Failed Merchandise
An unfinished Mulder/Skinner slash story
by J. Millington
varmstro@earthlink.net

    Okay, here's the deal. In the past two and a half years this story and I have been through a lot. We moved 2300 miles across the country. Got a new computer, went through three changes of ISP, four tentative titles for the story, and a new pen name for me. I lost all the files with notes from my beta readers. Hell, I even lost the names of the betas. If anyone reading this knows they did a beta read of it under a different title and author, they're probably right. It's not plagiarism, it's the march of time.
    So that's it. I'm filing for divorce. The story can go its way and I'll go mine. I would love to find a great writer who falls in love with Failed Merchandise and has a great proposal to finish it. It's an amicable divorce. I'd be glad to consult. But I've got another long story knocking on my brain's back door and I want to move on.
    In any case, there are some great moments here, read and enjoy.

Valoise

---

Failed Merchandise
J. Millington
varmstro@earthlink.net

Part 1

********

He no longer flinched when they attached the electrodes to his head.

The first time they'd hooked him up, he'd nearly lost it, jerking his head to the side, trying to evade the inevitable. All they'd needed to do was add another ingredient to the chemical cocktail dripping steadily into his veins, something extra to settle him down.

Then the tests came. Images, words, numbers. His brain seized on the information, sorting it faster and faster. Driven by a craving for more and more data to process, he drank in all they could shovel into him, oblivious to the machines recording his responses to it all.

Now, after countless procedures, Fox Mulder simply laid there, motionless, as the technicians placed each lead precisely on top of the dots marked across his freshly shaven head. He stilled the panic that tired to overtake him and waited for the kick as they injected the first of the drugs. The world seemed to slow around. His mind found the need, the ability to process information faster than he'd ever imagined. They loved the way he could focus. He simply couldn't help it.

But he had learned to take advantage of it.

Before they began their tests, their voyeuristic glimpse into the bioelectric workings of his brain, Mulder rebelled in the only way he could, training his thoughts on an image of his own choosing.

It began in Skinner's office. Mulder envisioned his boss sitting at his desk, scowling as he worked. Skinner looked up in surprise, as Mulder entered the room unannounced.

He didn't allow his boss to speak. Instead Skinner merely glared at him, his surprise transformed to undisguised passion as Mulder crossed the room.

This time he made Skinner come around to the front of the desk. Silently unbuckling his own belt, dropping his pants and underwear to the floor, Skinner leaned over his desk and presented himself.

Mulder saw himself push the older man's shirt up across the broad back. Leaning over he licked a slow stripe up Skinner's spine, following his tongue with his hands, caressing stroking. He grasped the bare buttocks, rubbing his erection against the crack, causing his lover to groan in anticipation. Reaching for the bottle of lube he ---

Rough hands grabbed his face, holding it steady as anther technician secured his head in the clamps. "It's time to get to work."

Headphones this time. They wanted to concentrate on his auditory nervous system. Nothing new there. The technician emptied a syringe into his IV line.

The second drug hit his system like a sledge hammer, his hands started to tremble, and Mulder knew something was wrong. He couldn't focus on the voices they were feeding him. All he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse as the pain in his head overwhelmed him.

* * * *

The official file on Fox Mulder was inconclusive. No evidence recovered, no motive given for his apparent abduction, no idea how or when or why he disappeared. Personally, I didn't have a clue.

Agent Scully reported him missing one Monday morning, walking into the my office, back stiff, face a smooth mask. Only the tiny crease between her eyes gave away her concern.

She still doesn't trust me. My lack of results has done nothing to dissuade her.

I ordered an investigation immediately. The FBI searched the apartment and found Mulder's car, keys, gun, wallet, not a thing out of place. Questioned the neighbors. No one, of course, saw or heard anything. For their own well-being, his neighbors had learned to take an active disinterest in Mulder's activities.

My attempts to find anything out through unofficial channels were worthless, all my contacts had vanished.

That's how it had been for the past four months. Until last night.

The call came when I was halfway through the a glass of scotch, debating on whether or not to bother with dinner.

"Yes." I was never friendly on the phone anymore.

"Mr. Skinner." A voice too smooth to belong to a man who smoked that much. "I've got a little job for you."

My glass clattered hard on the coffee table. "I don't work for you."

The bastard chuckled. "My, my. Harsh words before you even find out what it is I have to offer."

Felt the muscle in my jaw twitch. "There's nothing you have that I want."

"Don't be so rash in making that judgment. Let's say that I need to get rid of some merchandise. Merchandise you've been seeking for the past few months."

"What are you talking about?"

"Certain of my friends have tired of this particular piece of merchandise. You might say that it failed to live up to their expectations and standards. They've asked me to dispose of it. I'm too busy to do it, myself. I thought you might be of some service."

Dispose of failed merchandise. I wiped a sweaty palm across my thigh. "Where and when."

"Tomorrow will be fine. Check your mail box. I think you'll find all that you need to know. Oh, and Mr. Skinner--" The man paused and a cigarette lighter flicked open, then closed. "This is a private arrangement. It wouldn't be in Agent Scully's best interest to involve her at this point."

The phone clicked. Dial tone.

* * * *

At least it was warm here. Dark and enveloping. Like a cocoon.

In some corner of his mind, Mulder recognized his situation was bleak. But after days of tremors, chills, and excruciating headaches, he was too exhausted to be afraid.

The lethargy that enveloped him was probably drug-induced. He knew that. And he knew he should be worried about being sedated. But he was grateful to be somewhere warm and to be free from pain, to not have to think. The drone of the tires on the pavement lulled him to sleep.

A momentary spasm of fear shook him as the sound registered in his consciousness. After months of horrific routine they were moving him, taking him someplace new. If he slept now, would he ever wake up? But the drugs dulled down the edge of his fear and the warmth wrapped him in oblivion.

* * * *

It had been raining since I left Washington, a steady deadening downpour that turned the world gray. I focused my attention on the road as it wound its way through the West Virginia mountains.

It wouldn't have been right for the sun to shine on this day. After retrieving the smoker's directions from my mail box, I'd been struck by the foreboding that I was being sent to recover Mulder's corpse.

No matter what the smoking man had said, I probably should have called Scully and let her know. But if what I feared was true, she deserved to hear it in person and needed to be certain before I gave her the news.

Passing by the first sign for the Monongahela National Forest, I began to tick off the miles. At exactly 3.3, I turned right, immediately fish-tailing on the muddy side road. Cursing under my breath, I brought the car under control, driving cautiously down the center where the ground at least pretended to be firm. At the crest of the hill a large black sedan waited on a gravel turn-off. Tinted windows hid the car's occupants as I pulled ahead and parked.

Checking the rear-view mirror, I saw the smoker climb out of the other car. Black suit, black car. Black-lunged son of a bitch. That's what Mulder had called the man. I watched the man circle around the rear of his car.

Mud sucked at my shoes as I walked to the other vehicle, giving the interior of the sedan a sweeping glance through the open door as I passed by. Empty. The old man had come alone. I reached back to my holster, debating whether or not to draw my weapon. I decided against it.

The bastard smiled at my hesitation. "Caution is an admirable trait, Mr. Skinner."

I wiped the rain from my glasses. "Is the body in the trunk?"

The smoker shook his head. "You misjudge me. Mistake my interest in the matter."

Stepping in close, I growled, "Did you bring Mulder's body with you or not? Tell me where to find it."

Making no move to pull back, the smoker gestured at the trunk, holding out his car keys. "See for yourself. I was told to dispose of a failed laboratory subject, but I've chosen to redefine the method of disposal."

Snatching the keys, I popped open the trunk, revealing a coarse wool blanket. Glanced back up at the man, before pulling the blanket to the side.

Fox Mulder lay motionless in the bottom of the trunk, pale and thin and naked. I felt the bile rise to my throat, until I noticed the rise and fall of the man's chest. Mulder shivered slightly, his eyelids fluttered.

"I have no interest in Mulder's death. But he cannot return to the living. Not yet."

I looked up, questioning.

The smoker retrieved his keys from the lid of the trunk. "Take him."

I hesitated for a minute, then Mulder's body was wracked with a stronger tremor. Enough, the man had suffered enough. I wrapped the blanket around Mulder and hoisted his thin frame up and over my shoulder. The smoking man walked ahead of us, opening the back door of my car. I cushioned the unconscious man's head as the I laid Mulder gently across the back seat.

I followed the old man back to the sedan and grabbed him as he started to climb in. "Why? Why take him? Why return him now, to me?"

With exaggerated care, the smoker pried my hand off his arm. "Whether you chose to believe or not is inconsequential. But I have no interest in Mulder's death. I did not sanction his abduction." His eyes narrowed. "The men responsible worked, unwisely, on their own initiative. Wait until the time is right. You can take them down. But only when the time is right."

He reached inside and scooped a file off of the front seat, handing it to me. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a handful of pill bottles. "I know you'll probably contact Agent Scully. Have her look over the records. Be discreet. No one must know that he is still alive."

* * * *

It was the cold that disturbed him.

Groaning, Mulder shivered, suddenly aware of the damp chill. He coughed, forced his eyes open, and tried to lift his head to figure out where he was, where the warmth had gone.

And found himself face-to-face with Walter Skinner.

He gave his head a shake and blinked, but the AD's face remained. Mulder decided he must have conjured him up. But that wasn't right. His waking dreams were never this uncomfortable.

Mulder struggled to sit up, turning his head to take in his location. It looked like the back seat of a car.

Skinner tucked the blanket around him again and backed up halfway out of the car. He reached down and rummaged through a gym bag on the floor. "Let me find you something to wear."

This was definitely not a waking dream. He never let Skinner talk.

Clearing his throat, Mulder whispered, "Where?"

Skinner either didn't hear the question or chose to ignore it. He held up a t-shirt and sweat pants. "I didn't come prepared for this. This is the best I can do."

Staring at the proffered clothes Mulder was confused. A cold tendril of wind snaked under the blanket, reminded him that he was naked. He sat up, bracing himself with one arm, and reached for the clothes. He shivered as the blanket slipped down.

Skinner started to take back the shirt. "Here, let me help."

Mulder shrank back, brushing him off. "No. I can do it." He was shaking by the time he was done, didn't object as Skinner drew the blanket back up around his shoulders. He watched his rescuer as he sifted through the gym bag one more time.

Skinner pulled out a pair of slightly stiff socks and a worn pair of shoes. "Don't know if they'll fit."

"S' okay." His surge of adrenaline lost the fight against the remnants of sedative in his system. Mulder rested his head back against the seat of the car, too tired to object as Skinner tugged the socks and shoes over his feet. Starting to nod off, he jerked awake when he felt the car shift as the other man climbed out. He jammed his foot against the door to stop it from closing.

He scooted to the edge of the seat. "I'm riding up front."

Skinner looked like he would object, then shrugged. "Fine. Heater's better up front anyway. Need help?"

"I got it." Swinging his legs out of the car made him dizzy. He sat still for a moment while Skinner opened the front passenger door for him.

Struggling to stand, Mulder braced himself on the roof of the car. "How did you find me?"

"Got a tip." Skinner stayed back giving him room.

Gathering his strength, Mulder stared at the landscape around them, wondering suddenly where he was. "Don't remember how I got here."

Skinner stepped in closer. "Don't worry about it." He shrugged off his coat and draped it around Mulder. "You need to get out of the rain. Need a hand?"

This time he acquiesced. "Yeah." He let Skinner slip an arm around him, appreciated the fact that his boss didn't rush him. Finding his own balance, he shuffled the short distance and sank into the front seat.

He accepted help with the seat belt, let the seat be tilted back until he was almost lying down. "Might as well have stayed in the back."

Skinner's laughed. "It's not too late."

Mulder grumbled, "Think I'll stay here." He closed his eyes as Skinner circled the car and got in the front. Opened them when he heard the jingle of car keys, grabbing Skinner's arm as he jabbed the key in the ignition. "Is it safe?"

Skinner didn't answer for a minute, made a show of shutting his door and adjusting his seat belt. When he turned toward Mulder, he looked him straight in the eye. "No. It's not safe. You're supposed to be dead. You'll need to play dead, at least, for a little while."

Mulder swallowed, aware how close he'd been to actually cashing in. "How long?"

"He'll let me know." Skinner started the car.

********
End Part 1
********

Part 2

********

Before driving off I fiddled with the vents trying to send most of the warm air in Mulder's direction. He'd asked me if it was safe. Staring at the man beside me, I wondered if he would ever be safe again.

Always on a little on the lean side, now he was just plain gaunt. The fine stubble of hair did nothing to hide the angry red scars that dotted his scalp. Failed laboratory subject. What in God's name had they done to the man?

I pulled the pill bottles out of my pocket and glanced at the labels. The antibiotic I recognized, and I thought another might be some sort of steroids, but I had no idea what the third bottle contained. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard I realized it was almost time for all three medications. Would it be safe to give them on an empty stomach or should I try to find something for him to eat? What side affects should I be looking for? I was torn, not knowing if the pills were the cause or the cure for Mulder's condition.

Maybe it was time to call Scully. I fished out my cell phone and started to punch in her number, when I felt a clammy hand on my wrist.

Mulder's eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. "Who are you calling?"

"Scully." I couldn't really blame him for being afraid, for not trusting me. I gently pried his hand off of mine and tucked it back under the blanket. "Look, Mulder, I don't have any idea what happened to you or how sick you really are. I don't even know if I should go ahead and give you the pills he left. You need to see a doctor."

He sank back down in the seat, slowing bringing his panic under control. "And we can't exactly go the nearest emergency room. I know." He stared out at the rain for a moment before turning back to me. "Can't use your cell phone, we don't know if it's being monitored. Got some paper?"

Pulling a business card from my wallet, I handed it to him with a pen.

He took them and scribbled a number on the back. "Call them. They're friends of mine. Their line is safe and they'll know how to contact her."

I took the card and glanced at the number, trying to remember how far back the nearest town was, how close we were to the nearest pay phone. At least ten miles, maybe more. Not that far, really, but I was anxious to get out of the rain. Maybe a little anxious to get some help with Mulder.

Hell, I'm not a nurse and we're not really friends. More like colleagues. I felt an obligation toward Mulder, a responsibility as his superior to see him to safety, now that I knew he was still alive.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I made the main road without getting stuck. On the drive out the rain had shielded the world from view, providing a dismal frame for the scenery passing by my window. Now night stripped that frame, blotting out the world entirely. Twice, the lights of a distant farm house broke the monotony, beacons of humanity that seemed unreal. No traffic, coming or going, emerged from the gloom and the slap of the wiper blades was monotonous, hypnotic. But the treacherous route, road twisting around the mountainside, kept me alert.

Beside me, Mulder still slept. Good. He needed the sleep. And if he was asleep I didn't have to deal with him. I wasn't sure what to do for him. What to do with him.

On the outskirts of town the glaring light of a convenience store broke through my thoughts. If we were going to hole up in a motel supplies were definitely called for. Pulling into the parking lot, I cast another look at Mulder. He hadn't even stirred when the car stopped, maybe it would be okay to just let him sleep through.

* * * *

The smell of another man's sweat surrounded him and he was confused. Blinked a few times and jerked in surprise as the blare of a truck horn drove away the last remnants of sleep. Mulder brushed a hand over his scalp, winced as a fingernail scraped against a scab, reminder of what had happened to him.

He looked down at the clothes he was wearing. Skinner's sweats, Skinner's car. Skinner's rescue. But Skinner was nowhere in sight. Mulder sat up suddenly, groped for the lever to raise the seat, scanning the parking lot for any sign of his boss.

A pickup, radio blaring, pulled into the spot next to him. Three teenage boys in baseball caps and denim jackets piled out. Mulder scrunched down in the seat, but they passed by him without a glance, preoccupied with a debate over whose ID looked valid enough to fool the clerk into selling them beer.

Mulder was awe struck at the normality of the scene. How could the world have spun on around him as it always had while he had been locked into a nightmare? The mood was broken by the jingling of the bell on the door of the store and he felt the edge of panic begin to creep over him.

* * * *

Damn, he was awake. As soon as I exited the store his eyes were glued to me, following as I made the short distance to the car. He reached over and opened the door for me.

"Thanks." I chucked the bag into the back seat. "Sorry. I didn't think you'd wake up before I got back."

"No problem." Mulder's voice was scratchy. "Got anything to drink in there?"

Reaching back, I pulled out a couple of bottles, orange juice and a soda. Mulder grabbed the Coke. I watched him as he stared at it for a few seconds, then twisted off the cap, tilted the bottle to his lips and swallowed. He licked his lips and took another deep drink.

"Don't know if I've ever seen anyone enjoy a Coke quite that much."

He lowered the bottle and stared at it. "I didn't think I'd ever drink another one."

There wasn't anything I could say to that. I stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

Two blocks down the street we found a motel. Cheap and owner-operated, just the kind of place I could pay for with the cash I had on hand. Mulder's paranoia had rubbed off on me, I wasn't going to use my plastic.

The room was spartan but adequate, two beds, television, clean bathroom.

Mulder made his way into the room under his own power, rejecting my offer of help. But he shuffled inside slowly and sank down on the bed nearest the door, claiming it for his own.

I dropped the sack on the dresser. "I got one of those prepaid phone cards. Didn't want to charge the call to my card or to the motel room."

Mulder snatched the remote off the bedside table and flicked on the television. "You're learning. Why don't you let me make the call. They'll trust me."

"Sure." I handed him the card and watched him punch in the numbers.

"Frohike it's me." He winced, even I could hear the shouting on the other line. "Yeah, it's really me. . ." He closed his eyes, one hand snaking up to rub at his temple. "Look, I need a favor. I need you to go to Scully's. . . .No, don't call her, her line isn't safe. . . .No, I'm not, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I was yesterday. . . .Money?" He snuck a look in my direction and I nodded. "Yeah, it wouldn't hurt. And some clothes. . . .Take down this number."

He talked to his friend for a couple more minutes. The brief flash of energy seemed to have left, leaving him drained. He hung up and stretched out on the bed. "I guess all we have to do now is wait."

I watched him as he flipped through the channels, finally settling on football. On the phone he'd sounded so normal. A little subdued, maybe, but most definitely Mulder. Made me wonder if he was up to giving me some answers. "Mulder, what happened to you?"

A look of pain passed over his face, before he threw his arm across it. Either hiding or shutting me out. I thought I'd pushed too far, that he wouldn't answer.

When he did his voice was barely a whisper. It almost sounded like he said, "Brain transplant."

* * * *

Mulder turned away from Skinner and huddled under the covers. He tried to concentrate on the television but it just didn't hold his attention.

The blankets hid him from Skinner but he couldn't hide from himself. The sedatives had worn off and freeing him from the mental fog but leaving him with a lingering headache. Although his mind felt clear it felt like it was taking too long to piece his thoughts together. His brain was no longer humming along in hyperdrive and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Was this slower than before tests? Was there something wrong with him or was this simply normal? After weeks of enhanced neural activity he couldn't be sure anymore just what normal was.

Mulder tried to shove his doubts to the side. They'd said the changes were permanent, a part of him now, but he couldn't be sure if anything the doctors had told him was true or not. After all, the last thing they'd said was that he was dying and he felt much alive. He desperately wanted to stay that way. At least as long as it took to repay the bastards.

On TV the announcer was dissecting the chances of a third down conversion. Mulder tried to concentrate on the game, focus past the pain. He was so tired of being sick. Tired of being at the mercy of his body. Suspicious of what his body had become.

He heard the bathroom door close, the sound of Skinner's urine stream hitting the toilet. The image came unbidden, sharp and clear, of Skinner's body bent under him.

Then it was gone. Mulder shivered under the blanket. What the hell was that? Another image gripped him. White walls. Gray-haired doctor shining a light in his eyes. White-hot pain as a needle entered his skull.

* * * *

The man scared the shit out of me. I can't even take a piss without things going to hell. Stepping back into the room I found Mulder huddled in the bed, legs drawn up tight, face contorted in pain.

This would be a very good time for Scully to call.

Mulder moaned again. He was past due for all the medications, maybe that was the problem. I couldn't afford to wait for Scully's professional opinion. I filled a glass with water and grabbed the pill bottles. After checking the dosage, I shook some pills out into my hand and knelt beside the bed.

"Mulder." No response. "Mulder, I'm going to give you your medicine now." He wasn't going to make this easy.

I sat on the bed and slid a hand under his neck, propping his head up on my knee. His body felt stiff but he didn't resist. I'm not sure he even knew I was there. Prying open his mouth I shoved the pills to the back then put the glass to his lips. One gulp, then another. Reflexes kicked in and he swallowed.

I lowered his head back down and arranged the blankets. Pulling a chair closer to the bed, I watched. Gradually the lines in his face relaxed and his breathing slowed.

On TV the announcer was shouting, touch down, fans were cheering. In this room, I'd settle for celebrating one small crisis averted.

I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep until I heard the rap on the door. Looked down at my watch. It was late. Very late and Scully still hadn't called.

Picking my weapon up off of the dresser I crossed the room and peered out the peephole. Holstered the gun and opened the door.

"They were supposed to tell you to call first."

Carrying two large shopping bags, Scully stepped inside and stopped, staring, either in disbelief or dismay, it was hard to tell. Unlike Mulder, I wasn't that good at reading her. "How did you find him?"

"An informant." I didn't want to waste time analyzing the situation, after Mulder's last episode I was anxious to have him examined. I tried to shut the door and had to nudge her out of the way.

That broke the mood. She strode to the bed and set the bags on the floor and pulled out what she needed. Mulder never flinched as she checked his vital signs and gave him a cursory physical exam. Frowning she checked his eyes, shining her small flashlight into one and then the other. Placed her hands on either side of his head and turned it gently from side to side.

Finally, she looked up at me. "What did they do to him?"

I was ready for her, handed her the medical records. "That's what I want you to figure out."

Her expression darkened as she read. I'd taken a stab at the records myself while Mulder slept, and even though I hadn't really understood much, I knew it was bad. Apparently I hadn't realized the depth of the matter.

Scully sat back suddenly, her eyes wide in disbelief. "This . . this is inhuman. How could they?"

"How could they - what," I prompted when she didn't continue.

She closed her eyes for just a moment before turning to me. "Sorry, sir. It appears that Mulder was part of a project aimed at increasing the speed and capacity of the human brain to process information. Many of the medications involved. . .I don't know exactly what their precise function was, I don't recognize many of these compounds. Probably acted in some way to enhance neurotransmitters or neuroreceptors within the brain. I'm not sure. But that's not the worst of it."

Looking down at the sleeping form I wondered what kind of man had been handed to me, then shook off the thought. This was still Fox Mulder, a man to whom I owed - what? A debt, a duty? Shit, it didn't matter. I just couldn't turn my back on him.

"Scully, what did they do?"

Her lips thinned and she reached down, smoothed the blanket over his shoulder before answering. "They tried a graft, an injection of fetal brain tissue."

Maybe I was just numb, but that didn't sound too outlandish. "I've heard of that. Like they do for Parkinson's patients."

She shook her head. "Similar. But with a fundamental, a profound difference. Apparently the fetal subjects were. . ." She stopped, bit her lip. "The donor tissue was harvested from . . . Sir, it appears that the fetal subjects were lab-produced, the result of genetic engineering."

"Like the hybrids Mulder's reported." A look of pain crossed her face and I remembered San Diego and the abbreviated report her partner had turned in on her behalf. A dead child partly Scully's and partly something unknown.

"Yes, sir. Possibly." She stood abruptly and paced the room. "I don't know. But his records indicate the tissue wasn't viable in Mulder's case. I'm not sure if it was a transplant rejection on Mulder's part or if the fetal cells failed to thrive, to replicate in the new host."

"So that's what he meant."

She stopped pacing and turned toward me. "Sir?"

Brain transplant. "Nothing, Scully. Just something he said shortly before he passed out."

* * * *

"Mulder." The voice skimmed off the surface of his sleep.

"Mulder." Louder this time, followed by a light touch to his shoulder.

He shrank back under the covers.

"Mulder, Scully's here."

The words filtered through the haze. He tried to remember where 'here' was. Mulder rolled his head out from under the blanket. "She can't be here. Didn't hear the phone. She hasn't called yet."

A weight settled on the bed beside him. "I decided to surprise you."

He struggled to sit up. "Scully."

Her smile didn't reach the lines around her eyes. "Yeah, Mulder. It's me."

He snaked his arm out and grabbed her hand, found it warm and solid. "It's real, then. Skinner. The car. The motel."

She tossed a quick side-long glance to the AD. Then, drawing her hand from his, she slid it light across his scarred, stubbly scalp.

Jerking his head to the side he slid across the bed, away from the intrusion. "Don't. I just. . . .don't touch me, please." He saw the questions mounting behind her eyes. "Don't ask me to talk about it."

Sitting back, she rested her hands on her knees. "I have a pretty good idea what they were trying to do. I've been looking over your records." He glanced down at the file in her lap, then up at Skinner.

"The smoking man gave it to me."

Mulder sank back down into the pillows. "So. I wasn't sure, thought maybe I'd dreamed him up."

"He had you pretty snowed under when I picked you up." The muscle in Skinner's jaw twitched. "Mulder, I think he may be on your side this time."

"Mulder." Scully leaned forward but made no move to touch him. "You slept right through the physical exam but I need check you out a little and see how you're doing. I need to ask you a few questions."

He dipped his head. "To see if all the marbles are still there. I understand."

Mulder turned away, answering her questions. Did he know the date, what time it was, who was there with him. Checking to see if was aware, oriented, lucid. This was fine, he told himself. She was trying to help.

Sneaking a glance at her he caught her grim expression. He supposed her frown should have unsettled him. But it was reassuring, serious and completely professional so like Scully. When she was finished she sat back down on the side of the bed and reached out to him. Mulder shifted, sliding to the edge of the bed, unconsciously needing that space.

Scully sighed, drawing her hands into her lap. "You don't seem to be in any immediate danger. Vital signs are good. Cursory neurological exam wasn't too unusual, but. . ." She looked up at Skinner. "I really need to get him to a medical facility and run some scans, get an EEG."

"No." Both men objected. Skinner glanced at Mulder and gave him a nod, letting him go first.

Shaking his head, Mulder insisted, "Can't do it. I won't do it."

Scully started to object, but Skinner's scowl stopped her. "I agree. Agent Scully, the only way to keep him alive is to keep him sequestered. I took a risk even approaching you. No hospitals. We can't have anyone making the connection, even if we admitted him under an assumed name the risk is just too great."

Her frown deepened. "If that's the way you want it." They sat in tense silence for a moment until she added, "I've got some vacation time left. Let me take him somewhere."

Skinner shook his head. "You can't take time off. You need to be at work, out in the open. From what the smoking man said, there seems to be some sort of rift between his colleagues, power play going on among their ranks. If he thought you were being watched. I think he might be right."

Mulder glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. "Frohike said he'd send some cash. Should be enough for a month in this rat hole. Look, just pay for the room. I can take care of myself."

Scully stood, hands on her hips. "No. Absolutely not. I said you weren't in any immediate physical danger. But you're a far cry from all right. Skinner said you barely made it in here from the car under you own steam. How are you going to get food, medicine? What if something happened?"

"I don't care." Mulder scrambled out of bed, standing too fast. Overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea he gritted his teeth and waited for the worst of it to pass. "I don't care. I'm not going back there and I won't let you do anything to jeopardize my freedom." Felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked away.

Skinner used both hands to catch him when he started to fall. "Stop it. Both of you. Scully, I can't allow you to take time off for this. And Mulder, there's no way in hell I'm going to let you stay by yourself right now. I have an idea."

* * * *

It was surprisingly easy to pull the whole thing together. One quick call and I found Mulder the medical supervision he was going to need. That actually surprised me a little. I hadn't thought of Gary in years. I felt awkward asking for his help when I owed him so much already.

Now the plans were set. It remained to be seen whether or not it was going to work.

Scully would have never agreed if I hadn't assured her that Gaary was a doctor. I kept expecting her to object or to insist on being involved, but she sat still, quiet and intently focused as I made the arrangements. Unreadable. She seemed to frame each comment as to give nothing away, not really trusting me and afraid to upset her partner. There was no doubt in my mind that as soon as she got away she'd start her own investigation. I just hoped she'd be careful.

Fox Mulder had beaten the odds so far, staying alive against the determination of powerful men to destroy him. I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure he stays safe.

After she had left we ate a meal in silence and Mulder laid back down, eyes staring in the direction of the television, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention to it. I watched him from across the room. A shower, sandwich, clean clothes and a warm bed should have been enough to lull him into sleep. But he sat, propped up against the headboard, staring at something I couldn't see. Thousand yard stare we used to call it in Nam.

********
End part 2
********

Part 3

********

The rolled up sweater cushioned his head against the cold glass of the window. Mulder curled up the best he could in the passenger's seat and dozed. Jerking awake from time to time whenever Skinner slowed to make a turn, he didn't fight to stay awake, but just let fatigue drag him back down.

He woke completely when the car slowed and came to a stop. The red traffic signal glowed faintly against the growing morning light.

Skinner yawned. "We're almost there."

Scouring his hands against his eyes, Mulder yawned and stretched, then turned to consider his boss. "You looked wiped out."

"I'll grab a couple of hours at Gary's before I head back."

Whoever Gary was. Mulder hadn't asked where they were going. Skinner had pulled his ass from the fire, it seemed ungrateful to question him now.

They drove slowly down the dingy Main Street where boarded up store fronts out-numbered those still open for business. Could be any small Eastern town after the mill or the factory or the mine closed down.

Turned off onto a side street. Small frame houses with neat yards, but the faded paint and loose shingles spoke of hard times. Larger homes, once grand, now stripped of the gingerbread trim, divided into apartments, grim and utilitarian.

It looked like heaven to Mulder. Tiny details drew him out of himself. An old woman stood on her step shaking out a colorful throw rug. A flower box exploded with bronze and gold chrysanthemums. Children with backpacks giggled on their way to meet the school bus.

Color. Life. Hope.

Skinner pulled into the driveway of a house no different than the others. The front door opened as soon as they drove up. The man who came out to meet them was compact and wiry, older than the FBI agents by ten or fifteen years. But age didn't appear to have weakened the man, he looked to have been distilled by the passage of time, leaving the only the essence of the man with everything superfluous stripped away.

Their host approached the car, waiting for them to get out. He stood in front of Skinner, scrutinizing the AD, then embraced him in a warm hug. "Walter, you could have called any time."

Skinner flushed slightly, seemingly embarrassed, but returned as good as he got for a moment before pulling away. "Gary. Thanks for letting us drop in." He half-turned to Mulder. "This is Fox Mulder. Mulder, Gary Hendricks."

Hendricks rounded the car and Mulder shrank back, afraid for a moment that the man would greet him the same way he'd greeted Skinner. Instead, he reached around behind Mulder, opening the back door and pulling out the two bags that comprised his 'luggage.'

"Let's get you into the house." He stepped away from Mulder, giving him room.

Glancing at the neighboring houses, Mulder suddenly felt ill at ease. There was no one in sight, but he felt exposed out in the open. Anxious to get inside. He took a few wobbly steps, then stumbled. Skinner appeared at his elbow.

Inside, the house was austere but clean. Simple solid furniture, blinds instead of curtains on the windows. Functional with no frills. Nothing to indicate a woman's touch.

Their host led them into the living room, waved a hand toward the couch. "Why don't you have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Sure, let me give you a hand." Skinner replied. "Mulder, want anything?"

He shook his head and watched to two men disappear in the kitchen. The indistinct rumble of their voices drifted into living room. Mulder couldn't make out what they were saying. He let his eyes wander around the room. Hendricks spartan decorating style gave nothing away about the man who lived here. Spartan as a barracks, almost as anonymous as the motel room they'd just vacated, Mulder wondered where he could possibly fit in here. He was overwhelmed by the conviction that he didn't belong here. That maybe he didn't belong anywhere.

As the two men came back in the room, Skinner gave him a curious look. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Skinner's hand pressed on his arm, guiding him to sit down, but Mulder balked, casing his gaze around the room as if it was all a bit too much to take in. "No." He licked his lips. "No, just. . .where's my room?" He watched the other two men exchange a glance.

Hendricks stepped back, away from the FBI agents. "Down the hall, first door on the left. There's a small bathroom off of it so you'll have privacy."

Mulder hesitated for a minute, opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say. "Thanks," he mumbled, and hurried down the hall, into his room. He closed the door, then leaned back against it, wrapping his arms around his chest and sinking to the floor.

There was no reason to panic. No reason to be sitting here on the floor, shivering.

* * * *

I couldn't get over how good Gary looked. More than fifteen years. Maybe his face was a little more deeply engraved, his buzz cut more gray than brown, but he was still Marine-Corps fit.

The hug took me by surprise. It reminded me of just how long I'd been without genuine warmth. I couldn't help melting into the embrace until I caught Mulder staring.

I'd told him as little as necessary. Just that Gary was a semi-retired doctor and an old friend. This had seemed like such a good idea but watching Mulder's unease I hoped I hadn't made a mistake. After everything the man had been through lately, was it fair to him to turn him over to yet another stranger?

He didn't settle down once we got inside, instead he seemed jittery and asked to see his room right away. Swamped with last minute doubts I started to follow him, but Gary stopped me.

"Sit down, Walt. Give him a chance to settle in."

He took a seat on the couch, but I took the hard-backed chair across from him. "Look, Gary. I'm not sure this is such a good Idea."

Gary cocked his head. "Why not? You said he needed medical care and a quiet place to recuperate. Is it that much different that the POWs?"

That cut to the heart of the matter, the reason I'd chosen Gary Hendricks. He'd been my doctor, competent and strictly business, for the first few weeks after I'd come stateside. But then the escaped POW's had come on our ward and Gary had shown an astonishing depth of compassion. He captured my heart for months after that, until it was healed enough to face what the world had to throw at me. Whatever had happened in the years since, he was still the best man I knew to heal an injured soul.

"Yeah. Look, I brought the medical records that were turned over to me. They're in one of those bags. There's no guarantee that they're complete, but it should give you some idea of what you're up against."

Watching Gary read the file felt like a repeat of the night before. But while Scully's outrage was directed against the specifics of this crime against this particular man, the fire of Gary's anger had been lit many years ago, kindled by the sacrifice of young men and boys, old women and village children, all in the name of politics.

Long minutes passed after Gary had turned the last page. He finally spoke, startling me out of my own dark thoughts.

"I don't know what you're planning on doing to take those bastards down." He tossed the file down on the coffee table. "Frankly, I don't want to know. I've got more than enough to do right here. I've read the notes Agent Scully included and she's right. Agent Mulder needs to be thoroughly evaluated by a properly equipped hospital."

"Gary-" I started to object.

Shaking his head, he continued. "Don't worry. I also agree with her conclusion that he's probably not in any physical danger at the moment. His partner doesn't believe there is any apparent brain damage and she's more than likely right, I'd guess she knows him well enough to be able to spot any obvious changes. But coming to grips with what's happened to him, that's going to take time. It's going to be hard to sort out any subtle physical changes from the psychological impact of the ordeal."

That was nothing more than I'd anticipated and a large part of the reason I'd decided to bring Mulder here. I stared at the folder, wishing there was anything I could have done to have prevented what had happened "No matter what happens," he added, "Fox Mulder is going to be a changed man."

I was bone-tired and discouraged. "Look, I've got a long drive back and I have to get back to work tomorrow."

"No problem." Gary got up and stood behind me, placing his strong hands on my shoulders, he kneaded the tense muscles. "Better?"

I nodded wordlessly.

Moving his hands up to my neck, he worked on the painful knots. Eyes closed, I leaned back into his touch, felt his lips, warm and slightly moist, brush across the smooth skin on the top of my head.

I pulled away slowly and turned to face him.

He saw all he needed to, shook his head and gave me a gentle smile. "I didn't think so. You never were one to linger on the past."

"I didn't mean to suggest . . . I mean I hate to take advantage of you." I didn't want to hurt him, but the present was complicated enough for me without dragging old pain into it.

"I understand, Walt." He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. "And you were right to bring him here. You know I'll do my best. But do you really need to get back so soon? It's Saturday, why not stay at least until tomorrow. Your Agent Mulder might settle in a bit easier if he has a familiar face around for a little longer. I've got the feeling that he might have had his fill of strangers."

I thought it over. Mulder and I hadn't really been that close before. We had a professional relationship that was loaded with trust and respect, but surely no one could connect me to him. "Til tomorrow afternoon, then."

"Great. Let me get a blanket and pillow. Take a nap and I'll have dinner ready when you get up. If you can stand that lumpy old couch, you're welcome to it."

* * * *

When he woke up, Mulder snuggled a little deeper into the warm blankets, aware that for first time in longer that he cared to remember, he actually felt good. No headache, no fever, no drugged fuzzy edges.

A man could get used to this.

The late afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the tile gleaming through the open bathroom door. Sitting up slowly, he looked around the room. Before he'd climbed into bed, he'd been too upset to really investigate it. Not bad really. A simple table and chair sat in front of the window, a recliner was placed nearer the bed. The bed itself had controls to raise the foot and head, but it was obviously designed for home and not hospital use. A television, with cable, he noted, sat on the dresser against the wall.

All the comforts of home. A far cry from the sterile world that had been his for months. He clamped down on that thought before it could take hold, banished it for the moment. Here and now was all that should matter.

He still felt weak, disinclined to move, but the fullness of his bladder goaded him into action. Passing the door on his way back to the bed he stopped and sniffed. He pulled the door open a crack and took another whiff. Definitely pot roast.

He padded out into the hall, unsure what to do. He was hungry, but would Hendricks let him just wander around the house? Took a hesitant step down the hallway, then another, more confidently. He wasn't a prisoner here, he was a patient, convalescing, and he wasn't about to hole up in that room like a fugitive.

The sound of dishes clattering drew him toward the kitchen.

Passing through the living room, a snore drew his attention to the couch. Skinner's head peeked out from under the blanket, glasses neatly set aside on the coffee table. He'd never seen the man asleep before.

Mulder stopped to stare. What was Skinner's stake in all this? There was so little he could trust in the world, it was too much to hope for that his boss had acted out of kindness.

Kindness. He didn't know how to react to that anymore. For months the men and women in his world had shown him cool indifference, regarding him as simply a test subject. Mulder, in turn, found it so easy to view them as less than human. He'd spent the past few months learning how to wall himself off from the world.

For the first few weeks, he'd burned to escape. But the surgeries and drugs and restraints had squashed that goal. For a few weeks more, he'd actually hoped for rescue. For Scully and Skinner and an assault team of FBI agents to burst in with guns blazing. But as the weeks stretched out into months and the edges of reality became increasingly blurred, the best he could hope for was a fantasy of repressed passion.

He reached out, his hand hovering over the bald scalp, not quite daring to touch. Not quite daring to put the feel of solid flesh to the fantasy

Control of this passion, this fantasy was the last vestige he'd had left of independence and self-identity. Now the object of that desire lay sleeping in front of him, and Mulder was once again left unsure of what to hope for.

He heard a footstep in the behind him and looked up to find Hendricks standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Agent Mulder, I hope you had a good rest." He held out his hand. Mulder ignored it, acknowledging his host with a nod.

"I'm glad you're up. It's time for you antibiotics." He moved aside so Mulder could pass into the kitchen. "Would you like a glass a juice to wash them down?"

"Sure." But Mulder stood, staring at the kitchen door as if it was an insurmountable obstacle.

"Why don't I bring it out here?"

Mulder nodded. "Fine." Hendricks must think him an idiot, the king of monosyllabic responses, but the thought of being alone in the next room with a stranger made his palms sweat.

He sat in a chair opposite his sleeping boss. Barely looking up when the doctor brought in his medication, Mulder waited for the man to leave before downing the pills.

* * * *

I've never liked having people stare at me while I'm sleeping. When I opened my eyes I was startled to see the blurry shape a man directly not ten feet away. I fumbled on the endtable for my glasses, knocking a stack of books to the floor in the process. Mulder sat, solemn-faced, taking it all in. I gave him what I hoped was a friendly nod.

"Excuse me." I rose to my feet and found the bathroom. Glancing back, Mulder's eyes were following me. Probably stayed glued to the door after I shut it.

Just as I finished washing up Gary's voice announced from the other side of the door, "Supper's ready."

Mulder was standing by the kitchen door waiting for me to enter first.

The food was great. Funny, people always pigeon-hole bachelors as lousy cook. Maybe some are, probably the gregarious kind of man who finds dining out , night after night, invigorating. For more solitary types cooking can be a satisfactory way to enjoy good food. Besides, it's a good way to while the hours between work and sleep.

After dinner Mulder surprised me by agreeing to join us in the living room. The movie on television was the kind of comedy I would never have watched on my own but just the kind of mindless stupidity that's great to watch with friends. Even Mulder almost smiled once or twice.

By 10 o'clock Mulder's head was drooping. Gary knelt down beside his chair and asked if he could check his vital signs. Mulder agreed. He barely twitched as Gary went about his business. Physically, that is. But as Gary fastened the blood pressure cuff, Mulder seemed to drift away, let his eyes unfocus. No sign of the pain and memories that must lay beneath his calm demeanor.

I've always found too much imagination to be a bad thing. It kept up most of the night, imagining what the past few months must have been like. The ghost of Mulder's pain haunted through the pre-dawn quiet, as I slipped out of the sleeping household and drove back into the city.

********
End part 3
********

Part 4

********

Despite his initial resolve to roam the house like a free man, for days Mulder emerged from his room only for meals.

It wasn't that he was trying to avoid Hendricks. He could hardly avoid the doctor, after all, he was living in the man's house, eating his food. Throughout the day, he came in to give his medication and check up on him.

But in keeping to himself, Mulder found it much easier to drift, to slide his mental gear shift into neutral without needing to think or to feel or to remember. Because remembering threatened to bring on the flashbacks, shattered what fragile control he'd negotiated with his soul. If he didn't remember, he didn't have to admit to what had happened to him.

They terrified him, those brief moments of memory, so tangible, blotting out the bland reality of his bedroom. He could almost feel the blinding headaches, smell the singed flesh as they cauterized yet another incision. Worst of all was the memory of the way his mind had ached to grab the information they'd fed him. Grabbed the input and sank down so deep into the data stream that he'd totally lost touch with where he was. Who he was.

Those flashbacks were the absolute worst. Left him in a cold sweat, shaking with fear.

On his third day Hendricks had found him huddled on the bathroom floor, eyes glazed. The touch of a hand on his arm brought him surging up, lashing out as he rose.

Strong arms caught his fist before it connected, steadied him when he started to collapse back down into a heap.

"Take a breath. That's good. Here, have a seat."

He followed Hendricks' voice, finding his breath, felt his body being lowered to the floor. He stared around the room, reached out a hand and rested it against the reality of the cool white tile. The shakes overtook him then, bone-rattling and barely subsiding when he felt a blanket draped over his shoulders.

When the tremors subsided Hendricks helped him to his feet and back into his room, settling down beside him on the bed. "It's okay to remember. You've got to remember it sometime."

"No," Mulder muttered through clenched teeth. He pulled the blanket tighter. "I won't let the memories control me. I can't let them define me."

"Bull shit." Mulder's head snapped up and Hendricks continued. "If you don't admit it to yourself, they win. You've got to face the fact that that other Fox Mulder doesn't exist any more." He ran a hand through Mulder's stubbly scalp, ignoring his flinch. "There's no way to walk through hell and not be touched by the fire. Whether you let it destroy you or refine you, that's your choice."

Mulder pulled away. "Spare me the pop psychology," he growled, but there was no rancor in his voice.

Hendricks stood. "Breakfast is ready whenever you are."

Later, Mulder sat at the kitchen table watching Hendricks clear the table. All through the meal, neither one of them had brought up the incident in the bathroom. Of course, Mulder recognized the move. Give the traumatized patient a little room, control over the conversation, a sense of control in his life. As a psychologist he understood the tactic. As a patient, he was grateful for the space.

Hendricks wiped down the stove while the dish water ran in the sink. He nodded toward Mulder. "About through with that? I'm running a little late."

Cramming the last bit of toast into his mouth, Mulder carried his plate to the the sink. "Late for what?"

Silverware clattered as Hendricks tossed the forks and knives into the sudsy water. "Rounds. Twice a week I check up on the patients at the local nursing home . Got to do something to make the mortgage payment."

"Won't your neighbors think it's a little odd to leave a stranger alone in your house?" Mulder tried not to sound as nervous as he felt, but he wasn't naive enough to believe that no one had noticed his arrival in broad day light..

Hendricks tossed a dish towel to Mulder. "Not really. I've been known to rent out a room from tine to time to patients who needed somewhere to recuperate. What would really look odd would be a break in my normal routine. Besides, like I said, I've got to pay the bills."

Mulder reached for a plate and began drying, watching the other man as he worked. Quick, efficient, no wasted movements. He had no problem picturing Hendricks as a Marine, a by-the-book career officer. That's why his warm embrace of Skinner seemed so out of character. Unless.. .

"You treated Skinner in Vietnam?" More a statement than a question, his real question left unsaid.

"After. When he was shipped state-side." Hendricks flicked off the light switch, with a nod of his head, invited Mulder to carry the conversation into the living room. The settled on opposite sides of the couch. "Walter was in a bad way when he came back. The war left a lot of men with wounds that were hard to see, hard to heal."

The kind of injury that left its scars on the soul and the mind in confusion, that was something Mulder understood.

"And maybe Walter just needed a friend. Someone to help him get his bearings."

"And after the war?"

Hendricks paused, staring out the window. Mulder had almost decided that the question would be left unanswered until the doctor added. "Maybe I needed some compassion, too."

* * * * *

The Muzaked strains of some insipid pop song grated on my nerves as I glanced around the mall. I hated these places. But Scully and I had both agreed that it wasn't safe to meet at work. We could never be sure who might be watching, listening.

Ten o'clock in the morning and the place was almost deserted. Occasional senior citizens plowed determinedly around the perimeter of their make-shift indoor walking track. Mothers, jostling packages, were distracted by whining toddlers in strollers. The scarcity of shoppers made it easy to slip, unseen, into the service corridor behind the rest rooms.

Scully was already waiting for me, stepping out of the shadows as I approached. "Sir, I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me."

"And I hope you also appreciate the danger of our being seen together outside of work." I still bristled at her insistence that we meet.

She stared me straight in the eye. "Of course. But I need to know if he's all right."

Okay. She had a right to that at least. "There's not much I can tell you. Dr. Hendricks has only called once. He indicated that there was nothing out of the ordinary." What a joke, there was nothing ordinary about the whole situation.

"It's just that. . ." Her steely resolve crumbled a bit. "I can't help but worry. The risk of brain damage, of seizures, even of long-term disability is significant. Not to mention the potential side effects of the chemical cocktail they had him on. I'm concerned about permanent injury if he continues without any interventive care."

"Believe me, I'm well aware of the danger." I closed the gap between us and lowered my voice. "But you've got to keep in mind the even greater danger. If whoever wanted him dead finds out that he's very much alive, they won't hesitate to step in and finish the job."

A door slammed shut somewhere behind us and we spun together, simultaneously drawing our weapons in choreographed apprehension. Casual footsteps echoed down the hallway. With the cavalier hint of a smile on his lips, Mulder's benefactor rounded the corner.

"Agent Scully." He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I didn't think you would be able to keep away."

I stepped in front of Scully. "How the hell did you find us here?" Stupid question, but it was out of my mouth before I gave it a second thought. He confirmed my suspicion.

"My best men have been on it. Don't worry, there's no one else following you. We've had Dr. Hendricks' house under surveillance and I can assure you that there's no untoward activity in that area at all. For all intents and purposes, at least for those who have any interest in the matter, Fox Mulder is dead." He grinned in irritating self-assurance. Tapped out a cigarette and lit it. "I have to congratulate you on your choice of Dr. Hendricks. Hi record of success with former prisoners of war and post traumatic stress syndrome is impressive."

"Damn it." Scully pushed around me, ignoring my restraining hand on her shoulder. "Whatever you've done to him, you will pay."

He took a long slow drag, let it out leisurely. "My entire activity in this has been to Agent Mulder's advantage." The cocky grin slipped just a bit. "I only recently became aware of his exact whereabouts."

There was more to it than that, some power play must be in the works, the bastard didn't do anything that wasn't in his own best interest, but I didn't think we'd get any more out of him right now. "So what are you doing here this morning. You didn't come all the way down here just to gloat about the efficiency of your operatives."

His smile returned. "Trust you to get to the point, Mr. Skinner. As I told you earlier, you will be able to take them down when the time is right." Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out an envelope. "The location of the research facility and the name of a judge who can trusted to issue a search warrant without, shall we say, leaking the information to the wrong parties."

I took the envelope, turning it over in my hands. "And you, what do you get from all of this?"

"Justice." He turned and walked away.

"Like hell," Scully murmured behind me.

She didn't stay long after that. We both decided that Mulder deserved to know what was going on. And besides, he was the best evidence we had so far. No matter how sympathetic the judge was, Mulder's medical records and his statement regarding his ordeal were going to be needed to convince a judge to act on a anonymous tip.

So once again I found myself calling the office with some excuse that hopefully didn't sound as lame to Kim as it did to me. Even if she could tell something was up, I knew I could trust her to cover for me. Once again I headed the car west, toward the mountains and Gary's ramshackle little town, wondering what I'd find when I got there.

Scully's talk of seizures and brain damage and permanent disability had me worried. Visions of the shell of a man that I'd dropped off on Gary's doorstep had haunted my sleep for days.

But surely Gary would have called if anything was wrong.

* * * *

Mulder poked his head out of his doorway, the third time since lunch, and listened for any sign that Hendricks had returned. In the days since his arrival he'd wanted nothing more than to be left alone and now that he had the house to himself, he found himself on the verge of panic, afraid to leave his room.

"Get a grip." He was disgusted over his fear. Hendricks had called around one, left a message on his machine that he needed to admit one of his patients to the hospital in the county seat. Said he wouldn't be back until after dark and not to worry

Not to worry. What a joke. His mind jerked with every sound; tree branches brushing against the side of the house, cars passing on the street. He recognized the symptoms, hyperawareness and paranoia, classic signs of post-traumatic stress. But he couldn't help associating those feelings with something more sinister, with electrodes plugged directly into his skull and drugs forcing his altered mind to process more and more data.

"Shit." He couldn't keep lurking in fear in the back of the house. Flipping on every light switch he came to, Mulder hurried through the hallway and living room to the relatively familiar security of the kitchen. He went through the motions of rummaging through the refrigerator for something to drink. Something to occupy his hands and his thoughts.

The slam of a car door startled him, sending the glass of milk in his hand shattering into the sink. Heart pounding, he parted the kitchen curtains. Skinner. Letting out his breath, he was too relieved at seeing a familiar face to worry why his boss had come.

* * * * *

He looked understandably shaky when I appeared, unannounced, on Gary's doorstep. When I found out that he'd been left alone all day, I was furious. That seemed, at first, to be a vastly irresponsible act. Or maybe my conversation with Scully had just left me a little too apprehensive about Mulder's condition.

He sure as hell seemed a bit jumpy, but as he grew accustomed to the idea of me being there in Gary's kitchen he loosened up a little. Still acting a little odd, though, he kept shooting enigmatic glances my way as he assembled the bread, cold cuts, and fruit that had been left for his supper.

I had no idea what was going on behind those dark eyes. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Supper was quiet. Neither of us made any attempt at small talk. There were no small issues between us that needed discussion.

But the bigger issues couldn't wait. I couldn't keep up the silence much longer than it took us to chew our way through the dry sandwiches. Hesitancy didn't serve either one of us. "Mulder, there's something I need you to do."

He swallowed, eyes glued to my everyone move. He started slightly as I scooted my chair back from the table. "You want my statement." He paused, but I kept my peace, let him have the time he needed. "You need my deposition as evidence. The case can't be resolved already, you haven't mentioned letting me return home. All I can guess is that you need the testimony of a witness. Something you can take to a judge."

"If you're up to it, yes." Ignoring the eyes boring into my soul, I continued. "We have an address, a location. But in order to do this right, we need something more concrete than an anonymous tip."

His short bark of laughter unnerved me. "Anonymous. Well, I guess he is that, if you still don't know his name." Mulder turned away, staring out the window, mumbled almost too quietly for me to hear. "The medical records won't be enough."

"No," I agreed.

He stood abruptly. "We might as well get it over with."

I thought we might be more comfortable in the living room, but Mulder sat on the couch, stiff and ill at ease, watching me as I set up the tape recorder and microphone. I switched on the machine, announcing my name and title, the date and time. Looking up, I said, "Please state your name for the record."

Leaning forward slightly, barely more than a whisper, he began. "My name is Fox William Mulder." I turned up the volume on the machine. He continued. "I work. . . that is, I worked as a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

He tried not to think about what he was saying. Didn't look at Skinner to gauge his reaction. In a way, it felt good to get it out. Mulder kept his eyes riveted on the wall behind him, mentally tracing the abstract design in the wallpaper as the words flowed out of his mouth.

He finished, ending with the last onslaught of pain and tremors and fear. He'd had no idea how many days ago his health had taken a nosedive. He'd framed his calendar with ebbs and lows of pain, not the passing of time. Time had taken care of itself without his help. In time, he had come here, to this place. This was real now.

Finally, he lifted his gaze.

Skinner's blank face was comforting. No pity there. Good, he couldn't stand pity right now. No revulsion either, even worse than pity. He ignored the tightness around the other man's eyes, the slight twitch of his jaw, but drew confidence from the nonjudgmental quiet that followed his account. "Did you bring a camera?"

Skinner stood, abruptly, nodded in the direction of the driveway. "Out in the car."

"Get it. The taped deposition, the medical records, they might not be enough without the visual evidence to back them up."

He followed Skinner to the door and caught of glimpse of himself in the tiny pane of glass set in it. Stared hard at the reflection, trying to see if the stubble had overgrown the raw scars on his scalp.

The healing scabs had been echoes of the electrode sockets, a tiny port for each lead, easy entry to inner workings of his brain. One of his doctors, more talkative than most, had explained that the thick bone of the skull distorted the brain waves and interfered with their readings. He had no memory of when they'd removed the tiny bits of plastic evidence, that was lost in the foggy days of pain. Now all that was left were the red, angry scars evenly spaced across his head.

He pressed experimentally on on of the wounds. They were still visible, but he wondered, for a moment, if he might need to shave to make them more visible. If he bring himself to do it, maybe he could persuade Skinner. It shouldn't be difficult. He lost himself in the image of Skinner smearing the white clouds of lather over his scalp, navigating a razor around the obstacle course of scars. The image shifted, strong hands moving from the top of his head to his cheeks, his chin, tilting his head up slightly.

Mulder shivered, lowered his hand to to touch himself, the hard physical link of his reaction to the waking dream.

He jerked his hand away from his crotch as he heard the screen door open. He pulled the heavier wooden door wide and waved Skinner toward the kitchen. "Let's get this over with. The light's better in the kitchen."

With a nod, Skinner followed him into the room, pulling a chair into the center, under the bright overhead light. "Okay, this good enough?"

"Fine." Mulder sat, lowering his head, eyes closed. "Do you think they'll show up?"

"Good enough."

The soft snap of the shutter, again and again. Mulder felt a gentle nudge to his chin and tilted his head. Shifted again at Skinner's silent prodding. Lost track of the time until he heard, "Okay, that's it. Anything else?"

He thought it over, then pulled off his shirt. "Here," gesturing at an half-healed scar on his upper chest. "They had a central line here. It's mentioned in the medical records."

Lifting his chin, he leaned back in the chair. Skinner leaned in close, his presence overwhelming. Mulder stared at the hands holding the camera, mesmerized. Watched as they angled the camera for the best shot, as they clicked the shutter once, twice; watched as they started to pull away. Reaching up to stop them, he place his hands over Skinner's, pulled him close.

Skinner froze. "What?" But he didn't move away. Didn't resist when Mulder leaned forward.

Noses nearly touching, Mulder could smell the other man's breath, imagine the taste of him. Letting go of the captive hands, Mulder's fingers drifted up and hovered over Skinner's jaw, afraid now to touch him, unsure whether or not to believe in the reality of the moment.

Closing the gap, Skinner dropped his mouth to Mulder's.

Overwhelmed, Mulder opened his lips wider, invitingly. Framed the older man's jaw with his hands and pulled him close. His senses were overloaded by the stale coffee scent of Skinner's breath, the rough scrape of stubble against his cheek. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the moment, groaned quietly as arms surrounded him.

Skinner pulled back a little. "Mulder?"

Ignoring the whispered question in his ear he buried his head in Skinner's neck and rode out the intensity of feeling and being. Of living.

At the sound of the front door, they broke apart. Breathing heavy, dazed, Mulder felt dizzy. Looking up he saw Skinner's face, red and flushed. He wanted to say something, to ask for more, to apologize, he wasn't sure which. But whatever he might have said was cut off by the voice booming from the living room.

********
End Part 4
********

Part 5

********

"Walt? You here?"

Shit. I stood there in the middle of the kitchen, panting and blushing like a school boy caught making out on the couch. Clearing my throat, I answered. "In the kitchen."

Mulder jumped up from the chair, toppling it over. He snatched his shirt and bolted through the door without looking back as Gary came in. I followed, elbowing my way past Gary, who cast a questioning glance my way, but stayed back.

I jammed my shoulder into the doorway just as the door swung shut and shoved my way into Mulder's room. He retreated into the far corner, his arms wrapped tightly around his bony chest, shirt wadded up, forgotten in his hands.

"Get out," he hissed. "Leave me alone."

"Not until we talk about what happened in there."

"What happened?" He groaned. "What happened was months of self delusion, following upon years of self denial." He was pacing back and forth at his end of the room, careful not to come too close. "What happened was I forgot for a minute what was real. What happened was, I was using you."

I closed the gap between us, but didn't touch him again, didn't provoke him any more. "Stop for a minute and make sense here. As far as I could tell there was nothing going on that wasn't consensual. Why don't you calm down and tell me what you're talking about."

He edged around me, sank down on the bed and looked up, his expression guarded. With a shrug he began, "I've always wondered what it would be like. With you, I mean. Never stopped to seriously consider it. Just idle daydreaming, you know. You see a woman in a tight skirt or a guy working out in the gym and wonder what it would be like."

He studied my face for a minute. "I never said anything to you. Never would have. But in the labs they took everything away. My life, my dignity, tried to rob me of my mind. All I had left was the fantasy." He looked away and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "It was an unexpected side affect, actually. What they gave me to improve my ability to focus, it made the fantasies so real. I could feel you, almost touch you. It's like the thought of making love to you, of taking charge and doing anything I wanted, like it was really happening."

The old bed creaked as I sat down beside him, unsure what to do or say. At least he didn't shrink back from me. A tentative hand sought mine. Rested in top of it. I didn't dare move.

His voice was stronger, less haunted. "You kept me sane, or rather, the image. . . the dream of you did. Gave me that last reserve of self control."

"So, I was either your salvation or your last resort." That drew almost drew a smile from him. "I'm neither of those things, Mulder. I didn't give you anything, you found your own strength to survive." I knew I'd never understand what he'd been through. His strength amazed me. My reaction to his courage amazed me even more. "I wasn't your salvation in that hell. But you might be surprised at what I can be."

The smile flashed again briefly, making it to his eyes this time. "I don't know who's crazier, me for believing in you, or you for giving me a chance." Sober once again. "When all this is over, do you think. . ."

I stood, resting my hand briefly on his shoulder. "God only knows. But this won't be over if we don't get back down to business."

Still trembling slightly, he gave my hand a squeeze and released it. "Go on. You need a statement from Hendricks."

* * * *

Light from the kitchen seeped into the darkened living room. Mulder stood in the shadows and waited. Giving his own account of his captivity had almost been too much and he had no desire to hear whatever Hendricks had to say. Waiting in his room, he'd tried to zone out and not think. But the memory of Skinner's warm hands on his shoulders, lips on his lips, kept slipping past his defenses. Giving up, he'd headed in to join the other men. Maybe it was time to rejoin the world.

Hendricks must have finished his statement. His voice was loud, a little irritated. "And why not? They still think that he's dead."

Skinner was definitely angry. "Exactly my point. He's alive and I want to keep him that way. As soon as they figure out their man didn't dispose of him properly, they'll send somebody to finish the job."

"Oh, come on. As soon as you serve that search warrant, they'll know you're onto them anyway."

"And he won't really be safe until after the situation is secure." Skinner was shouting now.

Indecision snapped in a wave of anger. "Stop it. Both of you." Mulder stepped into the kitchen light, his fury washing over the other two men, quelling their debate. "I'm not mentally incompetent or so fragile I'll break under the weight of decision. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone decide my fate without consulting me first."

Skinner rose and reached out to him, but Mulder jerked away. "Just tell me what the game plan is."

Skinner gave a brusque nod and began to review his strategy.

Two hours later it was all laid out. Mulder could wait with the back up team, out of the action. It sounded more like 'out of the way' to him, but he wouldn't argue. Anything that would get him one step closer to confronting the bastards who'd stolen his life.

In the end, Hendricks had insisted that the patient needed rest. Mulder had acquiesced, even grudgingly agreed to take a pill when he realized he was exhausted, but too wound up to get to sleep.

Skinner had come in just as he was drifting off. The hardness had gone out of the AD's face, replaced by something unfamiliar, a mood that Mulder couldn't read. He took a chance and patted the bed beside him. "Sit down for a minute." He blinked and yawned. "It won't be long now."

The bed creaking under him, Skinner settled near the foot. Sighed and patted a bony, blanket-covered knee. "Mulder, you're drive me crazy. Did you know that?" He shook his head. "What the hell are we doing."

"I'm not sure, but I came to the realization today, that I'm not going to give up. Not on myself. Not on life. Not on you. There's not enough time to waste on denial, on trying to fit in, to do the right thing."

Skinner laughed, deep and warm. "Mulder, that's good because if you're past record is any indication, you've got absolutely no knack for fitting in. You're just not cut out for it."

Mulder smiled. "High school coach always said I wasn't a team player."

The hand on his knee moved up, grasped his hand. "I'll let you play on my team."

"Mmm. . ." Mulder's eyes closed, then fluttered open. "Don't know if we can beat them, but we can't let them win."

"No," Skinner agreed. "I'm not going to let anyone beat you. Not anymore."

* * * *

I left long before dawn; peeked in on Mulder's sleeping hulk, gulped down a cup of Gary's strong coffee and hit the road. And was still almost late for our eight o'clock meeting with the judge.

Walking down the marble hallway as fast as I could without loosing my dignity, I found Scully pacing outside the judge's office. Crisp business suit, a mask of calm on her face, only someone who knew her well would have detected the wear and tear she tried to conceal.

The heavy, paneled door opened and we were ushered in.

The judge loosened up as we laid out the evidence piece by piece. In fact, he looked relieved that we'd built a solid case beyond the anonymous tip. But there was no doubt in my mind that he would have issued the search warrant no matter what we presented in that meeting. Made me wonder what the smoking bastard had on him.

Maybe I was deluding myself, but I wanted evidence that would bring down the butchers who'd scrambled Mulder's mental circuits. I wanted a solid, by-the-book case that could stand up in court. Shadowy evidence had a way of disappearing when you needed it the most.

For that matter, so did the real, hard-won evidence if the right people decided to remove it.

I was on my cell phone to my office as soon as we walked out of the judge's chambers giving Kim the short list of names to call for me, a few reliable men I hoped I could trust to watch my back. We had to move quickly. I pulled Scully aside as we left the building. "Meet me at my office in an hour. You can come with me when I go pick up Mulder."

The briefest of emotions flickered across her face. "Sir," she acknowledged with a curt nod. She took a step away then turned. "Can you tell me how he's doing?"

"Fine." Her mouth twitched. I stepped in closer. "Agent Scully, he's going to get through this." I paused for a minute, remembering the fire in his eyes last night, his determination to find a way back, I was beginning to believe that myself.

Scully must have misread my hesitation. She moved in closer, leaning in, voice sharp with worry. "If there's anything you're not telling me. . . "

I reached out for her, grasping her shoulders. "No. I mean it. Dr. Hendricks has reported no adverse neurological symptoms. And I think Mulder's coming to grips with his ordeal. It won't happen overnight, but I think he's going to be fine."

She sagged and let out a deep breath. "Thank you. This past week.. .It's been so hard. He looked so frail at the motel. And the likelihood of complications is so. . ."

"I know. But you know Mulder."

A tired smile finally graced her face. "He might land hard, but he always bounces back."

My smile echoed hers. "For that we can be grateful." And the depth of my gratitude surprised me.

* * * *

After the twentieth time he peeked out the living room curtains he heard Hendricks call out, "All that pacing won't make four o'clock come any faster."

Mulder cast a black look at the doctor and reached down to check the small duffel bag beside the front door. It still contained one change of clothes, his medical records, and the remaining stash of brown plastic medicine bottles. Exactly what it held the last time he'd checked.

He found himself starting to pace again and stopped midst ride, sinking into to nearest chair. He felt more than restless, not quite manic but compelled to move, to act, to do something. What he felt was out of control. He was so tired of being pushed by events and other people's plans. This time he had his own agenda, he wanted to find the bastards who'd butchered him and make them pay. He was ready.

That wasn't quite true. Just the thought of seeing any of those doctors again terrified him. What he really wanted was to be left alone, to try and forget the ordeal. But if he turned away now, stayed in seclusion and never faced them again, he could never face himself. Could never trust himself.

"Hey," Hendricks crouched down next to his chair. "I need to check you out one last time before we leave." He wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Mulder's arm, pumped it up and went about his job with quiet efficiency.

Mulder watched the doctor work, grateful to have something to focus on. That still scared him, the need to focus. The drive to think, process, evaluate. It seemed to have let up a little bit, but he wasn't sure, he couldn't be objective or trust his perception of who he was or who he had been. He had no way to gauge if he was more neurotic or mentally unstable or just the same obsessive Fox Mulder he'd always been.

That was a laugh. He would never be the same man he'd been before. His world had been ripped inside out.

Sick of self-analysis, he concentrated on Hendricks, watched the doctor as he put away his instruments. "So, how do I check out?"

"You're doing better than I'd hoped. It looks like you're going to be fine." He sat down on the couch. "When Walter first called me, I've got to tell you, I expected the worst. I've seen men held against their will before I expected malnutrition, muscle deterioration, the after effects of physical abuse. And all that's there to a certain extent. But that nothing that can't be healed over time and care. Then, when I read that file I found a whole new list of things to worry about. Brain damage, possibly seizures, some residual consequences." He reached out and rested his hand on Mulder's knee, ignored the slight twitch. "I think you'll come out of this on top, but to be honest, when this is all over I'd still really like to see a battery of neurological tests. "

Mulder felt himself relax a little. Watching Hendricks as he worked, he once again took the measure of the man beside him. Compassionate without being condescending. Competent. Self-assured. The grey-haired doctor would not have been as of place as chief of staff at some large city hospital. "How did you end up in a place like this? Don't most doctors retire to the good life somewhere around a golf course?"

"The good life is what you make it. I'm useful here and no one asks too many personal questions."

"Sorry, I just . . ."

"No, that's not what I meant." Hendricks gave his knee a squeeze and the let go. "Let's just say that the Marine Corps and I didn't part on the best of terms, sort of agreed that my services were not quite what they had in mind."

"A 'Don't ask, don't tell" situation?" Mulder asked. Hendricks' only answer was the slightest of nods. Mulder's curiosity was up. "Was he another Marine?"

"Yes. And this is where it does start to get personal." Hendricks stood. "I will say this. I saw the way you and Walter were looking at each other last night. Walt's a good man, you could do worse. But even though you're doing well physically, you need to give yourself some time to come to grips with what's happened to you. Come on, there's no use waiting by the door, they won't be here for another forty-five minutes."

He moved over to the couch. Mulder followed picked up the remote and began flicking through the channels until he found something tolerable. He alternating staring at the television and staring at Hendricks. "The other guy. . . I can't help but notice that you're living here alone."

Hendricks shook his head. "You just don't back down, do you? Small town life just didn't appeal, he moved out west. Let's just say that life isn't always fair."

That, Mulder understood completely.

***********

Electricity. Sure, I know what a cliché that is but there wasn't any other way to describe it. Mulder opened that door and our eyes locked and all I could do was stand there. Maybe Mulder had his genius brain heightened to a new level. Me, I was turning into an idiot.

Scully cleared her throat and elbowed past. I moved to the side as she stepped through the door, eyes only for her partner.

"Mulder?" She smiled and took his hands in hers.

"Scully?" He finally looked down at her, smiled broadly, and pulled her close. "Scully."

She pushed back and gave him an evaluating look. "You look great."

"Great may be overstating it a bit."

"Compared to the last time I saw you, great barely covers it." Letting go of her partner she extended her hand to Gary. "Dr. Hendricks? I'm Dana Scully."

Gary grasped the outstretched hand. "Dr. Scully. And it's Gary."

"In that case, ignore these two G-men and call me Dana."

The two doctors started talking shop and I turned my attention back to Mulder. He had hoisted his bag to his shoulder and was on the way out to the car. In his steps, his attitude, his attentiveness to the here and now, he did seem much better. But I wondered how much of that focus should be chalked up to nerves.

Both Scully and Hendricks agreed that there didn't seem to be any good reason Mulder couldn't ride along. Which was a good thing because it would probably have taken the three of us and a strong tranquilizer to get him back inside at that point.

During the drive I kept sneaking looks at Mulder in the rear view mirror. I caught Scully, seated beside him, doing the same thing. The man ignored us both and kept his eyes glued on the window. Whether he was concentrating on the ride or just tuning us all out, I couldn't tell.

We met with the rest of the assault team a little ahead of schedule. Twelve men and women, as trustworthy and uncorrupted as I could find. Dan Timmons was my second-in-command. A solid agent and, I hoped, trustworthy, he had worked with Mulder on several occasions, passed by my car. As he walked over to meet me, he passed by the back seat of my car, then stopped a did a double-take.

"Hey." He broke out into a grin. "Hey, man, I don't believe it. Mulder. I can't believe it."

Everyone in the car froze.

*******
End Part 5
********

Part 6

********

Mulder took deep even breaths, willing his heart to slow down. Dan was one of the good guys. He could do this. He rolled down the window, "Timmons, I see Skinner's roped you into this thing."

"Only the best." He laughed, nodded toward the car's driver. "You know how he is. My god, we all thought you were . . . " He stopped and stared at Mulder, as if he was just now seeing the condition of the formerly missing agent.

"This is about you, isn't it? About where you've been." He leaned forward to take the thin hand that rested in the open car window.

Mulder jerked his arm back inside. "Great seeing you again," he said abruptly and rolled the window back up, leaving Timmons standing there stunned.

Skinner was already climbing out of the car, cutting off Timmon's view of the back seat and shepherding him to the group of waiting men and women. Mulder was sure both Scully and Hendricks must be watching him but he kept his eyes fixed on his hands, as if fascinated by the way they were trembling.

What had he expect? If he'd thought he could shake it all off or sit back and anonymously watch it all unfold, he'd been mistaken. Of course Timmons would put two and two together. Missing agent turns up at super secret assault on unknown location. Of course Timmons would ask him where he'd been. But if Mulder found it hard to talk to his most intimate friends about it, there was no way he talk to his colleagues. Not even the ones who liked him.

Both Hendricks and Scully had cast concerned glances in his direction. He concentrated on taking slow even breaths. If the doctors thought he was going to fall apart on the spot, he was trying his best to disappoint them on that. But he was more afraid than he wanted to admit.

He pressed his hands against the glass, testing its strength, reassuring himself of its solidity. If he sat here, in this buffer zone of steel and glass, letting the events swirl around him, maybe then he could feel safe.

Men and women dressed in black gear and body armor milled about. No one looked his way. From a distance the glare of the late afternoon light on the car windows made it hard to see in. And Skinner must have warned Timmons to keep what he knew to himself.

Occasionally someone would laugh or raise a voice in greeting, sealing the bonds of comradeship. Whatever the assurances they might get from their superiors, they all knew the dangers in this kind of situation. They all wanted to feel a connection. If the shit hit the fan, you wanted to know that the rest of the team would be there to watch your back.

Mulder watched it all from far away. Separated by space, by time, by events. Separated by a gap so wide he wondered if he would ever cross it. Would he ever feel the unseen support that only trust could give?

Skinner walked into his line of sight, grim-faced, a man with the appearance of being in charge. Of himself. Of the fates of those around him.

"Mulder." Scully warned him before placing her hand on his knee and giving it a squeeze. He covered it with his own.

Maybe trust wasn't as far away and hopeless as he'd feared.

*******

Last minute instructions given, we climbed back in our vehicles and left. Only the drivers knew the location. It might have been overkill to keep things on a need-to-know basis at this point, but I wasn't taking any chances.

No one in the car spoke on the drive over, but the tension was palpable. Glancing in the rear view mirror I saw Mulder and Scully sitting stiffly and staring out of their respective windows. I was already regretting that I'd let Mulder come along. There was no way to know what we were going to find, and there was no way to know how he would handle it. He always had been unpredictable.

The initial assault was quick and clean. The was only one gate onto the property and we rolled right through it, the guard shack was empty, no cars in the parking lot. Timmons and his team peeled off to secure the main entrance while we whipped around back to rear entrance.

That bad feeling in my gut got worse. A single truck was backed up to the loading dock. No one in sight.

Mulder flinched as I turned to the back of the car and growled, "Stay put." I left without giving him another glance. For his sake, I didn't dare allow myself the distraction, just hoped to god that Gary would sit on him, take care of him no matter what.

Timmons voice crackled in my ear as I got my team of agents lined up on either side of the door. No one in the lobby, offices emptied of furniture. No phones, no computers. No damn luck. We'd been played for fools. On my signal the rear assault team stormed through the back doors. Our footsteps rang loudly as we ran through the empty storage room.

It shouldn't be this easy. I had my team pause just inside the double doors that lead inside. The surveillance monitors over the doors were filled with static and somehow I knew it wasn't a simple glitch in the system. I waved everyone in and we searched, room by room, and found every indication of a quick and hasty withdrawal. The hallway came to an end with corridors to the right and to the left. I split the team and moved my group to the right. Timmon's voice reported in, with nothing to report, their team wasn't having any better luck than we were and I wanted to kill the smoking bastard who'd sent us on this wild goose chase.

We came to another set of large set of double doors opened by a metal plate set into the wall. Just like a hospital operating room. Or a laboratory. I punched the metal plate and stepped inside as the doors swung open. I didn't even realize I'd stopped moving until the agent behind me bumped into me hard, his feet carrying him into the room even as I heard him mutter, "Dear God."

Against the wall a bank of medical instruments were lined up, the readouts blank, none of the usual beeping or noises I'd come to associate with hospitals. Because none of the patients appeared to be alive. Down the middle of the room lay six men on gurneys, their restraints still in place but obviously no longer needed. Lips an unnatural blue, sheet-draped chests unmoving, they all were dead, appeared to have been so for some time.

But snaking across the room a network of wires still linked the equipment to the test subjects. each line neatly plugged into the rows of tiny plastic sockets that dotted shaved scalps. The memory of Mulder's scarred head was fresh on my finger tips.

Scully strode purposefully into the room, the only one of us to approach the bodies. She reached out to the closest gurney, hand hovering over the man's chest, as if her courage wasn't quite enough to pull back the sheet. Instead she turned, eyes tracing the lines connecting the man to his fate.

The sound of an alarm startled us all. Faint scent of smoke drifted into the room as we raced out. I stationed two agents to guard the dead and the rest of us ran toward Timmon's team. There must still be evidence worth destroying or defending. Maybe the whole thing wouldn't be a waste after all.

When I thought about it later I could never quite piece together the sequence of events, not quite find the place when it all fell apart. It all happened too fast. Flashes of action, unstoppable.

We ran down the hall toward the smoke and alarms. The scene unfolded in front of us. Two agents and two guards, guns drawn, taking aim. A man in a lab coat cowered to the floor beside the smoldering trash can shouting, "No! No!"

My shout of 'No' echoed his but was drowned out by the thunder of gunfire.

In seconds everything had spun out of control. Four men lay sprawled in blood, two suspects and two agents. Too late, I moved to take control of the situation, calling for EMS and a forensics team. The agents were moved to a safe location, the uninjured suspect taken into custody. Someone dowsed the trash can with a fire extinguisher. Scully started to examine the downed guards but she didn't look hopeful.

Six dead victims, two dead suspects and a man in a lab coat handcuffed and crying in the corner. The last victim waiting in my car for answers to it all. There was no victory here. Timmons and Scully had the situation under control now so I hurried back to the torture chamber of an operating suite, anxious to secure the integrity of that scene. Hoping to find evidence substantial enough to justify this debacle.

I shouldn't have worried, the remainder of the assault team milled outside the door, seemingly unwilling to confront the chilling scene inside. I barked them into action, sending most of them out to make a detailed sweep of the remainder of the building and keeping two of the best to make the initial assessment of the crime scene.

The room was a surreal, a horrific scene from science fiction. It looked like this was where they did there dirty work. Set up as a operating theater, it had probably been kept scrupulously clean, no stray dirt and germs to infect the test subjects and skew the data. The cleanliness also made it unlikely that there was any trace evidence to be found. All we had were the recorded data that might remain in the medical equipment. That, and the evidence that remained in the bodies of the six dead men.

The doors burst open and Timmons and Scully took a couple of steps inside before stopping. This was Timmon's first visit to hell, his mouth shaped a wordless exclamation of disbelief.

"What do you have to report?"

Scully gave her head a tiny shake. "Sir, neither of the injured suspects made it. Johnson and Alvarez are going to be okay. Apparently Dr. Hendricks is seeing to them outside." Which meant he'd left Mulder alone. "The files in the trash can were completely destroyed and our remaining suspect claims to be ignorant of whatever might have been going on here."

Worse and worse. "What the hell are you doing trying to interrogate the man here?"

Scully bristled but her voice remained cool. "No one's trying to get a statement from him. The man is sitting on the floor in there, hysterical. He's frightened and proclaiming his ignorance to anyone who so much as looks at him."

"Sir, it looks like the evidence has been removed from the site," Timmons added with a nod toward the six corpses. "Aside from whatever evidence we may glean from the autopsies and the equipment in this room, that man may be out only link to what went on here."

The whole situation was unacceptable. I could not let them get away with this, luring us with a promise of justice and then snatching it all away. "Scully, I need you to stay here, help the forensics team when they get here. No one else on the team has your background. We have to figure out what's been going on here." She nodded and I turned to Timmons. "Dan get out there and make sure no one screws this up. I don't care if you have to work all night. Turn the place inside out. They are not getting away with this. Damn it."

It was probably pointless, but I had to make sure that was nothing was overlooked. I watched Timmons leave, almost running over Mulder in the process.

Mulder. He stood in the entrance to the room, his eyes enormous, taking in the horror in front of him. Remembering more about what had gone on here than we could ever glean from the scanty evidence.

He started to sway and I stepped forward, too late to stop his head bounce off the floor as he crumpled into a heap.

"Sir?" Scully nudged me gently aside and I let get to work.

It was later, after the crime scene team had arrived, after the ambulances had pulled away, that I found Gary leaning against the hood of my car. He looked exhausted. I didn't care.

I shoved at him, yelling, "What the hell were you doing? I trusted you to sit on him."

He shoved back and grabbed me. "I was doing my job as a doctor. Or don't you care that one of your agents was bleeding to death in the parking lot?"

I twisted out of his grasp and walked away, back to him.

"It's not your fault, Walter. I get the feeling that Mulder pretty much does what Mulder wants to do anyway." His steps closed the gap between us. "He had to face what happened to him eventually. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he'll need help trying to sort it out. Maybe that's where you come in."

I heard him walk away, get back into the car. Gary was right. What's done was done, it was time to move forward. And right now I had an investigation to supervise. Time to get back to work.

*******

It helped to concentrate what was different. The sight and smell of a homeless man being shuffled off into the exam room next to his. Two orderlies in the hallway arguing in Spanish. The differences helped him block out all those things that were the same. The white-coated doctors, the antiseptic smell, the sharp sting of the needle as a technician took a blood sample. The confusion of the emergency room was so different from the ordered hell that was the lab. Mulder tried desperately to cling to the differences.

He'd woken up in the examination room, smelled the hospital smells and watched in horror as a man in a lab coat leaned over him and proceeded to freak out, totally overwhelmed by sights and sounds and smells that could have been lifted straight from his nightmares. He'd curled up into a tiny ball and whimpered at them to let him go.

It also helped that he'd grudgingly accepted the anti-anxiety medication they'd offered. Mulder felt guilty about that, it reeked of weakness. But he was also tired of being afraid and on edge. And afraid of being stuck here if he didn't cooperate.

He watched the activity in the hall from the open door. Watched as Skinner strode up to the desk and was pointed his direction. His boss paused in the door of the exam room, eyes intense, drew a deep breath, before coming on in.

"How are you?" He stood next to the gurney, almost close enough for their knees to touch.

"Ready to get out of here." He motioned toward the only chair in the room. "Maybe they'll let me out of here if I promise to be good."

"You? Good?" Skinner smiled as he sat down.

"Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. How did it go?"

The smile disappeared. "It can wait."

"It could, but I want to know now. You might as well hit me with it while I'm too medicated to overreact."

Skinner leaned his head back against the wall. "It will have to wait. I'm still waiting to get a final report from Timmons and from the forensics team. I can tell you this, we recovered a large amount of medical equipment, much of it quite specialized in nature. I'm willing to bet that none of it id FDA approved. That should provide evidence of the procedures that took place. There were also some vials containing biological samples in the freezer."

"And there were bodies."

Skinner looked straight at him. "And there were the bodies. All had been dead for several hours. We'll know more when we've had a chance to examine them."

"Files?"

Skinner shook his head, no.

"Computer hard drives?"

Another negative.

"So we're left with evidence about the process, but nothing to tie anyone to it." Mulder sucked down a shuddering breath. "Except me. I'm a witness."

"No one's going to make you testify before you're ready. I've got the depositions, the medical records, the photos I took of you."

Skinner pulled the chair forward so he could take Mulder's hands in his. "There's one more thing I haven't told you. There is one suspect left. We've got a man in custody. He's under guard, in isolation. I'm waiting for someone from the U.S. Attorneys right now."

Skinner kept on talking, but nothing really registered, Mulder's mind had grasped onto that one cold fact. One suspect left. One man out there who could still hurt him. One man left to plunge his world into chaos. Mulder's mind spun, imagining the worst, dredging up the hell that had been and believing that it might be once again.

He heard a voice on the edge of his consciousness. "Mulder? Mulder! Can we get a doctor in here." But he refused to join the reality that voice offered him, choosing darkness instead.

*******
End Part 6
*******

Part 7

************

I was good at this; burying my emotional reactions under the veneer of necessity. Just squelch those reactions and get the job done. Mulder's panic-stricken face haunted me as I directed the investigative team.

Technically, Dan Timmons was in charge. After all, the job description for an Assistant Director didn't normally involve working on an investigative team. But the Director hadn't hesitated in giving the green light on keeping the whole thing under close scrutiny. The media had caught wind of the raid and it had just the kind of made-for-tv science fiction plot that produced great ratings.

I had given a press briefing, citing the urgency of the ongoing investigation I'd kept the details sketchy. Yes, we had conducted a raid on a clandestine medical research facility. No, although I could confirm that there were six victims, I could not release their names at this time. No, I could not go into detail as to the specific activities carried out at the testing facility. No, I could not confirm whether there were any suspects in custody at this time. Yes, this operation had been shut down and represented no threat to the American public.

I'd almost lost my composure with the last reporter. She asked if there was, in fact, one survivor from the testing facility. Yes, but the identity of that individual was not being released at this time. Then she hit me with the zinger. Wasn't it a fact that FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder, missing for months, was that surviving victim. I hoped my hesitation wasn't noticed. "Let me repeat, the identity of the surviving victim cannot be released at this time. That will be all for now. Thank you for your time."

With that I'd left the podium followed by a howl of shouted questions that I had no intention of answering.

It had been twenty-four hours since I'd last seen Mulder before I finally got back to the hospital.

As good as it was to see an FBI agent standing guard at Mulder's door, it was maddening to be denied admittance by that same man. The burly agent stepped in front of me, preventing me from even seeing inside.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Agent Mulder's doctor left strict instructions that no one be admitted that he hasn't cleared first."

"Let me assure you that I do not pose any risk here, Agent. . .?'

"Jackson."

"Agent Jackson. You know who I am?" The man nodded. "Then let me in.''

Jackson had the good sense to look apologetic, his posture slumped a little but he still did not move out of the way. "Its not a security issue, sir, I think it has to do with Agent Mulder's condition." He turned his head to peer down the hall as if seeking rescue. "Agent Scully was just here. She should be back any minute."

As tempting as it was to just barge my way in, I did the smart thing. Mulder's collapse had chilled me. Maybe I had underestimated how badly he had been damaged during his ordeal. He had seemed so much better. B ut it had only been a week since his release. One week, after months of torment, and only the most basic of medical care. Gary Hendricks was a good and capable man, but his kind of in-house convalescent care wasn't the same as a state-of-the-art hospital. By delaying Mulder's access to high-tech care and evaluation, we may have jeopardized his well-being.

What I had seen in that laboratory had shaken me. I had only just started to admit to myself that I might feel something for Mulder and now I was afraid to discover what the outcome of all this might be.

Mulder never let himself or those around him off easily.

The nurse at the desk paged Mulder's doctor and directed me to waiting area.

Mulder's doctors, the nurse informed me there were two, were James Knowles, a psychiatrist, and John Chou, a neurologist. When I pulled out my cell phone, the nurse shook her head curtly and pointed me in the direction of the nearest pay phone. I had someone running background checks right away. Mulder's life depended on these two men. I told myself that I wasn't overreacting to the situation. Hell, I had no idea how I should act.

Mostly I was just numb.

I presented my credentials, stated that this was a high profile and very sensitive case. They accepted those qualifications, but still made me wait. Scully was apparently still listed as Mulder's contact in case of emergency, so we had to wait for her to begin.

While we were waiting I handed the doctors copies of the crime scene photographs. I thought they might be able to better gauge what had happened to Mulder by seeing how the lab was set up. I would also be able to better gauge what kind of men they were by watching their reactions. Chou wore his shock openly, but Knowles was much harder to read. Maybe he had seen man's horror to man before or maybe he kept his emotions close. Psychiatrists were good at that.

I was actually glad that Scully was there, once we got started. I'd learned to read a lot from watching how individuals react under pressure. She nodded along as they explained what Mulder's condition, what they suspected, and what they planned to do about it. Judging by Scully's reactions, these two seemed to know what they were doing. They were also curious, we'd had after all brought them a medical anomaly. That might have galled me if they didn't also sound like they really cared. Or maybe they both had their "counseling the family" routine down pat.

There were two of three sets of problems. First, there was the emotional trauma of Mulder's ordeal. Knowles stated that this might possibly be the most long-term consequence of the whole ordeal. He gave his credentials; years of working with victims of torture, both overseas with Doctors Without Borders and in this country with refugees seeking political asylum. I'd check up on him, of course, but he seemed to know what he was talking about.

Second was the matter of what had been done to him. I watched Scully as Chou laid out the physical injuries. The tiny scars over Mulder's scalp had been the location of plastic sockets to allow the scientists to plug electrodes into the victims head, bypassing the problem of signal interference from the barrier presented by the skull. There also appeared to have been some kind of brain surgery, but the nature of which wasn't readily apparent.

Third was the unknown nature of the medications that he had been supplied with when he was turned over to me.

19:13 03/04/01

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