Mobile Command Center

FBI Hostage Rescue Team East

Mercantile Credit Bank

Gateway Plaza Complex

Loudoun County, Virginia

4:45 PM

"Shit!"

The sudden sound of the spotter's two-way radio link shattered the silence of the mobile command center.

"He's gonna waste him... I repeat... Target is preparing to waste the hostage."

"Do you have a clear shot?" The HRT SAC enquired, already knowing the likely outcome of that answer.

"Negative, boss. The bastard is using one of the other hostages as a shield. He's put the female teller in just the right position to negate any kind of kill shot."

There was a brief hesitation before the commentary continued, "He knows what he's doing. He's been down this road before."

There was a tone of begrudging admiration in the spotter's voice. "The target is forcing the hostage to his knees. Hostage has his hands cuffed behind his back. He's pretty beaten up... contusions and a lot of blood covering his face. Jesus... look's like the poor SOB has been pistol-whipped pretty bad..."

The spotter's words trailed off for a moment and everyone in the small command center waited anxiously. There was a slight crackle of static and then his words were heard once more, "I'm pretty sure it's him though."

The SAC's eyes lifted from his scrutiny of the monitors, to glance at the small auburn haired woman who stood opposite. Her cool, no nonsense gaze locked with his across the top of the desk, refusing to waver. Those penetrating blue eyes were asking him a question, a question she had vocalised on more than one occasion since this thing had started over four hours ago.

"Let me go in with them?"

"NO."

"Damnit...I'm trained for this. Let me go in…let me be a part of the team that takes this asshole out."

"NO."

"It's my partner in there."

"And that's the very reason I can't let you go inside."

Dana Scully looked away from the intimidating glare of the Hostage Rescue Team's CO and bit down upon her lip in nervous agitation. Hands, eager to be doing something more constructive than merely waiting around, clenched and unclenched at her side. Her gaze slid over the small monitors on the desk, trying to quell the trepidation rising within her, but it only served to heighten her own feelings of powerlessness.

SAC Sinclair was right. He couldn't let her go inside with the other members of the assault team. As Mulder's partner, the book clearly stated that she was too personally involved to perform objectively. Her instinctual need to put her partner first could cloud her judgement, thus rendering her useless to the other team members who would be relying upon her to back them up. To include her in the takedown would only serve to dull the finely honed edge that the assault team needed to do their job.

She knew that. She understood that.

She hated it, but she had to accept it.

So why is it so goddamn hard to accept? She thought angrily to herself. Why is it so difficult to acknowledge that this is one team I'm not allowed to play on?

Because it was Mulder in there.

If it had been any other agent it would have been different. Even if it had been Skinner held inside that building, she knew that she would have been able to accept the role that had been cast for her.

But not when it was Mulder.

Not when it was the one man that she had never failed to back up for six long years. No matter how impossible the task, she had always managed to get him out alive. No matter how dark and dangerous the situation, she had steadfastly refused to leave his side. The more he got himself entwined in the vines of lies and mistrust, the more she had acted as his personal machete, slicing through the fronds of danger and deceit to reclaim him.

Sometimes just in the nick of time.

They had stood back to back fighting all comers through Hell and high water, over and over again. It had become second nature to her to want, to need, to be the one that always brokered his release. It felt alien to her to just stand by and watch others ready themselves to go in and do battle for him.

She was his paladin.

His champion.

His knight in shining armour. Ready at a moment's notice to wage war and launch her own brand of wrath upon all those that dared to threaten him. Now she had to relinquish that right to a group of strangers dressed in dark Kevlar-protected clothing and masks. She had been reduced to sweating it out alongside the relatives and friends of those held hostage inside the bank. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one she didn't like. It gave her too much time to think.

Too much time to ponder the possibilities.

Why didn't I go in with him? She demanded of herself, Was it really because he had insisted that I stay in the car?

Or was it because she had wanted to take a brief respite from challenging his latest, outlandish theory concerning the case they'd been working? A theory, she reminded herself, that had driven her up the wall to the point where they'd been having a heated debate in the car over its credibility.

Just when she'd reached a point where she wanted to lean across the seat and throttle him, he had pulled the car over to the curb and told her he had an urgent errand to run. That he needed to urgently deposit his last paycheck.

Jesus...

What had suddenly made him decide to deposit a check that must have sat in his pocket for two weeks! Why now in the middle of the damn workday? Since when had he become so organised?

Or had her irritability over the case become so noticeable that he had decided a time-out was in order? Whatever it was, he had gotten out of the car and told her he wouldn't be too long. She had nodded absently in response and he had quietly closed the door.

That had been over four hours ago.

To the petite redhead it felt a whole lot longer. More like a whole lifetime had elapsed since she had last seen him. Since she'd seen that long, lanky frame saunter casually into the bank's foyer.

They could have been back at the office now, poring over old casefiles. Arguing over the scientific evidence that she had uncovered that would have blown his theory clean out of the water. He would have been safe, not held hostage in a Virginia bank at the mercy of some whacked-out gunman.

She sighed again and found that she had been unconsciously wringing her hands. Annoyed at her lack of control, she shoved them inside her trenchcoat pockets.

Negotiation had turned out to be a fruitless waste of time. They had spent over an hour trying to strike a deal with a man who couldn't be reasoned with. The only thing they had accomplished was to irritate the bastard even more, to the point where he had viciously yanked the phone connection from the wall. Seconds later a burst of gunfire had been heard inside the old building.

A moment of terror had invaded Dana Scully's body as she'd wondered what those gunshots signified. Then one of the monitors had picked up the bank's door being opened. Another hostage dragged out the bloodied body of one of the security guards. Fearful for his own safety, he'd dumped the bullet riddled body unceremoniously on the sidewalk before hurrying back inside the building. The message was clear. The time for negotiation had long since passed.

She didn't need to be a top-notch profiler to see that things were going to hell in a handbasket. This maniac had a couple of highly wired accomplices and enough hardware to start a second Iwo Jima. He had already clearly telegraphed his intentions to execute hostages if he didn't get what he wanted. This madman had the capacity and the cold-blooded willingness to totally disregard the bureau and their NO DEAL policy.

It's the rules, Dana. she tried to tell herself, then shook her head in disgust, Fuck rules... I want him out alive, not in a bodybag.

The cellphone in her pocket chirruped into life, breaking her from those macabre thoughts. She stuck a hand into the inside pocket of her trenchcoat and extracted it, hitting the send button and putting it to her ear.

"Scully..."

"Scully, who?" The hard edged voice queried, his tone a little exasperated as the caller realised he was speaking to a woman.

Bristling at the undisguised snub, she was about to put the chauvinistic jackass back in his place when a thought struck her.

Everyone who uses this number already knows who I am. It's a government issued cell, never used for anything other than business purposes... So who the hell is this asshole?

The answer followed hot on the tail of the question. The gunman from the bank. But if that were true...

"This is Agent Scully of the FBI," she replied in her best authoritative voice, "and I wish to know with whom I'm speaking."

She looked up briefly to pinpoint Sinclair's position in the command center. He was speaking to a group of men on the other side of the small van, oblivious to her conversation.

"Take a look at the monitor and all will be revealed." The hard edged voice instructed, "I'm guessing you've got a shit load of fibre optic images being pumped into that tin can you're sitting in."

The unknown man's assumption had been correct. He seemed to know as much about the banking community's practices as he did the assault team's. The bank was a regional branch of a major banking corporation, and as such its security systems were linked to a central location. About an hour into the crisis the bank's security people had shown up and offered the FBI access to their Fibre Optic Network. This in turn had given the bureau's technicians the much needed surveillance hardware to view inside the bank.

"To whom am I speaking?" she asked again, waving her hand at Sinclair to get his attention.

"A concerned citizen." Came back the sarcastic reply. "Listen bitch, I ain't got time to play any more fucking games. Look at the monitor!"

Scully slowly moved around the desk containing the bank of monitors and began studying them. Six black and white screens showed various areas inside and outside the bank. None showed where the hostages were being kept. A smart move on the part of the criminals. The fourth monitor caught her eye and she inhaled sharply. One of the gunmen was holding Mulder's ID up against the lens of the security camera. His bureau issue photo ID looked stark and grainy in the black and white tones coming from the screen. It blurred into hues of dark and light.

It shouldn't have come as that much of a surprise, the SOB was using Mulder's cell to call her after all, but Scully's stomach still flipped over at the implications of this new set of events. She was certain that at that moment her own complexion must have mirrored that of the pasty looking image on the screen.

They knew...

Oh God...they knew...

"What is it?" The SAC asked, alerted by her sharp intake of breath.

"Mulder's ID." She slapped a hand over the mouthpiece of the cellphone, "Now they know he's Bureau. They'll think they have a bona fide hostage. One that can get them out of there."

"We don't do deals." The SAC replied emphatically.

The muscles inside her stomach tightened painfully as the realisation was driven home. No matter what happened next, the bureau would not, could not back down. Even if it meant sacrificing her partner's life, they couldn't go against federal policy.

The look in her eyes must have alerted Sinclair to her present state of emotional turmoil. He gently laid a hand upon her forearm, breaking her from her thoughts.

"We all knew the risks of this when we signed up. Your partner knows the rules as well as you and me. Any one of us could be used as a bargaining chip. The bureau doesn't allow that to happen." He stared into her eyes sorrowfully, "Period."

I can't let him die. I can't just stand by and watch him die.

"I'm gonna try and stall him." A breathy sigh broke from her lips. "Get your people ready, this could get real ugly real fast."

The SAC nodded quickly, striding off toward the entrance of the van, giving orders to all those who would listen. Scully watched him move away, and tried to brace herself for what was going to come next. Slowly she moved her hand away from the mouthpiece of the cellphone.

"Let me speak to my partner." Her voice was cool and calm, refusing to betray the fear that coursed through her body, "I want proof that he's still alive."

"He's alive." The voice replied coldly, "and that's all you need to know for now." She closed her eyes as she realised that the gunman wasn't going to give in to her request. He knew all the moves and counter-moves, could play the waiting game as well as those around her. He was no more likely to let her speak with Mulder than the assault team were going to let the robbers out of the bank.

It was a standoff. All she could do was stay focused, keeping the gunman talking and therefore distracted long enough to give the assault team a chance to approach and storm the building.

To keep intact the element of surprise. "What do you want?" she asked, trying to keep to a script she barely knew, relying upon instinct and a vague memory of a class during her days at the academy to keep it together.

"What price do you put upon your partner's life, Agent Scully?"

The question took her a little by surprise, wondering why the gunman had suddenly made it into something personal, but she continued to play it by the book.

"Look, can I put this on the speakerphone? I haven't the authority to make deals. You must know that there are others here that outrank me, I'll have to defer any demands you have through them."

"Go ahead. Makes no difference to me as long as I get what I want."

There was a brief silence as Scully looked around the command center for the speakerphone. One of the technicians pointed to a small plastic box that looked like a cellphone charger. She nodded and slipped the cell into the plastic cradle.

"You still haven't answered my question." The voice finally said, "What price do you put upon your partner's life?"

Personally, I'd pay whatever you bastards want. She thought to herself, Professionally both Mulder and I know our lives aren't worth a cent.

"Like I said... what do you want?" she reiterated and wondered how she managed to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"What I've wanted all along. Safe passage out of here. A chopper waiting at the nearest airport."

"And Mulder?" Her words were soft and this time she noticed the tremulous cadence in her voice.

"Doesn't die within the next few minutes." The hard voice replied, "So what's it gonna be? You prepared to make a deal for Elliot Ness here?"

She looked around her quickly and met the eyes of SAC Sinclair staring intently back at her. His head was forcefully shaking back and forth... back and forth.

No deal. There's no way in hell we're gonna let them out of that building. His eyes told her. You know the policy Agent Scully. Each agent knows the risks of being taken hostage.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath.

"It's not that simple... I can't just..." Her words were cut off before she could finish.

"It's that fucking simple lady. You do what I say or I'll blow your fucking partner's brains all over this bank!"

There was silence in the room as both parties regained their equilibrium. "Aw shit! I don't know why I decided to call you motherfuckers anyway." There was another short pause before. "Say bye to your partner, lady..."

"No!" Scully yelled at the phone, her hands slapping down on the console next to it, "Wait! Wait! Please..." Her eyes lingered over the small cellphone as it nestled inside its cold, impersonal casing, "Just give me a few minutes...just...just don't hurt him."

She snapped the switch next to the phone off and ran a shaky hand through her auburn hair.

Christ... what are you doing, Dana? You're not bloody trained for this.

"There can be no deviation from policy, Agent Scully." Sinclair's somber words floated toward her, "You cannot deal with this man."

Scully spun around and pinned the assault team's Commanding Officer with her most withering look, "You tell him that!" She spat at him, pointing at the phone. "You tell him that there's no deal. You sign my partner's death warrant!"

"You know the rules as well as I do. As well as Agent Mulder does. There can be no ground given."

"Fuck you!" Scully roared. "You're not the one being asked to serve up your partner on a plate. Don't presume to stand there and lecture me on points of protocol you son-of-a-bitch."

"Agent Scully, you're out of line." Sinclair countered, anger now lacing his words.

"Do you understand what you're asking me to do?" The second after I tell that bastard that there's not going to be a deal, Mulder's dead."

"Your partner isn't the only hostage we have to consider, Agent Scully. My team's waiting on my signal to go in. Once that signal is given they'll blow the doors and proceed to take out the targets."

"But Mulder will still be dead!" she replied anxiously, "Your team won't get there quick enough to prevent that maniac from killing him. For God's sake he's already on his knees with a fucking gun pointed at his head."

"Casualties of war." Sinclair replied and Scully had to restrain the impulse to punch him. She was already in enough trouble for speaking to him with blatant disrespect as it was. Her sharp fingernails dug into the fleshy skin of her palms as she fought with the rising tide of anger that threatened to engulf her.

Don't let me be the one to condemn him. her eyes pleaded with the SAC, You can't ask that of me. You can't ask me to be the one to let him die.

Sinclair held her gaze for a moment longer before brushing past her, heading for the console and the phone upon it. Scully closed her eyes and bowed her head in defeat. Forgive me Mulder. I tried. As God's my witness...I tried.

The snap of the switch being activated jolted her body, but she refused to turn around. She wanted to run away, to silently slip out of the command center. She didn't want to hear the words that were going to be uttered in the next few seconds. She didn't want to have the weight of those words forever imprinted upon her mind.

Knowing that the next two words out of Sinclair's lips were going to severe her link with Mulder forever. That their six year partnership was finally going to end, for him terrifyingly in a Virginia bank and for her in a crowded, but no less terrifying, command center. Apart from each other.

Alone.

Surrounded by other members of the human race, but so totally, utterly alone.

"No deal." Sinclair's rough voice filled the room and Scully felt the tension inside the van increase tenfold. An anguished sob rose from deep inside her chest to be quelled by the tightness of her lips as she refused to open them and let it out.

"What?!" the voice asked, not believing the words he had heard. Not understanding that the VIP he thought he had was nothing more than a mere pawn.

"I said no deal." Sinclair restated, "The bureau doesn't do deals with terrorists or criminals." He cleared his throat and Scully wondered if perhaps this was just as hard for him, "Agent Mulder's life will not be bargained for."

The ground beneath her lurched suddenly and she threw out an unsteady hand to grip the nearest desk. Its solidity was comforting, helping her to regain her faltering balance. Unfortunately her reeling emotions couldn't be appeased so easily.

"Do you think I'm fucking kidding?!" the voice screamed through the speakerphone "Do you think I'm fucking bluffing when I say that I'll blow his goddamn brains all over this fucking room?"

"No." Sinclair said, his voice totally devoid of emotion once again, "I'm just stating the bureau's policy."

"Is Agent Scully there?" the voice asked, "Where is she?"

"Agent Scully has been relieved from further negotiation in this matter. You are now to deal directly with me."

"You ran roughshod over her, huh?" The voice responded sarcastically, "Well if she's still there I think she'd probably like to hear this."

There was the sound of something rustling on the line and a muffled "No" could be heard in the distance. Scully turned slowly around as she picked out her partner's definitive timbre in that one word.

Oh God, they're going to kill him.

She felt her eyes prickling with unshed tears. Her throat closing around the lump that formed deep within her larynx. Every nerve in her body felt raw, stripped of the protective layer of epidermis that kept them from feeling pain. Blinking back the wetness that threatened to spill forth from her eyes, she crossed back to where Sinclair stood beside the speakerphone. As she reached him, she noticed him put a small radio up against his lips. She could just make out the softly mouthed, "GO!" as it was whispered into the handset.

The order to storm the building had been given, she could only now pray that the HRT team were as good as they boasted. No matter how good they were it would be a tall mountain to climb. Once the building's doors blew the criminals would know that the cavalry had arrived and would automatically go onto the defensive. In his already vulnerable position on the floor, Mulder would be the first of the new casualties.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

"Agent Scully, did you know that Agent Mulder carries an envelope stashed behind his badge addressed to you?"

Scully was broken from her prayer by the sound of the voice on the phoneline. An envelope? "It looks to be one of those, 'only to be opened in the event...' type envelopes to me." The voice continued amusedly, "Shall we see what's inside?"

"NO! Don't do that!" Mulder's hoarse voice echoed in the small room only to be followed by the sound of something hard connecting with his body. A muffled groan resonated down the line causing Scully to wince in shared pain.

"C'mon... C'mon..." Sinclair's voice whispered beside her, "Blow those damn doors."

The sound of something tearing brought Scully's eyes up sharply to stare at the speakerphone. That bastard was opening Mulder's letter to her. His last thoughts and wishes would soon be aired for everyone around them both to hear.

She knew he didn't want that. The sound of his protesting voice had told her so in no uncertain terms. She didn't want it either. Anything he had to tell her after his death was meant to be private and personal, not to be blurted out in front of complete strangers.

Oh God... I can't stand this. What right does that bastard have to invade our privacy?

More rustling sounded down the line as the paper was taken out of the envelope. Scully's vision blurred as a bout of dizziness engulfed her, her world once more tilting at an acute angle. Her heart pounded erratically inside her chest, threatening to explode from its cavity. Hands twitched and shook with the force of the adrenaline rush coursing through her veins. "Oh man..." The voice stated down the phoneline. There was another brief silence before the gunman's hard voice echoed down the line once more, "Oh man... Agent Scully, have you ever got to hear this."

"Please..." Mulder's voice implored, "Don't do this to her!"

Before she realised what she was doing, Scully's hand had wrapped around the cellphone and dragged it out of its makeshift cradle, pausing only slightly before bringing it up to her ear. She might not have been able to stop the man on the other end from broadcasting her partner's innermost thoughts and feelings, but she could strive to save Mulder what little dignity she could, by narrowing down the audience in the command center.

"'Scully, my strong, loyal Scully. As I write this, I pray for but a mere drop of the strength that you posses within your body.'"

Scully's eyes closed as she clutched the tiny cellphone to her ear, straining to hear Mulder's soft voice through the harsh, vulgar tones of the man determined to end his life.

"'As I write this, I pray for but a mere drop of the strength that you posses within your body."' Mulder shuddered as the man glanced from the letter to him and back again. He tried to concentrate on a possible plan of action, to block out the words he'd once written in love and now hated to hear read aloud. Inexorably, the man continued, his halting stutter marring the beauty behind the written words. '"I know that only in death can I finally muster the courage to speak the words that need to be spoken. Words that were forever perched upon my lips, waiting for a moment, a time when they could be uttered in peace... without the fear of repercussion or repris... '"

Whatever came next became lost in the cacophony of sound that suddenly echoed down the line. Scully yanked the phone away from her ear as the deafening roar pulsed across the airwaves.

The assault team's first explosive charge detonated, blowing open the glass fronted doors to the bank. Debris and dust billowed into the building.

"What the fu–"

The sound of the gunman's disembodied voice sounded startled as it squawked in the palm of Scully's hand. She lifted the phone back to her ear, trying to make out how the operation was progressing, praying that they would rescue her partner in time. Two of the monitors in the command center lit up brightly as the first of the flashbang grenades exploded. The pictures on the screen shuddered and shook with the force of the explosion, mirroring the disorientation that the grenades perpetuated upon gunman and hostage alike.

"FBI DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" The brusque, authoritative sounds of the agent could be heard faintly as the team approached the group. Scully could only hope and pray that the flashbangs had done enough to knock the gunmen off guard. To give the team the precious time they needed to reach the hostages.

To reach Mulder.

"I SAID... DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" The authoritative voice sounded a little tense now, as though he had come upon something unexpected in his gameplan.

"Guess you and Agent Mulder just ran out of time." The gunman's hard voice stated coldly down the line, "Say goodbye to Elliot Ness, Scully."

"No!!" Scully screamed, but the line went ominously dead. Nanoseconds ticked away. With each one a funeral knell rang out inside the mind of the diminutive female agent. She could feel each and every eye in the command center settle upon her back, boring into her body with the intensity of a laserbeam. Her hands began to shake upon the small cellphone, her palms becoming slick with perspiration.

Be alive! Be alive! Be alive! Her mind chanted over and over.

A thin crackle was heard over the SAC's short wave radio, followed by more static.

"Clear!" The first team member called in.

"Clear!" The second called.

"CONTROL... ALL SECTIONS REPORT CLEAR. ALL TARGETS HAVE BEEN TAKEN OUT. I REPEAT ALL TARGETS HAVE BEEN TAKEN OUT."

A whoop of joy went out around the command center as the team members congratulated themselves with a job well done. Fists pumped the air, hands slapped backs as the knowledge sunk in. This would go down in their books as a good result.

"Ah! Shit!" The spotter's radio crackled into life, the sniper team had almost been forgotten during the tension of the takedown. "There's a hostage down. I repeat there's a hostage down. It looks like that son-of-a-bitch wasted him."

The words reverberated across Scully's mind, echoing back and forth until they merged and became one long, incomprehensible word. She was frozen to the spot, a living, breathing statue in the middle of the command center. Eyes wide and unbelieving stared with terror at the cellphone in her hand, willing it to ring. Wanting to hear his voice softly telling her that everything was okay.

That it was over and that he was safe.

It looks like the son-of-a-bitch wasted him.

Mulder. They were talking about Mulder. He was supposed to come out alive, like he always did, with a cocky smile and a quick fire quip upon his lips. "Hey Scully, I takes a licking, but I keeps on ticking."

No. No. No. No. Her mind echoed. This can't be happening. This can't be true. Please God... don't let this be true.

"Control... We have confirmed fatalities inside the bank. Three targets and one Caucasian male. We're gonna need ambulances."

Dana Scully spun around, forcing her small body through the sea of figures moving chaotically around the command center. She pushed and shoved at the bodies in front of her until she made it to the doorway. Toward the beckoning twilight outside. She dashed across the street toward the bank, nothing registering inside her mind expect the overwhelming need to see him. To feel him. To touch him. To see for herself if he was really, truly dead.

"MULDER!!"