Chapter 4

**Soldiers and Pilgrims**

NAZIONALE 51, ROME CITY CENTRE
SUNDAY, MAY 31
01:13 HOURS

"Nicola!" she shouted in the night, bolting up in bed. Her throat ached, her chest heaved. Where was she?

"Scully?" Mulder got up from the table, his laptop the only light in the hotel room.

She look at him, confused.

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured her. "You were having a nightmare."

"I saw him in a dark place, restrained and shouting. Father Gino showed me the way to him. It was so strange." Her eyes showed fear. A fear Mulder knew all too well.

"It was just a bad dream," Mulder tried to calm her, sitting beside her.

"No!" she raised her voice.

Mulder raised his eyebrows, "No?"

"It felt real," she ran her hand through her hair.

"I know," he reached for her hand and pulled her in his arms.

She sighed against his shirt and pressed her cheek hard into his chest. "What were you doing?" she asked when she saw his laptop on the table.

"Looking for old warehouses, abandoned places, even catacombs," he smiled and leaned his head on one side. "I couldn't sleep."

"Find anything?" she asked.

He leaned back, "I don't think so."

"Let me see the catacombs," she shifted, and he fetched his laptop.

She looked at the screen, and her eyes widened. "Mulder," she whispered and looked at him, shocked.

He shook his head in confusion. "This is what you saw in your dream?"

She nodded and looked back at the computer screen. "It was one of these underground places."

"Wait," he took the laptop in his lap and typed something. "Do you recognize any of them?"

Images of ancient Roman catacombs and crypts were staring back at her. She watched each one of them intently. Having been raised in a Catholic family and attended a Catholic school, she knew something about their history.

"Remember when I told you about Sister Callahan?" she asked him while observing the images.

"The twisted sister?" his lips curled up.

"Yes," she smiled, remembering the time he told him about the Lazarus Bowl while they were investigating the death of Micah Hoffman. "The crypts and catacombs of Rome were one of her favorite subjects."

"Of course," he murmured.

"Anyway," Scully continued. "Sister Callahan was rather dramatic in her presentation of facts. She came in the classroom with an old human skull and told us that thousands like that lay under Rome."

"You're kidding, right?"

She smiled and shook her head, "No, it was her way to make sure we didn't forget her teachings. We just gaped at her."

"I bet you did," Mulder smirked.

She smiled again, bits of their former lives as agents coming back to her. It felt good.

"And what exactly she wanted you to learn?" he asked.

"As far as catacombs and crypts were concerned – everything," she replied. "She was intrigued especially with early Christians who were persecuted for their religious beliefs and practiced their faith in secret. She told us they took refuge in catacombs in different parts of Rome. It wasn't just a place to bury the dead."

"Imagine her disappointment when she learned they weren't secret meeting places to survive persecutions, but burial tunnels, just like the Jewish ones," he remarked.

"Yeah, I don't think she bought that," she replied. "Oh, and the Capuchin Crypt," she pointed out. "It was Sister Callahan's favorite." Scully showed him a photo, and he almost gasped. It was horrifying.

"Is that what you saw in your dream?" he asked, perplexed.

"No," she shook her head, "it was far more simple and narrow. Steps were leading down. It was probably just a figment of my imagination."

She searched through the images again and stopped.

"This is it," she looked at Mulder with eyes wide.

"Domitilla's catacombs?" he read and looked at her.

She nodded in shock. How could that be? It was just a dream. She didn't even know father Gino when he was alive. And then the vision she had of Mulder when they were driving to Rome with Nicola. What was happening to her?

"Are you sure?" he pressed.

"Yes, I'm positive," she replied while examining the picture and reading the description. She repressed all fears; they weren't of any help.

"Then we should go. Now." He got up to make his point.

She followed him with her eyes. Now? "What about commissioner Poggia? How do we get rid of him?" she asked.

"We take the fire stairs and exit the building on the other side of the street. We improvise along the way."

She knew how his past improvisations went. They could get in trouble, face criminal charges, or get hurt in a foreign country.

She sighed, "I'll get dressed."

Ten minutes later, they were looking down the street to see if Poggia's men were anywhere near.

"See the blue van up there? I think it's them." Mulder placed his hand protectively over her shoulders.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"Play along," he tugged at her and started walking toward the van.

"What are you doing? Mulder?!" she hissed, walking with him. "You don't know who they are. What if it isn't Poggia?"

He would have none of it. "Trust me," he replied.

They walked to the van together, and he knocked on the darkened window. It opened slowly. An Italian officer looked at him quizzically.

"Good evening, officer," Mulder greeted him, his arm over Scully's shoulders. "Please inform your boss that we are headed to Circolo degli Artisti. My partner is in the mood for some dancing."

The young officer looked dumbfounded and just nodded. Mulder flashed him his smile and walked to the hotel entrance, where a cab was waiting.

"Now what?" Scully asked when they sat in the cab, feeling bewildered.

"We go to the Circolo," Mulder looked at her, a smile playing across his eyes.

CIRCOLO DEGLI ARTISTI, ROME
SUNDAY, MAY 31
02:07 HOURS

Fifteen minutes later, they were at the nightclub father Gino mentioned them.

"Don't ever think we don't know about life's pleasures. We tend not to take them too seriously, revolve our lives around them," father Gino told him two days ago when they were having lunch together.

"Well, you're human," Mulder replied.

"Indeed," he agreed, "and we're also happy to have strong connections with today's youth. Some of my students play and sing at Circolo degli Artisti."

"Circolo degli-," Mulder tried.

"- Artisti," father Gino helped him. "It's a famous nightclub here in the city. You should take Ms. Scully to dance there. I will tell Marco and Rosa you're a friend of mine."

"Is Marco here?" Mulder shouted over the music to the bartender. Scully took a look at the crowd around them.

The bartender nodded and waved his hand to a handsome young man across the counter.

Marco waved back and approached Mulder and Scully.

"How can I help?" Marco asked.

"We're father Gino's friends," Mulder explained.

Marco nodded in appreciation. "Mr. Mulder and Ms. Scully?

"That's correct. How do you know?" Scully asked.

"Father Gino told me about you. He told me you might contact me and said I should help you if need be," he replied, looking around and waving at a young girl.

Scully looked at Mulder questioningly.

The young woman introduced herself as Rosa.

"We do need your help," Mulder confirmed.

Marco nodded, "Come with me."

They took the stairs to the office above the club.

"What exactly do you need?" Rosa asked when she closed the door to the loud music.

"We need to get to the Domitilla's catacombs. Now," Scully said in a hopeful tone.

"Okay," Marco nodded. "Meet me in the back alley in five minutes," he instructed them.

"How did you know he could get us in?" Mulder asked her in the darkened alley outside the nightclub. There was no one there, not even the blue van.

"You don't know?" she asked back incredulous.

"What do you mean?" Mulder's forehead furrowed.

"Father Gino knew something was about to happen. He didn't call you just to go over some old dusty documents about the end of times. He needed your investigative qualities," she pointed out.

Mulder stared at her, "And you just knew Marco had access to Rome's catacombs?"

"No," she looked him in the eye, "that was an educated guess."

Mulder rolled his eyes and nodded.

Her lips curled up slightly. She got him. "He's probably a history student or knows someone that studies history; otherwise, Gino wouldn't have contacted him. And besides, I asked both of them. I didn't know Marco was the one to have access."

"They were both students of father Gino," Mulder told her and looked at her with guilty eyes.

"You knew it?" she asked. "What are you doing, Mulder? Testing me?"

He shook his head, "No."

"Well, it feels like it," she warned him.

"I just acted on what I knew," he tried to justify his actions.

"And you didn't make the connection yourself?" she raised her brow.

"I guess I thought it was all random. But you're right. Gino probably predicted all of this." And then he dropped his voice a little, "Do you think it is a setup?"

"I don't know," she replied and crossed her arms. "We should take into account that we know very little about the whole situation."

Mulder had to agree.

Her expression dimmed suddenly. "Do you think we'll find him?"

There was a sadness in her eyes he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Ready for a walk?" Marco appeared in the doorframe.

CATACOMBE DOMITILLA, ROME
SUNDAY, MAY 31
02:35 HOURS

A black SUV was parked not far away from the entrance to the catacombs.

"Look," Mulder pointed out the vehicle.

"I see it," Scully whispered back, clueless of what exactly were they going to do.

"It looks like your dream might not be just the fruit of your imagination," Mulder whispered and looked at her.

She stared at him, her state of denial eclipsed only by her unbearable need to find Nicola alive.

"I must warn you," Marco cut the silence, "the tunnels are among the most extensive in Rome and very spooky. Let's just hope whatever you're looking for is in the network of tunnels that are accessible."

Scully's jaw set. "We're looking for father Nicola."

Marco's eyes widened, "Father Nicola?"

"Do you know him?" Scully asked.

He was too perplexed to answer. "First father Gino's death and now Nicola ..."

"What do you know about father Gino's death?" Mulder asked.

"I reported it," Marco replied.

Confusion set on Mulder's face. "You did?"

"Yeah, I did. I found him lying in a pool of blood around his head. I called the police and fled. He told me not to get involved with the police if something happened to him. I thought he was messing with me."

Scully sighed and looked at Mulder. It was now clear that they could trust no one. The police report, commissioner Poggia's role, and the autopsy findings were all fabricated to serve unknown interests.

"Look," Scully pointed her finger at a man dressed in black, much like the men that took Nicola away, exiting the catacombs and walking toward the SUV. "What are we going to do?" she asked Mulder. "They are armed and probably trained in some sort of combat."

Mulder turned to Marco, "You know how to move inside the network of tunnels that are not for the public?"

"I'm one of the guides," Marco smiled. "But we should start with the small portion that is public. I doubt that whoever is holding father Nicola knows the tunnels that well."

"Why are you so certain of it?" Scully asked.

"Because no one is allowed to explore the Christian catacombs in Rome without special permission from the Vatican, and it's not easy to get such permission. The men that kidnapped Nicola would need a detailed map to move around the less known tunnels. I sincerely doubt they have it since it doesn't exist," he explained.

"But you do know them?" Mulder asked.

"I know them by heart," Marco replied confidently.

Mulder looked at Scully, his lips curling up. "I have a plan."

NAZIONALE 51, ROME CITY CENTRE
SUNDAY, MAY 31
18:24 HOURS

She couldn't believe she was looking at him, resting in bed. Safe now.

Mulder's idea to search for the stairs she saw in her dreams was a little out there but right. They found Nicola lying on the ground, face bruised and eyes closed, only a few steps further down the stairs. He was tied to a hook-like object, fixed to the ground. The air was cold and damp.

Her insides screamed at the sight of him. Marco and Mulder jumped to help him.

The man who watched over him was going to wake up with a severe headache and a possible concussion from Marco's choke and blow. It turned out he was not only a postgraduate history student, tourist guide, and amateur musician but also a kung fu enthusiast with a few medals in his pocket.

They made sure there was no one else around and dragged Nicola out through a series of tunnels. "Move him slowly," she warned them as they walked the narrow dark corridors. She could tell Nicola was hypothermia, maybe even drugged. His lack of coordination, drowsiness, weak pulse, shallow breathing, and pale skin clearly showed physical distress. He needed to get warm soon, or he risked severe health complications.

The tunnels eventually led them to the Basilica of San Lorenzo di Verano. It was a slow and challenging walk because of Nicola's condition. He was in and out of consciousness, barely acknowledging what was going on. Mulder and Marco carried him and helped him walk back to the Circolo.

And every time he regained consciousness, he called her name. She pretended she didn't hear it. It was barely audible, a soft, slurred plea more than anything else, but Mulder heard it and looked at her. There was understanding in his eyes but also a question that shouldn't have been there to ask. She expressed only concern and mentally pushed aside other matters.

"He's in shock. We need to get him to the hotel now," she urged when they reached the Circolo.

"I'll go get Rosa. She has a car," Marco replied without hesitation.

Twenty minutes later, they carried Nicola to the hotel room, Marco giving the concierge only a shrug and an apology in Italian over his drunkenness. The concierge nodded unfazed.

When they entered the room, she rushed to the bathroom to fill the bathtub with warm water.

"He needs to get warm," she explained while quickly taking off her jacket and lifting her sleeves.

"But he's not shivering," Marco remarked, suddenly feeling extremely worried.

Nicola lay on the couch, seemingly unconscious again.

"Which means, taking into account all the other symptoms he exhibits, his state has worsened," she replied without emotion.

"You're a doctor," he realized.

Mulder searched for warm blankets with Rosa and placed them on the sofa near the bed.

"He'll be okay," Scully reassured him. "I'll need you to get him up. Rosa, I'll need you, too."

"We've got him," Mulder intervened and helped Marco.

She walked into the bathroom, and Rosa followed her. She closed the curtains and adjusted a chair near the tub. Rosa waited for her instructions.

"Sit him down," she touched the chair, and Mulder slowly lowered him down while Marco made sure he didn't slip. She noticed how carefully Marco handled him. "I'll take it from here."

Marco nodded reluctantly and exited while Mulder lingered for a moment. She sensed his uneasiness, but the last thing she wanted was to have him around while she bathed Nicola. "It's okay. Rosa will help me," she reassured him.

"Okay," Mulder nodded. "Is there anything else we can do?"

"Just make sure no one followed us," she reminded him.

"Right," Mulder replied and walked out.

"Help me get him undressed," she told Rosa.

Nicola mumbled something as she lifted his shirt over his head. The warmness of the hotel room must have alleviated his symptoms a little because he didn't look as pale as he did when they arrived. She tried not to admire his defined naked torso and just went for the zipper.

"Lift him a little," she instructed Rosa. Apparently, she didn't have any problem with the whole situation.

She removed his jeans, leaving him dressed only in his grey boxers. His chest was heavily bruised on the left side. A bluish contusion spread over the lower ribs and under his arm. The cut on his thigh had stopped bleeding but needed cleaning. His right cheek was matted in dry blood, and his lower lip was ruptured. What the hell did they want from him?

"Nicola, can you hear me?" she opened his eyelids, and he reacted by focusing his eyes on her.

"Dana," he whispered.

"Yes," her voice softer now. "We'll get you in the tub now. You need to get warm."

He slowly nodded.

"Hold his shoulders," she told Rosa and took his left leg in her hands, placing it over the edge of the tub.

"Now, I need you to lift him up and slowly slide him into the water. I'll hold his other leg up."

Rosa did as told and let Nicola slowly slip in the warm water while Scully placed his other leg over the tub's edge.

He gasped lightly as the water engulfed his beaten body. His arms lay beside his body lifelessly.

"Stay with me," she whispered, and he groaned in pain.

"Can you fetch me some painkillers? They should be in my bag," she told Rosa.

Rosa disappeared in the bedroom, and Scully relaxed for the first time since their trip to the catacombs. She just wanted some privacy with him.

She took the washcloth, hanging on the roller, and soaked it in water and soap. "I have to clean your wounds."

He nodded weakly again and rested his head against the cold bathroom tiles above the tub.

She touched the wounded skin on his face carefully, trying to assess the damage. The dried blood started to dissolve as she cleaned around the wound. The skin was severely scratched and slightly split around the cheekbone. It looked like he was pushed or fell to the ground head-on.

"It's not deep," she assessed. "You won't need stitching."

He winced when she proceeded to his lips and cleaned the dry blood around the edges of the wound. She wished she had her medical suitcase with her. The skin was ruptured and swollen. He probably took a blow from one of his kidnappers.

She was intently focused on the painful spot when he reached up with his right hand, past her arms, and cupped her right cheek.

She flinched unintentionally and met his hazel semi-opened eyes.

He brushed her cheekbone gently with his thumb and ran his hand down her neck, finally letting it rest on her shoulder.

"How are you?" he whispered.

She exhaled silently. "Fine, I'm fine," she repeated to make it more credible, but she knew he saw right through her. "Are you cold?" she managed to ask him.

"Thirsty," he replied weakly.

She got up and moved to the sink when Rosa walked into the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I had to go to the reception to get the painkillers. There weren't any in your bag."

Scully was ashamed of lying to the young girl just to buy herself more time with Nicola, but she couldn't manage well her response to his distress. And less so if someone watched her up-close.

"It's okay. Thank you," she said and filled the glass, standing on the sink.

She had summoned all her willpower not to collapse when they had found him in that dark catacomb, lying lifelessly on the ground. And she was summoning it again now not to crawl into that tub and cling to him for dear life. She didn't know if it was good or that bad that it had nothing to do with how she felt for Mulder. No one had to know how desperate her hands were when she tended his wounds and how helplessly her eyes observed him when he didn't look.

"Hey, I know you," Nicola rasped. The faintest smile crossed his bloodied lip.

Rosa looked at him and smiled, "Welcome back."

Scully looked at them. "Why am I not surprised that you two know each other?"

Rosa blushed a little. "I have known Nicola for a very long time."

"You hid it well back in the car," Scully noted, making Rosa feel uncomfortable.

Nicola looked at Rosa and nodded. "You can tell her."

Rosa looked at Scully, a little afraid and embarrassed. "Father Gino was my uncle." A tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly. "It was a well-kept secret until now. Uncle Gino wanted it that way. And Marco, well, Marco," she hesitated and looked at Nicola.

"It's okay, Rosa," Nicola reassured her, knowing he would have to do a lot of explaining later.

"Marco is father Nicola's son," Rosa revealed.

Scully felt the glass of water slip from her fingers and thump against the thick bathroom carpet. The water spilled around. "What?"

"It's not what you think," Nicola warned her.

"I'm not here to judge," Scully replied calmly, picked the glass up, and poured water in for a second time. She turned to Nicola, offering him the water and a small white pill. "Here, you won't feel so much pain."

"I like pain," he rasped, "it makes things real."

"Do you want me to press on your ribs ... see how real it can get?" Her voice was dry and full of suppressed anger. Apparently, judging came on its own.

He cringed and took the pill.

His son? His son?! She wasn't mad he had a son, shocked maybe, but the thought that he didn't tell her when she told him so much about William. And yet, she knew that all the anger and frustration came from a place of deep care for him, even love.

"So, you are father Gino's niece?" she asked Rosa, who was still standing uncomfortably near the bathroom door, when she calmed her raging thoughts about Nicola.

"I am," she nodded, "he was my mother's brother." She spoke in a soft tone. It was clear that she loved him and that his death, despite Gino's latest warnings, was completely unexpected and painful.

But Scully needed to know more. Who was her mother? How come she was so young if she was Gino's niece? Why didn't he want anyone to know that they were related? And what about Marco? Good God.

Nicola looked at her and shook his head lightly. "Could you give us a moment?" he asked Rosa, his speech still slow.

"You can be so unforgiving," she told Scully when Rosa left them.

"I didn't say anything," she reminded him. "Lift a little. I need to clean your neck and chest."

He lifted so that he could sit upright.

"You didn't have to," he replied in a raspy voice. It had a strange effect on her despite all her efforts to detach.

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "You have to admit that this whole situation is rather unbelievable."

She passed his neck with the soapy washcloth, removing the bloodstains and dirt. He breathed evenly, his pulse now within normal parameters.

"Only because you don't know the whole truth," he warned her.

"You mean there's more?" she asked incredulously.

"Much more," he rasped. "Or it wouldn't make any sense."

"Lean against the tiles," she instructed him and ran the washcloth across his chest. She tried to make it look medical, but she noticed his breath and eyelids getting heavier. "Would you rather do it yourself?" she asked, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"I can't," he complained weakly. He was entirely at her mercy.

"I can call Mulder," she offered without much thought.

"Yeah, that'd be real fun," he joked, and she blushed even more.

"Well, can you handle it?" she asked impatiently. "I have to go over your arms and legs."

"No tummy?" he joked again and closed his eyes playfully when he saw her eyebrow arch. He reopened them and fixated his stare on her. "Can you ... handle it?"

That did it for her. No more games. She grabbed the washcloth that had sunken on the bottom of the tub, gathered the soft material in her hand, and touched the delicate skin below his chest.

He hissed, partly from pain, partly from the unexpected contact. She circled the bruised ribs, applying only the slightest pressure, and then smoothed over the other side and down to his belly.

His eyes widened at the sensory onslaught, darkening more each new move she made. He leaned his head back against the tiles, unable to look at her face or hand. Her touch was firmer now, the washcloth gliding over his abs and to the ridge of his elastic band.

His boxers gave in slightly, allowing her hand to brush the sensitive skin. His eyes closed, and a hiss escaped his lips. She didn't want to arouse him, but he sure didn't have any right to put in question her resilience.

"Give me your hand," she ordered and saw how completely out of focus he was.

He lifted his right hand, and when she finished cleaning it, he automatically offered her his left hand.

He observed her keenly as his excitement dissipated a little. Her cheeks and neck were rosy red, her lips parted just as much as her fastened pulse and breath required, and there was a certain hunger in her hands that matched the one in his eyes.

She didn't want to look at him but moved down the tub to his legs. It was getting uncomfortable for both of them.

Mulder knocked on the door, "Everything alright?"

It startled her. "Yes, almost finished with the bath. Could you order something hot to drink and get a few bandages?"

She couldn't believe how composed she sounded.

"Yeah, no problem," he replied and padded away.

She skimmed the washcloth over his left foot and up to his calf, circling the knee and its underside. Then she took his other leg and repeated her gestures. But she hesitated when she should have moved to his thigh. She looked into his eyes and gasped inside.

His chest heaved in anticipation. His eyes were dark as the tunnels under Rome. The muscles of his right hand holding the edge of the tub rippled while trying to keep his position steadily.

He was shatteringly attractive.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "there's no other way." She ran the washcloth on the inside of his wounded thigh, making him groan in response. The cut spread across almost the whole circumference.

"It doesn't seem too deep," she observed, trying hard to calm her own erratic breathing and avoid looking at the bulge in his pants. His physical reaction to her tending was expected, although not so common with such injuries. It was probably due to his stamina and physical fitness.

But it was also hell for both of them.

"Shouldn't be," he replied, his voice affected so much more than hers. "I tried to break my restraints ... only managed to cut myself."

She nodded. "How's your back?" she asked.

"It hurts," he replied, still heaving.

"Show it to me," she demanded, and his lips quirked up.

"Bossy, aren't we?" he teased her.

"Wouldn't you like to see just how much?" she provoked him.

He chuckled and coughed.

"Easy," she calmed him and pulled him towards her so she could take a look at his back.

"And?" he inquired.

"Just a few bruises," she replied in her medical tone. "Pass me the washcloth."

He was glad he wasn't on display anymore and started to relax as the soft fabric smoothed his skin. "Feels nice," he commented.

"You said it aloud," she admonished him.

He lowered his head into his palms and sighed. "I'm sorry. There's only as much I can take."

"It's okay," she smiled at him. "I'm done."

He sighed again and grabbed her hand, resting on his shoulder. He turned to her, "Thank you."

His honesty had to be one of his best weapons because it disarmed her every single time. She moved in front of him so that she could be face-level with him. She caressed his cheek, and he closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling.

"I thought you were dead when we found you," her voice was on the point of breaking. "I'm just thankful to have you back," she added softly, running her hand through his dark spiky hair.

He hummed.

"And you have some explaining to do now."

He opened his eyes, "About the Soldiers and Pilgrims?"

She pursed her lips, "That, and everything else. But first, you need to rest."

That was ten hours ago. He fell asleep instantly after being rinsed, toweled like a small child, patched up, and having drunk some hot tea. Marco and Rosa greeted him with arms wide open when he exited the bathroom with her help. He smiled meekly and thanked Mulder.

"You'd have done the same," he replied and patted Nicola's shoulder.

She helped him to the bed, tucked him in, and thanked God for his return.

"Don't let anyone know you'd found me," he spoke silently to her when she covered him with the blankets Mulder found. "Not yet."

"I know. Sleep tight."

And so he did until now when she saw him opening his eyes.

"Dana?" he called softly in the room. "Marco?"

TO BE CONTINUED.

"There is no fulfillment that is not made sweeter for the prolonging of desire."
– Jacqueline Carey

"For everything in the world-the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life – comes not from the Father but from the world."
— 1 John 2:16