TITLE: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord(1/3)
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: MTA, Xemplary, Gossamer - others are fine,
just let me know
SPOILERS: Up through Closure
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: XA
KEYWORDS: MSR, AU
SUMMARY: Has Mulder's somewhat tenuous tether to
sanity finally snapped?
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Grey McKenzie is my
own little creation.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you to everyone out there
who has supported this series and stalked me until I wrote
another installment. <G> Your kind words have meant
more than I can say. Though this is an alternate universe for
obvious reasons, I do try to keep pace with the show.
Therefore, this story takes place soon after the events of
Closure. The exception, of course, is that I killed off Teena
a year before Chris did. <BEG> The story can be found in
its entirety on my Web site at
http://members.tripod.com/~dawnsunrise/index.html
More notes at the end.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please. It makes my day!

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (1 of 3)
By Dawn

Prologue

Raleigh Police Department
Thursday, March 30
10:34 a.m.

Grey McKenzie scrutinized the forensics report, mouth
twisted in a scowl, and tapped his pen impatiently on the
desk blotter. "This is the best they could come up with?" he
asked incredulously, eyeing his partner over the top of the
page.

Mark Preston shrugged. "I don't write 'em. I just read 'em."

Grey snorted. "From the looks of this, they aren't writing
'em either. I refuse to believe our guy could break in,
sexually assault this woman, and crawl back out the
window without leaving a shred of trace evidence. I'm not
releasing the crime scene until they take another look."

Preston shook his head but reached for the phone. "If you
say so. But you're going to be pretty unpopular."

"I'm sure I'll be sobbing into my pillow tonight," Grey
growled.

The phone trilled just as Preston's fingers made contact,
and he scooped up the receiver while sparing a grin for
Grey's sarcasm. "Detective Preston. Yeah, he's right here."
He passed the phone, lifting his shoulders in answer to
Grey's upraised eyebrows.

"This is Detective McKenzie. How can I help you?"

"Grey? It's Walter Skinner."

Grey dropped the report and leaned back in his chair, a
smile lighting up his face. "Hey, Walt! It's been a while.
How's things?"

The pregnant pause wiped the grin from his face and
brought him upright. "Walt?"

Skinner's voice was tense, clipped. "This isn't a social call,
Grey."

"What is it? Has something happened to Fox?" Grey's
fingers tightened around the phone in a white-knuckled grip
and he forced himself to wait for an answer. He turned his
back to his partner's concerned gaze.

"Grey..." Skinner trailed off and swore softly. "There's no
easy way to say this."

Grey ground his teeth. "Just do it."

"Scully is missing. No one has seen her for over twenty-
four hours."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and he massaged his forehead.
"Oh, God. Fox must be out of his mind with worry."

Skinner's voice was oddly neutral. "There's more, Grey.
We've recovered a weapon, a knife, with blood on it that
matches Scully's type. We're in the process of running a
DNA test to confirm that it belongs to her."

A chunk of ice settled in Grey's stomach and he swallowed
hard against the nausea that followed. "I'm packing a bag
and catching the next plane to DC. I'll call as soon as I
know my flight information and..."

"Grey..."

"You can give me the rest once I get there, Walt! Tell Fox
to hang on until..."

"GREY." Skinner's tone was harsh, commanding. "There's
something else you need to know before you come.
Something you won't want to hear."

"I don't care what else you've found, Walt. I refuse to give
up until you show me a body and I'm sure Fox feels the
same," Grey snapped curtly.

"As do I, and that's not what I need to tell you." Skinner
sighed, and when he continued he sounded incredibly
weary. "They pulled two clear prints off the knife, Grey.
They were your brother's. Right now he's the number one
suspect."

Three Weeks Earlier
Hegal Place
Saturday, March 11
3:04 p.m.

*June 26 More tests today, including the really awful one
that feels like they're drilling a hole in my brain. I can't
even close my eyes because the drugs paralyze me so I
won't move and mess up their results. I don't think I could
stand it if I didn't have my safe place. I go to it whenever
I'm really scared or the pain gets too terrible. Sometimes I
walk barefoot on a sandy beach and look out at deep green
waves. I know it's the ocean because the water seems to go
on forever, and I taste salt on my lips. Other times there's a
tire swing hanging from a huge oak tree in a shady
backyard that I swing on till I'm dizzy. Always there's an
older boy with dark hair and gray eyes. He teases me, calls
me buttmunch, but I know he'll never let anything bad
happen to me. He'll protect me.

I wish he were here.*

Mulder closed the diary's yellowed pages and swiped at his
eyes with the back of one hand. Tossing it onto the coffee
table he gazed dully at stacks of books and files and the
empty boxes waiting to receive them. Closing his eyes, he
let his body slip sideways until he was lying prone on the
couch, one arm flung over them and one foot still resting on
the floor. Neither the rattle of keys outside the apartment
door, nor the click of the deadbolt roused him from his
position.

"Mulder?"

The door shut and footsteps padded cautiously toward the
couch. He could smell her -- a combination of soap,
shampoo, and vanilla body lotion -- and at any other time
the fragrance would have coaxed a smile to his lips. Instead
he remained motionless, desperately feigning sleep while
his spirit vacillated between wanting her to take him in her
arms and wishing she'd go and leave him to his solitude.

More footsteps, and he could feel her study him as if he
were a body awaiting her expertise.

"I know you're not asleep, Mulder. Your breathing is all
wrong."

He lifted his arm just enough to peer at her. "What would
you know about breathing? You specialize in dead people."

Scully's forehead creased and she started to perch on the
coffee table. Catching sight of the diary, she picked it up
before sitting. Cradling it carefully in her hands, she
smoothed her palm across the cover and sighed.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Mulder tore the arm from his eyes and propped himself up
on his elbows, glaring at her. "What exactly am I doing to
myself?" he growled.

"I think you know the answer to that," Scully replied softly.
She lay her hand along his stubbled jaw, her thumb tracing
dried tear tracks. "Every time you read this diary you wind
up in a place so dark and deep I can barely reach you. You
don't eat, you don't sleep, you snap at my attempts to get
you to talk to me..."

He jerked back from her touch, blinking hard. "What do
you want from me, Scully? I can't just forget what they did
to her! Can you imagine what it must have been like, how
scared she must have been? They took my little sister and
turned her into a guinea pig. And even worse, they stole her
memories of the people who loved her!"

Scully met his eyes steadily, without flinching. "A lot of
terrible things happened to your sister, Mulder. But they
happened a long time ago, and obsessing over them now is
not going to help you heal."

Mulder evaded her gaze, jaw clenched. "I need to know
who took her, Scully, and why. I can't heal until I have
those answers."

She replaced her hand on his chin, pressing gently until
hazel eyes returned to blue. "What happened to 'I'm free'?"
she asked gently.

This time Mulder leaned into the caress. "I'm freed from
my quest for Samantha, from the burden of finding her. But
now I have other obligations." He placed his hand over hers
and his mouth curved. "You of all people recognize I'm an
obsessive personality, Scully. You must have known
something would take its place."

Scully tipped her face closer until her forehead rested
against his. "I was kind of angling for that spot myself," she
murmured huskily.

As she'd hoped, Mulder chuckled warmly. He pressed his
lips against hers, little riffs of laughter still escaping at first
until she brazenly slid onto his lap and deepened the kiss.
When Scully pulled back the darkness had vanished from
his eyes and they were both breathless. Mulder tucked a
strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on
the silky skin of her cheek.

"You will always be my number one obsession, babe."

Scully looked pointedly over her shoulder at the empty
boxes. "Really? I see a distinct lack of progress here,
Mulder. You're supposed to be out of here in two weeks.
You know -- you, me, an apartment made for two?"

"I know, I know. I'm getting organized, you just can't see
it," he said defensively, letting his fingers creep under her
shirt to rub her back, a sure distraction.

"You can say that again...oh, right there," Scully moaned
appreciatively as he went to work on a particularly tight
group of muscles. She let her head drop to his shoulder and
gave herself over to the skillful massage.

"You've got an awful lot of knots here, babe. I haven't been
that bad, have I?" Mulder asked, only half teasing.

"I took some boxes over to Goodwill today. Guess I
overdid it," she answered, sighing contentedly as his hands
gentled to long, soothing strokes.

"You should have called, I'd have hauled them over for
you."

"You've been a little...preoccupied this weekend. I thought
I should give you some space," Scully replied quietly, her
words muffled against his chest.

Mulder went still, then rested his cheek on the auburn
crown of her head. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She sat up, regretting that unhappiness had returned to his
face. "It's okay, love. It's been a difficult year."

Mulder looked at her sharply. "I wasn't sure if you
remembered."

Scully pursed her lips, exasperated. "Of course I remember!
In fact, I was a little worried when I realized that our move
to the new apartment is going to take place exactly one year
to the day that your mother died. But you didn't mention it,
so neither did I. It's still not too late, Mulder. We could
always schedule the movers for another day."

Mulder shook his head vehemently. "No. I didn't say
anything because there's nothing to be said." He blew out a
long gust of air and tucked her head back under his chin.
"It's fitting, don't you think? My mother's death was the
catalyst that turned my world upside down. Seems
appropriate that the biggest change of all should occur on
the anniversary."

Scully nuzzled her nose against the soft, gray cotton of his
tee shirt. "Scared?"

A brief explosion of mirth rumbled through his chest.
"Terrified. But that doesn't mean I don't want this, Scully.
More than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life."

Her throat constricted painfully at the sweetly wistful note
to his voice, and she tightened her arms about his waist.
"Me too."

They remained that way, in contented silence, for some
time, Mulder's fingers weaving through her hair and
skimming up and down her back. As always, he marveled
at the size of her. That so much strength of both mind and
body could reside in such a diminutive package. Holding
her like this, feeling her soft curves pressed against him, it
was difficult to remember that she could deliver a serious
ass-kicking.

Mulder grinned to himself. And his had the heel marks to
prove it.

"What are you smirking about?" Scully asked drowsily
without lifting her head.

"How would you know if I'm smirking? You can't even see
my face," Mulder pointed out.

"Trade secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you," she
replied, her own smile growing when Mulder chortled in
delight.

Mulder dropped his head onto the back of the couch and
stared up at the ceiling, his fingers tracing small circles on
Scully's thighs.

"Sometimes I have trouble reconciling the fact that this has
been both the best and worst year of my life," he mused.
"Losing Mom so suddenly, without the chance to fix what
had broken between us -- I'll always regret that our last
words were spoken in anger. And Sam..." his voice became
thick with emotion and Scully felt the breath hitch in his
chest. "I really wanted to save her, to bring her home."

"They may have tried to steal her memories of you,
Mulder, but they never truly succeeded." She ran her hands
down the bare flesh of his arms and tangled their fingers
together. "On some level you were always with her, giving
her comfort. She must have loved you very much."

Mulder didn't reply, but his hands tightened convulsively in
hers and she sensed him struggling to take slow, deep
breaths. When he did resume speaking, his voice was soft
but steady.

"But in the midst of all the sorrow, there have been
moments of the purest joy I've ever known. Finding my
brother, after all these years..." He chuffed a little. "And I
even *like* him."

Scully lifted her head and an eyebrow. "Count yourself
lucky -- half the time *I* can't make that claim."

Mulder grinned evilly. "Aw, come on, Scully. Bill did help
save my life. 'Course, I think Grey might have had a gun to
his head at the time."

She tried to muster a look of disapproval, but wound up
snickering with him instead. Their laughter tapered off, and
Mulder's expression turned abruptly serious. He cupped her
face between his palms, one corner of his mouth turned up
in a lopsided smile.

"And then there's this," he murmured. "I'd willingly endure
every terrible moment of the last year just to be here, like
this, with you. I still can't figure out what the hell you see
in me, Scully. But I'm not going to argue."

Butterfly kisses fluttered over her eyelids and cheeks before
his lips finally settled on her own. Scully concentrated on
the exquisite contact to keep her tears at bay. Mulder had
the power to annoy her more than any man she'd ever
known, but he could instantly banish the memory of every
irritation with one heartfelt confession. He'd once called
himself high maintenance, and truer words were never
spoken.

But, oh, the perks.

Breaking the kiss while she still had the willpower, Scully
resolutely slipped off his lap and stood, offering her hand.
Mulder licked his lips and pouted.

"What makes me think that taking your hand is not going to
mean a trip to the bedroom?"

Scully smirked and pulled him upright. "That's why they
pay you the big bucks, Mulder. Those investigative skills
are never wrong."

"Scuhleee!"

She reached down, hefted a stack of books, and placed
them in his hands. "First we fill a few of these poor empty
boxes," she said firmly. "Once we're done...who knows?"
She waggled her eyebrows in a parody of Mulder's patented
leer.

Mulder's eyes widened, then dilated. "Start packing, babe.
I'm feeling very motivated."

FBI Headquarters
Wednesday, March 15
9:27 a.m.

Scully entered the office to find Mulder swearing steadily
under his breath and ransacking the organized chaos of his
desktop. She'd ducked out for a few minutes to grab a
carton of yogurt from the cafeteria and check up on some
lab results from an autopsy. At that time he'd been
comfortably ensconced in his chair with feet propped up
and hand buried in a bag of sunflower seeds, sifting
through a pile of cases tagged as possible X-Files. He'd
been so absorbed he'd barely acknowledged her departure,
a preoccupied wave of his hand and the crack of a shell the
only indication he'd heard her.

She moved to her desk and set down the container of lowfat
blueberry swirl, frowning as he rifled through a stack of
folders and then dumped them to the floor with an
impatient flick of his wrist.

"Mulder!"

She circled his desk and scooped up the scattered files,
stuffing exposed papers back in their proper folders and
glaring at him. Mulder flopped into his chair and scrubbed
his face with both hands, then ran them through his hair
until he looked more like a punk rocker than a federal
agent.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" Scully demanded,
setting the straightened folders back on the corner of his
desk and crossing her arms.

"Skinner called. He wants to see us in his office in five
minutes and I can't find the damn Henderson file!" Mulder
snapped, punctuating his reply with a sharp kick to the
trashcan that sent it toppling toward the floor.

"Mulder!"

Scully caught the can just in time and righted it. "Calm
down. I thought you were still writing your field report for
that case."

"I was. I finished it last night," he growled through
clenched teeth. "That's why I was late getting home for
dinner. Skinner pulled me aside in the hallway yesterday
and read me the riot act, told me he expected it to be in his
hands no later than noon today."

Scully stepped closer and began carefully sifting through
another stack of papers. "Did you check your briefcase?
Could you have brought it home last night? Maybe you left
it at my place."

"I just told you that I stayed late to finish it so that I
wouldn't *have* to bring it home," Mulder snarled. "I
almost took it up before I left but I really didn't want to get
into it with Skinner if he was still here."

The barely repressed fury in his voice and his slightly
trembling hands disturbed Scully but she said nothing.
They continued to search the office in silence until the
phone rang. Mulder purposely ignored it, moving over to
thumb through some folders sitting on top of a filing
cabinet, so Scully snatched it up with an exasperated sigh.

"Scully. Hi, Kim. Yes, we do realize his time is valuable.
We were just on our way out the door."

She hung up and turned back to Mulder, brushing a piece of
lint from her jacket and smoothing a hand over her hair.
"Forget it, Mulder. Skinner is less than pleased about being
kept waiting and Kim's feeling the heat. We have to get up
there now, he's got a ten o'clock meeting with the
Director."

Mulder ground out an expletive that was graphic, even for
him, and just stood with shoulders hunched and fists
propped on his hips. Torn between concern and irritation
with his behavior, Scully pulled open the door and waited.
After a moment Mulder huffed and stalked through the
opening, muttering things under his breath that Scully made
no attempt to decipher.

Kim barely glanced at them when they entered, merely
waving them onward like a parking attendant indicating the
next available spot. That was more acknowledgement than
they received from the A.D., however, whose eyes never
broke from their perusal of a report. Mulder and Scully
seated themselves in their customary spots and waited
silently -- Scully with folded hands and relaxed posture,
Mulder gnawing savagely on his lip while his foot wriggled
and jittered.

Just as Scully was about to risk a furtive smack to her
partner's arm, Skinner set aside the papers and cleared his
throat. "Agents. So nice of you to make time in your busy
schedule to see me."

Scully remained stone-faced but Mulder flushed and his
eyes narrowed. "Sir, before you say anything more, I have
to tell you up front that I don't..."

"I believe *I* was the one who called this meeting, Agent
Mulder," Skinner cut him off, voice clipped. "I have
another in" - he consulted his watch - "less than twenty
minutes, so I'd appreciate it if you'd hold whatever
comment you were about to make until I've explained why
you're here."

When Mulder grudgingly nodded, he proceeded in a gentler
tone. "Mulder, SAC Carpenter from the VCS has been
petitioning for your assistance on a case involving a serial
rapist/murderer. He first approached me nearly two weeks
ago and I turned him down flat. I know profiling is a strain
even under normal circumstances, and on the heels of the
LaPierre case and the news of your sister's death..."

Mulder's demeanor turned from chafing to guarded. "I'm
fine, sir. As someone pointed out, my sister's death
occurred a long time ago."

Skinner watched Scully's eyes dart to Mulder's face and
hurt flicker across her own before the professional mask
dropped back into place. Mulder's expression remained
studiously blank. Skinner picked up the folder that rested
near his left elbow, the action meant to cover his own
confusion. Something was definitely off between these two,
but he couldn't put his finger on what it might be. With a
sigh he handed the file to Mulder and resumed speaking.

"When Carpenter approached me yet again as I was leaving
last night, I agreed to leave the decision up to you."

Mulder took the folder but didn't open it. "We're between
cases, sir. There's no reason I can't take a look at this."

Skinner leaned forward, elbows planted on the desktop.
"This is a consult, Mulder. Just take a look at the evidence
and the current profile. Scully can review the autopsy
results if you'd like. If they seem to be on target, give your
stamp of approval. If not, tactfully point out the necessary
modifications." He tipped his head so that he was peering
at Mulder over the top of his glasses. "*Tactfully*,
Mulder."

Scully caught the humor coloring the words and smothered
a smirk, but Mulder just looked annoyed. "Yes, sir. I
promise I'll be a good boy."

Skinner saw the slight smile slide off Scully's face and his
feelings of disquiet deepened. Mulder's sarcastic reply,
though expected, held none of the usual mischief.
Determined to end on a more positive note, if only for
Scully's sake, he retrieved the report he'd been reading
when the two agents entered his office.

"And by the way, I wanted to commend you both for your
work on the Henderson case. The local PD was highly
complimentary about your handling of the victims and your
assistance in the arrest. And Mulder, your field report -
once received - was a concise and thorough summary of
the investigation." He shook his head and allowed a ghost
of a smile to touch his lips. "Refreshingly free from brain-
eating mutants and snake-wielding religious fanatics."

When he looked up to gauge Mulder's reaction, Skinner
was thrown off balance by the naked anger and confusion.

"Since when has it become customary for the Assistant
Director to take a field report from his agents' office rather
than wait until it's turned in?" Mulder asked tersely.

Skinner's brows plunged. "What are you talking about,
Mulder?"

Mulder wasn't put off by the warning growl in Skinner's
question. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! I
would have turned in the Henderson report first thing this
morning, there was no reason for you to come down and
get it. And the least you could have done was leave a note.
I nearly tore the office apart looking for the damn thing!"

Scully flinched at the insubordinate tone of Mulder's voice.
She reached out to lay a hand on his forearm, sending
Skinner an appeasing look. Skinner took a deep breath and
forced his blood pressure to lower before replying.

"I would not take a report from your office without
informing you. And in this case, it wasn't even necessary.
The file was right here on the blotter of my desk when I got
in this morning. *You* turned it in, Mulder."

The indignation slowly drained out of Mulder's face and he
gaped at Skinner. "I didn't...that is, I don't..."

The buzz of the intercom distracted Skinner from his
agent's stammering. He stabbed at the button, eyes
skipping back to where Scully had leaned her head close to
her partner's and was murmuring something.

"Yes, Kim, what is it?"

Kim's voice, even through the tinny speaker, was contrite.
"Sir, you asked me to be sure you made it to the meeting on
time..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just finishing up,
Kim. Thank you."

Mulder appeared to have regained his composure. He
clasped the VCS folder firmly in his hands and stood, but
his eyes evaded Skinner's.

"If that's all, sir, we'll let you get to your meeting. I'll take
a look at this profile right away and give SAC Carpenter
my thoughts."

Skinner nodded, snagging his suit jacket from the back of
his chair and slipping it on. He watched them head for the
door, unable to shake off his concern. Mulder guided
Scully through with his hand pressed to her back, and was
about to follow.

"Mulder."

Mulder froze at the sound of his name, his back stiff. He
propped one hand on the doorframe but didn't turn.

"I'm fine, sir. And I'm sorry for the mix-up over the report.
I was out of line."

Skinner opened his mouth to press the issue, but changed
his mind midstream. "Let me know if you have any
difficulty with the VCS or Carpenter," he said instead.

Mulder's back loosened noticeably. He threw an impudent
grin over his shoulder, the first normal expression Skinner
had seen all day.

"Piece of cake, sir. With my charming personality I'll have
'em eating out of my hand."

Skinner snorted and rolled his eyes, though Mulder
couldn't see it. He reached for his briefcase and
straightened his tie, feeling much better.

Scully followed Mulder down the hall, into the elevator,
and back to the office. His irritability had vanished,
replaced with a brooding silence that she found to be of
marginal improvement. He wandered over to his desk and
sat down, so she let him be and began checking her email.

When she glanced up several minutes later he was still
rocking idly in the chair, staring blankly at the closed VCS
folder.

"Mulder, let it go. Skinner has the report and he's more
than satisfied with it."

Mulder blinked and turned slowly to face her, as if
returning from some distant country. "Scully, I have no
memory of taking that folder up to Skinner's office."

His certainty bothered her, but she shrugged it off. "We all
have spells of absentmindedness. I really wouldn't waste
time worrying about it."

He shook his head, a mulish, intractable set to his features
that made her want to strangle him. "You don't get it. I
don't even have a fuzzy spot in my memory where I
might've done it. I can specifically recall everything I did
during the time I was here last night, from the moment I
finished typing the report to the instant I got in the car and
drove home. There's no place to fit in a trip up to Skinner's
office. None."

Scully searched his face, read bewilderment beneath the
vehemence. "Mulder, you admitted that you considered
taking the paperwork upstairs. You were tired, and you've
been under a lot of stress these past few weeks. So you
acted on that impulse but can't remember it. Is that really
so alarming?"

Mulder propped his elbows on his knees and steepled his
fingers under his chin. "Scully, I have an eidetic memory. I
don't just forget things, not without a reason. Yes, I find
that alarming."

Scully stood and moved over to crouch in front of his chair,
placing her hand on his leg. "Mulder, I understand about
your memory. But you're human, and you're going to
respond to pressure just like anyone else. We all lose track
of little things in the wake of the big ones - misplacing
keys, forgetting to turn off the iron, missing an important
appointment..."

Mulder dropped one hand to cover hers and his lips
quirked. "Oh really? I haven't seen you do a single one of
the things you just mentioned. Scully, you have to be the
most organized person I know."

Scully pursed her lips. "Watch and learn, partner. Watch
and learn."

His expression turned decidedly lecherous, and she braced
herself for the inevitable innuendo, but the ringing of his
phone spared her.

"Mulder. Yeah but I haven't had a chance to..." He
listened, rolling his eyes, then sighed. "Fine. I'll be right
up."

The phone hit the cradle with excess force and he gave
Scully's hand a final squeeze before standing and pulling
her up beside him.

"That was SAC Carpenter. He wants to give me a quick
briefing on the case."

Scully smiled as he scooped up the folder and tucked it
under his arm. "Remember, Mulder. You promised Skinner
you'd play nice with the VCS kids."

Mulder put on his "who, me?" face. "I try, Scully. It's just
that sometimes the need to mess with their heads..."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one," she said, her grin
camouflaged as she turned to her desk. "Try harder, ace."

His soft chuckle warmed her and she watched him stride
out the door before letting her own smile fade. In spite of
her reassuring words, his behavior of late was causing her
more than a little concern. Subdued and depressed one
moment, wired and irritable the next - and now this
incident with the report. All signs that Mulder's customary
resilience had developed some cracks. She could only hope
and pray that time and patience would heal them.

Headquarters for The Lone Gunmen
Friday, March 17
12:17 p.m.

"Who is it? What's the password?"

Mulder glared up at the hidden camera and raised his
middle finger. "It's Mulder and there's my password. Open
the damn door, Frohike."

Eight staccato snaps of metal and the door creaked open to
reveal Frohike's face. "Don't get your panties in a twist," he
said as Mulder shouldered past him.

"I told you on the phone I'd be here in five minutes. Who
did you think was at the door?" Mulder growled.

Langly, clad in a wrinkled Agent Orange tee shirt and
boxers and nibbling on a pop tart, looked up from his
computer. "Hey Mulder. Got up on the wrong side of the
bed, huh?"

Mulder's hands involuntarily clenched into fists, and he
forced himself to count to ten. When his irritation had
receded to a manageable level, he circled around the desk
to see the monitor screen.

"What have you boys got for me?"

"Where's Scully?"

Byers, in direct contrast to Langly's slovenly appearance,
looked ready for a meeting with the board of directions. His
three-piece suit was impeccably clean and pressed, his
white shirt crisp, and a conservative tie adorned his neck.

Mulder braced both arms on the desktop, casting Byers a
look of thinly concealed impatience. "She's at Quantico,
consulting on an autopsy. Sorry, guess you'll have to settle
for the floor model."

Frohike and Byers traded an uneasy glance as Langly's
fingers flew over the keys. "We started checking into the
house you found on April Air Force Base, managed to hack
into some old records. The house was occupied by a CGB
Spender and his family from 1974 through 1979. A wife
and two kids. We're trying to find out just what he was
doing on the base, but haven't been able to access the right
files."

"All we get is that he was involved with a top secret
project. Very hush-hush," Frohike chimed in, moving
closer.

Mulder snorted. "How about telling me something I don't
already know?"

"We're doing our best, man," Langly replied defensively.
"We can't just go stomping in through the front door."

"The files are double and triple password protected, and
they've laid some booby traps along the way to tip them off
to any snooping," Frohike said.

"We just need some more time," Byers added quietly. "We
aren't giving up."

Mulder dropped down into a chair and ran his fingers
through his hair. "Anything else?"

This time all three gunmen looked at each other.

"What? What is it?" Mulder demanded shortly.

"We turned up medical records on the daughter, Samantha
Spender," Byers finally said. "She was supposedly being
treated for a rare blood disorder." He hesitated, then
finished. "There were numerous instances of
hospitalization. Sometimes outpatient, sometimes more
extended stays."

Mulder closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"My sister did NOT have a rare blood disorder. And those
were not treatments. I've read her diary, and I can only
imagine what those butchers were doing to her." His voice
started out strong, powered by anger, but turned thin and
broken before he'd finished.

Langly eyed him nervously before hunching further over
the keyboard. Byers licked his lips and turned to study a
spot on the wall. Frohike's hand crept forward, paused, and
then came to rest uncertainly on Mulder's shoulder.

"Are you sure about this? Is it worth it? A lot of those
responsible for what happened to your sister are probably
dead. Some truths are best left uncovered, G-man."

Mulder tensed, but made no attempt to displace Frohike's
palm. "Just keep digging. See if you can get me copies of
the alleged hospital records," he replied woodenly.

"I'll see what I can do," Langly promised. "Maybe Scully
can make sense of them."

"NO."

All three heads snapped up at the intensity of his response.
Mulder pulled his hand across the stubble of his jaw and
squinted up at each in turn as he spoke.

"I don't want Scully involved in this. Any information you
come up with is for my ears only. This remains just
between the four of us."

He waited for a clear, if reluctant, nod of confirmation from
each of them, then consulted his watch and stood.

"I've got to get back. Keep me posted."

Frohike followed him to the door and turned each deadbolt
until only one remained. He paused with fingers wrapped
around the lock, then dropped his hand and leaned back
against the heavy oak without disengaging it.

Mulder shifted his feet restlessly, then reached over to open
it himself. "Come on, Hickey. I have to get back before
Scully."

Frohike moved his body to block the way, face grave. "If
you ask me, I think you're making a big mistake leaving
Scully out of the loop, Mulder."

Mulder stepped back and crossed his arms, jaw thrust
forward. "I don't seem to recall asking." When Frohike
refused to back down, he sighed and shook his head. "This
isn't about Scully or the X-Files. This is something I have
to do for myself. It's personal."

Frohike's face screwed up in disbelief. "For someone who's
supposed to be such a genius, you can be a thick-headed
jackass! You can't use 'personal' as an excuse any more,
Mulder. Those days ended the moment you admitted you
love her. You'd better come to terms with it, or you're going
to screw up the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Mulder clenched his teeth, but inclined his head. "I'll think
about it," he replied tersely.

Shaking his head, Frohike threw back the last bolt and
yanked open the door. He watched Mulder climb into his
car before shutting and locking the door, then let his
forehead thump against the wood.

Georgetown
Monday, March 20
3:41 a.m.

Scully opened her eyes, senses attuned and mind rapidly
untangling the cobwebs of sleep. Despite a deceptively
bright spill of moonlight through the blinds, the alarm
clock's glowing display proved that it was still the middle
of the night. Brushing tangled strands of hair from her eyes
she turned to the right and propped herself up on one
elbow, knowing from both instinct and experience what
had awakened her.

She could recall the first nightmare with crystal clarity,
undimmed by seven years of the same. Partnered for almost
six months, they'd just concluded a particularly nasty case -
- the purported alien abduction of a little girl that had
turned out to be murder at the hands of her mother's
boyfriend. Scully's first experience with the violent death of
a child had left her shaken and horrified, but Mulder had
been a rock, gentle and compassionate with the family,
calm and efficient with the local police. She'd marveled at
his composure, his apparent ability to detach himself. Until
that night, when she'd been wrenched from a deep sleep by
the sound of his screams through the thin, motel room
walls.

Not so detached after all.

She'd gone to him that night, ignoring the closed
connecting door and his embarrassment. Yet beneath his
discomfort with her witnessing such vulnerability had been
a wary gratitude.

And so it had become a habit, something she did without
conscious thought, like eating or breathing. Like a mother
sensitive to the cry of her child, she often found herself in
Mulder's room and soothing him before totally aware she'd
left her bed. It had been difficult for him to accept at first,
testimony to the fact that he'd been coping with the
nightmares alone for a very long time. Images of Mulder as
a young boy, left to fend for himself, made Scully ache
inside. Though they never spoke of her nocturnal visits in
the light of day, she'd relished the rare opportunity to hold
and comfort him.

And then their relationship had evolved and, amazingly, the
frequency of Mulder's nightmares had sharply declined.
And when they did occur, when the evils of their everyday
existence could no longer be held at bay by her mere
physical presence, Scully had only to roll over and take him
in her arms.

Carefully, of course. A bloody nose had taught her early on
that Mulder in the throes of a nightmare could throw a
mean right hook.

She watched him now, a troubled frown creasing her pale
brow and a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. Ever
since the discovery of his sister's diary and the revelation of
her death, Mulder's nightmares had undergone a profound
change.

He lay curled on his side, facing her, silently weeping. The
cool wash of moonlight illuminated a glistening path of
tears on his cheek and his breath hitched and stuttered in
his chest. Both arms were wrapped tightly around his body,
as if in his dreams he attempted to assuage his own sorrow.
Ironically, Scully found herself wishing for terrified
screams and flailing limbs. A bloody nose would be far less
painful.

She scooted closer and began threading her fingers through
his hair, keeping both her touch and her voice feather-light.

"Mulder. Wake up, love, you're dreaming. You need to
come back to me now."

She brushed the moisture from his cheeks with her
fingertips, following with her lips. After a moment he went
very still, and she maintained a steady stream of soft
reassurances and soothing touches, knowing that he'd be
confused and disoriented for a brief time.

"Scully? I...where..." His voice husky and trembling, he
blinked and reflexively reached for her.

Scully tugged him closer and he enveloped her small body
with his own, his head tucked just under her chin. Every
now and then fine tremors would run through him as he
struggled to complete the transition from sleeping to
waking.

"Shhh. We're at my place, remember? You were having a
bad dream, so I woke you."

She wove her fingers through his hair, occasionally
smoothing her palm up and down his spine, feeling his
body gradually relax and grow heavy against her own. She
waged an internal battle, part of her willing to let him slip
back into the sanctuary of sleep, if possible; part of her
determined to drag whatever was bothering him into the
light.

"Want to tell me what you were dreaming about?" she
asked, never breaking the movement of her hands.

Every muscle in his body went from soft and pliable to
rock hard in an instant and Scully could feel his breathing
quicken.

"I don't remember."

Hurt, then rage washed over her, stilling her hands as she
struggled against the urge to push him away. She found it
difficult to accept when he closed himself off from her, but
a blatant lie violated an unspoken vow between them
formed long before their romantic bond. Only the haunted
expression in his eyes tempered her anger.

"If you don't want to talk, Mulder, I'll respect that," she said
quietly. "Please don't betray my trust by lying."

It hit a nerve, as Scully intended. Mulder flinched as if
she'd delivered a physical blow and his fingers tightened
convulsively on her pajama top.

"I didn't mean to... I...I can't talk about it, Scully," he
rasped, the words sticking in his constricted throat. He
burrowed his face further into the silk and she felt the moist
heat of fresh tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Something deep inside her broke and Scully found herself
on the verge of weeping. She cradled him closer in her
arms and pressed her lips to the top of his head. "Shh. It's
okay, love. I just want to help you."

Mulder was so distraught she wasn't sure her words reached
him. All Scully could do was to hold him, rocking gently
and repeating a familiar patter of calming words. Whatever
he'd dreamed, it had disturbed him on a most basic and
profound level. Scully let her eyes slide shut in resignation,
reasonably certain of the trigger.

"Sometimes I wish you'd never found that diary," she
muttered.

Slowly, gradually, she coaxed Mulder back towards sleep.
His weeping tapered off to an occasional catch of breath,
his head pressed more heavily to her chest, and his limbs
went slack. When his respiration became deep and even,
and she was certain he wouldn't awaken, Scully eased him
onto a pillow and drew the blankets up to his chin. He
murmured restlessly in his sleep, but subsided when she
brushed her lips across his brow and whispered her love in
his ear. After a long moment contemplating his face, her
emotions a confusing cocktail of fathomless love, nagging
worry, and aching sorrow, she wandered out to the kitchen
for a cup of hot chocolate.

An hour later the mug in her hands had gone cold and
Scully found herself staring blankly at a sticky spot on the
tile where Mulder must have spilled orange juice. Though
her body begged wearily for sleep, her mind refused to
cooperate, troubled thoughts of the man sleeping in the next
room a stimulant that even hot chocolate couldn't
overcome.

Fox Mulder, though a man possessed of deep feelings and
emotions, was not given to overtly displaying them. Yet
lately he'd become prone to extreme swings in mood and
temperament - periods of elation and excessive energy
followed by explosions of anger, sarcasm, and grief.
Whether you used the scientific approach, or Mulder's
brand of intuition, all signs pointed to the same destination
- Mulder was not coping nearly so well with his sister's
death as he wanted others to believe.

And she didn't know what to do about it.

Something was going on in Mulder's head, but he wasn't
willing to share it with her. And while that admission hurt
her deeply, she loved him enough to put her own feelings
aside. Mulder was in trouble. She wished to God she could
help him, but if not, she had to find someone who could.

And that admission was the catalyst that jolted her sleep
deprived brain into producing an answer so simple and so
apparent that a genuine smile crept onto her face. A heavy
weight lifted from her heart, and it felt as if she could
finally breathe again after an extended period of oxygen
deprivation.

For a very long time she'd been the only person to take care
of Mulder, the only one to love him. Maybe that's why
sometimes she forgot how drastically things had changed.

Scully got up and rinsed her mug, then padded back to the
bedroom. Mulder was lying just as she'd left him, though
one hand was now outstretched as if he sought her presence
in his sleep. She slipped under the covers and snuggled into
the comfort of his sleep-warmed skin. He sighed and
mumbled something incoherent, pulling her close so that he
was spooned around her. Wrapped in the security of his
embrace and her own decision, Scully slept.

Hegal Place
Wednesday, March 22
6:54 p.m.

He was only mildly annoyed until the jar of mayonnaise
slid off the ledge and landed on his bare foot. After his
initial yelp of agony he proceeded to curse the mayonnaise,
condiments in general, and the refrigerator whose faulty
shelf allowed the mishap in the first place -- all while
hopping about ridiculously and cradling his injured toes.

Scully stood serenely in the doorway and viewed the entire
spectacle with an upraised eyebrow and pursed lips. Mulder
glared at her, balancing on one leg like a stork.

"What?"

She shook her head, lips quivering suspiciously. "I don't
know, Mulder. They say a picture's worth a thousand
words, but I'd just be getting warmed up."

"Ha, ha. I broke my toes and you're making jokes," he
pouted, nearly falling on his backside as he attempted to
assess the damage.

Scully pulled a chair from the table and guided him into it,
kneeling so she could pull his foot into her lap. "Sorry,
Mulder. The Scullys are notoriously unsympathetic in this
type of situation. I think it was Ahab's way of toughening
us up. That hurt?"

"OW! Only when you try to amputate it!" Mulder
grumbled, but let her continue the examination. "What do
you mean, unsympathetic?"

Scully looked up at him with a little grin. "Let's see. When
I was about nine, I took quite a fall down the stairs. I was
rushing to get outside so that I could force Melissa to let me
tag along to the store with her and her friend Suzanne.
Anyway, my foot hit the top step too close to the edge and
slid right out from under me. I tried to catch myself, but I
couldn't get a grip on the railing and I tumbled down the
entire flight on my butt with a little head-over-heels flip at
the end. Fortunately, I didn't do myself any major harm,
like breaking an arm or my neck, but I did get the wind
knocked out of me when I landed in a heap at the bottom. I
finally stopped rolling and just sort of sat there, trying to
catch my breath and figure out what exactly happened.
Ahab was sitting in his chair in the living room and got a
front row view of the entire thing. I looked up, expecting
worry, or at the very least pity, but he just cocked an
eyebrow and said, "What in the world did you do that for,
Starbuck?"

"You're kidding," Mulder said, a tiny smile tugging at the
corners of his mouth. "Aren't you?"

"Nope. So you see, I tend to favor the 'shake it off' method
of minor pain management. And before you say it, I don't
want to hear any smart remarks about why I'm a doctor for
dead people, Mulder." Scully set his foot back on the floor.
"No broken bones but you're going to have a lovely bruise
in a day or so."

Mulder stopped her from rising, leaning over to nibble on
the overly sensitive skin behind her right ear. "You know
you can play doctor any time with me, babe. In fact, how
about we work on your bedside manner right now? I'd be
happy to help."

The man elevated kissing to a higher art form, Scully
thought hazily as she tilted her head farther to the left to
give him easier access. Then her gaze landed on a packing
box sitting accusingly in the hallway and she sighed, laying
both hands on his shoulders and giving him a gentle push.
His lips, currently attached to her collarbone, separated
with an audible smack.

"Give it to me later, ace," she replied to his heartfelt moan.
"We're supposed to be packing -- remember? What were
you doing in the refrigerator, anyway?"

Wrong question. Mulder's brows drew together and his
playful demeanor vanished. "I wanted some sunflower
seeds. I know I have some because I just bought a new bag
yesterday, but it isn't in the door of the fridge where I put
it."

"Maybe you put them somewhere else, like a cupboard,"
Scully suggested, standing and walking over to open one of
the cabinets.

Mulder lunged to his feet and stomped back to the
refrigerator, jerking the door open and rummaging through
its contents. "I distinctly remember sticking them in here, in
the door where I always put them. I've been storing my
seeds in that spot for years, why would I change...?"

"Mulder."

He turned to see Scully with a quizzical expression on her
face and the unopened bag of seeds in her hand. "They
were right here, where you keep your rice and pasta."

Mulder's jaw dropped, then his face darkened. "I did NOT
put them there. Did you move them?"

Annoyance creased Scully's forehead. "Of course not. Why
would I do that? You must have put them here, Mulder.
Maybe you were distracted by something, not paying
attention."

Mulder's fingers curled into fists. "I did NOT put them in
that cupboard, Scully," he growled. "Someone else must
have moved them, because I clearly remember putting them
in the refrigerator."

Scully frowned. "Who else could have done it? I really
don't think some shadowy conspirator sneaked into your
apartment just to rearrange your sunflower seeds! Why
can't you just admit the possibility that you're wrong?"

Mulder's fist slamming into the side of the appliance caught
her by surprise, and she physically jumped. "Because I
happen to have a handle on what the hell I have and haven't
done! Or are you suggesting that I'm losing touch with
reality? Is that it, Scully?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "Mulder, don't be ridiculous!
I can't believe you're getting so upset, you're blowing this
all out of proportion!"

"So you do think I'm cracking up. Do you think I haven't
noticed the way you've been watching me, keeping an eye
on me as if you're afraid I might suddenly go postal?"
Mulder snapped. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe."

The words stung like a verbal slap and Scully blinked
furiously, determined not to break down. "I think that's my
line, Mulder," she said quietly and fled the room.

Of course, it was useless to hide in someone else's
apartment. She dodged through the haphazard scattering of
boxes, eventually winding up in the bedroom with eyes
trained sightlessly out the window. Mulder's footsteps were
not unexpected; her ambivalence toward his inevitable
apology was. She loved him deeply, but the rollercoaster
ride was beginning to wear her down.

The footsteps stopped before he reached her, and to
Scully's surprise he made no move to wrap his arms around
her, or even touch her. She listened to the jagged rasp of his
breathing, the whisper of his feet shuffling on the carpet.
She could see the little wrinkles of contrition around his
eyes, the guilty twist of his lips, without even bothering to
turn around. She longed to grant easy absolution -- even
more, to completely erase the whole scene. Mulder's voice
shook her from her reverie, and she stiffened involuntarily.

"Scully, I...I don't know why I said any of those things. I
didn't mean them. I just... I don't know... Shit."

She sensed him moving away and spun quickly, placing a
restraining hand on his arm. "DON'T. *Talk* to me,
Mulder. Please."

He backed up and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her
down beside him. She watched silently as his long, elegant
fingers toyed with a corner of the comforter. Her small
hand stilled them, and forced his eyes toward her own.

"I love you. Talk to me."

His eyes filled and he clenched his teeth. "I love you too.
I'm just not sure what to say. I guess maybe I've been
feeling a little overwhelmed."

She nodded slowly. "That's understandable. A lot has
happened the past month."

"Maybe. But it's no excuse for treating you the way I just
did." He snorted softly. "I don't mean to be a bastard, but
sometimes I can't seem to help it."

Scully opened her mouth to reply but the trilling phone
stopped her. She waited for Mulder to pick it up, but he just
sat and stared out the window.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

He shrugged apathetically. "Let the machine get it."

Having an idea who it might be, Scully nudged him. "Go
on, answer it. What if it's important?"

Sighing like a martyr, Mulder leaned over on one elbow
and snatched up the receiver, taking care to hide his
trembling hand from Scully.

"Mulder."

"Sorry to call you at home, Agent Mulder, but I have been
bothered by a giant slug in my plumbing and someone told
me you might be able to help."

"Very funny, Bubba. To what do I owe this honor -- or
were you just in the mood for making prank phone calls?
And for your information, it was a fluke, not a slug."

Scully watched the transformation with satisfaction.
Mulder's morose disposition vanished, a grin taking over
his face and his shoulders relaxing as he settled more
comfortably on the bed. He fished around in his pocket and
removed a handful of sunflower seeds, cracking one
between his teeth.

"Just calling to shoot the breeze with my little bro," Grey
answered amiably. "How's the packing going?"

"You've seen my bedroom. How do you think it's going?"
Mulder asked sarcastically. He mouthed the name Grey to
Scully, who squeezed his leg, pointed warningly at the
fledgling pile of shells on the comforter, and then
disappeared into the living room. "How's work?"

Grey groaned theatrically. "Don't ask! Is there a full moon
sometime soon?"

"Why? You got a werewolf on your hands?"

"What I have is three cases of homicide, all apparently
resulting from domestic violence in the last five days,"
Grey complained. "Do you know how much paperwork
generates?"

"I have an idea."

"Could you say that with a little more sympathy? You can
fake it, it doesn't have to be genuine."

Mulder chuckled, dropping all the way back onto the
mattress and staring at the ceiling, the phone propped
between shoulder and chin. "Sorry, Bubba."

"Would you knock if off? Remind me never to drink beer
with you, it's like painting a target on my chest and
suggesting you take pot shots," Grey grumbled. "I can't
believe I told you that story."

Mulder's chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. "I can't
either."

"All right, all right. I've told you my sad tale. How are you
doing?"

The laughter dried up instantly and he involuntarily tensed,
his chin depressing several buttons on the phone, which
gave a protesting squawk.

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old," he replied, keeping
his voice carefully neutral. "Things have been pretty quiet
at work, so I'm consulting on a profile for VCS."

Grey's tone took on the gentle, probing quality that Mulder
found both touching and irritating. "We haven't talked
much since the service for Samantha."

"Guess not."

"You still okay?"

Mulder jerked upright, frowning. "I'm fine. Why are you
asking?"

Grey snorted. "Why am I asking? We buried our sister,
Fox! Who, by the way, you spent over half your life
looking for. There might not have been a body, but we gave
her a grave. Why do you think I'm asking?"

Mulder gripped the phone tighter and stood, casting a sharp
look at the doorway. "And you saw how I was doing when
you came up for the ceremony. Why the sudden concern?"

"You're a psychologist! You know as well anyone that
relatives go through a period of numbness right after a
death. It's weeks later that things can get tough."

"Bullshit," Mulder replied angrily. "Scully called you,
didn't she? She asked you to talk to me."

Silence, then Grey sighed. "She's worried about you, Fox."

"I'm fine," he replied tightly. "I've told her that, and now
I'm telling you."

"Did you believe her all those times she was the one telling
you?"

The mild question deflated his swelling anger as quickly
and efficiently as a pin pricking a balloon. Mulder sagged
against the window, staring fixedly at the passing traffic.
He struggled to answer, but couldn't seem to form the
words.

"You still with me, little brother?"

"No."

"What?" Grey's voice was startled.

"No, I didn't believe her when she told me she was fine.
Look, I know she wants me to talk to her about this, Grey.
But I can't." Mulder said sotto voice. "Not right now,
anyway."

"Do you mind telling me why? You two are so close,
you've shared so much. What makes this different?" Grey
asked tentatively, feeling his way on thin ice.

"I can't explain to someone else what I don't understand
myself. Everything's happening too fast, I need time to
process it all, in my own way, and Scully can't help me do
that. She doesn't understand, she grew up surrounded by a
big family where everyone knew everyone else's
problems." He laughed bitterly. "After Samantha was taken
I don't think anyone would have noticed even if I'd
spontaneously combusted in the middle of dinner."

"Then you'd have wound up as one of your own X-Files,"
Grey mused. "Case number X-1013. The spontaneous
combustion of Fox William Mulder."

Mulder smiled, a little surprised he could. "Boggles the
mind, doesn't it?"

Grey chuffed a little laugh, then quieted. "I've gone through
my own life crisis, little brother. I can understand if you
need the space. Just remember to reach out when you're
ready. Dana and I are only an arm's length away."

Mulder slipped another seed into his mouth with steady
fingers. A sense of peace replaced his earlier agitation,
leaving him almost giddy with relief. "Thanks. I... I guess
sometimes I need to be reminded of that."

"No problem. Listen, I've got to run, Mark's picking me up
in a few minutes to go shoot some hoops. I'll be up next
Friday to help y'all move, as planned."

"Sounds good. You know, if you'd have told me a year ago
that Scully and I would wind up living together, I'd have
said you were crazy. I guess I still find it hard to believe."
He couldn't help the note of incredulity that crept into his
voice.

Grey humphed. "You and Dana must have been the only
ones too blind to see it. To everyone else, you might as well
have been wearing a neon sign. Now relax, don't do
anything to piss her off, and I'll see ya in a week."

"See you, Bubba."

Mulder could hear Grey curse as he hung up the phone,
grinning. He'd started toward the doorway, intent on
finding Scully, when his eyes lit on the pile of shells
decorating the bedspread. Still grinning, he retraced his
steps, carefully scooped them up, and deposited them in the
trash can, Grey's word's echoing in his head.

"I'll try," he muttered. "But it's not going to be easy."

The X-Files Office
Friday, March 24
9:23 a.m.

"Mulder, would you please stop it! You've been prowling
around this office like a panther in a cage."

Scully made no attempt to hide her annoyance. Exhaustion
had lowered her tolerance and raised her temper. Mulder's
nightmares had become a nightly occurrence, and they
were both suffering from sleep deprivation. But while she
manifested the weariness by a tendency to nod off at the
computer, Mulder seemed to grow more and more restless
and edgy. She felt brittle and thin, stretched to the breaking
point, and Mulder's perpetual motion burned like salt in the
wound.

"All right, all right," Mulder replied, flopping into his chair.
She heard him mutter something about "time of the month"
under his breath and it took willpower to avoid reaching for
her gun.

He flipped open a file folder and began to read, but in
minutes his foot was tapping against the wastebasket with a
hollow thud. The words on the computer screen melded
into a confused jumble of meaningless letters and Scully
backed up and started over for the third time. She was
wracking her brain for a bogus errand that she could send
him on when his phone rang.

"Mulder."

"Hey man, we've got some news."

Mulder stiffened and casually swiveled his chair until his
back was toward Scully. "I thought I was clear about how
to handle this," he said, trying to keep his voice
conversational but unable to omit a hard edge.

"You never called last night like you said you were going
to. Did you want us to just sit on this?" Frohike asked,
offended.

Mulder sighed, feeling an itch between his shoulder blades
where he was certain his partner's eyes were focused.
"Something unexpected came up," he replied, unable to add
that Scully had walked into his bedroom just as he'd picked
up the phone. "Go ahead. Lay it on me."

"Langly was checking out the hospital where your sister
was last seen when a local news item caught his eye."
Frohike fell silent and his discomfort was palpable. "You
aren't going to like this."

"What is this, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? I'm not
going to guess, Hickey!" Mulder snapped, an intangible
sense of foreboding and his own impatience overriding
discretion.

"That nurse who tried to help your sister? Arbuttus Ray?
She's dead, Mulder. Local paper says she died of a heart
attack less than a week after you and Scully talked to her."
Frohike cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, man. I know you
were planning on pumping her for more information."
When Mulder didn't reply and the silence over the phone
line grew oppressive, he added, "Mulder? You there?"

Numbness penetrated every cell in his body, and Mulder's
lips felt heavy and uncooperative. "Yeah. Yeah, I heard
you. Thanks for the info." He hung up the phone, only
peripherally registering Frohike's voice still squawking on
the other end of the line.

Scully watched the ripple across his spine as he breathed,
the only indication that the phone call hadn't turned him to
stone. She waited for him to move, turn, crack a bad joke --
something to signify that this abrupt stillness shouldn't
alarm her.

"What did Frohike want, Mulder?" she finally pressed
when several minutes had passed without a change. "What
kind of information did he have for you?"

Mulder turned back to face her, but his features revealed
only evasiveness. "Nothing you need to worry about,
Scully. How's the email? Anything interesting?"

Scully deliberately shut her laptop and walked over to stand
beside him. "You have them hacking into the records for
April Air Force Base, don't you? You're still trying to find
out what was done to Samantha." Mulder had a lousy poker
face when it came to deceiving her, and she could
immediately read confirmation in his eyes. She hovered
between hurt and anger that shifted like quicksand beneath
her feet. "Why were you hiding it from me?"

Sometimes she could see Bill Mulder's imprint with crystal
clarity. At her accusing tone Mulder went immediately on
the offensive, his eyes narrowing and his mouth turning
down in a scowl.

"Just listen to yourself, and you'll know why! I was sure
you'd be against it, that you'd try to talk me out of it. You're
awfully predictable, Scully."

Well, since Mulder was exhibiting one of his father's less
desirable traits, why shouldn't she join in? Scully's Irish
temper ignited.

"I'M predictable? Mulder you have it down to an art! Why
must you always be chasing after something? Why can't
you ever, for just a moment, stand still and appreciate
where you are? I mean really, Mulder -- when is it ever
going to be enough?"

"It could just as easily have been me, Scully! It nearly
was!" Mulder snarled, lunging to his feet. She backed up
two steps, frightened by his fury. "My name was on that
file first! I was a subject of their dirty little experiments just
like Samantha!" His voice dropped in pitch but not
intensity. "That diary could have been mine."

Scully sagged against the desk, aching to offer comfort but
too weary to find the right words. Her head throbbed, her
eyes felt dry and gritty, her thoughts sluggish.

"You must realize that many of those responsible for what
happened to Samantha could be dead, killed along with
Cassandra Spender and the rest. The Consortium, if it still
exists, has been crippled. It's been nearly twenty years since
your sister's death, Mulder. Is it really worth stirring up a
hornet's nest just to chase down a few old men?"

Mulder's phone buzzed, the vibration so close to her hand
that Scully jumped. Keeping his eyes fixed on her face,
Mulder reached over to answer it.

"Mulder. Hi, Kim, I..." He broke off, the lines across his
brow deepening. "What? You mean, like, right now? Fine
we'll... Oh. I see. Thanks."

Scully pushed away from his desk and walked back to her
own. Her fingertips had just brushed her jacket when
Mulder lifted his hand.

"Don't bother, Scully. Kim says Skinner wants to see me
alone."

Not so unusual, for Skinner to meet with one of them alone.
So why did her pulse quicken, her stomach clench with
dread? Was it that an impromptu summons from Skinner
rarely boded well? Or was it that in his current emotional
state she felt loath to let him out of her sight?

"Did Kim say what it was about?"

A slight twitch of his shoulders. "Nope. But this is our
supreme leader we're talking about, Scully. He says jump
and our only question's supposed to be 'How high?'" He
tried for humor and indifference, but failed miserably.

Scully watched him pull on his jacket, sinking her teeth
into the corner of her lip to stifle a plethora of
admonishments. When his fingers curled around the
doorknob she could hold back no longer.

"Mulder."

He didn't turn back, simply stopped moving. "Yeah?"

"You've been pretty... Just... Whatever it is, don't lose your
temper."

She wanted sarcasm. For Mulder to press a hand to his
chest, thrust out his lip, and pout, "Who, moi?" But all she
got was a scarcely perceptible jerk of his head and the snick
of the door closing. She sucked in a long breath of air and
went back to her email.

Kim's grim face ratcheted Mulder's uneasiness up a notch.
She inclined her head towards the door, her perfectly
manicured nails pausing from their dance across the
keyboard.

"You can go right in, Agent Mulder," she said in a volume
sufficient to be heard by her boss as well. Her voice
dropped to a confidential level as she added, "SAC
Carpenter is with him."

Mulder gave her a tight smile and strode resolutely into the
office. Skinner sat behind his desk listening to Carpenter,
who stopped mid-rant to glare balefully at Mulder. Skinner
looked up, motioning Mulder forward with a curt wave of
his hand. The irritation in his dark eyes was obvious, but
Mulder couldn't tell whether he or Carpenter was the
recipient.

"Agent Mulder, please have a seat."

Mulder crossed warily and sat, feeling strangely disoriented
to be occupying Scully's usual chair. Carpenter, usurper of
his usual spot, turned expectantly to Skinner and continued
to glower. He was a short, squat man, with thinning gray
hair and bushy eyebrows, and though his rigid, by-the-book
style clashed with Mulder's maverick tendencies, they'd
always been able to put aside their personalities in
deference to the work. Mulder had no clue as to what could
possibly have the man so irate. He settled back into the
chair with arms crossed loosely, knowing that he was
communicating insolence but unable to stop.

Skinner leaned forward, arms braced on the desktop.
"Agent Mulder, I called you up here in hopes that we can
resolve a problem that SAC Carpenter brought to my
attention. I understand you've completed the consult for
VCS?"

Mulder nodded coolly. "Yes sir."

"You took exception to several aspects of the existing
profile, and revised it?"

"Yes, sir."

Skinner's jaw clenched at his agent's sudden reticence.
"You turned that revised profile in to SAC Carpenter
yesterday?"

Mulder's hold on his temper slipped. "Last night, just
before I left. Would you please cut to the chase, sir, and
give me a hint as to what this pop quiz is all about?"

Skinner bristled at the insubordinate reply. "SAC Carpenter
is less than satisfied..."

"*Less than satisfied?* It's useless!" Carpenter spat, unable
to contain himself any longer. "My team has been on pins
and needles awaiting Mulder's profile, for the divine oracle
himself to speak! We've kept things on hold, hoping for
new insights, a new direction. What we got was a gigantic
waste of our time!"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "I gave you my best take on the
UNSUB. I can't help the fact that it contradicts yours, or
that people don't enjoy being told they were wrong."

Carpenter's face turned beet red and he sputtered, nearly
pre-verbal with rage. Skinner sent him a quelling stare, then
looked back at Mulder.

"Agent Mulder, I've read the profile. SAC Carpenter isn't
the only one to be confused by the your conclusions."

Mulder's jaw dropped and he gaped blankly at his
supervisor, surprise short-circuiting his anger. "Sir, I... I'm
not sure what I could possibly say to that."

Skinner's gaze cut to Carpenter, then back to Mulder. "An
explanation would be nice," he replied. His tone carried no
malice and Mulder understood that it was Carpenter who
had provoked his boss's anger. Still, he could feel his
hackles rise in response to Skinner's doubt.

"I'd be glad to. I'll stand behind any part of that profile."

Carpenter made a derisive sound deep in his throat as
Skinner opened the file before him. Mulder recognized the
case number at the top of the page and the familiar scrawl
of his signature across the bottom. Skinner adjusted his
glasses and cleared his throat.

"The UNSUB is a single white male, between the ages of
25 and 40. He's a white collar professional with an
occupation that requires strict attention to detail, such as an
architect or an accountant. He lives alone in an upscale
condo or townhouse in a nice neighborhood, drives a
BMW. He's highly intelligent, but socially isolated from his
peers. They don't understand him and he makes no effort to
enlighten them."

"I know the profession and intelligence level varies
drastically from the original profile but I'm convinced this
guy isn't your garden variety rapist," Mulder broke in,
lunging forward.

Skinner held up his hand, palm out. "Let me continue."

Mulder grimaced, but sat back.

"His compulsion to rape and kill stems from an early
childhood trauma, the loss of a sister. She disappeared
while in his care and was never found. His father blamed
him for it, abusing him both verbally and physically. This
has left the UNSUB with an extreme sense of guilt coupled
with underlying rage and feelings of inadequacy. He's set
himself on an endless quest for the missing sister, seeking
but never finding her in the women that he rapes and then
brutally kills. He's convinced himself that his sister is still
alive somewhere, that she was abducted by aliens and..."

Mulder lurched to his feet, eyes blazing. "What kind of sick
joke is this?"

"Exactly my question, Agent Mulder," Carpenter grated.
"Why don't you tell us why you didn't just decline this
assignment rather than turning it into one of your petty
mind games!"

"That is NOT my profile!" Mulder snarled, stabbing a
finger at the paper for emphasis. "I don't know whose
bright idea it was to have some fun at Spooky's expense,
but it won't work!" His eyes jumped back and forth
between Skinner and Carpenter while his breath puffed in
short, rapid bursts. A drop of sweat trickled down between
his shoulder blades and his muscles thrummed.

"Mulder, sit."

Skinner's command was not lacking compassion, but
Mulder ignored it. A muscle in Skinner's cheek twitched in
agitation but he only stood and tilted the paper so that
Mulder could read it.

"Mulder, SAC Carpenter SAW you put this in his box last
night. And your signature is right there at the bottom."

Ears ringing and spots dancing across his line of vision,
Mulder snatched the profile from Skinner's fingers and
ripped it in half. "And I'm telling you I didn't write any of
that section about the UNSUB's sister! You'd have to be
blind and stupid not to see that it's a blatant description of
me! Do you think I'm crazy?"

"He wouldn't be the first," Carpenter sneered. "Or the last."

Mulder exploded. He spun on his heel, buried his fingers in
the lapels of Carpenter's jacket, and hauled the man to his
feet before Skinner could blink.

"You're the one who wrote it, aren't you, Carpenter? Big,
hotshot SAC of VCS -- you can't find your ass with both
hands, and you resent the hell out of the fact that my profile
showed you up! Did you really think I wouldn't figure it
out?" He punctuated each sentence with a teeth-rattling
shake until Carpenter's face turned pasty with fear.

Two large hands clamped onto Mulder's shoulders with a
bruising grip and Skinner's hot breath seared his ear.
"Agent Mulder you are out of line! Release him
immediately and SIT DOWN!"

It penetrated the red haze in his mind and Mulder's hands
immediately went limp. Skinner deposited him in the chair
with a none too gentle shove and ran his hand over the
beads of sweat on his brow.

"Are you all right?" he growled at Carpenter. When the
SAC managed a feeble nod, Skinner grasped him by the
elbow and guided him to the door. "I need to speak to
Agent Mulder. Alone. I'll handle things from here."

Carpenter fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket and
pressed it to his lips with shaking fingers. "I'm going to
OPR with this, Walt. That man has no place in the Bureau
and it's about time someone did something about it."

Skinner's face could have been carved from granite. "I said
I would handle this, Pete. Go cool off."

Carpenter jerked his arm from Skinner's grasp and stalked
out of the office. Skinner exchanged a meaningful glance
with Kim before firmly shutting the door.

Mulder was slumped, head cradled in his hands. Skinner
silently observed the nervous bouncing of the man's knee,
the periodic clench and release of the fingers wound in his
hair. He walked over to lean on the front of his desk, but
after a moment's consideration sat in the vacant chair.

"Mulder, what in the hell did you think you were doing just
now?"

Rather than furious, Skinner's voice was amazingly gentle.
Mulder cautiously dropped his hands and squinted up at
him.

"I didn't write that profile."

"You admitted that the first section was yours. Do you deny
that's your signature?"

"I would never have written that stuff. I think I know what I
have and haven't done, don't you?"

Skinner heard admission in the absence of denial. The
incident with the field report Mulder had accused him of
taking flashed through his mind. By the abrupt tightening
of Mulder's mouth, Skinner recognized that he remembered
too.

"Mulder, I want you to take some time."

Mulder's face went slack with disbelief, then dark with
anger. "You don't believe me, do you? You believe that son
of a bitch Carpenter, you think I did write that profile! Why
does everyone suddenly think I'm going off the deep end?"

"You've been under a lot of stress, Mulder. There's no
shame in taking a little time to regroup," Skinner replied,
filing away Mulder's comment for future consideration.
"Besides, it will buy me a chance to fix things with
Carpenter. The last thing you need is to be dragged in front
of a review board for..."

Mulder stood, his entire body trembling with rage. "Oh,
you're going to clean up my mess for me, huh Walt?
Because we're such buddies, right? Certainly not because
you have any respect for me or my work. Well, I have two
words for you, Skinner. KISS OFF."

He'd stormed across the room and out the door before
Skinner could wipe the look of shock from his face.

The X-Files Office
Friday, March 24
10:57 a.m.

By 11:00, Scully had passed curious and reached
concerned.
Impromptu meetings with Skinner rarely lasted longer than
fifteen or twenty minutes, and the fact that he'd called in
only Mulder contributed to her uneasiness. She read all her
email, typed up a final autopsy report, and made coffee.
Finally unable to stand the suspense, she picked up the
phone, intending to call Kim. A shadow falling across the
open doorway stilled the motion.

"It's about time, Mulder! What did... Sir?"

Skinner stepped into the office, his eyes skimming across
Mulder's vacant desk before coming to rest on Scully.

"Good morning, Agent Scully," he greeted gravely.

"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, I thought you were Mulder."
Scully tucked a strand of hair nervously behind her ear. Her
neck protested the angle required to view her boss, so she
stood and folded her arms.

"Actually it's Agent Mulder I'm looking for. Do you expect
him back soon?" Skinner asked, walking over to stare at the
"I Want to Believe" poster.

Scully frowned and gave a small shake of her head. "I don't
understand, sir. He was supposed to be meeting with
*you*."

Skinner spun back around, forehead creased. "Scully, that
meeting ended almost an hour ago. Do you mean to tell me
that he didn't come back here?"

"I haven't seen or heard from him since he got Kim's phone
call and went upstairs," Scully replied sharply. "What
happened, sir? What exactly was that meeting about?"

Skinner hesitated, jaw tight, then motioned for Scully to sit
down. He pushed aside a stack of papers and a pile of
sunflower seed shells to perch on the corner of Mulder's
desk, evading Scully's questioning gaze as he gathered his
thoughts.

"Sir, if Agent Mulder is AWOL I'd like to see if I can track
him down," Scully said tersely. She'd taken a seat as
Skinner indicated, but remained rigidly poised on the edge.

"I understand your concern, Scully, but we need to talk,"
Skinner replied firmly. "I need for you to tell me what is
going on with Mulder, because frankly, I haven't a clue."

As if he'd waved a magic wand, Scully's face went blank.
Her expressive blue eyes cut away to the laptop on the
corner of her desk, and she ran one finger over the keys.
"Sir, I don't know what you mean. Is Agent Mulder in some
kind of trouble?"

Skinner let out an explosive burst of air and shook his head.
"You are a terrible liar, Scully. Always have been." When
she scowled and opened her mouth to retort he cut her off.
"He practically assaulted SAC Carpenter in my office this
morning. It's going to take every ounce of my rather
questionable diplomatic skills and some smooth talking to
convince Carpenter not to take it to OPR. We're talking a
major headache, Scully. I think I deserve to know just what
precipitated the need to pull his butt out of the fire this
time."

Scully licked her lips. "He attacked Carpenter? Mulder's
always been able to work with him just fine. They aren't
exactly buddies, but..."

"I won't say Carpenter didn't do his part in provoking him,"
Skinner admitted. "But Mulder's reaction was way out of
line, Scully. Even for Mulder."

Scully absorbed Skinner's words, chewing on her lip. She
studied his face for a long moment, then sighed. "Sir, could
you please explain exactly what went on before Mulder
attacked Carpenter? Why did you call the meeting in the
first place?"

Skinner leaned forward. "Carpenter came to me this
morning with Mulder's profile, breathing fire. There were
some things in it that didn't make sense." Skinner stopped,
and scrubbed his face with both hands. "That's a gross
understatement. Scully, there were things in that profile that
had absolutely no bearing on the case."

"Sir, we both know that Agent Mulder's theories, while
initially appearing impossible or even bizarre, frequently
prove to be..."

"Scully, he was profiling himself," Skinner interrupted
sharply.

Scully stared at him, her lips parting in shock and the color
leaving her cheeks. "What?"

His voice gentled. "The profile started out normally, even
added some insights that the team had missed. Then the
description of the UNSUB degenerated into a narration of
Mulder's own childhood. Sister disappearing while in his
care, blame and abuse from the parents -- Mulder even said
the UNSUB thought his sister had been abducted by aliens!
Carpenter was furious, he's convinced that Mulder was
playing some kind of joke."

Scully shivered, suddenly chilled. "How did Mulder
respond?"

Skinner snorted. "He went ballistic! Said he never wrote
that part and accused the VCS agents of trying to make him
look bad out of petty resentment over his being called in to
consult. He and Carpenter exchanged some hard words and
the next thing I knew he had the man by the lapels and was
trying to shake the teeth from his head!"

Scully pressed a fist to her lips, blinking hard. Her fear and
anxiety over Mulder's behavior, till now rationalized and
kept in check, surged forward. Her throat constricted, her
stomach ached, and she was painfully aware of Skinner's
piercing gaze.

"Scully," he said kindly. "You must know by now that I
count both you and Mulder as friends. Talk to me. Is he
having difficulty coping with his sister's death?"

Scully met his probing gaze without flinching. "I didn't
think so, at first. He seemed so relieved to finally know the
truth. To have closure after so many years of searching and
wondering. He said he was free." Scully's voice caught.

Skinner proceeded cautiously, afraid she might shut him
out. "You said at first. What about now?"

A flicker of anguish crossed her face and her eyes dropped.
"I... You should ask Mulder about this, Sir. I don't feel right
discussing it behind his back."

"And you and I both know he's not going to talk to me,"
Skinner replied. "This goes beyond watching your partner's
back, Scully. If Mulder isn't fit for duty..."

"He's not really talking to me, either!" Scully said shortly.
She slumped back into the chair. "I don't know what to tell
you. He's irritable, restless, moody, and he's not sleeping
due to some pretty intense nightmares. But it's more than
that. I've seen Mulder emotionally wrung out -- after a
particularly bad case or when he's profiling. This..." She
trailed off, with a slight jerk of her head.

Skinner studied her for a moment. "Mulder said something
in my office that stuck with me. He asked why everyone
seemed to think he was going off the deep end."

Scully closed her eyes.

"The misunderstanding with the file," Skinner continued
quietly. "When he accused me of taking it from his desk?
Have there been similar incidents, Scully?"

Scully didn't speak, just dipped her head.

Skinner sighed heavily and pushed upright. He ran a hand
across his jaw and considered the bowed, auburn head. "I
told him to take some time, Scully. Strictly informal, I
didn't even mention the Employee Assistance Program. But
I'll be honest with you -- he needs to see someone. And I
won't hesitate to offer that as a bargaining chip if it will get
Carpenter off Mulder's back."

Scully raised her head, her features composed. "I
understand, sir."

Skinner lay his hand on her shoulder very briefly before
moving to the door. "Feel free to take the rest of the day.
And Scully? When you find Mulder, could you try to
convince him I'm on his side?"

Scully listened to Skinner's footfalls march down the
hallway before releasing her tears. "First I have to convince
him I am."

The Bench
Friday
1:33 p.m.

She recognized the outline of his body long before she
could see his face and nearly wept with relief. Slowing the
frantic stuttering of her steps, she sucked in a deliberate
draught of air, brushed her fingers over her cheeks, and
tamed a wayward lock of hair. Moving at a more leisurely
pace, she approached the bench.

"Is this seat taken?"

"No. But I'll warn you -- the guy you're sitting next to is
rumored to be more than a few bricks short of the load."

Not a trace of humor in the words. Mulder continued to
stare at the water, a bitter twist to his lips. Scully eased
herself down and wriggled her fingers between his.

"Then I'm glad I'm here. He once told me I had the ones he
was missing."

It was possibly the single correct response. The resentment
melted from Mulder's face and he gave her a wry smile.
"Ah, Scully. Why in the hell do you stick around?"

The corners of Scully's mouth turned up. "Symbiosis,
Mulder. Guess you've got a few of my bricks, as well." She
leaned her head against the cushion of his shoulder. "I was
worried."

Mulder shifted, his arm coming around to pull her more
snugly into his side. "I'm sorry."

"I checked your place and mine. I even went back to the
Bureau in hopes of finding you in the office." She struggled
to keep her tone neutral.

"I had some thinking to do. I didn't realize I'd been gone
that long." Mulder's fingers combed through her hair,
tickling her scalp.

"Skinner came looking for you."

The pliable flesh beneath her cheek hardened and Mulder's
hand dropped. "What did he tell you?"

Scully pulled back so that she could see his eyes. The
wariness and suspicion broke her heart. "That he asked you
to take some time off. And that he's on your side."

Mulder removed his arm from her shoulders leaving her to
shiver from the sudden absence of warmth. "Skinner didn't
believe me. Do you?"

*Oh God, Mulder, please don't ask me that.*

"I believe that you would never intentionally put something
like that in a profile," Scully hedged.

It didn't work. Mulder jerked backward and crossed his
arms defensively in front of him, a physical barrier to her
closeness.

"Don't patronize me, Scully! Do you believe I'm
responsible for putting that stuff in the profile?"

Scully stared at him, silently pleading for a reprieve that
never came. Finally she ducked her head. "I think you're
having trouble dealing with Samantha's death, Mulder.
Something's been wrong for weeks now -- the nightmares,
the mood swings, your inability to account for certain
actions. I think deep down inside, you know it too."

Mulder glared at her but she met his eyes and refused to
back down. The outrage slowly seeped from his face and he
curled forward and braced his elbows on his knees. Scully
watched him dry wash trembling hands as his toe scuffed
the dirt beneath the bench. When at last he spoke, his voice
was bewildered and barely broke a whisper.

"It can't be true, Scully. I don't remember doing any of
those things."

She moved to kneel between his knees, stilling his hands
with her own. "Mulder, you've raced through a life-
changing experience at eighty miles an hour, never once
hitting the brakes. I think your brain may be trying to tell
you it's time for a pit stop."

"What are you saying, Scully?" he asked softly.

"Don't fight Skinner on this. Use the time he's given you to
take a breath, to regroup. And I know you don't want to
hear this, love, but you need to talk to someone."

Mulder's fingers clamped over her own, only loosening
when Scully winced involuntarily. "You want me to see a
shrink? God, you do think I'm in bad shape!" He tried to
chuckle but the sound was jagged like shards of glass.

Scully untangled one hand to lay it on his cheek, her thumb
stroking across soft skin. "Mulder, you're a psychologist.
You of all people should know there's no shame in
admitting you need a little help sorting things out in your
head."

Mulder pressed his hand over hers, nuzzling her palm.
"Babe, it's *because* I'm a psychologist that I know what a
bunch of pretentious quacks most headshrinkers are."

The combination of his lips brushing her palm and the dry
humor in his reply lifted the dark cloud that had dogged her
steps since the conversation with Skinner.

"Hmm. Point taken," Scully said, smiling up at him.
Sobering, she added, "You could make an appointment
with Karen, Mulder. She's very good." Scully laughed
under her breath. "I certainly have thrown some doozies her
way."

Mulder gazed into her eyes for a long moment. After
casting a quick look around the nearly deserted area, he
tugged gently on her hands. "C'mere."

Never one for public displays of affection, Scully
reluctantly allowed herself to be drawn into his lap.
"Mulderrrr."

"Shh. Consider this physical therapy," Mulder murmured,
tucking her head beneath his chin.

As they sat in comfortable silence, her body gradually
relaxed against his. Scully frowned a little at the rapid
flutter of his heart, though the hand running up and down
her back was steady. Firmly telling Dr. Scully to take a
hike, she sighed contentedly. The rumble of Mulder's voice
was unexpected, the meaning behind his words even more
so.

"I'm scared, Scully."

She tightened her arms around his waist; pressed a kiss to
the hollow of his throat.

"Me too. But it's going to be all right, love. I promise."

But a little corner of her mind wondered.

Continued in part 2
Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (2 of 3)
By Dawn

Walnut Woods Apartments
Sunday, March 26
12:51 p.m.

"We're early," Mulder said reproachfully as he turned off the
engine. He tipped his thumb toward the sign on the rental office
door that read "Out to Lunch. Back at 1:00." "Ten minutes, Scully.
I could've seen ten more minutes of the Yankees."

Scully turned in her seat and lifted an eyebrow. "It's just one game,
Mulder. You act like I dragged you away from the World Series!"

"No, it takes experimental brain surgery to accomplish that,"
Mulder growled, slumping down behind the wheel with arms
folded and lip extended.

"Guess maybe I'm a bit overanxious," Scully offered, hoping to
avoid an argument. "This is important to me."

To her relief, Mulder's petulant expression faded and his mouth
curved. "I know, babe. It's important to me too."

She couldn't help herself. "Is it? Because I know this hasn't been an
easy decision for you, Mulder. I would never want to push you into
taking this step if you aren't ready."

Mulder turned to face her, pulling his right leg up onto the seat. He
framed her face in his palms and searched her eyes as if they
contained the answers to Life's greatest mysteries. Scully caught
her breath at the love he made no attempt to conceal.

"Scully, you are the best thing to come into my pathetic, screwed
up, solitary existence. I'd have to be crazy not to be ready for this."
The full meaning of his words struck him, and Mulder grimaced.
"How 'bout we strike that last part? You get the idea."

Scully covered his hands, holding them in place as she pressed a
kiss to each palm. "You are not crazy, Mulder, just a little off
balance. You're going to be fine."

Mulder touched his forehead to hers. "Yeah, I've heard that before,
babe. Right about the time they were fitting me for the jacket with
the really long sleeves."

"That's not funny."

"You're telling me."

Scully pulled away to glare and Mulder tried to affect a suitably
repentant expression. Evidently he failed miserably, because she
snorted and rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible."

He grinned roguishly. "That may be, Scully. But you've got to
know I wouldn't give up the New York Yankees for just any
broad."

"Gee thanks, Mulder. You sure know how to sweet talk a girl," she
replied sarcastically, then smirked. "Guess I'll just have to make it
up to you."

Mulder looked interested. "Ooo, Scully! Do you take requests?"

A white sedan pulled up to the office, discharging a silver haired
woman in a cranberry suit who unlocked the front door and took
down the sign. Scully indicated the bare door with a nod of her
head.

"Give 'em to me later, ace. Time to go sign the lease."

Mulder followed her to the door, popping sunflower seeds and
grumbling under his breath. A small brass bell jangled, announcing
their arrival, and the woman looked up from her desk with a bright
smile. A transitory line creased her forehead when she saw Mulder
and Scully, smoothing as she rose and moved around the desk.

"Hello, Mr. Mulder and...Ms. Scully -- is that right?" She extended
a thin, wrinkled hand.

Scully accepted the press of cool fingers. "Yes, that's correct. It's
nice to see you again, Mrs. Groman."

Handshakes out of the way, Mrs. Groman continued to smile, eyes
darting between their faces and an expectant lift to her brows.
Mulder shoved both hands into his pockets and rocked on his
heels, indicating that he expected Scully to do the talking. She
cleared her throat.

"We have a one o'clock appointment," she prompted.

Mrs. Groman's face twisted in puzzlement. "An appointment?
Whatever for, dear?"

Scully's brows drew together and she took a half step forward,
peering over the woman's shoulder at an open day planner on the
blotter.

"To sign our lease, of course," she answered a bit impatiently.

"Your lease? But..." Mrs. Groman broke off, turning to Mulder in
confusion. "Surely you told her, Mr. Mulder?"

Now it was Mulder who looked baffled. "Told her? Told her
what?"

Mrs. Groman stared at him as if he'd grown an additional head.
Attempting to cover her discomfiture, she circled around the desk
and scooped up the appointment book. She held it so that both
Mulder and Scully had an unobstructed view. A heavy line ran
through their names, penned in flowery cursive in the 1 p.m. time
slot.

"I canceled today's appointment when I voided the preliminary
agreement."

"What? Why on earth would you void the agreement?" Scully
demanded.

"Well, because...because Mr. Mulder asked me to!" Mrs. Groman
spluttered, turning her head to pin Mulder with a baleful glare. "He
came in last week and said you'd changed your minds. I assumed
he spoke for you both. Obviously I was in error."

Scully struggled against a rush of anger, staring questioningly at
Mulder, who flushed.

"I did no such thing."

Mrs. Groman's mouth dropped open and her eyes narrowed. "You
most certainly did! It was last Tuesday. I remember because I had
to leave early for a doctor's appointment. You walked in just as I
was closing up. You were very apologetic, said you both were
experiencing second thoughts and decided to postpone moving."

Mulder clenched his jaw, glancing over to Scully. "Scully, she's
wrong, I never..."

Scully bit down hard on her lip and turned her face from him, but
not before he recognized the raw hurt. It tore something deep
inside him, and his confusion turned instantly to rage. He rounded
on Mrs. Groman, eyes blazing.

"I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing! Did
someone pay you to say those things? Is that it? Was he smoking a
cigarette? Huh? Was he?"

"Mulder, stop it!"

Scully's voice cut through the pounding in his skull. For the first
time he saw that Mrs. Groman had shrunk back from him, her eyes
wide and her arms pulled defensively against her body. Ashamed,
he stepped backwards.

"She's lying, Scully," he said weakly, running trembling fingers
through his hair. "I swear to you, I would never back out of this."

"You told me there had been a death in your family," Mrs. Groman
spoke up, her voice shrill. "You said you'd just buried your sister."

An invisible fist slammed into his stomach. Mulder staggered
backward several more steps, the back of one hand pressed to his
mouth. His feet tangled together so that he nearly fell, but he
righted himself, spun, and stumbled out the door.

Scully kept her eyes trained on the beige carpet, blinking rapidly to
clear the moisture that insisted on blurring her vision. A terrible
silence descended over the office, broken only by Mrs. Groman's
harsh breathing. After what seemed an eternity, the woman
nervously cleared her throat. Scully tilted her chin up, expression
painstakingly composed.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Groman. Mulder has been under a
tremendous strain lately and he's not himself."

Mrs. Groman shakily lowered herself into her chair, face pale as
milk. "Your friend needs help, Ms. Scully. He appears to be very
unstable. I'd be extremely careful if I were you."

Scully shook her head. "You don't understand, he's just upset.
Mulder would never hurt me, or anyone else. I *know* him."

Mrs. Groman gave her a pitying smile. "I'm sure you think you do,
dear. But that man has a very volatile temper. Please, just keep in
mind what I've said."

Somehow Scully got her numb feet to carry her across the room
and out the door. She sucked in deep gulps of fresh air and turned
her face up to the warm sunshine. Her stomach twisted into knots,
and her chest felt tight. Mulder was nowhere in sight.

Tears threatened again and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to
stave them off. As hard as she tried to dismiss this latest incident as
minor, just another indication of Mulder's fragile emotional state,
the sensible voice in the back of her mind wouldn't allow it.

*I'd be very careful if I were you.*

Scully shuddered and strode rapidly toward the car, as if by doing
so she could somehow escape the echo of Mrs. Gorman's words.
She'd known Fox Mulder for seven years, and in all that time she'd
never considered him to be a violent man. Never. Oh sure, he
could bluster like a pro -- she'd seen him slam the odd suspect up
against a wall, shove his gun under Cancerman's chin... But she'd
always known it was mostly for show. She never doubted his self-
control, his ability to hold his temper in check.

Until now.

The man in the rental office, the one who'd physically intimidated
an older woman, was a stranger. Fury had completely eclipsed his
natural sensibility and restraint. And that scared her more than she
cared to admit.

Scully opened the car door, nearly shrieking in surprise when the
slumped figure in the passenger seat lifted his head. She tightened
her grip on the door until her knuckles turned white, tamping down
the slight twinge of fear.

*Get a grip, Dana. This is Mulder, remember?*

The blatant misery in his eyes eliminated her uneasiness but
increased the ache in her gut. Mulder pressed his keys into her
palm.

"You drive, huh Scully? I don't think..." His voice caught and he
just shook his head, evading her eyes.

Scully curled her fingers around the ring, shut the door, and
walked around to the driver's side. Once inside, she sat motionless,
her feet absurdly far from the pedals. She ran her hands around the
smooth, warm plastic of the steering wheel, her mind dull and her
thoughts sluggish.

"Say something," Mulder said quietly.

Her throat constricted. "I think we should go home."

Silence, then a nearly undetectable dip of his head. "Okay."

Scully busied herself with adjusting the seat and mirrors, focusing
on the mechanics of each task with single-minded intensity.
Mulder remained very still, face turned toward the window and
hands limp in his lap. It was when she checked over her shoulder
before pulling out of the parking space that movement caught her
eye. She froze, one hand on the wheel, one propped on the
seatback, and watched his throat tightening and releasing
convulsively.

She shifted back into park and turned to lay her hand on his
shoulder. "Mulder."

"I'm screwing it all up, Scully," he rasped. "Just like I knew I
would, sooner or later. I'm losing you, and I don't even understand
how or why."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! What are you talking about? What
makes you think you're losing me?" Scully said sternly, inching
across the seat until she was pressed along his side.

Mulder's eyes were so dark, so haunted. "I saw your face, Scully. I
hurt you. You can't deny it. And the hell of it is, a big part of me
still can't accept that I did it." He shook his head. "Why, Scully? I
wanted this, want to be with you. Am I so messed up that I'd
subconsciously sabotage my one chance for happiness?"

She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair. "I'm not an
expert, Mulder. I can't tell you what might or might not be going
on in that complicated brain of yours. I know you're confused right
now, but there's one thing you can be sure of -- I am *not* going
anywhere."

A shiver ran through his body. "What if I told you to?"

"What?"

Mulder tilted his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. "I just
scared the shit out of a little old lady, Scully," he said tersely. "Add
that to the fact that I don't seem to know what the hell I'm doing
from one moment to the next and it doesn't seem like I'm the
healthiest person to be around right now. Maybe there's a point to
this little fiasco, maybe you should...should..."

"No."

Every ounce of the Dana Scully spirit and determination was
packed into that one little word. Mulder looked down into eyes
snapping with outrage, and it was like finding his compass after
being hopelessly lost.

"You are a complete idiot, Mulder, but I love you. And I'm not
going to let you punish yourself out of an overdeveloped sense of
guilt and a misguided need to protect me. I am *not* leaving you.
Now get it through your thick skull and don't mention it again."

Her tirade coaxed a feeble spark to his eyes, but when he gazed
back out the window it died.

"Guess we won't be moving in together, babe. Even if they had
another vacant apartment, I doubt Mrs. Gorman would offer it to
us."

Scully scooted back over to the steering wheel and shrugged. "Her
loss, Mulder. There are plenty of other apartments out there, when
the time is right." She looked at him slyly, out the corner of her
eye. "Maybe we'll even find one with a built-in shadowy
informant."

Mulder's lips twitched. "Convenient."

Scully's soft chuckle died down to a smile. "Let's go home,
Mulder. After all, I still have those ten minutes to make up for."

He nodded, turning back toward the window as Scully put the
engine back into gear. When he was certain she'd become
preoccupied with driving, he let the smile slide from his lips.
Scully talked a good game, but he'd recognized the fear in her
eyes. Recognized it, because it mirrored his own.

The X-Files Office
Tuesday, March 28
11:45 a.m.

Exactly ten number 2, yellow stalactites dangled from the ceiling
above Mulder's desk. Scully stared, undecided whether to remove
them or add to their number. The office felt unnaturally quiet and
still without Mulder, as if his presence were an electrical charge
that kept things humming. Ironic that she found herself missing
him, when just days ago his edginess had driven her to distraction.

But that was Mulder -- a walking contradiction. Arrogant and self-
assured on the job, yet self-deprecating and unassuming in private.
Suspicious and paranoid of strangers, but na_ve and trusting with
victims. Willing to embrace the bizarre and implausible, but unable
to acknowledge the validity of God or organized religion.

Not to mention the man had the dubious ability to inspire feelings
of profound love and intense rage. Simultaneously.

Still staring blankly at the pencils, Scully nearly knocked over her
coffee in surprise at the sound of a throat clearing. Skinner stood in
the doorway like a little boy waiting to be invited in to play.

"Agent Scully? May I have a minute of your time?"

"Of course, sir," she answered formally, then couldn't resist
adding, "Two trips to the basement in less than a week. I'm not
sure whether to be flattered or worried."

Skinner actually grinned. "Go with the first option, Scully. Trust
me -- you'll know when you need to worry." He sobered. "I really
just wanted to ask how Mulder is doing."

Scully's smile became wooden. "Taking it easy at home and hating
every minute of it. How are negotiations with Carpenter?"

Skinner grimaced. "Let's just say that Mulder is going to really
owe me for this one. Pete Carpenter is not an unreasonable man,
when his temper isn't doing his thinking. He's agreed not to take
the incident before OPR, but only with the assurance that Mulder
will see one of the EAP counselors."

"Not a problem," Scully said quietly. "He has an appointment with
Karen Kossoff this afternoon."

Skinner's eyebrows shot upward. "You've got to be kidding. How
did you manage that?"

Scully's eyes eluded his and she rolled her tongue against the
inside of her cheek. Abruptly, mercilessly, tears welled in her eyes
and clogged her throat. Terrified of losing control, she forced
herself to breathe slowly and deeply.

"He's scared," she admitted. "There was another...mishap that left
him pretty shaken. He's not thrilled about talking to Karen, but he's
desperate."

Skinner eyed her shrewdly. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"That wouldn't be my first choice, no," Scully replied ruefully.

"Karen is an excellent psychologist," Skinner continued, showing
no offense at her reluctance to elaborate. "Whatever brought
Mulder to this point, I'm please to hear he's willing to get help."

Sully sighed. "Karen probably has a better chance than most, but
I'll be honest with you, sir. Mulder possesses a strong disdain for
psychologists and a wealth of built-in defense mechanisms. No one
is going to help him unless he decides to allow it."

Skinner frowned. "I thought you said he was scared. That he was
desperate enough to do just that."

Scully shrugged, her face troubled. "You know the old saying, sir.
Better the devil you know than the one you don't. As frightened as
Mulder is over what's been happening to him, digging for the root
of the problem holds its own set of fears."

"I see what you mean." Skinner's gaze turned distant. "I was in
pretty rough shape when I got home from 'Nam -- nightmares,
panic attacks, depression. But whenever my parents tried to gently
suggest I get professional help I became furious. I was trapped in a
dark place, but to change that I knew I'd have to relive the very
events that sent me there." He snorted. "Not an attractive
proposition."

Moved by his candor, Scully leaned closer. "So what happened?
What finally convinced you to get help?"

Skinner's jaw thrust forward and a small muscle in his cheek
twitched.

"I'm sorry," Scully said quickly, "I didn't mean to..."

"No. No, it's all right." He paused. "I had an extremely vivid
flashback to when the Viet Cong ambushed my unit. When I
regained my senses, I had a gun pressed to my mother's head." He
pressed a fist to his lips, then held it up with thumb and index
finger nearly touching. "I came this close to killing my own
mother. When I looked down into her eyes, saw that she was
terrified -- of ME..." He shook his head. "I had no choice. I
couldn't risk it happening again."

Scully's teeth worried her lip, blinking. "He gets so out of control,"
she whispered, almost to herself. "I've never seen him like this."

Skinner's voice was very, very gentle. "Scully, has he..."

Her eyes flew wide open. "NO! Mulder would never do anything
to hurt me! Never."

"But something happened," he prompted softly.

"We went to sign our lease, for the new apartment," Scully said,
staring at a spot somewhere over Skinner's left shoulder. "The
woman who showed us the apartment, Mrs. Groman, said she'd
cancelled the preliminary agreement. She said Mulder had come in
last week to tell her we'd changed our minds."

"But Mulder denied it."

Scully's lip trembled and a few wayward tears trickled down her
cheek. "He started yelling at her, accusing her of being in league
with Spender. For a moment I thought he was actually going to put
his hands on her. The poor woman was terrified."

"What snapped him out of it?"

"Me. I yelled at him to stop and he did," Scully said, using her
thumb to brush the moisture from her face. "When he realized
what he was doing, saw Mrs. Groman cowering away from him,
Mulder was devastated."

Skinner blew out a long gust of air, his brow furrowed. "There's
been no trouble since?" Scully shook her head, her expression
guarded. "Then I'd suggest that..."

The phone rang and Scully lifted it with two fingers. "Scully."

"Where is it?"

The naked anger in Mulder's tone stung like a slap. Scully
frowned, turning her body away from Skinner and cupping her
hand around the mouthpiece.

"Where is what?"

"This is beneath you, Scully. I know your feelings on the matter
but you had no right to take it. Now where did you put it?"

His words practically thrummed with nervous tension. With effort,
Scully resisted the urge to react offensively. Instead she pitched
her voice low and soothing.

"Mulder, slow down. I don't understand what you're talking about.
What is it you think I've taken?"

"Sam's diary. I've been over this apartment a dozen times and I
can't find it anywhere. Last night it was on the bedside table and
now it's vanished." Mulder sucked in a slow breath of air and when
he resumed speaking she could hear tears in his voice. "I know
you're trying to help, but this isn't the way. That book is the last
link to my sister, all I have left. Just tell me where it is, okay?"

"Mulder, I'd love to tell you where it is, but I *don't know.* I
haven't even seen her diary, but it must be around somewhere.
Why don't you take a break and go to your appointment with
Karen and then..."

"I do not need to take a break, I need to find that book," Mulder
growled. And I'm not going to the damn session with Karen unless
I do!"

The slam of receiver meeting cradle left her ear ringing in protest.
Scully stared at the phone, astonished, then quickly redialed
Mulder's number. Four rings, then the answering machine picked
up.

"Mulder? Mulder, pick up the phone!"

When she received nothing but dead air in response, Scully slowly
hung up. She could feel the ponderous weight of Skinner's stare on
the back of her neck. Ignoring it, she shut down her computer and
collected her purse, the routine comforting.

"I'm taking a long lunch," she told her boss stiffly. "I'll be back as
soon as I can."

"Scully... Maybe I should go with you," Skinner suggested,
motionless except for the dark eyes that followed her every move.

"NO!" The reply burst from her lips, razor-edged, before she
caught herself and padded the corners. "No, sir. Thank you for
your concern, but that would only raise Mulder's paranoia. I can
handle this alone."

The lines around Skinner's eyes and mouth betrayed his doubts.
"Are you *sure* about that, Scully?"

She lifted her head, shoulders squared. "Yes, sir. I'm positive."

Once in the car, however, Scully's resolve crumbled. Mulder
would be angry that she'd left work -- he'd undoubtedly interpret
her visit as checking up on him. The last thing she wanted was to
provoke a full-blown fight, and she could tell over the phone that
he was spoiling for one. Lately his natural stubbornness and
paranoia seemed magnified tenfold, and she couldn't help feeling
she was headed straight into a no-win situation. Scully chuckled
humorlessly. But she was just hardheaded enough to give it a try.

Mr. Pendleton, owner of the apartment above Mulder's, had taken
his usual post at the window. Scully returned his wave distractedly,
unable to conjure up a smile for the elderly man. When she
reached Mulder's door she hesitated only a moment before using
her key. Maybe if she caught him off balance she'd bypass his
defenses.

Scully stepped inside and froze, her heart pounding wildly in her
chest. It looked as if a tornado had touched down in Mulder's
living room, and it must have been an F5. Books, videos, knick-
knacks, and photo albums -- in short, the entire contents of the
packing boxes -- were strewn carelessly across the floor. Totally
focused on finding the diary, he'd disregarded any attempt to
preserve order.

She was still gaping in surprise when he barreled out of the
bedroom, his expression thunderous. He jerked to a halt and his
eyes narrowed.

"Why aren't you at work? Afraid I might run off and terrorize a
little old lady?" he sneered.

So much for circumventing his defenses.

"I'm here because you were obviously very upset about the diary. I
thought I could help you look for it," she replied mildly, walking
over to a scattering of paperbacks and assembling them into a pile.

While she stacked she watched him from the corner of her eye.
Hair damp with sweat, respiration rapid, hands trembling -- he was
the picture of agitation. There would be no hope for rational
discussion if she couldn't get him to calm down.

"Nice try, Scully. It still doesn't convince me you don't have it," he
replied.

"Mulder, I didn't... Never mind. When was the last time you saw
it? Think hard."

"I *told* you already -- it was on the nightstand when I went to
bed last night. Which, I might remind you, was while you were
still in here reading a medical journal. What did you do, wait until
I was asleep, then come in and take it?"

"Why are you so convinced that I took it?" Scully asked, temper
rising in spite of her good intentions. "What evidence do you
have?"

Mulder braced his hands on his hips and scowled. "I know *I*
didn't move it, Scully. And there sure as hell wasn't anyone else
here!"

Scully straightened and shook her head. "Mulder! You are a law
enforcement officer! Would you try for a conviction with that kind
of circumstantial evidence?"

Mulder's lip curled and he began to pace back and forth.
"Sometimes, if the person is guilty as sin, circumstantial is
enough."

Even armored with the knowledge that something was wrong, that
he wasn't himself, Scully reeled from the venom in his words. She
tried to cover it by collecting another stack of books, bending so
that her hair veiled the hurt on her face.

"Why would I take the diary, Mulder? Evidence is just part of
what's necessary for a conviction, after all. What's my motive
supposed to be?"

Mulder picked up his basketball, bounced it twice and set it down,
then moved on to briefly finger a paperweight on the desk before
abandoning it for a photo album. He delivered his answer amidst
the restless movements, never stopping long enough to look Scully
in the eye.

"A warped desire to protect me? You've told me to stop looking for
the men who experimented on Sam, to just let it go. You always
try to distract me from reading it. Did you think I didn't hear you
the other night when you said you wished I'd never found it?"

"Sometimes, Mulder. I said *sometimes* I wished you'd never
found the diary. If you'll recall, I'd just brought you down from a
nightmare." Scully bit back further argument, sensing futility. "I'm
sure it must be here somewhere. It's probably in one of these piles.
Let me drive you to see Karen and then..."

She never sensed him approach until he was looming over her. A
sneakered foot swung unexpectedly into view and the books she'd
just organized into a neat pile went flying in six different
directions. Mulder's hand curled around her wrist and yanked her
upright until her startled face was inches from his own.

"I am NOT going to see Karen!" he roared. "How many times do I
have to say it? Do you think I'm stupid now, as well as crazy? Is
that it? Because I'm not, Scully. I know exactly what you're trying
to do and..."

Shock gave way to pain and Scully's face contorted, tears filling
her eyes and an involuntary hiss escaping her lips. Mulder reacted
as if burned, dropping her arm and lurching back a step. She
automatically kneaded the sore flesh until she saw the horror on his
face.

"Scully, I... Are you all right, did I hurt you?" he babbled, reaching
once again toward the abused wrist.

She couldn't help flinching. He quickly pulled back his hand, but
not before spying the bracelet of livid red marks left by his long
fingers.

"Oh my God. I can't believe I did that," he whispered raggedly.

Scully tried to grasp his hand, hastening to reassure him. "Mulder,
I'm fine. I'm a redhead, I bruise if you look at me hard enough."

Mulder squirmed away from her touch, shaking his head. "I tried to
tell you, Scully," he moaned. "I tried, but you wouldn't listen, and
now I've done it. The one thing I always swore I'd never do, not in
a million years. I've hurt you."

Scully's head shook in counterpoint. "No, Mulder, it wasn't like
that. You didn't do it deliberately! It was an accident. Now come
over to the couch and..."

"NO! I want you to leave before I do something worse," Mulder
insisted, his voice high with panic. "I don't understand what's
happening to me, and I won't risk it spilling over onto you!"

"Mulder, I'm not afraid of you! I know you would never..."

"You know nothing, damn it!" Mulder snarled, picking up .the
paperweight and dashing it to the ground. Solid marble, it
weathered the abuse but gave a loud bang that vibrated through the
flooring. He tugged on his hair with shaky fingers. "Please leave,"
he repeated with exaggerated patience.

Scully's lashes fluttered vainly against her tears. "No, Mulder. I've
tried to tell you, but *you* won't listen. I'm not leaving."

Mulder's body went rigid and his hands curled into fists. For a long
moment they engaged in a silent battle of wills, eyes locked.
Mulder was the first to crack.

"Fine. Then I will."

He crossed the room, yanked open the door and fled down the
hallway. Scully, on the other hand, found she couldn't move.

Ronald Reagan International Airport
Thursday, March 30
5:23 p.m.

Grey wound his way through kisses, hugs, and handshakes, the
duffel strap digging into his shoulder and worry for Fox gouging
his heart. He caught sight of a lone, trenchcoated figure waiting
near a newsstand, the fluorescent lights glinting off a pair of wire
rimmed glasses and a bald head. He shifted his bag to a more
comfortable position and swerved in that direction, stomach
churning with both eagerness and dread. Skinner's expression did
nothing to reassure him.

"Grey. How was the flight?"

"Frankly, Walt, it sucked. I've spent the last hour breathing canned
air, listening to somebody's kid scream bloody murder, and
worrying about my brother. So I'd appreciate it if you would cut to
the chase and tell me what's going on."

Skinner stared at him quizzically for a moment, rubbing the back
of his neck and shaking his head ruefully. "I get the message. You
know, sometimes the resemblance between you two is uncanny."
He sighed deeply. "There's been no new developments in the
search for Scully, but preliminary labs on the blood sample don't
look good."

Grey licked his lips. "The blood on the knife?"

Skinner nodded and motioned for them to start walking. "Both
from the knife and some flecks found on the floor of Mulder's
living room. Couple that with the fact that the knife came from
your brother's kitchen and you have the beginnings of a solid case
against him."

Grey's eyes narrowed and he stopped walking. "What are you
saying, Walt? Where is Fox?"

Skinner stared out the concourse window at a taxiing plane, then
back at Grey. "They took him into custody this morning, Grey, on
a forty-eight hour hold. I should have told you up front, but I didn't
like breaking the news over the phone."

Grey exploded, dumping his duffel on the ground and pacing,
oblivious to passing travelers. "I can't believe this! They don't even
have a body, Walt! How can you let them get away with this? Why
haven't you...?"

"I'm doing the best I can, Grey!" Skinner grated, teeth clenched.
"You've been here ten minutes, you don't know the whole story.
Now get hold of yourself, before someone calls security."

Grey jerked to a standstill, running his fingers through his hair and
sucking in a long, slow breath. He looked up, face contrite but
hazel eyes still smoldering. "I'm sorry, Walt. I'm sure you're doing
everything you can. And you're right, I haven't been here."

Skinner frowned at the undertone of guilt in the words but simply
gestured to Grey's bag. "Let's go. You need to hear it all before you
see him."

By the time they hit the highway, he'd filled Grey in on Mulder's
odd behavior over the previous two weeks. Grey listened intently,
only interrupting briefly to tell of the phone call he'd made at
Dana's request and his brother's assurances that he would cope
with his problems alone. He stared out the car window, face a
blank mask while Skinner recounted Scully's story of the cancelled
lease and the tense, one-sided phone call Mulder made to the
basement office.

"Scully said she was taking a long lunch," he concluded grimly.
"She was plainly upset but wouldn't let me come with her. Told me
it would only upset Mulder further, and she could manage him
better alone."

Thick silence for several long moments before Grey spoke. "That's
the last time you saw her?" he asked quietly, eyes still locked on
the passing traffic.

"Yes. That was Tuesday noon. I didn't give it much thought when
she never came back to work, just figured she was engaged in
damage control," Skinner admitted, navigating around an elderly
man in a Cadillac who refused to top forty-five miles an hour.
"When neither of them showed up for a meeting on Wednesday
morning and I received no answer at Scully's apartment, I called
Mulder. He was pretty fuzzy at first -- he'd obviously had too much
to drink and overslept, had a hell of a hangover. Once it sank in
that Scully hadn't reported to work he sobered up fast. I met him at
her place and we conducted a thorough search."

"But you didn't find anything," Grey stated dully.

"No signs of a struggle. Not to mention no dishes in the sink, no
wet towels in the bathroom, and the bed hadn't been slept in,"
Skinner said. "In short, it didn't appear she made it home Tuesday
night.

Grey's brow furrowed. "Wait a minute, they weren't together on
Tuesday night? And Fox had been drinking?"

"He said they'd had a...disagreement," Skinner supplied dryly. "He
left her in his apartment sometime around 1 p.m. and when he
came back at 3 she was gone."

Grey scrubbed his palm across the stubble on his jaw. "Must've
been one hell of a disagreement if he went on a bender and spent
the night alone," he mused. "When did the knife turn up?"

"Very early this morning. Your brother has been like a man
possessed. I've never seen him like this, not even when..."

"When Dana was abducted," Grey murmured.

Skinner nodded, a brusque dip of his head. "His behavior has been
erratic enough these past few weeks, this just put him over the
edge. I don't think he's eaten anything but sunflower seeds and
coffee and he's damn near alienated every other agent on the case.
About 3 this morning I finally pulled rank and insisted he go home
and catch a few hours sleep. He was in no condition to drive, and I
figured the only way he'd do as he was told would be if I took him
home myself and sat on him."

Skinner's fingers tightened on the wheel. "His apartment -- well,
I've seen less chaos after a grenade detonated. It looked as if he'd
been searching for something, and pretty frantically, but he just got
nasty when I asked about it. Whatever had been packed for the
move was all over the floor and every piece of furniture.

"He flat out refused to sleep in the bedroom, so I started clearing
off the couch. He mumbled something about a drink of water and
disappeared into the kitchen. After a few minutes had passed, and
he didn't come back, I went to see what he was doing." Skinner
huffed quietly. "To tell you the truth, I was afraid he'd ditched me.
Instead, I found him standing in front of the refrigerator, the door
wide open and the knife in his hand, just... staring at it with a shell-
shocked look on his face. I had to call his name three times before
he responded. Said he found it just lying on the shelf next to a
carton of milk."

Grey made a small sound of acknowledgement in the back of his
throat. "You called in other agents?" he asked curtly.

A streetlight flashed yellow, then red and Skinner eased the car to
a stop before turning toward him with a face like stone. "I called in
forensics, yes. That piece of evidence turned your brother's
apartment into a crime scene."

Grey watched a woman walk four dogs across the street, his
fingers tapping a staccato beat on the armrest. "You're right, it was
unavoidable. But, jeez Walt, did you have to involve the D.C. cops
too? I thought the Bureau took care of its own!"

"For your information, I didn't call them. Mulder's upstairs
neighbor did shortly after forensics arrived," Skinner ground out.
"He was concerned about the ruckus -- especially after the
commotion he'd overheard the previous afternoon. By the time the
local boys reached Mulder's door they'd already gotten an earful."

Grey's eyes darted to his face. "This neighbor -- he heard Fox and
Dana fighting?"

"Actually, it's worse than that. Evidently, sound carries right
through the ventilation system in Mulder's building and the old
man, Mr. Pendleton, isn't shy about listening in. He spends most of
the day in front of his window and he's got quite a soft spot for
Scully. He told the police that when Scully arrived she looked
upset, and that he heard Mulder yelling at her. He says Scully was
trying to calm Mulder down when he heard a loud thud, like
something heavy falling. After that it was quiet until Mulder burst
out of the building and took off running like the devil was on his
heels."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and his head tipped onto the seatback.
"Shit."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Skinner deadpanned.

The light turned green while he was still contemplating Grey's
pinched expression and how to break the really bad news. The
impatient driver behind him, a young man who could not have
been a day over twelve, honked stridently, eliciting a muttered
curse from Skinner and a spasm of surprise from Grey. He pressed
the gas pedal and they rode in silence for several minutes until
Grey heaved a sigh.

"What aren't you telling me, Walt? It's written all over your face.
Fox is in bad shape, isn't he?"

His timing was incredible. As if in reply, Skinner signaled and
turned right, following the signs for Georgetown Memorial rather
than heading for the police station. Grey hissed but said nothing
while Skinner navigated through the lot, located a space, and
parked. Killing the engine, Skinner squinted at the building
through the glare of the setting sun.

"At first I think he was in shock, too numb to fully comprehend the
implications of the knife's location. All he could think about was
the blood, potentially Scully's blood, and what it might mean. He
was frantic, ready to charge in ten directions at once, but I
managed to talk him down enough to wait for forensics to get a
better picture of the situation. He was adamant about two things --
that the knife had not been in his refrigerator yesterday morning
and that he had no idea how it just appeared."

Skinner shoved his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose
between thumb and forefinger. "He was undeniably distraught, but
holding it together until the local boys showed up. They
immediately called in homicide, and things went straight to hell
from there." He flashed Grey a wry grin. "No offense."

Grey stretched his lips into a reciprocation he could barely feel.
"None taken. Go on."

Skinner's smile evaporated. "The detective in charge, Cooper
Johnson, is a ruthless son of a bitch. I've dealt with him before, and
there's no love lost between us. He and his partner, Benton, took
Mulder aside and started grilling him two minutes after they
arrived. I was busy with the forensic people in the kitchen and
didn't notice what was going on. If I had I would never have
allowed it."

Grey touched his arm briefly, shook his head. "It's okay, Walt. Just
tell me."

Skinner ground his teeth until Grey was certain he would hear one
snap. "I'm not exactly sure what Johnson said, but I know his
methods well enough to believe it was aimed to get a rise out of
your brother. And it worked. Next thing I knew Benton had
Mulder on the floor in cuffs and Johnson was nursing a split lip.
Mulder was out of control, screaming obscenities at Johnson that
would make a marine blush. They insisted on hauling him down to
the station, and considering he'd struck Johnson I didn't have a leg
to stand on."

"But he's not at the police station," Grey said quietly. "What
happened?"

"According to Johnson and Benton he became increasingly
agitated as they were taking him in. I left another agent in charge
and followed as soon as I could, but by the time I got there he
was..." Skinner trailed off, turning to stare at Grey with troubled
eyes. "He was incoherent, Grey. He just kept pacing back and forth
in the cell and screaming for Scully. I tried to talk to him, to get
him to calm down but it was like he couldn't even hear me. I made
the mistake of saying her name, hoping it would reach him
somehow and he'd respond." Skinner laughed bitterly. "He
responded all right -- by trying to put his fist through a cinderblock
wall. He broke two fingers. All I could think was, 'My God, this is
just like when he was hearing voices.'"

"So they brought him to the hospital to set his fingers. But that's
not why he's here now, is it?" Grey asked.

Skinner shook his head. "They had to restrain him just to get a look
at the damage. He didn't want the doctor or nurses anywhere near
him, kept screaming that they were all in league with the cigarette-
smoking man and trying to poison him. The doctor finally sedated
the hell out of him, set the fingers, and shipped him up to the psych
ward for observation." He drew a hand down his face and around
to cup the back of his neck. "And then I called you."

Grey nodded, his face very pale. "I can't believe this is happening.
Everything was going so well, I was supposed to be coming up
tomorrow night to help Fox and Dana move into their new place.
Now she's missing, maybe even..." His voice trembled and he took
a deep breath. "And Fox is in a padded room, accused of her
murder? I mean, how did this happen, Walt? How could everything
go sour so quickly?"

Skinner ducked his head, fingers still curled tightly around the
steering wheel. "I don't know, Grey. I wish I did. I knew that
something was wrong, that Mulder wasn't himself, but I didn't
think he'd..."

"Fox would NEVER hurt Dana," Grey growled fiercely. "I don't
care if you found her blood on his knife. And I damn well don't
care what kind of reports he's written, how many things he's
forgotten, or if he fought with her. He loves Dana more than his
own life. I refuse to accept that he's responsible for her
disappearance."

Skinner tilted his head in acknowledgement, but his face was
dubious. "Let's go. Maybe he'll respond to you."

He reached for the door handle but Grey's fingers clamped onto his
arm, stilling the motion. "Walt? Do you think he did it?"

Skinner kept his face averted while he carefully chose his answer.
"I think it looks bad, Grey. Very bad. And if your brother isn't
guilty then we damn well better find out who is."

"You really think they can nail him for this?" Grey demanded
unsteadily. "Walt, do you...do you really think Dana is dead?"

Skinner's bicep tensed and he swiveled to look Grey in the eye. "I
don't know. But if she is, I'm afraid the D.C. police will be the least
of our worries where your brother is concerned."

Georgetown Memorial
Thursday, March 30
6:26 p.m.

Grey stared, stomach churning, at the figure huddled in the corner.
Clad in washed-out gray coveralls from the D.C. jail, dark head
pillowed on knees drawn tightly to his chest, Fox rocked slowly
but incessantly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Grey tore his eyes
from the monitor and fixed the doctor with a baleful glare.

"I want to see him. Right now."

The doctor, Samuels, pursed his lips and shook his head, never
raising his gaze from the chart in his pudgy hands. "I really don't
think that would be a good idea, Mr. McKenzie. We had to sedate
Mr. Mulder a second time and he's just now settling down. I'd hate
to see him riled up again, and with the Haldol he'll barely be lucid
anyway."

"Mr. Mulder -- hey, look at me when I'm talking to you!" Grey
growled, snatching the folder from the startled man's unresisting
fingers. "Mr. Mulder is trying to deal with an extremely traumatic
set of circumstances. Something he'll hardly be able to do if you
keep pumping him full of drugs."

Samuels shuffled backward, running a hand over the perspiration
on his bald scalp and huffing indignantly. "The patient repeatedly
pounded his fists into the wall," he sniffed. "It was either 'pump
him full of drugs' as you so eloquently put it, or risk reinjuring his
hand."

Grey lunged forward, using his superior height to loom over the
man. "That *patient* happens to be my brother," he snarled,
thrusting the chart into Samuels' face. "I'm the only living blood
relative he has, and if you don't let me in there right now I'll..."

Skinner's restraining hand on his arm cut through the anger and he
abruptly realized that the smaller man was cowering in
apprehension.

"Dr. Samuels, Mr. McKenzie has just flown in from Raleigh to be
with his brother," Skinner said reasonably. "I should think his
presence would be calming to Agent Mulder, not disturbing."

Samuels threw Grey a nervous glance before bobbing his head.
"Very well. But only Mr. McKenzie. You wait out here."

Skinner inclined his head and the rigid set to Grey's shoulders
softened. He followed Samuels impatiently around the corner to
the door, shuffling his feet while the little man pulled out a card
key and swiped it through the electronic lock. The indicator
flashed from red to green, there was a soft snick, and Samuels
pushed the door open with a resentful scowl.

Grey walked into the middle of the small room and froze, barely
registering the sound of the lock engaging behind him. He
observed his brother for several minutes, hands clenched at his
sides. He'd been so focused on gaining access to Fox, he hadn't
given much thought to what came next. He noticed that while his
brother hadn't ceased rocking, the motion had slowed significantly.
Obviously the Haldol was taking its toll, just as Samuels predicted.

"Fox," he called softly, afraid of startling his brother. "Fox, it's
Grey." He took a cautious step forward, then two more.

No reaction, and the rocking didn't miss a beat. Grey's eyes cut
uneasily to the video camera in the far corner, and he imagined he
could see Skinner's tense, concerned face on the other end. He took
a deep breath, and moved close enough to crouch down at Fox's
side. Keeping his voice low and soothing, he rested one hand
lightly on his brother's head.

"Fox. Come on, little brother. Is this any way to greet someone
who just traveled a couple hundred miles to see you?"

The swaying motion faltered, then ceased, and Fox slowly raised
his head. His face was haggard, marred by sweat and dried tear
tracks; his eyes so dilated that only a thin hazel ring remained. He
scanned Grey's face and his brows drew together.

"Grey? You're here?"

Grey formed his lips into a smile he didn't feel, his fingers
brushing back a damp lock of hair before retreating to his lap. "I'm
here."

Grinding the heels of both hands into his eyes, his brother shook
his head. "Shoulda called. Didn' need to come. No par'ment an' no
Scully."

It took Grey a moment to work out that in his confused state Fox
thought he'd come to help him move. He groped for a response,
wanting desperately to glean information from his brother, afraid
of upsetting him, and ever mindful of hidden eyes observing his
every move.

"I'm not here for the move, little brother," he murmured. "I came
because I heard *you* needed me."

Fox gaped at him, mouth slightly open, before his face crumpled.
Not even the thick cotton of drugs could blunt the raw despair in
his voice.

"Scully's gone. 'S gone an' there's blood an' they think..." His voice
dropped to a whisper. "They think *I* killed her."

Steel bands tightened around Grey's throat, but he squeezed the
words past them. "There's no proof she's dead, Fox, they don't even
have a body. You shouldn't..."

But his brother kept talking in the same haunted monotone. "Found
blood, Scully's blood. On my knife. *My* knife." His eyes pierced
Grey's. "How'd it get on my knife? Can't remember." He dropped
his head and resumed rocking, sporadic shudders passing through
his body.

Rattled by the bizarre behavior, Grey's own voice sharpened. "You
have to pull yourself together, for Dana. If she comes back and
finds you like this, she'll..."

It was like talking to a brick wall. Fox had withdrawn into himself,
and try as he might Grey couldn't seem to follow. His brother
shook his head, rocking faster.

"Not coming back. Ever. Blood. Can't remember but they say I did
an' I think..." This time when he picked his head up from his knees
there was resignation in his eyes and tears on his cheeks. His lips
moved soundlessly.

"Fox?"

"Maybe they're right."

Grey stared at him, stunned, for a long moment before lurching to
his feet and spinning to glare at the video camera. "Walt, get
Samuels the hell out of there right now," he hissed, running
trembling fingers through his hair.

He turned back and watched his brother, fighting the rage that
crashed over him like a tidal wave. Fox was swaying again and
muttering to himself in an unintelligible slur. Licking his lips and
wishing for a drink, Grey resumed his seat next to his brother.

"I know you're hurting. But I need you to tell me why you think
you could have killed Dana. What would make you say that, little
brother? Did something happen between you?"

Fox tipped his head back until it connected with the padded wall.
"Hurt 'er. Knew sooner or later I would." So resigned, so full of
self-loathing.

Grey winced, proceeding with caution. "You hurt her? How did
you hurt her, Fox?"

One tear, then another spilled down his cheek. "Grabbed her." His
voice caught and he added roughly. "Bruises, all 'round her wrist.
My fingers."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and he forced them open. "You were
arguing?"

A nod.

"Grabbing her wrist during an argument doesn't constitute
murder," he pointed out gently. "You love Dana and I don't believe
you would ever intentionally cause her harm. Do you really believe
you could have stabbed her with a knife?"

His brother twined the fingers of his good hand into his hair and
tugged viciously, shaking his head. "I DON'T KNOW! Don'
unnerstan' what's been happening t' me. People keep tellin' me I've
done things, an' I don' remember doin' 'em. I..." He shivered.
"What 'f I did an' don' remember?"

Grey ached at the horror and confusion. "Oh, Fox."

The shivering increased and his brother's face contorted in a futile
attempt to stave off tears. "Scully," he moaned. "Need Scully."

Sinking back against the wall Grey pulled him into his arms and
rocked, not knowing what else to do. "Don't you dare give up on
her, Fox," he murmured fiercely. "We're going to find out what
happened to her, you hear me? I won't accept that you hurt her, and
I won't let you believe it either."

He had no idea how long he sat like that, rocking and murmuring
reassurances while Fox shuddered uncontrollably. By the time he'd
slipped into a heavy, drug-induced slumber, Grey's back was
screaming in protest and his left foot had gone numb. He eased his
brother carefully down to the floor and straightened up with a soft
grunt of discomfort. He was still gazing at Fox's face, peaceful
with temporary oblivion, when the door clicked and swung inward.
Skinner stood in the opening, hands shoved in his pockets, and
tipped his head toward the anteroom.

"I hate to leave him just lying here on the floor," Grey said
hesitantly.

Skinner glanced at the man in question and though his eyes
remained grave, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Doesn't
appear to be bothering him." When Grey still hovered he added.
"Come on. I'm sure they'll move him to a bed now that he's settled
down."

Grey allowed Skinner to steer him out the door, through the
observation room, and into the corridor. After panning his eyes the
length of the hallway, he turned to Skinner with a raised eyebrow.

"Where's the doc?"

Skinner offered him a tight grin. "You told me to get him the hell
out of here. I did."

Grey massaged the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders,
looking apologetic. "Sorry, I was a bit blunt, Walt, but Fox
shocked me when he said what he did. I didn't want Samuels to see
it as some kind of confession."

"I think anything Mulder says would fall under doctor-patient
confidentiality," Skinner remarked. "Problem is, I'm not so sure I
trust Dr. Samuels."

Grey sighed wearily and leaned against the wall. "Walt, we have to
get him out of here. He's already to the point of thinking he could
actually have harmed Dana and..." He broke off, eyes narrowing
when Skinner shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Walt? Are you
with me on this? Because Fox doesn't need any more people
doubting him."

Skinner grit his teeth. "I've read testimonies from the apartment
manager and Mulder's neighbor, and I've witnessed his volatile
behavior first-hand. Can you be so certain that he's innocent?"

Grey pushed himself off the wall and thrust his face into Skinner's,
quivering with fury. "Yes. I can. I know my brother, Walt. In the
last year I've played ball with him, gotten drunk with him, risked
my life with him, and spent more hours than I care to admit just
shooting the breeze. He is incapable of hurting Dana, no matter
what the drugs..."

His mouth dropped open and his eyes turned blank, an expression
Skinner found eerily similar to Mulder's whenever he made an
intuitive leap. As he'd learned to do with his agent, he stepped back
and waited Grey out, allowing the man time to process whatever
epiphany he'd just experienced. When Grey's eyes snapped back to
his, he gestured for him to continue.

"You were saying?"

"Walt, has anyone run a tox screen on Fox's blood?"

It certainly wasn't what he'd expected, but Skinner rallied. "I'm not
certain. I would guess they drew blood here when he was admitted,
but I'm sure it was just a routine CBC. Why?"

Grey started pacing, his hands planted on his hips. "I don't know
why I never thought of it before -- mood swings, irritability, not
able to account for his own actions... I spent some time in
Narcotics, Walt, and those are all classic symptoms of a substance
abuse problem."

Skinner's eyebrows shot upward. "What are you saying? That
Mulder has been using drugs?"

Grey glared at him. "Not willingly."

"You think someone has been drugging him?"

"It's been done before."

Skinner grimaced. "He's been under such an emotional strain -- the
LaPierre case, your sister. In the face of all he's gone through, the
odd behavior didn't seem that unreasonable."

"Convenient, don't you think?" Grey muttered. "I want a sample of
Fox's blood, and some of the blood from the knife. You can run
your own through the Bureau labs, if you like, but I think I know
exactly what Fox would do and I intend to follow his instincts."

Skinner's expression showed first bafflement, then surprise.
"You've met Moe, Larry and Curly?"

Grey grinned. "They invited Fox and me over one of the last times
I was in town. Treated us to cheese steaks and every crazy
conspiracy theory in their impressive collection."

Skinner squinted at him. "You really think those bozos can come
up with something the Bureau would miss?"

Grey hesitated, running his thumb back and forth over his lower
lip. "Walt, tell me this. What has the Bureau had to say about Fox's
involvement in Dana's disappearance?"

Skinner averted his eyes, mouth twisted. "Mulder doesn't have
many supporters in the upper echelon. And the ones who actively
dislike him, who haven't forgiven him for leaving VCS..." He
shook his head grimly. "I've heard rumblings already. They want to
crucify him."

Grey shot him a humorless smile. "Think I'll place my trust in the
three stooges if it's all the same to you." He looked up and down
the hallway again, frowning. "What did you do with Samuels
anyway?"

Skinner showed his teeth. "I just reminded him that his patient was
a key player in a murder investigation, and anything he had to say
was classified. He's waiting for us in his office."

Grey smirked and extended his arm. "I like the way you operate.
After you, Assistant Director Skinner, sir. I'll follow your lead."

"If only you could teach your brother that trick," Skinner growled,
heading down the corridor.

Grey paused, peering at the monitor through the open doorway.
Fox had curled into a fetal position, arms wrapped tightly around
his torso for comfort. Clenching his hands into fists, Grey jogged
to catch up.

Headquarters for the Lone Gunmen
Thursday, March 30
10:16 p.m.

"Who is it?"

Grey shifted his weight back and forth between feet, the only way
to keep from kicking the door in front of him.

"Grey McKenzie."

Dead silence. In his mind's eye he pictured the three, huddled in a
paranoid meeting of the board to discuss the enigma of his
presence. When nearly half a minute ticked by without a response
he curled his fingers into a fist and hammered on the door.

"Come on! You remember me! I'm..."

Eight rapid machine gun clicks and the door cracked cautiously
open to reveal the little one -- Frohike.

"Mulder's brother. We know who you are. The question is, what
are you doing here this late without Mulder?"

Grey's temper flared. "Sorry. I wanted to bring him but they
wouldn't spring him from the psych ward. Now will you let me in?
I don't have time for this bullshit."

Frohike opened the door wider and stepped back. "You're Mulder's
brother all right," he muttered as Grey shouldered past.

The grunge, Langly, looked up from a computer and squinted
through coke bottle lenses. "Hey, dude. You're looking kind of
rough."

Byers, the Frick to Langly's Frack, politely extended a hand and a
tentative smile. "Hello, Mr. McKenzie. Did I hear you say
something's wrong with Mulder?"

Grey shook his hand cursorily. "Look, it's Grey and I need your
help -- more importantly, Fox needs your help. So y'all need to
decide here and now if you trust me. Otherwise I won't waste my
time."

If the circumstances hadn't been so dire, he would have found the
cryptic looks that flew between them comical. As it was, he
remembered his brother's broken confession and shoved his fists
into his pockets.

"We don't know you well enough to trust you," Frohike finally
spoke up. "But Mulder does, and that's good enough for us."

The coiled spring in his gut unwound a couple of turns and Grey
felt weak with relief. Before he could say anything, Frohike
continued.

"We already know about Scully. Mulder put us on the case right
after he figured out she was missing. I wish I could say that we've
made progress, but..."

"So far it's as if she's vanished without a trace," Byers said gravely.
"No evidence, no witnesses..."

"Yeah, and zero leads," Langly chimed in.

Frohike's eyes narrowed. "What did you mean when you said
Mulder was in a psych ward? Was that for real?"

Grey rubbed the back of his neck, wishing disjointedly that it was
Kristen's fingers kneading the tense muscles instead of his own.
The realization that she had no idea he was in town, or the purpose
of his visit, gave him a detached, surreal sensation.

"I hate to say this, but you boys are out of the loop," he replied.
"Early this morning Fox discovered one of his knives in the fridge.
It had blood on it, and preliminary findings suggest it's Dana's."

Byers looked stunned and Frohike shocked speechless. Only
Langly managed a response. "Man, Mulder must be freaking."

"He was already in a precarious emotional state when he asked us
for help," Byers said. "This must have pushed him over the edge."

"It's worse than that," Grey said grimly. "The police took him into
custody. The fact that it was *his* knife in *his* refrigerator,
coupled with the testimony of a neighbor who heard them fighting
has Fox convicted in their eyes. Even without a body."

"Have they formally charged him?" Byers pressed.

Grey shook his head. "Way I heard it from Walt they had him on a
twenty-four hour hold, hoping he'd crack. And he did -- just not the
way they were thinking."

Frohike stepped forward. "What can we do?"

Grey pulled two small vials from his pocket. "I need y'all to take a
look at some blood samples -- one from Fox and one from the
knife. I need to know if the blood really is Dana's. And if there's
anything -- ANYTHING --out of the ordinary with either sample."

"We'll give it our complete attention," Byers assured him, taking
possession of the vials. "But it might help if you shared what
you're hoping to find."

"Why Mulder's blood?" Langly piped up.

"You three see him pretty regularly," Grey countered. "Have you
noticed anything strange about his behavior recently?"

This time the looks exchanged were decidedly uneasy. "Define
strange," Frohike replied.

Half of him admired their loyalty, the other half just wanted to beat
the stuffing out of them. "Strange. As in unusual. Moody, maybe,
or just plain wired? Irritable? Impatient?"

Langly snorted. "Are you kidding? When has Mulder ever been
patient? Anyway, it's not exactly strange that he'd be moody
considering the stuff he's had us digging up about your sister..."

Frohike turned on him. "Would you shut up, you bonehead?" he
hissed. "Mulder told us a million times that information was to be
kept strictly between him and us."

"Take a powder, Hickey, I was just answering his question,"
Langly snapped. "I really don't think..."

"That's the problem, Ringo, you don't think! You just put your
mouth in gear and..."

"Gentlemen," Byers injected nervously. "This is not productive.
We..."

"SHUT UP!" Grey roared.

Huh. Silence really was golden.

Grey scrubbed wearily at his eyes and tried to bring his anger
under control. "I just left my brother in a room with padded walls,
sedated into oblivion. But before I did he told me he's afraid he
might have murdered the woman he loves. Now I really don't want
him sharing that with the D.C. cops -- I'm sure you understand
why. So I want you to come clean with what he's been up to.
Now."

"It's like Langly said, we've been checking into the information on
your sister," Frohike said. "Records for April Air Force Base, the
hospital where she was treated, anything to shed some light on
what was done to her and why."

"He didn't want Scully to know," Byers added. "He didn't come
right out and say it, but I don't think she approved of him pursuing
the matter. And in answer to your previous question, yes, he's been
extremely moody -- upbeat and positive one moment, irritable and
morose the next."

"Did he really say he thinks he killed Scully?" Frohike asked
quietly.

Grey looked at him sharply, and was surprised by the raw emotion
in the little man's eyes. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, he did."

"The dude is seriously messed up in the head," Langly remarked.
"He'd never hurt Scully."

"Never," Frohike agreed. "It isn't in him."

"Well something is, and I need to find out what," Grey said. "I
need you to do a full screening on Fox's blood. Look for any drugs,
and not just the common ones. I think someone has set Fox up to
take a fall, and I need proof."

"We'll get right on it," Byers promised, moving toward the back of
the room where a microscope and other lab equipment resided.

"You think Scully is really dead?" Langly asked, dropping his head
to study the keyboard.

"No," Grey said tersely. "But I think that could change at any
time."

Frohike escorted him back to the door, throwing seven of the
deadbolts but pausing with his hand on the eighth. "You haven't
really said how bad it is," he said, gaze piercing. "Even if we do
find the information you need, is Mulder going to snap out of
this?"

With the gentle expression of concern, it all caught up with Grey --
the fear for Dana, worry for his brother, and bone breaking
exhaustion. He shoved his fingers through his unruly hair and
swallowed back tears.

"I don't know, Frohike. They say our tether to sanity is a fragile
cord. If that's true, I'd guess Fox's has always been more delicate
than most. Right now it's stretched to the breaking point."

Frohike considered his words. "Call us first thing in the morning,"
he said. "We'll work through the night."

Grey nodded. "Thanks."

Frohike released the last lock and shrugged. "Mulder and Scully
are more than just friends. We'll do whatever it takes."

Grey slid behind the wheel of his brother's sedan but couldn't seem
to make his fingers turn the key. He gazed sightlessly out the
window, but it was Fox's face that swam into view, and Fox's voice
that echoed in his mind.

It was during an impromptu visit he'd made to D.C. one weekend
in February. The weather had turned unseasonably warm and
they'd taken full advantage of the respite, playing pickup
basketball games at a park near Fox's apartment for most of the
afternoon. Dana was shopping with her mother and not due back
until dinner, so they'd parked themselves on a bench in the warm
sunshine, tired, sweaty and sipping bottled water.

The conversation, originally light and superficial, had taken a dark
turn when Grey couldn't stop himself from mentioning that the
previous week had marked the four year anniversary of Kate's
death. Fox had expressed his sympathy, of course, and then fallen
painfully silent.

"What's eating you?" Grey had asked, nudging him in the ribs with
an elbow. "Still bugged that I played so much better than you
today?"

Astonishingly, his brother hadn't taken the bait. He'd merely lifted
one shoulder with a self-deprecating little smile and answered that
he was just thinking.

Recognizing the deep waters beneath the surface, Grey had pressed
for more. "Give it up, little brother," he'd said, ducking his head to
read Fox's expression. "I can see something's bothering you."

Another shrug. "Sometimes when I hear you talk about Kate, it all
becomes just a little too real," he'd finally answered.

Grey had frowned, baffled. "That my wife is dead?"

His brother shook his head, and looked away. Immediately, Grey
understood.

"That it could happen to you."

Fox had practically flinched and smiled ruefully. "Ridiculous, isn't
it? Scully and I are FBI agents, we put our lives on the line every
day. In my head I'm always aware of the fact that I could lose her
at any time. I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that possibility." He'd
taken a long gulp of water and swiped at the beads of sweat on his
upper lip.

"Go on," Grey had urged.

His brother had leaned forward, bouncing the basketball between
his legs, the rhythmic thwacks punctuating his sentences. "I accept
that I could lose her, but I don't allow myself to look past it. To
think about what comes after, how it would impact my life."

"It's not a pleasant subject to consider," Grey had murmured. "But
I think you need to try."

"Maybe I can't," Fox had said, so softly that Grey had strained to
decipher the words. "Maybe my life doesn't exist past Scully."

Grey had bristled at the weak reply. "Don't talk that way! You
think I didn't want to curl up and die when Kate did? Every day I'd
struggle to come up with a reason to get out of bed. You go on,
Fox. If only because you know they'd want you to."

Fox had absorbed his diatribe and deftly guided the conversation to
safer ground -- a crazy story about zombies raised from the dead.
Grey now realized that his brother had never conceded the point,
merely avoided further discussion.

*Maybe my life doesn't exist past Scully*

He'd never expected those words to come back and haunt them
both. He had an uneasy feeling that, despite his protests to the
contrary, Fox just might be right.

Grey had the car in gear and moving before realizing he had no
idea where he was heading. Fox and Dana's apartments were
considered crime scenes, and he'd brushed off Walt's offer for
lodging, unwilling to entertain the idea of sleep. Now, body leaden
and eyes gritty, he could think of little else.

He pulled to the curb in front of Kristen's townhouse, shut off the
engine, and stared guiltily at the muted glow spilling from the front
porch light. It was nearly midnight and Kristen, the consummate
morning person, was usually asleep by ten on a weeknight. After
engaging in a heated debate with himself, he opened the door and
walked slowly across the lawn. His shoes had barely made contact
with the cement, hand halfway extended toward the bell, when the
door flew open and he was enfolded in Kristen's embrace.
The tears he'd successfully staved off earlier in the evening
bubbled up and he buried his face in the soft crook of her neck.

"I'm sorry... Fox..."

It was all he could manage to choke out, but she shushed him, one
hand rubbing soothingly over the taught muscles of his back, the
other tangled in his hair.

"Shhh. It's okay, sweetheart, I know. A.D. Skinner called me after
you left him. Come inside, you need to sleep."

Grey let her draw him into the sanctuary of her house and tuck him
into the comfort of her bed. He was asleep before his head hit the
pillow.

Georgetown Memorial
Friday, March 31
8:16 a.m.

"You don't even have a body, Johnson! Why can't you...?"

"Your brother assaulted a police officer, McKenzie. Now I don't
know how you good ol' boys in Raleigh do things, but here in D.C.
we consider that a serious crime." Johnson's voice was smooth, his
expression self-satisfied.

Grey's entire body tensed and he could feel the blood heat his face.
He sensed Skinner poised at his shoulder, ready to intervene in
case he should be foolish enough to take Johnson's bait. Forcing
the anger down he folded his arms and deliberately exaggerated his
normally moderate accent.

"That's real good, Cooper. Is that how you got my brother to take a
swing at you?"

Johnson's smirk melted into a scowl and now Benton was the one
prepared to step into the fray. "Make all the accusations you like. I
could have Agent Mulder's badge for what he did." His lip curled
in a sneer. "I'm real worried about Agent Scully. With a temper
like that, who knows what he might have done to her?"

"He was drugged, Johnson," Skinner interjected, moving forward
until his shoulder brushed Grey's in a united front. "You saw the
toxicology results."

Johnson snorted. "Run by a bogus lab."

"*Confirmed* by the Bureau labs," Skinner growled. "An
unidentified narcotic substance. One that would cause mood
swings, paranoia, edginess, irritability..."

"And a high not unlike cocaine," Johnson added. "Who's to say he
didn't take it voluntarily, for the buzz?"

Grey's fingers curled slowly into fists. "My brother is an FBI
agent, and a damn good one. He does not take drugs."

Skinner stretched his arm in front of Grey in a quelling gesture.
"Get to the point, Johnson. You and I both know that your
evidence against Mulder is circumstantial, at best. Without a body
you don't have a prayer of getting an indictment. Now I suggest
you cut him loose and allow us to take him home - unless you
intend to pursue that trumped up charge of assault."

Johnson's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you insinuating...?"

"Coop. Let them have him," Benton broke in. "The guy's a nutcase
and we'll know right where to pick him up once we find the body."

Johnson exchanged a long glance with his partner before
shrugging. "Fine. Take him. But you'd better make sure he doesn't
take any unexpected trips out of town."

"Darn. Guess that means we'll have to cancel that vacation to
Tahiti," Grey drawled.

Johnson muttered something under his breath but Benson deftly
steered him down the hall. Skinner watched them disappear into
the elevator before turning on Grey.

"I never thought I'd meet Mulder's equal in the smartass
department," he muttered. "Looks like I was wrong."

Grey flashed him a cheeky grin. "Why thank you, Walt."

"Have you talked to Samuels yet?"

"Yeah. We exchanged words right before Mutt and Jeff showed
up."

Skinner's eyebrows knit together. "Exchanged words? Jeez, Grey
is it your mission in life to piss everyone off?"

"Nope, just a side benefit." Grey sighed. "He didn't want to release
Fox into my custody. I insisted. He stormed off to sulk and fill out
the paperwork."

"Why didn't he want to release him? If he has legitimate
concerns..."

"I think I know what's best for my own brother!" Grey snapped,
spinning around and stalking down the corridor.

He only traveled about five paces before his feet slowed, then
stopped, and his shoulders slumped. "Coming?"

Skinner joined him without speaking and they continued toward
Samuel's office.

"Samuels said Fox is clinically depressed, very possibly suicidal,"
Grey blurted after several seconds. "I showed him the toxicology
results, but he's not convinced that simply flushing the drug from
Fox's system will cure the depression. He wanted to keep him
under observation and put him on anti-depressants."

Skinner glanced away, jaw thrust out. "You shouldn't even be
telling me this. It could end his career with the Bureau."

"You think I don't realize that? It's part of the reason I insisted on
taking Fox home."

"And the other part?"

They were close enough to Samuels' office to see him seated at his
desk, glowering over some paperwork. He looked up and gestured
for them to wait outside, denying the courtesy of a chair. Grey
propped his hands against the wall and dropped his head to stare at
his feet.

"Over the last year I think I've gotten a pretty good handle on what
makes my brother tick, Walt. It doesn't take a genius to figure out
that Bill Mulder - I refuse to call him Dad - did a number on Fox
after Samantha was taken. He...inundated Fox with guilt, and
though I think Dana and I have healed some of those wounds, the
scars will never completely disappear. No matter how much we try
to convince him otherwise, there will always be a little voice deep
down inside of him whispering he's not worthy of our love. Or,
worse yet, that he brings misery on those who love him."

Grey turned and pressed his back against the wall, pinning Skinner
with blazing eyes. "Dana is missing. For all we know she could be
dead. That loss alone is enough to fray Fox's tether to sanity, but to
make matters worse, he's has already begun to doubt himself. To
fear he's responsible. Confine him in a place like this, with nothing
to do but think, and there won't be enough anti-depressants in the
world to stop him from plunging into the abyss."

Skinner rubbed his jaw, absorbing Grey's words. "What if you
can't handle him?"

Grey's mouth curved. "He's my little brother, Walt. I'll handle
him."

Samuels chose that moment to bustle out of his office, muttering
under his breath. "Paperwork is done. I'll unlock his door and
you're free to take him home."

Grey refrained from responding to the clear note of disapproval in
the doctor's tone, following him mutely down a long row of carbon
copy doors. Samuels pulled the card key from his pocket, then
hesitated.

"If you have any trouble with your brother or find you've changed
your mind..."

*You'll be the last one I call* Grey thought sardonically. Aloud he
simply said, "I have your number, Dr. Samuels. Now could I
please see Fox?"

Samuels inclined his head in acquiescence but his sour expression
betrayed him. A quick pass of his card through the lock and he
retreated to his office without a backward glance. Grey stole a
quick look at Skinner before slowly pushing the door open.

It was a small room, little more than a cubicle, the bed and a chair
the only pieces of furniture. A single, barred window took up most
of one wall and from where he stood Grey could just make out the
black asphalt of the parking lot through the glass. Fox had
positioned the chair in front of the window, and was currently
seated in it. He didn't turn his head or acknowledge their presence.

"Hey, little brother. You ready to go home?"

The minute the words left his lips Grey winced. Going "home" was
not an option right now. He'd accepted Skinner's offer to put them
up in his condo.

His brother didn't answer, so Grey walked slowly over to stand
beside the chair. Fox's head rested limply against the cushion, his
hands folded neatly in his lap. Grey cursed under his breath.

"What's wrong?" Skinner asked quietly.

"When I called Samuels this morning I asked him to stop the
Haldol," Grey replied sotto voice. "Either he wasn't listening, or I
was too late. He's still stoned."

"'S lots of those at our new place," Mulder said dreamily. "Right
ou'side the bedroom winnow. 'S why we picked it. Scully loves
cherry trees." He tripped a bit on her name, blinking.

Confused, Grey mimicked his gaze, panning across the rows of
parked cars to the far end of the lot. A lone cherry tree stood on the
parkway, resplendent in pale pink blossoms. He crouched down
and placed one hand on the wrist of his brother's uninjured hand.

"Fox. Let's get out of here."

Fox's eyes wandered slowly from the window to lock onto his
face. "You taking me home?"

Grey straightened and tugged on his brother's wrist. "Not exactly.
Walt said we could stay at his place for now."

Fox let himself be drawn to his feet but the blank expression on his
face turned desperate. "No...I... I wanna go to Scully's."

Grey's throat constricted in anguish at the lost, little boy quality of
that voice. Skinner sensed him struggling for composure and
moved forward to grasp Mulder's other arm.

"You can't stay there right now, Mulder. It's considered... The
police are still going through Scully's things for clues to her
whereabouts."

The tiny bit of animation seeped out of Mulder's face. He retreated
inward, shoulders slumped and head bowed. "'Kay."

He remained uncommunicative the entire way home, allowing
Grey to buckle him into the front seat of his own car like a small
child, ignoring attempts to draw him into conversation in favor of
staring out the window. He was half-asleep by the time they
reached Crystal City, his head pressed against the glass and his
eyes little more than slits. Grey followed Skinner into the
underground garage, pulling into the spare parking space he
indicated, and then hopped out to remove an overnight bag from
the trunk.

He gazed through the back window at his brother's motionless
silhouette, chewing his lip. Skinner locked his own vehicle and
watched Grey for a moment before jingling his keys to catch his
attention.

"It's too late now to worry if you did the right thing," he said
gruffly. "We'll get him settled and let him sleep off the drugs.
Then maybe he'll be lucid enough to help us figure out what's
going on."

Grey cocked his head, an amused quirk to his lips. "How did you
know I was second guessing myself?"

Skinner snorted, lifting the gym bag from his fingers. "I've worked
with your brother for seven years, Grey. I've seen that expression
more often than I'd care to admit."

Getting Mulder up to Skinner's condo was like commanding a
robot. He walked when told to walk and waited mutely for the
elevator to reach Skinner's floor, incurious of his surroundings.
When Skinner unlocked his door and ushered them inside, he stood
submissively in the center of the room as if awaiting further
instructions. Grey looked at Skinner helplessly.

"Guest bathroom's at the top of the stairs," Skinner said quietly,
returning the gym bag. "Why don't you see if you can get him to
shower and change out of that coverall." He grinned tightly. "I'll
see that Johnson gets it."

Grey nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Come on, Fox," he
called, starting up the stairs.

Mulder, staring vacantly out the sliding glass doors to the balcony,
didn't twitch.

"Fox?"

When it became apparent that his brother wasn't responding, Grey
sighed heavily and retraced his steps. He grasped Mulder's elbow
and lead him up the stairs, all the while talking to him in a low,
soothing voice.

Skinner watched them until they disappeared into the bathroom,
then went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He busied
himself with measuring and pouring, trying hard not to think about
Scully, the blood encrusted knife, Grey's distress, and Mulder's
empty eyes. His concentration was so deep that Grey's abrupt
appearance in the doorway nearly startled him into dropping the
glass carafe. Cursing under his breath, he set the pot carefully in
place just as the first brown drips emerged.

"You should know better than to sneak up on someone like that!"
he groused, turning on Grey with an irritated scowl.

"Sorry," Grey said insincerely. "Fox is in the shower. He's thirsty
so I told him I'd bring up a drink." He shuffled his feet. "Shower
must be helping. He seems a little better."

Skinner reached into the refrigerator and removed a bottle of
water, tossing it underhanded so that Grey caught it neatly by the
neck. "How about you?"

Grey lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I'll wait for the
coffee."

Skinner leaned a hip against the counter, scrutinizing him. "That's
not what I meant."

Grey's face twisted in confusion, then smoothed. He offered a self-
deprecating little smile. "I'm all right, Walt. It's Fox who's the
basket case."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. And with Scully gone you're
bearing the brunt of it. So I repeat, how about you?"

The smile faltered and Grey raked a hand through his hair. "I...
I'm scared for him. It's like a big piece of him is missing along
with Dana. If we don't find her, or if she's..." His eyes ducked and
fled from Skinner's and he swallowed hard. "I got mad at him
once. We...we were talking about Kate's death and Fox said
something that upset me. He said, 'Maybe my life doesn't exist
past Scully.' I was angry, furious that he would somehow perceive
his loss to be greater than mine. But now..."

"Now?" Skinner prompted gently.

Grey traced the beads of moisture on the bottle in his hands. "Now
I wonder if he wasn't right. I loved Kate, she was the center of my
life. But Dana - Walt, Dana *is* Fox's life. I have my parents, my
sisters. But Fox..."

"He has *you*, Grey," Skinner said firmly. "And me, and those
three geeky friends. Whatever happens, we will get him through
it." He grit his teeth. "But I refuse to give up on Scully. I fully
intend to find her and bring her home, safe and sound."

Grey slowly nodded, some of the lines smoothing from his brow.
"Yeah. Me too. Thanks, Walt."

Skinner cocked his head. "Shower's stopped. You'd better get him
his water."

Grey flashed him a grin and loped up the stairs. He rapped twice
on the bathroom door. "Fox? I've got some water."

No answer. In fact, no sounds of any kind penetrated the door.
Grey's heart gave a lurch and he rapped his knuckles a little harder
on the smooth wood.

"Fox? I'm coming in."

The knob turned half an inch to the right - and stopped. Panicked,
Grey rattled the handle back and forth, pounding on the door with
his fist.

"Open the door! Damn it, Fox, you open this door right now!"

Skinner sprinted up the stairs, attracted by the shouting. "What is
it?"

"He's locked the door and he's not answering," Grey ground out,
still hammering impotently.

Skinner didn't hesitate. "Move," he growled, shouldering Grey
aside.

Three bone crushing jolts with his shoulder and the flimsy wood
gave way in a rush of steam. Grey and Skinner crowded into the
open doorway and froze.

Mulder stood in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around his slim
hips while rivulets of water from his wet hair tricked down his
chest and back. His attention was centered on something clutched
in his hands. Oblivious to their presence, he turned it endlessly
over and over between his palms, mesmerized.

All the air left Grey's lungs in a rush and he heard Skinner's sharp
hiss of alarm. The object of Fox's intense concentration was a gun.

Crystal City
Friday, March 31
10:03 a.m.

"Fox, I brought you a drink," Grey said calmly, extending the
plastic bottle. "I'll put that away for you and you can get dressed."

No response, not even a flicker of acknowledgement. Grey licked
his lips and took a half step into the bathroom, setting the water
bottle down on the counter. His senses felt hyper-attuned -- the
pungent aroma of soap and shampoo, the damp caress of humid
air, and the monotonous drone of the fan competing to draw his
eyes from their lock on his brother's blank face. He attempted to
clear the panic from his throat.

"Why don't you give me the gun?"

Smoothly, effortlessly, with the ease of a lover, Mulder's finger
wrapped itself around the trigger and he shook his head slowly
back and forth. Grey's fear kicked into overdrive and his tone
turned sharply from request to demand.

"Fox, give me the gun, damn it!"

His impatience served only to drive his brother back several steps
until his spine hit the wall and the gun swung up defensively.
Hazel eyes, no longer blank but desperate, darted between Grey
and Skinner.

"I can't. I...I have to think. I just...I have to figure things out."

Grey wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or relieved by the evident
improvement in his brother's lucidity -- Fox's speech was sluggish
but clear. He held up both hands, palms out and adjusted his voice
to a more soothing timbre.

"Easy, Fox. It's all right. We understand, and we just want to help
you."

Mulder dropped his head, his voice so low they could barely make
out his words, rich with anguish. "No. You want to stop me."

Grey's voice shook with a mixture of anger and grief. "No shit,
Sherlock. You think I want to watch my only brother blow his
brains out on the bathroom floor?"

Mulder's head snapped up and his lip trembled. "I can't do it," he
moaned. "Not without her."

"Yes you can. I know how much it hurts, but..."

"You don't know!" Mulder cut in raggedly. "How could you? Kate
*died*, you didn't murder her!" His legs buckled and he slid to the
floor, jerking the gun up and pressing the muzzle viciously against
his temple. "I'm so sorry, Scully," he whispered. "It should have
been me."

He squeezed his eyes shut and his finger twitched.

"No!"

"Agent Mulder!"

Grey's hiss and Skinner's quiet command melded, freezing
Mulder's index finger. His eyes popped open and the gun actually
pulled back a bit, leaving behind an angry circle of red flesh.

"Agent Mulder, despite your past history of leaping before you
look, you *will* listen to me now," Skinner plunged on, briefly
casting a look at Grey. Mulder didn't answer, but Skinner accepted
his paralysis as encouragement to continue.

"You have been drugged. Do you understand me? Your
bloodstream was riddled with a narcotic resembling cocaine. At the
very least it accounts for your uncharacteristic behavior these last
few weeks. On the other hand, the implications could be
significantly more far reaching."

Mulder's left hand scrubbed wearily at his eyes and the gun
dropped a little further toward his lap. "Drugged? I don't... How?"

"We don't know. But you can be sure we're going to find out,"
Grey spoke up, ignoring Skinner's scowl.

Mulder's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before his face
twisted in remorse. "So I was drugged. All the more reason to
believe I...I could have..."

"Think, Mulder. Why were they drugging you?" Skinner said
urgently. "If they'd wanted you dead, you would be. Instead they
gave you something to mess with your head, to confuse you. Why
would they do that, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder blinked. "How would I...I don't know."

"Come on, profile them!" Skinner pressed. "What would they
accomplish?"

The gun fell to Mulder's lap and he ground the heel of his hand
into his forehead. "Uh...Make me look crazy, I guess." For just an
instant the real Mulder peered out of the haunted eyes and his
mouth turned up in a sardonic grin. "Crazier than usual, anyway."

Skinner couldn't spare a glance at Grey, but silently rejoiced.
Mulder's intricate mind was beginning to cut through the fog of
drugs and despair. He very slowly and deliberately walked to
Mulder's side and squatted.

"Given all that, Mulder, don't you find the absence of Scully's body
more than a little suspicious?" he asked shrewdly.

He saw Mulder make the connection, mouth dropping open and
eyes widening in shock. Mulder's gaze jumped from his face to
Grey's and back again and he began to shiver uncontrollably.

"You really don't think I killed her?" he asked pleadingly. "You
think they took her?"

Skinner traded a long look with Grey before answering. "I'm not
sure, Mulder. But I think you owe it to Scully to find out. Now
give me the gun."

Mulder's fingers tightened possessively on the weapon. He stared
down into his lap for what seemed an eternity before slowly
placing the gun into Skinner's beckoning fingers. His head sank
back against the tile, tears glistening under the harsh lights.

Skinner stood and pressed a hand briefly to Mulder's shoulder.
"You need to sleep," he said quietly. "Once your body has had a
chance to purge itself of the drugs, we'll plan our next move."

He slipped the gun under his belt at the small of his back, moving
over to where Grey remained frozen in the doorway. "Relax," he
murmured. "He needs you to stay calm."

He was totally unprepared when Grey yanked him into the
hallway, face dark with fury.

"What in the hell were you doing with a weapon in your bathroom,
Walt?" he hissed. "I did a check for razor blades but it never
crossed my mind you might be keeping a *gun* in with the spare
toilet paper!"

Skinner gaped at him. "What?"

"I told you the doc said he was suicidal! Why in God's name didn't
you tell me there was a gun in there? He was millimeters from
pulling that trigger!"

Succumbing to the stress and Grey's hostility, Skinner's temper
flared. "Why in God's name would I keep a gun in my bathroom?
Besides being asinine, it'd rust! The only gun here is my service
weapon, and that's locked in my desk drawer."

Grey shook his head stubbornly. "He must have gotten it from
somewhere around here! Mine's locked in the car and guns don't
just appear out of thin air."

Skinner watched Mulder's slumped form during his brother's
diatribe, his own anger building. An object on the bathroom floor,
tucked in a corner near the sink, caught his eye. He reached back
and retrieved the gun from his waistband, studying it with
narrowed eyes.

"Walt? Are you listening to me?" Grey snapped.

Skinner looked up. "I think this is your brother's gun, Grey. I
remember this gouge in the grip -- it used to be his service weapon
before he got his Sig."

Grey's indignation faded to confusion. "That makes no sense, how
could he...?"

"That gym bag was in Mulder's trunk, wasn't it? Did you look
through it before you brought it up?" Skinner asked gently.

All the color drained from Grey's face. "Oh, my God," he
muttered, one hand fumbling for the wall before he sagged against
it. "I never even... How could I have overlooked something like
that?"

"Only your brother would have a gun in his gym bag," Skinner
replied dryly. "Especially considering he carries two on his person.
You can't blame yourself."

Grey was not mollified. "I was more than ready to blame you."

Skinner glanced over his shoulder to where Mulder still sprawled
on the floor, weeping. He took Grey by the shoulders and forcibly
turned him around to face his brother.

"You'd better get him into some clothes and calm him down," he
said tersely. "Coffee will be waiting."

Grey seemed about to argue until his eyes rested on his brother. He
gave a curt nod, gathered up the water bottle, and rejoined Mulder
without further comment. Skinner looked on for a moment while
Grey knelt beside his brother, talking softly. When he saw Mulder
nod and extend a shaky hand for the water he retreated to the
kitchen where he promptly broke into a cold sweat.

He'd always excelled at delaying his body's physical reaction to
stress. Nice to know he hadn't lost his edge.

He'd graduated to a second cup of coffee, this one laced with a shot
of brandy, when Grey finally wandered into the kitchen looking
nearly as shell-shocked as his brother.

"He's asleep in your spare bedroom," he muttered, crossing to
where Skinner sat at the small wooden table.

He sank into a chair, propped his arms on the oak top, and buried
his face in them. Skinner considered him silently for a moment
before mixing up a second mug and placing it near Grey's left
elbow.

"I'm sorry, Walt. You didn't deserve that." Grey's voice, muffled
but contrite, evaporated any residual resentment Skinner might
have harbored.

"Hey," he called gruffly. When Grey lifted his head he shoved the
mug closer. "This world is only big enough to contain one
Mulder's guilt and your brother got there first. Shake it off and stop
beating yourself up."

Grey dry washed his face and picked up the mug, smoothing one
finger around the rim. "That was way too close, Walt."

Skinner tipped back in his chair, one hand massaging the muscles
between his shoulder and his neck. "Yeah. You aren't the only one
kicking his own backside. We should have seen that coming."

Grey took a sip from his mug, spluttering a little in surprise.
"That's quite the Mr. Coffee you've got there, Walt."

Skinner shrugged. "You looked like you could use a shot. God
knows, I needed mine."

Grey grinned, then looked piercingly into Skinner's face. "In the
bathroom -- I couldn't reach Fox, but you handled him like a pro."

Skinner snorted, pulling one hand down the side of his face and
cupping his chin. "Don't feel bad. I've had seven years practice at
trying to manage Fox Mulder. 'Bout time I got it right." When
Grey's scrutiny didn't relent, he sighed. "You said it yourself, Grey.
The man's life has become irrevocably entwined with Scully's. He
needs a purpose, a reason to keep going. He won't do it for you or
me. But he'll do it for her."

Grey took a larger slug of the coffee. "Does this mean you accept
his innocence? Because yesterday you weren't sure what you
believed."

Skinner stood and took his mug to the sink, rinsing it carefully and
depositing it into the dish drainer. Snagging a towel to dry his
hands, he turned back to face Grey.

"Yesterday I had my doubts as to your brother's sanity."

Grey lifted an eyebrow. "And today you don't? That was you in the
bathroom just now, wasn't it, Walt? Not one of the shapeshifters
Fox keeps telling me about?"

Skinner rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I'm accountable for my own
actions! I..." He broke off, sagging back against the counter.

Grey leaned forward, alarmed. "Walt? You all right?"

Skinner waved him to silence, eyes narrowing in concentration. "It
never even occurred to me that he could be telling the truth," he
muttered, more to himself than to Grey. "But if they were drugging
him, trying to set him up, why not pull out all the stops?"

Grey shoved his chair back impatiently and stood, setting the mug
down with a thud. "Would you cut the Spooky Mulder imitation
and tell me what's going on?"

Skinner pulled himself back from wherever he'd gone. "Your
brother's behavior these past several weeks -- Scully and I both
assumed it was a result of the emotional stress surrounding the
LaPierre case and learning the truth about your sister. But what if
his apparent breakdown -- all of it -- was engineered?"

"What do you mean?"

"We already know he's been drugged, and that the substance used
interfered with his sleeping, gave him wild mood swings, and
increased his natural paranoia. But what if they didn't stop there?
All the instances where Mulder appeared to be unaware of his own
actions -- what if he really *didn't* do those things?"

Grey's face twisted in puzzlement. "But in some cases people
actually witnessed..." He gaped at Skinner's triumphant nod. "A
*shapeshifter*? You actually *buy* that theory?"

Skinner chuffed a small laugh. "Your brother would tell us that
when conventional means fail to offer an explanation we should
turn to the implausible. Maybe he's finally opened me to extreme
possibilities."

Grey ran his fingers through hair curled from the bathroom's
humidity. "You're saying they're gaslighting him."

Skinner nodded gravely. "And they've been doing a damn fine job.
Mulder's increasingly volatile behavior, Scully's disappearance, the
knife -- as you said, he was millimeters from pulling the trigger. At
the very least he'd wind up in a padded room, safely out of their
way. Up till now, we've not only believed the lie, we've
unwittingly helped Mulder embrace it."

Grey swallowed, a dry click in his throat. "And now?"

Skinner met his gaze grimly. "Now we fight back."

Concluded in part 3
Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (3 of 3)
By Dawn

Crystal City
Friday, March 31
3:52 p.m.

Grey paused in the doorway, eyes lingering on the figure draped
across the bed. Slumber had erased anxiety and sorrow from Fox's
features, leaving him rumpled and flushed in a loose tangle of
limbs and blankets. Grey's lips curved in affection, but his heart
twisted painfully. A temporary respite, and all too brief. Fox would
soon wake to the reality of Dana's absence and tortured doubts
regarding his role in it. Best to let him escape that fate for as long
as possible.

He left the door open a crack and headed down the stairs. Soft,
conspiratorial murmuring captured his attention as he rounded the
corner. Four heads, as different from each other as night differs
from day, bent over a set of papers spread across the coffee table.
The marine, the rock star, the CPA, and the gnome, Grey thought,
snickering to himself. If only Fox were in a position to appreciate
the delicious irony of it all.

Skinner looked up, light from the windows glinting off his glasses.
"How is he?"

Three additional pairs of eyes locked onto him before he could
open his mouth. Rather than irritation, Grey felt gratitude at their
obvious concern.

"He's still out like a light. Didn't move a muscle when I came in
the room. Shouldn't the Haldol have worn off by now?"

"According to his medical records they gave him a pretty heavy
dose last night, followed by a smaller one this morning," Byers
spoke up. "Added to the fact that he hadn't really slept the forty-
eight hours previously, I don't think his reaction is unreasonable."

Grey's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "His medical records?
How in the heck did you get ahold of those?"

Byers looked sheepish, Langly incredulous, and Frohike wounded.

"Never mind," Grey sighed, taking a spot at Frohike's elbow.
"What have you got?"

"Further analysis of the drug found in Mulder's blood," Byers said,
gesturing to some kind of graph that meant nothing to Grey's
untrained eye. "We had a reliable colleague in the pharmaceutical
industry run some tests. This is a gas chromatograph of the
substance. Each peak is a separate compound, or component of the
drug. The result is a...a fingerprint, if you will."

Grey squinted at the page. Skinner shifted his feet restlessly and
cleared his throat.

"I take it there is some significance to this data that I'm missing?"
he asked irritably.

Langly produced a similar strip of paper. "This is the
chromatograph for cocaine."

Grey's eyes leap-frogged between the two charts and he frowned.
"They're very close, but they aren't the same, are they?"

"This peak is missing on Mulder's sample," Skinner agreed,
pointing to a spot on the graph. "It's been replaced by that one.
What is it?"

"Don't ask me, man," Langly replied, shaking his shaggy head. "It
doesn't match up with any known compound."

Skinner glared at him. "What do you mean, 'it doesn't match up'?"

"Just what he said," Frohike chimed in. "It's unknown. In fact, our
friend said he's never run across anything like it. It's synthetic --
Mother Nature's got nothing to do with it."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Are you telling me that this expert
of yours couldn't identify an ingredient in the drug that Fox was
given?" Grey demanded, feeling the pounding in his head rise
along with his blood pressure.

Byers regarded him gravely. "Not only the compound -- the drug
itself doesn't match up with any known narcotic. Our pharmacist
ran it through the database where he works. Twice."

Horror, fear, rage -- the emotions bubbled up from deep inside
Grey and he had to move. Shoving his hands into his pockets he
stalked over to the window and back, repeating the path over and
over as he muttered under his breath.

"I don't believe this. I just do not believe any of this."

Skinner pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I guess that settles any doubts about who's behind all this. Was
your expert able to tell what the long term affects on Mulder might
be? Is it addictive?"

"He couldn't really draw any conclusions," Frohike answered,
glancing uneasily at Grey. "He said that given Mulder's symptoms
he was probably ingesting it on a fairly regular basis. But it's a
wild card, there's no telling how Mulder will respond to
deprivation, and we aren't even sure how long he's been on it."

"So we're flying blind," Skinner said grimly. He looked over to
where Grey was still pacing and muttering. "You made the right
call, you know. Leaving him in the hands of our friend Samuels --
who doesn't have the faintest idea about any of this -- would be
disastrous for Mulder."

Grey paused in front of the doors to the balcony, his expression
still dark with anger. "Didn't feel like such a great decision when
Fox had a gun to his head, Walt."

Frohike, Langly, and Byers looked at each other but said nothing.
Skinner, unwilling to relive that particular scenario, plunged ahead.

"What about the blood on the knife?"

Frohike's worry transformed into an expression not unlike a rat
regarding a slab of cheese. "Now *that's* something we never
expected. That blood was on Mulder's knife?"

"On Mulder's knife, just lying in his refrigerator," Skinner
confirmed impatiently. "What's so unexpected? Is it Scully's blood
or isn't it?"

"A staff meeting and I wasn't invited? I'm hurt."

Mulder's voice startled them all, five heads snapping up in perfect
unison. His hair stuck out in wayward spikes, a crease from the
pillow marked his pale cheek, and one hand clutched the railing for
support. Yet his shadowed eyes regarded them with sharp clarity.

"Hey you," Grey greeted, unable to mask the wariness in his voice.
"How are you feeling?"

"How do I look?" his brother retorted.

"Like hell, dude," Langly spoke up with brutal honesty.

"I rest my case," Mulder growled. He waved his hand. "Don't let
me stop you. I want to hear this."

Frohike looked questioningly at Skinner, who shrugged. "He's got
just as much right to hear it as we do. More."

"Gee thanks," Mulder said sarcastically. "Spill it, Hickey. Did the
blood belong to Scully?"

Frohike sucked in a deep breath of air before answering. "PCR
says yes. It's Scully's blood."

Mulder's eyes slid shut and he swallowed hard. His hand
involuntarily tightened in a white knuckled grip on the banister. "I
thought so," he murmured.

"Hold on, there's more," Frohike said quickly. "It's Scully's blood
all right, but it isn't recent."

Mulder scowled, but Grey beat him to the punchline. "Isn't
*recent*? What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's only been
missing for 72 hours!"

Mulder turned the railing loose and walked over to the table.
"What he said."

"Let me explain," Byers said diplomatically. "Thanks to some of
the toxic substances you and Scully have been exposed to during
your work on the X-Files -- the black oil, that giant mushroom --
you've acquired certain markers in your blood."

"Tell me about it! Every time one of us winds up in a hospital we
have to go through the whole song and dance with the doctor. They
don't make those medical alert bracelets for our particular
condition," Mulder replied dryly.

"Then you can understand our surprise when we looked at the data
from the blood sample and realized that although the tests
confirmed it was Scully's, none of those markers were present,"
Byers replied.

Skinner leaned forward. "What?"

"We double and triple checked the results," Frohike confirmed, his
voice raising in excitement. "That blood sample was clean, no
indication that Scully was ever exposed to the black cancer. Don't
you see what that means? That blood was deliberately planted on
the knife and they used an old sample -- at least two years old, in
fact."

"Then Fox couldn't have been responsible for Dana's
disappearance," Grey said quickly, looking to his brother. "And it's
a good bet she's not dead, either."

To everyone's surprise, Mulder turned away. The hand that rose to
comb idly through his hair trembled.

"Fox?"

"I want to believe that." His voice was husky with emotion. "But I
don't know... I don't know what's real anymore."

Grey laid one hand on his brother's shoulder. "Then trust in me.
Because I believe in you, Fox. And I know you would never hurt
Dana."

Mulder lifted his head, his face carefully shuttered. "I need proof. I
need Scully."

Skinner cleared his throat. "I think we should start looking harder
for witnesses. You've been under surveillance, and they've had
access to your apartment. Not to mention the fact that a woman --
and a trained FBI agent, at that -- doesn't just disappear without a
trace. Someone must have seen something."

Mulder frowned. "Detective Johnson..."

"Detective Johnson had you tried and convicted three minutes after
he stepped through your door," Skinner broke in tersely. "I'd rather
conduct a more open-minded investigation."

"Let us do a little digging," Frohike said as Byers shuffled papers
back into a semblance of order and stuffed them in a folder. "We
might be able to come up with something."

Skinner's mouth became a thin line of disapproval. "You'd better
be discreet. Johnson gets wind of you poking your noses into this
and there'll be hell to pay."

Once again Frohike looked hurt. "Please, Assistant Director
Skinner. You're looking at the picture of discretion."

Mulder snorted, shaking his head and walking over to the coat tree
near the front door when his friend glared at him. He passed each
of the gunmen their coats as Skinner released the deadbolt and
opened the door.

"I... Thanks, guys," he mumbled uncomfortably.

"De nada," Frohike said, lagging behind as the other two stepped
into the hallway. He scanned Mulder's face intently, looking less
than satisfied by what he saw.

Mulder averted his eyes, rummaging through the pockets of his
own coat as a convenient excuse to break the contact. Frohike's
eyes softened and he glanced over Mulder's shoulder at Grey, who
tipped his chin in a nearly imperceptible nod. Appeased, Frohike
hastened to join Byers and Langly, who were already arguing over
the car keys.

Skinner shut and locked the door, leaning against it with a gusty
sigh. "Why do I get the feeling I'll regret letting them loose on an
unsuspecting public?"

Grey grinned. "You really think you had a choice? Hate to
disappoint you, Walt, but those three do not see you as their
commanding officer."

"Something I've grown used to," Skinner muttered darkly.

Grey's quiet laughter faded as his eyes sought and found his
brother, standing motionless before the sliding glass balcony door.
As he watched, Fox's attention remained fixed on the city while his
hand moved mechanically toward his mouth. Squinting, Grey
could just make out a tiny sunflower seed sandwiched between his
fingertips. Peripherally, he saw Skinner follow his gaze, stiffen,
and then dart forward.

"STOP!"

The command, uttered in true drill sergeant fashion, coincided with
Skinner's hand arcing sharply to meet Mulder's arm. The crack of
flesh on flesh sounded like a gunshot in the abrupt stillness that
followed. Shock widened Mulder's eyes and he stumbled back two
paces, the chosen seed flying across the room while a small bag of
them tumbled to the carpet. Cursing under his breath, he rounded
on his boss.

"What did you do that for?"

Skinner stole a look at Grey's incredulous face before scrutinizing
Mulder. "Did you eat any of those? Any at all?"

"How could I? You just knocked them all over the floor!" Mulder
snapped sarcastically. "All you had to do was ask nicely, I'd have
shared."

Skinner ignored the jibe. "You've been drugged, Mulder, most
likely through something you've ingested. Something they knew
you'd be certain to consume but that Scully wouldn't touch. Now
you tell me -- what do you think that might be?"

Mulder's jaw went slack and his eyes dropped to the scattering of
seeds, dark splotches against the tan carpet. Skinner squatted and
carefully scooped them back into the plastic bag, then slipped them
into his pocket.

"I'll have the lab take a look at these," he said grimly. "Until then I
suggest you curb your habit."

Mulder blinked, still unnerved. "What made you... How did you
come up with that?"

Skinner shrugged, eyes distant. "Something about seeing you just
now, ready to put one in your mouth. I remembered there were
shells on your desk when I came down to talk to Scully, the day
she disappeared. And you were popping them like crazy in your
apartment, just before Johnson and Benton arrived. It all clicked
into place."

"Where do you buy them?" Grey asked quietly. "A grocery store?"

Mulder shook his head dazedly. "I almost always get them from
the same place. A magazine vendor I pass on the way to work."

"I'll need to know exactly which one," Skinner pressed. "If these
test out the way I'm expecting..."

The strident buzz of the doorbell briefly startled him, but then he
rolled his eyes. "That's got to be your crazy friends, Mulder.
Probably forgot something." He jabbed the button without using
the intercom. "Maybe they can run a few of these seeds past their
mysterious friend."

Mulder wandered over to the couch and collapsed on it, flinging
one arm over his eyes. Grey made as if to join him but paused,
shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
Skinner answered the tentative rap on the door by flinging it wide.

"All right, what did you..."

His stomach plunged. Maggie and Bill Scully stood in the opening.

Maggie's lips curved half-heartedly. "Hello, Walter. I hope you
don't mind this intrusion."

Skinner grappled with his surprise, pasting on a reassuring smile.
"Of course not. Please come in."

"I just had to come, I needed to hear from you what progress has
been made toward finding Dana," she continued apologetically as
he ushered them inside.

Bill shook his hand politely though his eyes narrowed when he saw
Grey standing in the middle of the room. It was when he spied the
figure behind Grey, however, that the veneer of civility vanished.
At the sound of Maggie's voice Mulder had bolted to his feet and
now stood rigidly beside the couch, distress twisting his features.
Bill glared at him, a flush creeping slowly above his collar and
reddening his face.

"And while we're at it," he snarled. "I'd like to know what that son
of a bitch is doing in your living room."

Crystal City
Friday, March 31
4:45 p.m.

"Bill!" Maggie warned, placing a restraining hand on his muscular
forearm.

Bill shrugged it off, stalking across the room until only the coffee
table separated him from Mulder. "I thought he was supposed to be
in jail," he growled at Skinner. His hands molded into fists and he
leaned in until his nose nearly brushed Mulder's. "What did you do
to her, you little shit? Where's Dana?"

Mulder flinched and Grey lunged forward, certain his brother
would refuse to defend himself should Bill take a swing. Maggie
got there first.

"William Scully, you hold your tongue! I told you when you
insisted on coming that I wouldn't tolerate any of your foolishness.
Now either sit down and be quiet or go wait in the car."

Bill's incredulity quickly turned to sullen acquiescence. With a
parting sneer at Mulder he dropped into a chair and laced his arms
defiantly across his chest. Maggie's eyes shifted from her son to
the object of his wrath and her face softened.

"Hello, Fox. How are you, sweetheart?"

Mulder ducked his head, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry, Maggie," he
replied hoarsely. "I'm so, so sorry."

Maggie's eyes traveled appraisingly over him before she turned
around. "Grey, Walter, why don't you take Bill out to the kitchen
for something to drink. I'd like to speak to Fox alone for a
moment."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "Now just a minute, Mom, there's no reason
why..."

Maggie regarded him with a dangerously raised eyebrow, silencing
his protest. Grey nearly choked on a laugh as Bill's mouth snapped
shut and he stomped after Skinner. No doubt as to where Dana had
acquired "The Look." His amusement evaporated at the sight of his
brother's anguished face, but Maggie's reassuring nod sent him
after the others.

Maggie waited until Grey had disappeared into the kitchen to skirt
the coffee table and stand before the man trying desperately to
avoid her gaze. Mulder's teeth worried his bottom lip and the
breath hitched suspiciously in his lungs with each inhalation.

"Fox," Maggie murmured. "Look at me."

She knew this man, knew that his intense love for her daughter was
equaled only by his capacity for self-recrimination. In fact, for the
first three months of their acquaintance, it was the only side of Fox
Mulder she'd been allowed to see. Maggie could still recall her
shock after finally meeting the man Dana had described as "the
most brilliant mind I've ever encountered." One look in his
expressive eyes had told her everything she needed to know. Fox
Mulder didn't act the part of an agent searching for his partner. Fox
Mulder was a man desperately seeking the woman he loved.

Pity it had taken Fox and Dana six years to come to their senses
and catch up with her.

Mulder gave a sharp jerk of his head and squeezed his eyes tightly
shut. "I can't. I can't look at you," he whispered.

"Why not?" The question was soft as a caress. When the silence
grew long and unwieldy, Maggie pressed, "Fox?"

"Because I can't bear to see the disappointment in your face. And it
will be there, once you understand what I've done."

Maggie's eyes glinted determinedly and she shifted so that he had
to either look at her or keep his eyes shut. "You can't honestly
think I'd blame you for this. I talked to Walter last night, Fox, he
told me you might have been drugged. Is that true?"

"Yes. But it doesn't make any difference."

For a moment she could only stare, aghast. "How can you say that?
If you were under the influence of some chemical, you can hardly
be held responsible."

"But I am! I am responsible."

Mulder's voice cracked and he walked over to gaze out the glass
doors. He focused on the street below, bright patches of color that
were automobiles and pedestrians blurring together as he struggled
to slow his breathing. Her presence at his back, so much like
Scully and yet not, threatened to sever his already tenuous hold on
composure.

"Fox, I don't understand. Please, talk to me."

But for the use of his name it could have been Scully's voice,
gently conspiring to break down his barriers. The line between
grief and ire blurred and he spun to face her.

"You got angry with Bill just now for accusing me of hurting
Sc...Dana. But he was closer to the truth than you realize. I AM
responsible for whatever has happened to her -- whether I held a
knife or not. I've been investigating things, poking my nose into
places that were certain to cause trouble. Dana begged me to stop,
to leave it alone, but I wouldn't listen to her. I told her it was
personal, that it didn't have anything to do with her, but it did..."
He swallowed hard, pressing the back of one hand to his trembling
lips. "It does. My life inevitably touches those closest to me and I
knew that." His voice sank to a whisper. "I knew that and I kept
going anyway."

Maggie had listened impassively to his speech, her expression
indiscernible. When his skittering eyes finally settled on her face,
she spoke.

"Fox, you cannot hold yourself accountable for the actions of evil
men. I don't know the nature of your investigation and frankly, I
don't care. Nothing you could have done justifies what they've
done to you and Dana."

Mulder shook his head violently. "No! You don't understand!
*My* actions are what can't be justified. This is exactly the reason
why she shouldn't be with me in the first place. My blind pursuit
of the truth is what got her taken the first time and I've done it
again!" His face crumbled, his mouth moving impotently as he
comprehended his own words. "Oh, God, I've done it again," he
choked.

Shock momentarily immobilized Maggie as she watched the rock
she'd leaned on during Dana's previous disappearance shatter into
tiny pieces. The slight quiver of Mulder's lip spread to full body
tremors as the tears he'd tried so hard to suppress spilled
relentlessly down his cheeks. Empty arms that ached for her
daughter reacted automatically and without hesitation.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, taking a half step forward to
enfold him in her embrace, one hand guiding his head to the solace
of her shoulder.

As with so much in his life, he denied himself the comfort for long,
stiffening and pulling away to swipe at swollen eyes with his
sleeve. After many long lunches with Dana, Maggie understood far
more about the inner workings of Fox Mulder than he would ever
imagine -- which undoubtedly was a good thing. So she allowed
him the chance to distance himself before placing a firm hand on
his arm.

"People always saw Missy as the strong-willed child, Fox, but I'm
sure you've discovered by now that Dana has her own core of steel.
She's with you because she loves you, and by your side is exactly
where she wants to be. And neither you, nor I, nor the monsters
who've taken her could possibly convince her otherwise. *You will
find her.* And Dana will hold on until you do."

Mulder searched her face like a starving man searches for a crumb
of bread. "How can you be so certain?"

The corners of Maggie's mouth turned up in a sad smile. "I have
the strength of my beliefs, Fox. In Dana, and in you."

His stunned brain was still attempting to process her words as she
pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and liberated Bill from exile in
the kitchen. Mulder peripherally registered Maggie's hushed
discourse with Skinner and Grey followed by Bill's grumbling
goodbye.

While Skinner shut the door and hovered uncertainly, Grey walked
over to flop onto the couch. He watched the emotions sift across
his brother's face, then heaved an exaggerated sigh.

"Congratulate us, Fox. Walt and I just spent ten minutes alone with
Bill Scully and never laid a finger on him."

"Not for lack of motivation," Skinner muttered.

Their banter did the trick, penetrating the darkness that had
wrapped itself around his heart. Mulder made no move to join
them, but his mouth quirked.

"Good thing you behaved yourselves. Maggie wouldn't hesitate to
kick both your butts."

"No question where Dana gets her fire," Grey agreed, clasping his
fingers behind his neck and leaning back into the cushions. "You'd
have to be crazy to mess with that woman."

The hint of amusement blossomed into a full-blown smile. "She
raised four kids, essentially on her own since her husband was at
sea most of the time. And they weren't exactly little angels, either.
Scully always says..."

The smile winked out of existence, the subsequent silence a void
that no one quite knew how to fill. Skinner finally cleared his
throat and collected the file folder the Gunmen had left on the
coffee table.

"I should check in with the team and deliver this to the lab. We
need to confirm these results on the blood sample if we're going to
get Johnson off your back," he said, tapping the folder against his
leg. "I want to get some people to canvass the neighborhood, see if
we can turn up someone who might have seen something."

Mulder scowled, taking a step as if to follow. "*I* should be the
one out there, it's my neighborhood. I know all the hangouts, I
could..."

"Mulder, no."

Skinner's hand came up, palm out, to cut off the flow of words.
"You are a suspect in Scully's disappearance. Johnson will be
watching you like a hawk, just waiting for you to slip up. He's not
going to objectively consider any evidence if you had a part in
gathering it."

Mulder paced several steps to the right, then back again, one hand
raking through his hair. "She's been missing 72 hours now, God
knows what they're doing to her. What do you expect, that I'll just
sit here and do nothing?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I expect."

Skinner's reply, clipped and dangerous, stilled his restless feet.
Mulder glared, body rigid and chest heaving.

"This isn't an X-File, Agent Mulder, and you aren't running this
investigation," Skinner grated. "Your badge means nothing now,
you have no authority and no rights in this arena."

Mulder's eyes went black and for a moment Grey was certain he
would launch himself at his boss. "This is *Scully* we're talking
about, Skinner. I have every right."

Skinner's demeanor softened and he inclined his head. "I know
that. And I know what staying out of this must be putting you
through."

"You don't," Mulder spat, turning away. "You have no idea."

"But the fact remains that I can't allow you to assume an active
role," Skinner persisted. "It wouldn't be in Scully's best interest,
Mulder. Deep down inside you know that."

When his agent didn't respond, Skinner retrieved his coat from the
rack and slipped it on. He exchanged a long look with Grey before
opening the door.

"I'll be back in couple of hours. There are take out menus in the
kitchen. Whatever you decide, just order enough for me too."

When Mulder continued to show him his back he sighed, nodded
to Grey, then stepped out the door. Grey let his brother sulk for
several long minutes before standing with a small groan.

"I'm starving. How about we check out Walt's favorite pizza
place?"

"Whatever you want," Mulder muttered without turning around.

"You're the one who hasn't eaten," Grey pointed out. "What do
YOU want?"

Mulder laughed, an unpleasant sound. "Doesn't seem to matter,
does it? Not to good ol' 'Walt' anyway."

"Good ol' Walt helped me pull your butt out of a padded cell,"
Grey snapped. "Maybe it's time you dropped the spoiled child
routine and showed a little gratitude."

"I'd be grateful if he'd drop the assistant director bullshit and let me
do what I need to do," his brother growled.

"What you need to do is just what Walt said, Fox. Stay put and let
the agents on Dana's case ask the questions. I'm sorry, I know you
don't want to hear this, but he's right. Your participation in this
case could jeopardize Dana's life."

Wide, wounded eyes locked onto his face. "I would never take
risks with Scully's life!"

The agony in the words defused Grey's anger. "Then let Walt
handle things. No one wants to find Dana more than he does."

Mulder shook his head and turned back to the window. "He doesn't
even come close," he murmured. "Go ahead. Pizza is fine."

Grey hesitated, then continued to the kitchen. Forehead pressed to
the cool glass, Mulder watched dusk fall and lights pop on in the
buildings and passing cars. Across the busy street, a lone woman
with bright copper hair strode briskly down the sidewalk, a
briefcase clutched in one hand. His heart lurched, then fluttered
wildly until she paused beneath a streetlight and lifted her hand to
flag a cab. The golden spill of light clearly illuminated her
features, so different from those his eager gaze sought. Mulder
blinked back a rush of tears as his lips silently formed her name.

*Scully.*

Grey's voice drifted from the kitchen, low and comforting even in
the simple act of ordering dinner. Suddenly unwilling to be alone,
Mulder pushed himself away from the doors, intending to join his
brother. His distracted gaze brushed over an isolated figure
lounging in a doorway across the street and snapped back with
unwavering intensity. The man chose that moment to move,
shifting his weight and stretching as if to relieve muscles cramped
from too long in one position.

Rage, like an enormous beast, trampled all reason and logic.
Mulder cast about frantically for a weapon before realizing that
Skinner and Grey had locked away anything he might use to harm
himself. Cursing, he charged across the room and fumbled with the
deadbolt, his fingers less than cooperative.

"Fox?" Grey appeared in the kitchen doorway, bewildered and
alarmed by his frantic scrabbling and swearing. "Fox, what are you
doing?"

The lock finally gave and the door rocked back on its hinges,
slamming into the wall with a bang. Barefoot, clad only in a pair of
sweats, Mulder darted down the hallway and disappeared into the
stairwell, oblivious to Grey's desperate appeals for him to stop.

Crystal City
Friday, March 31
6:12 p.m.

"Enjoying the view?"

Mulder had knotted his fist in Krycek's leather jacket and slammed
him up against the brick before the assassin knew what hit him.
After dashing from Skinner's apartment he'd regained enough of a
cool head to exit the building through a back door and circle
around so as to confront Krycek from behind. Once he felt the man
wriggling in his grip, however, all self-control evaporated. He let
loose a stinging backhand that rocked the double agent's head into
the wall, followed by a punch to the gut.

Krycek, however, refused to give up. Though still doubled over
and gasping for air, he rammed full force into Mulder, tumbling
them both to the pavement where they rolled and grappled like
children in a schoolyard brawl. Krycek's palm shoved his face into
the cement, tiny stones gouging his cheek like needles, as Mulder
writhed and bucked in an attempt to dislodge him. Though Krycek
lacked an arm, Mulder's broken hand and the lingering effects of
the drug balanced the scales. He hooked an elbow into the
Russian's ribs and rolled, struggling to break the man's grip.

"Police officer, freeze!"

At the barked command Krycek went limp.

"Turn him loose, Krycek," Grey growled.

Mulder scrambled out from beneath Krycek's now unresisting
body, injured hand cradled against his chest, panting. He glared
down, face contorted, and delivered a parting kick to the fleshy
part of the assassin's thigh.

"Ow! Damn it, Mulder!" Krychek howled, following with a torrent
of Russian.

"Fox, knock it off," Grey admonished. He reached into his pocket
for his badge, flipping it open and displaying it to the group of
gaping onlookers. "I'm a police officer, folks, and there's nothing
left here to see. Move along."

When the small crowd had dispersed he scowled at Krycek and
jerked his head. "Get up." He kept the gun leveled on the Russian
while darting hasty looks at his brother. Now that the initial
adrenaline surge had worn off, Mulder's teeth were chattering.
"Jeez, Fox! You don't even have shoes on! Are you trying to catch
pneumonia?"

Krycek hauled himself upright, leaning heavily against the wall.
He swiped at his bloody lip with the back of his hand and looked
warily from Grey to Mulder. "So what's it going to be, boys? You
turning me in, or are you going to hear what I have to say?"

"The only thing I want to hear is the sound of the lock on your cell,
you two-faced, lying sack of..." Krycek recoiled as Mulder lunged
for him, only to be pulled up short when Grey snagged the back of
his sweatshirt.

"Damn it, Fox, I said to knock it off! Let's take this inside before
you freeze to death. He's not going anywhere."

Mulder shrugged off his brother's hand but kept silent as they
crossed the street and took the elevator back up to Skinner's
apartment. Once enveloped in warmth, he began to shiver in
earnest, reduced to hobbling on feet turned to blocks of ice. Grey
pushed open the door and motioned Krycek inside, sparing a quick,
assessing glance at his brother.

"Go take a shower, it'll warm you up," he suggested, brow creased
in concern.

"F...forget it! I...I'm n...not t...taking m...my eyes off that
b...bastard," Mulder snapped, arms curled tightly around his torso
in a futile effort to warm them.

"Fox, I'm not a rookie. I can manage him with one hand tied
behind my back -- no offense intended," he drawled, flashing
Krycek a cheeky grin and indicating he take a seat on the couch.
"Besides, I get the feeling he's here for a reason."

"And they say all Southerners are half-wits," Krycek sneered.

Grey lowered himself into the chair opposite, unperturbed. "Watch
it, Ratboy. I might just let my little brother have another go at
you."

Mulder hesitated a moment longer, but a fresh wave of tremors
sent him climbing the stairs. Krycek's eyes followed until he
disappeared, then fixed coolly on Grey's face. A silent battle of
wills ensued until the assassin crumbled, his eyes skittering away
to contemplate a gouge in the coffee table.

"I'm going to warn you up front," Grey said, his voice very soft.
"You start messing with his head and I will personally modify your
dental records. We half-witted Southerners have an extremely low
tolerance for bullshit."

Krycek's eyes narrowed and he compressed his lips to a thin line of
annoyance. "What is it with you Mulders, anyway? Either your
brother uses me for a punching bag or you threaten to rearrange my
teeth. I'm getting pretty tired of it, let me tell you."

"Guess we just can't keep our hands off you," Grey replied,
waggling his eyebrows.

Krycek huffed and muttered another string of Russian epithets
under his breath. The faint patter of water on tile drifted down the
stairs and Grey released a long breath of air, shifting to a more
comfortable position. Krycek's eyes roved around the living room
and his foot tapped a staccato beat on the leg of the coffee table.

"The seeds are drugged." The statement, flat and unapologetic,
startled Grey.

He stared at Krycek and leaned forward with feigned calm. "We
know -- or had a pretty good idea. Skinner took some to the lab for
confirmation. Question is, how the hell did *you* know?"

Krycek grinned wolfishly. "Who do you think persuaded that street
vendor to stock our particular brand?"

Grey's face darkened and his finger, curled snugly around the
trigger, twitched. He caught himself, grimly shoving the anger to
the back of his mind, and shook his head ruefully. "I'm beginning
to understand this compulsion Fox has to beat the hell out of you,
Krycek."

"So nice you two have something in common." Krycek reclined
further into the cushions, his feet crossed casually at the ankles.

"What did you do, threaten him?"

Krycek's brow contracted as he puzzled over Grey's question, then
smoothed in understanding. "The street vendor?" He shook his
head. "Violence might be unavoidable, but it's never the ideal
solution," he replied. "Mr. Ivanovich had a little problem -- he
liked to bet on the ponies. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it.
The prospect of paying off his sizable debts more than
compensated for any twinges from his guilty conscience."

Grey grit his teeth. "And if I were to go looking for Mr. Ivanovich?
To ask him to testify that Fox was deliberately set up to be
drugged?"

Krycek's expression was bland. "Mr. Ivanovich was the victim of a
brutal attack this morning. He was robbed on the way to work, shot
twice in the chest. Died in the ambulance on the way to the
hospital. No witnesses to the crime."

Grey clamped his teeth onto his lower lip, the gun hot and slick in
his sweaty palm. He studied Krycek carefully, noted the rapid
fluttering of pulse at his neck and the fine sheen of perspiration on
his brow. For all his bluster and bravado, the man was evidently
not as sure of himself as he tried to appear.

"You know much about this drug?" he asked curtly.

Krycek shrugged. "I'm no chemist. But I do keep my eyes and ears
open. Twice the adrenaline rush of cocaine, but with a lot of nasty
side effects -- paranoia and mood swings top the list. It's odorless,
colorless, and nearly tasteless, especially when delivered on
something salty like sunflower seeds. The body builds up a quick
tolerance though, starts craving higher and higher doses. Mulder
been popping more seeds than usual?"

Grey thought for a moment, then recalled Skinner's remark about
his brother's behavior just prior to talking with Johnson and
Benton. "Yeah. I think he was. But how...?"

"Vicious cycle. The withdrawal pangs let up whenever he hits the
seeds, so he subconsciously starts craving them."

"What can we expect, now that he's stopped ingesting it?" Much as
he loathed seeking advice from the enemy, Grey wanted to prepare
himself for what lay ahead.

Krycek's eyes unwittingly skipped to the stairs, then slid over to
the window. "He's been off it what -- about 36 hours? The first
twelve to eighteen are the worst, he must have been bouncing off
the walls."

"No, he just put his fist through one," Grey muttered, massaging
his forehead. "That's how he broke his hand."

Krycek actually grimaced. "Doesn't really surprise me. I'm amazed
he didn't do worse."

"He might have, except he spent the night in a psych ward, stoned
on..." He bit back the words, chagrined that he'd given Krycek such
a weapon.

The Russian didn't seem to notice. "At the risk of provoking an
armed man, I've got to say it was probably the best place for him.
Two of the test subjects committed suicide during withdrawal."

His blood turned to ice water, and Grey had to muster every ounce
of willpower to contain the shudder that broke out in gooseflesh.
He licked his lips and worked to keep his voice smooth.

"What about now?"

Another shrug. "He'll eventually burn himself out. Until then,
irritable, moody, unpredictable -- I'd keep a close eye on him."

"Thank you for the diagnosis, *Doctor* Krycek. I am feeling a
definite lack of impulse control right about now."

Krycek stiffened, his gregarious demeanor abruptly guarded.
Mulder descended the stairs and walked slowly over to the couch.
Clad in a fresh pair of sweats, hair damp from the shower, he
seated himself beside Krycek like a friend eager to catch up on old
times. An illusion shattered by the gun he pressed to the Russian's
temple.

"How about we stop talking about me and start discussing you," he
suggested in a tone smooth as butter. "Why you were hanging out
across the street, for instance."

"Fox, what are you doing?" Grey hissed. "Put that down! Where
did you...?" He broke off in a moan. "Shit!"

Mulder bared his teeth. "Note to self, Bubba. When retrieving your
weapon to chase your crazy, barefoot brother across a busy street,
don't forget to lock the drawer."

"Put it down, Fox."

"I don't think so. Not until this rat bastard gives me some answers."

Grey shifted his weapon, training it on his brother. "You can't
throw your life away on this scum. I won't let you."

Mulder's eyes cut to Grey and returned to Krycek. "We've been
here before, huh, Krycek? DÄjô vu."

The assassin had regained his composure. "I'll give you answers,
Mulder. That's why I'm here."

Mulder's gaze attacked his face. "Scully?" he demanded, easing the
muzzle back from Krycek's skull.

"She's alive, and I know where she's being held. I can take you
there."

"If you came to take us to Scully, why were you camped out across
the street?" Mulder persisted, suspicion coloring his voice.

"Waiting for Skinner to leave," Krycek replied. "I wasn't too keen
on spending another night cuffed to the balcony."

"And you thought I'd welcome you with open arms?" Mulder
gibed.

Krycek's lip curled. "No, but I figured with the drugstore in your
bloodstream I'd be able to handle you. And I was counting on him"
-- he tilted his head toward Grey -- "to keep a cool head."

Grey chuckled coldly. "You should know better than that, Krycek.
We rednecks all have short fuses. Fox, put down the gun and let
him talk. If we don't like what he's got to say, I'll shoot him
myself."

Krycek's eyes turned to saucers. "Look, I said I'd tell you what you
want to know! They've got her at a private research facility in
Virginia, but she won't be there much longer."

"They? Are you insinuating that you weren't involved?" Mulder
asked, lowering the gun until it nuzzled Krycek's ribs instead.

"You can believe what you like, but I wasn't there. Your buddy
Smokey had me picking up the leftover packages of seeds from
Ivanovich. Tying up loose ends."

"How...how did they take her?"

Krycek snorted. "From what I hear, with surprisingly little
resistance. She was so distracted, worrying about *you*, that she
left her car unlocked. One of our boys just slipped into the back
seat and waited for her."

Mulder winced. "Did he hurt her? Is she all right?"

"A bump on the head, nothing serious. She's their prize lab rat,
Mulder. They don't want to damage the merchandise -- not yet
anyway."

When the color drained from his brother's face, Grey lunged to his
feet. "You'd better start working harder to stay alive, Krycek, and
stop having so much fun," he warned between clenched teeth. "Get
to the point and tell us exactly where to find her."

Krycek held up his hand, eyes shifting nervously between the two.
"The lab is in the middle of nowhere, just off the Blue Ridge
Parkway. We'll have to hike the last several miles, too easy to spot
a car. Security will be tight, but I know a few tricks to get us
through."

"What did you mean when you said she wouldn't be there long?"
Mulder asked.

"I don't know what they've done to her, but they intend to transfer
her to another facility for long term observation. After all, she's
dead, right? In order to pull off the charade Scully has to disappear
for good. How could Smokey pass up such a golden opportunity?"

An annoying buzz filled Mulder's ears and a gray fog enveloped
Krycek's face. He didn't feel the gun slip from his limp fingers,
didn't realize he'd begun to hyperventilate. Then a warm, steady
hand was guiding his head between his knees and Grey's soothing
voice broke through the white noise in his head.

"Easy, Fox, slow it down. That's it."

He clutched at the words and he struggled to follow them. To
empty his mind of everything but the anchor of that voice and the
task of breathing. Don't think of Samantha's diary, of the times
she'd welcomed even death as a release from her suffering. Don't
think of Scully, marked for the same torture -- the faces changed,
but the outcome...

*Scully*

A distant corner of his brain heard the apartment swing open,
followed by Skinner's outraged growl,

"What in the hell is going on here?"

Crystal City
Friday, March 31
9:32 p.m.

"You've done a lot of talking, Krycek, but you still haven't
explained one thing," Skinner said, scrutinizing the assassin's face.
"Why are you helping us? Spender finds out and your life won't be
worth a nickel."

Two empty, grease speckled pizza boxes littered the coffee table,
and everyone but Mulder was nursing a second beer.

"Spender doesn't own me. I do what needs to be done." Krycek's
nose wrinkled. "Sometimes that puts me in his camp. But always
on *my* terms."

"Nice try, Krycek. But why don't you just answer the question?"
Mulder had finally begun to run out of steam, and his words
slurred with fatigue. "There's never been any love lost between the
two of us -- you were perfectly willing to help Cancerman drug
me. Why the sudden willingness to help me now?"

Krycek chuffed the ghost of a laugh and shook his head. "Help
you? I wouldn't waste my time. It's Scully I'm sticking my neck out
for."

When three sets of eyebrows lifted in disbelief, Krycek sighed.
"Look, I was perfectly willing to sit it out while Smokey wrote
Mulder a one way ticket to the loony bin. And I kept my mouth
shut when I heard he was snatching Scully for more tests. But
keeping her locked up indefinitely, like some glorified lab rat..."

Mulder leaned forward, a shrewd glint driving the sleep from his
eyes. "If I didn't know better, Krycek, I'd say that you were
carrying a torch for Scully."

Krycek's lips thinned. "Shut up, Mulder. You don't understand
anything about me."

Mulder stared at him for a moment before sinking into the
cushions, head tipped back to contemplate the ceiling. His reply
was wistful rather than taunting. "I've spent the last seven years
with her, Krycek. I understand more than you know."

"You never said how things went at the Bureau, Walt," Grey
drawled softly.

"The analysis checked out. Our guys confirmed that the blood,
though Scully's, lacked any of the expected markers. In short -- an
old sample."

"Probably five or six years," Krycek muttered. "They've still got
blood and tissue samples from her original abduction."

"Not to mention ova," Mulder snarled.

"I stopped off and had a long talk with Johnson," Skinner
continued, breaking the uneasy silence.

Grey smirked. "A talk?"

Skinner gave him a predatory smile. "Well...I talked and he
listened."

"Did he?"

Skinner sighed and massaged the tense muscles at the base of his
neck. "Mostly. I'm not saying he was happy about it, but the
evidence is hard to ignore. And there's the slight complication of a
missing body."

"Lack of a corpse will screw up a murder investigation every
time," Grey agreed.

"Johnson should stay off our backs for now," Skinner said,
ignoring the sarcasm. "He's not convinced Mulder isn't responsible
for Scully's disappearance, at least in part, but he's agreed to
broaden his focus."

"Just another reason to get Dana back as quickly as possible. Not
that I expect Johnson would apologize."

"I assume we wait until tomorrow night." Skinner looked to
Krycek for confirmation, the sour expression on his face revealing
how he felt about deferring to the Russian.

"I hate to risk waiting, but the chance of being spotted during
daylight is too high," Krycek agreed. "We can get into position,
then start walking as soon as dusk falls."

"How many miles will we have to walk?"

"Two -- maybe three. But it's rough terrain. The road comes
straight down the valley. We'll have to come in from the side,
overland."

"You up for that, Fox?"

Grey's question went unanswered -- Mulder had succumbed to
sleep, his injured hand propped on a throw pillow and his face still
turned up toward the ceiling.

Krycek hunched forward and lowered his voice. "You do realize
we should leave him behind, don't you?"

The atmosphere in the room, which had taken on an almost
convivial quality over the course of dinner, became charged with
tension.

"If anyone ought to be left behind, Krycek, it's you," Grey replied,
his voice ice. "I trust my brother. It's you I wouldn't turn my back
on."

"This isn't a matter of trust. He," Krycek jerked his thumb in
Skinner's direction, "knows exactly what I'm talking about. Don't
you?"

Grey turned accusing eyes on his friend, who ground his teeth and
glanced away. "Walt? You can't be serious!"

Skinner shook his head, eyebrows knit together. "I'm not foolish
enough to think he'd let us go after Scully without him. But if I
could figure out a way to keep him here, yes, I would."

"He has every right to be a part of this. He has a higher stake in
this rescue than anyone else in the room."

"He's also the highest liability," Skinner replied. "I'm sorry, Grey,
but you're thinking with your heart and not your head. He's
physically depleted and emotionally unstable. In any other
situation Mulder would be the first person I'd want at my back. But
not this time."

"What are you saying, Walt?"

"Nothing. Like I said, I know your brother. Short of locking him
up, nothing's going to keep him from going after Scully. I just hope
he can keep it together."

"He'd walk through fire for Dana, Walt. He'll keep it together."

Skinner and Krycek traded a troubled look, but remained silent.

Crystal City
Saturday, April 1
2:39 a.m.

The half-imagined creak of a floorboard, an ephemeral shift in air
currents, and Grey came fully awake with his gun in hand. Without
conscious thought, as elemental as a magnet to steel, his eyes
sought out Krycek. The Russian, however, was still sleeping, his
spine pressed to the back of the couch and his arm curled
protectively around his middle. The slide of wood on ceramic
brought Grey to his feet, brushing aside the blanket and
abandoning the soft depths of the recliner.

The light above the stove bathed the kitchen in an amber glow.
Mulder sat at the table, staring bemusedly at the picture of a
lighthouse hanging on the wall to his left. Grey sat across from him
without speaking, careful to lift the chair so that the legs wouldn't
scrape across the tile.

"All the times I've sat across from him and listened to him ream me
for disregarding procedure or losing another cell phone," Mulder
murmured. "It never occurred to me that he'd have a picture like
that hanging in his kitchen, or a handmade afghan draped over the
back of his couch."

Grey's lips quirked in a poorly suppressed grin. "What were you
expecting -- grenades and combat boots?"

Mulder shrugged, but a tiny smile crept onto his face. "Would have
surprised me less."

"He was married for over fifteen years, Fox. Stands to reason
Sharon would have domesticated him at least a little bit."

He expected the grin to take root, but it slipped away as furtively
as it had come. Mulder spread his hands on the tabletop, then idly
traced the fourth finger on the left one.

"What was it like, being married to Kate?"

Grey had become accustomed to the sharp spark of pain that
accompanied Kate's name. Once nearly incapacitating, time had
eased it to a dull ache. His brother's question took him by surprise,
however, and he couldn't help flinching a little.

"Sorry," Mulder said quickly. "I didn't mean to..."

"No! No, it's all right. I don't mind answering."

Grey pondered a moment, a string of memories winding their way
through his thoughts like brightly colored beads. Kate on their
wedding day, simple yet radiant in the long white gown. Kate at
the amusement park, hands above her head and a mixture of
giggles and screams bursting from her lips as the rollercoaster
plunged down the first, long hill. Kate in front of the fireplace, the
warm weight of her head on his shoulder and the sweet smell of
her hair in his nostrils.

"It was home. It didn't matter what horrors I had to endure during
the day -- and you know there are too many to number in our line
of work. She was my sanctuary from that, a safe place where I
could leave it all behind and find peace. I knew I could keep going,
could get through just about anything, because she was waiting for
me. I thought as long as we were together, nothing bad could touch
us." He let out a long, slow breath of air. "Obviously, I was
wrong."

His brother didn't respond, just dipped his head and continued to
study his hands. Grey desperately wanted to offer solace, to
reassure him that they would find Dana and bring her home, but
the words stuck in his throat.

"I was engaged once."

Grey felt his mouth drop open, his eyes bug out, but couldn't seem
to make his face do anything else. Mulder darted a fleeting look at
his stunned face and then lowered his eyes, mouth curving upward
in something too sad to be called a smile.

"You never cease to amaze me, little brother. I never saw that one
coming."

Mulder's laugh was no more than a puff of air. "Scully says I keep
unfolding like a flower."

"How come you never mentioned this before?"

Pursed lips and a slight lift to one shoulder. "Don't like to talk
about it, I guess. Just one more failed relationship in my extensive
collection."

"What happened?"

Mulder chuckled bitterly. "She caught on to me, I guess."

"Don't give me that crap! I hate when you do that self-deprecating
shit," Grey growled. "What happened?"

"I was profiling at the time. I met Laurel in a bar one night when I
was trying to unwind after a bad case. She was an attorney, worked
for a law firm across town." He shook his head. "She was very
beautiful."

"Go on."

"Looking back, I can see that it was a mistake from the beginning.
I was at loose ends, miserable in my job and lonely in my personal
life. I wanted that home, that safety you speak of. Laurel was
bright, attractive, and she made me laugh. Being a lawyer, we even
shared the same frustrations with the legal system. I thought I'd
found everything I could ever want or need."

When Grey waited silently, he continued. "I think asking her to
marry me was the desperate act of a drowning man. I was starting
to come apart at the seams, but Patterson wouldn't let me transfer
out of the ISU. He blocked my every attempt, heaped guilt on me
for even thinking of wasting my "God-given talent." Those were
his words, not mine.

"I'm a bastard when I'm profiling, there's no other way to say it.
Short tempered and critical one moment, depressed and morose the
next. It got harder and harder to see the wins and not the losses.
After one particularly horrible case, a serial killer who raped and
then strangled little girls, I went on a crying jag that had Laurel
ready to call the men in the white coats. The guy was behind bars,
headed for the gas chamber, but I couldn't stop seeing the faces of
those dead little girls."

"That night was the beginning of the end, I think. As long as things
were neat and orderly, running on an even keel, Laurel was happy
and supportive. But she was never good at handling a mess. One
day about a week later I came home to find her ring and a note on
the kitchen counter. She'd taken a position with a firm in Chicago."

"Did you ever see her after that?" Grey asked quietly.

"She asked me to respect her decision and not contact her. I never
did."

"I'm sorry. I know I don't have to tell you that Dana would never
do that to you."

Mulder smiled wistfully. "Scully is nothing like Laurel. Or Phoebe,
Diana, or any other woman I've known. It took me a while to
believe she was real. But knowing she is just makes the fear of
losing her more paralyzing."

He finally looked at Grey with the eyes of a drowning man. "She's
made me a better person, Grey. She fills all the holes and makes
me complete. She's my human credential. If Scully can love me,
then I can believe there's something of worth inside me
somewhere." His voice cracked and he blinked hard. "I have to
find her."

Grey stretched one hand across the table until it enveloped his
brother's. He didn't speak the words. He didn't need to.

Rural Virginia
Saturday, April 1
7:19 p.m.

Grey plucked Skinner's elbow, speaking sotto voice. "Hold up a
minute."

Skinner jerked his head in acknowledgement, placing his hand on
Krycek's forearm. "Stop."

Krycek turned, eyes narrowing. Mulder stood about ten yards back,
hands braced on his knees and breathing heavily while Grey held
out a bottle of water. The Russian glared at Skinner.

"I told you we never should have brought him. He's slowing us
down, and by the time we reach the lab he'll be useless."

Skinner didn't reply, just drew his gun and pinned Krycek with a
teeth-rattling stare. The assassin threw up his hand and spun on his
heel, lips moving in silent curses. A moment later Mulder and
Grey rejoined them -- one sweaty and panting, the other hiding
worry. Krycek flicked a venomous look over his shoulder and
started up the next hill at a brisk clip. Mulder grit his teeth and
followed.

"Walt, I need to talk to you." Grey matched strides with Skinner
about ten feet behind where Krycek and Mulder were toiling up the
incline.

"Talk then."

"Krycek insists we split into two groups once inside the facility."

Skinner shifted the nylon pack on his shoulders and grunted
acknowledgment. Up ahead, Mulder stumbled, wavered
precariously for a moment, and then regained his balance.
Grey sighed.

"I want you to go with Fox."

>From his reaction, it wasn't the request Skinner had expected. His
smooth, even gait faltered for a moment and his eyebrows nearly
disappeared beneath the black knit cap on his head.

"I assumed you'd want to stick with your brother." Grey shook his
head. "Mind telling me why?"

Grey stole a quick glance at Krycek and Mulder, still out of
earshot. "Two reasons. First, I can't bring myself to let Ratboy out
of my sight. Not even if he's with you."

"And second?"

"I think you're the only one who can rein my brother in, should the
need arise."

Skinner snorted softly, prompting Krycek to shoot him a warning
glare. "*Me*? Are you kidding? What makes you think he'd listen
to me any more than he'd listen to you?"

Grey shrugged. "I'm his brother, Walt. You're his boss. No matter
what difficulties you two may have had in the past, Fox is
accustomed to seeing you as an authority figure. I'm just the guy he
swaps dirty jokes with and skunks in basketball."

Skinner looked at him shrewdly before reluctantly nodding. "I'm
not sure I accept your logic. But I'm willing to trust your instincts."

"Would you two shut up! We're here."

Krycek's voice seemed to float out of the darkness, probably
because he'd dropped to his belly in the weeds at the top of the rise.
As one, Skinner and Grey ducked and crawled the rest of the way
until they could peer at the golden eyes of the building nestled
below.

"The front door is not only hooked into the alarm system, there's
extensive video feed to the control room and guard station,"
Krycek murmured. "My card key will get us in the back door
where there will be fewer cameras. That's going to change as we
approach the research wing, though. They like to have front row
seats at all times."

Mulder's breath hitched and his eyes turned black. "How do you
have a key to this place, Krycek? This on your top ten list of fun
places to spend a Saturday night?"

Krycek showed his teeth in a faux smile. "This isn't Scully's first
visit, Mulder. Who do you think brought her here when you were
lying in a hospital bed, dying of the black cancer?"

Mulder's lunge for the Russian's throat was aborted by Grey's firm
grip on his shoulder. "I warned you about having too much fun,
Krycek," he said quietly. "How 'bout you stop yapping and get us
in there."

"Everybody better switch on their wires," Skinner suggested.

The Gunmen, after an extensive diatribe on trusting traitors, had
provided each of them with state of the art communication
equipment. Once the packs were flipped on and tested, Krycek
again took the lead for the trip across the valley.

"Keep single file, low to the ground," he said tersely.

"Can't believe I'm taking orders from Alex Krycek," Skinner
muttered under his breath.

Kyrcek's voice purred in his ear. "I heard that, *Walter*."

The trip down the steep incline turned out to be just as harrowing
as climbing it. Grey's calves ached from maintaining a slow and
steady pace, and more than once a loose stone or branch brought
him perilously close to tumbling down the slope. Mulder's face
was pinched with fatigue, his mouth held to a straight line of
concentration. When they finally reached the velvet shadows at the
rear of the building, Grey sighed.

"I need the three of you to keep back as I open the door," Krycek
instructed quietly. "The security guard will be alerted I'm entering
the building and he'll confirm my I.D. on the monitor. After a
minute, when he's gone back to watching the basketball game on
television, I'll motion you inside."

Skinner's jaw thrust forward. "So help me, Krycek, if this is a trap,
if you leave us hanging out here..."

Krycek's lip wrinkled. "If I wanted to take you I could have done it
last night, whether you left North Carolina to guard me or not. Just
keep quiet and wait for my cue."

They watched him run his card through the lock, the tiny crimson
light blinking for a moment before winking out. Krycek pulled the
door wide open and sauntered inside, making no attempt to conceal
his face. Grey saw him surreptitiously slip something between the
catch and the frame, so that when the door slid shut the little light
remained a cheery green.

For what seemed an eternity they huddled in the frigid darkness,
motionless, silent, and completely at Krycek's mercy. Just when
Mulder was certain they'd been betrayed, that Krycek would return
with armed men, the door eased open a crack and one by one they
slipped inside.

Krycek stood directly beneath a dead surveillance camera. "These
things go out all the time, but someone will start checking
eventually," he murmured. "Someone needs to come with me to
put the guard station out of commission while the others go get
Scully."

Grey didn't even glance at Skinner. "I'm with you, Krycek."

Mulder jerked in surprise but an inscrutable look from Skinner
quelled any protest he might have voiced.

"Remember where you're going?" Krycek asked tersely.

Satisfied by their nods, he led the way, occasionally stepping into
open doorways as a camera lens panned the corridor. When at last
they came to a junction of another hallway, Krycek paused and
placed the card key into Skinner's hand.

"Get into position and give us five minutes. We'll rendezvous at
the back door."

Grey kept to his heels as he took the left corridor while Skinner
and Mulder continued on the previous course, passing empty
offices that looked incredibly ordinary and unthreatening. Back at
Skinner's apartment, Krycek had likened the floor plan to the letter
H. He and Grey had just followed the crossbar to the security
station, located at the extreme northwest corner. Mulder and
Skinner, on the other hand, would find the research facilities at the
northeast end. Close in proximity, but inaccessible to each other,
each team was on their own should trouble arise.

At last Mulder and Skinner came to the double doors that separated
the in vivo labs from the rest of the complex. Here, theoretical met
actual -- via the use of live test subjects. Mulder's hand trembled as
he lay it against the cool glass.

"You okay?" Skinner asked, eyes roaming his agent's face.

Mulder's fingers caressed the smooth surface for a moment before
his hand dropped. "Not yet."

Three separate cameras scanned the area in front of the doors,
making it impossible to avoid detection. Mulder and Skinner
waited, nerves thrumming like overstretched rubber bands, while
time passed like molasses through a sieve. At any moment each
expected to hear a claxon sounding their intrusion, but the warning
never came.

"Guards have been neutralized. Go."

At Krycek's cue, Skinner passed the key through the slot and the
door clicked open.

This section of the building looked and smelled like a hospital, a
sharp tang of bleach and disinfectant in the air and the cold,
colorless gleam of sterile surfaces. What looked like operating
theatres, stocked with complicated equipment, lined each side of
the corridor. Mulder shuddered as he passed, each doorway a
gaping mouth set to devour. At the very end of the hallway four
doors surrounded a nurse's station. Too late, Skinner spied a thatch
of blonde hair peeking above the tall counter.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The woman, dressed in nurse's whites with a stethoscope slung
around her neck, lunged to her feet while her index finger fumbled
for a black button on the counter. Skinner was at her side, gun
pressed just under her chin, as her finger hovered above the alarm.

"Take it easy. We aren't going to hurt you," he said, apparently not
realizing his statement was incongruous with his appearance.

Up close, bands of gray streaked her hair, and her demeanor
remained self-assured though indignant. "This is a private facility,
you can't just waltz in here and..."

"Where is Dana Scully?"

At Mulder's question, uttered in a low growl, her tirade broke off
midstream and her lips clamped tightly together.

"Mulder. Room 3."

Four numbered monitors lined the desktop beneath the counter but
only the third was turned on. Skinner gestured to the grainy, black
and white image of a figure huddled on a hospital bed.

Mulder bolted around the desk, snatching the card key from
Skinner as his eyes searched frantically for the correct room. When
he reached the door, time seemed to hitch and slide into slow
motion. He vaguely registered Skinner's gruff instructions to the
nurse, the hum of a heater kicking on, and the thumping of his own
heart as he slid the card through the reader and pushed the door
cautiously open.

The red flame of her hair, spilled across the pillow, drew his eyes
and stole the moisture from his mouth. He swallowed, throat
clicking, and stumbled across the room on wooden legs. Scully's
cheek looked gaunt and as pale as the pillow beneath it, her mouth
twisted into a frown. One thin, blue-veined hand lay curled beneath
her chin, the other wrapped tightly around her cross. Mulder
sucked in a gulp of air like a sob. One trembling finger traced a
lock of hair as it fell across her brow, then stroked a gossamer
touch down the back of a hand.

"Scully? Scully, it's me, wake up."

When she didn't move, not even a catch in the steady rhythm of her
respiration, Mulder felt panic rise in the back of his throat.

"Scully? Scully, you've got to help me get you out of here! Wake
up!"

Vague images of being on the receiving end of such an exhortation
flickered through his brain. What did Scully do when she needed to
jolt him back to consciousness? Inspiration struck. He pinched her
soft earlobe ruthlessly between his fingers, grimacing.

Scully moaned and tried to retreat, one hand batting feebly at his
arm and her eyelids fluttering.

"Scully! Open your eyes, babe, you can do it." Mulder hated the
tears in his voice almost as much as his feeling of helplessness
when she merely mumbled unintelligibly and sank back into sleep.

"We need to get out of here."

Skinner's voice at his shoulder nearly wrenched a scream from
Mulder's throat. Evidently the man hadn't lost the art of moving on
cat feet.

"Something's wrong, I can't get her to wake up. I think they
drugged her."

Skinner's thumb gently pried open one of Scully's eyelids. An
abnormally large pupil confirmed Mulder's diagnosis. Casting a
nervous glance at the camera over his shoulder, Skinner slipped an
arm beneath Scully's shoulders and hefted her upright.

"I'll carry her."

Scully's head flopped bonelessly and something twisted in
Mulder's gut.

"NO! I can..."

"Mulder, you'll be lucky to make it back to the car without the
addition of over a hundred pounds dead weight," Skinner snapped.
At the sight of his agent's anguished face, he sighed. "It's not as if
she'll notice who's got her, Mulder. I'll take good care of her, I
promise."

Mulder watched him carefully hoist Scully over his shoulder in a
fireman's carry. "Krycek, Grey, we've got her. On our way out," he
said quietly.

"Already in position." Grey's voice calmed his jangling nerves.

"Better hurry." Krycek. "Failsafe's going to kick in any minute."

"Understood." Mulder followed Skinner past the nurses' station
toward the glass doors. "What did you do with the nurse?"

"Cuffed, gagged, and locked in a utility closet," Skinner said
curtly. "Keep your eyes open and your gun..."

The shrill peal of an alarm bell cut short the rest. Skinner slipped
his own weapon from the small of his back and broke into a run,
Mulder puffing at his heels.

They slowed at the T-junction, eyes and ears sharply attuned for
trouble. Skinner started forward, only to slam back into Mulder as
a bullet whizzed past his shoulder and lodged in the cinderblock
wall.

"Step out with your hands up," a deep voice ordered. "Don't try
anything funny or I'll shoot."

Skinner cursed softly under his breath between gulps of air. He
looked longingly toward the exit at the end of the hall, then at
Mulder.

"On the count of three," Mulder said. "Don't worry about me, just
keep going. I'll be right behind you."

Skinner hesitated. Tightening his grip around Scully's legs, he
nodded. Mulder pressed his back to the wall, gun lifted in front of
his face.

"One. Two. Three!"

As Mulder stepped into the open and dropped to a crouch, firing
rapidly, Skinner dashed across. He kept his body turned to shield
Scully from gunfire as much as possible, flinching as a bullet
whined past his ear. Halfway there the door swung wide and he
saw Krycek beckoning furiously for him to hurry.

The night air hit him like a slap in the face, drying the perspiration
that ran down his cheeks and dripped in his eyes. He spun around,
panting heavily, just as Grey yelled his brother's name and sprinted
back *into* the building.

"Go, go, go!" Krycek barked, pointing to the hills.

Skinner shifted Scully's limp form, cast a quick glance at the
doorway, and set off at a jog. Scaling the incline was a nightmare -
- Scully's weight threw him off balance and he couldn't watch his
footing. Twice he stumbled and nearly dropped her, gashing one
knee on a rock and giving his ankle a painful twist.

He tried to ignore the confusion that erupted from the receiver in
his ear -- Grey babbling reassurances, Krycek snapping orders, and
Mulder oddly silent. Once past the summit he found a dip in the
terrain and gently lowered Scully to the ground before collapsing,
lungs straining for air and muscles quivering with fatigue.

He was so preoccupied with ensuring Scully's comfort he nearly
missed the three figures that staggered over the rise about fifty
yards from his position.

"Over here, head east," he said, grateful for the ability to
communicate without shouting.

When they drew closer he could see that Mulder, though walking
on his own power, leaned heavily on his brother.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Mulder knelt beside Scully. His good hand, which had been
clutching his shoulder, brushed her forehead.

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine. What about you?" Skinner persisted, exasperation
creeping into his voice.

"I'm fine. Bullet just grazed my shoulder," Mulder replied absently.

Grey huffed. "You're bleeding like a stuck pig, Fox. We need to
get a bandage on it."

"Whatever you're going to do, make it fast," Krycek said. "If they
get to our car before we do it's all over."

"Stop being such a softie, Krycek," Grey jibed. "Your concern is
getting me all choked up."

"Somebody's got to stay in touch with reality," Krycek growled,
but he pulled a bottle of water from his pack and offered it to
Mulder.

"He's right." Mulder's eyes never left Scully's face as Grey
wrapped gauze over the wound without bothering to cut away his
sweater. "We've come this far. I won't lose Scully now."

"We won't." Skinner watched Mulder finger an auburn curl, a
muscle along his jaw twitching. "That little operation has just been
shut down. Permanently."

Georgetown Memorial
Sunday, April 2
6:17 a.m.

Scully allowed herself to drift toward consciousness, no longer
compelled by fear to rush the process. She knew she was safe,
though her memory was as blurred and confused as if she were
looking through frosted glass. Vague recollections of waking while
slung over someone's shoulder, blood pounding in her head as she
swayed dizzily back and forth. The steady hum of an engine and
the reassuring warmth of Mulder's arms. Bright lights, strange
voices, and the paralyzing fear she was back in the testing place.
Mulder's voice, the sound finally forming into meaningful words,
telling her she was safe.

The soft scrape of a chair leg and the rustle of clothing coaxed her
to work harder at opening heavy eyelids. The figure at her bedside
leaned forward -- dark hair, hazel eyes, and a wide grin. Scully
blinked and her answering smile faltered.

"Hey, darlin'. I know I'm not exactly what you were expecting, but
you could at least try to hide it."

"Sorry." She grimaced at the froggy croak and reached for the
pitcher on the tray table.

Grey beat her to it, filling a cup and steadying it in her shaky hand.
Scully drank slowly, studying him over the rim.

"Stitches," he volunteered before she could ask. "He's in another
treatment room down the hall. Once the doctor convinced him you
were just sedated and not likely to go into cardiac arrest, he let a
nurse talk him into having his arm stitched up. Provided I plant my
butt in this chair and swear not to take my eyes off you, of course."

She couldn't help grinning at that. "Of course." Her eyes narrowed.
"Why stitches? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. There was a minor complication as we were getting you
out of that building. A bullet grazed his shoulder but it's nothing
serious."

"A minor complication? Nothing serious? You two certainly speak
the same language," Scully said dryly. "How is he -- really?"

Grey braced his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his
chin. "There's a lot you don't know, things that directly relate to
Fox's behavior before you were taken. He..."

"Was drugged." At Grey's dropped jaw she smiled grimly.
"Spender likes to expound on his role as the omnipotent
orchestrator of our fate. He took great delight in describing just
how he set Mulder up for my murder. I think he was trying to
break my spirit." She huffed a little. "He was doing a pretty good
job."

"From this end too. Fox was starting to believe he'd fugued out and
stabbed you with one of his kitchen knives."

Scully closed her eyes and shook her head. "My God. I'd hoped
Spender was bluffing."

"Between the drug, the alleged gaps in his memory, and a bloody
knife planted in his refrigerator, Fox was pretty confused.
Fortunately, their little plan backfired when the police took him
into custody. His symptoms started looking a little too much like
narcotic withdrawal, and a blood test confirmed it."

"And you brought him with you on a dangerous rescue attempt?"
Scully's voice rose and her eyebrows plunged.

Grey held up his hands. "Now you sound just like Krycek. He was
completely against letting Fox..."

"*Alex Krycek?* You took Alex 'I'd sell my own mother if I
thought it would benefit me' Krycek with you?" she screeched.
"Are you crazy?"

"Well, actually we didn't take him with us. He led the way," Grey
admitted.

Scully stared at him, then let her head thump down onto the pillow.
"I get abducted and everyone loses touch with reality," she
muttered.

"Hey, you're here, aren't you?" Grey pointed out in an aggrieved
tone of voice. He placed his hand over hers. "How are *you*,
Dana?"

Now there was a question she really didn't care to answer. "I'm
fine, Grey. Just a little tired."

The curtain rattled and whooshed aside. "Okay, you're off the
hook. You can..."

Mulder's words trailed off as his eyes locked onto Scully's. Her lips
curved upward, his following suit just a heartbeat later. Grey
glanced back and forth between their faces and cleared his throat.

"I can't hear myself think over all this nonverbal communication.
I'll be down the hall at the pay phone, calling Kristen."

Scully held out her hand, her gaze sweeping over Mulder from
head to toe as she unconsciously took inventory. He dropped into
the chair Grey vacated, the left side of his body abnormally stiff,
and laced his fingers with hers.

"How many?"

"Hmm?" Mulder's dazed contemplation of her face turned into a
squint. "How many what?"

Scully indicated his arm with a tilt of her head. "What's the
damage, Rambo?"

"Very funny. Only six, and I probably could've gotten by with a
few butterfly bandages."

"Uh-huh. I'll bet. Mulder, it's completely beyond my understanding
how you could trust someone like Alex Krycek..."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! First of all, who says I trusted
him?" Mulder objected. "I accepted the information he offered --
information that made it possible for us to be having this
conversation right now. I did not trust him, Scully. I *used* him."

Scully pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "Really? Where is
he right now?"

Mulder jerked his eyes from hers, his face flushing. "All right, so
he gave us the slip once we got here. Happy now?"

"No." Scully tightened her grip on his fingers but left the steel in
her voice. "It was a terrible risk, Mulder. If it had been a trap, if
Krycek was lying..."

"Scully, you're here!" Mulder caught himself before continuing,
gentling the anger from his tone. "You're alive -- a little
dehydrated, a few drugs swimming around in your veins, but
essentially intact. It was a risk I had to take and I..." He sighed. "I
really don't want to talk about Krycek. Okay?"

She sucked in a long, slow draught of air. Mulder's haggard face
and her own weariness conspired against her. "Okay. For now."
Taking pity on him, she added, "So when are you going to spring
me?"

The lines in his face magically smoothed. "Soon as the I.V. runs
out. They couldn't find anything really wrong with you. You're a
little dehydrated and that was a pretty powerful sedative you'd
been given."

"Easier to drug me insensible than put up with my constant
attempts to escape or drive them crazy trying," Scully said, pulling
her eyes from his face and staring out the window.

"Scully..."

"Don't ask me now, Mulder. Please."

In her peripheral vision she saw him stiffen, heard the breath rasp
more harshly in his chest. *He's angry* part of her brain observed
regretfully, while the other part snapped, *I have to deal with this
in my own way, not his.*

"Scully, I know I don't understand what the past few days have
been like for you. And I know after the way I've acted the last few
weeks that I have no right to ask you this. But let me help you.
Don't shut me out."

She let her eyes slip shut and tried to calm a volatile mixture of
emotions. When she could finally bring herself to look at Mulder's
face his frustration was veiled by worry.

"Mulder, I know I need to talk about this. I just need a chance to
gain a little distance. When I do, I'll need to be someplace where I
feel safe, not surrounded by reminders of what they did. And I'll
need to feel your arms around me." She mustered a weak smile.
"Think you can handle that?"

"Yeah." The tenderness in his voice chipped at her fragile control.
"I can handle that."

"So, once the doctor is convinced I'm re-hydrated and coherent
he'll release me?" Scully plunged on.

"Yes. And speaking of someone who'd like to seriously impact
*my* level of coherency, I called your brother and your mom.
They'll stop by your place later this morning."

"Thanks. It'll be good to be home."

"Yeah." His fingers fidgeted with hers, stroking the back of her
hand one moment, brushing the palm the next. "Of course, it's
technically still a crime scene but I think Skinner's working on
that. Still, it'll probably be a mess considering the fact that both the
police and the Bureau searched it for evidence of your
whereabouts."

"Mulder?"

"Fortunately, you were never officially dead, so at least you won't
be saddled with all *that* red tape. It's no picnic, let me tell you.
I've been through it twice and I can honestly say..."

"Mulder!" She sat up, mindful of the I.V., and laid her hand on his
cheek. "You're acting like a kid on his first date. What's going on?"

He gave her a deer in the headlights look, gnawing on his lip, then
placed his hand over hers. "Scully, I..." His eyes panned around the
room and outside to the lone occupant of the nurses' station. "I
have something to say to you, but it isn't easy for me."

She nodded, her brow furrowed, and dropped her hand. "All right."

Mulder stood and paced to the far wall before abruptly returning to
perch on the bed. "I've done some thinking over the last few days.
Some of it may have been a little incoherent," he said with a
grimace, "but most of it occurred while I was straight. And I've
come to a decision."

Butterflies materialized in her stomach. Between his previous
display of nerves and the way he was studiously avoiding her eyes,
Scully was certain she didn't want to hear this decision. Who knew
what crazy ideas he'd talked himself into after the last few weeks?

"I know you're going to think this is an overreaction to what we've
just been through," Mulder continued as if reading her thoughts.
"And on some level I suppose it is. But I don't think that
invalidates the essential truth behind my decision and I hope... I
hope when you really consider it, you'll agree with me."

"Go on."

"Scully, I don't think we should just move in together."

*So this is what it means to be blindsided,* Scully thought,
stunned.

She'd expected cold feet. She'd foreseen guilt and the inevitable
push as he tried to distance himself "for her own good" -- that was
part of the reason she dreaded telling him about her ordeal. She'd
been prepared to argue, cajole, reason, and kick butt.

What she'd never expected was the finality to his tone, the
determination in the set of his shoulders, or the steel in his eyes
when they finally returned to her face.

Or the pain that settled in her chest like a jagged stone.

"I told you I would never push you into something you aren't ready
for, Mulder. I meant it." Scully managed to keep her expression
neutral but cursed the slight tremor in her voice.

Mulder's lips parted and his forehead creased. When the epiphany
struck, his eyes widened and his fingers scrambled to reconnect
with hers.

"Scully, no! That's not what I meant! Shit!" He chuckled, the
sound nervous and horrified. "I was trying to say I don't want to
*just* be roommates. That might have been enough for me once,
but it isn't anymore. I want you to be my wife, Scully. I want you
to marry me."

Her heart swelled, dislodging the stone, and the sudden rush of
relief was dizzying. "What?"

"I know we'll never have what most people would consider a
normal life. And I'm not foolish enough to believe we can really
stop the car. But maybe we can slow it down a bit, Scully. Maybe
we can at least enjoy the view."

Scully blinked against the annoying tears that insisted on obscuring
his face. At least her voice cooperated. "Are you sure this is what
you want?"

Mulder's smile, beautiful and unrestrained, would have been
answer enough. "When we were in Key West, Rosa said that I was
allowing the fear of losing you to keep me from being with you. I
don't think I truly understood what she was trying to tell me until
now. When I had to accept the possibility of your death, I
realized..." The words caught in his throat and he pressed her hand
to his lips as he struggled against his own tears. "Scully, I realized
that I was more afraid of a life filled with regrets than the pain of
letting you all the way in and then losing you. This is what I want.
Please, say yes."

"Yes, Mulder. I'll marry you."

The smile turned into a goofy grin. "Yeah?"

Scully nodded, gasping when he hooked his hand behind her neck
and pulled her lips to his in a bruising kiss. When Mulder started to
break away, however, she dug her fingers into his sweater and
tugged, coaxing him into a more leisurely celebration. She'd
forgotten her I.V. and the nurse across the hall, and was well on the
way to even overlooking that they were in a hospital when a soft
beep helped Scully regain her senses.

Mulder's lips chased hers for a moment before he gave up with a
soft groan of frustration.

"I.V.'s run out, love," she said, pointing over her shoulder. "How
about you find the doctor so we can go home?"

"Yeah. Home sounds good."

Scully chuckled at the befuddled expression that came over his
face whenever his brain was short-circuited by certain southern
portions of his anatomy. Knowing the nurse would be less than
pleased, she peeled away the tape anchoring the I.V. needle and
removed it, using a tissue to staunch the flow of blood. She shifted
her legs off the side of the bed, mindful of the hospital gown, and
let them dangle for a moment before standing cautiously. The
initial dizziness passed quickly and she reached for the pile of her
clothing on a nearby chair and tugged the curtain shut for privacy.

She was fumbling with the gown's stubborn tie when her fingers
brushed the tiny scar at the base of her neck. The strings dropped
from frozen fingers and her heart pounded wildly. The pads of her
fingers probed the puckered skin once, then again and again as her
whole body broke out in gooseflesh.

She was still frantically examining the patch of skin when
Mulder returned.

"Doc's tied up with another patient, he'll be here as soon as he's
done. Scully?" Wide, terrified blue eyes, and his stomach did a
slow roll. "What's wrong?"

"The chip, Mulder. It isn't there."

He stepped close, his large hand gently moving her smaller one
aside. Scully pressed her trembling lips tightly together and
dropped her head. His fingers carefully traced the skin before he
silently pulled her shivering body into a fierce embrace.

Scully buried her face in his shoulder. "Why, Mulder? Why did
they take it out? Do they mean for me to die? Or did they replace it
with something I can't even begin to envision?"

Mulder pressed a kiss to her brow and stroked his fingers through
her hair. "I don't know, Scully. Krycek said something about them
keeping you for long term observation. Maybe that smoking
bastard wasn't lying when he told you he had the Holy Grail.
Maybe he's given you his miracle cure."

Scully knotted her fists into the back of sweater. "I want to believe,
Mulder."

He rested his chin on the crown of her head, voice thick. "Me too,
babe. Me too."

Epilogue

Location Unknown
Sunday, April 2
6:46 p.m.

On the other side of the glass, twenty stories down, people went
about their tedious, every day lives in blessed ignorance. What to
cook for dinner, whether Johnny was going to pass trigonometry,
and could Bob really be fooling around with his pretty young
secretary -- petty, irrelevant concerns of a populace unwittingly
poised on the cusp of an apocalypse. Oblivious to those who'd
dedicated their lives to preserve the illusion.

He held the cigarette between wrinkled, yellowed fingers and
flicked the lighter, frowning at the tremors that plagued his hands.
He sucked in a long, satisfying hit of nicotine, mentally lifting his
middle finger to the doctors who insisted this indulgence was
shortening his life. His death, as his life, would be on his own
terms.

A perfunctory knock on the door and he didn't bother turning to
greet the newcomer.

"Everything taken care of?"

"All records, equipment, and personnel were cleared from the
facility well in advance of the Feds arrival."

He detected the insolence coloring the reply but chose to ignore it.
"And our favorite agents?"

"She was checked out at the hospital and released early this
morning. Mulder took her home."

He didn't respond, just took a long, slow puff on the cigarette in his
hand and watched the colored traffic lights blinking on the street
below. The shuffle of feet and deepening in respiration signaled
the other's irritation and he let his lips curl just a bit in amusement.
This one's temper would inevitably be his undoing.

"Was there anything else?"

Tired of the game and his opponent, he turned around.

"Not now. You did well, Alex. I'll be in touch."

Krycek pulled open the door. "You know, one of your security
goons actually hit Mulder. A few inches to the right and your
precious prime directive would've been violated."

Another slow puff. "Fox Mulder only values that which he must
suffer to obtain. Everything is proceeding according to plan, Alex.
Everything."

When Krycek was safely out the door he smiled.

The End

END NOTES: Well, if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed the
ride! As you can see, more will eventually follow. Many, many
thanks go to my wonderful and talented team of betas: Donna,
Vickie, Sally, Laurie, and Nikki. Thanks for hanging in there, gals.
It's been fun!