The Elixir Trilogy
By Rebecca Rusnak
rrusnak@Lconn.com
As always, all feedback is welcome, and I promise to respond to
anyone who takes the time to write me. Send all comments to
rrusnak@avana.net
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully are the property of Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. Everybody else belongs to me.
SUMMARY: Posing as a married couple for an undercover assignment holds
more than one kind of danger for Mulder and Scully. When Scully becomes
infected with something not from this world, a figure from the past
reappears. Events come to a head when Scully fires on her partner and
flees. With the help of his new ally, Mulder races to find Scully before
other, more sinister elements do.
SPOILERS: Some references to "One Breath", "End Game," and "Tunguska/Terma."
I've placed these stories in 4th season, after "Terma", but they would
obviously have to take place before the events of "Leonard Betts", etc.
RATING: I'd rate this PG-13 with some swearing. Archive it under XRA.
This is dedicated to my husband, the skeptic to my believer. He is Scully.
********
Elixir I: Retreat
*********
Upstate New York
Jan. 12, 1997
The wind whipped through the bare trees with an eerie whistling. Low clouds
scudded across the leaden sky. The weather forecasters speculated daily on
the arrival of snow, while proclaiming that the cold was here to stay. At
least, Whitey thought morosely, they were right about something.
He turned from the window with a sigh and sat in the richly upholstered
chair before it. He gripped his hands together tightly in his lap and tried
not to look nervous. The blonde secretary behind the walnut desk glanced up
at him, then back at her computer. Whitey squirmed in the chair, and the
secretary looked up again. This time her lips pressed into a thin, annoyed
line before she looked away.
Stop it! he told himself. Quit acting like an ass! For a minute or two,
the harsh words actually helped, but then his fear began to seep back.
After all, it wasn't every day that you walked into your boss' office to
tell him you were quitting. Not when you were as far down the totem pole as
Whitey was, and definitely not when your boss was the biggest drug runner
outside the Mafia.
So he was scared.
The phone buzzed on the secretary's desk and she looked up at him with a
thin smile. "Mr. Courteney will see you now," she said.
He stepped through the wood door into a lush office. The furniture was all
walnut, and the office was backed by a wall of clear glass windows. The
back half of the office was lushly carpeted, leaving the front half tiled
with something Whitey thought was marble.
Charlie Courteney sat behind his immense desk, beaming broadly at Whitey.
His dark hair was perfectly combed, not a strand out of place. A crisp
white shirt contrasted sharply with his immaculate dark suit. He worked
hard to cultivate a fatherly manner, but right now his smile didn't quite
reach his light blue eyes.
"Whitey, what can I do for you?" His voice was cultured, warm and pleasant,
but Whitey knew how quickly that same voice could hold an edge of steel. He
glanced at the two silent men in black behind Courteney. Their faces were
emotionless, and Whitey knew if things turned bad he stood no chance against
them.
He cleared his throat. "Sir, I wanted to tell you that--" he faltered,
glanced again at the two minders, and swallowed hard.
"Whitey, it looks to me like you could use a drink," said Courteney. On
cue, one of the men moved to the office bar, poured three fingers of whisky
in a glass, handed it to Whitey, and moved back to his former position.
Whitey gratefully took a large swallow of the whisky and felt some of his
courage return. "Mr. Courteney, sir, I came to tell you that I'm leaving,"
he blurted out.
Courteney stopped smiling. A look of concern spread across his fine
features. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to make you
change your mind?"
Whitey shook his head. "No, sir. I-I've met someone and I--"
Courteney nodded, giving Whitey that fatherly look. "Ah, yes, young love.
Is she pretty?" he asked..
Whitey's head bobbed up and down. "Yes, sir!" he said proudly. Why, this
wasn't going bad at all. His earlier fears suddenly seemed ridiculous.
"Well, Whitey, I'm going to hate losing you. Are you sure I can't change
your mind?"
"I'm sorry, sir," he shook his head sorrowfully. Raising glass, he began
to congratulate himself on a job well done.
"I'm sorry, too," Courteney said, as Whitey froze, hearing the change in his
voice. The man on Courteney's left reached under his jacket and Whitey
dropped his glass. The splintering sound of glass on the tile sounded at
the same time as he wet his pants. "No," he breathed, then there was the
ugly shock of bullets slamming into his body, and he staggered, and his eyes
burned from the whisky fumes, and then a bullet exploded into his head and
he fell.
****
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Jan. 21, 1997
8:40 a.m.
Dana Scully walked quickly down the basement hallway, briefcase swinging at
her side. She was late this morning, through no fault of her own. Traffic
in D.C., she decided, was God's punishment for allowing the politicians of
the world to live in one place..
She paused at the door to her office--her office, even though her name still
wasn't on the door. The door was still closed and she frowned slightly,
then shrugged. Probably he was stuck in traffic, too.
She opened the door, reached for the light switch, then stopped. Asleep in
the gloom of the darkened office, face down at his desk was her partner, Fox
Mulder.
He was still dressed in the suit he'd worn yesterday, although he'd shed
both coat and tie. Files and loose papers covered the desktop. A thick
strand of brown hair had fallen onto his forehead and he looked younger,
boyish, certainly more peaceful than Scully had ever seen him while awake.
It was a shame to wake him, but they had work to do. She flipped on the
lights, and put her briefcase on her desk. Mulder jerked, then sat up,
blinking in the sudden light, looking lost and befuddled. His hair stuck up
in a dozen directions, and a paper clip stuck to his cheek. Looking at him,
Scully couldn't repress a giggle.
"Hey," he said, smiling back at her. With a small plink, the paper clip
fell to the desk. He looked down at it, then back at her. "You're laughing
at me," he pouted.
"I trust you slept well," she said, still smiling.
"Actually, no, I didn't," he said, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine," she replied, picking up her coffee cup and heading to the
break room. She filled her cup, tossed in some creamer and walked back to
the office. In the doorway she bumped into Mulder, sloshing some of the
coffee on her hand.
"Damn," she muttered, transferring her cup to the other hand and shaking the
wet one. Mulder had his coat on and was already halfway down the hall.
"Where are you going?" she called.
"Home," he answered. "It's awfully hard to impress you with wrinkled
clothes and a paper clip tattoo." He tossed her a smile over his shoulder
She shook her head. Trying to impress me, she thought. Yeah, right.
****
When Mulder came back she was waiting for him. "Let's go," she said, moving
toward the doorway.
"Where we going?" he asked, hanging up his coat.
"We've got a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner," Scully said, "and we
should have been there half an hour ago. What took you so long?"
"Oh, you know," he said vaguely, following her down the hall to the
elevator. "Skinner? What's he want?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Whatever it is, it can't be good," Mulder predicted darkly.
Skinner rose when they entered, and waited until they sat before sitting
himself. Not, Scully knew, to intimate that he was their equal, but because
he had old-fashioned manners, and in the presence of a lady, you let her sit
first.
The AD got right to the point. "Judging by the lack of paperwork I've
received from you this month, it appears that the X-Files--;"
"Sir," Mulder interrupted, leaning forward. "We've--"
"Hear me out, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. "You know Bureau regulations
require agents to meet certain work quotas to maintain full-time agent
status. I am simply not seeing this amount of case reports coming out of
the X-Files." He paused. Scully began to get a bad feeling about what was
coming.
"So I've decided to assign you to a case outside your usual field." He went
on to describe how this fell into the FBI's jurisdiction, but Scully barely
heard him. She'd been afraid Skinner was going to tell them that he was
closing down the X-Files for lack of work, and the sudden release of tension
left her feeling much more relaxed. Next to her, Mulder's relief was palpable.
"...so you'll need cover identities. The lab folks can take care of that.
The local police will be fully informed and aware of your situation. You'll
have a special call radio, a sort of 'panic button', if you will. If
anything happens where you find yourselves needing to get out quickly, just
hit the button, and the police will be on their way. Any questions?"
Scully blinked. She dared not let Skinner know she hadn't been listening,
so she shook her head. "Good. You leave tomorrow." With that, Skinner
dismissed them.
Mulder managed to hide his grin until they were in the hallway. "What?
What is it?" she asked.
"Scully, I--I have something to ask you," he said. There was a mischievous
gleam in his eye that she decided she didn't like.
"Okay," she said, a bit uncertainly.
To her alarm, he grabbed her hand and dropped to one knee. He put his other
hand over his heart and declared, "Scully, will you marry me?"
She was too stunned to act for a moment, then abruptly came to her senses.
She jerked her hand away from his as if it were burning. "What?! Mulder,
get up. What are you doing?"
"But, Scully," he protested, standing up. "If we're going to be married..."
"What are you talking about?" She looked hastily up and down the hallway.
Thank God no one was around to witness this scene.
"Didn't you hear Skinner? We're going undercover, Scully. As a married
couple." She wanted to slap the smug smirk off his face. "I'm just getting
into character."
Scully closed her eyes. This was definitely *not* good.
****
Jan. 22, 1997
10:37 a.m. EST
Married. She couldn't believe it. She stole a glance at her partner--no,
her husband--she'd have to remember that. Mulder was asleep in the seat
next to her, his seat pushed back and his long legs stretched out in front
of him. The airline stewardess was coming down the aisle, checking on her
passengers, and she caught Scully's eye and smiled. "Do you or your husband
need anything?"
"No, thank you. He's fine. We're fine," Scully said curtly. Please don't
let Mulder wake up and hear that. She looked again over at him and was
relieved to see he was still sleeping soundly.
So then. She opened the case file on her lap for the tenth time since
takeoff from Dulles. The first page was a black and white photograph of a
handsome man: Charlie Courteney. Long suspected by the FBI to be a drug
runner, he hid any suspicious activity behind a completely respectable
front. He owned a string of hotels and bed-and-breakfasts across the
Northeast. No one was sure which business was the front, or if they all
were. Only recently had new information come about that provided some solid
leads.
In addition to his hotels, Courteney owned and operated a marriage retreat
in upstate New York. Wealthy couples from all across the country came to
the posh locale known only as Retreat. For several thousand dollars,
couples whose marriage was in jeopardy traveled to Retreat, stayed a week
and went back home feeling like newlyweds.
Until now. A woman in Tacoma, Washington had contracted a lawyer, wanting
to sue Retreat, claiming the week's stay had not only *not* improved her
marriage, it had destroyed it. In putting together his case, the lawyer
discovered that the woman was being blackmailed by Retreat. The lawyer was
no fool. Having learned through his research that Charlie Courteney was not
somebody you messed with, he advised his client to drop the case and contact
the federal authorities.
Which she had done. So now Scully and Mulder were on their way to Tacoma to
interview this woman. And then they would head to Retreat, to check in as a
married couple in need of help.
Married. Scully glanced at Mulder again. This was not at all the kind of
case she needed right now. For the past few weeks she had been wrestling
with herself, with her feelings. Lately things had been different between
them. Ever since his return from Russia, Mulder had seemed--changed. He
touched her more often, took advantage of any opportunity to stand close to
her. He had always struck her as a needy person, but of late he had seemed
to require even more. More of her.
She had been unsure at first how to react to all this. She'd been angry at
one point, annoyed at how selfish Mulder was, always putting himself and his
needs before her, and using her for whatever it was she could give. But she
couldn't stay angry with him for long, and she had found her attitude
thawing. And gradually she had begun to realize that she enjoyed the
newfound closeness between them. Enjoyed, but at the same time was vaguely
distrubed by it.
She had examined her feelings for him once before, years ago. That terrible
time he had been in the hospital after they had found him on the ice, when
they hadn't known at first if he would live. Faced with the prospect of him
dying, she had been forced to be honest with herself. Yes, she had strong
feelings for Mulder, possibly even love, but they didn't belong in what was
a strong relationship, both professionally and personally. So she had
hidden the truth behind a wall, locked the door, and forgotten.
Until recently, when she found that the secure barrier she'd placed over her
heart wasn't as secure as she had thought.
And now they were going undercover, as a married couple, and she didn't know
if she could handle it. Bad enough that the small touches between them
would have to become overt and more numerous. Worse was having to act in
front of everyone--the loving wife to the Retreat staff and the lying agent
to Mulder. But worst of all was the dread of having to share a room
together, and having to participate in "marriage counseling" that would
focus on their sexual life together.
Scully blushed just thinking about it and squirmed in her seat. She shook
her head to clear it, then looked over at Mulder. He was mumbling something
in his sleep, and one hand suddenly clenched into a fist. His head thrashed
to one side and he whimpered. Instantly Scully leaned over and shook him,
trying to wake him from his latest nightmare. He opened his eyes with a
gasp, and for a moment stared at her wildly, then seemd to recognize her and
he calmed.
"Hey," she said, rubbing his arm. "You were having a dream." She didn't
say again.'
"Yeah." His voice was thick. He rubbed a hand across his face, then stood
up. "I'll be right back." She watched him head down the aisle toward the
back of the plane.
When he came back the old Mulder was in control again. "Miss me?" he
grinned at her. Then he noticed the open case file on her lap. "So what do
you think of our case there?"
Scully flipped back to the picture of Courteney. "He's blackmailing this
woman with a video of her nude and--and having sex with another man. She
claims she was drugged. We know this man deals drugs and now we find he's
blackmailing innocent women. He's a ruthless businessman who got to the top
of the hotel industry by buying out or eliminating his competition. He--"
"Wait a minute, Scully. What do you mean by eliminating'?"
"Doesn't it strike you as odd that every competitor Courteney couldn't buy
off either died or became seriously ill and while in hospital decided to
sell out?"
"Yes," Mulder replied matter-of-factly. "I just wanted to hear you say it."
There was an odd tone to his voice and Scully looked up at him suddenly.
"Scully, this case could very quickly turn dangerous. I would hate to see
anything happen to you." His hazel eyes stared intently at her.
I know, she thought. If anything happened to her Mulder would blame
himself. More guilt to carry around.
"I have to be your wife, Mulder. What could possibly be more dangerous than
that?" she asked with a teasing smile. To her relief the apprehension left
her partner's eyes.
"I guess I shouldn't ask if you want to elope, then," he said.
"Go ahead, ask. Maybe I'll surprise you," she teased. The laugher died in
her throat as she saw his expression change. Oh, God, now she'd done it.
She waited for him to do exactly as she'd said, and ask her to come away
with him. If he did, she had no idea how she would answer him.
Instead he gestured to the file. "Let's go over it again, shall we?"
Gratefully, she nodded.
****
Tacoma, Washington
3:25 p.m. PST
The front door opened to reveal a short, rounded woman. She was dressed in
a light-blue uniform-style dress and was obviously a servant. Mulder held
up his ID folder. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI. We're here to see Mrs.
Williams."
"Please, come in." The woman led them through the foyer to the living room.
Probably they call it a parlor, thought Scully. "Mrs. Williams will be
right with you. Can I get you anything?" They shook their heads and the
woman left.
"Mulder, my whole apartment would fit in this room," she breathed, looking
around.
"Better leave government service, Scully, if you want to live like this."
They both turned at the sound of footsteps. Trudy Williams came in and sat
down on one of the brocaded chairs. Her fabulous hair and makeup and
elegant clothes concealed the fact that she was actually quite homely.
She gave their ID's only a cursory glance, crossed her legs and laced her
hands together in her lap. She regarded them coolly. "Let's get this over
with." She spoke bluntly, but couldn't quite hide the tremor in her voice.
It's all a facade, Scully thought. She's embarrassed and scared and hates
having to talk to us.
"You know I am being blackmailed by Mr. Courteney," Trudy Williams said.
"He demands ten thousand dollars a month or he will share his--," She
dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Or he will show the tape to my
husband."
Scully was about to speak when Mrs. Williams went on. "What he doesn't know
is that I have already shown my husband the tape. That is why he left me."
"Where is your hsuband, Mrs. Williams?" Scully asked.
"Dale is in Hong Kong. On business. *Extended* business."
"Mrs. Williams, I know this must be difficult for you, but could you tell us
exactly what happened to you?"
The older woman closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. Flint gray eyes
stared into Scully's blue ones. "I know you're going there, probably
posing as husband and wife. So I'm telling you all this for your own
benefit. It's bad enough that it happened to me. I don't want it happening
to anyone else."
>From the corner of her eye Scully saw Mulder turn to look at her, but she
refused to look away from Mrs. Williams.
"There was a formal dinner, served in the dining room, for all the couples.
Afterwards the ladies and men separated, each going to a separate room for
the evening's entertainment. I don't remember anything past dinner." The
woman dropped her gaze. "When I woke up, I was in my room, in my bed with
my husband beside me. I thought that I'd just gotten drunk. Until I saw
the tape."
Trudy Williams looked up. "You have to understand. I would *never* sleep
with someone other than my husband. That's why I know I was drugged." Her
voice, her eyes implored them to believe her.
"What was your hsuband doing all this time?" asked Mulder.
"He says he and the other men had a Casino Nite. Drinking, gambling. Dale
was hungover the next morning and didn't remember anything he'd done."
"Thank you, Mrs. Williams--" Mulder began, but Trudy cut him off.
"Something you should know since you're going there. They have security
there at the highest levels. And I think our rooms were bugged."
Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. The futher they got into this case,
the less she liked it.
****
Outside Buffalo, New York
Jan. 23, 1997
3:40 p.m.
The blue rental car pulled off to the side of the road. "All right,
Scully," Mulder said, turning off the engine. "We need to talk."
Scully looked up. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"We're going to be arriving at this marriage retreat in less than an hour,
and we still haven't talked about how to do this. How we are going to pull
this off. We've got identities created for us by the FBI lab, and we've got
to bring them to life." Mulder forced himself to stop. He was babbling and
Scully was looking at him strangely.
But, dammit, this was awfully difficult. Having to pretend to be Scully's
husband was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Not because he
couldn't imagine it--but because he could, all too well.
"Okay," Scully was saying. "Let's start at the beginning. We met--how? At
work?"
"No, that won't work. Not if I'm a psychologist. You know--violating
patient-doctor privileges." He grinned at her. "Unless you want to be my
overworked and underpaid secretary."
Scully glared at him and he caught his breath. Those blue eyes...
"We met at a medical convention," she said.
"Won't work. You're the only MD here, *Doctor* Scully."
"All right. Fine. Whatever. Some friend introduced us at a party. Now I
teach pathology at Rice University, and you--"
"Work at an adult video store," Mulder said, unable to resist..
"Mulder! This is serious. You were the one who drove off the road,
insisting we talk about it." She seemed disturbed by something and it
wasn't too hard to guess what.
"Are you thinking about what happened to Trudy Williams?" he asked gently.
"No," she answered quickly. Too quickly.
Scully, you should know by now you can't hide anything from me.
"That won't happen to you, Scully. I won't let it. I would never let
someone hurt you."
She nodded. "I know, Mulder."
He paused a moment, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two
items. He handed her the first one, a small black plastic instrument that
looked like a radio. "That's the panic button Skinner told us about. If it
looks like our cover is blown, all we have to do is punch that button and
the local police will be on their way. Skinner said they have promised full
cooperation with us." Which was unusual enough to be notable, as local
police and the FBI did not always get along.
Scully inspected the radio, then tucked it into her pocket. Along with
their guns, it would have to stay hidden in their luggage during their stay
at Retreat.
Mulder frowned slightly as he opened up the second item, as if this was not
something he looked forward to. "Okay, Scully, if we're going to be
married, we have to go all the way."
He looked up at her in time to see her eyebrows arch as she stared at him.
Sighing heavily, he pulled a gold band out of the box and held it out to
Scully. "Til death do us part," he said dramatically.
Scully gaped at the ring as she slid it on her finger. The diamond had to
be at least two carats, and was probably more like three. Her brain raced,
trying to calculate the value of the stone on her finger.
Mulder sighed again as he put on his own wedding ring. "I can feel that old
ball and chain already." He sneaked a peek up at Scully and was unsurprised
to find her glaring at him. "Hey, you know I'm just kidding," he protested.
"I don't think you're a ball and chain, Scully. In fact--"
Better not, Mulder," she warned, cutting him off. He could tell by the
dangerous gleam in her eye that he should shut up, so he merely chuckled and
started the car again.
****
Retreat
4:26 p.m.
Retreat looked exactly as Mulder had expected. A sprawling house set amid
lush green lawns, surrounded by acres of forest. He drove up the winding
driveway slowly, taking it all in, memorizing it for future use.
"Sure is alot of security for a getaway, " Scully remarked. To enter
Retreat, they'd driven through an open wrought-iron gate that undoubtedly
closed and locked at night. A guard shack stood beside the drive about
fifty feet from the gate. An armed guard had given them a sticker for their
windshield, then waved them on. Mulder had counted two phones and half a
dozen video screens in the security shack. A camera was mounted on the back
corner of the shack,
monitoring all who came and left, and their transactions with the security
officer.
"I guess if you're a drug dealer you can't have enough security," Mulder said.
They pulled up to the house and immediately a uniformed valet came up.
"Here goes nothing." Mulder parked the car, popped the trunk, and turned
off the car. He and Scully got out and retrieved their luggage from the trunk.
Mulder held his hand out to the valet. "Sam and Diana Freeman. Pleased to
meetcha. Where do we go now?" The valet extended his hand uncertainly and
Mulder pumped it up and down.
The valet jerked his head in the direction of the house. "Registration is
in the front lobby," he said.
"Thanks, son." Mulder dropped the Taurus's keys in the valet' still-
outstretched hand. The man started to get in the car.
"Wait a minute, honey. Where are you taking our car?" Scully imitated a
Texas drawl with a vicious perfection. Mulder bit his lip to keep from
laughing.
"There's a garage out back," the valet said vaguely. He got hastily in the
car and drove off, deciding he'd had enough of this loud, vulgar couple from
Texas.
They headed up the front steps and into the spacious lobby. A pretty young
woman sat behind the front desk. She smiled at them. "Good afternoon and
welcome to Retreat!"
"Good afternoon!" Mulder boomed, feeling slightly ridiculous. Surely not
everyone from Texas acted this way? "Sam and Diana Freeman."
The woman shuffled through some papers, then held out a manila envelope in
triumph. "Here are your brochures, schedules, welcome letters, etc. You're
in Room 23. Upstairs, down the hall to your left. Dinner is at eight
o'clock and I just need you to sign here." She pushed a registration book
at them.
Scully signed "Diana Freeman" and handed the pen to Mulder. He had barely
begun to sign when Scully kicked his shin. Abruptly he stopped and looked
at her curiously. "Look what you're doing," she said in a dramatic whisper.
He looked back at the book and his heart nearly stopped when he saw what he
had written. A big capital "F", followed by a pen mark that trailed into
nothing where Scully had kicked him. "F" for Fox. Oh, shit.
The receptionist was looking at them strangely. He couldn't believe it. Not
quite five minutes into their first undercover assignment and he was already
blowing it. Scully as usual came to his rescue. "You are embarrassing me."
She spoke in that same stage whisper, as if she didn't want the receptionist
to hear.
Mulder forced himself to laugh. "Well, looky here! Here I am thinking I'm
in the boardroom or something. Guess I forgot you need a *real* signature."
He squeezed "Sam" in front of the capital F and scrawled something that
could be "Freeman" after it.
The receptionist handed him the envelope and room keys. "Enjoy your stay,"
she said.
They thanked her and headed up the wide, curving staircase. Twin hallways
split off to the left and right. Following instructions, they turned to
their left. Room 23 was half a dozen rooms down. Mulder unlocked the door
and they went in.
The room was big, but seemed smaller with all the furniture in it. French
doors led to a balcony overlooking the front of the house. A door to the
right opened on a bathroom that they shared with the room next door. A
large bowl of fresh-cut flowers stood on a round table near the center of
the room.
Mulder put down their suitcases and strode across the room to the French
doors. He unlocked them and stepped out onto the balcony. Scully followed,
closing the doors behind her.
"What was that all about?" She kept her voice to a whisper, afraid they
would be able to hear them even out here. "What were you thinking?"
Mulder shrugged. "I don't know." He squinted up at the sky, where low gray
clouds promised snow.
"We have time to explore the grounds before dinner, if you want," she said.
"I imagine we won't have much free time after tonight."
Mulder agreed. "All right. We'll unpack, then do some investigating." He
led the way back into their room.
****
While they were out walking it began to snow. Beautiful, enormous white
flakes drifted down from the sky. The snow covered the ground, and the
silence seemed to grow until speech was impossible. Mulder glanced over at
his partner; the thoughtful, pensive look on her face matched his own mood.
Maybe it was the nature of this case, or the simple fact that they were
walking through gently falling snow, but Mulder found his thoughts turning
inward. How long had it been since he had taken a leisurely walk, how long
since he'd reflected on the beauty of nature, how long since he had allowed
himself to relax?
Too long, he realized. And initial impressions showed that starting a
potentially dangerous case did not seem to be the best opportunity for
relaxation. Yet, here he was. Admittedly Scully's presence helped. By
himself, he would be restlessly prowling, brain racing for solutions to the
case, relentlessly driving himself forward.
But not now, not with Scully beside him. Right now he was content to walk
beside her, lost in thought. He wanted to reach out, put a hand on her
back, lift a strand of copper hair, just touch her. Lately he had found
himself needing to touch her, to reassure himself that she was there. Since
that time in Russia, lying helpless and alone in a dark prison cell, he had
made a vow to himself, that he would finally admit his feelings. Admit them
to himself, and to Scully.
Yet he found that he couldn't. For too long he had successfully hidden his
feelings. Concealed them beneath a sarcastic, wisecracking facade. He had
thought he could do it, could go alongside Scully without revealing his true
emotions. After all, he had been doing it all his life. Why stop now?
He'd long ago realized two things. The first was that he loved Dana Scully.
The second was that there was nothing he could do about it. Declarations of
love had no place in the relationship he and his partner had, and he'd been
content with the strong friendship between he and Scully. Except now that
friendship was being tested to the utmost, and he wasn't sure he would pass.
Beside him Scully sighed softly. He glanced over at her. "Penny for your
thoughts."
She shrugged. "It's just so pretty. It's too bad it all belongs to a drug
dealer and possible murderer."
"It may be pretty, but it's also cold. Let's head in," Mulder said. Scully
followed him willingly enough.
They walked in silence for a while, heading back toward the house. Then
Scully cleared her throat and stopped walking. "Um, Mulder, we haven't yet
worked out the sleeping arrangements."
He paused beside her. He'd wondered when she would bring the subject up.
"What do you mean?" he asked, giving her an innocent look.
"Mulder, you know damn well what I mean. I've thought about it and since
it's not fair for you to have to always sleep on the couch, I thought we'd
take turns."
"Wait a minute. Who says I'm sleeping on the couch?"
"We can't share a bed, Mulder."
"Why not?" He flung the question at her as a challenge, a mocking light in
his eyes while he waited to see what she would say. Her eyes widened
slightly and her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Suddenly Mulder was afraid where this was heading. "All right, all right.
That was a stupid question. You don't have to sleep on the couch, Scully."
"No," she insisted. "We can take turns."
"We will not. Besides, I'm used to sleeping on the couch, remember?"
"But Mulder--"
"No, Scully. I'll take the couch, you take the bed. That's final."
"All right." She gave in meekly.
Feeling quite satisfied with himself, Mulder resumed walking,
completely missing Scully's small smile of victory.
****
Dinner that night was a casual getting-to-know-each-other affair. Mulder
and Scully played their roles perfectly and by the end of the evening the
other couples were convinced that Sam and Diana Freeman were nice folks. A
little too loud, perhaps, but still quite likable.
That night while Scully slept soundly in the king-size bed, Mulder tossed
and turned on the too-small couch and wondered how he'd gotten suckered into
this.
****
Jan. 24
7:21 a.m.
Scully awoke the next morning feeling quite good. She yawned and sat up,
only to see Mulder glaring at her from the couch. "What?" she asked,
suppressing a giggle. His hair stood up crazily and he wore an adorable
pout on his face. "What is it?" She yawned again.
"Well, I'm glad one of us got some sleep," he said sarcastically.
Scully raised a finger. "Don't start with me. We discussed this
yesterday."
"You tricked me! If I had known--"
"Oh, stop whining, *Sam*. You sound like my brother's kids." Scully hoped
he wouldn't slip and forget their cover.
"I am not whining," he sulked.
"Yes, you are," she said cheerfully. She got out of bed and headed for the
bathroom. In a flash Mulder was off the couch, a determined look in his
eye. They stared at each other for a moment, then both agents raced to be
the first to the bathroom.
Scully didn't stand a chance, of course. Mulder's long legs carried him to
the door way ahead of her. He ran into the bathroom, turned around, stuck
his tongue out at her, then slammed the door shut
and locked it.
"Now you're *acting* like my brother's kids!" she yelled at the closed door.
When no answer was forthcoming, she crawled back into bed to wait.
****
9:42 a.m.
After breakfast they all trooped into the front parlor. There were half a
dozen couples visiting Retreat this week. They arranged themselves around
the room, watitng for the day's first scheduled event. Charlie Courteney
himself was going to personally greet all the couples--as Mulder put it,
"bestow his blessing upon us."
The handsome man who walked into the room looked exactly like his photograph
in the file. Scully watched as he made his way to the front of the room.
He walked with a lithe grace, and not a little swagger. He obviously was
full of self-confidence. There was an undefinable magnetism, or presence to
the man. Her sister, Melissa, would have called it an aura. Scully felt a
pang of grief thinking of her sister. Melissa would have known right away
that this man was evil. Yet the rest of the men and women in the room
looked at Courteney with a mixture of awe and adoration.
"Welcome to Retreat. I am Charlie Courteney, and I want to begin by
thanking all of you. You have plenty of ways to spend your money and your
time, but you have chosen to come to me. It is an honor to have the
opportunity to serve you."
He's pretty smooth, thought Scully, toying with the garish diamond that
was her "wedding ring".
"And yes, I do mean it when I say serve," Courteney continued. "You folks
have come here for an important reason--each other. That is what the
Retreat staff is here to do--serve you so you may devote your time to that
most important thing: each other.
"I created Retreat several years ago when I realized that a couple needs to
create time for themselves. In today's busy, high-tech world, too often
it's the people who get lost. For those who want to find themselves and
their mates again, Retreat is here for you. We have an impressive track
record in helping people, as I re-learn constantly by the grateful mail I
receive from couples who have benefitted from Retreat's healing atmosphere.
I only hope I hear from some of you in the future.
"You may feel free to visit me in my office here on the first floor at any
time. My door is always open.
"And now may I introduce one of Retreat's finest." Courteney paused and
extended a hand to a young man who'd been standing at the back of the room.
He came forward and Courteney put his arm around the man's shoulders. "This
is Kevin. He will be your guide on this morning's tour. He's very good at
what he does, and I leave you in capable hands." Courteney flashed them a
smile and left the room.
Scully blinked, feeling like a spell had just been broken, and suddenly
wondered if they should have applauded. The man certainly had style.
Their tour guide, Kevin, took over. He asked them all to "line up, please"
and "follow me."
Mulder stood up and bent over to whisper in her ear. "I kept waiting for
him to pull a rabbit out of his hat." Then they were at the back of the
group and moving out of the parlor.
****
10:30 a.m.
"As you can see, Retreat offers a wide varity of nature trails. Due to the
snow, I won't take you down any right now, but please feel free to do so at
your leisure." Kevin the tour guide pointed at the woods. "If you were to
follow the signs on the trails you would eventually come out on our picnic
area. This being January, you'll probably have the place to yourself." The
young man smiled charmingly.
Scully shivered as a gust of wind lifted her hair. She and Mulder stood
near the back of the group. The had been taken on the tour of the house,
and were now standing on the edge of the lawn where the woods began. Snow
fell steadily downward. So far the guided tour had shown them nothing
exciting, but then, Scully hadn't expected much. They would be hiding all
the things she and Mulder needed to know.
Now Mulder nudged her elbow. "He's got a gun," he whispered.
"What?"
"An ankle holster." Mulder coughed slightly and straightened up. He ambled
a few steps away from her and pretended to study the trees as they were
covered by the snow.
Scully walked around to the other side of the group until she had a clear
and unobstructed view of the tour guide. She peered closely and saw how his
trousers flared slightly above the ankle. She caught Mulder's gaze over the
heads of the group and nodded. She was chagrined she hadn't noticed, but
then, Mulder himself wore a gun that way and he knew what to look for more
easily than she did.
She was about to head back toward her earlier position when she heard a
faint crackling hiss, followed by a voice coming from near the tour guide.
He glanced down briefly at his hip, frowning, although he never stopped
singing Retreat's praises. Scully looked closely at his bulky winter coat
and decided he could have a radio in there.
"Are there any questions?" Kevin the tour guide paused for two seconds,
then turned. "Now if you'll follow me--"
"Wait, I have a question," Mulder called.
Kevin turned back to the group with a barely concealed frown of annoyance.
"Yes?"
Mulder pointed to a tree. "What's up in that tree?" Scully stared forward,
squinting, then saw what he was talking about.
"That," the tour guide said with pride in his voice, "is a camera. It's
part of our security system. We have some of the best technology here at
Retreat. Several years ago," Kevin continued, "Retreat experienced an
attempted burglary. Mr. Courteney has since taken steps to make sure that it
doesn't happen again."
Some of the couples began glancing nervously at each other. "Is the camera
watching us?" asked an older woman nervously
"In a way. It's an infrared camera. It reads your body heat. Right now
all the camera sees is a big splotch of heat. That's us." The tour guide
looked smugly satisfied. "Now, moving on--"
Mulder, by her side again, leaned in. "Security at the highest levels," he
said, echoing Trudy Williams.
"He's got a radio," Scully said.
"Good job, G-woman." Mulder looked thoughtful for a minute, then smiled
crookedly at her.
"What?" she asked.
"Better hope we don't have to make a getaway through those woods."
****
1:10 p.m.
Their first counseling session met after lunch. Two other couples, also
looking nervous, Mulder and Scully, and the Retreat counselor all gathered
in a large airy room on the first floor. Like their tour guide from the
morning, the staff member had a discreetly hidden radio, although Scully
could see no sign of a gun.
The counselor was talking about sex and Scully studiously stared out the
window at the falling snow. This was what she had been dreading all day.
All right, just don't say anything dumb. Try to blend in, she thought.
Yet her traitorous thoughts kept going back to Mulder, and what it would be
like...
"When a couple begins to neglect their marriage, one of the first things to
go is their sexual life together," the counselor was saying. "I can look at
each of you and judge how long since you and your partner had sexual
relations. For example, Sam and Diana, when was the last time you had sex?"
Scully's gaze snapped back to the counselor. She could feel her cheeks
burning, and she could think of nothing to say. She was afraid to look at
her partner, and the silence drew out. The counselor made an encouraging
gesture. "Sam, tell us."
"Sex?" Mulder choked on the word. "We *don't* have sex," he said
emphatically. Scully groaned. So much for blending in. "What we do,"
Mulder continued, "is make love."
Now it was Scully's turn to choke. She looked at Mulder incredulously,
unable to believe he had just said what she thought he said. There was a
smirk on his face and her fingers itched to slap him. How dare he!
But to her surprise the counselor grabbed the bait. "Ah! Sam brings up an
excellent point!" He droned on, and Mulder leaned over.
"Saved ya again, partner." He grinned and ducked away before she could
smack him.
****
6:09 p.m
Scully stood before the floor-length mirror and sighed. She usually enjoyed
dressing up, but the undercover nature of this case perversely made her feel
like everything she did was on display. The formal dinner tonight was not
something she was looking forward to.
Mulder's image appeared next to hers in the mirror. "Scoot over," he said.
He expertly knotted his bow-tie, leaving it nestled snugly against his
throat. Finished, he stepped back. "How do I look?" He spread his arms
and pirouetted for her inspection.
Scully smiled. His brown hair was carefully combed, except for the stubborn
lock that fell onto his forehead. His hazel eyes smiled down at her,
awaiting her answer. In his tuxedo he looked more like a GQ model than a
federal agent. "You look like a rich Texan," she said. "What about me?"
Mulder's eyes darkened and a strange expression crossed his face. Then he
smiled brightly. "You look beautiful," he said sincerely.
Scully felt a warm flush of pleasure. She was surprised at how much
Mulder's opinion meant to her. She looked again in the mirror, trying to
see herself as he must. Unlike her daily business suits, the white silk
dress she wore was feminine and alluring. The dress had three-quarter
length sleeves and buttons down the bodice. Her hair shone against the thin
material and Scully decided she passed muster. She turned to Mulder.
"Well, let's get this over with, shall we?"
They headed down the hall toward the marble staircase. At the top of the
stairs Scully paused. "Mulder, let's just do dinner," she said softly. The
evening's entertainment called for the ladies to prepare the ballroom for
dancing after dinner, but Scully wanted no part of it. Having to laugh and
charm her way through dinner suddenly seemed bad enough, but spending half
an hour with giggly, half-drunk women while they got ready for a dance...
It was enough to make her shudder.
Mulder seemed to share her sentiments. "We'll make an exit after dinner, okay?"
Scully sighed, relieved. "Okay." Together they headed down the stairs.
****
8:10 p.m.
Mulder stifled a yawn. He squirmed in his chair, trying to get more
comfortable. The man next to him finished telling his raunchy joke, and the
other men laughed. Mulder discreetly glanced at his watch, while feigning a
loud laugh. Five minutes until he and the other men would all file into the
ballroom and join their spouses. Five minutes until he and Scully could
make their escape.
At last a tuxedoed staff member came into the room. A white handkerchief
peeked out from his breast pocket and a cummerbund wrapped smoothly around
the man's waist. Clearly the staff here took their jobs seriously.
The men walked into the ballroom, which was now lavishly decorated.
Elegance fought with kitsch as flower arrangements were reflected by
glittery mirror balls hanging from the ceiling. The women were laughing and
glowing with pride at their handiwork. Mulder looked around for Scully but
did not find her.
"Excuse me." He stopped another staff member in formal dress. "Have you
seen my wife? Red hair, white dress?" The man shook his head and Mulder
glanced around again. Maybe she was just in the bathroom.
Except that Scully had wanted to retire early, and he couldn't imagine her
not meeting him so they could leave. After five minutes he began to grow
worried. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Where was she?
She had been quiet at dinner, and he wondered if she had already gone to
their room and skipped the decorating. After all, she hadn't had any desire
to attend the dance.
He walked up to one of the women. She stood with a drink in one hand, the
other possessively on the arm of a man Mulder knew was not her husband. He
deliberately wiped the frown off his face and forced himself to smile.
"Pardon me, but have you seen my wife?" he drawled in his worst Texas accent.
The woman shook her head. "Diana? No, she left after dinner. She didn't
even help us decorate." The woman's scarlet lips turned down in a pout.
"She left? By herself?" That sick feeling grew stronger.
He knew what the woman would say even before she said it. "Why no, she left
with one of the servants."
Mulder turned away from the woman, missing her pitying smile. He was sick
with dread. They had taken her. Scully. She was in danger, and once
again he had done nothing to stop it.
Dammit, he shouldn't have left her alone for so long! But truly he hadn't
thought half an hour enough time for anything to happen. The cold knot of
fear twisted in his stomach. If they did anything to her...
He ran up the marble steps, the drunken laughter behind him growing faint.
Quickly he ran down the hall and unlocked the door to their room. "Scully?"
He didn't care that they would hear him call his "wife" by this strange name.
A hasty glance around showed she wasn't there. Mulder went across the room
to the closet. He reached inside his coat pocket and fingered the "panic
button" that would send a call to the local police station. Making a
decision, he slipped it into his pocket. Then he pulled his gun from his
coat. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but he would do whatever it took
to find Scully. You won't be able to save her, whispered a voice in his
head. It's too late. You're already too late, like you were once before.
He shook his head fiercely. No! This time he would not be too late. He'd
find her.
But where? He had to think. All the rooms on the second floor belonged to
the guests. The first floor was being used for entertainment purposes, and
they would want to hide their activities. That left the third floor, which
according to Retreat's brochure was where the staff lived.
He opened the bedroom door and poked his head out into the hallway. No one.
Taking a deep breath, Mulder sprinted down the hall. The door at the end of
the hall was locked. He glanced around once, then kicked the door open.
The steps here weren't marble, nor was the bannister highly polished. In
fact, the whole stairwell was gray and drab, merely utilitarian. He darted
up the stairs and slowly opened the door at the top.
The hallway was poorly lit from a few light sconces set in the walls at
varying intervals. Most of them were burned out, but in the dim light
Mulder could see frayed carpeting and stained walls. Obviously Retreat had
different standards of living for its staff.
He moved along the hallway, gun raised, listening for voices. Only a couple
of the rooms showed a crack of light under the door. At the first one of
these he pressed his ear against the door but heard nothing. Silence lay
behind the second door, too.
Behind the third door, though, he heard a masculine voice. Mulder leaned
hard against the wood and strained to make out what was being said. The
man's voice remained a frustrating murmur, and Mulder held his breath, not
wanting even that small sound to interfere. Finally, he could make out words
"Yeah, that's it. You like that? Wanna take that off?" The man's voice
was coaxing, low and pleasant. Mulder felt his blood run cold. Even if it
wasn't Scully in there, it was still some innocent woman and he had to stop it.
Tentatively he tried the doorknob and was unsurprised to find it locked.
Not that a locked door had ever stopped him before. One swift kick forced
the door open and he rushed in, gun up and ready, shouting, "Freeze! Don't
move!" He kept the gun trained on the male occupant, who looked up,
startled, and then reached for his own cleverly concealed weapon. "I said
freeze!" Mulder shouted, moving forward, putting the gun in the man's face.
And all the while the horrible scene was indelibly printing itself on his
mind's eye. His cursed memory, which would never let him forget what he saw.
The centerpiece of the room was the enormous bed in the middle of it. The
bedcovers had been turned back invitingly, but the thing happening on the
bed was not warm and loving. Scully lay back on the bed, limbs sprawled,
red hair gleaming against the crisp white pillows. The hem of her silk
dress was bunched up around her thighs and the buttons of the bodice were
halfway undone, nearly exposing her breasts. Her eyes were half-closed and
there was a dreamy
expression on her face. A video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot
of the bed, ready to record the night's events.
"Give me the gun," Mulder ordered. The man shrugged and handed it over.
"Sit on the edge of the bed and put your hands in your lap. Do it!" The
man did as he was told with a mocking smile.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, sneering.
Mulder longed to punch the guy out but he didn't have time for indulgences.
"Stay put or you're dead," he said coldly. He walked over to the bedside
lamp and unplugged it. Using his pocketknife he cut the cord off the lamp
and used it to tie the would-be rapist's hands behind him. He plucked the
handkerchief from the man's breast pocket and stuffed it in his mouth. Only
then, satisfied that he wouldn't give any more trouble, only then could
Mulder look at Scully.
She lay quietly, that same vague look on her face, blissfully unaware of
what had just happened. Mulder hurried to her side, fighting the panic that
threatened to choke him. "Scully, wake up." He shook her shoulder gently.
Her head lolled to one side and she made a small "mmmm" sound, but did not
open her eyes.
"Scully!" Mulder shook her harder. "*Dana*, come on, wake up." He
couldn't keep the urgency from his voice. There was no telling how long
before somebody figured out what was going on, and then they'd be on the run.
At the sound of her given name, Scully's eyes fluttered open. She looked up
at Mulder, confused and uncertain. Her lips moved but nothing came out.
"Scully, can you hear me?" he asked anxiously. She nodded slightly, and he
sighed with relief. "Listen, Scully, you've been drugged. You were going
to be the next blackmail victim."
Her eyes widened at his words. "Mulder--" she started. Her voice was
slurred but at least she was speaking. Dazed blue eyes darted around,
trying to make sense of it all.
"It's all right, Scully. Nothing happened," he assured her. "But we have
to get out of here, and fast. They may be already looking for us. Can you
sit up?"
She nodded again, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried. But she
only succeeded in lifting her head before letting it fall back wearily.
Mulder bent over her, concern written on his face. "It's okay, Scully.
Take it easy. We'll go slow." He put an arm under her shoulders and
carefully propped her into a sitting position. The front of her dress gaped
open and Mulder sucked in his breath. His brain screamed at him to look
away, for God's sake, don't take advantage of her, she's so vulnerable right
now. But it was hard; he was only human, after all.
Either she followed his gaze or the sudden cool air on her flesh alerted
her, but Scully suddenly realized she was nearly hanging out of her dress.
She gasped and her face turned as red as her hair and she brought her hand
up to cover herself.
Mulder gallantly looked away as she fumbled with the buttons of her dress.
"I'll get your shoes, Scully," he said, moving away. She was already
humiliated, there was no reason to further embarrass her. He rescued her
shoes from the floor and checked on the man sitting on the edge of the bed.
Satisifed that he wasn't going anywhere, Mulder turned back to Scully.
She had buttoned up her dress and was attempting to stand. Her legs were
wobbly and with a frustrated sigh she sank back onto the bed. "Give me a
minute," she muttered.
Mulder handed her the gun he'd taken from Retreat's amateur photographer.
"Here, take this. We have to get out of here tonight. *Now.* I'm going to
get our things. You stay here and watch Mr. America's-Worst-Home-Videos."
He left Scully sitting on the bed, holding the gun up with a shaky hand but
a determined eye.
The hallway was still empty and Mulder closed the door behind him quietly.
Either they didn't know yet what had happened, or they had set a trap and
were waiting for him to walk straight into it. Well, he wouldn't find out
just standing here. He stole down the hallway, opened the door at the end,
and stepped down onto the stairs.
Only to come face to face with another staff member. He recognized this
one--Kevin the tour guide. Only now both his radio and his gun were out, in
full view. The younger man stopped, halfway up the stairs, and for a moment
he and Mulder just stared at each other. Then they both moved and Mulder
fired, sending Kevin toppling back down the stairs to lie in a crumpled heap
on the landing. The radio squawked, a male voice asking what was going on.
Oh, shit. With a curse, Mulder turned on his heel and ran, back up the
stairs and down the hallway, not caring who heard. He burst into the
bedroom he'd just left. "Scully! Come on!"
She looked up, startled. "Mulder, what--?"
"They're on to us, Scully. Come on, we gotta leave *now*." He went to her
side hastily. Putting a strong arm around her waist he pulled her up until
she was standing with his help. He glanced at her. "Okay?" She swayed
slightly, but nodded.
With Mulder's arm protectively around Scully, together they left the bedroom
and moved down the hall, mercifully still empty. When they reached the
stairs and the dead body, Scully tensed. "So much for a clean getaway," she
said softly.
They moved on to the second floor, and Mulder suddenly stopped, making
Scully bump into him. "What?" she asked.
Mulder pointed to the steps leading to the ground floor. "Who knows where
that will take us? Better to go out the front. Can you sing, Scully?" He
smiled mischievously into her puzzled gaze. "This is what I love about
these undercover assignments, Scully. You get to do things you normally
wouldn't." He stuck his gun into the waistband of his pants and placed
Scully's arm around his middle, hiding the gun in her hand under his tuxedo
jacket. Then he pushed open the door to the second floor and lurched out
into the hallway.
Another young couple was standing in front of their door and they turned at
the sudden appearance of the two agents. " Scuse me," Mulder bellowed, then
belched. "We cain't find the Gawddamned bar!" Beside him Scully erupted in
a fit of giggles, probably at his awful accent, he thought wryly, but her
nervous laugher helped lend a touch of authenticity to this dreadful scenario.
"Go down the stairs," the man said, pointing down the hall. "The bar is
down there. You can't miss it." There was a faint sneer of contempt on the
man's face for what he obviously considered a drunken couple. Mulder
wondered briefly what the guy would do if he could see their guns, then
decided against it.
Moving in a drunken stagger, he headed off down the hall, taking Scully
with him. Her unsteadiness was unfeigned, however, and he kept a careful
grip on her. As they reached the marble front staircase, he burst into song
in a slightly off-key tenor. "Ohhh, what do you do with a drunken sailor,
ear-lie in the morning?"
Scully convulsed with laughter again, then gamely joined in as they lurched
down the stairs. Despite the lunacy of their situation Mulder felt a pang
go through him. Drugged and frightened, she still backed him loyally. Again.
At the bottom of the stairs he turned to his left, glimpsed a staff member
talking into his radio, and continued the turn, all the way around until
they were facing the opposite direction. He let his song fade out, then
headed for the parlor. Scully stumbled and he hitched upward on her waist.
She gained her feet again and they crossed the parlor, weaving unsteadily.
Behind them a voice called, "You there, stop! Turn around!", and Mulder
started running, dragging Scully with him. He hit the French doors with his
free hand outstretched, and they popped open . Letting go of Scully, he
jerked his gun out, spun around and fired at the oncoming man. Without
waiting to see if he had hit or not he grabbed Scully's hand and they ran
out into the cold night.
****
Scully could never remember being so cold. Even that case with the worm, in
the Arctic, she hadn't been this cold. Her teeth chattered and her body
shivered convulsively, making the ache in her head double in size. Her legs
felt numb, even as she continued to move forward. Forward to where? Why
was she running? Her mind was too confused, too blurry to provide any answers.
Her foot hit something; abruptly her forward motion stopped and she was
simply falling. Something soft cushioned her landing, soft but cold. She
blinked rapidly to clear her vision and drew in a gasping breath. A face
suddenly hovered over her, hazel eyes full of worry and concern. "Scully,
are you okay?" Mulder. She began to remember where they were.
Retreat, in New York. The last thing she clearly remembered was eating
dinner, and somehow they had gotten outside. Outside where there was
already two feet of snow on the ground, with more falling right now. Mulder
had taken off his suit jacket and put it on her, but the wind still seemed
to drive right through her. She shivered again with the cold.
"I--I'm okay," she ground out between chattering teeth. Mulder helped pull
her to her feet, that worried look still on his face.
"We can stop and rest, Scully, if you need to. I'm sorry I made you run,
but we had to get some distance between us and the house." She was not
quite sure yet of all that had happened, but she knew that whatever it was,
it couldn't be good. There was no time to stop and rest, she knew, no
matter what Mulder said. But she also knew he blamed himself for her
condition and the fact that they were on the run in 20-degree weather with
no coats. So even though they couldn't afford to, he had offered to let her
rest here.
She looked around. Where was here? They were in what looked like a forest,
with snow-covered trees surrounding them. They seemed to be on a path,
where the snow covering was only an inch or two--obviously the path had been
cleared earlier today. There was a blue sign on a tree trunk proclaiming
that Retreat was "this way" and the picnic area was "that way." Scully
suddenly realized where "here" was.
"Scully? Do you need to rest?" Mulder asked again, with a faint note of
rising panic in his voice.
She gave herself a slight shake. "No, I'm--I'm all right. How
do we get out of here?"
Mulder pointed off to her left. "If we follow this path it will let us out
by the front gate." She nodded. He'd looked at the map earlier and had
committed Retreat's layout to memory. He said they were on the right path
for escape and she believed him.
Her head throbbed with sudden pain, and she closed her eyes. So much had
happened... She raised her eyes and looked around the woods again. "How did
we get here?" The question suddenly made her remember another time, years
ago, only the second case she and Mulder had worked on together. Get in the
car, Mulder! Watching him move unsteadily to the car and get in, turning
bloodshot and confused eyes on her. Scully, I--How did I get here? She
must have
looked at him the same way he was looking at her now.
Mulder's concerned look deepened, then the lines in his forehead smoothed
out. He held out a hand. "Come on. I'll tell you while we walk." Scully
hesitated only slightly before taking his hand.
"Remember talking with Trudy Williams? How she was blackmailed?" Scully
nodded, then stopped walking as realization dawned. She looked up at
Mulder, horrified. Had they--?
"No, they didn't," he answered her unasked question. "But they tried. They
gave you some kind of drug to make you drowsy and uncoordinated, so you'd go
along willingly. That's why you're feeling sluggish and dizzy. That's why
you're unable to remember." He put a hand on her back and they started
walking again.
"Why are we running through the woods when it's snowing out?" she asked.
"Did they find us out?"
Mulder nodded. "I think so. I was headed down to our rooms to get our
things when I met someone in the stairwell. I had to kill him, but he had a
radio and I think that alerted them. We got here by running across the lawn
and dodging some bullets." He tossed her a crooked smile. "Not exactly my
idea of after-dinner entertainement."
"Are they following us?"
"Probably. Remember the tour, that guy bragging about their high-tech
security system? I hope all those infrared sensors aren't picking us up."
"Wait a minute, Mulder. In this cold, on an infrared screen, we'd stick out
like sore thumbs."
"Yeah, but for the snow. It's a good insulator, in addition to what's falling."
Scully looked up. "But it's tapering off," she said.
"Then we'd better hurry. I had to hit the panic button Skinner gave us, so
the local police should be on their way."
They trotted on through the woods, and the snow gradually stopped falling.
Scully tried not to think about how cold she was. Mulder's jacket helped a
little, but her legs were still bare. She knew her partner must be freezing
in just his dress shirt, but he said nothing about the cold.
At last they reached the edge of the woods. Up ahead, the guard shack sat
beside the snow-covered driveway. The black front gate was closed. As they
watched, a dark car drove up from the direction of the house and stopped in
front of the gate. A tall figure got out and went into the guard house.
After a few minutes, a shorter figure left the house and got into the car.
The black gates inched open and the car drove off.
"Now or never, " Mulder said. He looked at her. "Are you up to this?"
Scully nodded She was exhausted and her head beat out a merciless drumbeat
of pain, but she could not let Mulder do this by himself. She drew her gun,
the one that had belonged to Retreat's resident rapist, as Mulder did the
same. He looked at her again and she nodded, and they were up and running
through the snow toward the guard shack. Keeping low, they ran to the back
of the small building where they paused to catch their breaths.
"Okay?" Mulder looked at her questioningly and she gave him a slightly dazed
grin in response. The run had done her in more than she wanted to admit.
They stood up and Scully followed Mulder closely as they headed for the
corner of the building.
She saw the figure step forward as they came around the side, but could do
nothing. She saw him swing his arm, saw the butt of the pistol smash into
the side of Mulder's face, knocking him against the guard shack where he
crumpled to the ground without a sound. Her brain screamed at her to move,
but her body was still sluggish to respond, and by the time she got her gun
up it was too late.
"Freeze! Federal agent!" she shouted. "Put the gun down!" Standoff.
Courteney had hauled Mulder to his feet and he stood now with the agent in a
chokehold, gun pressed against his temple. Blood streamed down Mulder's
face from a gash on his forehead and he hung limply in Courteney's grasp.
"Put your weapon down, Agent Scully, " Courteney said. She gasped as she
realized what he had said. "Oh, yes. I know who you are. Now put your gun
down."
Scully's mind raced. All FBI agents received training in Hostage
Negotiations at the Academy, but Quantico suddenly seemed very long ago.
Keep him talking.
"All right. All right, just don't hurt him," she said quietly.
Mulder stirred and groaned, bringing his hands up in a feeble attempt to
loosen the pressure around his throat. Courteney jammed the gun harder into
his temple, and Mulder froze. He dropped his hands to his side and slumped
forward. But his eyes locked on Scully and she could read the message there.
Do something, Scully.
"Okay," she said. "I'm putting the gun down. But you won't get away with
this, Courteney. The police on their way here right now."
"Maybe so," Courteney said. He took a step back, dragging Mulder with him.
"But I told you to put your gun down, and you still haven't." His finger
curled around the trigger.
"No!" she cried. "Okay, just don't shoot him." She lowered herself to her
knees, letting her gun lie flat on her palm. She watched Courteney closely,
but she was acutely aware of Mulder's stare.
Courteney smiled. "My dear, do you really think I am a killer?"
Scully leaned forward slowly, the gun in front of her. Her eyes met
Mulder's and something passed between them.
Without warning Mulder reached up with both hands and yanked down on the arm
encircling his neck. Courteney stumbled forward and his gun hand wavered
slightly. It was all the time Scully needed. Still on her knees, in one
smooth motion she brought the gun up and fired.
A look of surprise came over Courteney's face as the bullet entered his
forehead, then he dropped to the ground. Mulder fell with him, but rolled
clear as soon as they hit the ground. He knelt over Courteney's body,
breathing hard.
Scully lurched to her feet, keeping her gun out. "You okay?" she asked
Mulder. He nodded, then looked up at her, his face unreadable. She knew she
had just beaten incredible odds. Not only was she emotionally charged from
recent events, but she was still overcome by some strange drug. She
suddenly realized that in her state she could just as easily have killed
Mulder, instead of Courteney. Weak with reaction, she swayed on her feet.
Lights came up over the hill then, bathing them in the sudden glow. The
local police, she realized. Mulder raised his head wearily. In the bright
light Scully could see the blood on his face. "Here comes the cavalry," he
said. He turned to her and gave her a lopsided smile. "Suppose there will
ever be a day when we can step back and let them handle this stuff?" He
waved a hand at the corpse.
The cars had pulled up now and people were heading towards them. Scully
leaned in. "I'm surprised at you, Mulder. What fun would that be?"
****
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Jan. 28, 1997
Dana Scully stretched in her chair and sighed. Typing up field reports was
never fun. At least her current task was easier than Mulder's. He was
hopelessly buried in a sea of receipts, trying to file an expense report.
She glanced down at her left hand and idly wondered if the wedding rings
they'd worn for their disguise were on the expense report. Amazing how it
had taken only two days for her to accept seeing a ring where she had never
expected to see one.
"Dammit!" Mulder swore as a pile of receipts fell to the floor from his
desk. He got down on all fours and began combing through the mess angrily.
Scully laughed softly and Mulder looked up. "What?"
She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. A lock of brown hair fell
onto his forehead, partially obscuring the white bandage there. He looked
so handsome Scully sucked in her breath. She still couldn't believe how
close she'd been to killing him. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed
it. Finally she said, "You look like the lone survivor of an out-of-control
ticker tape parade."
Mulder smirked at her. "Thanks a lot. Wanna help me here?"
She shrugged innocently. "Sorry. I've got my own report to write."
She had started typing again when a knock on the door made her look up.
"The hell with it," Mulder grumbled, tossing a fistful of white slips back
to the floor. He got up and opened the office door to reveal Agent
Pendrell. Scully sat up straighter and put on her best blank expression.
She suspected Pendrell was in love with her and she wasn't entirely sure
what to do about it.
Now Pendrell shouldered his way past Mulder, ignoring the tall agent. He
carried a file folder in his hand and had eyes only for Scully. He stopped
in front of her desk. His hand restlessly squeezed and relaxed on the
folder.
"I have your lab results, Agent Scully," he said, his eyes boring into hers.
Oh, yes. She had had a blood sample taken on the night of their dramatic
departure from Retreat. The drug in her system had not seemed familiar to
her, so she had wanted it analyzed. On Mulder's suggestion they had also
had the sample tested for illegal drugs. Perhaps Courteney had been coming
up with some creative uses for his product.
She looked up at Pendrell. Something about the way he stared at her set off
alarms in her head. "What is it?"
Mulder came up to stand behind her. "What did you find?" he asked.
Pendrell cleared his throat. "We--um. There's something odd about the
sample you gave us, Agent Scully." He cleared his throat again.
Scully felt her chest contract suddenly, making it difficult to breathe.
Something was wrong here. She was absurdly grateful when Mulder's hand came
up to rest on her shoulder.
Pendrell paused. "It's nothing any of us have ever seen, or heard of. It's
not organic. We don't know what it is.
"Agent Scully, that substance in your blood, whatever it is, it's alien."
END RETREAT
Elixir II: Replay
WARNING!: While I make no claims to be able to work miracles, there is a
"resurrection" in this story of an old character. I may be way out of line
here, but it's something I've always wanted to do. Sometimes it just seems
a shame that the best characters on The X-Files are doomed to live for only
one season, at best. This is my attempt at rectifying one such shameful
mistake.
****
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Jan. 28, 1997
"Agent Scully, that substance in your blood, whatever it is, it's alien."
Dana Scully felt as if her death sentence had just been pronounced. Her
heart skipped a beat and a loud roaring began in her ears. Her vision began
to dim as the whole world shrunk to the size of a small pinprick of light.
Then she suddenly felt herself being shaken. "Scully! Wake up!" Mulder's
voice, coming to her from miles away. "Scully, don't you dare turn all
girlie on me and faint."
That did the trick. Scully blinked rapidly, bringing the world back into
focus. She saw Mulder standing over her with his hands on her shoulders.
She took a deep breath and said, "Don't you *ever* call me girlie' again."
Their relieved laughter helped break the tension in the room, but only
momentarily. Mulder let go of her shoulders, and she felt a pang of regret,
wishing he would still hold her, then ruthlessly tamped it down. It
wouldn't do to start thinking like that again...
Although he'd relinquished his hold, Mulder continued to stand close beside
her. "What do you mean, it's alien?" It was the question Scully was afraid
to ask.
Pendrell looked down at his feet. The simple gesture fueled Scully's fear.
In all the time she had been bringing strange things to Pendrell, she had
never known him to be nervous or afraid. Curious and eager, yes, but never
worried.
"Agent Pendrell, what did you find?" She kept her voice even but her eyes
stared at him intensely.
The young man raised his gaze to hers. For a moment all his hopeless love
for her was written across his face, then he swallowed visibly, and regained
his composure.
"Actually, it's a mixture of known organic compounds, and...and something
else. It appears to be similar to the RNA of a virus, but if it is, it
comes from no virus I've ever seen. I've exhausted all the tests I can run,
and I still can't identify it."
"Have you shown it to anyone else?" asked Mulder.
"No, I didn't think you would want me to," Pendrell replied, without taking
his eyes off Scully.
"Good. Keep it that way."
Now Pendrell looked at Mulder, then he nodded. "I guess I'll head back to
the lab," he said. "I'll let you know if I find anything new," he offered
as he left.
After he was gone the office was silent. Scully let her rigid posture
relax, just a little. She didn't have to pretend in front of Mulder.
Well, not much.
"Scully--"
She held up a hand. "Mulder, don't."
He gave her a mock wounded look. "I was only going to say that it's a good
thing the Capitals are playing the Sabres tonight."
This inane remark was so unexpected she could only stare.
Mulder gave her an innocent shrug. "Seeing as how we're going back to Buffalo."
"Why?" She was instantly suspicious. *Now* what was Mulder up to?
"Because all of Retreat's records were confiscated by the Regional FBI
Office in Buffalo." Mulder gave her a long look, his eyes dark. "Scully,
Charlie Courteney had to get that substance somewhere. Probably we'll find
some record of purchase among Retreat's papers."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mulder, you don't really believe that drug is half
extraterrestrial, do you?"
He gave her a lopsided smile. "I hope not." But the excited light in his
eyes said otherwise.
Which was not entirely reassuring to Scully.
****
FBI Regional Office, Buffalo
Jan. 28, 1997
7:52 p.m.
Sitting amid a stack of file folders, Scully sighed. She longed to grab the
pile of papers in front of her and hurl them across the office.
Envisioning Mulder's reaction to such an action made her smile slightly, and
she looked up at him.
He was slouched at a desk across from her, reading glasses perched on his
nose, frowning at the contents of the file he was reading. She watched him
for a while, taking a guilty pleasure in staring at him, unnoticed.
As she watched, Mulder's frown deepened, and he suddenly sat up straight.
"Hey, Scully." He looked up suddenly, and she quickly lowered her gaze,
unable to hide the smile that curved her lips.
Mulder gave her a puzzled look. "What's so funny?" he asked, then raised a
hand to his cheek. "Any paper clips that I should be aware of?" he asked.
Scully's smile grew. "No," she confessed.
"Good. Cause I found something."
Instantly the professional mask was back, wiping the smile from her face.
"What did you find?"
Mulder got up and walked over to her, carrying the file with him. He laid
it on the desk and pointed. "Here. An unnamed purchase of unnamed goods,
from a man called only Arntzen, and this Alexandria address."
Scully looked up at him. "Krycek."
Mulder nodded. "Looks like Defense Department secrets wasn't the only thing
he was selling."
Yet... "Wait a minute, Mulder. You're making an awful big leap here."
"It makes sense, Scully. We know Krycek's been on the run from the
Consortium for a while now. He's probably been forced to sell whatever he
can just to survive."
Including his soul?
No, she thought. Krycek had sold that long ago, if he'd ever had one to
begin with.
"But, Mulder, where did he get it?" Seeing a name on a page might be enough
for Mulder, but not for Scully. She needed more tangible proof.
"I don't know. But I think we should go back to Washington," Mulder answered.
Scully looked down. Sometimes the way Mulder's mind worked was too much.
She just had to be patient and wait for him to explain, in his own time, as
he always did. Usually she could pry some explanations from him with the
right questions, but she was too tired to try right now. Some unknown
substance had been in her body, and maybe still was. Let Mulder handle the
investigative aspects of this case; she just wanted to find out the unknown.
"Scully? Ready to go?"
She sighed and gave in. "Why are we going back to DC?"
"I think the answers are there. You should try to dig up anything you can
on this substance, or any new miracle drugs out there."
"What are you going to do?" The sixty-four thousand dollar question.
"I'm going to run down some other leads," Mulder answered vaguely.
Same story, different day. Scully stood up slowly and followed her partner
out of the office.
****
Apt. 38E
Alexandria, Virginia
Jan. 29
12:45 a.m.
Footsteps suddenly sounded in the hall and Mulder tensed. At last! In a
few seconds Krycek would walk through that door. Mulder made a sudden
decision. He would give Krycek enough time to answer his questions, and then
he would kill him. For his father, for Melissa, for Scully, for Skinner,
for himself. Scully would not be here to stop him this time.
The footsteps slowed before the door. Mulder went to stand near the back of
the room, the better to hide in the shadows. Nothing he could do about the
moonlight coming through the window, but Krycek wouldn't see him until it
was too late. By the time he realized his lights didn't work he would be on
the floor with a gun in his face.
The footsteps stopped. Mulder could see the two dark shapes of feet
blocking the light coming under the door. Krycek stood outside, and Mulder
began to sweat. Had he given himself away somehow? Did Krycek know who
waited for him in his apartment?
The doorknob turned, and the door swung open just enough to let a
pencil-thin ray of light into the room. Mulder tightened his grip on the gun
and soundlessly moved forward. The seconds ticked by agonizingly. The
whole world narrowed down to this moment in time. Nothing else mattered.
Then the voice spoke from behind the door. "Leave this case alone, Agent
Mulder." A pause. "The military will not tolerate an FBI investigation."
A deep, rough voice. Mulder sucked in his breath. That voice. Those words.
He'd heard them all before.
The door pushed open a few inches more. "I can be of help to you. I've had
a certain interest in your work." That voice! But it couldn't be...
"Let's just say I'm in a position to know quite a lot of things." The door
swung open all the way then and Mulder brought his gun up, trying
desperately to control his shaking hands. The figure in the doorway stepped
into the room. "Things about our government."
The light from the hall threw the man into silhouette, making it difficult
to see his face. But Mulder knew--he knew with chilling certainty who stood
here before him. He began to shake again helplessly. "You! You're dead!"
The man chuckled softly. "I've heard that one before, Agent Mulder." He
stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. For a moment
they were enveloped in darkness, then Mulder's eyes re-adjusted to the dim
light coming from the window.
Oh, God, it was him! That dark hair, frosted with gray at the temples. The
dark suit, nondescript government issue. The deeply lined, expressionless
face. But he was dead!
Mulder gripped the gun firmly and licked his lips nervously. "Who are you?"
Unconsciously he echoed his half of the script being replayed here tonight.
"You know who I am, Mr. Mulder. I would suggest you put that gun away so we
can talk. I haven't much time."
It sounded like him. It looked like him. It even talked like him. But it
just couldn't be! Not for the first time in his career, Mulder wondered if
he was losing his mind. "Deep Throat is dead! So cut the crap. Who are you?"
"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Mulder. When did you stop believing?" The
casual tone of voice belied the hurtful words. Mulder gasped, stricken. Of
course he still believed! He was here, wasn't he? He still believed in a
lot of things. But to believe that a man had come back from the dead and was
talking to him, even "Spooky" Mulder had a hard time believing *that*.
"All right," he said hoarsely. "If you are who you say you are, prove it."
The man who might or might not be Deep Throat sighed. "I thought it might
come to this. My proof lies in the information I can give you about the
drug you search for."
Mulder's finger curled around the trigger of his gun. This man knew!
Whoever he was, he knew about what had been inside Scully. He opened his
mouth to demand some answers when the man spoke again.
"Do you remember what I told you that day in the aquarium? About sharks?"
Mulder's knees went weak. It *was* him! It couldn't be, but it was. He
lowered the gun and finally accepted the truth. "If a shark stops swimming
it will die."
Deep Throat smiled. "It's good to see you haven't stopped swimming, Mr.
Mulder."
****
Reflecting Pool
January 29
2:10 a.m.
Mulder popped another sunflower seed in his mouth and shifted on the cold
bench. The January wind seemed to cut right through him and he huddled a
little deeper into his coat.
Despite the cold, he couldn't help being excited. After nearly three years,
he was meeting with his first informant again. Even with all the aid he had
received over the years, all the informants come and gone, he still missed
his original contact.
Deep Throat. The man had seemed amused to hear the name Mulder had given
him, although apparently not enough to reveal his real name. He had seemed
worried, too; more paranoid than he had ever been before. "We can't stay
here," he'd said in Krycek's apartment. Mulder had begun to speak but Deep
Throat had waved off his protest. "He won't be coming back here, Mr.
Mulder. He has bigger fish to fry." He'd arranged this meeting, then left.
Mulder shivered again in the cold and yawned. He was about to get up and
start pacing when he heard the footsteps. A trenchcoated figure walked up
to the bench and gazed out over the pool. "This brings back memories," he said.
"Feeling nostalgic?" Mulder asked.
Deep Throat turned his head sharply. For some reason the question had
angered him. "If you think I enjoy having to do this again, taking all
these risks--"
Mulder sprang to his feet. "Then why are you doing it?" he shot back.
His informant stared at him for a moment, then smiled, the anger gone.
"Still swimming," he said softly, almost to himself. He turned to stare
back out over the water.
They were silent for a while, until Mulder could no longer contain his
curiosity. "You were dead. How did you...?"
Deep Throat sighed heavily. "No, I was not *dead,* despite how it looked.
With modern drugs, Mr. Mulder, you can make the human body do almost
anything. Including lowering functioning until it appears you have a dead
body on your hands. Such drugs, carefully hidden in a capsule designed to
release upon impact, a capsule fired from a gun...Well, you saw how it
happened."
"It was them, wasn't it? They planned it all, didn't they? They knew they
had a leak and they had to flush you out." Mulder glanced at the older man,
who nodded confirmation. "They used me, to get to you. And you knew what
they were doing, you knew what would happen to you."
"I-uh, I had an idea of what would happen, yes. Certainly I did not think I
would ever be standing here talking to you again."
"But you *knew,*" Mulder insisted in amazement.
"What happens to one person is inconsequential, Mr. Mulder. It's the larger
picture you have to keep in mind."
Mulder's head spun with a thousand questions, a thousand theories. He
sorted through them rapidly and picked the easiest. "I am part of the
larger picture."
Deep Throat nodded again. "You, and your work."
"But why?"
The older man turned to face him. "When I first began helping you, I did so
out of guilt, trying to atone for all the things I had done in the past.
But I found something happening. I began to believe in your work. I began
to believe in *you*."
"And that's why you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me?"
"The big picture, Mr. Mulder. If I'm dead, nothing happens to them. Life
goes on. If you're dead, nothing happens to them. Life goes on. But with
one important exception. If you die, so does the best, and maybe only,
chance of exposing them, of exposing the truth."
"There was a time when you didn't want the truth exposed," Mulder said. He
could vividly remember the bitter realization that he had been lied to, by
the very man he had just thanked for all his help.
"Yes, yes. But things have changed. You know things now you didn't then.
You've seen them yourself."
"But what haven't I seen? What else is out there, what other lies and
half-truths? What else is waiting to be discovered?" Mulder began to
gesture angrily. "Are you going to tell me these things, or do I have to
find them out myself, and nearly get killed in the process? Did you come
back just so you can drop little clues around, knowing I'll go running off
to wherever you point? Is that why you're here?"
Deep Throat watched this tirade calmly, and Mulder suddenly stopped, feeling
foolish. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "Okay, you obviously have
something to tell me. What is it? How high should I jump this time?" He
made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
"I told you back in the apartment, I have information about the drug you're
seeking." Deep Throat's words sliced through Mulder's remaining anger with
the force of a blow.
Oh, God. Scully!
"What is it? What's in that drug? What do you know about it?" He was
suddenly breathless, unable to speak.
Deep Throat gestured toward the bench, and Mulder went over and sat down.
The older man sat heavily next to him. He looked down at his hands pressed
together in his lap for a time. Mulder waited anxiously. He knew from
past experience the man would speak only when ready.
"You know about the alien hybrid experiments already." He paused, and
Mulder's mind flashed back to a room in a storage facility. Dr. Berube was
conducting human experiments with extraterrestrial viruses. Yes! But
that's been going on for years. We've had the tissue since 1947, but not
the technology. The first time he'd learned about the hybrids, those
wonderful, awful creatures that figured so prominently in his and Scully's
lives. Nothing good had ever followed sighting those creatures, and he
shuddered, remembering a boxcar in the desert, and fire...
"In 1991, just in time for the Gulf War, a breakthrough was achieved on the
extraterrestrial viruses. Several of our scientists found a way to extract
specific strands of RNA from an alien virus and combine them with organic
compounds to make a highly potent drug. Taken orally the drug produced
extreme lassitude, dizziness and lowered awareness of environment. A person
given the drug was very susceptible to suggestion, and would do anything
suggested, even actions hypnosis could not induce. The government found
this new drug to be a highly effective interrogation tool. Captured
prisoners of war could be questioned and made to betray themselves and their
country, all by drinking a glass of water laced with the drug.
"The drug was used successfully in the Gulf War, on captured Iraqi soldiers.
After the war, with no legitimate test subjects, the government began
experimenting on innocent civilians. In several states, the drug was
substituted for the flu vaccine, and subjects were closely monitored."
"Why?" Mulder asked. "If they already knew what the drug did, why risk
alerting the public?"
"Because," Deep Throat replied, "they were interested in side effects.
Prisoners of war go back to their own country eventually, and are hard to
track. Ordinary citizens, on the other hand..."
"What did they find?" Mulder asked, afraid of the answer.
****
Georgetown University Library
4:16 a.m.
Scully pulled off her reading glasses and pressed her fingertips into her
eyes. Going through paperwork for hours always gave her a headache, and
tonight was no exception. Added to that was the lack of sleep, and the
personal worries this case was giving her. She felt like she belonged in
one of those aspirin commercials, only instead of Excedrin, her headache was
screaming Hawaiian vacation!
She'd come directly to the university library from Dulles Airport. Mulder
had still been vague about his destination, but Scully had had a feeling
that Alex Krycek was going to be paid a visit. The address in Retreat's
files had been his last-known place of residence, and although she doubted
he still lived there, she supposed it was worth a try. She'd wondered
briefly how Krycek would avoid being killed by Mulder *this* time, then had
forgotten about it.
The library was closing when she had arrived, but her FBI badge and a few
connections at the university had guaranteed she would have access to the
library overnight. Campus security was informed of her presence, and she
was left to her research.
Scully sighed. So far, she had turned up nothing. No medical journal, no
university publication, and certainly no government document made any
mention of a newly discovered drug with the properties she was looking for.
She wasn't surprised, but it was frustrating nonetheless.
A soft sound in the gloom of the library made her head snap up. For hours
the only sounds in the deserted library had been made by her, and her heart
began to beat faster. She listened carefully, straining to hear something.
The seconds ticked by and she had decided she was mistaken when she heard it
again.
Instantly alert, she jumped to her feet, reaching for her gun. "Hello? Is
anybody there?" Her voice seemed to echo in the quiet, mocking her. The
sound came again and Scully backed away from her study carrel and flattened
herself against the wall, eyes scanning the library. Her fear began to
mount. Anybody could be creeping through the aisles between bookshelves,
slowly coming closer..
When her cell phone rang she nearly screamed. Pure reflex took over and she
whirled on the balls of her feet, her gun aimed at the study carrel she'd
just vacated. The phone rang again and she relaxed, feeling slightly
foolish. She put the gun back on the desk, then reached into the pocket of
her coat.
"Scully."
"Scully, it's me. Where are you?"
Her lips twitched in a rueful smile. If she had a dollar for every time
she'd heard that, she could have retired years ago.
"I'm at Georgetown's library. Where are you?"
"Why are you at the library?"
"Because, Mulder, you told me to see what I could find out about the drug."
"Did you find anything?"
She sighed again, and absently rubbed the back of her neck. "No. What
about you?"
"Yeah, but I don't want to talk about it over the phone," he said. "Listen,
can you be at the airport in an hour?"
"The airport? Why?" But she knew why. He'd found out something, and in
typical Mulder fashion was off and running after it. At least this time she
got to come along. "Where are we going?"
"Dayton, Ohio. Our flight leaves at 5:30, Scully. I'll meet you at the gate."
"Mulder, what's in Dayton, Ohio?"
"Wright Patterson Air Force Base." It was all he would say.
****
Dulles Airport
5:50 a.m.
"Mulder, will you stop pacing? It's not going to make the plane come any
earlier." Scully tried to speak lightly, but their recent topic of
conversation made it hard.
Their flight was postponed due to bad weather in Kentucky, which was just as
well. Despite her haste, Scully had been late getting to the airport and
would have missed the plane if it had been on time. Now Mulder was pacing
back and forth, occasionally throwing impatient looks out the window.
Unshaven, in a rumpled suit, hair standing up where he'd repeatedly run his
fingers through it, he still was incredibly attractive.
He stopped pacing when he saw her staring at him. "What? Why are you
looking at me like that?"
She forced herself back to the business at hand. "You're saying that this
Deep Throat--that he's alive?"
"I know how it sounds, but it was him, Scully."
She shook her head. "He was dead, Mulder. I checked him myself. I held
him on that bridge when he died."
"I know, Scully. But he was here tonight. I am not making this up. We
talked and he told me things. Scully, I know what you saw, but I also know
what I saw." His eyes pleaded with her to believe. She felt herself
hesitating. Normally when she questioned Mulder's beliefs he put up a
defensive stance, obstinately refusing to listen to her logic. Yet here he
was now, almost desperate for her to believe him.
"All right, Mulder. What did he tell you? Is he the reason we're flying to
some Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio?"
Mulder glanced around the gate area, then sat beside her. "Charlie
Courteney got his drug from Krycek. We knew that. Krycek was stealing it
from the government. We had guessed that. But what we didn't know was that
what Krycek was selling was only a replication of the original drug."
Scully was confused. "What do you mean? The lab results clearly showed an
alien compound in that drug. If Krycek wasn't selling the real thing, then
explain that strange substance."
"Listen to me, Scully. What Krycek--and who knows how many others--was
selling was a drug created in a government lab. Part of it is organic
compounds, the ones Pendrell found. But the key to the drug is an alien
virus, or the RNA, actually.
"And the last store of that alien virus is being kept at Wright Patterson
Air Force Base."
"But why are we going there? Surely you're not planning to break into this
military base and steal the RNA specimen?" Mulder's expression didn't
change, but the rising excitement in his eyes told her that he was planning
to do exactly that.
She was torn between exasperation at his stubborn tenacity and admiration at
his optimistic persistence. The exasperation won. "Mulder, you can't just
walk into a military base and steal their secrets.
How on earth are you--"
Mulder interrupted her. "Not me." He was smiling. "You're going to do it."
Scully's mouth dropped open. "Me? You've got to be kidding." How dare he
drag her along on what was undoubtedly a wild goose chase, then make her do
all the dirty work? Well, she supposed, she ought to just be glad he hadn't
ditched her this time.
"Don't worry, Scully. We'll cover for you," Mulder said.
Her eyes narrowed. "We?"
"We're meeting Deep Throat in Dayton." She sighed and Mulder poked her
playfully. "Come on, Scully. It'll be just like old times again."
Which was exactly what she was afraid of, she realized gloomily.
Their flight was called then and Scully looked up in surprise. Sure enough,
the plane was sitting at the gate and the last arriving passengers were
headed down the terminal. "You see?" Scully said. "I told you the plane
would come if you stopped pacing." She kept her voice light to hide her
dread at the thought of getting on the plane.
"Hey, Scully, did you know that Dayton is the birthplace of aviation?"
Mulder asked as they got on the plane and settled in their seats.
"I thought that was Kitty Hawk," she said.
"That's where the first flight occurred. But Wilbur and Orville Wright
lived and worked in Dayton. That's where they did all their research. They
only chose Kitty Hawk because it was the perfect location for their flight."
Mulder rambled on about the Wright brothers as the plane taxied onto the
runway. He kept talking during take-off and Scully concentrated on his
voice, trying to ignore the whining of the engines. She knew Mulder was
talking on purpose, to try and take her mind off the airplane, and she
resented his help as much as she needed it.
Once they had leveled off Scully relaxed. She released her death-grip on
the armrests and put her hands in her lap. She turned to Mulder, who was
apparently giving her a lecture on the history of aviation. "What else did
he tell you?"
Mulder stopped in the middle of a sentence, staring at her blankly for a
moment before her words registered. "You mean Deep Throat." It was a
sentence, not a question.
"I assume he told you more than what you've told me," she said.
"Not much. Nothing important." But he dropped his gaze and she knew he was
lying.
She lowered her voice to a whisper, but spoke forcefully. "Mulder, that
drug was in *me*, it may have affected *me*. So if you know something about
it, and you're not telling me..." She let her voice trail off threateningly.
He nodded, but still would not look at her. "They created it in time for
the Gulf War, and they used it in prisoners of war, for interrogation purposes."
That made sense. Her memories of that night at Retreat when she'd been
drugged were vague. She could remember walking up stairs, following some
man as if this were something she did every day. She remembered running
through woods, blindly following Mulder, not thinking to ask why they were
doing it.
"But the war didn't give them much chance to study the effects of the drug,
so they tested it on innocent civilians." Mulder paused, then raised his
head and looked squarely at her. His eyes were dark with something she
couldn't read, and she began to worry.
"Most of the people showed no effects from the drug," Mulder continued.
"But some people began to experience a form of psychosis. They became
extremely paranoid, believing everybody was out to get them. They became
aggressive, irrational, and showed tendencies toward violence. The
government eventually intervened and took control again." He stopped abruptly.
"But what?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry with fear.
"But not before two of the subjects had committed murder, induced by their
extreme paranoia. One man shot his mailman, believing the man was looking
through his mail. All he was doing was delivering it."
"What happened to the others?"
"They were institutionalized for paranoid schizophrenia. Probably still
are." He took her hand in his and held it tightly. "Scully, you have to
remember that most of those people developed no side effects at all." He
spoke quietly, urgently, and Scully looked up at him. She could see fear in
his eyes now, and it touched her that he could be so afraid for her.
"Mulder, I'm fine. I don't feel any different." For a moment she thought
of the incident in the library, then dismissed it. She gently pulled her
hand from his. "I'll be fine," she said.
Mulder opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He
merely nodded. "Okay, Scully."
****
The Camelot Inn
Dayton, Ohio
Jan. 29
10:13 a.m.
Scully sighed quietly as she looked around the motel room. No matter where
they went, Mulder had a knack for choosing the seediest motels. If she
didn't know better, she would have sworn he was proud of this talent.
Right now he was watching out the window of the motel room, waiting for
their contact. Scully still could not believe the man was really Deep
Throat, and she found herself growing unaccountably nervous as the time for
their meeting grew closer. What if it was him? It would mean her memories
of that night on the bridge were false, and if she couldn't trust her own
memories, what could she trust?
At the window Mulder suddenly tensed. "He's here, Scully." He moved to the
door and opened it. Scully's view of the man was blocked by Mulder for a
moment, then he moved away, and she gasped.
It was Deep Throat.
She had held him, had watched him die, yet here he was. Alive in her cheap
motel room in Dayton, Ohio.
She thought maybe this was the most extreme possibility of all.
Deep Throat nodded at her. "Scully. It's good to see you again. We met
under some rather inauspicious circumstances."
Oh, yes. She remembered. She could only return his nod, unsure of what to say.
Deep Throat turned to Mulder. "I've arranged for us to enter the base this
afternoon. We won't have much time, I'm afraid."
Mulder grinned. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he said.
Deep Throat looked at her now. "I have a uniform for you in the car,
Scully. It should give you the cover you need. Just get in and get out,
leave the rest to Mulder and me."
They had obviously planned this out already; she had no idea what the man
was talking about, so she just nodded again.
"We'll meet back here by 4:00," Deep Throat continued. He gave both of them
a stern look. "Should anything go wrong, your first priority is getting
out. These people will not take kindly to anyone stealing from them." He
paused to make sure they understood how serious he was, then added, "I'll be
back at 2:45. I'd get some sleep before then."
****
Wright Patterson AFB
3:52 p.m.
Getting onto the base proved ridiculously easy. The passes Deep Throat had
somehow managed to get gave them necessary access onto the base. Once they
were there it was a matter of finding where the drug was kept.
>From the gate they turned right, headed toward a building vaguely shaped
like the letter H. Two wings jutted off the middle section, and Deep Throat
informed them that this particular building extended nine stories underground.
The passes got them into the building, and Deep Throat used a security code
to enter the elevator taking them to the lower levels. After they stepped
off the elevator he took Scully's arm. He pointed off down a long hallway.
"At the end of the hall," he said, "you'll find the lab. The vial will be
in a freezer marked B178. Just take it and leave. Act natural and make
your way off the base. Mulder and I will provide a diversion for you."
Scully swallowed hard and nodded. Then she forced a smile at Mulder. "Is
this what you meant when you said I could get the next mutant?"
He smiled back. "No, actually you did that a long time ago. I just wanted
to see you in a military uniform."
She glared at him, but couldn't help looking down at herself. The
olive-green adjutant's uniform fit snugly, and looked crisp and sharp.
She'd pulled her hair up into a bun and put it under the cap she wore,
hoping no stray strands would fall down and earn her a dressing-down from
some passing colonel. Wearing the uniform made her feel a strange kinship
with her dead father, and she automatically carried herself prouder and
straighter than usual.
"You'll do just fine," Deep Throat said. "We'll meet you back at the
hotel." They turned and got back into the elevator.
Scully squared her shoulders and headed down the hallway.
****
Mulder followed Deep Throat through the maze of hallways. Clearly the other
man knew where he was going, and he was content to follow. Being on a
military base again was not high on his list of fun things to do, but he
swallowed his misgivings and continued to follow Deep Throat.
The older man stopped at a door in the hall, and looked around. No one was
watching; in fact they had seen no one since entering the building, Mulder
realized. He thought they were five stories below ground now, but he'd
never had a very good sense of direction, so he gave up trying to figure it out.
"In here," Deep Throat said. Cautiously he used his pass-card to open the
door, and they found themselves in a small room that looked like a storage
room. Mulder looked around, wondering what they were doing here, as Deep
Throat crossed the room. He opened a door on the opposite wall, motioned
for Mulder to come forward, and disappeared through the doorway.
Instantly an alarm sounded, piercing and strident. Mulder went through the
door and found himself in a smaller room, holding only a computer. A door
was set in the far wall, and a video camera was attached to the wall in the
upper corner, monitoring them.
"Did we set that off?" he asked softly.
Deep Throat nodded. "Access to this room is supposed to come only from that
door," he gestured to the other one, "and then only with another person who
has the pass-card."
Then how did we get in? Not that it mattered. This was the diversion,
giving Scully enough time to get the precious vial and run.
There was a dull crashing noise outside the room. Somewhere out in the hall
a door slammed. Voices sounded, then running footsteps.
Mulder looked over at Deep Throat. The other man seemed unperturbed to be
the object of a base-wide manhunt. Not that it would matter if they were
caught. Surely by now Scully had the vial, and in her stolen uniform and
her hair pulled back tightly she was as nondescript as the next Air Force
adjutant.
The door burst open suddenly and a dozen men streamed in carrying rifles.
Mulder put his hands in the air and let them surround him. Hands reached
out and took his gun. Deep Throat stood a few feet away, nearly hidden by
the circle of men around him.
A tall figure walked into the room, a colonel, by his insignia. The
soldiers all straightened their postures and wiped any human expressions off
their faces. Mulder would not have been surprised if they had saluted in
unison and cried "Sieg Heil!"
The colonel strode forward. He eyed Mulder, then turned to look at Deep
Throat. No emotion registered on his face, but his eyes gave him away. This
man knew Deep Throat, knew who he really was. "Where is the vial?" he asked
coldly. Deep Throat said nothing, only returned the man's stare. "Where is
the vial?" he repeated.
"We don't have it," Mulder said. Deep Throat turned to him, but he ignored
the warning on the other man's face. "And you don't know where it is, do
you? Looks like somebody else got to it first. We're just the decoys." He
smirked at the colonel.
The officer's eyes narrowed in anger. His cold stare raked over Mulder,
then he raised his gaze and nodded slightly.
He caught the movement in the corner of his eye and ducked, but not fast
enough to avoid a rifle stock slamming into the back of his skull. He fell
to the floor, stunned but conscious. Through dazed eyes, Mulder saw the
colonel step forward and the circle of men around Deep Throat retreated to a
safe distance.
"I'm going to ask again. Where is that vial?"
Deep Throat shook his head. "I don't have it."
The colonel's eyes narrowed. "You should have stayed dead. You have no
idea what you've gotten yourself into." He gestured toward the door. "Get
him out of here." The soldiers rushed in, surrounding Deep Throat, and
quickly hustled him out of the room.
"No!" The cry burst from his lips and Mulder managed to get to his hands
and knees. The colonel glanced at him contemptuously, then turned on his
heel and left. Mulder swayed and tried to stand, and somebody kicked him in
the ribs and he fell again. He looked up and saw the rifle swinging in slow
motion, then pain exploded in his head and the world went black.
****
4:02 p.m.
Scully did not allow herself to breathe until she was off the base and back
on Wright Brothers Parkway. Despite her disguise, she had not expected to
get off the base so easily. Yet no one had stopped her, no one had
questioned her. Apparently Mulder and Deep Throat had done as promised, and
provided enough of a diversion to allow her enough time to leave. She
forced herself to slow down, and drive at a normal pace. After the past few
hours, it would be ironic to get pulled over for a speeding ticket.
So then. They had the vial--the last remaining pure extract of the alien
RNA. Undoubtedly some forms of the drug would exist in circulation for a
while; Charlie Courteney probably hadn't been Krycek's only customer. But
without the original raw material there would be no more of it manufactured.
Scully shifted in her seat and felt the cool glass of the vial against her
skin. She had the same uncomfortable, queasy feeling she'd had while
holding the Purity Control flask, so long ago. Being so close to something
obviously extraterrestrial was disconcerting, to say the least.
She pulled into the motel parking lot and looked carefully at the cars.
There were a few new ones parked, ones that had arrived while she was at the
base, but none looked like something the government would drive.
She let herself into the motel room and immediately locked the door behind
her. She moved to the windows and pulled the drapes shut, then went into the
bathroom and locked herself in. Her eyes swept restlessly around the room
before meeting her reflection in the mirror. Scully had to smile at
herself. Mulder's paranoia had definitely rubbed off on her.
Quickly she unbuttoned the uniform blouse and reached inside her bra. With
trembling hands she pulled out the small vial. She turned it slowly in her
hand, almost mesmerized by the deep blue color. She couldn't wait to get
this to the FBI lab and analyze it.
But first, she had to wait for Mulder and Deep Throat to come back.
****
Time Unknown
Location Unknown
It was the rocking motion that woke him. A slight back and forth motion,
accompanied by a low, droning noise. He opened his eyes and knew instantly
he was in the back of a truck.
Two soldiers sat on either side of him. They hadn't yet noticed he was
awake. Mulder focused on the man who held his gun the slackest and tried to
ignore the pain in his head. He lunged forward, reaching for the gun, and
to his astonishment found that he could not move.
He was strapped down. Strapped down and in the back of a truck. Panic
flooded him as vague memories of another Air Force Base assaulted him.
Memories of another ride in a truck, a ride that had turned into a nightmare.
"Looks like he's awake," one of the soldiers said, nudging his companion.
"You'd better put him out."
The second soldier reached into a bag and pulled out a small bottle and a
syringe. Mulder stared at the needle, terrified. He jerked at the
restraints holding him, struggling to get free. "No, don't do this!" he
pleaded. Oh, God, they were going to steal his memories again! And like
the time before there was nothing he could do about it.
The soldier stared at him impassively, then he felt the sting of the needle
and the blackness swallowed him again.
****
The Camelot Inn
4:48 p.m.
Scully pulled out her cellular phone for the hundredth time, looked at it,
at the clock, back at the phone, at the motel room door, and back at the
clock. Abruptly she made a decision. It was 4:48. If they were not back
by 5:00, she was calling Mulder's cell phone. If he was still in hiding and
the chirping noise gave him away, so be it. She was very worried by now.
They should have been back an hour ago. Scully had gone to the copy room,
made some copies for the benefit of anyone who might be watching her, and
then left. Mulder and his informant had planned to generally cause havoc,
anything to give her time to leave.
They probably got arrested she thought, exasperated. Yes, that was it.
They had been caught sneaking around, and the military didn't particularly
care for snoops. So they had been arrested and would eventually be released
when it was determined that they didn't have the vial.
Scully felt almost smugly satisfied to have thought of this scenario, and
the worry eased slightly.
Except that it didn't work. It *wouldn't* work. Deep Throat, whoever he
was, had enough connections to avoid being detained. And as Mulder's
partner and listed next of kin, she should have been notified if he had been
arrested.
So what had happened? Where were they?
Scully reached for the vial again, the cause of her worry. The glass tube
was only three inches long, but the contents of that three inches were
priceless. A pure extract of RNA from alien viruses. The scientist in
Scully longed to analyze the liquid, to break down and determine the genetic
makeup of the contents. The skeptic in her asked if this wasn't just some
newly created chemical compound, something no one had heard of it.
And the believer in her was afraid.
If this *was* a drug that was half-alien, then think of the ramifications!
The breakthrough making this possible had occurred back in 1991. What other
miracles had taken place since then? What else was out there among the
unsuspecting public that had extraterrestrial ingredients? Scully's hand
went to the back of her neck, fingering the scar where the implant had been.
An implant made of alien materials and know-how. What else did the
government have that was alien? What other methods did they have of
controlling the populace?
Scully shook her head, clearing her thoughts. These were questions that she
wasn't sure she wanted to have answered. Perhaps they weren't even the
*right* questions. Better that she put it out of her mind.
The crunch of gravel beneath her window startled her, and her head snapped
up. Hastily she tucked the vial back into her blouse and grabbed her gun.
Dropping to a crouch, she ran over to the window. She used the barrel of
her gun to slowly lift the drape, allowing her to peek outside. She could
see nothing, and she let the drape fall back.
She got to her feet and moved to the door. The peep hole was dirty, but she
could see well enough to realize there was nobody outside the door, either.
Maybe it just been her imagination, playing tricks on her when she was
already jumpy.
The crunching sound came again, and Scully peered out the peep hole again.
There! A shadow crossed in front of the door, and then came to stand in
front of it. Scully tried frantically to make out a face, but the glass was
filthy. All she could tell was that the figure outside was a man.
One hand strayed to her blouse, feeling for the vial, making sure it was
safe. She was still standing indecisively when the man outside knocked on
the door. She made a quick decision: better to scare an unsuspecting
stranger than be caught unarmed by an enemy.
She stood to one side of the door, and unlocked it. "It's open!" she called
and brought both the gun and herself up to the "ready" position. Legs
apart, knees locked, both hands on the gun, chin up, eyes open.
The door opened slowly, and she knew who it was even before he walked into
the room. The smell gave him away. A half-smoked Morley between his thumb
and forefinger, the Cigarette Smoking Man walked into Scully's motel room.
****
Time Unknown
Location Unknown
The light hurt his eyes, and he wished it would go away. His head hurt, and
he wanted nothing more than to curl up in darkness and go back to sleep.
But the light wouldn't let him. The light and the voices.
"Can you hear me?" A man's voice, speaking near his ear. His eyes opened,
and he cringed from the bright light shining in his face.
"Can you tell me your name?" He strained to make out the face behind the
voice, but the light was too bright. There were vague shapes that might be
men, but could be anything. His eyes closed again, and the voice said,
"Give him a few more minutes."
When his senses began working he tried to figure out where he was. He was
laying on a bed, it seemed. Something soft, anyway. There was a prickling
sensation in his left arm, and with an effort he turned his head. An IV
line snaked from his forearm to a point above him that he couldn't see for
the light. Something was taped to his chest, irritating the hairs there and
he wanted to itch but didn't dare raise his hand, knowing they would stop
him if he tried.
One of the shadowy figures leaned in close, gaining a face as it did. The
man was middle-aged, with a brushy mustache. He spoke again, enunciating
carefully. "Can you tell me your name?"
Of course he could. "Fox William Mulder."
"When were you born?"
"October 13, 1961." He was vaguely pleased to be able to answer their
questions right.
"Do you know where you are?"
He looked around slowly, painfully. His head felt like someone had cut it
open, filled it with rocks, and sewn it back up. "No," he said.
"Are you sure?"
This was not the answer they had wanted, and he felt disappointed.
Summoning his energy, he tried to cut through the bright light, to see
something of the room he was in. There was nothing familiar here, and he
sighed. "Yes."
"Wait a minute." A different voice. "You're not asking it right. Let me."
"Do you know what city you are in?"
This was one he knew, and he was glad to answer. "Dayton, Ohio."
"Where in Dayton?"
"Wright Patterson Air Force Base."
"Why did you come here?"
For a moment, something flickered in his memory. Don't..., but thinking
was so hard, it hurt too much. Still he hesitated, unsure if he should answer.
"Agent Mulder, answer the question. Why did you come to Wright Patterson
Air Force Base?"
He gave up the struggle in his mind. It was so much easier just to tell
them what they wanted. "I wanted to find the drug."
"What drug?" This was the first voice again.
"The drug they gave Scully." He couldn't believe they didn't know this. It
was all so simple.
"What is in that drug, Agent Mulder?"
"I don't know." He paused, trying to remember. "It's part alien. Part
alien RNA from a virus."
"That's it," the second voice whispered. He stayed quiet, knowing they
weren't talking to him.
"Did you find this drug?" the first voice asked. It sounded tense, with
barely concealed excitement.
"Yes." Alarms again in his head. There was something here he shouldn't be
telling.
"Do you have it?"
"No." Definite unease now, and his head hurt badly. He turned to look at
the IV again. "I hate needles. Can you take this out please?"
The shadowy figures withdrew, and were gone for a time. When they came
back, one of them reached out for the IV. "Just one more question, Agent
Mulder. Who has the drug?"
That was an easy one, too. But--but, he shouldn't tell. If he did,
something would happen, something...He tried desperately to collect his
thoughts, and a jolt of pain shot through his head. He gasped, and tried,
but it was so hard...
"Agent Mulder, I can take this needle away, but first you have to tell me,
who has the drug now?" The voice was low and soothing, and he did want that
needle gone, and it was so hard to think, so hard.
"Agent Scully. She has it now." He tried to see their faces, to see if
they were happy with this answer.
"Where is Agent Scully?"
"I don't know. She was supposed to go to the hotel. The Camelot Inn."
"You heard him. Go." The first voice spoke sharply, then the face leaned
in, close to his ear again. Spoke soothingly. "You did very well, Agent
Mulder. I'm going to take the needle away now, but first I want to give you
a shot of something."
Cold and wet, swabbing at his arm. "Please don't. I hate needles." The
figures seemed not to hear him and he moaned softly as the needle stabbed
him. A stinging sensation as the IV was pulled from his arm, and then
retreating footsteps. A door closed, sounding miles away, and the light was
suddenly gone.
He went gratefully into the blackness.
****
Camelot Inn
4:59 p.m.
"What do you want from me? What are you doing here?" It was hard for
Scully to control the powerful emotions this man aroused in her. Fear,
suspicion, mistrust, resentment, but most of all, anger. For too long this
man had thwarted them, and probably had laughed as he had done it. Scully
resolved that this was one time he would not get in their way.
Cancerman regarded her solemnly. He raised his cigarette to his lips and
inhaled heavily, all the while watching her carefully with those dark eyes.
"What do you want?" Scully cried. Twice before, Mulder had come within a
hair of killing this man. Facing him now, Scully could suddenly understand
how easy it would be to pull the trigger.
"They're coming for you, Agent Scully." He drew on the cigarette again,
watching her reaction.
"What do you mean? Who's coming for me?" She was suddenly certain that
this man knew what had happened to Mulder and Deep Throat; moreover, he
would never tell her.
"Surely you didn't think you could get away with stealing from the
military?" His voice was soft, almost wondering. Scully hated that voice,
the one that spoke so pleasantly, but whose words were laced with poison.
"What do you know about Mulder? Where is he?" She deliberately refrained
from mentioning Deep Throat. Of course this man knew about him, too, but
there was no reason to bring that fact into the open.
"Does it matter? They have him, and now they're coming for you."
"I don't believe you," she spat. All lies, all tricks, this man was a
magician with words. He could use them to make you do anything, make you
believe anything. Scully was not falling for it.
"You should." Dark eyes gleamed. Another deep inhale. "Mulder is the one
who told them."
Scully's eyes widened and she gasped at the fury that coursed through her
veins. He dared to tell her this, and he seemed to enjoy telling her. Oh
yes, she was definitely going to kill this man. "You're lying." But the
scientist in her refused to let her discount any theories. It was possible
that this man was right. "But if they have Mulder, and they made him tell
them where I was, it's not his fault."
Cancerman smiled, a slight twist of thin lips. She'd responded exactly as
he had expected her to. If he had known how loyal she would turn out to be,
he would never have chosen her to be assigned to the X-Files. But some
things couldn't be undone, no matter how hard you tried.
"Do you have the vial?"
"No," Scully lied. "But I know where it is." She could see that he didn't
believe her, but he seemed to accept her lie. Why not? We are forced to
accept his lies all the time she thought bitterly.
"You should leave here, go somewhere else. South of the city, perhaps." He
had finished his cigarette, but he continued to hold the
filter between his thumb and forefinger.
"Why? Why are you telling me this?" She was confused and wary. After all
he had done to ruin their investigations, their attempts at finding the
truth, she just could not believe he was offering her help.
"That drug should never have been made. It should be destroyed, Agent
Scully. I would suggest you *find* where you put it, and burn it."
Cancerman spoke with unusual passion, and Scully's head reeled with the
implications of his words.
"Why? Why do you want it destroyed? You were the one who made it in the
first place," she insisted. "Or is this simply more destroying evidence
that could incriminate you?"
"I never wanted it made," Cancerman replied. He paced the length of the
room, tossed his used butt in the trash, and fished a new one out of the
pack. He lit it as he headed back toward Scully and stopped in front of
her. "I would suggest you leave now. Your time is running out." He began
walking for the door.
Scully let him go until he was in the doorway. Then she cocked her gun, the
sound echoing loudly in the silence. "Wait!"
Cancerman froze, then turned around. A dark eyebrow arched in her
direction, and smoke wreathed his head.
"If you're right, where is Mulder? What have they done to him? And how do
you know?" She had a thousand more questions, but she had little hope of
him answering the ones she had posed.
"He'll be fine. But I would not let them know you plan to destroy the drug,
or they will probably kill him." The words dropped like boulders into the
stillness of the room. Scully hardly noticed as the man left, taking with
him the reek of smoke.
It *was* Purity Control all over again, she realized despairingly. *They*
had Mulder, and they would not let him go until they had what they wanted,
which just so happened to be something she possessed. And what of Deep
Throat? Probably dead, for certain this time. There would be no help from him.
Scully walked unsteadily over to the bed and sank down on its soft surface.
How, oh how did her partner continually get intothese situations? Why did
she always feel she was running after him, picking up the pieces and
cleaning up the messes? And just how the hell was she supposed to save him
this time?
A car engine turned over out in the parking lot, and she suddenly realized
that if Cancerman was right, then she was wasting valuable time just sitting
here. She jumped off the bed and grabbed the overnight bag she had not even
unpacked and her purse, and in five minutes she was walking quickly across
the parking lot, luggage in hand. As she opened the trunk she scanned the
street, suspicious of everyone who even glanced her way. Any one of them
could be the
point man for an ambush.
****
Dayton Mall
7:15 p.m.
There were two women in front of one of the department stores, each holding
clipboards and waylaying any shopper they could get their hands on. Scully
sat on the bench in the atrium, watching in amusement as wary shoppers
walked out of their way to avoid the women. The trick seemed to be avoiding
eye contact.
Her amusement evaporated as she realized how ridiculously similar her
position was. But instead of solicitors, she spent her time trying to avoid
running into and being waylaid by the Consortium. And in her world lack of
eye contact wouldn't save her.
She'd been at the mall for almost an hour, long enough to remember why she
hated these places. But when she'd left the hotel she'd been in a
near-panic state, and had gotten onto the highway going south, unconsciously
following Cancerman's instructions. At the time she hadn't cared where she
went, just as long as she put some distance between herself and the Camelot
Inn. When she'd seen the exit surrounded by acres of retail, she'd gotten
off the highway, thinking that the abundance of people and cars in the area
would make her hard to find. She had parked the car at a nearby gas station
and walked over to the mall, at considerable danger to life and limb. The
way people drove here!
"Excuse me, ma'am." A voice suddenly intruded on her thoughts and she
started. A young woman stood in front of her, laden with shopping bags.
She looked frazzled, and in a hurry. "Could you tell me what time it is?"
Scully looked at her watch. "7:20," she said.
The woman thanked her and walked away. Scully's eyes followed her until she
couldn't see the lady anymore. Probably she was being paranoid again, but
after her unsettling visit from Cancerman she was extremely edgy. She got
off the bench and headed down the mall in the opposite direction of the woman.
Immediately she decided this had been a bad idea. While sitting in the
middle of the mall had afforded her a good look at everyone passing by,
walking around gave her a limited view. She had no idea if someone was
following her, and it didn't help that there were plenty people following
her--all of them ordinary shoppers.
Stop this! she commanded herself. She was beginning to sweat and gaze at
everyone suspiciously. She had to get out of the flow of shoppers.
She ducked into the first store that offered surcease from the noise and
bustle, and breathed a sigh of relief. She took a moment to collect
herself, then took a deep breath and turned around.
She'd walked into a men's wear store, an obviously upscale one, judging by
the racks of suits and ties she saw. She wandered further into the store,
allowing herself to relax. There was only one other shopper here, an older
man who was looking through winter coats. He couldn't possibly be a threat,
and she breathed deep again. Already her flight through the mall was
appearing quite ludicrous.
"Can I help you find something?" Startled, she looked up to see a
salesclerk standing next to her. She tensed, then relaxed as she got a good
look at who had spoken to her. He was dark-haired and short and had one
hell of a nose. He was wearing the seemingly requisite uniform at this
store, a blue shirt, brown pants and a tie. An expensive pen poked out of
his breast pocket. Not somebody to fear.
"No, I'm just looking, thanks," she answered.
"Our ties are on sale, if you need to pick one up for your husband," the
clerk offered helpfully. He reached down and picked up a stray tie, folded
it and put it back in the display.
Hmm, Mulder did have a horrible fashion sense. Maybe this was her chance to
set him straight. "Well, my partner could use a new tie or two," she said,
smiling.
"What colors does he prefer?" The clerk gestured toward a display two rows
down. "We have these ties here, which are very popular in Europe."
Scully hid a grin. The ties were fluorescent greens and pinks, definitely
*not* something the FBI would approve of. "No," she said, "I think
something more subdued, more conservative."
"Is he a businessman?" the clerk asked. "What kinds of suits would these be
coordinating with?"
Scully couldn't resist playing with the clerk. He looked as if he hadn't
had a date in years. Look who's talking, Dana.
"Actually, he's in government work. Beyond that I can't tell you. It's
classified."
The clerk stared at her, then looked back at the other employees, who were
gathered behind the cash registers. Clearly he was wishing he hadn't been
the one to pick her out. But she had to give him credit, he kept on going.
"Wellll, we have these over here, if you'd like." He gestured to a tray
behind them.
Scully was saved from answering by the chirp of her cell phone. The clerk
looked surprised, then backed up. "Take your time," he said, then hurried
back to the relative safety of the cash register.
She turned her back on the racks of ties and hunched over so no one could
overhear. "Scully."
There was nothing but silence for a few seconds, then the sound of someone
breathing. Her heart began to race. The last time she had been on the
receiving end of such a call it had been her mother telling her that her
father was dead. She gripped the phone tightly, and
waited.
More breathing, then, "Scully?"
Oh, God. "Mulder? Where are you?"
There was a muffled sound, a clunk, then another voice spoke. "We know you
have the vial, Agent Scully. Bring it to us or your partner dies." A
click and the connection was broken.
It took a superhuman effort to stand straight, put the phone away without
screaming in frustration. She pasted a bright smile on her face, turned
around, and left the store. Out in the mall again, she hesitated, unsure of
what to do. They had told her to bring them the vial, but what exactly did
that mean? Back to the base or an arranged meet? She shook her head,
trying to clear her thinking. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin
defiantly, and strode through the mall toward the exit. She was halfway
there when she was struck by a new realization: Cancerman had been right.
He had warned her, and in
doing so had saved her life.
****
Time Unknown
Location Unknown
He was in a truck again. Mulder opened his eyes and instantly regretted it.
Pain shot through his head and he bit his lip to keep from groaning. For a
time he lay still, letting his senses bring him information about his
surroundings.
He could feel no restraints holding him, nothing that prevented his body
from swaying slightly with the rocking motion of the truck. He heard a radio
crackle, then a male voice, speaking quietly. He cautiously opened his eyes.
Four blurry soldiers in fatigues sat beside him, eyeing him dispassionately.
He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision and the four soldiers coalesced into
two. He licked his lips and swallowed. "Water?" His voice was a hoarse croak.
The soldiers didn't even blink. Mulder closed his eyes and tried to calm
his churning stomach and pounding head. His thoughts raced. The last thing
he clearly remembered was the Air Force colonel taking Deep Throat out of a
room filled with soldiers. Oh, God. Deep Throat. Mulder felt a pang of
despair, even while he told himself to be realistic. The odds were very
good that Deep Throat was dead. Again.
The truck jolted over a pothole and Mulder's stomach lurched. Sweat broke
out on his brow and he rolled onto his hands and knees. The soldiers both
leaned forward. "Stop," he rasped. "I'm gonna be sick."
One of the soldiers beat a hand on the grille between the back and the front
seat. "Pull over," he called.
The truck slowed, then stopped. The soldier who had called out opened the
back doors and hopped out onto the blacktop. Mulder crawled over to the
doors and attempted to get out of the truck. His head spun sickly and he
would have fallen to the pavement, but the soldier grabbed his elbow,
steadying him. He had time to notice it was dark out, then he swayed and
staggered over to the waist-high weeds on the side of the road. He fell to
his knees and was violently ill, retching until there was nothing left. He
knelt, head hanging, while the soldier paced restlessly beside him.
A glimmer of an idea formed in his mind. He lowered his weight onto his
hands and moaned loudly. Beside him, the pacing stopped and from the corner
of his eye he saw two booted feet stop next to his hands. He moaned again.
"Help me. I can't--" He raised his left hand blindly, seeking help. The
soldier grasped his wrist and yanked. Mulder allowed himself to be pulled
forwards and upwards. He curled his right hand into a fist and suddenly dug
in with his feet, propelling himself forward. His fist caught the soldier
squarely in the crotch and the man doubled over with a pained grunt. The
action left his jaw exposed and Mulder straightened up quickly. The top of
his head connected with the soldier's jaw, flipping him over onto his back.
The man twitched once, then was still.
Mulder stooped down, grabbed the man's pistol and took off. He ran bent
over, trying to stay below the weeds. Away from the faint light provided by
the truck's headlights, he would be hard to find, but he had no doubt that
the soldiers had a light source in the truck, and his few seconds head start
would soon evaporate.
The weeds were beginning to thin out, and dark shapes loomed up ahead.
Trees. Despite the darkness, he continued to run. At least in the woods he
could hide; running through the field he was a sitting duck.
He heard shouts behind him, just as the weeds disappeared and he plunged
into the woods. Mulder slowed his pace, not wanting to run full tilt into a
tree, stumbled over an exposed root and fell heavily to the ground.
He lay stunned, his lungs burning, his head beating out a steady rhythm of
pain that matched his racing heart. After a while the voices behind him
faded, and he heard a metallic thunk. An engine roared and the truck pulled
back onto the road. Mulder couldn't believe it. They'd let him get away.
His throbbing head suddenly offered up another memory.
Voices, coming to him out of the darkness. Something plastic being held in
front of his mouth. What is your partner's name, Agent Mulder? Say her
name. His own voice. Scully? A gasp sounding in his ear, then they'd
moved the phone, and someone else was speaking. Something about coming to
them, and killing him.
Suddenly he knew. They wanted the vial, and they were using him to get to
Scully, to make her give it up. They must have been on the way to
rendezvous with Scully. She would be planning to give up the vial for him,
only when she got there she would be handing over the drug and receiving
nothing. The soldiers had obviously decided not to waste their time looking
for him. In the long run it didn't matter. He was no longer their problem,
and they would still be getting what they wanted.
Mulder got painfully to his feet and made his way back to the road. He
squinted hard at his watch and decided it read 2:30. There seemed to be no
traffic at this time of night and he started walking. Lights shone off in
the distance and he headed in that direction.
After a couple hundred feet he came to an intersection with a county road.
The street sign told him he was on State Route 835. Which was Wright
Brothers Parkway, eventually. All he had to do was follow this road until
he came to the Camelot Inn. Until he could get to Scully.
****
Friendly's Restaurant
1:50 a.m.
The restaurant was getting ready to close, and she'd have to find a new
hiding place soon. She had stayed at the mall until the shops had closed,
then bought a movie ticket for a nameless film. She'd sat at the back of
the darkened theater, her gun on her lap, her eyes trained on the doors at
the back of the theater. When the movie had ended she had re-holstered her
gun and left with the crowd, while the mall closed for good. She'd walked
across the road to the gas station and retrieved the rental car, looking for
an open restaurant, and eventually came here.
An hour later, she was still here. Scully was not so naive as to think that
hiding in a crowded place could save her, but she didn't know what else to do.
"Here you are, ma'am." Her waitress brought her change, smiled hopefully
for a big tip, and left. Scully pocketed the money, leaving a dollar on the
table. She'd ordered an ice cream to blend in, and now her stomach was
wishing she hadn't.
She left the restaurant and got in the car. She sat for a moment, watching
couples and families leave the building, then suddenly sat up straight as an
ugly thought struck her. Hastily she pulled out the bills she'd gotten back
from the waitress, a five and a one. She ripped off the sides, looking for
the magnetized strip the Lone Gunmen had shown her so long ago. Satisfied
that neither bill was being used to track her, she wadded up the remains,
rolled down the window and tossed the ball out into the parking lot. After
a moment's thought, she flung the coins out the window, too. Better safe
than sorry.
She was shaking with fright now, unable to stop herself. All night she had
been waiting for the phone call, the one that would tell her where to meet
them, where the exchange would take place. All night she had been checking
her cell phone to make sure it still worked, unable to believe the continued
silence, not understanding why they hadn't contacted her yet.
Unless it was all a lie. Scully's eyes narrowed and she stopped trembling
as anger swept through her. Of course. Cancerman had lied to her. That
"black-lunged son-of-a-bitch" would never willingly tell her the truth. He
had lied to her, tried to use her for his own purposes.
*They* might have Mulder, but she had the vial. She had what they wanted,
and they knew it. So who was in control here?
She was. And it was about time they learned it.
She turned the car on and pulled out onto the road. Cancerman had contacted
her at the motel once before, when it became obvious she was not going to
give in to their demands, he would try it again.
Only this time she would be waiting for him.
****
The Camelot Inn
4:37 a.m.
She was behind the motel, waiting, waiting.
Scully crouched behind the ice machine, one hand holding her SIG Sauer, the
other braced against the side of the machine. The vibrations from the ice
maker traveled up her arm, but they were not the reason she was trembling.
*He* was coming. He had already come here once, supposedly to warn her, but
now he was coming to kill her. He knew she had the vial. He wanted it
destroyed. So much the better if he could destroy her, too.
There! Footsteps--only one set, he must have come alone. Scully's mouth
tightened into a thin line. So he thought she was such an easy target?
Thought he could walk in and kill her, just like that? Probably he thought
he'd have time to smoke a cigarette, too, before the police came.
Well, she would not let him. Scully poked her head out from the ice machine
as the footsteps came closer. A dark figure made its way through the
parking lot. The man moved slowly, one arm using the back wall of the motel
for guidance. She was surprised not to see a small orange glow from a
cigarette, then angrily decided that he was undoubtedly waiting until she
was dead to light up.
In one swift movement she stepped out into the open. "Stop where you are!
Put your hands up!" Her voice rang with triumph.
The figure came to a halt. Arms were slowly raised. "Scully?" The voice
was hoarse and raspy. Shouldn't have smoked all those cigarettes she
thought pitilessly. At least he knew who she was, knew who was going to
kill him.
"I have what you want. And you're not going to get it, you bastard!" Anger
made her voice shake.
The figure made a move forward. "I said freeze!" she yelled, and fired.
The man was flung back against the wall of the motel, then slowly crumpled
to the ground. Scully ran forward, her finger around the trigger, ready to
fire again.
One of the motel room doors suddenly swung open, spilling light out into the
parking lot. Scully immediately spun to her right. The old man who had
opened his door at the gunshot started in terror as he saw the same gun now
pointed at him. "Get back in your room!" Scully cried. The man scuttled
backwards into the room, leaving the door open.
She looked back at the still form on the ground. There was a splotch of
blood on the wall and she smiled tightly. The man lay on his side, and she
lowered herself to one knee, grabbed his arm and prepared to turn him over.
He groaned in pain and she tensed. He was still alive! She put her gun to
his temple and nearly pulled the trigger, but stopped. No, she wanted him
to know who was killing him, wanted him to know he was about to die.
Yanking his arm hard, she rolled him over. The man flopped onto his back,
and Scully found herself staring into a pair of hazel eyes.
"Scully?" Mulder's voice was weak as he stared at her in fear and
confusion. He tried to raise one hand and failed.
She backed up, her heart suddenly pounding in terror. This wasn't
Cancerman! What had she done? She shook her head, her lips moving
soundlessly. Panic flooded her and she began trembling violently.
Behind her another door opened and a voice called, "What's going on here?"
Something in her snapped. Scully shoved the gun into her pocket and ran off
into the night.
****
END Elixir II: Replay
Author's Note: The information about Wright Patterson Air Force
Base is as factual as I can obtain. There is indeed a rumor about a
building going nine stories underground, although what exactly is
down there is anybody's guess.
Elixir III: Retrieval
by Rebecca Rusnak
St. Elizabeth's Hospital
Dayton, Ohio
February 1, 1997
10:38 a.m.
The Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was not a
happy man. He never got used to getting a call that one his agents was
down. It was bad enough to feel that helpless anger and worry. What made
it worse this time was that it was a fellow agent who had done the shooting.
An agent who was on the run, and whose whereabouts were unknown.
He headed for the nurses station, then glanced up as he heard his name
called. "Mr. Skinner?" A white-coated young man walked briskly down the
hall towards him. He held a clipboard in one hand and there was a dull
maroon bloodstain on his surgical greens.
The doctor stopped in front of Skinner and held out a hand. "Mr. Skinner,
I'm Dr Tholking." He turned and began walking back in the direction he'd
come from. Skinner kept pace with him as they headed down the hall.
"One of the paramedics discovered your man's ID, and as the listed
next-of-kin could not be reached, it was decided to call the Bureau," Dr.
Tholking explained.
They turned a corner in the hallway and Skinner sidestepped a gurney. "How
did he get here? Who called it in?"
"Apparently some salesman was staying at the same motel. He heard the shot
and opened his door to investigate. He says he saw a body, and that a woman
tried to shoot him and told him to get back in his room. He called 911 from
his hotel room phone. When the EMT squad arrived, there was no sign of any
woman."
Skinner sighed and his lips pressed into a thin line. The doctor stopped
abruptly in front of a closed door. He glanced at his clipboard, then
gestured at the door. "The bullet got him in the left side. It went
straight through, missed his kidney by millimeters. We've done some minor
surgery to repair the damage, and unless infection develops he should be
fine. He got lucky."
Skinner shook his head. How had society gotten to the point where guns and
violent shootings were so common that a simple gunshot was classified as
"lucky"?
He reached for the doorknob. "Thank you," he said, using his most polite,
yet dismissive tone of voice.
"I can be paged if you need me," Dr. Tholking said, then left.
Skinner opened the door, stepped into the room, and closed it behind him.
The man in the bed stirred at the sudden noise, and his eyes fluttered open.
Eyes dark with pain and drugs focused on Skinner, then scanned the room.
Skinner stepped forward. "She's not here, Agent Mulder."
****
Atlanta, Georgia
Hartsfield Airport
11:21 a.m.
Marilyn Latham was an experienced traveler. Twenty years as a flight
attendant for Delta had taught her how to pack efficiently, how to negotiate
strange airports, and how to be as comfortable as possible on airplanes.
She also knew almost instantly how to spot the fellow passenger who would be
cooperative, and the one who would cause trouble. Marilyn thought that the
petite redhead next to her was a prime candidate for the latter category.
The woman was curled up on two chairs in Gate 32, currently sleeping.
Marilyn had arrived an hour early for her flight, which left from this gate,
and the woman had been here sleeping. Her flight was now in its second hour
of being delayed, and the woman still slept on, oblivious to the noise all
around her.
Marilyn watched the woman with undisguised curiosity. She was dressed too
well to be one of Atlanta's homeless, trying to get some sleep in a warm
place. She had a purse between her body and the back of the chair, and was
using a small overnight bag as a pillow. She *looked* merely like a
traveler taking advantage of a layover to catch up on some rest, but
something made Marilyn doubt it. Maybe it was the woman's pallor, and the
way her face was set in tense lines even in sleep. Her eyelids twitched
violently as she dreamed, and a strand of copper hair fell against her cheek.
The woman moaned in her sleep, and muttered something. "Mother," maybe.
Marilyn leaned in, ready to calm the woman down, if need be. The woman
stirred on the uncomfortable seats, and her hand reflexively grabbed at her
purse. She inhaled sharply, and suddenly sat upright. Blue eyes flickered
wildly around the room, trying to make sense of her surroundings.
Marilyn put her hand on the young woman's arm. "Honey, you're okay," she
said soothingly. "It was just a dream, and now it's over."
The woman's head snapped to the left. She stared at Marilyn for a moment,
then her gaze dropped to the hand on her arm. "Get your hands off me," she
hissed, jerking her arm away.
"Miss, you just had a bad dream," Marilyn continued calmly. She stood up as
the red-haired woman got to her feet. She reached out again a placating hand.
To her astonishment the younger woman cocked back her fist, then struck her.
Marilyn fell backwards into a chair, her face flaming. "I told you to leave
me alone!" the woman hollered. She scooped up her bag and purse, and ran
off down the terminal, leaving Marilyn sprawled in the chair.
****
6:16 p.m.
900 W. Georgia St.
Washington D.C.
He sat back in the old armchair, slowly inhaling. Few things in life were
as satisfying as a cigarette after a good meal. In front of him the TV
blared the day's new--nothing he didn't already know. He closed his eyes
and allowed himself to relax.
He'd flown in to Dulles from Dayton last night, and had little chance to
sleep since. It had been another long day. Manipulating information,
manipulating people. He felt like a master puppeteer, controlling both
people and ideas. Sometimes he idly wondered when he would finally trip up
in his own wires. He was not naive enough to think that day would never come.
He just hoped he'd be able to pick himself up after the fall and not find
any of the strings attached to *him.*
With a small regret he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the
ashtray on the table next to him. He really shouldn't have moved back here,
but the irony was just too great to pass up. He had been forced to move, of
course, after Fox Mulder had surprised him here. An interesting encounter,
that. I have more respect for you, Mulder. You're becoming a player. The
horrified look in the young FBI agent's eyes still made him chuckle.
But he had had to ensure that there would be no more surprise visits from
his favorite agents. Yet sitting in his new apartment he had continually
expected the hand to fall on his shoulder, to hear the creak of the
floorboards. The sheer tension had gotten to him, making more irritable
than usual, and he had jumped at the chance to move back here. Not even
Skinner would think to look for him here twice.
He lit a new cigarette and was beginning to consider working on his new
novel when the phone rang. He eyed it with distaste for a moment, then
noticed it was his private line. A number very few people had.
"Yes?" Curious. Who could it be?
The man on the other end cleared his throat. "There is a situation," he said.
The smoking man felt a cold smile cross his face. So, the turncoat needed
his help. "Oh?" He exhaled into the phone. "What might that be?"
"Don't give me that crap!" The man's voice was harsh.
He wondered if the man knew they referred to him by a rather runflattering
name, either way you looked at it. Prostitute or traitor. He supposed time
would tell which one this man was.
"I am aware of many situations," he said evenly.
"There is a problem with Mulder and Scully," the man said. "It cannot be
allowed to continue."
He inhaled deeply, taking in the smoke. "Yes, I know. She will, of course,
have to be found." It was a shame, really. He had not been lying on that
long ago day to Mulder. I like her. Now he would have to send out men to
find her. And if that didn't kill her, she'd be institutionalized, and spend
the rest of her life in a very small, padded room.
The other man spoke urgently. "Let me do it. I can find her and bring her
safely back. Her and the vial."
The man paused, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Even after three years
of renewed loyalty to the cause and the Project, he distrusted this other
man. The pain and shock of his betrayal could sometimes seem as fresh as if
it had just happened yesterday.
"Let me," the man insisted. "Mulder trusts me. I can do this far better
than anyone else could."
The man had a good point. "Yes, I believe you could. See what you can do."
The man Mulder and Scully knew as Deep Throat let out his breath in relief.
"It will be a few days--" he began.
"We don't have a few days!" the smoker snapped. "I need that vial destroyed."
"All right. But you have to give me time before you send in your men."
"What makes you think I would do that?"
The other man chuckled. "I know you too well, old friend. Just give me
some time. You'll get both Agent Scully and your drug."
"I'll be waiting." He hung up the phone and smiled.
****
St. Elizabeth's Hospital
8:32 p.m.
God, he hated hospitals. He hated the needles, catheters, IVs. He hated
the bland food and fuzzy TV reception. But mostly, he decided he hated
cheerful nurses who insisted on speaking to him like he was four years old.
"You need to take these, Fox, so they can help you," the pretty young nurse
was saying. White capsules clicked in her hand as she rolled them about.
She had a pleading look on her face, but Mulder wasn't fooled. The nurses
who pouted were the ones to look out for, he knew from past experience.
"Look," he said, for what had to be the hundredth time. "I don't want to
take any more drugs, okay?"
"Fox, I know you're hurting, and these will help," the nurse said, holding
them out like a sacrificial offering.
Oh, for Christ's sake... "All right, fine." He held out his hand and was
rewarded with a beaming smile from the nurse as she handed him the pills and
a cup of water. He put the pills in his mouth, swallowed a bit of water,
and gave her the cup back.
"See, now that wasn't bad, was it?" the nurse said brightly. She ruffled
his hair and left the room.
As soon as he was sure she wasn't coming back Mulder spit the pills out into
his hand. He grabbed a Kleenex from the table beside the bed and wrapped up
the evidence of his defiance, then dropped the wadded tissue into the trashcan.
The nurse was right, of course, Taking the medication would help ease the
pain in his side, but it would also dull his mind, and right now he needed
to be able to think clearly. Somewhere out there was his partner, Dana
Scully, and she needed his help.
But first he needed to find her.
Mulder's memories of last night were hazy at best. He could remember
staggering through the motel parking lot, going around to the back. Could
remember Scully yelling something at him, then the hot pain in his side and
he knew he was shot, and then, nothing.
The EMT's had all reported the same thing: no signs of any woman in the
parking lot. The rental car was gone, and none of Scully's belongings
remained in the motel room. It was as if she had vanished--vanished without
a trace.
Except that was impossible. Scully was out there somewhere, and it was up
to him to find her. Skinner had wasted no time in getting Scully's
description out on the wire, and against Mulder's protests, had added that
she was armed and dangerous.
They had all been through this once before--the quietly desperate search for
Scully. It had been hell the first time around, and Mulder had no doubt
that this current search would be just as grueling and difficult. It made
no difference that this time, as before, Scully was not responsible for her
own actions. She's suffering from some kind of paranoid psychosis. She
was still considered dangerous, and therefore had to be found soon, at any cost.
The question was: who else was looking for her?
Mulder shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to lay in. The
pain in his side was a nagging constant, and he was beginning to think he
should have taken his medication. For a moment he eyed the call button next
to him wistfully, then looked determinedly away. No, not yet. First he had
"find" Scully.
A call from Skinner had established that her mother knew nothing. Margaret
Scully had promised to let them know if she heard anything from Dana, and
Mulder thought she was worried enough to keep that promise, even if it meant
alienating her daughter. Surveillance teams were watching both her
apartment and his, on the off chance that she would show up there. The
hotel was also being watched, although no one believed she would return.
With all the obvious bases covered, it was time to consider some "extreme
possibilities."
He closed his eyes and called up the image in his mind. Scully, standing
horrified over his body, still holding the gun. The man comes out of his
motel room, and calls out. Scully runs.
This much they knew. Now what?
OK, Mulder, think. You're sick. You don't trust anybody. You've just shot
your partner. Where do you go?
He just didn't know.
****
Hartsfield Int'l Airport
11:21 p.m.
Blue high heels clicked on the cold restroom tile as the woman crossed to
the sink. She washed her hands and pulled a makeup bag out of her purse.
With a practiced hand she touched up her cheeks and eyes, pursed her lips
and reapplied color. She put away the makeup and glanced at her image in
the mirror. Satisfied, she left.
She never noticed the red-headed woman huddled in the corner stall.
****
St. Elizabeth's Hospital
1:02 a.m.
The click of the door closing woke Mulder and his eyes snapped open. His
hand moved toward his hip automatically, reaching for a gun that wasn't
there. A dark figure stood before the door, not quite blending into the
shadows of the room. Too big to be a nurse. Mulder sat up, ignoring the
ache in his side, and grabbed for the call button. Cautious but curious, he
poised his thumb over the button but stopped short of pressing it.
The man came forward slowly, quietly. When he reached the side of the bed,
Mulder relaxed. He dropped the call button. "I thought visiting hours
ended at eight," he quipped.
His visitor shot a searching glance around the room, then looked at Mulder.
"Get dressed," he said.
Mulder gaped at the older man, sure he had heard wrong. "What's wrong with
what I'm wearing?"
Deep Throat did not look amused. "We haven't much time. Now get dressed
and come with me."
"Where?"
"To find Scully, of course." He spoke as if Mulder had a hearing problem,
enunciating each word carefully.
"You know where she is?"
"Yes," the man said impatiently. "But we have to move quickly."
Mulder sat up, turning to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He
gathered his strength, and stood up on shaky legs. "Where is she?"
"We've traced her to Atlanta. Apparently she drove to Cincinnati, then took
a plane to Atlanta. We think she's still at the airport," Deep Throat replied.
Atlanta. What was in that city to draw Scully? Why go there? Unless, in
her haste to get as far from Dayton as possible, she had merely hopped
aboard any flight that left soon after her arrival at the airport.
Did it matter? Mulder shook himself angrily. They were wasting time while
he stood around. Suddenly he realized that he was in no condition to go
anywhere, dressed as he was. He grinned at Deep Throat. "I hope you
brought me some clothes. Airports can be rather drafty places." He
gestured at his flimsy hospital gown.
The older man turned and walked over to the door to the room. He bent down
and retrieved a knapsack and carried it over. "I got these from your motel
room."
Mulder pulled out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and his dark blue V-neck
sweater. A pair of boxers, socks and his sneakers. He looked up at Deep
Throat. "I don't suppose you found my gun?" he asked hopefully.
Deep Throat pulled back his suit jacket, exposing the Sig Sauer in the
holster strapped around his waist. "I thought I could hide it better if I
wore it."
Mulder nodded, already occupied with how the hell he was going to get into
his clothes. His side was letting him know in no uncertain terms that it
didn't like this idea of standing up, and he doubted he could raise his left
arm high enough to brush his hair, let alone pull on a shirt.
Deep Throat noticed his dilemma. He glanced back at the door, then again at
Mulder. "I'm going to check that no one knows we're leaving who shouldn't."
When he was gone Mulder sank back onto the bed. Well, there was nothing for
it. His clothes wouldn't do the work for him. For a second he grinned,
thinking of the animated brooms in "Fantasia." If only he could enliven his
clothes...
He managed to dress the lower half of his body without incident, then sat
for a moment collecting himself. Come on, Mulder, you can do this He
reached up behind him with his right hand and undid the knot that kept the
hospital gown together. He leaned forward and let the thin material flutter
to the floor. Then, curious, he looked down at his left side.
White bandages stood out sharply against his skin, and did not quite hide
the blue and purple bruising around the whole area. Looking at the injury
seemed to intensify the pain, and he forced himself to look away. Gotta
finish dressing..
He took a deep breath and painfully pulled on the shirt and sweater with
only a minimum of moaning. He had been tempted to leave the sweater, but it
was still February, he had to remember. Undoubtedly he would be grateful
later for its extra warmth. After all, it had served him well enough in the
Icy Cape, why not in Atlanta?
By the time Deep Throat came back he was dressed and ready. The older man
looked at him sharply, taking in his pale face, covered with a fine sheen of
sweat, but said nothing. The urgency of their mission precluded wasting any
more time.
Deep Throat unstrapped the holster from around his hips and handed it out.
Mulder pulled his gun out and jammed it into the waistband of his jeans. No
way could he strap on that holster. He tossed it on the bed, where it would
be quickly found.
"Tell them you are checking yourself out," Deep Throat said as they left the
room. Mulder walked unsteadily and only pride kept him from leaning on the
other man for support.
"They'll call Skinner," he said through clenched teeth.
"Yes, but we'll be long gone by then," came the calm reply.
The nurse on duty looked up in alarm as they came abreast of the nurses's
station. "Sir, you shouldn't be--"
"Sorry I couldn't stay," Mulder said. "But don't worry, I'll be sure to
recommend you to all my friends," he offered over his shoulder as he and
Deep Throat kept walking.
"Sir! Wait! You need--"
Mulder didn't glance back as he left the hospital.
****
Hartsfield Int'l Airport
Concourse D
1:49 a.m.
She walked through the terminal, eying the people with envy. They waited for
loved ones to arrive, for loved ones to depart, for someone to bring them
news of loved ones. She thought bitterly that at least they all *had*
someone they loved.
Her? She had shot and probably killed the only man she loved. And wasn't
that a happy thought?
A sob escaped her lips but she didn't stop walking. If she stopped, they
might catch up to her.
She was so afraid, so alone. Hunger had forced her out of her hiding place,
only for her to discover that she could not appease that need. She had no
money for food, so she had resigned herself to walking endlessly up and down
the terminal.
Laughter to her right snapped her head around, and Scully felt tears sting
her eyes as she watched a happy couple embrace. Had she ever been that
happy? Had she ever felt the warmth of a lover's embrace?
The answer, of course, was no. And she was not likely to feel either of
those things ever again. The world had turned against her, and there would
be no happiness for Dana Scully again.
An empty gate loomed up on her left, and she wandered over to one of the
black vinyl chairs. Her eyes scanned the gate area sharply, looking for
shadowy figures that could be any of *them*, but found nothing. Wearily she
sat down and forced herself to try and think of a way out.
She had no money, nothing to buy a plane ticket with, rent a car with, pay a
taxi fare with, or even buy food with. She could not use a credit card or
ATM card without *them* being tipped off as to her location. A check was
similarly traceable, and she shuddered slightly, remembering the Lone Gunmen
demonstrating one day that paper money was traceable, too.
Which left her two options. Stay here wandering in the Atlanta airport, or
use her gun and rob somebody. Earlier in the day staying in the airport had
seemed preferable, but she was so hungry now. Only the realization that
robbing someone was a sure-fire way to get her picture in the paper was
stopping her now.
So, now what? Scully refused to give in. *They* would not get her, no sir.
She had shot Mulder, and that was regrettable, but there was nothing she
could do about it now. Her current situation was much more important.
She needed money, and bad. Begging for it would not work, as she had
watched how the Atlanta Police and Airport Security promptly dispatched
anyone trying such a thing. Apparently the city was trying to upgrade its
image, which was admirable, but it effectively put Scully in a bad spot.
A security guard was heading her way, and Scully quickly drew her boarding
pass out of her purse, pretending to study it. The guard would never be
able to tell it was already used. He passed her by, and she let out her
breath in a rush. Still, it was a reminder. If she stayed in one place
they would find her.
Scully stood up and headed down the terminal again.
****
St. Elizabeth's Hospital
Dayton, Ohio
2:01 a.m.
"What do you mean, he checked himself out? Less than twenty-four hours ago
this man was in surgery for a gun shot, and you're telling me you just let
him walk out?"
Part of Walter Skinner was glad Mulder wasn't around right now, or he would
have flayed the agent alive. As it was, the young nurse before him was
practically cowering beneath his anger.
"Sir, I don't know what to tell you. Mr. Mulder was capable of making his
own decisions--"
"And God forbid any of you interfere for fear of getting sued," Skinner snapped.
The nurse reddened but said nothing in response.
Skinner looked away in disgust and made a mental note to handcuff Mulder to
the bed the next time he landed in the hospital. *If* there was a next time.
Right now the AD was mad enough to fire his wayward agent, and to hell with
the consequences.
>From the corner of his eye he saw the nurse look up, and he sighed. Taking
a different tack, he tried to sweet-talk the nurse. "Look, I know you must
be busy, but did you happen to notice if Mulder was with anyone, or if he
mentioned where he was going?"
The nurse nodded, more confident now. "Yes, sir. He was with an older
gentleman. But they didn't say where they were going."
Skinner frowned with sudden suspicion. "What did this older gentleman look
like?" And was he smoking?
"He had dark hair, going gray," the nurse replied. "He seemed well dressed,
too. I'd say he was in his sixties, but he seemed in good
health."
It was a vague description. Could be Cancerman, could be anyone.
And dammit, they were still no closer to finding Scully. No rental car
place, no airport within 100 miles reported seeing a young, red-haired
woman. Margaret Scully, frantic with worry, had reluctantly been talked
into staying at her house, on the off chance that Dana showed up there. The
surveillance teams in DC reported nothing.
And now the best chance they had of finding Dana Scully had just walked out
of a hospital and vanished, too.
****
Hartsfield Int'l Airport
Concourse A
3:52 a.m.
The dozen or so passengers straggled off the plane and into Gate 12. Mulder
watched them head off for various destinations, stifling a yawn. He had
managed to get some fitful sleep on the flight to Atlanta, but the events of
the past day were beginning to catch up to him with a vengeance, and he was
exhausted.
Deep Throat began walking down the terminal and Mulder hurried up to him.
"Where are we looking?" he asked. "How do we know she's still here?"
"Because I would know it if she had left."
"How?"
The older man stopped walking and cocked his head in the fashion Mulder
remembered from earlier days. "Does it matter how I know? What matters is
that Scully is here and she needs our help."
"How did you know she was here?" Mulder asked.
"Do you remember me telling you about the man who shot his postman, Mr.
Mulder? Do you know how they found this man?" Deep Throat paused for
effect. "A young housewife found him hiding in her bushes, shaking with
fear, forty minutes after neighbors saw him commit the murder. This woman
lived five miles from the killer's house."
"I don't understand," Mulder said. "What are you saying?"
"Panic, Mr. Mulder. It's a very basic reaction in all of us, and even more
so in psychotics. That man who killed his postman ran five miles on foot in
just over half an hour."
"But that's not possible. You'd have to be an Olympic athlete to do that."
"Or suffering from drug-induced psychosis."
Mulder stared at Deep Throat. "You're still not telling me anything here.
What does this have to do with Scully?"
Deep Throat gave him an exasperated look. "Don't you see? Scully is going
through the same reactions this man did. When she shot you she panicked.
She did the first thing she could think of; she went to the airport and took
a flight out of Ohio. Anything to get away. And in her panic to flee, she
made a mistake."
"She used her credit card." He saw it now. It seemed awfully easy.
"So why doesn't the Bureau have men down here already?" Skinner would be
doing everything in his power to get Scully back safely. Mulder found it
hard to believe that the AD hadn't discovered this information.
Deep Throat looked down, an uneasy look crossing his face.
"You kept it from them, didn't you?" Mulder asked, disbelieving.
His informant looked up again. "She has something we need, Mr. Mulder. It
is vital that we obtain it first."
"The vial."
"Yes. As long as she has it, Scully will remain a target."
"A target for who?" The words struck terror into his heart. Once before
Scully had held a piece of something vital, something they didn't want her
to have, and the price for holding that had been three months of her life.
What would they ask for this time?
"Target for who?" he repeated. "Who wants it?"
A hint of dark amusement lit Deep Throat's eyes. "I believe you know him
already."
"Cancerman."
"Yes. But he wants the drug destroyed, too. That's why he wants it. He
won't hurt Scully unless he has to."
"What do you mean, *he* won't? He sent you to get her, didn't he?" The
fear within him was growing. Could it be his informant, the only man he had
trusted besides Scully, had turned on him? Was Deep Throat really sent to
kill Scully? Then why bother getting him out of the hospital?
The other man wouldn't look at him, and Mulder knew he had hit on something.
"You never told me how it was you kept them from killing you," he said,
afraid of the answer. Afraid he was trusting the wrong person. Again.
Deep Throat stared at a spot over Mulder's shoulder. "Killing me would have
meant losing too much ground. I know things, I have seen things important
enough to keep me alive. They knew it, and I knew it. Once I had been made
to see the 'error of my ways,' renewed loyalty to the Project came easy."
"You knew the other man who helped me. You let them kill him." Oh, God,
the lies and half-truths. The way these people used others! He would never
forget the pictures of Mr. X lying in his own blood. X, who had believed
Deep Throat to be dead. The lies ran deep with this group. Too deep.
"How do I know you're telling me the truth now?" Mulder asked.
Deep Throat looked at him shrewdly. "You don't," he said softly. He walked
forward a few paces, then stopped. He stared at Mulder. "But I'm the only
one who can help you find Scully."
Mulder watched him walk away. He felt nearly torn in two by his conflicting
emotions. On one hand he wanted to turn his back on Deep Throat and his
tangle of lies and truths. He was too tired to sort through them all and
pick out which truths were real, and which ones were fabricated.
Yet he doubted he could find Scully without Deep Throat. The man still had
his uncanny knack for ferreting out information, and if Scully was still in
the airport, Mulder knew the other man would find her.
Deep Throat had stopped, and was watching him with dark eyes, waiting to see
what he would do. Mulder continued to stand, indecisive, and then he heard
Scully's voice. Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you.
Could he do anything less than that for her?
****
Hartsfield Int'l Airport
Concourse D
5:01 a.m.
Scully jerked in surprise as a recorded announcement let travelers know that
the electric trams were now running between concourses. For hours she had
been walking up and down the concourse, head down, eyes scanning the ground
for loose change. She had managed to collect forty cents so far, which was
still not enough to buy even a cup of coffee. There might be loose money on
the floor of the tram, and even if there wasn't, she could take it to
another concourse and start looking there.
She left the gate she was in and began walking towards the tram entrances.
A flashing sign told her there was a minute until the tram arrived, and
Scully sighed, rocking back and forth on her heels impatiently.
A few people walked by her, and she eyed them suspiciously. The longer she
was here, the better the odds got that someone would find her, she knew.
Hurry up! she urged the tram mentally.
A crackle and hiss of a radio near her suddenly caught her attention. A
member of airport security stood off to the left, near the escalators
carrying travelers to the terminal, speaking into his radio. He was looking
right at her.
Terror overwhelmed her, and Scully closed her eyes and turned away, hoping
the security guard hadn't seen her panicked reaction. She could hear the
tram approaching now, and she clutched her purse tightly, sweaty fingers
digging into the fabric. Behind her the security guard started moving forward.
The tram arrived, and the pneumatic doors opened. Scully leaped forward,
onto the car, moving to the back of the car, out of sight of the guard. She
frantically unzipped her purse and put her hand inside, feeling the
reassuring metal of her gun. If the guard tried to follow her...
But nobody else got on the tram, and the doors closed. With a whoosh, the
train began moving.
****
Concourse A
5:05 a.m.
"They've got her," Deep Throat said.
"What?" Mulder shook his head to clear the cobwebs. For an hour he had
been laying on the hard chairs of Gate 8, trying to sleep. Deep Throat had
informed Airport Security of the target of their search letting them do the
dirty work. Which was just fine with Mulder. His side was hurting badly
now, and he doubted he could have walked much, anyway.
"A member of Airport Security saw Scully getting on a tram in Concourse D.
She's heading in this direction."
Mulder sat up painfully, pressing his hand to his side. "Did he try to
approach her?"
"No, but he says she saw him. He said she seemed nervous and jumpy."
"All right. So what do we do now?"
"We wait for her." Deep Throat began walking towards where the tram exited.
He turned around and frowned when he saw that Mulder wasn't coming. "We
have to hurry, Mr. Mulder. We need to get to her before anyone else does."
He was right, of course. Anyone else? What the hell does that mean? Still
Mulder hesitated. Faintly he could hear the approaching tram. Deep Throat
gave him a penetrating look, then turned his back and walked towards the
tram entrances.
Seeing his trusted? informant was about to go it on his own jolted Mulder
out of his funk, and he quickly stood up. Instantly he bent over in pain,
breathing shallowly. The noise of the tram was getting louder, and only the
knowledge that Deep Throat would get on it and leave him alone got him moving.
The tram arrived and the doors wheezed open. Deep Throat peered inside,
then turned back to Mulder. "She's here," he whispered, urgency written on
his face.
Mulder forced himself to walk faster, his arm pressed against his side. He
reached the tram just as the doors began to slide closed, and Deep Throat
grabbed his elbow and yanked him into the tram with him.
Not a moment too soon. The doors shut and the tram started moving.
Startled by the abrupt forward motion Mulder was jolted off his feet. He
fell hard to the floor, twisting desperately so as not to land on his
injured side. He landed heavily on his back at the same time the scream
sounded behind him.
Scully! Terror gave him strength and Mulder got to his feet with a speed
he wouldn't have believed possible five minutes earlier, oblivious to the
pain that ripped through his side at the sudden movement. All his attention
was focused on the back of the car.
Scully was here, all right. At least in body, if not in spirit.
She was curled up in the corner of the car, her face deathly white, her eyes
wide with fright. Her purse and overnight bag were on the floor next to
her. The purse was open, its contents spilled out all over. In shaking
hands, Scully held her gun out.
Her eyes gave no sign of recognizing him.
"Scully, it's okay. Everything's okay now." He kept his voice soothing,
trying to appeal to her.
"Get away from me!" she screamed. "I'll shoot!"
Deep Throat glanced at him. Mulder remembered what the older man had said
about panic. There was no doubt it was the controlling force in Scully
right now.
"We want to help you, Scully. We're not here to hurt you." That was it,
try to make her see they were on her side.
Scully was not buying it. "Liar!" The gun wobbled in her hands, and she
swallowed hard and brought her hands under control.
The recorded announcement on the tram declared they were pulling into
Terminal T, and the car began to slow. Mulder braced himself, and leaned
forward slightly.
"Scully, please trust me."
Her eyes darkened, and an uncertain expression crossed her face.
Encouraged, Mulder held out his hand. "Scully, it's me. Please trust me,"
he repeated.
The tram came to an abrupt halt, and the doors opened. For a moment
Scully's eyes left Mulder as she glanced at the doors. To Mulder's horror
Deep Throat suddenly lunged forward, knocking Scully to the floor. "No!"
Mulder cried out as Scully fell backwards.
She screamed, and Mulder cringed as her gun went off, the bullet plowing
into the ceiling. Deep Throat grabbed Scully's wrists and held them over
her head. She screamed again and struggled wildly beneath him, kicking and
writhing.
Mulder could only stare as Scully continued to struggle. Deep Throat kept
one hand on her wrists, preventing her from firing again, and clung to her
waist. The effect was to pull Scully's blouse tightly against her body,
and Mulder's eyes widened as he suddenly saw the outline of the vial under
her breast.
Deep Throat saw it, too. "Get the vial!" he ordered tensely, still holding
Scully down.
Mulder ran forward, dropping to his knees in front of Scully. There was no
reasoning with her now, he could see. Taking a deep breath and hoping she
would not remember this, he reached inside her blouse. His fingers found
the vial, tucked inside her bra, and he hesitated only a second before
reaching in for it. Scully screamed again, and tried to twist away from him.
Quickly he grabbed the small vial and pocketed it.
Scully kicked out at him, and her foot connected with his thigh, narrowly
missing the vial. Mulder stood up hurriedly, trying to get out of range.
He took a hasty step backward, and his head spun sickly, the tram car
spinning around him. Pain ripped through his side, and he could feel the
sticky wetness that told him the wound had re-opened. He tried to take
another step back, and the world suddenly tilted, and he slid bonelessly to
the floor.
****
Dayton, Ohio
5:40 a.m.
The chirp of his cell phone startled Walter Skinner. He had found himself
unable to sleep, pacing back and forth with restless energy. His thoughts
were continually racing, trying to discern the whereabouts of not one but
two of his agents, and his frustration level was at its highest when the
phone rang.
"What?" he barked, praying it would be good news.
"Care to buy a magazine subscription, sir? I can get you a good rate on
_Discover_ if you'd like."
Mulder. Being his usual smart-ass self. Then his words sank in. Discover.
"What have you found, Agent Mulder?"
"Agent Scully, sir. She's okay for now, sleeping. But I need your help."
"Wait a minute. Where did you find her?"
"In the Atlanta airport. We've got her sedated now, in the airport security
office, but she needs help, sir. I need--"
Skinner cut him off. "We? Who are you with, Agent Mulder?" He said a
silent prayer it wasn't that smoking bastard.
"Ah, I can't say that, sir. But he has helped me before. He's the one who
knew where Scully was."
Skinner sighed. Mulder had pulled this 'confidential source' crap before,
and the AD knew from experience that this was all he would get out of Mulder
on the subject. "All right. What do you need?"
"A safe house, in DC. Somewhere we can bring Scully to so she can recover
from...all this. She's been through a lot." There was a slight catch to
Mulder's voice, revealing just a little of the depth of his feelings over
this incident. Skinner decided right then and there to change the subject,
not wanting to go any further down this road.
"I can arrange something for you. Call me back in an hour."
"Thank you, sir." The connection was broken.
Skinner turned his phone off and looked at it for a minute. He'd never felt
like he understood those two, and he doubted this experience would help any.
****
Safe House
Washington, DC
Jan. 31, 1997
2:43 p.m.
"What do you mean, it's not enough?"
Deep Throat sighed in exasperation. "I already told you, Mr. Mulder. The
amount contained in that vial may not be enough to save Scully."
He couldn't believe it. Not after all they had gone through, to be told
there was a chance to save Scully, only to have that chance be a slim hope
at best. It was just...well, it wasn't fair.
Mulder looked at Scully, glad she couldn't hear what was being said about
her. She lay in a wide bed, coppery hair spread out on the pillow. Dark
circles underscored her closed eyes, and her face was paler than usual. The
sight reminded him of the time she'd lain in a coma, after her disappearance.
Only this time instead of sitting around helplessly, he could *do* something
for her.
"Tell me again how this works," he said sharply, looking up at Deep Throat.
The older man stood by the window, watching the two of them. Mulder sat in
a chair by Scully's side, unwilling to leave her for even a moment, and, he
thought ruefully, he wasn't physically in any shape to be going anywhere
anytime soon. So it looked like he was staying put.
Deep Throat indicated the vial, lying on the nightstand next to Scully's
bed. "What's in that vial is the only thing that can bring Scully back," he
said.
He'd heard it before, but Mulder still shook his head. "I don't understand
how that's possible.
"How good are you at math, Mr. Mulder?" It was a rhetorical question and
Mulder didn't bother trying to answer. "Remember back to your high school
algebra classes. What's the first step in solving an algebraic equation?"
"Isolate the variable," Mulder replied.
Deep Throat walked over to the bed and pointed to Scully. "Your variable."
"Cut the crap and just tell me," Mulder said angrily. He was in no mood for
mind games tonight. Tonight he just wanted answers.
"Don't you see? *How* do you isolate the variable?" Deep Throat paused,
then answered his own question. "By canceling out the other factors." He
picked up the vial, the blue liquid sloshing around. "Your factor."
Deep Throat's earlier explanation was beginning to make sense. "So you're
saying we have to use the contents of that vial to 'cancel out' the drug
that's already in Scully." It was a terrifying prospect, and not one that
Mulder wanted to consider.
"Why do you think it was so important to get this?" Deep Throat asked,
holding up the vial.
"You knew," Mulder said dully. "You knew we'd need it."
"I suspected as much, yes. Even if Scully hadn't shown any side effects we
still would have needed it. To destroy it."
Mulder looked down again at Scully, sleeping a dreamless, sedative-induced
sleep. She was dependent on him to save her, and God help him, he didn't
know if he could.
"Will it work?" He couldn't look up as he said it.
"Yes, it should. As I told you, I don't think this dosage will be enough.
Scully is small enough that it may work, but the times I have seen it used
successfully required a larger dosage than this."
Mulder was silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke his voice was
hoarse. "I need some time to think about this."
Deep Throat nodded. "I'll be downstairs." He left, closing the door softly
behind him.
After he was gone Mulder sat still, watching Scully's even breathing.
Eventually he raised his eyes and gazed at the vial lying on the nightstand.
Did he dare do this to Scully? Did he have the courage *not* to?
He obviously could not sit back and do nothing. Without intervention
Scully's psychosis would only grow, until she was spending the rest of her
days in a padded cell, in a drugged stupor. So something had to be done.
The question was: what was the right thing to do?
If the amount contained in the vial was not enough, he would single-handedly
be responsible for sending Scully over the edge, into insanity. Thre was no
way could he live with *that* on his conscience, no way he could even see
living at all if that happened. If Scully woke up screaming, he would..he
would...best to not think about that.
Yet, if it worked...The nightmare would be over, and there would be no
lasting side effects, except for whatever horrors would haunt their sleep at
night. Mulder knew he would never forget the look of terror and confusion
on Scully's face when she had realized she'd shot him, but he would gladly
see that face over and over again in his nightmares if it meant having her
back again.
He closed his eyes in defeat. There really was no choice. He simply could
not deny Scully the one chance she had.
When Deep Throat came back some time later, Mulder only looked at him and
nodded.
****
They talked quietly while they waited for her to wake up. Mulder had
convinced Skinner to leave the safe house unguarded, so as not to attract
any unwanted attention. Any visitors were forbidden, and communications
were to be kept to a minimum. They had been guaranteed an unlimited time
here, but if all worked out, Mulder thought by morning they would be gone.
They talked of inconsequential things: the basketball season, the weather,
the OJ trial. Nothing serious. Until Mulder finally pointed to the
now-empty vial and asked, "What happens now?"
Deep Throat did not pretend to misunderstand him. "I report that the drug
has been destroyed. You and Scully go on being a thorn in our side. Life
goes on."
Mulder stared at him for a minute. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
Deep Throat gave him a strange look, then he chuckled. "Contrary to your
beliefs, Mr. Mulder, not everything revolves around you and the X-Files."
Mulder sat up so sharply he gasped in pain and fell back against the chair.
"Dammit!" he panted. "You know that's not what I meant."
The older man stopped smiling. "Yes, I know. But what do you want me to
say? I can't see the future, any more than you can. But yes, I do believe
that is what will happen."
"In other words, nothing."
Deep Throat nodded. "Did you expect any different?"
Mulder sighed. "Just once, to have some evidence..." He didn't bother
finishing the sentence.
"You might want to consider how well-off you are *not* having any evidence,
Mr. Mulder," Deep Throat said, with a significant look.
Mulder ignored that comment and looked at Scully. His heart leaped in his
chest when he saw her eyelids moving. A veteran of many hospital stays, he
knew that was a sign of returning consciousness.
Deep Throat saw it, too, and he moved back, where Scully would not be able
to see him. Mulder leaned forward with a wince, and took Scully's limp hand
in his. He squeezed it softly and called her name.
Blue eyes slowly fluttered open and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Scully?
Can you hear me?" He pressed her hand again.
Her hand moved in his, and her head slowly turned. She blinked rapidly,
trying to focus her eyes. Mulder felt a cautious hope. If she had not
tried to pull away yet, it could mean she was all right. Or it could simply
mean she was still too out of it to do anything.
"Mulder?" Her voice was a thin whisper, but there was no hiding the
incredulous look in those blue eyes. "I thought--"
He gave her a small smile. "Can't keep me down for long, Scully. You ought
to know that by now."
Instead of smiling back a stricken look crossed her face. "Oh, God. I
hoped it was just a dream, or a..a..."
"Hey, it's okay. You're okay now," he said gently. "Everything's all right
now."
Scully's head moved as she tried to see where she was. Tired by just that
simple action, her eyes slid closed again.
"Get some sleep, Scully. We can talk later," he told her.
She nodded, a barely perceptible movement, then was asleep.
Mulder reached up and stroked her cheek, feeling bold enough to touch her
now that she was asleep. The tears in his eyes belied the joyous smile on
his face.
****
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg.
Feb. 7, 1997
7:45 a.m.
Her heels clicked loudly as Dana Scully walked down the hall to her basement
office. Skinner had told her to take as much time as she needed, but after
a week of talk shows and soap operas, she had had enough. It was time to
come back to work.
Light showed under the crack at the bottom of the door and she shook her
head. After taking her home from the safe house Mulder had reluctantly
allowed himself to be re-admitted to the hospital. The wound in his side
had been stitched up again and after two days of putting up with his
complaining, they had released him on the fourth of February. He'd spent
the weekend supposedly resting, as she had done.
She wasn't surprised to find him here, but felt slightly disconcerted. She
had not seen him since February first, the day she'd left the safe house.
Time enough to formulate the necessary apologies, to erect the emotional
barriers again, but she was still hesitant to enter the office.
Her musings were interrupted as the door suddenly swung open, and Mulder
strode out, coffee cup in hand. He stopped when he saw her, and for a
moment they stared at each other. Then he smiled. "Welcome back, Annie Oakley."
She frowned, but could not keep the stern expression, and burst into
laughter. She went into the office and put down her briefcase at her desk,
then took a long look around.
During her week at home, she had thought long and hard about her life, about
her job, about everything. She had almost lost it all due to this job, but
perversely, it was the connections made because of the X-Files that had
saved her. Without Deep Throat, and, to a lesser degree, Cancerman, she
would surely be in a padded cell by now. If she had ever had thoughts of
leaving the X-Files, they were gone now. How could she possibly leave this
all behind and never learn the truth? More importantly, how could she ever
leave Mulder?
A noise behind her made her turn around. The object of her thoughts stood
in the doorway, coffee cup in hand, a quizzical look on his face. She made
an all-encompassing gesture. "It's just nice to be back."
He smiled. "It's nice to have you back." He walked over to his desk and put
the cup down, balancing it precariously on a stack of file folders. He
grabbed one up from his desk and came over to her. "Now that I have you
back, let's see if I can't interest you in *this*, Agent Scully."
She took the file with a small smile. It was nice to know some things
didn't change.
****
W. 46th St.
New York City
Feb. 7, 1997
"Do you believe him?"
"Of course I do," came the answer. Smoke wreathed the man's head, and he
stubbed out his latest cigarette.
"I would like to keep Agent Scully under surveillance to determine if she
really is cured," rasped a bulky man. All eyes swung to him when he spoke.
"If she is not, we may need to bring her in again."
Heads nodded. Another man spoke, one with a clipped British accent. "Your
man claims there is none of the original material left?"
The smoking man nodded. "So he says. That will have to be determined, of
course."
The elegant gentleman nodded grimly. "Yes, just be sure to do it quietly."
"Don't I always?" the smoker said, with a hint of humor.
"This could have been very serious," said the man clearly in charge. His
husky voice showed he was not amused. "We need to take precautions against
this ever happening again."
Heads nodded.
"Well," said the smoking man, standing up. "I'll get right on it." He took
his pack of cigarettes and lit one, then inhaled deeply. With a thin smile,
he left the room.
****
FINIS
NOTES: August 9, 1998. Wow. Hard to believe how things have changed.
This trilogy of stories was my very first foray into fanfiction. Doesn't
show, does it? :-) Anyway. I hope you've enjoyed these stories. Write me
with comments, questions, "My, how you've changed!" letters, and anything
else at: rrusnak@Lconn.com
-- Rebecca