*~*~*~*~*~*
Connected 
by Lovesfox
*~*~*~*~*~*
lovesfox@rogers.com

Headers in Part 1

***
Part 5 of 12

Unknown Location
Monday 7:10 PM


The gas station attendant's name was Bob, or so said the
name patch on his faded blue, grease-stained coveralls.  
He was a tall, reed-thin, unshaven man with thinning hair 
and lecherous eyes.

<>

And an equally lecherous mind.

The initial shock of hearing another voice in her mind
almost overshadowed the crudity of the man's statement.
Almost.

Scully bit back the scathing retort on her lips and forced 
herself to relax.  They would deal with this new discovery 
and its implications later.  The first order of business 
was getting back to D.C.

Laying her hand on Mulder's tense arm, she squeezed just
slightly.  Her partner had started towards Bob with 
righteous indignation, clearly having also heard the man's 
less then savory thought.  "Mulder," she murmured.  "Let 
it go.  I've heard worse."

Ignoring the sympathy and lingering anger that swam in 
Mulder's eyes, she cleared her throat and aimed a polite 
smile at Bob.  "Sir, we're Special Agents with the FBI, 
in need of a telephone."  Hopefully the man would not 
insist on seeing their identification, the whereabouts
of which were currently unknown.

The attendant's gaze slid down to her chest, lingered for 
long and obvious seconds, before flicking quickly to Mulder 
and then back to her.  Meeting her eyes this time.  
"Payphone's there," he grunted finally, nodding his chin 
at the west side of the station.

Maintaining her civility with effort, she said, "Actually, 
Sir, I was referring to your telephone.  Could you take us 
to it, please?"  On their approach to the station, they had 
both noted that the phone in the booth had been minus a 
receiver.

Another glance at her chest before he finally nodded and 
turned to amble towards the rickety screen door of the 
ramshackle, one-level building.  Scully shared a brief,
commiserate look with Mulder, gritted her teeth, and 
followed the attendant, with her partner at her heels.

Inside the small office area, if one could call it that,
the smell of gasoline and old coffee pervaded.  The room 
was hot and stale, and as filthy as the man who staffed 
it.

Bob slipped behind the counter and reached down.  A second 
later he was setting a black, rotary-style telephone down 
on the cracked linoleum countertop with a thunk.  Shoving 
it towards Scully, he muttered, "Here.  I'll be 'round 
back."

Before the man could shuffle off, Mulder spoke.  "Excuse
me, but we didn't see a town marker on the way in."

Despite the confusion and curiosity evident in his eyes, 
Bob asked no questions.  Nor did he broadcast any thoughts,
unpleasant or otherwise.  He replied, speaking slowly, 
"Town's up the road a ways.  Cave Spring, just outside of 
Roanoke."

Scully couldn't stop the startled look she shot at Mulder,
seeing the comparable shock on his facial features before
he schooled them into a blank mask.  His thoughts however
were not blank.

<>

The attendant hesitated, eyes flicking from Mulder to her
and back, as if waiting for further questions.  When none 
came, Bob turned away and went through the door in back.

His uncomplimentary stray thought filtered back to them.  
<>

Mulder waited several seconds before reaching for the 
phone, bringing the receiver to his ear.  She watched as 
he dialed zero for the operator, and then tapped his 
fingers impatiently.  His voice was brisk as he rattled 
of his FBI badge number and requested he be put through 
to the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, D.C.

Her legs were starting to feel rubbery, an after-effect
of all their walking, and her ankle was throbbing.  The
two battered chairs were not inviting, and she would not
leave the room to sit outside until Mulder had completed
his calls.  Despite the filth on the counter, she leaned
against it, shoulders slumping.

Mulder did more finger tapping as his request was carried 
out, and then he was stating his name and asking for 
Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  The flinch he gave 
seconds later told Scully he had been connected -- she 
could guess what Skinner was probably saying to Mulder, 
knew their boss had to be questioning their whereabouts.  
And why they had missed the departmental meeting that had 
been scheduled for that afternoon.

"Sir," Mulder said, a little loudly.  Clearly interrupting
a tirade.  He shot her a glance, a grimace on his face,
and continued.  "Scully and I need your help."  Clipped,
and blunt.  He gave the AD their current location, briefly 
describing the events as they knew them, including the loss 
of their identification and guns.

After listening for a long moment, he murmured, "Thank-
you, Sir," and depressed the disconnect button in the
receiver cradle with one index finger.  He immediately 
began dialing again, meeting her eyes as the call was put 
through, mouthing 'Gunmen'.

"Langly, turn off the tape."  His eyes left her to stare
at the phone and he paused, the same index finger now 
tapping the side of the phone base.  "I need a favor, 
guys."  Pause, more tapping.  "Yeah, big time important.  
We need you to pull anything and everything you can find 
on our friend Dr. Kushov and on the address I gave you 
this morning.  Scully and I should be there in a few 
hours."

He hung up after listening for a few more seconds, and
pushed the phone away.  Turning to her once more, his 
face creased with concern.  She had wondered if she 
appeared as bad as she felt, and his look confirmed it.

Straightening, she cocked an eyebrow at him, silently
waving off his concern, waiting for him to share his 
news.  When he cupped her elbow and indicated with a 
lift of his chin that they should go outside, she took 
the lead and headed out.

The cool air was refreshing after the staleness of the
little office, and she breathed deeply, hearing Mulder's
noisy inhalation.  Longingly eying the battered soda pop 
machine several feet away, she tried not to think about
how dry her throat was and how empty her stomach felt.

<>

They shared a look of hungry misery at his stray thought,
both of them smiling slightly.

"Maybe our friendly gas station attendant's got a water 
cooler somewhere," Mulder said then.  "We've probably
got a wait of maybe an hour or so here.  Skinner's 
arranging for a police escort to take us to Roanoke 
Regional Airport, where we'll catch a flight to D.C."

She nodded wearily and moved over to the low, porch-like 
platform that ran partway along the front.  Sitting down, 
she couldn't help the small groan that escaped her mouth.  
It was a relief to be off her leg and sore ankle.

<>

"It's not broken, Mulder," she replied softly, touched by 
his worry.  "I think it was just twisted.  I'm okay."  

Mulder eyed her with that same concern for a bit longer, 
standing with his hands on his hips a few feet away, and
then nodded.  "Be right back," he murmured, and headed 
inside again, the screen door banging shut loudly behind 
her.  A few seconds later she heard his voice calling out, 
"Excuse me!"

There followed an exchange between her partner and the
attendant, which she only halfway concentrated on.  Her
eyes slipped shut, her head dipping down and mind going
blank.  

Scully wasn't sure how long she stayed in that limbo between 
awareness and oblivion, but the next thing she knew, Mulder 
was nudging her gently, calling her name.  Opening her eyes, 
she lifted her head to see him standing there, holding what 
looked like two bottled waters, dripping with condensation.

Surging to her feet, she almost fell off the low porch in 
the process.  Alarm flared on Mulder's face and he juggled
the bottles into one arm, his now freed hand reaching out 
to curl around her biceps.

Color stained her cheeks, embarrassed by her display of
clumsiness.  "Thanks," she mumbled, barely meeting his
eyes.  Taking several deep breaths in through her nose and
out through her mouth, she felt her heart rate, jump-started 
into double-time, begin to slow.

"No problem, Scully," Mulder replied.  "What are partners
for?"  Releasing her arm, he gestured down at the porch.  
"Sit," he told her, and sat himself down.

Once she had resumed her seat on the slightly warped wood,
Mulder handed her a bottled water.  Without hesitation,
and in unconscious tandem, they both quickly uncapped  
respective bottles and tipped their heads back to slake 
their thirst.

Wisely, Scully drank only a third of the bottle, knowing
her stomach would cramp if she drank too much too quickly.
"Mulder, don't drink it all at once," she warned, and 
watched him lower his bottle after a few more swallows.

Panting slightly, he murmured, "Thanks."  Swiping his
hand over his mouth, he turned to put his water down
beside him before reaching into his suit coat pocket.
"Wanna frisk me, Scully?" he teased.

She knew he had to have food of some sort.  "Share or face 
the dire consequences, partner," she told him, turning to 
give him a stern look.  A look that was tempered by the 
smile playing about her lips.

Angling his body to the other side so that she could not
see what he was doing, he crooned, "Oooh, threats.  Hurt 
me, Agent Scully."

<>

"Mulder!"

"Sorry, Scully."  He cleared his throat, his ears a bit
red, and said, "Okay, Scully.  Turns out friendly Bob has
a sweet tooth.  Three Musketeer's or O'Henry?"

Her mouth immediately watered.  Chocolate was really not
advisable on an empty stomach, but God did it sound good.
It was also far preferable to nothing at all.  "I'll let 
the manly man have the Three Musketeers," she replied.  
"Hand me that O'Henry."

The next sounds heard were the tearing of wrappers, noisy
chewing, and their moans of momentarily appeased hunger.

***

Part II

JEH Building
Washington, D.C.
Monday 10:15 PM

Mulder stifled a yawn behind his hand and surreptitiously
turned his head from side-to-side to ease a kink.  He was 
tired and hungry -- despite the two sandwiches he had 
grabbed at the airport and wolfed down in minutes -- and 
wanted to get the hell out of Skinner's office and over to 
the Gunmen's place.  Needed to see what information they 
had managed to gather on Vladimir Kushov.

If there had been any to gather.

With Kushov's lab torched an hour after he and Scully had
been there -- a startling revelation Skinner had tossed at
them minutes into their arrival in his office -- Mulder did
not hold much hope that the scientist would be located, nor
information or evidence.

Looking at Scully, he saw she appeared to be listening to 
Skinner's monologue with rapt interest as the AD reviewed 
the facts they had detailed to him upon their arrival.  Her 
eyes were focused on Skinner's face and she nodded every so 
often.  

It was an act.

Privy to her thoughts -- or the stray ones, at least -- he 
knew she was as eager to have this over as he.  Though
she was leaning more towards a bath and bed, not visiting
the Gunmen. 

He found his own thoughts drifting.  Recalling the events
that had led them to their current location, which was 
sitting in front of Skinner's desk.

The AD had apparently been a busy man after their phone 
call from the gas station in Cave Spring, Virginia.  

Once he and Scully had arrived at the Roanoke Airport, 
courtesy of an officer from the Roanoke Police Department, 
they had found tickets in their names for a non-stop flight 
to Dulles.  At Dulles, they had been met by an Agent who 
had driven them directly to the Hoover Building, via a Bureau 
car.  Moments after they were ensconced in Skinner's office, 
Kimberley had come in and they had been presented with 
temporary IDs and replacement weapons and cellular phones.

<>

Mulder startled, a little taken back by the AD's cynical 
thought, and focused his eyes on Skinner's face.  Oftentimes
the AD's expressions clearly revealed his anger and his 
exasperation, but he had never been outright condescending
or derogatory.

Their superior looked his usual stern, commanding self, if
somewhat tired.  He was concentrating on Scully, but his
eyes flicked to Mulder then, as if the AD had sensed Mulder's
study.  

"Anything to add, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked, turning his 
full attention to Mulder.  One eyebrow lifted in a credible 
Scully impersonation as he leaned back in his seat, letting
it tilt slightly.

"No, Sir," Mulder replied evenly, straightening from his 
unconsciously affected slouch.  "I think we've covered 
everything."  The thought he sent to Scully was less 
agreeable, and highlighted his impatience.

<>

Beside him Scully shifted in her chair, and when Mulder
glanced at her again, he found she was eying him warningly.
Her chiding thought came through clearly.

<>

Nodding infinitesimally, he heeded her mental caution.  The 
AD had a few options at this point; if angered, Skinner could 
put Scully and him under FBI protection.  Which would severely 
hamper their investigation, besides being a royal pain in the 
ass.

Skinner was regarding him with an intensely scrutinizing look,
his jaw tense.  After a moment the AD looked to Scully and back
to Mulder again, and then sat forward once more, reaching for 
a folder on his blotter and pulling it closer.  It appeared as 
if he had come to a decision on some internal battle and was
satisfied with his conclusion.  "That will be all, Agents."

Mulder hurriedly stood, relieved with their dismissal, aware 
of Scully doing the same.  "Thank-you, Sir."  He fell into 
step with her as she headed for the door, their bodies not 
quite touching.  Both of them stopped at the threshold when 
Skinner spoke again.

"Report to me tomorrow by eight a.m. sharp, Agents."  

Mulder's hand had come up automatically to Scully's back, to
guide her through the door.  He felt her muscles shift as 
she turned slightly to reply in the affirmative to Skinner,
and angled his own head back.

He merely nodded confirmation, and it was as they exited into 
the outer office that he stumbled.  From hearing another 
Skinner thought.  One of a very personal nature.

<>

Shooting a quick glance at Scully, Mulder saw that her cheeks 
were pink, and that she was avoiding his gaze.  So he said 
nothing, merely steered her out into the hallway, letting his 
hand fall away as they moved towards the elevator, Scully 
favoring her ankle just slightly.  She had managed to ice it 
during their flight, and had dismissed the need to have x-rays 
or be examined by a doctor.

"Mulder," Scully said suddenly, stopping abruptly.  "I need to
draw our blood.  Maybe I can identify some of the compounds in
whatever Kushov injected into us."

"Lab?" was all he said, nodding towards the elevator, and 
putting his hand on her back once more, started them walking 
again.

Once in the relatively quiet lab, Scully directed them to a
far corner, indicating he should take a seat on a stool.  
"Roll up your sleeve," she told him, turning to locate a pair 
of latex gloves, which she donned.  More out of habit, Mulder 
knew, than because she thought it was unsafe -- she knew his 
medical history better than he did.

Shrugging out of his jacket and laying it down on the counter
beside him, he unbuttoned his cuff and quickly rolled up the 
sleeve past his elbow.  Scully was waiting for him by the time
he rested his arm on the same counter, holding the tourniquet
to wrap around his arm, just under his biceps.  A needle and 
two red-topped tubes were close at hand.

His partner wrapped the elastic band around him quickly, semi-
tying it efficiently.  She murmured instructions. "Make a fist."  
As he complied she was already tapping at the flesh just below 
his inner elbow, followed by a couple swipes with an alcohol 
swab.  Holding his arm with one hand, she twisted her body and 
picked up the needle with the other, carefully and gently 
inserting it into his vein.  The two vials were filled with his 
blood in moments.

After placing them aside and discarding the needle in the 
hazardous waste disposal unit, Scully took a cotton ball to 
press onto the needle site.  "Hold this," she told him, and 
when his fingers had replaced hers, she quickly opened up a 
bandaid and taped it over the cotton.  Mulder knew the drill, 
bending his arm to apply a pressure of sorts.

"Drawing my own blood would be too awkward," Scully told him 
next, slipping out of her own jacket and rolling up the sleeve 
of her blouse.  Her eyes flicked to one of the techs that had 
said a quiet hello when they had entered the Lab.  "I need to 
get Terri over there to do it for me."  

Within minutes, Terri had joined them and taken two vials of 
Scully's blood.  Once the technician had pressed a bandaid 
over the puncture mark, Scully handed her the four vials of 
blood.  

"Terri," she said.  "I need you to run a tox screen and Chem20 
on these for me, as soon as you can."  Turning to the station, 
Scully found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down two 
numbers, handing the information to Terri.  "Here's my new 
cell number and our office fax number, if you could call me 
with the results, and fax them to us."

"Certainly, Agent Scully," the quiet-voiced technician replied.
Although her face was placid, features bland and unquestioning, 
her thoughts revealed her curiosity.

<>

After giving them a quick nod goodbye, Terri returned to her 
work station, the vials of their blood in her gloved hand.

Scully exchanged a glance with Mulder, who shook his head 
slightly and then stood.  He unrolled his shirt sleeve, and 
re-did the cuff before shrugging into his jacket.  A foot 
away, Scully finally did the same, smoothing her hands down 
the front in an attempt to rid the material of creases.  There 
was no point worrying about the technician's unspoken comment 
-- he and Scully were most likely fodder for the Hoover 
Building's gossip chain on a regular basis.

"Let's get to the Gunmen's," Mulder said quietly then, drawing
her attention to him.  "Hopefully they were able to find 
something."

***
End Part 5 of 12

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