Disclaimer:  This story is based on the characters and situations created by 
Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without 
permission and no infringement is intended. All other contents are 
copyrighted to the author.


Summary:  While Scully recuperates in the hospital from a gunshot wound, 
Mulder is kidnapped and placed in an isolated cell by persons unknown.
Sort of relationshippy but no romance. Contains a fair amount of Mulder 
angst, so beware. 

I'm a Fanfic writer virgin.  Don't expect too much, you won't be 
disappointed. ; )


EXPERIMENT IN SOLITUDE 

Completed July 13, 1996

by Frankcina Glass aka DYNOJET



April 17, 1996
Georgetown Hospital
7:32 a.m.

    He had spent the night in the waiting room.  Unable to sleep, he whiled 
away most of the wee hours reading magazines and watching television 
infomercials.  When the only other poor soul keeping vigil for a loved one 
was given some bad news by a doctor, Mulder's heart sank a few notches.  It 
was a young man in his twenties whose wife had been in a car accident.  He 
and Mulder had struck up a casual conversation discussing everything but 
the totally unimaginable.  Now the guy was being led off in tears to visit with 
his wife one last time.

    It could have just as easily been him given that news.  It could have been 
him walking down that corridor crying his eyes out, on his way to saying a 
bitter farewell to his partner.  The partner who had put her life on the line for 
the umpteenth time to save his.  The serial killer they had trapped in a 
warehouse had circled around and surprised Mulder with a magnum aimed 
at his head.  If Scully hadn't stepped out of hiding and drawn the killer's 
attention to herself by yelling her partner's name, it would be Mulder lying in 
the intensive care unit now or more than likely, the morgue. 

    He wished she wouldn't put herself in jeopardy like that, but he knew she 
wouldn't have it any other way.  She knew that he would have done the same 
exact thing if roles had been reversed.  Those few vital seconds it took for the 
killer to turn his gun on Scully was all Mulder needed to send the guy to hell 
where he belonged, emptying nearly a full clip into that worthless body for 
good measure.

    The bullet which had entered Scully's shoulder, severed an artery and 
caused a massive amount of blood loss.  But he had been told that she was 
out of danger now.  The worst was over.  When he was finally allowed to 
enter her room again by the watchdogs of nurses, Mulder took hold of his 
friend's hand and leaned in close to her ear.  "I'm here, Scully," he informed 
her, to which he received no response.  He released her hand,  grabbed a 
nearby chair and pulled it closer to the bed, then settled in to wait.  His 
patience paid off nearly two hours later.  A broad grin etched its way across 
his face when he saw her stir and her eyes flutter open.

    "Enjoy your nap?"

    "How long?" she spoke, her voice a whisper. 

    He leaned forward in his seat and softy replied, "This is day two. How ya 
feeling?"

    "Not half as bad as _you_ look," she spoke, her humor intact.  She gauged 
Mulder by his puffy, red-rimmed eyes with dark circles beneath, the 
disheveled hair standing on ends and his way-past-five-o'clock shadow, and 
knew instinctively that he had not slept since the incident.  His eyes, though 
gleaming with relief now, still showed traces of the worry he had lived with 
for the past thirty-seven hours.

    "The doctor says you're going to be fine.  The bullet nipped an artery.  You 
lost a lot of blood, but they got to you in time.  They want to hold you in 
captivity for a few more days.  I tried calling your mother --"

    "She's on a cruise ship somewhere in the Greek Islands.  I don't see any 
reason to worry her with this anyway."

    Mulder disagreed.  Margaret Scully would _want_ to know of each little 
scratch that her daughter encountered, and a near fatal gunshot wound would 
definitely warrant her attention.  Still, Mulder was somewhat relieved not to 
have to face the woman, to inform her once again that he had put her 
daughter's life in jeopardy.

    "Did we get him, Mulder?" Scully asked as though that were more 
important than her health.

    He took hold of her hand in a reassuring manner.  "Yeah, Scully, we got 
him.  He won't be carving up any more young women.  I made sure of that."

    She was relieved to hear it.  The bastard had kidnapped and sliced up six, 
twenty-one year women in the past fourteen months, reliving the anger he 
wallowed in when his girlfriend, the first victim, dumped him.  
Consequently, every other young woman he chose was in her likeness and 
suffered the same fate.

    "You missed Skinner," Mulder changed the subject.  "He stopped by for a 
few minutes a little earlier.  But I got the impression that he was more 
worried about _me_ than you."

    "Well, I have to admit you do look a little like death warmed over.  
When's the last time you slept?"

    "Hey, I'm not the one who's been shot, remember?  Although I would 
gladly change places with you.  I really hate this view of you, Scully.  That 
bullet had my name on you.  You should've stayed behind cover."

    "Oh, so you could be lying here instead of me, is that it?"

    "I'm a lot more use to that."

    "Mulder, do you have any idea of what I go through when you've been hurt 
and hospitalized, and I don't know if you're going to live or die?"

    "Something like the way I feel now?"  He gently squeezed her hand and 
looked into her sleepy, blue-green eyes with regret and understanding.  "I 
have an idea.  Why don't we make a pact?"

    "What kind of pact?"

    "From now on, we both agree to avoid being shot or abducted or attacked 
by iridescent, prehistoric bugs."

    Scully managed a smile.  "What about alien viruses?"

    Mulder grinned and nodded. "Definitely avoid alien viruses, and 
contaminated water that causes premature aging, and quaint little towns 
where visitors end up on the menu.  We'll also have to agree to stay away 
from volcanoes, places completely covered with ice and --"

    "Jeez, Mulder.  We might as well stay home with all our doors and 
windows locked."  She thought about that a moment, remembering the 
incident when the very elastic Eugene Tooms squeezed his way through her 
apartment air ducts, looking for a snack.  Then, of course, there was Duane 
Barry breaking in through her window to kidnap her so she could take his 
place as an alien abductee.  Scully closed her eyes to shut out the memory.  
"No, that doesn't work either, does it?"

    "Maybe we should just think about a safer line of work altogether," 
Mulder suggested.  He couldn't possibly be serious, Scully thought.  She 
looked at him, seeing the frustration in his weary eyes. 

    "Mulder, no one is ever safe.  Just look at all those victims of senseless 
crimes we investigate.  Those people mostly lead simple lives in a so-called 
'safe' environment.  And yet, they end up on a slab at the morgue, and we're 
left trying to figure out at what point they stopped being safe."

    Mulder took in her words and nodded in agreement.  Still, he would have 
preferred himself lying in the hospital bed in her place.  She seemed so small 
and delicate, almost childlike.  It hurt to see her any way but healthy and 
vibrant.  She could sense his unfaltering concern for her safety.

    "Mulder, there's something I never told you....  Remember, Clyde 
Bruckman and his uncanny ability to foresee people's deaths?"

    "How could I forget.  Did he tell you how you --"

    "Not exactly.  I asked him.  And he told me that I won't."

    "What?  He told you that you won't die?"

    "I'm sure he only meant that I won't for a long time yet.  I believe him.  Of 
course, what he said about you and autoerotic asphyxiation...."

   Mulder shrugged lightly.  "Actually, that doesn't sound so bad," he 
confessed with a sly grin.  "I could certainly think of less pleasant ways to 
go.  By the way, I've willed my adult video collection to Frohike.  If he ends 
up buying it in the same way I do, there may be an X-File in it for you, 
Scully."

    His partner winced in pain at the effort to laugh.  Concerned, Mulder leapt 
instantly to his feet.

    "Scully, you okay?"

    "You shouldn't make me laugh."

    His left hand still held hers tenderly, his other hand gently brushed a few 
wayward strands of auburn hair away from her face.

    "You want me to get the nurse?  You need something for the pain?

    "No, I'm...I'm fine, Mulder.  I'm just tired."

    "Get some sleep then.  I'll be right here when you wake up."

    "No, Mulder, go home.  You look like hell.  Go home and get some sleep."

    "What makes you think I'd be able to sleep?" 

    "Well, at least go home and get cleaned up.  Give me something prettier to 
look at next time I open my eyes."

    "I suppose I'm probably beginning to offend as well?"

    "Just a tad."

    Mulder grinned and let his forefinger swipe smoothly across her cheek.  
"I'll leave after you're asleep," he said without allowing her to argue.  He 
then took his seat again, keeping a gentle hold on her hand as she peacefully 
drifted off.

    Mulder waited an hour after Scully was sound asleep before deserting her.  
He felt if he went home now, showered and changed, and grabbed a bite to 
eat, he could be back by the time the nurses woke her up for lunch.  Of 
course, he also needed to stop by the office and take care of some paperwork.  
A.D. Skinner had already cornered him earlier when he came to personally 
check on Scully's condition.  Satisfied that she would be all right, he 
reminded Mulder of his FBI duties.  Besides filing a detailed report of the 
shooting and the events leading up to it, Mulder had to prepare for the 
Danny Avery hearing at which he was due to testify in two days.  Avery -- 
the son of a wealthy land developer -- was being tried for drug trafficking 
and the murder of an undercover FBI agent.  Mulder was the star witness. 
    
__________


April 18
Location Unknown
10:47 a.m.    
    
        Mulder awoke in a white fog.  His mouth was dry and his head was 
swimming.  He closed his eyes and lay perfectly still on the bed waiting for 
the nausea to subside.  After a few moments he dared to sit upright.  His 
eyelids eased themselves open and he slowly surveyed his surroundings.

    He was in a white room; a small white room with bare, cement walls and 
no windows.  There was a metal door with a couple of panels in it.  One 
small square at the top and an oblong one near where the door handle should 
be.  Each looked as though they had the capacity of being opened from the 
outside.  It dawned on him that he was on the inside and that this room 
wasn't just a room; it was a cell of some kind.

    How the hell did he get here, he wondered.  The last thing he remembered 
was standing in his shower letting the hot water massage his kinked back.  
No wait... there _was_ something... a noise.  He remembered a noise, then 
the shower curtain engulfed him with an iron grip, followed by a stinging 
sensation in his arm.  He had been drugged and kidnapped and brought here, 
wherever _here_ was. 

    He stood on wobbly legs and made his way over to the sink at the foot of 
the bed.  When he attempted to turn on the faucet, he saw that there were no 
handles.  On further inspection, he realized that the sink worked off of 
sensors.  He placed his opened palms beneath the spout and was rewarded 
with a spray of cool water.  He drank a couple of handfuls, then splashed 
some water onto his face to help shake off the cobwebs.  He had expected to 
look up from the sink and see his reflection in the mirror,  but only painted 
white cinderblocks returned his gaze. 

    Looking around the room from this new angle, he saw all that it had to 
offer.  Next to the sink was a low profile toilet which also worked by 
automatic sensors.  The twin-size bed with crisp, white sheets was the only 
piece of furniture, and it appeared to be sturdily bolted to the tiled floor.  A 
prison cell was his first guess, but it appeared way too sanitary for it to be 
that.  His second thought was that his new residence may well be a mental 
institution.
 
    Mulder gradually became aware of two more interesting facts.  He 
discovered a mini-video camera bolted to the ceiling over the door.  The 
steady, red light let him know that his movements were being monitored.  
The next thing he noticed -- only after he sensed a chill from the air 
conditioner -- was his complete lack of clothing.  Apparently, someone on 
the other end of that video cable was getting an eyeful.

    "Like what you see?" he spoke to the camera with arms outstretched, 
offering an unobstructed view.  He wasn't the least bit bashful, but it was 
starting to get a little cool in his clean, white cell.  He casually went over to 
the bed and pulled off the top sheet to wrap himself in.  Then he crossed over 
to the door and pushed on it.  He knew it would be locked, but saw no harm 
in making sure.  He banged on it a few times and yelled out for someone, 
anyone to answer him.  No one did.

    Settling back on the bed again, with the sheet wrapped around him, his 
back positioned against the wall and his knees drawn to his chest, he began 
his wait.  His mind easily dismissed his own predicament and concentrated 
on Scully.  She had expected him to be there when she woke up.  Now he had 
no idea when that was.  He didn't know how long he'd been out.  Had she 
awakened already, disappointed to find him not there?  No, she probably 
would have assumed that he had taken her advice and gotten some sleep.  
She wouldn't be overly concerned right away.

    Suddenly, he had a sickening thought.  What if the bastards that had 
plucked him out of his own shower had also gotten to his partner.  He leapt 
up and went to the door again.  He yelled out her name several times, 
thankful that she never responded.  Then again, her voice had been so weak 
in the hospital, there was no way she could have made herself heard through 
the solidness of the surrounding walls.  Mulder chose to think positively.  
Scully was still safely recovering in the Georgetown hospital.  Skinner had 
probably checked on her again, as well as her most ardent fan, Frohike.  She 
was safe.  He wouldn't allow himself to think otherwise.

    "We can start this any time you like," he told the camera.  "I do have other 
commitments."   The red light on the camera remained steady.  Nothing else 
happened.
    
__________


April 18
Georgetown Hospital
12:10 p.m.      
    
    Scully had expected to see Mulder when she opened her eyes this time.  
Again she met with disappointment.  She could tell it was about noon.  She 
could hear the lunch carts being wheeled about outside in the corridor along 
with the light clatter of trays and dish covers.  She had imagined that Mulder 
probably stopped by the office to get some work done when he left her 
yesterday.  He probably lost track of time, then went home.  He was probably 
so exhausted by then that he laid down to catch a few hours sleep, and by the 
time he woke up, visiting hours were over.  She could forgive him for not 
returning to visit yesterday.  But she truly did expect to find him sitting in 
the chair next to her bed first thing this morning.  But he hadn't come and he 
hadn't called.  She told herself that he had stopped off at the office this 
morning and would come by to see her on his lunch break.  She closed her 
eyes again, knowing that the next voice she heard would be his.

    "Agent Scully?"  It wasn't Mulder's voice, but it was still a welcomed one.  
Her eyes lifted to witness her boss standing over her, holding a small floral 
arrangement with a tiny, white bear and a card attached.  The stern no-
nonsense expression that he normally carried around had been replaced with 
a gentler look of concern and a faint smile of relief.  "How do you feel?"

    "Much better, sir."

    "You had us all worried for a while there."

    "Not my intention, sir, believe me."

    A.D. Skinner sat the bouquet on a table next to three others, then turned 
his attention back to Scully.  "So where's your partner?  I have to admit, I 
fully expected to find him handcuffed to your bed."

    Scully snickered.  "I imagine he must have been pretty tired.  I suppose 
he's still home in bed."

    Skinner raised his brows at that statement.  "I've been trying to reach him.  
I haven't gotten an answer on his cellphone, and I've left messages on his 
answering machine since about this time yesterday.  When's the last time you 
heard from him?"

    "He was here yesterday morning.  I told him to go home and get some 
sleep.  I got the impression that he had planned to come back later.  Did he 
not come in to work today?"

    "No.  No one's seen or heard from him today.  He's due to testify in the 
Avery hearing tomorrow morning.  The D.A. has been trying to get in touch 
with him to go over some last minute details.  God, I hope he hasn't run off 
on another one of his truth-seeking tangents.  If he doesn't show up for that 
hearing tomorrow...."

    Skinner paused when he noted Scully's growing uneasiness at the thought 
of Mulder gone missing.  She was staring off into space and her color had 
reached a new shade of pale.  He touched her arm to get her attention and 
smiled disarmingly once he had it.

    "Hey, it's probably like you said.  He was exhausted.  I believe he's been up 
for at least three days straight.  He's probably crashed out at home.  I'll stop 
by and check on him.  Don't worry about him."

    Allowing her concern to take a step back, Scully gave a slight shrug of her 
head.  "I won't if you won't, sir."
     


April 18
Location Unknown
12:23 p.m.  

Mulder sat quietly in his prison contemplating his predicament.  He 
wondered if the consortium meant this to be a permanent solution to 
ending his involvement with the X-Files.  Just lock him up somewhere 
and throw away the key.  Simple and effective.  Killing him would 
have raised too many eyebrows, but Mulder had been known to 
disappear from time to time, chasing after the ever-elusive truth.  No 
one would miss him right away, and no one would assume foul play.  
No one except Scully.  She knew him well enough to know that he 
wouldn't have let anything but the extraordinary keep him from 
returning to her bedside or at least calling to check on her.  She'd 
eventually alert Skinner and the search would be on to find him.

He knew he couldn't continue to expect Scully to come running to 
his rescue whenever he got himself into trouble.  Though to be honest, 
he didn't do anything to endanger himself this time.  He was merely 
taking a shower in the privacy of his own home.  Still, that fact didn't 
change things.  He knew he couldn't depend on Scully alone.  He'd 
have to do what he could to get himself out of this.

Mulder glared up at the ceiling.  One defused light fixture and a 
small air vent was all that he saw.  He concentrated on the air duct, 
thinking how nice it would be if he possessed Eugene Tooms' gift for 
contortion.  No, the only way out for him was through the door.  
Someone would have to open it from the outside.  He thought then of 
feigning illness.  When one of his captors came to check on him, he 
could take him by surprise, overpower him... and then what?  He was 
being monitored.  The whole place was probably monitored.  They 
would know his every move, perhaps even predict it.

He crossed his arms on top of bent knees and buried his head in the 
crook of them.  His plan needed more work.  Mainly, he just needed to 
wait until his captors made contact.  He needed to find out exactly 
what he was up against.  He needed to know if he was in a full-scale 
prison, a warehouse, or perhaps even somebody's basement.  How 
many captors were there, and most importantly, what were their plans 
for him.  He gave a casual thought of being on an alien spaceship, but 
quickly ruled that out.  There was no feeling of motion, no sounds of 
engines humming, nothing that didn't appear to be man-made.

He was so deep within his own speculations, that Mulder didn't 
even register the sound of someone at the door.  He jerked alert when 
the oblong panel in the center of the door suddenly popped open.  The 
panel created a narrow tabletop where a tray of food took up residence.  
Mulder raced over to the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person 
who left the food.  However, all he could see through the open slot was 
the white of the wall directly across from his cell.  He heard the 
clicking of footsteps that were quickly fading off into the distance.

"Hey!" Mulder screamed after the retreating individual.  "Talk to 
me!  Who _are_ you?  Why am I _here_?"

He waited for a response, but got nothing for his trouble.  He nearly 
drove his fist into the solid metal door out of frustration, but realized it 
would impede his chances of escape if he injured himself.  He looked 
down at the tray which had been left for him.  It held a club sandwich 
and corn chips appetizingly arranged on a paper plate.  Beside the 
plate was a microwave fruit pie and a grape flavored juice box.  Lunch, 
he thought.  It must have been about noon.  Perhaps still too soon for 
Scully to question his whereabouts.

He chose to ignore the food.  The idea that it might be poisoned or 
drugged worked on his mind.  He went back to the bed and sat on the 
edge of it.  Soon, the aroma of hot cherry pie caused his natural senses 
to betray him.  His mouth watered and his stomach growled to be fed.  
When was the last time he had eaten anyway?  He seemed to 
remember a candy bar and a soft drink sometime during the all-
nighter at the hospital, perhaps as much as thirty-six hours ago if his 
calculations were right.

He got up and walked back towards the door, his sheet secured to 
his body with his left hand.  He stared at the food as though it might 
come to life at any moment.  Then he rationalized, if they had wanted 
him dead, he _would_ be.  It was obvious that they wanted him alive 
and well, at least for the time being.  He gingerly picked up a chip and 
popped it into his mouth.  That's all it took.  He attempted to pick up 
the tray to take it back to the bed with him, but discovered it had a 
chain attached.  They no doubt figured that if he held on to the metal 
tray, he might find a use for it as an escape aid.  He created a basket 
out of the folds of his sheet and placed all the items from the tray into 
it.  He padded back to the bed, made himself comfortable, then 
proceeded to chow down.  With his mouth full, he raised his juice box 
to the camera.

"My compliments to the chef."

__________


April 18
Mulder's Apartment
1:17 p.m.  

Assistant Director Skinner rapped his knuckles for a second time 
loudly on Mulder's door.  He called out the agent's name and awaited a 
response.  When none was forthcoming, he tried the door to see if it 
was locked.  It wasn't.  His chest tightened with an uneasy feeling.  He 
pulled out his revolver and readied it for action.  Pushing the door 
open carefully, he slid like a shadow into the room.  Holding his 
weapon securely in his right hand, his other hand reached for the light 
switch.  Even in daylight hours, Mulder's apartment somehow 
managed to retain an unnatural dimness. 

Skinner made a quick sweep of the living room and kitchen.  
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  There was no overturned 
furniture or sign of a struggle.  He made his way into the bedroom 
where Mulder's holstered gun, his badge, watch and wallet lay waiting 
on the bed that had not been slept in.  The light in the bathroom was 
on and the door had been left ajar.   The assistant director feared what 
he might find in that room.  If Mulder was in there,  it was very likely 
he was not still breathing.  Skinner closed his eyes and drew in a deep 
breath, preparing himself for the worst.

When he finally forced himself to step into the bathroom, he found 
the shower curtain pulled from its rod and lying carelessly on the tile 
floor.  He allowed himself to breathe again when the body he had 
expected to find wasn't present.  No blood, which was also a good sign.  
He'd have to get a forensic team out to go over the place for clues.  As 
he started out, his foot kicked something small and plastic under the 
edge of the shower curtain.  He used a sheet of bath tissue to pick it up. 

"Mulder," he spoke while staring at the cap to a hypodermic needle. 
"What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

__________


April 18
Location Unknown
4:50 p.m. 

It had been several hours since feeding time and Mulder was getting 
bored.  Actually he had already surpassed boredom.  He had secured 
the sheet about his body, toga style and now had taken to pacing back 
and forth in his tiny cell.  He had managed to stretch the four steps it 
took him to cross the length of the room to eight, by taking what he 
considered little Scully steps.  He attempted to keep his mind occupied 
by recalling the details to an X-File he and Scully had been working 
on before they were pulled off it and asked to take over the serial 
girlfriend killer.  The other file concerned several disappearances on a 
certain lake in South Carolina.  What classified it as an X-File was the 
curious blue fog that blew up from nowhere, engulfed the victim, then 
vanished just as mysteriously.

Going over the remembered details in his mind wasn't the same as 
having reports, photographs and evidence to look at and hold in his 
hands.  He found his thoughts easily drifting to the simple geometric 
design of the floor, the toenails that needed trimming and wondering 
when the panel in the door would open again and send forth food.  He 
wasn't hungry yet, but so far, it was the only thing to which he could 
look forward. 

There had been no other contact other than his lunch being brought 
around and later, the tray taken away.  He was beginning to think that 
that was all there would ever be.  Perhaps he was doomed to a life of 
solitary confinement.  No one to share ideas with, nothing to read, no 
radio or TV, only bitter loneliness.  He glanced up at the camera, the 
red light still gleaming.  Someone was watching him, waiting for him 
to start babbling to himself, banging his head against the wall, pulling 
his hair out in clumps.  It wouldn't happen right away.  He didn't 
really mind being alone.  He savored his privacy.  But to be completely 
cut off from all forms of stimulus wasn't natural.  Without 
companionship or diversion, a man could go mad in a relatively short 
time.  Perhaps that was their plan.  Drive him crazy and they'd have 
nothing to fear from him and his X-Files.

Well, he wasn't going to make it that easy for them.  He picked up a 
roll of thoughtfully provided toilet paper and wet a big wad of it, 
which he then hurled at the video camera.  He smiled proudly when he 
hit his target and the wet paper clung to the camera lens.  He threw up 
his arms triumphantly and made a couple of leaps off the floor.

"Yea-a-a, and the crowd goes wild!" he yelled enthusiastically.   He 
felt better now, a little more in control.  He'd know soon enough if 
anyone was paying attention.  He plopped down on the bed, crossed 
his legs and his arms and waited for the consequences.



Hours passed and nothing happened.  No reprimand, no retaliation, 
no food.  Either what he had done hadn't been noticed yet, or he was 
being completely ignored.  If a child misbehaves in order to get 
attention, then to correct the behavior, the attention he craves should 
be withheld.  One of his professors told him that back at Oxford.  
Perhaps he would have been ignored anyway.  The feeling of utter 
loneliness began to wash over him.  Only one day, to the best of his 
knowledge, and already those white walls were closing in on him. 

The overhead light remained on, giving him no clue as to day or 
night or if he should be awake or sleeping.  He stretched out on the 
bed and covered his head with his arms to block out the light.  He 
filled his brain with images of his partner.  He heard her voice asking 
him all the questions he had grown accustomed to hearing over the 
past few years.

"So what do you think, Mulder?  Where are you going, Mulder?  
You don't honestly believe that, do you?  Mulder, are you okay?"

 That last phrase; there were times he hated when she asked that, 
times when her fussing over his well-being was not appreciated.   He'd 
turn away from her concern, knowing such actions only served to hurt 
her and drive an emotional wedge between them.  Then again, there 
were those times when her sweet voice would ask, "Are you okay, 
Mulder?" and he'd thank the stars above that he had such a wonderful 
person in his life.  He knew how lucky he was to have her for a partner 
and friend.  If nothing else ever went right in his life, it wouldn't 
matter as long as he had his Scully; knowing that she was always there 
for him.  Although, he knew not to expect to hear her voice and those 
words within the next few minutes, he couldn't stop himself from 
wishing it would happen.

He was tired now.  The task of keeping his mind occupied for 
however many hours he had been there, had physically drained him.  
He closed his eyes and handed himself over to Morpheus.



In his dream, Mulder was standing at Scully's bedside in the 
hospital, holding her hand.  She awoke and smiled at him at first,  
then her smile turned into a grimace.  "Scully, what's wrong?" he 
asked with mounting apprehension. 

"I'm so hot, Mulder.  I must be running a fever.  It's so hot in here.  
I can barely breathe." 

"No, I don't think it's you, Scully.  I'm starting to get pretty warm 
too.  There's a lot of heat coming from somewhere.  I'll go check it 
out."

"Mulder, be careful."

He didn't understand the reason for the warning.  Why should he be 
careful just walking outside of her hospital room?  He shrugged off the 
warning as he crossed over to the door and opened it.  A current of hot 
air and a wall of flames gushed into the room, knocking him off his 
feet and throwing him against the far wall.  Scully screamed his name 
incessantly as the flames quickly surrounded her bed.  Mulder heard 
her cries for help but couldn't move.  Besides being terrified of the 
flames, the heat had already overpowered him.  He kept his back 
turned away from the flames and his partner, whose pleas for help 
began to lessen.  Mulder huddled against the wall, sweating profusely 
and unable to get in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he whimpered.  "I'm sorry."

It was the sound of his own voice and choking tears that woke him 
from his nightmare.  Perspiration poured from his skin as he sat up 
and leaned his head against the wall.  It was still hard for him to catch 
his breath and it wasn't merely the residual effects of his dream.  He 
realized that the air conditioning system was no longer operating.  The 
temperature which had been comfortably in the lower seventies had 
zoomed somewhere into the nineties.  The room had become stifling 
due to a complete lack of air circulation.

Mulder untangled himself from his toga and headed over to the sink 
to splash some water on his face and take a sip.  When he cupped his 
hands and placed them beneath the faucet, nothing happened.  He 
passed his hands in front of the sensor several times with no results.  
Then he looked over at the toilet and saw that the water level had not 
replenished itself after its last use.  It dawned on him then that the 
water service had been disrupted as well. 

Mulder looked at the camera still plastered by the giant spitball.  He 
guessed at what was happening.  He was being punished for his earlier 
offense against the video camera.  First, they withheld his expected 
meal, now the water and air.  He could easily die of dehydration and 
heat exhaustion.  They probably wouldn't care.  Whatever reason they 
had for taking him prisoner in the first place, he was sure didn't 
exclude his untimely death.  He could think of only one thing to do.  
He wasn't even sure it would work, but he knew that he had to try 
something.

Mulder walked over to where the video camera was attached above 
the door.  Standing on the balls of his bare feet, he was able to reach 
the barrel of the lens with his fingertips and flip the dried paper off the 
lens.  The flaring red light was back.  Mulder returned to his bed and 
sat down, pulling a small corner of permanent press percale over his 
naked lap.  He kept his eyes on the red light of the camera and began a 
silent countdown to himself.

By the time he had reached sixty, he heard the windy roar of the air 
conditioner as it pumped a surge of cooler air into the room.  That 
sound was soon followed by the rush of water through pipes as the 
toilet worked to fill its bowl.  Mulder went over to the now working 
faucet, sipped several handfuls of water, then doused his face and head 
to wash away the sticky sweat and aid in the cooling process.  
Apparently, all he had to do was learn and follow the rules.  Rule 
number one: don't screw around with the camera.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, running his fingers 
through short, wet hair, slicking it back away from his face.  As he felt 
the cooling water began to trickle down the taut muscles of his naked 
chest and back, then drip onto one lean thigh, he thought about how 
he might look to his voyeur.  He suddenly felt like a model for a 
Playgirl centerfold.  With one hand on the rim of the sink and the 
other on one slim, nude hip, he glanced up at the camera and 
snickered lightly.

"I hope I can get a copy of this tape later.  I never know what to get 
Scully for Christmas."

He reached for his discarded sheet which was now damp and smelly 
from his sweat and lack of deodorant.  Draping it loosely about his 
body, he spoke to his supposed viewer.

"Is it against the rules to have some fresh linen, a bar of soap, a 
toothbrush... some clothes?  I mean, once you've seen me all naked, 
hot and sweaty, there's little else to look forward to.  I'm assuming that 
there _is_ someone there listening to me, otherwise it might appear 
that I'm talking to myself.  If you could at least give me a sign...."

Mulder stood and waited for a sign of human contact.  Simply 
because none came, it didn't make him think that his every move and 
word spoken wasn't being carefully monitored.  He stretched himself 
out on the bed again, his arms wrapped solidly across his chest.  
Staring at the ceiling, he thought again of Scully.  He wondered how 
she was doing, how she was handling his disappearance.  He hated to 
be the one to cause her grief, especially in her weakened conditioned, 
but it wasn't his fault this time.  It wasn't his fault.

__________


April 19
Georgetown Hospital
10:56 a.m. 

Scully glared solemnly at the television screen in her hospital room.  
The set was tuned to CNN where she had caught a glimpse of alleged 
murderer, Danny Avery at his hearing.  It was the hearing at which 
Mulder was suppose to make an appearance.  The star witness never 
showed.  However, the D.A. was successful in getting the hearing 
postponed.  He had ten days in order to produce his witness.

Skinner had already paid Scully a visit.  He let her know that 
Mulder was indeed considered missing and that foul play was 
suspected.  He assured her that everything humanly possible was being 
done to find him.  She knew that her supervisor meant what he said, 
but that wasn't enough to ease her fears.  She needed to be out there 
helping in the search.  She knew things about Mulder that no one else 
did.  Some of that privileged information might just lead the search 
team in the right direction.  She pulled the I-V from her arm and got 
out of bed.  It wasn't until she took a few steps away from the bed that 
she realized that she wasn't well enough to be on her feet yet.  A pair 
of strong arms came out of nowhere and caught her before she had the 
chance to fall to the floor.  Once she was safely back in bed, she was 
able to focus on her rescuer.

"Frohike?"

"You shouldn't be out of bed, Miss Scully," said the little man with 
the big crush on a certain redhead.  He helped to reattach her I-V as he 
spoke.  "Being a physician, I imagine you should know better."

"Yes.  I should.  You've heard about Mulder?"

"Rumor has it that he was kidnapped to keep from testifying against 
Danny Avery.  Big Daddy Avery apparently is a very powerful man 
with very deep pockets.  He doesn't like the idea of his son going to 
jail, even if he _is_ guilty as sin.  Mind you, it's only a rumor.  You 
know our boy has many enemies.  He also has a knack for throwing 
himself in the path of the unexplainable.  Of course, if it makes you 
feel any better, there hasn't been any UFO activity in the area of late."

"A.D. Skinner was in here earlier.  He's also going on the theory 
that Avery is behind this."

"Then again, there's that possibility that someone merely _wants_ 
him and all involved to think that."

"You mean, using Avery as a smoke screen to call attention away 
from a more insidious plan?  You think that someone in the 
government is the culprit?"

"I think someone in the government is _always_ the culprit.  The 
fellows and I will keep our eyes and ears open.  I suppose that's all we 
can do for now.  And all you can do or _should_ do is stay in bed and 
get well.  You know that's what he'd want."

Scully blew out a sigh of defeat.  "I know.  I just feel so useless."

"Try not to worry.  Our boy Mulder is like a bad penny.  He's sure to 
show up again soon, no worse for the wear."



April 19
Location Unknown
11:51 p.m.    

    Mulder had been forgiven for his past indiscretion.  His meals had 
began again.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner had all come and gone.  
Another full day had come and gone.  Most of his day had been spent 
pacing back and forth and thinking of escape plans.  Nothing truly 
useful came to mind.  After several hours of getting nowhere, he 
decided to do something to occupy himself so that he wouldn't go 
absolutely mad from sheer boredom.  Exercise was a good choice.  He 
started off with a hundred pushups, fifty sit-ups and fifty deep lunges 
for thighs and hips.  He considered jogging in place, but the jarring 
pressure placed on his bare feet on the hard tile floor didn't feel quite 
beneficial to him. 

    After working out with his body, it was time to work out with his 
mind.  He leafed through his mental library and came up with 
Shakespeare.  He could envision each line of each play and sonnet as 
he flipped through a complete volume of work in his mind.  He had 
tried out for plays before only twice in his life.  Once in grade school 
to try to impress his father, then once as a freshman in highschool to 
try to impress a girl.  He had impressed no one.  He had been born 
with certain abilities: a photographic memory, a nose for fleshing out 
and tracking down killers, and the ability to eat whatever he wanted 
and not gain unwanted pounds.

    Although acting was not one of his strong points, it seemed a good 
way to entertain himself and drive his audience up the wall at the same 
time.  He chose Hamlet.  He would play every character, recite every 
line.  With no drama teacher telling him he's not quite right for the 
part or he might be happier pursuing a different elective, he was free 
to overact, over-enunciate and have as much fun as a man trapped in a 
cell doing Shakespeare could possible have.




    He was dying.  It didn't matter.  His father's murder had been 
avenged. His mother was dead.  There was no reason left to live.  
Lying on the floor with his hand covering his wound, Mulder as 
Hamlet gave his final soliloquy.  Mel Gibson may have done it 
somewhat better.  Actually, Brad McWhorter in tenth grade had done 
it better.  Mulder lay on the floor dead for a few moments, then sat up 
and looked at the camera.

    "Hey, you can wake up and take the cotton out of your ears now.  I 
warned you it wouldn't be a pretty sight.  Just keep in mind tomorrow, 
Macbeth.  I want to thank you all for coming.  Good-night and drive 
safely."

    Mulder remained on the floor, his gaze turned towards the overhead 
light.  The only thing that had remained constant was that damned 
florescent light.  They never turned it off.  It was diffused lighting, and 
therefore totally useless in the art of shadow making.  It was such a 
shame too because he knew how to make some great hand shadows. 

    He hated that light.  Perhaps they knew how much he craved 
darkness, so they kept him bathed in light as a kind of torture to go 
along with the complete isolation.  They wanted to drive him crazy, he 
was sure of that.  They would keep him physically healthy with food 
and water but drive him slowly insane with silence, solitude and that 
damned light.  He thought briefly of smashing the light fixture, but he 
knew he'd be punished for it.  There had to be some way of escaping 
the light without getting into trouble.

    Mulder turned his head towards the bed.  Underneath the bed was a 
pleasant darkness.  He slid beneath the narrow bed into its welcoming 
shadow.  There may come a price to pay for this stolen bit of privacy, 
but he didn't care.  This was what he needed now.  This was where he 
wanted to be.  He'd pay the consequences later.  He curled himself into 
a fetal position, resting his head on one arm, and closed his eyes.  He 
didn't mean to go to sleep, but then, what else was there to do.

__________

April 20
FBI Headquarters
10:20 a.m.    
    
    As the door to AD Skinner's office opened, a billow of smoke poured 
through first, announcing his visitor.   Cancerman sauntered into the room 
and took a seat near the window.  Skinner watched the man with seething 
contempt, wondering what game he would be asked to play now. 

    "I understand one of your agents is missing," Cancerman spoke with fake 
concern.

    "Let's just cut the crap," Skinner growled.  "What have you done with 
him?"

    "I had nothing to do with Agent Mulder's disappearance.  Of course, you 
don't believe that."  He took a long drag on his Morley, then added, "You do 
realize that Agent Mulder has no lack of enemies."

    "I realize that he's been a thorn in your ass for quite some time, and his 
permanent absence would make your life undeniably easier."

    "You wound me, Walter," the smoking man stated with a noticeable lack 
of sincerity.  "I've actually grown quite fond of the boy.  He has a way of 
keeping me on my toes.  Perhaps he was abducted by little gray men," he 
added with a wicked chuckle.  "It would be the most fitting way for him to 
go, wouldn't it?"

    Skinner leapt to his feet, having a hard time keeping his temper under 
control.  "If he shows up dead and I find out you're responsible..."

    "You'll what?" Cancerman barked, with unshaken coolness.

    'Wring your neck with my bare hands, you son of a bitch,' is what Skinner 
was thinking.  But he was wise enough to hold his tongue.  A verbal threat 
could easily be used against him in a very legal manner.  He forced himself 
to rein in his anger and sit back down.

      His unwanted visitor stood casually to leave, carrying a trail of smoke 
with him to the door.  He hesitated a moment before opening the door, 
looking back at Skinner with a hint of regret to his otherwise heartless 
expression.  "I'll have my sources look into the matter."  He crushed the butt 
of his cigarette into the ashtray on a nearby table, blew a ring of smoke from 
thin lips, then left.

__________


April 20
Location Unknown
12:18 p.m.    
        

    "Mulder, where are you?" It was Scully's voice coming through the 
receiver that Mulder held pressed to his ear.

    "Scully?"

    "Yes, it's me Mulder.  Where the hell are you?  We've been searching for 
you everywhere."

    Mulder looked cautiously over his shoulder at the surveillance camera.  He 
didn't quite remember how he'd gotten hold of his cellular, but he was 
grateful for the opportunity to call for help.  He kept his back to the camera 
and his voice low as he responded to his partner.

    "I... I don't know where I am, Scully.  They're holding me prisoner in a 
cell somewhere.  There's no window.  I can't see where I am.  You have to 
find me, Scully."  Mulder's voice broke with rising panic.

    "It'll be okay, Mulder," Scully cooed.  "We've traced the call.  I know 
where you are now.  I'm on my way."

    "Scully, don't hang up!"

    "Mulder, it's all right.  Don't be afraid."

    "I just need to hear your voice.  Nobody talks to me here.  I haven't seen 
another living being since I've been here."

    "I understand, Mulder, but listen, the phone signal's getting weak.  You'll 
just have to hold on till I can get there.  Can you do that for me, partner?"

    "Yeah, I can hold on."  She said something else but her voice was garbled 
by static in the line.  "Scully?" Mulder called out nervously. "Scully!"

    He banged his forehead on the bedsprings above as he bolted from his 
sleep.  Dammit, it was just a dream!  He sank back to the floor, massaging 
his temple with one hand.  It had seemed so realistic, her voice in his ear.  
He wanted to believe that part of it at least was real.  He wanted to believe 
that she was on her way to rescue him.  But he soon came to the conclusion 
that these could be the same people who had abducted Scully, who held her 
captive for three months and did God knows what to her mind and body.  If 
they were indeed the same individuals behind her disappearance, then the 
odds of Scully locating him were less than nil.

    The smell of cooked beef caught his attention and he turned his head to 
see that the food tray was already in position.  He had apparently slept 
through breakfast, yet he wasn't the least bit hungry.  He had never been 
much for three squares a day anyway.  He had only been eating out of sheer 
boredom.  He crawled from under the bed and went to the toilet to make a 
deposit, then lingered at the sink after washing his face and hands.

    His mind returned to a section of his childhood that knew how to make up 
games and keep himself company when he no longer had a little sister to 
play with.  He went to get his lunch from the tray and took the meal on 
styrofoam back to the sink.  He decided to take his food on a boating trip.  He 
knelt down in front of the sink and tore off a small strip of his toga to use to 
plug up the drain hole, then filled the sink with water.  The styrofoam plate 
became a ship, the crinkle fries its crew.  The two pieces of sesame bun were 
the life boats, and the meat of the burger was fashioned into a monstrous sea 
serpent.

    Mulder got into full character doing the voices for the tiny french fry crew.  
Their captain wouldn't listen to the first mate who warned him of the sea 
serpent's existence and of its dangerous size.  The captain only laughed.  
There was no such thing as sea serpents, and even if there were, he was 
convinced that nothing could harm his magnificent vessel.  Absolutely 
nothing.  Of course, his words would come back to haunt him as the ship was 
indeed attacked by the most hideous of creatures ever known to mankind.  A 
package of ketchup provided the blood of the lost crew members that 
succumbed to the beefy, gaping jaws of the sea serpent.  The serpent had torn 
the mighty ship to shreds and devoured its crew.  In the end, only one lone 
potato lay on a sesame seed raft, drifting back towards the shore.  The 
monster had spared this one life to tell the tale.

    It was all a big, soggy disgusting mess, but it had undoubtedly killed some 
time and brought Mulder out of his growing depression for a while.  He 
cleaned out the sink and flushed the wet and disintegrating food down the 
toilet.  He sat down on the floor in the corner with his head resting against 
the bowl of the sink and wondered if they would continue to supply him with 
edible toys after such undignified behavior.  In every prison movie he'd ever 
seen, the prisoner in solitary confinement at least had a pet rodent or insect 
to call his own.  It wasn't fair.

    "It's not fair," he heard himself blathering.  "Everybody else gets a mouse 
or a cockroach to play with.  It's not that I have a particular fondness for 
vermin," he addressed himself to the camera.  "I'm only saying that other 
prisoners usually find some kind of life-form in their cells.  Bugs are 
_always_ crawling around.  You can't keep 'em out.  For instance, an ant 
colony from a mound outside my building, somehow marched their way into 
my apartment and into my clothes hamper to find two Lifesavers in the 
buttoned up pocket of my jogging shorts.  I've seen spiders build their webs 
in the corner of my closet and actually _catch_ something in them.  But you 
people have no insects here.  What kind of prison doesn't have bugs or at 
least a little fuzzy mouse?"

    His voice held a seriousness to it that even he didn't understand.  The last 
thing he wanted was to befriend a disease carrying rodent or cockroach.  
Why was he even making mention of it?  It would be just his luck if the 
powers that be decided to fulfill his desire for companionship with large, six-
legged creatures and other assorted vermin.  He thought it best to specify.

    "Well, maybe just a hamster, okay?  Or either a goldfish.  I really don't 
care for the other stuff....  Actually, on second thought, I really don't need 
anything like that.  What I wouldn't mind having though is a deck of cards or 
a pad and pencil.  Even a coloring book and crayons would be nice."  He 
looked into the camera lens, his body absently rocking back and forth as he 
held his knees pressed to his chest with encircling arms.

    "Hey, come on guys.  Give a little, will you?  What have I ever done to 
you?  Tell me, face to face.  Maybe we can work something out here.  What, 
you wanna see me beg?  Hey, I'm like the original Temptations.  I ain't too 
proud to beg.  Please?  Pretty please with cherries on top?  Just tell me you 
want from me!  Tell me what the _hell_..." he screamed in anger as an arm 
flung itself back hard against the wall.  The pain of tender flesh against 
concrete was enough to suppress his rage.  He couldn't allow himself to 
become injured.  He had to remain healthy and in control if he ever wanted 
to escape whenever the opportunity presented itself.  

     He took in a couple of deep breaths to help regain composure.  "Forgive 
my outburst.  I'm sorry," Mulder apologized to his unseen host.  He got to his 
feet, his back against the wall with arms folded across his chest.  "Here 
you've given me deluxe accommodations, great cuisine and the ultimate in 
'Do not disturb,' all free of charge.  Actually, it's the perfect mini-vacation.  I 
suppose I have been overworking myself a bit.  I guess I could do with a little 
peace and quiet after all.

    He was silent for several moments until a thought sprang to life in his 
mind.   "Oh, I remember now....  I promised I'd do more Shakespeare for 
you.  Macbeth I believe was to be today's offering.  Just give me a minute to 
recall it."

    Mulder began a retarded pace about the room as the pages of a book he'd 
scanned through one day in high school displayed themselves in his mind.  
He began lifelessly reciting the words from those pages as they rolled by his 
mind's eye.  His heart wasn't into it, but it was a way to help lesson the 
effects of his imprisonment.  A way of holding on to those fine threads of 
sanity that were threatening to break with each slowly passing minute.  
    
__________


April 22
Mulder's Apartment
11:15 a.m. 

    When Scully was released from the hospital, Frohike had volunteered to 
see her home and offer any assistance she required.  Her first desire was to 
go to Mulder's apartment to check for clues.  Frohike did his best to dissuade 
her, but she was insistent.  Even with her left arm in a sling, if he didn't 
drive her, she'd simply drive herself.  He could tell by the determined set of 
her jaw, that she would be true to her word.  Aspiring to entrench himself 
within her good graces, Frohike reluctantly caved to her demands. 

    The 'Crime Scene' tape that stretched across the front of Mulder's door 
caused Scully to falter.  Frohike was there with a hand at her elbow to help 
steady her.  She inhaled deeply; a simple task that apparently filled her with 
enough courage to proceed.  She tore away the yellow warning tape, then 
inserted the spare key which Mulder had given her for emergencies.  She 
pushed the door open cautiously.  She had to bite her lip to keep from calling 
out Mulder's name.  She knew he wasn't there, though she still prayed for a 
miracle.

    Her escort waited near the entrance as Scully made her way into the living 
room.  It looked fairly normal, although she was used to seeing the coffee 
table buried by files, research books, maps, and sunflower seed hulls.  The 
room was a tad cleaner than it should be simply because so much had been 
taken away as evidence to be studied.

    Scully glanced across the room and spotted the fish tank.  She walked over 
to the aquarium and peered through the clear acrylic.  Three swordtails were 
still alive.  The skeletal remains of a fourth swordtail and two black mollies 
were evidence of the survival of the fittest.  Scully picked up the fish food 
container and sprinkled the contents generously into the tank. 

    "He just got these a couple of weeks ago," Scully spoke with a hint of 
sadness.  "He thinks of them as disposable pets.  When I was a kid, we were 
able to keep our fish alive for a couple of years, at least.  It definitely helps if 
someone is around to feed them." 

    Her attention turned from the surviving fish to Mulder's computer.   
Hoping to discover a message waiting for her, she sat down in front of it and 
turned it on.  There were nine pieces of e-mail waiting for the owner but 
none for her.  She deliberated reading any of it.  She respected his privacy, 
but if there was a clue as to his whereabouts hidden within the electronic 
messages, it was her duty to investigate.  She recognized all but one of the 
return addresses.  Three pieces of mail were from The Lone Gunmen, three 
were departmental, and two belonged to a couple of adult internet services.  
No doubt Mulder's interest in adult entertainment had gone interactive. 

    Scully chose to read only the message with the unfamiliar author.   It 
turned out to be someone she knew after all.  She felt a pang of jealously at 
the name Bambi.  It brought back the unpleasant memory of cockroaches and 
being covered with dung, but more importantly, her partner being smitten 
with another woman.  Scully knew she had no right to be jealous.  She had 
no romantic ties to Mulder, but she couldn't help but feel possessive of him.  
He was _her_ partner, _her_ friend, _her_ Mulder.

    Scully knew she shouldn't read the message, but couldn't help herself.  It 
was a brief note from Dr. Bambi to let Mulder know that she could find no 
merit in his theory concerning alien cockroaches from outer space invading 
the earth.  She also suggested that he get professional help with his fixations.  
Scully smiled, but at the same instant tears trailed down her cheeks.  A 
sympathetic hand rested gingerly on her uninjured shoulder.  She was 
embarrassed to have demonstrated such weakness in front of Frohike.  She 
was quick to wipe the dampness from her face.

    "You know, he was really upset when you were first taken," Frohike spoke 
with such genuine sincerity.  "We were all pretty worried about him.  He was 
like a walking ghost.  And when you returned in a coma, he was the only one 
who refused to give up on you.  He loves you.  You're like the little sister he's 
never been able to find.  And if there exists any way at all for him to come 
back to you, he'll find it.  He won't give up."

    Scully appreciated the sentimental pep talk.  She smiled up at the man 
who had proven once again to be a true friend to both her and Mulder.  She 
turned off the computer and stood with a friend's help.  Frohike would escort 
the lovely Dana Scully home, restricting himself to being nothing but a 
perfect gentleman in her presence.  He would stay and keep her company if 
she preferred, or park outside her apartment building and watch over her 
from a distance.  It was exactly what his friend Mulder would want him to 
do.
    


April 25
Location Unknown
9:34 a.m.

Mulder stood back and regarded his creation with a discerning eye.  
Over the past couple of days he had become a culinary artist of sorts.  
It had begun with a bowl of Spaghettio's he'd been given for lunch.  
There were no meatballs.  It angered him that they had expected him 
to eat canned pasta with no meatballs.  In a childish fit, he threw the 
styrofoam bowl of little O's against the wall where most of it still 
clung, now dried and hardened.  After Mulder had calmed down from 
his temper tantrum, he became fascinated with the design the food had 
left on the bland, sterile wall.  He had inadvertently discovered a new 
pastime.

He was surprised that he had not been reprimanded for the mess.  The 
food continued to come at its regular intervals of three meals a day.  
Whatever he found extremely colorful or completely undigestible, 
ended up on the wall.  Tomato slices with their tiny seeds, cooked 
carrots and green peas among other perishables had been smashed 
onto the rough surface of the cinder blocks.  Grape juice hand imprints 
added a more personal touch along with ketchup lip prints.

As Mulder stood, admiring his artwork, he realized that he had seen 
something quite similar to it before.  In an art gallery somewhere, a 
new wave artist had also taken food, dropped and smashed it onto a 
canvas, then slapped a ridiculous price tag on it.  He had 
unconsciously copied someone else's bad art.

"What do you think, Scully?" he asked the person he imagined was 
standing at his side.

"It looks like crap, Mulder," he heard her reply.

"Well art is subjective, Scully.  But you're right.  It _is_ crap.  If I put a 
frame around it and a price tag on it, _then_ it becomes art."

Her voice had been so clear in his mind, that Mulder had actually 
expected to find Scully standing beside him.  However, when he 
turned to look, there was no one else there.  Disheartened, he retreated 
to a corner where he sat down, drawing his knees to his chest and 
wrapped his arms about them.  He thought idly of how flat his butt 
must be getting from sitting on the hard, tile surface.  He wasn't 
exercising as much as before.  He preferred jogging or swimming for 
keeping in shape.  He wanted to be able to move about freely.  He 
wanted to see the sun and stars again.  Wanted the wind in his hair, 
the grass beneath his feet.  He wanted to see faces and hear voices 
other than the ones in his head.  He hated this place.

 He stared absently at the dingy piece of percale wrapped about his 
hips.  He had torn the sheet into four sections so that he would have a 
daily change of clothing.  It was one of the ways he used to keep track 
of time.  When he rinsed one out, he used its drying time to gauge the 
passage of hours along with the intervals between meals.  His guess 
was that eight days had passed.  He had tried to make the best of his 
solitude.  He thought of holy men who would devote their time alone 
to search for inner peace.  He had tried to search for inner peace, but 
there were too many hurtful memories still gnawing at his soul.  He 
could never find inner peace as long as his partner's safety was in 
question, and his sister's abduction remained an unresolved nightmare 
in his mind.  God, how he hated this place.

__________


April 29
FBI Headquarters
10:15 a.m. 

It was Scully's first day back at work.  Though her doctor suggested 
she take more time off, she forcefully requested and received the go 
ahead for half days and light duty work only.  She busied herself with 
paperwork, once in awhile finding herself starring at the empty chair 
her partner should be occupying.  He wasn't dead.  She wouldn't allow 
herself to think that.  She also hated the thought of him showing up 
unexpectedly in the hospital three months later near death and in a 
coma.  She feared that what had happened to her was now to be his 
fate as well.  However, she had made it back all the way, and so would 
he.

Her heart leapt in expectation when the door to the office eased open.  
She held her breath until she saw her visitor's full form.  A.D. Skinner 
approached, the expression on his face, one of compassion and 
concern.

"I heard you strong-armed the doctor into letting you come back to 
work early."

"Light duty only, sir.  I'm only working till one."

Skinner showed some hesitance before settling down in Mulder's 
chair.  "I just got back from the Avery hearing.  Without Mulder 
present to testify, the judge had no recourse but to kick the case out of 
court.  So now, that snotty nose rich kid is doing the scot-free rumba 
down Main Street."

"You still think there's a connection with Avery's hearing and 
Mulder's disappearance?"

"It's number one on my list.  I believe Author Avery bought his kid's 
walking papers with Agent Mulder's...."

He was going to say Agent Mulder's life, but stopped himself from 
uttering that last word.  He didn't want to believe that Agent Mulder 
was dead.  The man had already proven impossible to kill on several 
occasions.  He either had nine lives or someone up there was truly 
watching out for him.  Skinner looked into a pair of anxious, teal eyes, 
already swollen with unreleased tears.

"Don't worry, Agent Scully.  You know how Agent Mulder has a habit 
of showing up alive, although not necessarily well."

Scully managed a smile at that.  "Yes, he does have that habit, doesn't 
he?"

"At any rate, we will keep up the search.  We'll be watching Avery 
closely and those he associates with.  Maybe we'll get lucky and pick 
up a clue or two."  Skinner rose from the chair and started to leave.  
"Don't work too hard," he added upon making his exit.

__________


April 30
Location Unknown
1:30 a.m.

"Four-thousand, seven hundred, sixty-nine
bottles of beer on the wall,

Four-thousand, seven hundred, sixty-nine
bottles of beer.

Take one down, pass it around...

Four-thousand, seven hundred, sixty-eight
bottles of beer on the wall."

Mulder sang without enthusiasm or enjoyment and barely any tone.  
His voice had grown hoarse from the previous five-thousand plus 
verses of the song he had used to entertain himself and annoy his 
captors -- if they were still listening.  Suddenly, making it down to 
that last bottle of beer no longer held any appeal for him.  His musical 
interest had quickly taken the same route as his daily exercise, his 
literary recitals and his budding artistic endeavors.

Mulder lay curled on the bed, staring languidly at the door.  His last 
meal still sat on the drop down shelf waiting for him.  Hours old, he 
had no intentions of eating it, nor of playing with it or decorating the 
walls with it.  He was so tired he didn't possess the energy to do either.  
Actually, he had no reason to be tired.  He had done nothing but lay in 
bed most of the day anyway, so he had no excuse to claim fatigue.  But 
just pulling himself up off the bed to use the toilet seemed a 
tremendous effort.  He knew what was happening to him.  He had 
become lethargic.  Depression and self-pity was weighing him down.  
He had given up.

"Is this what they did to you, Scully?" he spoke in whispered tones.  
"Is this what they did to Sam?  Locked you up all alone until you're 
half out of your mind, then they took you to get your implants?  How'd 
you guys manage?  Sam's been gone for decades, and you were gone 
for months.  It's just been a few days for me and I'm ready to start 
climbing the walls.  You see, I've just got so much stuff trapped in my 
head... stuff that I never wanted to take time to really think about.  
Stuff that I've tried to bury... _people_ I've tried to bury.  But now... all 
my protective devices have been taken away... most importantly my 
work.  Without my work to keep me going, I'm lost.  No direction, no 
hope... nothing."

"You have me, Mulder," Scully's disembodied voice replied instantly.  
He couldn't see her, but she sounded very close. 

"But you're not real," he replied lazily.  "You're just my imagination 
working overtime."

"So?  You can't let this place get to you, Mulder.  You can't let them 
win.  You have to fight the depression and the loneliness."

"But if they want to drive me insane, why not just _go_ insane?  The 
sooner I go insane, the sooner they'll let me out, right?  What do you 
think they'd do if I started banging my head against the wall?  You 
think they'd care?"

"Do you?"

"I think it's their job to keep me alive and well.  If I started to hurt 
myself, they'd have to come in and stop me and take care of me."

"And what if they don't, Mulder?  What if they just leave you here to 
bleed to death?  Or perhaps they're not watching you as closely as you 
think they are.  What if the night shift has fallen asleep on duty?  You 
could have a hell of a headache for a very long time."

"So why don't you come and rescue me then?  You always come to my 
rescue, Scully.  I don't know how you manage it, but every time my ass 
is in trouble, you come along and bail me out."

"I'm doing my best, Mulder.  I'm trying to find you.  I'm doing every 
thing I can.  You know that.  You just have to hang on a little while 
longer.  You have to be strong.  Don't give up."

"But I don't _like_ it here, Scully.  I can't do my work, I can't help save 
lives or fight injustice.  I can't... I can't be _there_ for you.  I promised 
I would, but I can't.  I'm sorry, Scully.  I can't be there for you."

The frustration came out in a stream of tears.  Mulder buried his face 
in the mattress and covered his head with both hands.  Scully's voice 
was no longer offering words of encouragement.  She had become 
silent, replaced with his own self-reproaching demons.

"I just wanna go home," he whimpered.  "I can't do anything here.  I 
don't like it here.  Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.  Let me go, 
let me go, let me go."  

There seemed to be no reason to fight the encroaching madness that 
was threatening to engulf him.  It was obvious that those in the outside 
world that cared about him had no clue as to where he was or how to 
get him back.  It was also apparent that this would be his home 
indefinitely.  He could sense Cancerman blowing smoke rings as he 
watched his half-naked, defeated nemesis on a monitor in a control 
room somewhere.  He had finally won.




There were footsteps outside the door.  Mulder had distinguished early 
on between two sets of footsteps that came with his meals.  Day shift, 
bringing breakfast and lunch were solid, quick but short strides.  He 
guessed it to be a female or a slight male.  The night shift which 
brought dinner, was a  hefty, tall man by the sound of his heavy, long 
steps.  The footsteps he heard this time belonged to neither the day 
shift nor night shift.  The new person paused outside his door for a 
moment, then slipped something underneath the door into the room.

Mulder glared at the small shiny object without comprehended what 
it was.  The footsteps trotted off as quickly as they had come.  Mulder 
continued to stare at the piece of metal on the floor, almost feeling too 
lazy to get up and investigate.  Finally, he sat up in bed and threw his 
feet to the floor.  How he wished he could simply wrinkle his nose and 
have the object float up to his hand.  It didn't even sink in what a 
dumb wish that was.  He pushed himself off the bed, dropped to his 
knees and crawled the short distant to the door.  He didn't pick it up 
right away.  He stretched out his long legs and put his weight on his 
forearms.  He touched it with one finger to make sure it was real.  
After establishing that it was, he carefully pinched it between his 
thumb and forefinger.

"Looks like somebody's trying to tell me something," he spoke 
stoically of the razor blade in his grasp.

Only moments ago he had ceased to have thoughts.  Now he was being 
bombarded by them, and all were centered around the high-tensile 
stainless steel he held between two fingers.  Someone had just given 
him a way out.  He turned his left palm upwards and considered the 
large vein in his wrist.  He wondered if he sliced into it, would his 
captors allow him to bleed to death or would they come to his rescue.  
Either they actually wanted him to take his own life or they simply 
wanted to test him, to see how far gone he really was. 

However, it didn't matter what _they_ wanted.  It was what _he_ 
wanted.  Did he want to give up once and for all?  Was escape from 
this place truly hopeless?  Did he still give a damn about the world?  
About the truth?  About Scully?  He crawled under the bed into the 
shadow away from the view of the video camera.  He'd keep his final 
decision to himself.  

__________


May 1
Scully's Apartment
2:23 a.m.

The ringing of her phone pulled Scully out of a restless sleep.  She was 
used to only one person calling her at such an ungodly hour.  Her heart 
raced with anticipation as she reached out to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner."

She sat up in bed, fully alert, fearful of the news he might have to 
offer.  "Yes, sir?" she replied in a calm voice, hoping to mask her 
nervousness.

"I've just received a call.  He's been found.  Someone dumped him off 
on the curb in front of FBI headquarters."

"Is he... all right?"

"He was found unconscious.  That's all I know at this time.  He's been 
taken to Georgetown Memorial."

Scully finally let out the breath she had been holding in since she'd 
answered the phone.  "I'm on my way," she spat out the words before 
the tears of joy were able to choke off her reply.

"I'll meet you there."


Georgetown Hospital
2:55 a.m. 

Walter Skinner was surprised to have made it to the hospital before the 
better half of the most trouble-bound duo in his camp did.  It gave him 
an opportunity to talk to the doctor in charge and find out more about 
Mulder's condition.  The agent had arrived, heavily sedated and 
practically naked, but with no hint of trauma and very strong vital 
signs.  There was nothing obviously wrong with him that a shower, 
shave, and a comb couldn't fix.  Skinner stood looking down at the 
young man who managed to look boyish in his sleep, even with two 
weeks worth of facial hair hiding his cheeks.

Scully entered the room and stood next to her superior.  Her eyes 
were on her partner when she asked, "How is he?"

"Heavily sedated.  But not by anyone at the hospital.  This is how they 
found him.  Apparently, everything else checks out ok."

"So someone kidnaps him, holds him prisoner for two weeks and then 
just let's him go, just like that?"

"I'd say there's definitely more to the story than that.  Let's just hope 
he's able to fill us in on the missing pieces when he wakes up."

Scully finally looked up at her boss.  "Nothing was done to him 
physically.  Do you think...?"

"I think a friendly face should be the first thing he sees when he wakes 
up.  I imagine a shock of red hair wouldn't hurt either."

Scully smiled lightly and nodded.  "I'm up for the night anyway."

Skinner spoke as he headed towards the door.  "I'll have a man posted 
outside to keep an eye on things.  Let me know how it goes."

"Yes, sir."


Georgetown Hospital
7:45 a.m. 

    The early morning sun filling the room with a warm light was what woke 
Mulder from his sleep.  He stared at the half opened blinds and yellow rays 
that leaked through to highlight the adjacent wall and floor.  It seemed so 
real, he thought.  The white, crisp, clean smelling sheets that surrounded 
him, the soft hand that rested on his arm... it all seemed so real.  But he'd 
had this dream before, or variations of it.  He knew that when he turned to 
face her, she'd smile that smile and ask him that question again.  He'd give 
her his standard reply, then something would go horribly wrong.  Some 
terrifying force would yank her away from him, possibly hurt her, and he'd 
be totally inept at rescuing her.  Then he'd find himself back in his prison 
cell.

    He'd wake up soon.  There was no reason to put himself through the 
torture, but he couldn't deny himself the opportunity to gaze into that lovely 
face even if was only a dream.  He slowly turned his head and saw the 
beautiful red-head sitting close by his bedside.  Her eyes were closed and her 
head slightly lowered.  She was desperately fighting sleep.  She suddenly 
snapped alert, taken aback at seeing her partner awake and watching her.  
There was that smile, wide and bright.  She stood and moved closer to his 
side.

    "Welcome back.  How do you feel?"

    He smiled lazily, the sedative still in his system. "You always ask me 
that," he murmured.

    "You always give me reason to."

    "This dream feels nicer.  Can we just keep this one nice?"

    "Okay."  She gently brushed back his bangs away from the hazel eyes that 
were a little too glassy.  "You know, Mulder, it was my turn to get all the 
attention.  Why did you have to go and hog the spotlight?"

    "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to."

    "It's okay.  Mulder, do you know what day it is?"

    "It's... it could be Saturday.  I had fish for dinner.  Friday is fish day, 
right?  So it might be Saturday."

    "No, it's... Wednesday.  It's been two weeks since you've been gone."

    "Really?  I tried to keep track.  I had peas one day, but I didn't eat 'em.  I 
used 'em to count the days.  Sometimes I would sleep through meals, so I 
guess I lost track."

    "Can you tell me what happened?  Where were you?"

    "In my room."

    Scully dented her brows in confusion.  "Your room?" 

    "It was smaller than this.  It didn't have a window."  He gave a minor nod 
towards the opening that allowed the realistic light to flow through.  "Your 
room has a window.  I like it better than mine."

    "Mulder, you do realize you're in a hospital room, don't you?"

    He gave a simple nod.  "It has a TV.  My room didn't have one."

    Seeing that he was stuck on the one subject, Scully decided to pursue it.  
"Tell me about your room, Mulder.  What was it like?"

    "It was always daytime.  It never got dark, except for when I got under the 
bed.  My bed was bolted to the floor so I couldn't move it.  I guess that's a 
good thing because I would've moved it if I could.  I would've moved it closer 
to the door so I could eat right off the little shelf that dropped down on the 
door when the food came... And... and the tiny red light over the door was 
always watching me.  I made it go away once, but that wasn't a good thing to 
do because then it got real hot and I couldn't wash or flush and the food 
wouldn't come until I made it appear again."

    Scully wasn't quite able to decipher the full meaning behind all that, but 
she decided not to dwell on it.  She moved on to something else.  "Was there 
anyone else in the room with you?" she asked.

    Mulder shifted his position on the bed, his body angled more towards his 
partner.  His voice became stronger and the momentum increased as he 
continued.  "No.  No, you see that's the funny thing about it, Scully.  There 
were no bugs or mice.  In all the best prison movies you have your standard 
mouse pal or cockroach or spider friend to keep you company.  I mean, even 
the birdman of Alcatraz had a pet.  Hell, he had a whole menagerie!  Or... or 
they give you a ball and glove like Steve Mcqueen in "The Great Escape." 
The damn nazis gave him a ball _and_ glove to play with.  I know that 
wouldn't have happened in a real P.O.W. camp but all the best prison movies 
gave the prisoners something to do or someone to talk to.  You know, like 
you'd hear someone singing a spiritual or playing the harmonica in the next 
cell.  But I didn't have any of those things, Scully.  It wasn't fair.  Nobody 
ever talked to me, and nobody ever came to see me.  Not even the ants, 
because I didn't have any Lifesavers in my pocket.  I didn't even have 
pockets." 

    Scully's heart sank as he rambled on about the place he had called home 
for the past two weeks.  He wasn't completely lucid in his speech, but it was 
clear enough to her that her friend and partner had been isolated almost to 
the breaking point.  When he fell silent after his monologue, Scully could see 
the weariness in his features.  He fell back into the plushness of his pillows 
and closed his eyes.

    "Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked, a touch of anxiety to her voice.

    He couldn't help but grin at the sound of those words, but he lacked the 
energy to reply verbally.  He drifted peacefully off to sleep.




    Several hours later, Scully had gone to stretch her legs and get some 
coffee.  When she retuned to Mulder's room, she was surprised to find him 
awake and out of bed.  He stood in front of the window, leaning over slightly 
with his hands resting on the window sill.  He was apparently so enthralled 
with the bird's-eye view of early morning D.C., that he didn't realize that his 
rather short hospital gown was open and his backside was exposed.  Scully 
wasn't totally opposed to this particular view of her partner, and she got in a 
good dose before alerting him to her presence.  She cleared her throat loudly, 
but wasn't successful in gaining his attention.  She thought about going out 
and coming in again, but decided that they were both adult enough to handle 
the embarrassment.

    "It's a bit early for a full moon, don't you think?" she teased.

    He was slow in reacting to her words, but finally drew the conclusion that 
he wasn't imagining the sound of her voice.  He turned around as she 
approached him with a smile and a shy little, "Hi."

    He couldn't help but think that she was the most beautiful vision he'd ever 
seen.  Red hair flaming with the kiss of sunlight from the window, her tired 
eyes still managed to beam, and that smile.... God, how he had missed her.  
He wanted to take her into his arms and practically pull her inside of him.  
But he was afraid if he tried to touch her, she'd turn out to be just another 
one of his dreams and simply fade away.  To mask his fear, he adjusted the 
thin, cotton material to enclose his backside, then leaned his tight buns 
against the window sill.  His eyes drifted down to the cup of coffee she was 
carrying.

    "Is that for me?" he asked despite the lipstick stain he noticed on the rim 
of the cup.

    "Maybe you should wait until the doctor checks you out first."

    "There's nothing wrong with me.  I feel fine."

    He used both hands to ease the cup from her grasp, allowing more contact 
with her delicate, soft hand than was actually necessary.  He was still trying 
to convince himself that she was more than just his vivid imagination 
working overtime.

    "How's the shoulder?" he asked before taking a sip from the cup.

    Scully made a minor gesture to her wound and shook her head casually.  
"It's fine.  A little sore now and then, but healing well."

    "Sorry I wasn't around for you."

    "You just wanted to get out of becoming my personal slave for at least a 
week."

    "Actually, I was looking forward to that," he said rather suggestively.  
"You know, giving you sponge baths and tucking you into bed."

    Scully tried to suppress a grin as a flush of color burned into her cheeks.  
Mulder sat the coffee cup down on the window ledge to his left.  "How did 
you find me?" he asked.

    "I didn't.  Apparently, you were returned.  Someone deposited you outside 
FBI headquarters about one-thirty in the morning.  You had been drugged, 
but otherwise unharmed.  Can you fill me in on the details?"

    "Not really.  I never saw a face, never heard a voice.  How long has it 
been?  My last count was twelve days."

    "Two weeks ago yesterday.  We had a massive search going on.  I was 
afraid that...."  She sighed deeply, unable to complete the thought.  It wasn't 
necessary. 

    "I know," said Mulder as he reached for her hand and gently pulled her 
into a much needed embrace.  As her arms tightened instinctively about him, 
he finally accepted the fact that she was real, his freedom was real.  He 
fought back the desire to cry.  Her warmth felt so good against his body, he 
was reluctant to let go.  Scully felt the same way, however, after a moment, 
they were each able to disengage and resume a more casual air. 

    "What are the chances of getting me some scrubs to wear?  I can't have 
you ogling my butt anymore."

    "I've seen your scrawny butt on previous occasions, Mulder and I can't say 
I was all that impressed."

    "Well, so much for _your_ Christmas present," he spoke dryly.

    Scully rolled her eyes at him, then turned and headed for the closet door.  
She opened it and pulled out a gym bag.  Somehow she instinctively knew 
that he would be needing clothes whenever he happened to reappear.  When 
she was at his apartment with Frohike, she grabbed a carryall and filled it 
with a set of sweats, underwear, socks and sneakers.  She kept the bag in the 
trunk of her car until it was needed.  

    Mulder grimaced when he saw her produce the bag.  "Oh no.  Tell me you 
didn't go through my underwear drawer, Scully."

    "Skinner ordered a thorough search of your place," said Scully as she 
placed the gym bag on the bed.  "Mulder, _everyone_ went through your 
underwear drawer.  But don't worry.  Your smut collection is still intact.  
Now go ahead and get dressed.  I'll go find the doctor so he can sign you 
out."




    Mulder insisted on driving.  He could tell just by looking at her how tired 
Scully was though she wouldn't readily admit to it.  Since her partner had 
been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, Scully had no 
choice but to surrender the keys to him.  Though he seemed perfectly normal 
behind the wheel, Scully couldn't help but wonder about his mental 
condition.  She uneasily recalled his prattling when he first woke up.  She 
gathered that he had been totally isolated for the full two weeks he had been 
missing.  While still under the effects of the drugs, his lonely imprisonment 
had been the utmost thing on his mind.  Fully alert now, he had made no 
further mention of his ordeal.

    Mulder drove slower than usual, taking in all the sights and sounds that 
had excluded him for a fortnight.  He had thought about going straight in to 
work, but felt that Scully needed to get some rest.  Besides, he needed to go 
home, change into a suit and shave the fur off his face.  He also needed time 
to acclimate himself to his freedom.  He was still silently marvelling over the 
sights, sounds and smells of the city, and the feel of the sun's warmth on his 
paler than normal skin.  He found himself smiling and waving at the little 
girl in the car next to him.  So much he had taken for granted had been taken 
away and just as mysteriously, given back.  He managed to turn his attention 
back to driving and to his partner, who was close to dozing.

    "So, Scully, fill me in.  What have I been missing these past couple of 
weeks?"

    Startled to alertness by the sound of his voice, Scully replied without 
missing a beat. "Well, besides my convalescing, the only other important 
event you missed was the Danny Avery hearing."

    "Dammit!  I did, didn't I?  How'd it go?"

    "With the only eye witness unavailable to testify, Mr. Avery walked.  The 
judge held off as long as he could.  They let him go just yesterday, as a 
matter of fact."

    "Danny Avery goes free, and that evening, I'm given back my freedom.  
You believe in coincidences, Scully?"

    "Yes, I do.  But not in this instance.  It's very likely that the elder Mr. 
Avery arranged to have you out of the way so you wouldn't be available to 
testify against his son.  You're very lucky, Mulder.  He could have just as 
easily had you killed."

    "No.  Dead bodies tend to leave behind evidence.  Besides, he knew he'd 
be under suspicion and an investigation could endanger his plans."

    "Of course, there are many others who would like nothing better than for 
you to disappear... permanently, that is."

    "I'll talk to the D.A. when I get to the office.  Maybe I can get him to 
reopen --"

    "It's too late, Mulder.  Avery's left the country already.  We can't touch 
him."

    It was discouraging news, but for once, Mulder had no intentions of 
blaming himself for something so far out of his control.  He was merely 
thankful that his ordeal was finally over.



    By the time Mulder had pulled to a stop in front of Scully's place, she had 
nodded off to sleep.  He silently watched her for a few moments, her head 
resting against the window, her hair covering most of her features.  Her 
angelic beauty shown through even with the small amount of her face that 
was visible.  Mulder reached out to brush the hair away from her cheek.  She 
jumped awake at his touch.

    "What?"

    "You're home," said Mulder softly, pulling his hand away slowly.

    Scully sat up, glanced out the window as if to check the validity of his 
statement.  Her eyes drifted back to her partner who was still staring at her 
with a near, dreamlike quality.  "You okay, Mulder?"

    He snickered lightly at those words and replied with his standard line, 
"I'm fine, Scully."

    "Do you want to talk about it?"

    He wrestled with the idea for a moment, then shook his head.  "You're 
dead tired.  Why don't you go on in and get some rest.  I'll call you later."

    Scully knew there was no point in arguing.  She could barely keep her 
eyes open anyway.  She gave his hand a reassuring pat, then got out of the 
car.  Mulder waited for ten minutes after she'd gone in before driving away.



May 1
Scully's Apartment
5:47 p.m.

Scully finally woke from her much needed nap.  She must have 
been more tired than she realized.  She stretched lazily in bed, then 
threw back the covers and swung her tiny feet to the floor.  Her tummy 
rumbled, reminding her that she had skipped both breakfast and lunch.  
She hadn't done any grocery shopping lately, which was just as well 
because she certainly didn't feel like cooking.  She'd order in some 
pizza or Chinese food, then give Mulder a call to see what he was up 
to.  But first, she needed coffee.

She ignored her slippers and robe as she headed out into the 
hallway.  She was surprised that Mulder hadn't already awaken her 
with a phone call.  There was still a lot to talk about.  There were 
things she knew he wasn't telling her about his abduction, probably 
never would.

When Scully stepped into her living room, she was confused at 
seeing the television set displaying cartoons.  She didn't remember 
turning the TV on.  She was further perplexed by the presence of a 
gray, suit jacket and tie laid across the back of her favorite chair.  The 
fact that she recognized the "Twilight Zone" tie immediately helped to 
quell her apprehension of an unwanted intruder.  On her coffee table, 
was an opened briefcase with Mulder's holstered gun and reading 
glasses lying atop several file folders.  His shoes were on the floor 
under the table, paired neatly with dark gray socks.  Scully picked up a 
bag of sunflower seeds from the end table and noted a pile of empty 
hulls next to the lamp.  She scowled at the mess and allowed the bag 
to plop back down where she had found it.

"Why don't you just make yourself at home, Mulder," she chided in 
a voice loud enough for him to hear in the next room.

She had expected him to pop his head around from the kitchen.  She 
waited a moment but he didn't show.  She padded into the kitchen and 
looked around.  Her unannounced house guest wasn't there.  She knew 
he couldn't have gone too far with bare feet.  She tried the bathroom 
next, finding the door closed and a light showing from beneath it.

"Mulder, I hope you're not stinking up my bathroom," Scully teased.  
When she didn't get a response, she tapped lightly on the door.  
"Mulder, are you all right in there?"  Starting to feel some concern 
now, she reached for the doorknob.  She breathed a sigh of relief to 
find it unlocked.  "Mulder, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."

She waited three seconds for a reply, then pushed the door open 
cautiously.  Her heart skipped a beat when she encountered her partner 
curled up in a fetal position on the floor.  She rushed to kneel beside 
him, instantly checking for a pulse.  It was steady and strong.  As she 
checked his forehead for signs of a fever,  she was relieved to see his 
eyes pop open.

"Mulder?  Are you all right?"

Mulder arranged himself in a sitting position, with his back resting 
against the doors of the vanity.  "I'm fine," he professed, though non 
too convincingly.  "I'm sorry.  I guess I just fell asleep."

"How long have you been here?"

He glanced at his watch.  "A couple of hours, I guess.  I rang the 
doorbell and knocked but I didn't get an answer.  I got a little worried 
and let myself in.  You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to 
disturb you."

"And how did you come to be asleep on my bathroom floor?"

"Well, I came in to... you know.  Then I got to noticing the design 
on your floor."

"The floor?"

"Yeah."  He began to point out to her his discovery.  "See how its 
four little black squares in the middle of the big white square?  It 
reminded me a lot like where I was.  Only, it was _five_ small black 
squares, in the middle.  Well, actually, only one black square in the 
middle, surrounded by the same size alternating black and white 
squares, and then the outside area was four large white tiles, which 
altogether made up one solid square foot.  I counted them all.  There 
were twelve-hundred, small black squares and seven-hundred and 
sixty-eight little white squares.  Well, just a little less than that, really.  
I keep wanting to make up for where the toilet covers it.  But anyway, 
six-thousand, nine-hundred and twelve square inches total... give or 
take.   _Yours_ I didn't finish counting but it's considerably more than 
six-thousand.  This is a pretty good size bathroom you've got, Scully.  
Plus your grout work is a little thicker."

Mulder had barely glanced at his partner since she first began 
interrogating him.  His full attention had been focused directly on the 
floor.  Finally he looked up from it to make eye contact with Scully.  
He found her staring at him as though his skull had suddenly grown 
twice its size and his skin had turned Reticulan gray.

"Mulder, do you not realize how odd it is that we are sitting on my 
bathroom floor discussing the number of tiles I may or may not have?"

Mulder gave it some thought and saw her point, though he refused 
to admit it.  Instead, he leaned in closer to her and said, "Scully, do 
you not realize that at this angle, I could get as interesting a view of 
your front as you got of my rear this morning?"

Scully glanced down and saw how being on her hands and knees 
allowed her flimsy camisole to droop open and fully expose her 
breasts.  She threw a protective arm across her chest and looked back 
to Mulder who had foregone the opportunity to sneak a peek.  He got 
to his feet as though nothing was wrong.

"Why don't you go ahead and slip into something a little less 
comfortable and I'll go get us some coffee brewing."

He walked out of the bathroom, leaving his partner mentally 
scratching her head over his behavior.  Scully sat for a moment, 
staring down at the floor and wondering just how bored she would 
have to be to find counting the little black and white squares 
entertaining.  She _had_ to talk to him.  She had to make _him_ talk 
to her about what he really went through.  Although he suffered no 
physical harm, being isolated for two weeks obviously left him with 
some negative effects.

By the time Scully had made herself presentable in a big shirt and 
jeans, Mulder was back at work.  He was sitting on the sofa, glasses 
on, pouring over the contents of a file while sipping from a cup of 
fresh brewed coffee.  He looked perfectly normal, except for the bare 
feet parked under the coffee table. 

"Finally," he stated of her presence.  "You know we've got a lot of 
work to catch up on, Scully.  The two of us out of commission like 
that..."

Scully went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.  
"Have you seen Skinner?" she called out to the man on her living room 
sofa.  He was suddenly in the doorway of the kitchen to respond.

"Yeah.  I stopped by the office for a few hours.  You know, I believe 
that he was actually happy to see me.  At least I imagine that's what he 
was inferring when he said, 'Looky what the cat dragged in.'  Then he 
gave me a ton of paperwork to fill out.  Hey, you wanna go out 
someplace and eat?"

"Looking like this?" said Scully as she added cream and sugar to 
her coffee. 

Mulder grinned slyly. "Hey, I know some places where you would 
be considered overdressed."

Scully scowled. "Spare me."

Mulder slipped off his glasses and blew off a loose eyelash from 
them.  "Skinner wants me to talk to a shrink."  He spoke those words 
in a matter-of-fact sort of way, but Scully could sense something 
hidden behind the statement.  It was as if Mulder agreed with it.  
Scully sipped her coffee, not sure how she should respond.

"Just a formality, he says," Mulder continued when his partner 
offered no comment.  "He wants to make sure I'm no more screwed up 
than I was before all this happened."

"Mulder, you talked to me some the first time you woke.  I suppose 
you don't remember any of it.  Some of the things you said didn't make 
much sense.  Some of it did.  You talked about being alone, about 
having no physical contact with anyone the whole time you were there.  
You seemed upset about not even having rodents or bugs around to 
keep you company.  You were in solitary confinement in a room with 
no windows, and lights that stayed on continuously that gave no 
concept of day or night.  What does a person with your intelligence do 
when all forms of mental stimulus is taken away?"

"I think that's what they were trying to find out."

"Who?"

"I don't know.  But I felt like I was being studied.  I felt as though I 
was a white rat in someone's science project.  There was a video 
camera on me at all times."

"That must be the red light you said kept watching you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Until once when you made it go away and it got hot and you 
weren't able to wash or flush."

"I covered up the lens.  As punishment, they turned off the air 
conditioning and water.  When I uncovered the lens, everything was 
restored."

"It must have been maddening for you."

At that, Mulder simply shrugged and headed back towards the 
living room.  He settled down on the sofa, slipped his glasses back on 
and picked up the folder he had been going through earlier.  Scully 
curled up on the opposite end of the couch, facing Mulder and casually 
drinking her coffee.  She noticed that Mulder was not paying the file 
in his hands any attention.  Instead he was staring at the TV.  A soap 
commercial was playing.  Even with the sound turned down, the 
message came through clearly.  The guy in the shower was ecstatic 
about how clean and fresh his soap made him feel.

"I know how he feels now," said Mulder with a small sigh.  He 
looked to Scully, only a couple of feet away, waiting patiently.  He 
knew she was dying to know all the facts.  She knew it wasn't everyday 
that he waltzed into her home unannounced and promptly fell asleep 
in her bathroom.  But she wasn't rushing him to tell all, and for that he 
was grateful.

"Scully, about what happened in the bathroom... I hope I didn't 
scare or upset you any.  My internal clock's a little off."

"So that makes it complete then," Scully teased.  "You look pretty 
healthy considering," she added a bit more seriously.  "I take it you 
weren't harmed physically?"

"No.  Apparently, even through transport, a lot of care was given 
not to damage the goods.  They wanted their lab animal in good 
condition."

"Are you saying that you think Avery had some mad scientist 
kidnap you and place you in solitary confinement, hoping for... what?  
That you'd go bonkers?"
 
"I've seen caged animals that went insane from lack of 
companionship, mobility and mental stimulus.  Humans are no 
different.  Albeit I'm not exactly the friendliest guy in the universe and 
I pride myself for not being on anyone's party list, I do at times find 
the need to associate with members of my own species.  I have so 
much stored energy, both physical and mental, that if anyone _did_ 
want to drive me insane, total isolation and confinement would 
conceivably be the way to go.  That and a television set that showed 
nothing but 'Gilligan's Island' episodes."

Scully both grimaced and grinned at that particular kind of hellish 
torture.  "But, Mulder, don't you think it's more likely that the reason 
you were placed in such controlled and isolated conditions was simply 
so you wouldn't be able to escape?  That maybe no one was studying 
you or trying to drive you crazy.  Perhaps they merely wanted to 
reduce the possibility of you identifying any of them later or the 
location where you were being held.  Logically speaking --"

"Is what Mr. Spock did in the "Star Trek" series," Mulder cut her 
off abruptly.  "And although it was necessary for plot development, it 
still drove Dr. McCoy up the sick bay wall."

Scully picked up on the coded message there and decided to 
abandon her logical thinking for the moment.  "All right.  So, since 
you didn't have a ball and glove like Steve Mcqueen in the "The Great 
Escape" or anything with more than two legs to keep you company, 
what did you do with yourself, besides counting tiles?"

"Shakespeare.  I acted out plays, recited sonnets, even told every 
dirty limerick and joke I knew."

"I'm sure that kept you occupied for awhile."

"Luckily, it did.  I spent a lot of time going over some of our cases 
in my head.  Even came up with a couple of good leads on some.  
Actually, the whole experience wasn't all that bad.  It was like taking a 
forced vacation.  I got plenty of rest -- something you're always telling 
me I need more of anyway.  I got a chance to just relax and take it 
easy.  No pressures of work, no phones ringing, no e-mail to answer or 
paperwork to fill out, and no bad guys or alien life-forms to chase 
after.  If I'd only had my TV and video collection, we're talking 
heaven."

Scully knew better.  "You're a workaholic, Mulder," she reminded 
him.  "You hate sitting still with nothing to do.  Your mind is such, 
that if you're not juggling a missing person case, an unexplained 
murder and a UFO sighting at the same time, you'd go buggy from the 
monotony." 

She knew him too well.  Mulder stared blindly at the photograph of 
a man's mutilated body he had been holding.  When he spoke again, 
his voice had lost its playfulness.  "There were times when I'd just sort 
of zone out," he admitted to the space between himself and the 
photograph.  "I'd suddenly realize that hours had gone by because the 
food tray would be there and I wouldn't remember seeing it arrive, and 
the food would be cold, even dried out a little.  My legs and shoulders 
would ache from being in one position for so long."

"Sounds like you probably just fell asleep," Scully offered the 
sensible solution.

"No, I always had dreams when I slept.  Bad ones mostly.  About 
you mostly."

He was too self-conscious at that moment to look at her.  He could 
feel her eyes on him, empathic, wanting to chase away his sadness.  
Her hand rested gently on his forearm, a subtle reminder of fathomless 
support and friendship.  He somehow mustered up the courage to 
continue.

"After about a week or so of holding it together, I started to let it get 
to me.  The solitude and silence I could pretty much handle.  It was the 
not knowing that did it.  Not knowing why I was there or who was 
watching me on the other side of that camera.  It was the not even 
knowing if you were all right.  I was so afraid that they had taken you 
from the hospital, and there was nothing I could do about it.  I sort of 
let myself get a little depressed.  I guess they noticed it too, because at 
one point, they slipped a razor blade under the door.  Now I may have 
done some things in the past that could be misconstrued as suicidal, 
but I've never harbored the thought of actually committing suicide.  
Only truly weak minds would do that."

"Did you find yourself weakening, Mulder?  Even briefly?"

The glasses came off again and his eyes shifted from the file in his 
hands to the person who had somehow moved closer to him without 
his knowledge.   "You'll never know how much you helped me, Scully.  
I just kept hearing your voice telling me to fight it, to hold on a while 
longer, that everything would be all right.  I trusted you, so I listened."

Scully arched a brow.  "You actually listened?  There's a first," she 
noted with a grunt.

"What do you mean?  I listen to you all the time, Scully.  I hear 
everything you say.  Hey, sometimes I even respond."  Mulder flashed 
a grin to his partner and patted the hand that still rested on his arm.  
"Why don't we order in a pizza or something?"

"I thought you wanted to go out."

"No.  I don't think I'm quite ready for crowds.  Besides," he added 
as he picked up another file from his briefcase and tossed it into her 
lap.  "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

Scully leafed through the file and blew out a sigh at the sight of a 
decomposing corpse.  "That's what I like about you, Mulder, you really 
know how to impress a girl."

Mulder picked up his sunflower seed bag and offered her the 
contents.  "Seeds?"

"No thanks.  I believe I'll just go order the pizza."

As she rose and started past him, Mulder reached out and gave her 
hand a firm squeeze.  It was his way of saying "Thanks," for being 
there for him even though he hadn't been there for her, and for not 
getting mad at him inviting himself over because he feared the 
loneliness of his lifeless apartment.  They exchanged knowing glances, 
expressing the deepest of emotions without uttering a word.  Scully 
gave a simple nod along with a Mona Lisa smile.  Mulder released his 
hold on her and immediately turned his attention to work, replacing 
his glasses and studiously perusing the file before him.

"Hey, Scully?" he stopped her before she had cleared the doorway 
heading into the kitchen for a menu.

"Yes, Mulder?"

"You really think my butt is scrawny?"

She was completely taken off guard by the question.  She started to 
answer him flippantly but noticed the expectant look in his eyes 
seeking the truth.  "Mulder... you know how famous actors get body 
doubles to do their _butt_ scenes?"

"Oh, so you're saying I could use a _stunt_ butt?"

"No, Mulder," Scully smiled coquettishly.  "Just the opposite."

She was sure he was blushing.  He quickly returned his gaze to his 
work.  She watched him for a moment but he showed no further signs 
of pursuing the topic.  As she started again towards the kitchen, 
Mulder called to her once again. 

"Hey, Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

"No anchovies, okay?"

"Yes, Mulder.  I know."


The End