Date: Thu, 16 Oct 1997 13:19:06 -0500
From: Lydia Bower 
Subject: Primal Sympathy by Lydia Bower 1/14

TITLE: Primal Sympathy
AUTHOR: Lydia Bower 
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, so long as the story remains in its entirety and my
name is not removed.
SPOILERS: You bet! Everything up to and including Gethsemane.
RATING: R for language and content.
CLASSIFICATION: XRA, MSR
SUMMARY: In order to find a cure for Scully's cancer, Mulder fakes his own
death without her knowledge. Once reunited, they embark on a journey of
discovery that may end up costing them their lives.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Can be found following the epilogue.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: This one is for the Primal Screamers over on AOL. Without
your support, generous feedback and tough questions, this story never would
have seen the light of day. And most especially to Mel Mooney, who really is
my muse's best friend. You ladies are the greatest! Thanks for your patience. :)
FEEDBACK: Yes, please. All comments are welcome and will be answered.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. Neither do Skinner, Mrs.
Scully, Mrs. Mulder, Cancer Man, the Well-Manicured Man, The Lone Gunmen,
Dr. Scanlon, Michael Kritschgau, Babcock, Arlinsky, or the Kurt Crawford
hybrids. They are all the creation and property of Chris Carter, 1013
Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended, nor is any
money being exchanged. On a side-note, even though the Crawford hybrids are
CC's brainchild, George belongs to me, and I'll fight anybody who claims
otherwise. The poem excerpt found in Chapter 1 is from William Wordsworth's
"Ode: Intimations of Immortality" and is used without permission but with
much respect and admiration.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Primal Sympathy
Chapter One

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
APRIL 26, 1997
12:43 AM

     The decision to end my life is an easy one. It's the following through with
it that's proving to be a bitch.
     But there is no other choice. It's time to pull the ace from my sleeve.
Save a life. Break a heart.
     I don't cry for myself this time. I've shed enough selfish tears. And
anyway, it's not like I had a sterling reputation to begin with.
     It's her I cry for. For what she'll have to go through. For what she's
already suffered. For what she'll believe. Not yet knowing it's just another
lie; another in an endless line of them going back more years than we've
been alive.
     I cry for her. Die for her.
     Ah, Scully. If there was any other way....
     It's all been set in motion. There's no going back. There's nothing to do
now but wait. And think. I tabulate regrets as the minutes tick by. So many
of them.
     It's been a dark ride.
     And now I'm facing the prospect of my suicide. Seems like a fitting end,
right about now. I'm sure a lot of people will find some humor in what they
consider the inevitability of it. Fuck them all. They have no idea. I'm
stronger than that.
     They say suicide is the act of a coward.
     Not this time. This one's going to take balls.
     No problem. A desperate man is a dangerous man.
     There's nothing left to lose but my life. And it's a fair trade to give
mine up in order to save hers.
     The ringing phone startles me. And I already know it's Scully calling
again; taking care of unfinished business. The first message she left was
brief and factual; telling me that Kritschgau is being hidden away. Pampered
and coddled and encouraged to spill more of his lies; their lies. She
actually used the word "safe."
     "He's somewhere safe, Mulder."
     There is no safety, Scully. Haven't you figured that out yet? It's all an
illusion.
     There's a small pause between my recorded message and her voice. "Mulder,
it's me." She sounds tired and unhappy. "If you're there, pick up. Please."
Her sigh is loud--even over the voices coming from the TV. "Mulder... What I
said to you in the warehouse, about my cancer... I just wanted to say I'm
sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you."
     Why not, Scully? You shouldn't ever apologize for the truth. And what
Kritschgau said about your cancer, what he told you, stems from the truth.
The only halfway true statement amidst all the lies.
     "They gave me this disease to make you believe."
     Oh, Scully, I already believed. They didn't do this to you to convince me.
They did it to keep me in line.
     "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning, Mulder. Try to get some sleep."
     I listen as she disconnects and the tape stops. The light on the machine
resumes its steady blinking.
     I think back on her words and I know it's not so much what she said to me
in the warehouse, but how she said it. Because she believes--finally and
irrevocably.
     In Scully's mind, I am the cause. It's because of me that she's dying.
     Welcome to the small but select club of one, Scully. The one who's always
known that.
     The truth is the truth. And I guess it doesn't much matter how we come to
believe it. Whether, in Scully's case, it's packaged neatly and handed to
her with a pretty bow, presented in such a way that she has no choice but to
believe. Or if, as in my case, it's a by-product of my tenacious search for
answers. The result being her disease. A punishment for my obsession.
     Either way, she's dying. And it's my fault.
     The sound of a car door slamming brings me to the window. My future, my
death stands below me, bathed in the light of a street lamp. He chooses that
moment to look up at me. Our eyes lock and hold.
     Does he know and understand the part he'll play? Can he process the facts,
reach the conclusions? If given a choice, is this what he'd choose?
     All for the greater good. How many have died in this noble pursuit of the
truth? Nameless. Faceless. Countless.
     I head for the door, knowing his entrance to the apartment must be made
without sound. No knocking which might draw someone to a peephole to witness
this next step in the plan.
     I'm stopped by my reflection in a mirror. I pause and study the face of a
dead man. Tear-streaked cheeks, red-rimmed eyes. Haunted. Driven.
     As much as I hate what's about to happen, what I have to do, there's no
small measure of relief in finally putting the scheme in motion. For so long
it's been nothing more than a last resort. A fiendish plan cooked up during
long nights of introspection. And from a desperate desire to do whatever has
to be done to save her. Some part of me hoped it would never come to this.
Another knew it was inevitable. Reaching this point is both burden and relief.
     I open the door and face the man who's become our greatest enemy.
     Forgive me, Scully. I do this for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
APRIL 29, 1997
3:17 PM

     The first step into his apartment is also nearly my last.
     I didn't realize how hard this would be. I thought the first time would be
the worst. I was wrong. The second time is just as bad.
     All my senses are wide open and the assault is almost enough to bring me to
my knees. This place is fundamentally Mulder. Everything, every object I
see, reeks of him; as though his uniqueness has permeated all his
belongings. As though it seeps down from the walls and drifts up from the
floors.
     I stagger at the entrance and tightly clutch the ceramic urn to my breast.
     For God's sake, Dana, don't spill his ashes on the floor.
     And I can see him so clearly now. A lop-sided grin on his face. A smart-ass
remark flowing from his mouth as easy as breathing.
     Oh God. Please let me wake up from this nightmare.
     Carefully placing the urn on the table nearest the door, I walk unsteadily
into the living room. The thought of sitting on the couch is quickly
rejected. I sit in the club chair by his desk instead.
     I don't know what will become of this place now, or where all his
possessions will finally end up. Mulder didn't leave any kind of legal will.
Instead, I found a file in his computer directory the day after his suicide,
aptly named death.doc. It contained nothing more than his request that he be
cremated and his ashes given to me to "Do with whatever you want, Scully. I
trust you to do the right thing."
     The right thing.
     I don't know what that is anymore. All I can be certain of is that
everything feels wrong now. It's as though someone has tipped the world on
its axis just enough to set everything off-kilter. The earth stills turns,
but nothing is the same. My balance is gone.
     How much of this is my fault? 
     Oh, you can label this all yours, a little voice whispers back. You can
spend the rest of your days taking the blame for his death.
     I have the ashes. I suppose all I'm missing now is the sackcloth.
     I saw the way his mother looked at me today at his memorial service. She
blames me, too. Even though she has no way of knowing what happened that
night. Or the words we exchanged. She wasn't there to see the light in his
eyes snuffed out in an instant--the result of my proclamation of his guilt.
     We studied each other warily during the entire service. And she broke the
contact between us often enough that I know she bears her own share of
guilt. The secrets she holds so closely are yet another truth her son will
never uncover now.
     She approached me after the service and pulled me aside. She had a request.
I suppose it shouldn't have shocked me. After all, she'd been completely
unable to make any of the arrangements. It all fell into my lap. From
picking out the urn to deciding on the memorial chapel to selecting the music.
     And now she wants me to go through his things and do with them what I see fit.
     It's no wonder I feel like a widow.
     I don't have to do this right now. Mulder was more than prompt with his
rent. It's paid through the end of June. And I have the rest of my life to
get it done. Skinner placed me on involuntary open-ended medical leave the
morning after Mulder's death. And then he sent me in to face the lions by
myself. Bastard. I thought we could trust him.
     Upside down. Inside out. My life doesn't feel like mine anymore. This
cannot be my reality. It's too painful.
     This is the one thing I never would have expected Mulder to do. He was
always so strong; such a fighter. I've never known anyone as determined as
Mulder. Even after years of working by his side, his passion and intensity
still amazed me.
     Damn it, Mulder. Why did you have to do this?
     Be honest, Dana. You know why.
     Okay. I know why he did it. I know the cause. And I can't afford to deny it
any longer. It was because I blamed him for my illness all along. It didn't
matter that he had no direct hand in my abduction and its aftermath. Or in
the cause and onset of the cancer. Some small part of me blamed him. Because
if it hadn't been for Spooky Mulder, none of this would have happened to me.
And he knew that, had accepted it. Could handle it so long as it remained
unspoken.
     He might be alive now if I hadn't lost control. If I hadn't let my anger at
his unrelenting belief in the existence of extraterrestrial life force my
hand. If I'd've been able to stop the accusation that spewed from my mouth
like bitter poison.
     If only.
     "They gave me this disease to make you believe."
     Oh yeah. That was the ribbon that tied up the whole package for him. That,
he believed. None of the rest of it. There was no uncertainty in his eyes
when he'd looked up at me after hearing Kritschgau's story. No wavering when
he'd announced, "This man is a liar."
     It wasn't until I confirmed the fear I knew he secretly held that the
events of his death were set in motion. I may as well have handed him the gun.
     You're not getting anything done here, Dana. It's time to put the grief
aside and take care of business.
     The X-Files division has been shut down. The word came from Skinner
yesterday in the form of a tense phone call. At least he was kind enough not
break the news to me at the memorial service. Not that it matters much
anyway. The X-Files were Mulder's life, not mine. It's only fitting that
they be put to rest with him.
     Skinner asked me to go through Mulder's desk and collect any files he may
have brought home with him. And after I've cleaned out my area in the
basement, everything will be boxed up and stored away somewhere. Back from
whence they came. Five years worth of work. Countless leads, possibilities
and conjectures. All forgotten, all dismissed. Most of it lies.
     I'm glad Mulder's not here to see it happen. It would break his heart.
     I shuffle papers and books around, looking for distinctive red and white
X-Files among the ordered confusion of Mulder's desk. A book lies open and
face down, noticeable only because it's not stacked with the others. Not
entirely unusual, but enough to make me curious. Was this something he was
reading that night?
     I glance at the spine.
     Immortal Poems of the English Language
     A holdover from his days at Oxford? I've never known Mulder to lose himself
in poetry unless it's related to an X-File. I flip the book over and my
heart skips a beat. A section has been highlighted in blue. My color. The
color Mulder uses to draw my attention to certain forensic or scientific
data contained in the X-Files. Yellow for Mulder. Blue for me. A system we
worked out years ago. 
     Was this book here when I checked his computer and the answering machine a
few days ago? I can't remember. But it must have been. I back up until I
feel the seat of the chair bump my knees. Settling in, I read the passage
he's marked.

     What though the radiance which was once so bright
     Be now forever taken from my sight,
     Though nothing can bring back the hour
     Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
     We will grieve not, rather find
     Strength in what remains behind;
     In the primal sympathy
     Which having been must ever be;
     In the soothing thoughts that spring
     Out of human suffering;
     In the faith that looks through death

     Was this meant for me to see? Am I looking at Mulder's version of a suicide
note; this message his last communication with me? Then again, it could be
something he marked years ago. Something that struck a chord in him that he
wanted to make easy to find.
     But why was it opened and laid on the desk? It's almost as though it were
on display. Set there to be noticed only by someone who understood the way
Mulder's mind worked.
     What do I take from these words?
     Even in death, Mulder continues to taunt me with his innate love of the
game. Of springing things on me. Delivering the most incredible of tales in
his soothing monotone and then waiting for my reaction. His eyes bright and
full of mirth.
     Damn you, Mulder, for doing this to me now.
     Agent Scully steps in, wanting to know just exactly when would be a good
time for him to blow his brains out.
     Oh, but that's easy one. After my death, of course. Not before. Not when
I'm busy dying.
     He always was a selfish bastard. Always putting his needs before anyone
else's. Nothing else mattered but finding the truth. And then when it's
right there in front of him, close enough to touch, he rejects it. Walks away.
     The truth is not like ice cream, Mulder. You can't pick your flavor. And
it's unacceptable to take your life if you find you don't like it.
     A flash of raw anger takes me by surprise. Of all the things I expected to
feel right now, anger is not one of them. But it's there, simmering just
below the surface. Making itself known to me. And it's not just directed at
Mulder. Oh, no. There's more than enough to go around.
     I hate the men who've done this to us. The men behind the lies. Ultimately,
they are the ones responsible for everything that's happened.
     Mulder and I were fools, both of us, to think we could bring down an
organization that operates outside the norm. A syndicate abiding by its own
laws; yet remaining a part of the same government sworn to protect its
citizens.
     This is the government I believed in. Trusted. Swore to uphold and defend.
I foolishly believed I could make a difference. That I could mete out
justice for the victims of countless crimes.
     The cost of my naivet=E9 is high. The price I will pay, that Mulder has
already paid, is nothing less than my life.
     The trilling of my cell phone startles me. I look up from the book. The
waning rays of sunlight through the windows is an indication of the time
I've spent submerged in dismal thoughts. More time lost. I know I should
care. I don't. I haven't the energy.
     "Scully."
     "Agent Scully. It's Skinner. We need to talk. Can we meet?" His voice is tight.
     "What is it, sir?" I can't hold back the sigh that escapes me. I'm tired. I
don't want to do this anymore. I just don't care.
     "I realize you're no longer on active duty." And whose fault is that? I
question silently. "But something's come up that I thought you should know
about."
     I can't even work up the curiosity to ask. The silence stretches.
     "Michael Kritschgau has disappeared from the safe house. There's no sign of
him anywhere," he announces.
     Is he taken aback by my short burst of laughter?
     "I'm not surprised," I tell Skinner. "That's just par for the course, isn't
it?"=09
     "Agent Scully, you realize this may have an impact on of the events of the
last few days."
     Has he always been this circumspect? Yes, I guess he has. Even when there's
no longer a need.
     "I don't see why, sir. Mulder is still dead. The X-Files division has been
shut down. Whether that's the correct decision or not remains to be seen.
But it's only fitting under the circumstances."
     "Scully--"
     "And I'm dying. It doesn't matter anymore. Just let it rest, sir. Let him
rest."
     All his life, all Mulder wanted was the truth. I remember what he said to
me that dark night in his family's summer home; blood leaking from a small
hole in his head. "I'm so tired. I want to know, Scully. I just want to know."
     But I don't think he did. Not really. Turns out he couldn't handle it. So
why does the thought of Spooky Mulder putting a gun to his head and pulling
the trigger feel so very wrong?
     Because I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. It's easy to look
back on the last year and spot the danger signals. Maybe I didn't want to
see them. Maybe I didn't care enough.
     "Scully? Agent Scully! Are you all right?" I shake loose the memories and
focus on Skinner's voice. I've drifted off again.
     I make a fist of my free hand. The pain of my nails biting into the soft
flesh of my palm keeps me anchored. "Yeah... Yeah. I'm fine."
     He barks it out like an order. "Agent Scully, where are you?"
     "I'm, um," I lean my head back and close my eyes. Tired. So tired. "I'm at
Mulder's."
     "I'll be right there."
     "Sir, that's not nec--" I hear the click of the receiver. He's hung up. I
feel the warm trickle of blood as I slip the phone back into my pocket. I
swipe it away from my nose with the back of my hand. I suppose I should get
up and get a tissue. I haven't the strength.
     It doesn't matter anymore. Just let me sit here and rest awhile. A little
more blood spilled won't make much difference.
     I'm dying anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 1/14 


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Two
      
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA     
APRIL 30, 1997
10:13 AM

     Kurt Crawford held the phone out to the man standing at the other side of
the room. After handing it over, he turned his attention back to the
computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. Fox Mulder's heart rate sped
up as he put the phone to his ear. There was only one person who had this
number. And that person wasn't the someone he really wanted to talk to. It
could only be bad news. His greeting was hardly more than a grunt. 
     "Agent Scully was admitted to Georgetown University Hospital last night."
The voice on the other end was low and intense.
     Not so soon, he thought. Not yet. Mulder's eyes slid shut. "Tell me."
     "I found her unconscious in your apartment. Her preliminary diagnosis was
exhaustion, dehydration and borderline malnutrition. They're keeping her
through today, possibly longer. Her oncologist did another scan this morning
and wants to wait for the results before he releases her."
     Mulder felt his knees grow weak and leaned heavily against the desk.
Dehydration. Exhaustion. Malnutrition. Each word was like a blow. Each a
silent accusation. He'd known it was bad--he just hadn't known how bad. The
shared meals that'd become a habit over the last five years had been far and
few between lately. He couldn't remember the last time he and Scully had
hashed out a case over a pepperoni pizza or take-out Chinese. And when was
the last time he'd seen her down more than a cup of coffee? When had he last
seen her that dark circles hadn't hung under her eyes like bruises? He
couldn't remember.
     Nor could he remember the last time he'd asked her how she was doing. He'd
stopped asking. He hadn't liked the answer he'd kept getting.
     "I'm fine, Mulder."
     Part of him savored and instantly justified the hot thread of undirected
anger that moved through him. And then it found its target with the caller's
next words. "You're lucky you're too far away to get my hands on you,
Mulder. How could you stand by and let it get to this point?"
     "What the hell did you expect me to do?" he asked as he stood up straight,
unconsciously taking up the defensive posture he'd assumed so many times
with this man. "Tie her down and force-feed her? Put sleeping pills in her
water?"
     "She's your partner, goddamn it!" Walter Skinner burst out. "And I was
under the impression Scully means a lot more to you than that simple word
conveys. What happened to doing what's best for her? I thought that was the
point of all this. Malnutrition takes a lot longer than three days, Agent
Mulder."
     Mulder clinched his jaw and tried to stop the series of ugly tremors that
ran through him. Part of him was vaguely bemused that Skinner could ream him
out just as well over the phone as he could in person. He realized that much
of Skinner's anger was justified. But then again, so was his own. "And what
kind of answer did *you* get the last time you asked Scully how she was
doing?"  
     Skinner's long silence was all the proof Mulder needed. His point had been
made. Skinner's tone was less sharp with his next question. "How close are we?"
     Mulder sighed heavily. "The results on the latest tests of the formula are
being downloaded right now. They'll have to be analyzed. I should know
something definite by tonight." He glanced over at Crawford for affirmation
and caught the man's nod. "What about things on your end?"
     "Just a small glitch," Skinner told him. "But nothing that effects the
basic plan. Kritschgau's disappeared."
     "I'm not surprised," Mulder told him, not entirely displeased. "He'll most
likely turn up somewhere with a bullet in his head--if he turns up at all.
That's the way these men do business. He completed his job as ordered. That
makes him expendable." 
     "Agent Scully had much the same response to the news. Though for different
reasons."
     "Yeah, well, see what being partnered with me can do for you? Need a good
dose of constant failure? Work with Spooky Mulder for a few years." He knew
he was whining, but couldn't stop himself. He was so tired he'd gone past
punchy and was quickly reaching downright psychotic. 
     "I'm not much in the mood for your petulance right now, Agent Mulder,"
Skinner snapped. "What do you want me to do about Scully?"
     Mulder worried the stubble on his chin with a thumb and forefinger, trying
to gather his thoughts. It was like trying to capture smoke in his hand. "Is
her mom with her?"
     "Yes. She drove in first thing this morning." 
     "Good. Maggie'll keep her in line for a few days, at least. I'm pretty sure
I'll be able to make my move within a week. Two at the max."
     Skinner was quiet for a long while. "Let's hope Scully can hold out that
long. She's in bad shape, Mulder. Ever since that morning--"
     "I know," he quickly interjected. I can't hear this, he thought. Not now.
Not if I'm planning on holding my shit together. "I'm doing everything I
can. We're working as quickly as possible. It's not easy to pull a miracle
out of my hat, even after months of planning."
     Skinner said, "Well, maybe when she finds out you're alive she'll regain a
little of her fighting spirit."
     Mulder remarked wryly, "Yeah. At least long enough to rip me a new asshole."
     Had to give Skinner credit. The man tried to muffle his snort of laughter.
"I certainly wouldn't want to be in your shoes when she finds out you're
behind all this and didn't bother to tell her. But you do whatever it takes,
Mulder. Whatever it takes."
     Mulder couldn't resist reminding him, "Don't forget. She's not going to be
very happy with you, either." He paused. "You'll keep in touch?" 
     "Any developments, you'll be the first to know."
     Mulder forced the words past the defenses that years of wariness and
distrust had built in him. "Sir? Thank you. For everything."
     "Just find the answers we need, Mulder. That'll be thanks enough. All the
other bullshit can be sorted out after Scully's healthy again."
     Mulder's reply was a whispered prayer meant only for himself. He mumbled,
"Yeah, I hope so," and hung up the phone.
     He turned and looked over at Crawford. His open, honest face was turned
toward the computer monitor in front of him. But Mulder could feel the
unspoken questions hanging in the air. "We're running out of time," he told
the young man. "Scully's in Georgetown University. Doesn't seem to be
directly related to the cancer, but we need to find out. Can you get back
into their computers?"
     "Shouldn't be a problem. The clipper chip you brought us will get us into
just about any mainframe we need to access."
     Mulder nodded, deep in thought. "While you're in there, pull up and copy
everything in her file; not just the stuff from her oncologist. It's about
time I find out the whole picture." 
     God, Mulder. Just completely invade her privacy, he rebuked himself. What
the hell. She's gonna hate me before this whole thing is over with anyway.
Might as well go for broke.
     The hurt little boy in him tried to defend his actions. If she'd have been
honest with him all along, he wouldn't have had to do this. And he'd tried.
Tried to get her to open up to him and accept his support. Fat lot of good
it did him. Scully had just continued to retreat further behind the wall
she'd slowly built up.
     He could feel Crawford's eyes on him and looked over. "What?"
     "You should try to get some sleep, Agent Mulder. You haven't slept more
than an hour or two at a time since you arrived."
     Great. Now I've got a baby-sitter.
     He gave Crawford his best pit-bull stare. He was half-tempted to tell him
to mind his own business. But there was something about the way Crawford had
voiced the unwanted advice that stopped him. The unique mixture of gentle
affection and concern made him ache. And that fact, combined with the
unforgettable eyes, the proud Roman nose, the coloring, was going a long way
towards convincing Mulder that the Crawford hybrids had more than a passing
acquaintance with Dana Scully's genes.
     He'd never asked. Didn't really want to know. He had enough to deal with
already. His reply was casual but wary. "You been appointed my nursemaid?"
     Crawford held his eyes for a moment before answering. "You'll be of no use
to us or to Agent Scully if you're not working at full capacity. It's widely
known that lack of sleep can cause--"
     "Yeah, yeah. I don't need the lecture. Heard it too many times before." He
softened his tone a bit. "Besides, I'm too wired to sleep. Maybe I'll take a
run. Try to wind down enough to catch a couple hours." He turned away and
walked across the narrow office to the room that'd become his new home.
     "Agent Mulder?"
     He swung around. "Yeah?"
     "Please stay within the buildings. It's not uncommon to get the occasional
visitor out here. We wouldn't want to take the chance of your being seen."
     "No problem." And it wasn't. The abandoned paper mill on the outskirts of
Allentown was a perfect base of operations for them. Stretching out over a
two block area, the mill had been gutted after it had been shut down during
the 70s. With the exception of the office suites, nothing remained but the
skeleton of the building. The largest area, the mill itself, ran the entire
two block length. More than enough room to take a run; as Mulder had
discovered when he'd explored the mill the morning after his arrival. All he
had to do was run in long, looping rectangles. Mulder figured he could just
think of it as an indoor track with corners. 
     He pushed open the door and stepped into what had once been the president's
office. He had no trouble picturing what it had been like when filled with
the appointments befitting a CEO. Now, some twenty years later, the room was
more than a little seedy. But it had a double bed he didn't use. A couch he
did. A small round table and three chairs, with his own computer setup. A
semi-comfortable recliner. A small color TV and a VCR. There was even a
decent-sized kitchenette and a private bath and shower off the room. All in
all, he had nothing to complain about. It was nicer than a lot of the motels
he and Scully had stayed in over the years. 
     He hated it.
     And why is that? he asked himself. Could it be because it has everything I
want, but not the one thing I need? Scully. She should be here.
     Ever since he'd arrived at the mill three nights ago, he'd found himself
swinging around at the slightest sound. Believing he'd turn and see her
standing there. With him. Where she belonged. She certainly shouldn't be in
a hospital, suffering from a raging case of self-neglect.
     He dug angrily through his duffel bag, searching for his shorts. The
thought of throttling Scully when he finally got his hands on her was
sounding pretty good. Although it would have been easy, not to mention very
in character, he refused to continue to blame himself for this latest
setback of hers. She was the one who'd given up and given in; not him. He'd
fought it tooth and nail when he'd caught glimpses that she might have
reached that point. Not that it had done him a whole lot of good. Scully had
left him adrift a long time ago. Emotionally abandoned and spiritually empty.
     Add to that her accusation of his blame in regards to her cancer, whether
true or not, and it might give a man reason to put a gun to his head. That
was certainly what Mulder hoped everyone thought.
     Not that his pain wasn't real. Not that her proclamation hadn't cut him to
the bone. It'd just turned out to be one of those strange moments in life
when everything seemed to converge on the same path at the same time. Mulder
had seen and lived the chaos that could result from that. The difference was
that this time, it had all worked out in his favor.
     Especially Michael Kritschgau. His appearance was unexpected and far too
providential to suit Mulder. But the line of bullshit he'd spoon-fed Scully
couldn't have been any better if Mulder had planned it himself. His story
had convinced Scully to willingly appear before their superiors, bearing
more than enough justification to end their work. And she had, in one fell
swoop, declared him a victim of the lies. And the X-Files division a lost
cause. 
     She had, in essence, taken herself out of the bigger picture. And his
suicide had removed any reason the Consortium may have had to suspect they
might continue their search for the truth. With his death came the death of
the X-Files. The destruction of their partnership. The termination of her
last reason to go on fighting.
     The one thing Mulder knew beyond a doubt was that the men behind the
cover-up, the men responsible for Scully's cancer, knew her very well. Knew
that his death would mean the end of her fight; even more so than the
closing down of the X-Files division. They'd known that with his death,
she'd stand up for him one more time and then quietly fade away and die. 
     A year ago he would never have believed Scully would give up their fight.
Six months ago he'd been awed by her strength and conviction when she'd
vowed to continue fighting despite her diagnosis. But the last few months
had ushered in a new Scully. A Scully who'd chosen to turn her back on
everything they'd seen and experienced in a desperate attempt to deny what
was happening to her, and why. Her waning skepticism had given way to
frantic disbelief. She'd turned the last five years into a lie in order to
maintain her sanity.
     And Kritschgau had handed her a believable explanation for her pain. On a
silver platter. Compliments of the Consortium.
     Mulder had to admit that the hoax might have been a damn sight harder to
pull off if it hadn't been for Kritschgau showing up. Not that he wouldn't
have put his plan into action anyway. As soon as Crawford had informed him
that Scully's cancer had metastasized into her bloodstream, he'd known the
time had come. All he'd been missing was the final blow that would offer a
reasonable enough explanation for his suicide. As painful as it was to
admit, the debacle surrounding the deaths of David and Amy Cassandra wasn't
all that out of the ordinary. Not for Spooky Mulder. Although it was the
first time he'd gone so far as to allow someone to drill holes in his head,
it wasn't the first time he'd ever tucked a gun under his chin. Or held one
to his head. Facts that Scully was well aware of. He'd needed an explanation
that went above and beyond any of his previous setbacks. And thanks to
Michael Kritschgau, and Scully's about-face, he'd found it. 
     Mulder wasn't above thanking whoever was in charge of these things for
giving him the motive. Then in the next breath he cursed that same source
for making it necessary in the first place. 
     And then he ran.
     Ran until he literally could run no more. He blocked out all awareness but
the slapping of his sneakers against the concrete floor. The rapid beating
of his heart and the heavy inhalation and release of breath. He ran until
even those most basic of awarenesses was gone. Stolen and replaced by the
shaky high he found in his exhaustion. He ran until the edges of his vision
began to blur and darken.
     He was finally forced to stop when his legs gave out on him. He fell to his
knees, ignoring the pain as he came down hard. He bent over at the waist and
folded in two, his chest resting on his thighs, arms tucked under him. 
     He prayed for unconsciousness to take him. Because Mulder knew the end of
his run meant the end of his unawareness. He didn't want to face the demons
that awaited his return to reality. Didn't want to think about all he and
Scully had lost and still stood to lose. 
     But down they came. Falling like hard, caustic rain upon his head.
Pummeling his body and soul with deadly precision.
     The regrets. The mistakes. The lost opportunities. The grief.
     He rolled onto his side, his legs pulled tight against his chest. He wept
in quiet, forlorn sobs; Scully's name falling from his lips like an
invocation. Over and over. As though saying her name would magically restore
her to him. 
     Fox Mulder was terrified of many things that afternoon. And Dana Scully's
cancer was the least of them. What terrified him the most was not that he
might lose her to death, but that she would leave him when she finally
understood what he'd had to do in order to save her. 
     He cried until there were no more tears left. Until nothing remained but
the dry husk of a man. And then he slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~      
             
     "Agent Mulder?"
     Cold. So cold.
     "Agent Mulder?"
     Mulder groaned and rolled over onto his back. The chill from the concrete
floor he lay upon had seeped into his bones and stiffened him tight. He
blinked foggy eyes and tried to focus on the face above him. 
     Fuck, it's cold. And why am I seeing double?
     He blinked again, rubbing his eyes as he rolled onto his knees. He craned
his neck to look up and his hand hurried to work the stiff muscles there.
Nope. Not seeing double. Two Kurt Crawfords stood in front of him, their
serene expressions perfectly matched.
     Mulder didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing more than one of them at a
time. It would have been a damned sight easier if he'd been able to find a
way to tell them apart. All eight of them. But it was impossible. They not
only looked alike, they *were* alike. It was almost as though they operated
with one central brain. Shared one personality. Talking to one was like
talking to them all.
     The Stepford Wives perfected, Mulder thought groggily, and took the hand
offered him by the hybrid on his left. The one wearing a light blue dress
shirt. 
     Okay. His nursemaid. Right. He'd have been totally screwed if they dressed
alike, too.  
     "How long have I been out?" he mumbled, once he regained his feet. The
quality of the light through the grimy windows and a glance at his watch
confirmed his suspicions. He'd been asleep nearly eight hours. Aside from
the stiffness already leaving his muscles, he felt pretty good. Rested.
Purged. And back on track.
     He glanced from one Crawford to the other. "We got anything yet?"
     The hybrids traded a look and Blueshirt answered, "How about some supper,
Agent Mulder? Are you hungry?"
     Yep. No doubt about it. That was a smug grin on his face. Rare for a
Crawford. Or a Scully, for that matter. 
     "What's goin' on?" Mulder asked. He didn't notice when he began to bounce
lightly on the balls of his feet.
     "The rest of the supplies are here. And we've got everything we need."
     "Everything?" Mulder repeated. His mouth suddenly felt like the Sahara
Desert had taken up residence there.
     "We have some promising results, Agent Mulder," Blueshirt confirmed. "We
need to talk."
     Mulder made an opened-arm gesture as his mouth jerked up in a smile. "Lead
on, gentlemen." He fell into step beside them. But it wasn't long before he
realized he'd left them behind. Apparently they didn't feel like trying to
keep up him. Funny, Scully never had that problem. He threw the hybrids a
jaunty wave and jogged the rest of the way back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 2/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Three

ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
MAY 4, 1997
8:32 PM

     Dana Scully closed the door behind her mother and leaned her weary but
relieved head against it. Alone. She was finally alone. She threw the
deadbolt and turned to look at the state of her apartment. The flower
arrangements would go first, she decided. The cloying odor of the half dozen
bouquets acquired during and after her hospital stay had managed to nauseate
her one too many times. With her mother gone, all pretense of appreciation
for them disappeared. Though artfully disguised as get-well bouquets, they
only served to remind Scully of her impending death. She would allow no more
reminders. They made her weak.
     She worked quickly, grabbing vases both tall and squat, carrying them into
the kitchen and dumping the contents of each into the trash. The cards
accompanying them joined the flowers at the bottom of the can. One from Bill
Jr. Another from Charlie and his wife. A third from her mother. Skinner had
come visiting with a potted tulip and a wealth of direct questions
concerning her health; and veiled ones concerning her state of mind. She'd
easily deflected those. A Venus flytrap from the Lone Gunmen had shown up
mysteriously on her doorstep the evening she'd been released from the hospital. 
     She disposed of each without thought. Her only goal to get them out of
sight. This was her home. She would not allow it to become a funeral parlor. 
     I'm not dead yet, damn it. 
     Quite a change from the woman of a week ago, she thought derisively. The
exhausted, under-fed shell of a woman had managed one last transformation
during her hospital stay. Yet again, Dana Scully had pulled herself up by
her bootstraps and vowed to die with some of her dignity remaining.
     As she left the kitchen and wandered aimlessly through her neat-as-a-pin
apartment, Scully absently pondered the source of her new-found strength.
She'd honestly thought it completely diminished by Mulder's death. Had said
her good-byes and made her peace. She'd accepted that the cancer coursing
through her body would win the battle. Had resigned herself to an agonizing,
ugly death.
     She'd awakened her second morning in the hospital, pulled from dreams of
Mulder, and had blinked against the blinding sunlight pouring through the
window. And she had, at that moment, experienced a flash of perfect clarity.
Her life's course these last five years had been dictated by men who
operated in shadows. Men who decided the fate of nations and doled out that
fate with no thought towards the victims their schemes created.
     They may have ultimately ruled her life. They would not dictate her death.
If she had to die for the truths she and Mulder had fought to uncover, than
it would be by a method of her own choosing. They had stolen her life. They
would not control her death.
     Mulder's suicide had begun to make sense to her. She thought she
understood, now, why he'd chosen the path he had. It wasn't simply because
of the words they'd exchanged. Or the thinly-veiled accusation she'd thrown
in his face. 
     Scully found herself rooting through her dresser, blindly searching under
the neat piles of underwear. Her fingertips brushed against the sharp edge
of the photograph and she pulled it out and studied it.
     Mulder. The only picture she had of him. The one she'd hidden away and
pulled out occasionally. Like a guilty pleasure. Something to be hoarded and
enjoyed privately, selfishly. 
     She caressed the image of his face with a gentle finger. Tracing his
profile. Memorizing it as she had every time she'd looked at it. Burning the
image a little deeper each time, until it was indelibly printed on her brain.
     Mulder had finally seen the role he'd played, understood it for what it
was. He'd been nothing more than a puppet, his life planned and orchestrated
by powers beyond his control. 
     Only his death belonged to him.
     It was a lesson Scully had taken to heart.
     She was oblivious of the tears streaming down her face. Gathering and
falling unheard and unfelt. A gentle rain.
     The picture had been taken during a field investigation a few years back. A
skinny boy of about ten or eleven had snapped Mulder's picture at a diner. A
small but tidy place they'd found off some dusty two-lane in the middle of
nowhere. The child was the son of the owner; liked to take pictures of the
people who stopped in for a quick meal or a cup of coffee. Row upon row of
photos were pinned up on the wall behind the counter. More were taped to the
cash register and the glass case it sat upon. Mulder hadn't noticed the
Polaroid being taken, but Scully had caught the flash and had ended up
giving the boy a five dollar bill in exchange for the photo. The transaction
had taken place while Mulder had visited the men's room.
     At the time, Scully had merely been curious enough to ask to see the photo.
She knew from experience that pictures of Mulder were rare things. He'd
hated having his picture taken. 
     But she'd kept it because of the way the image of Mulder whispered to her.
They'd been seated at a booth by the window, Mulder's face turned so only
his profile was shown. His eyes were focused on the long, empty road
outside. His hair was wind-blown, his sunglasses perched on top of his head.
He looked dream-stricken and thoughtful--a thousand miles away from where
they were and what they doing there. She had studied the photograph in the
small diner and known in an instant that she had to have it. 
     Dana Scully knew that all the answers she sought could be found in Mulder's
image, if she'd only learn how to see them. When she finally figured out
what was hidden there, she would know why she'd stayed with him. Why she'd
given her life over to this man and his crusade. 
     She caught a tiny glimpse of it now, and strained to capture the whole of
the answer. Her brow creased as she frowned at the photo; looking. Always
looking. 
     Another drawer was opened and her service weapon removed from its leather
holster. She carried it loosely by her side, shutting off lights behind her
and settling into the couch. She laid the gun on the coffee table and lifted
the photo. The only illumination in the apartment now came from the low
light above the kitchen sink. But it was sufficient to see his face, if she
looked hard enough. If she really tried.
     She would wait. She still had time. A few more days, at least. Time enough
to see the whole picture before she ushered herself into death and whatever
lay beyond.
     Give me the answer, Mulder. Tell me what I need to know. It's late and I
miss you so very much. Don't make me wait too long. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
MAY 5, 1997
2:42 AM

     Mulder had only one thought, and it kept running through his head like a
mantra: 
     Please let this key work.
     He'd never had occasion to use the one Scully had given him a few years
ago. Seemed like every time he'd needed to gain entrance, kicking in the
door had always been the most expedient method. There hadn't been time for
keys. 
     Now he fumbled outside her door. Hunched his shoulders further into his
jacket. Praying that no one living in the building decided to take a
middle-of-the-night trip to the peep-hole of their front door. He'd
unscrewed all the bulbs halfway down the hallway to her door, craving the
shadows they afforded him. As he slipped the key into the lock, his earlier
conversation with Skinner played through his head:
     "Have you lost your fucking mind, Mulder? You can't just go in there and
announce to her that you're not dead."
     "Done it before," he'd countered. 
     "It's out of the question! We've already discussed this. Look, I'll make
the arrangements to meet with her. I'll explain the situation and bring her
to you."
     "No. No way. It has to be me. I can't let her hear this from anyone else.
It has to come from me. I can convince her to do this, you can't. No way in
hell."
     "And what makes you so sure she'll listen to you?"
     "She will. She has to."
     "And if she doesn't?"
     "Then I'll gag her, hog-tie her, and carry her out of there over my shoulder."
     "Seriously, Mulder..."
     "I've never been more serious in my life, sir."
     And now he'd never been more frightened. Funny, he'd faced down every
variety of nightmare, human and otherwise, there was to confront. Had walked
willingly into situations most sane people would avoid at all costs. And yet
nothing had scared him quite so much as the thought of walking through her
door and facing Scully.
     His mouth was dry. His heart was doing a frenzied pitty-pat dance in his
chest. His breathing was rapid and shallow. Mulder slowly, quietly, turned
the knob in his hand and stepped through the door. He silently closed it
behind him. Grimaced as the snick of the deadbolt locking sounded abnormally
loud in his ears. He turned and leaned back against the door, shutting his
eyes and taking a deep breath before he opened them again.
     The apartment was bathed in shadows. The only illumination came from the
tiny light above Scully's kitchen sink. He did a quick scan of the kitchen
and living room, freezing as he spotted the small form on the couch. He took
another step forward and studied her.
     Scully was sleeping curled up on her side, an old blue and white checked
afghan covering her from her feet to just beneath her chin. One small hand
pillowed her cheek, the other was loosely fisted and tucked up under her
chin. Mulder felt something wrench loose in his chest. His eyes welled up
with sudden, unexpected tears.  
     God, I've missed you, Scully. So much.
     His eyes drank in the deeply hollowed cheeks, the finely sculpted nose, the
fullness of her slightly parted lips. Her skin looked transparent in the
soft light, paper thin and pale; stretched tight across the fine structure
of her face. Her hair lay like a dark cloud of fire around her head. 
     Had it only been a week since he'd last seen her? Mulder felt as if it'd
been an eternity. 
     His eyes drifted and stopped at the coffee table. He gave a puzzled tilt of
his head and quietly padded around the couch. Bending over, he took hold and
slowly lifted the prescription bottle from the table, careful to make
certain it wouldn't rattle. He squinted to read the label and recognized the
mild sedative. The bottle looked full, save for one or two. Mulder released
a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.
     Well, that explained Scully's deep sleep. She hadn't moved a bit since he'd
snuck in. 
     But the other item on the table was more troubling. Had she been frightened
by something and taken to keeping her gun unholstered and so close at hand?
He had no way of knowing if this was typical Scully. Somehow, he didn't
think so.
     So what's the gun for, hotshot? Are we looking at safety or despair here?
Mulder was intimately familiar with both.
     He slid a finger under the Polaroid and flipped it over. Now where the hell
had this come from? Mulder didn't remember it being taken. Weird. And,
combined with the gun, very troubling.
     Aw, Scully, what are you doing?
     His case of the nerves came back with a vengeance, racking his body with
their ferocity. His stomach suddenly became home to a large congregation of
butterflies. Fear flooded through him and propelled him towards the door.
     I can't do this. Skinner was right. I can't face her like this. This is
wrong. Absolutely wrong.
     He was reaching for the deadbolt latch when Scully began to stir behind
him. Though Mulder had experienced the fight or flight syndrome many times
in his life, the vibration it sent through his body still hit him like a
blow. He held his breath and watched over his shoulder as Scully rolled onto
her back, listened as she mumbled something quietly. He was aware he was
rocking back and forth on his feet. First one way, towards the door. And
then back. To Scully. 
     Fine example of decisiveness you are, Mulder. Jesus, it's just Scully. And
you need to do this. What's she gonna do, shoot you? Well, yeah, that
thought had crossed his mind. Okay, let's take care of that problem, he
proposed to himself. He started to turn back to the couch and was stopped
dead in his tracks by the voice that rang out.
     "Federal Agent. Put your hands up and step away from the door."
     How many times had he heard that voice say those words? His heart jumped
into his throat and he wanted to laugh in delight. That was insane enough.
But the fact that he knew Scully was looking at him down the barrel of her
gun, and it didn't concern him in the least, convinced Mulder he'd finally
earned himself a huggy coat. 
     He started to turn, a grin on his face. "Hey, Sc--."
     "I said put your hands up and step away from the door!" Mulder felt a swift
chill thread its way down his spine and turned back. Of course. She couldn't
know it was him. He was standing in the shadows. And she had to be foggy
from the sedatives she'd taken. Careful, he warned himself. He slowly lifted
his hands and did as he was told.
     "Who are you?" she snapped. Had to give her credit. Scully's voice was cold
as ice and without the slightest hint of fear. She had a gun. And she'd
shoot first and ask questions later. Mulder was certain of it. He heard the
sound of the couch shifting under her weight as she stood. And then the snap
of the table lamp being turned on. The room was bathed in light.
     "Turn around," Scully ordered. "Slowly." 
     And so he did. 
     Mulder would long remember the myriad emotions that passed over Scully's
face. During those first few moments, time seemed to grind to a screeching
halt. He read each emotion and had time to analyze it before it faded and
was replaced by another. 
     Somewhere in the middle was shock. And disbelief. And confusion. There was
a hint or two of what might have been dawning comprehension in there, as
well. But it was the first and last things he saw that would stay with him
forever. The first was indescribable joy. So sweet and so pure it tore at
his heart. The last was implacable, immutable anger. As only Scully could do it.
     "What is this?" she hissed. Her arms were held ramrod straight in front of
her, hands gripping her service weapon. Mulder caught the tiny tremble of
tension in her arms. He knew if he made one wrong move he'd end up with a
third eye. She was a very good shot.
     "Scully, it's me." 
     He watch a tiny crease appear between her brows and then disappear. The
fleeting expression was her only reaction to his words. And then her
features settled back into a cold, disbelieving mask.
     "You're dead," she calmly announced.
     Mulder slowly shook his head. "No." His heart was pounding in his chest.
It's me, Scully, he silently implored.
     She eyed him steadily. "I...I saw you. I identified your body." Her arms,
which seconds earlier had begun to lower, snapped back up. "Who the hell are
you? What are you?" 
     "It's me, Scully." Now that's original, Mulder. He began to stumble over
his words, anxious to get past this tense and dangerous stand-off. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Really. I...um, I was kinda hoping for
the wake-you-up-slowly scenario." He started to lower his hands. Jerked them
back up when Scully widened her shooter's stance. "But this is all right.
I... I can go with this instead. It's okay, Scully. Just...just put the gun
down and we can talk. I'll tell you everything you wanna know."
     "Shut up." She shook her head as if to clear it.
     "Scully, I know you really want to pull that trigger," Mulder didn't have
to pretend to plead with her. This was real. No more dress rehearsals, like
he'd been playing out in his head every waking minute of the last seven
days. It was time to talk the talk. "But you have to listen to me."
     "Shut up!" Her eyes were blazing cold blue fire. Her hair was tousled from
sleep, her breath coming fast and shallow, her cheeks flushing red. She'd
never looked more beautiful. "How do I know you're not one of them?"
     A shapeshifter. Of course. Scully'd had her share of encounters with those,
alien and otherwise. It was perfectly natural for her to assume he might not
be who he was. Mulder started digging through his brain for a way to prove
it to her. Snatched one up and said, "Ask me a question. Anything you want
to know. Anything I would know. Pick a case, an X-File."
     Scully's mouth went tight. "I'm not foolish enough to assume you couldn't
find a way to access any information you wanted. I know what you people do."
     "Okay, okay, you got a point." He licked dry lips. "Something personal,
then. Something just the two of us would know." 
     Mulder watched as her eyes narrowed. Scully was actually considering this
one. This could work. God, please let this work. "How about a conversation,"
he offered. "I can tell you what I bought you for your--"
     "What did you leave me with?" Scully cut him off abruptly.
     "What?"
     "What did you leave me with?" Each was word was distinct and clipped.
     Mulder ran the question through all the circuits and gears and couldn't
find a match anywhere. He drew a complete blank. The question had caught him
totally off-guard. Not a good thing to have happen right now. Not with a gun
pointed at his head. "Scully, I... I'm not sure I know what you're talking
about."
     "Then you're a dead man." 
     Mulder broke out in a cold sweat. He actually considered trying to get to
his own gun. For about a quarter of a second.
     Fuck that, he thought. I'd rather have her shoot me.
     He looked into her eyes and saw a grim uncertainty there. He didn't want to
disappoint her. Not ever again.
     "C'mon, Mulder," she goaded. "You're the one with the eidetic memory.
Surely you haven't forgotten already. What did you leave me with, you
son-of-a-bitch?"
     And then he knew. Just like that. The old proverbial light bulb went off in
his head and he opened his mouth and let the words flow out. Slowly. Clearly.
     "What though the radiance which was once so bright." He watched as Scully's
chin began to tremble. "Be now forever taken from my sight." Her stance was
wavering, her arms beginning to lower. Mulder slowly allowed his own to
drop. "Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of
glory in the flower." Her eyes grew shiny and moist. Mulder blinked back his
own sudden tears. "We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains
behind." He watched, vaguely puzzled, as Scully switched the gun from her
right to her left hand. She took a step towards him. And then another. "In
the primal sympathy," he recited, "which having been, must ever be."
     She closed the distance between them. Looked up at him as he trailed off.
Mulder held his breath and allowed himself a moment to drown in her eyes.
And then he saw it coming. He even had time to avoid it. But he didn't.
Scully snarled, "You bastard," and punched him squarely in the jaw. 
     Mulder was knocked backwards, dazedly impressed by the force behind her
punch. And then he stopped feeling anything. His head struck the edge of the
armoire by the door and the darkness swallowed him up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 3/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Four 

ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
MAY 5, 1997
3:00 AM

     I hope I killed him.
     That was Dana Scully's first thought when Mulder landed in pile at her
feet. The second--coming swiftly on the heels of the first--was:
     Oh my God. I've killed him.
     She ignored the small voice in her head that kept muttering he was already
dead, and had been for a week now. And that she was simply experiencing some
sort of waking dream.
     Scully laid her gun down and dropped to her knees, shifting into doctor
mode. Exploring the already rising knot on the back of his head with gentle,
probing fingers. Checking the pulse in his neck and finding it strong and
steady. Pulling the lids up and gazing into the clear, perfectly normal
hazel eyes. 
     He'd just knocked himself out.
     Good, Scully thought viciously. He deserves it, the bastard. 
     She stayed on her knees, staring down at him, her breath coming fast and
shallow. A cacophony began in her head; a hundred thoughts shifting and
colliding. Shrieks and whispers. Prayers and curses.
     Alive. He's alive. She bit back a slightly insane cackle, picturing
Frankenstein crowing over his monster.
     Mulder was alive. In one piece. And showing no outward sign of having
escaped after being whisked away by nefarious shadow men. He'd not been the
victim of a kidnapping. There'd been no elaborate plan carried out against
him by the men who held the truths they'd sought to uncover. 
     Dana Scully knew with absolute certainly that this had been Mulder's game
all along. No suicide. No last desperate act caused by anything she'd said
or done. No sudden realization that he'd been duped all his life. She
remembered Mulder's words to Arlinsky after the man had doubted the
possibility of a hoax surrounding the discovery of the alien body. A
conversation that'd taken place what seemed ages ago.
     "If you're going to do it, why not go all the way?"
     She squeezed her eyes shut against the realization. It had been nothing
more than another in a long line of ditches. Certainly more elaborate. More
carefully planned. But a ditch, none the less. I'm going to kill him, she
decided. And I'll make sure it's done right this time.
     So, Dana, a little voice chirped. If you're so furious with Mulder, why are
you touching him like this?
     It was true. She couldn't keep her hands off him. His hair, his lightly
stubbled face, his shoulders and chest and arms. She ran her fingers down
the line of his throat, stilled them at the hollow there. 
     Here. He was here. Alive, warm, solid under her hands. Her fingers lifted
and wove through his hair, pulling the wayward locks back, smoothing them
down. She bent low and took in a deep breath through her nose. Savored the
achingly familiar clean and tangy scent of him. Scully shifted and placed a
hand over his heart, felt its strong beat beneath her fingers. She ran her
other hand across his torso and down one leg and up the other. Whole.
Complete. Her Mulder.
     Goddamn him.
     And then Mulder moaned, his head rolling on his neck, his eyelids beginning
to flutter open. Scully jerked her hands away and shot to her feet, taking a
step back. She smoothed her hair and pulled her t-shirt back down over her
hips. Chewed her lower lip and then turned towards the kitchen. 
     She savagely cleared her mind of all thought. Became merely motion and
action. She pulled open the freezer door and grabbed two trays of ice cubes.
Dumping them into a ziplock bag, she snatched a dish towel from the counter
and wrapped the ice-filled bag inside it.
     She caught two or three more groans coming from behind her as she worked.
Heard the soft creak of his leather jacket as Mulder sat up. There was a
long, long stretch of silence. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. 
     "Hell of a right you got there, Scully." His tone was light and
conversational. There was a short pause and then, "It's nice to know you
missed me."
     She swung around, glaring at him. Was gratified by the way Mulder
instinctively scooted back on his ass, eyeing her warily. One hand went to
his jaw, the other began rubbing the back of his head. He looked bewildered.
Hurt. And so very beautiful her breath caught in her throat.
     Alive. He's alive. 
     Damn him.
     She forced her legs to move, carrying her until she stood looking down at
him. He tracked her the whole way, his eyes dark and piercing. She
wordlessly handed him the ice pack and waited till he reached up and took
it. Turning on her heel, she walked to the couch and carefully lowered
herself into it.
     Mulder lifted from the floor and trailed behind her, taking the chair
nearest the couch. He slumped back and gingerly alternated the ice-pack from
the back of his head to his jaw. Scully watched him, saying nothing.
Mulder's head was lowered, his eyes focused on the rug under his feet. She
waited until his eyes lifted to hers. 
     "Start talking," she told him.
     He gave a little nod of his head. "What do you wanna know?"
     "Everything. Right from the beginning."
     Mulder took that moment to glance down at his watch, and she was tempted to
leap to her feet and punch him again. "You got a hot date, Mulder? Am I
holding you up?"
     His eyes shot level with hers and locked. Scully wasn't entirely sure what
she saw there, but she knew she didn't like it. He actually looked irritated
with her. How dare he look at her like that. She opened her mouth to tell
him so and was cut off.
     "Look, Scully. I'll tell you everything, I promise. But not right now. I
need you to do something for me."
     She gaped at him, unable to believe he'd have to gall to shove her
questions aside and then make demands of her. 
     "We don't have a lot of time. I need you to go pack a bag. Just enough for
a day or two. We can get whatever else you might need later. We have to get
out of here before it gets light."
     Mulder stood up, as though his action alone would hurry her along. She
watched as he lifted his eyebrows at her. The look was so very familiar. And
so aggravating. How many times had he given her that "what are you waiting
for?" look. Expecting her to be a good girl and do as she'd been told.
Perhaps the better question, she asked herself, is how many times have I
gone along with his demands? Swallowed down my words and my feelings and
trailed behind him like an eager little puppy?
     But things had changed. She'd walked into his apartment a week ago and
looked down at the pale, bloody face of Fox Mulder. Had sat before a group
of men and women and declared him a victim; someone deserving of the grief
his death had caused. She'd planned his memorial service. Sat through it
tight-lipped and dry-eyed, determined not to let them see her cry. Had
collected up his ashes and gathered the shattered pieces of her heart. 
     She'd mourned for him as she had mourned no other. Not even her beloved
father and sister. She'd accepted her own death, and had welcomed it as
she'd welcome a lover's embrace. 
     Only hours ago, she'd been planning her suicide. 
     But now Mulder stood before her, tall and strong. Very much alive. And
apparently completely oblivious to anything but what he wanted her to do for
him. He stood there expecting her to follow his orders. Be the good little
FBI agent. 
     A fire filled her. Beginning in her head and swiftly flowing through her
veins; thick and hot like lava. It shocked her with its intensity; licking
at her like a thousand tiny flames. She brought a hand to her forehead,
cupping it, feeling her pulse beating close to the surface. 
     She only wondered at its strangeness for a few brief moments. She'd thought
it something alien and not connected to her at all. How long had it been
since she'd felt anything like it? 
     And then she knew it for what it was. Recognized and welcomed it. The
sudden rage continued to burn through her until it settled low and heavy in
her belly. And then she made a remarkable discovery. With the white-hot rage
came something else; something even more unexpected. A new-found awareness
of herself. A reconnecting to emotions she thought she'd bid good-bye. She
hadn't felt this alive in months. It was almost physically painful. 
     She cradled her head, taking slow, deep breaths. Waited for the turmoil
within her to reach a level she could begin to handle. And then Mulder
touched her wrist, murmuring, "Scully?"
     Her arm shot up and out, flicking his hand away like she would a pesky bug.
"Don't touch me."
     She glanced up at him and watched as he took a step back, shoving his hands
in the pockets of his jacket. "Are you okay?" 
     The laughter bubbled out of her with no warning. She kept her eyes on him,
her mouth spread in a toothy grin. Her eyes filled with bitter tears even as
she laughed.
     A look of confusion passed over Mulder's face before it settled into a
frown. He gave her a small tilt of his head and waited her out. Scully
angrily swiped away her tears as her laughter wound down to hiccups. "Oh
yeah, I'm just fucking fantastic, Mulder. Thanks for asking."
     He dropped down into a crouch before her and she covered her face with her
hands. She couldn't look at him. She was too busy shattering into a million
pieces. 
     "Aw, Scully...." She inwardly cringed against the sympathetic tone of his
words. Listened as he sighed low in his throat. "I know how hard this is for
you, but you have to believe me. I didn't have a choice. I had to do it this
way." He tentatively laid a hand on her knee. "We gotta go, Scully, before
we run out of time. I'll tell you everything," he pleaded. "I promise. You
just have to trust me. Look, I'll go get you packed. You stay here...and...."
     He trailed off as the warmth of his hand left her knee. She sensed when he
stood and turned toward her bedroom. Her hands fell, and without lifting her
head she announced, "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder. Not until I get some
answers."
     There was a long silence. His reply, when it came, was low and even. "We
don't have time for this right now."
     "I have all the time in the world. I have the rest of my life." She turned
her head to look up at him. His gaze was steady and resigned. He blinked
once, a slow blink. And waited.
     "Did you really think it was going to be that easy, Mulder?" she asked.
"You stroll in here a week after your death and announce that it was all
some kind of hoax, and you expect me to just do as I'm told?"
     Rigid. She was absolutely rigid with anger. It took all her control not to
start screaming. "Do you have any idea what the last week has been like;
what I've been through? I thought you were dead, Mulder. Dead. And, of
course, you left me to clean up the mess. To make everything right again. I
can't do it anymore, Mulder. I have no idea what this is about and, quite
frankly, I don't want to. I don't care. I'm not going to spend the last
weeks of my life blindly following you while you go on some wild goose
chase. I can't. I won't."
     Mulder stepped back to the couch and once more crouched down in front of
her. He dropped his eyes and took her hands in his, fingers curling around
her palms. He slowly rubbed his thumbs across the back of her hands and
lifted his eyes to hers. She saw gentle affection there, and something that
looked like hope.
     "You think I did all this because of some alien body that may or may not be
real?" He shook his head slowly. "Listen to me, Scully. I'm here because
I've found what we've been looking for. Scully, I've found the answers we
need to save you."
     She could only stare at him. His declaration ran through her head over and
over, until the words and their meaning blurred. 
     "What do you.... What are you saying?" Her tongue tripped over the words.
"A...cure?"
     Mulder nodded vigorously, a smile beginning to play at the corners of his
mouth. He squeezed her hands tightly. "We've found a way to fight the
cancer. We can make you well again. But you have to come with me." 
     She stuttered, "But...."
     "I'm trying to hand you a miracle, Dana. Are you going to turn your back on
it, or are you gonna trust me and go pack a bag?"
     It occurred to Scully that this was what it'd always come down to. In the
end, every aspect of her life the past five years had boiled down to a
choice between the obsessive, passionate Mulder, and her chance at a normal
existence. She'd always chosen him. Scully knew she couldn't place blame on
Mulder for that fact. Because, truth be told, she'd always had the option of
denying him. Mulder had made certain she had that choice. And made clear he
wouldn't question her, or judge her, if she choose another, different path. 
     Pride fought with hope. While it would certainly be satisfying to tell him
to go to hell, to walk away and leave her in peace to live out the rest of
her short life, it was far from practical. If what Mulder was saying was
true, she'd be a fool not to go with him. Worse than a fool. 
     And despite her anger at what he'd done, the trust still existed between
them. Though deeply buried and bruised from painful blows, she couldn't deny
the truth and strength of it. Especially not now, as he knelt in front of
her, whole and healthy, offering her a chance at life. 
     Scully pushed to her feet and went to pack. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~     
end 4/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Five

ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 5, 1997
3:12 AM

     Walter Skinner required movement. Of any kind. The long drive that'd
brought him to this skeleton of a factory had been difficult enough. Forcing
himself to settle back into the couch in Mulder's temporary living quarters
had been an act of self-discipline. Its purpose to allow him to gather his
thoughts and get them tightly under control. 
     It wasn't working. The fingers of his right hand gripped the arm of the old
couch so forcefully he feared they'd punch clean through the thin vinyl.
This hadn't been part of the plan. His presence wasn't required yet. There'd
been no reason to leave his comfortable apartment in Crystal City and drive
through the night like a man possessed. But he hadn't questioned it when
he'd found himself in his car only hours after the phone conversation with
Mulder. 
     He'd told himself then that he needed to be here when Mulder came back with
Scully. *If* he comes back with her, he reminded himself. If Scully hadn't
told him to go to hell and was sending him back empty-handed. And then there
was always the possibility that Mulder was lying dead of a gunshot wound in
Scully's apartment. Compliments of Scully's growing paranoia and despair.
Wouldn't that just be the height of irony. 
     When he'd set off for Allentown, he hadn't been completely honest with
himself about why he'd felt the need to come. The realization had struck
three-quarters of the way through the trip and had clung to him tenaciously.
His reasoning had solidified even more after his arrival, when he'd stepped
through the door into the medical facility that'd been created solely for
the purpose of saving Dana Scully's life. 
     Walter Skinner was frightened. Not of the risks involved in Mulder's insane
plan. Nor of the chances they'd taken to put that plan in motion. What
scared him, and left him feeling strangely guilty, was the thought of
Scully's possible reaction when Mulder told her everything. About the lies
they'd created, the lengths they'd gone to. Because Scully would demand
answers. They both knew that. Skinner was also frightened of what might
happen if this scheme didn't work; if she ended up dying anyway.
     The thought of being scared of a petite red-head who didn't even reach his
chin should have been a ludicrous one. If he didn't love her, it most likely
would have been. 
     What the hell are you doing here? he asked himself. What exactly are you
hoping to accomplish?
     Damn Mulder and his impulsiveness. If he'd have stuck with the original
plan, Skinner would've had no reason to be here. To be so anxious. Edgy. If
he'd only had a chance to see Scully first, talk to her and help cushion the
blow that the news of a living Mulder would be to her.
     Instead, the man would be charging in there in the dead of night. No doubt
scaring the hell out of Scully. All so he could have the dubious honor of
announcing his resurrection himself. Never mind the possible impact on Scully. 
     Skinner rubbed sweaty palms against his chocolate brown jeans and pulled
off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and knuckling tired eyes.
It was Skinner who'd laid the foundation to cover for Scully's absence
during her treatments. He'd planted the evidence and made a trail for anyone
who might go looking for Dana Scully after tonight. The cover had been
designed to be put into place at a moment's notice. Mulder hadn't been sure
how long it would take to come up the formula needed to save Scully. Once
they had, they'd both agreed there'd be no time to waste.  
     He'd made a phone call immediately after the one with Mulder, and set the
next part of the plan in motion. There was only one call left to make, and
that couldn't be done until they heard from Mulder. 
     Skinner sprung to his feet and stepped through the doorway into the outer
office. One of the Crawfords, the only one in the room at the time, lifted
his eyes from the book in his hand and met Skinner's.
     "Anything?" he asked gruffly. 
     "Nothing yet, Mr. Skinner."
     He gave him a terse nod and ducked back into Mulder's room. The hybrids
made him uneasy. This was only the second time he'd encountered them. He had
no way of knowing which he'd spoken to and which he'd not. He supposed the
fact that Mulder trusted them should be all he required. After all, months
had passed since Mulder had taken up allegiance with the hybrids and begun
to cook up the hoax surrounding his death. And there'd been nothing, no
indication that the plan had been compromised, their intentions found out.
What should have been reassuring only continued to disturb him. 
     Skinner by nature was not a paranoid man. He didn't see conspiracy
everywhere he looked--unlike a certain rouge agent of his. But Walter
Skinner was smart enough to recognize a true threat when he saw one. From
the moment the X-Files had been deemed an offshoot of the Violent Crimes
division and placed under his direct supervision, Skinner had known his
comfortable position within the bureaucracy had instantly become a little
less certain. A little more questionable. Although he'd long been aware of
the considerable skill and uncanny talent of Spooky Mulder, he'd also known
of the agent's tendency to ignore protocol and go off on his own, finding
the answers he sought with whatever method might come in handy. Though
Mulder's talent was envied and admired by many within the Bureau, he was
considered by most of the higher-ups to be a nightmare to supervise.
     At first, Skinner had wondered just exactly who he'd pissed off, that his
punishment had been the addition of the X-Files to his roster. And then the
Cancer Man had slunk into his office for the first time, and Skinner had
realized that what was happening went far deeper than he'd first suspected.
The supervision of the X-Files was not a punishment at all, but rather a
test of his loyalties and his willingness to toe the line. 
     Gradually, over the course of the past four and a half years, Skinner had
discovered where his loyalties were best placed--and they weren't with the
smoking son-of-a-bitch and his shadow organization. Nor even with the Bureau
proper. The uncovering of truths and his willingness to place himself on the
line for Mulder and Scully had become Skinner's mission. Truth was a harsh
mistress and she exacted a high price--but one Skinner was more than willing
to pay. His peace of mind was worth whatever sacrifices he'd had to make.
     Or so he'd thought. Until Scully's diagnosis and his subsequent deal with
the devil.
     In hindsight, it was easy to question his sanity. What had he been
thinking? To forbid Mulder to deal with Cancer Man and then turn around and
ignore his own advice? But desperation and a sinking feeling of doom had
driven him to ignore common sense and do whatever needed to be done in order
to save Scully. After months had passed, he was finally able to admit to his
selfishness in making the deal: He wanted to be the one to save Scully. 
     But not as a way of undermining the relationship between the two agents.
Not to show himself as a man who could produce miracles. He hadn't expected
anyone to even know, and hadn't planned on revealing his deal to anyone. It
wasn't even so much that he'd come to love Scully as something more than a
sister but less than a potential lover. He'd done it for both of them. For
Scully *and* Mulder. Because somehow the lanky, tortured agent had wiggled
his way past Skinner's barriers. Skinner wasn't certain if it was Mulder's
integrity or sense of honor, or even his apparent fearlessness, but he'd
come to respect Mulder. And, truth be told, even admire him.
     Mulder was a maverick, a loaded gun. A largely unknown entity who could be
brilliant and razor-sharp one moment, and bizarre and irreverent the next.
He was also the closest thing to a warrior Walter Skinner had seen in many
years.
     Mulder never gave up. Ever. His tenacity and passion were his blessing and
his curse. It didn't matter what the Consortium threw at him, or how many
times Mulder had almost lost his life. He'd shuffle through the halls of the
Bureau after each disappointment, shoulders slumped and hang-dog expression
in place. But, by God, he always managed to pick himself up and step back
into the ring. 
     Fox Mulder was either the bravest man he'd ever encountered or the most
insane. Skinner wasn't certain he ever wanted a definitive answer. 
     It hadn't taken him long to realize that Mulder's only weaknesses were his
sister and Scully. The loss of his sister had damaged Mulder in hidden,
inexplicable ways. The loss of Scully would be the final blow; sending him
either to his own death or an insane asylum. Walter Skinner had to make
certain that didn't happen. He owed both of them at least that.    
     So he'd made the deal hoping to save them and had done what had been
expected of him. He'd become an errand boy, cleaning up someone else's
messes. And losing his pride and sense of honor along the way.
     Skinner paced in front of the tall, painted-over windows of the office, his
hands clasped behind his back. His blood raced through his body, setting
every nerve on edge. This had to work. They had to save Scully. It was
Skinner's only chance at redemption. An attempt to make up for the silences
he'd kept over the past four and a half years.
     His head jerked around at the sound of a radio spitting crackles and hisses
from the outer office. Four long strides took him to the doorway. Crawford
had laid down his book and was hunched over the radio set.
     There was a short squawk from the speaker and then, "Raven to Hope Base.
Come in."
     It was Mulder. Skinner took a deep breath and held it.
     Crawford flipped the switch on the mic and answered, "Hope Base to Raven.
We read you. What's your status?"
     "The tiger is out of the cage. Repeating. The tiger is out of her cage.
Copy?" Skinner let out a whoosh of air. Crawford looked over at him and
smiled a gentle smile.
     And Skinner caught himself returning it. Oh, what the hell, he told himself.
     "Copy that, Raven. Bring her home," Crawford replied.
     "Nothin' I'd rather do. Over and out." There was another squawk and then
the radio went quiet. 
     Skinner picked up the phone with a shaky hand and made his final call. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ON THE ROAD
MAY 5, 1997
4:03 AM

     "Tiger?"
     Mulder leaned forward past the curtains and into the front of the
conversion van, slipping the mic into its clip. He shrugged as he settled
back on the seat across from Scully and ventured a little smile. "Seemed
appropriate," he said quietly. Scully was not amused. His smile was not
returned. Mulder wasn't surprised.
     She continued to throw glaring looks his way, as she'd been doing since
they'd first climbed into the van and settled in for the ride. Not
conspicuously or so much so that it got on his nerves. But just enough to
keep him aware of her anger--as if he needed a reminder. The ache in his jaw
and the throbbing of his head was good enough.
     Mulder was also aware that if his only punishment was a few aches and pains
and the occasional dirty look, he definitely couldn't complain. Somehow,
though, he didn't think it was going to be that easy. True, Scully had been
strangely quiet since they'd left her apartment, but he attributed that to
shock. And to Scully's habit of mentally sweeping up facts and suppositions
into a neat pile before digging in. He knew her silence meant she was
creating a scenario in her head, fitting theories with facts. She'd asked
only one question between then and now. She'd turned to him after climbing
in the van and spotting Crawford behind the wheel, asking, "Your
co-conspirator?"
     "One of them," he'd answered honestly. That had gotten him a patented
Scully look, but no request for further information. 
     Scully and Crawford had exchanged strangely polite greetings before the
silence closed in. It wasn't broken again until they'd hit the first of the
back roads that would take them to Allentown. It was then that Mulder had
radioed in.
     Mulder lifted his head and caught another look in his direction. This time
he held her eyes and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "So...."
     Scully looked away and reached up, tucking a lock of hair behind her left
ear. Mulder's fingers itched to repeat the action. He silently pleaded with
that silky lock of hair to fall forward again. Any excuse to touch her would
do. 
     The hunger was eating at him, and had been since he'd first stepped in her
door and seen her sleeping on the couch. He wanted nothing more than to lay
his hands on her. Pull her close and feel her small body against his. Warm.
Alive. But Mulder was smart enough not to give in to his need. He didn't
want to be the one to initiate round two of the earlier boxing match. One
more shot like that and she'd probably bust his jaw. Mulder was surprised
she hadn't screwed up her hand. And then he really paid attention and
groaned quietly when he realized she had. Scully was very obviously cradling
her right hand low against her belly.
     Like magnets, their eyes met and locked. The connection was instantaneous
and solid, sliding into place like coming home. Mulder felt his heart clinch
tight. They still had that. If nothing else, they could still see into each
other's souls. They could almost read each other's minds when they were
really clicking. He scooted forward and lifted a hand, reaching for her.
"Scully?"
     "I'm fine, Mulder." 
     Her words stopped him cold. He stayed frozen in place for a moment before
sitting back. Worrying his bottom lip with a finger and thumb, he told her,
"You hurt your hand."
     "I told you, I'm fine." 
     She broke the contact and Mulder tipped his head against the side of the
van. He shut his eyes and recalled the image of Scully looking up at him,
bitter laughter spilling from her mouth as tears snaked down her cheeks.
She'd let her control slip. Instead of the typical Scully response, he'd
gotten something he'd long craved from her. A moment of raw, naked honesty.
Couched in biting sarcasm, but honesty nonetheless.  
     It'd startled him. Set him aback. He'd been so certain he'd get the
infamous "I'm fine," that he'd almost imagined he was hearing things. The
shock had rolled through him and he'd very nearly fallen apart, right there
and then. Legs that would no longer hold him had brought him to his knees
before her. Apologies and pleas had spilled from his mouth. 
     Dana Scully had nearly undone him in those minutes. And all because for one
lovely, crystal-clear moment she'd dropped her guard and let him in again. 
     Do you have any idea how easy it would be to own me, Scully? he silently
asked as they bounced along the secondary road. Mind, body and soul. All you
have to do is say the words. Give me your honesty in return for mine. 
     Mulder had made a vow many months ago that when (and at the beginning, it
had been "if") this day came, he would hold nothing back from Scully. Any
rationale he might've had for not revealing things to her, or glossing over
the truth, would be null and void. In light of what he'd done, the
sacrifices he'd made, the decisions he'd agonized over, it was stupid to try
to continue withholding the truth from her. It was all or nothing from this
point on. It was one of the few rules he'd set for himself from the
beginning. And the most important. Mulder figured it was time to let Scully
in on it, too. All he could do was hope she'd recognize the gesture for what
it was and return it in kind. 
     He opened his eyes and focused on her. Scully was watching the road behind
them through the tinted rear windows of the van. Her eyes shone brightly in
the meager light given off by the decorative bulbs mounted on the walls. She
sat quietly, her injured hand held carefully in her lap. There was no foot
tapping or nervous gesturing. Scully didn't fidget. She knew how to be
still. Mulder had lost count of the times he'd depended on her for that very
thing. It calmed him, slowed down the frantic forward momentum he often
found himself a part of.  
     "Look, Scully," he began after a minute or two of observation. "If you want
to sit there and pretend you're not hurting, that's fine. But you're not
fooling me. You never have."
     Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Her expression was inscrutable.
"Where are we going, Mulder?"
     The question caught him off-guard. He felt like he'd walked in on the
tail-end of a conversation. He frowned and said, "Allentown. Listen, Scully,
we need to get some things straight." He watched as she turned her face back
to the window. "Scully?"
     Nothing. 
     "Damn it, Scully, will you look at me? Please."
     She did as he asked, but he could tell she wasn't happy about it.  Mulder
sat up a little, needing to close the distance between them. "I need you to
know something before.... " He broke off. 
     No. Not like that, Mulder. No more excuses. They're too much like
withholding the truth. He took a slow breath, aware of Scully's eyes on him.
"The next few days are going to be rough. You're going to find out some
things that are gonna be real hard to hear." He looked aside, shaking his
head wryly. "I imagine I'll hear some things I'd rather not, too. You may
very well end up hating me before it's all said and done. But I'm gonna make
you a promise, Scully. Right now." 
     Mulder glanced back up and saw that he'd tweaked her curiosity. She was
openly watching him now. "I promise you that no matter what you ask me, I'll
tell you the truth. The whole truth. I won't hold back on anything. Even if
it hurts one of us to do it." Scully began to speak but Mulder held a hand
up to stop her. "Just let me get through this, okay?"
     "Afterwards, when you know everything you want to know, when you're better,
you can decide how to handle it from there. But until then, I'd like you to
promise me the same thing." He took another breath and swallowed hard. "We
can't afford to keep things from each other anymore, Scully. We just can't.
We've got too much to lose."
     Mulder died a little during the long silence that followed his words.
Scully bowed her head and studied her hands. He watched as she looked up at
him, her head cocked just a little to the side. A lock of fiery hair fell
across her cheek. And then she pierced him with a look that went straight to
his gut. What he saw in her eyes was more than an answer to his challenge.
It was a throwing down of the gauntlet. Scully was gearing up for all-out
war. Mulder suddenly began to regret asking for her promise in return.
     "Okay, Mulder. You got yourself a deal. Now start talking."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 5/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Six

ON THE ROAD
MAY 5, 1997

     It seemed that Scully was much more interested in asking questions than in
hearing Mulder tell a long, drawn-out story. It was just the facts she
wanted, not the methods and means behind them. And that was fine with him.
His storytelling abilities were somewhat diminished anyway, faced with her
cold, impervious stare.
     "How long has this been in the works?" she asked.
     "Since just after your diagnosis."
     "Well, I suppose it only makes good sense for you to have planned your
death as far in advance as possible." 
     No missing the sarcasm there. "Actually," Mulder said, "that part of it
came later. At first it was just looking for the answers we needed to save
you. The rest of it.... Well, it just kind of snowballed."
     "And who is 'we,' Mulder? Who else knows about this?"
     Here we go, he thought, and answered, "Skinner."
     He watched her face, curious to see how this little piece of information
would strike her. Her eyes opened wide before briefly closing. "Sk...Skinner?"
     "Yeah. But not from the beginning. I brought him in a few months ago."
     "Skinner," she repeated. Her next words were so quiet he almost missed
them. "I'm such a fool."
     "Scully--"
     "Why?"
     "Why what?"
     She shot him another cold glare. "Why Skinner? Somehow that just doesn't
fit your brand of paranoia, Mulder. What made you believe you could trust
him enough to involve him in something like this?"
     She waited patiently for an answer as Mulder realized they'd hit the first
of what would be many sticking points. Though he'd promised to tell her
everything, part of him couldn't help but feel this was Skinner's tale to
tell, not his. Finally he said, "It's a long story, Scully."
     "Never mind," she retorted. "I'll ask him myself."
     That should be an interesting confrontation, he thought. I don't know if I
want to be there for that one or not. 
     "And Crawford," she asked, lifting her chin toward the front of the van.
"What's his part in this?"
     Mulder inwardly cringed. There was no way to avoid this one. He shifted
around in his seat and then looked her straight in the eye. "He's part of a
small group of hybrids who've spent the last year working on a cure for the
cancer that wiped out the MUFON women you met in Allentown; the same cancer
that's killing you. And dozens of other women around the country."
     Scully glanced at front of the van, even though she couldn't see Crawford
through the heavy curtain. She sighed and said quietly, "Hybrids. Of
course." She looked back at him. "Alien-human hybrids, I presume?"
     "Yep."
     She sat back and went into the Scully pose. The one she took after hearing
an outrageous theory she was just itching to tear apart. "You went to them.
Or was it the other way around?"
     "It was a mutual decision. I discovered what they doing while the boys and
I were looking into the Lombard Research Facility."
     "The Gunmen?"
     "Yeah. I found your name in a file directory at the fertility clinic I told
you about. We had to get into Lombard to access their mainframe. I, um, I
ran across the Crawfords while I was there. I went back later, after you
left the hospital. They filled me in on what they'd found and we agreed it'd
make sense for us to work together."
     Scully nodded slowly. Her expression practically screamed disbelief. "I
don't suppose they told you why they'd undertaken this charitable little
project in the first place." 
     His hesitation led her to add, "Or wasn't that important enough to ask,
Mulder?" She shook her head in disgust. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but it
seems you trusted everyone but the one person you had reason to trust."
     Her accusation was clear. And not completely fair. But he wasn't about to
tell her that. Not yet, anyway. Promising to be honest with her didn't mean
he had to spill his guts all at once. They had plenty of time for that.
"Look, Scully, they're only one group of many who were created in order to
further the Project. Luckily for us, they didn't like what they saw being
done and decided to do a little research of their own, set up their own
project. They figured they'd rather save lives than take them. Doesn't
exactly sound like a nefarious plot to me."  
     "And you didn't feel you could share any of this with me because....?"
     Well, Mulder, he asked himself, which truth do you hand her this time? The
easy one or the hard one? Eennie meenie miny moe.
     He looked over at her, his index finger absently poking at the seat. "I
didn't want to get your hopes up over something that might turn into a dead
end. I figured you had enough to worry about. Was I wrong to think that?" 
     She must have caught the beginnings of frustration in his voice. She looked
up at him sharply. He saw her lips form an answer and then watched as it
died there. Her eyes went soft and she looked away. "No," she finally
admitted quietly. "No. I guess I can understand that much. But why didn't
you tell me when you were certain you had something?"
     "Because up until a few weeks ago, we weren't sure of anything. Scully, you
know how this stuff goes. You have researchers working on something for
years, one tiny step at a time. And then one day, boom! It all just comes
together. That's what happened. The final modifications on the drug they
came up with weren't even completed until the last few days."
     "So your suicide," she practically spat the word, "came after these
modifications?"
     Mulder hung his head. "Not exactly," he admitted. 
     "What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"
     "I knew we were really close. It was a leap of faith, Scully. Besides, you
handed me the perfect opportunity to off myself. I couldn't pass it up." He
lifted his eyes and saw the dawning comprehension written on her face.
Braced himself for what would come next. He expected a few well-chosen
curses, maybe even another whack in the face. But nothing prepared him for
Scully's words. They were low and even and aimed with deadly precision.
     "Damn you, Mulder. I hate you for what you've done to me."
     He shut his eyes against the pain and sunk back against the seat. He'd
imagined those very words spilling out of her mouth many times. Had awakened
sweat-soaked and panting more nights than he cared to count, the words
echoing in his ears. The worst part of those particular nightmares was that
sometimes the words weren't Scully's. Sometimes they were Samantha's.  
     You don't understand, he wanted to plead with her. This isn't just about
me. It hasn't been for a long time. This isn't me out to prove something,
Scully. This is me trying to save your life.  
     But he didn't say that to her. He sat up and leaned forward, filled with
renewed determination. And what he said was, "I can't change the way you
feel, Scully. But I did what I had to do. So you'd have a shot at staying
alive. I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you. I'm not going to tell you it
was easy to do the things I did. It was hard, damn hard. But I'm not going
to apologize, either. What's done is done, and I'm willing to deal with the
consequences." He hesitated, dropping his eyes. "Even if it means losing you." 
     There was a moment of silence. And then in a haughty voice, "I didn't
realize I was yours to lose, Mulder."
     He looked up at her, searching for any hint of humor that hadn't come
through in her voice. Nope. Nothing there but absolute anger. A wry smile
crossed his face. He couldn't help but think it might be tough for her to be
honest with him if she couldn't be honest with herself first.
     One thing Mulder knew for certain was that they belonged to each other,
whether they liked it or not. It'd happened gradually, quietly, over the
course of several years. The realization and acceptance was now as much a
part of him as breathing. Obviously Scully hadn't reached that point yet.
And now maybe she never would. If she didn't, there was nothing more he
could do. The acceptance had to be mutual before any words could be put to
the feelings. Before it could be said aloud and their union sealed.
     "Okay, Scully," he told her. "We'll play this your way. Whatever makes you
happy." 
     "What would make me happy would be knowing why you felt you had to fake
your own death to pull this off. I can almost understand most of what you've
told me so far. That doesn't mean I believe it all, just that it makes sense
in a Mulderish kind of way." 
     He gave her his best sheepish look. She wasn't having any of it. She just
glared at him. "So why go to these lengths? Why the hoax?" 
     Mulder thought back to the last few weeks and the recovery of the EBE. He
remembered Scully's absolute conviction that what he was chasing after was
nothing more than another bad joke. And then there was her rock-solid,
immovable belief in the line of bullshit Michael Kritschgau had handed her.
     What the hell good would it do to tell her any of this? She wouldn't
believe a bit of it. Scully had made up her mind and wasn't about to change
it. Her report before the special committee the day after his "suicide" had
certainly proven that. To Scully, he'd been nothing more than a patsy, a
pawn. His entire life planned and orchestrated by powers beyond his control.
Everything, from Samantha's abduction to  her own. From the cases they'd
worked to the clues they'd ferreted out and the truths they'd uncovered.
>From Oregon to Alaska. From Puerto Rico to Russia to China. From life to
death and back again. All so he could have the honor of announcing to the
world what he believed to be proof of the existence of extraterrestrial life. 
     What a crock of shit.
     Add to that all the thousands of independent sightings, the proof of alien
bacteria, all the evidence that'd been either exploited or hidden deep in
government files and you were talking about a massive conspiracy.
World-wide. All planned and carried out to convince one Fox Mulder that
everything he wanted to believe was true. It was utter horse shit. And in
order to buy it, he would've had to have been the most arrogant
son-of-a-bitch alive. 
     Mulder had no doubt of his importance to the anonymous men who made up the
Consortium. But not in that way; not to be trotted out before the public eye
and then proven a fool, his reputation ruined. It was far too complicated
and convoluted a plan just to get him out of the way. It made no sense. If
he was that much of a threat to their ultimate goal--whatever that might
be--a bullet to the head would have been much quicker and cleaner. What was
the death of one man, one quest, compared to the hundreds and possibly
thousands of lives they'd already taken?
     No, Mulder knew the only reason he was still breathing was because his life
and his work mattered to them. He was alive for a very specific reason. And
he wanted to know why. 
     He glanced up and found Scully watching him, a grim, expectant look on her
face. All I can do is tell her what I think and what I know, he thought. The
rest is up to her.
     "Hey, Scully," he blurted. "Does it ever strike you as weird that I'm still
around?" 
     The only thing missing from the Scully pose was the crossed arms. And that
was absent only because her hand was hurting her. But the look was there. In
spades. "Well, Mulder," she declared, "considering I identified what I
thought was your body just a week ago, yeah, I think it's pretty damn weird
you're still around."
     He acknowledged her dig with a look and a faint smile. "That's not exactly
what I meant. But I can see your point." He paused and pulled his bottom lip
into his mouth, biting down gently as he tried to decide where to begin.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking these past few months, Scully. About my
work and my life. About you. About what we do and who we are. And there's
something I can't quite figure out."
     "Oh," she murmured, "I can't wait to hear this."
     Mulder let that one pass. He figured she had the right to be a little
sarcastic. It was better than a punch in the jaw, even though he had to
admit her words carried a sting of their own. "If you look back at some of
the things that've happened over the last five years, some of the things
I've done, it just doesn't add up."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Well, just think about it, Scully. Is there any other agent in the Bureau
who could do even half the things I've done and get away with them? End up
with nothing more than an official reprimand in my file? Hell, I should have
been booted out on my ass after the fiasco with Roche. Not to mention the
dozen or so other fuck-ups that came before and after. But I wasn't. Ever
wonder why that is, Scully?"
     Bless her, she was actually taking the time to think about his question. He
waited her out. "I would imagine," she finally said, "it has something to do
with the connections you've made over the years. And then there's Skinner.
Who, it seems, has a soft spot for you--though God knows why." 
     He chuckled softly and thought he caught the edge of a smile on her face.
This was his saving grace; the fact that Scully was slow to anger and quick
to forgive. Not that he was foolish enough to think everything was
hunky-dory now, only that she'd begun to soften a little. It didn't hurt
that he was presenting her with a puzzle, either. Scully liked puzzles. 
     "Hate to tell break this to you, Scully, but it's not me Skinner has the
soft spot for." He shrugged and continued. "Anyway, it's not that simple
anymore. It can't be. I mean, sure, I've still got my share of anonymous
backers, but nothing like what I had before Senator Matheson lost the last
election. And it's not a matter of my little escapades going unnoticed,
either. I've never really gone out of my way to avoid detection. They may
have stuck me in the basement, but it's never been out of sight out of mind,
y'know? And the Director isn't exactly one of my biggest fans. So why am I
still working at the FBI? Who's making sure I stay there? And why?" 
     Mulder took a couple seconds to let that sink in and then continued. "And
how come I'm not dead?" His words hit him and he glanced up at Scully.
"Well, not *dead* dead. You know what I mean. Seems to me I've got more
lives than a cat, Scully. I shouldn't have ever walked out of some of the
situations I've been in. There've been too many opportunities for our
enemies to pick me off and have done with it. But that hasn't happened,
either. Ever wonder why?" 
     Mulder stopped as a shiny new thought popped into his head. It wasn't even
completed before he opened his mouth and spoke it. "For that matter, why not
a bullet for you, too? Why cancer? Why something that takes considerably
longer to kill than a gunshot?"
     They glanced at each other and their eyes held for just a second longer
than was necessary. And then Scully dropped her chin and peered at him from
the tops of her eyes. "Mulder...." She sighed and looked at him squarely.
"This is beginning to sound like some highly unlikely theory that places you
at the center of everything that's been going on."
     "Is it any more unlikely than the scenario you bought lock, stock and
barrel from Michael Kritschgau?"
     Scully's mouth went tight. Like she'd sucked on a lemon. Oops, he thought.
I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that. Back up, Mulder. Regroup. He
scrubbed his mouth and said, "Hell, Scully. We're really not that far apart
when you think about it. The only difference is that we're coming at it from
opposite directions. You're convinced that there's no alien life and that I
was being used in order to perpetrate a lie. A lie created to cover up the
government's culpability in what you believe are very earthly experiments."
     He waited until he got a small nod of acknowledgment that his words were
her thoughts. "On the other hand, I'm convinced of the existence of aliens.
And convinced that they're working in conjunction with not only our
government, but a vast world-wide Consortium."
     "And your involvement in this, Mulder? How do you fit into your own theory?"
     "I don't know," he admitted. "But it goes a lot deeper than setting me up
as a patsy. There has to be a reason beyond that, Scully. The only thing I
know for certain is that I was kept alive and allowed to continue my work
with the X-Files. Somehow, in some way, my survival was important to them.
And maybe now that I'm dead, the reasons will become clear."
     They were both silent for awhile, each lost in their own thoughts. Mulder
finally closed his eyes and leaned back, aware he was being lulled into
sleep by the quiet, monotonous sound of the miles rolling away beneath the
wheels of the van. But he was too tired to care; grateful that Scully's
presence made sleep easier to come by. Her voice calling his name startled
him fully awake an unknown time later.
     "So you faked your own death in order to gauge the reaction it would get
from the Consortium. Is that right?"
     He forced open his eyes and blinked at her through heavy lids, yawning
hugely. He arched his hips off the seat, stretching his legs as his arms
pulled tight above his head. "That's part of it, yeah."
     "And the rest?"
     Mulder leaned over and opened the small refrigerator next to Scully's seat.
He pulled out a bottle of iced tea and offered it to her.
     "No. Thanks."
     "Drink it, Scully. You can't afford to get dehydrated again."
     He had to admit he was more than a little pleased by the guilty look that
crossed her face. She silently took the bottle from his hand and made a show
of twisting off the cap and taking a swallow. Satisfied, Mulder grabbed a
second bottle and emptied in it in four long gulps.
     "I told you I'd been thinking about this for a long time. Well, the more I
thought about it, the more I knew the only way to come at the answers we
needed to save you, and then keep you safe, was to eliminate the biggest
obstacle in our way. I realized that it wasn't Cancer Man we had to worry
about. Or even the shadow men he works with. We have an enemy who's far more
dangerous than any of those men could ever be. And I had to make sure he was
out of the picture in order to make this whole thing work."
     "And who might that be?" she asked. "Just who is our greatest enemy, Mulder?"
     He pinned her with his eyes and declared, "Me."  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                    
end 6/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Seven 

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 5, 1997
6:21 AM      
        
     Mulder stepped from the van and slung the bag over his shoulder. He turned
back and silently offered Scully his hand. She studied his tawny-gold eyes
before she took it and hopped out after him. The instant her feet hit the
ground, his grasp on her hand slackened and fell away. Scully was only
slightly taken aback by her sudden urge to grab hold of him and never let go. 
     She'd been fighting similar urges throughout the trip to Allentown. She was
never quite certain if she should be screaming at him or flinging herself
into his arms. Every revelation Mulder had hesitantly dished out had
provoked both desires in her. Conflicting emotions were nothing new to Dana
Scully. She'd been having them most her of her life. But never so intense as
with Mulder. And never so confusing to her as now. 
     And so she'd done neither. She'd forced herself to remain still. To be
composed and let loose her words as she tightened the reins on her
traitorous body. 
     Scully glanced up at Mulder in the pinkish-gray light of dawn and studied
him as he watched Crawford pull away in the van. My enemy, she thought. She
rolled the words around in her head as she would a piece of candy on her
tongue; tasting its flavor. Testing it against what she knew or only
suspected. Is what he believes true, she wondered. Could he be both the
driving force in my life and the instrument of my destruction--as well as
his own? She hadn't known when Mulder had first made his announcement, and
she wasn't any closer to an answer now.
     Mulder turned and looked down at her. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
There'd been no further conversation after Mulder's last words to her. With
a single look, they'd both silently agreed that time needed to be taken.
Words pondered. Actions and explanations relived and investigated for hidden
meaning. Mulder had finally tipped his head back and slept. She'd spent the
last hour of the journey listening to his soft snoring; at once infuriated
and comforted.
     Now she looked up into familiar hooded eyes and found herself searching
them. Looking for that same indefinable, inaccessible thing she'd sought so
often in the photo she'd kept of him. 
     What exactly are you looking for, Dana? And will you know it when you see it?
     "You ready?" Mulder asked.
     "I don't know," she answered honestly, but took her place beside him as he
turned and walked towards the abandoned factory. Even if she had all the
answers she wanted, she wasn't sure she'd be ready for whatever lay beyond
the door Mulder was leading them to. 
     She didn't stop to consider the fact that she'd once again followed along
side him, no more questions asked. She also took no conscious notice of his
hand taking its spot on the small of her back. Not until it fell away as
Mulder reached out to poke at a keypad set into the wall beside the door.
Then she missed its warmth.
     "Nice security system for someone on government wages." 
     Mulder glanced at her and softly smiled. "What, this? Sorry to disappoint
you, but it's not my doing. This is all compliments of the Consortium."
     "What?" She was awestruck by the implication.
     "Relax, Scully. It's not the way it sounds. Remember, the Crawfords are
working for the Project. In some ways, the Consortium is run a lot like
Uncle Sam. They dole out the money and don't much care where it goes, as
long as they get the results they want. It's a simple matter of ask and ye
shall receive."
     "You mean all this was set up using Consortium money?" Scully snorted
quietly. "I'll be damned."
     "Pretty sneaky, huh?" Mulder replied. "You ain't seen nothin' yet." The
light on the keypad flashed from red to green and he pulled open the heavy
steel door. Stepping aside, he waved Scully through and followed her in. The
door closed and locked behind them with a solid, heavy thunk.
     Scully looked around and felt as though she'd stepped inside the skeleton
of some giant, prehistoric beast. They stood in a huge empty area, nothing
remaining inside the paper mill but the thick steel I-beams that made up the
frame of the building. The ceiling rose high above their heads, the walls
bare and ugly. The only illumination came from whatever sunlight managed to
sneak through several jagged holes in the roof. Dust motes swirled and
danced in the beams of light that pierced the shadowed recesses of the huge
room. A musty, ancient odor crept into her nostrils and Scully sneezed in
reaction. 
     Mulder's "Bless you," was automatic. 
     "Well, Mulder," she commented, and quickly lowered her voice as it echoed
through the empty space. "You certainly know all the nicer places."
     He chuckled quietly and pointed a finger into the shadows. "We need to go
that way. Other end." He adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag and set off
into the darkness, Scully trailing along beside him. "We set up shop in what
used to be the office area," he explained as they walked. "It's located at
the back end of the building and can't be seen from any of the main roads.
All the windows have either been boarded up or painted over. So we don't
need to worry about anyone seeing any lights at night. There's only one
other working entrance, and it's right off the lab." He glanced over at her.
"All things considered, it's pretty damn secure. The only visitors we've had
have been a couple kids tooling around in their car, looking for a quiet
place to make out. They didn't stick around long. I think this place gave
them the creeps."
     "I can't imagine why," she quipped.  
     "The offices are a lot nicer than this, Scully. It's not the Ritz, but it's
got everything we need."
     "How long have you been set up here?"
     "Just about a month. We didn't even get the last of the supplies and
equipment till a few days ago."
     They fell silent as they crossed the vast expanse, their footfalls loud in
the tomb-like stillness surrounding them. Scully was filled with an odd
anticipation. Considering all that had happened in the last few hours, she
should have been disoriented and exhausted. Instead, she found herself
anxious to see what Mulder had in store for her. I'm like Pavlov's dog, she
thought, a little irritated with herself. All Mulder has to do is say the
right words and I'm there--all good sense be damned.
     Soon they reached the end of the main building and passed through another
secured door. Walking down a narrow hallway to a third door, Mulder paused
and turned to her. "Well, here we are." He almost sounded apologetic.
     "Why do I hear a trace of 'abandon all hope' in your voice, Mulder? Maybe I
should just turn around and go home." Scully suddenly shivered and fought
back the desire to hug herself.
     And then Mulder reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of a
finger. A gentle, glancing touch. One that was gone before she could react.
"Can't do that, Scully," he told her quietly. "We can't go back now. All the
bridges are burnt."
     Scully guessed she knew that; had known it the instant she'd agreed to go
with Mulder. She also knew that he was alluding to more than just the steps
they'd taken the last few hours. By agreeing to follow him, she'd also
accepted all the ramifications that might come from her decision to abandon
her life as she knew it, and take what Mulder was offering her instead. The
funny thing was, she couldn't remember exactly what it was he'd offered. It
seemed like the confrontation in her apartment had taken place days ago. It
had become nothing more than a dim memory. Until Mulder opened the final
door and ushered her inside. 
     Oh yeah, she thought dazedly, as she looked around. He said something about
finding the answers we need to save my life. 
     "The truth will save you, Scully. I think it'll save both of us."
     She heard the words so clearly she was positive Mulder had just spoken
them. But when she swung around to him, he was looking straight ahead, his
generous mouth firmly set. She shook off the auditory memory and took a few
steps further into the room. Pivoting slowly on her heel, Scully took a good
look around. 
     She was standing in the middle of a small but impressive laboratory. All
bright lights and shiny chrome. Scully let her eyes slowly wander over the
equipment, checking off each separate piece on a small list she unknowingly
kept her head. Low counters were filled with beakers and vials and thick
computer printouts. Desks were scattered throughout the room, complete with
PCs, monitors glowing blue as information flashed across them at an alarming
rate of speed. Occupying three of these desks were the men Scully knew as
Kurt Crawford. As one, they turned their heads and gazed serenely at her. 
     "Agent Scully," the one closest to her said. "It's good to see you again."  
     She was struck with a sense of deja vu. She'd heard those same words from
the man behind the wheel of the van she just stepped from. She could do no
more than nod in reply. She caught Mulder watching her from the corner of
her eye and looked to him, her brow furrowed. Mulder laid his hand against
her back. And this time he left it there. Scully could barely feel the heat
from his touch. It was hesitant and light, as though he were prepared to
snatch it away at the slightest sign it wasn't welcome. His eyes meet hers.
     "It gets easier, Scully. No less strange, but easier." He topped off his
words with an encouraging nod. Still holding her eye, Mulder asked, "Did I
miss anything exciting, George?" 
     The Crawford at the furthermost desk replied, "We rented the original
version of *The Thing* last night."
     "Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt," Mulder said quietly, his eyes
never leaving her face. Scully was flooded by the memory of Mulder's big,
warm hand brushing the hair from the nape of her neck before settling there,
gently cupping the delicate pearls of her spine. She dropped her eyes and
came up on the balls of her feet, her hand coming to rest on Mulder's
shoulder for support, her mouth close to his ear. Instinctively, Mulder
leaned down to meet her, his hand now heavy at the small of her back.
     "George?" she murmured, trying not to focus on the perfect swirl of his
ear, the tiny hole in the lobe. She could feel the steady hum that now
pulsed between them. Simple contact. Her hand on his shoulder, his hand on
her back. The connection had been completed. 
     Mulder turned his face away and glanced over at the men before turning back
to her. He dipped his head again and kept up the conspiratorial whisper. "I
couldn't very well call all of them Crawford. The one who's here the most,
my unofficial baby-sitter, is George."
     "How do you know which one he is?"
     She watched as he jerked a smile. "I don't. Not always," he admitted and
raised an eyebrow at her. "But I figure my chances are pretty good he'll be
somewhere in the room."
     Scully couldn't help but return his grin. She was also highly ashamed of
herself for thinking it under the circumstances, but she was suddenly
entranced by the way Mulder smelled up close. She shoved down an insane
desire to stretch on her toes a little bit more, get a little closer. Just
enough to bury her nose in the hair at Mulder's temple.
     I need to sleep, she thought guiltily. I'm too tired to be thinking these
things and feeling this way. I have no control.
     But he's here, another voice whispered. And he's alive. And wouldn't it be
nice to just sink into his arms and have him take care of me for awhile?
     Ah, yes. Mulder. The same man who allowed me to believe he'd taken his own
life. Who did everything in his power to make me believe his lie. 
     Scully came down flat on her feet and took a single step away from him. His
hand was instantly gone. 
     "Oh, one other thing" George added, and Scully silently thanked him for
giving her a focus other than Mulder. "Mr. Skinner is upstairs. He arrived
late last night."
     "Skinner?" Mulder asked. Scully could feel him tense up from a foot away. 
     "Oh, good," she murmured, thinking she could use another target for her
considerable anger. After all, it wasn't fair to take it all out on Mulder.
Was it?
     Mulder was in motion, striding across the room to George's side. "What is
he doing here?"
     Mulder's tone was an odd mixture of worry and something almost territorial
in nature; as though Skinner's presence was somehow a threat to him. What is
going on? Scully wondered.
     "Is everything all right, Mulder?"
     "I don't know, Scully. Let's go find out."
     Mulder took off towards the back of the room, Scully a few steps behind
him. He pushed through a fire door and she followed, finding herself in a
stairwell. After throwing her a glance over his shoulder, Mulder bounded up
the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.
     Scully sighed and trudged up the stairs behind him. "That's okay, Mulder,
you don't have to wait for me," she mumbled to herself. "Wouldn't want to
slow you down." 
     But he was waiting for her at the third floor landing. He pulled open the
door as she reached the top step, ushering her into another hallway. They
made their way down the hall and pushed through a glass door at the end.
Scully caught a partial name and title on the door, the black letters faded
and peeling away. They entered a large narrow outer office, complete with a
desk and a fifth Kurt Crawford. She barely  glanced at him as Mulder rounded
the doorway into the inner office, Scully right on his heels. 
     Skinner, who'd either been sleeping or close to it, jumped to his feet as
they burst into the room. His eyes rested on Mulder for a brief moment
before all his attention came to focus on her. Mulder didn't waste any time
with greetings.
     "What are you doing here? What's wrong?" he demanded. "Did that
son-of-a-bitch finally show up?"
     Skinner's eyes flicked between the two of them. Scully was amazed at how
they each received a different look. The one delivered to Mulder was all
business. Hers, on the other hand, was filled with something that looked a
lot like relief.
     Instead of answering Mulder's question, Skinner addressed her. "Scully, I
can't tell you how glad I am that you're here."
     She looked at both men and then turned to face Skinner head on. "Well, sir,
if you can't tell me that, then maybe you can tell me exactly what your part
is in this little scheme." Mulder made a low, muffled sound in his throat
and she threw him a warning glance. 
     Apparently, Skinner decided to ignore her question--at least for the time
being. He looked over at Mulder and said, "Nothing's wrong, Agent Mulder. My
only business here was to make certain Scully arrived safely. And, no, I
haven't been contacted yet."
     "Contacted by whom?"
     Both men turned to her. And then she watched as they exchanged an
inscrutable look. After a few seconds Mulder shrugged and walked away,
heading for the tall bank of windows on the outer wall. Scully looked back
at Skinner and flipped her arms up in a gesture of frustration. "Would
someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?" 
     "Why don't you sit down, Scully," Skinner suggested.
     Ignoring the pain of her bruised hand, she folded her arms across her
chest. "Is that an order, sir?"
     "No. No, of course not. I just thought you might be tired from the trip." 
     "The only thing I'm tired of is being kept in the dark." She caught
Skinner's grim nod and watched as he settled himself back down on the
scruffy couch he'd been occupying when they'd come in. A small part of her
brain registered surprise that Skinner was willing to put himself at a
disadvantage; taking a position where he was forced to look up at her. 
     I don't think I'm going to like what he's got to say, she thought. She
glanced over at Mulder. He was standing slump-shouldered, his back to them,
hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. No, she realized, I'm not
going to like it at all.
     "I don't know how much Mulder has told you," Skinner began.
     "Not enough," she retorted coolly. 
     The Assistant Director leaned forward and bowed his head. His forearms came
to rest on his thighs, his hands hanging loosely between his knees. Scully
watched as he took two deep breaths before raising his head and meeting her
eyes.   
     "Mulder came to me shortly after you were diagnosed. He wanted me to
arrange a meeting for him."
     "With whom?" The question was automatic. But the sinking feeling in
Scully's gut gave her all the answer she needed.
     After an interminable silence, Skinner said "Cancer Man." 
     Her suspicions confirmed, Scully's knees went soft on her. She felt behind
her for the arm of the couch and sat down heavily. She gave Mulder's back a
long look, willing him to turn and face her. She could feel the push of his
resistance from across the room. 
     What had transpired, that Mulder couldn't even look at her?
     "Go on," she told Skinner.
     "Mulder was convinced, *is* convinced, that Cancer Man is behind your
abduction and what's happened to you since. He believed the chances were
high that the Smoking Man would have the answers needed to save your life."
     Scully could feel the beginnings of a headache pulling tight across her
brow. She lifted a hand there and rubbed, trying to erase some of the
pressure. She felt lightheaded, queasy. She was filled with questions, all
of them directed at the one man in the room who wouldn't even turn to face
her. Was it cowardice that was keeping his back to her? Shame? Or was it
something far worse?
     She had no doubt that if Mulder could make himself invisible, he'd do it in
the blink of an eye. And so he made it easy for her to ignore his presence,
to cut him out of the equation. He could always be added back into it later.
She cleared her throat and asked Skinner, "And what was Agent Mulder willing
to do in return?"
     There was a long silence, and when the answer came, it wasn't from the
direction she'd expected. Mulder slowly turned back to them. He gave Skinner
a long look and then meet her steady gaze. "Anything," he answered.
"Everything. Whatever it takes, Scully. The work. My badge. My life, if it
comes down to that." He looked away and quietly added, "And I guess it has,
hasn't it?" 
     It was the matter-of-fact, wholly sincere tone of his voice that brought
the sting of tears to her eyes. It would have been far easier to dismiss his
claim as melodrama had it been accompanied by any hint of selfishness, or a
desire to be praised for his sacrifice. But there was none of that. No hint
of the cool, composed, smart-ass FBI agent. There was just Mulder, with his
sad eyes and beaten-down posture. And with his heart firmly on his sleeve.
     "Oh, Mulder, no," she murmured, her blood suddenly running thick and cold
in her veins. "Please don't tell me you made a deal with him." 
     Mulder raised his eyes to hers. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "No, I
didn't. But I would have--in a second." His gaze shifted to Skinner. "I just
didn't get the chance. Skinner convinced me there were other ways to come to
the truth. Ways that wouldn't require the selling of my soul." 
     Scully released the breath she'd been holding and asked, "What ways?"
     Mulder spread his arms wide. "You're looking at it."  
     Well, at least that much made sense. Skinner had steered him away from
making any deals with Cancer Man. Which had obviously set him on the path
they were all following now. But it still didn't explain Skinner's part in it.
     Scully turned back to the AD. "So what is your involvement in this?"
     Skinner gave her his best tight-ass stare and stated evenly, "I didn't
follow my own advice."
     Scully was stunned. She looked over at Mulder and felt her stomach clinch
at what she saw there. The confirmation shone dully in his eyes. Turning
back to Skinner, she stammered, "You mean you.... You made a deal with
Cancer Man? You bargained for my life?" 
     His answer was terse. "Yes."
     Scully dropped her eyes and stared at the threadbare carpet beneath her
feet. She suddenly felt very small, and very much out of control. "I see,"
she breathed. "And what was the price?"
     She heard the audible click as Skinner swallowed hard. "My cooperation in
certain matters."
     "Such as?"
     "Overlooking certain things. Focusing on others." There was a short pause.
"Cleaning up messes."
     Scully slowly her head in understanding and lifted her eyes. Mulder had
come to stand a little closer to her, his hands perched on his hips. "I'm
assuming," she said, "that since I'm still dying, he hasn't held up his end
of the bargain."
     "I doubt he ever intended to, Scully," Skinner replied. "In fact, I know he
didn't."
     "What do you mean?"
     "It wasn't me he wanted to deal with, it was Mulder. We suspect that the
onset of your cancer was nothing more than an effort to bring Mulder into
the Project. They knew he would be desperate enough to give them whatever
they wanted in order to save you. But our smoking friend isn't a fool. He
figured if he couldn't drag Mulder into it, he might as well have another
pasty to do his dirty work. I doubt my involvement was part of their
original plan."
     "Then why?" she asked incredulously. "Why would you ever agree to such a
thing? Why would either one of you even consider it?"
     It was Mulder who answered. "Like he said, Scully. Desperation."  
     She waited for more. She needed more. But it wasn't forthcoming. After a
long silence, she addressed Skinner. "And the current status of your deal?"
     He sighed heavily. "I've had no contact with him since Mulder's  apparent
suicide. He seems to have disappeared into the woodwork."
     She nodded and swiveled around to Mulder. "You were aware of all this?"
     "Not until a couple months ago. I found out about it while I was working
the case involving the bees and the variola virus. While you were in the
hospital. I found out during the investigation that someone passing
themselves off as me was very cleverly concealing and destroying evidence
that might have lead me to the truth."
     She turned back to Skinner and asked, "You?"
     "Yeah." Skinner looked over at Mulder. "My participation in the cover-up
was discovered. Mulder came to me demanding answers. That's when I told him
what I'd done. Mulder, in turn, shared his plans with me and later brought
me into the operation."
     "And your part in this?" Scully was amazed she was able to keep her voice
low and even. The rage that'd overtaken her at her apartment was back.
Quieter this time, less volatile, but no less justified.
     "To maintain the status quo and help perpetrate the hoax of Mulder's death.
To get you out of the way by placing you on medical leave. And to report
back any conversations I may have with Cancer Man concerning Mulder's death
and its possible effect on the Project."
     "Double agent," Scully murmured under her breath. My God, when would it all
end? 
     "I know it's sounds unbelievable, Scully, but--"
     "No, no it doesn't," she admitted. "But what I do find unbelievable is the
way the two of you managed to completely cut me out of this. You both went
behind my back. Lied to me. Deceived me. Did it ever once occur to either of
you that it's my life you were playing with? You both seem to have forgotten
that behind the cancer you're so determined to eradicate is a person. Me."
     "Scully...."
     "No, Mulder," she snapped. "It's my turn and you're both going to just shut
up and listen to me." She watched as he hung his head. "This is my life
we're talking about. And by doing what you did, you took away my choices.
You made the decisions for me." Scully rose from the couch and began to pace
the room. She was hanging on by a thread. A very thin and delicate thread.
Hot tears burned her eyes and she furiously blinked them back. "All I want,
all I've ever wanted, is to live my life the way I choose. To make my own
decisions. To have those choices respected by the people around me. I've
never asked anyone to agree with them or condone them, just respect that
they're mine to make."
     She turned her back on the two men and stifled a sob behind her hand. "I
never," she choked out, "I never would have asked either one of you to do
what you've done." She stiffened her spine and swung back around to them.
"And now, Mulder, now you've gone and done something I can't fix. I can't
make this right the way I've always tried to before. Even if this drug works
and my cancer is cured, it won't bring back all you've given up, all that
you've sacrificed. And it won't answer your questions or bring you any
closer to the truth.
     "And you, Skinner. Look at what you've done for me. You've turned your back
on everything you believed in and fought for. All for the  privilege of
becoming Cancer Man's newest errand boy. That puts you right up there with
Alex Krycek, doesn't it? How does it feel to destroy your honor and your
integrity for a woman you don't even really know? Is my life worth what
you've both given up? Is anyone's?"
     Neither man would look at her. Skinner was staring at the floor. Mulder
stood with his jaw tightly clinched, his gaze focused on the small table by
the windows, his face like a mask. She watched as he slowly blinked and a
single tear slipped down his cheek. She felt next to nothing. Nothing but
emptiness and disappointment and regret. 
     "No matter what happens now," she told them, "whether I die next week or in
fifty years, I'll have to live with the knowledge of what you've done in my
name. I'll have to carry on knowing that the rest of my life came at the
cost of both of yours. And all without my consent or even my knowledge. I
have to ask myself if it's worth it." She took a deep breath and finished on
a sob. "And it's not. It's not."
     A heavy silence blanketed the room. And suddenly it was all too much. All
the unspoken, unwelcomed feelings she'd kept bottled up for so many months
threatened to burst from their restraints and bury her under their awful
weight. I'm tired, Scully thought. I'm just so goddamn tired. "If you don't
mind, I'd like to get some sleep," she told them. 
     "Agent Scully--"
     "No," she interrupted. "No, not now. I can't hear anything more. Not now. I
need... I need to rest."
     Skinner gave them both a long look and silently walked out. Please, Mulder,
she inwardly pleaded. Please don't say anything. Don't make me fall apart in
front of you. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before he followed
Skinner out, slowly closing the door behind him.
     Scully stood rooted to the spot for several long minutes, taking deep,
ragged breaths. Trying to repair the wounds that'd cut her so deeply. She
finally grew tired of the inner struggle and walked to the neatly made bed.
She carefully laid herself down. And then, like a child, she curled up into
a ball and cried herself to sleep.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~          
end 7/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Eight 

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 6, 1997
8:18 AM

     Mulder stood hunched over the tiny sink in the kitchenette of the office,
eating an over-ripe peach and waiting for Scully to get out of the shower.
She'd spent most of the previous day sleeping. After stumbling from the bed
after noon and slugging down a glass of orange juice, Scully had called her
mother with the story that would explain her absence for the next few weeks.
She'd then thrown Mulder an apologetic look and headed back to bed. He had
finally awakened her well after dark and they'd gone downstairs to the break
room that was doing duty as a communal kitchen and dormitory. There, they'd
sat at a long conference table with three of the Crawfords, sharing a simple
meal of canned chicken noodle soup and ham and cheese sandwiches.
     Sometime during the meal, Mulder had looked up and found Scully watching
him across the table. He'd held her gaze and had seen enough there to know
her anger had begun to diminish, and that she was offering a temporary
truce. He'd impulsively reached out and placed his hand over hers, sealing
the deal. 
     Later, she'd collected a thick stack of printouts from George and had taken
them back to the office. She'd allowed Mulder to fix her a cup of tea while
she began poring through the research material the hybrids had amassed over
the past year. Mulder had made himself busy for a couple hours and had gone
back to find her asleep on the bed, her glasses still perched on her nose,
her lap full of papers. He'd lifted them and gently eased off the glasses,
pulling a spare blanket up over her. He'd stopped at the doorway after
switching off the lights and turned back to the bed, a familiar sense of
longing filling him as he'd watched Scully sleep. 
     He'd wanted nothing more than to join her there. To spoon up against her
and hold her through the night. To protect her and keep her safe. To express
with his hands and his body what he couldn't yet say with words. Mulder had
known then that this day would hold more unpleasant news for Scully. He'd
been foolish enough to imagine, for just a moment, that making love to her
might help soften the blows to come, and help heal the ones she'd already
endured. But then the realist in him had overridden his baser urges and
forced him to walk away. He'd spent the night dozing slumped in a chair
outside the door. 
     "Would you like a napkin, Mulder?" 
     He swung around and found Scully standing in the doorway. She was still
damp from the shower and her face was free of make-up. Freckles shone like
flakes of gold against her pale ivory skin. Two spots of pink stood out on
her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and clear. It took Mulder a second to realize
what it was about Scully that was different this morning. And then it hit
him. She looked rested. Completely and utterly rested. He couldn't remember
the last time he'd seen her that way. 
     I've cost her so much, he thought, welcoming the pang of guilt that shot
through him. It was a familiar pain, and oddly comforting to him. It served
to remind him of all the sacrifices she'd made. It renewed his determination
to protect her--no matter what the cost to him.
     Scully stood with hands on hips, a stern look on her face. "Are you aware
there's juice dripping off your chin?" 
     "The sign of a perfect peach," he mumbled through a mouthful.
     "God," she sighed, "you're hopeless, Mulder." She reached for a roll of
paper towels and tore off a section, holding it out to him. Instead of
taking it, Mulder stuck his chin out at her, his intent obvious. Scully
heaved another sigh and gave him a look. But then she reached up and dabbed
at his chin anyway, wiping away the sticky juice. 
     He swallowed the last of the peach and smiled triumphantly. 
     "I'm not your mother, you know."
     He leered at her. "Believe me, Scully, I know. My mom's never looked so
good in a pair of jeans."
     She playfully shoved him and tossed the paper towel in the sink, muttering
"Pig," as she turned and walked out of the kitchenette. He grinned at her
back and turned on the water, quickly washing his hands and face before
joining her. 
     Scully was poking at the pile of print-outs. She absently patted the stack
and told him, "I need to talk to the Crawfords about some of this." 
     "What about it?"
     "Well, from what I read last night, it seems they may have hit on the real
thing."
     He nodded. "I told you, Scully. They found the answers. This drug they've
come up with will wipe out the cancer. All the tests point to it." He waved
at the table full of print-outs. "It's all right there in black and white."
     "Not all, Mulder," she replied. "There's one very large, very significant
piece of information missing."
     Despite knowing the inevitability of her next question, his stomach still
took a nose-dive. Oh God, I don't want to do this, he thought. He managed to
eek out the words. "What's that?"
     "Exactly what this miracle drug is composed of. I managed to skim most of
this last night, and I didn't see any mention of the components of the drug.
Is it a new combination of some of the more commonly used cancer treatments,
or is it completely new? I can't find any of the pharmacology here."
     Mulder was struck dumb. He tried to say something, but he couldn't seem to
push out any words.
     "Mulder?"
     She was looking at him now, a little crease in her brow. He made up his
mind and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the table. "Forget about
that stuff, Scully. It's not going anywhere. Let's take a walk." He tugged
her towards the door but Scully planted her feet and wouldn't budge. He
sighed and turned back to her.
     "Mulder, I need to go through this stuff again. And I need to talk to
George--or whoever--about the drug itself. I'd also like to know what I can
expect once the treatments begin. He said something about getting started
first thing tomorrow morning. Call me paranoid, but I'd like to know just
exactly what I'm letting myself in for."
     All reasonable requests, Mulder conceded. He wouldn't expect anything less
of her. But letting her do those things now would only lead to more
questions--which he fully intended to answer. It was just that he wanted
them brought up and resolved in a situation of his choosing; not randomly
fired off in the middle of the laboratory, surrounded by Crawford hybrids.
Here, on their own turf, they had a nasty habit of telling the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
     It wasn't that he hadn't come to admire their almost painful honesty;
because he had. The fact was, he'd practically had to drop to his knees and
beg just to get them to agree not to mention the makeup of the formula in
any of the reports Scully would be reading. He'd found their stubbornness
honorable. But honesty of the type the Crawfords shared could cut as deeply
as any knife, if offered in the wrong circumstances. He wanted to tell her
his own way. The last big hurdle was fast approaching, and Fox Mulder
fervently hoped they'd survive it.
     "So what am I?" he gently teased her. "Chopped liver? No Tooms pun
intended. I haven't been hanging around these guys for nothing, Scully. I
can tell you what you want to know."
     He got the patented skeptical Scully gaze--complete with the eyebrow thing.
He offered her a pleading look. "C'mon. I wanna show you my new digs."
     She made a disgusted sound deep in her throat but let him pull her out the
door. "Mulder...."
     "You're supposed to be on vacation, remember?"
     "Yeah, visiting my old college buddy, Franny Bishop. Whom I haven't seen or
spoken to in over ten years," she informed him. "What ever possessed you to
pick her as my cover?"
     "Talk to Skinner. That was his assignment."
     "I don't wanna talk to Skinner," she snapped defensively. "I don't even
know why I'm talking to you. Except that maybe the alternative frightens me." 
     He glanced over at her as they began walking down the stairs. "What," he
teased, "the glaring silence or the nightmare of trying to tell one Crawford
from another?"
     "Bite me, Mulder," she suggested.
     "Just tell me where, Scully." He caught her grin before she could smother it. 
     "Well," she declared, "that would ruin the fun of finding out for yourself,
now wouldn't it?"
     He stopped at the landing and turned to her, mildly shocked by her comment.
"Oooo. Sounds like Agent Scully's feeling a little frisky this morning."
     "Amazing what finding out that your best friend is alive can do for you.
Not to mention several hours of sleep and the very real chance of a cure for
my illness." 
     Mulder's eyes roamed her face, struck anew by how beautiful she was. And by
how much she'd come to mean to him. He desperately want to kiss her right
there. He even knew where he'd start. With the small mole above her upper
lip. The one she normally took such pains to conceal. He pondered the
psychology of her leaving it bare this morning. And then he settled for
cupping her cheek in his hand. "Best friend, huh?"
     Scully leaned into his palm for the briefest moment and then took another
step down, turning back to him. "Don't let it go to your head, Mulder. In a
field of one, you're bound to come up on top."
     He chuckled good-naturedly and followed her down the stairs.

     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
          
     They sat on the roof of the old paper mill, perched cross-legged atop a
caged, gigantic exhaust fan, snacking on more of the peaches and Scully's
favorite trail mix. They'd spent a good part of the morning exploring the
mill. Pushing open creaking doors and poking flashlight beams of light into
cobwebby rooms. Discovering things that flew and things that crawled and
things that skittered past them on tiny feet. 
     Mulder had loved it. There was nothing he enjoyed more than stepping into
unknown territory. He missed the work and missed being out in the field.
Mindless sitcoms, talk shows and an endless stream of rental movies had done
nothing to feed his hungry mind. He needed a puzzle to chew on, something to
explore and discover. The mill was as good a place as any. He hadn't known
what he might find, and it really didn't matter. The searching was the joy.
     That, and the company. 
     He grabbed the Thermos Scully offered him and took a drink of water before
setting it down next to the backpack that held their food and flashlights.
He leaned forward and braced his elbows on bent knees, unconsciously
mimicking Scully's posture. They looked out onto the concrete field that
stretched in front of them; a parking lot that'd sprouted a large and
impressive variety of weeds over the years. Low, heavy clouds peppered the
sky, blocking out the sun. Far in the distance they could see a train moving
slowly down the tracks. Its whistle sounded low and mournful in the quiet
spring air. 
     "So what's going on, Mulder?"
     He turned to find her watching him. "What do you mean?"
     "I mean, when are you going to tell me whatever it is you don't want to
tell me?"
     He ducked his head, chuckling self-consciously, and murmured, "You're good,
Scully."
     "We've been together for five years now. I know when something's bothering
you."
     Not "We've been working together for five years," just "We've been
together." An unexpected jolt of pleasure buzzed through him. Mulder loved
it when Scully surprised him like that. It happened rarely, but when she
gave him an honest peek into her heart, he'd practically melt. In those
moments, Mulder was utterly helpless.
     "So what's going on?" she repeated.
     He glanced over at her and then sighed, looking away. He tossed up a silent
plea: If I have to do this, please let me do it right.
     "I don't know how to do this, Scully," he admitted. 
     "Whatever it is, just tell me. I've been kept in the dark too long,
Mulder." And then she reached over and covered his hand with hers. "I'm
entitled to the truth. We both are." 
     He gave a little snort of disbelief and said, "You really mean that?" then
instantly regretted it when she started to snatch her hand away. He grabbed
it and squeezed, hoping to prevent its escape. "I'm sorry. Damn. That wasn't
fair of me."
     After an endless moment, she turned her hand in his and returned the
squeeze. "It's okay," she said. "I probably deserved that. And I do remember
the promise I made to you in the van. At this point, it seems silly to be
anything but honest with each other." 
     "Yeah," he agreed, giving her a soft smile. "I'm glad, Scully. I'm glad you
feel that way."
     "So, Agent Mulder, catch me up to speed."
     He took a second to collect his thoughts and then turned to her, meeting
her eyes squarely. "The night the boys and I broke into the Lombard Research
Facility, one of the Crawfords showed me something."
     "What?"
     "A storage room, of sorts. Where they were keeping the ova of some of the
MUFON abductees we've encountered. Ova that were taken during their
abductions, through the use of a high-amplification radiation procedure. One
that caused what the Crawfords refer to as super-ovulation. The eggs were
being used to create more of the alien-human hybrids."
     Mulder watched as it sunk in and began to hit her. He would have given
anything, in that moment, not to have been the one to tell her. She stared
at him blankly and then looked away, blinking her eyes rapidly and swiping
her tongue across her lips. 
     Scully's voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. "Are you saying...."
She broke off and looked at him. "Mulder, what are you saying? That they
showed you ova that were supposed to be mine? Is that...."
     "Yeah." He searched for more words but came up empty.
     "But that's not possible," she insisted. "I mean, I would know if something
like that had been done to me. Wouldn't I?" 
     He gave her a lazy nod. "Maybe. Maybe not, Scully. I honestly don't know.
He said...." Mulder trailed off and swallowed hard. "George said that the
procedure seems to be what caused the cancer. And that it left the women
barren." He saw the color drain from her face and tightened his hold on her
hand. "But they were repeaters, Scully. They'd all been taken multiple
times. It only happened to you once. And there's a good chance--"
     "Bastards," she said tightly.
     He shut his mouth and waited her out. He didn't have to wait long.
     "There's just no end to it, is there?" she asked him. "They won't be happy
until I'm dead." She swung around and fixed him with laser eyes. "Why,
Mulder? Why did all those women have to die? Betsy Hagopian. Penny." Her
voice cracked. "Why? Why harvest their ova and give them a disease that
would end up killing them? Taking them and experimenting on them wasn't
enough to satisfy the bastards?" 
     Uh-oh. He didn't have to be a psychologist to see she was distancing
herself from the awful news he'd given her. Taking herself out of the
equation. Building more walls. He didn't want that to happen. There were too
many standing between them now. "Dead men--or women, in this case--tell no
tales, Scully. As for you, I suspect it goes a lot deeper than that."
     "What do you mean?"
     He looked aside and bit the inside of his cheek, mulling over his answer.
Damn them for this, too. For making him question her ability and desire to
believe what he might tell her. "The Crawfords are convinced that all the
abductees, including you, were made susceptible to the cancer by the
procedure that was used to harvest the ova. Not that it triggered the cancer
itself, just that it made you more vulnerable to the growth of cancerous
cells. A vulnerability that they could exploit at any time."
     "Are you saying that they could pick and choose who'd become cancerous, and
when?"
     "Something like that. Yeah."
     "But how?"
     "I don't know, Scully," he admitted. "And neither do the Crawfords. But
they suspect the trigger could be something as simple as a common x-ray or
an injection of some kind. Something that wouldn't be questioned when
performed during a routine medical exam."
     Scully was shaking her head in denial. "But how can that be, Mulder? What
you're theorizing would mean that every physician these women visited was
somehow involved with the Consortium. That's just not possible."
     He had only one answer for her. "Scanlon." At her puzzled look, he
continued. "I found out that most of these women didn't develop the cancer
until after they'd discovered their infertility and began treatments at
various clinics across the country--government funded fertility clinics,
Scully."  
     She gazed off into the distance, a far-away look in her eyes. He watched as
varied emotions flickered across her face and faded. A long silence passed
before she said quietly, "I've had the same physician since I was taken. A
doctor affiliated with and recommended by the FBI. It was only after my
cancer was diagnosed that I went outside the Bureau for an oncologist."
     He nodded, encouraging her train of thought. Scully was beginning to fill
in the blanks. "Which means," she continued, "that my cancer was most likely
triggered while I was still under the FBI doctor's care. Assuming what
you're saying is true." She turned to him for confirmation.
     "That's the most logical assumption," he told her.
     "But why, Mulder?"
     "I dunno. To keep us in line. To use your cancer as a wedge to drive us
apart. And to make me desperate enough to save you that I'd be willing to
become a part of the Project."
     She frowned at him and asked, "Why would they want to set us against each
other, Mulder. Why now; why not years ago?"
     "I haven't quite got that all figured out, Scully. But I think it has
something to do with what I discovered up in Canada, when Jeremiah Smith
took me to the farm where I found the clones of my sister. I think I got a
little too close to the truth and it scared them. They know that our
greatest strength is also our greatest vulnerability, and that's our
dependence on one another. And our trust in each other," he added. "If they
could make you believe that I was responsible, directly or otherwise, for
what's happened to you, they knew it would affect our partnership and our
ability to work together to discover the truth." He paused for a minute,
trying to decide how much more she could bear to hear. "Scully, they knew
that without you, I'd be a loose cannon. That without you there to ground
me, I'd go off half-cocked and play right into their hands."
     She turned to him, her eyes growing wide with realization, and said,
"Kritschgau."
     "Yep," he said. "He was just a convenient hammer to drive the wedge even
deeper. They had to know that you'd become just as desperate as me; that
you'd start to look for answers that fit within your scientific approach to
things, as opposed to my more...extreme theories. They sent Kritschgau to
give you those answers."
     A ragged sigh escaped her and she whispered, "Oh my God. Mulder, what have
they done? What have *I* done?" Scully bent at the waist and buried her face
in her hands. 
     Mulder placed a comforting hand on her back and quietly reassured her. "It
doesn't matter anymore, Scully. What came before doesn't matter, now that we
know the truth. It won't do any good to blame yourself for what they've done
to us. The only thing that matters now is getting you well and making
certain they pay for their crimes." 
     She was quiet for a long time, slowing rocking as Mulder's hand swept up
and down her back. Her shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath and
asked, "And the drug the Crawfords have formulated. What is it, Mulder?"
     Her voice was filled with dread, and Mulder knew she'd begun to put the
pieces together. He wondered if his confirmation would be a comfort, or if
it would twist the knife even deeper.
     "It's, um, it's composed primarily of genetic material. From your ova and
from other sources. Combined." He took a deep breath and finished. "And then
harvested from the resulting fetal tissue." 
     When he first heard it, Mulder was certain a small animal had become
trapped in the one of the fans or exhaust stacks on the roof. The low
keening that filled his ears was one of terror and pain and absolute
bereavement. It sent shivers down his spine. He swung around, trying to
locate the sound. And then he realized its source was the woman beside him. 
     Scully once more doubled over, her forehead coming to rest on her crossed
ankles, her face hidden behind a silky curtain of fire. 
     He could manage no more than a raspy whisper. "Scully?"
     The keening stopped and the murmuring began. Over and over. The same word:
"No." Repeated until it was nothing more than a small element of her
increasing sobs. 
     Mulder sat frozen, helpless against the power of her tears. Finally,
haltingly, he put an arm around her shoulder. He honestly didn't know how
his gesture would be met. He cursed the events that had brought them to this
point, where he was even uncertain of the wisdom of offering her some small
comfort. But then she leaned into him, and it was the most natural,
instinctive thing in the world to turn and bring his other arm around her.
And to pull her against him. And then to shift around and lift her just
enough to settle her across his lap. He tucked her head under his chin and
felt her arms snake around him as she buried her face in his chest and wept.
     While part of him wanted to tell her not to cry, that it would all be okay,
he couldn't say the words. How could he ask her to stop weeping when that
act of surrender was one he'd dreamt of time and again? Since her diagnosis,
his overriding desire had been that Scully would finally allow him to share
her pain. He couldn't ask her to hold back now. And he didn't want to. 
     "Oh, Scully," he choked, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry this
had to happen to you. I'm so very sorry." Hot tears gathered and streamed
down his face. He drew her closer and rubbed her back with one hand as the
other came up to cradle her head against him, fingers weaving through her
hair. He dropped his mouth to the silken strands, whispering words of
comfort. His body shook with her sobs and he hung on tight; nonsensical
noises falling from his lips, ending as they became feather-light kisses
along the crown of her head. 
     And then Scully moaned; a low, helpless sound. She nuzzled deeper into his
chest and fitted her body even closer, her arms coming up higher across his
back. Her hands gripped the muscles there, kneading gently like a kitten.
     He brushed the hair back from her brow and planted kisses along her temple
and hairline, whispering her name against the soft skin his lips
encountered. His brain had gone thick and foggy on him. Innocent comfort and
closeness was becoming something more, something he hadn't been prepared for
and was powerless to stop. His hand lifted from her back and came to join
its twin, cupping and tilting  her face up to his. Scully's fingers dug
painfully into his back as he dropped kisses across her forehead and then
moved his mouth down. His lips met the wetness of her tears and he could
taste them, salty and warm. He drank them in, moving from one cheek to the
other, his tongue flicking out to capture the essence of her tears. And then
he kissed each paper-thin eyelid, her wet lashes tickling his lips. 
     He pulled back a little and softly called her name. She blinked,  opening
her eyes, and he was instantly lost in their depths. And what he saw there
made him hope he'd never resurface. Scully's lips parted as though to speak,
but she never got the chance. Mulder fiercely murmured "No," and covered her
mouth with his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~     
end 8/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Nine

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 6, 1997
11:25 AM

     No?
     Scully had only a split second to try to interpret Mulder's hoarse demand
before his kisses temporarily forced all rational thought from her head. 
     He tastes of peaches, she thought dazedly. And salty, like the sunflowers
he'd picked out of the trail mix and popped in his mouth. And something
else, something dark and vaguely dangerous. Something thoroughly male. 
     Scully had often studied Mulder's mouth surreptitiously, wondering what it
might feel like to have it moving against hers. Those thoughts and
imaginings were almost clinical in their makeup; a natural outgrowth of her
precise and scientific mind. But reality.... Oh, my. Scully was discovering
that no amount of forethought could have prepared her for this. 
     His lips were pillow-soft yet confidently firm, pressing against hers with
just enough pressure to remove all doubt that this was simply comfort he was
offering. His hands tilted her face this way and that, seeking out the best
fit, noses gently colliding as they shifted. One hand left his back and she
snaked her arm up between them, curling her fingers around the nape of his
neck. Mulder caught up her lower lip with his and then flicked his tongue
across it.
     She whimpered deep in her throat and opened her mouth to him. Felt the heat
pooling low in her belly when she heard his answering   
moan. She pulled him closer as his warm, wet tongue played across hers,
sweeping deeply into her mouth. Darting against her teeth before coming back
to tangle with her seeking tongue. His hands left her face and traveled
across her shoulders and down her arms. He wrapped one arm low around her
waist and pulled her tightly against him. Scully could feel his growing
erection nudging against her hip and she instinctively pressed in closer,
molding her body to his.
     Mulder's right hand slipped down over the curve of her waist and the flare
of her hip. She could feel the heat of it through the thin cotton of her
shirt as he moved his hand back up and swept it over her ribs. 
     He broke the kiss and dragged his lips across her cheek, murmuring her name
softly into her ear. He pulled the lobe into his mouth and nibbled it gently
for a brief moment. And then Scully gasped as his lips traveled down her
throat and his hand slid up to cup her breast. 
     Even as a tiny but persistent voice in her head began to yell out an alarm,
she arched her back and pressed the rounded flesh deeper into his palm. She
tugged at his hair, pulling his mouth back up to hers as his thumb began to
trace lazy circles around her hardening nipple. The sensation was almost
painful in its intensity; even through the fabric of her shirt and bra. 
     You can't do this, Dana! You can't do this now, she told herself.
     But it had been so long. An eternity since she'd felt a man's hands on her
this way. Touching her like this. Making her burn hot and cold. Chasing all
thought from her head. Leaving her senses screaming for more. She wanted to
feel his naked skin against hers; the contrast of  smooth and rough. Of hard
encountering soft. And of moist, wet folds sheathing rigid, engorged muscle. 
     Scully was momentarily overwhelmed by the realization that she'd wanted
this all along. Wanted Mulder and everything his teasing innuendoes and
long, smoldering looks had been promising her the last five years. All the
excuses, rationalizations, and reasons she'd forced herself to accept in
order to explain why this could never happen were rapidly fading. Swept away
by the reality of his hands and his mouth and what they were doing to her.
The taste and the smell of him. The joyously perfect fit of her body to his. 
     No. Not like this, she warned herself. Not like this. Here on this rooftop,
still reeling from Mulder's news. Not with the cancer moving through her
body unabated. Not in sadness or desperation or doubt. It had to be more
than a temporary need he'd fill in her. She wanted nothing less than a
conscious, well-reasoned acceptance of all that Mulder was--good and bad,
bright and dark. 
     She wanted more than just the release she knew she would find with him in
love-making. She would not welcome that from him until she was ready to
embrace all that would come with it. Scully knew that once they crossed the
threshold into intimacy, Mulder would demand everything she had, and
everything she was. And truth be told, no matter how breathtaking his
kisses, or how exquisite his hands felt moving against her, she didn't know
if she could give him that. 
     Fox Mulder was her salvation and her curse. An elemental force that would
demand everything while promising nothing. And that just wasn't enough for her.
     She broke the kiss and bowed her head, resting the crown of it against his
chest. Her arms slipped down to hold him loosely around the waist. His heart
was pounding so strongly she could feel the beat of it against her scalp.
His chest rose and fell like a bellows.
     "Scully?" His voice was rough with desire and it made her shiver with its
force. "Hey. Look at me." 
     His hand had long since left her breast and come to encircle her arm,
softly stroking up and down, from elbow to shoulder. She took a calming
breath and lifted her face. Her eyes met Mulder's and then almost
immediately dropped to his mouth. It was wet from their kisses. She squeezed
her eyes tightly shut and fisted her hands behind his back.
     He chuckled uncomfortably and attempted a half-hearted joke. "What, should
I consider changing my mouthwash?"
     She opened her eyes and released a shaky breath. "Mulder," she began
haltingly, once more bringing her eyes level with his. "I...I  don't think
we should do this. I think it would be a mistake."
     Dammit! Why couldn't she stop staring at his mouth? Her tongue slid past
her lips to lick them. She glanced up and caught Mulder watching her, his
attention as focused on her mouth as she was on his. She could taste him on
the tip of her tongue. It made her dizzy. "Mulder, I just think--"
     "You think too goddamn much, Scully." He abruptly cut her off, his hands
flying up to once more cradle her face. And then his mouth fell upon hers,
well and truly silencing her. The resulting roller-coaster ride started over
again and quickly picked up speed. Scully hung on for all she was worth, a
fierce battle for control raging inside her.
     Oh my God. My God. I'm drowning here, she realized--even as she thrust her
tongue into his mouth. Sweet Jesus, save me from myself. 
     She wrenched away from him and slapped her open palms against his chest,
pushing him back. "St..stop for a..a second."
     He blindly reached for her, urgently explaining, "But you taste so good,"
as though that should be reason enough to ignore her stammered plea.
     She mustered her best Special Agent voice and demanded, "Mulder. Stop." 
     And then he did. He jerked away from her as though she'd burned him,
gracelessly sliding her from his lap. He swiveled, turning his back on her.
But not before she saw the look that passed across his face, that burned in
his eyes. Arousal. Frustration. And white-hot anger. 
     Scully watched as he bowed his head and scrubbed his brow with a shaky
hand. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. He doesn't understand why I'm
doing this, she thought. I need to make him understand.
     "Mulder?" She tentatively placed a hand on his back and was shocked by the
way he violently shrugged it off.
     "Forget it, Scully," he spat. "You just can't stand the thought of anybody
loving you, can you? I don't even know why I try."
     His accusation stunned and amazed her. "What the hell is that supposed to
mean?"
     He huffed softly, the sound brimming with derision. "Do I really have to
explain it to you?" 
     "Yes," she told him primly.  
     He abruptly turned back to her. His face was flushed, his eyes burning with
cold fire. "Fine," he retorted, his lips curling in anger. "I will." He
hopped off the fan and began to pace in front of her. His arms rose and fell
in forceful, slashing motions, cutting through the air. "There's nothing
left of you, Scully. Nothing but anger and self-defeat and doubt. Ever since
your diagnosis, you've done nothing but push people away. And y'know, at
first I thought it was just your way of protecting us, of wanting to make
your death less painful for those you'd leave behind. But that's not what it
is, Scully, not at all. Because it started long before you found out about
your cancer."
     She was suddenly terrified by what would come out of his mouth next. She
couldn't hear this. Not here, not now. "Mulder, please."
     "Shut up," he shouted. "Just shut up and listen to me. You asked; now, by
God, you're gonna hear me out."
     She stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth agape at the force of the fury
directed at her. 
     "I'd like to think I learned a little something at Oxford," he continued.
"That my old man didn't spend all that money for nothing. And I got it all
figured out now. It's not about protecting me, Scully, or your mom or
Skinner or anybody else who loves you. This about protecting Dana Katherine
Scully. You're scared to death that somebody might actually reach past those
barriers you've thrown up and touch a part of you that can't help but
respond. For some fucking reason, you're terrified to let anybody love you
the way you deserve to be loved. Maybe you don't think you're good enough--I
don't know. I don't know a whole hell of a lot about anything anymore. But I
do know one thing."
     He swung around to her and pinned her with his eyes. Eyes that were gray as
the sky above them, and moist with tears. Of rage, she wondered, or
something else? She couldn't think coherently. She could do nothing but sit
quietly and bear the brunt of Mulder's considerable anger. She could feel
herself growing smaller and smaller, collapsing inward. She crossed her arms
and hugged herself. She was cold. Suddenly so cold. 
     "I know that I'd lay down my life for you," Mulder told her. "In a
heartbeat. And so would Skinner. Don't you understand that it wouldn't have
made any difference if I'd have come to you with this plan in the beginning?
Do you think your response would have been any different? You still would
have fought tooth and nail to keep us from doing what needed to be done to
save your life. You still would rather have let this cancer kill you than
admit that you might actually need anyone to help you through this. 
     "And you know what? It wouldn't have mattered anyhow. I would have done it
regardless, Scully. Because nothing, *nothing* matters to me as much as you
do. Nothing. And you can't handle that. All you can do is turn it around and
make it sound like Skinner and I are the ones to blame for going behind your
back." He lifted a finger and shook it at her. "But this one is on you,
Scully; like it or not. I may be a selfish bastard from time to time, but
I've got nothing on you. Your selfishness and your fear might have ended up
killing you, when there was absolutely no reason for it."
     He took two long strides and stood in front of her. And then he grabbed her
arms and pulled her to the edge of the metal cage. His hands were bruising
and rough. He stood between her knees and got right in her face. And Scully
found that she couldn't look away. She couldn't fight him anymore. Her heart
was in her throat. Her lungs refused to take in air. 
     "I love you, Scully," he declared angrily. "I always have. But you're too
caught up in your fear and your anger to see past them long enough to see
me." He blinked and the tears that'd welled up spilled down his face. His
voice was choked and raspy, his brow knitted in pain. "It's me, Scully. It's
me. Why can't you see that?"  
     He suddenly released her arms and took a step back, hanging his head and
shaking it in silent denial. And she felt something inside her crack wide
open. It might even have been her heart. 
     What had she been thinking earlier? Something about Mulder wanting
everything and yet promising nothing. The realization that she couldn't have
been more wrong was as shocking and painful as a blow to the gut. In the
last few minutes, Mulder had managed to wrench open a part of her she'd kept
so carefully protected and hidden. She'd never asked for his love. Never
really expected it. And now she was realizing she'd never thought she
deserved it, either. Just as she'd convinced herself he hadn't earned
anything more than her loyalty--certainly not her love. 
     How much of Mulder's behavior the past five years had been a result of her
reticence to open up to him and give him the emotional honesty they both
deserved? How many of Mulder's angry accusations were right on target? The
realization of all that Mulder had sacrificed in order to save her life
struck her now with perfect clarity. The selfishness she'd often rightly
accused him of was nowhere to be found here. Not this time. What might have
begun as typical, guilty Mulder penance had sprung from the depths of his
concern for her and become something larger than either of them could've
imagined. A love he'd never felt able to voice. And how much of that was her
fault?
     Scully gasped with the enormity of her realization and lifted her arm,
meaning to wipe away his tears. But Mulder's hand shot up and grabbed her
wrist, stopping her. 
     "Don't," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Just don't, Scully. I don't
want your pity. I did what I had to do. Now you have to do the same." He
dropped her wrist and bent down, grabbing the backpack and turning towards
the roof door. He took a few steps, and stopping dead, turned back to her.
"What just happened here," he added. "You don't need to worry about it,
Scully. It won't happen again. You've got my word on it."
     He swung back around and walked away, leaving her alone. Perched atop a
roof under a slate-colored sky, her heart shattering into a million tiny
pieces, her tears falling hard and fast. She buried her face in her hands,
grieving for what she'd never known she had. And for what might now be lost
to her forever. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
end 9/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Ten

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 12, 1997
11:21 PM

     Mulder drew one sneaker-clad foot up onto the chair and tucked the phone
under his ear. "So what's up?"
     "I had a visitor this evening," Walter Skinner's clipped tones lost none of
their intensity traveling through the phone line.
     Mulder sat up straight and held the phone tighter to his ear. "Cancer Man
finally showed up?"
     "Along with a very dignified older man. Who did most of the talking."
     "Tall, slim, brushed back silver-blond hair? Did he have a slight English
accent?"
     "That's him," Skinner confirmed.
     "I'll be damned," Mulder whispered. "Looks like my death is bringing out
the big guns."
     "Who is he, Agent Mulder?"
     "As near as I can tell, Cancer Man's boss. Scully and I have had various
encounters with him. What did he say?"
     Skinner expelled a heavy breath. "Would it surprise you to learn that your
name never came up? It was Scully they were after."
     "What?" 
     "Yeah. Cancer Man's friend was interested in Agent Scully's current
location. Seems he has some vital news for her and needs to reach her ASAP.
I pled ignorance, of course. Told them that she was on indefinite medical
leave and therefore not required to check in on any kind of a regular basis.
I told them I hadn't spoken to her since your memorial service."
     "Hmm..." Mulder worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "What do you make of
it?"
     "I have no idea, Mulder. But I can tell you one thing: Cancer Man is
running scared. He was spooked the whole time they were in my office. I've
only seen him like that one other time, and that was when he was looking for
the MJ-12 tape, the son-of-a-bitch."
     There was a long silence while Mulder ran this latest news through the
gears and wheels in his head, waiting for a fit. Why Scully? It was too
naive to imagine they might have turned nice-guy and decided to cure her
cancer now. With his death, Scully's illness was no longer a bargaining chip
they could use against him. At this point, the smartest thing the Consortium
could do would be to let Scully quietly die, tying up most of the loose
threads. Except....
     "They didn't make mention of your deal?" he asked Skinner. 
     "No, and I think that may have something to do with Cancer Man's
twitchiness. He kept shooting me looks that warned me to keep my mouth shut
about it. I don't think his companion is aware of the deal we made."
     "Ah," Mulder breathed. "So that explains that. Sounds like there's more
than one game being played here. Makes you wonder if Cancer Man even has
access to a cure. Wonder what would happen if you tattled on him?"
     "That's definitely a point in our favor. I liked to see him sweat. But
right now, it seems to me we don't have a whole lot more to go on than we
did before. Though it's taken some interesting turns." There was a short
silence. "There is one other possibility. There's a chance they may suspect
your death was a hoax. Maybe they think by getting to Scully, they can get
to the truth. They'll certainly want to cover all their bases."
     "Yeah," Mulder murmured. "Yeah, you may be right. We need to be ready for
that possibility."
     "So... What now? Do we just sit tight?"
     "Yeah, for now. But I'm thinking Maggie Scully needs to take a vacation. I
know the story you set up for Scully is good enough to cover our asses, but
I'd feel better if they didn't go sniffing around her mom."
     "You think she should be told? Is that safe?"
     "She doesn't have to know all of it. Just enough to know that Scully's okay
and receiving treatment for the cancer. And that it has to be kept under
wraps. I don't want her to know where Scully is, or that I'm alive. But
yeah, you need to get Maggie out of there. Soon as you can."
     "I'll take care of it." Skinner paused and then said, "Speaking of mothers,
should we be concerned about yours?"
     Mulder made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. Yeah. Right. "I think my
mom can take care of herself. That's always been her finest skill. Mother
and son both seem to excel at self-preservation." 
     There was no response. Mulder didn't really expect one. He sat back and
waited for the inevitable question. It had come every night for the past
five days. He didn't know why he didn't just offer the information to
Skinner. Instead, he held off until it was practically dragged from him.
     Nasty streak of territoriality you got there, Mulder. Ironic in light of
the fact you haven't spoken more than a few words to Scully in almost six
days. Let alone spent more than a few minutes in the same room with her.
     When the question came, it was asked in a soft, concerned tone that set
Mulder's teeth on edge. He understood it. He even accepted it. That didn't
mean he had to like it. 
     "How's Scully?" Skinner asked.
     He clenched his jaw and replied, "She's okay. We administered the final
dose earlier tonight. Last couple days have been rough. She's had her face
in the toilet quite a bit. Muscles cramps, headaches, fever. Nothing we
didn't figure on."
     "Good." 
     He caught Skinner's relieved sigh before the AD stiffened up again and
asked, "So how long are you waiting before you do the cranial scan?" 
     "George says tomorrow night. Or whenever the hell we can get all the
generators up and running. That monster really sucks the juice. If we can't
generate enough of it to power up the equipment we need, we'll go to plan B
and get her into a hospital to have it done. Make it a quick in and out and
then hightail it back here." 
     "I'd appreciate it if you'd get me word when you know something. And please
pass along my best wishes to Agent Scully."
     "Will do," Mulder answered curtly. He looked up and watched a Crawford
cross the dormitory floor, heading his way. Something in the hybrid's face
made his heart skip a beat. He held up a finger to stop him and told
Skinner, "I'll be in touch."
     "Mulder?" The phone was already halfway to the cradle. Mulder hesitated
before he put it back to his ear. "Yeah."
     "Is everything all right?" 
     Mulder easily did the translation. They'd shifted from facts to feelings.
And now Skinner wanted to know how things were between him and Scully.
     "Yeah, I already told you. Everything's fine." And what you don't know is
none of your business anyway, he thought. "I'll contact you."
     He hung up and gained his feet, asking Crawford, "What? What's wrong?"
     "Agent Scully's temperature has shot up and the cramps have gotten worse.
We're keeping her cool with ice packs, but this is where it gets rough. The
next twelve hours are going to be bad for her. Until the resulting
biogenetic toxins are completely flushed from her system, she's in danger of
becoming comatose."
     Mulder nodded his head in understanding. "But we're prepared for that
possibility, right? I mean, we knew it was gonna make her really sick for a
while." 
     "Oh yes, Agent Mulder. I don't mean to alarm you. I just thought Agent
Scully might find it comforting if you could be with her now." 
     Surprised, he looked askance at the hybrid, asking, "George?"
     Crawford nodded his head, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "Yes, it's me."
     "First a baby-sitter, now a matchmaker. What's next," he asked wryly.
"Couple's counseling?"
     "If need be."
     Mulder barked a sharp laugh. The tension and obvious distance he and Scully
had shared the last few days had not gone unnoticed by any of the hybrids.
But only George had felt compelled to do anything about it. Mulder slung his
arm around the hybrid's shoulder in an uncharacteristic gesture of
camaraderie and remarked, "You got a heart like a soft-boiled egg, you know
that?"
     "I'd like to think I inherited it from my mother."
     His eyes snapped up to meet Crawford's. And then Mulder shrugged, giving
him a lop-sided grin. "Maybe you did at that, George. Wouldn't surprise me a
bit." 
     Mulder gave him a parting pat on the back and headed towards the door, but
stopped halfway there. He turned back around and asked, "You really think
she wants me up there?"
     "I think she wanted that five days ago, Agent Mulder. She was just waiting
for you to know it."
     Mulder studied him for a long time and then quietly admitted, "I...I'm not
so sure about that. Do you know something I don't?"
     George glanced away, clearly uncomfortable. "Agent Scully and I have spent
a lot time talking these last few days. I don't want you to think she's
betrayed any confidences or spoken of her feelings for you, because she
hasn't." He stepped to the table and began to stack several used styrofoam
coffee cups together, creating a miniature tower. "But I like to think of
myself as a student of human nature. It helps me come to terms with my own
duality; to see something of myself in the people I come in contact with. It
makes me feel less...alien." 
     He raised his eyes from the table and looked at Mulder with a wistful
expression. "Agent Scully is a remarkable woman. She has a lot of strength.
But she is fallible. Just as we all are--human...or not."
     Mulder folded his arms and waited him out. He'd discovered over the months
that the hybrids had a certain wisdom all their own, especially George. The
guy was more human than most of the people Mulder had encountered over the
years. He was certainly more sensible.
     "She's strong, Agent Mulder, but her strength comes at a high price. It
masks how very fragile her heart is. It forces her to distance herself from
those people who matter most to her. Because they are the only ones who can
truly hurt her. She's not afraid of dying. Her fear lies in allowing people
to love her. And to let herself love them in return. That doesn't mean she
doesn't feel these things, only that she's afraid to voice them."
     Mulder threw him an bemused look and said, "I'll bet my last dollar this
story has a moral."
     George smirked happily and admitted, "Maybe so." He sobered a bit and
added, "You should try to remember that you and I have spent a lot of time
together, too."
     Mulder lifted his chin and waited for the punch line, eyebrows raised in
anticipation. "Your point?"
     George shook his head and looked away for a moment before meeting Mulder's
gaze head-on. "Just that you and Agent Scully are alike in many ways. It
probably wouldn't hurt to keep that in mind. None of us are perfect. And we
all bear our own scars."
     "I'll try to remember that." Mulder wasn't just spouting platitudes. What
George had said struck a chord deep within him. And made an awful lot of
sense, besides.
     "Good night, Agent Mulder."
     "'Night, George." Mulder left the breakroom and headed up the stairs,
pondering the hybrid's words.
     Some of us spend countless dollars and years of our lives trying to figure
out why we're so fucked up, he thought. And some of us already know, but are
too scared to do anything about it. There was no doubt he and Scully were
among the latter. And although Mulder found it much easier to see it in
Scully, he couldn't argue that he shared one particular fear with her. They
were both wounded, each in their own way. Both cautious and closed-mouthed
when it came to admitting their vulnerabilities. Both at fault and yet
ultimately blameless.
     Mulder knew that it came down to a simple choice. Continue to jab away at
each other until there was nothing left of them but tattered flesh, or begin
to learn how to heal the wounds. 
     Even realizing this, the apprehensive, terrified little boy in him knew
that he'd make no further move in the sensible direction--not without some
gesture on Scully's part first. The thought of being rejected a second time
was too much to contemplate. He was still raw from the incident on the
rooftop the week before--both from Scully's actions and then from the brutal
words he'd flung at her. He wouldn't be able to recover from another blow
like that--and doubted Scully could, either. They'd been closer than ever in
those few wonderful minutes--before it'd gone so terribly bad. And so much
still stood between them. Mulder was tired of the walls. Fists and head and
heart had already been beaten bloody against them. Mulder had never
considered himself a masochist before; he certainly didn't intend to start now.
     The office had been converted to a temporary hospital chamber, complete
with monitoring equipment, tall IV stands, and that one of a kind medicinal
odor that seemed to permeate every hospital room he'd ever been in. The only
illumination in the office came from a small reading lamp on the end table
by the couch. The TV was on, tuned to Letterman, the sound turned low. One
of the Crawfords was slumped on the couch, dividing his attention between
the talking heads on the screen and a thick book cradled in his lap.
     Mulder stuck his head in the doorway and nodded at the hybrid. Crawford set
down the book and joined him at the door. "She's finally gone to sleep," he
whispered. "We're giving her a muscle relaxant along with the glucose IV. It
seems to have eased up the cramps enough to let her get some rest. Her ice
packs have just been changed and her fever is already dropping." Mulder
nodded his relief. "Would you like me to stay here with her or....?"
     "No, I'll keep an eye on her," Mulder told him. "You can go."
     "Okay. I'll be right outside if you need anything." He stepped back to the
couch and grabbed his book before heading out the door. Mulder turned and
gently eased it shut. He stood facing it for a long minute, his forehead
resting against the cold wooden surface. And then he turned back and walked
to where Scully lay sleeping. 
     She looked so tiny, curled up in the double bed. She was lying half on her
side, her knees pulled slightly up, long fabric-covered ice packs tucked up
around her. One arm was draped across her stomach, an IV needle piercing the
back of her hand. The other was shoved under her head, her open palm a
pillow for her cheek. Her face was pale and shiny with sweat. Mulder
carefully placed his hand on her forehead and tried to gauge the intensity
of her fever. Scully mumbled something in her sleep and Mulder snatched his
hand away, watching as she rolled onto her back.
     He looked around and grabbed a straight-backed chair from the table,
drawing to the bedside. He settled into it and leaned forward. Reaching out,
he ran the tip of his index finger along hers; the only contact he'd grant
himself.
     The minutes ticked by slowly, quietly. And then the hours; broken only by
Scully's occasional whimper or grunt. Mulder spent most of the time studying
her, grateful for the opportunity her slumber afforded him. He didn't get
much of a chance to see her like this. Vulnerable. Stripped of the defenses
she so vigorously maintained when awake. They were bittersweet, these long
hours. Mulder reflected back on all that had happened the last two weeks,
and all they'd been through. What they'd done and said to each other, and
for each other. The pain and the joy. He let a somber lassitude fall over
him as he ticked off a long list of regrets he'd accumulated in just the
past few days.
     It had been George who'd answered the last of Scully's questions. When,
blinded by a toxic mixture of anger and shame, Mulder had found himself
unable to utter anything but the most inane of words to her. George who'd
confirmed her suspicions that the source of the material they'd created to
cure her cancer had come from both her and Mulder. That in a test tube,
Scully's genetically altered ovum and his sperm had joined to create the
source of the fetal tissue that would save her.
     He'd tried to imagine telling her that. But every scenario had seemed so
warped and twisted that it had offended even his steely sensibilities.
      Congratulations, Scully, you were a mother--and apparently not for the
first time. But this was a new one for me. I've never helped to create a
life before. 
     Hey, Scully, we were pregnant--albeit outside your womb and without all the
fun stuff that usually goes hand and hand with getting knocked up. Too bad
the pregnancy didn't last more than a few weeks. Too bad all I can seem to
do is destroy lives instead of nurture them.
     He'd lost track of the bitter tears that'd been wrenched from him over that
decision. But the Crawfords had come to him and laid it all out, and then
asked for a volunteer to make a donation. That part of it had been a
no-brainer. The hard part had come after the procedure took and Mulder had
ended another life with a nod of his head and curt "Do it." 
     It was George who'd told her of the creation of a Mulder clone so many
months ago. A duplicate grown and sustained for no other reason than to take
a bullet in the face when the time was right. Perfect in every sense of the
word, from the puckered gunshot wounds in the shoulder and thigh to the
holes that'd been punched in Mulder's earlobes while he'd been at Oxford. A
carbon-copy--with the exception of the clone's undeveloped brain and almost
nonexistent IQ.
     And, he'd found out later, it had been George who'd accompanied the clone
to Mulder's apartment that night, just a little more than two weeks ago.
George who'd had to convince Mulder to wrap his fingers around the grip of
his Sig Sauer and tuck the barrel under the clone's chin, and then pull the
trigger. George who'd managed to keep him sane on the trip to Allentown
afterwards. Mulder had passed the miles in a fog of grief and nausea, unable
to decide if he should be puking or sobbing. He'd ended up doing a little of
both. 
     Mulder never would have guessed that one of his greatest allies would turn
out to be a man who wasn't fully human. 
     He'd wanted to tell her these things himself. Had needed to; if for no
other reason than to prove to himself that he could. And yet, when push came
to shove, Mulder couldn't move past his anger and hurt long enough to do it.
The irony of his harsh words to Scully, accusing of her exactly the same
thing, didn't escape him.
     Scully began to stir and he sat up from his sleepy sprawl. Her eyelids
fluttered and her mouth twitched. Mulder scooted the chair closer to the bed
and took her hand. She pushed a single word past her lips; breathy and weak.
"Daddy?"
     "No, it's me, Scully."
     She turned her head and opened her eyes, trying to focus on the owner of
the voice that'd pulled her the rest of the way from sleep. 
     "Mulder?"
     "Yeah, it's me. How you feelin'?"
     She moaned low in her throat and whispered, "I had a dream. My father was
there. And Missy." She locked her crystal blue eyes onto his and said, "But
you weren't there. I couldn't find you, Mulder."
     He gave her a soft smile and squeezed her hand. "That's because I'm right
here."
     Her eyes slipped shut. "Mmm. I'm glad."
     He grinned at her, flashing his teeth. Which of course she didn't see.
Which was why he did it in the first place. "Can I get you anything, Scully?"
     She blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm really thirsty."  
     "It's the fever. You've been burning up." His felt her forehead again. "I
think it may have broken. You feel pretty cool now." He stood and asked,
"What do you want? Juice, tea or water."
     "Just water. Lots of it. With ice."
     "Back in a flash." 
     Mulder made quick work of it, and less than a minute later was at her side,
pulling away the ice packs before gently easing her head off the pillows and
supporting her neck. He pressed the glass to her lips and held it as she
drank greedily. 
     "Take it easy, Scully, or it's gonna come right back up." She shot him a
disgusted look but immediately slowed down to sips, sitting up a little more
and taking the glass from his hand. He propped the pillows behind her and
sat back down. He glanced at his watch. It would be light soon. 
     Scully took a few more sips of water and then set the glass on the
nightstand. She daintily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and
tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She glanced up at her IV bag and
then down at the needle that disappeared under the taped skin of her hand.
She adjusted the front of her pajama top and slid her cross along its chain
until it sat in the hollow of her throat. She rolled her neck and
straightened her shoulders, finally turning to face him.   
     Mulder sat fascinated, watching her go from a sleepy, trusting child
calling out for her father to an inwardly vulnerable woman most comfortable
in the trappings of her intellect and profession. And it wasn't just her
demeanor that changed. What caught him spellbound and clenched his heart was
the way her face transformed itself. It became less rounded, more angular.
>From soft to hard. From innocence to painful knowledge.
     Mulder had seen this transformation before, though not often. It was rare
enough that he'd come to cherish the moments before the change. It was that
face he'd held in his hands on the rooftop a week ago. Those warm, open eyes
he'd looked into. That soft, inviting mouth he'd kissed. He found himself
aching from the loss of her innocence; knowing he was responsible for most
of it. And wanting nothing more than to see that face again. To be the cause
of it, and not just an observer.
     "What's wrong, Mulder?"
     Scully's question pulled him from his thoughts. He shook them off and said,
"Nothing. Everything's fine. Why?"
     She frowned at him and looked away. "I just thought.... I figured something
must be wrong for you to--"
     "Be here?" he asked, finishing for her. Scully gave him a slightly contrite
look and nodded. He caught her eye and announced, "I'm an asshole, Scully;
what can I say. I should have been here the whole time. And I shouldn't have
said some of the things I said to you on the roof. I'm sorry."
     There, he thought. That wasn't so bad. No matter what else happens, she's
still my friend. I don't ever want to lose that.
     She ducked her head and he watched as a corner of her mouth lifted in a
reserved smile. "Apology accepted, Mulder. And I owe you one, too. I could
have handled the situation better."
     Oh man, here goes nothing. "Situation?" he asked lightly. "You mean the one
where I kissed you and you kissed me back? Is that the situation you're
referring to, Scully?"
     She pulled her lips into her mouth and released them with a little pop.
"That's the one."
     "Okay. Because I just wanted to be sure. I don't want any more
misunderstandings. It's hell on the male ego, y'know?" Shut up, Mulder, he
thought. You're just digging yourself in deeper. 
     Mulder glanced up at her and tossed her a smile, hoping to salvage the
moment. What he saw in her face didn't give him much hope. 
     "Is that what it was, Mulder? You got pissed off because you thought you
were going to get laid and it didn't work out? Was it just a macho thing?"
     He gaped at her, caught between making a smart-ass comment and pulling out
the arrow she'd just shot through his heart. "Is that...is that what you
think it was?" he sputtered. 
     She sighed and scrubbed her face. "No, no. I'm sorry. That was uncalled
for. It was a stupid thing to--"
     "You know exactly what it was, Scully. You were there, remember? You felt
it too. Don't try to tell me you didn't."
     She studied her hands for a minute and glanced up at him. "Mulder, there's
something you need to know."
     He held up a hand to stop her. "Let's not do this right now, Scully. Okay?"
He licked dry lips. "All I want is.... I just want to be here with you. The
rest of it, it's forgotten."
     "But--" Scully stopped herself and studied him curiously. That particular
expression was soon replaced by a serious look--as only Scully could do it.
She slowly nodded her head and replied, "Okay, Mulder. You're right. It's in
the past. Maybe it's even better this way. We'll just have to forget we ever
kissed." Their eyes met and locked. And it wasn't long before they both
broke out in toothy grins.
     "Not a fuckin' chance," Mulder declared. 
     "No," Scully agreed, shaking her head in amusement and snickering quietly.
"No, I don't think there's much chance of that. It was ...memorable."
     "To say the least."
     The grins turned to warm smiles, and suddenly everything was okay again.
Certainly not for good, and probably not for long. But for now, it was
enough.       

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 10/14

*WARNING* This chapter is being posted in two separate pieces. This first
part is rated a strong R. The second, posted as 11b, is rated NC-17 for
sexual content. If you're underage or don't require that sort of thing, bail
out at the end of this section. It will be safe to rejoin us at chapter 12. :)

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Eleven 
Part One

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 13, 1997
8:23 PM

     She found him in the darkened office, facing away from the door and towards
the painted windows that afforded him no view. He'd been there with her when
her blood had been drawn, had made it through half the scan. Then he'd
quietly disappeared. One moment there, the next gone. 
     She'd left him alone, feeling no urgent need to find him then. If he had to
be gone, so be it. She'd learned to let him go; she'd had to. Her acceptance
of his terrible manners had begun as a simple defensive tactic: she knew she
couldn't change him. But by not allowing herself to care too much, she'd
been able to abide the ways he'd find to leave her. Caring in measured doses
assured pain in measured doses--ones she could handle.
     What had begun as reasoning had become understanding. She'd gradually
discovered it wasn't a lack of concern on his part, but rather too much of
it. And he'd never learned how to voice that concern properly. He'd grown
comfortable with his solitary ways. He, too, had found a fragile balance
that allowed him to regulate dosages of emotion.
     The only difference between them was that his method manifested itself
physically. Hers was more internalized. He ditched, she withdrew. Po-tah-toe
pah-tah-toe. It was all the same in the end. 
     His words on the rooftop had stripped her raw. The aloof silences and
brooding looks she'd received from him the last week had seemed appropriate.
She bore her punishment with grim determination. She knew the many mistakes
were not hers alone, but she rightly blamed herself for her part in them.
For her weaknesses that had driven her to turn away from her greatest
strength, even while acknowledging to herself that he was the source of it.
That she needed him as she needed air--to survive. She'd thought she might
have lost him, and had been chilled by terrible fear. And bitter grief. 
     She had learned all the truths there were to be learned here. What she'd
been told had reduced her to horrified tears when the nights had fallen
heavy and found her alone. She often thought she should have been more angry
by all he'd done; the unilateral decisions he'd made that so intimately
affected her. But she could find little anger within her.
     Instead, she'd discovered gratitude. For his willingness to make the
painful decisions no one person should have to make alone. For somehow
understanding her growing inability to act on her own, to shake off the
numbing lassitude that'd almost stolen her life. He'd seen the weakness in
her and hadn't turned away or passed judgment. He'd done what she would not
have been able to do. She found herself humbled by the generosity and
selflessness of his gift to her. 
     She remembered Bible verses that spoke of such a gift. That there was no
greater love than that which he had offered. He had, by most definitions,
given up his life for her. She couldn't yet understand why the fates had
shown fit to smile down on them. Why it was that he could make this
sacrifice and yet remain alive and with her. She supposed it didn't really
matter. It simply was; and she was grateful.
     The light from the outer office fell weakly through the doorway, making him
little more than another dark shape within the shadows of the room. She
thought to reach out and hit the light switch, but then changed her mind.
She knew the darkness comforted him, even as it sheltered the demons he
struggled against. He was a creature of contradiction. A wonderful,
frustrating puzzle.
     She called out softly, not wanting to startle him. "Mulder?"
     He swung around to her and then took three steps into the puddle of light.
He was clothed from head to toe in black. Boots, jeans, t-shirt. A dark
knight. The soft light fell across his face, throwing the elegant planes of
his features into sharp relief. The line of his jaw. The arch of a
well-defined cheekbone. The proud strength of his nose. The gentle curve of
his mouth. His eyes were dark and bottomless. His hair fell carelessly
across his brow, twin locks forming a parenthetical frame for his face. He
stood silently. Waiting.
     "It's gone," Scully told him. "The scans show nothing."
     His reply was a roughened whisper. "Yeah?"
     "Yeah." Her head bobbed in a tiny nod.
     "And the blood tests?"
     "Clean. No trace of the cancer."
     She watched as his eyelids drifted shut in a slow blink. His sigh of relief
was audible. "Good. That's good, Scully." 
     They stood six feet apart, neither able to do more than nod and exchange
shy smiles. She knew he wouldn't move to bridge the distance between them.
And her feet seemed rooted to the floor. The seconds ticked by slowly as
they stood frozen; their forward momentum stopped by the fears that still
conspired to keep them apart.  
     "Oh, this is ridiculous," Scully muttered. She lifted one foot and then the
other, amazed at how easy it suddenly was. She took a final step to close
the distance and lifted her arms, sliding them around his waist. She turned
her cheek and rested it against his chest. Mulder's arms hung limply at his
sides for an endless moment. And then she felt them close around her,
holding her loosely, cautiously. 
     "Thank you, Mulder," she whispered. "Thank you." The words weren't enough.
She knew it even as she said them, but they were all she had. Scully felt
his heavy sigh; felt him dip his head until his cheek rested against her
hair. His breath flowed warmly across her face. He moved again, tightening
his arms as he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. Mulder took in a
breath, his chest expanding under her cheek, and then slowly released it.
She felt the hitch of his shoulders. Once, twice, again. He shuddered under
her hands
     "Mulder?" She tried to pull back but he tightened his arms even more,
restricting her movements. She felt no panic at being trapped within his
arms, nor concern that he wouldn't let her go if she pushed away. His
embrace wasn't heated or one of arousal; not like the way he'd clutched her
to him on the roof. This was different. He clung to her as a parent would
cling to a child he'd thought lost. 
     Or like that of a man to the lover who'd finally returned to him.
     Yes, Scully thought. Yes, Mulder, I'm here.
     "It's okay," she murmured quietly. "It's okay." She slid a hand up his arm
and curled it around the nape of his neck, her fingers combing through the
short, silky hairs. "It's okay."
     He turned his face into the join of her neck and shoulder and she  felt the
moisture of his tears against her skin. He was crying. Silently. With barely
a shudder to betray him. Her eyes began to sting with her own tears. Her
heart swelled within her breast, making it difficult to draw a breath. She
tried to hold on, to be strong in the face of his naked relief. But then he
choked out her name, the sound of it falling from his lips like a prayer. 
     Scully moaned her surrender and let go. Her tears fell hot and fast. Her
arms slipped around his neck to pull him closer. Mulder dipped low to meet
her, his arms encircling her waist and lifting her from the floor, until
only the toes of her shoes touched the wooden surface. They clung to each
other in the darkness. 
     She felt it in her lungs every time he took a breath; as if he were doing
it for both of them. She was aware when the beating of their hearts became
synchronized. She could feel, beneath her fingers, the blood flowing within
his veins. Could feel her own pumping throughout her body, giving her life.
Each beat of their hearts, every breath they took, was a glorious reminder
that they were alive. Healthy. Whole. And together. 
     What is this thing we share, she wondered. And how is it that not even
death can separate us? We fight against what we both know is the truth. We
cling to our fears and deny our needs. We struggle and argue and hurt each
other. We use our knowledge of each other's weaknesses to build excuses and
rationalizations. To make sense of something neither one of us asked for but
can no longer live without.
     It didn't really matter anyway, Scully realized. No matter how hard they
might fight it, they couldn't resist the pull. The gossamer threads that
tied them together were stronger than their angry attempts to unravel them.
There was no other path but the one that continued to bring them together.
And this was where they always ended up. In each other's arms. Drawing
strength; sustaining each other. 
     She sniffed and began to pull away from him, swiping at her tear-streaked
face with one hand. Mulder slowly lowered her until her feet were flat on
the floor. His arms fell, but didn't drop all the way to his sides. He held
them open; an unwitting invitation to resume her place within them. Scully
raised her eyes, moving them over his face. She studied him, memorizing
again the countenance she knew as well as her own. She ended her journey at
his eyes and gasped softly at what she thought she saw there. She took
another step back and turned away from him.
     "Scully?" 
     She only stepped far enough to reach the switch on a small table lamp. She
twisted it in her fingers and turned back to Mulder. The light chased away
most of the largest of the shadows, leaving only deep pockets of darkness in
the corners of the room. Scully moved back to stand before him. She once
more raised her eyes, searching. 
     It hadn't been an illusion. The low but ample light confirmed her hopes. It
was there, in Mulder's reddened and tear-heavy eyes. What she'd sought when
poring over his photograph. The explanation she'd craved when everything
else in her life had left her without hope. The elusive answer to her question.
     It was so simple, so elemental, that Scully couldn't believe she hadn't
seen it before now. Her ears rang with the memory of Mulder's anguished plea
on the rooftop: "It's me, Scully. It's me."
     Look at me. Hear me. Open your heart and see me.
     It's me.
     Mulder was her answer. In all his impassioned glory. In his wickedly sharp
mind. His drive and determination. His unending compassion and empathy. She
recognized his demons now, too, and refused to turn away from them. They no
longer held the power to frighten her. 
     Scully had never been anyone's salvation before. But looking in Mulder's
eyes, she could see she'd become that to him. As he was to her; had always been.
     The answer to my question. The healer of my soul. This moment, the way he
looks at me. This is the truth. 
     She spoke to him then. A single word, an affirmation: "Yes."  
     Everything stood still. The world they occupied stopped and held its
breath. He tilted his head, his brow furrowed, his mouth opening on a
question. But it died before it could leave his lips, swallowed up by his
dawning comprehension.
     He bowed his head and spoke quietly. "I haven't got anything to offer you,
Scully. Nothing you really need."
     "You do," she assured him. 
     His eyes slid level with hers. They were the greenish-gold of autumn
leaves--vivid and warm  "No. No, I wish I did. I want to--more than anything."
     She smiled gently and took his hand in hers. "You were there, remember? You
felt it too. Don't try to tell me you didn't."
     He looked at her, surprise coloring his features, and lightly rejoined, "No
fair, Scully. You stole my lines." 
     "Only because they're true," she told him. "And because I couldn't say them
any better." He looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "I won't push you away,
Mulder. I have no intention of doing that again. I've learned my lesson."
     That got her a wounded look. "I wasn't trying--"
     "I know that." She stepped closer until she was mere inches  from him. Her
fingers gripped his hand tightly. It was warm; the skin of his palm slightly
rough against hers. She searched for the words he needed to hear, but in the
end could only voice a question. "What are you afraid of?"
     He huffed softly and smiled down at her, admitting, "You, Scully. Just you."
     "You weren't afraid of me before," she reminded him. "Not when we were on
the roof and you were kissing me, touching me. What's changed?"
     His answer was immediate and telling. "This time you want me back. Just as
much. That's scary, y'know? I'm not used to being wanted."
     "Rejection is easier?" she asked.
     The joking, off-hand way he delivered his words couldn't disguise the
wistfulness behind them. "It's familiar."
     "Well, then," she declared as she loosened her hold on his hand. "I'd like
this to become familiar, too." She stepped back into the waiting circle of
his arms. They tightened around her a little quicker this time. She smiled
her victory, turning her face into his chest. They stood that way for a
time, simply holding each other. 
     "And this." She pulled back and came up on her toes, planting a brief kiss
on his cheek, the mole there becoming her target. "And this." His other
cheek received the same treatment. 
     She felt his breath against her skin, warm and soft. She stayed on her toes
long enough to press a fleeting kiss on his mouth, telling him, "And this, too."
     He blinked and stood motionless, gazing down at her. She smiled, hoping
he'd take it as encouragement. And then saw a spark of optimistic desire
flare in his eyes, though his features remained carefully set.
     "You trying to seduce me, Scully?" he finally asked quietly.
     Her bluntness surprised even her. "Yes. I am." 
     Mulder's eyes went wide for a second before he recovered. "Oh," he replied.
"Well, if that's the case, then don't let me stop you."
     Scully borrowed his serious expression, placing both hands flat against his
chest. Slowly sliding them down and around his waist, she brought them up
back on a return trip, coming to a stop on his shoulders. 
     She asked, "So, Mulder, does that mean it's working?" She could feel him
trembling under her fingers. She came back up on her toes and brought her
face close to his. He dipped his head to meet her. Their breath mingled,
their lips mere inches apart. Her arms snaked around his neck.
     "Oh. Yeah. Amazingly well." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Which means
one of two things. Either I'm incredibly attracted to you or I'm easy."
     "You've never been easy, Mulder. Never." These words were delivered at the
corner of his mouth, their cheeks brushing. The scrape of his evening
stubble sent a warm shiver through her. She snuck a look at his face. His
eyes had fallen shut. His hands were slowly stroking her back.
     "Well, then it must be that other thing," he murmured. His voice was raspy
and warm. "So I really am a pain in the ass, huh?"
     "Yes, you are." She planted another kiss on the very edge of his mouth,
careful not to make too solid a contact.
     "But you love me anyway, right?"
     For the second time in as many minutes, the world ground to a halt. Primal
sympathy, Scully thought, remembering the words from the poem Mulder had
left for her. He already knows the answer; we both do. At some elemental
level, the knowledge had always been there. It was just a matter of getting
past the words. And what possible good would it do to continue withholding
this simple thing from him? 
     "Yes, I love you anyway." Saying the words was easier than she'd thought
possible. Scully waited for the sensible little voice in her head to start
chattering at her. But it was gone. Good riddance, she thought smugly.
     He turned his face a fraction of an inch. Just enough to place his mouth a
hair's breadth from hers. "Yeah?"
     "Yeah. You want to keep talking, Mulder, or are you gonna shut up and kiss me?"
     "Stupid question, Scully," he breathed. And then his lips brushed against hers.
     It was electric. Even more than the first kiss on the roof had been. The
shock of it was so intense that both of them pulled back. Their eyes locked.
And then Mulder chuckled, a delighted sound, and swooped down to cover her
mouth with his. 
     He didn't waste much effort working up to it this time. After a quick,
exploratory swipe of it across her lips, he plunged his tongue into her
mouth. She gasped, taking in his breath and kissing him right back. Tongues
slid and caught, darted and probed. Teeth nipped and pulled. 
     Scully was lost in his kiss. Mulder's mouth was much like its owner:
reckless and demanding; spicy and impatient. She thought she might be
perfectly happy with nothing more than this. But then he bent low and lifted
her from the floor, drawing her up his body until their hips were level. He
held her tightly and took three long strides to the door, mouth still firmly
attached to hers. He caught the edge of the door with a foot and kicked it
shut. Another step brought her back flush against the hard surface. He
pinned her easily and then slowly lowered her to the floor. 
     Mulder was gloriously erect, and she felt every inch of it as she slid down
his body. One of his hands came up to tangle in her hair as the other stayed
at the small of her back, his outspread fingers resting on the curve of her
bottom. He cupped the back of her head in his large hand and deepened their
kiss. His obvious arousal pressed urgently into her stomach.
     Scully was finally forced to break the kiss, panting heavily. Mulder's
mouth slid down her throat. She gulped a lung-full of air and tilted her
head, giving him maximum room to maneuver.
     "Is that a flashlight in your pocket, Mulder," she breathlessly teased, "or
are you just glad to see me?" 
     He snorted into her neck and nipped her lightly. "I dunno, Scully. Why
don't you check that out for me?"
     Sweet Jesus, she thought. We've turned into a couple of  hormone-driven
adolescent comedians; groping and pawing at each other and cracking bad
jokes, besides. She snickered and decided there were worse things. Like
being a couple of solemn, repressed adults too frightened to take a chance
at happiness 
     Scully's nerves were sparking with alarming intensity. Every inch of her
tingled. She thought her fingertips might be conducting tiny bolts of
lightning. But she couldn't tell. There was too much clothing separating her
from Mulder's bare skin to be sure. She impatiently began to tug his shirt
from his jeans. She pulled the tail loose and slid her hands under the shirt
and up his back. Mulder quietly groaned and returned to her mouth. His hands
slid down to cup her ass and pull her tighter against him. 
     The naked skin of his back felt incredible. Warm and smooth and solid. She
clutched at him, lightly trailing her nails up and down the landscape of
bone and muscle. And she'd been right: there *was* electricity in her
fingertips, flashing vivid and hot against Mulder's skin. Her hands trailed
to his waist and danced up his sides, pushing the t-shirt along with them.
Pulling away from his mouth she hissed, "Take this damn thing off." 
     Mulder immediately reached back and caught the fabric in his fist, jerking
it over his head and letting it fall at their feet. His hands dropped to the
buttons of her blouse. "Your turn."
     His knuckles brushed against her already turgid nipples and Scully slammed
her eyes shut, watching stars explode against the canvas of her eyelids.
Mulder's elegant fingers deftly slid the small buttons from their moorings.
She felt cool air against her heated skin as he shoved the blouse off her
shoulders and pushed it down her arms, trapping them against her body. And
then his hands were on her breasts, cupping and kneading. His thumbs danced
circles around her nipples, the thin fabric of her bra adding a delicious
friction to his movements. She struggled to free herself of the blouse as
Mulder slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders. His mouth dropped to
the curve of her neck as he helped her slip out of the blouse. His hands
roamed her back, fingers seeking out the clasp of her bra.
     "Front," she muttered and his hands slid around obediently. He planted
several short kisses on her face as his fingers worked the unfamiliar hook
in the valley between her breasts. He freed it and then stopped. 
     Pulling away a little, Mulder ran his tongue over his lips. "Hey, Scully?" 
     She grunted impatiently and reached for the top button of his jeans. She
didn't want to talk. As a matter of fact, that was the very last thing she
wanted to do. "What, Mulder?"
     "This may be a lousy time to mention it, but are you up for this?"
     "Well, we certainly know you are," she retorted, one button of his jeans
now freed. She started on the others, her fingers brushing against the
heated steel of his erection.
     Mulder hissed through his teeth and reached down to grab her wrist. "Wait a
second."
     "Why?" she snapped. The man just didn't know when to shut up. A small voice
in her head told her she was being unfairly testy with him. But she was just
so...so... Hot. Yeah, that was the word. Hot and thrumming with reckless
abandon. And the only thing to cure what ailed her was more of the same. She
was on fire. Burning from within. Moisture gathered and pooled between her
legs at such a rate she feared she might end up melting into a puddle. 
     "Just stop for a second." His forceful tone stilled her fingers.
     She looked up at him. His eyes were slightly unfocused and dark, blinking
at her with endearing sleepy lids. His mouth was swollen and moist from
their kisses, his lips jutting out in a tiny pout. His color was high, his
cheeks flushed. His hair was messy--tousled from her fingers. My beautiful,
haunted man, she thought possessively.
     "You sure you can handle this?" he asked soberly.
     A sharp laugh burst from her. She knew what he was trying to ask, but his
words filled her with hilarity nonetheless. "Oh, Mulder, you can't be serious."
     "Damn it, Scully, you know what I mean. You just had your last treatment
yesterday. You've been sicker than hell all week. You--"
     She silenced his words with a hand over his mouth. That his primary concern
was her welfare, despite the way his erection strained against his jeans,
was just further proof of his feelings for her. It was the same love that'd
borne his willingness to give up everything to make certain she was safe.
He'd tried to hide it behind sarcastic irreverence in the past; as she had
hidden hers behind defensive barriers of her own making. But they were past
that--they had to be. Honesty had necessarily become policy. 
     She tenderly cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing against his
cheeks. "I'm fine." Off his disbelieving look she added, "For the first time
in a long time, I'm fine. Well and truly." She took a moment to take a
cleansing breath, to wait for her heart to slow down from its frantic
rhythm. "Mulder, I want you to listen me. It's gone. The cancer is gone. I'm
not sick anymore." She smiled widely. "I'm alive, Mulder. And I'm going to
stay that way for a long, long time. I'm fine."
     He gazed down at her with tortured eyes that gradually regained their
familiar sparkle. Mulder roughly pulled her to him and crooned in her ear,
"Love you, Scully. God, I love you."
     "Then let me do this for you, Mulder; for both of us," she said softly.
"Let me make love to you." She grasped his hand in hers and led him to the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Three floors below Mulder and Scully, in the laboratory that was his second
home, the Kurt Crawford hybrid affectionately dubbed George suddenly looked
up from his computer monitor. His fingers stilled on the keyboard. His eyes
were drawn to the ceiling above him for a few moments. Then his head lowered
as his expression became attentive. He turned one ear up a little, as though
listening for something. And then a slow, sweet smile spread across his face.
     He wasn't quite certain where it'd come from, but his intangible psychic
gift often appeared out of nowhere. He'd discussed this odd phenomenon with
his brothers, but none of them seemed to share it.
He had become reconciled to simply accepting it as another unique gift from
the one who'd given him life. 
     He would catch flashes of emotions or thoughts not his own from time to
time, but they usually passed before he could grasp their true substance.
This time, though, the flow of emotions was unmistakable in both their
content and their source. 
     Smile still wide, he took the liberty of picking up the phone and placing a
call to Assistant Director Skinner. It seemed Agents Mulder and Scully were
too busy with other matters to pass along the good news. George figured it
the least he could do. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 11a/14



Primal Sympathy
Chapter Eleven
Part Two *NC-17*

     Their remaining clothing was quickly removed as they stood at the end of
the bed. They helped each other with buttons and zippers, socks and boots.
Scraps of silk both small and high-cut, and large and roomy. 
     They silently agreed to bank the flame of their arousal long enough to step
away from each other and admire what their work had uncovered. Scully felt a
blush begin at her chest and spread upwards, but she refused to look away or
drop her eyes when Mulder's began to rake over her. She knew she'd lost more
weight than was healthy, and that her hipbones and ribs stood out in sharp
relief. Naturally pale, her coloring had been washed out even more by the
cancer. She'd lost much of the muscle tone of which she'd once been so
proud. None of that could be helped. But she was certain that Mulder would
look upon her with a lover's eye tonight, and see only perfection. As she
was doing.
     It had been long enough between major medical traumas that she'd almost
forgotten how lean he really was beneath his well-tailored clothes. Mulder
was all elbows and knees, like a gangly twelve year old. But although
slender, he had a broad chest that tapered down to an enviously slim waist
and narrow hips. His shoulders were squared and solid, his legs long and
muscular. His stomach was flat, its perfect planes of muscle divided by the
thin line of dark hair that trailed down from his chest and spread again at
the apex of his thighs. His sex stood out proudly from his body, colored the
purplish-red of engorgement.
     He's beautiful, she thought. Incredibly, unbelievably beautiful.      And he's
all mine.
     She took a step towards him but was stopped by a lift of Mulder's hand.
"Wait." 
     "What?" she asked.
     "Just stand still, Scully. I'm not done looking yet. It's been a while
since I've seen a naked woman in the flesh." His eyes traveled over her body
on a leisurely trip from head to toe. "And I've been waiting to see you like
this for a long, long time," he added.
     Now she was self-conscious; thinking of all the celluloid, glossy women he
normally spent his nights with. "Mulder...."
     "Scully, you're just so...." He trailed off and his mouth twitched in a
gesture she recognized as frustration. Next came the wrinkled brow. "You're
just.... I'm trying to come up with something original here. I can't seem to
find the right word."
     "Then show me instead," she softly pleaded. 
     "Oh, I will," he said solemnly. "Believe me." And then he raised his arm
and brought the first two fingers of his hand against her chest. Starting at
the hollow of her throat, he pulled his fingertips slowly down the valley of
her breasts and over her stomach. They stopped just below her navel, above
the thick patch of dark copper curls that covered her moist folds. A long
and pleasurable shiver ran through her. More, she thought. 
     Mulder's eyes completed the journey his fingers had begun before they came
back level with hers. "Exquisite," he announced. "You are exquisite, Scully.
Perfect."
     She lifted his hand from her belly and placed it over her breast. "Touch
me, Mulder."
     And he did. With the flat of his hand and the flex of his fingers. She
threw back her head and closed her eyes, giving into the sensations he
called up in her. She was content for a while to simply stand and be
caressed, to be the receiver instead of the giver. Mulder took his time,
mapping out the curves and hollows of her body with slow passes of his
hands. He cupped the small weight of her breasts, teased her nipples until
they ached. He painted the contours of her back and sides with broad
strokes. Chuckled delightedly as he reached around and captured the globes
of her ass before bending low and running his hands down her legs and back up.
     His hands left her then, and she was opening her eyes when his mouth
dropped down to surround a nipple. A low sound pushed its way up from her
throat and she blindly reached for him. Fingers encountered hair and grabbed
hold, pulling his mouth closer. Pulling him closer.   
     She wanted to surround him, take him into her, blanket him the way his
mouth was blanketing her breasts. He moved from one to the other, lavishing
equal attention on both. Circling with his tongue, darting out at the
hardened nub that capped her breast. And then finally drawing it into his
mouth, slowly, wetly. He bathed her breasts with his tongue; his mouth a
warm, humid cage that trapped and held her.
     Scully's hands left his hair and slid down to clutch the ropy muscles where
arms met shoulders. She kneaded urgently, her nails sinking lightly into his
flesh, mimicking Mulder's hands on her breasts, her ass, her hips and thighs. 
     He was driving her mad. The contact was vivid, hot, but it wasn't enough.
No, it wasn't nearly enough. She wanted to feel Mulder all over her, his
weight a sweet pressure against her body. His rigidity merging with her
fluid softness. She pulled away from him and her nipple left his mouth with
a low, wet pop. 
     "Come here," she urged, tugging at his hand and pulling them down to the
bed. She scooted up to the pillows and lay back against the rough bedspread,
watching as he crawled across the mattress until his knees were even with
hers. Mulder loomed over her like some wonderful, awful angel--come in the
night to steal her away. He lifted a knee and nudged her legs apart,
shifting until he knelt between them. He dropped down on his elbows and
started his sweet torture anew. It seemed he was intent to cover every inch
of her with his lips, his tongue. His mouth dropped to her stomach, moving
inexorably lower, promising new pleasures.
     But the thought of his mouth against her liquid folds, his tongue darting
and probing, didn't satisfy her. Once again she was overwhelmed by a fierce
desire to take him into her. To swallow him up until he would be forever
within her. So he could never leave her again. She would cradle him inside
her body, safe and warm. 
     Then there'd be no more phone calls that went unanswered. No more harried
searches of his apartment, desperate to find clues of his whereabouts. She
hooked her legs around his and tried to shift his larger weight. Reached as
far as she could down his back and began to drag him up to her.
     No more frantic trips to remote hospitals or desert landscapes. No more
middle-of-the-night visits to his family's summer home. No more doctors with
drugs and drills and empty promises of the truth. No more early morning
calls asking her to come to his apartment to identify his body. No more. No
more.
     Scully succeeded in pulling Mulder up until their faces were level. She
grabbed the back of his head in one hand and pulled his mouth down on hers.
Spreading her legs wide, she reached between them and took his heated shaft
in her hand. She roughly tried to pull him to the entrance of her body, more
and more frantic to have him inside her. 
     But Mulder wouldn't come to her. He was holding back. She could feel it.
She tugged at him and felt his solid resistance. Instantly recognized the
hot flare of anger that sparked in her belly, fueling the fire of her
arousal. She staunchly ignored it, determined that this coming together
would only be about love. The dark flickers of anger and resentment, the
cold flames of her combined sorrows and fears had no place here. Not now.
     "Scully?" The pounding in her ears almost drown out the sound of his voice
and the bewildered tone it held. 
     Yet still she grasped at him, completely unaware of his attempts to slow
them down. Her eyes were tightly shut, her face contorted with
determination. She savagely dug her nails into his back and Mulder jerked
away from her, freeing himself from her tenacious grasp. And then he roughly
took her wrists in his hands and yanked her arms above her head. 
     Her eyes flew open and Mulder's face came into focus, hovering above her.
His eyes were dark with barely suppressed anger. "What are you doin'?" he
asked sharply. 
     His words were like a slap across the face, pulling her back from the
skinny edge on which she'd been teetering. She came back to herself filled
with a terrible dread. 
     Oh my God, what have I done?
     Mulder's image blurred as hot tears of shame sprung from her. She closed
her eyes against them and turned her face away, murmuring "I'm sorry,
Mulder. I'm sorry." His iron grip on her wrists loosened and she pulled her
arms down and tucked them against her chest. "I'm sorry."
     There was a long, anguished silence. Scully was terrified to open her eyes
and look at him. What on earth had possessed her to claw and rake at him
like she had? It wasn't simple anger; she spent half her time pissed off at
Mulder for one reason or another. 
     What is it really that you're afraid of, Dana?
     She frantically searched for the answer, aware that the longer the silence
stretched, the farther they'd have to go to get back to where they'd been.
She finally opened her eyes, though she kept her face turned away from him.
"I don't want to lose you again, Mulder," she quietly told him. "You have no
idea how hard it was when I thought I'd lost you."
     The mattress shifted under her as he lay down beside her. "Yes, I do,
Scully. I know exactly what it's like." His hand came down heavy on her
stomach. Not stroking, just there.  
     She released a ragged sigh and turned to look at him. His face was smooth,
but his eyes betrayed his pain. "Yes," she realized. "Of course you do." She
turned onto her side and hesitantly reached out to him. "Hold me, Mulder.
Please. Just hold me."
     He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the circle of his
arms. He held her easily; his hands moving softly against her. He bent his
head and pressed a kiss on her hair. "We certainly have done a bang-up job
on each other, haven't we?"
     She nodded. "Yep, we certainly have."
     "Looks like we still have a lot of things to work out, Scully; a lot of
unresolved issues between us."
     She nodded again, unable to speak. Her throat was clogged with fresh tears.
She wondered if there was any hope of salvaging what she'd so badly torn
apart. Good going, Dana. The man tries to make love to you and all you can
do is hurt him. This gives the term "aggressive woman" a whole new spin.
     "Mulder." His name was question and plea--a calling out. 
     "You think we made a mistake?" he asked. "Doing this?"
     "Well, we haven't really done anything yet. But no," she told him, pulling
away. She came up on an elbow and propped her chin in her hand. Her fingers
dropped to his chest and began to play among the silky hairs. "I don't think
it's a mistake. I'm not convinced it's the smartest move we could make, but
it's not a mistake." She watched as a mischievous smile spread across his
face. "What?"
     "Well, if that's the way you feel about it, who's to say we couldn't just
forget about this little incident and start all over?"
     She threw him a quizzical look. "Start over where?"
     "Oh, I dunno," he drawled. And then he reached out and captured a breast in
his hand, his thumb rubbing lazily over the nipple. His eyes held hers. "How
about here?" 
     She arched an eyebrow and said haughtily, "Well, it's good to know I
haven't put too much of a damper on your enthusiasm."
     Mulder raised his head from the pillow and looked down his body. Scully
followed his line of sight and spotted the object of his attention. His
erection remained solid, bobbing a little against his belly.
     "Nope," he agreed. "Doesn't look like it."
     They glanced at each other and traded smiles. "You're incorrigible," she
informed him. 
     "Oooo, Scully, I love it when you call me names."  
     She bent low and pressed a kiss on his chest. "Well, in that case..."
Another kiss landed among the scattering of hair. "Jerk." She moved her
mouth to the hollow of his throat. Her tongue flicked out and tasted the
musk of his sweat. "Punk." Mulder began to hum low in his throat.
"Insensitive asshole. Loony tune. Selfish pig." Each term was accompanied by
a brush of her lips against him, moving lower down his chest and over his
stomach. The muscles there twitched under her ministrations. Her tongue
darted out and explored his navel. Mulder groaned. "String bean." His low
crooning became a chuckle. She nuzzled her nose into his dense forest of
wiry pubic hair. His cock bumped against her chin as his hands landed on her
shoulders. She glanced up at him. Mulder's eyes were shut, his mouth open on
a sigh. "Spooky."
     His eyes flew open and he looked down at her. "Hey, watch it, Scully. That
was a low blow." 
     "No," she retorted. "I haven't gotten there yet." She grasped him in one
hand as the other reached down and cupped his heavy balls. Mulder's hips
squirmed on the mattress and thrust up at her. She wet her lips before she
dealt the final insult, stretching the word out into a challenge. "Fox."
     He started to sit up, reaching for her. "Okay, that's enough of that,
Scu--" She took him into her mouth before he could finish. He fell back
against the bed and expelled a long, breathy moan. Strange how her mouth
seemed to have robbed him of speech. She filed the knowledge away, certain
it would come in handy in the future. 
     She bathed him with long strokes of her tongue. Circling and exploring the
admirable length and breadth of him. Pulling her tongue along the raised
veins and darting into the tiny hole on the head of his cock. She gently
kneaded his balls in her hand, one finger flicking against the taut skin
directly below them. 
     "Oh... God... Scully." She smiled around him and glanced up. His eyes were
tightly closed, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow. His hands
flexed and tightened on her shoulders. His hips began to rise and fall in
slow, easy thrusts. She tightened her lips around him and began to suck
vigorously, her head bobbing up and down. Mulder hands moved to cup her
head, his fingers weaving through her hair. 
     Yes, she thought. I think we've got it right this time. She searched within
herself and found no hint of her earlier turmoil. There was only abiding
love. And trust. And pride at her ability to do this to him, to make him
moan and whisper her name. To give him this small gift of pleasure. She felt
his balls tighten in her hand, knew he was close to release. She considered
her options. Weighed one against the other.
     Before she could decide, Mulder sat up and pulled himself away. Grabbing
her around the waist, he unceremoniously lifted her and flipped her onto her
back, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He finally broke the kiss and
looked down at her, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. 
     "And where exactly did you learn to do that so well?" he asked.
     She put on her best femme fatale look and informed him, "There're a lot of
things you don't know about me, Mulder. I have quite a few hidden talents." 
     He leered at her wickedly. "So do I, Scully. So do I." And with no further
preliminaries, he slid down her body and pushed her thighs apart, settling
between them. She barely had time to take in a breath before his mouth came
down on her swollen folds.
     This time it was her turn to issue breathy moans, to clutch at his
shoulders and then the bedspread, gathering large fistfuls in her grip.
Mulder opened his mouth wide and swiped his tongue from one end of her sex
to the other, forcing the slickened lips apart and laying her open to his
continued urgent exploration.
     Scully lifted her legs and draped them over his shoulders, tilting her
pelvis and spreading herself wide. He grasped the back of a thigh in each
hand, pushing her folded legs up even further, beginning his assault in
earnest. 
     Mulder's tongue darted into her and out, teasing the inner walls of her
vagina and lapping up the juices that flowed from her. He made soft,
satisfied sounds as he worked her with his mouth. She flashed on the image
of a child and a long-desired ice cream cone. And then all thought left her
head as he gently pulled her clitoris between his lips. He nipped it lightly
and then went back to soothe the bite with the flat of his tongue. 
     "Jesus," she muttered. 
     His mouth lifted and he asked, "You like that, Scully? You like it when I
lick your sweet pussy?" His question was punctuated with another swipe of
his tongue. 
     She blushed furiously but somehow found her voice. "Yes.... Oh, don't stop,
Mulder. Please...."
     "I'm gonna eat you up," he growled. And then he made good on his threat.
For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were those of the liquid
notes of his feeding. Then Scully began to whimper. 
     Soon she was twisting and thrashing against the mattress, clutching his
hair as she ground herself against him. Mulder held her tightly and plunged
his tongue into her again and again. He plundered her swollen lips, noisily
swallowed her abundant juices. And finally--a millisecond before she thought
she'd go crazy--finally he began to circle his tongue around her clit,
flicking the swollen bead this way and that. His lips and tongue demanded
her climax. She had no choice but to surrender. 
     Every muscle in her body went rigid, stretched tight and screaming with
tension. Her back arched off the bed, her hips thrusting against Mulder's
face. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and she cried out her release. 
     Warm waves of light pulsed through her for what seemed an eternity, finally
draining her and leaving her weak as a newborn. She sagged limply onto the
bed and pushed Mulder's head away. Grasping his upper arms, she tugged and
pleaded, "Come here. Oh, come here. I want you inside me."
     Mulder raised up on his knees and pulled his lips into his mouth, licking
them clean. He stared down at her, his eyes hooded and dark as night. He
grabbed her hips and pulled her down until she was nestled against him, her
legs draped over his thighs. Reaching down with one hand, he grasped his
cock and positioned it at the opening of her sex. He glanced down between
their legs and then looked up at her.
     "Do it," she ordered.
     "Can't go back, Scully," he told her breathlessly. "This is the point of no
return."
     She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, managing to pull him
a little way inside her. She looked him straight in the eye and hoarsely
pleaded, "Fuck me, Mulder."
     He grinned and replied, "That's my girl," and then buried himself inside
her in one quick thrust.
     Her eyes grew wide at his invasion. Her mouth opened on a tiny squeak. He
was huge, hot, hard. She could feel him in her belly. The soft inner muscles
of her vagina tightened around him in protest. Mulder lifted his bowed head,
watching her, his eyes searching her face. His expression was one of mild
shock and desperate arousal. He remarked in an awe-struck tone, "Wow. Nice
fit." He pulled out slowly, almost completely leaving her body before
sliding back in. His eyes never left hers.
     "Remind me add well-endowed to your list of nicknames," Scully managed to
quip. She took a deep breath and felt her muscles relax as she grew used to
the size of him.
     He stopped mid-stroke. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" 
     His naked concern took her off-guard. Her eyes stung with sudden tears and
she reached up and pulled his lips close to hers. "No," she softly assured
him, backing up her words with tiny kisses dropped on his lower lip. "No.
Love me, Mulder. Love me."
     He murmured her name against her mouth and plunged into her.
     They moved slowly at first, rocking against each other. Learning the
different combinations of thrust and tilt and pressure, finding what worked
best. Silently communicating these messages with their eyes and their lips
and their hands. Mulder's hips gradually took up a constant rhythm: a
languid circling and a confident thrust. Circle and thrust, circle and thrust. 
     He lifted his body from hers enough to reach down between them, stroking
her clit with his thumb. Gracefully holding his weight on one elbow, he soon
began to slam into her, his pace quickening. His thrusts shortened and
became more desperate as he neared his climax. Scully began to feel the
thread pulling tight within her, drawing her closer and closer to her own
peak. She increased the lift of her hips, meeting him stroke for stroke. 
     She forced her eyes open and looked up into his face. He was watching her,
his eyes unfocused, sweat beading on his forehead. He was swallowing great
gulps of air, his mouth open, lips pulled back in a grimace of pleasure
mixing with the sweet pain of holding back.
     "Oh, Mulder, Mulder," she murmured, reaching up to cup his face. "Don't,"
she told him. "Just let go. Come for me."
     Half a dozen thrusts more and she watched as his eyes slammed shut. He
threw his head back and drove into her a final, furious time. A harsh growl
burst from his throat. He stopped, spine bowed, hips buried deep in the
cradle of her thighs. After a few seconds he began to move again, in clumsy,
instinctual thrusts. But it was enough. It was all Scully needed to push her
over the edge again. Mulder dropped and buried his face in her neck, riding
out their mutual climax, clutching her tightly.
     They finally stilled and Mulder lifted his head and peppered her face with
soft kisses. He whispered sweet noises in her ear, biting softly at the
lobe. Scully wrapped her arms as far around him as they'd go, and then did
the same with her legs. She could feel the muscles of her thighs protesting
this newest assault, but blithely ignored their trembling.
     She held him within her; surrounding him as he surrounded her. Her mouth
turned up in a tiny smile of utter satisfaction. And she knew without a
doubt that this was where she belonged.
     She had no idea how long they might be able to stay here, in this safe
place. Where there were no doubts, no worries. No nagging questions of what
would come next. But for now, she could ask for nothing else. Want for
nothing else. 
     Dana Scully had found peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
end 11b/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Twelve

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 14, 1997
5:47 AM
     
     Scully straddled him, her hair a fiery halo around her pale face. Her skin
glowed like alabaster in the dim light of the room. Her eyes were the blue
of a cloudless sky, achingly beautiful in their clarity. She was gloriously
naked, as was he, and she moved over him with splendid grace. Her small
fingers clutched at his chest and he could feel the heat of her core as she
hovered above him.
     "Please," he begged her. "Take me in. Shelter me. Accept me."
     She bent low and pressed her mouth to his. Her small tongue darted against
his lips and he parted them for her. She flicked her tongue against his and
began to trace the shape of his mouth. Her small fingers dug deeper into his
chest. He winced and drew a breath through clenched teeth, accepting the
pain as he always had. It was the price he willingly paid in order to feel
alive.
     "Do you love me?" she whispered against him.
     "My life for you," he answered. What more was there to say?
     She caught his lower lip between sharp teeth and nipped lightly. He thrust
his hips up in a vain effort to meet her, craving the warmth of her womb.
She pulled away slowly, tugging at his lip, teeth holding fast. 
He felt the sudden, shocking sensation as she bit down hard and broke the
skin. He jerked away and stared up at her, wide-eyed and confused. He could
taste the warm copper tang of blood on his tongue.
     And then she smiled down at him. A cold, self-satisfied smile. It stretched
until it became a grimace, her face a chilling portrait of malevolence. 
     "That's not enough," Scully pronounced, and slammed her fist into his
chest. It tore through muscle and bone and reemerged dripping blood and
holding his still beating heart. 
     Mulder jerked awake and sat up straight in the bed, sweat pouring from his
body. His heart was pounding, his lungs empty and struggling for breath. He
scrubbed his face with his hands and let them drop in his lap as he pulled
himself the rest of the way out of his brand new nightmare.
     "Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. "What the fuck was that?"
     Mulder knew where he was, but that was about it. Until recent memories,
both physical and olfactory, soon made him look to the other side of the bed
for confirmation.
     Yep. There she was. Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully. Tucked
under the blankets and sound asleep. Naked, too, if Mulder's memory served.
He carefully lifted the covers to double-check. Right again. While he was
there, he found himself watching for the slow rise and fall of her bare,
lovely chest. Okay, still breathing. Alive and well. 
     He continued to tick off points on his mental list. Seemed the low,
pleasant ache in his groin really was more than just a symptom of his
long-standing desire to put to use muscles and organs rarely used. Instead,
it was evidence of the fulfillment of that desire. And then of course there
was the matter of the particular odor that seemed to cling to him and hang
in the air; maybe even emanating from his pores. That was the kicker. The
indisputable truth.
     I love the smell of sex in the morning, he thought foggily, and bit back a
chuckle. He glanced at his watch to confirm the morning part. It was hard to
tell otherwise. They'd fallen asleep with the light on. And with the windows
painted black, it was always nighttime in the office.  Almost six. Right.
We're just batting a thousand this morning, Mulder, my man. Now if he could
just figure out the bizarre nightmare that'd jerked him from sleep.
     C'mon, he chided himself. You're the psychologist. Can't claim ignorance on
this one. No, not yet, he thought. Not lying right here beside her. This is
not the place or the time to think about it. 
     He carefully extricated himself from the sheet and blankets and eased his
legs over the side of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder as Scully
changed position, still deeply asleep. Wore her out, a smug little voice
trumpeted in his head. Not bad for a thirty-five year old guy. They'd
engaged in at least three or four rounds of horizontal aerobics throughout
the long night; claiming each time that it would be the last, that sleep
would have to overtake them eventually. And then somehow coming back
together without word or look. Blindly reaching out for the other and
finding warm skin, soft lips, and welcoming hands.
     He stood and padded naked to the bathroom, kicking aside the clothes they'd
hastily shed the night before. He took a healthy, year-long piss and
scrubbed his teeth clean before slipping into running shorts and shoes. He
pulled on a clean t-shirt and stepped back to the bed. Bending low, he
brushed the silky hair away from Scully's face and dropped a kiss on her
mouth. He pulled back a little and watched as his kiss worked its magic. She
made a low sound and her eyelids fluttered.
     "Mmm... Mulder."
     He dipped down and placed his mouth at her ear. "Go back to sleep, Scully,"
he whispered. "I'm going for a run. Keep my side warm for me."
     "Humph," she replied and rolled over, ending up sprawled on her stomach. He
grinned at her and quietly slipped out the door. 
     He didn't give his dream any more thought until he'd made his way to the
main section of the gutted factory and had a few miles under his belt. The
sting of sweat seeping into the deep scratches on his back served as a vivid
reminder of Scully's frantic, angry grasping the night before. Her gentle,
kitten-like caresses had quickly turned into the violent clawing of a
tigress. Without warning, but apparently not without reason. 
     That she still harbored feelings of anger towards him was a given. He
wasn't foolish enough to think that their lovemaking would make all their
problems disappear, but he had hoped they wouldn't become an added element
of the sex. He should have known better. It was exactly at those moments,
when one was the most vulnerable and out of control, that those less
desirable emotions were likely to come to the forefront. 
     At least he'd had enough of a functioning brain left to pull her up short
with his words and his restraining hands. And then to follow that with no
recriminations, unspoken or otherwise. His silence had allowed her to voice
at least some of her fears before she made the choice to come back to him,
to melt into his arms and give herself willingly, without shame or fear.
     Even her little name-calling game, which had led to a rather memorable
round of oral sex, had been borne of her anger. But it had been easy to play
along with her, to admit he deserved some of what she'd dished out. And it
hadn't cost him anything--not really. So in the end, one small glitch was
nothing compared to what they'd gained.
     Still, that didn't explain the strange little scenario his brain had cooked
up and served him as he slept. It wasn't his own dream reactions that
confused him; instead it was the chilling portrait of Scully he'd imagined. 
     Mulder had never met anyone as unselfish as her. She gave the phrase "Give
until it hurts," a whole new meaning. So why in her dream persona had she
demanded nothing less than his bloody heart in her fist? 
     Get a clue, genius-boy. It's you who owns the fear that you'll never be
able to give her enough, not Scully. You're afraid you'll end up
disappointing her and she'll call you on it, that's all. Call it what it is:
simple terror at being expected to give as much as you take. 
     He ran until he figured he'd done a good five miles and then half-ass
jogged his way back up to the office, stopping first at the dorm for a slug
of bottled water. What he saw when he pushed through his door made the whole
morning complete.
     Scully was sitting cross-legged on the rumpled bed, wearing his Knicks
jersey and combing out her freshly washed hair. 
     "Hi," he mumbled, suddenly shy.
     "Hi yourself." She practically purred the words as she set her comb down
and looked at him expectantly.
     Oh shit, he thought. I'm in trouble. The only question is whether that's a
good thing or not. He tugged up the front of his t-shirt and mopped his face
with it. "So..." he began, and the question was out of his mouth before he
had a chance to think about it. "Any regrets?"
     Her answer was a sultry look and an "Only that you weren't here when I woke
up." 
     Nothing like getting the answer you wanted to put a smile on your face.
"I'm here now," he playfully retorted.
     "So you are." She actually batted her eyes at him--a first for Scully. If
he'd been asked, he would have said she absolutely didn't go for the typical
ploy of using her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. Oh well, wouldn't
be the first time he'd been proven wrong as far as Scully was concerned. 
     "Hey, Mulder?"
     "Yeah."
     "I'll give you ten bucks if you can tell me what I'm thinking right now."
She closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow in concentration. Mulder's
scratchy baritone laughter filled the room. Her eyes opened and they traded
sly smiles and knowing looks. 
     Mulder broke the contact when he pulled his shirt over his head. "Just
lemme grab a shower first."
     He was toeing off his sneakers when she said, "Uh-uh, Mulder. Now." 
     "I really don't think you want me in that bed right now, Scully. I'm kinda
ripe."
     "And I'm kind of naked," she responded as she crossed her arms in front of
her and grabbed the hem of the jersey, yanking it off in one fluid motion.
     Mulder swallowed hard, watching her breasts bob with her movements. "You
win," he conceded. He swiftly peeled off his shorts and dove at the bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     He was propped up on an elbow, lazily tracing the circle of her tattoo with
a fingertip when Scully turned her face towards him and announced, "I'm
fairly certain the Crawfords are mine."
     His finger stopped. So did his heart. After a long beat he put the finger
back to work and found his voice, trying to sound casual. "You think?"
     "Well, just look at them, Mulder. Add several pounds and a few inches and
they could be my brother Charlie."
     "Don't know about that. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet." 
     "Trust me. It's almost scary, they look so much alike."
     "So how do you feel about that, Scully?" He capped off his question with a
kiss that landed within the circle of the orobourus.
     "Playing psychologist again, Mulder?"
     "Yeah. Unless you wanna play innocent co-ed and lusty professor instead."  
     She chuckled softly and turned her face away from him. There was a long
silence before she spoke again. By that time, Mulder had grown tired of his
game and settled down on his back, his head pillowed on his folded arms. 
     "It's strange. I look at George, talk to him, and it's almost like a
glimpse into a future that could have been, if things were different." He
caught her heavy sigh and turned his head to look at her. Not much to see
but lots of pale, freckled skin and her crown of red-gold hair. 
     She fell silent again and he almost opened his mouth to prod her along.
Just shut up and give her your patience, Mulder. She'll get to the point
soon enough on her own. 
     "It makes a twisted sort of sense," she continued, "if you really think
about it. I mean, the fact that they worked so hard to find a cure when they
didn't even know me--not really. It could certainly have been a motivating
factor."
     "Yeah," he agreed. "But what they discovered could save more lives than
just yours, Scully. There're a lot of women out there with the same type of
cancer, from the same source."  
     Scully snorted softly and turned her face to him. "I wonder how readily the
medical community would accept a cure based on the notion of altering genes
with alien DNA."
     He could only blink at her, completely at a loss for words.
     "Yes, Mulder," she confirmed. "George told me about that, too. You didn't
think I'd let them treat me with just the flimsy explanation that they'd
found a way to reinforce P53 using injections of simple fetal tissue, did
you? I know exactly how my ova were genetically altered, and it had very
little to do with your contribution."
     Mulder squirmed uncomfortably and covered his mouth with a hand. He forced
himself to meet her eye as she rolled onto her side and pulled the sheet up
over her. 
     "My only real question was whether I might somehow acquire the ability to
breath under water. And I'll admit the thought of becoming strong enough to
kick your ass was an intriguing one, too. I was almost disappointed when
George told me that my body would automatically flush out any alien wastes
remaining after the last treatment. So, no green toxic blood for me. Guess
I'm still 100% human."
     He gazed at her curiously. "Does this mean... I take it this means you
believe?"
     "Faced with what I know, Mulder, I don't see that I have much choice. And
all I really care about right now is that I'm cancer-free. The Crawfords
managed to do something the finest oncologists in the world couldn't. I'm
smart enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth."
     He grinned at her. "Not too closely, anyway." 
     "But that doesn't mean I'm going to start buying into every half-ass theory
you present to me. Just remember that."
     "Aye aye, Captain." 
     He caught her eye and held it for a second. Lifted his hand to her cheek
and stroked his fingers across the silky surface. He brushed the pad of his
thumb over her full mouth, enjoying the simple pleasure of being able to
touch her like this. Scully's eyes slid shut against his tender study of
her. She rolled over again, onto her back.
     She's not done yet, Mulder realized. The bit with the Crawfords was just a
warm-up. He knew what was most likely coming. He hoped he was strong enough
to get through it. All he could give her was all he could give her. It had
to be enough. He couldn't allow himself to think otherwise.
     "There's something I need to know, Mulder." 
     "What's that?"
     "When the Crawfords told you what needed to be done and...and how they
intended to accomplish it with the help of your...donation," Scully's hands
were busily twisting together atop the sheet as she pushed the words out one
by one. "Did... Did you stop long enough to think about what it meant?" She
threw him a quick glance before her eyes darted away. "I mean, beyond the
possibility of a cure."
     Mulder focused on the water-stained ceiling. He wondered if this would ever
be easy. If the time would come when he'd think nothing of spilling his guts
at Scully's simple request. It was still so hard to be completely open with
her. To drop his defensive, deadpan facade and let her see what lay within
his heart. Mulder was an expert when it came to repressing his emotions
around others--he'd been doing it most of his life. One might even say he'd
written the book. Empty face, empty eyes, empty voice. Even an empty
heart--until Scully had snuck into it. He'd learned early on it was tough to
judge what couldn't be seen. And it was even harder to acknowledge your
feelings to someone else when you hadn't done it yourself first.
     He began slowly, determined to make the right words without saying too
much. "I made a vow a long time ago that I would never have children. I know
who I am, Scully. And when I look in the mirror I can see what I've become.
My life--" He stopped and uttered a short, bitter laugh. "My life used to be
about the work. And then somewhere along the line it became about you." He
shot her a side-long glance. She had turned her head and was watching him,
her face carefully set in a neutral expression. "That was a hell of a
surprise, let me tell you. Completely unexpected. And absolutely intolerable
for awhile. I didn't want to need anybody, and I sure as hell didn't want to
need you. But what I had before.... It finally dawned on me that it wasn't
enough anymore. And that it was okay for me to want more. I even started to
believe I might actually have something to offer you; that I could give you
all the things you needed and wanted."
     "Some dreams turn into nightmares, Scully." He blinked and felt a single
tear race down from his eye and disappear into the hair at his temple. "The
life that we created.... It was as much a part of me as it was you. And I
knew it. I felt it. Acutely. And I grieve--" His voice cracked and he sucked
in a deep breath. "I grieve for what might have been. But I'd do it again,
y'know," he said as he rolled over to face her. "I'd make the same
decision." He was met with eyes of velvet steel. Moist with tears and
determination.
     "I never had the choice," she murmured.
     "No, you didn't," he agreed. "But neither did I--not really. Scully, the
point is that I can't change what's in the past; I can't even try anymore.
What's done is done." 
     "Mulder, I--" Scully lifted her hands and ran them through her hair. She
pushed out a heavy sigh and scrubbed her eyes. "I know it must have been
hard for you to make a decision like that on your own. But the point is, you
didn't have to. No, actually more to the point, you shouldn't have."
     "Scully."
     "No, just hear me out, okay? I don't mean for you to feel guilty about what
you did--"
     He cut her off. "And I don't. That's what I'm trying to tell you. What was
taken from you ultimately saved you. It was more than a fair trade. Wouldn't
you have done the same for me? Scully?"
     It was taking far too long for her to answer. When it finally came, it was
in a tired, sad voice. "Of course I would."
     Mulder frowned at her and sat up, swinging his legs around and showing her
his back. "Why do I get the feeling you're only telling me what I want to hear?"
     "Maybe it's because that's the way your mind works, Mulder." There was a
rising note of irritation in her voice. "You're so used to listening for the
lies that you don't recognize the truth when you hear it."
     He swung his head around and glared at her over his shoulder. "What the
hell is that supposed to mean?"
     Scully pushed herself up, pulling the sheet with her. The thin cotton was
twisted in fists held high against her chest. She could have been a boxer
anxiously awaiting the bell. "What it means is that not everything is going
to be handed to you wrapped up in pretty paper, Mulder. Not the truth, and
certainly not me."
     "No shit, Scully," he shot back. He looked around for his shorts and came
off the bed, grabbing them from the floor and stepping into them. He yanked
them up over his hips and turned back to her. "It's not like I don't know that."
     "Then why can't you understand that I have a right to be pissed off about
what you did? It doesn't mean I don't love you." 
     He could feel his contemptuous sneer. "I know that." 
     "Do you, Mulder?" she asked forcefully. "Do you really?"
     He scrubbed his mouth and then propped his hands on his hips, scowling at
the floor. He'd barely managed to swallow down an automatic response to her
question. An answer that would have been welcome to both of them at that
point. But nothing would make it the truth.
     His eyes slid level with hers and then skittered away. "No," he quietly
admitted. "I guess I don't." 
     "Well, it's true." 
     Mulder could feel her eyes on him, begging him to look at her. They were
like magnets. He couldn't resist their pull. Hazel met blue, locked, and
held. "I wanna believe that, Scully. But it's hard sometimes. My father made
all the right noises about how important we were to him, but what he did to
us wasn't about love. It was all about anger and guilt and self-loathing.
You put 'I love you,' in one hand and a leather belt in the other and it's
not surprising which one sticks with you." 
     There was a long silence. He watched as Scully gnawed her bottom lip before
bowing her head. When she looked back up at him, her face was grim. "I want
to ask you a question," she announced.
     "Go ahead."
     "Just suppose the tables had been turned, Mulder. What if we'd conceived a
child and I terminated the pregnancy without ever telling you. How would
that make you feel?"
     "It's not the same thing," he argued. "This was a matter of life and--"
     "It *is* the same thing," she insisted. "The only difference is in degree,
not in kind. I'm not saying what you did was wrong. God knows, that would be
a stupid thing to do. My cancer is gone because of the choice you made. But
you took more away from me than you think."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Do you remember what you said to me in the hospital here, right after
Penny Northern died?"
     He shook his head, puzzled. "I said a lot of things, Scully." And didn't
say a lot more, he thought.
     "You told me then that you believed I'd find a way to save myself. Do you
remember that?"
     "Yeah, I remember," he answered haltingly, beginning to catch a glimpse of
where this was leading. Is it possible, he absently wondered, to be a
brilliant bonehead?
     "I didn't believe you, Mulder. I couldn't. I knew I was dying and I had no
reason to think otherwise. I accepted my own death in that hallway. I began
to make peace with it."
     Mulder's mind filled in the blanks in an instant. He knew what she was
going to say next. He would have bet his life on it. He cradled his forehead
in his hand for a long beat before looking back up at her, waiting for the
inevitable. 
     "Did you ever stop to consider then what it might have meant if I'd known
what you knew? If you'd told me then what you knew about the Crawfords and
what they were doing, it could have made all the difference in the world to
me. Instead of spending the last several months preparing for my death, I
could have been working with the Crawfords to find the cure. But you took
that away from me, Mulder. You took away my chance to save myself."
     She was right. That was exactly what he'd done. Not consciously of course,
but facts were facts. Still.... "Scully, I explained to you why I hadn't
told you before. I didn't want to get your hopes up."
     "Some hope is better than none at all," she retorted. 
     And I'm fighting a losing battle, he thought to himself. Just give it up,
Mulder. She's got you nailed. "Okay," he declared. "You're right. I fucked
up. But what do you expect me to do about it now?"
     "I don't *expect* you to do anything about it, Mulder. Like you said,
what's done is done. And I guess all I want right now is your promise that
you won't do anything like that to me again." 
     There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Pride and pig-headedness wouldn't
let him open his mouth and tell her what she wanted to hear. 
     Scully made a low sound of frustration and glared at him. "Look, Mulder,"
she said. "We've managed to come so far in just the last day. What happened
here last night and again this morning is going to change everything between
us. It has to. And I know that you have your secrets, just like I have mine.
But you can't keep cutting me out of the picture. You can't continue to
protect me just for the sake of your own peace of mind."
     He barked a wry laugh. "You don't have a hell of a lot of room to be
talking, Scully. Do the words 'I'm fine,' mean anything to you?" She glanced
aside and he inwardly congratulated himself. Bulls-eye. He had her dead to
rights.
     She slowly began to nod and raised her eyes to his. "Okay, Mulder, I'll
give you that one. I'm just as guilty as you are in some respects. But
things are going to have to change. If we have any hopes of making this
work, we have to change some of the ways we deal with one another."
     He smirked and quipped, "I thought we did a pretty good job of that last
night." He was rewarded with a caustic look that otherwise would have made
him cringe. But this time her pissy expression was being used to cover up
the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. 
     "Okay, okay," he chuckled as he raised his hands in a gesture of
acquiescence. "You got yourself a deal, Scully. So... Do we shake on it or
have you got a better idea?"
     "Well, from the look on your face, Mulder, I'd say you do." 
     They traded smug grins. 
     Mulder finally shrugged and made a contrite face. "What can I say? I like
making up for lost time." 
     "Me, too," Scully shyly admitted. "So does this mean we're in the infamous
honeymoon stage? Are we going to be spending all our time in bed?"
     "I can't think of a better way to pass the time. Can you?"
     "As a matter of fact, I can." Off his surprised look she added, "Food,
Mulder. Long bouts of lovemaking require energy. And I'm running on empty."
     He nodded his agreement. "Okay. Food would be good. Gimme time to shower
and then I'll cook you breakfast."
     "Make it snappy. I get cranky when I haven't eaten."
     "Oooo. That sounds like a threat."
     "Keep it up, Mulder, and you'll find out."
     He shot her a toothy grin and headed for the bathroom. After a quick shower
and shave, he wrapped a towel around his hips, pulling open the bathroom
door and stepping into the office. The sight that greeted him was like a
kick in the balls.
     Walter Skinner was standing in the middle of the office. 
     And Scully was in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~              
end 12/14


Primal Sympathy
Chapter Thirteen

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 14, 1997
9:12 AM

     Mulder's first impulse was to tell Skinner to get his fucking hands 
off Scully. His second was to jerk her out of the AD's arms and declare:
     "Mine."
     Of course being the sensible, rational adult he was, Mulder did 
neither of these things. Instead, he forced himself to casually enter the 
room and make his presence known. Scully saw him first. He took note 
that she pulled away before Skinner seemed ready to let go. 
     He kept his voice at an even keel. Glancing at Scully first, he 
then locked onto Skinner and said, "I didn't know we were expecting 
company, Scully. I would've worn something a little less casual." 
     And then he deliberately slanted his eyes towards the well-used 
bed, knowing Skinner's would follow. The underlying tension in the room 
went up a notch as Skinner's cold scrutiny turned back to him. 
     Scully, clad in her fuzzy white robe, glanced from Mulder to 
Skinner and back. She pulled the belt of her robe tighter and stepped 
away from the AD, gathering their clothes from the floor. Like that 
particular chore was the most important thing she could be doing at the 
moment. Her cheeks were flushed an interesting shade of red.
     "I was contacted by one of the Crawfords last night," Skinner 
began to explain. "I wanted to tell Scully face to face how pleased I am 
that she's been cured."
     "I can see that," Mulder replied. He crossed his arms over his 
bare chest and added, "We all are. And it's definitely cause for 
celebration. Matter of fact, Scully and I got started last night." He 
screwed his face up in his best shit-eating grin. "Sorry you missed it."
     He could feel the heat of Scully's glare but couldn't allow himself 
to look at her. Meeting her eyes head-on could cause him to 
spontaneously combust--or something equally as horrid. Death by 
ScullyStare. A modern-day Medusa. 
     There's an X-File for you. 
     During the loaded silence that followed, Scully yanked open a 
drawer and pulled out some clothes. She gave them each another look 
and headed for the bathroom. The door slammed decisively behind her.
     Mulder glanced over his shoulder in the direction she'd gone and 
wondered aloud, "Think it was something I said?" 
     Skinner took a step towards him. "Have we got a problem, Agent 
Mulder?"
     "Well, aside from the fact that I'm underdressed, I don't think 
so."
     Skinner shoved his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. 
"Then why don't you rectify that problem. We need to talk."
     The two men traded a lengthy glare. Mulder broke it when he 
tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and dug out a clean pair of jeans and 
a t-shirt. He padded past the tiny kitchenette to the bathroom door. 
Rapping his knuckles against it, he turned the knob and opened it.
     "I'm coming in, Scully."
     She was standing in front of the mirror, wearing a pair of black 
pants and a simple white bra. She was brushing her hair in short, angry 
strokes. Scully stopped and glared at his reflection in the mirror before 
she swung around to face him. Mulder prepared to duck, certain the 
brush was going to leave her hand and come flying at his head.
     Instead, her assault was verbal. "What the hell was that all 
about?" she hissed in a tight whisper. 
     Mulder dropped his towel. "Why don't you tell me? You're the 
one who was hugging Skinner." He glanced around for his boxers and 
realized he hadn't grabbed any. Fuck it. He pulled the jeans up over his 
bare hips.
     "For your information it was him hugging me, not the other way 
around. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you were."
     "Yeah, well," Mulder muttered as he pulled the shirt on over his 
head. "He better keep his goddamn hands off you."
     "Or what? What are gonna do, beat him up?"
     "I might," he answered.
     "Oh, for chrissakes. Grow up, Mulder." She grabbed her blouse 
from the back of the toilet and tugged it on, her fingers flying over the 
buttons. "He's just happy about my cancer being gone. There's nothing 
wrong with that. Don't start pulling this Alpha male crap on me."
     Mulder ran his hands through his hair and settled them on his 
hips. "It goes a lot deeper than his being happy about your cure, Scully. I 
can't believe you don't see that."
     "See what?" 
     She really didn't know. Trust Scully to be so unaware of the 
effect she had on the men in her life. Mulder had long held a suspicion 
that Skinner was in love with her. But it wasn't until he'd found out about 
Skinner's deal with Cancer Man that he'd begun to consider the Assistant 
Director a rival. Mulder leaned in close and held Scully's eye. "He wants 
you," he murmured. "Real bad." 
     He watched as a generous smile slowly spread across Scully's 
face. She lifted her hand and smoothed it across his cheek, shaking her 
head in incredulity. "Unbelievable. And of course you had to make sure 
he knew exactly what happened here last night, didn't you? I don't know 
whether I should slap you or kiss you, Mulder."
     "Kiss me now, slap me later."
     She cupped his face in her hands and pressed a chaste kiss on 
his mouth. "I'm leaving now." She slipped on a pair of flats and opened 
the door. Mulder followed her out, absently tucking his shirt into his 
jeans. Skinner was standing where Mulder had left him. The AD looked 
over at Scully as they came into the room.
     "I'm going downstairs to get something to eat," she announced. 
"If I stay here any longer, I'm afraid I might be overwhelmed by the 
testosterone and start swooning." She threw Mulder another glance over 
her shoulder and walked out the door.
     The two men traded looks. Mulder's tiny smirk bounced off 
Skinner's stony expression. He clipped his holster onto the waist of his 
jeans and grabbed a clean pair of socks and his sneakers. Crossing the 
room, Mulder settled onto the couch. "You wanted to talk?"
     Skinner hesitated, looking towards the door Scully had just 
exited. "Agent Scully might want to be here for this."
     "She needs to get some food in her. I'll fill her in later. What's 
up?"
     Skinner expelled a long breath and sat down on the edge of the 
recliner. "We need to discuss our next move."
     "Why? Did you have another meeting with our friend?" Mulder 
asked as he pulled on his sneakers.
     "No. No further word from that end. But now that Scully's well 
again...."
     "She goes back to work," Mulder finished. 
     "While you do what?"
     "I'm a dead man. That narrows my options considerably."
     "So you're not planning on surfacing any time soon?"
     "Not until I can find out more about what my role is in this sordid 
little tale. It'll be a lot easier to move around if nobody's looking for me." 
     Skinner nodded slowly. "Have you discussed this with Agent 
Scully?"
     A low, wry chuckle escaped Mulder. It occurred to him that 
Scully hadn't once brought up the subject of what they'd do when she 
was well. Then again, neither had he. "No. We, uh, we haven't been 
doing much talking lately." 
     He glanced up at Skinner and saw that his words had been 
taken in the wrong context. He'd hadn't meant them to come across as 
gloating, to make it sound like what he'd really been saying was, "Talk? 
No way. We've been too busy banging each other to talk."
     For several reasons, Mulder found himself compelled to set 
things straight with Skinner. His flash of childish jealously had dimmed 
to a more than tolerable level. And he was also feeling an acute need to 
protect Scully's honor after the ass he'd made of himself earlier. My 
sense of chivalry's not dead, he thought. It's just a little slower some 
days than others.
     "Scully and me... We've had kind of a rough go of it the last 
week or so. Haven't been doing a lot of talking. Not about that, 
anyway...." He trailed off and cast his glance downward. 
     There was a long silence before Skinner's observation pulled his 
eyes back up. "From the look of things this morning, Agent Mulder, I'd 
say you're over the hump."
     He smiled sheepishly and saw it mirrored on Skinner's face. A 
tight-assed smile, of course, but a smile nonetheless. "You love her, too, 
don't you?" Mulder blurted. "That's why you made the deal with Cancer 
Man."
     The Assistant Director tried. Had to give him credit for that. "I 
did what I had to do in order to ensure the safety and good health of two 
of my finest agents, Mulder. That's my job."
     Mulder was shaking his head before Skinner had even finished. 
"Uh-uh. I'm not buying it, sir. This was above and beyond. Way beyond. 
You did this for Scully, and maybe even a little for me."
     Skinner's face was passive. His eyes gave away nothing. The 
two men studied each other, strangely comfortable in their mutual 
scrutiny. 
     "Why?" Mulder finally asked. "I mean, aside from the obvious. 
Why are you willing to sacrifice yourself for us?"
     Skinner looked away. "I, uh," he stopped and cleared his throat. 
"I...envy what you and Scully share. I've never met two people more 
suited to each other than the two of you. And I mean as more than just 
partners." Off Mulder's understanding nod, he continued. "When you two 
are together in the same room, it's as if there's a bubble surrounding you 
that no one else can penetrate. It sets you apart from everyone else, 
every*thing* else. The isolation you impose on each other would 
probably weaken any other relationship, but you manage to pull it off 
and end up stronger for it. I envy that.
     "I also happen to believe in your work and what you and Scully 
are trying to do. The truth needs to be found in order to bring these men 
to justice. This is something I have to do, Agent Mulder...for my own 
piece of mind."
     Mulder leaned forward, intent on getting answers. "How deeply 
involved are you in all this? What exactly do you know?" 
     "Not as much as you might think," Skinner retorted. "But I have 
my suspicions."
     "Care to share any of them?"
     Skinner removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose 
tightly. He scrubbed his face with one hand and slipped the glasses back 
into place. "I'm convinced our smoking friend has his own agenda, 
outside of his work for the Consortium. And I believe part of that agenda 
involved protecting you."
     "Why?"
     "That I can't tell you; though I'm sure you have your own ideas. 
All I know is that for quite some time, there's been a hands-off policy 
within the Bureau in regards to your work. I'm sure I don't need to tell 
you that had you been anyone else, your career with the FBI would have 
ended a long time ago."
     "So you think this is strictly personal for Cancer Man? And that 
my connection to the Project--whatever that may be--is an entirely 
separate issue?"
     Skinner released a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I know 
that's not what you want to hear. But I'm as much in the dark over their 
motives as you are. There is a limit to my knowledge, Agent Mulder." 
     Mulder leaned back, resting his head on the back of the couch. 
He pushed a long breath out from between pursed lips and addressed 
the ceiling. "You don't think I have a chance in hell on my own, do you?"
     There was a long silence before Skinner answered him. "I think, 
given what we know, you'd be more successful using the Bureau's 
resources. You stay out on your own, Mulder, and there won't be anyone 
left to protect you. You'll be cutting yourself off from everyone and 
leaving yourself completely vulnerable." 
     "I'll still have Scully," Mulder reminded him.
     "And me," Skinner added. "But I don't see that Scully will be able 
to help much in that regard. The X-Files division has been shut down. 
Without you there, she'll most likely end up back at Quantico. The 
answers you need are in the X-Files; I think we both know that."
     Mulder sat up. "So what are you saying? That I should just stroll 
back to DC and announce that the reports of my death have been 
greatly exaggerated? We just go back to square one?"
     "If I understood correctly, our main goal was to get Scully well 
again. Anything else we found out would just be a bonus."
     "Can you reopen the X-Files?"
     "I've done it before."
     "But you can't guarantee our safety if I come back."
     "No, I can't. But I think it's reasonable to assume that after 
Scully's last report on the nature of your work, the attention you receive 
will be widespread."
     Mulder's forehead creased. "What do you mean?"
     "Not everyone in the Bureau is out to get you, Agent Mulder. 
There are those who are just as interested in finding the truth as you are. 
And despite what you might think, Scully made it very clear to the 
people gathered in that meeting that someone wanted to make certain 
the truth would never be known. She didn't paint you as a fool; just as 
someone who'd been led to believe one thing when something else was 
true."
     "I still don't see what you're getting at."
     "People don't like being made to feel foolish," Skinner explained. 
"Especially bureaucrats. If enough of them think something is going on 
within our government that they don't know about and could make them 
look like incompetent boobs, I can promise you you'll be welcomed back 
with open arms. You'll have the support you need. And that, in turn, will 
go a long way towards ensuring your safety. And Scully's."
     Mulder snorted softly. "Work within the system instead of finding 
ways to buck it? That's an interesting concept." 
     "Come back to work, Mulder. That's where you can do the most 
good."
     "He's right, you know."
     Both men turned to look at Scully. She stood in the doorway, 
leaning one shoulder against the frame. "How long have you been 
there?" Mulder asked. There was a hint of amusement in his voice. 
     "Long enough," she answered, returning his look and joining him 
on the couch. 
     Mulder moved his hand from his leg and laid the tip of his index 
finger on her knee, catching her eye. He leaned toward her and asked 
softly, "Did you get something to eat?"
     Scully ducked her head as her mouth pulled up in a diminutive 
smile. "Yeah," she murmured. Her eyes lifted to his.
     "Good." Mulder wondered if he was the only one who felt the 
shift taking place in the room. A moment when everything faded into the 
background but his awareness of Scully, and hers of him. He glanced 
over at Skinner and saw that he was watching them. Taking in the 
intimate tableau. Perhaps even trying to figure out how to penetrate the 
bubble. He turned back to Scully. "You really think I should do this?"
     "Skinner's right. We both know what it's like to try to work 
outside the law. I think we'd be more effective if we were together." A 
secret smile flickered over her face and quickly disappeared. "And if 
there's any advantage to be found in this situation, then I think we should 
take it. If help is being offered, Mulder, there's no shame in accepting it."
     He cocked an eyebrow at her in surprise. He couldn't resist a 
little dig. "What was that, Scully? I don't think I heard you right." His 
pointed teasing was softened by his grin.
     "Everyone knows it's easier to give advice than take it," she 
retorted mildly. Her expression was affectionate and warm.
     "Okay, okay," Skinner broke in. "I hate to interrupt this Kodak 
moment, but we need to get back on track." 
     Scully looked over at the AD and sat up a little straighter. Here 
she comes, Mulder thought. The return of Agent Scully. It was easier to 
watch the transformation now than it had ever been before. Because he 
knew that now he could call up the woman in her with nothing more than 
a word or a simple touch. Any time he wanted to. Well, almost any time. 
They did still have to get some work done. 
     "I can't speak for Agent Mulder, sir," Scully said. "But I'll be in 
your office first thing Monday morning." 
     She and Skinner both looked over at him,  waiting for his 
response. Finally, he slumped back in his seat and said, "Well, obviously 
it's not gonna be that easy for me. I'm going to have to get on the phone, 
call in a favor or two from the boys. I'm still pretty green at this coming 
back from the dead stuff. The first time was considerably different." 
     He gazed into Scully's eyes and saw something there he hadn't 
seen in months, maybe even years. She looked excited. Primed and 
ready to get back to work. Her mood was contagious. "Let's do it," he said.
     Scully slapped her hands against her thighs and made a 
satisfied face. Skinner rose from his perch and made his way to the 
door. "You know what this means, don't you, Scully?" Mulder asked.
     "What's that?"
     "This time you get open an X-File on me."
     He got teeth with her smile this time. "Does this mean I finally 
get my own desk, Mulder?"
     He opened his mouth to answer, but was stopped short by the 
sound of feet pounding down the hallway towards the office. Mulder 
stood and pushed by Skinner, getting to the door just as one of the 
Crawfords burst through. He was panting heavily. His eyes were wide, 
his face pale as a sheet.
     "There's someone here!" he announced. "Men with guns!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end 13/14

Primal Sympathy
Chapter Fourteen

HOPE BASE
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
MAY 14, 1997 
9:43 AM


     Several things happened at once. Mulder unsnapped his holster and drew his
weapon as he grabbed the hybrid by the shoulder, pulling him into the room.
He half-turned and saw Skinner with his own weapon in hand. From the corner
of his eye, he saw Scully reach to her right hip, reflexively going for her
gun and not finding it. She hustled to the bed and grabbed her Sig Sauer
from the nightstand, releasing the clip and checking the load before she
slapped it back in place. They traded a worried glance.
     Mulder turned back to the Crawford. "Where?" he snapped. "Where are they?"
     "Uh, they uh, they're at the opposite end of the factory," he stuttered.  
     "How many?"
     The hybrid blinked rapidly. "Eight. Maybe ten. I was watching the security
camera and saw a car and a van pull up. They started piling out and I came
straight up here."
     It was then they heard a muffled boom. Mulder knew in an instant that the
secured door had been blasted open. He calculated rapidly in his head. They
had maybe a minute and a half before the assault team crossed the factory
and reached the offices.
     He wheeled on Skinner and hissed, "You led them right here, you stupid son
of a bitch." Skinner's expression was grim. He started to say something but
Mulder cut him off, once more addressing the hybrid. "Is that you, George?"
     "Yeah."
     "How many of you are here in the factory?"
     George stared at him, open-mouthed and terrified. He shook his head and
finally answered, "Four. Including myself."
     "Scully," Mulder snapped. "The pocket of my duffel bag. My backup weapon's
in there. Get it for me."
     Skinner went out the door as Mulder crossed the room, pulling George along
with him. He took the gun from Scully and flipped off the safety, handing it
to the hybrid. "You ever used one of these?" 
     George swallowed hard. "No."
     "Well, it's real easy," Mulder explained as he quickly led him to the
bathroom. "Aim down the barrel and pull the trigger." He pushed George in
before him and told him, "Stay here. Lock the door. Don't come out until one
of us comes for you. If they break in here, use the gun. You understand?"
     George nervously licked his lips and nodded. "Okay."
     "And, George? Don't fuck around. Head or heart. Make sure they go down the
first time. Got it?"
     "Yeah."
     Mulder pulled the door shut and heard it being locked. He raced back into
the office and joined Scully at the doorway. She was flushed, her breath
coming hard and fast. He touched her arm and asked, "Ready?"
     She nodded. "Yes. Mulder, who--"
     "I don't know, Scully, I don't know. But we're not gonna die. You hear me?
We're gonna make it out of this alive." His hand slid down her arm and
linked with her fingers, giving them a short squeeze. "Let's go."
     They joined the AD in the outer office and headed down the hallway; Skinner
playing point man, Scully bringing up the rear. They went down the stairs,
staying close to the wall, their weapons held at the ready. Mulder's heart
was thumping painfully in his chest. A hundred different questions skittered
and slid through his mind. Who had sent the assault team, and why? Had
Skinner turned on them and set a trap? Was the team under orders to kill
them all? What were their chances of getting out of the factory before the
men could catch up with them?
     The answers his brain supplied weren't very reassuring. Damn it, Mulder
thought, we've been through too much to have it end this way. He welcomed
the hot flash of rage that burned through him. Combined with the adrenaline
that was coursing through his body, it helped clear his mind and sharpen his
focus. It didn't matter what happened to him or Skinner, or even George. If
he could get Scully out of this in one piece, he'd gladly give up his own
life in exchange. He glanced back over his shoulder at her and caught her
reassuring nod. 
     They were at the landing between the first and second floors when they
heard a startled cry from below. It was followed by the sound of breaking
glass and several heavy thumps--but no gunfire. Not yet, anyway. 
     Of course not, Mulder realized. Hybrids. Toxic blood. Back of the neck; the
only way to kill them. He found himself desperately wishing Scully had
retained some of the alien genes that'd cured her cancer. At least then he
wouldn't have to worry about a simple bullet taking her out. 
     Skinner stopped and turned to him. "Where?"
     "There's an exit between the lab and the dorm," Mulder answered in a tight
whisper. He turned to Scully. "Take a left at the bottom of the stairs. You
hit that door and haul ass outta here. Head for the field. We'll cover you
and get out there when we can."
     "No," she declared. "I'm staying with you."
     "Fuck that, Scully! You go," he ordered, his voice raspy and demanding.
     She caught his eye and held it as Skinner took three steps down the last
flight of stairs. Her eyes were bright with intensity; fierce and beautiful.
"No, Mulder. I'm not leaving you. Not now, not ever again. If we die, we die
together."
     He shoved out a quick breath and his left hand snapped up to curl around
the base of her skull. He roughly pulled her to him and dipped his head,
crushing her mouth under his. Mulder's kiss was short and brutal, filled
with conflicting emotions. Fear; pride; anger; hope. 
     And love. Love most of all.
     He pulled back and gave Scully a terse nod, vowing, "Together." Mulder
glanced away and saw Skinner's eyes on them. The two men exchanged a long
look before Mulder said in a low voice, "We go on three." He cocked his
elbow, raising his weapon to shoulder level and holding up his left hand in
a fist. He silently mouthed the words as each finger lifted and
straightened.  "One. Two. Th--"
     Before he could get the word out, a door burst open below and to the left
of them, where the lab was located. Mulder stood transfixed as Skinner's gun
arm snapped up, his finger reflexively beginning to squeeze the trigger as
he aimed. A shot rang out. Only it wasn't Skinner's. 
     The AD was spun around, his gun flying from his hand and bouncing off the
wall and down the stairs as a bullet entered high on his right shoulder. A
spray of blood painted the wall as Skinner slumped against it, his legs
giving out on him. Mulder ducked and shoved Scully down, going for the floor. 
     "Freeze!" a voice rang out. 
     Mulder, still in a crouch, grabbed Scully's elbow and tried to push her
back in the direction they'd come. But she wouldn't go. She yanked her arm
free and pushed by him, heading for Skinner. 
     "Scully!"
     He reached for her, but she was already at the AD's side as four men,
clothed in black and armed to the teeth, filled the hallway below them.
     "Freeze!" The order rang out for the second time. "Drop your weapons or
we'll shoot!" 
     Fuck me, Mulder thought with bitter resignation. There was nowhere to go.
The heavily armed men would pick them off like flies if they tried to escape
now. He didn't much relish the thought of taking a round in the back. He and
Scully exchanged a glance and Mulder slowly lowered his weapon, setting it
on the floor of the landing. Scully placed hers on the stair where she was
perched and turned her attention back to Skinner. 
     The Assistant Director's eyes were squeezed shut. His teeth were bared,
tightly clenched against the pain. As one of the squad members scrambled up
the stairs to retrieve their weapons, Scully slapped her open hand against
the wound on Skinner's shoulder, trying to staunch the flow of blood. 
     "Get up," the soldier on the stairs ordered, waving his assault rifle
menacingly. "Downstairs."
     Scully's looked up at him and said in a high, sharp tone, "This man needs
medical attention."
     The response was derisive enough that Mulder was tempted to take his
chances and deck the guy. "You're the doctor, Agent Scully. Get him
downstairs and do your job."
     "Who are you?" she demanded.
     "Who we are makes no difference. Now you've got two choices: get your asses
downstairs or risk a bullet like your friend."
     Scully growled low in her throat and Mulder could sense that she was ready
to snap. He found one little sea of calm within him and gratefully embraced
it. He gently laid his hand on her shoulder and murmured, "C'mon, Scully.
Let's do what the man says."
     He got up behind the AD and slung Skinner's uninjured arm around his
shoulder. Mulder grasped him around the waist and slowly helped him to his
feet. Scully stayed on Skinner's right, her hand pressing against the fabric
of his trench coat, over the entrance wound. Mulder could see the blood
seeping through her fingers and noted Skinner's pasty complexion. He didn't
have to be a doctor to see that Skinner was probably going into shock.
     He half-carried Skinner into the lab. There were five more squad members
there. One was seated at a computer terminal, pounding away at the keyboard
as a mish-mash of information scrolled rapidly by on the monitor. Another
had rounded up the three hybrids and was holding them at gun point. Two more
were moving through the room, gathering papers and files. Clean-up
operation, Mulder realized. The fifth man was holding a hand-held radio and
pacing the lab. He turned as they entered the room and quietly said
something into the radio. 
     Scully steered them toward a long conference table. With a sweep of her arm
she cleared the table of coffee cups and pens and helped Mulder lay the AD
down. She turned to Mulder. "I need some towels. And get something to
elevate his feet before he goes into shock." 
     Mulder looked to the man holding the radio and got his nod of permission.
He stepped to a large metal cabinet and opened it, grabbing hand towels and
other assorted linens. He spotted a sealed case of test tubes and tucked
that under his arm. Mulder joined Scully and handed her the towels, stepping
to Skinner's feet and placing the case beneath them. "What can I do?" he
asked her.
     "We need to get his coat and suit off. I have to be able to see the wound."
She twisted at the waist and addressed the radio man. "These men have
medical training," she said, lifting her chin in the direction of the
Crawfords. "I could use some assistance."
     The man studied her with cold blue eyes. Finally, he turned to the man
guarding the Crawfords. "Get one of 'em over here."
     A Crawford was selected and nudged away from the others with the long
barrel of the soldier's rifle. He joined Scully and she began to issue
quiet, urgent orders. Mulder was quickly relegated to standing watch as they
gathered what they needed and set to work. Within minutes, Skinner had been
stripped to the waist and was being given oxygen as Scully patched his
shoulder. Mulder was calm enough by then to be grateful they'd taken the
time to supply the lab so well. They'd considered most every possible
medical emergency and had stocked up accordingly.
     Luckily for the AD--or maybe not luck at all, Mulder mused, maybe
purposefully--the shot had been a clean one; passing through his shoulder
with what appeared to be minimal damage. Scully was more concerned with
further blood loss and the onset of shock than anything else. 
     She and the hybrid eventually managed to slow the bleeding to what she
deemed an acceptable level. Skinner had been largely silent the entire time
they'd worked; only the occasional groan or hiss of breath breaking the
tense silence around the table. 
     The assault team continued to buzz around them, bringing in boxes and
filling them, hauling out most things not nailed down or too large to carry.
Mulder kept track of their comings and goings, watching the man who seemed
to be in charge as he issued orders and occasionally shifted his attention
to the activity going on around the table.
     Scully finally left the makeshift trauma table and grabbed a towel, wiping
the blood from her hands as she approached Mulder. She shot the man in
charge a wary side-long glance and stepped close. Mulder leaned in to close
the distance even more. 
     "How's he doing?" he asked.
     She sighed and peered up at him. There was a smudge of blood on her jaw.
"He's gonna be okay, I think. There may be resultant nerve damage, but I
can't know that until we get him to a hospital."
     Mulder licked the pad of his thumb, gently scrubbed the blood from her jaw
and then wiped his thumb dry on his jeans. "Somehow, Scully, I don't see
them just letting us call for an ambulance," he remarked wryly.
     She closed her eyes in a slow blink and heaved another sigh. "He'll need
antibiotics, Mulder. My God, I didn't even have gloves on while I was
working on him. Not to mention this room isn't exactly sterile. The risk of
infection is astronomical. And he's probably going to...need...." 
     Scully's words came to a slow stop as the sound of an opening door captured
Mulder's attention and he looked away. She turned her head and followed his
eyes as they tracked the man who'd just walked into the lab from the front
entrance. 
     It was the older, well-manicured man. He was alone and strode toward them
purposefully, not bothering to acknowledge the soldiers still milling about
the lab. He gave Skinner a curious glance before turning his attention back
to Mulder and Scully. He greeted them as though it was some sort of social
event they were all attending. Welcome to the tea party, Mulder thought giddily.
     "Mr. Mulder, Ms. Scully. How nice to see you both again. Particularly you,
Mr. Mulder. I'd hoped your death wasn't as certain as it first appeared to
be." He raked over Scully's length with an appraising eye. "Ms. Scully,
you're looking quite lovely today. And healthy, too."
     Scully curled her lip and shot back, "No thanks to you."
     The ghost of a smirk crossed the man's lips. "Oh, but you're wrong, my
dear. Quite a lot of your gratitude should go to me."
     "What do you mean?" Mulder asked sharply.
     The man turned back to him. "Do you know why I'm here, Mr. Mulder?"
     "Well, somehow I don't think it's to award me the grand prize in the
Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes."
     The old man actually grinned. His cold smile instantly brought to mind the
image of an ancient, omnipresent evil. Mulder shivered involuntarily. 
     "No, I'm afraid not."
     "Then why are you here?" Scully asked. Her arm brushed against his and
Mulder could feel how rigidly she was holding herself. He blindly reached
out and grasped her fingers. They were cold as ice. He squeezed and then
released them. The contact was fleeting, but enough to fill the need in both
of them to connect, if only briefly. 
     Mulder was aware of every beat of his heart and the concurrent pounding in
ears. His mouth was dry, his stomach doing lazy cartwheels. Mulder had faced
down evil in many forms, but for some reason the distinguished man in front
of him frightened him more than any liver-eating mutant or shapeshifting
bounty hunter ever had.  
     That's because he knows, cackled a little voice in Mulder's head; he knows
the truth we've been searching for. He can answer all my questions. About
Samantha, about what happened to Scully, about my life. Everything I've ever
wanted to know. 
     In a ephemeral flash of insight, Mulder realized he was more terrified of
hearing the answers than of not. And just how strange was that?  
     "Because you and your associates have found the solution that has eluded us
for many years, Ms. Scully. Just as I'd hoped you would," the Well-Manicured
Man answered. 
     "What are you talking about?" Mulder demanded. 
     "The formula necessary to cure certain ailments without the unsavory
side-effects we've encountered in the past. You must understand that it
wouldn't do to have a small segment of the population walking the streets
filled with toxic blood and possessing abilities outside the norm. What if
one of them were to be injured and require medical treatment? The risks were
just too great, Mr. Mulder. But thanks to your associates and their
participation, we can now eliminate that obstacle."
     Of course, Mulder thought. Some of the pieces were beginning to fall into
place. "Purity control, " he muttered to himself.
     "Oh, yes," the man confirmed. 
     Mulder shook his head in amazement. After a long silence, he added, "A
method of altering genes that would allow for all of the benefits without
any of the drawbacks." 
     "Precisely."
     Mulder continued, gathering his thoughts aloud. "As a way of creating the
perfect human-alien hybrid. One who'd be practically immune to any sort of
biological toxin or disease--terrestrial or otherwise. Only without the
obviously alien side-effects that would tend to draw unwanted attention. It
would just be a matter of isolating a certain gene and treating it with the
alien bacteria."
     The man nodded. "Just as was done with Ms. Scully. Quite successfully, I
might add."
     Mulder darted his eyes at Scully. Her mouth was pulled tight, her back was
ramrod straight. Her accusation, when it came, was cold and indignant. "You
mean you used me as a guinea pig? You gave me cancer as a means of isolating
the formula?"
     "Not just you, Ms. Scully. Several other women, as well."
     The nonchalant way he confirmed Scully's fears made Mulder's blood run
cold. Who were these men, who would sacrifice so many lives for their own
agenda? What this man was implying was as despicable as anything the Nazi's
had done during their brief but terrible reign in the early part of the
century. Not that the collapse of Hitler's Germany had halted any of the
terrible experimentation, Mulder mused. They'd just moved onto US soil and
gone deep underground. And somewhere along the line, alien biology had begun
to figure into the equation.
     "I should kill you right now," Mulder told him, his voice filled with quiet
menace. "With my bare hands."
     "To what possible end?" the man retorted. "You'd only die yourself, and
take Ms. Scully with you. Surely you didn't go through all this to end up
dying again--and permanently this time. For what? So that you could have
revenge? Don't be foolish, Mr. Mulder. You've been given a chance to start
anew, with an unusually healthy partner. Not many dead men get that
opportunity."
     "How did you find us?" Scully asked impatiently.
     The man glanced over his shoulder at Skinner before turning back to them.
"It wasn't him, if that's what you're thinking. I've been aware of the
hybrids' extracurricular activities for some time now. But I only suspected
what they might have been up to."
     He shifted his gaze to Mulder and continued. "It was your increasing
recklessness and then your alleged suicide that alerted me to the
possibility you might be searching out an unorthodox cure for Ms. Scully's
cancer. Once it was ascertained she'd gone underground, it was simply a
matter of waiting for the results I wanted. One of the hybrids was finally
located and detained here in Allentown yesterday. He was able to provide the
answers I sought. 
     "They're all very similar. Have you noticed that, Mr. Mulder? What one
knows, they all seem to know. It was very simple, actually. It was just a
matter of asking the right questions."
     Mulder's heart had risen to block his throat. It couldn't have been George,
could it? No, it wasn't possible. George hadn't left the factory since
Scully had begun her treatments--he was sure of it. But he asked the
question anyway. "Which one? Where he is now?" 
     "Oh, I'm afraid he suffered a tragic accident. And, of course, I'll have to
take these others with me," he said, waving towards the three Crawfords.
"They're too valuable to the Project now to let them run amuck spreading the
news of a cure for cancer."
     "You bastard," Scully spat. "You've got it all figured out, don't you? And
you can't possibly let us go public with this. It would mean giving away the
advantage."
     "Just so," he answered. "Consider it, Ms. Scully. A cure for cancer, one of
the greatest killers known to mankind. The man who possesses that cure can
own the world."
     "Don't you mean the group of men who possess it?" Mulder asked.
     "Oh my, no," the old man retorted. "My first concern is for myself, Mr.
Mulder. One can't win the game without first holding all the aces. And I
intend to come out a winner." He gestured around the room. "All the hard
copy research has been collected. Any and all computer files have been
located, accessed and copied. A virus has been introduced into your
mainframe, effectively wiping out the hard drive. Nothing will remain. No
proof to back up your account of things. You will leave here with nothing."
     That's what you think, Mulder thought smugly. I'll leave here with Scully
well again. And maybe even more than that. He and Scully traded a glance
before Scully turned back to the man, skepticism practically dripping from
her words. 
     "You're just going to let us walk out of here?"
     He actually looked surprised by her question. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? I
have what I came for. And you and Mr. Mulder still have so much more to do."
He paused for a beat and added, "However, my colleagues might not be so
generous. I had to share some of this with them, you understand. There will
be another team arriving within the hour. They will do a final sweep, and
they have orders to kill anyone remaining. I suggest you collect Mr. Skinner
and leave this place immediately."
     As he'd been speaking, the last of the assault team had cleared the lab,
escorting the three Crawford hybrids from the room. Mulder took a good look
around. The place was empty, wiped out. Skinner had come around a little and
had turned his head, watching them, silently taking in their conversation.
Scully stood close to him, her arms crossed in front of her. She looked as
stunned as Mulder felt. 
     Without another word, the Well-Manicured Man turned on his heel and began
to walk away.
     "Why?" Mulder called out to him. "Why don't you just kill us and get it
over with? It'd be the smartest thing you could do." He was aware of the
incredulous look Scully was shooting him. 
     The older man slowly turned back to them, a sympathetic smile on his face.
"Mr. Mulder, I can't tell you what you want to know."
     "Can't?" Mulder challenged. "Or won't?"
     The smile got wider. "Good day, Mr. Mulder, Ms. Scully." He looked in the
AD's direction and added, "Mr. Skinner."
     And then he was gone. 
     An unsettled hush blanketed the room. Mulder found himself unable to do
anything but stare at the door the old man had just exited, his mind trying
to wrap itself around what had just happened. And then he felt a touch on
his arm and glanced aside to find Scully looking up at him. Her expression
held a mixture of resigned weariness and gentle concern.
     He released a heavy sigh and asked, "So what do you think, Scully?"
     She looked over at Skinner and then back. "I think we should take his
advice and get the hell out of here. Much as the man makes my skin crawl,
I've learned to heed his warnings."
     Mulder nodded his agreement, thinking about the Well-Manicured Man's last
warning to Scully and how it had saved her life. But only at the cost of
Melissa's, he reminded himself. His gaze met Scully's and he could see she
was thinking the same thing.
     "You take Skinner's car and get him to a hospital. I'll...I'll gather my
stuff and--"
     "No." The word was spoken determinedly and through gritted teeth. As one,
Mulder and Scully turned to Skinner. "Scully, you get whatever you need and
get out of here. Take the van. Go home and sit tight. I'm staying with Mulder."
     "Sir," she protested as she stepped to the table, "you have a gunshot wound
that needs to be treated."
     "I'm keenly aware of that, Agent Scully. But there's the small matter of
Agent Mulder's earlier death and the need for a cover story to bring him
back." The AD grunted in pain as he shifted on the table and attempted to
sit up. Mulder joined Scully and they both helped him up. By the time he was
settled with his legs dangling off the edge of the table, Skinner's face had
drained of what little color it had held, and he was breathing in short,
ragged breaths. He cradled his right arm against his chest and shifted his
eyes from one to the other, until they settled on Mulder. "I have an idea,
but it means staying with you. We'll have to find a place to hole up for a
few days, make some of those phone calls you mentioned earlier. We have to
give this some thought. The last thing we can afford to do right now is go
stumbling around in the dark, hoping everything works out for the best. This
has to be done right."
     Mulder took a long moment to study Skinner. He was inwardly waging a battle
between his concern for the Assistant Director on the one hand, and his
concern for him and Scully on the other. He worried his top lip with his
finger and then drew it away, asking, "What've you got in mind?"
     It only took a few minutes for Skinner to outline his plan. When he was
finished, Mulder turned to Scully. "You think he'll be all right for a few
days?"
     She hung her head and then peered up at him through her lashes. "Well... I
did drive you across the country with a similar shoulder wound... I suppose
it'll be okay." She crossed her arms and threw both men a stern look. "But
you keep a damn close eye on him, Mulder. If the wound shows *any* sign of
infection, you have to get him to a hospital as quickly as you can. We
should have everything here you'll need to take with you as far as medical
supplies. I'll put together a box for you. She turned to Skinner. "But
first, let's get a sling on that arm."
     Within minutes Skinner was sporting a makeshift brace and Scully had
demonstrated her talent at the fine art of pilfering. She did a few slight
adjustments on the sling before focusing her attention on Mulder. He got a
quick rundown on the care and feeding of a gunshot wound before they left
Skinner and headed up to the office to gather their things. It wasn't until
Mulder walked into the room that he remembered George. 
     "Shit," he muttered and loped to the bathroom. He softly knocked on the
door. "Hey, George, open up. It's me."
     He heard the lock disengage and the door slowly opened. Mulder was meet
with two wide eyes. He noted that George was tightly clutching the gun in
his hand. "It's okay, man. They're gone. C'mon out."
     Mulder stepped aside and let the hybrid pass. He caught up with him at the
doorway of the kitchenette and slowly took George's arm in one hand and
pried his fingers off the gun with the other. He shoved it into his jeans,
tucking it into the small of his back. "Take it easy, George," he chuckled.
"It's all over."
     "What happened?" 
     "I'll fill you in later. We're gonna take a road trip. You, me and Skinner.
I need you go downstairs and help him out. He took a bullet in the shoulder
and he's not moving around very well. Get him out to his car and get him
settled in the back seat. I'll be down in a few minutes."
     "Agent Scully?" the hybrid asked him as they entered the office. And then
George glanced over and saw her hastily throwing things into her bag. Scully
looked up and threw him a warm smile. 
     "I'm fine, George. Really," she assured him.
     Mulder was shocked by the hot moisture that flooded his eyes at her words.
His tears didn't make any sense; not really. And he could remember a time
not so long ago when those words leaving Scully's mouth had been the most
hated of any she could have uttered. But now.... 
     Now they were the truth. Now she really was fine. If that made him a little
weepy, well, Mulder figured there was nothing wrong with that. He knuckled
his eyes dry and started to collect his things as George headed for the door.
     And then Mulder remembered something and was tempted to slap himself silly
for forgetting in the first place. He stopped George's progress with a quick
word. "Hey." The hybrid wheeled around, a startled look on his face. "You
remember that thing you did for me when we hit on the formula?"
     "Yes." George waited, an expectant look on his face.
     Mulder told him, "Make sure you bring along something to get at it, okay?"
     George shot him a look of understanding. "Of course, Agent Mulder. I don't
think that'll be a problem. I'll see you in a few minutes."
     He left the room and Mulder went back to his chore. He was aware that
Scully had stopped her packing and was watching him. He felt her curiosity
and smothered a grin.
     Apparently Scully's patience was wearing thin. Because she left her side of
the bed and came around to his, reaching for his arm and stopping him with a
handful of clothes half-stuffed into his duffel.
     "You wanna tell me what that was all about?" she asked when he peered up at
her.
     He straightened up and looked down at her. This time, he let the grin poke
through a little. "It's nothing much, Scully. Just a first for us. And for me."
     One eyebrow crawled up her forehead. "Explain, Mulder."
     He dipped his head and pressed a quick kiss between her brows. "You
remember all the evidence we've collected that's always managed to
disappear, or get stolen or destroyed? All the times we've seen things we
could never prove?"
     "Yes," she answered impatiently. "So... What's your point?"
     "After George and the others found the right formula, I had him copy all
the pertinent files. They were encrypted and the information placed onto a
microprocessor. And then that was hidden in an implant. A subcutaneous implant."
     Scully looked stunned. There was no other word for it. She opened her mouth
to speak but at first could only stammer. "An... An implant?... You mean?...
Wh...what the hell are you talking about, Mulder?"
     He tugged his shirt free of his jeans and lifted it in answer, pointing to
a long scar that ran high across his ribs, compliments of the Jersey Devil.
"You really need to be more observant, Agent Scully," he teased. "You've
been over every square inch of me the last day. I'm surprised you didn't
notice part of the scar is a little fresher than it should be." 
     With that, Scully bent low and brought her face close to his chest. After a
long time, she hesitantly reached out and ran the tip of her finger over the
scar. And then used the pads of two fingers to gently probe it. 
     When she finally straightened, she looked him dead in the eye. Her
expression held equal parts of wonder and growing satisfaction. "The
implant?" she asked, pointing at his chest.
     Mulder didn't speak. He just nodded at her, a smug little grin plastered on
his face. 
     "Well, I'll be damned," she muttered. 
     He allowed the shirt to drop back over his belly. "Quick flick of the knife
and it's outta there, Scully. All the proof we need. Amazing what can be
done with microprocessors these days. Ain't high technology grand?"
     Scully smiled widely and stretched on her toes, sliding her arms around his
ribs and up his back. "Have I told you lately what a remarkable man you are?"
     "Nope," he replied, his eyes dropping to her full lips. "Don't think you have."
     "Well," she said, and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. "As soon as
this mess is all straightened out, you be sure to remind to take some time
and do just that."
     He cocked an eyebrow at her. "*Some* time, Scully? I only get some time?"
     "Okay, Mulder. How about a lot of time? How about a lifetime? A very long
lifetime."
     He pulled back and studied her. His chest was tight--and it had nothing to
do with Scully's confident embrace. His voice was choked when he answered
her, but he didn't care. Mulder pulled her to him and buried his face in her
silky hair, whispering, "I like the way you think, Scully. I like it a lot."
     Her hand slid up to linger at the nape of his neck. "I love you, Mulder."
     He groaned and nuzzled deeper. "Say it again, Scully. Please."
     "I love you, I love you, I love you." He could hear the hint of amusement
in her voice. "Will that hold you for awhile?"
     He pulled away a little. "I guess it's going to have to. We gotta get out
of here, Scully. We're running out of time."
     "Yeah, you're right." Scully released him and came down flat on her feet.
"Promise me you'll keep in touch. I'm going to go crazy if I don't know
what's going on."
     "I will," he told her. "You just get yourself home and take it easy. I'll
be okay, I promise. And, hopefully, in a week or two we'll be back at work."
     "An unbeatable team."
     "An immovable force."
     They traded gentle smiles. Mulder leaned over and grabbed his duffel bag,
slinging the strap over his shoulder. He picked up Scully's bag and took a
last look around the office. "You got everything you
need, Scully?"
     Her eyes were warm as a summer's sun when they met his. She reached out and
offered him her hand. Mulder grasped it, inordinately pleased by the way it
fit so well in his. Their fingers linked and she nodded up at him, a
brilliant Scully smile lighting up her face.
     "I do now," she assured him. "Everything I need."
     They walked out of the office hand in hand; neither one looking back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end14/14  

Primal Sympathy
Epilogue

WASHINGTON, DC
MAY 21, 1997


>From The Washington Post: 

     FBI AGENT PRESUMED DEAD RESURFACES IN VIRGINIA 
     by Kristopher Carter

     In what officials are calling a bizarre case of kidnapping and mistaken
identity, an FBI Special Agent presumed dead of a self-inflicted gunshot
wound contacted local police earlier today. Fox W. Mulder, 35, of
Alexandria, Virginia, spoke to officials after he escaped from his captors
with the help of two other men.
     Early on the morning of April 26, 1997, Alexandria police were called to an
apartment at 42-2360 Hegal Place, where they discovered a body that was
later identified as Mulder's. The remains were shortly thereafter cremated.
An inside source has confirmed to this reporter that the autopsy records on
the now unidentified body have disappeared. 
     Local officials are hesitant to release many details of the kidnapping
until they've completed their investigation. However, it has been confirmed
that Mulder was allegedly kidnapped by an unidentified man and a body
resembling his was left in the apartment. 
     FBI Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner, who accompanied Mulder to the
police station, later told this reporter that he had been contacted
anonymously and given Mulder's location; allegedly an abandoned farmhouse in
rural Virginia. Upon his arrival there, he discovered Agent Mulder and
another kidnap victim, identified only as George Starbuck, no known address.
A gun battle with the kidnapper ensued as the three men attempted to leave
the area. Skinner suffered a gunshot wound to the shoulder but was expected
to make a full recovery. Mulder and Starbuck were uninjured.
     Police do not expect to make any arrests for some time, citing a lack of
solid evidence or any clues that might lead them to the perpetrator. Special
Agent Mulder is expected to return to work this week.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     THE END  

Author's notes: Well, this has been a long, strange trip. The basic idea for
this story first started rattling around in my head shortly after the fourth
season finale. In the ensuing months, I began and deleted two different
versions of Primal Sympathy before I finally hit on the one that seemed to
fit me the best. Thanks must go to Karen Rasch for plugging through the
first two and helping me gather my thoughts for the final version.
     Say what you will about Gethsemane, good or bad, but it certainly has given
birth to some of the finest pieces of fanfic I've had the pleasure of
reading during this long hiatus--and many more I haven't gotten to yet. You
may cry foul at Chris Carter, but it seems the events of Gethsemane
intrigued many of us. For that, I must bow to his talent for messing with
our heads and leaving us wanting more, as well as his predilection for
ambiguity and not answering all the questions--which I've tried to follow
here. 
     Thanks also go to the chaos lists: x-files, xf-romantics and fictalk, for
the interesting and lively conversations that followed Gethsemane and
continue still. With such a wealth of intelligence and insight, it's a true
pleasure to participate in these forums.
     A wink and a nod to Joyce McKibben, Meredith and Miki Akimoto, whose superb
"Missing Voices" gave me the idea for my epilogue. It is meant as tribute
and thanks.
     Thanks also to everyone who took the time to write me with ideas,
suggestions, overlooked boo-boos, and thoughtful comments. I've said it
before and I'll say it again: without my constant and faithful readers, this
wouldn't be nearly as much fun. 
     On a final note, one of the goals of this story was an attempt on my part
to portray Mulder and Scully as the diverse, complicated human beings they
are, with all their attendant flaws and short-comings. Truthful
characterization has always been extremely important to me, especially when
attempting to put them into a romantic relationship. I'd love to hear how
you think I did. It's as simple as hitting the reply button. :)

Till the next time,
Lydia       
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
   X-Phile--XFR--SPCDD--LOMIG--SMMTFL
*Co-Founder of the Mulder Defense League*
       X-Files Fanfiction by Lydia Bower
http://members.aol.com/XFSparky/index.html

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