure that can of tuna was well-concealed. Scully had to laugh at his expression. "You spoil that animal terribly, Mulder. It's a good thing she's not a child or she'd be insufferable!" Her face cast a sad shadow as she thought of the children they could never have. Mulder saw her moment of grief and pulled her into his arms. "Scully, considering how messed up I am, and how unusual our lifestyle is, it's probably best that we can't have kids," he told her quietly. "Besides, Reject is very resilient. If we forget to feed her, the worst thing she'll do is shred the curtains." Scully laughed, burying her face in his warm chest. "I wish I could give you children, Mulder." He kissed the top of her head. "You give me everything I need," he whispered. Then, since the moment was becoming entirely too sappy for Mulder's taste, he continued, "Except cat food. Cat food is something you're terribly inadequate with." She laughed again, a real laugh this time, and pulled away. "Don't worry, your cat isn't going to starve. Just run to the market in the morning and buy her some." He followed Scully into the living room and she missed the uneasy look he wore. "I think I'll run out and get it now," he announced, digging into his pocket for his car keys. Scully swung around in surprise. "Mulder! Supper's almost ready." She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but Mulder heard it anyway. "I'm sorry, Scully, it's just--" He paused for a moment, staring down at his shoes, then looked her straight in the eye. "I remember what it was like to be totally dependent on someone else for my survival. It's not a nice feeling. I know it sounds silly, but I don't want to make her wait on me in the morning." Scully sighed softly and shook her head as he started for the front door. "It'll only take a few minutes," he called, and she continued on toward the kitchen. She figured she'd better turn the heat down on the oven so their dinner didn't burn while Mulder was out. "You have that man completely wrapped around your little paws, do you know that?" she grumbled as she plucked Reject from the kitchen counter and moved her to the floor. Reject meowed haughtily and, with a twitch of her tail, made for her preferred napping spot to await her favorite plaything's return. ***** Mulder pulled out of the driveway slowly, looking both ways, and guided the car down the quiet residential street. So intent was he on reaching the market and returning quickly so as not to further upset Scully that he didn't see the van following him from halfway down the block. Less than ten minutes later, Mulder pulled into a convenient parking place at their neighborhood grocery store. He jumped out of the car quickly and hurried into the market. He didn't notice the dark blue van that drove past him, or the familiar faces behind the tinted glass. Mulder hurriedly grabbed the box of cat food from the shelf and got in the express checkout lane. There were four people ahead of him, and he groaned inwardly when he realized that at least one of them was unable to read the sign that said 'six items or less'. He glared at the back of the woman who was busily unloading an entire shopping cart full of groceries onto the checkout stand, and was considering changing lanes when his cell phone rang. "Mulder, could you pick up a few more things while you're there?" he heard Scully ask him, and moved quickly out of line, fetching a shopping cart with a sigh. Somehow he had known this would happen. When he finished receiving Scully's list Mulder made his way through the store, taking item after item from the shelves. He grinned to himself as he thought of how he'd tease her later. Scully was one of the most organized people he'd ever known, but the simple task of planning specific meals and then shopping for them eluded her. She would go through the store grabbing whatever looked good at the time, and then return home to find they had nothing to prepare for dinner. And poor Reject would starve without his interference, he decided as he tossed several cans of tuna into the cart. Finally reaching the front of the store again, Mulder got into another checkout lane--not the express lane, since he now had considerably more than six items, he thought with irritation. He wondered why so many people felt no compunction to follow the rules in life, totally forgetting that this happened to be one of Scully's major complaints about him. Outside, the van that had been slowly circling the parking lot waiting for the ideal slot to vacate had finally gotten lucky, and as Mulder was writing his check, it slid into the parking space next to his car. After paying for his purchases and grabbing a sack with each hand, Mulder left the store. He'd just unlocked the car door, his back to the van beside him, when all hell broke loose. The commotion was over within seconds, but as Mulder soon discovered, the hell had just begun. The side door of the van slid open, Mulder was grabbed from behind and jerked into the van, the door slid closed, and the van was backing out of the parking spot within seconds. Mulder decided it must be the cleanest broad-daylight abduction in the history of mankind. The back seats in the van had been removed, and Mulder was quickly pinned to the floor, lying on his stomach, his right arm twisted painfully behind him. He'd tried to yell for help when he felt himself being jerked backwards, but a hand had covered his mouth and as soon as he hit the floor the breath had been driven from his body, partially from the impact and partially from the weight of the big man holding him down. As the van sped away from the grocery store, Mulder strained to get a look at his kidnappers. He couldn't get a good view of either the driver or the man sitting on him, but the person in the van's passenger seat was clearly visible. Mulder felt himself go cold all over when he recognized the face staring back at him impassively. He closed his eyes, willing the vision to disappear, but as usual, his wish was denied him. Jeffery Spender. "Recognize someone?" the man sitting on him taunted, and Mulder gave a slight moan of fear. Now he knew he was in an incredible amount of trouble. Mulder knew that voice, and the sound of it transported him months and miles away. It was George. "What do you want from me?" he managed to get in enough air to ask. He was beginning to black out from the lack of oxygen, and George, seeming to realize this, shifted his weight slightly. Mulder sucked in air gratefully for a minute, then twisted his gaze up toward George. "I haven't said anything," he insisted. Mulder felt himself beginning to panic. He had no doubt that the smoking man had sent them to drag him back to Verlassen, but his uppermost thought was for Scully's safety. "I've kept the secret just like I said I would. I haven't told anybody anything, I swear!" "Oh, but you will, Fox," George told him, reaching forward and taking from Spender's hand the all-too-familiar syringe. "You'll tell us everything we want to know." Mulder felt the sting as he was injected with the drug that, he was certain, was going to keep him out while he was transported back to Verlassen. He struggled ineffectually beneath George's bulk, and heard George laugh a little at his efforts. "Please don't take me there," he heard himself beginning to whimper as he lost consciousness. "Don't take me back..." ***** Scully and Reject stared each other down over the dining room table. The cat had climbed into Mulder's chair and placed her front paws on the table, stretching up as if to discover what had become of her Man. The Woman sat in her usual chair, but her expression was stern. "When he gets home," Scully informed the animal, "he's going to be much too busy getting his ass kicked to play with you." She looked at her watch for the twentieth time that hour. Mulder had been gone for three hours now, dinner was long since eaten and put away, and Scully was boiling mad. It wasn't the first time Mulder had gotten sidetracked while on an errand, and she was getting incredibly tired of it. She would send him out, expecting him to be back within an hour's time, and he would show up late, sometimes very late, eyes gleaming and face flushed, to tell her that something interesting had come up that he just had to investigate, or that he'd remembered an errand he'd forgotten to run, or that he'd gotten busy perusing titles in a bookstore and lost track of the time, or any of a host of other reasons. Scully glared angrily at the empty chair. He was a dead man. She'd already decided that she was going to take whatever drastic measures she had to in order to instill this last bit of domesticity into her husband. If Scully had been feeling generous she would have reminded herself that Mulder had been on his own for thirty-eight years, and that he was naturally a free spirit. She might have even cut him some slack because of his experiences of the past year. Scully was not feeling generous. Dead. Dead man. ***** "You might as well tell us what we want to know, Mulder," Allen Hunt's honey-dripped voice told him, and Mulder's head lolled back, his pain-glazed eyes spitefully meeting those of his wife's former partner, who had apparently been the unseen driver of the van. At least they'd stopped hurting him for a few minutes. No sooner had Mulder awakened form his drug-induced sleep than Hunt and Spender had jerked him from the floor where he lay. They held him while George deftly removed his clothing with a large pocket knife. Now he hung here, naked, suspended by his wrists in cuffs hanging from the ceiling, and for the last--God, how long had they been working him over?--Mulder had forced himself to visualize Scully's perfect face in front of him. She was the reason, he kept telling himself. She was the reason for it all. Nothing mattered without Scully. If he talked, Scully died. It was very simple, really, when you broke it down to basics. Except by now, Mulder was ready to die himself; unfortunately he suspected his captors had bigger plans for him. They would kill him, all right, eventually--they hadn't any motivation to keep him alive like those who'd kept him prisoner at Verlassen--but not until he'd spoken the words that would condemn Scully to death as well. The smoking man's words floated through his mind: "If you should tell what you know, even under duress, our agreement is null and void." Duress. The man had known this was likely to happen, and had tried to warn Mulder. Why the hell did he have to be so cryptic about it? Why couldn't he have just said, "Hey, Mulder, there are some really bad guys out there, some of them that you even think you can trust, and they're planning to kidnap you and hurt you worse than you can imagine until you tell them what they want to know, and after you do, they'll kill you. And we'll kill Scully, because our agreement will be null and void." Null and void. Deceptively mild words. "You're going to die anyway," Hunt went on. "Why make it so hard on yourself? You've got that legendary memory that everyone talks about--surely you can remember some of what was in the journal." "Fuck you, you prick," Mulder said with as much vehemence as he could muster. He was pretty sure one of his wrists was broken now, and the fact that his toes barely scraped the floor and gave him no support elevated what should have been serious pain to the level of excruciating. They'd taken to him with a stiff, hollow plastic rod--not dangerous enough to cause permanent damage, just enough to hurt like hell. His entire torso, front and back, was going to be one enormous bruise after the session they'd just put him through, and Mulder knew his torment was far from over. Because he'd told them nothing. He would tell them nothing. Hunt grabbed a handful of Mulder's hair and pulled his head back painfully far. Mulder fought to keep the reflexive tears from forming in his eyes; he would not give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing him cry. "You'll tell us everything we want to know before it's over, Agent Mulder. You have no idea how bad it can get." Mulder was reminded in the next second of exactly how bad it could get when the door opened and George and Spender returned. George was slapping the plastic rod lightly against his own thigh, a determined look on his face, and Mulder swallowed hard. Stubbornly he reminded himself of why he was enduring this. If he was going to die anyway, then he had nothing to lose by keeping quiet. If he talked, Scully died. It became a mantra in his head as the pain enveloped him and wrapped around his brain. He bit down hard on his lip as the beating began, and soon his mental chant (ifItalkScullydies) was drowned out by the sound of his own screams. ***** Scully paced. It was four in the morning and Mulder still hadn't returned. She'd done all she could think of to do--called the police and reported him missing, called Skinner to inform him, retraced Mulder's steps as best she could. They'd found his car in the parking lot, groceries lying crushed on the asphalt beside it. Somebody had found his keys among them and turned them in to the store manager. Nobody had seen or heard anything. Her husband had been abducted from a crowded parking lot on a busy Friday evening and nobody had seen a thing. Now she waited, hoping for some word from the kidnappers. Scully was confident this had something to do with that damned research journal (had it really been almost a year since that unlucky thing had touched their lives?) and so was fairly certain that sooner or later she would be contacted. She had no idea what had become of the journal. Mulder had told her it had been destroyed, but that was just him repeating what he had been told. Who knew what the truth was? Reject sat on the couch and watched Scully as she made her way fitfully back and forth through the living room, pausing occasionally to look out the window in the unrealistic hope that Mulder would be returned. She stopped every now and then to pet the cat, who seemed unperturbed that her Man-toy had disappeared and that the Woman was slowly losing hope that they would ever see him alive again. ***** JUNE 29 ***** Mulder knew he couldn't last much longer. Every part of his body was battered, bleeding or broken, and life was ebbing away from him much too slowly for his preference, but ebbing away nonetheless. In between sessions they would take him down from the cuffs, give him water to drink and lock him in a small, dark closet. He lay huddled on the floor now, craving warmth and unable to find it. Mulder reached for death but it was still out of his grasp. He was ready to die. If he died now, Scully would be safe, and he was determined not to talk. She was the only thing in the world that mattered to him now. His own life had always paled in comparison. He tensed as he heard voices in the hall, and huddled deeper into the corner where he was crouched, as if tightening his body into a smaller ball would make him more difficult to find. They were coming for him again. The door was flung open and Mulder squinted at the sudden invasion of light. He fought back a whimper as they reached for him and hauled him to his feet. The cuts and bruises on his arms began screaming in protest as he was dragged down the hall to the room that served as an impromptu torture chamber, and within minutes he was fastened to the cuffs again, broken wrist jerked roughly into the metal. Mulder pressed his lips together firmly to keep from crying out as his body was maneuvered into position. "Ready to talk yet, Fox?" George asked him, a sly smile sweeping his face. Mulder stared back at him silently, determined to give this man nothing. At first Mulder had wondered how George could go from the conscientious caregiver he had been at Verlassen to the cruel sadist who stood before him now. How had George come to hate him so? Finally, after hours of reflection between torture sessions, Mulder had realized that George had not changed. George did not hate him, neither did he care anything about his well-being. He had been paid to keep Mulder alive and safe at Verlassen and he had done so. Here, he was being paid even more to work information out of Mulder, and he was performing that job with the same single-mindedness. George was not motivated by loyalty to an employer or by devotion to a cause. He was purely driven by what benefitted himself. George's only duty was to George. When Mulder made no answer, George sighed and lifted the plastic rod. Mulder tried to avoid the grimace that crossed his face, but it was seen by his captors. Spender gave a smile of delight at Mulder's discomfort. Unlike George, Spender did hate Mulder. He knew it wasn't in his father's plan for Mulder to die, but he was enjoying the other man's pain all the same. Spender wasn't certain exactly where his depth of dislike for Mulder sprang from, but he had long since ceased denying its existence. The first blow fell directly across Mulder's chest, and the breath left his body in a rush. Before he was able to adequately inhale, the rod struck his stomach. This time Mulder was unable to suppress a cry of agony. He knew that, in spite of his determination to maintain control, soon he would be crying and begging for the pain to stop. Pleas and tears notwithstanding, however, Mulder also knew he would tell them nothing. He couldn't. (IfItalkScullydies) was already making its way rhythmically through his mind. Almost an hour later, Mulder hung limply from the cuffs, barely conscious. (IfItalkScullydies) was the only thing he could focus on. Occasionally George, Hunt or Spender would grab his hair and pull his head back, forcing water down his throat, which he gulped greedily. The person standing in front of him would talk, and Mulder could see mouths moving, but all he heard was (IfItalkScullydies). He would tell them nothing. At last, after Mulder had decided that this time they would keep at him until he finally gave up life, they took him down. Spender and Hunt each took one of his arms over their shoulders and they guided him back down the hallway to his closet, with George bringing up the rear. When they opened the door, rather than throwing him on the floor and locking it as usual, they set Mulder carefully down, leaning him against the wall in the corner, and George squatted beside him. "Fox, this is going nowhere," he stated calmly. Mulder just glared at him. "I think it's time to raise the stakes a little." Mulder stared, uncomprehending. Raise the stakes? What were they going to do now, start cutting pieces off him? It wouldn't do any good. He still wouldn't talk. "I think it's time to involve your wife." Mulder swallowed hard, not quite understanding what George meant. He licked his lips and tried to speak, but no sound would emerge from his raw throat. "Perhaps if we bring her here and work on her for a bit, we can persuade you to talk to us, hmm?" George asked, taking Mulder's chin in his hand and forcing the battered man's eyes to his. At that Mulder found his voice. "No..." he managed in a slight whisper. "If you want to prevent it, all you have to do is talk to me now." George's voice was almost kindly as it drove stake after stake through Mulder. (IfItalkScullydies ifItalkScullydies...) After a moment or two of silence, George released his chin and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'll give you a couple of hours to think it over, Fox. When I come back, you'd better be ready to talk to me, or I'll have to send my friends to escort your wife here." He rose from his squatting position and turned to the door, pausing a moment. "Sure you don't want to talk to me now?" Mulder stared back at him mutely. George shrugged. "In two hours then. It makes no difference to me." The door closed and once again Mulder was in darkness. ***** "You have less than two hours to get him out of here or he's going to spill what he knows." Smoke blew into the air. "Why? What's prompted him to speak?" "They threatened to bring in Agent Scully--torture her until he talks." The smoking man frowned. He'd been ready to move as soon as his son had reported the plan for Mulder's abduction to him, but had waited to see how the situation developed. He still needed Mulder cowed, and if these men would do the job for him, all the better. He'd had no fear that Mulder would tell what he knew, not with his wife at risk, and had always planned to rescue Mulder before he reached the point where he couldn't recover from his injuries. This, however, was a course of events he hadn't foreseen, although he supposed he should have. It was the next logical step. Now it was time for him to take things in hand. Mulder may be a broken man, but if the secret of the journal got out it wouldn't matter. The entire project would be compromised. He stubbed out his cigarette forcibly in the nearby ashtray and pursed his lips. "I'll stage a rescue immediately," he said mildly. "You'll have to be careful. Stay out of the way. I wouldn't want you getting hurt." Spender hung up the telephone and wondered again why his father cared whether or not Mulder died. The older man seemed to have a certain attachment to the other agent, one that Spender neither understood nor appreciated. That hogwash about admiring the type of man Mulder was--that just didn't fly, in Jeffery's opinion. No, there was something more at work here, and he intended to discover what it was. ***** "Agent Scully, I need your cooperation. Agent Mulder needs your cooperation. She glared balefully at the man standing at her door. "What do you know of Mulder?" she demanded. "I know that he's in a lot of trouble," he told her, his eyes holding hers coldly. "And I know where he's being kept." "Is he all right?" "He's...alive. He won't be much longer, though, unless you do exactly as I say." "Have your people taken him again?" she asked angrily. "I'm not responsible for Agent Mulder's abduction, Agent Scully. However, I do possess the ability to save his life. If you do as I say." Scully considered. "What is it you want me to do?" she finally questioned. "I want you to go quietly while my aides fly you to Verlassen. You're in danger as well. Wait there and I'll bring Mulder to you. It will be a safe place for him to recover from his injuries." She was shaking her head before he finished. There was no way she was going to let this man haul her off to that island and leave her there. For all Scully knew, she might never see the light of day again if she did. "No. No way," she insisted. "If you know where Mulder is and you're on your way to rescue him, don't think that I'm going to let you ship me off to some god-forsaken island while you do it. I'm going with you." She smiled grimly, reminding him, "I am a trained federal agent. You just might be able to use my help." Realizing her determination, he nodded in capitulation. There was no time to argue with her if they were going to reach Mulder before he began telling his secrets. ***** "Time's up, Mulder," Spender gloated as he opened the door to the closet where Mulder was imprisoned. "Moment of truth." Mulder kept his eyes closed, his head against the wall, breathing carefully and trying desperately to reach a decision. He had been going over his options for the last two hours, and had finally come to the conclusion that he had none. If they were planning to bring Scully here and hurt her, he had to tell them what he knew. (IfItalkScullydies) had been replaced by (howdoIknowhe'stellingthetruth). He had carefully thought back over the events of the past few years. Scully's cancer had developed when the chip had been removed from her neck, and it had gone into remission when another chip was inserted there. Other than that, there had been no indication that the people who controlled the chip could control her health. In fact, the only time Mulder could really say the chip had influenced her behavior in any way was when she had been summoned to that bridge along with Cassandra Spender and so many others. She didn't even remember going there. She hadn't remembered anything at all about that night. But as to her health--nothing. And for all the times they'd been in trouble, all the times they'd upset powerful people, all the times they could have made her cancer return--nothing. So didn't that mean there was a chance, just an outside chance, that the smoking man had lied to him? Mulder had believed him at the time, but he'd really had no choice. Maybe the man had threatened him with Scully's cancer returning in order to keep him silent, knowing that in actuality he held no power over her health. But if that were the case, then his guarantee of Scully's safety was equally useless. Mulder's mind was numb from trying to figure it out. Spender stepped into the closet and Hunt followed, both of them reaching for him and hauling him to his feet. Once again he was dragged agonizingly down the hallway and attached to the cuffs. Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly shut and waited for the assault to begin. Instead, he felt pain in his tender scalp as his hair was grabbed yet again and his head drawn back. He opened his eyes to look directly into George's cold black ones. "Your decision, Fox?" he asked softly. Mulder returned his gaze silently, and George gave his head a little shake, causing him to gasp at the burning feeling in his head. "Are you going to talk to me, or do we bring your wife here in order to convince you?" Mulder stared him down for a few more seconds, and then seemed to crumple. His eyes closed and his words were the faintest whisper. "I'll tell you...anything you want to know." There was a sudden commotion at the door, and George released his grip on Mulder's hair, spinning around in shock. He opened his mouth in stunned surprise but was unable to form even a single word before half his head was blown away by Scully's gun. Spender backed up against a nearby wall, drawing his own firearm even before the blood and gore from George had splattered onto Mulder's face and chest. Mulder allowed his head to fall forward, barely conscious of the drama being played out around him. Spender raised his weapon at the fleeing Hunt, but his father's hand prevented his fire. As Hunt slipped quietly out the door, Scully ran to Mulder. "Get him down!" she ordered Spender, and he reached up to unfasten the cuffs from Mulder's wrists. Mulder immediately slumped forward, and Scully and Spender caught him before he could hit the floor. "Let's get him outside," the smoking man said, and Spender supported Mulder, half dragging him down the hallway and out the door of the house. Scully scanned the area carefully for any sign of Hunt, but there was no evidence that he was still in the vicinity. She was still reeling at the revelation that her former partner had been involved in a plot to kill her husband. They loaded Mulder into the sedan they had arrived in. Tires squealed as Spender gunned the engine and they sped away. ***** JUNE 30 ***** His first impression upon regaining consciousness was that he had descended into hell. Everything hurt. Everything REALLY hurt. His entire body was one big throbbing pain, and he attempted to mentally catalogue his injuries but quickly gave it up. There was no point. For a few seconds he lay there in fear that George or his men would be returning to inflict more torture on him, but gradually he realized that he was lying on a soft bed rather than curled up on a hard floor. Daylight was visible through his closed eyelids, and Mulder surmised from this that he was no longer in his closet-cell. He struggled to open his eyes, and when he finally succeeded, Mulder felt a shaft of cold terror run through his gut. (ohgodnopleaseno!) Verlassen. He was back at Verlassen. It was no dream this time. At first he thought he was back in his old prison, but quickly realized that although this bedroom was virtually identical to his, there were no bars at the window. Painfully he turned his head and lost his breath suddenly when he recognized the man sitting beside his bed. Martin smiled casually at Mulder. "I won't bother asking how you're feeling." Mulder tried to speak and could make no sound. He swallowed as much moisture as his dry mouth could produce, and Martin hastened to hold a glass of water to his lips. He gently elevated Mulder's head and allowed him to drink, then set the glass on the bedside table and lay Mulder back. "Why?" Mulder managed to whisper. Martin looked puzzled. "Why what, Mulder?" Mulder swallowed again. "Why am I here?" he asked, the hopeless despair evident in his weakened voice. Understanding touched Martin's features. "Don't worry, Mulder, you haven't been kidnapped again. You're not a prisoner here this time, you're a guest." Mulder's face registered disbelief. "You're badly injured," Martin explained. "You need to be kept in a safe place in order to heal." Martin grinned. "No place on earth safer than Verlassen." Mulder wearily closed his eyes, but an instant later they flew open again. "Scully!" He attempted to raise himself and fell back unwillingly to the pillow, lacking the strength to move any farther. "Stay put!" Martin ordered, firmly keeping him in place. "She's safe." Mulder struggled briefly beneath the other man's big hands. "Mulder! Do I need to slice up another towel to convince you?" Martin met Mulder's eyes, a bit of a twinkle in his own, and Mulder lay back, defeated by his injuries. It certainly wouldn't be necessary for Martin to restrain him this time. He hurt so badly he could barely move. "Where is she?" "Downstairs. And if you'll lie quietly, I'll go and get her." Mulder nodded and Martin disappeared. Mulder closed his eyes, covering them with his palms, and concentrated on breathing deeply, willing the pain to diminish. He was certain that being run over by a train car could not have hurt more than this. "Mulder?" One cool hand slipped into his while another smoothed the hair back from his forehead. "I'm sorry, I meant to be here when you woke up." He opened his eyes again and looked up into his wife's smiling face. He blinked in relief at the sight of her, obviously not a prisoner, and then murmured, "Why are we here?" "We brought you here. You've got to be protected from Allen and any others he may be working with--they'll be looking for you." "Did they hurt you?" She shook her head, smiling. "Nobody's hurt me. Nobody's going to hurt you. We got to you just in time, though. You were about to tell them what you knew about the journal." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Scully, I--" "Shh. I know, Mulder. You weren't supposed to tell what you knew because of me. To protect me." He looked up at her quizzically. "He told me. The smoking man. He said you agreed to keep the secret in exchange for my safety, and that's why he released you from this place before. Why didn't you tell me?" Mulder shook his head. "I didn't want you to know," he confessed weakly. "I didn't want you to be afraid." "Afraid of what?" "That I might use it against you." Scully lay down on the bed beside him and cautiously snuggled up next to his body, careful not to cause him more pain. "I wouldn't have been afraid of that," she told him gently. "You wouldn't ever do anything to hurt me, don't you think I know that, Mulder?" He was quiet for a minute. "Yeah," he said at last. "But I still didn't want you to know. I didn't want to put that burden on you." He felt her kiss his face softly and relished the nearness of her. "You endured this for me," she said softly. "Because of me." "No, Scully..." "Yes. To keep them from hurting me. You let them hurt you instead. How far would you have let it go, Mulder?" He said nothing. "You'd have let them kill you. You'd have died just to save me." He still remained stubbornly silent. As far as Mulder was concerned, the conversation was over. "Ah. Our patient is awake." The couple on the bed looked up, startled at the interruption. The smoking man stood in the doorway surveying the scene, a small smile gracing his features. He entered the room and stood at the foot of Mulder's bed. "Why have you brought me here again?" Mulder demanded in the strongest voice he could muster. The older man smiled more broadly. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder. You'll be allowed to leave this time." "When?" He blew out a puff of smoke. Mulder wondered idly if he had ever seen this man without a cigarette in his hand. "As soon as we've tracked down Agent Scully's ex-partner and his associates and killed them." Mulder breathed heavily for a moment. "Why do they have to be killed?" he asked at last. "Why not simply brought to justice?" "There is no justice, Agent Mulder. There are only secrets. Secrets and lies." A distant look came to his eyes, and for a minute Mulder wondered if he was even aware of them. "Some secrets you guard with your life. Others are guarded with death." This last was said softly, and Mulder could have sworn he almost heard a tone of regret. He stared at the man for a few seconds. "Who are you?" he asked finally. "Why, after all you've done to me, are you protecting me now?" "Let's just say I have a certain interest in seeing that you stay alive." "Are you my father?" Mulder demanded suddenly. The smoker flicked his ashes onto the floor, indicating no surprise at the question. "Your father was William Mulder. Isn't that what it says on your birth certificate?" He left the room without another word. Mulder looked up at Scully and she shook her head slowly. "I just don't know, Mulder, but it doesn't really matter, does it?" she asked tenderly. "It doesn't change who you are. It doesn't change the fact that I love you." Mulder clenched his eyes shut against the pain, both inward and outward. She gently stroked his hair and gradually he relaxed and soon fell into a deep sleep. ***** JULY 2 ***** "There's something I've been wondering, Amelia," Scully ventured. The two women were sitting together in the small den on the first floor, sharing coffee and conversation. Scully had found that, now that she was no longer a threat to Mulder, Amelia was quite likeable, and over the past two days the women had struck up a friendship of sorts. "What's that, Dana?" Amelia asked as she stirred cream into her coffee. "Where are all the other men that were here before?" Scully asked, glancing around the dim, quiet room. The entire island had an air of silence about it, unlike the last time Scully had visited, and the only people she had seen since the smoking man had left, other than herself and Mulder, were Amelia and Martin. Amelia smiled wistfully. "After George defected to the other side, I fired them all," she stated. "All but Martin?" Scully asked, hiding her smile behind her coffee cup as she took a sip. "Martin is completely trustworthy," Amelia insisted, then gave a small snort of laughter. "Of course, I said the same thing about George once." She put her cup down in its saucer and stared at the rich brown liquid thoughtfully. "Martin has been with me for years," she told Scully softly. "He worked for my uncle, who raised me after my parents died. I've always been able to depend on Martin." "He's quite a bit older than you then?" Scully asked casually. Amelia shook her head. "Not that much older. Five years. It's just that, while I was getting a college education and working toward certain life goals, Martin was here. He's one of the few constants in my life. I would flit to and from Verlassen, restless, uncertain of what I wanted to do with my life, but Martin--he's known from the very beginning." "And what is it Martin wants to do with his life?" Amelia looked at her seriously. "He's dedicated to this project, Dana. He may not play a very large part in its completion, but Martin understands the importance of being a cog in a larger machine. Unlike George, who wanted to be the entire engine." She looked away for a moment, turmoil evident on her face. "I thought George was happy here, but I was wrong. He needed more, I suppose, than I was able to give him as his employer. He needed the excitement that comes from being part of the very inner circle. That's why he left me and went over to the opposition." She took a sip of the hot coffee. "Well, that and the fact that they offered him loads of money," she added wryly. Scully looked around the room, taking in the luxury of the decor, the richness of the dark wood paneling, the obvious lavishness of the furnishings. "Maybe you should have paid him a little more," she observed dryly. Amelia set her cup down again, this time with a noticeable CLINK. It was apparent that she was offended. "Don't misunderstand, Agent Scully," she said in a somewhat formal voice. "The bulk of the money I inherited from my uncle was earned legitimately, from work outside the project. And the men who were employed here were given a more than adequate salary. Probably much higher than what your government pays you." Amelia seemed about to go on with her diatribe when she took notice of the sudden change in Scully's demeanor. The other woman's face had taken on an impassive look, and she was wordlessly staring at a point behind Amelia. Amelia was about to turn around when she heard the unmistakable click of a pistol hammer being drawn back. She drew in her breath quickly and froze. "Isn't this convenient?" Hunt asked casually, keeping his gun trained firmly on Scully as another man entered the room behind him and came around to face Amelia. "Kenneth!" she gasped. "You too?" Kenneth smiled, showing white, sharp teeth. "No, Amelia, I didn't follow George to the other side." He casually shrugged. "I just accepted this job when it was offered to me, since I've been unemployed for the last couple of months." The bitterness in his tone was evident, and Amelia shrank back into her chair. Scully instinctively reached for her weapon and cursed silently when she realized she had left it upstairs in the room she and Mulder shared. Hunt grinned. "Aren't you supposed to have your weapon with you at all times, Agent Scully?" he asked silkily as he walked around to stand next to her chair. She ignored him until he reached to pick up a lock of her hair, and then Scully forcefully slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me, you bastard!" she hissed, and he drew back, chuckling. "Oh, I plan on doing a lot more than touching you," he whispered in her ear, leaning down close so Amelia and Kenneth couldn't hear. "Once I get what I want from your husband, I'm going to have all the fun I want with you. Maybe I'll even let him watch. I'll teach you what happens to little girls who don't play by my rules." Scully's breath caught when he mentioned Mulder. She glared at him but said nothing. She wasn't about to give Allen the satisfaction of hearing her beg, and her mind was busily turning over ways to get rid of these men before they could make their way upstairs and harm Mulder again. Her thoughts were interrupted before a decent plan could be formulated, by Kenneth's gruff voice. "Stand up," he commanded, gesturing with the gun in his hand. "Upstairs, both of you." With a sinking heart, Scully rose after a slight hesitation and followed Amelia up to the second floor landing. "One more flight, dear," Kenneth smiled, and Amelia gave him an irritated look and continued up. Scully could tell from the look of resignation on her face that Amelia had guessed what was about to happen. She wished Amelia would let her in on the secret. They reached the third floor and Kenneth took Amelia's arm. "I'll take care of this one," he told Hunt. "You go and get miss F.B.I. woman ready." "With pleasure," came Hunt's gloating response, and while Kenneth marched Amelia down the hallway in one direction, Scully's ex-partner gently shoved her in the other. She realized, with diminishing optimism, that they were headed for the suite where she and Mulder were staying. Mulder was still in bed, too weak and injured to be much use to anyone, and Scully feared for him. Martin had left the den less than ten minutes before these men showed up, saying he wanted to check on something outside, and now Scully found herself wondering if he was involved in this fiasco, or if perhaps he might show up at the last moment to save them. Were all of Amelia's former employees dirty? Hunt took her into the sitting room of their suite and ordered her to sit in one of the chairs. Keeping his gun pointed toward her at all times, he moved to the windows and collected several drapery sashes from the heavy curtains that hung there. Returning to Scully, Hunt managed to tie her firmly to the chair with the sashes, and she knew, as she twisted in the bindings, that she wouldn't be able to escape from him this time. Kenneth entered the room as Hunt was finishing securing Scully to the chair. "Amelia taken care of?" Hunt asked him. "All locked away," Kenneth answered, and the two of them disappeared into the bedroom. Scully heard scuffling, and a moment later they emerged, pulling a weak and weary-looking Mulder along with them. When he saw her, his eyes grew huge. "Scully!" he whispered hoarsely. Hunt shoved Mulder down into the chair facing her, and Kenneth tied him to it with another of the drapery sashes. Once they were both completely restrained, Kenneth stood back and let Hunt take over. "What do you want with her?" Mulder demanded. "It's me you need, isn't it?" He nodded toward the woman in the chair. "Why not let Scully go?" Hunt ran a finger caressingly along Scully's jawline as she drew back, her attempts to avoid him unsuccessful. Mulder's face tightened but he said nothing. "You know, I was supposed to have her," Hunt informed them casually. "That was part of the deal when I was assigned as her partner. I was promised I could have her inside AND outside the office." "Too bad things didn't work out for you!" Scully hissed, drawing back as his hand dipped downward to the curve of her breast. When his fingers began working the top button of her blouse, Scully leaned forward and, in desperation, bit Hunt hard on the arm. "Shit!" he yelled, and slapped her reflexively. Her head rocked back from the force of his blow, and Mulder turned away for a second, unable to watch Hunt hurt his wife. "Leave her alone, you sonofabitch!" he hollered, fury causing him to forget his pain as he struggled against his bindings. Hunt rubbed the teeth marks on his arm angrily for a few seconds, glaring at Scully. "All right, Mulder," he said finally, reaching into his pocket. "Game over." "What do you want from us?" Mulder demanded, fighting to keep his mind focused on the situation at hand and away from the aches and pains their rough handling of him had awakened. His head was beginning to spin and he knew he was quickly losing what strength he had managed to gain over the last two days. "The same thing we wanted before." Hunt extracted a large pocket knife from his jeans and flipped it open. The five-inch blade gleamed sharply in the light. "Don't hurt her," Mulder began, his eyes fixed on the glittering steel, but Hunt stopped him with a smile. "Hurt her?" he questioned in a voice that was black velvet. "I've wanted to do a lot of things to her, Mulder, but hurting her was never one of them. Do you know what I've wanted to do to her?" Mulder stared at him angrily, jerking helplessly at the cords that bound him while Hunt gathered up a handful of Scully's hair and gently pulled her head back. He closed his eyes in pain as Hunt lowered his mouth to Scully's trying to block out her small cries of disgust. When her assailant raised his face from hers, Scully suddenly spat at him, a glob of foamy spittle that landed directly on his mouth. Mulder opened his eyes at the sound, and felt a glimmer of pride at the sight. Even moments away from death, his Scully was a fighter, he thought. Pride gave way to fear as Hunt reached up, wiped the spit off his lips with the back of his hand, and then slowly began to play the blade of the knife up and down Scully's exposed throat. "You'll pay for that, bitch," he crooned. He finally rested the sharp blade directly across the spot where Scully's jugular throbbed gently beneath her skin. "Well, Mulder, what's it going to be?" he asked. "You talk or she dies." "Don't tell him anything, Mulder," Scully ordered forcefully. "They're going to kill us both anyway." Hunt pressed the knife into her skin and a small drop of blood appeared, sliding slowly down her throat toward her shoulder. At the sight of the blood, Mulder gave up completely. His demeanor never changed, but Scully could see the capitulation in his eyes. Sadly, she gave him an almost imperceptible nod, releasing him from his promise. She knew he couldn't watch her suffer. "Wait, don't hurt her," he said quickly. "I'll tell you what you want to know." Hunt smiled and pulled the knife away from Scully's neck, standing up straight beside her chair. "Good," he said smugly. "Start talk--" The look of surprise on Hunt's face when the bullet hit him was matched by those on the other three faces in the room. In unison they turned to the door in time to see Martin take aim at Kenneth and pull the trigger once more. Kenneth fell to the floor, hands clutching frantically at his chest as the blood began to pour out of him and stain the luxurious carpet. Mulder could only stare numbly as Martin quickly made his way into the room. The other man bent down and rolled Hunt over, ascertaining that he was dead, then gave Kenneth's dying body a vicious kick. "Bastard," he whispered. He picked up the knife that had fallen from Hunt's hand and began to cut the cords that held Scully to the chair. As soon as she was free she sprang toward Mulder and began futilely pulling at his ties. "Let me," Martin said, and began working to free Mulder with the knife. Their attention was drawn back to the man on the floor as he tried to speak. A gurgling sound emitted from Kenneth and then his lips began to form words. Martin left Mulder for a moment to go and kneel beside his old co-worker. "What is it, old buddy?" he asked as the man fought for speech. "Never--get out--alive," Kenneth finished triumphantly, and then relaxed back onto the floor as the last of his strength left him and death approached. Martin stared at Scully and the two of them froze for a moment. Suddenly a horrible idea struck Scully as she remembered Kenneth clawing at his own chest. She ran to him, pulling open the shirt that had by now become thoroughly soaked with blood. A small electrical device of a sort that Scully was sure she recognized was strapped to his chest, and her face paled. Instantly she jumped to her feet and began frantically pulling at the cords that held Mulder securely to the chair. "We have to get out of here!" she announced in a steady, determined voice. "I think he might have rigged the house in some way." Martin gaped at her. "You mean explosives?" Scully nodded grimly, reaching for his knife. "That's a detonator on his chest. We don't have much time." "How long?" "No telling. We have to get out of here NOW!" Martin stopped her, reaching into his pocket. "Wait," he said abruptly. "He'll have to be carried out. You'll never make it. Here." He thrust a key into her hand. "Amelia's locked behind the steel door down the hall. Go let her out and you two get out of the house quickly. I'll take care of Mulder." Scully stared at the key in her hand, reluctant to leave Mulder behind, and Martin pushed her gently toward the door. "Go, Dana!" he insisted. "Don't worry about Mulder." His face softened at her obvious desire to stay with her husband. "Trust me," he told her. "I'll save your man. You go save my woman." "Go on, Scully," Mulder insisted weakly. Scully took one last, longing glance at Mulder and nodded. She left the room and raced down the hallway in search of Amelia. Finding the proper room was no trouble, as it possessed the only steel vault-like door on the third floor. She could hear Amelia behind it, banging on the wall and calling frantically for Martin. With trembling hands, Scully fitted the key in the lock and turned it, and Amelia threw the door open immediately. "Martin?" she panted, her eyes darting frantically down the hallway. "He's all right," Scully told her, grabbing her arm and urging her down the hall. "He got to us time, but we have to get out of the house. It's going to explode." Amelia followed her without question and the women practically flew down the two flights of stairs, racing for the front door. When they reached the enormous porch, Martin was waiting at the foot of it with the Jeep, Mulder already sprawled across the back seat. Amelia climbed quickly in beside Martin while Scully threw herself into Mulder's waiting arms, ignoring his gasp of pain at her impact. Martin stomped on the gas pedal before she even had the door closed, and the jeep went racing across the lawn for the road. "To the dock!" Amelia yelled, but Martin overrode her. "The boat's been sabotaged," he replied grimly. He drove as fast as he dared, intent on putting as much distance between them and the house as he could, but they had taken too long in getting out. They were barely a hundred yards away when there was a loud THWUMP from behind them and pieces of wood and other debris began falling all around their vehicle. Martin tried swerving to avoid some of the pieces falling into the road as the entire Jeep surged forward from the force of the blast. Scully closed her eyes and relived the explosion of the federal building in Dallas for a moment. She felt Mulder's arms tighten around her and wondered if their luck had finally run out. Wouldn't it be ironic, she thought, after all they'd been through and all the trouble they'd caused, to die here at Verlassen--not at the hands of the Consortium, but simply from the work of a disgruntled employee bent on revenge? She opened her eyes a few minutes later when she realized the jeep was slowing down. They were at the edge of the water, and when Scully turned around she could barely see the remains of the mansion behind them in the moonlight. It was gutted. "The island's not very big," Amelia apologized. "But we seem to have escaped the fallout from the explosion anyway, by some miracle or other. How did you know it was going to happen?" she asked Scully, reaching for Martin at the same time. Martin pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair, shushing her gently, and Amelia, realizing she was babbling nervously, quieted down and allowed him to comfort her. "Mulder, are you all right?" Scully asked, lifting herself off the body of her husband where she had been plastered for the short jeep ride. His face was milky white and the bruises stood out in stark contrast against his skin. His eyes were closed, his breathing rapid and shallow, and a light sheen of sweat was breaking out over his body. "Damn!" she swore. "Martin, he's going into shock. I have to keep him warm." She began tugging Mulder's feet toward the door. "We need to get him out of here and lay him down more comfortably if we can." Martin reached into the back of the jeep and grabbed a dirty blanket that covered the spare tire, spreading it carefully on the sand. He gently lifted Mulder's battered body, easing the man to the ground. Mulder winced a couple of times but made no sound as the edges of the blanket were pulled across to cover him. "How are we going to get out of here?" Scully asked anxiously as she knelt beside Mulder. "If your boat is damaged..." "It's damaged, but not destroyed," Martin told her. "I'll check it and see if the radio is still in working order. Also, there are some emergency supplies stored there." "Martin, how did you know what was happening?" Amelia asked as she lowered herself to sit on the sand beside him. "I thought they must have killed you." She shuddered and Martin wrapped his massive arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. "I saw lights out the window," he told her. "That's what I went to investigate. They have a small boat tied up near here. I guess they thought if they came up on this side of the island that we'd neither hear nor see them and they could take us by surprise." He made a small noise of disgust. "Kenneth should have known better." Scully raised her head at his words. "A boat?" she asked quickly. "Why can't we use it to leave here?" Martin rubbed his hand over his face, embarrassed. "Because I emptied their gas tank," he admitted. "I wanted to keep them from escaping. It never occurred to me that they would destroy the mansion." Scully sighed in despair. "Mulder's in bad shape," she told them. "We have to get him to a hospital as quickly as possible. He's also in a lot of pain. You don't suppose those guys had any narcotics on that boat, do you?" she finished jokingly. Martin looked surprised at the thought. "You know, Dana, that's a real possibility. Kenneth was frequently using some type of drug or other. I'll go check it out. You ladies stay here with Mulder." "I'm coming with you," Amelia told him promptly, clambering to her feet. "You might need some help carrying the stuff." Scully smiled at her transparent excuse, but didn't begrudge Amelia the attempt. She understood; she didn't want to leave Mulder's side either. Martin looked for a moment as thought he might argue, but Amelia slipped her hand in his and asked determinedly, "Which way?" Giving in gracefully, with a smile that told her he was glad for her company, Martin led her off down the path. "Scully?" Scully turned her attention away from the couple disappearing around the bend and back to her husband lying on the sand. "Yes, Mulder?" she asked, leaning down to him so he didn't have to exert himself too much. "It's over." His voice was nothing but a whisper. Scully's blood froze for a moment. For one, brief, horrifying second she thought he meant that THEY were over, that Mulder's desire to protect her meant that he would rip them apart in order to remove her from danger. The expression on his face calmed her in the next instant. If Mulder was sending her away from him, he would be wearing his impassive, 'I'm-trying-to-deny-all-emotion' face. Instead, he was looking up at her with all the love he felt in his heart, and Scully wanted to melt right there on the sand. If Mulder hadn't been in such bad shape, she knew that expression on his face would have made her take him then and there. "What's over?" she asked when she'd caught her breath. "I'm giving up," he told her seriously, his voice gaining a little strength. "I'm quitting. Calling off the search." "Shh," she said, pushing him back down when he tried to sit up. "Just lie there. Hopefully help will be on the way soon. Now what is this nonsense about you quitting?" "It's not nonsense, Scully," he told her as he allowed her to settle him back on the blanket. "I'm tired of constantly putting you in danger. Nothing is worth the experience you've just gone through." Scully stared at him in disbelief for a second, and then sank into helpless, relieved, borderline-hysterical laughter. It started as small hiccups of mirth and soon grew into loud guffaws that sent tears streaming down her face. Mulder stared up at her quizzically. He wondered if his influence had finally managed to drive Scully 'round the bend. "I didn't think it was funny," he commented mildly. "Oh, Mulder," she said, beginning to calm down and wipe tears from her eyes. "Only you could go through kidnapping, days and days of torture, threats to your life, threats to MY life, and then figure you'd come out on the easy end of it." He gave her a look of complete incomprehension. "Huh?" "The experience I'VE just gone through?" she reminded him. "The worst thing that happened to me was having to watch while they manhandled you, knowing how much pain you must be in. Nothing bad happened to me at all, Mulder." "Scully, you were almost killed because of me! And that bastard Hunt, I thought he was going to--" "Don't be silly," she snapped, suddenly losing her patience with him. She wasn't about to let Mulder throw away the driving force behind his very existence in order to protect her. "Nothing that happened to either of us was your fault. This whole thing started a year ago, when that journal showed up on your doorstep. You certainly didn't have anything to do with that, and the entire situation has been out of our control since then." "But Scully--" "Shut up, Mulder. You're not quitting. I won't let you. This discussion is over." "I didn't realize I promised to love, honor and obey," Mulder grumbled. "Hasn't anyone ever told you to read an entire contract before you sign it, Mulder?" she asked lightly, squeezing his hand gently. "It was in the fine print." He smiled weakly and closed his eyes, tired out from the conversation. "Yes, dear," Mulder murmured and Scully smiled happily. "Dana!" Amelia waved to her as she and Martin returned. Amelia was holding a blanket and thermos. "Coffee! And the radio in their boat was working, so Martin has called for help. It should be here in a couple of hours." Scully took the thermos of coffee eagerly and, ignoring Mulder's pleading look, poured some into the lid and sipped it. "Scully..." "No way, Mulder. Not in your condition," she said regretfully as Martin approached carrying a large ice chest. "What did you find?" "Food," he told her. "And, just for Mulder, water from our boat, and this." He held up a small brown bottle, which Scully took from him eagerly. "I, on the other hand, want some of that coffee you're hogging, Dana." Scully inspected the pills in the bottle. She easily recognized them as a popular prescription painkiller. "The Holy Grail, Mulder," she teased, waving them in front of his face as he eyed the medication hungrily. Scully put one of the pills on his tongue and gave him a drink from the canteen Martin handed her. Amelia spread the blanket she was carrying over him as Scully cradled his head on her lap. "Scully?" he asked when she took the water away from his lips. "Yeah, Mulder?" Scully responded, bending down close to hear his voice, which was growing weaker. "You got any morphine, by any chance?" She gave a sad laugh and stroked his face. "That pill will work in a few minutes, and help will be here soon, I promise." He nodded and relaxed back into her lap, trying to will away the agony in his body. He was almost asleep when another thought occurred to him. "Scully?" "Yes, Mulder?" "Reject?" he questioned worriedly. Scully laughed, relieved. "She's fine, my mother's taking care of her." He nodded, satisfied that his responsibilities were taken care of for the moment, and as their voices swirled around him, Mulder finally felt the drug take hold of his pain. Slowly he drifted off into sleep. ***** "What do we do now?" The smoking man reclined back in his chair slightly and stubbed out his Morley. "Nothing at all. It's done." "What about Mulder?" "Agent Mulder will recover soon, and no doubt return to plague us in his usual way." Spender swung around and faced the wall, breathing heavily. He couldn't face his father while he asked the question. "Who is he?" The older man steepled his fingers and regarded Spender thoughtfully. "What do you mean?" "Is he my brother?" Spender demanded suddenly, turning on him. "Does it matter?" He held Spender's gaze steadily. "He still has to be kept in check." "Mulder won't be broken," Spender reminded him. "I should think you'd have learned that by now. Not unless you take steps that you seem unwilling to take." He reached for his matches. "Then he'll have to be controlled." "How?" "I'd think the answer would be obvious. Control Scully and you control Mulder." The man's tone was deceptively mild. "I may have an assignment for you soon, Son. One that might require more...subterfuge on your part." Spender ignored this last. "Can you control Scully?" "Mulder believes I can." His son stared at him, confused. "Don't worry about it. You'll be completely informed. When the time is right." Spender left the office, and the smoking man lit up his cigarette, carefully mulling over "the Mulder Problem". The man was still a threat, although his belief that Scully could be controlled by the chip in her neck would help keep him in line. It wouldn't be long, he was sure, before Mulder was again poking his nose in places it had no business being poked. He was relentless in his search for his truth, just as his old enemy was undeviating from his path of concealing certain truths from Mulder. Some things, the man reflected, never changed. THE END