Blood Ties V: Legacies(1/3) 
By Dawn


Alexandria
Friday
6:30 p.m.


"And the crowd goes wild!" 
Bent over and panting with his hands braced on his knees, Mulder 
regarded Grey's victory dance with wry amusement. Straightening 
up, he used the bottom of his sweatshirt to swipe the perspiration 
from his face. 
"Didn't your mother ever give you the talk on being a poor 
winner?" he asked dryly. 
Grey favored him with a large grin, spinning the basketball 
expertly on the tip of his index finger. "How many times have I put 
up with losing to you? At last, my reputation has been vindicated!" 
"Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, slouching off the court. "I think this is 
what's known as 'dumb luck.'" 
"If you say so, little brother," Grey replied smugly as he fell into 
step with Mulder. "I prefer to think of it as a return to the natural 
order." 
"Speaking of nature," Mulder said, waggling his eyebrows. 
“What's up with Agent Harding?" 
"Nice segue," Grey snorted, shooting him a sharp look. 
"Thanks. You going to answer the question?" 
Grey sighed deeply and tipped his head back to gaze up into the 
darkened sky. The city lights obscured many of the stars, but a 
nearly full moon illuminated the clear November evening. Kate 
had loved the fall with the passion of a child -- raking piles of 
brightly colored leaves only to scatter them with a belly flop, 
carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, evenings sipping tea in 
front of the fireplace. 
"You aren't thinking of Kristen, are you?" Mulder asked quietly. 
Grey dribbled the basketball, the thwack, thwack of vinyl against 
pavement soothing to his suddenly restless spirit. 
"Kristen is terrific. She's beautiful, and smart, and fun to be with." 
"But...?" 
Grey caught the ball and tucked it up under his left arm, running 
the fingers of his right hand through his damp hair. "But when I'm 
with her... This is hard, Fox," he said abruptly, frustration written 
in the clench of his jaw. 
"I know. Take your time." 
Grey sucked in a long draught of air and blew it out slowly. "I 
thought I was over the hard part, that I'd weathered the worst of the 
pain from losing Kate. But dating Kristen -- it's like someone 
sharpened the knife. I'll be with her, having a great time, and then 
-- God, it sounds so cold, but I find myself comparing her to Kate 
and..." 
"And she doesn't measure up," Mulder finished gently. "Try not to 
beat yourself up over it, Grey, it's a completely normal reaction. 
Grief is a process, you can't rush it no matter how much you might 
like to." 
"It's not fair to Kristen, though," Grey pointed out, shoulders 
hunched guiltily. "I've considered breaking things off, telling her I 
can't see her any more, but..." 
"But?" 
Grey closed his eyes briefly, then turned to gaze at his brother. 
"But I've been so damn lonely. And in spite of everything else, it 
feels good to have someone in my life again." He shook his head 
ruefully. "Pretty selfish, huh?" 
"Depends. Have you talked to Kristen about what you've been 
feeling?" Mulder asked carefully. 
"Yeah, I've been up front from the beginning. She knows all about 
Kate and she's been really understanding. Like I said, she's 
terrific." 
Mulder shrugged. "Then I think you need to stop feeling guilty and 
do the best you can to move forward -- whether that ultimately 
means with Kristen or with someone else. You know, it isn't a 
crime to be happy with someone who's not the least bit like Kate, 
Grey." 
Grey's smile was pale but genuine. "Yeah, I know it's not a crime. 
It's just difficult to accept. Can you honestly picture yourself with 
anyone other than Dana?" 
A kaleidoscope of images cascaded through his mind, melting 
from one to the next. Phoebe Green, Bambi Berenbaum, Kristen 
Kilar, Diana Fowley -- attractions that at best could be described as 
empty, at worst painful. All insignificant sparks eclipsed by the 
supernova that was his Scully. 
"No," he admitted softly. "I guess I can't."

Grey's gaze softened. "I had what you have, Fox. Once you've 
experienced it, you don't want to settle for less." 
They arrived at Mulder's building and he fumbled his keys from 
the pocket of his sweats. He started to slip one into the lock, but 
paused. "What Scully and I have didn't happen overnight, Grey. 
Give it a chance." 
The tickle in the back of his throat hit just as the elevator doors 
closed. Mulder braced one hand on the wall and surrendered 
helplessly to the wave of dry, hacking coughs. They abated a bit by 
the time the elevator reached his floor, though sporadically one 
would sneak past his defenses. 
"You all right?" Grey asked, concerned. 
"I'm fine," Mulder assured him, blinking tears back. "It's just the 
tail end of a cold that I can't seem to shake." 
"Maybe we shouldn't have been shooting hoops like that, it is 
pretty chilly out there," Grey persisted, still frowning. 
"I said I'm fine. Really. I've already got Scully on my back about 
this, I don't need you too," Mulder replied impatiently. He twirled 
the keyring on his finger. "That is, unless you'd like to concede that 
the only reason you beat me tonight was because I'm still under the 
weather..." 
"Nice try, little brother." 
Mulder opened the apartment door, emitting a waft of warm air 
and a delicious smell. Scully stood at the stove, stirring the 
contents of a large pot which seemed to be the origin of the mouth-
watering odor. Casually clad in jeans and a pale blue sweater, she 
tucked a strand of copper hair behind one ear and flashed them a 
welcoming smile. 
"'Bout time, you two. That must have been some game." 
Mulder glared at his brother and held up a warning finger. "Don't 
say it." 
Grey's eyes widened and he pressed one palm to his heart. "Me? 
Joke about the fact that not only did I beat you, but by six points? 
It never entered my mind, Fox." 
"You are so not funny," Mulder grumbled, but any further response 
was cut off by another series of coughs. 
Scully's eyes narrowed and she set down the spoon and walked 
over. "Mulderrr." 
"It just started!" he said defensively, holding up both hands as if to 
ward her off. 
Scully contented herself with folding her arms and glaring. Mulder 
squirmed under the force of her gaze. 
"Sculleee! I swear, I was fine until I came back inside. It was just 
triggered by the switch from cold to warm air, I'll be fine in a 
minute." His protest was unconvincingly punctuated by another 
cough. 
"He's right, Dana, he didn't cough while we were playing," Grey 
spoke up when Scully looked less than satisfied. 
She pursed her lips. "Fine. But if this thing hangs on much longer 
Mulder, you *will* see a doctor. You've been nursing this cold for 
a month." 
"It's a deal. Now get back there and finish my dinner, woman!" 
Mulder returned, pasting on a look of mock severity. 
"Watch it, Mulder. That wasn't funny the first time," she warned, 
but resumed her stirring. 
"Smells delicious, Dana. What is it?" Grey asked curiously. 
"Irish stew. My mother sent it. She knows it's one of the few ways 
to get Mulder to consume vegetables. With all the gravy, he doesn't 
really notice he's eating them." 
"Ha, ha." Mulder growled. 
"Well as the victor, I'm claiming the first shower," Grey 
announced, ignoring his brother's rolled eyes. "Be out in a few." 
When he'd ducked out of sight around the corner, Mulder moved to 
stand behind Scully, slipping his arms around her waist and 
leaning his chin on the top of her head. With a soft puff of air she 
leaned back into his embrace. 
"It does smell wonderful, babe," he said, tilting his head to press a 
kiss to her temple. "Thanks for sharing." 
Scully turned her own head to return the kiss on his lips. "I wasn't 
kidding, Mulder. She makes this for you, not me. My mother has 
made it her mission in life to help take care of you ever since..." 
She faltered, then resumed cheerfully. "Anyway, what's mine is 
yours -- within reason." 
Mulder grinned and pulled her soft body closer to his own. "Same 
here, Scully. I'd be glad to give you anything I've got," he said in 
the husky voice he knew drove her crazy. 
Her lips quirked. "Later, Mulder." Realizing she had the perfect 
introduction for a topic that weighed heavily on her mind, Scully 
plunged ahead. "Mulder, I noticed that your lease is coming due." 
She didn't need to see his face; his entire body became rigid. Hurt 
vied with annoyance and Scully struggled to smother them both. 
"Yeah, next month," he said woodenly. 
Scully lowered the flame on the burner and turned in his arms. Just 
as she'd expected, his face was studiously blank. Times like these 
she wondered what she was doing with this man whose mercurial 
moods could shift in the blink of an eye. One moment he would 
offer her his heart on a silver platter, the next, guard it as jealously 
as a miser hoards his gold. Mulder was the first person to admit 
that he carried a fair amount of baggage, and at times Scully found 
the load almost unbearably heavy. 
"I thought we'd discussed a more permanent solution to the living 
arrangements," she said quietly. "It seems crazy to pay double rent 
when we're essentially living together." 
Mulder shrugged, his eyes skimming hers but never quite meeting 
them. "I know what you're saying, Scully. I just don't think we 
should rush into anything. Anyway, I'm not sure all our stuff would 
fit into your place." 
*Patience. Remember who you're talking to. The man has been 
either emotionally or physically abandoned by everyone he's cared 
about.* 
Scully reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. "Mulder, we don't 
have to live in my apartment. We can find someplace that belongs 
to both of us. I don't really care where we live, as long as we're 
together." 
Mulder pressed his own hand over hers, closing his eyes and 
swallowing hard. When he opened them, she was stricken to see 
fear mingling with love in the hazel depths. 
"I want that too, Scully," he murmured. "I just need a little time to 
get used to the idea." 
With a soft exhalation of resignation, Scully slipped her arms 
around his waist and leaned her cheek against his chest. The 
sweatshirt was soft under her cheek, the faint smell of his sweat 
mixed with the residue of his cologne oddly comforting. 
"Take all the time you need, love. Just don't shut me out." 
Mulder's answer, another kiss pressed to her forehead, was 
followed by Grey's reappearance in the kitchen doorway. 
"Shower's free." 
"Go," Scully urged, sending Mulder an unspoken look of 
reassurance when he gazed uncertainly into her eyes. "Dinner will 
be ready in five minutes so make it fast." 
He touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute before 
squeezing past Grey, who was lounging against the doorframe. 
"Can I help, Dana?" 
Scully smiled warmly. "You could pour our drinks. I'll have water 
and I'm sure Mulder will want iced tea." 
Another series of barking coughs erupted from the direction of the 
bedroom and Grey watched Scully tense. Pulling three glasses out 
of the cupboard he crossed to the freezer for ice. 
"You're worried about Fox's cough," he observed. 
Scully pursed her lips and somewhat reluctantly nodded. "Not 
specifically the cough. His health in general, I guess." 
"Why? What's going on?" 
Scully hesitated, casting a guilty look at the doorway before 
answering. "It's hard to put a label to it. He never really bounced 
back after his injuries from Cole. He's had one illness after 
another." 
"Well, it *is* the cold and flu season now," Grey remarked. 
"Yes, but Mulder is normally disgustingly healthy. And it's more 
than that. His energy level is all wrong. You know what an 
insomniac the man is, but lately he's just the opposite. He's conked 
out on the couch after dinner on more nights than I can count, and I 
still have to practically drag him out of bed in the morning." 
Grey studied Scully's troubled face. "You've confronted him about 
this?" 
Scully snorted and rolled her eyes. "You saw him just now. He 
refuses to acknowledge even the possibility that something could 
be wrong. We've had more than one discussion turn into a fight 
about this. He claims it's just job stress and he needs a vacation." 
"Maybe he's right. Maybe some time off would take care of 
everything," Grey replied reasonably. "I'll agree, he looks a little 
tired. But you have to admit, Dana, that as a doctor you may be 
more apt to suspect the worst." 
Scully sighed, then managed a little grin. "I'm not used to the voice 
of reason coming from a Mulder. Thanks for providing a sounding 
board. Mulder and I have both put in for vacation time over 
Thanksgiving. I hope it will do the trick." 
She peered into the pot and glanced at the clock, frowning. "This is 
ready and I still haven't heard the shower. Would you please find 
out what he's up to?" 
She chuckled quietly to herself as Grey left the kitchen, muttering 
good-naturedly about being his brother's keeper. She extracted 
three bowls from the cupboard and lined them up on the counter, 
using a ladle to fill the first with some stew. She was just filling the 
third when Grey returned, his expression troubled. 
"What's the matter? Is he almost ready?" Scully asked, brow 
creasing in confusion. 
"Umm. I'm not sure what you want me to do. Come see for 
yourself," Grey replied uneasily. 
Fine tendrils of dread twisted in Scully's stomach as she followed 
Grey out of the kitchen to the bedroom. The sight that met her eyes 
did nothing to ease her disquiet. 
Mulder lay sprawled on the bed, sound asleep and oblivious to the 
illumination flooding the room from several lamps. It appeared 
he'd been in the process of stripping for his shower -- his shirt 
tossed carelessly on the floor and both running shoes lying beside 
his feet where his legs folded over the end of the bed. Face slack 
with slumber, his breathing deep and even, he didn't twitch when 
Scully walked over to lay the back of her hand against his 
forehead. 
"I noticed he felt a little warm when I touched him earlier, but I 
didn't mention it," she murmured. She grimaced. "It didn't seem 
worth a fight." 
"Should we just let him sleep?" 
Scully nodded, pulling an afghan from the back of a chair and 
covering Mulder's bare torso, gently tucking his arms underneath. 
Mulder mumbled something unintelligible, then quieted when she 
stroked his cheek. After turning off two of the three lights she 
slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. 
Grey had collected his bowl and glass and seated himself at the 
kitchen table. She joined him, but found her appetite had deserted 
her. Grey watched her stare blankly at her stew for several minutes 
before speaking. 
"Would you like me to put his in the oven?" 
Scully shook her head, dismayed to find she was precariously close 
to tears. "I'll just cover it up and he can nuke it. I'll wake him in an 
hour if he doesn't surface on his own. He needs to eat." 
Grey detected the tremor in her voice and reached out to lay his 
hand over hers. "Dana, don't make more of this than it is. He's been 
under the weather and I probably just wore him out playing ball. 
I'll talk to him tomorrow, see if I can convince him to get checked 
out." 
Scully blinked rapidly, then managed a real smile. "Thanks, Grey. 
I'd appreciate that." 
Grey held up a hand. "Hey, I didn't say he'd *listen*! But I'll give it 
my best shot. In the meantime, you need to eat too, darlin'." 
Spirits a little lighter, Scully picked up her spoon. But the stew 
tasted like sand, and the little voice in the back of her mind refused 
to be silenced.


Alexandria
Friday
11:03 p.m.


Scully was a creature of habit. Mulder lay in bed, resisting the pull 
of sleep and watching the nightly routine with heavy lidded eyes. 
She completed each step in strict order -- use bathroom, don 
pajamas, wash face, brush teeth. Mulder noted with fascination that 
teeth never came before face, pajamas before bathroom. Crazy as it 
might sound, he found comfort in that small stability amidst the 
flux of his life. 
Scully pulled back the covers, letting in a brief puff of cold air 
before she climbed under and moved to snuggle up against his 
warm body. Not too warm, she observed -- the Tylenol she'd 
forced down him earlier must have done the trick. Mulder's right 
arm curled around her body to cup her shoulder while his other 
hand sifted lazily through the silky strands of her hair. The 
tightness in her chest loosened a bit further and she sighed 
contentedly. 
"Grey settled?" Mulder asked, his voice sounding as sleepy as his 
eyes. 
"Mmhm. I feel kind of sorry for him on that couch, though. If you 
had a little more space you could trade that thing in for a sofa bed -
- he visits often enough." 
The remark was meant innocently, but the muscles in his arm 
coiled in response. "More space, Scully? As in a different 
apartment?" 
Scully turned her head, propping her chin on his chest to glare at 
him in annoyance. "I said to take all the time you need, Mulder. It 
was just a simple observation -- no secret agenda." 
Mulder searched her face, then relaxed, a look of contrition 
replacing wariness. "Okay. I guess I know that," he admitted 
softly. Feeling awkward, he added, "I wouldn't worry about Grey, 
that couch is very comfortable. I used to sleep on it all the time." 
Still irritated, Scully didn't answer and the silence stretched long 
and empty between them. If not for the continuous movement of 
his fingers in her hair, Scully might have thought Mulder had 
fallen asleep. He finally spoke, his voice the carefully controlled 
monotone used to mask deep emotion. 
"After Sam's abduction, I think my parents wished I would just 
disappear. Maybe because they blamed me for allowing it to 
happen, maybe because seeing my face was too painful a reminder 
of what they'd lost -- hell, maybe because I drove them crazy by 
trying too hard to make up for what I perceived as my own 
failure." Mulder's chest lurched in a humorless laugh. "Whatever 
the reason, I think my father's favorite phrase became, 'Get the hell 
out of my face, Fox.'" 
Scully squeezed her eyes shut to stem the flood of tears and 
pressed her lips tightly together. Though she longed to blurt out 
words of comfort, she knew they would only succeed in shutting 
Mulder down. Instead she pulled his hand from her shoulder and 
laced her fingers with his. 
"I guess I was pretty vulnerable emotionally when I met Phoebe, 
and she didn't hesitate to take advantage. All I knew was that for 
the first time in about as long as I could remember, somebody paid 
attention when I walked into the room. I fell hard, and when she 
suggested that we move in together, I couldn't believe my luck. 
Unfortunately for me, Phoebe possessed a remarkably short 
attention span when it came to the men in her life. Six months later 
I was left holding a lease I couldn't afford and Phoebe had 
assuaged her boredom with Ian Thorne, her political science 
professor." 
Mulder sighed, gazing bemusedly at Scully's thumb as it traced 
hieroglyphics on the back of his hand. "Diana.." 
He broke off abruptly when Scully's soft body turned rigid in his 
arms. Cursing her involuntary reaction to the name, Scully forced 
herself to relax. 
"Go on," she urged, her voice as warm and comforting as a child's 
blanket. 
"When I met Diana, I was still in pieces from my stint in VICAP. I 
hadn't tumbled into the abyss, but by the time I quit, my toes were 
hanging so far over the edge I could barely retain my balance. 
Diana was the first person besides Reggie Perdue that didn't look at 
me as though I might start foaming at the mouth while spouting 
divine oracles. She was by my side when I opened the X-Files and 
she believed in the work." 
*And in you* Scully thought to herself. 
"It wasn't the wild ride I'd experienced with Phoebe, but in many 
ways it was better," Mulder continued. "Diana provided 
a...stability to my life that I desperately needed. I don't think either 
of us would have classified what we felt as love, but I never 
expected her to leave the way she did. One day we were sharing an 
office and a bed, the next she'd joined Anti-Terrorism and was 
packing her bags for Europe." 
"Did she tell you why?" Scully asked, curbing with difficulty the 
boiling fury his words inspired. 
Mulder shrugged, his face displaying only self-deprecation. "She 
said she couldn't continue as things were, that she needed a 
change." He snorted derisively. "It was her kind way of telling me 
she was tired of my shit." 
"Mulder..." 
"Are you sensing a pattern here, Scully? Do I really need to draw 
you a picture?" he interrupted sharply. "I have failed miserably at 
every significant relationship in my life. I don't want to screw this 
up!" 
Scully regarded him solemnly, reaching her free hand up to brush a 
lock of hair from eyes slate gray with misery. "You won't." 
Mulder's eyes, which had slipped shut at her touch, popped open in 
a fierce glare. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Scully. But you 
don't *know* that." 
Though her heart still ached from his revelation, Scully mustered a 
genuine smile. The full effect was only slightly marred by the 
quivering of her lower lip. "But I do. Mulder, you've been a major 
force in my life for six years. We've worked, played, laughed, 
cried, lost family members, gained family members, and faced 
death on more occasions than I care to admit. I've seen your shit, 
Mulder." Her smile widened to a grin. "And perhaps more 
importantly, you've seen mine. I'm not going anywhere, love. I'm 
right where I want to be." 
In one swift motion Mulder rolled her beneath his body, covering 
her lips in a passionate kiss. Chuckling, then moaning, Scully 
slipped her arms around his neck and her fingers into his hair. 
Mulder kissed her slowly and thoroughly, working his way along 
her jaw to the spot behind her ear that drove her crazy and then up 
to press his lips tenderly to her forehead before leaning his own 
against it. 
"I love you so much, Scully," he whispered, his voice drenched 
with the wonder of a man witnessing a miracle. "I've never felt this 
way about anyone. This is it for me, all I've ever wanted. Please 
don't let me ruin it." 
Scully swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling him into another 
kiss before tucking his head under her chin. "Not an option, 
Mulder," she husked, still running her fingers through his hair. "I 
can be pretty stubborn once I've made up my mind." 
He chuffed silent laughter that melded into a yawn. "Yeah. I've 
noticed, babe -- ow!" 
Scully smirked, releasing the hunk of hair she'd just pulled and 
resuming her gentle stroking. Mulder's fingers slipped under her 
pajama top to reciprocate on the soft skin of her stomach. 
"A place of our own could be nice," he mumbled. 
It was the closest thing to a concession she was going to get 
tonight. Scully pressed a kiss to the crown of his head but said 
nothing. Eventually his fingers faltered and his body grew heavier 
against hers as he slipped into slumber. Scully closed her eyes and 
willingly followed.


Alexandria
Saturday
8:30 a.m.


Grey listened to sharp, hacking coughs coupled with the hiss of the 
shower for several minutes before setting down the newspaper and 
moving into the kitchen. By the time he'd fixed a cup of coffee, 
Fox had emerged from the bathroom dressed in faded jeans and a 
heather gray tee shirt. As he handed over the mug, Grey noted 
uneasily that the color of the shirt only accentuated the pallor of his 
brother's skin. 
"Thanks. Where's Scully?" Fox asked, sinking onto the couch and 
filching the comics from the pile. 
"She had to run by her apartment for something. Said she'd be back 
in a few with some bagels." Grey chewed his lip a moment, then 
forged ahead when Mulder unsuccessfully attempted to smother a 
cough. "That doesn't sound good, Fox." 
Fox didn't look up from the Peanuts cartoon he was perusing. "It's 
just bad first thing in the morning. It'll slack off." 
"A month is a long time to be under the weather, little brother. 
Why don't you just go see a doctor and get checked out?" 
Fox looked up through narrowed eyes to study his face, then 
groaned. "No. Please. Not you too! Scully's been after you, hasn't 
she? She's turned you to the dark side." 
"That's not funny, Fox, she's worried about you," Grey 
admonished, but his lips twitched in amusement. 
"I know she is, but it isn't necessary. I had a bad cold and it's 
taking me a long time to kick it. Period. It's just a little cough, 
Scully is over-reacting." 
"Fox, you passed out on the bed at seven o'clock last night and we 
had to wake you up so you could eat! And in spite of that you were 
still out cold when Dana left this morning! You have to admit 
that's not exactly your style." 
"So I'm a little run down! I seem to remember you getting on my 
back because I didn't sleep enough, now I sleep too much!" Fox 
slapped the mug down on the coffee table and leaned back with his 
arms folded defensively across his chest. 
Grey curbed his own frustration and tried a different tack. "I don't 
get why this is such a big deal. Dana's worried. Is it too much to 
ask you to see a doctor just to ease her mind?" he asked 
reasonably. 
His brother heaved a longsuffering sigh and leaned forward, 
elbows propped on his knees and face buried in his hands. After a 
moment he looked up, and Grey was relieved to see the petulant 
expression missing. 
"No, it isn't too much. I just don't want to make something out of 
nothing," Fox replied. He took a deep breath, then blew it out. 
"Look, I'm just not used to dealing with other people's opinions 
when it comes to running my life. Mom and Dad checked out of 
the decision-making process right after Samantha's abduction and 
I've been on my own ever since. 
Grey nodded slowly, reflecting on his words. "Fox, how did you 
feel when Dana was sick? Didn't you want to be involved in her 
decisions?" 
He'd obviously poked an old wound. His brother's fingers curled 
into fists and he scowled. "But I wasn't. Scully refused to admit 
when she was tired or hurting. All she would tell me was that she 
was *fine*." 
More than one previously fuzzy conversation snapped into sharp 
focus but Grey concentrated on his current epiphany. "So ... what? 
You're going to give her a taste of her own medicine now? Is that 
it?" 
"No!" Fox protested, but Grey could see that he was shaken by the 
thought. "No, I love her, I would never deliberately..." 
"Maybe it's not deliberate, Fox, maybe you're not even aware 
you're doing it. But it would be understandable. It's not easy to 
hand the keys over to someone else -- believe me, I know! But 
sometimes it's part of loving them." 
Fox's gaze was searching. "Kate?" 
Grey licked his lips. "Yeah. In my case it was the reverse of what 
you're facing. It's all relative, all give and take. You've got to 
weigh the price for you against the benefit to the one you love. I 
finally realized that respecting Kate's wishes was the right thing to 
do. It cost me so little compared to what she gained." 
Fox closed his eyes, his steepled fingers tapping nervously across 
his lips. Grey knew he was thinking of Dana and the many times 
she'd supported him despite her own doubts. After a moment he 
opened them and cocked an eyebrow. 
"You should've been a lawyer," he growled. "You certainly know 
how to build a case." 
Gotcha! Grey crowed internally, but he merely stretched and 
regarded his brother gravely. "Nah. I don't like people interrupting 
me when I'm on a roll." 
"Very funny. I guess I could make an appointment to get checked 
out next week," Fox grumbled. "Happy now?" 
Grey favored him with a Cheshire cat grin. "Doesn't matter how 
*I* feel, little brother. What matters is that *Dana* will be happy." 
He waggled his eyebrows. 
Fox rolled his eyes and returned to the comics, ignoring Grey's 
jibe, but a slight curve at the corners of his mouth gave him away.


Alexandria
Saturday
6:20 p.m.


"Fox, have you seen my keys?" 
Mulder, seated at the computer reading his email and chuckling 
quietly to himself, looked up just in time to catch the flash of a 
blue oxford shirt as his brother disappeared into the kitchen. 
Before he could open his mouth to reply Grey was back, fingers 
absently fastening the buttons at his collar while his eyes roamed 
the living room. 
"Thought you left them in your jacket pocket," he remarked, lips 
curved in amusement as Grey darted to the wooden coatrack and 
began patting down the pockets of his tan jacket. With a small 
grunt of satisfaction he pulled out a keyring and, after a moment's 
hesitation, gripped it between his teeth and began using his freed 
hands to tuck the shirt into his pants while ducking into the 
bathroom. 
"What's with him?" Scully asked, tossing the medical journal she'd 
been reading onto the coffee table. 
"Hot date," Mulder smirked. When Scully narrowed her eyes he 
added, "He's running late. Kristen is expecting him in twenty-five 
minutes and he's never going to make it." 
"You shouldn't have kept him out so long, Mulder," Scully said 
reprovingly. "What were you two doing all afternoon?" 
Mulder shrugged, eyes darting between Scully and the computer. 
"Went to the gym, got sucked into a pick-up game." His eyes 
moved rapidly across the screen and he snickered again. 
"Mulder, *what* is so funny? You've been awfully entertained by 
that email." 
"It's from the Gunmen. Frohike sent me an article that claims talk 
shows are actually the encoded broadcasts of alien infiltrators." 
Scully pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, Jerry Springer always 
has given me the impression he doesn't belong on this planet," she 
mused. 
Mulder grinned, delighted by her response. "You watch Jerry 
Springer, Scully?" 
Grey's reappearance aborted her answer. With his shirt now neatly 
tucked into a pair of khaki pants and loafers on his feet, only his tie 
still hung askew, looped through his collar but unknotted. "I'm 
outta here," he announced, snatching his jacket from its hook. 
"You're going to freeze in that thing, you know," Mulder observed 
calmly, turning in his chair. "It's going to get into the thirties 
tonight." 
Grey shrugged. "Can't be helped. I always forget it can be colder 
up here. I'll be fine." 
Mulder sighed in resignation. "Take my leather jacket, it's right 
there. Scully and I aren't planning to go out anyway." 
Grey hesitated. "You sure?" 
"You're already taking my car, why not the clothes off my back?" 
"Well, when you put it *that* way..." 
Grey replaced his own jacket and snagged his brother's, spinning to 
head for the door. 
"Wait!" Scully called. 
When he turned back, raising a questioning eyebrow she got up 
from her seat on the couch and moved quickly over to stand in 
front of him. Taking hold of the tastefully understated tie (*didn't 
borrow this from Mulder* she reflected with a small smile) she 
deftly knotted it, smoothing the ends. After appraising him for a 
moment with a critical eye, Scully nodded in satisfaction. 
"Very nice." 
When she raised her eyes to his, the depth of his emotion surprised 
her. "It's been a long time since a pretty lady did that for me," he 
said quietly, leaning over to give her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, 
Dana." 
"My pleasure," Scully replied warmly. "Have a good time." 
"But not *too* good," Mulder chimed in, waggling his eyebrows. 
"We expect you to conduct yourself as a perfect gentleman at all 
times, son." 
"I'm from the South, little brother," Grey retorted, opening the 
door. "We invented the concept." 
Once the door closed Scully walked over to Mulder, already 
immersed in his email. She regarded him silently for a moment, 
then swung her leg over his and settled herself into his lap, facing 
him with her arms draped loosely around his neck and effectively 
blocking the screen. 
Mulder blinked, a wide smile spreading slowly across his face. 
"Hey, Scully." 
"Grey is taking Kristen to that nice little Italian place and then to a 
concert, Mulder," Scully said, schooling her expression to hide her 
smile. "What are we doing tonight?" 
Mulder bit the inside of his lip. "Pizza and a video?" 
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Six months, Mulder. It's barely 
been six months and the only plans you have for us on a Saturday 
night are carryout pizza and renting a video?" 
His smile turned decidedly lecherous. "'Course not, babe. I'm full 
of plans for us." 
Scully rolled her eyes. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?" 
Mulder just leaned his forehead against hers. "Some fettuccini 
Alfredo from Maggiano's? Maybe a bottle of wine, candles, and 
soft music?" 
Scully turned her head to nuzzle his cheek. "Good plan, Mulder. 
Very good plan."


En route to Bethesda
Saturday
6:45 p.m.


When the engine began to hiccup, Grey groaned aloud. If 
everything had proceeded according to plan, he'd be pulling up 
outside Kristen's townhouse right now, watching her open the door 
to reveal the smile that always made his heart speed up with 
conflicting emotions. Funny how even after all this time it was 
hard to shake the feeling he was cheating on Kate. Especially 
considering his certainty that Kate would have wanted this for him, 
encouraged him to find happiness with someone else. 
He'd never tell his brother, of course, but sometimes being around 
Fox and Dana provoked a near-physical pain. It hit him at odd 
times, the little things that more clearly than words testified to the 
devotion between them. The way his thumb lingered on her cheek 
when he tucked a strand of copper hair behind her ear. The 
blinding smile she never bestowed on anyone else. The joining of 
their eyes that managed to convey an almost embarrassing depth of 
intimacy without a single touch. Grey rejoiced at his brother's 
happiness even as he ached with the reminder of all he'd lost. In 
this, as in many ways, making Fox a part of his life was a 
bittersweet proposition. 
The car, sounding more and more like an asthmatic in the throes of 
an attack, gave a final, violent jolt and died. Cursing under his 
breath, Grey managed to coax the vehicle over to the side of the 
road before it glided to a standstill. Wishing he'd listened more 
closely all the times he'd watched his dad work on the car, Grey 
heaved the sigh of a martyr and pulled the lever to pop the hood. 
"This has got to be your fault, Fox," he muttered, shivering at the 
contrast between the warm car and the chill wind. "I'm not sure 
how, but it stands to reason." 
Traffic whizzed merrily past as Grey trudged to the front of the car 
and raised the hood. Naturally, he'd come to a halt about halfway 
between streetlights so that the engine was little more than a 
confusing mass of shadows in the near darkness. The wind kicked 
up a little and Grey flipped up the collar of the leather jacket, 
breathing on his cupped hands for a few moments before 
continuing his fruitless poking of the engine. 
He'd just decided to throw in the towel and walk to the nearest 
phone when a bright blaze of headlights spilled around the edges 
of the raised hood and he heard the distinct crunch of tires on 
gravel. Raising one hand in an attempt to shade his eyes from the 
glare, Grey peered into the headlights that were quickly 
extinguished a moment later. As his eyes struggled to adjust yet 
again to the altered lighting, Grey could just make out a single 
shadowy figure approaching at a leisurely pace. 
"Trouble?" The voice was soft, muffled by the intermittent drone 
of traffic. 
"Yeah." 
Grey bent back over the engine, watching the stranger carefully 
from the corner of his eye. The calm voice and relaxed manner 
gave no indication of threat, but it never hurt to be cautious. He 
thought longingly of the gun tucked into his duffel bag back at 
Fox's apartment, then told himself he was catching his brother's 
paranoia. 
"Can I take a look?" 
The stranger stopped when he drew abreast of the front tire, 
leaving Grey plenty of space. No more than a silhouette in the 
darkness, but roughly his own height and build, Grey noted. He 
was clad in black jeans and a black leather jacket, hands stuffed 
into the pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold. After only 
a moment's indecision Grey shrugged, stepping back and gesturing 
with a sweep of his hand. 
"Take your best shot." 
The man chuckled quietly and bent over the engine. Grey's tension 
eased at the show of faith. Whoever this Good Samaritan was, he 
trusted enough to turn his back on a stranger. Grey's gaze 
alternated between the man's back and his watch, wondering idly if 
Kristen would have begun to worry. 
"Here's your problem," the man said after a moment, beckoning 
with a tilt of his head. "Take a look." 
Grey stepped up and leaned over, squinting to make out what the 
stranger's finger indicated. "You lost this belt. See?" 
Grey snorted. "In this light? Not really." 
The stranger released a small puff of air that must have been a 
laugh. "Feel right here." 
Grey obligingly reached out, his fingers contacting the frayed ends 
of something. Before his brain could register the sensation, 
however, something sharp bit into the skin of his wrist. 
"OW! What the hell was that?" he cried, pulling his arm out as if it 
were on fire and tilting it to catch the light. A small drop of blood 
oozed over the pulse point. 
"You all..." The stranger had also straightened up, revealing green 
eyes and a slight smile. His words cut off abruptly and his eyes 
widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. "What the... You're not 
Mulder!" 
Grey opened his mouth to retort but a sudden wave of dizziness 
blurred the man's face to little more than a pale oval in the 
darkness. He staggered, grabbing onto the car with one hand 
and shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. 
"Whaddare you talkin' about?" he demanded, the words slurring on 
his suddenly thick tongue. "'M not Fox, 'm his brother." 
Forcing the words out only exacerbated his disorientation, and 
Grey's limbs began to feel leaden and disconnected from his body. 
Despite his iron grip on the car his knees buckled. Spitting out 
words in a foreign language that could only be curses, the man 
caught Grey by his jacket and hauled him upright. Unfortunately, 
supporting Grey's nearly dead weight proved to be a challenge. The 
stranger stumbled, flinging his right hand out to steady himself and 
tearing his black leather glove on something sharp in the process. 
He propped Grey against the car and scrutinizing his features. 
Grey struggled to keep his eyes open, the small corner of his brain 
not fogged with whatever drug he'd been given shrieking that he 
was in deep trouble. The man uttered a few more epithets in what 
sounded like Russian, then his lips twisted into a sardonic grin and 
he laughed. 
"Damn it, Mulder! You wind up causing me trouble without even 
trying!" 
"Who. Are. You." Sheer force of will kept him conscious - the 
words sticking in his mouth like peanut butter. 
The answering curve of the stranger's lips could hardly be called a 
smile. "I used to be your brother's partner," he said flatly, the 
words coming to Grey as if from the end of a dark tunnel. "You 
can call me Alex." 
Grey's eyes slipped shut and he slid into the darkness.


Location unknown
Saturday
8:17 p.m.


"Have a seat, Alex." 
Krycek shut the door and crossed to stand before the man seated 
in a plush armchair. "I'd rather stand," he replied insolently, the 
slouch in his body clearly conveying his disrespect. 
The speaker merely regarded him calmly with steel gray eyes, 
removing the cigarette from his lips and expelling a long puff of 
smoke. "Sit down." 
Though the decibel level didn't change, the implied threat was 
obvious. Gritting his teeth, Krycek sat stiffly in the proffered 
chair. 
"Would you care to explain to me why I sent you to fetch one 
Mulder and you came back with another?" the smoker asked 
conversationally. 
"I thought it *was* Mulder," Krycek growled. "I didn't realize it 
was his brother until I'd already drugged him, and by then it was 
too late." 
Another long pull on the cigarette and a leisurely exhale. "So you 
decided to add insult to injury and bring him here." 
Krycek lunged forward, the hand that was still able clenched into 
a fist. "Look, what do you want me to say? He came out of 
*Mulder's* apartment, got into *Mulder's* car - hell, he was even 
wearing *Mulder's* jacket! In the darkness he's a dead ringer for 
him. I had two choices - either dump him in the car and risk 
Mulder catching on to what happened or bring him here. You've 
had McKenzie under surveillance for nearly two months. Are you 
really going to tell me you didn't intend to test him sooner or 
later?" 
"According to *my* timetable, Krycek, not as a result of your 
bungled attempt to complete the required task," CSM replied 
coolly, his voice silk over steel. "The problem with Mulder 
remains unresolved, and time is of the essence. His brother could 
have waited." 
Krycek bared his teeth in the parody of a smile. "Maybe you can 
trade up." 
The smoker ignored his jibe. "How certain are you that no one saw 
you?" 
Krycek shrugged. "It *was* the side of a highway. But traffic was 
light and he did me the favor of not stopping under a streetlight. He 
was too surprised to put up a fight, and I'm reasonably certain no 
one saw me put him in the car." 
"You'll pardon me if I derive little comfort from your assurances," 
CSM remarked dryly. He leaned over and stubbed out the butt of 
his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. "See that he's settled in the blue 
room." 
Krycek felt the cold gaze follow him to the doorway, heard the 
snick of a lighter as the old man lit another Morely. His hand 
twitched with the desire to reach for the gun in the waistband of his 
jeans and end this charade of cooperation. With effort, he cooled 
his temper and common sense won out. Now was not the time, but 
eventually that day would come.


Alexandria
Saturday
7:30 p.m.


Scully followed the fragrance of garlic and oregano and the 
muffled sound of coughing into the kitchen. Mulder, just returned 
from picking up their dinner, had relegated to her the task of 
choosing some music and sent her into the living room. In the 
meantime, he'd transformed the kitchen table with candles and a 
rose. She stepped through the doorway just in time to catch him 
covering his mouth with the back of his arm in a vain attempt to 
stifle his hacking. 
"I told you I should be the one to get the food. That jacket wasn't 
warm enough and the last thing you need is another cold," Scully 
said disapprovingly. 
"Scully, I'm fine," Mulder snapped, but the words lost their punch 
when he dissolved into another round of coughing. 
"Sure. Fine. Whatever," Scully muttered, nudging him out of the 
way and opening the container of fettuccini. She closed her eyes 
and inhaled blissfully before spooning some onto a plate. 
Mulder tamped down on his own irritation and wrestled with the 
wine bottle, venting his feelings on the stubborn cork. "I'm going 
to the doctor on Tuesday, Scully. You can drop it now, you won." 
The wine bottle's cork blew at approximately the same time as 
Scully's. "What's that supposed to mean -- I've won?" 
The sensible voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was 
being insensitive, but Mulder ignored it. The annoying tickle in his 
chest and the accompanying ache that had begun sometime during 
the ill-fated pick-up game both attested to the validity of Scully's 
worry and sparked his temper. 
"Just what it sounds like! You've been on my back about a simple 
cough for the last two weeks until you finally wore me down. I 
made the damn appointment, the least you could do is give it a 
rest!" 
Stung by the acid in his words, Scully compressed her lips into a 
thin line. Defenses up, she spoke without stopping to consider the 
words. "In my family that's called caring, Mulder. Sorry if that's a 
foreign concept for you." 
The words sandbagged him, and for an instant Scully read the 
shock and hurt clearly in his eyes before he regained control. 
Mulder turned from her and opened a cupboard, emitting a 
sarcastic chuckle. "What are you saying, Scully? You mean you 
don't think the Mulders could have been poster material for a 
loving family?" 
He pulled down glasses and filled each halfway with the wine, his 
face expressionless. Only the slight quiver of the bottle betrayed 
his indifference. Scully closed her eyes and sighed. Her anger had 
ebbed the moment she realized she'd hurt him, leaving only 
resignation and remorse in its wake. Sometimes maintaining a 
relationship with Mulder was like whitewater rafting -- she felt 
swept along with only a modicum of control, treacherous rocks 
cropping up when least expected. 
"Mulder, I didn't mean it to come out like that," she said quietly, 
fixing her gaze on his stiff back. 
Mulder turned and extended a glass, but his manner remained 
guarded. "Sure you did, Scully. And we both know it's true," he 
replied, swirling the liquid in his own glass and studying it. "After 
all..." 
The phone rang, and Mulder set his wine on the counter, brushing
Scully's arm gently with his fingers as he moved past her to the 
living room. 
"Mulder. Hi, Kristen, what's up?" 
Scully leaned against the counter, idly sipping her drink and 
listening to Mulder's half of the conversation. 
"What? He's not there?" A brief pause. "He left here over an hour 
ago, he should have been to your place by seven." 
Alerted by the edge to his voice, Scully walked into the living 
room. One hand held the phone pressed to Mulder's ear, the other 
restlessly twisted the cord. 
"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation -- maybe he got held up 
in traffic or stopped off at a store for something." 
Though his tone remained generally calm and reassuring, Mulder's 
body language screamed worry. He chewed the inside of his lower 
lip as he listened to Kristen, fingers now drumming nervously on 
the desktop and his feet shifting back and forth. 
"No. You stay put. Scully and I will trace his path to your house 
and see if we run into him. We'll leave right now." He listened a 
moment, and Scully could faintly hear Kristen's rapid flow of 
speech on the other end of the line. "Try not to worry, I'm sure it's 
nothing. We'll see you soon." 
Mulder replaced the receiver in its cradle with exaggerated care 
and stood staring into space for several seconds before his gaze 
wandered to Scully. It was clear he was deeply disturbed but 
desperately trying not to show it. 
"Grey never picked up Kristen." Scully stated, moving closer but 
not touching him. 
"She's pretty worried. Can't figure out what could be keeping him."
Mulder ran his hand absently through his hair. "Neither can I." 
"Put a sweater on and we'll go," Scully said gently. 
Mulder nodded placidly and disappeared into the bedroom without 
arguing, clearly revealing just how troubled he was. Scully sighed 
and donned her own coat, promising herself that sooner or later the 
conflict in the kitchen would be revisited. When he returned clad in 
a navy v-neck sweater with his hand extended, she raised one 
eyebrow. 
"Keys?" he asked impatiently. 
"I'll drive. It is my car, after all, and the seat is already set so that 
my little feet can reach the pedals." 
She wasn't really angry, just a little irritated by his assumption that 
she should be the one to ride shotgun. The remark about her feet 
was meant as a joke, to lighten the mood, but seemed to achieve 
the opposite. Mulder's expression darkened and when he opened 
his mouth Scully braced herself for another battle. To her surprise 
his mouth snapped shut and he shrugged. 
"Suit yourself," he muttered, and reached for the door. 
Scully followed him down the hallway and into the elevator, 
attempting to gauge his mood. Contrary to her initial assessment, 
he didn't seem angry, just distracted. She slipped her arm through 
his and watched him come back to her. 
"You can drive if you'd like, Mulder. I really don't mind." 
Mulder turned eyes to hers that were soft with gratitude. "I just... I 
need to be *doing* something right now, Scully. If I have to just 
sit I think I might lose it." 
The elevator doors opened and she barely had time to press the 
keys into his palm before he was off again, his long legs eating up 
the ground at twice the rate of her own. Once behind the wheel he 
slid the key into the ignition, but paused. Scully read the odd look 
on his face and interpreted it correctly. 
"Mulder, it's probably nothing." 
Mulder took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then started the 
engine. Once on the road he hunched forward over the wheel, 
scanning the horizon with sharp eyes. Scully turned her own gaze 
to the shoulder, silently praying that she'd see Mulder's car pulled 
safely to the side of the road, perhaps with a flat tire. A line from a 
children's movie she'd once watched with her godson popped into 
her head and she chanted it over and over in her mind like a 
mantra. 
*Let no bad happen*. 
Halfway between Mulder's apartment and Bethesda, where Kristen 
lived, her eye caught a glint of metal off to the right. 
"Mulder, stop," she ordered quickly. 
Mulder reacted in knee-jerk fashion, swerving suddenly onto the 
shoulder and slamming on his brakes. A black Camaro, dissatisfied 
with his slower pace and riding his tail, roared past with the blast 
of a horn and the driver's upraised middle finger. Oblivious, 
Mulder pinned Scully with his eyes. 
"What is it? Did you see something?" 
Scully opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight. 
"Something. I'm just not sure what." 
She got out of the car and began walking back along the side of the 
road, training the beam of light down into the ditch where the 
shoulder fell away into an empty field. Mulder trailed in her wake, 
exuding nervous energy but holding his tongue. After walking 
back around three hundred yards to a spot halfway between 
streetlights, Scully's light caught something in the weeds and 
bounced back at them. Ten steps closer and her heart began to 
thump wildly in her chest. 
A car lay amidst the tall grass, tilted against the embankment so 
that it nearly rested on its right side. Even in the poor lighting she 
could see it was black, see the dent on the left fender where Mulder 
had hit a guardrail during a high-speed chase. Mulder's car. 
Before she could vocalize the realization Mulder was scrambling 
down the incline, his gun drawn. Scully switched the flashlight to 
her left hand, keeping it centered on the car, and pulled her own 
weapon. Mulder reached the driver's door, slipping a little on the 
slope, and cupped his hands to the glass so that he could peer 
inside. Scully came up behind his shoulder and moved the light 
around the interior. 
The empty interior. 
Mulder's hands dropped to his sides and he turned to face Scully.
"He's not inside." 
The simple statement held a mixture of bewilderment, worry, and 
relief. Scully pursed her lips as she considered the car, then 
clambered back up the hill to the road. She could feel Mulder on 
her heels, watching her movements as she swept the flashlight 
across the pavement. After several moments she'd seen enough, 
and snapped the light off to conserve batteries. 
"So?" Voice steady but apprehensive. 
Scully walked slowly over to gaze up into his face. "I don't see any 
skid marks, Mulder. Nothing to indicate that he lost control of the 
car." 
Mulder was chewing his lip again, viciously enough that Scully 
had to bite back a plea for him to stop. "The position of the car is 
all wrong, too," he observed. "If it had left the road with any 
momentum it would be on its side, or even rolled over. As it is, it 
looks like..." 
"Like somebody pushed it down there," Scully finished softly, her 
concern for Grey warring with that for Mulder. "We need to get a 
team out here, Mulder. And you need to call Kristen." 
Mulder closed his eyes. Scully watched his Adam's apple bob 
convulsively, the fingers on both hands flexing and then relaxing 
several times. When his rapid breathing slowed to a more normal 
pace, he opened his eyes and reached for the cell phone he'd tucked 
into the pocket of his brother's jacket. He punched in the number 
with steady precision and his voice remained smooth and even. 
"Kristen? It's Mulder. I've got some bad news..." 
Scully turned and moved several steps in the opposite direction, 
pulling her own phone out and pressing number three on the speed 
dial. Glancing at her watch she couldn't help fearing that the 
likelihood of finding the man home at eight-thirty on a Saturday 
evening was low. 
*Come on, pick up the phone. Please be there...* 
"Hello?" 
A little surprised by the almost giddy sense of relief, Scully 
abruptly realized she didn't know quite where to begin. Grasping 
for composure, she was chagrined to find her own voice lacked 
Mulder's level tone. 
"Sir, this is Scully. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday night, but
I need your help." 
A deep sigh from the other end of the line, and when Skinner 
spoke his voice dripped weary resignation. "What did he do now, 
Scully?" 
The grin broke out reflexively, quickly succeeded by a sharp pain 
in her chest. If only that was the problem -- Mulder haring out and 
taking off on one of his wild goose chases. Her eyes darted to 
where he stood, shoulders slumped and eyes shaded by the hand 
not gripping the phone. 
"Scully? You there?" 
"Yes. I'm sorry, sir," she said quickly, shaking off her paralysis.
"It isn't Mulder that's in trouble. It's Grey." 
"*Grey*?" Skinner repeated. 
"He's missing, sir. He left Mulder's apartment two hours ago to 
pick up Agent Harding for a date but never arrived. Mulder and I 
found his car in a ditch, empty. I'm fairly certain someone pushed 
it there." 
"Give me your location, I'll have a team out immediately." 
Scully surrendered to the mechanics, giving Skinner the 
information required, setting the machine in motion. She closed the 
phone, her eyes seeking out her partner before she'd replaced it in 
her pocket. He stood at the top of the embankment, staring blankly 
at the deserted car. When she drew closer, Scully saw that he was 
shivering slightly. 
"Mulder, it's freezing out here. Let's wait in my car," she suggested 
quietly, slipping her cold hand into his equally frigid one. 
"He wouldn't listen to me," Mulder murmured as if he hadn't heard 
-- which was probably the case. "I tried to warn him, to tell him 
that sooner or later that cigarette-smoking bastard would figure 
things out. But he wouldn't listen." 
"You're his brother and he loves you," Scully replied, stroking her 
thumb over his. 
Mulder laughed -- a ragged, wild sound. "Yeah, and where has it 
gotten him? The same place as everyone else that's ever made that 
mistake." 
Scully flinched. "Mulder..." 
"NO, Scully! Don't try to sugar coat what you know is the truth. I 
brought this on Grey through my own selfishness. If I'd just left 
well enough alone, stayed out of his life, he wouldn't be in this 
mess right now, going through God knows what! I should've let 
my head guide my actions, not my heart. And if you have any 
common sense remaining you'll learn something from this and do 
the same." 
Scully's mouth dropped open and she gaped at his retreating back 
as he spun on his heel and stalked toward the flashing red and blue 
lights that appeared on the horizon.


Unknown Location
Saturday
10:34 p.m.


The fear existed inside of him like a living creature, feeding on the 
passing minutes spent in solitude, growing until he could contain it 
only by sheer force of will. Grey's eyes roamed the room 
ceaselessly, searching impotently for something to provide a 
distraction, to focus on. Unfortunately, his surroundings were 
painfully sterile and lacking in inspiration. 
A square 10 X 10 foot room, walls institutional white and lacking 
any windows, empty except for a toilet, sink, and the bed to which 
he was strapped. Yes, strapped securely with five point restraints 
so that he couldn't even scratch the itch over his left eye that 
tormented him. 
The physical discomfort, however, paled in comparison to the 
mental anguish. When he wasn't obsessively recalling each and 
every horror story Fox and Dana had recounted about their own 
abductions, he agonized over his brother's reaction to his 
disappearance. More than twenty-five years since Samantha 
vanished, and Fox still woke screaming in the night, still drove 
himself relentlessly to find her. Grey feared another such loss 
would blur the fragile line of stability that Fox walked, tipping him 
into a breakdown. None of this was Fox's fault, but undoubtedly 
the man would assume the blame. 
Grey grimaced, rubbing his face against the pillow to assuage the 
itch. If his current predicament was anyone's fault, it was his own. 
Fox had repeatedly tried to warn him about the faceless enemy that 
lurked in the shadows, and he'd arrogantly disregarded those 
warnings. Truth be told, he'd dismissed much of it as his brother's 
overactive paranoia, confident he could take care of himself. Big 
mistake. 
The doorknob rattled, commanding his full attention. A moment 
later his kidnapper entered and shut the door firmly. He'd shed his 
leather jacket, and the black tee shirt he wore clearly revealed his 
muscular right arm and the prosthesis that substituted for his left. 
Grey's eyes narrowed as made the connection.


"You're the double-crossing rat bastard Fox has told me so much 
about," he said coolly. "Alex Krycek -- am I right?" 
Krycek grinned wolfishly and pressed one hand to his chest. "It 
warms my heart to know that Mulder talks about me," he replied, 
stepping across the room to lean against the wall near the foot of 
Grey's bed. 
"Believe me, he becomes very...vocal when your name comes up," 
Grey said wryly. He scowled at Krycek. "So where am I, and why 
am I here? I'm not part of this equation, what do you want with 
me?" 
Krycek snorted. "If you have Bill and Teena Mulder as parents, 
then you're part of the equation. But to answer your question, I 
didn't want *you* at all. Your presence here is purely accidental." 
Grey recalled Krycek's diatribe back at the car, and his eyes 
widened. "The car, the jacket -- you thought I was Fox! You were 
after him, not me." 
Krycek grit his teeth. "In the dark, you could be twins. I didn't 
realize you were in town, so I never expected anyone but Mulder." 
"You *sabotaged* that belt, didn't you?" Grey growled. "It wasn't 
just luck that you came along when you did." 
"I don't believe in luck -- I make my own," Krycek said with a lift 
of his chin. "Mulder's Saturday nights have become amazingly 
predictable since he came to his senses and started screwing his 
partner. He always heads over to Scully's place at about the same 
time. Just my luck that you had to come into town and upset the 
routine." 
"My deepest apologies," Grey replied sarcastically. "Why don't 
you just chalk up this whole evening as a waste of time and let me 
be on my way?" 
"Nice try. But just because you weren't the objective tonight 
doesn't mean you weren't on the agenda." 
"What's that supposed to mean?" Grey hoped he sounded 
belligerent, feared he sounded intimidated. 
Krycek raised an eyebrow. "Oh come on! You can't really be that 
naïve! Mulder must have told you about the Project, about your 
father's involvement in it." 
Grey glanced away from the piercing green eyes. "Fox has told me 
a lot of things. I don't necessarily believe all of them, in spite of the 
fact that I can see *he* does." 
"Then you're mistaken," Krycek replied. He straightened and 
paced across the room and back again. "Fox Mulder may be many 
things, but a fool isn't one of them. The threat he's fighting against 
is very real, and like it or not, his role in this little drama was cast 
long before his birth. Yours has yet to be determined." 
"I had nothing to do with Bill Mulder or this 'Project' you speak 
of," Grey snapped, tugging at the straps that fettered his wrists. 
Krycek cradled his head in his hands, shaking it slowly. "You 
really don't get it, do you? Why do you think your parents hid all 
evidence that you existed? You're bound to the Project by virtue of 
Bill Mulder's blood in your veins! How inextricably, remains to be 
seen." 
Grey stared at him, his mind working furiously. "You mean 
Fox...?" 
"Fox and Samantha were the first fruits of a plan, and the inception 
of that plan occurred years before you were born -- before Bill 
Mulder even came to work for the State Department. Humans 
genetically altered to instill a natural resistance to the alien virus. 
An experiment that, until recently, appeared to be successful." 
Grey could feel the blood drain from his face. "Does Fox know 
this?" 
Krycek shook his head sharply. "No, and he won't find out. After 
we're finished determining just how successful Bill Mulder was at 
shielding you from the experiment, we'll wipe your memory." The 
wolf grin again. "You'll never even know you were gone." 
Grey clenched his jaw, his mind skittering away from *that* 
picture. Krycek had said something important, something that 
niggled at the back of his mind. He scanned his memory until it 
abruptly clicked into place. 
"You said that the experiment on Fox seemed successful until 
recently. What did you mean by that?" 
Krycek's face closed off at the same moment that the door opened 
to emit a linebacker in the white dress of a hospital orderly. Grey's 
heart skipped a beat when his eyes landed on the syringe in the 
man's meaty hand. 
"Krycek, wait! We're not done with this conversation yet! You 
owe me an answer, don't..." 
Like shooting fish in a barrel, Grey could offer no resistance as his 
arm was subjected first to the cool swab of alcohol and then the 
sting of the needle. This time the drug didn't pull him under, just 
turned his muscles to gelatin and left him unable to remember why 
he was supposed to be upset. Krycek's face undulated gently in 
and out of focus, and when the linebacker loosened the restraints it 
never occurred to Grey to struggle. 
As Krycek began speaking, Grey watched with fascination his 
tongue dance between lips and teeth, though he'd lost the ability to 
process words. 
"When you start giving me orders like that, you even *sound* just 
like him," Krycek chuckled, watching as Grey was bundled onto 
a gurney. "Been nice meeting you -- not that you'll remember." 
Stepping aside he looked on impassively as the orderly wheeled 
Grey out of the room.


Roadside
Sunday
12:01 a.m.


Scully leaned wearily against the side of her car, watching Mulder 
comb the embankment again. She was so focused on her partner, 
when a large hand descended on her shoulder she barely bit back a 
startled scream. Skinner's fingers tightened briefly then released, 
and he mirrored her position. 
"There's really nothing more we can do here tonight, Scully," he 
said, his own eyes following Mulder's relentless searching. "We'll 
come back when it's light, and in the meantime forensics can go 
over the car for trace evidence." 
Scully nodded. The police had left the scene nearly a half-hour 
earlier, the car towed to the bureau shortly afterward. She was cold 
to the bone after spending over three hours in the chill wind, and a 
hot bath and flannel pajamas figured prominently in her fantasies. 
But the lone figure stalking restlessly back and forth amid the 
weeds had other ideas. 
As if reading her mind, Skinner added, "You need to get him out of 
here. He passed the point of usefulness over an hour ago, and I 
think pure adrenaline is the only thing keeping him on his feet." 
Unreasonable anger, fueled by her own helpless frustration, flared 
at Skinner's words. "You think I don't realize that? If you've got 
any suggestions on how to make it happen, I'm all ears!" 
Skinner didn't take offense. "I'm the idea man," he replied dryly. "I 
was hoping to leave the execution to you." 
The laugh that bubbled up turned into a sob somewhere in her 
throat. Horrified, Scully clamped down hard on her lip with both 
teeth and forced herself to breathe slowly. Respecting her struggle 
for composure, Skinner didn't put his arm around her, but he 
leaned into her side a little, his warmth and bulk comforting. 
"Whatever happens, Scully, we'll get him through this." 
Scully blinked rapidly. "I want to believe that, sir. Because I don't 
think Mulder could survive losing another sibling to his father's 
cause." 
Skinner touched the back of her hand, startled by the lack of 
warmth. "Start up the car and get the heater running, Scully, you're 
freezing. I'll take care of him." 
More than a little ashamed by her relief at his words, Scully merely 
nodded and forced herself to motion. Skinner walked slowly over 
to where his other agent, features set in granite, swept a flashlight 
back and forth over the uneven terrain. He stopped at the edge, just 
before the shoulder of the road fell away to the field, and waited. 
When several minutes passed without Mulder breaking his stride 
or acknowledging his presence, he cleared his throat. 
"Mulder." 
"There has to be something here, something we're not seeing," 
Mulder muttered without raising his head or pausing. 
"Mulder, this is a crime scene, and I'm officially ordering you off,"
Skinner said, injecting a little more steel into his tone. 
It produced the desired reaction. Mulder's froze, his head whipping 
up so that his eyes could lock onto his boss. The insolent protest 
that commenced actually warmed Skinner's heart -- a big 
improvement to the shell-shocked aura Mulder had been exuding 
all evening. 
"You can't do that! I'm conducting an investigation and..." 
"Mulder, the only thing you're conducting at this point is a lesson 
in futility." Skinner shrugged off the irritation that Mulder's 
insubordination always engendered and softened his words. 
"You've been at this non-stop for going on four hours. You're cold, 
you're tired, and it's too dark to see a damn thing. Add to that the 
fact that your partner is about ready to drop, and I'd say it's time 
you called it a night." 
Mulder climbed up the slope to join Skinner but a protruding lower 
lip and furrowed brow testified to his reluctance. 
"You could give Scully a lift. I can drive her car home when I'm 
finished," he persisted. 
"I could, but I won't," Skinner said sternly. "You *are* finished, 
Mulder. Get some rest and resume your investigation when you 
can actually see something." 
Skinner turned and took several steps toward the parked cars 
before he noticed the absence of footfalls behind him. His temper 
sparked anew, and he spun around sharply, a reprimand on his 
tongue. The wounded child camouflaged in Mulder's clothes made 
the words catch in his throat. 
"I'm not a child left catatonic on the floor this time," Mulder said 
softly, belying Skinner's vision. "I won't sit back and just let this 
happen. I have to fight." 
Despite the attempt at bravado, Skinner experienced a painful 
flashback to another day when he'd confronted a broken, 
despondent Mulder packing up his belongings in the X-Files 
office. 
*How many times can one man face losing what he holds 
most dear*? 
"No one's asking you to stop fighting, Mulder," he replied gruffly.
"Just to employ a little tactical sense." 
Whether his words struck a chord or Mulder was just too 
exhausted to continue resisting, this time Skinner was gratified to 
hear an echo to his own footsteps. He walked around to the driver's 
side of the car and Scully lowered her window, bathing his face in 
a puff of warmed air. 
"I'll see you two at the bureau bright and early," he said, watching 
peripherally as Mulder slumped into the passenger seat. "Report 
directly to my office, I'll have the forensics sent there." 
"Thank you, sir." Scully's shadowed eyes communicated clearly 
that her response concerned more than his investigative support. 
Skinner leaned in a little closer so that he could see Mulder's face. 
"Get some sleep, Mulder. We've got the bureau's best resources on 
this and we *will* find him." 
Mulder didn't acknowledge or contest Skinner's statement -- 
merely leaned his head against the seatback and stared out the 
window. 
The coughing commenced the moment Scully pulled onto the road 
and lasted the entire drive back to Mulder's apartment. The hacking 
held a deep, booming sound that her physician's ear recognized as 
more than just the dregs of a cold, and when he gasped for breath 
the wheezing was clearly audible. Scully pressed her lips tightly 
together, a dam against the torrent of misgivings that wanted to 
pour forth. 
By the time Mulder slipped the key into his door the spell had 
eased up a bit, but Scully's worry had not. He paused in the kitchen 
doorway for a moment, taking in the congealed plate of fettuccini 
and the abandoned bottle of wine before continuing into the living 
room and slumping onto the couch. Scully discarded the food and 
put on the teakettle before moving on to the bathroom where she 
rummaged around until she'd uncovered a bottle of nighttime cold 
medicine behind a can of shaving cream. 
She clutched the bottle, her thumb picking absently at the peeling 
label as an inner battle raged between Dana Scully, MD and Dana 
Scully, the woman in love with Fox Mulder. The cold remedy 
would supress Mulder's cough with the added benefit of knocking 
him unconscious for a few hours -- probably the only way he'd 
sleep at all. Yet the idea of treating the symptoms and not the cause 
went against every ounce of her medical training. She stood there, 
irresolute, until Mulder broke into another round of hacking. 
Mulder cracked open one eye when Scully moved his feet and sat 
down beside him. 
"Sit up," she said, unscrewing the cap and filling the little plastic 
measuring cup with the red liquid. 
Mulder screwed up his face like a toddler ordered to eat 
cauliflower. "Sculleee! That stuff tastes like turpentine!" 
"I'll forego asking just how you would know how turpentine 
tastes," Scully replied, extending the little cup. "Hold your nose." 
Mulder hauled himself upright and tossed back the contents in one 
fell swoop, shuddering violently and making exaggerated gagging 
noises afterward. Scully ignored the theatrics and disappeared into 
the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two mugs of hot tea.
Mulder accepted the offering silently, but pulled her close when 
she sat down beside him. 
"Thanks, Scully." 
"No problem, Mulder. Just as easy to make two mugs as it is to 
make one," she pointed out lightly. 
Mulder pressed a kiss to her temple. "I don't mean just the tea," he 
said hesitantly. "I mean all of it, your patience, your support -- 
even your nagging. I know I don't make it easy." 
Scully swallowed hard against the constriction in her throat. 
Mulder didn't do apologies in the classic sense, something she'd 
learned to accept. She understood just how difficult saying those 
words must have been, especially under the all-consuming anxiety 
over Grey's disappearance. 
"You do require a bit of effort," she agreed, weaving her fingers 
through his and bringing his hand to her lips. "But then again, I've 
always enjoyed a challenge." 
"I've been alone a long time, you know?" he continued, and she 
saw he was staring at their meshed hands with something very like 
awe. "I'm not accustomed to anyone else having an interest in my 
well being. I was like that Simon and Garfunkle song -- did you 
ever hear it? 'I am a rock, I am an island,'" he sang softly. 
"And a rock feels no pain," Scully murmured. "And an island 
never cries." 
"That's the one. And then you came along, Scully. And for the first 
time in forever, I had someone who was there for me -- and in the 
truest sense of the word. I can remember the first time I recognized 
it, as clearly as if it were yesterday. I woke up in that hospital in 
North Carolina, confused, scared, and my leg hurting like hell. But 
then I realized that someone was holding my hand, and the fear 
and pain eased up a little bit. I opened my eyes and saw you sitting 
there, in that cheap blue plastic chair that must have been 
incredibly uncomfortable, and you'd obviously been there all night 
because you looked completely exhausted. Then you noticed I was 
awake and you smiled. And it was like having the sun right there in 
my hospital room, all to myself. And I felt a little guilty -- not for 
putting the dark circles under your eyes, but because I'd do it again 
and again if it meant I'd be on the receiving end of that smile." 
Mulder burrowed his face into her hair and Scully reached over her 
shoulder to cup the back of his neck with trembling fingers. She 
wanted to turn in his arms and kiss him silly, but she could feel 
that there was more, that he hadn't finished yet. 
"I didn't think it could get better," Mulder finally managed to 
whisper. "Then I found Grey. And while you give me the things I 
never thought I'd have, he gives me things I never even knew I 
wanted or needed. God, Scully, ever since Samantha was taken I've 
felt like the shell of a person, minus so many of the basic elements 
that most people take for granted! It's like you two have managed 
to fill the empty places -- most of them anyway. But the cost to 
you, and now Grey..." His voice broke, but he forced himself to 
continue. "I feel like some kind of vampire, sucking the life out of 
you both to fill up the void in myself." 
Scully sat forward and turned to face him, eyes burning blue 
flames. "You know, you really piss me off when you talk like 
this!" she growled. "You are *not* to blame for the bad things that 
have happened to me, or for Grey's disappearance tonight. You've 
dedicated your *life* to fighting against the men responsible, and 
Grey and I have the right to make that same choice. We are exactly 
where we've chosen to be. And damn it, Mulder, did you ever stop 
to think that just maybe you give us something back? That you fill 
a few gaps in our lives as well?" 
Her ire produced results where tenderness would have failed. Eyes 
glistening, he pulled her back into his arms and nuzzled her neck, 
his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. 
"Don't wanna piss you off, Scully," he mumbled, but she could 
hear the smile in his voice. "Contrary to what some people believe, 
I'm not suicidal." 
They sat like that in companionable silence for a while. Scully's 
eyes began to feel heavy and she could feel Mulder sinking toward 
sleep, his grip on her easing and his breathing slowing. Just as she 
was about to suggest a move to the bed, he spoke. 
"I can't go through it again, Scully. I just... It hurts too much." 
The breath-stealing pain Scully experienced at his quiet confession 
was equaled only by the blinding anger toward those who 
orchestrated it. 
"You heard Skinner, love. We'll find him. And when we do, we'll 
make that smoking son of a bitch sorry. Very, very sorry."


FBI Headquarters
Sunday
7:45 a.m.


Skinner uttered two words and Fox Mulder turned into a raving 
maniac before his eyes. Out of his seat and pacing, a string of 
obscenities coupled with descriptions of revenge both creative and 
graphic tumbled from Mulder's lips. Occasionally a barking cough 
broke the flow and caused the man to catch his breath, but he 
quickly plunged onward, never losing his place upon resuming. 
Alex Krycek. Skinner massaged the spot on his forehead directly 
over the throbbing caused by too much tension and a guilty 
conscience. He could certainly sympathize with Mulder's reaction 
to the news that forensics had recovered the man's thumbprint on 
the engine block of his car. Krycek was a wild card, a confirmed 
traitor and a man whose only allegiance was to saving his own 
skin. He also happened to hold Skinner's life in the palm of his 
hand. Literally. 
"Mulder, sit down," he grated, finding small comfort in the fact 
that his ranting agent acquiesced. "I understand your feelings in 
this matter -- God knows, I'd like five minutes alone with the man 
myself, but this isn't getting us anywhere." 
"Did forensics come up with anything else, sir?" Scully asked, 
shooting her partner a look that managed to convey the message 
"behave yourself" as clearly as if she'd uttered the words. 
Skinner adjusted his glasses and picked up a piece of paper from 
his desk blotter. "The car was deliberately sabotaged, the fan belt 
cut part way with a knife so that it would break after only a brief 
period of use. The only fingerprints found inside the vehicle 
belonged to you, Mulder, or Grey." 
"So Krycek probably damaged the fan belt and then just followed 
the car, knowing it would break down eventually," Scully mused, 
glancing from Skinner to Mulder. "The print on the engine could 
be from when he cut the belt." 
"Or when he overpowered Grey," Mulder said tersely. "He had to 
get close enough to either hit him or drug him. I've mentioned 
Krycek, but Grey has no idea what he looks like. That bastard 
could have acted like he was trying to help and then ambushed 
Grey." 
Skinner clenched his jaw, feeling the small muscle twitch the way 
it always did when he was particularly irritated or stressed. He 
really didn't want to increase the burden on the man sitting across 
his desk, but felt obligated to share his thoughts. His ability to help 
Mulder directly was severely compromised, so the importance of 
providing what information he could only increased. 
"Mulder, I want you to consider something," he said gruffly. "Grey 
was driving *your* car after leaving *your* apartment. It's entirely 
possible that he was not Krycek's intended target." 
Mulder's restless fidgeting abruptly ceased and he went very still.
Skinner could see the moment his agent made the connection -- the 
anger drained from his face to be replaced by a hurt so intense 
Skinner's own stomach clenched in sympathy. 
"You mean me," Mulder said, forming the words as if they were 
foreign objects in his mouth. "Krycek set the trap for *me* and 
wound up with Grey instead." His eyes squeezed shut and he 
swiftly shaded them by cupping a hand to his forehead. "God, 
Scully, I even gave him my jacket," he choked. 
Scully sent Skinner an agonized look before reaching over to lay 
her hand on Mulder's arm. Skinner expected soft reassurances 
designed to comfort, so Scully's no-nonsense admonishment threw 
him completely off balance. 
"Get past it, Mulder. Immersing yourself in blame isn't going to 
help Grey. We know now that Krycek has him, so the next logical 
step is to find Krycek." 
Perhaps more astonishing than Scully's "tough love" approach was 
the result. Mulder scrubbed once at his eyes and his slumped 
posture straightened. He turned toward his partner, eyes haunted 
but with the renewed steel of determination. 
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 
Scully's lips twitched. "Time to cash in the chips from that debacle 
in Vegas?" 
Skinner's eyes darted between them, brows drawn together. "What 
exactly are you two talking about?" 
"Just utilizing unofficial channels, sir," Scully said, eyes glinting 
with repressed amusement. 
"Unofficial..." Skinner trailed off as the meaning behind her 
cryptic statement became clear. "Ahh. Scarecrow, Tin Man, and 
Toto," he said, equally pleased to put a startled grin on Mulder's 
face and complete bafflement on Scully's. "You go ahead and I'll 
keep the machine running here. Check in later this afternoon." 
To her credit, Scully maintained her professional persona until 
they'd exited his office, the door nearly shut. Skinner glanced up 
just in time to see her pause and grab Mulder by the elbow. 
"Scarecrow, Tinman, and Toto? Mulder, what in the heck was 
Skinner talking about?" 
Skinner smirked to himself. It wasn't every day you could nonplus 
the unflappable Agent Scully.


Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen
Sunday
9:30 a.m.


Mulder was definitely ill. After much bullying, Scully had 
convinced him to stop for a quick breakfast on the way to the 
Gunmen's place, but he'd used more of his bacon and eggs as the 
medium for transforming his plate into a modern work of art than 
he'd consumed. Scully cast a sideways glance at his flushed cheeks 
and the perspiration that beaded his upper lip, fighting a no win 
battle over whether or not to draw attention to it. Mulder took the 
decision out of her hands by unexpectedly turning on her. 
"Cut it out, Scully," he snapped, eyes narrowed in irritation. 
"Cut what out?" she returned shortly, her own temper slipping. 
"Looking at me like I'm going to keel over any second! You should 
be worried about Grey, not me." 
"I'm worried about you both, there's plenty to go around," Scully 
murmured, studying her hands in her lap. She heard Mulder take a 
long, deep breath and slowly release it. 
"I know. I guess I can't expect any less of you. But your concern 
isn't necessary, I'm doing fine." He snorted and shook his head. "If 
you really want to help me, figure out the best way to tell the guys 
that I have a brother." 
"They don't know yet?" Scully asked incredulously. "Mulder, 
they're your closest friends, why wouldn't you have told them?" 
Mulder lifted a shoulder and picked at his thumbnail. "I'm not sure. 
I guess I figured the fewer people that knew, the safer it would be 
for Grey. Obviously it didn't make a difference." 
He flung open his door before Scully could respond to that, 
swiping at the moisture on his face as he ambled up to the door. 
Scully grit her teeth and followed- - something she'd become quite 
proficient at doing over the last six years. 
"How many?" she asked, folding her arms as she waited for an 
answer to Mulder's knock. “It's daytime, and you phoned ahead.
I'm betting on five or six." 
Mulder managed a shadow of a smile. " I think you underestimate 
the extent of their paranoia," he said, shaking his head. "I'm 
guessing at least eight." 
The sharp staccato of deadbolts disengaged began a moment later 
and they counted silently while grinning at each other. After the 
seventh thunk, the door cracked open to reveal Frohike's right eye. 
"I win," Scully announced smugly, moving to stand where the little 
man could see her. 
Mulder scowled. "How do you figure? Seven is halfway between 
six and eight!" 
"The rule says whoever is closest without going over, Mulder. 
Therefore, I win." She brushed past him when Frohike finally 
swung open the door. 
"What rule? We never discussed any rules!" Mulder called after 
her retreating back. 
"And just what can we do for the lovely Agent Scully today?" 
Frohike asked, accompanying his question with the expected leer. 
"Frohike, I'm hurt. Keep talking like that and I'll begin to feel 
unwanted," Mulder said, putting on an exaggerated pout. 
"You're always wanted here, Mulder -- just as long as you bring 
Scully with you," Frohike returned smugly. 
Langly, wearing a ratty blue bathrobe and sweatpants, shuffled into 
the room while munching a Poptart. He squinted at them a little 
irritably through his thick rimmed glasses. "Hey, Mulder. What's 
so important that couldn't wait?" 
"Good morning to you, too," Mulder replied. 
"Don't mind him. He was up half the night playing Doom with 
some cyberbuddies," Byers said smoothly, minus his usual suit, but 
still sporting a tie with his v-neck sweater. "Frohike said you 
needed our help and that you'd explain when you got here." 
Mulder shot Scully an oblique look and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I 
need you boys to pull out all the stops on this one. I have to find 
someone, and fast." 
"Who is it?" Frohike asked. 
Mulder kept his expression carefully neutral. "Alex Krycek." 
As if the pessimism fairy had waved her magic wand, doubt 
replaced inquisitiveness on all three faces. For a moment Frohike, 
Langly, and Byers just exchanged cryptic glances, saying nothing. 
Byers, ever the diplomat of the group, finally responded. 
"You realize we've tried this before, Mulder. Krycek is 
notoriously difficult to pin down." 
Worry and sickness combined to shorten Mulder's temper. "I didn't 
say it would be easy. What happened to all that talk about how 
your kung fu could beat anybody else's?" 
Langly scowled and looked about to retort, but Frohike cut him 
off. "We didn't say we wouldn't give it our best shot, Mulder. Just 
not to get your hopes up." 
"Well you could've fooled me! How are you going to give it your 
best shot if you've already made up your mind that it can't be 
done?" Mulder growled, pacing across the room and fiddling with 
an unidentifiable piece of electronics. 
Frohike's brows drew together but a small movement caught his 
eye before he could speak. Scully had taken a step toward Mulder, 
then hesitated. When she felt Frohike watching her she shook her 
head sharply and resumed her aborted movement, positioning 
herself at his side. 
"Mulder. Tell them why," she urged, voice as soft and smooth as 
silk. 
Frohike, perceptive as always, narrowed his eyes. "Just why do 
you need to find Krycek so badly, Mulder?" 
"Yeah, Mulder. What's the bastard done now?" Langly chimed in. 
"He kidnapped someone," Mulder replied quietly, still showing 
them his back. 
"What's the dude's name?" Langly persisted. 
Mulder turned slowly chewing his lip. "His name is Grey 
McKenzie. He was staying with me. We think Krycek may have 
mistaken him for me." 
"Do you think his life is in danger?" Byers asked carefully. 
Mulder traded a long, enigmatic look with Scully. "I don't know. 
But there's something else you need to know. Grey McKenzie..." 
"Is your brother," Frohike finished. 
Mulder's jaw dropped and Scully's eyebrows rose. 
"C'mon, Mulder, what kind of schmucks do you think we are?" 
Frohike sniffed, managing to sound both smug and wounded at the 
same time. 
"You certainly must realize that we maintain a discreet...vigil on 
matters concerning your well being," Byers added. 
"How long?" Mulder grated through clenched teeth. 
Guilty looks, like three little boys caught stealing cookies. "Since 
the first time he came up for a visit," Frohike finally confessed. 
"When you were having all those nightmares." 
"You *knew* about that? You bugged my apartment? Damn it, is 
there any part of my life you aren't privy to?" The implications of 
his own question sank in and Mulder turned pale, then red. 
Scully had apparently come to the same conclusion, and her voice 
crackled with high voltage, a promise of dire consequences. "Does 
that mean...?" 
"Alas, only in my dreams," Frohike sighed lecherously. 
"Byers made us take them all out when you and Mulder finally got 
together," Langly explained sulkily. 
"Good choice," Scully said darkly. 
"So you think that Krycek abducted your brother, thinking he was 
you?" Byers asked, effectively changing the subject. "Are you 
certain that Grey wasn't Krycek's target from the start?" 
"No," Mulder admitted reluctantly. "But he was wearing my jacket 
and driving my car -- said car having been sabotaged by Krycek 
so that it would break down. I think mistaken identity is a logical 
assumption." 
"Our last confirmed sighting of Krycek was nearly a year ago," 
Byers remarked. "We'll have to proceed from that point." 
"Whatever it takes," Mulder said tightly. "I can't decide which I 
like least -- the idea of Grey in the hands of that rat bastard or that 
black lunged son of a bitch." 
Mulder had intended the statement to resonate with fury, but the 
slight quiver of his voice betrayed him. Scully's fingers dancing 
questioningly against his palm diverted him from embarrassment. 
He looked down into bluer than blue eyes that bestowed complete 
understanding without words. As it always did when she was near, 
the impending darkness receded. 
"We're on it," Langly said, already tapping away on his keyboard.
"Keep your phone turned on and we'll call when we have 
something." 
"Don't worry," Frohike added as he walked them back to the door 
and began to throw back the line of locks. "You were right the first 
time. Our kung fu *is* the best." 
Mulder glanced at his watch, feeling the minutes slip by like water 
through a sieve. Grey had been missing for well over 12 hours and 
he couldn't fight the feeling that they were already too late. What 
he needed wasn't kung fu. He needed a miracle.


Location Unknown
Sunday
10:30 p.m.


Awareness seeped gradually into Grey's brain, like rain on hard 
baked ground after a long drought. The first perception to make it 
past his cotton-headed stupor was pain, so widespread it seemed as 
if every cell in his body hurt -- including his hair. The darkness 
that enveloped him was even more troubling, until he figured out 
his own lowered eyelids were the cause. Hefting them open proved 
to be a challenge, but after several dogged attempts he succeeded. 
He blinked owlishly at a white ceiling for a moment before turning 
his head to the left and taking in vaguely familiar stark white walls. 
Right back where he'd started, it seemed. He experimentally 
moved his arms and legs, gratified by full mobility. Whoever 
returned him either forgot the restraints or decided they were 
unnecessary. 
A cleared throat echoed loudly in the stillness, shocking Grey into 
whipping his head to the right so abruptly that the room tilted 
crazily on its axis for several minutes. When his blurred eyesight 
cleared, Grey saw a man with a weathered face and sharp, 
calculating gray eyes seated in a plastic chair and observing him. 
He registered the stench of cigarette smoke even as the man 
casually lifted one to his lips and sucked in a long draught. 
"First the rat bastard and now the black lunged son of a bitch," 
Grey croaked, wondering why his voice sounded as if he'd been 
screaming. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here." 
The man's lips curved, whether in amusement or contempt Grey 
wasn't sure. "I see you share your brother's propensity for whistling 
in the dark. Amazing what a group of shared genes can produce." 
"What did you do to me?" Grey demanded, struggling to prop 
himself up on rubbery, aching arms. 
The man exhaled a noxious cloud of smoke. "Nothing that caused 
any permanent damage." 
"Easy for you to say, you're not the one who feels like he's been hit 
by a semi," Grey muttered. "I don't suppose I could get a glass of 
water?" 
The Smoker rose and moved to the sink, filling a plastic tumbler 
with water before returning. Grey accepted it silently, eagerly 
draining the contents while taking the chance to size up his 
situation. Without windows, he lacked the means to determine 
something as elementary as whether it was currently day or night. 
His extreme thirst and the emptiness in his belly hinted at the fact 
that he'd been in this place long enough to miss at least one meal. 
Beyond that, he knew very little. 
"Let's get to the point," he said grimly, returning the empty cup.
"What are you going to do with me. And more importantly, what 
did you intend to do with Fox?" 
"The answer to your first question is that I will eventually return 
you to your brother -- once I have satisfactorily relieved my doubts 
concerning your origins." 
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 
"I understand that Alex explained a bit about our interest in your 
brother?" 
Grey scowled. "If you call that an explanation! Sounded more like 
science fiction to me." 
CSM smiled thinly. "A submarine was once considered science 
fiction, Mr. McKenzie -- until it became reality. I assure you that 
the genetic modifications performed on Fox are very much a 
reality. It is whether any of those enhancements exist within *you* 
that remains to be seen." 
"So after you've tested me like some sort of guinea pig, you'll just 
let me go home?" Grey's voice oozed disbelief. 
"Suitably...conditioned to resume your life, yes." 
"You mean you'll do something to make me forget this place, 
forget you," Grey returned. 
The Smoker shrugged. "A reasonable price, don't you think? We 
could never allow you to leave here with your memory intact, and 
the alternative is...unpleasant." 
"To say the least," Grey growled. "What about my other question? 
What did you want with Fox?" 
CSM smiled enigmatically, casually taking another drag on his 
Morley. "Surely you can understand that any valuable investment 
requires careful monitoring." 
Grey's eyes narrowed. "But it's more than that, isn't it? Krycek 
said something, something about the experiment on Fox being a 
success 'until now.'" 
CSM dropped his cigarette butt to the floor and ground it beneath 
his heel, standing. "Alex talks too much. I'd suggest you get some 
rest, Mr. McKenzie. Tomorrow will be a very full day." 
"I want an answer! What's wrong with Fox? Are you the reason 
he's been sick?" Grey insisted, struggling to swing his legs over the 
side of the cot. 
The Smoker froze and turned slowly around. Piercing eyes 
scrutinized Grey's angry face. "How sick is he?" 
Grey jerked his head to stare at the wall. "Go to hell." 
To his astonishment, the man seized his wrist in a bone-crushing 
grip. "Don't play games with me, this concerns your brother's life! 
How sick is he?" 
Grey met the gaze calmly, prepared for the anger it contained. The 
genuine concern that lurked just behind the anger rattled him. "I 
only know what Dana told me. She said he's been sick a lot lately, 
and that he's tired all the time. He does have a pretty nasty cough 
right now, but he swears it's just the leftovers from a bad cold that 
he can't seem to kick." 
The Smoker continued to study his face for a moment, as if 
judging the truth in his words. What he saw seemed to trouble him 
-- he spun abruptly on his heel and stalked to the door. 
"What is it?" Grey persisted, shaken by what he guessed to be an 
uncharacteristic reaction from the man. "What's wrong? Answer 
me, damn it!" 
CSM paused in the doorway, his bland mask firmly back in place. 
"Get some rest, Mr. McKenzie and leave your brother to me. 
You'll need that determination the next few days." 
The door clanged shut behind him while Grey still fumbled for a 
response. Cursing loudly at the four unforgiving walls he flopped 
back onto the mattress. For the first time since the ordeal began, he 
felt no anxiety over his own fate. The barely disguised alarm on 
the Smoker's face at his description of Fox's condition drove all 
fears for his own safety from his mind. Dana's words from the 
previous evening flitted through his head. 
*I can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.* 
Always perceptive where Fox was concerned, it appeared her 
instinct might be correct.


Headquarters of The Lone Gunmen
Monday
11:53 a.m.


"What have you got?" 
Mulder propped himself against a filing cabinet, looking as if a 
strong breeze could topple him. Bruised-looking shadows marred 
the flesh beneath his eyes, accentuated by his pallor. His naturally 
lanky frame now appeared gaunt, wrists nearly skeletal where they 
peeked from the cuffs of his shirt. 
Langly frowned and pulled out the chair to his right. "Sit down 
before you fall down, Mulder. You look awful." 
"And to think I was just about to tell you how cute you looked in 
that shirt," Mulder wisecracked, but he folded into the proffered 
seat with a sigh. 
Frohike plucked at Scully's elbow and drew her aside with a tilt of 
his head. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, eyes darting from 
her to Mulder and back again. "This can't just be worry over his 
brother -- he looks sick." 
"He is. It's some type of respiratory infection, he's coughing almost 
constantly," Scully murmured, worry tinged with anger. "I'm pretty 
sure he's been running a fever too but he keeps popping aspirin 
before I can get a true reading. He needs to be in bed, not chasing 
down Alex Krycek, but he won't listen to me." 
Frohike snorted. "I watched the man sneak out of the hospital right 
after being shot in the head, remember? Believe me, I know how 
stubborn he can be." 
Scully managed a weak smile, then turned her attention to Langly. 
"Krycek showed up in town around January," he was telling 
Mulder. "Before that he'd popped up in various exotic locations, 
most notably Tunisia." 
Mulder lifted his head from where he'd propped in on a fist, 
searching out Scully's eyes before slowly nodding his head. "Go 
on." 
"One source swears that they saw him hanging around a local gym 
at roughly the same time, though what he'd be doing there is 
anyone's guess. He was definitely spotted at D.C. General 
Hospital shortly after that." 
"D.C. General?" Scully said sharply, her mouth suddenly lacking 
all moisture. She walked quickly over to stand behind Mulder, 
laying a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain?" 
"The source is reliable," Byers confirmed gravely, raising an 
eyebrow at her tone. 
"What was the name of the gym?" Mulder asked hoarsely, placing 
his own hand over Scully's. 
"South Street," Frohike answered, a small line creasing his 
forehead. "Why? You know the place?" 
Mulder tipped his head to meet Scully's eyes, seeing his own 
devastation mirrored there. "Yeah. I've heard of it." 
"It appears our friend remained in the area for at least a month. He 
was spotted numerous times with your buddy CGB and with his 
son," Langly continued, scanning a printout. 
"You mean Jeffrey Spender?" Scully asked, startled. 
"Yep. Krycek dropped out of sight right after Jeff Spender was 
shot. Until about a month ago." 
Langly waited, expecting pressure for more information, then shot
Byers an uneasy look when Mulder continued to stare blankly into 
space. 
"You okay, man?" 
Scully's fingers tightened on Mulder's shoulder and he shook 
himself free of his daze. "Yeah." He muffled a cough, then cleared 
his throat. "Yeah, go ahead, I'm listening." 
"We've got records of a Karl Arntzen, matching Krycek's 
description, on a flight to New Mexico, then a return trip back here 
the beginning of October. After that, zip." 
Mulder leaned both elbows on the table and massaged his temples. 
"NOTHING?" 
"Nothing confirmed," Byers admitted. "Just rumors of him popping 
up at various locations around the area, like a will o' the wisp. 
Nothing substantial, and nothing traceable. Whatever he's up to, 
he's being very careful." 
"Which leaves us nowhere," Mulder replied, closing his eyes. 
"We haven't given up," Frohike said. "We'll keep trying." 
Mulder levered himself to his feet, wavering a little but impatiently 
shrugging off Scully's steadying hand. 
"You know where to reach us," he said, avoiding their matching 
looks of concern by heading for the door. 
Frohike made quick work of the locks while Byers and Langly 
exchanged troubled frowns. Mulder ushered Scully through the 
opening with his hand at the small of her back, but paused midway. 
Turning, he leaned his forehead wearily against the hand propped 
on the doorjamb. 
"I appreciate your help," he said quietly. "I know you've done what 
you could." He pushed himself upright and followed Scully to the 
car, leaving the Gunmen to stare at his retreating back. 
Fighting despair as well as the rebellion of his own body, Mulder 
slumped into the passenger seat of Scully's car. She'd inserted the 
key into the ignition, but made no move to turn it. 
"So, can you see the word 'sucker' tattooed on my forehead?" 
Mulder asked dryly. 
"I can't... Mulder, there has to be some explanation. Skinner has 
backed us up more times than I care to remember!" 
"I don't want to believe it either, Scully. But it fits. Skinner refused 
to let us pursue our investigation into who poisoned him. Now we 
learn that Krycek just happened to be spotted both at the location 
of the poisoning and the hospital where Skinner nearly died. Are 
you going to tell me that's just coincidence?" 
Scully bit her lip, well aware that Mulder's stony acceptance of
Skinner's duplicity served to cover his feelings of hurt and 
betrayal. Something profound had occurred between Mulder and 
their boss during her abduction, something that cemented Mulder's 
trust of the man and turned him into a staunch defender of 
Skinner's integrity. She'd doubted that integrity more than once,
most notably during her bout with cancer, but Mulder's faith 
remained firm. Since the death of Mulder's mother and his discovery 
of Grey, she'd come to view Skinner as not only a boss, but as a 
friend, valuing his steadfast support. Could they really have been 
so misled? 
"No," she finally answered, her voice little more than a whisper. 
"But I do think we owe him a chance to explain." When Mulder 
didn't answer she started the engine, then turned to face him. 
"What do *you* think it means, Mulder?" 
Mulder's head was tipped back, his eyes closed. "I think it means 
that Krycek was responsible for Skinner's poisoning, and maybe 
the cure." He opened eyes filled with recklessness, pain, and anger 
-- a dangerous combination. "And I think Skinner had better have a 
damn good explanation."


Alexandria
Monday
2:00 p.m.


Scully emerged from the kitchen, a mug of tea doctored with 
honey and lemon in hand, to find him asleep. She walked slowly 
over to the couch, parking the cup on the coffee table. She hovered 
over him like an impotent guardian angel, knuckles pressed to her 
lips and eyes soft with affection. He'd been lying down, head 
propped up with a pillow to ease the coughing and legs bent to 
provide a makeshift easel for his notepad. If not for the gravity of 
the situation, she'd be charmed by the picture he now presented -- 
glasses askew, lips slightly parted as if he were ready to argue even 
in sleep, and the pencil still clutched in one slack hand. Instead, 
anxiety clawed and shifted in her stomach like a cornered beast. 
Scully lowered herself to sit on the table, one hand seeking 
Mulder's cheek with a gossamer touch designed to assess but not 
awaken. Eyes sunken, cheek too pale and too warm. Scully gently 
stroked a lock of hair back from his sweaty brow, then pressed her 
palm to his chest, feeling the faint, telltale rattle that accompanied 
each rise and fall. 
As she gingerly removed his glasses, Mulder stirred and muttered a 
string of half-intelligible words that included "Grey" and "stop." 
All too experienced in soothing this man back from the edge of a 
nightmare, Scully wove her fingers rhythmically through his soft 
hair. 
"Shhh. It's all right, love," she murmured, keeping her voice low in 
both volume and inflection. "Sleep now." 
Mulder quieted immediately and after a few minutes his lips 
curved. "Scully," he breathed. 
"I'm right here," she said, unsure whether he was asleep or awake 
but continuing her gentle petting. 
He mumbled something she couldn't hear, fingers flexing so that 
the pencil slid unnoticed to the floor with a soft click. Scully 
leaned closer. 
"What?" she prompted, sotto voice. 
"Hips 'fore hans, babe," he mumbled, then turned to snuggled his 
face into the pillow. 
Scully fought the constriction in her throat, blinking hard to clear 
blurred vision. She brushed her lips across his brow and collected 
the notepad, about to join the pencil. Retreating to the armchair, 
she studied the makeshift timeline Mulder had constructed to 
account for Krycek's whereabouts. 
Tunisia. New Mexico. Just what exactly was Ratboy up to these 
days? Diana Fowley had traveled to Tunisia, contacting MUFON 
groups. And Albert Hosteen lived in New Mexico. Coincidences? 
If so, the number was growing at an alarming rate. 
A brisk knock on her door startled Scully from her musings. 
Casting a fleeting glance at the still sleeping Mulder, she stood, 
smoothing her skirt and tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear. 
She guessed who the visitor must be and found herself 
unconsciously taking deep, cleansing breaths to steady her nerves. 
Skinner examined her face as he entered, continuing to watch her 
closely as she shut and locked the door. 
"I got your message," he said. "Kim told me you needed to see me, 
and that it had to be here. I took a late lunch." 
Scully stared into the face of a man that, until two hours 
previously, she'd have sworn she could trust with her life. The 
features remained unchanged -- warm brown eyes magnified 
behind metal frames, firm jaw, lips thinned with unspoken 
questions. The man who had helped them clean out Teena Mulder's 
basement after her sudden death. Who had risked his own job to 
help her locate Mulder during his misadventure in the Bermuda 
Triangle and put Mulder's health above the need to catch a killer. 
She knew this man -- didn't she? 
"We appreciate you coming, sir," she said coolly. "We had to be 
certain that our conversation won't be overheard, and Mulder's 
friends recently swept this place for bugs." 
Skinner nodded sharply, then noticed Mulder for the first time. His 
jaw tightened and a line appeared between his eyes. 
"Is he all right?" 
Fury hit hard and fast, like being tackled while her back was 
turned. How dare Skinner profess concern over Mulder while 
shielding the man’s sworn enemy! Rather than betray those 
feelings to Skinner, she simply walked over to the couch and laid a 
gentle hand on Mulder's leg. 
"Mulder, wake up. Skinner is here." 
Instead of the hair-trigger response she'd come to expect, Mulder 
merely moaned softly and attempted to dislodge the offending 
hand without waking. Scully caught her lip between her teeth, then 
repeated the motion with more force. 
"Mulder. Wake up." 
This time his eyes fluttered open and fixed dazedly on her face. 
Positioning herself to block Skinner's view, she concealed her 
worry with a smile and a caress to his cheek. 
"Skinner is here," she repeated quietly. "You okay?" 
His tongue snaked out to moisten dry lips. "Water?" he croaked 
hopefully, levering himself upright. The hacking began 
immediately, until he was doubled over and breathless. 
"Hold on a minute." Scully scooped up the now cold mug of tea 
and disappeared into the kitchen. 
A series of beeps, and then the whir of the microwave wafted into 
the living room. Mulder rubbed his eyes with the heels of his 
hands, then ran his fingers over his hair in a hopeless attempt to 
smooth it. He eyed Skinner, now seated in the armchair, warily. 
"What have you been doing to yourself, Mulder? You look 
terrible," his boss asked gruffly in a tone Mulder had come to 
recognize as Skinnerconcern. 
"So I've heard. You people are beginning to bruise my fragile ego,"
Mulder retorted, erupting in another series of coughs. 
Scully returned with the tea, which he sipped gratefully. Taking a 
seat at Mulder's side, they faced Skinner in the classic position of 
adversaries. Scully breathed an internal sigh of relief when she saw 
that Mulder had shaken off his lethargy. 
"What is it that you two wanted to see me about?" Skinner asked, 
eyes moving back and forth between them. "Is this about Grey?" 
Mulder glanced at Scully, then took a deep breath. "I have five 
words for you, sir. January. Krycek. South Street Gym." 
It must have been the last thing Skinner expected. He couldn't hide 
his grimace, though he averted his face quickly in an effort to do 
so. When he turned back to face them, his A.D. persona was 
securely in place. 
"You've lost me, Mulder. You'll have to be more specific than 
that." 
Mulder was off the couch and in Skinner's face with startling 
speed, one hand at the man's throat. 
"My brother, the only blood relation I have left on this earth, is 
currently God knows where enduring God knows what at the hands 
of that rat bastard -- the same scum-sucking bottom dweller that 
has been placed at both the gym where you work out and the 
hospital where you nearly checked out! Now you have one chance 
to provide a satisfactory explanation before whatever trust and 
respect I still have for you goes the way of the dinosaur. Is that 
specific enough for you?" 
Skinner's expression was inscrutable. "Let go of me, Mulder," he 
ground out through clenched teeth. 
Scully's calming hand at his elbow and a new round of breath-
stealing coughs convinced Mulder to return to the couch. Skinner 
looked on silently while he struggled to control the spasms, the tic 
beneath his left eye the only external indication of his disquiet. 
When Mulder tapered off to an occasional cough, Skinner leaned 
forward, elbows on knees. He gazed down at his clasped hands, 
jaw working nervously back and forth. Finally his bowed shoulders 
straightened and he met Mulder's eyes. 
"Mulder, there *is* no satisfactory explanation. My hands are 
tied..." 
"BULLSHIT." The single word burst from Mulder's lips with such 
venom it triggered another series of hacking. He shoved 
himself up from the couch and stalked into the bathroom, where 
the medicine cabinet opened and then slammed shut with a bang. 
"He's got no business working this case," Skinner ground out. 
"He's too emotionally invested and he looks like he can barely stay 
on his feet." 
"Are you saying you're removing him from the investigation?" 
Scully asked stiffly, eyes twin chips of blue ice. 
"I wasn't speaking as his boss, Scully, but as his friend." 
"Do us both a favor, sir, and spare us your brand of friendship.
You've seen this before, you know how Mulder operates. He won't 
stop until he's found Grey or killed himself in the attempt." 
Skinner winced, his eyes losing focus as his attention momentarily 
turned inward. Scully knew he was recalling Mulder's behavior 
during the three months of her abduction. Driven, her mother had 
once described his behavior during the time she was convalescing in 
her old home. Reckless in his single-minded desperation to find her, 
heedless of the physical and emotional cost. Self-destructive. 
Mulder wandered back into the room, wiping his lips with the back 
of his hand, a sour expression on his face that could be contributed 
to cold medicine, Skinner, or the unpleasant combination of both. 
"Still here, sir?" he sneered, dropping back down to the cushions 
with a creak of leather. "Don't let us keep you. I'm sure someone 
with your...*connections* has places to go, people to see." 
Skinner removed his glasses and drew one hand slowly down his 
face from forehead to chin, eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. He 
finally replaced the frames and looked up. 
"Krycek infected me with the nanomachines. He's got a...a device 
that can turn them on and off with the push of a button. That 'rat 
bastard' as you so eloquently call him holds my life in the palm of 
his hand." 
Mulder's face registered no expression. "Has he approached you 
for any favors?" 
Skinner smiled -- a bitter twist of his lips. "I met with him once. 
He promised he'd keep in touch." 
Mulder nodded slowly. The blaze within him banked to coals, only 
weariness remained. Scully slipped her hand over his and raised 
her chin. 
"Sir, is there anything, anything at all, that you can..." 
"I followed him," Skinner said grimly with the air of a man led 
before a firing squad. "I'm almost certain he didn't know. I stayed 
with him as far as the gates of a place called 'Nature's Best.'" He 
snorted. "They produce various food items, including corn oil. 
Sound familiar?" 
Mulder leaned forward, giving his notepad a small push that sent it 
gliding to Skinner's end of the coffee table. "Directions." 
Skinner waffled briefly before pulling a pen from his pocket and 
jotting on the pad with harsh, jerky strokes. 
"Hope you're right about the bugs," he said ruefully to Scully, 
tossing the pad to the table and standing. "I have to get back to the 
office." 
Mulder picked up the pad and trailed silently behind Scully as she 
uttered soft words of thanks and escorted their boss to the door. 
His eyebrows lowered, a line marring the pale skin of his forehead. 
"How far?" he asked, his eyes charting Skinner's face like new 
territory to be explored. "How far would you have gone?" 
Skinner's mouth dropped open, his chin jutting forward. "Far 
enough to preserve my life without selling my soul. Keep me 
posted, Mulder." 
A short nod to Scully, and he strode purposefully out the door and 
down the hall. Mulder frowned at the writing on the pad. 
"I'm calling the guys, Scully. We're getting Grey out of there, and 
we're doing it tonight."


Nature's Best, Inc.
Monday
11:53 p.m.


"This is crazy, Mulder. Sheer, unadulterated insanity." 
Scully glared at her partner, her entire body thrumming with fury.
Somehow Mulder had maneuvered her into the role she was 
playing, a role that went against some pretty fundamental beliefs. 
First do no harm. It was a basic creed among doctors, and 
one she took very seriously. What she'd done to get Mulder to this 
point, huddled in the back of the Gunmen's van and preparing to 
infiltrate Nature's Best, could be described negligent at best, 
criminal at worst. 
"Scully, relax. I'm doing just fine. I haven't even coughed in nearly 
an hour," Mulder insisted, eyes overly bright and temperament 
what she commonly referred to as "twitchy." 
"You are *not* all right, Mulder -- far from it! The only reason 
you aren't coughing is the truckload of codeine in that elixir I gave 
you, and you're wired out of your mind on that shot of caffeine. 
You may feel good now, but when you come down you're going to 
crash hard." 
"Then I'll deal with it when the time comes. What's important now 
is that I'm able to go in there and get Grey without barking like a 
dog and giving us away." Mulder paused in his restless fidgeting, 
finally taking in the guilt on Scully's face. "You did the right thing 
to help me, Scully. Never doubt it." 
He curved one hand around the nape of her neck and pressed a kiss 
to her forehead. The heat she could feel from his skin, however, 
undermined the reassurance in his words. 
"I don't like being backed into a corner, Mulder," she persisted, 
pulling away from the embrace. 
Irritation crept into his own voice. "I never forced you, Scully. You 
had a choice." 
"The hell I did! What would you have done if I refused? Stayed 
home and let us handle this?" 
Mulder's eyes skittered away from her unyielding stare. "No." 
"So my options were to refuse your request and watch you 
endanger your life, or do whatever I could -- however unethical -- 
to get you through the next few hours. Some choice, Mulder." 
Mulder could be incredibly thickheaded, but occasionally she 
managed to squeeze through a chink in his armor of self-
absorption. His annoyance crumbled, leaving him suitably contrite. 
"You know I admire your beliefs, Scully," he said quietly, 
suddenly aware of the Gunmen's lame attempts to appear too 
occupied to notice their fight. "Even the ones I don't share. But this 
is MY brother, the man who has been there for me time and again 
over the last six months. I need to do this for him." His voice 
plunged until barely more than a whisper. "I need to do this for 
me." 
Scully closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together, 
amazed and a little pissed off by the way the man could defuse her 
anger with a few well chosen words and a pair of soulful eyes. She 
loved him beyond reason, beyond common sense -- a feeling that 
was terrifying in its unfamiliarity, frustrating in its irrationality, 
and exhilarating in its intensity. 
"Let's go," she growled at Frohike, who was ostensibly checking 
the microphones on their headsets. Before Mulder could 
congratulate himself she turned back on him, one eyebrow raised. 
"You owe me for this, Mulder. Big time." 
One side of Mulder's mouth turned up in a gentle smirk and he 
pressed a hand to his chest. "Just name your price, oh mistress," he 
said with an exaggerated wink. "I am yours to command." 
"Can it, Frohike," Scully warned, slipping past the little man and 
hopping out the sliding door. "In your dreams." 
Frohike didn't attempt to hide his leer. "You peeked!"


Nature's Best, Inc.
Tuesday
12:12 a.m.


Getting inside the gate proved to be easy. Validating their "kung 
fu" claims, the Gunmen had spent the previous afternoon and 
evening hacking into the Nature's Best computer system. 
Blueprints and schematics of the buildings and outlying areas 
revealed a section of fence vulnerable to wire cutters. Mulder pried 
open the jagged edges while Scully and Frohike squirmed through, 
following as Frohike returned the favor. 
"We're in," he announced quietly, adjusting a headset knocked 
askew by grasping, sharp pointed wire. 
"Things look good on this end," Byers answered from his position 
in the van with Langly. They'd managed to patch into the buried 
phone cable that serviced the plant, Langly manning the keyboard 
and Byers only too happy to relay communications. He'd never 
quite recovered from his foray into the Lombard Research Facility 
with Mulder. 
"Langly says you need to skirt the trees to the north. You'll see two 
buildings. The large two-story one is the factory. The smaller is 
research and development. Report when you're in position." 
"Got it," Mulder said crisply. 
Scully took the lead as they cautiously circled northward, keeping 
to the shadows of a thick copse of oak and birch trees, their leaves 
glittering silver in the moonlight. Clad from head to toe in dark 
clothing with her fiery hair tucked up in a baseball cap, Scully 
reminded Mulder of a sleek black cat as she picked her way 
through the underbrush. Dispelling the oddly whimsical notion 
with a shake of his head, Mulder moved quickly to her side when 
she pulled up short. 
With a tilt of her head and a lifted eyebrow, Scully silently 
indicated the problem. Across an open, rolling meadow squatted 
two buildings, surrounding floodlights blazing bright as noon. Mulder 
contained a groan, eyes methodically cataloguing the area while 
one finger tapped at his puckered lips. 
"We're in position," he finally murmured into his microphone. 
"There's no cover for at least three hundred yards leading up to the 
building. Are there any other options?" 
A faint buzz of muted voices as Byers conferred with Langly 
before replying. "No other choice. He can disable the security lock 
and cameras on the west door for about forty-five seconds but 
you're on your own to get there." 
Mulder cursed softly under his breath. Scully leaned over to lay a 
calming hand on his arm. 
"We'll just have to make a run for it," she said practically, as if she 
were suggesting mild inconvenience instead of life-threatening 
risk. "We go all together, and we don't stop until we're through the 
door. With any luck the security guard will be off somewhere 
taking a nap." 
Mulder studied her face a moment, then nodded. "You up for this, 
Frohike?" 
"Get real, Mulder. You should know by now that I'd follow the 
lovely Agent Scully to the ends of the earth," Frohike smirked. 
Mulder rolled his eyes while Scully wore an expression 
somewhere between pained and pleased. "On the count of three, 
Byers. And that door damn well better be open when we get there." 
Crossing the open field, heart pounding and legs pumping, Mulder 
experienced the disjointed flash of an image courtesy of his eidetic 
memory. He'd been 10 and Sam 6 when his mother had taken them 
to see the movie Bambi at the dollar theatre. Dragged along against 
his will, he'd protested bitterly at being subjected to such kiddie 
fare. But within minutes the story had sucked him in, weaving him 
in its spell. He'd literally crept to the edge of his seat during the 
scene in the meadow when Bambi's mother sensed the hunter's 
presence and told him to run, run and not look back... 
The recollection of the shock that had jolted his body at that 
fictitious gunshot jerked his head to the left, his eyes searching for 
Scully without slowing his momentum. She was only a few steps 
behind, flanked by Frohike, her face a grim mask of concentration 
as her shorter legs worked double time to match his own. The 
tightness in Mulder's chest loosened almost imperceptibly. He put 
on an extra burst of speed, right hand flung out before him as the 
door loomed into view. In the slow motion special effects of his 
own mind, he saw his fingers curve around the brass knob and 
twist hard just before his shoulder slammed into the metal. 
And bounced off. 
Before he could begin to process his lack of success, a distinct 
click pierced the huffing of his own distressed pants for air and 
Scully's small hand displaced his own to open the door. They 
slipped inside, pulling the door shut and ducking around a corner 
to avoid the temporarily blind video camera. Mulder folded over at 
the waist, an iron grip on his knees as he struggled to pull air into 
lungs that felt compressed by his ribs. He stared with dazed 
fascination as perspiration fell from his brow to patter on the dusty 
floor like rain. 
The faint stirrings of a tickle in his throat brought panic. He raised 
his arm, turning his face into his shoulder in a desperate attempt to 
muffle the sound. Scully's fingers abruptly locked onto his chin, 
bringing his head up and around to face her. His protest silenced 
when she slipped the plastic mouthpiece of an inhaler between his 
lips and hissed, "Take a deep breath!" 
If the past six years had taught them anything, it had been to trust 
each other unreservedly in dire situations. Though a deep 
inhalation would normally exacerbate his cough, Mulder ceded to 
Scully's instruction. A puff of something moist and faintly vile 
tasting was sucked into his lungs along with the oxygen, instantly 
aborting the compulsion to cough and easing the pressure on his 
lungs to a manageable level. 
"Bronchodilator," Scully murmured, watching his face closely as 
she slipped the little miracle device into her pocket. "Don't talk for 
a minute, just breathe." 
Mulder was only too happy to comply. When his hammering heart 
slowed, he was finally able to observe his locale and Frohike's 
absence. His eyes must have registered alarm, because Scully gave 
his hand a pacifying press with hers. 
"Relax. He just went to scout out the hallway. Langly's guiding 
him." 
As if summoned, the inner door cracked open to emit Frohike's 
head. He squinted at Mulder, a small line appearing between his 
eyes. "You all right? Ready to join the party?" 
Mulder nodded, placing his hand in the small of Scully's back to 
guide her through the doorway. He leaned over to press his lips to 
hear ear, provoking an involuntary shiver. "Thanks, babe. Even if 
that stuff does taste like piss." 
They slipped down a long corridor, the dimmed fluorescent bulbs 
and absence of activity exuding an aura of dormancy overlaid with 
watchfulness. Staggered doors on each side bore electronic locks 
and identifying nameplates -- microbiology, toxicology, electron 
microscopy. Mulder peered in through windows that divulged 
nothing more sinister than lab benches and equipment, Scully's 
home turf. 
"Where are we going, Byers?" he growled, ducking around a 
corner with Scully and Frohike to avoid a security camera 
swinging their way. "We need some direction here." 
"Langly says there's a wing in the back that's not identified on the 
blueprints. Go to the end of the hallway and turn left, then a quick 
right. You'll see a double door. He's trying to crack the lock now." 
Byers' words sped up with his increasing nervousness. "Lots of 
cameras in that area, Mulder. Langly can't get them all. Be 
careful." 
They jogged quietly down the designated path, ducking into a 
doorway once to allow a lone technician absorbed in a file folder to 
shuffle past. Peering cautiously around the final corner, Scully 
gave Mulder a thumbs up before stepping toward the security 
doors that Byers had described. Mulder barely lifted a foot to 
proceed when her body slammed hard against his own, driving him 
backward into Frohike as they stumbled back into the shadows. At 
their questioning looks she scowled and mimed smoking a 
cigarette. 
Mulder's eyes darkened and his body quivered with repressed rage. 
Ripping the headset from his ears he flattened against the pebbled 
texture of the wall as the rising drone of voices drifted closer.

"...drip runs out in about an hour, you'll have the desired results."
The voice was a high tenor with a nasal twang, eager to please. 
"Excellent." Cancerman's gravelly voice broke off and then 
continued, and Mulder could visualize the missing drag on his 
Morley. "Will there be any side effects?" 
"Nothing worse than you've seen before. Disorientation, headache, 
vomiting -- perhaps a low grade fever. You can still transport." 
"That's good to hear. I have other, more pressing matters that 
require my attention." 
Measured footsteps passed within inches as the men continued 
down the corridor without turning, and the irrational desire to 
reach out and catch Cancerman by the throat possessed Mulder 
until his hands unconsciously flexed at his sides. To wrap his 
fingers around that sallow throat, pinning him against the wall and 
squeezing to drive that smug expression from his face. 
Swept up in the images, he didn't realize Frohike had moved 
toward the doors until Scully's hand stilled his clenching fists and 
brought him back on task. As vulnerable as bugs on a wall, Mulder 
could feel the cold electric eyes of the video cameras impassively 
recording their invasion. The small light above the complicated 
keypad on the lock winked a baleful red. 
"Byers, now would be a very good time," he hissed, slipping the 
earphones back into place and tugging at the unyielding knob. 
"Hang on, hang on, he's almost got it," Byers chanted. 
More footsteps, impossible to determine origin when sound 
bounced and echoed off tile. Mulder slipped out his gun and 
clicked off the safety, sensing Scully do the same as his eyes 
tracked apprehensively around them. Steady tapping, purposeful, 
and drawing inexorably closer. 
"We are running out of time," he grated through his teeth. 
"Someone's coming." 
Frohike jiggled the knob again. "Damn it, Ringo! This is no way to 
get my video collection!" he muttered into his own microphone. 
A soft click, the light flashed green, and they were tumbling 
through the first door, then the second, and sliding around the 
nearest corner. Once it became clear that the owner of the footfalls 
had passed, Mulder straightened and turned the handle of the first 
door, pushing it open on silent hinges. 
The room was dark and completely empty of furniture or 
equipment with the exception of two cots that crouched beneath a 
barred window in a spill of moonlight. Mulder walked slowly over 
to the nearest, slipping his gun back into its position at the small of 
his back. Each cot contained a body, both young males in their late 
teens or early twenties. Only the slight rise and fall of their chests 
distinguished them from corpses -- that and the fact that restraints 
secured their arms and legs to the bedframe. 
Frohicke peered around Mulder's shoulder, while Scully moved 
around to the other side. She hesitantly touched an arm, then 
turned it to curl her fingers around the wrist when the owner didn't 
move or awaken. 
"Pulse is strong and steady," she said. 
Mulder reached over, rotating the arm to expose the underside. 
"Look at this." 
Track marks traced an ugly pattern from wrist to elbow, marring 
the smooth flesh. Mulder repeated his examination of the other arm 
with the same results. Scully leaned over, using thumb and 
forefinger to spread apart slack eyelids, then gasped sharply and 
pulled back. 
"You okay?" Mulder asked, frowning at her uncharacteristic 
reaction. 
"Yes. But he isn't." 
Motioning for him to come closer, she pulled back the lid. The 
fixed blue orb beneath swam in a pool of black viscous liquid. 
Mulder recoiled, then cursed softly as Scully turned to examine the 
other young man. He'd nearly forgotten Frohike's presence until his 
elbow was seized in a vice-like grip. 
"What the heck is that?" the little man demanded, eyes wide. 
Mulder grimaced, turning for the door. "The ultimate betrayal." 
Across the hall to the next door, and this time Scully turned the 
knob. This room was just as stark, but bathed in subdued lighting. 
A single figure lay motionless and restrained on the cot, an I.V. 
fastened to the back of one hand and dripping amber fluid. 
Mulder's breath caught at the sight of familiar dark wavy locks and 
he pushed past Scully in a blind rush to the man's side. 
"Grey," he whispered, blinking rapidly to resist the hot prickling 
sensation in the back of his eyes. 
Oblivious to Frohike and Scully's worried looks, he touched his 
brother with one trembling hand, laying the backs of his fingers 
against the warm cheek. Grey didn't twitch, his slow, deep 
breathing never altering. Biting down hard on his lip, Mulder 
raised his fingers to Grey's left eye and gently pried open the lid. 
Hazel irises, the pupils dilated to huge black circles, but no oily 
film. 
Mulder quickly withdrew his hand and clutched at the edge of the 
cot, lightheaded with relief. Scully ran a comforting hand down the 
length of his arm, then turned to Grey, her blue eyes hard. Quickly 
and efficiently she disconnected and removed the I.V., using a 
corner of the sheet to apply pressure and halt bleeding. 
"Is it safe to move him?" Mulder asked, voice thick with emotion. 
"Anything that gets him out of here would be safe," Scully replied 
grimly. "His pulse is good. Let's go." 
Frohike had retreated to a corner of the room, where he'd been 
speaking quietly to Byers. Seeing Scully shove the I.V. pole out of 
the way, he helped Mulder haul Grey partially upright. Grey's head 
lolled drunkenly on his neck as Mulder propped his upper body 
against his chest. 
"We've got to go back out the way we came in," Frohike said 
apologetically, aiding Mulder's struggle to swing Grey's legs off 
the side of the cot. "There's no exit back here." 
"How are you going to carry him?" Scully asked, a lump forming 
in her throat as she watch Mulder tenderly cradle his brother 
against his body. "He's a dead weight." 
"Same way he got me back to camp during our nice little trip to the 
forest," Mulder replied. "Fireman's carry. You two will have to 
watch my back, I won't be able to defend myself." He slipped the 
gun from his waistband and handed it to a horrified Frohike. 
"Mulder...man, I've never used one of these," Frohike protested, 
holding the weapon as if it were a poisonous snake. 
"Come on, Melvin," Mulder coaxed with a grin as he hefted his 
brother's passive form over his shoulder. "I've never believed that 
saying about old dogs and new tricks." 
Flashing him a disgusted scowl, Frohike awkwardly tucked the gun 
into his own waistband then lead the way back into the hall. 
Within two minutes Mulder was unpleasantly reminded that Grey 
had been in prime physical condition while carrying him through 
the woods, not suffering from an unknown respiratory ailment. 
Sweat poured down his face and an annoying ringing filled his 
ears, blotting out Frohike's whispered instructions. He slid into 
automatic pilot mode, the world narrowing to the back of Scully's 
head and the mechanics of placing one foot before the other. 
A small hand gripping his wrist and yanking him into a doorway 
ripped him from his daze. He leaned weakly against the wall, 
bracing himself with the shoulder not occupied by Grey, eyes 
closed and panting. Running footfalls and loud voices receded down 
the corridor and cool fingers pressed his cheek. 
"They're onto us, Mulder," Scully murmured urgently. "Can you 
make it?" 
Gritting his teeth, Mulder conserved energy by merely 
straightening with a nod. A few more twists and turns and they 
burst out into the crisp night air, crossing the meadow at a dead 
run. A popping sound, then a bullet whined past his left ear. 
Mulder ducked instinctively, stumbling and nearly losing his hold 
on Grey in the process. He could hear Frohike screaming, ordering 
Langly and Byers to pull up the van. Scully flashed by to his right, 
sprinting ahead to pull apart the gap in the fence. She squeezed 
quickly through, wincing when a barb raked her cheek and swiping 
impatiently at the line of blood as she maintained the opening. 
Mulder threw himself to his knees, allowing Grey to slump to the 
frigid ground with a thud. He crawled quickly through, then turned 
to grasp Grey under the armpits and drag him to freedom, Frohike 
shoving from the other side. Two more sharp reports as Frohike 
dove through, rolling quickly to his feet. Mulder, his bones feeling 
like jelly, fought to pick Grey up as three figures approached the 
fence, guns in hand. 
"STOP RIGHT THERE!" one barked, calmly swinging the 
weapon in Mulder's direction and squeezing the trigger. 
Mulder let go of Grey, covering his brother's prone form with his 
own body. Scully popped up from her spot in a small ditch and 
fired several shots at the pursuers until they scrambled for cover. 
Grey chose this inopportune moment to moan and begin struggling 
weakly as Mulder attempted to gather him up. 
"Here!" 
Frohike scooped up Grey's legs and Mulder reasserted his hold 
under the man's arms, staggering toward the road and an oncoming 
set of headlights. The next few minutes passed in a blur of pure 
sensation - the crunch of tires on gravel, a blast of warm air from 
the van, strong hands pulling Grey from his arms, the vibration of 
the engine as he slumped onto the floor. At last he regained the 
ability to process the activity around him in a more sophisticated 
manner. 
"That was too close," Byers said from the front seat and Langly 
grunted agreement from his position hunched over the wheel. 
Grey was stretched out on a seat, Scully in doctor mode beside 
him. "Mulder, he's coming around," she said quietly. 
Mulder shifted, began to cough, and gave himself over to the 
spasms for several minutes before he could move to his brother's 
side. Grey's eyes fluttered and he groaned, his head tossing 
restlessly back and forth. Mulder lay a calming hand over his 
brother's heart. 
"Easy, Grey. You're safe," he murmured soothingly. 
His brother's eyes slowly opened and he stared into Mulder's face, 
blinking. "I... How did I get here? Where am I?" 
"You're in a van, we just got you out of that place Krycek took 
you. You're safe," Mulder repeated. 
Grey's face screwed up in pain. "Hurts," he muttered, lifting a 
shaky hand to his head. 
"We're going to take you to a hospital, get you checked out," 
Mulder assured him. "Just try to relax." 
Grey absorbed his words for a moment, then bit his lip. "I just have 
one more question," he whispered, voice thin and shaking. 
Mulder mustered a grin. "Fire away." 
"Who are you?"


GUMC
Tuesday
6:00 a.m.


Skinner stepped off the elevator and walked down the long quiet 
hallway, the brisk tap of his loafers out of place amidst the quiet 
whisper of crepe soles. When he neared the lounge, he spotted a 
lonely figure hunched over in one of the molded plastic chairs, 
head cradled in hands, and he unconsciously slowed his pace. 
Gritting his teeth, he wished once again that he were better at this, 
words of comfort flowing off his tongue rather than clogging in his 
throat. Inadequacy was a feeling he rarely experienced and barely 
tolerated, having discovered that simple avoidance usually took 
care of the problem. Like turning a corner into a brick wall at 90 
miles an hour, this time it couldn't be avoided. 
Scully's call snatched him from the edge of a restless sleep, the 
fatigue and worry in her voice bringing him instantly awake. In her 
clipped, business-like style, used to maintain composure in 
emotionally charged situations, she'd briefly summarized their 
rescue of Grey and his current condition. Only when she finally 
worked up to making a request did her detachment slip. 
"Sir, I'll be staying with Grey while the doctors run some tests. 
Mulder could use...that is, he's very..." 
Imagining Mulder's state of mind all too clearly, Skinner had 
spoken without hesitation. "I'll be right there." 
Only now, as he approached the man, did he curse himself for 
seven kinds of a fool. If he'd spent more time trying to nail 
Krycek and less worrying about his own skin, perhaps they 
wouldn't be here now -- Mulder looking like the walking dead and 
Grey... 
He rested a hand on Mulder's shoulder as he sank into an adjoining 
chair, disturbed by the lack of response. When Mulder did raise his 
head, Skinner bit back an exclamation of concern. His cheeks were 
flushed with fever, eyes glassy with exhaustion. 
"Mulder, why don't you lie down on the couch," he suggested 
gently, bracing himself for a typical Mulder scowl at the 
insinuation of weakness. 
The lethargic shrug of shoulders increased his anxiety. "Don't want 
to fall asleep. I need to be awake when Scully comes back." 
"You haven't heard anything yet?" 
"He was unconscious again by the time we got here. They were 
going to do a tox screen, CAT scan, and some other tests to rule 
out brain damage." He spoke the last two words in a wispy thin 
voice lacking substance but not emotion. 
Skinner licked dry lips. "You can't just believe the worst, Mulder," 
he said, inwardly wincing at the lame sound of his own words. 
Mulder's laugh had the quality of a sob. "Why not, sir? Don't you 
think past experience grants me that right?" 
Skinner was still fumbling helplessly for a response when Mulder 
returned his head to his hands. "I'm so tired." 
Misunderstanding completely, Skinner saw a way out and jumped. 
"Lie down, Mulder. I'll keep watch for Scully." 
Mulder's jagged laugh turned into hacking, tapering off just as 
Skinner was ready to hunt down a nurse. "Sleeping won't fix this, 
sir. It won't give me back what they've taken -- what they continue 
to take. My sister. My father. Now Grey. They've taken Scully 
from me twice -- it's only a matter of time before they do it again, 
and this time I won't get her back. I'm not one of those damn 
punching toys, I can't keep popping back up." He turned his head 
to reveal haunted eyes. "I'm running out of reasons why I should." 
"Then let me give you a few," Skinner replied in a voice fiercely 
gentle. "Millions of people going about their average, 
unremarkable lives in complete ignorance of the impending threat 
of slavery and death. A brother down that hallway needs you to be 
there for him, the way he's been there for you. And if that's not 
enough, there's a certain, redheaded partner who will personally 
kick your ass if you even think about giving up now." 
As if summoned, Scully rounded a corner and headed down the 
hallway toward them. Skinner watched in fascination as Mulder's 
head snapped up and rotated, some internal Scullyradar alerting 
him. He stood, swayed slightly, then moved quickly down the 
corridor to meet her, Skinner in tow. 
Scully frowned, cupping his cheek with her hand to feel the heat.
"Mulder, I want you to let someone take a look at you," she said 
firmly. 
Mulder fretfully pulled away from her touch. "Not NOW, Scully. 
How is he?" 
She tensed as if ready to argue, then gave in. "We're still waiting 
on the tox screen and other bloodwork but the CAT scan looks 
good. He surfaced once or twice, but just long enough to be sick 
and he was pretty incoherent. They settled him in a room down the 
hall and are hoping he'll sleep off the worst of the effects. Mulder, 
I could kick myself for not taking a sample of that drug." 
At the sound of her self-recrimination, Mulder sought out her hand. 
"We were a little preoccupied, Scully. Can I see him?" 
"He's still sleeping. I'd rather a doctor took a look at you first 
and..." 
"Damn it, Scully, my brother is lying in a hospital bed after they 
seriously messed with his head! No one is examining me until I see 
him, make sure he's going to be all right!" Mulder snapped. 
"You're no good to him if you wind up here yourself, Mulder!" 
Scully retorted, beyond mere frustration with his intractability. "Or 
is your plan to be roommates?" 
The acidic humor pulled him up short and he attempted to forcibly 
calm his impatience and his labored breathing. "Okay, okay. Just 
let me see him and then I'll let the doctor of your choice poke and 
prod me to your heart's content. Deal?" 
Her lips curved a little but her eyes remained troubled. "Ten 
minutes, Mulder." 
Skinner's voice broke through, reminding them of his presence. 
"I'll wait in the lounge," he said dryly. "Just in case you need back-
up, Scully." 
Mulder's look was scathing, but Scully openly grinned. "That's 
good to know, sir." 
Tugging on his arm, Scully led Mulder down the hall and around a 
corner, steadying him when he began weaving a bit from side to 
side. She stepped through the open door of the first room on their 
left, moving over to allow Mulder to approach the bed. Another 
I.V., this one delivering saline, was inserted in Grey's hand, and a 
bandage at the crook of his arm marked where the nurse had drawn 
blood. 
Scully pulled a chair up to the bed and motioned for Mulder to sit, 
a suggestion he was more than willing to accept. He tenderly 
clasped his brother's hand, taking comfort from the peaceful 
expression on Grey's face. 
"They gave him some Compazine for the nausea," Scully 
explained softly, massaging the knotted muscles in Mulder's neck 
and shoulders. "It knocked him out but he should be coming 
around soon." 
Mulder's thumb stroked Grey's knuckles. "There were no signs of 
trauma?" 
"Some deep bruising on his abdomen and lower back but nothing 
to worry about. He'll most likely just be stiff and sore for a few 
days. He was a little dehydrated, but the saline will take care of 
that." 
Mulder slowly shook his head, lips parted but unable to form 
words at first. "Just a little bit sooner, Scully. An hour or so earlier 
and maybe I could have prevented them from giving him whatever 
was in that I.V. I let him down." 
"You did *not* let him down! You risked your own life to get him 
out of there, Mulder," Scully said vehemently. "He's here now, 
alive and getting treatment because of you." 
"Did you call Kristen?" Mulder asked, clearly unwilling to accept 
Scully's appraisal of the situation. 
She recognized the evasion, but let it slide. "Right before I called 
Skinner. She wanted to come over immediately, but I convinced 
her to wait until later this morning." 
Grey's fingers twitched and his head rolled to the right, a string of 
indecipherable words conveyed with a moan. Mulder leaned in 
closer, eyes glued to his brother's face. Grey's tranquil expression 
contracted into a grimace and his eyelids twitched. 
"Kate?" he mumbled, his voice like chalk on concrete. 
Mulder shot Scully an agonized look, his thumb quickening its 
motion on Grey's knuckles. Grey's eyes blinked open and he stared 
fixedly at the ceiling for several moments. 
"Thirsty," he rasped, licking his lips and slowly turning his head to 
focus on Scully, who was already moving toward the water pitcher. 
She guided the straw carefully to his mouth and Grey drank 
greedily, rapidly draining the contents of the small plastic cup. His 
eyes tracked around the room as he swallowed, a small frown 
darkening his features. 
"Where am I?" 
"Georgetown University Medical Center," Scully said, setting the 
empty cup on the nightstand. 
"What's wrong with me?" 
"What do you remember?" Mulder spoke up, his own face drawn 
with anxiety. 
Grey started and his eyes darted to his brother as if noticing him 
for the first time. He started to speak but then snapped his mouth 
shut and studied Mulder, his frown deepening. One shaky hand 
crept to his forehead, and he rubbed at the spot just over his eyes. 
"I...I don't..." He trailed off, eyes wide with fear and respiration 
coming in short pants. 
"Easy, Grey," Scully said calmly. "Take deep breaths, you're going 
to hyperventilate." 
"Everything is all tangled up," he moaned, heedless of her 
warning, drawing inward. "Like pieces from different puzzles all 
spilled together. Nothing fits to make a complete picture!" 
"It's okay," Mulder said, gripping Grey's hand hard until his 
brother winced a little and seemed to regain focus, tugging to free 
himself from Mulder's grasp. "You're safe now, that's what matters. 
No one can hurt you. You're safe." 
Grey abruptly ceased struggling and went still, his jaw dropping 
open and his gaze fastening on Mulder's face like a drowning man 
to a life preserver. 
"I remember... you...you were hurt and lying in a hospital bed. You 
had a...a bad dream and I...I held your hand and told you that you 
were safe." He shuddered, the vibration passing through his whole 
body, and his eyes blurred behind a sheen of tears. "Fox." 
Mulder grinned, but his lips quivered suspiciously. "Scully always 
tells me I'm unforgettable." 
Grey rolled his eyes, a flash of his usual humor surfacing. "I was 
there, little brother. I believe the word she used was 'impossible.'" 
Mulder chuckled roughly, turning his head and swiping at his eyes 
with the sleeve of his shirt. Scully bit her lip, distressed by the way 
his fingers trembled. 
"So why am I here?" Grey repeated, all traces of laughter gone. 
"My last clear memory is of playing basketball with you. Is that 
right?" 
"That was Friday," Mulder said grimly. "It's Tuesday. You were 
kidnapped on your way to see Kristen on Saturday night. We 
finally figured out where they were holding you and got you out 
early this morning." 
"Why can't I remember any of that? Why does my brain feel like 
scrambled eggs -- not to mention this headache! Did someone hit 
me over the head, give me a concussion?" Grey struggled against 
the panic that wanted to devour him. 
Mulder ran fingers through his hair and down to cup the back of 
his neck, sensing the muscles that had loosened under Scully's 
ministrations grow taut. "We're pretty certain they gave you some 
kind of drug to tamper with your memory. You were hooked up to 
an I.V. when we found you." 
Grey blanched, gaze flitting back and forth between their faces as 
if to assure himself that he wasn't the subject of an elaborate 
practical joke. What he saw must have convinced him, for his 
fingers clenched tightly onto the sheets. 
"You keep saying THEY. THEY kidnapped me. THEY drugged 
me. Who did this? And what could they possibly want with me?" 
Mulder reacted as if slapped, flinching and drawing back from the 
bed. Scully saw him fumbling for a response, and stepped closer to 
his side. 
"We think they were after Mulder, Grey. Taking you was a 
mistake." 
Grey processed this, then reached out his hand. "Fox. Don't." 
It was enough. Mulder stretched out his still trembling hand to 
briefly clasp his brother's. Even separated by several inches, Scully 
could feel the heat radiating from his body. She glanced at Grey to 
see if he noticed, but his eyes were already beginning to droop 
with weariness. Seeing her opportunity, she lay one hand on 
Mulder's shoulder. 
"Ten minutes are up, Mulder," she said quietly. "We had a deal." 
Mulder's lips thinned. "Five more minutes, Scully, we just..." 
"Mulder. Look at him." 
As she'd hoped, concern for his brother achieved what her own 
threats could not. Mulder registered that Grey's eyes were mere 
slits and his annoyance faded. 
"Get some sleep," he told Grey mildly. "We'll talk more later." 
Grey nodded amiably, not bothering to open his eyes. "'Kay." 
Mulder stood with all the agility of a ninety-year-old man. 
Evidently his blood didn't get the message that his head was 
moving up, since the world went uniformly gray and without 
Scully's death grip on his arm he would have gone down in a heap. 
She steered him out the door and down the hall, to the lounge and 
the incongruous image of Skinner with a copy of "Better Homes 
and Gardens" in his hands. When he saw Scully's face looked 
nearly as pale as Mulder's, he jumped up to help her settle her 
partner in a chair. 
"I'm okay!" Mulder snapped, then disintegrated into harsh, wet 
coughs, bending forward and clutching his ribs. 
Skinner pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into 
Mulder's right hand. He brought it to his lips and attempted to 
muffle the raw, uncontrollable spasms. When they finally 
diminished, Mulder clutched the bit of cloth in a fist pressed tightly 
to his lips. 
"That's it, Mulder. We're going downstairs to the emergency room 
right now," Scully said, trying for her command voice but only 
managing to sound desperately worried. 
"I don't want Grey left alone," Mulder replied stubbornly, his voice 
fading in and out like a man with laryngitis. 
Skinner shook his head. "Mulder, we've already determined that 
they probably never wanted Grey in the first place. I'm sure he's 
not in any..." 
"They never finished wiping his memory!" Mulder cut in. "He 
might have seen something, heard something that they didn't 
intend for him to remember." He struggled to stand, still forcing 
words from his abused throat. "I won't take a chance, Skinner! You 
have to promise me..." 
Mulder froze, only halfway to standing, his eyes becoming 
impossibly wide and losing focus before rolling back in his head. 
Skinner caught him before he could pitch forward onto the tile, 
terrified when he felt Mulder jerking spasmodically in his arms. 
"Oh God, oh God, he's seizing! Lay him down on the floor!" 
Scully moaned. "We need help down here!" she bellowed in the 
direction of the nurses' station. 
Skinner complied, fighting not to lose his grip on Mulder's twisting 
body. By the time a nurse arrived with an orderly and a gurney, 
Mulder had gone limp and very still. Scully hovered, barking 
orders like a drill sergeant as he was expertly lifted and strapped 
down. She followed them down the hallway and into the elevator 
without sparing Skinner a backward glance, one of Mulder's hands 
cradled in her own and a continuous flow of background 
information directed at the nurse. 
Skinner stood in the middle of the vacant lounge, shock 
smothering his emotions like a heavy wool blanket. Forcing 
himself from his stupor, he clenched his teeth. The best way he 
could help Mulder now was to ensure that he concentrate on 
getting well. If the man wanted Grey under protection, he'd see to 
it himself. 
Skinner took three steps before his foot landed on something soft 
and lumpy. Looking down, he saw his crumpled handkerchief and 
bent to retrieve it before continuing toward Grey's room. He was 
about to tuck it absently into his pocket, but a flash of color caught 
his eye and he halted. His stomach knotted as he unfolded the 
pristine white square to reveal ugly splatters of bright crimson.


GUMC
Tuesday
11:45 a.m.


"I know you weren't thrilled about going to that concert, but don't 
you think this was an extreme way to avoid it?" 
Grey brought Kristen's hand to his lips and placed an apologetic 
kiss on the palm. "I believe that's called 'extenuating 
circumstances,'" he said ruefully. "I promise to make it up to you 
when I get out of here." 
Kristen shifted a little more firmly onto the edge of the mattress. 
"And that will be...?" 
Grey curled his lip. "Not soon enough. Actually, it's possible 
they'll release me tonight, if I can keep down my dinner." He rolled 
his eyes. "No small feat when you consider the slop they served for 
lunch." 
"I'd be glad to play chauffeur," Kristen offered, her shy smile 
revealing matching dimples. "In the interest of your complete 
recovery, of course." 
Grey grinned back. "Of course. But I'll have to get back to you. 
Fox will most likely be planning to take me home, since I'm 
staying at his place." 
Kristen shook her head, frowning in confusion. "Fox? But he can't 
do it, he's…" She stopped abruptly, chewing on her lower lip and 
turning her face to gaze out the window. 
"What? He's what?" Grey demanded, alarmed by her discomfiture. 
"Kristen, what's going on?" 
"I thought you knew. You didn't seem surprised that he hadn't been 
back to see you," she said quietly, hands twisting in her lap. 
Grey sat up and stilled them in his own. "Tell me." 
"He's very sick, Grey. The A.D. told me he's been admitted and 
they're running tests. They think it's pneumonia." 
Grey's expression shifted quickly from anguish to anger. "Why 
didn't anyone tell me? Did they think I wouldn't want to know?" 
"I guess they didn't want to upset you, when you were sick 
yourself. The A.D. said ... Grey!" 
Grey ignored Kristen's cry of alarm as he grimly rid himself of the 
I.V. and tossed off the blanket. He swung his legs over the side of 
the mattress and rested for a moment, feet dangling, before 
offering her a tight smile. 
"I suggest you turn around, darlin' or we're going to get to know 
each other a lot better. This gown isn't made for taking a stroll." 
Blushing furiously, Kristen turned her back and folded her arms 
across her chest. She heard the slap of bare feet on tile, the click of 
a light switch, and then running water. 
"Kristen?" 
She turned cautiously to see Grey's head poking from the bathroom 
door. 
"Would you find Walt and send him in here? And have him bring a 
pair of scrubs? My clothes seem to be missing." 
"You shouldn't be doing this, Grey," she said, cursing herself for 
revealing information that Dana and Assistant Director Skinner 
evidently felt Grey was in no condition to hear. "You've been 
through a terrible ordeal, you need to rest." 
Grey's intense focus softened. "Come here." 
She complied, but unenthusiastically, brows contracted with worry 
and guilt. Grey ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, then 
cupped it tenderly. 
"I'm doing much better. He's my brother, and I need to be with 
him. There have been too many times in his life when he's been 
left alone. 
Kristen placed her hand over his and nodded. "I understand. Just 
try to pace yourself, okay?" 
Grey pressed a swift kiss to her lips and smiled. "Deal. Now please 
have Walt find me some pants. I promise I'll call you later." 
Grey climbed into the shower, sighing in pleasure as the hot water 
washed away the sweat and grime accrued from three days of... 
What? His mind was a collage of disjointed images interspersed 
with patches of complete darkness. Dana had said that they 
believed Fox to be the intended target of the kidnapping. Why did 
that thought fill him with such a prickling uneasiness? 
He emerged from the shower to see a pair of sweats and a tee shirt 
hanging from the hook on the back of the door. He toweled off 
quickly, resting briefly on the seat of the toilet when he became 
light-headed. Skinner sat rigidly on the edge of his vacated bed, a 
disapproving scowl darkening his face. 
"Thanks," Grey said diffidently, gesturing to his clothing. "How'd 
you get these?" 
"I still have Mulder's gym bag in my trunk. They removed it when 
his car was impounded as evidence and I kept forgetting to return 
it. Those disreputable running shoes of his are here too, and some 
socks. I wasn't sure if they'd fit you." 
"Close enough," Grey said, sinking into the chair and pulling the 
soft white cotton over his left foot. 
"You're not ready for this," Skinner growled, watching him lace up 
the shoes. 
The anger, which had continued to simmer as he showered and 
dressed, sprang to a full boil. 
"I think *I* am the one qualified to decide that," he snapped. "You 
had no right to keep this from me, Walt. It doesn't matter how pure 
your motivations were." 
"Grey, twelve hours ago you didn't even recognize your brother. 
>From what Scully tells me you spent the better part of the morning 
vomiting and disoriented as hell," Skinner kept his tone reasonable, 
but the thrust of his jaw testified that it was difficult. "We weren't 
going to keep this from you indefinitely, just until we had a better 
handle as to what's going on." 
"He's my brother, damn it! He just put his life on the line for me. I 
need to be there for him." Grey stood up slowly and deliberately, 
rubbing the stubble along his jawline. 
"He's not going to know the difference right now, Grey," Skinner 
replied soberly. "He's very sick." 
Skinner's words rebounded in Grey's head, triggering an image 
both stark and frightening in its clarity. As if suddenly removed 
from himself, he saw the scene unfold. 
*Piercing dark eyes scrutinizing his face. "How sick is he?"* 
*Feelings of fear, rage, helplessness intermingled. The stench of 
cigarette smoke and the ache of abused muscles and bones. "Go to 
hell!"* 
*The craggy face displaying concern as well as anger. "Don't play 
games with me, this concerns your brother's life! HOW SICK IS 
HE?"* 
Skinner darted forward to grasp Grey's elbow as the man swayed 
and clutched his head. He guided Grey back down into the chair 
with no resistance, then turned to pour a glass of water. 
"Yeah, you're a terrific judge of what you're ready to do," he said 
sarcastically, placing the cup in Grey's jittery hand. 
Grey took a gulp of the cool liquid and a deep breath before 
responding. "It's not what you think. I just...I think I just 
remembered something." 
"Something from the last three days? What?" Skinner realized he 
was towering over Grey and consciously backed off, sitting back 
down on the bed. 
Grey turned the cup slowly and stared into its depths as if would 
reveal the answers he sought. "It doesn't make sense, really. I 
remembered a man asking me questions about Fox, about his 
illness. He seemed…concerned, and he told me that Fox's life 
depended on me telling him what he wanted to know." 
"Anything else?" 
Grey was silent a moment, then nodded bleakly. "Yeah. I smelled 
cigarette smoke." 
Every muscle in Skinner's body went taut, and he muttered several 
colorful words under his breath. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said 
darkly. "Whenever Krycek turns up, that SOB isn't far behind." 
"Krycek? You mean the guy Fox calls 'that one-armed rat 
bastard?'" 
Skinner chuckled. "He does have a way with words. That's the one, 
all right. We found his thumbprint on Mulder's car. He must be the 
one who kidnapped you." 
Grey stared into empty space, hands clenched on the arms of the 
chair. After a minute his shoulders slumped and he massaged his 
temples. "Nothing. That part is still a blank." 
"Give it time," Skinner replied mildly. "You're not going to force it 
to come." He sighed in resignation. "If you're ready, I'll take you 
up to Mulder's room. I already explained your insanity to the nurse 
in charge, but you'll have to stop by and sign yourself out AMA." 
He stood and extended a hand to Grey. "You know, you and your 
brother may just be the two most stubborn men I've ever met," he 
said ruefully. 
Grey allowed himself to be pulled up and grinned. "Why thanks, 
Walt. I always do enjoy coming out on top."


Intensive Care
Tuesday 
1:00 p.m.


Scully squeezed excess water from the soft terry cloth and gently 
bathed Mulder's burning cheeks before laying it on his brow. In 
spite of the cooling blanket his temperature remained dangerously 
high, though he'd been seizure free for the last several hours. 
Scully reached her right hand through the side rail to grasp his limp 
one, the skin hot and dry, while her other soothingly stroked 
through his hair. 
"What's happening here, Mulder?" she whispered. "You're scaring 
me." 
When they'd gotten Mulder to the emergency room, Scully had 
been horrified to learn that his temperature had spiked to over 104 
degrees, provoking the seizure in the lounge and a second, longer 
one in the trauma room. Both lungs were congested with fluid and 
he'd ruptured some blood vessels along his trachea through the 
violence of his coughing -- a fact she'd explained to her white 
faced boss when he'd turned up a few minutes later with the bloody 
handkerchief. 
Despite bitter complaints, the ER personnel had resolutely ejected 
Scully and sent her to the waiting area, Mulder becoming the 
queen bee in a flurry of workers. Blood drawn, sputum cultured, 
and a CAT scan run to rule out brain damage from the seizures. An 
arterial line, I.V., Foley catheter, pulse oxymeter, heart monitor, 
and oxygen mask put in place. Finally they'd packed him off to 
ICU, where she was allowed to rejoin him as she waited for the test 
results. 
She'd just removed the already warm cloth and was dipping it in 
the basin of water when Skinner and Grey stepped into the cubicle. 
Scully's eyes widened, then narrowed in annoyance. 
"You're supposed to be downstairs, resting," she told him. "Do 
they even know you're here?" 
"I'm no longer their problem. I checked myself out," Grey 
answered distractedly, moving around her to get closer to his 
brother. He stretched out a hand and tentatively brushed his fingers 
across Mulder's forehead, wincing at the heat. "What's wrong with 
him, Dana?" 
All at once the tension of Grey's disappearance, fatigue from too 
many sleepless nights, and worry over Mulder's illness congealed 
into a crushing weight in her chest, and Scully struggled for 
composure. "Bacterial pneumonia," she said, blinking hard. "We 
just won't know what strain until the results of the culture come 
back -- tomorrow at the earliest. Until then they've got him on a 
broad spectrum antibiotic and they'll perform respiratory therapy to 
clear his lungs." 
"He's so hot," Grey murmured. "His skin feels as if it's on fire." 
"Actually, his temperature has dropped about a half degree since 
they brought in the cooling blanket," Scully said. "It's not much, 
but at least the seizures have stopped." 
"How did he get this sick this fast? I know he was a little under the 
weather, but..." 
Scully shrugged, absently stroking the tender skin around the I.V. 
with her thumb. "Worry, exhaustion, poor diet… I guess it all 
combined to accelerate the process. Hard to fight off a disease 
when you've been abusing your body." 
"Because he was looking for me," Grey said guiltily. "You don't 
have to say it," he added quickly when Scully looked 
uncomfortable. "I know him well enough to picture what he must 
have been like." 
"Dr. Scully?" 
The ICU nurse in charge of Mulder's care walked into the cubicle 
bearing a cart of medical paraphernalia. A young woman, Elena 
Alvarado wore her jet-black hair twisted into a thick cable that fell 
halfway down her back and rose-colored scrubs. 
"Dr. Brewer is waiting to speak with you down the hall in the 
lounge. I'll take care of Mulder's therapy while you're gone," she 
said, nodding to acknowledge Grey and Skinner. 
Scully smiled warmly, pleased that Elena had remembered her 
advice not to call Mulder by his first name. "Thanks, Elena. Can 
you handle him alone? I'll be glad to help after I speak to the 
doctor." 
"I'll be fine, thanks. Joey is coming in to give me a hand so we 
should be able to get it done quickly. With any luck, all the 
unpleasantness will be over by the time you get back." Seeing 
Scully flinch she reached over to pat her arm. "Try not to fret. 
We'll get him through this and he'll be back to hunting down the 
bad guys in no time." 
Scully leaned over to place a kiss on Mulder's cheek, murmuring 
something that was obviously meant for his ears alone. With a 
weak smile for Elena and a final parting glance at his still face, she 
allowed Skinner to take her by the elbow and gently steer her from 
the cubicle. 
Grey hung back, watching the nurse set up a small machine and 
begin to unpack sterile tubing. When she gently removed the 
oxygen mask from his brother's face, he turned and trotted quickly 
to catch up to Scully and Skinner. 
"Dana. Just what does this therapy entail?" he asked, ducking a 
little to peer into her face. 
Scully's reply was subdued and she avoided his eyes. "It's vital to 
clear the bad stuff out of his lungs, Grey. And Mulder is too weak -
- he can't do it himself right now." 
Grey pictured the coil of tubing and swallowed hard. "Will it... 
Will it hurt him?" 
She licked her lips. "It's not pleasant. But then, Mulder isn't exactly 
cognizant right now." She blinked at the film in her eyes that 
turned the sharp lines and planes of the hallway into an indistinct 
blur. "Last time he never really woke up enough to realize what 
was happening." 
Dr. Nicholas Brewer looked like a cross between young urban 
professional and California surfer dude. As he stood in the center 
of the lounge, studying a chart, he gave the appearance of the 
consummate professional -- crisp white coat, serious blue eyes 
framed by wire-rimmed glasses, and a stethoscope slung around 
his neck. But here and there about his person lurked the signs of 
subtle rebellion against the status quo. Blond hair just a little bit 
too long and unruly, feet clad in Doc Martens rather than shiny 
dress shoes, and the tie… Distracted and nearly out of her mind 
with worry as Mulder succumbed to a second seizure, Scully had 
taken one look at the obnoxious riot of color knotted about the 
doctor's neck and felt an instant sense of peace. Mulder would love 
that tie -- the man was obviously a kindred spirit. 
Brewer looked up at their approach and offered a welcoming 
smile, but Scully's stomach dropped at the sight. She'd pasted on 
too many similar smiles herself, when breaking devastating news 
to a victim's loved ones, not to recognize it when on the receiving 
end. Whatever was on that chart was not good news. 
"Dr. Scully," he said, casting a questioning glance at Skinner and 
Grey. "The results of the CAT scan and some of the bloodwork 
have come back. I'd like to go over them with you." 
"This is Assistant Director Skinner, our boss at the bureau," Scully 
said with a slight tilt of her head. "And Grey McKenzie, Mulder's 
brother. I'd like for them to hear the results as well." 
Brewer shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries with Skinner 
and Grey, then focused sober eyes on Scully. 
"You obviously don't play cards, Dr. Brewer," Scully said with a 
levity she did not feel. "Your face tells me that those results aren't 
going to ease my mind."

Brewer's lips quirked. "So that's why they always include me on 
poker night," he said dryly. He tucked the folder under his arm and 
clasped his hands together. "We made a disturbing discovery on 
Mr. Mulder's CAT scan. I know you're going to want to see it for 
yourself, and I have no objections. I've already alerted them you'll 
be stopping by." 
Hard to force words through a parched throat. "What kind of 
discovery?" 
Brewer ran one hand along his lightly stubbled jaw, eyes clearly 
communicating puzzlement. "I don't know what to call it. I've 
certainly never seen anything like it, and neither has the consulting 
oncologist." 
Scully actually staggered a little, and only Grey's strong grip on 
her elbow kept her upright. "Oncologist?" 
Brewer's blue eyes were kind, the wrinkles around his mouth a 
testament to his regret. "There's really no way to ease into this, Dr. 
Scully, so I'm just going to say it. Mr. Mulder has some kind of 
mass located on his pineal gland, but unlike any tumor I've ever 
seen. I know it sounds crazy but it looks like...like..." 
"Worms," Scully whispered, feeling as if something vital had been 
sucked from her body. "Black worms." 
She barely registered Brewer's stunned confirmation over the 
ringing in her ears. "Yes. That's it exactly! But, how did you 
know?"


ICU
Tuesday
7:38 p.m.


Grey used his knuckles to scrub at eyes grown bloodshot and gritty 
with fatigue. Between the jam-packed events of a very long day 
and the black hole in his memory, he found himself fighting the 
surreal feeling that his life outside the hospital was just a dream -- 
or perhaps worse, had ceased to exist. Barely twelve hours ago, 
he'd played the role of patient, Fox the worried brother. Grey had 
learned during Kate's cancer that life often possessed a cruel sense 
of humor. Looking at Fox now, their positions swiftly and brutally 
switched, he could swear he heard the ghostly echo of cosmic 
laughter. 
"Always got to hog the spotlight, don't you, little brother?" he said, 
the soft words coated with pain, not aggravation. "You've got our 
complete attention, I promise. Why don't you wake up so you can 
enjoy it?" 
Fox's harsh puffs of breath, muffled by the oxygen mask, remained 
steady, his face slack and one hand curled limply over his stomach.
Thanks to some heavy-duty antibiotics and an anti-pyretic, his 
fever had crept down another degree -- still high but not 
dangerously so. The truth of the matter was that he should be 
awake by now, or at least in and out. Dr. Brewer was not 
particularly concerned, but the thinly disguised panic in Dana's 
eyes left Grey with a chunk of ice in his gut that still hadn't melted. 
Grey closed his eyes and curled over to rest his head in his hands, 
replaying the earlier conversation with Brewer through his 
increasingly foggy brain. A mass of...something attached to Fox's 
pineal body, the small gland located near the geometric center of 
the brain. Dana's white face and haunted, knowing eyes. She'd 
been shocked by the diagnosis, but not the disease. She and Walt 
had exchanged looks that hinted at a dark and terrible history. 
Dana and Brewer had then launched into a technical exchange that, 
thanks to his own dark history, actually held some meaning. A 
white cell count of only 500, with a T4 count of only 150. 
Translation? A decimated immune system incapable of fighting off 
disease. Cause? The answer to that remained unknown, and 
accounted for Dana and Walt's absence. 
He must have slid into a doze, because the gentle hand on his 
shoulder jolted through his body like an electric shock. His head 
snapped up and his gaze latched on to Elena's warm brown eyes. 
"Sorry. I didn't realize you were sleeping," she said apologetically. 
Grey rubbed both hands over his face. "I wasn't." He caught the 
amused twitch of her lips and grinned. "Well, I didn't *intend* to, 
anyway." 
"My shift ended about a half an hour ago, but I hung around so that 
I could take care of Mulder's treatment," she explained as his eyes 
lit on the cart. 
"That was nice of you," Grey replied, touched by her 
thoughtfulness. "Especially considering the fact that he won't 
exactly notice." 
Elena shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Patients in that condition take 
in a lot more than we give them credit for. I figured it might help to 
have someone familiar administering the torture." 
She caught Grey's stricken expression as she turned to her 
equipment, and lay a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm sorry again. 
That joke was in poor taste. Believe me, this isn't that hard on 
him." 
Grey accepted her words but moved toward the door. "I'll wait out 
in the hall." 
He squeezed past another nurse, obviously on her way to help 
Elena, and propped himself up against the smooth cool wall with 
his eyes shut against the stark glare of fluorescent lights. 
*Think about Kristen* he told himself sternly. *Or the ball game 
last week. Anything but what's going on in that room right now.* 
It almost worked, until his brother's distressed cries penetrated the 
muted overtones of hospital activity and pulled him upright. He 
shuffled restless feet and chewed his lip as he listened to the quiet 
voices of the two nurses as they tried to comfort and calm. When 
he heard Fox call pitifully for Dana, something inside him broke, 
and he pushed his way back into the room. 
Elena and the other nurse wrestled with a thrashing Fox, his eyes 
blank with fever and pain. Elena must have sensed Grey enter -- 
she called over her shoulder without releasing her death grip on 
Fox's writhing body. 
"Give us a hand, will you please, Mr. McKenzie? Your brother 
could use a familiar face right about now." 
In three quick strides Grey reached the bed and insinuated himself 
into Fox's direct line of sight. Grasping his chin in gentle fingers, 
he turned his brother's face until their eyes linked. 
"Fox, relax. It's all right. You're very sick and you're in the 
hospital. Stop struggling or you're going to hurt yourself." 
He pitched his voice low and soothing, watching as wide, glassy 
eyes regained focus and bunched muscles relaxed. 
"That's it, little brother," Grey murmured. "Just try to relax. Come 
on, let's get you settled." 
Elena, who had hung back and allowed Grey to command Fox's 
full attention, moved carefully over to adjust the pillows as Grey 
helped his brother lie down. Grey saw Fox's eyes dart anxiously 
toward the nurse and then back to his own, searching for an 
explanation to ground his panic. 
"That's Elena, she's been taking good care of you," Grey said, 
giving her a small smile though his own heart was still beating 
double-time. 
"Trying to suck my guts out through my nose," his brother croaked 
feebly. "Call that good?" 
Grey could almost feel his blood pressure lowering. If Fox could 
wield that wry sense of humor, he must be doing better. Elena gave 
the pillow one final tug and flashed a smile. 
"You know the black market price for a liver in good condition? 
Can't blame a girl for trying," she said irreverently. 
Fox stared at her, started to chuckle in surprised delight, then broke 
off into harsh, wet coughs. Elena immediately helped him sit up, 
grabbed an emesis bowl from the bedside table, and held it under 
his chin while thumping him firmly on the back. 
"Come on, Mulder. I need to you get rid of all that poison and put 
me out of a job. Just try to let your body do the work." 
Grey took one look and quickly turned his back, swallowing hard. 
When Fox's barks tapered off he turned around in time to see Elena 
wiping his brother's pale, sweaty face with a cloth and murmuring 
a string of soft encouragements. Fox lay bonelessly against the 
pillows, his brief surge of energy zapped by the ordeal. 
"Did that on purpose," he said reproachfully, but one corner of his 
mouth turned up. 
"You've found me out," she said, winking. "I'll resort to any and all 
means to achieve my objective." She traded the oxygen mask for a 
nasal cannula, slipping it gently around his head. 
Mulder's smile widened just a bit. "First nurse I ever met with a 
sense of humor," he said. "Must be tough." 
Elena rolled her eyes. "You have no idea, Mulder." She grasped 
the handle of her cart and rolled it toward the door, but paused in 
the doorway. " Just out of curiosity, exactly how many nurses have 
you met?" 
Grey snorted and spoke up before his brother could answer. "You 
have no idea, Elena." 
The bright tinkle of her laughter echoed down the hallway even 
after she shut the door. 
Fox coughed lightly, then grimaced. "Horrible taste in my mouth," 
he said. "Water?" 
Mentally chastising himself for not offering, Grey poured a cup 
and tried to hold it so that his brother could sip from the straw. 
After Fox downed half the contents, he held up his hand and Grey 
set the cup aside. Though his eyelids were already drooping, Fox 
squinted at Grey. 
"No offense, but isn't there something wrong with this picture? I 
mean, last I remember *you* were the one on this side of the 
bedrail. What's wrong with me? And how did I get here?" 
Grey carefully repressed the urge to evade his brother's eyes and 
shuffle his feet. Fox was a profiler, and he'd catch on immediately 
if shown the slightest sign of falsehood. But there was no way he 
intended to explain the full scope of the illness -- as if he could. 
He'd just have to answer with the part he understood. 
"You've got bacterial pneumonia," he said. "From what Dana tells 
me you collapsed in the lounge after leaving my room early this 
morning. Your fever was really high, but they've managed to 
knock it down a bit." 
"Where's Scully?" 
*Hmm. How to field that one without drawing suspicions?* 
"She said she was going to follow up on some of your lab work," 
Grey answered, sinking down into the chair. "I expect she'll be 
back soon." 
He caught himself nibbling on his thumbnail -- an action Kate 
would have immediately recognized as a red flag that he was 
hiding something. Fortunately Fox's eyes were defying his 
attempts at gathering information, slipping shut and staying that 
way for increasing lengths of time. 
"Get some sleep, little brother," Grey urged softly. "Dana will be 
here when you wake up." 
"So tired," Fox mumbled, the words running together and blurring 
like watercolors on a child's painting. "Headhurts." 
Grey opened his mouth to ask if he should hunt down the nurse 
when Fox's head slumped a little more to the right and his 
breathing evened. He watched his brother sleep until his own eyes 
began to mutiny and he could no longer stifle the jaw-cracking 
yawns. Scooting his chair closer to the bed, he folded his arms atop 
the soft mattress and used them to pillow his head. Within 
moments, his steady breathing joined his brother's.


Quantico
Tuesday
7:00 p.m.


Skinner paused in the doorway to the lab, taking the opportunity 
for a little surveillance. Scully sat on one of the tall stools, one foot 
propped on a rung and the other dangling several inches off the 
floor. A microscope occupied the space directly at her left elbow 
and several pages of data papered the countertop in front of her. 
Her auburn head, propped on her right fist, commenced a gradual 
slide downward, only to jerk sharply up again. Skinner observed 
the cycle repeat itself several times before loudly clearing his 
throat and stepping inside. 
Scully's slumped posture abruptly snapped to attention and she 
pushed up the glasses that had worked their way to the tip of her 
nose. 
"Sir," she said, as he took a seat beside her. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear 
you come in." 
"Thought maybe you'd like a lift back to the hospital to check on
Mulder," Skinner replied, taking in the bluish cast to the skin 
beneath her eyes. "Then I can drive you and Grey home to get 
some sleep." 
Of course she protested immediately. 
"I'd appreciate the ride to the hospital, sir, but I don't plan on 
leaving Mulder tonight. You should take Grey back to Mulder's 
place, though, he's still not fully recovered and he must be 
exhausted." 
Skinner's eyebrows tilted downward and he clenched his jaw. 
"Please, Scully, don't pull a Mulder on me. I'd hate to have to make 
it an order." 
He half expected an explosion. Scully in Mulderprotection mode 
had terrorized more than one hospital ER and he knew he had just 
bared his jugular -- so to speak. But she only raised one sculptured 
eyebrow and regarded him with a bemused expression. 
"Pull a Mulder on you?" 
"Yeah. You of all people should know what I'm talking about. I 
saw you trying to rein him in the last few days -- won't eat, won't 
sleep. All his resources focused on finding Grey at the expense of 
his own health. Is this starting to ring a bell, Agent Scully?" He 
deliberately accented his use of her title, pinning her eyes with his 
own. 
Scully flushed. "Sir, he's so sick. If something were to happen 
and..." 
Skinner held up a quelling hand. "Scully, he's stable. So far he 
hasn't even been aware enough to notice if you're there or not. But 
if it makes you feel any better, I'd be happy to sit with him while 
you grab a little nap." 
Her eyes filled before she could stop it. Scully ducked her head 
and began scooping up the paperwork, blinking furiously. "I... I 
don't know what to say," she replied unsteadily. "I appreciate the 
gesture, but I know it's been a long day for you too, and..." 
"You're forgetting that I actually slept last night," Skinner 
reminded her gently. "Do we have a deal?" 
Scully's lips curved. "I didn't think I had a choice." 
"I like to preserve the illusion," Skinner said dryly. 
Scully actually chuckled at that. She finished stacking the reports 
in a neat pile and returned a small rack of test tubes to the 
refrigerator. Skinner handed her the papers, hesitating a moment 
before speaking. 
"Any insights?" 
She sighed heavily as she followed him out the door and they 
walked slowly down the deserted hallway. "Nothing of any 
consequence. I've been comparing Mulder's data with that of Dr. 
Sacks." 
"Sacks -- the NASA scientist infected by the rock?" 
"That's the one. Unfortunately most of the data on his illness 
disappeared at the time of his death. What I do have is sketchy at 
best." Scully reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind 
her ear. "From what I can tell, the mass on the Mulder's pineal 
body is virtually the same as Sacks's. I just can't account for its 
presence." 
"Meaning?" 
"Meaning we know when Dr. Sacks was infected, and how. But
Mulder..." She removed her glasses and slipped them into her 
pocket, then rubbed the indentations on the bridge of her nose. "I 
keep wracking my brain, trying to come up with a time when 
Mulder could have unwittingly come in contact with the oil. 
Nothing fits. It just doesn't make any sense." 
"You said in your report that Sacks appeared to have 
immediately lapsed into a coma upon exposure," Skinner pointed 
out, frowning. "But we know that's not true of Mulder. Hell, we 
were standing right there when he collapsed! And what, if anything 
does this have to do with the pneumonia?" 
Scully bit her lip. "The pneumonia is just a side effect of his 
depressed immune system. And it's my guess that the growth is 
somehow responsible. If that's true..." 
Skinner looked at her sharply, then gazed quickly away when he 
realized she was struggling for composure. 
"If that's true," she continued quietly, "then Mulder isn't going to 
get any better until we can remove the growth. And as of right 
now, I only know one way to achieve that." 
When she didn't go on, Skinner pulled her up short with a hand on 
her arm. He gazed searchingly into her face, alarmed by what it 
revealed. 
"Scully? What?" 
Scully opened her mouth, then turned sharply and continued 
walking. She spoke a single word, tossed hurriedly behind her like 
an object that was too repulsive to retain possession. 
"Death."


GUMC
Wednesday
7:52 a.m.


Skinner stripped off gloves, mask, and gown, wadding them up in 
a ball before shoving them into the trash can. As he left the 
anteroom, Scully's voice cut through the cotton in his sleep-
deprived brain. Not yelling -- Scully rarely raised her voice -- but 
ferocious in intensity. 
"I'm telling you that you don't understand what you're dealing 
with! You can't." 
Dr. Brewer's voice, tight with control. "And you do? Because if 
you have some information that you haven't shared with me, Dr. 
Scully, I need to hear it right now. I don't have to tell you how 
precarious your partner's situation is at the moment." 
Skinner turned the corner and nearly ran over Grey, leaning against 
the wall and glancing uneasily between Brewer and Scully. He 
showed his teeth in an expression intended to pass for a smile. 
"Hey, Walt. Join the party." 
Skinner raised both eyebrows, while Scully and Brewer visibly 
took a step back from their anger. 
Scully pursed her lips and glanced down at her navy pumps. "I 
know you're doing the best you can with what you know," she said 
grudgingly. "I'll admit I don't have any answers myself. The only 
man I'm aware of that presented with a similar growth never 
regained consciousness." 
Brewer's eyes narrowed. "He died?" 
"Under...questionable circumstances," Scully replied. "We were 
unable to determine the cause of death." 
Brewer threw up his hands and glanced beseechingly at the ceiling. 
"God save me from FBI agents -- as patients *or* next of kin," he 
added ruefully. Before Scully could take offense, he shook his 
head. "Look, I'm just a doctor. The mystery and intrigue in my life 
exist on a much more physical and mundane level. The fact of the 
matter remains that Mulder's white count has gradually declined 
over the last twenty-four hours. I may not know what that growth 
is, but it's obviously destroying his immune system one little piece 
at a time, and if we wait much longer he'll be too weak to 
withstand treatment. I've consulted with our head of oncology, and 
I don't make this recommendation lightly. I honestly see no 
alternative." 
Skinner frowned. "Recommendation?" 
Scully closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples. 
"Chemotherapy." She looked at Brewer, her earlier fire quenched. 
"We've placed him in isolation and pinpointed the exact strain of 
pneumonia," she said pleadingly. "Can't we give him some time, a 
few days for the new antibiotic to kick in? If he can throw off the 
infection..." 
"Dr. Scully... Dana," Brewer said, his tone that of a man calming a 
skittish colt. "You and I both know he's incapable of fighting off 
this infection. His immune system is practically non-functional. 
The growth is inoperable, and even if it weren't, surgery would be 
out of the question in his condition. The chemo is his only chance." 
Skinner watched as Scully's entire body communicated her 
acquiescence, from the curve of her shoulders to a single bob of 
her head. His breath caught in his throat and from the corner of his 
eye he observed Grey turn to press his forehead and both hands 
against the wall. 
Brewer sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it in a very 
undoctorly sigh. "I'll speak to Ramona Simons, our oncologist. 
She'll stop by to see Mulder later this morning. Would you like me 
to discuss this with him?" 
Scully's reply was very soft. "No. I'll take care of it." 
Brewer gave her arm a brief squeeze and nodded to Skinner and 
Grey before heading toward the elevators. 
They remained like a collection of oddly placed statues -- Grey 
still pressed against the wall, Scully, head bowed and arms folded, 
and Skinner, both hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Grey 
turned his head to regard Skinner. 
"How is he?" 
Scully's head shot up and he could feel her hanging on his 
response. Skinner sifted through images of the long, sleepless 
night, not wishing to hide the truth but unwilling to further wound 
her fragile spirit. 
"He's in and out," he said gravely. "His temperature spiked a 
couple of hours after you left, but they knocked it back down and 
since they hung the new antibiotic it's remained steady. He was 
delirious during that time, but he's been lucid otherwise. He just..." 
Skinner broke off, wishing he'd stopped while ahead. 
"Just what?" 
He grit his teeth. "He sleeps a lot. He's had a pretty bad headache 
and they're giving him a painkiller. But I don't think it really makes 
much difference. He's very weak, and even a few minutes of 
conversation wears him out." 
Scully accepted his assessment stoically, though he couldn't help 
feeling he'd just multiplied her pain. She straightened her slumped 
posture and smoothed her jacket, assuming a more serene 
expression. 
"I appreciate you staying with him, sir. I'm sure you're more than 
ready to catch up on your sleep. Grey and I can take over now." 
Skinner lips formed a denial, but when a yawn nearly escaped in 
its place he was forced to concede the truth of her words. "I'll be 
back later this afternoon, after you've seen the oncologist," he 
promised. 
Scully nodded listlessly. "Thank you." 
Skinner watched her turn the corner, Grey's hand cupping her 
elbow. The resignation in her step alarmed him, as uncharacteristic 
as Mulder's complete lack of energy. Events were spiraling rapidly 
out of control, gaining momentum as they were pulled farther and 
farther from the center. He had the uneasy feeling he could glimpse 
the inevitable destination, and it was a very dark place.


Room 326
Wednesday
8:47 a.m.


Awakening occurred piecemeal, scattered and seemingly disjointed 
parts integrating and fusing to form the whole. Sound -- the soft 
rumbling of voices, the steady blip of machinery, and the rough 
susurration of his own respiration. Smell -- alcohol, disinfectants, 
and pure oxygen. Touch -- the slightly scratchy texture of 
chemically laundered sheets, the annoying pinch of the nasal 
cannula, and the relentless ache that reverberated through his skull. 
Taste -- the arid, sour sensation in his mouth that signaled fever 
and painkillers. The last puzzle piece, sight, came in the guise of 
two blue eyes rimmed with smile lines and weariness, peering at 
him from above a paper mask. Mulder blinked, his eyelids still 
heavy and sticky with sleep. 
"Good morning, sunshine," Scully said, pleasure communicated in 
the lilt of her voice. 
Mulder licked his lips, tongue attempting to soothe the parched 
flesh. "Hate that mask," he grumbled. "Suppose a good morning 
kiss is out of the question." 
The laugh lines around her eyes deepened. "Always the 
crackerjack investigator, Mulder. Nothing gets past you." She saw 
him eyeing the cup of water and brought the straw to his lips. 
Mulder tilted his head to capture the plastic tube, wincing when the 
motion doubled his vision and the pressure in his skull. Scully 
didn't comment, merely stroked the sweaty hair back from his 
forehead while he drank and removed the cup when empty. Only 
when he was once again reclining more comfortably against the 
stack of pillows did she venture to comment. 
"I noticed on your chart that it's been four hours since your last 
shot. Do you want me to get the nurse?" 
If he hadn't been feeling so lousy, Mulder might have grinned. 
They'd learned, he and Scully, how to phrase questions in order to 
glean productive answers. Queries that could be answered by the 
phrase "I'm fine" were strictly avoided. 
"Not yet," he replied, studying what little he could see of her face.
"We obviously need to talk, and it leaves me too fuzzy." 
For the first time he noticed Grey standing near the foot of the bed, 
fidgeting with the paper gown and latex gloves. "Nice look," he 
said, the corners of his mouth turning up. "Not everyone can pull 
off tyvek and latex, but somehow you've managed." 
Grey scratched his nose with his middle finger, provoking a 
chuckle, and then an extended bout of coughing. When Mulder 
finally leaned back, breath whistling noisily in his chest, he 
captured Scully's eyes with a demanding glare. 
"I want you to be straight with me, Scully. This is more than just a 
bad case of pneumonia -- isn't it? I can feel it in my body, and I can 
see it in your eyes." 
Scully sat down on the edge of the mattress and laced her fingers 
with his, wishing she could feel the silk of his skin. "You're right, 
Mulder, and you're wrong. You are suffering from pneumonia, but 
not any of the strains we might have expected. You have 
pneumocystosis, which is caused by an organism that occurs 
naturally in the lungs and isn't a pathogen in a healthy person. In 
the case of a severely depressed, immune system -- such as 
premature infants and cancer or AIDS patients -- it becomes 
opportunistic and causes infection." She paused, hating the clinical 
tone her voice took on as a defense mechanism. 
Mulder frowned, nibbling on his lip as he processed her words, 
then his eyes widened. "Scully, I couldn't... I mean, you're not 
saying that I...I have AIDS?" The question, almost belligerent at its 
inception, ended in barely a whisper. 
Scully squeezed his hand tightly and hastened to reassure him. 
"Mulder, no! No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you that 
impression. They ran a routine test when you were admitted and it 
came up negative." 
He visibly wilted, the relief palpable. "But... Then what *are* you 
saying, Scully? If my immune system is so out of whack, what's 
causing it?" 
Scully forced herself to meet his gaze, to keep her voice steady, to 
hold back her tears -- in short, to avoid every instinctual response 
to his question. "Mulder, we found something during your CAT 
scan. A...a growth in your brain. But not just any growth, this is 
located on your pineal body. We've seen this before, Mulder." 
Mulder's confusion melted into understanding, and then fear. "The 
NASA scientist? The rock?" 
Scully nodded. "It's a...a nest of those black worms, Mulder, just 
like Dr. Sacks. But it doesn't make any sense! Dr. Sacks drilled 
into the rock, unwittingly exposing himself to the black oil. But 
you... Mulder, I've wracked my brain and I just can't come up with 
a plausible explanation for how those things could have gotten into 
your body! You've never..." 
Mulder shuddered, pulling back from her as if burned. His 
breathing quickened to short, harsh puffs for air and his eyes 
turned so dark they appeared black. 
"Mulder? Mulder, calm down. What is it?" 
A nurse burst into the room, mask askew and eyes flitting from 
Mulder to Scully and Grey. "Is everything okay in here? Mr. 
Mulder's monitor just went a little crazy." 
Mulder held up a pacifying hand, slowing his breathing with what 
appeared to be superhuman effort. "I'm all right, I'm all right. I 
just... Something startled me. I'm fine now." 
She pinned him with a suspicious gaze, but the undeniable drop in 
bleeps from the heart monitor must have reassured her. "Take it 
easy then, Mr. Mulder, or I'll have to ask your visitors to leave. 
You can't afford stress right now." 
Scully looked ready to spit nails at the nurse's insinuation, but 
Mulder hastily cut her off. "I promise. It won't happen again." 
The door hadn't even swung shut before Grey beat Scully to the 
punch, planting a hand on either side of Mulder's feet and leaning 
over him like a cat ready to pounce. "You know, don't you? You 
*did* come in contact with this black oil that Dana told me about." 
Mulder stared at him blankly for a moment, then turned stricken 
eyes to Scully. "I told you about my time in Tunguska, Scully. 
About the gulag, the beatings, and the roaches. About Krycek's 
betrayal and my escape. I even told you about the prisoners used as 
test subjects, injected with the experimental vaccine and then 
deliberately exposed to the oil. I just left out one detail." He sucked 
in a small gulp of air and fumbled to regain her hand. "I was one of 
those test subjects." 
Scully flinched, evading his searching fingers and slipping off the 
bed. She walked woodenly over to the window and stared into the 
bright sunshine, keeping her back carefully turned toward Mulder 
and Grey. Mulder gazed miserably at the rebuffed extremity, then 
her stiff, distant posture. 
"Scully? Say something." 
Her words were ice-cold, smooth, and colorless. "What do you 
want me to say, Mulder? That I'm okay with this? That I'm not hurt 
by your little secret? By the fact that you've lied to me for the past 
three years?" 
Mulder's soft plea sharpened. "I didn't lie." 
Scully whirled to face him, her fury clearly evident. "You *did* 
lie, Mulder! A lie of omission that you perpetuated every time we 
discussed the black oil. All your talk about trust is really just lip 
service, isn't it? When it gets personal, you don't trust anyone. 
Never have, and never will." 
"How can *you* presume to lecture *me*, Scully?" Mulder 
growled, pushing himself upright and shrugging off Grey's 
restraining arm. "How many nosebleeds did you hide with a quick 
trip to the bathroom? How many sleepless nights with another cup 
of coffee and a little more makeup? I kept this from you for all the 
same reasons you hid your cancer from me. I couldn't bear to see 
my pain reflected in your face. And I couldn't bring myself to 
admit it was real." 
He folded back into the bed, absently rubbing his left arm and 
struggling to adjust the pillows. Scully remained frozen until Grey 
made a move to help, waving him off and gently guiding Mulder to 
a more comfortable position. 
"Things are different between us now, Scully," Mulder sighed, 
voice thin with fatigue and thick with regret. "I knew I should tell 
you, but..." 
Scully lay her finger across his lips, frustrated again by the latex 
barrier. "I know. You don't need my anger now, and I'm sorry for 
that. I... I didn't expect this, Mulder. But it makes a terrible sort of 
sense. That vaccine was still experimental. It imparted a resistance 
to the black oil, but perhaps that resistance is temporary. No doubt 
the experiment appeared to be a success, until now." 
A harsh gasp and a thud wrenched their focus from each other to 
Grey. He stood pressed against the wall, eyes shut and brow 
contracted. 
"Grey?" Mulder asked, alarmed. "What's the matter?" 
Scully stood, her plan to go to him sidetracked when Grey's eyes 
flew open and he motioned frantically for silence. 
"Quiet! Let me think, let me think!" 
Scully and Mulder exchanged baffled looks, unnerved by his odd 
behavior. Grey continued to ignore them completely, focusing 
inward and muttering to himself. 
"The experiment appeared to be successful. The experiment 
appeared to be successful. Who said that? Somebody said that. 
Think, Grey, think!" He wove his fingers into his hair, tugging on 
it. 
"And they call me Spooky," Mulder mumbled, shaking his head. 
"Looks like it's genetic." 
At his words Grey went very still, his frenetic movements ceasing 
abruptly. He slowly turned his eyes on Mulder, mouth dropping 
open in shock. 
"Oh, my God," he whispered raggedly. "I remember. I remember 
everything."


Room 326 
Wednesday 
9:43 a.m.


"That's about it," Grey concluded quietly. "The things they did to 
me, the tests they ran, remain a blur. I know they drugged me with 
something each time, and I can remember pain..." He shuddered, 
an involuntary twitch of muscles. "But the conversation with 
Krycek is crystal clear. It didn't make sense at the time, but 
now..." 
Scully searched Mulder's face, his eyes flat, mouth compressed to 
a thin line. He let his eyelids slip closed to shutter himself from her 
compassionate gaze. 
"Yet another piece of my father's legacy," he said bitterly. "It's the 
gift that keeps on giving." 
"He did try to shield your family from this," Scully pointed out, 
looking at Grey. "We just have no way of knowing if he 
succeeded." 
"If they... If I do have this genetic factor like Fox, could it save 
him?" Grey asked, hope sparking in his eyes. 
"We don't know what this alleged genetic factor looks like, or its 
location," she said. "Add to that the very real possibility that you 
don't possess it, and the chances of success are very slim." She 
sucked in her bottom lip, fingers smoothing the wrinkles from 
Mulder's sheet. "I actually sent a sample of my own blood for 
analysis, hoping the lab could isolate antibodies from when I was 
infected with the virus. So far they've come up empty." 
Mulder's expression softened. "I appreciate the effort. But how do 
we even know this is the same? Sacks became comatose, my 
immune system is being destroyed, and you were apparently 
designated to serve as a human incubator. Those are three very 
different reactions. How does it all fit together?" 
"I'm not certain, but I have some ideas. Sacks could very well 
have been on his way to gestating one of the creatures you saw, we 
never had the time to determine the complete effects of the 
growth." She wrinkled her nose. "If you remember, I dropped into 
a comatose state myself." 
"Remember? I still have nightmares about it," Mulder muttered. 
"But *I* am not in a coma." 
"Perhaps due to this resistance that Krycek spoke of," Scully 
countered. "It could be weakened, but still partially functional.” 
"Why would the growth destroy my immune system?" 
"Think about it, Mulder. What's the body's natural response to an 
invader?" 
Mulder grimaced. "You mean the virus knocks out the host's 
immune system so that the organism can gestate." 
"Exactly. But in your case the organism stalled -- from vestiges of 
the Russian vaccine, genetic resistance, or some combination of 
the two." Scully shook her head. "I just wish I understood what 
triggered the relapse. Why now?" 
"Krycek said they were 'monitoring their investment,'" Grey said. 
"That would imply that even the creators don't completely 
understand what they've created." 
Mulder seemed to sink more deeply into the pillows, face pale and 
drawn. Seeing his brother's pained expression, Grey immediately 
regretted his choice of words. 
"Fox, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded." 
"Don't apologize for the truth," Mulder replied wearily. "Isn't that 
what I am? They've manipulated me my entire life, and now I find 
they engineered my conception. I can almost appreciate the humor 
in some unknown factor screwing up their little genetics 
experiment. Ole Smokey must be royally pissed." 
He coughed, then winced, pressing his knuckles hard against his 
forehead. "So what's next, Scully?" he asked, the words beginning 
to slur and his eyes drooping. "I can feel that I'm not getting better. 
Brewer must have some plan of attack. Is it time for that lobotomy 
you're always threatening?" 
Scully couldn't muster a smile. "The growth is inoperable, Mulder. 
Brewer wants to try chemotherapy." 
Mulder's face betrayed nothing. "When?" 
"As soon as possible. The oncologist will stop by today to talk with 
us." 
Mulder swallowed thickly. "Do you trust him?" 
"Brewer?" At Mulder's nod Scully continued. "Yes. I like him, 
Mulder, but I must admit your overdeveloped sense of paranoia 
has rubbed off on me. I called the Gunmen yesterday and had them 
check him out. He came up clean." 
"Wanted to know what you were feeling, Scully. Guess now I'll 
find out first hand," Mulder mumbled, shifting restlessly in search 
of a comfortable position. 
Scully's heart twisted at the mention of her cancer. "I never wanted 
you to know, love," she replied, running the pads of her gloved 
fingers gently up and down the soft skin on the underside of his 
arm. 
"Headache," Mulder sighed fretfully, but his eyelids fluttered. 
"Do you want me to get you something?" Scully asked, but she 
kept her voice low and her fingers continued their movement. 
"Mmm. 'S aspirin in the bathroom, behind the..." 
The words fell off into an unintelligible murmur, then ceased. 
Scully's lips turned up even as she blinked back tears. She slipped 
off the bed and tucked Mulder's arm beneath the sheet, stroking the 
spot on his cheek she could not kiss. When she turned to look for 
Grey, she was surprised to find he had left. 
Once outside Mulder's room she efficiently stripped off gown and 
gloves and stepped into the hallway. Her eyes swept the length of 
the corridor without locating him, increasing her bewilderment. A 
tap on her shoulder caused her to release the breath she'd 
unconsciously been holding, a wry smile on her face. 
"I wondered where you... Oh, Elena! Sorry, I thought you were 
someone else." 
"How's our patient? I just came on shift and I haven't been in to see 
him yet." Elena's intent expression attested to genuine concern. 
"He's hanging in there. The new antibiotic has kept the fever down, 
but his white count keeps dropping." Scully chewed her lip. "Dr. 
Brewer is recommending chemotherapy for the tumor." 
Elena tugged on the ends of her stethoscope. "How did Mulder 
take the news?" 
Scully shrugged. "He took it. Mulder has been through a lot in his 
life. He's mastered the art of rolling with the punches." 
"And how about you? Are you rolling too?" 
Scully released a short puff of air. "I'm trying. I nearly died of 
cancer a couple of years ago. This brings it all back as if it were 
yesterday." 
Elena lay a sympathetic hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, this must be 
very difficult for you. I guess that also explains why Mr. 
McKenzie looked so upset." 
"Grey? You saw him?" 
Elena raised her eyebrows. "Well, yes. He came out of Mulder's 
room about two minutes before you did, looking pretty raw. He 
wanted to know if there was someplace he could get some fresh 
air, so I sent him to the terrace on the fourth floor." 
Scully nodded, giving Elena's hand a quick squeeze before pulling 
away. "Thanks. I'd better go check on him. Mulder's out like a light 
right now, but he's overdue for pain meds and might not last." 
"I'll keep an eye on him," Elena assured her. 
Weaving down corridors now bustling with nurses, patients, and 
equipment, Scully's body functioned on autopilot while her mind 
seethed with conflicting thoughts and emotions. She felt stretched 
to the breaking point, caught between the purely emotional desire 
to remain at Mulder's side, the intellectual drive to be part of the 
efforts to find a cure, and her craving for revenge against the 
cigarette smoking devil at the center of this nightmare. At the 
center of every nightmare. 
Scully slowed as she stepped out onto the terrace, belatedly 
realizing that her coat still hung on the hooks outside Mulder's 
room. She burrowed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, 
hunching her shoulders a bit against the chill wind. The solitary 
figure leaning over the brick wall reminded her so strongly of 
Mulder she felt a physical ache somewhere between her head and 
her heart. 
"Hey," she said quietly, propping her elbows on the concrete and 
mirroring his posture. 
"Tracked me down, huh, Agent Scully?" Grey said with forced 
levity. 
"I'm sure Mulder's told you that he never ditches me for long," 
Scully replied. 
Grey feigned a grimace. "Ouch. The infamous ditch. Never 
thought I'd be guilty of that." 
Scully eyed him appraisingly. "It's your first offense. I suppose I 
can let it slide if you come clean with what's bothering you. Aside 
from the obvious, of course." 
Grey scrubbed his face with his hands. "Dana..." 
"It's Kate, isn't it?" 
He abruptly dropped his hands and pinned her with a sharp stare. 
"What?" 
"Look, ever since Brewer showed me that CAT scan I've been 
plagued with flashbacks of my own cancer, and hearing the word 
chemotherapy this morning only made things worse. It's only 
natural all of this would remind you of Kate's illness." 
Grey flinched and spun so that she was left with a view of his rigid 
back, one hand clamped on the wall in a white knuckled grip and 
the other fisted at his side. Scully reached out tentatively to lay her 
hand on his back, feeling the muscles spasm under her palm. 
Moving cautiously around him, her fingers trailing across his 
shoulders, she was startled to see his face screwed up in anguish, 
tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 
Her reaction instinctual, she reached up to cup her hand behind his 
neck and tugged. After token resistance, Grey allowed her to draw 
his head down to her shoulder, mutely accepting the comfort. 
Scully rubbed soothing circles at the nape of his neck, the surreal 
feeling of holding Mulder's brother in her arms eclipsed by the 
shock of his broken sobs. She abruptly recognized that in all the 
time she'd known Grey, though she'd witnessed him on the brink of 
tears, she'd never actually seen him cry. That epiphany made his 
current breakdown all the more significant -and heart rending. 
He recovered swiftly, pulling back from Scully's embrace and 
swiping the moisture from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. 
Scully let him go, allowing him the space to reapply a veneer of 
calm. They were both shivering by this point, so she steered Grey 
back inside and around the corner to a small waiting area. He 
watched her settle into one of the chairs, but chose to pace instead. 
"I'm sorry, Dana," he said gruffly. "You've got enough of your own 
burdens right now without me going to pieces on you." 
"Don't apologize," she replied softly. "I'd hope you would do the 
same for me. I don't doubt I'll be losing a few pieces mysef over 
the next few days." 
One corner of Grey's mouth struggled to curve, then gave up. 
When Scully silently continued to watch his frenetic movements, 
he threw himself into a chair and clasped his hands tightly between 
his knees. 
"I don't think I can do this again." 
Scully said nothing, merely gazed at his stricken face with 
compassion. The fact that she didn't respond, either by berating or 
persuading, seemed to frustrate Grey. 
"Did you hear what I said? I don't think I can go through this again, 
that I can face what's coming! I love him. God, Dana, you can't 
imagine how much I love him, but I don't think I can be there for 
him this time. Not the way I want to be. Not the way he needs me 
to be." 
"Because of Kate." 
"YES! Don't you see? I look at him in that hospital bed, how weak 
and pale and sick he is, and I know it's going to get so much worse. 
They'll give him the chemo to make him better, but it will eat him 
alive until there's nothing left -- no trace of Fox." Grey's voice 
cracked. "Instead of the brother who whips my sorry butt at 
basketball, writes maudlin poetry when he's had too many beers, 
and reverts to a 10-year-old every time he steps into an arcade, 
there'll be this...this shell that pukes its guts out, loses its hair, and 
can't remember her own name let alone what happened an hour 
ago." 
Grey slammed his eyes shut against a fresh deluge of tears, jerking 
when Scully placed her hand atop his. His use of the feminine 
pronoun had not been lost on her, and she fumbled for a response. 
"You can do this, Grey, if you do it for the right person." 
He yanked his hands from her touch. "What do you mean?" 
"You may be looking at Mulder, but you're seeing Kate. Unless 
you can accept that it's your brother in that bed and not some 
reincarnation of your dead wife, you're better off walking out of 
this hospital right now." Scully tempered her tone, removing the 
edge that had crept into her voice. "Mulder needs your hope. If you 
can't give it, I'll understand, but I sure as hell won't let you give 
him your defeat." 
Grey searched her face, then nodded. "I'm sorry." 
Scully stood up, rolling her shoulders to loosen the coiled muscles. 
"I'm going back. I want to be there when the oncologist shows up. 
Are you coming?" 
He ducked his head. "Yeah. You go ahead, I just need a minute." 
Scully took two steps, then paused. "Make no mistake about it, 
Grey. I don't intend to lose him, not now. He's pulled off more than 
one miracle to save me, and I figure I owe him that much. And just 
for the record? I don't have to imagine how much. I know." 
Grey was still mentally backtracking their conversation, attempting 
to pinpoint the trigger for her last statement, when she stepped into 
the elevator. Scully slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the 
floor indicator, wondering if Mulder was still sleeping, and 
wishing desperately for a decent cup of coffee. Her mind thus 
occupied, she exited the elevator and rounded the corner, 
progressing several feet before the acrid odor of cigarette smoke 
pulled her up short. 
Lifting her head with exaggerated care, Scully looked over her 
shoulder to see her version of the devil incarnate standing on the 
other side of the hallway. When she made eye contact he inclined 
his head, pulling out a pack of Morleys and tapping it to extract 
one. 
"Agent Scully." 
If she had been a cartoon character, Scully's face would have 
turned fire engine red while twin jets of steam erupted from her 
ears. Instead, every muscle in her body tightened like a bow string 
and she grit her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Dodging an orderly 
pushing an empty gurney, she stalked across the open space and 
boldly removed the cigarette from his nicotine stained fingers. 
"Smoking is prohibited in this area," she hissed, breaking the stick 
in half and stuffing it into his pocket. "Why don't you find 
someplace else to indulge in your nasty little habit?" 
Ever unflappable, he smiled serenely. "Really, Agent Scully, I 
should think you'd be happy to see me. After all, I just may have 
the answers you're seeking." 
"You don't have anything I want or need, you bastard! Grey 
remembered!" 
She felt a sliver of satisfaction when the reptilian eyes betrayed 
their owner for an instant, revealing surprise and chagrin. Hooded 
once more, they regarded Scully with cool appreciation as CSM 
calmly removed another cigarette from the pack. 
"Then you must realize the gravity of Agent Mulder's situation and 
appreciate the assistance I can provide." 
"He's had more than enough assistance from you," Scully growled. 
"You've misled and betrayed him at every opportunity. Do you 
honestly think I could ever trust you for a cure? There is no truth in 
you!" 
Cancerman deliberately paused to light the cigarette and suck in a 
long draught. He expelled the smoke and pursed his lips. 
"You misunderstand me. I only claim to have the answers, not the 
cure. Don't underestimate your own importance in the grand 
scheme of things. The truth, Agent Scully, lies within *you*."



GUMC
Wednesday
10:28 a.m.


"What exactly are you trying to say?" Scully demanded. 
Spender's reply was cut short as a hand wrapped around his lapel 
and slammed him up against the wall with an audible thump. 
"How about we try a little role reversal, you son of a bitch," Grey 
snarled, thrusting his face into Spender's and pressing his gun 
under the man's chin. "How's the view from that side of the 
barrel?" 
"I've already played this game with your brother," Spender said 
calmly. "We both know you aren't going to shoot, so you might as 
well take your hands off me." 
The metallic snick of Grey's finger cocking the gun removed the 
complacency from CSM's face and added a wolfish grin to Grey's. 
"How sure are you about that?" 
"Grey. Back off." Scully's steely command pierced the red haze of 
anger and Grey reluctantly relaxed his grip and retreated, his finger 
still loosely curled around the trigger. Scully nodded reassuringly 
to several wide-eyed nurses, then turned her cool gaze back on 
Spender. 
"Answer the question." 
"I believe you already know the answer," he replied, taking another 
puff of the cigarette he'd miraculously retained during the scuffle 
with Grey. "You've had your people working on a sample of your 
own blood, have you not?" 
Scully pressed her lips so tightly together they appeared bloodless. 
"How did you know that?" 
Spender flicked his hand impatiently at her as if dispelling a 
particularly bothersome insect. "Must you persist in pursuing the 
wrong answers? I know it the same way I know everything about 
you and Mulder. I'd venture to say I knew about the evolution in 
your relationship before you did." 
Scully clenched her fists, the nails leaving bloody crescents 
inscribed in her palm. "Get to the point." 
"The point, Agent Scully, is that *you* are the only one who can 
save Mulder. Without a serum made from the antibodies found in 
your blood, Mulder's health will continue to decline at an 
increasing rate." 
Scully folder her arms. "The chemotherapy..." 
"The chemotherapy will kill him. You cannot allow it!" Spender 
snapped. He quickly masked his agitation with another puff of 
smoke. "Exposure to a toxic chemical damaged his genetic 
immunity and triggered his illness. There's no telling what harm a 
similar exposure might cause." 
"What toxic chemicals?" Grey demanded skeptically, but Scully 
paled. 
"The mushroom," she murmured. "The trouble began right after we 
came in contact with that goo. Mulder had barely recovered from 
the injuries Cole inflicted when we took that crazy case. We 
wound up in quarantine, and Mulder got sick right after that. It was 
just the flu, but..." 
"We've yet to determine just how the chemicals impaired
Mulder's resistance to the virus," Spender said. "At present, that 
knowledge is subordinate to restoring his health." 
"What would *you* care about Fox's health?" Grey sneered. 
"I think I already answered that question," Cancerman replied 
calmly. "We have 38 years invested in this project." 
In the blink of an eye Grey had him slammed up against the wall 
again. "That *project* is my brother." 
Spender brushed off the offending hands. "Obviously," he said 
dryly. 
Scully nudged Grey aside, glaring at Spender. "Are you saying you 
know how to formulate the serum?" 
"We possess the knowledge and the equipment." Spender's lip 
curled. "All we lack are the raw materials." 
Scully stared at him, her mind working furiously. "So if I give you 
a blood sample..." 
Spender shook his head, a deceptively benign smile still on his 
face. "Oh no, Agent Scully. A single sample of blood would never 
be enough. We could require additional blood or tissue samples at 
a moment's notice, and time is of the essence." 
Scully's face drained of animation. "What are you saying?" 
He dropped his cigarette and crushed it into the pristine tile, 
leaving an ugly streak of ash. "Once again, I think you know the 
answer." 
Scully struggled to convey outrage, to utter her words with 
revulsion and contempt. What emerged, however, was tremulous 
disbelief. 
"You expect me to just go with you, to willingly place myself into 
your hands and at your mercy? How do I know you won't seize the 
opportunity to do other tests?" 
Spender looked at her steadily, with pity. "The very nature of a 
bargain dictates that both parties must obtain something of value. 
Surely you didn't think I'd extend this offer out of some misguided 
affection for Mulder?" 
"NO!" Grey snapped. "Dana, you can't!" He turned to Spender. 
"Let me." 
Spender silenced Scully's protest. "Even if I hadn't already 
obtained what I needed from you, it wouldn't be an option. 
Evidently Bill's ploy to shield you from the project was successful. 
You don't possess the required genotype." 
He capitalized on the impact of the revelation, moving past both 
Grey and Scully while they scrambled to process the news. Several 
paces down the hallway he paused, glancing casually over his 
shoulder. 
"You have until this afternoon to think it over, Agent Scully. I'll be 
in touch." 
Scully arrested Grey's pursuit with an iron grip on his sleeve. 
"Where do you think you're going?" 
"I'm going to tail him, find out exactly where he's going and what 
he's up to," Grey snapped impatiently. 
"No." 
Both eyebrows disappeared in his hair and he tilted his head 
forward. "What?" 
"I said, NO. You've nothing to gain at this point and everything to 
lose. I can't waste energy worrying whether you've rushed 
headlong into trouble." Scully released his sleeve and resumed 
walking toward Mulder's room, doing an amazing impression of a 
woman who had not just been offered a pact with the devil. 
Grey stared after her, his mouth agape, before jogging to catch up. 
"You can't possibly be considering this! Do you think I haven't 
been paying attention? That man is responsible for your abduction, 
your cancer..." 
"And quite possibly my cure," Scully said stiffly. 
"He has *no* conscience, Dana! His only objective is to further his 
own agenda! Do you honestly think he's just going to hand you a 
magic cure for Fox? Are you actually that naïve?" 
"No. Just that desperate." 
The quiet suffering in her tone constricted his throat, but Grey 
refused to give in. Darting in front of her to block her path, he 
planted his hands on his hips and groped for something, anything, 
to make her see reason. 
"You can't deal with the devil. That bastard represents everything 
you've sworn to oppose. Do you know what this will do to Fox?" 
Scully's expression transformed from resigned to ferocious before 
the words left his lips. "He's to know NOTHING of this, do you 
hear me? If you breathe one word of what just occurred, you'll find 
out first hand how Mulder got that scar on his shoulder! Swear to 
me, Grey. Promise that you won't tell him, no matter what 
happens." 
Grey's brow contracted and he stubbornly thrust out his lower lip. 
"You presume to make this decision for him," he said. "A decision 
that affects him just as deeply as it affects you. You know what 
he'd say, Dana. He'd never allow you to risk your life for his." 
"MY life. MY choice," Scully said softly, firmly. 
"And if that choice results in him living to a ripe old age -- alone? 
You were raised Catholic. 'What does a man profit if he gains the 
whole world, but loses his soul?' You *are* his soul, Dana. You 
*know* that." 
Scully smiled at the tremor in his voice, laying her hand on his 
cheek. "How about 'Greater love has no one than this, that he lay 
down his life for his friend.' Her partner. His brother -- or did I 
misunderstand your counteroffer to Spender?" 
Tears glistened in Grey's eyes, but he didn't pull away. "No. You 
didn't. You're really going to go through with this, aren't you?" 
Scully dropped her hand, nodding. "I've been given the rare and 
unenviable opportunity to experience this from both sides. I 
thought I understood Mulder's pain during my illness, but I only 
scratched the surface. For the loved ones, the true horror of the 
disease is the helplessness. You've been here before, Grey. You of 
all people must understand that I have to do this." 
Grey wove his fingers into his hair and tugged in frustration, but 
Scully could see he was weakening. "There *must* be another 
way." 
"There isn't. Brewer said that the chemo was Mulder's only option, 
and now that's out of the question." 
"How do you know that Cancerman isn't lying about the chemo 
just to get you to go along with this insane plan?" 
"Do you really want to take the chance?" Scully slowly shook her 
head. "I've had a bad feeling about the chemo ever since Brewer 
mentioned it. I don't trust Spender, but what he said about the 
chemicals makes sense." 
Grey cocked an eyebrow. "You've had a bad feeling? If only Fox 
were able to hear that!" 
Scully's tension eased and she managed a slight smile. "And ruin 
my reputation as upholder of strict logic?" She sobered. "I need to 
know you support me, Grey. I want your word that you won't tell 
Mulder about this." 
Grey hesitated, then held out both hands, palms up, in a gesture of 
defeat. "I promise." 
Scully closed her eyes and blew out a long gust of air. "Thanks." 
"Don't thank me. Just make sure you come back in one piece, or 
Fox will never forgive me." 
Grey's tone was light, but Scully recognized the truth in his words. 
A small line of determination appeared between her brows. "I will. 
I promise."


GUMC
Wednesday
11:26 a.m. 
Fortified by a cup of coffee, Scully put on her game face and 
prepared to confront Mulder and the oncologist. Grey had 
appropriated her cell phone and stepped outside the hospital, to call 
Kristen and to regain some equilibrium. Scully buried her own 
churning emotions deeply beneath several layers of her legendary 
reserve. Mulder, sick as he was, possessed incredibly sensitive 
radar when it came to something troubling her. In order to conceal 
her true reasons for him not to undergo the chemotherapy, she 
couldn't allow him to detect her sorrow and fear. 
She shook free of her contemplation, attention captured by the 
buzz of activity around a room near the nurses' station. The 
realization that the room belonged to Mulder caused her stomach 
to lurch and her footsteps to quicken. 
Scully snatched a gown, peering into Mulder's room through the 
window. Brewer and two nurses were clustered around the bed, 
obliterating Mulder from view. In her haste, her arm tangled in the 
sleeve, ripping the flimsy material and provoking a string of 
colorful expletives. A strong hand gripped her elbow and propelled 
her to the side, struggling until she recognized Elena's warm brown 
eyes. 
"Dana, take it easy. He's stable," she said, tugging off the mask and 
depositing it into the trash can. 
"What happened? What do you mean, 'he's stable?'" Scully said, 
craning her neck to see into the room. "I've only been gone a little 
over an hour!" 
"I went to perform his respiratory therapy a little while after I saw 
you, and I couldn't wake him," Elena explained. 
"Couldn't wake him? Are you sure he wasn't just sleeping soundly? 
We'd had a pretty emotional discussion and he was worn out." 
"Dana, he was completely unresponsive," Elena said patiently. "It 
wasn't hard to figure out why -- he was burning up." 
Scully licked her lips, forcing down the panic that tried to rise and 
burst open like bubbles from a shaken soda. "The fever is back?" 
Elena nodded. "It must have spiked very suddenly, because it had 
already reached 104.9 when I took it. Fortunately, Dr. Brewer was 
nearby and we got Mulder under a cooling blanket before he could 
seize on us." 
Scully swallowed, her throat emitting a dry click. "Thank God." 
Dr. Brewer exited Mulder's room, followed by the two nurses. He 
pulled down the mask and reached back to massage tight muscles 
at the base of his neck. 
"How is he?" Scully asked. 
Brewer yanked off the gown and balled it up, revealing a riotous 
mass of color that served as his tie. "We've knocked the fever 
down a degree and its holding steady. I'm leaving him under the 
cooling blanket for now. He's semi- conscious and pretty 
delusional, but that's no surprise." He ran his thumb back and forth 
over his lower lip before speaking. "I'm calling off the chemo. We 
can't initiate any kind of offensive action until we're certain he's 
stabilized." 
Scully's eyes left Brewer's to study the frail figure behind the glass. 
"Can I go in?" 
"Don't see why not. We'll be keeping a close eye on him. I'll 
change antibiotics if I have to, but I'd rather wait until he's had at 
least twenty-four hours on this one. I won't pretend this isn't a 
serious setback, Dr. Scully, but we'll do what we can for the fever 
and hope for an eventual chance with the chemo. I'll stop back in a 
bit to see how he's coming along." 
Scully picked up a mask and busied herself with fastening it 
around her head, unwilling to meet his compassionate gaze. 
"Thank you. I appreciate your honesty." 
Mulder lay curled on his right side, shivering in spite of the heat 
that seared through Scully's glove when her fingers brushed his 
cheek. Her touch roused him enough to open glassy eyes. 
"Hey," she said softly. "How are you doing?" 
"'S cold," he mumbled, trying to burrow further into the mattress. 
"Gotta save Scully. Haveta get to the snowcat or we'll freeze." 
Scully sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment she was surrounded 
by a glittering white expanse, the bite of ice beneath her legs and 
Mulder's warmth cradled to her chest. Considering the cooling 
blanket and his sterile surroundings, it was little wonder Mulder 
hallucinated that they were back in Antarctica. 
Scully smoothed a damp lock of hair from his brow. "Mulder, it's 
Scully. You're in the hospital, remember?" 
"Head hurts an' I'm so cold but I can't stop, can't stop," Mulder 
muttered as if she'd never spoken. "Gotta save Scully 'cause it's my 
fault, all my fault those bastards took her. Took my beautiful 
Scully an' tried to put one of those...those things inside of her. 
Didn't want to look, to see that tube down her throat an' green 
gooey stuff an' what if that shot didn't work an' it's still inside of 
her. Whaddo I do then? Haveta find help soon, haveta get out of 
here..." 
Scully bit her lip, willing back tears as the litany of barely coherent 
words continued. "You did get me out of there, love," she soothed, 
caressing his cheek. "You saved me and brought me home. I would 
have died, but for you." 
No wonder Brewer had commented on Mulder's mental state. To 
others, his ramblings must sound incredibly bizarre and lacking 
any tether to reality. She continued to speak softly, repeating that 
they were safe and in a hospital. That he was very sick, but would 
be better soon. That she loved him and would take care of him. 
Mulder quieted at the sound of her voice and after a little while 
seemed to come back to himself. 
"Scully?" he asked as if seeing her for the first time. 
"I'm here, love." 
"Dreamed about when they took you away from me," he replied 
sleepily, his fingers threading with hers as his eyelids drifted to 
half-mast. "Took you away to the big ship and I almost lost you." 
"Just a dream, Mulder. I'm right here," Scully replied, her voice 
thick with impotent tears. "You sleep now, okay?" 
Mulder sighed and allowed his eyes to close, voice barely audible 
as he slid into slumber. "Can't let that ever happen again, babe. 
Couldn't take it." 
Scully laid down her head and wept bitterly.


Room 326
Wednesday
4:25 p.m.


The antibiotic wasn't working. Mulder's temperature hovered at 
104.2 degrees, not rising but not dropping either. He'd barely 
noticed when Elena performed his afternoon therapy, only 
moaning weakly through the worst discomfort, and despite her best 
efforts, his breathing had deteriorated to a laborious rattling. 
Brewer didn't attempt to disguise his concern, prescribing a change 
in antibiotic and swapping the nasal cannula for a full oxygen 
mask. 
Scully held his hand, soothing him with gentle words and touches 
when he became restless and lapsed into delirium. She strove to 
maintain an outward appearance of calm as she felt herself 
inwardly splintering. Her emotions swung wildly back and forth, 
as one minute she dreaded the smoker's call and the next she 
awaited it with impatience. As Mulder's condition continued its 
downward slide, the latter took hold and she could barely restrain 
herself from pacing. 
Grey lingered at the edges of Mulder's room, deferring to Scully 
when Mulder thrashed and cried out in his sleep, watching with 
haunted eyes. His difficulty coping with Mulder's sickness both 
touched and irritated her. She ached for him, for unavoidable 
memories of his dying wife. But his passivity only added to her 
own burden, and she found herself fretting over Grey's ability to 
step into her shoes when she was gone. 
Elena opened Mulder's door a crack to pop her head into the room. 
"Dana? You have a call. You can take it at the nurses' station." 
She knew it was him. The knowledge thrummed through her entire 
body and she could feel every hair stand on end. Suddenly, her 
fingers fused with Mulder's and she couldn't seem to make them let 
go. She stood slowly, and after an instant's hesitation threw 
procedure to the wind and yanked down her mask. The heat from 
his brow singed her lips, but it was the sweetness of feeling his 
skin against her own that brought tears to her eyes. 
"You hang in there, love," she murmured, pressing a second kiss to 
his cheek. "I'll be extremely pissed off if I put my neck on the 
block for nothing." 
Scully pulled away -- a simple manipulation of muscles and bones, 
but deep inside she felt a bright agony, as something ripped 
asunder. Pausing with one palm pressed to the door she 
purposefully met Grey's bleak stare, then quickly pushed through 
the barrier without looking back. 
Her hands trembled as she rid herself of gown, gloves, and mask 
and then walked briskly to the indicated phone. 
"Scully." 
"Agent Scully. Have you decided to accept my offer?" 
Scully's lips twisted. "I think you already know the answer to that 
question," she parroted sarcastically. 
Dark amusement in puffs of air -- antithesis of a laugh. "Good. 
Take the elevator all the way down to the parking garage. Someone 
will meet you there." 
The line clicked before she could formulate a reply. Scully 
replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned, the large bulk 
looming behind her wrenching a gasp from her throat before she 
identified Grey. 
"Don't *do* that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she snapped, 
eyebrows plunging in annoyance. 
Grey stepped back, holding up his hands. "Sorry. Thought you 
heard me follow you out. Can I assume that was him?" 
Scully nodded, started to elaborate, then thought better of it. "I 
have to go," she said, brushing past him to head for the elevators. 
Grey caught her arm, arresting her forward motion. "Dana, wait. 
Just... just hold on a minute." 
Her own nervousness, combined with Grey's interference and 
being physically restrained, ignited her anger and she shook off his 
grip a little more forcefully than necessary. 
"Why? For what purpose? We've said all that needs to be said, 
Grey. I've made up my mind, and I have to go. You gave me your 
word." 
Grey paced in a tight circle, rubbing his hands together. "That was 
before I watched you kiss my brother goodbye as if you were never 
going to see him again." 
Scully averted her eyes, unable to refute his observation. "I will 
*not* let him go without a fight. Please don't make this any harder 
than it already is." 
"I don't want... I just..." Grey swore softly under his breath and 
grasped her again, this time enfolding her in a tight embrace. 
Scully indulged herself, drawing in his warmth and security to 
dispel the icy vacuum created by Spender's voice. All too soon, she 
disentangled herself from his arms, blinking rapidly. 
"Take care of him. He needs to know you're with him, not hiding 
somewhere across the room. You have to keep him fighting until I 
can get back." 
"I will." Voice firm, but rich with emotion. 
Scully walked to the elevators and punched the button. She could 
sense Grey watching her, his solitary figure imprinted in the 
periphery of her vision, but she resolutely stared straight ahead 
until the doors parted and allowed her admittance. She stood stiffly 
in the back of the car, avoiding eye contact with the elderly couple 
bickering good-naturedly and an executive type fiddling with his 
pager. By the time the car reached the basement she remained its 
sole occupant, her footsteps echoing hollowly as she disembarked. 
"Need a lift?" 
She froze, not really surprised to recognize the voice. Turning 
slowly, she spotted a leather-clad figure lounging against a cement 
pillar painted in shadows due to a broken light fixture. As always, 
Scully was struck by the dichotomy of the man -- the face of 
innocence camouflaging the soul of a killer. She moved closer, 
allowing the darkness to embrace her as well. 
"I guess this answers the question of who's currently holding your 
leash, huh, Krycek?" 
If her barb rankled, Krycek didn't show it. "Yeah, well, you know 
what they say about appearances," he replied breezily. He shoved 
himself upright and stepped into her personal space. "You armed?" 
"No. I knew he'd never let me hang on to it, and there's a mountain 
of paperwork for a lost weapon. Besides, Mulder loses enough 
guns for both of us." 
Krycek smirked but his eyes were cold. "You realize I'm going to 
have to verify that." 
Scully grit her teeth and extended her arms, staring at a crack in the 
pillar that resembled a seagull while Krycek frisked her. To his 
credit and her relief, he kept the act businesslike. When satisfied, 
he inclined his head toward the south end of the garage. 
"That way." 
Scully strode in the direction indicated, head high, back ramrod 
straight, and mouth as dry as week-old bread. She felt vulnerable, 
exposed, the back of her neck prickling and her senses hyper-
attuned. The acrid odor of exhaust fumes. The distant screech of 
rubber on concrete. The cool, damp air clinging to her like a 
second skin. And Krycek, trailing cat-like behind her on 
assassin's feet. 
"Right here." 
Scully stopped beside a charcoal panel van, waiting until Krycek 
unlocked the sliding door and waved her inside. The blood 
pounded in her ears as she crawled into the murky interior, 
scooting over as Krycek followed. As she pressed tightly against 
the cool steel wall, Krycek shut the door and flicked on the dome 
light. The interior transformed into the eerie bright and dark of a 
haunted house, his face the mask of a phantom. He fumbled in the 
pocket of his jacket and extracted a capped syringe of clear fluid.
Scully's stomach plunged to her toes. 
"What's that?" She hated the sound of her own voice, high and 
reedy with panic. 
"I thought you were a doctor," Krycek replied snidely. "What do 
you think? You didn't really expect me to drive there with you 
enjoying the scenery, did you?" 
"No drugs. Tie me up, blindfold me -- I don't care." 
Krycek actually seemed to take pity on her, his poker face 
softening. "Scully, this is non-negotiable. He made it very clear to 
me that I should take no chances, as well as the repercussions if I 
screw this up. Even tied you can get a feel for how far we've 
driven. You have to be knocked out, or the deal's off." 
Scully worried her lip between her teeth. "Okay. Just...give me a 
minute." 
She closed her eyes, slowing rapid breathing and centering herself. 
She conjured up images of Mulder -- flushed and sweaty after a 
long run, face animated and hands gesticulating wildly over a new 
case, eyes dark and heavy lidded with desire. Before the warmth in 
her breast could cool, she brutally superimposed the memory of 
just ten minutes earlier --ashen, thin, and burning with fever. 
Opening her eyes, she regarded Krycek calmly and held out her 
hand. 
"Here, let me do it. At least I won't leave a bruise."


Room 326 
Wednesday 
6:33 p.m.


When Grey noticed Skinner hovering at the window, he caught his 
eyes and held up one finger. Fox, cycling back and forth between 
extreme delirium and quiescence, currently exhibited the latter. 
Grey wasn't certain which was worse -- the piteous sight of his 
brother reenacting traumas in his dreams, or sleeping so deeply 
that only his arduous gasps for air indicated life. He slipped his 
brother's hand from his and tucked it under the sheet, then stood 
and reached both hands high above his head in an attempt to loosen 
stiff muscles. 
Skinner held the door for him as he stepped out and solemnly 
watched him shed the sterile gear before pouncing. 
"What's going on? Where's Scully?" 
Grey finger combed hair damp and curly with sweat. "Hello to you 
too, Walt." When Skinner remained unamused, he sighed. "What 
makes you think something is wrong?" 
"She isn't at her place, Mulder's or the bureau, and although her car 
is in the lot no one here seems to be able to locate her either," he 
growled. "Now, there could be a reasonable enough explanation, 
except she isn't answering her cell phone -- a fact I find highly 
disturbing, considering the gravity of Mulder's condition. Have 
you seen her?" 
Grey mentally cursed Dana Scully for leaving him hanging in the 
wind. "I saw her a couple hours ago. She said she had business to 
take care of." 
"She didn't offer any specifics?" 
Grey hedged. "She said it was something she had to handle alone." 
His half-truth didn't assuage Skinner's concern. "I don't like it. I 
don't like it at all. Scully would never willingly cut herself off from 
all communication like this, especially now." He reached for his 
cell phone, plunging it back into his pocket after a disapproving 
glare from a nurse. "I've got to find a phone," he said, more to 
himself than to Grey. "Maybe the three stooges know where she 
is." 
"Walt. Wait." 
Grey's quiet command pulled Skinner up short. Grey folded his 
arms and studied the toe of his left shoe, aware that his posture 
communicated defensiveness but unable to repress it. 
"I know where she is." 
Skinner's brows angled downward, the corners of his mouth 
following suit. "Then why in the hell did you just let me stand here 
and spout off about how worried I am?" 
Grey looked up, resolutely absorbing the fury in Skinner's gaze. 
"Because you aren't going to like it." 
"Talk." 
"Cancerman -- Spender -- whatever you want to call that slimy 
subhuman lifeform, offered her a deal." 
Skinner laughed, a bitter, mirthless, despairing sound. Of all the 
diverse reactions for which he'd braced himself, laughter never 
made it on the list. Grey's jaw dropped. 
Skinner slowly shook his head. "Did you ever have the feeling that 
our entire lives are just a single series of events, endlessly 
repeated? That we move in some kind of cosmic circle, doomed to 
wind up right back where we started?" 
Baffled and extremely disconcerted by Skinner's uncharacteristic 
behavior, Grey groped for a response. "Walt, I..." 
Skinner cut him off. "Am I safe in assuming that this *deal* 
involves a cure for Mulder?" 
"He told her he can make a serum with the antibodies in her 
blood." 
"And she *believed* him?" 
Grey shrugged helplessly. "Did Dana fill you in on what I 
remembered earlier today?" 
Skinner nodded impatiently, a slight jerk of his head. 
"He told her the chemo would kill Fox. Said the run-in they had 
with that giant fungus a couple months ago damaged his 
genetically enhanced immunity and another exposure to a toxic 
chemical could finish him off. Dana said it fit, that it all made 
sense. And without the chemo... It's his only chance, Walt." 
Skinner's eyes narrowed. "You *condoned* it? Do you have any 
idea what they could do to her while they have this golden 
opportunity that she handed them on a damn silver platter?" 
"YES! And so did she! You think it makes a bit of difference when 
Fox is dying on the other side of that door? Do you honestly think I 
could have stopped her? I'd have done it myself if they'd given me 
the chance!" 
Grey drew back his fist and swung at the wall, aborting the 
movement at the last moment. Instead, his palm caressed the 
plaster and he tipped his forehead against the smooth window, 
shutting his eyes to the view. Lost in misery, the hand clamped on 
his shoulder barely registered. 
"I was out of line." 
Not hesitant or grudging -- a simple statement of fact. 
Grey acknowledged the apology by cracking open one eye. "She 
doesn't want him to know, Walt. She made me promise not to tell 
him anything." 
Skinner snorted. "Good luck. Once he realizes she's missing..." 
The eye slammed shut. "Right now I can hold his hand and he 
doesn't even know I'm there." 
Skinner gazed through the glass at Mulder's wan face. "I'm sorry, 
Grey. Is there anything I can do?" 
"Pray," Grey said tonelessly. "The rest is in Dana's hands."


Location Unknown
Thursday
5:26 p.m.


*Brilliant. Blinding. Piercing. Endless. Relentless. Helpless.* 
Scully violently reconnected with her surroundings, lurching 
upright and scrambling backward until her spine hit the wall with a 
painful crack. She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and 
rocked, sobbing brokenly. Her entire body ached with the steady 
throb of a sore tooth. But far worse than the physical suffering was 
the aggregation of chaotic and extremely disturbing images that 
lurked at the fringe of her consciousness. 
"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder," she chanted softly, wishing she could 
feel him pressed behind her, that he could encircle her in the safety 
and security of his embrace. 
Eventually, though her eyes grew puffy and her mouth parched, 
her innate strength of spirit reasserted itself and she began to assess 
her situation. A small room, blank, sterile and uninspiring, 
containing a bed, chair, sink, and toilet. A medium-sized mirror 
built into the wall opposite the bed and a video camera in the 
corner screamed that even if not currently under observation, she 
could be at any given moment. Naked except for a skimpy hospital 
gown, Scully spied her clothing folded in a neat pile on the chair, 
shoes lined up like soldiers beneath. She clutched the sheet tightly 
to her chest as the sensation of complete vulnerability resurfaced 
with a vengeance. 
Scully closed her eyes, sucked in slow, deep breaths, and 
concentrated on slowing the erratic beat of her heart. With the 
return of her poise, however, came the uncomfortable awareness 
that she desperately needed to relieve herself. She could hardly be 
called a prude -- many facilities for pathologists still catered to 
men, the showers distinctly lacking in privacy. But while she might 
forsake strict adherence to modesty in her everyday professional 
life, the idea of using the toilet under surveillance left her 
faintly nauseous. 
Oddly enough, the indignity sparked her anger and relegated the 
numbing fear to a back corner of her mind. She stoically 
surrendered to the necessary bodily function, glaring at the mirror 
and muttering about twisted, pathetic voyeurs. She experienced a 
fleeting impulse to test the door to determine if it was locked, but 
quashed it. She might be treated like a prisoner, and her room 
certainly possessed all the charm of a cell, but the bottom line was 
that she'd willingly placed herself into their hands for the chance to 
save Mulder. She wouldn't escape, even if she could. 
Scully returned to the bed, moving carefully to avoid overtaxing 
her abused muscles. She paused to longingly consider the pile of 
clothes, but the rattle of the doorknob settled her dilemma, and she 
slid quickly back under the shelter of the sheet. 
Her nose identified the visitor an instant before her eyes. She 
watched him silently, coldly as he crossed the room to the chair, 
unceremoniously dumped her clothing to the floor and sat down. 
The ferocity of her revulsion startled Scully. From the 
smug, soulless eyes housed in a craggy face to the careless ease of 
his posture, she loathed him with murderous abandon. Yes, 
murderous, Scully mused uncomfortably. Though she'd always 
placed an inestimable value on human life, she could cheerfully 
put a bullet in this monster's head without remorse. He'd reduced 
her to this. And it only served to fuel her hatred. 
A cliched puff of smoke and bland smile. "Agent Scully, I trust 
you've found the accommodations to be adequate for your needs." 
As if he were putting her up for a long weekend rather than 
exploiting her dire need for his own purposes. Scully's lip curled. 
"A regular home away from home." 
"Good, good. Work is proceeding on the serum as planned. With 
your continued cooperation, I'd venture to say that a working 
solution will be completed in another twenty-four hours -- forty-
eight at the outside." 
Continued cooperation. So they weren't finished with her yet. 
Scully's dry tongue vainly attempted to moisten equally arid lips. 
"Is that the extent of this little social call? To not so subtly let me 
know that I'm not finished playing guinea pig?" 
Spender lifted an eyebrow, unperturbed by her venom. 
"In part. I actually thought you might like an update on Mulder's 
condition. Was I overstepping my bounds?" 
Scully ground her teeth, the grating of bone on bone reverberating 
through her skull. "How. Is. He?" 
"Exercising the Mulder tenacity," Spender replied, a glint of 
something that could only be labeled admiration in his eye. "Fever 
is down enough that he's coherent, or so I'm told. Of course, that 
creates a whole new set of difficulties, doesn't it?" 
Scully's eyes narrowed as she tried to reconcile the Smoker's deeds 
with the respect evident in his gaze. "Why are you doing this -- 
really? And don't give me that bullshit about your investment. 
You've certainly tried to kill Mulder in the past -- your hands are 
red with his father's blood. He's thrown a monkey wrench in your 
plans more often than not. Why not let him die and be rid of him?" 
Instead of the supercilious smile, a look of fond reminiscence 
crossed his features. "A favor for an old friend?" 
"You? You'll have to forgive me when I say I find that impossible 
to envision." 
Spender looked amused. "Perhaps, but true nonetheless. There was 
a time when Bill and Teena welcomed me as an extension of the 
family. It was part of my job, you see, to keep an eye on Bill and 
ensure his complete...devotion to the Project. He trusted me, with 
his wife and his children." 
Scully's mouth curved. "But not all of them." 
A flare of irritation and then the resurgence of respect. "No. 
Evidently not. But I learned early on not to underestimate Bill and 
Teena. Or their son. The success of our genetic enhancements 
became obvious while Fox was still very young. Pity that Bill 
could never seem to reconcile his fatherly pride with the guilt over 
his capitulation." 
Scully reeled back, as if Spender had slapped her face. "You're 
saying Mulder's father... He *allowed* the experiment?" 
Spender eyed her coolly. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, but 
even *I* can't orchestrate an Immaculate Conception, Agent 
Scully. Bill and Teena made the decision not to have children. 
Eventually, with the right persuasion, he changed his mind." 
Spender crushed the cigarette under his heel and rose smoothly to 
his feet while Scully still struggled to understand what she'd heard. 
"I'll keep you updated on the serum, Agent Scully. Meanwhile, 
someone will be in with some food and water. We want you to 
keep up your strength, after all." 
Incapable of more, Scully stared mutely at the door long after 
Spender had left the room. She felt sickened by the revelation that 
Bill Mulder knowingly participated in the experimentation on his 
son - and most likely his daughter, as well. How could she add this 
straw to Mulder's already overburdened back? How could she do 
otherwise? 
Preoccupied by her existing worry over Mulder's failing health 
coupled with Spender's disclosure of his father's complicity, more 
than an hour and a tasteless meal passed before another of the 
smoker's statements clicked into place and stole the breath from 
her lungs. 
*The success of our genetic enhancements became obvious while 
Fox was still very young.* 
*Enhancements.* 
*Plural.* 
*My God. What else have they done?*


Room 326 
Thursday 
7:18 p.m.


*He was in a dark place, the darkness so pervasive and complete 
that he was unable to catch even a glimpse of his own hand held in 
front of his face. Where he was and how he'd come to be there 
were a complete mystery, but the gnawing need for food and drink 
eclipsed his normally overactive curiosity.* 
*"Hello? Is anyone there?"* 
*The barren echo of a tomb converted his vocalization into that of 
a stranger. He shivered, the sensations of fear and cold breaking 
thorough his intense thirst and hunger.* 
*"Please, is anyone there? I'm freezing!" he called pitifully.* 
*"There's a blanket near your right hand. Help yourself."* 
*Scully's voice, warm and familiar, but the location 
indistinguishable in the void.* 
*"Scully? Scully, where are you?" His teeth clacked together as 
involuntary shudders wracked his body in an attempt to warm it.* 
*"Put on the blanket, Mulder, or you're going to freeze to death."* 
*Comforted by the familiarity of her wry command, he stretched 
out his right hand and groped along the frigid surface. Though he 
fumbled in all directions his questing fingers came up empty and 
numb.* 
*"It's not here, Scully. Scully, where are you?"* 
*"I'm here, Mulder, and so is that blanket. There's a mug of hot 
soup, too, if you're interested."* 
*At the mention of soup his stomach rumbled fiercely. Mulder 
flung out both arms, scrabbling in all directions and even crawling 
a short distance on hands and knees. Nothing. Only cold, polished 
ebony in all directions. By now his entire body had begun to lose 
feeling, even his tears of misery and frustration like ice on his 
cheeks. What was happening to him? Where was Scully, and why 
wouldn't she help him?* 
*"I can't find it, Scully! I need your help. I need you," he moaned.* 
*"I've been with you the whole time, Mulder. You just have to 
reach out and touch me."* 
*This time he recognized deep sorrow in Scully's warm tones. In a 
surge of desperation he stood and staggered in a circle, arms 
flailing wildly but meeting only air. Spent, he dropped to his knees 
and buried his face in his hands, weeping brokenly.* 
*"I can't," he sobbed. "Ican'tIcan'tIcan't..."* 
*A soft click and the subsequent flood of bright light terminated 
his mantra, and he slowly raised his tear-filled eyes. Directly in 
front of where he knelt, so close he would surely have tripped over 
them in his frantic searching, lay a thick warm blanket and a large 
ceramic mug of steaming soup. And right beside them sat Scully, 
her expression grief-stricken and her cheeks tear-streaked.* 
*"It was a test, Mulder. You had it all right in front of you, but you 
just wouldn't see it."* 
*To his horror, Scully's form wavered and became transparent, 
seeping away like fog in brilliant sunshine.* 
*"NOOO!" he screamed, clutching ineffectively at her no longer 
corporeal form. "Sculleee! I'm sorry! Sculleeee!"* 
*The lights winked out and he found himself plunged once more 
into the depthless void.* 
"Sculleee! Sculleee!" 
"Fox, take it easy! It was just a dream." 
Grey mimicked the motions he'd seen Dana perform to comfort his 
brother, stroking a lock of sweaty hair back from his brow and 
maintaining a steady patter of reassuring words. Fox gradually 
quieted, his twitching body limp against the mattress. His eyes, 
dark and sunken, revealed both pain and lucidity. 
"Where's Scully? I need to see her." 
Grey stood up and occupied his hands with the task of pouring his 
brother some water. How many times had he danced around this 
question today? Each query left him feeling guiltier and Fox more 
frustrated. Dana had now been absent over twenty-four hours, and 
the excuse that she was working on a cure was wearing thin. 
He silently offered the water, jockeying the straw into position 
near Fox's lips and studiously ignoring the irate gaze directed at 
him over the rim of the cup. 
"More?" he asked solicitously when the cup ran dry. 
"Yeah. More answers," Fox croaked, scrutinizing Grey's every 
move. 
Grey sighed, keeping his face carefully bland. "Fox, I already told 
you. Dana is trying to create a serum from the antibodies in her 
blood." 
"Yeah, you told me. But it doesn't explain why she hasn't even 
called to see how I am," Fox grumbled, shifting his head irritably 
on the pillow. 
"Did it ever occur to you that she could've called while you were 
sleeping?" Grey retorted, skirting the edge of the lie and hoping to 
avoid jumping in. So far he'd avoided any out and out falsehoods, 
the thought of jeopardizing his brother's trust abhorrent. That 
tactic, however, had rapidly become ineffective. 
"She did? When?" 
Grey could have kissed Dr. Brewer, who burst into the room at 
exactly that moment. He moved away from Fox's bed, ostensibly 
to allow Brewer access to his patient, his heart pounding and 
perspiration trickling down his back. 
*Don't tell him anything, huh, Dana? Sure. Fine. Whatever.* 
"You're looking a little better, Mulder," Brewer said cheerfully, 
flipping through the chart before crinkling his eyes in an above-
the-mask smile. "Seems like that new antibiotic is agreeing with 
you." 
"Yeah. Now instead of three-quarters dead, I only feel half dead," 
Mulder rasped. 
Brewer chuckled appreciatively. "I didn't say you were ready for a 
marathon. But I would like to consider picking up where we left 
off with the chemo. We could start first thing in the morning if you 
have a good night." 
"Fine." 
"NO!" 
The words launched spontaneously, crashing and burning in 
midair. Mulder squinted suspiciously at his brother. 
"What do you mean -- no? We already discussed this, Scully 
said..." 
"She changed her mind," Grey blurted, flushing under Brewer and 
Mulder's puzzled stares. "She told me absolutely no chemo." 
Mulder quirked an eyebrow. "She did. And while you two were 
having this in depth discussion of my medical status, did she 
happen to share the reason for this sudden change of heart?" 
Still trying for as much truth as possible, Grey nodded. "She had a 
theory about why you got sick. She said she thought the chemicals 
from that giant mushroom you two stumbled on might have 
damaged your immunity. She's afraid that exposure to chemo, 
essentially another toxic chemical, might make you sicker." 
His brother's sarcasm faded as he analyzed the concept. Brewer 
just gaped at both of them, obviously still stuck on the part about 
the giant mushroom. Fox propped himself up on his elbows and 
nailed Grey with his eyes. 
"You're *sure* about this? Scully said no chemo?" 
"I'm positive. She made me promise not to allow it if she wasn't 
here." 
Satisfied, Fox slumped back onto the pillows, coughing weakly. 
"You heard him," he said to Brewer. "No chemo." 
Brewer shook his head disapprovingly. "You realize what you're 
saying? That chemo is your only chance." 
Mulder thrust out his lip stubbornly. "Scully will figure something 
out. She'll find a way." 
Brewer sighed. "Fine. If you change your mind -- again -- let me 
know. I'll stop by to see how you're doing in the morning." 
Mulder remained silent until his doctor exited the room, then 
glared at Grey. "I want to know what's going on. Right now." 
Grey swallowed hard, his mind racing. 
*Someone please shoot me now and put me out of my misery.* 
"What do you mean?" When in doubt, play dumb. 
"Dammit, don't do this to me! Scully did *not* just have some sort 
of divinely inspired epiphany about that mushroom, and she's not 
in the lab working on a serum. There's more that you're not telling 
me -- something big -- and I want to know what it is!" 
Too much emotion, too much strain on irritated and overtaxed 
lungs and airways. The coughing fit was by far the 
worst Grey had witnessed. His brother doubled over, clutching his 
ribs in an attempt to protect them from the violent spasms, and 
flecks of blood spattered his gown and the sheet. Elena raced into 
the room an instant later, alerted to his soaring heartrate by the 
monitor. Grey stood back helplessly while she replaced the oxygen 
mask with the nebulizer to deliver the necessary aerosol 
medication. By the time she'd cleaned him up with a fresh gown 
and bedding, Fox had slipped into a gray state -- neither conscious 
nor asleep, but wavering somewhere in between. 
Elena gently wiped his face with a cool cloth. "That's it, Mulder, 
you're fine now," she said soothingly. "Just rest for a bit." 
Turning, she grasped Grey firmly by the arm and steered him over 
to the corner farthest from the bed. "What brought *that* on?" she 
asked pointedly. "I thought I heard raised voices and then the 
monitor went nuts. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that he can't 
afford to become agitated right now." 
Grey ducked his head, properly chastised. "I'm sorry. He's asking 
questions about Dana, and she was adamant that he not find out 
where she is right now." 
Elena frowned. "Why not? Two days ago I thought I'd never get 
her to go home and sleep. Now she's evading him?" 
"She's pursuing a cure for this disease," Grey explained, glancing 
uneasily over his shoulder and keeping his voice low. "It's very 
risky and her life is on the line. She knew he'd eat himself up with 
worry." 
Elena rolled her eyes in exasperation. "And he isn't now? This is 
none of my business, Grey, but take my advice. The devil you do 
know is always less frightening than the one you don't. He can't 
weather another episode like this, he risks permanent respiratory 
damage." She lay a gentle hand on his arm. "I'd tell him." 
She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her words, just gave his 
arm a squeeze and slipped out the door. Grey wandered slowly 
back to the bed, rubbing his fingers against the pain that had settled 
just over his left eye. Fox slept, looking brittle and wrung out. 
Rarely moved to tears, Grey felt the treacherous moisture building 
behind his eyes for the second time in as many days. Sinking into 
the chair, wrapped in the privacy of the still room, he surrendered.


Room 326
Friday
7:12 a.m. 
When Mulder finally surfaced again, Skinner had replaced Grey, 
his bulk dwarfing the institutional plastic chair. He was immersed 
in a copy of the Washington Post, unaware that his charge had 
awakened, so Mulder took the opportunity to clear the cobwebs 
from his fuzzed brain. He tried to reconcile the man currently 
enduring the discomfort of gown, gloves, and mask with the hard-
nosed A.D. who shot down fifty percent of his 302s. His 
relationship with Skinner had shifted and evolved over the years -- 
sometimes colleague, sometimes adversary, sometimes friend, but 
always respected. That he occupied that chair, rather than his office 
at the bureau, only elevated Mulder's already simmering anxiety over 
Scully's absence. 
He must have unconsciously sighed, because Skinner's eyes 
snapped up from the paper to regard him with honest pleasure. 
"Mulder. Welcome back to the land of the living." 
Mulder forced words past a raw, abraded throat. "You sure about 
that, sir?" he whispered. 
Skinner just grinned and performed the water ritual. Though 
swallowing further aggravated chafed tissues, the cool liquid took 
the edge off Mulder's discomfort. Skinner sat back in the chair and 
regarded him shrewdly. 
"Heard things got a little out of hand last night." 
"I notice he's conveniently absent from questioning," Mulder 
retorted bitterly, referring to Grey. 
"He'd been here nearly twenty-four hours straight, Mulder," 
Skinner replied neutrally. "He was ready to keel over with 
exhaustion. I insisted he go get some sleep." 
Shamed by his selfishness, Mulder averted his eyes. "Sorry. I know 
he's been pushing himself too hard, especially after all he's been 
through. I just want a straight answer about Scully." 
Weak, tired, and feeling miserable, he couldn't quite hide the 
tremor in his voice. Skinner clenched his jaw and regarded him 
cautiously. He knew about the confrontation that triggered 
Mulder's coughing spell -- Grey had brokenly related the entire 
incident, including the inner conflict between his loyalty to his 
brother and his promise to Scully. Skinner studied Mulder's 
anguished face and made a decision. 
"Mulder, Grey promised Scully that he wouldn't tell you where 
she's gone." Skinner quickly held up his hand to still Mulder's 
protest. "*I* made no such promise." 
Mulder's eyes glittered and his fists clutched the bedclothes. "Tell 
me." 
"First, you give me your word," Skinner said tersely. "Scully kept 
this from you because Scully *knows* you. This is out of your 
hands now, Mulder, and beyond your control. You will not attempt 
to leave the hospital after I tell you this, in fact, you will not *do* 
anything. I'm not about to let you put me in the position of 
explaining to Scully why I contributed to your illness. Is that 
clear?" 
Mulder grit his teeth. "It's clear. Where is she?" 
"Cancerman offered her a deal. He supplies the equipment and 
personnel, Scully supplies the blood, and you get your cure -- 
provided that she places herself in his custody." 
Mulder sucked in a sharp breath of air, face contorted in a grimace, 
head seesawing wildly back and forth in denial. "No," he moaned. 
"No, she wouldn't do that, how could she do that?" 
"Can you really ask that question? Or have you forgotten the 
conversation we had in my office a couple years ago?" Skinner 
gently reminded him. 
"But you know that bastard can't be trusted!" Mulder growled, 
breaking off into several hacking coughs. At Skinner's warning 
glare he wrestled his agitation into submission. "There's no telling 
what he'll do now that he has her," he muttered, voice cracking. 
"He won't give Scully what she wants without exacting a price." 
"A price she was willing to pay," Skinner said. "She felt the 
potential benefit was worthy of the risk." 
Mulder flung his arm over his eyes. "She's crazy." 
Skinner lifted an eyebrow. "She loves you." 
Mulder didn't move. "Same thing."


Unknown location
Friday 
4:43 p.m.


Scully prowled the room restlessly, unable to smother the constant, 
low-level buzz of dread that resonated through her body. She'd 
awakened in her room nearly two hours earlier, after spending 
another indeterminate segment of time playing test subject. This time 
she'd regained consciousness rapidly, and everything, from her 
memory to her level of pain, was clearer and more intense. She 
could perfectly picture the detached brown gaze of the doctor as he 
recorded her responses to various excruciating stimuli. Stimuli 
that, she was frighteningly certain, emanated directly from the chip 
embedded in the back of her neck. Coupled with that realization 
came another vivid recollection of paralysis, her limbs restrained 
and unresponsive, as a hot poker pierced the tender flesh above the 
apex of her spine. Scully's hand had flown to her neck, fingers 
aggravating blistered skin but locating the tiny subcutaneous 
bump. The chip was still there -- or *a* chip, anyway. Impossible 
to know if her tormentors had replaced it with a new model. 
She'd used the toilet and slurped some water from the sink, barely 
granting the invisible eyes a passing thought. A small part of her 
was disturbed by the resigned adaptation to her imprisonment, but 
she was too weary and uncomfortable to allow it much 
consideration. She'd been halfway through consuming a turkey 
sandwich, discovered on a tray by the bed, when the first tendrils 
of unease had wormed their way into Scully's mind. Her Mulder 
alarm -- the vague, distressed whisper that inevitably signaled 
impending disaster for the man. Alaska. New Mexico. Bermuda. 
As illogical, irrational, and un-Scullylike as it might be, the feeling 
proved to be eerily accurate time after time. 
Scully tried to pass off the sensation at first. Spender had assured 
her Mulder had rallied, his condition taking a distinct upswing 
after she'd left. But the bread and meat stuck in her throat, settling 
like wet sand in her belly, and she left the second half of the 
sandwich untouched. By the time the doorknob rattled, signifying 
company, she'd nearly worked herself into a frenzy of 
apprehension. She retained the presence of mind to retreat to the 
bed, not climbing in but bracing herself against it. She expected 
more smoke and deception, her defenses rattled when the 
interloper turned out to be Krycek instead. 
"Hey, Scully," he said matter-of-factly, as if he'd just bumped into 
her at the deli. 
"Krycek," Scully said coldly, the name an insult on her lips. "What 
are you doing here? I'd think someone with your talents would be 
busy. Surely there's a murder or kidnapping that requires your 
attention?" 
Krycek grinned. "Be nice. I'm here to take you back." 
Scully's battered spirit soared at his nonchalant declaration, but she 
schooled her features to reveal nothing. "Just like that." 
Krycek shrugged. "Don't look at me, I'm just following directions. 
Smokey evidently got what he needed from you." 
"And what about what *I* need? Where's the serum for Mulder?" 
Krycek extracted a leather case from his pocket and snapped it 
open. Inside lay a small glass vial of amber fluid and a capped 
syringe identical to the one he'd produced in the van. 
"The vial is for him, the needle is for you. You know the drill. Get 
dressed and we can get this over with." 
Scully's eyes caressed the precious liquid as she reached for her 
clothing. "How do I know that's the real thing? That I won't get it 
to the lab and find it's colored water - - or worse, poison?" 
"You don't." Krycek shook his head. "Did you think it was going 
to come with a certificate of authenticity and a money-back 
guarantee? Just put on the clothes, Scully." 
Scully unfolded her slacks, then hesitated, looking pointedly at 
Krycek. "Do you mind?" 
"Actually, I do." Krycek delivered a leer worthy of Mulder, but 
showed her his back. "You know, you're a beautiful woman, 
Scully. Mulder's a lucky son of a bitch." 
Scully chose not to reply as she hastily pulled, zipped, and 
buttoned. 
"'Course I knew Mulder had it bad for you -- anyone with eyes 
could have seen that. I just never thought he'd scrape up the 
courage to tell you and end that 'worship from afar' routine." 
Scully refused to be baited, holding her tongue. Krycek continued 
after a brief pause, unperturbed. 
"I've got to admit, when I heard you two were together my first 
thought was 'what a waste.' You could do better, Scully." 
Scully donned her shoes just as he finished speaking and turned 
around with a smirk. She folded her arms and considered him with 
raised eyebrow. 
"Jealous, Krycek?" 
Green eyes smoldered through long dark lashes. "Would you like 
me to be?" 
Scully's lip curled. "I meant jealous of me. The way I hear it, 
*you* actually kissed Mulder before *I* did." 
Krycek's face darkened, seducer exchanged for cold-blooded killer. 
He negligently chucked the leather case at Scully, who barely 
snagged a corner before it could strike the linoleum. 
"Do it. Or I will." 
*Brilliant, Dana. Question a man's sexual preference right before 
you place yourself completely at his mercy.* 
Scully removed the syringe and set it aside before tenderly 
wrapping the vial in the case and tucking it into the pocket of her 
blazer. Licking her lips, she unzipped her pants enough to expose 
her hip and removed the plastic cap from the needle. Krycek 
watched her dispassionately while she deftly administered the 
drug, refastened her slacks, and inched up onto the bed. 
The effects hit swiftly, her eyelids gaining fifty pounds and her 
thoughts slipping sideways when she tried to focus. Krycek 
sauntered slowly over to her side and removed the spent syringe 
from her weakening grasp. Scully internally cringed with fear at 
his proximity, but the pull of the narcotic negated any physical 
response. Krycek lifted his hand and gently tucked a wayward 
strand of hair behind her ear, astonishing the small portion of her 
brain that could still comprehend the incongruity of his action. His 
fingers brushed soothingly against her forehead until her eyes slid 
shut, but the words he murmured no longer carried any meaning. 
"You're something else, Scully. Hope Mulder recognizes what he's 
got."


GUMC 
Friday 
8:12 p.m.


"...suffering from an undetermined narcotic, some form of 
depressant." 
Fingers tugging at her right eyelid, then blinding white light shot 
straight through her skull. Scully moaned, reflexively jerking her 
head to the left but the same procedure was relentlessly repeated 
on her other eye. 
"Pupils equal and responsive. She's coming around. She doesn't 
seem to have incurred any physical trauma." A nurse's voice, brisk 
and efficient. 
"Do we have some I.D.?" Another female voice, authoritative. 
Probably the doctor. 
"Yes. Special Agent Dana Scully. She's with the FBI." 
"What's a fed doing parked on a gurney in the ER, stoned?" 
Scully wrestled her eyes open, flinching back from the blurred face 
scant inches from her own, penlight in hand. It retreated to a more 
respectable distance, and Scully squinted to focus her still fuzzy 
vision. 
"Agent Scully? I'm Doctor Chin, I've been taking care of you. Do 
you know where you are?" 
The speaker was Asian, a bit older than Scully and very pretty, her 
glossy black hair drawn back from her face in a ponytail. Scully 
scrambled to marshal her muzzy and disjointed thoughts, eyes 
scanning the large room and the small curtained section she 
currently occupied. 
"Um." She cleared her dry throat, grimacing at the nasty taste in 
her mouth. "Am I back at Georgetown Medical?" 
Dr. Chin's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Back? You were here before?" 
Scully floundered to a sitting position and swung her legs over the 
edge of the gurney, ignoring the fervent protests from both doctor 
and nurse. Her eyes sought the clock on the wall, widening at the 
time. 
"What day is this?" she asked anxiously. 
Dr. Chin exchanged a long look with the nurse before answering. 
"Friday. November 12. But I'm supposed to ask *you* that 
question. Agent Scully, you need to lie down. You're still suffering 
from the lingering effects of an unknown narcotic and..." 
"My jacket! What happened to the jacket I was wearing? What did 
you do with it?" Scully knew she sounded hysterical -- couldn't 
stop the panic racing through her veins with every beat of her 
heart. 
"Calm down, Agent Scully, it's right here." The nurse lifted the 
navy blazer from a hook on the wall, a bit put out when Scully 
snatched it from her grasp. 
Scully's hands trembled as she dug her hand into the pocket, weak 
kneed with relief when she felt the smooth surface of the small 
container. Dr. Chin frowned at the odd display of behavior and 
tried again, keeping her voice deliberately patient and conciliatory. 
"Dr. Scully. An orderly found you unconscious, lying on a gurney 
in a hallway off the emergency room. Despite extensive 
questioning of the staff, nobody seems to know how you got there, 
and you've obviously been drugged. Now I suggest you lay down 
and let us finish examining you." 
Scully pulled on the blazer and meticulously adjusted the collar, 
though she knew in her presently rumpled and misused state it 
hardly mattered. Taking a cleansing breath, she donned her 
professionalism as well, regarding Dr. Chin calmly. 
"Dr. Chin, I appreciate what you're trying to do, as well as what 
you've already done, but I'm fine. I'm caught up in a life and death 
case, and time is of the essence. Please get the appropriate 
paperwork for me to sign so I can leave -- AMA, if that's my only 
option." 
Dr. Chin's jaw dropped, then she threw up both hands in defeat. 
"Fine. Never let it be said that I impeded the dispersal of justice. 
Janet, get the paperwork for Agent Scully." 
Five minutes later Scully exited the elevator to the third floor, 
tired, sore, disheveled, but bearing the priceless serum safely in her 
pocket. Her pulse sped up and she broke into a jog as she neared 
Mulder's room, excitement and apprehension fighting for the upper 
hand. Snatching a gown off the rack she darted to the window, 
hungry for a glimpse of his face. Instead her eager eyes found an 
empty bed, stripped of linens and its inhabitant. 
Shock slammed into her -- a runaway freight train that knocked her 
completely out of her body, leaving an empty shell. Scully 
staggered, nearly went to her knees but for the reflexive clasp of 
fingers to the window sill. The desolate, keening wail started 
somewhere around her toes and shredded most of her insides on 
the way out. She ground her forehead into the cool, unyielding 
glass, her tears streaking the surface like bitter raindrops. 
"Too late," she whispered, the words' serrated edges severing her 
heart from her chest. "I'm sorry, Mulder, so sorry." 
She breathed the refrain over and over, like a prayer. But no one 
heard.


Intensive Care
Friday
8:47 p.m.


It was all caving in, the substance of his day to day existence 
crumbling to rain down around him in large chunks and pieces. 
And Skinner could only stand to the side and mutely view the 
destruction. 
Intensive care again, Mulder as white and still as death amidst the 
tubes and wires reminding his body to function. Grey, his brother's 
pliant hand clasped between his own and pressed against his 
bowed head. No masks and gloves, the unspoken meaning clear. 
Not long now... 
Skinner leaned against the wall, something solid and steady among 
the chaos. Mulder treading the thin line between life and death, the 
growth now exerting more pressure than his fragile brain tissue 
could withstand. Scully missing, in the hands of a monster devoid 
of even the most basic components of human conscience and 
emotion. And Grey gradually imploding, collapsing inward under 
the weight of his own grief and helplessness. Not long now... 
Brewer's fingers brushing his sleeve startled Skinner from his dark 
reverie. Brewer himself looked a shadow of his normally free-
spirited persona, his tie a subdued stripe, rigid shoulders replacing 
the casual slouch, and eyes...resigned. Skinner's lungs went on 
strike, the oxygen catching and sticking in a suddenly constricted 
throat. 
"Mr. Skinner, this is the last conversation I wanted to have, but..." 
"DON'T." 
Seeing in Brewer's wide eyes and defensive step backward that 
he'd inadvertently used the drill sergeant voice, Skinner sighed. 
"You don't have to say it, Dr. Brewer. It's right in front of me. How 
long?" 
Brewer stroked his jaw, fingers rasping on stubble, and Skinner felt 
gratified to see honest compassion cloud his face. "Hard to say 
with any accuracy." A flash of respect. "He's a fighter. But in spite 
of our best efforts the intracranial pressure keeps rising. We'll keep 
giving him mannitol for the inflammation, and the dilantin seems 
to have arrested the seizures. But these are stopgap measures to 
manage the symptoms. Eventually the pressure will rise to an 
unmanageable level and..." 
Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. "I understand." 
Dr. Brewer turned, then paused. "Dr. Scully?" 
"We are currently unable to communicate with Agent Scully," 
Skinner replied curtly, thinking what an understatement *that* 
was. 
"I see. Well, if she does contact you..." He faltered, clearly 
uncomfortable. "I suggest you tell her to get back here. Soon." 
Skinner watched Brewer approach Mulder's bedside, conversing 
quietly with Grey as he gently but thoroughly checked his patient. 
He recognized the instant Brewer delivered his prognosis -- Grey's 
body folded, his forehead dropping to the bedrail and his shoulders 
shaking. Skinner spun on his heel, teeth clamped together, fists 
curled. 
"Mr. Skinner?" 
The nurse was young, blonde, and generic, and Skinner wished for 
Elena's unique and feisty brand of caregiving. 
"Yes?" 
"There's a call for you, sir. You can take it right here." 
He pressed the receiver to his ear, curbing the impulse to jump 
down Kim's throat for disturbing him, then catching sight of the 
hour. 
"Skinner." 
"Is this Assistant Director Walter Skinner? Of the FBI?" 
Impatience provoked his growl. "Yes. Who is this?" 
"Sir, my name is Dr. Amy Chin. I'm a physician downstairs in the 
ER. I'm calling in regards to one of your agents -- a Dana Scully? 
I was unable to reach either her mother or Fox Mulder, both listed 
as emergency contacts in her wallet. I spoke to your assistant at 
home and she gave me this number. Needless to say, I didn't 
expect to find you just two floors up." 
Skinner's brain locked onto the name Dana Scully, the rest of the 
doctor's speech fading to meaningless drivel. 
"Agent Scully is there?" he demanded eagerly. 
"No. That is, she *was* here, but signed herself out against 
medical advice. I'm calling because Agent Scully left her keys 
here, and also out of concern for her present condition." 
"What's wrong with her? Was she injured?" 
Dr. Chin evidently was accustomed to interrogations by worried 
friends and didn't flinch at his tone. "No. But she'd been injected 
with a very potent narcotic, and her manner upon waking 
was...odd." 
"In what way?" 
"She was quite disoriented at first, but that's to be expected. One of 
the reasons I tried to persuade her to stay is that the drug will take 
several hours to clear her system. She's apt to be a little confused 
and unsteady until then." 
"I don't understand -- you just said that's normal. What did you 
find disturbing?" 
Dr. Chin hesitated before proceeding cautiously, obviously not 
wishing to put Scully in an awkward position with her boss. "She 
became almost hysterical at one point just because she couldn't 
locate the blazer she'd been wearing. Once we returned it to her she 
regained her composure -- to the extreme. She insisted that she was 
in the middle of an important case and couldn't remain under 
observation. I'm uncomfortable with the wild mood swings, and 
concerned about a possible undetected head trauma." 
Skinner absorbed the doctor's description, his mind working 
furiously. Scully's panic over the jacket -- could it have contained 
Mulder's cure? It would certainly explain her undue agitation, and 
the subsequent reassertion of control. He suddenly registered the 
pregnant pause as Dr. Chin awaited his response. 
"How long ago did she sign herself out?" 
"Only ten minutes -- fifteen at most. But she didn't reveal where 
she was going." 
"I know where she's going," Skinner replied grimly. "Thank you 
for your concern, Dr. Chin. Someone will be by to pick up the 
keys. I'll take care of Agent Scully." 
He hung up the phone, eyes searching for a nurse and locating 
Blondie. 
"If Mr. McKenzie asks for me, please tell him I had to pick up 
something important and I'll be right back," he advised tersely. 
The elevator trundled up to the third floor with maddening lack of 
urgency. Skinner drummed his fingers against his wool clad leg, 
staring at the floor indicator as if he could prod it to move faster by 
sheer force of will. He darted into the hallway, headed in the 
direction of Mulder's old room, his steps slowing as his eyes 
zeroed in on the bright copper of Scully's tangled hair. She stood 
pressed against the glass outside the vacant room, hand clutching 
the window frame to assist trembling legs in bearing her weight. 
Even from a distance, Skinner could hear her heartbroken sobs. A 
nurse carefully approached, hand outstretched to offer comfort, but 
Skinner broke into a trot and waved her off. Swallowing hard, he 
let his own hand drift to Scully's shoulder. 
"Scully." 
So grief stricken, her defenses completely stripped away, Scully 
didn't even attempt to disguise her tears. "It's all for nothing. I'm 
too late, and I wasn't even with him when he needed me the most." 
Skinner's fingers tightened as he turned her to face him, shaking 
his head. "Scully, no." 
"It's true!" She wrenched away from his grasp, eyes inexorably 
drawn back to the empty bed. "I failed him! What good is this 
now?" 
She scrabbled in her pocket, yanking out a small black case and 
wrenching it open. Skinner's eyes widened at the sight of the 
fragile glass tube. Scully scooped it into her palm recklessly, 
brushing away tears with the back of her hand. 
"This is the reason I couldn't touch him, couldn't hold him in my 
arms one more time. It hardly seems worth it, does it sir?" 
Her fingers clamped roughly over the little vial and her arm 
twitched. 
"Scully, NO!" Skinner lunged for her wrist, terrified that in her 
distress she would dash the precious bottle to the floor. "He's alive, 
Scully! He's in pretty bad shape, but he's holding on." 
Scully's face went slack and she tottered, gripping Skinner's sleeve 
when he steadied her. "H...He's alive?" she whispered, the voice of 
a little girl afraid to believe. "But the empty room, I thought..." 
"He's down in the ICU again. The headache suddenly became 
excruciating this afternoon and he began having seizures. Brewer 
did another CAT scan -- the mass has nearly doubled in size." 
They were walking briskly toward the elevators now, and Skinner 
surreptitiously looked Scully over, taking in the rumpled clothing, 
pale skin and shadowed eyes. Despite Dr. Chin's fears, however, 
Scully appeared to be clear-headed. She caught him looking, and 
actually mustered a weary smile. 
"I'm fine, sir. Really." 
Standing silently in the elevator, he wanted to pump her for 
information, to ask exactly how she had been treated and what 
she'd endured, but his lips couldn't form the words and Scully's 
body language clearly indicated that she didn't want to discuss it. 
The moment the doors began to open she squeezed through and 
flew down the hall, leaving Skinner scrambling to catch up. When 
he reached Mulder's cubicle, she and Grey were locked in a tight 
embrace. Skinner stuffed his hands into his pockets and hung back, 
allowing them the moment. 
"We were starting to think you weren't coming," Grey said, 
releasing her to swipe at his eyes. 
"I'm here. And I have what we were looking for," Scully answered, 
bending over to place a kiss on Mulder's lips and running her 
fingers through his hair. "Hey, Mulder. Didja miss me?" 
The words quavered, unable to hold all the love poured into them. 
Scully pressed another kiss to his cheek, murmuring into his ear. "I 
have it, Mulder. Don't you let go now, not when we're so close." 
"Dr. Brewer said it's unlikely he'll regain consciousness,
Dana," Grey said softly. "They've got him on morphine, not to 
mention a heavy dose of something called dilantin." 
"It's for the seizures," Scully replied, voice choked with emotion. 
Despite Grey's words, Mulder's right hand twitched, followed by a 
slight tilt of his head. His breathing sped up and he moaned, a low, 
tortured cry. Scully shushed him, gently stroking his brow as his 
eyelids fluttered and struggled to rise. 
"Shhh. It's okay, love, you don't have to wake up," she crooned. 
"I'm here now, and I've got medicine to make you well." 
Heedless of her advice, as always, he pried his eyes open to half-
mast and fixed them on her face. "Scully." 
She constantly marveled at his ability to say so much by simply 
uttering her name. Tonight she heard pain, sorrow, fear, and, most 
of all, overwhelming relief. Scully smiled, the complete, 
unrestricted display of teeth that she knew he prized, and cupped 
his chin. 
"Hey there. It's about time you welcomed me back." 
Mulder's hand fumbled for her sleeve, latching on with a 
surprisingly firm grip. "Shouldn'ta done it. All right?" 
Her thumb caressed his cheek. "I'm fine, now that I'm here with 
you." 
He tried to lean into her touch, but gasped, his face screwing up 
into a grimace. A tear slipped down the side of his face and 
disappeared into the pillow. "Make it stop, Sculleee," he groaned. 
"Make it stop. I can't..." 
A shudder ran the entire length of his body and his eyes rolled 
back in his head. Scully sprang up, frightened that he was 
experiencing another seizure, but he only slumped limply onto the 
bed. 
"Give it to him now, Dana," Grey pleaded. "He can't take much 
more of this." 
Scully removed the vial and stared at the golden liquid nervously. 
"I was planning on taking it to the lab first, for analysis. I have no 
idea what's in here, or what it might do to him." 
"He's in unbearable pain, Dana, and he's *going to die*. I don't 
really give a damn what's in it at this point, it's the only chance he's 
got left!" Grey snarled. 
"So you'd rather I risk that he die by my own hand?" Scully 
snapped. "Whatever happened to your admonishments about 
dealing with the devil? Now you're ready to just trust that 
Cancerman's upheld his part of the bargain?" 
"We're past that now! We. Have. No. Choice. Brewer said an 
aneurysm could drop him at any time, provided the pressure 
doesn't do it first. If you don't want the responsibility, give it to me 
and show me what to do." 
"You don't understand, he could..." 
"He's right, Scully." 
Skinner surprised them, both caught up in the heat of the argument 
and oblivious to his silent presence. He stepped over and placed 
himself between them. 
"You both care about him and have his best interest at heart. 
Brawling like a couple of two-year-olds isn't going to help him." 
Scully and Grey looked ruefully at each other, chastised by the 
truth. 
"I'm sorry, Dana," Grey said. "I realize I'm not a doctor. I just can't 
stand to see him like this." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't 
face losing him." 
Scully wove her fingers with his. "I'm sorry too. I'm just scared, 
Grey. This is all or nothing." 
"Scully, short of the lab telling you it's poison, would it really 
make a difference what the analysis turned up?" Skinner asked. 
"Seems to me it's going to come down to a leap of faith." He shook 
his head. "I can't believe I just said that." 
"Must be an X-File," Grey muttered. 
All three involuntarily turned to regard the man in the bed. Scully 
expelled a shaky puff of air and headed for the nurses' station. 
"Where are you going?" Grey called, frowning. 
"Preparing to jump," Scully said dryly. "I'll be right back." 
Skinner answered Grey's puzzled glance with a shrug, and the two 
men waited in silence until Scully returned a moment later, 
stripping the plastic covering from a syringe. She popped off the 
cap and plunged the sharp tip of the needle into the inverted vial, 
her hands quivering as she slowly pulled back on the plunger to fill 
the barrel. Placing the empty vial in her pocket, she extracted an 
antiseptic pad and tossed it to Grey. 
"Wipe down the skin on his neck, right over the carotid artery," she 
instructed firmly. 
"His neck?" Grey asked doubtfully. 
"Just do it." 
Grey tore open the pad and was in the process of smoothing it over 
his brother's skin when nurse Blondie stuck her head in the cubicle. 
"What exactly do you think you're doing? This is Dr. Brewer's 
patient, you can't just administer meds without his approval!" 
Scully spared her one cool look, then dismissed her. "Actually, *I* 
am Mr. Mulder's primary physician. Now back off." 
Blondie spluttered angrily. "You aren't listed on the chart. Dr. 
Brewer..." 
Skinner stepped forward, taking her by the arm and firmly rotating 
her toward the nurses' station. "Why don't you just contact Dr. 
Brewer? We'll wait right here." 
The authoritative A.D. voice worked its usual magic and the 
disgruntled nurse retreated, making a beeline for the phone and 
muttering under her breath. Scully raised an eyebrow at Skinner 
before turning back to lean over Mulder. Some of the alcohol from 
the prep pad still glistened on his skin, and she tipped his chin 
gingerly to the right to better expose the artery. She placed one 
hand over his heart and paused, eyes shut and lips moving silently. 
It took Skinner a moment to realize she was praying. 
Scully opened her eyes and bit her lip. "I'm not sure what's going 
to happen," she confessed. "But here we go." 
Skinner watched with equal parts fascination and revulsion as she 
inserted the needle into Mulder's neck and slowly depressed the 
plunger. When all of the fluid had passed out of the syringe, she 
extracted it, replaced the cap, and slipped it back into her pocket. 
The whole procedure lasted about ten seconds, but the reaction was 
nearly instantaneous. Something black and viscous oozed from 
beneath Mulder's closed lids and from his nostrils. Rather than 
pouring out in a continuous stream, it wriggled out in segments 
that squirmed down the sides of his face as if he were shedding 
ebony tears. Scully drew in a harsh breath of air and unconsciously 
shrank back before reasserting control and leaning cautiously 
closer to scrutinize the now motionless oily residue. 
"Don't touch him," she ordered, disappearing into the hall once 
again returning this time with a sterile specimen cup and a tongue 
depressor. Upper lip wrinkling, she warily used the wooden stick 
to scrape the oil into the cup. The surface tension was such that it 
transferred intact, leaving no traces on Mulder's skin. Scully sealed 
the cup and turned to Skinner. 
"Sir, we need this sent to the lab for analysis, and it should be 
handled under biocontainment procedures." 
"I'll get a courier to pick it up right away," Skinner said grimly. He 
collected the cup and left to use the phone, passing an agitated Dr. 
Brewer on his way out. 
Brewer burst into the cubicle, blinking when he saw Scully, who 
was once again seated beside the bed and holding Mulder's hand. 
His eyes roved around the area, checking out the equipment and 
Mulder's motionless form. 
"Welcome back, Dr. Scully," he finally greeted, the smile on his 
face failing to hide the reserve in his eyes. "I just got a very strange 
call from Brenna Martin, the ICU nurse. She had the impression 
that you were injecting Mulder with an unknown substance. Where 
would she get a strange idea like that?" 
Scully shrugged. "Strange ideas are my job, Dr. Brewer. That's 
what the X-Files are all about -- extreme possibilities." 
"Scully, I just got very turned on." 
The voice was as thin as tissue paper, consonants hopelessly 
slurred, but the most beautiful thing Scully had ever heard. Her 
eyes jumped from Brewer's face to the twin hazel orbs that peeked 
through heavy lids. 
"'S gone," Mulder mumbled, his attempt to squeeze her hand little 
more than the twitch of a few fingers. 
Scully's heart hammered wildly. "The pain?" Mulder's eyes started 
to drift shut and she insistently brushed her knuckles across his 
cheek, her tried and true method of keeping him with her. "Mulder, 
the pain is gone?" 
Mulder scowled, trying to swat at her with a limb too leaden to 
move. "Yeah. 'S all gone. 'M tired, babe, lemme sleep." 
Scully stared at him as he slipped peacefully into sleep, his breath 
still rattling in his lungs but leveling out to a regular rhythm. She 
lifted her eyes to Grey's and saw her own fledgling hope reflected. 
Brewer just gazed at them both as if they were about to start 
gibbering and drooling any moment. 
"Could somebody please bring me up to speed?" 
"We need one more CAT scan, Dr. Brewer," Scully said, barely 
restrained joy in her voice. "I think the results are going to surprise 
you."


Room 342
Sunday
9:38 a.m.


It felt like a party -- or maybe the first warm, sunny spring day 
after a long and bitter winter. Scully's eyes slowly swept the room. 
Dr. Brewer, back to his "rebel with a cause" image, sported a 
Simpsons tie and listened slack-jawed as Mulder regaled him with 
the Tooms case. Skinner, transformed from A.D. to mere mortal by 
worn jeans and a green Henley, chuckled softly as Elena described 
her latest run-in with a patient from hell. Grey, sitting in a chair, 
sock feet propped up on the end of the bed, just...watched his 
brother with a look on his face that made Scully's throat tighten 
and her eyes prickle. And the guest of honor, still too pale and thin 
but showered and shaved, looked far better than any man so fresh 
from the brink of death had the right to. In fact, he looked amazing. 
Elena must have sensed her thoughts, or at least read her 
expression, because she winked at Scully and then turned to 
Mulder with an impish grin. 
"You know, you clean up pretty nice, Mulder. Who'd a thought?" 
Mulder inclined his head. "Thanks. I think." 
"Yeah, well, that's nothing," Brewer said. "Your insides look 
incredible. We've got the pneumonia on the run, your white count 
has already risen significantly, and..." He swung a piercing gaze 
onto Scully. "I don't suppose you'd like to share just what you gave 
him that managed to completely obliterate a tumor in the space of 
six hours?" 
Scully pursed her lips and looked enigmatic. Mulder had a mild 
coughing spell when Brewer folded his arms and muttered, "I 
know, I know -- must be an X-File." 
When he ceased sputtering, Mulder swallowed some water and 
looked shrewdly at Brewer. "How long before I can work?" 
Scully, Skinner, and Grey all groaned in perfect unison. Mulder 
crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip, glaring at them. 
Scully dropped her head to hide the smile that tugged at her lips. 
*Thank God.* 
"I take it from their reactions that you tend to push the envelope on 
recovery, Mulder," Brewer said dryly. "I have one piece of advice 
for you. DON'T. Your body has taken an incredible beating and 
you're going to feel like shit off and on for weeks. Don't fight it. 
You need sleep, and plenty of it. If I see you back here with a 
secondary infection, I'll be pissed." 
Mulder made a face. "I don't do sleep very well." 
Brewer just grinned. "Trust me -- you will." He dropped Mulder's 
chart into the pocket at the end of the bed. "I'll stop by later. If we 
can lose the residual fever and clear up your lungs a bit more, you 
should be able to go home in a couple of days." He nodded to 
Scully. "In the custody of your personal physician, of course." 
Elena followed him out, flashing Skinner a smile and touching his 
arm as she passed. "Be back in a bit with your meds, Mulder," she 
called cheerfully. 
Scully recorded the smile, as well as the way Skinner's head 
rotated on its axis to watch Elena walk out the door. Mulder, as 
usual, was oblivious, but she noticed Grey observing Skinner and 
smothering a smirk. 
*Hmmm. Extreme possibilities popping up all over the place.* 
Skinner turned back, caught them looking, and flushed. Scully was 
still trying to wrap her mind around *that* when Grey put Skinner 
out of his misery. 
"How 'bout it, Walt? Is that offer of a ride still good?" 
Skinner appeared comically relieved. "Yeah. I'll pull the car up 
front so you don't have to walk -- I'm parked way out." He glanced 
at Mulder, eyebrows drawing together. "*Rest*, Mulder. Believe 
me, you aren't even touching those files for at least two weeks." 
Mulder's pout deepened, then he leaned toward Grey, who was 
lacing up his shoes. 
"You all right? What's this about not walking?" 
Grey waved his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. My back is still a 
little sore, no big deal. It's getting better." He reached over to place 
his hand on Mulder's wrist. "You know, I never really got to thank 
you for getting me out of there, Fox. I hope you know..." 
Mulder flipped his wrist and clasped his brother's hand. "I do. And 
it was nothing you haven't done for me. I'm just sorry you've been 
sucked into that part of my life, I never meant it to happen. It was 
selfish of me to ever contact you in the first place." 
"Shut up." Grey's tone was affectionate. "You're part of my family, 
Fox, and I want you in my life. Cancerman, Krycek, global 
conspiracies -- the rest doesn't matter. But you..." He closed his 
eyes and dropped his chin. "This one was way too close, little 
brother. I thought I was going to lose you." 
Mulder sucked in his lower lip, blinking hard. "I know the feeling." 
One corner of Grey's mouth turned up and he stood, giving 
Mulder's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. 
"Gotta go. I'm finally going to make things up to Kristen today. 
Walt's dropping me off at her place." 
"Don't put any unnecessary strain on that sore back," Mulder said, 
wriggling both eyebrows. 
"That all depends on your definition of unnecessary, doesn't it?" 
Grey replied, lifting his arms over his head in a stretch and wincing 
a little. He leaned over to give Scully a peck on the cheek, their 
eyes sharing a wealth of joy during the brief connection. "He's all 
yours, darlin'. Hope you're up to the challenge." 
"Why does everyone act like I'm going to cause trouble?" Mulder 
whined. 
Scully gave him "The Look." "Two words, Mulder. Past 
experience." 
Mulder put on an aggrieved face. "Scully, you wound me." He then 
emitted an enormous yawn. 
"Get some sleep, G-man," she said, undermining the order by 
smiling. 
Mulder shook his head stubbornly, though his eyes were drowsy. 
"Uhn uh. Do you realize this is the first time we've really been 
alone in over a week? I don't want to talk about going to bed, 
unless you'd like to..." He pulled back the covers and offered her 
his most lascivious look. 
Scully rolled her eyes. "Here? Not in your most triple X dreams, 
Mulder, even if you were up to it -- which you're not," she added 
hastily before he could pounce on the obvious double entendre. 
Mulder released the sigh of the terribly oppressed. "Fine. Then just 
get up here and let me hold you. Does that fall within your 
standards for hospital etiquette?" 
Scully gazed at him, drinking in the sight like a cup of cool water. 
A long and undoubtedly bumpy road to full recovery, but alive. 
ALIVE. 
She kicked off her loafers and crawled up on the mattress, letting 
Mulder gather her in like a lost chick until her head rested on his 
chest. 
"You sure this is all right, love?" she asked worriedly, hearing the 
crackling of his breath as his lungs expanded and contracted. 
"Mmm. Better than all right, babe. Perfect." She felt his lips press 
the crown of her head and tightened her arm around his too slim 
waist. 
"Have to fatten you up, Mulder," she observed, the soft hospital 
gown tickling her cheek. "Time to break out the secret weapon." 
"Gonna call your mom, huh?" 
"Yep. And just so there's no mistake -- you're coming home to my 
place. I can take care of you better there." 
Scully felt him shift, heard his heartbeat speed up a bit, and 
frowned. She lifted her head to regard him solemnly. "Out with it, 
Mulder. You don't want to come to my place?" 
Scully half-expected to encounter the blank, guarded expression 
that signaled Mulder's defenses in high gear. Instead, a variety of 
strong emotions flitted across his face. 
"No. No, Scully, it isn't that at all, I..." 
Scully deliberately lay her head back down, knowing he could 
more readily find the words he sought without enduring her 
scrutiny. "Take your time, love. I'm listening." 
Mulder's hand crept up and buried itself in her hair, his fingers 
weaving slowly through the individual strands. "I... I had a dream 
while you were gone. A very vivid dream." 
"Not surprising," Scully murmured. "Between the high fever and 
the morphine." 
"This was different, Scully. I think... I think my subconscious was 
trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was just my heart," he 
added softly. 
Scully listened while quietly, painfully, he recounted the dream, 
his voice breaking when he got to the part where she'd faded away. 
She could sense the power of the images in the rigid feel of his 
body. To her, the meaning behind the dream shone clear as crystal 
-- but could Mulder see? 
When he finished, Mulder paused and pulled in a gulp of air. 
"What do you think it meant, Scully?" 
*Ah, ah, ah. You don't get off that easy. This is your journey, my 
love.* 
Aloud, Scully kept her response neutral. "It doesn't matter what I 
think, Mulder. What do *you* think it means?" 
Mulder actually chuffed subdued laughter. "You been studying 
psychology behind my back, babe?" 
Unable to resist, Scully tipped her chin up onto his breast and 
cocked an eyebrow. "You know me, Mulder. I always read the 
owner's manual." 
They chuckled quietly together for a moment before the returning 
tension in Mulder's limbs told her he was about to speak. "I think it 
means I've been so screwed over by what people told me was love, 
that it's been hard to believe the real thing finally came along." 
Scully immersed her face in the gown, the words blazing a trail of 
warmth to the bottom of her soul. Did he finally understand? 
"I've wanted to believe it, Scully," he continued, the words hushed. 
"But I'm a coward. Every time I tried to let go, to accept that you 
could really love me as much as I love you, I'd think that sooner or 
later you'd realize you were making a big mistake. And how 
much it would hurt when you left." 
Hot tears burned her cheeks. "How could you think that, Mulder? 
We've been together over six years, I know exactly who you are, 
and I love that man. Why would you expect me to leave you?" 
Mulder's voice was rough. "It's all I know." 
Scully turned, inched up his body, and took his face between her 
hands, caressing his lips with her own even as the tears continued 
to slip down her face. When she'd rendered him sufficiently 
breathless, she pulled back and leaned her forehead against his. 
"Listen to me carefully, Mulder, because I'm not going to say this 
again. I. Will. Not. Leave. Are you reading me?" 
He caught her lips and gave as good as he'd received. "Loud and 
clear, babe. And I'll be glad to recuperate at your place on one 
condition." 
She kissed him again and snuggled back down. "Name it, Mulder. 
I'm feeling generous." 
His fingers found her hair again. "That as soon as I'm strong 
enough we look for a place together." 
Scully nuzzled his chest with her nose. "I think that's a great idea, 
G-man. Wish I'd thought of it." 
"Ha, ha," he returned, punctuating his sarcasm with another yawn. 
Scully could feel the anxiety drain out of his body and his 
breathing settle into a more regular pattern. She thought of 
Spender, of the disturbing revelations regarding Mulder's father 
and his secret legacy. She needed to share what she'd learned with 
Mulder, as devastating as the truth was likely to be. 
"Mulder?" 
"Hmm?" 
His response was heavy with fatigue, but urgency pressed her 
forward. 
"When I was with Spender, he revealed some things. Things you 
need to know." 
"Mmm hmm. Later, 'kay, babe? 'M kinda tired." 
She knew he was asleep before the last syllable, the hand in her 
hair settling lax on her shoulder. She burrowed a little more deeply 
into his side, relishing the warmth that denoted life. Now was 
probably not the time to hit him with the news of his father's 
betrayal. Better to tackle the whole mess when he was better, 
stronger. The truth would keep until then. 
Right?


End