Title: Fox the Fugitive V: Black Gold, Texas Tea... Author: Karoshi Feedback: karoshi12@ameritech.net Rating: R for language and sexual innuendo Spoilers: Tunguska/Terma Summary: Black Cancer, Mulder vs. The Consortium and secrets involving the Alex Krycek/Barry Manilow connection are revealed. Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter. If you want me to stop, please have Mr. Duchovny send me an e-mail. We'll arrange to meet and talk. Well, he'll talk and I'll just sit there looking starstruck. BTW, yes, he can bring his wife. References & Author's notes can be found at END of the story. Personal Thanks: Thank you, Laura, for your time & patience (notice the commas). Thank you, Kristina, for your good humor and great feedback. The bathroom scene in Skinner's office id dedicated to you. Thanks to all who wrote and told me not to let the story end. BLACK GOLD, TEXAS TEA... HOOVER BUILDING - Tuesday 8:27am Loc: In a corridor heading East Mulder rushed through the narrow halls of the Hoover building ignoring all he passed. As a rule, these corridors were empty when he arrived at work. This morning though, he was late. Well, technically not late. He was simply arriving much later than usual. With a little luck though, he might still manage to beat Scully to their office. He fought back a yawn, covering his mouth naturally. Years of training resulting in impeccable manners. Stifling another, he frowned, disgusted with his own lethargy. The embarrassing truth was he'd overslept. For most people, this was a common enough occurrence but not so for Fox Mulder. Old, Mulder, a rude voice whispered in his head, you're getting old. He shook his head slightly and chewed his lush lower lip. No, he denied adamantly, I am not getting old! It was this cold, check that, based on the drop of moisture that trickled down the back of his neck, he now suspected the flu. His fingers absently pulled at his collar and loosened his tie -- damn, it was hot. Maybe he should have just stayed in bed... When he'd finally managed to crawl into bed last night, his head was pounding and the back of his throat felt as though he'd swallowed a very small porcupine. A porcupine! He smiled at the whimsical thought. He laid in bed for a good hour coughing, harsh little sounds which left an unusually nasty taste in the back of his throat. At approximately 3:00am, he decided toughing it out was for fools and went in search of Tylenol. Downing three, he climbed back into bed and snuggled into the warm spot he'd just vacated. Twenty minutes later, he faded into a fuzzy half sleep. He pulled his thoughts away from the memory of his soft warm bed back to the busy corridor. Straight ahead, he recognized several agents from Kelliher's VCS team. Not quite up to Spooky jokes, he quickened his pace. "Morning, Mulder," Agent Warwick greeted, tone unusually friendly. Wary, Mulder nodded, "morning," he answered. The small effort was enough to awaken the tickle in his throat and he coughed in a useless attempt to scratch it. "Hey, Mulder, thanks for the help last night," Agent Martinez, a middle-aged Hispanic woman with almost 20 years of service under her belt added. Brown eyes flashing, she smiled, "better take care of that cough, Spooky, we need you around here." "Oh, uh, sure," he replied, choking back another. Even the use of his hated nickname couldn't dampen his pleasure at her comment. Flustered, he turned to leave, uncomfortable with the attention. Looking down at his watch, he pointed at the end of the hallway and mumbled, "gotta go, late," and sprinted away. Rounding the next corner, he paused and rubbed his forehead lightly. Work, he decided, and the suit, his imaginative mind offered. Yes, wearing a suit to the office and working 60+ hours a week was going to take a little getting used to again. Toughen up, he scolded. An annoying itch tickled his nose and, good manners forgotten, he rubbed it roughly in an attempt to stop the sneeze. A minute later, a loud "ah-chooooo," could be heard for miles around. Flushing, he grabbed for his handkerchief and blew his nose roughly. Looking up he noticed how quickly the hallway had cleared. "Bed," he mumbled again, "I should have stayed in bed." When he rolled over this morning, he'd been shocked to find the clock flashing 7:15am. Eyes runny, nose housing what must be a family of four, he considered calling in sick. Unfortunately doing so would bring him more attention than he could afford right now. Scully and/or Skinner would feel compelled to check on him possibly even stopping by. This in itself was a problem as he'd neglected to tell either his new address. Besides, his absence today coupled with last night's other activities would definitely raise the suspicions of the Geriatric Marlboro Man. No, he had to go in today. Coughing harshly, he stumbled out of bed. Okay, he reconsidered, maybe not all day. "Mulder," a voice called from behind, pulling him from his fond mattress memory. He turned to find a highly energetic Kelliher smiling back at him. Mulder sniffled, then commented snidely, "I'll take two of what you're taking, Kelliher." Kelliher grinned and displayed a large cup of caffeine laden liquid. Mulder's nose twitched longingly. Coffee, he scolded himself, I should have stopped for coffee. "Sorry I kept you up half the night, Mulder, but your help on that profile was invaluable. You pointed us in a direction none of us had considered." Mulder's head dropped, studying the toe of his shoe in fascination. Shrugging, he answered, "the information was buried pretty deep, it's no wonder it was missed." Kelliher stepped in for a closer look, "Mulder, your eyes are all red and," he took in the man's shoulder leaning tiredly on the wall, "you look like crap. What are you doing here?" Mulder ran his fingers over his tired, burning eyes. "I'm fine," he insisted, "I just made the mistake of not bringing home my glasses last night. Next time use larger font, okay?" he scolded in an attempt to distract. Kelliher took a long, teasing sip of his coffee before answering, "okay, Mulder, if you want to blame it on the glasses, fine. But," he turned to leave, "take it from me, man, you look like shit." "The thanks I get," Mulder mumbled, pulled himself off the wall and continued on his way. Absently, he rested the back of his hand on his cheek and checked for a fever. Christ, he thought angrily, I'm becoming Scully and snatched his own hand away from his face before anyone noticed. The horror of this thought was still fresh in his mind when his phone chirped noisily in his pocket. Without slowing, he flipped it open and answered, "yeah?" >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDING - Tuesday 8:43am Loc: In a corridor heading West CSM made his way smoothly through the bustling hallways of the government building. The day would be a long one, several meetings promised much debate. Regardless, he needed to take a few minutes to check on Mulder's recent activities. The man had returned to the FBI only a few weeks ago and, surprisingly, everything was quiet. He'd done a little advance checking and discovered that Mulder and Scully had a full work load containing a variety of cases. Rumor had it, Mulder was also doing some voluntary consulting for Kelliher's VCS team. That in itself was unique as Mulder never voluntarily offered to assist VCS. A full case load with some consulting work on the side could be the reason behind this unusually quiet Mulder, he mused. Why then did he feel as though all hell was going to break loose? Lately he sensed watchful eyes wherever he traveled. Try as he might, he could find no evidence that confirmed his suspicions. The Fox Follies as he'd tagged Mulder's recent pranks, including pizza deliveries and alien ties, had slowed considerably. Oh well, there had been that $3762.72 phone bill he'd received documenting 27 calls to a 900 number called Abductees Anonymous. He'd considered calling the phone company and arguing the point but in the end, just paid it -- even he wasn't powerful enough to take on that battle. Other than that incident, there had been no new pranks which should relieve him. Why then was he left feeling strangely anxious? Things were far too quiet since Mulder's return. The beeping of his cell phone pulled him from his thoughts. Without breaking stride, he pulled the phone from his pocket and snapped, "yes?" >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDING - Tuesday 8:45am Loc: In a corridor heading East Mulder smiled widely as he listened to the report. "Excellent news," he congratulated, "with any luck, I'll be able to join the party next time." He listened as his caller provided a full accounting of the teams early morning activities. Intent on the conversation, Mulder just barely missed a collision with the man rounding the corner. He pulled himself to a stop and found himself face to face with a red-faced Cancer Man. >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDING - Tuesday 8:45am Loc: In a corridor heading West "Everything! Everything was destroyed?" CSM demanded. The voice on the other end reported that a warehouse containing valuable 'goods', had been completely destroyed at approximately 3:17am that morning. There were no fatalities, the security guards on duty were knocked unconscious and stowed safely in an abandoned building some six blocks away. The destruction of these products were a serious loss. CSM continued to listen to the details of the incident. Distracted as he was, he just barely missed a collision as he rounded the next corner. CSM pulled himself to a stop and found himself looking into the grinning face of Agent Fox Mulder. Both men stood face to face, cell phones to their ear. Mulder, immediately realizing the irony of facing the man he had foiled earlier this morning, had the good sense to wipe the smile from his face. He could not, however, hide the twinkle in his eye. Calmly, he continued his call, "well I certainly appreciate the information. Next time I get tickets for the playoffs, they are yours." With that he hit the end button and eased the device back into his pocket. Nodding a silent greeting to CSM, he stepped around the man intent on making his way to his office. CSM eyed Mulder shrewdly, was it possible Mulder had something to do with this incident? Mulder, in the past, had shown little trust in working in a team environment. Scully and Skinner seemed to be the only two people he trusted and even that trust had been shaken recently. Certainly Mulder was not so organized as to arrange such a hit. Doing so would require trust beyond his few friends and place him at great risk. Such an action would announce him as a player in the game. CSM ignored the unexpected rush of pride he felt at the thought. He pushed aside such thinking as ridiculous. Whoever had destroyed their supply was an expert, a pro at such operations. Mulder was a bright boy but lacked this type of expertise. He ended his call with a clipped, "I'll contact you again shortly," and shoved the phone in his pocket. Mulder had already begun to move away when CSM called out tightly, "Agent Mulder, may I have a moment of your time?" Mulder stopped, turned and waited expectantly for CSM to catch up. CSM stepped forward to join his reluctant heir. Tone calm, he offered, "it's good to see you back in Washington, Agent Mulder." Mulder simply nodded and waited for the older man to continue. CSM did not disappoint. "I am somewhat bothered that you did not talk to me before accepting your old position," he stated mysteriously. Mulder no longer felt the urge to flinch in this man's presence. Somehow the simple act of sending this bastard too many pizzas and ruining his traffic record was enough to numb the fear he'd felt before. If indeed this man was his biological father, it changed nothing. Yes, such information might explain Bill Mulder's violence towards him. It might also explain his mother's distance. No doubt when she looked at her son she felt some guilt in betraying her husband. All these things though were no longer important to him. There was so much to do and he no longer had time to waste trying to understand their behavior. He was determined to put it all behind him, no matter how difficult, and move forward. Still, his curiosity sparked, he asked, "why would I have spoken to you before returning to the X-Files?" CSM smiled mildly, "now, Fox --" Mulder winced, the name was unacceptable from friendly lips. From this man's mouth, it was blasphemy! Mulder moved his face mere inches from CSM, "don't fucking call me Fox," he warned quietly. The corner of CSM's mouth twitched in amusement, "now, son." Mulder stepped back as though struck. His face reflected all the violence he associated with that title. He fought down his emotions and replied in a hostile tone, "let me take a moment to define the word father to you." Rage in his eyes, mouth drawn into a flat line, he began. "Father, a man who never gave a damn about me. A man whose only pleasure in life was to cause me physical and emotional pain. A man who traded the lives of those closest to him in an attempt to move one step closer to his objective." He was breathing harshly now, all control gone. "So, Dad," the title slid contemptuously from his lips, "let me repeat my question, why would I have spoken to you before returning to the X-Files?" CSM stood frozen, his thoughts lost in a time when Tina, Mulder's mother had first told him she was pregnant with his child. He wanted the boy so badly but knew the acknowledgement of the child as his own would sign the baby's death warrant. Instead he arranged the marriage between her and Bill thinking she and his son would be well cared for. It was years later, Fox was nine or ten when he'd first become aware of the many injuries plaguing the boy. He'd spoken to Tina about his suspicions but she continued to deny there was a problem. Later, after Samantha had been taken, neither parent hid the young boy's abuse, both so lost in their own anger and self pity over the disappearance of their daughter. By this time, it was too late to step in to stop it. He could, however, help the young man escape. In fact he had personally arranged for Mulder to be offered the scholarship at Oxford in order to get him as far away from Bill as possible. His mouth tightened. To this day he wished that he had been the one to pull the trigger on William Mulder. He looked at his son, at the anger and pain reflected in his eyes, his clenched jaw. Stumbling to recover from the shock of hearing Mulder call him Dad in such an insolent tone, he replied, "there are other possibilities for a man of your talents." Mulder snorted arrogantly, "thanks for the offer but I don't think I'd suit the role of a Jedi Knight, Darth." Mulder turned his back and walked away. CSM could not help but feel a sense of pride at the man the boy had become. A worthy adversary to be sure. Standing at CSM's side, Mulder could so easily rise to the top and, eventually, lead them all to certain success. Instead he had chosen a different path. He chose to fight against incredible odds and challenge a plan that was devised so many years ago. A plan that would change human lives and beliefs forever. My son, the anarchist, thought CSM humorlessly. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder stepped into the restroom just down the hall. His hands were trembling slightly and he felt nauseous. Late or not he could not risk Scully seeing him this way. He took a deep breath and rinsed his face with cool water. As the pressure in his head abated and his stomach began to settle, he studied the reflection in the mirror. Hair in place, face no longer flushed, he looked like the FBI poster boy. Even his tie was tame today. The only warning indicators were his eyes. Glazed and slightly unfocused, they told anyone who cared to look that he was in pain. He remembered Phoebe, in a rare gentle moment, pulling his face into her hands and telling him how beautiful his eyes were, that they revealed to her his soul. Phoebe's face was replaced by the craggy lined visage of Cancer Man. "Damn the old man," cursed Mulder aloud in the empty bathroom. "Why can't he just leave me alone!" Tempting as it was, he could not stay in the restroom all day. He quickly dried his hands and left. As he was unlocking the office door, she stepped up behind him. Quiet and confident, she waited silently. "Busted," he joked over his shoulder. She followed him into the small room, shrugged off her jacket and studied him carefully. Mulder was never this late for work and she considered it her personal mission to solve the mystery. "Are you okay, Mulder?" He'd sunk slowly into the chair behind his desk. His body thanking him for allowing his knees to bend and back to relax. Looking up into her concerned eyes, he answered truthfully, "just a little tired this morning, Scully. I overslept." The last part was stated almost as a challenge. After all, other people slept in on occasion, why not him? She reached her hand across the desk and touched his cheek gently. "Slept in, huh? Looks to me like you're coming down with something." She didn't push, she was a bit more cautious with this Mulder. The Mulder who had only just recently returned to DC was definitely more confident, but so much more closed. It was almost as if he were holding back pieces of himself. A casual acquaintance might not notice the difference, but she did. She was working hard to be more sensitive to his moods since he returned. Yes, to others he was probably the same solemn man with odd theories and ideas. But she could see that something had changed. He displayed an inner strength that burned twice as bright as ever before. He was a man with purpose, with direction. She just wished he'd leave her a map On her way in this morning, she'd bumped into Kelliher. He was in awe at the new information Mulder had interpreted from the evidence of his current case. Mulder had actually called him last night, or rather, early this morning to discuss the new data and, quite probably, a killer would be caught as a result of his efforts. Was Scully the only one to notice something had changed? What was he hiding? She sighed heavily then walked over to her own desk and sat down. "What do you say, Mulder, why don't you let me take care of the paperwork today and you go home and get some sleep." He was tempted by the offer, but didn't really feel bad enough to go home yet. Shaking his head, he assured, "Scully, I'm fine, really." "You sure, Mulder?" she asked. Before he answered, she added slyly, "because if you like we could just jump in the car right now and I could drive you home." Rising up from her chair she walked to the front of his desk and leaned in closely, her face the picture of innocence, "by the way, Mulder, where do you call home nowadays?" Eyebrow arched, she waited for his reaction. Mulder's eyes widened in shock. Fuck, he really was busted. Both hands strayed to the back of his neck and he rubbed at the muscles tensely. This was one of those days when he really should have stayed in bed. Yes, the team had done well this morning. But since then he'd had a near collision with CSM, been busted by Scully for coming in later and now was being called on the carpet about his change of address. What next, his overwhelmed head wondered. The phone rang noisily, saving him the need to provide her with an answer. Pulling it to his ear, he answered, "Mulder." He listened for a moment and then hung up. Looking up at Scully, he reported somewhat sullenly, "Skinner wants to see me." Scully smiled, "better get your address story ready, Mulder. Skinner was the one who called me when he found your apartment empty last night." "Ah cripes," he mumbled as he stumbled clumsily to his feet. His legs were definitely feeling heavier than usual. He promised himself a good run this evening to get the kinks out. Turning to Scully, his voice tinged with a mixture of anger and guilt, he admitted, "okay, so I moved, big deal." Then, eyes pleading for understanding, he explained lamely, "I was going to tell you, but we were so busy." Scully hid her grin. At first she was angry at Mulder for making such a move and not telling her. When Skinner called last night she considered tracking the man down and giving him a piece of her mind. Instead, the thought of Skinner handling the situation seemed too delicious to pass up. She hadn't planned on blowing Skinner's surprise. In fact if Mulder hadn't looked so sick this morning she never would have told him. Poor guy, she chuckled, he'd turned green when he realized he was caught. Waving him out the door, she teased, "yeah, Mulder, tell it to the big guy. And when you're done, tell me what you're serving AT YOUR PLACE for dinner tonight." Thoroughly annoyed but knowing he deserved the reprimand, he stomped out of the office. >>>>>>>>>>>> SKINNER'S OFFICE A few minutes later, he stood in front of Assistant Director Skinner's desk. Skinner sat, calmly finishing up a conference call. He did not gesture for Mulder to take a seat and so Mulder stood, the whole time wishing he had stayed home. Skinner appeared distracted by the call so, taking a chance, Mulder reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and quickly wiped the moisture from his brow and the back of his neck. Swaying slightly, he fought for control. Resolution number three was to never pass out in Skinner's office. Okay it was a weird resolution, but he was determined to no longer let his weaknesses show. Skinner was not as unobservant as Mulder thought. He was a bit peeved at Agent Mulder right now. Having stopped by the man's apartment last night, he'd found it empty. Double checking the number on the door, he then went in search for the super. His visit that night was a casual one, one friend checking in with the other. He wanted to show Mulder that just because he was back, it didn't mean they needed to return to a business only relationship. While on the road he learned a great deal about Mulder the man. He was determined not to fall into their old patterns of polite co-workers. He considered Mulder a friend and would no longer allow him to walk a solitary path. Scully and he had actually discussed this at great length and both were determined to not let this man isolate himself again. Unfortunately, with their current workload, neither he or Scully had been able to keep that promise. If possible, Mulder seemed more distant than ever, driven by something he was unwilling to share. Upon questioning Mulder's landlord, he'd learned that Mulder had moved out just before he returned to work. Granted it was just late paperwork but Skinner planned on reaming him for not having the courtesy to update his records in a timely fashion. That and not telling him or Scully where he lived. He looked up just as Mulder was wiping the back of his neck. Was it his imagination or did Mulder look a bit peaked? He finished the call quickly. "Agent Mulder, sit down," he ordered. Mulder literally fell into the chair. What the hell is the matter with me anyway? he thought wearily. "Are you feeling okay, Mulder?" Skinner asked. Mulder, eyes focused on his shoes, shook his head. He hadn't fooled Scully and it was not likely he could put one over on Skinner. Besides in the last few minutes, standing over Skinner's desk, his body had begun insisting that he go home. "Sir," he answered, already hearing the hoarseness in his own voice, "I am feeling a bit off today. With your permission, I'd like to take today as a sick day and head home." Skinner studied Mulder carefully, he did look like hell. He must, in fact, feel like hell if he was actually asking for a sick day. Still, there was this address situation. "If you tell me where home is, Mulder, I might actually offer to give you a lift." Mulder raised his eyes to meet Skinner's, "I'm sorry, sir, I was going to tell both you and Scully." "When?" Skinner asked. "Oh, um, I was thinking a little dinner party," Mulder joked weakly. "Bullshit, Mulder," Skinner snapped. Mulder looked everywhere but at Skinner, strangely silent. Skinner continued, "let's say you had called in sick this morning, Mulder. Perhaps I or your partner," he emphasized partner, "needed to get you some information, how would we have done that?" Mulder ran his fingers anxiously through his hair, "sir," he defended, "my calls automatically transfer from one number to the other. I have my cell phone and the message even allows for you to fax me information if needed." Rushing on, he added helpfully, "or you could have e-mailed it to me." Skinner tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, "my, my, Mulder, how very efficient of you." Uh oh, what had he said wrong now? Mulder wondered. There was a dangerous tone in Skinner's voice and, fuzzy headed as he was, he couldn't figure out why. "Oh yes, Agent Mulder, you've thought of every technical solution, haven't you? He stood and leaned over Mulder angrily, "did you ever consider in all your elaborate planning that if you were really sick this morning and either Scully or I felt a need to check on you that we wouldn't be able to FIND you?" Warming to the subject, Skinner's voice rose slightly causing Mulder to push back into his chair. "In fact, Agent Mulder, what if you had been hurt in your apartment and calling for help?" "But, sir, I've taken steps to ensure that doesn't happen again," Mulder answered smugly. "What measures, Mulder, a security system, surveillance cameras or maybe Dobermans," Skinner chided. "No Dobermans, sir," he admitted reluctantly, "although, not a bad thought." He leaned forward in his chair and, elbows resting on his knees, placed his face in his hands. "Sir, I'm sorry, could we reschedule this reprimand, I really feel lousy." Skinner pulled himself back, Mulder did look ill. Reaching for the intercom, he ordered, "Kimberly, ask Agent Scully to join us in my office. Also, clear my appointments until 1:00, I need to take care of some business this morning." Mulder kept his face hidden. His mind racing as he tried to sort out how he was going to get out of this one. In a last ditch effort, he stood and headed towards the door. Ignorant, he would pretend to be ignorant. Skinner's voice stopped him immediately, "where do you think you're going, Mulder?" His tone clearly reflected his disbelief and amusement at Mulder's blatant attempt to escape the room. Mulder stopped and just before he turned back to Skinner, cleared his face of all expression but confusion, "sir, I assumed when you asked for Agent Scully that our meeting was over." Skinner raised a hand to his face to hide his smile, God, how he'd missed Mulder's antics. Management was never boring with people like Mulder on your team. Wiping the beginnings of a grin from his face, he advised firmly, "that was a bad assumption, Mulder. Sit down!" Mulder stubbornly continued to stand. He looked back towards the door and considered his options. Scully would be walking through it in another minute. Once Scully and Skinner were together there would be no getting out of this. He had to find a way out of the room. Divide and conquer, he thought slyly. "Sir," he gasped, gripping his stomach for effect, "I'll be back in a moment, I just need to use the restroom." Skinner smiled smugly, "why don't you use my private facilities?" He nodded towards the door in the far corner of the office. Disappointment flitted across Mulder's face, damn, he'd forgotten about the perks of upper management. His eyes darted between the office door and Skinner's private restroom. One more glance up at the obviously complacent Skinner convinced him he was not going to get out via the office door. Needing a moment to think, he took a deep breath and headed towards the private restroom. He heard Scully arriving as he closed the door firmly behind him. Once inside, he locked the door, his natural paranoia kicking in. A wave of heat rushed over him and he grasped the small sink for support. Looking up, he found himself face to face with an exhausted, flushed face. The glazed eyes and dark shadows caused him to look quickly over his shoulder, so sure was he that the face in the mirror could not be his own. "Oh man, Mulder," he mumbled to himself, "you look like crap." It would have been amusing if not for the fact that he felt as bad as he looked. "One hell of a flu," he mused. A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. Slightly irritated, Mulder called out, "minute, I'll be out in a minute." He rinsed off his face with cool water, straightened and prepared to face the music. Scully stood outside the door having been apprised of Mulder's overall condition by Skinner. Impatient, she reached for the doorknob and turned. It took a second for her to realize the door was locked. "What the hell," she cursed quietly. She knocked harder on the door, "Mulder, why did you lock the door?" Skinner stepped up beside her and attempted to open the door himself, his own irritation building. Without thought, he leaned heavily on it already measuring the needed impact to break it down. "Mulder," he growled. The door opened suddenly causing Skinner to fall forward. Mulder neatly sidestepped the two and moved between them into the outer room. His hand gripped the back of the nearest chair for support as he casually joked, "uh, I'd wait a few minutes before you go in there." Skinner, having regained his balance, glared angrily at his headstrong agent. "Funny, Mulder," he answered, clearly annoyed. Scully moved towards Mulder, her intent obvious. Mulder raised his hand, holding her off, "Scully, I've just got the flu." Skinner squelched his anger and nodded towards her, "that's right, Scully. Mulder is feeling ill and needs to go home for the day. I was going to give him a lift. Do you care to join me?" The question was strictly a courtesy. Skinner knew she would not miss the chance to see Mulder's new home. Mulder's head snapped up, "no," he protested, "I need to drive." His legs began to tremble and he lowered himself carefully into a chair. "Agent Mulder," Skinner stated strongly, "there is no reason for you to drive in your condition. I'll be happy to take you home and then, later, drop Agent Scully back at work." "No," Mulder answered firmly, pushing out his lower lip, "either you let me drive or I spend the rest of the day in this chair." He meant it and based on how tired he felt, he was hoping they would select the staying in the chair all day option. It was actually a pretty comfortable chair. Yes, sitting in the corner of Skinner's office all day might be just what he needed. He positioned himself more firmly and gripped the chair arms tightly. Scully attempted to reason, "Mulder, if you drive, how will Skinner and I get back to work?" "I'll drive you back," offered Mulder politely. Skinner snorted, "this is ridiculous. We are not going to drive you home only to have you drive us back here." "Fine then," Mulder agreed, "you can take my car back to work." Skinner frowned, "and how will you get to work?" Mulder sniffled, his sinuses were killing him. "It's okay, sir, I'll just drive my other -- " Mulder stopped, aware of what he'd just let slip. Scully frowned suspiciously, "how many cars to you have, Mulder?" Faced with an irate Skinner and an inquisitive Scully, he folded. It was all simply too much for him. Head bowed, he surrendered, "I want to go home." No longer angry, Skinner reached out and offered the younger man a helping hand. "Let's go, Mulder." The trio quickly left the building. >>>>>>>>>>>> UNKNOWN STREET - WASHINGTON D.C. "Mulder, what are you looking for?" Skinner asked, exasperated. They had been driving for almost thirty minutes and were still only a few miles from the Hoover building. Scully rushed to Mulder's defense, "maybe he's sicker than he realizes, sir." Turning towards Mulder she asked, "Mulder, are you sure you remember your new address?" Stopped at a red light, Mulder leaned his head heavily on the steering wheel. He could not believe she'd just suggested what she did. Forget his address, indeed! The light turned green and he silently continued the drive. The maroon car he suspected of tailing them turned off and he breathed a sigh of relief. Just to be sure, he made a sharp right and was rewarded by the squeal of brakes and horns honking. Checking his rear view mirror, he confirmed they were no longer being followed. He pressed down firmly on the gas and sped to their destination. As they pulled into the warehouse district, Scully again glanced anxiously at Skinner. Perhaps his fever was worse than she originally thought. Surely no one would live in this abandoned area. Skinner shrugged and kept a close eye on Mulder in the event he'd have to grab the wheel. The car, a silver BMW, was travelling at a neat 40 mph and pointed directly towards what appeared to be a large steel door. Skinner tensed and started to reach for the wheel when Mulder hit a button that caused the door to open. The car slid smoothly into the garage, door closing behind them within seconds. Mulder turned off the engine, pocketed the key and eased himself out of the vehicle. He took childish pleasure in driving a little faster than necessary. Looking around at the unusually silent pair, he announced wryly, "honey, I'm home." Halfway to the elevator doors, he realized neither of his companions were following. Turning he demanded, "well, come on, you insisted on seeing the place." Scully looked sad, was it possible Mulder had finally lost it, AGAIN? Skinner was not so sure. The thought that Mulder felt a need for this type of lifestyle disturbed him far more than the threat of a nervous breakdown. Mulder though seemed fully aware of his actions. Skinner and Scully watched as he spoke into the panel next to the doors. A moment later they opened and Mulder entered the elevator car. Curious, they followed silently, Scully lagging a few steps behind them both. Mulder smirked and looked directly into a panel that obviously hid a security camera. He dead-panned, "camera, take note. At exactly," he looked at his watch, "10:32am, Assistant Director Walter Skinner and Special Agent Dana Scully were speechless." Turning towards them both, flu momentarily forgotten, he leered, "I've always wanted to add the two of you to my film collection." Scully could no longer contain herself, "what's all this about, Mulder?" At that moment the doors slid open to reveal his home. Scully and Skinner stepped out and studied the large room in awe. The difference between his old apartment and this loft was astonishing. This place screamed good taste, comfort and money. Every piece appeared to have been hand selected for its particular brand of function and comfort. Artwork on the wall and the many shelves of books combined to create an atmosphere of peace, of beauty. Mulder made his way to the kitchen and immediately began searching for some Tylenol. Finding it quickly, he swallowed three with the help of the last few ounces of orange juice left in his fridge. Voice already a little hoarse, he offered, "can I get you something to drink?" He kept his tone neutral, not wanting to reveal his nervousness at their opinion of the place. Letting them in here exposed a little more of himself. This was the first place he'd had that reflected pieces of who he really was. His book collection alone provided clues to his inner psyche. In fact, he pondered, if Scully just happened to pull out his copy of 'Where the Sidewalk Ends' and turn to the poem 'The Rules' *, she might discover his first thoughts on what he might like in a wife. He stumbled across the book of children's poems in his early twenties and spent hours reading and rereading it, completely charmed by the childhood innocence of the words. Phoebe had been unimpressed with his literary reading of The Rules delivered nude with great emotion. His impudence was rewarded with a night spent on the couch -- alone. Children's poetry held a special attraction for him. Vague childhood memories of sitting on a safe lap long ago being read nonsensical poems that made him giggle. Strange, the memory was there but he couldn't remember a face. He searched the refrigerator for something to serve. *Poem can be found at end of story. In the main room, Skinner studied the monitors that offered a full view of the area. Scully, frown lines marring her smooth forehead, eyed the loft containing a rather large and, from her view, unmade bed. Was it possible Mulder no longer spent his nights on the couch? And why did he need such a large bed? she wondered. Mulder repeated his offer. "Whatever you have is fine, Mulder," answered Scully. Skinner added, "coffee -- iced tea." Scully moved to examine a sound system that looked more like the cockpit of a jumbo jet. The equipment was impressive, but the music was what interested her. "Beastie Boys, Garbage and what kind of music is on a CD titled Loser?" she mumbled to herself. She made a mental note to herself to pick up that CD, maybe it would provide some insight into the famous Mulder brain. She wandered towards the steel ladder that provided full access to his books. A few minutes later, Mulder entered the room with two glasses of iced tea and placed them on a nearby table. "Scully, if you push off just right, you can slide from one end to the other in under five seconds," he offered helpfully. Laughing, she stepped down from the ladder and joined him by the table. It was not a stretch to picture Mulder hanging on to that ladder by his fingertips sliding at breakneck speed from one side of the room to the other. She wondered if the books were only a prop, the perfect backdrop for the man's toy. He shivered and ran his hands roughly over his arms. Scully reached out and stroked his cheek, "you're running a fever, Mulder." He pulled back and walked over to the sofa. With great relief, he sank into the cushions. He signaled for them both to sit. "All right, who's going to be the first to lecture me on paranoia?" Scully and Skinner exchanged questioning glances, each vying for the opportunity to speak first. Skinner deferred to her. "Mulder," she began, her eyes again scanning the room, "it's beautiful." He smiled at her easy acceptance, "thanks, Scully. I'm glad you like it." She returned his smile. He turned to Skinner. Skinner had studied the monitors, the voice activated entryway and other small signs which indicated a sophisticated security system. "Why all the security, Mulder? It's a bit much, don't you think?" Mulder shrugged but did not meet his eyes as he answered, "the neighborhood's a bit run down. Just trying to be cautious." "Uh huh," Skinner grunted, unconvinced. His dark eyes reflecting concern, "you can obviously afford to live in a nicer neighborhood, Mulder, why here?" Mulder searched the area just beyond Skinner's right shoulder, "no neighbors complaining about gunshots, less traffic and minimal opportunity to be awakened in the middle of the night by someone standing over me with a gun and/or syringe." He stood suddenly and walked to the window. His back to them, he admitted, "I like it here. I feel safe." Scully moved to stand behind him, resting her hand gently on his upper arm supportively before assuring, "if this is what you need to sleep through the night, Mulder, then I'm all for it." Her eyes twinkled as she nodded towards the loft, "do my eyes deceive me or are you actually sleeping in a bed?" Eyes sparkling he answered in a poor imitation of a Southern drawl, "why, Agent Scully, would y'all like me to give you a tour of my -- boudoir?" Scully blushed and turned to Skinner, "sexual harassment, sir, you heard him." Mulder rolled his eyes and pinched her arm lightly, "tattle tale!" "Children, children," Skinner reprimanded lightly. Their laughter filled the room, each thoroughly enjoying the others' company in a way that had not been allowed since his return. Scully wiped the tears from her eyes and announced, "I think we need to do this more often." Mulder eyed her fondly before stating firmly, "I am not making you lunch here every week." Skinner walked into the kitchen and began studying the contents of the refrigerator. "Of course not, Mulder. I'll put something together today, Scully can take care of next week and --" Mulder never heard the rest, he disappeared into the bathroom to change. >>>>>>>>>>>> Thirty minutes later they sat down to a lunch of egg salad sandwiches and canned soup. Mulder, his stomach a bit unsteady, settled for the soup. Scully, noticing his lack of appetite asked, "are you feeling any better, Mulder?" He put the spoon down, no longer interested in food. "Scully, I'm fi - - I mean, okay," he assured. Grinning he added, "I'm just not used to working for a living. In my last job I was able to make my own hours," he taunted. Skinner scowled, "maybe you could call and see if they have any openings for an employee who refuses to follow procedure, practically faints in his boss's office and lives in a fortress." Mulder frowned, mildly hurt by Skinner's harsh humor. "I was good you know," he insisted with a pout. "Sally said they still call and ask for me." He picked up the spoon and sipped another bit of broth completely missing Scully's cold glare. She assumed Sally was a one time shot, it was a bit surprising to find out Mulder and she were still in touch. He looked at Skinner, "Besides, I didn't faint and, as to procedure, I'd gladly follow the procedures if they made any sense." Skinner glowered at Mulder. Mulder stood and walked over to the security monitors taking particular interest in a homeless man who seemed to be using his garage door as a backrest. "And regarding my fortress," he ended tiredly, "I need what I need." Skinner stood and joined him. Mulder was looking a bit pale and had barely touched his lunch. Scully and he had insisted on taking him home because he was ill and instead had spent several hours here making him entertain them both. Taking pity on the younger man, he reached out and put his hand firmly on Mulder's shoulder. "Mulder, I'm sorry. Why don't you rest and we'll talk more when you're feeling up to it." Scully moved to Skinner's side, "he's right, Mulder, Tylenol and sleep are probably the best thing you can do for yourself right now. Do you need anything before we go?" Mulder studied his feet. He had slipped on thick socks when he'd first changed and neglected to put on any shoes. Feeling much younger than his years and quite vulnerable, he answered softly, "your silence." Scully stepped towards him and forced him to look at her. "What do you mean, Mulder?" Skinner stood behind her, waiting for his explanation. "I didn't tell you about my new address because I don't want anyone to know I'm here." He began to pace, uncomfortable with sharing his feelings on the matter. "I'm tired of my water being poisoned, cameras in my ceiling and late night visits from the Kryceks of the world." He stopped and turned to them, "bringing you here today shows I trust you both. Please don't tell me I was wrong to do that," he pleaded softly. The three stood quietly for a moment, stunned by Mulder's admission. He'd shared his fears with them, allowed them into his head. Skinner broke the silence first, "I'd be willing to keep your secret as long as I can borrow your car once in a while." He flicked the keys up and down in his hand before adding, "it's a nice car, Mulder." Mulder grinned weakly and agreed, "anytime, sir. By the way, when you pull out of the garage, do it fast. The door doesn't stay open that long." Scully frowned slightly, "Mulder, my only concern is if you do need me -- or something," she corrected quickly, "how can I get in here?" He looked at her, unsure, "Scully, as you can see, I can't just give you a key." Scully pouted, "well, just think about it, Mulder. In the meantime, get some sleep and if you're feeling better, maybe I'll see you at work tomorrow." He nodded, then escorted them both to the door while rubbing his lower back. Speaking into the elevator again, the doors opened smoothly. "Just hit the button in the car, sir and the garage door will open." Looking towards the monitors, he added, "it looks like my visitor has moved on so you should have no trouble pulling out quickly." Skinner shook Mulder's hand and said, "take care, Mulder." Scully added worriedly, "if you need anything, just call." The doors slid shut and Mulder moved to watch their exit. Everything appeared to have gone smoothly. Well smoothly except for the fact that Skinner was now driving his new silver BMW with leather interior. He was definitely going to work tomorrow. If for no other reason, he wanted his car back. He winced as he felt a sliver of pain in his back. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, like the slice of a very sharp blade. He straightened and headed up the stairs to his bed. A few hours, all he needed was a few hours... >>>>>>>>>>>> The cell was dark and cold. He huddled in the corner as far away from the door as possible. His eyes wary, he continually scanned the room as though expecting someone or something to appear from nowhere. Fear, he felt it to the very depths of his soul. The door opened slowly. Heart pounding, stomach clenching terror gripped him. Whimpering like a child, he attempted to push himself further into the cold, damp wall. A man approached slowly and Mulder watched mesmerized as the face changed from Krycek, grinning wickedly, to his father watching him sadly, obviously disappointed in his weakness. When the figure was only a few steps away, CSM appeared holding a syringe with a abnormally large needle. In a panic, he pushed away from the wall and attempted to run past, but his legs would not cooperate and CSM easily pulled him into a tight grip. Mulder struggled weakly and cried out, "no, please no." As the needle bit into his neck, CSM soothed in an oddly comforting tone, "shhh, Fox, it's for your own good. I promise it's for your own good." Mulder cried in his arms, confused by the combination of pain and comfort being offered. As the needle was removed from his flesh, he could feel the burning sensation spread throughout his body. He pushed away from the anchoring arms and stumbled into the wall. CSM suddenly changed back into his father and he gasped as the man's hand, armed with a leather belt, lashed out towards him. >>>>>>>>>>>>> He awoke from his nightmare suddenly, his stomach churning anxiously. Pushing the blankets away, he moved to sit on the side of the bed, feet firmly planted on the ground. This trick had always worked when he was a child. If you wanted the monsters to go away, you had to be brave enough to sit up in the darkened room, plant your feet firmly on the ground and refuse to believe any of it. He forced himself to slow his breathing, his mind carefully avoiding all thoughts of the nightmare. A burning sensation traveled down his arm causing him to cry out in surprise. Rubbing the injured arm gingerly, he wondered again at the strange flu symptoms he was experiencing. The sharp pains were short in duration but felt as though rusty barbed wire was being dug into his skin. His tired eyes found the clock, 9:17pm, he noted in surprise. He'd slept almost eight hours. He stood, fighting his body's demand to continue resting. Enough was enough, he'd lost too much time to this flu already! Sniffling loudly, he ran the back of his hand over his itchy nose and made his way down the stairs. Stopping in the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water and headed for his desk. Just as he was logging on, the phone rang. Eyeing the display, he was not surprised to see anonymous. Another tip, one of his informants calling for help, "yeah," he answered. A deep male voice said simply, "I have something I believe you will find interesting." Mulder rubbed his eyes weakly, he considered simply hanging up and crashing on the couch. "What do you have?" he asked abruptly, unwilling to play games. "Kiruna," he said simply. Mulder's eyes narrowed, Kiruna was a Swedish town located North, near the mountains. He'd received a tip that certain experiments were being conducted somewhere in Sweden. Was it possible this man had what he needed? "Where are you?" he asked suspiciously. "Meet me in one hour in front of Willie's Cigar and Liquor store. It's one block west of the Hoover building." "I'll be there," Mulder agreed. The line went dead. Mulder dressed quickly, swallowed two more Tylenol and shoved his two guns into place. Grabbing a jacket, he stumbled towards the elevator. That dream had shaken him a bit more than he liked to admit. Once in the garage, he climbed into his Dodge Ram truck and drove the route into the city. >>>>>>>>>>>> WILLIE'S CIGAR AND LIQUOR STORE: The neon light announcing Willie's ownership of the shop flickered annoyingly. Mulder stood across the street, hidden in the shadows of a narrow alley entry. The street was deserted, he'd been out here in the cold for the last thirty minutes and seen no sign of life. Stores and shops closed for the night, the street resembled a scene from a bad science fiction movie. Still, he remained concealed unwilling to reveal himself until his contact appeared. He smothered another cough with his hand. Surprisingly, the night air seemed to clear his head and he hoped that by tomorrow his 24 hours flu would be nothing more than an annoying memory. Movement across the street caught his eye, a small man dressed in dark clothes now stood in front of the cigar shop. Mulder could see the man studying the area nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the silence of their meeting place. He watched him for a few more minutes before moving to join him. The man took several steps back as Mulder approached. Mulder, also cautious, appreciated the extra space between them. They both stood in the shadows, backs to the shop window, studying the surrounding area. Mulder tall and lean exuded strength and leadership. The other man, short, about 5'1, with a wiry frame. Mulder spoke first, "I believe you have something for me." The smaller man, face lined with experience, simply nodded and handed him a thick envelope. Mulder took it and, without checking, jammed it into his jacket. "What do you want in exchange?" he asked curiously. The man smiled slightly and shook his head. In the same low voice heard over the phone, he explained cryptically, "we've been waiting for you to step forward. There are many who will help in this fight." Mulder nodded, his eyes constantly scanning the area, "it won't be easy," he warned. "Few things worth dying for are," he returned seriously. "I'll contact you again when it's safe." With that the small, somber man disappeared into the shadows. Mulder patted the package to ensure it was secure and began to walk back to the bureau's parking structure. Tiredness forgotten, he planned on stopping by his office and putting in a few extra hours. It was then that he heard the soft scrape of a footstep. Unwilling to risk a glance backwards, he quickened his pace and searched for an alternate route. Just a few feet up ahead he saw the separation between two buildings, some type of service path through. He sensed rather than observed that his stalker was near. Faking a dodge, he took two quick steps forward, then lurched to the left throwing himself hard into the cyclone gate. His luck held and the force of the impact caused it to fall open. His shoulder, on the other hand, would be complaining loudly in the morning. He ran through the narrow pathway slowing only once to throw himself over a five foot fence. He heard his follower just beginning his climb. Panting hard, he stumbled and fell hard into several garbage cans full of the day's trash. He shoved the bins behind him and rushed forward, exiting onto a street that hugged the north side of the bureau's parking structure. Plunging himself into the garage entry, he disappeared into a stairwell that led to the building interior. Ten minutes later, a heavily sweating and slightly bruised Mulder made his way through the door of his office. >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDING 4:37AM: Mulder spent the rest of the night examining the documents. They provided detail of an experimental facility in Kiruna. The package contained actual hand-written notes describing the atrocities that were being committed in the name of Science. He scanned the information to disk and e-mailed it to several sources for validation. Leaning back heavily, he rubbed his left side, sore from the fall. It hurt like hell, but he could tell it wasn't broken. He knew what a broken rib felt like and thankfully, this was not it. Unfortunately his headache and scratchy throat had returned with a vengeance. That compiled with a bruised shoulder and rib were making Mulder one unhappy camper. He laid his head down on the desk and considered a quick nap. He could almost picture Scully's face as she walked into the office and found him snoring loudly. Refusing to give into his weariness, he pushed himself out of the chair and made his way to the small closet in the back of the room. Pulling out a fresh suit kept for the express purpose of too many all nighters, he headed to the gym for a shower and shave. >>>>>>>>>>>> FBI HEALTH CLUB FACILITY Mulder's luck held,the locker room was empty. Stripping down, he grabbed a towel and hit the showers. The hot water pounded against his bruised flesh in a sensual mix of pain and pleasure and he found himself reluctant to end the experience. Only the sound of someone in the next shower stall pulled him back to reality. In no mood to socialize, he turned off the water, reached for his towel and moved to exit. Agony, sheer agony as a fiery stripe ripped through his calve. He fell to his knees and grabbed at his leg. The pain, similar to the others he'd experienced over the last few days, did not abate this time and Mulder twisted in such a way that allowed him full view of the area. His eyes narrowed in pain and he struggled not to cry out. His sensitive fingers were startled to feel movement under the skin. Pain temporarily forgotten, he sat stunned as a dark shadow slithered just below the surface. His eyes widened in horror, "Tunguska," he moaned aloud. "Agent Mulder," a strong voice called out, "Mulder!" Skinner dropped to his knee beside him and gripped his shoulder. "Are you all right?" The pain had begun to dissipate and Mulder could see no additional evidence of the cancer that had invaded his body so long ago. His breathing rapid with fear, he struggled to gain control of his turbulent emotions. Pushing away from the comfort of Skinner's touch, he pulled himself up to a standing position and tentatively put his weight on the injured leg. It protested slightly but supported the movement. Resolution number five, he lectured silently, no more shower scenes with your boss. Gripping the towel, he took a careful step towards his locker and mumbled, "I'm fine, sir. J-just a leg cramp." Skinner, damp from his own shower, tightened the towel around his waist then reached out his hand to grip Mulder's elbow. Spender entered, his arms raised above his head as he pulled off his tee-shirt. As the shirt cleared his face, he stopped and found himself in the path of Skinner and Mulder, both wrapped in thin towels. Mulder's face was flushed, lips swollen and Skinner's hand was placed possessively on his elbow. Skinner's expression made it clear there was more to their relationship than work. Spender's face clearly showed his disgust as he attempted to pass the two men. Mulder stumbled slightly and Skinner's grip tightened. "Jeez, take it outside, will you," griped the knob kneed Spender. Mulder looked down at Skinner's hand then back to Spender. What the hell! He pulled himself away from Skinner and stood straight, placing himself directly in front of the annoying young man. His gaze wandered from head to toe and then back up again as he took in the unattractive gawkiness of this man. He leaned in and whispered softly, his breath tickling Spender's lobe, "jealous?" Spender leapt backwards as though burned and rushed from the room red faced. His expression stern, Skinner shoved Mulder forward into the locker room. "Why the hell did you do that, Mulder?" Skinner griped. Mulder shrugged and it was only now that Skinner noticed the large bruises on his side and shoulder. "What happened to your side?" Mulder, attempting a distraction, answered, "maybe he won't bug me anymore if he thinks I'm your bitch." "Agent Mulder, I will not have you spreading these types of rumors!" Skinner ordered. Mulder shrugged, "I won't be the one spreading the rumors," he assured. Skinner realized that Mulder had avoided his earlier question quite nicely. Refusing to discuss Mulder's little joke further, he asked again, "what happened to your side, Mulder?" Mulder was not ready to talk and he found himself resenting Skinner's questions. He tossed the tie around his neck and began tying it into a neat knot. "Fell," he answered tightly. Skinner tensed at his sharp tone. "And the shoulder?" Mulder shrugged into his suit jacket and shoved the locker door shut. Looking up at Skinner, his face a smooth mask, he replied, "fell hard." He turned and left the room quickly leaving a frustrated Skinner behind. The quicksilver moods of Mulder were exhausting and he considered just writing this incident off as another Mulder tantrum. No, he thought, that kind of thinking is what caused the split with Mulder not so long ago. Regardless of how high maintenance the man was, he was determined to know and understand him. Skinner was not a stupid man. Mulder had seen so much, faced death many times over and still he survived. It was obvious that someone very high up was protecting him. This was a puzzle Skinner was determined to solve. Instinctively he knew the day would come when Mulder would be forced into a different role. When that day came, Skinner would be there to support him. Slamming his own locker shut, he turned to leave the locker room. Spender, several lockers down, looked down when he realized Skinner had caught him staring. Risking a glance up, he watched as the dark, muscular man left the room. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder walked quickly back to his office. Tunguska, the name alone was enough to start him trembling. He blinked rapidly forcing back the fullness. Get a grip, Mulder, he repeated to himself, hold it together until you get to your office. His hand on the knob, he was halted by the hated voice of Cancer Man. "Agent Mulder, back to work so soon. I'd heard you were ill yesterday," he queried calmly. Mulder swallowed hard, then turned, his hand still gripping the knob tightly. He did not reply, just stood and waited. CSM studied Mulder closely, his color indicated that he may indeed have been ill yesterday. In fact, Mulder looked as though he would topple at any moment. Still he'd received a report that a man meeting Mulder's description may have received classified documents sometime last night. Records indicated Mulder had entered the Hoover building late last night meaning he'd spent the evening. A resource in the building attempted to access Mulder's computer and capture his nocturnal activities with no success. Any attempt at access released a virus that destroyed the intruder's files and left them with what had now come to be known as the black screen of death. Clever, CSM mused, no doubt a gift from his Lone Gunmen friends. Mulder continued to stand, silent. He was not up to such a confrontation today. The vision in his right eye blurred momentarily and he found himself leaning against the door frame in an effort to steady himself. He raised his fist and rubbed at his eye like a small child fighting sleep. CSM found himself cast back to another time, another place. Bill had been called out of town and Tina had asked him to dinner. Their affair over, she was determined to remain faithful to her husband. Yet she would not deny him the opportunity to spend some time with his son. The four year old Fox was at first hesitant with the strange man, his own father's moods unpredictable. CSM had to spend almost an hour smiling and talking quietly before he came out of hiding. It was only after dinner when he'd selected a book of children's poetry off the shelf and sat down on the couch that the boy approached. Tina had often told him how fascinated the boy was with the written word. He opened the book and began to read the charming lines aloud. The boy, mesmerized, wriggled closer and closer until he was comfortably secure in the large man's lap. Tina watched from the kitchen door, tears in her eyes, as she imagined the life that could have been theirs. The boy giggled and helped turn the pages insisting, with all the energy of youth, that he read every word. A persistent child, he thought proudly. CSM looked down and smiled as the boy snuggled against his chest, tiny fists attempting to rub away the sleep that threatened... Without thought, CSM stepped forward hand outstretched, "Fox, are you all -- " Mulder's head came up slowly. It was then that CSM saw the black substance flicker across Mulder's eye. Shocked, he stepped back and cried, "my God!" Mulder needed to get away. He pushed open the office door and practically threw himself inside, slamming the door behind him. Unreasonably, he locked it before stumbling into his chair. "This can't be happening." Outside the door, CSM stood in horror. Krycek had reported that Mulder was inoculated from and then infected with the Black Cancer in Tunguska. This incident was unplanned and Mulder, who suffered exposure prior to Tunguska, became the only test subject with such a history. Upon Mulder's return from Tunguska, he'd been watched closely, every emergency room visit allowing them the opportunity to obtain a sample and test. When they consistently turned up normal, CSM breathed a sigh of relief. Since Mulder's exposure much progress had been made and there were some that believed exposure might actually provide some level of protection later. Still, he did not relish the idea of his offspring being infected by an alien intruder. He had plans for his son and they did not include an early death from Black Cancer. Too many mistakes in his life, too often choosing the path that would bring him the greatest power. Of late he'd begun to wonder at the wisdom of his actions. His only hope, only salvation might lie in his son's hands. No, he had not saved him so many times only to lose him now. Scully's heels clicked loudly as she neared the office door. Her hostile eyes met those of the man who had caused them so much pain. He, uncomfortable facing her with his emotions so close to the surface, turned and walked away. She walked to the door and attempted to enter. Finding it locked she assumed Mulder had decided to stay home another day. "Smartest move he's made in a long time," she mumbled. The door opened and she was surprised to find her partner sitting in the dark, his back to her. "Mulder, what are you doing back at work so soon?" she asked as she slipped off her coat. He turned the chair towards her, eyes shuttered, his expression tightly controlled. Scully suppressed a shudder and stepped in closer. She leaned forward and turned on the desk lamp. He winced as the light hit his eyes and threw his hand up in defense. "Mulder, she scolded, "why did you come in today? You look like hell." A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, "thanks, Scully. I know I can always count on you to keep my feet on the ground." The phone rang startling them both. She reached for it first. "Scully." She listened quietly for a moment and then ended the call with a "yes, sir." Eyeing Mulder closely, she asked, "what did you do now?" He raised confused eyes to hers. She hid her smile, "don't look at me like that. You must have done something because Skinner wants to see me," she paused, "ALONE." His smothered a gasp, clenching his jaw tightly as the pain radiated from his upper thighs through his back. He wanted to cry. He wanted to put his head down on his desk and weep. Fire had always been an irrational fear for him. The attacks on his body felt as though someone was dancing a flame across his bare flesh. Looking up, he forced himself to hide the pain. She did not need this. His disease, his 'cancer' would cause her to relive her own horror through him. He refused to let that happen. His hands slid to his sides and bit into the arm grips of the chair. Needing her to leave, he prodded, "well don't keep me in suspense, Scully. Go up and see what I did." She paused, sensing something was wrong. His smile was strained, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. Worried, she moved around to the side of his chair. She crouched next to him, her hand automatically reaching for his cheek. This time though she caressed it gently wanting him to realize she was not only his personal physician, but also his friend. "Hey," she said softly, "how you doing partner?" Her gentleness was his undoing. The clinical Scully he could push away. This Scully was his friend, his partner and her sensitivity to his emotions made it very difficult to hide. He leaned his face into her hand like a cat begging for a scratch and closed his eyes. Concerned, she reached for him and pulled his face into her shoulder, "Mulder, tell me what's the matter?" He shook his head and sniffled against her jacket. "Mulder, please, let me help." He shook his head and pulled away. The pain was gone leaving behind aching muscles. His shirt was soaked through with perspiration and his body demanded rest after such a trauma. "Scully, I think I should have stayed home today," he admitted. "Be careful, Mulder, anyone might think you're getting practical," she warned. "Will you be okay while I talk to Skinner," she asked. He smirked, "I'll be fine, Scully. I guess I just needed a little more time." She smiled and looked down at her watch, "speaking of time, I'm late." She turned at the door and warned, "when I get back I'm taking you home," she promised. He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, knowing it was expected. "Promises, promises, Agent Scully. Someday you're going to have to pay up." She snorted and left the room. Mulder gasped and leaned forward clutching his stomach. It was back, he cried, they were back! The pain was excruciating, but the knowledge that there were living creatures inside of him made the situation all the more intolerable. Nausea rose and he reached desperately for the trash bin and retched. Wiping his mouth with several tissues, he maintained his position over the bin and studied his own vomit for signs of life. Fuck, just when he was finally beginning to understand his purpose, his direction, he was faced with this. His mind fumbled for an explanation, it had all happened so long ago. Hard to believe he was just now displaying symptoms. Optimistically, he wondered if this was just something he could ride out. Hell, Mulder, you've been through worse than this. It had happened in Tunguska and he'd survived. This disease, dormant for so long, might just go away if he could just go ho -- He doubled over again as the pain shot through his chest and up the side of neck. Sharp, hot knives slammed angrily into his flesh. Desperately he glanced at the door, he had to leave before Scully returned. Forcing himself to stand, he stumbled towards the exit. "No pain, no pain," he chanted pushing it to the back of his mind. He pulled on his coat and fumbling for his keys. In his pocket he found the package of information he'd received the night before. The data could not be ignored, people were dying. In his current state he didn't feel comfortable carrying it. If he passed out, they'd find it on him and his plans would be revealed. He pulled open the nearest drawer and shoved the package in a file titled, Presley, Elvis. No one would find it there, he thought and stumbled out the door. Dizzying waves of pain washed over him as he limped through the hallway. Sweat gathered on his brow and he bit down on his lower lip with each new assault. In Russia when the creatures entered his body, he'd felt this way. If he had not been tied down, paralyzed, he'd have gone insane. Instead he'd been forced to lay there and watch unable to do more than blink as his body was invaded. He stepped into the elevator and leaned against the cold metal wall. There were two others in the car, each eyeing him anxiously, but offering no assistance. Ah, Mulder thought amused, the convenience of psychotic behavior. After a while it begins to look normal. The elevator stopped on three and the two other agents exited quickly. Mulder was left blissfully alone to moan aloud and brush away the tears that threatened to fall. "Don't let go yet," he warned. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. The consummate professional, Mulder left a short list of instructions regarding the action needed on the Sweden affair. He hung up quickly, his team would have to act on their own. It needed to be cared for now and Mulder knew he was in no condition to assist in the planning. Head down, shoulders hunched forward, he ignored all curious stares as he stumbled out of the building. He felt like a man lost in a snowstorm, his only chance of getting home relied on maintaining his focus on the flickering light just beyond his grasp. For now, his goal was the truck. After that -- home. A flash of his mother's living room flickered before his eyes. He'd spent the day with his mother two weeks ago and he was almost tempted to go to her. Maybe she would take care of him, let him rest while she kept watch. Ha, Mulder, you had a few good hours with the woman, don't push it! The place to go is your apartment. No one can get in. You can rest there. In the parking lot now, he could see his truck not more than fifty feet away. It was here his skin began to burn. The slicing pain before was nothing compared to this scalding sensation. The brush of his pants against his leg was the equivalent of a blowtorch on his skin. He faltered and fell to the ground. Curling himself into as small a ball as possible, he could no longer contain himself. His tears brought with them a new agony as each wove a stinging path down his face. Writhing in pain, he briefly wondered if he were dying. "Mom, I'm sorry, mom," he moaned aloud. >>>>>>>>>>>> TWO WEEKS EARLIER: Fox Mulder had been standing on the porch of his mother's home for almost five minutes. Each time he reached to press the bell, he pulled it back. What was he doing here? Why was he going to put himself through this again? He walked to the porch rail and surveyed the neighborhood. Children playing across the street and an early afternoon jogger all gave the impression of a lovely life, a perfect place to grow up. Behind him he heard the door open, "Fox, why are you standing out here. Come inside or you'll catch a chill," she scolded. Mulder smiled wryly, a chill, the woman was worried about him catching a chill. Knowing he could no longer avoid it, he turned towards her and followed her into the house. The tea kettle whistled noisily and she rushed into the kitchen to turn the water off. Returning to his side, she asked, "I was just making a pot of tea, Fox, will you join me for a cup?" Ever polite, he nodded, "I'd like that, mom, thanks." "Only cream," she recalled fondly, "no sugar. Is that how you still like it, dear?" "Dear?" He studied the woman before him more closely. Who was she and where was his mother? "Cream only is exactly how I like it, thanks for remembering," he responded gratefully. Ignoring the kettle, she moved closer and raised her hand to his cheek. He flinched slightly, expecting a slap. She saw his movement, but chose to ignore it. Instead she laid her hand gently on his arm before pulling him into a polite hug, "of course I remember, Fox, you're my son." She released him and bustled off to the kitchen. Mulder stood, slightly bemused, his own hand covering the warm spot left on his arm by hers. It was obvious she was trying very hard to heal the rift between them. Affection was not something that came naturally to this woman. He exhaled not realizing until that moment that he'd been holding his breath. He was almost afraid to move, afraid doing so would cause him to awaken from this strange dream. She entered the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies and placed it down carefully on the coffee table. Sitting down on the sofa, she gestured for him to join her. "You look a bit tired, Fox. Have you been working too much?" she asked politely. "Just getting back into the swing of things after being away," he answered without thought. "My workload has been pretty full." Puzzled, she asked, "you've been away?" Stumbling to recover from his blunder, he corrected, "I-I was on an extended vacation. Needed to get away for a while." Her eyes wandered over the tall, slim figure of her son. It was the face of a man, a man driven by forces still unknown. She sensed there was more to this vacation story, but felt sure he would not share it with her. "Where did you go?" His eyes searched the room, resting finally on the piano in the corner, "I was in Colorado for a while, then I spent some time in the Midwest." "That sounds lovely. Did you find what you were looking for?" Startled, he pulled his eyes from the piano and met hers. She seemed genuinely interested in his response. "I found the strength to come back," he answered simply. Her hand moved to cover his, "I'm glad you came back, Fox." Then, before he could answer, she glanced towards the instrument. "Remember when you were a little boy, you used to play so beautifully," she complimented. "Do you still play?" He remembered, his time at the piano was one of the rare occasions he could please his parents. They would have him come downstairs and play a piece or two after dinner when guests were over. People seemed to enjoy his playing. He himself had always been uncomfortable with the attention. The best part would always come when he played the final note. His mother would come and pull him into a hug. His back resting against her soft chest, she would whisper into his ear how proud she was of him. His father would sit off to the side, smiling and nodding at the compliments received. A perfect family, loving and supportive. For a moment or two he could almost believe it. Later came the summer when several of his fingers were broken and a fall had made it impossible to sit on the hard stool for long lengths of time. Music was eventually forgotten although he never forgot the sound of his mother's smiling voice in his ear. "Fox," she repeated, "do you still play?" He shook his head apologetically, "actually, Mom, I haven't played in many years. A few times at Oxford," he shrugged. She sipped her tea, "you played so beautifully, Fox. I once had dreams of you becoming a classical pianist." He grinned crookedly at her confession, inexplicably pleased at the thought of her having dreams for him. "Yeah, well I do look good in a tux," he joked. "Fox," she laughed, "always the jokester." Her eyes wandered again towards the instrument. Mulder, seeing the mistiness in her eyes realized that she too must have enjoyed those times together. He stood, walked to the bench and sat down, "mind if I try, mom?" She followed him across the room. Looking down at his feet, she teased, "when did your feet get large enough to reach the pedals on your own?" He chuckled and, in his mind, began paging through the sheet music of his youth. "Any special requests, ma'am?" Her hand resting lightly on his neck, she answered happily, "just play, Fox, just play." And he had, music filled the room. Mostly classical, she'd always loved classical music. Later he threw in a Broadway show tune and, finally the bittersweet song, Imagine. They laughed and sang (well okay, she sang) the afternoon away. The experience gave him a whole new appreciation for Scully's voice. Afterwards, she'd wrapped her arms around him and whispered into his ear how proud she was of him. There was no discussion of their painful past, no explanations or apologies. Just a mother and son enjoying the afternoon together. And for some reason, the experience allowed him to forgive her a little and begin to understand that blaming her for so many things that neither he or she could control was a useless waste of his emotion. They stood and hugged good bye on the porch, both a bit awkward with the newness of the action. He leaned in and whispered, "I'm sorry, mom." She pulled back and looked deeply into her son's eyes. "You, Fox, have nothing to be sorry for," she gave him one last hug and walked back into the house. >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDING - PARKING STRUCTURE "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his lips scraping the cold concrete. He felt himself being lifted to his feet by several pairs of strong arms. In front of him a face flickered then steadied to reveal the amused features of Alex Krycek. Krycek reached over and took Mulder's chin between his fingers, "ah, Mulder, you don't know what sorry is." Without hesitation, he punched the older man, sending him off into an unconscious haven. Nodding to the other men, Mulder's body was gathered up and tossed haphazardly in the trunk of Krycek's car. Alex reached into the back seat and pulled out a green wool blanket and tossed it over Mulder before closing the trunk. One of the other men looked at him questioningly. He shrugged, "hey, my orders were to keep him comfortable." His two assistants grinned then jumped into their car and disappeared. Alex casually scanned the area. Just above he spotted a security camera and realized that he'd soon have company. Before getting in the car, he turned and allowed the camera a full shot of his face. Raising his hand arrogantly to the camera, he flipped his observers the bird and grinned as he imagined Scully and Skinner watching the film. Satisfied, he jumped into the car and sped away, unconcerned with the comfort of his guest. >>>>>>>>>>>> SKINNER'S OFFICE: Skinner had called Scully in to discuss the shower room event. She, in turn, had shared details of Mulder's current condition. "Something's wrong, Scully, and it isn't the flu," Skinner stated worriedly. "Has he ever talked about Tunguska with you?" Scully's brow furrowed as she remembered the time he'd disappeared with Krycek. She knew he was in an area called Tunguska but try as she might, he would never talk about it. "No, sir. Did he put any detail into his report that might help?" Skinner picked a thin file up off his desk, it was obvious by it's bulk that it contained little detail. "You know he never even filed a voucher for the flights. I can't believe I missed that," Skinner admitted ruefully. "As I recall he did try to get the agency to buy him a new suit and coat after the explosion that followed," Scully reminded. "And I turned it down! Told him I'd start paying for his suits when he started wearing affordable clothing." Scully's mouth quirked crookedly, "that must have upset him." Skinner placed his glasses more firmly on his nose. "He was furious. He actually accused me of shopping for my suits at Sears." Frowning, he continued, "but seriously, Scully, is it possible he was exposed to something in Tunguska?" "Oh my God," she whispered, "Krycek." She stood and began to pace, what had Krycek said? "Sir, remember when Krycek broke into my apartment?" "Of course." "Krycek said something about Mulder being exposed." Her eyes widened in shock, "and later at the hotel in Chicago when I asked Mulder about it." Skinner recalled the incident clearly, "he avoided the question." "Yes sir, but his expression, it was obviously a very painful memory for him." Rubbing her temple anxiously, "why do I always make him tell me what he's feeling? Why do I constantly ignore all the non-verbal signals he sends?" Skinner moved closer and pressed her down gently into the chair. "Stop blaming yourself, Scully. I doubt there is anyone on this planet who can possibly understand the moods of Fox Mulder." He added only half joking, "when you look up complex in the dictionary, his name is probably there." She smiled sadly, "I don't know, sir, that Sally woman didn't seem to have any trouble figuring him out." Skinner ignored the slight jealous tone in Scully's voice, "Scully, I would bet that Sally and Mulder had very few actual conversations. What she figured out was that Mulder was a man and she was a wom -" Scully cut him off, "thanks, but my mom told me this story a long time ago." Skinner choked, "of course, Agent Scully, I didn't mean to insinuate." She smiled her forgiveness, "no need, sir." Then more serious, "with your permission I'm going to drag that man to a doctor. There is no way, after we fought so hard to get him back, that I'm going to lose him." Skinner's phone rang insistently, "wait just one moment, Scully, and I'll go with you." Picking up the phone, he answered, "Skinner." Scully watched Skinner's handsome features darken as he listened. "Are you sure it was him?" Skinner demanded. After another moment of silence, Skinner ordered, "get an APB out on the car and bring me the security camera film immediately!" He slammed down the phone. "Mulder?" she asked. "Mulder," he confirmed. >>>>>>>>>>>> LOC: KRYCEK'S TRUNK His bruised shoulder hit the trunk wall for the fifth time in as many minutes. Groggy, the burning pain temporarily gone, he wondered if he was having another nightmare. The car made a sharp right and Mulder rolled several feet, "great," he moaned aloud, "I have to get kidnapped by someone in a luxury car." The trunk was huge. Unfortunately for Mulder, who estimated they were travelling at about 70 miles per hour, it was somewhat of a disadvantage. He found himself tossed painfully around the wide space. He was also freezing, the itchy blanket they'd left him was slightly damp and only succeeded in making him colder. He kicked it aside with a curse. Feeling around his pockets, he found his weapons gone but his flashlight still intact. Switching it on, be began an examination of the lock. Possibly he could pick it from the inside. The car careened to the left and Mulder felt his head hit the trunk hood before he could grab hold of anything. "Ah shit," he cursed, rubbing it carefully. Panting heavily, he seriously considered rolling himself into a tight ball and going back to sleep. It was then that he heard the faint sounds of music. Moving his body closer to the front of the trunk, he placed his ear against the wall of the back seat. "Oh, sweet Jesus, not that, anything but that!" he whispered fearfully. He began to sweat and wriggled back towards the trunk latch. In his panic he decided to kick his way out. No way was he staying here, he had to get out! The last kick caused the lock to crack. He grabbed the underside of the trunk lid before it could fly open and alert the driver of his escape. Trunk now open he could hear the music clearly and he grimaced in disgust as he heard the driver sing along. Seeing no other cars following, he threw himself out of the trunk just as it slowed to turn onto a dirt road. There was no way he was staying in a car with that madman. Krycek, just finishing the final verse of Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana, was shocked to hear the loud thump accompanied by the clattering of an open trunk. "God damnit, Mulder," he swore as he pulled the car over to the side, "why do you have to be such an asshole!" Mulder had utilized the tuck and roll technique taught at the bureau for just such occasions. What they neglected to tell you was that no matter how good of a tucker and roller you were, it was still going to hurt like hell. The first connection between his body and the ground was somewhat surreal. He didn't actually feel it until three seconds later when his right side began to complain loudly. The side of the road was sloped downward causing him to roll further into a deep ravine. Landing hard, his face pressed into sharp white gravel and overgrown weeds, he groaned. No time, he thought. Ignoring the pain, he forced himself to his feet. Risking a look upwards, he saw an obviously disgusted Krycek beginning his own, more coordinated slide down. Left or right would just find him running along the side of the road, a no win situation. Behind him ran a small stream and, seeing little choice, he began his run to freedom. He gasped as he hit the ice cold water, the depth and current quickly sapping him of the little strength that remained. Stumbling, he found himself close to drowning in thigh high water. Krycek called out impatiently from the shore. "Come on, Mulder, don't make me get wet." Mulder stood, only a few feet from the opposite shoreline. If he could make it there perhaps Krycek wouldn't follow. His hopes were dashed when he heard the other man enter the water, cursing the whole time. Just as Mulder took his first step on dry land, he felt a strong grip on his shoulder pulling him back. "Get your Manilow-loving hands off of me, Krycek," he growled and, with the last of his strength, pulled away. "Oh for Christ's sake, everyone knows the words to Barry Manilow songs. What kind of an American are you, Mulder?" He pulled the bedraggled man into a headlock, then tossed him easily to the ground. Mulder lay flat on his back, Krycek easily pinning him by pressing his own weight on his chest. Their faces inches apart, Mulder taunted, "if you plan on getting any closer, you're going to have to buy me dinner, Alex." "Asshole," Krycek answered fondly, "get up and take it like a man." Mulder sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, the cold seeping into his aching bones. He started to shake, followed up quickly by a bout of coughing. Krycek stood back, allowing him some space. He brushed distastefully at the water on his jeans, "why did you have to run towards the water?" Mulder was struggling to stand when the burning sensation began and spread throughout his body. It traveled from his lower abdomen up through his chest and he fell to the ground, arms wrapped around himself protectively. "What the hell -- get up, Mulder!" Krycek demanded, nudging him with his foot. Mulder cried out as Krycek's foot connected and curled more tightly into himself. He watched himself go blind as the shadow spread across his eyes. Krycek, puzzled, bent and forced Mulder onto his back. Mulder's arms fell to his sides. Too weak to move, he lay on his back knowing Krycek was there, but unable to see more than a shadowy fog. Krycek knelt beside him, confused by Mulder's behavior. He always fought, seldom gave up. The black substance spreading across Mulder's eyes explained everything. "You poor bastard," he moaned softly, remembering all too clearly his own experience with this filthy intruder. He backed up carefully and pulled out his cell phone. It only took a moment for CSM to answer. He quickly explained the situation. "I'm less than ten minutes away at the corner of Third and Beckett. I'm going to need help getting him out of this ravine." Krycek listened patiently to the man's angry lecture before answering, "listen, I can drag his sorry ass up the hill but I'll probably cause him more harm. After all," he added snidely, "I've only got one arm here." More silence. "Fine, I'll stay with him until they arrive." He disconnected the phone and looked down at the contorted face of his ex-partner. He pulled off his own jacket and bent down to cover the shaking man unsure why he bothered. >>>>>>>>>>>> SKINNER'S OFFICE: Skinner stepped back, shocked. "Did he just flip us off?" "Something is horribly wrong with Mulder, sir," Scully worried. Skinner nodded, still a bit peeved at Krycek's insolence, "no word on the car yet. I don't suppose he carried that silver frame of yours with him?" he asked sarcastically. She blushed but defended, " I do not regret what I tried to do. Besides," she admitted, "he knew right away that it was bugged." "Hmmm," murmured Skinner, carefully examining the security video. Mulder was curled up on the pavement obviously in great pain. "Look at him, Scully, Krycek is the least of his worries." She nodded, "I'm going to contact the Lone Gunmen and see if they know anything about Tunguska. When we do find him, we need to know what we're dealing with." "Scully, why did Krycek take him? Why now when he's obviously ill?" Skinner pondered. "Is it possible he's taken him because of his illness?" "Sir, with all due respect, Krycek could be behind his illness," she countered. Skinner rubbed his chin lightly staring at the video, "I don't know, Scully, something is different. Mulder hasn't been investigating anything beyond your current cases, has he?" Skinner shook her head, "no, sir, there's been very little spare time. I still don't know how he managed to review all the evidence on Kelliher's case. I swear the man never sleeps," she added, exasperated. Skinner turned his back to her and walked to the window. He closed his eyes and shifted through his most recent meetings with CSM. He'd seem inordinately interested in Mulder's activities. Skinner had provided nothing beyond the norm. Minimal information on the cases and, because it was common knowledge, his assistance to VCS. Mulder's behavior lately could actually be termed, well behaved. There was nothing unusual to report to CSM. Suddenly, he remembered. Kimberly had gone to lunch, her desk left vacant. Skinner was in the process of escorting CSM out when the old man stopped by her desk and picked up a framed picture. He held it for a moment and Skinner swore, when he returned it to its place, he was misty eyed. Turning to Skinner, he warned, "keep an eye on Agent Mulder, Walter. Mustn't let any harm befall him." He turned and left. Skinner, staring out the window, was chilled by the memory and visibly shivered. "Sir," Scully called, "sir, are you all right?" He turned and walked quickly into the outer office. Scully followed, curious. Kimberly jumped back in surprise when he reached for the framed picture. "Who is this child, Kimberly?" Skinner asked, his voice calm. Eyes wide, she answered, "my godchild, Zack." She smiled, "isn't he adorable, he's just four." "He's a beautiful child, Kim," Skinner answered, staring at the young boy's green eyes and shy smile. "May I?" Skinner asked, indicating he'd like to take possession of the picture for a while. She nodded, clearly confused by the request. He and Scully returned to his office, Skinner still holding the frame. "What is it , sir?" CSM stopped to look at his picture last week. He studied it, Scully, then he turned and told me to watch over Mulder." He looked down into the laughing eyes of the young boy. "It means something, everything means something," Skinner said adamantly. Scully paused, struck by her own memory. "Sir, Krycek was with him in Tunguska. Are you sure he said Tunguska this morning?" her eyes begged him to deny it. "He said it clearly." he confirmed. "Scully, in Chicago CSM insinuated that he might be Mulder's father?" "That's impossible," Scully protested louder than necessary. "There is no way that man is related to Mulder!" Skinner again remembered the uncharacteristically gentle way CSM had cradled the boy's picture. "What if he is, Scully?" Skinner asked seriously, "I've never been able to discern his relationship to Mulder, but it has always been obvious that there was some type of connection between the two." Skinner adjusted his glasses around his ears nervously, "what if, in some strange way, he's Mulder's protector?" She glared at Skinner unwilling to take the conversation further. "I'm going to check in with the Gunmen, please call me if any new information is received." Skinner nodded, distracted by his own thoughts. His theory would go a long way in explaining some of that bastard's activities. Too often Mulder had been allowed to tread paths that others would never have been allowed to survive. Strangely enough, Mulder always did. LOCATION UNKNOWN: "Was it necessary to put him in the trunk, Alex?" CSM asked calmly. His eyes strayed once again to the closed door just beyond Krycek's shoulder. Alex grinned, emerald eyes twinkling mischievously, "it's a big trunk." "With a flimsy lock," CSM scolded. The door opened and CSM stepped past Alex. "How is he, Dr. Jennings?" Dr. Jenning's youthful face reflected frustration, "it's difficult to diagnose," he began carefully. "Try," clipped CSM. "His blood pressure and pulse are normal. In between attacks his temperature is elevated, but not dangerously so. I'd say he's been suffering from minor symptoms for days with today marking his first real difficulty. He appears to be suffering from exhaustion, I suspect as a result of his attacks. Pain is a major stress factor you know," Dr. Jennings lectured blandly. Krycek's lip twitched, "where does smoking rank on that stress list, doctor?" Distracted, Dr. Jennings replied, "actually smoking is very - " "Please continue with the patient information, Dr. Jennings," CSM ordered tersely. "Oh, uhm, yes, of course." Looking down at his notes, he continued, "the problem seems compounded by a very common head cold. "Oh," he added hastily, "he has contusions on his side and shoulder, a recent fall, I'd guess. And then there were the fresh scrapes incurred today when he fell into the ditch." CSM glared at Krycek angrily. Alex shrugged, "hey, I didn't push him 'out' of the trunk." "Go on, doctor," CSM demanded. "The attacks seem to hit approximately 45 minutes to an hour apart and last anywhere from 5-15 minutes. They are escalating, meaning it's going to get worse before it gets better. Symptoms are typical, severe muscle cramping, a traveling pain that can be described as stabbing. When the creatures are extremely active, the patient will suffer a burning sensation when touched." Dr. Jennings bit his lip nervously before advising, "he was awake for a few minutes, very disoriented. Asking a lot of questions about where he is and why he's here. What do you want me to tell him?" "Can you give him something for the pain," asked CSM, ignoring the doctor's question, "knock him out during the attacks?" Dr. Jennings shook his head, "we are still unclear on interactions. We lost one patient when we attempted to mask his symptoms. No, I'm sorry, I can't recommend such an approach." "What about a vaccine or antidote?" CSM asked cautiously. The doctor nodded his head, "I have a delivery of the most current version arriving later today. "But," he warned, "it's not an antidote. It is, however, our best hope." Looking down at the chart again, Dr. Jennings noted, "these results are interesting. It looks like he's fought down lesser strains of this organism before. I've never seen that with the others." He began scribbling some notes, "do either of you know if he has a tendency to spike a fever when he gets run down?" Krycek and CSM exchanged confused glances, that was definitely a mom question. "I don't know," CSM answered angrily. "You know I think he does. There was a time when he and Scul -- " CSM glared at Alex, "since when did you take an interest in his health?" "Since the prick threatened to shoot off one of my balls!" he defended. "I want him alive and healthy when payback time comes." "Well regardless," Jennings continued, "we'll get the new serum into him later tonight. Until then, he'll continue to suffer from these," he paused, searching for the polite word, "events." "You understand this will mark his third struggle with the organism," CSM informed flatly. "Really," Dr Jennings answered with interest. "Well, that's not unusual, we've had subjects survive multiple attacks before. How long ago did the first exposure occur?" "32 years ago." Dr. Jennings eyes widened in shock, "how is this possible? We have never had a child survive exposure. Are you sure?" Dr. Jennings pushed. CSM nodded confidently, a small proud smile on his face. Then, remembering the circumstances, he sobered. "He was first exposed when he was six. His father," CSM paused and locked eyes with Krycek daring him to speak, "brought him grudgingly to work when his mother was ill and, unwisely, left the boy on his own. He was a curious child and wandered into a refrigeration unit during a loading procedure. Somehow a vat was overturned and he was exposed." "What happened next? Children aren't usually strong enough to withstand such an attack?" Dr. Jennings asked, fascinated. "Contamination procedures immediately went into effect and he was left in the room alone with them for almost an hour. When the door was finally opened, I fea - - we thought the worst." CSM softened at the memory. "We found him curled up on the floor covered with them. He was sleeping," CSM chuckled. "His mind should have been destroyed," Jennings argued. "There has never been a logical theory as to how he survived. Personally," he coughed to cover his smile, "I think even these creatures know enough not to enter that man's thought processes." Krycek snorted loudly, "odds are he scared them to death with his wild ass imagination." Dr. Jennings eyes glazed over as he considered the possibility, "and the second exposure?" "Tunguska," Alex supplied coldly, "several years back. He was inoculated, then exposed." "Was there any effect that time?" Dr. Jennings was writing frantically, needing to capture all detail on this unique subject. Krycek looked to CSM, who nodded his assent. "He was tied down, unable to fight. Later, in the cell, I was told he'd suffered a much stronger reaction initially. He was unconscious twice as long as the norm. Still, once awake, he appeared to recover quickly." Krycek rubbed the shoulder of his lost arm as he recalled the horror of those nights. "He was strong enough to stage an escape, steal a truck and evade capture by Russia's best," he added bitterly. Dr. Jennings looked back towards Mulder's room with awe. "An amazing subject," a knowing glance towards CSM, he added, "I can see now why it's so important for him to survive." "How soon after he receives this new serum will we know?" asked CSM, unwilling to explain his reasons for saving Mulder. "It varies, but in most cases, if not rejected, we see progress within twelve hours." "Rejected?" asked CSM. "There's no guarantee, sir. Rest assured, I'll do everything I can to save him." "Yes you will, Dr. Jennings," CSM warned. He ground out his cigarette in a nearby metal bin before disposing of it in the trash. Dismissing Krycek and Jennings, he turned and entered the room. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder lay very still as he felt the first tentacle of pain begin to weave its way down his back. He lay on his side, his hands latched tightly to the metal bars, a drowning man grasping for the last life preserver. He heard the opening of the door followed by footsteps. He had already determined he was in some type of medical facility, the bed and connecting monitors providing obvious clues. His mind blurred as he tried to retrace his steps -- how did he get here? A soft step could be heard behind him. He needed to turn and face his captor! A stabbing pain just inches from his spine released a grunt of pain he could not suppress. The shredding of his back continued, each slice travelling deeper into his flesh. Moaning desperately, his hands began to shake causing the metal bars to rattle in time to the pulsating pain. Unable to stay, he curled his body into a small ball and attempted to travel to a peaceful memory. This comfort was even denied him, the thrashing pain consistent with the beatings he'd received from his father. "D-d-d-on't, Dad, please don't!" he cried out, incoherent. He felt a hand reach out and grasp his own tightly. He struggled to open his eyes, to identify his supporter, but found himself unable to accomplish even this simple task. As he whimpered pitifully, the hand tightened upon his own. Sensing a friend, Mulder grasped the offered hand taking some comfort in he fact that someone watched over him protectively. Shortly thereafter, the pain began to dissipate and Mulder fell into an exhausted slumber. CSM removed his hand from Mulder's grasp. He took away a small feeling of satisfaction as the boy's fingers searched for his in his sleep. Mulder might not have known who held his hand, but he had received comfort from the gesture and for this CSM was grateful. He sat down in a corner chair and waited for the next event, as the doctor had so politely titled them, to occur. --- 45 MINUTES LATER: Mulder awoke to the sound of his own heartbeat beeping loudly from an attached monitor. Carefully, he uncurled his body and rolled over on to his back. The action itself was exhausting and he fought the urge to simply close his eyes and give in to all this. The room was dark, full of shadows and his sensitive eyes appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture. You've got to get out of here, Mulder, he urged silently. He attempted to push himself into a sitting position, his strained muscles protesting loudly. CSM stepped forward and gently pushed him back against the pillows. Mulder processed the information slowly, his eyes following the large hand, up the arm and finally to the hated face of CSM. CSM remained silent, his hand still pressed firmly against Mulder's chest. Mulder's face filled with rage, "don't touch me," he demanded. CSM smiled mildly, "Agent Mulder, is that any way to talk to your benefactor?" "Where am I? What have you done to me?" Mulder interrogated weakly. Mulder rubbed at his face tiredly. A dart of fire flashed across the top of his hand. He stared in horror and fascination as a black creature slithered just beneath his flesh. CSM answered calmly, "you are at a medical facility that specializes in your condition. As to what I have done TO you, absolutely nothing. As to what I have done FOR you, well son --" It was a cruel term, CSM knew the reaction it would elicit. Mulder flinched, physically sickened by the endearment, "I am no man's son, " he informed, voice tight and angry. A small gasp escaped as the pain traveled up his arm. Grabbing it, he held it carefully against his chest. "Well, son," he emphasized, "I may very well have saved your life by taking you when I did. Your Dr. Scully would not know how to treat this, Mulder." Mulder pulled himself as far away from the older man as possible. A tightening across his chest and up his neck was making it hard to continue this debate. Turning his back to CSM, unwilling to display his own weakness, he defended through clenched teeth, "s-she would know how to make it stop. Scully always knows how to make the pain stop." Silently, he pulled himself into a small tight ball and attempted to ride out this attack with as much dignity as possible. >>>>>>>>>>>> Several hours and five attacks later CSM saw the last of his detachment fall with a loud clunk to the floor. Mulder had long since lost his battle to remain silent crying out his agony for all to hear. He was not lucid, this was obvious by his desperately strong clasp on CSM's hand when it was offered. CSM never left his side, an unlit cigarette hanging uselessly from his lips. Krycek had entered the room several times and each time had been sent away. CSM knew his own behavior was unusual. Except for a few stolen moments, he had never been allowed close to this man, his son. To the Consortium, Mulder was a nuisance, but an interesting nuisance whose history with the organism made him valuable. Mulder's ability to withstand exposure beginning in his youth was unique. Was there something within Mulder that held a key to the alien plans? What was so special about him that, as a child, the creature had become his playmate instead of his executioner Fox had always been a bright child, well above normal. After his first exposure though, other talents became more obvious. An eidetic memory was discovered and his musical talent became more pronounced. The small boy would look at people with an understanding beyond his years, empathizing to the point of self sacrifice. Were these traits that would have been discovered naturally over the years or were they a result of his first meeting with the alien slime? CSM stood, stretched stiffly and moved to the side of the bed. Mulder slept, his body protesting the constant abuse. He was pale, his lower lip chewed to shreds making it unnaturally red and full. Slight twitching around his eyes indicated Mulder was even now lost in an unknown nightmare. CSM reached out and brushed his hair back from his damp forehead. As he slept CSM could not help but see the small, inquisitive child he was. When did feelings for this man changed so dramatically? He'd always been his protector although few would believe it based on their history. Still, he had kept himself separate seeing Mulder as a tool to be used to get to a certain destination. A compass on a long journey. Then Mulder had disappeared. Samantha's body found, followed by immediate assignment to a monstrous and high profile case had weakened him to the point of collapse. CSM plucked the cigarette from his own mouth and crumbled it in his hand. Anger swept over him as he remembered Mulder's treatment by Skinner and Scully. They were supposed to be his friends and instead treated him with little thought as to the consequences. Certainly, they'd known him long enough to realize his reaction to such situations would be extreme -- complex. In fact, had CSM been aware of their actions prior to Mulder leaving, he might have taken him then. Taken him to a place, safe and clean, where he would not be judged harshly for his emotions. CSM wondered what Mulder's reaction would have been to his small cabin home. Unfortunately, he had been too late and instead had watched in rage as Scully and Skinner hunted him like an animal. With Mulder gone, a hole had been left in his life. A gap that others, including the callous Spender, would never successfully fill. CSM watched the Consortium change around him, each day more convinced that Mulder offered his only salvation. CSM could take control with men such as Mulder at his side. And later, when Mulder was ready, he would step forward and take his rightful place. Yes Mulder, with his unique talents and experiences, was the only choice if they were to survive. Sighing heavily, he watched the boy stir. >From his fragmented sentences, he appeared to be reliving past cases, Scully's abduction and, most painful of all to CSM, his childhood abuse. Still, thought CSM practically, even that experience molded this man into who he was today. Mulder's hand twitched slightly and CSM reached for it. There were years yet before Mulder would be moved into place. It was simply a matter of time, not choice. He only hoped when the time came, that he would finally have discovered the boy's new address! Krycek stepped into the room and CSM surreptitiously removed his hand from Mulder's. "What is it, Alex?" he asked tiredly. Krycek was confused by CSM's uncharacteristic behavior. He knew the man protected Mulder, but never to this level! Handing CSM a report, he advised, "there's been an incident in Kiruna." "Our Sweden facility," CSM confirmed, his eyes already scanning the document. Krycek nodded towards the paper, "the details are minimal, but they've requested your presence." CSM watched as the muscles in Mulder's back began to quiver, it was beginning again. "Tell them I'll be there as soon as possible," he advised and turned his attention back to Mulder. Krycek was stunned, CSM was placing Mulder over the possible destruction of one of their main facilities. Shaking his head, he left the room. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder awoke with a start, Samantha's pleas still echoing through his head. He forced his eyes, thick with tears and sleep, open. Shards of glass disguised as sunlight, abused his eyes. Taking a quick inventory (a Scully trick), he began at his toes and worked his way up, recording all aches and pains. "Mulder vs. the Meat Grinder, guess who won?" he grumbled. Searching the room, he realized he was alone except for the sleeping figure of CSM. The man snored softly in the corner, balanced precariously on a small metal chair. Thoroughly confused, but unwilling to let the opportunity pass, he planned his escape. For now, the pain was gone, leaving behind a bruised and battered body and an extremely fuzzy mind. Quietly, he reached over and turned off the heart monitor. He waited until he heard a solid snore from the corner before continuing. Pulling out the IV, he bit the inside of his cheek as he felt the needle catch on his skin. All other connections were easily broken and Mulder sent a silent prayer of thanks at the absence of a catheter. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to avoid that indignity and didn't really care. Removing his own catheter was a life experience he would definitely prefer to miss. Quietly, he lowered the bar on the side of the bed and slid to the floor, swaying slightly. His hospital gown was uncomfortably damp with his own perspiration and no matter how he moved, it twisted in the opposite direction allowing a full view of his ass to anyone who cared to look. Christ, he complained inwardly, give me a break! Seeing no sign of his clothes, he crept past CSM and eased himself out the door. Several feet down what appeared to be an empty hall he heard a loud whistle, followed by an obscene comment. "Jeez, Mulder, if I went the other way, I'd be really turned on right now!" Krycek shouted. "Oh fuck," Mulder cursed, real terror in his face. He'd always suspected Krycek's attraction, obvious when they fought, and right now he was not strong enough to deal with it. He grabbed the back of the gown and started to run. CSM chose that moment to burst out of his room and directly in front of him stood a tall, dark-haired man in a white jacket. Mulder backed up against the wall, oddly enough, Krycek eyeing his ass still seemed the worst threat right now. His eyes flashed over the three men angrily and he began inching his way to what he hoped was a stairwell door just a few feet to his left. "Leave me alone," he rasped, his voice not supporting his words. He was quickly becoming exhausted and he felt his legs begin to tremble beneath him. Krycek, grinning wickedly, moved towards him. Mulder looked around wildly and suddenly found himself back in his nightmare, Krycek, CSM, his father. He blinked rapidly, struggling to wake up. When he next opened his eyes, he asked in a quaking voice, "dad?" CSM appeared before him and Mulder searched but did not find the large needle from his nightmares. Was it hidden? In a panic, he pushed himself away from the wall and attempted to run past the man. Both CSM and Krycek gripped him easily. He continued to struggle in their tight grasps and therefore missed the silent signal sent to the doctor to inject him. Sprawled helplessly in CSM's lap, he felt his head being forced down allowing full access to his neck. Mulder never saw, but felt the needle as it pressed against his neck. "No," he cried, "please no." As the needle pierced his skin, CSM soothed in a oddly comforting tone, "lay still, boy, it's for your own good. I promise it's for your own good." As the needle was removed from his flesh, he could feel the burning sensation spread throughout his body. He pushed away from the anchoring arms and stumbled into the wall. CSM and Krycek stepped back, watching closely. Mulder searched their faces panic stricken as though waiting for a demon to appear. CSM sent a questioning glare towards Jennings who simply shrugged, "he's obviously delirious." Mulder began a slow slide down the wall, his body a traitor to his brain's need to flee. The burning continued to spread and he turned his face into the wall so they would not see. "Scully," he croaked, where was she? She would know what to do. She would take him home. "Help me, Scully," he whispered before passing out. Dr. Jennings shouted for a cart, but before one arrived CSM hefted Mulder over his shoulder and carried him back into the room. Krycek stood to the side and watched. In all the years he'd been associated with this man, he'd never seen the slightest hint of compassion. Yes, he'd always given orders to protect Mulder. Krycek always knew it was more than simple respect for the man's abilities. But now, watching the man carry him into the room and place him gently on the bed, Krycek could not hold back, "anyone would suspect he was your son the way you're coddling him," he sneered. He found himself thrown violently against the wall. "Reveal anything you've seen here, Alex, you and everyone you care about are dead! Do you understand?" CSM's voice threatened dangerously. Alex pulled himself away and straightened his jacket. "Understood, sir." He turned and left the room. >>>>>>>>>>>> TWO HOURS - POST INJECTION: Mulder awoke in the darkened room. Flat on his back, his hands unnaturally heavy at his sides, he was unable to move. He sensed the creatures within, a slight movement here, a lancing pain there. They were relatively quiet and Mulder, temporarily free of the pain, sighed his relief. He knew he could not continue to withstand these attacks indefinitely. A single tear escaped as he considered that this was his end. Alone, no family or friends by his side. He pushed his head back into the pillow and lectured silently, it's what you deserve, Mulder. Welcome to your life. His lips twitched in amusement picturing the old game show. Imagine the ratings, he thought, thoroughly amused at himself. Pulling himself back to reality, he scoffed, oh, hell, who would be interested in watching a show about a major fuck up who investigates the paranormal, monsters and aliens? Kolchak lasted less than a year! He rolled onto his back weakly. His mouth full of cotton, he longed for something to drink. His eyes found a figure, his back to him standing by the window. Smoke, where was the smoke? The figure turned and faced him, his features hidden in the evening shadows. "You're awake," he said softly. Mulder watched as he moved closer to his bedside. The man poured some water in a glass and stood, waiting for Mulder to give some signal, permission to touch. Mulder eyed the man warily and flicked his tongue over his lips dryly. "Do you want something to drink, Fox?" his quiet voice asked. Their eyes met, Mulder ignored his question, "how, how are you my father?" he croaked. CSM reached behind Mulder's neck and lifted him gently. He held the straw to his lips. Mulder, at the first touch of moisture, drank thirstily. Too soon, the straw was pulled away with a mild scolding, "slow down, you'll make yourself sick." Mulder smirked and corrected, "technically the word is sicker." CSM placed the glass on the table beside the bed and took a step back, "how do you feel?" Mulder's jaw clenched as a streak of fire raced through his right leg. No, it was beginning too soon. He wasn't ready. Eyes desperate, he pleaded, "answer me." CSM could see it was starting again. Knew that soon he would watch this man pull himself up in a small ball and ride out another wave of agonizing spasms. He understood what was really being asked of him. Mulder might just as well have said distract me, stop me from thinking -- feeling. CSM reached behind him for the nearest chair and pulled it up to sit next to the bed. "She didn't betray him you know," CSM began mysteriously. "She was pregnant before she married Bill. In fact, I arranged the marriage." Mulder attempted to curl into himself, but found himself stopped by the restraints. CSM reached over and freed one arm. Mulder immediately wrapped it around his stomach as the pain began it's too familiar journey. "If she was pregnant with your child, why didn't you marry her? Didn't you want us?" he whispered. CSM was sure Mulder did not know what he'd just revealed. A stronger Fox would have said her, not us. He leaned forward in his chair thereby ensuring Fox would see his face when he answered the question. "I wanted her and," he paused dramatically, "I wanted you." Mulder's eyes creased into slits, the intense pain nearly crippling him now. He heaved in a deep breath and accused childishly, "you're lying. If you had wanted us, you would have made it happen j-j-just like you m-make everything else happen!" Mulder groaned loudly. Beads of sweat appeared almost instantly and he began to rock back and forth no longer able to speak. CSM reached over and gripped his shoulder tightly, "whatever you may think, Fox, I wanted you. I wanted you both." He turned and left the room motioning for the nurse outside to take his place. He didn't want him to be alone, but right now he couldn't stay with him. Pulling out his cigarettes, he slipped into the stairwell and lit up with trembling hands. >>>>>>>>>>>> SIX HOURS - POST INJECTION: His arms were restrained again, over the last few hours he had attempted to claw out his own eyes in an effort rid himself of his intruder. The restraints seemed to bring on their own set of nightmares though and CSM had listened in horror to the demons that possessed this man. There had been times over the years when he worried the boy was too weak, too soft. His emotions, worn too close to the surface, made it too easy to manipulate him. Now, faced with the reality of Mulder's past, he marveled at his resiliency. When he'd disappeared, in obvious emotional distress, CSM feared the next time he would see the boy would be in a straight jacket or a body bag. Again, Mulder's strength had surprised him. He managed to work through the walls and return to work stronger than ever. "He hated me you know," he mumbled softly, "why did you leave me with a man who hated me?" Deep green eyes searched his face and CSM once again saw the child that sat upon his lap so long ago. "Bill Mulder was a friend, he cared for your mother and, I thought, would raise you as his own. He promised me he'd take care of the both of you if I helped him to move up. He vowed to keep you both safe." His hand reached out and gripped Fox's lightly, "I didn't find out until later that he hurt you." Mulder's eyes filled with tears, "Samantha, he loved Samantha best." He closed his eyes and the tears rolled down his face. "I loved her, too," he whispered. The grip on Mulder's hand tightened, "Samantha was Bill's daughter." Mulder's eyes widened in sudden understanding, "you," he charged weakly, "it was you who switched the names!" "I - I couldn't let them take you," he explained hesitantly. "But they took her instead. They took her and killed her," he sobbed, feeling the little control he had slip. The veins in his neck throbbed as he struggled against the lone restraint. Angrily, he accused, "didn't you know? She was the only one, the only one who loved me and you took her away. Why, why did you let them take her?" CSM paled, never realizing until now what the separation from his sister had meant to the man. "I couldn't let them take you, Fox," he repeated lamely. "I couldn't let them have you." "It should have been me," he cried, his wrists twisting in the restraints. "You should have let them take me!" Without warning, he was hit by a blinding pain and shrieked in absolute anguish. CSM backed towards the door. Dr. Jennings rushed in followed by a nurse and Krycek. Turning to Krycek, CSM ordered, "stay with him," and left the room. >>>>>>>>>>>> CSM stood in the stairwell, the lit cigarette that dangled from his fingers long forgotten. He remembered it like it was yesterday... Bill and Tina had been forced to make a choice. One of their children was needed, but which one was up to them. CSM had watched silently from the sidelines, but even before they made their final decision, he knew it would be Fox. He'd heard the whispers of abuse against the child by Bill. Only the three of them knew that Fox was not his natural son. He understood Bill's decision, any man, given such a choice would choose his own daughter over the son of another man. And so, when his answer had come in, CSM was unsurprised to find Fox's name on the file. He was one of the few men in the world who knew what was in store for the boy. At first he'd considered simply kidnapping him and placing him somewhere safe. This was just a fantasy as there was no such safe place. Besides, if he took Fox, they would still take Samantha which would leave Tina with neither of her children. In the end, he convinced the others that Fox's exposure to the alien in his early childhood should disqualify him from selection. The others were persuaded by his argument and changed the name on the label to Samantha. That night, when the Mulders had gone to play cards, they assumed that Samantha would be fast asleep at the time of Fox's abduction. They would return to their home, find their son missing and then attempt to convince the police that he must have run away. After all, at twelve the boy was already known for his mood swings. His obvious intelligence making him even more of an outcast. CSM arrived just as the police were finishing up. Bill Mulder was a broken man heaving huge sobs into his hands. Tina, heavily medicated, sat staring at the game pieces scattered on the floor. CSM searched for and found Fox, in obvious shock, being questioned by the police. They badgered the boy with questions he could not hear. CSM stepped forward, "the boy's in shock, call an ambulance," he ordered. "The sooner he can tell us what happened, the better chance we have of finding her alive," a short heavy set detective responded sharply. "The kid was here when it happened, he must know who took her." CSM shook his head, his hand brushing the top of the boy's head gently. Fox did not respond. "Look at him, he can't hear you. If you don't take him to a hospital, I will," he threatened. "Who are you?" an officer asked politely. CSM sighed and kneeled down in front of the boy hoping for some recognition in his eyes. "I'm a friend of the family," he informed softly still searching for some signs of life in the large green eyes of his son. "Friend!" a voice shouted harshly from the door. Bill Mulder stood, fists clenched glaring at Cancer Man. CSM met his glare and silently warned him of the consequences of his next actions. The man was distraught but knew this was not the time or place to have this discussion, not if he wanted to maintain his standings in the order. CSM had sentenced his daughter, his beautiful Samantha to almost certain death to save his own son. William Mulder glared at the boy, hatred in his eyes. Perhaps he could not touch the man who stood before him, but his son, yes his son would pay the price for his father. CSM saw the loathing in Bill Mulder's face as he looked upon the young boy. For the first time in his life, he felt true fear -- fear for the child he must leave behind in this house. >>>>>>>>>>>> "Sir," Krycek called, pulling him away from his memories, "sir, are you down here?" CSM looked up, "I told you to stay with him, Alex." Krycek descended the flight of stairs and answered, "the doctor is with him right now trying to calm him down. He wanted me to deliver a message," Alex's eyes dropped to the ground. This was clearly a message he would have preferred not to communicate. CSM gestured for him to continue. "He said we'll know within the next few hours if he'll survive. He asks that you restrict yourself from the room as any additional stress at this time could kill him." Alex watched CSM closely for a reaction. CSM nodded, "fine," he agreed with an indifference he was far from feeling. "I have to look into the Sweden incident anyway." He flicked the cigarette he was holding to the floor and immediately lit another. Turning to leave, he ordered, "I'll expect a call every hour providing status on his condition and Alex," dark eyes warned, "it is in your best interests to ensure that he lives. Do you understand?" Krycek met the older man's eyes coldly, "I understand perfectly, sir." Both men turned and went their separate ways. >>>>>>>>>>>> SKINNER'S OFFICE Scully tucked the stray hair back into place behind her ear. Another glance at the door gave her no satisfaction. She was alone, alone in Skinner's office with no more information than what they had when this whole situation had begun. Skinner entered the room and moved to take a seat behind his desk. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Agent Scully." "Sir, I spoke to some friends that Mulder trusted and they were unaware of any exposure in Tunguska. They said Mulder refused to speak of the situation," she finished, her tone confused. Skinner listened and nodded his understanding, "Scully, Mulder was clearly uncomfortable with sharing the details of what he'd experienced in Tunguska. If he didn't share it with you, I would have been surprised to hear he spoke of it to the Lone Gunmen. Perhaps," Skinner reasoned, "he simply didn't want to burden anyone with it." Scully stood, "sir, this situation is much worse than when he was on the road. You saw him, he's hurt. He needs us!" She slammed her fist down hard on Skinner's desk, "damnit I will not lose him. I won't leave him with Krycek!" Skinner stood and placed himself between her and the desk. "Scully, I did receive some news a few minutes ago," he offered. Her eyes lit up with hope, "what is it, sir?" "It may be nothing," he warned, "but I received word that he might have actually been taken because he was ill." Puzzled, Scully asked, "what does that mean?" Skinner shrugged, "I'm not sure, but my source believes this abduction is for Mulder's benefit." Her brow furrowed as she considered the validity of this theory. "Sir, when I was here last you insinuated that CSM might be Mulder's protector?" Skinner nodded. "Although I find that theory to have little validity based on the fact that the man has tried to kill him many times over --" "But didn't," Skinner interrupted. She nodded reluctantly, "but didn't." Raising her index finger to her lips, she tapped it impatiently, her mind fighting to accept the impossible. CSM, Mulder's father! Mulder was a gentle soul, compassionate and caring. He constantly amazed her with his ability to empathize and care so completely about others. It was hard to imagine that this man, her best friend could be related to such a monster. "They're so different, how could this be?" she wondered aloud. He placed his hand on her arm and squeezed gently. Warm brown eyes smiled into hers, "are they really so different, Dana? They believe in different things, but they are both so driven. Fathers and sons have been antagonists throughout the centuries, hell George Lucas made millions off the theory." She smirked at his weak joke, "you know next Halloween I'm going to talk Mulder into being Luke Skywalker." Skinner chuckled and straightened, "then you better let your hair grow because I have a feeling you'll be wearing braids." She stood and headed towards the door, "where's a Wookie when you need one," she mumbled. >>>>>>>>>>>> UNKNOWN FACILITY Krycek stood in the corner of the room silently observing Dr. Jenning's actions. Mulder had passed out again and Jennings was taking advantage of his stillness to record his vitals. "How's he doing, Doc?" Krycek asked. He was curious, but not curious enough to move closer to the bed. Jennings continued to work, "he's weak. I hope to see some improvement soon because, quite honestly, I don't think he can take much more." Krycek examined Mulder carefully. Red scratch marks marred his face. Dark shadows circled his eyes and his jaw showed signs of a bruise where Krycek had hit him earlier. Dr. Jennings scratched his head as he shuffled through the latest test results. Absently, he noted, "the last blood sample did show less movement --." He checked the door with a quick glance before asking, "what happens if he doesn't make it?" Krycek rubbed his hand over his face worriedly, his eyes never leaving Mulder's still form. Cancer Man had arranged this little scenario on his own. There was no way the others knew about his efforts here. The staff was made up of Dr. Jennings and two nurses who took turns caring for him. Krycek suspected Mulder would outlive all three of them as CSM could not afford to leave any witnesses behind. "Well Doc," Krycek grimaced, "I don't think either of us wants to consider that option." Jennings shook his head nervously, understanding Krycek's hidden threat. Krycek took one step closer to the bed and continued his study of Fox Mulder. The man was a pain in the ass, yes, but even he didn't deserve to die this way. Exhaling loudly, Alex asked, "why no quarantine, Doc? Aren't you concerned about contamination?" "No, no, earlier strains were very dangerous. They moved from host to host," he explained. Alex shuddered remembering what it was like to be the host. He cocked his head to the side expecting at any moment to see the black creatures spout from Mulder's eyes and mouth. "How is this strain different?" he asked as he took another step towards the bed. Dr. Jennings crossed his arms over his chest somewhat defensively, "the strain is not different, but the length of time it's been inactive combined with the serum causes different behavior. This version controls the creature and causes it to go into a forced hibernation." A few more scratches on the chart, Dr. Jennings looked up and added, "it's also possible the organism simply prefers this host. My theory is they are attracted to complex, creative minds." He blushed, then shrugged, "just a theory." Krycek wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted. "Are you saying it will stay with him, inside him. How is that a cure?" Dr. Jennings flashed a superior smile before continuing, "I have had great success with this approach and by allowing the creatures to remain in their dormant state he may well receive other benefit." Confusion flashed across Krycek's face, how could something that caused so much pain be beneficial? He was standing directly beside Mulder's bed now. "So there's no chance of it jumping from host to host," he turned to Jennings, "you're sure?" "If I had any qualms, would I be standing here myself without protection?" Jennings answered smugly. Alex ignored the comment and sat down in the chair next to the bed. "How will we know if it's working?" he asked. "The attacks will begin to lessen, become similar to what he has probably been experiencing over the last day or two. Once we see that pattern emerge, we can return him. At that point it'll simply look like he's recovering from a bad case of flu," Jennings lectured. "The flu!" Krycek repeated in disbelief. Jennings opened the door to leave, "trust me, Mr. Krycek, if he survives this there'll be no visible trace of anything in his blood stream. The doctors will find nothing." He turned and left the room. >>>>>>>>>>>> NINE HOURS - POST INJECTION He heard him first. This was how it always began, a stumble on the staircase, a curse in the hallway. He glanced quickly towards the window, could he make it? It was winter and the icy window might be difficult to open. He sat up and looked wildly around the room for somewhere to hide already knowing that such a place did not exist for him. He shouldn't have slept in his bed tonight. Sometimes he would sleep in his closet or, in the summer, on the porch. His father confused easily when he was drunk and Fox always felt exceptionally clever when he could elude the man this way. Oftentimes, when his father could not easily find him, he would give up and shuffle off to his own room. The man stumbled into the room, his stance informing the young Fox of his anger. He'd been drinking again, Fox could smell it. He sat quiet, not daring to move. Sometimes if he sat really still or made himself very small, his father would only hurt him a little. If he made no response, no sound, he seemed to tire more quickly. It was only when Fox argued with him or attempted to protect himself that the old man would become enraged, beating and cursing at him for seemingly hours. Fox was too tired to argue tonight. Tonight he would become very small and wish his father away. The man now stood over Fox's bed and the boy could not help but pull his knees to his chest and lay his head helplessly upon them as though offering himself up as penance for a sin long forgotten. "Is this how you protected her?" the old man's voice snarled. Mulder, afraid to look up, shook his head and whimpered, "no, sir -- I'm s-s-sorry, sir." Bill Mulder's hand reached out and gripped the boy's chin, "s-s-sorry," he ridiculed, "you're s-s-sorry. She's gone and you're sorry!" Fox attempted to pull away, the fingers biting into his skin. It was a mistake. A large fist slammed into the side of his face and he was thrown several feet from the bed. He pushed himself backwards into a small corner and rolled himself into a protective ball. He'd survived this before, he decided rebelliously, he would survive this now. Fox tightened every muscle as he saw the booted foot descend upon him... >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder's whole body began to shake and at first Krycek feared another seizure. Another moment passed before he realized the man was weeping. The sight shocked him. Throughout his illness, he'd seen Mulder curse, scream and, yes, he'd even seen him in tears. Years before, he'd seen him ill, exhausted, almost broken but he'd never seen him weep openly as though his very heart was breaking. Krycek snarled, angry at his own softening towards the man, "fuck you, Mulder." Mulder never heard the comment, lost as he was in a world of fear and pain. Moaning in his sleep, he cried out, "no -- sorry, dad. I didn't -- don't please!" His hands twisted and turned in the restraints and Alex saw the flesh tear from the pressure of Mulder's efforts. Surprise flickered across his face as he digested what he'd heard. "Jesus, Mulder, I'd never have guessed," he said softly, understanding the reasons behind Mulder's cries. He leaned over the distraught man and placed his one hand on Mulder's chest awkwardly, "calm down or you're going to hurt yourself," he said a bit more roughly than intended. Mulder stopped fighting immediately. He lay still, eyes clenched shut. Krycek's hand still rested on his chest and he could feel the rapid pounding of his heart. Another minute passed before Mulder cautiously opened his eyes. Looking down, his gaze rested on the Krycek's hand. He did not fight it, just stared. Krycek cleared his throat loudly and pulled away. "Bad dream, Mulder," he sneered. Somehow insults seemed kinder at this point. Mulder's eyes went cold, all expression hidden. He tested the restraints and winced as they bit into his injured flesh. "Krycek, take these off," he ordered. The demand was softened by the weak tone of his voice. He coughed harshly at the dryness of his throat. Krycek cocked his head and smirked, "didn't your," he grinned widely and glanced towards the door, "parents ever teach you manners, Mulder?" Mulder tensed, Krycek's taunt clear. "Take these off please, you rat bastard," he asked, his tone level and polite. Krycek smothered his laughter and reached to untie the restraints, "you must be feeling better, Mulder." He reached over and pressed the button to move the headrest up. Once Mulder was sitting comfortably, he placed a cup of water into his trembling hands. Forced to hold the cup two handed, he raised it to his lips and drank greedily. Finishing quickly, he handed the cup back eyeing the water pitcher. Alex waited for him to ask for more, but after a solid minute passed knew it would not happen. "You are the most stubborn son of a bitch I've ever known, Mulder," he said as he poured another glass and handed it to him. Again Mulder finished quickly, but this time he laid his head back tiredly against the pillows and closed his eyes. "How long are you going to keep me here?" Mulder asked wearily, his eyes closed to the world. Alex chewed the inside of his lip before answering, "not my show, Mulder. Ask your dad." Mulder's eyes opened angrily, "don't call him that!" Alex could not resist, it had been too long between Mulder barbs. "Jeez, Mulder, I thought my family was bad. Your dad is not your dad, but your real dad caused the death of your sister -- " Mulder turned his head away, too tired to argue. Even he could see how ridiculous the whole situation sounded, "yeah, well," he croaked, "Jerry Springer tries to book me all the time." Krycek moved around to the other side of the bed unwilling to let Mulder ignore him this way. "Mulder," he said seriously, "I think you owe me an apology." A twinge of pain sliced into his shoulder and he raised his hand to rub it gingerly. Distractedly, he answered, "what?" His body was tense, waiting for the pain to spread. "You accused me of killing your father. Looks like the only one I took care of was some old piece of shit who beat the crap out of you." Mulder stopped the denial that came automatically to his tongue. In truth, Krycek was right, he'd killed a man who had hated Mulder, probably since birth. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, surprising Krycek. "And a fine job you did, Alex," he complimented. Then more seriously, he added, "any chance I could talk you into doing it again?" Krycek stood, his confusion apparent. It took only a moment for him to realize what Mulder was asking. Gesturing towards the door, he shook his head, "even I'm not that nuts, Mulder. If you want him dead you'll have to do that yourself." Mulder started to doze, "so I will," he promised groggily, "so I will." >>>>>>>>>>>> TWELVE HOURS - POST INJECTION Krycek called out as Dr. Jennings exited Mulder's room. "Dr. Jennings." Dr. Jennings turned, "yes." Krycek handed him his cell phone. "He wants a report." Jennings took a deep breath before taking the phone. "Good news, sir," he announced. "It's been two hours and he's only experiencing slight spasms of pain. The organism is definitely going into hibernation." "Is he awake?" Jennings answered, "no, he's completely exhausted. It'll take some time to regain his previous level of strength." "Can he be released?" Jennings considered the question carefully. "In good conscience, we should keep him under observation for at least twenty four hours." "I don't have a conscience, doctor," CSM's voice replied flatly. Dr. Jennings tapped the chart nervously against his leg, cell phone resting on his shoulder. "At least release him somewhere warm where he'll be found quickly," he advised and handed the phone back to Krycek. >>>>>>>>>>>> SCULLY'S APARTMENT Dana Scully lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Unable to sleep, she'd tossed and turned before settling in for a long night of replaying Mulder conversations in her head. There was still no word on his whereabouts and Scully was beginning to lose faith, this situation so different from the others. This was not a voluntary Mulder excursion. Her last bit of hope stemmed from Skinner's belief that maybe, just maybe, Mulder had been taken because he was ill. Scully, the logical scientist, snorted loudly at the absurdity of the argument. Blinking back tears, Scully, his friend, prayed that her logic was wrong. A loud thump from the other room brought her quickly to her feet. She grabbed the gun off her nightstand and quietly moved into her living room. Finding nothing, she reached to switch on the light. A scratching sound near her door demanded her attention and she frowned, wondering which neighbor's cat had been locked out. The gun resting lightly at her side, she moved to the door and checked the peephole. It allowed her a view of the hallway, but only a portion of the floor in front of her door. A glimpse of dark hair caught her eye. "Oh my God," she breathed and began fumbling to unlock it. As she pulled the door in, he fell sideways, landing in a heap at her feet. Dressed in the dress shirt and pants he'd worn the day he'd disappeared, he was a rumpled mess. Her neighbor across the hall opened his door a crack and studied the scene, "damn drunks," he cursed and slammed the door. "He's not -- " she began to explain but realized it didn't matter. Placing her arms under his, she dragged him into her apartment and closed the door. Rushing to the couch, she pulled off a pillow and quilt and hurried back to comfort him. The pillow was placed carefully under his head, her hands automatically checking for signs of concussion. A bruise could be seen clearly on his right cheek. Remembering the film, she deduced that this must be Krycek's handiwork. The many scratches on his face and neck disturbed her most. Was this done to him or did he do it to himself? His pulse was strong and his breathing steady although heavily congested. His skin was ice cold and she wrapped him up tightly. Grabbing her phone, she dialed Skinner's home number. He answered immediately, "Skinner." "It's Scully, I've got Mulder. Someone dumped him outside my apartment door." "Is he all right? Do you need me to call an ambulance?" he offered. She watched closely as Mulder twisted restlessly and began to groan. Moving to his side, she stroked the hair from his brow, knowing her touch would calm him. "Sir, I -- " Mulder moaned again, "hold on, I think he's coming to." Phone balanced against ear, her hand wandered from his hair to his cheek, thumb unintentionally stroking the side of his mouth. He turned towards it instinctively and opened his eyes. She placed her face close to his and smiled, "hey, partner, where've you been?' His eyes clouded with confusion as he recognized her. "Scully," he gripped her wrist tightly, "we have to get out of here," he whispered desperately and began to pull himself up from the floor. Skinner's voice shouted in her ear, "I'll be there in twenty, Scully." She placed the phone down on the floor and used both hands to push him back, "take it easy, Mulder. You're safe," she smiled, taking one of his hands in hers. She noticed the red wounds around his wrists and winced as she realized how hard he must have fought the restraints to cause such damage. His eyes followed hers to his wrists and upon seeing the welts, filled with tears, "they tied me down again, Scully. Why do they always tie me down," he sobbed quietly. She moved to cradle his head in her lap and held him to her as he wept. This was more than physical, Scully worried, something or someone had caused him great emotional pain. "Shhhh, it's okay now. You're safe now," she crooned. "No hospital, Scully," his eyes begged her. "Please, don't make me go to any more hospitals." She'd have promised him the moon and stars if it would have brought him comfort. He was so exposed, his emotions worn on his wrinkled sleeve. He wound down to some tired hiccups and fell into a light sleep. Skinner tapped lightly on the door and she left him for only a moment as she moved to open the door. Skinner brushed past her and kneeled next to the injured man. Mulder appeared battered, his face a variety of cuts and bruises. Lips swollen, eyes raw, the man had been through hell. He sent a worried look Scully's way. "He says no hospital," Scully informed quietly, her eyes daring him to argue. "Look at his wrists." Skinner took Mulder's hand gently, careful not to cause him any more pain. The origin of the wounds were obvious, restraints. Skinner's jaw clenched in anger, this was too much. Too close to everything they had worked to move away from. "Let's at least move him off the floor," Skinner suggested. She nodded and gestured towards her bedroom. "Do you think you could carry him into my room, sir?" Skinner pulled Mulder gently into his arms and stood. The weight of the man seemingly nothing. Scully rushed ahead and pulled back the covers watching closely as Skinner laid him carefully on the sheets. She began unbuttoning his shirt, "let's get him undressed." >>>>>>>>>>>> Skinner reached forward to accept the cup of coffee Scully offered. Mulder was safely established in her bed, his list of injuries catalogued as uncomfortable but not life threatening. The most worrisome symptom was his complete exhaustion. She was unused to seeing Mulder in such a state. His energy usually endless. Deep lines were etched into his face and occasionally he would cry out as though plagued by some invisible beast. They considered having him admitted but both knew Mulder's feelings on the subject. Neither wanted him to wake in strange surroundings. Scully could easily manage his physical injuries, it was the unknown emotional ones she worried most about. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder awoke to the sound of a ringing phone. A soft voice from the other room could be heard faintly. He rolled over slowly, his muscles crying out at the effort. This room was different, he'd been here before. Sheets soft with a light floral scent - definitely not in the hospital anymore. His eye caught on a small black jacket hung neatly over the shoulders of a nearby chair. Neat collar, straight cut, "Scully," he whispered quietly. Instinctively, he reached his hand behind in search of her small frame. Unable to find her, he sank back into the pillows in disappointment. His tongue investigated with distaste the fuzzy film that clung to his teeth. His skin slick with sweat, he kicked the blankets off and pushed himself into a sitting position. Straight ahead he could see light coming through the faint crack in the door. He was at Scully's, he was safe. To the left a door led to a bathroom and right now the call of nature was stronger than his need to see her. Besides, he smelled terrible! Weakly, he made his way into the bathroom, a well placed dresser or chair offering him assistance as needed. Once in, he relieved himself and then reached in to start the shower. A few short minutes later, he kicked off his boxers and practically crawled in the small shower stall. The water hit his flesh like tiny pieces of ice and he fought the urge to cry out. His skin, extremely oversensitive, protested this abuse. Mulder welcomed it. It was a good pain. Shampooing his hair for the second time he stood, eyes closed and let the water hit him full force. Hands resting weakly against the wall, knees slightly bent, he flashed on a picture of Sam and fought back the tears that threatened. She was dead. Samantha was dead because of him. He'd been unable to protect her that night, never really had a chance. She was dead because someone else decided he was more important than her. He pictured her life as it would have been, children, there would have definitely been children. She loved the beach and he could almost picture her running along the sand with two small toddlers. She'd have a creative job with a loving husband and partner and she probably would choose to live near Mom. Yes, Sam would have made sure she was happy and okay. It should have been his body found in that grave not so long ago, not her. His life was so empty, so useless compared to the one she would have lived. Pressing his forehead against the cool tile, he sobbed, "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry." The shower curtain was pulled back with a ripping sound causing Mulder to huddle further into the wall. Skinner, urged by Scully, had come in to check on Mulder. When he heard the man's cries, he could not ignore them. Skinner reached in and turned off the water. Mulder's face continued to press against the wall, his thoughts lost in his own private hell. The trembling man flinched as Skinner wrapped the towel around him, but did not resist as strong hands moved him out of the stall and leaned him against the wall. Towels now wrapped around his waist and shoulders, Skinner balanced him by placing his hands firmly on Mulder's shoulders. Unable to pull away, Mulder closed his eyes, refusing Skinner further access to his emotions. "Mulder, look at me," Skinner demanded. Mulder shook his head mutely and felt his legs begin to give. He slid tiredly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Skinner tightened his hold as Mulder slid to the ground. Placing himself directly across from the exhausted man, he sat against the opposite wall and studied him closely. Head hanging low, arms wrapped defensively around his chest and eyes clenched shut. Mulder's body language screamed at Skinner to leave him alone, to go away. "Not this time, Mulder," he mumbled under his breath. Leaning forward he placed his hand on Mulder's knee trying to draw him out of his self inflicted shell. "Mulder, we've got to stop meeting like this," Skinner joked. Mulder's eyes opened wide in shock, first Krycek's comments about his ass and now this. Still, he had a point. "I know, sir, it's one of my New Year's resolutions this year." Completely serious, he added, "number five." Skinner mouth dropped open in disbelief. He couldn't help but wonder what the complete list looked like. Unsure how to answer, he simply nodded and said, "okay, Mulder." Mulder straightened the towel in his lap and confirmed he was fully covered. Self-consciously, he chewed the inside of his lip. Looking towards the closed door, he called out, "Scully, you can come in, I'm decent." The doorknob turned instantly confirming Mulder's suspicion that she'd been hovering just outside. Scully entered slowly, not quite sure what to make of the scene. Her two favorite men were sitting face to face on her bathroom floor. She almost went back for her camera. Skinner sat cleaning the steam from his glasses with a tissue. Mulder, looking like he'd just run a marathon, rested heavily against the tile. She smirked, "Mulder, I thought you said you were decent?" He looked down at himself, puzzled. Nothing was hanging out. "Hey Scully, lucky for me you buy these jumbo towels or I'd be feeling a little exposed right now," he cracked egotistically. Her mouth dropped and she rolled her eyes in disbelief. Suddenly serious, she reached over and felt for a temperature. He pulled back. Her eyes reflecting worry, she gazed into his, "I'm worried about your vision Mulder." He blinked rapidly, a bit uncomfortable being nose to nose with Dr. Scully. "I can see okay," he assured. "Are you sure, Mulder? Maybe I should get you one of those signs, items in the mirror may appear larger than they seem," she suggested staring pointedly at his crotch. Bright red now, he stood and pushed his way out of the room just managing to catch the towel before it slipped off his waist. On the chair next to the bed she'd laid out a pair of sweat pants and a tee-shirt. He fingered his damp socks with distaste, she must have rinsed them out. Rather than attempt to leave barefoot, he pulled the offensive items onto his feet. His dress shoes sat next to the bed and he slipped them on easily. Sitting on the side of Scully's bed, he could not help but laugh. Grey sweatpants, a tee-shirt with a target on it which, if he remembered correctly, meant it was a girl's shirt, wet socks and dress shoes. Oh yeah, Mulder, you're looking good here. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Eyeing the comforter on the bed he considered wrapping himself in it before going in to join them. Then, realizing he would look like a wimp, discarded the idea. Inhaling deeply, he pushed himself off the bed and walked slowly into the living room. Skinner was on the couch and Scully, by the sound of it, was in the kitchen. His lips quirked as he reviewed the scene, how domestic! Skinner watched Mulder enter the room ready to jump up and help if needed. As it was, he wasn't. Mulder walked like an old man, steps slow, discomfort showing in his every move, but he remained steady. Taking the last few steps to the chair, he collapsed into it gratefully. Scully entered and put a table up in front of him. He eyed it suspiciously. She reentered the kitchen and in another moment came back with a two large bowls of soup. One she handed to Skinner, the other she placed on Mulder's tray. "C'mon, Mulder, humor me." The soup, chicken with wild rice, smelled wonderful and he suddenly realized that he was hungry. He picked up the spoon and took a cautious sip. The flavor danced happily on his tongue. "Hmmm, thanks, Scully," he mumbled. As he attempted a second spoonful, a sharp pain cut into his wrist and he dropped the utensil clumsily. Grabbing his wrist with his good hand, he apologized between gritting teeth, "sorry, Scully." He continued to rub his wrist carefully, his fearful eyes searching for signs of the dark shadows beneath his skin. She knelt next to the chair and pulled his hand into hers. Examining the wrist closely, she found nothing. Rubbing it gently, she looked up into his eyes and pleaded, "tell me, Mulder. Tell me what they did to you." He shook his head and searched for the words that would distract her. Skinner, now standing, was positioned directly behind her, expression firm. "Mulder," he added, "you've got to trust someone. Why can't you trust us?" He looked into Scully's eyes. Worry, concern and something else, something he didn't recognize, shone back at him. He didn't want to put her through this, remind her of her own illness. He shook his head, eyes pleading, "it's nothing, really, I'm fine." Scully's eyes narrowed at his use of the F word. She stood and moved away from him, her movements jerky with repressed anger. Suddenly she turned and, hands on his shoulders, pressed him into the chair. "Mulder, what have I done to you except care too much? I've earned your trust and, God damnit, I want it!" Horror stricken, he argued, "Scully, I do trust you, this has nothing to do with trust." She shoved him hard, almost toppling the chair, and presented him with her back. Skinner stepped back from the scene. Mulder stood and moved to her side. Standing behind her, he reached over and placed his large hand on her shoulder. She said nothing, just waited. His fingers tightened and he forced her to turn. Looking down into her pain-filled eyes, he realized he hadn't been fair. He simply wanted to spare her taking care of him again. In attempting to save her from the experience, he'd actually hurt her more. He pulled her into his arms and held her to his chest. So small in his arms, one would almost think she was helpless. In the end, faced with her anger and the possibility of losing his best friends, he was the helpless one. He rested his chin on the top of her head and, for a moment, prayed for time to freeze. It was then that he felt the blade-like pain slice into his neck. Gasping with surprise, he pulled his arms from her and grabbed at the side of his throat. His knees began to give and he would've fallen if not for the quick actions of Skinner. He grabbed Mulder from behind and dragged him to the couch. Mulder immediately lay on his side, covering his neck with both hands. Scully pried his fingers away ignoring his pleas not to touch him. "It's okay, Scully, it'll," he gasped and inhaled deeply, "g-go away in just a min -- " he dug his face into the cushions. Nodding to Skinner, she ordered, "hold his head straight." Skinner moved in and grasped Mulder's head firmly allowing Scully, who had climbed on top of Mulder, the only position that would allow her a clear view. She studied the area carefully as Mulder squirmed. "What the -- ", a dark shadow flickered before her eyes. As soon as it disappeared, Mulder stilled, pain apparently gone. Skinner still held his head firmly in place and Scully ran her fingertips over the injured area. No redness or irritation, she moved in for a closer look. Mulder, now alert, froze as he realized the position he was in. Skinner holding his head down and Scully wriggling atop him was just a little too close to a movie he'd watched the week before. Concerned at his body's reaction, he looked up for some type of distraction. Skinner's eyes, amused and knowing, twinkled back at him. Mulder smirked and shrugged slightly. "Uh, Scully," he said softly, "I think what you're looking for is lower." Her head popped up from her examination and puzzled eyes met his. "Are you experiencing pain somewhere else, Mulder?" He suppressed a moan and began to ease out from under her, "define pain, Madame President," he quipped. She looked down, then up at Skinner, down at her own position and only then did understanding dawn. Disgusted, she crawled o off of him, "oh for cripes sake, Mulder, we're partners." He pulled himself into a sitting position and pulled the tee-shirt a bit lower in his lap. "Sorry, Scully, it's been a while," he explained innocently. Rage blazed from her eyes. Skinner excused himself with a lame, "uh, I have to use the bathroom," and rushed from the room. Mulder, unsure exactly where he'd erred, sent a wild glance Skinner's way. What did I do now, he thought, thoroughly frightened by the vicious look she sent him. He sat, all remaining energy being directed to his spine. His body seemed to know instinctively that he would need one. "Been a while, it's fucking been a while, Mulder?" she questioned nastily. "Define a while, Mulder. An hour, a day, a week -- what's the matter, couldn't Sally long legs fit in that big bed of yours?" He couldn't help it, he laughed, "Scully, Sally and I are just -- " She stomped her small foot on the soft carpet, "don't you laugh at me, Fox Mulder and don't you dare patronize me with that just friends crap." She took several deep breaths, attempting to get control before adding, "not that I care about some Minnesota bimbo." He winced and defended, "hey, she's no bimbo and she's originally from Vancouver." His spine no longer willing to support him in this effort relaxed and he slid back against the soft cushions. "I'm sorry, Scully, I was out of line," he apologized, eyes now closed. She studied him carefully, he was completely exhausted and needed rest. Instead they were arguing like children. She sat down next to him and positioned herself under his arm, "yes, you were, Mulder." His arm fell naturally over her shoulder. "Stop hiding from me, Mulder, I need to understand what happened to you. I guarantee my imagination is worse than any story you can tell me." Sighing, he realized he could no longer avoid it, "I just didn't want to put you through the worry again, Scully." She moved a little away and positioned herself on the couch so she was facing him. Skinner, once the arguing had quieted, risked entry back into the room. Mulder tiredly signaled him to sit down. He'd avoided telling anyone for so long. It was indeed time to trust. He began... "Once upon a time there were two boys, Alex and Fox," he actually smiled at the memory, "and they decided to go on a great adventure to Tunguska..." An hour and a half later he finished, "and then I was dumped on your doorstep." He leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes. He'd told them almost everything. He had not included his conversations with CSM. He was not ready to admit that aloud yet. Scully sat back in her chair, stunned. He'd kept it all inside. She remembered him appearing at the hearing in the nick of time. The disheveled hero coming to save the day. Afterwards, he had held her and she wondered at his sudden affection in so public a place. Within a few hours he'd almost been killed again in an explosion! She studied him closely, messy hair that made him appear much younger than his years, eyelids drooping. How did he continually manage to survive? She reached over and took his hand in hers. He opened his eyes questioningly. "If you told me, I might've been able to help. Why didn't you let me help you?" she pleaded. He'd hurt her with his silence. He pulled his hand away and wrapped his arms around his chest defensively. "At first I couldn't think about what happened without," he paused and looked up at Skinner, uncomfortable with his admission of fear. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "without haring out. Every time I thought about them inside me -- " he shivered and his eyes threatened to overflow. He blinked rapidly, swiping at a stray tear before they saw. "Do you remember what this doctor said? What they gave you?" she questioned. He shook his head, "he didn't explain anything to me. I just don't know, Scully. There was so much pain," his voice cracked under the strain. Scully looked up in alarm. Skinner stepped forward and squeezed Mulder's shoulder in a sign of support. "I don't know how you do it," he said, voice reflecting an odd mix of shock and admiration, "but you always manage to survive, Mulder." He smiled and asked in an exasperated voice, "how the hell do you do it?" Mulder's eyes sparkled mischievously and he grinned weakly, "Black Gold, Texas Tea," he crooned. Scully smiled, pleased to see some life in his face. She pulled on his arm wanting to move him back to the bedroom. It was obvious he needed more rest. "C'mon, Jed, let's get you back to bed." Mulder leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He was tired and he wanted to go home. He wanted to soak in his whirlpool and then crash in his oversized bed. He wanted to pop in a movie and think about anything except the horror of the last few days. Straightening his neck carefully, he said simply, "I'd really like to go home." Skinner argued, "Mulder, you're not in any shape to leave here." Scully nodded, "he's right, Mulder, you should go back to bed and rest a while longer." He ran his hand over the back of his neck stressfully, "I just want to go home, please," his soft voice pleaded. Scully and Skinner exchanged frustrated glances over his head. "Fine, Mulder, I'll take you home," Scully began, "but first I want to take some blood samples." She looked again towards Skinner, "sir, can you take the samples into the lab for analysis?" "Of course, Scully, but will you be okay getting him home?" he worried. Her head cocked and the expression on her face made it clear his question was stupid. "Sir, how many times have I taken him home?" Skinner raised his arms in surrender, "that's between you and Mulder, Scully, keep me out of it." He laughed at the outrage on her face. Mulder mumbled, "153." "What," both Scully and Skinner asked together. "That's how many times you've taken me home. That doesn't include the other day because technically, I drove and so, I actually took you to my home," he yawned and stretched his arms above his head oblivious to what he'd just revealed. Skinner was dumbfounded, why didn't the man just admit it? Keeping track of how many times a certain woman takes you home was, well, it was -- oh hell, if Mulder didn't get it, he wasn't going to be the one to tell him. Scully rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed at this little fact. She pulled a syringe out of her medical bag and prepared to take a sample. "153 times, indeed," she mumbled. >>>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S APARTMENT Mulder leaned his head back against the contoured cushion and enjoyed the feeling of hot water pounding against his flesh. At first his muscles cried out at the abuse. A few minutes later, heat absorbed, they began to relax. "Ohhhh," he moaned as the steam rose from atop the water, leaving a lovely layer of moisture on his overly dry skin. He licked his lips lightly craving something cool to drink. Without knocking, Scully entered. Upon hearing her step, he looked up then quickly down, ensuring that the bubbling water obscured her view. "Uh, Scully," he stuttered, red faced, "I'm kind of busy here." "Relax, Mulder, it's nothing I haven't seen before," she advised smugly and handed him a cold iced tea. He eyed the frosted glass suspiciously, his mind briefly touching on a memory of root beer and proclamations of love. Shifting slightly, he turned and cast another glance below. "Well actually, Scully," he informed innocently, "I don't think you've seen this before." "Oh, for God's sake, Mulder, cut the crap," she scolded. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the grin that threatened. She could make her voice sound so angry. Anyone who didn't know her would assume he'd just offended her. Only her eyes gave her away. When she was really angry, her eyes met his, head on. When she was amused, she'd do anything to avoid making eye contact. He took a long deep swallow of his drink. Then, placing the glass on a nearby shelf, he turned his back to her and stood. "Mulder!" she shouted shocked and turned her back to him. He wrapped the towel around his waist, "it's okay, Scully, it's nothing you haven't seen." He carefully stepped out of the tub and began drying off. Then tossing on his robe, he grabbed his glass and left her standing alone in the room. She waited only a moment before following him out. Determined to teach him a lesson, she taunted, "it's a nice ass, Mulder, but," her eyebrow arched, "I've seen better." He was leaning slightly on the banister that led to his bedroom. Pouting, he informed arrogantly, "Krycek thinks I have a nice ass too." He turned and began slowly climbing the stairs. "Krycek, when did Krycek see your ass?" she demanded from the bottom of the steps. Mulder ignored the question, mumbled something about Barry Manilow and eased himself slowly onto his bed. She followed and made sure he was safely tucked in. He pushed his face into the pillow, before adding, "you know, Scully, with the attention my backend is getting lately, I think I should quit and become an ass model." He lay, bleary eyed, watching her watch him. She reached down and ruffled his hair fondly, "well, Mulder, you are a perfect ass." He smiled and rolled over on his side, "g'night, Scully." "Good night, Mulder." >>>>>>>>>>> KIRUNA, SWEDEN CSM held fast to the collar of his coat, his only weapon against the brittle cold. He entered the building slowly, taking in the destruction wrought by a band of unknown activists. The live test subjects held here had disappeared and CSM was left to wonder what would become of them. Some, in the early stages of experimentation might still survive. The others, no the others would not live long. This was the second facility hit in the same amount of weeks. The first might be explained as coincidental. An argument could be made that they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. This incident sent a clear message that they were under attack. Who would have the audacity to make such a challenge? He followed the others into a small room near the back of the facility. As they entered, a guard turned. CSM demanded, "get out." The guard and the two men who led him here were startled, but obeyed. The door closed leaving him in the small, dark room with a silent figure huddled in the corner. CSM moved closer. The man was young, not yet thirty. His long, narrow face twisted in pain, breathing rapid. He was dying. With proper care he might have lived, but CSM reserved proper care for a select few. The man had been injured and then trapped while attempting to plant an explosive device. CSM bent, took the man's face in his fingers and forced it up. "Who do you work for? How did you find this place?" The man shook his head and remained silent, his eyes glowing with the courage of a zealot. CSM lowered his hand to the man's injured abdomen and pressed. The prisoner cried out and attempted to pull away. Mere inches from the man's face, CSM allowed the cigarette that now hung from his lips to brush the man's cheek cruelly. The man gasped, "he will destroy you." The man's lips pulled back in a tight smile, "you are already dead," he warned. He choked and struggled for another breath unsuccessfully. His blazing eyes closed for the last time. CSM stood and reflected quietly. Mulder had been ill while this action was implemented. Not only was he physically disabled, an operation of this size, required a certain level of expertise. An expertise he had hoped to eventually teach the boy. No, Mulder was not capable of this -- not yet. His shoulders relaxed and he took a moment to enjoy the rest of his cigarette. Tossing the cigarette to the floor, he turned and walked back to the helicopter. His report would make no mention of Mulder. >>>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S APARTMENT - Next Day - Late Evening Mulder sat frozen in front of his monitor. He'd just finished reading a summary of the Kiruna incident. All other detail ignored, he focused on one fact. A young French man had died. Mulder fought down the rage, knowing it would cloud his mind and endanger others. His hands shook as he placed the memo in the trash program designed specifically for his needs. No trace of the heavily coded document remained except in his memory. Breathing deeply, he willed himself to remain calm. The loss of life was to be expected in such an endeavor. Understanding and accepting such a loss were two very different things. A loud buzzing indicated someone in the area. Moving to the monitors, he recognized Skinner in his own BMW driving towards the garage. Mulder hit a button on the panel and the door opened. His eyes followed Skinner as he parked the vehicle and moved towards the elevator and only then did he send the car down for him. Skinner had called earlier, checking up on Mulder's health. He had casually asked if he could stop by to talk. Mulder agreed and cautioned unnecessarily about being followed. The doors slid open and Skinner stepped out. He paused in the entry, the calm function and beauty of the place something he found hard to ignore. Pieces of Mulder were everywhere and Skinner fought a childish urge to start touching things. Things that would eventually help him learn what made Mulder who he was. Tonight he noticed several differences. A sweatshirt was thrown casually over an exercise machine and shoes lay abandoned on the floor in the middle of the room. An empty glass near the computer and a half read book titled 'Chicago Haunts' lay upon his couch. The large room appeared lived in -- it was a home. The only item that appeared somewhat out of place was an upright piano tucked into the corner as though the owner did not want to call attention to it. Obviously new, Skinner noted. Strange, he would have never tagged Mulder as a musician. Another mystery to solve, he thought, amused. Mulder waited patiently watching as Skinner again studied his home. He'd been here several times now and each visit was the same. The man cataloged everything he saw and never missed a new addition. Mulder was finding it harder and harder to hide pieces of himself from this man. When he saw Skinner's eyes land on the piano, he knew it was time to distract, "what can I get you to drink, sir?" Skinner reluctantly pulled his eyes from the musical instrument and began removing his jacket. "What are you drinking, Mulder?" Mulder's eyes dropped, prior to the Kiruna message, he was drinking iced tea. Now he felt an urge to drink himself into numbness. Whisky, whisky would be good. He turned from Skinner, his shoulders tense, "I'm not drinking anything yet." Skinner followed him towards the small kitchenette area and watched him inventory the possibilities. Mulder pulled down several bottles, his tone deceptively light. "Beer, wine, shots," he looked at Skinner expectantly. "Put the bottle away, Mulder, it won't solve it." Mulder did not pretend to misunderstand. His lips pressed together tightly, he struggled to control the rage he felt. The rage over the loss of another human life because of him. Replacing the bottles in the cabinet neatly, he leaned on the counter, hands spaced widely, head bowed. Skinner moved next to him and placed his hand on Mulder's back. "It's one of the most difficult roles of a leader. I've lost agents before and can't describe to you how devastating it can be." Mulder stood, head bowed, listening carefully to Skinner's words. He knows, his brain screamed, he knows. And if he knows, others will follow. Heart pounding, he mentally reviewed his contingency plan. He'd have to go underground, he knew the day would come. He hadn't expected it would come this soon. Before he walked away again, before he abandoned the life he'd only just rebuilt, he needed to know why. He turned towards Skinner, eyes full of questions and concerns. "How did you find out?" Skinner smiled, the young were so innocent at times. "You just told me," Skinner replied smugly. Mulder pulled away, "I didn't." He moved into the other room and began to stroll slowly, his fingers lightly stroking the binding of a favored book, the buttery texture of the soft leather. He appreciated this place and would miss it. Skinner followed, "I heard of a strange occurrence in Sweden and also of another raid closer to home. When I learned what was being housed in these facilities and considered the small detail whereas the guards were placed safely in another building before the building was destroyed, I thought of you." He placed himself in front of Mulder, effectively stopping any further movement. "It was you, wasn't it, Mulder?" Then, his tone more solemn, "you're playing a dangerous game here." Mulder looked wildly around the room his mind already mentally packing the things he would need. "I have to go, sir," Mulder said softly. "Tell Scully, I'm sorry." He turned and headed for the stairs, his intention to pack up and leave obvious. Skinner rushed forward, "Mulder, you don't have to leave!" "Sir, if you know then that can only mean I've been careless. I've left a trail," he answered in a disgusted tone. "I have work to do and I can't afford to stop now." Skinner pulled Mulder roughly from the bottom step and, before Mulder realized his intent, pinned him to a nearby wall. "God damnit, Mulder, what kind of an amateur do you take me for?" Mulder attempted to break Skinner's grip with no success. "Please, sir, let me go," he pleaded breathlessly. Skinner was not sure whether Mulder meant from his grip or forever. Skinner tightened his hold, "no, Mulder, I am not going to let you go. I am going to stand by you, support you and help you stop these atrocities, fight these monsters!" Panting heavily, Mulder could feel Skinner's hot breath upon his cheek. "I told you before, no more alone. I won't let you do this alone." He relaxed his grip suddenly and Mulder only just managed to avoid falling to the floor. Straightening Mulder asked, "how can I stay?" Skinner explained, "it was an educated guess, Mulder. I think I'm one of the few people who understands what you are capable of. Others look at you as they would a brilliant eccentric. They see a man whose only danger to them is in his curiosity -- the potential exposure you might bring to their activities. This they find only somewhat annoying. They do not think you are capable of leading. They would never believe you'd have the courage to risk others, as well as yourself, for this cause." Mulder walked to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle and shot glass. He filled the glass carefully, then downed it in one swallow. "A man died as a result of my orders," Mulder admitted guiltily. He moved to refill his glass. Skinner placed the palm of his hand over the small glass. "The man died as a result of his beliefs. It was a choice he made. When an agent dies in the field, it's easy to point to another person or situation and say, what if... In the end, that man or woman died because they chose a life, knowing all the risks, that they believed in enough to place themselves in danger daily. We all make choices, Mulder, and we are all responsible for the consequences of those choices." "I-I tried to do it on my own," Mulder struggled to explain. "It's too big. There's so much to do." His head bowed in defeat, he whispered, "I needed help." Skinner held out his hand, "hello, Mulder, my name is Help." Mulder reluctantly accepted Skinner's offered hand and shook. Fighting a smile, he asked, "Help, Just Help, do you have a first name?" Skinner grinned, "no, just Help. Kind of like, just Mulder." "Thank you, sir, but -- " Mulder began. "Mulder," Skinner explained, "you don't need to leave, at least not yet. I've heard nothing that would lead them to you. In fact, just the opposite, they don't think you are capable of such an organized approach." Hope was followed quickly by a pout when he realized he'd just been insulted. Still, he hesitated to place Skinner in this position. "Sir, I -- if something happened to you, I couldn't..." Mulder trailed off weakly. Skinner stepped forward and forced Mulder to meet him eye to eye, "if something were to happen to me as a result of this fight, it was because I chose to live my life fighting for what I believe in. A long life means nothing, Mulder, if it is the life of a coward." "I understand, sir," Mulder nodded. Skinner's words and, more importantly, his support, made sense. They helped him come to terms with his own actions and the consequences of such. Leaving the bottle behind, he moved to the couch and collapsed in a heap. Skinner followed him, two beers in hand. He handed one to Mulder before he too sank into a nearby chair. They drank in silence for several minutes before Mulder admitted sheepishly, "I sent him the pizzas." Skinner remained silent, confused by the remark. He took another swallow of beer. Mulder continued, "and had the boot put on his car." He felt obliged to confess these things to Skinner needing the man to see that as a leader, he was sorely lacking maturity. Understanding dawned and Skinner spit beer out of his mouth and nose. The fountain display was followed by hysterical laughter. He'd heard someone was pranking the old bastard. Now that Mulder had confessed, he wondered how he'd missed it. Brushing the tears from his face, he asked a stone-faced Mulder, "the 900 calls?" Mulder chewed his lower lip, eyes full of embarrassment, "I figured if anyone could take him down it would be the phone company." "Phone cops versus CSM, film at 11," Skinner dead panned. Mulder's lips quirked and he just managed to stop the giggle that threatened to escape. Guys don't giggle. They both leaned back, took a deep breath and continued drinking their beer. A few silent moments passed before Skinner asked, "are you going to tell Scully?" Mulder's eyes widened with fear, "I'm not telling Scully." Skinner shook his head, making it clear he was not available for the shit jobs, "well, I'm not telling her." "Sir," Mulder attempted to explain, "she'll kick my ass." Then in order to seal Skinner's silence, he threatened, "and she'll kick your ass too for letting it happen." Skinner was appalled, "I didn't do anything, Mulder!" Mulder waved him off, the half empty beer bottle in hand, "doesn't matter, she'll believe you knew all the time and we'll both be in trouble." Skinner leaned forward in his chair, the bottle dangling loosely from his fingertips, "shit." He knew he was placing himself in a dangerous position helping Mulder, but he hadn't counted on this. Mulder swallowed the last of his beer and stood to get another. "Yeah," he agreed, "shit." Returning a moment later with two fresh ones, Mulder suggested, "maybe we shouldn't tell her. In fact," Mulder argued reasonably, "telling her puts her at risk. No, I don't thing we should tell her." He sat down on the couch thinking through this option. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. "Really, sir, for her own good, let's not tell her." Skinner took a long swallow of the beer. When she found out, God help them both. Going up against the whole Consortium was nothing compared to Dana Scully's rage. Still, Mulder had a point, thought Skinner fearfully. Better to protect her, he rationalized. "Agreed, Mulder, I won't tell her if you won't tell her," Skinner repeated, wanting no confusion on this subject. Mulder released a sigh of relief, "don't worry, sir, I am not going to tell her." Skinner nodded, "well I won't tell her." Mulder sat back, his stance more relaxed and confident, "no, sir-ee," the beer and shot begging to affect his vocabulary, "not me, I won't let it slip." Skinner eyed the young man seriously, "she's gonna kill us when she finds out." Mulder smiled weakly and shrugged, "which is why we can't tell her." "Right," agreed Skinner. "Right," settled Mulder. Mulder reached for the remote and turned on the television, "isn't there a game on?" His finger began flipping through the channels. Skinner nodded, pleased with the distraction, "yeah, football." Looking around, he asked, "you got food, Mulder?" "Help yourself," Mulder responded already focused on the large screen. >>>>>>>>>>>> TWO WEEKS LATER. CSM was furious! He could actually feel is blood pressure climb as he rushed into a nearby restroom. The room empty, he turned and locked the door behind him. Moving towards the mirror, he confirmed what he'd just been told by a giggling intern. His lips were green, not a dark evergreen, no, a genuine, glow-in-the-dark, alien, neon green! Grabbing for a paper towel, he wet it with hot tap water and attempted to rub it off. Nothing! If anything the green was now even more noticeable surrounded as it was by reddened skin. Disgusted, he threw the towel into the sink. Examining the dye more closely, it was no mystery how it got there. Someone had injected the dye into his cigarettes. Sighing heavily, he thought back over his morning. At least he now understood why no one would look him in the face. He must have had the damn stuff on his mouth for at least the last two-three hours! Mulder! There was no other explanation. The man was a complete child and any belief he ever had that somehow he was capable of following in his footsteps were quickly disappearing. The man was almost forty and yet he still insisted on behaving like a juvenile delinquent. CSM had a good mind to call his mother. No, check that, it would be far more fun to have the boy kidnapped and hung by his wrists while CSM personally sprayed the same neon green over his whole body. Then, CSM warmed to the fantasy, then he would leave him naked and shivering in the FBI lecture hall. Yes, he could see the hall filling with all his peers only to find the man stark naked and glowing in the dark for all to see! He left the restroom and, head down, walked quickly from the building. Heads turned as he passed, but he refused to acknowledge them. CSM climbed into his car and pulled out of the underground lot. He made a sharp left at the next corner and pointed the car in the direction of his apartment. That was another thing he was upset about, his sources had still not managed to find Mulder's new home. The light red, he braked and waited for the pedestrians to cross. His eyes scanned the area instinctively, landing upon a large video store advertising adult movies on sale. Green lips turned upwards in an evil smile. Wasn't Mulder scheduled to lecture on the Neubeck case next week? Knowing Mulder he would have visual aids, the boy loved his slides. Cars honked loudly behind him reminding him the light had turned green. CSM, smiling widely, pressed on the accelerator and moved forward. Wonder what Mulder's peers, the ones who suddenly looked upon Mulder with new respect as a result of Kelliher's influence, would think if they could see the film, `Marty meets Sally in the Stairwell'? Mulder wasn't the only one who could pull off a good prank. Chuckling, CSM reached for his cell phone and began making his plans. >>>>>>>>>>>> I referred to a child's poem earlier in the story, for those that are interested: Shel Silverstein Where the Sidewalk Ends The Rules If you want to marry me, here's what you'll have to do: You must learn how to make a perfect chicken-dumpling stew. And you must sew my holey socks, And soothe my troubled mind, And develop the knack for scratching my back, And while I rest you must rake up the leaves, And when it is hailing and snowing You must shovel the walk...and be still when I talk, And-hey-where are you going? -- Simply put, I think the Mulder character would demand an awful lot out of his wife. -- SUMMARY: Black Gold, Texas Tea ... this phrase was part of the theme song from a particularly ridiculous sitcom titled, The Beverly Hillbillies (no relation to Beverly Hill 90210). That show has nothing to do with the X-Files (although a Mulder and Ellie May story might be interesting). For some strange reason whenever I see the Black Cancer episodes, the song dances through my head. >>>>>>>>>>>> Telephone Company comments are based on my own experiences. Over the years I have known several people who worked for the phone company who could kick CSM's ass and forever after make his life a living hell. If you work for the phone company, please consider this a compliment.