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Part 3
******

Scully watched as he turned from the window, and suddenly she did not
know what to say. She felt a blush stain her cheeks as that little 
voice said, tell him you liked it at first. But it was true. She 
*had* liked it at first, very much. His hands, his lips, his body, 
stirring feelings within hers.

"Mulder," she said again. She moved towards him, stopping a few feet
away. "Mulder, when I got there, you were..." She stopped, mind 
whirling suddenly, remembering how he had been when she had arrived,
piecing it together with his words from moments ago. She swallowed,
unconsciously moving a little closer, one hand on her hip, the index
finger of the other tapping her lip. "Mulder, you were barely 
responsive, your face was flushed, and your pupils were slightly 
dilated. I thought maybe you had fallen, hit your head, but I could 
feel no bumps or abrasions." She stopped again, her eyes narrowing
with anger, as she recalled him saying his arm had hurt after bumping
into the man at the elevator. The anger was not directed at Mulder, 
but at this unknown person who..."Mulder, I believe you might have 
been drugged!" She took that last step to stand beside him, her hands
coming up to tug at his jacket, pulling it down over his arms. Her 
nervousness and fear at his nearness seemed to have vanished in her
concern for him. "Let me see your arm."

They got his jacket off and let it drop to the floor. Mulder turned 
as he pulled the sleeve of his tee shirt up so that she could look at
it. High on his upper arm, in the muscle, was a puffy red area, with
a tiny white dot in the centre. An injection site. Scully hissed 
through her teeth. "Jesus, Mulder, someone...that man you bumped 
into, he injected you with something. We need to get your blood 
tested, as soon as possible. Let me go get dressed, and we'll go the
Bureau, use their lab."

Scully turned and walked quickly away, unaware of Mulder's surprised
eyes following her as she left the room.

***

Mulder watched Scully hurry from the room. He had been waiting to 
hear whatever was causing her to blush, and had not expected this 
turn of events. He looked at his arm again, at the evidence that he 
had been injected with some unknown drug. A drug that had made him 
rape Scully. Who could have done something like this?  He immediately
thought of CGB Spender, but after the recent trip the man had taken
with Scully, where it seemed he had been trying to make amends, it 
did not make sense.

The answer was there, he would just have to find it. He bent and 
picked up his jacket, slipping his arms inside the sleeves. From down
the hall he could faintly hear Scully moving from her bedroom into 
the bathroom, the sound of her blow dryer. He sighed, rubbing his 
eyes, a dull ache behind them, and moved back over to the couch. He
sank into it with a weary groan, leaning all the way back against the
cushions.

His mind would not stop thinking. About the previous night, about the
man in the elevator...but most importantly, and the thought that 
lightened his heart considerably, was the fact that Scully had 
touched him. Not for very long, but voluntarily. Without 
repercussions. Her concern about him had over ridden her fear. He 
marveled at that, that her feelings for him let her push aside what 
he had done to her, to allow her to put that aside. He knew that it 
was just for that moment, that she would probably be skittish and 
uncomfortable around him for a while, but it was a start.

Mulder realized he had fallen into a doze on her couch, when he 
startled awake at the sound of Scully's footsteps as she came back 
into the room. He sat up with a small grunt, to see her regarding 
him, an odd expression on her face.

He knew immediately her walls were firmly back in place, and this 
time they were higher than they had ever been. Despair clutched at 
him with its cold fingers, but he pushed it away. He could not allow
despair, or guilt, to drag him, or Scully, under. If he did, their 
bond, their friendship, whatever they had had before last night would
be gone forever. Irretrievably lost. As would he himself.

Mulder stood slowly, none of those thoughts on his face. He kept his
expression blank and open, as he made his way to the door, careful to
leave Scully plenty of space. He turned and waited by the door, 
watching Scully. He had noticed she had placed herself so that the 
chair was between them, and that her body was tense.

He scanned her face and body as she stood there, mentally cataloging
everything. She was dressed all in black, in casual pants and a 
blazer, with a mock turtleneck. To hide the bruises on her throat, 
he understood suddenly. That sent a dart of pain through him. Bruises
he had caused. He wondered what other marks or injuries she was 
hiding beneath her clothes. He would find out, he needed to know. So 
that he could make amends for each and every one. He also noticed 
that her lips were slightly swollen, and red. She had not put any 
lipstick on. They must be sore. Her face was pale as well, but other-
wise composed, with just a touch of make-up.

He saw her take a deep breath and then release it. She walked over to
the little table to the left of the door and picked up her keys. She
stopped a foot away from him, raising an eyebrow slightly. He 
followed her unspoken request and opened the door, stepping out into
the hallway. He moved far enough away that she would not have to be 
near to him as she locked the door, which she did a moment later.

They headed silently down the hallway, Mulder very aware of Scully 
behind him and to his left. Although there was only a foot or so 
separating them in reality, the mental distance between them was 
immeasurable. He sighed inwardly, obviously the interlude of 
normalcy was over. He vowed to himself that he would not let it stay
that way.



J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.


Scully shot another glance at Mulder as they rode the elevator 
towards the laboratory section of the Hoover building. They were the
only occupants in the car, and had only encountered the guard on duty
down in the lobby thus far. Scully was glad, she felt like she had a
big sign on her forehead, 'I was raped', similar to the infamous 
scarlet letter 'A'. It was easier not to have to face the curious 
stares she was sure would be there.

Mulder was very quiet, and had spoken little since they had left her
apartment. She appreciated the fact that he was not pressing her to
talk about what had happened last night. After she had gone to get
dressed she had thought about what she had been about to reveal to 
him, and was thankful she had not. She could not burden him that way,
nor reveal herself. Not now. 

She had become uncomfortable at the thought of telling him such an 
intimate detail about herself. And of course, her mind had gone off
on a tangent, re-playing scenes from the previous night, and she had
gotten all worked up again, feeling her pulse begin to race, her 
breathing accelerate. It had been an effort to return to the living
room, to him.  But she had, and found him sitting on her couch, 
slumped into the cushions, his eyes closed. He had looked so 
vulnerable, so lost. Her love for him had nearly overwhelmed her, 
and it was only through sheer force of will that she had kept herself
from running to him and drawing him into her arms, to ease his pain 
and suffering. For she knew he was suffering, nearly as much, if not
more, than she herself was.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, Scully gave a start when the 
elevator jolted to a stop. Mulder turned to her, his hand 
automatically coming out to steady her. "I'm fine, Mulder," she said
softly. He grimaced, but said nothing, merely stepped out of the 
elevator and started down the hall. Scully followed more slowly, 
taking a deep breath to steady her suddenly racing heart. She had 
felt a flash of fear as his hand came towards her, but was fairly 
sure nothing had shown on her face.

There were only two technicians in the lab when they walked through
the door. One looked up and smiled at Scully. She nodded back to the
woman as she headed to the back corner. It was not unusual for either
of them to be there, in fact, Scully had often worked there late in 
the evening or on the weekend, but she did not want anyone witnessing
her drawing blood from Mulder. She could just imagine the rumor mill 
working overtime with that one.

Scully gestured Mulder onto a stool and he sat obediently after 
taking his leather jacket off and laying it on the counter in front 
of him. She removed her blazer and hung it carefully on the back of 
a chair before getting the necessary items required to get a sample 
of Mulder's blood. She laid the kit next to his jacket and absent- 
mindedly pushed the sleeves of her turtleneck up out of the way.

She had been aware of Mulder's eyes watching her every move and was 
a little startled when she heard him inhale sharply. She shot him a 
sideways glance, to see him staring at her wrists. To be exact, 
staring at the lurid bruises that encircled them like bracelets. She 
fought the impulse to tug her sleeves back down and cover the 
bruises. It would only make the situation worse.

She met his eyes for a moment, the beautiful hazel orbs wide and 
pain-filled. His mouth opened, and she shook her head, saying his 
name quietly. He nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath before reaching 
one hand out slowly. He ran his index finger gently over the wrist 
closest to him, barely touching it, and she imagined he was 
memorizing each and every bruise. She managed not to flinch at the 
contact, as butterfly-light as it was, staring at his outstretched 
arm until he returned it to his lap. She circled her right hand 
around his left wrist, and lifted it to the counter, laying it open 
and facing up onto the cool surface. His skin was warm, and she could
feel his pulse thrumming steadily against her fingers. It sent a 
tingle up along her arm, and she released his wrist quickly, feeling 
a slight blush stain her cheeks. She risked another glance at Mulder,
to see if he had noticed her reaction, but he was staring down at his
lap.

Scully picked up the tourniquet and tied it tightly around his upper
arm, and then tapped her fingers on the flesh beneath the bend of his
elbow. She inserted the needle deftly into the resulted bulging vein 
and attached the red-topped glass vial. In moments the vial was full 
and she removed it and laid it on the counter, and then undid the 
tourniquet before removing the needle. She picked up a cotton ball 
and applied pressure firmly on the site for several seconds. A band-
aid was next, and then she turned to the equipment to begin the tox 
screen.

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully watched Mulder slide off the 
stool and put his jacket on. She murmured, "It'll take a little 
while. I'm going to test you for HIV and Hepatitis B and C while I'm 
at it, but you should get re-tested again in six weeks."

Mulder nodded and replied just as quietly. "Thank-you, Scully."  He 
paused and then said, "I'll go get us some coffee, okay?"

Scully, whose hands were already busy, did not look at him but nodded
in reply, with a quiet, "Please."

Mulder walked away, and Scully looked up from her task to watch his 
tall form, his shoulders slumping, as he made his way through the lab
and out the door. With a heavy sigh, she resumed her task.

***

Mulder walked back into the lab sometime later, carrying two cups of
coffee, just slightly above lukewarm, but not by much. After leaving 
Scully to her work, he had wandered down to their office, checking 
for any messages or e-mails. There had been none, and he had headed 
up to the vending machine area to get their coffees. He had run into 
an agent from the VCU seconds after buying the coffee, and had 
answered the agent's nosy enquiries with vague responses before 
finally breaking free. He saw Scully look up as he walked toward her,
and could not interpret the seriousness of her expression.

He came around the counter and placed her coffee on top of it, not 
wanting to force her to accept it from his hand. Her lips moved in 
the faintest of smiles, but it did not reach her eyes. Eyes that were
tired, wary and...angry?  Somehow, Mulder knew he was not going to 
like what she had to say.

She began without preamble, her voice still quiet, but Mulder could 
hear that anger in her dulcet tones. "Mulder, I was so shocked by 
what I found that I ran the test again, just to be sure."  She 
stopped, pursing her lips tightly before relaxing them and 
continuing. "Mulder, what I found...Mulder, you were injected with 
Sildenafil Citrate and Flunitrazepam."  She looked away for a minute,
flushing slightly.

Mulder frowned. He thought he recognized one of the drugs she had 
named, Flunitrazepam. He was pretty sure it was Rohypnol, or as it 
was known on the street, 'roofies'. The date rape drug. The other one
he did not know, but it obviously could not be good. He raised an 
eyebrow in question for Scully to continue.

"Flunitrazepam, as you may know, is also known as Rohypnol. What you
may not know, is that it is a benzodiazepine, a sedative with ten 
times the potency of diazepam. Valium, Mulder. Its purpose, probably
its sole purpose, is to reduce resistance, although it is also often 
used by drug addicts to allay their withdrawal symptoms."  Scully 
paused again, looking almost embarrassed. "Sildenafil Citrate, Mulder
is Viagra. I am sure you are aware of its purpose."

Mulder blinked, and then looked away. Viagra and Rohypnol?  A chill 
went through him. The combination of those two drugs had to have been
deliberate, their intent to cause him to attack Scully. The 
perpetrator, whoever it was, must know him so well, must have known 
that he would contact Scully at any sign of trouble. And known that 
having sex with her, to rape her, would be the only result, his only 
course of action once he saw her. The thought horrified him. Were 
they nothing more than pawns?

And why?  His mind whirled.  What did this person have to gain?  What
could he hope for?  A chill ran through him suddenly. Had it all been
a desperate attempt to separate them?  To force Scully into leaving 
him?  They had to know Mulder would do everything in his power to 
stop that from happening.

Mulder stumbled back and fell into the chair Scully had hung her 
jacket on. He didn't think his legs could support him. Peripherally 
he was aware of Scully seating herself on the stool he had vacated 
not so very long ago. He could feel her gaze on him, and he looked up
at her, seeing what must be on his own face reflected on hers. 
"Scully..." he began, but stopped, at a loss for words.

"Mulder, we both know what the combination of those two drugs would 
be likely to result in, which it obviously did. The drugs probably 
started to take affect not long after you were injected, and when I 
arrived, you were well under their hold." Scully's voice was quiet, 
neutral. There was no feeling leaking through, but Mulder could see 
the emotions dark in her eyes. "Short of knocking you unconscious, or
causing you great bodily harm, I don't think I, or anyone else, could
have stopped you."  She looked away, her lips twisting slightly. 
"Which we both know I was unable to do."

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the chair, looking away as well. He 
still could not remember all the details from last night, but bits 
and pieces had been continually flitting through his head for the 
last hour. One stuck out now, more than the others, after hearing 
Scully's words. Her hands on his chest, trying to push him off of 
her. But her motions had not dislodged him. Rather they had only 
drawn his attention to her breasts, thrusting forward. He blinked 
rapidly, shaking his head, and the memory was gone.

He brought his mind back to the present, recalling her words of 
moments ago. It had not surprised him to hear Scully vocalizing his 
thoughts. They usually traveled along the same wavelength, so attuned
to each other as they were. They were often able to communicate with-
out speech.  And when they did talk, they sometimes even finished 
each other's sentences.

Scully spoke again, and he brought his gaze back forward, to see her
watching him, the compassion back in her eyes. "Mulder, we'll find 
out soon if your blood is clear, but I cannot stress how important it
is to get re-tested in six weeks."

"I will, Scully," he replied, grimacing as he thought of the possib-
ility of more grief that could result from the assault on them both.
For being injected with drugs was not just an attack on him, but 
Scully as well. He swallowed, his mouth dry. "Is there anything more
we need to do here?"

Scully shook her head, and began to tidy up the area she had used. 
Once done, she moved to the chair where he sat and gestured at her 
blazer. Mulder got up and lifted it off the back, handing it to her. 
She took it silently, their hands just brushing, and slid her arms 
into the sleeves. He watched as she fixed the collar, lifting her 
hair from beneath it, before picking up the reports she had printed 
on his blood work.

They left the lab, Mulder leading, conscious of Scully close behind 
him.



Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.


Mulder watched as Scully lifted her house keys up and unlocked her 
door, pushing it open. She walked inside, and he followed, hearing 
the clunk as she dropped the keys on the little table to the left of 
the door. He closed and locked the door behind him. He saw her look 
at her answering machine, and that the red light was not flashing.

Mulder stood impassively, just behind her, and saw her run her hands 
nervously down the front of her trousers. He knew she was uncom-
fortable with him being there and that she wanted him to leave. She 
had not wanted him to come up at all after he had driven them to her 
apartment building, turning slightly in the passenger seat to thank 
him for the ride when he pulled up to the curb. He had merely nodded 
and shut the engine off, getting out of the car at the same time she 
had. The flash in her eyes had been the only outward sign of her 
irritation. That and the unnatural stiffness of her body as they 
walked towards the front entrance.

Scully turned to face him, her features blank. But Mulder could see 
the weariness in her eyes. "Mulder..." she began.

"Listen, Scully, I know what you're going to say, but I'm not 
leaving. We need to talk about what happened last night, and what we
discovered today," Mulder interrupted, moving very close to her, but 
still not touching her in any way.

Her eyebrow arched, and she glared at him for a moment, before 
turning away with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped. "I know," she agreed
quietly. Her hand came up to rub at the back of her neck. "I'm just 
going to change. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Mulder nodded and headed toward the couch, taking his jacket off as 
he did. He could hear the sounds behind him as Scully turned and went
down the hallway to her bedroom. He laid the jacket over the back of 
the couch and then sat down on one end. He rested his head on the 
cushioned back and took several slow, deep breaths, trying to relax.
He and Scully needed to talk, desperately. Not only about what they
had discovered had been done to them, as well as their thoughts as to
who and why, but about the events of the previous evening, and how 
they were going to get past it.  And they *were* going to get past 
it. They had to. Mulder knew his life would have no meaning if Scully
were not a part of it.

His stomach rumbled then, and he was surprised he had an appetite at
all, until he realized he had not eaten since lunch the day before. 
He wondered if Scully had eaten since then either. He glanced at his
watch; it was past noon. He wondered if he should order a pizza. He 
should probably check with Scully first. He stood and stretched 
before making his way down the hall to her bedroom. As he neared, he
could see the door had not closed all the way, it was open a crack.

He could also hear her crying.

Mulder hesitated just before the door, hand poised to knock. His 
first instinct was to flee. Scully did not cry easily, and the fact 
that she was now scared of him. He did not know if he could face 
learning what he had done to her, but he knew he had to. He also 
wondered if he should intrude. Besides not crying easily, Scully did
not like to lose control in front of others, even him. His hand 
relaxed from its fist and hovered uncertainly in the air over the 
door. His head lowered, forehead just brushing the wood.  "Scully," 
he whispered.

Taking a deep breath, Mulder lowered his hand to the wood and pushed.
The door opened easily, with the slightest of creaks, and he stepped 
inside. Scully's back was to the door, but she whirled around at the 
sound of his footstep on the hardwood floor.

The robe she was wearing gaped at the front, and her hands, which 
must have been tying the sash closed, flew up to grab the lapels and
tug them together.

But not before Mulder saw the red mark marring the flesh of her upper
breast. The blood drained from his face and a small moan escaped his
lips. "Scully?" he choked out, and moved forward, his steps wooden 
and awkward.

He came to a stop just in front of her, and although she stiffened, 
she did not move away. Did she sense he needed to see, needed to know
what he had done to her?  He held her gaze with his for long moments,
before she looked away to the left, and watched her lips release a 
sobbing breath, felt the exhalation warm against his upper arm. Her
hands left the lapels of the robe, fisting down at her sides, tacit
approval for him to look.

Mulder's hands shook as he brought them up to her robe. He parted the
material gently, careful not to touch her skin. Standing this close 
to her, he could smell her Scully smell, and he closed his eyes 
briefly as the fragrance teased his senses. When he opened them 
again, he could see her pulse fluttering erratically at her throat, 
and knew that she was probably fighting the impulse to flee. He 
forced his gaze to her chest, to the swell of flesh above her white 
cotton bra, trying not to admire the smooth, creaminess of her skin.

He steeled himself to study the wound as objectively as he could. He
knew he failed miserably, when his breath hissed out and Scully 
flinched. He could not help it. He blinked again, but the image 
remained. When he had caught a glimpse of the mark as Scully turned
around, he had thought it was a hickey, or a burn maybe, from his 
stubble. It was not. It was a bite mark, a perfect imprint of teeth. 
His teeth.

He could see that he had broken the surface, and that the flesh sur-
rounding the wound was red and a little inflamed.  One hand clenched
in the material of her robe, the other let go, and shakily lifted to
the mark. His index finger just grazed it, running over it with a 
touch that was feather-light. Scully jumped at the touch and he 
pulled his hand away quickly. He could see her chest rising and 
falling rapidly; hear her breaths loud in his ears.

"I am so sorry, Scully," he whispered. His voice sounded odd, thick.
His breath hitched then and he felt the tears welling in his eyes. He
dropped to his knees in front of her, burying his face in her 
stomach, arms coming up to hug her tightly. Her body was stiff, and
as his arms went around her, she made a small sound...of alarm?  He
loosened his grip slightly, but did not release her. He could not.

The first sobs wracked his body, and he cried into her stomach. 
Suddenly Scully pulled her hands up and away from her body where they
had been trapped by his embrace. He could feel her body trembling, 
and then her hands were on his head, stroking through his hair.

Her touch was like a benediction.

***

Scully walked down the hall to her bedroom, hand coming up to cover 
her mouth as she yawned, her other hand still rubbing her neck. The 
adrenaline had surged after they had found the injection site on 
Mulder's arm and gone to the Hoover building, but now she was so 
tired. And her body hurt, in places she didn't want to think about.

She was nervous, too. She knew they needed to talk, but was not 
really ready to face it. She did not want to break down in front of 
Mulder, to lose control and become a weak mass of crying female. Her 
emotions were right at the surface, and it would not take much to 
break them loose.

Scully stepped into her bedroom, swinging the door shut behind her.
She crossed over to her bed and stood beside it, shrugging out of her
blazer and laying it on the end.  She stood there for a moment and 
then toed off her shoes and undid the button and zipper of her pants,
pushing them down over her hips. Her mock turtleneck was next, and 
as she stood there in her bra and panties, she shivered with a slight
chill. She grabbed her robe and when she lifted her arm to put it 
into the sleeve, she saw the bite mark on her chest.

Tears sprang to her eyes, burning hot. Her breath hitched and then 
she was crying, her body shaking with the effort to hold her sobs in.
She hurriedly pulled the robe the rest of the way on, wrapping it 
around her body, hands tying the sash. She was going to lie down and
smother her tears in her pillow, fully conscious Mulder was just down
the hall, and that there was nothing wrong with his hearing.

A sound reached her ears, a footstep on the floorboards. She whirled,
hands still on the sash of the robe, to see Mulder standing there. 
She realized her robe had gaped open, feeling the cool air on her 
chest, and watching Mulder's eyes drop there. Her hands whipped up to
pull it closed again. Her sobs had stopped with her surprise, and she
could feel the tears drying on her cheeks, although her breath was 
still coming in pants.

Mulder paled, and then he moaned. She heard him whisper her name, and
then he was moving towards her, his movements choppy. He stopped in 
front of her, and she stiffened. His eyes held hers for many moments,
before she looked away, one last sob escaping. She knew he had seen 
the mark on her breast, and what he wanted to do. Her hands left the
lapels of her robe and she moved them to hang straight at her sides.

She held herself still as his hands came up shakily to grasp the 
edges of her robe and pull it open. He stared for the longest time, 
making her nervous, when he exhaled with a hiss suddenly. She 
flinched in surprise, but managed to hold herself still.  His eyes 
remained focused on the mark, and she felt one of his hands fist in 
her robe, the other coming up. The touch of his finger on it was so 
light, so gentle, and goose bumps rose on her skin. She jumped 
slightly, her breath coming faster. She remembered his hands on her 
body the night before, and marveled at the difference, from rough 
misuse to tender reverence.

Mulder whispered, "I am so sorry, Scully," and then he was on his 
knees, hugging her tightly, his face in her stomach. She felt his 
body shake with sobs and wanted only to comfort him. She lifted her 
arms free from his embrace and brought them to his head.

She stroked his hair, enjoying the feel of the silky softness sifting
through her fingers. Mulder nuzzled into her stomach, and the action 
sent a nearly overwhelming wave of love through her. Her knees 
buckled and Mulder's grip on her loosened, allowing her to fall to 
her knees before him, their bodies almost touching. Mulder's hands 
came up to frame her face and her own hands hovered before fluttering
to land on his wrists.

They stared into each other's eyes, endlessly.

Scully saw love, and sorrow, and trust in his hazel depths, and let 
her own same emotions pour forth. A tremulous smile lifted the 
corners of his mouth, and she answered it with a smile of her own,
feeling one lone tear roll down her cheek. Mulder's thumb moved and 
brushed it delicately away, before his lips slowly descended to trace
the tear's path. He whispered her name, and the sound, uttered so 
close to her ear, sent shivers down her spine, and she squirmed 
slightly.

Her head had been tilting to allow him better access to her neck, 
wanting to feel his warm lips there. Her eyes had drifted shut, her 
body unconsciously leaning towards his.

She almost fell forward when Mulder leapt to his feet. She opened her
eyes to see him backing away, a look of distress on his face. He 
whispered, "I'm sorry," and turned and walked out of her bedroom.

Scully realized with sudden clarity that Mulder had mistaken her 
movement as being one of fear, not pleasure. She scrambled to her 
feet, barely avoiding tripping over the hem of her robe, to run 
after him. That little voice in her head was sarcastic. Must you al-
ways chase after this man?  Her answer was succinct.

Yes.

***