TITLE: Mobius
AUTHOR: L.A. Ward
EMAIL ADDRESS: LAWard@aol.com
URL: www.hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Sure, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Anything through Season 7
including Requiem
RATING: PG-13 (for language)
CLASSIFICATION: X/MSR/A

X-file casefile with Mytharc
MSR
Scully Angst/Mulder Angst

SUMMARY: While investigating the disappearance of
a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't
expect--Mulder.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. Wish they were,
but they belong to Chris. Have no money so don't
bother to sue.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I cannot say enough nice things for
the wonderful people who undertook the task of beta
reading. Thanks to all of them, but special thanks to
Shari, Rosemary, and Fran.




******************************************************
". . .since love and fear can hardly exist together,
if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be
feared than loved."
Niccolo Machiavelli
"The Prince"
******************************************************


CHAPTER NINE

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
6:14pm

Scully walked through the doors of the M.I.C.U. waiting
room to find the Smoking Man standing by the window. He
took a long drag off his cigarette and released the
smoke slowly.

Scully crossed her arms. "I told you there was no
smoking in the hospital."

He didn't acknowledge her by any gesture. "Where did
you discover the name Spender?"

Scully restrained a bitter smile. "I have my sources."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "And
those sources would be?"

"I really couldn't say."

"Do you fear for their safety?"

"No."

The Smoking Man turned to face her. "Perhaps you
should."

Now she smiled. It felt good to be the one
withholding secrets for a change. "I'm afraid not
even you could reach my sources."

"You're sure of that?"

"Very sure."

Something flickered in his eyes. She couldn't quite
read what it was, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

He raised the cigarette to his lips. "There are those
who would say knowing the name Spender could prove
hazardous to your health."

"There are those who would say that it already has."
Scully shrugged. "We all take risks. I'm sure you've
noticed the warning on that pack of Morley's in your
hand, but you're still smoking." She approached him
slowly. "Also, let me warn you that I know more than
a name, and I've made arrangements that if anything
happens to me or to Mulder a few of those 'other
things' will find their way to light."

Silence was her answer as he rolled the cigarette
between his fingers. Scully watched the length of
ash grow longer and longer until it defied gravity.
She waited for the ash to drop and scorch the floor.
It didn't. Raising her gaze to meet his, Scully
realized this was a waiting game. He wanted to her
step down, to step back. He wanted a weakness to
exploit.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

With a flick of his index finger he dumped the ash
into a potted plant. "What do you want?"

"Mulder's life."

He arched a brow. "You're the doctor. You have more
control over his life than I do."

"I don't think so. I think you know exactly what's
wrong with him and what needs to be done to save him."

The Smoking Man smiled. "And why would I want to save
him?"

"Because you need him. I'm not naïve. I don't
expect you to do anything out of compassion. You
have reasons for what you do. All I'm asking is
that you release him to me when you're done."

"And if there is nothing left to release?"

Was that a threat, a warning, or a harsh dose of
reality? How close had Mulder come to dying the
last time? The experimental procedure had been
risky. What if something had gone wrong? What if
something went wrong now? Could she live with
the consequences?

Scully heard the quiet ticking of the clock on
the wall. She had told the Lone Gunmen that
Mulder had between forty-eight and seventy-two
hours to live. What she hadn't told them was
that was an optimistic diagnosis. Trusting the
Smoking Man was the only chance Mulder had.

She straightened her shoulders. "As I said, choices
mean risks. I'll accept the odds if you'll agree
to my proposition."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you won't have Mulder." Scully circled the old
man. "If you want him you'll have to go through me.
It's that simple."

"Doctor, if I want to remove Mulder from this
hospital I'm quite capable of accomplishing it
without your help."

Scully shook her head. "Skinner has two guards posted
outside of Mulder's room, and I can have Mulder
transferred to another wing of the hospital at a
moment's notice." She looked at him challengingly. "I
can have him transferred to another hospital and can
keep doing that until it's too late."

"He would die."

"Yes, but not by your hand."

The Smoking Man watched her contemplatively. "You
won't go through with that threat."

Scully arched a brow. "Won't I?"

He took a last drag of his cigarette then crushed it in
the potted plant. "Exactly what would accepting your
offer entail? "

"That I stay with Mulder 24/7."

The Smoking Man watched her and Scully knew he was
calculating the advantages and disadvantages of her
offer. He didn't really need her. If he refused her
request, the best she could offer were inconveniences
and delays...and considering that delays would cost
Mulder his life, she wouldn't even do that. All Scully
could hope was that she had intrigued him. If she had
played her cards right, the Smoking Man would allow
her presence simply to satisfy his curiosity or
perhaps--if Scully presented a challenge--to break her.
She didn't care which as long he allowed her to
stay with Mulder.

Finally, he nodded and Scully released the breath she
hadn't realized she was holding.

"The nursing shift changes in a half hour," she
explained. "I can arrange for Mulder to be removed
from his room at that time. Would that be acceptable?"

He gave a disquieting smile. "It is acceptable."

"I'll be waiting."

When Scully entered Mulder's room, she didn't need the
EEG to tell her that his condition was worse. He
looked like a corpse. Only the monitor beside his bed
and the warmth of his skin gave any indication that
he was alive at all.

"You have to hold on," she demanded. "If you die
on me, I'll kick your ass."

She didn't see the wisp of smoke that drifted just
beyond the doorway.

X X X

Dana Scully's Residence
Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
6:14 PM

Dana Waterston slipped the key into the lock and
breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened. After
arriving at Dulles she had given the taxi driver the
address on her driver's license. Dana could only hope
Scully hadn't moved...and that she wasn't leaving a
car in the airport's long term parking.

Walking into the apartment Dana flipped the light
switch and bathed the room in soft golden glow.
No lover waited for her return. There wasn't even
a dog wanting to be fed. The metallic clatter
of the keys landing on the console table mercifully
shattered the silence.

This apartment had nothing in common with the sleek,
Modernist house she shared with Daniel. There was
no pretension here. The upholstery was slightly faded
and a few of the shelves in the bookcase were stacked
two deep. Dana doubted any decorator--or even great
thought--had been used to select the eclectic mix of
furnishings. Still, the overall impression was one
of warmth.

She found the thermostat, and lowered the
temperature until she heard the soft hum of the
air conditioning kicking in. Dana hoped it would
clean away the musty smell of disuse. Trailing her
fingers through a thin film dust on the mantle,
she decided this apartment might be a retreat for
Scully, but it wasn't a home. At least not a
home that had anything to do with the day to day
living of Scully's life.

Dana found herself drawn across the room by the
relentlessly blinking light on the answering machine.
Squelching the feeling that she was invading Scully's
privacy, she hit play.

The first message was Goodwill asking for a
clothes donation. The second offered better
long distance rates. The third and the fourth
were hang ups, and the fifth was her mother
calling 'just to check in.' Dana was kneeling in
front of Scully's CD player when the answering
machine beeped and went on to the sixth message.

"You're pissed aren't you?"

Dana jumped at the sound of the man's voice and
accidentally hit the power switch on the CD player.
She turned to look at the answering machine--which
was a nonsensical thing to do. It wasn't like he
was standing in the room.

Only there was something about the man's voice...
There was implied intimacy in the way he began
talking in mid conversation. No introduction or
social niceties, just his saying, "I know you're
pissed. That composed act doesn't cut it with me.
You wanted to go to Oregon. Yeah, you made supportive
noises, and it's not like we don't go separate ways
half the time...It's just for some reason this feels
different."

Dana could hear him take a breath before he said,
"None of this changes the fact that you didn't want
me to go alone, or that I deliberately misunderstood
what you were saying when I dragged Skinner to go in
your place. You wanted to go and didn't care about
the risks."

There was a long pause, and for a moment Dana thought
the message had run out.

"This wasn't a ditch," he stressed. "I want to make
that clear. I wasn't ditching you, so don't pace
around your apartment second guessing yourself. You
didn't give into to some macho bullshit so I could
play protector. You can take care of yourself. I
know that. This wasn't about protection...at least
not about protecting you."

He sighed. "Scully, we both know a lot about losing
things--too many things and too many people. I
just...I couldn't risk losing you too."

There was a long moment filled with unsaid words and
unexpressed feelings. They squeezed her chest and
made it difficult to breathe.

He coughed. "So we're straight on this, right?
I didn't ditch you to go searching for little green
men--even though we both know they aren't green.
Well, I know they aren't green. You never see them.
Why is that? Oh well, look at it this way, since you
never see them you aren't missing anything...Are you
at least cracking a smile by now? No, probably not.
I bet you're glaring at the answering machine thinking
about how you'll kick my ass when I make it back."
There was amusement in his voice. "I'm looking forward
to that."

Dana heard Scully's CD player change tracks as she
waited for him to continue.

"Scully..."

That's all he said. Maybe that was all that needed
to be said.

She heard another man in the background yell,
"Mulder, get your ass in gear!"

"Duty calls. The Skinman's looking antsy, and
I've got to listen to the boss--bet you didn't know
I could do that. You still aren't smiling are you?
Figures. I'll be sure to be prepared for a hell of an
ass kicking when I make it home. Oh, and charge your
cell phone, will you? I hate answering machines."

A click and he was gone. The machine announced the
day and time of the message. It was over two months
old.

Without warning, some preternatural instinct told Dana
that Mulder had never made it home. That was why Scully
had saved the message.

As the melancholy sound of Sarah McLachlan's voice
filled the stillness, Dana realized she was crying.
She couldn't explain it. She didn't know Mulder, but
she could remember the look in his eyes when he had
called her name in the E.R. He was a stranger
yet it felt like Dana knew him, like she had always
known him. And now she grieved for him.

Dana sank onto the sofa. She couldn't separate her
emotions from Scully's. They felt the same. They
felt real. They felt like they would tear her
apart as she wrapped her arms around herself and
silently rocked back and forth as tears streamed
down her face.

X X X

The sky darkened to a blue-violet night and a
crescent moon hung just above the horizon as Mulder
watched light spread across a black glass sea. There
were no waves now, and there was no tide. Everything
was strangely still.

He didn't stop to think about the oddity of it, just
as he didn't bother to wonder if his experience in the
hospital had been real...if SHE had been real. Why
accept one reality and reject another? Dreams and
reality both held elements of truth. He had no desire
for an easy explanation. He only wanted to know why?

He turned to see a figure approach him...

X X X

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
7:20pm

Scully approached the guard and smiled. If he had
known her, he would have been worried by that smile.
Scully didn't smile, at least not often and certainly
not since Mulder had left for Oregon. No, the smile
was a signal that something was up, and it WOULD have been
a signal if the guard had known her a tenth as well as
Mulder.

"The CAT scan shouldn't take long," Scully assured the
guard.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure that it won't take long?"

"Sure that you don't need me along. The A.D. would
have my butt in a sling if anything happened."

Another thing to feel guilty about. Scully was all
too familiar with Skinner lectures, and she was
sorry to sentence an unsuspecting agent to one.
However, she didn't feel guilty enough to change her
plans.

She looked over at the orderly who wasn't an orderly
at all. He had been sent by the Smoking Man to help
remove Mulder from his room. He told the guard,
"I can watch out for her from here."

The guard glanced at Scully, and she nodded. She
even managed another smile.

The guard relented. "I could use a coffee break."

Scully followed the 'orderly' down the corridor.
Once out of sight of the guard, instead of turning
toward the main bank of elevators they stopped
in front of the service ones. Scully shifted from
foot to foot as she waited for the doors to open
and almost groaned when she saw Daniel approaching.

"Another test?" Daniel asked and, to give him credit,
Scully thought he was trying to keep some of the
resentment out of his voice.

"Yes, another test."

Daniel scratched his chin. "Realistically, what
are his odds?"

"Not good." Again Scully punched the elevator call
button.

"I'm sorry."

She glanced at Daniel in surprise.

He explained, "I've never seen you like this. You've
lost objectivity. For a doctor, that's not a good
thing, but on a personal level. . ." Daniel shrugged.
"He's gotten to you in a way I never did."

"I suppose I should say thank you."

Daniel picked up Mulder's medical chart and glanced
through it one more time. He handed it back to Scully.
"I'm sorry," he repeated and walked away.

Scully heard the ding of the elevator arriving and
joined the orderly in pushing Mulder into it before
the doors closed. Three seconds passed before she
hit 'Full Stop.' Because the elevator was used for
linen and service carts that required extended stays
on each floor there was a delay on the alarm. They
had two minutes.

The orderly handed Scully a black body bag he had kept
concealed beneath his surgical greens. He turned Mulder
on his side as Scully lay the bag on the stretcher.
Something in the pit of her stomach clenched as she
drew the zipper over Mulder's face. If anything went
wrong this grisly sight could become real.

There was ten seconds left before the alarm would
ring when Scully pulled the stop button so that
the elevator would continue to the ground floor. They
exited into the corridor that lead to the morgue. Only
they walked passed the morgue to push through a set of
heavy metal doors.

Stepping into a cavernous room with unfinished concrete
floors and exposed cinderblock walls, Scully fought
the urge to cover her ears to block out a fraction of
the roar of med gas pumps and emergency generators.
The noise was deafening.

"Where are we going?" the orderly yelled, trying to
be heard over the pneumatic pounding.

Scully pointed in the direction of a sign marked
"Switchgear."

The man nodded and followed her lead. When the
switchgear door slammed behind them, she said,
"Check to see if they're here."

"Where?"

"Through there. It leads to the loading dock."

Scully had scouted this path before leaving the
hospital this afternoon. She had known that they
needed a route out of the hospital that would
avoid as many security cameras as possible. Of
course there was a security camera on the dock
itself, but she had taken care of that as well.

When the man left, Scully moved to Mulder's side and
lowered the zipper. Seeing his pale, still face she
had to confess, "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry
about a lot of things."

The orderly returned. "They're here."

Scully pushed the gurney passed bright aqua carts
marked "Sani-Trux" and red fiberglass ones labeled
"biohazard" to exit onto the dock. A dark UPS van
waited, and the Smoking Man gave a disturbing smile
as he opened the van's rear doors.

The interior was nothing like a glorified mail
truck. Despite it's outward appearance, the van
was the most sophisticated ambulance Scully had
ever seen. Clearly even now the Syndicate was
well funded.

When the doors closed behind her, the Smoking Man's
smile grew more pronounced. Scully hated that smile.
It made her think she had been tricked--and she knew
that in some respects she had been. There was no way
Scully could anticipate this man's every move. The
trick would be to lose only a limited number of
battles so that she could win the war.

"Doctor, you appear nervous," the Smoking Man
drawled.

"I'm cautious, not nervous."

"And the distinction would be?"

"You're nervous when you don't know what someone
is capable of. You're cautious when you know
someone is capable of killing you without batting
an eyelash."

He arched a brow. "You think I would kill you?"

"You COULD kill me. I'm hoping you decide against it."

He came close to her. Too close. "You intrigue me."

That was the plan.

Scully lost her balance as the van started moving.
The Smoking Man reached to steady her but she
steadied herself and stepped out of his reach.

He lit a cigarette. "No questions about where we
are going?"

"Questions would be pointless."

"Yes, they would. But aren't you curious?"

Scully leveled a cool glance in his direction. "I'm
cursed with a serious lack of curiosity."

"And here Mulder has more than his fair share."

Scully ignored him.

"He can't feel you, doctor."

A frown creased Scully's brow. "Excuse me?"

He looked down and for the first time Scully noticed
that she had unconsciously unzipped the body bag and
now held Mulder's hand. She thought about letting
go to cover whatever instinct had led her to such
revealing action. Instead she looked defiantly at
the Smoking Man.

The lights in the van flickered out, and Scully could
only see a small pinpoint of red as the old man inhaled
the cigarette. She came close to demanding he extinguish
it, then decided it would help her keep track of him in
the darkness. Besides, if she made a demand it would
become a power struggle. It was best to avoid that if
she possibly could.

Scully sat down and struggled to forget about another
trip she had taken with this man. Scully had wanted
something from him then as well...and she had failed
miserably. Against her will a memory rose of the
Smoking Man asking, "How do you explain your
fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a
life alone?"

She hadn't answered so he had observed, "You'd die for
Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him."

Scully could have the wording wrong. It had been
months ago, and she had tried very hard to forget...but
she couldn't. The Smoking Man had seen something she
hadn't wanted him to see--something SHE didn't want
to see. It had shaken her in a way that Scully had
been unwilling to acknowledge.

She watched the tiny spark of red in the darkness.
Little wonder Mulder hated this man who found someone's
secrets and either withheld them or laid them bare for
his own amusement or advantage. He was ruthless.
He was dangerous.

Scully squeezed Mulder's fingers and rhythmically
moved her thumb across the back of his hand. She
could feel the Smoking Man watching her and
could see him doing so in the brief moments of
light near street lamps.

Let him see, she thought. Let him know that I won't
allow Mulder to be sacrificed for his cause.

The tiny spot of red disappeared as the Smoking Man
extinguished another cigarette and when they passed
the next streetlight Scully saw him cross his arms
and close his eyes.

She watched him. She wouldn't be lulled into
complacency, not like the time she had allowed herself
to be drugged and removed her from the car. The
Smoking Man had undressed her. Scully shivered at the
memory, and looked down at Mulder's face. She had
made a mistake in trusting the old man once. Was
she making the same mistake again?





****************************************************
Everything about you demonstrates a careless
desolation. . .
William Shakespeare
"As You Like It"
****************************************************

CHAPTER TEN

Dana sat on a couch in an unfamiliar apartment with a
handsome if only vaguely familiar man sitting next to
her. Mulder. He looked different from the pale,
agonized man she had seen in the E.R. He was smiling
and looked relaxed. There was a sparkle in his eyes as
if he had found something she had said amusing. That
was unusual. Actually, that was strange. As a general
rule Dana wasn't known for her sense of humor.

"I go away for two days and your whole life changes,"
he complained.

"I didn't say my whole life changed--"

"Speaking to God in a Buddhist temple and God speaking
back?"

"I didn't say that God spoke back. I said I had some
kind of vision."

"For you that's like saying you're having David
Crosby's baby." Mulder smiled and there was a sudden
ache inside her. Dana lost track of the conversation,
as tended to happen in dreams, but everything fell
sharply into focus when he asked, "How many different
lives would we be leading if we made different choices?"

The ear splitting buzz of an alarm clock dragged Dana
from sleep. Sitting up in bed she looked blearily
around the room. It came to her that she should feel
disoriented by her surroundings. Only she wasn't. This
bedroom was as familiar to her as the dream she had
been having, a dream where she had been speaking to a
man who should have been a stranger to her but wasn't.

Dana pulled herself from the bed knowing that she didn't
have the time to wonder about yet another strange event
in her trip down the rabbit hole. Somehow she knew that
her counterpart would frown on her being late for her
appointment with Walter Skinner.

Throwing open the doors to the closet, Dana stood
staring at Scully's wardrobe for a long moment. Did
Scully own anything that wasn't black? Pushing aside
several black skirts, black pants, and black jackets,
Dana found a couple of beige outfits shoved into the
back corner. Those had to be Scully's "thin clothes"
or things she simply never wore. Wasn't that what the
far corner of any woman's closet implied?

Selecting a tailored black skirt and blazer she
could pair with soft green silk blouse, Dana muttered
"Scully, you're a wild woman," before heading toward
the bathroom to take a shower. An hour and a half later
Dana entered the J. Edgar Hoover building through the
front door.

She had used the taxi trick again. It was the easiest
way of dealing with the question of where would she
park? Did she have an assigned parking space? Was
there a designated FBI Agent parking lot? What did
her car look like and where was it parked? There was
an endless list of questions Dana had about Scully's
life, and if taking a taxi reduced that list by just
one, it was worth the cost of the ride.

Of course when the taxi pulled away the curb, Dana had
another question. Did she enter by the front door or
was there another entrance for agents? Not knowing the
answer, Dana chose the front door. Everyone had to go
through the front door at some point, didn't they?

When she passed through the metal detector it beeped.
The security guard glanced up. "Agent Scully, should
I bother?"

Dana frowned and tried to not look confused.

He gave a "here we go again" sigh. "It feels like such
a waste of time to scan you when we always know what
it will say." He ran a hand held detector over her.
It beeped when it reached the nape of her neck. The
guard didn't even blink. "Go on in."

Dana wasn't sure why he waved her through the security
check. How had she set off the metal detector?
Dana found herself rubbing her neck as she walked
toward the main bank of elevators. She wasn't even
wearing her necklace.

When the elevator doors closed behind her a male agent
asked, "Catch any mutants this week?"

Mutants? Was that some FBI slang for a criminal?

"Not this week," Dana answered.

"No half man half fluke? What about killer tobacco
beetles? E.T.?"

A woman with hair slightly less red than Dana's
snapped, "You're an asshole, Agent." The man backed
off and stepped out of the elevator at the next floor.
After the doors closed, the woman smiled. "I really
enjoyed doing that."

Dana stared at the stranger.

The woman explained, "It's been a hell of a morning.
Mr. Skinner has sent me for coffee three times. He
never sends me for coffee. I finally told him that he
may be the A.D. and I'm only his secretary, but I'm not
at his servant." She paused then shook her head.
"I'm glad I'm not you. Mr. Skinner's in a hell of a
mood--which explains my mood. He's been pacing the
for a half hour."

Dana swallowed convulsively. "Not a good sign, I
take it."

The secretary shrugged. "Fairly typical where you
and your partner are concerned."

The elevator bell rang just as the doors slid open,
and Dana followed the woman down the hall. When
they entered the office the secretary buzzed her
boss. "Agent Scully is here."

Dana heard a gruff voice say, "Send her in."

When Dana had met Walter Skinner in the M.I.C.U.,
he hadn't struck her as being an authority figure.
He had deferred too easily to the older man carrying
the cigarettes...but that seemed liked a lifetime
ago.

Looking at this Skinner, Dana still saw a tall,
well muscled, pleasant looking man, but there was
something more. She searched for a way to describe
it. Steely? Determined? Whatever the elusive
difference between the two might be, this version
of Walter Skinner appeared somewhat intimidating
as he sat behind a large mahogany desk flanked by
the American flag.

"Sit," he commanded.

Dana almost preferred to stand. You were
supposed to stand when facing a firing squad,
weren't you?

"Scully," he said more softly. "Sit."

He laid a manila folder on his desk and leaned
back in his leather clad chair. "This report on
Doerstling's disappearance doesn't say much."

"I'm sorry."

He waved his hand negligently. "I'm used to vague
reports--at least when they involve X-Files--but
this wasn't supposed to be a X-File."

Dana refrained from asking what constituted a
X-File. Clearly Scully would know.

Skinner shook his head. "I thought I was doing
you a favor forcing you out of the office. I can
see now it was a mistake."

"Why was it a mistake?"

"Because you came damn close to getting yourself
killed! Damnit, Scully, I'm used to doctors
calling to say you or Mulder have been brought
into the emergency room. It's depressingly
familiar, but this is the first time I've ever
wondered..."

"Sir?"

"There has always been a fearless quality to yours
and Mulder's work. Fearless," he stressed, "not
careless."

"Was I careless?"

He leaned forward. "I don't know, Scully, were you?"
He stood and walked to the window. "I knew when I went
to Oregon with Mulder that I was there to watch his
back. I was supposed to make sure he returned to
Washington in one piece." Skinner looked at her
and now his expression was anything but intimidating.
He looked regretful. "I failed."

Skinner never broke eye contact. "I won't fail Mulder
the same way. If he ever does come back there's no
way in hell I'm going to tell him that you got
yourself killed. So please, Scully, tell me you
weren't being reckless."

Was that a request? Dana noticed the concern with
which he watched her. What was he really asking,
and why did he look so worried? Then Dana remembered
the despair she had felt last night as she rocked
herself on Scully's couch. She stopped cold. Surely
he didn't believe. . .No. Absolutely not. Whatever
emotional pain Scully might feel she would never
knowingly risk the life of her unborn child. It
simply would not happen.

Again a strange sensation washed over Dana. How did
she know with such certainty what Scully would and
would not do? She wasn't Scully. She was Dr. Dana
Waterston.

Wasn't she?

A sense of panic hovered just beyond the edge of her
consciousness. For the sake of her sanity, she had to
be Dana Waterston...but being Dana Waterston made no
sense. Logic dictated that she was a FBI Agent named
Dana Scully. Everyone knew her as Dana Scully. She
had an apartment, a job, a life--a life that in no
way resembled the life of a neurobiologist. What's
more inside her grew a life that was extraordinarily
precious to Dana Scully. It was insane to think she
was anyone BUT Dana Scully.

Skinner watched Dana intently. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm just fine." For a
woman losing her mind.

X X X

Syndicate Research Facility
Location Unknown, 8:10am

Scully startled awake as the van came to a halt.
She glanced at her watch and realized that she had
dozed for no more than a few minutes but was still
unnerved to find the Smoking Man staring at her. She
shifted uncomfortably and glanced down to see that
she still held Mulder's hand. Even in sleep, she
couldn't let go.

"We've arrived," the man announced as the orderly
swung open the doors. Men in lab coats grabbed
Mulder's gurney and pulled him from the van forcing
her to let go of his hand. As his fingers slipped
through hers something inside Scully ached.

Pulling herself together, Scully stepped out of the
van while attempting to assess her surroundings.
There was very little to see. To the right and left
of this rather non-descript red brick building was
nothing but trees.

"Rather bucolic, isn't it?" The Smoking Man stood
silhouetted against the dark outline of a forest too
dense to be penetrated by the hazy morning light.
It disturbed Scully that he had caught her scanning
their surroundings for a possible means of escape, but
that was the least of her worries. Scully would cross
that bridge when she came to it. What disturbed her
more was the fact that this was not the facility where
she had found Mulder last fall. Scully had no idea
where they were.

The Smoking Man indicated the door to a small,
nondescript red brick building that stood at the
foot of what looked like a forestry observation
tower. Scully followed him inside only to pass
through a metal detector just inside the doorway.
She was mildly surprised that the detector didn't
go off. She had grown used to that happening
whenever she passed through such devices. It was
unsettling that it didn't happen now. Then Scully
wondered about the flexible metal strip that Frohike
had given her. What had it been made of that it
didn't trigger the metal detector?

Pushing her questions to the side, Scully descended
the long ramp that opened to an almost endless
corridor. What had looked small and inconspicuous
on the surface was in fact a cavernous subterranean
facility. She shouldn't have been surprised.

They entered a scrub room with windows that looked
into the O.R. as a nurse indicated a cabinet filled
with surgical greens. Without thought, Scully
performed the familiar ritual of donning the greens
and sterilizing her hands. Her eyes never left
Mulder as he was transferred from the gurney to
the surgical table. The table looked like no
medical table Scully had ever seen. To be honest, it
looked like a deconstructivist's version of a cross.

When she pushed through the doors of the O.R., Scully
found the Smoking Man was only a step behind her. She
stayed out of the way of the doctors that prepared
for a surgery that would either save Mulder or kill
him. She was here to observe, at least that was what
the Smoking Man told the doctors.

A nurse shaved a small area of Mulder's scalp then
cleaned it with Betadine as the Smoking Man circled the
table. The look on the man's face frightened Scully
more than the impassive glance he sent in her direction.
As he watched Mulder there this look of...of...the only
way she could describe it was affection-a sick,
frightening form of affection.

"A father has high hopes for his son," he murmured.
"But he never dreams his boy's going to change the
world. I'm so proud of this man--the depth of his
capacity for suffering."

Horror washed over Scully. Surely not. This couldn't
be true. This man was not Mulder's father. It was
only his egomaniacal pathology that made him claim
what he could not destroy.

"I'm sure Bill Mulder was quite proud of him as
well," Scully responded. "And not for his capacity
to suffer."

The Smoking Man gazed at her speculatively. "And why
are you proud of him, doctor?"

Scully lifted her chin. "For his capacity to do what
is right."

"What has made you so sure of what is right?"

Scully's brow knitted as she thought of how she
should respond. As the nurse picked up a bone
drill and carried it toward the surgical table,
Scully found herself saying, "Needless suffering
is never right."

"Needless?" The old man had the audacity to look
insulted. "I am not a cruel man, Dr. Waterston."

Her look was doubtful if not outright disbelieving.

He defended himself. "What could be more
admirable than saving mankind from extinction?"

"Not being the one to choose who will live and who
will die."

His eyelids drifted over his rheumy eyes. "My dear,
you oversimplify the problem. It takes a great
man to shoulder the burden of making difficult
choices."

A shiver moved through Scully as she remembered
her own desperate claims of objectivity when it was
time to make difficult choices. But then
objectivity was not the same as ruthlessness.

She looked at Mulder's pale face as the nurse set the
surgical halo over his head and tightened the titanium
screws. Scully murmured, "It takes a heartless man
to value someone for their capacity to suffer."

"He would be dead a hundred times over if not for me."

Scully crossed the floor to stand directly in front
of the Smoking Man. "If this was your ultimate goal,
does it matter how many times you spared him?
Sometimes it's not the action but the intent that
is the measure of a man."

"A question for the philosophers." He rolled up his
sleeve and sat at the other end of the cross-like table.
"I see where Mulder would find you appealing.
Intelligence, sternly defined morals, and an unshakable
sense of purpose are irresistible to a man obsessed with
becoming a martyr."

"Mulder isn't a martyr."

"Yet." With that ominous statement the old man offered
his arm to a nurse who inserted an I.V. He didn't
even flinch when the needle pierced his skin.

"Why Mulder?" Scully asked.

He turned his head to look at her. "I've been asked
that many times. And now I have vindication. The
ultimate vindication."

The project's surgeon looked at him uncertainly. "There
is no way you could have predicted this," the surgeon
protested. "This is a something none of us ever
expected, let alone hoped for. After all these years
of trying to develop a compatible hybrid, to have one
ready made--"

The Smoking Man's smiled. "All these years, all the
questioning why? Why keep Mulder alive when it was so
simple to remove the threat he posed--" The old man
lay back on the table. "The fact remains, Mulder has
become our savior. He's immune to the coming viral
apocalypse. He's the hero here."

The surgeon warned, "He may not survive the procedure."

"Then he suffers a hero's fate."

Such a statement revealed the Smoking Man's claims of
compassion as lies. He would watch Mulder suffer
without a moment of pity or compassion. Could there be
any act more cruel? But then what else could be
expected of a man willing to sacrifice most
of the world's population for his own sick sense
of glory?

An anesthesiologist took a seat at the side of the
table as the nurse handed the surgeon the bone drill.
He looked at the Smoking Man. "We are ready to
proceed."

The Smoking Man turned to Scully. "Be proud of him.
Think of what he is giving the world."

"He wasn't given a choice."

"You think he wouldn't have chosen this?"

Would Mulder willingly die to change the world?
Scully closed her eyes as the answer became painfully
clear. Yes. Mulder would sacrifice himself for
others. Mulder had compassion. He had empathy. He
had honor...Scully just wasn't willing to lose him.

The Smoking Man fixed his gaze on the ceiling.
"Besides, Mulder's task is nearly complete. I'll
carry the burden from here."

X X X

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
9:16am

The elevator doors opened on the basement level, and
Dana stepped out. She had spent a half hour searching
the building directory for her office and had never
found one listed. She did find name Fox Mulder, however.
Dana walked in the direction of his office. She stopped
when she saw a maintenance man.

"Agent Scully," he drawled, "you're just in time." He
stepped back to show her a plaque bearing her name...
or rather bearing Agent Scully's name. Dana looked
at the man in confusion.

"Since you were outta town, I figured you wouldn't be
disturbed while I was changin' the name plate." He
seemed a little nervous under her stare.

"What's that?" Dana asked indicating an object the his
hand.

"Um...It's Agent Mulder's name plate."

"May I see it?"

"Sure. You can have it if you'd like."

Dana traced the white lettering on the black background.
"Thank you."

"Sure thing...uh...I'll just be goin.'"

When she opened the door, the room was dark except
for the light spilling through the skylight along the
back wall. It was a small kindness from the designer
because the office had no windows. It was a cluttered
hellhole Dana decided after she turned on the light.

There were stacks of files littering the desk and
posters on the wall. Posters were common in dorm rooms,
but in an FBI agent's office they were...unexpected.
Dana inspected the small poster of Neil Armstrong's
first walk on the moon half expecting to read "one
small step for a man, a giant leap for mankind." It
wasn't there, but somehow she felt the sentiment was
implied. On the other wall, dominating the room, was
a picture of a flying saucer with "I WANT TO BELIEVE"
emblazoned across it.

Dana looked at the files littering the desk and
quickly understood what the term "X-File" meant. Every
case number began with an X.

It all seemed familiar. It felt familiar, but it
shouldn't BE familiar.

Dana reached for the phone. She needed someone to tell
her she wasn't crazy. "Yes," she said breathlessly when
someone answered the phone. "Can I speak to Dr.
Doerstling? Yes, I can hold." Dana drummed her nails
against the desk as she impatiently waited. "Doctor,
this is Dana Waterston."

"Alice," he said with evident pleasure.

"Doctor, I need your help."

"Okay."

"Tell me I'm not crazy."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
"Why do you need me to say it?"

"Because I don't know. Am I crazy? Have I had some
sort of mental breakdown and didn't recognize it?"
She raked her hand through her hair. "Do you know
who I am?"

"Dana Waterston."

"Are you sure? Because I'm not."

Doerstling said patiently, "I'm sure that after
everything that has happened, you feel disoriented."

"Saying it that way sounds like we're talking about
a car accident. We're talking about an alternate
universe. I'd have to be insane to believe I'd
dropped into one."

"So you've decided you no longer believe what's
happened to you?"

"How can I believe it? If I am Dana Waterston, how
can I be carrying a child I didn't conceive? How can
I have memories that aren't mine? Dreams that aren't
mine? This is Dana Scully's life. This is Dana
Scully's body, so I must BE Dana Scully. It's the only
logical explanation. I must be experiencing some
form of schizophrenia."

"You aren't schizophrenic," Doerstling said sternly.

"Then explain how it's possible for me to be two
people at the same time because I AM Dana Scully.
How else could I know what she knows?"

"Remember the mobius strip--"

"The mobius strip is a metaphor. It isn't an
explanation."

He didn't say anything. She could hear him breathing
on the other end of the line.

Dana rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I should go to a
psychiatrist. The FBI has to have a therapist. Maybe
A.D. Skinner is right to be concerned about my mental
health. Maybe grief has driven me off the deep end."

Doerstling said urgently, "Ms. Waterston, don't do
anything rash."

"I would hardly say seeing a psychiatrist is rash."

"A psychiatrist won't help. This problem can be
answered with science. You don't need touchy-feely
'let's discuss your feelings' mumbo jumbo. Give me
time to look over the CLEO data. Maybe I will find
something."

She stared at the words, "I WANT TO BELIEVE."

"A few hours," she conceded.

After giving him the number listed on the phone, Dana
sat staring at the poster. She needed to believe
Doerstling could find an answer. She clung to the
hope that science could explain everything that had
happened, but Dana placed her faith where it had
always been. She prayed.

X X X

Mulder stood on the beach in near total darkness. There
was just enough light to see the shadow of someone
standing several yards away. At least Mulder thought
someone was standing there. It could be an illusion.
Like the times as a child when he had lain in his bed
believing the monsters had returned to take him just
as they had taken sister. Countless nights his eyes had
strained against the darkness as Mulder denied himself
the right to yell for help or comfort because he hadn't
screamed for Samantha. Only back then the night
terrors had been his imagination. The creatures that
took Samantha had never returned for him, and when
Mulder had gathered the courage to turn on the light
he had only ever discovered empty rooms.

Was the beach empty now? Was the shadow
nothing more than his overactive imagination?

Mulder took a step forward, and if he wasn't fooling
himself the shadow took a step toward him. He didn't
speak. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should call
out and demand that the shadow identify itself...but
he didn't. Mulder felt that if he spoke, he would
shatter the illusion, and if he did that he would
lose his only chance to know the truth.

Mulder took a step and then another. The shadow did
the same. It was an agonizingly slow process made
more disturbing by the eerie silence on the beach.
There wasn't even the sound of water lapping against
the shore. There was only silence--potent, ominous
silence.

He stopped moving. As if on cure the clouds that
obscured the crescent moon moved so that blue-white
light spilled onto the ocean. The shadow emerged
from darkness, and Mulder saw...himself.



















*******************************************************
I have seen no more evident monstrosity and miracle
in the world than myself. . .
Michel Eyquem de Montaigne

When you look for the miracle you've got to scatter
your blood to the eight points of the wind. . .
Giorgos Sefiriades
*****************************************************


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mulder stood face to face with himself. He was only
supposed to do that in his shaving mirror, but here
he stood in this...this...whatever the hell this was.
He wasn't really sure what to call it, what it was
supposed to be. Fantasy? Reality? Alternate reality?
Mulder didn't know. Maybe it was all three at once.
What he did know was that it was damn eerie facing
himself across a stretch of white sand.

He was actually relieved by the fact that he--the
other him--looked as shocked as he--this him--felt.
The other thing Mulder noticed was that his counterpart
looked like shit. To be precise, the other him looked
like he'd been drop kicked off the edge of a cliff and
scraped from a canyon floor to stand on this beach.

Mulder took a step forward only realize something held
him back. Actually something was tugging his sleeve.
He looked down into the dark hazel eyes of the boy he
had first met on the beach.

"Hurry," the boy urged.

Wasn't that what he had been doing before the
boy stopped him? Mulder looked back at the shadow
version of himself only to find him gone.

"Hurry," the child urged again. "She needs you."

That caught Mulder's attention.

The boy held Mulder's hand in a vice-like grip as he
pulled him down the beach. "She needs you before it's
too late."

X X X


Syndicate Research Facility
Location Unknown, 9:20am

Scully held Mulder's hand tightly as she watched the
surgeon drill a hole into Mulder's skull. He couldn't
feel it--the drill or her hand--but Scully felt it.
She flinched. Scully had seen similar procedures
performed several times before. She had performed
nearly identical procedures herself. But this was
different. This was Mulder.

Other than a local sedative there was no anesthesia.
That was frequently the case in neurosurgery. There
was no need. There were no nerves in the brain to
transmit the sensation of pain. Scully consciously
knew these things, but the knowledge did her no good.
This went beyond the realm of science and facts.
This wasn't being done to a stranger. This was
someone whose mind she treasured. Seeing him like
this was almost unbearable.

The surgeon glanced at the Smoking Man before
inserting the shunt into Mulder's brain. "He
may not survive this procedure," he warned.

The Smoking Man didn't appear perturbed. "Don't
think of the man. Think of the service he is
performing for mankind."

The surgeon inserted a syringe-like instrument into
Mulder's cerebrum. She didn't ask the doctor to
explain what he was doing. She didn't need an
explanation--which was an oddity in itself. Scully
was aware of knowledge within her that was not her
own. Yes, she had a degree in medicine, but she
had never specialized in neurobiology. At this
moment her knowledge exceeded her education. A
fact that under any other circumstance Scully would
find strange and disturbing. In fact even with her
current distraction she found it strange, disturbing
and frightening. However she couldn't allow it
to distract her. There was too much at stake. It
would simply have to be added to her list of things
to face at a later date. Inside Scully was a
Pandora's box of questions about things she had seen
or heard, and sometimes Scully feared that if she
dared to open that box, she would destroy herself...
or at least destroy the skepticism she clung to so
tightly.

The surgeon performed the curiously bloodless
procedure with admirable delicacy, and when he
removed the needle from Mulder's temporal lobe
Scully caught her breath. There was no spinal fluid,
only a thick, black, and viscous liquid that began
to drain from the shunt. Scully itched for a
microscope so that she could examine the it. Would
she find any similarities to the virus?

As if sensing her insatiable curiosity, the Smoking
Man smiled. "You are the witness to something that
can save the world."

Scully refused to give him the satisfaction of a
response.

"We're forcing the next step in evolution to save
mankind," the old man explained and the expression
on his face was almost hopeful. It was as if he
wished for her blessing. "We're doing God's work."

"Do you often liken yourself to God?" she asked dryly.

CSM glared. "Without this immunity, everyone would
die."

Click.

The sound was nothing more than the nurse counting
surgical instruments as she laid them on a stainless
steel tray. For Scully it was a familiar, methodical
procedure yet this time she found herself hypnotized
by the nurse's motions. As each instrument clicked
against the tray, time seemed to slow. Thoughts came
to her, and pieces fell into place.

Scully remembered sitting in a car with the Smoking
Man as he said, "I must tell you something. Something
that's so unbelievable, so incredible that to know it
is to look at the entire world anew."

"What?" she had asked.

"It's not just the cure for cancer. It's the holiest
of grails. It's the cure for all human disease."

Click.

The surgeon approached the Smoking Man with drill in
his hand, and CSM's face took a strangely calm, almost
exultant, expression.

Scully's hands tightened into tense fists as the
anesthesiologist moved to take a seat beside his new
patient.

"This knowledge is God's blessing," the Smoking Man
reiterated emphatically.

Click.

In her memory Scully stood in a mahogany paneled
office that had been designed to impress. In fact,
it had been designed to specifically impress her.
The Smoking Man had calmly announced he was dying.
"Cerebral inflammation," he explained. "A consequence
of brain surgery I had in the fall."

Click.

"I'll carry on for Mulder from here."

Click.

Months ago Scully had sat in an elegant restaurant as
the Smoking Man's eyes moved over her in a disturbingly
covetous manner. "Can you imagine what it's like to
have the power to extinguish a life?" he had asked.
"Or to save it and let it flourish? And now to give
you that power, so you can do the same."

Click.

What had he done to her? Dear God, what had the Smoking
Man done?

Scully touched her abdomen and felt for the child that
was no longer there. Because of men like the Smoking
Man--and very possibly because of the Smoking Man
himself--Scully had lost the ability to have children,
and yet sometime last spring she had been given one.

How had this miracle been accomplished? Could the
Smoking Man have returned what he had taken?

Click.

"The holiest of grails." ... "the cure"..."without
this immunity everyone would die" ... "we are
forcing the next step in human evolution"...
"something that can save the world"..."something
that's so unbelievable, so incredible that to know
it is to look at the entire world anew"..."carry on
for Mulder from here"..."Now to give you that power"
..."God's blessing."

A miracle.

Mulder's child.

X X X

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
10:15am

Dana Waterston laid a file folder neatly on top of the
stack. Okay, so now she knew what was involved in
a "X-File," and it was more than the simple fact that
each case number began with a "X." Every case was...
well...strange. No, strange was too kind of a word.
Every case was unbelievable and scientifically
unexplainable, and most unbelievable of all was that
she found her own name--or at least Agent Scully's
name--signing off on nearly every one them. Oh yes,
Scully's version of a case tended to be more vague
than Mulder's and her explanations were couched in
scientific terms, but even Scully's scientific
explanations defied reality.

Dana Scully was part of a world that Dana Waterston
could not begin to imagine. Names swirled in her head.
Padget, Tooms, Pfaster, Bludht. Then there were the
names that appeared repeatedly: Krycek, Covarrubius,
Fowley, and Spender.

So many names. So many horrors. Melissa had been
murdered, and so had Mulder's father. Scully herself
had been taken by forces unknown. Terrible things had
been done to her. A child named Emily had been created
and had died. And Mulder had disappeared. There were
shadow governments and global conspiracies. There was
a dark, ugly, ruthless world out there that Dana
Waterston had never known existed. She wished she
could return to that state of naiveté.

Dana jumped when the phone rang and breathed a sigh of
relief when she discovered Steven Doerstling on the
other end of the line.

"I pulled the CLEO data for last Monday and Tuesday,"
he announced. "There's no anomalous b quark data."

Scully asked, "How can that be? Neither test was
properly executed. Shouldn't the fact that people were
trapped in the accelerator throw off the results in some
way?"

"That's what I expected," Doerstling conceded.

"But?"

His voice had contained a note that was almost
inevitably followed by a 'but.'

"But the data doesn't bear that out. I had to adjust my
theory. I started thinking. The CESR was created to
slam sub-atomic particles into one another then
measuring the oscillation of the b quarks. I'm not a
neurologist but what if one of those particles
happened to be a neuron? The oscillation would still
change and be recorded in the b quark data. CLEO
wouldn't know the difference.

"Only the b quark would be in my brain," Dana
muttered.

"The b quark was always in your brain. It just changed
vibrations. It's like a tuning fork being struck."

Dana wanted to say that what Doerstling was proposing
was impossible, but there were legitimate medical
studies suggesting neurons were not simple, isolated
cells. Recent experiments showed that a single neuron
could perform surprisingly complex functions including
causing a cascade effect where a change to one cell
would transmit that change to others.

"It's our simple twist," Doerstling said excitedly.

"What?"

"The simple twist that makes the Mobius strip." He
continued. "It's the small change that profoundly
effects the whole."

The change in vibration of a single neuron had changed
her from one person into another? It should have been
absurd, yet researchers had shown that even a monkey's
brain cells could detect a neuron firing difference as
little as one hundredth of a second.

Was it possible? Could all that separated Dana Scully's
world from Dana Waterston's be a single oscillating
quark? Could a miniscule adjustment in frequency
could shift a person's consciousness as easily as
changing channels on a radio?

Dana thanked Dr. Doerstling for his help. Yes, she
felt more calm now. No, she didn't think she would
go to the FBI staff psychiatrist. No, she would
never mention Doerstling's near suicide attempt
to anyone. She understood how such a revelation
could destroy a famous scientist's reputation.

Dana said good-bye and thought that if she was
Agent Scully, she would just add another case file
to the stack...But she wasn't Dana Scully. She
couldn't assign the bizarre to a neatly categorized
box. Dana couldn't close the case--at least
not where it concerned herself. Why was she here?

In Dana's mind's eye--or rather deeply embedded in
Agent Scully--was the memory of Reverend Robert
Gailen Orison saying, "Everything has a reason.
Everything on God's earth."

But if that was true, what was the reason for this?
What lesson was she supposed to learn...or was the
lesson for Agent Scully?

X X X

Syndicate Research Facility
Unknown Location, 4:56pm

The procedure was over. Scully watched dispassionately
as the last stitch was completed in the Smoking Man's
scalp. She had tried but failed to understand what
the purpose of this surgery had been. He had spoken
of Mulder's immunity to the virus, but while there
had been some success using gene therapy for
immunodeficiency disorders, Scully didn't see how
Mulder's genetic material could produce the results
the Smoking Man desired.

Of course...it hadn't. This surgery had failed and
the Smoking Man had been fatally damaged by this
experiment. It was the cause of the brain
inflammation he had claimed was killing him. That
was why he had sought her out last spring.

Surgery couldn't play a part in evolution. For
evolution there had to be offspring, and if Mulder
was the starting point, his child would be the next
step. Would his child--their child--be immune from
the plague? Was Scully's private miracle part of
a miracle that could change the fate of the world?

The implications astounded her...and terrified her.
What would happen if the shadow men who had haunted
hers and Mulder's lives discovered the truth about
her baby? What would they do? And how could she
protect that child when she was trapped in a world
where she didn't belong?

Scully's breathing hitched. Did she actually believe
she was in an alternate universe? Was she seriously
considering the possibility that there were at least
two versions of herself? It was insane, but, God,
Scully hoped it was true. If it was, her child might
still exist.

Against her will Scully allowed longing to slip passed
her defense. She felt consumed by her need to hold a
tiny, warm body close to her own, to feel her child's
sturdy weight, to touch infinitely delicate skin and
hear a soft gurgle in reply. Scully wanted the
chance to search her son's or daughter's face to see
if he had her hair or if she had her father's eyes.

Thoughts and feelings that Scully had held at bay
since discovering her pregnancy spilled over her
emotional dam. She had held back for so long,
afraid to face what had happened to Mulder...and
what was happening to herself.

Scully had never been much of a fan of Gone with the
Wind. Never in a million years would she have thought
she shared a trait with Scarlet O'Hara. But she did.
Like Scarlett when anything she could not emotionally
bear happened, Scully filed it away saying she would
face it tomorrow. Now, 'tomorrow' was upon her, and
Scully had to claim it.

This was her baby. This was Mulder's child. This
was the fight she had to fight, the battle she
could not lose.

Scully gazed at the anesthetized Smoking Man. Months
ago he had come to her saying that the chip in her
neck held the cure for all things. She had to
conclude now that one of those things had been her
infertility. She could explain the ways a cure was
not possible, but then a cure for her cancer had
also not been possible. Somehow a cure for both
had been found and in both cases she could point to
God or to the Smoking Man. But whatever the Smoking
Man had or had not done, Scully would not allow her
child to also become his pawn.

Scully snapped out of her reverie as the surgeon pulled
off his gloves announcing, "You can take him into
recovery." The nurses removed the Smoking Man
from the room and the surgeon glanced back at Scully.
There was something in his gaze made her shiver. It
was pity.

Scully moved to Mulder's side. His head was crudely
bandaged, but when she touched his neck she found his
pulse to be steady. This was the condition in which
she had found him last fall in the Department of
Defense.

A potent silence enveloped the room after the surgeon
and anesthesiologist left. Scully didn't look behind
her. She didn't need to. There was no one left but
Mulder, herself, and the hulking orderly. Scully also
didn't need to be reminded that it was at this juncture
that Diana Fowley had met her death.

Scully had known the risks from the moment she had
considered approaching the Smoking Man to save
Mulder's life. It was the risk she had been willing
to take and would gladly take again.

The orderly stepped toward her, and Scully took a
step back. The future was upon her. She gauged the
man's height and weight and calculated what she would
need to do to defend herself. Considering the man
outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds Scully
knew that her odds weren't good. Her best chance
was to run, but Scully couldn't do that. There
was Mulder.

What Scully really needed was her gun, but she hadn't
attempted to smuggle a weapon into the facility.
Her opponent was too canny for such a clumsy plan.
Besides she had needed to look as defenseless as
possible to convince the Smoking Man to take her
with him. No, that wasn't accurate. Scully had
needed to project an aura of being defenseless
while also appearing to be a threat. She had
needed to make it impossible for the Smoking Man
to leave her behind...and now it was time to pay
the price.












****************************************************
Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves,
and it is tiresome for children to be always and
forever explaining things to them.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery
"The Little Prince"
*****************************************************

CHAPTER TWELVE


The orderly took a step toward Scully as she debated
whether to retreat or stand her ground. Then again,
Perhaps her best option might be to go on the offensive.
Attack first.

"Lady, we can do this easy or we can do this hard,"
the orderly told her.

Scully would have preferred the option of not "doing
this" at all. While she knew how to defend herself, she
preferred using her head to physical confrontation
...especially when her opponent could bench press her
body weight without breaking a sweat. Scully searched
for something to say to distract the man or at least to
act as a delay tactic.

Her mind went blank.

X X X

Mulder pulled away from the child holding his hand,
and the puzzled way the boy looked at him struck
Mulder as familiar...but Mulder couldn't place where
he had seen such an expression. There was just something
about the way the child watched him with a curious
mixture of expectation and doubt.

"Where are you leading me?" Mulder asked.

"Don't you know?"

Mulder knelt in the sand and placed his hands on
the boy's thin shoulders. He turned the child around
to look at the vast expanse of sand and ocean. "There's
nothing here."

The boy looked back at him and said with simple faith,
"Yes, there is."

"I don't see anything."

"Then you aren't looking hard enough."

X X X

Scully pressed herself against the wall. Beneath
her hands she could feel the rough lines of grout lying
between ceramic tiles and knew there was nowhere to go.
A tray filled with medical instruments stood on the
opposite side of the room behind the orderly. She
had no hope of reaching it to find a makeshift weapon.

Her attacker's smile filled with a sick kind of pleasure
at seeing Scully helpless. Of course it would be
unrealistic to expect CSM's henchman not to enjoy
intimidation and violence, and Scully was nothing if
not relentlessly realistic.

"This isn't personal," the man told her.

"Of course not."

"I got orders."

"I understand perfectly."

He cocked his head to the side. "You're gonna fight
though, aren't you?"

"Yes."

His smile grew wider. "Good."

He lunged for Scully.

X X X

Mulder frowned as he looked at the boy. "What am I
supposed to see?"

"What you're looking for."

And Mulder had thought "the child is the father of the
man" was an enigmatic statement. At the moment Mulder
wasn't sure if both statements made some Zen-like
logic or were simply Star Wars derived pseudo-philosophy.
Surely any minute now CSM would to walk down the beach to
announce he was Mulder's father...Mulder blinked as a
shudder raced through him. Something about that last
thought seemed all too real, almost as though it had
actually happened.

"You want something from me," Mulder said to the child.
"What?"

"Help."

There was such earnest vulnerability in the boy's gaze
that Mulder couldn't doubt him. "Help with what?"

"With everything."

Mulder waited. He wanted--no, he needed-- the boy
to say more, only the child turned and continued
walking down the beach. Moments later the boy paused
and looked back at Mulder with a frustrated expression.
"I can't do this without you."

"Then tell me what you need and don't sound like Yoda
while doing it, and maybe I'll consider helping you,"
Mulder insisted.

The child didn't answer.

"You said 'she' needed me," Mulder added. "Who's
'she'? Scully?"

The boy bit his lip and nodded.

"How can I help Scully?"

"I don't know."

Mulder raked his hand through his cropped hair.
"You aren't making this very easy."

Tears filled the boy's dark eyes. "I don't know what
you want me to say. I don't know the answers." It
was a plaintive, helpless cry. "I just know I need
you...and her."

Regret flooded Mulder. He felt like an asshole. This
was just a kid after all. He lifted the child's
trembling chin. "I want to help you. Can't you give
me an idea how?"

"Help her, first. If you help her, you help me.
I need her. We all do."

"Who's 'we'?"

The boy lifted a small, fragile hand and touched
Mulder's temple. "We're all the same."

What the hell? What kind of answer was
that?

Then Mulder fell.

X X X

Mulder's eyes flew open and he realized he wasn't
really falling. It was just the strangely weightless
sensation that hovered around the edges of sleep, but
the single moment of terror had jerked him back to
consciousness and to life.

Mulder squinted against blinding lights...surgical
lights he realized with only mild surprise. He
turned his head and as his vision came into focus
Mulder noticed a woman standing against the wall
with a beefy behemoth standing over her.

"Scully," Mulder croaked.

She didn't hear him but stood glaring at the stranger
who trying intimidate her. Good luck, Mulder thought.
Scully wasn't easy to intimidate.

"You could turn the other way and let me escape,"
Scully told the man who menaced her. "I can disappear
with my friend. No one will ever hear from us again."

"Not good enough," the behemoth grunted. "I was told
to off ya."

At least the man didn't strain his intellect by
lying, Mulder thought.

The henchman explained to Scully, "If I don't kill
you, they'll be pissed; and, around here, if you
piss someone off you wind up dead."

"And I pissed someone off?" Scully asked. She sounded
genuinely surprised, which could only be an act. Too
bad her dark sense of humor was completely lost on
her would be attacker.

"Don't know who you pissed off, lady. Don't much
care. Like I said, I got my orders."

"So you're just going to attack me?"

"Damnit, woman, do you got to be difficult?"

"I'm afraid that I do."

The orderly was visibly confused by Scully's unshakable
calm. He rubbed his hand over his forehead as he
muttered incomprehensibly. Scully was clearly driving
him nuts. Taking advantage of the man's distraction
Scully shoved her knee into the man's crotch.

Mulder grinned. Scully was a class A ballbreaker. He
liked it.

Scully's attacker doubled over in pain, but when she
began to pull away the man grabbed her. Twisting in
his grip, Scully lost her balance and fell to the
floor with a loud, inelegant grunt. Her normally calm
face was marred by a flash of panic that was quickly
hidden by a mask of fierce determination.

Scully rolled over and kicked the son of a bitch.
If Mulder could have moved his head without screaming
he would have shaken it in disbelief. Scully used
her feet to land the blows her small fists couldn't.
This bastard would be lucky if he could still father
children after this fight.

"Bitch!" her attacker growled between clenched teeth.

Scully didn't waste her breath with a response.
She slammed her leg into the back of the man's knees.

With one hand clutching his testicles and another
grabbing a surgical cart, her attacker fell to the
floor as medical instruments clattered around him.
Scully scurried to her feet, and finally her gaze
locked with Mulder's.

She stopped moving. Her lips parted. Scully looked
astonished as she took a breath. Light seemed to
enter her shadowed eyes. "Mulder?"

Scully's attacker grabbed her from behind. Thrown
off balance, and they both tumbled to the floor with
a solid thud.

"You fucking bitch!" the orderly growled and hit
her in the jaw. Hard.

Mulder saw red. Gritting his teeth, he tried to
force his muscles to work. Scully lifted her head,
and there was blood at the corner of her mouth where
her lip had been split. There was also an ugly red
welt on her cheek that would lead to an even uglier
bruise.

Shit. Scully was having the hell beaten out by an
idiot in a steroid rage, and Mulder couldn't lift
a finger to help. Silently screaming from blinding
sparks of pain, Mulder forced himself to sit. He
probably looked like Frankenstein's monster as he
stiff-leggedly lowered his feet to the floor.

The bastard grabbed Scully's hair. As painful as it
must have been, Scully didn't yell. The man pulled
her to her feet and slammed her into the wall. The
son of a bitch was grinning!

"I'm gonna kill you, bitch," the man threatened.

"Not today," Mulder growled while whacking the bone
saw beneath the s.o.b.'s chin then bringing it
crashing down on his head.

Scully looked uncharacteristically speechless as her
attacker slumped to the floor. Mulder grinned,
then slipped to the floor himself. Scully blinked
owlishly for a moment but quickly gathered herself
together. "Hold him down," she ordered.

"What?"

She knelt on the floor and reached into her pocket.
Mulder pulled himself toward her. Scully looked
at Mulder pointedly until he lifted himself and
parked his keister squarely in the middle of the
henchman's back.

"What's that?" Mulder asked when Scully pulled
a syringe out of her pocket.

"Insurance," she said breathlessly. "I couldn't
smuggle a weapon into this place but narcotics
are a different story."

Given his mind-splitting headache Mulder was tempted
to ask if she had any to spare. "How long will
this guy be out of commission?" he asked.

Without a trace of gentleness Scully jabbed the
needle into the man's neck. "Long enough."

"Good, because I don't believe either of us are up
for another round of this fight."

Sitting back on her heels, Scully's businesslike
expression disappeared. Her steely gaze turned a
soft, compassionate blue as she reached to touch
his face. "You look like hell, Mulder."

"That's good. Wouldn't want my looks to be
deceiving."

She gingerly brushed her fingers across his brow.
For a moment Mulder almost thought he saw her hand
tremble.

"You should be in bed," she said softly.

"Didn't look like the best time for a nap."

Her warm palm cupped his cheek, but Scully didn't
say anything. She simply looked at him, as
if she was trying to memorize his every feature.
Mulder felt his flippancy wash away.

"Thank you," she whispered earnestly.

"You're welcome."

She touched his bandage. "Now, lean your head back."

After giving her a questioning look, Mulder did as
she asked. Scully rose to her knees, and Mulder
realized she wasn't gazing at him in loverlike
devotion. She moved with the brisk efficiency of a
doctor.

"Good," Scully murmured as she examined his stitches.
"Now lower your head." As she inspected his bandages
Mulder contented himself with contemplating the
shadowy cleft between her breasts which was barely
visible due to the gaping collar. Okay, so that it
was sexist and inappropriate given their situation,
but, hell, he was a man!

Scully sat back, and Mulder tore his gaze from her
soft, inviting skin.

"We can't stay here," she announced.

"I gathered as much."

Scully stood and offered her hand. Mulder looked
at it, then up at her. He searched her pale, battered
face and her tired, desperate eyes. Despite looking
like a wreck, Scully was beautiful...at least to him.
He saw more than the red mark across her cheek or the
dark circles under her eyes. There was so much more
to her than disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing.
She was a pint sized Valkyrie. A woman who stood
her ground and gave no quarter. Fierce intelligence
lit her eyes even when they were filled with affection
and concern...and most astounding of all the concern
was for him.

Damn. It felt strange to matter to someone, to see
someone worry and fret and care. It felt surreal.
When was the last time someone had cared about his
fate? Okay, so he had a not always unconscious habit
of pissing people off. Over the years he had become
quite adept at alienating people. Yet here stood a
woman who had walked into a death trap...for him. How
could one small person embody so much loyalty?

Mulder hoped he deserved it.

Scully still stood offering her hand. Mulder took
it and was surprised by the supple strength of the
fingers that laced with his.

"We need to go." He was only saying out loud what
they both knew to be true.

Scully asked, "Where?"

"Out."

"Easy answer, but out where? Out how?"

"You didn't have the time to scope the place?"

Scully shook her head. "Not the time or the
opportunity."

Mulder grimaced. "Do you know where we are?"

"They didn't blindfold me and spin me around
three times, but they may as well have."

There was a sound in the hallway.

Mulder's senses sharpened. "We can't stand here
debating. We'll just have to go for it and hope
our luck holds."

"Since when do we have luck?"

He looked at Scully. Somehow her statement came off
half serious and half teasing. She was a complete
mystery to him. They turned as the sound from the
hallway moved into the scrub room. Without a word,
Scully helped Mulder to his feet.

Pausing to check that the coast was clear Mulder was
gratified to see that their luck held. The corridor
was empty. Mulder squeezed Scully's hand. He hadn't
even been aware of holding onto her until he had
squeezed. Turns out he hadn't released his grip since
Scully had laced her fingers with his. Mulder looked
downat her small, well manicured nails, at the
paleness of her skin against the unnatural paleness
of his own. He felt the caressing way her thumb
unconsciously moved over the back of his hand. He
liked it.

"This way," Mulder pulled her down the corridor.

Scully didn't question why. Mulder was happy
about that because he didn't have a good reason
for choosing one direction over another. He just
knew they couldn't stay where they were.

The hall looked endless with countless identical
corridors bisecting it. They turned left. They
turned right. It made little difference. Everywhere
they went looked essentially the same. Mulder hoped
like hell they weren't walking in circles.

"I hope we aren't going in circles," he heard Scully say
under her breath. It was unnerving to hear someone give
voice to his thoughts.

"We're not going in circles," Mulder assured her.

She looked at him with a curious mixture of hope
and doubt. "Sure about that?"

Mulder's breath caught at the impossible familiarity
of the expression. "I'm certain."

Sure he was. Right. Who was he fooling? Certainly
not her. He was only enacting the timeless male
ritual of refusing to stop to ask for directions.
Then again, it wasn't exactly appropriate to ask for
directions in this situation.

"Someone's coming," Scully warned.

Mulder tried a door they came to. It was locked.
The next one was locked as well. The third opened
easily. They slipped inside just as footsteps could
be heard turning the corner.

Mulder leaned against the door as Scully's hand
slipped free of his. Her fingers slid upward, wrapping
around his wrist. She's checking my pulse, he realized.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Scully complained
softly.

"I can think of better ways to spend my Sunday
afternoons."

"It's Tuesday." She looked exhausted. "You've been
under anesthesia most of the day, and have just had
major surgery. You should be in a recovery room."

"Doesn't look like that's an option."

Scully pushed her hand through her hair.
"Unfortunately, you're right."

Mulder wavered on his feet.

"At least sit down," she insisted.

They looked around. There wasn't a place to sit.
They were in a small, cramped space filled with
oversized air handling units that had foil wrapped
ducts protruding out of them and running in all
directions. Sliding to the floor with his back
braced against the air handler, Mulder looked up at
the ducts. "Think we could climb out through one
of those?"

"Only if we were trapped in a Bruce Willis movie."
Scully looked at the galvanized metal with serious
consideration. "I don't think those hanger wires
would hold us and the ducts look like they might
cause claustrophobia. Besides, where would they
lead except to here? Aren't these the units feeding
the ducts?"

"Beats me. Ask a mechanical engineer." Mulder
closed his eyes and rested his head against the
HVAC unit. "I suppose now we resort to Plan B."

"I don't have a Plan B," Scully confessed "Do you?"

Mulder shook his head wearily as water splattered on
his face. He opened his eyes. Mulder was sitting
directly beneath a sprinkler head. "I've got it."

Scully looked at him questioningly.

He pointed to the sprinkler. "Plan B."

Now Scully looked at him like he was crazy. Mulder
couldn't help himself. He grinned.