FISH ON THE HOOK AUTHOR: WRITERGAL2000@AOL.COM RATED: NC-17, MT, S/A, M/S/SK friendship SPOILERS: Season 7 hasn't happened. No romance, per se, but you'll discover in the last chapter why that has more impact in this story. This is a part of my UTB (Under The Bed) Series - those stories that were written at some point in time and shoved under my bed. Yes, the theme of this story has been used before. What the hell. Please refrain from e-mailing me and telling me this isn't finished. It is. Any of you that want to pick the story up where it leaves off, think of it as a post-ep and go for it. I'd love it. DISCLAIMER: The usual, CC owns the rights, we just borrow them, make their lives more interesting. SUMMARY: Scully, Skinner and agents from DEA search frantically for Mulder, knowing he's been beaten and is in the hands of a mobster. FISH ON THE HOOK (1 of 6) STREETS OF GEORGETOWN 12:05 A.M. Mulder peered through the icy windshield, then turned the car's defroster up a notch. Impatient with the slow-acting heater, he used his hand to clear a patch of condensation from the glass. Slowly the Taurus crawled through the empty streets. He glanced at his partner. "Where did that caller say we turn?" "Just past the ... there! Kelly's Antiques," Scully answered, pointing ahead. Noticing the red neon sign in the window of the shop, Mulder drove just past the building to an adjacent parking lot and stopped. Both agents scanned the area. "Didn't he say he'd be out front?" Scully asked. "Yeah." Mulder looked at his watch. "Maybe we beat him here." There was a moment of silence. Mulder turned the windshield wipers on low to brush the falling snowflakes from the glass. Quietly the agents sat together in the dark car, settling in to play the all-too-familiar waiting game. "So . . ." Mulder said in his get-ready-to-prove-yourself voice. He turned slightly in his seat to face his partner. "You were explaining this dilemma that religious scientists face -- faith versus fact - or rather lack of facts." "I'm speaking from experience here. My Catholic upbringing has me indoctrinated with a strong sense of faith." "Faith being the ability to believe without proof?" "Well . . . I suppose you could put it that way. But faith is also believing that there is some kind of managed order to the universe, and that somehow everything will work out as it's supposed to." "Managed order," he said, rolling the words around in his mouth like a piece of candy. "Interesting way you have of describing God." She ignored his sarcasm. "I wasn't describing God, I was referring to God's power." "My apartment could use a little of that *managed order*," he kidded. Scully chuckled. "I know. I'd faint dead away if I walked through your apartment without finding Cocoa Puffs under the kitchen table or a pile of laundry in the hallway." Mulder dramatically laid his hand over his chest. "It speaks of *me*." "It screams for Merry Maids!" Mulder laughed with her. Then he looked contemplative again. "Well, I do agree with you that faith is an intangible. It seems to be a part of human predisposition, much like Jung's archetypes." "Jung's archetypes are a *theory*. Faith is part of a belief system." "Agreed," he stated bluntly. He saw the surprise on her face and he laughed again. "Oh, come on, Scully, our thinking isn't *that* far apart. Not always." "You'll never get me to admit that in public." He grinned at her, enjoying the interplay with words and thoughts. His partner had a way of stimulating his mind like no other. It made him wonder what other incredible ways she might stimulate him. Mulder sighed, shook off the thought, then looked back at the antique shop, once again checking his watch. "Hey Scully, what say we do a little investigative footwork." "You mean like venture out into this snowstorm so I can test the disclaimer of these new waterproof boots?" "Would you like me to carry you?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows. "I think once in a lifetime is enough for that." She didn't intend for her statement to invoke such a reaction from her partner, so when she saw his face suddenly go blank, she punched him lightly in the shoulder and smiled. "Come on, partner. Let's do a little window shopping." Mulder turned off the car and they exited the vehicle. As they walked around the side of the building, Scully pulled her coat tighter around her. They could see a light on inside the shop, but the window curtains prevented them from getting a better look. Mulder pulled his gloves out of his coat pocket and began putting them on. Scully did the same. Then they followed the sidewalk around to the back of the building. "How does this informant tie in to the Barbino warrant?" Scully asked. "He wasn't specific. He hinted that we missed the main cache. Maybe he just wants money for a little information," Mulder said. "I've got four dollars and some change on me." "Are you hinting that I'm buying the pie and coffee later?" Before Scully could respond, the back door of the shop swung open, slamming forcefully into Scully, and knocking her into Mulder. Both agents were thrown to the ground. As Mulder and Scully tumbled in the snow, they instantly went for their guns. Mulder had his free of his holster when there was the muffled retort of a silencer. The bullet whizzed between them, close enough to be heard, and landed with a soft thud in the cold ground. Scully looked quickly at her partner to see him also looking at her as he slowly raised his hands in the air and stood up. Four burley men in ski masks held weapons on them. But before Scully could stand, one of the men grabbed her around the throat with his arm, jerking her to her feet, and placed the handgun to her temple. Mulder reacted instinctively, leveling his gun at Scully's assailant. "Stop right there, Agent Mulder! I will kill her!" the man holding Scully warned. Mulder froze. Again he raised his hands in the air and his gun was taken from him. Two of the men positioned themselves on either side of him. Mulder glanced at his partner, who was still held securely by one of the burley men. Then he spoke to the man in front of him. "Who are you?" Mulder asked. "You got a phone call earlier. Who was it from?" the man with the gun asked. Mulder hid a shudder. There was only one threat they could make that would force him to give them an answer. He could only hope it didn't come to that. "He didn't give his name," Mulder answered. Mulder saw Scully wince, as the gun was pressed harder into her temple. "Look, don't hurt her! I swear that's the truth," Mulder said, barely constraining the fear that was creeping into his voice. Suddenly, without any warning, a fist pounded into his abdomen, doubling him over and knocking the air out of him. Scully's reflex was to go to him, but she felt the gun tighten against her skin. A few seconds later, Mulder slowly straightened up again. His voice was strained. "If you would just -" He was stopped abruptly by another hard hit in the stomach from the man standing in front of him. This time when he doubled over, his arm went across his stomach, while the other one sought the surface of the wall to keep him from falling. Scully heard him wheeze, trying to get air back into his lungs. It took longer for Mulder to stand up, and he had to put both hands on his knees in order to rise again. He said nothing this time. The man who stood in front of Mulder seemed to be the leader. He now addressed Scully. "Agent Scully, maybe you remember more than Agent Mulder. Who did he talk to?" Scully shared Mulder's fear, that her answer would sound like they were being evasive. She locked eyes with her partner, sharing his confusion and dread. "I don't know. Neither of us do," she said, a pleading tone in her voice. She watched as each of the two men took Mulder's arms, pinning them behind his back. It made her stomach tighten. She knew what was coming. So did Mulder. His eyes found hers and his unspoken message to her was loud and clear. Her eyes answered back. The leader slammed a fist into Mulder's face, hitting him just below the left eye. His head jerked to the right, but he was still held firmly by the two men. As soon as his head came back around, he was hit again. This time his lip split and blood sprayed against the wall and onto the jacket of one of the men holding him. "Son-of-a-bitch! Look what he did! I just picked this up from the cleaners!" the man yelled. The man holding Mulder's right arm forced it higher up his back. Mulder grimaced and held back a scream. Scully was trembling, helpless to stop the brutal beating of her partner. "Please, we don't even know who we came here to meet! The caller was anonymous!" she tried desperately to explain. Scully watched in horror as her partner was hit in the face again, this time on the right side, splitting his cheek. Both eyes instantly began to swell. Scully saw him struggling to stay on his feet. Tears filled her eyes as the leader's fist went back and she saw her partner trying to brace for the blow. The fist was driven with tremendous force into Mulder's stomach. He groaned as air was forced out of his lungs and blood sprayed from his mouth. When he doubled over, he was raised up by the hair, still trying to gasp for air, and hit twice more in the face. His knees buckled, but the two men continued to hold him up. "Stop hitting him! Please! If I could tell you, I would!" Scully pleaded. Despite the weapon being held on her, she tried to go to her partner. When she heard the gun at her head cock, she stopped. She was ready to take the risk for Mulder, but he would never be able to live with her death if she did. She had no choice. Scully had to close her eyes to the sight of her partner continuing to be beaten. With several repeated blows to the abdomen, he was no longer able to stand or get a breath. Scully could hear the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh and she fought the urge to vomit. Suddenly, she heard a car engine and she opened her eyes to see a blue van backing down the alley toward them. She forced herself to look over at her partner, illuminated eerily in the red glow from the van's taillights. His body was limp in the grasp of the other two men. Mulder's head was down, and blood dripped into the white snow. Scully felt torn as the events unfolded too quickly to make sense of them. She knew they were about to be kidnapped, but there was some small relief that at least it would end Mulder's suffering. The van stopped and another man jumped out the door. He opened the back of the van as the two men holding Mulder dragged him across the snow and threw him in the back of the van. The man with the gun shoved Scully away from him, holding the gun in her face as he backed up toward the van. Scully panicked when she realized what was happening. "NO! NO!" The man who had held the gun on Scully jumped in the back with Mulder and the other men and pulled the door closed. Then it sped out of the alley, leaving Scully standing alone in the dark alley. "Mulder . . ." Scully whispered as the van disappeared around the corner. * * * * * 5:25 A.M. HOOVER BUILDING ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER'S OFFICE Lights in the Hoover Building burned at an early hour. All available agents had been called back in. Scully had notified Skinner, who immediately got hold of the Director, who ordered all his ASAC's to call their teams in. A federal agent had been kidnapped and they knew it had something to do with Barbino. Most of the agents were familiar with the Mob hit man. Scully sat with a team of agents who had worked with her partner years ago to send Antonio Barbino to prison. She was staring absently when a cup of coffee was placed in her line of vision. She looked up to see Skinner holding it. With an unsteady hand, she took it. "Thank you, sir." Skinner noticed her bloody sleeve and he gently took her arm. "Is this your blood, Scully?" She hesitated, as if it took her a moment to realize he had asked her a question. Then she glanced at her own arm. "My elbow hit the door when they knocked us down," she answered in a monotone. "Roll your sleeve up." "Sir . . ." she started to protest. Skinner turned to one of his agents. "Get someone up here with a first aid kit." "Sir, it's nothing," she said, watching the agent hurry out of the office. "Scully, the blood has run all the way down to the back of your hand. It must be pretty deep. Roll your sleeve up." "I said it's nothing!" she snapped. Skinner's expression was one of understanding, not anger. He could only imagine what it must have been like for an agent to stand helpless and watch her partner being beaten, then kidnapped. The shock was wearing off and the aftereffects of that were just beginning for Agent Scully. Scully regretted her outburst immediately. She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to slow her heart rate and calm the nausea that hadn't abated since the ordeal in the alley began. She slowly rolled her sleeve up, somehow being numb to the pain. Skinner gently turned her arm to get another look at her elbow. He saw a fairly deep gash and it was still oozing blood. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he folded it into a square and gently placed it over the cut. He took Scully's other hand out of her lap. "Hold that over the cut until we can get a bandage on it." Scully couldn't bear to look at her own blood. It was too much of a reminder of the terrible blood loss suffered by her partner. She had seen the look on the faces of the agents and officers who were called to the crime scene, as they marked the trail of blood left in the snow. A lot of blood. Agent Mulder had suffered a horrible beating. Skinner took a seat across from her then motioned to two men across the office. They took chairs next to Scully. "Agent Scully, I'm Agent Fields from DEA. This is Agent Turner. We worked with Agent Mulder nine years ago to put Barbino in prison. Your partner did the profile." "Tell me about the case. I need to know everything." "There were a series of serial killings in Philadelphia and local police could find no common links as far as the victims. After seven murders and getting nowhere in the investigation, it was turned over to the FBI. Three more killings took place before they brought in the Golden Boy - Fox Mulder." "When did this take place?" she asked. "1990," Fields continued. "Agent Mulder shocked everyone when he claimed the killings were mob-related. He said there was a feud going on between two lesser-known crime families, and that's why the victims were unfamiliar to law enforcement. Where he got all that is still a mystery. When Mulder was laughed out of the room, he brought in DEA, and they started searching their database. But he told us that it would be unlikely for any of the victims to have criminal records, that we would need to stretch the database to see a 'family tree' so to speak. And guess what? Every one of the murdered men had distant ties to one of two crime families. And I mean distant - step-son of a second cousin, daughter of a niece of a second aunt, and so on." "Were the murders retaliation hits?" Scully asked. "Absolutely. Mulder hit it right on the nose. He went against three other profilers to state that these were mob killings, made to look like random serial killings. It was brilliant. Barbino was actually stunned that we caught on to his game." Agent Turner picked up the story. "Unfortunately, the press got the names of the agents involved in the operation. Although it wasn't specifically stated who the profiler was, it didn't take much to narrow it down. Almost anyone could have found out Mulder's reputation in VCU. He was protected for a while, but then we figured Barbino was smarter than to kill an FBI agent from prison. It would have been just a little too obvious." "But he's still in prison. Why take revenge now?" Turner and Fields looked at each other. Scully looked at Skinner and saw the same look on his face. "What?" she asked, dreading the answer. Skinner put his cup on the table. "The State's murder case against Barbino was inadequate, and they had to settle for a charge of tax evasion. He became eligible for parole a month ago. Mulder testified before the parole board, effectively crushing any hope Barbino had of getting released." "When? I don't recall-" she started. "You were at a ...wedding, I believe?" Skinner answered. Scully remembered the three days she had taken off to fly to San Diego. Her partner hadn't told her about the parole hearing. She recalled reading in the paper that Barbino had been denied parole, but had no idea it was her partner's testimony that kept him in prison. "But, sir, if Barbino has reached parole hearing review time, why would he risk his next chance?" Skinner looked to the DEA agents, and Turner answered. "Agent Scully, Barbino's mother committed suicide three days ago. We can only assume that Barbino believed the parole denial was the reason she killed herself." Scully looked at all three men, her expression changing to anger. "And you knew this! But no one warned my partner!" "No!" all three men answered at once. Fields explained. "Agent Scully, we had no knowledge of the suicide until this morning when we started checking the whereabouts of Barbino's family members." Scully steepled her fingers and put them up to her mouth. "Oh, god," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. Another agent walked up with a computer printout. "We found the van. It was stolen and it's been ditched. So that's a dead end." Turner spoke. "How do you know it's the right one?" The agent who had just entered glanced at Scully before he answered. "Someone bled in the back of the van - quite a bit of blood. We're running it now, but we're pretty sure it's Agent Mulder's. All the agents, Skinner included, refrained from looking at Agent Scully. She was entitled to her reactions without scrutiny. Turner again picked up the conversation. "It's not uncommon for them to steal two identical vehicles, so that when one is ditched, they can continue to drive the identical vehicle, assuming that we're now expecting them to be driving a different model. So we can't eliminate any vehicle from the search." Skinner nodded, pleased with the thoroughness of the investigation so far. Another agent approached the group. "We're trying to find Alonzo Latima. He's a snitch from a few years back. Maybe they'll take Agent Mulder to an old safe house. At the very least, maybe we can get their MO." "Okay," Skinner answered. "Sir," said Turner, "we'll put pressure on the rival mobs to turn their snitches. Even with the mafia, kidnapping a federal agent is just not done. It could be an opportune way to use the bad guys against the bad guys." "You're more familiar with that than I am. Do what you have to do. Tell us what we can do to help. I want my agent back. Alive," he said, glancing at Scully. "We've got it covered from our end. More than 30 agents are hitting the street. We'll find out who set Agent Mulder up," said Fields. Scully rubbed her tired eyes and shook her head. "Something's not right here. The facts don't add up." "Explain, Agent Scully," said Skinner. The agent had returned with the first aid kit. He kneeled in front of Scully and opened the bag, not intending to interrupt any of their conversation. Scully gave Skinner a forlorn look and he took the hint. "Agent McKenna, thank you. We'll take it from here," he said, taking the first aid kit from him. The younger agent nodded and stood, walking from the room. "Why did they just take Agent Mulder? If they wanted information so bad, why not bargain with me? Wouldn't it seem logical that by threatening me, it would make Mulder talk? Or vice versa. Threaten to harm Mulder and maybe I would talk. It doesn't make sense," Scully said. Scully caught Skinner glancing at the two DEA agents, and she realized that they had been thinking exactly the same thing. She got the impression that they were keeping something from her. Skinner opened the bottle of peroxide and soaked the cotton ball with it. "Sir, the anonymous caller told us that Barbino's operatives had a lot of cash and weapons stashed at the Riverside address -- close to $1 million in cash and half a million in guns. According to the informant, it's hidden on the property and he can lead us to it." Scully allowed Skinner to gently clean the wound. She was more intent on trying to focus on the facts regarding Mulder's abduction. Agent Fields spoke softly. "Agent Scully, we believe that's a lie. The phone call was a set up, nothing more." "To get my partner?" she asked, feeling like ice water had been thrown on her. He nodded. Scully maintained her control, but Skinner saw the tightness in her face, the anxiety in her eyes. He tore the paper off a roll of self-adhesive gauze and began to wrap it around Scully's elbow. "Why?" she asked bluntly. There was hesitation as the two DEA agents exchanged glances, their thoughts wandering briefly as they watched and wondered about the Assistant Director administering with such care to his agent. Then Agent Fields shook his head. "We don't know." Agent Turner looked inside his empty coffee cup, then set it back down on the table. "From experience, I can tell you that there will be opposing sides to the kidnapping of Agent Mulder. Such an act turns up the heat on a crime family to the degree that if they so much as toss a gum wrapper out the car window we'll throw them in jail for littering and revoke their probation." Agent Fields tried to look reassuring. "Every crime family has its mole. We'll find someone who will talk." "Soon," Agent Turner added softly, cutting his eyes at Scully as he spoke. * * * * * END OF PART 1 (Cont. in Part 2) FISH ON THE HOOK (2 of 6) AUTHOR: WRITERGAL2000@AOL.COM RATED: NC-17 7:15 p.m. DAY ONE UNKNOWN LOCATION Mulder's eyes were blindfolded, which was unnecessary because both eyes were swollen shut. He lay completely still on a bed, his right hand shackled to the headboard by his own handcuff. The room was cold and his body ached from the beatings. He vaguely remembered someone coming in and cleaning him up, washing the blood off his face. It confused him. But as he lay there, he was thankful for one thing: they had not taken Scully. Mulder drifted in and out of consciousness. Once, he felt his head lifted and a cup of water placed to his lips. Slowly he drank. He couldn't understand why his treatment had suddenly turned so humane. Or maybe he had just passed out again and he was dreaming. He heard the door open and several pairs of footsteps cross the wooden floor. "Agent Mulder, I admire your stamina." "Thank you," he mumbled. "But everyone has a price. If we were completely ruthless, we'd have taken your partner. I have a feeling the minute we tied her down and removed her clothes, you'd be talking your head off." Mulder swallowed hard, his stomach churning with the thought. The voice in the room continued. "But believe it or not, we have scruples. And one of them is that innocents do not deserve more severe punishment than the offender." "How noble." "We all went to Sunday school, Agent Mulder." "And did you learn something called the Golden Rule?" he whispered past the pain. "Do unto others before they do unto you?" Mulder picked out the laughter of two other men in the room. "Guess we went to a different school," Mulder said weakly. Mulder felt the bed sink as someone sat next to him. Then his free arm was grasped by two strong hands and held down on the bed. He felt a rubber band being tied around his upper arm. "Everyone has a price, Agent Mulder." Mulder knew it was useless to struggle, but it was instinct to try and free his arm. He was too weak, though. He felt someone thumping the inside of his arm, and then he smelled alcohol, as something cool and damp swabbed the skin of his arm. "What are you...what are you giving me?" he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He felt a pinprick and suddenly a cool liquid spread up his arm. He was startled at first, then immediately he began to relax. He realized instantly what it was. "No ... please don't do this." "You should be honored. This is some of our best stuff. In just a few seconds you won't be feeling any more pain." He was vaguely aware of the men laughing, then the sounds became muted, distant. He felt like he was falling, and finally a warm darkness enveloped him and he drifted into sleep. * * * * * DAY FIVE DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT 6:45 p.m. Scully threw her snow parka on the sofa as if the mere force of the throw could cause damage from the fleece-lined jacket. Exhausted, she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, intending to grab a bottled water. But frustration took over and she slammed the door shut, sinking against it and resting her forehead against the cool surface. After a moment, she went into the bedroom and got out of her clothes, changing into a thick cotton robe. Skinner had made her go home. Tempers were flaring and everyone was tense, disappointed, and avoided verbalizing the fear that Agent Fox Mulder was probably dead. Now here she was, as ordered, drifting aimlessly around her empty apartment, her thoughts still in the same place - with her partner. Scully leaned against the kitchen table, shutting her eyes and remembering one of the last times she and Mulder sat there together going over reports and sharing a pizza . . . ///Scully had finally taxed her brain to the limit and admitted she could go no further with the case. Mulder set his briefcase on the table and, as her supervisor, advised her that they were far from finished. Scully had closed her eyes for a quick reprieve, hearing Mulder remove items from the case. She opened her eyes when she heard an unusual clicking sound. Mulder was shaking a dice cup over a backgammon board. Seeing that she was truly surprised and amused, he winked at her. "Never accuse me of being predictable." "Not on your life," she said with a chuckle./// Scully found herself smiling at the memory, and a tear slipped down her cheek. More and more over the last few days she had found herself slipping back into moments with Mulder. It was painful, ripping at her heart and bringing her to the brink of collapse. But she maintained her strength. She needed to be whole and strong when she found him. When she found him. . . She jumped at the sudden sound of knocking at her door. , she thought. The knocking persisted. Finally she went and looked out the peephole. The Lone Gunmen. Hesitantly, she opened the door. "Guys, it's not a good time." "That's why we're here," said Frohike, gently moving past her along with Langly and Byers. She shut the door watching Langley and Byers sit at the dining table while Frohike went into her kitchen. She sat next to Byers, not paying attention to what Frohike was doing in the kitchen until she heard him banging around, opening drawers. "What are you looking for?" she asked tiredly. He held up a wine bottle. "Left of the sink," she answered. Scully put her elbow up on the table, resting her head in her hand. The two men saw the shadows of fatigue under her eyes and the sag of her shoulders. It was what they expected. Frohike returned to the table with four glasses, which he filled with the wine. Langly handed one to Scully and she took it. There was silence for a moment, each of them wondering how to start the conversation. Scully stared at her glass, running her finger around the rim. "It started snowing again today," she said absently. The three men looked at each other, wondering where her mind was. She answered their unasked question. "Mulder loves when it snows. He's like a big kid. He always comes over here and wants me to make a snowman with him." "And do you?" Langley asked. She hesitated a long time. "No. I always fix hot chocolate and watch from the porch," she said sadly. "But if ... I ever get the chance again," she stopped and swallowed hard. They saw tears form in her eyes. Frohike leaned across the table, just barely touching the sleeve of her robe. "Scully, you can't give up." "Why did they take him? Why not just kill him right there! Why did they take him! I can only think of one reason," she said, her voice breaking. "No," said Langley. "You said there's a snitch in their organization and they think Mulder might know who it is," said Byers. "They know Mulder. They know me. They know *us*," she said softly. "If they had taken me, they could have made Mulder talk. But they didn't. I think they just wanted to hurt him." "Scully ..." started Langley. "And every minute, EVERY FUCKING MINUTE, I'm imagining what they could be doing to him right now!" Scully's fists were clenched on top of the tablecloth. "There was nothing I could do! While they were beating him, he wouldn't look at me because he knew I'd break down, and he was trying to help me stay strong! *ME!* There was nothing I -" her voice broke again. Tears began to run down her cheeks as she buried her head in her hands, despair and worry finally overtaking her. The three men looked at each other, feeling inadequate, not knowing what to say and feeling the same frustration and futility. "Dana," said Frohike, "when I think of all that you and Mulder have been through, I have to believe that there is some purpose for his beating the odds so many times. And it's not for it to end like this." Langley spoke quietly. "He has been chosen for some greater mission. You've been told that. I know you don't believe the way he does, but you know better than anyone how unique he is, how ... rare." Byers added his voice in the same subdued tone. "Mulder is the epitome of the unexplainable. His very nature is a phenomenon. If you believe nothing else, you must believe that." She nodded, wiping at a tear. Several minutes passed without any conversation. Each of them had their own thoughts about Fox Mulder. Although Scully reminisced about the past with her partner, she seemed to always be brought back to the last few moments she spent with him. When she spoke again, her voice was raw and filled with pain. "They hurt him. They beat him badly in the alley. I couldn't stop them. I just stood there and watched them hitting him," she repeated. "He kept trying to stand up, and they'd hit him again." She put her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle a sob. "I know he isn't getting any care. And I know he's hoping I'll find him. He's waiting. And I can't find him," she said, her voice trailing off into a whisper of torment. "Scully," said Byers, "he knows what you're going through. He's been there," he said gently, trying not to force those thoughts on her too harshly. "That's why he'll hold on as long as he possibly can." Byers reached over on the counter and picked up the box of tissues. He set it on the table in front of her and she pulled one out, dabbing at her eyes. "Thanks." She looked over at the window as the snowflakes softly hit the panes. "I miss him so much. All this time we've been together, I never told ..." she stopped, raising her glass to sip the wine instead of finishing. Frohike nodded, understanding. "You guys must wonder about our relationship," she said. They all shook their heads and Scully looked doubtful. Langley looked a little embarrassed. "Mulder's honest. He would never imply anything that wasn't truthful, nor would he tell about anything that happened. He's very protective of your relationship, and because of his respect for you, he's always made it clear that there is nothing to hide in your partnership," he stated. Scully nodded, but it wasn't a gesture of being pleased. They picked up on it at once. "He's also not secretive about how he feels about you, Scully. There has never been anyone in his life like you. He's had women, of course, and they've all come and gone - in far less time than the seven years you and Mulder have been together," said Byers. "Diana," she said lowly. Frohike snorted. "Diana and Mulder thought alike, and they fought like cats and dogs. He wasn't happy when he was with Diana, not like he is now. He monopolized her and he hated it more than she did because it was too easy. Mulder thrives on challenge. He loves a different view, one that he can sink his theories into. I envy that guy. He absolutely loves going to work every day. He loves the work, and he loves his partner. What more could you want ... for now anyway?" Scully took another sip of wine. "Thank you for coming over. It helps to be able to talk to someone who knows Mulder like I do. We just ... have to ... keep praying," she said, her voice trailing off. "He knows you're looking and you'll never give up. He knows that, Scully," said Byers. She nodded and her eyes teared up again, but she forced a smile. "He came to me in a dream once. I just wish he could tell me where to find him." "That doesn't sound like skeptical Agent Scully to me. That sounds like a believer," said Langley. "That's desperation. I'll believe anything if it will bring him home." * * * * * DAY EIGHT UNKNOWN LOCATION 7:50 P.M. Mulder stumbled from the bathroom to the bed. He had hoped a shower and shave would revive him a little, but he couldn't shake the drowsiness. The drugs had definitely helped the pain, but he knew to take it slow, not be deceived into believing his injuries were healed. He had broken ribs and maybe a bruised kidney. He was aware enough to realize that he could do real damage to himself if he allowed the drugs to mask the subtle warning signs of those injuries. He noticed that new clothes had been laid on the bed. He shook his head, not understanding any of what was happening. No one had asked him any questions. They simply kept him drugged all the time. As soon as he started to come down, they shot him up again. He knew it was heroin. He found himself looking at the clock and beginning to get anxious if they didn't show up with the needle. It was the thought that kept him going. * * * * * DAY EIGHT 7:50 P.M. MULDER'S APARTMENT She hesitated at the door, wanting to knock, wishing there were a reason to knock. Then she slid her key into the lock and pushed it open. She hadn't been here in two days. Time to feed the fish. Scully shook the flakes into the water; she looked around the apartment. She would give anything to once again see an empty pizza box on the table, or Mulder's tennis shoes in the hall. As much as she wanted to feel optimistic, she had to shake off the feeling that Mulder might never step foot into his apartment again. Scully wandered into his bedroom. She had been in there before, taking care of him when he was sick, but never really looked around or had the opportunity to explore. She had never felt the urge to pry into Fox Mulder's private sanctuary, nor did she feel that way now. Her interest was not curiosity, but a need. A need to get close through the things that were Mulder's. A need to feel close to him in the only way she could. The bed was made and a comforter was folded at the footboard. One of his dress shirts, still in the plastic dry cleaning wrapper, was hanging on the closet door. She reached over and slid open the drawer of the nightstand. She was surprised at the contents: a Walkman, some cassettes, batteries, and a couple of mystery novels. Then she saw a small photo album. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took it out, expecting to see pictures of Mulder's family. Instead, she saw snapshots of her and Mulder - sitting outside a caf, walking down E-Street, sitting near the reflecting pond, and many others. And there were some of her alone -- coming out of her apartment; in the library; and a few more. She was puzzled at first, then remembered Mulder joking with her once about having hired the Gunmen to secretly take pictures of them because she refused to pose at tourist traps with him. Tears came to her eyes. Scully opened Mulder's closet and stood there a moment. These were the clothes that had become so familiar to her. She ran her hand across the shoulders of the row of coats, imagining his strong but gentle arms in the sleeves. On his tie rack, she felt the smooth, expensive silk, recalling times she forced Mulder to stand still so she could straighten his tie before he bounded into Skinner's office. On the closet floor were his hiking boots, the toes still crusted with dried mud from their last 'nice little trip to the forest.' Then she found his leather jacket. Pulling it from the hanger, she clutched it in both hands, holding it up to her face, savoring the faint scent of Mulder's aftershave. She put on the jacket and laid down on his bed as the tears began to flow endlessly. * * * * * Scully was startled awake by a noise. As she sat up, she was disoriented. Looking around her, she realized she was in Mulder's bedroom. The noise she heard was knocking at the front door. Rubbing her eyes, she looked over at the alarm clock and noticed the time: 8:25 p.m. She couldn't' even remember when she had fallen asleep. The knocking persisted. Jumping up from the bed, she hurried into the living room, checking her clothes, wondering how she got into her pajamas. When she looked through the peephole and saw Assistant Director Skinner, her blood turned cold. She knew that expression. She saw it on his face when her sister died, and when they thought Mulder had committed suicide. Before Skinner could knock again, she unlocked the door. It seemed to weigh a ton, and she found that she was barely able to open it. As she tugged and pulled, suddenly a chilling wind brushed past her, followed by Skinner squeezing through the small open space. Scully was further alarmed by his attire. He was dressed in black from head to toe and his black leather jacket was spotted with raindrops. She watched him cross the room and blow out a burning candle on the coffee table that she didn't remember lighting. Then he faced her and she caught her breath. His face was pale and lined with sorrow. His eyes mirrored her pain. "Don't . . . say it," she said to him, her teeth chattering. "Scully . . ." he whispered, reaching for her hands. She backed away from him as if denying him physical contact would make the truth go away. "Leave me alone! You have no right to be here!" she ordered. "Scully . . ." She closed her eyes, denying sight into the wells of sorrow, and clasped her hands over her ears, refusing to hear the words. "No! No, Skinner!" she yelled at him. His voice was like a drone, low and without inflection. And although he spoke in a mere whisper, his words resounded in her brain like a thousand kettledrums. "We found him, Scully." Pressing her hands harder against her ears, she turned her back to him. But his voice somehow cut through her shield. "They killed him, Scully. I'm so sorry. I'm so . . ." Scully screamed. * * * * * Her own scream brought her out of the clutches of the dream, bolting upright on the bed. Frantically looking around, she found herself in Mulder's bedroom. She was still in her clothes and Mulder's leather jacket. The clock on the dresser read 9:10 p.m. It was a nightmare. Slumber's trip to hell. But the effect left her shaking. No matter that the experience was a phantasm, the grief was real. Terror and heartache surged through her like an electric current. She had felt what it would be like to hear those words, to realize that her partner was gone. Her chest constricted and she crumbled like a pillar of ash. Pressing her face into the pillows, she felt the last of her reserves flow out of her and seep into the rumpled sheets. Her inward scream found a voice in her muffled cry as her heart tried desperately to empty of the pain. For endless moments, Scully thought she might never breathe again. And she found that she didn't care. Without Mulder, she had no reason to breathe. Until she heard his voice. Sitting straight up in the bed, Scully blinked. Her senses were attuned to that unexplainable link between her and her partner. She knew the possibility existed - she felt it once before when Mulder was lost in New Mexico with Albert Hosteen. Now she felt it again. And again she heard his voice -- soft, reassuring, confident. Scully wiped angry tears from her eyes and ran from the apartment. * * * 30 MINUTES LATER WALTER SKINNER'S APARTMENT Skinner had received Scully's brief but frantic phone call notifying him that she was on her way over. He had said not one word before her abrupt hang up. He paced the apartment impatiently, trying to re-focus on the reports turned in by his agents that day in their search for Agent Fox Mulder. But it was no use. His mind was on Dana Scully. He didn't know how she had held on this long without cracking. The pressure had been building with each passing day since Mulder's disappearance. He saw through her stoic demeanor, her ability to appear professional, yet worried. He knew she was barely holding it together. Talk in the Bureau was that Mulder was surely dead. Their hope was no longer in finding him alive, but simply finding him and his murderers and putting finality to the case. The case. It had never been a case to Skinner. It was a mission, just as true as Mulder's search for his sister. He now understood the importance of closure. Somehow, some way, he'd give Scully closure. When he heard the rap at the door, he experienced both relief and dread. Quickly he opened the door and she briskly brushed by him. As he closed the door, Scully turned to face him. He could tell right away that she'd been crying. She hugged her arms to her chest and he saw her trembling. "Sir, he's alive." "What?" he asked quietly. Scully sat down heavily on the sofa, and Skinner sat next to her. She took a deep breath and locked her fingers together in her lap. "He's alive. I know it. We have to find him!" she said desperately. Skinner saw she was wearing Mulder's jacket and he reached over, fingering the soft leather, wondering if she even realized she was wearing it. "Scully, you need some rest -" "I felt this once before. He . . . communicated with me." Skinner closed his eyes briefly, willing his mind to supply the answers he needed to help his agent. "We need to find him. Whatever it takes -" she continued. Skinner put his hands on Scully's shoulders, and she instantly recognized the placating gesture. Swiftly, she knocked both his hands away and her tone was sharp. "I don't need consoling! I'm not some fucking widow!" Skinner let her ironic remark slide. He didn't want to completely banish her hope, nor did he want her to hang on to false hope. Somewhere there was a middle ground. But how the hell did he get there? He needed to take charge, to make her listen to him. His voice was a little firmer. "Agent Scully, we're doing everything we can to -" She bounded off of the couch and her fists clenched in rage. "None of the agents believes my partner is alive! And neither do you! How can you help me find him if you don't believe he's still alive!" Skinner stood up next to her. "I won't give up until I see the proof that -" Skinner stopped, appalled at his own bluntness and seeing the shock on Scully's face. Her composure was unraveling and Skinner didn't know how to stop it. Scully had come to Skinner's apartment with every belief that she had heard her partner speaking to her, and every sense inside of her knew that he was pleading for her help. Now she stood before her Assistant Director, ready to deny any inferences to Fox Mulder being dead. She knew her own weaknesses - knew the paralyzing fear of her own self-doubts. Her sanity could not afford to believe the worst. Standing up to Skinner, her eyes hard, and her body rigid, she let her emotions go. "Fuck you, SIR! And FUCK the Bureau that won't help me find my partner!" Skinner heard the harsh words, but he saw her lips quiver, saw her body shaking with the effort of believing in her heart's desire. He knew that for her to succumb to the facts, she would be severing the fragile thread that linked her to the one man in her life that she could not live without. "Dana," he said softly, "we haven't given up. I've been on the phone all night. There are 15 agents still at the Bureau" Skinner saw the change taking place. He saw her shoulders sag and in her eyes, which filled with tears, an immense pain replaced her anger. Her body was so exhausted from trying to cope that she swayed on her feet. Skinner grabbed her, and once again Scully fought desperately to hold on to her anger, which was the only source of strength she had left. Only this time when she attempted to pull away, he held firmly. He knew that she was crashing and if he let go, she would fall. And fall, she did. Her knees buckled and she began to sink to the floor. Skinner pulled her to his chest, holding her close as he sank to the floor with her. And then she broke. In heart-wrenching sobs, she let it all go. Her body sagged against him, her face buried against his shoulder. He felt her shaking with each sob. Pulling her into his lap, he closed his arms tighter around her. Her torment was like a jagged knife, cutting through the paper-thin constraints of his own emotions. After a few minutes he felt her arms around him, holding on for dear life. Skinner whispered softly against her silky hair. "It's okay, honey. Let it out. It's okay." He felt Scully grab a fistful of his shirt and he was surprised to hear her speak, softly, barely a whisper. "He's alive." * * * * * END OF PART 2 (Cont. in Part 3) FISH ON THE HOOK (3 of 6) AUTHOR: WRITERGAL2000@AOL.COM RATED: NC-17 DAY TEN 6:50 a.m. HOOVER BUILDING Scully was in Mulder's office on his computer. She was accessing all the information she could find on Barbino's associates. Again. The phone rang and she hesitated answering it. Finally, she picked up the receiver. "Scully." "Agent Scully, it's Skinner. Can you come into my office please?" His tone of voice sent chills down her back. "Yes, sir." Almost from the moment Mulder was taken, she had re-lived the nightmare over and over . . . Shaking her head to herself, she shoved the chair back and headed for Skinner's office. She and her AD had not talked about the night in his apartment two days earlier. Even though she had slept earlier that same day in Mulder's bed, she had collapsed with exhaustion and worry in Skinner's arms. She woke up before dawn, finding herself in yet another man's bed -- Skinner's. And she was wearing only her underwear and one of his long tee shirts. Events of that night were a blur to her. Finding her clothes folded neatly on the dresser, she dressed quickly and entered the living room. A blanket and pillow were lying in a heap on the sofa, but Skinner was already gone. He left her a note on the kitchen table, along with a fresh pot of coffee and a bagel. The note said simply to meet him at the office later. Up until now, they had not spoken of any of those events. Nor had she repeated her claim that she *sensed* her partner was still alive. Skinner simply continued his search, along with the agents assigned to the case, under the assumption that Special Agent Fox Mulder was still alive until there was proof to the contrary. And somehow, Scully continued to make it through the long days and nights with only the faith of her beliefs. When she entered Skinner's office, Agent Turner was there. "Sit down, Agent Scully," Skinner motioned to the sofa. He and Turner were seated in leather chairs across from the sofa. She could tell right away from their demeanor that they were not preparing to give her news of her partner's death. Turner began. "Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from Maryland State Prison. Barbino wanted to talk to me. I had tried to interview him at the beginning of all this, as you know, but he wouldn't cooperate and his lawyer was standing in the way. But yesterday was different. He said he had tried to get some information through his contacts, but nothing was turning up." "What are you saying? That he's denying involvement?" Scully asked. She saw Turner and Skinner glance at one another. "Agent Scully," said Turner, "that was the farthest thing from my mind when this all started. If there hadn't been a guard in the room with us, I would have beaten the information out of him. But things aren't adding up." Scully cringed inwardly at his choice of words. "What things?" she asked, suspiciously. "First of all, we found out Barbino and his mother weren't close, and she had been very ill. According to prison records, they hadn't seen each other in over 4 years. And he had received only two letters in that time." "Maybe her death made him feel guilty for his lack of devotion." Turner shook his head. "There has never been a history of a close mother/son relationship. That comes from several people who knew them. Secondly, Barbino will probably be out of prison in two years. Kidnapping a federal agent, nine years after the crime, well, it's pretty farfetched. And a little too obvious." "So you believe him?" she said, harshly. Skinner broke in. "Scully, we've made absolutely no headway in that direction. None. Mulder's life may now depend on us considering other possibilities. Barbino believes he's been set up for the very fact that he may get out in six months after another parole hearing, or, at worst, two years. The other crime family has more to gain by a frame-up than Barbino has in getting rid of Agent Mulder." "Sir ..." she agonized over the thought, and Skinner and Turner both knew what she was thinking. "I know," Skinner said softly. "If we've been going in the wrong direction all this time, Mulder has paid for it." "So what happens now?" "We turn our focus to the other family. And I mean full force. They're going to know we're on to something." Scully took a deep breath and both men knew she was struggling with a question. "Agent Turner ... you've dealt with these kinds of people, their methods. What ...?" She looked at Skinner and he saw the raw fear in her eyes. "What are the chances that my partner is still alive?" Turner let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. "Agent Scully, we're talking about a federal agent that's missing. If it were a snitch, I'd say he was dead the second they put him in the van. But I just don't know. Their pattern is not to keep someone for very long. They ... seldom let them go. But again, I've never been involved in the abduction of a federal agent." She nodded, grateful for the truth, no matter how disturbing. * * * * * DAY TEN 7:30 A.M. UNKNOWN LOCATION Mulder sat on the bed, head down, his breathing becoming more difficult as the hours went by. There was a tray of food on the bed table. It was untouched. He had tried to eat earlier, but the nausea overwhelmed him and he almost threw up. He grabbed the glass of juice and threw it against the wall, where it shattered. That brought two men into the room. They saw Mulder standing near the bed, his eyes glassy, and his posture defensive. "Agent Mulder, you'll feel better if you eat." "Fuck you! I know what you're doing!" He screamed, clutching his abdomen. Then he lowered his head and his voice was barely discernible. "I know what you've done." "It won't be long now." Mulder shook his head. "I don't even know what you want! You - you ask me nothing! You bring me food, clean clothes. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!" he screamed in frustration. The men were silent. Mulder plopped on the bed, running his hand through his hair. He looked up at the men. He had been afraid for his life when days ago they had removed his blindfold and exposed themselves to him. He didn't think there was much chance they would let him live once they got from him what they needed. But there were times he found himself not caring - until he pictured the last image he had of his partner. The vision of her fear and helplessness were still crystal clear. "Is my partner still all right?" "She's fine. A little. . . depressed. Now that would be an understatement. Her attitude seems a little extreme for just a partner. You two must be very close." "You bastards. What did we do to you?" Mulder laughed without humor. "I don't know who you are . . . OR WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT FROM ME!" he ranted, his patience long gone. There was no response again, and their silence was maddening. Mulder struggled to hold it together. "Just tell me what you want," he pleaded. He saw them starting to back out of the room and he jumped off the bed, but stopped when he saw one of them pull a gun on him. "Wait. Don't go. Just - just ... I'll tell you!" Mulder said, bordering on delirium, his eyes wide with the fear of being left alone with his pain. "I'll tell you anything! Just . . . please!" One of the men stepped closer, a smug smile on his face. "All right then. Where does Agent Scully live?" Mulder blanched. Feeling his knees weaken he lowered himself to the bed. He pursed his lips so as not to allow a single word to escape, and his eyes were hard and cold. When he realized what they wanted, he again fought the rising nausea. He knew as time passed it would be harder to stay strong and resist their questions. He shuddered at the thought that he might reach the point where he didn't even know what he was saying. So he asked for help from someone he hadn't spoken to in a long time. Mulder's thoughts were jumbled. He knew the situation was hopeless. But then he heard the two men laugh. "Don't worry Agent Mulder. We know where your partner lives. That's not the million dollar question, is it Regis?" he said humorously to his accomplice. The other man laughed again. "'Fraid not. And that's my final answer," he said, obviously amused by his own attempt at humor. The two men left the room, locking the door behind them as Mulder collapsed back on the bed, rolling onto his side as agonizing stomach cramps and a pounding headache began to overtake him. Two thoughts consumed him: one, that he had received an answer to his prayer so quickly . . . And the second thought, which soothed his soul like a tender touch, pulled him quietly out of his harsh world of pain into a softer, safer place. * * * * * DAY TEN 10:33 A.M. MARYLAND FEDERAL PRISON Scully and Skinner stood on the other side of the one-way mirror watching as Antonio Barbino was brought into the room. Agents Fields and Turner were waiting for him, and Turner pulled out a chair indicating that he sit. "Nice to see you gentlemen again. What's new at the box office?" Barbino asked smartly. "You get it a month after we do, so stop your whining," said Fields. Barbino smiled and lit a cigarette. "Can't beat federal prison." "We don't have time to waste, Barbino. You know why we're here," Turner said. "I've heard the news. You're still looking for Agent Mulder." "His partner wasn't taken. She was a witness to his abduction. They were asked specifically who the informant was that had called Agent Mulder that morning." Barbino shook his head. "You guys think blackmail and setups aren't part of the game? Why in the world would I be that obvious -- leave another federal agent alive to tell what she saw and heard." He laughed to himself. "What am I saying? I wouldn't touch a federal agent with a ten-foot pole. Come on, guys. G-Men get all the gold stars. Use some of that IQ." Scully saw the two agents glance at each other and she knew at that moment that they believed him. They had had the very same thoughts themselves. "It's no secret that you have a grudge against Agent Mulder. He's the one responsible for you being here." "Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's got quite a sizable fan club in here. But regardless of how I feel about him personally, he's brilliant. I wish I could have gotten to him a long time ago. Maybe he'd be working for me." "Not likely. If you're being set up, who would be the most likely person to do that?" Fields answered. "I think you know the answer to that, too. Ambrose. We shut down one of his gambling casinos in Atlanta. He knows it's just the beginning." "You've been arrested dozens of times. Why would Ambrose set this up to look like you went after Agent Mulder because he arrested you?" "I don't know exactly. Maybe Ambrose misinterpreted my reaction to the arrest. It's true that we didn't expect it. We didn't expect anyone to figure out our MO. There was a lot of talk within the organization about Mulder, about staying clear of him. All I can figure is that Ambrose thought I'd be royally pissed. *Insane*, is more the word." "We'd be willing to make a deal if you can help us," said Fields. Scully, surprised, looked at Skinner, who stood quietly with his arms crossed. He only gave her a slight nod of his head. "What kind of deal?" Barbino asked. "I know you trade snitches. For the right amount of money, the low men on the totem pole will cross the line. We believe you still have enough pull in here to orchestrate that. If we can get Mulder back, we'll give you an early parole." "And what if Mulder's dead?" There was silence between the two men and Scully briefly shut her eyes again that image. Then Turner spoke, knowing she was on the other side of the glass. "We need to know, one way or the other. It's not fair to his family, his partner. He was just doing his job." Barbino snuffed out the cigarette. "You know I won't refuse, if only to get back at Ambrose for setting me up." The two agents nodded, as Barbino added a side note. "But I have to tell you that it's very doubtful Mulder's still alive. And if they don't want you to find him, you never will. And you probably won't ever know what happened to him." "Yes we will. If we have to manufacture evidence to put every last one of them behind bars, we'll do it," Fields whispered, leaning toward the prisoner. Barbino said nothing, only met his cold stare with curiosity. Then he nodded. "It'll take a couple of days to get the word to the right people." "We don't have a couple of days," said Turner. "You can set things up, even from in here, to get information." "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly the concierge here." "You underestimate yourself. We'll be back in the morning to see what you've got." Barbino said nothing and continued to sit as the two agents pushed the buzzer and waited for the guard. Within minutes they had joined Scully and Skinner. "You think he'll do it?" asked Skinner. "Yeah, he will," said Turner. "He wants out of here real bad." "Why? asked Skinner "He's got lung cancer." Skinner looked at Scully, and his expression was hopeful, but she realized that the chances were slim, and getting slimmer, that her partner was alive. She couldn't fathom the thought of never seeing him again and never knowing what happened to him. For the one-thousandth time, she was reminded of what Mulder must go through searching for his sister. She felt a sudden lightheadedness and had to sit down. "Scully?" asked Skinner, bending down to check on her. "I'm okay. It's just ... hard to listen to that." "Let's get out of here." * * * * * DAY ELEVEN 2:19 P.M. GEORGETOWN The sleet lightly pelted the windshield of Agent Scully's car. She sat quietly in front of the antique shop, watching the flickering red neon sign in the window. Occasionally hurried shoppers rushed in out of the storm, laughing as they fumbled with packages. Across the street in the Java Hut, the aroma of fresh coffee drifted through the open door. Scully could see couples sitting at tables near the window, talking, smiling, holding hands, taking a break from their everyday routines. She longed for that simple pleasure, to be able to escape the crushing weight of depression that bore down on her. She wanted her life back - as extreme as that seemed sometimes. She wanted him back. The people who crossed the street, running for the dry warmth of their cars, probably wouldn't remember that a week-and-a-half ago, less than 100 feet away from the entrance to the shop, an FBI agent had been viciously beaten and abducted. It was on the TV and radio - an assault on a federal officer was big news - but the story had died down with each passing day. It had moved to the back pages of their lives as surely as it moved to the back pages of the newspaper. FBI Agent Fox Mulder was most likely dead. End of story. That's what they all said. Scully grabbed her umbrella on the seat and got out of the car. As she made her way toward the alley behind the shop, she focused on avoiding the deeper puddles in the asphalt so she wouldn't have to focus on why she was even here in the first place. The sleet made a quiet sound hitting the fabric of the umbrella, almost like shushing a baby. The air was frigid and the wind brisk. A cinnamon fragrance wafted from the antique shop. All of Scully's senses struggled to absorb the impact of her location. Most of the snow had melted, washing down the bricked street, carrying Mulder's blood with it. Scully looked over at the wall where her partner had put his hand, trying to stay on his feet. Ahead of her in the shadows, the vision of a blue van rushed away from her, taking a part of her life with it. Scully closed her eyes to the sensations, feeling the pain hit her again, hoping that there would be some comfort in returning to the place she had last been with Mulder. But the effect was just the opposite. Perhaps she was punishing herself for not being able to save him. She was suddenly startled by the ringing of her cell phone. Breaking out of her stupor, she reached in the pocket of her coat and retrieved her phone. "Scully," she answered, trying to sound like her world had not splintered into a thousand pieces. "Scully, where are you?" Skinner asked. "Just . . . on my way back to the office." She heard a long hesitation, then a sigh. The hairs on her skin stood up. "Do you know where the Berman Street Safe House is?" "Yes." "Meet me there." His words were clipped - his way of relaying that he wanted no questions asked right now. "Yes, sir. On my way." Scully had no instincts or intuition about the call from Skinner. She could read nothing into the short message, but she knew it had to do with her partner. She jammed the phone back in her pocket and glanced one more time down the cold, deserted alleyway. * * * * * 25 MINUTES LATER BERMAN STREET SAFE HOUSE Scully saw the multitude of twirling blue and red lights before she ever reached the gate to the property. Flashing her badge to the police officer standing guard at the gate, she was allowed to proceed toward the building. There were several unmarked cars that she recognized as FBI, including Skinner's. There was also the Coroner's wagon there. This was an FBI safe house where victims, as well as informants were protected. Many of the temporary residents ended up in the Federal Witness Protection Program, but Scully was not aware of anyone who would be here under a case that she and Mulder had worked. As she approached the door, an officer handed her a pair of latex gloves and she put them on, then entered the building. There was a flurry of activity in the hallway as technicians took prints and measurements. She could see a door open towards the end of the hall where two more officers stood guard duty. She had just started in that direction when she saw AD Skinner come out of the room. He began talking to another agent when he looked up and spotted her. She still could read nothing on his face as he motioned her toward him. She entered the room behind him, immediately spotting the victim lying on the living room floor. A photographer had kneeled beside the body of a man, as the whine of the camera and bright flashbulbs popped. There was no guessing cause of death - the victim lay face down, his hands tied behind his back, and half of his head blown off. He had been shot execution-style. Scully started to ask her first question when she noticed Agents Fields and Turner at the kitchen table with a uniformed officer who was being attended to by paramedics. The officer was holding an ice bag to his head. When Scully frowned and looked back up at Skinner, she saw that he had been watching her. "Sir?" Scully looked back over at the DEA agents and saw Agent Fields motion to Agent Turner - who had his back to Scully -- that she had arrived. Now she knew for certain that whatever had happened in the safe house was directly linked to her partner. But the expressions of the men were not good and once again she was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. "Scully, come with me, please," Skinner said, gently taking her arm and leading her down the short hall and into a back bedroom. She saw that Fields and Turner were following. Once they were all in the room, Skinner gently pushed the door closed. Scully braced herself, refusing to show any more apprehension than she already felt in front of the DEA agents. "The victim's name is Alonzo Latima. Ring a bell?" asked Skinner. She thought a minute. "He's one of the informants that was being brought in early on in the investigation, wasn't he?" "Yes," answered Fields. "But more than just *an* informant. *The* informant. He's the one who turned Barbino nine years ago." Her frown deepened. "I'm lost. What informant? I thought Mulder solved the case through his profile." Skinner looked over to the DEA agents to explain the story and Fields took the cue. "What you and everyone else were told about the case is not entirely true." He looked to Agent Turner, then back to Scully. "This might be a little confusing." Her tone was impatient. "I don't care about history here. I want to know the bottom line. What does this have to do with Agent Mulder right *now*?" The three men looked at each other, questioning how to proceed. Skinner spoke first. "Scully, we now know why they took Mulder. They wanted to find out where Alonzo Latima was. They wanted to kill him." The implications of what he said were racing through Scully's head. She tried to slow things down, but she felt herself entering the black hole again. "Why?" she asked bluntly. Agent Turner leaned back against the dresser. "It began nine years ago with the serial killings. As we said, the police agencies were stumped, and so was the FBI. Mulder did in fact write a profile which blew everyone out of the water. Well, almost everyone," he said, looking at his partner. Agent Fields picked up the story. "We believed Agent Mulder, so we started digging. That's when we found the link between the two crime families. And through leads and interrogations, we came up with an informant - Alonzo Latima. But his cooperation meant a death warrant, so we decided to base everything on the profile. We knew it would be believed because Golden Boy Mulder was a genius. That's how we covered the informant, by giving all the credit to Mulder." "You jeopardized his life," Scully said bitterly. "We didn't think so," said Turner. "Barbino and Ambrose weren't stupid. They weren't about to go after a federal agent just because he solved the case. There was no benefit to getting rid of Mulder." "So Latima supplied all the information for the search warrant. But all we could get Barbino on was tax evasion. We had no case at all against Ambrose. Even though we knew about the murders, we couldn't get enough to prosecute either of them," Fields added. "What kind of search warrant?" asked Scully. "Barbino had a lot of cash stashed along with guns. "So you think Agent Mulder knew where Latima was, or is this a coincidence?" "He knew. But none of us made the connection - until now." Scully felt her body turning ice cold. She walked a few steps toward the window, her mind spinning and her stomach queasy. She understood grimly what all this meant. She turned back around, still lacking so many answers. "But that was nine years ago. Latima hasn't been in a safe house all that time," she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. There was a moment of contemplation between the three men. Now they would have to tell the rest of the story, and they knew she wasn't going to take it well. Turner took a heavy breath. "As we said, Latima knew where Barbino's cash and guns were stored, and he gave that information to us. But not before he took about $200,000 in cash. We successfully protected his identity, but of course when the trial started, and the specifics of what was retrieved through the search warrant were revealed, Barbino learned of the missing money. But then Barbino went to jail, so it kind of ended there." Turner looked over at Fields who picked up the story. "Until the parole hearing, when it looked like Barbino might get out. That's where Ambrose comes into the picture. He knew, through his own snitches, that someone in Barbino's camp had stolen part of the money before the search warrant was served. And so Ambrose must have wondered, as the police did, whether Barbino would try to find out who the snitch was that not only sent him to jail, but stole from him as well." Scully listened quietly, beginning to put the puzzle together. Even though she felt like she had been kept in the dark concerning her partner's involvement with Barbino and Ambrose, she understood how many different parts there were to the puzzle, and how confusing to sort them into a coherent picture. Turner shook his head. "We were way off base. When your partner was taken, we believed Barbino did it to try and find out who the snitch was nine years ago. It didn't make a lot of sense to us, because $200,000 is not that much money when you consider the risks of going right back to prison." Scully's eyes flared. "Then you lied to me! You knew it had nothing to do with Barbino being angry about the parole hearing denial and some fucking story about his mother's suicide!" "No," said Turner, "we *did* believe that. We knew that, in Barbino's mind, he took the theft of the money personally -- one of his own men set him up and profited from it. But we didn't think he would act on it . . . until his mother's death. We thought that might have pushed him over the edge. Even though it was Agent Mulder who testified at the parole board hearing and essentially axed his release, the blame all went back to the informant." "So you believed that from prison he had his men take Agent Mulder in order to find out who that informant was?" Scully asked. "Well, it was a way of punishing Mulder while trying to get to Latima," said Fields. Scully's face went blank as she began to make the connections. "Then Agent Mulder *did* know who the caller was who arranged to meet us that night. Didn't he?" * * * * * END OF PART 3 (Cont. in Part 4) FISH ON THE HOOK (4 of 6) AUTHOR: WRITERGAL2000@AOL.COM RATED: NC-17 BERMAN STREET SAFE HOUSE "Well?" Scully repeated. "Did Agent Mulder know who the caller was?" Fields looked a little uneasy. "He thought he did. He hadn't talked to Latima in nine years, but he thought it was him. After he got the call that morning, he talked to AD Skinner, who then notified us. Latima was again assisting in another search warrant against Barbino's estate - again tax evasion. Apparently back in 1990 none of Barbino's men ever suspected he had been the snitch." "But we got information that Barbino might suspect Latima was the snitch," said Turner. "That's when we called Agent Mulder to see if he could find Latima. He was reluctant to get involved again and he . . . made it clear that you were to have no part of this." Scully stiffened, her first reaction being one of anger at her partner, but immediately followed by the realization that he was protecting her - and maybe himself. "So while we made the arrangements at the safe house, Agent Mulder thought he had found Latima. That's why you and Agent Mulder were still planning to meet him, because Agent Mulder was then going to advise him of the danger and see that he got to the safe house," Turner added. Scully suddenly felt like she had been the last one picked for the kickball team. She tried to cover her disappointment and hurt with anger. "So you suspected Barbino's involvement all this time and that little bullshit talk with him about Ambrose's motives - what the hell was that!" Skinner knew she was keeping her rage as closely confined as possible, because she was a true professional, and only under extreme duress would she lash out in such a manner. Skinner's voice was quiet. "No, Scully. It *was* Ambrose. It was made to look like Barbino was behind all this, and that would make perfect sense. But the facts weren't adding up. Ambrose had his own informants who told him another warrant was pending against Barbino, and it was probably the same snitch that sent him to jail in 1990. So he decided to get in on the action." Fields' voice was almost as subdued. "It wasn't Latima who made the call that morning, requesting that your partner meet him behind the antique store. It was one of Ambrose's men." Scully was still confused. "If that's true, then why did he ask Agent Mulder and me who the caller was? "Just to throw you off. From the beginning it was a set up to get your partner and find out who the snitch was. If the snitch was killed, the blame would fall back on Barbino. Why not? What possible connection would there be to Ambrose? It was almost perfect." "What led you to suspect that Ambrose was orchestrating this?" Scully asked solemnly. "Just facts, informants that admitted that Ambrose was still steaming about the casino in Atlanta the Barbino had closed down," Turner answered. "But how did Agent Mulder know that Latima was at the safe house? Latima was still missing at the time of my partner's kidnapping." "He knew we had set it up. It was only a matter of time before we found him, so I'm sure Agent Mulder knew he would eventually be there." Scully felt drained. They all did. Skinner saw her beginning to shake as she turned her eyes toward him. She folded her arms around her stomach, trying to lessen her trembling. "Then if Mulder knew where he was . . ." She forced control into her voice. "They did something to him to make him talk." Skinner lowered his head, not able to meet her eyes for fear that she would see the desolation in his face. Scully's anger returned as a means to get to the truth. "It means he's been alive all this time, but now they got what they want! Now they'll kill him!" She tore the latex gloves from her hands and threw them on the floor. Skinner closed the distance between them, wanting somehow to comfort her, but he still couldn't find the words to speak. Each of them knew that Mulder's life was truly in jeopardy now and they were no closer to finding him. Scully sank down in a chair and lowered her head into her hands. Skinner finally looked up at the DEA agents to find them needing direction from him. He shook his head and they understood. Silently they left the room, shutting the door behind them. Skinner hesitated a long time, then slowly approached Scully and kneeled down beside her. "Dana . . . I don't know what to say." She looked up and her eyes were filled with tears, but she had managed to keep her control. It was as if she had overdosed on emotions the last week, leaving her with an emptiness that she was not able to express. "Do you know who killed this man? Is there any lead to follow?" "Yes. We're sure Ambrose is behind this, but I won't pull punches - it's going to be very difficult to prove. The men involved in this are long gone. Plus it's going to take time, and --" "And Mulder doesn't have time," she whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Skinner was silent. For the first time in his life he felt the situation was absolutely hopeless. He looked over Scully's shoulder at the sleet hitting the windowpanes. "Sir . . . " she asked, the words strained and weak. "What do you think they did to him to make him talk?" Skinner felt an ache so sharp and deep he thought he might start bleeding. All he could do was shake his head. He wouldn't answer even if he could. "Mulder held out a long time," she said again, so softly he thought maybe her words weren't meant for him to hear. Skinner could not bear the pictures in his head, and he knew that for Scully to be voicing such thoughts, she must be bordering on shock. Gently he touched her knee. "Come on. We don't need to be here. I need to check in with some of the other DEA agents. Do you want to come along?" She waited so long to answer he wasn't sure she even heard him. Then she shook her head. "I want to go home," she whispered. * * * * * DAY ELEVEN MARGARET SCULLY'S RESIDENCE 10:45 p.m. Maggie Scully was just getting into bed when her phone rang. Apprehensively, she picked it up. "Hello?" "Mom?" "Dana," she said, instantly worried, that in that single word there could be so much raw emotion in her daughter's voice. "I'm pulling in the driveway," Scully informed her. "Good. I'm coming downstairs." Maggie opened the front door just as Scully reached the porch. When the older woman looked into her face, she saw the grief and the tear-stained cheeks. Instantly she thought the worst. Quickly she pulled her into the living room and led her over to the sofa. "Dana, what is it," she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice as they both sat down. "Did you ... is it Fox?" Scully started to break down, and she couldn't answer for a moment, but she shook her head. "We still can't find him, mom. I can't take any more of this," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. Maggie pulled her close, tears streaming down her own cheeks now. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." Scully suddenly heard footsteps and jerked up, catching something out of the corner of her eye. She was startled to see her brother standing by the staircase. "Bill?" He slowly walked toward her and sat on the other side of her on the sofa. "I just got into port last night, Dana, and I got Mom's message. I asked for a couple days leave so I could be with you." "Why," she said sharply, "to celebrate?" she said, her voice cracking. "Dana ..." started her mother. Bill looked stricken. "No. Of course not. You think because Mulder and I have had our differences that I want to see you suffering like this?" Bill handed her a tissue as Scully's tears continued to flow. Maggie and Bill exchanged worried glances as Scully wiped her eyes. "I miss him so much. I feel so guilty because I almost wish him dead, rather than think about what they might be doing to him if he's still alive." "Dana," said her mother, "this is why you have faith to help pull you through." "Faith . . . " she whispered, suddenly recalling the conversation she and Mulder had in the car before her world crashed in. "Well it's not working, mom! All I feel right now is pain! And I question why ... why my partner has had to endure such anguish in his life. If you only knew, Bill, how much he feels. How caring he is to complete strangers. Have you ever heard the truth! Do you have the faintest notion of what Mulder's life was like?" "No, but that doesn't matter now," Bill said carefully. "It matters to me! Because if I've lost him ...," she said, having to stop and force the words out, "...the only way you can help me is to understand the magnitude of that loss." Maggie shot a warning look at Bill and stood up. "I'm going to fix some coffee, and then, Dana, you're going to tell us all about your partner." Bill nodded in agreement, hoping for anything that would calm his sister down. She had needed to talk for a long time, and now it was imperative. Bill took his sister's hand. "Dana ... I know you love him. I guess that's what's scared me all these years. You know my concern for your safety. But I've also been afraid for you if something happened to him. And like a jerk, I thought that my hostility toward him might help you keep a distance. I should have known better. I'm sorry, Dana." She nodded and hugged her brother. "I'm praying for him, Sis. I really am. You have to believe that if there's a way for him to come back to you, he will." As a new flood of tears overtook Scully, she clutched her brother tightly, feeling like her heart was going to break. The thought that kept ripping her in pieces was that Mulder had been alive all this time, just as she knew he had, yet she hadn't been able to find him. She shuddered at the realization that without all the facts that Skinner and the DEA agents had, she couldn't have put the right pieces together. Her partner didn't stand a chance of her finding him. And now it was probably too late. There would be no reason to keep him alive. As much as she had fought against it, she was beginning to accept that her partner was gone forever. She just didn't think she would live through it. ________________________ 1:18 a.m. MARGARET SCULLY RESIDENCE Scully had fallen into a restless sleep at her mother's. She wasn't up to driving home, and couldn't bear to walk into her apartment alone, where she and Mulder had shared so much. She was awakened by a noise, and realized it was her cell phone. Sleep left her immediately as she grabbed it. "Hello?" she answered anxiously. "Scully, it's Skinner. Where are you?" he asked tightly. "My mom's." "Get dressed. I'm picking you up in 15 minutes." "Sir, what's happened?" she asked, her voice teetering on panic. Skinner hesitated. "We're going to get your partner." * * * Scully had spoken briefly to her mother and brother, and she waited alone on the driveway for Skinner. The snowflakes had started again, but she hardly noticed them falling into her hair and down the collar of her coat. She paced anxiously, unaware that her brother kept watch on her from behind the living room curtain. Finally Skinner pulled up and she jumped into the passenger seat. She saw right away that he was in Assistant Director mode. His cell phone was up to his ear, and he hardly waited for her door to shut before he floored the accelerator and sped down the street. Scully listened to the one-sided conversation. "Agent Fields, I want uniformed personnel to surround the house. I want them to keep their distance. There are only going to be four people going into the residence - you and Turner, and Agent Scully and I.... paramedics are on the way. Hold on, I'm getting another call... Skinner." Scully saw him frown with surprise as he just listened for the longest time. "What's wrong with him?" he finally asked, his eyes cutting sharply to Scully. Scully's heart began to race at his words. "Okay." Skinner turned to Scully. "Scully, write this address down." She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from her purse. "Moon Mist Cabins, 3 miles off the interstate, Kenilworth, New Jersey." Skinner's attention was back to the caller. "New Jersey? That's a four-hour drive! If Mulder's hurt ..." Scully clutched the pen as she waited for Skinner to speak again. He glanced at her, knowing she was only getting the difficult part of the conversation. "All right. Yes. I understand what you're saying, but I can't see any reason why we wouldn't take Mulder to a hospital. . . Yes, she can take care of him, but ..." he said, looking again Scully. Skinner listened for a few more seconds, then took the phone away from his ear and flashed back to the first call. He squealed around the corner and Scully could see dozens of red and blue flashing lights up ahead. Again he spoke into the phone. "Agent Fields, we've got a new game plan. Don't ask any questions. Scully and I are going into that house alone. . . Hear me out! That phone call was from the man who found Mulder. He has given me explicit instructions, and I don't have time to explain why it has to be done this way. I just expect you to do it! Is that clear? I will communicate with you from inside the house and direct you from there. If I need your assistance, I'll call for it immediately. Am I clear on that? Good. We're pulling up now." Dozens of police officers and agents crouched behind police cars and trees, their focus on a small house at the edge of the lot. An ambulance sat at a safe distance a few hundred feet down the street. From the front window of the house, they could see one lamp was on. Fields came up to Skinner. "I've passed on your message. Put these on," he said, handing them a Kevlar vest. "This could be a trap." Scully ignored him and started for the house. Skinner shook his head, and left Fields holding both vests. With guns drawn, Scully pushed open the front door and Skinner entered first. The room was sparsely furnished, but it was neat and clean. They could see the faint light down the hallway. Skinner motioned for Scully to follow him and they cautiously proceeded down the hall. There was a bathroom on the left, and it was empty. At the end of the hall was the source of the light. Skinner inched his way along the wall, then finally was able to peek around the corner. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, and when they did he realized that there was one man on the bed. "Scully!" he yelled, charging into the room. She was right behind him, and as she came in, she saw him bending over her partner. Mulder's hands were above his head, his wrists rope-tied together to the bedpost. He wasn't moving. Scully was in a frenzy, but forced herself to remain calm so she could examine her partner. He was deathly pale, but even before she detected the steady pulse in his neck, she felt his warm skin. The relief she felt in that instant temporarily overshadowed her concern for his physical condition. Then she immediately snapped into doctor mode. She was surprised at his appearance. She had expected the worst after almost 2 weeks, but he was wearing clean clothes, and as she leaned closer to see his face, she could smell shampoo in his hair. Skinner brought the lamp over closer. The A.D. could still see evidence of the beating he had taken. Both eyes were still blue and swollen and the split in his lip had not yet healed. To their surprise, Mulder was not unconscious. He moaned painfully, and tried to turn on his side, but the ropes held him, cutting into his wrists. Skinner took out his pocketknife and began to cut the ropes off. Scully laid him carefully on his back. His face was bruised, but there was something else. "Mulder ... can you hear me, partner?" she asked, worried. His eyes didn't open and there was no response from him. Tenderly, Scully put her hand on the crown of his head and her lips to his ear. "Hey partner, it's me. Can you open your eyes? Mulder, come on, honey," she spoke, hoping he would respond to the endearment. Again, he moaned. Then his pain seemed to worsen, as he doubled over and rolled to his side. Scully watched him, trying to diagnose whatever was nagging her about his condition. She took a pen light out of her pocket and tried to wake him again. "Mulder, open your eyes for me." Skinner decided to try. He leaned over him as well. "Agent Mulder, it's Skinner. You're safe now. We're going to get you to a hospital." Skinner didn't care what the caller had said to him earlier. He took out his cell phone and was ready to summon the paramedics. Gradually Mulder's eyes opened and he blinked slowly. He was unaware of his surroundings. Scully turned on the penlight and directed the light into his left eye. "Hey, partner. Let me play doctor for a minute. I just need to. . ." When Scully stopped in mid-sentence, Skinner turned to her. He saw her expression go dark. He didn't see what Scully did - that Mulder's eyes were fully dilated and not responding to the light. She then saw the dark circles under his eyes. Skinner saw her look of astonishment, just as she grabbed Mulder's sleeve and began to unbutton his cuff. Resting his arm on her thigh, Scully quickly pushed his sleeve up to the elbow. His forearm was covered with needle punctures. "Oh, god, no," she whispered. Skinner had just gotten through to the paramedics when he saw what Scully did. Before either of them could react, Mulder had leaned over the side of the bed and was trying to throw up. But the only fluid coming from his mouth was blood. Scully and Skinner were instantly in motion. Scully grabbed him, pulling him into her lap and cradling his head. "Sir, we've got to get him out of here. No hospital." Skinner nodded. Now he understood the informant's call. "Scully, that address I gave you -" Mulder cried out softly in pain and doubled over. Skinner winced, seeing Scully tighten her hold on him as she put her lips close to his ear. "That address is a cabin that's been reserved for us. We're to take Mulder there. He said there would be some medical supplies. "What about the officers outside! Sir we can't let them see him like this!" Skinner dialed a number as Scully waited. She didn't know who he was calling, but she trusted him. "Fields, come in here. We've got Mulder. But I want everyone to stay outside. There's no danger. He's okay." "I'm here," Fields announced. They heard him open the front door and come down the hallway. When he came in the room, it took him only a minute to realize what had been done to the federal agent. His experience with DEA made that obvious. "Oh dear god," he said, almost mimicking Scully's remark. "Is there a back way out of here?" Skinner asked. "Yeah. Through the kitchen." "Get everyone around front. Tell them Mulder hasn't been exposed to light in awhile, and we're getting him to a private hospital for some help. Reassure them that Agent Scully is a doctor, and she's perfectly capable of taking care of him." "All right, sir." "Pull my car up around back. We're leaving town. I'll notify you as soon as I can." "Yes, sir." Fields took a last look at Mulder and started out the door. "And Fields ..." "Yes, sir." "Not one word about this to anyone other than your partner." "No way. I wouldn't do that to him." Skinner nodded and watched him rush out. Mulder was in terrible pain. He tried to twist out of Scully's arms, not realizing she was the one holding him. "Scully ..." "Mulder, it's me. I'm here," she said, pulling him closer. "Where's Scully," he asked, delirious. She pulled his head to her neck and kissed his forehead. "I'm here, partner. You're safe. We're getting you out of here." Again he was wracked by dry heaves. Skinner finally realized the magnitude of Mulder's condition. "Scully, he's going through withdrawal," he said, a note of disbelief in his voice. * * * * * END OF PART 4 (Cont. in Part 5) FISH ON THE HOOK (5 of 6) AUTHOR: WRITERGAL2000@AOL.COM RATED: NC-17 2:15 A.M. UNKNOWN LOCATION She nodded, fighting back tears. Mulder's head dropped to the bed and his breathing was labored. Skinner heard the car pull up out back. "Let's go. I'll get Mulder, you grab that blanket and put it around him." Skinner pulled Mulder to his feet. The younger agent staggered and his knees buckled, but Skinner had draped Mulder's arm around his shoulder and he held him firmly. Scully put the blanket around his shoulders and back and helped Skinner support him down the hallway. Fields had parked as close to the back door as possible. He opened the car door, then rushed to help Skinner as Scully slid into the rear seat first. They both handed Mulder to her and she pulled his head into her lap as Skinner laid him on the seat and covered him with the blanket. Mulder was starting to shiver from the cold. "Agent Fields, I'll call you in just a little while," Skinner shouted over his shoulder as he jumped into the driver's seat. "All right, sir. Let me know how I can help." Skinner threw him a nod of thanks and quickly drove away from the house, down the alley. He looked carefully for any police that might be in the area, and he could hear Scully in the back trying to soothe her partner. "Scully, how's he doing?" "Not good. And it's going to get worse." She saw his dry, cracked lips. "He's seriously dehydrated. Probably can't keep any fluids down. God, he needs a hospital," she said, her voice strained with worry. "Scully, we can't. Strict federal policy prohibits an agent from ever having field duty status again if there is any kind of drug dependency, no matter what the reason. I'm willing to withhold this. I give you my word." "I know, sir." "Let's just get him to the cabin and then you can tell me what I need to get." Her reply was a soft whisper, and Skinner knew right then all her attention was on her partner. Mulder was still shivering and Scully wrapped her arms tighter around him. "Are you getting warm back there?" Skinner asked. "Mulder's still shivering." Mulder opened his eyes and at once looked up at Scully. He blinked slowly, trying to focus and she touched her lips to his cheek. "Hey partner, it's me," she said gently. She saw his eyes seem to clear and there was no mistaking the relief on his face, which made Scully smile through her tears. "Scully ..." he rasped. "Yes, partner, it's me," she said, tenderly kissing him on the lips. Mulder's arm came out of the blanket and he wrapped it tightly around her, burying his head in her neck. "Scully, Scully," he cried. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and hugged him as hard as she could. Skinner, hearing what was said, glanced back. "Dana, you all right," he asked quietly. "Yes, sir," she answered, feeling more right than she'd been in a long time. Alarmed, Mulder pulled away from her. "Who's here!" he asked, on the verge of panic. Scully soothed him gently. "Shhh, it's okay. It's A.D. Skinner. He helped get you out. Now we're going someplace safe." Skinner looked back to see what Mulder's reaction was, and he saw his agent look up at him, his eyes glassy and confused. But Skinner felt he shouldn't say anything yet. "Mulder, put your head back down and rest. We've got a little drive to make," Scully whispered. "I'm thirsty," he said hoarsely. Skinner heard, and looked back again at Scully, who met his eyes, her expression one of turmoil. "There's a little store up ahead. Want me to run in and get him a bottle of water?" he asked. "Gatorade. We'll try that, okay partner?" He closed his eyes and nodded. Skinner pulled the car to the far end of the parking lot. Fortunately, the rain had picked up, so it was difficult for anyone to see inside the car. "Anything else, Scully?" "Not now. Please hurry." She sat there, cradling her partner in her lap, listening to the rain beat against the roof of the car. Mulder turned his head toward her chest and snuggled closer, not even realizing the warmth he was feeling was from her breasts. Scully didn't care. She pulled his head against her and rested her chin on his soft hair. "Scully ...?" "What, honey?" she said, completely at ease with the endearments, using them for the first time with him. "They did things to me. They made me sick, he said, his voice raw and weak. "I know. It'll be okay. We can fix it." Just as she said the words, she flinched. But Mulder was barely aware of anything. All that seemed important to him was that he was with Scully. "Don't leave me alone, Scully." "Never. Never, Mulder. I'm with you every second on this. Okay?" "I'm ... confused." "Just rest. We'll get you to drink something, then I'll hold you while you sleep." She felt him relax once again, feeling secure in Scully's arms. She didn't even see Skinner approach the car until he opened the door. She watched him take the Gatorade bottle out of the paper bag and open it. He had also brought a paper cup. He filled it half full, then handed it to Scully. "Hey partner, can you sit up a little?" she asked. He opened his eyes and struggled up on one elbow. "I've got some Gatorade for you. Take it real slow." Skinner watched her put the cup to his lips and give him small sips. As soon as the liquid hit his stomach, he turned away from Scully and spit it up on the floor of the car. Scully held the cup away from him until his heaves had stopped. "Mulder, try it again. Small sips." "No. .. " he groaned. "Come on, try to keep it down. Do it for me, okay?" He turned back to her and once again she put the cup to his lips. When he lurched in her arms a second time, she put her hand under his chin, lifting it slightly to try and keep the fluid from coming up, but it was to no avail. He could not even keep down one sip. Skinner was alarmed. "Scully ...?" he asked, wondering what to do next. "Let's get to the cabin." Skinner reached across Scully and grabbed her laptop off the floor of the car. He put it inside his raincoat, under his arm. "I have to check my e-mail. The caller left a map to the cabins. I'll be right back." She watched him dash back into the store to use a phone line. Mulder settled back against her, breathing heavily, a slight moan escaping with each exhale. She knew he was in pain and extremely nauseous. The car ride was hard on him. And they had a long way to go. * * * * * The long trip seemed even longer with Mulder lying sick and confused in Scully's lap. The weather was not cooperating with them, as a mixture of sleet and snow kept the roads icy and slick, thus slowing their drive time even more. For the most part, Scully was able to keep her partner quiet, soothing him with gentle words and soft touches. Fortunately, he slept most of the time. But Scully and Skinner both knew that the passing of time was like going through the briar patch. Each tick of the clock signified the gradual and constant dilution of the drugs in Mulder's system, but he would go through ten kinds of hell before he reached the end. As Scully held him in her arms, she could feel the almost imperceptible changes that only a doctor would recognize as the stages of early withdrawal. His skin would be dry and feverish one minute, cool and clammy the next. Occasionally his body twitched from muscle contractions. Slight moans from him signaled that he was beginning to experience cramping, which would continue to worsen. During one of his quiet moments, she had the chance to open his shirt and take another look at the bruises covering his abdomen and extending around to his back. She was concerned about his kidneys, but it was hard to tell whether they were functioning properly because of his severe dehydration. Scully also realized that once the heroin began to dissipate and he became more physically sick, the pain from his beating injuries would be severe. And she could give him no relief. All the thoughts running through her head were almost too much. She gravitated between watching her partner and watching the storm outside the car. Frequently she caught Skinner's concerned glance at her in the rearview mirror, and she would smile at him. After almost three hours of driving in almost complete silence, both agents deep in their own thoughts about Mulder's condition, Skinner's cell phone rang. Quickly he answered. "Skinner," he spoke quietly, trying not to disturb Mulder. "You've got Agent Mulder," said the voice. Skinner recognized it immediately. "Yes." "How is he?" "You must be aware of what was done to him. That's why you said no hospital." Scully listened to Skinner replies with interest. "I'm aware. I'm only sorry I couldn't get to him sooner. How far as you from the cabin?" "About another hour." Scully spoke from the back seat. "Sir, ask him about medical supplies. Tell him Mulder needs fluids urgently." "We're going to need -" Skinner started. "I heard," the voice interrupted. "Dr. Scully will find what she needs. Don't leave Mulder alone for even one second." "He's in danger?" "He's a danger to himself." Skinner knew what he meant. He had no response to that. The voice on the other end of the phone went on. "The men who did this could ruin Agent Mulder's career if they talk to the wrong people. We're taking care of the problem. There are those who are very angry about this. Mulder's friend on Capital Hill has been informed. I just wanted you to know that the wheels are in motion. Your concern right now is that man in the back seat. Let us do the rest." There was a click and the line disconnected. Skinned tossed it on the seat and Scully saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. "Sir ...?" "It's okay, Scully. He basically told me that our priority right now is Mulder. Apparently this has caused some major underground waves. Certain things are in motion." Scully felt Mulder take her hand and she then realized that he was more aware than she thought. She kissed his hair just above his ear, then kept her lips there. "Try to sleep, sweetie." Mulder squeezed his partner's hand. "Did you call me sweetie?" he asked, a faint trace of the old humor in his voice. Scully smiled. "Got your attention, didn't it . . . baby," she said, smiling at him. Mulder silently looked up at her. Skinner turned slightly in the seat. "Agent Mulder, let me know if you get cold back there." Mulder whispered softly to Scully. "If *he* calls me 'sweetie', I'm making a dive for the pavement." Scully gazed at him affectionately, then raised his hand to her cheek. She knew what it took for him to even speak. There was no doubt that he was struggling. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "I feel sick," he whispered. "I know. Be very still and hold on to me. We'll be there soon." He was quiet for a minute, then Scully heard his soft voice again and his words almost broke her heart. "My head is really hurting, Scully." Her eyes again filled with tears and spilled over. Skinner didn't have to look back to know what effect Mulder's words had on Scully. He heard her whisper, but couldn't make out the words. "I'm with you sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer." Mulder released her hand and his arm went around her waist. Then he was motionless. Scully held him as still as possible as the car continued down the snowy road. * * * * 8:43 A.M. KENILWORTH, NEW JERSEY Finally they reached the address given them by the informant. There were separate bungalows tucked away in the woods, off the main road. As Skinner pulled the car around the corner, Scully realized he was looking for a specific number. Their bungalow was at the very end of a row, nestled in between a cluster of pine trees. To her surprise, Scully could see smoke swirling from the chimney. Skinner put the car in park. "Wait here," he ordered. She watched him get out of the car and run onto the porch, out of the snow. He looked around cautiously, then lifted up the mat and took out a key. He pulled his gun, then opened the door and went in, leaving it open behind him. Scully looked down protectively at her partner, then pulled her own gun as she waited, watching for Skinner to re-appear. Finally he emerged from the house. He quickly ran to the driver-side back door and opened it, reaching in for Mulder. Both he and Scully sat him up carefully, waking him but realizing he was dazed. They helped him into the bungalow. In the living room, directly across from the fireplace, a queen-size bed was already made up with clean sheets. Scully tossed back the covers, and they sat him on the bed where he immediately slumped forward. Scully braced him against her shoulder and began unbuttoning his shirt, as Skinner removed his shoes. He kept his socks on him for warmth. Skinner heard Scully gasp and he quickly looked up. His attention was drawn to her gaze and he saw that both Mulder's arms were bruised with needle punctures. "Oh, Jesus! Those bastards!" she cried. Skinner was shocked too, but knew he needed to keep Scully calm. Gently he put his hand on her shoulder, seeing that she was horrified with the knowledge of what had been done to her partner. "Dana, listen to me. He's alive. He's alive and we have him. Right now that's all that matters." Skinner looked into her eyes, making her see what was important. She realized what he was saying and nodded in agreement. Skinner watched her gently pull up Mulder's tee-shirt to check his discolored chest. "I don't understand why they didn't they kill him? Why did they let us find him?" he said. "In the car, he was mumbling something about Ambrose." Skinner sighed, rolling his eyes. "Well, then that's why. They put some ideas in his head - probably let it *slip* a few times that Ambrose was behind this. They had to keep him alive so he'd put the finger on Ambrose." Scully gently laid Mulder back on the bed and although Skinner was in the room, she didn't even hesitate unsnapping and unzipping Mulder's jeans. Skinner kneeled on the bed beside Mulder and put his hands under Mulder's back, gently lifting his hips so that Scully could slip his jeans off. She left his boxers on him. Skinner watched the ease with which she undressed her partner, realizing there were other times that such care had to be given to this man that she obviously cared so much for. Mulder was oblivious to it all and Skinner couldn't help but find irony in that. No doubt the young agent would be throwing back a multitude of innuendos, if he were aware enough to know what was happening to him. Scully's full attention had been on her partner, and she was now alerted to Skinner's voice. "Scully, look." She looked over and saw that there were various items on the kitchen table. Momentarily leaving her partner's side, she walked over to inspect them. To her surprise, there were half a dozen bags of saline, an IV line, several needles and syringes and a box of latex. Astonished, she looked at Skinner and met the same expression. Then he smiled. "Just what the doctor ordered." "Let's get this going," she said, grabbing one of the solution bags and alcohol as Skinner picked up the packaging of IV line and needles. They positioned themselves on either side of Mulder. "Where do we hang this, Scully?" "Take that picture down and you can hang it on the nail. That should be high enough." He did as she suggested. Scully put on a pair of latex gloves, then opened the alcohol and soaked a cotton ball. Skinner saw her hesitate, looking at Mulder's arm and knowing she dreaded yet another puncture mark. Then she turned his hand over and swiped the cotton ball over the back of his hand. "Sir, you may need to hold him down. I don't know what effect putting another needle in him is going to have." Skinner nodded, ready. Scully bent over Mulder. "Hey partner, I want you to open your eyes and listen to me for a minute." Slowly his lids lifted and they could see it was an effort to keep them open. "You said you were thirsty, but your stomach won't keep anything down. So I'm going to give you some IV fluids. Remember all the times you got that in the hospital?" Mulder didn't seem to understand until he saw the needle in her hand. Then she saw his eyes widen with fear. "No, Scully! I've had enough! No, no more!" "Mulder, this is saline. That's all. Not much more than water." "No needles, no more! Please!" Scully put her hand through his hair, running her fingers lightly through the soft thickness. "Partner, I'm not going to hurt you. This is not a drug. It's just -" "Not you, Scully! Not you!" His words hit her full force, the impact of his shattered faith almost doing her in. But she grit her teeth and held steadfast to her determination to get through to him. She knew it was up to her. He was the one he looked to when he was in trouble. "Partner, listen to me. I need to give you fluids, that's all. Let me help you. I promise you, Mulder ... Sweetie," she said with a tender smile, " ... I won't let anyone hurt you again." Skinner watched in rapt amazement as she calmed him down with her words and her hands. He saw the change in Mulder as he began to relax and listen to her. Scully saw it, too. "As a doctor I know what you need. And you trust me, don't you?" Mulder blinked slowly. Scully stripped the rubber glove off her hand. She trailed her fingers down the side of his face and her thumb across his lips, as she had done once before. "Mulder, you'll know instantly that this is not ... heroin." It was hard to say the word and Skinner barely picked up the tremor in her voice. "Okay?" He hesitated, his eyes threatening to close from the weight of fatigue. Then he nodded pensively. "Hold still for just a minute, partner." "Scully?" Skinner whispered. "Can you give him anything to help him sleep?" "There's nothing here. And if there was, I wouldn't. He's had enough narcotics." Scully put the glove back on, then opened the sterile package and took out the needle. "Okay, partner. Turn your head away," she said as she gently put her fingers on his jaw and forced his head to turn toward the wall. "You'll feel a little prick." Without looking up, she addressed Skinner. "Sir, can you come around this side and slip the IV line over the needle?" As the needle pierced the skin, she blotted some of the blood with the cotton ball. Mulder didn't flinch. Skinner saw where the attachment was and he connected the line. "Now if you could cut off about three inches of that tape." He took the roll of paper tape and measured the approximate amount, handing it to Scully as she covered the needle to secure it. Then she reached up to the ringer on the line and opened it until she was satisfied with the drip. Sitting back down next to Mulder, she took his hand, careful of the IV, and held it. "This is going to make you feel a little better. Maybe it will help you sleep." Mulder's voice was hoarse. "You're not leaving are you?" "Not on your life," she said with a smile. "Are you still feeling sick?" "Yes." "How's your headache?" "A little worse." Scully looked briefly at her purse, knowing there was some Tylenol in the pocket, but then changed her mind. "Sir, there are some things we'll need." He opened the drawer of the nightstand and found a pad of paper and a pen. "Get about a dozen Hershey chocolate bars. Orange juice. 7-Up. Some crackers -- saltines, without the salt. It might be a good idea to buy a cheap coffee machine and some coffee. For us," she said with a tired smile. "And some Jell-O. Not green," she said, looking at Mulder, trying to impose a little humor in this unthinkable situation. "Also, a jar of Vaseline and an ear thermometer. You know what that is?" "Yes." "And I think that's it. Oh, a crossword puzzle book, something he can try to focus on later. And we all need other essentials, like toothbrushes and toothpaste, you know." He nodded. "Scully, I noticed we passed a Target about three miles back. That's where I'll go. While I'm there, I'm going to get some clothes for myself and Mulder - just a couple of tee shirts and sweat pants and underwear. When I come back, and when he falls asleep, I'll let you go and buy yourself some clothes." "All right." Skinner watched Mulder's body twitch. "How long do you think this will take?" he asked Scully. "I'm not sure. I'd have to guess. But I'd say at least four or five days. He's still got plenty of narcotics in his blood. That's going to start wearing off in about six or seven hours and then we'd better be ready." "Then what we were seeing was not withdrawal?" "The early stages. His body is rejecting everything but the drugs. The sugars in his body are depleting rapidly. And his body thinks that heroin is the only fix." "What symptoms will he experience?" "High fever, chills, vomiting, or at least trying to since there's nothing in his stomach. Paranoia, which - I know - " she said, seeing Skinner smile in spite of the circumstances. "Severe cramping in his stomach, legs, headaches as bad as migraines, and maybe even seizures. I just don't know for sure how much heroin he was given during the time they had him. I'm assuming the maximum without overdosing him." "Will he become violent?" "Violent? No, but agitated to the point of hysteria if he doesn't get his way. When the pain gets bad enough, he'll want to get out so he can find a source on the street. He won't be himself, but he won't be so far gone that talking to him won't bring him back. It will. He's going to need us to be there for him every step of the way." "He's got it. And on that note, listen to me a minute. There's another bedroom in back. I'll use that. I want you to forget I'm your boss for the next few days. I expect you to sleep with Mulder, keep him as calm as possible, make him feel safe. I'll give you your privacy so you do whatever it takes to help him through this. We're not going by the book here. Do I make myself clear?" Although she was mildly shocked at his inferences, she remained cool. "Very. Thank you for saying it because it's what I had planned to do anyway." "I know," he said, smiling. Skinner stuck the list in his pocket and reached for his coat. He felt Scully's hand on his arm and turned around. She raised up on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek, surprising him. "Thank you, sir. I don't know how else to say what I really feel." "It's not necessary and you know it. Mulder would do no less for you and me." He put his coat on and turned to her once more. "You'll be okay with him for about an hour?" "Yes. He should sleep. Putting sugar in his body will act as a barbiturate. Get whatever you need, because once this starts, I can't afford to have you leave." "Okay. Be back as soon as I can." He opened the door and a gust of cold air rushed in, chilling Scully to the bone. When the door closed, she stood at the foot of the bed, watching her partner's restless sleep. * * * * * END OF PART 5 (Cont. in Part 6) FISH ON THE HOOK (6 of 6) AUTHOR: WRITERGAL2000@AOL.COM RATED: NC-17 8:45 p.m. KENILWORTH, NEW JERSEY HIDDEN BUNGALOW The storm had picked up. Howling winds and flashes of thunder rattled the windows of the bungalow. Skinner kept the fire going. Mulder had slept through both of them going to the store for what they would need over the next few days. Scully knew she had to call her mother. And Skinner knew he needed to call Fields and make up some kind of story to explain Mulder's absence and non-admittance to a hospital. "Scully, I'm going to make a call from the other room." She nodded and picked up the jar of Vaseline from the table and a tube of antibiotic cream. She sat next to Mulder on the bed. For the longest time she couldn't take her eyes off of him. She watched his chest rise and fall, saw the faint flutter under his eyelids. Placing her hands on his forearm, she then moved her thumb under his wrist, detecting his pulse there. She removed the lid from the Petroleum jelly. Very gently, she spread the balm over his chapped lips, avoiding the cut. He stirred slightly but his eyes remained closed. Then she opened the antibiotic cream and carefully spread the ointment over his wrists, which were still oozing from the rope burns. He stayed asleep until she had finished and was checking him for fever. She watched as his eyes found hers and he blinked trying to clear them. But they remained glassy and his lids were swollen. Scully smiled to reassure him. "Hey, partner." Just as the words left her mouth, Mulder doubled over, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around his abdomen. His breathing was shallow and rapid. Scully moved closer to him, running his hand up and down his arm. "Mulder ... try to slow your breathing down. Mulder ..." His response was to curl up into a tighter ball, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Then his body began to shake with chills. Scully grabbed the blanket and wrapped it tightly around him. She tried to pull him closer to her, but he resisted. "Partner, come here." "No ... I need some help, Scully," he cried. Suddenly, Mulder's body convulsed and he began throwing up blood. Scully leaped off the bed and rushed into the bathroom. "Sir! I need you!" she shouted down the hall to Skinner. The A.D. came charging out of the bedroom, seeing her at the bathroom sink, and hearing Mulder's distress. He instantly went to the agent, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Mulder's head and chest into his lap. Mulder lurched again, his stomach cramping and forcing him to endure dry heaves so severe that he was rupturing blood vessels. Skinner supported Mulder's forehead as he leaned over the bed, continuing to spit up blood. "Easy, Mulder. It's okay," said Skinner. Scully quickly sat on the other side of Mulder, pressing the cold, wet cloth on the back of his neck. Mulder coughed and Skinner held him tighter as Scully pulled the thin blanket over him. They were both surprised to hear him speak. "Sir," he said weakly, "did I tell them," he asked. Skinner frowned and looked to Scully for an answer, but she was just as puzzled. "Did I?" Mulder asked again. "Mulder . . . what . . .?" Skinner started, then he understood. Scully touched Skinner's shoulder and when their eyes met, they both realized what he was asking. "Partner, lay back and relax," she said, easing him back on the pillow. She spoke quietly to Skinner. "Would you get a glass of 7-Up?" Mulder was aware enough to catch Skinner by the arm before he could stand. "Sir . . ." he said hoarsely, "did I tell them what they wanted to know?" It was apparent from his expression that he needed the truth. Skinner interpreted Scully's taking Mulder's hand to mean that he should be honest with him. Skinner chose his words carefully. "The men who took you pumped you full of drugs for almost two weeks." Skinner stopped, wanting to see Mulder's reaction to that information before he went on. There was no surprise on his agent's face, and he nodded slightly to confirm that he knew that. So Skinner continued. "You couldn't have known what you were saying. No one could." "What did they want to know?" Skinner hesitated. This was hard for him and it showed on his face. "They wanted to know who Barbino's informant was and where to find him." Even through Mulder's glassy eyes, they could see his mind working to access his memory. "Did I tell them?" he whispered. "Mulder, the fact that you don't remember is proof that you didn't know what you were saying," Skinner said, trying for as indirect an answer as possible. Mulder looked stricken. "I did." Both Skinner and Scully knew that even in his condition, he was able to read both of them, so he accurately guessed the conclusion. "They killed him," he said flatly. "I led them right to him." The words were barely audible. When their only response to him was Scully squeezing his hand, Mulder closed his eyes and turned his head. Scully started to say something, but Skinner put his hand on her shoulder, at the same time leaning closer to Mulder. "Mulder, I want you to listen to me," he said. Although he didn't open his eyes, Skinner went on. "Alonzo Latima's days were numbered anyway. He was turning whoever offered the most money. He lied and stole from the mob. He would have even sold you out for the right price. I'm not condoning the murder of a human being - for whatever reason - but he made his own choices when he dug a hole and hid in it like a rat." Surprised at Skinner's cold analogy, Mulder opened his eyes and looked at his AD. Skinner put his hand on Mulder's arm. "It would have been a profound, senseless tragedy if you had lost your life protecting him. It was just not a trade-off that was meant to be." Mulder blinked slowly and looked at Scully. Her eyes glistened with tears as she smiled and nodded. And then the regret, the emotion, and the pain were too much for him. He rolled to his side, curling into a ball and clutching the blanket in his fist. Scully put her lips to his ear, speaking calmly and slowly over his groans. "Easy Mulder. Slow yourself down. Try to hold your breath for a couple of seconds. You're going to be okay." She knew he was listening to her. His breathing began to even out. His eyes were shut, but he turned his head in Scully's direction, trying to find out. Skinner knew what he was doing and he helped him sit up a little, guiding him into Scully's arms. "Sir, can you get my medical bag out of the closet? I need the stethoscope and pressure cuff." Skinner quickly complied, setting the bag at her feet, but opening it and removing the requested items. "Scully, do you think the juice or candy would help him?" "He won't be able to keep it down yet." Mulder was pressed up close to Scully. "Partner, I need to listen to your heart a minute. Can you just lay -" Mulder ignored her words and his arms tightened around her. Scully looked at Skinner at the same time he realized that he needed to help. Scully slid the end of the stethoscope up under his tee shirt as Skinner wrapped the cuff around the top of his arm. "Do you know how to ... Jesus," she exclaimed, hearing Mulder's rapid heartbeat in her ears. Seeing her rapt attention, Skinner waited patiently, worried. Scully's eyes were focused on the bed, still concentrating on his cardiac function. "Do you know how to take a blood pressure?" she asked. "Yes." Skinner performed it expertly, surprised that his basic first air training years ago would come back to him so adeptly. Mulder's pressure was high, but not in the danger zone. Skinner could see the wheels turning in Scully's head. He knew she was trying to come up with some kind of relief for her partner that wouldn't require drugs - an almost impossible task. "We need to sit him up just a little." Skinner tried to pull Mulder away from Scully, but he only held tighter. "Mulder, partner, I'm right here. We just need to sit you up. I'll lean up against the headboard and you can lean back against me, okay?" As Skinner placed two pillows against the headboard, Scully scooted back against them, pulling Mulder back with her until his forehead rested just underneath her chin. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. Skinner reached for the blanket, giving Scully a questioning look, and when she nodded, he covered them both. Then he stood for the longest time, feeling at a loss what to do, as he looked down at his two agents. He could see the toll it was beginning to take on Scully, who knew she was risking Mulder's health by not admitting him to a hospital. Scully's eyes met his and he saw the same helplessness there. Skinner stood, waiting to see if there was anything else he could do. He saw Mulder's breathing finally begin to slow down. "Is he falling asleep, Scully?" "Yes," she whispered. Skinner reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room in darkness except for the small fire in the fireplace and a faint spill of light down the hallway from the other bedroom. "You sleep, too. Call me if you need anything. I'm going to go out in a little while and get us something to eat, but for now, you need to sleep while he does." "Thank you, sir," she said softly. Scully lay there, watching the lightning flash through the thin curtains. After a loud clap of thunder, Mulder instinctively jumped, then curled up closer to her, grabbing a fist full of her blouse. Scully's eyes once again filled with tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. "We're going to make it through this, partner. You have my word on that," she spoke in his ear. * * * * * When Mulder finally dropped off to sleep, Scully was able to do the same. The worry over her partner was exhausting her. She woke when she felt Mulder move against her. She didn't want to speak to him, hoping he would fall back to sleep rather than endure any more suffering. When he relaxed once again next to her, she closed her eyes, hoping to sleep a little more herself. She was just dropping off when suddenly she felt Mulder's hand slip under her shirt. His fingers moved up the side of her rib cage. Now wide awake, she laid perfectly still, wondering if he realized what he was doing. She could hear Skinner moving around in the back bedroom. Scully was further startled when she felt Mulder's hand travel upward until it rested on the swell of her breast. She sucked in air, biting her lower lip when his thumb traced the thin lace of her bra down to her nipple. Scully's surprise and pleasure intensified feeling the warmth of his hand against her skin. But before she could stop to consider what was happening, Mulder had flattened his hand over her entire breast, squeezing it appreciably. Scully fought back a moan. Trying to keep her senses was further challenged when Mulder then rolled her hardened nipple between his thumb and index finger. Scully had no idea whether Mulder was conscious of what he was doing. If he was, she only hoped he knew who he was doing it to. The sensation was wonderful and she continued to enjoy it, realizing that there was a good chance that when Mulder fully awoke, he would remember none of this. Scully laid quietly, letting Mulder work his fingers under the lace of her bra and cup her full breast in his palm. He pushed the lace fabric up until her breast fell free from the undergarment. She catalogued every movement of his hand and fingers. His body turned slightly against her, and with his free hand he reached around her back and deftly unfastened her bra. Using the same hand, he began to open the buttons of her shirt while continuing to massage her breast. Scully knew she should stop him, but her instincts, along with her rising passion, told her to just enjoy it while she could. Although attention to dual tasks proved difficult right now, she concentrated on both the sensations Mulder was drawing from her as well as keeping an ear open for Skinner, should he suddenly appear to check on them. Scully's full attention was brought back to the bed where Mulder had completely opened the front of her shirt. He spread his hand underneath her breast, lifting it and bringing it to his lips. Scully gasped, and then relaxed, leaning further into Mulder's warm mouth. She felt his tongue flick over her nipple until she was so hard it was deliciously painful. She felt his mouth leave her breast briefly and heard a faint murmur from him. It was only one word he whispered, but for her it was a wish fulfilled. "Scully." She smiled. Then his lips opened wide, taking as much of her in his mouth as he could. He was sucking hard, like a baby, and she put both her hands on the back of his head, holding him to her breast as if she were nourishing him with milk. The sensation was pulling Scully into long-overdue desire. She felt herself falling closer to the edge, still unable to fathom completely that this man, whose teeth were gently tugging at her nipple, was her partner. Scully savored his touches, melting under the magic of his fingers and his mouth. How many times had she fantasized what this would be like? In the farthest corner of her mind, she encountered the pain that still hovered close - traces of the agony that had consumed her since Mulder's disappearance. This was not the scenario she had imagined so many times alone in her bed, but Mulder was here; he was alive. She was not going to wake up to find her sanity once against assaulted by nightmares of doom or dashed hopes. This was really happening. Tears of joy mixed with her passion. She was drawn back, slowly and sweetly, to the real world when she felt Mulder's free hand slip under the waistband of her sweat pants. As much as she ached to let him continue, and tempted by the fact that his memory might be a total blank the next day, she knew this was where she had to draw the line. She moved her own hand down to grasp his, but he was quicker. Before she could stop him, he had his hand inside her panties. In one smooth motion, his middle finger plunged into her, pushing deeply. Scully arched her back, feeling his finger curl inside of her. Her breast slipped out of his mouth, but he found it again, pressing his tongue firmly against her nipple. He plunged his finger deeply again, then drew out. Scully knew what he was waiting for. She spread her legs for him, draping one leg over his hip, inviting his sexual foreplay. Widening her opening, he pushed a second finger in. Scully's body quivered and her breathing quickened. After a few seconds, she heard the soft smacking sound his fingers made as they slowly pulled out of her wetness. She went limp against him as he ran two fingers the entire length of her. The suckling of her breast coupled with the long awaited touching of her clit sent her into immediate spasms and she clung tightly to him, as if she might spiral into complete bliss. Mulder was somehow aware of the reaction he was getting. Sliding his fingers out of her, he parted her folds with his thumb and middle finger, using his index finger to stimulate the hot spot of her passion. That alone would have sent her into an immediate orgasm, but he varied his stimulations between a few seconds of circular motions on her clit, and a few seconds of plunging his fingers in and out of her several times. "God, Mulder," she cried, not intending for the words to be spoken out loud. In the faint glow of the firelight, she could see where Mulder's hand was pumping her under the blanket. The erotic excitement was intensified by the awareness that Skinner was just down the hall. Instinctively, Scully's body began to gently move to the rhythm of Mulder's hand. Each time he plunged his fingers into her, she pushed against his hand, urging him deeper. When Mulder's fingers slid out of her and continued the circular motions on her clit again, Scully was more than ready. As she felt her climax building, she could not believe the intensity. She was already out of control when she whispered one word. "Faster." She was too far on the fringes of sexual oblivion to consider how Mulder was able to comply, but he did. And he even managed to speak to her. "Come for me, Scully." Some rational part of her reminded her that Skinner was in the next room. So she folded her arms around the back of Mulder's head and pressed her mouth against his hair, willing herself not to scream. She rode out the most electrifying, almost overwhelming orgasm she had ever experienced as her body jerked with earth-shattering rapture. Finally, as her body became sensitive to his intimate touch, she sank against him. Mulder's hand relaxed, but his middle finger entered her again. Out of the corner of her eye, Scully saw movement and she turned her head. Skinner's shadow could be seen moving on the wall in the hallway. Scully slowly reached down for Mulder's hand. She couldn't help but run her fingers over his, reveling in the fact that one long finger was extended completely into her. Regretfully, she curled her fingers around his and pulled his hand out of her pants. Mulder's fingers, still wet, went around her bare waist as he continued to suck and lick her nipple, but more gently. It was as if he knew he had brought her to orgasm, and now he was bringing her down the rest of the way, slowly. He was acting purely on instinct, because in his current condition there was no way he could have had much awareness of what they had been doing. "Mulder ... sweetheart ..." she whispered breathlessly. Mulder removed his mouth from her breast, but laid his cheek against it, finally still. Scully laid quietly with him, letting the pounding of her heart slow down. She could feel his heavy breathing against her. Hesitantly, she softly spoke to him again. "Hey, partner." Scully felt the impact of those words. She placed her fingers under Mulder's chin and lifted his head to her shoulder. He said something, but she couldn't understand him. "What, honey?" Mulder's head raised from her shoulder and his eyes opened slowly. For an instant he was disoriented. "Scully ...? She smiled at him, running her hand through his hair. Mulder looked down and saw that her blouse was open, her bra pushed up. He looked surprised, but confused. "Scully, did I ...?" "Shhh. It's okay. Put your head down." He put his head back against her shoulder. "Scully, I had the most wonderful dream." He couldn't see her smile. "Tell me about it," she said. "We were back at Arcadia. But it was just a nice little neighborhood. But guess what?" Scully could tell from his voice that he was a little delusional. His body was converting the last remnants of the heroin in his system into more of a barbiturate-type drug, making him disoriented and lethargic. "What babe?" Scully asked, still soothing his hair. "We had to really convince the neighbors we were husband and wife." "Did we?" "Mmm-hmm." "How did we do that?" she asked, a glowing smile on her face. "You know, Scully. Birds and the bees." "Oh. And was it good?" For a long time there was no answer and she thought he had fallen asleep again. But he did speak, and his voice was soft, slightly slurred with drowsiness. "You feel incredible, Scully." Scully couldn't blink back the tears that spilled down her cheeks. She knew Mulder's reprieve from pain was temporary, and that he would probably have no memory of what was real and what wasn't. Some small part of her wished he would remember what they did, and why, and then just keep it as a treasure in the back of his mind. She knew she would - forever. She looked down at him, seeing that his eyes were closed, and kissed him sweetly on the lips. He smiled and snuggled against her. "I love you, Mulder," Scully whispered. "Me ... too," his voice trailed off as he drifted once again into sleep. * * * * * END OF STORY Anybody interested in writing a sequel? Go for it.