TITLE: Cursum Perficio 
AUTHOR: L.A.Adolf
E-MAIL: LAAdolf@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION: I'd be glad to have it
archived. Just tell me where, please.
SPOILERS: Fight the Future, nothing since.
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT: M/A; S/A; MST; MT
CLASSIFICATION: S
SUMMARY: Mulder is missing, and when
found, badly hurt, his soul journeying 
to the light, to life, to health, to death.
As Scully rushes to save his life-- to 
keep him from going to the light--she 
fights her fears and learns where her 
journey begins and ends. 
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to
Chris Carter and the X-Files production.
COMMENTS:  "Cursum Perficio" means "My
Journey Ends Here."  and was inspired 
by the true story of miraculous escape 
from death in an elevator shaft.  This
story was written between August 1998
and July 1999--all but the last 20 pages
or so completed by December 1998
Any resemblence to events in season 6
and season 7 are purely coincidental. 
Dedicated to my oncologist and radiologist for 
restoring my sense of hope. 

Cursum Perficio (Part 01 of 58)
by LAAdolf

*Dana Scully bolted awake, finding
herself sitting up gasping for breath
before she even knew the dream had
ended.*

Had it ended? Then why did she still
feel the pain of the impact, why was her
pulse racing, and her breath strangled
and harsh?

Dana forced herself to breathe deeply, to
make her inhalations and exhalations
follow a controlled cadence. She forced
her consciousness to expand beyond the
boundaries of her body, and to take in
her surroundings. She was sitting on her
bed, in near darkness, but she sensed and
embraced the familiarity of those things
around her, drawing them to her, savoring
them.
  
Whatever it had been, repressed memory or
pure fantasy, it was over now. The images
were fading and the pain that had pierced
every part of her body was all but gone.
Dana continued to breathe deeply and
evenly, seeking to replace a vague sense
of panic with calm and peace.

She glanced at her bedside alarm clock,
mindful of her need to return to sleep so
that she could function with some sort of
normality at work the next day.
 
It was 2:17 a.m....

x

Melvin Frohike slumped into the spare
quarters he shared with his partners.
Byers and Langley would long since have
turned in for the night, rest well earned
after putting out the latest issue of
*The Lone Gunman*.

Frohike shrugged out of his coat and
moved to the refrigerator that dominated
the small utilitarian kitchen, pulling
out a cold beer. He collapsed into a
chair, staring off into space.
  
It wasn't like Mulder not to show for a
meet, especially one he himself had
requested. Frohike had stayed at Casey's
Bar far beyond the the arranged time, and
had tried calling Mulder at his apartment
and on his cellular, to no avail.

Frohike could have--probably should
have--shrugged it off. There could be
any number of reasons why his second
favorite federal agent--Scully would
always be first in his heart even though
he hadn't known her for as long--might
have to change plans precipitously. But
it wasn't like Mulder not to let a body
know that he wouldn't be showing up.
  
Frohike sipped his beer thoughtfully and
tried to quell a small voice of worry. 
Mulder was a big boy, after all. No doubt
he would call tomorrow and offer
apologies and arrange another time and
place for them to meet. Frohike should
just go to bed, and let tomorrow take
care of itself. He sighed and glanced at
the clock.

It was 2:17 a.m....

x

The shadowy figure moved down the
deserted alley, his gaze absorbing every
minute detail, every gradation of light
and shadow thrown by the distant
streetlights.

He had paused as he approached the
doorway at the end of the alley, waiting
expectantly.

A lean faced man stepped out of the
shadows of the doorway.

"Is it done?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"It was made to look like an accident?"

"Federal agent gets drunk, takes a wrong
turn on his way to the men's room, and
suffers a fall. A very long fall."

"You made sure he's dead?"

"No need. Where he landed no one will
find him till he starts to rot. If then.
Especially in this part of town."

"Good."

"When do I get the rest of my fee? I
was promised a premium; I did this
right." 

"Right now." The lean faced man reached
into his jacket pocket and removed
a bundle. So intent was the assassin on
his pay-off that he missed the furtive
movement of the lean faced man's other
hand. He never saw the gun that flashed
up and belched obscenely, its usual loud
report muffled by a silencer.

The lean faced man tossed the envelope 
bundle into a nearby trash receptacle--
its contents nothing more thana wad of 
newspaper--and turned to toss the gun 
down by the body. He then made his 
leisurely way out of the alley andinto 
the darkness of the sleeping capitol.

It was 2:17 am....

x

The phone rang in the darkness, startling
Teena Mulder awake. She sat up and
grabbed for the handset.

"Fox...," whispered a hollow, eerie
voice.

Fox, her son, beloved only son, her
firstborn. He had not talked to her in a
very long time. Not since agitated and
accusing, he had come here to the house
in Connecticut, asking her questions she
had not wanted to answer. Questions about
his sister, and about the mysterious man
he knew only as Cigarette Smoking Man.
But the voice on the phone was not
her son.

"What about Fox, what's happened?" Teena 
questioned, her mind reeling. She
recognized the voice. It was patently
impossible that it could be who she knew
it to be.

"Help...Fox..." the voice pleaded, 
then faded away. The dial tone replaced
the eerie silence. Teena found herself
staring in the half light at the receiver
in her hand as though it were some
horribly foreign object.

She had recognized the voice from the
first moment she had heard it, and even
now her mind rebelled at the idea that
what she had just experienced had been
real and not a dream. The caller with the
mysterious message had been the man she
had once loved above all others, the
father of her children...the man she had
sworn to hate forever. 

The thing of it was William Mulder had 
been in his grave for over two years.
Teena stared blindly into the darkness. 
The clock by her bedside flashed the 
time, but she did not see it.
  
It was 2:17 am....

x

He struggled to consciousness only to
be nearly plunged back into its depths by
the stark reality of the pain. Instead
he tried to fight back the sensory storm,
taking courage by the fact that he could
feel at all. Pain meant he was still
alive.

Special Agent Fox Mulder lay on his back 
at the bottom of a very deep and very
dark shaft. Far above him a tiny patch of
what had to be night sky was visible. He
tried to concentrate, tried to remember
how he had come to be here--what had
happened to trap him here.

Coherent thought wafted in and out
amongst stranger images. He remembered...
Frohike...he had arranged to meet with 
Frohike...but the meeting had never come 
off. Mulder had arrived at Casey's Bar 
well ahead of the scheduled time, but 
something...something had happened. He
had been about to enter the bar when 
someone had attacked him, shoved him hard
into the adjoining alley. He had
struggled, managed to land a couple of
good blows, but had been struck over the
head, and had blacked out. When he had
come to, he had found himself lying on a
rough surface with the texture of tarry
sandpaper--a roof? Struggling to rise,
he'd  found himself momentarily blinded
by the blood that had been flowing
copiously from a cut above his eye. Hands
had grabbed him, and he found himself
falling, falling, hurtling down into a
dark abyss. His body had struck hard, and
he had felt himself shatter into pieces.

How long had he been here? There was no
way to tell. He might have been
unconscious for minutes, or hours. He
remembered the cut above his eye and
tried to reach a hand to feel it.

It took more effort than such a simple 
movement should have, but slowly, his arm
raised and he felt the gash above his
eye. His fingers came away wet with
blood.
  
It had not been long then. Whether
that was good news or bad, remained to be
seen. Mulder tentatively began exploring
the boundaries of his pain. That he was
able to feel was in itself, probably a
good thing he reflected grimly. At least
he felt whole--after a fashion. That
probably meant that whatever other injury
he had suffered, that his spinal cord was
as yet intact. He was surprised at the
effort it took, but gratified that his
ravaged body was at least responding to
his conscious commands--or trying to.
   
He should try to rise, and find out if
there was any way out of this place.  
Hopefully, he'd just had the wind knocked
out of him, and he'd be able to extricate
himself from  his unusual  prison. He
took a deep breath, then another and
willed his body to obey his command. He
managed to get his shoulders off the
floor and was halfway to sitting up when
a blazing agony lanced up from his hip
and gripped his chest with vise-like
power.

If the pain he had felt before had been
excruciating, the reaction his body gave
at his abortive attempt to stand bordered
on the exquisite. His attempt died
a-borning, his consciousness nearly
swept away by an avalanche of unpleasant
sensation. Whole he might be, but
unbroken he was not. And it felt as
though he had done himself some real
damage in making the attempt to get up.
Darkness pressed against darkness as
unconsciousness rose to engulf him.
 
Blessedly, for an indeterminate period,
he no longer had to deal with the
consequences of his action.

x
End Cursum Perficio (Part 01 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio  (Part 02 of 58)
by LAAdolf

Melvin Frohike jumped at the touch of a
hand on his shoulder. He looked up from
where his arms had cradled his head and
into John Byers' concerned eyes.
  
"Don't tell me you spent the night like
that," his fellow Lone Gunman queried
disbelievingly. "What time did you get
in?"

Frohike blinked, trying to focus his
eyes. "After two. Mulder never showed. I
guess I fell asleep listening to the
police band."
                                                                              
                                                                              
        
Ringo Langly's shaggy blonde head
appeared over Byers' shoulder, "You think
something happened to him?"

Frohike shrugged, "I don't know. But it
has a weird feeling to it. You know
Mulder, if he says he's going to meet
you, he does, or he lets you know why he
can't. He just never showed up. I tried
calling him, at his office, at his home,
on his cellular. You know Mulder, he was
born with a phone in his hand. It doesn't
add up."

Byers nodded in agreement, "Did you
catch anything on the police band?"

Frohike shook his head. "No. But there is
no telling what I missed when I fell
asleep." He glanced at his wristwatch,
"Guess I was only out an hour. I should
go back to monitoring."

Langly shook his head, "You get some
sack time, Byers and I will do it. We'll
wake you up if anything comes over the
airwaves."

"And we'll keep trying to get a hold
of Mulder, okay?" Byers chimed in
reassuringly. 
 
Frohike looked at his friends, and
nodded. Something was nagging at him, but
he couldn't put finger on it, or give it
a name. Maybe some sleep would
crystallize whatever it was. He was
exhausted.
  
As Frohike left the room, Langly leaned
over the radio, adjusting the volume, and
Byers reached for the phone.
   
His friends hadn't questioned his
concern, nor chided him for misplaced
worry, that was the type of relationship
they had. He knew he could leave the
situation in their capable hands.

Melvin Frohike lay down in his narrow
cot and soon fell to dreaming. He
wouldn't remember them until later but
his sleep was invaded by images of
goblins and ghosts, and falling into a
cold, dark pit.

x   

Scully popped her head into the temporary
office space that had been assigned to
Mulder after his basement office had been
gutted by fire. It was a grim little
room, made grimmer by the utter lack of
any personalization.
 
Skinner had promised better accommo-
dations, but they had yet to materialize,
the wheels of bureaucracy grinding
infinitely slow. Mulder had, Dana knew,
spent as little time here as possible,
preferring to absent himself as much as
possible, dropping by only to monitor
messages and make whatever calls he could
not handle by cellular.

It therefore should not have surprised 
Scully that Mulder's temporary desk was 
empty. Doubtless he was playing phantom 
at the feast, haunting another part of 
the building to avoid his joyless
cubicle. It was late afternoon and Scully
herself had been immersed in paperwork
and bureaucratic ritual for most of the
day.

Scully stepped inside the office, and
noticed that the message light on
Mulder's phone was blinking feverishly.
She sat down at his desk and lifted the
handset, finding herself punching his
password into the phone automatically.

The computerized voice informed her that
his voice mail box was full.
Methodically, as she had done many times
before, as he had done for her, she
scanned through his messages. It was at
that moment that the phone rang on an
incoming line. Scully picked up the call.

"Mulder?" the voice on the line was
familiar.

"Byers? This is Scully," she responded.

"Agent Scully! Is Mulder there?"

"No. I'd just dropped by his office when
you rang. His mailbox is full, I thought
I'd take a message."

"Agent Scully, have you seen your partner 
today? Have you heard from him?" Byers 
persisted.

"No. I haven't spoken to him since
yesterday."

"Do you know if he reported for work
today at all?"

Scully looked up to see the door to the
office beginning to open, "Hold on Byers,
there's someone at the door, it could
be..." Scully waited as the door swung
open.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner moved
into the office, his gaze settling on
Scully, a question in his eyes.

"No, it wasn't Mulder. I don't know if he
reported in, but I can find out." Scully
balanced the handset on her palm and
looked at Skinner.

"No. He's not anywhere in the building 
and he hasn't called in." Skinner offered
in answer to her unspoken question.

Scully put the phone to her ear. Fighting
down a stab of fear she spoke: "Byers, is
there something you're trying to tell
me?"
 
"No, Agent Scully. Its just that Mulder 
had a meeting arranged with Frohike last
night and he never arrived at the meeting
place. We've been trying to get a hold of
him ever since, with no success. Fro-
hike's concerned, and now, so are we."

"I'll do some checking and be in touch.
You've got my cellular number if you come
up with anything?" Scully tried to make
her voice sound normal, when suddenly she
felt anything but.

Byers echoed her assurances and the line
went dead. Scully raised her eyes to meet
those of Skinner.

"I came down here looking for you, to ask
if you had heard anything from Mulder
today. That conversation answers my
question." he said, then paused. "I had
a message from Diana Fowley on my voice
mail a little while ago. A rather strange
message. She's still recuperating from
her wounds as you know, maybe her 
medication is playing tricks on her. But
she was very worried about Mulder and
wanted to know if anything had happened
to him. Seems she had a very strong
premonition that something had."

Scully's eyebrows floated toward her
hairline, "Mulder didn't show up for a
meeting with Frohike last night, he and
the other Lone Gunmen have been trying to
reach Mulder all day, no success."

"It wouldn't be the first time that
Mulder has gone off on a tangent." 
Skinner offered, matter-of-factly.

"Sir, begging your pardon, Mulder has
been known to hare off on occasion, but
usually in pursuit of something specific
and at the very least he leaves messages
or clues regarding where he's gone with
someone. As far as I know, Mulder has
been tending to routine Bureau matters
the last few days. When I last spoke with
him he gave me no indication that
anything was afoot that would explain his
suddenly taking off."

"Could there have been a family
emergency?" Skinner offered.

Scully shrugged, "His mother is now his
only remaining family. He hasn't visited
or spoken to her in several months, to my
knowledge. I was scanning Mulder's
messages though, and there are couple
from her in his voice mailbox. Shall I
check them now?"

Skinner nodded. Scully turned her
attention back to Mulder's voice mail. 
She noted that there were three messages
from Frohike in the mail box, starting
from late the night before, followed by
calls from Byers and Langly logged at
various times during the day today. There
was, Scully discovered, even a brief
message from Diana Fowley. Dana skipped
over all these, focusing her attention on
accessing the two messages that she had
noted earlier as originating with Mrs.
Mulder. She hit the listen function when
she reached the first message, logged in
in the early hours of the morning. She
put the call on the speaker.
 
"'Fox...I've had the strangest
experience--I'd like to talk to you as
soon as you get in. I tried you at your
apartment. Please son, I need to hear
from you, please call me at home.'"  
Dana skipped forward to the later of the
two messages, logged in at shortly after
noon. Again, she ran the message through
the phone's speaker function. "'Fox, I
haven't heard from you. Where are you?
Please call me as soon as you can. I had
a strange message last night--it said you
needed help. I'm still your mother Fox,
whatever you think of me. Please, let me
know you are all right!'"

Dana looked up to meet Skinner's eyes.
The assistant director's brow was
furrowed. "I'd say that answers that
question. When did you speak with Agent
Mulder last Agent Scully?"

"Yesterday afternoon. Briefly. He has
been keeping to himself these past few
weeks. We had a disagreement about my
involvement in the X-Files soon after the
last OPR hearing, which I thought we had
resolved. Agent Mulder seems to have a
different view of the outcome, but he has
avoided discussing it further with me. I
can't claim that I am privy to all his
plans at this point in time, but I also
can't fathom any reason short of foul
play why he would suddenly vanish."

Skinner nodded. "I can't either. Mulder 
has made some powerful enemies. Coming so
soon after your...experience and with the
reinstatement of the X-Files announced--"

"Sir, I'd like permission to leave now. I
would like to take a look at Mulder's
apartment." Dana's voice held more than a
note of urgency.

Skinner nodded agreement. "Yes. I'm going
to institute a missing agent protocol
unless you find something there that
would explain this away."

Scully stood and made ready to leave. 
Skinner reached out to touch her arm as
she passed him. Dana paused and looked at
him questioningly.

"What does your instinct tell you, Dana?
You know Mulder better than anyone
alive."

Scully glanced down at the floor. Ever 
since she had entered this office she
had felt a growing sense of dread. She
had tried to dismiss it at first as a
vague remnant of her dream of the night
before--some nightmares had a way of
slipping over into day, coloring
perceptions long after their images had
faded. But now she wondered if it were
all connected--if something had happened
to Mulder and she had lost precious time
in trying to deny what her subconscious
was trying desperately to tell her.

"I know this isn't like him, sir. I don't
have a good feeling about it."

Skinner nodded and waved her on.
 
Scully moved into the hallway and broke
into a half jog. She was out of the
building and on her way to Mulder's
Arlington apartment within five minutes.

x
End Cursum Perficio (Part 02 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (03 of 58)
by LAAdolf

Mulder's eyes opened to a tiny patch 
of blue far above him, and to a world 
whose boundaries were defined by
varying degrees of pain. Consciousness
brought with it nausea and a marked 
difficulty in drawing breath. He did an
inventory once again, willing movement
and assessing the results. He could still
move, but each muscle contraction
brought searing agony.

He was, he realized, going to die here.
He had come close to dying before, more
than once. But at least on those
occasions, his death would have stood 
for something, been in the pursuit of a 
greater understanding, an ultimate truth.   
But this--overpowered like a rank rookie
and tossed away like garbage. He wanted
to know what he was dying for, but his
attacker had not granted him even that
small favor.

In the slightly better light of day, 
Mulder could see that he was laying in
what appeared to be the shaft of an
elevator. His hurtling descent had, he
now saw, crashed him through roof of the
elevator cage itself, and he was laying
on the floor of what must be--or have 
been--a freight elevator.

"Help--someone, help me!" Mulder's first
spoken words in many hours seemed
strangled and weak, but his voice was his
only recourse for rescue at this point,
his body was not going to move out of
this strange prison under its own
volition, he now knew. 
 
"SOMEBODY HELP ME!!" Mulder poured
whatever little energy he could marshal
into raising the volume and timber of his
voice, and was rewarded by a bouncing
echo as the sound traveled up the shaft.

It was a slim hope. This building could
be anywhere in greater D.C., and judging
from the elevator cage and its ambience
of long disuse, it could very well be in
an abandoned structure in a part of town
that full stereo system broadcasting his
voice at maximum gain would never
penetrate. But he had to keep trying.

x

The D.C. police detective bent over the
body in the alleyway, his face a grim
mask. "Shot point blank in the face from
the looks of things. Is the coroner on
his way?"

The uniformed officer who had first
responded to the call of the discovery of
a dead body nodded. "He's hung up in rush
hour traffic, but he's on his way. How
long you figure this stiff has been
here?"

"A while, probably since early this
morning. The coroner will give us an
exact time of death, of course. All we
can do until he gets here and clears the
body is wait."

The uniform nodded. A distant sound
caught his attention, and he cocked his
head listening again. The detective
noticed his compatriot's change in mien
and watched him for a few minutes.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked, as the
uniformed cop shrugged and shook his
head.

"I could have sworn for a minute that I
heard something--someone calling for
help. But I just heard it the once. Maybe
it's my nerves playing tricks on me. One
part of this job I never get used to, and
that is the stiffs. Give me the whim-
whams every time. Once I thought I heard
my mother calling me. And she's been dead
for ten years."

The detective nodded. "It doesn't get any
easier. You got a smoke?"

x

Scully switched off Mulder's computer,
and leaned back in the desk chair. She
had found nothing. Not in his apartment,
not in his computer e-mail to indicate
the Mulder had planned anything more than
a late night meeting with Frohike. She
had checked for his luggage immediately
upon entering his apartment and had found
everything intact, down to the razor in
his shaving kit. His reading glasses lay
on the coffee table as though just tossed
there; next to the glasses sat his cell
phone and Saturday's mail lay beside them
both. She had leafed through the variety
of circulars and envelopes, finding
nothing of consequence among them, the
usual bills and sales flyers that any
postal customer might expect to receive
on any given day.

Scully rose and moved to the couch,
running her hand over the blanket that
lay neatly folded at one end of the
leather monstrosity. Her sense of dread
had increased geometrically as she had
conducted her methodical search, the
relative normalcy of Mulder's apartment
lending horror to his sudden disap-
pearance rather than offering reas-
surance. She had been prepared for his
belongings to have been strewn around and
signs of violence everywhere she looked.
The fact that his lodgings looked as
though he had just stepped out and could
return at any minute made the fact that
he had not all the more ominous.
     
There was a soft knock at the front door. 
Dana stood and walked to the doorway. 
Carefully, she opened it, her hand on the
butt of her gun.

Byers, Langly and Frohike stood on the
other side of the door, the expressions
on the faces of all three men grim. 
Studying them, she stood back as the trio
entered Mulder's apartment.

"Have you found anything here?" Byers
asked her, more out of politeness, it
seemed, than with any real expectation of
news.

Scully shook her head. "Everything is
normal. It's like he's just stepped out
for a few minutes."

"We've been monitoring the police bands
all day, as well as checking hospital
admittances via the computer," Langly
began. Scully noted that he did not admit
that the latter would have involved
hacking into the patient tracking systems
of several D.C. area hospitals. "The only
possible at this point is a body found in
an alley about four blocks away from
Casey's bar. Body had its face blown
away, and no i.d., but the general vital
statistics indicate it could be--Mulder."

Frohike looked at her forlornly. "Your
man Skinner said you were here. We were
just on our way to the morgue," he
offered, his voice fading for a moment as
though to disguise its cracking. If you'd
rather we went on without you..."

Scully felt her heart constrict. The
description must be quite close for these
men to come to offer her honor guard, or
to act in her stead. 

Was this how it was all going to end? Her
going to a morgue to identify her partner
of five years? Would everything that
existed between them end like this? Would
their last disagreement never have a
chance for resolution?

"No, I am coming with you," Scully
announced, trying to keep her voice from
betraying her fear. The looks on the
faces of the three men before her
indicated that they were not fooled by
the brave front. As they left the
apartment, locking the door behind them,
the Lone Gunmen formed a protective
phalanx around Dana Scully.

x

Mulder's eyes drifted open. It was once
again dark in his prison. It was also
incredibly hot. His hand reached up to
touch the dried blood on his forehead.
The skin beneath his fingertips was
unexpectedly warm and beaded with sweat.

"Fever..." he thought distractedly. He
had yelled himself hoarse hours--was it
only hours?--ago, until he had had not an
ounce of energy left. He'd slipped into
unconsciousness with the words still
forming on his lips, hoping that he had
been heard, but knowing on some
instinctive level he had not. Waking up
in this dark hole once again had proved
to him the ultimate futility of the
action. Wherever he was, it was either
somewhere too far removed or too much in
the middle of bustling city life for one
weak voice to be noticed.

Mulder was beyond being angry--it was a
pointless waste of energy to rail at his
fate. All he could do was wait, and
eventually the situation would resolve
itself in the only way it could. The best
he could hope for was that it would do so
sooner rather than later, and that the
next time he lost his struggle for
consciousness would be the last time.

Death itself didn't frighten him, at
least not his own. He had walked the road
before and knew the signposts. But he did
regret the circumstances, that his death
here in this lonely place would leave no
opportunity for seeing to unfinished
business, or making good-byes.

Mulder hadn't allowed himself to think of
Scully before now. He knew that his
sudden disappearance--for it would appear
that--would hit Scully hardest and he
regretted that he would be an instrument
of further grief to her. She was, he
knew, one of the few people left on the
planet who would mourn his passing. There
was so much left unfinished, unresolved
between them...

He knew he had not dealt fully with the
guilt he carried at being the cause of
her nearly dying again. He had tried to
shut away the feelings that had roiled in
him ever since he had regained conscious-
ness in her arms in the Antarctic, her
pale face lined--ironically enough--by
worry for him. That image had haunted him
day and night ever since, until the very
act of looking at her had become
physically painful. He had set about
creating a distance between them--for her
protection and his sanity.

Scully had withdrawn her resignation from
the Bureau after her testimony at the
final OPR hearing--over Mulder's
strenuous objections. Things could not
remain the same as they always had been,
he understood that now, but convincing
her had proved frustratingly futile.

Scully was his greatest strength, his
most valuable asset and bitterly, his
greatest weakness. He was more than 
willing to continue with his life's work,
to risk his own life and reputation to
the very end. That had always been part
of the equation for him. But he had never
been willing to risk her life, less so
now than ever. The mere fact of their
continued association was apparently,
liability enough to endanger her again
and again.
 
All things considered then, perhaps this
was for the best. Scully would be baffled
and upset by his sudden disappearance,
would have to face bureaucratic scrutiny
and backlash. But she would be free--to
continue her life and career, unhampered
by the stigma of being associated with
"Spooky" Mulder. Free to find someone who
could love her and with whom she could
have a happy future and the family she
deserved. Mulder's eyes drifted closed,
the features of his partner shaping
themselves in his mind's eye.

"Good-bye Dana," he whispered quietly as
the darkness closed around him once
again.

x

Scully leaned against the cold tile of
the morgue hallway, her knees weak with
relief. Even given the condition of the
corpse, its facial features all but blown
away, she had known immediately that it
was not Mulder. The general coloring and
build were the same, but that was where
similarities ended. Hopefully, the NCIC
computer would have the man's identity
from the post mortem fingerprints she had
requested before too many more hours had
passed. While the man on the slab in the
adjoining room might not be her partner,
it was possible that his murder was not
unrelated to Mulder's disappearance.
  
"Where do we go from here?" Byers' voice
interrupted her reverie.

Scully looked up at him, then to Frohike.
"Mulder didn't drive to Casey's," she
stated matter-of-factly. "How did he get
there?"

"Today I verified that a cab dropped a
man fitting Mulder's description a block
from Casey's at about the right time," 
the older man responded, "but he never
reached the front door."

"Then we need to start there," Scully
announced.

"It's dark out now," Byers offered
practically.

"It would have been when Mulder arrived,"
Langly responded. "If we want to recreate
the crime, we need to have the same
conditions. We can check for clues in
better light if we have to. We've wasted
enough time."

"Time Mulder might not have," Dana Scully
thought grimly. A small shudder worked
its way along her spine. She hugged her
arms to her body and led the small group
back out into the night.

x

The man sat in the dark, smoke tendrils
curling up from the end of cigarette he
held in his hand. Beside him a drink sat
untouched. 

The phone next to him rang suddenly,
jolting the smoking man from his reverie.
He picked the handset up.

"My son, the FBI just informed me, has
been declared missing," the woman's voice
on the other end of the connection said
accusingly. "What have you done to him?"

"Teena," the man began, recognizing the
voice instantly.

"Don't try to deny it. I've always known
when you were lying. I'll know the truth
now, even if you try to hide it."

"Teena, I don't know what you are talking
about," the man responded. "Fox is
missing? I can assure you I have done
nothing to him, nor have my people. I
promised you years ago that I would do
nothing to harm your boy."

"A promise you've conveniently forgotten
before," Mulder's mother declared
venomously. "If this is your doing, I'll
see you suffer for it."

"Teena, I--"

The connection went dead. The Cigarette
Smoking Man took a long pull on the butt
he held in his hand. He hung the phone
up, and his hand closed around his drink.

For once, he had been telling the truth.
He had done nothing to cause Fox Mulder
any harm. The Syndicate had taken a wait
and see attitude about the announced
re-opening of the X-Files since the
recent unpleasantness, and there had been
enough else to worry about and work on in
the meantime.

The man took a sip of his drink, feeling
the burning sensation course down his
throat. So, Fox Mulder was missing,
possibly presumed dead. Maybe, for once,
the fates were on his side.

x

"The cab driver said he dropped Mulder
here." Frohike gestured to the spot a
block away, but within visual distance of
Casey's Bar. Scully scanned the immediate
vicinity, her mind working over possible
scenarios. The area surrounding the bar
was filled with boutiques and book shops
that, at the time Mulder was dropped off,
as now, would have been long closed
resulting in a convenient lack of wit-
nesses to whatever had happened. Dana
began walking in the direction of the
bar, the Lone Gunmen trailing behind her.

She pulled up short at the entrance to an
alley, less than 20 feet away from the
entrance to the bar. "What if someone
knew he was coming here and they were
waiting for him?"
 
"Good spot to hide in, nice view of the
street. Enough space between here and the
entrance to launch a good ambush,"
Frohike observed as he  followed Scully
into the alley. He watched as the agent
swept her high powered flashlight over
the detritus that lay scattered on the
ground.

After  few minutes of intense searching,
Scully bent down and studied what looked
to be a length of pipe that had been
tossed carelessly against the alley wall.
Removing a glove and an evidence bag from
her pocket, she lifted the object up to
study it. One end of the instrument was
covered by a substance that had blackened
with exposure to air, but which exper-
ience told her was dried blood.

"And the perfect spot to beat someone
senseless," she said softly, dropping the
length of pipe into the evidence bag. She
reached for her cellular, and punched in
Skinner's private number. It was time to
call out the troops, she had the evidence
of foul play that she required.

x
End Cursum Perficio (03 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio  (04 of 58)
by LAAdolf

Mulder's dreams were filled with chaotic
images. He tossed fitfully, trying to
escape grasping claws and slavering jaws
that clutched at him in his nightmares.

Somewhere in the depth of his torment, he
felt a coolness pressing against his
forehead, and he fought to awaken,
struggling like a drowning man straining
to break the surface of the water that is 
inexorably killing him.

A blur of reddish hair and pale face
appeared above him. "S--Scully?" he
whispered, trying to make the features
come into sharper focus in the gloom.

"Yes," the vision said, smiling sadly.
"But not Dana. You've got to hold on,
Fox."

Mulder blinked his eyes, and his vision
coalesced into the features of Melissa
Scully, his partner's sister, mistakenly
killed in her sister's place. As much as
he wanted to believe in an afterlife, it
occurred to him instead that he was
hallucinating, his fever dragging images
from his guilt-plagued mind.

"You can't give up, Fox. Not now. You
can't leave her like this." Melissa's
voice insisted, the improbable tones were
like water bathing his face with a
refreshing coolness. "She needs you."

"D-doesn't need me...'m killing her..." 
Mulder spat vehemently, seeking to twist
away from the comfort this eerie vision
offered. He deserved the torment more.
"My fault, the virus, the cancer...ask
your brother."

"My brother has always been a hard-headed
ass," Melissa said gently, laying her
ghostly hands against Mulder's feverish
brow once again. "Who has never
understood that words can do far more
damage than blows. None of it has been
your fault. She would be dead now without
you. Remember that."

"No..." Mulder took his last reserves of
strength and lurched away from the tender
touch, plunged once again into darkness
by the violence of his movement.

x

"Scully, go home. We've got the area
covered. I'll call you if they come up
with anything"

"The lab--did they verify the blood
sample?" Scully persisted, rubbing her
throbbing temples. She had covered most
of the square block around the alley
herself in the last few hours eyes
straining in the darkness for the least
clue.

Skinner looked down at her, dismayed by
the dark smudges that had appeared under
Scully's eyes. Her worry and exhaustion
were set in the planes of her face,
making her seem fragile. Yet the fire
that glowed in her eyes spoke of reserves
yet untapped. "They did. It is Mulder's
type. And the NCIC came through with the
print i.d. on that body. Small time
assassin for hire. He's got a sheet about
a mile long between, wanted by us and by
Interpol. Making a federal agent vanish
into thin air would be just his cup of
tea."

"I can't leave," Scully said, returning
to the original issue. 

"You also can't do Mulder any more good
here. At least try to rest, you're going
to need the strength later on," Skinner
insisted, laying a hand on her shoulder
compassionately. "It's almost dawn. Take
a few hours."

Scully considered for a long moment.
Skinner, she knew, was trying to prepare
her for what he now believed to be the
worst: that Mulder was dead, and that the
teams of agents combing this section of
town would find no more than his corpse--
if they found anything at all. Her own 
practical, logical mind told her that
that was indeed the most likely outcome
of the scenario as they now understood
it--the nameless conspiracy which had
come so close to claiming both their
lives at various points in the last five
years had finally caught up with Mulder.
If he was found at all, it would be as a
message to her to cease his work; to go
back to being the model F.B.I. agent who
worshipped the tangible and quantifiable,
and who would no longer have the heart or
will to question authority.

"I'm going. I'll be at Mulder's apartment
if you need me," Scully announced
suddenly, and began walking toward her
car.

"Scully," Skinner called after her.
  
Dana paused and looked back over her
shoulder at her superior.

"I'm sorry."

Dana Scully nodded and moved on.

There was another part of her, the more
instinctive side of her nature whose
existence she had ignored for too long.
There was a need to be alone now, for she
must try to reach that side of herself,
begin to listen to  that tiny, persistent
voice that insisted that Mulder was not
dead--not yet--and that she would be the
first to know when and if he was.
x

Frohike was waiting for her outside
Mulder's apartment. He and Byers and
Langly had headed back to Mulder's
apartment to conduct an electronic sweep
of the missing agent's apartment soon
after Skinner and the FBI search teams
had arrived in the alley.

"Anything Agent Scully?" the forlorn
little man asked as they stood outside
Mulder's door.

"The blood on the pipe matches Mulder's
type. The body in the morgue is a known
assassin whose m.o. matches Mulder's
disappearance. Teams are searching the
neighborhood now. Skinner will let me
know if they find--anything."

Frohike seemed to slip further into
defeat and despondency before her eyes. 
"I feel like I should have been able to
do something to stop this," he admitted
quietly.

"You can't blame yourself. There was no
way to know. You're the one who called
the alert on his disappearance. If he's
found it will be because of you," Scully
comforted. "Did you find anything in the
apartment?"


Frohike nodded, handing her a small vial
containing an electronic bug. "It's dead
now. We've been telling Mulder he needs
to get more security. That was put here
since the last time we swept the place.
They must have known--right down to the
cab company."

Scully reached out and put a hand to
Frohike's shoulder. "You're a better
friend than he probably deserves
sometimes. Do you want to come in for a
while?"

Frohike shook his head. "I should get
back home. I want to take a look at that
neighborhood in the daylight and have my
wits about me while I'm doing it. I owe
Mulder that much at least."

Scully nodded and watched while the man
shuffled off down the hall and disap-
peared around the corner. Then, taking a
deep breath, she let herself into her
partner's apartment. 

She headed directly for the couch, guided
by the early morning light that entered
through Mulder's window--the same window
he had used so often to contact his
mysterious informants. Dana sat down
heavily, exhaustion pulling at her. She
closed her eyes and took another deep
breath.

Mulder's essence, she realized, was all
around her. She could almost believe that 
if she sat here long enough and concen-
trated hard enough that she could will
him to appear. Their relationship, she
had long understood, was singular. She
had never been as close to another person
as she had Mulder--almost from the first
they had been able to communicate on
levels that usually required years of
association to achieve--especially given
their polar opposition of world views.
They had long since reached the stage of
being able to finish each other's
sentences and thoughts--functioning like
two halves of the same whole. If what
Mulder believed was true, there should be
some way she could reach out now and
know--what had happened and what was
happening.

Without even knowing she did so, Dana
surrendered to exhaustion and curled up
on the couch. She began to dream.

"You were so close Dana, so close." The
voice that Dana heard was not Mulder's,
but it was familiar, as familiar as her
own.

"Missy?" Dana exclaimed, searching the
darkness around her--she could see
nothing.

"He hasn't got much time Dana," the voice
returned, emanating from nowhere and
everywhere. "You've got to hurry,"

"Where is he, Missy? We've been looking."

"You were so close tonight. Remember your
dream."

Dana remembered. She was falling,
falling, hurtling down into a dark abyss.
It was a dream, a not unfamiliar one. In
the others she would, when collision with
whatever lay in the bottom of the pit
seemed imminent, stretch out her wings
and fly like a bird back up into the
warmth and light.

But this time the dream was different.
She was not herself, and when she tried
to move her arms, to swoop away from the
malevolent chasm, they would not obey. 
Instead, the bottom was reached and her
body struck hard, and she felt herself
shatter into pieces.

x

Mulder forced his eyes to open, marveling
in a distracted sort of way how much
effort even that simple action now
required.
  
"Really, Mr. Mulder, you do get yourself
into some serious difficulties." The dark
features of  his erstwhile informant, X,
loomed over him.

More hallucinations. This business of
dying would be so much easier if only
those already dead would stop pestering
him.

"F-funny words...from a man who died...in
my foyer. Landlord...had a hell...of a
time getting your blood...out of the
woodwork," Mulder rasped His throat was
dry, and he was monstrously thirsty.

"I see you haven't lost your sense of
humor yet," Mr. X remarked. "That's
encouraging."

"Don't suppose...you've got any water in
that trench coat..." Mulder asked, trying
to maintain his focus on the mysterious
shade of his former informant.

"No, Mr. Mulder. I'm afraid I don't. Nor
can I pack you out of here, as I have
been known to do in times past."

"So, why *are* you here?" Mulder mumbled.
It was getting increasingly difficult to
keep his mind focused on what he was
saying. "If...you've come to guide me...
over to the other side...I think I'll
wait for the next tour bus."

X's chuckle seemed to echo eerily from
someplace very far away. "Actually, Mr.
Mulder, I am here to express my disap-
pointment in you. You have no idea how
close you are to everything you've sought
and believed in. I can't understand why
you are letting it all slip away from you
now. I thought you had more fight than
that."

"I didn't...exactly throw myself down
here," Mulder defended, "and I'm not
exactly in any condition to get up and
leave. I *have* tried."

"Self pity doesn't become you, Mr.
Mulder." X responded.

"You have...any better ideas?"

"You have one avenue open to you, Mr.
Mulder. All your life you've been more
afraid to live than you have been to die.
You wrap your survivor's guilt around you
like body armor. Take the gift you've
been given and use it to fight back."

Mulder had the uncomfortable notion that
the afterlife--if X was any indication--
must be nothing more than one long EST
seminar. He released a ragged breath. "Go
away."

"Survive, Mr. Mulder. Else everyone who
has suffered and died in your life will
have done so in vain."

Mulder closed his heavy eyelids, hoping
that when he opened them again, he would
find himself alone, and safe from
lectures from the realm of the dead.

x

Scully started awake to a sense of
urgency. She struggled to sit up,
confused at first as to where she was and
how she had come to be there. Slowly, it
came back to her that she had come back
to Mulder's apartment earlier this
morning. She must have fallen asleep.

She remembered her dream.

Scully brought up her wrist to look at
her watch. It was nearly noon. While she
had slept, time had continued to march
on--time that Mulder did not have. 
 
She remembered her dream. She remembered
falling, and of herself not really being
herself. Had she made the wished for
connection with Mulder days ago and not
realized it? Had her rational mind
dismissed important evidence because she
had been to prejudiced against it to
understand?

Dana stood. She had a change of street
clothes in the trunk of her car, a quick
shower would refresh her and hopefully
sharpen her mind. Then she was going back
to Casey's. They had been searching on
the wrong level for all this time.
Instead of scouring streets, they should
have started higher and spent more time
looking down.

x

Skinner was at the command post when Dana
walked up to it, he looked at her
questioningly as she approached. He was
wearing different clothing, she noted,
indicating that he had, at least returned
to his home to freshen up.

"We've been looking in the wrong place,
sir," Dana said, looking up into
Skinner's features.

"This isn't where he disappeared?"
Skinner questioned.

"No, I mean--we're in the right area, but
we're not looking in the right places. I
have-have a feeling that whatever
happened to Mulder, he's not going to be
found in an accessible place. Can we get
architectural detail on these buildings?  
I want to know where open areas inside
buildings are. Stairwells, multi-level
atriums, elevators--especially those that
aren't being used regularly or at all."

A shaggy blonde head emerged from the
converted RV that was serving as field
HQ. "Already on it, Agent Scully," 
Langly announced. "This area has been
under consideration for some historic
landmark designation. We've got plans and
blueprints, both digital and hardcopy on
the way now. Frohike's downloading
gigabytes now."

Langly ducked inside the vehicle as
Scully followed behind him. Frohike was
indeed bent over a computer, monitoring
downloads and sending documents to print.
He spared a brief moment to greet Scully,
and turned back to the work. 
 
Scully nodded similarly at Byers as he
brought her an armload of printed
documents. "There are quite a number of
unusual architectural features in the
buildings in this area. At one time an
entire block was being remodeled as an
urban mall. They were keeping to the 19th
century flavor of the neighborhood with
the interiors instead of going for a
modern mall look. There are faux
storefronts, and wells--"

Scully grabbed the proffered documents
and poured over them feverishly. She did
not hear Skinner moving up behind her,
until he spoke over her shoulder.

"I've got teams ready to search that
block as we speak, Agent Scully. If he's
in there, we'll find him," he assured.

Scully nodded distractedly. "Good. But we
can't just concentrate in one place. I
want every building checked, and re-
checked. He's here somewhere, I know it."

x

Mulder opened his eyes warily. Faint
light illuminated his prison, and the
patch of blue above was visible once
more. How long had he been trapped here?
Was it only a few hours, or had it been 
days? Lying here, there was no way to
tell, and his memory was confoundingly
fuzzy. One thing he did remember was his
hallucinations. At least for now he
seemed to be alone, that had to be an
encouraging sign. 

He also remembered the other times he had
traversed this road. They had been
infinitely easier--death had been more
forthright then, no playing mind games or
toying with him like a cat torments a
mouse before delivering the killing bite. 

On the other hand, It was, he supposed,
only right. Dana had started to die by
degrees, the cancer eating away at her
vitality and energy an atom  at a time.
For his complicity in what had happened
to her, and to so many others sacrificed
on truth's altar, it was only just that
he should suffer long and painfully. Even
that still wouldn't be enough. He had
much to atone for.

Mulder's eyes slowly closed. Far above
him a shadow obscured the patch of blue,
but he was no longer awake to see it.

x
End Cursum Perficio (04 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (05 of 58)
by LAAdolf

Scully stood on the roof of the three
story building that housed Casey's bar.
She walked the perimeter of the rooftop,
gazing over the edge. There were no
hidden courtyards or tall structures near
the building. The plans indicated that
there was an elevator shaft located
centrally in the building, questioning of
the bar staff had confirmed that it had
long since broken down and been abandoned
in favor of the dumbwaiters that more
conveniently dotted the building. Scully
turned and walked to the elevator shed.
She inspected the padlock that held the
door firmly shut. It showed no signs of
tampering.

She glanced up, surprised to see Langly
perched atop a smaller structure that
abutted the elevator shed, peering over
the top of the shed itself.

"There's a skylight here, Agent Scully."

"Can you see down into the shaft?" Scully
asked, feeling an strange sensation
tickling at the back of her brain.

"Yeah--do you still have a flashlight?"

Scully dug into the pocket of her trench
coat and reached the instrument up to
Langly. "Anything?"

Langly was quiet for a minute. "It just 
looks like an elevator shaft. I can't see
anything unusual. Everything seems to be
intact."

"The elevator shed door is locked
securely. I don't see any signs of
tampering, and the latch is secure. There
is no evidence of recently replaced
hardware either," Dana commented,
frowning at the elevator shed door and
lock distractedly.

"So we keep looking, right?" Langly
offered as he jumped down from his perch.

"Right. We'll check each floor to be sure
the doors are intact. But I guess we will
have to move on to the next building
after that," Scully commented. She cocked
her head, as though straining to hear
some quiet inner voice or thought, then
shook her head and joined Langly in
descending from the roof.

x

Frohike was waiting for them as they
exited the front of the building.
  
"All the doors to the elevator are
secured with padlocks--all locking
mechanisms are in place and don't show
any signs of recent activity. The bar
staff says that the landlord is off site
and that he's the only one with the keys
to any of them."
  
"Any word from Byers about the search of
the mall block?" Scully asked. Byers,
cell phone in hand, had volunteered to
dog Skinner's shadow and report on the
success of the search teams at that
location.

"Just finished talking to him a few
minutes ago. They're about half finished
at this point; nothing yet," Frohike
reported sadly.
  
Scully looked at Frohike with empathy.
Often the butt of Mulder's humor, Frohike
always had the air of someone greatly put
upon by life, but Mulder could not have
had a more faithful friend and supporter,
as Frohike had proved again and again.

She touched his arm, patting it. "We'll
just move on to the next building and
start over."

Frohike managed a small smile in her
direction. Together the trio moved to the
other building bordering the alley, and
entered.

x

"It has come to my attention that Agent
Fox Mulder has been declared missing by
the FBI. While this could be fortuitous
development for our interests, it should
be noted by all that this action has not
been sanctioned at this time by the
Syndicate."

The Cigarette Smoking Man stood in the
middle of the room, glancing at the faces
of the men around him, his operatives.
Morning light streamed in behind him,
reducing him to a malevolent silhouette.

"Anyone involved in this unfortunate
occurrence is acting without authority
and there will be consequences should
that person be made known to us," he
continued, his  casual, occasional
puffing belying the deadly menace behind
his words.

"I hope I've made myself understood," the
smoking man finished, glancing at the
faces of those around him malignantly.
His gaze finally came to rest on the
features of a man who stood a little
apart from the rest of the company in the
room. The man's lean features were
impassive as he returned the gaze
steadily and calmly.

"Yes, sir," was all he said.

x      
   
Mulder could hear voices--not like he had
earlier; these voices were not the tones
of the already dead. They were those of
living people. He wasn't sure how he knew
that, but he did. The voices beckoned
tantalizingly just beyond crystal
clarity; tired of his isolation, Mulder
felt himself rise.

Why hadn't he been able to do this
before? It was so simple; all he had had
to do was will it to happen.

Strange...when he'd awakened before, it
had been to all-pervasive pain. That was
all gone now; in its place was the
sensation of weightlessness, peace, and
contentment. He was floating, free at
last...

Something compelled him to look down, to
assess the prison that had held him so
long and so unnecessarily. It was then
that he saw--himself.

He found himself wondering distractedly,
with an absolute lack of worry or
concern, how he could be down there and
up here at the same time. The Mulder that
lay on the floor of the elevator cab
didn't move, he might have been carved of
marble.

It must be another of his strange
hallucinations--now, instead of seeing
the faces of the dead, he was seeing
doppelgangers. Suddenly disinterested, he
moved on, searching out the voices that
so intrigued him, that lured him onward.

He found himself in the common room of
the bar. So this is where he was--he
hadn't been sure, having been unconscious
when he had been carried to wherever it
was he had been dumped so disrespect-
fully. The bar was teeming with people,
it had to be evening for the place to be
this busy.

Familiar voices drew him onward, toward
booths in the rear of the establishment.
He'd met Deep Throat here a time or two,
but never when the place was this busy,
that simply would not have done.

"Skinner has announced that the search
will be called off effective noon
tomorrow if nothing more has been found
by then." The voice was that of Frohike,
his good friend Frohike. Mulder drew
close, attracted by the sound of a known
voice, just as a moth is seduced by the
light and warmth of a flame.

"Does Scully know that?" Byers' voice was
next, and Mulder found himself gazing at
the Lone Gunmen trio fondly. His friends.

Frohike shook his head. "No. At least I
don't think so. He wanted to tell her
himself in private. Probably doing that
now."

"We'll know soon enough. She said to meet
her here," Langly observed. "She isn't
going to like it."

"I wonder where the order originated?
Skinner seems like an okay guy; I don't
think he'd be throwing in the towel yet
if he had a free rein. He's been here
almost non-stop for the last three days,"   
Byers mused.

Mulder was very close now, hovering near
his friends, listening to the well-
remembered voice patterns with a 
mysterious sense of inexplicable joy. He
could almost touch them if he wanted.

He lifted a hand to do so, but then he
sensed someone else. The one being he
would know instantly across any expanse
of time and space.

Turning, he beheld her.
 
Scully.

The Lone Gunmen stood as one man as
Scully approached. It was clear from the
expression on her face that her meeting
with Skinner had not gone well.
  
She was, Mulder noted, magnificent in her
anger. Her eyes flashed fire and her face
was luminous. She had never seemed more
beautiful.

"He's shutting it down," Scully fumed.
"We have until noon tomorrow, and then
the search is being called off."

Mulder wondered what search could
possibly be so important that it would
make his partner so angry to see it
canceled.

"What reasons did he give?" Byers asked
as Scully joined the trio of men in the
booth, Frohike sliding to the far end of
one bench in order to accommodate her.

"Lack of clues. Apart from the length of
pipe, no evidence of Mulder's abduction
has surfaced. Apparently, the higher ups
believe we've reached the point of
'diminishing returns' after three days of
searching."

Scully was searching for him?!
    
"They think he's dead, and they can't
justify the manpower for what has
basically turned into a search for a
body," Langly commented.

Scully nodded, attempting in vain to
school her features to remain calm and
collected. Her eyes sparkled with unshed
tears, and she dropped her gaze to study
her hands, clenched before her on the
table surface.

"Yes," her voice was low and throaty,
clearly choked with anger and unvented
emotion.

Mulder drew close to her. It wasn't right
that she was so upset. He was fine,
really, and there was no reason to worry.
He wished he could find some way to
communicate that to her, to let her know
he would be all right; that everything
would turn out for the best.
 
"I'm not going to stop looking,"  Frohike
announced. "If it were one of us, Mulder
wouldn't give up; I won't either."

Scully, who knew better than anyone at
the table the lengths Mulder had gone in
the past in reversed situations, smiled
at him sadly, a smile that quickly faded,
a look of steely determination replacing
it. 
 
"That's what I told Skinner. I  also told
him if he tried to order me to quit, I'd
resign on the spot. If I have to search
the rest of my life to find out what
happened to Mulder, I'll do it. FBI be
damned."

"We're with you, Agent Scully. All the
way," Byers announced, looking from
Scully to his compatriots in turn, as
each affirmed his words.

Scully looked at them gratitude illumin-
ating her features, the unshed tears
threatening to spill out of her luminous
eyes.
   
Mulder regarded her wonderingly. It was
strange to lift a limb  that had no
weight of flesh, stranger still to reach
out to touch skin that glowed with the
warmth and vitality that his own lacked.
But Mulder made the effort. With infinite
gentleness, he traced the line of
Scully's cheek with the back of his hand.

Dana Scully made a small, sudden,
involuntary jump, causing her companions
to regard her with concern.

"Scully, are you all right?" Frohike
reached out to touch her hand. Dana
reached up to touch her face, her
bewildered gaze swinging up instinctively
as though sensing a presence standing
beside her.

There was no one there.

"I'm fine," she allowed quietly. "I just
had the strangest sensation--a sudden
chill. I'm probably just tired."

"It has been a long three days, and it is
late," Byers said distractedly. Agent
Scully was still pale and looked shaken.
"Why don't you let us drive you home.
We'll get an early start tomorrow--make
the last few hours of manpower count. And
then we'll go it alone. For as long as it
takes."

Scully nodded, flashing a brief, grateful
smile. Mulder watched as his four friends
rose and left the bar. Suddenly bereft,
he let himself be pulled back to his
body--so close to where his friends had
been sitting but another reality away.

x
End Cursum Perficio (05 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (06 of 58)
by LAAdoff

 x


*I have come to say good-bye. *  Fox Mulder 
stood before Dana Scully.  *And to say
that I am sorry. *


Dana looked at her partner, up into the 
fatherless green eyes and knew panic.  
This was not reality, at least not her conscious 
reality, but another kind, a place removed 
from both life and death. She had come to

this place before, searching for answers, 
and her partner, whom she had believed 
dead, had come to her and told her that 
he was returning to her to carry on their work
Now he had come to tell her that their time was

over.


"I don't accept that," she protested, "there is 
so much, too much we haven't...Mulder, I won't 
let you go...!"


Fox William Mulder looked at her with sad
fondness, and smiled. Then he turned 
and walked away. Dumbfounded, Scully.  
moved after him, calling his name. It 
seemed they were in an endless expanse 
of field, and Mulder was moving toward 
a distant light on the horizon. Scaly 
found herself moving faster and faster 
until she was running to keep up and 
screaming his name at the top of her lungs.  
But he did not pause, did not turn, did 
not give any indication that he heard

her at all.



She was climbing a hill, and Mulder 
was in front of her, just out of reach. 

As she watched horrified, he reached 
the crest of the incline. There he

paused and for just a moment, looked 
back at her, his soul in his eyes, the answer 
to her unspoken questions written all over 
his face. Then once again he turned away, 
his face bathed in the light that beckoned 
just over the hill.


And then, as though he had never existed, 
he was gone.


"NO!!" Dana cried. Then all was darkness and 
she knew no more. Dana Scully awoke 
to light streaming through her bedroom 
window, and to a chill that penetrated 
to the core of her soul. It was Friday 
morning. Fox Mulder had been missing 
for over four days. 
 

And she had just dreamt his death.


 x


Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed 
the bridge of his nose. The final hours of the 
search for Agent Mulder were winding down 
and they were no nearer finding the truth of 
his disappearance than they had been before the

search had started. There were already those at 
the Bureau that had written off Mulder as dead, 
and more than a few sick jokes, spoken on the 
sly when no one was thought to be listening, that 
Mulder's little green men had finally come and taken 
him away. It was human nature to distance one's self

from the tragedy that struck the lives of others, 
part of man's psyche to make jokes in the face 
of the reality of death. But the fact remained that

a good and brilliant agent was gone, in all likelihood 
murdered, and all that was left was a mystery.  


A partial print found on the pipe had proved 
Mulder's disappearance and the death of the 
assassin were inextricably linked. But the 
exhaustive search of the area, expanded to 
include all possible routes to the place where 
the assassin had been killed, had yielded nothing 
to indicate what had been done with Mulder, or 
more likely--his body. Without the closure that 
finding the missing agent would bring, Skinner 
knew the tragedy would be compounded--the

life and career of Dana Scully would be 
impacted beyond measure. 


They were an enigma, his team of agents. 
Complete opposites in so many ways, they 
were the most remarkably capable combination 
of logic and intuition he had ever encountered 
inside the Bureau or out of it. Intensely loyal 
to each other, he had often wondered at the 
depth of the relationship that existed between 
them. Water cooler chit chat hinted that the 
two had long since embarked on something 
more intimate that was usually tolerated 
between agents, but Skinner had discounted 
such prurient reflections. His own observation 
led him to think--no, to believe--that whatever 
their colleagues might think, that the two 
shared a unique relationship that transcended 
physical boundaries completely, that was as

much of an unexplained phenomenon as any 
found in the now destroyed X-Files.


Which was precisely why he had fought 
against the cancellation of the search.  
If Dana Scully believed that her partner 
was still alive and somewhere in the area he 
had disappeared in, Walter Skinner was more 
than prepared to believe her and ready to 
support her to the inevitable conclusion.  
But Skinner was not head of the organization, 
merely an assistant director. The search would 
end at noon, as ordered, all the agents sent 
back to their regularly assigned duties.

All except Walter Skinner. If he had been 
unable to materially change the outcome of 
the official search for Special Agent Fox 
William Mulder, there was at least a slim 
chance that he might be able to aid in the 
unofficial effort that was even now meeting 
to discuss strategy not twenty feet away

from where he sat. 
 

AD Skinner stood, replaced his glasses and 
walked out of search headquarters and toward 
Casey's bar and the booth where Dana Katherine 
Scully sat with Mulder's friends, the Lone Gunmen.


x
End Cursum Perficio (06 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (07 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


The afternoon sun was deepening the shadows 
in the alley as Dana Scully made her way, for 
what seemed the hundredth time, to the spot 
where she had found the pipe length days earlier.  
This spot was the last they had been able to

track Mulder to, and it was where she had 
come again and again, hoping vainly that she 
would find one thing she had missed before.


"Agent Scully." The quiet voice of Assistant 
Director Skinner carried to her down the alley.  
Dana turned and favored her superior with a 
questioning glance. 
    

"There's something here, I'm missing. I know  it."  
Scully announced, mindful that Skinner was 
probably here to try to persuade her to give up, 
or to rest, or eat or some other nonproductive 
activity that she would rather not be bothered 
with. 


Skinner walked up to her, "What haven't you 
considered?" he asked, standing next to her 
and gazing at the spot, marked with paint, 
where the pipe had been found. The question 
held no hidden message, no hint of irony,

it was straightforward, helpful.


"The man who overpowered Mulder was roughly 
his height and weight, gave no evidence of 
being a body builder. He would have had 
limited options of where to dispose of 
165 pounds of dead weight...."  Scully frowned, 
as though unsettled by her own choice of words.


"Unless he had a car, simple thing to dump an 
unconscious body into a car trunk and drive 
it out of the area." Skinner offered.


"Doesn't make sense. If he had a car and 
drove Mulder out of this area,where is it now, 
and why did he come back to a spot just a 
few blocks from here to meet with whoever 
killed him? The coroner puts his time of death

not that long after Mulder was last seen. No.  
He didn't take him out of the area.  He'd canvassed 
this area ahead of time, made plans, which he 
put into motion even before he had his hands 
on Mulder. I keep coming back here....the answer
has to be here...."  Dana mused.


"The pipe contained blood and hair fibers 
which have been established to be Mulder's.....
A blow strong enough to knock a man out 
has to do some damage to scalp tissue, and 
head wounds are infamous for bleeding beyond 
what is to be expected for their severity, 
right?" Skinner continued the line of thought 
that Scully had begun,  "I don't recall anyone 
using Luminol in this alley---have they?"


Scully looked up at Skinner. "I don't think so.  
If the forensic team did I certainly never 
heard the results...."


"We still have the use of the HQ RV until 
midnight, I got that much out of the brass.  
There's a Luminol kit there."


Scully nodded, and Skinner moved out of 
the alley, breaking into a jog trot
as he cleared the alley.  Scully watched him 
go, then felt her eyes being drawn upward, 
to the roof of the bar building.


x


Scully and Skinner emerged onto the roof,
following the faintly glowing trail that led 
inexorably to the elevator shed. Skinner 
shifted the lamp with its special light to 
better illuminate the treated area in the

gathering dusk of the rooftop. As the 
lamplight illuminated a spot near the shed 
door, Dana dropped into a crouch, her fingers 
touching what must have been a substantial
patch of blood. Skinner switched off the 
lamp and walked to the edge of the roof.


The spot vanished again into the tar paper 
roof but Dana did not remove her hand.  
She closed her eyes briefly, rocking back 
and forth on her heels.


"Frohike!  Got those keys yet?" Skinner yelled 
down into the alley. 


"Right here,"  came the faint reply from  
street level. Soon, all three Lone Gunmen 
appeared on the roof, Frohike crossing 
to Skinner, extending the keys.


"There's a skylight up there, on top of 
the shed,  I looked down the other

day, Mulder couldn't be down there...."  
Langly was saying.


Skinner slipped the key in the padlock that 
secured the shed door.  He attempted 
to turn the key in the lock, meeting resistance.  
He pulled the key from the padlock and 
checked its labeling.


"This key doesn't fit this lock."  He announced, 
trying it again, then trying each of the 
other keys on the ring in turn. Each was 
labeled with a small sticker that identified 
the floor, each key on the ring belonging
exclusively to the secured elevator doors. 

"These aren't kept on site, is that correct?"
  

Byers nodded, "the landlord keeps them 
off site, since there is never any need to 
access the elevator, it hasn't been 
used for years--hasn't worked for 
years. He had to messenger them 
over as it was."


"So someone could have hack-sawed the 
old lock off, disposed of the filings

and replaced the lock with a similarly 
weathered one, and no one would have

been the wiser." Frohike commented.


"Let's get down to the next floor," Scully 
said tersely from somewhere behind them. 
She was pale, her face bore a haunted 
expression. Quickly and  quietly, the four 
men followed her as she turned and rushed 
down the stairs.

x


The  lock on the next floor snapped open 
immediately as Skinner worked the

key and then the  hasp that secured 
the doors of the elevator together. He

then thrust his hands into the line of 
the two doors and shoved. Long years

of disuse and decay made the task 
more difficult than he hoped, but
wordlessly, Langly was beside him, taking 
over one door while Skinner pried at the 
other. Finally, with a screech of 
protesting metal, the doors gave. 


Immediately, Skinner and Langly peered 
down into the darkness of the shaft,

the FBI assistant director activating 
the flashlight that Byers handed him

wordlessly.  


Far below, a good sixty feet by Skinner's 
feverish reckoning, the beam of the 
flashlight fell upon the pale, still features 
of Fox Mulder. The agent lay brokenly beyond 
the shattered remnants of the elevator cab 
roof. There was no movement, no sound, 
only a face that might have been carved in

alabaster.  


"My God," Skinner breathed.  


Scully was suddenly at his elbow, trying 
to maneuver between the two men. Her 
superior threw an arm in front of her, 
effectively blocking her from moving 
closer to the shaft opening and obscuring 
her view.   


"Sir!"  Scully protested.


"He fell at least eighty feet. If he survived 
the original impact there isn't any way 
he could have survived five days without 
food, water or medical attention. He's gone, 
Dana." Skinner said softly and with an infinite

gentleness.


"No!  I would know...."  She ducked around 
Skinner, grabbing the flashlight from him, 
and peering down.   

"Mulder!" she called, an edge of panic in her

voice.  


There was no response, only the empty 
echo of her voice as it traveled down

the shaft. Scully moved away from elevator 
doors, running for the interior stairway 
they had so recently climbed.  


"I've got to get down there....."


Frohike, Byers, Langly and Skinner traded 
looks of mutual grief and concern. As Langly 
reached to shut and secure the elevator 
doors again against further mishap, the 
other three men turned to follow Dana Scully.

X
End Cursum Perficio (07 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (08 of 58)
by LAAdolf


x


They all caught up with her at the 
basement level. Lacking keys, she was
prying doggedly at the hasp with a 
discarded piece of metal. 


Skinner gently but firmly pulled Scully
away, slipping the key into the lock.  
Though he knew it to be hopeless and 
feared for Scully's reaction when Mulder's 
death was confirmed, it was an inevitable 
moment.  Better to get it over with as 
quickly as possible.


All three Lone Gunmen joined Skinner in 
putting their backs into opening the 
elevator doors. Within a few moments  
the doors were loudly protesting

their long disuse under the pressure of 
the four men's strength.


Scully paused only briefly as the doors slid 
apart, she was in the elevator cab and 
bending over Mulder's body before any 
of the quartet could stop her.


"Mulder...." She said softly, placing her 
hands on either side of his face briefly. 
He was warm, he couldn't be dead.  
In fact he was too warm, feverish.   
She slipped her fingers down to feel 
the pulse points on his neck. 


"I've got a pulse. I need paramedics here 
stat!"  she commanded.  


Langly was already on his way upstairs  
by the time she pronounced the last

word. Scully turned her attention back to 
Mulder, placing a hand on each side of 
his face again. His airway seemed 
unconstricted, his chest rose and

fell rhythmically, though more shallowly 
than she felt comfortable with. 


She leaned over placing an ear on one 
side of his chest, then the other.


"He's got diminished breath sounds, right 
side, could be a collapsed lung. I need 
someone to keep a written record of this....."  
She commented aloud, sparing a quick glance 
at the anxious faces of Frohike, Byers 
and Skinner. 


"Got it, fire away!"  Byers announced, a 
pen and pad already in his hands.


Skinner moved closer, kneeling down 
next to Mulder's prone form, silently

offering his assistance. 


"Mulder, can you hear me? Come on, 
Mulder, its Dana." She said loudly.  


There was the slightest of movements 
beneath her hands, a fluttering of dark

lashes against the darker hollows of his eyes, 
"S-scully?"  


The voice was little more than a whisper 
uttered through cracked lips, as though 
the speaker were on his last reserves of strength.


"That's it Mulder, stay with me....paramedics 
are on the way. You've just got to hold on 
for a little while longer,"  Dana coaxed gently, 
stroking his face. Mulder's skin was 
parchment dry, drawn taut over his facial bones. 


Scully swallowed, and when she spoke again it 
was in her professionally detached tone, 
"He's severely dehydrated..."


Dana did a quick visual scan, searching for 
obvious signs of trauma. She quickly and 
methodically moved her hands over her 
partner's body, checking for apparent 
fractures, open wounds. Her hand 
paused over a rent in the left leg of Mulder's 
pants, in the half light that spilled into 
the elevator from above and the side 
it was difficult to determine, but the cloth felt

caked with blood and the skin beneath was 
angry and hot.   


"He's got a laceration on the upper left thigh."  
Scully announced, "It looks to be infected, 
suspect possible septicemia... elevated body

temperature...."


"What have they done to you, huh?"  she asked, 
changing her tone of voice and addressing 
Mulder directly, partially to provide him with 
a vocal cue to focus on, partially to keep 
her own nerves in check.  It was not the

first time she had seen Mulder injured,  
but that was something that never got 
easier, dealing with the chaos of emotions
and fear that seeing her partner helpless 
engendered.


Her probing hands touched Mulder's right hip, 
and she was rewarded with a flinch of 
pain and a low moan.


"I'm sorry, Mulder....."  She said softly, 
genuine regret in her voice for

causing him additional discomfort.


"Probable dislocated right hip, with 
possible fracture of the head of the

femur."


Dana reached for Mulder's hands, 
giving each in turn a reassuring squeeze. 

With each grasp she moved down to 
his fingers pressing the nail beds and 
studying their reaction, gaining reassurance 
that no major arteries or vessels were

damaged or constricted by further 
dislocations or fractures. 


Scully allowed her hands to move up to her 
partner's face once more.  His eyes had 
drifted shut again.  With utmost care she 
peeled back first one eyelid, then 
the other.


The pupils were  wildly uneven....


"Suspected brain injury... probable coup 
and contre-coup contusions, possible 
edema or hematoma....."  Scully paused, 
trying to control the slight tremor in her voice. 
Such brain injuries as  these brought the

specter of complications, especially 
having gone so long untended.  
   

Breathing irregularities were one likely 
consequence of either brain insult; paralysis, 
arrhythmia, coma, even the fever he was 
suffering from now, were other possible 
outcomes. Scully spoke again, once more 
addressing her partner directly. "Mulder, 
I need you to stay with me now....Please try

to stay focused...."


Mulder's eyes fluttered open again, but 
with seeming great effort and it was not 
long before they had closed once more.  


Swiftly, Scully moved to remove her partner's 
shoes and ran a quick neurologic reflex 
check on the soles of his feet. She 
heaved a relieved sigh. Whatever else had 
happened to Mulder, the indications were 
good that his spinal cord was intact.
 

"Neurological responses are good, no 
probable spinal cord injury."


Dana moved back until she was even with 
Mulder's head, and placed her hands

once again on  either side of his face.  
He was growing warmer.  Scully touched 
the pulse point on his neck once more, 
noting with a clench of fear that it had 
slowed fractionally from a mere minute 
or two earlier.  


"Mulder, can you hear me, Mulder?" 
Scully asked, frowning.


Langly's pale face appeared at the 
elevator doors again. 
  

"Paramedics should be here within 
ten minutes, Agent Scully,"  he announced.


Scully rewarded him with glance and a tense 
nod. Then she bent low over her partner, 
brushing his forehead with the lightest of 
kisses, "Hang on, do you hear me?  
You've got to try to hang on..."


*I  have come to say good-bye.....*


The green eyes opened blearily for the 
briefest of moments. "S-cully... I'm

... s-s-sorry..."


*...and to say that I am sorry.....*


The memory came back to her on the 
lance point of a fearful, clenching pain.


The fathomless eyes closed yet again and 
beneath her fingertip the pulse stumbled.


*Now he had come to tell her that their 
time was over...Mulder looked at her

with sad fondness and smiled.*
  

Mulder took one  agonized gasp,  
exhaled and was still. 

*Then he turned.....*


"My God...No!" Scully shouted. As the 
four men watched in awe struck horror,  
Dana dropped her head to Mulder's chest, 
her expression transforming instantly 
into a mask of panic.


*...and walked away....*

end of Cursum Perficio (08 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (09 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

"Mulder! No! Don't do this....!" Scully 
shouted, her face inches from her 
partner's. She touched his neck briefly, 
then sparing Skinner a look that was both 
plea and command, she began artificial 
respiration.


Skinner put his ear to Mulder's chest.  
He could not detect a heartbeat. 


Automatically, he began chest compressions, 
following Scully's rhythm.


"Come on Mulder," Skinner said aloud as 
Scully performed the rescue

breathing, "you didn't fill out a 
three-oh-two for this....."


Scully raised her eyebrows as she 
paused to check Mulder's breathing, 
but nodded grimly, as though in 
encouragement.


"Yeah, Mulder, you haven't told me 
what you wanted to see me about yet,  
you can't go anywhere." Frohike, 
picking up on Skinner's inspiration,

continued, nudging Byers, who stood 
next to him, watching the efforts of 
the FBI agents with grim fascination, 
his pen still poised over his note pad.


"Hey, Mulder, you still owe me a suit, 
remember?"  he blurted,  "I never did

find the jacket and you ruined the 
slacks and shirt!"


Skinner felt for a carotid pulse 
as he performed the next set of chest

compressions. As Scully glanced at 
him, he shook his head.


Langly cleared his throat, uncomfortably, 
"You gotta give me a chance to make it 
up to you for not seeing you down here 
before, Mulder....." The blonde man 
said sadly.


"You hear that Mulder?!" Scully spat out 
between rescue breaths, her tone

as angry as any of the men in the 
room had ever heard it, "You told me

once that I didn't owe you anything, 
but you do owe me and everyone else

here  something.....And you  DO NOT 
have my permission to go!"


Skinner reached again for the carotid 
pulse on Mulder's neck....at first

touch, there was nothing, but then, 
on the second compression of this set, 

Skinner felt something.  He stopped.


"Scully....."  Skinner began his voice 
filled with wonder,  "I've got a pulse....!"


Dana paused, her hand darting to Mulder's 
pulse point, confirming Skinner's

announcement, and rocking back on 
her heels as she watched Mulder's chest

rise and fall in spontaneous and now 
unassisted breathing.  She cast a

grateful glance heavenward, as 
the men around her gave a  group 
whoop of triumph.  She then bent 
back over her partner and cupped 
his face between her hands.


As a team of EMTs clattered down the 
staircase and skidded into the elevator

cab, already falling to the task at hand,  
Dana Scully touched her partner's

lips with her own.


x


"How long has she been asleep?" Skinner 
asked Frohike as he approached the 

hospital waiting area where Dana 
Scully was stretched out napping on a

couch.


"Not more than fifteen minutes,  
we couldn't even get her to sit down 
until they rolled Mulder into surgery.  
I think if they'd have let her she'd have

gone into the operating room with him."


Skinner nodded tiredly, removing his 
glasses and rubbing his hand across his
eyes,  "I'd have expected as much.  
Its just as well she's sleeping at this

point,  from what they just told me 
its going to be a while."


Frohike nodded in agreement, "Several 
hours.  A lot of torn and broken 
pieces to put back together."


"And then there's the infection.   
Even after the surgery he's  
not going to be out of the woods 
for a while yet."  Skinner commented.   

He paused, considering his next words.
   
"I appreciate the support you guys have 

shown my agents--its been above 
and beyond the call."


Frohike looked up at the FBI assistant 
director, "Not for friends, Mr.

Skinner. They'd do the same for us."


Walter Skinner nodded,  "If it helps,  
 had agents back up on the roof

checking out that skylight. Langly 
has no reason to beat himself up 
over not seeing Mulder from up 
there. My people couldn't see 
the floor of the elevator clearly 
from there either, not even with 
high power lights and knowing where 
Mulder was found. And the forensic 
folks think that Mulder may have 
moved significantly from where 
he first landed--must have tried to

get up or move at some point.  
There was no way that anyone could have

determined he was down there."


"Except Agent Scully...." Frohike 
commented quietly as he stood looking at

Dana. Skinner's gaze followed the 
smaller man's, coming to rest on his

slumbering agent.


"The doctors say its a miracle 
Mulder lived through the fall.  
And to have survived almost five 
days without food and water, with 
injuries including a bruised brain, a 
collapsed lung, a dislocated hip.......
One for the medical journals they 
say." Skinner mused.


"Mulder *died*  in front of our eyes. 
She brought him back,"  Frohike

inclined his head in Scully's direction. 
"That's  one for the X-files."


The smaller man moved away, pausing 
only to tuck a blanket  closer around

the sleeping Scully before joining his 
fellow Lone Gunmen. They were

gathered  at the opposite end of 
the waiting room, a respectful and

protective distance from her.  


Skinner paused, looking at Dana 
thoughtfully for a further moment.  
Then he moved to join Mulder's friends.


X
end of Cursum Perficio (09 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (10 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Scully opened her eyes blearily, 
struggling to sit up. For a long 
moment she could not remember 
where she was--then it came back 
to her. She was In a hospital 
waiting room.  Mulder----!


"Good morning," intoned a voice 
somewhere nearby.


Scully turned to look at Assistant 
Director Walter Skinner, "What 
time is it? How long have I been 
sleeping? Mulder, the surgery---"


"Its about six a.m. You've been 
asleep about eight hours. Mulder is 
in the ICU, they just transferred 
him there from surgery about a 
half an hour ago. He's still listed 
as critical, but he's stable and 
came through the surgery in good 
shape, all things considered, "
came the quiet, calm reply.


"I wanted to be there when he came 
out of surgery...." Scully said, tossing

aside the blanket that had covered her.


"I know, and I should have awakened 
you,  I'm sorry."  Skinner replied,

genuine regret evident in his voice.


Scully shot him a quick appraising look.


"I was there when they brought him 
into his room,"  Skinner stated, "and I

sat with him until just a few minutes 
ago. I explained that you were resting 
and that you would come as soon as 
you could."


"He wasn't awake....." Scully questioned, 
disbelievingly.


"No, " Skinner replied matter-of-factly, 
as though he carried  on conversations 
with unconscious people every day.   
"I called his mother last night,  she 
should be here later on this morning--
she was taking the first available flight 
from Connecticut."


Scully nodded, "Thank you."  She said 
quietly. I'd like to prepare her before 
she sees him, the medical equipment 
can be overwhelming at first."


"I thought you might. I'll let you know 
when she arrives. Meanwhile, can I

get you something?"


Scully shook her head. "No, I'm fine.  
Thank you though."


"You need to eat,"  Skinner urged.


"I will.  Later" Scully stood, smoothing 
out her sleep rumpled clothing, 

"I don't think I thanked you properly"


Skinner looked up, surprised, "For what?"


"For sticking with us. Having faith in 
what we were doing."


Skinner shrugged, "You have no idea of t
he paperwork involved with a missing 
agent,  I just wanted to get the case solved."  
His  patented gruff demeanor did not, 
for once, extend to his eyes, which held 
a decided twinkle for the barest of 
moments, then his expression grew 
serious, regretful. 


"If you'd listened to me, Mulder 
would be dead now. You were the one with

the faith.  I've come to respect that 
about you and Mulder. For once I

listened to what you were  trying to tell me."


Scully placed a hand on the assistant 
director's shoulder and squeezed

gently. She tossed her head  in the 
direction of the sleeping Lone Gunmen, 

"Do me a favor?"


Skinner followed her gaze,  
"Anything."
 

"Buy the boys breakfast?"


"You got it."
  

Scully turned and walked 
toward the ICU


x


The Cigarette Smoking Man 
picked up the telephone receiver.  
Balancing it between his ear and 
shoulder, he finished tying his tie.


"Mulder is alive ....?"   he repeated 
the words he had just heard.  "I see. 

Just out of surgery...What were 
his injuries?...Yes, I understand...What

are his chances?...That bad?  
Yes, well, keep me informed."


The Cigarette Smoking Man hung up 
the phone, then reached for his jacket 
and shrugged into it.  Mulder had 
survived the attempt on his life, 
though there still remained some 
doubt of his long term survival.  
That young man never ceased to 
amaze him, you could never count 
him out, not even when you

thought you had the uppermost 
hand. It would be a most interesting day, 
today, at the *office* mused Cigarette

Smoking Man as he  jogged a smoke from 
the pack, put it to his lips and

reached to light it. A most interesting 
day to study the faces of those

around him---sometimes this type of 
news had a way of making even the most

inscrutable visage tell a tale.   


Time would tell. 
X

end of Cursum Perficio (10 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (11 of 58)
by LAAdolf

X


Scully approached the glass-enclosed 
intensive care cubicle with no little

amount of trepidation. She knew from 
long experience what to expect, an

astonishing array of machinery 
monitoring every vital sign, every 
indicator of the homeostasis of 
the complex organism that was 
her partner. Every tube and wire, 
monitor  and telemetry device was 
necessary--absolutely critical to 
Mulder's survival. One aspect 
of body chemistry could become 
disordered and like a finger 
flicking against an elaborate 
system of dominoes, could trigger
a cascading effect with an irreversible 
outcome. No matter how benevolent 
their purpose the machines still 
had the power to overwhelm, to

make the observer seem powerless
and inconsequential, to reduce the object

of the minute observation to something 
less than human. Dana felt it, even

given her medical degree and years 
of clinical experience.


Mulder lay unmoving in the center 
of the mechanical vortex of activity. 

Five days of immobility at the bottom 
of the elevator shaft had taken its

toll. Never one having to fret over 
extra poundage in the best of health,

he was gaunt and drawn against the 
bleak whiteness of the hospital linen,

reduced to an aching frailty by five 
days of enforced fasting.   That loss

of body mass itself  put him in a 
precarious state--the nutritional 
needs of his injuries already working 
at a deficit.  The lines of intravenous

nutritional fluids did little to reassure 
Scully; electrolytes, branch-chained 
amino acids, glucose, and fatty acids  
might be streaming into Mulder's blood 
stream, but so was septicemia.
Again the dominoes threatened to 
topple, to call an end to her partner's 
struggle before it had had a proper 
chance to begin. 


Clinically, Mulder had fared well, 
beat incredible odds. His hip had

dislocated, but miraculously, the 
presumed concomitant fracture 
of the femur head had not 
materialized. He had two cracked 
ribs and he had bruised a

kidney, but renal function--initially 
complicated by the severe dehydration

he had suffered--had stabilized.  
His lung had collapsed, either from 
the impact of the fall, as the 
result of whatever post-impact 
struggling Mulder had been able to 
do, or likely both circumstances.   
The postive-end expiratory pressure  
provided by the ventilator now hissing 
rhythmically in the background, 
allowed that injury time to seal 
and heal. His head injury, verified as 
a subacute subdural hematoma had 
been relieved surgically, and

he had tested well post-surgery in 
all neurological examinations.

How ironic that what should have 
been the least of all his bodily insults

should now pose the greatest threat 
to Mulder s ultimate survival. The leg

laceration, debrided, surgically 
drained and topically treated by

antibiotics was likely to mend well 
and not even leave much of a scar. 
But then that  was not the worry.  
Instead it was the legacy of the

so-long-untreated gash. A localized 
infection which had had nearly five

days in a filthy environment to 
establish itself had entered the 
general bloodstream and was 
poised to inflict the greatest 
damage of all.  Blood poisoning--
bacteremia--Scully knew only too 
well, was likely to be the one complication 
that could set an entire chain of 
circumstances into motion.  

The poison coursing through 
Mulder's bloodstream, now being 
aggressively treated by an array 
of powerful antibiotics, was 
the one  unknown factor in

the complex equation of Mulder's 
recovery.  Sepsis complicated the

exquisitely precarious body chemistry 
which meant the difference between a

return to robust health and the 
likelihood of multiple organ failure 
and death.  Scully had seen patients 
rally after devastating trauma, 
only to decline into fever, then 
into renal,  pulmonary, hepatic  
and cardiac failure.


Dana's eyes settled on the cardiac 
monitor, seeking reassurance in

confirmation of a strong and 
steady heartbeat. 


"It's not your time, Mulder. I truly 
believe that."
   

Dana approached the bed and 
tentatively reached out to encircle 
Mulder's long, slender fingers with 
her own.  There was no response, 
but she had expected none. It would 
be hours yet before there could be 
any hope of his regaining any level 
of consciousness.   ICU was his 
recovery room,  he was only a few 
dozen minutes out of major surgery 
and still under the effects of 
powerful anesthetics. But she 
found herself hoping, wishing,

praying all the same, that 
the  hazel-green eyes would open. 


*Please God, don't let me be wrong.* 

x
end of Cursum Perficio (11 of 58)


Cursum Perficio (12 of 58)
by LAAdolf

X
Mulder was walking, alone and 
toward a distant light. A field 
stretched out before him, vast 
and empty. It was ethereally 
quiet, there was no sound--not 
the rustling of grass or of 
bird song--to disturb the stillness.


It seemed he walked in day, 
but not in bright sunlight--instead 
the half light of dawn or dusk. 
It was peaceful and walking felt 
good. He was removed from the 
constant pain that had been his 
companion for so very long.
His body felt light, almost 
insubstantial, but he was still 
connected to it. It wasn't like 
that other time, when he had 
looked down and seen his body 
and willed himself away....


"Mulder?!"
  

The voice drifted to him over 
a great distance. He paused, 
listening. He knew the voice 
only too well--those same 
vocal tones had echoed through 
some of his most desperate 
moments as well as his deepest 
joys. The sound of it recently 
had created an aching emptiness 
in his soul, a dawning realization,

denied and rejected--but slowly 
accepted in the end--that he 
must attempt to close it out 
of his  life forever. Not for 
his own sake, for that action

would level a heavy toll  on his 
spirit, leave him an incomplete 
half of a greater whole--but 
for hers. 

Now, he must try to shut that 
voice out, pretend that he did 
not hear it.


The way before him rose, he was  
now climbing a hill. The light that 
he had been following was just 
beyond  the incline, he knew that 
when he reached the crest it would 
reveal itself and beckon him to join 
it.  And there was nothing he wanted 
more.  He was tired.  So very tired.
His quest had been long and arduous, 
fraught with  so much danger and 
hurt--perils directed at those who 
had no vested interest in the outcome.
He had made his bargain long ago, 
regretted nothing of his part.  
But he had not reckoned that other

lives would be so profoundly influenced
by his search, so irrevocably changed.   
It was time for it to stop. The light 
would reveal the Truth and

then he could rest at last.


"Mulder!   No!"    The voice reached him
 once more and the fear and grief it

held bade him pause. He'd thought 
he could shut out the sound, but 
he was wrong. He was consumed 
by a sudden desire to look, to see 
her one last time. Mulder turned 
and saw her then, running to catch 
up to him. Dana Katherine Scully, 
the incandescent  better half of 
his own soul, who had suffered so

very much. Because of him. All 
because of him. The light at his 
back beckoned, trilling a silent 
siren song, bidding him come 
and rest. There was nothing 
he yearned for more, and yet 
he found he could not turn away 
from  the glowing, achingly 
radiant vision of  his partner.
  

She was close now, reaching out 
to touch him, taking his hand in 
her own.  


He should break the contact, turn 
and run away toward the light....
Toward safety and oblivion.....  

He felt her cool, slender fingers 
entwine with his.  As ever she was 
the  force that grounded him, who 
made sense of the confusing jumble  
and put the pieces right. The light 
at his back flared, burning him with 
its heat.  He concentrated on the 
tenuous contact of the cool hand 
that clasped his own.


He could not leave. Not yet. 

        

x


Dana was startled by the gentle 
touch of a hand on her shoulder.  
She turned to face her mother.


"I got your phone  message, I came 
as soon as I could," Margaret Scully

said softly, enfolding her daughter 
in a quick embrace and kissing her

cheek.  "How is he?"


Dana turned back to look at 
Mulder,  her hand still clasping his 
firmly. 


"Holding his own so far. But its early...."
She said softly, her voice little more 
than a whisper. 

Her mother noted the strain and 
edge of defeat in Dana's voice. 
Coming to stand at her daughter's 
side, she resumed her embrace 
and laid her cheek against the top of 
Dana's head. 


"I brought the clothes you asked for.  
Why don't you go put them on and 
I'll sit here with Fox for a while?  
And you should eat something before 
you come back. Mr. Skinner says 
you haven't yet this morning,"
Margaret Scully suggested gently.


Dana was torn. Instinct told her she 
should not leave her partner's side,

but common sense told her that she 
would be stronger, better for a shower,

a change of clothes and something to 
eat,  "I don't know.  I---"


"If he wakes up I'll come find you.   
 I promise,"  her mother soothed.


Reluctantly, Scully broke her contact 
with Mulder, laying his lax hand regretfully
on the bed as she stood up.  As she 
vacated the chair she had pulled close 
to his bed, her mother slipped into it. 
As Dana watched, Maggie Scully 
reached for and clasped the hand 
she had just let go.


"He came to me, you know, when 
you were missing."  Maggie reminisced,  
"And he kept telling me that I shouldn't 
lose hope, that it was too early to give

you up. He's got a very sensitive soul, 
Dana, but he also has  a strength

I think will see him through this."


Mrs. Scully cradled Mulder's hand 
between both her own, "We've just 
got to have faith.  Its too early 
to give him up."


"Thanks, Mom."  Dana bent to 
embrace her mother warmly, 
tears starting in her own eyes 
at the vision her mother presented, 
holding vigil over the bedside of her 
daughter's partner just  as she had 
more than once for her own children. 
Scully blinked them back, lingering 
for a moment before reaching 
for the small bag of clothing her 
mother had deposited next to the

chair.


Margaret Scully watched her 
daughter reluctantly leave, 
then she  turned her attention 
back to the silent figure on the 
bed.  She had had a fairly long 
and intense conversation with 
Assistant Director Skinner before 
she had entered the Intensive 
Care unit, and knew precisely 
the precarious condition of her 
daughter's partner, as well as 
much of the story of how he 
came to be here alive at all.  


"Fox,  Dana will be back in a little while,"
she said quietly, "I'm going to stay 
with you until she does. I know you've 
been terribly hurt and that you're tired, 
maybe too tired for this fight you face.  
But you've got to try. It would hurt 
Dana terribly if you didn't, you know.  
She would never forgive herself that 
she didn't find you sooner, didn't do 
more to help. You are very special 
to her. And you mustn't feel alone, 
because you aren't. We won't let 
you be."


Margaret subsided to silence, unsure 
of what else she could say.  Instead,

she held Mulder's limp hand, stroking  
it gently, and tried not to lose herself 
amongst the  sounds of the room --
the sibilance of the respirator, the steady 
rhythm of the heart monitor, and the 
various beeps and whirs of the other 
machines in the room. 
 

Finally, closing her eyes, she began 
to pray.

X

end of Cursum Perficio (12 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (13 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x
"Mr. Mulder has been found.  
Alive."

The Cigarette Smoking Man 
announced to the assembled 
group, studying the faces before 
him with an incisive perception.  
Only one face showed the slightest 
reaction--at least a reaction that 
held the slightest interest. 
 

Cigarette Smoking Man was not 
surprised. 


"Of course, that could change hourly.  
He was recovered from the bottom of

an abandoned elevator shaft, near 
death.  His condition is still quite

precarious and is likely to remain so 
for the near future."


The men in the room regarded each 
other, their superior's interest in 
their reactions not having gone entirely 
unnoticed.


"The Syndicate is quite willing to 
let nature take its course at this 
point in time. Without any outside aid, 
I might add. The circumstances of Mr.
Mulder's disappearance and his 
rescue indicate that this was not a

fortuitous accident. Any further 
implication of ourselves in this situation

will cause repercussions that we 
cannot afford at this point in time.  I

hope I make myself understood."


There were nods and murmurs of 
understanding from all the men in the room.


Save one.


x


"Mrs. Mulder," Dana walked up to her 
partner's mother, her hands 
extended in greeting.


The white haired woman had just 
turned away from Walter Skinner 
and was walking toward the ICU as 
Scully approached. Her features 
lightening in recognition, she 
accepted the younger woman's 
gesture, first clasping her

hands in return, then, with a 
rare impulsiveness, enfolding 
Scully in a brief embrace.  
There was silence between them 
for a long moment, the older

woman's eyes brimming with tears.


"How is he?"  she asked in a voice 
hardly above a whisper, the pain and

grief evident in her voice as well as 
in the lines of her face.


"He's holding his own right now,"
Dana responded gently,  "he's very ill, I
won't lie to you, but he's receiving 
the very best care.  I'm so glad you're

here."


Teena Mulder glanced down and away 
from Dana Scully's steady gaze.


"I wish I knew how glad he would be 
to know I am here,"  she admitted

quietly as the two women continued 
toward Fox Mulder's intensive care 
unit.


Dana squeezed the hand she still 
held in her own, remembering the

bitterness of Mulder's last meeting 
with his mother, a meeting she had 
been a sometimes reluctant witness 
to as well. Mulder, wracked by vivid 
memories unlocked by an unsafe, 
drug enhanced repressed memory 
recovery treatment, had gone to her 
and accused her to her face of infidelity 
to her husband.  He had even questioned 
his own parentage. The meeting had 
ended disastrously--and there had been 
a distance between the two surviving

Mulders ever since. It had been a 
distance that Mrs. Mulder, Dana knew, 
had tried to breach on more than one 
occasion, and that even Mulder himself

regretted and grieved over. No matter 
how unreliable--and how nearly

tragic--his memory recovery treatment 
had been, there was a part of Mulder

that would not let go of the suspicion, 
and Mrs. Mulder had never been able,

apparently, to bring herself to address 
the issue directly. 

"You're his mother. He has never 
stopped loving you," Dana spoke quietly,

but with conviction.


They were standing now, outside 
the glass enclosed ICU cubicle.


Mrs. Mulder looked into the room 
with a horrified fascination, her eyes

slowly taking in the daunting display 
of machinery within. Gently, Dana

began an explanation of each piece 
of equipment  and its necessity,

explaining in turn how the complex 
and bewildering array was helping her

son. Finally some of fear left the 
older woman's face, and she turned 
to face Dana, gratitude in her eyes.


"Mr. Skinner told me how you never 
stopped looking for Fox, never gave up

hope of finding him alive.  I remember 
how you came to me once before and

told me not to give up, that he was 
alive.  He's so lucky to have someone

like you,  I'm so grateful that he does."  
Teena Mulder's gaze drifted back

to her son,  "I knew I had to come, 
my son.  But I'm not sure what I can 
offer him.  What I can do to help him.."


Dana looked closely at the other 
woman, compassion limning her own

features, swelling her own heart.


"I was very ill myself not long ago, 
and I drew strength from having those

people around me who loved me.  
You can definitely offer him that, and he

will know, no matter how sick he is right 
now. And there is something else that only 
you can give him. It won't be easy--it 
might even be the most painful thing 
you ever have to do, but you can't allow 
unfinished business to stand between you."


Mrs. Mulder turned to look at Dana, 
her gaze locking with the younger

woman's, a question in the eyes 
that were so like her son's.


You are his only family now, his  
only link to a past that he has

incomplete and possibly confused 
recollections of.  He has dedicated his

entire life to a pursuit of the truth, 
not knowing how much of his own life

has been a lie. You must find the 
strength to tell him those things that

only you know, the entire unblemished, 
unvarnished truth, no matter how much

pain it causes you personally. Because 
if you don't, and he dies, you will

never be able to forgive yourself."


"Even if it causes him to hate me,
for my weakness?"  Mrs. Mulder

responded, a look of hopelessness on 
her face.


"He won't hate you. He isn't capable of 
that. He will respect the courage

it took you to tell the truth, 
and he will forgive you--if there 
is anything to forgive."


Teena Mulder gave Scully a long 
appraising look, "You're a very perceptive

young woman. I can see why he 
admires you so."


Dana glanced down at the floor, 
inexplicably abashed. It was very likely

she had crossed the boundary in so 
counseling her partner's mother, but 
she could not truly regret having 
done so.  She knew the importance 
of settling accounts, of having no 
regrets.  She knew she had to find 
the courage within herself to do 
just as she was telling Mulder's 
mother to do. 


Scully watched as Mrs. Mulder entered 
her son's room, bent low over him to

kiss his cheek, then take a seat next 
to his bed. She watched with tears in

her eyes as Mulder's mother took 
her son's hand and began to speak.
  

It was then that she turned and 
walked away. It was important 
now for Mulder and his mother 
to make their peace. Her time 
and his would have to come later.  



x
end of Cursum Perficio (13 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 14 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Dana returned to Mulder's unit to find 
Mrs. Mulder gone and Frohike seated

in the hall outside.


"Skinner's taken her to a hotel.  
She was very upset,"  Frohike confided,

casting a glance into Mulder's room.


"She spent a long time with him,"  
Scully remarked, "she must have 
been exhausted."  


Frohike looked at Scully closely, 
"How are you holding up, Agent Scully?"


"I'm fine, Frohike, really. Why are 
you out in the hall?"  Scully replied,

her own gaze drifting to the ICU's 
occupant as she spoke.


"Byers, Langly and I have decided to t
take shifts.  I got the short straw."


"Shifts?"  Scully turned her head 
to look at Frohike questioningly.


"Guarding Mulder.  The men 
responsible for this might 
be looking to finish the job,"  
Frohike explained, his eyes 
sweeping the corridor expertly.

Scully nodded distractedly.  
In the worry and confusion she 
had allowed herself to forget 
the circumstances that had 
led to Mulder being in the condition 
he was, and that while a paid 
assassin appeared to have been

responsible and was dead, the 
people behind the murder attempt 
were very much alive and at large.  
While the Lone Gunmen might have 
preternaturally high paranoia levels, 
this was an instance where their 
vigilance was more than warranted.


"Did you mention any of this to 
Skinner?" Scully asked.


"Yeah. He said he was taking 
measures of his own, but he 
didn't elaborate."


"Good. Thanks Frohike. I appreciate 
this,"  Scully said, laying a hand on 
the man's  shoulder.


"You go in and sit with him.  
I've got it covered out here," 
Frohike urged. "Let him know 
we're pulling for him, okay?"


Scully managed a small smile,  "I will."
  

She turned her eyes once more 
toward her partner, and made ready 
to enter the room.


Not much had changed in her partner's 
room since last she had entered it

several hours before. She had kept 
her distance during Mrs. Mulder's vigil,

allowing the older woman the privacy 
she needed with her son. She had found

it increasingly difficult to exercise 
that restraint, something deep within

her told her that she needed to be 
here at Mulder's side.


She reached for her partner's  
chart, reading the latest notations,

glancing at the current readings on 
various machines around the room,

assessing the raw data presented 
there. The reason for her disquietude 
was not readily apparent here, the 
readings should have been reassuring,

indicating improvement on several 
fronts.  In fact, Mulder was responding

quite well post-surgically and it was 
in the realm of likelihood that he

would soon be regaining consciousness.


Scully rehung the chart, studying 
her partner carefully for a moment, 

drawing close. She reached out to 
smooth his hair away from his brow, her

fingers lightly skimming across the 
bandage, just below the hairline, that

covered the now closed gash above 
his eye.  


"Frohike is outside keeping guard,"  
she said quietly "all the Gunmen are

pulling for you, Mulder.  And Skinner 
too.  Your mother will be back as soon

as she can.  I'm here now, I'm not going 
anywhere."


Subsiding to silence, Scully sat down 
in the bedside chair, and clasped her

partner's hand in both her own. 


x


He was once again in the red-rocked 
quarry, staring down into the hatch of

the buried box car.  He was hot, baked 
dry by the sun, the merest breeze

stirring around him a warm zephyr 
that offered no relief from the

unrelenting heat.


He looked up, into the wise, aged eyes 
of the tribal elder, Albert Hosteen.

There were no words that passed 
between them, only a depth of feeling.  

Albert nodded and turned away.

Mulder climbed down into the box car, 
into the cool darkness. The bodies

were gone now, and the dimensions 
of the boxcar had changed. It was no

larger than an elevator shaft. Looking up, 
he could see a patch of blue.

He was on his back again, laying 
brokenly in the cramped area that had been

his prison for so many days. He was 
thirsty again and the heat that he had

sought to evade had somehow found 
him.  He must have dreamt escape, 
imagined a surcease of pain, fantasized 
that Scully had come to him and 
taken him by the hand.


Mulder closed his eyes. He had 
never imagined that Death was a trickster

god, giving relief and then snatching 
it away, taunting  with its nearness

then dancing just beyond reach once 
again.  


He was tired.....  So tired.....


All he wanted was to rest.


x


 Scully started awake.


Sleep, a quiet thief, had stolen up on 
her in the depths of the long night, and 
somehow she had laid down her head and 
fallen into a deep slumber.  


Mulder's hand was beneath her 
cheek as sleep released her from 
its bonds, her own hand rather 
awkwardly positioned beneath his.  
Coming back to herself, she 
knew suddenly why she had 
awakened. His hand had moved

spasmodically, not with consciousness 
and purpose, but with a mindless 

restlessness.


Heat was radiating, not just off 
the flesh beneath her cheek, but 
from the body laying next to her.  
Mulder's temperature had been 
slightly elevated following the surgery, 
but far lower than it had been when 
they had found him in the elevator 
shaft, body heat regulation irregularities 
being a consequence of the type of head 
injury that he had suffered. It had seemed

hopeful at first that the topical and 
intravenous assaults by antibiotics

had scored a  victory and the sepsis 
had been contained in its early

stages. 
 

But now, the first domino in the 
elaborate pattern was tumbling,

free-falling inexorably toward its 
neighbor. Scully straightened and stood,

reaching out to touch Mulder's face.
  

He was afire with fever and no 
longer peacefully unconscious.  
His sleep, no longer narcotized, 
was fretful.


"Oh God, Mulder. No," Scully breathed. 
"No." 

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 14 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 15 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

John Fitzgerald Byers stood next to 
Dana Scully, both watching the activity

in the intensive care unit before them.


"What's happening?" Byers asked 
anxiously, sparing Scully a brief glance

before allowing his eyes to be drawn 
back to Mulder's room, "Can you tell?"


Scully spoke without moving her gaze 
from the well ordered bustle in the

room beyond.


"They are adjusting the medications 
and nutritional support....administering 
corticosteroids and adjusting his 
insulin and glucose levels. Probably also 
introducing another antibiotic group as 
well," she said distractedly.


Byers nodded, "Trying to maintain high 
cardiac output, and get the infection 
back under control, to give him a 
fighting chance."


Scully smiled in spite of herself, 
the Lone Gunmen and the breadth 
of their accumulated knowledge were 
a never ending source of surprise at times. 


"Yes, exactly. Controlling those 
factors gives him the best chance 
at a complete recovery--the 
infection is the most worrisome 
thing right now--if they can't control it...." 
She faltered, finally breaking her gaze away

meeting her companion's calm regard.


Byers looked at her, his eyes brimful 
of compassion,  "Mulder will die."


The words were delivered quietly and 
with concern for her reaction that was

infinitely touching. "But that would be letting 
the bastards win.  He won't let it happen."


Scully considered Byers for a minute.  
His expression was full of faith in his 
friend Mulder, a confidence that will 
alone could overcome the obstacles

that faced the FBI agent.  It was a faith 
that Dana found herself increasingly 
unable to share.


"I hope not," he said softly, watching 
the activity within once more, straining 
for the opportunity to take up her 
position at her partner's side again.  
 

*I hope not......*


x


Walter Skinner rubbed his eyes, 
squinting at the harsh light in the

hospital waiting room.


He'd been awakened just a 
few hours earlier by a phone call 
from Langly, who had just arrived 
at the hospital to relieve Byers in 
the Gunmen's self-appointed guard 
rotation outside of Mulder's room.  
Langly had filled him in on the details 
of the crisis that Mulder had weathered 
during the night. Sleep banished, Skinner 
had dressed and driven over to find 
Scully once again at her partner's side, 
and Mulder, still feverish and restless.


The circles beneath Scully's eyes had 
informed him of the gravity of the situation
better than any long winded medical 
explanation might have. 


Skinner had tried to get Scully to take 
a break, to rest, offering to keep vigil 
in her place.  But Dana had made her 
intention to stay where she was

inarguably plain.


Skinner might have returned home, 
were he a more professional man.  
But the fact was that his relationship 
with these particular agents in his charge

had long since crossed a prudent 
professional distance. Instead, he had

checked on his own security detail, 
less obvious than the Lone Gunmen guard

but just as dedicated to the mission, 
paced the hospital corridors for many

long minutes, until finally his truncated 
slumber started catching up with

him and he felt the need for a few 
minutes of quiet if not  actual rest.


He was close to dozing when a familiar 
shape came into view over the rims

of his glasses. At first he thought 
he must be dreaming, for the last

person he had expected to see in 
this place  was Albert Hosteen.

"Albert?"  Skinner said aloud, 
full awareness snapping back, 
chasing away his lethargic haze. 
"What are you doing here?"


The Navajo tribal elder, former Allied 
Code Talker and healer nodded a

greeting at Skinner and repeated 
words that he had said to the assistant

director once before, on the occasion
 of their first meeting--at the bedside

of the mortally wounded Melissa Scully.


"I was asked to come."

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 15 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 16 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Albert's father had taught him many 
years ago that listening was something

one did with all of one's senses, not 
merely one's ears.  So it was that

Hosteen quietly entered the hospital 
room that held the FBI Man, listening

carefully with every fiber of his body 
and spirit.


As he entered he noted that he FBI 
Woman was sitting dozing near the bed,

just as her mother had done when 
he had come to offer his services 
to the FBI Woman's wounded sister.  
He had not been able to help then, the spirit

of the sister had been too weakened, her 
fate decided long before he had been 
summoned, far beyond the ability of 
even the Holy People to make well.


Hosteen  approached the bed silently, 
reaching out a hand palm down and

touching the FBI Man's forehead 
with gentleness. The warmth of fever

greeted his touch, and beneath that 
he sensed the  wounded spirit of the

slumbering young man. 


Albert frowned. What he perceived 
did not bode well.

 
Hosteen passed his hands over the 
FBI Man's body, feeling the curative

energy which coursed through the 
prostrate body. It was a worrisome

paradox. The injuries the young man 
had suffered were, Albert sensed, no

longer the central problem. Neither 
was the poison of the blood which had

caused so much worry to the FBI Woman--
who even now dreamt fearfully of the

consequences of that infection. The 
white man's medicine was conquering 
the toxins in the young man's bloodstream,
his fever slowly, but steadily reducing. 
 

That was the contradiction. The FBI Man's body 
was growing stronger at the same time that 
his spirit was steadily weakening.


Albert had seen this before with this 
young man, when he had performed the

Blessing Way chant two years ago.  
At that time the FBI Man had faced a

vital decision: to choose life and continue 
his quest for the Truth; or to choose death, 
know the Truth and give his soul the rest 
it had long yearned for. Ultimately, the 
FBI Man had chosen life and Albert had 
seen his spirit reborn to a new and 
stronger purpose.


Hosteen recognized that the two years 
now gone by had been full ones for

the FBI Man. The marks left on the 
young man's soul spoke of changeable 
and tempestuous winds that had 
buffeted his spirit time and again 
during his difficult quest. Listening 
carefully with his heart, Albert 
comprehended the pain that more 
than ever before had become part of 
the FBI Man.  Once that pain had been 
focused on the loss of his sister, 
the death of his father.  But now 
that focus was wider, the anguish 
deeper, strongly colored with a 
profound sense of responsibility and guilt.


Albert listened as the FBI Man's spirit 
communicated to him the focal point

of its burden, the reason for its sorrow.  
He looked away from his unconscious 
charge and across to the sleeping 
features of the FBI Woman.  


In that moment he knew and understood.


Hosteen moved his hand to place it over 
the FBI Man's heart, his own heart

pained by the suffering he could feel 
within. Albert nodded, his brow

drawn. Yes, it was here that the wound 
was the greatest, it was here that a

despair had been created that was 
almost beyond bearing. It was one thing

to accept for oneself the risk of death--
the ultimate sacrifice for the Truth. 
It was quite another thing to 
face unflinchingly and embrace that

risk for someone else whose life you 
hold so very much more dear than your

own.


Hosteen closed his eyes momentarily
against the anguish in which the FBI

man was now lost. Albert regretted 
that the Holy People could not be coaxed

to approach this place of the white 
man's strange medicine, that they could

not be beckoned to come to the succor 
of the FBI Man as they had once

before.
  

If the Holy People could not come to 
the young man, perhaps the FBI Man

would find them along the way that 
he had to follow, the  path that he had

traveled before.  If he could do nothing 
else, Albert could pray and through 
that prayer try to guide the FBI Man, 
just as he had done once before so far away.


Albert Hosteen began to chant softly, 
his voice barely a whisper. The FBI

Man had summoned him here in a dream  
because some part of his soul yet

yearned for life. The road was long and 
the way would be difficult, but it

was long past time that the journey 
was begun.


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 16 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 17 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Teena Mulder drew the hotel room 
door shut behind her. She had slept 
long and much too late. She had 
wanted to get to the hospital early, 
and instead she had slept until well 
past noon, waking only then when 
housekeeping had come calling, 
hoping to clean her room.


She had, she knew, not always been 
emotionally accessible to her firstborn

when he had most needed her. She was 
now determined that this was a

circumstance that would have to 
change unless she was willing to 
give up her beloved son to the forces 
that would see him dead and buried 
alongside his father. Yet she had let 
her first opportunity to act upon her 
new resolve evade her, another mark 
against her self image as a good mother.


Mrs. Mulder hurried to the elevator, 
head bent, distracted by her musings

and her memories.  The voice when it 
came startled her so profoundly that

she dropped the key to her hotel room 
that she had been halfheartedly attempting 
to stuff in her purse.


"Teena,"  the enigmatic man her son 
knew only as Cigarette Smoking Man

stood a few feet in front of her, blocking 
her access to the elevator. 


Gallantly, he stooped and retrieved the 
fallen hotel key, and handed it to her.


"What do you want?" Teena Mulder's eyes 
narrowed in fear and suspicion, 

"Have you come to gloat over my son's 
condition?"


"You should know better than that.  
I would not cause you pain. I like

Fox, he is a worthy adversary. Besides, 
I promised Bill years ago that I

would protect his son, and I have.  
Time and again."


"When it served your purposes.  
Get out of my way. I have nothing to say

to you. I'm going to be with my son."  
Teena  attempted to move around the

man, to gain access to the elevator 
controls.


"I know who is responsible for this, 
Teena..." the Smoking man began, "I

will deal with him."


"The man who did the dirty work is dead.  
I'm looking at the man who's responsible."  
Mrs. Mulder spat out the accusation with 
all the venom of which she was capable.  
That she had shared a past with this man, 
a past that had come close to destroying 
not only her relationship with her son,

but his very life sickened her.


In that instant all the pain and rage 
that she had felt building up over the 
long months of her estrangement with 
her son boiled over. Mrs. Mulder put all her 
strength into the blow she delivered, a 
stinging open-handed slap to the 
unprotected face of the man who stood 
before her.


Her eyes bright with anger, Teena Mulder 
finally strode around him, stalking into 
the elevator with a regal dignity that 
belied her inner disgust with not only 
this man, but with herself. She stabbed 
the button that directed the elevator 
to the lobby, looking through rather 
than at the man who had tormented her.


The man himself did not turn around, 
or otherwise acknowledge her departure. 
Instead he stood, his eyes sightlessly 
gazed down the hotel corridor, away 
from the now closed elevator doors.  
For a brief moment, a look of supreme 
sadness crossed his features, then 
once again, the mask of impassivity 
he wore so frequently descended once 
again. He turned and walked down 
the corridor, toward the stairway 
at the opposite end of the corridor. 

He had an appointment to keep.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 17 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 18 of 58)
by LAAdolf
x


The sound of whispering penetrated 
Dana Scully's slumber, breaking into

and banishing her unpleasant dreams.  
The sound was soothing, like water

running over pebbles in a mountain 
stream. The sound carried the last

vestiges of her nightmare away, 
bringing her a profound sense of peace.


"You must  be open to extreme 
possibilities," a voice said., its origin

ambiguous, uncertain. She looked about, 
searching for the  source of the

words. It sounded like something Mulder 
would say, but the voice was not

his.


The face of the Navajo Code Talker, 
Albert Hosteen coalesced before her.  


"Dreams,"  he spoke again, "can be 
powerful magic. They have led you 
this far, do not abandon them.  
Remember your dreams...."



Scully awakened slowly, loath to 
give up the feeling of peace that had

enveloped her in her slumber.


When finally the sleep cleared from 
her eyes and she was able to focus on

the man bending over her partner in 
his hospital bed, she was somehow not

surprised.


Albert looked up at her and smiled.  
"He is resting more comfortably now."


"I should be surprised to see you here,"  
she said softly.


"But you are not."  Hosteen stated calmly, 
"The FBI Man  came to me in a dream 
and summoned me here. Of course I came."


Scully accepted his comment on face 
value, focusing her attention instead

on her partner. She rose from her 
chair and approached the bedside,

reaching out a hand to touch Mulder's 
forehead and then his cheek. He was

still warm--warmer than she would 
have hoped--but true to Albert's word,

Mulder was once again in restful slumber 
his fever finally reducing.


Dana cast a look around at the various 
monitors and indicators, seeking

tangible evidence of more progress, 
hoping for signs of significant

improvement on all fronts. The 
readings that greeted her were 
ambiguous at best.  She moved to 
peruse his medical chart, glancing 
over it hungrily before returning it 
to its place and moving to her partner's 
side.


"There should be more improvement,"  
she commented, unable to take her eyes

from Mulder's face, "Why won't he wake up?"


"His body is recovering, gaining strength, 
but its progress is hampered by

the distress of his spirit."  Albert asserted.


"I don't understand,"  Dana admitted.


"In white man's medicine is there 
not an understanding that when it 
comes to surviving and healing 
injury that the body and the spirit 
cannot be separated from each other?"


"It is not fully understood or accepted, 
but yes, there is evidence that

emotional states do affect physical 
conditions. There is something called a

'failure to thrive' where in spite of clinical 
survivability a patient declines and dies.  
And many people have attributed 
survival in serious illness to having 
a positive attitude or a strong faith."  

Scully paused, "I've had some experience 
with that myself."
 

"Yes. So the FBI Man has told me in my dream.  
It is this knowledge which burdens his spirit 
now, with guilt and self blame.  And it is why 
he  would sacrifice himself to spare you 
further risk."


Dana looked at Hosteen, dumbstruck, 
then she  looked down at Mulder as if

seeing him clearly for the first time 
in a long time.  It was an assertion

she could not reject out of hand, 
as she otherwise might have. What

Hosteen was saying unfortunately 
made too much sense.


*I have come to say good-bye and 
to say that I am sorry.....*


They were words from her dream,  
the one  she'd had the night before 
Mulder had been found. They had 
foreshadowed the words that the 
Mulder had spoken in those few 
lucid moments in the elevator shaft--
just before he had gone into respiratory
and cardiac arrest.


Dana felt chilled to the very core of 
her being.


"No...."  She whispered, putting a 
hand beside Mulder's face and 
gazing at him penetratingly. 
 

"He feels all things deeply but 
you know this. You are connected, 
here,"  the elder touched his own heart, 
then reached up to tap his temple, "as

well as here."


Albert looked at her, a kindly 
expression on his face. "To feel

profoundly can be a strength, when 
the body and spirit are strong and well. 

But in sickness, when the body 
demands so much, the soul  begins 
to yearn for nothingness and looks 
for justification to embrace it. This is the

danger. But you have the connection, 
and it gives you power. Power you

must not be afraid to use to help 
the FBI Man."


Dana looked from the Navajo elder to 
her partner and back again. "I'm not

sure I know how...."  She said quietly.  
 

"I would tell you a dream." Albert persisted, 
his eyes never leaving Scully's.  "Seven nights 
ago, I dreamt that I was an eagle. But I was an

eagle which had lost the ability of flight.  
I was falling into darkness, unable to make 
my wings work. I fell into blackness and 
pain and knew no more."


Recognizing her own dream in Hosteen's 
words, Scully stared at the elder,

her eyes wide in surprise.

"You know this dream, I see it in 
your face. There are things he must 
hear and understand. These are 
things you have said before, but 
he has chosen not to hear.  
You must try again. His spirit 
must join his body in wanting

to be healed."


Unfinished business. Dana had counseled 
Teena Mulder against continuing

not to deal with the unfinished business 
she had with her son. Somehow now

Scully must find a way to do the same.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 18 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 19 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x



He came to awareness at the 
touch of cool hands on his brow.  
He remembered this part of the 
dream, he had been here before.


"Melissa?" Mulder was determined to 
get it right this time, opening his

eyes, he expected once again to see 
the ghost of Melissa Scully, who had

come to him before offering comfort 
in his isolation.


"No, Mulder.  It's Dana."


He forced his eyes to focus on the 
pale face that loomed over him, framed

by luxuriant red hair. It was Scully. He 
was still in the elevator shaft,

but it was his partner who bent over 
him now, touching his face, his hip,

his leg, taking away the pain.


"Scully,  I dreamt you came....but 
I woke up and I was alone again...."


Scully looked at him, her eyes stern, 
"No Mulder, this is the dream. We

did find you. You're in a hospital.  
You're dying."


Mulder was confused. He knew 
where he was, he had been here 
long enough to recognize the 
place. Was this nothing more 
than one more hallucination, was

this really not Scully? She seemed 
so real....


 She put her hand to his chest and 
he felt his labored breathing easing, 
the pain that had greeted each intake 
of air was finally gone.  


"You can leave this place, Mulder.  
Nothing is holding you here anymore. 
Take my hand, I'll help you," Scully 
extended her hand to him expectantly.


It was then that he knew. How like Death 
to send a messenger in the form

of his partner. A final irony. 
 

"I want to leave,"  he said softly.  
It was better after all to embrace the

process and get it over with.  
This dying business had already 
taken long enough.


Mulder reached for Scully's hand.


As their fingers touched a bright 
light filled the space around them.  
When its glare died away, they 
were standing, alone in the middle 
of a vast field. It was twilight, and 
there was no sound. The light that 
had seemed to envelope them 
moments before now glowed 
distantly on the horizon.


Suddenly, Scully was gone, as 
though she had never existed.


Mulder turned toward the horizon 
and began walking, once again, 
toward the light.


 x


Dana Scully sat at her partner's bedside,
staring intently at the various

pieces of medical machinery, 
glancing at the readouts and displays,

assessing the information. 
 

She remembered a dream in which 
she watched as Mulder walked away 
from her, drawn inexorably by a 
distant light. He was taking that 
walk now, she knew, turning his 
back on her. On life.  


Dana took a deep breath, stood 
and moved to Mulder s bed. She 
sat down on its edge,  reaching 
for her partner's hand and taking 
it in both of her own.


"I know what its like, Mulder. To be  
tired, so tired of fighting that you

just want to give up and rest. I've been 
there, I understand.  We've both been 
through  so much--more than anyone 
should have  to endure. But we've 
survived, Mulder. When we haven't 
had anything else  to depend on, 
we've been able to depend  on each other, 
draw strength from each other.


"I'm not ready to give up on you.  Do 
you hear me, Mulder?"


Dana paused, drawing another deep 
breath, studying for a quiet moment 
the hand she held in her own.  
He had such nice hands, artistic hands, 
with such long, slender fingers.  
She curled her own hand around his, 
feeling its warmth.

"...Do  you hear me, Mulder?"


The voice, as it had once before, 
drifted to him over a great distance.  
He paused, listening in spite of himself.  
He knew the voice so well, associated 
so much joy--and yet so much pain--
to its musical tones. He must try to shut 
the voice out, pretend that he could no 
longer hear it....


"Albert tells me that you feel responsible, 
somehow to blame for things that have 
happened--to me, as well as to others.  
I can't speak for anyone but myself Mulder, 
but you have to know that nothing that has 
happened has been your fault.  You didn't 
abduct me, you didn't give me cancer--you

weren't to blame that I was infected by 
the virus--but I do owe it to you that I 
survived all those things. I remember 
being as you are now, and hearing your 
voice telling me it wasn't my time, 
urging me not to give up.  You gave me 
the strength of your convictions.  
You were there lending me that same 
strength when I was at my weakest 
point fighting the cancer.  And it was you 
I saw standing in front of me when I woke 
up in that pod, urging me to breathe, 
carrying me to safety. No matter how 
any of these things came about, for 
whatever reason, by whatever design, 
that is what matters.  You were there, 
you saved me.  I owe you my life Mulder."

 

The way before him rose again, it was 
a well remembered path. He was

climbing the hill that would take him 
to the light--the light that was

already beckoning him onward.  
Trilling a siren song that he would 
no longer be able to resist.


"I tried to tell you after the final OPR hearing.
But you didn't seem to want to hear me.  
One of the things I've always admired 
and appreciated about you, Mulder, is 
your ability to listen and respect another
point of view. Even when you end up not 
acting on that input, you always at least

listen. I don't understand why you 
wouldn't listen to me then, why you

aren't listening to me now.  I've stayed 
with the X-Files because it was where 
I wanted to be, because I feel now, as 
you do, that the answers to so

much that affect us all are in there.  
The files themselves may be

destroyed, but it is not that easy to 
destroy the truth--the answers are

still there, waiting for us to uncover 
them. But I can't do it alone."


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 19 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 20 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Mulder paused again in his progress.  
He was tired. So very, very tired. 

His quest had been long and so 
difficult, fraught with so much 
danger and hurt, perils directed at 
those who had no vested interest 
in the ultimate outcome. He had made 
his own bargain long ago, regretted 
nothing of his part.  He had intended 
to make his quest a lone one, to cut 
himself off from all ties but the one 
that bound him to the truth. He had 
not reckoned that in spite of his best 
efforts, other lives would become 
involved, would be so profoundly 
influenced by his  search and so 
irrevocably changed.... He hadn't 
wanted that....


 Scully searched Mulder's face, hoping 
against hope for a sign that her

words were reaching him. There was nothing.


"Know that in the past I accused you of 
dragging me along on your crusades, 
past all reason and sanity. But that is in 
the past.  I didn't understand then.  
I don't think I truly began to understand 
until my sister was taken from me, just 
as yours was taken from you. You at least 
have the hope of being reunited with 
Samantha, Mulder, but Melissa is gone forever.
 The reality of that is what made me see 
that your crusade for the  truth is

my crusade as well. Losing her in that 
senseless way made me realize that

the people behind all of this don't care 
who they hurt to achieve their ends. No 
one is safe--not the most innocent, nor 
those of us directly in pursuit of the 
bastards. I accept the risks to and 
for myself, just as you have always 
accepted the risk to your life. You are 
not responsible if that makes me a 
target. I accept that reality for myself, 
do you understand me Mulder?"



*Do you understand me Mulder?*


Her voice reached him again, its 
conviction resonating about him.  
He had thought he could shut out 
the sound, but he was wrong.  
He was consumed by a sudden 
desire to look at her, to see her 
for one last time.....


Mulder turned and  beheld her then, 
so close he could almost touch her. 

Dana Katherine Scully, the incandescent
better half of his own soul...


Dana felt her throat start to constrict 
as long pent up emotion began to

clamor for release. She cleared her 
throat, trying desperately to keep her

voice well modulated and controlled.  
She never knew how miserably she

failed.


"Why did I try to quit after Dallas, if 
I am so committed to this search

for the truth?  It's simple really, 
Mulder.  I couldn't bear the thought of

continuing to work in the FBI if it 
meant no longer working with you. They

were going to break us up, send us 
off in opposite directions after all

their fine promises of keeping us 
together after the X-Files were closed

down. How could I begin to consider 
staying in the Bureau after that--after

all you and I have seen and done? Duty
 in some god-forsaken field office,

alone--I couldn't tolerate the idea.  
That was why I wanted out. That and

because I couldn't bear to watch them 
continue to destroy you bit by bit and

know that I wouldn't, couldn't be there, 
to put a stop to it."
 

Dana's voice broke. She stopped and 
took in a ragged breath.



The light at his back beckoned, 
bidding him to come and rest. He had

thought that there was nothing he 
yearned for more. But he was wrong.  
He could not turn away. In Scully's voice 
he could hear a pain that matched his 
own, an aching emptiness that corresponded
to that in his own soul.


"And for all my fine intentions, look at 
what has happened.  Someone has

tried to kill you and where was I?  
If you feel responsible for what has

happened to me, don't you think that
I feel responsible for what has happened 
to you? I was here and I couldn't stop it.  
I was here and I couldn't open myself up 
to extreme possibilities enough to allow 
my own intuition to lead me to you sooner.  
Don't you see that if I lose you now, I

will have to accept that I am as much 
to blame as the person who threw you

down that elevator shaft? I'm your 
partner--partners keep each other safe

and I didn't do that for you. I'm sorry Mulder, 
I'm so sorry....."


A ragged sob escaped Dana's throat, 
in spite of her best efforts at control; 
the first was quickly followed by another.
A week's worth of stoic effort aimed at 
keeping her emotions under tight control 
crumbled to ruins in a few brief moments.  
She found herself unable to stop the flow of 

tears, now that they had begun.



He could feel her cool, slender fingers 
entwined with his own. As ever she

was the force that grounded him, who 
made sense of the confusing jumble of

his life, who put all the pieces right.


The light at his back flared, burning him 
with an angry heat.  He concentrated on 
the tenuous contact of the cool hands 
that clasped his own.


He could not leave.  Not now.



Scully gave herself over to the tears,
too tired, too emotionally spent to

care any longer about her total lack 
of control. Her life had been a series

of losses, her father, her sister, Emily -- the darling child of her body who

should never have existed, but 
miraculously had. She didn't remember 
crying for any of them--had she? 
But she could cry now, for them and 
for Mulder.


For all that had been and for all that 
now never would be.


Lost in her misery, Dana had all but 
forgotten the hand that she held in

both her own. She laid her cheek 
against the cocoon of her hands, 
heedless of the tears that washed 
over her fingers, splashing down on 
Mulder's lax hand.


Forgotten, the fingers trapped 
between her palms stirred like a 
butterfly within a chrysalis.  
Slowly, weakly, they curled around 
her fingers, exerting a weak but 
steady pressure.


Startled, Scully was snapped back 
to instant awareness. She stared, 
wide eyed first at the hand unmistakably 
clasping her own, then up into Mulder's

face.


Hazel-green eyes were open and looking 
at her with a solemn, sad empathy. He

shook his head slightly, unable to speak 
because of the ventilator breathing

tube. For a long minute, there was only 
the steady pressure of his hand in

hers. Then he pulled that hand from 
her clasp, and reached up to touch her

cheek, tracing a line along her jaw, 
then gently drawing her head down

towards him.  


Scully allowed herself to be drawn 
down until her cheek rested on Mulder's

chest, her ear placed lightly just over 
his heart. Its beat was steady and

strong, and the hand that stroked 
first her cheek and then her hair

communicated silently what she 
had hoped for all along.


Mulder was back.


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 20 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 21 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

The muted sounds of anguished tears  
drew Melvin Frohike out of his surveillance 
mode reverie. He cocked his head, listening 
carefully for a long moment, then stood 
up and peered anxiously into Mulder's intensive 
care unit.


As he had surmised, it was Agent 
Scully who was crying, her head bent 
low over the cradle her hands made 
around Mulder's. Frohike's anguished 
first thought was that surely, Mulder 
must have died, for little else could 
have cracked the stoic facade that 
Dana Scully had presented to the world 
all this last week. There was, however, 
a curious lack of chimes and alarms -- and there was no indication of an 
imminent stampede of medical

personnel responding to a code alert.  


As Frohike stood, transfixed, his 
attention fixed empathetically on the

bereft young woman within the room, 
he saw Scully react in startled shock,

her head jerking upward and swinging 
around to regard Mulder with amazement.


At almost the same moment, Frohike 
was himself astonished to see Mulder's

hand pull out of Scully's grasp, reach 
up to touch her cheek, then gently

draw her head down to his chest.


Abashed, Frohike turned away, feeling 
an unwelcome intruder into a  profoundly 
private moment. A huge grin spread 
itself over the Lone Gunman's elfin face 
and he reached for the pager attached 
to his belt.  First he'd spread the good
news, then he would do what all the 
machinery in the intensive care room 
failed to do, and alert the medical staff 
to the reality of yet another Scully inspired miracle.


x

 

Walter Skinner was dozing in the 
intensive care waiting room, his head

nodding toward  his chest. His slumber 
was interrupted abruptly by the

sound of a satisfied grunt. Skinner 
roused himself, fixing his focusing

eyes on the figure of Albert Hosteen 
who sat a few feet away.  As he

Watched, Albert smiled broadly 
and nodded his head in obvious 
pleasure.


"He is awake," Hosteen announced aloud, 
chuckling softly.


Skinner favored the former Code 
Talker with a confounded expression, 
not quite trusting that his hearing 
was in working order.


"Mulder?"  Skinner asked, bewildered, 
glancing around. There was no one

who could have imparted the news 
while he had catnapped, they were 
alone in the waiting room and surely 
he would have heard. "How do you know?"


Hosteen smiled. 
 

"I have good ears,"  he said, enigmatically, 
his dark eyes sparkling with sly mischief.


Skinner reacted with perplexity, then 
unaccountably  found a chuckle rumbling 
in his own throat,  his mouth arranging 
itself into a smile almost as broad as 
that on the face of the Navajo elder.  


It was, after all, hardly the most 
improbable event in a week of singular

occurrences.

x


John Fitzgerald Byers jumped involuntarily 
as the pager on his hip vibrated. He had 
stopped off in the hospital cafeteria 
to grab something to eat before he 
was due to relieve Frohike from his 
shift outside of Agent Mulder's room.  
Instead he had done little more than 
push the food he'd selected around on 
his plate, lost in his own anxious musings.
  

Byers reached for the pager, laying down 
his fork and rubbing his tired eyes with 
his free hand. He brought the electronic
device up to eye level and focused narrowly 
on the pager display. This model was 
programmed for both numbers and 
short messages, and one word was 
flashing frenetically at him.


That one word cause Byers to grin 
from ear to ear, and to leap up from the

table, his food finally and irrevocably forgotten.


AWAKE!!


x


Ringo Langly had just switched off the 
power on his computer terminal and

was reaching to do the same to the lamp 
beside the p.c. when his pager beeped with 
loud insistence. He gazed at the small device 
where it lay on the desk in front of him 
for a long moment, suddenly loath to respond 
to the alert. It could only be Frohike or 
Byers, and something deep within him

sensed that any  word coming this hard 
upon the heels of Mulder's last crisis could 
not be good, especially since the reports 
from Frohike over the last few hours had 
not been glowing with progress.


In spite of Skinner's assurances and the 
findings of the FBI forensic team, Langly still 
held himself largely responsible for Mulder 
not being found sooner. The image of the 
FBI agent sprawled brokenly at the bottom 
of an elevator shaft he had pronounced 
unoccupied was still burning in his brain.


Gathering his courage, Langly lifted the 
pager up, unconsciously squeezing

his eyes shut as it approached eye level.  
Cautiously, he opened only one of

them as he looked apprehensively 
at the electronic device.


The display flashed with a happy rhythm 
and Langly could almost envision Frohike 
bouncing up and down with delight as he 
had punched in the letters:


AWAKE!


Langly, feeling somewhat giddy with 
relief, tossed the pager ceiling-ward

and let out a loud whoop of triumph.


x

 
End Cursum Perficio (Part 21 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 22 of 58)
by LAAdolf

Teena Mulder walked wearily down the 
hospital corridor. She wondered distractedly 
how her son would look today, if the frailty 
that had so shocked her upon seeing him 
at first would be just as evident, or if 
she would find herself somehow getting 
used to it.  

She had lost everyone else in her life 
that she had ever cared about, had 
long ago learned to hide away her feeling 
self to insulate her from further loss 
and pain. It was a bitter kind of justice 
that the perfidy of her past should be 
punished by this one last loss---and this 
the most profound of them all.

The flurry of activity that emanated from 
the Intensive Care ward immediately caught 
Mrs. Mulder's attention, sending a stab of 
fear through her heart as she realized 
that focal point of the commotion was 
her son's room. 

Had  Fox slipped away as she had made her 
slow way from hotel to hospital, lost in a 
fog of recrimination and self pity? Would 
she ever be able to forgive herself for not 
staying by his side and more vitally, for 
not having tried hard enough to seal the 
breach of months of estrangement?

Teena's heart clenched painfully, 
her breath catching in her throat.

No clear view into her son's room presented 
itself as she drew near, and white coated 
staff members entered and exited the 
room with determined alacrity as she 
approached. Teena saw Agent Scully 
emerge from the room, pausing, her 
back turned, as she spoke briefly with 
the man who sat guard outside Fox's room.

Mrs. Mulder paused, trying to read 
the young woman's body language.
As though sensing the scrutiny, 
Dana Scully turned, her face lined 
by the tracks of fresh tears.

Teena brought a shaking hand to her mouth, 
stifling the anguished cry that threatened 
to escape her lips.

Agent Scully seemed to sense her 
distress instantly, and the young woman 
closed the distance between them 
swiftly, her arms reaching out to 
steady the older woman as she wavered.

"No!  Mrs. Mulder! Its not what you think.  
He's awake!"  Dana was saying, a soft 
smile illuminating her features. 
 
"He's n-not dead?"  Teena Mulder 
stammered.

"No, they are evaluating him right 
now, it looks as though he might be 
ready to come off the respirator.  
He's doing much better."

"But will he be all right? Do they know 
yet?"  Mrs. Mulder persisted, not 
quite able to process what the 
young woman had told her.

"He's still got a lot of healing to 
do, and the infection isn't quite gone 
yet. But he is much, much better.  
Yes, I believe he is going to be all right."

For the second time in as many days, 
Teena Mulder reached out and enfolded 
Dana Scully in an impulsive, but heartfelt 
embrace.

"Thank you," she breathed into the halo 
of red hair. "Thank you." 
    
x
     
"Latest word from the hospital is that 
Agent Mulder is much improved. He is 
going to live."  

The Cigarette Smoking Man leveled 
his gaze at the Lean Faced Man who 
sat on the other side of the massive 
office desk. 

The Lean Faced Man's face was impassive, 
betraying neither thought nor emotion.

"An amazingly resilient man, Agent Mulder. 
He must never be underestimated," Cigarette 
Smoking Man continued, lighting up one of 
his signature accessories and taking a 
long drag.

The Lean Faced Man shifted slightly in 
his chair, but the steely eyes never 
wavered in their regard of his titular 
superior.

"You are, of course, not the first to 
have made that mistake with Mr. Mulder.  
I suspect that you will not be the last. He 
has the quality about him that belies his 
true nature. And it is his true nature 
that makes him formidable adversary.  
Of course, ambition can blind one to 
even the most obvious. Can it not?"

Cigarette Smoking Man paused, taking 
several long draws of smoke into his 
lungs, savoring them, his attitude that 
there was all the time in the world to 
discuss Mulder or any other subject 
he might fancy.

"Ambition is not altogether a bad thing, 
of course. When it is channeled toward 
a common goal, it can be quite useful.  
But when ambition is misdirected, 
it can be very destructive."

Cigarette Smoking Man leaned 
forward, and ground the butt of 
his smoke into a large, ornate 
ashtray which dominated the 
corner of the desk on which it 
sat. Exhaling, he stood, turned 
his back on the Lean Faced Man, 
moving to the window behind the 
desk. He looked out into the 
oppressive  night at the lights 
of the nation's capital.

"Do you know how the Syndicate 
rewards individual initiative?"
he asked quietly.

The man who sat behind him made no 
response, but then, Cigarette Smoking 
Man had expected none. The only sound 
that could be heard was the strangled 
gurgle as the garrote was slipped over 
the head of the Lean Faced Man and 
tightened expertly and efficiently. The 
assassin had slipped into the room 
unnoticed at Cigarette Smoking Man's 
signal -- the extinguishing of his smoke.

"No, I thought you did not."  Cigarette 
Smoking Man mused philosophically, 
listening as the sounds of struggle 
continued for a few moments, then 
subsided.

"Dump the body in the parking lot 
of the hospital Mulder is in. Make 
sure the photo is found nearby."

"Yes, sir," came the quiet reply.

Cigarette Smoking Man did not 
turn, but listened distractedly 
as the body of the Lean Faced 
Man was removed from his office.  
He continued to gaze out into the 
night, searching out the general 
direction of the hotel he had visited 
earlier in the day.

"I said I would deal with him, Teena,"  
he said softly, remembering the fire 
in her eyes, the hate that had burned 
there. It had not always been so.

"And I have. For you."

x   
End Cursum Perficio (Part 22 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 23 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x
 

"If you keep this up," Dana Scully said, 
making a conscious attempt to

keep her voice light,  "you'll be in your 
own private room by tomorrow."


Her gaze lifted from Mulder's chart, 
which she had been studying intently

for some minutes, up to the patient 
himself.  The respirator was gone now,

replaced by a less cumbersome nasal 
cannula delivering supplemental oxygen. 

He was as yet, still connected to 
various pieces of machinery, monitors 
and IV lines, but the sight of him, 
alive and awake made all else pale to

insignificance. 


Scully had hung back, allowing Mulder's 
mother time alone with him.  She

had watched from the corridor as 
Albert Hosteen, AD Skinner and then

singly, the Lone Gunmen had paid 
brief but warm greetings to her partner. 

She had waited until Langly had taken 
up Byers' watch at the corridor post

before venturing into his room.


Mulder had made no comment in 
answer to her observation. He was, 
in fact making a distracted study of 
the bank of machinery upon which his life had

depended for the past few days.


"Mulder,  are you in pain?" Scully 
ventured cautiously. She had been

hoping to elicit one of his signature 
quips with her earlier comment, 

wanting--somewhat selfishly she knew -- the reassurance that her partner had

weathered his unimaginable experience 
with his quintessence intact. It was,

perhaps, too much to hope for, given 
the circumstances, but she found

herself needing to hear his voice, 
aching to hear a characteristically dry

remark.


"No...." Mulder spoke without turning 
away from the objects of his fascination.
 

Scully approached the head of the bed, 
reaching out to touch the hand that

had, not so very long ago, touched her 
face with tenderness.  She felt a

small stab of fear. Something wasn't right.


 At her touch, Mulder finally turned to 
look at her, but the green eyes were

hooded, enigmatic, offering no reassurance.


"No...one...."   He spoke again, his voice 
raspy, his throat expectedly raw

from the abuse of several days of 
invasive tubes,  "will...tell...me...."


Scully reached for a cup of ice chips 
which had been placed near the head

of the bed, spooning a few out.


"Here, these will help,"  she soothed, 
deftly slipping the chips into

Mulder's mouth.  "Tell you what?"


It was a moment before her partner 
ventured to speak, clearing his 

throat experimentally,  "How long....?"


Scully dropped her eyes to the cup 
she held in her hands.  "You went

missing a week ago tonight. This is Sunday. 
Late Sunday evening. We found you Friday 
night." 

Scully raised her eyes up once more.


Mulder was regarding her, green eyes 
widening in a kind of subdued

surprise,  "F-five days....?"


"Yes," Dana forced the word out 
between lips that were threatening to

tremble.


Mulder nodded fractionally. "Frohike....
Says...I have you to thank...for

being found at all..."


"Not really. He was looking for you 
Monday before anyone realized you were

missing, he had Byers and Langly 
calling and hacking into systems all over

town. It was a team effort.  Skinner 
even defied the brass a couple of

times. We were very lucky--you were 
very lucky. Mulder, its really a

miracle you were able to survive that 
long, so badly hurt....no food....no

water."


Mulder was looking at her searchingly, 
as though weighing her words against

known facts.  He reached out a hand 
to touch hers, squeezing weakly before

letting it drop back to his side.


"Didn't seem that...long. I-I don't seem 
to remember much...."


Scully enveloped his hand with one of 
her own. 


"Retrograde amnesia isn't uncommon 
in cases of trauma...   she began,

hating the clinical sound her voice 
seemed to take on.  In the midst 
of the struggle for Mulder's life, 
she had avoided thinking of the 
ordeal he must have been through 
before they had found him. Now 
suddenly, the reality of being 
trapped,  hurt and immobilized  in 
such a lonely place loomed large in

her imagination, stirring memories 
of her own that she had desperately

avoided remembering.  Abruptly, 
she decided on a change of subject.


"Are you sure you're not in any 
pain?"  she asked, studying his face

minutely.


"No pain.....m' just tired, "Mulder admitted.


Scully favored him with an indulgent 
smile, "You've had a busy couple of

hours. Go to sleep,  I'll stay right here."


Mulder's eyes, which had been close 
to drifting shut, opened wide again,

regarding her with a strange intensity.  
For an uncomfortable moment, she

was reminded of watching as her 
partner had--in the middle of a 
regression session--spoken hauntingly 
of a life lived  over 130 years in the past.  


*My soul is tired....*


"No, Scully,"  he said with surprising force.


Dana favored him with a bewildered 
look, startled.


"You go home.  I'm fine now. Go home. 
Rest."  The green eyes were

uncharacteristically stern in their 
regard of her, and bore the expression

of someone who would brook no argument.  
It was an impressive performance

for someone who otherwise still looked 
painfully frail.  But more than that,

the world-weary aspect that shadowed 
those eyes made her suddenly uneasy.


"I'll stay until you fall asleep, then I'll 
go home."  Scully countered,

hoping that her lie would not be too 
detectable.


"No.   I won't sleep.  Not until you go." 
Mulder announced stubbornly,

backing up the threat with a wide-eyed 
truculent stare.


Scully might have called for a 
neurologist, had not the intractability 
she was faced with now not been so 
familiar. Dana weighed her options.  
She could call his bluff and stay 
right where she was. The exhaustion 
plainly stamped on his features told 
her it would not be long before he lost the

pointless battle to stay awake. But 
her own need to reassure herself and

to, she had to admit, massage her own 
increasingly guilty conscience paled

against her knowledge that his reserves 
of strength were finite, precious and  not 
up to a battle of wills.


"Okay, Mulder, I'm going. I will be back 
first thing in the morning,"  she

promised, pausing to smooth his hair 
away from his forehead.  


Mulder wasn't moved by the action, 
if anything his expression took on a

more determined cast.


Admitting defeat and strangely 
affected by the sudden flaring of her

partner's will, Scully made her way 
to the door of Mulder's room. She

glanced back briefly, before continuing on.


Mulder was already asleep.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 23 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 24 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

    

Assistant Director Skinner was striding 
down the hall toward her when Dana

emerged from Mulder's room.


"How's Mulder doing?"  he asked as 
he approached.


"Well enough to kick me out and 
tell me to go home. He's come through 
this with his stubborn streak intact 
at least,"  Scully remarked irritably.  


Skinner chuckled, "and his eyesight.  
You do look as though a small breeze

would knock you over. You need the 
rest as much as he does."


"I'm going home, sir,"  Scully emphasized.


"Spare me just a minute before you do.  
I was seeing Albert and Mrs. Mulder into 
a cab a while ago when Frohike and Byers 
came running back toward the hospital. 
Seems they stumbled across a body on 
their way to their van. And this was under 
the windshield wipers of my car."


Skinner handed a manila envelope to Scully.


"I already have a forensic team going over 
everything. That's been dusted

for prints. It and its contents are clean."


Scully opened the envelope and slid out 
a photograph. The 8 x 10 had the

grainy quality of a telephoto surveillance 
photo, but the subjects were

unmistakable. The figure to the left 
of the photo was the image of the man

who had been found, dead, so close to 
Casey's Bar.  Scully did not recognize

the second man. She looked at Skinner 
questioningly.


"He's the man we just found in the 
parking lot. He'd been garroted. We're

running his prints, although I don't hold 
out a lot of hope that we will find out 
much from them."


"He ordered this done to Mulder?  
Can we be sure the photo is genuine?"
 

"I'll be handing this off to the forensic 
team for the lab to look over. 

My guess is that we are meant to 
think so, even if it isn't."


"The Syndicate?"


"That would be my guess. Maybe this 
guy thought he'd do a little

housekeeping and work his way 
up the ladder faster.  They mean 
to close the book with this."


"Or it could be a trick. They want us 
to drop our guard and leave Mulder

unprotected.  I'm going to stay here 
after all.  He's asleep now, he won't

need to know....."


"No, Scully.  Langly is here and so are my 
people. I'm going to see that

you go home, you do need the rest.  
I just thought you should know about

this sooner rather than later."


"That's an order, sir?"  Scully queried, 
slipping the photo back into its

envelope and handing it back to Skinner.


"Only if it has to be."  Skinner admitted.


Dana Scully looked to Langly, who sat 
a few feet down the hall, having

heard the entire conversation.  
From the expression on his face, 
she would find no ally there, either.


She was, suddenly, very, very tired.  
It had been a grueling week of too

little sleep and too many long hours.  
The fight draining from her, she

allowed Skinner to lead her down 
the hall, out of the hospital, and to

escort her home.


 x

  

Langly's attention was captured by 
the approach of Frohike and Byers.


"I was wondering if you guys would be 
coming back," he commented as the

two men drew close.


Frohike nodded grimly, "We can 
sleep in the waiting room as well as

anywhere else. This is no time to be 
letting down our guard, not when

Mulder could be more vulnerable 
than ever."


"Skinner have to pull rank to get Scully 
to leave?"  Byers asked,  "we

passed them on our way back in.  
She didn't look very happy."


Langly shook his head.  "Not really.  
She said she was going to go anyway

after Mulder kicked her out of his 
room and told her to go home. Skinner

just applied a little pressure when she 
changed her mind again after hearing

what you guys found in the parking lot."


Frohike gave a small grin,  "Mulder kicked 
her out?  That's our boy, alienating his 
friends just an hour or so after waking up."


Langly's response was not the expected 
jovial retort.  Instead, he tossed

Frohike an uncharacteristically stern look.  
"She's exhausted--that would be

the first thing that Mulder would 
notice. He did the only thing he could to

get her to go home and rest is all."


Frohike exchanged a quick but meaningful 
look with Byers. Normally Langly

would have let the comment slide 
for what it was, a truly harmless dig at

their favorite Fed. All was still not well 
in Langly-land if the defensiveness in 
his tone was any indication. Their 
companion was obviously still wrestling 
with a case of the guilts where Mulder 
was concerned.


"You're right," Byers soothed,  "it's just 
good to see things getting a

little more normal where Mulder is 
concerned is all. That is all Frohike

meant by it."


"Yeah, man, that IS all I meant," 
Frohike echoed.


Langly hung his head briefly, then 
looked up at his companions, pain

evident in his eyes behind the lenses 
of his glasses.  "I know.  I just keep

seeing him at the bottom of that elevator 
shaft and wondering why I couldn't

see him. I know what Skinner's people 
said, but it just doesn't make sense

to me."  He hung his head again.


Byers reached out to put a hand 
on Langly's thin shoulder, giving a

reassuring squeeze.


"He's gonna be okay now, man.  
You've got to let it go."  Frohike said

quietly, mirroring Byers' action.


Langly shook his head sadly, "I just 
wish I knew how."
X

End Cursum Perficio (Part 24 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 25 of 58)
by LAAdolf
Mulder started awake in the half light 
of his room, the pain that had been

with him since he had awakened to 
see Scully crying at his bedside suddenly

increasing in intensity. He clenched 
the hand that was free of IV shunts

and telemetry leads, attempting to 
ride out the spasm by force of will.


Through the pain the image of Scully's 
tear-streaked face haunted him. She

had looked so haggard, so worn, the 
circles under her eyes emphasizing 
their size unnaturally. Looking at her, 
he had been uncomfortably reminded 
of how she had looked when cancer 
had nearly killed her. He had sworn 
to himself then--at her bedside--
that if somehow she survived, he 
would never let anything touch her in 
that way again. Not only had he 
repeatedly failed at that vow, he 
was no directly responsible for the 
stress that had left her looking so 
worn and frail.  Bill Scully had been  
right, he was one sorry son-of-a-bitch....


He had done what he had to, sending 
her away to rest, as hard as it had

been.  When she was present he 
could bear almost anything, when 
she was gone he was lost.....


Another wave of pain coursed through 
his body catching him unaware. 

Without meaning to, Mulder cried out.


The cry carried through the open 
entry of the intensive care cubicle and

reached Frohike's ears first. The 
elfin man straightened and spun 
in the direction of the sound. Langly l
ooked startled and abruptly stood up, 
while Byers, standing the farthest 
away, followed as the other two 
forged into the room.


"Mulder?"  Frohike queried worriedly 
as he rounded the entrance and moved

to the fallen agent's bedside, Langly 
and Byers close behind.


The sight that greeted the three 
was a startling one. Mulder was doubled

over in the bed in obvious distress, 
his face whiter than the bedclothes.


"He's in pain.  I'll go get a doctor,"  
Byers announced moving toward the

doorway.


"NO!"  Mulder's shout was abrupt, 
the force of his voice a surprising 

contrast to the utterly helpless 
picture he presented.


"Hey man, you're in the land of the 
free and legal high--you don't have to

go through this! Go on Byers, go and 
get someone."  Frohike said as he

jerked his head toward the exit.
"Langly, get back out in the hall. Be

just like those bastards to take 
advantage of something like this."


Langly, who had seemed rooted to a 
spot just inside the doorway and who had

been looking at Mulder with horrified 
fascination, did what he was told with

no protest.


Frohike turned his attention back 
to Mulder, gripping the other man by 
the shoulders, trying to ease him 
back into a recumbent position on the bed.


"Try to relax, Mulder. Breathe. That's it.
Help is on the way,"  Frohike soothed, 
worried by the sheer pallor of Mulder's 
face and the beads of perspiration 
standing out on the younger man's 
forehead.  "I'm gonna have Langly call Scully-"


"NO!" Mulder hissed between clenched 
teeth, gripping Frohike's forearms

with a surprising strength.  "Not Scully!  
You understand me?!"


Frohike hid his confusion at Mulder's 
reaction, seeking to calm him first

and figure out the illogic of his reaction 
later.  "Okay!  No calling Scully.  
Never mind she'll have our skins 
for not letting her know--"


"Doesn't need to know anything 
about this,"  Mulder replied truculently. 


Whatever had caused the agony 
seemed to have abated somewhat, 
he was relaxing back into his 
pillows and  regaining a bit of the 
color--such as it had been--that he 
had lost in the attack.  "That's what 
I wanted to talk to you about....
when we met...at Casey's."


If the two statements had little 
direct connection to each other--
understandable under the circumstances--
Frohike was less worried about that 
and more riveted by Mulder's mention 
of the meeting that had never come 
to pass. He recalled once again the 
FBI agent's mysterious phone

call the evening of his disappearance, 
his insistence on meeting at Casey's

Bar almost immediately, and his refusal 
to say why he wanted to see the Lone

Gunman at such an odd time and at 
that particular place.


"Not telling Scully? Telling her what?  
I don't get it."


Mulder, reclining against his 
pillows, breathing raggedly, gave a 
short, mirthless laugh. "That I got 
drunk, you had to pour me into a cab 
and deliver my sorry ass back to 
my apartment."


"But that never happened---"
Frohike began, then the light began 
to dawn. 


"Wait a minute. You're telling me 
you were going to meet me just to get

drunk? And I was supposed to 
keep Scully from finding out about 
it?  That was why you took a cab to
Casey's. Was that also why you left 
your cell phone in your apartment?  
We've been trying to figure that one 
out all week."


Mulder executed a tight nod, 
avoiding Frohike's fascinated stare.  
 

"Didn't want any unauthorized calls--
going out or coming in. Also wanted

you to stop me from making any 
unwise side trips. Last one didn't turn 
out too well..."  The special agent's 
tone was melancholy.


Frohike nodded thoughtfully.  "I understand.  
In vino veritas...."


"And all that...."  Mulder murmured, 
his eyes hooded, his expression one of

chagrin.


"Don't worry. Your secret is safe.  
From Scully and everyone else."

Frohike offered. "Anybody asks, I'm 
still in the dark and you can't seem to

remember."


The expression on Mulder's face as he 
turned his head to look at Frohike

directly for the first time in several 
minutes was one of surprise and

sincere gratitude. He opened his mouth 
as though to speak, but Frohike

waved him to silence.


"You'll owe me. But don't worry.  
I won't make you pay too high a price."


Further conversation was preempted 
by the arrival of white coated medicos

who shooed Frohike out of the room 
while they set about checking vitals 
and readouts and performing a quick 
but thorough examination of the patient.
 

When Frohike was allowed back into the 
unit a few minutes later, the agonizing 
attack had been pronounced the result 
of muscular spasms, an apparently not 
altogether unexpected consequence of 
the dislocated hip.  The abuse the joint 
had taken, exacerbated by the length 
of time the injury had gone untreated, 
had produced unusual pressures on 
the muscles involved.  The spasms 
were the direct result of the temporarily 
deformed muscles returning to pre-injury 
alignment.  


As Frohike entered and approached 
Mulder's bedside once more, a nurse

completed the rigging of traction on 
the agent's abused limb.  Before long,

the Lone Gunman found himself alone  
again with Mulder.


"Thanks Frohike," Mulder said finally.  
His eyelids were growing heavy

under the effects of the medication 
he had just been given.


Frohike pulled up the chair where 
Scully had kept her vigil for so long and

sat in it, watching as, after a few quiet 
minutes, Mulder drifted off into

peaceful sleep.


It wouldn't be easy, keeping the night's 
events from Dana Scully, but

Frohike would consult with Byers 
and Langly and make sure that all that

could be done would be done.


As for the other--Melvin Frohike 
was a man of his word. The aborted

meeting had been his own personal 
mystery for this past week, and so it

would stay. 

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 25 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 26 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Sleep did not come easy that night  
for Dana Scully.  As exhausted as she

was, she found herself tossing and 
turning, her mind racing with a myriad 
of thoughts, her emotions churning 
into high gear well into the early hours of

Monday morning.


Skinner had brought her directly home 
as promised, but had not told her

that he had ordered a security sweep 
of her apartment before they reached

it. The FBI team the assistant director 
had dispatched was just finishing

up as they pulled up in front of her 
apartment.  She had waited impatiently

as the team leader had reported an 
"all clear" to Skinner, all the while

glaring at her superior's turned back 
with an intensity that should have

scorched holes into his suit jacket.  
Intellectually, she realized that Skinner, 
in light of the evenings cumulative 
events, was being cautious, and

she might, at any other time have 
been grateful and touched by his 
concern. 


But this evening, coming hard on 
the heels of Mulder's summary 
dismissal of her from his room, it 
was just one more emotional 
irritation that she might have 
lived without.


Even more frustrating had been 
Skinner's total lack of reaction to her

burst of temper when they were alone, 
after the team had piled into its van

and driven off into the night. He had 
simply escorted her into her

apartment, extracted a promise 
that she would eat a little something 
and then turn in, and had vanished 
into the night himself after ascertaining

that she had locked and bolted her door.


Rebellious at being treated as she had 
been by both males---and Langly had

been no support either, damn him, 
Dana had bypassed the kitchen, 
opting instead for a long and 
hopefully relaxing shower. 


As the hot water had coursed around 
her, soothing her frayed temper and

her tense body, she had begun to 
realize that she was being unfair.  
Skinner was just being cautious -- as he had mentioned to her more 
than once, the safety and health 
of his agents was his responsibility, 
and the Syndicate was predictable 
enough to have a secondary plan, 
having failed once again to kill their 
primary target--Mulder. And she 
really couldn't have expected

poor Langly, who was, as she knew, 
wrestling still with his own conscience

over not having spied Mulder in the 
elevator, to have stood up to Skinner

and supported her desire to stay one 
more night in Mulder's hospital room.  


Mulder, Mulder, Mulder! She still could 
not believe--well, she could believe, 
she should really not have expected 
anything else from him--that he

had  behaved as he had, straining 
the fragile reserves of his strength, 
just to order her from a place that 
she had occupied for two nights 
already and had a perfect right to stay 
in if she so chose.  She should probably have

not given up without more of a fight.....


Dana had stepped from the shower 
then, wrapping one towel around her wet

head and wrapping another around her 
body before turning to wipe a hole into

the condensation that had collected on 
her medicine cabinet mirror. The

sight that greeted her--almost 
unrecognizable as her own reflection 
at first glance--suddenly chased away 
the last of her anger at her partner's 
reaction to her announced intention to 
stay by his bedside for yet another night. 

She had not paid the usual attention to 
her appearance, she knew, while the

frantic search for Mulder had been underway
--and even less so since he had

been found and been so ill -- but the 
gaunt lines, shadows  and hollows of

her own face were still a substantial 
shock.  

No wonder Skinner had been

treating her like a frail exotic  
hatchling and the Lone Gunmen 
had been casting worried glances 
in her direction when they thought 
she wasn't looking. 
 

And no wonder that even in his 
condition, Mulder had voiced such 
a strong reaction to her plans to 
stay on with him.  She wouldn't have 
thought it possible, but she did almost 
look worse than he did.  And she knew better

than she ever had how little it took to 
bring out Fox William Mulder's maddening 
protective streak these days, especially 
since the events in Texas and....the 
Antarctic....
 

Well, it was nothing a couple good meals, 
a decent night's sleep and troweling on  
make-up would not take care of--and 
she would make sure that she looked 
presentably human when she returned 
to the hospital the next day.


Her anger suitably spent, Dana had 
climbed into her pajamas and robe, had

padded into the kitchen and fixed 
herself a mug of warm milk before 
retiring to her bed.  
 

There should have been nothing to 
prevent her from surrendering to the

exhaustion that was pulling on her, 
making her limbs feel like dead weights

and her eyelids heavy. But no sooner 
had she laid down than she felt the

familiar sense of unease that had 
been her companion for this past 
week, the tiny voice of fear that 
insisted on her attention, and which 
banished all possibility of quick 
and deep slumber.


Mulder....


There was something wrong.  
She had been right to want to stay, 
and while she understood the 
reaction of those around her, 
she should probably have

insisted on it. Mulder was back, 
alive and progressing towards being well

again--that was, as Albert had said, 
no longer the problem. But he was not

himself. Under other circumstances, 
she might have feared that his head

injury was to blame, that there had 
been damage undetectable by even the

most sophisticated neurological tests.  
But something elemental told her

that that was not the case--it was 
not anything physical this time.


It might be that his recollections of 
his near week of tortuous isolation

and near death were not as incomplete 
as he claimed--somehow, even when he

had been denying it aloud, she had 
felt the conviction that that was the

case.  She could help him through that, 
she knew, her own counseling sessions 
after her abduction and her brush with 
cancer had shown her the

benefits of working through these 
things with professional assistance. The

worst part would be persuading Mulder 
to seek the aid of a therapist, as she

had, but she would see it done--he did 
not have to suffer alone any more.  

But what if--whatever trauma he had 
endured in his isolation--this was, as

Albert had hinted, a deeper and more 
complex  problem? Mulder had been

different, ever since the final OPR 
hearing--after which she had withdrawn

her resignation from the Bureau.  
She had chalked up his adamantine refusal

to accept her decision as just another 
expression of the protectiveness that

had been a more pronounced part of 
their relationship since the cancer

diagnosis. But what if it was 
something else entirely....what if 
he had decided that they could no 
longer continue working together.......?


Dana Scully finally fell asleep, her 
exhaustion a debt that could no longer

go unpaid. But her dreams expressed 
themselves with the symbology of a

quest that continued relentlessly,  
and which filled her  unconsciousness

with such a sense of utter emptiness 
and futility that in the morning she

woke up with the tracks of tears 
once again on her cheeks. 


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 26 of 58)


Cursum Perficio (Part 27 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Fox Mulder awoke to the touch of a 
gentle hand on his forehead. He opened

his eyes and focused on the smiling 
features of Margaret Scully.


"I'm sorry, Fox,"  Scully's mother said 
with a look of sincere regret on

her face,  "it's a mother's instinct," 
she continued apologetically.


Mulder looked at her, trying to 
hide his confusion, and smiled

reassuringly.  


"You didn't wake me," he lied.  "It's okay."


Margaret Scully squeezed his hand 
briefly, but warmly. Bemused, he

returned the small gesture somewhat 
shyly.


"I'm sorry I wasn't here yesterday.  
Dana tells me I missed quite a bit of

excitement." Margaret continued, 
not letting go of Mulder's hand.  "I spent

the day in church, praying and lighting 
candles, thinking I could be of more

use there. You're so much better today,  
maybe I was right." 


Mulder gazed at Mrs. Scully, lost in 
her soft brown eyes which radiated

such a seemingly sincere fondness. 
"Thank you...,"  he murmured, at a loss

for what to say. 

By rights this woman should hate him, 
he had done nothing but place her 
beloved daughter in danger ever 
since he had known her.


Margaret Scully was waving her free 
hand--she still held one of his own in

the other--as though she prayed and 
lit candles for people she hardly knew

every day. Perhaps she did, Mulder 
mused distractedly.


"Dana will be here soon."  His partner's 
mother  continued.  "She said it

was a bit early for me to give you 
these, but I'd already bought them and

they do keep," Margaret reached 
behind her, withdrawing a small bag from

the purse balanced on the chair near 
the bed. She held out a bag of sunflower 
seeds to Mulder.


"I did get the right kind, didn't I?  
Dana was adamant that you didn't care

for the ones without shells."


Mulder took the proffered package in 
bemused wonder. "These are fine. You

didn't need to bring me anything though."


"Nonsense. I wanted to. They aren't 
allowing flowers until you're out of

ICU, and those are small enough to 
hide if we have to.  Is there something 
else I can bring for you? I've been 
feeding your fish these past few days, 
is there anything you  need from 
your apartment?  Books, mail? 

Just let me know, I'd be happy to bring them."


Mulder felt suddenly overwhelmed by 
the woman's kindness, the warmth in her

voice and manner discomfiting. He closed 
his eyes against the wave of emotion 
that threatened.


"No, nothing....." he murmured quietly.


"You should go back to your rest, Fox.  
Its the best way to regain your

strength."  Margaret Scully said 
soothingly, her hand gripping his warmly. 

"I'll just sit here with you until Dana comes."


Mulder opened his eyes, "You don't have to 
stay.....I'm all right...."  He demurred.


"No, I don't have to stay, I want to.  
Go back to sleep, now." Mrs. Scully

soothed.


Almost against his will, Mulder's 
eyes began to drift shut. The last

sensation he felt before sleep overtook 
him once more was the gentle

pressure of Margaret Scully's hand 
holding his, the last conscious action he

took was to return the kindly contact 
with gratitude.


x  

 

Albert Hosteen watched as the 
drama unfolded before him in the 
FBI Man's hospital room. He did not 
have to be in the room to understand 
what was happening, the events had 
been in motion ever since the FBI 
Man had regained consciousness.


Inside the glass enclosed cubicle, 
FBI Man's  mother stood at her 
son's bedside,  listening as the 
younger man spoke to her in 
reassuring tones. Her face was 
concerned and somber by turns, 
and she reached out to touch her

son's cheek more than once as 
he spoke. Then, for many long 
moments, she was the one who 
began to talk, her emotions playing 
over her face, visible clearly from 
even this distance.  The FBI Man reached 
up and touched her face, the action 
bringing tears to her eyes and she 
fell silent. It was then that the young 
man spoke again, and from the interplay 
of both hurt and understanding that 
flashed across her features, Albert 
knew that he had finally done what 
he had intended. He had both forgiven his 
mother and dismissed her.  


Of course it was by no means a 
permanent dismissal, he had 
merely informed her that there 
was no need for her to stay now 
that he was doing so much better. 
The doctors had confirmed just a 
few minutes before that the FBI

man would be transferred to a 
private room later this very day, 
his physical progress toward recovery 
was a fact, its speed widely remarked on. 

But the doctors did not see beyond 
the physical as Albert had been taught to

do, did not see that the underlying 
wounds to the FBI man's spirit did

not parallel the wounds of the body 
in their healing. Sending his mother

away, frustrating her maternal need 
after so much separation to be close to

offer him care and comfort, was but 
one way for the young man to isolate

himself, to refuse the succor that 
those who cared for him stood ready to

offer.


Albert watched sadly as FBI man's mother 
bent to kiss his forehead fondly before 
taking her leave of her son. As the 
woman emerged from her son's room 
and approached him, tears were shining 
in her eyes, threatening to spill over.


"He wants me to go back home,"  she 
announced, her voice betraying only a

slight tremor as she spoke. "Says there's 
nothing more for me to do here

except worry myself ill.  I wanted to 
stay and take care of him, you

know--for as long as it might take.  
But he won't hear of it. I guess its

nothing less than I deserve."


"This was not directed at you." 
Albert touched her arm compassionately,

allowing a brief silence to communicate 
his rejection of her observation even as 
his words strove to do the same. 
  

"I wasn't there for him for so many 
years.  You can't abandon someone to

their own hurt for so long and not 
expect them to find other ways to

cope..." Mrs. Mulder was saying, her 
voice tinged with self recrimination.


Albert frowned. Her words did hold a 
certain truth, the FBI man had

learned long ago to deal with his 
pain by hiding it--and himself--away.  
But she was wrong to take it personally, 
as a rejection of herself. It was, he

knew a realization that she must make 
herself, and one which she might never

be able to see. The Navajo elder's 
compassionate nature wished to assert

itself, to help ease the way between 
mother and son.  But it was not his

place. He had said and done what he 
could, the rest was in the hands of the

spirits.


"Thank you, Mister Hosteen, for your 
kindness and for helping my son.  I

hope you do know that it is appreciated."  
Mrs. Mulder spoke, regaining more

of her poise.  She squeezed his hand 
between both of her own briefly, then,

her natural dignity reasserting itself, 
she looked one final time into her

son's room, and moved down the hall.


Albert knew that his own time here 
was growing short. Before he could

leave and return to his home, he 
knew he must speak once more with the

FBI woman. 
 

More than any other, it was she who 
held the power to heal the wounded

spirit of the FBI man. But despite her 
triumph in coaxing him back to the 
world of the living, he knew she lacked 
an appreciation for her own ability to 
effect the necessary remedy.  
It was a curious failing in one

trained to heal that she should be so 
blind to her natural power.


All Albert could do would be to tell 
her once again, and hope, for the sake

of both the FBI Man and the FBI woman, 
that he could finally make her

understand.

 x 

End Cursum Perficio (Part 27 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio  (Part 28 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Dana was surprised when she stepped 
from the elevator on the intensive care

floor  Monday mid-afternoon and was 
immediately greeted by the Lone Gunmen

trio.


"Agent Scully!" Frohike was smiling at her.  
Behind him Langly and Byers stood, 
looking as though they had spent a 
worse night than she had and definitely 
uncomfortable to be where they were.


Scully's eyes narrowed, sensing a plot afoot.


"Guys,  hi....." she began as she watched 
Byers fidget noticeably and Langly look 
away guiltily while Frohike forged on 
with an ebullience that he could not 
know seem forced.  


"How's Mulder?" Dana asked suspiciously, 
eyeing the three for their reactions.


"Doctors say he can be transferred 
out of ICU any time now."  Frohike

responded quickly, while over his 
shoulders Langly and Byers served as a

sort of unconscious lie detector. 
Their reactions told her that that much

was true at least, and it was nothing 
less than she herself had predicted.


"Good.  You said last night you were 
going to stay the night, just in case

something happened.  I trust every-
thing was okay? No midnight black ops

sortees or anything of that nature that 
I should know about?"


"Nothing!"  Frohike asserted, while 
Langly fidgeted and Byers was the one

who looked guiltily way.  


Scully crossed her arms across 
her chest and looked at the three men

pointedly, each in turn.  "That's good, 
because if I find out that something

did happen and no one let me know, 
there is going to be hell to pay. Asses

kicked."


Frohike looked suddenly less sure 
of himself. His companions exhibited

even more discomposure than they 
had just seconds earlier.


"You might as well tell me what you 
are trying so hard not to.  I'll find

out anyway."


"We promised we wouldn't, Agent Scully.  
We don't like to go back on our

word,"  Frohike stated dejectedly.


"Who did you promise?"  Dana pressed on, 
hardening her features. It was a

difficult charade, she felt a deep sense 
of gratitude to these men for

supporting her in so many ways during 
Mulder's disappearance, and a growing

sense of camaraderie that she had 
never felt  towards them before. But if

it was as she suspected and Mulder 
had drafted their assistance in 
keeping something from her, she 
would get to the bottom of it.


"Mulder,"  Langly supplied forlornly.


"Uh-huh,"  Scully averred.  Bingo! 


"He just didn't want to worry you, 
I'm sure,"  Byers offered soothingly.


"And it turns out it wasn't that serious, 
really,"  Frohike chimed in. "I mean it was 
pretty scary while it happened but he 
snapped out of it fairly well."


It was Scully's turn to be nonplused.  
She found her emotional self rapidly 
turning over any number of scenarios 
until the  more logical, rational part 
of her personality insisted she step 
back and get more information.


"Just what DID happen?"  Dana questioned 
rather more shrilly than she would

have liked.


"We're not sure what started it, 
but we were outside his room when 
we heard him yell-" Langly began.


"And we ran into his room to find 
him doubled over. He was in terrible

pain," Byers continued.


Frohike picked up the narrative.  
"So Byers ran for the doctors and I was

going to have Langly call you, but 
Mulder wouldn't let me--"  


"Wouldn't let you?  An invalid?  
How could he have stopped you?"
Scully interrupted incredulously.


"You had to be there, Scully,"  Frohike 
assured, continuing quickly.  "Anyway, 
the doctors came. They said it was 
a muscle spasm, gave him some

medication and put him in traction.  
So it really wasn't anything to disturb

you over."


"I'd like to have been the judge of that.  
I thought he was in a great deal

of pain before I left last night,  but 
he wouldn't admit it. Stubborn ass."


Scully muttered, half rhetorically:  
"What is  it with him?"


"You've got to swear not to make a 
big deal of this Agent Scully. I did

promise that we wouldn't let you 
know any of this. But we got to talking

and there is no way around the fact t
hat he's got a leg in traction, and his

chart notes are going to show what 
happened, and all you would have to do

would be to ask any of his doctors 
to find out about it.  Eventually he'll

figure out that it was a promise that 
couldn't be kept, but there is no

sense getting him all upset now, is 
there?" Frohike pleaded.


Dana could see the wisdom of 
what he was saying, "I'll swear up and 
down it didn't come from you guys, 
if it becomes an issue. And I will try 
to see that it doesn't. Has anything 
else happened I should know about?"


"Other than Mulder sending his 
mother home, nothing.  He's 
been asleep most of the morning,  
Your mother is back in there sitting 
with him right now and Albert Hosteen is 
filling in for us on point." Frohike soothed.


"He sent Teena home?"  Scully pounced 
immediately on the item of information 
that the Lone Gunman had tried so 
desperately to introduce nonchalantly. 
"And she went?"


All three Lone Gunmen nodded in unison.


"Skinner appointed someone to guard 
her after we found the body last night.

Last I heard that agent was taking 
her to the airport." Byers supplied

helpfully.


Scully shook her head in disbelief,  
"He ought to be sleeping, he's had a

busy morning!  I can hardly wait for 
him to be back on his feet, I'm

personally going to kick his ass for 
being a jerk."


With that pronouncement, Dana 
Scully stalked down the hall and toward

Mulder's room, leaving the Lone 
Gunmen to gaze after her.


After a moment of silence, Byers looked 
at Frohike, who looked at Langly,

who gazed back at Byers with a 
look of resignation on his face.


"Are you sure we just did the right 
thing?"  Langly asked morosely, shooting 
a glance up the hallway in time to see 
Dana Scully enter Mulder's intensive care unit.


Frohike heaved a big sigh, "Sometimes 
you've got to give away the little

things to protect the larger ones.  
There was no way she wasn't going to

find out about last night. If Mulder was 
thinking straight, he'd have seen

that. I had to promise him I wouldn't tell 
her about it to get him to calm

down."


"So what's the larger thing you're 
trying to protect by giving that away?"
 

Byers asked, an eyebrow cocked at his 
compatriot.


Frohike cast a glance between his 
friends.  "Something I can't tell you

right now--and maybe never. You'll just have 
to trust me that its important

and keeping my word on another 
promise is,--well, its a matter of honor."


Byers and Langly both looked at the 
smaller man penetratingly, but seeing

the resolve in his face, decided to leave 
it at that.  

 

 x 

End Cursum Perficio (Part 28 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 29 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x
Scully's anger faded abruptly as she 
stepped into Mulder's room. 
 

It seemed odd, that in the few 
hours that she had been away 
from this place that some of 
the memory of it had faded, 
that she could still be overwhelmed

coming back. Improvement, 
she knew, was always relative, 
and while her professional, trained 
self saw and noted signs of recovery, 
her more emotional side was unnerved 
all over again by how frail and ill 
Mulder still looked. She sighed wearily, 
met her mother's eyes over her 
partner's sleeping form, and quietly 
approached the bed.


"He's been sleeping peacefully all morning, "
her mother offered quietly, rising. 
 

Dana nodded and looked away from 
her mother and towards Mulder. She

reached out, her hand hovering over  
her partner's bandaged head, wanting

the comfort of touch, but strangely 
fearful of disturbing him. She dropped

her hand away regretfully. She forced 
herself to look toward his tractioned

leg, then back toward her mother. 


"He didn't have a very good night 
after I left, apparently. He was in

terrible pain. I suspected  it, and 
I still let him persuade me to leave."


Margaret Scully gently laid Mulder's 
hand on the bed and moved around the

bed to go to her daughter, embracing 
her warmly, then guiding her gently

from the room.


"Your father dislocated his shoulder 
once, roughhousing with the boys, he

would sooner have died than let on 
that it hurt him at all. I practically

had to twist that same arm to get him 
to go to the base hospital. Fox

reminds me of him in some respects."  
Margaret ventured, glancing back into

the room.


Dana looked at her mother, smiling at 
the obvious fondness she detected in

Maggie's voice and manner. Then she 
sobered, following her mother's gaze.
 

"Frohike told me he sent his mother 
home."


Margaret Scully nodded, her gaze 
swinging back to meet her daughter's.
"I shouldn't say anything about 
someone I've hardly been introduced to--
but I couldn't believe that she allowed 
him to do that, that she went without a

fight."


Dana looked down, unable to meet 
her mother's eyes, wishing that 
she had made it to the hospital 
before that particular drama had 
taken place. 
  

"They've had a problematic 
relationship, Mom.  His sister's 
disappearance destroyed the 
family in a fundamental sense, 
they were never able to put the

pieces back together."  Dana 
offered by way of explanation.


Maggie Scully frowned,  "I know it's 
none of my business but why keep

repeating the mistakes of the past?  
No child of mine could have persuaded

me to go while they were still so sick.  
Fox did try, you know, but I wouldn't budge.  
I held my ground until his mother came in."


Dana smiled lovingly at her mother, 
and enfolded her in a hug. "Have I told

you lately how special you are?" Scully 
lost herself for a few moments  in

the safety and comfort of her mother's arms.


"Agent Scully?"  a voice intoned softly 
from behind the two women. Dana

turned to find herself facing Albert 
Hosteen. The Navajo elder had been

sitting in the guard position just 
outside Mulder's room as the Lone Gunmen

had said.  Scully had been in such high 
dudgeon when she had originally

entered the room that she had done 
little more than nod in his direction by

way of greeting. Mindful of that abrupt 
greeting, she moved forward now and

took Albert's offered hand.


"I'm sorry Albert, I didn't mean to 
be rude...."


"Your attention was elsewhere.  
That is as it should be. I need to 
talk to you before I leave."


Dana glanced at her mother, who 
taking the cue, moved back into Mulder's

room and to his bedside. Scully walked 
away from the room, pausing some

distance away as Hosteen followed.


"You're leaving? Of course you need to 
get back to your family.  I can't

thank you enough for coming--he 
may not have expressed it to you, but 
I know it also means a lot to Mulder."  
Scully offered warmly.


Hosteen's kindly old eyes looked into 
hers, so penetratingly she felt he

could see into her soul. 


"My work here is done, I have 
done what I can. There is much still

needing to be attended to, but I 
cannot be the one to do so. That 
I must leave to you."  Albert stated.


Dana looked at the Navajo elder, 
her expression searching,  "I know there

is something wrong, but I seem to be 
the last person to be able to do

anything about it. I can't seem to 
reach him."


Albert shook his head, "You are 
the only one who can reach him. Your

connection here,"  he brought his hand 
to his heart, "has brought him back

to the living world...."


"I can't  take the credit for that...."  
Scully interrupted abruptly, her

voice then faltering as she read 
a summary dismissal of her 
assertion in Hosteen's expression.


"Now you must work with this 
connection,"  Albert tapped his temple, 
"to give him back his spirit. Much depends 
on this.  Perhaps everything."


"He hasn't listened to me for 
so long, Albert, I think you 
overestimate my power to help him." 
Scully responded, the defeat and 
desperation that had haunted her 
throughout the long night asserting 
itself again.


"No. You underestimate your power." 
Albert paused, his expression softening. 
"The fox is a solitary creature, keeping 
always to itself, trusting no one.  
When injured its first instinct is to 
hide and lick its wounds. The FBI man was 
named well on his natal day. Like the fox 
the FBI man gives trust grudgingly, 
but once the trust is given it creates a bond

that can never be broken.  You must 
believe in your bond, you must use it.


"You are a healer.  You can do this thing."


Scully felt adrift, bereft, lost in the 
conundrum with which Hosteen had

presented her. His logic seemed 
so straightforward, his faith  
unshakable. She wished she could 
share it. There was little else 
she wanted more than to help Mulder 
and there was nothing she felt so 
powerless to do.  "You see things so 
clearly, Albert. I can't persuade you 
to stay to help? To guide me?"


Albert shook his head, sadly, "I would 
stay if I could help.  This is something 
only you can accomplish.  You must 
find the faith in yourself and

you will find the power."


"Scully looked at Hosteen, then 
stepped forward, embracing the 
Navajo elder, an embrace he 
returned warmly.


"Courage, little one,"  he said gently.


"Scully nodded against his chest, 
then turned and walked away, toward

Mulder's room.


Albert watched her go. Then he returned 
to his seat to await the return of

the men who called themselves the 
Lone Gunmen.


 x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 29 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 30 of 58)
by LAAdolf

"Hi, there,"  Scully greeted him, smiling.  
Her color was more robust and

the circles beneath her eyes had 
faded, but she still looked tired and worn.


Mulder closed his eyes again for a 
moment, hoping that his anguish 
did not betray itself on his face.  
There was no escape from his 
responsibility and no place to hide.  
He opened his eyes again.


"Hi,"  he responded quietly, watching 
his partner for a long moment, then

sparing a glance around the room.  
He was somewhat surprised to find 
he was no longer in the same room 
he had awakened to before. There had, 
of course, been mention of moving him 
out of intensive care, but he had not 
counted on sleeping through the 
transfer when it finally took place.


Scully seemed to sense his confusion, 
she took his hand in both her own

and began to speak.


"You missed quite a show Mulder.  
Langly was taking point and Frohike was

protecting your flank, and Byers was 
serving as rear guard. I don't think

many transfers out  of ICU cause the 
stir that yours did."


Mulder allowed a small smile to 
curl the corners of his mouth, losing

himself for a moment in the warmth 
of Scully's  answering smile.
 

Scully looked away, toward his 
tractioned leg. Mulder allowed his 
gaze to follow hers, then watched 
the play of emotions on his 
partner's face.


"I've read your chart, Mulder. I know 
from the notes what happened last

night after I left." Scully commented 
quietly,  her gaze fixed on her hands 
which still held his.  
       

"One...of the drawbacks of having 
a doctor as a partner,"  Mulder noted. 


He'd meant it as a wry observation, 
but the words came out flat and

emotionless, even to his own ears.
   

Scully cocked her head at him.  
"I knew you were in pain, Mulder.   
There wasn't anything to protect me 
from.  We've been through too much 
to play these kind of games with 
each other."


"Sorry," Mulder admitted, 
chagrined. He closed his eyes 
for a moment, then opened them 
again. 


"Just don't do it again." Scully 
was looking at him directly once more,
her blue-green eyes imparting the 
warning of dire consequences for

disobedience.  


"Wouldn't dream of it."  Mulder 
murmured.  


"Good. Now, do you want to explain 
to me why you told Teena to go home?"


Mulder frowned, "You know about that?"


"I tortured it out of Frohike,"  Scully 
stated completely straight faced,

and for a moment Mulder didn't 
doubt but that she had.


"There was nothing to be gained in 
her staying,  Scully, she would only

have worried herself sick.  Besides, 
I'm doing fine, right?"  Mulder

attempted what he hoped was a 
ingenuous smile.


"You're going to be fine, but you're 
not there yet. Did it occur to you

that she might worry more back 
home, where instead of being able 
to see your progress on a daily 
basis she has to hear about it 
second or third hand?"  Scully's 
voice was mild, but Mulder could 
tell that his partner was

genuinely upset with his decision 
to send his mother home.

But what could he tell her?  
That her relationship with her 
mother was not the same as his

with his? That he had done so long 
without the comfort of a close maternal

bond, that having his mother hovering 
worriedly over him now seemed surreal

and uncomfortable?  

He couldn't expect her to 
understand any of that--she

had an entirely different frame 
of reference. 
 

 Better to try a different tactic.


"The farther away she is from me, 
the safer she will be," Mulder ventured,

pulling his hand away from the cocoon 
of her smaller ones. As difficult as

it was to break that bond of touch, 
it was something he needed to do just

now, as he prepared to fight dirty.  
"Which is the important thing. It's

also something you need to consider.


Scully frowned at him, "Meaning?"


"Someone wanted me dead badly 
enough to follow me to Casey's and 
toss me down an elevator shaft.   
Someone presumably not overjoyed 
that the reopening of the X-Files 
has been announced.  You've announced 
your intention to stay with the FBI, t
o continue work on the X-Files.  I don't

think I need to go over recent history 
one more time.  You're the next

likely target. And if they can't get to 
you directly, there are other ways.
Who is protecting your mother when 
she goes to my apartment to feed my

fish, for example?"  Mulder paused.


Scully seemed to be studying him 
for a moment, her expression unreadable.
  

"Skinner provides my mother with an 
escort to and from your apartment and

he's arranged for some protective 
surveillance for her at home. Skinner

personally escorted me home last night, 
where he had already dispatched a 

security team to sweep my apartment 
before he would allow me to enter. Not

only do you have Frohike, Langly and 
Byers working guard duty outside your

room, but Skinner also has a security 
detail working the hospital.  We're

probably safer around you than any 
where on the planet right now." Scully

responded, looking at him levelly.  

(continued in part 31)

End Cursum Perficio (Part 30 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 31 of 58)
by LAAdolf





"They still managed to dump a body in 
the hospital parking lot, right under

the collective nose of all this security." 
Mulder paused, watching for Scully's 
reaction.


"Who told you about that?"  Scully 
queried. He had obviously surprised her

with his knowledge of the events of 
the night before.


"You're not the only one who can 
torture Frohike for information you 
know."


Mulder responded, hoping his energy 
would hold up a bit longer, so he could

play all his cards.


"Poor Frohike,"  Scully commented, 
unfazed.  "suppose he also told you

that the man we believe actually 
attacked you was found dead just a 
few blocks away from Casey's the 
day after you disappeared? And 
that Skinner found a surveillance 
photo not far from last night's body 
which connected the two dearly 
departed--presumably plotting your 
assassination?"


Mulder nodded.  Actually he hadn't 
known that, and only knew what he did

about the events of the night before 
from what he had been able to overhear

the Lone Gunmen discussing in the 
corridor outside his room.  But Scully

didn't need to know that....  


"That doesn't mean that the threat 
is gone."  Mulder commented.


"Precisely why no one has pulled back 
any of the security measures, Mulder.

I repeat, I'm in the safest place I can 
be right now. And this is where I intend 
to stay. At least until you're back on 
your feet, or ready to be

released.  Whichever comes first."
 

Mulder frowned. All his well reasoned 
arguments were having no effect

whatsoever on his intractable partner. 
 

"And how long is that going to be?"  
Mulder asked.  "They told me what all

is wrong--but they didn't bother to say 
how long it is going to be before I

can leave."


Scully considered for a moment, 
"Your progress has been very good 
so far. Provided there aren't any 
setbacks, and the infection continues 
to respond to the antibiotics, and 
you do well with the physical therapy 
that hip is going to require---probably 
three weeks, give or take a few days."


Mulder absorbed this information with 
a growing sense of unease.


"Three weeks?" he repeated faintly.  
He closed his eyes for a minute, then

opened them, looking at his partner 
with undisguised asperity "Scully, don't

you have a job, a life?"
 

His partner gave him a sly grin, "I've got 
three weeks of accumulated vacation time, 
which Skinner has already approved for 
me to take, starting today.  And for 
the next three weeks, this is my 
life, Mulder.  Like it or not, I'm not 
going anywhere."


Mulder sighed, and determinedly, 
closed his eyes. He was exhausted from

the effort this latest battle of wills 
had exacted from him, and he didn't

even have the satisfaction of having 
scored a victory. Why did she have to

make this so difficult?  He knew what 
he had to do, why couldn't she, just

once, let him do it without 
complicating everything with her 
damnable logic?


He was nearly asleep, almost in 
spite of himself, when he felt Scully's

warm, soft fingers closing gently, yet 
firmly around his hand once again. 


He should pull away from the comfort 
of that touch, but his strength and

endurance failed him, and at last he 
slipped back into a healing slumber.


Scully watched as her partner drifted 
off to sleep.  She could not savor

her triumph, it had come at too high 
a price, draining still too precious

reserves of Mulder's strength.  She 
knew what he was trying to do--chase her

away, just as he had his own mother 
earlier today. Once again he was

rejecting a return to the status 
quo of their partnership as it had

been--when?  Before Dallas?  She 
was finding it hard to remember.

Still, she had had to stand her 
ground, there had been no other 
choice. 


She would just have to choose 
her battlefields carefully, with 
an eye to Mulder's continued progress.  
She could not allow herself to baited into

unnecessary clashes against the 
infamous Mulder will, but she could 
also not allow him to ride roughshod 
over her in his seemingly determined 
effort to distance himself from her.  
There was a mystery to be solved here, 
depths to be plumbed, answers 
to be found.


She would find them.

  

 x


End Cursum Perficio (Part 31 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 32 of 58)
by LAAdolf



x 

Assistant Director Skinner met 
Scully's eyes levelly.


"I don't know how to say this...." 
He began, chagrin evident in his

expression.


He had just left Mulder's room 
where only a few minutes earlier he had

entered flowers in one hand and the 
very real and deeply felt relief at his

agent's improvement evident in his 
demeanor. The expression on his face now

spoke of not only frustrated expectations, 
but an unexpected sense of confusion.


"Sir?"  Scully, who had just returned to 
Mulder's room from dinner--off to

which she had been strong-armed by 
Frohike and Byers sometime

earlier--looked at her superior quizzically.


"Have you two had some sort of 
falling out?" Skinner finally asked,

gesturing back toward Mulder's room 
vaguely.


"No, sir.  Why?" Scully did not 
consider her reply dissembling, for in

fact there had been no real 
disagreement, except about her 
presence here at the hospital.  
And even that had amounted to 
little more than conflicting

opinions about its appropriateness.  
Hers had simply been the stronger

argument. 


"Agent Mulder has requested...uh.."  
Skinner paused as though considering

his next words carefully, "that you be 
reassigned. Out of your partnership, 
out of the X-files. Immediately."

Scully's eyes widened briefly. Damn the man! 


"May I ask what you told him, sir?"


Skinner glanced back over his shoulder, 
then gently touching Scully's arm,

he  drew her across the hall and 
farther out of earshot of the occupant 
of the room behind him. "I told him, as 
firmly as I could, that any personnel

changes would be considered at such 
a time as the two of you were officially

reassigned to the X-Files. And that t
he decision was not his to make.  And

that even if it were, any major decisions 
about anything at this point should wait 
until he's recovered completely."


"Thank you, sir."  Scully replied,  
"That was excellent advice."


Skinner eyed her penetratingly,  
"So, is this coming as far out of left

field as it seems to me right now?  
Should I be worried about Mulder's

mental health or emotional well being?  
Is this consistent with his recent

experience?"
 

Scully sighed.  Skinner's concern was 
obviously sincere and deeply felt. 

The trouble was, she wasn't any 
closer to understanding her partner's

intransigence now than she had been 
weeks ago. 


"He was convinced I should sever all 
ties with him and the X-Files before

his disappearance, sir, so no, this 
really isn't anything new.  I can't say

that his recent experience hasn't colored 
his perceptions of the urgency of

the matter, but as for being some sort 
of aberration caused by the stress of

his ordeal...no, I don't think it is that.  
At least not exactly. I don't

think I fully understand myself where 
he is coming from.  I know he is

worried about people he is close to 
being made targets by association with

him--but I have a sense there is 
something more behind this. I wish I had

an answer.  Right now, all I have are 
more questions."


Skinner sighed, nodding.  "Right 
now his energy should be focused on

healing himself. I told him that, too.  
He's never listened to me before

though and I doubt he will now.  
But we can hope, I suppose.  He is still

making good progress, isn't he, Scully?"


Dana allowed herself a small smile, 
which she hoped offered some

reassurance to the obviously worried 
assistant director,  "He's doing very

well considering everything he's been 
through, he's really got an  amazing

recuperative capacity. And I guess 
we should take his being such a stubborn

ass as a good sign, things are getting 
back to normal faster than we could

have expected."


Skinner laughed and seemed to 
relax visibly.  "Good point, agent," 
he chuckled.  


Scully smiled broadly, even as 
an inspiration  struck her. 


"Sir," she began after a moment of 
contemplation of the notion's

ramifications. In some respects 
the idea made no sense at all, what 
could be gained by it after all?  
But she decided to forge ahead anyway.  
Albert Hosteen had instructed her to 
trust her instincts after all.  "has the

elevator shaft been sealed yet?  I know 
you mentioned something yesterday

about them welding the doors shut 
so that nothing like this could happen

again.  Has that happened yet?"


Skinner shook his head, "With the weekend, 
and the fact that we had forensics

crawling over the entire building for 
most of it, no it hasn't.  We've

released the crime scene, but the owner 
of the building hasn't had time yet

to contract the work. He wasn't expecting 
anything to happen until day

after tomorrow at the earliest.  Why?"


"I want to go back there, sir.  I'm not sure 
why, but I have to see the place where 
Mulder was trapped for so long.   
Try to make some sense of how

he survived at all I guess.  For my 
own peace of mind, maybe."  Scully

admitted.


Skinner gave her an appraising look, 
then slowly, nodded.  "I've got the

keys to the elevator shaft doors.  
I'll meet you in front of the building at

ten  a.m. tomorrow if you that will 
suit."


"Sir, I don't expect you to accompany 
me there.  There hasn't been any

threat proved...."


Skinner waved his hand in dismissal,  
"Maybe I need to see it again too,

Scully. For my peace of mind. Ten o'clock 
then?" 


Scully nodded. She hadn't expected to 
have company on her unforeseen

excursion she could think of no 
reason insist on solitude, and 
she doubted that any argument she 
might have presented would have 
been successful against Skinner anyway.  
In some ways, she was even glad for 
the company.


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 32 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 33 of 58)
by LAAdolf





The sound of a disagreement drifted into 
Mulder's dream, forcibly inserting

itself into the existing imagery of 
the reverie.  He'd been dreaming about

Scully, trying to explain to her yet 
again  the necessity of keeping her

distance from him. The dream-Scully 
had been every bit as intractable as

the waking version, refusing to listen 
to him yet again, frustrating his

every effort to make her see sense.


The Lone Gunmen had been in the dream 
too, silent witnesses to his argument 
with Scully. He found himself increasingly 
irritated by their very presence and was 
just on the verge of telling the trio so 
when Frohike transformed himself from 
elfin man to ferocious bulldog. As the

dream-Mulder watched in fascination, 
the Frohike-bulldog bristled at the

approach of a shadowy figure, growling 
as it emerged from the shadows.


"What the hell are you doing here?!" the 
Frohike-dog barked as the Cigarette 
Smoking Man coalesced in Mulder's line of 
dream-vision.


His nemesis cast a disdainful glance 
at Frohike, even as the bulldog

stiffened even further, trying to 
make himself physically larger.


"I've come," the older man said with 
quiet menace,  "to visit Agent Mulder.  
I just heard about his unfortunate accident.  
I wanted to pay my respects and 
check on his progress."


At some point during the brief 
exchange, it dawned on Mulder 
that the dream was not complete 
fantasy. He struggled against the 
drugs in his system and the exhaustion
he felt to force himself awake.


"You're NOT going in there,"  The voice 
was Frohike's, and it was real. As

Mulder's eyes opened to the reality 
of his hospital room, he could see

Frohike and Byers blocking the entrance 
to his hospital room, and over Frohike's 
head, he could just catch a glimpse of  
good ole Smoky.

... Talk about waking nightmares....


"I've checked with the nurses, Agent 
Mulder is being allowed visitors now

that he is out of Intensive Care."


"Friends and family only,"  Frohike growled 
at the larger figure just as menacingly 
as his canine counterpart had in Mulder's 
dream.  


"His mother is his only family, and 
I know she has returned to her home in

Connecticut. And I am an old fried of 
the family. Certainly allowances can

be made?"


Mulder shook off the last of his 
lethargy at the mention of his mother. 

Smoky knew she'd gone home?   
Knew she'd even been here? 


"Frohike, FROHIKE!"
  

The elfin Lone Gunman spun as 
Mulder's voice interrupted what 
had promised to be a colorful response.  
Frohike looked at Mulder owlishly for 
a moment, and was nearly ready to 
wheel around to face Cigarette Smoking 
Man with a renewed ferocity for having 
disturbed the patient, when a gesture from

Mulder stopped him.
  

"Let him in, Frohike," Mulder's voice 
was quietly authoritative.


"But, Mulder---" Frohike protested 
immediately, looking at Mulder as

though he suspected madness or 
delirium.  He exchanged a quick 
look with Byers his  expression 
begging confirmation or denial 
of his suspicions. 


Byers shrugged, looking at Mulder 
calmly, then turning to meet Frohike's

puzzled glare.


"You heard the man. He's an old friend 
of the family.  Let him in."  Mulder 
repeated. 
 

Frohike shot a look at Mulder that 
promised a full interrogation later on,

but acquiesced, moving slightly to 
the side of the doorway, and indicating

the older man toward the entrance. 
 

"We'll be right outside, Mulder...
We can be all over him in thirty seconds

if you need us." Frohike looked Cigarette 
Smoking Man up and down threateningly 
for a full half minute, much to the 
older man's amusement. 


"Come to admire your handiwork, 
Smoky?  Or to finish the job?"  Mulder

asked his nemesis as the Cigarette 
Smoking Man entered the room and 
came to stand at the foot of his bed.  
Mulder could swear that the temperature of

the room rose a full five degrees with 
the other man's entrance, and he

wondered if it were his imagination 
that he sensed the vague scent of 
sulfur in the room.
  

At first, the other man made no reply.
Instead he looked Mulder over thoroughly 
and searchingly for a long minute, as 
though satisfying himself of something.  
Mulder was aware of a fleeting 
expression of what seemed to

be relief mixed with concern, 
crossing the older man's features. 


"I told your mother and I will now 
tell you, that I had nothing to do with

what happened to you. In fact, I am
 relieved to see you doing so well,

Fox."


"When did you talk to my mother?"  
Mulder challenged, chilled by the

knowledge that while he had been 
laying here helpless, this man had 
somehow been able to approach 
his mother.


"On the phone the night after you 
disappeared. She called me. And the day

before yesterday, outside her hotel room.  
I understand you have since sent

her home. Laudable, sparing her a 
bedside vigil, but not very accommodating

of her maternal instincts."


"It keeps her farther away from you, 
at least."  Mulder replied. At some

future point he would have to check
the veracity of what his enemy had 
said with Teena, but it could wait--
would have to wait for another place 
and time.  It was all he could do at 
present to keep his eyes focused and fixed

on the older man.


"I would never harm your mother, Fox.  
She knows that, and so should you,"


Cigarette Smoking Man's voice 
sounded vaguely affronted.
 

Mulder gave thought to replying with a 
pointed retort, but he knew that ole

Smoky would like nothing better than 
to bait him into a war of words, into

doubting everyone around him.  He'd 
drawn Mulder into that trap before, 
too easily and too successfully. 
There was no point playing that game 
any longer, and even if there were 
a point to it, Mulder was too tired, too

damnably weak to play.


"I'll try to keep that in mind."  
He finally said, fighting the weariness

that pulled him toward the oblivion of sleep, 
"You'll forgive me, however, if... I take 
your protestations of innocence with... a.... 
shaker or two of salt."


The Cigarette Smoking Man was 
studying him again, and Mulder 
was further frustrated by his 
inability to hide his frailty from 
his adversary. The quaver in his 
voice had betrayed the tenuous 
hold he currently had on his

senses, and he knew his enemy 
missed nothing... 


"Of course, I would expect 
nothing less,"  the older man 
replied.  "The nurses told me 
I should limit my visit to five minutes. 
I'll leave you to your rest, Fox."


Mulder watched as his enemy gave 
him one last, searching look, then 
turned and left the room. Mulder 
fought to keep his eyes open, 
watching the man's retreating 
back as he paused to exchange 
glares with Frohike, then

disappeared down the hall.

Frohike and Byers rushed into 
the room in the wake of the other 
man's leaving it, hovering around 
Mulder concernedly, as though 
checking for any damage the 
Cigarette Smoking man might have 
been able to inflict through

sheer proximity. 

Mulder tried to  reassure them 
that he was fine, just awfully tired, 
and that against all odds their sinister 
friend's visit had been benign, if 
puzzling. But he lost his struggle 
to maintain consciousness even as 
words were forming on his lips, and 
his last  memory was of Frohike 
bending over him, saying his name.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 33 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 34 of 58)
by LAAdolf



x


Scully stood for a moment, glancing 
up at the morning sun as it filtered

weakly down the shaft from the skylight 
above, then she allowed her eyes to

drop once more to the elevator shaft 
floor. She suppressed a shudder 
as her early physics training kicked 
in and she  mentally calculated the 
force with which a body falling some 
eighty odd feet would hit the shaft 
bottom.  It was nothing short of 
miraculous that Mulder hadn't been 
killed on impact....


Dana knew that Skinner was standing 
back, watching her concernedly, 
and she could not blame him. 
It was not logical to be back here, 
to want to be back here where her 
partner had nearly died. There was 
absolutely nothing to be gained by 
being here. Everything of any value 
had by now, been photographed, 
cataloged and analyzed by any 
number of experts in the Bureau. 
Within twenty four hours the shaft 
would be sealed forever against any 
repeat of the events that had led

to Mulder being trapped here--that 
should be enough to satisfy anyone. 

Scully bent down, noting the dried 
pool of blood that still stained the

elevator cage floor. From Mulder's 
head wound, scalp lacerations always

bled profusely. It had been a similar 
patch, brought to visibility  by the

Luminol lamp that had led them 
down here, had led to Mulder's 
finally being found.  


Dana realized abruptly that one 
reason she had had to come here 
was to make peace with the fact 
that it was her fault that Mulder 
had not been found sooner.  
She had stood, two days into the 
search, over the very spot on the

roof where Mulder's blood had later 
been detected. As Langly had stood

peering down the skylight and seeing 
nothing out of the ordinary, she had

similarly not seen that very important 
piece of evidence that had still been

fairly fresh and probably more visible 
than it had later proved to be. 
  

She understood poignantly Langly's 
feeling of guilt and anguish--she felt

those same emotions too. 


And she remembered her dream --
the dream on the night that Mulder had

fallen.  While her logical mind wanted 
her to believe that it had been simple 
coincidence, another part of her 
knew it was not.  That same part of

her had convinced her that Mulder 
was not dead when her companions 
had tried to stop her from coming 
down to this very spot, which had 
refused to let him go when he began 
slipping away from her right here
...right here...just as she had 
foreseen in yet another dream.   
He had even spoken the words she'd

dreamt, just before he had stopped 
breathing...


"...Scully...?  Agent Scully?"  It was 
Skinner's voice, reaching her as

though across a distance. Dana 
shook herself mentally and turned 
her head to look at her superior, 
framed in the elevator door.  
His expression was one of deep 
concern.


"Yes, sir?" she said, finally, standing 
up and turning to face him.


"Are you all right?"  Skinner began, 
moving closer, as though ready to

lend her physical support if she 
required it.


"I'm fine, sir.  Why do you ask?"
   

"You went suddenly very pale...  And 
you didn't respond to my calling 
your name."


Scully raised a hand to her face, 
"But I did, sir. Immediately."  She

protested.


Skinner shook his head, sadly,  
"No. On the half dozenth try.  I'm

beginning to think this wasn't a 
very good idea after all. How much 
sleep did you get last night?"


Dana shook her head, "Enough. 
I was just lost in thought. Imagining 
what it must have been like for 
Mulder to lie here, knowing he 
was trapped without much hope 
of rescue--unable to save himself.  
Knowing what it is like to be 
completely helpless and vulnerable.  
To be so alone....for so long...."


Skinner was silent, and finally, 
Scully turned to look at him again.  
His expression was a worried one, 
mixed with determination.  "There 
is nothing else to be done here.  
It's time we left."  


Scully looked back, back to 
where she'd found Mulder, 
her memory providing her with a 
flash of how he had looked as she 
had stumbled into the elevator

cage and to his side. She flinched 
involuntarily.


Skinner's hand was on her arm, 
taking her elbow gently, but firmly, 
"Now Scully.  Let's go see Mulder."


Dana wanted to resist, but she 
knew, somehow, that he was right.  
She had found what she had come for.  
She allowed herself to be led into the small

foyer space in front of the elevator 
doors, and waited, lost in thought, as

Skinner secured the doors once more.


 Ringo Langly's shaggy blonde head 
appeared around the corner of the

elevator shaft. The third Lone Gunman 
was paused on the bottom step of the

stairway that led down to this level.  


With a prescience that Scully should 
have expected from one of the trio,

Langly had materialized outside of 
Casey's Bar at the exact time she 
had arranged with Skinner the 
evening before. He had balked 
when they had decided, after taking 
one last look at the roof, to come 
down to this floor, deciding to wait 
on the ground floor for them to 
finish whatever it was Scully planned 
to do in the elevator cage. Apparently  
the memories of just a few days ago 
were alive enough in Langly's 
guilt-stricken brain that he did not feel 
the need she had to revisit this place.


"Agent Scully? Assistant Director 
Skinner? I just got a call from Byers at

the hospital. Mulder had an unexpected 
visitor a few minutes ago.  No

trouble, but apparently Mulder isn't 
doing so well at the moment...his fever

has spiked again."


"Wait a minute...a visitor?  What visitor?"
Skinner began, "no trouble?"


"It was Cigarette Smoking Man, Byers 
said. He and Frohike never took their

eyes off of him, he didn't do anything 
to Mulder, in fact, Mulder invited

him into his room, over Frohike's protests."


"But now Mulder's had a setback."  
Skinner responded. "I don't believe in

coincidences.  Scully?"


Both men looked at Scully, who 
stood transfixed, staring at Langly, her

eyes large and luminous.


"I shouldn't have left him alone,"  
she whispered, and before either man

could stop her, her stillness shattered 
and she was running, past Langly and

up the stairs.


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 34 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 35 of 58)
by LAAdolf

"Damn!" 


Even as he took off in pursuit of 
Agent Scully, Walter Skinner was 
berating himself for thinking that 
this visit to the site of Mulder's 
entrapment and near death might be 
a therapeutic thing, for Scully; for 
Langly whose presence he had not 
expected but had welcomed; and 
even for himself. 


For his own part, coming back to 
this place had enabled him to marvel 
yet again not only at Mulder's escape 
from more devastating and disabling

injury, but the miracle of his being 
pulled back from the brink of death 
by Scully's quick thinking, action and 
unshakable faith.  He also felt some

measure of satisfaction that he had 
pointed out the obstacles to an earlier

discovery of Mulder's whereabouts to 
Langly, uncovered as they had been by

the forensic team's minute examination 
of the elevator shaft, its lighting

and structure, all of which had conspired
to hide the fallen agent's presence rather 
than reveal it. Langly still had some 
issues to grapple within his own psyche, 
but Skinner hoped that he had taken a 
first step towards forgiving himself 
for his perceived culpability. 


Skinner would have felt completely at 
ease with their trip here before the

shaft was sealed permanently, had 
it not been for the haunted look that

appeared in Scully's expressive eyes 
as soon as she had stepped back into

the elevator cage. In spite of her 
protestations, he had seen almost

immediately that far from ameliorating  
her own personal demons as regarded

the disappearance  of her partner, 
returning to the scene of the "crime" had

in fact put her farther into the grip of 
those demons.


"Scully!"  Skinner skidded to a halt 
next to Dana Scully as she fumbled

with the keys to her car door. As she 
snatched at the unlocked door handle,

he braced his arm against the door 
frame, stopping her progress.


"Sir!"  Dana protested, looking up at 
him, expression angry, combative.


"I don't think you are in any shape 
to drive right now.  Let's hold up for

a minute, catch our breath, and 
think this out." 


"I've got to get back, Mulder--"  
Scully argued, her eyes ablaze with

indignation.


"--Is in the best medical hands in 
the District--getting yourself killed in

a car accident on the way back to 
the hospital is hardly going to help him

at this point."


Scully's frustration expressed 
itself in a scowl and almost pugilistic 
body language. Her disgust with his 
assessment of her emotional state was

evident, but he could not be sure 
if the disgust was with him or with

herself.


"I'm fully capable of driving myself 
back to the hospital. I'm not some

hysteric," she stated. 


"I know.  But I also know you're 
worried sick about Mulder, so 
much so that you've spent much 
of the last hour in state of distraction 
so deep you weren't responding 
to outside stimulus. Moving vehicles 
and distraction spell disaster, Scully.  
I'll drive you back to the hospital. If 
it takes that, I'll make it an 
official order."


"What about your car?"


"Byers dropped Langly off here  
on his way to the hospital, Langly needs

transportation--he can drive my car over.  
Here he comes,  I'll give him the keys."


Without taking his hand from Scully's 
doorframe, he turned and addressed

Langly, tossing the blonde man the 
keys to his sedan. Langly nodded and

waved as he jogged over, climbed 
in Skinner's car and waited, seeming 
to prefer that they led the way back 
to the Mulder's hospital.


Skinner swung his gaze back to 
his recalcitrant agent, meeting 
her glare boldly. He reached down and 
put his hand out to her, palm up. 
 

Reluctantly, Scully dropped the keys 
into his hand, and marched to the

passenger side of the car. Opening 
the door and climbing in she crossed 
her arms over her chest in a defiant 
action after she belted herself in.


Skinner climbed into the driver's seat 
and immediately was brought to the

realization of the differences in their 
height when his knees impacted the

dash. Sparing his now smirking special 
agent a withering look, he adjusted

the seat backwards, started the 
engine, and drove off on what was 
to  prove to be a rather tense and 
silent trip the few miles across town.


          x


They arrived on Mulder's floor 
to find Frohike pacing outside the 
agent's room while Byers sat 
stoically in the self designated 
guard position.
 

Skinner made a  concerted effort t
o out-pace Scully--not a difficult

maneuver when the length of their 

respective strides was considered--
he arrived at the entry to Mulder's room

first, noted the presence of nursing staff 
within, and turned to Frohike, who paused 
his pacing and turned a worried scowl on 
the new arrivals. 


"How's Mulder?" he asked as Scully 
came to a halt next to him, Langly

close behind her.  Her anxious gaze 
zeroed in on the room's occupant and

the activity within.


Byers moved out of his chair and 
came to stand behind Frohike. He spoke in

his quiet, calm way, but his expressive 
eyes radiated worry as plainly as

did Frohike's downcast demeanor.


"The doctor said this particular 
complication isn't totally unexpected in

the case of injuries like Mulder's, and in 
light of his experience of the

past week, the enforced immobility 
then and now. He's developed what they

call hypostatic--"


"--pneumonia,"  Scully broke in finishing 
for him.  "Caused by  factors such as 
reduced mobility and prolonged 
unconsciousness which both allow the

accumulation of fluid in the lungs.  
There doesn't need to be any outside

contagion introduced, normally benign 
microorganisms in one's own throat

or mouth can be causative, due to 
the patient's already compromised 

immunological condition."


"But he's been on antibiotics, shouldn't 
they have been able to stop it?"


Skinner was incredulous.


Byers glanced at Scully, who remained silent. 
"Hospitals are hotbeds of antibiotic resistant 
strains of bacteria--it is possible, therefore, 
that he picked up something here--even 
from some of the equipment they've 
had him hooked up to. At any rate, they 
are adding additional antibiotic agents 
to his medication right now aimed at 
controlling the pneumonia specifically. 
We should see improvement within 48 
to 72 hours, they say."
 

"He's going to be all right, then?" 
Skinner finally asked.  


Byers nodded, "It's serious and its a 
setback, but  a manageable one 
at this point, at least 

according to the doctors."


The assistant director mulled over the 
information about Mulder's condition 
for a moment, sparing Scully a 
concerned glance. She was still

focused on the activity within Mulder's 
room.


"Tell me about Cancer Man's visit. What 
happened, he just showed up?"


Frohike nodded, scowling angrily.  
"Bold as brass. Called himself an old

friend of the family and insisted on 
seeing Mulder. I tried to throw him

out--but Mulder invited him in. They spoke 
for a little while, then he left."


"He never approached Mulder closely 
enough to do him any harm? Just talked

to him?"


Byers nodded. "He stood at the 
foot of the bed, never got closer 
than three feet from the bed itself."


"We watched him like hawks the 
whole time he was in there, and 
Byers made sure he left the hospital 
while I went in and checked on Mulder.  
He was burning up by the time I got 
to him--he was trying to say something, 
but he kinda faded out before he could 
talk. He didn't seem overwrought by

anything that happened, just completely 
worn out."


"So this was all coincidental after 
all."  Skinner announced.


"Apparently." Byers agreed, "as hard as 
that is to believe."


Skinner paused, looking at Scully 
for a long, contemplative minute.  
His gaze floated up to meet Langly's.

The two men exchanged a non-verbal

communication, Langly nodding and 
moving closer to Scully, radiating an aura

of protectiveness even while his relaxed 
body language contradicted it.


"I think I need to go check on my 
security detail--I shouldn't have had 
to hear about this via Langly, though 
I appreciate your passing the word

along."  The assistant director 
announced, as the other man 
shrugged elegantly.


As Skinner moved off to raise hell 
with his own detachment of undercover

security for maintaining too low a profile, 
he watched as the Lone Gunmen

instinctively formed a protective 
phalanx around Dana Scully.

x

      

End Cursum Perficio (Part 35 of 58

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 36 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

"Forgive me, son." 


Fox Mulder turned to face the 
shadowy form that spoke from 
somewhere behind him.


"Forgive me, Fox..."


His father's features emerged 
from the darkness, a sad expression 
on the face that had grown old 
before its time.


"Dad...?" Mulder began. He didn't 
remember how he got here, only 
that he was searching for something, 
something that eluded him with 
maddening ease. In fact, he wasn't  
sure where here was  anymore.  
 
"Where....?"


"You're going to be fine, boy.  
Just as good as new," the careworn face

looked at him with an indefinable hunger, 
a yearning that was difficult watch,  
"Don't worry. That's not why I've come..."


"But..."


"I want you to know how sorry 
I am. I wasn't the father you 
deserved, that I wanted to be.  
I thought I was doing the best 
I could for all of us. 


"But I was wrong. Forgive me, Fox...."


Mulder moved forward, wanting to 
offer comfort to the pain he saw in the 

well known and loved features, but 
as he reached out, his father was gone,

just as he had been so often in the past...


Mulder was alone, again, in the dark.


Fox William Mulder awoke to a feeling 
of loss and despair.


His eyes opened slowly, heavily, 
and he felt the reconnection to his 
achingbody keenly once more. 
The room he found himself in was 
dimly lit and something was strapped 
over his head onto his face.  He reached 
up to discover that the object was 
an oxygen mask. Breathing as deeply 
as he was able, he savored the lungful 
of warm, moist air, finding it helped 
dispel the worst of the lassitude 
he felt. He automatically took 
several more deep breaths, as 
though he had not been able to 
in a while. Perhaps he hadn't--
he didn't know.


The last thing he remembered was 
watching while Cancer Man walked 
out ofhis room and Frohike and 
Byers rushed in. He remembered Frohike 
bending over him worriedly, then 
nothing more....had  something 
happened?  He did not remember 
the oxygen mask being on when 
he fell asleep, perhaps something

had. 


Gathering his strength, Mulder 
attempted to focus his eyes to the 
dim light and gather what information 
he could about his surroundings. He 
sensed  that he was still in the same 
hospital room as before, but couldn't 
be sure, one looked pretty much like 
another. He turned his head to the right,

toward what he was sure was a window.  
It did not provide additional light--

must be night--he must have slept 
the greater part of the day away. 


His gaze dropped a little lower and 
fell on Scully.  She was sleeping

peacefully on the other bed in 
the room which had, he recalled, 
been empty since his transfer.  
Even in the dim light he could see 
how exhausted she was, how much 
more drawn she looked than the 
last time he could remember.
  

Seeing her in a hospital bed once again 
brought back terrible memories of

when she had been so sick. Had 
something happened to her?  
What was  she doing here this 
late at night? Skinner had 
promised he would make sure she

went home each night, that there 
would be no more bedside vigils.  Mulder

had wanted more, he had wanted 
her ordered away from this hospital 
and forbidden to return, had wanted 
Skinner to remove her from their

partnership, from  the X-Files, now, 
while there was still time, before

something else could happen. While 
Skinner had told him that decision 
was out of his hands, he had  promised 
to watch out for Scully, help to keep her

safe and well. No matter how 
problematic their relationship 
had been in the past, Mulder had 
felt that he could trust Skinnerto 
keep his word on this seemingly small--
but so very important--detail. Mulder 
felt himself growing angry.


"Fox?"  a soft, feminine voice spoke 
from somewhere between his bed and

Scully s.  Mulder turned his head 
slightly, surprised to see the features 
of Margaret Scully looming closer 
from out of the darkness, "It's all 
right, Fox."


"Mrs..Scully?" His voice was muffled to 
near indecipherability by the

mask, but Scully's mother smiled, 
grasped his hand and bent over him,

smoothing his hair back from his forehead.


"Just relax, Fox...you're fine now."  
she whispered.  "We're here with

you."


Her voice, as low and soft as it 
was, seemed to have the effect 
of starting rustlings from what 
seemed to be every corner of 
the room.  Mulder was bewildered 
at first, then he realized that 
there were more people in the

room than just himself, Scully 
and her mother. As he watched, 
bemused, other figures gathered 
around him. At first he feared he 
hadn't really awakened at all, but 
was in the middle of a nightmare, 
and that a parade of all the people 
he had hurt by his actions would 
process by his bedside, looking at 
him accusingly. But the features 
that gathered around and above

him were the familiar ones of 
Frohike, Byers, Langly, and 
oddly enough, Assistant Director 
Skinner. 


Had they all  been in the room 
while he slept the day away, 
staying until deep into the night 
where they had all dozed at his bedside?  
It didn't make sense. He had gotten used 
to the Lone Gunmen playing security 
guard outside his room, but other 
than Scully and occasionally Maggie, 
he had never awakened to such  
a congregation of people looming over 
his bedside.  What the hell  had  
happened while he had been out of it?


Mulder pulled the oxygen mask away 
from his face, "What has happened? Is

Scully all right?"  He looked worriedly 
from face to face, not forgetting

the picture that his partner had 
presented in the bed a few feet 
away.

(continued in part 37)

End Cursum Perficio (Part 36 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 37 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Before anyone could answer, a 
small, soft hand was replacing 
the oxygen mask on his face 
with a gentle forcefulness.  


"Scully is just fine, you big idiot."  
It was Dana's voice, and  close by. 


He turned and saw her pale 
features bending very close 
to him now, "You  just gave us 
another scare is all."


He realized that her hand had 
replaced her mother's in his, 
and she was squeezing reassuringly.


"Is he doing all right, Scully?"  
Frohike asked, a sentiment echoed 
almost simultaneously by Langly 
and Byers and even Skinner.  
"He still seems kinda out of it."


"So would you if you'd been fighting 
off pneumonia for the last forty-eight

hours," Scully chided softly. She turned 
her attention back to her partner,  
"How do you feel, Mulder?"


Mulder allowed his gaze to travel across 
the features of the six people who

ringed his bedside, and pulled the oxygen 
mask down from his face again. 


"Like an unexpected guest at my 
own wake,"   he commented. 
 

Six sets of features lightened in 
relief and amusement, and there 
was a round of subdued chuckles 
from the room's other occupants.
  

"Well, you're sounding more like your 
old self at least, Agent."  Assistant

Director Skinner remarked as dryly 
as his grin would allow.


"And  you could still be that if you 
don't leave that mask in place,

Mulder."  Scully was saying firmly, as 
she once again settled the apparatus

over his face, her hand lingering for 
the briefest of moments beside his

face. 


"I think we might all be overwhelming 
Fox by hovering over his bed like we

are. Why don't we find the head nurse 
and let her know he's awake?"

Margaret Scully-- perceptive as ever--
announced. 

The four men looked at her, then with 
a few clearings of throat, made noises 
of agreement and began filing out of 
the room.  Maggie paused, trading a 
significant look at her daughter, 
before she too stepped away 
from Mulder's bedside.


"Alone at last,"  Scully noted softly.

Mulder did not try to remove the mask
again, instead he attempted to enunciate

clearly so that he could be understood.
 

"Forty-eight hours?  Pneumonia?" 
he asked, still mulling over the

information he'd really been overwhelmed 
by in Scully's comment to Frohike.


Scully nodded, then briefly explained 
his last missing two days to him--for

all that there was to tell. Apparently 
he'd suffered a not altogether

unforeseen complication of his 
injuries, causing a new round of "musical

antibiotics" until an effective combination 
had been found.  While Scully attempted 
to make light of the missing hours, 
Mulder was still concerned about the strain 
that was plainly marking her face, and 
wondered if he was getting the full story.  
For his own sake, it didn't matter at all, 
but for hers, after all he had already 
put her through....


"What's the last thing you 
remember?" Scully was finishing her

discourse with a question. 


"Cancer Man came to call."  
Mulder responded, after a brief pause.  
There was little point in trying to keep 
her in the dark about that, doubtless

Frohike and Byers had already 
mentioned Smoky's visit.


"Frohike said you invited him in.  
And that nothing happened. We were

afraid at first that maybe he had 
done something to you."


"Mulder shook his head,  "We just talked.  
I tried to let Frohike know nothing had 
happened, but I guess I didn t get it out."


"No. Frohike mentioned as much.  
Any idea of why he came here to see you? 

Did he say? Did he want anything?"


Mulder shrugged against his pillows. 
"Only to see for himself that I was on

the mend, he said. Guess maybe he 
hates to lose an enemy through any action

not his own."


"Are we so sure that this wasn't 
something he orchestrated?"  Scully 
asked quietly.


"He said not. Funny thing is, I do 
believe him."  Mulder admitted.


There were a couple of minutes of 
silence between them, then Mulder spoke

again.
  

"What are you doing here in the middle 
of the night, anyway, Scully? And

what about everyone else? Don't 
any of these people have lives?"


Scully looked at him quizzically for 
a long minute, then apparently

deciding that his question was a 
serious one, she spoke.  "Where 
else would I be? And as for Skinner,  
the Lone Gunmen, and my mother--
they care about you--where else 
would they be  given the circumstances?"


"But you just said that this  pneumonia 
thing wasn't unexpected, why was

everyone camped out in this room, then?  
Did something else happen?  Was there 
an attempt on you or something?  
Tell me, Scully, I want to know."


Mulder persisted. Something more had  
to be afoot than Scully was admitting.


Dana looked at him in undisguised 
surprise,  "You really don't get it do

you?"

(continued in part 38)

End Cursum Perficio (Part 37 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com


Cursum Perficio (Part 38 of 58)
by LAAdolf

"Get what?"


"That there doesn't have to 
be a deep mysterious plot behind 
everyone's actions. That some people 
might care enough for you as a 
person to be concerned when you're 
sick? Mulder, pneumonia--expected or not-- 
is never a minor thing. The Lone Gunmen, 
A.D. Skinner and even my mother 
were here because they consider 
themselves your friends and want 
to help, even if it only is by their 
presence in your room. They wanted to 
be there for you, Mulder. There 
have been no attempts on anyone's 
life since the attack on you. 
I swear to you."


Fox William Mulder looked at his 
partner closely, mulling over what 
she had said silently, sensing her 
sincerity.


"We just didn't want you to be 
alone, Mulder, " Scully continued 
when he didn't respond.  "And you 
need to know that you aren't.  
As horrible as isolation in that 
elevator shaft was, you aren't 
alone now and you don't have to 
be alone again."


Mulder looked at his partner, 
considering her words and more 
importantly the message she 
was trying to convey to him. 


Being alone was Scully's terror, 
that thing that she never spoke of, 
but which cast its shadow over 
her life regardless.  She had 
never been able to remember 
much about her abduction, but 
the small amount of memory she 
had or would admit to, involved her 
being terrified of having been so 
utterly alone and helpless. For a 
woman of her independence, 
capability and courage, it

was an understandable reaction 
to an otherwise unfathomable 
experience.  But for himself, Mulder 
knew no terror of solitude. It had been 
his constant companion since the night 
his sister had been abducted--when the 
closeness and warmth of family as 
he had known it had been ripped away 
forever.  She was being haunted by 
his experience of the past week 
far more than he was, he finally realized, 
her empathy for what she believed to be 
their shared experience causing her 
more strain than the circumstances 
warranted. 


In that moment, in a flash of insight, 
Mulder understood that his partner

held herself responsible for what 
had happened to him. Hadn't she said

something like that as he had awakened 
before, in the ICU,  to find her

crying? He had tried to comfort her then, 
instinctively, without understanding 
precisely. He had remembered only 
snatches of what she had

said as he had struggled to wake up, 
urged to consciousness by her tears

more than her words. Now that he 
understood, he would have to try to

console her again. Nothing that had 
happened to him was her fault.

 

"Scully..."  he said quietly, turning 
his hand in hers so that he gripped her

fingers in what he hoped was a 
warm, comforting clasp. Once again,

consequences be damned, he pulled  
down the oxygen mask with his other 
hand.

 

"I'm used to being alone, it doesn't bother 
me anymore. It is part of who I am.   
Whatever I experienced in the 
elevator shaft, fear wasn't part

of it. It wasn't your fault. Or your 
responsibility. What  happened,

happened. It's over now. I'm okay 
with it."


Scully looked at him, and opened 
her mouth as though to speak.  
But further conversation was 
interrupted by the arrival of 
members of the nursing staff

and a physician. Whatever she 
had been going to say was lost 
in the flurry of activity that 
followed.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 38 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 39 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Scully pressed her back against 
the cool firmness of the wall behind 
her fighting against a sudden urge 
to run wildly from this place, this 
deserted hospital corrider. Away from 
the room she had stumbled out of 
just moments before, far away 
from its occupant.


She was aware of a sense of 
incipient hysteria, a reaction 
way out of line with the interrupted 
conversation that had compelled 
her to remove herself from the room 
as the swarm of medical personnel 
summoned by Skinner and the

Lone Gunmen entered it. She 
fought against the irrational 
flood of emotions stuggling to keep 
them down and under her control.  
After all, what had he said?  Only 
that he was not afraid of being 
alone, that his ordeal had held

no torment of fear,  and that nothing 
that had happened  over the last 
week had been her fault. 


Calm, rational perfectly understandable 
words. Words she should have been

relieved to hear. She should have 
found them calming, they should have

released her from the guilt she 
had battled this last week. Why then 
was her reaction so intensely the 
opposite?


"Dana? Are you okay, honey?"  
It was her mother's voice,  "Fox is all

right, isn't he?"


So deep had been her distraction 
that she had neither seen nor heard her

mother's approach. She looked up 
and into the warm, concerned eyes. Some

of her control slipped, and she found 
herself dissolving into tears.


Her mother's reaction was instinctual; 
Dana found herself wrapped in a

comforting embrace, her mother's 
loving arms around her, grounding her,

soothing away the terror, banishing 
the urge to run.  She found herself

coming back to herself, and after a 
few minutes of uncontrolled sobbing, she

somehow found her control once again.
 

"What is it Dana? Did they find 
something else?" Maggie queried, 
looking at her daughter carefully 
as she drew away, wiping the tears 
off her pale face. 


"No.  Mulder's fine....he's going to 
be fine. It's me, I'm a coward."


Maggie Scully put a hand to her daughter's 
face,  soothing away some of the 
tear-streaks herself,  "You are 
the bravest person  I have ever known.  
Don't you dare say that about yourself."


"But I am, Mom.  I'm scared to death--
right now,  right here,  I've never

been so  terrified in all my life."


"You've been through quite a lot in 
the last couple of weeks, its only

natural that you're feeling fear.  
Your partner vanished, was nearly killed,

and has been terribly ill. Of course 
you're frightened. Right now nothing

seems the same as it always has been, 
your sense of security has been

shattered, you're short on sleep, 
you're worried sick. Who wouldn't be

feeling frightened at a time like this?  
But it will get better, I promise

you."


"I don't think so Mom, not this time.  
I know what I'm afraid of, and I

don't see how I can overcome it.  
It isn't what you think, what you've said.
I've analyzed it and while what you say 
is true--this is something very

different....And its not the fear 
itself that makes me the coward.  
Itshow I'm choosing to deal with it.  
Or not deal with it." Scully buried her

face in her hands for a moment, 
when she looked up, her expression 
was as hopeless as her mother had 
ever seen it. 


"I don't understand. Tell me about it. 
Let me try to help..." Maggie

offered, heart wrenched at the 
torment she sensed in her daughter.
 

"I don't think you can. I'm not even sure 
I understand it myself.  It's Mulder.  
He frightens me."


"Fox?"  Maggie said gently, trying 
to square what her daughter was telling

her with what she knew to be true of 
Dana's relationship with her partner.  


"I told you I don't understand it. I've 
never been closer to anyone in my

life, and I accept who and what 
he is, but I can't control the fear 
that comes with that acceptance.  
He's always running away--towards 
something I don't understand. And 
I don't mean that in any sense of 
escape, he isn't running away from 
anything, he's running towards it, 
always towards it.  And that is the 
one thing that frightens me the 
most. Because the one place

he's focussed on moving toward 
is the one place I can't find it in 
myself to follow. And I don't deal 
with it. I don't deal with it at all."


"Where is that, Dana, help me 
to understand?"


Scully took a deep breath and 
sighed, shaking her head ruefully, 
groping for words that did not 
exist for the emotions she 
found herself feeling.   "Towards the 
truth, yes, it does lie there I'm sure 
of it.  But I'm not sure that the truth 
is worth where it leads...."


"Dana, I'm trying to follow, but its not 
making sense...."  Maggie ached

for the pain her daughter 
obviously felt. 


"I know, Mom. It doesn't to me either.  
But it leads to  solitude and death.  
And he embraces it, welcomes it, 
believes it is nothing less than he

deserves. And as much as I want to, 
I'm not sure I can deal with that.

I told you I was a coward."


Maggie shook her head vehemently, 
reaching out to enfold her daughter in a

fierce hug. There were no words to 
answer, no comforting platitudes that

would help. Her daughter had already 
committed herself to the task that lay

ahead of her, whether she realized it or not.
  

All Maggie could offer was more 
of what was causing the anguish--and she

poured every ounce of her being into 
expressing her love.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 39 of 58)


Cursum Perficio (Part 40 of 58)
by LAAdolf



x

 

Mulder's  pulse pounded in his ears 
and his heartbeat seemed to 
vibrate his whole body as he 
gingerly moved himself to the 
side of his bed. Three days

past  his bout with pneumonia, 
and bored nearly out of his skull,
it seemed a good time to test 
out the doctor's injunctions to 
be more active. His leg had been 
removed from traction two days 
ago, and the exercises his physical

therapist had given him to strengthen 
and stabilize his hip had reduced the

pain of that injury to a dull ache.  
He'd watched all the Teletubbies, 
CNN headline news and game shows 
that he could tolerate, and napped 
until hefelt he would never have 
to sleep another hour in his life.  
The time had definitely come.


He planted his left leg on the floor 
first, wincing as the stitches in the

healing gash on that leg pulled as 
though to remind him that neither lower

limb had escaped his ordeal unscathed. 
His ribs cried out a protest and his head 
throbbed, but what was it they always 
said?  No pain, no gain? 


That was his new motto....



Carefully, bracing himself against 
the bed,  he lowered his right leg  off

the confines of his erstwhile prison, 
and  tested its weight bearing

capability. So far, so good. Now, 
to take those first steps....


"MULDER!"  


The shout shattered his careful 
concentration, causing him to 
whip his head up toward the sound 
and away from the careful surveillance 
of his feet and legs. He had taken one 
shuffling step when the noise had 
erupted,  now the quickness of the 
head movement caused a wave of 
vertigo which turned the next 
carefully orchestrated move into 
a startled scattering of neural

synapses. He tottered dangerously, 
the pounding of his pulse in his ears

and the vibrating of the heartbeat 
in his chest overwhelming his sense 
of balance. 


He was saved from crashing onto 
the floor by the steadying influence of 
twopairs of hands. Out of the roiling 
fog, two sets of features coalesced, 

those of Melvin Frohike on his right 
and Dana Scully on his left, both

countenances pale, stricken with 
surprise. Looking back later, he was never

able to remember which one of the two 
had shouted out his name and broke his

concentration--for all he knew, it might 
have been both.


"What the HELL do you think you're 
doing?" Scully was saying to him--no

scratch that, yelling at him. It was just 
as well, he could barely hear her

for the pounding of blood in his ears.


"Exercise."  he mumbled, looking at 
her owlishly. She hadn't made an

appearance at the hospital yet today, 
and after sending the ever-present

Frohike on a nonexistent errand, 
Mulder had been convinced he would 
have the time he required to get his 
sea legs.  "The doctor said...."


"I know very well what the doctor 
said!  And he did not mean for 
you to be leaping out of bed unaided 
and galloping around your room."  
Scully spat the words out. 
 
She was as angry as he could 
remember seeing her.  She was

always glorious when she was 
angry, he found himself favoring 
her with a grin. 


"You exaggerate, surely,"  
Mulder countered. "It would be physically
impossible for me to gallop anywhere 
at the moment. I left my stick horse

at home."


Scully rolled her eyes. "You scared 
Frohike half to death," she announced

accusingly.


Mulder looked down under his right 
arm and looked at Frohike, who, 
over the initial shock of a moment ago, 
was looking very much his normal self as he

supported Mulder back to the relative 
stability of the edge of his hospital

bed.  


"Looks fine to me." Mulder replied 
with a studied insouciance.


"Damn it, Mulder. You're impossible"  
Scully had ducked out from under

his left arm and was now standing 
in front of him, her arms crossed 
and her expression stern. "I had 
permission to wheel you up to the 
sun roomtoday--which is the 
recommended first trip out of bed 
I might add.  You'll be lucky if this 
damn fool stunt hasn't put your 
progress back several days."


"Would it help to say I'm sorry?"  
Mulder decided on a change of tactic, 
she really was terminally pissed off at 
him.  He was fine, he knew it, but Scully 
seemed determined to treat him as 
more of an invalid than he was.  It

was getting to be more than a little 
stifling.


"Don't turn on the charm with me, 
buster." Scully responded vehemently, 

"it won't work. Now get back in bed."


Mulder sighed heavily and gave in to 
Frohike and Scully's aid in getting him

back in bed. The effort of getting up 
and trying to walk had drained his

energy reserves most amazingly.  
Only one thing was worse than being 
treatedlike an invalid--and that was to 
realize that he was one.  He collapsed

back against his pillows, and closed his 
eyes briefly, savoring how good it

felt to be laying back down.


When he opened them again, Scully 
was looking at him, her features pale and

intensely troubled, her gaze as nonplused
as though he had suddenly sprouted

eye stalks or antennae. Without 
saying a word, she turned on her heel 
and walked from the room quickly, 
not so much as glancing back at him.


Mulder watched her, troubled now in his 
turn. It had all been a bone-headed

move, he knew that now, and he had 
just been ready to admit as much 
to her. Why had she walked away like 
that, without so much as a characteristic

parting shot?


"Was it something I said?"  he 
mused aloud.  


Frohike was standing next to him 
shaking his head. "Don't ask me, 
man.  I'm just part of the furniture."  


Mulder scowled at Frohike half 
heartedly, his gaze trailing back 
to where Scully had disappeared 
out the door of his room. He had 
wished her away so many times in 
the past few weeks, for her own 
safety and for his sanity, but

he was not prepared that the time 
for that parting might be here, and 
might be now.


x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 40 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 41 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

The trip to the sun room came off, 
but it was Langly who pushed Mulder's

wheelchair to that haven of light and 
warmth, not Scully. Not only had she

left without a word, not shown up 
for the promised sun room expedition, 

but she did not come back again that 
day. Mulder went over the events that

had led to her precipitate departure 
time and again, trying to determine

what had caused the emotional door 
between them to slam in his face.  Aside

from the very fact he'd been up and 
around when he shouldn't have been, 
he could come up with no misstep.  
Certainly he had pulled dumber stunts

without half the reaction as a 
consequence. 


But this was what he had wanted, 
wasn't it? To drive her away, irrevocably

and finally. She would be safer that way, 
and eventually he'd find a way to

survive it. He'd been able to do it 
before she'd been assigned as his

partner, had functioned as half a 
soul quite commendably for quite 
a number of years, never realizing 
that he could aspire to wholeness.  
He'd be able to go back.


Wouldn't he?  


Settling back into his bed after 
Langly had helped him out of the

wheelchair, Mulder found himself 
settling into a blue funk. As much 
as it had emotionally painful, he 
had found Scully's presence at 
his bedside whenever he woke up 
to be soothing, healing of itself.  
He had grown accustomed to that 
first few seconds of panic, when 
he didn't know where shewas, because 
the sight of her coming into view 
was so very nourishing, not just to 
his battered physical self, but to 
his very soul.  Why was it, that

what seemed in the abstract to 
be the best solution for everything 
was so very unendurable in its 
practical application?


And she hadn't been out of his 
life so much as a full day yet. 


x


"Hasn't been here in three days."  
Frohike looked at Assistant Director

Walter Skinner, who stood looking 
over the Lone Gunman's shoulder 
intoMulder's room. When he had come 
to check on his agent, he had been

heartened by the obvious improvement 
in Mulder's physical self, but distressed 
all over again to find the agent 
withdrawn and despondent. While

the medical staff assured him that 
depressive behavior during recuperation 

was not unusual for someone of 
Mulder's usual physical activity level,

Skinner had a sense it was something 
more. An idea all the more sensical

when he realized that not only was 
Scully not where he had expected to be,

but had not been for quite some time. 


"Three days?" Skinner repeated.


Frohike nodded.  "Byers checked, 
she's been back at her apartment 
for most of that time, so she's 
not unaccounted for."


"But three days. She took off time 
from the Bureau to stay with him. 
I don't understand."


Frohike frowned and shrugged.  
While he had an excellent idea of 
why Scully had not returned after 
Mulder's abortive attempt at exercise--
based now on several years observation 
of his two favorite Feds, it was not 
up to him to broadcast those 
ideas to anyone.


"She'll be back when she's ready.  
None of this has been easy on her.  
She needs to take care of herself 
too."  Frohike offered. 


Skinner nodded, his expression 
thoughtful. "Well, I'll check with 
her at home later. I've got to 
attend an Office of Professional 
Responsibility meeting in a 
couple of hours, so I do have to 
get back. If you do see her,

let her know I'll be in touch 
later on."


Frohike nodded, watched as the 
assistant director turned and 
walked back down the hall.  
Glancing back over his own 
shoulder, he sighed heavily and

returned to his chosen post 
in Mulder's room.


X

End Cursum Perficio (Part 41 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 42 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Maggie Scully turned the key in the 
lock to apartment 42, mentally going

over the list of items  she was to 
gather within. Her daughter's partner

had assured her there was nothing 
he needed--still--but Maggie felt 
the needto do something to distract 
Mulder from the introspection that 
had grown so deep and dark that 
she feared for his continuing 
physical improvement.  


Mulder had not questioned her about 
Dana's absence from his bedside, now

entering its fourth day, and because 
Dana was her daughter, and would not

welcome her interference into her 
personal affairs--no matter how much

Maggie ached to set things right--
she had offered no explanation. 
It was not a comfortable position 
for someone as naturally empathetic 
as Scully's mother was, but she 
could take comfort from the 
fact that she wasn't sure of

her daughter's motivations enough
to offer any clarification. 


Maggie opened the door, and swung 
it open. It was dark within, and she

reached for the nearest light. 
Stepping into the living area, 
she might have been startled, 
but wasn't --at the sight of her 
daughter asleep on Mulder's

couch.


Dana was on her side, face peaceful 
in repose, the blanket that Mulder

always kept on the massive piece 
of furniture, covering her from 
neck to toes. Maggie tiptoed closer, 
regarding her daughter for a moment, 
her expression taking on the beatific

expression of all mothers when they 
happen upon their children asleep.


"Dana?" she said softly. "It's Mom."


Scully stirred, giving a small groan. 
"Mom?" She sat up, and looked at her

mother blearily,  an expression of 
vague, drowsy confusion on her 
face.  Heraspect changed to one of 
sheepishness as it dawned on her 
where they both were.


"Have you been here all night?"  
Maggie asked softly, even as she 
bent to pick up  a stack of mail, 
and to pick up Mulder's glasses 
from where they had lain on

the coffee table since the night 
of his disappearance. She carefully 
tucked the eye wear into its case, 
slipped the case into her purse, then 
deposited the mail into a bag brought 
along for the purpose.


Scully nodded. "I came by to feed the 
fish. Guess I sat down for a minute

and fell asleep."


Maggie nodded noncommittally. 
Dana had not presented, when 
Maggie walked in, the aspect someone 
overtaken by slumber.  Rather, 
the impression was  of someone who 
had purposefully settled themselves 
down, with an eye to both physical and 
emotional comfort. Especially as the 
night just past had been a fairly warm one, 
making the blanket still draped around 
her daughter somewhat  extraneous.  
At least to anyone effected by mere 
ambient temperature alone.


Still, Maggie was not going to 
lecture. Dana had always been the Scully

child most in need of finding her own way
--in the world and in knowing herself.  


"I won't feed them again, then.  
I'll just take these few things to Fox. 

Now that he's up and around more, 
he needs something to occupy his mind." 

Maggie offered, chancing the direct 
mention, studying her daughter for a

reaction.


The brief flash of pain that crossed 
Dana's features made her mother

instantly regretful of having baited 
the trap. Her daughter masked the

emotion quickly, however, "He's 
doing all right then?" she asked quietly.


Maggie nodded, "Frohike has made 
sure that every trip out of bed has 
been authorized and assisted by 
either himself or Byers or Langly.  
He was able to walk the length of 
the ward last night. The doctors 
are pleased with his progress."


Now It was Dana's turn to nod.  
"That's wonderful," she murmured, 
her voice strangely distant, flat. 


"Guess I'll be going then, visiting 
hours start shortly."  Maggie

announced, turning to go, a 
distressing compression gathering 
itself around her heart. 


"Mom--"  Dana spoke. Hopeful, 
Maggie turned around, looking 
at her daughter expectantly.


"There's something here you 
should take to Mulder. I was just 
going to leave it here for when 
he comes home. But maybe he'll 
be glad to have this."  Dana, 
disappointingly, reached out to 
pick up a package that had

been leaning against the couch, 
to the side of the coffee table.


Maggie took the proffered parcel, 
glancing over it curiously.  


"It's a volume of the complete 
works of Charles Fort. Mulder's 
copy was burned-- in the X-file office fire.  
I've had someone searching for it 
ever since.  It came yesterday." 
Her daughter offered.


"I'll tell him you sent it." Maggie 
responded.


"No, Mom. Say its from you--that I 
told you about his copy being lost or

something." Dana countered, 
her voice firm.


"Dana...."  Maggie began, the lecture 
she had promised not to deliver ready

to leap from the end of her tongue.  
Seeing her daughter tense instinctively, 
as though she knew what was coming 
and was steeling herself against it, 
decided Maggie on abandoning her 
intention.  One couldn't live one's 
children's lives for them, no matter 
how great the temptation.  


"Mr.Skinner has been trying to get 
a hold of you since late yesterday.  
He's left messages at your apartment.  
He says your cell phone is turned off. 
He needs to see you. You'd better 
give him a call."


Dana Katherine Scully nodded, refusing 
to meet her mother's eyes. Maggie

took a deep breath, and turned once 
again for the door.


She stopped once, and looked back 
at her daughter. Dana was hunched over,

studying her hands with a strange 
intensity. Maggie's maternal instincts

almost made her turn back when 
she noted that those very hands 
were clenched so tightly into fists 
that they were bloodless.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 42 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 43 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Scully watched as her mother left, 
shutting the door quietly behind her.  
Asmuch as Maggie had tried to 
mask it, Dana had sensed her mother's

disapproval with her anyway. It 
added to a load of self blame 
that already existed. 


She had stayed away four days 
now. Instead of becoming easier, 
each passinghour had become harder.  
Finally, finding herself sleepless and 
crawling thewalls at her own apartment, 
she had come here late last night, 
searching forshe knew not what.


At least here, surrounded by Mulder's 
possessions, the scent and essence of

him, she had been able to sleep.  
She knew her justification for 
being here had struck Maggie 
as false, as the words had left 
her lips she hadrecognized their 
transparency, and also knew her 
mother knew better.   Probably 
better than she did herself.


She HAD fed the fish, that much 
at least wasn't a lie. Afterward she had

wandered aimlessly around the apartment, 
touching this, slightly rearranging

that. She had even washed a sink-full
of dishes that looked to be in

mid-mutation of new and interesting 
life forms, as though that action

justified her coming here and not 
going to the hospital instead. The

hospital is where she really wanted 
to be, she knew and accepted that 
but each time she made up her 
mind to give in the impulse and 
go back, some immovable part 
of herself stepped in, supplied 
her with a reason not to, which she 
accepted as an order and obeyed 
quiescently. Finally worn out

from lack of sleep and haphazard 
activity, she had sat down on Mulder's

couch.  It had seemed so natural to 
reach for the blanket he always kept

there--the couch serving as his 
apparently non-existent bed for 
as long as she had known him--
to pull it down over herself. To savor 
the warmth, the associative 
comfort, the very  suggestion of 
him that it represented. She

had fallen into a deep and soothing 
sleep there--had not awakened until

she'd heard her mother's voice.


And oddly, since she had been here, 
she had not experienced the one thing

that had driven her from her partner's 
presence to begin with. Not once in

this place so imbued with Mulder 
had she flashed back to him dying 
beneath her hands. 


It had happened the first time in 
the elevator shaft with Skinner, before

they had returned to the hospital to 
find Mulder sick with pneumonia. She

had been looking at his blood on the 
floor, trying to come to terms with

what she felt--what demons were 
stirred in her own psyche by the 
thought of Mulder's imprisonment 
there--when she had seen him once 
again--pale as alabaster and not 
breathing on the floor of the 
elevator cage.  Her memory jumbled 
the events--she KNEW that when 
she had first entered his prison, he

had been alive and breathing. But 
in the image burned into her mind's eye,

she had already been too late, 
he hadn't been alive then at all.


It had happened again with a nerve-jangling 
frequency as she'd sat at his bedside 
during the two days of his most recent 
setback--watching Mulder as he struggled 
to breathe, struggled to live once again 
after coming so close to dying only 
days before. She'd talked herself 
hoarse all over again, assuring him of 
her presence as he lay insensible, 
urging him to fight. And in her memory, 
the vision of him cold and still mingled 
with the traces of her dreams where 
she'd watched him moving towards the 
light......


It had happened once more as she 
had entered his room four days ago, 
just in time to see him struggling 
against weakness and pain to take 
a few shuffling steps. She and Frohike, 
whom she had greeted outside of 
Mulder's room--a package of 
sunflower seeds in his hand--
had both shouted out his name in

sheer surprise at seeing that gaunt 
figure vertical for the first time in

what seemed forever. That instinctual 
reaction had almost caused a

disaster--one that she and her 
Lone Gunman compatriot had averted 
only by the swiftness of a more 
considered action. The flash of 
memory had held off then--until the 
immediate crisis was past--and 
rewarded her for her unthinking 
stupidity by superimposing itself 
over Mulder's pale features as

he reclined back on the bed, 
following her stern orders. 


That had been the breaking point.  
She had had to leave the room

immediately, or risk a messy, 
ill-considered breakdown right 
there in frontof Mulder, Frohike, 
God and Everybody. She had 
staggered back into the

hall, found the nearest women's 
restroom and had lost what little of

breakfast she had been able to 
eat that day. After settling herself 
a bit she had escaped from the 
hospital and attempted to cocoon 
herself in her apartment. But the 
images followed her there, 
haunting her sleep, intruding

into her attempts to go about 
her daily business.  Until she had 
come here.


Maybe there was a lesson 
in that.

Dana stood, holding the blanket 
around her for another moment, 
then carefully, refolding it and 
putting it back where it belonged.  
She had never been one to run 
from her terrors, she much 
preferred to deal with them

head-on. It was time she did 
that now. She would go back. Today.


But first, she had better report in 
to Assistant Director Skinner. 

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 43 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 44 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


Langly squinted at the display on his 
laptop, reading the text carefully. 

Hacking into the FBI computer network 
had been all in a morning's work for

him, nothing he hadn't done a few 
hundred times before. And at least 
thistime he had a fairly good reason, 
Mulder, who was sitting a few feet away

from him in the hospital sun room 
had asked him to find out what he 
could about possible reasons for 
Scully's vanishing act. Mulder had 
made the request sound casual, 
and had even quoted his insistence 
that she transfer out of the X-files 
after their return from Antarctica--
trying to make it all sound like it was 
back to being business as usual. But 
Langly knew better. 


So did Frohike and so did 
Byers.


Langly finished reading the 
document he'd unearthed in his 
search, and cast a sidelong 
glance at Mulder. The agent 
sat, uninterested in his

surroundings, idly leafing 
through the book that Maggie 
Scully had brought to him earlier 
this morning. The t-shirt and 
sweatpants which she had

brought him earlier in the week, 
when he had voiced objections 
to tramping around hospital 
corridors in a too revealing 
hospital gown, hung on Mulder's

spare frame. He didn't look ready 
for what Langly had just uncovered. 

Langly surreptiously saved the file 
he had been reading.


"Damn!"  the Lone Gunman said 
abruptly and much more loudly 
than necessary. 


The expletive had the desired effect, 
Mulder's head snapped up and he was

looking at Langly with startled curiosity.  
Langly put on his best sheepish

look, returning Mulder's regard.


"Finding anything?"  Mulder asked 
quietly, when Langly didn't offer 
any explanations.


"Nope.  I was just getting into the 
e-mail file when I got booted out. I'll

have to try again. You look wiped, man.  
You want to go back to your room? 

I can have another shot at it there."  
Langly checked his watch, if he

played his cards right, he could have 
Mulder back to his room just in time

for the Lone Gunman shift change, 
they had it down to a fine art by now,

clockwork in  their precision, they 
could give the guards at Buckingham

Palace a run for their money.



Mulder shrugged noncommittally, 
and Langly wasn't sure he wasn't 
looking at him with suspicion. Sometimes 
Mulder gave the impression of 
being able to read a guy's mind...


Langly folded the laptop up,  
tucked it in a carrier under his 
arm andwalking over to Mulder's 
wheel  chair and grasping the handles. 


"I should walk back." Mulder murmured 
as Langly wheeled him toward the sun

room door.


"Your scheduled walk isn't until four,  
remember. Relax and enjoy the ride,

man."


Mulder made a noise halfway between 
a groan and a grunt. His disgust with

his strictly regimented life had not 
gone unnoticed by his unofficial

bodyguards, nor by any of the 
nursing staff for that matter.  


The rest of the journey back to 
Mulder's room was silent.  
Langly stopped the wheel chair 
next to Mulder's bed.


"I can't believe you played with 
that thing that long and didn't 
get into the e-mail system before 
that." Mulder commented as 
Langly helped him out of the chair 
and onto the bed.  


"Hey, we're talking your Uncle 
Sam here--best firewalls in the business. 

You've got to finesse these things.  
Especially if you don't want to get

caught."  Langly replied.  
Damn if Mulder couldn't 
read minds.....


"And how is the patient today?"  
Frohike's voice boomed from the doorway, 
he and Byers were both peaking around 
the corner cautiously, as though

expecting bedpan missiles to sail 
by their heads.


Mulder, settling back against his 
pillows, scowled, but forbore 
any activity more strenuous than 
that. He closed his eyes, as 
though dismissing them

all. Langly saw his chance and took it.  
He signaled his brethren in

paranoia with a finger laid to 
the side of his nose.  


"Be right back, Mulder, I've gotta ask 
Frohike his opinion about this

firewall I encountered."


Mulder opened one of his eyes for 
a brief moment, cast another of his

suspicious glances at Langly, and 
closed it again.


Langly crossed to the door in quick 
strides, pulling the laptop out of its

carrier as he went. Gesturing 
Byers and Frohike out into the 
hall and a safe distance away, 
he fired up the computer, opened 
his saved file and handed the 
laptop over to Frohike silently. 


With Byers reading over his 
shoulder, Frohike scanned the 
file quickly. The further he 
read in the document, the 
more he bristled.


"Son of a bitch!"  Frohike spat.  
"He doesn't know anything about 
this yet does he?"


"No.  I told him the system booted 
me out before I got anywhere.  
But he's suspicious, I can tell."


Byers took the computer from 
Frohike and continued to read,  
"They are going to have an OPR 
review board hearing about  
staffing the X-files?  And they've
already worked up a list of 
possible replacements for 
Mulder and Scully? What the hell....."


"I thought Skinner was an okay guy, 
but that report says that HE is

recommending reassignment to 
desk duty for Mulder and possible 
reassignment for Scully?   What's 
with that?"  Frohike was fuming, 
his elfin features taking on a dark 
and ominous cast,  "Leave it to the 
Feds to kick a man when he's down."


"You can see why I didn't want to 
spring it on Mulder in the middle of the

sun room. What the hell are we going 
to do?"  Langly asked his compatriots,

reaching his hand out to Byers for 
the computer.


It never made it into his hands.  


It was intercepted by a pale hand 
connected to a rather bony wrist, which

was extended into their midst by none 
other than the object of their mutual

concern. Mulder, startlingly, had made 
it out of his room and up behind

them without any of the trio noticing, 
so great had been their concentration

on Langly's discovery. Mulder scanned 
the file for himself, while his

companions searched his face for 
signs of reaction.  


There was none. Mulder finished 
reading the file, and handed the laptop 

off to Langly, then turned and 
shuffled his way back to his room, 
leaving the Lone Gunmen to watch 
him, mouths agape.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 44 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 45 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

This time at least, Scully had 
a better reason for not acting 
on herimmediate impulse to go 
to the hospital. Her call to Skinner 
had resulted in his request for a 
meeting with her within two hours 
time, and given the fact that she was 
unshowered, unkempt and would just 
have time to remedy those situations 
at her apartment and head for 
the Hoover building, there

was no time for even the quickest  
side trip.  


Her punishment, no doubt, 
for staying away this long to begin with.



She sat now in Skinner's outer 
office, waiting to be called in.  


The assistant director had been 
vague in his reasons for wanting 
to see her, seeming somewhat 
out of sorts   with the fact that 
she had been incommunicado for 
so long. Well,  she had been 
granted leave and she had 
more than a week and a half 
before that leave  was up, so 
her availability, by her own lights, 
was her own business. She had 
set her answering machine to answer 
the phone, had not checked her 
messages and had also turned 
off her cell phone--she had needed 
the solitude, or so she had thought 
at the time.  If that was all he 
wanted to talk to her about, 
then he'd get an earful and she

could be on her way.


Skinner himself stepped outside 
of his office, interrupting Scully's

musings. She glanced up at him 
quickly, having expected the usual summons

via his assistant. He gestured her inside.


"Agent Scully,"  was his only greeting.  
He proceeded to his desk, gestured

her into one of the chairs across 
from it, and opened up a file folder on

his desk. He cleared his throat, 
then looked at her.


"Sir?"  she responded 
noncommittally.


"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.  
There was another OPR review

yesterday. This has been my first 
opportunity to advise you of 
the latest recommendations of 
that committee. I am sorry to 
have interrupted your leave to do so, 
but once you have a look at this, 
I think you will have a better 
understanding of why it was necessary."


Scully looked at him searchingly.  
So there apparently was to be no lecture

regarding her unavailability, that 
much was a relief. But what the hell

was the OPR up to now?


Skinner extended the file folder he 
had before him, gesturing her to 
take it and read it on her own.


Dana Scully looked up at him for 
a spare moment, then proceeded to

investigate the contents of the file.


Before her were hard copies of the 
transcription of the OPR meeting and

printouts of several e-mails that had 
been traded between Skinner, members

of the  OPR board, and Skinner's higher ups.  
Scully read quickly, digesting each in its turn.


OPR was reconfirming the reopening 
of the X-Files.  However, it was not a

foregone conclusion that she and 
Mulder would be reassigned to their 
former positions in charge of the them.


As Scully read on, her anger grew, 
the OPR had already worked up a list of

possible replacements for herself 
and Mulder. And as if that were not

enough, they were also recommending 
that each of them be assigned to new

assignments within the Bureau. Mulder 
to a semi permanent desk duty, and

herself to Violent Crimes. The e-mails

further discussed these recommendations, 
and concluded with a communication

from Skinner himself, confirming 
the reassignments.


Scully looked up at her superior, her 
eyes ablaze with anger. "Mulder

doesn't know about this does he?"


Skinner shook his head. "No. I wanted 
to talk to you first, to try to explain."


"Explain what, sir?  You've seconded 
the recommendation to reassign 
both of us...."


"Only as a temporary measure, 
Agent Scully. Mulder is going to have 
to be on light duty for a few weeks 
as I am sure you realize, as a 
consequence of his recuperation, 
my recommendation has more to 
do with that than as any

perceived punishment."


"That isn't how it reads, sir."  
Scully stated, "And my reassignment?  
What precisely has led to that 
recommendation? After I 
specifically requested

NOT to be assigned away 
from Mulder?"


Skinner sighed. "It has more to do 
with internal bureau politics right now,

than any thing having to do with 
the wants and desires of either of you. 

You have powerful enemies, both 
inside and outside the Justice 
Department.  Sometimes it works 
better to make them think that 
they are calling all the shots, while 
you explore other avenues of action.  
None of this is a foregone conclusion 
at this point. I managed to wrangle 
another OPR review, in several weeks 
time.  It will allow you and Mulder to 
make a case for being reassigned 
to the X-Files on a permanent basis 
once again. In the meantime, it gives 
him a chance to get back on his 
feet and be able to deal with this. 
My thought about the reassignment 
for you was that it  might be a

good object lesson."


"Object lesson?" Scully was not at 
all sure that she had heard him

correctly.


"Mulder has been insistent on having 
you reassigned away from the X-Files. 

Perhaps giving him what he has been 
asking for, temporarily, at least--"


"Kick him while he's down, in other 
words. Mulder has not been thinking

clearly on that subject, he's been too ill.  
You hit him with this now, its hard 
telling what the outcome could be.  
I can't believe this has even been

allowed to become an issue. I'll fight it, sir, 
and if you insist  on it, I'll fight you."  
Scully's anger flared all over again,  
and with a renewed energy.


Looking at her, Skinner had no 
doubt but that she would.


X


End Cursum Perficio (Part 45 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 46 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


By the time the Lone Gunmen 
controlled their shock and followed 
Mulder, he was already within a 
few steps of his bed. Byers  moved 
forward to aid him back into it, 
followed by  Frohike. All three men 
watched as the agent sank back 
against his pillows once more, 
the strain of his unaccompanied

excursion showing on his face.  
Silence reigned for several minutes.


"Mulder---" Frohike began, but was 
waved immediately to silence.


"'m okay."  Mulder muttered, the 
strain in his voice indicating that he was 

anything but.  


"Can we get you something?" Byers 
asked, concernedly looking from 
Mulder to his compatriots and 
back again.


Mulder looked at them for a 
long, silent moment, shaking 
his head.  "I'd just like to be 
left alone for a while."


Frohike looked at Mulder, then 
at Byers, then at Langly.  
"I'll go try to get a hold 
of Scully, maybe she knows 
something more about all of this."


Mulder nodded, but did not 
speak. He closed his eyes


"I'll go help Frohike. We can find 
her faster if we both work on it.  
That okay with you Langly?"  
Byers offered, "We'll just be down 
the hall, in the visitor's area, 
okay?"


Langly nodded, and his companions 
beat a hasty retreat, disappearing 
around the corner of the door and 
down the hall. Langly turned his gaze 
back to Mulder, amazed at how 
apparently quiescent the agent 
was at this sudden, world altering 
chain of events. They had expected 
an explosion, not this rather eerie 
silence and withdrawal.  


It made Langly more than 
a little nervous.


"I'll just be out in the hall for 
a while. Call if you need me."  
Langly offered.


"Langly....." Mulder responded, 
opening his eyes a fraction, his voice

barely above a whisper.   "I....."


Langly moved closer, straining 
to hear, Mulder didn't look good 
at all right now...maybe he 
should ring for the nurse... 
 
He leaned closer, so that

Mulder did not have to strain 
to speak more loudly....

And was rewarded by a

surprisingly strong hand 
gripping the front of his 
t-shirt and pulling him

down until he was practically 
nose to nose with Fox Mulder.


"I need your help," Mulder hissed,  
his voice for all its low volume was 

commanding, providing a stark 
contrast to the physical picture 
he presented. "And if you won't help 
I need your silence."


Langly nodded, swallowing noisily.  
It didn't occur to him until much later,

to voice a single objection.


x


Scully chafed at the inactivity, 
sitting once again in Skinner's 
outer office. She didn't want 
to be here, but she knew 
she couldn't leave until she'd 
undone a little of the damage 
that had been wrought since 
she had withdrawn to the privacy 
of her own thoughts. Her anger 
erupted all over again, with Skinner 
and with herself, when she realized 
what had been going on within the 
Bureau while she been wrapped in 
self pity. It did not occur to her at 
the time, or until much later, that 
had she been privy to the latest 
OPR travesty as it occurred, that 
there was not  much she could have 
done to  forestall it. But that 
realization  was in the future, 
and her anger was in the here 
and now.


Scully stood, and began pacing 
the assistant director's outer 
office. 


Skinner had spent the last 
couple of hours seeing what 
could be done to ameliorate 
the probable effects of the 
OPR decision, and had demanded a

certain privacy to do so. Dana had 
considered leaving, going to the

hospital, and coming back at a 
later point in the day, but she was 
not sure that seeing Mulder, she 
could hide the truth from him.  
Nor did she want to, their 
relationship was founded on a 
trust that they would always be 
honest with each other. No, she 
had to do what she could, now, 
and delay her visit until later, 
that way he might never need 
to know all the details.


Mid pace on her tenth trip across 
the office, Skinner was at his door 
and gesturing her in once again.  
As she took her seat across from 
him once again, Scully looked at 
him her expression a cross between 
curiosity and a savage impatience. 


"The OPR review I can do nothing 
about--Mulder is still going to have to

justify his involvement with the X-Files.  
Based on 'recent medical' information 
regarding Mulder, that review has been 
moved out to two months time however.  
That should give Mulder time to recuperate 
and get his case established.  His 
assignment to desk duty is temporary, 
until such time as the OPR decides 
the staffing of the X-files issue."


"And my reassignment?" Scully 
asked, pointedly.


"Has been scrapped. I told them that 
if they were to force the issue, they

would very likely be losing the 
services of an exemplary agent.  
Again,pending the outcome of the 

X-Files staffing review, you will 
be assigned wherever Mulder is."


"Thank you sir. I appreciate your efforts.  
You won't regret this."  Scully

was genuinely relieved.


"That remains to be seen, Agent.  
As I have said, you have powerful 
enemies out there. I can't promise that 
anything I've done this afternoon will be

more than a stop gap measure.  
But it buys some time, at least."


"That's all I could really hope for, 
I know."  Scully replied.  She was

startled as her cell phone chirped 
from her pocket, she hadn't remembered

reactivating it.


She cast an apologetic look 
at Skinner, and pulled it from 
her pocket.


"Scully,"  she spoke into the phone 
quietly, hoping she could gracefully end

the call quickly, and make a quick exit, 
she was already hours past the time

she had wanted to be at the hospital.


"Scully!  Finally!  We've been trying 
to get a hold of you  all afternoon." 

Frohike's voice on the other end of 
the line seemed more than usually

agitated.


"Frohike--I'm in the middle of a meeting 
with Assistant Director Skinner,

can this possibly wait?"  Scully asked.


"I don't think so Agent Scully.  
You're gonna want to hear this.  Mulder--"


Scully's heart lurched painfully in her 
chest.

"Mulder?"  she repeated

aloud. She must have gone pale 
because Skinner was suddenly out 
from behind his desk and drawing 
the chair next to hers closer.


"Has something happened, 
Frohike?"  she asked, her 
voice strained, her mind

playing any number of 
scenarios for her in fast 
forward.


"N-n....Yes..." Frohike hesitated for 
the barest of moments. "We were

trying to get a hold of you, like 
I said. We left Mulder with 
Langly a couple hours ago. When we went 
back to check...."


"Frohike--get  to the point, please!"  
Scully commanded.


"Both Mulder and Langly were 
gone.  Disappeared."


"WHAT?!"  she responded far more 
stridently than she would have wished.  
Hervisions of Mulder falling prey to yet 
another physical setback evaporated in

the face of his declaration. Confusion 
and anger replaced the heart

clenching fear that had been gripping 
her.  "How could they just

disappear?!"


Skinner was rounding his desk 
once again, reaching for his phone.


"I don't know, Agent Scully. All I know 
is that Mulder is gone out of his

room, and Langly and the van 
have disappeared with him.  
Byers is trying to find out from 
hospital security right now what 
happened.  Are you going to come over?"


"I'll be right there."  Scully broke 
the connection and snapped the phone

back together, slipping it in her pocket.


Skinner was raising a hand to halt 
her rise out of her chair. Impatient,

Scully waited until he hung up his phone. 


"I'm coming with you," was all he said.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 46 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 47 of 58)
by LAAdolf



"Byers found this one kid, 
works in transport for the 
hospital. Apparentlyhe was taking 
a patient out to be picked up 
by their family, when a modified

VW van pulled up at the same 
entrance. He's right down here, 
in the waiting room, he's wanting 
to get home, his shift ended a 
half hour ago. Byers has been 
sitting on him until you got here."


Scully nodded curtly. She and Skinner 
had arrived at the hospital to find

Frohike waiting for them at the 
main entrance, he had kept up a 
nervous one-sided monologue all 
the way to Mulder's erstwhile floor.  
Apparently both Frohike and Byers 
had made up for any lack of vigilance 
earlier in the day, by combing the 
hospital for witnesses to whoever 
or whatever had snatched Mulder 
and Langly from their midst.


The young man who awaited them 
could not have been more than 
twenty years old and looked 
understandably discomfited by 
his being detained in the waiting room.  
Scully approached, pulling out 
her FBI ID and flashing it at

him. Skinner did likewise, but 
allowed  her to take the lead.


"We are sorry to keep you here,"  
she soothed as she came to a stop before

him.  "We're investigating the disappearance 
of a federal agent from this

hospital, and we just need to know 
what you saw. Could you go over it for

me one more time, Mr....Mr...."


"Karenkov, Eddie Karenkov." the 
youngster said, his eyes widening,  
"The FBI? Cool."


"Eddie....Now you were at the west 
entrance to the hospital at about 2 pm

this afternoon.  Could you please 
tell me what you saw?"


"Well, I was, you know,  waiting for my 
patient's wife to bring her car up

to that  entrance. That's the one we 
use to load patients most often, you

know, cause it's got the ramp where 
folks can drive right up. We were

sitting there waiting for her, you 
know, and I see this van.  It catches 
my attention, you know, because 
it's got this writing on the side you 
don't usually see in an old VW 
bus like that. I've seen plenty of 
hearses in my time, you know, 
working here, but I never saw 
one made out of an old van

like that."


Scully traded a glance with Skinner.  
"This van was rigged out like a

hearse? How could you tell?"  


"Well, about the only thing that 
told me it was a hearse was the 
writing on the side. You know, it was 
the name of a mortuary company--
one I've never heard of before.  
Something like that ancient old 
TV series--you know, from

the 60's  you catch on reruns 
sometime. You know the one, with 
the threeyoung cops who go 
undercover all the time. They're 
supposed to be making

some movie out of the thing, now."


"I think he means the Mod Squad."  
Byers offered helpfully, noting Scully

and Skinner's confusion. He had 
spent the last half hour deciphering--you

know--the young man's narrative 
and it was the only thing he had been able

to come up with.


"This hearse had Mod Squad 
written on its side?"  Scully questioned.  
Shewas losing her patience rapidly, 
but tried to keep her  tenuous hold on her

equanimity.


"Nah,  no it ---oh man, what 
was it? The Sod Squad.....no...
I got it now, it was the Bod Squad.  
That is what it was!  And it had 
this, you know, reallycool slogan 
on the side too, 'Flower Power 
after your final hours.'  Yeah,

and the driver really looked the 
part too. He wasn't wearing your 
normal mortuary worker uniform.  
You know, the three piece suit. He was 
wearing this tie dyed number, really 
stylin'-- with the hippie beads and 
everything."


"Uh, would you be able to give 
a physical description of this driver? 

Height, weight? Outstanding 
physical characteristics?"  
Skinner broke in suddenly.  
Scully glanced at him quizzically.


"Yeah, he was pretty tall and skinny.  
Long blonde hair. Big thick black

framed glasses. He really looked the part.  
You know, like a hippie."


Scully, Skinner, Frohike and Byers 
all exchanged looks with each other.  


"Anyway, while I'm standing there, 
he pulls up and runs in to the hospital. 

They usually don't load stiffs, you 
know, at that entrance. Makes the

regular patients nervous. But 
who am I to tell him different.  
So's I just wait there, load my 
patient into his wife's car when 
it pulls up, and I stay out for a smoke.  
Within ten minutes, the guy is back, 
he's got this gurney, with some stiff on it, 
all covered up like. You know, like they 
always are. He looks at me for a 
minute,  then loads the stiff in the 
back, waves and climbs in the van 
and takes off. Really seemed to 
enjoy his work, you know."


"Thank you, Mr. Karenkov.  
I think we have everything we need.  
You can go home now. And please 
know that the FBI thanks you 
for your cooperation in this 
matter." Skinner said before 
Scully had a chance to speak.  


Suitably abashed, the young man 
bobbed his head at each of them 
in turn. "Have I helped you?  
With catching the guy that 
took your fed-- I mean agent?"


"Oh yes, I think you have, indeed.  
We'll be in touch if we need anything

more."  Skinner replied.


Beaming the young man left 
the waiting room.  The four 
remaining occupants of the 
room watched the young man 
disappear down the corridor.  
Then, as if they had rehearsed 
it that way four voices spoke a name.


"Langly!"

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 47 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 48 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


"Okay, you gonna tell me where 
we're headed, now that we're clear 
of D.C.?"  Ringo Langly had just 
climbed back into the VW van 
after divesting the outershell of 
the van of its temporary advertising.  
He was going to owe his old pal Biff 
big time for the rush job on the plastic 
cling signage whipped out in such a 
hurry, but that was okay, it was 
going to be Mulder who ended up

paying the freight on this escapade.


There was no immediate response 
from the figure laying on the floor  
of the van, the seats removed to 
accommodate the mattress he 
was stretched out on. 



"Hey Mulder, you alive back there?"  
Langly spoke again, louder this time. 

Be just like Mulder to die on him, l
eaving him to explain all this to Scully

and Skinner. AND Frohike and Byers.


"No thanks to the shocks in this 
thing.  Yeah." Mulder's voice,  
muffled and tired responded finally.   
"West Tisbury. Massachusetts."


"Sure, Why not." Langly responded, 
mentally calculating the distance

overland.  "Via Dulles or National.  
Must be Dulles, we're headed in that

general direction.  We'd have to go 
back into D.C. to hit National. Have

you there in a jiffy."


"NO! No planes."  Mulder responded 
forcefully from the depths of the VW

interior.  Mulder had insisted that 
the tie dyed curtains added to the 
van windows for  the verisimilitude 
of their cover remain drawn. Langly 
half suspected that was less to keep 
prying eyes out, than it was to hide from

him the true picture that Mulder 
presented back there. There was 
no way the Lone Gunmen's favorite 
Fed should be out of the hospital, 
and they both knew it.


"But Mulder--that's a long drive 
overland,  it'll be the middle of the night

before we get there and that's not 
even counting gas and rest stops. 
Why not fly, you'd be much more 
comfortable."


"Too easy to to track. Paper 
trail."  Mulder replied.


Langly had thought of that. In fact, 
he had counted on it. Hopefully by 
now either Frohike or Byers would 
have found the message he'd been 
able to leave behind in Mulder's room, 
and they'd have gotten Scully--
and Skinner, with any luck--hot 
on their trail.  He had hoped to 
leave the proverbial trailof crumbs 
for them. That would have been 
easier at an airport. He wasn't

sure how he was going to handle 
this on an overland, multi-houred 
drive to Martha's Vineyard. 


"Okay, man.  Whatever you want.  
Just don't blame me if you feel 
worse when you get there.  
I tried."


The only response from the 
rear of the van was a cross 
between a groan and a growl.  
Langly started the van and 
pointed it  in the general 
direction of Massachusetts.


X


Scully's eyes surveyed the 
abandoned hospital room 
with an investigator's eye.  
Now that foul play by one of 
Mulder's  many enemies had been 
ruled out, her worry was being 
steadily out paced in its growth 
by her anger.  


The room, as had his apartment 
after his previous disappearance, 
gave the impression of its 
occupant having just stepped 
out. The mail that her mother 
had collected that morning 
sat unopened on the wheeled 
table that swung away from the 
bed, Mulder's glasses tossed on 
them carelessly. The book, the 
volume of Charles Fort's X-filean 
early investigations into the

unexplained lay casually opened 
next to the mail pile. The bed clothes 
were in disarray, and next to the bed 
sat the case that Scully had often seen

Langly carry around--his favorite 
laptop  still visible inside.


"Frohike...."  Scully said aloud. 
"Is Langly always this careless 
of his equipment?"


Frohike came up beside her, 
and looked where she gestured, 
his eyes settling on Langly's computer.


"No Scully, he isn't. He wouldn't 
leave something like that unattended. 

Hospitals have a high rate of theft  
of valuables. He wouldn't risk it."


"Unless?"  Scully prompted.


"Unless he meant it to be found.  
Used it to leave a message." Frohike's

sense of paranoia led him along the 
same thought path already traveled by

Dana Scully.


The Lone Gunman moved to the
bedside and picked up the computer, 
withdrawing it from his case and l
aying it on Mulder's abandoned bed.


Scully read the message over 
the elfin man's shoulder, as 
it scrolled out on the screen.  


"As kidnapping a Federal Agent is a 
capital offense, I want it to be plainly

understood that the actions I, Ringo 
Langly, have taken this day were not of

my own volition. While it is true that 
I have aided and abetted Special

Agent Fox Mulder in his escape from 
this hospital against medical advice, I

have done so against my will. The only 
reason I have participated at all

was because Agent Mulder made it 
absolutely clear to me that he was 
leaving this place today, with or 
without my help.  Given Agent 
Mulder's present physical condition 
and state of mind, I considered it 
an extension of my duties as one of 
his self appointed body guards to 
see that no further harm

befalls Agent Mulder.  Signed, 
Ringo Langly, LG, esquire.


"P.S.  I will try to maintain 
some kind of contact with my 
fellow Lone Gunmen as Agent 
Mulder's plans are revealed to me."


"That bloody idiot."  Scully 
hissed, her suspicions more 
than amply confirmed.  


Frohike was never sure 
afterward, which bloody 
idiot she meant,  Langly or

Mulder. 


X

End Cursum Perficio (Part 48 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 49 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Ringo Langly pulled the aging VW van into
the gas station/convenience store parking
area and killed the motor. Nervously, he
glanced--futilely, for the object of his
concern was not within its visual range
--into the rear view mirror. It had been
quiet in the back of the van for the last
several miles. A little too quiet.

Langly twisted his body around and in the 
dim light of the van interior, strained
to see Mulder. The agent was sprawled, in
much the same position as he had been 
since they had left the D.C. city limits.

"Scully is going to kick my ass for
this," Langly thought to himself for
probably at least the hundredth time in
as many minutes. Sighing, Langly--as
quietly as possible--climbed out of the
front of the van and cautiously moved
around to the doors on the side.  

He paused. Opening the door would reveal
one of two things. Either Mulder would be
in the early stages of rigor mortis and
he could start planning the rest of his
life in Rio De Janiero, or the agent
would simply be in a much needed,and
undoubtedly merciful state of sleep.  
He was counting on the latter.  

Langly slid the door open, allowing the 
light of late afternoon to illuminate the
pale features of his semi-illegal cargo.
Mulder WAS breathing--Langly noted with
no little amount of relief, and did seem
to be deeply and peacefully asleep.

Cautiously, Langly closed the door once
again, and made a beeline for the
payphone booth some hundred yards away.
First, he'd call his compatriots and 
then he'd worry about filling the tank
and finding nourishment for himself and
Mulder. 

xx

Byers and Frohike had watched Scully pace
the hospital room for some minutes,
obviously working on controlling an
increasing state of agitation. Skinner
had left some half hour previous, vowing
to marshal the forces of the FBI to track
his wayward agent. Scully had declined to
join the official search, and had been
ominously silent since the assistant
director had left the hospital.

Watching her anxiously, they didn't know
whether to be relieved or frightened for
their lives when suddenly she stopped in
mid stride and stalked to the bedside
table.  

She grabbed Mulder's eye glasses,dumped
the mail and the massive volume of
Forteana into the book bag her mother had
so graciously provided for Mulder's use.
Then, without so much as a word, she 
turned and stomped towards the door. 
Startled by her abrupt exit, Frohike and
Byers snapped out of their distraction
and ran to catch up.

"Scully..." Frohike was saying as he
hustled to catch up with her, "Where are
you going?"

Dana Katherine Scully stopped some twenty
feet down the hallway and spun around to
face them. "I'm going to have a little
chat with Mulder's doctor. That bloody
fool left here without any of his
medications, and he hasn't finished all
the courses of antibiotics. I'm going to
get them to set up medisets for him.
Then, I'm going to Mulder's apartment--
he left here, you know, in sweatpants, a
t-shirt and sneakers--to pack him a bag. 
Then I'm going to track that stubborn
asshole down. Then I'm going to kill him.
Very slowly, and very painfully."

Frohike looked into Scully's smoldering
blue-green eyes and did not, for even the
tiniest second, doubt that she would. 
He exchanged a nervous glance with 
Byers. 

"Then we're both going to help you do the
same to Langly."  Frohike replied.  

Scully favored them both with a brief nod
and a decidedly feral smile.

XX

Langly developed a severe case of cold
feet 8 yards short of the payphone, and
veered off into the convenience store.

He might live to regret this, putting off
the call for even a few minutes might
jeopardize his whole plan. Mulder *could*
wake up and do something stupid, costing
him his chance to alert his compatriots
to their ultimate destination. But he
also needed to make sure that they had
provisions, and it might be even less
convenient to stop for the same later on. 
Besides, he hadn't eaten all day, and he
was hungry.

Cruising up and down the aisles of the
small store, Langly popped his usual diet
of junk food items into his basket, then
attempted to remember enough of basic
nutrition to gather healthier fare for
Mulder. The injured agent had been back
on solid foods for several days now, but
Langly hadn't the foggiest idea of what
special nutritional needs someone in
Mulder's condition might have. Deciding
on an array of fruits, vegetables and as
many protein items as he could find in
the limited stock of the tiny store, he
made it to the cashier, paid for the
items, and prepaid for the amount of gas
he estimated the van would hold. He 
exited the store, bags of food in hand
pausing for a long moment. 

It WAS time to face the music. Taking a
deep breath, Ringo Langly walked
purposefully to the phone booth, sat his
grocery bags on it floor, and reached for
the handset.

X
End Cursum Perficio (Part 49 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 50 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Scully had just flung Mulder's shaving
kit into the open duffel bag when
Frohike's cell phone chirped loudly. So
thick was the tension in the apartment
that all three of its temporary occupants 
involuntarily jumped in unison.

Frohike, who, with Byers had been
watching Scully pack Mulder's bag from
the relative safety of the couch, shot up
at the sound of the phone and fumbled it
out of his pocket.

"Yeah?" he growled into the handset,
"Langly, that you? What the hell do you
think you are doing--WHAT?"

Byers looked at Scully, who had been
zipping up the duffel as the phone had
gone off. She was moving closer to
Frohike, giving the impression that she
was struggling to keep herself from
dashing up to Frohike and ripping the
phone from his hands. 

"WHERE?" Frohike barked into the phone
after the briefest moment of silence. 
"West Tisbury? Massachusetts? Martha's
Vineyard? You're sure? Langly, wait--
you hippie freak..."

Frohike scowled at the cell phone in his
hand. 

"The punk-ass bastard hung up on me." He
announced. "Mulder's okay so far, he
says. They are on their way to West
Tisbury, Massachusetts."  

Scully spun on her heel, grabbed the
duffel bag on the fly, and stalked out
the door.  

Frohike and Byers exchanged worried
glances, shrugged, and followed.

xx

Mulder started awake to the sound of the
engine of the VW van firing up and to the
sensation of movement.  

"Where are we?" He spoke, marshalling his
energy to make his voice as loud as
possible.

"We just crossed over into Massachusetts,
I needed to stop for gas. How you doin'
back there?"

"Compared to what?"  Mulder replied
curtly.

"You've been asleep since before
Baltimore.If you're hungry, there's food
in the sack next to you."

Mulder attempted to roll toward the
plastic bag to survey its contents, only
to be rewarded with a reawakened pain in
his ribs, and a hip which protested the
movement by sending a shot of pain
through his body and into his chest.He
fell back, gasping.He decided that he
wasn't that hungry anyway.  

"Why didn't you wake me up before this?"
Mulder groused, after he had had a minute
or two to recapture his breath and his
composure.

"You need the rest, man. Nothing to see
but road.Just relax. Go back to sleep."

Mulder scowled into the gathering
darkness. He had his own reasons for not
wanting to spend this entire trip flat on
his back on the floor of the van.

He took a deep breath and attempted once
again to roll into a sitting position. 
By steady effort he was able to lever
himself up into something approaching his
goal. He rummaged the food bag for
something liquid, his stomach rebelling
at the sight and thought of solid food.

Satisfying his thirst on a bottle of
Evian water, Mulder gingerly laid himself
back down.

He pressed his eyes shut. Left now to his
own thoughts, the demons came back to
haunt him. In the concerted effort of his
departure from the hospital, he had
avoided thinking of how cataclysmically
his life had been suddenly altered.Only
now was the loss of not only Scully, but
the newly reopened X-files beginning to
hit him with full devastating effect.
This was an abyss far more terrible and
terrifying  than the elevator shaft into
which he had been dumped and left to die.

It was a darkness into which he now felt
himself freefalling, and it was a measure
of his growing despair that he no longer
cared if it swallowed him whole. 

XX
Frohike grabbed the dashboard as the car
lurched violently to one side.  The
action saved him from being thrown into
the passenger side door completely, but
did not save him from smacking his
shoulder into it. 

Byers, who was righting himself after
nearly being thrown onto the back seat of
Scully's car, cleared his throat
experimentally.

"If you'd like, Agent Scully, I would be
more than happy to drive for a while."
he offered helpfully.

The glare he received via reflection in
the rear view mirror made him subside
into muteness, vowing that if he lived
through this experience, he would be
thinking twice before volunteering
himself for such hazardous duty again.

"What did Skinner say when you called
him, Scully?" Frohike ventured after a
few moments of tense silence.

"I didn't call him," Scully snarled
between clenched teeth. "He'd just be in
the way."

Frohike pondered this for a moment,
looking at Scully cautiously. She really
wasn't being herself, and it worried the
Lone Gunman to no end. 

It was understandable to be upset with
what Langly and Mulder had done, to be
angry enough to kill them both,
figuratively if not literally. But
Frohike had noticed now for many days
that Scully had been thrown into a crisis
every bit as personally devastating as
the accident that had befallen Mulder. 
What happened in the next few hours could
very well either bind his two favorite
feds in an even closer link or destroy
their connection entirely and
irrevocably. That was a consequence that
Frohike knew neither would find easy to
survive.

Even more alarming was the fact that
Frohike could sense the power of the
nexus these two agents shared, and feared
what Scully's distraction might mean. 
She was rushing towards an inevitable
collision towards something none of them
could foresee or understand. Frohike
wanted to help, to offer comfort or
reassurance or some tangible evidence
that everything would turn out all right,
that this precipitous flight would come
to a good and beneficial end. But
something dark and deep was beginning to
develop on their collective horizon. 
They could all sense it but could not see
it.

And all any of them could do was to rush
forward through the darkness towards
whatever lay at the end of the road. 

X


End Cursum Perficio (Part 50 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 51 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

"Mr. Mulder..." the voice was one he had
not heard in a long time now. Not since
the Blessing Way chant had been performed
for his benefit in Albert's hogan, so far
away.

"Mr. Mulder."

Mulder opened his eyes. Deep Throat was
there, in the darkness, looking at him
with eyes that held a mixture of almost
paternal concern and deep disappointment.

"This is NOT an acceptable path Mr.
Mulder."

For a moment, Mulder considered calling
out to Langly to toss this unwelcome
intruder out of the van, and then he
remembered that Deep Throat was no longer
alive, was not a tangible presence, and
therefore Langly would in all likelihood
just be even more convinced that whatever
wits Fox Mulder had had had been
scattered to the four winds. 

"I don't care," Mulder responded,
tiredly, wanting to turn away and close
his eyes, but somehow strangely, unable
to do so.

"You are close to having the job done, to
having your life and that of your sister
handed back to you. You are closer than
ever before to the truth. I never judged
you for a coward, Mr. Mulder."

"Sticks and stones..." Mulder mumbled,
finally forcing his gaze away from that
of his former informant and mentor.

"After all you've learned, everything
you've seen--you are willing to be so
close and yet give it all up...to have
let every life altered, every death
unavenged to amount to nothing...?"

"You got it, sucker. Now, go away."
Mulder closed his eyes against the stern
expression of the vision in front of him,
and turned away.



In the front of the van, Langly heard the
soft, almost inaudible sound of Mulder's
voice. His words were not distinct enough
to be plainly understood, not unlike the
muttering he had done in his bouts of
delirium in the hospital.

Ringo Langly knew he should pull the van
over to the side of the road and check
his charge. But they were nearly to the
Vineyard now, and if they were to make
the right connections to reach their
destination before night gave over into
the next day, time was of the essence. 
All Langly could do was to keep driving
and hope that Mulder's headlong flight
into the darkness--and whatever awaited
in West Tisbury, Massachusetts would not
be at any greater expense than it already
had. 

xxx

The sound of a cell phone broke the
strained silence which had descended upon
the inhabitants of Special Agent Dana
Scully's car. There was a moment of
confusion during which Byers, Frohike and
Scully each attempted to determine which
of their respective phones was chirping
in the close confines of the auto. 
Eventually, Scully reached one hand into
her jacket pocket while keeping a tense
and determined eye on the road and
removed the offending equipment. 

"Scully," her tone was clipped, her voice
betraying her impatience with any
interruption, any distraction from what
she had to do.

"Agent Scully?" Langly's voice at the end
of the connection was tentative, worried.
"Langly?! Where the hell are you?" Scully
spared a quick glance at both Frohike
beside her and Byers in the back seat.

"We're on the ferry to Martha's Vineyard. 
I just came back to check on Mulder."

Scully found herself tensing
automatically,her every instinct tuning
to the tone and pitch of Langly's voice.
She could detect a certain strain to his
voice, images beginning to flood her
mind.  

"How is he, Langly?" she forced her voice
to be even and controlled.

"He's been asleep for most of the trip,
and peacefully too, except for the last
hour or so. He's been doing a lot of..."
Langly paused, as though groping for the
right word, the most accurate
description.

Scully was impatient,but labored to keep
quiet, to allow Langly the space to say
what he needed to.

"Talking...he's like he was in the
hospital, kinda feverish, and Scully,
he's delirious I think. I couldn't make
out what he was saying at first, over the
sound of the engine and all. But I've
been sitting with him a few minutes and
he's been saying something over and over. 
I don't know what it means. I don't know
what to do." 

"Now is a fine time to ask, Langly."
Scully responded, unable to control her
frustration completely. "He should be
back in a hospital."

"I know, Scully," Langly began, only to be interrupted by
the sound of Mulder's voice.  

Hearing him, however indistinct and
faintly in the background caused Scully's
heart to drop painfully from chest to 
solar plexus. She could not have heard
what she had thought she had heard.

"Wh...what did he just say, Langly? Is he
awake?" Her question sounded inane to her
own ears.

"The same thing he's been saying for the
last twenty minutes or so. It doesn't
make much sense."

"Langly, just tell me what he said,
please!" her voice was far more strident
than she would have wished.

"That he's 'come to say goodbye and that
he is sorry.' Does that mean something to
you?" Langly asked.

Scully was too busy trying to keep from
crashing the car in that moment, so great
was the shock of confirmation of what she
heard, to give Langly any reply at all.

If Byers and Frohike had expected an
explanation of the phone call, they were
sorely disappointed. Special Agent Dana
Scully lapsed into a silence which no
amount of gentle prodding caused her to
break.
x



End Cursum Perficio (Part 51 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 52 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

The cellular connection went dead
simultaneous with the blast of the ferry
foghorn which signalled a final approach
to the dock. Langly could do nothing but
prepare for arrival at Martha's Vineyard.
Reluctantly, he settled a blanket around
Mulder's restless form, and moved to the
front of the van. They would be at their
final destination shortly--and then he
would once again call Scully and try to
find out what he should do.

XX

Scully's hands clenched the wheel of the
car so tightly, they were beginning to go
numb. 

"Scully--what did Langly say? Are you all
right?!" Frohike was asking, alarm
evident in his voice.

Scully shook her head, unable to trust
her voice in that minute to answer the
question. She was shaking--her whole body
shuddering as if she were chilled. She
found it difficult to breathe. If she had
any sense at all she should pull the car
over immediately...

"Byers, I'll take you up on that offer
now." Scully said suddenly, making eye
contact in the rear view mirror. She
glanced at the highway shoulder, and
finding it safe to pull off, proceeded to
do so.

A few minutes later, Byers was sliding
behind the wheel, and Dana Scully was in
the back seat, huddling as though for
warmth. She looked out the car window,
into the blackness of the night and
willed herself to attempt calmness. 
Hysteria would accomplish nothing now.


XX

Langly drove up in front of the house in
West Tisbury, grateful on the one hand
that the trip was done, but fearful on
the other of what awaited him in the back
of the van. Mulder had, in a brief, lucid
moment before they had boarded the ferry,
explained that the keys to the house
resided with a caretaker, and had
scrawled a quick note for Langly to
present to that same person upon their
arrival. Langly had stopped by that
person's home briefly, and been given the
keys to the Mulder castle on the strength
of that communication from the Mulder
heir.

Langly shut off the engine, and walked to
the side door, sliding it open. He was
more than a little surprised to find
Mulder not only awake, but seemingly
coherent. There was a sheen of
perspiraton on the agent's face, and he
looked the very image of death warmed
over, but he was awake and alert and
already attempting to crawl out of the
van on his own.

"Whoa there, Mulder. Why don't you let me
get the front door unlocked and some
lights on, then I'll come back to help
you?" Langly gently restrained his
companion.

Mulder gave him a truculent look, but
then nodded curtly. Langly, knowing full
well that if he took too long at the task
Mulder would be struggling out and
following him, completed his mission and
returned to the van in record time. 

He was pleasantly surprised that when he
returned, Mulder accepted his offered
assistance out of the van and up to the
entry of the house with no arguments or
resistance. It was all going much better
than he could have hoped. Of course, he
still held custody of the keys, if Mulder
had decided to lock him out or something
else foolish, he still had the means to
follow him into the house.

He got Mulder situated on a brown leather
couch in the living room which he had
quickly thrown the protective plastic off
of, turning to making the immediate
surroundings look less like a museum and
more like someone's home. 

"Nice place, Mulder." Langly finally
spoke, the eeriness of the silence
between them becoming a tangible
presence.

Mulder gave a non-comittal grunt. He was
sitting on the couch, hunched over, as
though his ribs were hurting him and
making it difficult to breathe. Langly
could imagine they probably were, and
that worse, there probably wasn't a spare
inch on Mulder's body that didn't hurt
right now. He had not had any pain
medication all day, and it had, by any
measure, been a gruelling trip up from
Washington D.C.

"I'll bring in the food, and we'll get
you something to eat. Need anything right
now?" Langly asked.

Mulder made a dismissive gesture, and
Langly turned towards the door. He had
his handle on the door when Mulder's
voice abruptly brought him up short.

"I want you to let Byers know something.
I've got a suit on order for him, all he
needs to do is to go in for a fitting. I
was going to let him know that before...
all this happened. I've got a card from
the tailor on my desk in my apartment. 
All he has to do is arrange the fitting.
I never meant to take this long about
it."

"I don't think he was worried about it,"
Langly responded, confused. It didn't
occur to him until much later why the
Mulder's words gave him a sense of deja
vu.

"And tell Frohike that if anything ever
happens to me, he does get my video
collection. It's all arranged." Mulder
was continuing. He seemed not to have
heard Langly's comment.

"Sounds like you're trying to get rid of
me, Mulder. I'm not going anywhere soon. 
And you can tell them all this yourself
you know...when you get back to D.C."  
Langly had been about to say "soon" and
suddenly thought better of it. He was
fairly sure that Mulder didn't suspect
that he had made phone calls to his
fellow Lone Gunmen and Scully and that he
was confident they were only a couple of
hours behind them at this point.

"You don't need to stay," Mulder
responded, his expressive eyes connecting
with Langly's, "You've more than repaid
any debt that you think you owe me for
what happened back there--in D.C. And
that never was your fault you know.
Skinner's forensic team proved that. I
asked him to make their report available
to you just the other day."

Langly looked at Mulder for a long
moment. He realized that all day today,
for the first time in nearly three weeks,
he had not felt a sense of failure for
not having seen Mulder at the bottom of
the shaft earlier in their search.

"Thanks, Mulder. Skinner told me as much.
I guess I just needed time...you know."
Langly was for one of the few times in
his life at a loss for words.  

Mulder extended a hand, Langly reached
out his own and the two exchanged a warm
handshake.

Completely disarmed, Langly gestured
toward the door.  

"I'll go bring in the food and we'll see
about getting you something to eat."
Absently, he laid the house keys he had
been nervously passing from hand to hand
earlier in the conversation on the coffee
table in front of the couch. "Be right
back."

Mulder nodded, leaning back against the
couch, the picture of total exhaustion. 
Langly continued on his way to the van,
swung the bags of groceries out of it and
secured it.

He didn't remember his earlier fears
about the house keys until he had
returned to the door of the stately
Mulder house and found the door locked. 

X

End Cursum Perficio (Part 52 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 53 of 58)
by LAAdolf
x

The next time a phone chirped, it was
Byers'. He activated the phone, wondering
at the unfailing ability of some people
to pick out which occupant of any given
car was the driver and call them in the
middle of an expressway.

"Byers! We've got a situation here."
Langly's voice held a tinge of incipient
hysteria.

"What?" Byers glanced into the rearview
mirror and took in the pale, strained
features of Agent Scully. She seemed not
to have even noticed that a phone had
rung again.

"We're at Casa Mulder, and he's locked me
out! I got him inside and settled, went
back to bring in supplies, and he locked
the door on me."

"What's keeping you from picking the
lock?" Byers made sure to keep his voice
low. Frohike, who sat beside him and had
paid attention to the phone going off,
was now favoring him with a quizzical
look. But the conversation seemed not to
have carried to the back seat--or if it
had, it had not penetrated Dana Scully's
deep and worrisome distraction.

"I was on guard duty at a hospital for
Christ's sake; I didn't think I would
need it when I left the house this
morning! Do you have one? Frohike?"

"I've got mine. But we're still a couple
hours behind you, you know. Sit tight
we're making the best time we can."

"Easy for you to say. He's in there with
no food, in questionable condition. And
Byers, he wanted me to tell you about
arrangements he had made for you to get
the suit he owes you and Frohike his porn
collection...Does that suggest anything
to you?" Langly's voice raised in pitch
one full octave.

"We can't do anything more than we
already are at this point. Try to calm
down and keep a surveillance. Call
Skinner and tell him about the situation
if you want. But we don't know anything
is going to happen at this point, and I
wouldn't trust the local cops not to
think you aren't some hippy freak
planning on robbing the joint. It isn't
exactly a low income area you're in, and
Mulder is the scion of a local family. 
Just hang tight, okay?" Byers tried to
soothe the distraught Langly. 

It was difficult to tell at this
distance, and given Langly's recent
behavior, if his fears were justified.
Mulder had been angry in a repressed sort
of way at the news they had uncovered
about the X-Files and Scully, but he had
not given the impression of intending to
run to the top floor of the hospital and
throw himself off.

Still, as Byers broke the connection and
put the cell phone away, he also found
himself stepping heavily on the gas and
hoping that for once the Massachusetts
state patrol was not out in force.

XX 

Mulder leaned his back against the front
door for a full minute, then pushed off.
He was exhausted, to the very core of his
soul. But he had only a few more things
to do, and he could rest. 

He found what he was looking for in the
bottom of his father's desk drawer, in
the locked box that he had so desperately
tried to reach the night Samantha had
disappeared. He pulled the gun out of the
box, checked it--his father had taken
good care of the weapon, oiled it
thoroughly with great regularity. It
would be ready to fire now unlike that
night so many years ago. On that first
night of failure. Followed by so many
nights like it since. Whatever successes
he had enjoyed, paled in comparison to
the great disappointments of his life--to
which could now be added his loss of
Scully and the X-Files once again.  

He loaded the gun in thoughtful silence,
snapping the chamber of the revolver
closed when he finished. He laid the gun
down on the desktop, and rose.

He remembered coming here once before in
the dark of the night, sick and
debilitated. His father had wanted to
tell him something and had been killed
before he had had the chance. He had
never been able to avenge his father's
death; Alex Krycek still walked the
earth. Another failure in a very long
string of them.

He walked into the bathroom, flicking on
the light. He had found his father there,
dying in his own blood--his final words a
plea for forgiveness. Mulder shut his
eyes--he had not been able to offer his
father even that small comfort before he
had died. He had not said the words that
would have released the man to a peaceful
death. The man he'd loved so dearly and
had been so distanced from for so many
years. Another failure.

Mulder forced his eyes away from the spot
on the floor which would be forever
burned into his memory. It may have long
since been scrubbed of its bloodstains,
but the image of his father, dead,
superimposed itself over the gleaming
tiles of the beautiful blue tiled
bathroom. He put his forehead against the
cool tile of the wall for a moment, then
rolled his head back on his shoulders,
his eyes tightly closed.

With frightening savagery, he threw his
head forward, his brow smacking with
great force against the wall of the tile.
The healing gash above his eye tore open
from the force of the impact, blood
stained the wall and streamed warmly down
his face. He did not notice.   

Mulder turned, and walked away, leaving
the bathroom light blazing. Much of the
house was now bathed in light, but that
did nothing to drive the ghosts away.

He paused by the desk and picked up the
revolver, returning to the living room. 
He had carried his father's dead body
this same path, feeling the warmth of
life ebbing irrevocably away with each
step he took. Just like he felt his own
body heat diminishing now, replaced with
a calmness of purpose.

He could justify all the failures with
just one  blazing moment of success. Then
there would be rest.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 53 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 54 of 58)
by LAAdolf

X 

Langly paced outside the house, watching
as light after light was turned on behind
the shuttered windows. He had been up on
the porch, attempting to peek in, but the
house, closed up for as long as it had
been, had offered no opportunity to spy
on its lone occupant.

He had been duped so easily; Mulder's
natural charm, even when he was half off
his feet and not even thinking straight,
was as effective as ever. Langly did not 
know how he would be able to live down
what he had allowed to happen--or live
with himself if his instinct about Mulder
proved correct...

Ringo Langly felt as helpless as he ever
had in his life.

XX

Mulder stepped unsteadily away from the
desk, the weight of the revolver heavy in
his hand. He crossed back into the living
room, approaching the leather couch once
again. He paused, locating the plastic
cover Langly had removed from it,
rearranging it back over the couch. His
father would have been angry if anything
had ever spilled on that couch and
stained it. Even when he had laid out
Bill Mulder--cold and still--in this same
place, Mulder had made sure the plastic
was there, protecting...

His legs protested at keeping him up any
longer, and Fox William Mulder sat down
heavily on the plastic-sheeted piece of
furniture. He would just sit here a
moment, gather his strength.

Then he would do what he had to do.


XX

That they had finally reached the ferries
for the Vineyard had been absorbed by
Scully in a distracted sort of way. She
heard Byers and Frohike talking softly
amongst themselves, knew it was probably
about her, but did not dare to spare the
energy it would have taken to have
listened more closely.

Mulder was out there, she could sense it,
feel his pain, his exhaustion--his
despair. He knew about the X-Files being
taken away yet again, she was sure of it,
and he had somehow had the information
communicated to him before she could have
a chance to explain and to ameliorate.

But how it came to be didn't matter right
now. All that mattered was that she must
reach Mulder and that she must not be too
late.

XX

He looked up to see the sad features of
his father coalesced before him. William
Mulder's eyes were burning into his, a
grief and sadness emanating from that
regard that made Fox Mulder's breath
catch in his throat. 

"Son...I have done this to you," he said
quietly, dolefully.

"Dad..." Mulder responded, his own heart
in his eyes. He had never wanted anything
but to see love and pride on that face--
and had failed even at that.

"I couldn't see beyond my own
culpability, my own pain, my own pride.
I shut you out because I could not live
with what I had done. Made you a judas
goat for my own actions, my own lack of
courage...and even as I did it, I knew it
was wrong. Still I could not stop. Could
not take that step out of myself to let
you know how very proud I was of you.
To let you know how very much I loved
you."

Mulder closed his eyes against the hot
wetness that momentarily blinded him. 
The gun grew heavier in his weakening
hands.

"I asked you for forgiveness--a
forgiveness to which I am not entitled.
I could have armed you against this fight
which I have left you to face alone; I
could have given you the weapons to
protect yourself and those around you.
The blame is mine. Not yours."

Mulder wanted to speak, but could not,
the muscles of his throat seemed
paralyzed.

"You must not continue to do as I have
done, to allow the mistakes of the father  
to echo down through yet another
generation. You must find a way to open
yourself up, to allow in what you never
received from your mother and myself. Do
not close yourself off, Fox; do not
repeat MY mistake."

"I don't understand..." Mulder finally
found some part of his voice.


"You must turn away from this dark
purpose; toward another light. That light
is approaching. Please just hold on that
little while longer--allow it to come.
Please, son."

Fox Mulder shook his head; he raised the
pistol. "I don't have the strength. I
never did. You knew that. You were right
about me."

Mulder made full contact with his
father's eyes, steeling his soul against
the disapproval that he saw there yet
again. One more failure to add to the
list.

The gun dropped from suddenly nerveless
fingers.

X

End Cursum Perficio (Part 54 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 55 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

Langly watched as Scully's car roared up
the road in front of the Mulder house and
careened to a graceless stop. The vehicle
had barely stopped rolling before Scully,
Frohike and Byers were piling out of it.
Langly ran over to them from where he had
been standing on the opposite side of the
road, straining to see what was happening
inside the house.

Little time was lost in greetings or
recriminations. Dana Scully ran directly
up the steps of the Mulder house, the
Lone Gunmen only steps behind her.

"Mulder!!" She screamed, beating the door
with her fists. "Mulder!!"

Byers shouldered his way to the lock as
politely as the circumstances allowed.
Within a few minutes of working the
lockpicking tool, he gave a grunt of
success. The door opened...

...a few inches and stopped, secured by a
chain. Byers put his hand on Scully's
shoulders and gently urged her aside.
Signalling to his fellow Lone Gunmen, he 
put a shoulder to the door. They joined
him in a fierce rush and push.

The door swung open. The three Lone
Gunmen stumbled in, only to be shoved
aside by a tiny dynamo of a woman, who
paused only a few seconds to survery her
surroundings, before zeroing in on the
object of her quest.

Mulder was sprawled out the leather couch
on the far side of the room. There seemed
to be blood everywhere.

"Nooo...." 

The sound that emitted from the throat of
Dana Katherine Scully was so raw, so
primal, that it might have been made by a
wounded animal instead of a human being.
She stopped, frozen momentarily, a look
of horror etched indelibily on her
features. Frohike, Byers, and Langly
gathered around her, the anguish in their
own features mirroring that in hers.

There was a gun on the floor, and above,
Mulder's arm was stretched out, palm
upward as though in some form of
supplication. His face was obscured both
by blood and by its position against the
couch back.

The moment of silence and stillness
ended. Scully walked forward, her eyes
never leaving the tableau before her. She
lowered herself unsteadily, until she sat
on the edge of the couch next to her
partner. Her hand reached out, skimmed
his hair, then rested against his cheek.

The Lone Gunmen hung their heads, almost
ashamed of being witnesses to the scene.
Frohike wiped at his eyes with the back
of his hand. Langly twisted his head
away, to the side, as though trying to
obscure his own reaction from his
companions. Byers took an abortive step
forward, torn between respecting Scully's
privacy and wanting to offer comfort.

None of them were prepared for her next
words.

"The son-of-a-bitch," she announced in a
voice that was more angry than grief-
stricken, "is ALIVE!"

XX
None of the Lone Gunmen moved for almost
a full thirty seconds. Then they rushed
forward as a unit, crowding around,
gawking at Mulder.

Frohike was reaching into his pocket for
his cell phone when Scully whipped around
to look at him. The cell phone never
cleared his jacket.

"I need towels, and water. NOW! Byers, my
medical bag is in the trunk of my car;
bring it here," she ordered, turning her
attention to Mulder once more, as both
men hastened to do her bidding.

Langly watched as Scully examined Mulder,
performing a cursory check all over
before concentrating on his head wound.
Whatever was wrong with Mulder, he
appeared to be completely insensible to
his surroundings.

"No sign of an entry wound here..."
Scully was saying. "It looks like he's
just reopened the gash over his eye..."

Langly watched as she checked Mulder's
pupils, pulling back each eyelid in turn. 

Frohike returned with a bowl of water and
and armload of towels, which he sat
beside the couch, within Scully's easy
reach. She soaked a hand towel in the
water, wrung it out and proceeded to
clean the blood away from the wound and
the rest of Mulder's face. 

"Hold this here, Frohike," Scully
commanded, as she picked up a washcloth
and pressed it to the still bleeding
gash. Frohike moved in, perching on the
arm of the couch above Mulder's head,
applying the makeshift pressure bandage
to the unconscious agent's brow as
directed.

Byers returned momentarily, and handed
the medical bag over to Scully. She
reached in first for a butterfly bandage,
then for her blood pressure monitoring
equipment. She wrapped the cuff around
Mulder's arm, and her companions watched
in tense silence as she completed the
ritual. She then used her stethoscope to
check his heartbeat and breathing. 

"How is he, Scully?" Frohike asked as she
gestured him to remove the wadded
washcloth while she applied the prepared
bandage to the cut on his forehead.

"All his vital signs are good. It looks
like he's managed to give himself a
slight concussion--probably doing
whatever caused that cut to reopen.
The idiot. He probably did the most
damage to himself leaving the hospital to
begin with." Scully shot a look at Langly
which caused the Lone Gunman to redden
and drop his head to his chest.

Scully finished cleaning her wayward
charge, handing the bloody towels and
pinkish-red water to Frohike for
disposal.  

"I'm going to need the medication trays
the hospital prepared for me from the
car." Scully turned to regard the
remaining two Lone Gunmen. "He's missed
almost a full day of doses at this
point--but it could be worse. I'll
administer what I can via hypodermic and
get him back on the regimen tomorrow. I 
don't suppose you thought to get
provisions for this place, Langly?"

"I did, Scully. I've got bags of food in
the van." Langly rejoined.

"Then I suggest you retrieve them. He
likely didn't eat a damn thing all day
today, but he will."

Byers, who had elected himself to
retrieve the medication as Scully had
requested, paused by the door. 
"Shouldn't we be calling paramedics or
something?"

"He's in no immediate danger," Scully
replied, letting her gaze swing back to
her unconscious partner. "At least not
from his physical condition."

Byers and Langly exchanged a long,
questioning look with each other, then
proceeded out the door and into the
night.

X

End Cursum Perficio (Part 55 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 56 of 58)
by LAAdolf


x

Fox William Mulder flinched from the
burning, stabbing pain in his arm, but
could not force his eyes open. It was not
as though he had not been subject to
similar abuse before--and quite recently. 
He'd found he could sleep through almost
anything the hospital could throw at him,
up to and including what passed for
nourishment within those hallowed halls.

He was in a comfortable place. It was
peaceful and quiet, and so far none of
the ghosts which had so plagued him
recently had put in an appearance.  
There was a light here, a soft warm glow
which had come not long after his father
had left. It projected refuge and
kindness, surcease from pain and worry.
He basked in its radiance, felt the
healing. It was not a place he was
anxious to leave.

Still, the sound of distant voices
distracted him, like the persistent,
bothersome buzzing of flies. Try as he
might, he found he could not give himself
over to peacefulness. Not when the voices
kept using his name.

"Of course Mulder should be in a
hospital; he should never have LEFT the
one he was in, you know. And WHOSE fault
is that?" a voice that sounded remarkably
like his old friend Frohike was saying
from some place very far away.

"He didn't give me much choice!" A voice
recognizable as that of Ringo Langly
replied hotly. "What should I have done?
Handed him the keys to the van and let
him drive himself up here?"

"You should have stopped him before he
got that far. I've never seen Scully so
mad about anything in my life. If Mulder
has any sense at all, he'll stay
unconscious until she's in a better frame
of mind." Frohike's voice dropped low, as
though Scully was nearby, and might be
able to overhear.

Scully...

He understood now about the warmth and
the light. She was nearby; he could sense
her presence. Hers was the radiance he
had been basking in, the healing light he
had not WANTED to leave...

Had not been ABLE to leave...

"Shhh, she's going to hear you; she's
just in the other room. She'll be back in
just a minute..." Byers was warning.

Those words had no sooner echoed into
silence when Scully's voice could be
heard.

"I'll hear what?" she was asking.

"Nothing Scully, we just were wondering
how long it will take Mulder to wake up. 
It's not good to be unconscious this
long, is it?" Langly's voice was
ingenuous.

Mulder felt the surface on which he was
laying give just a little bit, as though
someone had sat down. He was dazzled for
a moment by a strong pulse of light and
energy. He recognized it at once.

"I'm not sure he's unconscious in the
clinical sense. He did respond to pain
stimulus--the shot I gave him a little
while ago, for example." Scully replied
after a moment of silence.

"He's just worn out?" Frohike queried.

"Ummm." Scully's reply was accompanied by
the cool touch of something to Mulder's
chest. "Heartbeat is good and strong.
Bastard's got the constitution of a mule. 
Stunt like this would have killed a
lesser mortal."

Mulder was not sure he liked how he was
being talked about behind his back--well
in front of closed eyelids. After
everything he had been through, it did
not seem to be too much to ask for a
little sympathy. Especially from his
partner.

His partner. She wasn't *that* any more
was she? Mulder was surprised she was
even here--wherever "here" was. He should
still be in his father's house, if what
he understood of what they had been
saying was true. How had Scully come to
be here? Very odd for her to have
followed him here, if that was what she
had done. She had left him alone in the
hospital many days ago and asked Skinner
for a transfer out of the X-Files. Why
WAS she here now?

Mulder listened for a minute, hoping for
more clues. When none were forthcoming,
he realized there was only one thing he
could do. Search for the answer himself.

XX

Scully almost missed the minute
fluttering of Mulder's lashes. In the
hours she had been sitting here, her mind
had found a place to wander to to keep
her from going completely insane. It had
retreated to that point again, and it was
only the alertness of a few laggard brain
cells that saved her from missing the
clue.

"Wake up, you idiot," Scully thought to
herself, watching for further movement.

After a moment Mulder twitched an arm,
and then the green eyes behind the long
lashes opened and regarded her warily.

"About fucking time," she said aloud.

"Why Scully, you know how it excites me
when you talk dirty like that..."  Mulder
mumbled.

"Oh shut up!" she spat, her eyes blazing
with a fury he could not remember having
seen before. "I only want to have the
answer to one thing, Mulder. What the
hell did you think you were doing,
leaving the hospital like that?!"

Mulder mused that laying flat on his back
was not the most advantageous position to
be in if Scully was going to insist on an
argument. But damned if he could find the
strength to remedy the situation.

"Scully, I was only doing what hospital
administration and the FBI HMO had been
asking me to do. They thought I should
have been released four days ago."

"Very amusing, Mulder. If you weren't
laying there flat on your damned back I'd
kick your ass," Scully seethed at him.

"Shall I stand up? Anything to
accomodate." Mulder replied
sarcastically, attempting to lever
himself up on his elbows. He winced as
Scully's small hand planted itself in the
middle of his chest and pushed him back
down.

"Don't. I wouldn't want you to strain
yourself! Certainly NOT on my behalf! Do
you know the harm you may have done to
yourself doing what you've done?"

"No, but if you hum a few bars, I'll fake
it," Mulder replied.

Scully threw her head back, looked at the
ceiling to the count of five, then shook
her head,  "You will do or say ANYTHING
to skirt the real issue."

"And what do you see as 'the real issue,'
Scully?  That I didn't want to play sick
anymore? That I detest being poked and
prodded and have everything done for me--
hell Scully, the only thing they weren't
doing for me was putting on and changing
my diapers!"

"Well, if you had put on this display at
the hospital, they might have been
tempted!" Scully's blue-green eyes
flashed.

"And since when do you care anyway? I
don't remember seeing you around my room
much in the last few days! No, YOU were
too busy running off to Skinner, asking
for a transfer!"

"WHAT?!" Scully retorted, "I did no such
thing!"

"Scully, I've seen the evidence! The
memos from Skinner! Did you also suggest
permanent desk duty for ME?!"  

Scully whipped around and cast deadly
looks at the three Lone Gunmen, who were
standing open-mouthed, transfixed by the
argument.

"Well, why don't we just leave you two 
love-birds alone for a little while?"
Frohike suggested, sensing that it was a
good time to retreat to a safer distance
from the line of fire. Gesturing to Byers
and Langly to follow, he made good on his
word and hustled out the front door onto
the wrap-around porch.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 56 of 58)

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 57 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x

"You had THEM hack into the FBI computer
system?" Scully asked disbelievingly as
she turned back to face Mulder. She shook
her head and took a deep breath. "Someone
must have backed out of the system a
little too soon then. I probably saw
those same memos at the same time you
did, Mulder, and I wasn't any happier
than you about them! And I at least told
Skinner that to his face!"

"You didn't *request* the transfer?" 
Mulder asked, skepticism evident in his
facial expression.

"No, I did not! And I told Skinner in no
uncertain terms that if it was made
official, that he was in for a fight!"

"You did?"

"Of course I did! I told you I wasn't
going anywhere, and I meant that. My
place is beside you, Mulder."

Mulder looked at her for a long moment,
saying nothing.

"I stayed away from your hospital room
these last few days because that seemed
to be what you wanted. You've been
chasing me away from you ever since we
got back from the Antarctic. Maybe you'd
like to explain THAT to me," Scully
continued.

Mulder seemed to find it difficult to 
make eye contact with her. "I told you
once."

"Albert said that you feel responsible.
For me, for everything that has happened. 
Is that true?" Scully countered.

Mulder twisted his head to the side,
again avoiding looking at her directly.

"I told you I didn't want to see you
die." Mulder spoke in a tone so low,
Scully almost had to lean close to hear
it.

"You told me once that I made you a whole
person, that I had saved you. Don't you 
realize that has worked both ways? You've
saved my life Mulder, far more than
you've ever endangered it. I accept the
risks--they come with the job--any job.
Yes, especially this job. But I'm where I
want to be. You've got to believe me."

Mulder looked at her finally, naked pain
in his eyes, and something else, so
primal that after a moment, Dana Scully 
found she could not maintain the visual
contact.

"Skinner is going to do what he can to
make sure that your assignment to desk
duty isn't permanent. And even if it is,
I am not going anywhere but with you. He
has also arranged for an OPR hearing. We
will have the opportunity to justify our
continued work with the X-Files. He's got
it arranged for two months' time--to give
you time to recuperate and to prepare. If
only you'd waited, I was coming to tell
you all this myself."  

Scully slowly raised her eyes to meet
Mulder's. They had assumed their usual 
inscrutability.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"So am I." Scully found herself smiling,
albeit ruefully. "Especially since you
apparently feel that not wanting to see
someone die is a one way street."

Mulder looked at her quizzically. "I
don't understand."

"What was THIS all about?" Scully
gestured to his forehead, then to the gun
which lay on the nearby coffeetable. "Do
I need to paint you a picture of how it
looked when we came in here? There was
blood everywhere. I thought you were
dead. Is that *the* gun, Mulder? The one
you tried to fire the night Samantha was
abducted?"

"Yes," was the quiet, eerily emotionless
reply.

"You came up here to set things 'right,'
didn't you? That was why you couldn't
just go to your apartment. You had to
come here for that gun...Damn your father
for keeping it all these years. And damn
you, Mulder, for thinking that was the
only solution. And damn me for not being
there to put a stop to all of it."

"Has nothing to do with you," Mulder
said softly.

"Nothing to do with me? It has EVERY-
THING to do with me. Get over the idea
that removing yourself from my life and
this planet will protect and improve
anything. It won't. I would never be able
to live with myself if anything ever
happened to you. I've failed you time and
again. I won't allow that to happen
anymore. But you've got to do your part,
too. You're going to have to learn to 
accept that you aren't alone anymore.
You have people who care about you and
what happens to you, and we expect you to
care, too."

"You've never failed me," Mulder replied,
brow drawn.

"Haven't I? Where was I when the attempt
was made on your life? Where was I when
you came down with pneumonia? Where was I
when you found out about the OPR and the
staffing of the X-Files? Where was I when
you took off with Langly? When have I
been there for you, Mulder?"

"You can't blame yourself for any of
that!" Mulder defended, not realizing the 
trap he was falling into, "you couldn't
know, for one thing, and you can't be
everywhere, for another. Scully, you HAVE
always been there for me when it
counted."

"And so have you, you idiot. Everything 
you just said to me I can say to you!
About my abduction, the cancer--what
happened in Texas. And the last, too--you
have always been there for me, too! You
were there for ME, giving ME strength to
fight so many times, after Melissa,
after Emily." Scully paused, struggling
past the constriction in her throat. "I
don't know how I would have survived any 
of that, if it hadn't been for you."

Mulder covered her hand--not withdrawn
when she had pushed him down on to the
couch--with his own. With the other hand,
he reached up and touched her cheek.

"You're a strong woman, Dana. You would
have done just fine. You don't give
yourself enough credit," he said softly.

"God. You are so wrong, Mulder." Scully
shook her head slightly, against his
hand, then leaned closer into his touch,
closing her eyes for the barest moment.
"You've got to promise to stop this."

"Stop what?" Mulder asked, his eyes
meeting hers as she raised them once
more.

"Scaring me to death. If you ever do this
to me again, I'm gonna kill you, I swear.
And it won't be quick or painless; I'm
warning you. I'm a doctor; I know how to
do these things."

Mulder nodded solemnly.

"Is it safe to come back in yet,"
Frohike's head popped into the room,
"or was that just the bell for round
two?"

"Come back in, Frohike. All of you. I'm
going to need your help," Scully
announced, reaching for her bag again.
x


End Cursum Perficio (Part 57 of 58) 

From: Laadolf@aol.com

Cursum Perficio (Part 58 of 58)
by LAAdolf

x


"Help?" Mulder said faintly, reading a 
certain look in her eye as she withdrew
the largest hypodermic needle Mulder
could remember having seen from the 
deep, dark recesses of her medical 
bag.

"Yes. You really didn't know when you
had it good, Mulder. The hospital is
going to seem like summer camp in
comparison," Scully said as she shot some
of the liquid in the hypo ceilingward and
turned to her partner with a wicked gleam
in her eye.

"What do you need, Scully?" Langly asked
from somewhere at the foot of the couch.

"First thing, we get the patient into the
bedroom down the hall. I made the bed up
a little while ago--it's all ready. Then
we're going to whip up some food, fol-
lowed by a medication chaser. Then, while
I BABYSIT, you guys are going to do some
REAL grocery shopping. We aren't leaving
here until I feel that Mulder is ready to
face the trip back to D.C. That could be
a week; it could be two. It depends on
how cooperative the patient chooses to
be."

Mulder eyed his partner, his expression
falling into the panic face that Scully
knew so well.

It was with a certain sense of
satisfaction that she jabbed the
hypodermic needle home. The medication
contained within the vial should just 
give her enough time to get nourishment
and medications into the recalcitrant
patient. Then he would be ever so much
more manageable. Already the shocked,
pained expression in his eyes was giving
way to a glassier expression.

Soon, she'd call Skinner and let him know
where they were, and that she had the 
situation well in hand. He would need
never know the full details of what had
transpired here. 

They would return to D.C. when Mulder was
ready, willing, and able to fight for the 
X-Files, not a moment before.

For now, the future could take care of
itself. Having taken the first step in
healing her partner's spirit, she needed
to now concentrate on healing his body as
well.

x x  

Somewhere, a couple of thousand miles
away from the house on the Vineyard, a
Native American elder and  healer heard
the call of a fox and smiled an
inscrutable smile.  

On the other side of the world, another
man tended his bees and his corn in a
green oasis in the middle of a desert.

His plan had failed, but such was not
unusual when work was left to minions of
inferior stock. The interference of the
Smoking Man in those plans had not been
foreseen. Perhaps his own brush with
death had rendered him too soft, too weak
to see the wisdom of what must be done.

Strughold knew the value of biding time.
Another opportunity would present itself
and would be taken advantage of, and the
obstacle known as Fox Mulder would
eventually be no more.

x

End Cursum Perficio (Part 58 of 58)