SHADOW II: Resurrection by TexxasRose (a.k.a. Laura Castellano) November 1998 laurita_castellano@yahoo.com Classification: S, A, MSR Rating: R for language, violence, mild sex and some mild (very mild) sexual assault Disclaimer: If I owned Fox Mulder, I'd keep him much too busy to solve cases. If I owned Dana and Maggie Scully, they'd be my shopping buddies. If I owned Walter Skinner...well I don't know what I'd do with him, but I'd put him to good use somehow...But they all belong to Chris Carter, 1013, yada yada yada...you know the drill. Guarantee: Always MSR, Always a happy ending. Really. Trust me. This is for Julie--without her encouragement it would never have been written. ********** Chapter 1 ********** //He could feel the fire, lapping at his feet as he scrambled desperately back against the wall, pulling futilely at the chains that bound him. His screams echoed in his own ears as the heat scorched his body and seared his throat and nose with each painful breath he drew. He turned his face away from the orange assailant and curled up into as small a ball as his body would allow, hearing someone begin a high-pitched, pathetic whine and suddenly realizing it was himself.// Scully watched as Mulder began to shift uncomfortably in his sleep and mutter under his breath, words she could not quite catch. She wondered about waking her partner but decided to wait as long as possible before rousing him. She could count on one hand the hours of sleep he had gotten since she had rescued him from that madwoman. He hadn't had many nightmares about his experience simply because he had not allowed himself to sleep long enough to immerse himself fully in one. He'd fought slumber as if it were an enemy to be vanquished, finally giving in to defeat when his exhausted body could hold out no longer, then sleeping fitfully--without really resting--for a short time waking suddenly with a gasp and a quick, frantic look around to get his bearings. Once Mulder realized that he was safe he would relax back onto the pillow with a look of such abject relief that it broke Scully's heart. He'd been held captive before, but nothing had ever affected him quite like this latest ordeal. Not even his torture and near-execution at the hands of the New Spartans had frightened him this badly. She waited until his fear began to manifest itself on his face and he was beginning to call hoarsely for her to help him before she shook him, harder and harder, calling his name loudly. A sound that made her want to cry with sorrow for him emerged from his mouth and Scully saw tiny tear tracks appear at the corners of his closed eyes before the lids flew open and he stared into her face. He had curled into a fetal position on his couch and she was leaning over him shaking his shoulders roughly. It had been difficult to wake him, she surmised, because he'd had so little sleep that his body had gone deeply under. When his eyes gazed up into hers, dark with fear, she smiled her reassuring smile and told him it was all right, it was just a dream, just relax. Scully rubbed her hands up and down his arms to try and still the trembling she felt in them and ignored his tears, knowing he would be mortified that she had seen them. "You all right now, Mulder?" she asked after a minute when his breathing had returned almost to normal and he had stretched out, unrolling himself from his protective ball. "Good God, Scully, why did it have to be fire?" he groaned, sitting up and slowly loosening his tense shoulder muscles. "I could have dealt with anything else but this has me so screwed up I don't know if I'll ever sleep again." "You'll sleep again, Mulder, even if I have to physically drag you off to therapy." Scully was annoyed by his repeated refusals to see a Bureau therapist about his abduction, and it had been an ongoing source of friction between the two of them for the past two days. "I'm not going to talk to a shrink, Scully, so just forget it," he said obstinately. Mulder stood and walked over to his window, staring intently outside, turning his back on her. He stayed there for a few minutes until he heard her soft voice behind him. "I just can't stand to see you like this." He turned then to see her blinking back her own tears. As always, the sight of Scully's tears went straight to his heart. She was so brave and strong, and he didn't know what he would ever do without her. Without her, he reflected grimly, you'd be dead right now, asshole. He crossed swiftly to where she stood and gathered her up into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head where he had found years ago that it fit just perfectly. Mulder inhaled deeply, smelling the familiar scent of her shampoo, and silently reminded himself that he was nothing without this woman. "I know you want to help me, Scully, but I just need to work through this on my own. If I can't do it I promise I'll get help, but right now I don't think I can stand any more therapy." The faint pleading tone in his voice, coupled with his conditional agreement, were her undoing. Against her better judgement Scully found herself agreeing to his request. "I'll go along with that up to a point, Mulder, but don't think I'm going to watch you torture yourself like this for very long. If you can't get a handle on it within a week or so, I'm going in to talk to Skinner and recommend that you be given mandatory counseling." He drew back to stare at her. "You wouldn't do that," he said, his feeling of betrayal clear in his tone. Scully held his gaze, unfaltering, until he finally looked away with a sigh. "Fine," he muttered. "Just give me a little more time to get it under control." "I'll give you a week, Mulder. No more." Scully's voice was firm and Mulder knew there was no sense arguing. He would either have to get over the nightmares in the next week or find a way to convince her that he had. Mentally he derided himself. //Fat chance of that, Mulder, when you're sleeping with her!// Scully was aware that Mulder hadn't fully accepted her decree--he had simply stopped arguing about it. She made up her mind that she would not let him talk her into sleeping apart from him for the next week. Knowing him as she did, she realized that would be his first deceptive maneuver. She understood why Mulder didn't care for therapy. It was painful at best, and it meant he would have to reveal things to another person--things about himself that he didn't want to face. It meant he would have to be vulnerable, appear weak, he might even break down and shed some tears. That was the part that Mulder found so distasteful and after all these years Scully had never been able to convince him that there was no weakness in seeking help when it was needed. "Come on, let's go find something to eat," she said, holding out her hand to him. After a moment's hesitation he accepted her peace offering and her outstretched hand.. Together they left the empty apartment, securely locking the new deadbolt that the Gunmen had installed the day before. Even though Nancy had died in the fire, Mulder felt uneasy about the fact that somewhere floating around out in the world was a spare key to his apartment. Walking down the hall, thankful his recently sprained ankle caused only a faint twinge of discomfort now, he wondered if he would ever feel truly safe here again. He'd had his place broken in to by the best, but nobody had ever cleaned it before, he reflected with a small grin. They bought Chinese take-out and went back to Scully's apartment. Mulder supposed that at some point he would have to buy new furniture and move back home, but the thought of being alone scared him more than he wanted to admit. He briefly considered moving but rejected the idea when he remembered how hard it was to find a suitable place. He liked his small apartment, it was conveniently located and his neighbors were remarkably tolerant. Besides, he reminded himself again, Nancy was dead. She had burned to death in the fire. Except they hadn't found her body. Even now the reality of that made his blood run cold. He stared at the piece of chicken on the end of his fork and suppressed a shiver. It wouldn't do to let Scully know he was upset. When they had received the call from the police in Centerville, Delaware, telling them that there had been no body located in the rubble of the house, Mulder had been disbelieving at first. No matter how often he was assured that the people in Delaware knew their jobs he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that Nancy could have survived. The first floor of that house had been a raging inferno when she had entered it. Nobody could have survived it. Nobody. "Mulder. Mulder!" Scully's voice brought him back to himself and he looked up, startled. Scully removed the fork from his trembling hand and placed it on his plate. He stared at her mutely, as if realizing that it was pointless to deny his fear to her. "Mulder, if you're not going to talk to a therapist you have to talk to me. It's obvious that you need to open up to somebody," she told him gently, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze before going back to her meal. She kept her eyes on him, determined not to let him dodge the issue yet again. Scully was aware that the lack of a body had him worried but she had advanced any number of theories on that subject. Nancy's house had been located on the perimeter of a thickly wooded area and Scully was convinced that the woman had exited the house, badly burned, and made it some distance into the woods where she had finally died. They simply hadn't located her body yet. "I have to see, Scully," he whispered, heaving a sigh. "I have to go there and see for myself." His eyes pleaded with her for understanding. He knew the local authorities knew what they were doing, but until he had given the scene his own thorough inspection he was never going to be able to rest. Scully thought about objecting, knowing that the last thing Mulder needed right now was a visual reminder of his terror. She relented when she saw the look on his face. Stubborn, determined, entreating. She was pretty sure that if she refused to accompany him back to Delaware he would simply go without her and she didn't want that. She couldn't let him face this alone. "All right, Mulder," she agreed finally. "We'll go tomorrow morning. But you have to promise me that you'll talk to me--tell me what you're feeling and how it's affecting you." Seeing his look she pressed on. "Mulder, I love you, you know that don't you?" He nodded. "I've seen you naked, vulnerable, injured, dying, embarrassed, angry and sad. I've seen all the worst and best parts of you, Mulder, and I still love you. I understand your reluctance to speak with a therapist, to reveal your personal side to a stranger, but please, please don't be afraid to do it with me. Nothing you could do or say is ever going to make me think any less of you as an F.B.I. agent or as a man. You're my best friend and the love of my life and I can't bear to watch you destroy yourself when I could help you if you'll only let me." Her shoulders slumped when she finished this speech, as if they couldn't support the weight of caring for him any longer. With a shaft of guilt Mulder reached for her, pulling her across the couch and into his lap, ignoring the remains of their dinner lying on the coffee table. He cuddled her close to his chest and buried his nose in her hair, stroking it with his long fingers. "Scully, I'm sorry. It's just really hard for me to let my defenses down. I promise to try, all right? That's all I can do." "I told you my dreams." Her voice was muffled and accusatory. "I didn't want to, but I told you. I revealed my weakness to you." "I know you did, Scully. You let me help you. I see the connection but--I just don't know if I can do it." She looked up at him then, just the tiniest bit of anger in her pretty eyes. "I hope you can, because if you don't--well I meant what I said earlier about Skinner. I'll do it, Mulder. Don't think I won't." Mulder saw the stubborn set of her chin and knew that she meant every word she said. She would actually go in to their boss and sell him out in order to save him from himself. He didn't know whether to be angry or grateful. Finally deciding on neither, he leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her nose. Scully had other ideas and her hands came up to thread through his hair, pulling him to her mouth and tasting his lips with her tongue. Mulder closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, stifling a moan. It amazed him how quickly he responded to any attention from Scully. None of the women in his past--and there had been several--had ever had complete control of him before but Scully did. She could play him like a violin and she knew it. He'd thought Phoebe yanked his chain, but Scully--at least he'd had limits with Phoebe, which was why he'd eventually left her. And after Phoebe, Mulder had always made sure he was the one controlling any relationship he had--until now. Scully could do anything to him, anything at all, and he would still fall at her feet. At first he had been apprehensive about that fact, until he realized that sweet, kindhearted Scully would never use him the way...well, *she* was best forgotten about entirely. Shifting his position slightly, Mulder set his mind to the task at hand--thoroughly seducing the woman in his lap. His own hand tightened in her hair and gently pulled her head back, leaving her long, slender neck vulnerable to his kisses. He explored her thoroughly with his lips and tongue, inching his way down toward the hollow of her throat as she began to squirm on his lap, emitting small moans and contented sighs. They had only been lovers for a week, and for half of that week they had been separated, each afraid the other was lost to them forever. Now they clung to one another with a desperate need to reassure, reinforce, rediscover. "Mulder..." Scully murmured when his tongue brushed her collarbone, its wetness driving her mad. fingers touched the buttons of her blouse, slowly unfastening them while his mouth continued to play havoc with the skin of her neck and chest. Scully felt the heat everywhere he touched her, and she wriggled her hips again with the need to get closer to him. "Scully!" he groaned. "Stop that!" "What's the matter, Mulder, can't take a little friction?" she challenged with a sly grin. Seeing the amusement on her face pushed him over the edge. "I'll show you friction!" he announced, standing up with her still in his arms. "I'll show you more friction than you can handle, woman." Scully let him carry her into the bedroom while her left hand played with the lobe of his ear, pinching and caressing it. By the time they made it to the bed Mulder was ready to pull the rest of her clothing off and possess her immediately, but her hands on his stopped him. "Slowly, Mulder, slowly," she commanded softly. "Scully, slow is quickly becoming impossible," he retorted as he finished removing her blouse and pulled her to him. He lowered her gently to lie on the bed and captured her lips with his own, kissing, probing, exploring every inch of her mouth. Scully ran her hands down his back and slid them under the hem of his shirt, and Mulder raised himself enough to allow her to pull it over his head. Then he went back to kissing her while she discovered his chest and back with her fingertips. The sensation of her gentle hands on his body drove Mulder to a frenzy, and he quickly rid her of the rest of her clothing. He kissed his way down her stomach and she giggled at the ticklish sensation. Her giggles quickly turned to excited whimpers as his teasing turned to fire. "Mulder!" she gasped, gripping his hair tightly. Mulder winced slightly at the pull on his scalp but continued to pursue his objective--driving Scully wild. Her small movements quickly turned to frantic thrashing and Mulder grinned loving the fact that she loved him. An instant later her hands tightened painfully in his hair and she screamed his name, her entire body going tense. Finally, slowly coming back to earth, Scully loosened her grip on Mulder, and he gratefully pulled his hair out of her grasp. "Damn, Scully, making love with you is painful!" he grouched, rubbing his scalp to ease the tenderness there. Scully smiled up at him dreamily and he couldn't help returning her smile. She looked so beautiful lying there, her hair mussed from passion, her body languid and feline. He found his fingers stroking her arms, petting her like a cat, and was rewarded when she reached up and pulled him down to her again, devouring his mouth with hers. Scully wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and held him as close to her as she could. It had only been a few days ago that she feared she had lost him forever and the nearness of him now was something she wanted to reassure herself of. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him and in a moment she was lying atop him, still refusing to relinquish the kiss. "Scully..." he moaned a moment later as her lips left his, and soon, in her capable hands, he forgot everything. Much later, when he had returned to his senses and realized his weight must be intolerable to her, he made as if to move away. Her arms around him stopped him. "Stay here, Mulder, please," she whispered. "Scully, I must be crushing you," he protested. "I don't care. I'm all right. It feels so safe with you here, covering me. I don't want to let you go." Her hands reached his hair and gently massaged his scalp as if in apology for hurting him earlier. With a small sigh Mulder shifted himself off to the side to give her room to breathe, but kept her tucked up close to him. "I don't want you suffocating underneath me," he explained wryly. "How would I ever explain that to your mother?" Scully giggled again and kissed him quickly on the lips. "Thank you, Mulder," she said. "For what?" "For being the man you are. For just being you. And for loving me." His fingers tenderly traced her lips. "I had no choice in that," he informed her. "You just barreled your way right into my heart before I had time to fight back." They lay like that for a long time, not speaking, until finally Mulder's eyes closed and exhaustion claimed him. Scully watched over him for a while longer, and then she slept too. ***** "She's still alive, Scully." He said it with such conviction that Scully shivered. After a night of very little sleep, disturbed several times by his dreams, they had driven out to the site of the burned house where Mulder had been held captive the previous weekend. Very little was left of the house itself, for it had been old and had burned quickly, and the fire department when they had arrived had merely tried to contain the fire to protect the adjoining wooded area. A brick chimney still stood, slightly off-kilter, and here and there twisted pieces of metal bore testimony that someone had lived here--someone who had owned the bedsprings, their covering burned off, and the refrigerator, whose door had been removed by a thoughtful adult realizing that the rubble would become a fascinating place for children as soon as it was deserted by the grown-up investigators. But looking around the scene now, peace marred by the implied violence of the fire, Scully refused to believe that the woman she had seen enter this structure had emerged alive. Her exasperation with him was evident in her tone. "Mulder, no. You saw her go into the house. So did I. Nobody could have lived through that!" Scully knew that her partner was terrified that Nancy would return, but her common sense told her that somehow, somewhere the woman lay dead. He was simply blinded by his fear. Mulder looked up at her from where he was squatted, his hands sifting absently through the debris, and just shook his head. He had talked with the local forensics people, convinced himself that they had done their jobs thoroughly, and insisted on having a look himself. He had spent the last hour going over every inch of the rubble, an almost desperate quality to his search, and finally had to admit to himself what Scully seemed determined to ignore. There was simply no evidence--not one shred--that anyone had perished in the fire. He stood up and dusted off his hands. "Let's go, Scully," he said quietly. Scully stood her ground, determined not to let him sink back into his depression, to make him use his head. "You saw the place, Mulder. It was a sea of flames! How far do you think she could have gotten?" "They've been combing the woods for three days. They haven't found any evidence of a body." Scully sighed. "That doesn't mean it's not there, Mulder. It only means they haven't found it yet. Maybe some wild animal dragged it off--" He rounded on her, angry. "There would be signs of that all over the place! Admit it, Scully, admit the obvious. There's nothing to indicate she died, nothing!" Turning away he strode toward the car. Scully stared after him for a moment, then finally closed her eyes in defeat. He was going to stubbornly insist his abductor was still alive until she could show him a body. She only hoped that when they did find Nancy's body, it wasn't burned beyond recognition. She stood looking around for a few minutes longer, scanning the perimeter of the woods, wondering just exactly how far a badly injured person could walk--or crawl--through them. Not far, she decided, and that was the troubling thing. Scully could use common sense all she wanted to, and insist to Mulder that Nancy couldn't possibly have survived, but he was right about one thing. There was no way to prove it. Not yet. Scully climbed into the passenger seat and surveyed Mulder's profile. He was leaning on the steering wheel with his head buried in the crook of one arm. He didn't speak while she settled herself and closed the door. She tenderly lay a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it soothingly a few times. "We'll find it, Mulder. We will. We just have to keep looking." He didn't move for a little while, and when he finally looked up at her his face registered exhaustion, fear, and something else--resignation? "We won't find it, Scully," he told her flatly. "There's nothing there to find." Later, stirring her coffee in a roadside diner where they had stopped for an early dinner, Scully tried to see things from his point of view. "Ok, suppose you're right, Mulder. Suppose she is still alive. Will you at least agree that she has to be badly injured?" He thought for a few minutes. "I'll agree that she probably is," he said carefully, "if you'll agree that she might not be." "How--" "I don't want to get into how, Scully," he interrupted. "I don't know how. I don't even care how. How did she manage to be everywhere I was for at least a week and me not know it? How did she manage to kill three people who were 'mean to me'--kill them in plain sight and not get caught? The most frightening thing about her is her boldness. She doesn't bother sneaking around, she just goes ahead and does whatever she wants. She wanted to kill those people and she just did it. She wanted to get into my hotel room so she just took a key from housekeeping. And when she wanted to take me, she simply walked right into your apartment and took me. She's got balls, Scully, you have to give her that." 'Had,' she wanted to correct him, but restrained herself. Best not to get into that unproductive argument again. He was clearly upset by the fact that their investigation had turned up nothing. He was staring morosely into his own cup of coffee, his hamburger and fries forgotten after one bite. "Will you do something for me, Mulder?" Scully asked suddenly. He looked up, confused at her sudden change of subject. "Will you at least admit that life goes on, and eat something? Feed yourself? You have to keep your strength up, you know, and I can't recall the last full meal you ate. I think it may have been sometime last week." He allowed a small smile to cross his face briefly and poked at a french fry on the plate in front of him. Apologetically he looked up at her. He wanted to please her but he was certain that any food he put in his stomach would just come right back up again when he had his regularly scheduled nightmare. Scully put her hand over the one of his that lay on the table. He turned it over and gripped her fingers. "I know you're scared, Mulder, and I don't blame you," she told him softly. "We can take some precautions, try to make you feel safer while we continue looking. I think the first thing we should do is contact all the hospitals in the area, don't you?" "I'm not scared, Scully!" he insisted with mock bravado. At her smile, he sighed heavily and nodded. "Yeah, let's get to work. I know she's still out there, Scully. I can only hope she's completely incapacitated." "Well," Scully reflected, "if we do find her, maybe we can get her focused on somebody else. Maybe Agent Spender..." She was rewarded with a real smile that time, and his shoulders relaxed visibly. "I wouldn't wish her on anyone, not even Spender. But on the other hand, maybe she would destroy those god-awful suits he wears!" Scully almost choked on her coffee and he grinned at her wickedly while she mopped up the spill from the table with her napkin. "Gotcha, Scully!" he teased, finally putting one of the fries in his mouth and chewing. She hoped she could coax more food into him, but he stopped after the one fry. Giving up on this particular meal, Scully stood up and put on her coat. It made her heart ache to see the way he glanced around the restaurant before standing, and to see him surveying the parking lot and surrounding area before stepping outside. Scully was sure she had never seen Mulder so afraid of anyone in his life. For all the times he had been in danger he had been stoic and brave through it all. She knew fear would plague him after the fact--he was only human, after all--but never, never had something caused him this much terror. She supposed it was the fire, coupled with the fact that he still didn't know who Nancy was or how she had managed to fixate on him. Mulder, who usually thrived on the unknown, was now allowing it to drive him a little more nuts than usual. Scully would have understood why he was still so frightened if the threat had still been hanging over him, but Nancy was dead. She had to be. "Because she was totally without conscience," he answered when she asked him about his fear. "Completely beyond reason. There was nothing I could have ever said or done to get her to change course once she had decided to kill me. And because she threatened you, too. She was going to kill you that day, Scully. That's where she was heading when she left me and set the fire. I have no idea why she came back." "So you're afraid for me?" she asked. He paused a moment. "I'm afraid for both of us," he finally told her. "She said that you would die quickly and easily, and if it comes to that I'm grateful for it. But Scully--she wanted me to suffer. She said that I had to, needed to, in order to be purified or something. So I'm afraid for you, yes, I'm afraid she'll kill you. And I don't particularly want to know what she has in store for me either." Scully was stunned, both at the fact that he was finally opening up to her and at what he was saying. She'd had no idea that Nancy's psychosis ran so deep. "It won't come to that, Mulder," she insisted. "Nobody's going to kill me or hurt you. If--and that's a big if--she's still alive somehow, I'm not going to let her get her hands on you again, I promise." She hesitated for a moment, then added, "I'm really glad you're talking to me about this at last." "I have to," he said, giving her a sidelong glance. "Someone threatened to throw me in mandatory therapy if I didn't." She was silent, wondering if he was truly angry with her about that. "You know I only made that threat because I care for you," she said quietly, at last. He nodded, giving her a look that told her that he understood, but that he still didn't like it. "I also know you meant it. I'll be all right, Scully. At least I know you don't think I'm crazy." "Mulder, I've known you were crazy for years," she told him with a poker face. "You're so cute I just decided to overlook it." ***** Mulder took the keys from her hand before she could unlock the apartment door, and after a deep breath, opened it himself. He seemed visibly relieved when nothing happened and Scully made a mental note to ask him about it. His relief vanished seconds later. Scully noticed his shoulders tense and heard his sharp intake of breath before she saw it--on the coffee table, a bouquet of roses. Dead ones. Mulder had his weapon out before she could even get to hers, and together the two of them explored the apartment. Other than themselves, it was empty. He approached the roses gingerly, as if afraid they might explode at any second. There was a card nestled among the dead petals, his name boldly written on the envelope. He reached for it and Scully stopped him. "Wait. Fingerprints." He nodded and sat down on the couch, never taking his eyes off the letters spelling out his name--'Fox'. Dimly in the background he heard Scully telephoning to report the break-in, but his mind kept going over and over the words that Nancy had spoken to him. In suffering we are purified, Fox. He covered his face with his hands, concentrating on blocking out the memory of her banging his head against the wall when she had gotten angry, of her switching from sweetness to dangerous fury in less than the space of one second, of her throwing a bowl of soup against the wall, shattering it, watching while the soup ran down the wall in little rivulets of red, like blood, like his blood... Mulder forced himself to stand up, shaking his head to rid it of the train of thoughts it had taken. "Scully, we have to get out of here," he said urgently. "Yes, Mulder. The police will be here any second. I also called Skinner. He's given me permission to take you to a hotel--on the Bureau's nickel. I'm to, and I quote, 'keep Mulder safe at all costs.'" Mulder went into the bedroom and began packing a bag with the few possessions he had purchased since Nancy had trashed his apartment. He didn't have much yet. A few changes of clothes and basic toiletries. He hadn't felt up to shopping very much. When he emerged Scully was opening the front door to the police unit that had been dispatched to investigate. Scully left him there, after making sure that he was all right, and went to pack her own bag. She did it as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave Mulder out of her sight for more than a minute or two, even if he was under the protection of several armed police officers. She stuffed clothing and bathroom items in a small suitcase and pulled a hanging garment bag from her closet. After hastily zipping up a few suits and blouses in it she returned to the living room to find Mulder standing exactly where she had left him, his face white, his hand barely holding on to her cordless phone. "Mulder? What is it?" she asked with concern evident in her voice. He didn't even acknowledge her, just stared off into space, the grip on the phone slowly loosening. Scully grabbed the phone out of his hand before it could hit the floor and he looked at her, startled, as if noticing her for the first time. "It was her, Scully," he whispered. "Mulder, they still can't be sure until they lift fingerprints--" He shook his head. "You don't understand. She called. While you were in the bedroom she called--I answered--I never thought it could be her!" The rising panic in his voice made her put her hands on his arms to try and calm him down. "How did she get the number, Scully? How does she keep finding me? Why can't she just leave me alone?" He was almost yelling now, eliciting curious stares from the police officers in the room."All right, Mulder, it's all right. You're safe here. Tell me what happened." Her sensible stability soothed his nerves a little, and Mulder took a deep, settling breath. "The phone rang, I answered, it was her," he said simply. "What did she say?" "Nothing, Scully. She just laughed. Just laughed and laughed and laughed until I hung up." He felt his body growing cold at the memory of her horrible laughter ringing in his ears. Mocking him. Scully looked away, trying to hide her irritation. "If you hadn't hung up we might have been able to run a trace," she pointed out gently. The look on his features told her he hadn't even considered that possibility. "Shit!" He slammed his palm against the wall, startling the officer dusting the coffee table for fingerprints. "Scully..." His tone was pleading and she took pity on him. "Don't worry about it, Mulder. She probably wouldn't have stayed on the line long enough anyway. Besides, if it upsets you this much you were right to hang up on her. There's no telling what she might have eventually said to you." She picked up his bag and handed it to him, hoisting her own two pieces of luggage over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here, shall we Partner?" Mulder nodded gratefully and they left the apartment, with Scully giving instructions to the police to be sure and lock up when they left. For all the good it will do, she thought grimly. They tossed their bags in the trunk and climbed into Mulder's car. "Where to, Scully?" She considered. "Well, I'd like to have us in a hotel that doesn't open directly to the outside. One where you have to pass through a lobby to get to the rooms. The more people between her and you the safer you'll be. We can have Skinner post some guards in the lobby after we're checked in." "How about the Trenton?" "Perfect," she responded, pulling out her cell phone and dialing Skinner's number to request Mulder's protection. Mulder edged the car away from the curb and out onto the street, carefully checking his rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't being followed. He couldn't shake the terrible premonition that they weren't going to get far, even though he knew it to be unfounded. There was no reason for it, really, except that he was thoroughly unnerved by the telephone call and the flowers. Dead flowers. From a supposedly dead woman. Scully, of course, still wasn't convinced that Nancy was alive. They hadn't been able to lift any fingerprints from the flower bouquet, coffee table, or Scully's door, so of course, skeptical Scully wasn't convinced it was Nancy. She thought maybe it was just someone playing a bad joke. Mulder noticed that Scully didn't address the problem of how this mysterious person had entered her apartment without a key, and he knew it was because she didn't want to worry him further. As if he could possibly be any more worried than he already was. He did not want to be dragged off to another damn attic. Mulder turned the corner at the end of Scully's street and accelerated slightly, heading towards the downtown area. He had gone about a block when he noticed a pair of too-bright headlights coming toward him. He flashed his lights to signal the other driver to turn off his high beams, but he was ignored. Grumbling irritation, he shielded his eyes from the glare. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and by the time he did it was too late to prevent it. "MULDER!" Scully's voice pierced the air seconds before the collision. Mulder barely had time to process the fact that the truck was heading straight for them before the thunderous crash and the sound of glass breaking sent him into a pit of blackness. ***** Mulder heard groaning and it was a few seconds before he realized it was himself. He opened one eye and with a shaky hand brushed at the moisture trickling down his forehead. He stared at his hand, uncomprehending for a moment, until he realized it was blood. His blood. Scully! He turned his head painfully and immediately closed his eyes in horror. Scully's side of the car had taken the brunt of the impact, and it had driven the dashboard right into her chest. One arm was thrown out at an impossible angle and there was blood everywhere. Before he could reach out a hand to her his door was wrenched open and he felt someone tugging roughly at his arm. "Come on, Fox, we have to get you out of here," a voice urged, and he complied because his mind still hadn't fully grasped the situation. He allowed himself to be pulled from the car and supported by a pair of shoulders slightly shorter than himself. In his dazed state it didn't occur to Mulder to wonder at the identity of his rescuer, or the speed of her arrival. He hurt all over, and his eyes weren't focusing properly. Mulder gasped in pain as he tried to put his weight on his right ankle, but was unable to determine if it was broken or if he had sprained it again. Either way it refused to support him. "Scully," he muttered, barely comprehending. "Have to get Scully." He found himself standing at the back of a large rental van designed for hauling people's belongings across town or across country. She let go of him long enough to unlatch the door and then grabbed him as he began to fall. "Scully," he said again, with more force this time. In the distance he could hear sirens and wondered who had called for help. "She's dead. There's nothing you can do for her now," the woman said crisply as she pushed him into the truck, helping him climb up the hurdle to lay on the floor in the back of the van. He wanted to fight, to argue, to protest, but the exhaustion and shock were too strong for him. Mulder allowed her to maneuver him into the position she wanted and a few seconds later felt her slipping a set of handcuffs over his wrists. He lay on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind him, and it was then, only then that his muddled brain realized what was happening. He opened his mouth to yell for help but was only able to make a small sound before she shoved a piece of cloth in it, cutting him off. Nancy grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged his head up, forcing him to look at her. "Scully's dead, Fox. And you're next." Then she left the back of the van and slammed the door, leaving him in total darkness. ********** Chapter 2 ********** He slipped into unconsciousness for a while, but eventually the jarring of the truck woke him. His entire body hurt, and Mulder was unable to determine if it was due to the accident or the fact that he had been lying here, handcuffed and tossed around the van for what felt like hours. His mouth was dry and his first thought after regaining consciousness was to wish fervently for water. His second wish, after remembering that Scully had been killed, was for his own death. He caught his breath at the sharpness of the pain, not in his head or ankle, but through his heart. Was Scully truly dead? How could she be? How was he supposed to go on without her? On the other hand, if he had fallen into Nancy's hands again, how far away could his own death be? Would she kill him quickly? He thought not; if that were her plan why would he be in the back of this truck now? He could only hope that fire was not a part of her scheme this time. The hopelessness of the situation hit him and he felt tears prick his eyelids. He fought them, cursing, and in doing so roused himself fully. Rolling onto his side Mulder gazed around him--or tried to. Occasionally tiny specks of light would make their way in around the door of the van, but most of the time he was lying in pitch blackness. That meant it was still night. He wished he could get a look at his watch, and then laughed at himself for caring what time it was. What difference did it make? He had known that Nancy was alive, and he had tried to tell Scully. She hadn't really believed him, not even at the end when they were fleeing, and now Scully was dead and he would never be able to tell her that he had told her so, never be able to look teasingly into her blue eyes flashing with irritation at him again. Never hear her voice blowing his paranormal theories away with her cold, hard, scientific logic. Never touch her, feel her, taste her, hold her, kiss her... All the vitality that was Scully, gone in an instant of crashing metal and breaking glass. Now the tears came and he didn't even try to stop them. Images of their last few days together flew through his mind in rapid succession and Mulder closed his eyes, letting the memories and the tears for them wash over him. He thought he could still smell a faint whiff of her perfume on his shirt. Some time later he slept. He was awakened by the screeching sound of the door as it was swung open, and Mulder squinted his eyes against the early morning sunlight. A rush of fresh air entered his prison and Mulder thought absently that it had turned much cooler. His eyes traveled upward to see the face of his kidnapper smiling down benignly at him. Mulder turned his head away from her, rolling onto his back and groaning when his weight pressed his cuffed wrists painfully against the floor of the van. The burning ache in his shoulders reminded him that his arms had been restrained behind him for the better part of a week now, first when he was held captive in her attic and now here. He looked up at her when she knelt beside him and removed the gag from his mouth. He could still taste the cotton of the cloth. Wordlessly Nancy lifted his head and held a bottle of water for him to drink, which he did sloppily, spilling water down his chin in his haste to get the precious liquid into himself. He drank until she pulled the bottle away from him, and his eyes silently begged her for more. After giving him a chance to catch his breath she lifted him once again and he was able to drink more slowly this time, getting more of the water into his mouth and less on his shirt. When he finally had enough she lay his head back gently on the floor and recapped the bottle, wiping his chin with her hand. "You're a mess," she said with a smile. "But I suppose it's all right. It's just water, after all. It'll dry." He opened his mouth to ask her where she was taking him, how she had survived, what she was going to do with him--but all that came out was a croaked, "Scully?" She gazed at him solemnly. "The Temptress died in the crash, Fox. Quickly and painlessly, just as I promised you. She won't get in our way again." "Sure?" He had trouble forming the words, but he had to know. Scully had looked lifeless the last time he'd seen her, true, but maybe--just maybe there was a chance she'd survived. "She can never hurt you again." Weakly he shook his head. "Are you sure...dead?" Even in his state he didn't miss the flash of anger in her eyes, and it scared him. If she decided to take this opportunity to make him suffer for his 'sins' he would be defenseless. "I'm sure, Fox. I made certain of it." His eyes closed then to hide the tears that threatened to start up again. The pain that shot through him was incredible. If Scully was dead there was nothing left for him, anyway. It didn't matter what this madwoman did to him. Taking a few deep breaths to regain control of himself, Mulder again opened his eyes and spoke. "Cold," he murmured, suddenly realizing that the metal floor of the van was freezing. His hands were growing numb from the weight of his body and he shifted position slightly to ease the pressure on them. She disappeared for a few moments and when she returned she was carrying a blanket. The same one she had covered him with when she had abducted him from Scully's apartment the week before. She gently spread it over his long frame, tucking it under the bare skin of his arms so he didn't make direct contact with the floor. He was again struck by the irony of it all--he knew she would take wonderful, tender care of him until she decided to bash his brains out against the floor of the truck, or something equally violent. "We have a long drive ahead of us. I'll get us something to eat in a bit, but I thought you would probably be thirsty by now." Nancy scooted over the side of the van and stood outside, checking him again before closing the door and locking him once more in the darkness. At least now there was a dim crack of light seeping in around the door, and eventually his eyes adjusted to the dimness enough to tell him that he wasn't the only one of Nancy's possessions in the back of the truck. A suitcase and mattress lay on the floor in the far corner, and Mulder wondered if he would be able to maneuver his way over onto the mattress. He rolled experimentally onto his right side and instantly regretted it. Pain gripped him so suddenly he was unable to catch his breath for a few moments. Finally, gasping for air, he eased himself onto his back again, wincing as the cuffs bit into his already chafed wrists. Trying again he found that he could lay somewhat comfortably on his left side. It was just the right that was a mass of agony when he put weight on it. He wondered if he had a broken rib. Weakened by his efforts Mulder gave up on the mattress and simply closed his eyes, trying to will his sore and battered body into sleep. It was the only way to escape the thoughts of Scully. "Wake up, Fox." The words were spoken firmly, as if someone had been trying to wake him easily and had failed and had now lost patience. Reluctantly he opened one eye and looked up at her, trying to get his bearings. He'd slept so little in the past week that his body was exhausted--it was ironic that he'd avoided sleeping in order to escape the nightmares and now that the horror was actually happening all over again he was able to sink repeatedly into dreamless sleep with almost no effort at all. He supposed it was his subconscious mind's way of dealing with...things he didn't care to remember. She held something in her hand that she was now pressing toward his mouth. Opening his lips to speak Mulder felt a greasy fast-food burger forced between them. He bit down instinctively in order to remove the obstruction from his mouth and found that he was actually hungry. Finishing the burger that she held for him in just a few quick bites, he gazed at the bottle of water from earlier, which she had placed on the floor beside him. "Ask me for it and you can have it," she said pleasantly, making no move toward the water. He considered telling her to go to hell, but reflection of his situation changed his mind. Defiance now would gain him nothing. If he had a chance to escape he wouldn't get far without food and water in his system. "Water, please," he murmured, and she rewarded him with a big smile as she held the bottle to his mouth. He realized suddenly that he was sitting up, leaning against the side of the van. She had managed to raise him up without waking him. "It's almost noon. You've been asleep for hours," she told him as if reading his thoughts. It occurred to Mulder that he may have suffered a mild concussion from the wreck--god knew his head hurt--and that could be the reason for his sleeping so much. If Scully were here she would be forcing him to stay awake. Scully. Even the thought of her name hurt. His appetite fled suddenly and Mulder closed his eyes and turned away, his grief apparent on his face. Nancy left him, gathering up the trash from his lunch, and when she returned she had that damned urinal with her again. This time he allowed her to do whatever she wanted with him, refusing to look at her or even open his eyes, until he had finished. Suddenly nausea and revulsion overcame him when, as she was tucking him back into his boxers she stuck her hand further down into them, exploring, touching, stroking him. Apparently she had decided that while he was handcuffed, disoriented and injured was a good time to grab a feel. Mulder's face flamed and he tried to pull away from her but she gripped his soft, sensitive flesh effectively holding him in place while her hand stroked up and down his length, attempting to coax arousal out of him. "Stop--" he tried to protest and then her mouth was on his, assaulting him, raping him. She didn't stop until he was fully erect in her hand and was gasping for breath from her deep, punishing kiss. "Just a taste of what's yet to come, Fox," she told him slyly, restoring his underwear and sweatpants to rights. "Now that the Jezebel is gone I will help you atone. Then you can die peacefully." He screwed his eyes tightly shut and retreated inward. Once she had bolted the door and he was again alone he desperately fought back the nausea. Her hands on him had sickened him and he cursed the male body that insisted on responding to stimuli no matter what the mind thought or the heart felt. Finally getting control of his urge to vomit, Mulder willed himself to relax. He wasn't at fault, he told himself. He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be embarrassed about, nothing to feel guilty for. He could still feel her cold fingers touching him, and shifted his legs to drive away the memory of that sensation. He wondered what she meant by 'helping him atone'. Surely she didn't think that he would--? No. No way. She couldn't force him to do that. Could she? His mind drifted to Scully and skittered away again, unwilling to confront those painful thoughts so soon. Mulder heard the truck's engine start and moments later was thrown to the floor when it lurched, gears grinding. Apparently Nancy hadn't quite mastered the stick shift yet. A real cry of pain escaped him as he landed on his injured side and he almost lost consciousness again. Fighting against the blackness, taking deep breaths until he regained some control, he rolled quickly off that side and onto his back. Now the cuffs were cutting into the abrasions on his wrists again and the feel of what was probably blood crusted there--his hands and wrists hadn't fully healed from her previous abuses--made him look again toward the mattress with something akin to lust. A soft, warm surface to lie on. It was so close, almost within his grasp and yet beyond his strength. Frustrated, he bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to cause himself pain, focusing on it and drawing all his energy together. Determined now, Mulder began inching his way toward the mattress, slowly and painfully. //It's not that far away,// he kept telling himself, //notthatfarnotthatfarnotthatfar.// It took him the better part of half an hour, but finally his goal was attained and he collapsed onto the mattress, completely wrung out. Just before blackness claimed him again he thought he saw Scully, sitting beside him, her warm smile encouraging him, promising him all would be well. "Scully," he whispered with his last coherent thought. ***** How long had it been since she left? Two days? Five? Ten? The longer he lay here, fever and delirium slowly overtaking him, the harder it was to separate reality from nightmare. The broken bones were reality, of that he was certain. The swelling and pain in his ankle, wrist and forearm reminded him whenever he moved. The switch had also been reality and he had the marks on his back to prove it. The fire was fantasy, for which he was profoundly grateful. Even though it threatened him every time he slept, it had the courtesy to leave when he woke up. The pain was ever-present. So was the cough, which grew worse with each passing day. Or hour. Or whatever. The more time passed the more he slept. His eyes fell on the picture of Scully; even though he could barely make it out in the gloom--(when she had gone she had also taken the lantern, his only source of light in the dim, dark little room)--he knew it by heart. It and the words beneath it. That, unfortunately, was reality as well. The bitch had taped it to the wall, just out of his reach, where it would be a constant reminder of his loss. Scully, his beautiful Scully, gone. At first he had pleaded with her to remove it but she had of course refused. It was meant to demoralize him, to break him, but it had ultimately had the opposite effect. If anything he was more determined than ever to escape, to somehow regain his freedom. After all, Scully had died while trying to protect him. He owed her no less. And he wanted to kill the woman responsible for her death. After he had accomplished that, he could 'die peacefully' as Nancy had said, for he knew he wouldn't live long without Scully beside him. He didn't even want to. Before he could kill Nancy, though, he would have to find her. And before he could do that, he would have to get out of this prison. And just exactly how he was going to accomplish that Mulder hadn't quite determined yet. She'd left him here, locked in this basement cell, what must have been days ago. He wondered wryly why she had bothered padlocking the door from the outside. It wasn't like he could go anywhere--not with the chain around his left leg that was fastened securely to the wall. Between that and the broken right ankle he could barely make it from his cot to the toilet. Of course, since it had been days since he'd had food there wasn't much need for the toilet. Put nothing in, get nothing out, he thought. Except water. At least he had that. The sink next to his cot was the only thing that had kept him alive. Starving to death was a hell of a way to go, Mulder reflected, but he wasn't about to give in. He would keep feeding himself water as long as possible. Every hour that he stayed alive was another hour that help might come. On the other hand, the illness that was quickly consuming him was making that more difficult all the time. It figured, he decided, that with all his other problems he'd come down with the flu as well. He needed antibiotics and he needed them badly. It was settling in his chest and he was pretty certain pneumonia was the next step. This was probably what would kill him in the end. Well, it was quicker than starvation anyway. Against his better judgement his gaze strayed to Scully's picture again, and then to the text below it. That was the part that always brought the tears to his eyes. DANA KATHERINE SCULLY, age 34, died Friday night in an automobile accident. She was a noted pathologist and an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Dana was preceded in death by her father, William Scully, her sister, Melissa Scully, and her daughter, Emily Sim. She is survived by her mother Margaret, her brothers William, Jr., and Charles, and several nieces and nephews. Dana is also survived by her fianc‚, Fox Mulder. Funeral services will be held Monday morning at eleven at St. Luke's, and interment will be in Holy Family Catholic Cemetery. Fianc‚. He smiled through the tears threatening to spill over. Maggie Scully must have written that part, he thought. Fianc‚. Hell yes, he'd wanted to marry her, would have married her if circumstances hadn't always gotten in their way. They had avoided their feelings for years only to finally give in to them and then almost immediately be ripped away from one another. Their acknowledged love for each other had lasted exactly one week. One week of holding each other and loving and actually being able to express that love. And now she was gone. The pain hit him with the scalpel-sharpness that he always felt when he let the awareness of her death creep up on him. It was a thought he tried desperately to avoid, but the mind seemed determined to force the cruelest memories at his weakest moments. //Got a theory on THAT, Spooky?// He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his unbroken arm, giving up the fight to control his tears and sobbing out his grief and frustration. Dimly, Mulder remembered the proud, strong man he had once been. He was afraid that person was gone forever now, that even if he were somehow rescued he could never find that man again. With Scully dead, he wondered if anyone was even looking for him. Had he been missing long enough for them to presume him dead? A couple more days and he'd be dead, anyway, he thought. But the will to live is stronger than even the most pain-wracked human can imagine, and Mulder found the actual idea of his death abhorrent. He didn't want to live without Scully, but he couldn't just die without a fight. Scully would expect more of him. On the other hand, fighting so far had only cost him more pain. He had tried to fight her once, thinking that since his hands were free he could overpower her. He had regretted it. He'd gotten in a couple of good licks, too, even given the bitch a black eye, but he had paid dearly for the pleasure. She had retreated from him, saying nothing, her look of venom promising retribution. By the time she brought him the next of his infrequent meals she seemed to have forgotten about the incident, and even had he suspected that the food was drugged he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from eating it. Meals were rare. Food was precious. So he had eaten the food, which had, of course, been drugged, and when he woke up he was no longer in his cell. He was in a bedroom, tied, face down, on a bed. Naked. He had blushed with embarrassment when he realized that for the first time she had completely stripped him, but sex was not on Nancy's mind today. It was time for his punishment. She wanted to teach him a lesson, and he learned it well. As the switch fell and fell and fell on every inch of his backside, he came to heartily regret ever attacking her. He had never tried it again. It was hard, now, to keep the jumbled thoughts in his mind in any kind of order at all. Ideas of escape had flown completely--there was simply no way out. Hopes of rescue, however, died much harder. Even in his darkest moments Mulder held out some hope that he would be found. Surely Skinner would have put the pieces together and figured out what had become of him, but how would he ever locate him? Even Mulder didn't know where he was. He only knew that it was cold. Or maybe that was just because of the fever. ***** "Dana, honey, please wake up and talk to Mom." Margaret Scully had kept up a vigil at her daughter's bedside since she had been brought to the hospital three weeks earlier. Dana had been unconscious since the accident. She had undergone several surgeries to repair her numerous injuries, and at first her prognosis had been grim. Maggie had tried to force herself to accept her daughter's death, as she had done once before, but somehow couldn't bring herself to think of Dana as a lost cause. Perhaps it was because Fox was not there, grieving at her side where he belonged. It just wasn't right that Dana should die when Fox was still missing and in danger. She wouldn't leave him like that, she would do everything in her power to find him if she could. It wasn't like Dana to leave unfinished business behind. A week earlier she had been taken off the respirator and, to everyone's surprise, continued to breathe on her own. Mrs. Scully's delight at her daughter's tenacity had quickly turned back to despair as day after day passed and Dana didn't regain consciousness. She had, at the urging of the nurses, continued to speak to Dana as though the young woman could hear every word, as--they assured her--she possibly could. She had read to her, old favorites from her childhood, and she had spent hours reminiscing about Dana's life growing up with her brothers and sister. The only time Mrs. Scully had ever seen any type of reaction from Dana was when Mulder's name was mentioned, but she didn't like to talk about him. She didn't want to think of the man that she loved like her own son in the hands of a crazy woman, but that was where Walter Skinner had told her he probably was. Skinner had put together a scenario in his mind that the evidence, coupled with his instincts, told him was the truth--that Mulder and Scully's car had been deliberately rammed by Nancy Alberts and that she had abandoned Scully and kidnapped Mulder. The man had simply disappeared too quickly, gone without a trace before the ambulance had arrived. He'd immediately had an APB put out on Mulder but so far the search had turned up nothing. Agents and local law-enforcement personnel all across the country were on the lookout for Mulder. Not a trace of his whereabouts had been found. So when Maggie had let Mulder's name slip unintentionally from her lips and Dana's fingers had twitched in her hand, she had frozen for a moment and then continued talking of Dana's childhood. No other sign of awareness had occurred and she had been afraid to mention Fox again. The last thing she wanted was to have to break the news to her daughter that Fox was missing. If Maggie Scully had known the dreams and images flitting through Dana's mind she would have been positively horrified. Just as she had dreamed of Mulder's abduction before, she was dreaming of him now. The things she had seen him endure caused tears to escape from beneath her closed eyelids. Dana knew she had to fight her way back so she could find him--she was his only hope--but it was so hard and she was so tired. Every time she tried to force herself up past the gauzy comfort that she was in, toward the surface where there was light and sound, her body gave up before she could get very far. She felt herself rise and fall, trying so hard to wake up, to get to Mulder. She knew now that he had been abandoned, for reasons unknown, and that he wouldn't survive many more days. If only she knew where he was being held. She knew it was cold, or at least Mulder himself was cold, because she saw him shivering, lying on a filthy cot clad only in his jeans and a ragged remnant of the shirt he had been wearing when he was taken. His shoes and socks were missing and he had nothing to cover himself with. Her breathing quickened and her heart rate showed an increase as she watched Mulder now, alone, cold, frightened, hungry and ill. He didn't have much time left and she was impatient with her own body which kept her prisoner in this bed when she needed to help him. Scully felt herself taking a deep breath and with a supreme effort fought to open her eyes. She could hear a familiar voice speaking to her but was unable to make out the words. She knew the voice was important to her--not Mulder but someone equally vital in her life. Mom. It was Mom calling her name, willing her to wake up. With a visible struggle Dana's eyelids fluttered open, closed, then opened fully taking in the scene around her. The first sight she saw was her mother's tearful face sporting a dazzling Scully smile. "Mom?" she rasped, finding that her voice barely worked after so long in disuse. Her mother, with a look of surprise and joy on her face, scrambled to call the nurse and soon Dana's room was a hubbub of activity as examinations were done, vital signs taken, and monitors checked and rechecked. At last, when they were finally alone and Dana had taken a few sips of water to loosen up her vocal cords, she tried again. "Mom," she whispered. "Mulder?" Mrs. Scully sighed. She had been certain Dana's first words would have to do with Fox. Now she was faced with a difficult decision--whether or not to tell her daughter about her partner's disappearance. She had no way of knowing the things Dana had seen. She was saved from having to say anything when she saw Dana's eyes focus on the door behind her. Maggie turned to see Walter Skinner there. "Mulder," Dana said again, more urgency in her voice. "Have to find him!" Mrs. Scully stared at her daughter. How on earth did Dana know he was missing? "We're looking for him, Agent Scully," Skinner said, approaching the bed and taking Scully's hand in his. "You just let us search for Agent Mulder. You have to get well yourself." He knew, even as he said the words, that they would not be good enough for the woman in the bed. "She has him," Scully said, turning sad blue eyes to her boss. He nodded. "I know. I managed to figure that out. But we haven't located them yet." "He's cold," she said in a small voice. "And hurt. She's hurt him." Mrs. Scully looked away, saddened at the thought of Mulder's predicament and thoroughly confused at Dana's knowledge of it. Or was it knowledge? Maybe Dana had dreamed it all. "How long?" Scully asked, already beginning to tire from the effort. Skinner and Mrs. Scully exchanged a glance. He was sure that when Scully found out how long Mulder had been missing she would be frantic, but he could see nothing to be gained by lying to the injured woman. She was still an F.B.I. agent and Mulder's partner, and she needed to know what they were up against. "Three weeks," he finally admitted, carefully watching her face. Dana closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. Three weeks! How was it possible that he was still alive? And yet somehow she knew he was. She struggled to open her eyes again, to give Skinner one last important piece of information before succumbing again to the blackness. "He's almost out of time." She was asleep again almost before the words were out of her mouth, but this time they were reassured that it was a normal sleep. The two of them exchanged a look again, and Maggie's was clearly puzzled. "Her dreams," Skinner tried to explain. "I don't pretend to understand it, but while he was missing before she was able to see him in her dreams. That's how she found him. I don't know what kind of connection these two have, but it may be Mulder's only hope." ***** He recognized the visions of Scully as unreality even while they were occurring, but they were so comforting that he allowed himself to get lost in them. This time he could almost feel her touch when she reached out her hand to him. The look on her face was troubled, but there was reassurance in her eyes. He reached out to take her hand but it was just out of his reach and he was too weak to move any closer to her. He felt his tears start again; his need to touch her was agonizing. "Scully, can't you help me?" he asked hoarsely. "I can't breathe very well now. I need you, Scully. You'd know what to do..." She gave a sad smile and shook her head slightly. "Hurts," he whispered as the vision began to fade. "Please, Scully, it hurts. Please make it stop." Then she was gone and this time he sought out the blessed darkness. ***** "Look at that, Tony!" the teenage boy exclaimed. "There's a guy in there!" "Let me see," Tony demanded, shoving his younger sibling aside with all the usual aggression of an older brother. It had been Eric's idea to pull the boards off the basement window of the vacant house down the block and try to get in to explore. When they had yanked the loosest board away Eric had peered inside with the beam of a flashlight and the sight that met his eyes was almost too awful to comprehend. The man lay on a filthy cot, unshaven, unmoving, and for a moment the boys weren't sure he was even alive. Then, with a small moan, he shifted positions and Tony could see the glint of metal around his ankle. They stared at each other for a minute, as if to question what they had seen. "We have to tell Dad," Tony decided suddenly. "Wait, Tony, he'll kill us for poking around here! You know he told us to stay away from this place!" Eric ran after his brother hoping to talk some sense into him before he got them both in trouble but ever since Tony had turned fourteen he had been insufferably superior. "Tony, wait!" Tony turned on his brother angrily. "Eric, we can't just leave that guy there, he looks half dead already!" "Well...maybe he belongs there," Eric said, frantically trying to come up with the words to stop his older brother from getting them grounded for the rest of their lives. "Oh, sure, everybody belongs in a place like that, dumbass!" Tony said, disgusted. "Didn't you see the guy? He looked to me like he was sick." "Well maybe--" "What's going on, boys?" asked their father, emerging from the garage at the sound of another of his sons' all-too-frequent arguments. "Nothing!" Eric said forcefully, trying one last time to stop his brother, but Tony ignored him. "Dad, there's a man in the basement of that vacant house down the street." He said the words steadily, waiting for his punishment but unwilling to abandon the strange man to whatever fate might await him. Mr. Patterson wiped grease off his hands carefully with a rag, never taking his eyes off Tony. "Did you go in the house after I told you not to?" he asked. "No, Sir, but we were going to," Tony replied, his eyes downcast. "We pulled some boards off a basement window and we were going to sneak in there." Mr. Patterson was silent for a few minutes. "You realize I can't let this just slide, don't you, Tony?" he said quietly. Tony shook his head. "Yes, Sir, I understand that. But Dad, this guy really looks like he needs help. Will you at least take a look?" He raised his eyes to his father's and Mr. Patterson saw with pride that his son wasn't trying to dodge his responsibility for wrongdoing. "Show me," he said, tossing the rag aside and starting off down the street with his older son beside him, Eric dragging along behind. When they reached the side of the house that the boys had vandalized, Mr. Patterson lay down on the ground as Tony directed and waited while his son shone the flashlight inside. "Holy God," he breathed, taking in the sight of the thin, injured man lying there, the chains around his ankle clearly visible. He jumped to his feet immediately and ran back to his own house with both boys following. Within seconds he had a 911 operator on the line. ***** Mulder heard a ripping, screeching noise that hurt after so long in the silence. He wanted to cover his ears but his left arm, with its broken bones, throbbed with pain and he couldn't seem to summon the strength to raise the right one. He moaned softly, wanting the noise to stop, and moments later thought he heard voices. They had to be unreal, though. There couldn't be voices because nobody knew he was here. All of life was separated into real and unreal for him now, and he fought hard to distinguish the difference. The fire was unreal. Thank God. The pain was real. The smell of food was unreal, and it tortured him constantly. The hunger was real. Scully was unreal. Scully's death was real. The fever was real and it was where the unreality sprang from. Finally the voices went away and he slept again. He was awakened by more voices, louder this time, and a deafening noise. Mulder opened his eyes and the door to his cell was gone. That had to be unreal. But it didn't really matter because he couldn't leave anyway. In addition to the leg restraint, he knew he simply didn't have the strength left to even crawl to safety. Safety was unreal. Then he felt movement around him and more noises, more voices, and the pain became very, very real as someone lifted him, moved him, and every ache in his body screamed. And so did he. Only his scream was stopped by wracking coughs that made him lose his breath and finally the need for air was too much and, hoping Scully would forgive him, he just gave up. ***** Three days had passed, and Scully continued to regain strength--slowly after so many injuries, but nonetheless surely. She spoke almost constantly of Mulder, as if to impress upon Skinner and her mother the urgency of finding him soon. She had stopped having the dreams about him and would have been frightened that he was dead except for one thing--she hadn't dreamed his death. Not like before. The dreams had simply stopped, for no apparent reason. When she explained this to Skinner he seemed upset, and she understood that he didn't want to tell her that they had no leads on Mulder at all. He had simply vanished. She knew Skinner thought Mulder was dead. "He's got to be somewhere," she insisted. "But he could be anywhere," Skinner countered. "We're doing all we can do, Scully, believe me. I don't intend to abandon the search until we find him one way or another. But I have to remind you that every day that passes..." He didn't need to finish. Scully knew. Every day that passed meant their chances of finding Mulder alive were slimmer. Still, she knew he was out there somewhere, alive and needing her. This alone spurred her to push her body as quickly toward health as possible. Some things couldn't be rushed, however, like the mending of her broken bones. Scully had been seriously injured in the crash and she was convinced that Nancy had intended to kill her. Both of her legs had been broken, her right arm in two places, and several ribs. The broken ribs and the fact that the dashboard had practically cut her in two had caused serious internal injuries which had required hours and hours of surgery to repair. Scully knew how very lucky she was that they had been able to save her at all. By all accounts she should have been dead. But she was very much alive and now that she was awake her mind couldn't stop thinking of Mulder and how much he needed her. And she was trapped here, unable to even walk to the bathroom, let alone try and save him. She would have to rely on others, and Scully hated relying on others. Too often they let you down. Skinner, though--Skinner she could trust. She knew he cared about the two of them as friends, had protected them in the past, and she knew that he wouldn't give up until they found Mulder alive or recovered his body. Her mind shied away from such a thought. Mulder was not dead. He couldn't be. She would know, somehow. Part of her would be missing if he were gone, and while she missed him terribly, she knew that her whole self was still intact. Mulder was alive. ***** "Did he have any identification on him?" the nurse asked the police officers who followed Mulder's gurney into the ER. "No. From the looks of things he was being held against his will. I doubt they would have cared if he had any ID." He shook his head. "The place was abandoned, though, except for this poor guy. Whoever put him there apparently took off and left him to die." The officer shrugged. "Maybe they decided they had gotten in over their heads or something." The nurse stared at him, fascinated. It was a small hospital in a small town, and they didn't get exciting cases very often. Not like television portrayed work in an emergency department. Most of the time they dealt with accidents, with the occasional domestic violence case thrown in for spice. Never anything even close to a half-starved, pneumonia-wracked man found chained in the basement of a vacant house. Dr. Randall Emerson surveyed the patient in front of him. He had reportedly arrested at the scene, but had been revived by paramedics. He wore an oxygen mask and was receiving a higher-than-normal dose of pure oxygen but still appeared to have a little trouble breathing. Dr. Emerson sighed. He hated intubating patients. Maybe he could avoid it with this one if he was careful. He continued his examination. It was obvious that the right ankle was broken, as was the left wrist and forearm--injuries which had apparently occurred several weeks ago. They were going to require surgery to repair. The man was in advanced stages of pneumonia, which made surgery impossible at this time. He ordered x-rays and a full battery of tests run on the patient, hoping there wasn't any internal damage that had to be fixed immediately. The poor guy's body must be one huge ache, he reflected. He was covered with deep bruises, although they were days old. He would guess, just from his initial exam, that the man had been left alone for at least three or four days. The policeman who reported to him had told him the man had access to water. If he hadn't he'd have been dead. Dr. Emerson moved the unconscious man to critical care with an order for an intravenous antibiotic to begin fighting the pneumonia, and had the patient's arm and broken ankle immobilized to prevent further damage. They would operate when his body was able to withstand the trauma. He also left orders that the patient's breathing and oxygen level be closely monitored, and that he be intubated with a respirator tube if necessary. After signing off on the orders and turning his patient over to the capable care of the charge nurse, he went home. It had been a long shift for him, and here in his country hospital he wasn't used to scenes like this one. Dr. Emerson had worked for the first twenty years of his career in Chicago. He'd seen enough of what people could do to one another. After saving enough money to be able to live comfortably anywhere he chose, he'd moved to this tiny town in Idaho. The hospital here served three counties, but the population was so sparse that they rarely had a full bed-count. And he hadn't ever seen anything like this here. ***** Dr. Emerson kicked off his shoes and poured himself a drink, collapsing onto his big sofa. He'd bought the sofa because it was long enough to accommodate his six-foot-three-inch frame, and he frequently used it for naps between shifts. Stretching out comfortably, he reached for the television remote control. He rarely watched tv anymore, there was nothing on but junk in his opinion, but he did like to catch the national news every now and then. It reminded him of the life he had left behind, and how much better his life was now. His mind wandered to the mystery patient that had been brought in several days earlier. The man still hadn't awakened, and Emerson was beginning to worry that he never would. Nobody seemed to remember seeing the stranger around town, so the idea that he had been a tourist that had been abducted from a local motel didn't last long. He wasn't anybody's relative and he wasn't anybody's friend. Emerson sighed heavily, thinking of the sadness that this man, who was somebody's son, possibly somebody's father or husband, might die here in a small town in Idaho that was not his home, unidentified, and that those who cared for him--and surely someone somewhere did--would never know what had become of him. Flipping through channels until he decided on one, Dr. Emerson settled back with his bourbon and his remote. He was a happy man. His wife had died three years earlier and he had missed her terribly at first, but now he was used to the solitude and found he liked it. Of course he still mourned Sally, but there was something to be said for not having anyone around to nag at you to pick up your dirty socks off the floor. Smiling as he remembered her, he removed them now and tossed them aside. The cleaning lady would take care of it for him. She did a lot of little extras for him that weren't really part of her job, but he paid her well and they had an understanding. He didn't tell her how to do her job and she stayed out of his way. He picked up the local newspaper, all seven pages of it, and flipped idly through the small town gossip while barely listening to the newscaster's account of the President's latest exploits. The son of a friend had made the honor roll in his first semester of college down in Boise, and he made a note to send the boy a card. His parents had been very kind to him and Sally when they had first moved here, strangers in a strange place. His eyes moved on to the local politics section--far more interesting than national politics with its scandals and cover-ups--when his ear caught the words 'missing federal agent.' Something made him look up at the tv then, and his eyes widened when he saw a picture of his mystery patient there on the screen. The man in his hospital was unshaven and unkempt, while the person on the screen was handsome and well-groomed, but careful scrutiny assured him they were undoubtedly one and the same. He was dialing the 800 number listed before the picture was gone from the screen. ********** Chapter 3 ********** "Scully, they've found him." Skinner's words cut through her dreamless sleep and roused her. "What? Where?" she asked, fumbling for full consciousness. "He's in a hospital in Moscow, Idaho. He's in bad shape, but he's alive." Skinner's face registered his happiness even though his words were terse as always. "How bad?" "A serious case of pneumonia to start with. And he's badly bruised all over his body. Some broken bones, like you, only his have been left untreated. They're not sure if they were broken in the accident or--" "She broke his arm," Scully said flatly. "She beat him with a baseball bat. And Sir, it was no accident." He knew better than to ask how she knew about the baseball bat. "The wreck," he corrected himself. "I'm on my way out there now, my plane takes off in just over an hour. Scully, if you know anything else about what this woman did to him it might be helpful if you would tell me." Scully turned her face away, saddened and sickened by the memories of what she had seen in her dreams. "There's nothing more, not really," she said softly. "She starved him, she beat him." She turned back to Skinner. "She liked to touch him, to--force a response out of him--but nothing more. She didn't complete the act. I think she did it to humiliate him, to prove to him that she could." Skinner felt his anger rising and clamped down on it immediately. It wasn't productive. It wouldn't help Mulder and it wouldn't help Scully. He rose to leave, patting her hand in a friendly gesture, and then turned back. "There's one more thing, Scully. She abandoned him there. Which means she's presumably still alive. Do you think she might try to hurt him again, or is she through with him?" Scully considered this. Finally she told him, "I don't know, Sir. But if she's still alive I would appreciate it if you would treat the situation with extreme caution. I don't think Mulder could survive another encounter with her." "I'm going to have a guard posted outside your room as well." "Sir, I really don't think that's--" His look stopped her in her tracks. "Agent Scully, I don't think Mulder would be very happy to find that I had left you unprotected. If she can't get to him she may try to get to you. Best to err on the side of caution." He nodded to her and left just as Maggie Scully was returning from the cafeteria where she had finally gone, at Dana's urging, for a real meal. "Mom, they've found him!" he heard Scully say as he pulled the door closed behind him. ***** The pain was reality, but now there was something more. He wasn't cold any longer. And he was lying in a bed, a real one, with sheets and blankets and a pillow. The smell of fresh linen was tangible, making this the cruelest hallucination of all. Mulder refused to open his eyes, certain that once he did he would find himself back in the dark, dank basement room, but while he kept them closed the unreality became real and he could almost pretend that it had all been a dream, that he was safe, that he was warm, that he was being cared for. That Scully was alive. Finally, his natural curiosity got the better of him and he allowed his eyes to open just a tiny bit. When he saw that he was in a hospital, and his supervisor's familiar face sitting in the chair beside his bed, tears welled up in his eyes. Angry and embarrassed he tried to stop them but the situation was out of his control. Skinner first noticed Mulder's breathing change, and then saw teardrops making their way from beneath his eyelids. He reached for a tissue and wiped them away and was surprised to see them followed by more, and still more. "Shh, Mulder, it's all right now. Everything's going to be all right," he said soothingly, hoping the man would finally rejoin the land of the living. He'd been at his agent's side for two days and this was the first sign he had seen of Mulder's regaining consciousness. The doctor had told him there was no reason for Mulder not to wake up, that it was probably his mind's way of retreating from the situation. Finally Mulder opened his eyes fully, allowing them to adjust to the dim light, and darted them around the room for a moment to assure himself that this wasn't another cruel dream. It wasn't. Finally, safety was real. "Welcome back, Mulder." "How...find me?" His voice was weak and raspy but breathing was easier than he remembered. The oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula and his cough seemed to be better. "A couple of teenage boys poking their noses where they didn't belong found you," Skinner told him. "We had put your name and photo on every newscast we could, and your doctor saw it and recognized you. He called our 800 number and they notified me and here I am." "Nancy?" Skinner met his eyes steadily. "She's still missing. We're looking for her," he continued as he watched a mask of fear replace the relief on Mulder's face. "And I have a twenty-four-hour guard posted outside your room." Mulder still looked frightened until he added, "I'll be here the whole time. I won't leave you alone." Then the man relaxed visibly. "How long?" he managed. "It's been almost a month since you were abducted. You've been here for a little over four days." "How bad is it?" "Well, you have some broken bones that will have to be re-broken and set properly when you're stronger, and right now you have one nasty case of pneumonia, but other than that it's all just bruises and minor cuts. No internal injuries, thank goodness." Mulder nodded and closed his eyes, settling back on the pillow. "I miss Scully," he finally said in a low voice, feeling the pain just as sharply as ever. "She misses you too." A look of confusion crossed Mulder's face at that, but he decided that Skinner was just trying to be kind. "You don't have to protect me, Sir. She's dead," he said. "I already know." "Dead!" Mulder's eyes flew open again at the older man's tone. "Scully's not dead, Mulder. She's in the hospital in Georgetown recovering from her injuries, but she is very much alive." Mulder stared at him, uncomprehending, for several minutes. He had accepted the reality of Scully's death so fully that he couldn't grasp the fact that it had been a lie. "She's alive? But how?" he stammered. "Mulder, she was badly injured in the accident. She broke both her legs and had internal damage that required several surgeries. She was in a coma for three weeks. But she's awake now, and she's going to make a full recovery, I promise you. Did that woman tell you Scully had died?" Mulder still couldn't quite believe she was alive. "She had an obituary," he insisted. "She taped the damned thing to the wall just to torture me. It's there still, I guess." Skinner was puzzled now. "An obituary? For Scully? Are you sure, Mulder, that it wasn't something you imagined? You were pretty delirious when they found you, from what I hear." Mulder shook his head stubbornly. "No, Sir, it was real. God knows I spent enough time staring at it. Go to the house where she kept me and see for yourself if you don't believe me. No," he amended, "on second thought, don't leave me. I don't trust those guards outside." Skinner almost smiled. Same old Mulder, no matter how badly hurt he was. "I won't leave you," he informed his agent. "But I'll send someone to retrieve this obituary you say is there. I'd like to see it. Meanwhile," he continued, grabbing the telephone, "I'm going to prove to you that Scully is alive and recovering, just like you." "Hello?" Maggie Scully's voice came from two thousand miles away. "Mrs. Scully, it's Walter Skinner. Is Dana awake? Someone here would sure like to talk to her." "I'll wake her. How is Fox?" she asked, gently shaking her daughter's arm. "He's going to recover. I'm handing the phone to him now," he replied, putting the telephone into Mulder's good hand. Mulder took the phone almost reluctantly, as if still afraid it was just another trick. Maybe he was so far gone now that his fever visions had gotten more complex, maybe this was all just an hallucination after all. "He--hello?" he asked hesitantly. "Fox, it's Mrs. Scully. It sure is good to hear your voice again," she said happily as Dana began to reach awareness. "Mrs. Scully, is she really alive?" he demanded with more strength in his voice than Skinner had heard so far. "Alive? Heavens yes, Fox, she's alive and just about to rip the phone out of my hands. Here she is." Scully grabbed the telephone with her left hand and raised it to her ear. "Mulder? Is that really you?" "Scully--" He couldn't go on. Those damned tears that he couldn't seem to stop crying came again and his voice choked up, but the incredible smile on his face spoke volumes, and Scully seemed to sense it though she wasn't there to see. "Mulder, it's going to be all right. Skinner told me how they found you. You're going to be ok and so am I. It's just going to take some time for us to recover. Hey, maybe they could move you back here and we could share a room, huh?" Mulder smiled through his tears. "People would talk, Scully," he responded quickly. She laughed and he felt a bolt of pure happiness. He had never thought he would hear her laugh again. "Recover quickly, Mulder. I want you home. I miss you," she told him softly. "Scully, she told me--" He stopped and drew a shaky breath. "She told me you were dead." There was silence from Scully's end for a minute, then a sad, "Oh, Mulder." She imagined for a moment what that must have been like for him. "She lied to you, Mulder, I'm alive and well. I just wish I could get out of this hospital bed and come to you, but I can't. You'd love the contraption they have me in, both my legs are broken. And my arm." "Skinner says my arm is broken, too. They're gonna have to go in and re-break it. You know these medical types, they have to break things just so they can fix them up again." She smiled. If he hadn't lost his sense of humor then there was hope for a full recovery. "At least yours is the left arm!" she retorted. "I'm gonna have to learn to feed myself and write all over again!" "How did you know it was the left arm, Scully?" he asked, amazed. She waited for a moment and then said quietly, "I saw. While I was in my coma. I saw what she did to you, Mulder. I saw everything." He shut his eyes in shame. If she had seen everything then she saw-- "Mulder? Don't do this to yourself." Even from clear across the country she knew what he was thinking. "You were a victim, Mulder. She did that stuff to you against your will. Don't forget that." "Sure, Scully," he muttered, unconvinced. His rational mind told him she was right, but he still felt a sense of shame and revulsion when he thought of Nancy's hands on him, forcing a response out of him, forcing-- He shook his head and said, "I don't even want to think about that now, Scully. Skinner's giving me dirty looks, so I guess we'd better hang up. The Bureau's gonna have kittens when they see this long distance call on my hospital bill." She laughed. "Mulder, get well soon. I really miss you." "Sure, Scully. Whatever you say." He handed the phone back to Skinner, but not until he heard the line go dead from her end. He hadn't wanted to end the connection himself. ***** Skinner stared in amazement at the obituary the police officer he'd sent back to the house had produced. It was remarkably convincing. He could see why Mulder had been so certain Scully had died--had he been presented with this type of evidence, in Mulder's situation, he'd have believed it, too. Turning the paper over, though, instantly brought home the fact that it was a fake. "Look, Mulder. Look at the back of it." He showed the agent what he had discovered. Even though the obituary had every appearance of having been ripped out of a newspaper, the back was completely blank. No text, no advertisements, nothing. "She must have had this printed up in one of those novelty shops." "But how did she know about Emily? Almost nobody knows about her!" "The real question to me is why you were listed as Scully's fiance," Skinner commented, trying very hard to keep a straight face. Mulder blushed. "I just figured Scully's mother had written that part," he admitted. "She's wanted the two of us to get together for years. There's nothing--I mean, we haven't--" Skinner saw his friend's discomfort and finally relented. "All right, Mulder, I'm not accusing you of anything." Like hell I'm not, he thought to himself. A person would have to be blind to think there's nothing between these two! He simply figured it wasn't his business, since nobody had brought it to his attention in an official capacity. Mulder and Scully were adults, after all. And they certainly seemed to need each other, in ways that he had never encountered before. "What are the chances of me getting another long distance call out of you?" Mulder asked suddenly. Even though he had talked to her, and been reassured by everyone that she was still alive, he still had trouble convincing himself. He had accepted her death so thoroughly; what if they were lying to him about her recovery, trying to make it easy on him because of his illness? What if she really wasn't out of danger at all? He wanted to see her, touch her, and if he couldn't do that then talking to her would be the next best thing. "Slim to none, Mulder," Skinner informed him. "It's only been two hours!" Then he softened a little. "I know what you're thinking, but she really is going to make a complete recovery." "If only I had my wallet," Mulder moaned, "at least I could use my credit card to call her." Skinner hesitated a moment, then thought, What the hell, how much could it cost me to give this man a little peace of mind? He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting what Mulder recognized as a credit card for the local telephone company back in Washington. "Here," he said kindly, handing the card to an astonished Mulder. "It's on me. Just don't talk too long." With that Skinner stepped outside, sticking his head back in the room just long enough to assure the slightly panicky man in the bed that he wasn't leaving but just wanted to give him some privacy. "I'll be right outside the door," he told him, and Mulder nodded gratefully. He wasn't ready to be alone, not yet. He wanted someone he trusted with him. Reaching with his good right arm for the telephone that Skinner had thoughtfully moved within his reach, Mulder dialed the number with trembling fingers. "Dana Scully, please," he said to the operator, and seconds later the phone was answered by her mother. "Hello, Mrs. Scully?" "Fox? Is that you? How are you?" she asked happily. "I'm getting better, Mrs. Scully, thanks. Is--is Dana awake?" he asked hesitantly, unsure if he should have her mother wake her. He didn't want to disturb her rest but he wanted--needed--to talk to her. "She's just waking up, Fox, hold on and I'll get her." Mrs. Scully put the phone down and he could hear her murmuring in the background. Seconds later he heard his partner's welcome voice. "Mulder? Are you all right?" Scully's voice was tinged with concern, as if wondering why he was calling her again so soon after their last conversation. Mulder gripped the telephone tightly as he felt his heart literally jump in his chest at the sound of her voice. "Scully," he started and had to stop to swallow the lump in his throat. No more tears! he told himself sternly. "I'm ok, I just wanted to hear your voice. I just..." "I know, Mulder. But I'm fine, really. I'm going to get well and be good as new. I promise." Her voice held warmth and assurance, and he closed his eyes to imagine that she was sitting in front of him, putting her hand on his arm, looking earnestly into his face to make sure that he believed every word she was saying. "I believe you, Scully, it's just--so hard to accept. She had me so convinced, and now--it's as if you've come back from the dead." He tried to explain his feelings to her but felt it was inadequate. No words could possibly describe how ecstatic he was to find her alive. "Well get used to the idea, Mulder, because you're going to be stuck with me for a very long time. Hey, how did you get Skinner to approve another call?" she asked curiously. Mulder laughed. "You won't believe it, Scully. He gave me his personal credit card. Must be a heart in the old boy after all, huh?" "You know there is, one as big as the Grand Canyon. He just likes to cover it up in order to better terrorize all his agents," Scully pointed out. "Yeah," Mulder agreed softly, "I know. Look, Scully, I really should hang up now, but--I just wanted..." "I'm glad you called, Mulder. I wanted to hear your voice too." "I love you, Scully," he whispered, his voice barely audible to her. "Well, we have that in common, too," she answered shyly, not wanting to say the words in front of her mother. It wouldn't do to give the woman too much to gloat over. She seemed to know, though, because Mrs. Scully gave her daughter a knowing grin and a wink when she took the phone from Dana's hand to hang it up. "Mom--" Scully began. Maggie held up a hand to stop her. "Please, Dana. Just because it took the two of you five years to figure it out doesn't mean it took me that long." She left the room to get more coffee, giggling to herself like a young girl. "And don't roll your eyes at me, young lady," she called back over her shoulder, leaving Scully wondering how mothers always knew. ***** Again Mulder had waited until the connection was broken from Scully's end to hang up the phone. He glanced around the room nervously. It was so quiet. He wanted noise, it had been such a long time since he had been able to watch television or listen to the radio. Even other voices talking would have been nice but the floor was very quiet. He instinctively reached for the television remote and then drew back, disappointed. No television sets in critical care. Most of the patients were too ill to want them. He hoped to be moved to a regular floor soon. Since he had regained consciousness earlier in the day he had been feeling better and better, but now his efforts of the past few hours had tired him out and he recognized that he was still very ill. A nurse entered his room just then to change his IV bag and Mulder licked his lips nervously. She was tall with short, dark hair, and although her facial features were completely different from Nancy's, and Mulder knew in his head that she wouldn't hurt him, he felt his pulse rate quicken just the same. He was about to ask her to please come back in a few minutes when Skinner reentered the room. He caught the relief that Mulder quickly tried to hide and vowed not to leave the man alone again until he felt more secure. Skinner glanced at the nurse as she bustled about the room, smiling a quick smile at him, and immediately discerned the cause of Mulder's discomfort. "Hello, Miranda," he said, reading the name on her badge. He wanted to give Mulder a name to associate with this woman other than 'Nancy'. "How's Agent Scully?" he asked Mulder, while Miranda changed out the bag and took Mulder's vital signs. "Alive," Mulder said happily, indicating the bedside table where he had put the credit card. "And--thank you, Sir." "No problem, Mulder," Skinner told him, settling himself in a chair and pulling out a book. "What is that? I don't want it," Mulder told Miranda as she slipped a needle into the port of his IV and began injecting a clear fluid. "It was just your painkiller, Mr. Mulder," she told him smoothly, her movements never faltering. "I told you, I don't want it," he protested, his voice already beginning to slur, and within minutes he was asleep, barely comprehending Skinner's repeated promise that he would not be left alone. ***** She was back. Mulder had thought she was dead but she was back and now pain was reality again. He twisted away from her as the baseball bat fell on him again and again, bruising, hurting him. He screamed and tried to turn away but she only continued attacking any part of his body that was exposed. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding hitting his head, as though she wanted to be very careful not to kill him, but every other part of his body was fair game. The bat smashed against his broken ankle and he screamed again in agony. He tried desperately to crawl away from her but the chain prevented him from moving very far and no matter where he moved she was there. Finally he just crawled into the corner and cowered, hoping she would tire herself soon. He held up his arm to ward off any more blows and she hit him again, harder than before. He felt fire shoot up his left side as the bat connected with his forearm, and before he could get breath to scream again she struck him one more time on the wrist. He heard the cracking sound that time and it was too much. He fell back against the wall screaming and screaming and screaming... "Mulder, wake up!" Skinner's stern voice penetrated his terror at last and his eyes flew open, wide and terrified. Mulder cast his gaze around the room quickly as if making sure they were alone, and then sank back, fighting to get his trembling under control. His breath came in harsh gasps and he couldn't get in enough air. Moments later his nurse arrived--a different one than before--having been summoned by Skinner's raised voice. When she saw the state of her patient she waved Skinner back and began talking soothingly to Mulder, reminding him that there were guards outside the door, that his friend was in the room, that anyone would have to get past her first before touching one of her patients. She stroked his hair gently while she spoke and soon he had calmed visibly. The nurse murmured in low, easy tones to Mulder, and Skinner saw him nod his head once. His hands unclenched from the bedrails gradually. With a little smile and a couple of pats on his hand she left, leaving Skinner staring. Nobody but Scully had ever had that effect on Mulder, as far as he knew. Taking another look at the nurse, Skinner understood. She was small and slight and redheaded--no doubt she reminded Mulder of Scully. Her name was even similar--Denise. He shook his head, marveling once again at the connection his two agents had with one another, and marveling still at the coincidence of having a nurse who looked like Scully and a nurse who resembled Nancy. What were the odds of that happening? When she had gone Mulder glanced over at his boss with a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "Mulder, you've just been through a terrible ordeal. I would expect bad dreams to be par for the course," Skinner told him mildly. Mulder lay back weakly against the pillow. "It's those damn drugs they keep giving me." "The drugs don't cause your nightmares, Mulder," Skinner pointed out. "No, but they make them harder to wake up from. I just want this all to be over," Mulder said softly. "Have they found any traces of her at all?" He didn't look hopeful. Skinner slowly shook his head. "We've been able to determine that she has no family and, apparently, no friends. She quit her job about five months ago and since then has been living on what she had in the bank. The house in Delaware that burned belonged to her, but the one where she kept you here in Idaho was simply a vacant property that she appropriated." He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, crossing to stare out the glass at the activity around the nurse's station. "Her mental health is deteriorating rapidly," Mulder told him. "Before--back in Delaware--she was different." "Different how?" Mulder thought carefully. "She would be very nice and gentle with me. But then from one second to the next she would change and become abusive. And when she first took me, after the car wreck, she was that way until we got to the house here. Then she turned vicious and never changed." Skinner hoped Mulder would open up and tell him more, but the younger man stopped then, and by the set look on his face it was obvious that no more information was forthcoming. He decided a little probing might be in order. "Why did she leave you there?" Mulder shook his head slowly. "I've been thinking about that, and the truth is I just don't know. I'm not sure if she intended to come back and met with some accident somewhere or if she planned on abandoning me all along." He grimaced. "With the way her mind appears to work it's possible she just decided on a whim one day to leave." "But you don't know if she was planning to come back or not?" "No. However, by the time she left I was already ill and--" Mulder looked down and plucked nervously at the blanket. "It was sometimes hard to separate reality from fantasy. There is a possibility she told me what she planned and I just don't remember." "But you remember the rest of it pretty well, don't you?" Mulder gave a slight shudder. "Too well. I do remember that she barely fed me, so the idea that she might simply abandon me there to starve to death isn't so farfetched." Skinner decided to change course suddenly. It wouldn't do to ease Mulder into his next suggestion, the man would have to be blindsided. "I want you to talk to a therapist here at the hospital, Mulder." There was silence for a moment while Mulder caught his breath, then, "I know I can't get out of it this time, Sir, but couldn't I at least wait until we get back to Washington?" he asked in a pained voice. Skinner shook his head. "We don't know how long that will be, and the longer you put it off the longer you'll have those nightmares." "But I--" "No buts, Mulder. This is a direct order. If you plan on coming back to work for me you'll have to do as I say." Mulder turned his face away then, unable to look his boss in the eye. It was apparent to Skinner that something was very wrong, something was going through Mulder's mind that was deeply worrying him. He pulled his chair closer to the bed and reached out his big hand, taking Mulder's chin and forcing him to turn back. "What?" he demanded. "Tell me what's upsetting you so." "I--Sir, what if I'm not fit to come back to work after all this?" Mulder finally blurted out. Skinner considered the man in front of him. He'd had an awful childhood, and so far his adulthood hadn't been great either. He'd been kidnapped, beaten, lied to, used, and had placed himself in danger more times than Skinner could count in order to save someone else. The only joys he had in his life were the X-Files--and Scully. If Mulder were to lose those things Skinner doubted he could go on. He didn't relish the idea of attending Mulder's funeral after a successful suicide attempt. "Well, Mulder," he finally said, "that really all depends on you. If you want the X-Files closed down and Scully assigned to another partner--if you want to slug your way through some boring desk job while that brilliant mind of yours slowly rots away, you have the power to make that choice. All you have to do is bullshit your way through therapy the way you've always done before and that's where you'll end up. But if you want it all back, everything this woman tried to take from you--you're going to have to work for it. I know--Mulder, I know--you can come back. You're the strongest man I know, were you aware of that? I couldn't have gone through all you have and emerged with my sanity intact, but you're tenacious. You just keep fighting back. And you'll do it again." Mulder stared at him so long Skinner grew uncomfortable. Finally he asked, "Will you be all right if I step out for five minutes to get some coffee?" Mulder looked nervous but nodded and indicated Skinner should go. He let the door close behind him slowly, wondering if his agent could handle even five minutes alone yet. Glancing at his watch Skinner determined that it would be five minutes to the second and no longer. "Mr. Skinner?" He turned and came face to face with a tall, broad shouldered man in his late forties with a big smile on his face. "I'm Dr. Jacobs," the man said, holding out a hand for Skinner to shake. "Dr. Emerson asked me to meet with your friend." "You're the psychiatrist?" Skinner asked, shaking the man's hand firmly. "Yes. I understand Mr. Mulder isn't too happy about the idea of therapy." Skinner snorted. "He's a psychologist himself, Dr. Jacobs. He'll bullshit you all the way if you let him." He looked keenly at the other man. "Don't let him. He's very important to me and he's been through hell." Jacobs nodded. "May I ask you something, Mr. Skinner?" "Sure." Jacobs smiled again. "Is there some reason why you keep glancing at your watch like that?" Skinner hadn't realized he was doing it but he had been, every few seconds. A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "He's afraid to be left alone," he explained. "I told him I was going to step outside for five minutes to get some coffee and I don't want to stay any longer than that." Dr. Jacobs nodded. "I've been reading up on his case, what was done to him, but it might be helpful if I could get some background information from you." Skinner sighed. "It's rather a long story, I'm afraid. I'll tell you what I can but most of it's locked up in Mulder's head." "Well, it's my job to get it out of him," Jacobs said. "Do you think I could talk to him now?" Skinner looked at his watch one last time. His five minutes were up. "Let me go in and prepare him first. Just give me a couple of minutes." Mulder's relief was palpable when Skinner returned, and he tried to hide the way his hands were trembling. It had been the longest five minutes he could ever remember. Every time he closed his eyes he could see her there, reaching for him, touching him. Mulder took a deep breath and willed the nausea to go away. At first he could barely focus on what Skinner was saying, but he did catch the word "psychiatrist". "No," he said stubbornly, shaking his head emphatically. "Not yet. I can't deal with it yet." "Mulder, waiting isn't going to make it easier to deal with," Skinner told him, sitting beside the bed. Both men looked up as the door opened and Dr. Jacobs entered. Mulder's face whitened. "Please," he whispered to Skinner. "Please. Not yet." Sensing his patient's reluctance, Dr. Jacobs came over and shook his hand. "Mr. Mulder, I'm Dr. Jacobs. Dr. Emerson asked me to come by and meet with you." Mulder allowed the man a half-hearted handshake before hiding his arm under the covers. "I'm--I--" He sighed. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm just not ready to talk about this yet." Jacobs nodded and pulled up a chair. "All right, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I would like to get a little better acquainted with you if you don't mind." "I do mind. I just want to be left alone." Jacobs held his gaze steadily. "I was under the impression that being alone was difficult for you right now." Mulder didn't know what to say; he shot a look of betrayal at Skinner, who merely stared back impassively. "Yeah, well the last time I was left alone I almost died," Mulder finally said defensively. "Do you think that's going to happen now?" Jacobs asked casually. Mulder was silent for a long time, and Jacobs was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer at all. Finally, looking down at his lap, he said in an almost inaudible voice, "She's still out there somewhere." "And you're afraid she'll come back?" A barely perceptible nod. "With all the protection you have around you now?" Jacobs asked, indicating Skinner and the guards just outside the door. Mulder looked up at him then with an almost desperate expression. "You don't understand. Nobody understands. She doesn't--none of this can stop her. She kidnapped me right out of my partner's apartment. She rammed my car to incapacitate me so she could take me. If she wants to get to me again..." his voice died out and he couldn't finish. "So even with all the precautions being taken you still feel vulnerable, is that it?" Mulder covered his eyes with his hand, surreptitiously wiping away the tears that had begun to form there. Biting his lip until he regained control, he finally nodded his head in answer. "Mr. Mulder, how can we help you feel more secure? Your friend and your nurses and your doctors--we all want to do whatever you need but you have to tell us." Jacobs leaned forward, peering up under Mulder's hand to try and catch his eye. He could tell that Mulder had just about reached the end of his tolerance today. Mulder was silent for a long time, and finally he said in a low voice, "Well, one thing is...no more drugs." "What? Mulder, you need--" Skinner, who had been silent throughout the entire visit, spoke up at last. "Not those drugs," Mulder interrupted. "Not the antibiotics. They've been giving me--things that make me sleep. I don't want them, but nobody listens to me when I tell them that." "But you've not been sleeping on your own," Jacobs pointed out. "And rest is essential to your healing, both physically and mentally." "I don't want them," Mulder insisted stubbornly. When no better explanation seemed forthcoming, Skinner interjected, "He's been having terrible nightmares, Doctor." "I see. And that's why you don't want the drugs, Mr. Mulder?" Mulder looked up at him then. "When they give me those drugs--I feel so...powerless. I've been powerless long enough." "All right. I'll talk to Dr. Emerson and recommend that he discontinue the orders for those medications that make you sleep. How's your pain level?" Mulder shifted. "Not too bad, but when I dream--I tend to thrash around and that makes it hurt more. Then they give me drugs for pain, which makes me sleep more..." He looked at Dr. Jacobs helplessly. Jacobs pulled a notepad from the pocket of his lab coat and for the first time during the interview jotted down some notes. "If I prescribe a mild sedative for you, something that will relax you but not knock you out, will you take it?" he asked. Mulder looked uncertainly at Skinner, as if unable to cope with any decisions right then. "I think you should at least try it, Mulder. If you don't like it we can ask Dr. Jacobs to discontinue it as well," Skinner said gently. "I'll try it, then, if you'll give me your word that they won't force it on me." "Nobody's going to force anything on you. I'm also prescribing a milder painkiller for you. Again, it may make you more relaxed but it shouldn't put you to sleep. And you'll be able to refuse it any time you like, you have my word." Dr. Jacobs stood then and held out his hand to Mulder again. This time Mulder was a little more enthusiastic in returning the handshake. After saying goodbye to Skinner he was gone. Skinner turned to speak to Mulder and saw that the man had collapsed back onto his pillow weakly, his face drained. "Mulder, you look exhausted. Why don't you just close your eyes and try to get some rest? I'll be right here." "Will you wake me, if--" Mulder asked hesitantly. "At the first sign," Skinner reassured him. "And no drugs this time, just sleep on your own. I know you can still do it." He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Um...thanks," he said softly. Skinner almost smiled again. It was getting to be a habit with him, he reflected, and not one he wanted many of his employees to see. It would ruin his carefully cultivated image as a hardass A.D. "You're very welcome, Mulder. Now sleep." ***** "Mom, will you do me a huge favor?" Scully turned her big blue eyes to her mother with concern in them. "Of course, baby, what is it?" Margaret Scully asked her, smoothing back Dana's hair and smiling down on her. "Will you go to Idaho and stay with Mulder until he can be moved back here?" Maggie was astonished at her daughter's request. "Honey, you need me here, my place is with you--" Scully shook her head vehemently. "No, Mom. You know I love having you here, but Mulder doesn't have anybody. You know his mother can't be bothered with her own son." Her voice was tinged with bitterness. "Skinner says Mulder can't be left alone, he gets terribly frightened. And the boss can't stay away from work for much longer," she smiled. "All the agents under him might run amok." "But who will look out for you if I'm not here?" Maggie questioned. She loved Fox, and understood what Dana was saying, but it just didn't seem right somehow to leave her own daughter to the care of strangers. "I'll be ok, Mom. Skinner promised to check in on me every day, and that's really all I need at this point. I'm recovering just fine, you know that. And I haven't been through anything like Mulder. He's going to have some severe emotional problems for a while. He needs someone there that he trusts, and that encompasses all of about three people. You, me and Skinner. So you see, you're the only logical choice." Mrs. Scully put up a few more half-hearted arguments, but Dana calmly refuted every one of them, and the next day she found herself flying all the way across the country to care for Fox. ***** "Mrs. Scully?" Mulder couldn't believe who was walking into his hospital room. He quickly turned the sound on the television down--since being moved out of critical care he had watched almost constantly. Skinner gave her a welcoming smile and rose from his chair. "Hello, Fox," she greeted him warmly, coming to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you looking so well." "Is Scully--" He was afraid to ask. He couldn't imagine why Scully's mother was here instead of back in Washington with her daughter. "She's fine, Fox," Maggie assured him. "In fact," she went on, reaching into her purse, "she sent these for you." Mulder took the photographs from her hand and felt those damned tears welling up in his eyes again. He knew the reason he was so teary-eyed lately was due to his emotional fragility, but he hated it. Blinking them back insistently, he smiled his thanks and continued devouring the pictures of Scully with his eyes. They were polaroids, taken of her in her hospital bed, and he couldn't get enough of them. They were proof at last, visible proof, that Scully was alive and recovering. Of course he'd spoken to her several times, but seeing her--seeing her made it real. He flipped through the photos again and again while Skinner and Mrs. Scully spoke quietly to one another. Mulder barely noticed they were in the room for a few minutes. "I wish you could send her some of me," he said finally, looking up at them. "Oh, I intend to," she smiled, pulling her camera out of the small suitcase that Mulder hadn't noticed before. "She wants to see you, too." "Wait a minute," Mulder laughed, running a hand through his hair as she aimed the camera at him. "I'll scare her to death like this!" "Mulder, right now Scully would love the sight of you no matter how frightening you looked," Skinner commented. Mrs. Scully took several pictures of Mulder, and after they had watched them develop, handed them to Skinner. "Take good care of my daughter, Walter," she admonished. Mulder looked from one to the other, confused. "You haven't told him yet?" she asked. "I was afraid if I told him he would call up insisting that you stay with Scully." "What are you two talking about?" Mulder demanded. "Mulder, I've got to get back to D.C. I can't stay here with you any longer." Mulder's face paled but he said nothing, merely waiting for Skinner to go on. Surely Skinner wasn't leaving him here alone, at the mercy of strangers! "So Walter and I are exchanging places for a little while, until you're well enough to travel, Fox," Maggie finished. "Exchanging places..." Mulder shook his head as if to clear it. "What are you saying?" "I'm staying here with you, and he's going back to work. He'll check in on Dana every day and make sure--" "No!" Mulder's head-shaking was emphatic now. "No way. You can't leave her, Mrs. Scully, you need to be with her." She sat down in the chair next to his bed and pulled it close to him, reaching out to hold his hand in hers. "Fox, Dana sent me to you. She's worried about you. She knows how much you--don't want to be alone right now, and she asked me to come out here. She said you needed someone to take care of you that you trusted. You trust me, don't you?" Her beautiful eyes, so much like Scully's, bored into his until he could refuse her nothing. "I just don't want Scully to be all alone," he told her. "She won't be alone, Mulder. I'll take care of her," Skinner replied. "I promise you, I'll look out for her." Mulder considered for a minute, then finally nodded his agreement. "I hate this," he muttered. "I hate that I have to be babied like this." "Nonsense, Fox," Mrs. Scully said briskly. "This is what Dana wants. You don't want to disappoint her, now do you?" "No, ma'am, I don't," Mulder smiled. "Mrs. Scully, I--thank you." Skinner cleared his throat. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch. Mulder...take care. I hope to see you back in Washington soon. And please cooperate with Dr. Jacobs, will you?" "I'll do my best, Sir," Mulder said, eyes downcast. "I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done." "No need to thank me, Mulder. You're my very best agent. And you're my friend. I'll be in touch." With that Skinner nodded to Mrs. Scully and left. "Mrs. Scully, I don't know what to say," Mulder began. "Don't say anything at all, Fox. I want you to get well and come home to Dana. She wants that as well, and I'm sure you do too. So we'll all work together to get what we want, all right?" Her smile was genuine, and Mulder felt warmth spread throughout his body. "It's just that nobody's ever done anything like this for me in my entire life," he explained. "And I don't know how much Skinner told you, but taking care of me is kind of a pain in the..um..rear." Maggie gazed at him, her eyes twinkling. "Well, let's see. He told me you have frequent nightmares, but that they're getting better. And that if you start to have one I should wake you immediately. He told me that you aren't crazy about your therapy but you'll cooperate if I bully you. And that you aren't to be left alone for more than a few minutes at a time, less if I can manage it." She leaned forward as she spoke, as if to transmit her concern to him physically. "See?" he asked sheepishly. "A real pain." "On the contrary, it's not a pain at all to someone who cares about you." He simply stared. "Fox, Dana loves you." She smiled. "It's no secret--not to me at least. I've known for a long time. A lot longer than the two of you, apparently," she admonished. "And that would be reason enough for me to care for you, but I've grown to love you for yourself, not just as a friend of my daughter. Don't think I'm unaware of the number of times you've saved her life. She's told me about each and every instance. So now, if I can give a little assistance to you when you really need it, I consider it no more than I owe you." Mulder shook his head in disbelief. "She obviously hasn't told you about the number of times she's saved my life," he pointed out. "Believe me, I owe her still." "Well, be that as it may, I'm here for you now," she said gently. ***** Mulder sat by Scully's bedside and watched her sleep, drinking in the sight of her. It had been three months since the wreck that had landed her in this hospital, and the two of them were well on the road to recovery. Physically, at least. Mulder knew he still had a long way to go to regain his mental stability, but he'd been able to see improvement there as well. He no longer glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, expecting to see Nancy creeping up on him. He was able to be alone, if only for very short periods of time--still it was a victory. Mrs. Scully had stayed with him throughout the rest of his time in Idaho, helping and encouraging him through his recovery from the pneumonia, the surgeries to repair his broken bones, and especially his emotionally painful, yet mercifully brief therapy sessions with Dr. Jacobs. Mulder smiled lightly as he remembered their parting. "Mulder, I know you're going to be seeing another therapist in Washington, because I've met two of the people in your life. Neither Mr. Skinner nor this nice lady are going to let you duck out of it. But I want you to know you can always call me if you need to. I've come to look at you as a man I like and admire, and I hope you'll think of me as a friend." Mulder had been astonished at this outpouring of emotion from a man he'd only known for a few weeks, and yet in that short time he had grown to like Dr. Jacobs as well, not as a therapist but as a person. He'd had a bouquet of flowers delivered to the nurses on his floor as well as to Denise in critical care--she who was so like Scully that she was the only one who had been able to comfort him in the early days. They had all been wonderfully tolerant of his nightmares, his terror if left alone, and his frequent refusals of medication. Now, watching Scully sleep, he reflected on her own recovery. The casts were off, finally, and she was undergoing physical therapy to strengthen her legs so long in disuse. She was going to be discharged any day now, and for that he was thankful. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand sleeping in a chair in her room. Maneuvering on crutches with his left arm and right ankle in casts had been difficult at first, but he had managed to figure it out with his typical Mulder perseverence. Even though he was an odd sight to see, hobbling along as he did, he took pride in knowing that he could get around by himself instead of depending on someone else. It was one more thing in his life that he was in control of. He shoved aside the thoughts of the most important thing that was out of his control. She was still out there, somewhere. Dead or alive, he had no idea. Every day he hoped for a telephone call that would inform him they had found her dead body, and every day it failed to come. Even capturing her alive would have suited him--he knew there was enough evidence against her to send her to prison. He would feel relatively safe knowing she was locked up somewhere. It was the not knowing... His new therapist, Dr. Sherwood, was a nice enough man. They'd wanted to give him a woman at first, but he had absolutely refused. Mulder knew that sooner or later he was going to have to talk about the way Nancy had molested him, and there was just no way he was going to discuss that with a woman. Not even Scully. Of course, Scully already knew, but she had sense enough not to bring it up. His back still bore faint scars from the switch Nancy had used on him, but they were barely noticeable. And the doctors who had performed his surgeries told him how lucky he was not to have damaged his muscles and ligaments while his broken bones were left untreated. He could have told them that the pain involved in moving those limbs had kept him pretty well immobilized, but it was just too much trouble. Let them think he was lucky. He didn't care as long as he regained full use of his arm and leg, which they assured him he would. Skinner closely monitored both his progress and Scully's, but Mulder felt Skinner was paying special attention to his therapy sessions. Although he was aware that doctor-patient relationships were private, Mulder couldn't help but be slightly concerned that the older man knew more than he should. At first this had bothered him, but then he decided, what the hell. The man had been with him through his worst nightmares, and presumably Scully had told him what she had seen in her dreams. Anything Dr. Sherwood could tell Skinner, Skinner probably already knew. Scully's dreams. Mulder couldn't begin to explain them. It was odd that, with all the times their lives had been endangered, it was only with Nancy that Scully had had these dreams. If it hadn't been for them he would have died in Delaware. Nobody would have found him before fire consumed the house, and even though Nancy had managed to escape from the fire apparently unscathed, Mulder knew that in his attic he would have been--if one could pardon the expression--toast. He shook off those thoughts and took Scully's hand in his. He had wanted to touch her for so long, and now that he was here with her Mulder had difficulty keeping his hands off her. He was always making physical contact with her in some way. Either touching her shoulder, brushing back her hair, or holding her hand. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, feeling her softness, and his mind went once again to the bogus obituary Nancy had taunted him with. She had been determined to convince him Scully had died, and it had worked. Mulder was still mystified as to how Nancy knew so much about he and Scully, and especially how she knew about Emily. Very few people outside of Scully's immediate family knew about her, and those few people were completely trustworthy. Looking back, Mulder realized that should have been a clue right there that the obituary was phony. Mrs. Scully would never have included that piece of information in a widely-read newspaper. Mulder just shook his head in amazement at the events of the past few months. Now all he wanted was to be cleared to go back to work. He was hoping that by the time his physical self was healed, his mental self would be functional as well. He had made Scully and Skinner proud by cooperating fully with his therapy, even when it was difficult and draining. On more than one occasion he had emerged from Dr. Sherwood's office white-faced and withdrawn. When that happened, Skinner or Mrs. Scully or whoever was his babysitter-of-the-day would take one look at him and hustle him into the car, returning him to the safety of Scully's presence as quickly as possible. It was only there that he felt truly safe. Mulder knew that Nancy could return at any time, but somehow he was sure that if she walked in the door right now, Scully would rise up out of her bed and save him yet again. That had been a sore point with him at first--the fact that Scully had literally saved him from Nancy the first time around, and then that he had been so dependent on her this time. It had hurt his ego to think about it until Scully had insisted, eyes flashing, that he was being stupid. "Mulder, does the name Donnie Pfaster mean anything to you?" she had retorted. "Eugene Tooms? Lula Phillips? Gerry Schnauz? Duane Barry?" "I couldn't save you from Duane Barry, Scully." "But you did, Mulder. You have no idea." She had leaned closer to him then, speaking urgently. "I would have died in that coma if not for you. You were the one who brought me back, did you know that? I saw you there, standing with Melissa, and you looked so devastated and alone that I knew I couldn't leave you. And that night, Mulder, when you came to my hospital room--I heard every word you said. That was when I made the decision to live, to be with you. That night was when I began to know that you loved me too." Her voice had softened then. "And let's not forget you risking your life to save me from my cancer. I can never repay you for that." Scully straightened up then, and cleared her throat as if to signify that the sappy, emotional moment was over. "So I don't want to hear any more about your precious ego being bruised, ok? You save my life, I save yours--it's what we do." He'd had to laugh with her then, because no matter what his pride felt, he had to admit she was right. She was stirring now, waking up, and Mulder continued holding her hand waiting for her to look at him, speak to him. He still relished the small, everyday, usually-taken-for-granted things about Scully--like the fact of her breathing. He knew with certainty now how her death would affect him. Before it had been only speculation, even though death had been very near them on occasion. This time he had been convinced. And even while fighting to live, to escape from his prison, he had known that his life would not be long without Scully. "Mulder," Scully said, finally rousing from her sleep. "You're such a beautiful sight." He grinned at her and leaned over to kiss her. "So are you, Scully, I can't begin to tell you." She shifted and looked at the clock. "It's almost time for my physical therapy." "Yeah, time to go walk. And after that I'll go rip some more painful memories out of my head," he said morosely. "That ought to take a while. It would take a jackhammer just to get in that thick head of yours." "Children!" Mrs. Scully admonished from the doorway. "Don't be squabbling. I declare, Dana, sometimes you and Fox remind me of your brothers." Mulder and Scully exchanged a smile then. Mrs. Scully had been hovering over both of them since his return to Washington, and it was something they joked about when she wasn't around. They wouldn't have said anything to hurt her feelings for all the money in the world, but she was beginning to drive them slightly crazy. "Hurry up and get well, Mulder," Scully leaned over and whispered. "Your nagging isn't half as bad as hers!" "I would never nag!" Mulder insisted quietly, trying to help Scully out of the bed with his good arm. "I might tease, pester and complain, but never would I nag." Scully climbed into the wheelchair her mother had brought and adjusted her hospital gown around her legs. She reached out for Mulder's hand. "Will you be all right here for half an hour?" she asked, concerned. She didn't miss the fear that flitted through his eyes, but Mulder smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine, Scully. There's a whole army of nurses out there ready to kick the ass of anyone who messes with me. I don't know what you said to make them so protective, but you did a good job." "It was nothing, Mulder," she called back as her mother wheeled her away. "I just told them you were a rich playboy and promised them you would buy them all a new Porsche when I got out of here." She didn't have to turn around to see his face--just the thought of it was enough to make her collapse into the chair with laughter. ***** THE END